A.N. Thanks to "Tanith2011" for beta reading this. Hawaii Five-O belongs to CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.
Overtime
by honu59
The hour was late and the county morgue was deserted save for one person. Doc Bergman was bone weary. He had been on his feet for hours and could barely keep his eyes open. Might be a good idea to save this for tomorrow, he thought. But then McGarrett needed answers now, if not sooner. Damned stubborn, impatient…
He prepared his work area with the instruments he needed: scalpels, bone saw, rib spreader, stainless steel bowls of various sizes, towels. Then he pulled his green scrub cap over his thick greying hair and a pair of latex gloves onto his stiff hands. He stretched his tired body one last time, wincing as a muscle cramp on the left side of his lower back reminded him of his age.
There was an eerie silence in the room. Anyone else would have found the setting spooky, but Bergman had been performing autopsies for the past thirty years or so; this was just the next one. He grasped the corner of the green sheet draped over the body then hesitated, suddenly short of breath and dizzy. He lowered his head, slowly turned it from side to side then inhaled deeply and waited for the feeling to pass.
His head clear once again, Doc pulled back the sheet revealing a male Caucasian, approximately thirty-five years old, five feet seven inches tall, about 165 pounds, with short, sandy blonde hair tightly curled – Danny!
Bergman gasped and turned deathly pale and wide-eyed with shock. He grabbed the examination table to steady himself. Oh God, Danny, what happened? Terrible grief hit the old coroner suddenly and completely with all the force of a tsunami. He turned away from the table as tears invaded his eyes and spilled down his lined face. Countless questions overflowed his mind. Does Steve know? Why didn't he say anything? If he doesn't know, how am I going to break it to him? Danny is…was…Steve's closest friend!
It took a good fifteen minutes for Bergman to pull himself together enough to even think about performing the task that his profession demanded. He had always been fond of the eager young detective who had been a friend and, at times, his patient. With a heavy heart, he visually inspected the body, noting the scar on the upper right chest, just below the clavicle, where he had removed William Shem's bullet a couple of years earlier. Below the navel on the left side was a larger scar, the remnant of damage done by John Auston's bullet.
With a trembling hand, he lifted the scalpel to make the first incision, starting at the base of the adam's apple. As blade touched flesh, the silence was shattered by a heart-wrenching, ear-piercing scream. The young man's bright blue eyes snapped open in terror and his hands shot up from the table, grabbing Doc's arm tightly and pushing it away. Bergman's own screams blended with those of the living corpse.
Wake up, dear; you're having a bad dream…
Muffled, as if from far away, Bergman thought he heard his wife's voice. Gradually he climbed out of multiple layers of deep sleep and found himself slouched in a comfortable wicker chair on the lanai of his own beach house, dressed in his favorite old aloha shirt, surrounded by the scents of flowers and the cool ocean breeze, looking up into his wife's concerned face.
"That was one humdinger!" Doc grumbled, rubbing his hand over his face and through his thick wavy hair. "Guess I really needed this vacation." Doc relaxed, smiled at his wife and reached up, touching her face. "Thanks, dear. Come on; let's go take a long walk on the beach."
The middle-aged couple walked hand in hand on the quiet beach, watching the waves breaking on the white sand, a very peaceful scene. Except that Doc had an overwhelming urge to phone the office. Some people have a hard time going on vacation.
Pau