Inspired by Cordyfan's Fate's Little Plaything
mention of how Dr. Mallard falsified some death certificates. If you haven't read that series, what are you waiting for?
Dr. Prescott and the FBI agent are mine, the rest belong to whoever has the copyright on Buffy and NCIS. Used without permission and not for profit.
“Please go inside,” the agent told Dr. Prescott.
The mortuary was just like any other mortuary Prescott has seen. Cold lights, cold air, cold stainless steel tables. There was a cadaver on one of the tables.
“Ok, now can you tell me why you brought me here?” asked Prescott.
“Please examine the body. I understand there are no instruments in here, we just want an approximate time of death.”
“Ok,” Prescott moved towards the table. The arms were flexible, without rigor mortis having been set, so the man had died either less than four hours ago or more than a day. The corpse was very cold to the touch though.
“Between one and three days is the best I can do,” he told the man.
“Understood,” was the reply. “What would you need to make a more precise estimate?”
“I’d prefer a full-scale autopsy.”
“Hey, no autopsy, I may be dead but that still hurts,” said the “cadaver”, suddenly lifting himself off. Prescott jumped back, his heart racing in his chest.
“What the hell…” he finally managed to ask, his trembling hand pointing to the clearly-not-dead man.
“Hey, mate, name’s William,” said the man. “Nice to meet you.”
“But, but, you were dead!” Prescott exploded.
“I still am,” replied William and Prescott found himself convinced he was dreaming, as William’s face changed into a nightmare version. His eyes turned a sick yellow, his brow developed ridges, his teeth elongated.
Prescott realized he was screaming and stopped. “This is not real,” he mumbled. “It’s not real… you’re not real.”
“I’m sorry, doctor,” the FBI agent said. “We tried to get you to drop the suit without being told about this. We told you it was a matter of national security, but you didn’t trust us. Nobody trusts the government. If you had just done as we asked, you’d have been living your life without knowing about vampires.”
“So,” Prescott asked, still looking at the vampire… “William, his name is William,” he thought. “The man whose death certificate Dr. Mallard falsified was a vampire?”
“Yes, and that wasn’t the first time it happened,” replied the agent.
“We trust that you’re going to drop your action now? We really don’t want the attention.”
“Yes, yes,” Prescott said, still looking dazedly at William. The vampire. He wanted to shout “there’s a vampire over there,” but well, what was the point?
His mind started to clear. “Is he going to attack us?” he asked.
“He is standing right here,” William drabbled. “Damn, you got a ciggy?” he continued. “I forgot mine.”
“You smoke?” Prescott asked, unbelieving.
“Yea, not like it will harm me, innit?” William replied. “And no, I’m not going to attack you.”
“Well, for one, Buffy would kick my arse from here to DC and back,” he replied with a smile.
“Sir,” the agent intervened, “I remind you that this is a matter of national security. You cannot tell anyone else about this. The world is not ready to know about vampires.”
“I see. What happens if I don’t comply?” asked Prescott. He was clearly starting to feel better. “Will you arrest me?”
“Frankly, mate,” said William before the agent could respond, “go ahead if you want to make a fool of yourself. If they,” he pointed to the agent, “would have told you that the Mallard fellow falsified the death certificate of a vampire, would you have believed them?”
“Good point,” Prescott conceded.
The FBI agent nodded. “Ok, let’s go then.”
They left the mortuary as cold and dark as they found it.