Journal Entry: Donald 'Ducky' Mallard
Character: Donald 'Ducky' Mallard
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters mentioned, nor am I making any money from them. I merely borrow them from time to time.
Warning: The are references to a slash relationship mentioned.
Author's Notes: For toby_white_wolf. This is actually a prequel entry to Memories Make Us and Can It Be? Ducky explains Jethro's accident.
Cross-posted to: Linked, rather than cross-posted to, nakeisha, ncis_gibbsducky and philosophy_20
It has happened again.
Only this time it is so much worse.
This time I . . .
But I am getting ahead of myself. I am distracted. I need to explain, if only for my own sake, to try to make sense of it. Maybe writing about it will help me.
Will help me how?
How can anything help me? Nonetheless, I must try.
It seems like it happened months, years ago. However, it was less than ninety-six hours ago.
One minute Jethro was directing the children, the next . . .
The next the ground gave way beneath him and he plummeted down a cliff. Fortunately the God that seems to look out for my beloved was once again doing that thing, as a ledge broke his fall.
The children and I ran to the edge and looked down. Jethro was unmoving, but his body was not twisted. Anthony tried to prevent me from going down to him; I am afraid that I snapped at him. I told him that even had it been his body lying down there, I would still insist on going down. Oh, dear, my words were quite uncalled for, and unsurprisingly they shocked poor Anthony and the others.
Of course I did not mean what I had inferred, and I am ashamed that I said it. I am very fond of Anthony; just as I am very fond of all the children, but sometimes . . . I do hope he forgives me for hurting him. I know that I should apologize, but I am afraid that I simply do not have the emotional energy to do so.
Somewhat amazingly Jethro was, with the exception of a cracked rib and a sprained wrist, apparently unhurt. The only slight worry was that, yet again, he was in a coma, and from previous experience of my beloved's comas, it did not bode well.
This time I refused to allow Anthony, or indeed Jennifer, to order me to return to the office. This time I remained where I should have been: at Jethro's side. It might be a foolish thing but I firmly believed that he would know if I was not there. Indeed I am certain the reason he took so long to come out of his previous coma was because I had been forced to remain in Autopsy.
I instructed, yes, instructed, Anthony to inform Jennifer that I was staying by Jethro's side and if she wished to fire me, she could do so. What did I care?
And so I remained by my beloved's side.
For hours I simply sat and held Jethro's hand. Sat and listened to and watched the tools of my profession, leaving only when my need to visit the bathroom became too great to ignore. All of Jethro's vital signs were fine, not that I needed the machines to tell me that; I knew it for myself.
And then the moment came for which I had been waiting, hoping, praying. The moment that, despite my hopes and prayers, I had also been fearing. However, I allowed my fears to be pushed away by my belief that God would not do it to me again.
Slowly the dark blue eyes opened, blinked, closed, and then reopened. Ignoring the instructions to call the nurses at the first sign of consciousness, I sat forward and gripped my beloved's hand with both of mine, speaking his name quietly, soothingly, smiling at him.
His eyes remained open and he looked at me.
And I knew.
That was the moment I knew.
And my hopes faded. But even then I told myself that we had been through it twice before, we could manage a third time.
So as he said 'Who are you?' I just smiled and told him, patting his hand and hoping that I was reassuring him.
Then he said the words that changed everything. 'Who am I?'
It has been more than forty-eight hours since he regained consciousness, and he still knows neither himself nor me. He remembers nothing and no one. His entire past is a blank slate.
The doctors say, as I already know, that he may regain his memory today; tomorrow; next week; next month; next year. Never.
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters mentioned, nor am I making any money from them. I merely borrow them from time to time.
Warning: The are references to a slash relationship mentioned.
Author's Notes: For toby_white_wolf. This is actually a prequel entry to Memories Make Us and Can It Be? Ducky explains Jethro's accident.
Cross-posted to: Linked, rather than cross-posted to, nakeisha, ncis_gibbsducky and philosophy_20
It has happened again.
Only this time it is so much worse.
This time I . . .
But I am getting ahead of myself. I am distracted. I need to explain, if only for my own sake, to try to make sense of it. Maybe writing about it will help me.
Will help me how?
How can anything help me? Nonetheless, I must try.
It seems like it happened months, years ago. However, it was less than ninety-six hours ago.
One minute Jethro was directing the children, the next . . .
The next the ground gave way beneath him and he plummeted down a cliff. Fortunately the God that seems to look out for my beloved was once again doing that thing, as a ledge broke his fall.
The children and I ran to the edge and looked down. Jethro was unmoving, but his body was not twisted. Anthony tried to prevent me from going down to him; I am afraid that I snapped at him. I told him that even had it been his body lying down there, I would still insist on going down. Oh, dear, my words were quite uncalled for, and unsurprisingly they shocked poor Anthony and the others.
Of course I did not mean what I had inferred, and I am ashamed that I said it. I am very fond of Anthony; just as I am very fond of all the children, but sometimes . . . I do hope he forgives me for hurting him. I know that I should apologize, but I am afraid that I simply do not have the emotional energy to do so.
Somewhat amazingly Jethro was, with the exception of a cracked rib and a sprained wrist, apparently unhurt. The only slight worry was that, yet again, he was in a coma, and from previous experience of my beloved's comas, it did not bode well.
This time I refused to allow Anthony, or indeed Jennifer, to order me to return to the office. This time I remained where I should have been: at Jethro's side. It might be a foolish thing but I firmly believed that he would know if I was not there. Indeed I am certain the reason he took so long to come out of his previous coma was because I had been forced to remain in Autopsy.
I instructed, yes, instructed, Anthony to inform Jennifer that I was staying by Jethro's side and if she wished to fire me, she could do so. What did I care?
And so I remained by my beloved's side.
For hours I simply sat and held Jethro's hand. Sat and listened to and watched the tools of my profession, leaving only when my need to visit the bathroom became too great to ignore. All of Jethro's vital signs were fine, not that I needed the machines to tell me that; I knew it for myself.
And then the moment came for which I had been waiting, hoping, praying. The moment that, despite my hopes and prayers, I had also been fearing. However, I allowed my fears to be pushed away by my belief that God would not do it to me again.
Slowly the dark blue eyes opened, blinked, closed, and then reopened. Ignoring the instructions to call the nurses at the first sign of consciousness, I sat forward and gripped my beloved's hand with both of mine, speaking his name quietly, soothingly, smiling at him.
His eyes remained open and he looked at me.
And I knew.
That was the moment I knew.
And my hopes faded. But even then I told myself that we had been through it twice before, we could manage a third time.
So as he said 'Who are you?' I just smiled and told him, patting his hand and hoping that I was reassuring him.
Then he said the words that changed everything. 'Who am I?'
It has been more than forty-eight hours since he regained consciousness, and he still knows neither himself nor me. He remembers nothing and no one. His entire past is a blank slate.
The doctors say, as I already know, that he may regain his memory today; tomorrow; next week; next month; next year. Never.