Author's Notes: "Fool Me Once" is a longer story based on a drabble titled "Improbabilities" (Chapter 17 in "Snapshots"). The title is based on the phrase "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." I hope you enjoy!

Medical Examiner Dr. Max Bergman avoided traveling out into the field whenever possible. He preferred the confines of his lab, where he was rarely required to interface with living people. Dead bodies were his specialty. They were predictable. Their wounds and injuries could be categorized. Their blood could be tested. Their organs could be examined. More importantly, they didn't talk and they didn't expect him to interact. Social contracts and etiquette were complicated challenges. Losing himself in the organized music of his piano while he reasoned through a problem was not.

Today he made an exception. With a small black bag in tow, he journeyed to a beachside home. Several police cars were parked out front and the scene was already cordoned off. With a nod from the officer at the door, he entered without having to introduce himself. Max didn't know any of the officers but all the officers knew Max. The eccentric M.E.'s reputation preceded him.

From the front door, Max rushed in short steps to the location of the victim. It was a comforting scene in the midst of chaos. Lying chest down on the carpet with his face turned to the side was a male in his mid- to late thirties. Blood had pooled in great quantities below him. Max glanced up, looking for permission to turn the victim. The crime scene investigator gave him the go ahead. Between the two of them, they managed to roll the victim onto his back. The forensic photographer was standing by. The flash caught Max off guard.

"Please," he snapped indignantly. "I'm working."

The tech, not used to being spoken to so harshly for just doing his job, took two more pictures then moved away without responding.

Cause of death was evident. There were two holes in the man's chest, tightly grouped. The entire front of his shirt was soaked red. From the location, death had been nearly instantaneous. No other defensive wounds were present. In a whirlwind of medical speak, Max announced his preliminary findings and ordered the body be transported to the lab. EMTs were there immediately. The victim was transferred to a body bag and loaded into an ambulance.

Max stayed long enough to watch the double doors of the vehicle close before checking in one last time with the officer in charge. It was a procedure he didn't understand but nonetheless followed. When he returned to his car, he noticed the crowd of bystanders had grown to include several reporters and a handful of cameramen. Even in his worst nightmares, Max couldn't think of anything more horrifying than an interview. He fled as quickly as he could without being noticed.

Thirty minutes later, he was back in the comfortable surroundings of his lab. The sealed bag had been delivered and its contents sat motionless on the stainless steel autopsy table. The name on the label read in bold: MCGARRETT, STEVE.

Max unzipped the bag and spread the sides. Then he reached nervously for the phone.