Chapter Twenty-Five: Vamp 'Til Cue (Reprise)
Vamp 'til cue: A jazz, fusion,
and musical theater term which
instructs rhythm section members
to repeat and vary a short passage,
riff, or "groove" until the band leader
or conductor instructs them
to move onto the next section.
Reprise: To repeat a previous part
of a composition generally after
other music has been played.
November 26, 2009
Something smelled wonderful. Heavenly, even.
It was impossible to sleep with the delicious scents tickling his nose. Ducky peered at the alarm clock: 5:39 a.m. Elizabeth had slipped from the bed at two, telling him to sleep in as long as he wanted.
He nuzzled her pillow, inhaling her scent. What I really want is you back in this bed. But the chances of that happening were zero. She wouldn't allow him to work in the kitchen until it was time to do his own cooking, somewhere around noon—but maybe there were tasks he could accomplish in the rest of the house. He dressed quickly and followed the smells to the kitchen.
Rowena and Bronwyn were tucked out of the way at the breakfast nook, shoveling down eggs and toast between giggles and chatter.
"Eggs in the warming skillet, toast on the other side, coffee and tea on the sideboard, I love you, stay out of my way," Elizabeth rattled off, moving smoothly from refrigerator to stovetop to counter.
"Mornin', Duck."
Ducky almost jumped in surprise. "Jethro, what—"
"He sent me a text message at four-thirty that said, 'two a.m.?' I called him back and said, 'yeah, been up since then, too busy to type.' He said, 'What can I do to help?'—I figured what the hell, he volunteered twice, so—"
"Tables and chairs are all up in the backyard. Rearranged the playroom and the music room. Just gotta do the living room and dining room—after I start more coffee."
Elizabeth actually stopped for a moment. "Good God. I only drank, maybe one cup…?" She didn't sound angry. If anything, she sounded horrified.
"I had a cup," Bronwyn piped up.
"Me, too," added Ro.
"But that's still—" Elizabeth shuddered. "You don't have an ulcer, do you?"
"Me? Heck, no."
"Thank God."
He shrugged. "Hey. It's good coffee, ma'am."
"Ma'am?"
"Sorry." He flashed his best placating smile. "Elizabeth."
"Better. Coffee's there." She pointed to a cabinet and went back to work.
He grabbed the canister, rinsed and filled the pot with water and left the room.
Ducky shook his head. Hmm. Must still be asleep. What a queer dream. He touched the warmer and jerked his hand back. No—you don't get burned in dreams. "What can I do to help?"
"Eat some breakfast. Maybe Agent Gibbs needs a hand."
"I'm not interrogating you." Gibbs slipped back in and returned the coffee to the shelf. "You keep callin' me 'Agent Gibbs,' I'll keep callin' you 'ma'am.'"
Bronwyn giggled. "Floor show," she whispered to her sister.
Elizabeth glanced over. "I've heard Abby and Rowena both refer to you as 'Gibbs.' No 'Agent,' just the surname. Is that acceptable?"
"Perfectly."
She smiled. "It's just that you don't look like a Jethro," she sighed.
He gave her a puzzled look. "Can't argue. But what do I look like?"
She laughed. "I hadn't thought about it!"
He chuckled. "Let me know when you do. And, Duck? I won't turn down a second set of hands." When Ducky moved to set his plate aside, he held up a hand. "Eat first. I'm still waiting for the next pot to brew."
He could see why the girls were attacking the food with such relish—Elizabeth had cooked up a huge container of soft scrambled eggs with bits of bacon and cheese throughout. It was flat-out delicious. Fingers of cinnamon-topped raisin toast were a perfect complement. He placed his empty plate in the sink. "As with everything you make, wonderful, my darling." There was a pair of soft giggles from the corner that he chose to ignore.
She accepted his quick kiss. "Thank you. Love you. Stay out of my way."
He laughed. "Yes, dear." He glanced at his granddaughters. "What do you two imps have planned?"
"Imps!" Rowena looked offended.
"Yeah, well, if the shoe fits—" her sister started.
"It's never on sale," Ro finished.
"We're on baby patrol," Bronwyn said.
"We get to crawl around the floor at toddler level to see how much stuff the little monsters will destroy—and then move it to safety. Mom was wrong in some of her ages for the kids."
"Plus there are some people she didn't plan on," Bronwyn said in defense of her mother.
"True. Either way, we've got 'em from two on up, I think."
A sudden thought stuck him. "What about the cat?"
"Vish will stay locked in Mom's room," Ro said. "She'd totally wig out."
Shaking his head, he left the kitchen, in time to see Gibbs replace the coffee carafe. He reached over and took a mug, pouring in milk from the thermal carafe. Next he added tea: orange pekoe—acceptable. "Shall we?"
Gibbs nodded silently. "She already had floor plans…"
"She printed them out last night before we went to bed."
"Mmh." They worked in silence, moving the furniture further back and creating paths through the room. The harder task was in the dining room, forcing the table apart to cram in the extra leaves. "Got any WD-40?"
"Sorry, no, Tori was looking for some the other day."
Gibbs shrugged. "I'll bring some when I come back. It'll make it easier to put it back to normal." Table extended, they carried the chairs into the backyard.
Gibbs had not been a slacker. The yard was covered in plastic tablecloth-covered tables—card tables, fold up banquet tables, anything that was a flat surface and could pass for a table. Dozens of folding chairs littered the area, and long tables against one fence were dotted with steam tray stands and gel fuel cans, waiting for the food. "And she thinks this is fun," Ducky laughed.
"Be glad she doesn't do it every weekend." Gibbs stared off, transfixed by the swing set. Ducky sighed; it probably reminded him of the years lost from the death of his wife and daughter. "Nice rock," he said abruptly.
"Pardon?"
Gibbs turned and smiled at him. "The ring. Didn't know you had such good taste in jewelry, Duck."
He smiled in return. "It was my great-grandmother's."
Gibbs nodded. After a long moment: "Nice lady, too."
"Agreed."
Another long silence. "Wish Jenny could see this." Ducky looked at him, startled. "She used to worry about you, that you were all alone. I think… she'd be real happy for you."
Ducky sipped his tea. "I think she would, too."
/ / /
"You look just like I pictured you from your voice on the phone!"
Ducky laughed, accepting the enthusiastic hug from Midori. He was pretty sure that was what she meant, anyway—her Brooklyn accent was heavier than lead. "Well, I have to be brutally honest. None of your pictures even comes close to doing you justice." She was drop dead gorgeous—even in the opinion of a man who thought there were no more beautiful women than the ones in his direct family line.
"Ooh!" She slipped her arm through his elbow and gave Drew a saucy look. "I like him."
"Hands off," he teased. "He's Grandma's. No way is she sharing."
"Darn right no way," Elizabeth said firmly, marching in with a set of bowls in hand. "Where's Ro?"
"She went to pick up Mother. She should be back fairly soon."
"She's picking up your mother? Why not you?"
He gave her a wry smile. "Mother thinks I drive too fast."
"Anything I can help with, Grandma?"
"I need someone to catch Vichette and stick her in your mother's room."
Midori waved a hand. "No prob. We get along. Take her food and water up, honey, I'll find her…" she turned away. "Somewhere," she mumbled.
The doorbell rang; definitely not Rowena and her charge. Ducky hurried to the front door and opened it.
"Hi!" Before him stood an extremely tall man with thinning sandy hair. He recognized him from Tori's Mutt-and-Jeff wedding picture. "You must be Dr. Mallard," he grinned.
"And you must be Sam."
"Sam, I am," he laughed. "This is Elena—"
She held out a hand. "Doctor." Sam still had a preference for small, delicate women. Of course, since he was easily 6'6", small was kind of a given.
"Elena." Ducky shook her hand and was introduced in turn to her brother and his wife and their children. "Please, please, come in. Let me take your wraps—"
"Spare bedroom next to Ro's?"
"Ah—yes."
"I'll do it." Sam grabbed the coats and jackets and loped off.
"Ah, yes. Well—tree decorating is going on in the music room, Ronnie is in charge of that—fair warning it's fenced off to keep the little ones away, so it necessitates climbing over a baby gate to get inside. We have snack items and crudités on the dining room table, for those who are already hungry, drinks in tubs in the backyard—"
"Oh!" Elena handed the keys to her brother. "The trunk." She turned back to Ducky. "Elizabeth said most people were bringing side dishes, so we brought chips and dips and salsa and guacamole, Dr. Mallard."
"Wonderful. And, please—call me Ducky." I'm going to say that about a hundred times today. Perhaps I should have Ro put it on a lapel button.
"Ducky?" she laughed.
"Yes—Mallard, Donald, Donald Duck—Ducky. It was tagged on me in my youth—over the years, I've come to like it."
"Ducky… who is wearing turkeys." She peered at his tie.
"Ah, yes. A gift from one of my granddaughters, in the holiday spirit."
Drew came trotting down the stairs with his father. "Midi found Vish under Ro's bed. She's got her in Mom's room, doing her cat whisperer routine."
"Good. Drew, could you do me a favor?"
"Sure, Grandpa."
Grandpa. If it was taking time to get used to being called 'Dad,' it was still a real jolt to hear 'Grandpa' and its various deviations being applied to him. "Could you help Jorge bring in the food they brought and get it set up on the table? I have some work to do in the kitchen."
Drew's eyes widened. "You're crossing paths with Grandma… on Thanksgiving?"
"I'm on her schedule," he laughed ruefully. "I have a side dish to prepare, starting in two minutes. I'm afraid if I'm late, she'll sell my slot to someone else."
"Run," Drew suggested.
Ducky had cooked any number of meals with Elizabeth in the past weeks… but none like this. Six halved turkeys waited on the drainboard, resting and redistributing juices. He could smell beef from one oven and ham from the other, and all six burners on the stovetop were occupied. Elizabeth had four crock pots at one end of the counter (turning, he saw three more at the other end) and had brought in two large convection ovens that were sitting on the breakfast nook.
In the past he had questioned that she had such an enormous kitchen. Never again.
"Prep there, it's the safest." She pointed to a small open area. "Both of the vects are up for grabs for an hour."
"Perfect. Do you have time for a kiss?" he teased.
She finished dumping a huge skillet of sautéed mushrooms and onions into a stainless steel bowl that could easily be used by a two year old as a bathtub. "Of course!" She shoved the skillet back on the stove and slipped her arms around his waist. She kissed him, a deep, sensuous caress that made him wish it were twelve hours later. "That's what you get when I stay a minute or two ahead of schedule."
"What do I get when you're five minutes ahead?"
"Work fast, we'll find out."
Ducky whipped through the waiting squash in record time, layered it in the commercial pans she had left out and decorated it all with generous helpings of butter, brown sugar, walnuts and a bit of rum. "Sweetheart, I've never used a convection oven. Could you—"
"What do you normally set it to?"
"Three-fifty. Half hour. Mmh, this deep—forty-five."
"Drop it to three hundred, check it at thirty."
He slid the pans in and turned on the ovens. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Punch?" she asked hopefully. "Ro was going to do it, but I think she may have had a slower go of it with your mother than we planned."
"Gladly."
"Ice-and-fruit molds are in the freezer—" Her hands occupied, Elizabeth lifted a leg and pointed a foot toward the enormous chest freezer in the far corner. "Non-frozen ingredients are in the two milk crates in front of the freezer, recipe cards are taped to one of them."
Ducky grinned. "You look quite alluring when you do that."
She shook her head. "You have a dirty mind." She smiled slyly as she continued to work. "And I love you for it."
Ducky lugged the crates to the dining area, where Rowena had earlier set up two large punch bowls. In front of one was a card reading "Red Fruit Punch" with the warning "CONTAINS PINEAPPLE." Apparently someone had an allergy. The other card read "Lemonade Fizzy Punch." Made it simple for him. For the next fifteen minutes he poured cans and bottles, fetched fruit rings, sherbet and ice cubes, while in the distance Drew played the gracious host in his absence. The doorbell rang every few minutes it seemed; a number of not recently seen but not forgotten relatives arrived, along with people from work and school.
"I have heard a lot about you!" he laughed when Abby arrived.
"And I've heard a lot about you," she countered. "Did you really blow the door off the oven when you were six?"
"Yeah, it had something to do with using a whole can of baking powder in the cake, I think."
Ducky rolled his eyes and carried the crates of empty bottles into the kitchen. "Recycle bins by the trash," Elizabeth said, before he could set them down.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Can't salute, sorry." He opened the back door and stepped onto the porch. Good God, no wonder it's relatively quiet in the house. Several dozen people wandered in the backyard, holding plates of pre-dinner nibbles and cans and bottles of soda and beer. There were numerous factions already represented—coworkers (NCIS), coworkers (Ealasaid's), relatives, friends of relatives, friends, relatives of friends, classmates and miscellaneous 'who knows who you are?' people. Utter strangers could wander in and nobody would know the difference. (They might already have done so.) But it looked like people were mingling instead of staying in their comfort groups. Good.
He returned to the house, shaking his head. "I didn't realize there were so many people here already. I was hoping Mother would be here early, sort of ease her into the crowd."
"Well… when you're a hundred and one, you don't rush for other people—other people rush for you," Elizabeth said in a firm tone. "And there are plenty of us to run interference for her. I'm sure she'll be fine."
"You haven't known her as long as I have," he muttered darkly.
"Yes, but you are not her granddaughter, great-granddaughter, or great-grandson. We have four people around here who are number one on her hit parade," she said cheerfully. "Coming through with boiling!" She pulled a large pot off the stove and Ducky vacated the kitchen.
Gibbs was just entering, a tall box in his hands. By his side, Faith Coleman had a bottle of wine in each grip and a grin on her face. "Ducky!" she called out.
"Faith, how lovely to see you." He accepted her cautious hug.
"Gibbs told me the good news. Congratulations!"
"Thank you, my dear."
"First time to the altar?"
"Ah, yes."
"Smart man. Be patient. Do it right."
He wasn't sure if the comment was a dig toward Gibbs or not. "Well, I trust we are. Oh, let me help you—" He took the bottles from her.
"Thanks. My hands were starting to cramp."
"Where should I put this, Duck?"
"What is 'this,' precisely?"
"Nuts."
"Pardon?"
"You know—nuts. You crack 'em, you eat 'em.'
"Ah. Nuts. Well—the dining room table, I expect. I'll find a nutcracker—"
Gibbs waved him off. "A couple in the box." They walked to the table, where Gibbs unboxed an attractive nut bowl brimming with nuts in their shells and a spinning top tier of nutcrackers and picks. "Remembered this was in a box in the back of the closet, thought it might look good."
"The nuts aren't from the back of the closet, are they?" Faith teased.
"Got a problem with that?" Fortunately Ducky knew Gibbs was joking. Ducky set the wine on the sideboard with the other eclectic collection of bottles (so far the adults could all have three or four large glasses each and still not make a dent in the supply).
"Donald?"
He jerked his head up at the sound of his mother's voice.
"No, Grandmamma—I'm Andrew, your grandson. Your great-grandson. This is the first time I've gotten to meet you."
"Donald?" There was just the faintest hint of panic to her voice. Oh, God, he'd known this wouldn't be a good idea…
"Grandmother—this is Drew." Rowena's voice was firm, but gentle. "He's my older brother. He lives in New York." She guided her to the large poster on the wall. "See? Here's his picture. There's you… Papa and Nana…"
"That's Donald!"
"That's right. And my mom—Victoria..."
"She's my granddaughter!" She looked almost smug. "Elizabeth named her after me."
"That's right. And there's Drew… and Ronnie… and me."
"You're—you're my great-granddaughter."
"You bet I am."
She turned on Drew. "Are you—my great-grandson?"
"Yes, I am, Grandmamma," he grinned.
She looked startled. "You're married!" she suddenly remembered.
"I sure am!" He motioned off to the side and Midori appeared from the music room. "Grandmamma… I'd like you to meet my wife. Midori."
"Oh… you are very pretty, dear."
"Thank you." Midori smiled. "I have been wanting to meet you for so long…"
Mrs. Mallard looked puzzled. "Why?"
That took her aback for a second. "Because… you're family. And family is very, very important."
She nodded. "Yes, it is." She looked around, concerned. "Donald? Donald—"
"Right here, Mother." He hurried up and gave her a light hug. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Donald… is he old enough to be married?" she whispered loudly.
"Ah—yes, Mother, he is."
"But—he's just a boy!"
"Drew is twenty, Mother."
She looked at him sharply. "That old? Good heavens." She looked around him. "Where is Rowena? She has my purse!"
"I'm right here, Grandmother." She came galloping in, dragging her sister in tow (who could barely keep up with her). "This—is Ronnie. Bronwyn. She's the last of us you need to meet."
Victoria reached out and patted Bronwyn's cheek. "Oh… my. You look just like your older sister."
"My… what?"
"Your older sister." She turned to Ducky. "You work with her."
"No, Mother. That's Abigail. She's a friend."
"Oh." She still looked puzzled. "You do look just like her."
"I know. It's okay if you mix us up, a lot of people have been today."
"Where is Victoria?"
"Mom is outside. Would you like me to get her?" Ro asked.
"No, no…" She smiled. "I've finally met my granddaughter. I've met… my great-grandson," she said slowly. She patted Drew on the chest. "My great-granddaughters." She included Midori in her smile. "I can die, now."
Ducky actually gasped in shock. "Mother!"
There was a clamor from the others. "Oh, Grandmamma—" "Don't even think—" "No!"
Midori burst into tears. "Don't you dare!" she cried.
"Oh, that's logical," Bronwyn muttered.
"I don't care if it's logical! Our baby's only going to have two great-great-grandparents, and you live nearby so the two of you just have to be together!" Midori was sobbing now.
Everyone else was silent, even Mrs. Mallard. As one, his sisters and grandfather turned to stare at Drew while he tried (unsuccessfully) to comfort his wife. "Ah… surprise?" he said weakly.
"Drew?" Ronnie squeaked. "Oh, my God. Does Mom know?"
"Ah… uh-uh," he said negatively. He laughed nervously. "We were going to tell everyone tomorrow, after the crowd is gone."
"Donald—is she pregnant?"
"Yes, Mother," he said quietly.
"Well. It's a good thing they got married, then."
I need a drink. "Yes."
Victoria hobbled forward and took one of Midori's hands. "When are you having your baby?"
"Muh—May," she stammered.
Victoria looked pleased as punch. "How lovely! Right before my birthday!" She slipped her hand through Midori's elbow and they walked slowly away, while the others looked after them in various stages of bewilderment and confusion.
"I… guess we don't have to worry about Grandmother throwing in the towel," Ronnie finally said.
"Another grandchild in the offing?" Ducky snorted. "Not a chance."
"Ah—just to let you guys know now… twins run in her mother's family. A lot." Drew left quickly, just this shade of rude. He plainly didn't want to continue the discussion.
Rowena and Bronwyn grabbed each other's hands. "We're gonna be aunts!" they squealed in unison.
"Let's get to Mom before Drew does!" Bronwyn suggested with an evil chuckle. They tore off in the opposite direction Drew had gone.
Shaking his head, Ducky turned toward the chiming doorbell and stopped in his step.
Oh, my God. I'm going to be a great-grandfather.
He blinked and shook his head.
I'm… going to be a great-grandfather.
He stood there as the doorbell pealed again.
I really need that drink.
/ / /
Ducky took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "If I get through this day with my sanity intact, I owe it all to my granddaughter," he sighed.
Ziva, standing on his left, nodded in agreement. "That was a stroke of genius."
Ducky looked at the "that" to which she referred and nodded. "You can't tell the players without a scorecard."
Madalena laughed. "I thought it was more like a playbill from a complex opera." Arranged in a branching grid like a crazed family tree were photos and bits of information about everyone who planned to attend, and plenty of blank spots for last minute additions. Rowena had a digital camera in her pocket and was running back and forth to the office printer on a regular basis.
"She interviewed all of us at work."
"You're joking." Ducky frowned. "Should I be insulted that she didn't interview me?"
"You are her grandfather. She sees you all the time." Ziva shook her head. "Tony got hold of McGee's card and entered his own answers." She smiled. "We corrected them. Abby then left a copy of Tony's card on his desk… with her versions of his answers."
Ducky searched for DiNozzo's photo on the legend. Anthony DiNozzo. I work with Ducky, Elizabeth's fiancé and Rowena, Elizabeth's granddaughter. I am interested in classic TV shows, classic cars, movies and good wine. Call me Tony. "Looks safe."
"Oh, we had no intention of posting it. That would have been rude to you and Elizabeth." Ziva's smile grew infinitesimally. "We just wanted to make him squirm a little."
Maddie laughed. "I like her." She reached around Ducky and stuck out a hand. "Hi. I'm Madalena Stewart. Lizzie's sister-in-law, soon to be his, too." She jerked her thumb at Ducky.
Ziva shook her hand. "Madalena. That is a pretty name. I am Ziva, Ziva David."
"You brought the mushroom couscous! I would kill for that recipe. And your friend brought that curry—"
Ziva flashed a look at Ducky and quirked an eyebrow. "Oh… I think this time killing is not necessary."
He left the two of them discussing recipes (which had a slightly surreal feeling to it as it was) and wandered through the house.
His mother was set up at a small table in the living room, still chatting animatedly with Dr. Stewart. Discovering that he was the "other" grandparent, she had claimed him for her own. Sassy had good-naturedly taken herself off to chat up utter strangers, something she did with ease, leaving her husband to the tender mercies of the other in-law-to-be. An awkward moment had occurred when Mrs. Mallard realized that nice Dr. Stewart, Tori's grandfather, and Andy, husband to That Evil Bitch, Julia, were one and the same. This discovery occurred just after Ducky went in search of foods to entice her waning appetite. Before Ducky could get back with her plate from the buffet, she had given Dr. Stewart quite an earful. (Small blessings—she hadn't hit him or spit at him.) For his part, Dr. Stewart let her venom roll off his back, letting her wind down on her own. When Ducky came back in and realized what was happening, he hurried over and heard Dr. Stewart state, "You're absolutely right, Mrs. Mallard. I wish I could do something to make up for the pain my late wife caused. All I can say is if I had known—I would have stopped it, immediately."
Victoria glared at him and nodded curtly. As if the clouds had parted, she suddenly beamed at him. "Do you play the bagpipes? When I was a girl, I played the bagpipes." It was like watching a television where it was controlled by your neighbor's garage door remote. You never knew when the channel would change or what the hell the program would be.
"No, but I still play the piano a bit," he said. He motioned for Bronwyn to come over. "Ronnie, would you save my seat? I don't want anyone else to steal my place next to Mrs. Mallard, but I'd like to get some of that wonderful food."
"Sure, grandpa." She slipped into his seat as Ducky placed the plate in front of his mother.
"Oh, hello, dear. You—you work with Donald, don't you?"
"No, Mother. That's Abigail." He pointed across the room, where Abby was engaged in an animated conversation with McGee and Tori's beau, a gentleman with the unfortunate appellation Cerulean Starshine. ("My parents were at Woodstock," he explained with a shrug. "Call me Blue." At least he had a normal surname of Francher. Professionally, he went by C.S. Francher and Ducky didn't blame him a bit.)
"I'm Ronnie. I'm Victoria's daughter. Your great-granddaughter. You don't get to see me much because I live in California."
Mrs. Mallard's face cleared. "You're a singer!"
"Yes, Grandmother, I am."
"I was a singer in a little tavern—"
Shaking his head, he went back for his own plate.
A couple of hours later, the food was pretty well stripped. Children who had been running around like speed freaks on rollerblades were now quietly playing games or crashed in corners, awaiting the serving of dessert and the sugar that would recharge their batteries. ("Sorry you didn't spike the punch?" Rowena had asked when they discovered Tom's twin boys (not five years old, as Tori had recalled, but a more dangerous eight) lobbing Hershey's Kisses into the open baby grand. "Yes!" Uncle Ducky stood over the little rats as they fished out every last piece of candy. Thank God the chocolate hadn't melted. (Thank God even more that they hadn't noticed the bowl of grape tomatoes and mozzarella balls.))
"Oh, come on. Rosie is Buddhist, Drew is kinda Ba'hai and I'm agnostic—and we still sing the songs. They're just pretty songs, the words have meaning only if you want them to have meaning. It's no more meaningful than reciting lines from a play, unless you want it to have meaning." Bronwyn, still trying to coax Ziva into singing Christmas carols. Good luck with that.
"It's not special rights, it's equal rights!" Hoo-boy. The significant other of a friend of some far-flung relation was an ultra-conservative evangelical who made the nutty minister from Kansas seem tame in comparison. In a gathering where there were at least six gay couples (that he knew of), and everyone else seemed to have a, "That's nice, and?" attitude toward the couples, Significant Other was increasingly on the losing end of the battle. (And friend of the far-flung relation looked like she was going to bring the relationship to a close on the way home, if not before.)
"D.O.A. Classic of film noir." At least DiNozzo wasn't cowering in the corner trying to avoid Faith Coleman. He had discovered Sam's cousin Melanie was even more of a movie fan than he was—and he didn't seem to mind that she had two children. (Two of the better-behaved children, Ducky freely admitted.)
"Getting close, Dad." Tori had changed into a gown of palest sea foam green lace that went beautifully with her hair.
He blew out a deep sigh. "Yes, it is. Everything ready?"
"Boxes are in the garage. It's cold out there, and nobody will look. You going to go change?"
"In a moment. I need to find Jethro."
"He's talking to Mom in the kitchen. The kids are starting to edge people out here."
"Meet you back here in—" He checked his watch. "Twenty minutes. I need time to get Mother outside."
"Want me to have Ro do it? She can get Grandmother to do anything."
"True. Good idea."
In the kitchen he discovered Elizabeth was missing but Gibbs involved in an in-depth discussion with Uncle Sandy's partner, a woodworker from Boston. "Seriously. A Sheffield planer, about 1915, still in its original box—swear it had never been used. And because Sandy was buying this ugly oil painting—well, yeah, he turned around and sold it for double the next month, but it was still ugly as a bad breakup—but she threw it in. For nothing."
It meant nothing to Ducky, but Gibbs made an appreciative headshake. "Wow."
"And—I know they won't be of much use building a boat, but—she had the most beautiful set of woodcarving tools I've ever set eyes on. Two dozen. Marples. Mahogany handles." Gibbs whistled. "Mint condition! She only wanted—Dr. Mallard! I just wanted to tell you, your mother is the most delightful woman I've ever met."
"Yeah, she's a pip," Gibbs murmured with a grin, staring into his wineglass.
"Apparently I remind her of a vicar at St. Anselm's?"
"Ah—oh." He gave them a game smile. "I'm glad. Where is Elizabeth?"
Ray laughed. "Oh, as soon as we started talking woodworking, Sandy threw up his hands and left, dragging her with him."
Ducky nodded. "I hate to be rude, but I do need to speak to Jethro on a private matter."
"Say no more. I could use a refill." He waggled his empty beer bottle.
"Oh—Elizabeth would like everyone outside in about fifteen minutes."
Ray looked surprised. "She didn't say anything when she left. What's going on?"
"She delegated the task. And—I'm not sure."
Ray shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough," he said cheerfully. "Hope to catch you later."
Gibbs nodded. "I'll be here."
"Where is Faith?" Ducky asked as they walked from the room.
Gibbs laughed. "Debating Constitutional law with a third year from Georgetown. She's having fun." He frowned as Ducky led them to the stairs. "What's up, Duck?"
"I just need your assistance."
Gibbs remained silent until they were upstairs in Elizabeth's bedroom. "Well?"
"You know that I asked Elizabeth to marry me." He stripped off his sport coat and tossed it on the bed.
"Well, yeah—your granddaughter all but sent it out on a system-wide alert."
"I would like to ask you to be my best man." He slipped out of his shoes.
Gibbs was momentarily taken aback. "Ah, Ducky—I'm, uh… honored. And—flattered," he said slowly. "But… I've been divorced three times. Isn't that, well, breaking some sort of superstition to have me as your best man?"
"I think it's probably the opposite, that you'll bring us good luck." Gibbs looked skeptical. "And… you are my closest friend."
Gibbs nodded slowly, smiling faintly. "Dr. Mallard," he said formally, "it would be my honor." He reached out and clasped his hand. "Have you set a date?"
"Yes. We have."
"Great. When?"
Ducky glanced at the clock. "In seventeen minutes." He walked to the dresser and picked up a small ring box. "If you would take custody of this…" He handed to Gibbs.
When he announced the time frame, Gibbs had looked shocked. Then puzzled. Then downright baffled. "Wait—"
Ducky stopped and looked at him patiently. "Time is of the essence, Jethro."
"No kidding! Look, you—you can't get married this fast!"
Ducky began to chuckle. "You're not going to tell me I haven't known her long enough or some such, are you?"
"No, no—I just mean Rowena was running around like your personal tabloid rag on Monday—this is only Thursday!"
"And I came in late that morning." He smiled smugly. "Elizabeth and I stopped off and obtained a license from the county clerk's office. You see, I remembered a case from a few years ago, young woman who died from carbon monoxide poisoning, at first the evidence pointed toward murder—her husband was a Petty Officer, that's how we became involved. Later, it looked to be suicide. But we proved that it was accidental death, a tragic case of—" He broke off with an irritated shake of his head. "Fifteen minutes." He stripped off his holiday bowtie as he continued to speak, swapping it for a forest green necktie with a faint gold stripe. "The mother of that young lady," he said, peering at his reflection, "was very grateful for our vigilance. We proved her daughter did not kill herself and that the father of her only grandchild was innocent of murder. She told me, repeatedly, that if she could ever be of any assistance, to call." He straightened the knot and smoothed his collar. "She is the senior supervisor at the county clerk's office and was delighted to rush through our license request in three days instead of three weeks."
Gibbs shook his head and laughed. "Well… if you two kids have thought this through—"
Ducky shot him a look over his glasses that would have had Jimmy crawling into one of the freezers, McGee stopping in his tracks and backing away, DiNozzo giving himself a headslap, Abby breaking off mid-word of a caffeine-fueled 78 rpm monologue and even Ziva deciding to get a cup of alleged tea from the break room machine instead of walking through his door. But Gibbs only laughed harder.
"Can't say you're wasting time, stringin' her along…"
Ducky shook his head and fastened a tie tack to the center of his tie. "You have the ring?"
"Ring?"
He looked at him in exasperation. "I just handed you the blasted thing! Where could—" Gibbs smiled and held up the box. "Not amusing. Not amusing in the least."
"I thought it was funny." Gibbs waited until Ducky had slipped into black pants and matching jacket and put his dress shoes on. "Wedding—or funeral?"
Ducky raised an eyebrow. "It could be both," he said pleasantly. Take a hint.
"Ow." As they walked from the room, Gibbs stopped. "Wait a minute. Got a question." He looked uncommonly serious.
"What?" Ducky looked at him in concern.
"If the two of you… well… if you have a bunch more kids, am I automatically the godfather or something?"
Ducky rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Good God. Maybe I should have asked Jimmy."
There were a few stragglers but the house was essentially empty. Bronwyn shut the patio door behind them and streaked back. "Are you ready?" Until that morning, only Tori had been in on the plans. (One, they needed her help. Two, they didn't trust Rowena—or Bronwyn, despite the distance—to keep the secret. To keep things fair, Drew had been out of the loop as well.)
"I certainly hope so."
The dining table had been cleared of snacks and munchies, and Tori was setting a land speed record for assembling a multi-tier wedding cake. "Oh, Mom, that's gorgeous."
"Thanks, sweetie." She kept her eyes glued on the tier she was moving. "I know pillar dividers are out, but they're fast and easy in my book."
"It's beautiful," Ducky echoed.
"And for the traditionalists who came here for Thanksgiving and didn't expect a wedding—we do have pumpkin pie and all that rot," Tori laughed. "Okay, Mom's changed, she's hiding upstairs in my room—I don't think anyone will really figure it out until they see her, but people are starting to get antsy. I told them we have a spectacular dessert planned and want it to be super secret. Grandpa and Grandmother were all for staying in the living room and promising not to peek. I thought Ro was going to have a stroke."
"How did she get them out?"
"Told them if they didn't go outside with everyone else, there wouldn't be any dessert. That got grandpa to move. Then she said, 'Wanna see the playset Nana built for my mom?' That got your mother going."
A touchstone to her granddaughter's childhood? Brilliant. He was almost embarrassed to admit that Rowena often handled his mother better than he did.
"So do we just hang around here and twiddle our thumbs?" Gibbs asked mildly.
"How about going outside and if anyone makes a move toward a door, tackle them?"
He grinned. "You've got it." He ducked into the kitchen.
"You should probably tell him that's not literal."
Tori shot him a look. "Who says it's not?" She stopped her fussing with the cake. "Come here."
He stood still as she pinned a white rose and baby's breath boutonnière on his lapel. "Going all out on this, eh?"
"We still—damn." She made a face and repositioned the flowers. "Have yet… to do a big wing-ding wedding in this family. But I'll take what I can get." She fluffed the baby's breath.
"Ah, yes… congratulations, Grandma."
"No. Uh-uh, not happening."
"Too late."
"I am not a 'grandma.' They're going to have to come up with some other name."
"Like what?" he laughed. "Aunt Grandma?"
She moaned faintly and waved him away. "Knock it off or the last tiers will end up on the floor. Go." She glanced at the clock. "I'll get Mom down here in a minute."
"I can go upstairs and tell her the coast is clear."
"You're not supposed to see your bride before the wedding!"
Shaking his head and laughing, he went out the same path Gibbs had taken.
The natives were getting a little restless. As he threaded his way through the crowd, he could hear Drew, Midori, Ro and Ronnie doing their best to sell the idea that some spectacular dessert was being assembled, and Tori and Elizabeth wanted everyone to come in at the same time for the ooh-aah value. (They weren't far off, really.) It was a hard sell.
"Donald!" His mother grabbed at his arm. "Elizabeth built that… all on her own!"
"It was a kit," Dr. Stewart murmured to Ducky.
"It's still impressive. I wouldn't have tackled it alone," he said.
"Mrs. Mallard?" Gibbs came up on the other side. "Would you like to sit down for a while? Maybe I could get you a glass of wine?"
"Matthew! What a lovely surprise!" (She'd seen him at least a dozen times that day.) "Why yes… it would be nice to sit for a while. Do you have whiskey?"
Behind her, Ducky shook his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am, there isn't any."
She spied a bottle in someone's hand as he walked by. "Oh! Guinness!"
Ducky rolled his eyes and shrugged. Better than whiskey.
"I'd be delighted to find you a Guinness, ma'am. Why don't we…" His voice trailed off as he led her to the center area where the ceremony was due to take place.
"Donald?"
"Yes, sir?" Dammit! "Andy?"
"I've learned quite a bit, talking with your mother."
"I've no doubt," he murmured. Much of it rather trivial and useless.
"Because Lizzie is my own, my child, I saw her hurt and it never occurred to me that anyone else could be hurting as well. From what your mother has told me… you grieved as though she had died in your arms." He pressed his lips together. "For years."
He looked at him sharply. It was true—but he thought that after the initial shock he had hidden it from others.
"I am so sorry."
He reached out and grasped the older man's arm. "It's finally being put right—Andy." He smiled. "Tori ventured that this is Julia's work, making things right from beyond." Dr. Stewart snorted faintly. "Personally… I see Tish's hand in this."
Dr. Stewart closed his eyes and patted Ducky's hand. "I wish she could be here." He swallowed hard, his eyes squeezed shut. Still Ducky could see the glint of tears. Thirty-five years didn't dull the loss of a child. "She and Elizabeth—" He broke off, shaking his head.
"She's here," he said softly. "Patricia is always here."
Dr. Stewart took a steadying breath. "Yes." He patted Ducky's hand again. "Well, then… when does this wedding start?" he asked quietly. Ducky looked at him in shock and he laughed roundly. "Oh, Donald!" He lowered his voice. "I may be old—and I may be half blind—but I am not stupid, and I am not deaf."
"Andy, there you are!"
"And I know it's a secret," he whispered. "Here I am, dear."
Sassy slipped an arm around her husband's waist. "Oh, Ducky, look at you! You look so sharp! You weren't wearing that earlier, were you?"
"No, I wasn't," he said pleasantly, deliberately not explaining further. "If you'll excuse me…" From across the yard he saw Gibbs giving him the high eyebrows.
"So… who's makin' the announcement? Everyone's grumbling for pumpkin pie," Gibbs said sotto voce.
Ducky had a moment of panic. "Dear God—I don't know."
"Just thought it would sort of take care of itself, hunh?"
Drew slipped up. "Mom's on her way to get things started. Grandma's waiting in the kitchen for everyone to look at Mom so she can sneak out the door." He cocked his head. "You sure you want to do this?"
"Too late, now. I'm starting to wish we'd done what you and Midi did."
"And keep us out of the loop?" Gibbs grinned at him. "Oh, hell, no."
Ducky could see Tori threading her way through the crowd. She blew out a long breath. "Okay. Mom's ready. You're ready. J. P. is ready."
Gibbs looked at Ducky. "How—"
"The woman who helped us with the license? She knows all of the justices of the peace in the area, and knew that Ms. Appleton wasn't able to get home for the holidays. She was delighted to be included in the party."
Gibbs shook his head. "Next time I need a miracle pulled off…"
Ducky snorted. "Next time you get married…"
"No." Gibbs shook his head. "No."
They followed Tori to the end of the yard near the play area. "Hello? Everyone?" Nobody beyond four feet noticed her calling out. "Everybody?" She tried raising her voice; a few more people looked up.
"Would you like me to…?"
"The way you corral the team?" Ducky made a face and shook his head. "Perhaps if you were above the madding crowd, my dear…"
"Oh!" She gave a small yelp and laughed as Gibbs grabbed her about the waist and easily swung her atop the redwood picnic table that had earlier held buckets of drinks. "Hello? Everyone? Can I have your attention, please?" Slowly the crowd quieted. "Hi. Great. I need everyone to help me out just a little. Drew is going to walk down the middle of the crowd, I need everyone on that side of the yard to move two feet that way, everyone on this side, two feet this way. I need about a four foot wide break down the middle, okay? If you're sitting in a chair, that's fine, you don't have to move it." Drew held his arms straight up and walked slowly to the back of the crowd then turned around and walked back, checking for stragglers. "Perfect!" Tori's voice carried in the silence. Drew slipped off to the side and trotted toward the music room. "Now—you were all invited to our Thanksgiving get-together and we are all so glad you came. It's the first time the family has been together in ages, and we have old and new friends to celebrate with us. Thank you."
An unexpected wave of applause stopped her speech. Ducky looked over the crowd that was focused on Tori and tried not to smile. There she was, at the top of the back steps, just high enough that he could see her. Years ago he had thought she looked like a bride on the dance floor; today, she was one. And in the same outfit. (When he had complimented her the night before that it still fit perfectly, she had confessed to letting it out that Monday night. "I'm just glad you still had it, it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen you wear," he said gallantly.) (So much for not seeing the bride.)
"Thank you," Tori said as the applause quieted. "As I said, you were invited for Thanksgiving. And… we had other plans, as well."
"Ice skating!" one of the kids yelled.
Tori laughed. "Yes, ice skating—in a couple of hours. But in the meantime…" She took a deep breath and looked down at Ducky. He wasn't surprised to see she had tears in her eyes. "We invite all of you to a celebration today… the wedding of Elizabeth Hamilton and Dr. Donald Mallard." The tide of chatter, gasps and happy shrieks drowned out her next words. "My Mom and Dad." They were rather covered by the catch in her voice as well.
Ducky glanced over; his mother was sitting at the front, a confused look on her face. Rowena was bent over, talking quietly in her ear. After a moment, her face cleared and she looked up at her; "Really?" she cried. Rowena nodded, grinning. "Oh, how lovely!"
Gibbs helped Tori back down from the table. "See you in a few," she laughed, hurrying down the makeshift aisle.
Ms. Appleton had come up behind them. "I was beginning to wonder if you two had changed your minds."
"Not a chance," Gibbs said with a grin. "He's outnumbered."
Ducky shot him a quelling look. Gibbs settled to a slight smirk then a respectfully blank face.
"Gentlemen…?" Ms. Appleton gestured to her left and they moved aside. There was something nice about having an officiant who was in his age range. It would be unnerving to ask if the ink on her certificate had dried yet.
Drew came streaking back from the music room, a camcorder in his hands, joining his wife and sisters and great-grandparents in the front. Moments later strains of Pachelbel's Canon floated over the now-quiet crowd. Trust Elizabeth to be non-traditional to the end.
After a minute he could see his daughter walking slowly up the aisle, a small bouquet in her hands that matched the flowers in his lapel. She was trying hard to keep a genteel smile on her face, but every so often she'd break into a delighted grin. When she was about halfway up the aisle—
"Oh, God," he breathed.
Ealasaid. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She looked like she was floating on the grass—which made sense, since he felt like he was floating himself.
A hand gently grasped his arm and Gibbs gave him a quiet glance. You okay?
He nodded and straightened up a bit.
Elizabeth must have practiced on the sly, because only a few bars of music played out after she joined him in front of Ms. Appleton. She passed her bouquet to Tori and Ducky took her hands in his.
I'm getting married.
"Friends and family…"
Ducky stared into her eyes, eyes that had held such hope and promise all those years ago—and still did today.
I love you.
More than all you know.
I love you more than children.
More than fields I've planted with my hands.
I love you more than morning prayers or peace or food to eat.
I love you more than sunlight, more than flesh or joy, or one more day.
Am I anything you'd want?
He felt her hands, warm in his. You are all that I want.
"…and repeat after me. I, Donald—"
"I, Donald… take you, Elizabeth… to be my wife—" His voice broke. "To be my wife," he repeated firmly. "To have and to hold from this day forward… for better, for worse… for richer, for poorer… in sickness and in health… to love, to honor, to cherish and obey—"
Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow and just a hint of a smile passed over her lips. There had been some strong words regarding the vows until Ducky had said that he planned on saying the word "obey" as well. "Do it, Mom," Tori had urged. "You'll have a million witnesses."
"Till death us do part." No… not even then.
"Place the ring on her finger."
The ring. Oh, God, the ring! There was a gentle nudge to his arm; Gibbs handed the ring to him, his faint smile one of understanding. He slipped the wedding band onto her finger, where it nestled perfectly against its mate.
"I, Elizabeth…"
He stared at their hands, the words flowing around him, until he felt her slide the cool gold band onto his finger. It was almost a perfect match for hers despite being crafted a century and a half apart. He let out a deep breath.
I'm married.
It's real.
He looked up. "You may kiss your wife." Ms. Appleton looked amused.
"My wife," he said softly, as he had so many years ago. And this time… it's for real.
/ / /
"I know it's traditional to do this after the cake…" Elizabeth waved her bouquet in the air. "But I'm not going to haul everyone out here again. So anyone who wants in on the bouquet derby… over there!"
Ducky didn't know whether to laugh or groan when he saw his mother toddling along with the other single women. Again, Rowena came to his rescue, talking to her for a few moments. Mother looked at her in horror and allowed Drew to escort her to a safe place. Good. He didn't want to contemplate a stepfather at this stage in his life.
"Ready…" Elizabeth hefted the huge mass of flowers, brilliant colors that brought to mind spring and summer gardens. Tori had definitely had fun throwing this together.
"Aim…" someone in the back yelled.
"I heard that, Melanie!" Elizabeth hollered back. Looking over where the hapless males had congregated, Ducky saw a moment of fear pass over DiNozzo's face.
"One… two… three!" Elizabeth gave a mighty heave and the flowers arced high overhead, for the most part staying together.
There was a mad scramble (Ziva looked like she was trying to appear to be participating while staying as far from the bouquet as possible); after a moment the sea parted to reveal the victor, laughing her head off.
Tori.
"Rigged!" someone teased good-naturedly. "Fixed game!"
"It bounced off Abby's head into my arms! How was that fixed?" Tori laughed.
"Well!" Elizabeth said, slipping her hand through Ducky's elbow.
"No," he said firmly.
"No?"
"No. Not Tori. Not happening. No."
"Well… it's not like it's a contract written in stone or anything…"
"Good."
"But she and Blue do make a cute couple."
"No."
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