a/n: So I don't even know. I think I've just always wanted a scene where Ducky is angry.
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS
He hears footsteps on the floor above him; quiet ones, heavy with baggage though. Both physical and mental.
Gibbs tinkers around with whatever hand tool he's holding at the moment. The bottle of bourbon that had been almost empty before is now completely drained; sitting on the counter diagonal from him. He has to resist the urge to rummage around for another.
The footsteps are closer now, at the top of the stairs. And Gibbs figures it's time for him to turn around and see who his visitor is. If it's an enemy who's about to bury a bullet in his brain...Well, he rather go down looking his murderer in the eye.
Looking up, he makes out through the dim gloom of his basement-the form of his visitor tonight, the one making his way slowly down the stairs-arms laden with plastic bags, is one Doctor Donald Mallard.
The older man's progress is slow, his eyes are carefully focused on the stairs. Though it was a merely a precautionary gesture, Ducky's been in his basement more times than DiNozzo. Both men are silent while Ducky makes his way to the bottom, setting his plastic bags down on the counter next to Gibbs, he finally looks at the other man.
"Hey," Gibbs says lamely, for lack of anything better to say, when the silence started to drag.
Duck doesn't smile, doesn't smirk, doesn't gently mock at his lame-ass greeting. He doesn't even launch into a story, and if that isn't a sign that something is wrong. The fact that Ducky is looking at him with hard eyes, is.
"I brought you some things," the older man eventually says, turning and digging through his bags-Gibbs sees the Wal-Mart logo on each of them. "Tea's, cough medicine, Vicks," he names the items as he pulls them out of a bag, setting them down beside each other on the counter. Gibbs watched as Ducky silently unveiled the pharmacy he must've bought.
When he's done, Gibbs says what they both knew he was going to say, "I don't need any of this."
Ducky looked at him in that calm-before-the-storm way he had, and though his accent is more pronounced-his words are dead of any inflection when he speaks again. "I thought you would say that-knew you would, more like it. And you will need each and everyone of these items considering you blew off the paramedics at the scene before I had arrived. I know for a fact that there's a good chance you'll wake up tomorrow with pneumonia, or bronchitis. I'm also aware that you won't acknowledge the fact that you need help, nor will you let me examine you-."
"So Jethro," Ducky took a deep breath, and said in a deadly voice, "You will at the very least take these things, and use them properly. Otherwise I will personally insure that you are handcuffed to a hospital bed and watched over twenty-four seven, for the next week and a half."
Gibbs made sure his glare was at top notch, though he didn't dare refuse the arsenal Ducky had brandished at him. His glare may be fierce, but he knew that Duck had the resources to make good on his threat. Though he absolutely refused to acknowledge that even hours after his dip in a sinking car, his chest still rattled and shook with every intake of breath.
Now that he had apparently accomplished what he'd come to do, Gibbs watched as Ducky spun around without a word and started up the staircase. Moving at a much faster pace than he had coming down, he was halfway up when Gibbs spoke up again.
"Is DiNozzo okay?" His voice was raspy and quiet, but he knew Ducky heard him. The doctor spun around to face him, back stiff and face impassive. Gibbs had known this man for so long, and to see him look so emotionless sent a shiver down his spine.
"You would know if you had bothered to go to the hospital."
"I was fine," he growled, "Besides, I needed to make sure Maddie was okay."
"You should've made sure Anthony was okay too," Ducky retorted sharply.
"You know damn well I had people watching out for him," Gibbs bit back sharply, not liking what his old friend was insinuating. Gibbs couldn't tell because of the lack of lighting, but he was pretty sure a shadow had just crossed the other man's face.
"It's not the same as seeing you Jethro. He needs to see you. They all needed to see you!"
"I'm fine," he hissed, "My team needed to concentrate on doing their jobs. It's not their problem what goes on with me!"
The older man's face was like thunder, and his calm facade cracked when he slammed one hand against the banister of the staircase loudly. "You're so obtuse," Ducky said in exasperation, striding back down to Gibbs, "You're so obtuse and sometimes I can't determine if you do it consciously or not!"
"What are you talking about?!" Gibbs said, striding away from where he had been leaning on the counter. While Ducky stood on the landing, fist clenched on the railing. Gibbs moved to the boat, his back to the other man in a dismissive gesture. Running a rough hand up and down the smooth wood, his muscles were tense.
"I'm talking about the fact that you apparently have no idea that the things you do have an effect on people! Especially the people who would follow you through hell fire without a second's thought-."
"No," Gibbs began to cut him off viciously.
"No!" Ducky said over him, still not shouting, "For once you are going to listen to me! You didn't see the look on the team's face when they found out that you'd gone off the grid once again! You didn't see Abigail's tears when she heard the news! You didn't see Jennifer hyperventilating when she arrived on the scene and thought they had already taken your dead body away! You didn't see the look on Anthony's face when he told me that you hadn't been breathing! All because you weren't there!"
Ducky took in a shaky inhale of breath, and Gibbs vaguely thought that this rant could rival one of Abby's. Except, this was his old friend; the calm and unshakable Doctor Mallard, he did't have rants. He told stories, one that were relevant at times-but most of the time weren't. He gave Gibbs' agent's tea to calm them, and quietly interfered before they could think about quitting.
And even now, when clearly he was upset, Duck wasn't yelling.
"You weren't there, when I thought I would see your body on my autopsy table." Somehow, Gibbs thought that him being so calm-was worse. There was a sick feeling in his stomach, and Gibbs couldn't bring himself to look his old friend in the eye.
"There were things I had to do," Gibbs said quietly, "I needed to make sure Maddie was okay. I had to take care of her. I was fine, I had people stationed to watch DiNozzo. The paramedics cleared Maddie, and DiNozzo gave me his agency vehicle to drive her home in. There was no need for the me to stay and have the paramedics uselessly hovering over me-."
"You still don't get it," the older man shook his head, and laughed a mean bitter sound. "All of us, we could understand your attachment to Maddie. She was a friend of Kelly's, wasn't she?"
Gibbs didn't bother to ask how he'd figured that out. After so many years, Ducky was an old pro at figuring out the things Gibbs wouldn't-couldn't-say. So instead of answering he nodded once.
"I thought so," Ducky said shortly, "And if you had just taken the time to tell us...You know what you didn't even have to tell us the back-story to your relationship with Maddie. Any one of us would've come with you blindly for backup. And maybe if you just for once stopped keeping so many damn secrets, maybe you wouldn't have died in a car at the bottom of the Potomac five hours ago-."
Gibbs head shot up, and his glare was more intense now. Though still Ducky wasn't fazed; like Gibbs, his expression had adapted to fit the mood of the room.
"Secrets?" Gibbs growled.
"Yes, you know those things you have a whole rule about? If I remember correctly its number four?" That was probably the most sarcastic tone of voice Ducky had ever used in his life-Gibbs didn't like it. "The best way to keep a secret is to keep it to yourself. The second best is to tell one other person. There is no third best. Well, who was your other person? Wait-I forget, Leroy Jethro Gibbs never goes for second best. He always goes the extra mile and keeps all his secrets to himself."
"Duck, what's this about," Gibbs muttered, his chest weighted down heavily. There was something behind this, a pushing factor that had made Ducky so angry with him.
"All of your damn secrets. Maybe the one you decided to keep from us for fifteen years?"
"I apologized to you for that," he barked, caught off guard-the blood drained from Gibbs' face visibly.
"You patronized me! You didn't like that I was upset with you so you said what you thought I wanted to hear! And you know what, I was okay with that," Gibbs could see that the older man was shaking with rage. If he had been anyone else, Gibbs would've sent him on his way immediately. But something was wrong, this was Ducky and his voice was getting louder with each word. "I've known for years that there are things that haunt you, and I don't pretend like I know everything just because we found out about Shannon and Kelly. They're only one of your many secrets, and all of us could forgive you for the rest of them! But I have known you for seventeen years. I have stood by you through every thing. Three ex-wives, too many girlfriends, the fallout from your relationship with Jennifer, countless asinine stunts, and multiple probationary agents! I was there when Michael Franks left you high and dry in the wind! I was there while you struggled at leading your first team! And I will continue to be there for years! I will still be here, and I will forgive you for many more things! But I will never forgive you if you die!"
"What?" Gibbs rasped. Where did-he wasn't-he needed a drink.
"You heard me!" In a sign of frustration Ducky gestured with the hand that use to be on the banister, out to him wildly. "What do you think we would do if you died?!"
"You would be fine-all of you! DiNozzo would take over the team. McGee would become his senior field agent. Everyone would be just fine, it would be like it was while I was in Mexico!"
"Ha!" Ducky scoffed, "You think we were fine while you were in Mexico?! We were barely grasping sanity! Nothing was fine you stupid, obtuse, idiot!"
"Did you just call me an idiot?!" Gibbs asked, bewildered.
"Yes! You are! You risk your life every damn day-you all do! But you are the only one who takes such unnecessary risks all the time! You are so selfish, not even thinking about how your death would effect us! Because I will," his voice cracked with his agitation, "NOT bury you! I WON'T BURY YOU GODDAMMIT!"
The older man was breathing heavily, he lowered his hand-his clenched fists coming to rest by his side. He lowered his eyes to the ground, and Gibbs watched as his best friend tried to piece himself back together.
"Jesus, Duck," he whispered, rubbing a hand over his mouth roughly. "It's okay. That's not gonna happen, okay? Thins aren't gonna go like that."
Ducky pinched the bridge of his nose, right under his spectacles. Sighing he looked back up at Gibbs, his originally hard-eyes-tired. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, let me tell you how it is going to be. You will not die. I will not be the one to bury you. That's not how this will work. You will be the one to bury me-that is nonnegotiable. And if you dare to go back on that at any time in the near future-I will never forgive you."
"Okay," Gibbs said again-he felt shaky. He knew it wasn't feasible to make a promise like that to Ducky, yet he wasn't exactly giving him a choice. Was he? He didn't want to think like that right now though, he didn't want to even imagine the day that he might have to bury Du-. "You want a drink?" He offered.
"No," Ducky said after a minute, "I need to go." Slowly, like he came in, he spun around and headed back up the stairs. "I need scotch."
Gibbs couldn't help but laugh at that. Ducky continued to trudge up the stairs, and without word goodbye he disappeared out of the doorway. His chest croupy, and his head pounding, once he heard his front door slam Gibbs launched a silent war against the arsenal sitting on his counter.
Cough medicine, that he might need, and the Vicks. Those would help him hide the wet cough he was sure to wake up with in the morning. But the tea? Did he really need the tea? Maybe he could substitute that for coffee...
Or spike it.
His cellphone ringing sliced through the new silence of his basement. Without looking at the caller ID he grabbed it from beside the box of herbal tea, and flipped it open.
"Gibbs," he answered.
"Handcuffed," the voice on the other end growled fiercely. Before Gibbs could reply, the dial tone was echoing in his ear. Bemused he tossed it aimlessly away from him, and picked up the box of green tea.
...Maybe he would just drink the tea...
a/n: This is probably the most ridiculous story I've ever written. Like I said before, I just wanted a scene where Ducky showed a lot of emotion. i know we got one scene where he was in tears. And I think David Mccallum did a wonderful job with that. But I wanted a scene where he got angry. And if there was ever a time for him to get angry at Gibbs, I think it would've been after the events of Requiem.
This ended up coming off kinda of slashy. It's not but, if you wanna interpret it that way be my guest.