Chapter 2 – Jimmy's Day
Vanessa Mallard looked up as her "grandson" walked into the room.
"Jimmy!" she cried, bringing her hands up in delight.
"Hello, Grandmother," Jimmy said, smiling warmly. It had taken some getting used to, calling her that… but it wasn't really all that bad. He had lost both of his own grandmothers in recent years, so Mrs. Mallard had managed, in her own eccentric sort of way, to fill the void that their deaths had left. He walked over to the old woman and embraced her affectionately, as she held her arms out to him, and kissed her lightly on the cheek, much to the old woman's delight.
"Tell me, has Donald been working you too hard at that autopsy place? You look peaked, Dear Boy." Mrs. Mallard gazed at Jimmy with a look of concern, one that told him that if he said the wrong thing, she'd roll her son's head into the next room when he got home that evening.
"Oh, of course not! I love working at NCIS. I get to help Dr. Mallard solve mysteries. It's really very satisfying."
"Oh, well, that's wonderful, Jimmy. It's delightful for me to know that my dear son and his dear son work together so closely. It maintains the bonds of family. One can never take such things for granted in this dreadful day and age."
Jimmy thought a moment, gazing at her and smiling. "Of course not, Grandmother. I really should go start dinner now. What would you like tonight?"
"Gin and tonic, my boy!" The old woman didn't hesitate for a moment. Her wrinkled face lit up and she fairly bounced in her chair with excitement.
Jimmy coughed back a snort of amusement. "Well, yes… I can fix you a small one. But what would you like to eat? I think there may be time for a pot roast, if you'd like." Mrs. Mallard reached out and took his hand. "Why yes, that sounds marvellous! Oh, whatever you fix will be fine, Jimmy. Your father has taught you well, how to cook a proper English supper."
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"Contessa, if you don't stop that whining I'll toss you out the door and wish you luck," Jimmy hissed, as he stood in the kitchen, carving the roast and preparing it for the table. "That goes double for you, Tyson," he said, turning and waving a knife-wielding hand at the other dog, who sat whimpering, and licking his chops with eager anticipation. The two Welsh Corgis gazed up at him with adoring eyes, then settled down, gazing adoringly up at this vaguely familiar human who was suddenly standing in their kitchen.
Jimmy nearly sliced off his fingertip when an earth-shattering crash brought his heart into his throat. He dropped the knife on the counter, then spun around… then promptly turned back and glared at the two dogs. "Don't even think about it," he warned, then dashed into the parlour.
"It was cheaply made, anyway," Mrs. Mallard huffed, as he entered the room.
There, on the floor, was one of the priceless vases that he knew Dr. Mallard had brought back with him from Asia, decades before. He couldn't remember when, exactly, it had come into his possession – but Jimmy knew that Dr. Mallard's ownership of this particular item preceded his existence by several years, at least.
"Grandmother, what happened?" he asked in dismay. He stood, staring helplessly at the once valuable vase, now reduced to so much worthless baked clay and paint.
"That dreadfully gaudy vase slipped from my hands when I went to remove the dead flowers from the arrangement," she said simply. She seemed unconcerned about the demise of the artefact. "Well, be a dear, will you Jimmy, and fetch a broom to sweep up the shards."
Jimmy sat down, feeling faint. He tried to remember just how old Dr. Mallard had told him that vase was – it was older than him, and Dr. Mallard combined – and maybe even throwing Mrs. Mallard in for good measure, as well… that was all he knew for sure. "Well, no worries, Grandmother. What's done is done," he said, more for his own benefit than anything else. "Don't move, okay? Here, in fact – maybe you should sit down in your chair," he said, standing up again and gently guiding her back to her seat. "I don't want you to fall on these broken pieces of… priceless antique," he said, his voice becoming a weakened whisper at the final words.
He dashed back into the kitchen, to retrieve the broom and dustpan, just in time to rescue the roast from the two corgis who had their eyes on the tantalizing meat. "OUT," he commanded, opening the doors and giving a gentle shove to their back ends with his foot.
Unfortunately, in opening the doors to put the dogs out, he let Ducky in.
"Oh… you're home early," he stammered.
"Dinner smells wonderful, Mr. Palmer. Pot roast, I see. Ah… it's been ages since I had a good pot roast. And I know for a fact that yours is especially delicious." The old Doctor gazed at the meal with unabashed anticipation. "Shall I set the table for you then?" Jimmy nodded, and Ducky was about to take care of this small task when he heard his mother calling.
"Donald!" Mrs. Mallard's shrill voice called from the living room. Ducky sighed. "I trust everything went well today, Jimmy?"
Jimmy almost reassured him, "Smooth as silk, Sir," but then remembered the shattered remains of the vase. "Well, Sir, there was a bit of an incident with that vase of flowers on the stand next to the armoire…"
"Incident, Mr. Palmer?" Ducky asked, levelly.
"Um… yeah. It's kind've… um…"
"It was dreadfully ugly, Donald, and I'm not sorry it's gone."
Jimmy's eyes grew wide, and he rushed to the elderly woman's side. "Mrs. Mallard… I mean, Grandmother… I thought I asked you to stay in your chair? You could have fallen and seriously hurt yourself on that broken pottery." Mrs. Mallard pooh-poohed him, patting his arm. "Nonsense, Boy. There is nothing wrong with my balance or my footing."
"What happened to the vase, Jimmy?" Ducky persisted. Jimmy winced as Ducky went into the living room to survey the damage.
"Oh, that old thing," he called out. "That old vase was worthless, Mr. Palmer. No worries, my good fellow. That particular vase was a replica, given to me by my eccentric Great Uncle Duncan. He was an odd man, used to tell pointless drawn out stories to anyone who would listen, at the drop of a hat. He really was something of the black sheep of the family. Anyway, that vase held neither sentimental value, nor monetary value."
"But… I thought you said that vase was a priceless artefact from Asia?" Jimmy asked, perplexed. Ducky returned to the kitchen, patting Jimmy's arm as he gently led his mother to the table. "No, Mr. Palmer. The vase you are referring to is in the library, not the parlour. Now, I suggest we eat. I'm absolutely famished."