Jan 7
True friendship is like sound health, the value of it is seldom known until it be lost. – Charles Caleb Colton
Tony groaned as the knocking at his front door continued. Who dared disturb him when he was on his deathbed?
Staggering to his feet, he felt the world spin. Forcing himself to stay upright, he reached the door and pulled it open. "Go away," he muttered.
Gibbs stepped past him and walked into the kitchen. "Evening to you too, DiNozzo."
Tony sighed as he closed the door. "What are you doing here, boss? I'll be fine, just leave me alone."
The answering clattering in the kitchen told him that his boss was not planning to go away any time soon.
"You might catch my flu, boss," he warned, getting bored and collapsing on the couch again. "Like any germ would dare to attack you anyway," he murmured.
He flicked the television back on again to break the monotony. The sound was off, so as not to worsen his headache. He pulled his blanket back over him and closed his eyes briefly. Why was Gibbs here? It was only Saturday; there obviously wasn't a case. He had only missed two days of work so far, and he'd probably miss a few more working days until he felt better and was no longer contagious.
After about half an hour, Gibbs reappeared with a bowl in his hands. Tony sniffed the air. "Chicken soup," he decided.
Gibbs rolled his eyes and placed the bowl on the coffee table. "Eat," he ordered, handing a spoon to his agent.
Tony warily took a sip, worried about his boss' culinary skills. But it was actually very nice, if a little hot. "Thanks, boss," he smiled, one of his genuine smiles.
"I can cook, DiNozzo," Gibbs protested at the look on his face.
"Something to do with three ex-wives?" Tony wondered aloud.
Gibbs scowled and walked towards the door. "McGee's been ordered to visit you tomorrow," he called back to the younger man. "I have not given you permission to die." He walked out the door.
Tony grinned to himself. He felt better already. And there was always the chance he could give McGee the flu tomorrow.