Deep Lacerations: Chapter 4

"What've you got for me, Duck?" NCIS Special Agent Gibbs asked as he strode into Autopsy, not even letting the doors slide closed behind him. The medical examiner glanced up briefly before returning his attention to his microscope.

"It's too early to be sure, Jethro," he finally said. "I just finished the gross examination and am beginning microscopy."

"What's your gut instinct?" Gibbs asked, exasperated. Ducky sighed.

"Not all of us have your infamous gut. I prefer to make my conclusions based on the medical facts."

Gibbs frowned. "Are you okay, Ducky? You seem a little…distracted."

"I assure you, Jethro, I am more than capable of doing my job."

"That's not what I asked, Ducky."

Dr. Mallard ignored the comment and began his verbal report. "The body was clean," he began. "He has a few bruises, all from injuries between three and four days before death. It is doubtful they have anything to do with his death. His brain, heart, and lungs were all free of disease or trauma. X-rays showed a few well-healed fractures, but nothing recent. I have sent blood samples to Abby for toxicology, but at this point, this poor man's death is a mystery. It reminds me—"

"Do we have an ID?"

"Mr. Palmer collected a print card and took it to Abby. She would be the one to ask about his identity."

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully, glancing over at Palmer briefly. Ducky seemed to get the hint. "Mr. Palmer," he called out. "Why don't you go check on that toxicology report?"

"But, Dr. Mallard, Abby said she'll let us know—"

"Palmer," Gibbs interrupted. "He's telling you to get lost."

"Oh, right," the medical examiner's assistant said. "I'll go check on that report." He ducked out of Autopsy before anyone could say anything else. Gibbs slowly turned back to face his medical examiner, who was doing his best to look away.

"Ducky," Gibbs said, his voice low but with authority. "I need to know about Agent Gracy."

"Unlike most people you want information about, Jethro, Agent Gracy is alive and well and more than capable of answering any questions you may have. If you want to know about Agent Gracy, I suggest you talk to Agent Gracy."

"The reason I talk to you about these things is that I don't want to talk to them," Gibbs explained, slightly exasperated. "I like to pick my own team, Ducky; you know that. I got blindsided with this 'temporary liaison' crap that Vance set up, and I would like to know what I'm working with." He paused. "She didn't seem like your typical crime scene investigator this morning, and you seemed to know her, which tells me that there's something unusual about her."

Ducky sighed as he realized that there was no way to avoid this conversation. "She's a forensic pathologist," he finally said. "Or at least, she was. She was Army trained at the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology for both residency training and a forensics fellowship. We met at a military pathologist's conference while she was a resident. Until a little more than a year ago, she was considered to be a rising star in the field of forensic pathology. Like all Army pathologists, she was extremely knowledgeable on gunshot wounds and the effects of explosives, but she also gained an expertise on anything involving a blade—stabbings, lacerations, disarticulations. As a fellow, she published the first paper on the use of depth measurements—"

"Ducky," Gibbs warned. "Does this have anything to do with who she is?"

The medical examiner sighed. "I suppose not, Jethro, other than to explain that she had a very illustrious career ahead of her."

"So why did she leave it?" Dr. Mallard fixed the NCIS agent a look before walking away to the other side of the large room. "Duck," Gibbs said with even more emphasis than before.

"Let's just say that you aren't the only one to change careers because of family tragedy," Ducky said softly.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked, his voice low. Ducky shook his head.

"Now I really am putting my foot down, Jethro," he informed him. "If you want to find out what happened, you're going to have to ask Agent Gracy."

"That's not good enough, Ducky."

"It isn't my place to tell, Jethro!"

"Neither was telling Holly about my family, but that didn't stop you."

Ducky sighed. He had known that that would come back to haunt him. Against his better judgment, he began talking. "Agent Gracy's husband was an Army intelligence officer. While he was deployed to Iraq, his unit was captured. He was held and tortured for at least a week, maybe longer, before he finally succumbed to his injuries."

"They didn't do a very good job, then."

"Yes, well, Jethro, that isn't the point. The point is that they bagged up his body, brought him back to Alexandria, and set him up for autopsy on Dr. Gracy's dining room table. When she arrived home from work, she was forced to do a complete post-mortem examination on her husband's body. They wanted her to see exactly what they had done to him, inside and out." He sighed and glanced over at his friend. "I have read her autopsy report. To say that it was quite gruesome would be an understatement." He paused to study a microscope slide before continuing. "After that, she took six months of psychiatric leave, followed almost immediately by an honorable discharge from the Army. I had heard that she started working for CID. I am assuming that this is an agreement with the Department of the Army—"

"Ducky," Gibbs interrupted. "How did a group of terrorists force a trained military pathologist to do an autopsy?"

The medical examiner sighed again and looked Gibbs straight in the eye. "They held a gun to her five-year-old daughter's head and told her that if she didn't cooperate, they would kill the daughter."

For the first time in a long time, Gibbs was the one to break eye contact. He didn't say another word to Ducky as he left Autopsy. Terrorists killing an intelligence officer were one thing. Going after a five-year-old was another entirely.

CID Special Agent Sonja Gracy rose from her chair—well, Special Agent McGee's chair—as the elevator doors opened, revealing a well-dressed man struggling with a pair of crutches. "Hey, McGimp," Special Agent DiNozzo called out, a wide grin on his face. "'Bout time you joined us."

Special Agent Timothy McGee rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Tony, thanks for asking," he said sarcastically before turning his attention to the CID agent. "Agent Gracy? I'm Tim McGee."

"It's nice to meet you," Gracy said with a nod. She gestured toward the chair. "Please, sit."

"Thanks," he managed, collapsing into the chair as Gracy went to find a spare for herself. He turned back to DiNozzo. "Just so you know, Tony, I came by earlier, but you guys were already out on a case."

"That's right, Probie," DiNozzo scoffed. "We were working, because that's what field agents do. I know that's a difficult concept for you computer geeks—"

"I've been back in Cyber Crimes for four hours, Tony. Give it a rest." He gave Gracy a thin smile. "So. Welcome to the team."

"Sorry about your leg," she replied. He waved off her sympathy.

"I just wanted to give you a quick orientation to NCIS," he said.

"I think we can handle that, Probie," DiNozzo said, appearing right behind McGee, causing him to jump slightly. The dry chuckle he heard in his other ear told him that Ziva was standing there, too.

"Ignore them," McGee said, again talking to Gracy. "They're insane. She's a trained assassin, and he's, well, Tony." She smiled thinly at the descriptions as McGee braced himself for a head-slap from DiNozzo. "Anyway, I think the computer systems we use here are pretty much the same as you're used to at CID."

"Would you like me to requisition a new computer?" she asked. "I wouldn't want to mess up your settings."

He chuckled. "I don't know how things work at CID, but a requisition around here would take longer than your three months. Besides, there's no need. After the last time I lost this desk, I sectioned off the hard drive. That's the process of—"

"I know," Gracy interrupted with a smile. "You're not the first computer guy I've ever met. I'm assuming my CAC will work?"

McGee nodded. "The computers are all fitted with Common Access Card readers. If you have any individualized settings, they should show up as well."

She nodded before glancing up, seeing her two new teammates watching closely. "Is there anything else I should know about working here?"

McGee glanced over at DiNozzo and Ziva as well and sighed. "It would take too long to explain," he said, suddenly sounding tired. "DiNozzo quotes movies nonstop. It's okay to interrupt him, or just ignore him. Don't let Ziva drive—ever."

"Hey!"

"And Gibbs has these rules. They're not written down anywhere, but you're expected to follow them at all times."

"That sounds perfectly clear," Gracy said sarcastically. She gestured toward McGee's leg and changed the subject. "Getting that taken care of at Navy?"

He frowned. "Navy?"

She shook her head slightly. "Sorry. Army habit. Bethesda. We call it 'Navy'."

"Ah," he said, understanding. "To answer your question, yes."

"Who's the orthopod?"

"Dr. Devin Kocka. You familiar with the orthopedics department at Bethesda?"

"Some of them," she said with a smile. "I actually went to college with Devin. Texas A&M. He was neurotic."

"What?" he asked in alarm. She chuckled.

"Navy Reserve Officer Training Corps—NROTC. We had quite a few classes together. He was a chemistry major with a pre-med emphasis and I majored in forensic science. He's a really smart guy and a great surgeon. He operated on my shoulder. You're in good hands."

McGee nodded. "That's good to know. Thanks." She smiled in reply as DiNozzo's phone rang.

"That was Abby," he announced as he hung up the phone. "She has stuff for us." He was halfway to the elevator before Gracy realized she should be following.

"Thanks, McGee," she called out as the elevator doors slid closed. He waved in reply and glanced around the empty bullpen. With a sigh of defeat, he made his way to his feet and struggled with his crutches, resigning himself to three months in the subbasement, surrounded by the computer geeks. At least this time, he knew there was an end in sight.