A/N: I have been making fan art of Murdoch Mysteries and the majority of it involves an OC I had created. Originally, this idea wasn't supposed to even leave my head, but here it is on FFN. This chapter will have quite a few time jumps involved in it, so my apologies if it seems choppy. The end of this chapter also leaves off on a half-note cuz I didn't want the chapter to drag on and on. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy!

Chapter Genre: General

Chapter Rating: K

Rating Content: No Warnings Apply

"Gentlemen, if I could have your attention for just a short moment."

Immediately, everyone halted in their activities, their heads turning to Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. A young man was at his side, setting a box on top of an empty desk. Brackenreid patted his shoulder. "This man here is James Quilleran, a new constable joining us."

Henry's brows furrowed. 'Quilleran'? Wasn't that one of the more notorious family names in Toronto?

"He's a fresh one, but I'm sure you lads can show him how we do it here at Station House number four."

The man smiled. "I'm certain there's plenty for me to learn here, sir."

James was fairly short compared to Brackenreid, reaching to just past his shoulder. He was pretty thin, too. Basically, he was just small. His dirty blonde hair was incredibly short, giving it an almost spiky appearance and his eyes were big and soft, their colour resembling that of rusted metal.

He looked far too innocent and delicate to be a constable, Henry thought.

Brackenreid made a face. "Is that all you're going to say?" He joked. "Why not tell us a bit about yourself?"

James shrugged. "Not much to say, sir. I was born in Alberta then raised in Quebec and I'm the only son in my family." He then added, cheekily, "I also happen to like puppies."

They all laughed.

Brackenreid patted him on the shoulder again. "Well, I'm certain we'll learn a bit more about you with time. Now, just get yourself settled in, there will most likely be work for you shortly."

He left the young man to his devices then. As the other constables resumed their work, some passing by would shake James' hand and welcome him to the Station House.

Henry wasn't quite as open about James. He really didn't know what to think about him. "George, isn't James Quilleran the son of Leonard and Mary Quilleran?"

George glanced at James before looking back at Henry. "Yes, I believe so. But I wouldn't judge him based on a family name. Like in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet'."

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Isn't that a romance, George?"

He nodded but held up a finger. "Yes, but the meaning of that quote is that if Romeo was not a Montague, there would be no reason for him to be hated by the Capulets." He then pointed to James, who was organizing the various items from the box he carried in onto his desk. "So, if James did not have the last name Quilleran, we would have no reason to judge him. So why should we, now?"

"But his father was a murderer and his mother was sent to the asylum..."

George sighed in exasperation. "You're missing the point, Henry! Just because his last name is Quilleran, doesn't mean he's like his mother or his father. He might have wanted to be a constable just for that very reason; he might want to try and change things in his family."

"Close enough."

They both jumped almost right out of their seats. James was looking them both over, an eyebrow raised and his lips drawn in a smirk. George immediately started to ramble. "My apologies, it's rude to talk about someone behind their backs-"

"It's alright. My name tends to get a few heads turned." He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, make a long story short, I'm wanting to change the reputation of the Quilleran name. I also need to put food on the table, which I'm sure you'll both understand."

George nodded. "Of course, it's perfectly understandable." Remembering his manners, he stood from his seat and shook James' hand. "Welcome to Station House number four, by the way! I'm George Crabtree and this here is my good friend, Henry Higgins."

He stood and shook James' hand. "Pleased to meet you." He said with a smile.

James straightened out his jacket and nodded to the Inspector's office. "That's Inspector Brackenreid's office, yeah?"

"Yes, that would be correct." George confirmed.

He nodded his head in thanks. "Excellent."

It wasn't until James started walking to Brackenreid's office that they noticed the small envelope in his hand. George payed no mind to it, of course, and resumed his duties, comparing fingerprints found on a knife to the loads of other fingerprints found in other cases. "If only there was some sort of machine to do this work for us." George sighed.

Henry raised an eyebrow. "How? How could a machine compare one set of fingerprints to another? And how could it tell the difference?"

He looked over the two fingerprint cards and at Henry, casting him an annoyed glance. "You always manage to cast a cloud over the sunshine, don't you?" He mumbled.

Henry then sat back down in his own seat, picking up the magnifying glass and closely inspecting the fingerprints. "Just asking some logical questions, George."

/ / /

"Sir, with all due respect, does this really need to be done?" He called out.

"Yes, James, I'm afraid so."

James shivered as he felt something move against his leg and he cast a glance at George. "Does this happen often?"

George nodded and sighed. "Yes, it does. All part of the job."

As it turned out, the detective of Station house four, William Murdoch, had been working on a case and he had a clue as to where a body may have been hidden. At first, he was just going to take George and Henry, but then Brackenreid had suggested taking James along with them. "It'll be a good experience for him, Murdoch." He stated. "Give him a bit of a taste of what goes on in Station House number four!"

James, of course, was excited to see how things worked. However, he was not very pleased when Murdoch had taken them to a swampy pond and he told them that the body had rocks tied to it and was sunken somewhere within the water. They had been 'fishing' for not even half an hour and James was already getting edgy.

They had to strip out of their regular uniforms, of course, which James seemed almost reluctant to do. The instant the uniform was off, he jumped straight into the water head-first (which, of course, resulted in him getting a face full of mud and algae).

Henry laughed at the two of them. "Afraid of a little bit of water, boys?"

James splashed him. "Let's see you come in here and swim around for a bit, eh?"

Henry brushed the water from his face, a smirk still on his lips. "You need someone in the boat to lift the body out."

James and George sighed and rolled their eyes and, taking deep breaths, they ducked under the water again and swam around, searching for the body. It was a lot harder than it sounded, of course. Mixes of algae and kelp covered the rocks and hung around in the water. Whenever one of them moved, dirt and mud would be kicked around. And then, of course, since it was getting closer to evening and it was cooler outside, there was a higher possibility of fish being in the water that would be more than willing to take a bite out of either of them. "Or snakes!" George had exclaimed. "I heard that there are venomous snakes that can swim in the water."

"Not in Toronto, George." The Detective had corrected him.

As they swam through the water, they could see various fish picking at floating bits in the water. James quickly tapped George on his shoulder and pointed up before surfacing. George followed soon after. "What is it?"

"I think we might be close to the body." James explained. "You saw the stuff they were nibbling on, yes? What if it's the skin off of the body?"

"Well, it could just be bits of bread or maybe even bugs." George countered. "Fish don't eat meat."

James made a face. "Who would be feeding the fish out in the middle of nowhere?"

When George didn't respond, James dove back under the water, swimming over to where the fish were feasting. James grabbed at one of the floating pieces and showed it to George, who had swam up behind him. They immediately started looking around, hoping to find the body somewhere within the area.

James felt something moving against his leg again and, this time, he looked to see what it was. He half expected to see a fish, or at the very least a frog. No, instead, he found the slender, waving body of a snake slowly slithering up his leg. He screamed, which sounded muffled under the water, and started swimming in the opposite direction whilst kicking his leg, hoping the snake would be shaken off. As he was swimming around, he failed to realize he was getting closer to the bottom of the pond.

He checked his leg to make sure the snake was gone. seeing no signs of it, he was about to return to the surface for air before something gleamed in his eye. Shielding them, he looked around to see something shining in the water. Curious, he slowly approached it, hoping it was what they had been looking for.

Upon closer inspection, James saw that it was a bracelet that had been reflecting the light. He tried picking it up but it was stuck. On something. He didn't know what, but it was something. He tried pulling it again, but a lot harder, and he heard loud snap as he pulled at the bracelet.

It was still stuck. James, still hanging onto the bracelet, took a closer look at what it was attached to. It looked almost like a log, but why would someone put a bracelet on a log?

The sudden burning in his lungs reminded him of his need for air and, releasing his grip on the bracelet, he swam back up to the surface of the water, gasping heavily and wiping his hair back.

"I don't think I've ever seen someone swim quite that fast, James." George commented.

James rolled his eyes and called over to William. "Sir, was the victim reported to have a silver bracelet around their arm?"

He nodded. "Yes. Have you found the bracelet?"

"I think I may have found the body."

/ / /

The slap on his back made him jump in surprise. "Not bad for your first minor assignment, Quilleran."

"Thank you, sir."

"And, uh," Brackenreid leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. "I looked over the letter. I completely understand. She also confirmed it and that there are things she wanted to keep an eye on. Doctor Ogden will continue to be your personal physician unless stated otherwise by her."

James nodded his appreciation. "Thank you for understanding."

Brackenreid patted his shoulder. "Good. Now, with that out of the way, there's another little job for you."

/ / /

"Don't worry too much. First time I came to Station House number Four, he didn't go too easy on me either."

James sighed and rolled his shoulders. "I don't mind the work, really. It gives me something to do."

Brackenreid had put him on duty with the Detective, walking around at least one quarter of Toronto in order to estimate the time it took to walk from one point to another. As it turned out, James was almost the exact height of the killer. He didn't think it would matter, but a taller person results in longer legs, and a shorter person resulted in shorter legs.

And now, he was on patrol with Crabtree. Which meant more walking (of course, the Detective and Inspector were gracious enough to give him a solid half-hour break before going out on patrol). They were around the harbour, hence why they were patrolling together rather than apart.

Although the law had (technically) won, the harbour was still dangerous for coppers. They had earned their trust, but not their respect. Brackenreid had said that he wasn't about to take chances (that, and nobody else really wanted to patrol around the harbour, anyhow).

The full moon provided enough light for the two coppers. The moonlight reflected off of the stone paths, thanks to the damp air provided by the constant mist from the waters. The occasional street lamp was helpful as well.

"Do you not have much to do at home?" George asked, kicking at a loose pebble on the rocky ground.

James shrugged. "Not really. The only reason I really took this job is so I can provide for myself. Hard to get a normal job with the name 'Quilleran', nowadays. No thanks to my father."

George hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "Uh, if you don't mind me asking, is there any... that is to say, do you have any resentments towards your father?"

James sighed, his breath coming out in a white puff of air. "In a sense, I do. He gave the Quillerans a bad reputation. And don't blame my mother for the Quilleran name either. She wasn't insane. My father had made her out to be that way."

"Well, why don't you tell the asylum or the law that?"

James made a face. "The child of a murderer and a lunatic, telling the law that my mother wasn't insane and my father made it up. Do you think they'd believe me?"

"My apologies, I didn't really think of it that way."

"Of course you didn't. Not very many people would." James walked a bit closer to George, dropping his voice down slightly. "Let me tell you something, Crabtree, something that can be of great controversy. The time we're in, is a time where rights are easily given as they are taken. We're in a time where you're judged based on where you come from, globally or locally. They can also judge you based on a name." He gestured around them. "Here in Toronto, the name 'Quilleran' sends shivers down people's spines. Because of my father and mother, they expect their children to be the same, therefore, I am not trusted. I was lucky enough to even get a job as a Constable. All the other Station Houses had denied my requests, and Station House Four was the last on my list. If it wasn't for your Inspector accepting my application, I'm certain I would be out on the streets in a few days."

George was shocked. Although he was a very curious and inquisitive man, he never once thought how a name could have that much affect on a whole city. It made sense, though, once he thought about it. Judgment was a constant in this time, especially when it came to families and their legacies. "I never really thought of it that way." He said.

James sniffed. "Nobody ever does. And the ones that do, are considered crazy. That's why so many people need to keep a low profile and keep their mouths shut, lest they end up in the loony-bin or in the gallows."