There's Walter standing over Olivia's unconscious body, Peter looking in through the door. Walter uses a little flashlight to check Olivia's eyes, and can barely control his shaking. "I'm so sorry, Olive," he says, fighting back tears. Peter stands there stoically, then closes his eyes and his face gets all snarly.
Time to hit the bar! Peter tosses back a whisky and taps the glass on the bar for a refill. "Mind if I join you?" says Broyles behind him. They're at "The Irish Heather." Broyles pulls out a chair and sits down. "I'm guessing you don't drink," says Peter, and Broyles points to Peter's drink and tells the bartender, "Double." Oh, we got a drink-off on our hands! Peter wants to know how Broyles found him, and Broyles can barely contain the "duh" in his voice as he reminds Peter that he works for the FBI. Then he asks Peter where Walter is, and I'm half-surprised Peter didn't just say, "Uh, you work for the FBI." Instead, he explains that Walter is in La-La land, thanks to a drug mixture, and Astrid's babysitting.
I guess hearing about the waste of an FBI agent for the purposes of making sure a half-mad scientist doesn't hurt himself or others while whacked out on drugs prompts Broyles to tell Peter that he has to go to Washington tomorrow, because the efficacy of their division is being questioned. "I've been informed that our failure to deliver any usable results is unacceptable." So I guess preparing your defence isn't as good an idea as getting plastered with Peter "Loose Cannon" Bishop in a bar, eh, Broyles? "They're shutting you down?" says Peter. You too, Peter. He snorts and wonders what they were even doing, apart from sitting around waiting for someone to die a "grisly, macabre death" or for the fabric of the universe "to come shredding apart." He calls them the cleanup crew, coming in to mop up and make everything nice and tidy for the files. "It's too late, anyway," he says, and Broyles doesn't think so, but Peter's talking about how it's too late for Olivia. So they toast Olivia and in a few hours are going to be drunkenly singing along to "Sweet Caroline."
Meanwhile, over at New York Federal Building, Agent Jessup is digging around the FBI's files, with pictures of the Fringe crew on her screen like FBI baseball cards. Collect 'em all! Foiled again by the Top Secret You Keep Out! classification on her computer screen, she unfolds a scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it -- 112885627, for anyone who thinks it might be significant. Anyway, it allows her access to the Fringe files -- wait, where did she get that? -- and she checks out the grisly, macabre death scenes the Fringe crew were brought in to mop up, like the bus where everyone was encased like flies in amber, that baby that grew up into a man in a matter of hours, and what looks to be a scene from the plane in the pilot episode. Oh, grisly, macabre death scenes -- how you've started to blend together. Looks like Jessup picked the wrong day to quit sniffing glue.
Peter strolls back up to head trauma centre. He doesn't appear to be staggering too much. Olivia's cute sister Rachel is there... sweet. Grief sex, Peter. Dig it. Rachel says Ella's at a friend's house, because Rachel didn't want her remembering her aunt like this. "She had a living will. No life support. They're going to do this in, in the morning, so I've just been sitting with her, and..." She trails off. Peter looks into the room, and Rachel asks if he wants to... trailing off again. Probably "go in and say goodbye?" and not "go back to my place?" Peter nods. Rachel looks at him for a moment, and then says, "You know she liked you, Peter. Did you know that?" Like, liked liked him? Peter just kind of sighs and goes inside.
Olivia's lying there, monitors beeping. Peter sits at her side, touches her shoulder, whispers, "Hey." That's all he's able to say for a long while, and then finally says, "Goodbye, Olivia," and leans in to give her a kiss, at which point her eyes open and she intones, "Einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera toy" and then sits straight up and screams. You gotta figure Peter's used to women freaking out like this when he goes to kiss them.
Sometime later, a doctor is asking Olivia questions. Olivia remembers her name, but she doesn't know why she's in the hospital or what's wrong with her leg. Rachel tells her about the accident. "In New York," says Olivia. Then she asks if Peter's there, and Rachel says he is, and Peter steps forward, and Olivia babbles about how she went somewhere, and Peter's all, "Yeah, New York," but Olivia says that's not it, that she was trying to get somewhere and someone was trying to stop her. She's getting agitated, and the beeping on her monitor speeds up, which is probably not good, and the doctor tells Peter that she needs to stay calm. Have you forgotten, "Doctor, please. Back off"? Olivia tells Peter, "He told me something," but she can't remember who it was but it was very important, that there's something she has to do. "There's something that I have to do, and I ... I think that our lives may depend on it." She's practically wailing. "Whose lives?" asks Peter. "Everyone's," says Olivia. And while the doctor readies a beta blocker to get her pulse down, and readies some Blue Blockers to keep her eyes safe from UV damage, Olivia pleads with Peter to bring her her gun. "Please, I'm not safe. Somebody hurt me, they did this to me. Please, Peter, my gun. I need my gun." God, sounds just like my wife in the hospital.
So Peter walks into Boston Federal Building and tells the receptionist that he needs to talk to special agent Broyles, and the receptionist instantly knows where one particular agent in the whole building is, and tells Peter that Broyles is in Washington (which Peter must have forgotten). So he asks to speak to Agent Charlie Francis, and the receptionist asks what it's regarding, and Peter says he works for the FBI as a consultant, and he hands her his card and says he needs access to a file on a car accident in New York City. She scans the card. "I'm sorry, these credentials have been revoked, Mr. Bishop," she says, and dumps the card in a shredder. Peter was not expecting that. He agitatedly tells officious shredder lady that she needs to help him, and she brightly tells him he can file a civilian request on their website, and he starts going on about one of their agents in the hospital and the agent's life and possibly officious shredder lady's life depends on Peter doing the work he needs to do, and naturally by this point the woman is glancing nervously over at a security agent who puts a hand on Peter's shoulder and Peter shoves him off, and the agent looks all, "Excellent. I was hoping to mix it up today," and fortunately for Peter, agent Jessup is coincidentally in the lobby affixing him with her best, "What the hell are you doing?" stare, and she says she'll take Peter. Peter smirks at the security guard and says, "I'm with her." Sure, now you're her best friend, Peter.
So they stroll outside and go for a car ride. Peter asks her what she's doing in Boston, and she ignores him and asks if he likes to fight: "All that time in Iraq. Mob connections. You've got quite a combative history," she says. But flattery gets you nowhere with Peter, who just says she said she was going to help him get his hands on that file -- did Peter give her the access code? But he didn't need her help at the time... Anyway, she's got the file on the seat behind him and tells him something wasn't "adding up" about the skid marks: "They were darkest at the back, not the front," she says. "So maximum torque farthest away from the incident. That means the driver wasn't slowing down," says Peter. "He was speeding up," says Jessup, and Peter figures he must have been waiting.
Jessup's got pictures from the surveillance camera in the parking garage next to the accident site, and there's a nice clear picture of Buddy sitting