Title: The Definition of Good News
Author: Tearsofamiko
Rating: K
Disclaimer: They're not mine? Tell me something I don't know.
Spoilers: Bury Your Dead
Summary: He didn't know if he had the strength – mental, emotional, or otherwise – to do this again.
A/N: I hadn't written anything from/about Ducky yet and I decided I really wanted to. So...I considered how Ducky felt in Bury Your Dead, thinking he'd have to do Tony's autopsy the way he had to do Kate's.
'This reminds me of when...'
Ducky didn't know if he could do this again. He didn't know if he could bring himself to do this, didn't know if he had the strength – emotional, mental, or otherwise – to do this again. No man should have to do this twice, he decided. Yet he couldn't bring himself to let it go. No one else would do it right, not the way it needed to be done. No, he willed himself, he could do this, because he had to.
The body lay on the table in front of him, the features unrecognizable, but knowledge lent him startling clarity. And as he picked up his tools and set to work, Ducky felt exhaustion sweep over him. He felt incredibly old, having done this not once, but twice. No man should have to do this twice, he decided again, but he had to. He couldn't let it go to someone who wouldn't care as much.
His usual banter deserted him this time and Autopsy was unusually quiet. Each little sound made as he worked seemed to echo endlessly. Jimmy quietly moved around him, making notes and doing the small tasks necessary during an autopsy. The poor boy had made a few comments toward the beginning, not having recognized yet how different this time was; he learned quickly.
They moved away from the body to take the necessary samples, the X-rays and scans. Everything was done according to long habit and procedure, but a different kind of energy surrounded each action. Sadness weighed down each movement, despair filled their voices as they noted observations to each other – the amazing health of the victim's internal organs, despite the lifestyle he'd lived. As they worked past that part of the exam, everything almost ordinary with the procedure, something tingled at the edge of Ducky's mind, some important thing that was just out of reach.
"Minimal scarring of the lungs..." Ducky muttered to himself.
"Yeah, Doctor. He was really healthy, wasn't he?" Palmer replied, glancing up from what he was doing to look at the older ME.
"Minimal scarring!" Ducky crowed, grabbing a scalpel and moving forward. Palmer frowned, wondering if perhaps the good doctor had finally lost it. "This man only has minimal scarring on his lungs, Mr. Palmer!"
"Yeah... "
"Unknown to most people, Mr. Palmer, a nasty upper respiratory infection – such as that caused by the virus Y-Pestis – tends to leave evidence of its passing, usually in the form of scarring in the lungs. Yes," Ducky grunted as he removed the victim's charred lungs, then examined them from every angle, "several years ago, young Anthony was unfortunate enough to discover that himself. However, this man," Ducky pointed at the corpse on the table before them, "has never had the plague!"
"He's never had the plague!" Palmer repeated, finally catching Ducky's drift and his excitement.
"He's never had the plague!" Ducky almost shouted, indescribably happy.
They continued the autopsy, no longer as lethargic with grief as they had been before. All the samples were taken down to Abby, who didn't understand the lightness surrounding Palmer; Ducky had refused to let his young assistant tell anyone the good news until he had told Jethro. Ducky himself was almost humming with joy at the amazing fact that Anthony's nine lives still had yet run out, that he hadn't had to perform an autopsy on another dear friend.
No, Ducky didn't think he'd be able to do that again and he was overjoyed that, at least this time, he didn't have to.
And that was very good news.