Let it go! Elizabeth snaps him out of it by asking for his forms, and he asks her to sign one. She looks it over and exposits that it gives her power of attorney. "If something goes wrong..." he trails off. "'If something goes wrong,' what?" she asks, apparently not having heard The Tale of the Tragic Lesbians, and apparently not having ever watched while a medical procedure went awry during, you know, her career. Mark clarifies that, duh, if something goes wrong, he doesn't want there to be any heroic measures to revive him. (Word. Hey, is there a paper I can sign requesting that no run-of-the-mill, not-especially-heroic measures be used to sustain him, either? Like, a blood transfusion? Or, giving him water to drink? Or, any security measures at the hospital that would prevent, say, a grizzly bear from breaking into Mark's hospital room and eating him? Wait, that's not likely to happen -- it's just a dream I had.) Elizabeth -- and we can barely hear her because she's muffled by The Big, Down-Filled Sleeping Bag of Denial -- insists that he's going to be fine. Mark starts to point out that she's a surgeon, and she knows -- "-- that you're going to be fine," she concludes, handing him back the form without signing it. So...if something bad did happen, who would decide how to dispose of Mark? And I mean that literally. I understand the Hudson River works well in these situations. But seriously, both his parents are dead. He's divorced. His kid is a minor. Who else is there but Cleopatra, Queen of Denial? Elizabeth resolutely reads her magazine as Mark asks, "You don't want the responsibility?" "It's unnecessary," she sniffs. Okay, I know she's trying to be brave and optimistic and doesn't want to tempt fate, but she knows that it is necessary, so what the bloody hell?! Mark very seriously glances toward some poor bastard we can't see and says, "I don't want to end up like that." Elizabeth follows his gaze, pauses a moment, and then huffs, "Now you're being dramatic." No, he is being practical, and DAMN YOU for making me TAKE MARK'S SIDE! Mark and his Dr. Scholl's corn pads hiss, "If I end up in a persistent vegetative state..." "Fine," she snips, and signs the form. Geez, is he supposed to thank you? You're going to be his wife -- which is your funeral, anyway -- so suck it up and get ready to pull the plug, because if you don't want the job, I am next in line!