...Prue heaves herself up out of the water, gasping for air. Piper pokes her head in to see if everything's okay. "You were yelling," she notes. "Yeah, uh, I had a...I had a really bad...thing," Prue shakily replies. "A thing?" Piper asks. "A bad dream," Prue stammers. "I'm okay now," she continues, distractedly wiping suds from her hair and face. "Go back to bed." Piper shrugs and shuts the door behind her as she leaves. The camera stays on the door, then slowly pans across the wall to the mirror above the sink as we hear Prue rising from the tub. By the time the mirror swings into the frame, Prue's pulled a towel around her body and swivels to examine her back in the reflection. The gouges left by Sugar's loofah gape over her shoulder blade. Prue winces and gasps as we head into the commercial break.
Manor, the following morning. Prue fills Piper in on Sugar's invasion of her subconscious the previous evening, adding that while the marks on her back disappeared overnight, she knows she saw them when she got out of the tub. Piper gently suggests that Prue's simply suffering from the effects of overwork. Prue's been at the office at least seventy hours already this week, and she's heading back in on a Saturday to pull what promises to be another twelve-hour shift, so it's no wonder she's having nightmares. Prue's torn between what she thinks happened to her and Piper's far more reasonable explanation of those events. Soon, none of this matters, because a gay porn star the closed captioning identifies as "Hans" ambles shirtlessly through the kitchen with a bright "Good morning!" for the Glamorous Ladies. Okay, fine. I have no idea if this guy's ever done gay porn, but he sure as hell looks the type. He's one of those zero-percent-body-fat steroid-enhanced gym-bunny nipple ponies that look like blow-up dolls. And to aggravate the situation, he crosses to the refrigerator to suck milk directly from the bottle, and of course -- of course -- several rivulets of milk trickle down his chin and neck to meander around on his chest, and it's all very sick and wrong, and worse, it's tawdry. Phoebe jiggles into the kitchen with Hans's shirt, which he dons after slinging the milk bottle into the recycling bin. He smooches on Phoebe and promises to meet her later that day for brunch and, I don't know, some window-shopping at the Prada boutique. He leaves as Piper makes "Can you believe the bimbo we have living in our house?" faces at Prue. "Don't worry," perks the Feebs. "We had safe sex." Well, if you're screwing a guy whose oeuvre includes Sexpack Seven -- Pigs In Heaven and Butt Munch II: Back In The Crack, you would be advised to use a condom, and I think I'll leave it at that. Prue snorts derisively. Piper says it all for me: "Ew."