We meet Mrs. Michael Scofield, who apparently splits her time between being Michael's support crew on the outside and, um, stripping. Which is, of course, where Bellick knows her from. Of all the strip joints to walk into, what are the odds that he'd have walked into hers?
Anyway, Sara takes news of Mrs. Scofield about as well as can be expected. She finally tells Michael to cool it on the flirting, much to his dismay. That's not the only knotty tangle this week: he has to get Tweener to steal a tricked-out watch that a guard stole from him. Meanwhile, Westmoreland finally wants on the team. This presents next week's problem to be solved: who will be benched on Team Escarpara?
Alas, Quinn, we hardly knew ye. All you did was shoot Nick non-fatally, smack him and Veronica and LJ around a little, then fall in a well. Your mistake was in calling Kellerman, not Lassie. The former's going to let you die in the dried-up cistern. The latter would have gotten you help. Also, Lassie has better hair.
(However, this one goes out to Agent Kellerman: come back, baby! All is forgiven! You're number one!)
We open this episode by discovering that Michael's not much for sleeping. You can't blame him: although the lights in his cell are off, the lights that illuminate the rest of the A-block are on and it's not like it's quiet. His watch alarm goes off, and I don't know what's sadder: that it might have been set with the faint hope that he'd get some rest, or that he laid there awake, waiting for it to ring.
Michael gets up, and we see that Sucre has no problems sleeping. There's a shot of Michael washing his face, then he gives the camera the Blue Steel. He's spotted a flashback!
We hear him say, "That one," and we switch to a jewelry store, where Michael is assiduously picking out a plain band, made of platinum with a brushed finish, size 6.25. The salesman says, "She's a lucky woman." Michael favors him with an ineffably smug look before drawling, "Yes. She is."
We get a shot of the ring, and then we're back in Fox River, looking at a circle of light. It's a penlight, clasped in the sweaty fingers of Dr. Sara. She's giving Michael her own stare, and as she turns to fiddle with her clipboard (the better to hide the sketch of the two of them riding a unicorn off into a sunset), he fishes for attention by noting that Dr. Sara's tucked the origami flower into a cabinet. Well, that clears up any confusion for me: the origami fairy didn't leave it after all. Although I am curious as to how a man who spends all day breaking out of prison could find the time to snag some colored paper. Don't tell me there's a Krafts Kubby that all the prisoners can visit when they feel like painting pictures of their prags or making macaroni shivs.
Without looking at Michael, Dr. Sara says dismissively, "I'm a packrat. I never throw anything out." Michael looks around the tidy examining room and deadpans, "All this clutter. It's overwhelming." Dr. Sara murmurs, "You should see my apartment." Michael smiles and says, "Whoa! We haven't even had our first date yet, and you're already inviting me in." "Just so I can skip to the part where I spray you with mace," Sara snaps in response. I kid! Michael continues with the flirty-flirty by saying, "I thought you were a nice girl." Dr. Sara rolls her eyes as she puts on her stethoscope and replies, "Oh, Michael, we all know nice girls finish last." Not if they've found the right guy, they don't. As Michael lifts up his shirt, he asks, "So where do you finish?" "That depends on where I start," Dr. Sara coos, giving him quite the non-diagnostic look. She keeps this up, Michael's going to end up with a stethoscope fetish, which could prove embarrassing later in life. Michael inhales -- for purely diagnostic reasons. Sara tells him to exhale. He gives her the Blue Steel and nearly turns blue forcing all the air from his lungs. Sara asks him to take another breath, and they share a long, loaded look at Michael tests the tensile strength of his alveoli.
Just then, Nurse Gossipson interrupts this oxygenated flirtation and Dr. Sara snaps back to business. Michael actually looks disappointed. Stupid air! It's not the same when I'm breathing on myself! Then he recovers enough to squirt some more goo down the grate, where it foams. Unsupervised chemical experiments inside prison are fun! Then Michael wanders over to confirm that the big, fat cable between the clinic and the outside wall is still there. While he's gazing out the window, he also confirms that Fox River has the plushest lawn in all the Midwest.