In Trauma Green, Mitch the cop groggily announces that he doesn't want Pratt and Gallant to treat him. Weaver shrugs that it's not up to him to choose his doctors right now. "Just like we don't get to choose our patients," Pratt points out. They diagnose him with a collapsed lung, but Gallant halts them and announces that he thinks there's a cardiac contusion, not a problem with the lung. A check of the x-rays proves that he's right, and Weaver compliments him. And just like that, all is right with the world and with Mitch. Everyone but Pratt and Gallant leaves the trauma room as if on cue, because of course they are. Our two heroes stare right into CopCam. "This must be a really scary part for you, huh?" Pratt grins sadistically at us. We don't like it one bit. "All the white folks left. Now it's just you and a couple of niggers with knives," Pratt snarls. Mitch blinks. His machinery beeps sonorously. We fade to black really, really annoyed that Pratt took the bait, and really, really annoyed at how self-satisfied they both looked, and also tired.
Abby waits on a cold street corner, her hair in a nice updo. Carter sprints toward her and apologizes for being so late, blaming traffic. "Why did you make me wait outside?" she crabs. A charming greeting. "It's a surprise," Carter giggles. "It's February in Chicago," she counters. But Abby's negativity can't kill Carter's spirit. No, only the heft of her emotional baggage can do that.
Sheepishly, Susan brings Patrick home and apologizes to Frances for the lateness of the hour. Patrick deflects the blame onto himself, and heads upstairs to check out his saucy adjustable bed, presumably to see if there's enough room for two. His young sister Julia follows. "I didn't mean to worry you. I wanted to make it easier for [Patrick]," Susan apologizes. Frances is frosty. "He wasn't ready to come home yet," explains Susan. Frances dismisses her, but Julia trots back down and says that Patrick wants Susan to wait for a second. As Frances heads upstairs to have a word with her wayward son, Julia dishes that Patrick told her Susan was "the only doctor he met who was like a friend," and also, super-hot. Susan blushes, then whips out her camera so they can take We Can't Believe We Had Sex On It pictures for the Craftmatic Adjustable Bed catalogue.
In Mitch's room, after he's had a chance to regain some strength courtesy of the Angel Morphine, Pratt and Gallant decide to sass him some more -- this time, in front of his partner. Pratt sings Gallant's praises. "We profiled you as a collapsed lung, but he kept an open mind. Saved you from getting surgery you don't need," Pratt explains. Mitch snorts. Pratt snaps and demands that he apologize to Gallant for being a total fucking peckerwood. Gallant says it's fine, and has apparently decided that he's a bigger man now that he's all about diagnosing cardiac contusions. "I didn't do anything wrong," Mitch brats. "Three people were butchered right outside your hospital. We were doing what we were supposed to. You need cops like me to catch animals like that." Gallant simply leaves rather than comment on any of this. "'Sorry' would've been a whole lot easier," Pratt growls. Naturally, Mitch's partner looks affected by all this, because obviously somebody's life had to change today.