charloft [Thursday] Mort M'avaient Suit
[Follows this and immediately after this]
Les liens de la mort m'avaient environné, Et les angoisses du sépulcre m'avaient saisi; J'étais en proie à la détresse et à la douleur.
The cords of death compassed me, And the anguish of the grave before me, I was experiencing the distress and pain.
Following Ducky into the bedroom, Jen shuts the door with her hip. It isn't really about secrecy anymore. Or maybe it is because modesty went out the window days ago. Gibbs has seen almost every inch of her now. They could have done this out in the living room and she would have been perfectly comfortable. But it isn't about body image. She's worried about what might come tumbling out of her mouth. There are things she can say to Ducky that she still can't bring herself to even think about telling Gibbs. The gap between the two was closing, but it was still there enough for her to feel like she needed to close the door. She tries telling herself it's a holdover from having an office with a locking door, but it's a cold comfort at best. When she turns back to Ducky, he still has some of that "just seen a ghost" look on his face.
"How long have you..." he starts, but he lets the words trail off.
Jen shrugs her good shoulder, "I honestly don't know, Ducky. I don't know what day it is. A couple weeks, I guess." She starts to adjust the blanket around her shoulders, but the ache in her fingers and elbow tell her she might as well just drop the thing and she sits on the edge of the bed near him.
To his credit, Ducky seems to pick up on her nonverbal cues just like always and sets his bag beside her. "I don't suppose I need to tell you how you look, my dear," he says as he pulls out the things he'll need to draw blood and a stethoscope.
"I'm a mess," she snaps.
"That's not what I meant," he says, giving her a comforting look, "What I meant was considering all that you've been through recently, you still manage to look lovely." He's trying, at least.
But she reacts like he just burned her, flicking her eyes to his with a warning glare. "That's crap and you know it, Ducky." And she would love to rip all the buttons off her shirt for effect, but she can't even do that. Partially just because the shirt is pissing her off in exponentially increasing amounts each day. She won't ever get used to needing someone else to help her get dressed. But her anger is a quick flash, then it's gone, and she looks down at her hand in her lap, adding, "You'll have to undo the buttons."
"It's progressed, then," he answers, knowing exactly what she's talking about. She just nods and her silence unsettles him. Ducky tries to meet her eyes, but she refuses. "Forgive me," he says as he reaches for the buttons.
She closes her eyes and sits silently, perfectly still. Just like the first time with Gibbs, she feels incredibly violated. She wants to do it herself, under her control, but no amount of trying will make her fingers able to grab the little plastic disks with any more success. Willpower can't replace lost function. She just can't do it. As she sits there, she feels the chill air hit her skin. Thankfully, Ducky doesn't move her shirt any more than he needs to see the entirety of the incision down her sternum. Satisfied it looks okay, he lets her move her arm to hold her shirt in place while he checks out the other, more covered incisions on her side and shoulder.
"Well," he starts, straightening up, "I don't see any signs of infection. But there are other syndromes which could be causing your symptoms." She just listens and watches as he puts the stethoscope to her chest. She's still short of breath. Ducky makes a face and says, "Take deep breaths for me, please, Jenny." She obeys and as she inhales, she winces. That damn sharp pain in her chest. And then comes the coughing. Ducky's heard all he needs to hear and puts the stethoscope away. "I'm afraid you need some x-rays. Then I'll be able to definitively give you an answer as to what's belaboring your ability to heal."
"No," is all she says, looking at him sternly.
"There are at least half a dozen things it could be and without a chest x-ray and without having done the bloodwork to rule out other infections, I can't properly narrow it down. I really urge you to change your mind, Direc--" and he cuts himself off sharply.
She pretends not to notice his slip and continues to glare, "Make an educated guess, Ducky."
"Postpericardiotomy syndrome. It's an immune phenomenon that occurs days to months after surgical incision of the pericardium but can also be caused after a trauma, a puncture of...sorry," her look says she's not in the mood to listen to him ramble, so he adjusts his train of thoughts, "Treat with steroids and rest. You'll be fine." There's a look of caution in his eyes as he answers.
She nods and doesn't say anything further. It's more of that silence that deeply troubles him and he wonders what's going through her mind. But then after a moment, she breaks the silence and looks up at him. "Is it fatal?" she asks softly and Ducky could almost swear she sounds hopeful. This is what she worried about Gibbs hearing.
He doesn't answer right away and moves his bag from the bed to the floor to sit beside her. "Not usually," he finally answers.
She just nods again. Then, "I find myself wondering what the point of all this is." He, of all people, should know how much of a waste the last couple of weeks have been. A waste of medical care and a waste of time. It should have ended in the diner.
Ducky sighs and puts a hand on her knee, "Perhaps it would have been more humane. But that's all it would have been." He points a finger at her nose, just shy of actually touching her, "Because you and I both know there is no way he'll let go."
"That's exactly my point!" she says sharply. She doesn't even feel well enough to yell at him, but she does anyway. The shortness of breath drives her stand and she continues, "I don't want this." Even if she and Gibbs went over this already, her brain hasn't had time to process. Everything makes her angry and she can't help how she feels. She spent far too long doing what's best for her. This is what's best for him.
The look on her face could kill lesser men. Ducky just keeps his mouth closed and slips from the room.
On his way, he finds Gibbs in the basement, sanding the hull of an as-yet-to-be named boat. Gibbs looks up as Ducky comes down the stairs, but doesn't say anything, instead waiting for the older man to say whatever there is to be said. "She'll be fine, Jethro, however, I'm still not sure if the wiser course of action would be to avoid for a while or to go to her."
Of course, Gibbs rarely chooses the safer option. Especially when it comes to Jen. "Thanks, Duck."
[words 1200
Yeah, not a drablle, but who's counting?]
Les liens de la mort m'avaient environné, Et les angoisses du sépulcre m'avaient saisi; J'étais en proie à la détresse et à la douleur.
The cords of death compassed me, And the anguish of the grave before me, I was experiencing the distress and pain.
Following Ducky into the bedroom, Jen shuts the door with her hip. It isn't really about secrecy anymore. Or maybe it is because modesty went out the window days ago. Gibbs has seen almost every inch of her now. They could have done this out in the living room and she would have been perfectly comfortable. But it isn't about body image. She's worried about what might come tumbling out of her mouth. There are things she can say to Ducky that she still can't bring herself to even think about telling Gibbs. The gap between the two was closing, but it was still there enough for her to feel like she needed to close the door. She tries telling herself it's a holdover from having an office with a locking door, but it's a cold comfort at best. When she turns back to Ducky, he still has some of that "just seen a ghost" look on his face.
"How long have you..." he starts, but he lets the words trail off.
Jen shrugs her good shoulder, "I honestly don't know, Ducky. I don't know what day it is. A couple weeks, I guess." She starts to adjust the blanket around her shoulders, but the ache in her fingers and elbow tell her she might as well just drop the thing and she sits on the edge of the bed near him.
To his credit, Ducky seems to pick up on her nonverbal cues just like always and sets his bag beside her. "I don't suppose I need to tell you how you look, my dear," he says as he pulls out the things he'll need to draw blood and a stethoscope.
"I'm a mess," she snaps.
"That's not what I meant," he says, giving her a comforting look, "What I meant was considering all that you've been through recently, you still manage to look lovely." He's trying, at least.
But she reacts like he just burned her, flicking her eyes to his with a warning glare. "That's crap and you know it, Ducky." And she would love to rip all the buttons off her shirt for effect, but she can't even do that. Partially just because the shirt is pissing her off in exponentially increasing amounts each day. She won't ever get used to needing someone else to help her get dressed. But her anger is a quick flash, then it's gone, and she looks down at her hand in her lap, adding, "You'll have to undo the buttons."
"It's progressed, then," he answers, knowing exactly what she's talking about. She just nods and her silence unsettles him. Ducky tries to meet her eyes, but she refuses. "Forgive me," he says as he reaches for the buttons.
She closes her eyes and sits silently, perfectly still. Just like the first time with Gibbs, she feels incredibly violated. She wants to do it herself, under her control, but no amount of trying will make her fingers able to grab the little plastic disks with any more success. Willpower can't replace lost function. She just can't do it. As she sits there, she feels the chill air hit her skin. Thankfully, Ducky doesn't move her shirt any more than he needs to see the entirety of the incision down her sternum. Satisfied it looks okay, he lets her move her arm to hold her shirt in place while he checks out the other, more covered incisions on her side and shoulder.
"Well," he starts, straightening up, "I don't see any signs of infection. But there are other syndromes which could be causing your symptoms." She just listens and watches as he puts the stethoscope to her chest. She's still short of breath. Ducky makes a face and says, "Take deep breaths for me, please, Jenny." She obeys and as she inhales, she winces. That damn sharp pain in her chest. And then comes the coughing. Ducky's heard all he needs to hear and puts the stethoscope away. "I'm afraid you need some x-rays. Then I'll be able to definitively give you an answer as to what's belaboring your ability to heal."
"No," is all she says, looking at him sternly.
"There are at least half a dozen things it could be and without a chest x-ray and without having done the bloodwork to rule out other infections, I can't properly narrow it down. I really urge you to change your mind, Direc--" and he cuts himself off sharply.
She pretends not to notice his slip and continues to glare, "Make an educated guess, Ducky."
"Postpericardiotomy syndrome. It's an immune phenomenon that occurs days to months after surgical incision of the pericardium but can also be caused after a trauma, a puncture of...sorry," her look says she's not in the mood to listen to him ramble, so he adjusts his train of thoughts, "Treat with steroids and rest. You'll be fine." There's a look of caution in his eyes as he answers.
She nods and doesn't say anything further. It's more of that silence that deeply troubles him and he wonders what's going through her mind. But then after a moment, she breaks the silence and looks up at him. "Is it fatal?" she asks softly and Ducky could almost swear she sounds hopeful. This is what she worried about Gibbs hearing.
He doesn't answer right away and moves his bag from the bed to the floor to sit beside her. "Not usually," he finally answers.
She just nods again. Then, "I find myself wondering what the point of all this is." He, of all people, should know how much of a waste the last couple of weeks have been. A waste of medical care and a waste of time. It should have ended in the diner.
Ducky sighs and puts a hand on her knee, "Perhaps it would have been more humane. But that's all it would have been." He points a finger at her nose, just shy of actually touching her, "Because you and I both know there is no way he'll let go."
"That's exactly my point!" she says sharply. She doesn't even feel well enough to yell at him, but she does anyway. The shortness of breath drives her stand and she continues, "I don't want this." Even if she and Gibbs went over this already, her brain hasn't had time to process. Everything makes her angry and she can't help how she feels. She spent far too long doing what's best for her. This is what's best for him.
The look on her face could kill lesser men. Ducky just keeps his mouth closed and slips from the room.
On his way, he finds Gibbs in the basement, sanding the hull of an as-yet-to-be named boat. Gibbs looks up as Ducky comes down the stairs, but doesn't say anything, instead waiting for the older man to say whatever there is to be said. "She'll be fine, Jethro, however, I'm still not sure if the wiser course of action would be to avoid for a while or to go to her."
Of course, Gibbs rarely chooses the safer option. Especially when it comes to Jen. "Thanks, Duck."
[words 1200
Yeah, not a drablle, but who's counting?]