worid domination
is to send a flock of sick birds
across the Bering Strait.
Don't be ridiculous! This is not a political
conspiracy, this is a medical problem.
- That's easy for you to say!
- What is that supposed to mean?
It means your grandfather
was probably a Trotskyite.
And your parents marched in candlelit
vigils for Julius and Ethel Rosenberg!
Maurice?
- We're sick of resting!
- And we're tired of fluids!
We want answers, and we want 'em now!
Why don't you go down to the lower 48
and bring us back a vaccine?
People get mean when they get sick,
but they don't mean it.
But you really held your ground up there,
Dr Fleischman,
and, despite everything, I think
everyone learned a lot of good stuff.
- Really?
- Oh, yeah.
I never knew there was a power struggle
in the Kremlin after Andropov died.
Good night, Ed.
Any urgent messages you feel compelled
to deliver, slip 'em under the door, OK?
- OK. Get some sleep.
- Not if I can help it.
Is there a sexy woman
in the vicinity of these lips,
who is in the market for a warm body
and a superior lover?
Oh, no.
Let me get this straight, Dr Serrano.
You refuse to give me
any backup or technical support
until some flunky lab tech down
in Anchorage confirms my diagnosis?
I don't care if he's your nephew!
This town is on the verge of a crisis.
Things are getting out of control.
I am dealing with a hysterical,
potentially violent set of patients
who have accused me of being
the KGB point man for central Alaska.
It's not funny.
Neither is staying up all night
watching my fiancйe sweat through
three sets of sheets with no help from me.
Elaine, get back in bed.
- I need more tea.
- I'll bring it in to you.
I'm perfectly capable
of boiling a pot of water.
Oh, don't start crying.
Please, Elaine, please.
You know how demoralised I get
when you cry. Stop.
Look, let me call you back.
You do that. Thank you.
- Honey, I'm sorry.
- I'm sorry.
- For what?
- For ruining all your plans.
Hey, hey!
So we don't see Holling's
favourite panorama. Big deal.
We'll buy some postcards.
Look, the important thing
is that we're together.
At least for the next 30 seconds.
- I gotta go in to the office.
- I know you do.
Maybe I can get someone
to bring you a big bowl of chicken soup.
- How's that sound?
- Nnn...
What? What's wrong?
- I feel like I let you down.
- Hey, hey...
This is a highly contagious infection.
Practically the whole town's got it.
Not Maggie.
- All right, there's one glaring exception.
- Two glaring exceptions.
- What is that supposed to mean?
- Nothing. It means nothing.
- No, come on. What did she say to you?
- I was just making an observation.
Look you, Elaine Schulman, daughter
of Charles and Maxine Schulman,
you're the person I will love and honour
in sickness and, preferably, in health,
in Manhattan, preferably on the Upper
West Side, for the rest of my life.
Not Maggie O'Connell, so there
is no reason to be jealous of her.
I'm not jealous of her.
OK, there was a crazy night with a bottle
of Beaujolais, but nothing happened.
- I know.
- You do?
The night you were so bombed
and so guilty about that sleazy land deal
that you didn't realise she was hitting
on you until she was halfway out the door.
We were roasting marshmallows.
It just slipped out.
What an odd and convenient coincidence!
We were comparing our most
embarrassing moments
and it just made for a good laugh.
You are so slick, O'Connell.
I am in awe of how quickly you were able
to read and exploit the situation.
Is this sleep deprivation,
or have you finally gone over the edge?
- The way you buddied up to her...
- Oh, that is not true.
- How you monopolised her time...
- You were working. She was bored.
Then, the piиce de rйsistance,
how you skilfully planted the notion
that maybe there was some
symbiotic thing between you and me.
- In your dreams.
- You deny sabotaging our relationship?
Quit blaming your