Weaver and Elizabeth enter the room where Sasha's cooling her heels. "Who left a cadaver in here?" Weaver asks. There's something consistently, inherently amusing in a misplaced corpse. I don't know what it is. It might be that I'm addled from hours of typing. "Sasha's a bad penny," Elizabeth says pitilessly. "We're moving her around while we try to locate her family. I don't mind, if you don't." This throws Weaver, but not too far; she crosses the room and turns to face Elizabeth. "I'm concerned that you might be taking on too much, too soon," she begins. "Particularly in the area of trauma." Elizabeth does not appreciate this. "Based on?" she asks. "What I saw earlier," Weaver answers. "A pronounced inability to work with others, a lack of professional respect..." "You're joking, right?" gapes Elizabeth. Weaver babbles about how stressful life can be and how coping mechanisms are different, but "copping an attitude with the staff does not make a trauma go easier." Elizabeth hisses that she saw a dissected aorta and stuck up for herself. Weaver is doing a ham-handed job at this lecture, which could've been a lot stronger if she'd spoken to someone like Carter first, since he's worked two traumas with the new, less loudly bratty Elizabeth. Instead, she just looks desperate, and Corday can smell it. She feeds off it.
As Weaver continues to ramble about intense pressure, Elizabeth snorts, "Given my position, I didn't think it necessary to seek your approval." More Weaver babble about sensitivities. She doesn't know what she's saying and neither does Elizabeth. "Quite frankly, if anyone has an attitude here, it's you," Elizabeth rants. This rolls right over Weaver, who continues talking about not letting sensitivities interfere with...well, we don't know what she was going to say, because Elizabeth takes control. "No, it's YOU!" she shouts. "With your insistence at being kowtowed to at every bloody opportunity!" Weaver stares at her, and slowly cracks from bumbling boss into a weepy mess. Her hands over her face, Weaver starts sobbing. Elizabeth groans. "Oh my GOD," she winces, looking away with unabashed irritation mixed with sheer disbelief. Weaver turns away to contain her tears, but can't, and barrels out the door, leaving Elizabeth alone. We go to commercial wondering why that confrontation wasn't more satisfying, and what knocked Weaver's ass-pole loose from its berth.