Friday

Gibbs got the call just after lunch. "Dead Marine in Georgetown! DiNozzo, get the truck. McGee, call Ducky! Ziva, with me!" he barked as he pulled his gun from the drawer. He started walking toward the front elevator, confident that the former Mossad agent would fall in behind him.

"On it, Boss!" McGee and Tony answered in unison as they grabbed their gear and headed towards the rear of the building to the elevators that would take them to Autopsy and the garage, respectively.

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The team converged on the Bayou restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue and was shown to the men's room by the extremely nervous manager. The dead man was in the last stall seated on the toilet, eyes staring at nothing. Something was wrapped tightly around his neck. He was dressed casually in jeans, and a button down, short sleeve shirt.

"This is terrible; a terrible thing!" the manager was babbling, "Nothing like this has ever happened in this restaurant! Our reputation is going t…" He bit off what he was about to say when the silver – haired agent turned around to stare at him.

"Who found him?" he demanded.

"The, the, the sous chef. We open at four and the staff comes in to prep for the night. He called me and I called the police. They found his military ID and called you."

Gibbs looked at McGee who spoke up immediately. "This is Gunnery Sergeant Bodie Surette, currently home on a month's leave after serving a tour in Iraq. Unmarried, twenty – five years old, lives on base, originally from Louisiana."

"That would explain the choice of restaurant, now wouldn't it?" Jimmy Palmer interjected as he and Dr. Mallard entered the bathroom with a gurney. "I guess the good times didn't roll for him, huh?" At Gibbs' glare, Jimmy began to stutter, "Uh, you, you know, the Cajun saying 'Laissez les bons temps rouler'? Let the good times roll?"

Gibbs snarled, "Do ya think you could roll the gurney over there and help Ducky or would you rather check out the menu?" before turning his back to speak to the Medical Examiner. "Time of death?"

"Approximately twelve to fourteen hours ago," Ducky replied, "I'm reasonably certain that he was killed somewhere else and dragged into the bathroom. The scuff marks on the floor appear to match his footwear; Abby will be able to determine that once she has the scuff scrapings and the deceased's boots." He motioned to his assistant, "Bag his head and hands, Mr. Palmer. Let's take him home."

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Doctor Mallard had concluded his autopsy and was watching Jimmy as he put the Gunny to bed and wordlessly began to clean and put away the instruments they had used. He wasn't his usually upbeat self and hadn't been since their return to the Navy Yard. "Mr. Palmer!" he called, "Are you alright? You seem…melancholy."

Jimmy was about to answer when the door opened and Gibbs swept into the room. "Whatcha got for me, Duck?"

"I, I'm going to see what Abby's found out," Jimmy mumbled before moving past the team leader and out the door.

"Jethro, I have become used to you showing up moments after I have learned some information, but this time, I really wish you had come ten minutes later. I wanted to talk to Mr. Palmer and now I fear the opportunity is gone."

The taller man shrugged. "He'll be back. Whatcha got?"

Ducky sighed. It's no wonder he can't seem to settle into a relationship; he focuses all his attention on the job. "Cause of death is strangulation; the material around his neck is cheese cloth. The Gunnery Sergeant had his last meal in that restaurant; everything in his stomach is on their menu, including last night's special of crawfish. There are some fresh bruises on his lower back and rib area consistent with punches thrown and defensive wounds on his hands and arms. My feeling is that he more than likely knew his attacker because his food is barely digested and the fact that he was killed in the restaurant he ate in suggests to me they may have eaten together."

"What is cheese cloth, Duck?"

"It's used in cooking to strain sauces, among other things. I remember years ago, I had invited a young lady home with a promise of an authentic French meal. I needed cheese cl…," he turned just in time to see the back of Leroy Jethro Gibbs disappear around the corner into the hallway. "Well, I thought it was an interesting story."

He sat at his computer to enter his findings into his formal report. Twenty minutes later, he answered his ringing phone. "Autopsy."

"Duckman!" Abby practically shouted into his ear. He smiled; no one called him "Duckman" except her. He thought of her as the grandchild he never had.

"Hello, my darling! What can I do for you?"

"Would you please put Jimmy on the phone, please? I need to ask him something."

Confused, Ducky sat back in his chair. "He's not there with you? He headed your way almost half an hour ago."

"I haven't seen him all afternoon. Is everything OK?"

"Oh, I'm sure it is. I probably misunderstood him. I'll tell him to call you. We've finished the autopsy and for once on a Friday, I plan to leave at a decent hour. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that Mr. Palmer's and my services will not be needed this weekend."

"Ugh, I wish. Nevermind about Jimmy; it can wait until Monday. I'm on call so I'll probably be here. Oh! My mass spectrometer's calling. See ya, Duck!" and the line went click.

How odd, he thought, the last time Jimmy was disappearing was when he was having that affair with Agent Lee. He shook his head quickly as if to clear that thought out of his head. He's not having an affair; Mr. Palmer is besotted with Breena. The swoosh of the door announced his assistant's return. "Abby just called looking for you, but it can wait until Monday. Mr. Palmer, Jimmy, you were about to tell me something when Jethro walked into the room."

"It was nothing, Doctor Mallard. I never made it to Abby's lab because my wife…" It warmed the older man's heart to see Jimmy smile again at the realization that he has one now. "My wife," he continued, "called and I've been speaking with her. I'm sorry, did you need me?".

Ducky stood up. "No, my dear boy. I've finished my report, the body's been released and it is time for all good MEs to go home."

They donned their coats and walked out to the parking lot together. Just before they were about to go their separate ways, Jimmy said, "Dr. Mallard, I want, I just want to, to thank you for being a good boss and a great teacher. I have, I have so much respect for you."

Ducky's eyes widened in surprise when Jimmy spontaneously bent down and hugged him. The smaller man froze for a second before lifting his arms to gently return the hug. He moved back to look into Jimmy's face. "You sound like you're saying goodbye. Are you?"

Jimmy smiled sadly and replied, "No, no." He shook his head. "I don't know, maybe."

Ducky glanced at his watch. "You and I need to talk, but not now. What I want you to do now is go home to your bride and let her help you put this work week behind you. I ask only that you do not reach any decisions about the direction of your career before we speak again. Would you come by my home on Sunday? And, of course, Breena is invited."

The smile he received in response was brighter and bigger than the one it replaced. "I'll see you Sunday, Dr. Mallard."

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Ducky was sitting in the living room of his Georgetown townhouse later on that evening listening to his favorite recording of Puccini's "La Boheme"while sipping three fingers of forty year old Old Pulteney single malt scotch whiskey. When his mother had passed away, he had ordered it online and thought the twenty – three hundred dollar price tag well worth it.

"Ah, Mother," he said aloud, "I learned my lesson about buying expensive scotch and letting you see it." He chuckled. "I came home from work once to find you and the Corgis passed out and the bottle empty." The recording ended and rather than getting up to flip it over, he allowed the silence to envelope him. He was loathe to admit it to anyone, but he was terribly lonely.

Even after I moved Mother into the nursing home, I still had the dogs to come home to in the evening. Once she died, I couldn't bear to even look at them. "I have no family, now," he sighed. "I know if you were here, Mother, you would remind me that I have a brother and a nephew and then I would remind you that they are in Scotland and have not spoken to me in years and when we did speak, it was because I called them."

He removed the record from the turntable and placed it back in its jacket. "My coworkers are the only viable family I have left anymore." He headed upstairs to prepare for bed. And of that family, Jimmy is the one by my side all day, everyday. "I can't lose you, Mr. Palmer. I refuse."