While Carter revels in the cold-pack treatment, Abby stares off into space. "Worst of this is over, right?" she frets. Carter raises his head and they stare at each other. Abby keeps her hands on the ice pack. "Tell me we're going to be okay," she whispers, looking less scared than flirtatious. She seriously doesn't seem bothered by any of this. Carter searches her face, then leans forward and kisses her plainly. No fireworks explode. No earth quakes. No pulses race. Some paint does peel off my wall, but that's about it. Nothing moves for a few full seconds -- not Abby, not Carter, and certainly not their lips. When Carter pulls away, Abby tilts forward slightly, as if chasing his mouth before regaining her senses. Carter slowly stands up, and Abby leaves her hands around his neck. Suddenly, Abby seems very, very small. Carter's dwarfing her with his manhood. He's filling the Mark void by sending us down the path of another chemistry-free pairing. Except this one had some promise, right up until Noah Wyle was required to use his tongue and feebly declined AGAIN. "We're going to be okay," Carter repeats twice before leaning in for more. Maura Tierney looks suddenly very frightened, as if knows a terrible secret about Noah Wyle's oral hygiene. They kiss again, this one blocked as if it has more intensity, but in actuality it's as lackluster as the first. I swear to God, Carter, PUT YOUR FUCKING TONGUE IN HER MOUTH. You won't regret it. It's not just for licking stamps any more. And don't try to pretend that you're worried about giving her smallpox, because baby, that's not your problem here. Still, Abby leans in against him and slides her hand down his arm, "melting" into the "kiss" as if she's enjoying it. Which she might be, if she wasn't kissing a piece of wood wearing Carter's clothing.
We fade to a four-month-long blackness as we wonder why all relationships on this show have the chemistry of bacon and shoe leather.
Thanks for a fun season, everyone. See you in September.