The shot of Filleted Romano dissolves into one of Stan’s lung shard being examined under a microscope. “No red snappers,” Pratt announces smugly, announcing that all Stan has is run-of-the-mill pneumonia. Chen barks at him to put his mask on, since he’s quarantined. And in a hospital lab, where things should in theory be sterile whenever possible. I hate Pratt. Chen should stuff a mask down his throat. He attempts what he probably thinks is a winsome smile and suggests they raid the cafeteria for munchies. Chen, who’s becoming ever more the prig in the face of Pratt’s reckless abandon, snootily refuses. “Starve a cold, feed a fever,” Pratt sing-songs, running away.
On the helipad, the One-Armed Bandit is twitching. If Luka pulled the good arm down and then released it, there might be a jackpot in it for him. Luka and Susan fervently try to stop RoboStump from leaking while debating how to transport their three critical patients. They need a hand. Luka shouts for the copter pilot to radio someone, anyone, to get orthopedic and trauma surgeons on-site immediately.
Abby and Carter lie side-by-side on gurneys, staring at the ceiling. “You awake?” he asks. “Yeah,” she says boredly. “Monkey pox. Sounds like a video game,” Carter snorts. “Or voodoo,” Abby offers. “Or VD,” Carter giggles. Abby rolls her eyes and tries to surreptitiously scratch her back. Carter notices and she blows it off, but he catches her going to town on it again quite vigorously. “It’s just psychosomatic,” she insists, but Carter wonders if it might be a rash. Abby sits up slightly and morosely whispers, “Think someone did this on purpose?” Carter shrugs. “Does it matter? Viruses mutate. That’s what they do,” he observes. “We’re more likely to control bioterrorism than Mother Nature.” She rolls onto her side, back facing Carter, and he lifts her shirt to stare at her “rash.” He looks hungry. “No rash,” he decides. “Nice tattoo, though.” Abby bites back a smile and blithely admits she got it on a drunk night in college. Somehow, this “drunk” reference doesn’t set off Carter’s alarm bells – or maybe it does, but his wildly pinging crotch radar is drowning it out. He leans over and kisses her neck gently. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks. Abby tries not to grin. “I was going through a religious phase,” she says, looking as if she’s about to blush. Yeah, right – she was just hammered and didn’t know what she was getting until she woke up with it the next morning. Indeed, so many weekends start that way. The camera pans away as Carter leans over her for some lip action. Good thing it does, too – these two have fine chemistry as flirty friends, but when it comes time to probe each others’ dental work, they’re colder than two wet rags on Elizabeth’s ass.