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He tightly clutched his chest as he felt himself beginning to wheeze. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult for Jimmy Palmer, the young assistant to the chief medical examiner. He looked around the sterile room, feeling it close in on him as small, multicolored dots appeared before his eyes, partially obscuring his vision. Taking the deepest breath he physically could without the restrictive article of clothing holding his lungs back, he began to see the dots dissipate, similar to that of cotton candy dissolving in water. He spun around, taking his hands off the large, metallic examination table as he heard a voice, sounding distant initially, but not before it focused.
“Are you alright?” Jimmy looked straight at the older man that was previously behind him. He nodded, staring at the navy blue medical scrubs his boss was wearing.
“Yes, Doctor Mallard; I’m just thinking about something,” Palmer responded, exhaustion seeping into his voice. The older man adjusted his thin-framed glasses before studying his assistant before him.
“You must stay focused, Mister Palmer, at least until the case is fully closed,” Donald Mallard softly demanded, slowly removing his blood-covered elbow-length surgical gloves then walking across the room and throwing them into the red bin labelled ‘biohazard’.
“Sorry, Doctor Mallard,” James responded breathily as he forced a half-smile. At this point, his beige, full-body chest binder was compressing his ribs to the point where his entire torso painfully protested with stinging sensations with every move. Mallard nodded, mostly focused on completing a form on his desktop computer.
The day was coming to a close— the workday, at least. The case that Gibbs’ team was assigned almost a week ago was coming to a wrap. They had found out who the perpetrator was, now the issue was tracking him down, which was no issue for them. All the medical and forensic personnel had to do was wait, which is exactly what they did. Once the perpetrator was in legal custody, the paperwork was able to be fully signed and processed. Jimmy kept trying to focus on breathing, but that was proving to be difficult, especially with the sharp pains shooting both up and down his chest.
“D-Do—“ He shifted, his left arm subtly wrapped around his stomach. He was trying to tell the doctor that he was going to go to the lab, so he could finish doing something with Abby, but he couldn’t get the air inhaled to be able to vocalize the lie. He shifted again slightly and quietly scrambled for his phone. He picked it up with his free right hand and started a new conversation with ‘McGee’.
‘Where are you?’ James hastily typed. He pressed send and almost immediately saw a ‘read’ receipt.
‘Like two minutes out. Just waiting for the light to change…’ Palmer glanced behind him, seeing the medical examiner still at his desk, now dragging different tabs across his monitor screen. He took this chance and braced himself against the table before slowly lowering himself.
Tears began to form at the inside corners of his eyes. He tried to inhale again, only to realize that inhaling burned the bottom of his throat; it wasn’t like a stove burn, but more comparable to almost a chemical burn. Jimmy’s face was now red at this point, he was in agonizing pain. He’s been wearing the binder for over three days straight. He didn’t mean to, but the sudden influx of cases made it difficult for him to manage his binding time— all the cases made him sometimes forget he was binding in the first place. He was in so much pain, he yelled as loud as he could, which was barely above a whisper. He originally never wanted his boss, his mentor, his second father, to find out that he was trans, but the pain had to be prioritized first.
Tears started flowing freely out of his now-bloodshot eyes as he yelled with pain. Doctor Mallard quickly glanced to his right, and when he saw a partial silhouette under the medical table, he knew something was wrong. He stood up quickly and swiftly walked over to his assistant, who at this point was desperately pulling at his wet top.
“Jimmy! What is going on?” He had a choice to make. He could either tell Ducky that he was actually born a girl and then never be seen as a real man by one of the only people he has ever looked up to, or he could tell Ducky to get McGee, because this was a personal problem that only McGee know about. Palmer read the notification on the lock screen of his phone, and saw the ‘back’ text from McGee.
“Need. McGee. And. Privacy,” he breathed out with the last of any upper body strength he had. Ducky quickly turned back to his back and dialed the upstairs office on his desk phone. He dialed the extension for McGee’s desk as he kept looking over at his assistant under the table. Jimmy felt distant from the rest of the world, he couldn’t feel anything, his vision was blurry, and the sounds of Ducky talking sounded distant and had an echo effect. He knew he was no longer at the point where he was able to pull his binder off himself, it was stuck on him, probably due to the elasticity weakening because he’s had it on for days. He knew this from the very beginning, when he was standing at the table before and was struggling to breathe. He internally cursed himself for not paying more attention to himself and his binding time.
He saw a tan, black, and white figure running through the open automatic glass doors as Ducky on the other side walked out into the white hallway. Palmer immediately felt something grab his light blue scrub top and pull it off of him immediately before the binder also got pulled off, with a slight struggle. Jimmy repositioned his arms on his lap as his vision became clearer and his other senses returned. He adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath before looking directly at the man in front of him.
“Hey. You good?” Jimmy nodded, his abdomen and chest still cramping and stinging, but the burning sensation he felt when he took breaths was gone. McGee handed Jimmy just the scrub top he yanked off of him before. The assistant slipped it over him and lifted it up again to take a look at his lower ribs and abdominal region. His entire torso was inflamed in a light cherry red color. The area immediately beneath his breasts, near his forth intercostal space, was the start of a bruise. It was a dull forest green color that appeared on top of the location of the lower ribs. He looked through the neck hole of his shirt to make sure his breasts were okay, and when they seemed only a bit inflamed, he calmed down.
“Did you break your ribs?” Jimmy did a half-smile and shrugged, “I don’t know, probably not.” McGee sighed before shoving the binder into a large inside pocket of his suit jacket.
“You want someone to take you to the hospital?” Jimmy shook his head.
“I’ll be fine, besides, Doctor Mallard will just get the records if I go.” McGee stared at the younger man before him for a few seconds before squinting his eyes in confusion.
“Isn’t that against HIPPA?” Another shrug from Jimmy. In this moment, the automatic doors slid open and Ducky walked back in. He began to trot towards his desk, only to stop in his tracks when he saw the injuries on Jimmy’s torso. The older man ran to and knelt at the younger man’s side.
“Mister Palmer, are you alright?” Jimmy’s eyes began to fill with tears, once more, his white sclera turning a light reddish color. He didn’t respond, only looking up at the man kneeling next to him with tired eyes. Donald Mallard then sat down on the cold, white-tiled floor. The older man shifted as he quickly looked over his assistant’s wounds.
“I d-don’t want t-to be seen l-like this,” James quietly stated, a feeling of overwhelming fear creeping into his tone. Ducky and McGee backed up, Ducky looking at the scene with confusion written on his face. The federal agent extended his hand towards the assistant’s arm as an unspoken way to ask for permission to assist him to his feet. Jimmy took his moisturized, strawberry-coconut-smelling hand, and used it to pull himself upward, McGee partially supporting his weight once he was standing. Tim began moving a couple steps forward to see if Palmer would resist. When he received confirmation that he was willing to walk with him, McGee slowly walked to the shiny, automatic double doors ahead of them, stepping out, while still holding onto Jimmy, somewhat guiding him. Once the two were put of the sterile room, they began to trek to the metallic elevator doors before them, covered in scratches from wear over time. McGee stepped out to be within reach of the two faded elevator buttons, which had a black arrow pointing up on the top one, and a black arrow pointing down on the bottom one, respectively. Tim tapped the top button and stepped back slightly when the large doors instantly slid open. The two stepped in, careful to avoid the small gap in the bottom of the doorway. Once the elevator closed, the special agent let it go up for a couple seconds before flipping a translucent, red switch, next to the floor select buttons. McGee quietly laughed to himself before turning to Jimmy, who was leaning against the semi-reflective walls.
“Heh, sorry about the Gibbs move. I’m assuming you didn’t want Ducky to know, and that was overwhelming you,” McGee casually, but emphatically commented. Palmer audibly sighed before nodding, able to relax his body a bit.
“I doubt he would care, though. Not Ducky. He looks at the whole person, you know what I mean?” Jimmy Palmer slowly nodded, taking off his glasses and placing them in his scrub top pocket. He took a few deep breaths— the agent pensively watching him the whole time.
“I just lost track of the time, I swear,” Jimmy partially mumbled before he looked down at the floor.
“I get it,” McGee calmly told the younger man, “these things happen.” Jimmy lifted up his top somewhat, to gauge the severity of his injuries.
“Do you actually need to go to the hospital?” Timothy asked, looking James up and down for some sign of pain or extreme discomfort. Palmer smiled shyly before looking up at the agent and shaking his head once.
“It’s just bruising, I can tell. No signs of internal bleeding or rib fractures. It just hurt.” He smiled more happily at McGee.
“Thanks, though. I mean it.” The agent smirked before reaching over and patting him on the shoulder. He then flicked the elevator switch back up, causing the motors to whir back to life. After a few seconds in silence, simply listening to the hum of the machine they were in, the elevator clicked to a stop and its doors slid open again, leading to a slim hallway with neon coral-painted walls and white, speckled tiles. McGee gently slammed the white ‘-2’ button with his fist before the elevator began its descent back underground.
“I’m going to take some Ibuprofen or something, and maybe put an ice pack on it,” Jimmy nonchalantly stated, shifting and pulling down on his scrub top, trying to make it look like nothing ever happened. McGee nodded before his eyes suddenly went wide.
“I forgot I had your binder; you want it back? I can give it to you tomorrow in the morning, if you want.”
“Yeah, that’s okay, I’ll have my bag with me then, anyway.” Before the duo knew it, the elevator dinged and clicked into place. They looked to the doors before they slid open again, and Jimmy stepped out, alone. He looked back at Tim, who was standing in the elevator. He waved to his friend quickly, before the elevator doors were able to fully shut again.
James Palmer slowly made his way down the white hallway, shoes patting against the speckled tile floor that was pretty much everywhere in the building, the sound quietly and quickly echoing in the empty hallway. He peered into the autopsy room once the doors were in sight, slowly creeping as he watched. He didn’t see his boss, but he saw that the room was completely cleaned up, and that the tables were moved and locked into the original positions they were in before Jimmy collapsed. He slowly walked under the motion sensor, the doors opening. At this, the older doctor turned to look at Jimmy, who froze once he entered. Ducky immediately stood up from working at his desk and swiftly walked over to the young man. Once he was close enough, the chief medical examiner slowed his pace as to not scare James before giving him a gentle look.
“I’m not going to pry, Mister Palmer,” Doctor Mallard began slowly, being careful to respect the younger man’s privacy, “but are you alright, medically?” Jimmy closed his eyes before responding with a soft shake of his head. Donald Mallard watched as the man before him lifted his shirt up, stopping right below his breasts, using his arm to subtly flatten and hide them with the bunched up part of the top. Ducky took another look at the wounds, noticing the now-darkened color of the bruises. He pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of a pocket of his white coat. He slipped them on and began pressing on the redness. He carefully went along his torso, gently pushing around Jimmy’s ribs. He didn’t feel as much pain as when the binder was first removed. He only felt pain when his boss pressed too hard.
“There’s no indication of internal bleeding, no distended abdomen, no open fractures. I don’t know what happened here, but you have to be more careful, Jimmy,” Ducky scolded as he ran his thumbs along his assistant’s ribs. He placed his hands on Palmer’s sides, feeling for any rigidness or bone fractures. After a few seconds, the doctor backed up, removed his gloves, and threw them out in the container next to the door.
“I didn’t feel any fractured ribs or other internal damage,” Donald added, looking back up at Jimmy. He nodded in agreement.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Mallard.” The doctor looked back at him in confusion.
“Whatever for?” Jimmy sighed.
“I don’t know, just the way I told you that I didn’t want you to see me. I was mean.” Ducky shook his head.
“Sit,” Ducky simply commanded, gesturing to the examination table next to him. James obeyed and hoisted himself on it, watching the doctor walk to and open the supply closet door. He heard something snap in the closet, like a briefcase, then there was another snap and the doctor came out. He closed the door before walking back to the man sitting on his table, something in his hand.
“Take this, Mister Palmer,” Ducky told him, handing him the object in his hand— an ice pack. The assistant took the ice pack and shoved it under his shirt.
“Now that we have that taken care of, we can talk.” Doctor Mallard looked at James again, who was holding the ice pack to his bruises through his shirt.
“Mister Palmer, if you’re having a medical emergency, I do not want you to handle it alone. I will only ask the necessary questions that are needed to keep you safe.” Jimmy nodded, feeling guilty for trying to hide his situation.
“Also, you were not mean nor aggressive towards me in any way. You were overwhelmed and, from what I can tell, in excruciating pain. Don’t ever be afraid to make your wants or needs known, Mister Palmer.” He smiled at that, feeling a bit better about acting the way he did in front of Ducky before muttering an ‘okay’.
“Good lad,” Mallard simply said, rubbing Jimmy’s back.
“You know, this reminds me of something that happened when I was a third-year in medical school—“ Ducky trailed off as he walked back to his desk, leaving Jimmy to sit with his thoughts. He felt less upset after talking to Doctor Mallard, but he definitely didn’t want to tell him anything, not yet— not now. He did a quick scan of the room, looking for his phone. He found it, sitting on the same table he was, at the opposite end. After he reached out and grabbed it, he unlocked it and texted McGee.
‘Thanks’
‘You’re welcome,’ McGee responded with a smiley face at the end made from a colon and a right-facing parentheses.