A paramedic wheels in an African-American woman with a Haldol deficiency, who Abby agrees to see in a nearby room. "Queen Elizabeth wants me to meet her boy," boasts the matronly marm. "We are compatible!" Abby grins. "You and Prince Charles?" she asks. Prince Charles? Pickings aren't that slim in the sex-fantasy department, are they? I mean, has she seen William? Hello! Talk about a guy who's screaming for the love of a sassy-but-gentle recapper. But, our lady is still waxing rhapsodic about Chuck. "He likes coffee, and so do I," Matron proudly insists. Cocking her head with a tiny smile, Abby decides, "I could be a princess." Matron sits up sharply and narrows her eyes. "He is mine, honey," she snarls. Abby backs off just as Luka calls her to help with an arriving patient.

Steering Abby outside, Luka "Yes, I Think You've Seen Me Before" Kovac excitedly whispers that he found an apartment listed in the building on Clarke that she covets. It's got two bedrooms -- one for her, one for me and Luka -- and wood floors, and the manager already has two leads so they need to act fast. Abby smiles at him, but her eyes brim with curiosity and hesitation. She completely fails to do the requisite cartwheels. "Are you seriously considering it?" she asks. Luka's bubble suffers a wee pin-prick. "I thought you liked that area," he stammers slightly, taken aback by her lack of enthusiasm. Abby starts babbling a list of excuses, rent being chief among them. Luka's aforementioned bubble, once delicately pierced, has now been gored, popped, mixed with vinegar, and poured into his eyes. He musters a smile, and as they try to cover the pause with awkward banter, metal and debris drop from the ceiling; the duo turns to see Zombie drop from the roof and through a glass ceiling, landing hard on the concrete ground. They stare at her placidly, oddly unsurprised. Roll credits.