He was almost there; his long legs gave him a few extra strides on Olivia, despite her speed, and he was almost there. He reached out for her, tried to grab her arm, her leg – hell, he'd have grabbed her hair if he had to. Henrietta's small, still-chubby hand stretched toward his as she was hoisted off the ground by an Observer. "Daddy!" she shrieked. "Daddy, help!"

He made one last grab, his hand brushing against hers, a fistful of her hair, with its loosening ribbon, threading through his fingers like so much water. Seeing the Observer raise his gun, aiming at Peter's chest, he hoped , if he couldn't save Etta, that the bastard would at least kill him outright this time…

"DADDYYYYYYYY!"

Peter jolted to awareness next to a desiccated tree outside the warehouse. Night had fallen, and Peter had no idea how he'd gotten there. Panicked, he looked around, then immediately reached into his pocket; it was empty. "No," he muttered. "No, no, no, no, no." He patted both jeans pockets, turning in furious circles. "No," he sobbed one last time, sinking to the muddy ground on his knees and rocking forward until his forehead nearly touched the earth.

"Peter," Walter's soft voice sounded behind him.

He turned abruptly, nearly toppling sideways. Righting himself, he said, "I want it back. Please give it back. I'm sorry I lost it, but please give her back. Please… " He reached a shaking hand blindly toward his father in the dark.

"Peter, it's Walter," he said, stepping out of the shadow. "See? Look. Is this what you're looking for?" He held out the ribbon-wrapped ring to his son. "It's all right, perfectly safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," Peter repeated, staggering to his feet. "Safe and sound. Give it," he said harshly, nearly lunging for Walter.

"Easy," Walter said soothingly as Peter snatched the ring from his hand. He grasped Peter's arm gently but firmly, but Peter yanked it away.

"Don't touch me!" Peter screamed, clutching the ring to his chest, his eyes wild.

"Son… why can't I touch you?"

"Because… " Peter shrugged.

"Olivia, please… " Peter followed his wife to the door.

"It's best if we split up on this," Olivia said, checking her weapon for the tenth time. "You take the lab. I'm checking this one out on my own."

"That's not a smart idea, and you know it," Peter protested.

"If there's information there about where my child is, I'm damn well going to be the first one to see it," she said coldly.

"Honey, please… " He reached between them to take her hand.

She yanked it away, and used it to slap him across the face. "Don't you call me that, and don't you ever lay those hands on me again," she growled. "You let them take her. You were right there. You were so close you could touch her. And you lost her. Don't you ever touch me again." She pulled her wedding ring off her finger, threw it on the floor, and stormed out.

"I lost her," Peter said, the last words Olivia had spoken to him ringing in his ears. "It was the last thing she said, and I lost her. I lost them both. It was my fault."

"Ah," Walter said, understanding. It had been theorized by his counterpart in the other universe that your last thought before ambering stayed with you, repeating like a torturous mantra in your still-conscious mind for the duration of your captivity. If Olivia had told Peter never to touch her…

"She was angry, son. She didn't mean it. She's terribly worried about you."

Peter took a deep, shuddering breath, and staggered to his feet. "I'm fine."

"You are not. And Olivia is frightened for you. We all are."

"It's okay, I'll be okay. I just need to test that sample, and we need to go get Simon. His name is Simon, right? I think Etta said it's Simon," Peter began to pace.

"Yes, son, it's Simon." Walter took a hesitant step toward Peter; he knew the signs of a complete physical and mental collapse all too well, and it pained him to seem them in his son. "Please. You need rest, Peter. Come inside; it's cold out here, and my old bones aren't what they used to be since the amber."

"Go inside. I'm okay."

"I believe the amber may be compromising your neural network," Walter said crisply, pointing toward Peter's right hand, which was clenching and flexing spasmodically at his side. "Your release was rather traumatic… "

"Etta," Peter said, trying to suppress a shiver, "Etta said you got thrown against a wall. I'd… I'd call that pretty traumatic."

"We're not talking about me. You almost literally hit the ground running. Your body hasn't had time to process the side effects. You haven't allowed it to."

"Well, s-sorry, Doctor Bishop, but I've been k-kinda busy." What is up with the shivering? Peter thought to himself. Snap out of it. It's not that cold out here.

Walter was silent for a moment, then said, "I found something else." He tossed the antique compass to Peter. "Catch."

Peter reached for the object, but fumbled it, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. "Your reflexes are slowing. The amber has compromised your neural pathways. You have to stop, son. You have to rest, or the damage may become permanent."

"It's b-been… d-d-days, Walter," he stammered. "W-we just handled a m-major operation, no… no problem."

"And beautifully, too. You saved me. As always." He stepped closer to Peter. "It's my turn, now."

Peter tried to back away, but found himself against the tree. "Please don't," he rasped, but Walter kept coming. "Please? I can't. I can't... break. Gotta keep us together." He shook his head angrily when tears began to fall. "I can't," he repeated through clenched, chattering teeth.

Walter stood inches from him, his hand hovering over Peter's hair. "Why not?"

"All the king's horses… " Peter mumbled, still shaking his head, and looking around for a means of escape. "Never put Humpty together again…"

"You won't break," Walter said softly. "And if you do, we'll hold you together. We'll all hold you." He brought his hands to Peter's face. "My son," he said simply.

"Dad… " Peter sank bonelessly into his father's embrace, his breaths coming in wheezing sobs.

"I've got you, son, I've got you," Walter said, one arm holding him fast as he reached into his pocket. "It's going to be all right now." He withdrew the syringe from his pocket and swiftly injected its contents into Peter's neck. "It's all going to be all right." He motioned to the three women approaching him in the darkness as Peter slumped in his arms with a barely audible sigh. "Help me get him inside, please."