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So is it just me, or is the evil Agent Kellerman rapidly becoming one of the most entertaining characters on the show? This week, he attempts to bring Warden Pope into line with regards to transferring Michael out of the prison. Apparently, Pope had a (now-deceased) son by another woman, and Mrs. Pope doesn't know. Kellerman offers to bridge that little communication gap -- unless Pope approves a transfer. He's a remorseless conspiracy machine!
However, Pope soon realizes that when it comes to fortieth anniversary presents, the matchstick Taj beats a huge secret, so he blocks the transfer at the very last minute, then goes home to tell the wife about his sordid past.
Michael spends the episode: introducing the breakout gang to one another; getting an earful of guff from Lincoln; doing a test run for his cell exit that ends up being both very suspenseful and hilarious; and having a general freak-out when he thinks he's being transferred. Veronica spends the episode gradually realizing that her Legal Beagle friend may be in on the conspiracy. And Dr. Tancredi goes fishing for Michael's medical history. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Warning: this recap may contain effusive expressions of gratitude. Reader discretion is advised.
So before I begin, many thank-yous are in order: Sars, who has suffered through the Sobell Relocation Drill before ["and can totally empathize -- welcome back!" -- Sars]; LTG and Joe R, who both produced such great recaps, I will be spending the rest of the season trying to hit the standard they've set; all of you forum posters for being so welcoming and accommodating; and lastly, fellow Vidiot Jason "Dr. TiVo" Snell, who revived our beloved antique mere hours before this week's episode. It's safe to say that without him, this recap wouldn't be possible.
And now, on with the episode! Due to some graphic content, viewer discretion is advised. Promises, promises.
So the show opens with Michael watching as a tattoo needle inks his arm, and then goes from his face to the most recent installment on his tattoo: some fake-Gothic lettering reading "English Fitz Percy." The camera pans up so we can see that these words are being used as footstools for an angel, and the angel is looking up toward another figure we can't quite see; all we get is an arm outstretched toward what appears to be a clerestory window set among arching eaves. The tattoo pans over and we see that the angel is standing back-to-back with a sword-wielding devil. Behind the devil's batwings, on the right of this panorama, is another window set within gothic arches; this one has a very intricate grillwork, and unlike the other window, it appears to open into the dark.
We zoom in on the grillwork to the dark window, and lo! It matches the grillwork of a vent leading into Warden Pope's office. Say, you don't think there's a parallel there or anything? The writers aren't trying to point out that Michael, in addition to encoding mnemonic devices on his tattoos, also managed to draw what amounts as an escape narrative? Are they? I'm sure I'm reading into this too much.
Anyway, Pope blusters around his office and we see that Agent Kellerman is sitting in the visitor's chair, politely reminding Pope that when a transfer request drops onto your desk for no good reason, it would behoove you to examine it tout de suite. And then to honor it. Kellerman wants to know why Pope's denied Michael Scofield's transfer, and Pope tells him politely to shove it with, "Look, Mr. Kellerman, do I come into your house and tell you where to put your furniture?" Agent Hale says, "We're just asking for professional courtesy." Pope disputes that notion too: "You're asking for federal courtesy in a state prison." Kellerman tries another angle: "Most people in your position would be happy to have another body taken off their hands." Well, if this show ever does a 180 and decides to become more like OZ, that won't be a problem; instead, Pope will be straining to keep his inmates alive from one episode to the .
In this show, however, Pope demonstrates that despite comparing the inmates to furniture, he has their interests in mind: "Those men are my responsibility. From the minute they walk into these walls to the moment they've paid their debt to society, I'm responsible for them. Which means unless Mr. Scofield has done something I don't know about, he is going to stay here at Fox Hills under my watch." So Michael's out of here at the ten-minute mark? Is that what you're saying?
Kellerman gives a reptilian grin, because the phrase "something I don't know about" has wedged open a door to a little place he likes to call "The Blackmail Boudoir." The agent hands over a fat folder and says that "right now, [it's] just a piece of history. Whether it becomes a current event is up to you." Pope notes that the folder covers his activities in Toledo. He looks up, dismayed, and Agent Kellerman is not really bothering to hide the smirk on his face. Pope says, "My wife already knows about Toledo." Kellerman replies, "Does she really? Does she know that it's called 'Glass City' because of its long association with industrial glass products? Or that it's also called 'Frog Town'? Does she know its zoo was the first to feature the 'hippoquarium' exhibit? And does she know about the dead kid in this folder?"
Or, you know, maybe he just lets Pope sit there and stare at what is apparently a crime-scene photo while assuring him that once Michael Scofield is transferred to another prison, this little folder is in no danger of following Pope home.
We transition clumsily to Michael cutting a thick PVC pipe out in the yard. I can totally see where the entire prison staff is all, "Hey, why not let the inmates wield sharp tools unsupervised?" Maybe they share Kellerman's concerns about the extra bodies. Michael stands up and tells a guard he could use more PVC, and the guard makes the universal sign for "whatever." Michael then casually heads over to where Linc's busy using a sharp-edged spade in a completely harmless way, and after he passes him, Linc contrives a way into the garden shed too. The guard watches Linc follow Michael into the same toolshed in which two of Michael's toes were liberated from their oppressive workbook prison. It has apparently not occurred to this guard, or anyone else on the guard staff, that maybe someone should be hanging around making sure other parts of Michael don't come off in the tool shed? Not even after Abruzzi contrives an excuse to wander into the shed and takes Sucre with him? With guards like this, there's really no need to contrive elaborate escape plans, is there?
Inside the shed, Michael's staring some while Abruzzi blusters. When Sucre finally wanders in late -- trying to avoid rousing superstition, bless his little heart for the unnecessary effort -- Michael tells them all, "These are the guys we're breaking out with." Abruzzi doesn't think so, and insults Linc with, "I'm not going to work with this crazy rhino." He ignores Linc's beet-red face and the steam insistently whistling as it escapes via his ears, and continues with, "What's your deal, man?" Linc lifts Abruzzi off the ground and growls, "Touch my brother again, and I'll show you." In the background, Michael smacks his forehead with his hand and mutters, "Stupid." Oh, not really. But you wouldn't blame him if he did, would you? The camera swings back to Michael, who's seriously working the Blue Steel stare as he asks, "We've only got a few minutes. Are we going to spend them spitting on each other, or talking business? The reason we're all here today is we have a decision to make: English, Fitz or Percy. If we're going to pull this off, we need to take one of them out." Like, on a prison date? Is that going to be the long-awaited graphic content? Abruzzi wants to know if Michael's soliciting feedback on which one, and Michael says, "I just want you to help me get to them. I'll take it from there." So it is like The Dating Game! Sucre tells Michael he's crazy, and he replies, "All I need is five minutes." Michael, that is no way to get date number two.
Abruzzi and Sucre bitch and moan some more and Michael snaps, "We're not breaking out of a Jamba Juice, gentlemen. It's going to take more than digging a few holes. There are eyes, ears, dots that couldn't be connected from the outside." And English, Fitz, or Percy are one of those dates -- er, dots. Abruzzi gets all up in Michael's personal space to ask how he's going to pull it off. By performing an Abruzzi-ectomy, of course. Michael Blue Steels even harder and says, "With a little help from my friends." You can hear the irony dripping.
Then we hear the usual noise inside the prison -- doors clanging, inmates who won't shut up. The boys are heading back to their cell when Sucre's held back from the cell so that Pope and Michael can have a private conference -- in his cell, where everyone can see and hear everything. Pope's lounging near Michael's escape hatch. He asks rhetorically, "Why do I get the feeling that there's more to you than meets the eye, Scofield?" Because the writers mandated it. question! Michael's busy quietly freaking over the water leaking around his escape hatch -- water that could, in theory, attract Pope's attention and derail his questions about whether Michael wants to cop to having some other reason to hang out in prison, beyond the usual ones like male companionship without the pesky presence of women, or the exhilarating thrill of not knowing if today's the day that you lose another toe or become the latest Fabulously Gay White Supremacist, despite having heretofore been pretty happy as a Fabulously Heterosexual Proponent Of Affirmative Action, et cetera.
Michael's freak-out gets taken to a whole new level when Pope walks over and says, "You're being transferred." Michael finally tears away his eyes from the leak long enough to gasp, "What?" Pope confirms that they're moving him over to Statesville, and Michael says numbly, "You can't do that." "Yes, I can. I'm the boss here. This is my house," Pope lies. Michael looks lost as he blurts, "Three weeks…Lincoln Burrows. He's being executed in three weeks." Pope shrugs, "Well, I'm aware of that. What's that to you?" Michael says simply, "He's my brother. When I knew I was being sent to prison, my attorney petitioned the D.O.C. --" "So you could be near him," Pope finishes. "That's right," Michael says, not adding, "And I am in no way planning an elaborate escape for us both. No sirree. Not at all." Instead, he whispers, "Don't take that away from me. Not 'til it's over." Pope comes clean with, "I'm not the one who arranged the transfer. You're up against much bigger fish than me. I'll arrange for you to say goodbye. You ship out tomorrow." Pope stumbles out without noticing that Sucre's also wearing the "Oh, crap!" look, and Michael simply stares at his bunk.
Commercials. Do you suppose the FAA will ban Jodie Foster's latest movie, I'm The Passenger You Don't Want To Sit To? on all international and domestic flights? And if they do, can they then become drunk with power and ban all Kate Hudson movies too? Please?
When we get back to Elysian Fields, we get a long shot of the exterior, then pan abruptly to the TOLEDO folder. I bet it's full of exciting facts about the Maumee River. Nope -- it's full of exciting tidbits about this dead kid in Toledo, who apparently died in July 1998. Pope brings out an old battered Bible he was keeping in his desk drawer and sets it atop the folder.
We then transition a little more smoothly to the Bible that Lincoln's keeping in his lap while he sits in chapel. Michael sits down behind him, weighs what he's going to say for a moment, then leans forward to tell Linc that he's going to go into the prison walls tonight and get up on the roof. Linc's all, "Were you going to tell me about the transfer?" in the same wounded tones one normally associates with "Were you going to tell me about this lipstick on your collar?" Michael assures Linc that he'll take care of it, and Linc snipes, "Sounds to me like you're reaching." Michael admits, "Maybe." And maybe he's regretting his whole blemish-my-entire-life-for-an-ungrateful-mope move. And then he admits, "A little." Linc carps some more about how he had made his peace with being a pawn in some mysterious chess game and then Michael, damn him, had to offer him hope. Shut up, Lincoln.
Also, shut up, Prison Break with the flashbacks to when the two were kids. The whole point to this flashback is to establish that on the day of their mother's funeral, an adolescent Linc promised the younger Michael they'd always stick together. And when Michael asked, "What if something happens to you?" Linc replied, "You just have a little faith." And yes, the whole point of this flashback is also that Michael remembers that sage lesson, even if Linc does not. Back in the present, Michael claps Linc on the back and whispers, "Have a little faith." At this point, Linc looks like he needs to have a little CPR. Seriously. Way to be non-reactive.
Meanwhile, on the outside…Nick the Legal Beagle and Veronica are looking at a still of Linc on the surveillance tape and discussing how very lifelike the still image appears. I kid! They're going to go with the crazy notion that Linc was telling the truth and he didn't fire a gun. Nick suggests, "Maybe what we're looking for is not there." Veronica fixes him with a look like, I was only in the middle of my law school class. That means I need to have big, strong men explain things to me. The two of them go through the tape more carefully than Kevin Costner ever did in JFK and we see that Steadman was sticking his head of the car to look at the camera; then he sits in the car for 10-15 seconds as if he were waiting for someone.
Then we see Lincoln point the gun and the flash goes off: Nick the Legal Beagle asks, "That's a 9MM -- shouldn't we see a kick or something?" "Lincoln's pretty strong," Veronica asserts. Strong enough to defy the laws of physics, apparently. Nick disputes this, then points out that other things seem off: "You hit someone for revenge -- do you take the time to go through the glove box, or do you just get out of there?" Veronica counters that Lincoln could have tried to make it look like a robbery, and Nick the Legal Beagle's all, "Christ, do I have to do everything in this relationship? Look at the angle at which Lincoln leaves the frame. He walks away from the car, and someone who's hiding his face from the camera comes around to check the passenger side of the car. Did nobody ever consider the possibility that we're talking about two different people? And that the whole thing was set up to ensure that the bloody pants already planted in Lincoln's apartment made some sort of evidentiary sense?" Veronica says, "This is great. Who should we go to?" Nick the Legal Beagle loses all coherence with, "Nobody. We're backing a horse that died in the gate." And then he grabs Veronica by the bridle and leads her around to the conclusion that the tape's been monkeyed with. Wow, isn't it lucky for Veronica that a totally overworked lawyer has taken the time out of his busy schedule to help her unravel a time-sensitive conspiracy? And that he's totally smart and seems to know all the answers?
Back in prison, Michael's picking up his lunch tray, which apparently comes with a side of Abruzzi. The mobster's all, "So -- prison breakout partners never talk anymore! There's talk you're packing your bags." Michael coolly tells him, "Don't believe everything you hear. I'm not going anywhere." Abruzzi admits he has trust issues with Michael, but Michael's not interested in resolving those: he'd rather stay on schedule. He's also not interested in Abruzzi's opinion on taking out English, Fitz, or Percy. But he is interested in Abruzzi giving him a key by 5:05 tonight, five minutes after the warden leaves. And I realize there's supposed this tension between these two untrusting partners and all, but I shouldn't be able to apply this template to every exchange just yet:
Abruzzi: Menacing, hostile question about escape!
Michael: Cool, cryptic dismissal. Total lack of contextual detail.
Abruzzi: Veiled threats and invasion of personal space.
Michael: Deadpan rebuttal. Failure to provide any details whatsoever.
Abruzzi: Surprisingly idle threats for all that I'm capable of helping toes escape prison early.
Michael: Getting in last word because I'm just that cool.
Mix it up, writers!
Anyway, Michael sits down across from Westmoreland, who's cordial. Michael says urgently, "I need to know if there's any way to block a transfer order." Westmoreland chortles that there's about fifty ways; Michael replies almost happily, "All right, I'll take the quickest." Westmoreland tells him to file a motion for an "interlocutory injunction," which is basically legal argle-bargle for claiming that something in the prison is violating his constitutional rights, be it environmental, health, or religious issues. How fast Michael files an interlocutory injunction depends on how fast he can write. Michael asks, "What if they don't buy it?" and Westmoreland shrugs, "Don't matter. Court's required by law to hear your motion -- 'til they do, you can't be transferred. Hell, they been trying to move my tired, gray behind for ten years now. God bless the American legal system." Westmoreland smiles and Michael asks him, with quiet and genuine interest, "Why do you want to stay in here so badly?" Westmoreland jostles a little, and Marilyn's sweet kitty face pops into view. He says, "Someone in here I can't bear to leave behind." I'd say that whoever wrote this was a total cat person, except they're reporting from a magical cat fantasy land where cats tolerate being toted in a t-shirt docilely instead of scaling your face and using your scalp as a launching pad, all the whi-- awww! Marilyn has the cutest little meow. Who' s a good girl? Westmoreland leans forward -- and yes, Marilyn tolerates this -- and says conspiratorially, "I guess we got something in common." Michael smiles a little. I really like watching him trying to balance his impulse towards a genuine connection with some people (Westmoreland, Dr. Tancredi) against his constant knowledge that he's got to regard them as chess pieces. It humanizes him.
Speaking of Dr. Tancredi, there she is. She's wandering outside with Nurse Gossipson, talking about the Kafkaesque task of giving a physical to a condemned man when Nurse Gossipson's all, "Ooooh, did you hear? Lincoln Burrows and Michael Scofield are brothers? Isn't it too-too?" Dr. Tancredi looks aghast to discover that her obsessive Google-stalking of her future husband failed to unearth this little tidbit.
Bellick walks into Pope's office and drops an interlocutory injunction with the preamble, "More bathroom reading." "Westmoreland again?" Pope says wearily. Bellick grins, "Scofield. He's blocking his transfer." We get a look at two sheets of notebook paper covered with Michael's handwriting. Naturally, it's very tidy writing.
In Sucre and Michael's cell, Michael's telling Sucre that "even if the motion's denied, it's going to take 30 days to process. And that means…" Sucre makes little bird motions with his hands. Because they're flying the coop. There's a celebratory knuckle bump, and then Michael's all, "Okay, time for me to do a test run, to make sure that I can get up there during our other test runs." Beta testing frightens and confuses Sucre. Michael suggests that doing laundry will block other people's view of the cell, allowing Michael to pop off into his little rabbit hole. Sucre sets about making their whites whiter and their brights brighter, grumping, "I ain't touching your drawers." Because you can catch the gay from someone's drawers, I understand.
As Abruzzi's line of cons goes walking through an uncharacteristically well-supervised line in the yard, Abruzzi orders one of his little thugs to punch a prison guard. Cue the melee, Abruzzi's in the back, along with some guy in a gimme cap, headphones, and glasses, and grinning in a way that seems moderately inappropriate during a prison brawl. The little thug somehow manages to lift some keys in the few moments between thorough beatings by angry guards, make an impression in a bar of soap, then drop the soap in the grass where Abruzzi can slither over and grab it. Yes, really.
Michael pops into the spacious, well-lit corridor that runs between the prison walls, then checks one of the details on his tattoo to see how far down the corridor he needs to go. He checks his watch and takes off, looks up at a certain light-filled grate, then hoists himself skyward. Given that this follows the exact pattern of the tattoo, does this mean we now have to start treating torso shots as series spoilers?
As Sucre paces and frets in the cell, Michael continues climbing ever skyward. He grins as he realizes he's near the ceiling, then works his way down. As he's scampering down one corridor, a door opens and a figure fills the doorway. Cue Michael's freak-out.
And cue the commercials. These Ex-Presidents' Club for Men ads are kind of unnerving. So is Patricia Heaton swaddled in satin and running her big yap about the fantastic savings I can enjoy at my local Albertson's. All of you outside California are very lucky.
We get back from commercials and Sucre's having his own little hissy. But who cares? We all want to see how Michael's getting out of his dilemma! And the answer is…by hanging, Spiderman-like from the ceiling while a crusty old maintenance guy walks the corridor and enjoys a quick puff. Well, it's quick to him -- but he just happens to park under Michael and blow his smoke into Michael's face, and Michael sweats so profusely from nerves, he's raining sweat on the floor. I would have enjoyed this scene more had it a) featured Westmoreland, thus opening up a whole new world of possibilities, and b) not been so asinine. When did Michael pick up the ninja stealth concealment skills?
And it's not like Michael gets to relax when he comes back to the cell and reinstalls the sink: Sucre's nagging him with, "This ain't going to last. The 'Ricans, we got genetically higher blood pressure, you know that? My cousin, he died from too much stress." Michael doesn't even look up from the job he's doing as he says, "I thought you said your cousin was moving in on your girl." Sucre snaps, "That's my other cousin. But thanks for bringing that up, jackass." So Hector's his cousin? Wouldn't that make future family reunions awkward, depending on who shows up with Maricruz? Michael tells him that he knows he can get to the roof, and it's just a question of timing.
We see Abruzzi and his cellie making a key using the mold from the soap. I…I am still clapping my hands to believe in fairies and improbable prison capers, so I have very few parts left to type anything skeptical about this whole key-making endeavor.
Meanwhile, on the outside…Nick the legal beagle and Veronica are talking to some grubby film geek about the surveillance tape, and he seizes the chance to bloviate with both pudgy hands, nattering ceaselessly about how the eye will deceive you but the ear will always detect what's off. And in this case, what's off is that the gunshot lacks any corresponding echo off the garage walls, so it's clearly been dubbed into the tape by experts. The guy concludes, "If you want me to testify in court, I'm going to need to get my hands on the original." Nick and Veronica exchange looks like, Should we pretend we have a fighting chance that we can clap hands and eyes on the tape, or just forget about it and get a mocha at Starbucks?
Back in the joint, Michael's got his nose stuck in the Taj Mabadidea when Pope comes in and asks how his allergies are. Michael's all, "Excuse me?" He points out that in his motion, he cited chronic sinusitis and says, "The moist air from the river along the east wall helps keep me, you know, snnnnniffff…clear." The little smirk he adds to that is priceless. Pope can barely restrain his smile either. He says, "I'm impressed. Not even a week in here and you're already working it like an old con." Michael fishes for information on why he had to file the motions, and Pope lies, "Traffic control, Scofield. That's all." Which is a very obvious clue that it's not it at all. Pope tries to steer the conversation back around to quitting time, and Michael says, "I don't think I can do that, sir." I love how Michael calls Pope "sir," but addresses the guards as "boss."
Pope wants to know why not, and Michael tells him that his hand is holding up a support. He then confuses Pope with engineering talk: "The Taj was designed with axial force, a series of longitudinal forces along an axis that --" Pope cuts him off with, "How much longer?" and Michael tells him, "Depends on how much longer it takes to dry." From the look on his face, you can tell that he was counting on the geek-speak to baffle the opposition. And he guarantees that he can stay with, "If you need me to leave, I can show your secretary how to hold it." Pope's all, "Yeah, she can't even hold a phone call without problems. Why don't you stay and get Becky to get you an escort back to the cell later?" Pope then comes over to where Michael's standing and adds, "I want to thank you for showing up today. I would have understood if you hadn't." Michael says, "We had a deal." Pope exits.
After Michael confirms that Pope's left the office and Becky's distracted by the guard who's putting the make on her, he checks the office clock: it's five until five. We see Abruzzi rolling down the hall with a trash can.
Meanwhile, on the outside…we're inside the Chateau du Pope, and he's putting the mack on his wife with, "From this angle, you look almost as good as the day we met." Mrs. Pope turns around and asks, "How about this one?" "Even better," Pope replies. So sweet, these two! He goes to sip from the glass she's pouring and Mrs. Pope smacks his hand away, explaining the drinks are for company. And who's popped by to visit Warden Pope? It's Agents Hale and Kellerman, of course.
At five after five, Michael's hanging by the locked door on the far side of the office and looking nervous. On the other side of the door, Abruzzi inserts his plastic key and turns it; following the click of the lock, Michael turns the door. He exits, then locks the door behind him and blends into a line of prisoners being escorted someplace that's not really relevant to us.
Meanwhile, on the outside…Pope's all, "Hey, American legal system at work here, nothing I can do. It'll be a month, maybe two. Sorry!" Hale asks, "Why do I get the feeling you're not all that disappointed?" Kellerman jumps in with, "May I ask you a question, Warden? More of an observation, really. I was looking at the morgue photos of that boy back in Toledo, Will Clayton. And, my Lord, if he wasn't the spitting image of his daddy. Apple fell real far from the tree with that one, didn't it? Fell off the tree, fell all over the pavement…" Oooh, Kellerman is just so nasty. I love it. Bellick wishes he could be this kind of remorseless machine. Pope's gaping for a response while Kellerman continues, "Your wife gave you a pass on the affair. Something tells me that's pretty much all the forgiveness she's got left in her bag." "When she finds out you've had a child…" Hale adds. Kellerman picks-picks-picks, "What happened to Will?" and Pope invites them to leave his house right as the missus breezes in to ask if they'll be staying for dinner. Kellerman says they're leaving, but takes special care of schmooze the missus with, "Judy, a real pleasure. That may have been the best iced tea I ever had." He flings an arm around her and grins, "Warden, you better do everything you can to hold on to this one." Kellerman, I don't think I could love you any more than I do right now. Pope says he will do everything he can, which is pretty much a tacit admission that he'll lose Michael's motion. Or, as we see in a few moments, he'll shred it.
Commercials. When I see that Lunesta butterfly, I do not associate it with a pill that gives you a good night's sleep. I associate it with absinthe. Wouldn't that be a much more interesting ad?
When we get back from commercials, Dr. Tancredi is preparing to examine Linc. She opens the proceedings with, "Believe me, I apologize in advance for the heavy dose of irony we're about to participate in." Linc tells her, "That's all right -- you're just doing your job." That does not provide the moral expiation he thinks it does. Dr. Tancredi says, "Letting the state know you're healthy enough to execute is not why I went to medical school." You know, you'd think she could save these conversations for a family Thanksgiving dinner with her dad the governor, who could theoretically pardon all these people. ["Or…get a better job, if she's that bent about it. Could we get a female character on this show that doesn't annoy me, please? Besides Marilyn?" -- Sars] The doctor then asks about a family medical history. We learn that Lincoln's mother died of liver cancer and his father's a big unknown. Dr. Tancredi fishes, "Siblings?" Linc shakes his head and Dr. Tancredi tries again: "Other than Michael?" Lincoln looks over like, Please don't ask me to pass him a note reading "Do you like me? Check [] Yes [] No." Dr. Tancredi's all, "Hey, it's the talk of the prison now." Well, that and who T-Bag's going to take to the spring cotillion. Lincoln's gently swinging jaw telegraphs his slow realization that maybe he shouldn't have revealed the link to Abruzzi earlier this episode. Dr. Tancredi asks, "You close?" "We were," Lincoln allows.
And then he gets his flashback to the day of the funeral. Mercifully, it's quiet. Dr. Tancredi asks if they're close now, and as the camera pulls in on Michael in the prison, Lincoln explains, "He's been abandoned his whole life. Dad, Mom -- she died young -- and now me. Now tell me again what this has to do with my physical health?" Dr. Tancredi fishes for more information on Michael -- favorite band, whether he's a Cubs or a White Sox fan, whether he digs brainy idealistic chicks. Lincoln gapes some more and says, "I abandoned him a long time ago. That's why he's here." The screen jump-cuts to Pope looking at old school photos of his secret son. Then we see Michael strolling into his cell: it's 5:44 PM, so it took him approximately 39 minutes to stroll over from Pope's office to the cell. The cell doors close and Michael says, "It's time." "Time? Oh, God, here we go again. Count's in fifteen minutes. What are you doing?" Sucre moans. Michael tells him, "Trust me -- the less you know, the better."
Speaking of people in the dark, Pope's busy praying in the chapel, and the chaplain comes on in to make things awkward by commenting on how rare it is for Pope to be in here at this hour. You know, having men of the cloth log my comings and goings would really set me on edge. More so than I would already be from having Secret Service men threatening to sabotage my marriage, that is. Pope spills his guts: "My son Will was my responsibility, and if I stayed in his life, I could have saved his life…he was a criminal and an addict, but he was only 18 years old." Father Frances Xposition helpfully tells us, "His mother made it clear you couldn't be in his life if you weren't going to be in hers. When you chose to stay with Judy, you understood that." Pope admits, "I not only understood it, I was grateful for it. I told myself I was respecting her wishes. I cursed her under my breath while every day I thanked God for allowing me to wash my hands of her. Of Toledo. All of it." Yes! Damn Frog City! Damn people who bear your children and expect things from you! How unreasonable of them not to make adultery consequence-free. And then I feel sorry for Pope because he finishes, "So I ran home to Judy. I got a chance to bury my secret. But I never got a chance to bury my" -- he breaks down before continuing -- "my son. What kind of a person does that -- sacrifices somebody else's life just to make their own life easier?" Father Frances Xposition sits there silently, not saying, Don't ask me. I'm just here to help you articulate one of the central thematic questions of the show.
Meanwhile, back on the outside…an evidence room clerk is giving Veronica and Nick the Legal Beagle a whole lot of attitude. Bring her back weekly. Make her an ongoing trial for Veronica and Nick the Legal Beagle. Please. Veronica and Nick do some more begging, and then the marvelous clerk is all, "Hold on. Last night a pipe burst upstairs, flooded the place. Files from a hundred different cases were pretty much ruined, including yours." Wow, what amazing coincidental timing for what the file clerk calls a freak accident.
It's now 5:58 PM. Sucre's having a mini-meltdown in his cell, doing everything he can to ensure that genetic predisposition toward hypertension is getting everything it can to succeed. The gate opens and he looks absolutely miserable.
Meanwhile, Michael scampers up to the rooftop and scales the roof. Or, more accurately, tries to: he slides down and into a vent right as a floodlight sweeps over the roof. It's exactly 6 PM.
Bellick's doing the count. He gets to Michael and Sucre's cell and notices that Michael hasn't popped out. He looks at Sucre's stressed-out face. And then he bellows, "We got a runner!"
Commercials. So, is NetZero's Dennis Miller in some sort of freakish Dorian Gray arrangement where he shows the years that Bill Maher's theoretically aging?
When we get back from commercials, an alarm is pulsing at a pitch designed to set nerves on edge and a new bank of floodlights blazes on, startling both Michael (on the roof) and Pope (in the chapel, reading his Bible). The guards are running across the green but having difficulty making speedy progress, what with sinking up to the knees in the lush grass. From his subterranean hidey-hole, Linc notices the prison's in a bit of an uproar. The inmates have seized on this excuse to go wild. Bellick has seized on this chance to bully Sucre, threatening to turn him into a piñata lest Sucre reveal where he is. Sucre's look says it all: I have no idea. But if he turns up, I may just help you kick his ass, for what he's been doing to my stress levels.
Cue the guard in the front office saying, "Call it off. I've got Scofield right here in Pope's office." Bellick snarls, "You looking at him? Stop trying to nail the secretary and check the office." Well -- that makes the courtship of Officer Patterson and Becky slightly more awkward. Patterson takes a very cursory glance into the room -- not bothering to check the table below the Taj Mabadidea or anything -- then concludes that Michael's gone.
Perched on the roof like a bargain-basement superhero, Michael logs the direction that the guards come from and checks it against his watch. Then he notes the direction the patrol cars come from and checks that against his watch. Why, it's English Road! And there's more cars coming down Percy Road. There's no prison-based The Dating Game after all. You can't imagine how disappointed I am. Michael, however, seems pleased to note that Fitz Road is as still as the grave.
After a scene in which we see guards running along the same prison corridor as Michael traversed earlier, we see Pope bursting into his office, hollering at Bellick, "A man just can't vanish, Deputy!" Pope confirms with Becky and Patterson that Michael never checked out with them, and opens his office door while he's saying, "How the hell did he --?"
Cue a wide-eyed Michael crouched below the Taj, holding that support in place and asking with a tooth-achingly sweet innocence, "What's going on?" Bellick grabs Michael by the throat, slams him against a doorjamb, and snarls, "I could kill you -- and the paperwork wouldn't need much more than the date." And if this show goes in the OZ direction folks are rooting for, there wouldn't even need to BE any paperwork, since prisoner mortality was never really an issue.
Right after Michael gasps, "Let go of me," Pope calls Bellick off. He turns and glares at everyone in (feigned) insulted anger and snits, "It wasn't dry. You said to stay until it was." Pope's all, "You were in here the whole time?" Becky adds, "Yes, it's true." "I must not have seen him behind the table," Patterson ruefully adds. Bellick snarls, "Warden, with all due respect, this is ridiculous. This prisoner was out of his cell. He missed the count." And everyone's missing the most significant clue here: Pope's grate is on crooked. And so is Pope's administration: he takes this time to claim that "there was an error in [Michael's] paperwork, and he's being transferred after all."
Cue Michael losing it, Michael-style, which is to say that he vacillates between urgently asking for just three more weeks and growling at the guards to get off him. Pope stands there and wonders what kind of a person sacrifices somebody else's life just to make his own life easier.
Meanwhile, on the outside…Nick the Legal Beagle is walking Veronica home and asking, "Any chance you want to write this off as coincidence? Me neither. Any chance you want to maybe consider letting me stay the night? Me too!" Or maybe that second part was all subtextual. Veronica wonders how these conspiracy types are so on top of the game, and Nick the Legal Beagle tries to deflect that line of thought. As Veronica enters her apartment, she chatters about having a copy of the tape.
And then she realize her apartment's been tossed. Veronica wanders through with the numbness of someone who's imagining strangers rummaging through her stuff, and eventually thinks to check for her copy of the tape. Sure enough, it's the only thing that's missing. Oh, Veronica, you need a Lone Gunman or three to school you. You've uncovered evidence of a conspiracy, you've got a tape that's already attracted a lot of attention, and you're finding that it continues to provide clues. Wouldn't it make sense to keep the tape with you? Veronica asks, "How did they know?" Nick the Legal Beagle is all, "Hey! Let's change the subject!" Veronica hollers, "How did they know exactly where to look?" Nick the Legal Beagle is all, "No, really! Let's change the subject! It'll be fun!" Veronica says, "You were here, remember. I was talking to you, I walked toward the cabinet and I…" It finally hits her that maybe Nick the Legal Beagle is not as benign as he seems.
It's the morning. Sucre and Michael are saying their goodbyes and Sucre is saying, "This can't be it. It can't end like this." Michael tells him, "Fitz -- they were going to take Fitz out. It was as clear as day." Sucre asks, "And the cops -- how long did it take them to respond? You got all the timing down?" Michael nods. Sucre asks, "You think we could have made it?" Michael doesn't say anything -- he just stares ahead. Bellick hustles Sucre out of his cell.
Cue a musical montage. Michael passes the Allen wrench up to Sucre's bunk and leaves him an origami swan. As he leaves, Dr. Tancredi watches him go. She looks totally smitten, in a I'm-a-freshman-and-my-senior-crush-just-graduated kind of way. Michael's walked out the gate. The inmates line up on the other side to watch him go: Westmoreland is cuddling Marilyn; Abruzzi angrily shouts at him before finding an associate and muttering, "Call my wife. Tell her to get the kids and get the hell out of the country." Sucre just stands there. Michael sees Linc working on a PVC pipe thingy while a guard watches. He stops and says, "I'm sorry," almost inaudibly. Linc…stands there. It's convenient being Linc -- he's got the one-size-fits-all reactions, doesn't he? From his office, Pope watches Michael walking off.
As Michael is walked outside the gate, Pope pops out and asks, "What's this man doing outside his cell?" The dumsquizzled guard replies, "He has a transfer." Pope blusters about how there must have been a mistake, as Michael filed a motion yesterday, so he's clearly not going anywhere for a while. So that's a happy ending…
Or is it? Because right outside the gate, Michael can see Agents Kellerman and Hale parked in their car. So can Pope. And we see him immediately heading home to tell his wife about Will.
And now it's time to check in with the Martha Stewart of the Western Frontier. As Kellerman reports yet another fly in the conspiracy ointment, Martha Stewart of the Western Frontier snarls that they're wasting time. She opens a fridge and pulls out a baby's bottle; the milk promptly curdles. And she suggests that there's more than one way to kill a condemned prisoner. Hey -- it looks like fatality rates are about to go up OZ-style after all!