Now that it's over, Michael goes and sits next to Bly, who asks him, "Where were we?" Michael busts out the liquor bottle and takes a swig as he reminds Bly, "I think we were deciding whether we were going to destroy each other." "Well, you've already had enough opportunities to let me die," Bly says, which is unusually mushy for him. As he takes a hit off the bottle, he tells Michael his next move: "I'm gonna go pass out at the local ER. When I wake up, I'm gonna take care of the loft. And the thing with Barry." Michael asks if Bly could see his way clear to another favor.
At Madeline's house, Paula is telling her about how brave Michael and Bly were. She's leaving out the part about how stupid she was. Michael has just finished retrieving Bly's file from its hiding place: Madeline's broiler. "You just assumed I was never going to broil anything?" "So far I've been right," Michael points out, and tells Paula that Prescott won't be a problem. Well, der. I guess it doesn't matter whether he took those "pain meds" or not, now. But Michael can't resist lecturing, "You might want to select your dates a little more carefully in the future." Look who's talking. She thanks Michael and takes off. Michael says he's also leaving, since the toxic mold issue at his loft is resolved. "Board of health says my place is safe again," he says, even though he already told Madeline there wasn't a real threat to begin with. Disappointed, Madeline says she was thinking about ordering them some takeout, and Michael decides he's not in a hurry after all. "Takeout sounds good," he agrees. Madeline beams at him so hard she nearly swallows her own ears.
While walking over to Carlito's, the next day, Michael tells Barry that he's off the hook with Bly. "He was just using you to get under my skin anyway." Barry feels bad about rolling over on Michael. "Don't get me wrong, I love how I look with a shaved chest." Michael says it's fine, but arranges a signal for next time: Barry should offer to pay for lunch. Barry says he plans to get out of town for a while to decompress, and Michael sends him off with a handshake. He's just now arrived at the table where Sam and Fi are arguing over who had the bigger part in the operation yesterday. "He's been insufferable ever since you called him first yesterday," Fi accuses. Sam faux-smooths it over, saying, "You're good with the hands-on stuff, the simple mechanical things." "Like wiring a truck to blow?" Fi protests. "An important task, yes," Sam agrees, "but one an intelligent monkey could perform." Michael realizes the only way he's going to get out of this alive is to lie and say he actually called Fi first, but she didn't pick up. "So in the future I'm gonna call Sam first." Fi bites into her celery, which I guess for her counts as an anger-binge.