TAKING FLIGHT
By
Ashleigh Anpilova
Ducky tells the team a story.
A Team gen story.
Written: April 2009. Word count: 1,000.
"It's all right for you, Tony; you were doing it. You never thought about the others, did you?"
Tony shrugged. "They didn't mind."
"And you know that because?" McGee snarled the question.
"Cool it, McBaby. Don't get your panties in a twist. I'm only -"
"That's another thing. I'm tired of the names. How do you like them, DiJe -"
"Boys! What is going on?" Ducky's raised voice briefly silenced them. Then they began to speak over one another.
"It's DiNozzo. He's - Ouch. Ducky?"
"McGeek's just being a - Oww. Has Gibbs been giving you lessons, Ducky?"
They both rubbed their heads and stared down at the man who was some eight inches shorter than them.
"I know you are both worried about, Jethro. We are all worried about him. However, I assure you he is perfectly safe."
"And you know that how, Ducky? Because of some telepathic . . ." Under the steely gaze, Tony trailed off. "Sorry."
Ducky sighed. "Come along."
"Er, where to, Ducky?"
"The cafeteria for a nice, soothing cup of tea."
"But I don't - A cup of tea would be great, Ducky."
Tony and McGee followed Ducky to the cafeteria where they found Palmer sitting between Abby and Ziva. He seemed very relieved when Ducky appeared.
"Hah. You two as well, eh?" Tony said.
"I don't know what you mean, Tony," Abby said. "Do you, Ziva?"
For a moment Ziva looked at her. Then a faint smile touched her lips. "Indeed, I do not, Abby."
"Good." Ducky said. "Now, Timothy, perhaps you would go and collect the tea. I did order it for six. Yes, Anthony?" he asked, turning to look at Tony, who'd merely opened his mouth, something Ducky couldn't have seen.
"Nothing, Ducky," he said quickly.
Ducky beamed at him. "Good boy." He sat down.
"Now," he said, once McGee had returned with the tea. "I am going to tell you a story. And I assure you it is one you will not have heard before. It ties in with the subject Timothy and Anthony were - shall we say - 'discussing'."
Tony glanced at McGee, who looked as surprised as he was. Ducky had only arrived at the end of their 'discussion'; how could he know?
"I love stories," Abby said, beaming.
"What about the phones?" Tony said, standing up and preparing to flee the cafeteria.
"Anthony, sit," Ducky commanded. Tony obeyed. "That matter is under control. Now, this story goes back to my days at Edinburgh University. It's about a young man called Patrick who worked in the morgue. He wasn't a doctor or medical student. He did very simple manual jobs; he cleaned up, hosed down, ran errands, etc. He wasn't very bright, he could read and write at a very basic level, but that's all. And he worked slowly, methodical, but slowly. Yet he was not stupid." Ducky sipped his tea.
"Nice story, Ducky. I'll . . ." Tony trailed off as Ducky stared at him. "Shut up," he added brightly.
"Anthony, you, all of you, are going to sit here until I have finished the story. It will go much quicker if you do not keep interrupting."
"Right, Ducky."
"Good. Most people treated Patrick well. They'd speak to him, pass the time of day, ask after his mother, that kind of thing. Many brought him cigarette cards, of which he was an avid collector. However, there were a few students, of my year, I am somewhat saddened to confess, who took pleasure in finding ways to humiliate him or make his life difficult. They would 'accidentally' knock over the bucket of dirty water, once he had mopped the floor, hide his things, tell him someone wanted him, when they didn't, ask him questions they knew he wouldn't even understand, let alone be able to answer."
"But that's cruel, Ducky," Abby said.
Ducky looked at her. "Yes, Abigail, it was. Very cruel. It upset him greatly. Most of us, at one time or another, spoke to our fellow students; tried to make them see it was wrong. However, they just laughed and said it's kind of teasing anyone expects."
"What did you do, Ducky?"
"What makes you think I did anything, Timothy?"
"Because you're not the kind of man to just stand by and watch," Palmer said, before McGee could answer.
Ducky smiled slightly. "Things came to a head one day when Patrick returned from lunch with a small pot-plant he had bought for his Mother's birthday. When he went to collect it at the end of the day, all the flowers had been pulled off."
"Bastards!" Tony said fiercely. "What did you do to them, Ducky?"
"It was remarkably simple, actually. The morgue was purported to be haunted. It was believed that dead corpses 'awoke' at night when in the presence of those who caused innocent people harm. No one really believed it, although no one wanted to be down there at night. Several friends and I decided to make the 'rumor' reality. Earlier in the day I persuaded my professor, who was fond of Patrick, that an evening post-mortem session would be productive. My friends concealed themselves beneath sheets and unsuspecting, Patrick's tormentors arrived. I suddenly remembered I'd forgotten a very important book and let them go into the morgue."
"And?" Abby was sitting on the edge of her seat.
"I stood in the shadows and watched as one by one they fled past me, tripping over their feet and making noises they probably hadn't made since they were very young. Patrick was never teased again. Now, I think it is time we all returned to work, do you not? Before Jethro returns and wonders where you all are."
"Wondered that five minutes ago, Duck."
"Boss."
"Gibbs."
"Agent Gibbs."
"Gibbs, you're safe!"
"Um, boss, it's -"
Only Ducky seemed unsurprised by Gibbs's appearance.
"Desks, now."
As one the five younger member of the team hurried off.
"That one true, Duck?"
"What do you think, Jethro?" Ducky asked, smiling up at his old friend, before turning and calmly walking away.
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