Adam's shed. He sits at his workbench, listlessly playing with a paddleball thing as Joan prattles on with various instructions about how to deal with the cat. He seems good and bored. Joan tells him to leave the radio on when he's not there; Larry likes oldies. Adam: "Jane, it's all in the pamphlet. I promise I'll take really good care of him." Joan knows: "I've only had him for a few days and we were making really good progress, right, Larry? Larry: pss-pss-pss-pss!" He hisses at her. Joan turns to Adam saying, "His scratching has become less violent." Adam: "Cool." She looks at the sketch on his table, and a jar full of pickle juice and one pickle: "Pickle jar?" Adam: "Does it say 'pop art' to you?" Joan: "Definitely." Adam goes to Larry's cage, muttering, "I'm just gonna take an F." That's what he's really irritated about, not Joan's feline-related micromanagement. He opens the cage door and Joan's all over him, telling him not to do that because Larry will scratch him. But Adam reaches in and Larry plops himself down and allows Adam to pet him. Joan wants to know why Larry's not scratching. Adam: "He likes me." Joan: "Why?" Frink: "'Cause you're awesome." I dunno, Joan, maybe because he's so gentle and sweet? Honestly. If I weren't with someone just as wonderful, Joan's inability to appreciate Adam would make me hate her. As it is, I can afford to find her merely clueless. Adam: "I don't know." He keeps petting Larry, who's relaxed and purring. Joan huffs, annoyed.
Will crosses a large room at the police station to where Lucy is speaking to Roebuck. She finishes talking, shakes his hand, and leaves as Will approaches Roebuck, telling him he didn't really think Roebuck had any part in that fire. Roebuck says he had to check out an accusation that was made. Will says it was just procedure. Roebuck: "But don't say you didn't think it could be me. Otherwise you would have given me a heads-up that you were going to IA." Will: "Roy --" Roebuck: "Let's just all support this investigation." He takes off.
Olive's looking through a Girardi family scrapbook in the den when Joan comes in and asks her what's up. Olive says she was bored and there was nothing on TV: "Just some woman who had her face lifted so high her lips are on her forehead." So she pulled the album off the shelf. Joan picks it up and flips through it, commenting, "I haven't seen these in forever. Luke, fat. Me, fat. Kevin…fat. What's with babies?" They're fat little parasites? Olive: "What do you want?" Joan is a little stunned by Olive's bluntness, and hesitates before telling her that her mother asked her to see if she needs anything. Olive crabs: "Legs. And a plane ticket." Joan doesn't know how to respond to that, so she doesn't. She comes across a large, loose photo of Will and Helen, circa 1972, I'd say. Hee! Will's wearing a dark blue paisley shirt and plenty of facial hair. Frink: "Dude…it's Serpico." Helen's sitting on his lap, wearing a rusty red miniskirt and a light-coloured blouse buttoned to the neck, with a sleeveless tan vest over it. There's some body of water in the background. They look quite in love. It's an awesome picture. Great job on the photo, prop people. Joan: "Mom and Dad…they were so young and happy…" Olive: "I've seen it." Joan, floundering around for conversational material: "So Mom said you were married once." Olive: "Yeah. He drowned. On our honeymoon." Man, that's harsh. But the way she says it, you can't be 100 percent sure she didn't do it to him. But I really don't think so. Joan, startled: "I'm sorry." Olive: "Oh, don't be. I never went home after that. I just took off. Lived my life." Joan: "Were you gonna have kids?" Olive looks at her like she just announced she was going to have her lips moved to her forehead: "No." Then: "You think I'm odd, not having kids?" Joan, quite convincingly: "No." Olive: "You need to…discover the world on your own terms. Every choice…your own." It seems like she wants to say more but decides not to. Joan fidgets with the picture of her parents. Olive announces, "I'm tired." Joan, only too glad to have an opportunity to escape: "Sure." She leaves with the picture of her parents. Olive sits there, depressed, allowing herself a glance toward the scrapbook.