Dr. Donald Mallard sat in the cold car, wondering where everything went wrong. His arms were aching from being tied behind his back and he hated the feeling of disorientation that came with being blindfolded while travelling in a moving car. He had tried to count the bumps and turns but after over an hour in the car even he had to admit he was completely lost.
He felt the car suddenly draw to a stop and it was at that moment that he realised that his captors had been considerate enough to put his seatbelt on for him. They must have watched that advert he had seen while visiting his family in Scotland. Yes, the one where the mother was killed by her son who was in the back seat of her car when she braked heavily… all because the boy wasn't wearing his seatbelt.
Ducky tutted and shook his head at the memory of the advert before he remembered where he was, or rather, whose company he was in. The feel of the side of a handgun smacking his face, and the taste of blood filling his mouth, brought him back to his surroundings. He still couldn't see and the car hadn't started moving again. Perhaps they had reached their destination? Where ever that was.
The ageing ME allowed his head to just loll to the side, giving the impression that the last blow had knocked him out. Truth be told - it almost had. He was worried that he was going to get a concussion from it but right now that was the least of his worries. He was more worried about whether his captors were going to kill him, or try and force him to tell them stuff he really didn't know. He knew a lifetime's worth of stories but he got the feeling that these people would appreciate them even less than Gibbs, Anthony, Caitlin, Ziva, Timothy or Gerald had. In fact, it occurred to him, that only young Mr. Palmer had truly appreciated the wealth of knowledge that he had to pass on.
Ducky had never found much time or reason to pray before. Everyday he had dealt with death and man's inhumanity and he found it difficult to justify spending time talking to something, that if the stories were true, he would have plenty of time with after he died. Life was for spending with the living. Only right now, he was no where near anyone that he would want to waste his breath talking to. Right now he did the only thing he could, he prayed. He reached out with every part of his consciousness and he called out silently for help. Not just any help. He wanted, no he needed his friends to find him.
As he thought of his friends, he thought of how much he missed being able to talk with Gibbs and, as good an agent as young Anthony was, he wasn't Gibbs. Ducky didn't go around to Anthony's house after a particularly difficult case to talk about anything that didn't involve work, dogs or Marilyn Monroe. With those thoughts in his mind, Ducky closed his eyes and allowed the darkness and oblivion that was unconsciousness to envelope him.