It's just a one-night stand. What's the worst that could happen? Well, you could get pregnant with a rapidly aging fetus that kills you, and which then dies itself in a matter of hours, already an old man.
The Fringe team checks things out, and finds a couple of personal connections. One is that the man who was with the quickie-pregnancy woman has the same M.O. as a serial killer that Olivia investigated with John some time ago. They never caught the guy. Meanwhile, the whole rapid aging thing is a concept worked on by Walter with a Dr. Penrose, when they were attempting to grow human soldiers in about three years. The work was done on the pituitary gland, and the serial killer used to extract that gland from his victims.
Walter suspects the killer is a successful result of the human-cultivation experiment, who would need pituitary extract to slow his own aging process. The group borrows some technology from Massive Dynamic to extract the last image one of his victims saw, right from her own eyeball. Yes, you read that right.
The image, of a bridge, leads the gang to a warehouse in Stoughton, where they manage to prevent another woman's death. Dr. Penrose, who calls the killer "son," gets away, while the killer runs for it. Olivia chases him, but since he didn't get the pituitary extract he needed, he gets old really quickly, complains about these kids today with their low-riding pants, and then dies.
Fringe is now two-for-two in terms of episodes featuring couples in trysts in motels, although this one seems a little less non-skeezy than the one chosen by John and Olivia in the pilot.
"What's her name? Whoever you're thinking about? Your girlfriend or whatever," asks a woman in a black bra and panties, lounging in bed all aglow, as her partner gets dressed. "I don't have a girlfriend," says the guy, looking slightly embarrassed, and the woman says, "Yeah?" kinda perkily, as though maybe now this relationship has a FUTURE or something.
Buddy is clutching a satchel, and the woman wants to know what's in it. She hopes it's a mushroom pizza, because that's what she's hungry for right now. Yeah, it's a mushroom pizza, jokes the guy, although "jokes" is a bit of an overstatement, and he takes the satchel in the bathroom with him as he finishes getting dressed. "You're not married, are you? Not that it's any of my business. You never know about people," calls out the woman from the bed. He doesn't say anything, but she keeps babbling. "My name isn't Amber, by the way. Obviously. That's just for the club." The guy opens the satchel, and inside are all kinds of surgical tools (regular ones, not creepy-ass ones like in Dead Ringers). She asks if he wants to know her real name, like he's got any power at all to keep her from nattering away. It's "Loraine Daisy," because all her sisters have flowers for middle names, and her mom can't spell.
Meanwhile, Buddy is busy affixing a vial of orange stuff to a syringe. And now he's got some green stuff, and one way or another her mom's spelling inability is going to be the least of her problems.
After a few moments of blessed silence, she suddenly starts grunting and gasping. Buddy runs back out into the motel room, where Loraine has gotten up from the bed and is staggering around in pain. "What's going on?" he says. He turns her around, and her belly is roiling -- something's inside, pushing out. "It'll be over in a second," he says, and the implication that he knows what's going on kind of cancels out any reassurance that statement might otherwise offer. He runs into the bathroom and gathers up his surgical instruments while she stumbles, screaming, outside and into the parking lot. A couple of other guests at the motel come out to ask what's going on, with one guy offering to give them a ride to the hospital, but Buddy says he'll take her himself.
She screams all the way there, her stomach still writhing. "What's happening to me?" she shrieks. Nothing but pop-culture punishment for unprotected sex!