Title: Moonlighting
Written for the An Irregular Occurrence Challenge
Rating: FR-13/T
Genre: Supernatural, AU
Characters: Jimmy and Ducky
Warnings: Weirdness (as usual)
Disclaimer: No, I still don't own anything, including the works mentioned in the story. C'est la vie.
Summary: A case hits a little too close to home for the Autopsy Gremlin.
A/N: I have absolutely no idea what my muse got into this time…
"'No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine'."
Startled, Jimmy turned to his mentor who had just entered the lab carrying a report.
"Uh, Dr. Mallard…?"
"Keats, Ode on Melancholy. Your classical education is distinctly lacking, Mr. Palmer."
Jimmy absorbed the rebuke and waited for the M.E. to continue.
"But considering your preference for pop-culture, perhaps this one will spark your memory: 'Even those who are pure of heart, and say their prayers at night, can become a wolf, when the wolfsbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.' Can you tell me what those two poems have in common, Mr. Palmer?"
"Uh…" He paused for just a moment. "Wolfsbane?"
"Very good. Also known as—"
"Aconite or Monkshood." Dr. Mallard's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "It, uh, was in one of the Harry Potter books…Sorcerer's Stone."
"Ah, yes. As distressing as it is that your knowledge of botany has been gleaned from a children's book, you are quite right."
"If I may ask, what does this have to do with-?"
"Lieutenant Roberts?" He waved the report. "The man had aconitine, which is derived from one of several species of Aconitum, in his system."
"He was poisoned? Why? Uh, I mean…I thought the wound itself would have been sufficient?"
"One would think that, yes. However, it appears that the weapon itself may also have contained some of the toxin. Abigail recovered high amounts of aconitine from the wood splinter's removed from the Lieutenant's body."
"So he was impaled on a wooden stake that was soaked in wolfsbane extract?"
"Quite an accurate summation, Mr. Palmer, if slightly melodramatic." Dr. Mallard paused to study him. "Mr. Palmer, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Dr. Mallard. I'm just…it never ceases to amaze me what people will do to each other."
"A sad fact of life, Mr. Palmer."
"Yes it is, Dr. Mallard. Shall it…put the Lieutenant to bed?"
"Yes. I believe we have discovered all he has to tell us, at least for the moment."
Jimmy nodded. He opened one of the morgue drawers and pulled out the tray so he could transfer the body to it. That done, he slid the tray back in and shut the door, then proceeded to clean the table and equipment, a task he had done many times before. However, his mind was not on the job at hand, but rather what he had just seen and heard.
"Good night, Mr. Palmer. I trust you have everything here under control?"
"Yes, Dr. Mallard. Good night."
The M.E. left and as soon as the doors closed, Jimmy slumped against the sink. It had taken all of his acting skills not to show how distressed this case had made him, and he was still not certain Dr. Mallard hadn't noticed the extent of his anxiety. He was just glad he hadn't had much contact with Agent Gibbs recently, or he most certainly would not have made it through the case without suspicion being cast his way.
He walked over to the newly occupied drawer and opened it. He pulled out the tray and stared down at the lax face, the sight of which sent a shiver down his spine.
"Damn it, Billy," he whispered. "How the hell did they get the drop on you?"
The killing had been symbolic, he knew. When he described the obvious overkill to Dr. Mallard, he hadn't intended to be 'melodramatic', but the shock of seeing someone he knew, like…that, had sent his nerves singing. The killing had been a message, for him.
Jimmy glanced up to make sure he hadn't been observed before he slid the drawer back and shut the door. He made one final check of the room, retrieved his coat and headed out.
As he made his way to the exit, he considered his options. He could always quit his job, or better yet, ask for a transfer to some other agency, preferably on the other side of the country. He shook his head. No, damn it, he loved his job! He loved the life he had here, his friends and…his girl. It just wasn't fair.
Then again, he could always quit his other job…
He left the building and started the long walk to his car. When he reached it, he glanced around, then looked up at the half moon rising over the river with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't have much time to make a decision.
The hunter had become the hunted.
THE END
A/N, part deux: The second poem is a "gypsy poem" written for the original Wolf Man movies.