The shiny gold bow looked oddly out of place amid the ruble of what used to be his home. It was Christmas Eve 1968 in northern Africa. Dr. Donald Mallard stood staring blindly at the destruction. Time seemed to stand still. Even with all the years training with M16, the British Intelligence Service, his mind still refused to work. No living being could have survived the blast that had torn through what been his home. His family was now gone.

He knew that he shouldn't have married her. They had told him not to, in fact, he had been ordered not to by "C" himself. "C" was the head of the entire British Intelligence. Luckily, he was also an old family friend of the Mallard family. In the end it had been quietly worked out.

Annie had been his nurse at the clinic. The British had trained her to help the sick in this impoverished country. She had proven to be the best they had to offer Dr. Mallard when he came to work in the early 60's. Standing five foot eleven inches, with beautiful black skin, she had changes his life completely.

They had made a strange looking couple; he was short with shaggy blond hair that seemed to always need a trim, and Annie towering above him her beautiful ebony skin always radiant. Sara, his daughter, had inherited Annie's beauty with lovely mocha skin and huge brown eyes.

There was always the danger of his true work, his spying, coming to light. Annie knew, of course, of his double life. He had never kept anything from her. How could he? But he had foolishly felt his family was safe here in this small village. True, it was in a key position, that's why he had been sent here in the first place.

Up until a few days before there had been very little to report. With his work as a doctor he traveled to most of the villages in the area and knew all the local people within a hundred miles. He didn't realize the photo of a stranger he sent to the home office was that of an agent with the KGB. Whether it was he or his family that they were after he never knew for sure. The result was the same.

He wouldn't let anyone else near their bodies. This was his family; no local woman would be left to do the job. With all the care a mother gives her newborn child, he washed, cleaned and dressed their bodies for burial. The memory of this is now thankfully gone, just the knowledge of his actions.

The government brought him home and relieved him of duty. The official record showed nothing of the attack against his family. In fact, they erased the fact that he had ever been married or had a child. Marrying someone of a different race was not done at that time.

Dr. Mallard never practiced medicine again. Working with the living while he was so dead inside was not an option. He instead became a forensic pathologist. It was a need he now knew personally. Tending to the dead with the respect they deserved. His great knowledge used to find their killers.

At first the people he worked with ask the normal questions about his past, what he had done where he had been. Slowly over time he found that the more he talked the less they ask. He didn't have to talk about anything personal, or true for that matter, they rarely listened to him anyway.

"Ducky!" shouted Abby though the backseat window of the cab.

He turned around and looked at her without comprehension. The other Christmas from over thirty years ago faded away.

"Earth to Ducky! Hey, you OK?" she said this time with worry showing in her voice. She got out of the cab and came to stand with him in front of the downtown Christmas window, where he had waiting for her.

"Abigail," he said with a sheepish grin, "I'm sorry, I was a million miles away just now."

"Boy, you had me going there for a minute. I thought you were going Norman Bates on me or something." She said getting back into the cab and sliding over for him to join her.

"Or something," he mumbled as he climbed in beside her.

As the cab pulled into traffic, from in front of the department store the Christmas tree shone brightly through the window.