Dr. Jing-Mei "Deb" Chen wheels in a charming man sporting a confederate-flag bandanna and three gunshot wounds. Sadly, the bullets haven't plugged his mouth. "Right, mama-san, I'm bulletproof," Dixie whistles rudely. Chen twitches and says nothing. Dix wants a nurse to sit on his face. Oh, Dix, I'm sorry. With this hospital's record for quality patient care, you're never going to get any bonus cha-cha. Sorry. "Up for a lap dance, Malik?" Chen smirks. "Stay away from me, you chocolate homo," Dix snarls. "How'd you know my stage name?" Malik says glibly. Chen yells for Abby's help.

"I'll be right there," Abby says to Chen, turning back to Eric first. Apparently, Jody works at the base's bookstore. "She's smart, funny...when she's not throwing up," Eric notes. Sweet that he pretends that funny shrimp isn't the only amusing thing to burst forth from Jody's lips, but I think we all know he's full of it. Abby draws out that Jody's almost twenty-one. "She's trying to be a writer and hasn't been discovered yet and she's good," Eric babbles with the air of a man who's never read a word from his girlfriend's pen because he's really only worried about how she handles his. "And you can afford a plane?" Abby asks. Eric reminds her that he's renting it. He's trying way too hard to be blasé. Abby worries that he doesn't have enough dosh to afford all this; Eric changes the subject and asks if this is a bad time. Abby insists it isn't, but dashes off into Trauma Yellow...