Previously on ER, Carter found out that Abby was off the wagon, then later squabbled with her over his obvious concern about the issue. Gallant repeatedly treated an apparent hypochondriac, Chem Glass from Popular, while the other doctors grew impatient with Gallant's insistence that she might have an actual medical problem.
We fade up on two silhouetted bodies in a bed, doing the mattress waltz. And in case you weren't sure exactly what all the writhing and kissing meant, the show thoughtfully added the sound of a speeding El train in the background. And, as it turns out, the lady vixen was indeed riding an "L" train of her own -- Luka. Somebody's been reading the message boards! Finally, this show gets its hottest cast member laid. Slowly, shots of sweaty gropings fade into the image of Dr. Luka "GQ" Kovac standing alone, staring morosely at the bed, and he's shirtless, and the curtains that are not Luka's missing shirt blow lightly behind him in a gentle shirt-free breeze; he stares out the window, and he's devoid of shirt, and in exposed-torso glory, Luka blinks in shirt-absent anguish and his chest pouts, and then too soon, my pixelated orgasm is over. Oh, pants.
"Time of death: 7:36 AM," says Abby "Angel of Death?" Lockhart, fishing an extremely ex-goldfish out of a giant aquarium. It's also an extremely enormous goldfish. Oh, the fish-fingers that would make. "Your fish coded?" Dr. John "Void? What Void?" Carter asks sadly. "Third time this week," Abby sighs, complaining that she re-stocks the damn thing and then every morning the inhabitants are mysteriously dead. Carter shrugs that someone else should tend to the fish. "I'm committed now," Abby replies, scooping her dead goldfish out of the water. "Committed fish killer," Carter deadpans. Abby glares at him and holds the corpse over Carter's coffee. "Don't, don't don't," he protests frantically, but she drops her precious fish into a fiery grave anyway. "Been meaning to cut down on my morning caffeine anyway," Carter blows it off, grinning. Unwashed Peasant #35 shows up to ask when they'll see him; they ignore him, and he disappears. Thanks for coming. Abby exposits that the aquarium is the brainchild of the Hospital Beautification Committee, which, in the absence of toenails to paint and hair to dye, has taken to beautifying the actual hospital itself. "It took years to get decent security, and two weeks for an aquarium," smirks Abby.