nakeisha

* * *

"You know, Jethro," Mallard said as he lifted the hand of a corpse to examine her fingers, " I do so like these little trips out of the morgue, though. Each one is never quite the same as the ones before, but I really should let Mr. Palmer take the lead more often. He's smarter than I give him credit for and I am getting older. Do you know that the apprentice and teacher bond between men goes back thousands of years? It's remarkable that we have not found a better system of tutelage in this world of technology."

"It's remarkable that you haven't given me a cause of death, Ducky," Gibbs said. He folded his arms as he stood next to the squatting Mallard, and took in the crime scene. District police had called him to a walk-up in North Capitol Hill. An incident at Quantico had drawn his special agents, and the youthful Palmer. So it was just him and Mallard playing Sherlock and Watson at 0400 in Northeast D.C.

Blood spatter covered a good portion of the lower south wall and he could tell the woman's head had been bashed in, probably by the bloodied baseball bat leaning against the couch. He could announce cause of death himself, but then he would be bereft of Mallard's company, and it was always good to get a second opinion.

Mallard gently placed the woman's hand back at her side. "Blunt force trauma to the cranium," he said.

"You sound disappointed, Ducky."

"I think a Marine Captain should die with a little more dignity. Don't you, Jethro?"

Gibbs sighed. "Sure. But so few of them do."

"I've gathered all I can here. Let's go get the stretcher. Abby can do toxicology, and I can put the back of her head together before we call her parents." Mallard headed for the bedroom door, and the staircase that led down to the main entrance beyond. "Who is this young woman, anyhow?"

Gibbs followed. "Captain Suzanne Erhart, M.D."

"Oh, dear."

"Yup. Assigned to the Pentagon." Gibbs reached the banister. Below his feet he heard the front door slam. He grabbed Mallard's shoulder and pulled him backward, inserting himself between the noise and Mallard. Whoever was below was unconcerned about keeping quiet; he or she was stomping through the foyer. When Gibbs heard the first crack of boots on stairs, he pushed Mallard down the hallway. "They always come back to the scene of the crime."

"Really?" Mallard said as he stumbled toward the bedroom. "I would think that doesn't seem wise--"

"Not the bedroom. Where do you think he's headed?" Gibbs guided Mallard into the cramped, clean bathroom, and closed the door behind them, leaving it open a crack. He could hear Mallard's short breaths behind him, but Mallard kept. A man in green fatigues walked past their hideout, carrying a jug of gasoline. Gibbs clenched his jaw and whispered, "He's going to burn the body."

"And half the neighborhood," Mallard whispered. "Do you think we should...?"

"I should. You stay here."

"But Jethro."

"Stay here." Gibbs looked over his shoulder and scowled at Mallard. "Don't worry about me." He opened the door wide enough to slip through, and lifted his gun to shoulder height. The door closed behind him as he crept down the hallway, but he could hear Mallard's voice.

"I always worry about you."

The man was tossing gasoline from the can onto the body. He was hunched, and the weight of the container made his arms swing. The position was vulnerable, and Gibbs knew that hesitating would not offer a better opportunity. Once the matches were out of the man's pockets, it would be too late. Gibbs studied the man's uniform, and called out, "Sergeant."

The man straightened, his eyes wide.

"Sergeant, whatever you did... We can talk about it."

"She thought being with an enlisted man would hurt her chances for a Presidential post. The bitch." The man's face twisted into fury and he threw the can at Gibbs. Gibbs ducked out of the way but the metal hit his knee and he winced in pain. The sergeant rushed past him through the open doorway, and Gibbs twisted, throwing his arms around the sergeant's waist to drag him down.

"It's over."

The sergeant squirmed forward, trying to reach the stairway. He looked up and saw the crack in the bathroom door and Mallard beyond it, staring at him. The sergeant pushed himself up on his forearms. Gibbs followed his gaze. "Oh, no you don't." He brought his gun down on the back of the sergeant's head. "Never. Not with him." He looked up at Mallard.

Mallard offered him a faint smile.

* * *

"You know, Jethro," Mallard said as he washed gasoline off the corpse of Captain Erhart, "When I said I liked the excitement of getting out of the office, it wasn't a challenge."

Gibbs was leaning against a desk. He chuckled. "Don't worry, Ducky. Like you said, no crime scene is ever quite the same."

"There is that." Mallard shook his head. "All the same, I think I'll take the rest of the afternoon off if you don't mind."

"Want me to go with you?"

Mallard looked up. "Where?"

"At least let me drive you home."

"All right. But your next investigation?" Mallard looked sideways at Gibbs.

"I should let those numbskulls handle something."

Mallard lifted his briefcase. "Dear lord. We'd better check in when we get to the house."

* * *

Gibbs guided the car into the driveway of the Mallard residence and cut the ignition. Mallard exhaled, and said, "If there's anything that makes me feel vigorous and alive again, it's the sheer terror of being in a car with you."

"Hey, a free ride is a free ride." Gibbs laughed.

"Indeed." Mallard cupped the back of Gibbs head. "I really wish you would grow that out a little. This buzz cut is rather itchy."

"What, and look like DiNozzo?" Gibbs said and shook his head. "I'd rather be bald."

"Yes, well, you're on your way." Mallard tsked. His hand stayed on the back of Gibbs' head as Gibbs leaned over the seat and kissed him. Kissing Mallard was a slow thing, full of gentle tugs at lips and lazy, searching tongues. The speed would come later, when Mallard became incoherent enough to let his body and his hands do his talking. The moment was always beautiful, and Gibbs was glad he, of all the people Mallard encountered, got to see it the most. Mallard's hand tightened on his head when Gibbs dropped his hand into Mallard's lap, finding him already half-hard. Tweed and a man's cock was as good a combination as a gun and a badge.

Mallard broke the kiss. "Please, Jethro. If we're going to spend our afternoon dallying, let's do it in a soft bed. I'm getting too old for trysts in cars."

"Dallying?" Gibbs shook his head. "Are we going to spend the day playing putt-putt?"

"Well, that's what we ought to tell the kids." Mallard unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. "Come along, Jethro."

"Coming, coming."

* * *

When Mallard was naked underneath him, when Gibbs was on top because he liked to be on top, when the time had come to push Mallard to that place of unspoken demands, and to distract him while Gibbs unwrapped a condom, Gibbs said, hissing against Mallard's ear, "Tell me what you like about this, Ducky."

"Oh, god." Mallard's eyes were shut. He was gripping Gibbs' shoulders with a strength usually reserved for cracking rib cages. "Must I now? Perhaps later..."

"Now, Ducky." Gibbs punctuated his words with a harsh, hot kiss against Mallard's ear.

"I always wanted a marine," Mallard said, gasping as Gibbs' tongue traveled across his neck. "Big and strapping, looking good in uniform. Can you imagine me as a young medical student, hanging out at the Royal Navy? I... Yes, right there. Harder, Jethro. Use your teeth..."

"More, Ducky," Gibbs warned. He pushed himself up on one arm, so that he could see Mallard's lips moving, and rolled the condom on with his free hand. When he pushed Mallard's legs up so that his sheathed cock touched Mallard's abdomen, Mallard stopped talking, hissed, and cleared his throat.

"As I was saying... I knew what I wanted. Do you expect any less of me? But finding that inside a man with more than two brain cells to rub together... Well, it was tough going until you came along, Jethro."

Gibbs smiled. He shifted, and held his cock against the entrance that seemed too small for it, and waited for Mallard to thrust down with his hips. He met Mallard with equal force, and the head of his cock was accepted by Mallard's asshole. The tight muscles squeezed him, and Gibbs grunted and braced himself on his arms. The time for Mallard's rambling stories had passed, but Gibbs had one more thing to say. "Don't think, Ducky, that I don't want the same thing."

He rode Mallard, his voice guttural, exclaiming and gasping and growling as Mallard's hands clawed at his back, as Mallard's smell and taste and touch embraced him. Mallard came first, spilling warmth onto his torso, and Gibbs felt himself released, erupting inside Mallard with the only endearment he allowed himself, "Oh, Ducky," and only in the heat of the moment.

When Gibbs had rolled onto his back, discarded the condom, and was catching his breath, he finally eyed the cell phone on the nightstand. "Looks like those numbskulls are doing all right. If they'd called, I would have killed them."

Mallard's belly laugh rose from beside him. "And they wonder why you're so tense."