Pete's patching up the head of Stan, the fainting old guy, who somehow sustained a wound that required stitches. Maybe he fell on one of Pete's decorative apothecary jars or something. Stan admits he felt a little dizzy before he passed out. "I'd like to send you downstairs and run some basic tests," says Pete. "We'll get an EKG, an MRI..." Oh, yeah, basic stuff. Are there really MRI facilities "downstairs" at the clinic? I guess that would explain why the building looks so big from the outside. And why they need elevators. Do you think we'll meet the radiology technicians someday? Are they invited to Addison's party? Sylvie clutches Stan's hand and says to Pete, "You fix Stan, hear me? Like I said, he's my one and only." It seems like every episode has at least one character or storyline that rubs me the wrong way, and in this episode it's this lady. She's supposed to be endearing, I think, but damn, she's annoying.
Pete asks Sam to check his work -- would he run this set of tests for a "70-year-old male presenting with syncope"? "Syncope" is my favorite word in this episode so far. Sam checks it over and names some unpleasant possible diagnoses. As Pete is leaving, Sam notes, "You should RSVP for Addison's thing. She's getting kind of squirrelly." Pete says, "Yeaaaaaaah I'm not sure." Not sure about whether to go, or just whether to give her the courtesy of a reply? "She's getting to you," says Sam, in yet another of the countless exchanges on this show that make no sense. Even when characters are ostensibly listening to each other, their responses do not follow logically from what was just said. Is Harold Pinter ghostwriting this? Is it pulled at random from a dialogue generator? It's so infuriating. "She's definitely getting to you!" Sam calls as Pete leaves his office. Because when a coworker invites you to a party and you can't be bothered to make a decision about whether you'll go, it's a sign that she's "getting to you." Listen, show, if you want us to care about Pete and Addison's potential as a couple, you have to give us something to hold on to. Innuendo alone will not cut it.
Cooper tells his little boy patient that the mono test came back negative, and the kid's mom leaves to "call Dad." The kid, still mopey, says he knows what's wrong with him. "I'm in love." Cooper thinks that's "great," but the kid says, "Not when the person you're in love with doesn't like you back." "Who is she?" asks Cooper, and the kid says, "Someone at the skate park." He doesn't want to tell, because "it'll change everything." Coop thinks he should "go for it -- ask her to do something, or hang out..." The kid doesn't want to "mess everything up." Right about now is when I think Dr. Freedman should be looking for the real cause of this kid's physical symptoms. I mean, I once thought I had mono, and it took two solid months of tests to determine that actually I had something much more serious. And if my doctors had been like, "Oh, you're probably just in love," I wouldn't be here recapping today. But Cooper needs to focus on the parallel situation in his own life. "This girl I like?" he tells the kid. "I've been trying to get up the nerve to say something for a long time. I mean, a long time." He makes "a pact" with the kid: "We'll spill our guts, see what happens." The kid considers it, and agrees: "Pact." I think Cooper and Pete should switch patients, because I bet Pete's old lady would love to hear about Coop's love life, and I really think someone should be looking into the cause of this kid's sore throat.