Ducks in a Row
by Tallis224
Cycle One-A: Beginning’s a Circle
“Remember what we’ve said and done and felt about each other…
Don’t let the past remind us of what we are not now…”
(“Suite: Judy Blue Eyes” " Stephen Stills)
Cold, grey, rainy. Funeral weather. A steady stream of mourners filed in and out of the funeral home, politely extending their condolences, clustering in groups of quiet conversation. As intimately acquainted with death as he was, this was the side he seldom saw, the faces of those left behind. As he extended his hand to yet another acquaintance, he saw his own face reflected in the mirror on the opposite side of the room. He looked pale, drawn, tired, as anyone would after dealing with all the minutiae surrounding a parent’s death, even one as well planned for as this.
A grey-haired woman placed a gnarled hand on his arm. “She lived a long, full life, didn’t she, Dr. Mallard? How old was she?”
“Just turned ninety-nine, Mrs. Gates.”
“Well, I’ll always remember her as a lovely woman. And so proud of you! You took such good care of her.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gates.”
“Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”
“Your kindness is certainly appreciated. Thank you for coming.” He shook her hand with warmth he didn’t really feel. Mrs. Gates moved on to join a gaggle of neighbors from the assisted living facility where Victoria Mallard had lived until Ducky was finally forced to move her to a hospice.
He looked toward the entrance and noticed Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David walk through the archway, still wearing their NCIS jackets.
“Ducky, I’m so sorry.” Tony slapped the coroner on his shoulder, pumped his hand. “In all honesty, I never know what to say or do in situations like these " I usually try to avoid them. But for you...” His voice trailed off, sympathy in his eyes.
“Thank you, Anthony. I’m glad you came.” It was one of the few sincere things he’d been able to say all evening.
Ziva hugged him awkwardly, planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “I know how important it is to be surrounded by friends and loved ones during a time of mourning. It’s very hard being alone.” Her eyes said so much more than her words ever could. Ducky gave her another hug, whispered a ‘thank you.’
“Coming back from an investigation?” Curiosity got the best of him.
“Well, yeah.” DiNozzo rubbed the back of his neck. “No bodies, though. Just leg-work.”
“A theft ring at Quanitco,” Ziva piped up. “We drove straight here afterwards.”
“Ziva drove. I prayed. It worked. We made it in one piece. I think she only broke one tie rod. However, my spine may never be the same.”
Ducky chuckled. “I know a good chiropractor. In fact, he’s over there, talking to the woman in the fuzzy pink cardigan. Dr. Robin Fitzpatrick. I’ll introduce you if you like.”
DiNozzo grimaced slightly. “Not just now, Ducky. I really think I’d have a hard time dealing with a guy named Robin manipulating my spinal column. It’s the whole mental image of a green cape and tights I’m just not comfortable with.” He shuddered.
“Suit yourself, Anthony. He’s the best in the Metro area.”
“Pass!”
Ducky shrugged, turned toward the door. Jordan Hampton was talking to the funeral director. She’d been a blessing the last few days, helping him arrange to pick up and deliver out of town visitors, seeing to the caterer for the wake. She was amazing.
A few pictures of Victoria Mallard were placed about the room. A picture of her as a little girl. One of her at her debutante ball. Her wedding portrait. One of her holding him as a toddler. His eyes were drawn to a picture of them in a family group in Scotland. He remembered the occasion well " his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary. It was casual, taken by his cousin who was a professional photographer. He wanted a picture of the assembled family. In the midst of cousins, aunts and uncles, Ducky stood next to his mother and father, his hand on the shoulder of a lovely young woman seated on the ground in front of him. Several children romped about her and she was holding a blond boy of about eight months of age who was pointing at Victoria. Victoria smiled radiantly at the little one and Ducky’s father was actually smiling as well. It was taken two weeks before his father died.
It was hard to look at. It was like seeing a fragment of dream. So much had been lost. His psyche felt like so many empty rooms, connected by long, grey hallways. All the sorrows of his past were coming together, forming like clouds threatening to unleash a perfect storm of grief.
Jordan continued working the room, greeting newcomers, directing them to the guest book. She was a wonderful woman. They’d been together for a year now. Why couldn’t he complete the connection? She was good to him and kind. She understood and shared his profession, knew all the pressures and pitfalls of the job. But he kept putting up the same barriers that he had put up every time a woman got too close…
Timothy McGee and Abby Sciuto had arrived, and as soon as Abby detected he was free, she threw herself at Ducky with a hug that nearly knocked him over. He hugged back as she cooed sympathetically. She was one of the most genuine people he knew and she could always make him feel better.
“Do you need anything, Ducky? Can I help with the dinner or anything?” Abby gripped his arm. She was dressed in a very reserved knee-length black skirt, her usual Goth-style subdued, lips painted a conservative burgundy shade, hair pulled back in a respectable-looking bun.
He hugged her impulsively. She was such a dear girl. “I can’t think of anything, but if anything needs doing, Jordan should have a handle on it. Check with her.”
“Sure.” She gave Ducky a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back!”
McGee gave reserved but sincere condolences. Ducky could tell the young agent felt awkward and uncomfortable in this setting. Timothy was the type that was more comfortable around computers and trying to find pieces to the puzzle of a case so that the team could put them together. But he was also a very keen observer of people. Ducky had no doubt he would file away the experience and some part of it would appear later in one of his writings.
As Abby walked off in Jordan’s direction, Ducky’s assistant Jimmy Palmer joined him. “Doctor, I’m so sorry. I really loved your mother.”
“As I recall, every time she met you she hit you with her cane first and asked questions later.”
Palmer smiled a crooked smile. “True. But she did it with love!”
It was a much needed laugh. Jimmy once again proved to be an able and valuable assistant.
“Hey, Duck. I’m so sorry about your loss.” Ducky turned around to be folded into an embrace by his friend and boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
“I’m glad you’re here, Jethro. I really appreciate it.” It was good to have the people he cared about here. It made it so much easier somehow. Chief mourners go through the motions, see faces, give acknowledgments, listen to endless stories about the deceased that seem irrelevant. Eventually they settle into a numbness that could last for years. Like last time he was chief mourner…
“You okay, Duck?” Gibbs’ look of concern brought Ducky up short.
“A little overwhelmed is all, Jethro.”
“Well, you look like hell.”
“I feel that way, too.”
“Why not sit down for awhile?” Gibbs led him to a wing chair. Ducky sank down gratefully.
“This isn’t funeral protocol, Jethro.”
“Yeah, well screw that. I’m not having you pass out standing on protocol. This isn’t the parade grounds.”
Abby rushed over, Jordan at her heels. “Ducky! Are you all right?”
“Donnie, when was the last time you had something to eat?” Jordan’s admonishment reminded him that the only thing he’d eaten that day was half a bagel and a cup of coffee. “Let me find you something.” She seemed content taking charge. “Abby, could you bring him a glass of water, please?”
“Sure, Dr. Hampton.”
Abby returned with a glass of ice water and Jordan produced several incredibly stale Oreo cookies on a chipped plate.
“Not many amenities in the kitchen, unfortunately,” Jordan apologized. “The funeral director said that he keeps a few cookies on hand for fussy children.” She ruffled Ducky’s hair affectionately. “Makes me wonder what we have here.”
“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done the last few days, Jordan.” He bit into a cookie.
“This is too much for one person to handle alone. I told you I’d be glad to help. That’s what I’m here to do.”
Ducky nodded, took a sip of water to help the cookie go down. Instead, it wedged itself halfway down his throat.
He stopped coughing in time to notice a woman enter the parlor through the front door. She wore a tan raincoat which she unbuttoned to reveal a gauze skirt in shades of brown, elaborately embroidered in subtle earth tones. Her shirt was a simple brown scoop neck tee. Her hair was brown with copper highlights, short and softly wavy. She wore bronze framed glasses. A gold chain around her neck held three charms " a heart-shaped locket, a gold ring and a simple gold cross. She was neither young nor old, perhaps in her early fifties. She caught sight of Ducky and a smile transformed her face into one of timeless beauty.
Somehow she made sense of the midnight call, found her way from Baltimore to Reston on the Beltway on a weekday and she was there. He suddenly felt as though a light had come on " a small, warm and welcome light.
He didn’t remember getting up and crossing the room. He just found her in his arms, holding her tight, so very glad she was there. He whispered into her hair “Celeste.” She still smelled of jasmine…
Ducky looked into her brown eyes, brushed a stray strand of her hair back into place. “I’m so glad you…” He couldn’t finish.
“Where else would I be? You sounded so awful the other night…Are you all right?” She hugged him again, neither one especially anxious to break away.
“No.” It was almost a sigh, only for her to hear.
She held him close a moment longer, then broke away, eyes glistening. She searched his face. Something wordless, rooted deep in understanding, passed between them.
She slipped her hand into his. “At least we can talk about it now.”
“Thirty years too late.”
“We were human. We were young. Mistakes were made that can’t be unmade. All we can do is start over under the face of forgiveness.”
“Which poem is that from?”
“I haven’t written it yet. I hope I remember the line. It was damn good, wasn’t it?”
His hand traveled to the small of her back, their foreheads pressed together. “Oh, yes. Damn good indeed.” God he missed her. After all this time he still missed her.
Then he noticed six faces turned in their direction, conveying varying degrees of curiosity, surprise and displeasure. “Umm, Celeste…do you mind if I make a few introductions?”
“Of course not.” She flashed the dazzling smile again. Her hand was still in his and he held it firmly as they approached the group from NCIS.
“Celeste, I’d like you to meet my co-workers. Celeste, this is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. Jethro, I’d like you to meet Celeste Porter.”
Gibbs took Celeste’s outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“I’m pleased to meet you too, Special Agent Gibbs. Ducky speaks so highly of you.”
Gibbs looked at her intently. “You two have known each other for " how long?”
“We met in 1970. In London when I was a student. He hasn’t mentioned me to you?” She looked momentarily confused. “He’s certainly mentioned you to me.”
“Oh, he’s mentioned you. Once or twice.” Gibbs smiled his most disarming half-smile.
Ducky felt suddenly protective. He remembered they had discussed her once, many years ago after a few too many drinks. Gibbs was now assessing her, the situation, the relationship. He was never far from being in interrogation mode. Celeste was perfectly capable of standing up to Jethro’s scrutiny, however. And she didn’t need to explain herself.
“Excuse us, Jethro.” Time to continue the introductions. “Celeste, this is Agent Timothy McGee. He’s a writer, too. Of potboiler crime novels.”
“I know. You sent me the books. Thom E. Gemcity. Great pseudonym, by the way, Agent McGee.” Celeste shook his hand.
“Thank you.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Wait. You’re not Celeste Porter the poet?”
“Guilty as charged.” She winced slightly.
“Oh man! You wrote ‘The Cycle of Seven’! Those are the most incredibly beautiful and erotic poems written in the last 50 years.”
Celeste looked uncomfortable but resigned. “Thank you.” A little pink blushed her cheeks. “And now is when you tell me that because of them you are no longer a virgin…”
Surprise clouded McGee’s face. “Well…”
“I’ve been told they’re real mood-setters…”
McGee’s turn to blush. “They’re beautiful, though…I mean, you won the National Poetry Association prize for them, didn’t you?”
“Yes. In 1988. I’ve written lots of other stuff " really GOOD stuff, even better than ‘Cycle’ since then. But most of it isn’t about sex, so no one wants it. So, I live the quiet life of an academic these days. That’s where ‘acclaimed’ poets go to eat…”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just surprised to meet you. And that Ducky knows you.”
Ducky chuckled. “He thinks I hang around with dead bodies and have no social life.”
With the ice effectively broken, Abby inserted herself into the conversation. “No, that’s Jimmy. You have a minimal social life, thanks to Dr Hampton. Hi! I’m Abby. I haven’t read your poems, but I’m about to. Can I borrow your book, Timmy?”
Tony extended his hand. “After I’m through with it, Sciuto. Uh, I don’t know much about poetry Ms Porter, but I really think I’d like your work. Nice to meet you. I’m Tony DiNozzo.”
“I’m Ziva David. Pay no attention to him. His mind is in the cutter.”
Tony sighed. “I think you mean ‘gutter,’ Ziva. And no, it’s not. I just feel the need for some cultural enrichment.”
Ducky tugged Celeste gently away from the combatants. “They do this all the time. May I introduce my assistant, Jimmy Palmer?”
“Nice to meet you Ms Porter. And what McGee said…”
Celeste held up her hand. “I understand. Say no more. Thank you, Jimmy.”
Ducky directed her away from his assistant. “And I especially want you to meet Dr. Jordan Hampton. If it weren’t for Jordan, I don’t know how I’d have made it through the last few days.”
Celeste extended her hand. Jordan took it slowly, assessing the other woman thoroughly.
“I’ve read your work. It’s quite " inspired.”
Celeste glanced at Ducky. “Thank you.”
“I must confess, though, Donnie hasn’t mentioned you at all. How long have you known each other?”
“Almost 40 years. I was eighteen. You were what? Thirty?”
“I was just back from my first tour with the Army Medical Corps and doing civilian duty until I was called up again. Emergency room, St. Margaret Mercy hospital. I was twenty-eight, I think,” Ducky replied.
“No. Twelve years and two weeks difference in our ages. Double dragons, remember? Thirty!”
“Oh, the Chinese astrological chart. Said we were ‘eccentric and our lives were complicated.” Then he noticed the look on Jordan’s face. “Very complicated…”
Celeste looked at the younger woman who was still glaring. “Oh my, oh my. This is complicated all right.” It was then she and Ducky simultaneously noticed they were still holding hands. They broke apart as if they had scalded each other.
Jordan’s lips were set in a thin line, her arms tightly crossed as she stared down the other woman. “The picture. The anniversary picture. You’re in it.” It was almost an accusation.
“That was taken in 1976, Dr. Hampton.” Celeste glanced at Ducky.
“Because Celeste and I were married at the time, Jordan.”
Jordan gasped. Jimmy produced a whispered “Whoa!” and questions flew from the eyes of everyone but Gibbs.
“Dr Hampton, Donnie and I have had thirty years to make peace with each other. And it’s taken just about that long to work things through. If you’d like to discuss some matters of concern privately, I’d be more than happy to do so.” Celeste crossed her arms also.
“Ooooh! Cat fight!” Tony whispered to McGee. From nowhere came a slap across the back of his head.
Jordan didn’t reply. She looked at Ducky, clearly hurt. He’d been too slow revealing things to her. Between talking things through after he was assaulted, a heavy caseload at work and dealing with his mother’s declining health there was little time to talk about things so far in the past. He’d dropped the ball on this, should have told her about Celeste.
Jordan abruptly turned away and walked toward the kitchen.
“Jordan, wait!” He followed her. “We have to talk.”
The kitchen door closed behind them. She turned abruptly, facing him. “Not now, Donnie. There’s too much else going on to have a discussion of what you should have told me when. When the dust settles, when you’ve worked a little more of the grief out, then we’ll talk. But not now.”
“Can I at least apologize?”
Jordan was close to tears. “You aren’t even sure what you’re apologizing for. You know I’m hurt and you’re sorry you hurt me, but you have no idea why.”
“Well, then, why?”
“Not because you didn’t tell me you’d been married once. I guessed you must have been at some point. That’s a logical assumption. You’re not a man to live in a vacuum, you are tender and passionate. I’ve had failed relationships, a failed marriage, too. You know that. It’s,” she sighed, “you’re still very obviously in love with her.”
Ducky was brought up short by that. “It’s been over for a very long time, Jordan.”
“Oh, Donnie. It’s never been over. You and I have been together for almost a year and not once have you ever looked at me the way you just looked at her.”
“I think you might be reading a bit more into it than there was. We’ve kept in touch over the years, yes. I communicate with Celeste fairly often. Usually by phone or e-mail. I haven’t seen her in quite some time. Since before the assault.”
“Does she know about that?”
“I told her.” Frankly, he hadn’t told Celeste too much about it. The time he’d spent in Afghanistan was right after the divorce. He was looking for something to fill the emptiness. He took risks he didn’t want Celeste to know he’d taken because " she wouldn’t understand? No, because she’d be furious he’d taken so many chances. And, as it turned out, one of them came back to haunt him. He had to face yet another consequence of a bad decision and it literally stabbed him in the hand.
“I chose you to help me work it out, Jordan.” He embraced her and she leaned into him. “Because I needed you. And I need you now. I really do.” He held her gently, felt her relax. He kissed her hair, her cheek, her lips, held the kiss for a wonderfully long time…
The door flew open. Abby entered with the empty cookie plate and water glass. “Uh. Hi! Don’t mean to interrupt. Was just bringing in the dirty dishes. Sorry.” She set them on the counter and trotted out the door.
“Well, that will be all over NCIS in about 30 seconds.” Ducky kissed Jordan on the forehead. “We’d best go out and attempt a bit of damage control.”
When they re-entered the main parlor, eyes were avoiding looking directly at them. Except for Gibbs and Celeste, and both looked mildly amused.
Gibbs clearly wanted a word. He led Ducky to a quiet corner. “Ya know, Duck, I didn’t really think you were a player.”
“I’m not!”
“Trust me, Duck. You’ve got an ex-wife and a girlfriend in the same room. You are definitely a player.” Gibbs shook his head. “Good luck with that…”
Ducky watched Gibbs walk away. A player? Ha! Those days were over long ago. B.C. Before Celeste…
He found her at his elbow. “I’ve paid my respects to Victoria. She was a force with which to be reckoned and after years of being at odds, she and I finally reached an understanding, I’m glad to say. . Again, I’m so sorry, Donnie.” She hugged him " the scent of jasmine. “I’m staying in town tonight and I’ll be at the service tomorrow. Gibbs was kind enough to offer to pick me up and chauffer me to the church since I have no idea where it is.”
“Well, that was very nice of him.”
“Wasn’t it?” She flashed a lopsided grin. “I won’t make the interrogation inordinately difficult for him. Should be rather interesting to find out what he wants to know.”
Celeste hugged him, rubbed a spot on his cheek with her thumb. “Hmmm. Not Abby’s color. Ziva’s not wearing lipstick. Certainly not mine. Too pinky. I tend to go with the earthy tones.” She looked amused. “I’m staying at the Marriott. See you tomorrow.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Have a good night.”
He felt as he often felt after his encounters with Celeste " a bit out of breath. He watched her leave and suddenly felt empty again. When he got home he was going to have to revisit his handwritten copy of “Cycle of Seven.” “Presented with great fanfare by the author to her muse,” the dedication page read. He wondered if she still remembered… In all honesty, he’d love to find out if she did…
He knew he’d be spending his night alone.
Story Notes:
The NCIS characters don't belong to me. I just love them. Many thanks to Lyn for the beta, Pfyre for the many assists with technolgy and terminology and especially Dee for the encouragement, laughter and tears along the way.
My first trip down the fanfic road in many-a-year. (I don't think we had computers last time!) Would appreciate your feedback. Thank you!
Author's Chapter Notes:
As Ducky deals with his mother's death and his uncertain relationship with Jordan, he encounters a past love.
Chapter End Notes:
The NCIS characters don't belong to me. I just love them. Many thanks to Lyn for the beta, Pfyre for the many assists with technolgy and terminology and especially Dee for the encouragement, laughter and tears along the way.
My first trip down the fanfic road in many-a-year. (I don't think we had computers last time!) Would appreciate your feedback. Thank you!
My first trip down the fanfic road in many-a-year. (I don't think we had computers last time!) Would appreciate your feedback. Thank you!