Bill washes his face and stares into the mirror -- it's about not outrunning your responsibilities -- and drops, panicked, to the bathroom floor, sweating and gasping but not desperate or fast. Just weak and tired and panicked, as he pulls himself up to sit on the toilet lid, slowly drowning. When he gets back to the bedroom, she closes her eyes and asks if he's okay. "Barb? It feels like everything is spinning out of control." Word. I love it. She nods, and rolls over onto her back next to him. "We can't keep doing what we're doing." He protests that he needs her, and she says that he has her. Also, a family. They are so still in the bed, the two of them. He takes her hand. She holds it tight, and squeezes her eyes shut again, and he agrees. "You're right. We can't." Overhead shot of the two of them, staring up, pulling back further away from them, the center of the family and the show, the center that can't hold, and "Blame It On The Bossa Nova" begins to play again.