Olivia bent down to sign herself in on the visitor's book that the wing guard pushed in front of her wordlessly. Astrid's signature followed and when they were quickly approved, the man pushed up off his seat, sighing, and unlocked the front gate for them. The senior agent held her breath like she always did as if she were stepping through to a new threshold when in actual fact, despite the many, many gates and wardens, the corridors were all the same. The patients, the therapies, the food, the treatments all screamed sameness.

And it wasn't altogether fair to the patient that they were visiting just as they visited him every week, because he couldn't be further removed from the place if he tried. His whole new existence inside St. Claire's hospital was a wholly inappropriate thing. But neither Olivia nor the Bureau could change that. At least without a viable next of kin so that they could appoint that person his legal guardian. But she didn't seem at all too keen liberating him from the facility. After all, mental illness apparently ran right through his blood. Perhaps the world and he himself would be safer in such was the unforgiving detention.

"You don't understand," Walter flew up. "He isn't... programmed like that. He doesn't think like us. He doesn't respond well to... he's just different."

"How is he different?" Olivia demanded, glancing at a worried Astrid. She folded her arms, looking back at Walter rather pointedly. "Well?"

Walter became frustrated, shaking his head and started pacing – pulling and banging at random things on his desk as he passed it back and forth, "He just is! I can't – you won't ever understand. Even he can't, it's too much to ask of a person regardless of what they've seen or how bright they are. It's not – it's not, it's not."

"Not what, Walter?" Olivia refused to let him digress or hide behind his idiosyncrasies.

"He isn't who you all think he is!" he snapped at last, tears welling in his eyes. Astrid's mouth hung open in incomprehensible shock, but Olivia didn't seem satisfied. It was far too dramatic a statement even by the wilting old scientist's standards not to press him on it. If he forgot himself, they may lose the topic forever.

A second guard escorted them down the white hallway, her heels clicking in front of the agents in a quick, rhythmic fashion. They followed silently, each to their own thoughts, each playing out the last argument that they wish they never had, the argument that would change everything for all of them as they knew it.

"And who might he be?"

"He's Peter – he's still my Peter," Walter snarled angrily. "And I'm not going to let anyone take that away from me. Not on my life."

"Walter?"

Walter bent his head, his hands coming up to his face as he began to weep openly, "I didn't mean for any of this."

"What did you do, Dr Bishop?" Astrid asked slowly. "What – what did you do to Peter?"

Walter shook his head miserably, wiping at his nose, "He isn't my son."

"Walter," Olivia said carefully, trying to appeal to whatever ailing but brilliant part of his mind wasn't veiled by shattered memories. "The FBI has your file. I've read it myself. There was no mention... of you ever... adopting a child," she tilted her head to the side, frowning with concern, "I've seen his birth certificate."

"He isn't from this reality."

The orderly stopped short of a heavy steal door and pulled out a set of keys. Olivia managed to make eye contact with the woman, taking in her flawless yet emotionless face and suppressed the urge not to roll her eyes at her and the damn system. She attempted a smile nonetheless but received, as ever, nothing in return. The door was unlocked. They were informed, as if they didn't know by now, that there was a canteen area down the hall they may wish to use, and that was that.

Olivia nearly heaved at the admission, feeling her stomach drop immediately. She exchanged a glance with Astrid again and noticed that the junior agent didn't seem to be coping much better as they tried to wrestle with what they now knew.

"My son," Walter tried to clarify reluctantly, "was a very sick little boy and by the age of seven it was his time to go. And he went," he swallowed hard, "and he left me and we buried him. Me and Belly, we – we buried him unnoticed. No one could tell the difference. Not even his mother. But – but she isn't his mother. At least... well..."

"Peter... is dead?" Astrid asked, heat rising to her cheeks.

"And everyone was allowed to believe that he had some miraculous recovery and it was all fine. There were some initial teething problems what with the crossover but – but we learned how to manage that. Him. We could manage him."

"Peter had another family," Olivia said coldly, causing Astrid to whip around to her. "This – this other son you took... he wasn't yours to take, Walter."

"I brought him home," Walter said, his lip trembling. "He wanted to come with me."

"He was seven, he was a child!" she raised her voice, horrified. "He didn't know what he was going home to! You were his father, Walter, how could you... how could you kidnap your own son?"

"I missed him!"

"No," Olivia said, her voice laced with disgust. "You replaced him."