Donald Mallard slipped into his kitchen after seeing his mother to bed, and began to put on some tea. He gave one last attempt at calling Gibbs to check on him, but it was unsuccessful. He set the phone down and sat solemnly in his study peering out the window. His gut was churning as his mind flashed to Tony's frame lying on the autopsy table over and over. He shook his head in an attempt to blur away the thoughts and decided making tea wasn't his best option. He paced back into the kitchen and turned it off, only to retrieve a bottle of thirty year old scotch he was saving for a special occasion. He slipped it into his bag and left his home quietly.
When the autopsy doors slid open, he stopped and stared for a few moments, unsure of himself. But like it was with most his decisions, he was stubborn, and took to pouring his glass of scotch just like he'd envisioned during the drive there. He lifted up the sheet that covered his friend, and took in a long breath.
"Here's to the times we laughed, the times we grieved and the times we saw justice served Anthony. I was saving this scotch for a special occasion; I only hoped it was going to be a joyous one. But perhaps, death isn't as grievous as we make it out to be; perhaps we should see it more as a new beginning more so than the bitter end. I shall miss you my dear boy... Alas, ashes and ashes and dust to dust my friend. Enjoy the hereafter, and do give a kiss to Kate for me, I miss her so." He lifted the glass and took a slow savoring sip. "Until we meet again Anthony."