Disclaimer: Just the usual 'I own nothing of the show'
Summary: Just McGee coming down with a bug
A/N: I'm a newbie and English isn't even my mothertongue. Thank you, KayleighBough, for being my beta at my first attempt at fanfic.
Masquerader
Monday morning sun. City birds chirping at the top of their little beaks, trying desperately to drown away the daily traffic noise.
Hot. Cold. Shivering, chattering teeth...
He rolled over with a long groan that held all the pure misery he was feeling right now. When had he last felt so awful?
He buried himself deeper in the damp sheets. The scent of his own feverish body met him from under the covers.
Restless. Sickness building up from the pit of his stomach, rising like lava from its chamber through the conduits, ready to burst at any instant in a biting hot flow through his esophagus. With a guttural sound erupting from his aching throat he hastily kicked off the bed clothes, swung his long legs over the side and stumbled to his feet.
Dizzy. An abyss. Right there – right in front of him. One step and...
He quickly raised his eyes to stare ahead, to face his goal: the rather remote looking bathroom.
The nausea was overwhelming, yet his legs still found the strength to carry him to the bathroom in record time.
He doubled over and heaved. Over and over again, until he felt totally spent. He flushed the toilet and slumped down on the cold tiles, his back against the wall. For now, he could only sit and wait till the light-headedness faded and his heart decided to go at a more moderate pace. He closed his eyes and ran trembling fingers over his clammy forehead, down his cheeks and across his lips.
Ring.
He started, eyes wide open, heart skipping a beat or two before starting up a deafening tattoo in his heaving chest.
Door? No. Phone. Phone?
Where's the phone?
The ringing stopped.
Too late.
He grunted and pushed himself wearily off the floor to a standing position. He stumbled to the sink and leaned heavily against it, staring with bleary eyes at his reflection in the mirror. He shakily ran a cloth over his perspiring face and neck and filled a goblet with water to cleanse his mouth. Ah, feeling a little better. He sighed and ever so slowly shuffled out of the bathroom, dustbin in hand (to be prepared), to crash back into his bed, pulling the sheets once more over his aching head.
"Oh God! Let me die!" he whimpered.
If only he could lose himself into oblivion.
To sleep.
He was just about to drift away again when he heard the muffled tones of his cellphone. A low moan escaped his lips as he dug himself from under the covers again and stretched a long arm out to fumble for his phone.
The tone stopped just short of his grabbing it. He retracted his arm with a frustrated sigh and squinted at the display: Tony. Figures.
He let his head fall on the pillow, when the ring tone of an incoming message alert rang.
Surely a voice message, he thought weakly as he shoved the phone back on his night stand without even bothering to check whose. Tony's, no doubt.
9:00AM, and Tim still hadn't shown up at his desk.
Tony slowly put down the phone and stared pensively across at Ziva who had sat listening, leaning her elbows on her desk and cupped hands supporting her chin.
They both got more worried by the minute. This was so unlike Tim to be late for work. Hell, about everyone in NCIS knew McGee for the overachiever that he was!
C'mon, McGee, where are you?
Not that they had any active cases running, but still. There was always plenty to do at NCIS; the wicked don't rest.
"Should..." Ziva started, but was cut off short by Gibbs breezing into the squad room, a scowl on his face.
"We have an intruder!" he snapped.
Tony, show-spirit surfacing, swivelled his head this way and that: "Where? Where is he?" before getting backslapped by Gibbs.
"Where is McGee?"
"Uh... mmm..."
"Find him!" He looked up when he got no response. "Well? WHAT?" he asked, aggravated that he got no answer.
"He's not here… yet," Ziva finally replied, risking Gibbs' ire by stating the obvious.
"What part of 'find him' don't you two understand? Tony, go find him and drag his sorry ass over here. Ziva, get me these files on the plasma, now," tossing a sheaf of documents on her desk to start with.
Tony took his badge, gun and vest and dashed for the elevator.
Ziva quickly complied and as she read and typed, she couldn't help but ask the question that was on her mind.
"Why us? Isn't this more something for the CCU?"
"They've been on this non-stop for the last week and came up with nothing! This intruder has masked his tracks cleverly and our guys down in the basement always end up short whenever they get close on his tail. He's been strutting around the NCIS database feeling a little bit too much at home and he has to be stopped now."
"Isn't it already a bit late?"
"Who can tell? For all we know he may already have sold information to the highest bidder!"
"How could he hack us like that? Aren't we protected like Fort Knox – computer wise, then?"
"Ziva!" Gibbs threw up his arms up in despair. "How d'ya want me to answer that! I'm not the expert! Why else d'ya think we need McGee?"
He pivoted in the center of the squad room, his face stiff with frustration.
"So, where the hell is McGee when we need him!"
Images of sheer horror: gory crime scenes, child porn pictures, torture, rape, accidents - and endless lists of encryption files and hyper-boring binaries disturbed his dreams. He thrashed, he cried out for help. His eyes were bleeding! His fingertips were skinned and left bloody splashes all over his keyboard. Blood everywhere! And earthquakes … Hey! Just wait a minute? Earthquakes? Wha …?
"McGee! Wake up man! Tim! Oh man, don't do this! It's creepy!" Tony shook him some more.
Was that DiNozzo wailing?
Sure looks like him, Tim thought as he caught sight of Tony's face through half open eyelids.
As he became more aware, he struggled to a sitting position with a grunt just as Tony leaned in closer; a collision was therefore inevitable.
"Awww!" Tim fell back, and both men ferociously rubbed at a tender spot on their foreheads.
Great, Tim thought sourly. Now I see stars.
"Wow! You really look like death warmed up, McGhost," Tony whispered worriedly as he laid the back of his hand over his friend's brow. Tim weakly turned his head and swatted the hand away like it was an annoying fly.
He closed his eyes and tried to think about… nothing. There was a long uncomfortable silence. When he could no longer stand it, he cracked his eyes open again and looked sideways at Tony who finally sat down on the side of his bed, still staring at him.
"What?" Tim muttered tiredly.
"We didn't see you at the office and got a little worried when you didn't answer our calls."
"..."
Tim threw his arm across his eyes and closed them again, willing Tony to go away.
"Why didn't you call in sick?"
Another pause.
"Because that was the first thing on my mind, maybe?" Tim replied softly with what he hoped was a hint of sarcasm.
Tony was not impressed, if not more worried than he already was. "Have you seen a doctor?" he prompted.
"Nope – J...just - just leave me alone, will you? I'll be fine by tomorrow."
"Oh, yeah, Elf Lord."
Tony watched as a shiver ran over Tim's body and a sheen of perspiration covered his flushed face.
"That's it. I'm calling Ducky. He can have a look at you." And with that he stalked out of the bedroom to dial.
When he'd finished the call, he heard telltale sounds coming from the bedroom. He made his way back to Tim's bed, and, ah yes, the accompanying smell was quite distinctive, too.
Tim had just finished emptying his stomach contents - watery bile, mostly, for there was little left in his stomach - and barely managed to let the sloshing bin sink back to the floor without spilling as he lay down panting, paler than before.
Tony left Tim's side to return instantly with a wet cloth and started wiping Tim's face. Pitiful green pools of misery locked with his own eyes before they became unfocused and closed again in sleep.
Then, he waited for Ducky.
Ducky put away his stethoscope.
"Well, my dear boy. It appears all the stress from the past months has finally caught up with you. Your immunity has been rather worn out and with this epidemic wrecking havoc amongst the population lately... you were quite unarmed against this viral infection."
He proceeded to unwrap the BP cuff from Tim's arm.
"Rest and fluids; you'll be back on your feet in no time, Timothy. Yes, yes … do try to keep down some fluids, young man. Nothing to upset that delicate stomach of yours any further, though. Stick to saltine crackers or dry toast. Avoid sugary sodas, and orange juice is also out of question. Keep to light and simple fare for a week… "
He pondered, and added: "Make it two weeks, with your medical history."
Tony chuckled which earned him a glare from Tim.
"Oh and Dramamine is fine to control the nausea, if it gets unbearable … I'm sure you still have some?"
- Later that week -
Ah, it felt so good to be out of bed at last.
A quick invigorating shower worked wonders, too, and he felt well enough to pull on a faded T-shirt and sweatpants, which hung somewhat loose on his tall and slim frame. He hadn't got rid of his old clothes, which dated from when he was a bit broader in the waist than now. He felt a whole lot better after spending three days either in bed or in the bathroom.
Abby had been around, fussing over him like he was some premature baby. He should've realized she'd bring her futon to stay over at his place for the first two nights of his illness. Bert's farts – she had insisted the stuffed hippo kept him company in bed - had woken him on more than one occasion during those nights.
Ducky would pass by to prod his stomach (still tender), listen to his chest (a heart at a snare-drum contest), checking his blood pressure (which had Ducky clucking), all the while regaling Tim with stories giving him quite a headache which he hid expertly - or so he thought. When he didn't drink enough to Ducky's taste, the good doctor would threaten to hook him on an IV. So, like a good boy, he would empty any glass that was deliberately pushed his way.
Ziva made it a habit to pop in immediately after work and keep him up to date about the goings-on. She was a regular scuttlebutt, that one! Afterwards, she would take the time to make herself more comfortable – on Tim's bed for lack of a more comfortable chair – so the two of them could chat companionably till Tim dozed off.
Tony would barge into Tim's apartment and supply him with DVD's lest he got bored during the daytime moments of wakefulness. But Tony was also prone to forage his fridge and leave his kitchen in disarray.
Gibbs. Yeah, well. Sick or not, they had this case that clearly needed Tim's expertise in computer forensics. Apparently, the cyber-crime unit was not up to par and Vance wanted this intrusion stopped at all cost and the sooner the better. The impact of the leak – not yet apparent – could have disastrous consequences for law enforcement – in particular NCIS. And McGee being McGee had made sure he kept himself in the loop for all things computer science, field agent or not. His bookshelves, positively bent under the weight of computer manuals, were a testimony of his obsession to learn more on the subject.
And Tim; how could he not oblige Gibbs? Of course he had been in no state to do something about it during his illness, but now, at last, he was able to get some work done.
So he sauntered over to his workstation, butter and marmalade toast in one hand, a steaming mug of coffee in the other. It was a good thing Ducky wasn't anywhere near: he certainly wouldn't agree with the coffee!
He logged into NCIS and started working. His nimble fingers danced over the keys as he called up the different screens, worked on algorithms and ran searches.
"Wow! This is truly ingenious!" he exclaimed with admiration as he delved deeper into the files.
"So you really think you can outpace on us?" he thought aloud as he breached the intruder's system, bypassing the IDS the subject of NCIS's frustration had installed. Yeah, he would give his adversary payback.
His adversary never even realized he was sharing his data with Tim. Tim was the Master!
He typed on, unearthing evidence after evidence.
Tempus fugit.
At some point, the door opened and closed. Lights were turned on. Was it that late already? When had it gone that dark outside?
Time flies.
Somebody rummaged in the kitchen and, before long, a strong coffee smell wafted to the almost motionless figure. The only evidence he was actually alive were the thin fingers flying effortlessly over the keyboard and the green eyes flitting at the monitor.
He was so deep in concentration he never noticed he was no longer alone in his apartment. His eyes darted across the layers or encrypted data he'd gained access to.
A hand touched his shoulder, which made him jump; his hand flew to his heart, willing it to slow down.
"Boss! Wha.. what... are you d-d-doing here?" Damn, what a perfect time for his stutter to flare up again now. He blushed with vexation at this weakness of his.
Gibbs fixed him with a glare before answering with another question.
"What d'ya think you're doing, McGee?"
"Working?" Tim asked innocently. His ironic tone lost most of its mark as he wearily pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his sore eyes tightly shut. He cracked his fingers (which made Gibbs wince) and worked the kink out of his neck.
Gibbs kept him under close scrutiny. "That's all very well, McGee, but Ducky will have my hide - as well as yours - if you keep going on at this pace." And with that, he pulled Tim's chair back and around to stare him down.
"I… I'll..." Tim stuttered, looking down at his hands.
"What I want you to do now is…Have you had anything to eat? When was your last meal?"
"Lunchtime? Tony brought me Gatorade and rice waffles and stuff and I had some of the soup you left me yesterday."
Tim looked up and as an afterthought he turned to his computer for the time. 9:52PM. Oh my, time really had flown by!
Gibbs hadn't missed Tim's quick intake of breath and the reason behind it.
"Okay. That's it. You will shut down your computer now. Then you'll change for the night while I fix you a light dinner. Not much for you, so close to bedtime. Go!"
Tim still stared.
"Go-go-go!" Gibbs prompted and helped Tim out of the chair.
Tim blinked and obediently sauntered to his bedroom, got ready for the night and sat down on his bed, his back to the backboard. Soon he found a tray placed on his lap.
Gibbs grabbed a chair and positioned himself close to Tim, leaning his elbows on his knees and interlacing his fingers. He silently observed Tim as he finished his dinner.
Tim pushed the tray off his lap and sank back to stare vacantly at a spot on the opposite wall.
"Well?"
Tim looked up at Gibbs with a blank expression.
"How far did you get?"
"Oh!" Tim gulped. Then he explained as much as he could in layman terms while Gibbs sat back and listened attentively and – quite unusual for him – patiently. Little by little, Tim's fatigue finally caught up with him and the pauses in his report became longer and longer until he eventually zonked out.
- The Day After -
Nearly there! Yes! YES!
"Gotcha!" He exclaimed, jumping up from his chair as he grabbed his cellphone.
He punched in Gibbs' number and flopped down again.
"Boss. I've got the coordinates for the masquerader! I'll send them on to you right away." He rapped while staring with a haunted look at Tony, who was involuntarily reminded of another time, when McGee was high on caffeine and tons of sugar during one particular case. Yeah, he was pretty scary then.
Tim never heard Gibbs' "Well done!" He'd already turned the phone off and started sending the information which would lead to the arrest of the hacker.
"O-kayyy ..." Tony dropped a calming hand on Tim's slightly trembling shoulders.
Tim's index finger gave one last theatrical punch. After that, he sagged in his swivel chair, closed his eyes and threw his head back. Man, was he bone-tired! And then he let out that quiet chuckle of his which had Tony look at him in wonderment.
Oh, but did he feel good!
- FIN -