Ashleigh Anpilova


Set after See No Evil.

Gibbs knows which sense he'd miss most of all.

An established relationship story.

Written: August 2006. Word count: 1,008



Sandy Watson is an amazing kid; she's a survivor. She saved her mom; at least they'll have that to hold on to while that bastard is locked up. Locking up's too good for him. I'd like to . . .


Watching Sandy, talking to her, being near her, made me really realize, for the first time, just how vital vision is. We use our eyes for everything - working, playing, relaxing, everything. The world we're in is a seeing world. It's one where sight is important, more than important.


If you can't see, you miss so much. Moreso I reckon than if you can't hear, smell or taste; in fact I sometimes think not having those senses might be beneficial.


If I couldn't hear, I wouldn't have to listen to DiNozzo and Kate bickering; or to Abby's music.


If I couldn't smell or taste, I wouldn't be constantly bombarded with all the smells that make up our job.


Reckon I could still get by in the job without being able to smell or taste. Not so sure about not being able to hear, now that could be a problem.


But not being able to see - well, it'd be impossible. I couldn't work; I couldn't build my boat; I couldn't watch the idiot box - not that that'd be a bad thing. I'd find it hard to manage on my own.


Yet all of those things would somehow be manageable, bearable; I could find a way to get by. But what wouldn't be bearable, would be that I wouldn't be able to see my beloved Ducky. I wouldn't be able to see the way he looks at me, the way he smiles at me, the way his face changes when I'm around. And most of all, I wouldn't be able to see his eyes; and if I couldn't see them, I'd miss a lot of what Ducky was saying, feeling, meaning.


Ducky's eyes are like the damn cliché ‘the eyes are the windows of the soul'. Not sure if I believe in the soul or not, but that's not important. Duck's eyes tell me everything I need to know; they speak to me. They reveal his every feeling and emotion, especially when he's around me - guess that's why the kids found out that we're far more than just good friends. He can be irritated, angry even, but despite the annoyance, the fact that the pale blue will have become grey, they still show his love and affection for me.


Duck's voice may be saying one thing, his eyes will be saying something else, it's another way we have of communicating. Of being able to say things we want to say, but can't because of where we are, who we're with. We can go out to dinner, and people will think we're just two old friends, but Ducky's eyes will be showing far more than just friendship for me.


And when I take his glasses off and things become even more intimate, and his eyes become more black than blue, well, let's say I never feel worthy of what his eyes are telling me, showing me, saying to me. Never.


I could still make love to Ducky, I can do that with my eyes closed. I know his body so intimately; I know it in ways I don't think I ever believed it was possible to know another person. Blindfolded I could touch him, stroke him, know how to arouse him, soothe him, move him, love him. We're so closely entwined, that I always know how he's feeling; I know what he likes, what level of caress will bring him pleasure, I know when that pleasure is at it's peak. I know all of that; I know it all without having to see him.


But making love to and with Ducky involves me seeing him; I love to look at him, to see his face, the face I've known for nearly thirty years. I could chart each and every change, and he's still as beautiful to me today, as he was when we first met. I like to see the black spread out and cover the blue; I like to see his kiss reddened lips; the way his face softens even more; the way he shudders; the way his eyes speak to me and tell me of his love. And if I were blind, I couldn't see any of that.


Thinking about it, if I were deaf, I wouldn't be able to hear his beautiful voice. And despite me snapping ‘Duck' at him in my fondly exasperated way - that's what Ducky calls it - during his story telling, I could listen to him read a telephone directory. His voice is like him, beautiful, and it can turn me on in ways that no other voice has ever done. In fact that's sometimes why I do snap at him, because if I haven't really been paying attention, well I do know all of his stories backwards, and I'm just listening to his voice, it can make my mind start to wander, and that . . . Let's say the kids knowing that we're lovers is one thing, the kids seeing evidence of it, is something else. So yeah, I'd miss his voice too.


I'd also miss his unique smell: Formaldehyde, which follows him everywhere, and the forest; it's a beautiful and stirring combination. And his taste . . . I'd miss that as well. Does that sound completely sappy? So what if it does. I don't care.


So, yeah, I would miss not being able to hear, smell and taste him, but most of all I'd miss not being able to see him. That would be impossible to live with.


I need my sight. Not for work, not for the boat, for taking care of myself, for reading or anything. They don't matter, not really. But I do need my sight for Ducky. I have to be able to see my Duck.


I have to. I have to.



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