Cross calls Gus a "sweet boy," and Ruiz agrees and all but falls back on the bed. She looks at the photos hung on the wall over the bed -- including a few where Gus pasted his own face over those of some footballers in action -- and stands up to lift Ruiz's feet up onto the bed. "I can't stop thinking about him," Ruiz says. Cross thinks she knows, but Ruiz is referring to David Tate. Why does he get to live? Why does he get to live?" It's such an urgent question it needs to be asked in two languages. Cross steels herself to hold Ruiz's hand for the last moments before he finally passes out.
The next morning, he finds her at work in his kitchen, making breakfast. "You stayed," he remarks. "You don't remember?" she asks as he opens a Pacifico for himself to start the day. Withholding judgment, Cross says, "My mom always liked eggs in the morning after a rough night." She stands watching him eat for a moment and asks if he made his bed. "What are you, my mother?" Ruiz asks. Cross explains that after her sister died, she stayed with the Wades for a while. "Carmen had one rule for me. Always get up and make your bed. No matter how bad I felt, I had to face the day." Ruiz nods wisely as Cross sits down across from him to her own plate of eggs, and now we finally know what one food she likes. He says he'll go into the station today to say hello. "Can I come?" Cross asks eagerly. Ruiz figures, correctly, that she wants to run Eva Guerra's name, and he agrees. "See, I remember some things," he points out. Which is actually kind of amazing.
Linder is still canvassing people on the streets of Juarez, and now taping his handmade flyers up on every available surface. Which, tragically, are already covered with way too many similar flyers, most of them yellow with age. Not terribly encouraging, that. He pastes another one up at waist level, I guess in case any kids have seen Eva, near where a sad-looking middle-aged woman has just lit a candle. She offers to "show you where we can look for them." He ends up following her awkwardly down the crowded sidewalk. If she knows where to look, what was she doing here?
Ruiz and Cross enter the Juarez police station, and his coworker Celia stands up from her desk and gives him a hug rather than calling him "Pussycat" again. Ruiz looks respectable again, clean and back in the one brown sport coat he owns. Captain Robles also comes out of his office all, "Marco, mi amigo." Apparently his wife sent food, as did Celia, who offers to make more. Robles asks Cross what brings her here, back to his genial act as he says, "I thought our work was done." Cross says they're looking for a missing girl who was last seen in Juarez. "I said we could run her name," Ruiz confesses a bit sheepishly to the captain, and Robles pretends not to mind. Cross hands Celia the photo and gives her the name, and as they sit down at Celia's terminal, Robles asks Ruiz whether he's back now. Ruiz says not yet, and Robles invites him to take his time. "Too bad David Tate is in American custody. He killed a cop's son. Over here we'd make him pay for that. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." Ruiz says he knows, but nobody mentions that this is what Tate probably figured he was doing. Though Tate took more like a whole entire head. By this time, Celia's search on the computer system has come up empty. Robles fakes sympathy, and ushers Celia back behind a door that he closes on Ruiz and Cross. Which is totally not suspicious at all.