Carter greets an ambulance that's unloading a twenty-two-year-old man with a gunshot wound -- and it's Biz, who's followed out of the rig by Pratt. He claims he found Biz. "Where?" Carter asks. "What difference does it make? I'm being a Good Samaritan," Pratt snaps. "Got a problem with that?"
Inside, Carter asks if Biz is a friend of Pratt's. "No," Pratt insists They load him into Trauma Green while yelling for blood and a thoraseal and all that good life-saving stuff. A police offer positions himself inside the trauma room. "What's with the boys in blue?" Pratt asks nervously. "A cop got shot. Might be this guy right here," Carter explains. Pratt peers into Trauma Yellow -- where Officer Sutter lies -- and pales. We fade to black not really caring, because we're more concerned with whether the NBC vomit comet will get trotted out to further befoul Susan with the dubious Triple Crown of Fluid Stains honor.
In Trauma Yellow, Dr. Elizabeth Corday barks through the phone that she needs a vascular surgeon as soon as possible. She's told it'll take longer than she expects, which pisses her off and causes her to scream for someone to hang up the bloody phone. Okay, well, welcome back from that hiatus, Lizzie. One of the cops -- let's call the cops Tweedledee and Tweedledum -- shouts at Sutter, "Did you get a look at the shooter?" Sutter moans that there were three perps, but that he didn't see which one pulled the trigger. "What about the guy next door?" Tweedledee asks. Through the swinging doors, he shouts for Pratt to move for a second so that Sutter can get a clear look at Biz. Pratt quite rightly tells him to buzz off, because there's doctoring happening here, but Tweedledee is in a self-righteous snit about his cop friend's life-threatening leg wound. "[Biz is] not going anywhere," Luka booms to end the discussion. The cop's all freaked that Biz's two partners in crime will get away with...well, not murder, but a definite malicious assault on a lawful leg. Just then, Weaver finds metal fragments floating around, meaning that the clock is ticking and Sutter needs surgery, stat.
So Lizzie wanders into Trauma Green and tells Pratt that Sutter needs the operating room pretty badly, and that they only have one free spot and one anesthesiologist. Carter counters with his patient's hemorrhaging -- he's leaking 500 ccs and counting -- but Pratt pipes up that the rule of thumb is, it's not urgent until he's oozing at least twice that much. "This guy's at 900 [now] but he's slowing down," Pratt insists. Officer Random Tertiary Cop, hovering over the bed, barks, "You're not thinking of taking up this lowlife first, are you?" Carter reminds him that it's not about who you are, but how badly you're hurt; this doesn't go over well with Officer Fuck With One Cop And You Fuck With Them All. My notes here actually say, "Ooookay, officer." Elizabeth says it'll be another thirty minutes before another OR frees up for Biz, and as she and Carter haggle, Pratt declares that the bleeding has stopped due to clotting. "I'll tell her to send up the cop," says Lizzie. Carter glares at Pratt and orders him to keep an eye on the bleeding, because if that sucker pumps out 1000 more ccs in two hours, he's going upstairs -- and not to Heaven, but to OR Hell. Pratt watches them wheel away Sutter, and frowns. "When's [Biz] going to be able to answer some questions?" Tweedledee asks angrily. "I'll let you know," pouts Pratt. Then he rips off his goggles, because that's what actors do with their props.