Elizabeth corrals Nathan for a private chat. She's looking very pointy, so you know it can't be good. "When you first came to me, you requested that I treat you like any other med student on rotation," she begins. Nathan thanks her for making an effort to do so. "I know your disease presents you with numerous challenges, and the very fact that you're standing here is testament to your character," Elizabeth begins. Nathan watches silently as she takes a deep breath to propel the bad news out of her mouth. "I would fail any other student for a similar performance," she avers. Nathan protests that he realizes he has to make adjustments because of his disease. "No, political correctness aside, you are handicapped and I'd be doing a disservice to your future patients," she insists. Nathan bristles and asks what his appeal process might be. "A promise," Elizabeth growls. "I will pass you if you do not practice clinical medicine. You can do radiology, psychology, but you must give me your word you will never treat patients." Nathan digests this in shock. "No," he says, hurt. "I can't do that." Elizabeth stares him down. She owns a mighty glare, that one. "Then you will fail, Mr. Nathan," she shrugs, leaving. I sort of do agree that his disease is one that should prevent him from studying surgery, but it seems like there should be dispensations for that and ways that he can still treat patients without having to cut them open. On the other hand, wow, Spittle was lying there cut open and Nathan was all, "This will pass in an hour." The man doesn't have an hour to lie there with his whipple hanging out waiting for your meds to kick in.
Nathan's troubles kick off a music sequence in which we see Susan, alone in her apartment, sitting down to dinner and a glass of wine. She pauses and lets her face fall into her hands, rubbing her eyes briefly before sighing, sitting up, and beginning dinner.
Luka sits in a blue-tinged, seedy bar, nursing what looks like a whiskey on the rocks. A pretty blonde Janel Moloney stunt double sidles up to him and perches attractively on the stool to his left. "You look like you've had one of those days," she says. "What do you do?" Luka opens his mouth, then bites back his answer and laughs. "I'm a jockey," he grins. Ooh, yeah. Ride 'em, Luka baby. "Ah, he has a sense of humor," Janel smiles. Luka shoots one back at her and then stares straight ahead, silent. "Pretty dead in here tonight," she observes. "That's the way I like it," Luka says quietly. "I don't buy that. You look like a guy who knows how to have fun," she purrs gently. As they make giggly eye contact, Luka's mobile phone rings. He answers; it's me, calling to beg for sex and a second chance. He should probably give it to her so that he and I can continue our illicitly hot rendezvous, but damn it, my husband tweaked Luka's conscience when he visited him earlier. Luka hangs up on me curtly, telling me not to call again. But I don't know when to give up, so I call again immediately. I am a slut. Luka hangs up without even speaking to me. Great. Now I'm stuck with my sad-eyed shlub of a husband.