Mark is wheeled into the operating room, which is freaking huge and filled with about twenty medical personnel. Mark gets on the operating table. The anaesthesiologist introduces himself as Dr. Hammond, and tells Mark he'll be looking at and speaking with Mark throughout the surgery. On the other side of the room, some guy (he's masked, so I can't see if it's Dr. Burke) revs the bone saw a couple of times. Mark flinches and looks all squirrelly. A nurse removes his glasses. Mark calls for Dr. Burke and reminds him that Dr. Burke had said he'd give Mark "a little something to take the edge off." No one responds. Mark is isolated. He's all alone. Just him and his tumour against the world. And now they mean to remove it! No! No, he wants to cry! Not without my tumour!

In a trauma room, CuteDean slumbers cutely. Dan, in a wheelchair at CuteDean's bedside, asks, "So, it's a coma?" Weaver soothingly explains, "It's not what you think of as a coma. He's having what we call purposeful movements, and the CAT-scan shows there's no sign of hemorrhage or skull fractures." Both gaze down at CuteDean -- as who would not? He's cute! -- and Weaver tells Dan that although CuteDean is unconscious, she'd still do him. Wait, I'm sorry. That's what I said. Weaver says that if Dan wanted to talk to him, CuteDean would hear. She crutches toward the door, and Dan resumes his therapeutic nagging -- this time, cooing at CuteDean to wake up. After a few attempts, Dan tells Weaver that he used to have to do the same thing to wake CuteDean up for school, and that sometimes he'd fake sleep, until Dan tickled him. Weaver smiles. I am resisting making a comment about my willingness to tickle CuteDean -- or even to "tickle" him. Hey, how'd that happen? CuteDean sleeps. Dan tells him to be strong, and kisses his hand. Aw.