A/N - thanks for the reviews. I hope you're enjoying the series. This is dedicated to Elflordsmistress - because she demanded a story about well - this!

Minor Ailments – 3

Agents scattered as she passed – one look at the Director's expression convincing them it would be wise not to get in her way right now and though they might have wondered how anyone could walk that fast in heels, they only did so when she was safely out of earshot.

The Director of NCIS was very aware that her progress from MTAC to Abby's lab had been far from sedate and calm. She knew she'd given away her anxiety, that there would be gossip, but she couldn't make herself care about that right now. As she rounded the corner she found Gibbs' team standing in the corridor outside the lab – Abby was with them, but there was no sign of the man himself. One look at their faces told her the news was not good and she fought down her spurt of fear for long enough to snap, "what the hell happened?"

"He just collapsed." Abby said. "He looked pale, I asked him if he was all right, he said he was fine – but…" Tony put his arm around her, "what if he dies?" She sobbed.

"He is not going to die," the Director said firmly, holding onto the belief with all of her strength because she was also Jethro's lover and she didn't want to face that thought anymore than Abby did.

"Ducky's with him," Ziva said, her tone careful and very similar to the one Cynthia had used when she'd broken the news that Gibbs had been taken ill. Her assistant knew about their relationship, though she pretended not to and now Jen wondered if Ziva had been doing the same thing, albeit a little more discretely.

Lately things had been a little difficult, they'd scarcely seen each other – she'd been busy and at night all she wanted to do was fall into her own bed and sleep. She tried to remember when they'd spent any time together and realised guiltily it was significantly over a week ago.

She itched to go into the lab, to find out for herself how he was; but she hesitated – not wanting to interrupt Ducky and while she tried to make a decision the door opened and the medical examiner appeared in the doorway.

"It's not serious," he said, his gaze meeting hers for a moment. "Jethro has flu."

"What germs would be brave enough to attack Gibbs?" Tony muttered and Jen opened her mouth to tell him to shut up, before something else occurred to her.

"How could he have flu? He had a flu shot."

"Should have had a flu shot." Ducky corrected and suddenly everything became very clear. Because it was Gibbs. Tony was right, he'd assume he was invincible, even to germs. And as much as she was relieved, she was annoyed as well – because she'd been scared out of her mind, imagining a heart attack or a stroke. "I've given him some medication – he really out to go home and sleep it off, but he doesn't seem keen on the idea."

She felt her temper flare, knew it was being fed by the anxiety. "We'll see about that!"

When she walked into the lab she almost felt sorry for him. He was sitting on a stool, his head resting on his hands and though he'd deny it she doubted if he could stand unaided right now. His skin looked pale and clammy and when she put her hand on his forehead she could tell he had a temperature. But, then she remembered that he could have prevented this if he had just been less stubborn and her resolve hardened.

"Hi Jen," he croaked, trying for a grin and failing miserably. She felt a prickle of guilt again, because if she'd spent anytime with him lately she'd probably have realised he was getting ill.

"Agent Gibbs – it is not acceptable for you to miss a flu shot, or any other type of immunisation organised by this agency – is that clear!" His head shot up and from the look on his face she could tell that the message had been received.

"It won't happen again," he told her.

"You're going home," she said firmly, "you're going to sleep, drink lots of fluid and take some medication."

"I don't need…"

"That's an order Agent Gibbs!" He looked startled, probably trying to work out what the problem was. "You scared your team, Abby was crying – and you scared me. So, you'll be going home." He dropped his head back onto his hands,

"Will you take me?" He asked quietly, the yearning in his voice making her stomach flutter. But it was impossible, she was supposed to be in MTAC even now and she wasn't due to leave for several more hours.

"I wish I could."

"I'll drive you home Jethro." Neither of them had realised that Ducky had followed her into the room. She smiled gratefully over her shoulder, even though she wished his offer wasn't going to be necessary.

"I'll come by tonight, see how you're doing." He nodded, though she could see the disappointment in his eyes. "DiNozzo can take over the team for the rest of the case, they'll be able to phone you if they need advice."

Now that they knew Gibbs wasn't in any real danger, his team was free to speculate about other things. McGee observed that the Director had seemed worried and in response DiNozzo announced confidently, "they are definitely doing it."

"Doing what?" Ziva queried.

"Having sex, the beast with two backs, getting down and dirty and …"

"Do you really want to finish that sentence Agent DiNozzo?" He cringed at the sound of the Director's voice – but still he wasn't quite expecting the slap to the back of his head she delivered.

"You learn that from Gibbs?" he asked.

"Among other things. Gibbs is going home, I'm putting you in charge until he's well enough to come back to work. You will call him regularly and give him updates." Tony executed something that looked a lot like a victory dance and she sighed. "You will also give me updates – do not make me regret this." He sobered under her stern gaze – dropping the joker persona for long enough to give her a short nod.

"Is Gibbs OK?" Abby asked – obviously still worried.

"Ducky's going to drive him home, but you can go in and see him – you've had your flu shot I assume?" Abby nodded and headed for the door, pausing and turning back.

"Are you all right Director?" Jen sucked in a breath and exchanged a look with Ziva, who didn't want to meet her eyes. McGee shuffled his feet and DiNozzo shot her a smug grin.

"I'm fine Abby, but I'm due in MTAC." As she walked away she heard a soft whisper of, "they are definitely doing it." And wished she'd hit DiNozzo just that little bit harder.

It was after 7 o'clock – and though it was the earliest she'd left the office in weeks still she'd hoped to get away earlier. She had a bundle of files with her and a case that contained clothes and some food. The house was silent and dark as she left her bag in the kitchen. The only sign of life was, for once, not in the basement but in the main bedroom – if you could call the figure bundled up under the covers as a sign of life.

"Jen?" a voice croaked.

"How are you feeling?"

"Cold," the face that peeped out from under the covers looked so pathetic she almost forgot how easily he could have avoided this.

"That's the fever," she pointed out – crossing to his side and noticing with exasperation the bottle of bourbon on the bedside table and the tablets Ducky had provided. The bottle had been opened – the tablets had not. "I'm not sure this stuff is the appropriate treatment for flu," she said, "have you taken any pills at all?"

"No," she knew he wasn't fond of medication – but this was hardly the time to be stubborn. She retreated to the bathroom for a glass of water and handed it to him – along with a couple of the pills.

"I brought some juice and some soup – you should eat something." Even in the act of taking the pills he eyed her carefully.

"You didn't make it yourself? Because you almost set fire to that apartment in London when you tried to cook soup."

"That was almost 10 years ago," she pointed out stiffly – not at all happy about reliving the memory of a culinary disaster. "Neomi made it," she said when he just carried on looking at her.

"I might try to eat something," he conceded, adding as she headed out of the bedroom, "are there any more blankets? I'm cold."

When Ducky dropped by twenty-four hours later she was just about ready to kill Gibbs. It didn't help that she hadn't got much sleep the previous night. It wasn't easy to share a bed with someone who was too cold half the time, which meant he wrapped himself around her to soak up her body heat, until he got too hot – when he threw the bed clothes off both of them. And then there was the coughing and the sniffing, neither of which were conducive to a peaceful night or her early start and full round of meetings.

She'd called him throughout the day and DiNozzo had talked to him as well, though when Tony appeared in her office late in the afternoon he'd concluded his update with, "he doesn't sound too good." So, for the second night running she'd bundled up some files and transported her office to his kitchen table.

She'd expected him to be bored and irritable, she'd seen him recover from injuries before and thought she knew what to expect. However, she hadn't been prepared for bored, irritable and whiny. He'd called her back upstairs twice for no reason at all before she'd snapped and told him that she wasn't his nurse and only to call her again if he was at death's door. She'd just settled down with a cup of coffee and a report when the doorbell rang.

Ducky smiled, "I've come to check on the invalid."

"Be my guest," she gestured upstairs and returned to the small mountain of paperwork she'd brought with her.

When he wandered back into the kitchen half an hour or so later she handed him a cup of coffee as he told her, "I know it doesn't seem like it – but he is on the mend."

"Good to know."

"Gibbs is not the easiest of patients."

"That my dear Doctor Mallard is the understatement of the century." He chuckled,

"I remember a time…" for once he didn't finish the sentence – narrowing his eyes and looking across the table at her. "What's wrong Director?" She hated it when he used her title.

"You're asking the wrong person," she pointed out, "I'm not the one who's ill." He looked back at her, his expression soft.

"Last time – I wanted to ask you what was wrong, but I decided it was none of my business. I didn't ask - and you left. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice." She scarcely had time to work out that he was referring to her departure from Paris before he added, "what's wrong Jennifer?"

"It's nothing," she whispered – not quite able to look him in the eye, not ready to admit that maybe she'd been staying away from Gibbs these last weeks for a reason – even if she wasn't entirely sure what the reason was. "He doesn't talk and sometimes I can read him, but when I can't - I wonder if this is how Diane and Stephanie and whoever the hell else felt."

"It's not the same," Ducky said quietly, "he's happier now than I've seen him in years. I thought you were happy as well?"

"I was – I am. I just…" she ran out of words, not sure she wanted to explain that she didn't know how serious Gibbs was about their relationship and that the lack of certainty was bothering her. But Ducky let her off the hook, reaching across the table to pat her hand.

"I don't think I'm the person you ought to be telling this to. Talk to him this time, it might not be as difficult as you think." He finished his coffee and smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "of course you may wish to wait until he's no longer ill – if you want him to remember that you had a conversation."

After Ducky left she sat at the table for what felt like a long time, thinking about his advice; what he'd said, what he hadn't said. Finally she shook herself out of her reverie, rinsing the cups out and picking up the file she was working on before heading upstairs. In the bedroom Gibbs was still buried under all the blankets in the house. She smiled, just a little at the picture he made and slipped out of her clothes, pulling on one of his T-shirts and crawling under the covers beside him.

Her companion was asleep but after she'd been working for about an hour she felt him stir. "Hi," she said quietly as he blinked up at her. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm OK," she almost smiled, because his tone made it apparent that he really wasn't. But instead she stroked her hand over his forehead, brushing some hair back, relieved that he didn't feel so hot anymore.

"Go back to sleep," she told him, "I'm going to work for a little while longer."

"I'm glad you're here," he said, eyes already fluttering shut. She watched him for a moment, hearing his breathing level out – but she hadn't missed the slight reproach in his voice, because though she was here now, she hadn't been around all that much lately.

"You and I are going to have a long talk when you're feeling better," she told his sleeping form. "Even if it kills you."

The End