Dr. Mallard flipped on the switch bringing light into the dark hallway of his large home. It seemed even larger now that his mother was gone. He missed her greatly despite the fact that the last several years had been very stressful for him while trying to provide her with quality care. Victoria Mallard had passed away several months ago.
Hanging his overcoat and hat on the hall tree, Ducky limped to the downstairs powder room to relieve his bladder. As he washed up he looked in the mirror. The image looking back was hardly recognizable. Dark circles appeared under puffy eyes. His thick, once blond hair hung down over his forehead. Scrapes and abrasions from the fall framed his face. As he raised his hands and rubbed the bridge of his nose, the bandaged right hand was there to remind him of the cuts he had received from the rocks and gravel. “Well, Donald, if you aren't a mess!” he remarked to the image.
Reaching for the cane which had been hooked over the edge of the sink, Ducky left the powder room and slowly made his way into his library. After selecting Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in G Minor from his record collection and placing it on the turntable he limped over to a cabinet where he took out a glass and decanter of scotch, poured two fingers of the dark amber spirits into the glass and sat down heavily into his favorite leather chair. Carefully he pulled his leg onto the ottoman, easing the pain. Sipping his scotch he settled further into his chair, closed his eyes while listening to the music. Once again let his thoughts go back to the earlier events of the day.
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After an hour wait in the ER, Ducky was wheeled down to Radiology for films to be taken of his leg. Another hour passed waiting for the ER doctor to read the film and enter the cubicle where Ducky and Gibbs were waiting. Gibbs had practically worn a trench in the floor from his incessant pacing.
"Jethro, please sit down. It is incredibly nerve wracking to have you in constant motion. The doctor will get here as soon as she can." As if on cue, the ER doctor pulled back the privacy curtain and entered the cubicle.
“Well, Dr. Mallard, it doesn't look like there's anything broken, but you do have a bit of soft tissue damage, contusions, and a couple of strained ligaments. I suggest that you go home and get plenty of rest. Take a week off from work and stay off your feet for a few days. If you feel up to it you can begin exercising your leg in by Sunday,” instructed Dr. Evans. “I'll have the physical therapist issue you a cane to help you get around more easily.”
“I can't take a week off! Mr. Palmer is doing well, but there's too much of a back log for the lad to do it by himself,” protested Ducky.
Gibbs put his hands on Ducky's shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Duck, Jimmy will do just fine. It's important to give yourself time to let your leg mend.”
Ducky started to argue, but Gibbs stopped him. “Look, Ducky, today's Thursday, that will give you tomorrow and the weekend to take it easy and you can see how you feel on Monday.”
His old friend looked up at him and then away. “All right, Jethro, perhaps it's best.”
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As Dr. Mallard listened to the music a seed of a plan was sown in the recesses of his brain. By the time the last measure of music was played, what had begun as an idle thought was now developed into a well thought out plan.
Taking a last sip of his drink, he got up and limped up the stairs to bed.
Monday morning
Donald Mallard's alarm had not even gone off, but force of habit was his wakeup call. At 5:45 a.m. sharp he opened his eyes and looked out the window. It was still dark outside as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. The stiffness in his leg caused him to hesitate before putting his full weight on it. The pain had definitely subsided over the three days of rest, but Ducky kept the cane within reach just in case he moved wrong or had a problem with his balance. The day started out just like any other day, but that wouldn't last long. He had made a decision and now it was time to follow through.
As he stood at the mirror tying his bow tie his telephone rang. “Hello, Mallard's residence, Dr. Mallard speaking.”
“Good morning, Ducky, how are you feeling today?” Gibbs asked.
“Jethro! Good morning to you, too. I'm feeling much better thank you. As a matter of fact, I was just getting ready to drive in to work.”
“Are you sure that's a wise thing to do, Duck?” the tone of concern could be heard in Gibbs voice.
“Oh, yes, my dear fellow, I'm just fine. I think I would go stir crazy if I just sat around doing nothing. Besides, I wouldn't want Mr. Palmer to get too comfortable running autopsy all by himself, now would I?”
“That's great, Duck, we'll see you soon.” Gibbs hung up and the smile heard in his voice did not match the concerned look on his face. He was worried that his old friend might be rushing his recovery. And...there was something, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something in the tone of his old friend's voice that didn't quite sound right.
An hour later, Ducky walked out of the elevator onto the level of the Director's office and walked into the receptionist's office, closing the door behind him.
“Good morning, my dear,” greeted Ducky with a sad half smile.
“Good morning, Dr. Mallard, I'm glad to see you are up and about. I heard about your fall last week. Oh, Director Vance is expecting you, you may go right in.”
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