So Bobby tells Rickle that if he's looking for balance, he's got just the thing (Jackie Susann would be so proud!) and, for being a good sport, he'll throw in something to quiet things down. We all need dealers like Bobby -- this guy could sell me a breast pump. Or meds to a schizo. Convinced, Rickle confirms that he's in a hospital and starts to feel like everything might be okay after all. Rickle blurts, "I don't want to fry," which snaps Bobby to attention, blue eyes aflame. Maybe it was the ominous soap-opera music that snapped Bobby to attention, actually; he looks like he's just gotten news about some "she's my sister/she's my daughter" sort of business. Sniffing coercion, Bobby asks if anyone has told Rickle not to take his medication, but Rickle just keeps repeating, "I don't want to fry." Bobby rises, looking all-knowing and, after grabbing Rickle's leg and copping a feel, goes away, as Rickle swoons and lies back in his bed.
Back in what we'll call HQ (which, like most of the show, displays a washed out color scheme that is so two-years-ago Prada), staffers are milling about and debating Lyla's role in the Rickle incident. Some guy calls it "a bad day," but one outspoken nurse is having none of that -- she "screwed up bigtime," opines Ms. Nightingale. Abe enters and asks Nightingale if she tells fortunes; he also says her name, which is either "Mrs. Mrpmhn" or completely unintelligible, so I think she's got herself a nickname. Anyway, Nightingale thinks Rickle looked thoroughly sane-free when he was in before, and says that Lyla had no excuse. Abe says, "You know what they say," to which some blonde at a desk replies, "Hindsight is 20/20?" My answer would have been, "You're a bitch," but Abe seems satisfied with the blonde's choice. Nightingale goes on, talking about various other wackos who killed people, as Abe wonders if "you took a fistful of your nasty pills this morning." He then challenges her as to whether she's ever misdiagnosed a patient, which I guess means that he thinks Lyla did, since that's the way he's chosen to defend her. Whatever. Valiant try, lame choice. The argument continues, and the shakycam shakes, as Lyla walks through the door, and everyone suddenly shuts up and it's glaringly obvious that they've all just been discussing her. Nightingale stares, and Lyla, ears on fire, looks haughty and says, "You got something to say to me?" The Robert DeNiro homage pays off, and Nightingale backs down with a sarcastic, "Good morning, Dr. Garrity." Shake shake shake, goes the camera, contributing to the forced feeling of this show. Even the look is too mannered -- the minimalist palette, the grainy film, the flat texture, the hazy lighting. It's so tightly wound it can barely breathe. We get it.