At a swish Chinese restaurant, Pratt's led to a table where Chen's sitting with her parents. She introduces them and tries to explain that they invited themselves along to dinner. "Hope you don't mind," she says uncomfortably. Pratt handles it smoothly and kisses her on the cheek before sitting down. Everyone either looks uneasy or fixes a tight smile to his or her face. Chen, it's worth noting, looks so stupid. She's got a feathered hairdo worthy of Charlie's Angels, but in a bad way, and she still looks like a walking frown.
Susan is calmly telling Elle that her treatment appears to be helping when Neela bursts in, babbling about how Cardio told her to come listen to a tricuspid regurge murmur, or somesuch tomfoolery. Elle blanches. "A WHAT?" she shrieks. "Is that what I have, is something wrong?" Susan shits a house the Big Bad Wolf couldn't blow down, and ushers Neela outside before Elle's parents sue them for disobeying their orders to treat Elle like an idiot. "This is not a good teaching case," Susan says. "She's a girl who's about to find out she's going to die a slow, horrible death." Neela's stunned that Elle doesn't already know. Susan tries to explain, but she spies Malarkey chowing down on a sandwich that's sitting on Old Man Crabby's tray. He finally got his sandwich, and he passed out. Isn't that always the way? Through a mouthful of tuna, Malarkey chokes that Old Man Crabby wasn't eating it, so.... Susan scolds him, then realizes that all isn't quite right in OMC-ville. "Tell me he's sleeping," Malarkey pales. "Not unless he's taking a dirt nap," Susan spits. She detects a faint pulse and grabs an ultrasound, screaming for Corday. "While you were stealing his tuna, he was bleeding out from a triple A!" Susan yells. Holy shit. That's so...I have no idea what that means.
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.