Bluh... I'm not happy with this, honestly. You might ask why I'm posting it then? Because I have lots to do and this needs to be posted so I can get to work on everything else I have queueing up, especially my WIP that hasn't been updated in forever. Oh well, someday I might come back and clean this up. Posted for the 5 10 20 50 75 100 Fandome challenge by Shermione.
Today has been a good day, and you feel accomplished. You finished 5 autopsies and diagnosed the cause of death on all three, and brushed up on the signs of death by ammonia poisoning during your lunch break, which coincidentally, was the cause of death of the woman you cut open straight after. You have a bright spring in your step as you start to sew up the man you have just been working on, who died of tuberculosis. You hum a little tune to yourself, but you can't remember what the song is called. You make a mental note to look that up later.
You hear Mr. Palmers footsteps as he walks into the closed off autopsy room. Without looking up, you address him. "Ah, Mr. Palmer." you say. "Would you mind helping me move Mr. Jennings here? I'm almost done with him." you ask. Mr. Palmer clears his throat.
"There's another body in." he tells you, and you glance up at the clock. It's only half an hour until you're supposed to leave, but perhaps you can squeeze it in if you hurry.
"Very well, very well. Help me with this, then and we can both go take a look. Perhaps we'll even finish today." Mr. Palmer swallows and nods. He seems nervous, which strikes you as odd. Whatever reason would he have for being nervous? You would have thought he was used to seeing death by now, but perhaps this was a particularly gruesome looking body.
With his help, you wheel the body out of the room, past the black bag sitting on a table in the viewing area and into the large, refrigerated storage area. You slide him into his own metal box and shut him in, wondering vaguely if he were alive the box would be comfortable. You can't imagine so, it's cold and hard and small.
Mr. Palmer holds open the door for you as you walk back into the viewing room. "Let's see who we have here." you say, rubbing your hands together. Mr. Palmer puts a chair behind you, and you raise your eyebrows.
"Just in case." he says. You realize something must be wrong.
"Mr. Palmer, is there something I should know before I open that bag?" you ask him. He, however, doesn't seem to be able to get the words out. You are now a bit alarmed, and wary of the bag. You don't know who you are going to find, or if its not who than what it looks like, but you are suddenly not sure you want to know. You consider leaving it for tomorrow and instead filing some paperwork or writing up a death certificate for Mr. Jennings, which you had intended to tomorrow. But also, you know that if you don't get this over with now you will get little or no sleep tonight, and that will only make matters worse.
You cautiously turn back to the bag and your hand hovers over the zipper. It's strange to feel so nervous about a dead body, as you can't remember doing so since you were a college student. It feels as though if you open that bag, you are certain to die, but if you don't your fate doesn't change. Its a double whammy. You can't stand the fear and suspense a minute longer though, and push the thoughts fiercely from your mind.
Mr. Palmer was right to put a chair down for you, and you'll have to remember to thank him later when your back in your right mind. You stumble backwards into it and immediately put your head into your hands, stunned. You can't believe what you've just seen. It makes no sense. So you take another peak, but it still looks the same. Madness, surely.
This is a nightmare. None of this is really happening to you, it can't be. You don't have to worry, you only need to shut you're eyes and count to three and when you open them again, it'll all go away.
Except it's not. And it doesn't. This is real life. You have to accept it, accept that you will never see your best friend alive again as long as you live. Accept that Jethro Gibbs is dead and gone, and that's him sitting in that bag.
"Jethro." you manage to croak out as tears begin to slide down your face, and Mr. Palmer puts a hand on your shoulder. You're sure he is crying too, but you can't bring yourself to look up at him because if you do, you might see Jethro again. And you can't bear that. All you can do is sit here and mourn.
You've seen plenty of bodies, plenty of death. Death is something you get used to in this line of work. But this is the one body that will haunt you until the day you die.