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Title: Sick and Tired
By: nancy
Pairing: Tony/Gibbs
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG-13
Note: shmoop
Summary: Gibbs comes down with the flu.


"You better be aiming for my mouth with that thing, DiNozzo."

Tony paused, blinked, then smirked. "I could go so many different ways with that statement, Boss, it's not even funny. But yeah. Open up and say ahh."

Gibbs glared at him, but it was a watered down version of his usual glare, and opened his mouth. Into which, Tony promptly set the thermometer. He'd woken up a few times during the night to find his lover sweaty and restless despite the cold winter night, and woken to find Gibbs shivering with a fever. Just how bad of one, they were about to find out officially, but Tony was guessing at least 100-101F. He never got sick, neither of them did, so he supposed that one or both of them were due.

He waited the obligatory two minutes, timing it via his watch and Gibbs' increasing irritation, and pulled it out, holding the thermometer up to the light. With an admiring whistle, Tony informed him, "102.5. Good job, Boss. I think it's officially time for a visit to the doctor's office."

"I am not going to the doctor's office. I've never even seen my doctor," Gibbs snarled, yanking the covers back up.

Tony arched an eyebrow at him. "You have a physical every year."

"Ducky gives it to me."

"Well, I could call Ducky."


Tony bit back a laugh at his lover's horrified expression.

"Don't you give me that look," Gibbs growled. "You've never seen Ducky get hold of a live patient and it's not pretty. He's into...holistic medicine."

Holistic medicine was said with enough emphasis to make it a Very Bad Thing, possibly a fate worse than death. Clearing his throat to keep from laughing, Tony said, "Well, it's either Ducky, or your doctor, because you need something and aspirin isn't going to cut it."

"Who died and made you boss?" Gibbs muttered, burrowing into his pillow.

Wiping his head over the clammy forehead, Tony gently combed his fingers through the too-short hair and answered, "No one, yet. You could have a virus, Gibbs, and need antibiotics."

"It's probably just food poisoning. Kate got lunch for us yesterday."

"I'm not sick."

"You didn't eat it."

Tony had to agree with that. Sprouts and tofu were not his thing. Kate had caught Gibbs in an 'I'm not hidebound' moment and taken full advantage of it. "Tofu's healthy and doesn't really go bad, not for a long time from what I understand anyhow. Not even your body would reject it. Look, I'll call the doctor and see what he recommends, okay?"

Gibbs grunted and flipped over under the blankets, ignoring him.

Shaking his head in amusement, knowing full well that Gibbs was going to be a horrible patient, Tony headed out to make the call.

*  *  *  *

Even though it had only been a day, Jethro couldn't remember being more miserable. The visit to the doctor's had been a disaster, as he'd known it would be. Sick kids and their mothers in the waiting room, pregnant women, and a couple of men who looked like death-warmed-over, like himself. He and Tony had waited for almost an hour before getting in to see the way too young doctor who'd been so upbeat that Jethro had shown real restraint in not beating the man over the head with his own clipboard.

And after all that...

"Yep. You've got the flu. A man your age should've gotten a flu shot earlier in the year."

Serious restraint.

Tony had stepped swiftly and bravely into the breach, physically imposing himself between the potential dead man and Jethro, questioning about what to do to get Jethro healthy fastest.

The rest of the day had been spent drinking tea, some crap known as thera-flu, sucking down pain relievers and being bundled under too many blankets, but still being cold. Tony had brought him water and juice and pretty much anything he'd wanted.

And now he was bundled in bed again, the fever gone down to almost normal, a mere 99.7F.  Knowing his body as he did, Jethro knew that he'd be fine by the next day. More than well enough to go back to work.

"Okay! I've got some chamomile tea with honey here and it's got your name all over it," Tony announced cheerfully, sitting on the side of the bed. "And you need to take your last dose of thera-flu, too."

"You want me up all night needing to piss?" Jethro demanded, irritated. He didn't want to move out of the comfortable nest of blankets and pillows.

Tony held up a set of fairly good-sized pills. "No need. Discovered it comes in pill form on my last trip out."

Grumbling, Gibbs nonetheless sat up and took the pills, washing them down with the chamomile tea that was at just the perfect temperature. Tony set the mug on the nightstand table and crawled under the covers with him, sitting partially upright on the pillows and tugging Jethro down, against him. Still a little miffed that Tony had waited until he'd been drinking that crap all day to find out it came in pill form, Jethro went reluctantly.

He did, finally, settle with his cheek on Tony's stomach, listening to the gurgles and feeling the steady ka-thump of his lover's heart echoing through the healthy body. Soothing fingers scratched over his scalp and Jethro sighed, slowly relaxing. Those magic hands rubbed the back of his neck, and then his shoulders, until Jethro was so much boneless goo the consistency of that God-awful tofu.

Tony curled up around him briefly to kiss the top of his head and murmur, "Night, Jethro. Try and sleep," before turning off the light.

It was as he did, that Jethro realized maybe he needed another day off with Tony taking care of him to make sure he was over the worst of it.

Just in case.