"What do you call a one-eyed dinosaur?" Jazz said from the back of the car.

"What?" Derek asked, confused, as he sped away from the store.

"D'ya-think-he-saw-us!" Jazz said cheerfully.

"Jazz?" Derek hissed.

"Yup?"
"Shut the fuck up!"

Casey bit at her finger. "Do you…?" she didn't finish but Derek knew what she was asking.

"Yes." Derek didn't let her finish. "He crashed the car of course he saw us!"

And then the guilt kicked in. "Was he alright? I didn't see." She asked.

Derek smiled. Typical Casey.

Jazz sat forward. "He looked dazed but otherwise fine. I guess maybe the dazed look was shock from seeing you two because the accident was very minor. How do you know this guy anyway?"
"He's my best friend." Derek said simply, and then when he spotted Jazz's face in the mirror, "my best friend at school."

"What do we do?" Casey asked.

Derek rubbed at his face. "We go back to your apartment, you cook and we eat dinner."

Casey frowned at him. He shrugged.

"Casey, what's the most likely thing that Sam would do if he saw you from a distance?"

"Erm…phone me?"
"Exactly!" He'll phone you. Which number does he have?"

"My cell."

"So when he phones you, make like you're still in Ottawa."

"But I'm not in Ottawa."

"Lie."

"What if I don't want to lie?"
Derek stared at her. Casey huffed and folded her arms across her chest.

"There are very few times in my life that I have lied." She stated and then looked daggers at him. "And you've been the reason behind every single one!"

Sam didn't phone.

He didn't phone because he put the cause of his distraction and subsequent accident down to over-tiredness. He believed he was hallucinating. Of course that in itself was concerning because no one in their right mind daydreamed the sight of Derek Venturi and Casey McDonald mauling each other – not these days at least and especially not in that way.

He didn't of course tell the other driver this in the aftermath, or his insurance company. Instead he made up some story about a dog darting in front of his wheels and running off.

Strangely enough a little old lady (with appalling halitosis), who gave her details as a witness, backed him up. Then she slipped him a piece of paper with her cell number on it, winked at him suggestively…and Sam decided that it was time to talk to Ruth about letting him wear earplugs for a couple of nights so that he could get a decent night's sleep.

Steven had never really liked his uncle. He hadn't liked him when the guy gave him a MENSA test for his sixth birthday, he really didn't like him when he sent him an email just before his high school finals telling him he would remove his access rights to his trust fund if he got anything less than a 4.0 average and he positively hated the guy when he recommended someone else for the job in the Trauma unit. Fortunately, whilst Quentin's opinion was noted and respected, Steven really was the best candidate and he had been given the job all the same. He wondered what had been different about Casey that Quentin had agreed to get her the interview at her first hospital.

Maybe he was a closet tits and ass man.

Like Casey, Steven found his uncle's report dry, full of superfluous terms and written more like a meandering trail through a dense forest than a nice straight-forward highway taking you from A to B.

Unlike Casey, Steven could tell that it was totally out of character; so much so that he almost wondered if the report had been delegated to a very junior subordinate. But Steven knew Quentin and the guy was too anal and arrogant about his research to trust its summary, even on a simple police report, to a pimple-faced youth.

Also unlike Casey, Steven did understand most of the report - and it puzzled him. It wasn't so much what was in the report as what was missing from the report. Sure it covered the basics of anabolic steroids: their structure and so on, but the report was lacking in one key area. It only briefly touched on companion drugs. These were the, often medicinal, drugs taken alongside the anabolic steroids which either improved their effectiveness or countered one of their side effects. The interaction between the two types of drugs was important. It should have been mentioned.

And, thought Steven as he scratched at his chin over breakfast the following morning, it was particularly important to his uncle: companion drugs to AAS comprised the main field of Quentin Smythe's research.

Steven knew this because he had spent a few months before medical school working for his uncle in his research department. It was the only time that Quentin had shown any real interest in his sister's child (other than his grades). Steven knew that, though he hadn't shown it, Quentin had been impressed with the quick and ready ability Steven had shown in the field. He had quickly grasped concepts that had taken hardened researchers a very long time to master, applying his new knowledge to the work and offering a refreshing insight into the field.

Quentin had had high hopes of his nephew following him into his area of research, but like Casey, Steven's passion was Trauma. He wanted to go out and meet his patients, not perch on a lab stool in the dark depths of a research hospital reading about them as numbers on a chart. He turned down Quentin's offer of a position as research assistant on graduation.

It was part of the catalyst for Quentin's attempt to scupper Steven's interview at the Trauma unit.

Jazz answered the door to Steven later that same morning with a smirk.

"Come to hash it out for round two?" He asked referring to the right hook he had landed on Derek the last time they met even as he motioned Casey's friend into the apartment.

Steven pulled a face. "No. Jesus! I made a mistake, okay? Don't rail me about it."

Jazz followed him into the living room. "No it's cool. Anyone can make mistakes. You don't need to call me "Jesus"."

Steven turned and flipped him off. "Where's Casey?" He asked.

"They're in the bedroom." Jazz replied. "I'd say go right in but god only knows what you'd interrupt!"

They both grimaced.

"I heard that." Casey said walking into the room wearing tight jeans and a pretty tight top (pretty and pretty tight).

"Thank you Jazz. You know very well we've been up and dressed for hours."

Jazz shrugged. "That's never stopped you guys in the past." He grinned.

Derek followed Casey from the bedroom and leaned against the door post.

"What's up?" he asked.

Steven tossed his printed copy of the report onto the coffee table.

"It's a pile of shite!" He announced in a mock Irish drawl.

Casey's shoulders slumped.

"I told you." Derek said softly.

"There was nothing?" Casey queried dejectedly.

Her friend snorted. "I didn't say that. I said the report was a pile of shite, and it is. It's badly written, unnecessarily complicated and he's only given you half of the story."
"Oh?" Casey was sitting forward.

"In an effort to encourage some sort of familial bonding, I did an internship with Professor Smythe back before I went to Med School." Steven explained. "It was before you and I became good friends. I worked on this stuff for three months. Shit, I could write a better report on this than him." He produced the memory stick they had given him and tossed it to Derek. "In fact," he said "I have! It's on there."

Casey smiled her thanks. Derek said "I'll get the laptop."

Steven held up a hand. "No don't." He said. "You can read it later when I've gone. I don't have much time before my shift and there's other stuff I need to tell you."

Casey nodded and Derek resumed his previous position.

"The original report is overly complicated and goes into too much detail in some areas and not enough in others. There was absolutely no need to tell you about the structure of the compounds etc and every need to tell you about the companion drugs."

"Companion drugs?" Jazz said, sitting forwards.

Steven nodded. "It's my uncle's main area of research. He started work on the AAS themselves but he discovered that the cocktail of drugs often taken was far more interesting."
"Cocktail?" Derek said straightening. "You mean like they do for AIDS and things?"
Steven nodded. "Sort of. Medicinal compounds work at their best when the body is in the most ideal state. It's like any chemical reaction, success gets affected by the pH of the system, the ratio of each component etc. Often companion drugs are used to correct imbalances in the body so that the AAS will function at its optimum. That's what Quentin's research has been about: providing the optimum environment in the body for the maximum impact of the steroid."

Jazz frowned. "People do research into making banned substances more effective?" he queried.

Casey shook her head. "The steroids aren't developed for the sports market as such. They are developed for recognised medical conditions. They treat muscle-wasting disorders and so on. The people with those conditions rarely compete in professional competitions. Of course steroids can build up muscle on a perfectly healthy person too and that is what makes them attractive to sportsmen and so lucrative on the black market."

Steven nodded.

Casey smiled. She was thoughtful for a moment. "That's really interesting."

"But not hugely relevant." Jazz pointed out.

Steven shook his head. "No. I think you're wrong. I think it is incredibly relevant. I think Casey is right. The answer is in this report – or rather the fact that it isn't mentioned is the answer. I think it is something about the companion drugs which makes this case so important to Sal."
They were all quiet while they absorbed this information.

Casey let out a breath. "Where do we go from here?"
Her friend grinned. "Actually, it's where do I go from here. I have an appointment with Uncle Q this afternoon. I'm going to give him the ol' third degree and see what comes up."

Derek frowned. "Third degree? You don't think he's involved do you?"
Steven snorted. "Uncle Q? No fucking way! But he might have an idea as to what is going on."

"Let me come too." Casey said urgently.

Steven turned towards her and took her hand. "No offence, Calam. But the old guy hates me. He'll use language that shouldn't be used in front of a lady."
"That's bollocks, Steven! You swear like a marine in front of me all the time."
"And your own language ain't too pretty either." Jazz pointed out.

"That's Derek's fault."

Steven shook his head. "Case. What I mean is the chances are he'll get pissed with me and slam the door in my face. I don't want to expose you to the wrath of Khan unnecessarily."
"Wrath of what?" Casey looked puzzled.
"Star Trek!" The other three chorused.

Derek stepped forward. "I think he's right, princess. Let Steven handle it. I'm sure he'll pass the information to us as soon as he's got it."

Steven agreed. "I'll call you when I leave his office, I promise." He shuffled on the couch slightly and then stood up. "I need to go. I've got to go into work early in order to be able to take a long enough break to go to the research lab."

Casey followed him to the door.

"Thank you." She said as he paused to say goodbye. Derek held out his hand for Steven to shake.

"Yeah. Thanks, Steven."

Casey's friend grinned broadly. "You're welcome. I'd do anything for Casey." He said affectionately and then with a sly smirk to Derek. "Including helping the dumbass step-brother she seems to have fallen head over heels for."

Derek smirked back and then he looked serious. "I didn't mean to hurt her, you know."
Steven looked at him. "Yeah. I know. And for what it's worth, the way she is now…you deserve a medal for that. I don't have any on me right now, so you'll have to make do with that memory stick I just gave you, and the knowledge that I'm prepared to endure a vapid lecture from my not-so-favourite uncle just for you two…three." He corrected looking over Derek's shoulder at Jazz.

Then Steven turned his attention back to Casey.

"So long Calam. I'm off to deal with big chief stick-up-ass and those injuns! Keep the wagons circling and the home fires burning."

"You're an ass, Steven." Casey said smacking him gently.

He smirked. "Yeah but you love me anyway."

He hugged her close and kissed her hair and then smacked Derek on the shoulder.

"Wait for my call." He demanded.

Then Steven left.

"How did you sleep?" Ruth asked Sam the next day. "Better?"
Sam nodded but his wife still thought he looked pale and anxious.

"I'm sorry." He said. "…about the accident." To Ruth at least he had confessed the truth.

"It's okay. Everyone makes mistakes when they are tired and under pressure. You're busy at work and Amy's teething problems don't help." She paused. "You're still worrying about Casey aren't you?"

Sam sighed. "I just wonder if it's a sign…you know. The fact that I thought I saw her making out with Derek. Maybe something's going on with her that I should know about."

Ruth laughed. "Sam. Come on. You've never been the "mystic" type. You were tired, you were worrying about Casey and you miss Derek. So your mind made up its own scenario."

"I was thinking about pants." Sam said, distractedly. Ruth frowned. "I wasn't thinking about Casey or Derek or anything else…except pants. I mean if I'd day-dreamt a pair of tartan bed-pants chasing me down the street…then I'd have believed it was my mental state. But who in their right mind day-dreams their ex-girlfriend making out with her step-brother in the parking lot of a supermarket?"
Ruth shrugged. "You?"

Sam pulled a face.

"Did Amy keep you up?" He asked her, pressing a kiss against her naked shoulder. Sam had slept with ear plugs last night so only Ruth had been able to hear their daughter.

"Only a couple of times. I think the pain is easing because she doesn't scream anymore, just cries. It's almost as if she's waking up because she's used to it now. We just need to break her of the habit."

"How on earth do we do that?" Sam asked exasperated.

"I guess we change her routine slightly."

Ruth's eyes widened suddenly and she pulled herself away from Sam. "Maybe I have an idea that might help both our problems!" She exclaimed.

"I'm all ears." Sam said, with a grin.

"I think you were right." Ruth said confidently.

"I was?" Sam looked confused.

"Maybe what we need is a vacation."

"A vacation? When did I mention a vacation?" Sam asked, wondering how much this was going to cost him.

"Remember? That time that we were talking about how we were going to make sure that Casey was okay. You said about going to Ottawa to see her."
Sam nodded. "And?" He asked cautiously.

"Why don't we?" Ruth exclaimed. "Why don't we take a long weekend break in Ottawa. We could book a family room in a hotel for a couple of nights, fly up there…" Sam baulked at the word "fly". "…or maybe drive." She corrected. "We could take Amelia."

"It would be hard to stick to her routine." Sam pointed out.

"Exactly! Her routine would change which should cure this disturbed sleep business. We could call Casey and see if she wanted to meet up which would reassure you about Mikey and we'd get a nice vacation out of it too."

"What happened to "I can't believe you're being so cave-man about Casey's lovelife. Back off or there'll be no sex for a month"?"

"I changed my mind."

"You changed your mind…"
"Yeah. Woman's prerogative. It's in the manual."
"Is this the manual your father was supposed to give me at our wedding reception?"

"No. It's the manual everyone know should exist but no one has the balls to write!"

"Steven." Quentin Smythe said as if reminding his nephew of his own name.

"Uncle." Steven acknowledged, wondering why it felt as though he was six again rather than nearly thirty.

"You wanted to see me?" Quentin sounded surprised as though there was nothing to be said between the two men.

Did he "want" to see the guy before him? No. Not really. They were poles apart. Take their offices. Steven looked around the office he was currently in. Unlike his own messy cubbyhole, it was all too clinical for his liking: a desk neatly cluttered with files and text books, bookcases loaded (neatly) with appropriate texts and a whiteboard covered in equations that made some sense to Steven but he had too much personality and will to live to investigate further.

"Yes uncle." He confirmed pulling himself back to the matter at hand and sitting forward in his chair. "It's about a report that you wrote a few years ago."

"Oh?" Steven could sort of forgive his elder relative for his confusion. Steven had not shown any interest in the research Professor Smythe had undertaken…not since that ill-fortuned internship back when Steven still bought into his mother's ideals.

"Yes. A friend of mine is a consultant for the RCMP and she asked me to read through a report you wrote for the Toronto police eight years ago."

Quentin's eyes narrowed. "I write a lot of reports, Steven, you'll need to be more specific."

Jesus! The guy makes it sound like he writes hundreds a week. If I'd written this report, I'd remember it. It was crap.

"It was a report on AAS. They needed an overview. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure that you wrote the report yourself. It has a unique style."
Quentin raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

Steven took a breath. In for a penny and all that…

"Okay," he said drawing out the word. "It was…not up to your usual standards." He said being diplomatic then thought fuck it! "No. I'll be blunt. It was crap."

"You've come to my office to tell me that a report I wrote eight years ago and, incidentally, can't remember was poorly written?" Steven's uncle was incredulous.

"Erm…no." Steven hesitated, knowing that the slight "erm" noise would have irritated his relative as badly as Steven's querying his report. He glanced up and Steven saw the beginning of nostril flaring.

"In what way was it… "crap"?" Quentin was strangely calm.

"Well, it was long-winded, had more holes than Great-Aunt Jessie's hair net and confused more than it explained."

"Is this your own personal opinion or that of the RCMP?" Quentin asked edgily.

Steven snorted. "RCMP?" He said in amusement. "I'd say that the fact that the report has only been properly read by two people – and both of those in the last week speaks volumes as to how ineffectively it did its job for the RCMP."

"You understood it."

"I have a medical degree and an understanding of the subject matter."
"That is debatable." Quentin muttered, conveniently ignoring just how well Steven had understood his research. "Who was the other person?"
"Dr McDonald."

Quentin Smythe had been in the process of reaching for some papers on his desk. He froze.

"Casey McDonald?" He asked.

Steven nodded. "You remember her. We were at medical school together, you arranged for her interview in London."

"I remember very well who Casey McDonald is, thank you!" Quentin snapped.

Steven frowned at his uncle's reaction.

Quentin's anger turned to curiosity.

"How did you get given the report anyway? It's from a cold case which I believed was closed. And what exactly is Dr McDonald doing reading that report?"

Steven felt a shiver. He hadn't explained which case it was other than in very general terms, yet Quentin appeared to know not only exactly which case it was but also the current official status of the report.

"She's curious about her step-brother's death. She was given access to the case file and like any doctor she zeroed in on the medical reports."

"Her step-brother's death." Quentin mused. "Interesting." He straightened in his chair. "So I am still at a loss as to why you need to discuss this with me. The answers are in the report."

"No they aren't. There's little or no mention of the companion drugs side." Steven pointed out. "It's your field of expertise yet you've not even mentioned them. There's nothing about any of the compounds we worked on together. Not even Project Cloak."

Was it Steven's imagination or did Quentin just flinch?

"Project Cloak was shelved five years ago, Steven. The writing was already on the wall for it when I wrote the report which is why I left it out. As for the rest of the companion drugs, they weren't relevant."

"Shelved? But I thought that was your big discovery."

Quentin looked pointedly at his watch.

"Not everything in life goes the way we want it to." The professor said. "I was asked questions by the RCMP and I provided the answers in my report. It would not have been professional of me to divert the subject of the report to cover my…shortcomings in research so I left those items out. Now. If that is all you wish to discuss with me I'm afraid we are out of time."

"No it isn't all, I…" Steven tried.

"Steven. I do not have time for your extra-curricular activities. Clearly being a trauma specialist has left you with too much idle time - something I am not blessed with. This interview is terminated."

And with that Quentin stood and left the room.

It was tempting to search the guy's office, but Steven didn't waste his time. There was no way that his uncle would have left him in the room if there was something to find there. Besides, Steven's mind was a whirlpool of information churning about, threatening to be lost. He needed to think before he acted.

He returned to the parking lot and unlocked his car thoughtfully. Amidst the chaos of his thoughts one fact stood out: Something about Steven remembering Project Cloak made Quentin Smythe nervous.

For a while, back in the days of Steven's internship, Quentin had been excited about Project Cloak. He hadn't shared the details of it but his face had lit up into a boyish humour whenever he talked about it around his family. It was the one time he had seen his uncle look even vaguely human.

The professor's reaction to the research codename today was completely different.

Steven had once sniffed at the idea of his uncle's involvement in Derek's "death", now he wasn't so sure.

Starting the car, Steven pulled away from the lot and out onto the main road. He didn't notice the car which also slipped from the research lab compound behind him not even when, on a quiet section of road it began to accelerated to a dangerous level.

The message on Casey's cell phone was unintentionally brief.

"Hi Hun it's me. I'm on my way back to the hospital after spending twenty of the most unpleasant minutes possible with Uncle Agony. I tell you, that guy would have the dementors running for the hills! Anyway, tell Derek I hate to say this but he may have a point. The guy's hiding something. I'm not sure what but I think it has something to do with a research project Unc the Funk was working on at the time. It's codename was Project Cloak. As I said, his "thing" was all about the companion drug side of AAS. Project Cloak was like the ultimate companion drug. You see it…"

There was a pause. "Look sweetheart, I'm going to go. There's some dumbass on my tail and I want to concentrate before I put the car in a fucking ditch. I'll call you later and fill you in on…Holy Shit!"

And then there was nothing.