Visiting the Other Side
by channelD
written for: the NFA Where Have You Gone? challenge. The aim of the challenge was to show that someone is aware that one of the characters is missing...and go from there.
rating: K plus
genre: Action ?/Humor
characters: The crew and the amazing Jimmy Palmer
setting: season 6 but no spoilers
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disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.
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Monday:
Ducky checked his watch. Two o'clock. Palmer was late; way late today. He was sometimes a little late, which was not surprising, given his faulty sense of direction, but not like this. Usually he would call if the Metro was running behind, or he had gotten caught at school. No, this was simply not like Jimmy. This was where he should be, and there was plenty of work for him to do.
He didn't want to appear a nag, though, so Ducky resisted phoning him, for now.
An hour later, though, he gave in and did phone his protégé, only to have the call go immediately to voice mail. What is going on?
His thoughts were interrupted by a call on the Autopsy landline. "Doctor Mallard? This is Leslie Baker in the Director's office. HR is doing payroll and they couldn't find a record of James Palmer having signed in today."
"No, Mr. Baker; young Palmer has not come in today," Ducky said with a sigh.
"When do you expect him?"
"Three hours ago."
- - - - -
"I'm sure there's a good explanation, Duck."
"He's too responsible, Jethro. I think even after all these years I still intimidate him a bit. Something is preventing him from calling."
Gibbs folded his hands, patiently. "Other than that, Duck, there's no reason to think he's in danger. Look; he's a grown man. If he doesn't show up tomorrow afternoon—"
"Morning. He doesn't have any classes on Tuesdays this term."
"Morning, then. If he doesn't show up in the morning, we'll do something."
Ducky nodded. That didn't stop him from driving out to Jimmy's apartment after work, but there was no answer to the buzz on his doorbell. Where has he gone??
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Where? Around the time that Ducky first started wondering, Jimmy Palmer was listening raptly to the animated conversation of three middle-aged doctors. He could follow most of what they were talking about, but if they asked for his opinion, he might be stuck.
Doctor Mallard was so inspiring, so wonderful to work for—but here were rooms full of people with many, many different experiences and points of view. Jimmy felt like a kid in a toy store! With some reluctance, he pulled himself away from that group and wandered to another, where two men and a woman were discussing striations. I love that topic!!
Never mind that he was running a little late for work…Doctor Mallard would understand, when he found out. After all, I had been on a legitimate class-related errand, bringing a file to that visiting famous Doctor Cervantes, when I came in here, looking for him. Certainly, there was no doubt that Doctor Mallard himself would be enthralled with the proceedings. Wonder why he isn't here?
It wasn't every year that the National Convention of Medical Examiners came to Washington.
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Still, Jimmy was vaguely aware that he shouldn't be lingering. He had a job to get to. And, he wasn't a registered member of the convention—he'd been given a guest pass to get in to locate Doctor Cervantes, but it wasn't right that he lingered, since he hadn't paid the admission fee. Just a few minutes more…
When finally he tore himself away and went back out to the hotel corridor, he tore off the gummed guest badge and tossed it in the trash. He was surprised to hear his name called, then. It was Cervantes himself, with a small entourage, inviting Jimmy to join them for a snack. How could he say no? So he followed the small group down the corridor and through the connection to the convention center, which shared a wall with the hotel. Cervantes knew the route, and soon the group was parked at a bar, with burgers and light drinks. Jimmy enjoyed the conversation, and enjoyed being treated like one of them. A little while longer can't hurt…it would be rude to leave so soon…
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Fortunately, Cervantes was on a tight schedule, and they were only at the bar for about 25 minutes. Jimmy said good-bye to them as Cervantes and his people headed for the hotel, but he lingered. A sign had caught his eye. Yes; just as I thought from the sign outside…
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Nervously, he stood in the entrance to the convention hall, peering in. This was definitely not his crowd. And yet…
"Come in, come in, young man. Don't be shy," said a 50ish woman from a desk just inside the door. "First convention?"
"Er…yes."
"We don't bite. We're not trained in that," she laughed. "What's your name?"
"Uh, Palmer. James Palmer."
"Well, here you go, James. Here's your badge, the pocket program, and the souvenir book, along with a map of Washington if you need it. I wish we could print you out a regular badge, but our computers are down! If you ask me, computerized real-time registration is for the birds. But I'm just a volunteer. Enjoy the convention!"
"I will," Jimmy murmured, looking down at his neatly-printed name on the badge. The badge also said, in pre-printed letters, 47th Annual Special Agents Convention.
Agentcon. No, he would never have expected to be admitted here.
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He walked a little ways away from the registration tables, then stopped and thumbed through the pocket program, marveling at all the things to see and do that there were. At least three distinct talks or panel discussions going on at any one time, plus demonstrations, workshops, and even a film program, where it appeared the audience was free to heckle movies that had no real clue as to the special agent's life.
Secret Agenting 101: Your First Year on the Job
Memories of Elliot Ness
Turf Wars: CIA/FBI Smackdown
When Partner Relationships Go Sour
There were so many items that sounded fascinating…and these were just today's events!
Working Outside the Beltway: There is a World Beyond D.C.
Privacy Rights: Changes in the Law That Will Affect You
Acting as a Technical Advisor to Film & TV
Getting the Drop on Your Suspect: New Techniques
But there was one just about to begin, and this one he raced to get to: Working With the Medical Examiner.
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"…so the need to keep the body perfectly in place, undisturbed, until the medical examiner can make his or her analysis, can be crucial in solving a case."
His point made, Jimmy sat back down in his chair in the audience, to many murmurs of assent and even some applause.
"You sound like you have a lot of experience in that, young man," said the panel moderator. "Which agency are you with?"
Jimmy choked. He had never intended to identify himself like this. "Uh…NCIS."
"Beg pardon?"
"NCIS," Jimmy said, more forcefully.
"Never heard of it," someone said.
"Something out of North Carolina?" one person speculated.
"For shame, all of you. It's the Naval Criminal Investigative Service," said another panelist. "We don't often see NCIS here at Agentcon. It's good to have you." And the talk moved on to another subject.
This time, Jimmy attempted to do more listening, but actually found the moderator calling on him on a few unclear points. He swelled with pride, and completely forgot about his need to be at his real job.
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After that 90-minute panel, the dinner break came. Jimmy found himself invited to go to a Japanese steakhouse with some of the agents, and he readily accepted. The food was great, and the shoptalk fun and free. Jimmy had to impose some self-censorship so that he didn't give away his true profession, but he was able to add enough stories of his time working with "the medical examiner" to add many laughs.
In the evening, there were a few sober panels, but much of the night's events were light-hearted social activities: games, contests, more films to ridicule. In one room a marathon of The Untouchables episodes ran, and many agents with long memories of the old TV show of the Elliot Ness days attended, sniffling fondly. Others crowded the hospitality suite for free light refreshments; still more plunked down cash at one of the bars.
It was nearly midnight when Jimmy left; two friendly Secret Service agents offering him a lift back to his apartment. He was abuzz with happiness, and assured them that he would indeed see them tomorrow.
Only a slight chill of reality set in, as he sleepily entered his apartment and pulled off his clothes.
1) I have to work tomorrow morning.
2) I don't even have an excuse for today!
3) I've been invited to speak on a panel tomorrow!!!
He set down his phone on the kitchen table. It had been switched off ever since he'd entered the hotel around 11 a.m. Now I can't forget to call Doctor Mallard first thing tomorrow, and beg forgiveness…I won't forget…
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At his home, Ducky tossed in his sleep. He'd tried several times to reach his assistant by phone, with no luck. His parental side kicking in, Ducky could only imagine several dire fates that could have befallen the young man, each more terrifying than the last. And still, Gibbs had refused to become concerned.
At last he slept, and dreamed of poor Jimmy being eaten by aardvarks at the zoo.