The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting long shadows on the walls. You sit curled up on the couch, your body leaning into Ducky’s side. His arm is wrapped securely around you, his hand tracing slow, comforting patterns on your shoulder. His presence is warm and steady, a barrier against the relentless fear and restlessness that have kept you awake for so many nights.

He’s speaking softly, his voice a soothing melody, telling one of his endless stories about his time abroad or a particularly peculiar case from years past. The details barely register - something about a Scottish countryside and a curious sheep - but the cadence of his voice is like a lullaby. The gentle accent, the way his words weave effortlessly together, creates a bubble of calm around you.

Your fingers clutch lightly at the soft fabric of his sweater, as if afraid to let go. The tension in your body, the constant state of vigilance, begins to ebb away. Ducky shifts slightly, pulling you closer against him. His other hand rests against your back, the slow, steady pressure anchoring you.

“Shh, my dear,” he murmurs, his voice low and tender. “You’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes, letting the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing guide your own. The scent of his cologne, a mix of something woodsy and faintly medicinal - wraps around you like a cocoon. Slowly, the chaos in your mind begins to quiet, the vivid flashes of nightmares fading into the background.

Your body grows heavier, the exhaustion of sleepless nights finally catching up with you. You press your face into his chest, the soft knit of his sweater brushing against your skin, and exhale a shaky breath.