Downstairs, things have settled down a bit. Mark comes out to the desk in his coat, handing off a chart and telling Carter there's a girl waiting for a leg-burn debridement. Carter says that the burn unit's full, and asks if the patient needs to be admitted. Mark replies, "No, give him thermazine to use at home." "Boy or girl?" Carter asks. "What?" Mark asks. Um. Second base. Can someone write that down? "You just said 'him,'" Carter explains. "Carter, I'm really tired," whines Mark, and leaves. Carter glances up to eavesdrop on a heated debate between Weaver and Benton; she's telling him, "It's none of your business," and he replies, "It is when it affects patient care." Weaver says that Carter did what he was supposed to do. Benton says that the patient's sats were dropping, and that Carter's leaving to get Dr. Dave was an unnecessary delay. Weaver finally loses it and snaps, "Peter, you are a surgical consultant! You do not dictate ER policy!" Benton sniffs, "This is not policy, Kerry; this is punishment." Weaver continues checking patients sitting in the hall as she tells Benton, "We are not going to have this conversation." Benton waits for a second and then asks, "What do you have against him?" "What?" Weaver blurts. For the last time, SECOND! BASE! Benton says, "Yeah, he made a mistake -- he got through it." Weaver angrily says, "Peter, for the last time, the terms of Carter's diversion program are not your concern!" Benton persists, "You know what, Kerry? It's time to let up. He's been clean now for what? Eight months." "Has he?" she squints. Benton, for real -- shut up. Because you don't want to end up with that cane up your ass, and after the day my girl's had, you're gonna.

In the OR, the Marimba of Incompetence pulses on the soundtrack as Elizabeth continues murdering her patient. There's just all kinds of blood everywhere and she's clearly losing it, as her strangled and breathless voice indicates. She begs for Romano, and the nurse said she paged him three times. Elizabeth asks whether the nurse checked his office, and she says she also checked the lounge and called his cell phone. In desperation, Elizabeth tells the nurse to page the resident on call. "The resident?" the nurse repeats incredulously. "Yes! Just get him!" Dr. Babcock says that the patient's blood pressure is dropping. Elizabeth -- in an impatiently patient tone -- tells him to hang two more units. "This is all I've got," Dr. Babcock reminds her, and in the same tone of voice she says, "So call the blood bank!" He reminds her, "They're out of A-positive -- I told you!" "Then get O-negative!" she screams, and hurls a bloody swab at the glass door. Cut to a window to what may be the scrub room, where Romano's been hovering like Yoda at the end of Jedi, watching the whole procedure. Elizabeth shrieks, "For God's sake, just keep transfusing him! Don't you understand I need more time?!" Dr. Babcock hisses, "You've got to cross-clamp him now." The nurse asks whether Elizabeth wants the Zanger or the Crawford. It sounds like they've brought in some extra machines just to beep and rattle her. A few moments pass as Elizabeth breathes heavily and considers. Romano, behind the glass, doesn't take his eyes off her. Elizabeth finally says, "The Crawford. Crawford. We'll establish proximal control." Long story short, she regains control and stabilizes the patient, seemingly remembering all at once how to be a surgeon. She calls out a bunch of orders and then says, "I'm okay. I'm okay." Maybe so, but if I were a nurse, or Dr. Babcock, I'd make sure I was never alone in an OR with Whiny von Screamington again.