All language subtitles for brooklyn.nine-nine.s08e03.720p.hdtv.x264-syncopy

For most people,
a burrito is a delicious meal

wrapped in a tortilla,
but for one NYPD officer,

it turned out to be a mouse
wrapped in a nightmare.

So I order a grande steak.

I get back to my car,
take a big bite, and crunch.

That's when I see it... a dead mouse.

A dead mouse that Frank O'Sullivan,

the President of the Patrolman's Union,

says was put there on purpose.

This was an act of political violence

organized by a group of radical
anti-cop Antifa anarchists

working out of The Burrito Haven.

This is bogus.

The officer called in a to-go order
under the name Tom.

The restaurant had no idea he was a cop

when they made the food
or packed the bag.

So, clearly, he wasn't targeted
for "being a police officer."

I've always wanted to try mouse meat.

- I hear it's really tasty.
- From who?

The union made it up as a power move.

O'Sullivan wants me to issue

a statement of public support
for the officer,

to give them all extra hazard pay

and to wear this
Never Forget Burrito ribbon.

Weird. It's the exact same color

as my Color Blind Awareness ribbon.

No, it isn't. I won't give in
to any of their demands.

The union is powerful, but I'm sure

that most of our uniformed
officers understand

this incident is nonsense.

It is, as Peralta would say,
"No big 'whoop.'"

I appreciate the shout-out, sir,

but I actually don't pronounce
the H in whoop.

Sir, all the uniformed
officers just left.

They're staging a walkout.

Well, it seems I was wrong.

The "whoop" is big after all.

It is.

Again, though, there's no H in whoop.

It's silent.

"Whoop."

- Whoop.
- "Whoop."

Am I crazy? How do you say it?

- I say "whoop."
- Okay.

Sync & corrections by emeline-whovian
www.addic7ed.com

How is it possible that every
single uniformed officer

got sick at once?

They're not actually sick.

They aren't actually allowed to strike,

so they made up a medical excuse.

It's called a Blue Flu.

Without uniforms on the street,
crime's gonna go up.

Do we have to negotiate with the union?

No. I haven't gone through
decades of hell

to become a captain in the NYPD

just to cave to a clown
like O'Sullivan.

We can't let him win, and we won't.

But how? What are we gonna do?

I'm initiating Operation Trident.

Cool. Just like the sugarless gum...

Because we're gonna chew them up.

No, like the famed weapon of the sea,

forged by the Cyclops
for Poseidon himself.

The trident has three prongs,
like my approach.

Ah, not to interrupt,

but Aquaman's trident has five prongs.

That's absurd.
The prefix tri means three.

What this aquatic-man carries
is better termed a "pentadent."

No, it's a trident.

They call it that in the
original theatrical release

and the Snyder cut.

So you're 100% wrong,
and everyone's laughing at you.

Well, regardless,

Operation Trident has three prongs.

Prong one, Boyle and Peralta.

Oh, nice, the most important prong.

- Mm-hmm.
- Wrong.

Prong two, the center prong,

is the most important prong
on a trident.

It's the longest and straightest

and breaks the least often.

Are you just mad because

I questioned you
about the Aquaman thing?

Yes. The officers
all had doctor's notes.

Prove those notes are fraudulent,

and they'll be forced back to work.

- We're on it.
- Prong two...

Jeffords and Santiago,
your job is to keep crime down.

Figure out how we police
this precinct with no police.

Prong two, baby... the best prong.

I mean, we're all in it together.

It's not like this is
a competition between prongs.

Says the prong who breaks the most.

Prong three is proving they
faked the mouse in the burrito.

If we can demonstrate
this was a media stunt,

the uniforms will have
to come back to work.

But this investigation
must be done unofficially

with an investigator from
outside the NYPD,

aka Rosa Diaz.

It's a good idea,
but she's not gonna like being

- one of those dinky side prongs.
- That's a good point.

I'll make hers the sharpest. Dismissed.

What? No! I want to be a sharp prong!

That's not fair!

All these notes are
from the same doctor.

Everyone got a blood test,
and they all had mono.

That seems really improbable.

Yeah, nobody gets mono at this age.

You get it as an eight-year-old,
and then you're immune.

Wait, you get it as an eight-year-old?

Mono? The kissing disease?

No, it's the cousin's disease.

You get it by kissing your cousins.

- Oh, I guess we're both right.
- No.

Wait a minute... if you're immune,

then you can tell the doctor
you're from the Nine-Nine,

and when he gives you
a mono diagnosis...

We'll have proof
that his notes are fake.

Wow.

I can't believe all those
lazy childhood afternoons

playing hide the yam finally paid off.

- You see, you take a yam...
- I don't want to know!

Prong two update... I brought in

our night-shift detectives
to handle the dispatch calls

and respond to major crimes...

Sorry. That's Terry's tummy.

I'm feeling a little nauseous.

Must've been something
I had for breakfast.

Well, do you have to go home,
or can you tough it out?

So, if Terry goes home, he's not tough?

Here we go.

Lieutenant, we don't have
the time today to make this

about some larger insecurity

you have regarding your toughness.

First of all, I'm not
insecure about my toughness.

Secondly, being sick has
nothing to do with being tough.

Thirdly, if I wasn't tough,
would I be daring Amy

- to punch me in the stomach?
- Wha...

Come on, Amy! Give me your best shot!

Fine. Just so that we can move on.

See? I'm fine.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I'm gonna go for a walk
in the fresh air

with my best friend, the trash can.

I'll be back 'cause I'm tough!

Let's talk quickly before he returns

and makes this all about himself again.

Okay. We can't use uniforms
from other precincts

because they'll call out sick, too.

So I asked the other captains
in the district

to lend us some detectives.

Smart. They have a different union.

And they each sent us two people.

They said they were happy to do it.

Huh. That's odd.

I wouldn't be happy to give up
two of my detectives, unless...

Dear God.

They sent us
their Hitchcock-and-Scullys.

It's a nightmare.

So you've been feeling fatigued?

Yeah. I think I have mono.

I'm from the 99th precinct.

Ah, yeah, I've heard

they've had some kind
of outbreak there.

Mm-hmm. So now that you know
where I'm from,

can you just write me a note?

Uh, no, actually, I need to
order bloodwork

- and do a full exam.
- Ah.

- Lift up.
- Oh, yeah.

Oh. Now, that is interesting.

Oh, did you find a sign of mono?

- No, it's your testicle.
- My what?

The left one is enormous.

Oh, well, can't one testicle
be larger than the other?

Well, yes,
but it shouldn't be that large.

And also of concern
is the shape and the color...

Yeah, that doesn't sound good.

And the texture.

Wow! Oh, that is ice cold!

- So...
- So...

- You heard all that?
- I did.

Even the part where
he's talking about my huge...

Yep. Yep, yep, yep. All the parts.

- You okay?
- Yeah.

I mean, could be cancer.
Might have spread.

But I'm fine. I can handle this.

You sure about that?

'Cause you're still wearing
your hospital gown there, bud.

So I am.

Ah, there she is.

My sweet secret prong three.

- What the hell?
- Oh, right.

You weren't there when
I explained Operation Trident.

So, uh, what did you find?

Nothing yet, and if you want me

to keep digging,
we need to talk about my fee.

I need cash. Most of
my other work is pro bono.

This is unofficial. I can't pay.

Right, but there is something
you can give me,

something just as valuable as money.

- I want to see your tattoo.
- That's just as valuable?

It is to Jake. He's offered
a significant reward.

Wow. It is so ridiculous
how much weight

you've all given to my silly tattoo,

like it's some huge secret
that I'll take to my grave.

I notice you haven't said yes yet.

'Cause no one can ever know.

Okay, fine.

If you can prove how that mouse
got into that burrito,

I'll tell you what my tattoo is.

- I need a photo of it.
- You're a monster.

Wait. I may not have to deal with you.

Santiago, how's prong two looking?

Well, the good news

is the Scully-and-Hitchcocks
actually work well together.

That is good news.

The bad news is it's at
making a back-scratch circle.

I always wondered
what it would be like to have

a tight-knit work family.

- Nine-Nine!
- ALL: Nine-Nine!

Ah, there they are... prong one,

my most important prong.

Oh, thank you. Nice of you
to finally recognize

what our prong brings to this.

Life is a cruel prank played
on the living.

Death mocks us all.

Time to go tell my son
he'll be an orphan... again.

So, yeah. Prong one
pretty much broke immediately.

I'm gonna call HR.
Get ahead of that butt.

Here's where we stand.
The Blue Flu continues.

O'Sullivan and the union won't budge

on their mouse-burrito demands.

Also, arrests are down.

Santiago, Jeffords, what
on earth happened yesterday?

The new detectives
won't do anything I ask.

- And I've had to work solo.
- Sorry.

I was feeling a little sick,
but I am much better now.

You look like garbage.

Now, I know you're trying
to tough this out,

but I've always believed
that true toughness

means acknowledging
your own limitations.

It's okay, Terry. Go home.

Thank you, sir. I'll be back in a jiffy.

I can't believe he bought that drivel.

True toughness means
working through pain.

Everyone knows that.

Peralta, where are we with the doctor?

We're gonna tail him and see
if he contacts O'Sullivan.

Smart. And, uh, what is going
on with Detective Boyle?

Is he okay?

Oh, you mean why is he
face-deep in cheese?

Yeah, it's made from the milk
of a Balkan donkey

and apparently it's quite expensive.

Spent 12 thou on ass cheese.

Also, he's pretending like

he doesn't know
what ass cheese sounds like.

Are you sure he should be working?

His doctor said
there's nothing to worry about

until we get
the actual test results back.

And Charles said that work

is the only thing keeping him
from thinking about death.

Coat's to keep me warm...

in my grave.

I mean, he's not doing great.

Oh, you guys still have lunch together?

Twice a day, every day.

Look, I need help figuring out

how to inspire these new guys.

What motivates you?

Well, I'd do anything to retire

and spend the rest of my days
with Hitchcock in Brazil.

Huh. That's actually pretty helpful.

That's the dream...

Scully and me on the sex barge
I'm building.

Okay. Scully was already helpful.

You don't have to keep talking.

These are pedometers,

which will prove that you're
actually walking your beat.

But whoever gets the most steps in

will receive seven days of overtime.

Therefore, you'll be one week
closer to retirement.

And one week closer
to a couple's massage

with your best friend on his sex barge.

Sir, guess what.

Lieutenant, I thought you went home.

I did, but some uniforms heard
that I called out sick,

and they assumed
I was joining the Blue Flu.

They invited me to a meeting
tomorrow to talk strategy.

You could go record them

admitting that
they don't actually have mono.

- That is, if you're up to it.
- Hell, yeah.

Terry's gonna tough it out.

Terry's also gonna drink
some raspberry leaf tea

that Sharon uses to help her
with menstrual cramps.

Oh, looks like we're adding a prong.

Operation Trident
is now Operation Fork.

Isn't there a cooler word than "fork"?

I mean, something more like "trident."

Oh, no, did everyone assume
I was trying to be cool?

Is that why things are going so poorly?

Damn it, I've got to call Peralta.

No, Operation Fork
is definitely not cool.

Uh, yeah, things are going good here.

We're just staking out the doctor

and trying to keep a low profile.

d And I'll be your brightest... d

Sorry about that. Just had
a bit of a noisy neighbor.

d I'll be... d

You know what, sir?
We have another noisy neighbor.

I'm just gonna call you back. Bye.

All right, Charles, I get it.
You're scared.

But sometimes it helps
to say our fears out loud.

You know, if you put words to them,

it can take away some of their powers.

So come on.

Stop bottling up those fears
and get them out in the open.

Okay, well...

I'm scared
that whatever's in my testicle

has spread and that I'm gonna die.

And then I'll never get
to see Nikolaj grow up.

And I won't know
what kind of man he becomes.

Also, my time with you
will be cut short.

No more stakeouts
or drinks after a long shift

or midnight calls when you've
had a breakthrough in a case.

I've always had this image
of us in our 90s

hunting down criminals
at the retirement home.

But I guess that was just
a dumb fantasy...

because soon I won't be here anymore...

because I'll be dead and gone

and you won't ever see me again.

- Jake, are you crying?
- No.

Yes.

Diaz, why the hush-hush meeting?

Because in one minute,

you're gonna be showing me
your tramp stamp.

- I don't have a tramp stamp.
- Prove it.

Show me your lower back.

Hmm. Seems I didn't know
what a tramp stamp was.

But I'm not gonna show you anything

until you've solved the case.

Surveillance footage of McCaffery

entering a pet store and buying a mouse

an hour before he found it
in his burrito.

He set the whole thing up.

Diaz, you did it.

And now...

my payment.

Okay, O'Sullivan, there's McCaffery

coming out of Perdue Pet Supplies

with the mouse
that he put in the burrito.

So there's no need for tactical gear

or a Never Forget Burrito
ribbon or any of that.

You need to call off the Blue Flu.

Are you crazy?
My guys are under attack.

No, I just proved
that it wasn't an attack.

He faked it.

Not that attack, this attack...

The one where you call
a policeman a liar.

He is a liar.

Oh, dear, my God.
You just did it again.

Do you understand
the worst thing you could do

to another person
is to call that person a liar?

You hate cops. That's a fact.

I-I-I just thought

the Blue Flu
was about a mouse in a burrito.

Well, it was, but now it's
about you saying it wasn't.

- That doesn't make any sense.
- So you're calling me stupid?

- That's not what I said!
- You're calling me a liar?

I just don't know how to talk
to someone like you.

Someone like me?

Wow. That's racist.

Oh, this is a very
frustrating conversation.

The union can't be reasoned with.

I need an update. Prong one.

More broken than ever.

Ah, well, I never had
any faith in you anyway.

Santiago, how's prong two doing?

We're killing it.

According to the pedometers
I put on the Hitchcock-and-Scullys,

they're out walking their beat.

And it's all thanks to these guys.

- Hey.
- Screw you, Amy.

No, I was complimenting you.

- Well, screw you anyway.
- Yeah.

As for prong four,
Jeffords is recording

the officers' secret meeting
as we speak.

And I expect he'll be bursting
into my office any minute

with the proof
we need to end the Blue Flu.

I got the proof we need
to end the Blue Flu.

- Wait, really?
- Why so surprised?

That was the plan.

Yes, but earlier,
I was talking to the squad,

and I put a lot of pressure
on this moment,

which I then regretted.

I feared I might be hoist
on my own petard.

No petard hoisting here.

They talked about everything
in front of me...

How they planned the whole thing,

how long they were gonna
pretend to be sick.

You recorded it all,
despite your own illness.

I must say, I'm impressed.

Because of how tough I am, right?

The toughest.

Okay, first things first.
We got to get...

What... what is that?

I had the mic close to my chest.

So I guess it must have picked up
my stomach noises,

but I'm sure it stops eventually.

More stomach.

More stomach.

It's all stomach.

And there it is...

the petard.

I need your help.
Our arrests are still way down.

But according to the pedometers,

our Hitchcock-and-Scullys

are out there logging miles
on the beat.

How are they not seeing crimes?

How do you know they're walking?

I just told you...

Their pedometer numbers
are through the roof.

Oh, poor, simple Amy.

It's like you've ever had
to mess with a medical device

in order to trick
your life insurance agent.

Watch and learn.

They're just using

the massage chairs
to jiggle their pedometers.

Life always finds a way.

- To do what?
- To do nothing.

Dr. Mintleman's just
working his normal job

and not being a criminal.

I can't believe this is
how I'm spending my final days.

Maybe it doesn't have to be.
Screw this case.

What's something
you've always wanted to do?

Do you have a bucket list?

Well, yeah, but, I mean,
it's only one item.

Great. Whatever it is, we're doing it.

- Live to be 110.
- Come on!

I thought I found a loophole!

Okay, how about this?

We go on a cross-country road trip...

Me on a motorcycle, you in my sidecar?

Or we enter a cooking competition,

and you "Ratatouille" me from
inside of a giant chef's hat?

I track down Diane Wiest,

and you finally try
and use your hall pass?

You're smiling,
so I guess that one's it.

Oof, going with Wiest, huh?
I got to be honest, Boyle...

I'm not so sure you can pull that off.

I mean, her career is red hot.

She just did a movie with Streep.

No, Jake. That's not why I'm smiling.

I'm smiling
because you know me so well.

Yeah, we're best friends.
Of course I know you.

Well, as perfect
as all your ideas were,

nothing tops sitting here
with my best friend.

I mean, why would I want to go
to town on Diane Wiest

when I can go to town with you?

- What?
- Hang out. Go to town with each other.

It's a common friendship phrase.

Haven't heard it.

Oh.

Oh, God. It's my biopsy results.

- What does it say?
- I don't know.

I'm too nervous. I can't read it.

- It's not cancer.
- Not cancer.

It's an infection,
and it's highly treatable.

- I'm not gonna die?
- You're not gonna die!

Oh, we got to celebrate.

Does it say if it's safe to ride
a two-person banana boat?

I don't know. Let me check.
It doesn't say.

Oh, well...

And also, I think just figured out

how all those officers
got their fake diagnoses.

Tell us what's written there.

Patient's left teste

is gnarled and shows discoloration.

No, not that. There, at the top.

ShareChem Medical Laboratory. Yeah, so?

So we thought it was
the doctor handing out

fake diagnoses, but he's clean.

However, the officers knew
you used ShareChem Lab,

and that lab is owned by David Share,

brother of Nine-Nine officer
Michael Share.

The lab faked the blood results.

None of the officers are actually sick,

which means they have no excuse
to miss work.

Well, unfortunately, that is...

Stop. I know you're gonna
twist my words

into some vicious attack
on you and the NYPD.

So, before you do that,

I'd like the pleasure of making
the vicious attack myself.

Sir, your insults are kind of known

to be little too think-y,
maybe you should just let...

O'Sullivan, you are a [bleep],

and I hope your [bleep] get
shoved right into your [bleep].

Wow. Well, that was
definitely not too think-y.

Okay, okay, okay. You got me.

The men didn't have mono.
They weren't sick.

- Damn right.
- But they are now.

What?

It seems they had a meeting,
and somebody showed up

with a very bad stomach bug
and gave it to everyone there.

I believe the officer's name
was a, uh, Lieutenant Jeffords.

The petard.

It just won't stop hoisting.

Hey there, sir. You missed
the morning briefing.

And I see you found Charles's cheese.

Mmm, it pairs well with despair

and also this 1976 Chateau Haut-Brion.

Doesn't seem like the kind of bottle
you're supposed to chug.

I bought it the day I joined the force

with the intent to open it
when I became commissioner.

Oh, my gosh, this is big news.

Congratulations, sir.

No, he's not becoming
commissioner, Scully.

We can still fight the Blue Flu.

It's over, Lieutenant.

I have to cave to O'Sullivan's demands.

Sir, you can't give up

on all your hard work
because of one setback.

I'm a realist.

I knew I wouldn't be able
to fix every problem,

though I always imagined
I could fix some of them.

But as a realist, I can now see
I haven't fixed a damn thing.

The NYPD will never change.

Sir, if I may...
when I thought I was dying,

all I could think about
was what a disappointment

my life had been.

But then Jake went to town with me.

Common friendship phrase.

And it helped me realize
you can't focus

on the things you didn't do.

Focus on what you did do.

And, more importantly,
focus on who you did it with.

Boyle, you're absolutely right.

I am? My speech turned
your life around?

No, I found it trite and uninspiring,

but something you said resonated.

Focus on the things you didn't do.

I said not to focus
on the things you didn't do.

Again, your speech meant nothing.

I'm just picking out individual words.

Sure, sure, yeah.

Hot damn.

I know how to end the Blue Flu.

I found a fifth prong.

So I gather you're ready
to cave to my demands.

- Why would I do that?
- Give me a break.

Your arrests are way down,

and your CompStat numbers are terrible.

I think those numbers look great.

- No, you don't.
- Well, not those numbers.

Obviously, they make it look
like we haven't done much

at all this week.

But a friend of mine told me something

unintentionally interesting...
focus on what you didn't do.

So here's what we didn't do this week.

With fewer officers at our disposal

and none of them trying
to hit CompStat numbers,

we made fewer bad arrests.

Number of complaints
against officers, down 32%.

Number of cases thrown out
at arraignment

for insufficient evidence, down 34%.

And here's the most
important thing we didn't do.

We didn't make the community less safe.

Rates of major and violent crime,

what actually matters, stayed the same.

What are you saying?

I'm saying the Nine-Nine
just became a case study

for how a police force

can work better with fewer police.

Are you actually talking
about laying off cops?

If these numbers persist,
I may have no choice.

Then I'll just end the Blue Flu.

Great. That's what I want.

Then I won't end the Blue Flu.

Great. Fewer cops. That's what I want.

You just said that...

This is a very frustrating
conversation.

I'd like to officially announce

that the Blue Flu is over.

The uniformed officers are at work,

and we sent the Hitchcock-and-Scullys

back to their home precincts.

So everything's back to normal?

No, the opposite.

We're gonna use
what we learned this week

to change the way
the NYPD polices our streets.

Okay, awesome. Very inspiring.

Now, on to more important things.

I have obtained from Rosa
a photograph...

of Captain Holt's tattoo.

ALL: Oh.

I'm sorry, Captain, but there's
nothing you can do

that will stop me from revealing

that your secret
and embarrassing tattoo is...

- a dot?
- Huh?

It's a decimal point.

Ah, what a first-thought
mathematical symbol.

Might as well have gotten a
greater-than or equal-to sign.

I can't believe I spent
$2,000 on a dot.

- You did?
- I know, Amy!

We're both upset about the same thing!

I got to call Rosa.

_

Thank you for giving Peralta
the doctored photo.

My allegiances are
to the highest bidder.

And you'll never tell anyone
what you saw?

They wouldn't believe me if I did.

I mean, come on, sir.
It's a picture of...

Sync & corrections by emeline-whovian
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