Genre: Doctor Who and NCIS
Word count 1400
Prompt - NCIS (Ducky) and The Doctor of your choice. Prompt: "You've got the wrong season, Doctor."
I hope you enjoy your tale!
Donald ‘Ducky’ Mallard walked slowly into his office, feeling every one of his many years. He knew that his coworkers didn’t see him as old, but there were times when he wished they realized he was not always a perennial kid.
This was one of those times. His head pounded and he could barely keep his eyes open. All he wanted was peace and quiet for the next hour. Abby’s Halloween fest had pounded his nerves down to the raw nub. Last night had been a difficult one with his mother and he was having to admit to himself that it was time to move her from their home into a care facility. He loathed the thought, but it was time. She was existing mostly in her memory now and her wandering was causing issues with the neighbors. When she turned up sleeping on someone’s couch, he’d faced the ugly truth. He either had to retire and make her his entire life or move her some place where she could be watched and cared for.
He’d mentioned something to Jethro on the way out of the party and he trusted his friend to keep good his word to not let anyone bother him. It wasn’t likely that anyone would miss him. When he left, a group of other folks had arrived. The party would be going on for hours yet.
Ducky walked to a small back room and pulled off his jacket and tie. He sat down on the small cot and toed out of his sneakers. With a sigh of relief, he laid back on the narrow bed, set his glasses aside and closed his eyes. There was the random click as a refrigeration until came on and then went back off. Nothing but silence. There was none of Abby’s pounding Halloween music and people attempting to shout over it. Glorious, soul-healing silence. Ducky sighed and smiled slightly.
He wasn’t sure what woke him. Hell, he hadn’t even realized he’d been asleep, but a quick check of his watch proved he’d been sleeping for hours. Ducky sat up and winced. The cot didn’t offer his aged joints the best of support. He rolled his shoulders and listened.
There was a faint whine, but it didn’t seem organic, more mechanical. With a sigh, he realized that it was probably his ‘problem child’ refrigeration bed six getting ready to stop functioning entirely. He pulled on his shoes, then stood and stretched before putting his glasses on.
At least his headache didn’t seem as bad. He walked out into his morgue and stopped. In the center of the room was a big blue box. It took him a moment to recognize it as a police box. He hadn’t seen on of those in years. More importantly, how did it get here and why?
Immediately, he thought of his young co-workers. This would be the sort of prank that young Anthony would attempt, but Ducky knew Jethro would have reined him in long before this.
Then the door opened and a man stepped out. He was tall and thin with a thick thatch of wild dark hair. Adorning it was a bright gold crown.
“There you are!” He climbed out of the police box and walked quickly to Ducky, hugging him as if he were an old friend.
“I’m sorry, sir, do I know you?”
“I haven’t changed that much, have I?” He regarded himself in the highly polished chrome of the bank of refrigeration units. “Outside might have been upgraded a bit, but the inside’s the same. “Illya, I’m the Doctor!”
“Doctor who?” Ducky’s headache was back. “I don’t know to whom you are referring, sir. I am Dr. Donald Mallard. My friends call me Ducky.”
The Doctor sucked in a breath of air. “Well, that hardly seems fair.” Then he stopped as if a thought suddenly occurred. “Ah, I think I understand. When did you change your name?”
“I never have, sir.” Ducky started to ease his way to his desk, not just to sit down, but also to summon security. Abruptly, something emitted a soft light and warbling was stuck into his face.
“Illya? Illya Nickovetch? Kuryakin? Nicky, Nick…?” The Doctor shook the instrument he was holding. “What? Really?” He spoke to the tube and then looked at Ducky with renewed interest as he tucked his device away. “You really aren’t Russian?”
“I beg your pardon. I am Scottish.” Ducky pulled himself up to his full height which was still a foot beneath The Doctor. “I may not be all that tall, but you will find me quite the adversary.”
The Doctor waved him away. “I don’t want to fight you or anyone else. I was just hoping to surprise an old friend for Christmas.”
“Then you are mistaken again.” Ducky gestured to the glass windows that looked out into the hallway. They were bedecked with pumpkins, bats and hunched up cats. “I have a rather overly enthusiastic friend. It’s Halloween.”
“Hallo… Halloween?” The Doctor half shouted. He looked at his wrist and shook it. “Not Christmas?”
“Not for another two months, I’m afraid.” Ducky made it to his desk and sunk into the chair. Somehow, this man didn’t seem a danger, especially as he slowly pulled the paper crown from his head.
“You wouldn’t happen to know--?”
“I am sorry, no, although they do say everyone has a doppelganger somewhere in the world.”
“Well you are certain his or he yours, I’m not sure how that works.” He looked around. “New York?”
“Poor old TARDIS really got confused this time.”
“Perhaps it is playing a trick on you. It’s that time of the year.”
The Doctor smiled and nodded. “She just might be. She is still sulking about Donna.”
“A friend.” The tube was out again. “That’s some headache you are working on.”
Ducky nodded. “It comes with the territory, I’m afraid.”
“You should lie down.”
“That’s what I was doing when you so abruptly and noisily arrived.”
“Well, the TARDIS isn’t exactly built for stealth.” The Doctor sighed and looked so sad, Ducky couldn’t resist.
Ducky nodded and bent to a drawer. It took him a moment to find the proper bag and he sat back, dumping it into a small metal tea ball.
“You do it the right way.” The Doctor laughed. “What is this place?”
“I’m the chief medical examiner for NCIS.”
“A what?” The Doctor pulled out a drawer and stared, opened mouth, at a sheet-covered corpse. “Oh.”
“Yes, it’s my job to try and figure out what and who killed them.” Ducky turned to give the man some privacy.
“I’m so sorry,” he heard The Doctor murmured.
“Thanks. I think I could just do with a strong one.”
“I know what you mean.”
Within minutes, they were talking like old friends and Ducky felt the last bit of his headache slip away. “Would you like something a bit stronger to go with that?” he asked as he poured another cup for the doctor.
“You aren’t suggesting?”
“Wait here.” Ducky headed back to the small storage room. He kept a bottle of twelve year old Scotch there, for just this sort of thing. He sat down on the bed and struggled to open the top. Then he heard a noise, a strange grinding, whiny noise.
Ducky opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling and into Jethro’s face. “Jethro? Where’s The Doctor?”
“You need one, Duck?” Jethro looked concerned. “When you didn’t come back to the party, I came looking for you. You were out cold.”
Ducky struggled to sit up and looked around. He got to his feet and made his way back to the exam room. It stood empty and silent.
“I must have... I must have dreamt it all,” Ducky murmured more to himself than anyone else. “I’m fine, Jethro.”
“The guys wanted to know if you’d like to join us for dinner.”
Ducky glanced over at his desk and at the teapot. Propped up against it was a folded sheet of paper. “No, I think perhaps…” He flipped the note opened
Thanks for the tea, Ducky! The Doctor
“On second thought, perhaps I will. I have a tale to share with everyone.”