It was early when Tim and Ziva arrived to work that morning, so it was no surprise to see Tony's desk was empty. It was, however, a bit peculiar to see the chair pushed back and a suit jacket handing from the edge of the desk like a curtain, pinned with a few paperweights.
Curious, McGee edged closed.
"What is it?" Ziva asked from where she was setting her things down behind her desk.
"I'm not sure."
And he wasn't. The trash can had been moved towards the opening of the desk and there were a pair of feet peeking from under the bottom of the jacket.
"Tony?" McGee asked, reaching to pull the jacket away.
"Don't you dare, McGee," came Tony's voice, only he sounded off. His voice was hoarse, rough and in pain.
"Are you hungover?"
"No," he groaned and managed to sound insulted that Tim would even suggest such a thing.
Ziva came over, plopping into Tony's chair as she took in the sight. She reached for the edge of the jacket and lifted the corner so that they could see under. Tim craned his neck to see what his coworker was doing.
Beneath the desk, Tony looked miserable. He was pale and was squinting against the light, turning his head away.
It figured he had to be lying about the hangover, Tim thought.
Ziva moved the chair closer and Tony flinched at the noise.
"Sorry," she murmured quietly, her voice barely a whisper. "Come here."
She motioned her knees and Tony eyed her a little warily. Tim almost felt bad for him, except he knew better than to be drinking on a work night. Gibbs was going to kill him.
Tony did listen to Ziva though, shuffling slowly from under the desk. She ran her fingers over his hair, gently guiding his head into her lap and Tim had to move away. He felt too much like an interloper our the scene, of Ziva massaging her fingers over his skull as Tony lay with his head in her lap, eyes closed.
"Why have you not taken anything?" She asked softly.
"Ran out." His voice carried his discomfort. "Thought I had in my desk."
Tim's brow furrowed, his confusion growing worse as Abby appeared with a bottle of water for Tony, but none of the traditional family hangover remedies any of them bragged about.
"I feel like I'm missing something," he told her. Immediately, she grabbed his arm and dragged him away.
"You didn't know Tony get's migraines?"
Migraines? He wasn't hungover?
Then again, it did make more sense why they were babying him. Tony would have made the DiNozzo Defibrillator for a hangover. Ziva would have been laughing at him, instead of being as gentle as she was. It felt a little like he had stepped into the Twilight Zone.
"No." Tim looked over at his miserable teammate, watching as Gibbs approached with a bottle of medicine. He felt more than a bit foolish at not realizing. Some investigator he was.
A/N: Migraines suck. My friend and I both suffer from them and we've discussed at length the best ways to try to avoid them. Everyone triggers differently, but driving to work with a migraine is really incredibly awful, because not everyone has a boss that understands that "No I'm not hungover. No I don't have a fever. Migraine doesn't just equal bad headache."