The Jeffersonian's Jabberwocky
As the lab's main entry doors slid open, and a staccato rhythm of stiletto heels echoed across the gleaming just-waxed floor, Temperance Brennan looked up from the stainless steel table upon which rested the latest victim needing her examination. She watched as her former intern approached the platform stairs. The younger woman's head was down as she searched her wallet for her access card to swipe in the security reader, so she didn't see the smile that spread across Brennan's face as she observed her associate.
After completing her doctorate, Daisy Wick had moved on to another prestigious institution in DC, George Washington University, where she became a liaison between the academics and the medical school at GW Hospital. Medical anthropology was only slightly different from its forensic cousin, and the position offered her a predictable flexible work schedule mostly during the day. Now a single parent and sole provider, Daisy's main focus was giving her son the attention he deserved after Sweets' untimely death.
Daisy had tamed her excitable impulses as she gained maturity, and Brennan was proud of the fine reputation Ms. Wicks was building as an insightful mentor to eager medical students. Years earlier, Booth had given her talkative intern a private nickname which Brennan had no difficulty comprehending, despite her lack of pop culture knowledge. Booth had called Daisy "Tweetie Bird" because of her constant over-eager commentary and tendency to blurt inappropriate thoughts and reactions out loud.
She could almost seem as aggressive as the small yellow cartoon character had originally been, taunting Sylvester and his pals when Granny wasn't around. Brennan had some other mental nicknames for Daisy; much more straightforward ones; "Chatterbox", "Jabberwocky", "Loquacious Linda", "Talkative Tilly", "Garrulous Gertrude". The senior scientist had amused herself one hot humid afternoon in Maluku, silently devising labels for her intern, when they were brushing dirt away from bones. The most tedious task involved in a dig; very critical, yet boring. Mind-numbingly so. When Daisy's incessant talking nearly drove her mentor to dive into a bottle of scotch during the workday, Brennan would compose haiku verses, limericks, and other short poems about the effusive young woman working beside her. But Angela had dubbed her with the most obvious and appropriate moniker "Chatty Cathy."
The lab team had considered divulging these nicknames to their recipient upon her return from a brief babymoon with Sweets. They had vented their frustration with her lack of impulse control and silence while the pair were absent and jokingly developed a whole list of appropriate nicknames for Daisy. However, the day they returned, Sweets had left after lunch to serve the warrant which left him bleeding in a parking lot, and dead shortly after.
Bereft from the loss of their friend, no one at the Jeffersonian had the heart to tease Daisy unnecessarily, so the nicknames remained a secret most of the time. At night at home, Booth and Brennan, or Jack and Angela would chuckle over the zany intern's latest foible. But the girl had a razor sharp intellect, superb observational skills, and a good heart, so they overlooked her verbosity. After all, no one is perfect. But her nicknames needed no explanation.; their origin was obvious.
Today, Daisy was consulting with Brennan on a case possibly involving a GWU med student. Six years earlier a surgical resident had intentionally botched a simple tonsillectomy surgery on his classmate's child because her father had won the residency he craved. He'd been expelled immediately. A prestigious fellowship would have enhanced his promising surgical talent right after graduation that June. But his spiteful hatred snuffed out a brilliant future.
The Baltimore Police Department had followed a trail of dead bodies to the conclusion that William Huntington was still performing hacksaw surgery in a Monument Street slumlord's back room. Daisy had worked with the Baltimore PD identifying incision techniques, analyzing suturing patterns, and developing a profile of the likely killer. She'd served as an expert witness, but Huntington's slimy lawyer had gotten his client off on a technicality. Fourteen-year-old Hector Patterson had needed a tonsillectomy his impoverished parents could not afford. The condition of his throat and face led the Jeffersonian team to suspect he was Huntington's latest unfortunate patient. Knowing of Daisy's work, Brennan asked her to examine the victim.
Pulling her guest consultant access card from the red leather purse she carried, Daisy swiped it and smiled up at her cohort.
"Dr. Brennan, it's so good to see you again!"
"Ms. Wick, Daisy, there's no need to be so formal any more. Please call me 'Brennan' as Angela does. I'm pleased your schedule allowed you to assist me. I'm looking forward to your assessment of this young man's fatal injuries. If they're consistent with Huntington's methodology, we may have enough evidence to convict and terminate his nefarious career."