Title: Florence Nightingale
Genre: Gen
Characters: Ducky, Jimmy, Gibbs
Prompt: fanfic100 38 Touch, from goodisrelative: Ducky. "Florence Nightingale"
Wordcount: 440
Spoilers: general season 1 and 2
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jimmy provides some first aid.
Disclaimer: Own nothing, not being paid.
A/N: Huge thank you to Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own and my spelling is Australian.
"Be careful Mr Palmer."
"I am Doctor. Just... hold... still." Jimmy put on the finishing touches. "There. Although, I still think you need stitches; it's a nasty cut."
"I am perfectly fine, thank you. There's no need to fuss," Ducky said, running his fingers over the strips that Jimmy had placed over the cut. It hurt, but that was to be expected.
"Yes, because you really can see your own forehead without a mirror." Jimmy met Ducky's eyes for a moment before looking away, the uncharacteristically bold statement hanging between them.
"Ducky? You okay?"
Gibbs had appeared out of nowhere, as he was wont to do, and crouched down in front of Ducky, studying Jimmy's handiwork.
"Yes, Jethro. Just a little mishap with these stairs." He smiled ruefully as he patted the concrete step he was sitting on. "My ego is more bruised than I am."
"He needs stitches," Jimmy stated, the sun glinting off his glasses as he looked up from the first aid kit.
"I think he might be right, Duck," Gibbs agreed.
"Yes, well, it can wait until after I've examined the body. An hour or two isn't going to make much difference."
Gibbs stood back up, his hair appearing more silver than grey in the light. "Right after you finish, you go to the hospital. McGee can drive you. No arguments."
He walked off without waiting for a reply and Jimmy took his place. "Your knee looks like it is all scraped up too, Doctor Mallard." He reached out and started pulling Ducky's trouser leg up.
Ducky hit the hand away, annoyed at how he was being coddled. He was not an invalid. "Do you mind, Mr Palmer?" Jimmy jumped back slightly at his tone. He softened his voice. "I think I can handle this one myself. Florence Nightingale you are not."
Jimmy looked him in the eye, confusion and some level of outrage present in his gaze. "Doctor, are you calling into question my hygiene? Because I quite assure you, I keep my hands very clean."
"No, Mr Palmer...never mind." Ducky pulled the material up and exposed his knee. "Can you hand—" Jimmy placed a wipe in his hand. "Thank you."
He started cleaning the dirt out. "Did I ever tell you about the doctor who thought he was Florence Nightingale? He'd walk around checking on his patients while holding an old fashioned lamp. Mind you, there was perfectly good lighting, even at night. Everybody just accepted it as an eccentricity until one night when he set himself on fire."
Jimmy's eyes widened. "How horrible."
"After that he was Joan of Arc."
--FIN--