Title: Just Another Day

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no infringement intended.

Summary: Of all the days that could have gone to hell on Jimmy, it just had to be his birthday, didn't it?

Rating: A fairly tame fic, I'll say T to be safe though.

Pairings: McAbby and Palmer/Ziva, although it isn't centered on the shippiness.

Jimmy Palmer arose out of bed and got himself showered, shaved, dressed, and ready for work. Today was just another day, he figured.

Except, it wasn't just another day.

But Jimmy was accustomed to his birthday being just another day, having it be something that was about as special and memorable as a glass of warm water.

He didn't think anyone knew it was his birthday, and so he wasn't expecting any birthday greetings when he arrived at work, in the morgue at NCIS, but he wasn't expecting a withering glare from Dr. Mallard, either.

"Good morning, Doctor," he had said cordially. Ducky had glared up at him, annoyance in his blue eyes. "You are late, Mr. Palmer," he said, tersely. Jimmy blanched, glancing down at his wrist. He shook his head, perplexed. "But, my watch… I don't understand." He checked it again – yes, he should have a full 7 minutes before starting his shift. "I'm sorry Doctor, my watch must be running slow… I thought I had plenty of time," he stammered, confused and upset, and more than a little embarrassed. The old doctor fired another look of annoyance at him, and then pointed up at the clock on the wall in autopsy.

"You… are… late," he repeated, this time with his distinguished English brogue emphasizing each word for effect.

"Yes, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy said, sighing with annoyance at himself. "It won't happen again." Dejected, he headed towards the changing room to get out of his street clothes.

Ducky watched after him, sighing sadly. He hated to do that to the poor lad, but everyone had to do their part to make sure the day went smoothly. He turned as Gibbs walked into the morgue.

"Jethro, would you be so kind now, as to fix that clock, please? I think it had the desired effect."

"You think he bought it, Duck?" Gibbs asked, a sparkle in his blue eyes. Ducky nodded, half with regret, and half with anticipation. "Oh, yes, Jethro. The young lad bought it. Hook, line, and sinker. Now please, fix that damned clock."

……………………………………………………………………………

Several minutes after Gibbs had fixed the clock for Ducky and had left autopsy, Jimmy emerged, clad in his usual uniform of green scrubs, and walked over to his desk, and was surprised to find two roses waiting for him.

Two long stemmed roses – one red, and one black.

The red rose, he guessed correctly, had come from Ziva. As far as he knew, she was the only one who was aware what today was, so he wasn't entirely surprised, considering all the time they'd been spending together lately. He picked it up, smiling slightly to himself, as he touched the silken petals and brought it to his face to drink in the scent. He closed his eyes briefly, savouring the thought of the woman behind the rose, and the sentiment. This moment might be the one thing to get him through the rest of the day, he feared.

Of course, Ziva would remember. So the day wasn't a total write-off anyway. But, the day had only just begun, and on a rather bad note, to boot.

But the black rose, he thought, must have been intended for Abby, and been delivered to him by mistake. Perhaps Tim had bought it for her, and whoever had delivered it had assumed that the two flowers had been intended for the same person. He picked it up, gently touching the delicate dark petals, and decided that he had to do right by this rose.

He exited the morgue, and made his way to the lab. "Hey, Abby," Jimmy said quietly, as he walked in. Abby looked up at him, smiling. "Hey, Jims," she said, her green eyes bright. Jimmy cocked his head at her, smiling slightly. Abby was an enigma, and he swore that if they both spent the rest of their lives as colleagues at NCIS, he would never in a half-dozen decades manage to figure her out.

"I think this was meant for you," he said, holding out the rose. Abby's face fell slightly, and she looked at him, slightly crushed.

"It was on your desk, right?" Abby asked, concerned. Jimmy nodded, "Mm hmm." Abby smiled, relieved. "Oh, good then. No, it wasn't meant for me, Jimmy. It's yours. It was the last one, too. Took me forever to find it."

Jimmy's eyebrows shot up his forehead, much to Abby's amusement. "But… why would you…?" he stammered, not sure how to react just yet.

"Well, it's your birthday, isn't it?" Abby crossed her arms and cocked her head at him, her long dark pigtails swaying from the motion. Jimmy blinked a few times, glancing back and forth between the single long stemmed rose in his hands, and the beautiful Gothic friend who'd given it to him.

"Well… yeah, it is. But I didn't think anyone but Ziva knew." He was almost thrown off balance when she threw her arms around him and gave him a bear hug. "Everyone deserves something special on their birthday. Happy Birthday, Jims." She planted a big kiss on his cheek just as McGee walked in.

"What the hell… Palmer, what do you think you're doing with my girlfriend?" McGee, unlike Ducky, did not sound annoyed. McGee sounded well and truly pissed.

Jimmy usually got along pretty good with Timothy McGee. But at this very moment, all he wanted to do was get the hell out of Dodge. McGee carried a gun for a living, and Jimmy… did not.

"Bye Abby," he said, as he beat a hasty retreat. "Thanks for the gift," was the last thing that Abby and McGee heard as the doors closed on the shaken young morgue assistant.

"Nice, Timmy," Abby said, admiringly. "Very effective." McGee grinned and shrugged bashfully. "Thanks. I tried. Oh, very nice touch with the kiss, by the way – beautiful timing, Abs. Right on cue." He leaned down and kissed her softly. "You think he bought that I was upset?"

"Do ya think?" Abby said, winking.

……………………………………………………………………………

Jimmy wasn't looking forward to the next couple of hours.

He sat in the truck, waiting for Dr. Mallard to join him. They had just been called out to a crime scene, and Dr. Mallard had barely said three words to him since his arrival that morning.

When they arrived at the scene, after many minutes of uncomfortable silence, Jimmy stepped out of the truck, and moved to the back to grab their gear.

He looked over and saw Gibbs' team gathered around the body. When he walked over, he was met by a very irritated Tony DiNozzo, pushing him out of the way.

"Watch where you're going, Palmer. You just obliterated evidence," Tony said, clearly angry. Jimmy muttered a half-hearted apology, looking down at where he'd been walking. Sure enough, the tread of his boots had destroyed another footprint, presumably one that had, at one point, been a crucial piece of evidence in the case. He said nothing as he walked away, carefully watching his step.

"You think he realized that was my footprint, McGee?" Tony whispered, regretfully. McGee looked out towards the retreating form of Ducky's young assistant, his green eyes full of a mix of resolve, and regret. "I don't think so, Tony. If Jimmy had a tail right now, it'd be drooping."

"I know, Probie. I feel like crap doing that to him. I feel like I've just kicked a puppy." McGee made a face at him. "You did just kick a puppy, DiNozzo. Just remember, it's all for a good cause."

Jimmy, in the meantime, had quietly moved back towards where Ducky was crouched. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the liver temp thermometer, and found, to his dismay, that it was broken.

He closed his eyes. Truly – was nothing meant to go right today?

"Really, Mr. Palmer. Can you not do a better job of maintaining your instruments?" It was the most Dr. Mallard had said to him all day, and Jimmy was coming very close to throwing up his hands in defeat and going home.

"Here," Ducky said, reaching into his own bag. "Use mine."

"Yes, Doctor," Jimmy said quietly, wondering if he'd manage to do anything right today, as he turned towards the body and got to work.