Benton bursts into the lounge and finds Fast-Fingered Frenchie standing over her purse. Frightened by the glare of the headlights, the deer sinks swiftly into her seat and glares at Benton. "You need something?" she says rudely, reeking of Eau de Anvil. "No," Benton replies, staring pointedly at her. Finally, Neecole gets the hint, gathers up her newspaper, coffee, and purse, and flees. The second she does, Benton tears into the letter and devours its contents hungrily, his face slowly falling until he crumples the rogue paper in fury.
Dr. Mark "I'm Not Bald; It's Waterproof Hair" Greene bickers with a patient about whether he asked about any history of heart disease. It's one of those "nuh-uh/ya-huh" arguments, executed with a signature bitchiness that confirms that Elizabeth's condition can be sexually transmitted. Dr. Susan "Even the Rain is Burberry" Lewis approaches with a procedural question for Mark, but gets waved aside so that the sparring can continue. "How many heart attacks have you had?" Mark badgers the man. "Just one," the guy says. Mark lays into him for going to work and directing traffic instead of finding a doctor immediately. "Now it's too late," he fumes. "What, I'm gonna die?" the nervous man asks. "No, I just mean any damage you did to your heart is already done," Mark snips. Susan watches, stunned, as Crabby McBitchpants basically has his patient on the verge of terror. Mark tells his man to stay overnight for observation, then shepherds Susan away from the riff-raff.
As they walk, Susan gapes, "What kind of bedside manner is that?" Mark sighs, irritated that he has to elucidate the many ways in which he's better than the majority of his fellow man. And if this were some kind of bizarro Chicago, or Opposite Day -- that most fearsome of holidays -- then Mark's attitude would be absolutely appropriate. "The idiot has had an MI after stenting, and he stands in the rain for eight hours," Mark informs her. "I don't think yelling's going to help," Susan suggests. "It MIGHT," insists Mark. Yeah, okay, as much as I dislike Mark, I'd totally be the same way if I were a doctor -- but in the same vein, that's precisely why I'm not a doctor. Well, that and my total fear of blood, guts, mutilation, eyeball injuries and all fluids that aren't meant to see natural light. But the impatience thing is right up there, too. Susan aptly notes that Mark should consider leaving the ER, since he spent a bucketload of money getting his cranky pants tailored and dry-cleaned. "That advice is only nine years too late," Mark brats. Yes. Yes, it is. Susan remains concerned -- but amusedly so -- that Mark's acting like such a prick. "I had an epiphany," he says dryly. Abby interrupts, as is her wont, to notify everyone that the MedEvac is flying their way with an almost-drowned child aboard. "He must be sick if they're flying him in this rain," she decides, handing Mark a slicker to match her own.