Feb 25
Sometimes the best medicine is a friend's voice on the phone.
Tim stared at the phone in his hand. He felt awful; his nose was running everywhere, his throat felt like sandpaper, his eyes were sore, and his head was in a vice.
To make matters worse, Tony had given him this cold. And he had not been affected anywhere near this much. At least it was the weekend so he wouldn't have to put up with Tony's mocking and Ziva's eye rolling, while Gibbs ordered him home to bed or down to Ducky.
He blew his nose loudly in an attempt to allow himself to breathe. This was too much. He dialed the number of the one person who could make him feel better.
"Hello, Radio Abby, you're on the air!" The Goth's voice came through loud and clear.
"Hey, Abby," he greeted her.
"Timmy! You don't sound so good. Well, you sound good, but you also sound ill, which is not a good thing. I'm guessing you caught Tony's cold then, which is unfair because he was still bouncing around my lab yesterday, and he almost knocked over that experiment that I'm running, and I couldn't exactly tell him what I was running because I'll never hear the end of it, and he wouldn't understand the finer points anyway, philistine that he is, not that I think he's really a philistine because he is really smart when he wants to be, and he's really nice as well, and why aren't you interrupting me? Oh no, you've called me because you're dying and you want me to send Ducky round to do the Autopsy, but you've actually died and I'm talking to myself, and –"
Tim began to laugh. It was so typical of Abby, and made him feel so much better.
"Are you okay?" Abby worried.
"Thanks," he whispered.
"Want me to come round?" she asked.
"You've made me feel better anyway," he told her honestly. "I don't want to ruin your day."
"I'm coming over," Abby decided. "You are not going to talk me out of this."
Tim smiled as she hung up the phone. Only Abby…