Previously on ER, Luka became a sultry Croatian sex hound trotting around with his bone. He boffed a hooker, a married woman, and a patient's mother, and Erin appeared flirty with him, to the amusement of another patient. But he exchanged a meaningful look with Abby, just so we're reminded that ER is in fact a lesson in geometry.
Sirens blare as an ambulance screeches down the street. The driver quietly radios the hospital to announce their arrival, and to warn them that the space-time continuum got re-routed through a paper shredder. The paramedic in the back tends to a brunette patient we can't see. "She's unresponsive to verbal," he says, worried. The driver peers in his rearview mirror and asks a man shrouded in darkness -- ooh! How symbolic -- if he's from County. No answer.
Frank -- dressed as Santa but with his beard oddly just hanging around his neck instead of on his face -- roams County General and asks Abby "Humbug" Lockhart what she wants for Christmas. "I want it to be January," she huffs. It seems The Grinch's small heart shrank three sizes this day. Frank then noses up to a little boy, who promptly screams. And Frank gets a really hurt look on his face, and even though he should've been wearing his beard and not yelling quite so loud, I actually feel sorry for him, because he's just thinking of the children, and at least he's keeping his relatives out of our faces. "It's not really Santa," coos the boy's mother, scooping him up and carting him off while glaring at Frank. Wounded, Frank wonders when Santa became scary. "Since he looks like a fat old homeless dude," snarks Dr. Greg "I Won't Go Until I Chen Some" Pratt. Shut up, Pratt. Abby announces two incoming trauma patients and asks Pratt to hang around, but he refuses. She looks around at a curiously quiet lobby. "Does anybody work here any more?" she sighs, annoyed but festive in her red turtleneck. She catches the eye of Dr. Susan "Won't Anybody Guide My Sleigh Tonight, or Ever?" Lewis across the hospital; she's standing over the bed of what looks like a young man. She shakes her head sadly. Abby flares her nostrils.
A crying woman -- who looks a lot like a girl I know named Cynthia -- stares morosely into Trauma Yellow. Abby approaches and gently asks if she wants to go inside. "I'm not sure I'm ready," weeps Cynthia. So what does Abby do? She takes Cynthia by the elbow and drags her inside. Abby is as considerate as she is naturally tan. Chuny and Susan are inside with the boy. "He said he was run down and I told him to go to see a doctor," sniffles Cynthia. Susan says that Rick -- a name! -- is waiting for an open bed in the ICU, but Cynthia is welcome to sit with him in the meantime. Cynthia does more crying about how benign his symptoms seemed. Rick twitches. This excites Cynthia; Susan rains on her joy. "It's probably just a reflex," she says apologetically. She exits so that Cynthia can cry for Argentina all by her lonesome.