We cut inside the trauma room, where Elizabeth demands a vascular surgeon. But they're ignoring Susan's pages, so Elizabeth clears her throat and orders a nurse to page Dr. Dorsett. "Tell him Dr. Corday needs him badly," Elizabeth says firmly. Then she meets Susan's eye, and Susan giggles, because she's twelve. Her expression darkens, though, when she sees Abby in Elle's room.

Abby lightly tells Elle, "I tried getting you a room with a fireplace by the pool, but the guys from Coldplay rented out the top floor for a party." Oh, Abby. So hip. So attuned to what the kids are liking these days. Abby's there to escort Elle to her room, and luckily not to keep cracking special pop-culture one-liners. "Where are your parents?" Abby asks. Elle gulps that they're in and out, pretending they're making work calls and returning half and hour later with tear-stained faces. "Either the stock market crashed, or there's something really wrong with me and no one's willing to talk about it," Elle says, her voice cracking with a sob that's waiting to burst forth. Abby looks down, eyes flickering from side to side. She has the worst poker face in the entire world. "Abby, are you bluffing?" "Uh, I...uh...I'm not not bluffing..." Elle peers up at her, tired and weak and blotchy, and asks point-blank if she's dying. Abby gulps and begins to level with her, but Susan enters the room just in time and yanks Abby off the case. Abby smiles ruefully at Elle and exits.

"This is wrong," Abby lips. "You know it. We're teaching her not to trust us at exactly the time she should be trusting us the most." Susan throws up her hands and wonders what crawled up Abby's ass and laid spinal eggs. "You practically start a thoracotomy on your own, and then you talk to my patients when I ask you not to!" Susan marvels. "Someone should," Abby mumbles. "It's not your call. You're not her doctor. You're her nurse," Susan says. The blinds open and close rapid-fire, and the Morse code message reads thus: "If you don't know where you're going, then you should have your driver's license revoked." Susan snaps that Abby should obey her direct orders, and Abby morosely stares through the window at Elle's retreating figure. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek for a second so that we can feel her inner conflict, and we fade to black wondering how much more her cheek can stand before she bites right through to the outside.

Cooper skips into Trauma Yellow to watch Old Man Crabby get his fluids checked and his tires rotated. Dr. Eddie "Diego" Dorsett strides in, all cocksure confidence and swagger, and he's really pretty hot. Carter who? Pratt what? Mark heh? Exactly. "Your service refused to come down," Susan scolds. "Those bastards hate to leave the hot tub," Diego deadpans. "You," he says to Abby. "Grab the betadine." Abby's startled. Susan can't believe he's not taking Old Man Crabby upstairs to do whatever procedure is required. "You didn't leave enough gas to get him there," Dr. Diego says. Malarkey announces that he's scrubbed and ready. "Nicely done. Maybe you can detail my Jag after work," Diego smarms. Susan glares at him. "Try a little more teaching and a little less standup," Elizabeth warns stiffly. Susan can't believe Dr. Diego's about to cut into a patient in the ER when he should be in the OR, and she's worried about taking the fall if it turns sour. "It's like we say upstairs -- what happens in the ER stays in the ER," Diego shrugs. "Cover your eyes, kids. This is gonna be some bad-ass juju." God, he makes those lame words sound almost rhythmic. He may be a total jackass, but he works it.