A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys! I'm glad you like the Jibbs stuff. There'll be more (obviously) but not in this chapter. This is back in Paris, with Kate and Tony... we've gone back in time... spoooooky... And don't worry, you'll find out why Tony rang Gibbs.
Enjoy!
Kate frowned, staring at the open doors of the walk-in-closet in her bedroom. Rows and rows of clothes hung neatly, an array of colours and fabrics and designer labels. There were skirts – floaty and feminine, soft and swirly. Sweaters, made of cashmere and as soft to the touch as a newly-hatched duckling. Trousers, dresses, shirts, in every conceivable colour and fabric under the sun. Shoes, too, lined up in rows underneath the rails of clothes, grouped together by style and colour, organised by whichever poor agent whose job it had been to set up this apartment for them. Kate was sure there were more designer labels staring her in the face right now than could be found in any department store in the city.
"Are you ready yet?" Tony called, some sense of decency prompting him to knock on the door instead of just barging in. Why this gentlemanly side had suddenly appeared – especially now when, by rights, Tony could walk in on Kate whenever he wanted – Kate couldn't say, but she was glad it had as she crossed her fingers behind her back and glanced behind her.
"Almost," she called. "Give me a second..."
"We need to go in fifteen minutes," Tony said, and Kate could just picture the worried look on his face as he stared at his watch and contemplated which would be more dangerous – turning up late to dinner with terrorists, or rushing Kate when she was getting ready for said dinner.
"I know," Kate consoled him through the door, giving her wardrobe a disparaging glance. "I'll be ready."
Kate heard Tony sigh, but he obviously believed her because his footsteps pattered away and the TV came on. Kate blinked and turned back to the closet.
'Focus, Todd', she told herself. 'It's not hard. Focus.'
God. It would be so much easier if Tony had come into the room. He would help. Incredulous, he may be – 'I have nothing to wear' was not, after all, a refrain Kate normally indulged in, particularly when faced with a whole roomful of clothes a vast majority of womankind would kill for. At that moment, however, it was true. After all – what did one wear to an expensive dinner with a terrorist? Did one flaunt the fact that one was (as far as the terrorist was concerned, at least) a multi-millionaire and turn up dripping with diamonds and Dior? Or did one demonstrate one's class and restraint, and dress in a classic outfit that didn't scream 'Look at all my money!!' ? Obviously, dressing as a stripper would be out of the question, as would donning a business suit, but where was the line between 'feminine' and 'slutty'? In the real world, Kate knew these distinctions. She knew how to dress herself for different people and situations in her sleep. And if she got it wrong, and inadvertently wore the wrong kind of trousers or a sweater that was too bright, well. Deal with it.
Here, though. Undercover. Dressing for terrorists. Appearances were everything. Impressions mattered, and in this world, Kate didn't have the privilege she had in the real world of being able to use her brain or her skills to out-perform any man in the room who dared think she might be a bimbo. In this world, things like clothes really were important.
What was a girl to do?
Fifteen minutes. Kate sighed and looked in the mirror. Her hair, freshly washed and blow-dried, was still loose. After all, she couldn't do her hair until she'd decided on what jewellery to wear. And how could she do that when she didn't know what clothes she was going to put on? Likewise, her face was devoid of make-up. She really, really needed help.
"Tony?" she called, taking a deep breath.
"Yeah?" Tony bellowed back.
"Um, could you come here a second, please?"
There was a pause, and then the door handle turned.
"Um," Kate jumped in, before Tony came in the room. "Can I just say something before you come in?"
"Yeah..."
"I, uh... I'm not quite ready yet. I need your help. But just remember, okay, that the most important thing is getting there. We don't have time for you to get mad with me, okay?"
"Kate, just how 'not quite ready' are you?"
"Erm..."
Tony poked his head round the door and blinked. The bed, piled high with coat hangers holding dresses and skirts, was barely visible. There were shoes all over the floor, and blouses and sweaters draped over every single surface he could see. The closet was still practically full. The room looked like one of the crime-scenes NCIS investigated, after places got ransacked as a criminal searched for papers or data in among the personal possessions, with no care for neatness. Kate was in the middle of the carnage, barefoot, in her bathrobe, just as she had been forty minutes earlier when she'd sat at Tony's side with her head against his shoulder and suggested they stay at home and go to sleep instead.
Wonderful.
"Kate..." Tony growled, fixing her with his best Gibbs-glare and trying to sound menacing.
"You can be mad when we come back," Kate promised, "just for now... help me?"
Tony sighed. He wouldn't be mad at Kate when they got back – he knew it, and Kate knew it. When they got back, he'd want to stroke her and hold her close and fall asleep with her in his arms and his face hidden in her neck, her tiny body curled against his so that he was completely sheltering her, because that was the only way he'd feel like he was doing anything to protect anyone, instead of just playing into the hands of the baddies. If Tony was going to yell at Kate, he had to do it now – a domestic showdown in front of Stefan was hardly conducive to the cause, and it simply wouldn't happen later on, so now was the time to do it. Tony wanted to, in a way. It might relieve some of the tension that was making his head spin. Besides, she did deserve it.
But something about the way she had looked at him all trusting, and the way she said 'help me?' as if she knew all along he would, made him not want to shout at her at all. So instead, he rifled through the nearest selection of dresses and chose one that looked, to him, like it might be suitable.
"No," Kate protested. "I don't like that colour."
Tony dropped it on the bed and reached for another dress. Kate took it and held it up against herself, wrinkling her nose.
"No," she said, handing it back. "I don't like it."
Tony glanced at the label, price tag still hanging off. "It cost six thousand bucks!" he exclaimed.
"So?" Kate retorted.
Muttering something under his breath that Kate couldn't quite hear, but was fairly sure was a pretty insulting comment on her taste, Tony grabbed another dress. Kate shook her head. She could sense Tony was getting irritated, but she couldn't help it. Tony pushed another dress into her hands.
"Put it on," he commanded, folding his arms, and he looked and sounded so much like Gibbs that Kate had taken her robe off and was stepping into the dress before she even realised what she was doing.
"Don't order me around," she said, that oh-so-familiar look of outrage crossing her face.
"I like your bra," Tony grinned.
"Shut up," Kate muttered, deliberately leaning forward so her hair hid her face and Tony didn't see the colour rising in her cheeks or the smile on her lips.
"Made you blush," Tony teased.
"Shut up and do the zip up," Kate frowned, turning to the side so Tony could access the zipper.
"Don't order me around," Tony mocked, but he did as he was told. "Very nice," he said, turning Kate by the shoulders and looking her up and down.
Kate glanced at him, not convinced, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. "I don't know..." she sighed, turning to the side. "Do you think it makes me look fat?"
"Kate," Tony groaned. "You couldn't look fat in a sumo-suit. It's fine."
Kate sighed. "Can I try another one?" she pleaded. "I don't like it."
"No," Tony said, leading Kate to the dressing table and handing her a hair-tie and a can of hairspray. "Now do whatever it is you do to your hair to make it tie up onto the top of your head and let's get out of here."
Giving Tony a glare that let it be known she was distinctly unimpressed, Kate threw the hair-tie at him and reached for a handful of hair grips. Securing her hair into a chignon, she gave Tony the most defiant look she could summon up and reached for her make up. Tony waited as patiently as he could, hopping from foot to foot like a small boy who needed the bathroom. Kate slicked mascara onto her eyelashes and swept the eyeliner pencil under her lids, making Tony grimace and look away. As much as he was sure Kate was more than capable of putting on eyeliner, he didn't like seeing her with something that sharp so close to her eyes. It made him nervous.
"I need shoes," Kate declared, dropping the make up on the dresser. "And a bag."
Tony wanted to argue how desperate the 'need' for a bag really was, but the look on Kate's face made it clear it would be futile debate. As Kate screwed diamonds into her ears, Tony rummaged in the cupboard and emerged with a pair of stilettos and a matching bag (matching, as far as Tony was concerned, in that they were both black. Kate accepted them without complaint, though, so he couldn't have done too badly). Making a mental note to recommend whoever organised that closet for some kind of award, Tony watched with relief as Kate looked approvingly at his choice.
Kate perched herself on the edge of the bed, slipping her delicate little feet into the heels and reaching down to do up the straps. Her fingers fumbled, trembling as she tried to thread the buckle, and Tony frowned.
"Let me," he said, kneeling down and brushing Kate's hand away gently. When the shoes were secured onto Kate's feet, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. "You're shaking," he observed softly, squeezing Kate's hands and peering into her eyes. "Are you alright?" Kate nodded, looking away. "Sure?"
"I just don't feel great," Kate muttered, nodding her head and trying to tug her hands free. "And Stefan scares me. I hate how he tells me what to do and how to do it. And it's so hard to... I know you think I'm just being ridiculous, but what I wear makes such an impression, it's so important. I'm not used to it, and it's so difficult, and there's something about him that just makes my skin crawl, you know?"
Tony nodded, reaching one hand up and stroking the side of Kate's face. "I know," he said. "He makes me want to throw up. I'm glad I'm not you. But he's not going to hurt you."
"I know, it's just... every time we meet him, I think that someone's told him the truth about us and he's going to drag us off and torture us to death as an example to all the other infidels."
Tony pressed a kiss to Kate's forehead. She was warm, warmer than she normally was, and Tony took her hand again and squeezed it. He didn't like thinking about Kate being afraid. "He won't hurt you, ever," he promised. "I won't let him."
Kate gave a weak smile. "How do you stay so cool with him?" she asked. "When he touches me, it makes me..." Kate gave an involuntary shudder. "How do you do it?"
Tony stroked Kate's hand. "When I was a little boy," he said, "at school, we'd get talks from Marines and Soldiers and I'd stare up at the flag and wonder what it would be like to love something so much you'd die for it."
Kate nodded. Tony didn't talk about his childhood often, so when he did, she – and everyone else – listened.
"I figure this is what it's like," Tony shrugged. "And if I need to remind myself, I recite the Pledge of Allegiance. In my head, obviously. I don't think Stefan would appreciate it."
Kate smiled. That was the Tony she knew and lo- well. Liked. Tony who cracked jokes at inappropriate times and made serious situations bearable, if only by distraction. This new Tony who took control and remained calm and said mature things to make her feel better was wonderful. But the old, outrageous Tony was the real Tony, and that was who she liked best. She was still afraid of Stefan, and she still had butterflies in her stomach that were making her feel slightly ill at the prospect of an entire evening spent in his presence, but she felt comforted by what Tony had said.
"Okay," Kate sighed. "I guess I'm ready."
Tony handed Kate her bag and walked to the door, his fingers entwined with Kate's – still slightly shaky – hand.
"By the way," he said, as they left the apartment and headed for the elevator. "You look beautiful."
"Are you alright?"
Kate looked up, jolted out of her reverie by Tony's concerned tone. She had been staring out of the car window, watching the rain lash onto the streets so hard it bounced off the pavements, and contemplating the evening ahead.
"I'm fine," she nodded, sliding her hand across the seat to Tony's lap and squeezing his knee. "Just thinking."
"You look pale," Tony said, still sounding worried. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," Kate promised. "I'm just tired."
"Do you -"
"I'm fine, Tony," Kate insisted. "There's nothing wrong with me."
Tony wasn't entirely convinced, but he accepted Kate's assurances and didn't press. Kate turned back to the window, resting her head on the window and closing her eyes. She could sense Tony's eyes on her, watching, making sure she really was alright. Which was fair enough, but still. He should trust her. Then again, she hadn't been entirely truthful. She was fine, but she wasn't 'just tired'. Her stomach hurt, and she must be coming down with something because she felt colder than she really should do when she was in a heated car with a coat on. She really was fine, though. She wasn't about to collapse or anything. Tony worried far too much for his own good, sometimes. And he accused her of being too stressed out!
The car pulled up outside the restaurant, and Kate shivered as their driver opened the car door and goosebumps pricked her arms. Looking at the rain, Kate felt exceedingly grateful for the fact that the car was underneath a canopy and they didn't have to walk so much as a foot without the shelter of a stripy canvas roof to keep them dry. Not only would getting drenched totally suck, it would render the time she spent worrying about her clothes absolutely pointless. Not to mention the fact that Stefan would hardly approve of Kate and Tony turning up to dinner with him looking like drowned rats. Not that it was their fault – they could hardly control the weather, after all – but terrorists weren't exactly known for their sense of fairness and understanding.
A wave of nausea swept over Kate as she stepped out of the car, and she swayed slightly. Tony's hand flew to her elbow instantly.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," Kate muttered, regaining her balance for a moment, then closing her eyes as dizziness blurred her vision. "I'm fine."
Tony fixed her with his best 'liar liar pants on fire' look, which he suspected was less impressive than he liked to imagine, and curled his arm around Kate's waist. To the casual observer, it would just look lovey-dovey. Really, he was more than a little worried that Kate might faint. The fact that Kate didn't protest his support with so much as a hostile glare served only to heighten Tony's conviction that Kate was not, in fact, 'fine'. Of course, she could be oblivious to the fact he was helping her, and just think that he was playing up the image for Stefan, but he was fairly sure she wasn't that dense. If only he was Gibbs, and could read minds... that would make life – life with Kate, in particular – a whole lot easier.
As they entered the restaurant and joined the small queue for seats, Tony looked around trying to find Stefan. It didn't take him long, even though the restaurant was packed. He was fairly obvious. Tony wasn't sure if that was because Stefan was just a generally noticeable person, or if his heightened sense of danger automatically zoned in on Stefan and Gerard. Either way, they made eye contact within a few seconds of Tony and Kate entering the restaurant, and moments later, Stefan was on his feet and by their side. He greeted them loudly and cheerfully, not toning down his usual welcome just because there were people around. Tugging them out of the line and guiding them to the table, Stefan practically forced the two of them into their chairs and grinned. The other diners were staring, peering out from behind their menus and looking away quickly, and Tony fidgeted. It made him feel uncomfortable. Of course, he would stare too, if he was having a nice peaceful dinner and a real-life Santa Clause got up and greeted two people with hugs and kisses and a loud, booming voice, but still. It was awkward. And, of course, Tony had to greet Stefan in exactly the same way. Embarrassment wasn't a good enough reason to piss the man off.
As they sat down, smiling at Gerard and Sophia in greeting, Tony glanced at Kate. Her hand was clinging to his so tightly that her knuckles were white. She was shaking, too. Though that wasn't really a sure sign of anything being wrong – every time they'd met Stefan previously, Kate had gripped Tony as if he were her lifeline to shore in stormy seas.
"Are you okay?" Tony whispered, as Stefan beckoned the waiter over and ordered a bottle of wine.
Kate nodded, and Tony felt some slight relief as Kate managed to glare at him. Granted, it wasn't up to her normal 'I am this close to castrating you...' standard, but it was something.
The wine arrived within seconds, even though the waiters were clearly rushed off their feet, and Tony supposed that Stefan's influence extended to even the most exclusive of eateries. The five of them raised their glasses, and Tony couldn't help but notice that Kate's wine glass shook more than was entirely normal. He didn't want to ask her if she was okay again, but it was all he could do to clink his glass with Gerard's and murmur in response to Stefan's toast. He didn't even know what he'd just drunk to. Kate took a sip of wine, but put the glass down before more than a drop passed her lips and reached for the water. She took a couple of mouthfuls, closing her eyes for a second or two, and Tony felt her fist clench in his.
"Kate -" he began, quietly.
"I'm fine," Kate muttered.
"You don't look it," Tony hissed.
Kate opened her mouth to argue with him, but Stefan interrupted by pushing a menu at Tony with a few words of French and a big smile.
Obediently, Tony opened the leather-bound menu and scanned his eyes over the list of food. Kate bit her lip and curled one arm discreetly over her waist. She wasn't fine. She felt sick now, and her stomach ache was getting worse, not better. She couldn't think why she felt so ill. Her stomach had hurt earlier, in the shower, but she'd put it down to nerves about meeting Stefan and swallowed a couple of Tylenol. The pain hadn't gone away, but it hadn't gotten any worse, and it was bearable. Ignorable, even. Until they'd left the apartment, it had just been a dull throbbing beneath her belly button. Now, it was definitely not ignorable. It wasn't the worst pain she'd ever felt in her life, but it was certainly unlike anything else. It had spread, too, across her entire midriff, and turned from a steady, dull ache to a sharp pain that heightened and then lessened again in waves that made it hard to think. Tony was getting concerned, she knew, but she also knew that if she admitted how she felt he'd take her back to the apartment. They'd already had to reschedule a golf match because she was hungover, and though whatever was wrong with her now wasn't her fault, Kate didn't want to mess up their evening plans. And she didn't want Tony to think he needed to look after her. He seemed to have been doing that a lot lately - more than Kate felt entirely comfortable with.
Tony turned the page of the menu and angled it discreetly so that Kate could see it. He was obviously expected to order for them both, just as Gerard would order for himself and Sophia, but he'd like to give Kate a choice if he could. He felt bad just deciding what she was going to eat and expecting her to accept that. Kate was rubbing her temples, eyes closed, one arm curled around her stomach, and before Tony could get her attention the waiter appeared again. Kate sat up straighter, opening her eyes and concentrating, and the three men ordered the meals.
Stefan engaged Tony in conversation about his granddaughter, Ella, and while Tony listened, he watched Gerard and Sophia interact. They were holding hands on top of the table, Sophia's diamond and ruby rings glinting in the light, and sitting close together. Every now and then Gerard would whisper something to his wife and she would smile at him, her eyes shining, or she would move closer to him or touch his arm and he'd squeeze her hand affectionately. And, when Stefan was telling Tony about how they'd chosen Ella's name, Gerard stared at Sophia and grinned at her like she was a queen and he was her lowly servant. He scraped her hair behind her ear at one point, leaning forwards and whispering adoringly to her in French.
It was odd. Tony had assumed from the start that Sophia was in love with Gerard, totally besotted with him for some unbeknownst reason, and that was why she put up with being treated as substandard, and that Gerard married her to give himself a wife and an heir. Now, though, Tony was having to reassess his perception. Gerard seemed to genuinely love Sophia. It was indeed possible that Sophia didn't mind how she was treated. Maybe she didn't even notice. Or Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe, when Stefan wasn't watching, Gerard was a lot more relaxed than he seemed when his father was standing guard. Either way, even Tony could tell that they were in love and happy. It was... off-putting.
It wasn't long before the food arrived, and Tony accepted his plate from the waiter eagerly. He was starving. He started to eat, tucking into the food with gusto, and glanced across at Kate. She still looked ill, to him, but he didn't want to point that fact out yet again. She wasn't eating, just pushing salad around the plate with her fork, so Tony swallowed his mouthful of steak and nudged her. She jumped, as if she had been in a world of her own, and looked at him.
"Don't kill me, Kate," he said in a hushed voice, "but are you sure you're alright?" Kate nodded. "Then eat," he ordered.
Kate nodded again, lowering her eyes as if she'd just been scolded, and Tony put his knife down and rested a hand on her knee. She gave a faint sort of half-smile, and Tony returned to his dinner, content that he hadn't upset Kate by telling her what to do.
Kate lifted her fork to her mouth, taking a bite of lettuce. Chewing it made her more nauseous, and as she forced herself to swallow, she grimaced.
"Caitlin?" Stefan said, addressing her directly for the first time all evening and looking worried. "What's wrong?"
"Excuse me," Kate muttered, clamping her hand over her mouth and rushing away from the table.
Stefan jumped to his feet. Defensive, afraid that Stefan was angry with Kate, Tony leapt up also. Stefan followed Kate, Tony on his tail, and they reached the bathroom as the door slammed behind Kate. Stefan paused outside the door, then stepped back and allowed Tony to stand in front of him. Glancing at his face, Tony realised – with some surprise – that he wasn't angry at all. Stefan looked just as worried as Tony felt, but there wasn't a trace of anger. Tony pushed the door open, peering inside. There was a washroom attendant standing just inside, who stared at the two of them and informed them politely that this was, in fact, the ladies room. Desperate to follow Kate, Tony hopped from foot to foot, trying to find the words to explain. Stefan came to the rescue, talking quickly and gesturing at the only occupied stall.
The attendant didn't look certain, umm-ing and ahh-ing and glancing between Tony and the door to the stall. Stefan dug his hand into his pocket and handed the man fifty euros, pushing Tony into the bathroom.
"I will keep watch," he said, closing the door.
The attendant stared at Tony, who glared pointedly at him, and he muttered something before turning away and stepping out into the hall with Stefan. Tony rapped his knuckles on the door to the stall.
"Kate?" he called. "Are you alright?"
There was no reply, so he pushed the door. It was unlocked. Tony sucked in his stomach and squeezed around the door and into the stall with Kate, careful not to tread on her. She was slumped over the toilet, her legs limp and her dress tangled, kneeling on the floor. She looked up at Tony, wide-eyed, and he crouched beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. Thank God for posh restaurants with huge bathrooms, he thought, stroking Kate's sweaty hair away from her damp forehead and wiping a tear off her cheek.
Tony sat on the floor for a few minutes, stroking Kate's shaking calves and holding her hand while she trembled and threw up. Finally, she stopped retching and flopped her head against Tony's chest, her shoulders shuddering as she gasped for breath.
"Are you done?" Tony asked softly, and she nodded.
Tony helped Kate to her feet, flushing the toilet and straightening her dress for her. They went outside, where Tony sat Kate on the marble surface in front of the mirror and ran a glass of water from the tap. The glass clinked against Kate's teeth as she rinsed her mouth, the noise echoing in the quiet and empty bathroom. Tony passed her a damp towel, and she wiped it over her face. Swiping off the running make-up and the sweat, Kate took a deep breath and put the towel down.
"Feel better?" Tony asked, and Kate nodded.
Kate slid off the surface, slightly wobbly on her high heels and still-slightly-shaky legs.
"Ready to go home?" Tony whispered, stroking her hair.
"Tony, no," Kate protested. "I'm okay now, we can stay here -"
Tony rolled his eyes. "You've just been sick," he said. "I'm taking you home."
"But -"
"Not listening," Tony sang, turning and heading to the door.
"I feel better, Tony," Kate lied, taking a few hesitant steps after him.
"La la la la la... I can't hear you..."
Despite herself, Kate smiled weakly as Tony marched on ahead. "Okay," she admitted as a wave of pain coasted over her stomach and her throat tightened. "Wait."
Tony paused, reaching for Kate's hand as she caught up with him, and stepping back out into the hallway. The washroom attendant glanced nervously at Stefan, who shooed him into the bathroom with a smile, and scurried away. Stefan looked Kate up and down, concerned, and Tony spoke to him in French. He nodded, leading them into the main restaurant and beckoning the maitre d' over. Kate and Tony's coats were promptly brought to the table, and while Tony was helped into his, Stefan wrapped Kate's over her shoulders and kissed her forehead.
"I hope you feel better, my darling," he said, squeezing her hand and guiding her by the shoulders into Tony's embrace. Another brief conversation followed between Tony and Stefan, but Kate couldn't understand what they were saying. To be honest, she wasn't sure she'd have taken it in if it had been in English. Even though she'd tried to make Tony stay at the restaurant, she was glad he'd disagreed. Frankly, if she had to stay there, she'd probably collapse.
They made their way outside, the pain in Kate's abdomen increasing with every step she took, and when they got outdoors and into the car she slumped against the door and squeezed her eyes shut. Tony didn't know what to say to her, so he just reached his arm across the back seat and held her hand. The driver had the sense to drive slowly and avoid potholes, and when they reached the apartment, Kate was asleep.
Carefully, Tony lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. He didn't know whether he should put her in her own bed or in his. Since they'd gotten together, she slept beside him. Every night, without fail. Sometimes, they would just stumble into Tony's room together, a mass of hungry kisses and tangled limbs, and it wouldn't occur to either of them to get up and move from the sweaty heap they wound up in. Other times, Tony would go to bed first and wake up in the morning to find Kate by his side, or she would go to bed first and he'd go to his room and see her curled up form under his duvet. Sometimes they even said goodnight and went their separate ways, taking turns to use the bathroom as if they were going to sleep in their own beds, and then Kate would join Tony like that was what they'd intended all along. There hadn't been a night where Kate had gone to bed in her own room and stayed there for more than five minutes without getting up and changing beds. If Kate fell asleep on the sofa, Tony automatically put her in his bed. But she was sick, now. Really sick, by the looks of it. Tony didn't care about catching whatever she had, he'd willingly breath in all her germs if it would give her some comfort, but when he didn't feel good he preferred to be in his own space. Kate might not want to sleep with him while she was unwell, she might want to be in her own room by herself. Then again, her room was still covered in clothes.
Carrying her into his ownbedroom, Tony placed Kate on top of her bed and turned the lamp on. If he put her in his bed, he could sleep on the sofa and he could always go join her if she wanted him to. He eased her heels off, putting them by the closet so Kate wouldn't wake up in the night and step on them, and peered at her hair. He didn't really know how chignons worked… ignoring that for a minute, he unzipped Kate's dress and slid the straps off her shoulders. He tugged it down gently, trying not to wake her, and managed to manoeuvre the garment down to her ribcage. Tony paused. He knew he should be trying to be as quick as possible, but the sight of Kate's skin had him captivated. It was so smooth and soft, pale, glowing slightly in the faint light from the lamp. Sliding the dress further, Tony stroked Kate's waist. She tensed in her sleep, her stomach going hard as the muscles tightened, and Tony paused. Not wanting to wake her, he rubbed her waist softly.
"It's okay," he soothed. "Shh."
Kate's eyes flickered open, her eyelashes dark against her deathly-pale face.
"Ooow," she whimpered, twisting away from Tony's hand. "Don't."
Tony blinked. Don't what? He wasn't doing anything. He reached for Kate as she wriggled, catching her round the middle to try and calm her down. Kate didn't scream, but it was near enough for it to be blatantly obvious to Tony that he was hurting her. He snatched his hands away, as Kate rolled onto her side and gagged.
"Here," Tony said quickly, grabbing the waste paper bin from the floor and holding it in front of Kate. She retched, throwing up into the basket and juddering in pain. She rolled onto her back, her dress still round her waist, her head tilted back as she panted and tears oozed from her tightly-closed eyelids, and Tony stuttered.
"Um," he began. "I'll just... uh... I'll be back in a minute."
He went to the kitchen, throwing the waste bin out, and fetched Kate a glass of water. He went back to the bedroom, sitting beside Kate and swallowing.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to..."
Kate nodded, wiping a hand across her face and taking a deep breath. The pain showed clearly on her face as she sat up, but she didn't make a sound. Tony fetched some pyjamas, and waited patiently while Kate slipped the dress off and tugged her hair free. She grimaced as she leant forwards to pull her stockings off, and Tony bit his lip. He had never seen her in so much pain. It was heart-breaking.
"Shall I get a doctor?" Tony offered.
"No," came the weak reply.
"Shall I call Gibbs?"
"No."
Tony sighed. "What's actually wrong with you?" he asked, as Kate slid down the bed so she was laying down and curled up into a ball.
"I feel sick," Kate whispered. "And my stomach hurts real bad."
Tony stroked Kate's forehead, smoothing out the creases that appeared as she frowned. "You're hot," he sighed.
"No, I'm freezing," Kate murmured.
Tony frowned. That was bad, right? He was sure that was a sign of a fever or something. He wondered if he should get a thermometer, find out exactly how hot Kate really was. When he was little and he didn't want to go to school, Tony would warm up the thermometer on his lamp while his mother was out of the room, and he always got caught because he left it on too long. If he was really that hot, his mother used to tell him, he'd be dead. So how hot was too hot, and how hot was just a bit warm?
While Tony contemplated whether he should go and find a thermometer or stay with Kate, he heard the shift in her breathing and felt the relaxation of her movements that he had come to recognise as her falling asleep. Sighing with relief that she was asleep, but still worried that he should be doing something more than simply sitting there waiting for her to get better, Tony turned out the light and crept out of the room.
Tony stretched his legs out, yawning. His neck hurt, and his back felt cramped. He blinked for a moment, looking around him. Where was he?
Oh yes. The living room. Tony closed his eyes for a second, sighing heavily, then sat up. Stefan had come over last night, a couple of hours after Kate fell asleep. For a terrorist, he had been remarkably considerate, calling Tony from outside the building so as not to ring the buzzer or knock on the door and disturb Kate. He'd brought her flowers, as well, a huge bouquet of orchids and peonies that now took up almost the entire table in the kitchen. Kate hadn't woken during his visit, which Tony was grateful for. She hadn't woken at all, actually – or if she had, Tony hadn't heard her. He had left her door open especially so he would hear if Kate got up or made a noise.
Tony rubbed his eyes and sighed. It had been a rough night, what with worrying about Kate and then Stefan coming over. And as comfortable as the sofa was, it wasn't a bed. He'd not slept much, between tossing and turning to get comfortable and trying to listen out for Kate. He leant forward, propping his head in his hands, and stared at the coffee table.
The sound of footsteps yanked Tony from his thoughts. He looked up to see Kate, wrapped in a comforter and looking like all the colour had been drained from her whole body, padding over to him.
"Hey," he said softly. She looked like Snow White's evil twin. She was pale, paler than he'd ever seen her, and her eyes were ringed by dark shadows that, contrasted against her deathly white skin, made her look like she'd been in a fight and had wound up with two black eyes. The paleness of her skin made her hair look darker, or vice versa, and the pale pink smudges that were usually present in her cheeks were totally non-existent. Part of Tony wanted to ask her if she'd looked in the mirror on her way to the living room, but the other part – the sensible part – knew that telling any woman but Abby that she looked like a vampire was a sure-fire way to get into trouble, so he restrained himself. "Are you feeling better?"
"A little," Kate murmured, sitting on the sofa and closing her eyes.
Tony assumed she meant 'no'. "You want a hug?" he offered.
Kate looked at him for a second. On the one hand, Tony's hugs were pretty good. He'd give Abby a run for her money. It wouldn't take away any of the pain, but Kate was pretty sure she'd get some comfort from letting Tony hold her close. And he looked like he could do with a hug himself. On the other hand... moving hurt. A lot. Then again, everything hurt. Breathing hurt. And she did want a hug. Kate leant forwards and Tony wrapped his arms over her shoulders and hugged her to his chest. Kate rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in his smell and snuggling against his warmth.
Tony could feel her shaking in his arms. She was still cold. But he could feel her skin, where her forehead rested on his bare shoulder and his hands held her arms, and she felt hot. Hotter than she'd been last night, Tony was sure, yet he could feel her shivering against his body.
"Kate, I'm going to take your temperature," he said.
"In a minute," Kate protested weakly. "Stay here."
There was quiet for what seemed like a long time. Kate could hear the clock ticking on the wall, and the slight humming from the television that was only on standby, and a tap dripping through the open door of the kitchen. There was traffic outside too, and she guessed people must be going to work. She could hear Tony's heart as well, thudding away softly under his sweater. It thrummed softly, ba-doom ba-doom ba-dooming away against her own chest. She dropped a hand down between her own body and Tony's, resting it against the soft cotton of Tony's under shirt, feeling his ribcage rise and fall under her hand and the steady beat of his heart.
She didn't understand why Ducky could have such a fascination with the human body, holed up in his bright little chrome-and-steel morgue with dead people laid out on his table. Human biology had been her least favourite subject at school, the whole thought of it making her feel dizzy, and dead people were even worse. She wasn't queasy about most things, and she was getting used to it now, but she had to admit that, on the whole, she preferred people's insides to be, well, inside. The whole idea of slicing up bodies had made her ill when she'd first joined NCIS, despite Abby's helpful observations that it was the same as having your tonsils out, just you were dead and everything was taken out, which hadn't helped nearly as much as Abby seemed to think it would. She'd actually been physically sick on one occasion, when Ducky had taken great pleasure in drawing out a particularly gruesome description of an extremely nasty murder, giving the entire team a running commentary – complete with horrendously vivid and increasingly sickening food metaphors which had put everyone, including Tony, off eating anything other than cornflakes for a whole week – as he did so. It was creepy, Kate thought, to spend your time having conversations with people whose remains were smeared over your scrubs. She used to be freaked out by the silence of the morgue – stepping off the elevator to the sound of Ducky cheerfully chattering away to some poor dead marine about his mother's last trip to the bingo hall, while his scalpel clicked on the metal table and his voice echoed off the walls, gave her the shivers. Until Tony pointed out that it would more concerning to hear a reply, then she'd gotten over her nerves.
Though now, listening to Tony's heartbeat and feeling her own beating away inside her chest, she had to admit that – when all was well and it was working as it should – it was quite impressive.
"What's wrong?" Kate asked, breaking the silence and peering up at Tony.
"Nothing. Stefan came over last night, that's all. He brought you flowers."
"Oh. What did he want?"
"He, uh, introduced me to some... interesting... 'business ideas'," Tony said.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Well... that's good, isn't it, I suppose. I mean, we always knew he was... and now... we're getting somewhere."
"Yeah," Tony muttered. "I'd just prefer not to have photographic evidence pushed into my face. And I was kinda hoping..."
Kate sighed. "Me too," she murmured.
They sat still for a couple of minutes, thinking. Tony knew that Stefan was a terrorist, he knew Gerard was. NCIS did not send two agents to another continent for three months 'just in case'. They didn't have the resources. They didn't have the resources to do it when they knew for sure, actually. They had to get the FBI and the CIA to help. But still. Getting to know these men, seeing their family, Gerard's little girl... and they way Stefan had looked after Kate yesterday, paying the washroom attendant to let Tony in the bathroom and bringing her flowers... if it all turned out to be a misunderstanding, Tony wouldn't have had any objections. And he was worried about Kate. She was obviously not any better. She looked worse, in fact. She was in pain, serious pain, and she had a fever – that much Tony was sure of, even without a thermometer. Nobody healthy shivered and shook like they'd been in an ice bath while their skin felt like a radiator. He wasn't sure what to do.
"Do you want me to get you anything?" Tony asked, stroking Kate's hair. Kate shook her head. "Does it still hurt?" Tony asked softly. Kate nodded, biting her lip and mumbling, "Worse", and Tony sighed.
"You need a doctor," he said, stroking her hair.
"No!"
"We could call Ducky," he suggested.
"No, Tony," Kate groaned.
"What, you want to wait until you collapse before you let me get you some proper medical attention?"
Kate opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, she covered her mouth and ran to the bathroom. Tony rubbed his head, staring forlornly at the closed bathroom door, and waited. If just his hands massaging her abdomen had been enough to make Kate cry last night, he dreaded to think what kind of pain she must be in now she'd scrambled off the sofa like that.
Kate didn't emerge from the bathroom, so Tony got to his feet and fetched a glass of water. He knocked on the bathroom door, glass in hand, and waited.
"Katie?" he called softly. "I brought you some water, can I come in?" No answer. "Kate? Are you alright?" Still, there was no response.
Tony turned the door handle slowly and pushed the door open slightly. "I'm coming in now, okay? If you want me to leave you alone then speak now or forever hold your peace." Tony stepped into the bathroom, frowning as he saw Kate. She was sitting, her knees tucked up to her chest, her head resting on top. Even from the doorway, Tony could see the tears running down her cheeks and soaking the knees of her pyjamas. She looked so tiny, all curled up on the tiles like that, and young. Fragile.
"Here," Tony said, sitting beside her and passing the glass of water.
Kate sipped it, struggling to swallow through her tears. As soon as the water went down her throat, however, she flopped forwards and threw up into the toilet. Tony caught her ponytail, holding it out of the way, and rubbed her back like his mother did for him when he was a little boy to distract himself from watching Kate being sick. A few seconds later, she flushed the toilet and dropped her head down to the seat, her arms and legs limp and her breathing shallow. Not sure what to do, Tony slipped his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck.
"Sorry," Kate whimpered, wiping her eyes and leaning back into Tony's embrace.
"Don't be sorry," Tony soothed, holding Kate as tight as he felt he could without hurting her. Not, he supposed from the way Kate was crying, that it would make a difference anymore. "Don't cry, Kate, it's alright."
"It hurts," Kate gasped, digging her nails into her palms until her hands had small nail-shaped bruises on and Tony was afraid she was going to draw blood.
"I know," Tony said, even though he really didn't, as he slipped his hand into Kate's. "You can squeeze my hand, don't scratch yourself."
Kate clung to Tony tightly, making him wince when she wasn't looking. Eventually she stopped crying and just lay against him, breathing in short, shallow breaths and trembling. "Tony?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"Yeah?"
"Can you call Ducky?"
Kate was asleep. Which, Tony supposed, was a good thing. She'd been drifting in and out of wakefulness for an hour and a half, while he tried to get hold of Ducky. Unfortunately, it seemed to be nigh on impossible to find him. He wasn't at NCIS. He wasn't at home. He wasn't picking up his cell phone. Every time Kate woke up, she was in more pain, and it was harder for her to get back to sleep. And every time she did sleep, it was more fitful and for a shorter time. Her fever was worse – Tony had finally gotten round to actually taking her temperature before he called Ducky the first time, and had been shocked to find that it was 103.2. He'd taken it every time she'd woken, since then, and it had gone up every time. It was 103.6 last time he'd checked, and Tony was convinced it was rising by the second. He glanced at the clock. It was just gone two in the morning, in DC. Ducky would only be at home or at work, surely? Unless Abby had taken him to a rave… She might have dressed him up in some purple velvet, told her friends he was her pimp or something… Doubtful. Possible, but doubtful.
Kate stirred, opening her eyes and immediately screwing them shut again. She let out a slight whimper of pain, and Tony closed his eyes. He wasn't sure if he believed in God or not, but if He did exist, Tony thought it couldn't do any harm to give Him a quick message informing Him that any help contacting Ducky – or making Kate magically better – would be very much appreciated. Of course, God was supposed to be all-seeing and all-knowing, so Tony shouldn't need to send the message anyway, but that was what prayers were for. Desperate measures in times of extreme stress. Logic didn't exactly come into it. Tony suspected Kate – and a few other billion people – might disagree with the 'desperate measures' thing, but whatever. It was his prayer.
Tony reached for the thermometer, glancing at it before holding it out to Kate. She opened her mouth immediately – she had long since given up trying to get Tony to leave her alone – and held it under her tongue as she curled up as slowly and as painlessly as she could.
"103.6," Tony said, when the second hand on his watch ticked into place. Still too high, but at least it hadn't gone up again. The ibuprofen he'd dug out of the medical kit must be working. Not that that was a great comfort, when Kate was still lying over the couch with her drenched hair stuck to her flushed face while she shivered and begged for blankets, but it was something.
If it was up to Tony, he'd have called a doctor over an hour ago. He could just imagine Ducky's incredulity, when he realised Kate had been in this state for so long without medical attention. Since last night, Tony supposed, though she'd gotten a lot worse this morning. Then again, it wasn't like he'd been standing guard through the night – for all he knew, Kate could have been sick like this all night long. But Kate kept telling him no, when Tony said he was going to call a doctor. So, Tony had rationalised. Sure, she was in pain, but it couldn't be that bad. Otherwise Kate wouldn't protest when he tried to get a medic. And her fever was high, but it wasn't as high as it could be. She still had a few more degrees to go before it would be dangerous not to get her to a doctor immediately. And for all he knew, the vomiting could just be a reaction to some dodgy food.
Even so.
"Kate," Tony sighed, twiddling a sodden strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. "If we don't get Ducky this time, I'm going to call a doctor."
Kate didn't even reply, just buried her face in her arms and seized a mouthful of cushion to stop herself crying out in pain. Tony sighed.
Tony hit 'send' again, the laptop propped on his lap, while the screen remained resolutely blank. Tony counted in his head – 'one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…' He reached twenty, and was about to cancel the request and ring Ducky's home, when the screen flickered into life.
"Tony? Is that you?"
See? Desperate measures. Deciding his lapsed belief in God was firmly un-lapsed, Tony gripped the laptop as if Ducky might disappear any second. He had never been so grateful to see that autopsy room, with it's sterilised surfaces and rows of surgical instruments.
"Kate's sick," Tony said, without so much as a 'hello'.
Ducky, however, was used to brusque greetings after so many years with Gibbs, and didn't flinch. He simply glanced at the black body bag laying on a table behind him and took off his hat. "Well, I suppose Corporal Mackintosh can wait a few minutes," he smiled wryly. "How sick is she?"
Tony turned the laptop, angling it so Ducky could see Kate. Kate looked up, her pale face and dark eyes meeting Ducky's, and Ducky frowned. "Hey Ducky," she murmured.
Tony twitched as Ducky settled himself on the stool in front of the computer and set about unbuttoning his coat. He was so calm and collected. It was all Tony could do not to jump up and down like a spoilt three-year-old and scream 'now!'. Couldn't Ducky see Kate? Did he not grasp the gravity of the situation?
"What seems to be the problem, Kate?" Ducky asked gently, after what seemed to Tony like an age but in reality must have been about ten seconds.
"I'm dying," Kate muttered in response, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain as speaking send ripples of agony through her midriff.
"You're not dying," Tony soothed, rubbing Kate's arm. "Right Ducky?"
"Of course you're not dying," Ducky promised. "But you probably do need a doctor."
"You're a doctor," Kate winced.
"I'm in Washington," Ducky smiled. "Now, does it hurt anywhere in particular?"
"Her stomach," Tony interrupted, holding Kate's hand as she took a deep breath and grimaced. He could see her biting her lip to stop herself whimpering, and although Ducky had addressed his question to Kate, Tony couldn't bear to wait around for her to get herself together enough to get a sentence out. He wished she wouldn't try to be brave like that. "And she's been sick a bunch of times," he added. That was worth mentioning, obviously, and he didn't want to wait for Ducky to get around to asking.
"Whereabouts in your stomach, Kate?" Ducky asked, nodding at Tony to show he'd heard. Normally, by now, Ducky would have started on a story about the last time he was trekking through the Himalayas. It must be bad, Tony thought, for him to be focused so entirely on one aspect of a conversation.
Kate rested her hand underneath her navel, grimacing as she touched her stomach. "Then it moved," she said, dragging her limp hand across to the right. "When it got worse."
"She's got a fever, too," Tony added. "103.6."
"Well, Kate, the good news is I doubt you're dying," Ducky smiled.
That didn't rate very highly as far as Good News went, as far as Tony was concerned. Not that he wanted Kate to die, of course, but if he had thought for a moment that it was a real possibility, he would have taken Kate to a hospital hours ago. "And the bad news?" Tony pressed.
"It sounds to me like she has appendicitis," Ducky said. "You need to go to a hospital."
Kate buried her head in Tony's lap. "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered. Tony doubted she'd heard a word Ducky just said.
"Go on then," Tony replied, helping Kate up.
Kate got to her feet, swaying slightly on the spot and clutching Tony's hand tighter. She closed her eyes, leaning forwards from the pain, and let go of Tony before taking a couple of stumbling steps. Kate opened her eyes again, and the room span. Everything around her was whirling about, spinning and flying and leaping in a blur. It felt the same as when she would get off a merry go round as a child, just faster and scarier. And it hurt. It hurt less when she shut her eyes, but it was scarier when she did because she could feel everything spinning but she couldn't see. She became aware of how heavy her body was, and how hard her legs had to work to keep herself upright. It would be nice if she could just lie down, but she couldn't find her way to the sofa. She couldn't see anything, now, even though she had her eyes open – everything was moving too fast. Her head was hurting, almost as much as her stomach but not quiet, and she still felt like she was going to throw up, and then everything went black.
Tony caught Kate as her knees buckled and she dropped down, yanking her towards himself so she didn't hit her head on the table. Hoisting her limp form onto the sofa and peering at her ashen face, pressing his fingers against her neck and searching for her pulse, Tony thanked God she was unconscious and hadn't felt him catch her around her waist. The pain would have been unbearable.
"My dear boy," Ducky said from the laptop, his face as sombre as Tony had ever seen it. "I suggest you call an ambulance."