Shuffling over to the coffee maker, Elizabeth stops short when she notices a photograph taped to a cupboard. Gently she reaches up and removes it, bringing it close for examination. It's Mark and some of the ER gang. She stares at it as if this is the first photo she's seen of Mark since he died, like she doesn't keep pictures of him around the house and was alarmed to remember what he looks like. I was going to say how weird this is, but since it was such a loveless union, I'm not actually that surprised. Elizabeth starts to caress the photo lightly, but she's interrupted by Pratt entering the room. He greets her quietly and proceeds to his locker, then darts her a guilty glance when he realizes his masking-tape nameplate resides on the locker where Mark's once did. Elizabeth stares at him. Uncomfortably, Pratt yanks his jacket from his locker and beats a hasty but polite retreat. Wordlessly, Elizabeth returns her gaze to the photo, sighs shakily, and reaches to reaffix it to the cabinet.
Time lapse. Abby closes the cupboard and wanders over to a sleeping Carter, who crashed on the couch. She rubs his shoulder, then leans down to kiss his forehead. Luka enters. "Sssh," Abby says, gesturing to Carter. "You're not going to wake him up?" Luka asks curiously. "Didn't you come in together?" Ooh, nosy. "I'm sure he can find his way home without me," Abby says blithely. Luka offers her a ride, but she declines warmly. "Have a good night," she whispers, leaving with a grin. Luka stares after her with a slight, lonely smile.
Pratt approaches his apartment door and hears a ruckus behind it. When he unlocks the door and enters, he sees a party -- movies, beer, and pizza. "Dawg, if I gotta come over there I'm gonna smack fire at'choo," Pratt streets. "Come here, man." He grabs the ringleader and drags him outside, snarling that he'd best not be stepping into this apartment ever again. "You his mama?" the ringleader asks. Pratt grabs him by the collar and throws him down the hall. "Don't play with me, man, the party's over!" Pratt yells, returning to his living room and screaming for the entire cast of characters to vacate. A tubby, gentle-looking guy remains, calling out, "I'll holler at y'all later." Pratt slams the door and turns to face his roommate. "Those are my friends," Roomie whines. "Well, this is my house," Pratt snorts, collapsing on the couch and rubbing his forehead. "Mine, too," sniffs Roomie. "What, you pay rent?" Pratt asks. "No," giggles Roomie. "Does that mean I can't have no friends?" Pratt breathes hard and blinks. "Leon," he says gently. "you know those guys are just using you, right?" Leon ignores this, transfixed by the television set. "How you blow up a whole town like that without killing anybody?" he gapes at the movie. Pratt shakes his head. "They don't," he says impatiently. "And if you shot the gun that close, he'd blow his eardrums out." Leon stares at Pratt. "Gee, it's just a movie, man," he sniffs. Then he cheerfully offers Pratt some pizza; despite himself, Pratt grins and agrees to a piece. And we get a piece of his heart. But I don't really want it that badly.