"I was trying to figure out what I should've already told you, but I never have," Mark begins earnestly. "Something important, something every father should impart to his daughter." And then he dies. Please? No? Oh. Well, fear not, everyone: he's hit upon the answer, and he's going to share it. "Generosity," slurs Mark, nodding proudly at his epiphany. "Beeeee...Generous. With...Your time...Your love...With your life." Somebody's been studying his Yoda. In about two seconds Mark is going to say, "There is. Another...Skywalker." Rachel drinks all this in, lets it penetrate her soul, marinates in her dying father's last gasp of wisdom, and coughs up the following profundity: "Okay." Mark closes his eyes and weakly apologizes to Rachel. "I'm so tired," he whimpers. "That's okay," she says quickly. "Don't...cry for me," Mark husks. Oh, that won't be a problem. No worries there. "Be...generous," Mark hisses again. "Be excellent to each other. And, party on, dudes." Rachel, pleased, skips off to pop some more Vicodin and wash it down with some fine Old English malt liquor from a fresh brown bag. But before she goes off to be very generous with her body to Kai, she offers Mark this last concession: "I remember the lullaby," she admits. "I remember you used to sing it to me every night." She carefully puts her headphones on his ears. "I remember," she promises him again. I'm assuming she didn't magically procure a copy of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," which means A Hero's Last Song is going to be something by Disturb or Limp Bizkit, which is appropriate given the lifelong limpness of Mark's biscuit.

We hear the lilting strains of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," sung by Hawaiian artist Israel Kamikawiwo'ole, who himself died in his late thirties. This song was used in an eToys jingle. Maybe this is foreshadowing the sale of a Mark Greene Oppressed Hero Action Figure, with abuse absorption, an attachable cloud of misery and a removable inflatable tumor. Time passes. We go from night to day, and Mark lies alone in his bed. He's probably in and out of consciousness, because we go into a montage of things floating through his mind. We see shots of Elizabeth playing outside with Ella, then a look at a County General corridor, clean and sparkling and totally empty. We see Trauma Yellow; amusingly, in Greene's trauma, he doesn't look fondly back at Trauma Green. Maybe his patients' survival rate was better in the yellow room because it made him feel sunnier. To remind us that this is A Hero's Last Daydream, we cut again to Mark lying limply on the bed, wind blowing gently through the open window. Then, he's strolling through County General, walking right up to the front desk and standing behind it. He's at the Giant Reception Desk in the Sky. Then Rachel and Kai play in the ocean as Elizabeth watches with a hollow smile. Mark sleeps. In his mind, he's standing at the end of an ER hallway, looking a bit lost, staring around the empty room as if committing it to memory. Then Mark imagines Rachel leaning against a tree, giggling with Kai and holding hands. Wow, she is a homely girl. Eek. Kai's way too cute for her. She stares straight at a healthy specter of Mark, who smiles back at her, warmed to have seen his daughter finally content and possibly in love. Mark's last vision of Rachel is that she's grinning and laughing, not that he'd actually know what that looks like. That's why this is clearly a fantasy. Back in reality, the camera pulls back from Mark's body on the bed so that all we can see is his arm and foot. I count this as the last time Anthony Edwards is on the clock. Enter his stunt limbs. Mark envisions Elizabeth tossing Ella into the air, then turning toward Mark with a wide and lovely smile the likes of which she hasn't delivered all year. It's so wide, her face might actually split in two from ill use. Stunt Foot. Stunt Arm.