scorched | [bcm] - sometimes goodbye is a second chance

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[bcm] - sometimes goodbye is a second chance

WARNINGS
some blood and gore, death, and bodies in autopsy (though not really any description of the process)
(also script format again because)

((Character Reference Pictures: Palmer and Doctor Mallard (Ducky). A video on NCIS autopsy (behind the scenes) that will give you a view of the autopsy room and the actors who play Ducky and Palmer. I think all the NCIS reference gifs come from [x]))

The elevator doors close. The pristine brushed-metal walls box you in within a room devoid of sensation. The fluorescent light overhead flickers as if it is about to die.

Though this is the NCIS elevator, this is not the friendly representation of your other dreams. This is a cold, lonely box with a slightly bluish hue to its lighting--almost like someone has pressed the stop button and killed the power.

The elevator dings. It is a sad, lonely sound that reverberates in the silence on your eardrums like the shrill end of a title theme. The doors open. You look down a dimly lit corridor. A few steps in front of you, to the side, are automatic sliding glass doors.

They read, simply, AUTOPSY. Maybe they say more in reality, but in your dream that one word is all that is needed--if that.

You enter.

The Medical Examiner--DR. DONALD MALLARD, affectionately known as "DUCKY"--pulls on surgical gloves as he walks by the doorway. He is an older gentleman, probably in his seventies by now, with a certain youthfulness and a merry twinkle to his eyes. A bachelor, possibly a heart-breaker back in his day. Although he appears here in surgeon-style scrubs, Ducky has the look of someone one expects to see in a tweed suit with a bow-tie and a nice bowler or flat-cap, probably tailed by a herd of corgi. When he speaks, he is soft-spoken, with a natural, but very subtle, Scottish accent.

He greets with a surprised smile, then a small friendly scolding.

DUCKY

Oh, Anthony!

You really should be more careful with your playthings.

Following behind Ducky is his eager and ever-present assistant, JIMMY PALMER. Although he has been with NCIS Major Case Division for almost ten years, sometimes it is easy to forget he is not a fresh-out-of-college intern.

As he passes you, following Ducky with a puppy-like perkiness, Palmer gives one of his classically awkwardly-cheery smiles. You frown at them both and trail behind. The door closes behind you.

DiNOZZO

(frowns)

Playthings?

You're struck by the eerie similarity to the wording of another conversation many days ago and a meaning for 'playthings' that Ducky--the real Ducky--would never adopt. As your mind wanders, it carries you over to the wall of drawers.

DUCKY

Yes. Miss Sciuto has been kind enough to tidy up after you.

PALMER

(interrupting)

--And I put them away in their drawers.

DUCKY

Yes.

The drawers are about two feet wide, maybe a foot-and-a-half tall, and about seven feet deep, made of stainless steel. They are cold to the touch. Arranged in orderly rows and columns, they take up the entire wall. The first drawer opens with a drawn-out, heavy rolling clang. The body of a woman lays on the slab, mostly covered by a sheet. She is beautiful, red-headed, and still as bloody now as she was in death.

PALMER

(reading from a clipboard)

Jennifer Shepard. Multiple gunshot wounds to the upper torso.

He pauses and looks up at you, a frown of curiosity on his face.

PALMER

Hey, you were assigned as her body-guard, weren't you?

Palmer looks earnestly at you from over the body, his face masked partly behind the reflection of the fluorescents on his glasses. Remember, Palmer never means to say these things. He has a worse brain-to-mouth filter than you do.

You feel a tight lump in your throat. You can almost see the Director's blood on the floor of that diner.

You were her bodyguard; you failed at that.

DUCKY

(sternly)

Moving along, Mr. Palmer.

Palmer's dumb smile is shaken off and he snaps to, closing that drawer and opening another.

PALMER

Right! Moving along...

This body is covered completely. Her blood stains the sheet. It is clear her body is not completely intact underneath it.

DUCKY

(with sincere gravity in his voice)

I believe you will recall her death well enough. Paula Cassidy. Victim of a suicide-bomber.

(a pause as he reconsiders his words)

Well, self-sacrificed, but a victim nonetheless.

Cassidy and the bomber disappear behind the closing false-wall. A moment later, you can feel the blast vibrate through your entire body.

You had been close enough--you might have done something...

The sound of the drawer shutting shakes you from your thoughts.

By the time the third drawer opens, you know who to expect.

Her eyes are still open, wide as they were when the assassin's bullet passed through her skull, into her brain. Your face feels sticky as if from her blood-splatter against your cheek all over again. The bullet wound through her forehead is dark red against her pale skin.

DUCKY

I believe Catlin needs no introduction.

There was a time, and sometimes it feels like not that long ago, that it was Cate glaring at you from the desk across the aisle.

A familiar desk. One you have stared at and memorized more than you care to admit. A familiar desk that now has a blue and white Israeli flag in the pen cup.

Ducky and Palmer watch you silently.

DUCKY

There is a fourth drawer, and for the time being, it sits empty. I believe you already know who was meant to occupy it.

The hand of Fate, Agent DiNozzo, is not always so obliging. I suggest you reconsider your choices this time as you may not get a second chance.

...I am reminded of a time when I visited Santiago...

You wake up before you can hear Ducky's story.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ After experiencing her very first, kind of earth-shattering broadcast mind, seeing others' is both shocking and unsurprising, a conundrum in and of itself. She is surprised at what people feel and experience, surprised to be immersed in it, but she knew it was possible and she knew it was happening, seemingly all at once. Once she shakes herself free of what she's just experienced, she is left with a feeling of being chilled, down to her bones. She feels his emotions sinking into her bones. The fear, the self-doubt, the guilt. It takes her awhile before she can speak to him, but he has been kind to her, he was so gentle with her and careful in how he explained Anatole... She has to say something. ]

You love all of them... [ It's not a statement, nor is it a question, and she sounds slightly bewildered even as the words exit her mouth. ]

You can't control everything that happens. You can't save everyone.

[ Whether this is said in an attempt to assuage her own guilt, what lingers from what was broadcast, or simply to comfort him, she can't be sure. ]

I'm sorry.

[He knows. His gaze looks distantly away for a moment--recalling his own mother, maybe, or Jason King's sister, or every NCIS agent or related person (Eli, Jackie) who had died when there was little or nothing DiNozzo could have done. Tony smiles carefully, mindful that he's on video now. Maybe it's an attempt at damage recovery, maybe it's for Clary's benefit. Who knows. He gives a slight shrug.]

Thanks. There are some, though, where, you know, you wish things had been ...different.

[ Immediately, Clary thinks of Max. Sweet, nerdy little Max Lightwood, who no one ever treated quite old enough to be to his liking. Max, who she wishes she'd spent time talking about manga to. He's right. ]

Of course there are. But you can't blame yourself for them, either. Sometimes it's just -- it happens. And it sucks, but you can't wallow in it. [ She's trying to be helpful while also being a teenage girl with a whole ocean of problems. Sorry for the failure in comforting you, Tony. ]

[Ziva knows this feeling. The feeling of loss, guilt, sadness, and a bit of self-blame and doubt, all rolled into one big ball of feelings. And feeling it from someone else's point of view is just as intense as feeling it from her own. She had never met Kate, and things had been kind of tense between her and Paula, but she didn't have to know them or be best friends with them to see how their deaths had clearly impacted Tony.]

You are not alone. [A pause. Mostly to wait to see if Tony would see what she did there.] Interpret those words better than I did. [It's her best piece of comforting advice. Advice that isn't really hers, considering Tony had said the same to her right before she left for Israel to bury her father.]

[He wishes right now he could hide this broadcast from her. It's too late, of course, and impossible when it's broadcasting one's mind, but he still wishes he could have. He runs a hand down his face, then musters a smile of thanks for her. "You are not alone." He recognizes his own words. But he almost was alone here. Almost. And he's not sure exactly what she means about interpreting those words better, and hesitates to ask, but finally does.]

Meaning...?

Well, since I clearly did not listen when you said it to me. But I guess that is a thing that happened when ... -- you would not know how that... uh, yeah.

[Smooth, Ziva.

But in her defense, that's one of the things he has no idea what she'd be talking about and she hasn't mentioned it.]

What I mean is if you ever feel overwhelmed, do the opposite of what I do.

[You didn't listen? Tony's expression flickers, hurt one second and then hardening. His eyes, though, still say hurt. That wasn't something he expected. He thought there was an understanding. This is the thing that hurt him that was not just the safehouse McGee thing, he's sure.]

[And actually, he's sorry, but he's going to take a page out of your book and go punch some punching-bags since he really can't do the revenge-on-the-killer thing in this situation. He won't shut you out, though.]

[But that's not what you meant. He doesn't know that, though.]

[DiNozzo nods.]

I need you to do the opposite of what you used to do, then, too. We're in this together; not alone. I know you understand that. I just need you to believe that.

[Whoops, when does Ziva ever really listen though? Maybe two times out of five times. Two and a half out of five, maybe. She's pretty stubborn. This is fact.]

I know, but this is supposed to be advice for you, not for me. You will have plenty of time to sit me down and have a talk about my choices later. My turn to do it to you now.

[ Amalia's voice is horrified, strained. ]

Those... those people...

[DiNozzo keeps it conversational. It's easier since he's explaining something and not talking feelings.]

Ah, yeah, sorry. Those people-- Ducky and Palmer examine the dead. It's their job. They're good guys, trust me.

What a terrible job.

[ she's shuddering on her end ]

And you knew... all of them.

I think they enjoy it. Ducky talks to them--not in a Haley Joel Osment kind of way, just talks at the dead. They're great, though, honest.

I knew them, yeah. Good women, all strong and capable and good at their jobs. One was even our boss.

I'm sorry... that they're gone now.

Thanks. I'm sorry they are, too.

Your playthings!

[Someone is smug about this.]

And you said they weren't. You broke them all, didn't you.

Not my playthings.

[He looks away. He didn't break them, but he wasn't there to catch them either.]

Someone else broke them.

That's what he called them.

[And she believes dream Ducky more.]

You should take better care of your toys. If anyone should break them, it's you.

It was just a dream.

[He gears up to argue that point, then decides better of it.]

You're right. I should take better care of my toys. Keep them safe from others who might not play nicely with them.

[Oh, she likes you more and more.]

He said Anthony, didn't he.

[Not a question.]

Can you really protect them? Look at how many were broken.

[This can't be good.]

[Hesitation, then he answers.]

...He did, yes.

And yes, I can. [Or so he says.]

Anthony.

[She says it like a child calling a friend.]

I like it.

[She's heard the name before, but she's never had one to toy with. At least, she doesn't know if the people she's fed from are named 'Anthony'. They're just food, why does it matter?]

We should play together sometime.

[The way she says it gives him the chills. She reminds him of every creepy child he's ever seen in a movie.]

Uh, you know, my playtime is limited, so--I think I'm going to have to pass.

[Aw, now she's pouting.]

You don't want to play with me?

[cautiously] ...Depends on the game.

What about hide and seek?

[Say no. Say no]

Maybe. If I'm the one doing the seeking.

[Aw, but she likes being the hunter!]

But if you find me, it's my turn to be it.

[that's what he was afraid of.]

I guess. But if you get bored waiting, you can always forfeit the game. [then maybe he'll avoid finding her.]

I don't like waiting. It's not the fun part. What if I said you could hide anywhere in the city?

But I bet you're the better hider. I'm not any fun when it comes to hiding. Too big; you know.

I know I am. But that's why it isn't any fun.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[bcm] - sometimes goodbye is a second chance

video. // boom right in the kate feels

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