In the ambulance, Fauxlivia is in bad shape. "Oh, my stomach!" she gasps. Frank smooths her hair and explains about the anti-parasitic he's going to give her. He's worried because it's pretty powerful stuff, but he doesn't think they have much choice. He moves an ultrasound wand over her lower belly and sees a little blob of something moving around. We shift back to Silva's lab where Lincoln is putting together some kind of container at Silva's behest. Silva checks his watch and looks a little queasy. Lincoln brings the container over to Silva. "I gave you what you wanted, now you tell me how to save her." "She doesn't need saving," Silva says. "I didn't infect her." He says she's not the final host. With that, he starts retching over the open container. Back in the ambulance, Frank is about to jab a syringe into Fauxlivia's belly when the EMT tells him to stop. Frank looks at her stats and tells her she's not infected. "You're pregnant," he says. This seems to come as a surprise to Fauxlivia. You know who else is sort of pregnant? Dr. Silva. The queen beetle chews her way out of his neck. "The queen is ready," he burbles. He helps her out by pulling her the rest of the way out of his neck and placing her in the container. Bloody and panting with mixed pain and relief, he pulls Lincoln closer to him. "Make sure they spell my name right," he sputters. With that, he dies in the name of science and grossness.
Hospital room. Fauxlivia looks wan and pensive in her bed, cheering up slightly when Frank comes to visit. "What did the doctor say?" he asks. "That the baby's healthy," she tells him, "and that the fall and adrenaline triggered some kind of morning sickness." It seems more likely that the thought of ingesting a bunch of insect larva triggered the barfing, but whatever. Frank doesn't really want to know the answer to this, but he asks how far along she is. She smiles, shakes her head, not wanting to answer. He presses. "Six weeks," she says, probably wishing it had been a beetle infestation. Frank is about to cry. "Are you in love with him?" he asks, not wanting to know the answer to that, either. Her silence is all the answer he needs. He turns to go, then stops at the door. "You were gonna marry me," he says. He walks away. She curls into her pillow and cries, alone.