I'm Not Sick.
Gibbs never gets sick. Until he does.
Gibbs never gets sick, until he does.
.
Beta by the ever patient Jake and Jordre.
.
The whole Pod were off for a week after the nightmare of bombs they’d gone through. The near miss had them all on edge, especially Remy. He hadn’t let Tony out of his sight since that day when a missed call had saved all their lives, literally. The stress had been killer. Ducky had insisted that they all needed a bit of time off to get their blood pressure down to somewhere near normal. Vance had agreed and given them a long weekend. So the Pod had decided to take a short road trip down to Piscataway Park.
They’d decided to take a rental bus to the storage so they didn’t have to leave Tony’s Hummer at the site. It was the only vehicle they had that would hold them all. Remy paid the driver, tipped him, then went to open the doors.
It didn’t take them long to push the motors out of the storage and roll the doors back down.
Tony checked his motor, then nodded to Remy. “Good?”
Remy nodded back, then tapped the side of his helmet, indicating that they needed to do radio checks. If anyone had a problem, they’d say so during the check.
Jet saw and said, “Jet ... test ... Digimon?”
“Jet.”
Tim called each man by his code name and was answered. “Radio check complete.”
Tony replied, “Light ‘em up.”
Everyone started his motor and moved out to form up. Tony led out, with Remy to his left and a length behind; then Dean a length behind Remy and to his right, followed by Cosmo, then Gibbs, and last Tim and Jimmy on Jimmy’s trike.
Tim had finally learned to ride, but they kept the trike formation for the convenience of the radios; now Tim and Jimmy took turns driving. It was Tim’s turn to drive first today, leaving Jimmy to man the radio. Tim always did the initial radio check, then, if it was his turn, handed it over to Jimmy.
They rode for awhile, enjoying the nice day, then Tony said, “We should pull over and eat soon; I’m starving.” A series of clicks let him know that everyone agreed, so he started looking for a good place to eat.
Jimmy checked with GoodEats and Google to see what they had. DC was a great place to eat, as long as you did your research. If you didn’t, well, greasy spoons abounded. Or, as Tony called them, Ptomaine Palaces.
Jimmy edited out all five-star, upscale, date-type, and fine dining establishments and wound up with six four-plus-star family-style places within a mile of the highway. They pulled over to discuss it, and finally settled on a clean-looking place called Osteria Filomena. It had four and a half stars on two different sites, and it looked like easy access from where they were.
They pulled into the parking lot in a rumble of motors, parked, and locked up their helmets and leathers.
Tony and Remy made a quick detour to check the back of the building, then returned. Remy announced, “All good, ami. Clean and sweet.” Tony just headed for the front door with a smile on his face.
All the Pod loved Italian food, Tony most of all, but he loved it most when he didn’t have to cook it. Anyone who cooks knows the joy of that cup of tea you didn’t have to make yourself, that special cupcake in the fancy pastry box, or that special dish that you love that someone else made for you.
Everyone followed Tony into the restaurant and lined up behind the “Please wait to be seated” sign.
Dean turned suddenly and bumped into Gibbs. Gibbs gave him a half-hearted shove, saying, “Watch it, squid.”
Dean shoved him back, grumbling, “Bitchy, Jet.”
Tony, not in the mood for a bunch of horseplay, snarled, “Mats. Seriously.”
Cos snorted and thumped Dean on the shoulder. “Jerk.”
Dean poked him in the stomach and replied, “Bitch.”
Gibbs snarled, “Both of you put a sock in it, we’re about to be seated. Unless you get us thrown out.”
The hostess just ignored the by-play and asked, “Seating for?”
Gibbs turned to her, as being closest. “Seven.”
The hostess nodded. “We have a rather large table, intended for ten, will that be acceptable?”
“Sure. Bigger the better with this mob.” Gibbs gave her a nod then turned to look over the Pod.
While he’d been speaking with Helen, the Pod had gotten into a neat line, calming down to act as if they, as Ducky would say, had some sense.
Helen smiled, dimples appearing, and led them to the table she’d mentioned. “Here we are. Is it okay?”
Gibbs eyed the table, then nodded. “It’s fine.”
They all settled at the table in an orderly fashion, Tony’s hissed, “Mats! Seriously,” keeping them in order. Tim even made “zip my lip” motions.
Helen waited until they were seated, then handed out menus by simply handing the stack to Gibbs and letting him take one, then pass it on. “Excellent. We have three specials, which are on the glow board over the register. If you can’t see it from here, I’ll be glad to read it off for you.” She waited while they craned their necks to read. “And Nancy will be your server. She’ll be here in a moment with water. If you want coffee, just turn your cup over.” She walked off nodding to an older lady nearby.
Dean snorted. “Glow board my ass. Who can actually see that?”
The consensus was that no one could read it properly from their angle so Dean just stood up, walked to a place where he could see it and read it out loud. “Veal Piccata on a bed of spaghetti. Chicken Parm. Or Baked Stuffed Conchiglie Grandi. Side salad and garlic bread included. Drink extra. Doesn’t say what the conchiglie is stuffed with.”
Tony shrugged. “Usually stuffed with cheese and covered with marinara sauce, baked, then dressed with mozzarella.” He eyed the menu. “I’m in the mood for something different.”
It didn’t take them long to decide when they saw stuffed meatballs on the menu. Stuffed meatballs were one of those things that were either so good they ought to be illegal, or so bad they gave you indigestion just looking at them. From the delicious smells coming from the kitchen these should be the first. When the waitress came back, Tony asked her how they were made.
“I don’t know the exact recipe but they’re equal parts Italian sausage, veal, and beef. The cheese is mozzarella, and they’re baked slow, then put in the sauce just a couple of minutes; the noodles are dressed before they’re plated, then more sauce and parm over all. They’re really good.”
The whole table agreed that it sounded good, but Tony had one more question. “How many meatballs do we get, and how big are they?”
Nancy frowned for a moment, then made a circle with her finger and thumb about an inch and a half around. “This big, and you get four.”
Gibbs shook his head as the whole table moaned in disgust. “Not enough.”
Tony agreed, as did the rest of the Pod, “We’re big eaters. How about eight meatballs on four ounces of spaghetti? We’ll pay extra.”
Nancy looked at them and shrugged. “How about a standard plate apiece and we see how it goes? If you want another serving, I’ll see about getting you an all-you-can-eat deal.”
An eyeball vote had Gibbs agreeing. “Okay, fine. As long as we get toasted ravioli as a starter, and salad and garlic bread. Coffee?” Nods all around the table had Nancy scribbling in her book. She smiled, took the menus Dean handed her, and hurried off to the kitchen, where she had a quick consultation with the manager, then the kitchen.
A bus boy came around bringing water and coffee, with a smile and a sniffle. “Sorry. Think I’m coming down with something.” He poured coffee into cups, starting with Gibbs. He never realized that he’d sneezed into his hand then touched the rim of the cup. He trotted off with his pot sneezing several times.
Nancy came back with toasted ravioli and dishes of marinara sauce. “There we go. We set the ravioli up family-style, but put the sauce in individual dishes. Hope that’s okay.”
Tony nodded. “Fine. Made it easier to carry. Looks great. Salad?”
Nancy passed out the sauce dishes and bread plates. “On the way. Back in a sec.” She walked off with her tray under her arm. She was back in no time with salads. “Here we go. All done. Mains in fifteen or so.”
It only took seconds to empty the platter. Dean offered, “There’s about six apiece; maybe we ought to order another?”
Cos shook his head. “No. This is just to keep us from gnawing the furniture until we get our main. ’S good.”
Remy chuckled, “Furniture no good. But ... y’ ‘member dat place in ... Saigon? Me’by? Noodles so good. Not spaghetti ... some sort a’ dark stuff. Wit’ sauce to die for.”
Gibbs blinked. “Buckwheat? That’s brown. Whole wheat is more dark tan.”
Tony nodded. “Buckwheat. But really tender/chewy, not tough. Really good. And that sauce was sweet/sour and really good.” He poked at his salad for a moment. “I remember what it tasted like; I think I’ll try to reproduce it. Someday.”
Remy snorted, “An’ someday neva come. Dude.”
Tony scowled blackly at that. “Jerk.”
“Bitch.” Remy went back to his food, satisfied that they’d sorted that.
Jimmy finished his salad and ravioli, then looked around the table a bit sadly. “Well? Everyone done?” Everyone indicated that they were, indeed, done. “So? Where’s the rest of the food?”
Gibbs looked around then, signaled Nancy who obediently came over. “What’s up?”
Gibbs managed a smile. “Evidently not our food. Would you check with the kitchen please? The animals are getting restless.”
“Okay. Sorry it’s taking so long. Kitchen must be backed up.” Nancy hurried away to check on the hold-up. It wasn’t long before she was back. “The kitchen is short-handed ... couple of people called in. It shouldn’t take more than ten more minutes. I’m so sorry.”
The whole group made nice, Tim even going so far as to reassure Nancy, “It’s not your fault.” She dimpled at them and left again.
The meatballs and spaghetti arrived within ten minutes. They were well done, and the spaghetti was appropriately al dente, but the sauce was a bit on the thin side, and the spaghetti wasn’t properly drained, so there was a puddle of water in the bottom of the plate. No one complained, as the staff was obviously thin on the ground and doing the best they could. The busboy even told them he was sorry they were short-staffed, ending, “It’s some sort of bug going around, and the boss sends anyone sick home at once. Why anyone would insist that sick people work around food, I couldn’t tell you. Dumb, seriously stupid.” He sneezed just then, apologized, and trotted off. They could hear him telling someone that he was sneezing so he was going home.
They finished their food and caused a small riot as everyone grabbed for the check. Jimmy played dirty, when Remy held the slip of paper over his head to keep it from Dean; he jumped, snatched it and trotted off to the register calling over his shoulder, “Ha! Snoozers losers.”
Remy just shook his head. “Son a’ gun. Man’s a damn rabbit. Who say white boy can’ jump?”
They finally got checked out and headed for their motors, laughing and jostling each other. Dean eyed the sky and offered, “Looks like the weather’s gonna crap out on us. Rain gear?”
Gibbs scoffed at that. “What? Sky’s clear except for a couple a’ cumulus. Won’t do a thing.”
Tony eyed them then said, “There’s a bank of low stratus behind ‘em. Don’t like the look of that at all. Might amount to some cloud cover, or might turn into one of those slow, cold drizzles that makes riding miserable. Rain gear for me.”
It turned out that Jimmy, Tim, and Dean were on Tony’s team, while Remy and Cos went with Gibbs. So they waited while Jimmy, Dean, Tim, and Tony geared up. They did radio checks and were on their way.
It wasn’t long before they hit Indian Head Parkway and were about forty-five minutes out. The sun was now playing peek-a-boo with the clouds, and it was beginning to chill just a bit. They didn’t really notice the chill, as riding leathers are hot.
When they got to the park they realized that there wasn’t that much for them to do. The hiking trails were short and easy and crowded with clusters of what Gibbs referred to as amblers, people who were there to bird-watch or just enjoy the country views. They walked way too slow for the Pod, and it was impossible to dodge them to keep up a fast pace.
No one was interested in the 18th-century village or the marina, after checking to see if they could swim there and were told no. There was also a fishing area, but it was catch and release, which they all scorned.
Gibbs ordered, “Pull into that parking lot. No use us riding around in circles while we decide what to do.”
They rumbled into the lot and parked in a cluster near an outbuilding. After locking up their gear they gathered under a picnic shelter to figure out what to do.
Tim brought up the park website, which wasn’t that much help, and settled at the table. Everyone else managed to cluster around behind him so they could all see.
“Okay ... not that much info. If we want to hike, we’d be better off at Rock Creek. This area is full of elderly bird watchers and little kids. And how, I’d like to know, can you bird-watch in a place filled with screaming kids?” He paused to wince at a particularly piercing screech from a mother. “And helicopter moms. Ouch.”
Remy offered, “We could just ride? Maybe fin’ a place to go to, just to go?”
Dean and Cos both agreed with that. Dean just said, “Sounds like a plan to me. Maybe just head for nowhere for ... two hours? Then head back. Ducky’s expecting us for late supper. He said he’d get all the stuff and make up a menu. He wants AJ to make something for him.”
Tony nodded. “He won’t say what. He said he’d been wanting this for a bit. Some English thing he misses.”
Gibbs interrupted, “Okay, later for that. We’ll be sure to be back in time so ... vote. Who wants to go to Rock Creek and hike? And I do mean hike, AJ, not one of your ruck runs.” He took a second to count. AJ, Dean, and Jimmy held up their hands. “Who wants to just head somewhere?” Remy and Tim held up their hands. “Abstains because they don’t give a fuck?” Gibbs held up his hand while Cos just shrugged. “Looks like Rock Creek won by one.”
Remy grumbled a bit then brightened, “Well, we doan ha’ ruck wit’ us. Good tin’ we got runnin’ stuff.”
Tony nodded, “This one is for fun, not conditioning.”
Gibbs looked them over, “Okay, any complaining, do it now or shut the fuck up.”
No one objected, so they geared up again, including rain gear for Jimmy, Tim, Dean, and Tony.
Traffic was light, allowing them to pack-up and travel at a decent pace. They didn’t push it, as there was no need for them to be anywhere at a specific time, other than at Mallard Manor in time for Tony to make supper.
The ride from one park to another took just over an enjoyable hour; they pulled up at the horse barn and parked as close to the building as they could get. Tony called out to one of the rangers, “We’re gonna take advantage of the facilities to change, that okay?” The ranger, used to such requests, just nodded.
It wasn’t long before they were all changed into the PT shorts and short-sleeved, tight t-shirts they all favored for casual jogging. Jimmy shouldered his pack, grumbling, “No one has a hydration pack? Seriously?” They settled for picking up several bottles of water from a vending machine. Gibbs bitched, “Damnit! Three bucks for a small bottle? What the hell?”
A nearby ranger, obviously used to this, just replied, “We pay a dollar; small bottles are expensive but we can’t get a machine that dispenses bigger ones. The profit goes to maintaining the park. Next time, bring a hydration pack like your friend.” He grinned at Jimmy and walked away.
Jimmy genially cursed them all as he shouldered his pack. “Okay, you bunch a’ girls. I’ve got a pack because I don’t go any-damn-where without my medic pack and it’s got a hydration module. You, on the other hand, are a bunch a’ dumbass grunts. So ... we jogging or what?” He settled his pack and waited.
Gibbs grunted, took his bottle of water and joined Jimmy. The rest of the Pod did the same, getting water, checking shoes and fiddling until they were satisfied they were ready. Tony led out at an easy pace.
It was an easy half mile to the first check point, Rock Creek, and the fall zone of the creek. This trail followed the creek along its bed so that people could enjoy the sound of the small falls and rapids as they walked or jogged. The trees gave good shade without putting walkers in deep, chilling shade. It was colder than they’d expected with the cloud cover, but they were sure to warm up soon.
They were just completing the half mile of rapids walk when they came across a bunch of brush blocking the trail. A cheerful voice called, “Sorry about the mess, the wind blew a sapling over. We’ll be done in ten. You can cut by on the downstream side.”
Tony led the way, commenting, “Be careful, it’s fuckin’ muddy and slick as hell.”
Jimmy went next, taking Tony’s offered hand and going on up to the trail again. After him, Remy, Dean, and Cos made it safely, but Tim slipped, flailing wildly to keep his feet, and knocked Gibbs just enough off balance that he slipped too; and fell into the creek.
He stood up at once, yelling, “Fucking hell. Fucking fucker is cold as a whore’s heart. Shit!”
No one laughed as the creek was really cold and Tim looked devastated. “Jet! Oh, man, I’m so sorry. Here.” He offered his hand which Gibbs took. A quick tug had Gibbs back on the bank and scrambling up to the path.
The rangers came down to see if he was okay, but he just said, “I’m fine. Just wet. Tim, stop sputtering like a busted duck. I’m fine. I know it was an accident. Let’s go, I’ll warm up running.”
The rangers went back to their work after offering to call for aid on their radio and being refused with thanks. Tony demanded Jimmy’s pack, saying that he’d take a turn with it. Jimmy handed it over, well aware that Tony would be insulted if he refused. The Pod returned to their jog.
As they jogged, they chanted a cadence.
Above the land,
Across the sea,
We're everywhere
We need to be.
We're brothers of
A special kind,
A better band
You'll never find.
Band of brothers,
That's what we are,
Fighting evil
Near and far.
Band of brothers,
That's what I said,
Baptized by fire,
Scarred by lead.
We're lean and mean,
And fit to fight
Anywhere,
Day or night.
When bullets fly,
And rockets fall,
We'll stand our ground,
And give our all.
We're on the move,
We're on the march,
We're diggin' ditches,
And breakin' starch.
When you hear,
Our battle cry,
You better move,
And step aside.
Band of brothers,
That's what we said,
Mess with us,
We'll shoot you dead.
Band of brothers,
Trained to kill,
If we don't getcha,
Our sisters will.
The last line always made Jimmy snicker.
.
When they reached the Boulder Bridge, Jimmy called a halt and Tony gave him his pack. “Okay. Everyone hydrate. If you’re out of water, I’ll share mine. Jet, let me check your feet. Wet shoes are not so good.”
Gibbs sat down on a nearby rock and pulled off his wet shoes. “Not too bad. Got one hot spot.” He let Jimmy examine his feet.
Jimmy frowned, stuck a piece of moleskin on the hot spot and handed Gibbs a can. “Here. Powder the hell out of them.” He fished around in his pack. “Dry socks.”
Gibbs accepted the can and socks. “Socks won’t do much good. Shoes are still wet.”
Remy took one shoe and examined it. “Well, the liners are foam. If I’m careful I think I can squeeze a lot of water out of them. And the shell is that ventilation net, so it’s nearly dry.” He proceeded to pull the liners out.
Dean thought for a second then pulled his t-shirt off. “Here. Roll them up in this then stand on it. Ought to really dry them out without having to worry about crumpling them. And your weight ...” He snickered, “A ton will really press ‘em good.”
“Jerk.” But Remy took the shirt, rolled up a bit of the hem then added the inner soles and finished rolling. He put the roll on the ground then stood on it, bouncing a bit. “There.” He unrolled the shirt and found two wet spots and nearly dry inner soles. He handed them to Dean who stuck them back into the shoes then put his damp shirt back on.
Gibbs waited while Jimmy rechecked his feet after he’d powdered them then he put his dry socks on then his shoes. The second he stood up they were all off again. This time Dean carried the pack. Gibbs called the paces as their turnoff was only about a hundred feet from the bridge and was easy to miss.
The last mile wasn’t too difficult, as the surface was hard and dry, without any sandy patches or gravel. They arrived back at the center and did pulse rate and respiration checks. Jimmy demanded that everyone check their feet, then stuffed the vending machine with bills and handed out water. “Everyone drink. My module is dry, so I know you’re not adequately hydrated.” No one complained, but Tony hissed to Dean, “Collection, man. Make sure.” Dean just nodded and wandered off to stretch and walk around to cool off.
Everyone walked around until Tony called them all in. “Okay, guys, we need to get on the road; let’s mount up.”
It didn’t take them long to gear up, do radio checks, and head for Mallard Manor. They hadn’t been on the road for more than five minutes when it began to drizzle, one of those slow, soaking, cold mists that made everyone shiver miserably, even Jimmy, Tim, Dean, and Tony.
It was unfortunate that traffic got worse as the mist continued to fall, this trapped them in a slow-moving stream of cars and trucks that they couldn’t get around. Well, they could, but it would mean driving down the shoulder and weaving in and out of traffic, a thing that was frowned upon by police because it was unsafe in the extreme. So they endured. Those who had been smart and put on rain gear weren’t as bad off as the others, but they were chilly; Gibbs, Cos, and Remy were chilled to the bone within ten minutes. The ride took twice as long as usual.
They drove around to the back and parked the motors under a huge grape arbor covered not with grapes, but clematis. It would protect the motors until they could get them back to storage. Everyone headed for the back door, shucking gear as they went.
Ducky greeted them at the door with, “Well, come in, come in. You’re all going to catch your death. I’ve put robes out for all of you ... and slippers. I do not want to see any bare feet, thank you very much. Now shoo!”
The laughing, shoving mob made their way up the stairs to change out of their soaked clothing and into clean shorts and terry bathrobes. Each room had two robes in it, one for its resident and one for a guest. Every robe had a name stitched on the left breast. Gibbs had said, “Duck, not like we don’t know each other’s names. What’s with this?”
Ducky had replied, “I am not having those young rips claiming that someone has taken the wrong robe. I’m much smarter than that.”
Gibbs had nearly hurt himself; he’d laughed so hard he’d slipped on the kitchen floor and sat down hard, it hadn’t stopped him from snickering for the next few minutes.
Per Ducky’s arrangements; Tony shared with Remy, Tim with Dean, and Jimmy with Cos; Gibbs used Ducky’s facilities. It didn’t take them long to get back to the kitchen, carrying their wet things. They headed for the hot coffee and tea that Ducky provided.
Jimmy announced, “Everyone make sure to put your wet things in the laundry room. I’ll sort it out in a minute. It only needs drying, right?” Everyone agreed that their clothing just needed a quick trip through the dryer, so Jimmy took off with his coffee to see to it.
Tony turned to Ducky to see what he wanted.
It turned out that Ducky wanted Cornish Pasties. Tony just shrugged and asked, “Roast beef?”
“I just bought some of that delicious roast from Rossetti’s Deli. It’ll do just fine.” Ducky managed to look just a tiny bit smug.
“Great. So ...” Tony began rummaging through the bags still on the counter. “Turnips. Onions. Frozen peas?” Tony held up the bag with a quizzical expression.
Ducky laughed a bit then said, “Not traditional, but Mother put them in so I’d eat something green. So ... peas.”
Tony chuckled then said, “And I bet her peas were dried.”
“Indeed they were. Hard as bullets unless you precooked them properly. Which she sometimes forgot to do. So. And gravy.”
“Yeah, I’ll make it from that stock. How the hell anyone thinks you can make good gravy from broth, I’ll never know. So. Someone’ll need to peel the turnips and onions. They need to be chopped into pieces about the size of the peas. I’ll make the dough.” He rummaged a bit farther. “Apples?”
Ducky shamefacedly admitted, “I was hoping for hand pies as well.”
Gibbs just grabbed an apple and a lemon. “I’ll start peeling.”
Tony said. “Great. Chop them into about inch cubes please.”
Gibbs sneezed twice. Everyone eyed him with alarm. And it caused Tony to say, “On second thought ... maybe not.”
Gibbs shrugged and gave up the chore without comment; one of the Pod rules was, “No sickos around food.”
“I’ll just have some coffee and sit with Ducky.” He got his coffee and retreated to the kitchen table to sit at the opposite end from Ducky and revel in the luxury of doing nothing. “Duck.” Something he didn’t often do.
Ducky nodded to Gibbs. “Jet. Please tell me you’re not getting ill.”
“Me? I never get sick ... you know that.” He settled more comfortably in his chair, making sure his robe was closed modestly and took a drink. Even his second cup of coffee wasn’t touching his chill.
Jimmy ambled back in, empty cup hanging off a finger. “I’ve got the first load in. Um ... underwear, socks, and shirts. Then pants. I’m glad we labeled everything. It’ll be about half an hour.”
Everyone called out some version of “thank you,” then went back to being assigned tasks.
Dean wound up with turnips, Cos with onions, Remy with apples. Jimmy was tending laundry, so he sat with Ducky and Gibbs until he had to get up to mess with it. Ducky happily sat, regaling them with stories which Gibbs was happy to listen to. He only cut Ducky off while they were working, well aware that he would ramble on for precious minutes; and that he didn’t get mad while they were working. Tim was set to chopping the meat up, while Tony did his magic with pie dough.
They were nearly done when Jimmy got up for the last time and announced, “This is the last load. When it’s done, I’m going to fold your stuff and pile it, by owner, on the folding table, then everyone can get dressed.” He ambled off to deal, whistling softly.
Ducky nodded. “Wonderful young man.” He finished his tea and got up. “More coffee, Jet?” Gibbs just handed him his mug.
Ducky dodged around the various men in his way and got himself a cup of tea and a cup of coffee for Gibbs. No one said anything as they’d tried several places for the drinks station and wound up with the area under the section of countertop on the other side of the sinks from the table. The cabinets were the longest, leaving a bare twenty inches under them, and every other place was inconvenient for one reason or another.
A few minutes later Jimmy yelled, “Laundry! Come get your asses covered!”
Everyone scrambled to get dressed, then return to their tasks.
Tony put the pie dough into the freezer to chill, saying, “There!” with evident satisfaction. “Now for the onions and turnips. I’ll cook them down, then add the peas. Someone pour all the stock into a saucepan and set it to simmer. I’ll add the herbs and whatnot, and keep an eye on it while I sweat the veg.”
Ducky settled back in his seat. “And when do you add the peas?”
“When the veg is done. They’re frozen blanched, so they only need about five minutes; could even add them frozen, as oven time’ll see them done.” Tony went back to his cooking, thanking Dean when he set the pot of stock on the simmer burner. “Thanks, man.” He added salt, pepper, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and bay leaf to the pot, humming the old song absently.
Gibbs snickered a bit. Tony did have a habit of relating things to either a movie or a folk song, sometimes a classic rock or piano piece.
Tony absently gave him a finger over his shoulder as he stirred the turnips and onions.
Remy announced, “Apples done. I squeeze de lemon on. Sugar?”
Tony glanced into the bowl. “Cup of brown, half a cup white. Apple pie spice is in the spice cabinet. About a heaping tablespoon. And two tablespoons of flour.” Remy stuck his spoon into the bowl and went to get the sugars and spice. “And some butter.” Remy caught the stick of butter that Dean threw at his head.
Tony tasted the filling, added some salt and pepper, then took it off the stove. “There. That’s done. Tim?”
“All done, just waiting for you to want it.” He brought the bowl of chopped roast over and gave it to Tony. Tony added the meat to the turnips and onions, then the frozen peas. “Taste.” Tony presented a spoon to Ducky.
Ducky took it, tasted the filling and smiled. “Perfect, AJ. Very good.” He handed the spoon back. Tony took a moment to put the spoon into the dishwasher so it wouldn’t be used again.
Tony nodded to Remy. “Get the dough, please.”
Remy obeyed, pinching it gently to see if it had chilled enough. “Just right. Want me to roll?”
Tony nodded, handed the pin to Dean, pointing to Remy, “Hand that on.” Dean passed the pin to Remy while Tony consulted with Ducky on the proper size. They decided on smaller pies which would cook quicker. So Remy rolled the dough out, then cut eight-inch rounds by simply cutting around a sandwich plate. As he cut, he removed the scrap dough. Cos helped out by transferring the cut rounds onto a cookie sheet and taking them over to Tony for filling.
Tony eyed the first rounds while stirring the gravy; he hated scorched gravy. “Someone come stir this so it won’t scorch.”
It didn’t take long to assign Dean to the gravy. He grumbled a bit but Tony swatted him on the shoulder, saying, “NOGAD, man, suck it up and stir that.” He then turned to his own task of making up pies. “Ok, someone make egg wash while I start this.” He wasn’t that surprised when a bowl of egg mixed with water appeared beside his setup. He picked up his ice-cream scoop and began to put out the meat for the pasties. After running out of meat, he turned to start sealing the pies, only to find Dean and Cos doing that. “Thanks.” He looked around, then asked, “Apples?” He was handed the crockery bowl of fruit and another scoop. “Great.” He went back to portioning out food, and Cos and Dean returned to sealing. Remy went on putting the finished pies on cookie sheets, then sprinkling them with either a bit of pepper, or cinnamon sugar. When Gibbs asked why they put pepper on the pasties, Tony explained that it kept them from getting mixed up, ending, “Nothing so disconcerting as biting into what you thought was apple and getting meat.” He shrugged, then added, “Or the other way around.”
It wasn’t long before all the pies were in the ovens and the gravy was thick enough. Tony took the pot off the stove and poured the gravy into two crock pots, setting them on warm to keep the gravy at temp. “Okay. About half an hour or so. Anyone want to play some cards?
This question was greeted with all the enthusiasm of an offer of a kick in the head. Scornful refusals included, “I’m not brain damaged, man,” and “Fuck that shit.” Even Ducky refused, saying, “Bloody hell, boy, your rules are demented.”
Tony pouted at them. “You’re no fun. Fine.”
Jimmy suggested a game of ‘Never Would I Ever,’ and was pelted with soft missiles for his troubles. He groused, “AJ’s right, you’re all no fun.”
Remy offered, “We’ve most a’ us done jes’ ‘bout ever’ ting there is.” He smirked a bit. “Some a’ it even legal.”
Ducky nodded sagely. “Yes, between us all I will admit that I’m sure we’ve done almost everything. Jethro, do you remember...” He went on to reminisce until Gibbs was scarlet in the face and laughing, which brought on a coughing fit.
He finally called a halt. “Damn it, Ducky, if you tell one more embarrassing story, I’m gonna combust. Is the food ready yet?”
Tony got up to check; his internal clock said not yet, but there was no sense in taking chances. He was right, so he said, “About another ten minutes. They’re not quite brown enough.” He went to check the gravy in the crock pots and gave that a good stir. “Ducky? Beer or ale?”
“Ale of course, dear boy. A good Scottish one. Bottom shelf.” Ducky smiled at Tony happily.
Remy, being an ass, said, “I’d a’ thought we’d ‘ave Scotch, you bein’ Scotch an’ all.”
Ducky knew Remy was just yanking his chain for fun, so he didn’t get mad, he just held up a finger and said, “Froggy, pay attention. Scotch is a delicious drink for real men. Scottish is the person who drinks it.”
Remy started laughing at that; everyone else joined in. Various exclamations of, “Scottish, dumb ass,” And “Froggy?” left them all snickering.
Tony wiped his eyes and stood up to check the pies again; he pronounced them, “Perfect,” and started putting them on platters. He put the meat on two red platters and the fruit on a green one, saying, “Red meat, green fruit. That way we don’t get them mixed up.” He brought them all to the table and thanked Dean and Cos for bringing the gravy to table, with ladles.
Gibbs took two pasties and passed the first platter. He poked a hole in the top of one and sniffed. “Hum? AJ, did you forget the pepper? Doesn’t smell right.”
Tony sniffed his pie. “Smells fine to me.”
Tim, who’d never had pasties, asked, “Why did you poke a hole in it?”
Ducky answered that one. “Gravy. You don’t dump gravy all over the pie, you poke a hole in it and pour gravy into it. Lovely.” He proceeded to use a ladle to pour gravy into the pie.
Tim followed his example and forked up a bit. He was soon moaning in delight over the flavor.
Dean eyed him for a second then said, “Orgasmic? Seriously, Tim. Sounds nasty at table.”
Tim swallowed then said, “Shut it, jerk. It’s good.”
Dean snorted. “Of course it’s good, AJ made it. Bitch.”
Cos added, “No reason to moan like a bitch in heat. Seriously off-putting.”
Ducky eyed them, then Gibbs; when he didn’t seem to be interested in calling them to order, Ducky said, “Gentlemen, please.” Cos immediately apologized, while Tim and Dean just ducked their heads and returned to their food, suitably chastised.
Gibbs just smirked. He and Ducky seemed to have fallen into the habit of running their own house; Gibbs didn’t interfere when they were at Ducky’s place and vice-versa. It worked.
Ducky glanced at Gibbs. He looked a bit flushed, but Ducky didn’t say anything about it, as Gibbs hated being called out. He did worry, just a bit; Gibbs was tanned enough that the faint flush was worrying.
No one else noticed but Ducky. No one noticed the fact that Gibbs was quieter than usual, either. Everyone was a bit tired and quiet, with only an occasional outburst of their usual crazy.
When they were done with the delicious pies, Tony started assigning chores. “Dean, bus. Cos, pick up. Tim, Jimmy, dishes. Gibbs, put stuff away. Ducky, make tea ... please. Remy and I’ll put away leftovers.” He smirked, as he’d finally managed to figure out how much he needed to make so that there’d be leftovers for later.
“Got it.” Gibbs started to stand up, but staggered a bit and sat back down. Everyone froze. “Whoa! Head rush. I stood up too fast.” He stood up and held still for a moment then walked over to the counters to start putting things away.
Dean started taking dishes off the table and taking them to Tim and Jimmy. They were using what Ducky called the nice china, so they didn’t stack anything for fear of chipping it. What Ducky called nice china was Villa Del Luna at seventy-five dollars a place setting. Ducky wouldn’t care if they smashed every bit of it by accident, but no one wanted to even chip it. The good china was an antique cobalt and gilt pattern from 18-something; it had cost six hundred dollars to replace the bread plate that Ducky had dropped.
Tim accepted every piece, scraped it, rinsed it quickly, then handed it on to Jimmy who put it in the dishwasher.
It wasn’t long before everyone was done with their assigned task and back at the kitchen table for a cup of tea before the GHQ group headed for home.
Gibbs, Cos, Dean, and Remy geared up, radio checked, and headed out for home, cruising slowly down the residential street, motors grumbling.
It didn’t take them long to get to GHQ that late at night. They were glad to be home as, while the rain had stopped, it was very chilly for that time of year.
They parked the motors in the garage. They’d take them back to storage in the morning.
Gibbs shuddered as he crossed the threshold, “Man, cold tonight.” He yawned, then shuddered again. “I’m for bed. Really tired tonight.” Cos shared a concerned look with Dean.
Remy glanced at his retreating back with a worried expression. “Je n'aime pas ça.”
Cos replied, “I don’t like it either.” He shrugged, then led the way up the stairs.
.
Next morning dawned, as the old saying goes, bright and early. Only someone wasn’t up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed or otherwise.
Dean eyed the closed door with a grimace. “Not me. I’m not poking a sleeping bear. Nu-uh.”
Cos shoved him a step closer. “Yeah, you are. Your rank is higher than mine ... makes it your job. I’m a’ get coffee.”
Dean snarled, “I’m a rank higher than you so ... I order you to wake him up. So there.”
Remy walked out of his room and demanded. “Wha’ yo ASVAB waiver, GOMAR magnets whisperin’ ‘bout dis early? Where Jet?”
Cos hissed, “He’s not up yet. You wake him. Coffee.” He and Dean headed down the stairs.
Remy moaned. “Merde. Ya’ll be deat’ a me yet.” He knocked on the door. No one answered, so he slowly opened it a bit and peeked in. “Merde.” Gibbs was still asleep, on his back and snoring softly. Only he was very flushed and sweating and that snore was the bubbly sort that meant a stuffed nose and bronchial congestion. Remy swallowed noisily; Jet was never sick. Only ... he was.
Gibbs never gets sick, until he does.
.
Beta by the ever patient Jake and Jordre.
.
The whole Pod were off for a week after the nightmare of bombs they’d gone through. The near miss had them all on edge, especially Remy. He hadn’t let Tony out of his sight since that day when a missed call had saved all their lives, literally. The stress had been killer. Ducky had insisted that they all needed a bit of time off to get their blood pressure down to somewhere near normal. Vance had agreed and given them a long weekend. So the Pod had decided to take a short road trip down to Piscataway Park.
They’d decided to take a rental bus to the storage so they didn’t have to leave Tony’s Hummer at the site. It was the only vehicle they had that would hold them all. Remy paid the driver, tipped him, then went to open the doors.
It didn’t take them long to push the motors out of the storage and roll the doors back down.
Tony checked his motor, then nodded to Remy. “Good?”
Remy nodded back, then tapped the side of his helmet, indicating that they needed to do radio checks. If anyone had a problem, they’d say so during the check.
Jet saw and said, “Jet ... test ... Digimon?”
“Jet.”
Tim called each man by his code name and was answered. “Radio check complete.”
Tony replied, “Light ‘em up.”
Everyone started his motor and moved out to form up. Tony led out, with Remy to his left and a length behind; then Dean a length behind Remy and to his right, followed by Cosmo, then Gibbs, and last Tim and Jimmy on Jimmy’s trike.
Tim had finally learned to ride, but they kept the trike formation for the convenience of the radios; now Tim and Jimmy took turns driving. It was Tim’s turn to drive first today, leaving Jimmy to man the radio. Tim always did the initial radio check, then, if it was his turn, handed it over to Jimmy.
They rode for awhile, enjoying the nice day, then Tony said, “We should pull over and eat soon; I’m starving.” A series of clicks let him know that everyone agreed, so he started looking for a good place to eat.
Jimmy checked with GoodEats and Google to see what they had. DC was a great place to eat, as long as you did your research. If you didn’t, well, greasy spoons abounded. Or, as Tony called them, Ptomaine Palaces.
Jimmy edited out all five-star, upscale, date-type, and fine dining establishments and wound up with six four-plus-star family-style places within a mile of the highway. They pulled over to discuss it, and finally settled on a clean-looking place called Osteria Filomena. It had four and a half stars on two different sites, and it looked like easy access from where they were.
They pulled into the parking lot in a rumble of motors, parked, and locked up their helmets and leathers.
Tony and Remy made a quick detour to check the back of the building, then returned. Remy announced, “All good, ami. Clean and sweet.” Tony just headed for the front door with a smile on his face.
All the Pod loved Italian food, Tony most of all, but he loved it most when he didn’t have to cook it. Anyone who cooks knows the joy of that cup of tea you didn’t have to make yourself, that special cupcake in the fancy pastry box, or that special dish that you love that someone else made for you.
Everyone followed Tony into the restaurant and lined up behind the “Please wait to be seated” sign.
Dean turned suddenly and bumped into Gibbs. Gibbs gave him a half-hearted shove, saying, “Watch it, squid.”
Dean shoved him back, grumbling, “Bitchy, Jet.”
Tony, not in the mood for a bunch of horseplay, snarled, “Mats. Seriously.”
Cos snorted and thumped Dean on the shoulder. “Jerk.”
Dean poked him in the stomach and replied, “Bitch.”
Gibbs snarled, “Both of you put a sock in it, we’re about to be seated. Unless you get us thrown out.”
The hostess just ignored the by-play and asked, “Seating for?”
Gibbs turned to her, as being closest. “Seven.”
The hostess nodded. “We have a rather large table, intended for ten, will that be acceptable?”
“Sure. Bigger the better with this mob.” Gibbs gave her a nod then turned to look over the Pod.
While he’d been speaking with Helen, the Pod had gotten into a neat line, calming down to act as if they, as Ducky would say, had some sense.
Helen smiled, dimples appearing, and led them to the table she’d mentioned. “Here we are. Is it okay?”
Gibbs eyed the table, then nodded. “It’s fine.”
They all settled at the table in an orderly fashion, Tony’s hissed, “Mats! Seriously,” keeping them in order. Tim even made “zip my lip” motions.
Helen waited until they were seated, then handed out menus by simply handing the stack to Gibbs and letting him take one, then pass it on. “Excellent. We have three specials, which are on the glow board over the register. If you can’t see it from here, I’ll be glad to read it off for you.” She waited while they craned their necks to read. “And Nancy will be your server. She’ll be here in a moment with water. If you want coffee, just turn your cup over.” She walked off nodding to an older lady nearby.
Dean snorted. “Glow board my ass. Who can actually see that?”
The consensus was that no one could read it properly from their angle so Dean just stood up, walked to a place where he could see it and read it out loud. “Veal Piccata on a bed of spaghetti. Chicken Parm. Or Baked Stuffed Conchiglie Grandi. Side salad and garlic bread included. Drink extra. Doesn’t say what the conchiglie is stuffed with.”
Tony shrugged. “Usually stuffed with cheese and covered with marinara sauce, baked, then dressed with mozzarella.” He eyed the menu. “I’m in the mood for something different.”
It didn’t take them long to decide when they saw stuffed meatballs on the menu. Stuffed meatballs were one of those things that were either so good they ought to be illegal, or so bad they gave you indigestion just looking at them. From the delicious smells coming from the kitchen these should be the first. When the waitress came back, Tony asked her how they were made.
“I don’t know the exact recipe but they’re equal parts Italian sausage, veal, and beef. The cheese is mozzarella, and they’re baked slow, then put in the sauce just a couple of minutes; the noodles are dressed before they’re plated, then more sauce and parm over all. They’re really good.”
The whole table agreed that it sounded good, but Tony had one more question. “How many meatballs do we get, and how big are they?”
Nancy frowned for a moment, then made a circle with her finger and thumb about an inch and a half around. “This big, and you get four.”
Gibbs shook his head as the whole table moaned in disgust. “Not enough.”
Tony agreed, as did the rest of the Pod, “We’re big eaters. How about eight meatballs on four ounces of spaghetti? We’ll pay extra.”
Nancy looked at them and shrugged. “How about a standard plate apiece and we see how it goes? If you want another serving, I’ll see about getting you an all-you-can-eat deal.”
An eyeball vote had Gibbs agreeing. “Okay, fine. As long as we get toasted ravioli as a starter, and salad and garlic bread. Coffee?” Nods all around the table had Nancy scribbling in her book. She smiled, took the menus Dean handed her, and hurried off to the kitchen, where she had a quick consultation with the manager, then the kitchen.
A bus boy came around bringing water and coffee, with a smile and a sniffle. “Sorry. Think I’m coming down with something.” He poured coffee into cups, starting with Gibbs. He never realized that he’d sneezed into his hand then touched the rim of the cup. He trotted off with his pot sneezing several times.
Nancy came back with toasted ravioli and dishes of marinara sauce. “There we go. We set the ravioli up family-style, but put the sauce in individual dishes. Hope that’s okay.”
Tony nodded. “Fine. Made it easier to carry. Looks great. Salad?”
Nancy passed out the sauce dishes and bread plates. “On the way. Back in a sec.” She walked off with her tray under her arm. She was back in no time with salads. “Here we go. All done. Mains in fifteen or so.”
It only took seconds to empty the platter. Dean offered, “There’s about six apiece; maybe we ought to order another?”
Cos shook his head. “No. This is just to keep us from gnawing the furniture until we get our main. ’S good.”
Remy chuckled, “Furniture no good. But ... y’ ‘member dat place in ... Saigon? Me’by? Noodles so good. Not spaghetti ... some sort a’ dark stuff. Wit’ sauce to die for.”
Gibbs blinked. “Buckwheat? That’s brown. Whole wheat is more dark tan.”
Tony nodded. “Buckwheat. But really tender/chewy, not tough. Really good. And that sauce was sweet/sour and really good.” He poked at his salad for a moment. “I remember what it tasted like; I think I’ll try to reproduce it. Someday.”
Remy snorted, “An’ someday neva come. Dude.”
Tony scowled blackly at that. “Jerk.”
“Bitch.” Remy went back to his food, satisfied that they’d sorted that.
Jimmy finished his salad and ravioli, then looked around the table a bit sadly. “Well? Everyone done?” Everyone indicated that they were, indeed, done. “So? Where’s the rest of the food?”
Gibbs looked around then, signaled Nancy who obediently came over. “What’s up?”
Gibbs managed a smile. “Evidently not our food. Would you check with the kitchen please? The animals are getting restless.”
“Okay. Sorry it’s taking so long. Kitchen must be backed up.” Nancy hurried away to check on the hold-up. It wasn’t long before she was back. “The kitchen is short-handed ... couple of people called in. It shouldn’t take more than ten more minutes. I’m so sorry.”
The whole group made nice, Tim even going so far as to reassure Nancy, “It’s not your fault.” She dimpled at them and left again.
The meatballs and spaghetti arrived within ten minutes. They were well done, and the spaghetti was appropriately al dente, but the sauce was a bit on the thin side, and the spaghetti wasn’t properly drained, so there was a puddle of water in the bottom of the plate. No one complained, as the staff was obviously thin on the ground and doing the best they could. The busboy even told them he was sorry they were short-staffed, ending, “It’s some sort of bug going around, and the boss sends anyone sick home at once. Why anyone would insist that sick people work around food, I couldn’t tell you. Dumb, seriously stupid.” He sneezed just then, apologized, and trotted off. They could hear him telling someone that he was sneezing so he was going home.
They finished their food and caused a small riot as everyone grabbed for the check. Jimmy played dirty, when Remy held the slip of paper over his head to keep it from Dean; he jumped, snatched it and trotted off to the register calling over his shoulder, “Ha! Snoozers losers.”
Remy just shook his head. “Son a’ gun. Man’s a damn rabbit. Who say white boy can’ jump?”
They finally got checked out and headed for their motors, laughing and jostling each other. Dean eyed the sky and offered, “Looks like the weather’s gonna crap out on us. Rain gear?”
Gibbs scoffed at that. “What? Sky’s clear except for a couple a’ cumulus. Won’t do a thing.”
Tony eyed them then said, “There’s a bank of low stratus behind ‘em. Don’t like the look of that at all. Might amount to some cloud cover, or might turn into one of those slow, cold drizzles that makes riding miserable. Rain gear for me.”
It turned out that Jimmy, Tim, and Dean were on Tony’s team, while Remy and Cos went with Gibbs. So they waited while Jimmy, Dean, Tim, and Tony geared up. They did radio checks and were on their way.
It wasn’t long before they hit Indian Head Parkway and were about forty-five minutes out. The sun was now playing peek-a-boo with the clouds, and it was beginning to chill just a bit. They didn’t really notice the chill, as riding leathers are hot.
When they got to the park they realized that there wasn’t that much for them to do. The hiking trails were short and easy and crowded with clusters of what Gibbs referred to as amblers, people who were there to bird-watch or just enjoy the country views. They walked way too slow for the Pod, and it was impossible to dodge them to keep up a fast pace.
No one was interested in the 18th-century village or the marina, after checking to see if they could swim there and were told no. There was also a fishing area, but it was catch and release, which they all scorned.
Gibbs ordered, “Pull into that parking lot. No use us riding around in circles while we decide what to do.”
They rumbled into the lot and parked in a cluster near an outbuilding. After locking up their gear they gathered under a picnic shelter to figure out what to do.
Tim brought up the park website, which wasn’t that much help, and settled at the table. Everyone else managed to cluster around behind him so they could all see.
“Okay ... not that much info. If we want to hike, we’d be better off at Rock Creek. This area is full of elderly bird watchers and little kids. And how, I’d like to know, can you bird-watch in a place filled with screaming kids?” He paused to wince at a particularly piercing screech from a mother. “And helicopter moms. Ouch.”
Remy offered, “We could just ride? Maybe fin’ a place to go to, just to go?”
Dean and Cos both agreed with that. Dean just said, “Sounds like a plan to me. Maybe just head for nowhere for ... two hours? Then head back. Ducky’s expecting us for late supper. He said he’d get all the stuff and make up a menu. He wants AJ to make something for him.”
Tony nodded. “He won’t say what. He said he’d been wanting this for a bit. Some English thing he misses.”
Gibbs interrupted, “Okay, later for that. We’ll be sure to be back in time so ... vote. Who wants to go to Rock Creek and hike? And I do mean hike, AJ, not one of your ruck runs.” He took a second to count. AJ, Dean, and Jimmy held up their hands. “Who wants to just head somewhere?” Remy and Tim held up their hands. “Abstains because they don’t give a fuck?” Gibbs held up his hand while Cos just shrugged. “Looks like Rock Creek won by one.”
Remy grumbled a bit then brightened, “Well, we doan ha’ ruck wit’ us. Good tin’ we got runnin’ stuff.”
Tony nodded, “This one is for fun, not conditioning.”
Gibbs looked them over, “Okay, any complaining, do it now or shut the fuck up.”
No one objected, so they geared up again, including rain gear for Jimmy, Tim, Dean, and Tony.
Traffic was light, allowing them to pack-up and travel at a decent pace. They didn’t push it, as there was no need for them to be anywhere at a specific time, other than at Mallard Manor in time for Tony to make supper.
The ride from one park to another took just over an enjoyable hour; they pulled up at the horse barn and parked as close to the building as they could get. Tony called out to one of the rangers, “We’re gonna take advantage of the facilities to change, that okay?” The ranger, used to such requests, just nodded.
It wasn’t long before they were all changed into the PT shorts and short-sleeved, tight t-shirts they all favored for casual jogging. Jimmy shouldered his pack, grumbling, “No one has a hydration pack? Seriously?” They settled for picking up several bottles of water from a vending machine. Gibbs bitched, “Damnit! Three bucks for a small bottle? What the hell?”
A nearby ranger, obviously used to this, just replied, “We pay a dollar; small bottles are expensive but we can’t get a machine that dispenses bigger ones. The profit goes to maintaining the park. Next time, bring a hydration pack like your friend.” He grinned at Jimmy and walked away.
Jimmy genially cursed them all as he shouldered his pack. “Okay, you bunch a’ girls. I’ve got a pack because I don’t go any-damn-where without my medic pack and it’s got a hydration module. You, on the other hand, are a bunch a’ dumbass grunts. So ... we jogging or what?” He settled his pack and waited.
Gibbs grunted, took his bottle of water and joined Jimmy. The rest of the Pod did the same, getting water, checking shoes and fiddling until they were satisfied they were ready. Tony led out at an easy pace.
It was an easy half mile to the first check point, Rock Creek, and the fall zone of the creek. This trail followed the creek along its bed so that people could enjoy the sound of the small falls and rapids as they walked or jogged. The trees gave good shade without putting walkers in deep, chilling shade. It was colder than they’d expected with the cloud cover, but they were sure to warm up soon.
They were just completing the half mile of rapids walk when they came across a bunch of brush blocking the trail. A cheerful voice called, “Sorry about the mess, the wind blew a sapling over. We’ll be done in ten. You can cut by on the downstream side.”
Tony led the way, commenting, “Be careful, it’s fuckin’ muddy and slick as hell.”
Jimmy went next, taking Tony’s offered hand and going on up to the trail again. After him, Remy, Dean, and Cos made it safely, but Tim slipped, flailing wildly to keep his feet, and knocked Gibbs just enough off balance that he slipped too; and fell into the creek.
He stood up at once, yelling, “Fucking hell. Fucking fucker is cold as a whore’s heart. Shit!”
No one laughed as the creek was really cold and Tim looked devastated. “Jet! Oh, man, I’m so sorry. Here.” He offered his hand which Gibbs took. A quick tug had Gibbs back on the bank and scrambling up to the path.
The rangers came down to see if he was okay, but he just said, “I’m fine. Just wet. Tim, stop sputtering like a busted duck. I’m fine. I know it was an accident. Let’s go, I’ll warm up running.”
The rangers went back to their work after offering to call for aid on their radio and being refused with thanks. Tony demanded Jimmy’s pack, saying that he’d take a turn with it. Jimmy handed it over, well aware that Tony would be insulted if he refused. The Pod returned to their jog.
As they jogged, they chanted a cadence.
Above the land,
Across the sea,
We're everywhere
We need to be.
We're brothers of
A special kind,
A better band
You'll never find.
Band of brothers,
That's what we are,
Fighting evil
Near and far.
Band of brothers,
That's what I said,
Baptized by fire,
Scarred by lead.
We're lean and mean,
And fit to fight
Anywhere,
Day or night.
When bullets fly,
And rockets fall,
We'll stand our ground,
And give our all.
We're on the move,
We're on the march,
We're diggin' ditches,
And breakin' starch.
When you hear,
Our battle cry,
You better move,
And step aside.
Band of brothers,
That's what we said,
Mess with us,
We'll shoot you dead.
Band of brothers,
Trained to kill,
If we don't getcha,
Our sisters will.
The last line always made Jimmy snicker.
.
When they reached the Boulder Bridge, Jimmy called a halt and Tony gave him his pack. “Okay. Everyone hydrate. If you’re out of water, I’ll share mine. Jet, let me check your feet. Wet shoes are not so good.”
Gibbs sat down on a nearby rock and pulled off his wet shoes. “Not too bad. Got one hot spot.” He let Jimmy examine his feet.
Jimmy frowned, stuck a piece of moleskin on the hot spot and handed Gibbs a can. “Here. Powder the hell out of them.” He fished around in his pack. “Dry socks.”
Gibbs accepted the can and socks. “Socks won’t do much good. Shoes are still wet.”
Remy took one shoe and examined it. “Well, the liners are foam. If I’m careful I think I can squeeze a lot of water out of them. And the shell is that ventilation net, so it’s nearly dry.” He proceeded to pull the liners out.
Dean thought for a second then pulled his t-shirt off. “Here. Roll them up in this then stand on it. Ought to really dry them out without having to worry about crumpling them. And your weight ...” He snickered, “A ton will really press ‘em good.”
“Jerk.” But Remy took the shirt, rolled up a bit of the hem then added the inner soles and finished rolling. He put the roll on the ground then stood on it, bouncing a bit. “There.” He unrolled the shirt and found two wet spots and nearly dry inner soles. He handed them to Dean who stuck them back into the shoes then put his damp shirt back on.
Gibbs waited while Jimmy rechecked his feet after he’d powdered them then he put his dry socks on then his shoes. The second he stood up they were all off again. This time Dean carried the pack. Gibbs called the paces as their turnoff was only about a hundred feet from the bridge and was easy to miss.
The last mile wasn’t too difficult, as the surface was hard and dry, without any sandy patches or gravel. They arrived back at the center and did pulse rate and respiration checks. Jimmy demanded that everyone check their feet, then stuffed the vending machine with bills and handed out water. “Everyone drink. My module is dry, so I know you’re not adequately hydrated.” No one complained, but Tony hissed to Dean, “Collection, man. Make sure.” Dean just nodded and wandered off to stretch and walk around to cool off.
Everyone walked around until Tony called them all in. “Okay, guys, we need to get on the road; let’s mount up.”
It didn’t take them long to gear up, do radio checks, and head for Mallard Manor. They hadn’t been on the road for more than five minutes when it began to drizzle, one of those slow, soaking, cold mists that made everyone shiver miserably, even Jimmy, Tim, Dean, and Tony.
It was unfortunate that traffic got worse as the mist continued to fall, this trapped them in a slow-moving stream of cars and trucks that they couldn’t get around. Well, they could, but it would mean driving down the shoulder and weaving in and out of traffic, a thing that was frowned upon by police because it was unsafe in the extreme. So they endured. Those who had been smart and put on rain gear weren’t as bad off as the others, but they were chilly; Gibbs, Cos, and Remy were chilled to the bone within ten minutes. The ride took twice as long as usual.
They drove around to the back and parked the motors under a huge grape arbor covered not with grapes, but clematis. It would protect the motors until they could get them back to storage. Everyone headed for the back door, shucking gear as they went.
Ducky greeted them at the door with, “Well, come in, come in. You’re all going to catch your death. I’ve put robes out for all of you ... and slippers. I do not want to see any bare feet, thank you very much. Now shoo!”
The laughing, shoving mob made their way up the stairs to change out of their soaked clothing and into clean shorts and terry bathrobes. Each room had two robes in it, one for its resident and one for a guest. Every robe had a name stitched on the left breast. Gibbs had said, “Duck, not like we don’t know each other’s names. What’s with this?”
Ducky had replied, “I am not having those young rips claiming that someone has taken the wrong robe. I’m much smarter than that.”
Gibbs had nearly hurt himself; he’d laughed so hard he’d slipped on the kitchen floor and sat down hard, it hadn’t stopped him from snickering for the next few minutes.
Per Ducky’s arrangements; Tony shared with Remy, Tim with Dean, and Jimmy with Cos; Gibbs used Ducky’s facilities. It didn’t take them long to get back to the kitchen, carrying their wet things. They headed for the hot coffee and tea that Ducky provided.
Jimmy announced, “Everyone make sure to put your wet things in the laundry room. I’ll sort it out in a minute. It only needs drying, right?” Everyone agreed that their clothing just needed a quick trip through the dryer, so Jimmy took off with his coffee to see to it.
Tony turned to Ducky to see what he wanted.
It turned out that Ducky wanted Cornish Pasties. Tony just shrugged and asked, “Roast beef?”
“I just bought some of that delicious roast from Rossetti’s Deli. It’ll do just fine.” Ducky managed to look just a tiny bit smug.
“Great. So ...” Tony began rummaging through the bags still on the counter. “Turnips. Onions. Frozen peas?” Tony held up the bag with a quizzical expression.
Ducky laughed a bit then said, “Not traditional, but Mother put them in so I’d eat something green. So ... peas.”
Tony chuckled then said, “And I bet her peas were dried.”
“Indeed they were. Hard as bullets unless you precooked them properly. Which she sometimes forgot to do. So. And gravy.”
“Yeah, I’ll make it from that stock. How the hell anyone thinks you can make good gravy from broth, I’ll never know. So. Someone’ll need to peel the turnips and onions. They need to be chopped into pieces about the size of the peas. I’ll make the dough.” He rummaged a bit farther. “Apples?”
Ducky shamefacedly admitted, “I was hoping for hand pies as well.”
Gibbs just grabbed an apple and a lemon. “I’ll start peeling.”
Tony said. “Great. Chop them into about inch cubes please.”
Gibbs sneezed twice. Everyone eyed him with alarm. And it caused Tony to say, “On second thought ... maybe not.”
Gibbs shrugged and gave up the chore without comment; one of the Pod rules was, “No sickos around food.”
“I’ll just have some coffee and sit with Ducky.” He got his coffee and retreated to the kitchen table to sit at the opposite end from Ducky and revel in the luxury of doing nothing. “Duck.” Something he didn’t often do.
Ducky nodded to Gibbs. “Jet. Please tell me you’re not getting ill.”
“Me? I never get sick ... you know that.” He settled more comfortably in his chair, making sure his robe was closed modestly and took a drink. Even his second cup of coffee wasn’t touching his chill.
Jimmy ambled back in, empty cup hanging off a finger. “I’ve got the first load in. Um ... underwear, socks, and shirts. Then pants. I’m glad we labeled everything. It’ll be about half an hour.”
Everyone called out some version of “thank you,” then went back to being assigned tasks.
Dean wound up with turnips, Cos with onions, Remy with apples. Jimmy was tending laundry, so he sat with Ducky and Gibbs until he had to get up to mess with it. Ducky happily sat, regaling them with stories which Gibbs was happy to listen to. He only cut Ducky off while they were working, well aware that he would ramble on for precious minutes; and that he didn’t get mad while they were working. Tim was set to chopping the meat up, while Tony did his magic with pie dough.
They were nearly done when Jimmy got up for the last time and announced, “This is the last load. When it’s done, I’m going to fold your stuff and pile it, by owner, on the folding table, then everyone can get dressed.” He ambled off to deal, whistling softly.
Ducky nodded. “Wonderful young man.” He finished his tea and got up. “More coffee, Jet?” Gibbs just handed him his mug.
Ducky dodged around the various men in his way and got himself a cup of tea and a cup of coffee for Gibbs. No one said anything as they’d tried several places for the drinks station and wound up with the area under the section of countertop on the other side of the sinks from the table. The cabinets were the longest, leaving a bare twenty inches under them, and every other place was inconvenient for one reason or another.
A few minutes later Jimmy yelled, “Laundry! Come get your asses covered!”
Everyone scrambled to get dressed, then return to their tasks.
Tony put the pie dough into the freezer to chill, saying, “There!” with evident satisfaction. “Now for the onions and turnips. I’ll cook them down, then add the peas. Someone pour all the stock into a saucepan and set it to simmer. I’ll add the herbs and whatnot, and keep an eye on it while I sweat the veg.”
Ducky settled back in his seat. “And when do you add the peas?”
“When the veg is done. They’re frozen blanched, so they only need about five minutes; could even add them frozen, as oven time’ll see them done.” Tony went back to his cooking, thanking Dean when he set the pot of stock on the simmer burner. “Thanks, man.” He added salt, pepper, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and bay leaf to the pot, humming the old song absently.
Gibbs snickered a bit. Tony did have a habit of relating things to either a movie or a folk song, sometimes a classic rock or piano piece.
Tony absently gave him a finger over his shoulder as he stirred the turnips and onions.
Remy announced, “Apples done. I squeeze de lemon on. Sugar?”
Tony glanced into the bowl. “Cup of brown, half a cup white. Apple pie spice is in the spice cabinet. About a heaping tablespoon. And two tablespoons of flour.” Remy stuck his spoon into the bowl and went to get the sugars and spice. “And some butter.” Remy caught the stick of butter that Dean threw at his head.
Tony tasted the filling, added some salt and pepper, then took it off the stove. “There. That’s done. Tim?”
“All done, just waiting for you to want it.” He brought the bowl of chopped roast over and gave it to Tony. Tony added the meat to the turnips and onions, then the frozen peas. “Taste.” Tony presented a spoon to Ducky.
Ducky took it, tasted the filling and smiled. “Perfect, AJ. Very good.” He handed the spoon back. Tony took a moment to put the spoon into the dishwasher so it wouldn’t be used again.
Tony nodded to Remy. “Get the dough, please.”
Remy obeyed, pinching it gently to see if it had chilled enough. “Just right. Want me to roll?”
Tony nodded, handed the pin to Dean, pointing to Remy, “Hand that on.” Dean passed the pin to Remy while Tony consulted with Ducky on the proper size. They decided on smaller pies which would cook quicker. So Remy rolled the dough out, then cut eight-inch rounds by simply cutting around a sandwich plate. As he cut, he removed the scrap dough. Cos helped out by transferring the cut rounds onto a cookie sheet and taking them over to Tony for filling.
Tony eyed the first rounds while stirring the gravy; he hated scorched gravy. “Someone come stir this so it won’t scorch.”
It didn’t take long to assign Dean to the gravy. He grumbled a bit but Tony swatted him on the shoulder, saying, “NOGAD, man, suck it up and stir that.” He then turned to his own task of making up pies. “Ok, someone make egg wash while I start this.” He wasn’t that surprised when a bowl of egg mixed with water appeared beside his setup. He picked up his ice-cream scoop and began to put out the meat for the pasties. After running out of meat, he turned to start sealing the pies, only to find Dean and Cos doing that. “Thanks.” He looked around, then asked, “Apples?” He was handed the crockery bowl of fruit and another scoop. “Great.” He went back to portioning out food, and Cos and Dean returned to sealing. Remy went on putting the finished pies on cookie sheets, then sprinkling them with either a bit of pepper, or cinnamon sugar. When Gibbs asked why they put pepper on the pasties, Tony explained that it kept them from getting mixed up, ending, “Nothing so disconcerting as biting into what you thought was apple and getting meat.” He shrugged, then added, “Or the other way around.”
It wasn’t long before all the pies were in the ovens and the gravy was thick enough. Tony took the pot off the stove and poured the gravy into two crock pots, setting them on warm to keep the gravy at temp. “Okay. About half an hour or so. Anyone want to play some cards?
This question was greeted with all the enthusiasm of an offer of a kick in the head. Scornful refusals included, “I’m not brain damaged, man,” and “Fuck that shit.” Even Ducky refused, saying, “Bloody hell, boy, your rules are demented.”
Tony pouted at them. “You’re no fun. Fine.”
Jimmy suggested a game of ‘Never Would I Ever,’ and was pelted with soft missiles for his troubles. He groused, “AJ’s right, you’re all no fun.”
Remy offered, “We’ve most a’ us done jes’ ‘bout ever’ ting there is.” He smirked a bit. “Some a’ it even legal.”
Ducky nodded sagely. “Yes, between us all I will admit that I’m sure we’ve done almost everything. Jethro, do you remember...” He went on to reminisce until Gibbs was scarlet in the face and laughing, which brought on a coughing fit.
He finally called a halt. “Damn it, Ducky, if you tell one more embarrassing story, I’m gonna combust. Is the food ready yet?”
Tony got up to check; his internal clock said not yet, but there was no sense in taking chances. He was right, so he said, “About another ten minutes. They’re not quite brown enough.” He went to check the gravy in the crock pots and gave that a good stir. “Ducky? Beer or ale?”
“Ale of course, dear boy. A good Scottish one. Bottom shelf.” Ducky smiled at Tony happily.
Remy, being an ass, said, “I’d a’ thought we’d ‘ave Scotch, you bein’ Scotch an’ all.”
Ducky knew Remy was just yanking his chain for fun, so he didn’t get mad, he just held up a finger and said, “Froggy, pay attention. Scotch is a delicious drink for real men. Scottish is the person who drinks it.”
Remy started laughing at that; everyone else joined in. Various exclamations of, “Scottish, dumb ass,” And “Froggy?” left them all snickering.
Tony wiped his eyes and stood up to check the pies again; he pronounced them, “Perfect,” and started putting them on platters. He put the meat on two red platters and the fruit on a green one, saying, “Red meat, green fruit. That way we don’t get them mixed up.” He brought them all to the table and thanked Dean and Cos for bringing the gravy to table, with ladles.
Gibbs took two pasties and passed the first platter. He poked a hole in the top of one and sniffed. “Hum? AJ, did you forget the pepper? Doesn’t smell right.”
Tony sniffed his pie. “Smells fine to me.”
Tim, who’d never had pasties, asked, “Why did you poke a hole in it?”
Ducky answered that one. “Gravy. You don’t dump gravy all over the pie, you poke a hole in it and pour gravy into it. Lovely.” He proceeded to use a ladle to pour gravy into the pie.
Tim followed his example and forked up a bit. He was soon moaning in delight over the flavor.
Dean eyed him for a second then said, “Orgasmic? Seriously, Tim. Sounds nasty at table.”
Tim swallowed then said, “Shut it, jerk. It’s good.”
Dean snorted. “Of course it’s good, AJ made it. Bitch.”
Cos added, “No reason to moan like a bitch in heat. Seriously off-putting.”
Ducky eyed them, then Gibbs; when he didn’t seem to be interested in calling them to order, Ducky said, “Gentlemen, please.” Cos immediately apologized, while Tim and Dean just ducked their heads and returned to their food, suitably chastised.
Gibbs just smirked. He and Ducky seemed to have fallen into the habit of running their own house; Gibbs didn’t interfere when they were at Ducky’s place and vice-versa. It worked.
Ducky glanced at Gibbs. He looked a bit flushed, but Ducky didn’t say anything about it, as Gibbs hated being called out. He did worry, just a bit; Gibbs was tanned enough that the faint flush was worrying.
No one else noticed but Ducky. No one noticed the fact that Gibbs was quieter than usual, either. Everyone was a bit tired and quiet, with only an occasional outburst of their usual crazy.
When they were done with the delicious pies, Tony started assigning chores. “Dean, bus. Cos, pick up. Tim, Jimmy, dishes. Gibbs, put stuff away. Ducky, make tea ... please. Remy and I’ll put away leftovers.” He smirked, as he’d finally managed to figure out how much he needed to make so that there’d be leftovers for later.
“Got it.” Gibbs started to stand up, but staggered a bit and sat back down. Everyone froze. “Whoa! Head rush. I stood up too fast.” He stood up and held still for a moment then walked over to the counters to start putting things away.
Dean started taking dishes off the table and taking them to Tim and Jimmy. They were using what Ducky called the nice china, so they didn’t stack anything for fear of chipping it. What Ducky called nice china was Villa Del Luna at seventy-five dollars a place setting. Ducky wouldn’t care if they smashed every bit of it by accident, but no one wanted to even chip it. The good china was an antique cobalt and gilt pattern from 18-something; it had cost six hundred dollars to replace the bread plate that Ducky had dropped.
Tim accepted every piece, scraped it, rinsed it quickly, then handed it on to Jimmy who put it in the dishwasher.
It wasn’t long before everyone was done with their assigned task and back at the kitchen table for a cup of tea before the GHQ group headed for home.
Gibbs, Cos, Dean, and Remy geared up, radio checked, and headed out for home, cruising slowly down the residential street, motors grumbling.
It didn’t take them long to get to GHQ that late at night. They were glad to be home as, while the rain had stopped, it was very chilly for that time of year.
They parked the motors in the garage. They’d take them back to storage in the morning.
Gibbs shuddered as he crossed the threshold, “Man, cold tonight.” He yawned, then shuddered again. “I’m for bed. Really tired tonight.” Cos shared a concerned look with Dean.
Remy glanced at his retreating back with a worried expression. “Je n'aime pas ça.”
Cos replied, “I don’t like it either.” He shrugged, then led the way up the stairs.
.
Next morning dawned, as the old saying goes, bright and early. Only someone wasn’t up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed or otherwise.
Dean eyed the closed door with a grimace. “Not me. I’m not poking a sleeping bear. Nu-uh.”
Cos shoved him a step closer. “Yeah, you are. Your rank is higher than mine ... makes it your job. I’m a’ get coffee.”
Dean snarled, “I’m a rank higher than you so ... I order you to wake him up. So there.”
Remy walked out of his room and demanded. “Wha’ yo ASVAB waiver, GOMAR magnets whisperin’ ‘bout dis early? Where Jet?”
Cos hissed, “He’s not up yet. You wake him. Coffee.” He and Dean headed down the stairs.
Remy moaned. “Merde. Ya’ll be deat’ a me yet.” He knocked on the door. No one answered, so he slowly opened it a bit and peeked in. “Merde.” Gibbs was still asleep, on his back and snoring softly. Only he was very flushed and sweating and that snore was the bubbly sort that meant a stuffed nose and bronchial congestion. Remy swallowed noisily; Jet was never sick. Only ... he was.