Ashleigh Anpilova


Gibbs gets home from work to find a letter from Ducky.

A first time story.

Written: December 2010. Word count: 2,352.



Juggling a pile of parcels, Gibbs pushed his front door shut and sighed. It was six days before Christmas and he'd finally gotten around to doing his Christmas shopping.


He'd vowed this year he would do it in good time, but of course he hadnít. Not that he had that many people to buy presents for, in fact he only had three: Ducky, Fornell and his dad, but it had still taken him a couple of hours, and more than once he'd found himself wondering what Vance would say if he shot a couple of his fellow shoppers.


Dumping the presents on the table in the living room he went back to the hall to pick up his post. One envelope caught his eye. "Ducky?" he murmured, turning the envelope over and frowning. It couldn't be a Christmas card (that had come three weeks earlier) so why was Ducky sending him something by post? He suddenly had an unpleasant thought; maybe Ducky had forgotten he'd already sent cards out. Maybe he was going to end up like his mother.


He shook his head; of course that wasn't it. Ducky was fine. He tossed the other two envelopes down onto the table next to the presents, grabbed a beer from the icebox and opened the envelope. It was a letter.


He took a long swallow of beer, pulled his glasses out and began to read.


My dear Jethro,


I am not a man given to making New Year's Resolutions; it has always seemed to me that if one truly wishes to do something or to give up something, one will do so. However, I did make one resolution this year, and now that Christmas is almost upon us, I realize that I have not kept it.


Gibbs frowned and took another swallow of beer. Why was Ducky writing to tell him about a New Year's Resolution he'd made and not kept? Again the insidious thought crept into his mind; again his pushed it away and returned to the letter.


You are probably wondering why I am writing to you about a New Year's Resolution I made and failed to keep.


"You think, Duck," Gibbs said to the empty room. God, were they so in tune that they knew what the other was thinking even when not together? He looked back at the letter again.


The reason for that is very simple; you see the resolution concerns you.


Now Gibbs sat down on the settee. What could Ducky have resolved to do that could concern him? Get him to give up drinking so much coffee, maybe? Get him to give up smacking DiNozzo around the head? No, Ducky would know neither of those things would be viable. Probably something far more obscure, something he wasn't even aware he did.


He drained the bottle of beer and debated getting another one before he found out what it was. However, he decided not to bother; the sooner he found out what it was, the sooner he could forget about it and get something to eat. Once more he returned to the letter.


Well, in truth it concerns my feelings for you. You see, my dear Jethro, I love you and not merely as a dear friend. To put it bluntly I am in love with you, I - Well, maybe I should not elaborate. After all my resolution was only to tell you what I have just told you. And now I have done so.


And now I find that as I have told you of my true feelings for you, I really do not know what else to say. I could comment on the weather and how dreadful the snow has been, I could ask after your father, I could - I could do any number of things. But there is no point. My sole aim for writing to you was to tell you I love you.






Gibbs hastily reread the letter without his interruptions, just to be certain. But the words hadn't changed; Ducky had made a New Year's Resolution to tell him he loved him and had somewhat late in the year kept it.


He flopped against the back of the settee, pulled his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. Where did this letter leave him? Did he just burn it and ignore it? Could he? Could he walk into Autopsy and ask Ducky what he had for him and not treat him any differently? Could he look at Ducky in the same way any longer? Could he carry out a normal conversation with him? Could he stand close to him? Hug him? Touch him? Could he behave as if he'd never read the letter? And did he want to?


Or did he confront Ducky, tell him . . . Tell him what? That he was angry? Pissed off? Disgusted? That their friendship was over? Well he wasn't any of those things and of course their friendship wasn't over. He'd always known Ducky was gay and it'd never troubled him, never stopped him from touching Ducky, hugging him, so why would that change just because he knew Ducky was now in love with him?


He was supposed to be joining Ducky for Christmas Day - could he do that now? "Couldn't you have told me earlier, Duck? Or waited a bit longer?" Maybe he could just ignore the letter for now. After all with the amount of extra post that would be about, it could easily have gotten delayed or lost. Yeah, that's what he'd do; he'd just - Except he knew he couldn't.


He sighed and glanced at his watch. It was ten p.m. far too late to go and visit Ducky, he could call him, but he knew that wouldn't work. He could write to him! Oh, yeah, like he'd do that. He looked at his watch again. It was Friday and it was the team's weekend off, so it was unlikely Ducky would be in bed.


Decision made, he grabbed his coat and headed for the front door. It took him five minutes to clear the snow from his windscreen, before he pulled out of his drive and headed for Reston.



"Jethro? Is something wrong?" Ducky's voice was laced with concern.


Gibbs quickly shook his head. "Nah, Duck. I just - Can I come in?"


"Yes, of course. Do. Would you like a drink? A hot toddy maybe?" Ducky moved back to let Gibbs into his house.


Stamping the snow from his boots off Gibbs slipped into the cozily warm house. "Sure, Duck, that'd be great." What was he doing here? What did he say? How did he begin the conversation? Maybe he'd just have a drink and go, tell Ducky he'd been Christmas shopping and - And what? He'd think of something.


Realizing his boots were still somewhat snow-laden he bent down, untied them, and pulled them off. He left them on the door mat, threw his coat and scarf over the banister and headed towards Ducky's sitting room.


A fire was burning; the Christmas tree stood in one corner, shimmering with lights, baubles and tinsel, beneath it was an array of presents; several very tasteful garlands were draped over pictures and one was pinned around the fireplace; Gibbs remembered there had been a wreath on the front door. And then he spied the mistletoe hanging in the doorway. He stared at it for a moment as his mind replayed the contents of Ducky's letter to him.


"Here we are - Oh," Ducky said, coming to an abrupt halt; he seemed surprised to find Gibbs standing just inside the room. "You may go in, Jethro," he said, handing over a glass and smiling up at Gibbs. "Your good health, my dear." He smiled a little more and held his glass towards Gibbs.


Gibbs touched his own glass to Ducky's, "Cheers, Duck," he said, taking a sip of the very welcome hot toddy.


"Well, do go and sit down, I assure you the Christmas tree will not attack you," Ducky chuckled softly as he moved a little way past Gibbs.


Gibbs caught his arm. "Duck?"


Ducky turned. "My dear?"


"Give me that." Gibbs took Ducky's glass from his hand, glanced around and put it and his own on the sideboard.


"Jethro?" Ducky frowned a little, as he looked up at him. "Is something -"


"Come here." Now Gibbs guided Ducky back towards the doorway. Ducky obligingly moved, but Gibbs could see he was more than a little puzzled.


"Duck," he said, putting his hands on Ducky's shoulders and gazing down into the pale blue eyes that confirmed what Ducky had written in his letter. The eyes that had looked at him as they were looking at him now from the moment they had met. The eyes that told of Ducky's love for him, as they always had done.


"My dear?"


Gibbs swallowed; he wished he had Ducky's way with words, but he didn't. So instead he slipped his arms around Ducky and tugged him a little nearer. Again he sensed Ducky's puzzlement, but also felt Ducky's arms go around him. However, he didn't pull Ducky as near to him as he normally did when they embraced. Instead he held Ducky just in the right position, bent his head and put his mouth on Ducky's.


For a moment he felt Ducky freeze, felt him struggle in his embrace. But then Ducky ceased to struggle and instead he pulled Gibbs nearer to him, opened his mouth beneath Gibbs's and began to kiss him back in a way Gibbs had never been kissed before.


Eventually the kiss ended, but Gibbs didn't let Ducky slip away from his arms. He held him in a loose embrace as he took a couple of deep breaths and gazed down into the now much darker blue eyes that stared back at him. Ducky's look was a mixture of love, affection, desire, surprise, pleasure and a hint of anxiety.


Gibbs was about to kiss him again when Ducky spoke. "Jethro . . ." He fell silent again and simply continued to stare up at Gibbs. "Why?" he finally said.


Gibbs smiled and kissed the tip of Ducky's nose. He didn't think telling Ducky that kissing him had come of something of a surprise to Gibbs himself. He still didn't know quite what he'd intended to do or say to Ducky when he'd arrived. He hadn't planned to kiss Ducky, but somehow seeing the mistletoe, seeing Ducky, hearing Ducky, being near to him had clarified everything. Had made him realize that kissing Ducky was the only thing he wanted to do. And he wanted to go on kissing Ducky for as long as Ducky wanted him to kiss him.


However, their relationship was based on honesty. "Got you letter," he said gently.


Ducky glanced away and tried to pull away, but Gibbs held him in place. "Oh," he said softly. "I see."


"Yeah, it was there when I got home."


"Ah." Then Ducky looked back up at Gibbs; he seemed troubled. "You have no idea how many times I regretted sending it."


Gibbs frowned. "Did you?"




"Duck, are you . . . Are you saying you don't . . . That what you said wasn't . . ." Gibbs trailed off; suddenly he felt like a thousand kinds of fool.


Ducky shook his head. "Oh, no. Not at all, Jethro. I meant every word I wrote, those and many more. It's just that . . . I didn't want it to change our friendship. I didn't want you to feel . . . Uneasy around me or -" Suddenly Ducky came to an abrupt halt and his face became very pale. "Jethro?" he whispered as Gibbs felt Ducky's body become tense. "Jethro?" he said again. "This isn't . . . I mean you don't . . ." Gibbs watched him swallow hard before pulling himself up to his full height and saying in a now very formal tone, "You do not feel obligated, do you?"


Gibbs grinned. "You ever know me to feel obligated about anything, Duck?"


Ducky shook his head. "Well, no, but, without wishing to sound smug, I am aware that I am somewhat important to you and that you do tend to . . . Well, shall we say indulge me from time to time."


Gibbs laughed. "It's a bit different from letting you ramble on, don't you think, Duck?"


He watched Ducky's cheeks flush slightly. "Well, yes, thinking about it, you are quite correct. It is somewhat different, very different in fact." A small smile touched his lips and his eyes twinkled.


"What are you thinking, Duck?"


"Oh, nothing," Ducky said, far too hurriedly.


"Could it have something to do with the stuff you didn't want to elaborate on in your letter?"


The color on Ducky's cheeks deepened and moistened his lips. "Well, now," he said. "Now that you mention it . . ." He leaned nearer to Gibbs, tilted his head back and offered Gibbs his mouth to kiss.


"Because if it was, then you know me, I'm far better with actions than words," Gibbs said, before he bent his head and kissed Ducky again.




"Oh, and by the way, Duck," Gibbs said, turning of the bedside lamp and settling down next to Ducky before pulling back into a loose embrace.


"My dear?" Ducky's voice was soft and husky.


"It's not 'somewhat'."


He felt Ducky sit up and after a second or two the lamp on Ducky's side of the bed cast a faint glow over them. "My dear?"


Gibbs rolled his eyes, pulled Ducky back down and kissed him, before reaching over him and finding the switch on the lamp. "You're not 'somewhat' important to me, Duck. You're very important to me. You're the most important person in my life." He clicked the lamp off.


"Oh, Jethro," Ducky said and kissed him.


It was at least an hour later before Gibbs finally closed his eyes and felt his body sink into sleep.



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