Sam breezes in a minute before her shift is scheduled to start. Malik appreciatively cedes both his seat in triage and the patient he was seeing -- a little girl. Sam takes a look at her throat and nods that it's pretty red. My screen goes black here, so I can hear Sam saying that they need a throat culture, but I've no idea what's happening on screen. This had better not be the day Luka decides to streak the ER. The father is alarmed -- ah, there's my picture -- to hear that it'll take six to eight hours to get to his daughter; he's got to go to work. "It'll be okay," the little girl says bravely. Sam points them to chairs.
Luka sneaks up behind Sam and whispers in her ear about whether Alex is okay. "I don't know," she says, looking both mortified and tickled that she can feel Luka's breath on her neck. Luka tantalizingly offers to have them over that night to talk, promising to cook and let Alex watch something on the big-screen TV. He's practically licking her ear. Sam looks like she's using every ounce of her strength to resist him. She's a stronger woman than I am. A patient interrupts, so she pushes her chair away and brushes Luka off with a quick smile. Luka looks disappointed.
Weaver spies Luka and berates him for making her late for a budget meeting by not showing up on time. "Look for the deduction in your paycheck," she snipes. Luka totally doesn't care. "It could be worse -- she could have an M16 strapped on," cracks a nearby Carter. Oh, Carter. We get it. You were in Africa, Luka was in Africa, you're wearing big-boy underwear now. But I don't think it's so cute to compare Weaver to the same violent and deeply angry band of African rebels that all but killed Luka. Was The Beard the keeper of your tact? Luka sees an open cardboard box on the table and asks Carter what it is; turns out it's a care package for Kem, plus some stuff for the clinic. "I hear they're really desperate for roses in the Congo," teases Luka, pulling out a box of flowers. Carter blushes and confesses that it's been thirty-four days, sixteen hours, and twelve minutes since they were together. Jerry is listening. "We email each other," says Carter wistfully. "She says she's really starting to show." As Carter leaves, Jerry taps Luka on the shoulder and asks for a Kleenex. "He really misses her," whimpers Jerry. Aw. What a doof.
For some reason, Susan and Abby are talking about Susan's father. All I can think of is, they got the memo about how everything must relate to parenting this week, and they're desperately stretching. Susan sighs that she and her sister were both raised by crazy parents. "Couldn't have turned out more differently," she says. Abby offers that Susan's parents did the best they could. "That's the scary part," says Susan dryly. I feel like they shaved off a piece of this conversation -- about Susan's not telling her father, about her fears about being a parent. And it's irritating to think that TPTB either deemed that irrelevant, or just allowed this asinine fragment of a conversation to stand alone as a scene. I'm not surprised, just irritated. They stop talking because a rig has arrived carrying a man covered in blood. They can't figure out where the wound is; plus, he's twitching and flipping his shit, held down by some restraints. They wheel him inside.