a/n: haha, just a bit of Paris nonsense, just a bit of Paris nonsense;) NO ANGST AGAIN.
Special Agent William Decker yawned as he pulled a key from the pocket of his shirt and unlocked the back door of a duplex in the heart of Paris. He barged in, for the sole purpose of announcing his presence to anyone who might still be awake so they would know it was him, and shut the door obnoxiously loudly behind him.
His meet in the city had taken longer than he expected and he didn't feel like getting himself back to his suburban apartment this late. The duplex was infinitely closer, and he figured he would just crash there for a few precious hours.
He crept from the back room he'd entered through into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks, startled, when he saw Doctor Mallard sitting blithely at the kitchen table, a cup of tea before him and a rather large book in his hands.
Decker squinted at his watch.
"Ah, good evening, William," greeted Ducky warmly.
"Ducky, it's two in the morning," Decker retorted, a little disheartened to find someone actually awake. He'd been hoping he could sneak onto a couch without any conversation and go right to sleep—
"There never is a better time for a novel than after midnight," Ducky mused, arching his brows.
Decker threw himself into a kitchen chair and scrutinized the book.
"Don Quixote?" he asked.
"Jennifer picked it up with me when she and Jethro were in Spain two weeks ago. It is a very old print," Ducky said, a pleased look on his face.
"Yeah, only Shepard would go book shopping when she's been told to tail an arms dealer," Decker snorted.
Ducky closed his book mildly and reached for his tea.
"Would you like a cup of tea, William?" he offered.
"Nah, I'm gonna grab a nap and head out to my apartment," he muttered, yawning again. He stretched, and looked up at the ceiling, frowning. He thought he was…hearing things for a moment, and glanced over at Ducky. The doctor seemed totally unperturbed by the—noise—and Decker hesitated before he cleared his throat.
"Uh," he began, keeping it cool. "You, uh, got porn on the television upstairs, Doctor?" he asked wryly.
"Pardon?" Ducky asked. He glanced up. "Ah," he remarked, arching his eyebrows blithely. "God no, my boy, that you're hearing is the real thing, I believe."
Decker blinked at him dumbly.
He pointed at the ceiling, widening his eyes.
"Is that—it's them?" he demanded. "Shepard and Gibbs?"
He listened a moment longer. Ducky looked quite nonchalant.
"I'd say it's only her," he quipped wryly, and Decker didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He covered his mouth and rubbed his jaw roughly, caught somewhere between a snort of amusement and a flush of embarrassment.
"Huh. Gibbs is even quiet in bed," Decker said dryly, unable to think of anything else to say.
Ducky laughed good-naturedly.
"When did that start?" Decker asked wryly, still staring up at the ceiling.
"Well," Ducky began delicately. "I do not recall hearing such theatrics before they went on that stakeout in Marseille."
"Hmm," Decker mumbled dryly, wrinkling his nose. He wasn't too surprised, honestly. When McAlister had first handed him Shepard, he'd taken one look at her, one look at Gibbs, and laughed for a good half an hour. He'd worked with Gibbs enough times to know all of his ex-wives and ex-girlfriends were redheads.
"How long have they been going at it?"
Ducky looked thoughtfully.
"Three hours," he decided.
Decker's jaw dropped.
"Are you serious?" he demanded, sitting up straighter. "He—she—what—and they—what is he doing to her?" he asked, curiosity lighting up his face.
Ducky just laughed. He took a few kindly sips of his tea and moved his shoulders, unconcerned about the matter. Decker stared at the ceiling a moment longer.
"Does she know how loud she is?" he asked, wincing when Jenny Shepard got really loud for a minute there.
"William, I do not believe they're aware I am here," Ducky said honestly. "I was supposed to be in Avignon for another two days."
"Right," muttered Decker, nodding his head. He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his chair, a smug smirk spreading over his features. "So she'd be pretty bummed to find us waiting for her in the morning, eh?" he drawled wickedly.
Ducky gave him a wry smile, though he said nothing.
"These walls are thin," Decker noted blithely, after muffled shout of 'Jethro!' echoed through the duplex.
Doctor Mallard chuckled into his tea, and Decker decided he'd sleep right here in the damn kitchen, just to experience the look on Shepard's face when she showed up in about eight hours.
He was wide-awake and sipping coffee, with the Parisian newspaper spread out before him, at eight o'clock. Ducky had gone for an early morning stroll, bowing out like a gentleman when Decker begged him to stay and tease the lovebirds.
Decker heard soft footsteps on the stairs and almost burst out laughing, but he managed to keep a straight face and drink the hot black coffee with nonchalance. He was perusing the weather forecast with pointed interest when Shepard walked in.
She stopped in her tracks, clad in a t-shirt that definitely belonged to Gibbs and nothing else, with socks on her feet and her hair pulled messily over one shoulder. She blinked tired eyes at him, her lips parting—
"Mornin', Screamer," he said roguishly.
-and she turned on her heel and walked right back out of the kitchen.
The mortified blush on her cheeks and the way she violently slammed a bedroom door was enough to keep William Decker smiling for the rest of the week.
oh, you know. just a bit of fun.
-alexandra
story# 143