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The doors down to autopsy slid open with their usual whoosh, signalling the arrival of someone else.
Jimmy didn’t look up from the dead marine that he was working on stitching back up, ready to have them presentable for their funeral, “Gimme a second, Kasie, just need to finish—”
“Not Kasie.”
Jimmy’s head snapped up.
Jess was leaning against the wall, her NCIS windbreaker covered in glass shards, but that wasn’t what made Jimmy’s heart plummet down into his shoes – it was the alarming amount of blood that matted her dark hair and dripped down the side of her face, despite the bandage she was holding against it, soaking into the collar of her shirt.
“Jess!” he dropped the tools in his hands back down on the table, practically galloping to her side, catching her by the waist just as her knees buckled slightly.
“What happened, and why are you down here instead of lying in a hospital bed in Bethesda?”
“Suspect thought creative driving would be a smart idea,” Jessica got out, wincing as Jimmy guided her towards one of the clean tables, helping her sit on the edge, “T-boned our truck. Airbag deployed, but as you can see, my head bounced off the B-pillar.”
“And Bethesda? Did any EMTs see you?” Jimmy questioned as she snapped on a pair of blue gloves, discarding the bloodied dressing she was holding against her temple.
“Well, they took Nick, but by that time, McGee arrived, and I got a ride back with him. Look, my neck didn’t hurt much, and we were literally right outside the Navy Yard.”
“Jess, you are so not fine,” Jimmy scolded her, but his hands remained incredibly gentle as he tilted her chin up and adjusted the light so he could examine the wound better. “You have a three-inch laceration on your scalp, you’re bleeding profusely, and your pupils are sluggish. My expert opinion is that you have a concussion, Jess, which means you should be under the care of an ER doctor. McGee should have driven you straight to Bethesda if you didn’t want to go with the EMTs.”
“You were closer, Jimmy, exponentially, and I trust you far more than any ER doc,” she told him, looking back at him. “Can you patch me up, please?”
Jimmy let out a deep sigh, deciding on a compromise – “I will clean and suture the laceration because head wounds bleed like crazy, even if they’re superficial, and I need to control it anyway. But the second I tie off the last stitch, I am personally driving you to Bethesda so we can get you a CT scan, no arguments.”
Jess sighed, realising she was not going to get a better deal, “Fine.”
Jimmy was pleased Jess decided not to negotiate the terms and was able to focus on his task at hand – stopping the bleed and eloquently suturing the lacerations, making sure that, hopefully, once the stitches dissolved, there would be no overtly visible scar, no mark to ever signify what had happened.
“This is going to sting,” he warned softly as he injected a local anaesthetic around the jagged cut.
Jess hissed, her hands gripping the edge of the metal table. Jimmy stepped closer, letting her lean her forehead against his chest whilst he threaded the needle.
“You’re doing fine, Jess. Just a couple of stitches. Unless you want me to drive you to the ER?”
“No, no, you do it.”
He worked quickly, every few seconds checking in with Jess, making sure she was still with him, that she hadn’t blacked out.
“There,” he said about fifteen minutes later, snipping the final thread and taping a clean white bandage over the stitches, before stripping off the gloves, tossing them in the bin.
“You’re all stitched up now. Now, my car, hospital, let’s go.”
Knight opened her mouth to protest, but the sheer worry and concern in Jimmy’s eyes told her it would be best to just go and alleviate his fears.
*
Two-and-a-bit hours later, Jimmy was unlocking the door to his apartment, arm interlocked with Jessica’s as he kicked the door closed behind him.
He was far more relieved and relaxed, Jess could tell, although she knew that he was going to remind her for a while that he was, indeed, right – the ER doc had confirmed Jimmy’s suspicions word for word, prescribing her some painkillers and recommending a couple of days of rest and dim lights. As for the CT Jimmy had insisted on, that came back clear, thankfully.
The last thing she needed was to be admitted into the hospital and have to spend any more time out of the field.
“You know, I hurt my head, not my legs,” Jess protested as Jimmy practically carried her over to the couch at the far end of the living room.
“Humour me some more, please, Jess,” he said, easing her onto the plush pillows, “You were T-boned by a vehicle doing at least 80, by what McGee told me. You are allowed to rest, and I, as a good boyfriend, am going to baby you.”
“So, you’re here as boyfriend Palmer and not Doctor Palmer?” Jess said, really hoping it was the former.
“Can’t I be both?” he asked as he closed the blinds to block out the harsh afternoon sun and dimmed the overhead lights. Jess had to admit that she felt better already and reached for the throw blanket on the armchair, draping it over herself.
“Here’s water and the painkillers the doc gave. Don’t worry about remembering to take them – I’ll remind you,” Jimmy said, hovering, “And just double-checking, no neck pain, no –”
“Jimmy,” Jess said, a little sternly, and Jimmy stopped his helicoptering.
“I’m okay, I feel much better. And I’d feel better if you weren’t looking at me like I am on the verge of dying. I’ve suffered worse, and you know that. Just… come sit next to me…” she said, sticking a handout from under the blanket.
“Just sit.”