McSkinny
by channelD
written for: a friend for her birthday
rating: K plus
characters: Tim and the team
genre: humor/crack!fic
spoiler warning: minor season 7 spoilers
author's note: There is a companion story to this, called McWaif.
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disclaimer: As always, I own nothing of NCIS.
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Tony watched Tim come into the squad room, shed his jacket and set down his backpack, and set down the cup of coffee. Tony watched, and waited.
Tim sat down and pulled up the little drink-through-me section of the plastic lid. Tony watched.
He was beginning to feel that this was a sign; that Tim was going to be drinking his coffee slowly. If he'd simply ripped the whole lid off, then he would drink it faster, to finish it before it cooled. Now, why would he be drinking it slowly, unless…unless he didn't…
Come on, McGee. I know you have a donut tucked away in your backpack.
Get it out, McGee. Get out that little beige bag with the blue lettering. Get out that donut with the strawberry frosting that you like, and the sprinkles that you don't. Make your daily ritual of picking off the sprinkles. Come on, do it!
Although, truth to be told, it wasn't a daily ritual anymore. Tim no longer brought in a donut every day. At first Tony thought he'd imagined it, or missed seeing the junior agent suck down the circle of empty calories. Now he believed that Tim was cutting back to only three, maybe two, donuts per week. The slow coffee drinking was his way of extending his breakfast.
No donut today. That could only be a bad, bad thing.
- - - - -
Tim, meanwhile, was oblivious to Tony's staring. His mind was on the report that he hadn't finished yesterday and which had to be done by 8 a.m. today. His coffee was nice and hot; that was soothing. Today was a no-donut day. Tomorrow would be, too; then he would have one the next day. Fewer calories were good; so was the extra money in his wallet.
And on these anti-donut days, Tony wouldn't be able to pick on him for divesting the donut of those hated sprinkles before he ate it. That was also a good thing.
- - - - -
Two hours later, Gibbs was off at a meeting. Tim's report was long done, and he was starting to probe a cold case. Tony and Ziva were exchanging jibes when Tim got up from his desk to do something. Suddenly, his face went grey and he slumped to the floor.
With a cry Tony and Ziva rushed to him. He was unconscious. "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! I don't want to have to do CPR!" Tony shouted, and started to loosen Tim's necktie.
"Stop, Tony!" said Ziva. "He is breathing. He does not need CPR."
"It's all the donuts' fault! I'm calling an ambulance!"
"Very well…" Ziva was confused, but calling an ambulance didn't seem like a bad idea.
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"He's bulimic!" said Tony to the ER doctor at Bethesda Naval Hospital. "Anyone who's lost as much weight as he has…that can't be good!"
"You've been diagnosed with bulimia, Agent McGee?" asked the doctor.
"I'm not bulimic," Tim said from the comfort of a gurney. "He's delusional."
"He's got to be! Doctor, check him out!"
"I felt a little dizzy, and passed out, Tony." Tim put his head back, wishing the room would stop spinning.
"What did you have to eat today?" the doctor asked.
"I had a breakfast burrito and one of those non-alcoholic mimosas."
"Not you, Agent DiNozzo," the doctor grumbled.
"I just grabbed a cup of coffee," Tim admitted. "I'm trying to keep my weight down."
"Well, passing out is not a good sign.
A cell phone rang. Ziva's. "Yes, Gibbs."
"Where in the world are you three??"
She did a quick check on one of her phone aps. "Twelve point one miles north-northwest of you, in Maryland. Got to go!" She clicked the phone shut quickly. "Tony, I thought you were going to tell Gibbs where we were going!"
"Me?? I thought that was your job!"
Ziva's phone rang again. "Oh hello, Gibbs," she said pleasantly. "You figured out our location, did you? Yes, we are fine. We are all fine. Got to go." She hung up again, and then switched her phone off. "Telemarketers," she said apologetically to the doctor.
"You know your telemarketers by name?"
"The ones who are near and dear to me. Is McGee all right, doctor?"
"Well, I really don't know. We've spent so much time here chatting that I haven't really had a chance to examine him. How do you feel, Agent McGee?"
"Not too bad," Tim admitted, for indeed, the dizziness seemed to have evaporated.
"Good. Get up and let's weigh you." After a moment, the doctor frowned.
"Four hundred and sixty pounds!" Tony exclaimed. "That's…you hide it well, McSkinny."
"The scales are more informative when only one person stands on them at a time," said the doctor.
"Oh, sorry," said Tony and Ziva, as they got off the scales.
"One hundred and fifty." The doctor shook his head. "That's low for someone of your height, Agent McGee."
"I've been…chubby before, Doctor. I'd rather be thin," Tim said, getting off the scale.
"For fun, why don't we weigh you, Doctor?" Tony asked.
The doctor ignored that. "Nonetheless, Agent McGee, there is such a thing as being too thin. Just as one can be too rich or too famous or too sought-after by fan fiction writers."
Tim shuddered. "Tell me what to do, Doctor."
The doctor wrote out a prescription. "Take one of these, five times a week. You should be able to maintain an acceptable weight that way, and enjoy your breakfast."
Ziva snatched the paper from his hand. "We shall have this filled on the way back to work."
- - - - -
An hour later, the teammates arrived back at the squad room. Gibbs looked up briefly. "Do I want to know?"
"Probably not," said Tony. "We, ah; we helped McGee get a prescription filled. And he treated us."
They sat down and each unwrapped a frosted donut from a new shop in Silver Spring. As the doctor had claimed, the sprinkles on the donuts had an amazing taste. Eating one of these donuts five times a week wouldn't seem like taking medicine at all, Tim thought, as he took care to savor each sprinkle.
Gibbs only sighed. Sometimes, management really was better off not asking.
-END-