Biology Annex. Another close-up of that damned insect. A doctor confirms for Charlie and Fauxlivia that the picture they're showing him is, indeed, of the beetle he remembers. Armand Silva worked in virology just down the hall. Silva, he says, tried to kill himself a few years ago. "Those bugs were his whole life," he says. "When the sheep died out, he was a mess." Yeah, he still is.
Random parking garage. A car with the license plate "APT6B" sits idling, having just crashed into the railing. The driver's side door is open. The portly diner from earlier sits slumped behind the wheel. Skelter beetles crawl out of his corpse. Silva is waiting at the edge of the next level, catching the falling insects in a big plastic tub, grinning like it's raining pennies from heaven. The beetles land in the tub with little thuds that sound both moist and crunchy, like biting into an almond-stuffed olive. I'm gonna go set off a fogger bomb in my bedroom.
The Fringe agents have found the latest victim. Like the first one, he was 42. Coincidence? Are the writers Douglas Adams fans? In league with the Antichrist? Pretty sure they're Beatles fans, because Fauxlivia says the victim was last seen eating at the Abbey Road Diner. Lincoln hasn't had any luck tracking down Silva. His last known address was in Boston, but the city's been ambered and there's nothing in the system on him since then. Fauxlivia figures he's still alive if there's no record of his death. Charlie notices that the beetles this time are bigger. He takes one of them and heads to forensics. Lincoln looks thoughtful. "What's wrong?" Fauxlivia asks. The cleaners couldn't get the stain out of his cone of silence. "I keep feeling like I'm missing something," he says, "that Broyles would see something I'm not." Fauxlivia assures him he's doing fine.
Walternate's secret lair. He's pouring himself a glass of water and wearing a hotel robe. He looks sad. "Do you want me to give you some time alone?" a woman asks out of frame. He puts on a smile and turns to face an ageless Joan Chen. She's sitting up in bed, covers pulled up over her knees. Walternate doesn't want to be alone. He sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped under their invisible weight. She caresses the side of his face and waits for him to speak on his own time. Slowly, he finds the words: "If you'd asked me a week ago, I would have told you that I would sacrifice anything to save our world, when, in fact there are lines that I simply cannot cross." She fiddles with his ear in a kind of distracting way. He sighs heavily and asks if this makes him weak. She says she's sure of his strength, but he's not as certain. "I'm afraid I failed, Reiko." He talks about Peter, and how Peter needs to be there of his own free will. Walternate says he underestimated Peter's attachments "over there." "I hadn't factored in the girl," he says. Reiko says all the things he wants to hear. What kind of mistress would she be if she didn't?