News arrives of Joey -- he's in the MedEvac, he's PEA, and he should arrive in fifteen minutes. Mark, though, is distracted, grabbing Luka and confiding that Gallant is headed their way with a baby Weaver delivered in the back of an ambulance. Luka is totally startled that Weaver disobeyed the rules and performed a C-section in the field, considering she's a stickler for protocol and has probably fired people for less. And demoted them. Hello, Chen! Mark agrees that she'll have some explaining to do, and as they walk to the camera and out of the shot, Luka's eyes bug out in a totally hilarious, perplexed expression.
Neecole cheerfully asks Abby whether she wants anything -- cigarettes, perhaps. Her lips twitching, Abby declines. An irritating beeping noise permeates the air, which perks up Frank's ears. "What time is it?" he asks suspiciously. When he learns that it's 7 PM, he grabs at Neecole's purse and tries to tear it off her arm. "My Palm Pilot goes off at 7 to remind me to take my Vioxx!" he snarls. Ha! Rock on, Frank, you fabulous codger. Neecole tries to protect her purse, but just as Luka approaches to intercede, the bag drops, splits open and dumps its contents all over the linoleum. The beeping abruptly stops. Upset, Frank grabs his broken Palm Pilot from the messy pile and stares glumly at it. "That's not yours," Luka insists, desperate. "The hell it isn't!" Frank spits. "I'm calling the police." Luka searches Neecole's face, silently begging her to defend herself and prove Frank wrong, but she just lets her lip quiver, looks incredibly guilty, and bolts from the hospital. "It's not just me, pal," Frank continues. "She's ripping off everybody. Ask Abby." Luka briefly swaps glances with his ex, then dashes out after his current project. But as he exits, Gallant glides in with the baby, which forces Luka to continue working his shift. "Weaver says he might need a transfusion," pants Gallant, holding Rex like he's a Ming vase, or a very expensive Warner Bros. prop.
Vicki has been placed on a gurney and wheeled to safety. Lopez helps Weaver out of the Rig of Peril, the latter continually barking out instructions as to how the paramedics should treat Vicki. As she hunches over Vicki, Weaver notices the nasty gash on Lopez's hand and spots an exposed flexor tendon. "You'll need a hand surgeon," she cautions. Lopez won't budge, because all of a sudden, she's ready to "control the scene" of the accident. "Get somebody else," Weaver orders her. I think they're supposed to be identical workaholics, which would be sweet if Lopez had done her job especially well. Weaver successfully intubates, someone bags Vicki, and everyone piles into a fresh, fully working ambulance -- everyone, that is, but the stubborn Lopez. After some yes-no-yes-no banter between her and Weaver, Lopez slams the ambulance door and watches the rig leave. Weaver, for her part, stares through the rain-splotched glass at Lopez's shrinking figure, then leans back against the wall with a sigh, invigorated and fatigued at once. And having some pretty racy firefighter/damsel-in-distress fantasies to boot.