Pratt arrives, cheerful as can be. I guess his brain is back to normal, if "cocksure jacknut" ever really constitutes normalcy. Weaver decides to move the scene to the elevator, which I would too if I had Pratt around me, blowing harder than MegaMaid. As Weaver walks, she grouches about people using work as therapy for post-traumatic stress. "He's fine," Carter says. "I'm not talking about him," Weaver says pointedly. She gets Carter into the elevator with her -- and doesn't hold it for someone who is dashing for them, which is deliciously nasty -- and basically tells Carter that she hasn't forgotten he's an addict. And therefore, since he's susceptible to falling off the wagon during this time of strife, she won't be giving him the extra shifts he requested. Carter sucks in his cheeks and prays for a lightning bolt. None strikes. "Why push it, why tempt fate? God knows you don't need the money," she points out. Carter bites back whatever comment his brain is formulating about her being an officious bitch, possibly because he still has a bruise on his ass from the most recent time the wagon left the station without him. "It's no problem, Kerry," he says firmly. "Good," she says, meeting his eye. "I'm not in the business of safeguarding doctors' licenses. Not twice, anyway." She denies his request for extra shifts and tells him to fill his life with movies and weekend jaunts rather than County work. That's a lovely thing to say to somebody who just lost a kid, and basically, a fiancée. If anyone had suggested Weaver take a jaunt to a lakeside cabin after Sandy's death, you can bet she'd have found creative places on that person's body to dig into with her cane.
Susan appears in the hallway and comments that Weaver's assistant has been rude about finding time for Susan to see her. Of course Weaver has a rude assistant. I don't think anybody could put up with her if he or she didn't have ice in the veins. Susan tells Weaver that she wants the ER Chief job, which surprises Weaver because Susan has turned it down once already. "That was pre-baby," she says. "Turns out I like kids better when they're not sucking the life force out of me." And when they're not your own. I don't remember her sister's kid grieving her too much; I'd be affronted at this disregard for history, but with this crew, we'd be lucky if TPTB remembers that Susan has a sister in the first place. Susan tells Weaver that Chuck is fine with being a stay-at-home dad as long as they can make up for the lost income. Yeah, I bet he's fine with it -- he watched a MedEvac chopper blow up mid-air. If one of my colleagues was killed by an exploding iMac, I'd consider giving it all up, too. Weaver offers her a two-year contract for a grand more per week. Wait, Chuck only made fifty-two thousand a year? I know he was a flight nurse and not a doctor, but man, you'd have to pay me more than that to do a job that required that much flying and nursing. Susan takes the deal instantly, which is too bad for Weaver because if she'd read my recaps, she'd know that she should've reoffered the slightly cheaper three-thousand dollars per month rate she extended to Susan last time. But, the deal is done, Susan emerged a winner, and Weaver immediately hands Weaver a bunch of tedious paperwork and a clogged-toilet issue in the ER. Susan is flummoxed.