Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit from this.
A/N: I've been trying my hand writing some romance stuff lately, but I thought it was time to get back to what I really love - Tony-centric gen fics. And if you've read any of my previous multi-chapter stories, you'll know what that means - whumping! I hope you enjoy, there's more to come. Reviews are always appreciated :)
Slow burn: increasing anger; a state of steadily becoming angrier.
Chapter One
"Tony, are you okay?" Ziva asked, staring across the room as Tony snuffled into a tissue for the third time in as many minutes.
The snuffle. A hybrid between a cough and a sneeze. Abby's word of course. Like an exaggerated nose-wipe, complete with sound effects. They'd come up with it last winter, spinning around on the chairs in her lab for lack of anything more productive, or interesting for that matter, to do. Tony wanted to call it the 'snough', ingeniously mashing 'cough' and 'sneeze' together, but Abby was of the opinion that it sounded too dirty. Plus, she'd added brightly, snuffle was catchier. Tony knew better than to argue with Abby on anything other than movies. And thus the snuffle was created.
He nodded, rewarding Ziva's concern with a frustrated glare as he wiped at his nose again and tossed the wadded tissue into the bin.
"I'm fine. It's nothing."
Ziva nodded, not at all convinced but not willing to pursue the matter further. At least not while they were on the clock, in the middle of a double-homicide.
It was nothing, Tony told himself. Well, maybe the pounding head and dripping nose was slightly more than something, but not enough that it qualified being labeled as something more than nothing. Yeah. That didn't even make sense in Tony's head. But really, it was practically nothing. Nothing a solid, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep couldn't fix. Unfortunately, he didn't see that happening anytime in the near future. Not until they got the case closed, reports filed, paperwork complete. Just great.
He cursed softly as his nose twitched and he had to reach for a tissue to keep himself from snuffling all over the desk. He'd been caught in the rain halfway through his morning run yesterday. There hadn't been a storm, just a random, icy-cold, ultra-refreshing shower that soaked him for all of the twenty minutes it took him to get home. He was about to jump into a hot shower when he got the call about the murder case, and had to satisfy himself with a sixty-second dunking before high-tailing it to the office.
After that, the case had occupied the rest of his day, no time to even stop for lunch. Nightfall had found him pulling surveillance duty with McGee, staking out an old warehouse the investigations had led them to. Just a typical day at NCIS, but definitely not ideal conditions for staving off a potential cold.
A cold, Tony told himself, letting the latest tissue to fall to his desk and not missing the disgusted look Ziva shot him. A cold, and nothing more. He didn't have time to get sick. They'd close the case and he'd drink some cough syrup and be fine. All he had to do until then was avoid Ducky, who would insist on checking him out properly. No time for that. Usually Abby would be equally irritating in her concern, but she was snowed under with evidence. He saw her once, in the morning, coming back from the stake out and she'd given him a big, warm hug and filled his pockets with herbal teabags of unimaginable combinations, before ruefully returning to Major Mass Spec and the gang.
His phone rang and Tony picked it up quickly, speaking briefly before returning it to the cradle.
"Boss!"
Gibbs, always punctual to a tee, descended the stairs from MTAC and cast his eyes to Tony.
"Warrant just came through."
Gibbs nodded, hurrying to his desk and sliding the clip into his Sig.
"Let's go." He tossed the keys to McGee as the rest of the team rushed to grab their weapons and badges. "Get the sedan and meet us out front."
McGee nodded, practically running to the elevator. The warrant allowed them complete access to the warehouse they'd staked out the previous night. The observation, as well as financial details revealed by the investigation, led them to believe that the warehouse harboured not only their killer, but was also home to a drug-smuggling operation.
Tony shook his head as he filed into the elevator behind Gibbs and Ziva. How quickly things became complicated.
--------------------------------------------------------
"Ugh." Tony squeezed his eyes shut as the car hurtled along the bumpy road at breakneck speed. It didn't help. If anything, it made him feel worse. He pried his eyelids open again, forcing himself to stare out the window as the world flew by. Finally the sedan screeched to a halt a few blocks down from the warehouse. Gibbs, it seemed, was not going for the subtle approach. No need to with the warrant anyway.
"You okay Tony?" McGee asked from the backseat, leaning forward as Gibbs got out to get the vests. Ziva bent forward as well, craning her head to take a look at him.
"McGee is right. You look a little green around the frills."
"Gills," Tony muttered, breathing slowly. The car trip had only compounded the already-present nausea, but he knew it'd pass. Gibbs' driving was enough to make anybody sick.
"I'm fine. Let's do this."
He swung the door open, walking quickly to the boot where Gibbs was already standing, strapping on a black vest.
"DiNozzo?" Gibbs stared at Tony as a wave of light-headed-dizziness hit him and he gripped the side of the car to keep upright.
"You drive like a lunatic, you know," Tony said as the sensation faded. "I'm fine."
Gibbs shook his head.
"Like hell," he replied. "DiNozzo, stay here." He turned to Ziva and McGee, now fully vested. "We're going in the front."
"Wait – boss, what?"
Gibbs raised an eyebrow in frustration. "DiNozzo, you can barely stand, let alone fire a weapon. You're not going into a warehouse where there are unknown hostiles and who the hell knows what else. How are you gonna apprehend the suspect – sneeze on him?"
"Boss-" Tony stared after him, open mouthed.
"Stay with the car, DiNozzo." Gibbs ordered, clipping on his comm. and moving toward the building, Ziva and McGee in formation behind him.
"Greattt," Tony drawled, sitting back in the passenger seat and switching on his own comm. so he could at least hear what was going on. "Should've stayed home today, Anthony." Like that'd even been an option. He hadn't been home since yesterday morning, and sickness or no sickness, everybody had to pull their weight during an open investigation. Tony wouldn't take a day off for a cold anyway. Gibbs' driving, on the other hand, was in a league of its own.
He watched his team as they advanced toward the front doors of the warehouse. Usually they'd split up; two agents at the front and rear to make sure nobody would escape. But Gibbs wouldn't send one person by themselves, which called for a different strategy. They'd all enter through the same door, but they'd have to work double-time to clear the building and make sure nobody could slip out the back.
"Clear," he heard Ziva whisper. McGee quickly replied with the same message, and then Gibbs as they moved through the warehouse.
"I've got drugs," McGee said. Tony could hear his rough breathing through the headset.
"Packaged," Ziva reported. "Looks like this place is only used for storage, no production."
"Okay," Gibbs replied, his voice tinny. "Keep moving."
Tony heard a scuffle through the microphone, and the movements of the team as they reacted to the sound.
"He's gone out the back!" Gibbs yelled, his footsteps heavy as he ran after them. An engine started, and Tony saw a white van tear out from behind the warehouse before Gibbs could get a shot.
The van grew larger as it approached Tony's location. He had to do something. Flicking the safety off his Sig, Tony fired at the van. Two bullets hit the windshield, but it didn't shatter. His mind racing, Tony fired again. What was a van doing with bulletproof windows? This was definitely no small-time drug operation. He'd aimed lower, and the bullets went through the front, into the engine of the van. It showed no signs of slowing, getting closer and closer to Tony.
He squinted, wondering what the chances were that he could hit the fuel tank, and if it would blow him up in the explosion. With the bulletproof glass, he had no chance of injuring the driver. Before he could move, the van skidded to a stop in front of him. The door slid open and a man jumped out, semi-automatic aimed at Tony's head.
"Get in," the man ordered, stepping towards Tony.
Tony swung his gun around, pointing it straight at the man. He didn't seem phased, firing a string of bullets on the ground.
"Get in."
"Federal Agent. Put the weapon down."
The man laughed. "I don't think so."
Tony's gun dropped from his hand before he was even aware of the stinging pain in his right arm. He looked down. Blood was already staining his shirt.
"That's better," The man said. He swung the butt of the gun, hitting Tony in the side of the skull, then quickly pulled him into the van.
The last things Tony heard was the sound of the gun as the man shot out two of the tires on the NCIS sedan, and then the screech of the van as it sped away.
Then everything went dark.