Original subtitles

Last season on Dexter...

The butchered bodies were submerged inside these garbage bags...

Did you hear that? 30 bags. Do you know what that means?

There might be a new mass murderer out there

- way worse than the Ice Truck Killer. - Uh-oh.

Eight confirmed victims of the Bay Harbor Butcher.

That's what the press is calling whoever dumped those bodies offshore.

Last thing Miami needs is another serial killer.

- Any idea who the FBI is sending? - Some guy named Lundy.

We have positive IDs on all 18 of our complete bodies.

All 13 were either tried for murder or at least suspected of murder.

Bay Harbor Butcher? Give me one shot, I'd put a bullet in the fucker's head.

You really feel that way?

If Dad taught us one thing, it's the value of human life.

Yeah, but I think we had different homework assignments.

Tell me the truth. Are you an addict?

Yes, I have an addiction.

- I'm Dexter. - Hi, Dexter.

There's my sponsor.

So tell me, exactly how full of shit are you?

This woman sees me.

Somehow she's able to make me feel OK about what I am.

You're going to tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets.

Laura Moser, my mother, she was murdered.

I've never told anyone that before.

Did you find out what happened to the men responsible for your mother's murder?

Santos Jimenez. Turned state's evidence, went into witness protection.

- Where are you? - I've decided to look up

someone from my past.

1976!

You slaughtered her cause she stole cocaine.

She was a snitch for a cop. She was fucking him.

It seems my foster father and my biological mother were having an affair.

Did he blame himself for her death? Is that why he took me in?

Or was he just using her? Was he using me?

But there ain't no paper trail on the early years of Dexter Morgan.

Your past is a bigger mystery than fucking Jimmy Hoffa.

Back... off.

Ow! Fuck!

If Dexter files a complaint, you will be kicked off the force.

He's hiding something, Maria. I can feel it.

I need some blood slides analyzed.

I'm about to be found out at work for what I really am.

- You don't understand. - Why don't you make me?

- Who the fuck are you? - Oh, pardon my tits.

How could you do this to Rita, not to mention her kids?

You and Lila stayed in a hotel together.

It's over, Dexter.

I'm sure that you heard we have a suspect in the Bay Harbor Butcher case.

Sergeant James Doakes.

He had the slides.

Carefully hidden in the trunk of his car at the airport.

Jesus Christ, Morgan. You're the Bay Harbor Butcher.

You sure about that? You might want to check with Lundy.

What's it gonna be, Morgan? Kill me now or set me free!

Don't worry, I'll send the FBI your way soon enough.

So you're still gonna try to frame me?

Mission accomplished.

After tomorrow, I'll be out of reach. Permanently.

- You're going somewhere? - Goodbye, Lila.

Welcome. Previous destinations. Starting route guidance.

Hey! Who's out there? Anybody out there?

- Who put you in there? - His name is Dexter Morgan.

I found out that he's the Bay Harbor Butcher. Please, just open this gate!

- Poor thing, all alone. - I'm OK.

Not you. Dexter.

What the fuck are you doing? Turn that off! Do you understand this is murder?

- What were you thinking? Are you insane? - I was trying to bring us back together.

The Lila experiment is officially over.

Could have had it all, Dexter.

I've never put much weight into the idea of a higher power,

but if I didn't know better,

I'd have to believe that some force out there wants me to keep doing what I'm doing.

You wanted to be close to me, Lila? This is the most I have to offer.

You taught me to accept what I am.

Thank you.

The code is mine now and mine alone.

So too are the relationships I cultivate.

My father might not approve, but I'm no longer his disciple.

I'm a master now.

An idea transcended into life.

Ah, life.

Life is a ritual.

Routine.

Control.

And an essential part of that routine...

regular oral hygiene.

There we go. A few minutes, that'll numb right up.

So how was your summer, Dexter?

I went to the carnival.

I even won a prize.

Hope you stayed away from all the sweet stuff.

Usually I'm good, but sometimes I indulge.

I also made it a point to meet new people.

Can never have too many friends.

Now, this temporary crown is gonna go way in the back.

So there may be some blood.

- Not a problem. - OK.

- So you still have your boat? - Oh, you bet.

It's the only place I can really let everything go.

That's great. I'm gonna have you up and out on that water in no time.

For someone who needs to spend his life pretending to be normal,

I've been able to finally settle in...

...to a nice, normal world.

And Rita is the scaffolding that holds that world in place.

What are you thinking?

Life is good.

Hmm.

Here you go, buddy. OK, Astor, you're up. Mickey Mouse, unicorns or starfish?

Just plain, round pancakes, Dexter.

She's growing up.

It starts with pancakes?

It starts when it starts.

Hey, Dexter?

Um, can you come to Dad Day at my school tomorrow?

Just tell me what to do.

There's Charlotte.

- Bye, Mom. See you, Dexter. - Bye, Mom.

- Bye. - Get your bag.

You hear that?

Hear what?

The calm.

Everything's falling into place for the first time in my life.

I've got these terrific kids.

There's no more drama haunting me.

And I have this great, generous, gentle guy.

Most normal people enjoy a sacred pact with society -

live a good life and society will take care of you.

But if society drops the ball, then someone else has to pick up the slack.

That's where I come in.

Fred Bowman, AKA Freebo.

Kills two college girls and skates on a state police screw-up,

otherwise known as Florida's catch and release program.

He does the deed, gets away with murder and falls off the radar.

Everyone's radar but mine.

You got a birthday coming up, Dad.

What to get the man who had everything?

How about... Freebo?

- Morning, Dex. - Dexter the doughnut guy.

Part of my routine.

But let the record show I'm not the only one with a daily ritual.

Angel Batista - bear claw.

Vince Masuka - lemon custard.

Mmm, better than sex.

Actually, no, it's not.

Hey, I need a favor. Do you think you can proof an article I'm writing for FQ?

- Forensics Quarterly. - Right, yeah.

- They reached out cause I was the LFI... - Lead forensic investigator.

- ...on the BHB. - Bay Harbor Butcher.

- Hey. - Hey.

- No biggie. I've been published before. - "Dear Penthouse" doesn't count.

- Hey, that letter was famous. - Death by pastry.

You changed your hair.

- Makes you look younger. - I don't wanna look younger.

Bad call, then. By the way, nice work on the Rinaldi case.

Yeah, well, murder-suicide. Pretty straightforward.

Well, still, I mean, your report was spot-on, right?

All right.

Quinn's been in Homicide two weeks and he noticed.

- Noticed what? - My hair.

I changed my hairstyle for the first time since I was eight.

Oh, yeah. It's short... er. Shorter.

- Quinn, he's showing off his detective skills. - You think he thinks I'm a potential lay?

That is not happening. As long as you're not noticing things, you've also not noticed

that I've given up men, liquor and smokes for the last 27 days.

This is you remembering Dad's birthday though, right?

Dad. Birthday. Right.

Blue room, 7:30, like always.

- I tried calling you last night. - I, uh, wasn't home.

I also tried your cell phone. You're wearing the same pants you had on yesterday.

That shirt's the backup you keep in your locker.

Ayúdeme aqui. I thought part of your restructuring our department

was you staying out of our personal lives.

Anything you want me to know?

Know this. I went out and had a great time last night, and you should be happy for me.

Besides, since when do you care?

Since this. Follow me.

OK, guys, listen up.

I just got word from upstairs that

Angel will no longer be Detective Batista.

What?

In two days, he will be Detective Sergeant Batista.

Sorry for all the red tape and the hoops. Nobody deserves it more than you, Angel.

When this is really official...

when I can trade this in for that gold badge... drinks are on me.

Angel gets his wings. Know what this means?

Pay raise?

No, dildo, it means he's my supervisor

which means I'm a lock for my detective shield.

- Where are you going? - Research.

Dex. Typos, grammar, something could be clearer, whatever.

Haircut?

Yep.

Time to get the lay of the land on Freebo and his...

pink house.

What you need?

Freebo. I need Freebo.

- And you know him how? - He sells the best shit anywhere.

Come on, man, what, you Google him or something?

Know what? Fuck it.

- There's other dope spots. - Hey, come here!

Don't walk away all "fuck you" on me.

- What? - Ding, ding.

I'm looking to hold some product.

Ordinarily, I don't accept new clientele, but I've had a desultory third quarter.

Mmm!

Oh, come on!

Need a little more hook before breaking to the pocket.

You know, I bought this TV for six grand but I'll let you have it for three.

More interested in scoring some tar.

Oh, another yuppie turns to the dark side.

- I need a hit. - Jeez, Teegan, I'm transacting here.

- One toot. - Did you hear what I said?

Fuck off, Teegan.

Fine, I guess your dick can suck itself from now on.

Stupid cunt's gonna redefine "short-term relationship".

- Catch my drift? - Yeah, I catch your drift.

And I'm entirely confident you've earned the privilege

of being repurposed as fish food.

Narcotics raided this place at noon today.

The drug rats won't return to their nest for a while.

Plenty of time to do what I have to do.

Raw. You like it raw.

- Excuse me? - The sugar. You like the raw stuff.

It's my job to notice things. Morgan, right?

- Do I know you? - New haircut. It's cute.

- All right, who the fuck are you? - Yuki Amado, Internal Affairs.

And?

- You know a Joey Quinn? - Why?

Well, he started drawing our attention back when he was in Narcotics.

He's in your orbit now.

I don't know the guy except to hand in my paperwork.

Be really cool if you could get next to him, you know?

- Do a little recon. - Are you high?

No, never been.

Well...

Yuki, that's not gonna happen.

Cooperation with IA has its upside in the department.

- Yeah, maybe for rodents. - OK.

Well, it was nice to finally meet you. In person, you know.

Bye.

And what is it you think Quinn did exactly?

Mm! Mm-mm. You don't get to blow me off and still ask questions.

Loud music. Cover of darkness.

Perfect.

Get off! No!

Freebo, get back here!

- Who are you? - Who are you?

Shit! Oh!

Yo, Freebo, man.

What the fuck happened back there?

I went to kill Freebo and ended up killing a total stranger.

I've never killed anyone I didn't completely vet before,

whose guilt I wasn't absolutely certain of.

I did something wholly inside the moment and wholly outside the code.

Something spontaneous.

Who did I just kill?

Freebo's doorman.

I...am... fucked.

Just a matter of time before someone calls it in.

- Hey, you. - Dexter, hey.

I know it's not one of our regular nights but... can you come over?

Uh, sure. Everything OK?

Yeah. Just... Just missing you, that's all.

God, you're on fire lately.

Are you complaining?

I'm complying.

Where are you?

I'm right here.

In a safe place.

God created pudding and then He rested.

Pudding of chocolate.

Manna from heaven.

What are the kids gonna do for dessert tomorrow?

Tangerines.

Dexter Morgan.

Yes, I'm happy with my long-distance provider.

What the hell ever happened to "do not call"? It's three in the morning.

Not in India.

I have an insanely busy morning tomorrow,

so I'll be gone before you and the kids wake up.

Dexter, you've been working such killer hours lately.

Just hold me till you have to go.

Just a matter of time.

Morning, Sergeant.

How long for you to get to 118 Calendar?

Um, 20, 30 minutes.

- I got it, Dex. - Got what?

Only the case that's gonna get me my shield. It's huge.

Angel put me on it. Officially on it.

Huge?

- Who the hell are you? - Bet you're wondering who the hell he is.

Who he is is what makes this case huge. That's Miguel Prado.

He's that ADA who's been on a mission to put away as many bad guys as he can.

You know? "A safe Miami is the only Miami."

A safe Miami and we're all unemployed.

Why's he look so familiar?

He just made the cover of Florida magazine.

Top prosecutor in the state three years in a row.

He and LaGuerta go way back. You know, that whole cubano thing.

The other guy is Ramon Prado, Miguel's middle brother.

He's a lieutenant with the sheriff's department.

Made himself quite the reputation for being a law-and-order hard-ass.

And...

Oscar.

- Prado? - As in "baby brother".

So much for spontaneity.

What was he doing in a dump like this?

They're saying he was a coach at a youth club.

Came here to confront the scumbag about selling shit to his kids.

- Talk about wrong place at the wrong time. - Tell me about it.

- Find anything? - Yeah.

Dead guy with a hole in his chest.

This window's cracked and there's blood on the wall.

- Who shut these drapes? - Probably the first on scene.

Some dipshit rookie who's still outside puking.

So what do we got?

Signs of a majorly big struggle here, there, everywhere. Single stab wound to the chest.

- You read my article yet? - Started it. So far it's really good.

Awesome.

God.

Cómo te dejaron a Oscarcito.

Te fallé.

Whoever did this... he's already wishing he was dead.

Someone really stepped on his dick with this one.

There were so many lessons in the vaunted code of Harry.

Twisted commandments handed down from the only God I ever worshipped.

One through ten...

Don't get caught.

That I got covered.

But killing someone without knowing if he's guilty...

I'd love some help on this one...

but my God is dead now.

Man's best friend, eh, Dex?

Not today.

Hey, my sister said that LaGuerta knows this Miguel Prado pretty well.

Way back when, when Mig...

Hey, what's up? Way back when, when Miguel was in law school

and Maria was just starting in law enforcement, they hooked up.

Hooked up?

Between us, for Maria, Miguel Prado will always be the one that got away.

Prelim has the victim, Oscar Prado, 26, dead.

Dead from a single stab wound to the chest.

The deceased's brother, ADA Miguel Prado, informed me at the scene

that Oscar went to confront one Fred Bowman, street name Freebo,

for selling drugs to some youth-club kids. Morgan?

Freebo's the guy that killed two co-eds in the Everglades and got away with it.

So the way it looks, Oscar Prado died a hero.

Also, our team found a shitload of, uh... a substantial amount of drugs in the house.

Any leads on his whereabouts?

That part of the neighborhood isn't exactly police-friendly but I'm staying on it.

- Talk to me about forensics. - Evidence indicates this was no hit-and-run.

It was a furious close-in battle. Whoever... Or is it "whomever"?

- "Whoever" is good. - Whoever did this got in a lucky shot

or was really good at handling a blade.

According to the ME, the aorta was cleanly severed in one penetration.

- Not easy to do. - Any luck finding the weapon?

It's not on or near the premises.

We've checked roofs, sewers, trash bins in a five-block radius.

Our conclusion - the assailant took it with him.

Dexter, what's the blood saying?

Pretty much what everyone else is. I have some second level on-scene work to do.

- I'll get back to you ASAP. - Get it to Sergeant Batista.

Full disclosure.

I've had a personal relationship with the Prado family for many years.

And it goes a lot further than the whole cubano thing.

Sergeant?

Stating the obvious, Lieutenant, I like Freebo for this.

Me too.

- Morgan? - Yes, ma'am?

Hit the streets harder. Learn what you can learn.

Uh, all due respect, Lieutenant, if Freebo did this, he's not in Miami.

I mean, he's in the wind.

We can sit around on our asses and speculate

on where we think the prime suspect may or may not be,

- or we can actually go and look for him. - Hmm.

As a Miami prosecutor, I have dedicated my career to fighting crime,

to making our streets safe for everyone.

Every family - white, black, Latino, Asian -

deserves the full measure of our devotion to their dignity.

And now that crime has touched my family in the most profound way imaginable,

I grieve equally for every family

that has been visited with the same unimaginable news

that we have received today.

Our beautiful city is a city of families.

And the untimely taking of any of us touches all of us.

My parents brought my brother Ramon and me...

Part of my ritual has always been getting to know my victims,

confirming their guilt beyond all doubt.

Oscar Prado tried to kill Freebo, then he tried to kill me.

No way he was there on some noble youth-club mission.

He's got to be guilty of something. Aren't we all?

So I ask again...

Who are you?

Two speeding tickets and an illegal U-turn.

Talk about outside the code of Harry.

Harry finds me in a pool of blood,

turns me into his own personal vendetta machine,

and when he sees the monster he created in action, he kills himself.

Deb can drink to his honor on her own.

Any luck in the land of reluctant witnesses?

One house I play good cop, the next I play bad cop.

I still can't get shit from anybody in that neighborhood.

- You know what the problem is, right? - Wait, Quinn, let me guess. The "cop" part?

No, they don't owe you anything. There's no incentive.

Which skews the balance of power way in their direction, right?

Here, let me do you a favor.

Call this guy. Tell him you know me.

Tell him you want to cash in one of my coupons.

- Coupons? - Yeah. He's a CI from my days in Narcotics.

He's got a hook in him that's not coming out anytime soon.

- What do you want in return? - For you to remember that I did you a solid.

- What, not even a "thank you"? - Thank you.

Stop looking at my ass.

Yeah, of course...

Detective.

Officer. You're Anton?

In the flesh. You got something you want to show me?

Oh, yeah, I've seen him before.

- Really? Where? - In the news.

Isn't that that guy you let walk on those co-ed killings?

Now that there was a fine piece of police work.

- You know him from the newspaper? - I saw him on CNN.

- OK. That's all you got? - That's all you got.

If this is you and Quinn fucking with me, I'm really not in the mood.

If you need something for that temper,

I got a man down the street with some real mellow weed can take that edge right off.

- I don't take advice from drug dealers, so... - Drug dealer? Oh, never that!

A drug user. Occasionally.

- Strictly weed though, Officer. Strictly weed. - Then how'd you become Quinn's snitch?

I got caught up in a drug bust. Quinn told me that if I blew the whistle on the bigger fish,

I'd stay out of jail. So I listened. Attentively.

Yeah, well... you know, it never hurts an occasional drug user

- to have more than one friend on the force. - That's the thing, Officer...

- I got enough friends. - All right, well, I'm outta here.

Yeah, well, you have a good one, you hear?

What about this Prado guy?

And to determine the impact site,

the exact point where force encounters a body,

you have to distinguish the geometric differences

between back-spatter,

satellite spatter,

- misting and arterial spurting. - Gross!

Shut up.

You remember how before when Katie's dad

- was talking about being a surgeon? - Yeah.

And sometimes how he has to cut into bodies and there's blood?

But he saves lives.

Do you save lives?

OK, you know how there's good guys and there's bad guys?

So you catch bad guys?

Well, not directly, but I help.

Do you have a uniform?

Lab coat.

A gun?

No.

- He's got a badge. - It's a laminate.

Well, thank you so much for taking time from your busy schedule, Mr. Morgan,

- to come and talk to the children. - It was a real learning experience.

Looks like I really got through to 'em, huh?

It would have sucked even worse if I didn't have a dad today.

Thanks for inviting me, buddy.

If anyone should have father issues - anger, rejection, abandonment -

it's Cody.

And what's he do? He moves on.

How does that happen?

- I was so bad you're crying? - No, no.

No, it's just... just something I've always wanted.

You being here for the kids,

it's all so wonderfully uncomplicated.

Hello?

Mr. Morgan, this is Miguel Prado. I need to see you.

Right away.

So much for uncomplicated.

It almost feels like a piece of art.

Thank you, sir. But to me it's more like a story.

Tell me that story, Mr. Morgan.

- The encounter started over here. - Mmm.

The scuff marks on the linoleum, the crumpling of the throw rug,

they all have a directional quality that leads to...

Now this is where your brother and Freebo...

He's my lieutenant's prime suspect...

But you know that.

There was a brutal struggle.

I gotta say, it looks like your brother fought like a hero...

but he was overmatched and sustained a fatal stab wound to his chest.

Everything about the blood suggests that your brother bled out almost instantly.

- He didn't suffer? - Blood never lies.

So now I know how he died.

The question is why.

One more thing, Mr. Morgan.

Why would a blood spatter analyst

spend time searching the sheriff department's database

for information on my dead brother?

Um...

Like you, sir, I wanted to understand what happened here.

I thought that knowing some details about your brother's life

would help me make sense out of his death.

In your line of work, Mr. Morgan, is it usual for you to get so involved?

I just sounded like a prosecutor there.

I'm sorry.

It's not a problem, sir, and no, it's not usual for me to get so involved,

but this one, this death, got to me.

It's just... It seems so unreal that, uh...

he's gone.

Yeah, I know.

So a man dies, Mr. Morgan, and what's left, his soul? And what is that exactly?

I really couldn't tell you.

Cause some people say the soul just lives on forever.

- I hope not. - Which makes you a cynic.

It makes me a scientist.

So no one you've ever loved has died?

My father died when I was in my 20s.

And you don't believe that...

that his soul, call it his life force, is still here?

Somehow it's living inside you?

Because I...

- I should have been there for him. - You can't blame yourself, sir.

That's easier said than done, Mr. Morgan.

Do me a favor. You really want to get to know my brother like you say,

come to his wake tonight. Come see how much and how...

how fully he was loved.

OK.

I've taken up enough of your day. Thank you.

Dexter.

These reports final?

Blood specimens I collected all came back belonging to Oscar Prado.

Trace prints on and around the victim all point to Freebo.

Anyone out there talking?

Officer Morgan was hitting up the usual firewall of clammed-up witnesses

and non-witnesses, so I put her in touch with an old CI of mine.

- Hopefully... - Hey, Quinn.

That CI you put me on was totally useless for Freebo.

- Sadly, it's not a perfect world. - Yeah.

For all we know, Freebo's in Nebraska by now.

- I guess you don't owe me that favor, then. - How come he gets favors?

Oh, he doesn't. But what the CI told me about the victim...

he wasn't some hero coach who went into the hood and took one for the team.

What do you mean?

Oscar Prado was into Freebo for some serious cash.

Now why would someone be into a drug dealer for big bucks?

- Shh! - Because Oscar Prado,

the pride of Little Havana, was a fucking junkie!

Thanks, Maria.

Good one, Morgan.

She's been in better moods.

- I didn't exactly brighten her day. - No, you didn't.

Excuse me for doing my fucking job.

You see any other supercops coming in here with any leads?

- You're definitely amazing but you gotta... - I know, be aware of my surroundings,

take the temperature of the room before I open my mouth.

- It's a bad habit. I admit it. - Well, look on the bright side.

Now that you've given up men, booze and cigarettes,

running your mouth's the only bad habit you have left.

That's right. I'm a model of fucking perfection.

- You remember what today is, right? - How could I forget?

7:30. I'll buy your first drink.

You wanted to see me?

Siéntate.

I need you to think about Debra Morgan's continued involvement

on the Oscar Prado case.

You want me to throw her under the bus for being overzealous?

It's not about zeal. It's about tact and sensitivity. It's also about the real world.

This case is as high profile as it gets. Óyeme, Angel.

Morgan is resourceful and tenacious and usually the right amount of pain-in-the-ass.

But there are political ramifications.

My history with Miguel Prado aside, this case is just too big for her.

Just say the word and I will follow your orders.

Becoming a Homicide sergeant is more than just a bump in pay scale.

It's a quantum leap in responsibility. All part of moving up the chain.

If I bounce her, she'll hate me.

You're her boss, Angel, not her friend.

It's up to you.

He touched many people, many hearts.

Qué bien que viniste.

- Can I get another cranberry juice? - That makes three. Problems down under?

Jeez, I like the fucking taste, OK?

Miss you, Dad.

- My condolences. - Thank you for coming.

Losing my brother,

it's going to leave a pain in my heart that I don't think is ever going to heal.

You have a brother, Dexter?

No, just the one loud sister.

What she said back at the station, it's OK.

I know my brother was a good man.

But I can't say that he suffered from the tragedy of perfection.

Who does?

Who indeed?

Hey, brother. The mayor's here.

You attacked me with a knife in a dope dealer's house.

No, Oscar, you certainly did not suffer from the tragedy of perfection.

Then why does this feel so wrong?

Why in your death are you still so alive in my life?

Did you know him well?

Not as well as I thought.

Sorry.

Cuervo Black.

Thanks.

Harry.

- What the hell is that? - Cranberry juice. That gonna be a problem?

Not even close to a problem.

But the taste, kind of funky.

You know, by the time my dad was my age, he already had his shield.

Kinda why I'm here.

I'm taking you off the Oscar Prado case.

I come up with grade-A intel on Oscar Prado,

and I'm getting tossed off the case for being a little loud?

In a nutshell.

- LaGuerta put you up to this? - It was my decision.

I'll tell you one thing, Angel...

I'm not letting anyone get in the way of me getting my shield.

There's only one person in this department who can get in your way.

Who?

You.

Can I get a real fucking drink, please?

My sister still lives her life trying to please our father.

Me...

I'm following the lead of an eight-year-old kid.

I'm moving on.

Thank you for last night.

It was a nice surprise.

This is where I wanted to be.

Again?

All I want is chocolate pudding... and you.

Not necessarily in that order.

Morgan.

- Where the fuck were you last night? - Rita's.

- It wasn't Rita's night. - Turns out it was.

- I called you. - I know.

- And you ignored me? - Not you. Harry.

Deb...

I'm in a whole 'nother place when it comes to Dad. I'm working out some personal stuff.

You are such a fucking guy.

What is this, you gotta kill your father so you can become your own man kind of bullshit?

Dad wasn't perfect...

but he was there for you.

- Deb, wait. - What?

I'm sorry I didn't notice your haircut.

So what is it? Is it too short, too young, too dorky, what?

It's beautiful.

Beautiful?

You just said "beautiful".

Yeah, I did, cause it is.

Looks like you honored Dad for both of us last night anyway.

I had some help.

You getting along with the new boss man?

Oh, fuck him. He took me off the Oscar Prado case and put me on this.

Some dead-end Jane Doe.

A couple of ladies of the night called this in...

Oh, Madre de Dios.

Could you turn that thing off?!

We'll work quietly.

About halfway through your article, Vince. So far, very moving.

Yeah, I was trying to make second-tier chromosomal analysis sexy.

Glad you're picking up on it.

- Strangled. - No blood. I'm the blood guy.

- Why call me in? - Because of this.

- Looks like our evildoer had an agenda. - Maybe it was a tattoo or something.

Dex, I need to know if this was ante or postmortem.

Teegan.

Freebo's girlfriend.

Looks like he's still in Miami.

Oye.

- You talk to Morgan yet? - Yep.

How'd she take it?

- There were curse words involved. - You did good.

Sergeant.

Way to be.

Thank you.

There you go, Dexter. Good as new.

Hold the elevator. Hold...

Asshole.

Sorry. Sergeant Asshole.

Vamos, Masuka, Quinn.

Vamos! We got some celebrating to do.

- You can still drink after last night? - A man has his needs.

You can go back to your cute little cranberry juice.

Nah, it tastes like shit. I'm gonna have a mojito or ten on you, Sarge.

Morgan.

You so have the wrong person.

Oh, there's a good reason why Quinn's of interest to IA.

No, understand me. When I say you have the wrong person, I mean me.

These people are more than badge numbers to me. They're my friends.

- They're my family. - Shh! Listen.

That's the sound of your shield calling for help.

Harry said that what was inside me would be there forever.

And that I wouldn't be able to change.

He was half right.

Killing Oscar Prado was a bell I can't un-ring.

I have moved on from my father, but I still need his code, now more than ever.

But it has to evolve, become my own.

Change is good.

Hey, you.

Hey, yourself.

This music again?

Chocolate pudding again?

- Oh, shit. - What?

I've done this before.

- What do you mean? - I'm pregnant.