Upon his return to the station, Furillo scans the area. Nobody speaks a word. The very few typewriters left in the precinct are silent. Only sniffles permeate as the captain takes small steps. Officers remove their hats and those who wear glasses remove them. Lt. Hunter removes both his cap and his glasses. He wipes his eyes with tissue and says, "He saved my life."

Furillo puts a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Howard."

The lieutenant of the EATers starts crying again, this time against the captain. "He's gone and I never got a chance to repay him."

Furillo tries to stand stoic despite the overwhelming bitter tears he and all of the precinct face.

Renko stands in numbness. His eyes meet the floor as he blubbers over in tears.

Hill asks with tear-stained eyes, "Why?"

"It was uh,… his heart. It was beating too fast until it couldn't take anymore. The doctor called it atrial fibrillation. They tried to control it, but it was too fast. Chances were if they could, he would have been fit with a pacemaker for the rest of his life."

Goldblume swallows back. "Heart attack?"

"Heart arrhythmia." Furillo shakes his head. "Nobody knew how serious his condition was. He looked fine. That was all."

Belker drops his head against the wall, crying by himself in the corner.

Washington and Bates return to the station with their heads hung low. The desk officer says quietly, "I'm sorry Neal."

Washington puts a hand on his shoulder, giving a weak smile.

Furillo says, "Neal? Take as much time as you need off."

In a soft nasally tone, Washington answers. "Thanks, Captain but uh, I think goin' home would only make me feel worse. I'll be downstairs. I just need some time to myself."

"Okay." Furillo then says, "Uh, he had a message for you. 'Hey, Neal.'"

Washington immediately flashes a quick smile. "Thanks." He walks away.

Bates watches her comrade disappear past the doorway.

"Lucy? Can I see you in my office for a moment, please?"

Bates says nothing, just does as she's told. She wipes her eyes while entering his office. Furillo closes the door. "Um, J.D. left a message for you. I'm guessing it's for you." He hands her a small slip of paper. She gives it a quick glance.

"I didn't think he would even respond to it. It was such a silly thing to say. Ya know? Spur of the moment? Anyway, thanks."

"No problem." He notices she's just about to leave. "Uh, Lucy? Was there any exact reason you chose to come along? I know you said you've known him for a greater deal of time than us."

Bates takes a breath. "Uh, yeah. Because I care what happens to everybody on The Hill. That goes for those who were formerly here. Nearly two decades of working with someone doesn't disappear overnight."

"True. Okay."

She leaves his office. He closes the door after her. Going over to his desk, Furillo pulls out the laminated badge he had looked at earlier in the day. The same one he held as he cautiously asked LaRue when he was coming back to the station. He lets his fingertips run over the slightly warped edges of the badge.

"Det. John LaRue – Metro Police."

The captain digs deep into a metal drawer to take out a dark book binder. He flips through the various pages of awards given to officers of The Hill. Then he stops when he finds a black and white photo with the word ''78' scrawled at the top. It was the year he had been appointed captain and was transferred to The Hill. It was also the same year, J.D. was given his third citation for bravery. He had his arm in a sling as proof. It was from taking a bullet meant for his new partner at the time, Neal Washington. Furillo looks at the image fondly of himself standing next to J.D. holding his plaque, former sergeant, Alf Chesley, and the mayor. He then finds a small newspaper clipping tucked away underneath. Picking it out, he begins to read it while holding onto the badge. Rubbing his eyes, the only thing that comes to mind is a deep sadness. Yanking out tissue, he continues to read it.

Downstairs, Neal goes inside the locker room where he faces the one his late partner used to occupy. Dropping his head against it, he begins to cry quietly.

Lucy goes down to the roll call room. All of the chairs are set up for the evening session. She glances at the tables, trying to recall how it used to be. Where she sat. Where Joe sat, next to her. Across from them would be Hill and Renko in front. LaRue and Washington directly in back. Belker next to the post or a wall. Several of the detectives and senior officers on the opposite side where the late great Sgt. Phil Esterhaus would claim his spot next to the podium. Instead of taking her usual seat, she weaves her way to the other side. A seat in back from the front row, where LaRue had consistently made his presence known. Whether he was being obnoxious, giving quips of sarcasm, smoking a cigarette, or having breakfast. It was also his favorite place to watch the female officers nearby from all angles. Lucy plops down right then and there. She unfolds the piece of paper and mouths it to herself.

"Love you too."

She then collapses onto the wooden table in a heap of crying convulsions.