CHATTERBOX
By
Ashleigh Anpilova
Ducky recalls an old autopsy, which helps with a current case.
However, but his timing could have been a little better.
An established relationship story.
Written: August 2006. Word count: 1,824.
"Oh!"
"Duck?" Jethro stilled his hand and looked down at his lover in concern. He didn't think he'd gripped Ducky too tightly, but maybe he had. "You okay? Have I hurt you? Am I holding you too tightly?"
Ducky shook his head and smiled reassuringly. "Oh, no, dearest. Your touch, as always, is perfect." He tipped his head back slightly and invited Jethro to kiss him.
It was the kind of invitation Jethro never needed to be offered twice. "Good," he said, when the kiss ended. "So what's up then? If I didn't hurt you, why did you exclaim?"
"Ah. Oh, it isn't important, my dear. Not at all. I can tell you later, for now why do you not return to what you were doing; so very well, I might add." He raised his hips slightly, pushing himself more firmly into Jethro's hand. As he did, he looked up at Jethro, smiling with both his eyes and lips.
But Jethro sighed. He knew his Ducky too well. There had been more than passion and bliss in the near ebony gaze. "Come on, Duck," he said. "Tell me now."
"Well, dear, if you insist." Ducky's eyes twinkled. "I believe that I know exactly with what Petty Officer Abbot was struck." He sounded extremely pleased with himself.
For a moment Jethro didn't know whether to be insulted, irritated or amused. However, he and Ducky had been making love for three decades, more than long enough for there really to be only one response.
However, a little gentle teasing never did any harm. "Thanks, Duck," he said, trying to keep the humor from his voice. "You know a lot of people might be a bit pissed if their lover's mind wandered during the lovemaking. Doesn't say much for my technique." He gave up all attempts at hiding his laughter.
"Oh, I could say a great deal about your technique, dearest." Ducky's voice was sultry. "And I assure you, all of it would be good." Jethro kissed him again. He wasn't great at verbally accepting compliments, not even from Ducky; he tended to prefer other ways.
"And at least," Ducky said, when they again remembered to breathe. "I didn't call out the name of another lover." The merriment in the soft eyes became clearer, and Ducky's lips twitched in mirth.
"It was one time, Duck. One. One. That's all. You're never going to let me forget it, are you?"
"No, dear," Ducky said solemnly. He touched Jethro's scalp, the contact was a gentle caress. "I remember how you obtained each and every one of your scars. Although, I must confess, as much as it pains me to admit it, that this one was probably deserved."
"She was furious."
"I'm not surprised, Jethro. I believe I would have been too."
"Took me a long time to learn, didn't it, Duck?"
"Learn what, my dear?"
"When I was well off." Jethro lowered his head and again kissed Ducky. Under the hand that still held his lover, he felt movement. He was tempted to forget to remind Ducky of their conversation, and return to making love to him instead. But he knew his Ducky. His Ducky would not need reminding. And if his Ducky didn't share his news, his mind would be divided during their lovemaking, and Jethro didn't want that; he wanted Ducky's full attention focused on him and what they were doing.
So, settling back down on the bed next to Ducky, Jethro sighed extravagantly and said, "Come on then, Duck, tell me this theory of yours. Then we can get back to what we were doing. Unless you'd rather . . ." He began to stroke Ducky again, moving his hand slowly in the way Ducky liked.
Ducky moaned and again moved his hips. "I am able to do more than one thing at a time, Jethro my dear. If you wish to go on caressing me whilst I explain, I am more than amenable to the idea. In fact I find it rather an exciting prospect. Although maybe," he said, after another moment, as Jethro's touch became more intimate and sure, "you should touch me elsewhere. I find that I am unable to . . . Oooh, Jethro."
Slowing his touch down even more, Jethro gently let his hand move away from Ducky's clear arousal. Pausing to let his fingertips feather up and down the length one final time, he turned his attentions instead to Ducky's body, making the touches more soothing and less passionate. The kind of touch they indulged in each day. "Go on then, tell me."
"I believe that Petty Office Abbot was struck with a spade."
"A spade?"
"Yes, dear." Ducky nodded.
"What makes you think that?" Jethro continued his journey around Ducky's chest and neck.
"It was the shape of the wound. I felt certain that I'd seen something like it before, but I couldn't remember where. Now I do. It was nearly forty years ago. I had just qualified as a Doctor, and my Professor invited two of his other favorite students and myself, to attend an autopsy he was performing. Oh, it was cold, Jethro. I can still remember now. The room had skylight and there were icicles on the inside. Professor Cameron, that was his name, he used to wear long woolen underwear and -"
"Duck," Jethro growled. Then proceeded to shut Ducky up in a much more satisfying way.
"The spade," he said, after a suitable interval has gone by. He told himself that the next time Ducky wandered from the topic, that he would return to what he'd been doing, before he'd been so rudely interrupted.
"I am sorry, dearest. Well, the autopsy was to be carried out on a young woman. She was only in her mid-twenties, barely older than we were. It was such a shame, as she was - Ah, yes, I am wandering again. The back of her head had been smashed in, rather like our young Marine's. Professor Cameron invited us to speculate as to what might have caused the injury."
"He already knew?"
"Oh, yes. The person responsible had confessed to the murder. In fact he'd taken the murder weapon along to the Police Station. The weapon in question was a spade. A perfectly ordinary spade, the kind you could buy at any hardware store. Such an ordinary weapon, so inoffensive. It's strange, isn't it? We spend all this money and time and effort on preventing people from buying guns and knives and other such weapons, in the hope of preventing murders, and yet, people have no need to obtain such things. They merely need to go into their gardens or into their kitchens. It was quite tragic, really. The poor man. He was, I understand, quite distraught."
"Husband?"
"Yes. I'm afraid so."
"Caught her cheating?"
"Oh, no. Nothing like that. That is what makes it all the more tragic really. You see her only fault was that she talked a great deal. A chatterbox is the term we used to use, albeit in a fond way. Although the word has less 'fond' connotations as well. In fact I - " Once again Ducky came to an abrupt halt. "Now where was I? Oh, yes. The ill-fated lady had an unfortunate habit of excessive talking, and one day her poor husband was driven beyond his capacity to cope any longer. So he went into the garden, grabbed the spade and smashed the back of her head in."
Fascinated now, in spite of himself, Jethro asked, "What pushed him over the edge?"
"I believe that the lady began talking about something completely unrelated to their relationship, whilst she and her husband were making love."
Jethro stared into the ebony and sapphire eyes, looking to see if Ducky was teasing him. However, all he saw, apart from the deep love and affection they constantly showed for him, was the kind of sorrow Ducky always felt for any victim of a meaningless crime.
He tried, he tried very hard, very hard indeed, not to laugh. But he failed. "Oh, Duck," he said, between his laughter. "I do love you." He brushed his lips over his lover's, before resting his head on Ducky's chest, and continuing to laugh.
Ducky's hands moved to the back of his head and began to lightly caress his scalp. "I love you too, my dearest Jethro. But pray, what is so amusing?"
"Nothing, Duck. Nothing. Ahhh," Jethro added, as Ducky's blunt fingertips moved to caress the nape of his neck. He felt his own arousal, which had reduced a little during the lessening of their intimacy, press into the bed.
He raised his head and again looked down into Ducky's eyes. Gritting his teeth, he said, "So you think that's what happened to our Petty Officer? Our killer bashed his head in with a spade?"
"Yes, dear. I do. I believe that somewhere, mostly likely in the vicinity of where the body was found, unless of course the murderer had somehow already disposed of it, a spade covered with blood and skin will be found. Do you think we should . . . ?"
"No, Duck. I don't." Jethro's tone was firm. They already had the man responsible for the murder; he'd been caught leaving the woods where Petty Officer Abbot's body had been found. The local highway patrol had pulled him over for some minor traffic violation, seen blood spatters on his clothes, and had taken him into custody. And he had confessed, waved all of his rights, and had been almost as loquacious as Ducky could be. Finding the murder weapon, while useful, wasn't essential. "But I know who should. Hang on a moment."
He reached across Ducky, still ensuring that he maintained contact, snagged his cell phone and pressed a number. "DiNozzo."
"Oh, Jethro," he heard Ducky murmur, as the same fingers that had caressed his neck now began to move over his body.
"Get McGee and David and go back to the woods were Petty Office Abbott was found. And don't come home until you've found the murder weapon. . . You're looking for a spade. . . Yes, DiNozzo, a spade. You know, you dig with it. Edgeways bashed his head in with it. . . Was there anything in my tone that made it a suggestion, DiNozzo? . . . No, I don't need you to call me when you find it. Just bring it to the office." He clicked the phone off and tossed it back onto the nightstand.
"Now," he said, lowering his head to once again kiss Ducky. "Where was I? Ah, yes, I seem to recall I was doing this." He let his hand travel down the front of Ducky's body, until it once again made contact with his lover's arousal.
"Oh, Jethro," Ducky sighed.
They were the last coherent words Jethro heard Ducky make for quite some time.
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