Bree, reading in bed, catches herself rubbing her empty ring finger again. Disgusted with herself, she calls George and, in an insanely chipper tone, instructs him to arrange for a "just the two of" them romantic hotel getaway, something "out of town." George, who seems to have one hand well underneath the covers positioned suspiciously close to his "jungle," calmly agrees. They get off the phone, and he pumps his unoccupied fist skyward in a gesture of victory. Bree and George have amazingly similar imposing, dark-wood bed frames. They are like twins -- twins with an amazingly uncomfortable sex scene on the horizon. Just you wait!

Nighttime. Mike pulls into his driveway and out pops Susan, like a scary, scary scarecrow, specially built to repel men. Her hair is so greasy, at first I thought it was newly showered. Oh, Susan. Susan confronts Mike about his denial of her claims, and he very reasonably explains that, as a man on probation, he couldn't tell the police about Paul's confession because that would have meant also telling them the part about how he feloniously kidnapped CreePaul and held a gun to his head -- a gun of the sort that ex-cons are not allowed to possess. This would have gotten Mike in a great deal of trouble ("ten to fifteen years"). And then he reminds Susan that Mrs. Huber's diary may have featured the gossip hound's confessions of blackmailing Mary Alice, but it also contained details about how Susan burned Edie's house to the ground. So maybe, if Susan would like to keep herself, and Mike, out of jail, she should put a sock in it. Just, you know...maybe. Susan coos and ahs, and then she does some stomping and says, "I just can't believe it! I mean, there is a murderer just living right on our street and there's nothing we can do about it because you're a convicted felon and I burned down that stupid house. It's not fair!" Mike tries to soothe her by telling her that, with CreePaul back, Zana is surely soon to follow, which leaves Susan looking understandably uncomfortable.

Gabby visits the LLB in the hospital. She is wearing a strange pink tank top that is split up the front but tied together with four separate bows that allow alternating patches of bare chest flesh to peek through. It is, perhaps, not the most platonic top ever. The LLB wears nothing but a gown and lots of crisscrossing bandaging that somehow still allows his right nipple to wink through. Gabby discovers that the LLB has no friends: it's been two days since the shooting, and she's his first visitor. Really, not one of his many past conquests cares enough that he's been shot? He must have a nasty habit of ending things badly. His co-workers have sent flowers, but they arrived along with a card that reads "Who knew you could actually bleed. Sincerely, Your Stunned Co-Workers." I guess we're supposed to feel sorry for him, but I feel kind of neutral. Gabby asks if he's going to eat his lunch, and the LLB says somewhat pathetically that he can't cut it due to his sling. Gabby: "Well, we're not going to let you starve to death. Besides, you're going to need your strength to get my husband out of jail." She starts cutting up his food, and he confesses to her that, while waiting for the ambulance, he seriously thought he was going to die, and how scared he was. Gabby says something noncommittal, like "of course you were," and the LLB tenderly thanks her for not making fun of him. She says, "Sure," and then "open up," and she spoons some food into his mouth, and he receives the bite with that weird "eye contact!" forced sexiness that some European men get out on the dance floor.