I'VE HAD A HARD DAY'S NIGHT
"DiNozzo!"
Gibbs' voice as he entered the squad room was louder and more angry than anyone had heard in a long time. Almost instantly, all activity ceased and the huge room went quiet.
"Yes, boss?" responded the agent Gibbs was yelling at, his feet hitting the floor.
"I thought I told you I wanted those statistics yesterday."
"I'm just talking to the archivist right now; he's working on it."
Gibbs put his hands on DiNozzo's desk, leaning over it with a red and angry face.
"'Working on it' is not acceptable."
"But, boss…"
"No ‘but, boss' about it. I'm going down to the morgue to talk to Ducky, and those stats better be on my desk by the time I get back, or you'll need to start updating your resume. I'm tired of you fucking around all the time and not getting any work done."
Virtually everyone gasped in astonishment at the harsh words, while the expression on DiNozzo's face became not merely puzzled but hurt and embarrassed.
Behind Gibbs, a quiet voice said, "I'm right behind you, Jethro, if you want to talk to me."
Gibbs whirled around, glaring at Dr. Mallard, the medical examiner, for a long moment, and then stomping back to his own desk. The doctor followed him. Gibbs was shuffling through the papers on his desk without really looking at them.
"What on earth was that all about, Jethro?" Ducky asked.
Exasperated, Jethro replied, "You know what it's about, Ducky. We have a major incident on our hands with world-wide diplomatic implications, and there he is, leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk, like he always does, telling me he's working on it."
Dr. Mallard pointed out, "I think you're being a little unreasonable here, Jethro. You know he always works at 100 per cent, even if he might not look like it. Consider the possibility that he hasn't been getting the same degree of cooperation from the people he's trying to get the statistics from."
"Stop making excuses for him, Ducky," hissed Gibbs.
At his desk Tony sat without looking at anyone else. He was speaking quietly into the telephone receiver, making some notes. After a couple of moments, he hung up the phone and walked over to the fax machine, which began spitting out pages. Tony gathered up them up as they arrived, and when the job was complete he carried them over to Gibbs' desk and stood waiting to be acknowledged.
"What?" barked Gibbs.
"The stats just arrived, sir," Tony said in a very quiet voice.
Gibbs grabbed the sheets out of his hands and glanced at the top page.
"Go on, get out of here," he growled.
"Sir?" Tony asked in the same quiet voice.
"Go on, go home, maybe you can find something useful to do there as long as you're not being useful on this case."
Without saying anything, Tony returned to his own desk to log off his computer and put his files away. His ears, which were reddened to begin with,had turned several shades darker.
By this time Ducky had become angry himself. "Jethro, you're being grossly unfair. He did what you asked him to. Actually, he would do anything for you. How dare you talk to him that way? ."
"Ducky," Gibbs began in a low, intense voice, "I don't think you understand. I'm up to my ears; I'm probably going to be here all night, and I can't put up with some slacker."
Ducky made a noise deep in his throat. "He's not a slacker, and you know it." He paused for a moment. "Since you say you're going to be here all night, I take it that you are turning down my invitation to have dinner with mother and me this evening?"
"Sorry." Ducky noted that Gibbs didn't sound very sorry at all.
Well, Jethro, I can't talk to you when you're like this, but you and I are going to have a serious conversation sooner or later, and under the circumstances, I think it needs to be sooner rather than later."
Gibbs waved him away.
Tony had picked up his backpack and was on his way to the elevator. Ducky hastened to catch up to him.
"Anthony…" he began.
"Sorry, Ducky, I don't feel like talking right now."
"I understand," Ducky told him sympathetically. "But I'm going to have an empty place at my dining table this evening, and I would appreciate it if you would come to my house and fill that place."
DiNozzo sighed. "Ducky, I appreciate the invitation, but I just don't feel like it."
Ducky managed to chuckle under his breath a little. "It's not really an invitation, young man. More like a command."
Tony glanced at him sharply. "A command?"
"I know I have no right to command you, but I am your friend, and while you may think that you want to slink back to your nest and be alone tonight, I'm not sure it's the best thing for you to do."
"I really can't, Ducky."
"You can and you will, my dear boy." He paused for a moment. "I know many people around here think of me as a funny little old man, eccentric and loquacious. But I was young once, like you. There were many times when I was hurt, just as you're hurting now, and I would have been grateful to have someone to talk to, to share my pain."
Tony gazed at him, his face a mask of hurt.
Ducky reached out to pat Tony's forearm. "You're feeling embarrassed and humiliated, as well you might. But in the end everyone knows that Jethro's remarks are both cruel, unfair, and untrue."
He smiled. "Come to dinner. I believe my housekeeper has made chicken soup, and she always has some delicious sweet treat to soothe my soul."
He was rewarded with a slight smile. Tony said, "I don't think your mother likes me, either."
"Nonsense. When she first meets someone, she doesn't like anyone. But she's met you before." He sighed again.
He saw a struggle going on within the other man's mind. Tony was thinking furiously. On the one hand, it didn't take much to get Dr. Mallard to tell his interminable stories, which meant that Tony wouldn't have to be sociable. On the other hand, he really did want to slink back to his apartment to lick his wounds. He studied the older man's face, finding there both concern and eagerness to be of help. Finally, against his better judgment, Tony said, "All right, I'll come to dinner, but I'm not going to be a good conversationalist."
"Quite all right, dear boy. Under the circumstances, I won't expect it of you."
Ducky reiterated the directions to his home, where, a few minutes later, he popped into his mother's sitting room to inform her that they were having a guest for dinner. Before she could ask who it was, they heard the sound of Tony's car pulling up to the front door.
When Tony walked up the steps, he found the front door open. He heard the sound of several dogs barking before Mrs. Mallard's pack of Welsh corgis came spilling out onto the porch, determined to protect their home. To his surprise, once they had surrounded him and taken in his scent, their barking changed from warning to welcome, and they began jumping up on his legs, not to attack, but to request that he scratch their ears.
Ducky appeared in the door. "They remember you," he said.
"Good," Tony whispered under his breath. "I don't think I could take being torn apart by them right now."
Once Tony and the dogs were inside and the door closed, he looked up and found Mrs. Mallard waiting to greet him.
"Mother," said Ducky, "you remember my co-worker, Anthony DiNozzo. He helped guard you when some criminals were threatening me."
"Hello, young man," she said, holding out her hand to shake Tony's hand. She peered at him from under her eyebrows, studying his face carefully.
"I do believe you're the Italian gigolo, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a sigh. What else could happen to him tonight? Gibbs toweringly angry with him for no reason he knew about, being kicked out of the squad room, and now facing the prospect of dining with a dotty old lady who thought he was a bad person. Even Ducky's concern for him wouldn't go very far in consoling him. He thought he had made a serious mistake in accepting the invitation.
Nonetheless, now that he was there, he decided to stay. Soon enough they were seated at the dinner table. Mrs. Blevins, the housekeeper, had indeed prepared chicken soup, and even though he didn't feel particularly hungry, as the hot liquid slid into his belly, he had to admit that it was soothing.
For a while, as they ate, they conversed lightly about this and that. Mrs. Blevins served a dessert Ducky called treacle pudding. Tony was certain he'd heard bad things about it, but when he tasted it, it was sweet and, like the soup, soothing. Suddenly, with her spoon halfway to her mouth, Mrs. Mallard looked up with a bright smile on her face. "I had an Italian gigolo once."
Tony almost choked on the pudding, and Ducky said reprovingly, "Mother!"
"Roberto," she went on. "He was so handsome." She looked around to both men. "He made me a woman," she declared with her eyes lowered modestly. "I would have followed him anywhere if he'd asked me, but I was engaged to your father then."
She scooped up the last bit of sweet syrup in her dish, and then looked up again. "I've never told anyone; not even your father, Donald."
By this time Tony could not hold back his laughter, while Ducky was obviously mortified into silence.
"I hope you don't think ill of me, Anthony," she said, batting her eyes flirtatiously.
He reached out to take her small, soft, wrinkled hand in his. "Not at all, Mrs. Mallard," he told you. "You are a lovely woman, and I'm sure Roberto thought so too."
Again she dropped her eyes to her lap demurely and murmured, "Thank you," taking the compliment as her due.
After Mrs. Blevins had served the coffee, the trio continued to chat. Tony realized sadly that, at one time Mrs. Mallard had always been like the charming woman that she was this evening instead of the addled and combative old bat she'd been when he first met her.
Abruptly the mood changed. Turning to her son, she asked, "Are you going to sleep with young Anthony, my dear?"
"Mother!" Ducky said sharply.
"I'm sorry, dear, did I say something wrong?" his mother replied.
"It is very inappropriate, to say the least," Ducky replied sternly.
"He's very handsome, Donald," she persisted.
Tony's mind had begun whirling furiously. What was going on? Was that what this dinner invitation had been about? Did Dr. Mallard do that sort of thing? There must be some reason she was asking that particular question.
Suddenly the old woman yawned widely and noisily, almost falling off her chair as fatigue suddenly overtook her.
"I am so sorry, Anthony," Ducky said to him. "Please don't take what she said seriously. "It's a terrible disease. Before, she was the heart of kindness and tact, but now…." He shrugged his shoulders with an obvious air of despair and sighed heavily again. "Now it's time for her to go to bed. I'll take her to her room and then rejoin you when she's settled. I hope you won't leave until we can talk a little bit more."
"I really should leave, Ducky."
"I will understand if you decide to do that. But I hope you'll stay at least a little while longer. I laid a fire in the library; all you need to do is touch a match to it. And there's some very fine old brandy on the side table. And now I really must get mother to bed."
As her son helped her to rise from the table, Mrs. Mallard giggled girlishly. She reached out her hand to pat Tony's cheek. "I always did like Italian gigolos," she said.
When the Mallards had left the room, Tony stood indecisively for a long moment. The meal and the rather strange company had for a time driven thoughts of the humiliation of earlier in the day out of his mind. Once alone, though, those thoughts came pummeling back. He really did want to talk to someone about what had happened, and Ducky was the most logical person for that. He and Gibbs had known each for a long time. If there was anyone who could explain Gibbs, it was he. On the other hand, he had to consider Mrs. Mallard's question to her son. Tony knew little about Ducky's private life, didn't really care, but….
He was tired and didn't feel up to leaving just yet. Besides, he still wanted to ask Ducky why Gibbs treated him so oddly—at one moment seeming to appreciate his work and another making a spectacle of him in front of the whole squad room. Feeling again that he was probably making a mistake, he crossed to the library, where he lit the fire and poured some brandy into one of the snifters laid out. He sank into one of two deep leather armchairs pulled up to the fire and stared into it in black contemplation.
Soon enough Ducky returned and poured out brandy for himself. He sank into the other armchair with a sigh. For a while neither of them spoke. Ducky glanced at his younger coworker, only to see tears in his eyes.
"Anthony," he said softly.
Tony roused slightly. "Why does he hate me, Ducky?"
"He doesn't hate you, dear boy," replied Dr. Mallard.
Tony turned his head to look at Ducky. "If he doesn't hate me, why does he treat me like that?"
Ducky sighed again. "I don't have all the answers, Anthony, but I do believe it's because he cares for you more than he's willing to admit even to himself. He sees himself in you."
Tony snorted with disbelief. "He must not have a very high opinion of himself."
"I think you're probably closer to the answer there than either of us can fathom."
A long moment passed.
"I'm not crying, Ducky."
Ducky said nothing.
Suddenly Tony began to sob. Ducky was out his chair instantly. He sat on the arm of Tony's chair, his arm around the heaving shoulders¸ stroking his back and "shushing" him. Tony leaned over, putting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. If anything, the sobs became deeper, more intense. Ducky was deeply distressed but didn't know what else to do except to let the younger man cry himself out.
Tony's crying continued for long minutes, never abating, until it turned into retching. Ducky leapt up to grab the handsome brass wastebasket that stood nearby and held it under Tony's head. The delicious dinner came back sour and smelly¸ soiling the wastebasket, but Ducky didn't care. Tony's stomach had done its best to rid him of at least some of his pain.
Eventually, the vomiting ceased. Ducky got up to fetch some water and a towel from the side table. Tony accepted them gratefully and did his best to clean up.
"I'd better go," he said.
"I won't hear of it," Ducky replied. "I have a guest room upstairs. I think it would be a good idea for you to stay."
"I can't impose on you any more than I already have," Tony protested weakly.
"It's not an imposition. I would feel better if you stay here where I can keep an eye on you, instead of letting you go home to be by yourself when you so clearly need to have someone be close by."
Tony made a couple more weak protestations, but in the end he allowed Ducky to take his elbow and lead him up the stairs to the guest room. Once inside, Ducky gently pushed him down onto the bed, lifted his feet up, and began removing his shoes. Finally Ducky picked up a comforter that lay at the foot of the bed to spread it over Tony's body.
He had the feeling Tony was already asleep from exhaustion, but as he was stepping quietly out of the room, he heard Tony call his name in a weak voice. He returned to the side of the bed.
"What is it, Anthony?"
"Would you hold me for a while?"
Dr. Mallard thought his heart would stop. How many times had he fantasized that he would hear just such a request from the beautiful young man lying on his guest bed? Not that he had had any expectation that it would ever happen. But it just had.
"Yes," he said, and lay down carefully on the edge of the bed. Tony shifted over to give him more room. Ducky reached up to stroke his cheek.
"I'm not gay, Ducky," Tony told him. "I'm just really tired, and it felt really good when you rubbed my back."
"I know," Ducky murmured in return.
"I just need someone to hold me right now."
"I understand," Ducky said. He put his arm around Tony's shoulder again. Tony moved closer into his embrace, snuggling his face into Ducky's shoulder.
"Are you gay, Ducky?"
At first Ducky wasn't sure how to respond. He decided the truth would be best.
"Ah…I've had a couple of intimate relationships that others might not have approved of. I've known the love that dare not say its name."
"Oscar Wilde, right?"
"Yes."
"'S'okay, Ducky. Love is what's important, isn't it? Not the definition."
"Quite right."
Tony's voice indicated he was more asleep than awake, but Ducky became aware that both his and Tony's bodies were responding to their physical closeness. He was so tempted. He debated whether to proceed with what he was thinking of. Tony's body was so tense. He rubbed his back gently, and Tony snuggled closer, his erection suddenly pressing Ducky's own. It was agony to have Tony so close, so aroused, and not to take advantage of the situation. But that was the problem—he would be taking advantage of Tony, using his current pain for his own satisfaction.
Tony put his arms around the doctor. Gently, Ducky kissed Tony's mouth, meeting no resistance. With shuddering breath he decided to proceed with what seemed inevitable. He pushed Tony's shoulder lightly to turn him from his side to his back. His hands were shaking as he carefully unbuttoned Tony's shirt, revealing soft, curly hair. Tony's breathing began to speed up, but his eyes remained closed, and he said nothing. Ducky ran his hand lightly over the chest hair, touching first one, then the other nipple. Tony was making small noises in his throat, almost purring.
Ducky reached for the buckle of Tony's belt, slowly slid the zipper open. When he pushed the trousers and then the shorts down, Tony's erection was exposed to full view. Ducky gasped with delight and amazement, gazing appreciatively at the thick, long shaft, the perfectly formed balls, the soft, springy hair that cradled them. He touched the back side of Tony's cock with his forefinger and softly stroked it. Tony began moaning; he was more than half asleep, but Ducky told himself it would be a kindness to continue until he was able to relieve at least some part of Tony's anguish.
Grasping the shaft firmly, he began to move his hand up and down, first slowly and then faster and faster. It didn't take long. When Tony came, crying out wordlessly, he opened his beautiful green eyes for just a moment. His breathing had become ragged and fast, but as his orgasm began to pass and the rest of his body relaxed, he fell finally, completely asleep.
Dr. Mallard was not inclined to pray much, but he fervently thanked the Lord that He had given him this one last chance to love someone.
Finally, reluctantly, he rose from the bed to fetch a towel from the bedroom, with which he wiped the come from Tony's chest and his own hands. A washcloth dampened with warm water cleansed Tony's now flaccid penis. After finishing his ministrations to the exhausted man before him, Ducky pulled the comforter over the sleeping Tony and went to his own room, where he happily took care of his own erection.
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Tony felt like he was floating. He had no idea where he was; he only knew that it was somewhere soft and warm. Like being on a cloud with a warm sun shining down. He was enjoying it. He didn't even know who he was or how he had gotten to where he was, but it didn't seem to matter.
Slowly his conscious mind once again began to assert itself. He was in bed, he realized, but he didn't think it was his own bed. Where was it? How had he wound up there? Why did he feel so deliciously comfortable and satisfied, as well as a little tired but also energized, as if he'd had really good sex.
Suddenly, his eyes popped open as he remembered where he was, and why. He sat up to look around.
The room was a fairly large one, with silky-looking drapes in a warm shade of brown. Fine period furniture was placed around the room, displaying objects that looked expensive, along with chairs upholstered in what could only be velvet. The floor was covered with a huge, oriental-patterned rug. He became aware that he was covered with a fluffy down comforter encased in silk that felt good against his bare skin.
Bare skin! He had a vague memory of being jerked off by Ducky—Ducky, of all people! He'd had a particularly bad day, and Ducky had comforted him, invited him to dinner, caressed him tenderly, made him feel loved and cared for.
Holy shit!
There was a gentle tap at the door, which opened to admit Ducky's head.
"Are you awake, Anthony?" he asked.
"Yeah," he responded.
"Good," said the head, disappearing behind the door for a moment, and then reappearing with the body properly attached. "I've brought you some breakfast, since, ah, you didn't really get to enjoy the nourishment of dinner last night, and you are undoubtedly hungry by now."
He entered bearing a huge silver tray laden with covered dishes. Setting it down over Tony's lap, he began lifting the covers from the dishes. "Here's some oatmeal and a pitcher of cream. Mrs. Blevins made you some bacon and eggs [three eggs and three pieces of bacon, Tony noted], and toast and jam [three slices]. I hope you like whole wheat toast. Ah, here's the juice, and the coffee."
The tray also held a sugar bowl plus salt and pepper shakers and a plate with several pats of molded butter. The coffee was in a carafe that obviously held more than one cup.
Tony realized suddenly that he was indeed very hungry, and this looked so much better than the Pop-Tarts that he usually started the day with. He tucked in immediately.
Ducky in the meantime had gone to a closet and pulled out a silk dressing gown in a rich dark blue color flashed with gold.
"The bathroom's right in there," Ducky said, pointing. "I set out a fresh toothbrush and razor. I'm afraid that you won't be able to get dressed for a while, though."
Through a huge mouthful of oatmeal, Tony asked, "Why not?"
"Because your clothes aren't ready yet. Mrs. Blevins and I have laundered them, but they still have to dry."
Tony swallowed the oatmeal and protested. "You didn't have to wash them."
Ducky smiled gently. "My dear boy, many is the time that I…um…unexpectedly enjoyed an overnighter, and I know from experience how grubby one feels putting on the same clothes the next morning to return home. It's the least I could do for you. I am so happy that I've been able to offer you the hospitality of my home."
Tony stared at him for a moment. "Ducky, I'm very grateful to you for taking care of me, but I don't usually do this sort of thing with…ah…with men."
Ducky replied, "Oh, I'm very aware of that, my lad. And it will never happen again. Unless you want it to happen."
Tony responded with sincere regret but firmness in his voice. "It won't happen. I hope that you'll be all right with that."
Ducky repressed a sigh. "I will, Anthony." He turned to leave the room. "I'll be back shortly with your clothes."
Tony cleaned up every particle of breakfast, taking time to enjoy a third cup of coffee. Putting aside the tray and the comforter, he padded into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Ducky had not returned by the time he was done, so he checked out the huge armoire opposite the bed and found that it did indeed contain a large-screen TV. When Ducky came in, Tony was watching ESPN.
Ducky laid Tony's newly-laundered clothes on the bed and left with a jaunty "I'll see you downstairs."
His clothes had a fresh, pleasant odor, and he dressed slowly to breathe it in. He reflected that Ducky often smelled of the same scent.
Once dressed in his clean clothes, he made his way down the stairs. Ducky and his mother, accompanied by the Corgis, emerged from her sitting room.
"Who's this?" Mrs. Mallard demanded.
Ducky patted her hand. "It's young Anthony DiNozzo."
DiNozzo? Did you say DiNozzo? Is that Italian? Is he a gigolo?"
Tony took her hand again and told her, "Yes, I am a gigolo, Mrs. Mallard," he said, not looking at her son.
She glared at him for a long moment and then suddenly giggled. "Good," she said firmly, "I always did like a gigolo. You may kiss my cheek."
He bent down a little to plant a soft kiss on the offered cheek. Ending the kiss, he reached up to stroke the same cheek, but she slapped his hand away, telling him, "Don't get fresh." And gesturing to her dogs, she swept out the hall.
Ducky was smiling fondly. "You are most kind to both of us old crocks."
He gestured through the sidelights on either side of the front door. "It's a beautiful day outside."
"Yes, I can see that," Tony replied, finally looking at Ducky a sweet smile.
Seeing the smile, Dr. Mallard was sorely tempted to beg Tony to stay; instead, he said, "Again, I want you to know how much pleasure you've given me by accepting our hospitality."
Tony stepped forward to embrace his friend. "I'm very grateful to you, as well, for the rescue."
"Will you be all right?"
"Yes, I will," Tony replied firmly.
"You can always talk to me," Ducky told him, a little bit of wistfulness coloring his tone.
"I know. Thank you. For everything. It was…nice."
Ducky beamed. "You're most, most welcome, dear Anthony."
Tony turned and went through the front door. As he got into his car and started the engine, his cell phone began ringing. The name on the caller ID was Gibbs'.
Before answering the call, he turned and waved at Ducky.
"DiNozzo."
"Where the hell are you, DiNozzo? I need you. You'd better get your butt in here right now."
"On it, boss," he said, beginning to smile. It looked like it was going to be a good day after all.
Story Notes:
Wow! I wrote a slash fic! This is not my style. But I noticed that there were only two stories for this pairing, and it was a challenge too big to pass up....
Author's Chapter Notes:
Tony's in pain, and the good doctor has the prescription
Chapter End Notes:
Wow! I wrote a slash fic! This is not my style. But I noticed that there were only two stories for this pairing, and it was a challenge too big to pass up....