Previously on ER: Elizabeth had early contractions and had to be hospitalized; Carter met and macked on a new girl named Rena Trujillo; Mark had to undergo formal competency training to make sure he was still fit to practise medicine; Weaver called Legaspi for a consult on a young woman who tried to kill herself by parking her car on railroad tracks, and thus caused a horrible train wreck; then Legaspi gave Weaver a set of keys and told Weaver to wake her when she came in. If you know what I'm saying. And, by now, you certainly should.
Morning. Kerry "Lying Like a Rug Muncher" Weaver, in her pyjamas, crutches out onto the street and picks up a newspaper in a plastic bag. Two dudes amble up, and one calls out, "Dr. Legaspi." "No," Weaver says. The dude who already addressed her introduces himself as Det. Graham and his colleague as Det. Watkins, both of the Chicago Police Department. They show their badges, and Graham says they had the address listed as Dr. Legaspi's residence. Weaver asks whether everything's all right. Watkins asks whether Legaspi does, in fact, live there, and Weaver says she does, and that she's inside. Graham leans forward and asks, a little aggressively, "Who are you?" Weaver gives them her name. Watkins suspiciously asks whether she lives at the house, and Weaver says she doesn't, and that this was really, at its root, nothing more than a booty call. Okay, she doesn't. But she should. Really, she starts stumbling over an awkward explanation of who she is and why she's there, and ultimately trails off by saying that she's cold. Graham tells her to go inside, and says they just need to speak to Legaspi. Weaver goes up the stairs, presumably to get her.
In another darkened bedroom, Abby "Lisa" Lockhart slumbers between aggressively flowered sheets. The light snaps on and Luka "Cheer Tater" Kovac kneels on the bed next to her, holding an open cup of coffee in front of his face and sensually blowing the aroma toward her. Dude. DUDE. She grimaces, and mumbles, "Luka, I think one of the kids from the coffee shop broke into the apartment." Luka sets down her cup and climbs into bed, saying he got breakfast. She says she doesn't believe in breakfast. He claims that it's the most important meal of the day, and she replies that it's never been medically proven. He opens his paper. She rolls over and squints, "Why are you up?" He cheerfully says that he's up because it's morning, adding that he has coffee, bagels, and wants to check the paper because he's thinking of getting a new place. She rolls back over, cracking, "What, did the hotel fire you for getting up too early?" "No," he smirks. "Well, somebody should," she replies. He playfully whacks her in the head with his rolled-up newspaper. "Hey!" she says sharply. Luka's good mood will not be dampened, and he shows her a listing in the paper for "an entire warehouse...for the price of some condos." Lisa manages to open her eyes just wide enough to inspect the picture, and mutters, "That is very nice. Especially in the summer when all you smell is dead flesh: it's the slaughterhouse district." As she tosses the paper back and tries to roll back over, he protests that it's still a good deal. Realizing that she's done sleeping for the night, she sits up, whining, "You know, first you live on a boat, then a hotel, now a meat plant. What's next, a tree house?" "You're really not a morning person, are you?" he muses. She hurls a pillow at his head, and he throws it back; she giggles when it hits her in the face. Happy Luka is oddly unnerving. It's like he's a replicant. I'd actually forgotten there ever was a time when he wasn't depressed. I'll have to get used to the smile all over again. Ahhhhhh.