A/N: Wow, you guys! I did not expect such an overwhelmingly positive response. Thank you so much for all of the alerts, favorites, and reviews. They mean so much to me.

As fair warning to you all, I am doing NaNoWriMo this year. After last year's debacle (I only made it 2000 words in before I had to quit and focus on college finals) I fully intend to make it at least halfway this time around and so a lot of my time will be dedicated to that, meaning it'll be a little longer than I'd hoped between updates. The upside is that from here on out chapters should be longer, because while I'm notoriously bad at writing beginnings, I do pretty well with the meat of the story.

Gibbs wasn't sure when his relationship with Tony had crossed the line from professional courtesy to parental affection. After Kelly had died, he'd strongly believed that he'd never develop that kind of relationship with anyone again, and at first he'd resisted the field agent's gravity. But Tony was a walking accident, and he'd proven that while he was capable of handling himself most of the time, he needed someone to watch his six. And from there, things had escalated until the grizzly old Marine thought of the younger man as a kind of surrogate son.

Tony had been resistant, at first, to let things go beyond a strictly working relationship. But a few cowboy-style steak dinners, some late ones at a handful of local dive bars after a difficult case, and evenings spent carefully working on the boat in Gibbs' basement, and slowly DiNozzo had opened up, let more of himself show than just the playboy exterior he so desperately wanted people to believe. "It's easier," he'd said one night after too much bourbon and a very badly sanded section of boat (which Gibbs had replaced later without a word, to spare the agent's feelings). "If people believe you're a shallow bastard they won't try to dig deeper."

Gibbs had just given his then-probie a long look over the edge of his bourbon glass, until the younger man dropped his gaze.

It was well past noon when Gibbs dropped his sandpaper on the workbench and stretched, wincing as his joints popped and crackled. He was definitely beginning to feel his age; Ducky had commented once that all the time he spent in his cold basement was going to make him too stiff to move someday.

Climbing the basement steps, he headed down the back hall to the guest room and cracked the door. Tony was still asleep, snoring softly. The lead agent pushed the door open on silent hinges and crept to the edge of the bed, laying a hand on the young man's forehead. He still burned with fever and despite the sweat that drenched him, he was obviously chilled. Gibbs pulled the comforter up around his neck and tucked it under him tightly, disappearing down the hall and returning a moment later with the afghan from the back of the couch. He draped it over his agent, refilled the glass of water on the bedside table in case Tony needed it when he woke, and then closed the door behind him, reaching for the cell in his pocket as he returned to the living room.

"Jethro! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Duck, I need a favor." Gibbs tried not to wince as a distinctly unpleasant squelching noise filtered through the phone speaker. "DiNozzo's broiling in my guest room."

Ducky hummed absently and Gibbs imagined him tipping some poor bastard's liver into his shiny metal scale. "I'm nearly finished here, Jethro. Perhaps young Mr. Palmer can finish stitching up our Lance Corporal?" There was an immediate and over-eager affirmative from the autopsy gremlin that Gibbs barely heard but smiled at all the same; Palmer was an odd one, but even though the lead agent wouldn't admit it, he'd grown on him. "I'll stop by the pharmacy and then head to yours. Until then keep an eye on him. If his fever gets any worse you may need to take him to the ER."

"Thanks Duck." Gibbs tucked the cell back into his pocket and sighed, rubbing his temples for a moment, thinking. A fever wasn't necessarily bad, but this one felt unnaturally high. Tony's cough wasn't bad, and while he'd seemed sore and uncomfortable it hadn't looked to be outright pain. Unfortunately, his senior field agent was good at downplaying his ills and injuries, and after a debacle in which the idiot had almost lost the use of his arm, he'd learned it was better to be safe than sorry. Gibbs would do as Ducky said and watch him closely until the ME could give him a better idea of what was wrong.

He'd just turned around to head back downstairs when he heard a soft "Boss?" from the hallway. Tony was standing in the open door, bleary-eyed and pale as a ghost. "I think maybe something's wrong." And with that, the agent crumpled to the floor in a heap and began seizing on the carpet.

Ducky reached under the shade of his desk lamp, pulling the chain and throwing the room into darkness. Shrugging into his coat, he bid a quick farewell to Palmer and headed for the elevator. The ME couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips. Once again, their young Anthony was ill. Ducky wondered quietly how anyone with such a talent for getting himself into trouble was still in one piece. But then, Tony was quite a resilient young man. He'd bounced back from more than a few impossible situations against insurmountable odds.

The vibration of his cell phone brought Ducky back to the present and he quickly answered it when Gibbs' name appeared on the screen. "Jethro, I was just leaving."

"Change of plans, Duck," the Marine replied, and there was an edge to his voice that made the ME's stomach twist. A siren kicked on in the background and an engine roared to life. "Meet us at Bethesda as soon as you can." Then the line went dead.

There you have it. I am SO SORRY that it's so short, but I promise I will try to make the next one longer. Like I said, I'm bad at beginnings, but now things should pick up a bit.

I don't if I've already warned for this but there's no real plot to this. It's a blatant excuse for sick!Tony whump and father/son bonding. Hopefully you all don't mind too much. :)