Jake: We have a few more questions for you, doctor.
Captain Holt: Doctor. Huh. It's funny when people call dentists "doctor".
Philip Davidson: We are doctors. We do four years of medical school.
Captain Holt: Yeah, but it's called "dental school".
Philip Davidson: But we learn about the entire body.
Captain Holt: But if you had cancer, you wouldn't call a dentist.
Philip Davidson: You know it's actually harder to get into dental school than medical school.
Captain Holt: Well, because there are fewer dental schools. Because most people want to become actual doctors.
Philip Davidson: That's ridiculous. It's not like we're college professors calling ourselves "doctors".
Captain Holt: Not the same thing, my friend.
Philip Davidson: Well, sure it is. When someone has a heart attack on a plane, do they yell out, "Yo, does anybody here have an Art History PhD?"
Captain Holt: A PhD is a doctorate. It's literally describing a doctor.
Jake: Maybe let's refocus.
Captain Holt: No! The problem here is that medical practitioners have co-opted the word "doctor".
Jake: Okay, Captain-
Captain Holt: I know we live in a world where anything can mean anything, and nobody even cares about etymolo-
[cut to outside, Holt downing a glass of water]
Captain Holt: Apparently that's a trigger for me.
Jake: Yeah, apparently.

Rosa: All you have to do is say a few nice comments during the memorial.
Captain Holt: As God said when Wuntch tried to sneak past the gates into heaven, "It ain't happening, honey."
Rosa: [cackles]

Amy: Maybe we should talk about deets for the case. Plan our next move. Grab some chow.
Captain Holt: No need. I brought these. Nutrition bricks. I have original no flavor, and whole wheat no flavor.

Captain Holt: Nothing's okay. Wuntch, circling me like a shark frenzied by chum. The task force turning into a career-threatening quagmire. An Internal Affairs investigation casting doubt upon my integrity. And you ask, is everything okay? I am buffeted by the winds of my foe's enmity and cast about by the towering waves of cruel fate. Yet I, a Captain, am no longer able to command my vessel, my precinct, from my customary helm, my office. And you ask, is everything okay? I've worked the better part of my years on earth overcoming every prejudice and fighting for the position I hold, and now I feel it being ripped from my grasp, and with it the very essence of what defines me as a man. And you ask, is everything okay?

Jake: So, one day I'm working late when my boss, Robert, surprises me. He found out I was stealing meds. Again, junkie scum. Also again, not your fault. There's a major genetic component to addiction. He says he's gonna file a police report. I could lose my license. We fight, and something in me just snaps, so I grab the first thing I can find, and I hit him with it.
Lawyer: You still have no murder weapon.
Jake: I do now. Here's a pic I found on Yelp of the surgical suite six months ago, and here is a shot that our crime scene photographer took of the same room two weeks after the murder. Notice any differences?
Lawyer: We're not answering that.
Jake: That's all right, I can just tell you myself. The Yelp shot has six of these heavy-looking glass awards from the Brooklyn Periodontics Society in the background, whereas this shot only has five. What happened to number six? Murdered Robert with it!
Philip Davidson: I didn't.
Jake: You lost all control and you bludgeoned him to death. There must have been blood everywhere, but you got lucky. You were in the surgical suite; it can be sterilized. You never would have gotten away with it in your carpeted office.
Philip Davidson: That's not what happened.
Lawyer: Don't say anything more, Philip.
Jake: And your office manager would have heard all of the screaming but she was at her grandson's play. Lucky again.
Philip Davidson: You're wrong.
Jake: You put Robert's body into a wheelchair and shoved it in the elevator. It's a miracle there wasn't blood everywhere.
Philip Davidson: That's not true.
Jake: Now you're in the garage with a corpse. You panicked and left your phone in your office, and you don't have your car keys, but Robert's are in his pocket so you put him in his car and you take off.
Philip Davidson: No.
Jake: You can't believe what you've done.
Philip Davidson: No.
Lawyer: Philip.
Jake: You're flustered. You have no GPS, so you just start driving.
Philip Davidson: No!
Lawyer: Philip!
Jake: Next thing you know, you're in the Pine Barrens, and it hits you: your uncle's cabin. He has a place there. You're the luckiest son of a bitch.
Philip Davidson: It wasn't luck!
Jake: Yes, it was. You got lucky at every turn!
Philip Davidson: No. I knew exactly where I was driving, I left my phone in the office on purpose, I was in the surgical suite by design, and I didn't use some glass award that any idiot would clearly see was missing. I made a rod out of a special dental polymer, killed him with it, then melted it back down. It's already in a patient's mouth, son!
Captain Holt: Oh, damn. Oh, damn. Oh, damn!
Jake: And that is three oh-damns. Oh, damn!

Captain Holt: Well, hello, Dolly.

Captain Holt: Look, I thought you had him on the calendar reveal. [sighs] But he was a step ahead. You got flustered, and I realized in the moment we could use this to our advantage.
Jake: So what do you want me to do, ask stupid questions?
Captain Holt: Stupid questions, grammatical errors, lose your train of thought, just ask him to confess ooh, relate everything back to those movies you've seen.
Jake: Kinda seems like a shot at me about "Die Hard," but okay.