Title: Between Life and Death
Rating: T for autopsy stuff
Spoilers: Bête Noir
Summary: Dead people don't freak Abby out. Autopsy does.
Author's Note: Hey - long time no see. :) This is the first chapter of a new fic which was supposed to be two chapters but now isn't... oops. XD And those who have been over to my fic journal at (hinkykinky dot livejournal dot com) will know that I'm being really evil by not writing Battle, which I should be doing because it's come out first in the poll. But this story really, really wanted out... Sorry!
It's dark, and there's something pressing against her face. Material – rubbery, synthetic. Every time she breathes in, whatever it is moulds itself against her face, clinging to her nose and mouth, denying her precious air.
She gasps and chokes and tries to claw away the obstruction, but her arms won't move. She can't even turn her head. She's slowly suffocating, and she doesn't even know why, and it's not fair—
Just as spots begin to appear in her field of vision, faint voices reach her ears, followed by the metallic whir of a zipper. The fabric is pulled away from her face, and Abby gasps in a precious lungful of air, blinking away tears and trying to adjust to the light.
Gerald – Ducky's assistant – is standing over her, and with a growing sense of confusion, she realises she's in a body bag, laid out on the autopsy table. His face remains expressionless as he strips the bag away, carefully lifting her by the shoulders, waist and feet to pull it out from under her.
She still can't move or speak. Frantically, she blinks her eyes, trying to signal to him that she's still alive, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"What do we have here, Gerald?" The familiar voice makes her gasp with relief. Ducky will know she's not dead – he'll figure out what's wrong and make it better.
"Dead forensic scientist," Gerald says, as Ducky comes to stand next to him. Together, they gaze down at her, and Ducky wears the same unconcerned expression as his assistant.
"Pity," he says with a sigh. "I would have preferred to autopsy an agent – at least we have plenty of those as backup. We only had one full-time scientist. It's going to be murder getting the toxicology through relying on locums."
Abby gives a silent sob, but neither of them notice her chest move. Why can't they see she's alive? And if they think she's dead, why aren't they more upset?
"Want me to start prepping her for the external exam?" Gerald asks, with no more emotion than if he's asking what time it is.
"You do that, and I'll make us some tea," the medical examiner answers, moving away from the table.
Gerald picks up the paramedic scissors from the tray containing Ducky's surgical instruments, then pulls at the neck of her shirt, getting into position to cut. No! she screams silently, but no sound or movement alerts him.
The medical student cuts off her clothes with businesslike efficiency, paying no more heed to her exposed body than he would a sack of potatoes. She burns with humiliation; shivers in the chilled atmosphere of the morgue, but is powerless to stop what's going on.
Ducky returns to the table holding a scalpel, and terror gives her senses a sharp clarity: she can see her own face reflected in the blade. Her eyes are wide, staring, streaming tears… surely one of them must notice soon?
"What about the external exam, Doctor Mallard?" Gerald asks with a frown.
Snapping on latex gloves with relish, Ducky waves a dismissive hand. "Later, my dear boy. Internal examinations are so much more fascinating."
Ducky, this can't be you! You'd never skip the external exam! As he picks up the scalpel again, she tries to shrink back from it, but her paralysis encompasses every limb.
"And the Y-incision," Ducky continues, leaning over her, "is my favourite part."
The scalpel slices deeply into her flesh, cutting through skin, subcutaneous fat and muscle. Though the ME's training allows him to wield the implement with finesse, he doesn't take as much care with cadavers as he would with a living patient – the Y-incision is made briskly.
The pain is excruciating, and she screams mutely, watching the movement at the edge of her vision as Ducky drags the scalpel from each shoulder to her sternum, and then down her abdomen, swerving around her navel, finishing just above her pubic bone. Stop! Don't! I'll die, I'll die, I'll—
Sickened and panic-stricken, she watches Ducky fold back the skin and muscle of her chest; feels it rest against her arms. His fingers come away slick and red with her blood, and she almost expects him to notice her heart is still beating. But he doesn't – because it's not.
Her head spinning with bewildered revulsion, she tries to concentrate on her breathing, only to realise that she can no longer draw in precious oxygen. No! No, no, no, no!
"The shears, please, Gerald," Ducky says cheerfully, and a mental shudder ripples through Abby's mind. Her ribs won't break without a fight, and when they shatter, they'll be ten times more painful than the Y-incision…
Ducky positions the shears, then begins to apply leverage. Abby's vision tunnels as her bones are squeezed between the blades, until they snap with a sickening crack that makes her want to vomit. Over and over, he repeats the motion, severing each bone in turn until her mind is one long, agonised shriek of distress.
When Gerald lifts away her ribcage, she stares at the ceiling, trying to ignore the lattice of bloodied bones above her. She knows what comes next – the lungs will be first, then the heart…
"Hey, Duck."
Gibbs! her mind screams with relief. He'll put an end to this madness – he has to!
"Jethro – to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Gibbs steps into her line of sight, glancing down at her disinterestedly before directing his gaze at Ducky. "Takeout's here, if you want it."
"Excellent. Let's eat in the lab," Ducky replies, stripping off his bloodied gloves. "I want to finish going through our victim's music collection."
"Don't we have to finish the autopsy, Doctor?" Gerald asks.
"All in good time, Gerald. Chow mein and Android Lust wait for no man. She'll be fine like this – it's not as if she's going anywhere…"
Shrugging, Gerald pulls off his own gloves and follows Gibbs and Ducky out of her line of sight. The morgue lights flip off, and Abby is left there, in the dark, sliced open and helpless…
With a yell, she wakes, her body cocooned in her bedsheets. Though she can see the ceiling of her bedroom through the night-time gloom, she remains absolutely still, her eyes streaming tears, convinced that if she sits up her organs will spill from her ribless, skinless chest onto her lap. For long moments she lies there, her breath seizing with sobs, until the nightmare slowly releases its grip on her.
Tentatively, she sits up, disentangling her arms from the sheets and pressing a hand to her chest. Her heart is pounding beneath her ribcage, and she struggles out of bed, switching on lights the whole way to her kitchen, where she takes a Caf-Pow! from the refrigerator with a shaking hand.
"Come on, Sciuto. Get it together," she whispers, and goes in search of her headphones. The only cure for a dream that bad is music – really loud music.