Jill and Allison walk into the @Bar. Jill says not to worry, they're just getting a booth. Mikey says for them to wait up, he got Allison a present. He says he's been reading the Goliath book. She opens the present -- it's skimpy lingerie. I am creeped out. Jill spots Jack and excuses himself. Allison says it will give her and Mikey a chance to chat. Total silence ensues. "Or we could not chat," she says. "Good!" says Mikey.

Jill follows Jack onto the street. He asks if the talk with Anchormatt was bad. Jack says it wasn't the bad they thought -- instead it's a whole new kind of bad -- he might move to DC. Jack goes on and on about how gun-shy she is about letting herself trust again. Jill says that everyone's gun-shy and everyone wonders about how much to let on and let go. Jack says that she's afraid. Jill asks if she's afraid that Matt will make her happy, and that as much as he hates to admit it, Matt seems like a pretty good guy. Jack looks touched. Jill makes gestures at the bar and says he has to get back to Allison. Jack goes baby-whispery, sensing that now is an emotional moment, and says, "Thank you."

Anchormatt is sitting on the sofa when Jack enters. He explains Audrey let him in. He then tells Jack he shouldn't have lied to her and there was no good reason, he never should've done it, and he would never hurt her. He asks if she's mad at him. Jack calls the emotional bullpen and comes up with a facial expression that says, "I dwopped my ice cweam!" and says to Anchormatt, AND I QUOTE, "I'm not mad at you, I'm sad at you." An unholy cry of terror rises from my throat. She goes into shallow pop-psychology mode and explains that she freaked herself out by how glad she was that he might be moving away, thus excusing her from having to risk intimacy. She asks how likely it is that he'll move to DC. He says it's not immediate, but it's definitely likely. She says, "Dat makee me sad," or something to that effect. "Don't be," Matt says, as if giving a command to a slow, large-wattled dog. "If I do go to Washington, we'll deal with it." "When it gets here?" says Jack, whispering. "If it gets here," Matt repeats. "When it gets here," Jack says again. Apparently they are playing some sort of relationship version of Rock, Paper, Scissors. "We'll figure it out, okay? I promise," Matt says, trumping Jack's latest verbal riposte. They lean in for the Nose Rub of Reconciliation while meaningful wailing commences and my VCR shorts out.