Lizzie lugs Ella and the giant baby buggy into Valium Villa. Rachel appears in the hall and doesn't seem as surprised as she should be, given that Ella's gained about ninety pounds since they last hung out and Elizabeth's been gone for months. Still, Elizabeth actually greets Rachel warmly, just in case Ella needs a liver someday. "Where's your dad?" Elizabeth wonders politely. Rachel shares that he's hiding out upstairs, feeling ill. Elizabeth realizes that she has to unload the offspring somehow before nursing Mark back to middling health; gently, she asks Rachel to watch Ella. Rachel happily takes her. "Hey!" coos Elizabeth. "There's Rachel!" What a dork. As Elizabeth collects her wits at the foot of the stairs, Rachel regards her knowingly. "He's sick again, isn't he?" she blurts. Elizabeth looks sad and nods. The director cuts back to Rachel, and it's strange because it's almost like Hallee Hirsh realized she forgot to emote, and quickly shoves out her bottom lip and pouts like a puppy. So terrible.
The halls are alive with the sound of retching. Elizabeth skulks up to the bedroom and takes a deep breath, repulsed by the gagging noises and the sheer quantity of vomit her husband's heaving into the toilet. For a second, it looks like she might back away, unable to handle it. But then she remembers that she's a doctor, and this isn't about her, and he's fucking DYING, and even if he's boring and lame, he deserves to go through this with someone who's being paid by NBC to love him, so Elizabeth sacks up and enters the bathroom. "How long has it been like this?" she metas. Mark pukes. "Forever," he groans, the sweat of reverse peristalsis drying cold on his brow. Oh, we feel you, Mark. "Don't they say that if it makes you sick, it's working?" Elizabeth smiles, wetting a cloth to use on his forehead. Mark leans weakly against the bathroom wall, legitimately looking like a dying man, and replies that old adages are cold comfort when you're lying on the bathroom floor painting the porcelain with a rainbow of partially-digested mung. Elizabeth rests the cold cloth on his forehead, and Mark shudders. Elizabeth beams almost affectionately at him. "I tried for weeks to get her to say 'mama' and 'moon,'" Elizabeth says. Nice that she wanted Ella to say "moon" before she said "dada." Mark pshaws that babies often say "dada" first. "That's just because it's easy to say," Elizabeth downplays. Nice, bitch. "Maybe she likes me," Mark offers pathetically. "She's a good judge of character," Elizabeth says, suddenly all gooey. Ew. Tenderness doesn't fit her. It's like watching a lingerie model wear a muumuu. Elizabeth gets up to seek out some medicine, but Mark begs her to stay until the nausea passes. Resignedly, Elizabeth lowers herself to the ground and hugs Mark's head to her bosom, appearing pained and sickened and, frankly, sort of inconvenienced. She stares blandly at the wall while Mark cuddles toward her, finally able to go through this with somebody's help. He heaves us into the closing credits.