Black Rose

Ok, so instead of doing w/ I was supposed to do yesterday, I did this… something to leave you w/ before I head into the Wilderness next week!

I wrote the first three chapters to "test the waters", to see how I felt about Abby… opinions are very much welcomed. The title is a working title and has nothing to do w/ Rose Tyler. Abby is a Goth chick who appreciates black roses and plant matter in general features in the storyline.

A/N:

Alternate Universe / Crossover

NCIS: post Judgement Day (season 5 finale) NCIS stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

The end of Judgement Day was a true WTF moment. What ensues here is what I would have liked to have seen (notably McGee's and Gibbs' reactions… although I would have garnered greater satisfaction if Gibbs had shoved those case files up Vance's…. ahem… anyway… even if you didn't see it, you probably get the idea.)

TW/DW-verse: Post season 4 finale (Journey's End), and post my fics Family Matters and Blood Moon Rising. I honestly truly try to keep my work as stand alone as possible, but at this point, some prior knowledge of "my" alt. universe would be helpful. Questions always cheerfully answered, feel free to email me:

Important note: Being post Journey's End, the world has seen Daleks and people are acutely aware that aliens exist. Most people have gone on with their lives, realizing that the bills still have to be paid, dinner has to be made, the kids have to go to school and if one works for NCIS, the bad guys have to be arrested and brought to justice.

However, everybody looks at the night sky just a little bit differently, whether they live in Cardiff, Wales, or Washington D.C., in the States.

Timeline:

The events of Journey's End occur a couple of months before Judgement Day.

The usual disclaimers apply!

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Chapter One: Black Days

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Donald "Ducky" Mallard had spent the last thirty two… he glanced at the wall calendar and realized he'd lost an entire day to the autopsy he was performing and made a mental note that it had been thirty three days that he'd been watching Abigail Schuito mope. It was a dreadful sight. He doubted that news of his own impending retirement was going to brighten her disposition any, either.

Forty some odd days ago NCIS Director Jenny Shepherd had been killed in the line of duty – at least as far as Ducky was concerned it was the line of duty. Director Shepherd's successor, Leon Vance, seemed to have his own ideas.

Thirty four days ago newly appointed Director Vance had terminated Ziva David's position as Mussad liaison. In addition, the new director had reassigned Tony DiNozzo to the USS Ronald Regan, transferred Timothy McGee to cyber crimes and assigned Jethro Gibbs three new agents.

Five minutes after that, McGee – respectfully, Ducky had heard – told Vance that he quit. No amount of persuading could change his mind.

McGee had another new book coming out and his agent was in negotiations with Paramount to turn his first novel, Deep Six, into a full length feature film, much to the chagrin of several of McGee's now former colleagues. Fortunately, it seemed, certain unsavoury and utterly fictional details were being left out, a fact that made Mr. Palmer particularly happy. Where in Heaven's name Timothy had come up with the notion of necrophilia, Ducky had no idea…

Within a week, Jethro Gibbs had also decided to retire. Or re-retire as the case happened to be. This time he wasn't coming back.

I'm getting too old for politics, Duck, he'd confidedto the older man. Ducky had to admit that he concurred, hence his own retirement plans. Right about now, fishing sounded nice. Or golf maybe.

Who knows, maybe I'll even write a book of my own, he mused with a smile as he pulled off his gloves and smock, disposing of them in the bio hazard bin.

Which brought him back to his original thoughts.

Abigail Schuito.

Ducky retrieved the letter he'd written two weeks ago from a locked desk drawer; it had been revised at least a dozen times since he'd received the email that prompted him to write it.

Letter in hand, Ducky made his way to the forensics lab. As soon as he drew near, the music alerted him to Abby's mood. He considered that perhaps he should have come bearing a better gift than a plain white envelope, but it was too late to turn back now.

"I don't have it yet!" Abby snapped without looking up from the microscope.

"Abigail."

Abby looked up. "Sorry, I thought you were Vance," she grumbled, fumbling for the remote to turn down her music so they could talk. "He's been down here like clockwork every half an hour, as if asking me if I 'have it yet'," she did a very bad Vance impersonation, "will make the results spontaneously appear faster!" she sucked down the last of her jumbo sized caf-pow and threw the plastic cup into the garbage can.

"I'll just leave this with you then," he handed over the envelope.

"What's this?"

"A letter of recommendation."

"What?"

"I know you get plenty job offers, my dear, but I think you ought to consider this one." He turned to leave.

"Ducky… !" she took a step forward, the exasperation evident in her tone. He couldn't just leave her hanging like that, it wasn't fair! "What do you mean, what are you talking about, you can't just drop something like that on me and walk out of here!"

He turned and favoured her with a sly little smile, wondering just how much caffeine she'd had already this morning. "A couple of weeks ago an old, dear friend reached out to me. It seems the Torchwood Institute has some newly created job openings. I thought of you almost immediately."

"What's Torchwood?"

"The man who runs it is a very dear friend of mine," he said, not answering her question. "We served together during the War. World War Two," he clarified. "I was in the… well… never mind," for once he stopped himself from lapsing into one of his war stories. "The point is that I believe you'll find Jack has all of the qualities you admire in Jethro. Besides, I think you could use a change of scenery," he added flashing her a significant look.

"How big of a change?" she asked suspiciously.

"Great Britain."

"You mean like London?" Abby's kohl encircled eyes sparkled at the prospect. Soho. Double Decker busses. Bobbies walking the beat. Men in fuzzy hats standing outside Buckingham Palace… weird stories about the Titanic nearly crashing into Buckingham Palace last Christmas… the Clash, the Cure… the Sex Pistols…

Ducky chuckled, "Not quite. Cardiff is only about two hours away from London. It's the capitol city of Wales. And it's about five hours from where I'll be living…"

"That's not… what! What did you just say?"

"I've put in the paperwork, Abigail," he told her with a sad smile; he couldn't help it. For all that the last few months had been unbearable, he was going to miss this place, the work he did here. "I'm retiring."

"Ducky, no! Retirement is for old people!"

"In case you hadn't noticed, my dear, I've fit into that category for quite some time, now."

She hmphed at him and looked at the envelope again. "What's in Cardiff?"

"Someone who's sure to appreciate you." Which was something he couldn't say of the current administration.

"Can I come visit you? I mean… if I decide to check this out," she clarified quickly.

"Any time you like, whether you take the job or not. But I hope you do. Jack is a good man, Abby," he told her in a serious tone.

She gave the envelope another long hard look, as if it had something to say about the matter, too. Finally, "I'll think about it. Hey," she caught him at the door a second time. "What do people wear on job interviews?"

Ducky smiled, "Just be yourself, my dear. I'm sure he'll like you just as you are."

"But what if they don't like me? I mean… not that I'm saying I'm even going to call or anything, but if I do…"

"They'll love you."

A/N: ok, this was my first experiment getting Abby's voice, albeit her overstressed and highly caffeinated voice… ;-)