He watched McGee as he typed his reports. He had finished his earlier. He caught McGee staring at him speculatively several times during the day. He emailed his report and put the hard copy in the boss's in box. "Going for coffee, boss." He left the building quickly, worrying as he made his way to the coffee shop.
There was no chance that McGee was going to forget his slip. Why did he mention his therapist? He had recovered quickly to say it was for his knee, but he knew McGee was too smart to fall for that. His knee had bothered him for years, so there was no reason to start therapy for it now.
He knew McGee would think he was seeing a mental therapist. Would it be better than the truth?
After the adventure in the desert, he had noticed his shortness of breath after running. He had run the five mile trail every morning and suddenly, he had to stop midway through and catch his breath. He felt his lungs freezing up and had to sit down beside the trail for five or ten minutes. After it had happened to him three times, he called Brad.
Brad had scheduled his tests on a Saturday morning so he hadn't had to ask for time off. The X-Rays had shown more damage. His lung function was only 80%. Brad had tried to make the news easy by reminding him that he had been above average before the plague and now was just about where normal people were. But normal people didn't have his job. Normal people didn't have to chase down jackrabbit petty officers over fences and ditches. Normal people didn't have to please his boss.
He'd begun seeing the respiratory therapist three times a week—first thing in the morning. He had to breathe in some medicated mist and cough for a half an hour after. It was helping, but it was only a matter of time till he'd need it everyday. Brad had instructed him to avoid getting wet and cold, but that was easier said than done at a crime scene.
He made his way into the line at the coffee shop. Max, the barista, had started his order as soon as he had seen the agent come in. He liked his coffee sweetened with hazelnut and milk. Max smiled at him as he handed him his order. He thanked him and went out into the patio to sit in the sun and sip his coffee. The late fall air had a chill, but the coffee was hot.
He fingered the inhaler in his pocket. Twice a day he had to use the purple disk and he had to carry this rescue inhaler with him. So far, he hadn't needed it when they were out on a case. He'd passed his last fitrep after they returned from Somalia, so he didn't need to worry about that for another six months. But he hated the idea that his weakness might interfere with his work.
After all, McGee was the computer whiz, and Ziva could kill just about anyone anytime with anything. They had both learned how to process a crime scene, so how long would Gibbs keep him around if he couldn't do the physical stuff he had excelled in? Maybe it was time to consider the job offers he had been getting. Fornell h ad offered him a place at the FBI a dozen times.
He heard some one sit down opposite him. "Oh, hi, Boss, I was going to bring you back some."
Gibbs looked at him and said "Already got some. So what's going on in that head of yours?"
He gave him his best smirk, "Nothing, boss, nothing going on. "
"I know you better than that, Tony. You've been distracted all week. You haven't super glued anything to McGee and you've let Ziva get by with some howlers." Gibbs sipped his coffee, his eyes never leaving Tony's face.
"I can't put anything past you, can I, Boss?" He set his cup down and pulled out the rescue inhaler.
Gibbs nodded, "I know what that is. How long have you needed it?"
Tony looked down at the red tube, "Haven't yet. It's for emergencies. "
"There's more, isn't there?" Gibbs questioned.
"Yeah, I've been going in for treatments first thing in the morning. I'll be getting a set up for home so I can breathe in the mist every morning. I'm supposed to use it in the afternoon, too, but ..."
-Gibbs interrupted, "But nothing, you can set it up in Abby's lab. And get a portable one for when we're out in the field."
"I don't want to be a liability in the field…I know –"
"I know you won't be. It's not just your running speed that makes you my senior field agent. It's the way you think, like a cop. The way you figure out the connections. Someday, if it gets worse, well, we'll face that day when it come. " Gibbs finished his coffee. "Now, get back to the office. Your probies are getting too comfortable. I need you to keep them alert."
"On your six, Boss." Tony responded.
"I know that. Always have been."