It was nearly five in the morning when Gibbs' cell phone rang.
"Gibbs." He answered curtly—he'd seen his phone flash 'DiNozzo', and started getting up and out of bed, anticipating a case. The LEOs often phoned his second in command about a case, too scared of Gibbs second "B" for bastard to bother him directly quite so early in the morning.
"We've got a case." Tony reported easily, but then quickly added, before Gibbs could tell him to call the others, meet him at the scene, and hang up abruptly—like he always did—"But I also rang because I'm calling in sick."
Gibbs was floored for a moment. "What's wrong?" DiNozzo never called in sick—well, not voluntarily at least.
"One of those 24 hour stomach viruses I think—I'll be in tomorrow when it passes—don't wanna' barf on anyone."
After getting the address, Gibbs hung up the phone and called his two other agents.
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"Where is Tony?" Ziva looked around the crime scene, "He is usually the first one here, is he not? Sometimes even before Gibbs." She noted.
McGee looked around and shrugged, "That's weird."
"Called in sick—get to work." Gibbs barked orders at the two and walked over to the good doctor and his quirky assistant.
"Duck," he greeted.
"Oh, why good morning, Jethro." Ducky said, then grimaced slightly and remanded, "Well, not for this poor fellow."
"ETD?"
"I should approximate somewhere between 8 and 12 hours." Palmer nodded his head dutifully alongside the doctor, and then added, very hesitantly.
"Umm, sir—I mean, sorry, Gibbs, uh, I haven't seen Tony around—do you umm, do you know where he is?" Palmer stuttered.
Gibbs scowled—second time he'd heard that question in the last five minutes. And from Palmer no less; Gibbs didn't really know how close he and Tony were, to be honest. "Called out sick."
"That's odd." Ducky chimed in. "Anthony would come in carrying his severed arm if he thought he could get away with it. Is the dear boy alright?"
"Stomach virus."
"Those are nasty little bugs." Ducky sympathized with the younger man. "Still—it's just…odd." He commented, nonetheless.
Gibbs didn't need to be told twice—he knew how weird it was that DiNozzo of all people had voluntarily called in sick, and knowing they had a case, too! Something in Gibbs gut churned, but he ignored the feeling—he needed to focus on this case.
Said case ended up turning into one of those cases that pretty much solved itself—crime of passion meant the perpetrator left a lot of evidence behind for them to find.
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Gibbs stepped out of the elevator and handed his eccentric, gothic, forensic genius a large Caff!Pow.
"Super hinky, right?" Abby turned around, smiling as she was handed her sugary drink.
Gibbs raised a brow, "Not really—pretty open and shut case."
"Not the case," she shook her head, pigtails swishing along. "Tony!" she clarified. "It's super hinky that he's not here—I mean, remember the plague?" her eyes glazed over a little at the terrible memories of those damn blue lights, and nearly losing her best friend. "He came back way before his sick leave was up—in fact, he insisted on coming back early! And remember that time he was beat up by those jerks when he went in undercover with Ziva? The very next day—despite a mild concussion—he'd signed himself AMA and where was he? Right there, at his desk, bright and early." She opened her mouth again after taking a breath, Gibbs assumed to continue her rant, when he decided to cut in.
"I know Abs; you're right, it's 'hinky', but he'll be in tomorrow, at his desk, bright and early, like he always is." Gibbs patted the young woman on the head gently, gave her a forehead kiss goodnight, and went home.
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"Gibbs."
"Hey Boss—still sick. Need the day off."
Gibbs blinked at his phone. "Did you go to the doctor?" he asked, concern leaking into his tone.
"Yup. He prescribed me some meds for the pain and recommended bed rest."
"Alright. Be sure to do that, then. I'll see you tomorrow." Gibbs hung up, his gut making an uncomfortable flip.
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"Good morning Gibbs." Ziva walked into the bullpen, and set about getting comfortable in her desk. She noted—a little suspiciously now—that both Tony's and Tim's desks were void of either man.
Gibbs grunted a reply and got up and left—going for coffee—Ziva could only assume.
Fifteen minutes passed before McGee stumbled out of the elevator, looking nervous. "Boss, I'm sorry I'm late! My alarm didn't wake me up and there was traffic and—uh…" he paused, noticing Gibbs wasn't even at his desk. Just a bemused Ziva sat there, staring at him.
"Good morning Tim." She smiled.
He wiped the sweat off his brow, "Morning Ziva." He put his bag down beside his desk. "Uh, where's—"
"Coffee run."
"And—"
"No clue."
"Huh. You don't think he called in sick again, do you?" McGee mulled over this for a moment. It was so out of character for Tony to call out of work—much less twice in one week!
"Possibly. Though, I must say, it is very unusual, is it not?" the mossad officer wondered out loud.
"Enough chit chat—get to work." Gibbs chose that moment to walk in, third cup of coffee that day, in his hand.
"But we are not on an active case right now." Ziva questioned.
"Work on cold cases." He retorted.
The day was spent silently. Gibbs was not in the best of moods—he was borderline brooding. Ziva and Tim found that they were in the midst of falling asleep sitting up several times during the day—when they were stuck working cold cases Tony would keep their spirits up with frivolous outrageous tales, movie references and quotes, and some light bantering. Sometimes he'd even brave Gibbs' second "B" for bastard and suggest the team go down to the gym—a recluse from cold cases.
"I miss Tony." Gibbs and McGee both looked up in surprise. Ziva shrugged. "What? It is what we are all thinking, no?"
McGee reluctantly nodded. "Yeah—I hope he's ok. I was going to visit him last night, but I figured it was too late for a visit by the time we'd left work—I didn't wanna' bother him." He admitted.
Ziva grinned. "That is what you would call a coincidence, since those were my exact thoughts yesterday as well."
"Awesome—so trip to Tony's after work then? 'Cause I was thinking the same thing all day yesterday." Abby chimed in, coming up from the elevator just in time to over hear her friends' conversation.
"Sounds good." Gibbs commented, making McGee and David swivel around in their seats.
"You're coming too, Boss?" Tim asked.
"Got a problem with that?" Gibbs hid the grin that threatened to show on his face at McGees' stuttered "N-no sir—I mean, Gibbs, I mean, Boss!"
Abby gave Gibbs her 'Stop teasing him' look and smiled at Tim. "Awesome—so it's settled then! I'll go ask Ducky and Palmer if they want to come too!"
"Uh, shouldn't we call ahead to see if it's ok?" McGee inquired.
"No way, it's a surprise!" Abby practically skipped out of the bullpen and into the elevator—vibrating with excitement.
Gibbs' gut churned uncomfortably.
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"Tony!" Abby called, "Knock, knock, we bring soup and good tidings!" she knocked on his door.
"Abby?" Tony opened his door half-way and peered through the opening, his eyes widening upon seeing not just his friend, but his Boss, his team mates, the good doctor and the autopsy gremlin! They looked like packed sardines in his tiny little hallway. "Oh, hi, um, everyone." He cleared his throat. "What's, uh, what's going on?"
"We came to see how you were doing, silly." Abby smiled and pointed towards the big container Ziva was holding. "She made that soup especially for you."
Ziva shrugged. "It is no big thing—just an old family recipe for the ill. I just hope that it will help in your recuperating process." She explained, almost timid.
McGee smiled. "I rented a couple of the new films you were talking about last week." He held up the DVDs.
"We hoped you could use the company?" Palmer queried, doing an eerily spot on impersonation of a puppy dog.
"Quite so." Ducky agreed.
Gibbs simply grunted his approval.
Tony could barely keep a giant smile from breaking out across his face. He welcomed his pseudo family inside and everyone set about making Tony comfortable. They all sat in the living room—Abby, Tony, Gibbs, and Ziva, in that order, lumped onto the big red sofa, Palmer and McGee sat side by side on the loveseat, while Duck found himself sitting quite comfortably on the reclining couch.
They ate soup, bickered lightly, watched Tonys' big screen T.V.
Halfway through the first movie, Duck had fallen soundly asleep.
By the end of the first movie, McGee had joined the doctor in the land of slumber.
Twenty minutes into the second movie, Palmer and Ziva had passed out.
An hour into the second movie, Abby lay fast asleep atop Tonys' broad shoulder.
"Geez," Tony whispered, eyes glued to the screen. "Can you believe this film actually got a—Gibbs?" He turned his head carefully, so as not to jar his sleeping friend, only to see that his fearless commander had also fallen asleep.
Tony smiled softly.
Dr. Pitt had been out of town last night, when he'd gone to see him over the stomach pains and the vomiting; so Tony had been sent to a burly older doctor, who'd not actually bothered physically checking up on him—he'd taken a quick glance at his file and told him to stay at home if the vomiting persisted, drink plenty of liquids to prevent dehydration, and had prescribed him antacids for his stomach.
Shortly after having taken them, Tony's stomach had revolted against him. The pain had been nearly overwhelming, and he'd thrown up the saltine crackers he'd eaten that morning, before calling in sick for the second day in a row.
Afterwards, he'd actually felt a lot better, though.
And having his team come over had been more than icing to the cake.
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"We've got a case, Boss. I'll call the team and tell them to meet us at the scene." Tony called the next day. It was only three in the morning—and it had literally been maybe four hours since the team had departed his home.
"See you in ten." Gibbs hung up, checking his text message for the address. He was glad Tony would be back—he'd seemed perfectly healthy when they'd bombarded his apartment last night, but still, Gibbs gut told him something was not quite right.
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Ziva flicked Tony on the forehead. "Good day to come back to work, yes?" she grinned toothily. Rain poured down on them, thunder and lightening momentarily lighting the dark barely morning sky.
Tony stuck his tongue out at his teammate. They donned heavy raincoats; regardless, they were soaked nearly to the bone, and they'd only been out at the scene for a total of fifteen minutes.
"Shit," Gibbs growled. Maybe this was why his gut had been acting up? They were most likely not going to get any physical evidence from their crime scene with the weather being as hectic as it was.
Palmer held a large, thick umbrella over himself and the doctor, as Duck attempted to examine the body. "I believe this thing could very well turn into a full-blown storm any second now." Mallard commented. "My mother was watching the news until quite late last night—says there was a national weather alert."
Palmer bit his lip nervously. "Shouldn't we be getting out of here then?"
"Quite right Mister Palmer. Do help me load the body into the van, will you?"
"Yes doctor."
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Tony took another antacid. His stomach cramps were starting to come back—he hoped he wouldn't do something stupid, like barf on the crime scene. Gibbs was pissed enough over the lack of evidence.
The rain hadn't stopped, nor had it calmed, if anything, the storm had gotten worse. The winds were blowing in every direction, hard, the rain pelting them, the thunder becoming louder, the lightening brighter, and despite the fact that the sun would soon be rising, the sky remained dark and gray.
McGee shivered. "I can't feel my fingers!" he yelled, over the roar of the storm.
Tony nodded in agreement, "Yeah, could you imagine—"
A blinding flash of lightening erupted far too close to the two agents. It was Tony who saw the tree begin to collapse behind McGee.
"Tim!" he screamed, throwing himself instinctively against his friend, and pulling him out of the way.
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"No footprints or fingerprints here, Gibbs—the assailant must have come through here long before the storm began, and then the rain washed away whatever evidence we might have found otherwise." Ziva reported.
Gibbs sighed, "Alright, let's pack it up and—" whatever else he said was drowned out by the loud roaring of thunder as lightening struck. Every head turned towards the flash.
"Tim!" they heard Tony yell, and then saw them disappear underneath the giant tree.
Gibbs took off running in an instant, with Ziva at his heels.
"DiNozzo! McGee!" he called. The tree, with its enormous bark, it's thick branches, and all it's leaves, shrouded his agents—the rain, the wind, and the continuous thunder and lightening weren't helping matters, either.
"We're ok!" Tony called back, after a long moment, his voice a little shaky.
When Ziva and Gibbs made their way around the tree, several other police officers that'd been on the scene, along with them, were shocked at the scene before them.
Tim was sitting, wide eyed, on the muddy ground, next to the senior field agent, who was sat, his long legs stretched before him, with both of his feet beneath the tree.
"Oh God." Ziva clenched the Star of David hanging on her neck and ran over to the two.
McGee was covered in mud and a small cut on his brow was bleeding sluggishly.
"I'm fine." Tony assured them, as Gibbs and Ziva ran over to them and kneeled beside him. "My legs feel fine, they're just stuck." He explained, and then nodded over to McGee. "Check on the Probie."
Once Gibbs was sure Tony wasn't downplaying anything, he went over to McGee and gently touched the small of his back.
McGee nearly jumped. "Gibbs?" he blinked. "Oh God, Tony." He sat straighter, trying to get a better look at his partner, who was being blocked slightly by Gibbs and Ziva.
"He's ok, just wedged in there. Are you ok?" Gibbs tried to keep Tim's focus, but it seemed near impossible. All Tim wanted to do was make sure with his own eyes, so Gibbs moved out of the way and let him.
"Tony," McGee breathed.
Tony grinned at the younger man. "Hey, how's the head? You hurt anywhere else?" he felt bad, he'd pushed Tim so hard, he'd bumped his head on the way down—but it was a lot better than having gotten crushed by this ginormous tree, he told himself.
Tim nodded. "I'm fine. But Tony, you, you're stuck. Does it hurt?" his brows furrowed with worry.
"Not one bit Probie." He reached over and patted Tim on the shoulder; instantly the younger man felt himself relax.
"Let's work on getting my agent out of here." Gibbs stood up.
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"The ambulance will be delayed due to the storm—also there was an accident on Washington, car pile up, so they are limited on manpower right now." Ziva relayed.
An officer ran over to the man in charge and relayed some more bad news. "Unfortunately the men with the equipment needed to lift the tree off your man there, are also going to be a while. The storm is holding up traffic, accidents all over the main roads—it'll be some time before they can get here." He tried not to flinch at the glare he received in return.
Finally, Gibbs just sighed—there was no use in getting upset with either the officer or Ziva, not their fault this damn storm was causing so much chaos.
"Call Duck—I need him to send Palmer over here asap—don't tell him what's happened."
Ziva blinked, surprised. "Umm, why not?" she usually knew better than to question her commanding officer, but this was an odd request.
"It's pouring, David, I don't need Duck getting sick—Palmer's younger." He explained impatiently.
Ziva immediately understand. "Yes Boss." She made the call, keeping an eye on her friends the entire time.
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Tim sat beside his partner, and held an umbrella an officer had handed him, above their heads.
"How're you holdin' up?" Tony grimaced. "That's a nasty head wound." He reached up and examined Tims' head for himself.
Tim shook his head. "It's superficial." He said. "Umm, listen, Tony, about what you did. I can't." he paused, took a breath. "I don't know what to say man, you saved my life. 'Thank you' just doesn't even come close—"
"Hey, cut it out." Tony squeezed his shoulder. "You woulda' done the same for me."
Tim smiled. "Thanks Tony."
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"The ambulance is here!" an officer announced.
"And the damn construction crew?" Gibbs barked.
"Still on their way." Another officer cringed.
"Lead the paramedics this way." He ordered, striding over to his fallen agents.
Immediately, the two women took over the scene. One of the paramedics led Tim inside the parked ambulance and began to clean his wound. "It's very shallow." She said, smiling up at the agent. "You're lucky," She explained, "won't need stitches, just a butterfly band aid, and you should be fine—is there anywhere else you hurt?" she asked, working quickly and efficiently.
"No, I feel fine." He assessed, after a moment—he was too distracted, looking back at his partner, who was still underneath the tree, with the other paramedic.
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"Hi Special Agent DiNozzo," she greeted the handsome man, "I'm Irina; how are you feeling?"
"Call me Tony." He grinned.
Gibbs nearly head-slapped him. "Enough flirting, answer the question."
Tony pouted. "Sheesh. You're no fun." Irina chuckled lightly, as she worked, checking his heartbeat and his pulse—no fun task in the pouring rain.
"Get me a space blanket, Nadia!" she called over to her partner. "You're freezing, sitting here in the rain without moving for so long—we're gonna' work on getting your temperature to stay up so there's less risk of you developing hypothermia." She explained to her patient.
Gibbs could have slapped himself—how hadn't he realized it? "DiNozzo had the pneumonic plague before—he's more susceptible than others in this kind of weather." He informed her.
Without missing a beat, the paramedic nodded, and when her partner Nadia came over with the blanket, she told her to go back and set up a small tent over the patient, grab some scrubs, scissors, and two extra space blankets.
"Gotcha." She ran back to the ambulance and set about retrieving everything.
"Here, let me help." McGee, who was still sitting inside, offered to take the poles and plastic cover, while she packed a bag full of the things she'd been instructed to get.
She accepted the help with a smile. "Take that over to my partner Irina. Thanks."
He did as he was told and Irina, Gibbs, and he dug the poles into the ground deep enough that they stood firmly, and then stretched out the white plastic sheet and strung the edges to each pole tightly, making a small tent over the trapped senior field agent.
Irina kneeled on the ground beside the agent. "That'll keep you dry then." She patted him on the shoulder. "We do need to get you out of those wet clothes—I'll give you some scrubs and space blankets afterward."
Tony took off his soaked rain coat, his jacket, his button up collared shirt, and his white undershirt. The paramedic handed him a clean dry almost lime green shirt, and he donned it gratefully.
"Now the hard part." She took out the scissor and cut the bottom of his jeans off.
Tony grimaced. "Man, I loved these."
Gibbs grinned. "Shoulda' known better than to wear your favorite pair of jeans to a crime scene, DiNozzo."
Tony made a face at his boss as Irina continued to cut the pants off of him, leaving him in his boxers. She had Gibbs and McGee lift Tony up a little while she placed a space blanket beneath him.
"No way to get the pants on." She wrapped a second space blanket around his bare legs and the third went around his shoulders and torso. "But that should keep you more than warm until they can get you outta' this mess." She assured him.
"Thanks." He smiled.
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"How are you feeling, Tony?" Ziva kneeled down underneath his tent.
"Warm." Tony waggled his brows at her. "Wanna' join me under these sheets Zee-va?"
She rolled her eyes and smiled.
"What on earth?!"
Gibbs raised a brow, "Duck, what are you—"
"Not a word Jethro—you should know better than to exclude me from something like this! Hail nor storm will keep me from helping family." Ducky practically growled. Tony and Zivas' eyes widened like china plates. They'd never heard the good doctor raise his voice before, much less in anger. And like a switch had gone off, he was suddenly back to his usual self. "How are you my dear boy?"
"I'm good Duck, really. You should have stayed at the morgue—I don't want you getting sick on my account."
"Nonsense Anthony." Ducky patted him on the shoulder and went about doing a full physical on the agent.
Palmer stood nervously beside them. "What happened?" he asked, shocked to see the giant tree on the ground.
"Lightening struck the tree; it collapsed." Gibbs explained, with all his usual flourish.
"He pushed me out of the way and got his feet stuck under the bark." Tim added, anguished.
Palmer and Ducky introduced themselves to the two paramedics.
"Anthony, can you try and wiggle your toes for me?"
Tony shrugged. "I can't really feel my toes anymore, Duck."
Gibbs narrowed his eyes—he could see the bells of alarm that went off in the heads of the doctor, his assistant, and the paramedics.
"Where on earth is the crew whose job it is to get this blasted thing off of Anthony?" Ducky cursed.
Ziva sighed, frustrated. "Still on route."
Gibbs gut churned.
Tony let out a small whimper.
"What's wrong?" Gibbs kneeled down next to his agent.
"My stomach." He ground his teeth, a fresh sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. The pain had come on abruptly and was nearly overwhelming.
Ducky made Tony lay down flat and his hands felt across his abdominal area, and then on his sides. Tonys' breath hitched. "God, that hurts." He flinched away from the doctors' touch.
"Anthony, listen to me carefully, and think back to the last couple of sick days you've had—what did Pitt say when you went to him?"
Tony huffed an agonized breath. "Wasn't there, got someone else—gave me antacids, told me I'd be fine."
"When did you get these stomach pains?"
"Friday, during lunch—thought I'd eaten some bad lo mein." He replied through grit teeth.
"And when Monday morning came and the pain had not subsided, you called in sick?" Duck asked, a good impersonation of Gibbs interrogating a witness—something akin a calm urgency.
"Yeah, the pain wasn't so bad 'till Monday morning, when I woke up after getting the call for the case."
"After taking the antacids the next day, how did you feel?"
"Like shit." Tony gasped out, eye shut tight. "Threw up again, pain was unbearable." He breathed. "But…but then I felt a lot better, no more pain—and then you guys came over, much better." He panted.
The paramedics checked his temp and heart-rate.
"Temp is up—running a mild fever."
"Heart-rate sped up." The other confirmed.
Duck looked at the two women. "I'm going to need an I.V. drip over here stat, fill it with antibiotics."
"Yes doctor," Nadia and Irina ran to retrieve the objects, noticeably concerned.
"What's going on?" McGee could barely contain the worry.
"Perforated appendix." Jimmy scowled; this was bad.
"What is that?" Ziva cut in, her brows furrowed.
"He had appendicitis, which would require a trip to the E.R. and a simple operation to remove the appendix, but because he took antacids, the organ became further inflamed and to put it in laymen's terms, it burst. We need antibiotics to stop the inflammation. But he needs surgery a.s.a.p." Palmer wrung his hands together.
Tony suddenly sprang up and coughed onto the ground, hard, wet, wracking coughs.
Blood trickled down his chin.