An hour later, Steve eagerly scanned through the pages of the small, worn-out yellow book, fretfully trying to remember every segment of the play, its characters, and most of all, the exact details of its outcome.

Shoulder to shoulder with his partner, Mike had grabbed a copy of all the Shakespeare Classics from his partner's overfilled bookshelf, a 400-page summery referencing villains and plots of each of the famous writer's plays, hoping for some sort of connection to their murder victims.

Leaning against the living room couch, both detectives had worked away quietly for a long time, long enough for darkness to slowly set in, ending a dreary day on an even drearier note. Halfway through, Steve had turned on the lights and pulled a few beers out of the fridge, hoping that some alcohol would help their minds weed through the endless pages of dialogue a little easier.

Accepting the cold beverage in gratitude, Mike took a break from reading and rubbed his dry eyes, a distinct feeling of exhaustion and defeat exuding through every sinew of his body, as he glanced down deep in thought. Steve wondered just how much the emotional turmoil of this case combined with his strange nightmares were wearing on his partner.

"Want me to make you some more toast?", he offered kind-heartedly, only to hear Mike chuckle from the other end of the room.

"No, that's alright, Buddyboy. Let's wait on that until I get you a new toaster for Christmas."

"My granddad gave that to me when I moved to San Francisco.", the young Inspector answered in feign exasperation, and returned to the kitchen to grab himself some sunflower seeds.

"And as such, it belongs into a museum, not a countertop. You need working appliances if you ever hope to attract a woman that sticks around for more than two weeks. You can't keep living off the goodwill of the office ladies at work to feed you several times a week. Or me, for that matter."

Disregarding the stab at his romantic life altogether, Steve grinned broadly, as he treated himself to a handful of snack seeds.

"I don't know, it's been working out quite well. I smile at them, they feed me. I bring you coffee, give you my cheeriest smile and endless devotion, and you feed me. Good trade, if you ask me."

Taking a long sip of beer, Mike smiled, then shook his head.

"And you really believe that Amber downstairs is getting you a BLT for breakfast because she wants to make sure you're properly fed? Come on now, Buddyboy. You of all people should know when you are being reeled in. She's getting you hooked, that's what she's doing. Next thing you know, she's going to show up at your doorstep one night, bringing dinner. And then, while you sleep, she'll slip that ring right on your finger. Bang, that's it. You're hooked."

They chuckled for a few long moments, and Steve was relieved to see his partner relax somewhat. As the ever-present scowl slowly left his face and his bright blue eyes turned warm and welcoming again, he could see the Lieutenant's shoulders slump, as the burden of worry left his body for the first time in quite a while.

He caught himself watching Mike from the kitchen, shamelessly relishing the umbrella of protection, deep friendship and genuine care the Lieutenant had bestowed upon him. After years of youthful adventures and looking for his place in life, it was a sensation that left him feeling as though he finally belonged someplace.

Little did Steve know that he'd go from war protests to the driver's seat of a police car in a few short years. Then again, fate had a way of making life interesting.

"I don't know what to make of this…this Horatio character…", Mike finally said, switching topics back to their case, as his busy fingers ran along the outside of the book in his hand.

Trying to stifle a yawn and failing at it, Steve stretched his tight lower back, running both of his hands up and down the area Sharon would have to focus on a lot during his next visit.

"It's obviously some cameo. Horatio is Hamlet's best friend, having studied together with him in Wittenberg before-"

"I know all that…", Mike grunted and waived him off, "I've seen the play plenty of times before."

"Well, then what do you want?"

"I don't know. What are those few semesters of psychology you took at Berkeley telling you about this guy?"

Leaning against his kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest, Steve ran a hand over his chin, before glancing back up at his partner.

"If you look at him as some sort of symbol, Horatio stands for deep loyalty. He is the one left behind to tell the truth about Hamlet's death and the circumstances thereof. There's deep trust between Hamlet and him. Horatio is honest and cares about his friends. He's well educated and not afraid to speak the truth."

"Do you think that he's our killer? Or just his best friend…an accomplice even?"

Mike's question threw him for a loop and Steve shrugged insecurely, then lowered his hands back down onto the kitchen counter.

"Both are conceivable scenarios. We could even be dealing with a bi-polar character, somebody who's so bent that he is the killer, and the killer's friend all at once. He could be living out his murderous impulses at one point, and then take on the personality of Horatio when he meets with his buddies at the bar."

"This guy could even be a silent admirer, somebody who hated some of our victims just as much, but didn't kill them…", Mike mused, a deep frown on his face as he pushed himself off the couch and walked closer to his partner, stopping at the small kitchen island, "Or, worst case, you were right on this morning and somebody is turning their killing spree into a play."

"I have heard of similar cases where people took on roles of fictional characters, and used them to act out their murder fantasies. It's possible that we've got some misguided Othello or Hamlet running around town trying to right some perceived wrong…"

"Something like that, yeah…"

With a slight headshake, Mike tapped his fingers against the kitchen counter, before turning around to reach for his coat.

"Listen, I'm going to head back to the office for a few more minutes; I want to check on something. Go ahead and do some more reading and call me if you find anything worthwhile. Let's hope this Horatio character shows tomorrow. Otherwise, we've got 37 Shakespeare plays to work through to triangulate our killer's next move."