Disclaimer: Don Bellisario and CBS own the rights to NCIS and the characters contained within this story. No copyright infringement is intended. The title is reference to one of my favorite songs, "Rainy Day Swimming" by Absentee.
Sarah McGee knocked on the door to the Mallard residence uncertainly, and turned to watch Tim turn onto the road. She did have him to thank for getting her this weekend caretaker job. After he had given his coworker, Dr. Mallard, a glowing review of how she cared for their grandmother before she died, the older man had hired her instantly. The sound of the door opening startled her from her thoughts, and a frightened-looking elderly woman peered at her through the opening.
"Who are you?" she asked, brandishing her cane.
Sarah took a deep breath and entered the house. "I'm Sarah McGee, ma'am. Your son hired me to be your weekend caretaker." She set her book bag down, right next to the commode.
"You're Scottish!" the woman said with a grin. Sarah blanched. She had no idea whether she was Scottish or not.
"Maybe, Mrs. Mallard," she said, leading her charge into the sitting room. "My dad was adopted, so we don't really know his ancestry." She had just led Mrs. Mallard over to a sofa when a swarm of Corgis started running around her ankles.
"Countessa, Tyson, Henry, Philip, stop this instant!" The dogs obeyed their mistress and they leaped onto the sofa. "Donald doesn't like the dogs on the furniture, but he's not here to object," she whispered conspiratorially as the dogs curled up for a nap, the excitement of a new person in the house wearing off. "Who are you again, my dear?"
Sarah had been prepared for this, and answered with long-practiced patience. "I'm Sarah, Mrs. Mallard. Your son sent me over to take care of you while he's at work," she said gently.
"You're a friend of Donalds?" she asked brightly. "He needs to meet more young ladies. It's about time I had some grandchildren."
Sarah blushed. "He's friends with my brother, Tim. They both work and NCIS." She had only met Dr. Mallard once, and he was sweet, in a grandfatherly way. "He mentioned you liked telling people about your trip to Africa. Could you tell me more about that?"
Mrs. Mallard smiled and began to tell her young audience about swimming with the hippos in Kenya. "It began to rain when we were halfway down the river. Our guide thought we should turn back, but I told him onward! Swimming in the rain was a very spiritual experience. Have you ever gone swimming in the rain?" Sarah shook her head, and Mrs. Mallard tutted her. "Youth is often wasted on the young. Do it, and damn the consequences of what others think!"
Sarah smiled. The old woman was beginning to grow on her. "Come on, Mrs. Mallard, let's go make lunch."
It was dark when Ducky finally arrived home. Wondering if he would see young Sarah McGee at her wits end, he peered into the dining room and to his surprise, saw her amiably chatting with his mother while playing cards. "Mother, how are you this evening?" he asked cheerfully.
"Absolutely splendid," Mrs. Mallard replied. "Shelly is a fascinating young girl." Surprisingly, Sarah didn't wince at being called the wrong name, even though Ducky gave her an apologetic smile. Once his mother was in the parlor, he turned to face Sarah.
"I do apologize if she was a little...forward," he said. "Mother has a way with some people-."
"It's fine, Dr. Mallard," she replied. "Your mother is a very charming lady. And I don't mind being called Shelly." It had been an enlightening day, and if being called a different name or having to re-introduce herself every half hour was the price to pay, it was well worth it. "Do you mind if I use your phone? I need to call the cab company and get back to campus."
"I'll do you one better and drive you back," Ducky said with a grin. He had just found someone who could put up with his mother, the least he could do was drive her back to her residence hall.
"Thanks, Dr. Mallard."
"Oh, call me Ducky, my dear. Your brother does."
It started raining when Sarah walked over to her friend's room in a different hall. Instead of meeting with her, she headed toward the pond and jumped in. Mrs. Mallard was right, it was a different experience. Just her and the gentle rippling of the lake as raindrops fell. Several people running past stopped and stared. Some shouted at her, but she ignored them, doing a lazy backstroke in the pond. She made a note to thank Mrs. Mallard the next time she saw her.
