At the hospital, Gallant tells Abby that he's thinking about pursuing emergency medicine, because he's mistakenly gotten the impression that she cares about anything that doesn't involve hating herself or her life. "Here?" she gapes. "Better than Iraq," grunts Frank, accusing Gallant of being afraid to fight -- he can delay his service commitment until after his residency. "Any time, any place, old man," Gallant retorts. Susan appears and complains about her St. Patrick's Day revelers. A clean-cut brown-haired man asks her where Weaver is, and Susan crabbily refers him to Frank. "Why as me? Do I look like the customer-service lady?" she whines. Maybe it's the hair. It's down, and while it looks pretty and shiny, it seems a tad impractical to risk shedding all over some poor patient's innards. "He's cute," Abby says, nodding at the young man. "He's a zygote," Susan crabs. Beggars can't be choosers, diva.
As they walk away, Susan bitches about swearing off blind dates, then announces that she and Chen and a horde of other County staffers are going to Vegas that night. She's excited. As well she should be. Maybe she should invite Carter so that he can give Gamma's ring to a scantily clad showgirl with a heart of gold, a chest of silicone and a hard-on for awkward, boyish sex. As Abby bustles around working and checking charts, Susan comically tries to sneak a good look at her left hand, going to far as to move the chart Abby's holding. "Did you need that?" Abby asks blankly. "Uh, no," Susan chokes. She asks oh-so-casually how Abby's doing with Carter. "Good, I guess," Abby sighs. "He's been acting a little weird [but] I think we're getting back to normal." Chuny calls Susan away before she can get more information.
We follow Abby, who approaches a trauma arriving for Luka. He yells for her to clear CT for the girl, who has what Luka calls a "sub-conj hemorrhage," which, in layman's terms, means she's running around uncontrollably conjugating verbs so that they match their subjects. Ah, grammar. The quiet killer. Elizabeth meets them outside the trauma room. The paramedic explains that the girl lost consciousness at Union Station and has no ID, so she might be a street kid. "Not with those boots," notes Abby. "Expensive jacket, too," Elizabeth seconds. "Maybe she shoplifts," Malik suggests helpfully. The girl has bruises on her face and a particularly nasty red patch underneath her left eye. They wheel her into Trauma Green just as a dorky little guy in a sweater tries to hail Luka. It's Dr. Meyers, his would-be therapist. "I'm sorry, I forgot," Luka says blankly. "Three times? Three missed appointments?" Meyers whines. "I have a bad memory," Luka shrugs. Meyers complains that he looks like an idiot when Luka skips mandatory therapy, and he really, really doesn't want to look any stupider than he already does in his math-geek outfit that his mommy picked out this morning. "I want to help you," Meyers adds. "Prepare for disappointment," Luka scoffs. Meyers orders him to show up during his extended evening office hours. Luka doesn't see the point. "You don't have to see the point. Just show up," Meyers huffs. Luka stares emptily after him. All ambient noise disappears so that we get a shot of pure, unadulterated Croatian honey. "Just show up. That's all I've been doing. Showing up," he voices-over. The picture is of him drifting into Trauma Green; we can't hear anything, but the captioners reveal that the dialogue was of Elizabeth discovering a gold card on the girl's person and guessing that it's stolen. "Time goes by faster at work," Disembodied Luka says. "Treat and street a few lost souls...You're with them when they're most vulnerable, when they're naked, weak, hurt." He wanders into Trauma Yellow, where Carter's patient is retasting the seventeen Jell-O shots she guzzled earlier. "You touch them, look at their bodies, see them more closely than their families, their lovers, but it's mechanical and temporary," Luka voices-over. Good lord, I hope so, or else you're headed for some fun malpractice suits, Luka.