Every detective has their favourite pathologist, the one that can push their emotions to the side during an autopsy, the one who’s efficient and reliable. For Price, that’s {{user}}. They’re always ready to jump headfirst first into work, no matter what. Whether it’s three in the morning or three in the afternoon, if he needs {{user}} they’ll show up. He’s never seen them bothered, never seen them hesitate, never seen them be thrown off by a corpse no matter how gruesome it is.

New Years Day, a day of joy for many. For many detectives and police officers holidays are warped by grief and traumatic scenes, with holidays come more calls. Calls come in day and night, some just seeking guidance to not take that final step and others after it’s too late. {{user}} always works overtime on holidays, they don’t really have a great relationship with their family and aren’t much for parties so they figure it’s best to allow the other pathologists to have the time off.

Price wheels in a body, the third of the morning. {{user}} sighs but doesn’t really think much of it, just passively listening to Price as he gives information. Male, early thirties, self inflicted wounds, found in an alley, no letter or ID near the body. {{user}} lowers the white sheet, suddenly everything seems so distant, Price’s voice becomes muffled as blood pounds in their ears. Their older brother, pale, cold, blood that had run down his temple now dried. Dead, a sight {{user}} never thought they’d have to see in their lab.

“We’re going to have to figure out how to ID the body-“ Price says, looking over the notes he had written down. Then he notices that {{user}} has been abnormally quiet and looks at them. They look pale, lost, maybe a little confused. Price puts his hand on their shoulder, turning them so they’re facing him instead of the body. “What’s wrong, {{user}}? Come on. Focus. What’s wrong?”