"You did good, Tyler," Hunt says, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam doesn't immediately flinch, screaming, "Bad touch!" so I guess these two are going to work things out. I'm less confident in the solidity of Sam's long-term relationship with Carling, however. And Sam gets that same impression: "You and I are not going to get along, are we?" Carling agrees that they are not: "Eventually, I will burn you down. And I will bag your ashes. And I will bury your ashes in the yard where my big dog craps big crap." So what you're saying is... there's a chance the two of you could be friends?
But there is one more score for Sam to settle, and it is with you, Assistant District Attorney Lee Crocker, who happens to be back at the 125th Precinct chatting up Annie. He's gotten her tickets for Grease, and this may even surpass selling out Sam to Hunt as Crocker's greatest sin in this episode. After all, as Crocker explains patiently to Sam, he's gotta do what he's gotta do to work with Hunt, and if Sam happens to get caught the crossfire, well, it's nothing personal. But Grease? That's easily the greatest atrocity to the Broadway stage that does not involve Michael Crawford wearing a mask. I will countenance no counter-argument on this! So beat it, Crocker -- you are most definitely not the one that I want... woo, woo, woo, honey. And by the grim expression on Sam's face, he feels the same way -- though it's hard to say if more of that irritation is aimed at Crocker or Annie.
Back at his apartment, Sam stands on his fire escape and contemplates the toy Mars rover he pinched from the crime scene with a bemused expression. Then he stares up at the stars -- "I miss you too, baby," the stars say back drippily in a voice that sounds a lot like Lisa Bonet's. "I miss you, too, from the bottom of my lonely blue heart." I know I say this a lot, but you're in a hurry to get back to 2008... why again? I mean, here in 1973, you've got a next-door neighbor with a propensity toward nudity and a desire to dance with you -- even if it is to Simon & Garfunkel's "I am a Rock," which, while thematically appropriate, is not known as a song you typically bust a move too. (Then again, I get the impression Windy would dance to commercial jingles if only they lasted long enough.) So why not give 1973 a try, Sam? It's not like you have any choice in the matter. Besides, a rock feels no pain. And an island never has to listen to Lisa Bonet say things like "my lonely blue heart."