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"Hi Mike, can I talk to you for a second?"

It was those ten words he loathed the most on his way up to the 4th floor of the Hall of Justice Building.

Clenching his paper bag of warm sinkers in his left hand, Mike slowly turned around, gearing his facial expression to his audience, that of being his Captain.

"Rudy, I don't think I have ever seen you here this early…"

Raking a nervous hand across his near-bald head, the taller man shifted awkwardly, as though he was having trouble formulating his question.

"Yeah, good morning Mike, I was just…I was just wondering where we're at on the DiBarolo case? We're going on a couple of weeks on that one now, aren't we?"

He'd expected the question long before it was posed; as such, Mike just nodded slowly, then shrugged.

"If you ask me, Rudy, Joey is staying under the radar. I'd be surprised if he's still in town. If he is, he's dumber than even I expected."

"Well, you do still have the mansion under surveillance, right?"

"Sure, sure.", Mike countered confidently, "So far, there's been no activity. But we definitely aren't letting our guard down."

"Good."

There was a long pause after Rudy said that, the silence between both men becoming oppressive as the Captain eye-balled his breakfast for quite a while.

"Any other cases you've got open where there's any movement?"

Ah! There it was. The nervous pitch in his voice that gave away the ever-present pressure from the Brass to perform as though they were some high-end football team with quotas to fill.

Sighing inwardly, Mike kept his expression unreadable, even adding a faint smile for extra measure, and nodded reassuringly.

"We're still at a standstill in the Gonzales case. Until more witnesses come forward, it will be hard to determine who killed her. I sent a request to the Chief to have the press air our public announcement on that case once more. I've got Healey and Saletti work on the Richardson murder/suicide, but right now that one looks pretty cut and dried too."

"It sounds like everyone is busy…", Olsen replied with a satisfied smile, then patted his shoulder as he walked by toward the elevators, "See you later, Michael."

Sighing inwardly once his superior was out of sight; Mike shook his head, a slight smile on his face at the political games that so often threatened to interfere with ongoing investigations that concerned the general public.

Once he was reasonably assured that the elevator cart had been emptied of its contents, Mike pushed the Up- button and stepped back in, feeling a wave of comfort fill his soul as he reached the familiar 4th Floor.

Surely there were more important things to tickle his fancy, Jeannie would tease, but nonetheless, the busy office full of dedicated detectives dealing with the bottom-of-the-barrel-type of criminals sure did the job for him.

Walking through the glass-walled vestibule, Mike was surprised to see his partner at his desk already, decidedly sooner than expected.

Perhaps that well-intended talk about keeping decent hours had finally made a difference. Then again, judging by the bags under his eyes, Steve hadn't had the best of nights.

Taking a moment a squeeze his partner's shoulder as he walked past; Mike slowly entered the confines of his office, setting the bag of sinkers on his desk before stripping out of his overcoat and fedora, hanging both of them neatly onto his clothes rack.

"Good morning, buddy boy. I see you decided to start the day early."

Despite his hunched over position that looked to be painful, Steve managed a genuine smile, some of that stress and angst leaving his tense features when in the presence of his partner.

"Start early? I never stopped. That seems to be the only way to get ahead of you."

Deciding to join Mike in the office, the young inspector got up from his desk, nervously fidgeting with the rolled-up sleeves of his black turtleneck sweater, before crossing the few feet that separated them.

"That must have been some intense detective work to keep you up all night…", the lieutenant pried and sighed inwardly at the one battle he never seemed to be able to win when it came to gently guiding that brilliant young man to become a better organized human being.

"The company helped…", Steve answered and grinned mischievously at the trap he'd so carefully laid out for his partner; making him work hard for every little piece of the puzzle until it came time to unveil what had happened last night.

"I am sure it did. Some of the things you consider work…"

"Now wait a minute!", Steve complained in feigned anger, "You always told me to stay on it when you're getting close to the truth, not to let things like time and effort get in the way of your research…"

"And just what kind of research are we talking about here, buddy boy? And ehm…do keep it simple. And spare me the romantic details, please."

Sitting down in his office chair, Mike turned to the right to face his partner who was helping himself to a glass of water from the carafe on his file cabinet.

"Tse tse tse, such mistrust…"

Taking a moment to gulp down half a glass of water, Steve hesitated to sort his thoughts, then looked over at his best friend with a mixture of uncertainty and dread Mike hadn't expected.

"The trout in the milk has come to haunt us."

The cryptic words sent the lieutenant's thoughts into a tailspin as he dug through the many folders of his vast mental databank, eventually raising his eyebrows.

"What's Yale Courtland Dancy up to these days? Getting into trouble again? And what's he doing spending the night with you?"

At the mention of the poet's name, Steve expression turned serious, his gaze drifting to the gray carpeting for a moment of silent contemplation.

"Not the kind of trouble you'd think. And not the kind of trouble you'd wish on anybody."

Upon his sorrowful words, Mike leaned back against his chair, giving his partner room and time to elaborate.

"Jenaea Dancy decided to pay me a visit late last night. She was pretty tore up about things. Turns out her father has dementia."

"Dementia?", the word had left Mike's tongue faster than he could comprehend what had been said.

"Yeah. It started shortly after that whole Ebbenhauer case and he's been going downhill fast. I gotta admit, I haven't seen him perform since. Jenaea said he's been having trouble remembering basic things; where he's at, why his wife is no longer there, sometimes he doesn't recognize her at all. His emotions are all over the place. He gets angry and confused, sometimes he cries for no reason. It's pretty…well, she was pretty upset."

"That's understandable.", Mike said and put a hand in front of his mouth, mourning a brilliant soul like Yale Courtland Dancy suffering from such a debilitating and fatal disease.

"She ehm…we talked all night. There's just no…there's no support network there. It's just her caring for her father. There's not enough money even to put him into a nursing home. He…I guess he burnt all his savings over the years just living life and not thinking of the future."

"That's a lot of responsibility for a young girl like her."

"It is. She is still modeling which helps and she has some side gig going on at a local restaurant to bring in extra income. But it's a difficult situation no matter which way you look at it."

"And yet, here she was, seeking out the young man she so playfully sent around town. She's got you wrapped around her finger, my friend. So tell me, what's the catch here?"

Steve glanced up sheepishly from his spot against the wall, the glass of water still in hand, looking like a pupil caught sleeping.

"What do you mean, catch?"

"What do you mean?", Mike mocked and shook his head, "After more than a year, Jenaea Dancy shows up on your doorstep late at night to cry her eyes out? Give me a break. What did she want?"

"She didn't want anything, I swear. Matter of fact, she brought dinner along.", Steve argued defensively, causing his partner to raise his hands in a calming fashion.

"Alright…alright. She just needed a shoulder to cry on."

Keeping his voice calm seemed to do the job and Steve nodded faintly, his rigid shoulders pulled back as though he was in a court hearing.

"I swear it's the truth. I think it was a way for her to get out of the house for a bit, let off some steam. She was wondering if we could make it a weekly thing, just the two of us hanging around for old time's sake. She seems to…relish my company."

Mike bit his lip, deciding to remain professionally neutral when his earlier question was finally answered.

"Hang around as friends or…"

"Of course as friends.", Steve corrected hastily, "She has a lot on her plate and if I can be of any help, even if it just means going out to dinner and being there for her, I think it's the least I can do."

Fighting to keep his expression serious under the circumstances; Mike nodded concededly, then drew in a deep breath.

"Sure, sure. My partner the humanitarian…", he mused and shook his head, "Well, now that you are done helping one old friend, let's work on helping yet another and see what we can do to dig into Joe's case today. Come on, let's get moving, buddy boy."