Luka heads into Trauma Yellow to check on Nick, who's been blinded by the tragic bullet to his toe. En route, he bumps into Chuny, who's also headed there; he apologizes under his breath for the collision. "My [toes] hurt," Nick says. "Can you see?" Luka asks. Are you insane? The poor boy's face is blackened from the toe bullet, which is still lodged within the toe. Of course he can't see anything. "No," Nick says, as perturbed as I am. Chuny passes to exit. "Chuny?" Luka calls out. "I'm sorry. About everything." Chuny smiles. "Me, too," she admits. And, ladies and gentlemen, we've just witnessed the death of a storyline. What was the point of suspending Luka for nary an episode? Why the hell bother? Sure, we get it, he's descending into the pit of despair, or the bog of eternal stench, or the fire swamp, or whatever. Fine. But what's the point of involving other characters if you're going to do it in such a back-handed, forgotten way? And which three nurses got fired? I'm watching you, TPTB. I trust you about as far as Ed Rooney could throw Ferris, what with his bad knee and all. Not to mention his recent child-porn woes. But, let's forget that for now and go to a happier place where people don't put illegal shit on tape.
Nick asks point-blank if he's blind. "You shot a pellet inside your [toe] and we're bringing in a specialist to repair it," Luka says. "You're lucky you didn't blow your head off." Nick pouts that his father would prefer it if he was dead. Luka avers that he's a heroic life-saving victim of toe gunfire.
Abby tries to get Carter's attention, but an incoming trauma delays the conversation. Haleh carries in a sweet little Asian moppet; the paramedics follow with a young girl they identify as the baby's mother. They were outside playing when she collapsed, but there's no signs of trauma. Carter yells at her, but gets no answer. They cart her away...
...past Luka, who is growling into the telephone. It seems the eye doctor -- who also, um, doubles as a podiatrist -- isn't answering his page. Luka is desperate for initial orders as to this kid's treatment. Pause. "He's where?" Luka gapes. "Playing golf," the voice on the other end says. This piques his irritation. Nick's toe can wait for no sand wedge.
The young Asian girl isn't responding to Abby or Carter; Erin reports that the tot is in fine health. Carter smells alcohol on the girl's breath. Erin and Gallant swap medical banter like sweet nothings. It's "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better," but with more syllables and less sense. Abby's mobile phone rings in the middle of the trauma, and because she's a pretty responsible nurse, she ducks away and takes the call. Carter tries not to judge. "Eric," she says. "I need to see you, talk to you." Erin and Gallant argue about whether charcoal is an appropriate measure of testing for toxins; Gallant wins that one because the charcoal test can approximate when she took pills, if indeed she took any. I like when Gallant wins. I'd like it better if he had won in some kind of hair match, wherein Erin got her head shaved for her folly, but I can't win 'em all. Carter yelps a few instructions at Abby, who bobbles her phone, drops it, and glares at the floor, that foul bearer of linoleum. Gallant wins another one when Erin suggests the wrong drug. "Did you lose him?" Carter asks quietly. "I lost him," Abby says darkly. Foreshadowing rings the doorbell, and when I answer, he tries to tongue-kiss me. I feel violated.