Tony woke up coughing and then cursed as his new canine companion barked. Tony had thought that dogs were meant to be intelligent but he was having doubts. Ruskin was friendly enough but had decided that Tony's coughs were a human equivalent of barking so, when Tony coughed, Ruskin barked. This meant that, although the noise from Gloria's apartment had diminished, that in Tony's had gone up and he had had another sleepless night.
Deciding to give up on sleep, Tony walked unsteadily into the living room and noted morosely that his couch showed signs of the dog hair he had predicted. He had tried to make Ruskin stay on the rug in front of the fire but the dog seemed to crave human company even it was only an unwilling Tony: this meant that he had spent the evening with his head on Tony's leg and politely echoing each of his host's coughs. Tony continued into the kitchen with a faithful, and hopeful, Ruskin at his heels.
Tony had taken Tim's advice and gone to see Gloria the night before and, among other things, she had given him a bag of kibble for Ruskin to eat until Tony could get to the pet store to get some more supplies.
"And won't that be a treat?" grumbled Tony, "a visit to the pet store? Great!"
Ruskin looked puzzled at the tone of Tony's words but fixed his eyes on him in the hope that kibble would be coming his way.
"Sorry, boy," said Tony, "not your fault. Don't tell the Boss I said sorry."
Ruskin sat on Tony's feet and huffed a sigh. Tony found himself oddly moved by this apparent gesture of support and tossed a few pieces of kibble on to the floor. Ruskin jumped up with alacrity and chased the kibble round the room; Tony sighed,
"Might have known. Cupboard love, that's all I get."
The dog looked up briefly from the absorbing task of rounding up all the kibble but then spotted a piece under a stool. He scrabbled towards it but his feet slithered out of control and he slid into the stool and knocked it over. Tony laughed at Ruskin's outraged expression and then laughed again as Ruskin tried to pretend that nothing had happened. The laugh turned into a cough and Ruskin coughed in unison.
"Stay here," ordered Tony, "I'm going to have a shower."
The dog tried to follow him but Tony managed to get to the bathroom first and shut him out. Perhaps, Tony reasoned afterwards, it was his fault for lingering in the shower but he didn't normally have house guests who tore up the soft furnishings if left to their own devices for ten minutes. At least it was only a cushion which Ruskin seemed to have taken a destructive fancy to but Tony began to understand the wisdom of Ducky's words about not leaving a strange dog alone in his apartment. He was grateful that he had dispensed with his deep-pore cleansing and exfoliation routine. Then something reached Tony's nostrils and he realised that the sound of the shower running might have had an unfortunate effect on Ruskin and that he should have attended to the dog's bathroom requirements before his own.
Tony sighed and followed his nose to track down the site of Ruskin's misdemeanours. Ruskin had, in fact, tried to be helpful and had answered nature's call on the tiles of the kitchen rather than the polished wooden floors of the rest of the apartment. Tony found Ruskin huddled in a corner with a shamefaced look on his face. Tony shook his head at the absurdity of thinking that an animal could look ashamed but couldn't help but wonder if this was how he looked sometimes when caught by Gibbs in the midst of some absurdity.
"OK, boy," said Tony, "not your fault. Again. Can you wait a few minutes? Just while I get some clothes on?"
Ruskin gazed up at Tony but, as he wasn't scratching at the door, Tony guessed he had a few moments' grace so hurried into his bedroom and threw some clothes on. Ruskin followed Tony politely into the elevator, across the road and into the park and then looked puzzled as Tony pointed to a bush and said, "Go!" It seemed that Ruskin wanted to please so finally he padded over to the bush, sniffed it and then sat down beside it. Tony continued to stare intently at Ruskin who gazed placidly back. It dawned on Tony that Ruskin had taken care of his needs in the kitchen and didn't need to 'go'. Tony sighed and thrust his hands into his pockets, suddenly aware of the chill of the early morning. He took his hands out of his pockets and called, "OK, let's go back!"
Ruskin jumped up excitedly, looked at Tony's hands and quivered in expectation. Tony felt an increasingly familiar sense of bewilderment and wished that he spoke 'dog'. He put his hands back in his pockets and the dog seemed to deflate.
"He wants to play fetch," said a park attendant who was emptying trash cans, taking pity on Ruskin and his hapless human.
"Fetch?" said Tony blankly, "Fetch what?"
"Anything you throw," said the park attendant.
"I knew that," said Tony defensively.
"New to dog ownership, are you?"
"Er …"
"Because you shouldn't have your dog off the leash here."
"Oh," said Tony.
"And it's a good thing your dog didn't poop over there. You'd have got a ticket."
"Uh?"
"You need to get some poop bags," said Tony's new friend, "you can get them from the pet store."
"Great," said Tony, "looking forward to it."
He bent down and picked Ruskin up, not wanting to get in trouble for him being off the leash.
"Thanks," he said, as he turned to go.
"You can let him off the leash on the other side of the park," said the attendant, "there's a special dog area there."
"Oh, thanks, er …"
"Sid," said the attendant, "looks like a nice dog. Friendly."
"Thank you, Sid," said Tony, "well, I'd better be going. Ruskin wants to go shopping."
"See you around," said Sid, turning back to his trash cans.
Tony's progress back to his apartment was hindered by a couple of young women who were out jogging and were distracted by the sight of Tony carrying Ruskin.
"Oh, look, Cherry," said the skinny blonde one, "look at the cute dog."
"He's so adorable," cooed the curvaceous brunette, "Serena, I could just eat him."
Cherry and Serena stopped and patted and petted Ruskin who obligingly licked their hands. Tony admired the scenery and decided he didn't mind that the two girls … sorry, women, kept accidentally touching him as they patted Ruskin. Tony watched as beads of perspiration rolled across the joggers' chests and began to see the advantages of a canine companion. It was the first time Tony had managed to get the attention of female joggers without running himself and he began to enjoy himself. Unfortunately, standing in the chilly air brought on an attack of coughing and a sympathetic echo of barking from Ruskin: Cherry and Serena seemed to find this less attractive and made their excuses and ran off.
Ruskin sighed and laid his head disconsolately on Tony's arm as his new friends departed; he seemed to like company. It came on to rain so Tony decided to go back to the apartment. Tony's increased friendly feelings towards Ruskin were fated to fade. He met Maria, his cleaner, in the lobby of the apartment building.
"Ciao, Tony," she greeted him, "I did not know you had a dog?"
"He arrived last night, Maria."
"Does he bite?"
"Not yet?" said Tony cautiously.
Maria reached out a hand tentatively and patted Ruskin on the head. Ruskin breathed heavily and shifted his head in a hint that he would like his left ear scratched. Maria obliged and he sighed contentedly. Tony sighed too as he admired Ruskin's technique. They got into the elevator and went up to Tony's apartment. Tony courteously opened the door and beckoned to Maria to go in first. She did, and then stopped so abruptly that Tony had difficulty in preventing himself from careering into her. Maria looked in horror at the feathers liberally distributed over the living room floor and at the dog hair on the couch; Tony held his breath as he waited for an outburst but Maria held it together and refrained from criticism. She shook her head and tried for a resigned smile,
"I will make you a coffee, yes?" she said, "You do not look at all well, you know."
"Thank you, Maria," said Tony, aiming for a look somewhere between pathetic and brave.
Maria was fond of Tony so she went to make him a special cup of coffee. As was her custom, Maria kicked her shoes off as she started work. Tony smiled at this idiosyncrasy and went to sit on the messy couch; it was only as he tossed the ruined cushion on to the floor that he remembered why it would be a bad idea, a very bad idea, for Maria to walk barefooted in the kitchen.
"Maria!" he shouted.
Too late. A scream of anger echoed from the kitchen and Tony had a feeling that it wasn't because Maria had trodden on a stray piece of kibble. He was right. Maria stormed out of the kitchen and gave a very detailed description of how unpleasant it had been to tread in the something not so special that Ruskin had left on the floor. Ruskin, an intelligent animal, knew this was about him and he jumped on to Tony's lap in fright. Ruskin wasn't a big dog but he was muscular, solid and heavy … especially when landing unexpectedly in one of Tony's tender areas. The dog scrabbled to get away, increasing Tony's distress: it was probably as well for Ruskin's sensitive doggie hearing that Tony was temporarily breathless and unable to join in with Maria's vocal outrage. He finally managed to push himself off Tony's lap and scuttled to a place of safety under the piano from where he peered out uncertainly.
Maria's anger was appeased somewhat by the sight of her employer's suffering and, when his agony began to wane, Tony also began to see the funny side of what had happened. He laughed at Maria's mishap and she laughed at his. Ruskin decided to stay where he was until the noise had abated.
When Tony felt able to stand, he went into the kitchen and mopped up Ruskin's mishap; Maria was a treasure but, he felt, the pool on the tiles was a line she would be unwilling to cross. Tony looked at his watch and realised that it was time to go to work. Part of him wanted to go back to bed and sleep but he knew that would be impossible with a rampant Maria on a cleaning jag and besides, he hated being off sick and thought he might be able to avoid Ducky. He considered asking Maria to keep an eye on Ruskin while he went to work but quickly thought better of that so called to Ruskin,
"Come on, boy. Let's go."
He collected his keys and strode to the door but then realised that Ruskin hadn't obeyed the summons. He looked back and saw that the dog was still sheltering under the piano. Tony sighed and went nearer,
"Come on, boy," he said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. Ruskin stayed where he was. Tony sighed again and knelt on the floor and peered under the piano, "Unbelievable," he said to himself, "Come on, boy," he said again in a gentle voice, "it's all right I'm not mad. I've always wanted to sing soprano." Ruskin gazed at him but didn't move, "Ruskie," said Tony beseechingly, "come on, we'll have fun." The dog stayed where he was and Tony continued to talk soothingly until, finally, Ruskin came out slowly. Tony breathed a sigh of relief although he wasn't sure that he hadn't just been played.
Ruskin seemed to enjoy the trip to the Navy Yard and was happy to be left with the security guard when they arrived. Tony decided to go straight to his desk and hope that Ducky would not have any reason to come visit the empty squad room. He rested his head wearily on one hand and closed his eyes briefly so did not see the Director standing at the top of the stairs and looking down thoughtfully. Tony had just roused himself enough to switch on his computer when a visitor arrived,
"Anthony," came Ducky's voice, "I was under the impression that you were going to taking some sick leave."
"Ducky," said Tony with a falsely welcoming smile, "I'm fine. I'll just sit here quietly and do … work," and he bent his head again to his computer.
"Anthony," said Ducky, "you look exhausted. Did you get any sleep last night?"
"Not much," admitted Tony, "my new house-mate was a bit restless."
"Then go home and sleep," urged Ducky.
"Still got the house-mate," pointed out Tony, "besides the Director won't want the whole of the team out."
"It was the Director who alerted me that you were at work," said Ducky, "I don't think he expected you to be here today."
"Ducky," protested Tony, "I can't take time off for a cold."
"It's more than a cold, Anthony, and nobody will think the worse of you for staying at home while you are unwell."
"Ducky …" said Tony, looking up with a hint of despair in his voice.
Ducky gazed down at Tony and decided to switch tactics, "Come down to Autopsy. I have the results of your blood tests back, let me go over them with you and we will consider the best treatment regimen." Ducky thought that Tony was going to defy him so continued to stare at him implacably. The Ducky stare was not as efficient as Gibbs' but Tony was tired and sick so it had its intended effect.
"OK, Ducky," said Tony, "let's do this," and he got up and trailed disconsolately after Ducky.
At a nod from Ducky, Palmer was dispatched on an errand to Abby when Tony and the doctor entered Autopsy.
"Good news, Anthony," said Ducky, "the blood tests show no bacterial involvement so you do not need to be taking any antibiotics. You just need rest, lots of fluids and some simple painkillers to address any feverish symptoms."
Tony didn't look particularly cheered by this version of good news.
"Anthony? This is good news. Follow my instruction and, in a week or so, most of your symptoms will have gone. That cough will take a little more time but you will recover."
"Thanks, Ducky," said Tony, getting up to go.
"Tony?" pressed Ducky, "what's the matter?"
"I have bronchitis, weren't you listening?"
"Indeed, I was. Perhaps it is you who were not listening. This illness will pass."
"So long as I'm sensible."
"Assuredly."
"Ducky, I'm a federal agent. I can't coddle myself. Gibbs won't want an agent who can't go out into the cold or damp. He's already left me behind and taken Tim off to Chicago."
"Aah," said Ducky.
"He's probably already grooming McGee to take over," said Tony, "he's always taken me to that conference, it was part of my job as Senior Field Agent."
"Anthony," said Ducky, "you would have struggled with the conference. The Director was right when he said that you would have been coughing too much to hear what was going on."
"Well, yeah," said Tony, "the Director is always on the lookout for a chance to get rid of me."
"Anthony," said Ducky, "I advised Gibbs that he needed to find a way to support Timothy in recovering from his exertions in the Pasquale case. I was concerned that he would shut himself into his apartment and lose himself in his computer. I consider that he needs to remain in the real world as a way to recover his equilibrium."
"Ducky," sighed Tony, "you're like Gibbs in your suspicions of cyber world. Playing war-games isn't my way of relaxing but it is for Tim."
"Perhaps," said Ducky, "nevertheless, I believe that Timothy's attendance at the conference will be beneficial for him and that rest at home will be good for you."
"Rest?" spluttered Tony, "you're forgetting about Ruskin."
"Ruskin?" said Ducky, "are you sure you're not running a fever again? Perhaps I should take your temperature?"
"What? I'm fine."
"Then why are you worried about the English Victorian social thinker and artist?" asked Ducky, "I'm aware that you have an unusual range of interests but I have never heard you talking about Victorian England before."
"Ruskin," said Tony patiently, "is the dog I'm looking after. I seem to remember that you thought looking after a dog would be good for me."
"How unusual," mused Ducky, "and is Ruskin not proving to be a restful companion?"
"Hardly," said Tony and gave Ducky a brief account of Ruskin's exploits so far.
"I see," said Ducky, "do you need me to make an examination of the area that Ruskin … assaulted?"
"No need," said Tony hastily, "I've had worse playing football."
"If you say so," said Ducky, "but Anthony, I don't think you need to be concerned that Jethro, or the Director, are looking to remove you from your position on the team."
"What about the bronchitis?" asked Tony.
"This is the first attack you have had since you had the pneumonic plague. I do not believe that it is the result of your lungs being scarred because of that illness. Yes, you may get it again but we are none of us perfect. Timothy has his allergies and fear of heights. Jethro has occasional trouble with his knees. In my medical opinion, you have many years ahead of being a field agent. Is this what has been worrying you?"
"I wasn't worried," lied Tony.
"Of course not," agreed Ducky, "and there was no need for you to be worried. If, of course, you had been. Which you were not."
"Thanks, Ducky," sighed Tony, "but I really wish I could have gone on that conference."
"I didn't realise that you were such a fan of such things," said Ducky.
"It's the people you meet, the stories you hear," said Tony, "and the conference centre makes this amazing Italian beef sandwich. And the agenda had a Chicago hot dog buffet laid on this year. Have you ever tasted a Chicago hot dog?"
"I have missed that opportunity," said Ducky drily, "but this makes me even more sure you should not have gone. You should be eating fresh, healthy food, not food that has had the goodness processed out of it."
"Hmmm, processed food," said Tony meditatively. "I wonder how little Timmy will cope with finding that I had to book a family room at the hotel?"
"Family room?" said Ducky, "why is that?"
"By the time we knew we could go, everything else was booked," said Tony, "so I had to book a room with three beds."
"Three beds? Who else is going?"
"In the 'interests of interagency co-operation, and budget restraints'," quoted Tony, "Agent Fornell was going to share with us."
"So Timothy will be sharing a room with Tobias and Jethro?" Tony nodded. "Oh, my," said Ducky as he pictured the scene.
"Yeah, it almost makes up for being left behind with a mutt," said Tony.
"And placed on sick leave for five days," said Ducky firmly, "and do not argue with me, Anthony. I have already sent the paperwork to Human Resources for the special attention of Delores Bromstead. And you know that she will be diligent in enforcing it."
"Busted," said Tony, "OK, I'll go quietly. Just got to go down to the evidence garage and then I'll collect the pooch and we'll go shopping."
"Shopping?" asked Ducky.
"Oh, yes, Dr Mallard, Ruskin needs something for me to throw at him and I …"
"What do you need, Anthony?"
"Oh, I need poop bags. And possibly a new cleaner."