Carter washes up in the bathroom. Luka walks in and asks how Carter's doing. Carter says he's okay. Luka says they found the shooter, and Carter says, "Good." Luka adds that she was only fifteen, and Carter distractedly shakes his head in a "what a world" kind of way. Girl, please. Rex the Wonder Preemie set a guy on fire last week and he's not even zero. Luka suggests that Carter go home; Carter insists that he's all right, but Luka firmly tells him, "Go home. You've probably seen enough trauma for one day." Wow, Goran Visnjic makes Noah Wyle look short. Carter nods, without meeting Luka's eye, and Luka walks toward the door, saying he'll tell Weaver that Carter's leaving. Carter presses his lips together, and nods again.
In the hall, Benton's telling Jackie that Jesse's just being a teenager, and Jackie snaps, "No. He's changing. You're just not around enough to notice anymore." Benton testily asks her what that's supposed to mean, and by way of answer, Jackie says, "He's got a girlfriend now. She's pretty rough." Benton asks if Jackie's tried talking to him, and she says they've tried everything: "Grounding him is a joke. He doesn't care; he goes out anyway. I can't have him locked up. The other day he shoved his father. It took everything Walter had not to --" Dude. He shoved Ving Fucking Rhames? That's a kid who's more than messed up. That's a kid with a death wish. Jackie takes a second to collect herself, and she asks Benton to talk to Jesse: "Maybe he'll listen to you." Benton sighs, and puts his arm around her.
Elsewhere, women (and men) around the globe stick pins in the eyes, lips, and crotches of Lisa-shaped voodoo dolls as she and Luka hook up in the hall on their way out on their date. She's changed out of her scrubs and into a dark grey t-shirt and black chinos, and has a messenger bag across her shoulders. She looks nice. "You look nice," he says. She returns the compliment, though he doesn't, really. I mean, of course, he does, because DNA dictates it, but he really looks like he just took off his lab coat; his hair's kind of greasy, he's all stubbly, and his tie's askew. Anyway. He just had one of his patients get shot to death at close range at the end of his shift, so let's assume that, rather than ditch Lisa entirely, he just decided to skip the shower. He asks her what she had in mind: "Dinner? Movie?" She says she had something more physical in mind. "That's it," says Sars, climbing into Shadow and turning over the first page of her Summit-Chicago AAA TripTik. "I might not be a fifteen-year-old shooter, but I think he'll still remember me," she mutters, grimly tossing her cigarette out the window. "Meeee?" asks Little Joe. "Quiet, you," she snaps. "Haven't you already done enough, ruining the shocks with your big fat ass?" "Meeeee ee?" he persists. "Oh, all right," she relents, tossing him a few french fries. From the backseat, Hobey snarls, "Didn't I tell you not to bring him?" Beside him, Djb wonders aloud, "Am I going to be an accessory to something? Also, will you be able to get me back to New York in time for Roswell?" "Everyone shut up!" she bellows. "I have less than half an hour now to make sure Lisa doesn't mack on my man. Someone is going to die." "I'll be good," says Djb. "Mee," adds Little Joe.