Work Text:
Jess is the first one into the office despite having dragged herself out of bed half an hour later than usual, forgoing her daily run for an extra ten minutes under the hot water to try and clear the congestion in her nose.
It had worked, for a while, but now all she can think about is the stuffy feeling every time she tries to breathe, wishing there was some way she could blow it out.
Torres and Parker arrive together a few minutes after her, laughing about something and the headache she hadn’t realised was approaching hits her full force. Digging in her draw for some sort of pain relief, she doesn’t realise the pair have stopped in front of her desk.
“I thought you didn’t get hungover?” Parker asks with some amusement.
“Not hungover. Fighting back a cold.” She can hear the grumpiness in her voice and she hates it. It cannot be affecting her, she refuses, she’ll push through just like she always does.
Mildly, Paker tells her, “I think the cold is winning.”
“It’s not,” she retorts stubbornly, pushing down a sudden lump in her throat that’s threatening to overwhelm her.
“Right. So, I take it that if I tell you to go home…?”
Picking up her pen, she tries to look busy writing on the paper in front of her, pretending she doesn’t have to blink away dizziness at having put her head down too quickly. “I don’t need to go home.”
“Uh-huh. Well, if you change your mind…”
He says it like he’s waiting for her to change her mind, like he’s counting down the minutes until she fails, gives up, gives in to it.
Instead, she gets on with the stack of paperwork in front of her with determination honed by years of just pushing through because she doesn’t have any other choice.
It’s a while later that McGee arrives, caught up with the school run, but he stops in front of her desk before going to his. “Jess, I thought you were ill.”
Immediately, she glares across the room at the traitor Torres, who holds up his hands in surrender.
“No, that’s just a rumour.” The words aggravate her throat and she coughs roughly into a tissue.
She’s not able to meet Tim’s eye and see the sympathy she knows is there when he agrees, “Right, of course,” sarcasm curbed by the concern in his voice, “you know denying colds doesn’t actually make them go away, don’t you?”
“I’m perfectly alright, thank you.”
Still refusing to look up, she knows the three of them are exchanging glances, judging her ability to do her work. And okay, field work might be a little beyond her today – she’s sure she could push through if she needed to though – but paperwork she can do with her eyes closed.
Though not even she can deny that the heaviness in her head is getting worse the long she’s sat, the congestion in her lungs is making it harder to breathe and her face is burning up.
Placing her forehead down, to rest for just a moment, she sighs blissfully at the cool of the desk against her skin.
“Knight.”
Jess can only groan into her desk in response, irritated that her a few shorts seconds of rest are being disturbed.
“Why are you here?”
Lifting her head, she squints up at Nick, hovering a few steps away with what can only be concern on his face.
“And here I was thinking you liked having me around.” She’s halfway between joking and genuinely hurt, the words stinging in a way that she couldn’t have anticipated and would absolutely never let on to anyone.
She may be ill but she’s never going to let them down. She’s not going to let them cover for her or pick up her slack and she’s not going to fail them. Not again.
“Jess,” Tim adds gently, like he thinks she might break, “we like it when you’re looking after yourself more.”
Then Parker chips in too, “Seriously, Knight. We’re just doing paperwork today, you can go home.”
She looks between the three of them. “Since when did you three start ganging up on me?”
Again, the burn starts in the back of her throat, taking her by surprise because it’s usually so much easier for her to push everything down.
Standing abruptly, she makes for the elevator mostly on muscle memory, her vison spotty and in the merciful solitude of the doors sliding closed, she allows herself to cling tightly to the rail, no longer completely sure it’s not the only thing holding her up.
Somewhat subconsciously, she finds herself stepping out at Kasie’s lab.
“Hey girl- oof, you ain’t looking so hot,” Kasie greets with a wince.
“Don’t you start, the guys are giving me shit for being at work.”
Groaning, Jess leans against the fridge, pressing her cheek into the cool glass because she’s past caring how it looks and if she needs this to get back up there and push through then she will.
“Are they giving you shit? Or are they showing you care and concern?” Kasie asks, voice mildly amused.
Jess squeezes her eyes closed. She can’t do this, she can’t need this (she doesn’t want to need their care or concern).
“Care and concern that you don’t know how to process.”
The words are muttered but clearly meant for her to hear anyway and she opens her eyes to glare at her friend who shoots her a challenging look in return which morphs into an expression of concern when a coughing fit hits and she struggles to remain upright.
“Okay, look. I’m nearly done with these results from the Peters case last week. If you promise to sit in my office for five minutes until they’re ready then I will back you for staying, okay? Otherwise… I’ll call Jimmy.”
Jess’ eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
Scanning her expression for a moment and realising she’s deadly serious, she concedes, “Okay, fine.”
Jess knows she’s been tricked the minute her eyes open, still in one of the armchairs in Kasie’s office but now with a fluff blanket draped over her, the lights turned off and – if she squints through the half dark and the fuzziness still in her head – a box filled with snacks, cold supplies and bottles of water at her side.
Stuck to the side is a little sticky note with the words, ‘taking a break isn’t a failure.’
She recognises the writing. Parker. Of course he knows what she’d been thinking.
In her heart of hearts, she knows they’d just been worried about her, because they’re a team, they look out for each other, but he also recognises in her everything that she doesn’t want him to see (didn’t think anyone would ever see) – the way she’s terrified of letting them down, of letting them think she’s leaving them again.
Knowing she doesn’t have enough energy to process whatever emotion it is she’s feeling right now, she checks her phone to be greeted by a notification from the team group chat.
A photo attachment, from Nick. It loads to show a photo of her, fast asleep, curled up in this very armchair, with a few sleepy Zs superimposed over it.
Voice still hoarse, she yells, “Nicholas Torres!”