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The moment Gibbs heard what could only be described as someone choking on their own fluids, he abandoned his attempt at doing laundry and hit the ground running. He took the stairs two at a time and turned the corner to the guest bedroom where the source of the coughing only continued, followed by a weak sputter.
As a hand rested on the hinges of the door, Gibbs forced it open and flipped the light switch to reveal a shivering Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo sat up in bed with a stack of pillows behind him, and a worn FBI t-shirt stretched across his now thin frame. It had been a joke gift from Fornell that was far too small for Gibbs with his wider frame, though it had fit DiNozzo perfectly before his illness. Seeing it now, speckled with mucus while a thin trail of blood trickled down the corner of Tony’s mouth onto it, Gibbs knew he made the right decision handing it over.
Tony opened his mouth to apologize, only to be cut off by a sudden cough that sputtered a fresh spew of blood from his lips and down his chin, dripping onto his shirt. Face twisted in disgust, eyes burning bright with fever, Tony panted hard as he looked to his Boss.
“I’m so sorry,” he nearly sobbed, tears brimming in his eyes.
Gibbs hardly reacted at first. He prided himself on always being at the ready, unable to be shaken even at the best of times. He was a Marine after all, and had worked at NCIS for years. Nothing was supposed to phase him, yet here he was, unable to tear his gaze away from his agent and feeling at a loss of what to do. Sure, Ducky had prepped him for this with a list mile long of what to do in certain situations, and one of them had been if Tony started coughing up blood. Reading it turned out to be one thing; acting on it was something else entirely.
Quick as a whip, Gibbs broke himself out of his momentary freeze and came right over. Large hands came to encapsulate Tony on either side of his shoulders, fumbling with the t-shirt to pull it over his head. At first Tony fought him, uncoordinated hands struggling to hold the edges of his shirt down. Gibbs ignored the wild look in his agent’s eyes, like that of a frightened animal. He managed to wrestle the sodden item free, leaving Tony only in basketball shorts that were now falling off his hips. Getting Tony to eat anything these days was a real challenge. Gibbs made a mental note to be more persistent even if Tony protested.
Once the cool air rushed over Tony’s skin, the younger man started to cough even harder. His lips pressed into a tight line in an effort to control it, horribly so as they tumbled out of him all the same. Face contorted in pure agony, Tony’s entire body spasmed as mucus flecked with blood flew from his lips, speckling cross the old duvet around him. He made a sluggish attempt to cough into his elbow, though the feeling of suffocation was too much and had him nearly screaming in terror.
Gibbs’s gut twisted in horror. He couldn’t have cared less for the state of his bedding, as it probably hadn’t been used in a decade, but to see Tony so distraught over it had him at a loss. Should he call Ducky? Take him to the hospital? Call Dr. Pitt? So many options played out in his mind, but which one would be the most beneficial to Tony still escaped him. God forbid he did anything to make it worse.
A hand suddenly shot out, fingers curled around his wrist and tips of his cracked nails harshly scraping the edge of his skin. Despite the strength rapidly ebbing from Tony’s unused muscles, Tony had a rock solid grip. It only tightened as Gibbs attempted to pull away, to twist his wrist and break that hold. Something stopped him dead in his tracks; it was that look of pleading in Tony’s terror filled eyes that did it.
“P…..Please,” Tony sputtered, lips stained with blood. It caked around his gums as well now that Gibbs had gotten a better look, thick on his tongue when he spoke.
Had that always been there since the start of his illness? Or had that only transpired when he was in Gibbs’s care?
“Okay….alright. Just relax.” That was bullshit coming from Gibbs, and he knew it. Still, he felt Tony take it as an order as he lowered his shoulders and dropped his chin, each breath even more labored than the next. He didn’t loosen his grip in the slightest, which gave Gibbs a feeling that Tony wouldn’t…..no couldn’t be on his own.
Gibbs momentarily stayed rigid, unsure of his next step. It was only when Tony broke off to cough again, suddenly crying out at the last ragged exhale in agony that the final pieces of Gibbs’s resolve chipped away. How could he say no to a request so simple?
Gibbs heaved a small sigh and slowly slid in beside Tony. At first, his younger agent’s eyes widened in alarm at what his Boss was doing, and Gibbs momentarily stopped as if this small gesture may have the opposite reaction. However, the moment Gibbs tried to stand, Tony was pulling back, coughing off to the side weakly. It seemed that it was finally calming down, or maybe it was the full body exhaustion that Tony felt from fighting this disease. Either way, he wasn’t going to last upright much longer.
When Gibbs finally found an acceptable position, legs stretched out in front of him and covers pulled over the other side of Tony, he felt Tony finally release his wrist. They kept a small distance between the two, both sitting rigid on the queen sized bed. It was only when Tony’s head started to bob forward, chin striking his chest, only for his head to snap up a moment later repeatedly did Gibbs take matters fully into his own hands.
In one swift motion, Gibbs raised his arm and draped it over Tony’s shoulders. Tony only fought him for a moment before finally giving him, his body unable to keep himself propped up on his own. His head came crashing down on Gibbs’s shoulder, a harsh choking gurgle of phlegm and blood swirling in his throat as he tried to voice his concern. Gibbs was having none of it, certainly not after feeling Tony shiver despite pulling the duvet around him, attempting to avoid the worst spots that would need to be scrubbed of all evidence of sickness later.
Suddenly, Tony started to cough, hard. His face hung over Gibbs’s sweatshirt clad chest, and even as he tried to pull away through gasping coughs, Gibbs was having none of it. He held Tony steady throughout the fit, looking upwards so that the emotion he so rarely felt wouldn’t overwhelm him. Tony didn’t need to see how this was effecting Gibbs not now, not ever. Especially not as the kid was struggling so much on his own right now.
The fit concluded with a sudden hack that left spots of blood on the dark material. Gibbs hardly noticed nor cared, but Tony had an adverse reaction. Eyes narrowed to slits, he attempted to use his remaining strength to arch his back to pull away, only to find Gibbs’s arm there to stop him, strong and confident against Tony’s weakened state. Tony gave a final tug, and when that didn’t yield the result he was looking for, he gave him.
Gibbs helped readjust Tony so that his head was rested back on his shoulder, Gibbs’s fingers coming up to brush Tony’s fringe from his eyes.
“Think we need to get that hair cut. Can’t have you unable to watch those women that peak your interests,” Gibbs rumbled as he brushed it back.
Tony’s lips pressed in a tight line, all his strength going into answer. “N-No…..Boss.”
“Hush,” Gibbs chided softly. “Rest. I’ll be here to watch your six.”
Tony sniffled softly. A fist came up to rub at his eyes, therefore erasing all emotion that he may have felt. He nestled close to Gibbs for his warmth with Gibbs feeling a stir in his stomach. How many times had Kelly done the exact same thing when she was sick, hurt, or just wanted her father? To see Tony be the same way, when there was a question if his own father gave him any sort of comfort when he was younger, would always plague Gibbs. He couldn’t go back in time and change what Tony had lived through, but he could damn well make up for it now.
Tony’s breathing caught sporadically in the next couple minutes, and each time Gibbs feared would propel him into another coughing attack. When they didn’t come, Gibbs would attempt to soothe Tony to sleep, holding him steady the best he knew how. Comfort wasn’t his strongest suit by any means, but some of it was coming back to him. Slow at first, then more gradual, like the tide under a full moon.
Finally, Tony’s body gave a final twitch before growing still. At first, Gibbs worried that something was wrong, but upon seeing the slow rise and fall of Tony’s chest, he slowly began to relax. His breathing was still labored, congested, and threatened to catch on every exhale with another cough. Gibbs scolded himself for not trying to get Tony to actually cough up some of that phlegm instead of seeing him try and hold back. That time had passed, so the best Gibbs could do was keep him as upright as possible and monitor his breathing with sniper-like senes, able to detect even the slightest change for trouble.
It wasn’t like coughing up blood wasn’t alarming on his own, however, Dr. Pitt had warned him about it. Whether from his lungs or a small tear in his throat from the coughing, a small amount of blood was almost expected. It was when it was excessive and wouldn’t stop that Gibbs had to call. Even then he had warned there wasn’t much that could be done, and what they may try would be painful for Tony and mean heading back to Bethesda. That was to be avoided at all costs in the silver haired man’s mind.
About twenty minutes later, Tony started to stir. At first Gibbs was certain it was another coughing attack, but then he saw Tony’s face control as he started to whimper in his sleep. His hands trembled as he started to twist, with only Gibbs’s arm to prevent him from falling over. Distressed words fell from his mouth, pleas really to stay away. He didn’t offer an explanation as to who he was referring, and Gibbs doubted that he actually wanted to know.
“Shhh, DiNozzo, shhhh.” Gibbs pulled Tony even closer in a makeshift hug and rested his chin on the top of his head, willing whatever nightmares that were racing through Tony’s mind to cease. He was no stranger to night terrors himself, and knew the turmoil they could bring. He always had to talk himself through them. Fortunately, Tony didn’t have to suffer the same fate.
Tony let out another sharp whimper as Gibbs leaned over and kissed the top of Tony’s head. It was out of pure instinct rather than any rational thought. He stiffened instinctively, thinking of what he had just done. Tony wasn’t his child; he was hardly a father anymore. That was a fatherly gesture and there was no way to think how Tony would feel about it. A headslap was generally the closest the two came to physical contact until plague changed everything.
To Gibbs’s surprise, Tony settled without a second thought, relaxed in a way Gibbs hadn’t seen perhaps ever. He let out a small murmur that Gibbs struggled to hear, light and breathy. It sounded like, ‘Dad’. Gibbs’s heart twisted in his chest in a way he wasn’t used to, and didn’t often experience, not anymore anyway, and he doubted it would be back for a long while.
Still, Gibbs stayed put as he watched over Tony for as long as his agent needed, perhaps even more. It seemed he didn’t need just that physical support, but the emotional too. Ordinarily it would be something that Gibbs would never expect himself to do, yet here he was, and he couldn’t imagine it any other way.
The next day when Tony was more lucid, he would chalk up whatever memories he had to a fever dream. Only Gibbs would know what had really happened, and would come to realize that he wouldn’t change a thing.