And it's time for commercials. You know, when I think "Clare Danes," I do not think "dancer!" But those Gap pants do look cute. Do they come with a Patrick Wilson-esque manservant to carry me hither and yon?
When we come back, Mahone has Michael in a headlock. Linc is busy trying to shake the smaller-framed man off his back. He finally manages to do so by finding Mahone's bullet wound and digging in. Way to go, Linc! He scampers over to where the gun is, picks it up, and holds it on Mahone, asking, "Those bullet wounds don't heal too good, do they, Mahone?" He then gives Mahone a choice: hand over the handcuffs or discover whether opening one's cranium physically opens one's mind cognitively as well.
T-Bag race-walks over to the destination on his slip of paper. The stooges wait outside. Bellick approaches them, doing his best American tourist impersonation. He's even got the yokel accent and everything. Bellick asks for directions to the Cathedral de Guadalupe is, explaining, "I was supposed to meet my old lady there a half hour ago." Neither stooge is interested in conversation. Dumb stooges! The fastest way to get rid of someone asking directions is to give them directions -- directions that take them far, far away from you. Whether or not they're accurate is your call. The pimp-cum-stooge snaps at Bellick, "Why don't you just keep on walking, pal," and Bellick feigns outrage that Americans would be so snotty to a fellow citizen tourist. The pimp-cum-stooge tells Bellick to beat it, and that's when we realize that Bellick's distraction was successful: because neither stooge heard Sucre sneak up on them, and they don't notice until he cocks the pistol at their heads. Michael then pops up to say hi. Bellick disarms the beefier stooge, and Michael orders the stooges to the alley. Well. That went suspiciously well.
We cut to Kellerman in his hotel room. He's now in his uniform. He's trying to write out his sister's name on what is clearly meant to be a suicide note, but his hand keeps shaking too much for him to write clearly. He grunts in frustration and finally scrawls "Kristine Kellerman." After propping up the letter against his medals, he takes a look in the mirror. We see that Kellerman is pale, clammy, and uncertain-looking. Then he loads his gun. At the click of the bullet in the chamber, Kellerman's resolve returns (noooooooo!). He looks into the mirror, giving it the ghost of a rueful smile. Oh, Magnificent Bastard, what has become of you? I don't approve of this new, can't-live-with-himself version. And I especially do not approve of the sequence where Kellerman gives himself one more look in the mirror, then turns 90 degrees, puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger.