TITLE: Waiting For You
AUTHOR: Ashleigh Anpilova
PAIRING: Leroy Jethro Gibbs/Donald 'Ducky' Mallard
SUB-GENRE: Established Relationship
SUMMARY: Set during Heart Break. Ducky returns home from his date with Janet Byers to find Jethro waiting for him.
SPOILERS: For Heart Break.
PROMPT: 10_hurt_comfort 07. Jealousy
WORD COUNT: 1,141
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, nor am I making any money from them. I merely borrow them from time to time.
“Hey, Duck.” The door to his Morgan was pulled open.
“Jethro my dear. What a pleasant surprise. Is everything okay?”
“Sure, Duck. Why shouldn’t it be?” Jethro offered his hand, and helped Ducky out of the car. Around them the night was still and quiet, even the moon hadn’t appeared to taint the ink-black sky. Jethro did more than just help Ducky out of his car; he pulled Ducky into his arms and held him tightly.
Not adverse to the embrace, but still somewhat surprised by his lover’s appearance, Ducky slipped his own arms around Jethro, thus completing the circle. Allowing the darkness to enclose them, to hide them, to keep them safe, Ducky rested against his taller lover, soaking up the embrace and taking comfort from the familiarity of it. Being in Jethro’s arms was his favorite place; it was the only place he felt truly at home; the only place he felt complete.
He snuggled closer, feeling Jethro’s heartbeat through their layers of clothes, wishing . . . But no, he wouldn’t spoil the moment by wishing for something he could not yet have. Finally, he said, his tone soft, “Not that I am objecting, my dear, but why are you here?”
For a moment he wasn’t answered. Then Jethro said, his tone nonchalant, or at least that was what he would have hoped it to be, “Have a good evening, Duck?”
Ducky smiled to himself and tightened his embrace, moving even nearer to the man he loved. “Yes, thank you, Jethro. It was very pleasant.”
“Where did you take her?”
“To the Smithsonian?”
“The basement to be exact.” At that moment, the moon came out from behind the clouds and lit up the area.
“The basement?” Jethro pushed Ducky away from him a little and looked down at him; surprise crossed the handsome features.
Ducky smiled. “Yes, dear. I showed her the place where they prepare the exhibits. She seemed to be particularly interested in the tools that the army surgeons, Joseph Woodward and Edward Curtis, used at the postmortem of Abraham Lincoln. Did you know that it was performed in a guest bedroom at the White House?”
Jethro blinked. “Er . . .”
Ducky raised one hand and stroked his beloved’s face. “I am sorry, my dear. You are not interested in this kind of thing. Why do you not come inside with me?” And then he added softly, “If you wish to of course.”
Jethro looked down at him, frowned, and pushed back the brim of Ducky’s hat. “Do you want me to, Duck?”
Ducky blinked. “Of course I do, Jethro. Why wouldn’t I?”
Jethro shrugged, but he still made no move to let Ducky move from his arms. “So what else did you do? Or is that all your date consisted of, the tour of the Smithsonian basement?”
“We also had dinner.”
“We talked. I discovered that as well as her passion for medicine, that she also shares my love of the opera and the ballet and art galleries. Then I drove her home, refused her offer of coffee, kissed her cheek and left her.”
“So you didn’t sleep with her?”
Ducky sighed. “Come inside, Jethro.” He spoke firmly, and moved from Jethro’s arms, catching his lover’s hand and leading him to the front door. “It’s only me, Mother,” he called, ushering Jethro into the house. “Go upstairs, dear. I’ll just see Mrs. Patterson out and say goodnight to Mother.” He waited until Jethro had started to go upstairs, before going into his mother’s sitting room.
Ten minutes later he joined Jethro in his bedroom. He wasn’t surprised to see his lover still had his coat on, and was standing in the middle of the room, looking down at the floor. “Here,” he handed Jethro a glass.
“Thanks. Sorry, Duck. Shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business.”
Ducky sighed, took his own coat off, threw it over the chair, and sat down on the bed. “Come here, Jethro.” He waited for his lover to obey what was a clear order. “Now, sit down.” He waited for Jethro to obey the second clear order.
After a second or two, Jethro did sit down. Ducky put his own glass down on the table next to his bed, removed Jethro’s glass and placed it next to his own; he then took both of Jethro’s hands. “Jethro, I am gay. You know that. You’ve always known it. I have never, and will never, sleep with a woman. I like women, I enjoy a lady’s company, I like to spend time with them on occasions, but that is all it is. You know that. Don’t you?”
Jethro nodded. “Yeah. It’s just . . . Oh, ignore me, Duck. I’m just being stupid. It’s just . . .”
“Just what, my dear?”
“She’s another doctor. You said yourself, you showed her medical exhibits and stuff. She likes the same music and arty stuff that you like. She’s perfect for you.”
“She isn’t you,” Ducky said softly.
Jethro appeared not to hear him. “What am I compared to that?”
“The man I love. The man with whom I am, and always will be, in love,” Ducky said more firmly. He tightened his grip on Jethro’s hands. “Leroy Jethro Gibbs, I love you. It doesn’t matter that we don’t share the same taste in music, or that art galleries bore you, or that you’d rather spend your evenings in the basement of your house with your boat, than in the basement of the Smithsonian. That’s all merely dressing, what we share if far more than music and paintings and old scalpels. It’s more even than this.” For a moment he let his hand move to Jethro’s groin, lightly stroking his lover. He heard Jethro’s faint moan of pleasure. “That is the icing too,” he said, removing his hand and returning to holding Jethro’s hands.
Jethro tugged one hand away, and lifted it to brush Ducky’s hair back from his face. His touch was warm, loving and a little uncertain; his fingers were calloused from his gun, but the caress was soft. “You mean it, don’t you?” He sounded surprised.
Ducky shook his head slightly. “Ah, my dear Jethro,” he said, putting his hand over the one that traced his face. He then moved his hand behind Jethro’s head, pulled slightly and met Jethro’s mouth with his own.
“I do love you, Duck,” Jethro said, several moments later.
“I know, my dear. Now why do we not stop talking about things that do not matter and go to bed?”
“You want to?” Jethro still sounded slightly hesitant.
“I cannot think of a better way to end what has been a pleasurable evening, than to spend it in the arms of the person I love.”
Jethro smiled and kissed him again.