Chuck heads into Trauma Yellow, where he's helping to escort Westbrook to his private helicopter. Westbrook's personal physician introduces himself and announces that he'll be on the flight with them. Romano makes a lame excuse for why he can't walk with them up to the helipad, and accepts a bunch of praise for how put-upon and special he must be in order to work in such a crusty, pressurized, and lowly place as County. "Hey, it's my calling," Romano smarms. "Take care. Have a good flight." Abby surges past him, shouting for them to hold the elevator. They're sending Amy up to the OR. Abby promises to bring up Amy's fiancé when he arrives, and then stares after her so that we know all is not as it should be, and that things might go terribly awry, and other such predictable omens.

Coop prescribes painkillers to Olaf for his arm. "Keep them. After ten years of marriage, I'm immune to pain," Olaf jokes, exiting with Brumhilde so as not to be exposed to the fallout from that clunker -- which would be impassive facial expressions and an uncomfortable silence. Neela gives her asthma girl a mask of helium and oxygen. Frank opens up the buffet, and Romano makes a joke about needing emesis basins to go alongside the spread. "Shouldn't you be on the roof?" Frank suggests. He brandishes a watch in a baggie and says that it's Westbrook's Rolex. "Hey, Indira, take that up to the helipad," Romano rudely tells Neela. She's all, "Okay, Rom-arsehole." Frank faux-supportively says he doesn't blame Romano for being scared -- he doesn't need to lose another limb up there. Tensing up and yet oddly unwilling to engage in a pissing match with a man who doubtless has the bladder of a camel cultivated after years of guzzling beer on the couch, Romano snatches the Rolex and tells Neela he'll escort her on her first trip up to the roof.

Old Man Reefer shows back up and complains that someone stole his home medicine. "Talk to the hand," Romano snaps, whirring Go-Go-Gadget Cliché up and down in front of OMR's face. Neela stops long enough to ask which doctor he had. "Young guy. Red hair, goatee," Old Man Reefer pouts. Susan wheels in a gunshot wound to the face and yells for Malarkey.

Cut to Malarkey outside the hospital, sitting in what he fancies is a hidden alcove. He's rolling a joint, because he's just really, really stupid, dumber than you'd ever think a person could be.

Luka and Sam are doing some pointless adventuring, at which time he decides it's convenient to ask her if it's okay if he comes for Thanksgiving dinner, because he couldn't have asked her about this in the week or so since Alex invited him. Sam, of course, is shocked because Alex didn't tell her whom he had invited, and Lame and Contrivance do the happy tango. Luka rolls his eyes. They're actually escorting Judy up to the ICU, where Kit is annoyed to see them because they don't have any beds. Perhaps if Judy clicks his heels three times he'll wake up in one. Luka smiles and cuffs Judy's gurney to the wall using the hard restraints. "He's a troublemaker," Luka says. Sam thinks this is asinine, and Kit wants to open up a cold can of whoop-ass on his smoldering Croatian behind. "We can't take extra patients," Kit complains. "Why not? We do it all the time," Luka says smoothly. "And now you can't send him back."