Sorry for the huge delay - life keeps getting in the way of my fun. I won't be able to post for the rest of the weekend, either, so here's three chapters at once to make up for it. Enjoy!

A/N: Remember how I said there was supposed to be a story in between In the Closet and this one, but it's not posted because I can't get it right? This chapter references that story. I tried to write this so you wouldn't have to have read that story to understand, but if I haven't done a good enough job, just let me know.

Chapter Six

February 5, 2011 – 12:42am

Though his eyes were tired from crying, Jimmy knew it was going to be hours before he could even think about going back to bed. At least it's Saturday – still, or again, or whatever, he thought. He opened his eyes and glanced toward the kitchen, then shook his head and closed them again. Even if I didn't really do them, I refuse to wash all those dishes two nights in a row, dream or no dream.

Sitting on the floor staring at the insides of his eyelids, Jimmy had no sense of the passage of time. He was trying to empty his mind, the way he'd learned years ago in a college class on relaxation, but he was having mixed results. He didn't want to think about the dream, but thinking about not wanting to think about the dream made him think about the dream, which he didn't want to think about. He felt like he was chasing his own tail – a particularly apt description, he thought, since neither the dream nor the tail existed anywhere but in his own mind.

He was both annoyed and a little bit concerned that despite his efforts, the sense of anxiety was increasing again. As soon as he thought that, he became aware that he was still trembling, and both his pulse and his respiration began to accelerate.

Panic attack. He recognized the symptoms, but that knowledge did nothing to help him. He'd had panic attacks before, but not for quite some time until just recently – and he'd had Tony there to help talk him through most of the recent attacks. Now, Tony was gone – and might never come back –

A knock on the door he was leaning against startled the already upset young man. He shot to his feet, but the indeterminate amount of time he'd spent huddled on the cold, hard floor caused his legs to cramp, and he immediately collapsed to his knees. The thud as he hit the floor must have been audible through the door, because Jimmy heard his unknown visitor try the door handle, only to find it locked. A moment later, he heard a familiar voice call through the door. "Mr. Palmer? Are you alright?"

"Doctor Mallard?" Jimmy used the door handle to help pull himself upright again. He glanced down out of habit to make sure he was properly clothed before unlocking the door and opening it to admit the older doctor.

Ducky wasn't wearing his NCIS coveralls tonight, Jimmy was surprised to see, but instead had on a light grey sweater with dark slacks. He was, however, carrying his emergency medical bag in one hand.

"D-doctor Mallard?" Jimmy repeated once his supervisor was inside and had set the bag on the floor. "W-what are you doing here at" – he checked the clock – "one thirty in the morning?"

Ducky looked him up and down before replying, and Jimmy flushed when he realized how he must look – red-rimmed eyes, hair sticking up in all directions, pale and – damn it! – still shaking.

"Anthony is very worried about you, Mr. Palmer. I thought perhaps he was overreacting when he called me, but now I'm glad I listened to him." Ducky took Jimmy's arm and led him over to the couch, where he pushed the younger man down. "Where do you keep your glucose meter?"

"Wh-what?"

"Your glucose meter, Mr. Palmer," Ducky repeated patiently. "I want to test your blood glucose levels."

"Oh! Uh, bedroom nightstand." Jimmy blushed, not able to remember if he and Tony had remembered to put away – "I'll get it," he blurted, starting to stand.

Ducky pushed him back down. "Stay still please, Mr. Palmer. I'll get it." He noted Jimmy's red face and added, "I'm sure I won't see anything I haven't before." He paused a moment at the door. "Probably," he concluded, and stepped inside.

He was back a moment later, and if he'd seen anything inappropriate, Jimmy couldn't see any reaction to it in his mentor's face. Ducky had Jimmy's glucose meter and test strips in hand; and when Jimmy offered to do it himself, Ducky flatly refused.

"You may not be aware, Mr. Palmer," Ducky told him as the older man took a seat on the couch next to him, "but to put it bluntly, you look like hell. Just sit back and relax, and I'll be done in a moment."

Jimmy leaned back against the couch cushions, but that was as far as he could go in following Ducky's instructions – he couldn't relax now if his life depended on it. He held still while Ducky pricked his finger for the blood sample he needed, but as soon as Ducky let him go, Jimmy was up and pacing the room.

"A little low, but nowhere near what I was expecting, given Anthony's story and the state of agitation you've worked yourself into." Ducky had to twist his upper body around to find Jimmy, who had moved to the window and was staring out into the darkness. The younger man had his arms wrapped around his chest, the fingers of his right hand tapping the opposite shoulder absently. "Mr. Palmer, will you please come sit down and tell me what's bothering you?"

For a moment, Ducky thought that Jimmy hadn't heard. Then Jimmy turned away from the window and slowly made his way back to the couch, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Anthony told me you've been having some bad dreams lately," Ducky prompted his assistant once it became clear that Jimmy wasn't going to start on his own.

Jimmy nodded, but otherwise didn't respond. Ducky sighed; apparently he was going to have to do most of the work in this conversation.

"You know, I once had a problem with nightmares myself," he began, keeping a close eye on his assistant. "It started many years ago, when I was not long out of medical school. I lost a patient, in rather tragic circumstances, and for some reason, that one death stuck with me like nothing else had. I started having dreams where the young man would open his eyes on the operating table and ask me why I allowed him to die. After a while, the guilt I was feeling was so overwhelming that in my dreams, the boy started chasing me with a knife, trying to kill me so that I, too, would exist only in other people's dreams.

"I kept it to myself for years. But I finally talked to someone, a friend, years later about the nightmares. They would periodically return and plague my sleep for several nights, and as time went on, they became distorted."

Jimmy had settled down somewhat and was listening intently as Ducky spoke. For a man who would take any opportunity to tell tales of his life experiences, Ducky could be an amazingly private person. He'd talk about people he'd known, what he'd seen, what he'd done – but rarely did he discuss his innermost feelings. Jimmy truly enjoyed most of Ducky's stories, but tonight he was captivated.

"It happened that I was sharing a hotel room with a colleague on a – a business trip, shall we say. Now, I pride myself on being a considerate roommate, so you can imagine my mortification when I woke the poor fellow up, screaming about floating scalpels and – I'm not even sure what else I said." Ducky shared an embarrassed grin with Jimmy. "There was certainly no way I could pretend that nothing was wrong, after that. So I told him about the dream, and where it came from – and strangely, I haven't had it since."

Jimmy looked down, his smile fading. "I have talked about it with Tony. And I thought it was gone, but it came back. But like you said, distorted, way beyond what it used to be."

Ducky placed a comforting hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "Perhaps it would be helpful for you to discuss it with… someone other than the person who is the focal point of the nightmares."

Jimmy looked up, surprised. "He told you?"

"In very general terms, yes. But why don't you start at the beginning?"

Jimmy nodded and took a deep breath. Clearly there was no getting out of this, so he may as well get on with it. "I was fine at first, after Tony and I were kidnapped. It wasn't until it was officially classified as a cold case that I started having nightmares…"

So Jimmy talked about the dreams he'd had weeks ago, which featured their escaped kidnapper coming back and torturing Tony while Jimmy was helpless to stop it. While he spoke, Ducky carefully studied his assistant. The exercise in memory recall actually seemed to steady his nerves a bit; he spoke in his normal tones, at something like a reasonable speed – this was Jimmy, after all. He even managed a smile and a self-deprecating laugh when he related how Tony had threatened to throw a glass of cold water on him one night. But when he turned his attention to the events of this night…

"Doctor Mallard, I know how this sounds," Jimmy said. His voice sounded tired; he'd already told this story to Tony, not to mention all the times he'd been over it in his own mind. "I'm not surprised Tony told you I'm going crazy –"

"Mr. Palmer, he said no such –"

"– and maybe I am, but… I remembered every word of that phone conversation, perfectly, and I –"

"Well, déjà vu –"

"It was not déjà vu!" Jimmy leaned forward, looking intently at his mentor's face. "I was there!"

"And you claim that I was there also, Mr. Palmer, and yet I can assure you I was not."

Jimmy allowed himself to fall back against the couch cushions. "I know," he said. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "I said it doesn't make any sense, but –"

"Jimmy." The use of his first name made the young man look up in surprise. Ducky was looking at him, concern etched on his face. "Are you sure you can handle being… involved… with a federal agent? Anthony's work puts him in considerable danger on a regular basis –"

"I know, I know." Jimmy waved one hand as if to dismiss his mentor's arguments. "I've thought about it a lot, Doctor Mallard. I know something could happen to Tony, but that doesn't change how I feel about him. I know I could lose him to something out there" – he waved his hand again, indicating the world beyond the walls of his apartment – "but that's not a sure thing. But if I leave him because I might lose him, then I have lost him, for sure. I'm willing to accept the risk of maybe losing him, so I don't lose what I have now."

Jimmy was afraid that he wasn't expressing himself very clearly – he was as well-known for convoluted explanations as Ducky was for long, rambling stories – but the older man was nodding thoughtfully as Jimmy finished.

"Very well, Mr. Palmer. I respect your decision, and I admire you for your courage and dedication to Anthony." Ducky stood and stretched, then looked toward the kitchen. "I'd like to continue our discussion, but I find my throat is a bit dry. Shall I make us something to drink?" He didn't wait on Jimmy's answer, but went on into the kitchen, motioning Jimmy back when the younger man started to follow. "How does some hot chocolate sound?"

"Er… okay."

The drink that Ducky handed him a few minutes later, however, was nothing like the hot chocolate normally made in that kitchen. Jimmy took a drink as normal, and was already starting to swallow when the taste of alcohol finally registered.

"Doctor Mallard!" he exclaimed after he'd managed to choke down the mouthful of liquid. He hadn't sprayed it across the room, but it was a close call. "What did you put in this?"

Ducky settled back down on the couch with a mug of his own. "Just a little something to calm your nerves, Mr. Palmer." When Jimmy made as if to protest, the older man gave him a look over the rim of his glasses. "Drink up, lad."

Cautiously, Jimmy took another drink. It wasn't as bad, now that he was prepared for it. He wrapped his hands around the warm mug – funny, how he hadn't noticed how cold his hands were – and closed his eyes, trying to think of something to say to lessen Ducky's concern for him.

"I'm – not usually like this," he said, somewhat apologetically, picking up from their earlier conversation.

"I know that, Mr. Palmer," Ducky reassured him, sipping slowly from his own mug. "And I believe Anthony knows that as well, else he would not have been so worried about you this evening."

"I'm not so sure," Jimmy admitted. Somehow, it seemed so much easier to admit his lesser fears, after having already made a fool out of himself over the nightmare. He was still trying hard to convince himself that was all it was.

"Mr. Palmer?" Ducky prodded when Jimmy didn't continue.

"I –" Jimmy's face flushed red. "Just, after everything that's happened, I'm not really sure how Tony sees me. I mean, since we got together it seems like I've had more than my usual share of – of –" His eyes unfocused as he sought to express himself. "I mean, first we get kidnapped and I was totally worthless stuck in that closet with him, and then I started having nightmares and couldn't even sleep by myself for weeks –"

"Ah, if I may, Mr. Palmer," Ducky interrupted with an upraised hand. "It is my understanding that you left the vehicle's license number on your phone, which led Jethro and the others to the house where you were being held."

"Well, yeah, but –"

"And it was thanks to your medical expertise that Anthony received the first aid he needed, was it not?"

"I –"

"I assure you, Mr. Palmer, that even if you choose to overlook those things, Anthony does not. And those qualities – the competence and the courage – that you showed are the qualities that Anthony sees when he looks at you. These intermittent inconveniences are simply temporary obstacles, and he knows that, even if you don't." Seeing that Jimmy still looked skeptical, Ducky tried another angle. "Mr. Palmer, you'd say Anthony is a very good agent, would you not?"

"Of course."

"Even though he allowed armed men to take both of you from that crime scene?"

"But that wasn't his fault! They attacked him from behind and knocked him out!"

"But as a federal agent guarding a crime scene, shouldn't he have been more aware of his surroundings?"

"No one's perfect, Doctor Mallard." Jimmy took another sip. Then he sighed. "And that's your point, isn't it."

A smile graced Ducky's face as he raised his mug in salute. "That's exactly my point, Mr. Palmer. Anthony doesn't expect perfection from you any more than you do from him. He loves you as you are. So stop fretting so much about it."

Jimmy nodded, but his thoughts were turned inward. He wasn't sure how the conversation had made it to this point. He didn't know what he should say, but to his relief, Ducky didn't press. The two men sat silently for a time, drinking adulterated hot chocolate, each lost in his own thoughts.

Jimmy wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point he became aware that Ducky had taken away his empty mug and tucked the blanket from the back of the couch around him. The young man lay curled up on his half of the couch, staring at the television without really seeing it. I should turn the TV on, in case – He stopped that thought before it could finish. He hoped that the team would wrap up their case soon, so Tony could come home and tease him mercilessly for taking his dream so seriously.

Home. "I'll be home as soon as I can," Tony had said. Did that mean he was spending so much time at Jimmy's place that it was becoming his third home – his own apartment and the office being homes one and two, respectively. Did Tony even know what he'd said? Or did he mean it the way Jimmy had come to think of the word – that anywhere they could be together openly, without having to hide their relationship, was home?