“Kind of sad, huh?” Carter begins. Abby can feel his heavy hand, but opts to play dumb. “What’s that?” she says, eyes wide. “The guy was a teacher,” Carter points out. “He killed his daughter,” Abby counters. “Because of alcohol,” Carter nods seriously. He might as well sit Abby down and force her to apologize for killing the child they haven’t conceived yet in a drinking-related accident she hasn’t had, and then remove her liver in advance to save time. Abby just blinks at him. “It happens,” she says carelessly, and stupidly. “It doesn’t have to,” Carter says. Stupid. Conversation. Abby even agrees with me. “What are you trying to say?” she demands. Carter’s basically vaguely saying, “Woe is the drunk driver,” or something. “Why can’t you tell me what you’re trying to say? You can talk to me,” Abby insists. Carter gulps and faces her. “I want to help you,” he says. And, freeze. What? The last we heard of the Abby drinking storyline, she was supposedly going to AA just for Carter. And sure, we all thought she might’ve been lying. But was she? Did he find out? If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s there to hear it, is Abby still on the bottle? Someone please deliver me from vague crapulocity. Carter continues that he doesn’t want to help her just to be nice, or because he’s worried. It’s because he wants to be with her. “Fix me,” Abby corrects him. “Help you,” Carter insists. “Fix me. So I’m good enough,” Abby deadpans, but not without bristling slightly. “I want it to work!” argues Carter. “I’m not broken,” Abby says firmly. They stare at each other for a while until Abby sighs in frustration and walks away. Carter bites his lip and wonders if she’ll feel better if she mouthifies Little John again.
Elizabeth is in a hospital office, but I’m not sure where, because I can’t see any telltale bridge scenery to relieve me of the confusion. Trevor shows up and makes small talk with her about a case. “Carrying on all right, then, are you?” he asks. “I suppose you can still grieve on the inside.” Elizabeth, stunned at his audacity because she forgot that all British people are automatically imperious twits, snarls, “I’m certain that was meant as some kind of criticism that I haven’t got time to decipher.” Trevor shrugs. “I noticed you’re not in a black dress, you’re not even in a dress at all,” he sneers, adding that it seems America has more or less tainted her. “Interesting,” Elizabeth nods crossly. “I thought I might suggest that you reconsider that tie, because it makes you look like a boorish, virulent ponce,” she spits. “But now I realize that’s your general disposition, so it would be out of place for me to comment.” God bless them for giving Elizabeth some non-shrieky snark. Her line delivery was really nice – clearly angry, yet almost painfully cool. And also, she’s right. His tie is dark blue, with what looks like a collection of bright yellow Tonka Truck wheels on it. Is Trevor twelve? Or blind? Maybe it’s a sentimental tie made from the hairs of his dead childhood cat. Whatever the reason for the tie, Trevor doesn’t appreciate the comment. “Out of place, indeed,” he nods. “Tragic, really – a woman out of place on two continents.” Elizabeth glares at him, masking genuine hurt, as he leaves.