Ducky despised clichés, and yet by the end of the evening, he realized that the most trite of romantic statements applied to his situation.
He saw her across a crowded room.
True, the party had been getting rather boring for about an hour beforehand, and he had been looking around for some kind of distraction- a new face among the collection of familiar bodies, which had gathered for their annual medical conference in the Marriott in Bethesda- but he hadn't expected to find it.
And then… their eyes met.
Cue the violins, Ducky thought with a wry twist of his mouth. He glanced up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the smile faded away.
She stood with one hand on the railing of a staircase and the other wrapped around the fragile stem of a mostly-ignored martini, her feet on the first step so that she could be on eye level with the group that she talked with. Her almost shocking gray eyes locked onto his for several minutes, and she gave a slight smile as she inclined her head slightly and looked away. Her shoulder-length black hair, dimmed by natural streaks of silver, brushed against her bare shoulders. And, as simple as that, Ducky found himself smitten.
It had been Jeanne who came and found him as the evening progressed, but to be fair, after a half-hour had passed, he'd begun to seek her out. He'd been temporarily distracted by a gushing admirer of his work, and then another joined in the conversation, otherwise he'd have gone up to her immediately. By the time the younger men moved on, Jeanne had left her perch on the stairwell and had begun to circulate among the convention-goers… somewhere. He'd felt something akin to relief when he'd turned around as a hand gently tapped him on the shoulder, and found himself looking at her again. The rest of the night passed as a comfortable blur, with her by his side.
She had been the one to suggest that they go to her hotel room, but he certainly hadn't protested.
Ducky reached down and turned off the hot-water tap where he'd just washed his hands, brushed a quick hand over the fly of his trousers to ensure that he'd closed it, then glanced back at his reflection.
I am eighty-one years old, he told himself. She is perhaps in her early fifties. I daresay if she has anything more in mind than some cuddling and a few kisses, she's destined to be quite disappointed.
On the other side of the door, she waited for him in the hotel room, seated in one of the two chairs pulled up to a small circular table, upon which rested a half-full bottle of champagne. Ducky, however, did not feel trepidation and, if anything, the situation had stimulated his interest in her even more than he expected it to. Did she want to kiss him? Did she want him to hold her? He had no objections to intimacy, but it had been a while since he had allowed himself the opportunity. And the thirty-something age gap did bother him a bit, he had to admit.
I'd hate for her to view me as some kind of lecherous, opportunistic playboy, he thought. His shoulders tensed. True enough, I have had that reputation in the past, but I'm rather past the point where it is an appropriate mantle to carry around.
With a slow, deep breath, he walked over to the bathroom door, turned the knob and opened the door… only to find her no longer in the chair.
A little alarmed, Ducky swung his head around and did a quick scan of the space as he stepped into the room. She lay on the bed, under the covers- her bare shoulders showing above the sheet that she'd tucked around her chest, only he doubted very much that she still wore the cocktail dress underneath the sheet. He stopped in his tracks and stared at her, his mouth partway open in mild surprise.
Jeanne released a soft laugh and tucked her hands behind her head, her shapely arms and slender elbows in the air as she sank back into the pillow.
"Ducky," she said, "we're both too old to play around about what we want."
Ducky forced out a small laugh of his own. "In my case," he replied as he sat on the bed next to her, "I fear that is literally the case. There's not much that a man of my years can offer you on this particular item of furniture, you know. 'The spirit is willing…'"
Jeanne studied him for a moment, blinked a few times, then lowered her arms and took his left hand. "Doctor," she informed him, "rest assured that I want nothing more from you than you are capable, and willing, to give. Just… be with me for a while. Let's see what happens."
"Hopefully, not another heart attack," Ducky joked. He sighed, looked away, then looked back into Jeanne's eyes and sighed again. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered as he tugged at his bowtie with his right hand. The cloth came loose in his hands and he pulled it free from his collar, then tossed it aside.
Jeanne sat up and put her hands on his shoulder, then gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered into his ear.
"No," he replied gently. "Thank you. For coming for me earlier."
She gave him a mischievous wink. "Your turn."
Ducky undid the top two buttons of his shirt, then turned and took her into his arms.