Carter and Pratt hover over Al's bedside. "All I got out of him was that they put him on dialysis for three days upstairs once, and he hated it," Pratt says. "Then he passed out." Carter squints. "As in vagaled?" he asks. "As in 'old,'" Pratt snorts. He goes on about the sheer size of the man's chart, underscoring that he's a regular patient, and asks Carter to cough up the cash because Al's glucose is way over four hundred. Al is also altered enough to have called Pratt "son," and might be uremic. "Your basic 'mimp,'" Pratt concludes. Carter looks at him like he's insane. "MMP -- multiple medical problems," Pratt clarifies, as if again, Carter is old and stupid. "You just make this stuff up!" Carter groans. He orders up a bunch of tests, then changes his mind; Pratt ribs him about this cruelly. Suddenly, Carter's all indecisive, as if the very promise of a living, breathing Mark gave him a poise and certainty that has been cruelly yanked from him. I hate, hate, hate that. Don't rob Carter of his skills just because some owlish walking phallus kicked the Hawaiian bucket.
Frank hands Pratt his match letter. "Where was it?" he asks. "Filed under 'N' for 'ne'er-do-well,'" Frank snots. Thank God somebody recognizes that Pratt's a prat. Carter curiously wonders what Pratt's top choice was. "I ain't saying," Pratt says gruffly. Gallant, ready to leave, asks Carter if they'll see him that night at Lava Lounge with Luka, Haleh, Susan, and Abby. Naturally, when Carter hears the last name, his ears and his brain -- you know which brain I mean -- both perk up. "Yeah, maybe, I dunno," Carter bluffs, even though we all know he's going to show up and try to save Abby's drunk soul before having his earnest way with her. Carter notices that Pratt is mightily pissed. He got his last choice in the match. "Where is it?" Carter asks. "Here," Pratt gapes, dumbfounded, unable to believe his terrible luck. We, too, are unable to believe ours. Carter looks up, amused. "Good for us," he sighs. "I'd better be getting my damn locker," Pratt grumbles, stomping off in a right tizzy. Oh, grow up, dildo.