a/n: Well I kind of got this idea and it's a bit angsty but...Set kind of after the season 11 finale but before the season 12 premiere.
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS
A tall, silver-headed man swept through the crowded hospital in a hurry. His long black cloak billowing behind him, he looked like the bringer of death himself. And in a way, to certain unlucky people, he was.
With his icy blues eyes on fire, he ignored the few looks he got as he he pushed his way through the emergency room. On other days, he might have bothered to be more careful-more considerate to the people he was mowing over at least. But today, right now, there was only one single target on his mind.
His swift, steady stride led him past lines of curtained off beds. When he was halfway down, his fiery eyes lit upon a bed a little further ahead. If he had counted right, that was the one the on-duty nurse had told him.
Maybe he should have gone back and asked, just to make extra sure. But he was agitated enough as it was, he didn't need to prolong this any longer. Taking the last steps he needed, he yanked back the curtain.
The little metal rings rattled alarmingly at his force, but Gibbs could care less. His whole being was focused solely on the man sitting up right on the emergency room bed...
"Gibbs," he greeted cordially.
"Duck."
He had come straight from work when he heard, leaving Tony to secretly steal and do the paperwork he'd left on his desk. Gibbs would pay the kid back later with some steaks and beer, but at the moment he had been focused solely on getting to the hospital.
The entire ride over had been spent with him internally debating whether or not Palmer's stuttering worry had been an over-exaggeration or not. He'd opted on the side of the careful, considering these days the poor Autopsy Gremlin wasn't as prone to stuttering explanations as he use to be. Hence the reason behind why he'd taken a forty-five minute ride in fifteen minutes. Something that should've been impossible-even for him.
Without waiting for an invitation, Gibbs stepped inside the small little area. Shutting the curtain behind him, he sat forcefully in the little chair that was shoved up close to the bed. Leaning forward and slapping his hands down on knees, he looked at the man before him.
Duck did look bad, he had to give Palmer that. But it wasn't the neat line of stitches leading up his left arm that did it. It was more the pinched, gray look to his features. He was sitting the way Gibbs himself was sitting, except his head was hanging low, and his glasses were sitting on the medical tray that sat beside his bed.
Though, logically, he knew what had happened (he'd been told after all) he had to acknowledge that a major part of himself was relieved. Some part of him, no matter how silly it was, had for some reason expected to see Ducky lying in another hospital bed. A victim of another heart attack that his body just couldn't take.
Gibbs took a deep breath; forcefully shoving those thoughts far, far away.
"You wanna tell me what happened?"
"You know what happened." Ducky's voice was raspy, the older man was tired. Gibbs could tell that easily, and he couldn't blame him. It had been late when he himself had left the Navy Yard, and it was even later when he had first arrived at Bethesda.
"Wanna hear your side."
"Why?" Duck asked, raising his head. His blue eyes, a shade duller than Gibbs's own, were stormy. "Am I being interrogated?"
Gibbs didn't like that, and he didn't like that look in his friend's eyes. "Course not, Duck. We got back to the Navy Yard, and I go down to autopsy to get the final results. And Palmer babbles out that you were in the hospital-."
"Technically," Ducky interrupted sternly, Gibbs watched as his right hand fiddled with the thin hospital blankets, "I'm in the emergency room, not the hospital. And you shouldn't have come, but I am sorry about the results. I'll get it done as soon as I get back."
With that, the other man slid off the hospital bed. It wasn't the usual graceful movements of an experienced surgeon, his movements were shaky and erratic. Immediately Gibbs hopped up from his chair, clapping his hand down on his friends shoulder; he gently pushed him back down on the bed. Ignoring his friend's outraged look, he moved his chair in front of the man.
"I'm not one of your team, Gibbs. You can't just push me around." The older man practically growled, and on any other day; Gibbs would have laughed. Ducky growling, that was like...a literal duck to imitate a dog.
"I don't give a damn about the autopsy results. We finished the case, all I needed was the last stuff for the reports and Palmer took care of that. And you think I shouldn't have come? In case you haven't realized, the emergency room is in the hospital." Disbelief was evident in his tone, he found out Ducky was in the hospital getting who knew how many stitches. And the man had expected him to just blow it off?
Ducky clenched his teeth, his jaw becoming more prominent. "I. Am. Fine." He enunciated clearly through gritted teeth.
"Prove it to me. Tell me what happened." Gibbs challenged. Making sure to keep blocking Ducky's escape route. The older man sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead, he glared balefully at Gibbs. If the team had been there, they would've been convinced he and their boss had switched places.
But it reminded Gibbs of something else. It reminded him of the way his father had looked at him when he hadn't wanted to admit things. Things like; getting his license suspended, or the day he had conceded to needing glasses, or when he fell int he store and busted up an old war wound.
He was ashamed that his voice was a little hoarse when he pleaded, "Duck."
Ducky looked at him, and he knew that the other man saw straight through him. It was why, with shoulders slumped in resignation, he leaned forward and began to narrate yet another one of his tales.
"I was at my desk, and Mr. Palmer came into autopsy with a victim from Agent Dannlier's new case. I-I stood to go and help lift the body...and," Gibbs hadn't interrupted, not once. But for the first time, Ducky stopped his story on his own. Ducky looked him in the eye now, though Gibbs doubted how well he could actually see him without his glasses but he was still fairly sure Ducky was focused on the general direction of his face.
"Jethro," Jethro, he'd been calling him Gibbs since he had found him, "I didn't just trip. I fell, on the way down; I nicked my harm on one of the slabs...I just ...got dizzy."
'Just got...dizzy," Gibbs was forcibly reminded of how his father use to explain his newest band-aids. He just got dizzy...and fell. Fell down a few of the stairs, down on the pavement outside of the store, into doorways and shelves.
He raked his hands roughly through his hair. And this time it was him who was avoiding the other man's gaze-
"You needed stitches. It wasn't just nothin," he murmured, his eyes focusing on the neat row of stitches leading up Ducky's arm.
"Don't you think I know that?"
"Well, you didn't seem to earlier? And how the hell did you even keep this from me? I'm your emergency contact, they should have called me!"
Ducky shifted suspiciously at that. Trying to prolong the amount of time he didn't have to answer Gibbs, he leaned over to the small little sterilized metal tray and grabbed what Gibbs had previously missed: a roll of medical tape and gauze.
"I have contacts myself here," he said, trying-and failing-to tape the gauze on his long row of stitches with one hand. Getting up, Gibbs wordlessly took the tape from him. Without protest Ducky settled for holding down the gauze while Gibbs began to tape the edges. "They know my credentials, I was still completely lucid when I came in. I told them I even drove myself in-"
Finished, Gibbs pulled back and tried to glare the other man down. "You drove yourself here?!"
"Yes," Ducky answered frankly, "And before you jump down my throat; remember that you were the one who once evaded medical attention after dying at the bottom of the Potomac."
Ducky's voice was steel, and Gibbs had the good grace to look slightly abashed. Ducky and Tony were the only ones who actually knew about the whole 'heart stopping' part. But Gibbs maintained the opinion that he hadn't actually died. Still, they'd come to an unspoken agreement not to mention the whole incident again. Or the little basement argument that had occurred afterwards.
"Now, before you stop me on this. Sit down, we need to talk." It was humorous in the fact that Gibbs obediently sat back down. Waiting for Ducky to gather his wits and begin, he focused on the bustling sounds of the hospital around him.
"Are you sure this is the right place to do it?" he asked. Gibbs honestly had not the faintest idea as to what they could possibly need to talk about still. Was this Ducky still trying to defend his action?
He doubted it. Ducky didn't bother trying to defend the things he did, not to anyone-even him. No, it was something else. Something that made Ducky look pinched and pale. Something that made him snap at Gibbs for no apparent reason. Something, that apparently, Gibbs wasn't going to like at all.
"You sure this is the right time to have a conversation, Duck?"
"Yes," Ducky gave a shaky little exhale. Yet his voice was firm. "This is the only time I'll have you as a captive audience. You can't very well walk out of an emergency room that easily...As you know from personal experience." He added the last part wryly, and Gibbs smirked in acknowledgment of his former escapades. To be fair, he was sure he could escape quite easily. But Ducky really did seem to have something to say to him, and he wouldn't do his friend the disservice of ignoring him like that. Not when it seemed to be something that was weighing oh so heavily on his mind.
"Let's have it."
For a moment, it looked as if Ducky's resolve would falter. But Gibbs should have known better than to doubt the older man. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed at the gauze covering his stitches idly, "I'm getting older Jethro-"
"If this is you trying to retire," he warned, sitting up ramrod straight in his chair. The thought hadn't occurred to him before, that this might be what Ducky was trying to do. And now that he had...Ducky was right, he didn't like this at all.
"No," Ducky cut him off, looking at him sternly.
"Good," he grumbled; crossing his arms like a petulant child, "Because you technically retire to Leon, and I wouldn't have taken it anyway."
"I know," he answered dryly, "But this is not me trying to retire. This is about...me getting older." He spat the word like a curse, something that caught Gibbs' attention.
"You aren't old Duck," Gibbs rebutted immediately.
"Stop being contrary for the sake of it Jethro," Gibbs bristled and had to resist the inane urge to roll his eyes at the rebuke. Sometimes he wondered why he put up with this little British man who thought he could boss him around. Not when Gibbs could quite literally throw him. "I know I'm not necessarily old, but I am getting older. Now, you're my emergency contact, and you have power of attorney over me. You're also the executor of my will."
So, apparently, it was going to be one of those talks. He didn't want to-he couldn't have...this conversation with Ducky of all people. Not now. Not ever. He let out a huff of breath, "This is ridiculous."
"It is not ridiculous," Gibbs had the distinct feeling, seeing the veiled sadness in his eyes, that he'd offended Ducky. He hadn't meant to, it was just...No, not now. Not when things were going...good. He wouldn't have this hanging over him too. "I am getting older, and soon...decisions might have to be made."
Gibbs didn't miss the distinct emphasize on 'decisions'. He knew exactly what 'decisions' meant; he rubbed his palm over the fabric of his jeans roughly. He'd just gotten through making those 'decisions' for his own father. It wasn't fair to have to think about doing them again. In frustration, he bit down on the inside of his cheek to hold back what he really wanted to say. Instead, he ground out the words that he was sure Ducky wanted to hear.
"What decisions do you want to talk about?"
"Dementia and Alzheimer's; I need you to be prepared for that." Ducky stared at him with his usual impassiveness. Gibbs had to hand it to him, while he was sure his face was an open book at the moment; Ducky's poker face was usually infallible. He himself was left spinning in the wake of Ducky's blunt, hard, no BS-words. "Now, the home my mother was put in is perfectly fine for me. My insurance will cover everything, I've had those arrangements made for years now-"
Gibbs interrupted his somber words with a humorless laugh. He'd prepared himself for more talk of a will. Maybe new instructions on what Ducky would like him to do, now that there had been recent additions and losses to their little 'family'. Yet, not once had it occurred to him that this might be a topic of discussion. Hell, it had never even occurred to him that it might be even near the ballpark of acceptable discussion between the two. And especially if Ducky was opening with that topic.
"You are losing it." He barked madly.
"Excuse me?!"
"You think that's going to actually happen?!"
At his words, Ducky's face seemed to clear in some form misconcepted form of understanding. "Jethro," he sighed wearily, "I appreciate you not wanting to talk about this, but we need to. If I have to I can always make my nephew the executor of my will and power of attorney."
"Duck," he growled harshly, "Your nephew's a twenty year old little idiot. And I've got no problem being in charge of your stuff. You just don't seem to get it!"
"Get what?!"
"That you aren't going to some goddamned home!" He growled fiercely, working himself up with thoughts of Ducky...like that. It wouldn't happen; he himself was a self-proclaimed idiot, he would go first in some asinine stunt before anything happened to Ducky. It rankled him, the way the other man was talking, it was as if he thought Gibbs was just going to pack him up and send him down the river.
"That is very admirable my boy-," Ducky began with a patronizing eye roll.
"Don't give me the 'my boy' stuff. I'm not Palmer, McGee, or DiNozzo. You wanna have this talk, we're gonna talk." Gibbs planted his feet more firmly on the linoleum floor; casting his mind back to remember all of the things he'd thought through on the nights he was almost too drunk to remember his own name. Surprisingly enough, those half formed plans came back easily when he tried to recall them. "You aren't going to some home Duck, and I don't know what made you think you would be."
"Again, that is very admirable 'my boy'," he said, making sure to deliberately stress the 'my boy' part just to annoy Jethro. Gibbs gritted his teeth, a move he had repeated a million times before when arguing with his own father; he wanted to shake the man in front of him. Tell him not to pretend like he was such a child. Their age difference actually wasn't as considerable as Duck sometimes liked to make it out to be for his own purposes. Meaning with the more considerable risk to his own life, there was a highly likely chance that he would go first before Ducky even started to forget where he had set his keys.
Not that he would mention it though; Ducky didn't tend to take it lightly when it came to the subject of him burying Gibbs-
"But that's not feasible. I do appreciate the sentiment, but things will happen. So if not today, when are we going to discuss this?"
"Duck, that's not what I'm saying...Even if you do...lose it one day," he hissed that part. Maybe a little too cruelly because he saw the man that had worked with dead people for most of his life, blanch only from his words. "Even if you do, you don't honestly think I would put you away. Do you?"
"It's not that simple."
"Yeah, it damn well is. If that ever happens, you're gonna get the same deal I gave Dad," he could hear his blood pounding in his ears when he mentioned his father. He was just glad he'd never believed in omens; he prepared to tell Ducky the interesting part though. "Only, you don't have the choice of turning it down."
"Oh, really now?"
"Yes, really." Not when his father had turned it down. Not when, only months later, something would happen that Gibbs should've been there for. If he had just pushed a little harder, a little longer, than he might've been there when his father had needed him the most. And maybe then his father might not have... "And don't start lecturing me on not thinking this through; I have. My house is too big for just me. Things like that ever do start happenin', and you do need to live with someone. You want it to be in a home? Then you can come to mine. I know it's not as fancy as your place, but I like to call it home." He finished with a crooked little grin. Hoping against hope, that Ducky would just drop it now.
"I really do appreciate the sentiment my dear boy. But I don't believe you have thought this through! When I end up developing the rest of the symptoms, things will progress rapidly. And it's not fair to place that on you!" Ducky sighed heavily, his eyes shining. He appeared a little blindsided at the sheer intensity in Gibbs' words, and maybe even a tad humbled.
"Wait! When," he snarled, "Is there something you're not telling me?!" Involuntarily he felt his fingers clench in the denim fabric of his jeans. He hadn't noticed anything lately, Ducky hadn't been acting anymore unusual than normal. But, then again, he also had a history of letting people withering away to their death, right under his nose.
"Of course not," Ducky denied, but Gibbs didn't take much comfort from his denial. For a man as good as Ducky, all the signs were there. Right down to the way he was shifting anxiously on the bed.
"You got any actual proof of this? Huh? Or was this all just set off because you fell?"
"Jethro I didn't just trip over my own two feet! Give me a little more credit than that! I was standing, and all of sudden I was dizzy. One thing led to another; before I knew it I was on the floor with my arm ripped open. I didn't just trip!" The older man repeated near hysterically. Neither gave a thought to the distinct volume their voices were rising too. If they had, Ducky might've lowered his out of respect for the others in the ER. But Gibbs couldn't have given a damn about volume or respect at the moment; it wasn't as if anyone could really hear them over the extraneous noise.
"Duck, you said you'd been sitting down," his mind was in investigator mode; thinking about all the possible scenarios besides the one he refused to recognize. Churning and spitting out ideas at a rate that surprised even himself. "How long?"
"I don't know. A few hours maybe?"
He scoffed at that; the proverbial light-bulb appearing over his head. It all just sort of...fell into place with those words. Like when they got that last little crucial piece of information or he was able to place what one little extra detail meant. And then the whole case just wrapped itself up in a nice and tight little bow after the revelation. "Blood rush," he muttered.
"What?"
"I know how you are when you're working like that. You could sit still for hours on end without movin' a muscle. Then, when you stood up for the first time in hours, blood rush or vertigo. Whatever it's called made you dizzy?"
It was as if something had just...exploded in Ducky's expansive mind. He hung his head, his eyes wide, and Gibbs watched as the other man's mouth formed a comical, "O".
Seriously, for a person as brilliant as Ducky was, this was all more than a bit ridiculous-
"Is that what got you started on this whole...thing?!" He almost laughed in disbelief, fumbling a bit to come up with the right word. His hand waved heavily through the hair with his leftover frustration, and he had the maddening urge to laugh.
Ducky's flushed face gave him away before he could answer with a defensive, "No." And Gibbs wanted to give him one good headslap right then and there.
To his credit, the other man regained himself marvelously. Straightening back up and taking a deep breath, the he took the time to fiddle with is hands and arrange his arm before replying in his usual calm tone-
"Well, we had to have this conversation anyway!"
"Not here we didn't! And not now! But..." Gibbs tapered off, he wasn't continuing any further in dwelling on what may or may not come in the future. So if Ducky wasn't going to end the conversation-he was, and on his terms.
"Let me tell you what's going to happen if this future you've been imagining does end up happening," he stated seriously. "If in the very distant future, you ever do need help-I'm not putting you in a damn home. My place isn't as big as yours, but it's big enough for the both of us. You'll move in, and if you do need help I'll be there-"
"Jethro-"
"No," Gibbs held up his previously flailing hand, " 'M not a kid, or an idiot Duck. By that time, if I'm not retired, because you know whoever comes after Leon isn't going to be stupid enough to keep me on. If I'm not out by then, I'll just pass on more responsibility to DiNozzo. That's the way things are going to happen."
He huffed slightly as he finished speaking more words in just one sitting than he had for the whole week. Ducky was looking at him in still-shock, but eventually he simply gave the only answer Gibbs would accept, "Okay."
Gibbs growled something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like another rant brewing, before going on to say; his blue eyes boring into Ducky's own-
"This is nonnegotiable. You go back on it, pull some scheme and do place your nephew in charge of you behind my back...Then," and Gibbs prepared himself to say the words that would make Ducky hate him, but that would get the promise he needed, "I go back on my deal."
Maybe it was a little underhanded, mentioning a pseudo-deal that had been struck between the two years ago. One that wasn't even really...binding-technically. Nevertheless, that little one-time deal had been in the back of his mind every time throughout the years when he'd been shot, stabbed, or even kidnapped.
If he could abide by his, Ducky could abide by his own.
Ducky's patient gaze turned into a glower. His face drained momentarily of color, but Gibbs didn't let that stop him. Taking a deep-smug-breath, he asked the rhetorical question, "Agreed?"
If looks could kill, he would've already been on Ducky's table-
"Agreed," the man all but hissed.
"Great. Now that we've got that settled...Let's get out of here, Duck." Gibbs suggested amicably. Ducky sighed once more, his head hanging low as he fought to keep back a resigned sort of smile that Gibbs saw anyway. Standing from his position in the uncomfortable chair, he watched the older man's movements carefully as he slid off the bed; landing lightly on his feet and snatching his glasses from the little stand.
Together they walked out of the curtained off area, picking their way through the crowded place. It was weird, seeing the effect one flimsy curtain could have. In the middle of all this hustle the two men had just had one of the most serious conversations that would occur in either of their lives. And yet, while it may have seemed like everything had come to a halt as they battled it out-
It hadn't.
Nothing had stopped. People had continued right by their little area, completely unaware and uncaring as to what was going on. And while it was unsettling, seeing the way the world could continue without either of them-
It was nice in a weird way too.
Shaking his head out of his existential crisis thoughts; he slung an arm across Ducky's shoulders. Pulling him out of the path of a bumbling nurse who had at least two feet on the other man; he casually broached the topic that he was sure Ducky was going to try and avoid.
"You know Duck, I figure it's only fair to warn you that there's a good chance we've given Abs enough time to get that 'Feel Better Soon' party set up. And invite at least fifty of your closest friends-"
"Jethro!"
a/n: This took way longer than it should have.
