AN: I'm sorry…but it was ever thus.


"How is she?" Jazz asked softly as Derek emerged from the bedroom.

"Sleeping. She took something – some sort of sedative. I wasn't happy about it but she promised it was safe. She said she just wants to sleep." He ran his hand through his hair, worry etched onto his face.

"You should go sleep too. Neither of you has slept for two days, Derek."

"I'm worried about Casey."

Jazz leaned back on the couch. "So am I. But she needs you functioning."

"She's blaming herself. She thinks that if she had gone to see the professor as well then it wouldn't have happened." Despite his tiredness, Derek sat down. They needed to talk.
"If she'd gone with him, we'd be going to her funeral on Friday, as well as Steven's."

"I know." Derek sighed and stretched in the recliner. "So how do we move on this?"

Jazz glanced across at him. "The case? Well we can't prove it was Smythe. It could just be someone who followed Steven."

"No I know. But clearly there is some link between Sal and Smythe. Who else would be after Steven?"

"No-one. It's this case, without question." Jazz agreed.
"We need to find out what all that crap about Project Cloak was about." Derek pointed out thoughtfully.

Jazz nodded. "Got any suggestions?"
"We should take a look around that research facility."

"Dude. Those places are locked up tighter than a nun's unmentionables."

"I know. But the answer is there, somewhere and I want to find it. This case has cost too many lives already. I don't want to sit back and wait while someone else gets hurt."
"Derek if you go in there it could be you that gets hurt and then where would that leave Casey? She's lost you once and now she's lost Steven who was the only person to keep her sane during your wilderness years. Don't put her through that again."

Derek sighed. "I've got to do something." He said.


By the time Friday approached, they were at least sleeping for some of the night. Derek had been prepared to fight Casey on the self-sedating thing but to his relief she suddenly stopped of her own accord. Instead she managed natural sleep but only for a few hours a night. His girlfriend started to look pale and worn-out making him want to wrap her up in his arms all the time. He settled for holding her tightly in the darkness instead.

On Friday morning, Casey emerged from their bedroom looking even paler than normal, but he hoped most of that was down to the sombre tone of her clothes.

"You okay?" he asked. "You sure you want to go?"

She nodded. "I just want to get today over and done with." She murmured. "I owe it to Steven and his family, but, I feel like something large and heavy is sitting on my chest."

Marti, newly returned from Toronto, looked up. "You're pale, Case. You need to eat something."
"Not this morning, Smarti. I don't think Steven's family will want me vomiting all over his coffin. Remember I only just made it out of the room at Derek's funeral."

"Okay, but promise me you'll eat at the wake?"

Casey smiled weakly. "I'll eat I promise."

Marti seemed appeased. "I just don't want you getting like you were before, where you couldn't keep anything down and they had to hospitalise you."

"It's different this time." Casey said, looking nervously towards Derek. She hadn't told him about that. "Horrible though this is it's not like last time."
Derek looked up in horror. "Last time?" He asked with a sinking feeling.

"Yes. Last time." Marti confirmed with a look. "Casey doesn't handle grief very well."
"Who does?" asked Jazz coming into the room dressed in a smart, modern-cut suit.

"Wow!" said Marti. "You scrub up well."
"Thanks. I thought I'd make the effort. I was starting to like the guy and Casey needs someone hot to stand beside her." He winked at Derek. "No offence."

Because Derek couldn't go to the funeral since there was a chance there would be people who knew him by sight present, Jazz had offered to accompany Casey and she was very grateful.

The arrangement had an additional benefit, one which Casey wasn't aware of, and if Derek got his way, one which she would never hear about…or at least not until it was all over…

On another note, Marti was also going to the funeral. Steven had been around enough that Marti knew him quite well. She had liked his sense of humour and the jocular way in which he had diverted Casey's attention from the grief she felt with Derek's death. Like most people there had been a time when she too had thought Casey and Steven might end up together but eventually it became obvious that what she was seeing between them was what her step-sister should have had with Derek. She had wondered why the spark had never grown, until many years down the line when Casey still hadn't got over the loss of Derek, and then she had known for certain when she had witnessed the way her two siblings were together now.

When the time came for the three of them to leave for the church, Jazz took Derek to one side.

"You're still determined to do this?" He asked.

"Of course I am. It's the ideal time. He'll have to be at the funeral, his family would never forgive him if he missed it. That means that he won't be at the lab for the duration. You can keep an eye on Casey and him. If either of them looks like leaving the funeral early call me."
"How do you plan on getting in?"

"I'll think of something."

"Be careful, Dude. I don't want to see Casey in pain again."

"You think I do? I'm the one in love with the woman; which is exactly why I am doing this. I want us to have a normal life."

"Together?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

Derek said goodbye to Casey reluctantly. He hated any separation from her at the moment even if it was for a matter of a few hours and this separation, knowing what he was about to do, was worse than most. Unaware, she let him kiss her gently and promised him that she would listen to Jazz and Marti. He entrusted the former with her physical safety, the latter with her mental sanity.

"I love you." He murmured quietly, aware of the watching eyes of their friends.

"I love you too." Casey replied. "I'm sorry I'm so upset but I need to grieve. He was my friend for so long."
"I understand. I know you find it hard to believe, but I liked Steven, eventually. If he had lived we might have been good friends…competitive, but friends all the same."

Casey smiled slightly. "He'd have whopped your ass at Babe Raider." She commented.

"That's disloyal, McDonald." Derek said with mock indignation.

Casey grinned. "But it's the truth."


Derek waited for five minutes after they left before arming himself and getting into Marti's car. Jazz had driven the two sisters to the funeral in the rental car because it was more respectful, which left Derek with the other set of wheels. He wasn't sure how he felt about the purple, flowered monstrosity. It got more looks than he was comfortable with as he drove down the familiar streets.

The drive to the research facility on the road between London and Toronto took less time than he thought it would; the passage of time since he had last driven between London and Toronto in daylight messing with his memory.

It did take longer than it would for most people though, because he paused as he passed the point where Steven's car had been forced from the road into the tree: the place where Steven had died. Derek pulled the car onto the gravel trap at the side of the road and got out.

He felt that he needed to say something to the man who had kept Casey sane through medical school, the man who had encouraged her to vacation in Ottawa, the man who had helped arrange her job so that she could stay near Derek.

"I'm sorry, Steven." Derek said simply to a spot somewhere deep in the trees. "I'm sorry that she lost you because of me. I don't know who made that decision because I'm not sure I believe in a higher power…" His voice faded. "Thank you for understanding how she needed you and for not pushing for more."

It was simple, it said a lot, but to Derek it really didn't say enough. He tried to put the rest of his feelings into words and couldn't. Time pressed, so reluctantly, he had to turn around and climb back into the car.

The lab complex when he found it was quite small and to Derek's surprise, rather ancient. As he again pulled to the side of the road, instead of being an ultra-modern sprawl of high-tech labs, he found it was housed in a Victorian house in the middle of a large leafy park only some of which belonged to the mansion. He pulled the car back out onto the road and shortly afterwards found a parking lot for members of the general public who were visitors to the surrounding parklands. Marti's car stuck out in amongst the cars belonging to families and walkers – but not as much as it would have done tucked into the verge on the side of the road.

He set off on foot to find the area housing the lab complex.

A short distance from his car, in amongst the trees, he found a well-marked pathway pulling the park visitors sharply to the right; to the left continued a smaller, less travelled track with a large "Private Property – Keep Out" sign. Derek followed the smaller path and after a quarter of a mile or so, he found himself up against the tall, well-built Victorian wall of the labs.

Derek could see how the house had once been the pride and joy of some rich Victorian Canadians. The architecture owed most of its character to the architecture of Victorian England, but there was still the distinct Canadian look: It made the building look of the era, but in a more practical way, without the constraint of space.

Now that Derek had found the wall, it only took him five minutes to skirt the enclosure. Unlike some of the massive modern pharmaceutical sites that existed, the relatively small scale of this Victorian lab gave Derek hope that within its depths he might find whatever it was that had caused so much death.

What didn't inspire confidence was that the walls were very high: the original red brick being augmented with metal panels from eight feet upwards. This was a fact which led Derek to believe that from his somewhat limited knowledge of physical force and wooden brick building with Robbie many moons ago, the walls must be reinforced on the other side, because the apparently thin wall would not cope with the additional weight.

Getting into the complex was going to be challenging.

Conscious of the short time he had to conduct his search Derek only allowed himself a few minutes assessment before he came to his conclusion. The only way he could get inside was to use the old "Trojan Horse" approach. He would need to find something to hide in which would then take him through the gates – and soon. Derek eased his way round to find the main entrance.


The stocky guy looked out of place in a suit. He stood at the top of the church aisle, on the steps, and fingered his cue cards nervously until their corners bent up and the words closest to the edges became impossible to read. Facing him sat row upon row of smartly dressed people of every age; their faces sombre, eyes often red-rimmed, and amongst them, flanked by Marti and Jazz, sat Casey. She was still pale apart from the slight reddening around her eyes.

"You might not know me, I'm Peter. I was the one Steven got drunk with… frequently. Me and the rest of the gang were the ones Steven went to when he felt like letting his hair down.

Many years ago Steven made me promise that if he kicked the bucket before I did and I was asked to speak at his funeral, that I would stand in front of you all and be irreverent, mildly offensive and ridiculously honest about my best friend. And so for today, I need you to forgive me, because I'm under orders.

Steven was like a brother to me: an annoying pain-in-the-ass who used to raid my beer fridge, make eyes at my girlfriends and if I had a dollar for the number of times I had to clean my car after driving him home while we were in college…"

Peter paused with a sad smile.

"We met in Junior High when my family relocated. Our teacher assigned Steven to "look after the new guy" because at that time Steven was still a nice, pleasant little kid who wouldn't say boo to a goose – unlike me who was brought up on the wrong side of the tracks, mixing with the wrong kind of kids. I came to town with an attitude and guys like Steven should have rubbed me up the wrong way but for some reason he didn't. He was a nice guy who was nice to me, and I guess somewhere deep down there was still enough of a nice guy in me that I appreciated it.

Of course, I immediately set about leading him astray and by Senior year I like to think it was my influence that led to the "Prom debacle.""

There was a loud "Ahem" from the pew in front of him where a grey-haired old lady was sitting primly. Peter smiled weakly.

"…which for the benefit of sensitive ears in the room, I shall not be reliving today, but…should anyone wish to hear the story after the show, I will be available later - for a sizeable donation to the London Trauma unit which was Steven's favourite charity."

There was a muffled laugh. Peter continued.

"Steven and me, we knew each other. We each knew the other's likes and dislikes. I always knew when to give a girl Steven's real cell number or the fake one."

Casey rolled her eyes.

"Steven used to think it was fate that we accidentally ended up going to the same college even though we hadn't told each other what we'd decided. What he didn't know was that I bribed the student counsellor to tell me Steven's choice. We weren't studying the same subjects, but we made it to the same college town and by the end of the first semester we were on first name terms with the local police sergeant."

Cue: muted laughter.

"But for all of the scrapes and scraps that Steven and I got up to as we grew up, it was never a surprise to those who really knew him that Steven went into Trauma medicine. He felt he'd had a privileged upbringing and he liked to give back: trauma was the way he could do it without differentiating between people and their backgrounds.

Steven White was a good guy, a nice guy and the best friend anyone could want – as a kid and as…well as close to an adult as guys like me get."

Peter looked toward the coffin with its single arrangement of flowers (donations only please!). He had three more cards to read out, but he threw them behind him.

"I'll miss you "Tighty Whitie"." He choked out.

When Peter had left the front and there had been a collective, audible swallow of the lumps in many people's throats, the Catholic Priest glanced towards Casey who stood up. She made her way to the front and stood where Peter had just minutes earlier.

Many years ago, Casey had been asked to give a eulogy at Derek's funeral. She had passed. It wasn't that she didn't care. It was that she cared too much. So instead, Sam had spoken, sharing the limelight with a very grown-up looking Edwin – who had promptly disintegrated as soon as he returned to his seat.

Now, standing here, Casey saw the same faces that Peter had seen and she wondered how he had managed to get a single syllable from his mouth; she wondered how Sam and Edwin had managed it, too, all those years ago.

And now it was her turn.

Taking a deep breath she began.

"He found me broken and helped me heal.

He found me wanting and knew my need.

He understood when others did not,

That depth of grief my heart had rot.

He wanted nothing more than friendship gain.

He made me laugh to ease my pain.

I would not be the person I now am,

If I hadn't met this amazing man."


"Thank you." Steven's mother said softly as she grasped Casey's fingers after the long draining service. "Your words meant a lot to me. I know you and Steven felt like I pushed too much, and maybe I did, but I was always proud of him."

Casey regarded the lady in front of her and jointly wished that Steven could be there to see her, and rejoiced that he could not. This was the woman Steven loved first in his life and yet felt repeatedly that he had failed, and Casey could see clearly now that was not the case. Steven had believed that his mother was indifferent to him, but the woman before her was broken into pieces of grief that Casey recognised.

Mrs White grieved for her child not the future which had he had denied her.

"He loved you." Casey said simply.

"I love him." said his mother. "And he loved you."

Casey smiled. "I loved him too, but he met me when my heart was already someone else's and he was wise enough to understand that."

"Even when I did not. Steven only told me recently, about your brother…sorry, step-brother. I hadn't known. I'm sorry Casey. I guess I was just so used to you laughing around Steven that I ignored the pain in your eyes."

"It's okay. It wasn't something I liked to talk about very much."

"Does it get better?" Mrs White asked. "The grief I mean." She asked because it was important to her personally.

Casey sighed. "You learn to manage it. You learn to get up in the morning. But it's always there. I won't forget Steven, you know. He was a big part of my life for a long time and I'll always remember him."

"I know. Thank you."

They parted company and, wondering if maybe she had misjudged Steven's family, Casey made her way over to Marti who had just been listening to Peter tell the story of the "Prom Debacle" – for a fifty dollar donation of course.

"Apparently, Peter has had to tell the story twenty times already." Marti informed her sister when Peter had finished and moved on. "Do you think Steven would have minded?"

Casey snorted. "Hell no! He'd have charged them $100 each."

"Are you okay?"

Casey nodded. "I'm better now the service is over. I might even have something to eat."

Marti smiled. "I worried about you today…after last time."

"It's a different pain, Marti. It's the reason why I was never with Steven like that. I'm upset – distraught even – but it's nothing like the utter despair of losing Derek."

Her sister nodded. "It's weird going to a funeral now. I noticed it when I went to the funeral of Simon's friend. You appreciate what the people around you are really suffering. They probably haven't even noticed that we are here, not really. They talk to us and nod to us, but the reality is it will take weeks before they really recall what we said to them in passing today."

Jazz made his way over to them. He was eating.

Casey rolled her eyes. "Hungry?"

He grinned. "You guys should try the food. It's good. They have these little vol-au-vents things filled with some sort of mushroom paste which is just…"

Marti grabbed at Casey's arm. "Come on sis. Let's go get something to eat and leave Jazz to his intimate moment with the pastries."

Casey followed although her heart wasn't in it.

"They're good, aren't they?"

Jazz glanced up from his plate to see Peter standing beside him.

"Mmmm…ugh…mmm." Jazz tried with his mouth full. Peter laughed.

"Sorry. Caught you unawares."

Jazz cleared his mouth quickly. "S'ok. They are really good and I couldn't resist taking far too many."

Peter nodded. "Steven would have done the same. He'd have said something like "Pass the Jack and give me a plate of those mushroom things. Let's have a party!"

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?"

There was a pause. "You're here with Case?" Peter asked. He was Steven's best friend so he knew Casey very well. He hadn't had chance to speak to her yet and as he hadn't spoken to Steven in the days leading up to his death, he was surprised to see Casey looking (relatively) better than he was used to.

"Erm…yeah. I was staying with her when we got the news. She wanted some moral support." Jazz told the truth.

Peter nodded. "So you and she…?" he queried.

Jazz laughed and shook his head. "Nah. I have a girlfriend, and Casey's boyfriend would bust my ass if I even thought about it."

Peter's eyes widened. "She's seeing someone?"

Jazz nodded. "Mikey." He said using Derek's old cover.

"Is it serious?"

Jazz was thoughtful. "It's pretty alarming but I guess you mean will it last? …yes. Ripping those two apart would be tough."

"Oh." Jazz could see Peter wondering.

"Steven knew." Jazz said quietly. "We saw him several times just before his death. We saw him just hours before his death."
Peter looked surprised. "And how did he take it? The news that Casey had moved on from her past?"

"He was pleased, I think, for her. She's happy." He paused. "She was happy, until this. Steven was the one that encouraged her to go and meet Mikey; arranged for Casey to transfer to Ottawa. Of course, Steven also punched him in the face when he met him so…"

Peter laughed.

"All's fair…"

"Yeah." Jazz looked at Peter. "Steven was a nice guy."

"He was. Very straight. A good one in a family of…" For Steven's sake, Peter didn't finish.

"Casey said his mom was a bit pushy."

"Yeah. Although, I'm starting to realise that she was under pressure herself, from the rest of his family."

"Oh?"
"That uncle of his was a tyrant."

"Quentin?" Jazz checked.

Peter nodded. "You met him?"
"No." Not yet. Jazz added silently. Although I have been watching him for the past hour and a half.

"He's a first-class jerk-off. The guy has no personality whatsoever. Did Casey tell you what he got Steven for his sixth birthday?"

"Something about Mensa." Jazz said.

"Yeah. Like I said, the word "asshole" is too good for him."

It was at this point that Jazz realised that he hadn't seen Quentin for a while.

"Where is he anyway?"
"Quentin? Oh…well that's just another example of what a fine, lovable man he is. He's gone back to work."

Jazz paled, cursing his stomach for distracting him because there was food around when he needed to be watching Derek's back. "When?"

Peter shrugged. "About fifteen minutes ago, why? Did you want to speak to him? Believe me, he isn't worth the effort."

Jazz swore colourfully. "Peter, it's been great chatting, but I need to go."

Confused, Peter just nodded…

…and watched as a frantic Jazz ran towards the food tables in search of Casey.


AN: Time for one of those disruptive annoying history/geography lessons that I haven't given for a while.

England is small (in comparison to Canada).

State the bleeding obvious I know, but it's important for the understanding of the whole Victorian architecture thing. In Victorian England there were/are some really large buildings, such as St Pancras Station, but, (and this is my personal opinion), I think the Victorians were starting to understand the concept of overcrowding. The cities were full of slums, the drainage was inadequate (although they did have some) and in the cemeteries they operated a tier-ed burial system – meaning that some cemeteries were so overcrowded that they buried one coffin on top of the other!

The previous generation had more space so Georgian architecture is clean and spacious, Victorian architecture and furnishings were busy and fussy. With the Victorians it was all about cramming it in.

So when I talk about the mansion being Victorian but with a Canadian simplicity what I mean is that the external decorations were English Victorian in appearance, but with the Canadian spaciousness inside.