This is set sometime during the middle of Season 4. I should probably point out that I know nothing about medical research, so I apologise for any inaccuracies in that area. I hope you enjoy it - please submit a review, good or bad! Thank you kindly.
YOU NEVER FORGET
Chapter 1
"Welcome to Canada!" Constable Benton Fraser smiled as he heard Constable Turnbull's familiar greeting to visitors at the Canadian Consulate. Then he heard Turnbull's hurried footsteps along the hall and a knock at his door. Diefenbaker, Fraser's lupine companion leapt up and barked.
"Come in Turnbull," Fraser called out.
"Sir," began Turnbull, "Detective Vecchio is here to see you."
Fraser was a little taken aback. It was only a little after eight thirty in the morning and although he himself had been up for hours, it was rather early in the morning for a visit from his best friend and partner from the Chicago Police Department, Ray Kowalski, known to all at the present time as Ray Vecchio due to the current undercover assignment. "Thank you Turnbull," he said, replacing the lid on his pen and getting to his feet.
"I'll make myself scarce," said Turnbull, "I assume you have important liaising work to discuss," and he hurried out of Fraser's office.
Fraser chuckled as he headed towards the door. Turnbull was just a little jealous of his role with the local police department. "Good morning Ray!" he beamed, but his smile quickly faded as he saw Ray stood in the hallway, staring at the floor. "Ah," said Fraser, quietly so Turnbull wouldn't hear, "I had a feeling something was amiss as you are here so early."
Ray looked up at him. "Can't keep anything from ya, can I?" he said with half a smile. He sniffed and headed into the reception room with a worried Fraser following behind. Ray slumped down onto the leather sofa and sighed.
Fraser waited a moment for his partner to start talking, but Ray was silent. "What's wrong?" Fraser prompted eventually.
Ray looked up at him. "Sorry buddy," he said quietly, "tough start to the day, er, that's all."
"Are you alright?" Fraser asked gently, still concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Ray, which was clearly not true, "just had to do the whole 'sorry for your loss' and 'we'll do everything we can to catch the killer of your sister' routine. Not the er, not the most fun I've ever had before breakfast." Ray sighed again and rubbed Dief behind the ears.
"Ah," nodded Fraser, understandingly. "Who's the victim?"
"Anna Cortez," replied Ray. "She's got an older brother and a younger sister. I got to break the news to the sister." Ray sighed again and pretended he had an itch suddenly, trying to hide the tear that had sneaked out of his eye.
Of course he could never hide something like that from Fraser and his partner put a steadying hand on Ray's shoulder. "If you don't mind me saying," began Fraser, cautiously, "you've had to perform this unpleasant duty on many occasions in the past, what is it about this case that has distressed you so much?"
"Distressed?" replied Ray, with sad eyes, "do I look, er, distressed?"
"A little," replied Fraser, honestly.
Ray shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "The family...her sister's got a husband and a kid...they just seemed so..." he paused, searching for the right word, "so nice, I guess?"
"Ah," said Fraser again. "What were the circumstances?"
Ray sniffed. "Her body was found on the, er, the stairwell of her apartment buildin', early hours of this mornin'. Looked like she'd been robbed, but it was no robbery."
"Are you sure?" asked Fraser.
"Course," replied Ray with half a grin, "been doin' this job too long buddy. The, er, the robbery was staged, but I can't say what killed her. She wasn't shot or stabbed or nothin'? Mort's got her now, so I, er, I guess we'll know more later."
"I see," nodded Fraser. "Would you like some tea?"
"Coffee, Fraser, it's not even nine in the morning, I need coffee," admitted Ray with a wry smile.
"Right you are," Fraser stood up to go and make Ray's coffee, but as he did so he almost bumped into Turnbull who had appeared carrying a tray of cups.
"I'm terribly sorry Sir," Turnbull apologised, "but I took the liberty of making some coffee for Detective Vecchio and bark tea for you."
Fraser smiled at his colleague. Turnbull wasn't quite as much of an idiot as he sometimes appeared to be. "Thank you kindly Constable Turnbull." Turnbull placed the two cups on the table and left the room.
Ray reached into his pocket and produced a handful of brightly coloured chocolates and threw them into his cup. Fraser refrained from making a comment about the health implications, considering Ray's current low mood.
The two friends talked some more, finished their drinks and then headed back to the station. Fraser was pleased to see that talking about the case had lifted Ray's spirits slightly and he now seemed to be channelling his energies into finding whoever killed Anna Cortez. "Was Miss Cortez involved in a romantic relationship?" enquired Fraser, as they waited at traffic lights.
"Nope," replied Ray, "her sister said she had a boyfriend about two years ago, but nothin', y'know, nothin' serious since then."
"I know you said her sister had a family," began Fraser, "but what about the older brother?"
"He's not married," replied Ray as he drove along. "He and Anna worked at the same place, that research lab on the other side of town." Fraser nodded, he knew the place. They'd used their laboratory services on many occasions during investigations.
"Her kid sister was distraught Fraser," sighed Ray, shaking his head. "This job sucks sometimes." Fraser nodded, he couldn't help but agree.
XxX
Fraser and Ray headed straight down to the morgue. Mort had only had the body for just over an hour and a half, but that should have been plenty of time for a initial report, thought Fraser. "Good morning Mort," smiled Fraser as they walked in. Ray followed his partner in gingerly, expecting to see Mort working on the body of Anna Cortez, but he relaxed slightly when he saw the body on the examination table was covered with a sheet. Then he noticed Mort, sat quietly in a chair in the corner with his glasses hanging loosely around his neck. Ray glanced over at Fraser, that wasn't like the usually jolly mortician at all? They were both instantly concerned.
"Mort?" said Fraser, gently, "are you alright?"
Mort lifted his head and placed his glasses back on the end of his nose. "I'm so sorry Constable," he replied, his accent as heavy as ever, "I didn't see you there." He looked at Ray, "I expect you're here about..." his voice trailed off and he nodded towards the victim.
"Yeah," replied Ray, still worried about Mort. "D'ya have a cause of death for me yet?"
"The results of my preliminary examination are over there," replied Mort, pointing to a file on the side. Ray picked it up and started scanning down the handwritten words. "I'm afraid there's not much to read," sighed Mort, "cause of death remains unknown. I'm going to have to go in."
"Ah," said Fraser, but he was still puzzled by Mort's demeanour. The prospect of performing a full autopsy was undoubtedly not a pleasant one, but one that Mort had faced on many occasions in the past nevertheless and faced with the utmost professionalism. Ray handed his partner the file and Fraser sat in the other chair and had a quick look at the results. "Hmmm..." he pondered, "no obvious injuries, do you think there's a possibility that her death was by natural causes?"
"Then why fake a robbery?" Ray jumped in, before Mort had a chance to reply.
"Good point Ray," acknowledged Fraser, handing the file back to him. He regarded Mort for a minute. He'd never seen him like this and it concerned him greatly. He didn't want to push the older man, if Mort didn't want to talk then Fraser would of course respect that, but he decided to try one more time. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.
Mort looked at him and smiled, half heartedly. "I'm just getting old, that's all."
"No Mort"" exclaimed Fraser, "you're not old in the least."
"What did ya say that for?" Ray asked Mort, incredulously.
Mort looked from Ray to Fraser and then held both of his hands out in front of him. The two younger men were slightly startled to see them trembling. "Been like this all week," explained Mort.
"Mort," began Fraser, "you know there could be any number of possible causes, very few of which are related to your age. Have you seen a doctor?"
"Fraser, I am a doctor," replied Mort. Hearing Mort say that surprised Ray a little. Of course he knew Mort was a doctor, but he didn't really think of him as one. Ray struggled with the concept of what Mort did for a living. He understood that it was vital work and without it there would be many unsolved murder cases on his desk, but it still freaked him out.
Fraser sighed at Mort's obstinacy. "And I believe it is a well known fact that doctors make the worst patients," he said. He reached out towards the older man, but then hesitated for a moment. "May I?" he asked.
Mort shrugged. "Why not?" he replied, quietly.
Ray watched as Fraser took Mort's pulse, looked into his eyes and performed a few other basics checks, many of which Ray had never seen any actual doctor do in quite the same way. He assumed that they'd found their own ways of doing these things in the middle of nowhere, when they were miles from a doctor, like so many of the other strange things that Fraser did.
"You're a little dehydrated," said Fraser.
"I'll get ya some water," offered Ray, going to find a glass from the cupboard and filling it from the cold tap.
"You also appear to be slightly anaemic, but of course you already knew that" continued Fraser, speaking quieter now, feeling that Mort may feel more comfortable if this personal information wasn't immediately shared with Ray, "and I believe that your blood sugar may be low. Are you eating?"
"Yes," replied Mort, abruptly as Ray walked back to where they were sitting. He took the glass from Ray and sipped at the water.
"Properly?" added Fraser.
"Don't patronise me Fraser," Mort reprimanded.
Fraser instantly felt guilty and looked away. The last thing he'd wanted to do was to show any disrespect to Mort. "I'm sorry," he muttered.
"It's alright Fraser," reassured Mort, his voice softer now, "I appreciate your concern." Fraser nodded in acknowledgement. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have work to do." Mort finished the rest of his water in one gulp and got to his feet.
"Hey ya know ya don't have to ask me twice to get outta here," grinned Ray, "I gotta make some calls anyway. Friends and colleagues of the, er, the victim. Her sister gave me some numbers." Ray headed towards the door.
"Mort, if you like I could stay and assist you?" Fraser offered, gingerly. He didn't want to insult Mort any further by suggesting he couldn't do the job on his own, he genuinely did just want to help if he could and he was still concerned about him.
Fortunately, Mort seemed to understand. "Thank you Fraser," he said, smiling. "I would appreciate that very much."
"I'm gone," called Ray, rushing out of the morgue, "see ya later buddy."
Fraser coated his lower lip with his tongue as he watched Mort busy himself preparing his equipment, humming under his breath as he did so. Fraser was relieved to observe that he seemed a little more steady in himself now. Eventually they were ready to begin and Mort pulled back the sheet to reveal the victim's head and shoulders, but then he suddenly pulled the sheet back up and turned away. "Mort, what's wrong?" asked Fraser, slightly shocked at the reaction.
"Please give me a minute," responded Mort, quietly, without turning round. Fraser pulled off his gloves and walked around to the other side of the examination table. Without saying anything, he led Mort by the shoulders and sat him back down in the chair, seating himself in the other chair.
"Perhaps I should ask Ray to drive you home," Fraser suggested, gently.
"No," Mort replied with determination. "I'm fine."
"Mort, you're not fine," said Fraser, firmly, "I'd like to help, but I can't if you don't tell me the truth." He paused, before going on. He admired Mort immensely and he wanted to offer him the proper respect. He spoke more softly now. "This isn't just about your health, or getting old, is it? Not really?"
Mort lifted his head and looked directly at Fraser. "I forget how difficult it is to keep things from you," he sighed. He took a deep breath and began to talk. "Our victim bears an uncanny resemblance to the victim in one of my very first cases," he said. "Mary O'Driscoll was was killed by an acute subdural haematoma caused by a single blow to the head. The circumstances were entirely different, but I'm afraid I let that situation affect me, personally, I mean."
"How exactly?" coaxed Fraser.
"They never found her killer," replied Mort, solemnly. He paused for a moment to reflect. Then he spoke again with a lighter tone. "You may have noticed that I very rarely venture out of the morgue," he said. "I had a young intern once a few years ago, he used to call me Dracula," Mort emphasised the word 'Dracula' by rolling the letter 'r' on his tongue and he laughed, "I suppose it was my accent, but he used to say that he never saw me in daylight."
Fraser smiled. "I thought Dracula was meant to be from Romania?" he queried, "your accent is not even close."
Mort laughed again. "These are Americans we're dealing with, remember, they think Australians are from Scotland and anyone from eastern Europe is Russian!"
"Ah," agreed Fraser.
"I am more comfortable here with the company of the dead, I know that may sound morbid," Mort shrugged. "Back then it was different. I'd just completed the autopsy of Miss O'Driscoll and I went up to the squad room to speak to the Lieutenant about it. I remember walking in and I saw a woman weeping. She was talking to one of the detectives and I realised that it was Miss O'Driscoll's mother, the bone structure in their faces was almost identical. I was suddenly aware that I was still wearing my apron, the one I'd been wearing during the examination and as you can imagine, it was not a pretty sight."
"Oh dear," said Fraser, "did her mother see you?"
"I'm not sure," replied Mort, "but I just looked at my apron and then at her face and...and..." Mort's voice wavered. "It was such a long time ago Fraser, but I've always wondered if there was something I missed? Something that would have helped to trace her killer? Seeing Miss Cortez here...I don't know why, but the O'Driscoll case has suddenly come back to haunt me..." Mort couldn't speak any more.
"Mort, you cannot blame yourself, I'm sure you did everything you could," said Fraser, encouragingly. "Additionally, for as yet undetermined reasons, you are physically and emotionally low at the present time. A situation that could be resolved, I might add, by a visit to your doctor." He paused and looked over his shoulder, before returning his gaze to Mort. " I also understand what it's like to feel haunted," he said, quietly. "I will head upstairs and speak to Lieutenant Welsh, I'm sure we can arrange..."
"No," Mort interrupted him. "No Fraser, I will do this. You and Detective Vecchio are going to struggle to give her family the answers they need without my input."
"Your input is invaluable Mort," confirmed Fraser.
"And...then I will call my doctor," added Mort. Fraser nodded and smiled.
Mort sighed a huge sigh, then got to his feet and walked back towards the table. Fraser followed, He put his gloves back on and without saying anything, he folded back the sheet that was covering the body of Anna Cortez. Mort picked up his instruments, but then he closed his eyes, fighting for composure. Fraser hesitated for a moment, but then took a deep breath and began to sing.
Mort immediately opened his eyes and smiled, instantly recognising the opening of one of his favourite arias. He listened for a moment, he loved Fraser's warm singing voice and he'd always admired the emotion that the younger man was able bring out when he sang, completely contrary to his usual demeanour. He let Fraser sing the first section solo and then he joined in, his deeper baritone blending beautifully with Fraser's voice.
The two men sang as they worked, only pausing to speak when they had to and Mort would be eternally grateful to his younger friend for helping him get through one of the most difficult mornings' work of his life.
