As if he smelled the winds of change blowing, Carter swaggers past with two med students in tow. He's clearly enjoying this authority. Susan smirks at it. "Welcome," Mark says, walking away. "Don't kill anyone!" Yeah, follow your own advice, too, Mark. He introduces Susan as the possessor of a wealth of knowledge, but as someone who isn't oriented yet because it's her first day back after a five-year sabbatical. "Post-traumatic stress," she explains. Carter dispatches the students to the waiting area, where they'll be filling out paperwork, and snags himself a few seconds alone with Susan. He offers her a tour, but she declines good-naturedly, fairly sure she'll muddle through successfully. She teases Carter about babysitting the neophytes -- that managing students is the burden of a Chief Resident. It's cute, because she's genuinely tickled for him. Spotting Abby, Susan derails. "Nurse, nurse!" she calls. Abby turns, startled. "Are you talking to me?" she asks, dumbfounded. Frankly, it was rather rude of Susan. A simple "excuse me" might have sufficed, or she could've asked Carter to supply Abby's name before she called out to her. Abby is carrying a tall load of supplies to be stored, resting her chin on the top of the stack. Susan does apologize for not already knowing Abby's name, but the damage has been done and Abby's prickles are erect. I should delete that last bit, I suppose, on account of its inappropriate imagery, but oh well. Screw it. Carter introduces them hurriedly. "Susan used to work here," he says. "That's the rumor," Abby retorts dryly. Susan asks Abby to set her up for suturing in exam room three. "Set you up?" Abby blinks. "Open a kit, some 4-0 nylon, #7 gloves, betadine," Susan lists, as though Abby should bloody well know this already. Abby turns away. "It's all in the room," she says, leaving. Again, Carter probably could have explained how things have changed at the hospital, but instead he lets the situation end awkwardly.
Abby is about to attend to a man with chest pains, so Carter calls med student Mooney over to help; simultaneously, Doris calls out to Susan, who dashes to the incoming gurney. "Love your hair!" lies Doris, who recognizes Susan from The Good Old Days. They're all smiles. "My brother could be dying here!" protests a man following them, dismayed that such idle chatter has supplanted medical jargon. Personally, I prefer it. The other day I used "thrombolytics" in a sentence and had to force myself to shut up for an hour just as punishment.