Abby chews Susan's logic. It tastes good. She gets up and flashes Carter a conflicted look; he nods his comprehension, and watches her return to the ER.
Susan approaches Trauma Green. She notices Ya-Ya hunched over her son, and slowly realizes what happened. In a daze she goes inside and flips the machines back on, only to hear the harsh sound of the flatline. The aria stops, cut by the bleeping. Abby enters; too little, too late. "He coded?" she asks. Susan shrugs. We fade to black.
It's night in the Bay of Rigs. Luka and Carter are pacing. "Do you think they closed the paramedic runs?" Luka asks. "Can't tell," Carter says. "Think they've replaced us all?" Luka asks. "Can't tell," Carter answers. "Think it's going to rain?" Luka grins. Carter snickers, too, and they share a moment. Oh boy, HoYay! fans -- this triangle's got three legs. Suddenly, they notice Weaver approaching; she calmly asks Carter to take a walk with her. He smells victory. It smells like cheesecake. What? It does.
"The metal detectors will be here tonight or tomorrow morning, and we've accelerated negotiations with the new security firm," Weaver shares quietly. "What about triage?" Carter presses. "Construction starts as soon as we can approve the bids," she replies. Carter thanks her delightedly, but Weaver won't let him enjoy it; she insists that he get his scrawny behind back in there to start clearing the boards, because there are sick people who don't give a Carter's ass about metal detectors. She also cautions him that it will be difficult to avoid a disciplinary hearing on the matter. He accepts this. "Nothing personal, Kerry," he promises. "We just need to protect our people." Oh, but there's yet another catch. "I had hoped to control some of the costs, but now that we're paying for immediacy, we have to offset that by either laying off three senior nurses and hiring new grads, or canceling x-ray and lab services after 10 PM," Weaver says quietly, and without any rude triumph, which is good. Carter tries to defer to her judgment, but she quite rightly places the decision firmly in The Instigator's lap. Carter smiles emptily, hit with the consequence of his brazen actions. He swallows it maturely, though, realizing that canceling services is impossible when you're a twenty-four-hour trauma center. "Nurses, then," he decides sadly. "Three," Weaver reiterates. "I want their names on my desk first thing in the morning." Carter pauses for a second, then heads back to the crowd, which breaks into applause for its leader. Carter has the gall to high-five people, even though he's about to cost three very good people their jobs. Enjoy it while you can, Carter Marx, because if you fire Haleh you'll feel the white-hot rage of my remote control whizzing for your face.