Derek and Paul are hovering near their father's bedside. Pratt enters quietly and watches. "Why is he still sleeping?" Derek asks. Pratt explains that his brain didn't get enough oxygen, and that there's a chance Pa will never wake up from this sleep. "He's just taking a nap," argues Pete obtusely. "Your dad's still pretty sick," Pratt begins. Derek shakes it off. "But you saved his life," he avers. Pratt puts a hand on Paul's shoulder sadly, then puts an arm around Derek. "Come on, let's go down to the cafeteria and I'll get you something to eat, all right?" he offers. They leave.
Pratt and the boys pass Carter and Abby. "My daddy doesn't like doctors, but I bet he'd like you," the boys tell Pratt, who at least has the grace to look embarrassed, for once, by this praise. Carter tosses his clipboard down bitterly and groans. "Tired?" Abby asks. "There's got to be a better word for it," he says, spewing a few multisyllabic options before Abby offers, "Pooped." She rubs his back and they flirt about their plans for the evening. "Shoot, keep working that spot, and I'll do whatever you want," he says dreamily. "I do need my sock drawer reorganized," she giggles.
Suddenly, a woman approaches -- she's Pa's wife, the moppets' mother, and the instrument of our plot climax. Thanks for coming, Ma'am. We were getting tired.
Over Pa's unconscious body, Carter explains that Pa's basically brain-dead. Ma crushes her husband's hand in sorrow. "How long can he last like this?" she asks. "Indefinitely," Carter says sadly. Gingerly, he asks whether Pa ever left behind instructions as to what he'd want done -- or not done -- in a situation like this. "He's forty-two years old!" Ma answers. Carter clarifies that he needs to know whether they should try to resuscitate him in the event of another arrest, or if she plans to sign a DNR. "Is it the right thing to do?" she whispers. "I can't make that decision," Carter stalls. Ma turns, teary-eyed. "Is that.. the right...thing...to do," she intones huskily, chewing on each word like it's delicious Emmy™ gum. "Yes," Carter nods sadly. She nods, too.
Gallant walks a calm, sweet Mad Madge out of the hospital. "I guess I get panicky in public places," she shrugs, confused. "I know," he grins. "That's why you need to take your Klonopin." She bats her eyelashes at him. "I hope I wasn't too much trouble," she simpers. "Not at all," he says, waving her off as he touches his eye, glowing with pride over his good deeds and constant thwarting of the dreaded Psych Turf.