ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏᴏʟ ᵒᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ⁽ᵃᶰᵗ⁾ ʰᶤˡˡᵎ

[fuckyeahdominicmonaghan-blo-blog]

[studiedbugs-blog]

studiedbones.

                            to say she was surprised by the entomologist’s reply to her question, would have been a gross understatement of what the agent felt in that very moment. in truth, she’d expected him to say something along the lines of… the FBI pays better, they agreed to fund his research if he worked for them, they offered him his own private lab —something along those lines. but for the doctor to delve into his own personal reasoning for taking this job ; for him to tell her about his childhood ( no, she hadn’t gone in to read his file. didn’t believe in reading another colleague’s file, Isabelle. thought it would skew her opinion on someone before even getting the chance to meet them… like it’d done with her ) and the struggles that came along with choosing a life like that… the blonde wouldn’t have admitted it, not then at least, but it sort of… softened her, in favour of the man who sat playing with a piece of thread on the car seat. she could feel her gaze becoming more gentle, as he went on with his story, though damned if Isabelle knew what to say to him, in the end…

but thankfully Dr. Midgley soon came up with his own question — && she was eternally thankful he didn’t ask about how she’d gotten the job, like so many others would have. in fact, his question had caught her so off guard ( no one else had yet bothered to ask her! ), that she couldn’t help a bright smile from spreading across her face right then and there.

❝ oh, anthropology! ❞ she exclaimed proudly, and if one looked closely enough ( or perhaps simply looked at all ), one could see how Isabelle’s gaze lit up at the very mention of her discipline. ❝ did my undergraduate with a major in social anthropology and a minor in biological! then a master’s with une concentration in forensics — et finally I’m working towards my doctoral! I couldn’t imagine doing anything else, vraiment. I ‘ad considered psychology, briefly, but I kept coming back to this! it’s hard work, mais… well… I guess you know what when you love it, it doesn’t really feel like work, yes? ❞

there was a moment, as their gazes met, where Isabelle smiled sheepishly. where she knew how silly she must have looked, going on about her various degrees to someone who already held the title of doctor ( and at such a young age, too! ) but, couldn’t help it, could she?  ❝ anyway… ❞ the blonde mumbled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ❝ I think it’s tellement brave of you, to pursue the sciences when your father was a minister. you shouldn’t feel disappointed with yourself, you do so much good now! — don’t you remember, you SAVED ME from the shed of insects earlier this week! if that isn’t good, I don’t know what is. ❞

another pause, before a frown crossed the agent’s features, and she struggled to reach over for one of the bottled waters Noel had brought for them, in an attempt to cover up the sudden bout of worry from her face.  ❝ you know … ❞ she began, and it was Isabelle’s turn to look away, now.  ❝ sure, my père ‘ad put in a recommendation for this job … et he is a higher up… but I still ‘ad to go through the same tests as everyone else… I still ‘ad to be equally… if not more qualified, mentally and physically, to work for the FBI. I just … wanted you to know that, Dr. Midgley ——— um, anyway ‘ow about that mixed CD and some soup, while we continue waiting? ❞

                    ❝ Anthropology? That’s BRILLIANT! ❞ Noel exclaimed, beaming at the way the blonde agent’s eyes seemed to light up as she talked about her passion for her field, her entire demeanour changing as she explained that she couldn’t imagine herself doing anything else, all of it a development he found incredibly endearing … until his smile fell, ever so slightly, and he gave Isabelle a sheepish look. ❝ What does an anthropologist do, again … You study people, I know that, but here, at the FBI? ❞ ❝ I know it, ❞ Noel reassured his new friend ( was it too soon to be calling her a friend? ) when she finally blurted out the words he suspected she’d been wanting to say all along. ❝ The FBI wouldn’t hire someone who wasn’t completely qualified. I had to go through WEEKS of training and evaluations – intellectual, physical, psychological – before they hired me, and I’m barely ever even allowed in the field. ❞ He could have kicked himself for saying that out loud. The last thing he wanted was to remind Isabelle that his kind weren’t usually allowed out on cases, or for her to start questioning whether it had really been such a good idea to include him in their little stakeout, since nobody else seemed to bring the analysts they worked with out into the field with them. ❝ That is an excellent idea, ❞ Noel replied, reaching for the mix he’d made for their stakeout. He’d made sure to include plenty of stakeout appropriate music, which meant mostly songs about criminals: Styx’s “Renegade,” Led Zeppelin’s “Gallows Pole,” the Beatles’ “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” along with most of the rest of the Beatles discography, actually, plus a little bit of The Band, some Rolling Stones … He was quite proud of it, really! And as Levon Helm sang the opening notes of “Ophelia,” Noel reached into the bag Isabelle had brought along, grabbing one little Tupperware container full of French onion soup ( at least, that’s what he thought she’d said, though the only word he knew for sure in French was “hello” – bonjour! – and handing it to Isabelle, before grabbing an identical container for himself. Noel took one bite of the soup ( which was, blessedly, still warm ) and groaned in gastronomic bliss, his eyes rolling back into his head. It was the single most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. After that, he didn’t talk for several minutes, preferring instead to concentrate ALL of his attention on the life-changing bowl of soup in front of him.

It wasn’t until he’d cleaned the container out entirely, making sure not one drop of the soup remained -- and paused to look longingly at what remained of Isabelle’s serving of the soup -- that the entomologist turned to his new partner once again. ❝ You know, I bet they DID hire you because of your dad, but not for the reason all those other fellows think. I bet they knew you’d work that much harder, feeling like you had to prove yourself. They knew you’d do whatever it took to be their very best agent, because you’d want more than anything to show you could get ahead on your own. ❞ A thought struck him, then, and Noel chuckled to himself. ❝ It’s kind of funny that the two of us should be matched up like this. The millionaire’s daughter and the minister’s son. We’re both trying to overcome family legacies. ❞ ❝ Okay, so, I’ve got questions. ❞ He sat up a bit straighter, narrowing his eyes and trying to let them adjust to the dusk that had settled over the bar the and surrounding parking lot. ❝ First, can I have the recipe for that soup? Or better yet, can you just make me more of it? I mean a LOT more. And second … what do we do if we actually spot this guy? Will you just jump out of the car, guns blazing, and tackle him, or … ? ❞

[studiedbugs-blog]

studiedbones.

                    and once again, just as she suspected, the information Dr. Midgley conveyed in the spreadsheet she’d found wasn’t particularly comforting. a list of all the most dangerous insects in the world? ❝ I don’t understand why someone would want insects in their home… let alone DANGEROUS ones… ❞ she mumbled, shivering once again when the entomologist mentioned that he’d seen some of those specimens out in the shed, and Isabelle could have sworn up and down she’d felt something crawling up her leg in that exact moment. ( why did he have to tell her that? why did there have to be insects — dangerous insects! — involved in this case at all? why couldn’t this simply have been a regular old stabbing? a drug deal gone wrong, perhaps? why all the bugs ?? )

when the blonde finally snapped out of her thoughts, it was to see the scientist rifling through the couch for any sort of information they could use — && she decided to remain back, wrinkling her nose at the thought of bending down to check under a chair, and being ATTACKED by a poisonous spider. she had to admit though, he was pretty spot on with his assessment about the bar.

❝ you seem pretty set on this stakeout idea… ❞ smirking, Isabelle raised a brow. ❝ you do know it isn’t as glamorous as the films of police make it seem, right? et besides, we don’t know when this bug supplier will be coming… ❞ but if there was anyone who could find out, wasn’t it her ?? ❝ he wouldn’t fly in on a weekend… too many people, airport security will be ramped up… mondays are too slow, so they’re likely to be pretty attentive to people coming through, out of pure boredom … tuesdays and wednesdays are cheap days to fly, so anyone coming in with excessive baggage — probably good looking bags too, would look too out of place… late nights and early mornings are a no… leaves us with… Dr. Midgley, meet me at the office at four on thursday, ❞   was what the blonde finished with, before turning on a heel and making her way out of the bug infested house, leaving the doctor alone with any specimens he might want to collect — her way of saying thanks, for figuring all of that out for the pair of them.

❝ Dr. Midgley! ❞ Isabelle exclaimed, waving in the entomologist’s direction when he showed up at three fifty five thursday afternoon. ❝  I ‘ad woken up early, so I made food, ❞ she smiled, holding up two plastic bags that contained their food for the rest of the night. ❝ boudin noir aux pommes, and soup à l’oignon — you Anglais, you eat blood sausage too, don’t you? car is this way. ❞ clearing her throat, Isabelle began leading the other out towards the office parking lot, to a rather plain looking silver car that would surely fail to attract even the smallest bit of attention.

the truth was, she’d spent the last couple days thinking about her first encounter with the doctor, finally deciding it hadn’t all ( barring the bugs, of course ) been THAT bad. he was pleasant to talk to, for the most part, and she didn’t sense that same judgmental tone in his voice that the other agents had when speaking to her. —— and she supposed it wouldn’t be too much trouble, being nice. after all, they were set to spend hours with each other that evening, weren’t they?

❝ so, Midgley… ❞ she began, clearing her throat awkwardly as the pair drove up to a parking spot across the street from Royce’s. ❝ no matter how tempted I am to ask about les insectes… and why in the world you would ever choose to study them — actually, feel free to answer that too, if you feel like it — I just ‘ave to ask… why the FBI? pourquoi pas just… be a scientist on your own it would ‘ave been much easier, non? ❞

                    If he were being honest, Noel would have to admit that he hadn’t expected Agent Hogue to actually AGREE to his mad idea of a stakeout, and even if she did, he would never have dreamed in a million years that she would allow HIM to accompany her. Surely she would find another agent to join her, and send Noel himself back to the lab, where he belonged. So imagine his surprise when she began talking as though it were a done deal ( without him even needing to pull out his secret weapon, which was that if the supplier did turn up, he’d be able to identify the… product … and tell the FBI the best way to handle the smuggled insects ), Isabelle already considering which day their target was most likely to stop in at the bar, and trying to manage Noel’s expectations. Okay, so not ALL stakeouts were like the movies, he grudgingly admitted to himself, but still some of them must involve intrigue and high speed cars chases and all those other brilliant things that got Noel’s adrenaline pumping when he watched them on the big screen! And if films had that effect on him, how much more exciting would it be for the entomologist to experience the real thing? And so he nodded along with everything the agent said, too afraid of ruining his good luck by saying anything that might make Isabelle change her mind. He bit back the urge to protest when she insisted on providing lunch and dinner for the day of the stakeout ( her tone made it very clear THAT bit was non-negotiable ), and when Thursday afternoon came along, he was as ready as he could be, and chomping at the bit to get their adventure started. The entomologist was delighted when Agent Hogue turned up with food that ( he had to admit ) smelled incredible, and in return very proudly showed her all the supplies he’d packed: extra blankets for if the car got cold in the night, several bottles of water, and – this one he slipped in as casually as possible, in case Isabelle didn’t approve – a mixed CD he’d burned just for the occasion. His heart began to race as they pulled in across the street from the bar, their stakeout beginning in earnest, but his excitement was quickly tempered by Isabelle’s question. No need to ask how Isabelle planned to pass the time, then. Not that he was complaining. He was THRILLED for the chance to get to know the agent better. If he won her over, maybe she’d actually take him out of the lab and into the field with her more often!

❝ Because I need it to mean something … ❞ he managed, suddenly unable to meet her eyes, instead playing with a loose thread on the edge of his seat. ❝ I don’t know if anyone told you, or if you read it in my file, but I was all ready to go into the seminary. Dad was a minister, and I was sure I was going to follow in his footsteps. But I realized one day, while sitting in my secondary school biology class, what it would really mean. I couldn’t give up science. I couldn’t give up learning. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, and to this day, I have nights where I lay awake, disappointed in myself because I didn’t have the stomach for that life. I think of all the good I could have done, as a minister, and all the people who I failed to help by turning my back on the church. So … I guess I’m sort of paying my dues here at the FBI, trying to prove to myself that what I do is worthwhile, that I can still help people, just in a different way. ❞ A long silence followed this, before he turned to Isabelle with a question of his own. She was probably expecting the usual line of questioning – Is it true your father got you this job? Why bother working, when you’re so rich? and the like – but that wasn’t the question Noel had been dying to ask her. ❝ I heard you’re a graduate student, when you’re not staked out in front of shady bars. What are you studying? ❞

[studiedbugs-blog]

studiedbones.

                    this assignment was just getting worse and worse as the day went on, wasn’t it? FIRST, she’d come to find that not only did the partner she’d been assigned to blatantly ignore everything they’d learned in basic training — DO NOT go into a location until the all clear was given, do not even peek, or attempt to go near any windows or doors, lest you alert someone and they begin to panic ( they all knew what happened when criminals panicked, after all ) — but, he’d even told her that what he’d seen after hypothetically peeking into the house… were the remains of broken insect habitats. completely shattered. the blonde’s eyes went wide as he continued to speak, and if he looked very, very closely he could see Isabelle’s hands beginning to tremble and shake at her side. bad enough she’d had to stumble into this, but now… to have to go in there?

❝ if you keep all those répugnant bugs AWAY from me — ❞ the agent began, shivering for a moment when she swore she’d felt something crawling up the length of her arm. ❝ — I will peut être be willing to FORGET all about your hypothetical peeking in the front window, Dr. Midgley. ❞ another shiver, when the blonde was sure she’d felt something drop onto her head. ❝ I’m going to head inside to see whether or not I can find anything. ‘ave fun with your bugs, and I’ll be five minutes. ❞

but just that quickly, five minutes turned into ten, into twenty, thirty, sixty …  and still, she was no closer to finding out an answer to her question.

❝ cela ne fait pas de sens… ❞  Isabelle mumbled to herself, gaze scanning the a computer screen — the victim’s computer screen — over and over again, only raising for a quick moment when the entomologist finally entered the house after who knew how long. ❝ Dr. Midgley, will you come here? ❞ she called out, waving him over and motioning for him to pull up a seat beside her. ❝ I’m no expert, but — even if you ‘ad, say, three … five pet lizards in a home… would you really need this many bugs? and they don’t really seem like your normal crickets and worms… I don’t even know what these are! but our victim… the man he was supposed to meet last night — look…  ❞ rolling her chair off to the side for a moment, the blonde nodded towards a spreadsheet on the victim’s computer. ❝  he ‘as been ordering HUNDREDS of these types of bugs from him… for months now. ‘ave you any idea why? ❞

                    Noel scanned the page, and as he did, his eyes grew wider and wider, his horrified expression more and more pronounced. German yellow jackets. Black widow spiders. Puss caterpillars. Fire ants. Bullet ants. The list went on and on. ❝ … This spreadsheet … it’s like he was making up a list of all the most dangerous insects in the world. Our pal Jack had all of these little guys? In this house? He was collecting them for this mystery man? ❞ Noel ran a hand nervously through his shaggy blonde hair – he really did have to get a cut soon – and frowned at the screen. There was no name or contact information beside the order. Only the list of insects, a date, and a meeting time. Their victim had been extremely – frustratingly – careful not to incriminate his customer – and his potential (probable? ) murderer. ❝ I did see a few of these bugs out in the shed, ❞ he admitted reluctantly, not wanting to panic the FBI agent further. ❝ Jack, Jack, Jack. What did you get yourself into? ❞ He sighed. ❝ You’re right. These aren’t the sort of bugs you’d feed to a lizard, or any other pet. Not unless you were trying to KILL it. ❞ 

With that he left the agent to continue poring over the spreadsheet ( though even as a bug expert, Noel wasn’t sure what more she could possibly glean from it ), and set to work gathering the little piles of dirt into sample containers, to be brought back to the lab and analyzed. He would have bet good money that the frass in the soil would match any number of the insect species listed on Isabelle’s spreadsheet. But where were they NOW? He hadn’t spotted a single one crawling around the house, and he thought it was safe to assume Isabelle hadn’t either ( based on her reaction to the shed earlier, he had a feeling she would have let him know if she’d come across one of the missing bugs ). That meant someone had taken the trouble to remove all the bugs BEFORE shattering their habitats. This case just got stranger and stranger. He found it while foraging under the couch for the last remaining bits of glass and dirt: a seemingly innocuous, ripped corner of cardboard. The top sheet of a matchbook, he realized on second glance. While thinking that it had been a long time since he’d even seen a matchbook, Noel realized that he recognized what little remained of the logo on the glossy front. ❝ Royce’s! ❞ he murmured to himself. ❝ That’s all the way across town! Why would he bother? I can think of at ten bars – better bars – between there and here. ❞ And then his eyes grew wide. ❝ But it’s right by the airport! ❞ He exclaimed excitedly. ❝ If I was going to smuggle illegal insects into the country ❞ –  He paused, remembering he was talking to an FBI agent – ❝ Not that I would EVER do such a thing … Crime … and … prison … and all that … ❞ He stammered on. ❝ But that would be the place, wouldn’t it? People are in and out all the time, recovering from exhausting flights with a pint or two, or waiting to meet their mate who’s just flown in. Lots of people drinking alone, nobody talking to one another. He’d blend right in, waiting for his deliveries. No one would look at him twice. ❞ Oh, this was EXCITING! So this was what it felt like, to be out in the field! Normally he was confined to the lab, sent away from the crime scene as soon as he’d gathered enough material to run his tests. But the truth was, he’d always had a taste for adventure. More than a taste. He fancied himself an action hero in a lab coat and safety glasses. ❝ We should go there and ask around! ’ he exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. ❝ No! We’ve got to do a STAKEOUT! I’ll bet his supplier doesn’t know he’s dead, and still shows up to deliver his order! ’ He furrowed his brow. ‘ … Unless he’s the murderer … ❞

[studiedbugs-blog]

studiedbones.

                     she did in fact notice, having taken classes — just a few, in undergraduate school — in psychology once before, the way Dr. Midgley seemed to falter for a second at her accusation, and Isabelle’s brows rose just slightly in response. so he took pride in his work dealing with — ugh, INSECTS — and her words had offended him, it seemed? ❝ you can get the time of his death down to a three hour window… by looking at bugs? ❞ she inquired, mildly impressed ( not at his suggestion of a heavy metal band name ) though she’d turned away to avoid letting him see it.  ❝ fire ant bites? vraiment? but how? ❞ she inquired, wrinkling her nose at the very thought of it. ❝ do you think maybe he’s gone away on vacation recently? I remember there were fire ants when I went to Taiwan during l’université, but —— oh, il ne me dérange pas, go ahead, take your samples. ❞ a wry smile and a shake of the head was all the entomologist received in response to his calling the victim JACK. it was hard, Isabelle had to admit, to NOT be affected by the doctor’s constantly playful behaviour. but he would no doubt be questioned about her work when their case was complete, and the blonde was DETERMINED to be regarded with the absolute height of professionalism. she had to be, considering what many at the office thought of her already.

❝ I’ll go in through the back? ❞ she offered, when they arrived at the victim’s home, and Midgley strolled up behind her. then, with her hand resting casually on the handle of her gun, the agent crept her way through the side gate and around the back — didn’t matter that Mr. Wallace was dead ; CAUTION wasn’t a thing she could afford to throw to the wind. ❝ ALL CLEAR back here, Dr. Midgley! ❞ Isabelle called out, peering in through the sliding glass door. nothing out of the ordinary yet, so she let her gaze wander ; through the kitchen, peering into the dining room, then back outside, until it landed on a locked shed in the backyard.  ——— on a locked shed that, when forced opened with a kick, revealed a highly insulated, temperature controlled, dimly lit room full of EVERY kind of insect Isabelle could possibly imagine.

❝ EEEEK oh my god! ohh merde! Dr. Midgley, o — over here! ici! ❞ 

instinctively grabbing tight to Midgley’s arm when he came running, the blonde was quick to shove the ( rather panicked ) entomologist in front of her, unashamedly using his body as a SHIELD from the various — various being an understatement, because they were everywhere, on every bit of surface she could see, even attached to the walls, all the way up to the ceiling — terrariums and glass habitats that housed what must have been HUNDREDS of different types of insects. ❝ what is this, some sort of... insect hotel?! ❞   she exclaimed, turning to face away from the bugs in order to catch her breath and calm down. ❝ Wallace’s Bug Emporium and Hatchery… ❞ she murmured, tentatively reaching out to pick up a business card left on a nearby table. ❝ so he… he BRED bugs? ——— Midgley, look at this… he was supposed to meet with a client last night, this says … ❞

                    Noel had been trained well enough to know not to go inside the house until after the agent in charge ( Isabelle, in this case ) had looked around and given the all clear. Still, his professionalism ( and he WAS a professional – at least, he could be professional, if that was what the blonde FBI agent wanted … ) warred with his natural curiosity ( you had to be curious to become a scientist, after all! ) and he found he couldn’t help sidling up to the house and peeking into the front window. Through the window, he saw what looked like some sort of sitting room, only it was in complete disarray – lamps and shelves knocked over, area rug askew. But the strangest bit was the large broken pieces of glass and the little mounds of what looked like dirt or sand scattered about on the floor. To anyone else, the connection might have been a complete mystery, but Noel had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what the broken glass had once been … This line of thought was broken by an ear-splitting SCREAM, and just that quickly all of Noel’s training about safety in the field and chain of command flew out of his head completely, and he broke into a run, thinking the agent must be in life-threatening danger to be screaming like that. He leaped over the fence and raced around the corner of the house to the backyard – only to find the blonde FBI agent standing in front of what looked like a tool shed, only instead of tools or yard work implements, it was full to bursting with terrariums and glass habitats, all housing countless different and rare species of insects. He jumped when Isabelle grabbed his arm, and then the entomologist stared at the display, equal parts fascinated and horrified. ❝ Some of these insects aren’t even legally allowed in the country … ❞ he murmured. And then, knowing that Agent Hogue would find out for herself when she went inside to check the house, he turned to her with a guilty expression on his face. ❝ It gets worse, Agent. Um … Hypothetically … if I peeked inside the front window before getting the all clear … how much trouble would I be in? ❞ Before she could answer, he powered on. ❝ Just a rhetorical question, of course, but … say I did that … and saw what looked a lot like the remains of broken insect habitats -- shards of heavy glass and sand -- all over the floor … that would be good, right? Hypothetically? Because now you know what to expect, just in case you see anything … crawling around … ❞ 

Even as he spoke the words, he started to doubt that Agent Hogue would be quite as appreciative of his discovery as he’d hoped, and he unconsciously took a step back from her. And then Noel did what he always did when he got this nervous … he kept talking. ❝ My guess is that they’re long gone, though. Maybe even emptied out of the habitats before they were smashed. Obviously I couldn’t tell what kind of insects just by looking through the window -- I mean … if I HAD looked through the window … hypothetically -- but if I could get some samples of the sand, I could probably find some frass samples -- poop -- and work backward to identify what used to be there … hypothetically. ❞ He gave Isabelle his most winning smile, which quickly faded as he turned back to the shed and the hundreds of insect specimens contained within. ❝ This is the bit where you tell me to shut up and start cataloguing all of these, isn’t it? ❞

[studiedbugs-blog]

studiedbones.

                   it wasn’t that she’d thought it was a mistake to join the FBI. no, on the contrary, Isabelle Hogue wanted nothing more than to do such a thing! ( && to have been presented with an opportunity like this, was more than she could ask for ) to be able to work part time at the office, then have the FBI themselves fund her doctoral schooling — many students would have killed for such an opportunity! but perhaps… perhaps she should have gone about it a different way. Isabelle wasn’t oblivious to the whispers that’d gone through the office since she’d joined ; things about playing favourites, about she’s just a child. not exactly the impression the blonde had wanted to make. had hoped, as everyone did, to make a friend of some sort. what she was stuck with instead, was…

an entomologist, of all things. and one sent to babysit her, no doubt. to watch over her, and make sure she was doing her job properly. ( an INFANT could have done this job ) even better than that, there was no doubt he’d heard the rumours flying around the FBI — because here he was, making fun of her, of all things! tried to pass it off as her simply being FRENCH, but she knew better.

❝ oh, how nice of you, Midgley, ❞  Isabelle retorted coolly, straightening her posture and reaching out to shake the other’s hand with about as much warmth as a block of ice. ❝ remind me to THANK your superiors for the babysitter. and an Anglais, too… my favourite. ❞

raising her chin as she turned away from him, the blonde continued her analysis of the body, speaking out loud only out of the desire to stay polite.  ❝ he doesn’t look like the type to carry a lot of cash or valuables around with him… ❞ she murmured, features scrunching up in thought.  ❝ mais take a good look at his arms… red marks, all over them. they don’t look like injection sites — mosquito bites, maybe? does the file say where he lives? we should check out his place. ❞

                    Noel couldn’t keep the stricken expression from his features. Sure, he was USED to getting rebuffed by beautiful women. He wasn’t exactly about to win any Most Beautiful People awards. But his WORK – well, it was one of the few areas of his life in which he was actually confident, and to get such a cold reception from this new agent – an agent who was meant to be his partner for the foreseeable future, at least until this case was solved – well, it was a sizeable blow to his already quite fragile ego. Still, he plastered a smile upon his lips, hoping the blonde hadn’t noticed when he’d slipped for that briefest of moments. ❝ Anglais! ❞ He pretended to clutch his chest, as though her words had mortally wounded him, and forced a laugh. ❝ I’ve been called much worse, in much less beautiful accents. Shall we? ❞ ❝ I’m actually not here to babysit you. Just in case you were wondering, ❞ he explained as he and the agent turned their attention back to the body. ❝ Part of my job is working out time of death based on insect activity, for cases when it’s not entirely clear. The responding officer asked around, and there aren’t any hidden cameras in the area, but he was able to estimate that our pal here was shot sometime between nine pm last night and five am this morning. I can get that down to a three hour window. A death window. Which I also happen to think would be a really cool name for a heavy metal band. And their logo could be a window with blood-stained broken glass and – ❞ He cleared his throat. ❝ It makes it a lot easier to sift through alibis, when you have a narrower time frame. ❞ 

He raised a brow when Agent Hogue pointed out the blistering red marks on the victim’s arm. He was mildly impressed that she’d noticed them, considering the blood stained knife which still stuck out of the man’s chest was pretty distracting. ❝ You’re right. They’re not injection sites, but they’re not mosquito bites either, ❞ he mused, turning the now-cold arm over for a better look. ❝ I think they might be FIRE ANT bites! But where the hell would he have had a chance to get bitten by fire ants in the city? ❞ He grabbed his kit and began taking swabs from several of the bites. ❝ These wouldn’t have killed him, ❞ he admitted, looking slightly sheepish, knowing full well that most agents would have been annoyed at him for letting the seemingly unimportant insect bites distract him from his work for the case, what he was being paid for. ❝ Professional curiosity. I’ll only be a minute. ❞ He stowed the samples in his car and then returned to Agent Hogue. ❝ Right, so are we going to pay Mr. … ❞ he checked the file, which he had tucked under one arm, ❝ … Mr. Wallace … a posthumous visit? ❞ He looked at the file again. ❝ It says here his name was John, ❞ he added, following the agent back to where their cars were parked, the playful smile already returning to his lips. ❝ Do you think he’d mind if I called him JACK for short? ❞

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@studiedbones                     He’d been hearing the whispers all month. A new part-time agent by the name of Isabelle Hogue had come to work in their office. Some sort of training program, maybe? Mostly what Noel had heard was bitter muttering about babysitting, and the word nepotism being bandied about in much the same way he imagined the word witchcraft was spoken in Salem in the late 1600s. So needless to say, by the time he was assigned to work with her on her second case, Noel had to admit that he was more than a little curious. Scientific minds, you know. You can’t turn them off. So he approached the body – on its surface, at least, the stabbing victim of a mugging gone wrong – an open-and-shut case, and it had been assigned to the new agent for that very reason, no doubt – with more than his usual level of interest. There was only one person at the scene – save the victim himself – whom Noel didn’t recognize, a petite blonde whose back was to him when he arrived, the agent standing over the body with her hands on her hips. That had to be the mysterious Agent Hogue, and he hurried to introduce himself.

❝ I just want you to know, I think it’s truly impressive how you’ve managed to beat the odds and overcome the prejudices you were bound to face in this job, ❞ Noel began after he’d explained who he was, offering her his hand. It was at this point that his serious, business-like expression faded, and a wide grin spread across his features. ❝ Being FRENCH. ❞ He shook his head, as if lamenting her unfortunate lot in life, his Mancunian accent strong as he continued, ❝ That’s such a gargantuan hurdle to overcome! You are, truly, an inspiration. ❞  He’d probably overstepped, but he’d wanted to lighten the mood and make the new agent comfortable — not to mention, social appropriateness had never exactly been Dr. Noel Midgley’s strong suit …

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Hi friends! Excited to be back in the Tumblr world again, and thank you all so much for following my new bb! I’m going through everyone now, but there’s a chance I’ll have forgotten who everyone is ( and by chance, I mean it’s almost 100% guaranteed ) so please shoot me an ask and remind me if you’ve changed your URL or muse or whatever, or have multiple blogs!

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tag drop! : )