The Boy Who Cried Wolf
an NCIS story
by tarotgal
Working security at the naval officer's benefit. Going undercover as a dug smuggler. Rescuing that kid from that psycho, and subsequently filling that psycho's arm with lead. Tracking down the general's murderers. Finding the lost seaman's wife broken and just barely alive. Foiling a plot to bomb a naval academy.
Tony sat back in his chair with a sigh. If he were to count-- and he always kept count-- it had been more than a year and a half since his last vacation. And even that had been forced on him. With the cases piling up, he just hadn't had the time or the interest. But now...
Tony caught sight of Gibbs walking by, coffee in hand, probably in as good a mood as he'd ever be in. Now was the time. "Ah, boss?" Tony walked over. "It's been pretty quiet this morning and I was thinking--"
"If you're going to ask for time off without any notice, DiNozzo, you'd better think again."
The disappointment lasted only a second. "Of course. It's just that, well, I sort of feel like crap today. I thought maybe I could go home early and try to kick this thing before it gets worse." It sounded reasonable, didn't it? Tony faked a little cough and then, wanting to make absolutely sure, a little sneeze. He thought it sounded authentic enough.
Apparently, so did Gibbs. The man sighed. "If you're sick, I can't keep you here." He waved his hand towards the elevator. "Go, get out of here."
Tony nodded, grabbing his coat on the way out.
"DiNozzo!" halfway to his escape, Tony turned around. He did not break stride or stop, simply walked backwards now as Gibbs called out to him. "Don't come in tomorrow if you're still feeling sick. I don't want you spreading this around."
Tony smiled. "Right, Boss."
The rest of the week passed in a lazy, decedent blur. They were having a film festival at one of his favorite theaters, and Tony overdosed on popcorn, always with extra butter. He spent way too much money on groceries and attempted to cook something extravagant that he might be able to surprise a future date with, though everything turned out either under or overcooked. At night he hit the clubs for a few hours, not worrying about going to work the next morning because he wasn't going to work the next morning. He had to be careful about where he was going, because he didn't want to run into anyone from work. Gibbs would not be pleased if he found out.
When his fictional cold had run its course, Tony dragged himself back to work on Monday, just in time for a new case.
Weapons smuggling. Guerilla fighters. Assassination plots. Tony was suddenly glad for having taken the time off, because he could barely find a second to eat, let alone sleep over the next few days. He had to be at two places at one time and do three things at once just to keep up with the workload. He'd never worked an investigation with so many layers to get through. Every time he felt like they were getting close, the suspects either didn't pan out or evaded them completely. His shift at the stakeout in the freezing cold had been especially trying.
Ziva found him passed out at his desk on Thursday night when she came in from a coffee run at eleven. "Here," Ziva offered, placing a Styrofoam cup in front of him, waking him up. "That should help."
Tony's head was pounding right between his eyes. His throat was blazing hot and sore to the touch of his tongue. And his nose... "Aw no." Tony sniffed, testing his nose, and regretted it a second later. He quickly rifled through his desk drawers for a tissue box. He didn't find one until his nose was running freely and he was sniffling ungracefully into his sleeve.
"What is the matter?" Ziva asked.
With the tissues located, Tony blew his nose messily. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. "No, no-no-no-no-no. I think I'm getting sick."
"But you just got over being sick."
"Ah, right," Tony said, quietly. He coughed and put his head back down on his desk. "Must be relapsing." He reached out for the cup of coffee, but the warmth of the cup was soothing and he fell back to sleep before even taking a sip.
The hand glancing off the back of his head woke him as well as jolted him in his seat. "Ow!" Tony lifted his head with a whine. Then he snapped forward. "T'chooo!"
Gibbs stood there, staring at Tony. "Nice try."
Tony blew his nose again. "What?"
"You're not going home, I can tell you that. What've you got for me with the case?"
Ziva proceeded to rattle off the progress they'd made so far that night, and McGee came in minutes later to do likewise. Tony put his head back down on his desk. It felt full and heavy and he felt miserable. Desk work was almost bearable, but going back out in the field... interviewing suspects, checking the scene again, going back out on stakeout... he felt like he was going to die. No, scratch that, he was dying.
Maybe he could just slip back to sleep without Gibbs noticing. He heard the sound of papers changing hands, maybe a map being unfolded. He wanted to see what McGee had come up with, but just couldn't raise his head. Then his nose started tickling madly. Tony tried to hold his breath but that didn't do a thing to help. "hetchihhh!" He used his sleeve again.
"You all right, Tony?"
Tony groaned. "No, Probie. I feel like death warmed over. But thanks for asking."
Gibbs sighed. "He's just trying to get out of work like he did last week."
Tony blinked at Gibbs. Was this just Gibbs' way of dragging the truth out of him, or did he actually know?
"Don't think we didn't suspect you were faking, Tony. You never go home when you're sick. You came back to work early after almost dying from the plague, for God's sake. You're not going to go home on your own over a little sniffle." Gibbs leaned against Tony's desk as he looked over the map McGee had handed him, with the new target areas highlighted.
Tony folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on them. The dull throb in his head intensified at the movement then died back down. If he didn't move at all, it might stay gone for longer. The problem was that he felt so stuffy, like he had to cough and sneeze at the same time and his body couldn't figure out which to do first. He was vaguely aware of someone asking him a question, but he had no idea what was going on. The world was fuzzy, like someone had shot a movie out of focus and with the microphones at their lowest volumes.
Finally, McGee walked over and pressed the back of his hand to Tony's cheek. "He's burning up."
With a disbelieving laugh, Gibbs tossed the map onto Tony's desk.
"No, Boss, really. Feel for yourself." McGee moved away and Gibbs hesitated but laid his hand upon Tony's forehead. "See?"
After considering for a moment, Gibbs shook his head. "Great attempt, but I'm still not buying it. We don't have time for this. We've got a case. There's a band of--"
"ehhChihhh! H'shehhh!" Tony sat up, blowing his nose. "Okay, okay. It's true, I wasn't sick last week. You caught me. But I am now. Really I am. I feel like crap."
Ziva gave him a scrutinizing look. "I think he is the boy who dances with wolves."
They all looked at her, bewildered. Tony even managed a weak laugh. "Boy who cried wolf," he corrected her weakly. He sniffed hard and looked up at Gibbs. "I'll just stay here and go through those DMV records." He sighed heavily and moved his mouse to wake his computer up. "I'll go through the witness statements and look for any mentions of the vehicle in question. And I'll--"
Gibbs put his hand on Tony's shoulder. "You'll go home and get some sleep tonight."
The look of relief on Tony's face was palpable. "Really?"
Gibbs stared at him and Tony realized he shouldn't have asked. He should have just grabbed his coat and gone while he could. Gibbs continued to stare and Tony sighed. He plucked a tissue out of the box and held it to his nose while he started going through the DMV records.
Written as a penalty drabble.
Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters, not my paycheck. I’m just playing.