Summary: A missing scene during the opening credits of "Kill Ari, Part 1" in which Ducky and Abby get the news.
Categories: Gen Characters: Abby Sciuto, Donald Mallard, Leroy Jethro Gibbs
Genre: Episode Related, Friendship
Pairing: None
Warnings: Death story, Disturbing imaginery
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 1
Completed: Yes
Word count: 2116
Read: 2285
Published: 02/24/2008
Updated: 02/24/2008
1. When the Sky Falls Down by JustOldLight
When the Sky Falls Down by JustOldLight
Author's Notes:
A missing scene during the opening credits of "Kill Ari, Part 1" in which Ducky and Abby get the news.
Abby perched on one of the metal exam tables, watching Ducky examine yet another lifeless bodyâ"this time a woman, no piercings, tattoos or other identifying marksâ"laid out one table over. Partially eaten. Abby was waiting to see if he could pull dental impressions or iron filings from the knife used. Plus, sheâd always wanted to assist in an autopsy, and with Jimmy Palmer out with the flu, today was the perfect day to try.
She hopped off the table, camera in hand and moved to stand next to Ducky. He was so caught up in examining the outside of the body that he didnât pay her much mind. She started snapping each cut- and saw-mark on the exposed bones. Abby had a zooarchaeologist friend at U Penn who focused on butchery techniques and she wanted his opinion.
âItâs all pretty Ted Bundy, you know?â she asked as she worked.
Ducky hummed noncommittally, and then lifted one limp arm, examining it from all angles. Abby watched what he was doing. It was so much like how she moved when she had evidence that she had to smile. Not noticing that smile, Ducky continued. âThere are no holes in the skull. Mister Bundy would oftenâ"â
âDrill holes in their heads and pour acid in. I know.â She knew she sounded midway to morbid fascination, but it took one twisted bastard to come up with that sort of thing, and the forensic specialist in her was always fascinated by twisted minds. They tended to leave the best evidence. âI saw it on A&E, I think. You?â
âI was there.â
Abby gawped. âDucky! Are you telling me you were the ME for the Bundy case?â That was . . . really cool.
âOf course not,â he said. âI was, however, asked to examine some of the medical evidence before the trial.â
âWow.â That was major stuff. Why had she never heard this before? Gibbs kept his past all shadowed, but then ex-wives and love affairs kept cropping up to ruin the whole air of mystery thing. But Ducky? He was the one no one knew anything about. Sure he talked all the time about his past, but it was all so fragmentary, and none of the big stuff ever came up. Like why he was always traveling the world, or where he worked once heâd gotten his medical degree. Or what heâd done in Vietnam. She wouldnât be surprised if she found out he was some sort of international man of mystery or something. He was surprising like that.
Of course, Ducky had already moved on, treating the whole âI assisted in the prosecution of one of the most heinous murderers of the centuryâ thing as though it was just another tidbit. âYou know,â he said, reaching for his scalpel, âIâve often wondered why it is that whenever cannibalism is mentioned, Mister Bundy springs to mind. It isnât as though he was being terribly original. People have consumed each otherâs flesh since time immemorial. In fact, there are some cultures that believe that the only way to honor the dead is to consume them.â
âSick!â Abby said, but in the best possible way. Things that grossed out most people just filled her with a sense of wanting to know more. âSo if your grandpa dies, you eat him?â
âYou and your extended family, yes.â
âDo you cook him first?â
âFrom what I recall, it varies from culture to culture, but I do believe the deceased is cooked before being eaten.â
âAnd this is supposed to do what, exactly?â
âIncorporate their beingâ"their soul, if you likeâ"into you.â
It made sense. It was sort of like church communion if it was real bits of dead Jesus instead of the bread substitute. âCool,â she concluded at last. âBut I still think Iâd rather get buried.â
Ducky glanced up from his y-incision, a smile playing around his lips. âAbby, you surprise me. I was certain you would want to be cremated.â
âAre you kidding? First, if Iâm murdered, I so want some forensic tech to exhume me and get all the good evidence. With cremains, youâre lucky to find enough teeth to do a dental match.â She shrugged. âPlus, Iâve been sleeping in a coffin for years now. Why would I want to change the habit just because I kick it?â
Duckyâs smile went from almost-there to all-the-way as he went back to work. Abby wasnât sure what her assisting was supposed to entail, so she just watched in fascination as Ducky pulled the skin of the womanâs chest up from the ribs. And she took more pictures.
The phone started to ring. Ducky frowned at his bloodied gloves.
âDo you want me to get that?â Abby asked.
âIf you would, my dear.â
âNo prob, Bob.â Abby bounced on the toes of her heavy black boots. As Ducky continued to pin the skin back away from the ribs, Abby moved to the phone and picked up the receiver. âAutopsy,â she said, with no small amount of pride. âThis is Abby speaking.â
Abby heard harsh breathing, and her smile faded. âShit,â she heard, and realized it was Gibbs. Something was wrong. He sounded choked. âGet Ducky for me.â
âSomethingâs wrong, isnât it?â Abby asked, her voice small. She knew she needed to do what heâd said, but her legs wouldnât work. She remembered that dream of hers and the image of Tonyâs face covered in blood. Her heart started to pound.
âLook, I just need to talk to Ducky,â Gibbs was saying. Ducky, meanwhile, must have picked up on the bad vibes across the room, because he was approaching as rapidly as his limping gait would carry him, peeling off his gloves as he went. Something detached and possibly hysterical inside Abby appreciated his accuracy when he threw them into the garbage as he passed without even a glance.
Abby, meanwhile, wanted to demand that Gibbs tell her what was going on, but the words wouldnât come any more than her legs would move. With an arm that felt like it was attached to weights, Abby held the phone out to Ducky. He took it from her and she leaned back against the desk with shaking arms bracing her up. She stared at him hard, begging silently for him to act relieved or just smile or something to tell her that everything would be okay.
âWhatâs happened?â he asked, his tone clipped.
He listened, his shoulders hunched against bad news. Abby studied his expression as he said, âJust tell me.â Gibbs was stalling. Gibbs never stalled.
Whatever it was that he said next made Duckyâs breath hitch, and then he collapsed in on himself, his eyes closing. He didnât cry, but the phone fell from his hand.
Abby swooped down and grabbed it up, pressing the receiver to her ear again. âGibbs?!â she demanded, hearing the hysterical edge in her voice. Ducky had sagged against the wall.
It was Tony. It had to be Tony. Tony was . . . he was hurt. He must have gotten injured. Something in her knew that this was wrong, that Ducky wouldnât have reacted like that if heâd just been hurt, but she couldnâtâ"
âKateâs dead.â
What? Kate? But Tony . . .
The unexpected blow of shock and grief hit her like a fist to the stomach. âNo,â she whispered. âNo! Tell me youâre lying, Gibbs! Tell me this is all some . . . some really crappy joke. Tell me . . . tell me . . .â
âSheâs dead, Abs.â
Abby shook her head violently enough to scatter black-stained tears all over the white floor of autopsy. âShe canât be dead. Sheâs not dead. You need . . . you need Ducky to say sheâs dead. She could just beâ"â
âShe was shot between the eyes, Abby. The back of her head is gone.â Gibbsâ voice was awful and harsh. The words were worse, and they broke through all her defenses and all her easy denials. She broke down, sobbing loudly. She didnât even know sheâd fallen until she felt the linoleum hit her knees. The pain made the tears come harder.
Then Ducky was there, on his knees next to her. He took the phone from Abbyâs unresisting hands and brought it to his ear. âBring her home, Jethro,â he said. Then he hung up.
Even in this, the worst possible moment, all he had to say was âbring her homeâ, and she knew Gibbs would. It was why Gibbs had wanted to talk to Ducky in the first place, because he always knew what to say. Abby resented that eloquence. How could he still know what to say when the world was falling apart around their ears?
He touched her shoulder and murmured, âAbigail.â
âNo!â she snapped. âNo, something has to be wrong here! She was here this morning and . . . she canât be . . . Gibbs must be . . .â There was nothing to explain it away, of course, and her stumbling attempts to find one were just pathetic. But she couldnât believe it. Not even after what Gibbs had told her. The phone clattered to the floor as Ducky pulled her close. At first, Abby was rigid, Gibbsâ words repeating again and again in her mind: âthe back of her head is goneâ.
Abby suddenly twisted in Duckyâs grip, turning in to him and clinging to his lapels. She pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder. Her tears soaked his jacket and her eye makeup smeared across the light tweed. âSheâs dead,â she said. âI gave her a hat and now sheâs . . . and Gibbs said that the back of her head is gone. How can it be gone?â
Duckyâs hand, busy stroking her hair, faltered for a moment before continuing. He didnât say anything.
Abby curled into him, wanting the world to stop long enough that she could understand this. None of it made any sense. âAre you going to do the autopsy?â she asked. It wasnât something she should ask, she knew, not right then, but it was there in her head, and she was too broken to do anything but blurt it out.
Ducky didnât hesitate. âYes.â
âHow?â Abby looked up at him. Despite the fact Ducky still hadnât broken down and cried, his expression was hollow and the eyes behind his glasses were shattered.
âBecause there canât be anyone else. Caitlin . . . I donât think sheâd want someone else to see her without her clothes on.â
Abby nodded. Ducky knew that Kate would want this kept in the family. âDucky,â she said, her voice tiny, âtell me what Iâm supposed to do.â
âAbby?â he asked.
âI mean, my parents are both alive. My grandparents are alive. I donât . . . I mean, I see it all the time, but itâs never . . . it hasnât ever been . . . I donât know what Iâm supposed to do to make this stop! Sheâs dead! The back of her head is gone and sheâs dead, and I donât even know what Iâm supposed to do about it!â
And of all the things, that was what got to him. The tears in his eyes turned his irises a brilliant blue. Then those eyes were closing, and the tears were running down his cheeks, and his hug tightened. His voice was choked when he gasped out, âOh, Abby.â
Abby clung to him, crouched there on the autopsy floor surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and decaying flesh. And she realized that it was the best answer she was going to get, because there was nothing to be done. Nothing to make this right and nothing to make it go away. There was just Ducky and a linoleum floor until the others got there.
âBring her home, Jethro,â heâd said. And heâd been right. Kate needed to get away from whatever had killed her. She needed to get out of that place.
Abby pressed her face into Duckyâs shoulder and waited for Kate to come home.
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