Masters of Sex (2013–2016): Season 1, Episode 10 - Fallout - full transcript

00:00:01,638 --> 00:00:03,372
Previously on Masters of Sex...

Because
I'm not going to convert.

What are you saying?

- You picked me.
- Viv, you picked me.

It galls me to say it,

but she may be
one of my better students.

Mrs. Johnson has a
tendency to overfill her plate.

The study
needs to be a priority.

Because if she did manage
to stand on her own two feet,

that would mean
she could walk away.

I know
there have been other women.



No.

Hope you have
a pleasant evening.

Dale gets me women.

I came here tonight
to meet a prostitute.

We have to divorce.

I do not want a divorce.

Barton,
this marriage of ours is broken.

We can resume the capping
with Bill's frozen sperm,

but he knows the odds are
essentially a million to one.

If he thinks I've intervened,
he will have my head.

Something has happened.

You're pregnant.

But that's, uh...
that's not possible.

I wanted to give you this.



I came up with the amount
by adding up the times

we've, uh... participated.

Did you pay yourself?

Of course not.
It's my study.

You don't mean this.

Because if you--
if you mean this...

Take the money.

Hey.

Do you want to be alone?

Masters of Sex - 1x10
"Fallout"

There you are.

Together.

Aren't we...
supposed to be together?

Ordinarily, we'd be
taking your intakes separately.

But if Dr. Masters is breaking
with tradition today,

I will find you some pencils.

Now, the questionnaire
is essential to our research.

So just think of it
as eating your greens first.

Well, I think we can
skip straight to dessert tonight.

In fact,
take the questionnaires home.

You can mail them back to us.

I'm sure Mrs. Johnson
can provide a stamped envelope.

Tell her to remove
the pins from her hair.

They'll interfere with the leads
from the electroencephalogram.

Which, actually,
we won't be using tonight.

Actually, we will.

Tell her to remove her earrings,
as well.

Bill, we're collecting data
on male respiration during climax.

Not anymore.

Subject F-26-184
is multiorgasmic.

We were discussing her
sexual history while you were...

wherever you were.

Mimeographing the questionnaire

so that we can collect
a comprehensive sexual history.

Nonetheless, multiple
orgasms is a notable phenomenon,

one we don't encounter often.

And a bird in the hand
is worth two in the bush.

Am I the bird or the bush?

You're the volunteer,

and if you would prefer to start
with something more basic,

like male respiration
during climax...

She's already said she wouldn't.

You can sustain
your plateau state

during multiple episodes
of female orgasm, can't you?

We've only allotted
30 minutes, Bill.

Bill, we have two more coming in
at 10:00.

I imagine
they'd survive the wait,

just like I did this morning
when you were half-an-hour late.

Should we wait outside?

♪ He knew just what to do ♪

♪ he'd duck ♪

♪ and cover ♪

- Pam?
- ♪ duck and cover ♪

♪ he did what
we all must learn to do ♪

- ♪ you ♪
- ♪ and you ♪

- ♪ and you ♪
- ♪ and you ♪

♪ duck ♪

♪ and co-- ♪

Pam?

Hey.

I came over early
and sent her home.

I hope that's okay.

And the kids?

Comatose. Since 8:00.

I was kind of hoping that would
buy me sleepover privileges,

as long as I'm out of here
by the time they wake up.

We'll see how it goes.

Our last patient tonight passed
out the second she climaxed.

I thought, "We've killed her.

We've killed our first subject."

Bill said it was the vaso...

Vasovagal response.

It's like a power surge
in your central nervous system.

Is that related
to the vagus nerve?

Which leaves the medulla,
exiting the skull through...

The jugular foramen.

Bill's gonna be working for you.

What's the matter?

"Too many qualified applicants"?

I don't understand.

And you already have a job
with the university.

I have a fellowship.

I applied for a permanent staff
position and didn't get it,

which is the same
as being fired.

But why?

Your patients adore you.

They get pregnant just so they
can hang around your office.

My patients aren't the
Provost of Washington University,

whose daughter I didn't marry.

Do you really think
Scully would do that?

I'm an idiot.
I should have seen it coming.

I'm gonna have to throw myself
on the mercy of the court.

Obviously,
I don't want to leave.

Well, that makes four of us.

You look about as beat as me.

Bill, on a good day,
is no picnic.

Mm.

It's all gotten so strained...

for weeks now.

You know, I never asked you

exactly what went on
with you and Bill.

Our...

participation in the work
became... complicated.

You know what?

It doesn't matter.

Whatever forces made it happen,
I'm here now.

And that's all that matters.

Let us face, without
panic, the reality of our time--

the fact that atom bombs

may someday be dropped
on our cities.

And let us prepare
for survival,

understanding the weapon
that threatens us.

Civil Defense
radiological teams,

equipped
with radiation survey meters,

will check on contamination
at any bombed area.

Stay under cover
until you hear, officially,

that it is safe outside.

If you have been exposed
to radioactive dust,

wash the exposed areas.

Pay particular attention
to your hair.

If the people of Hiroshima
and Nagasaki

had known what we know
about civil defense,

thousands of lives
would have been saved.

Yes, the knowledge...

If I'd known we
were gonna be watching movies,

I'd have brought popcorn.

Shh!

...so act now.

Someday your life
may depend on it.

This morning at 9:00 Eastern,

the President declared
a state of national emergency

and threat of invasion.

An unknown number
of Soviet warplanes

have penetrated our airspace.

200 cities have been targeted.

Today, it's a drill.

But tomorrow,
it may well be reality.

This exercise is

the largest-scale civil defense
simulation in American history.

Half a million federal employees

and state and local personnel
will participate,

as will this hospital.

At the sound of the first siren,

you'll take cover
in a secure room,

away from windows and doors,

just as you would
in an actual nuclear event.

This evening,
there will be a second siren,

where you'll rehearse

the hospital's intake
and triage functions.

Now, this is more
than a test of readiness.

It's a test of your resolve.

Our will is stronger
than the forces

that would do us harm
and erase our way of life.

And your vigilance today

may spell the difference
between life and death.

And now a few words
about nuclear fallout.

In the event of a thermonuclear
blast, radioactive particles...

Four dot.

It's all over the radio.
They're emptying Times Square.

I heard Eisenhower's evacuating
the White House in a helicopter.

Better hope it doesn't crash.

Can you imagine,
Dick Nixon as president?

We should all be preparing
for the worst.

You know the Lippincotts
dug a bomb shelter?

They didn't.

Right under the rose trellis.

They've got a six-month supply
of canned food, a pump toilet,

and the complete works
of Shakespeare.

Three bam.

Honestly, the bomb is the
least of Peggy Lippincott's worries.

She caught Donald
with his dental hygienist.

He flew to Reno
for a quickie divorce.

Well,
if Donald's cheating on her,

maybe she's better off
without him.

Sometimes a divorce
can be a blessing.

For a 53-year-old woman?

So, she's gonna lose the house,

she's looking for rentals
in Forest Park,

and it's filled with Italians.

I ran into Peggy
in the parking lot at Kroger's.

She said all their friends
have picked sides.

And her daughter
stopped speaking to her.

She told Peggy,

"You must have done something
to drive daddy away."

The husband strays.

The wife pays.

Oh, two dot.

Mahjong!

Oh!

Well,
if the Russians drop the bomb,

at least Peggy's store of canned
goods will last twice as long.

I'd rather be at ground zero.

Here you go.

- Count them up.
- Okay.

...today,
we'll bring you breaking news

on the biggest nationwide
air-raid drill ever attempted,

as from coast to coast,
millions...

Dr. Masters?

I-I was looking for you
in your office.

You're not my 1:00...
unless you're a very spry 68.

I don't have an appointment,

but my sister said there would
be no shame in asking for help.

She said
you would know what to do.

What to do about...

Uh...

I'm three months pregnant.

These are the papers
from the test to prove it.

Well, that's, uh... happy news,

but there is a protocol
for new mothers.

First, a scheduled consultation
for you and your husband--

I don't have a husband...

or a boyfriend.

If this is about
an unwanted pregnancy

and you're asking
for my assistance,

you've come to the wrong place.

You don't remember me, do you?

It's probably the clothes.

Last time you saw me,
I wasn't wearing any.

I volunteered
for your science project.

You did.

Forgive me.

That was...
some months ago, wasn't it?

It was three months ago.

I have checks
for your signature--

one for the new slide projector,
and we never paid Lester.

Virginia, you have
signing authority. Use it.

Don't take it out on me

if your bedside manner
is costing you patients.

Oh, that woman was not
a patient. She was a volunteer.

In the study?

Was she a solo participant?

Unfortunately, no.

Otherwise,
she wouldn't be pregnant.

She brought in her test results.

Three months. Claims she had
no other recent partners.

Oh, my God.

That poor girl.

What was she asking for?

Something
I'm not at liberty to give her.

She came back to find out

the name of the man she
was paired with in the study.

Who was she paired with?

I don't know,
and it doesn't matter.

Anonymity is the bedrock
of our work.

I am ethically bound

to safeguard the privacy
of all participants,

hers included,
if the roles were reversed.

You mean
if the man had gotten pregnant.

Diaphragms have a 6% fail rate.

We have paired over 200 couples.

Given a large enough sample,

accidents
are statistically inevitable.

Accidents?

We're talking about a baby,

conceived
in one of our exam rooms.

By a volunteer. No one
forced her to participate.

You cannot pretend that
we have no responsibility--

We made a promise to protect
the identity of our subjects.

We can't go back on that.

We have to do something.

Well, something
was done three months ago.

We drew up
an ironclad legal waiver.

She and her partner
both signed it,

meaning we are not liable
for any unintended consequences.

Can I sit?

I wouldn't advise it.

I don't know what Vivian
has told you about our parting,

- but I want to explain--
- If I was in the mood

for a postmortem,
I'd go down to the morgue.

Sir, your daughter
is smart, she's beautiful,

she knows her own mind--

She's devastated, my daughter,

wondering what she did wrong,
how she failed you,

tearing herself up
as if this is her fault

when the truth is,

you're the one that can't find
his own ass with both hands.

I'm asking you to
separate your personal feelings

from your professional decision

to terminate me
from this hospital.

You think I got to be
Provost by holding on to grudges?

I was prepared to accept the
board's decision to hire you,

but I didn't have to.

- You were not recommended.
- That can't be true.

I read the letter
Dr. Kernohan wrote.

- It was glowing.
- You failed

your performance review.

Some of your superiors
had concerns

that you lacked the
professionalism and character

to represent this institution.

It was Bill.

I could only vouch for
your lack of character in general.

I wanted to love Vivian,
I really did.

But you can't pick
what you love.

My daughter dodged a bullet.

Let's leave it at that.

You know
the heat blast from an H-bomb

can incinerate a telephone pole
2 miles away.

What do you say we get out
of here and take a drive?

I'm a casualty.

I'm a doctor.
We're a perfect match.

Civil defense
is nothing to joke about.

And you should be thinking about
your wife at a time like this.

Wonder if the secretaries
are friendlier in Moscow.

What?

I don't understand.

Honestly,
we're as shocked as you are.

Her name is Flora Banks.

First of all,
you never told me their names.

They were simply numbers,
night after night.

I-I have no idea--

She's blond.

26 years old, 5'7",
average-sized breasts,

typical areolae...

Everyone has typical areolae!

You were paired
with her on March 10th,

for one episode
of missionary coitus

lasting 6 minutes, 18 seconds.

This is a joke.

What about all the other guys
you-- you paired her with?

I mean, I was paired up
with maybe a dozen.

She only had one partner
in the study and no boyfriend, so...

she filled out
a detailed sexual history.

Look, this is
your problem, not mine, okay?

It's your study. I was
basically... an organ donor.

And if she didn't use
protection--

Her diaphragm failed.

It happens more often
than you'd think.

6 minutes and 18 seconds?

What does she want from me?
I mean, she want money?

Elise balances our checkbook.

She's like a--
like a bloodhound.

I have no idea what she wants.

And I'm not saying

this is anything other
than extremely unfortunate,

but I thought
you deserved to know.

Here's her name
and her phone number.

What did Bill say
about all this?

Let's forget
about Bill for a minute.

I am willing to help here
in any way I can.

If you're at home
when the bomb hits,

just stick a white plate
on your windowsill.

Any dust that collects
is probably fallout.

And if you discover
you do have fallout?

I think you're
supposed to close the window.

And today,
when the thingy goes off...

The air-raid siren?

We're just
supposed to lie there?

If you have a desk,
get under it.

I know some of you share,
but just do your best.

What the hell is going on?

Telephone's
ringing off the hook.

Sorry, Dr. Masters.

I'm fourth-floor hall Marshall
for civil defense.

When Khrushchev
pushes the button,

you can have the morning off.

Until then,
you're still my secretary.

_

Go to your stations!
Get down!

Mrs. Johnson!
We are under attack!

You need to find a safe place
and stay put

until they sound the all-clear.

We're supposed to be
facedown on the floor.

Although I think
that's chewing gum.

Frankly, I hope a bomb
does hit this hospital.

I'm not having a great morning,
either.

There was a letter
waiting on my desk.

The university has approved
my pap smear proposal.

But that's fantastic news.

They included a check.

$600?

Nearly as much
as the hospital spent

on emergency Bibles
for its civil defense program.

Not enough for lab equipment
or a proper staff.

It'll pay for mimeographs

and the hiring of a secretary,
at minimum wage.

Well,
Rome wasn't built in a day.

Neither were outreach clinics.

You'll get it funded,
eventually.

"Eventually" isn't good enough.

I wasted three months
on that proposal,

laying groundwork, sucking up
to the administration...

I'm sorry.
Sucking up?

I have been
perfectly polite with the board.

I'm sure you have been polite.

You might want to try being...
pleasant.

What does being pleasant
have to do with women's health?

Cervical cancer isn't pleasant.

Bill Masters isn't pleasant.

That's true.

But the rules are different
for men and women.

Trust me, a little charm
goes a long way.

Pearls of wisdom
from the steno pool.

Okay.

I apologize if I'm overstepping.

And I know
we've had our differences,

but I've sat in your class,
I've read your proposal.

If this place was a meritocracy,

the board would be throwing
money at you.

The fact
that it's an uphill climb,

then it just proves
that the work is important.

If anybody has the backbone
to see it through, it's you.

Well... thank you.

See? That's how it's done.

Trust me, you'll catch more
flies with honey.

The Chancellor
of Washington University

is not a fly.

Even better-- he's a wasp.

Just ask him
about his golf game.

Is Masters under his desk?

He's got a uterine myoma.

And by the way, Austin,

you should be on the ground
with your hands over your head.

I'll take my chances.

What the hell are you doing?

Air-raid siren--
means nuclear attack.

The attack is a simulation--

unlike Mrs. Gallagher's
fibroids,

- which, I assure you, are real.
- Bill!

Bill, thank God you're here.

Look, I need to know
if I'm protected in this thing.

Oh, God, there is no bomb!

No, not-- not the bomb.

The study.

Look, I'm not insensitive
to the needs of women.

I mean, I read "Jane Eyre"
in college. Or, no, Jane Austen.

Dr. Langham--
I already have a family.

If this got out-- I mean,
my wife's father is an ex-cop--

Austin--
Every time we're

at the house, he drags me down
to the basement to check out

- his gun collection!
- Austin, shut up.

The anonymity of our subjects
is nonnegotiable,

even in extraordinary
circumstances.

You are protected
by the forms you signed.

They are, in effect, ironclad.

So, I'm all-- all clear?

You are all clear.

Okay.

Where's Dr. Epstein?

He's a casualty.

Well, I need a second.
Who's on call?

Dr. Haas will be coming in.

Well, that's unacceptable.

Dr. Haas is not... qualified
to assist in a myomectomy.

He performed one two days ago.

Dr. Masters,
it's been an unusual day.

We're at war with Russia.

Mrs. Gallagher has been under
for 25 minutes.

We all need to make
accommodations.

Head injuries over here.

Amputations are over there.

What are you,
radiation poisoning?

Yes, ma'am.

So, you're making a movie?

Not a feature film, per se.

Technically, it's more of
a live-action documentary short.

But if the reds nuke us,

this could be the last record
of human civilization--

like the relics at Pompeii.

Pompeii.
It was an ancient city.

Where they opened
that new Woolworth's?

So, what is it
you want us to do, exactly?

Oh, j-just jump back
under those desks of yours.

So you can film
under our skirts.

Jane-- Jane can vouch
for my bona fides as a director.

We have spent
several evenings together

conducting
important scientific research.

He's obviously delusional.

It's probably all the toxic
chemicals in the photo lab.

You know,
real movie directors...

don't walk around
with their flies down.

♪ they say that love is ♪

♪ just a mistake ♪

♪ but one thing's for sure ♪

♪ it's always give-and-take ♪

♪ man wants his woman ♪

♪ woman wants her man ♪

♪ what they really need ♪

♪ nobody understands ♪

♪ no matter how we try,
it's always... ♪

Singapore sling.

Haven't had one of those
in 30 years.

'Course if I had one now,

you'd have to wheel me home
on a stretcher.

Are you, uh...

working here
at the hotel tonight?

Do I look like a chambermaid?

No.

It's just, you hears rumors
about the Chadwick Hotel,

that lonely men come here
to, you know... meet women.

- Vic, the check.
- Please wait.

I-I'm not gonna call
a policeman.

I just want to talk to you...
about your job.

It's about my husband.

He-- he enjoys the company
of professional women

and he doesn't enjoy mine.

I thought if I knew
some of the tricks of the trade,

how to give him what he wants...

You're joking.

Please. I'll--
I'll pay you for your time.

Two Singapore slings...

You got it.

...on Mamie Eisenhower here.

So, what, you caught him
shacked up in some fleabag

with a girl half your age?

I saw him with the man who...

arranges his dates for him.

A pimp?

I suppose
that's the word for it.

But he looked more like
one of the caddies at the club.

Meaning?

Clean-cut,
charming, very handsome.

Maybe they're growing
pimps different these days.

Well, I suppose my point
is, you must work with married men.

What do they want?

You know, they've all got
their little quirks.

Like cars.

Some you got to jiggle
the key in the ignition.

Some ride hot.
Some need a jump-start.

But they've all got wheels.

You just need to know
which pedal to push.

What does your husband go for?

Well, he loves opera,
Salisbury steak, Agatha Christie.

I meant in bed.

Uh...

We don't sleep
in the same bedroom.

But back when I was able
to lure him into my room, um...

Well, we-- we never looked
at each other.

You screwed
with your eyes closed.

He preferred
for me to face away...

Like he... couldn't look at me.

But it's not like
he looks at other women.

We went to Tahiti
a few years ago--

they don't wear tops there,
the-- the native girls.

All those perfect brown breasts,
just like a Gauguin painting.

But my husband, he just...

sat there on the beach with
his nose in a medical journal.

He never even turned his head.

He's queer.

It's very queer, yes.
Thank you.

No, sweetheart.

He's a homosexual.

You can't give your husband
what he likes.

Your husband likes boys.

Nicely done, Dr. Haas.

Thank you.

Did you know that I have the
highest surgical success rate

of any fellow at Maternity
in the last 10 years?

I checked.

You'd think that might factor
into a performance review.

Actually, my rating's within
striking distance of yours

when you were a fellow.

Numbers aren't everything.

Oh, I thought you were a God
when I got here.

I even bought a bow tie.

No, we're never going to be friends.

But I respect you as a doctor.

And I think you respect me, too,

and if you want to know
the truth--

I don't.

Respect you.

Not in the least.

Maybe it's the fact
that I'm with Virginia now, huh?

And that's what this
is really about, isn't it?

Clear the room.
All of you, out-- now.

She didn't have to tell me,
you know.

It was obvious.

Who, Virginia?

16 years of medical experience.

You think I believe in miracles?

Did you think I wouldn't know,

with her sleeping right there
beside me?

You're lucky I don't come after
your medical license.

I have no idea
what you're talking--

Unh!

I'm talking
about my pregnant wife!

Libby's pregnant?

Jesus.

I know what you did.

You're finished
at this hospital.

Any normal man would be
shaking my hand right now.

I mean, you may not like the way
it happened--

You stepped into something
you can't even begin to understand,

like a child--

willful and stupid, completely
unaware of what you've done!

I capped Libby because you
were too selfish to do it yourself.

I like your wife.

She deserves to be a mother.

And you know what?

Even though it cost me my job,
I'd do it again.

Ah.

Back to the triage drill,

will commence in 30 minutes.

Oh.

Chancellor Fitzhugh.

Dr. Lillian DePaul,

one of your happy minions
on the fourth floor.

What a delightful necktie.
What would you call that color?

Red.

You look like
a man who enjoys the links.

Are you a member
at Norwood Hills?

Hmm. For 20-odd years.

Although I never find the time.

Of course,
they find the time to bill you.

My wife's
on the membership committee.

What's your wife's handicap?

Estelle had polio as a girl,

but with her cane, she gets
around just as well as you or I.

Well,
speaking of women's health,

I have a program
in cancer detection,

which could use the support of
a man with your unique vision.

What form?

Well, a check, ideally.

What form of cancer?

Oh. Cervical.

Mm.

I suppose if a woman
were going to dabble in cancer,

that would be
the natural choice.

- Or uterine.
- Or breast.

We have two of those.

I'd welcome the opportunity
to walk you through my proposal.

My secretary
can arrange an appointment.

I spoke to her. Your
next opening is in three weeks.

But I thought, if you were free
for a drink this evening...

Dr. DePaul--
Lillian.

Dr. DePaul, I
don't know what kind of notions

you've picked up
on the fourth floor,

but I am a happily married man.

My office-- now.

Shut the door.

Perhaps I didn't make myself
clearer this morning--

you are not to bother
Dr. Langham

about this pregnancy matter.

"Pregnancy matter"?

Do you have any idea
what it takes

to raise a child
as a single mother?

We don't know the first
thing about that woman, Virginia.

We know plenty.

We know the diameter
of her areolae.

We know her heart rate
during climax,

how quickly she moves
into the plateau phase,

- systolic pressure--
- Exactly.

Our subjects stand naked
in our exam rooms.

They copulate with strangers.

What we offer in return
is a simple promise--

a promise to honor their
privacy-- a promise you broke.

I did not break
Langham's anonymity.

I gave him a choice.

No, you trapped him, Virginia.

He no longer has a choice,

because he can never unknow
what you told him.

You did this all on your own,
against my wishes.

Honest to God, Virginia,
who do you think you are?!

Everyone take your positions!

We have 1,400 casualties
on the way!

Ethan?

That's stage blood, isn't it?

Unfortunately, no.
Your boss sucker-punched me.

Bill hit you?

Thanks, Roberta.
Would you...

I guess I deserve it

for giving the guy
the best gift of his life.

Ethan, what is going on?

Uh, it has to do with Libby,

her blank-shooting
jackass of a husband,

and how she really got pregnant.

Well, California's
been wiped off the map.

They're announcing death tolls
on the radio

like they're baseball scores.

What are you doing here?

I remembered
you like to swim at night.

I had to get out
of the hospital.

Couldn't bring myself
to go home.

All anyone wants to talk about
is the end of the world.

It feels like it is the end.

Look, I know we didn't...
leave things on the best terms.

So, if, um...
you want me to buzz off...

Did you bring
your bathing suit?

Thank you for meeting me.

It's-- it's been quite a day.

Did the doc tell you to call me?

Clean up the mess?

Well, that would take
a pretty big mop.

I'm not fishing for a
husband, if that's what you think.

I didn't even like that guy.

But this kid is half his,

and I thought
maybe I could get to know him.

Thank you.

I'm sorry. I can't give
you his name or his information.

Then what is this?

Not enough.

It never is.
Trust me, I have two.

But it's better than nothing.

This is from you?

No, it's...

from the man who's responsible.

I hope I didn't ruin your shot.

Oh, uh...
I can cut around you.

Though I-I'm no great fan
of montage.

I don't suppose
you've read André Bazin,

"The Ontology
Of The Photographic Image"?

I'm waiting for the movie.

It's pretty theoretical.

Pseudorealism
versus true realism.

What's the difference?

Honestly, I have no idea.

You know,

the film you're shooting
won't survive a nuclear attack.

Nothing will.

Except cockroaches.

And Godzilla.

They don't tell you this
in civil defense class--

but I've been reading this book,
"On The Beach"--

and the H-bomb has
a blast radius 10 miles wide.

If one falls on St. Louis,
they won't even find our teeth.

We'll just be numbers

in an official death toll
added up in some city far away.

Heavy.

At the end of the day,

if you're facing
global annihilation,

you can only be accountable
for yourself.

If it were the last night
on Earth,

I'd feel really bad about
what I said to you earlier.

So...

I'm sorry.

And if-- if it
were the last night on Earth...

I'd kiss you.

I need to speak with you, Bill.

Well, it'll
have to wait until tomorrow.

It's past dinner hour.
Libby will be expecting me home.

Is she?

Expecting?

I do hope
you'll congratulate her for me.

After everything she's been
through, it is wonderful news--

Libby's pregnancy.

Virginia...

Bill, I never felt smaller

than I did
the day that you offered to pay

for my participation
in our study.

I spent weeks

trying to figure out why
you would treat me that way...

like I was just
some random volunteer, or worse,

but... now I understand.

I'm sure you can imagine

Libby's reluctance
to talk about the baby.

That's not why
you didn't tell me.

It's because you felt guilty...

Because you had formed
an attachment to me.

It's been a trying day.
You're emotional.

No, Bill.

You are.

You do always say

that we that can't let emotions
cloud our judgment,

but you did.

Which means it was...
never really about the research.

No. We were having an affair.

Are you finished?

No. Not quite.

I met with Flora Banks tonight.

Subject F-26-132.

And I gave her a check
for $2,000

from the discretionary fund.

You did what?

You obviously think

that money is the best way
to handle the problem.

That is a gross violation--

I have the legal
authority. You granted it to me.

Although it still is
a fireable offense.

But...

don't worry, Bill.

I quit.

I got some lousy news today.

So did I.

Trust me,
I think I got you beat.

'Course, if they drop the bomb,
none of it matters anyway.

Hmm.

You know we're building
artificial satellites?

Shoot 'em into space,
and they just... float around.

No tether.

No responsibilities.

That's how I used to feel.

They're not actually floating.

Hmm?

My daughter
took a science class.

I borrowed her book.

There are thousands of objects
in orbit.

Gravity pulls them toward Earth,
but the Earth keeps...

curving away underneath them.

They're not actually floating.

What they're really doing...

is falling.

I see
you still need a secretary.

You look nice.

I look like a rodeo clown.

Though a clown
would have had more success

charming the Chancellor.

The Chancellor works
for the trustees, doesn't he?

Technically, I suppose.

Well, then,
we'll just have to charm them.

...a 20-kiloton
blast over Niagara Falls,

a 2-megaton blast over Seattle,

and a single-megaton blast
over Detroit

in this grim rehearsal
for disaster.

Early estimates suggest

more than half
the country's population

would have been killed or
injured in the day's attacks,

with clouds of radioactivity
rendering parts of the country

uninhabitable
for years to come.

In New York City alone, the
death toll stands at 2,339,000.

The all-clears have sounded,

but all is not well in America
tonight.

Our sole consolation--
it was only a test.

♪ and she clings to me ♪

♪ we talk of the future ♪

♪ but what do we see? ♪

♪ there's a mushroom cloud
that hangs in the way ♪

♪ tomorrow looks black,
so we live for today ♪

♪ please, please, please,
where did you go? ♪

♪ where did you go? ♪

♪ oh, please, please, please,
where did you go? ♪

♪ where did you go? ♪

♪ oh, please, please, please,
where did you go? ♪

♪ where did you go? ♪