Thanksgiving at Ducky's
by channelD
written for: the NFA NCIS Family Thanksgiving challenge
rating: K plus
genre: light/humor
pairing: slight McAbby
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disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.
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Chapter 1: Preparations
The Friday before Thanksgiving, NCIS:
"We're bringing the turkey," Tim said firmly. He gripped Abby's hand for support.
Ducky eyed them, and smiled. "Not a live one, like Tony did last year, Timothy." Life, he felt, was rarely dull around NCIS.
"Nope. Dead, plucked, frozen," said Abby, who did know how to cook a turkey. "We'll drop it off at your place to start defrosting on Sunday evening, and then be by Thursday morning early to start it cooking."
Gibbs sat down with a fresh cup of coffee. "Want me to bring mashed potatoes again, Duck? I can do a pumpkin pie, too."
"Perfect, Jethro," said Ducky, making notes on his list. Thanksgiving preparations were coming together. There would also be appetizers, soup, a green salad, a fruit salad, Jell-o, two kinds of stuffing, a green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, corn, peas, yams, bread, a cherry pie, caramel-dipped apple slices, cider, and other drinks. Wine, he added to the list. Now to figure out which of his other guests was bringing what.
His mother no longer cooked, but the housekeeper would make what he asked her to, the day before. Ziva could be counted on to bring something sensible. Jimmy and Tony, he wasn't so sure about.
This year there would be one less face at the table—Jenny, sadly—and one new one: the new Director, who had decided not to take the weekend off and go to San Diego, opting instead for the entire week from Christmas to New Year's. That would give his wife and kids time with the in-laws now—time he would avoid, he'd said. What will Vance want to bring? Ducky thought. A terrible thought seized him. Dear me, I hope I made it clear that this would be potluck. He will be embarrassed if he's the only one not bringing something. Ducky couldn't deal with that today; he was too busy. But soon…
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Tuesday before Thanksgiving, NCIS:
"What can I bring to the Thanksgiving dinner, Ducky?" asked Vance in a brief swing through Autopsy. "A good guest doesn't arrive empty-handed, after all."
Ducky smiled, gladdened. "Would you like to bring some bread, Director? Any kind would be fine."
"I can do that." Vance tapped a note to himself in his Blackberry. "What time should I be there?"
"Two o'clock for appetizers. The dinner will start at 4."
"Two it is. Thanks for having me!"
Ducky's face took on a kind look. "So many of our coworkers are single and have no family nearby. It seems only fitting that we get together for Thanksgiving. You're more than welcome."
"Did…I understand that you had Thanksgiving for the group at your house last year, as well. Did Jenny join you?"
"Yes. We started having Thanksgiving at her house, in fact, three years ago. At first it was just Jethro and myself, and then she expanded the group. She had her cook prepare the entire meal, and it was fabulous. But Ziva kept hinting that she wanted to add something to the meal, so last year we moved it to my place and made it a true potluck."
"Is it true DiNozzo brought a live turkey last year?" Vance laughed.
"Erm, yes," said Ducky, not really wanting to tell tales. At least, not without having everyone else there so they could all share a laugh. "Anyway, I'm glad you'll be there!"
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Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving:
Ducky had scratched a few more things off his list. Ziva was bringing the fruit salad and the peas. Gibbs didn't have to eat peas if he didn't want to; there would be other vegetables. Jimmy had said he'd bring yams; Ducky silently prayed they'd be edible. Jimmy sometimes had grandiose notions about his cooking abilities. Jimmy would also bring the Jell-o mold; surely he couldn't mess that up. Abby had volunteered to do the green bean casserole, and Tim had said he'd bring the apples and the caramel dip.
Tony had been evasive. Finally Ducky had cornered him and gotten assurances from him about cranberry sauce and corn. Ducky would supply the rest. Now we can have a relaxing feast…
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Thanksgiving Day, 8 a.m.
"We're here!" Abby sang out as Ducky opened the door to her and Tim, over the chorus of barking corgis. "Lead us to that big, bad bird." They were dressed casually, but would change into nicer clothes before the other guests arrived.
"You know how to cook a turkey, too, Timothy?" Ducky asked in some wonder.
Tim nodded. "I love turkey. We always had it for both Thanksgiving and New Year's—it was either goose or ham at Christmas—and from an early age I would help my mom with it."
"By all means, have at it, then. It's thawing in the refrigerator in the garage."
"You can depend on us," Tim said. "No repeats of last year. This will just be a simple, quiet Thanksgiving."
"The kind I like. Family and friends, and lots of good food. That's Thanksgiving."
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9 a.m.
Abby sprinted into the living room, hopping over two corgis to do so. "Ducky! Ducky! You don't have the TV on?? Where's your mind??"
Ducky raised his eyebrows, and then made a shrewd guess. "If you want to turn on the Macy's parade, you have my permission, Abigail."
"Of course I want to see Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, Ducky! It's like a national obligation to watch it! In my house it was, anyway." She grinned. "Three hours of floats and bands and dancers and celebrities—and those wonderful balloons! All in windswept, usually cold, New York City—culminating in Santa Claus' arrival!"
"Did you ever believe that that was the real Santa Claus?"
"Only until I was seven or so. But I always wondered why he first appeared in New York, when clearly New Orleans was the superior city."
"Ah, yes. That sort of thing casts doubt in small minds. Good morning, Mother," he said, turning to greet the elderly Victoria Mallard, who had emerged from her bedroom. "Come into the dining room and I'll bring you breakfast."
"Breakfast? On Thanksgiving Day? I'd rather watch the parade on TV, Donald. But I'll take tea and toast if you care to bring that." She looked at Abigail with a small amount of curiosity, but didn't give voice to it.
With the widely-smiling, bundled-up announcers now grinning over the cool and sunny streets of Manhattan on the TV, Abby and Tim bustled about the living room, putting up the decorations they'd brought. There were strings of orange, red and yellow (artificial) leaves, small gourds, and bunches of Indian corn; the kernels dark red, blue, and practically every color. There was a pot of chrysanthemums—Abby would later clip one for a corsage for Ducky's mother. Tim stepped into the kitchen to start a big pot of cider mulling; it wasn't too early in the day for it, and more could be made later.
Ducky smiled happily, and started making stuffing. The day was going well.
And then the doorbell rang. Unexpectedly.
