Over at GATE, Trisha is bringing T-Bag his coffee just the way he likes it -- one sugar, two creams -- and I am sort of amazed that he doesn't think to check it for poison. (Also, I'm amazed that people still have to bring coffee for random higher-ups in the office. It's so quaint! Like typing pools and people who think it's okay to sexually harass their underlings.) T-Bag has been repairing a watch, but he stops to check out the dossier on Gretchen that Trisha's fingerprints yielded. We learn that Gretchen Louise Morgan was born at the end of March in 1977 (she's an Aries, like Hitler!), has a sister living in Riverside, her dad's deceased, she's an Iraq war veteran and an award-winning equestrienne. I pray we get an episode where Gretchen's riding to someone's rescue. Trisha -- whose neckline has crept even higher in this episode, leading me to wonder why crime seems to have brought on a case of the modesty -- notes that there's nothing overtly linking Gretchen to the Chinese mob. T-Bag asks, "No mention of any of our friends?" Trisha says, "No. I checked -- no Scofield, no Burrows, no Whistler." At that last name, T-Bag's head comes up and he asks, "Whistler? How do you know that name?" Trisha bluffs, "James Whistler? I heard Scofield mention him one day." T-Bag quizzes her: what day? In what context? Trisha claims she doesn't remember, then asks, in seeming innocence, "What's the big deal? Who is he?" T-Bag, who is thoroughly spooked, replies, "Nobody."

Back at Team Scylla HQ, Dr. Sara's found the David Baker they're looking for -- he's apparently a do-gooder who now designs low-income housing -- and she heads off to print out a map to David and Elaine Baker's house. Don Self begins hectoring the team about getting the sixth card ("Really?" Linc replies, in total deadpan) and Michael is talking about what further obstacles await in the basement. He makes work assignments -- he and Dr. Sara will handle Baker while everyone else gets to the basement to see what fresh hell -- I mean, surprise -- awaits. But before anyone can get anywhere, Michael collapses.

When he comes to, Dr. Sara's like, "Hospital. Now." When Don Self tells her not to freak out, Dr. Sara snaps, "This is my decision and not yours. We're going to the hospital." Don Self reasonably requests to know why his criminal fugitive planning genius needs medical attention, but nobody bothers to fill him in. Mahone assures Michael he'll handle the David Baker errand. Dang, Mahone -- you kill one psychopathic hitman and it does wonders for your peace of mind. Seriously -- no more twitchy behavior, haunted looks, or agonized monologues. Mahone's killed a man and it's soothed all his demons and apparently eliminated his many narcotic addictions. Let us hope that other rehab programs do not seize on the homicide-as-healing course of detox.