Ready
So this was how he was going to die.
Funny, over the years he was hoping to die of old age.
But, it was not to be. He was going to get his blood drained, chopped up into many pieces, and then placed in a giant vat of alcohol. It was all very disturbing to think about. He after all, heard his former friend's woes and pains on having to die the way they did. It was not quick. It was horrifying, painful, to see…to see…the blood, your life so slowly drain.
Their minds raced, they told him, they thought of their kids, their wives, they thought of all they wanted to do, all they wanted to say to their family that they would never see again. They felt their bodies shutting down, a weak force took hold of them, and yet they still were not at rest, not until their bodies could be found, not until their families said goodbye.
That was what scared Ducky the most, having to die in such a way, not being able to say goodbye to his family, where would his mother be? Without him? They would send her to a home, and they would most likely get frustrated with her memory and not tend to her. Even if his mother seemed to hate him at time, she was still his mother, and he knew that she loved him, and he loved her.
And what of the loyal dogs? Mother could not keep them; in one day she would be robbed of what is most dear to her. She would be lost, and that would destroy her.
His mind then raced back to the moment he had been captured. He had been asleep, dreaming a timeless dream in which he was with his mother, younger, and father was there as well. It was a short scene, a brief but inviting memory in which he had felt tension being lifted from his small shoulders, were getting the kite to lift up from the ground was all he had to worry about.
As the kite lifted, young Donald turned to his father about to say something, and it was then Ducky woke up to being gagged and blindfolded. He had tried shouting for Kaitlyn, he had tried wrestling free from their grasp, but they smartly lifted up his sleeve and forcefully injected a needle into his arm.
"Sleep Doctor, and enjoy it while you can." A voice harshly whispered, the sound of the woman's voice stirring a fear in Ducky he hadn't had since his intelligence days. He felt his eyes closing, and he screamed at his mind to not give in, that he would have no chance after this…that…and he fell lax into his captor's arms.
Then he shifted his thoughts back to Kaitlyn, the poor girl, so positive that he would be all right. That she was not going to let anything happen to him, he just hoped the girl realized that this was not her fault. He wish he could tell her. Panic once again seized the doctor, he was already beginning to act as if he was going to die. And why not? The panicked side of him questioned. You are in the dark in a small stuffy space! It is getting harder and harder to breathe! Time has passed! They shall be coming for you soon, and then your blood will get sucked out and…and…
Enough.
Perhaps there still was a chance, after all he was not dead yet, and although he could not move, and although he was hungry…there was still a chance he could get out of this alive.
No, he was not dead yet.
Not yet, not yet. The voice taunted.
Jethro would come. That was a hope; he could always count on Jethro. Jethro would not give up on him, in fact while he is here frightened out of his mind, Jethro is thinking for a way to find him, planning on a way to rescue him.
Yes, Jethro had to find him.
What if he doesn't?
What if…try as he might, he can't find you? That you die, in that most horrible death, what then?
Then Jethro would be crushed.
He would consume himself with guilt; Jethro would find a way to blame this entire fiasco on himself. Ducky mentally shouted at him, knowing that perhaps that was what he was thinking at this very moment. Jethro always seemed to think everything was his fault. Not that Ducky could blame him; Jethro was in a world where a mistake cost an agent's life, where if anything went wrong, there were almost always dire consequences.
It was a world that could often drive a person to madness, and he had seen the dark side of his friend because of such a pressure. He had seen his friend turn cold and biting, once Jethro had even yelled at him, and as soon as Jethro realized what he had done, he had shot an ashamed look down to the floor and slowly walked out the door.
Ducky followed of course, knowing Jethro was in a terrible frame of mind, and ignored his friend's continuous calls of "Get away from me, Doctor, I'm not in a good mood."
"Well I can see that Jethro" He recalled having said, yes, and he saw how much the statement had embarrassed Special Agent Gibbs, for his step faltered and his shoulders sagged. After enough prodding, Ducky was able to find out that Diane was leaving him, and that the DA was on his back, everything seemed to be falling apart at once, Jethro had looked defeated.
Ducky then proceeded to take the matter into his own hands and invited Jethro to a drink, once there the drinks loosened their tongues, they began to tell tales of the past, and they perhaps learned more from each other that night than all the years before.
At least on personal history. For example, over the years, Ducky prided himself in fully knowing and understanding Jethro's moods. Oh yes that slight crease is forehead, that one, just above the eyebrow, when slanted to the right would tell a person that he was annoyed, ever so slightly.
The following day, Jethro had apologized for his outburst, and had thanked Ducky for helping him lighten his mood, and then continued to tell him that Ducky was one of the few true friends he had.
Ducky was touched of course, but he told Jethro that such apology and gratitude was not necessary. Ducky lightly smiled as he recalled the look on Jethro's face when he mentioned that.
"I hardly apologize to anyone Duck, and when I do, you throw it back at me?"
"It is a matter of friendship." Ducky had replied, lightly patted him on the back and left. The current smile on Ducky's face, and the strain that came along with it, reminded him of his current predicament. He was still trapped, and still about to die, unless someone saved him, for with such bonds, he couldn't see saving himself as a possibility.
His mind still on his friend, he wondered how Jethro would react if he did die. If by chance they found his body in little pieces, and Palmer had set them up on the autopsy table, would Jethro come and see him?
And if he did come see him, would he listen to Ducky?
Would Jethro listen when Ducky would say, I don't blame you, lose your guilt, you are a fine agent and I was lucky to consider you as a friend.
No, Jethro would most likely ignore him. He would probably look at the flesh and think My fault, My fault, That can't be Ducky, no, he wouldn't be like that if it weren't for me.
Honestly, Jethro could be so stubborn.
Would anyone listen to him? In the cold autopsy room, would anyone hear his own woes, his advice, his needs? Palmer may attempt to, but he probably would not be able to hear anything. Who knows, Ducky may be desperate to talk and if Palmer is willing to listen they could have a very nice and interesting conversation.
Ducky would be sure to give him some pointers, Palmer had a long way to go.
Light suddenly filtered into his little dark room and Ducky had to blink rapidly as it hit his eyes. He flickered his eyes quickly around, trying to greedily suck in the air he had been so deprived, and his gaze finally settled on the boy who was doing this to him.
After eight years, he had not changed, his gaze was still as intense, in his eyes was the cold glint of insanity, gleefully coming out of its shadows at the thought of revenge. Ducky felt his heart beating faster, the stench of death filled his nostrils, and he could already envision his own death. For they had whispered it to him before they set him in his little dark corner. His brief retreat.
They repeated what they were going to do to him, they told him, and the boy was in so much pain, so much pain, that Ducky's heart reached to him for a brief moment, hoping the boy would realize that this would solve nothing. But the insanity in his look was at full blast, and as Ducky turned his gaze to the woman who called herself a mother, he found the same yet deeper look of insanity in her gaze. It was frightening, there was no chance of reasoning, and as he tried to speak, to plead, he found that his mouth was still taped and there was no way of getting through.
He then felt a forceful jab into his neck, and try as he might he could not stifle the gasp. It was happening, Jethro was not coming, he was lost, would he ever be heard again?
Three minutes and fifty-four seconds.
He was counting, he had so little time, what he could do? He was going to die. Think of something happy, ignore your surroundings the stench, please, ignore it. He thought of father, of leaving home, of killing men, of spying, of saving men, of healing. He thought of his friends, Jonathan, Michael, Thomas…Henry. Susan. Catherine. Kaitlyn. Abigail. Laura. Michelle. Francis. The names stopped coming there was not much time. Brief faces, smiles came instead. He basked in the warmth they provided, and tried, tried not to think that his mind was getting slower, that his blood was going down…down…
Three minutes and thirteen seconds.
Kaitlyn. Abigail. Anthony. Jimmy. Timothy.
He felt his body weakening; maybe it was the way his mind was racing, the way his heart was beating too quickly, trying to pump in the blood that was leaving his body. Would his soul speak of these final moments?
Mother. Father.
Three minutes and two seconds.
Jethro, how could he have forgotten to think about Jethro in these final moments? No doubt Jethro had a strong part in his life. Of course, he could say goodbye now, perhaps…
They're here! The voices were the most magnificent clatter of beings and guns he had ever heard. He began shouting through his binds, for the blood was still flowing, he still could die if they did not help him.
Someone ripped off the tape from his mouth, that was not what he wanted first, that was not most important. He shouted something about his arms, free them.
Two minutes and forty-three seconds.
Hands were freed. He continued to shout, for something to stop the bleeding, he needed pressure, if he was to live. There, he pressed the napkin against his wound tightly; he felt his hands tingle with the new forceful use of them after being so long strapped to his sides. His eyes were threatening to close, to give up, after all help was here, but his help was busy. So he had to wait. He continued to apply pressure, he felt arms heaving him up, supporting him. He looked to his side, Jethro.
He had come.
His eyes then slowly focused upon his captors, one of which raised a small object to his neck, and created a large slit across his neck. Then his eyes grew wide, as if he knew what was happening and embracing it. He then quickly fell to the floor; at peace with what he had done, thinking it was the better way. The woman screamed in despair, a wail, it was a terrible sound, he wished he could shut it off. Her voice shook him deeply, with her voice the fear came back.
He looked to the boy once more. He was lucky. He did not have to be forced to die, he got to choose.
He was lucky. He said out loud. It was hard work, to speak, his mouth did not want to seem to follow him, his lips still trembled with adrenaline. He then sagged deeper into the arms which were holding him, and he looked up, wondering.
"What took you so long?"
After all he had relived all his dreams, his fears, the lives he had saved and destroyed. He had relived his entire life, in one day. Decades. In one day. He then heard his friend give a relieved chuckle, and felt his hair get played with, and he smiled.
He wasn't truly annoyed. Never. How could he be?
After all this man, this man had saved him, he could now include other memories, other faces, other joys, and other pains next time, next time when he was at home in bed. Next time, when he could accept it, when he was ready.
And as his friend gripped him tightly in a protective embrace, murmuring encouragements into his ear, he decided, he wouldn't be ready in a long while.
The End.