Hearing the door creak open about forty minutes later, Gibbs rose from his vomit collecting duties with a grim expression. At least with his boys, they managed to keep the contents of their stomachs internal when they'd had one too many. Jimmy, it would seem, was not blessed with the same trait. Jerking his head down in the direction of the now fitfully slumbering medical assistant, he strode into the kitchen with the vomit laden basin as Ducky eased himself into the house. He told himself that it was the smell in the kitchen, the stench of putrid regurgitation that had him hightailing back into the living room. But it wasn't.
It was the look on Ducky's face.
He really didn't need a murder investigation being launched in his own house.
He was more than relieved therefore to see Ducky bent over Jimmy with an expression of consternation as opposed to homicidal intent. "How much do you think he's had to drink Jethro?" the slightly older man whispered in astonishment, "I have never seen him quite…so inebriated. It isn't like him. Not like him at all." He glanced back down at his feebly stirring protégée as Gibbs felt a stab of sympathy. Ducky wasn't all that used to dealing with a Palmer in distress, and it showed clearly on his face.
"Ah he'll be alright Duck, he's gotten most of it up by now. Would guess it was more of a variety than a quantity that did him in. Let him sleep it off, and besides a hangover I wouldn't wish on Fornell, he should be just fine." He indicated towards the kitchen as Palmer drifted back into sleep once more. "You want a drink? No point in standing over him, he's gonna be out for the count in a minute." Ducky stared for a moment, as if torn, before shaking his head. "No thank you, Jethro," he declined firmly, "And I must insist upon my position on the phone earlier, Jimmy shall be coming with me now. Thank you for your assistance, and we shall no doubt speak tomorrow."
Gibbs ogled.
"But…can't you see the kid's out of it, Duck?" he protested, "What's the point in waking him up? You know what he does when he's awake? He pukes everywhere, that's what. And I mean everywhere. Let him sleep for the love of all that's holy will ya?" Once again, the medical examiner appeared conflicted for a moment before robustly shaking his head. "No," he declined quietly, "It is best…that Mr Palmer wakes from his slumber in more appropriate surroundings, and you as you say, have some sort of issue with Abigail and Ziva?"
Gibbs felt a headache coming on.
"Don't remind me," he muttered, "Look, what's going on here Duck? What's all this about crime scenes? I may not know Palmer that well, but I know he ain't a drinker. Obviously something's up and obviously you know what it is and its making you drag him out of here when he can't even sit up straight. You want to clue me in?" His words hung in the air for a moment as Ducky pondered with a creased brow. There was an odd sense of sadness radiating from him, subtle and yet tangible. Fiddling almost unknowingly with his bow time, he gave an uncharacteristic shrug of his shoulders.
"You have quite enough on your plate," he eventually declared, "And we really must be going. Now, I'm not what I used to be. Do you think you could give me a hand with him? I have the car outside the door, but I'm rather afraid I shan't make it there under Mr Palmer's weight." He frowned. "However slight." Shaking his head and feeling utterly wrong footed, Gibbs felt like a centurion. Closing the distance between himself and his old friend, he examined him closely with his gaze. There was something going on, something that had been going on for a while, and it was something that was bothersome for the doctor. And judging by the impact it was having on both doctor and student, it was something he should know.
Before he could enquire any further, subtle movement on the stairs caught his expert eye.
"If I have to tell you two one more time," he suddenly growled, causing Ducky to step back in alarm. Before he could turn on the spot, Ziva had already seized Abby's arm and dragged her back up the stairs. "Who are you talking to Jethro?" the doctor asked quietly, as if suddenly seized by a deep concern for his friend's mental health. Rolling his eyes, Gibbs pointed to the ceiling. "The two pain's in my ass that are currently up there."
Ducky couldn't help but chuckle lightly.
"I doubt that should be your interpretation of them for too long. I'm afraid they have you wrapped around their joint little fingers." Gibbs shook his head slowly and indicated towards the kitchen. This time, Ducky decided to follow. Pouring two cups of coffee from the pot that was always brewing; the team lead leaned against the cupboards and sighed. "Not this time Duck," he contradicted quietly, "I could honestly kill the pair of them."
Accepting the mug that was offered, Ducky felt his own problems slip to the side for a moment as he raised a surprised brow. "That kind of murderous intent is usually saved for young Anthony and Timothy. I must say, I don't think I've ever heard you say such a thing about Abby, what on earth have they done?" Taking in a soothing sip of caffeine, Gibbs chewed his lip for a moment before recounting the whole sorry tale to his friend, who he could instantly see was struggling to keep a straight face.
"It's not funny Duck," he growled, "They could have gotten us all the sack. Damned budget cuts are lethal this year, and both those geniuses know it. And they go and pull this kind of a stunt. I mean, what have I ever done to deserve this kind of carry on. Even Tony's never done something so frigging moronic. I swear if I don't kill them first they'll be the cause of my early grave. You mark my words, doctor." Ducky kept his thoughts to himself for the most part. He could understand his friend's frustration, but knew that deep down he would be over it the moment it was dealt with. Worrying his bottom lip as a not so sudden thought occurred to him, he took in a deep breath before speaking in a much quieter voice than usual.
"Does it really work, Jethro? Your ahh…more traditional and well, domestic, methods?"
Gibbs stared over the rim of his cup, with a tilted head.
"Huh?"
Ducky clutched the warm cup tighter to him as he exhaled slowly. He had never, ever envisaged having this conversation with his friend, having battled with him on many times on what he considered to be his unduly tough treatment of his team, at times. "You're aware of the disagreements we have had in the past, regarding, particularly in relation to the boys…how hard you can be on them. The high standards you rigidly hold them to?"
Gibbs stared for another moment, before sighing deeply. Given the situation both Abby and Ziva were currently in, he really didn't fancy another protracted lecture on how he was too much of a hard ass. It was alright for Ducky, he was the naturally friendly one, the naturally avuncular one. He was the one on the sidelines, great for cheering on but not obligated to wade in when the team fell into shambles on the field. "You really gonna give me another talking to about this, Duck? Now?" Gibbs questioned in exasperation.
The kindly medical examiner shook his head slowly.
"No Jethro," he countered, "I'm asking you does it work...not to chastise you for your approach with your team. I'm asking you does it work, because…well," he gestured into the living room that housed the slightly snoring Jimmy and took the deepest of breaths, "I'm rather at my wits end."
Gibbs couldn't help spluttering on his coffee. Wiping his mouth slowly, he felt his eyes widen somewhat. "Seriously?" he demanded softly, "After all the crap you've given me over the years, telling me what an asshole I am, now you want to see does it work? After one drinking binge and one ride along with some gung-ho cops? Ducky shook his head vehemently, understanding Gibbs' incredulity at his apparent u-turn.
"It's more complicated than that," he defended, "You don't know-"
"You're right," Gibbs interjected swiftly, "I don't. I wasn't born yesterday, doctor, there's something going on between you and the kid. By the looks of it, it's been going on for a while. You wouldn't be this pissed over a simple one too many if there wasn't, or so worked up over some damned crime scene. Would ya just tell me what the hell is going on?" He gestured upstairs with an impatient jerk of his head. "I've had just about my entire fill of secrecy from them, Duck; I don't need it from you too."
Ducky had the grace to look moderately abashed.
"Why did he go to that crime scene?" Gibbs pressed on; knowing that to give the man any time to think would result in an unnecessary degree of waffling. "Why did you tell him not to go there? What was in there that he wanted? If he's messed up in something Ducky, trust me, you need to spit it out right now. Covering up for him isn't going to end well for him, I should know. You're not protecting him by keeping quiet."
A shot of sharp, searing shame darted across the examiner's face as he sighed sadly.
"I am not protecting him Jethro, but the reason he went to that particular crime scene is-"
"Classified?" Gibbs interjected angrily, his worry for his friend's situation bringing about his trademark sarcasm. Ducky smiled a sad smile in its wake and shook his head, almost as if in a bout of melancholy.
"I am afraid that it is he who is trying to protect me."
Before Gibbs could even open his mouth, the doctor had held up a preemptively silencing hand. "I will explain Jethro, I will. But only if I have your word, and I do mean your word, that should I ask for your assistance in...correcting, Mr Palmer, you shall give it to me? In whatever form that may take?"
Gibbs felt the whole situation unfold in a cloud of confusion. The situation was surreal, having suffered the wrath of Ducky's tongue for the very thing he was seeking aid on. Seeing the clear conflict however in his friends eyes lifted the veil of confusion, as he groaned internally at the annoying protective feelings for Jimmy that were once again beginning to stir. He locked gazes with his old friend, and nodded slowly, knowing he was making a decision that may come back to haunt him.
"You have my word."
…