James Palmer had learned how to stay calm in rooms where panic should have lived.

Years as a medical examiner had trained him to face the worst outcomes with steady hands and careful words. He'd started as Ducky's wide-eyed assistant, absorbing not just medical knowledge but a philosophy: that every body mattered, every life deserved dignity, even when science had to come first. Loss had followed him-his wife, his is 1 father, too many names on metal tables- but it had never never stripped him of his humanity. If anything, it made him more careful. More serious when seriousness was required.

This was one of those moments.

The containment unit was stark and sealed tight, plastic sheeting and negative pressure systems humming quietly around you. The air smelled of antiseptic and filtered metal. You sat on the cot in the oversized protective blouse, skin pale, sweat clinging at your temples. The mission replayed itself in Jimmy's head in unwanted detail -an unmarked device, a rupture, something aerosolized that shouldn't have existed. You'd been too close. Too exposed.

Now you were quarantined.

And Jimmy was the one inside with you.

He moved with precise efficiency, gloves snug, mask secure, eyes focused behind his glasses. His clipboard was held a little too tightly, but his voice-when he spoke-was controlled, clinical, stripped of its usual softness.

"Okay," he said, checking your pulse, fingers cool but careful at your wrist. "Heart rate's elevated, but not spiking. That's... good. That's good."

He noted it down, then reached for the thermometer, avoiding your eyes for half a second longer than necessary. Awkwardness crept in at the edges-not fear, not panic, but the quiet discomfort of treating someone he knew too well in a situation that was far too personal.

"You're going to feel me checking your neck," he added, unnecessarily formal. "Lymph nodes. Just-stay still."

The hum of the containment systems filled the silence as hi worked, methodical, thorough, every movement practiced. This wasn't the gentle reassurance he usually offered. This was Jimmy in his head, holding the line between concern and protocol because slipping would help no one.

He finally looked up at you, eyes serious behind the mask.

"You're gonna be alright"