Author's Note: This is a crossover with the Man From UNCLE and was written only because every time I watch NCIS, I can't help but see Illya in Ducky. When I had the idea of pulling Tony into Ducky's past, I couldn't resist the temptation.

Past and Present

Donald 'Ducky' Mallard climbed heavily out of the cab of the Medical Examiner's truck. Early mornings and damp conditions always aggravated the old wound. He winced sharply as the muscles along his hip stretched and protested.

"I'll get the equipment out of the back, Doctor," Mr. Palmer said, as he swung the driver's side door shut.

Twisting to grab his bag from the front seat, Ducky gave him a vague noise of assent and waved him off. "I'm getting to old for this sort of thing," he mumbled to himself before heading in the direction of Tony DiNozzo.

In a marked contrast to Jethro's usual crime scenes, this one was absolute chaos. Several uniformed police officers were trying to hold back the curious hordes, their business attire marking them as part of the office workforce that inhabited the buildings around them.

Behind him, the city noise was quickly rising to a roar, punctuated by the sharp sounds of horns as annoyed commuters expressed their displeasure at having the street partially blocked off.

Falling prey to old ingrained habits, he glanced around, taking in his surroundings as he made his way past mounds of crushed brick and churned up cement slabs.

Somewhere beyond the crowd he could hear Ziva's voice at her most dangerous, the tones icily polite. He chuckled softly. She did so remind him of himself in his younger days. He couldn't spot Timothy but knew the boy was around somewhere. Jethro, Ducky noted with some amusement, seemed to be in glaring match with an individual that Ducky made to be one of D.C.'s finest. He suppressed a sigh. And the day had started out so well.

He finally reached the place where Tony stood. "So, why are we all here on his dreary Wednesday morning, Anthony?"

Tony frowned up at the intermittent drizzle. "Thought this was your kind of weather, Duck?"

"My kind of weather, my boy, also includes easy access to a fine cup of Earl Grey and a hot buttered scone to offset the damp."

Tony chuckled. "Sorry, Ducky. Afraid I can't even offer you a semi-decent cup of coffee much less tea and scones."

"What do we have?"

"Demo guys," Tony jerked his head in the direction of several men standing at the edge of the scene in hardhats, "found the body when they knocked down the side wall on a condemned building. First glance says our vic took a gunshot to the leg, went into the building – probably to hide – and then bled out."

Ducky nodded. "What's our interest?" he asked.

"Vic had a black leather briefcase handcuffed to his wrist stamped with the Navy seal on the top. This way," he added, as he picked his way carefully around what looking to be a partially demolished support column. "Careful where you walk, Ducky, some of this rubble is none to steady."

Ducky looked up as they entered a small storeroom area, one wall of which lay in large chunks of broken concrete and brick. "Navy seal, you say. Yes, that would do it," he said distractedly. "We can start with a time of death-"

"Don't think that's going to be an issue, Ducky," Tony interrupted.

At his confused expression, Tony grinned and gestured around a jagged cement projection.

Curious, he stepped around the obstruction. The partially destroyed wall let in enough weak morning light to see the desiccated remains of what looked to be a young black man. He took a step closer and realized why time of death was going to be fairly irrelevant.

A flash bulb went off behind him as Tony snapped a picture. "I'm guessing from the lengths of the points on that polyester suit, this guy's been down here since the mid-70s."

Ducky knelt, ignoring the pull and stretch in his hip as he did his preliminary review. "I'd hazard 1974, Mr. DiNozzo. The body's in remarkably good condition, almost mummified, in fact." He shifted the body slightly, glove-covered fingers probing along a make-shift bandage wrapped around the corpse's thigh. "I'll know more once I get him on my table, but I'd guess you might be correct. He was wounded and tried to staunch the flow of blood. From the size of the blood stain on the bandage and on the floor, I'd say that the initial wound nicked the femoral artery. Without prompt medical attention, the poor fellow never really had a chance."

"What about the briefcase? Boss wanted to know if you can get if off without messing up your body?"

"Hmm. Let me see . . ." Lifting the victim's arm he noted the dried skin and tendons still firmly attached to the bones of the arm and wrist. "Not here, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait until I get him back to autopsy. I don't want to take the risk of destroying any evidence."

"Not a problem, Duck. I'll go tell Gibbs." Another bright flash went off as Tony snapped a picture.

Ducky called after the retreating agent, "Send Mr. Palmer to me when you see him, please." If Tony answered, he didn't hear as his focus was already back on the body before him. "Now, my dear fellow, let's see if we can find out who you are." Patting at the pockets of the pants first, he frowned when no wallet or other form of identification turned up. Trying the suit coat pockets and then the breast pocket of the shirt, his frown became more of a scowl as again he came up empty.

Head cocked to the side in contemplation, he stared at the corpse in front of him. "My, you are a secretive fellow. Good thing I know a thing or two about secrets," he said softly. Spreading his fingers wide, he ran his hands along the corpse's shoulders, down each arm and along the seams of the jacket. Then he started on the pants, methodically running his hands down each pant leg, taking care of feel along the seams. He was rewarded as his fingers bumped up against something tucked under the man's thigh.

With a small grin of triumph, he pulled out the object and stared at a heavy, silver pen. "Oh, dear."

"What was that, Doctor?"

Inwardly cursing his own inattention, Ducky nonchalantly waved the pen at Palmer. "Nothing, my boy. Just dropped my pen." With feigned casualness he stuck the pen down in the pocket of his overalls.

Lurching up to a standing position, he dusted off his knees. "Careful with the left arm, Mr. Palmer, we'll want to leave that attaché case connected to our body for now."

"Certainly, Doctor. You need me to bag him?"

"Please, Mr. Palmer. I'll send Agent McGee to lend you a hand."

"Okay, I'll-"

Whatever else Palmer had to say was lost as Ducky headed back out. Reaching the coroner's truck, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in a ten digit number although it was no number that any telephone company would recognize. A two-tone note sounded from the speaker and Ducky input another six digits and waited.

"Solo."

"It's me."

"Are you alright?"

He huffed out a breath in annoyance. "Must you always ask that?"

"I worry. Besides, you never call during the day. What's wrong?"

"Crime scene this morning. Male, African-American, late twenties, early thirties. He's been hidden in an abandoned building since the mid-seventies, at least. Attaché case attached to his arm. No identification on him."

"Our interest?"

"He was carrying a communicator pen."

Silence from the other end of the phone. Then he heard the tapping of keys. "We had four Section II agents go missing in D.C. in the seventies. Attaché case. Guessing a courier job. Let me see . . . Ah. Here we go. Novell. Tyrone Novell. Was carrying classified naval documents . . . yes, that would explain NCIS being called in. Oh, that case is one of the old Mark IVs. Might want to be careful with that."

"Aren't those the ones that exploded when tampered with?"

A dry chuckle came through the speaker. "Best keep Goth girl away. She's likely to lose a hand."

Ducky heard more typing and then, "Standard procedure on prints and identification. He was never put back into the system. Your people are going to come up empty-handed. I'll send you an edited file on Mr. Novell."

"Thank you."

"Nephews and nieces, tovarish. Our Uncle doesn't leave family. Let me know what you find out from the autopsy."

"Until then."

Snapping the phone closed, Ducky rubbed at the base of his neck. He really didn't like when his past crossed with his present.

Author Note 2: I'm looking for a beta-reader if anyone is interested and would also welcome anyone who might be interested in co-authoring.