"So how'd you and Gary meet?" Gary's wife, Bree, asks. Kimble starts to stutter out an answer. "He was at the check cashing place too, right?" Gary interrupts, bringing out blankets and a pillow. "Said he needed a place to stay. Couldn't afford a hotel until he got a job. Offered to pay and we need the money." "We never talked about renting to anybody before," Bree says. Gary ignores this and gives Kimble a really old mobile phone, explaining that his last job was fixing copiers on the road and his company paid the service until the end of the month. "A place and a phone, how much are we charging you?" Bree asks. "Pretty much all I have," Kimble says pointedly, looking up at Gary. Bree starts to groan in pain and Gary darts inside. Kimble walks over to her and asks, "Drugs aren't helping much?" "A lot less than they used to," Bree answers. "My head is fine but my body won't do what I tell it to do. It's kind of hard to describe, kind of like --" "Like trying to drive a car with the parking brake on?" Kimble offers. "Yeah," Bree says trying to smile. And with that, Dr. Fugitive's won himself another friend.
Gary comes back onto the porch with a glass of water and some medication, and tells his wife that "Sam" used to work in a pharmacy so he knows all about her condition. "Then he oughta know it don't get any better," Bree says, gulping her pills. Gary tells her not to talk like that. Bree smiles gently and says that her husband believes in miracles and miracle treatments. Kimble offers that there are experimental treatments that work very well for some, "last time I read about it." You know, it's a good thing this fugitive's a doctor. I mean, what would he have to offer people if he was, say, a barber? "Well, there are some comb-overs that get amazing results for some people. They're purely experimental, though."