Weaver wants to know who made the decision to use Demerol. "I did," says Neela. Gallant immediately pipes up that Neela is trying to protect him. There's some bickering that Kerry silences with a piercing "Do you need a few minutes to get your stories straight?" Everyone stares at the floor. Gallant, Neela, and Carter all have their hands shoved into their pockets, and Abby's arms are crossed. They're a postcard from Guilt City in Guiltissippi, and the card reads, "We're really, really sorry you got stuck here with engine trouble." Weaver, I think, realizes that something is very wrong, and her tone turns gentler when she asks what is on the chart. Gallant says it confirms what he has already said. "And is that accurate?" Weaver asks. No one answers. "Like I said, I wasn't in the room," Carter hedges. "IS IT ACCURATE?" Weaver demands, edgier. "As far as I know, yeah," Carter shrugs. Gallant and Neela look like they want to vomit, but can't, because the budget didn't cover even one comet this week, much less two. Weaver lectures them: "A young man comes in here and dies of a lethal drug reaction that could've been prevented with one phone call." Sound familiar, Kerry? But, betraying nothing, she upholds her commitment to her beloved Hypocritic Oath. "Next time, why don't we just sent a blank check to the family's attorney?" Weaver tsks. She doesn't even care about the tragic loss of human life due to human error -- she's just worried about what it will cost the hospital. What a caricature. Kerry's moral ambiguity used to be fascinating, and now it's just empty. Rather than a balancing act, it's a see-saw -- one week she's likable, another she's shrill. All nuance is lost, and I'm sad to say that in this scene it feels a little bit like Laura Innes dropped the ball. She could've infused that one line, especially, with a little bit more.
Alex bolts into the ER shouting for his mother. "Son of Sam is back," Jerry mutters. As much as I'd like to think this is a shout-out to the forums, I don't think ER is a shout-out kind of show. And if it were, it'd do something less low-key, like have the vomit comet unload all over a computer Jerry was using to read a TV-themed website. Sam is surprised to see Alex. "Luka picked me up," he shouts. "It's amazing! We can get there by 11 if we hurry!" Dumbfounded, Sam lets herself be led outside, where she sees that Luka has parked a giant RV that's towing a small motorboat. She gapes. "Isn't it awesome? It's bigger than our whole apartment!" Alex cheers, bounding aboard. Luka grins to Sam that he's planned a weekend of camping, fishing, and burning s'mores. "Do you even know what that is?" she giggles. No, Sam. He's stupid. He lives in a hole, and he's stupid. "White thing on a stick," Luka jokes. Sam is amazed that he rented them a spot at Lake Geneva, and leans in for a tender kiss while making a baseball reference -- the kind that would indicate that Luka's odds tonight of rounding the bases are excellent. Alex honks the horn, so they stop kissing, and Sam leaps up the RV steps while wondering aloud how Luka's going to back it out of there. Luka whips his head around and realizes that he might be a bit screwed. I'm sure the ambulance drivers and their dying patients, who can't get to the hospital now, will be okay with their emergency parking space being used for a romantic gesture: "I crashed in the rig because it was parked three blocks away, but at least Luka's not sleeping with hookers again." That's how life works.