Ducky is assessing his move.
An established relationship story.
Written: October 2010. Word count: 500.
"Thank you, very much," Ducky called as the removal men left him alone in his new home. He shut the door behind them and looked at his watch. It was 4:00 p.m.; the children and Jethro would be here soon to help him organize things.
He sighed and walked back into the room that would be his sitting room and looked around him. Boxed were piled everywhere, all duly labeled; there was far too much furniture, the place looked cluttered.
He wandered out into the hall and went into the dining room. Exactly the same scene greeted him. He sighed again and pushed his hair back from where it had fallen over his forehead. His head ached, his throat felt gritty and dry, his body reminded him he'd been awake and on his feet for far too long.
But none of those things mattered, not really. No, what mattered was that Ducky knew he had made the biggest mistake of his life. After the death of his beloved Mother he'd thought he'd wanted a change, something different. So he'd sold Reston House, parted with the Corgis and bought this brownstone in Georgetown, the house that would be his new home. Except it wasn't a home and never would be.
In the cold light of late afternoon he knew without a shadow of doubt the place in which he now stood would never be his home. It was too different; far too different. It wasn't who he was. "What have I done?" he murmured into the silence. "What have I done?"
As he stood there looking around him he knew he never should have sold Reston House, never should have bought the house in which he now stood, never should have got rid of the Corgis. "Just as I never should have listened to Sophie," he said softly.
Any minute now his coworkers, his friends, his family would arrive. They would sort things out, then go and fetch a takeaway. Finally the children would go home leaving just Jethro and he to spend their first night together in Ducky's new house; just as they'd spent the previous night together - their last night in Reston House.
He wouldn't say anything, not to the children nor to Jethro. It was his mistake; his foolishness; his rashness; his desire for something different. It was no one's fault but his own. He would have to live with it.
The doorbell rang; he sighed again and made his way towards the front door. He opened it to find the six people he loved standing on the doorstep. Abby had flowers, Tony four bottles of champagne. They all smiled at him.
He forced himself to smile and opened his arms. "Come in, come in, my dears," he said, "Welcome to -" he stopped abruptly. The house would never have a name; nor would it be his home. "Come in," he repeated, moving back so they could join him in the house in which he would have to live.
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