Weaver tiredly asks Abby if her narcotics count is off; apparently, they're short ten milligrams of valium, but it's insignificant enough that Abby hopes Weaver will sign off on it so that all the night nurses can go home. "Or, they can just learn to count," Weaver says coolly, handing Abby back the paperwork. Abby stares at her for a second, mentally chooses an orifice up which to implant the cane at her earliest convenience, and then stomps off in a fit.
With great gusto, Gallant announces that the rack is empty and he's off the board. In plainer language, he's got nothing to do but me. Weaver suggests that he go home. "You saying I can leave early?" he grins. He's so cute. "I'm saying it's slow, and you're an intern. We'll be fine," she says. Well, that's lovely, in a bitchy kind of way.
When Gallant gets home, loud music greets him. He calls out for Valerie to turn it down, knocking confusedly on her bedroom door. She appears behind him, dressed in a nightie. "Mike, you're home early," she gulps. Just then, Pratt's voice floats out from the bathroom, asking Valerie for a fresh razor blade. He emerges and comes face to shaving-cream-covered face with a steaming Gallant. "Morning, Mike," Pratt says with a slick smile. We smash to the credits hoping that Gallant finishes shaving Pratt with a nearby machete.