Neela heads into Trauma Green to get something called a bipap mask, which will apparently help Martin's breathing. Luka calls for her to read what she sees on the ultrasound screen. "Uh, I can do that," whines Malarkey. Luka ignores him. Malarkey frowns. Ah, the tragic plight of the suckmonkey. That should be the title of his autobiography. Neela reads the screen correctly, but the ultrasound isn't quite enough to determine the full problem. Larry takes this moment to grab Luka's arm and plaintively mutter, "He's fragile." Luka's like, "I've said that to every hooker in this town who's gone near my zipper. Your words are meaningless without context."
Martin wheezes, "Is he mad? ...I talked him into letting me drive today." Carter figures that Larry probably isn't mad. Pratt wants to think about establishing an airway, but Carter thinks Martin is moving enough air with the bipap mask, at least for now. Contrivance -- having responded to my earlier page by donning a nurse's costume -- enters to let Carter know that Kem's exam has begun; Pratt helpfully shoos Carter away so that he can be with her. And of course Abby enters a split second after Carter vacates the room. Pratt and Neela exchange relieved and amused glances. "What?" Abby duhs, annoyed.
Carter busts into Kem's exam room as her ultrasound is underway. She reaches for him delightedly and they stare at the screen with elation as the doctor informs them that it's a healthy fetus. The baby on the screen is sepia-toned and with really, bizarrely well-defined contours -- I half-expect it to hop up and start dancing, inspiring me both to rent movies from Blockbuster and send David E. Kelley a hate letter. "It's our son," Kem beams. She can tell by the downy fuzz already springing up on the fetus's chin. That Beard is contagious. Warn your loved ones. Carter's thrilled and kisses her, patting her hair lovingly mid-liplock. We fade to black thinking how well Thandie Newton is selling that she's in love with this man whose facial hair is worth its own segment on VH-1's I Love The '70s.
Abby sulks through the halls, trailed by Haleh, Malik, and Lily, all with coats on and eager to go home. "Count's the same," Abby sighs, frustrated. "That's WACK," Malik says. I hope they pay Deezer D well, because he's turning into that character in Not Another Teen Movie who announces himself as the token ethnic character whose only function is to appear and say things like "Word," and "DAAAAMN." Abby dials Weaver to beg her to reconsider and sign off on the discrepancy, but when she plonks her ass down on Weaver's desk, something pricks her. Recognition washes over her face as she pulls a stray needle out of a lab coat draped across the table. As she uses it to underline the name on the coat -- Dr. Weaver -- she bites back a grin and tells Weaver that they finally found the valium, which someone had inexplicably left in his or her coat. "She says whoever did it is an idiot," Abby says mischievously, hanging up the phone. The other nurses all bail, relieved, as Abby stares at the syringe and chuckles.