Disclaimer: I own nothing.
If you want more of this
We can push out, sell out, die out
So you'll shut up
And stay sleeping
With my screaming in your itching ears.
I'm So Sick – Flyleaf
*~*~*
Tony sat on the floor of his apartment, his breathing ragged. The disease was slowly, painfully running its course on his body. He leaned against the wall, wishing that he hadn't gone into that stupid chemical lab. With the first breath of the acrid air, he had realized something was wrong about the building, and then he fell into a state of shock, unable to control his actions. Just go to work, every day, until it becomes too much…and then there was what he had done to Ziva. Whatever the disease was, it had possessed him to turn into a homicidal maniac, focusing his rage on the Mossad assassin, who, luckily, seemed to have escaped in time.
And then the suffering came. Insomnia, coupled with nyctalopia, better known as night blindness. He could only lie in his room for hours, staring at the ceiling, unable to tell where he was.
Then came the fever, ridiculously high at 103°, his normal temperature being lower than most at 96°. It had gotten so unbearable that he ended up in his bathroom, with the air conditioning turned up at full blast and a freezing cold shower running. All that had done was give him a cold, which he suspected had progressed to bronchopneumonia.
His breathing was getting worse. He was unable to take a deep breath, unable to walk more than a few steps before having to rest. With the lack of oxygen in his bloodstream, his heart rate had increased significantly in order to make up for it. His racing heartbeat was causing his skin to be flushed red, his already bloodshot eyes to become even redder.
The fever and the disease were causing his hands to blister. His palms had started out looking sunburned, slowly progressing from his fingertips and down his hands. After a few hours, the rash had progressed to what he thought were heat blisters, causing agony if he so much as tried to pick up a glass of water.
He needed a cure, soon.
Tony had learned rather quickly that Tylenol was not going to do the trick. Nor any cold medicines. At a complete loss, he had gone through his closet looking for the medicines he had taken after his mild bout with the pneumonic plague. Now, sitting at the door to his bedroom, holding the old bottle of medication, he prayed that the meds would work.
*~*~*
"80 million dead." Gibbs reported, walking into the hotel room. The 5 people still in the room stared in shock. "Even more are expected to die later today." Abby looked pained, and Ziva looked at the back of her hands blankly, muttering – praying – in Hebrew.
"Anybody in Las Vegas?" McGee asked, breaking the stunned silence.
"A few thousand. All from out of state."
"So by tomorrow, only a tenth of the country's population is going to be alive?"
"It's a pandemic. Think a tenth of the world's population."
Tony's name made it's way into Ziva's prayer.
*~*~*
Tony stood up weakly, the medicine finally taking effect. He coughed twice, then gritted his teeth. Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom, to the mirror, and looked at his reflection.
His eyes were focused again, his skin slowly fading back from the red sunburn-like tone it had been a few hours earlier. If this kept up, he would be healthy in only a few hours.
And then he could find Ziva.
His debilitated state made it nearly impossible to move, but somehow he made his way back to the living room. He picked up the cell phone on the counter and began dialing a much-used number, his hands shaking.
The phone on the other line rang once and Tony smiled.
*~*~*
Ziva screamed when her phone rang, jumping out of her chair. After calming down slightly, she answered the phone with shaking hands, not bothering to look at the caller ID.
"Shalom." She said, the surprise in her voice evident.
"Ziva." The voice on the other end was weak, dehydrated. Ziva's eyes went wide once she recognized it.
"Tony?" she asked, frightened and upset.
"Yes." The voice on the other end half-whispered, then coughed several times before speaking again. "Listen to me. I'm at home. I'm alive. I'm taking the medicine from when I had the plague. It's working."
"Are you sure?" she asked, a single tear falling down her face.
"Yes. I'm going to wait until I know that I won't go into a coughing fit every five minutes, and then I'm going to go out to wherever you are."
"Get well, Anthony." she whispered, subconsciously switching to his first name.
"Ti amo, Ziva." He said quietly. "Ricordimi."
"Sempre e per sempre. Ti amo." She replied, switching into Italian as well. "Shalom."
The phone went dead and Ziva fell to her knees, finally allowing herself to cry.
*~*~*
Tony stared at his reflection, seeing for once through the façade. He could see himself from only a few years ago, having recently recovered from his bout with the plague, the same weak breathing.
Was that what this was? That would explain why the medicines were helping.
But how the hell did he contract the plague again?
*~*~*
"You okay, Ziver?" Gibbs asked, sitting down next to the now-sobbing assassin.
"That was Tony." She gasped between sobs, her palms pressed to her eyes. "He's alive."
*~*~*
A/N: I lied. There's going to be another chapter. Hope you liked this. I'm such a dork when it comes to all the medical stuff. Even I don't know how I know it.
I'd also like to say that I'm probably the only person who can write a horror story while listening to Black Eyed Peas.
Emo pianist out.