Wendy Kroy: He does? Agent Sean has a boyfriend? Can we get confirmation on that?
Regina: Better call the Gay Mafia.
Wendy Kroy: Where's the phone?
Vaughn enters and calls Agent Sean over and blah blahs something about how Agent D'Overbite was religious in her updating the CIA of any blip in protocol or even the slightest problem. But the day that Good Ethan was supposedly captured, nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Why? Agent Sean's all, dude? I don't care. Did you see how HOT the new chick is?
Speaking of the new chick, she's noticed something on the monitor and calls her boy toy over. Agent Sean walks up, and Blandy informs him that there was a flash of static right before the blast. "An RF transmitter would account for the interference," she blands, "but all radio signals were shut off." The tape's played back so we can see the flash (and D'Overbite being blown up) a couple of times. Agent Sean's all, okay, that means the signal had to come from the triggerman, right? Blandy's all, that means he'd have to be within a block radius of this here camera. Agent Sean's all, okay then. Let's find out where this news van was parked. Check all ATMs, traffic cams, amateur videos taken by "interested" passersby, everything! And when that's done, will you have sex with me? Blandy's all, sure. Can I bring my boyfriend? Agent Sean ponders this as we move on to the next scene.
Which just happens to be Syd and her big-ass SUV pulling up outside a ranch house, which the captions inform us is the "CIA Safehouse." Call me crazy, but do safehouses often exist on pretty little streets in Southern California? I mean, I grew up in Long Beach and I'd really like to know if there were a couple of errant almost-blinded spies just hanging out in the 'hood while I was listening to my Andy Gibb records.
Syd gets out and goes to knock on the door, but there's no answer. She enters, carrying a brown paper bag, and sees that the place is busted up all to hell. Instead of pulling out her gun, Syd just hangs onto the paper bag, which probably contains crackers and Brie and a tasty little domestic sparkling wine, and carefully makes her way through the house.
She comes upon Good Ethan, slumped at the kitchen table with a big bottle of booze in front of him. She dumps her snacks and makes her way toward him. "Beware the grieving man and his bottle," he rasps. Then he gets up and stumbles toward her, carrying his liquid pacifier. As he weaves toward her, he says, "[D'Overbite] used to say that she had spent so much of her life pretending to be other people that she was afraid she might disappear. And I have been sitting here trying to remember all her aliases and you're right. It's hard to keep track." God, he's cute. Deciding to share a bit of her pain, Syd brings up Dead Danny and how she compartmentalizes all the other emotions in her life, but that one, well, she keeps it nice and fresh in an airtight Tupperware container in her frontal lobe. "As hard as it is," she says softly, "I would rather feel it than to not feel anything." Yeah, it's a badly constructed sentence. I would have felt better if she'd said, "I would rather feel it than not feel anything at all." But her heart's in the right place, so I'll just have to let it go. Good Ethan lets it go too and kind of rolls his eyes and looks off toward the kitchen sink, obviously not ready to feel much of anything other than the cool, soothing touch of the bottle to his lips. He starts to swig, but Syd stops him, taking the bottle away. Good Ethan interprets this gesture as, "Kiss me NOW, dammit! Let me suck the liquor off your lips!" He launches himself at Syd's face and makes it just sloppy enough so that we're supposed to go, "Ew! Get your lips off her!" Instead, we just sit there and drool at the screen because good Lord is Ethan Hawke a good desperation kisser! Seen Hamlet? I suggest you do. As soon as possible.