Thanks to steamfan for beta assistance once again.
Past and Present Affair
Chapter 9
by Myrina and Uncle Charlie
Flying -- Tony's first sensation was of flying, floating, weightlessly above the clouds, and then the pain began to wiggle in, insinuating itself into his shoulders, his wrists and his torso. He blinked. Blinking hurt. He was fairly sure that blinking wasn't supposed to hurt, but when everything hurt, he supposed blinking could hurt too. Since blinking hurt less than everything else, he did it again and gradually his eyelids crawled up enough for him to realize the situation at hand.
DiNozzo saw that he was hanging from a pipe above his head. That wellspring of knowledge where all his movie trivia resided helpfully tossed up: like the side of beef in the first Rocky movie. 1976. Sylvester Stallone, Talia Shire, Burgess Meredith. He considered that it might be bad that he was attached to the pipe with his own handcuffs, especially considering what happened to that side of beef.
Tony gave his head a shake to loosen the cobwebs, and almost immediately let out a groan as his vision spun around him. Nausea hit him hard and fast and he heaved. Thankfully, the two slices of pizza he'd eaten were mostly gone. Swinging by his arms, he let out a low groan. Gibbs, he decided, would be very disappointed in him, and considering the pounding in his head, maybe this time Tony wouldn't let Gibbs hit him.
Knowing that Gibbs wouldn't want him to just hang there, Tony swallowed hard and slowly tilted his head back, and looked up at his hands for several long seconds, his mind slowly working over the problem. A goofy grin slowly spread across his face. He knew what he could do.
Doing however was easier said than done. It took several serious efforts for him to get his legs underneath him. Balance he discovered, when he finally managed to plant his feet, still needed a little work as he seemed to be slowly listing to the right. Feeling quite proud of his accomplishment, he sought to share, only to realize that the while he could hear voices he couldn't see the speakers.
MFU-NCIS-MFU
"You're really something, you know that? I never have this kind of trouble when I'm on my own, Illya."
"Your point being?" Tony recognized Ducky's voice, although it sounded wrong again. "Might I remind you that I did point out you had a much higher chance of getting killed in my company than not?"
"Just like the old days."
"Not exactly. If you hadn't noticed, Napoleon, neither of us are in our thirties and the innocent that has, through sheer dumb luck, got themselves involved is not a blonde with big-"
"How do you think our innocent is doing?" Tony heard Singleton interrupt.
Or is it Nathan, or maybe Napoleon. Tony wasn't sure anymore. Everyone seemed to be changing names. It was hard to keep track. Maybe I ought to change my name. Matthew is a nice name.
"I can't see him, but he's behind us somewhere. Mr. DiNozzo?" Ducky called. "Anthon?"
Matthew, Tony thought with a somewhat lopsided smirk. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't seem to get the words past his tongue. Then, as another wave of nausea washed over him, he snapped his mouth closed and tried to concentrate on breathing through his nose. A few moments later he had his stomach under control enough to risk trying to move. Turning his head slowly, he glanced over in their direction. Both men were apparently tied to a pipe, much like he was, he couldn't tell how or with what. All he could see were their backs.
"Apparently, he's still unconscious," Tony heard Ducky say. "I do hope he doesn't have a concussion. I suspect that they dosed him with the knock-out gas on top of that nasty knock to his head. You know how the uninitiated tend to react to those. Add in a concussion and there is no telling how his body will react."
Not well, Tony thought. Not reacting well at all.
NCIS-MFU-NCIS
Napoleon studied the pipe that he and Illya were attached to. Experimentally he tugged his hand, and then smiled at the resulting growl of irritation from Illya. Handcuffs. Greer had left them chained up by the simple step of moving their cuffed hands to the front and looping them around the backside of the pipe. "Amateurs," he muttered derisorily.
"What was that?"
Illya's words were clipped and annoyed sounding and Napoleon could detect a much stronger Russian taint to the English accent. His partner was not amused. Ignoring Illya's question, Napoleon asked one of his own. "I'm seeing three options. One, we get ourselves out of this mess and go rescue Mr. DiNozzo. Two, we wait around for UNCLE to rescue us, which I'd really rather not. It's embarrassing. Three, we wait until Gibbs rescues us." Napoleon paused, considered his words, and then said, "Well, we wait until Gibbs rescues you and Mr. DiNozzo. Me, he'd probably leave here."
When Illya didn't answer, Napoleon sighed. Russian snits. They were the one thing he didn't miss about his partner but he'd long figured out the easiest and quickest way of annoying Illya back into conversation.
"You know you want to." Napoleon said cheerfully, carefully leaving out exactly what it was that Illya wanted to do.
As expected, Illya snapped back. "I want nothing of the sort, Napoleon.
"Then why are you wearing that shirt and that bowtie?"
"Nostalgia. Besides, I know how you are. I can't get within twenty feet of you without disaster striking."
"I'll grant you that one," Napoleon chuckled softly. "So, it's decided. We rescue ourselves."
Illya cut his eyes over at him, his expression unconvinced. "You're forgetting that they are armed. We are not."
"So you aren't even going to try?" Napoleon scoffed. "We're just going to sit here and wait for whatever is going to happen? They took our cell phones. I saw Agent DiNozzo's gun and belt on a table by the door when they brought us in. They didn't even search us."
"You're just offended that they no longer consider us a threat."
Napoleon harrumphed his displeasure. "Which is why, old friend, we need to show them otherwise."
"Napoleon-"
"If we escape, I'll let you blow up" -- he looked around their dismal accommodations -- "wherever it is that we are." Napoleon knew it would be a tempting offer as Illya didn't get much of a chance to blow things up anymore.
Illya went silent at that offer and Napoleon let him think. He'd pushed just about as far as he could at this point. Finally, Illya said, "Not being considered dangerous always was one of my advantages in a fight, but I'm only carrying two explosive charges."
Napoleon dropped his head to hide his grin of triumph. "I've got my two and the cufflinks pack more power than the buttons."
"Still not enough," Illya groused.
"I have faith in your abilities, partner mine. Besides, when was the last time you got to indulge that firebug tendency of yours?"
Illya sighed, although it sounded more contrived than real. "Fine. Your picks?"
"Lining of my tie. Can you . . .?"
Tony heard the sounds of movement and then the clanking of metal against metal. "No, the angle is wrong. Napoleon, I want you to take this with the seriousness of which it's offered. Pull on the end of my tie."
"Illya…" Singleton's voice trailed off. The sound of rustling came again, followed by a grunt. "Done." Singleton's voice sounded slightly muffled.
"I'm going to need a chiropractor after this," Ducky muttered darkly.
DiNozzo stood very carefully on his tiptoes, making sure not to make any sudden movements. But no matter which angle he tried, it was impossible to see over the men's backs to whatever it was they were doing.
"There it is."
"A lock pick," Singleton muttered, his voice pleased. "Smart Russian."
"Old UNCLE agent." Uncle, DiNozzo wondered, whose uncle, Ducky's? Wouldn't that be Scrooge McDuck…no, wait, that's another Duck. Maybe he meant The Uncles, a 2001 movie, starring Chris Owen and Kelly Harms, directed by Jim Allody…what were we talking about? DiNozzo shook his head slowly and that's when he saw his weapon, along with his cell phone on a nearby table. If he only wasn't chained up, he'd be able to walk over there and call . . . someone.
"Ow," Ducky mumbled, sounding like he had a mouthful of marbles or something. "There, that does it." He turned slightly and glanced over at DiNozzo who had the common sense to play possum.
Through a thin slit of one eye, Tony watched Ducky's hand go to his mouth and pulled something out. His hand played at the wrist of his other hand and a moment later, the ME was free. Without a word, he turned his attention to Singleton. "Remind me to send UNCLE my hospital bill. I should be sitting at home in front of a nice warm fire at this time of night, not running all over DC with my former partner."
"Waiting for a call for your meat wagon." Singleton sat back as his hands were released. Slowly the pair made it to their feet.
Tony chose that moment to lift his head and grin moronically at them. "Hi guys, what are you doing here? How come you're not tied up? Is there a party?" Even though he seemed completely beyond comprehension, his mind was wearily trudging between the bits of information he'd overheard. Something just beyond his grasp eluded him.
"Do your parties often lead to you being tied up?" Singleton asked with a knowing smirk.
At Tony's bewildered, "Huh?" Ducky's hand shot out and punched Singleton in the arm. "Stop teasing the boy. He barely knows his own name."
Do too, Tony thought. It's Matthew.
"Let's get you down, Mr. DiNozzo." Singleton said, reaching up towards Tony's manacled wrists.
More names. No wonder it was all so confusing. "DiNozzo, wait, that's my name too," Tony mumbled as he dropped his head against Ducky's shoulder and let Singleton work his hands free of his handcuffs. "I'm thinking of changing it though. Matthew is nice. Don't you think Matthew is nice?" He sagged abruptly against the smaller man as his wrists were released, but somehow the doctor kept him from sliding all the way to the floor. However the sudden jarring movement was too much for the tenuous control he had over his stomach and once again he heaved, gagging at the taste of bile as it burned the back of his throat.
Somewhat to his surprise, neither man moved from where they supported him, both of them simply holding on tightly until he could once again get his stomach under control.
"Gas or concussion?" Singleton asked, his voice filled with a knowing sympathy.
"Most likely both. I need to get a look at that head wound though," Ducky said, as the two men helped Tony to a chair and let him collapse into it.
"Napoleon, perhaps you should use one of those phones to call for an expedient rescue while I examine young Dinozzo. Anthony, look at me."
Tony winced as gentle fingers probed a tender area of his head. "Ouch, that's sort of hurts a lot, Ducky." Then he whispered, "Or should I call you Illya?"
No reaction flickered across the doctor's face. "No, you should call me Ducky, Mr. DiNozzo."
"Okay, it's our secret then…shh."
"That's right. Follow my finger with just your eyes…" Ducky turned from the agent to glance over his shoulder at Singleton. "Call an ambulance too Napoleon, he needs to get to a hospital."
Singleton was holding up the cell phone and staring at it. "Your people or mine?" he asked.
Ducky opened his mouth to answer and then reconsidered. "Mine, I think, and I'd probably best do the talking." He held out his hand for the phone. "Give me that and you keep him upright and talking."
Singleton nodded, and gathering up DiNozzo's Sig from the table, he tossed the cell phone to Ducky with a smooth underhanded toss. Taking the doctor's place, he slipped the gun into his jacket pocket.
Tony could hear Ducky's rather terse commands in the phone but his voice was so low that Tony couldn't tell what he was saying. That was okay. Ducky and Singleton were taking care of it. He snuggled into the warmth of Singleton's side and smiled happily when Singleton patted him gently on the side of his head. Pats were good. Maybe Singleton could explain pats instead of head slaps to Gibbs.
"Illya, what's Mr. DiNozzo's condition?"
"He's too far concussed to be able to tell what's real and what's not at the moment."
Don't you believe that, Tony's brain grumbled to him. This is primo stuff you're listening to. You could be just like a geriatric Deep Throat. He sighed and leaned further into Singleton, taking a deep breath of man's aftershave. "You smell good," he murmured.
"Thank you Agent DiNozzo, so do you." Singleton was standing with his back to the door when it opened and he spun, unconsciously shielding the young man behind him, just as Ducky moved to immediately take a position in front of Singleton.
Tony, his prop abruptly lost, swayed dangerously before he found himself leaning forward into Singleton's back and peeking out from beneath the man's arm.
"The brave Russian agent willing to do anything to save his American partner - now where have I seen this picture before? Let's see, it'll come to me." Greer grinned, his gun moving slowly between his targets.
Ducky felt a tremble roll through him as adrenaline surged through him. "Greer, back for more gloating?"
Greer went to the table and glanced down at the surface. "There seems to be a few things missing. Do you voluntarily give them up or do we search you? Say no, my men would love to work you over one last time."
"DiNozzo," Singleton whispered. "Your gun is in my pocket, do you have a clear shot?"
"This is just like in the Godfather," DiNozzo said, loudly enough to draw Greer's attention. "Well, maybe the second one, which was actually a little better than the first one, unless you were into horses. I don't like horses. Ddo you like horses?"
"Imbecile; your CEA is an imbecile," Greer announced. "Really Mr. Solo, I would have thought you, at least, would have hired better. Your partner here was made of much sterner stuff." Greer's attention shifted over Ducky. "I remember beating on you for three days and you never made a sound."
"And my back thinks of you every time it rains," Ducky muttered.
"I can't help but wonder how long you'll last this time. You and your idiot CEA." He never even had the chance to register the gunfire. Two bullets hit Greer, one high in the chest, the other low in the stomach. The third bullet went wide embedding itself in the far wall.
"I don't think so," DiNozzo said, sitting up straighter in the chair. "Never underestimate the naivety of the bad guys." He swayed slightly and was rather relieved when Singleton snatched the gun out of his hand. "I don't feel so good Duck," Tony groaned.
"Neither do I." Ducky watched blood spider along his side, staining his white shirt where one of the bullets had grazed him.
"You all right?" The words were said lightly, but there was a tension in Singleton's voice and body that registered through Tony's swirling thoughts. Only when Ducky smiled ruefully at them both did that tension ease off.
"I'm all right." Ducky twisted slightly to inspect his side. "It could be worse," he said. "Considering that Mr. DiNozzo there is practically high as a kite, we're lucky he hit Greer at all. The last time he tried that, he was in full control of all his faculties and the poor unfortunate standing near the target still lost part of his ear." The doctor reached down and applied pressure to his side. "Why is it I'm always the one who ends up bleeding, Solo?"
"I guess it's because no one instinctively wants to mar perfection, partner of mine."
Ducky snorted. "I think your ego has grown with your age." Apparently deciding that his injury wasn't severe, he left it to return to DiNozzo. A noise drew his attention. "And it sounds like company. Could be either Greer's people or Jethro. We need to get out of here and get Anthony to a hospital."
"And me too," DiNozzo suggested, leaning back against Solo, his weight staggering the older man.
"C'mon . . .Matthew was it? Let's get you and us out of here." Napoleon draped the NCIS agent's limp arm around his neck and wrapped a supporting arm around the young man's waist. "This was easier when I was younger," he muttered, half walking half carrying the man to the door.
"It also helped that your partner weighed considerably less." Ducky scooped up Greer's gun and popped the clip out of it. He slapped it back into place and pulled the bolt to check it. "I'm full here."
He slid to one side of the door and glanced out. Cautiously he stepped into the doorway and darted a quick look left and right. The noise was coming from the right, so he stepped cleared and gestured. "That way, I think."
They'd moved down the corridor a few hundred feet when a flash of light stopped them. Instinctively, Ducky leveled the weapon and aimed.
"Freeze, Federal Agent!"
Ducky stayed his hand at the last minute, catching a curse in his throat. "Timothy, it's us."
"Ducky?" Almost immediately the zenon light beam was dropped to the floor and the ME blinked furiously to clear the spots before his eyes. "Man, am I glad to see you." McGee brought a small comm up to his mouth. "Boss, I got 'em." Then he was really seeing them for the first time. "Tony!"
Solo was glad to be relieved of his burden as McGee rushed forward and hefted the man off him.
Tony grinned at McGee. "Hiya, probie."
"Hi, Tony."
"Your hair's pretty."
McGee's eyes widened in alarm and he frantically sought Ducky's gaze. "Umm, what's wrong with him?"
"He has a severe concussion . . . among other things. You need to get him to the hospital as quickly as you can. Where's Jethro?"
"He went around back." McGee said, as they headed back towards the entrance he'd come in. "We brought an ambulance. I'll get Tony situated." Then he noticed the red stain growing on the ME's shirt. "Uh, Ducky, looks like you could use some medical attention as well."
"I'm fine," Ducky said, waving him off before turning to his partner. "Napoleon, he's walking into an ambush." Ducky took a step and Solo grabbed his arm.
Sneaking a fast look at McGee, who was watching the both of them with an intense curiosity, Solo whispered. "You're not a thirty year old UNCLE agent anymore. You've been shot, drugged and beaten up."
"You can't stop me." Ducky pushed the man aside and turned back towards the interior of the building.
Solo growled, the sound causing McGee to instinctively tense. "I didn't say you couldn't go, but you could have at least waited, you pigheaded Rus-" Abruptly, he stopped and turned to McGee. "Comm," he demanded.
McGee didn't even hesitate and shifted Tony so he could pass Singleton the small communicator.
"Gibbs!" Singleton snarled into the comm. unit.
"Who is this?" came back the equally snarled response.
Tony, still draped over McGee, giggled into Tim's shoulder. "Two big dogs fighting." Tim had to agree and was very thankful that he wasn't between those two dogs.
"Ill…Ducky…he's headed back inside."
"What? Of all the stupid…McGee, why did you let him do that?"
McGee leaned over to speak into the comm. "I didn't know, Boss. I was busy with Tony…Singleton told me."
Solo pulled back the comm and spoke into it, his words clipped and terse. "Gibbs, there are at least two gunmen inside. They are armed and very dangerous and you're headed right for them."
NCIS-MFU-NCIS
A bullet ricochet off the wall by his face and Gibbs ducked back, even as cement shards caught his neck.
"Tell me something I don't know," he yelled into the comm. unit.
"Ducky's armed."
"Just like old times," Gibbs said, risking another glance to send a round back towards his target.
There was something in Gibbs' tone that let Napoleon know that Gibbs knew more than what he was saying. "I mean, really armed." Napoleon flicked his eyes in McGee's direction, but the man had his hands full with DiNozzo who seemed intent on sliding down to the floor. "My kind of armed, and he's heading in your direction. My advice would be to grab that delectable Officer David and get the hell out of there."
"Not without Ducky."
"I'll take care of him, you just clear out. Now!"
"Forget it…Solo," Gibbs growled the last word, putting all his cards on the table. "My friend's in here."
So he did know. Or at least he knew some. So be it. "Your friend, but my partner," he said, emphasizing the last word. "That makes him my responsibility. I've been watching his back for too long to stop now. You take care of your own team." Napoleon whistled and when McGee looked up, he tossed the comm unit back to him. He started towards the building.
"Hey, Singleton!" Napoleon paused, half expecting the younger agent to try and talk him out of his mission, but McGee flashed him a thumbs up.
"Give 'em hell, man."
"Oh," he promised, "of that I assure you."
Years of close association and lots of practice told Solo the path the Russian would take back into the building. Never one to retrace footsteps, Illya would instinctively go deep and come back up, hopefully behind both victim and attacker. Using the sound of gunfire as an audible clue, Napoleon moved carefully, keeping his footing as steady as possible. A tumble would be bad right now.
Sure enough, Solo rounded a corner and saw a familiar shape. Suddenly, years melted away and he flashed upon an image; his partner, both of them, young, adrenaline pumping through their veins, the sheer reality of death being moments away making life seem that much more enticing, and Illya, grinning like a maniac, turning to shout something before grabbing his partner to race away with a fireball on their heels. A slight grunt and reality popped Solo back. Even if Illya were to set a charge, there would be no way Solo could out-run anything anymore. His damned leg saw to that. It was just all he could do to walk at this point.
"Taking a little longer than usual, Kuryakin?" He'd learned as a very young man to make his partner aware of his presence early on. He was proud of the fact that it had only taken him a broken rib once and a black eye the second time to remember this. While the man was older, Solo had no doubt that Illya still retained much of his strength; he'd felt it earlier in a muscled back, although it was probably now more likely due to manhandling dead bodies around more than working out.
The still blond head bobbed and a blood-streaked hand reached out to him. "Cuff links? And your watch, I think."
"You can't be serious. I was joking earlier. Illya, Gibbs and David are still in the building." Never the less, Solo handed over the requested items.
"How much of a timer does this have?" Ducky ignored Napoleon's words and squinted at the watch, wishing for the umpteenth time for his glasses. He took a moment to rub his eyes and returned to the timepiece.
"Never enough in situations like this."
"I'm serious, Napoleon.
"So am I." Solo watched him. "Illya, I can hardly walk. There's no way I can get out of the way of a blast."
"Then I shall carry you. God knows, it wouldn't be the first time." Ducky flicked open the back of the watch to study the timing mechanism. "I can set it for thirty minutes. That should be more than enough time to do what we have to do."
Napoleon couldn't help grinning. "To think I used to call you a pessimist."
"And, mark. Now do you want to stand here talking about it or get the hell out of here?" Ducky grabbed Solo's arm, fitting up under it as if he was especially made for it and two of them headed towards the sound of gunfire.
NCIS-MFU-NCIS
Gibbs ducked back, just a moment before sensing a presence at his side. A whiff of perfume and gunpowder told him David had joined him.
"There are two, there and there." Gibbs indicated the positions with the muzzle of his Sig.
"That way is blocked, so they are, in effect, between us and freedom."
"Two against two. We could rush them."
"You mean, like that movie that Tony was rambling on about last week? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Guy."
"Kid, the Sundance Kid. I'm thinking that's not quite the resulting scenario I'm hoping for here." Gibbs let go another shot, just to keep their attackers interested. "You take the right, I'll take the left."
And then much like the movie, it was over in a blaze. The gunmen were on the floor, dead or dying. Guns were removed and David toed one. "This one isn't too bad, Gibbs. We should be able to question him."
It was then that two disheveled old men shuffled around the far corner, their arms around each other's shoulders and a pistol in each free hand.
"Outside," Singleton's voice was strangely muffled to Gibb's ears following the gun retorts. "This whole building is coming down."
"What?" David glanced around. Nothing had changed from a moment ago, everything looked solid and secure.
"Trust me on this one, my dear." Singleton stepped away from Ducky and reached out a hand to help her to her feet. "We need to leave right now. We have less than-" his eyes cut across to Ducky.
"Twelve minutes," the ME supplied, something like anticipation sounding in his voice.
"Until what?" Gibbs murmured an aside to Singleton.
"Until my partner does what he does best and blows this place to kingdom come."
Gibbs felt a flash of annoyance. "With what?" he demanded. "You weren't exactly carrying C-4."
Singleton sent him a grin, also full of some weird kind of anticipation. "You don't want to know."
Ducky; dirtied, blood-streaked and obviously exhausted, but still in the game, nodded in agreement. "He's right. Time is of the essence now."
"Fine," Gibbs conceded with ill grace. "Duck, this guy is still alive. Can you stabilize him so we can get him out?"
"Officer David, if you would help my friend." Ducky knelt beside the fallen THRUSH agent, his fingers searching for a pulse. "I'll be right along."
Gibbs paced the corridor, acting as a guard for the kneeling doctor and wounded man. He was nearly at the door when he spun back around intent upon urging the ME along. The countdown in head was chiming five minutes left. He turned to see Ducky kneeling beside the fallen enemy agent. No matter what the man might have been, there was a kindness to his movements as his hands traveled over the body of the man. But there was no kindness, no gentleness, and no regret as the doctor clutched the man's neck and twisted it sharply.
Gibbs breath caught in his throat as those blue eyes turned to him, seeing without seeing, immediately grasping the situation without concern for the consequences. The man slowly rose, dropping the body to the cement floor and hurried past Gibbs, catching his arm as he did.
Half dragging, half restraining, the men left the building just as the first rumbles started. Within moments, they were consumed in a choking cloud of dust and debris. When everything settled, the NCIS team was alone. There was no sign of either older man. It was if they weren't really there at all.
NCIS-MFU-NCIS
Gibbs sipped the amber liquid and set the glass jar back down. Tonight the bourbon wasn't helping. Everything he thought he's known about his friend was proving wrong. A man so capable of such tenderness and great kindness had snapped a man's neck without a moment's hesitation. That wasn't Ducky, not his Ducky, not the man who rambled on about Scottish castles, English traditions, African rituals and a host of other things. The man he had seen tonight was nothing like that and he didn't quite know what to do about it. He certainly couldn't pretend he hadn't seen those things. He would never be able to look Ducky in the eye again and see the kind humanitarian. That man was dead to him now, replaced by an imposter, a cold-blooded killer.
A noise drew his attention and he glanced over as a familiar shape made its way down the stairs into his basement. A familiar shape, but a stranger, none the less.
"Таким образом Вы знаете" So you know It was strange to hear Ducky speak Russian, but come to think of it, it was one of the few languages Gibbs had never heard him use – French, German, Arabic and a host of other, but never Russian. Too close for comfort, probably.
"Да." Yes.
"Что Вы собираетесь делать с этим?" What are you going to do about it? Ducky, no, Kuryakin's voice seemed hopeful, like he wanted to just sweep this aside, but they both knew that wouldn't happen
"Вы подразумеваете, что у меня есть выбор?" You mean I have a choice? Gibbs already knew the answer to this question, but he needed to ask it anyway. His gun was within easy reach and he knew he could drop the man where he stood, but experience told him the ME was unarmed, still trusting in their friendship to keep him safe.
"Нет, не действительно. Вы должны забыть, что это случилось". No, not really. You need to forget this happened. Regret now tinged the Ducky's voice. He continued his descent in the basement and rested a hand upon a rib of the boat Gibbs was forever crafting, stroking the wood in an absent-minded fashion.
"Как я делаю это? Как мы возвращаемся туда, где мы были? Кем Вы были?" How do I do that? How do we go back to where we were? Who you were?
"I am who I've always been and we can't go back, Jethro. We have to go forward." It took Jethro a moment to realize that Ducky had switched to English. "But what I need to know is, can you live with this?"
"You mean, can I ever trust you again, Duck? I don't know." Gibbs reached for the jar again, realizing just how close his hand was to his service weapon. Perhaps it was a show of trust that he didn't reach for it instead. "I want to, but this is…kinda big."
"Ya think?" Ducky flung back the phrase that Gibbs was famous for. "And yet isn't this exactly what you wanted? I asked you to trust me and you couldn't do that. So you pushed and schemed and dug where you had no right to dig."
"You didn't tell me." There was a feeling of betrayal in the words, a whine that Gibbs wasn't sure he liked hearing in his own voice.
Ducky shrugged. "We all have secrets Jethro. I am not obligated to tell you everything. And those that live in glass houses . . . well, I don't think you have the right to be throwing any stones."
Gibbs flinched at the censure in the ME's voice, but his sense of betrayal was still too strong to give the words the thought and credence they needed. "That wasn't the first man you'd killed," he said instead. "Where did you learn to…?" He imitated the move he'd watched earlier.
Ducky gave him a long considering look before he finally answered. "KGB. I was a trained assassin by the time I was seventeen. UNCLE offered me more than just a way out of Russia. It gave me a chance to help change the world, through means other than violence." Ducky swept a handful of hair off his forehead, an old gesture and one he avoided now. "The man I killed was the only one left alive who could have told THRUSH, indeed the world, that Illya Kuryakin still lived. I couldn't allow that. Now, I need to be able to count on your discretion, Jethro. If not, I will be dead by the end of the week."
"It's Thursday, Duck."
"I know that, Jethro." Ducky ran a hand over the smooth wood of the rib again. "In short, my life is in your hands."
"You looked pretty capable back there." Even Gibbs could hear the bitterness in his voice.
"I am not that man any longer, nor do I wish to be. I should not have let Napoleon stay. I should have just dealt with the situation discreetly and been done with it but he wished to meet all of you and I must admit that there was a part of me that wished for all of you to meet him."
"So are you leaving now?"
Ducky shook his head. "No, I would prefer not…unless it is the only option left for me." He moved closer to the man, but still kept a respective distance away. "I…cherish what I have now. This is the most normal life I have ever had. I like my job, I have good friends, a family really, I don't want to lose that…or you, for that matter. In spite of your flaws, Agent Gibbs, I am quite fond of you." His voice softened and he looked down at the Sig. "I'm merely asking for your silence on this matter."
"Ducky-" Gibbs' eyes suddenly shifted as a soft creak drew his attention and his hand went for the gun. It was gone, slid into a jacket pocket by the ME in that fraction of a moment. An UNCLE Special coughed and Gibbs turned an accusative glare at Ducky as he slowly started to crumble to the floor.
"I am sorry, Jethro," Ducky whispered, catching the man before he could hurt himself. He glanced over his shoulder as he felt a presence. "What the hell did you do that for, Napoleon? You didn't have to shoot him."
"Yes we did, Illya." Solo voice was soft, coaxing. "For the good of the Command . . . and for you, this had to stop here. I'm sorry, old friend."
"I wish I could believe that Napoleon, but your credibility is stretched a little thin at the moment." Ducky cradled the man in his arms, wishing that just once in his life, things were easy, were normal.
"No loose ends, you know how we operate."
Ducky glared back at Napoleon. "He wasn't a loose end…he was my friend."
Solo snapped his fingers and three agents appeared as if from thin air. For a moment, he wasn't sure the Russian was going to relinquish his hold upon Gibbs. In the old days, three agents would have been just an appetizer before the match, but the man seemed to acknowledge his limitations now and he reluctantly let the man be removed from his grasp and followed the agents out.
"I'm sorry, Illya, I really am." Solo placed a hand on the ME's forearm as he passed.
"I'm not the one you have to explain that to." He shrugged out of the grasp and continued on. "Excuse me, I have work to do, Mr. Solo."
Napoleon watched his ex-partner walk stiffly up the stairs, letting him go. Turning his gaze over the now empty basement, he studied the half-built boat taking up the space. Napoleon had always loved sailing and knew boats and the look of fine craftsmanship. "It is a pity, Agent Gibbs," he said, speaking softly to the empty room. "Under other circumstances, I think we could have found common ground."
Author's Notes
The Innocent -- The Man from Uncle episodes had a tradition of always involving an "innocent" bystander in the storyline. This person was usually a pretty young woman and she would end up helping in bringing about the downfall of the bad guys and was usually fodder for Napoleon's roving eye. For this story, Tony is the traditional innocent.
Being chained to an overhead pipe -- this is a nod to UNCLE episode tradition where Napoleon or Illya or both were chained up, often with overhead pipes being involved.
Explosives -- this is another nod to UNCLE. UNCLE had lots of James Bond-esque type gadgets. Exploding buttons and cufflinks were always a favorite. As for the firebug tendencies, Illya was considered to be an expert in explosives and was kept a month after his graduation from Survival School to teach an explosives class to other agents and was considered the UNCLE 'in-house' expert. Many a UNCLE episode ended with Illya blowing up the headquarters of the bad guys as he and Napoleon raced away with minutes to spare.
