The Connors hobble, walking wounded. Cameron hobbles, which is understandable, since she was not shut down properly. She should probably check her hard drive for potential problems.
Sarah and John crash a baptism, and they look so awful that the priest rushes over, presumably to perform the last rites. He asks if they need a hospital, and Sarah tells him they need sanctuary. "We need someplace to hide, now." The priest agrees, and also agrees to kick out the poor couple who only want to ensure their child's soul does not burn in hell for all eternity.
Derek and Charley, stuck in traffic, enjoy some male bonding, consisting mainly of Derek acting like an ass and making fun of Charley for wanting to "join the team." Charley snaps that he's married, and loves his wife. "So you say," says Derek. Charley insists he just wants to know the Connors are OK, and if they're not, he'll make them so. You know, like he did for that ingrate Derek.
Cameron spots some fresh blood on the street, analyzes it just by looking at it, and heads off with renewed purpose.
Mr. Walsh meets with Shirley Manson, who tells him his money will be in his account in thirty minutes. Why half an hour? Because that's how long it will take for Shirley Manson's diatribe, in which she marvels at the orderliness of the pedestrians below her, and talks about how up close, individuals don't follow the rules, unlike computers, which will rigidly follow the rules they are given. But it's rare to find a computer that'll cross against the light.
Over at the church, Sarah is glaring out the window at anyone else who might want to come in, and then she presses John into a chat about how the explosion has flipped a switch in Cameron. John's worried because Cameron knows everything about their contingency funds, aliases, etc. "We have to kill her, John," says Sarah, and John angrily yells, "I know!" and stabs this wee little paring knife into the table. I think you're going to need a bigger knife, John.
Over at the FBI, Ellison's being debriefed by a superior who dances around some of the problems with the facts as outlined in Ellison's report, chiefly that a) Lazlo had previously been cleared as a suspect in multiple murders, and b) that Ellison doesn't really know a lot of the details of the assault at the motel, including, crucially, how he survived. The FBI wants him to take six weeks' paid leave. Ellison is reluctant, and I hope in vain for a "You're off the case!" "No, you're off your case!" exchange.