At this point, things in the trauma room have become something of a clusterfuck. The usual chaos is heightened by the fact that nothing's quite working on Mac, Susan seems stressed, Romano is being an ass, Elizabeth is busy shooting daggers at her old boss, and Luka is humming things in Croatian at Gordana. Romano yells at them to pull it together and demands an end to what he terms "the Transylvanian play-by-play." He then points out that Mac isn't breathing well; one lung's useless and the other's not much better. They determine that his right lung is collapsed. In a manner that confuses me a little, Luka basically implies that this all boils down to a mistake Chuck made -- either that he didn't detect the already-collapsed lung, or that he incorrectly chose to intubate and made a bad situation worse, or somehow didn't quite intubate the way he should've. "We don't know that," Susan snaps. "They should've heard it in the helicopter," Luka growls. Susan insists that it's hard to hear things up there. Luka blinks. "Knife," Susan shouts. Abby sort of puts it in Susan's outstretched hand and sort of doesn't. Susan drops it and blames Abby, telling her to pay better attention, while Abby insists more quietly that Susan bungled it herself. "It's not usually like this," Luka pleasantly tells Gordana. Frustrated, Susan barks at Gordana to wait outside. "She's just observing," Luka defends her. "We have enough people in here just observing," Susan spits. "If you think you can do it all yourself, Susan, we can all step out," Luka offers calmly. "Might go faster," she retorts. "Might go a lot faster if he came in properly intubated," Luka counters. Elizabeth drinks in this sweet elixir of chaos and sweetly compliments Romano on the obvious positive effects of his stellar attitude and leadership skills. "How do you say 'Bite my big one' in Croatian?" Romano spits. "He's Bradying down, if anybody's interested," Abby offers. We fade to black pretty sure that nobody is.

Carter evaluates a young patient while the peanut gallery watches eagerly. They fire question after question at him, most of which involve words ending in "itis" and a lot of "ph" and "b" sounds. This peanut gallery is well-read and overexcited. "I've never done a rectal," says one we'll call Salted, with a hopeful smile. Carter sighs and hands a case each to three pairs of peanuts and tells them to present the case to him shortly. Honey-Roasted raises his hand, but Carter declares a moratorium on questions from anyone in spectacles. The patient watches them roll away, relieved. "They were giving me a headache," the patient comments. "Me, too," Carter mutters.