saintveritas started following you
Most people would have felt uncomfortable with sleeping in the morgue, but Nathaniel wasn’t most- the fact he had been fast asleep on one of the stainless steel tables kind of proved that. A faint grumble slipped out of him as he started to sit up, yawning loudly as he glanced towards the direction of the door, eyebrows furrowing at the sound of footsteps that echoed in the large room. “Come on- don’t be someone rolling in another body” he yawned, rubbing a hand over his eyes before laying back on the table. Might as well try to get some sleep, honestly- who willingly wanted to visit the city morgue?
God dammit. Who decided it was Connor that got to go search the dead bodies? Why did Murphy get to go interview the pretty single mother? Connor got the short end of the stick somewhere, he just couldn’t remember where. Fury favored his brother, he fucking swore. ‘Be silent,’ they said. ‘No one can know you’re there,’ they said. Who’s going to fucking find out? A bunch of ghost?
Connor slipped down the hall and around the corner, following the sign that said “MORGUE” with an arrow pointing to the right. He was sure to be quiet, hiding when need be before the coast was clear and he was able to slip in, hearing the door quietly click behind him before turning around to inspect the room. There was a body on the table- completely clothed but not moving. Dead? Probably. Who the fuck would be lying on a table in the morgue if they were alive, anyway?
So, like any normal person, Connor assumed the body was in fact, dead, moving to the shelves that held the bodies. Just like the movies. He pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket, reading the name of the body before sliding open the first drawer to check. Nope, not them. Next.
When the footsteps stopped at the door, Nathaniel swore in his mind- the lack of the telltale sound of wheels following of the trolly enough of a pointer that it wasn’t someone dropping off a cadaver for him to deal with. The soft click of the door opening and shutting, and the near silent sound of someone stepping into the large room and walking towards the side- towards the freezer units with the bodies from the sound of it. Of course, he’d been past over, who’d think to see if the body on the table was anyone living? Not like this was the movies after all.
His eyes slid open, head turning to the side in an attempt to see who it was. No one he recognized, and judging from the fact they’d left only half the lights on, they probably weren’t suppose to even be here. The soft rustle of clothing and Nathaniel was sitting up again, turning and sitting on the side of the table facing the wall of bodies and who ever it was looking through them all.
The click of his shoes hitting the ground was the only real noise he made as he pushed off of the table top, inwardly wincing at the sound as his eyes darted back to who ever it was in the room with him. ‘Crap’, Nathaniel thought, eyes darting from the man to the door to his office, and the alarm button in there, ‘not a single way to get there and not get caught.’
Connor was on his fourth body. God, how many fucking bodies did this place get? Muttering to himself he pulled open the next one, reading the name tag. Here it was! Perfect! Letting out a triumphant noise he pulled the drawer all the way out, looking away awkwardly when it was a woman’s. Dead or not Connor still had manners and he wasn’t about to check out a dead woman. “Sorry, miss, this’ll be quick, promise.” He murmured, his Irish accent thick as he looked for what Fury told him to find.
That’s when the heard the tap. Feet hitting floor. Connor flew around instantly, gun drawn and pointed. He hadn’t heard the door so, however, was had been in there and the only other thing had been… that body. He let out a yell of surprise when he spotted him, his first thought mostly every single horror movie he had ever watched. Well, if it was a fucking zombie he’d shoot the prick in the face before he even had a chance.
The man was just stare at him though, eyes wide. Not trying to run at him and eat his flesh, either. Connor narrowed his gaze before dropping his arms slightly- only slightly. “Christ, man.” He breathed, “Who tha’ fuck sleeps on a table in tha’ morgue, huh?”
In the silence he could hear the Irish blur in the other’s voice, the silence in the morgue like, well the dead, to the point Nathaniel heard the statement with clarity. “Whooo- calm down cowboy” he spoke, hands going up in surrender when he shouted and turned around to face him, gun drawn and aimed at his chest. His eyes watched the gun lower slightly, a good sign- sort of, hopefully it meant that he wasn’t going to shoot. Hopefully.
“The medical examiner that works in the morgue and was too tired to drive home” Nathaniel offered, hands still up as long as the gun was still in play. His eyes darted up to the other’s face, before to the small portable table in front of the stainless steel table in front of him, scalpels and other assorted equipment resting on it. In his head he was going over his chances of at least disabling the intruder and getting to a phone verses how well a shot said intruder might be.
“I’ve got a better question, who the fuck breaks into a morgue in the middle of the night looking through the bodies?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing slightly before his hands lowered slightly, “You’re not some necrophiliac looking to score, are you?”
He fucking slept here? Seriously? Connor didn’t care how tired he was he would never sleep in a room full of a bunch of fucking bodies. Jesus Christ this guy had to be bat shit insane. Well, it made sense, right? What sane person worked with dead people because they wanted to? He narrowed his gaze, watching the other’s flicker to the scalpels. “Don’t even think ‘bout it, blondie.” He snapped, gun raised again. He didn’t want to shoot him. He was a good guy as far as Connor knew he didn’t shoot good guys.
“People seriously do tha’?” He wrinkled his nose in disgusted, “Gross. No, I ain’t one o’em. I was lookin’ fer somethin’.” He mused before sighing and putting his gun away. “Look, ‘m not a bad guy ‘ere. I work fer SHIELD. Ye’ know o’em? Probably not. We’re not exactly a known agency.” He eyed the other man carefully.
“‘m not ‘ere ta’ hurt ye’ or yer… friends.”
Right, and que the judgmental looks. Forget the fact it was either sleep here or risk falling asleep at the wheel and wrapping his car around a light pole or tree. Nope, had to be a few french fries short of a Happy Meal to stay for the night. “Just relax, cowboy” Nathaniel spoke, keeping his voice calm as his hands went back up near his shoulders in surrender. “I don’t feel like having to deal with the puns of being someone who survived a trip to the autopsy, I get enough trouble with everyone else that works here assuming I just live in my office and never leave.”
“You’d be surprised how often it happens, beyond me as to why- don’t get me started on the diseases the dead carry” he rambled, disgust running across his face for a moment. “Any personal affects of the dead aren’t going to be with them, so what ever you’re looking for isn’t going to be with the body” he added, lowering his arms when the gun was put away, “Not the bad guy, huh? Funny way of showing that, almost shooting me like this is some Ramiro flick.” Confusion danced across his face as his eyebrows furrowed again, “SHIELD? You couldn’t have just said FBI or something?”
His eyes rolled, annoyance clear in his body language, “I just work here, I’m worried about me getting hurt- don’t care what you do to the dead.”
“‘m from Ireland, Barbie, we don’t ‘ave cowboys.” Connor mused, humor hidden in his tone for a moment before he hid it, stealing his face. SHIELD agents weren’t like that. Serious. Calm. Threatening. Too bad Connor hated being that. “I wasn’t lookin’ fer personal belongings but somethin’ else.” He moved away from the other and back to the body, keeping his eyes on his carefully. “She was killed by a hard knock ta’ tha’ head right?” He asked, lifting the tag that had it all lifted. “But there’s two punctures in both wrists an’ neck. ‘er papers said she wasn’t drained of blood.” He stopped, knowing the other would be curious as to how he got her papers. “But did ye’ all both ta’ check if tha’ blood inside ‘er was ‘er own?” Probably not, this guy didn’t seem to care much about his job.
“If I ‘ad told ye’ I was from tha’ FBI tha’d be a lie. ‘m not. ‘m from somethin’ tha’ deals wit’ lot o’more important shit.” He muttered, pulling out a sleek cellphone (that he barely even knew how to fucking use) to take pictures of the wounds. “I’ll be outta’ yer hair in’o minute.”
“It was either cowboy or leprechaun, but I figured that’d get me shot.” Nathaniel retorted sharply, folding his arms across his chest as he moved around the table towards the body the other was looking over. “Yes, she was- and I noted the puncture marks in my report, as well as the fact there was still blood in the body. How did you know that? I haven’t even finished writing it yet, I’ve still got to wait on the toxicology report and the results on the blood I sent out” he started, fingers tapping against his arm as he stopped short of the Irishman. “I may not care what happens to the dead that get wheeled in here, but I do take pride in doing my job.”
“If what you work for is so important to deal with ‘more important shit’, then why did they send you to break in and take addition pictures if they’ve already gotten the copy of what I’ve got noted on the autopsy from my computer?” Nathaniel spoke, arms unfolding and his hands settling on his hips- pushing his jacket back- as his eyes darted across the other.
“Yer right, it would ‘ave.” Connor mused. Not really. He was used to it. Americans were, surprisingly (joking, of course), not very imaginative. Mick and Leprechaun. He heard them a lot. At least cowboy was somewhat imaginative- though completely wrong. “‘Cause, Pretty Boy Nancy, we had ta’ make sure our information was correct an’ I had ta’ get some o’er blood. We can’t exactly go through the normal process. Wha’ wit’, I dunno, employees ‘ere an’ there that’ll say anythin’ fer a buck.” He eyed him.
“Do I gotta’ get the blood me’self or ye’ gonna’ help me?” Connor’s eyebrows raised.
“See, hence why I went with cowboy, even if you’re not American” Nathaniel smirked, the expression on his face almost comical. “Pretty Boy Nancy, wow, never heard that one before” he snorted, rolling his eyes again as he glanced back to the body on the slab. “I’m insulted, John Redman, I’ve never taken a bribe in my life- as for anyone else here I can’t speak for, but as I said, I do take some pride in my work.” He smirked sarcastically back at the other, turning on his heels and heading towards the small desk sitting against the far wall.
“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, do I? I’ve got the risk of you shooting me if I refuse.”