Episode Report Card
Heathen: D+ | Grade It Now!

Sam sits quietly on her bed, her knees drawn up under her chin. She looks empty. Steve enters gingerly and asks if she's okay. There's some business about who the random dude was -- he had a "business proposition" for Steve, which probably means he had the phone number of some nubile prostitutes and a mickey of whiskey. Steve sits down on the bed and admits that he wasn't planning on staying, but the job fell into his lap, and evidently the sensation of something dropping onto his thighs feels a bit like destiny. Then he lies that he can go to night school. Sam just nods. "Know what Alex said to me the other day?" Steve says, going in for the kill. "He said, 'I love you, Dad.'" Sam looks away and bites her lip. Steve soldiers forth with his gentle act and tells her that he's going to Dallas to pick up some furniture, but he'll be back that weekend. He cups her cheek in his palm. "Sam," he whispers. Still she remains silent. "Okay, I'll see you soon," he concludes, getting up to leave. He runs into Alex outside the door, and of course Alex is all, "Why can't I just go to Dallas with you?" Yeah, whatever, Alex. Sam pretends that this doesn't hurt and just stares blankly off into space.

Bill Macy groans and pulls himself into a seated position. Abby sees him through the window and rushes in there to help. He wants to use a bathroom. "Let me get a bedpan," she says, insisting that he's too weak. But he doesn't want to die steeped in such indignity, so Abby gets a wheelchair for him. "So what have I got? A week? Three days?" he mutters. "Never mind. Doesn't matter." Abby asks him what he taught. "Algebra. Thirty-seven years," he says wistfully. "I taught four thousand thirteen-year-olds. What the hell for?" Abby politely and truthfully says she's sure he made an impression. "And at the end, you're alone, and you've got cancer," Bill says bitterly. "I'm here," she points out. "Only 'cause you're paid to be," he mutters. Aw, shucks, I know teachers aren't rolling in dough, but aren't there any misguided, money-hungry widows down at the home who want to latch onto a wee pension and some life insurance?

Linda's surgery is going awkwardly. Elizabeth's got the innards --- liver trouble and spleen removal -- while the Ortho team is stationed at her legs getting ready to amputate. Well, I assume. If they're not already gone. Luka enters to observe and asks how Linda's doing. "On a scale of one to ten, a four," Elizabeth says grimly. Then the machinery freaks. "Maybe a three," she amends, throwing bloody lap pads around -- or at least, I hope that's what those are, because if not, then they look like things that belong inside the body, hooked up to the plumbing.

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