Dallas. Questioning Room.
Agent Jeffrey Mace looked like he spent most of his days inside eating greasy foods, he was pale and his skin had a sheen to it that shouldn't be so in a building as heavily air conditioned as this one. He said to her, "You must be Dr. Frost," and before shaking her hands he wiped them on his pant leg.
"Emma, please," she insisted, taking his hand.
"I'd still introduce yourself as 'doctor' to the Wilsons, I have a feeling they'll only be swayed by someone they think is important."
Despite his awkwardness and his unsightly looks, Emma found him likable. "And Agent wasn't important enough?" she asked.
"Apparently, the Wilsons think themselves quite important," Mace said, and added, "Well, he does."
Emma rolled her eyes, "Wonderful. I bet they think they're the only victims, here."
Agent Mace nodded. "They're in here," he said, and held open the door for her. Simple Southern boy manners.
Emma decided that although she would be annoyed by the Wilsons and their self-importance, she would play to it. With a sweet smile she extended a hand to Regina, first and said, "My name is Dr. Emma Frost, and I would like to offer my assistance, I'm a psychologist. I would like to help you come to terms with your traumatic ordeal."
Regina Wilson, seemingly so confident and easily amused in the videotape now seemed timid and stressed. Her face appeared sallow and pinched. She was obviously a woman who was quite traumatized by what she had seen. And yet, though Mark's face registered nothing but annoyance, Emma knew Regina was the adventurous one, in fact, Regina probably was the everything one, leaving only the emotion of 'annoyed' to her husband. Since he didn't have an audience to impress or to critique his actions, like he did when he and Regina were filming their honeymoon, he reverted back to what Emma knew to be his usual – self-centered.
With a sniffle, Regina brought Emma out of her analysis and she said, "Oh, that's nice of you, but we really just want to go home."
"I know you do," Emma said, consolingly, "That is a completely understandable feeling. Why don't you have a seat and we'll talk?" She barely spoke at all to Mark, because he was busy texting someone on his phone.
Regina sat down and said, "Dr. Frost, are we under investigation? Because we didn't do anything!"
"No, you're not under investigation," Emma said calmly, "I would simply like to talk to you both and understand what you have seen. And, of course, if I can offer you any counseling, I will."
Mark looked up, "We got our own shrinks in Chicago," he said, rudely.
No doubt, Emma thought, I bet he or she is your sounding board to listen to how important you think you are. But none of her thoughts were evident on her face as she replied, "That's good. I suggest you talk to him or her," she focused on Regina again, and took her hand, "No one should have to deal with what you've seen alone. And talking about it will help."
Regina nodded, beginning to warm to Emma. And Emma began to understand that these two were wed because their fathers wanted them to be. Elizabeth had provided her and the team with a short synopsis on the Wilsons and who their people were. She felt sorry for Regina, because she could so much better than this toad with an expensive phone glued in his hand who cared little for anyone other than himself.
Regina seemed to take her time thinking this over, before she said, "I want to talk about it with you."
Emma replied with, "That's excellent, Regina." And, to Mark, she said, "If you would like to talk next, you're more than welcome to. And whatever you can tell us could help us find out what happened."
"Isn't that your problem?" Mark asked, annoyed that his time was being wasted. Annoyed that he had to stumble upon the body of some disgusting mutant. Emma could read his thoughts clearly, without even trying.
Regina said, "Mark," with the same assertion in her voice as she had in the cave and told him to shut up, "I want to help."
Mark looked dejected and sat down. And started playing a game on his ever-present phone. Even if he disliked something, it would have been too much of a bother to fight that hard. That was at least one thing Regina had in her favor.
Regina began her account of what had happened in the cave, prompted by both Emma and Agent Mace's questions and unprompted by her husband.
San Antonio Division. The autopsy room. 5:25 P.M.
Hank Pym had never before seen the dead body of a human being, but he noticed that Jean didn't patronize him by asking if he'd be able to handle it. Instead, she said, "I'm really looking forward to your entomology expertise on this one. Apparently, our John Doe was found inhabited by a lot of little critters."
He smiled at her, and said, "Critters is what I do. Just make sure you tell me how best to preserve evidence while I work."
"I doubt you'll have a problem with that," Jean said. "Let's scrub up, shall we?"
After they had donned the garb required of a doctor in autopsy, they entered one of the identical autopsy rooms and took a good, long look at their John Doe – the half-bird and half-man that had suffered some traumatic type of death by the looks of his body. If Jean had to guess before diving in, she might have said that it looked like he had gone for a really fast fly in a very small room – or cave – in his case.
Hank stuck a gloved finger in one of the many lacerations and rolled the debris within his fingers. "Exoskeleton," he said.
Jean moved closer and examined the tiny shell of a bug that had obviously grown from devouring flesh. Hank continued, "By cursory maggot count alone, I'd guess he's been dead probably at least forty hours."
Jean nodded, "I guess first we should get these guys off of him so they don't continue to eat up our evidence."
Hank agreed. "Is it normal to leave the bugs with body for so long?"
"We're the head medical examiners," Jean replied, "We need to see the body as it was. Dirt, bugs and all."
"Right," Hank replied. "I'll get some specimen jars."
Dallas. Agent Gold's office.
The room was probably no bigger than 10x8, and it contained mostly computers and also a paper shredder, a radio and a shelving system that ran the length of the room close to the ceiling. It was crammed full of books, folders and paperwork. The air conditioning was humming loudly, obviously catering to the computers and not the humans. In fact, it was rare that anyone other than Melissa spent more than ten minutes in here. And yet, so far, Remy had been stuck in the freezing cold room for probably close to four hours.
The computer filing system worked chronologically, or at least Melissa's did, and so, after she typed in El Grande Rojo Cueva/ Big Red Cave, the computer took them back to the very first incident and they went through them one by one. Each entry had a little blurb written about it and also a corresponding file code that would allow access to the actual incident, via video feed or taped phone conversations.
Melissa found out within the first hour that Agent Remy LeBeau was very thorough and seemed to have little trust in her abilities in memory and filing. He was also very handsome, with the attributes of some sort of dark-haired Greek god. So not her type, though, considering she preferred men that weren't prettier than she was. Also, she found his lack of trust in her abilities very insulting. He not only read all of the blurbs, but he made her go to each separate file folder so he could listen or watch the actual footage. Melissa could have told them that most were fake, but he needed to see it for himself. He had written nearly fifty cases that he thought were not what she said they were, and asked her to compile this list into a separate folder and send it to the San An facility. Melissa realized that underneath all of his dark locks there wasn't a single brain cell that understood technology. She tried to explain to him that the amount of data that would need to be shipped was huge, and might take a week for it to arrive, but Agent LeBeau waved away her concerns with a terse, "Just send it."
She began compiling the folder on a second computer, allowing him to work by himself on the first one, figuring he didn't want her help anyways. For probably close to a half hour the silence was deafening, because she was so used to being alone that she wanted desperately to whistle or hum. And then he cursed, and for a moment she wondered if his masculine, long-fingered hands had ruined her delicate piece of equipment.
"What did you do?" she asked, keeping her tone only slightly respectful. He outranked her, after all.
And he replied, "Last month, Miguel Manuelo was found dead in his home. His family said he'd been in the cave alone."
Melissa caught up with his line of thinking fast. Shit. Another death meant S.H.I.E.L.D.; specifically her team was being negligent. She could already see the cardboard box waiting for her stuff to go inside it. She tried to remember Manuelo, and thankfully she did. "Yeah. The EMT on the scene said he died of heart failure."
"And no one requested an autopsy?" Remy asked her incredulously, patronizingly.
"No," she replied, feeling the need to repeat herself, "The EMT said it was heart failure." She didn't care that she sounded nearly hostile. She was just about fed up with him.
Remy ignored the fact that she was treating him like an idiot, and said, "How old was Miguel, do you know?" The 'do you know' seemed to suggest she knew nothing. Or at least she took it that way.
She shrugged. "I can't remember. I get a lot of bogus calls."
Apparently, Agent LeBeau had been playing teacher; he already knew this guy's age. This bristled Melissa more than she would have liked to admit. "He was eighteen. How many eighteen year olds die of heart failure?"
"There was no reason for the autopsy," Melissa said again, "It wasn't a suspicious death." Well, she assumed it wasn't anyways, her job didn't always grant her access to this kind of information – so don't jump down my freakin' throat, Agent LeBeau.
But when she met his eyes, she realized he wasn't quite done jumping down her throat, he basically just started. His dark brown eyes narrowed and he looked scary – she guessed how a mutant might look right before he or she used their powers. He said, "His mother, his sister, and his cousin called in a total of seven different times, Agent Gold." He didn't raise his voice, in fact, he lowered it considerably, but it felt like ice and hot daggers at the same time. "And you dismissed all of their calls, saying to his mother, not two days after her son died – but not at all suspiciously, says you – that it wasn't your job to play grief counselor."
She waited about thirty seconds before she thought it was safe to breathe. She might have said 'Above my pay grade', or something else decidedly tart, but did not. Instead, she settled on, "I guess that's why S.H.I.E.L.D. sent you guys in."
As fast as Agent LeBeau's temper flared, it passed. Thank God. And his voice was now very neutral. He asked, "The Manuelos live in Jim Hogg County, yes?"
"Yes," Melissa answered, supposing he already knew that answer as well. "The address is in the case profile."
He stood, indicating he was done with her and said, "Send all the information as soon as possible. And let Agent Frost know that I'm heading to San Antonio."
She wanted to tell him she wasn't his freakin' secretary and that he could call the in-your-face-boobs blonde himself, but wisely, she did not.