That's a lovely two-story house we're looking at, but I can't imagine the neighbors were terribly thrilled when the owners hung the huge floaty letters reading "OAK PARK, ILLINOIS" across the eaves. Inside, a woman sneaks out of bed and goes to the bathroom. There, she digs in the false bottom of her medicine cabinet and gets out a case just like the one Olivia found in Gillespie's bedroom. She prepares a shot and injects a dose into the bottom of her toe. For a moment, half her foot goes crispy, but then the effect subsides after a few seconds. Which is good, because if she exploded like Gillespie just did, it would probably wake up her husband.

The next day, that same woman is loading her groceries into a minivan. "Let me help you with that," says a totally creepy skinny dude. It's Stephen McHattie, that H!ITG who looks like an evil version of Giles. She doesn't seem any less startled by his appearance for the fact that she seems to recognize him. "Colonel!" she says in surprise. "We need to talk, Captain Burgess," he says. He's even creepier in person than as a disembodied voice on a red cell phone.

A moment later, he's sitting with her in the van, saying he's activating her again. He's given her an envelope containing all the arrangements for her to take a trip to Washington, D.C. on Friday. There's also a red cell phone just like the one Gillespie had, which she is to have on her always (although he doesn't specify that she needs to keep it charged). He makes sure she has a cover story for her family (visiting a sister in Georgetown) and has been taking the serum (which we already know she has). "From this moment on, Tin Man parameters are in effect." He gets out without saying goodbye. She doesn't call after him, "What the hell is Tin Man?" so I assume she knows what he's talking about. Or else she's going to run back into the grocery store and check the Redbox for a 1987 Richard Dreyfuss/Danny DeVito comedy.

Olivia stumps down the stairs back into the bowling alley and asks Weiss how he knew about the headaches. "Well, it's about time," Weiss says, like it's Olivia's fault. "Can you just cut the Yoda crap and tell me what's happening to me?" Olivia snaps. Even though he's been dealing more in Mr. Miyagi crap, answer her he does: "The headaches mean you finally spark a battery." Leading her over to a lane, he says she's been experiencing a kind of aphasia that's common with head trauma. "Parts of your brain are still asleep but once they wake up, all that memory will get flushed out." She asks when. Instead of answering, he gives her a pair of fresh new bowling shoes of her own, right out of the box, and starts yammering about how most places have computerized scoring, but here it's done old-school, "With a dull pencil and all your third-grade math skills." Olivia angrily says she's not about to bowl. "I can't even walk without this damn cane," she reminds everyone. He tells her she's just going to keep score for a kids' league that's coming in. Of course, she wants to know how that'll help her. "Well, for starters, it might teach you some patience," he says, and leaves her to it. I'm starting to see how this guy built his reputation as a miracle worker. You spend three or four minutes with him every day, and then he takes the credit when time heals you all by itself. It's brilliant. Except until people figure out his scam, which may be why he works in a bowling alley.