If there was one thing that everyone in the NYPD knew about detective JT Tarmel was that the man was tough as nails and did not suffer fools gladly. He was also squirmish as hell about all things sharp and gory. "Shit... I can't do this," JT let out in a frustrated sigh, pulling the scalpel away from the edge of the corpse's skin, where it had been resting for the past thirty seconds without making actual contact. "Dani?"

The young woman just nodded, her gaze focused as she took the sharp instrument from her partner's hands and pressed it against the discolored skin of the dead man. "I mean, it's not like we're gonna hurt him, right?" she let out, more to herself than anyone else. Still, her hand shook as she started cutting.

As soon as she had an opening wide enough, Dani pushed her fingers inside with a silent gag and pulled out a metal object covered in blackish gunk. It looked remarkably like a pocket watch.

JT, by her side, was keeping his eyes as far away as he could from what the younger woman was doing. "Is it out?"

"Yeah, it's out... now, do your thing," Powell informed. Despite the circumstances, there was a hint of amusement in her voice. If they managed to live to tell this tale, she was going to make sure JT would never forget it. "One minute to go," she warned. They were cutting it awfully short.

….

As she maneuvered the metallic cylinder to lie on the floor closer to Malcolm, Edrisa was silently listing in her head all the security protocols that she would be disregarding in the next few seconds. Like keeping the pressurized container standing at all times, for a start.

Or using protective gear when handling something that's over a hundred degrees bellow zero. Like thick gloves, protective glasses... none of which she had time to fetch.

Of course, there was rule number one, the never come in to direct contact with the damn thing, which was the very rule that Edrisa was counting on breaking to keep Bright alive until he reached a hospital. In theory.

Because, in theory, the liquid CO2 inside the container would instantly freeze the blood coming from Malcolm's gushing artery, forming a temporary cork that would effectively stop the bleeding.

On the other hand, it could also form the biggest clot ever known to Man, travel down Malcolm's circulatory system and eventually block all blood flow to one or both his legs, effectively robbing him of any chance to walk ever again. Or he could simply die instantly from the trauma of having his insides exposed to a temperature of minus one hundred and ten.

"Just so you know," Edrisa pointed out in a hushed tone, "this whole situation is just ruining all of my fantasies about you."

So, yeah, she might have, at one point perhaps, most probably after a glass of wine or two, imagined herself peeling away layer upon layer of Bright's expensive designer clothing. Those fantasies, however, had never involved sharp scalpels or the any amount of blood.

It was scary how much blood kept pouring out, especially when Edrisa was forced to stop the compression in favor of unbuttoning Malcolm's shirt. It was so much that she could barely see the wound enough to start cutting.

"So—sorry... 'bout tha-"

The medical examiner nearly dropped the scalpel in her hand. Were it not for proximity and her panic-heightened senses, she wouldn't have even heard the whispered words. As it was, it felt like Malcolm had shouted in her ear. "How are you even conscious?" she hissed, the words just escaping her lips without asking her brain for permission. Because of all the messed up things to happen... Why was he conscious now, when she needed to make an incision to widen the entry wound, stick a metal tube in there and literally freeze his insides? No one should be conscious and aware to experience that. Ever.

But he wasn't aware, at least not all the way. Edrisa could tell that his usually clear and sharp eyes were murky and dull, not really focusing on anything, rolling aimlessly like a pair of blue eight-balls.

From the languish way his eyelids were moving, he wouldn't be staying conscious for long. He looked like a small child, forever defiant of bed time and fighting sleep like it was a dragon to be conquered.

"What are you sorry for?" she found herself asking. A few more seconds and she was sure that he wouldn't be cognizant enough to feel anything. Of course, he didn't exactly had a few seconds to spare, but at that point she couldn't be sure if she was stalling for his sake or hers.

"Ru-ruin' your... fantasies," he eventually whispered, the smile he was aiming for quickly turning into a grimace as he tried to breathe a little deeper.

"He's awake?"

Edrisa startled at the intrusion, even if it was welcomed. Dani had, apparently, left JT to deal with the bomb and veered back to them. The detective sounded just as surprised as she had been.

"Kind of," the medical examiner breathed. Looking down at the injured man, she had her doubts. His eyes had closed again. "The bomb?"

"Thirty seconds," JT replied from his corner. There was no way to tell if he meant that as an estimated time for defusing the bomb or for it to blow up. As it was, Edrisa couldn't wait any longer.

"Could you-?" she whispered, casting a look at the other woman. She would forever be grateful to Dani, who simply took in what she was about to do without voicing a single question and wordlessly understood what Edrisa needed her to do. She quietly knelt down on the profiler's other side, unconcerned with the blood soaking her jeans, her hands wrapping around Malcolm's wrists, effectively restraining him. "Go ahead," she urged, steel resolve lacing her voice.

Edrisa didn't allow herself time to breathe, pause or have any doubts. She pressed the scalpel against Bright's blood covered skin and started to cut, cringing as his muscles contracted in pain the second the blade made contact.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," Edrisa found herself muttering over and over, trying to cover for the anguished moan that kept coming from the injured man, a guttural sound of pure, unrestrained agony. Pain that was coming by her hands, by her doing.

She forced herself to keep on going, ignoring the feeble struggles against Dani's hold, the way his shoes kept slipping and sliding against the bloody floor as he unconsciously tried to escape their touch.

The medical examiner spent her days cutting bodies from elbow to pubic bone without blinking an eye or breaking a sweat. Cutting one inch and a half into a semi-conscious Malcolm Bright had felt like twice that distance.

A soon as she was done, Edrisa swiped the sweat from her forehead absentminded, tossing the scalpel away like it was a snake about to bite her. It clattered obscenely loud against the stone floor.

"You good?" Dani voiced, her voice strained and lips pressed against one another. She looked pale in the harsh morgue lights. They all did.

"I'm amazing," the smaller woman let out, the weak attempt at sarcasm falling flat against the wetness in her eyes. "Now comes the really fun part."

Carelessly wiping her blood-covered hands on her sweater, Edrisa pulled the container closer and pushed the opening against the cut she had made. As she twisted the valve open, the medical examiner could only think about poetic justice and how karma wasted no time. This was going to hurt her as much as Bright.

This time, he did managed to scream, a blood curling sound that would have waken the dead and send them running.

Edrisa screamed as well, as liquid ice spilled backwards against her hand and cast her whole existence into a bottomless pit of hurt.

Over it all, JT's triumphant shout of "Got it!" had been barely heard.