Chapter Three
Ducky turned around the next afternoon when Jimmy entered Autopsy; turned sharply, as if spinning on a dime. "Ah, er, Mr. Palmer. Er…are you feeling quite well enough to return to work? You almost never take a sick day; why not take one now?"
Jimmy looked up in surprise. "I feel fine, Doctor." He had just a few bandages on his hands, and the red cuts on his face weren't as pronounced today.
Grimacing, Ducky turned away. He'd offered Jimmy an out; he couldn't force him to take it. "Read the reports on our Seaman Ferguson, Mr. Palmer. His body was found near the Lincoln Memorial last night. I shall return presently."
- - - - -
"Jethro, if I have heard about this, then you can be assured that 90 per cent of the workers in this building have heard it from the proverbial grape vine! Something must be done!"
Gibbs shrugged. "What do you suggest, Duck? The cat's out of the bag. I can't erase the gossip about Palmer from people's minds."
Ducky looked downcast. "You're right, of course. It's hopeless. Poor Palmer."
"And you had no idea he was…stringing beads, or whatever it is he's doing?"
"None whatsoever. Had I known, I would have advised him against bringing his hobby, if that's what it is, to work as he carelessly did yesterday. I would have feared just such a reaction as this."
"He's just going to have to tough it out," said Gibbs.
- - - - -
The first inkling that Jimmy had that something was wrong came when he opened his locker. The door was sticking for some reason; when it finally opened, out fell batches of pink and yellow balloons, doilies, dried flowers and small, pretty wicker baskets. A very feminine theme, almost like a bridal shower. There were no notes, no messages, no writing of any kind. Puzzled, Jimmy threw it all in the trash barrel and tried to go about his work. But his mind kept turning back to the locker. Who…and why?
Then a case came up, and he went with Ducky to retrieve the body of a Marine corporal from the banks of the Potomac River. He hesitated before leaving: the necklace was still in his pocket, for he'd hoped to attach the clasp in private and drop it off at Glenna's shop after work. Since his locker was obviously not a safe place anymore, he had no choice but to carry it with him, secure—he hoped—in the bottom of his coat pocket.
"Hey, Palmer!" Tony greeted him with a grin at the crime scene along the river. "You look, uh…nice today. Yeah, that's it. You look nice."
Jimmy glanced down at his Levis, loafers and jacket with the worn cuffs. His late father had left him some money; enough to put him through medical school, but Jimmy pinched pennies on things like clothing to be cautious. "Uh, thanks, I think."
"My pleasure," Tony smirked. Beside him, Ziva shook her head and laughed.
Now that was puzzling. Gibbs and his team rarely acknowledged Jimmy's existence. He understood that, as not much more than an intern (in the non-medical sense), he ranked lowest. Many people didn't bother to get to know interns; in some occupations, they were there all too briefly.
I also say stupid things at times, when I get nervous, he thought. Which is a lot of the time. He reached into his pocket and ever-so-gently fingered the beads for comfort.
"Mr. Palmer," Ducky called. "What do you make of these abrasions?"
Saved by the bell. Jimmy studied the body, and made some educated guesses; all but one was deemed right by Ducky. Was it his imagination, or did Ducky seem to be a little effusive with his praise? Usually the doctor didn't mind pointing out his failures, no matter how small. Odd.
Jimmy's glow of success was short-lived, however. When he then remarked on the corpse's earlobe with a hole but no earring in it, Tony and Tim both broke out laughing, to the point that Gibbs had to slap both of them to get them to stop. What did I say that was so funny? Jimmy wondered.
"Finish sweeping the scene!" Gibbs snapped at his agents. "You, too, David!"
"I? What did I—"
"Just do it!" Gibbs turned his glare on Jimmy, then sighed, shook his head, and turned away. "Duck," he said over his shoulder, "you can take the Marine back to NCIS anytime you want to."
"No time like the present," Ducky said quickly. "Will you load our corporal into the van, Mr. Palmer? I don't think we need to hang around in the cold any longer."
"Yes, Doctor." Jimmy couldn't put his finger on what was amiss, but it certainly made him feel uncomfortable.
- - - - -
He happened to run into Abby soon after his return to NCIS, before he'd had a chance to hang up his coat. She seemed to be loitering near Autopsy. "Oh. Palmer," she said, and too late, put a hand to her face to try to hide a smile. "Did you, ah…"
"Did I what, Abby?"
"Nothing! You didn't anything! I'm pretty sure you didn't. I would know. We would know." Abby started backing up into the elevator, blushing. Then just at the elevator door, she stopped and called, with a little more courage, "Palmer? If you ever had anything you wanted to share; anything you wanted to get off your chest, you know you could tell me, right? 'Cause I'm like the queen of non-judgmental."
He was nonplussed. "Okay…I'll remember that," he said, not being able to think of anything else appropriate. His hand went to his pocket briefly, before he stopped and returned it to his side.
"Anything. Any little thing at all. Anything that's on your mind. Anything that's troubling you. Any deep, dark…or shiny…secrets that you're keeping…"
"Secrets? I, uh, I don't have any secrets." Now he was backing up. She couldn't possibly know…
"There is at least one that you no longer have."
Jimmy jumped at the sound of the voice behind him. Ziva! As he turned to face her, Abby burst out laughing, and he soon saw why. Ziva had picked his pocket, and was triumphantly holding up his unfinished necklace.
They would have expected him to snatch it back (or try to; Ziva was quick), or demand its return. They didn't expect his crushed look, or his fleeing the site for the bowels of Autopsy. That was not how the game was played.
- - - - -
Ducky was having a one-sided talk with the dead Marine when Jimmy came in. "Excuse me, Dr. Mallard. I'm not feeling well after all," Jimmy interrupted. "I'm going home. Right now."
The old doctor eyed him. "You appear flushed, Mr. Palmer. Of course you can go. Would you like me to have a look at you before you leave?"
"No—no thanks, Doctor. I'll be all right. I just want to go."
"Feel better, Mr. Palmer." Ducky returned to his work.
- - - - -
Jimmy waited until he was safely inside his apartment before he let the tears flow. He poured himself a glass of red wine; something that always calmed him. After half an hour or so, he sat down at his computer and logged onto his email.
Dear Dr. Mallard, he typed.
Something has come up and I can no longer work at NCIS. I therefore tender my resignation, effective immediately.
Sincerely,
James Palmer