At the police station, Pratt and Gallant are being interrogated. We just see single shots of them answering questions, but from the way the questions are asked, it sounds like they're being dealt with separately. They both explain that they play at the Y twice a week, with people who live near Pratt. Gallant is still broody and snappish, while Pratt is calmer and smoother with only the merest edge to his voice. "Have you ever owned a firearm?" the disembodied cop voice asks. "No," Pratt says. "No!" Gallant yells. "I've never owned a firearm! Look, why are you hassling me? Just call County!" The cop asks where he was that day. "I already told you where I was!" Gallant screams. He also screams that he's a med student. He's screaming everything. This is so not Gallant. I never, ever thought I'd say this, and believe me, it doesn't feel good, but here it comes: Shut up, Gallant. He's our little respectful military kid; he's not a writhing loon. The cop tells Pratt they've been brought in because they match an ID. "I match the ID," Pratt parrots. "What, young, black, and handsome?" Oh, Pratt. Don't make me come over there.
Weaver slams down the phone and orders Jerry to send ID sheets for Pratt and Gallant to the precinct. Then she sidles up to Susan and coos that her young lover with the cancer problem is being discharged, and his mom has requested that Susan stay away from him while he's waiting for his ride to cart him away. "What does [Patrick] say?" Susan asks, hurt. "She's a grieving mother. I think we need to respect her wishes," Weaver says. And what about the wishes of the dying kid? If he wants a piece of Roasted Rack of Susan, then he should be allowed to have it. Susan stares at Patrick, who's boredly in the middle of a confab between Frances and his "doctor."
Gallant and Pratt wait at the police station for someone else to show up and marginalize them. Gallant wants to get the names of the offending officers so that they can file a complaint. "Why don't you just be quiet," Pratt barks, closing his eyes, leaning back his head, and dreaming of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. A cop appears and confirms that they have tested positive -- for innocence! "It's not like we didn't tell you guys that four hours ago," Gallant sasses. Pratt crosses his arms, but not so high that they obscure his Sean John leather jacket.
Weaver bursts in to check on Trina, who has only Luka attending her right now. Weaver pauses uncomfortably, because she can sense that the moment demands some sensitivity, and she's not sure if she's got any in stock today. "If you want to take it easy for a while, I can keep you out of the trauma rooms. Assign you to non-critical care cases," she attempts gently. It's sort of sweet. So of course, Luka not only doesn't acknowledges it, but misses the point -- possibly deliberately. "If you need me anywhere, Kerry, you need me here," he says flatly. "We all have...times...where we could use a little less stress," she fumbles. Luka ignores her. "There's nothing wrong with admitting that you need some help," she continues, and she seems to mean it, which is amusing given that she was so reluctant to admit she needed help when she miscarried. Weaver's such a fascinating animal. She's nice and she's mean and she's considerate and she's tough, and sometimes it all comes out at once in a confusing cocktail, and sometimes she can compartmentalize it, and sometimes she taps into the wrong thing altogether. Here, I think she's genuinely trying to do what she failed to do a couple weeks ago. "I don't [need help]," Luka says emptily. Weaver gulps. "Even so," she says, toughening up, "I've scheduled a meeting with Dr. Meyers on seven. It's a formality. Unless you want to make it something more." It's a little unclear why she did this -- personally, I think she's pretending it's because of the shock of the Dog Magoo's discovery, but really she's hoping he'll use it to take care of those other "things" that were plaguing him -- things other than those persistent dreams of a curly-haired strawberry-blonde recapper in a hot tub. Luka digests all this and decides that the best strategy is to blink hard.