Mrs. Fawkes leaps out of her seat as Mark approaches. Surgery is a must, he reveals, so she's desperate to see Guy just once before the intubation removes his ability to speak. "He'd prefer if you didn't [come in]," Mark explains. But Mrs. Fawkes is defiant, swearing she's seen worse than body burns in her days as a Mercy nurse. Her wifely determination sways Mark, and he agrees to escort her to Guy's bedside if she promises to leave the children behind. She acquiesces.

Mark leads Mrs. Fawkes into Trauma Green, where she gasps lightly at the sight of her husband's sticky latex makeup. He looks like a hot dog that's been left in the 7-11 warming machine for three months. "I said no," Guy growls at Mark. "And I said yes," Mrs. Fawkes says firmly. Guy looked touched and slightly turned on by his wife's stubbornness. He foams at the mouth from talking too much, and Haleh cedes the sucker to Nurse Fawkes so she can stay there for a few more minutes. "I'm sorry," murmurs Guy. His wife is sympathetic, until she gets a glimpse of his labs -- by which I mean, grabs them and reads them. "He tested positive for amphetamines?" she huffs. Guy feebly tries to employ the "it was an accident" excuse, but she owns the 2002 print edition of The Big Book of Bad Excuses and that one's so lame, it got excised during editing. Self-righteously, Mrs. Fawkes lays into him for lying, mocking his promise to stay clean. "Was it good?" she fumes. "Did you get nice and stoned?" Guy sputters that he just wanted to finish the dresser for their son. "No," she yells. "You just wanted to get high!" I'm so glad we got to face this important social issue, because I've been meaning to discuss it with you. Doing drugs isn't good, people. It will burn you on the outside, and you'll end up divorced with singed hair. So please, just say no -- don't say, "No -- unless, of course, I have to build a dresser." Thanks.