Lundy's listening to So What by Miles Davis in the task force meeting room, and Deb comes in and asks why he isn't at the Tribune. "What for? The guy's not going to leave DNA evidence on a document." "Ah, but the thrill of the hunt!" "I've had that particular thrill. I'll leave it to younger men. Besides, it's easier to do my part from here." Deb wonders aloud what part he's referring to, and he says, "Operating on favors, political leanings, posturing. And trying to find the right music." "Right," says Deb, not getting what he means. She drops the marina reports on his desk, and, not paying attention, he stands up and looks closer at the board carrying a bunch of pictures of dismembered body parts. "These kills are precise, but there's also a fluidity, even some improvisation. If I could just find the music..." "Wanna borrow my iPod?" asks Deb, still not sure what he's talking about. "Got any Chopin?" he asks. Clearly she doesn't: "Fresh out of Chopin." "Shit. Chopin's perfect." "Did you just swear?" "What can I say? You're rubbing off on me, Morgan." Deb wonders aloud if this is how Lundy operates, and looks at him admiringly. "The truth speaks to me from a peaceful place. Gotta set the stage to hear it, you know what I mean?" "No. I thrive on chaos." Lundy turns up the jazz, and Deb says, "But this is good, too." Aw, they like each other. I know a few people who don't like their burgeoning relationship, but I do. I think it's sweet.