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Dr. Ducky Mallard stepped off the elevator and looked into the glass walled room.
Abby Sciuto, NCIS chief forensic scientist was sitting on a stool and letting her legs swing from the stool. She looked more like a little girl lost than a skilled professional.
He could tell she’d been crying. She was empathic, sad when her friends felt bad and happy when they were. At the moment, Ducky could tell that the sorrow welling up inside her was a bottomless pit of, well, sorrow. They’d just gotten the news that Ziva had been killed. Young Anthony was beyond consoling.
“Ah, Abby, I thought I would find you here.” He came up to her and she tried to put on a brave face for half a second. Then she rubbed her red-rimmed eyes and sniffed. Immediately, Ducky’s handkerchief was out and being offered.
“Sorry. I’m trying hard not to let it get to me, but it’s just so awful.”
Ducky nodded slowly. He was surrounded by death. In many ways, it made him callous, but never about losing a friend and Ziva David was both a friend and a good person. “We all miss her, but we can gain comfort by her memories. But that’s for tomorrow. Now, it’s time to give way to our sorrow, if not for our own sakes, then for Tony’s. It will help him to know he’s not alone in his sadness.”
“Speaking of such, do you think he’s--” Abby started, but Ducky interrupted.
“Jethro is with him . He, too, knows what it’s like to lose the love of your life.”
Abby dabbed her eyes, trying not to smudge the kohl eyeliner she wore. “She didn’t want to love him, you know. That made Tony all that more determined.”
“Yes, young Anthony is not a man to back away from a challenge. He’s very much like his father in that regard.”
“She tried everything. I remember her coming down for some report and we ended up talking for hours.” Abby smiled at the memory. “Ziva was still puzzled by many of the habits of us, especially Tony. She threatened, she ignored, and she even pleaded for him to leave her alone. It was like gas on a fire.”
“Some love is like that. You know from the start that it is doomed, but you can’t resist because to do so would be to deny life.”
“Have you ever been in love like that, Ducky?”
“I still am.” He smiled at the memory of hazel eyes and endless nights. “Sadly, it ruins you for everything else that follows.”
“I want to do something for Ziva… and Tony, but I don’t know what.” She sighed unhappily. “I just don’t want to make him feel any worse than he already does.”
“I think that would be impossible, Abby. However, if I could make a suggestion. Perhaps at the appropriate time, we can gather for a round of drinks to toast the woman she was. In the meantime…” He dug a scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Perhaps this might help.” He patted her shoulder and nodded.
Abby looked down at the name and her brow scrunched up in thought. Obviously, the name was one she’d never heard before. Suddenly thankful for the distraction, she went to the computer and type it in. A name popped up. “Oh, she’s a poet.”
“Yes, a very prolific one. Read the one starting with, This isn’t what she had in mind.”
“Okay.” She scanned the offerings until she saw a poem and began to read it aloud.
This wasn’t what she had in mind,
she’d meant to keep his feelings light,
she hadn’t meant for him to fall,
in fact she never dreamed he might.
But then he said that heavy word
that stunned and made her want to flee
and when he asked her how she felt
no words would come, she wanted free.
Sparks that should have been snuffed out
had turned to flames within his heart,
she saw the glow and didn’t know
why she’d allowed his love to start.
This wasn’t what she had in mind,
her thoughts were pleading silently.
But while her reasoning rebelled
her heart was pounding happily.
Abby paused and wiped a tear from her eye. Ducky slipped a fatherly arm around her shoulders.
“Betty Hayes Albright wrote that when she was just eighteen. I think what she is saying is that love, when determined, will find a way no matter how hard you try to avoid it. Ziva tried, but Tony knew. And I think deep down, so did Ziva.”
“So it’s a variation of it being better to have loved and lost than never love at all?”
“Even when it doesn’t feel like it.” He squeezed and let her go. He could feel his eyes upon him even as he entered the elevator and punched the button for the morgue.
He got off and looked around to ascertain his solitude. Verifying that everyone had left for the day, he went to his desk and pulled out a bottle of single malt scotch. He poured a measure and held it up in a salute.
“To you, Ms. David. You will be missed.” He sipped, closing his eyes to savor the liquor as it trickled down his throat.
Then the phone rang and he glanced at the caller id, then smiled. “Good evening.”
The voice was silk upon silk. “I was thinking about you.”
“I was thinking about you, too. Could we meet?”
“Music to my ears, old friend. Our usual spot?”
“Yes, please. Forty minutes?”
“I can do that.”
“Excellent.” He hung up the phone and drained his glass. “But it is far better to have never lost at all. Rest well, Ziva.”