Wow. What a response to a fluffy birthday fic! Thanks to all who favorited/followed and reviewed! Thanks also to the guest reviewer who quite rightly reminded me not have the crew have dinner together. I had thought about how contagious Tony was earlier and that they all may be in danger of contracting his crud, then forgot about it trying to finish the chapter! I also sort of fudged the symptoms of strepp for the sake of whumping Tony. As far as I've read, there's no coughing involved, but c'mon, we gotta have it for a post-SWAK story! Well, here's the next one. Have no idea if it's the last, we'll just have to wait and see! Not beta'd. Any goofs are mine! Enjoy!
They were half-way to Gibbs' place when he thought about what Kate had told him earlier in the bullpen – she was coming to make dinner. It had sounded good, and normal, at the time, but what were they thinking? He already had his hands full taking care of Tony, he wasn't about to have two of them sick on his watch, snarking and baiting each other because they didn't feel well, and well, because they could. And he got enough of that from them at work. He flipped open his cell and hit the second speed dial number; he'd grumbled when Abby had insisted on 'messing with his phone', as he'd put it, but had to admit that it was pretty darned handy.
"Yes, Gibbs." Kate's voice came through the speaker. He hesitated. It was hard to get used to the other person knowing who was calling them, besides the fact that it left out the element of surprise and stealth.
"Let's hold off on that dinner tonight, no use spreading any more germs around."
"Well, yeah, there's that. Truth is, we've already been exposed, we're either gonna get it or we're not."
"Maybe, but let's not tempt fate. Let's get some more antibiotics into him before we start having parties, Ducky can't handle all of us getting sick."
"Made sure I didden cough on anyone, Boss." a half-awake Tony informed him across the seat.
"Yeah, I'm sure ya did, DiNozzo. Talk to ya later, Agent Todd." He pocketed the phone one-handed, not caring if he left Kate in the lurch on the other end. He knew she was used to it by now. Well, being used to something and liking it were two totally different animals, an inner voice chided. Sort of like the sniping he had dished out all day to his second. If he were admit it, even to himself, well, there were other reasons he had taken his nastiness to new heights, but he wasn't going to visit them now. Traffic was getting heavy, and he'd be damned if he sat in a traffic jam with a sick DiNozzo. Swerving around an Anal Andy, as Tony lovingly called them, he barreled off at the next exit and got them home before Tony roused again.
When he cut off the engine in his driveway, Tony stirred and rubbed his face, looking a little out of it, but not so that he didn't know where he was. Blinking, he fumbled for the door handle and let himself out, but waited for Gibbs to get out of the car before heading to the house. There was no way he was going to stumble on something in the near dark and do a face plant on Gibb's blacktop. Gibbs seemingly read his mind and met him in front of the car, tugging at his sleeve to urge him to start walking.
Once in the house, Tony headed straight for the couch, as if on auto-pilot, and collapsed into it's squishy comfort.
" 'm tired, Boss." he sighed, and crashed down sideways onto the cushions.
Gibbs smiled at him, and set the bag of meds and water down on the coffee table.
"Let's get yer shoes off first, Tony. Don't need mud all over yer clothes."
"Want my p.j's." he croaked, barely over a whisper
"I'll get 'em." Gibbs told him patiently. "Shoes first." He tugged them off and threw them out into the foyer. Normally it was the first thing Tony did coming into his house, but it hadn't occurred to him tonight. "Stop talkin'. I'll bring ya what ya need."
"Head hurts." Tony whined, and Gibbs poured out a couple of Motrin and held them in front of his SFAs' face.
"Take these. And stop talking."
Tony sat up enough to dry swallow them and regretted it, nearly choking on them and starting to panic.
"Easy, kid, sit up." Gibbs ordered in a calm voice, but he was a bit panicked himself. He held the water bottle up to Tony's mouth and waited a moment. "Couple sips so ya don't choke on that, too. Breathe, Tony. This is about your throat, not yer lungs."
Tony wanted to scream at him.
"Easy - easy for - you to – say..." he gurgled, trying to keep the water down his rebelling esophagus.
"Yeah, it is." Gibbs stated flatly. "Not tryin' to torture ya, kid. Just tryin' to get you so you can sleep."
"Want my pajamas." Tony repeated quietly, but mutinously this time, and Gibbs still smiled, surprising even himself. "And that blanket off my – your - the guest bed."
"You okay now with the choking bit?" he asked, squeezing Tony's shoulder.
"Yeah." his SFA squeaked. "Dumb...dry swallowing." he swallowed hard, painfully. "Habit."
"Yup." Gibbs agreed. "Don't move till I get back. Two minutes. You're not on this couch when I get back, you don't get your blanket. I get the one I keep for me under the boat."
Tony scowled at him, but looked like he would obey. He knew exactly which blanket Gibbs was referring to, he called it his boss's horsehair rug. It couldn't, under any civil, conceivable circumstances, be considered a blanket. He'd accused Gibbs of bringing it back from 'the war – World War I,' and had gotten a good smack to the head for it, though he had seen a glint of amusement in the older man's eyes. The thing was coarse, like the rawest wool the weaver could find, and barely large enough to cover a body. Gibbs mostly used it to lie on, so it was never an issue for him, but still – who would even have a blanket like that around? Maybe it was Gibbs' grandfather's, or great - grandfather's and from the Civil War, and had sentimental value. At any rate, he didn't want it touching his body, so he stayed put while Gibbs was upstairs. Not that he felt like moving anyways.
True to his word, Gibbs was back in just a few minutes, blankets, pajamas and extra pillows in hand. He knew the routine now, after having Tony with him recovering from the 'P -Word' as Abby called it. And he had known what to do even before that tense time, having nursed his Kelly through several bouts of illness during her too-short life. DiNozzo turned out to be not much different than his daughter when it came to cranky behavior. A lot bigger in body, but the same in spirit – irritable and childish; neither took to being sick very well, and made their confinement a lot more difficult than it needed to be.
"Good boy, still there." Gibbs awarded the young man by tossing the requested blanket next to him and the pajamas on his lap. "Change into your pajamas, I'll get a fire going."
"Sorta like -" Tony croaked "Camping trip."
"No talking. Try drinking some water instead." God, Gibbs thought, if Tony being sick was hard on him, this must be downright torture for Tony, not being able to get entire sentences past his lips.
Tony gave in and changed into his pajamas, tossing his clothes into a heap on the floor and then turning to the bottled water, taking small, unsure sips out of it while Gibbs built a fire in the grate.
Eventually he laid down on his side and watched the wood burn, smelling the faint smoke and feeling the heat coming off the flames. It mesmerized him, and took his mind off how much his throat hurt.
If he'd been a kid, and not a DiNozzo, he would have been sobbing on Gibbs' couch, and the man would have been bringing him shaved ice or Popsicles and giving him hugs. The thought made him snicker, and he had to admit, this was sort of the next best thing. Gibbs gave him a questioning look, and was debating asking him what was so funny when Abby burst in the door.
"I'm gonna leave the groceries real quick and then run cause I don't wanna catch it cause I've had it and it and there's no way I want it again. Ducky gave both Kate and myself scripts for Amoxy in case we start getting sick, but he's still contagious till his own Amoxy kicks in – sorry, Tony boy, you know I love ya, but it makes my throat hurt just thinking of having it again. And I'm really sorry that you have it."
She looked at Gibbs and handed him three plastic bags full of groceries. "Try to imagine that every time you swallow, it feels like your throat is swollen shut with the sharpest, most pointy rocks sticking out of your entire throat. You can't even stand the thought of swallowing it's so painful. I brought lots of soups and yogurt and easy stuff to swallow. Stuff to make milkshakes, and Popsicles."
Tony snorted, and they could only wonder what part of all that Abby had just said that he thought was humorous.
"And Gibbs - " she lowered her voice so that he had to lean towards her. "It's gonna feel like he can't breathe sometimes, like – you know, when he was sick – before. He's gonna start getting scared so -"
"I know, Abs, already been through it, got it under control."
"Great! Okay, I'm gonna go bring in the rest of the groceries, then I've got a bowling date with Timmy."
"Timmy who?"
"Timmy! Tim McGee! You remember him! Out of the Norfolk office, he helped us with a couple cases last month."
"Yeah, I remember now, Tony called him McGoo so much I forgot his first name."
"McGeek, MaGoo, McTardy, Mc-whatever came to his head at the moment – Tim wasn't wild about that."
"Too bad for Timmy. He ever think of transferring to Cyber Crimes here, we could use someone you can get along with for figuring out – computer – stuff."
"Hmm, never thought to ask, I'll slip it by him tonight, let ya know. Take care of Sick Boy, I'll stop in again tomorrow sometime, call if you need me before that."
"Will do, Abs, see ya later."
Gibbs headed for the kitchen to stow the groceries, and brought back a grape Popsicle for his ailing charge, who was waiting expectantly for it.
"Abs – thinks of - everything."
"I told 'er to get 'em." Gibbs informed him.
Tony's eyebrows rose as he peeled back the paper and took a bite.
"What, you think I don't know what feels good on a sore throat?"
Tony wasn't sure how to answer that question, knowing exactly how Gibbs knew about Popsicles for throats.
"Ever – read the jokes – on the sticks, Boss? Got a favorite – well – two favorites. What animal..should you never...play cards with?"
Gibbs grimaced, wanting to tell him to shut up again, but instead he shrugged his shoulders.
"A cheetah."
Gibbs couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face from the lame quip, and it inspired yet another.
"Best one yet. What's the hardest thing about skydiving?"
Gibbs was silent, thinking back on a not - so - humorous situation involving DiNozzo and a parachute, but Tony wouldn't be put off.
"The ground, Boss." he croaked, laughing into his icy treat.
"Yeah. Real funny, DiNozzo. See me laughing?"
"Joke, Boss. Lighten up."
Gibbs glared at him, a real one meant to admonish.
"Did you see me laughin' when I was peelin' you off that muddy field, DiNozzo?"
"No, Boss." Tony whispered, his chin down. He remembered the sickly color of his boss's face when they'd gotten to the emergency room to x-ray and set his ankle, and the way the man kept his jaw clenched, breathing through his nose the entire time. And he had heard later, by way of Palmer, that as soon as they'd taken him in to set the bone, Gibbs had marched straight off a bathroom down the hall and vomited his day's meals and coffee.
"Finish yer Popsicle. I'll warm up some soup, what you don't eat, I will."
"Not hungry, Boss."
"I'll go warm up some soup." Gibbs repeated flatly as he headed to the kitchen. "What you don't eat, I will."
Tony sighed and finished up the grape treat and sighed to himself. The spell was already broken and he was barely into his forced recuperation with his boss. He always said the wrong thing but it was mostly because he didn't know what the right thing was to say, not because he was trying to get under someone's skin. He always seemed to know what to say when he was actually aiming to tick someone off. It was casual conversation that confused him, and the art of knowing when to shut up. Well, this was the golden opportunity to cultivate that art, and he should have started the first time his boss told him to stop talking.
He took a swig of water to wash down the sugary goo, and decided to go see if he could at least help Gibbs with the soup. Washing and drying sticky hands, he perused the bags of groceries that Abby had brought and began putting some away. He'd spent enough time at the place to know where most everything was stored and Gibbs didn't turn around and slap him for doing it, so he kept at it, then folded the plastic bags neatly and stowed them in a drawer. His boss was still stonily silent, and it made Tony want to call a cab, put his shoes on, and go back to his place, even if he left wearing his p.j's. Gibbs' silence was tolerable for Tony when the man was in a normally decent mood. When his boss was pissed at him, it was like being crushed and smothered under black ice. Frozen out. Maybe it just reminded the younger man too much of his childhood. Whatever it was, whenever it happened, Tony's tolerance level of it was a bit on the slim side.
"I'll get Abby to - come get me and take me home." he rasped out.
"That's what you want, then, fine."
Wowser. All this from a stupid Popsicle stick joke. Alright then. He didn't want to leave, but he really didn't feel up to Gibbs' sudden turn of bullshit, so he headed back to the living room for his phone.
What the hell did he do with the stupid thing, it had been in his jean's pocket when he'd gotten there.
Starting to get frantic and more than a little frustrated, he didn't see the open water bottle until he'd knocked it over and spilled most of its contents on his boss's wood floor. Great! Just effing great..
he huffed under his breath, grabbing up his t-shirt from the floor to start sopping it up.
"Stop." came a growly voice above his head. "I'll get a mop."
"I got it, Boss, just -"
But Gibbs was gone again, and Tony simply sunk back onto his butt against the front of the couch and put his head in his hands. He was still too hot, and his throat was still like hot, broken glass was lodged there. He had tried so hard not to get sick again, couldn't stand the thought of going through anything like what he had at Bethesda. Most times he fluffed it off when someone asked him disbelievingly how he'd survived it, telling them he didn't dare do anything else with Gibbs constantly hovering around him. But sometimes he just didn't know how he'd made it through, because truth be told, there were times that it had been so exhausting and painful, he was ready for Ducky's tender ministrations on one of his autopsy tables. Every dark, awful thing that had happened to him revisited him during that time, every forgotten birthday, lonely Christmas, drunken slap and boarding school hazing came back to haunt him when he was least able to fight them off, making not just his body but his spirit a well of misery. It would have been so much easier to just let go.
"Shit." he whispered, barely audible, then started searching his pants pockets for his phone again.
Finally finding it, he punched in Abby's speed dial number, heard it ring a few times, then sank back into himself when her voicmail came on. "Shhhit." he repeated, and didn't even bother with a message. He tossed the phone aside and sighed, resting his head on arms folded across his knees.
"Shouldn'ta lost my temper with ya, Tony. Don't want ya to go back home."
"Then make up - yer mind, Gibbs! Don't be all - shitty to me if you – want me to stay!" Tony croaked out, sounding more like a frog than ever, then realizing he had just yelled at his boss. "Sorry. Tired. Don't feel good."
"I know, Tony."
"Scared."
Yeah, me too, kid.
"I know."
"Don't wanna – have to go back to Bethesda."
"Ducky said the odds of you getting it again are pretty slim. But he warned us you'd be more susceptible to getting really sick than before."
"Sucks." Tony grunted into his knees.
"I know." Gibbs repeated quietly, and reached his hand down to his second. "C'mon, get up off the cold floor. Soup's ready."
"Don't be... mean to me. Just told a stupid joke." Tony groused, standing back up on slightly wobbly legs.
"I know. I let it get to me, shouldn't have. Still have nightmares about scraping you off that airfield if your chute hadn't opened."
"You and – me both."
"Alright, enough with the talkin', yer makin' my throat hurt just listening to ya. Try some soup, there's some Italian bread you can dip in it instead of crackers."
Tony tried a thankful smile, but his stomach was still topsy-turvy, and his falling out with Gibbs sure hadn't settled it any. He sat anyways, just to keep the peace, and let his boss ladle out a small portion for him into a soup bowl. Good old chicken noodle from their favorite deli. Well, maybe he could manage just a little. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gibbs give him a lopsided, satisfied smile, and warmed up a little himself at his boss's gesture. Maybe he would actually survive the next few days after all.