Outside -- cleaned up and seated side-by-side on a bench of sorts -- Roe and Renée continue their silent love affair. They're close, reveling in the nearness of a sympathetic soul, but still a safe enough distance apart to avoid the spread of the Almighty Cootie. He makes small talk about Anna, who Renée shares is from the Congo and came simply to offer aid: "Just like me." She whips out a chocolate bar and absently breaks it into manageable pieces. "Hmm," murmurs Roe. "Your hands." She wonders what he means. "You're a good nurse," he praises her softly. Renée shakes her head in agony and rips the blue kerchief from her brown hair. "No," she sniffles. "I never want to treat another wounded man again. I'd rather work in a butcher's shop." Roe eagerly leans forward and assures Renée that she possesses a calming touch, a divine gift that's rare and beautiful. Again, Renée disagrees. "No, it's not a gift," she whispers tearfully. "God would never give such a painful thing." This character is a bit heavy-handed for me. I can't handle getting slapped with The Point quite this hard. Roe once again gazes intensely at her hanging head. For the first time, Roe appears to be open to the emotionality of his job, the impossibility of disengaging from the patients. A man shot through the stomach arrives at the hospital, and Renée calmly returns to her job, plodding ahead despite her pain. Roe silently watches her go, then collects his gear and searches for Donnie and his Jeep.

Snowflakes gracefully blanket the woods. Compton, Gonorrhea, and Heffron peek out from under the tarp covering their foxhole, shivering. "Now we know how they felt," Compton muses. They have no idea to what he's referring. "The legionnaires, when they were watching the Huns, Goths, Visigoths," Compton lists. Gonorrhea rolls his eyes, lost and wondering where the hell Buck learned his smooth-as-sandpaper small talk. "Barbarians," clarifies Compton. "They came right through these trees, sweeping down to burn the shit outta Rome." The others laugh at what a long ride that is. Earnestly, Heffron inches toward Compton. "What's college like, Buck?" he asks. "D'you have time to hit the books with cheerleaders running their fingers through your hair?" Compton's expression remains blank. "Hell, Babe, I can't even remember," he says quietly.