I'm Not Sick Part 2
I would post this as one story but Live Journal chokes on anything over about 9k and, now, so does FanFiction. So, here's the second part.
Chapter 2
Remy sidled into the kitchen and dropped the bomb shell. “Jet sick.”
Cos blinked at him for a moment, set his mug of coffee on the table, then said, “What?” as if he hadn’t heard right.
“Jet sick.” Remy folded his arms across his chest as if awaiting an argument.
Dean turned from rummaging the fridge for juice and said, “Never.”
“Go check fo’ yo’ sef. Ass.” Remy picked up Cos’s coffee and finished it in one go, watching as Dean and Cos left to check Gibbs for themselves.
So they used all the stealth training that they had and slipped up the stairs like they were on an op. Dean pushed the door open about two inches and Cos peeked in.
“Sleep.”
Dean hissed, “Ya think?” then looked for himself.
Cos offered, “Doesn’t look good. All sweaty and pale.”
“And flushed. Not good.”
Cos hissed. “How the hell can he be pale and flushed at the same time?”
“Well, look at him. Damn. Now what?”
They backed away and turned to go back to the kitchen only to hear Gibbs snarl, “Not sick.”
Dean shrugged. “Fuck that shit, Jet. You’re sick. Shut up.”
They gathered in the kitchen, exchanging panicky looks, trying to decide what to do. Remy finally said, “I make breakfas’.” He started rattling pans.
Cos sighed and rubbed his face. “We ought to call someone?”
Dean nodded. “Yes, yes we should. Jimmy? Or Ducky?”
Remy offered. “We call one, we call bot’.”
Dean just dialed his phone. “Jimmy? Hey. No way to sugar-coat it. Jet’s sick. Come over.”
The squawk from the other end was loud enough to make Dean flinch. “Ow. Man, I hope he doesn’t get a ticket.” He hung up then said, “We got cold crap?”
Cos shrugged. “No idea. I’ll go check then make a run. Juice?”
Remy opened the fridge. “Not the kind Jet likes. Grapefruit or that peach mango crap. Who would a thunk it. Seriously.”
“Okay.” Cos scribbled on a piece of paper. “Back in a bit.” He climbed the stairs quickly. He came back down with a disgusted expression on his face. “We got a medic kit that’s nearly a field hospital and no cold meds of any kind. What the actual fuck?”
Dean frowned. “I think I used most of it up when I had that cold last month. We never got around to refilling. Sorry. I should have seen to it ...” He shrugged. “We got busy.”
Cos snorted then said, “Well, ya think?”
“Yeah, mad bombers.” Dean shrugged. “What can ya do?”
Cos took a list from Remy then said, “I’m off ...in more ways than one.” He ambled out to the garage, chuckling to himself. Hoots and laughter followed him.
Dean sighed. “Remy, make soup.”
“I am. My famous two-chicken noodle soup. Call Tony an’ tell ‘im bring noodles.”
Dean just dialed. The following conversation was interesting. “Tony, bring noodles.”
“Okay. I’ll have to make some ... we used the last frozen ones a while ago. I’ll bring ‘em in about an hour.”
Ducky’s voice came from the small speaker. “Oh, no, you will not. If Jethro has flu, you’ll stay away. I do not want to have to nurse those lungs through that. And it will take months for you to get your capacity back.”
Tony whined, “But, Ducky―”
“No. AJ. Just no.” Ducky rustled around in the distance. “Now. I’m going over. You make noodles and have Jimmy bring them. Stay!”
Tony heaved a gusty sigh. “Well, shit. Okay.” He hung up without further comment.
Dean clattered around in the kitchen, finding all the things Remy would need for his soup. “What about chicken? How much ... Remy?”
Remy nodded at him. “Cos get chicken an’ stock. Fo’ now ... we jes’ wait. Clean de kitchen and whatnot.”
Dean nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna go start some laundry. It’s Jet’s turn but ... meh.” He ambled off to gather and sort things.
Dean stopped to check on Gibbs as he gathered up piles of laundry. He didn’t look very good. He was pale, with a hectic flush high on his cheekbones, and he was sweating like a foundered horse. His breathing was even more congested. Dean hoped Ducky got there soon.
He turned around and nearly ran the man down; dropping the laundry in his arms he hugged Ducky to keep from knocking him down. “Man, Duck, scare the shit out of me. Sorry. You okay?”
Ducky patted him on the arm. “Yes, I’m fine. Now. What’s going on?”
“Jet’s sick. I mean ... really sick.” Dean gathered up his laundry. “I’m gonna dump this in the laundry room. You need me ... yell.”
“Excellent. I’m sure I’ll have more luck with Jethro alone.” Ducky pushed the door open and walked into Gibbs’ room. “Very well, Jethro, let me see you.”
Gibbs, for his part, felt like he was alternately freezing and burning up; his nose was clogged, and his chest felt like he’d been wrapped in barbed wire. “Duck. Go the fuck away.”
“I do not believe I will. Now sit up like a good chap and let me have a listen.” Ducky ruthlessly dragged the covers off his protesting patient and dragged him upright. After listening to Gibbs’ chest and back, Ducky put his stethoscope away and said, “That’s a nasty case of flu you’ve got. Weren’t feeling quite the thing last night, were you?”
Gibbs grunted. “I’m fine.”
Ducky snorted at that then said, “Certainly. Roll over. You’re getting a shot.”
Gibbs bared his arm. “Right here.”
“No, I believe I said roll over. Unless you want a very sore arm.” Ducky twirled his finger. “Now be a good chap and roll.”
Gibbs grumbled some more but rolled, he knew from sad experience that, when Ducky said sore, he meant it. He gritted his teeth as the needle entered his gluteus maximus. “Fuck, Ducky.”
“It’s where it goes. Deal.” Ducky rummaged in his bag again. “I’m not going to give you antibiotics, they don’t do any good for flu, but I’m going to write down some instructions.” He started scribbling.
“Damnit, Duck. What the hell was that shot then?”
“Vitamins.” He pronounced it the British way, making Gibbs snort a bit. “You need the systematic support. A nasty case of flu will keep your appetite suppressed for quite some time. Now ... go back to sleep and do not give your carers a hard time. You know you’re a true terror when you feel poorly. I’ll be back in a few days to check on you.”
Gibbs grumbled wordlessly as Ducky actually tucked him in, then left.
Ducky made his way to the kitchen and entered just in time to hear Remy say, “I use commercial chicken stock. No’ broth, stock. It quicker and jus’ as good. It called two-chicken soup ‘cause ma mere used two chickens to make it. One to make de broth and the other for the meat.”
Ducky interrupted. “Sorry, gentlemen, I need your attention for a moment.” He went on to give the usual flu instructions: keep warm and hydrated, give foods gentle on an upset stomach, stay in bed. “And give him a decongestant, aspirin, and Tamiflu. This is new on the market, but it’s effective. I’ll give one of you the prescription ... you can get it at your regular pharm.” He wrote out the prescriptions sitting at the table. “Now. I’m out of this plague house. Jimmy and AJ will murder me if I get sick and give it to them. I’m especially worried about AJ, but I’ve got him on a preventative regimen of Tamiflu as of an hour ago.”
About twenty minutes after Ducky left to go home and Dean left to get the prescription filled, Cos returned. “Hey. Got a bunch of stuff. That rotisserie chicken and the stock you wanted. I got low-sodium so it won’t be too salty when you cook it down. And AJ called me while I was out, said to come over and get noodles, so we have fresh homemade noodles. And cold crap. I got individual symptom stuff instead of that multi crap Ducky is always bitching about. So ... Aspirin for fever ... cough syrup ... antihistamines, no decongestant as Jet won’t use a spray for shit. And I got orange juice, mango-peach, grape, and apple. Anything I forgot?”
Remy shook his head. “Non, done good, man.” He took the boxes of stock and started pouring them into a pot. After he emptied the three boxes of stock into a big pot he added the chicken whole.
Dean eyed the pot then asked, “Shouldn’t you ... um ... cut that up or something?”
Remy shook his head. “Not yet. Wan’ get all the good out the skin and such first.” He put a lid on the pot and went to chop up some carrots and celery.
Cos poured coffee, then held up the pot, “Want?”
Dean nodded and Remy said, “S’il vous plaît.” so Dean poured him a cup and set it within his reach, but out of line of an accidental spill.
Remy stopped chopping to take a drink of his coffee. “Good stuff.” He snarled with annoyance as his phone went off with the ring tone assigned to Tony. “AJ.” He dropped the phone on the counter top and pushed the speaker button.
“Ow! Asshole. How’s Jet? You need anything?”
Cos took over the conversation as Remy had just ambled over to the spice cabinet to find the things he needed. “He’s sick. Ducky says it’s the flu ... that’s why we wanted the noodles. Remy’s makin’ soup. We’ve got all the cold meds we need, and you do not get to come over so don’t. We don’t need you sick too.”
“Jerk.”
Cos announced, “Not either! If I was a jerk, I’d let you come over and get sick. Jerk your own self.”
Tony realized that he’d stepped a bit over the line. “Sorry. Really. But Jet’s never sick. I don’t remember the last time he has had so much as a sniffle. Call me. I mean it.”
“If there’s any change or anything we need that you can do ... I’ll call.” Cos’s voice softened as he said, “Really. Promise.”
“Okay. Bye.” Tony hung up, reassured that there was nothing they needed, but that they would call if they did.
.
Gibbs woke again, realized something, and made a call. “Duck, thanks for coming over, but do not come over again. Not that you’re ancient or anything near it ... but I don’t want you getting sick. Send Gremlin.”
Ducky, knowing well that he was a bit too old to be fighting off flu, just said, “I’ll do that. He’s champing at the bit to see you, so I’ll let him do the health check in two days. Stay. In. Bed.”
Gibbs grumbled, “I could sit on the couch.”
“Yes, you could, but will you.”
“Ducky, the way I feel, that’s all I can see in my near future. Bed, couch, head. Repeat as necessary. I’m trashed.” He hung up and pulled the covers back over his head.
Remy checked Gibbs when he heard his voice but all he saw was a lump under the covers. He went back to his soup.
Dean was poking at the chicken with a fork. “I think this is done, it’s starting to fall apart.”
“Bon. Take it out carefully so it doesn’t fall apart. An’ pick it, please.”
Dean carefully maneuvered the chicken into a large crock bowl as he asked, “And what are you gonna be doin’?”
“I gon’ cook noodles an’ y’ know they take watchin’.”
Cos ambled in with an armload of kitchen towels and wash cloths. “I know why you insist, but man, usin’ one set a’ towels for hands and another for dishes generates a foxtrot tango a’ laundry. An’ bleachin’ those dish rags every time makes another whole load. But ... I’d rather do more laundry than get GI’s. You remember the time ...?” With that he was off on a round of recollections of times they’d gotten sick from unclean cooking conditions.
Dean and Remy listened with amusement; they remembered well. Especially the time when AJ had told them that the food from the cart in Cozumel smelled off. They’d eaten it anyway and had all come down with a case of Montezuma’s Revenge that had cancelled an important mission, passing it off to another team. AJ had bitched endlessly about having to nurse them through and still hadn’t let them forget it.
While they chatted, Remy put the fresh noodles into the soup, then turned the heat up to bring it to a slow simmer. He stirred them carefully so as not to break them. As soon as they were done, he dumped the coarsely chopped chicken in. As Gibbs was surely going to have a sensitive stomach, he didn’t add any vegetables.
“There. I’ll put it in several containers, as one will be a bitch to handle. Dean, long-arm me that stack of quart containers from behind you.”
Dean obliged and they all sniffed appreciatively as the smell wafted around the kitchen.
Remy nodded over his shoulder and said, “Som’ un get a loaf a’ bread out the freezer an’ stick it in th’ oven.”
Cos got up to do that but paused as they heard a violent coughing fit from upstairs. “I better go see about that.” He reached out and snagged the bottle of cough medicine. “It’s grape. It was either that or anise, and Jet hates that. So ...” He figuratively girded his loins and headed off.
.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs was just about as miserable as he’d ever been; first he was freezing, then he was roasting. He’d sweated through his t-shirt and boxers, and his sheets were damp. He thought about getting up and changing everything but he was just too tired. And the coughing fits were killing him; he wondered how AJ had stood it.
Cos’s cheerful, “Jet, medicine! Rise and shine,” made him retreat deeper into his cocoon of blanket and sheets.
He poked his head out, snarled, “Fuck off,” then pulled it back in. Cos said later that he looked like some sort of hermit crab.
“Nope. Take your cough medicine; you’ll quit coughing up a damn lung.” He held the tiny cup out. “Seriously.”
Gibbs took the cup, swallowed the thick, sticky syrup, then handed the cup back. “Grape? Seriously? What the actual fuck?”
“It was either grape or licorice.” He reached out to try to straighten the covers and found that they were damp. “Man. What the hell? These are wet.” He reached out to touch Gibbs’ forehead. “You’re sweatin’ like a bull at high noon. Hang on.” He hurried out. It wasn’t long before he returned with an armful of sheets, clean boxers, and a t-shirt. “Here. Get up and shuck those wet things. Not so good. And I’ll remake your bed with dry sheets. That blanket has to go too; it’s wet.” He started pulling at the blanket.
Gibbs wasn’t that inclined to let it go, but finally gave up. He immediately started shivering. “Damn it, I’m cold. Give.”
Cos shook his head. “Here, wrap the clean blanket around you. I’ll get the sheets on as fast as I can. While I’m doing that, make like a submarine and get out of those wet cloths and into the dry.”
Gibbs just complied by wrapping the blanket around himself, covering his head with one corner, and wriggling out of his wet boxers. This was made much harder than it should be by the wet things sticking to his skin. He grumbled and snarled, but only managed to replace his boxers, his t-shirt stuck to him like glue.
“Remy, damnit, a little help here.”
Remy turned to see that Gibbs had gotten his shirt twisted around his torso and was now locked into it. “Here. Jes’ be still.” Gibbs stilled and waited while Remy untwisted the shirt and dragged it off. “Hol’ up yo han’s.” Gibbs obeyed and Remy had his shirt on in seconds. “Wrap up good. I’m not done wit’ de bed yet.”
Gibbs rewrapped the blanket and settled in to sulk, although he’d deny it with his last breath.
Remy quickly finished making the bed and helped Gibbs crawl back in. He rearranged the blanket to keep him covered as he did so. “There. I’ be back wit’ mo’ meds in a sec.”
Gibbs kept his silence over that, he wasn’t looking forward to the experience at all. Who would have thought that “good-tasting” meds would leave such a foul aftertaste?
Remy returned quickly with Dean in tow, as well as several bottles of what he called pills an’ potions. It didn’t take much time for Dean to measure out a liquid and drop several pills into another cup.
“Okay. You’ve already had cough stuff.” He handed a cup to Remy. “This is decongestant. Then aspirin for fever and muscle ache. And some juice to wash it down. Peach-mango. And can I just say ... Blarg.”
Gibbs emerged from his cocoon to take the medicine, gulp the juice and retreat again. “Go ‘way. You’ll get sick too.”
Dean eyed Remy then jerked his head. “Right, Jet, we’re gone. Go to sleep.”
The second they got back to the kitchen Cos handed out soup and bread. “Okay, how bad?”
“Fever, chills, congestion; chest and nose. And bitchy. Aches and pains. Headache.” Dean shrugged. “Flu ... really bad case. We’re fucked for the foreseeable future and AJ’s gonna be a PITA.”
Cos nodded his understanding, “In other words ... Ducky was right. Shit.”
Dean buttered his bread, took a bite, then chewed contemplatively. Finally he said, “Well, we can do this. Seriously. He’s just bitchy because he’s sick. Not like he’s gonna stab us or somethin’.”
Remy nodded. “True. But we better set up shifts. He’s gonna need nursin’ an’ we’re gonna need sleep and three S’s time. So ... I’m a’ do the cookin’. That leaves you two on watch an’ watch.”
Cos shrugged. “Not like it’s gonna be hard. He’ll sleep most of the time. Dean? Day or night?”
Dean frowned at his soup for a moment. “Flip for it.”
“‘K. Gimme a sec.” Cos rummaged around in his pockets for a coin but came up with nothing but a ball of lint. “Nope. Nada. Just a pocket monster.”
Remy dropped his phone on the table, poked an app and said, “Heads or tails.”
Dean chose heads while Cos just shrugged. Remy poked his phone again then announced, “Heads. Dean, you’re day; Cos, night.”
Cos grumbled a bit but said, “I’ll take a nap at about 1500. Let me sleep at least two hours; that’ll leave me ready to sleep again at about 0500. Shift from 0700 to 1900?”
“Sounds good to me. And that leaves a bit of overlap for meals, so Remy isn’t a damn fry cook.”
Remy shrugged. “Doan mind.” He rattled around for a few minutes, searching the cabinets. “We doan got a tray.”
Dean blinked at him for a moment. “Tray? Sure we do. There’s that ...” he trailed off at Remy’s steaming look. “What?”
“A bed tray ... for Jet to eat off.” He waited a moment but their puzzled looks made him snarl, “So he doesn’t spill shit all over? Got a clue?”
Both Dean and Cos nodded. Dean got up, wiping his mouth, “Okay. I’ll go find one. Pier 1?”
Cos nodded. “Best bet. Or a ... I donno ... hospital supply place?”
Gibbs croaked from the door. “Don’ need a tray. I’ll come to th’ table. Hate bed trays. Too much like a hospital. Soup?”
Remy rushed to pull a chair out for Gibbs, bitching him out at the same time. “Damn it, Jet, y’ need stay in bed. You’ll only feel worse. An’ soup. An’ ...” he squinted at the counter. “I thin’ there a couple slices a bread left too.”
Gibbs settled in the offered seat and put his head down on the table. “Soup’s good. Is there a heel?”
Dean just handed over the last slice and a heel. “Butter?”
“No, thanks. Just want soppin’ bread.”
Dean grinned. “It is good.”
All three men watched as Gibbs ate the soup, soaking up some of the broth with the heel of bread. He finished by wiping the last of the broth out of the bowl with a scrap of the soft slice of bread. “Good. Thanks.” He accepted the tea he was handed, grumbling about it not being coffee.
“Yeah, you go ‘head an’ drink coffee. Y’ stomach won’ like dat an’ you know it.” Remy took the last of the dishes and put them in the machine. “You get back t’ bed.”
Gibbs eyed Remy; for a moment he looked like he was going to argue, then he had a coughing fit. “‘K ... bossy.”
“An’ take some mo’ cough stuff. Sound like yo coughin’ up a lung.”
Gibbs, who now felt as if a band had been tightened around his chest, just mumbled, “Goin’. Seriously bossy.”
He stood, shivering, for a moment then headed back up the stairs.
Dean eyed Cos, who eyed him right back. “Call Ducky?”
“What for?”
“Donno ... just ... he looks so sick. We should do something.”
Remy butted in with, “We doin’ all we can. He jes’ have t’ wait it out. Sucks ... but we deal. Right?”
Dean and Cos both said, “Right. Just hope we don’t get called out. And what about NCIS ... people aren’t gonna stop gettin’ murdered and whatnot just because Jet’s sick.”
Tim called just then to ask how Gibbs was and to inform them that, as Gibbs was sick, Tony was team lead until further notice. He also said that Tony wanted Remy and Dean to stay with Gibbs while Cos took a place on the MCRT until Gibbs was back.
Remy, whose phone Tim had called, conveyed the message.
“Well, that scuttled our plans. Remy?”
Remy shrugged. “No idea. Anything?”
Cos offered. “My Mom used to give me a bell that I could ring if I needed anything.”
Dean scoffed. “Can you see Jet using a bell? A bellow, that I could see. But the shape his throat is in? No.”
Just then a loud blast from a hand-held air horn made all three of them nearly jump out of their skins.
“Well, that takes care of that. I’ll go see what he wants.” Dean headed up the stairs.
.
Gibbs waited for someone to show up. He’d sweated through his t-shirt and boxers again and he knew he was going to have to have some help or he’d just wind up making himself worse by trying to change sheets in damp things. Beside that, he was now chilling and shivering so hard he didn’t think he could manage.
Dean took one look at Gibbs and said, “Jet. What? You look like shit, man.”
Gibbs snarled, “Thanks so much.” He shuddered so hard his teeth chattered. “Need dry stuff. I keep sweatin’ through everything.”
Dean nodded. “That’s your fever breaking, then coming back. You’ll sweat, then chill. I’m gonna get you fresh clothing and sheets. Your favorite blanket is clean again, so I’ll bring that too.”
Gibbs grunted. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t long before Dean was back in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. “He’s bad. Bet it takes at least two whole weeks for him to get over this. Not lookin’ forward.”
Cos shrugged. “He took care of us. We take care of him.”
“Yeah, an’ I bet he’s a lot less trouble than we were. Too sick.”
Remy agreed. “Yeah. Y’all jes’ wounded. He got a fever. I take him up some juice.”
Cos said, “Okay, fine. Someone has to finish putting the motors in storage. AJ an’ his crew dealt with theirs, but ours are still in back. You stay here and we’ll deal with the motors.”
Dean agreed, adding, “We can take two over at a time but we’ll need a ride back. Call AJ an’ tell ‘im.”
“Great. That way he’ll feel like he’s helpin’ out.”
A quick call had Tony agreeing to drive to the storage in his hummer and pick them up. He also said that he’d escort them back on the second run and get them back home again.
Remy announced that, while they were doing that, he was going to finish laundry and clean the garage. When Dean gave him a doubtful look he said, “Jet gonna be in bed asleep. I’ll give him some cold stuff and he’ll sleep for a couple a’ hours.”
“Okay. Fine. Cos, let’s get humpin’.”
Dean and Cos geared up, but didn’t bother with radio checks; without the trike, there was no radio contact. Instead, Cos called Dean on his phone, and they Bluetoothed their phones to their helmets.
“You ready?”
“Yeah. Let’s put wheels under this bitch.”
They pulled out of the garage and rumbled down the street, taking their time. Dean grumbled, “I’m glad I got out my heavy jacket. It’s cold as fuck.”
Cos replied, “Me too. This weather is nuts. Watch the left.”
Dean turned his head to see a kid on a bike trying to keep up with them. He was peddling like mad, but losing ground. Both men waved at him then sped up. They didn’t want him so intent on pacing them that he got himself into some kind of trouble.
It didn’t take them that long to get to the storage. Tony was waiting for them with the doors already up so they just rode right in and parked the bikes.
“There. Come on. Ducky actually gave me specific orders on what I can and cannot do. Basically, I can’t go anywhere near Jet. And, if either one of you coughs or sneezes ... well, just don’t. Man is seriously paranoid,” Tony laughed. “And do not fight over shotgun or you’ll both be in the back.”
Dean and Cos played rock, paper, scissors for front, Dean won.
They rode in silence for a bit, then Dean sighed, “Man, Jet’s really out of it. He’s been sleepin’ for the last twelve hours or so. Hope he’s gonna be okay.”
Tony snorted. “That man’ll be fine. He’s been blown up three or four times, survived a long tour in Columbia. He’s as tough as we are.”
“Okay, okay. I’m just freaked.”
Tony pulled into the driveway and let them out, then backed down to wait until they pulled out in front of him. They headed back down the street on their second pass.
The second drive was accomplished with silent efficiency. Tony locked the storage, while Dean and Cos waited for him.
They talked about nothing on the way back, in the way friends do.
They were almost home when Tony’s phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to Dean. “Answer that, will you?”
Dean just pushed talk and said, “AJ’s phone, Dean speaking. Gimme a sec an’ I’ll put you on speaker.” He pushed the appropriate button and held the phone up.
“AJ. Ducky speaking. Do not go into the house. I’m sure Gibbs is still contagious and you do not need to be ill.”
“Ducky, I swear. I gave my word, what do you want?”
“Your word is good enough. I’m just reminding you.”
“Okay, okay. I promised.”
Tony made a face as Ducky pulled a Gibbs and hung up.
“Damnit. I swear, Jet’s rubbing off on everyone. Good-bye just fell off the radar entirely.”
Everyone laughed at that and went back to gossiping like, as Gibbs said, old women.
Dean’s phone rang. “Yeah, Dean here.” He put his phone on speaker, which almost everyone in the Pod did. It kept them from having to repeat everything.
Remy was on the other end of the line. “Hey. Jet’s still sleeping, but I don’t want to leave him alone. Will you pick up some juice and some more aspirin?”
Tony replied, “Sure, we’re just coming up on that CVS. We can stop there and get stuff. Check the meds and call me back if you need anything.”
“Got it.”
Tony made the turn and parked a bit away from the store. He usually tried to park in an unused lane, as the Hummer took up all of a standard parking place. He parked across the line and took up two spaces as, if someone parked on either side of him, they wouldn’t be able to get the doors open. He knew it wasn’t really nice, but it was necessary.
They strolled into the store and split up. Tony went to find juice, while Dean headed for cold medicine; and Cos, he went for beer.
When they gathered at the register to check out, the bored-looking twenty-something girl tried to flirt. Tony shot her down easily. “Sweetie, I’m old enough to be your dad an’ mean enough to swat your ass. Knock it off and ring us up.”
The girl didn’t take offense; instead she snickered and said, “Well, who knows, I might like it if you swat my ass. Can’t blame a gal for tryin’.” She winked then continued, “And you’re nowhere old as my dad; my big brother ... maybe.” She finished checking them out quickly and bagged the snacks, cold medicine, and juice. “I know you don’t, but management insists that I ask ... Do you want a bag for the beer?”
The offer was refused with all the scorn it deserved. They left the pharmacy, bumping shoulders and laughing.
.
Remy looked up from his laundry as Dean, Cos, and AJ clattered in through the garage door. “Hey.”
“Hey your own self.” Dean gestured vaguely with the bags in one hand. “We got ... stuff.”
Remy pointed at Tony. “You. Go. Yo’ not supposed t’ be in here. You get sick ... Ducky kill us all.”
Tony pouted but headed back out the door. “Can’t shoot a man for tryin’.”
“Ducky’ll give you a shot.” Dean smirked at Tony’s rapidly retreating back. Everyone knew that Tony hated needles with a passion. Not that anyone blamed him, Y. pestis and double digits of stitches had made him what Ducky called needle-shy.
Cos dumped his bags on the kitchen table and fished out the new bottle of cough medicine. “I’ll run this up to Jet; he’s due.”
He took the steps two at a time and knocked on Gibbs’ bedroom door. “Jet? You awake?” He didn’t get an answer, so he eased the door open. It was just common sense not to startle even a retired Marine Scout Sniper from sleep; it could get you slugged. “Jet?” Cos stood and looked at the bed for several seconds… the empty, nicely made bed. “What the actual fuck? Damnit.”
Cos charged back down the stairs. “Remy! Remy! Where the fuck is Jet?”
Remy stuck his head out the laundry room door. “In bed.”
“Not.”
“Well, shit. I turn m’ back on ‘im for two seconds.”
Dean came in from the living room. “What’s all the yellin’ about?”
“Jet’s gone missin’.”
“What? Where?”
Cos gave Dean a ‘Well, duh.’ look. “If I knew that, he wouldn’t be missing, now would he?”
Remy frowned, “Okay, can that shit. Where the hell would Jet go? He’s ... under his boat.”
Cos nodded. “He is ... he surely is.”
Dean agreed, “Yeah, he always goes there when he’s overwhelmed. Let’s go. An’ bring his medicine. He’s due.”
So they trooped down into the basement and checked under the boat. Gibbs was there, cuddled up in the nest of blankets and pillows, sound asleep.
Cos backed out then said, “He’s sound asleep. I’d wake him up, but it’s the best rest he’s gotten in two days.”
Dean was already on the phone to Ducky. Jimmy answered the phone. “Dr. Mallard’s phone. Jimmy Palmer speaking.”
“Hey. So ... Jet’s under his boat, sound asleep. He’s resting so well we hate to wake him ... but he’s due for cough med, expectorant, and all that. So ... wake him or not?”
“Not. He needs the rest more than anything. Let him skip. Give him his meds when he wakes up, then go on from there. Make sure he has a full glass of water and some juice as well. Get him to eat something if you can. Call back any time.” Dean heard Ducky in the back ground but couldn’t understand him. “Ducky needs me. Bye.”
Since they usually put their phones on speaker when they all needed to hear, Cos and Remy just nodded. “Okay. Let’s get set up here.” Cos eyed Dean. “Yeah, I know. But he’s more comfortable under there ... not sayin’ I wouldn’t be too. So, we set the meds up on ... some clean, flat surface and go from there.”
It didn’t take them long to move a few tools back to their storage; Jet could find them again when he wanted them. For now, they went back to their proper places. This left a good spot to leave all his medicines and a pressure pot of water to take the pills with. Ducky had vetoed taking pills with liquid medicines.
As soon as they heard Gibbs stir, Dean brought down a glass of juice, tapped on the boat and said, “Jet. Medicine. Here.” A hand emerged from under the boat so he put pills in it. It disappeared then reemerged; he put the glass of juice in it. “There’s two liquids, too. Ducky said not to mix ‘em, so you need to come out for them.”
Gibbs rustled around a bit then crawled half way out. “Wet.” he shoved a couple of sheets and a blanket onto the floor then held out a hand for the rest of his medicine. “Okay.” He knocked back the first shot, making a face. “Gross.” Dean didn’t comment, he just handed the other dose over. Gibbs also knocked that one back then asked, “What’s with the cherry and grape?”
“Only other choice was bubblegum or licorice. Didn’t think you’d like either one of those. Juice.”
Gibbs took the juice and drank half; he swished a mouthful around to get rid of the medicinal taste then finished the rest. He handed the glass back saying, “Thanks. Could you wash that?”
“Sure thing. I’ve got some clean stuff for you ... couple a’ sheets, a blanket and a pillow with a clean case. Ought maybe drag all that nest out and sort it out. You still chillin’?”
“Yeah, but the nest does need sorting and whatnot. I can manage for a bit.” Gibbs was not visibly shivering.
“Nope. Here.” Dean showed Gibbs a pile of sheets, blankets and pillows. “This is all clean. Just shove everything out and start fresh. I’ll wash all that and you can decide how much of it you want back.”
Gibbs just turned and crawled back under the boat without saying a thing. He shoved the whole nest out and eased back to give Dean room.
Dean just squatted down and shoved his whole armload of things under the boat. “There. Water on the counter there ...” he pointed. “Meds too. You want anything else ... here.” He tossed the airhorn under the boat, then dragged the nest into the free floor space and started sorting.
He wound up with a pile of sheets and pillow cases, another of blankets, and a mass of pillows. “Well, Jet, looks like I’ve got about six loads of really dirty shit. How the hell did we wind up sleeping in that?” He sighed and started resorting into loads.
Meanwhile Gibbs grumbled, “No idea. Just ... no one dealt. Is there anything hot?”
“No, but that’s not a problem. I’ll just go up and heat you up some soup.”
Gibbs rustled around, arranging the sheets and blankets to his liking then dumping the pillows in. He settled back, his body cushioned by blankets and pillows, to cover himself with a sheet and blanket. He still felt like shit warmed over, but he’d stopped sweating through everything on the hour. His nose and chest were still congested and his whole body ached like an unlanced boil.
Remy returned with the chicken soup in a cup. Gibbs eyed it for a moment, took a sip then gave it back. “No.”
Remy sighed. “Jet, yo gotta eat somethin’.”
“No.”
Remy gave up but threatened, “If y’ doan eat somethin’ in six hours, I’m a call Ducky.”
“Asshole.”
“Yup.”
And Remy went off to move laundry around then upstairs. He put the cup on the table then went to answer the door: UPS delivery of some gun parts for Cos.
Dean came into the kitchen and found the soup on the table so he took time to fix himself some toast to go with the soup. No sense in letting perfectly good soup go cold.
Cos wandered in with his parts. “Sorry, I need the table to unpack this.”
Dean, mouth full of toast, just waved a hand so Cos started unpacking his stuff. “When you get done with that, would you make me one? Just use the same cup.”
Dean nodded, swallowed, then said, “Sure. Parts are for my M1911, right? So, it’s really gonna hurt me to make you soup.” He finished the last noodle and took the cup back to the counter to make Cos a serving. “Toast?”
“Be nice. Thanks.”
Dean made soup and toast while Cos finished the inventory. He was reconditioning Dean’s old WWII Colt. It wasn’t an issue, it was an antique and not in that good condition. It needed a new firing pin and some springs and screws. Cos absently nibbled at his toast as he checked things off his list. “Great, all there. Soup’s good. Thanks again.”
Remy wandered back in with an armload of pillow cases which he dumped on the end of the table. “I swear half the linens are under that boat.”
After folding the last pillowcase Remy took them upstairs to the linen closet and put them on a shelf. He checked the bathroom over, made sure that all Gibbs’ meds were downstairs, then settled to watch TV for a bit.
He was interrupted by a honk from the basement. “Okay, okay. Comin’.” He wandered down to peek under the boat. “You honked?”
“I did. Is there any more of that peach/mango juice?”
“Yeah. You ought to have soup. But I’ll bring you juice.”
Gibbs made a face. “Soup just smells off.”
“Nothin’ wrong with dat soup. Your sniffer fucked.”
“Okay. Bring some. I’ll try again.” He looked hopeful. “I do feel a bit better. I think that stuff that Ducky prescribed is workin’.”
“Good.” Remy went back upstairs to make more soup and pour some juice. This time Gibbs took it and managed to finish all the soup and most of the juice.
Remy took the glass and mug back to the kitchen. He rinsed them with a mild bleach solution, then put them in the dishwasher.
.
The next three days were a repeat of the last. Ducky called every day to check on Gibbs, and the three SEALs nursed him patiently. They took care of their own. Tony stayed away, grumbling grudgingly about “ol’ women.” Cos was in and out, obligingly picking up things on his way back from the Yard.
Finally, Gibbs came down early, dressed in jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, and flannel. He was wearing slippers without socks, but he looked much better. “Hey. Breakfast?” His hopeful look made everyone relax.
“Sure. What do you want?” Remy waited for a grumbled demand for poached eggs or something else gentle on a fussy stomach.
“Whatever you’re fixin’ is fine. I feel good.” Gibbs poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip and sighed. “Great stuff.”
Remy produced a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. Gibbs took one look at the plate and grinned, “Man, Remy, thanks. Looks really good, and I’m starved.”
While Gibbs and Remy were eating, Cos and Dean stumbled in, heavy-eyed and grumpy.
Remy eyed Dean. “Man, yo don’ look good.”
Dean coughed then snarled, “Fuck you, man, I’m not sick.”
Remy and Gibbs both flinched as Cos grumbled, “I’m not either.”
~~fini~~
.
Conchiglie Grandi are really big shell pasta. Yummy when stuffed with just about anything.
Chapter 2
Remy sidled into the kitchen and dropped the bomb shell. “Jet sick.”
Cos blinked at him for a moment, set his mug of coffee on the table, then said, “What?” as if he hadn’t heard right.
“Jet sick.” Remy folded his arms across his chest as if awaiting an argument.
Dean turned from rummaging the fridge for juice and said, “Never.”
“Go check fo’ yo’ sef. Ass.” Remy picked up Cos’s coffee and finished it in one go, watching as Dean and Cos left to check Gibbs for themselves.
So they used all the stealth training that they had and slipped up the stairs like they were on an op. Dean pushed the door open about two inches and Cos peeked in.
“Sleep.”
Dean hissed, “Ya think?” then looked for himself.
Cos offered, “Doesn’t look good. All sweaty and pale.”
“And flushed. Not good.”
Cos hissed. “How the hell can he be pale and flushed at the same time?”
“Well, look at him. Damn. Now what?”
They backed away and turned to go back to the kitchen only to hear Gibbs snarl, “Not sick.”
Dean shrugged. “Fuck that shit, Jet. You’re sick. Shut up.”
They gathered in the kitchen, exchanging panicky looks, trying to decide what to do. Remy finally said, “I make breakfas’.” He started rattling pans.
Cos sighed and rubbed his face. “We ought to call someone?”
Dean nodded. “Yes, yes we should. Jimmy? Or Ducky?”
Remy offered. “We call one, we call bot’.”
Dean just dialed his phone. “Jimmy? Hey. No way to sugar-coat it. Jet’s sick. Come over.”
The squawk from the other end was loud enough to make Dean flinch. “Ow. Man, I hope he doesn’t get a ticket.” He hung up then said, “We got cold crap?”
Cos shrugged. “No idea. I’ll go check then make a run. Juice?”
Remy opened the fridge. “Not the kind Jet likes. Grapefruit or that peach mango crap. Who would a thunk it. Seriously.”
“Okay.” Cos scribbled on a piece of paper. “Back in a bit.” He climbed the stairs quickly. He came back down with a disgusted expression on his face. “We got a medic kit that’s nearly a field hospital and no cold meds of any kind. What the actual fuck?”
Dean frowned. “I think I used most of it up when I had that cold last month. We never got around to refilling. Sorry. I should have seen to it ...” He shrugged. “We got busy.”
Cos snorted then said, “Well, ya think?”
“Yeah, mad bombers.” Dean shrugged. “What can ya do?”
Cos took a list from Remy then said, “I’m off ...in more ways than one.” He ambled out to the garage, chuckling to himself. Hoots and laughter followed him.
Dean sighed. “Remy, make soup.”
“I am. My famous two-chicken noodle soup. Call Tony an’ tell ‘im bring noodles.”
Dean just dialed. The following conversation was interesting. “Tony, bring noodles.”
“Okay. I’ll have to make some ... we used the last frozen ones a while ago. I’ll bring ‘em in about an hour.”
Ducky’s voice came from the small speaker. “Oh, no, you will not. If Jethro has flu, you’ll stay away. I do not want to have to nurse those lungs through that. And it will take months for you to get your capacity back.”
Tony whined, “But, Ducky―”
“No. AJ. Just no.” Ducky rustled around in the distance. “Now. I’m going over. You make noodles and have Jimmy bring them. Stay!”
Tony heaved a gusty sigh. “Well, shit. Okay.” He hung up without further comment.
Dean clattered around in the kitchen, finding all the things Remy would need for his soup. “What about chicken? How much ... Remy?”
Remy nodded at him. “Cos get chicken an’ stock. Fo’ now ... we jes’ wait. Clean de kitchen and whatnot.”
Dean nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna go start some laundry. It’s Jet’s turn but ... meh.” He ambled off to gather and sort things.
Dean stopped to check on Gibbs as he gathered up piles of laundry. He didn’t look very good. He was pale, with a hectic flush high on his cheekbones, and he was sweating like a foundered horse. His breathing was even more congested. Dean hoped Ducky got there soon.
He turned around and nearly ran the man down; dropping the laundry in his arms he hugged Ducky to keep from knocking him down. “Man, Duck, scare the shit out of me. Sorry. You okay?”
Ducky patted him on the arm. “Yes, I’m fine. Now. What’s going on?”
“Jet’s sick. I mean ... really sick.” Dean gathered up his laundry. “I’m gonna dump this in the laundry room. You need me ... yell.”
“Excellent. I’m sure I’ll have more luck with Jethro alone.” Ducky pushed the door open and walked into Gibbs’ room. “Very well, Jethro, let me see you.”
Gibbs, for his part, felt like he was alternately freezing and burning up; his nose was clogged, and his chest felt like he’d been wrapped in barbed wire. “Duck. Go the fuck away.”
“I do not believe I will. Now sit up like a good chap and let me have a listen.” Ducky ruthlessly dragged the covers off his protesting patient and dragged him upright. After listening to Gibbs’ chest and back, Ducky put his stethoscope away and said, “That’s a nasty case of flu you’ve got. Weren’t feeling quite the thing last night, were you?”
Gibbs grunted. “I’m fine.”
Ducky snorted at that then said, “Certainly. Roll over. You’re getting a shot.”
Gibbs bared his arm. “Right here.”
“No, I believe I said roll over. Unless you want a very sore arm.” Ducky twirled his finger. “Now be a good chap and roll.”
Gibbs grumbled some more but rolled, he knew from sad experience that, when Ducky said sore, he meant it. He gritted his teeth as the needle entered his gluteus maximus. “Fuck, Ducky.”
“It’s where it goes. Deal.” Ducky rummaged in his bag again. “I’m not going to give you antibiotics, they don’t do any good for flu, but I’m going to write down some instructions.” He started scribbling.
“Damnit, Duck. What the hell was that shot then?”
“Vitamins.” He pronounced it the British way, making Gibbs snort a bit. “You need the systematic support. A nasty case of flu will keep your appetite suppressed for quite some time. Now ... go back to sleep and do not give your carers a hard time. You know you’re a true terror when you feel poorly. I’ll be back in a few days to check on you.”
Gibbs grumbled wordlessly as Ducky actually tucked him in, then left.
Ducky made his way to the kitchen and entered just in time to hear Remy say, “I use commercial chicken stock. No’ broth, stock. It quicker and jus’ as good. It called two-chicken soup ‘cause ma mere used two chickens to make it. One to make de broth and the other for the meat.”
Ducky interrupted. “Sorry, gentlemen, I need your attention for a moment.” He went on to give the usual flu instructions: keep warm and hydrated, give foods gentle on an upset stomach, stay in bed. “And give him a decongestant, aspirin, and Tamiflu. This is new on the market, but it’s effective. I’ll give one of you the prescription ... you can get it at your regular pharm.” He wrote out the prescriptions sitting at the table. “Now. I’m out of this plague house. Jimmy and AJ will murder me if I get sick and give it to them. I’m especially worried about AJ, but I’ve got him on a preventative regimen of Tamiflu as of an hour ago.”
About twenty minutes after Ducky left to go home and Dean left to get the prescription filled, Cos returned. “Hey. Got a bunch of stuff. That rotisserie chicken and the stock you wanted. I got low-sodium so it won’t be too salty when you cook it down. And AJ called me while I was out, said to come over and get noodles, so we have fresh homemade noodles. And cold crap. I got individual symptom stuff instead of that multi crap Ducky is always bitching about. So ... Aspirin for fever ... cough syrup ... antihistamines, no decongestant as Jet won’t use a spray for shit. And I got orange juice, mango-peach, grape, and apple. Anything I forgot?”
Remy shook his head. “Non, done good, man.” He took the boxes of stock and started pouring them into a pot. After he emptied the three boxes of stock into a big pot he added the chicken whole.
Dean eyed the pot then asked, “Shouldn’t you ... um ... cut that up or something?”
Remy shook his head. “Not yet. Wan’ get all the good out the skin and such first.” He put a lid on the pot and went to chop up some carrots and celery.
Cos poured coffee, then held up the pot, “Want?”
Dean nodded and Remy said, “S’il vous plaît.” so Dean poured him a cup and set it within his reach, but out of line of an accidental spill.
Remy stopped chopping to take a drink of his coffee. “Good stuff.” He snarled with annoyance as his phone went off with the ring tone assigned to Tony. “AJ.” He dropped the phone on the counter top and pushed the speaker button.
“Ow! Asshole. How’s Jet? You need anything?”
Cos took over the conversation as Remy had just ambled over to the spice cabinet to find the things he needed. “He’s sick. Ducky says it’s the flu ... that’s why we wanted the noodles. Remy’s makin’ soup. We’ve got all the cold meds we need, and you do not get to come over so don’t. We don’t need you sick too.”
“Jerk.”
Cos announced, “Not either! If I was a jerk, I’d let you come over and get sick. Jerk your own self.”
Tony realized that he’d stepped a bit over the line. “Sorry. Really. But Jet’s never sick. I don’t remember the last time he has had so much as a sniffle. Call me. I mean it.”
“If there’s any change or anything we need that you can do ... I’ll call.” Cos’s voice softened as he said, “Really. Promise.”
“Okay. Bye.” Tony hung up, reassured that there was nothing they needed, but that they would call if they did.
.
Gibbs woke again, realized something, and made a call. “Duck, thanks for coming over, but do not come over again. Not that you’re ancient or anything near it ... but I don’t want you getting sick. Send Gremlin.”
Ducky, knowing well that he was a bit too old to be fighting off flu, just said, “I’ll do that. He’s champing at the bit to see you, so I’ll let him do the health check in two days. Stay. In. Bed.”
Gibbs grumbled, “I could sit on the couch.”
“Yes, you could, but will you.”
“Ducky, the way I feel, that’s all I can see in my near future. Bed, couch, head. Repeat as necessary. I’m trashed.” He hung up and pulled the covers back over his head.
Remy checked Gibbs when he heard his voice but all he saw was a lump under the covers. He went back to his soup.
Dean was poking at the chicken with a fork. “I think this is done, it’s starting to fall apart.”
“Bon. Take it out carefully so it doesn’t fall apart. An’ pick it, please.”
Dean carefully maneuvered the chicken into a large crock bowl as he asked, “And what are you gonna be doin’?”
“I gon’ cook noodles an’ y’ know they take watchin’.”
Cos ambled in with an armload of kitchen towels and wash cloths. “I know why you insist, but man, usin’ one set a’ towels for hands and another for dishes generates a foxtrot tango a’ laundry. An’ bleachin’ those dish rags every time makes another whole load. But ... I’d rather do more laundry than get GI’s. You remember the time ...?” With that he was off on a round of recollections of times they’d gotten sick from unclean cooking conditions.
Dean and Remy listened with amusement; they remembered well. Especially the time when AJ had told them that the food from the cart in Cozumel smelled off. They’d eaten it anyway and had all come down with a case of Montezuma’s Revenge that had cancelled an important mission, passing it off to another team. AJ had bitched endlessly about having to nurse them through and still hadn’t let them forget it.
While they chatted, Remy put the fresh noodles into the soup, then turned the heat up to bring it to a slow simmer. He stirred them carefully so as not to break them. As soon as they were done, he dumped the coarsely chopped chicken in. As Gibbs was surely going to have a sensitive stomach, he didn’t add any vegetables.
“There. I’ll put it in several containers, as one will be a bitch to handle. Dean, long-arm me that stack of quart containers from behind you.”
Dean obliged and they all sniffed appreciatively as the smell wafted around the kitchen.
Remy nodded over his shoulder and said, “Som’ un get a loaf a’ bread out the freezer an’ stick it in th’ oven.”
Cos got up to do that but paused as they heard a violent coughing fit from upstairs. “I better go see about that.” He reached out and snagged the bottle of cough medicine. “It’s grape. It was either that or anise, and Jet hates that. So ...” He figuratively girded his loins and headed off.
.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs was just about as miserable as he’d ever been; first he was freezing, then he was roasting. He’d sweated through his t-shirt and boxers, and his sheets were damp. He thought about getting up and changing everything but he was just too tired. And the coughing fits were killing him; he wondered how AJ had stood it.
Cos’s cheerful, “Jet, medicine! Rise and shine,” made him retreat deeper into his cocoon of blanket and sheets.
He poked his head out, snarled, “Fuck off,” then pulled it back in. Cos said later that he looked like some sort of hermit crab.
“Nope. Take your cough medicine; you’ll quit coughing up a damn lung.” He held the tiny cup out. “Seriously.”
Gibbs took the cup, swallowed the thick, sticky syrup, then handed the cup back. “Grape? Seriously? What the actual fuck?”
“It was either grape or licorice.” He reached out to try to straighten the covers and found that they were damp. “Man. What the hell? These are wet.” He reached out to touch Gibbs’ forehead. “You’re sweatin’ like a bull at high noon. Hang on.” He hurried out. It wasn’t long before he returned with an armful of sheets, clean boxers, and a t-shirt. “Here. Get up and shuck those wet things. Not so good. And I’ll remake your bed with dry sheets. That blanket has to go too; it’s wet.” He started pulling at the blanket.
Gibbs wasn’t that inclined to let it go, but finally gave up. He immediately started shivering. “Damn it, I’m cold. Give.”
Cos shook his head. “Here, wrap the clean blanket around you. I’ll get the sheets on as fast as I can. While I’m doing that, make like a submarine and get out of those wet cloths and into the dry.”
Gibbs just complied by wrapping the blanket around himself, covering his head with one corner, and wriggling out of his wet boxers. This was made much harder than it should be by the wet things sticking to his skin. He grumbled and snarled, but only managed to replace his boxers, his t-shirt stuck to him like glue.
“Remy, damnit, a little help here.”
Remy turned to see that Gibbs had gotten his shirt twisted around his torso and was now locked into it. “Here. Jes’ be still.” Gibbs stilled and waited while Remy untwisted the shirt and dragged it off. “Hol’ up yo han’s.” Gibbs obeyed and Remy had his shirt on in seconds. “Wrap up good. I’m not done wit’ de bed yet.”
Gibbs rewrapped the blanket and settled in to sulk, although he’d deny it with his last breath.
Remy quickly finished making the bed and helped Gibbs crawl back in. He rearranged the blanket to keep him covered as he did so. “There. I’ be back wit’ mo’ meds in a sec.”
Gibbs kept his silence over that, he wasn’t looking forward to the experience at all. Who would have thought that “good-tasting” meds would leave such a foul aftertaste?
Remy returned quickly with Dean in tow, as well as several bottles of what he called pills an’ potions. It didn’t take much time for Dean to measure out a liquid and drop several pills into another cup.
“Okay. You’ve already had cough stuff.” He handed a cup to Remy. “This is decongestant. Then aspirin for fever and muscle ache. And some juice to wash it down. Peach-mango. And can I just say ... Blarg.”
Gibbs emerged from his cocoon to take the medicine, gulp the juice and retreat again. “Go ‘way. You’ll get sick too.”
Dean eyed Remy then jerked his head. “Right, Jet, we’re gone. Go to sleep.”
The second they got back to the kitchen Cos handed out soup and bread. “Okay, how bad?”
“Fever, chills, congestion; chest and nose. And bitchy. Aches and pains. Headache.” Dean shrugged. “Flu ... really bad case. We’re fucked for the foreseeable future and AJ’s gonna be a PITA.”
Cos nodded his understanding, “In other words ... Ducky was right. Shit.”
Dean buttered his bread, took a bite, then chewed contemplatively. Finally he said, “Well, we can do this. Seriously. He’s just bitchy because he’s sick. Not like he’s gonna stab us or somethin’.”
Remy nodded. “True. But we better set up shifts. He’s gonna need nursin’ an’ we’re gonna need sleep and three S’s time. So ... I’m a’ do the cookin’. That leaves you two on watch an’ watch.”
Cos shrugged. “Not like it’s gonna be hard. He’ll sleep most of the time. Dean? Day or night?”
Dean frowned at his soup for a moment. “Flip for it.”
“‘K. Gimme a sec.” Cos rummaged around in his pockets for a coin but came up with nothing but a ball of lint. “Nope. Nada. Just a pocket monster.”
Remy dropped his phone on the table, poked an app and said, “Heads or tails.”
Dean chose heads while Cos just shrugged. Remy poked his phone again then announced, “Heads. Dean, you’re day; Cos, night.”
Cos grumbled a bit but said, “I’ll take a nap at about 1500. Let me sleep at least two hours; that’ll leave me ready to sleep again at about 0500. Shift from 0700 to 1900?”
“Sounds good to me. And that leaves a bit of overlap for meals, so Remy isn’t a damn fry cook.”
Remy shrugged. “Doan mind.” He rattled around for a few minutes, searching the cabinets. “We doan got a tray.”
Dean blinked at him for a moment. “Tray? Sure we do. There’s that ...” he trailed off at Remy’s steaming look. “What?”
“A bed tray ... for Jet to eat off.” He waited a moment but their puzzled looks made him snarl, “So he doesn’t spill shit all over? Got a clue?”
Both Dean and Cos nodded. Dean got up, wiping his mouth, “Okay. I’ll go find one. Pier 1?”
Cos nodded. “Best bet. Or a ... I donno ... hospital supply place?”
Gibbs croaked from the door. “Don’ need a tray. I’ll come to th’ table. Hate bed trays. Too much like a hospital. Soup?”
Remy rushed to pull a chair out for Gibbs, bitching him out at the same time. “Damn it, Jet, y’ need stay in bed. You’ll only feel worse. An’ soup. An’ ...” he squinted at the counter. “I thin’ there a couple slices a bread left too.”
Gibbs settled in the offered seat and put his head down on the table. “Soup’s good. Is there a heel?”
Dean just handed over the last slice and a heel. “Butter?”
“No, thanks. Just want soppin’ bread.”
Dean grinned. “It is good.”
All three men watched as Gibbs ate the soup, soaking up some of the broth with the heel of bread. He finished by wiping the last of the broth out of the bowl with a scrap of the soft slice of bread. “Good. Thanks.” He accepted the tea he was handed, grumbling about it not being coffee.
“Yeah, you go ‘head an’ drink coffee. Y’ stomach won’ like dat an’ you know it.” Remy took the last of the dishes and put them in the machine. “You get back t’ bed.”
Gibbs eyed Remy; for a moment he looked like he was going to argue, then he had a coughing fit. “‘K ... bossy.”
“An’ take some mo’ cough stuff. Sound like yo coughin’ up a lung.”
Gibbs, who now felt as if a band had been tightened around his chest, just mumbled, “Goin’. Seriously bossy.”
He stood, shivering, for a moment then headed back up the stairs.
Dean eyed Cos, who eyed him right back. “Call Ducky?”
“What for?”
“Donno ... just ... he looks so sick. We should do something.”
Remy butted in with, “We doin’ all we can. He jes’ have t’ wait it out. Sucks ... but we deal. Right?”
Dean and Cos both said, “Right. Just hope we don’t get called out. And what about NCIS ... people aren’t gonna stop gettin’ murdered and whatnot just because Jet’s sick.”
Tim called just then to ask how Gibbs was and to inform them that, as Gibbs was sick, Tony was team lead until further notice. He also said that Tony wanted Remy and Dean to stay with Gibbs while Cos took a place on the MCRT until Gibbs was back.
Remy, whose phone Tim had called, conveyed the message.
“Well, that scuttled our plans. Remy?”
Remy shrugged. “No idea. Anything?”
Cos offered. “My Mom used to give me a bell that I could ring if I needed anything.”
Dean scoffed. “Can you see Jet using a bell? A bellow, that I could see. But the shape his throat is in? No.”
Just then a loud blast from a hand-held air horn made all three of them nearly jump out of their skins.
“Well, that takes care of that. I’ll go see what he wants.” Dean headed up the stairs.
.
Gibbs waited for someone to show up. He’d sweated through his t-shirt and boxers again and he knew he was going to have to have some help or he’d just wind up making himself worse by trying to change sheets in damp things. Beside that, he was now chilling and shivering so hard he didn’t think he could manage.
Dean took one look at Gibbs and said, “Jet. What? You look like shit, man.”
Gibbs snarled, “Thanks so much.” He shuddered so hard his teeth chattered. “Need dry stuff. I keep sweatin’ through everything.”
Dean nodded. “That’s your fever breaking, then coming back. You’ll sweat, then chill. I’m gonna get you fresh clothing and sheets. Your favorite blanket is clean again, so I’ll bring that too.”
Gibbs grunted. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t long before Dean was back in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. “He’s bad. Bet it takes at least two whole weeks for him to get over this. Not lookin’ forward.”
Cos shrugged. “He took care of us. We take care of him.”
“Yeah, an’ I bet he’s a lot less trouble than we were. Too sick.”
Remy agreed. “Yeah. Y’all jes’ wounded. He got a fever. I take him up some juice.”
Cos said, “Okay, fine. Someone has to finish putting the motors in storage. AJ an’ his crew dealt with theirs, but ours are still in back. You stay here and we’ll deal with the motors.”
Dean agreed, adding, “We can take two over at a time but we’ll need a ride back. Call AJ an’ tell ‘im.”
“Great. That way he’ll feel like he’s helpin’ out.”
A quick call had Tony agreeing to drive to the storage in his hummer and pick them up. He also said that he’d escort them back on the second run and get them back home again.
Remy announced that, while they were doing that, he was going to finish laundry and clean the garage. When Dean gave him a doubtful look he said, “Jet gonna be in bed asleep. I’ll give him some cold stuff and he’ll sleep for a couple a’ hours.”
“Okay. Fine. Cos, let’s get humpin’.”
Dean and Cos geared up, but didn’t bother with radio checks; without the trike, there was no radio contact. Instead, Cos called Dean on his phone, and they Bluetoothed their phones to their helmets.
“You ready?”
“Yeah. Let’s put wheels under this bitch.”
They pulled out of the garage and rumbled down the street, taking their time. Dean grumbled, “I’m glad I got out my heavy jacket. It’s cold as fuck.”
Cos replied, “Me too. This weather is nuts. Watch the left.”
Dean turned his head to see a kid on a bike trying to keep up with them. He was peddling like mad, but losing ground. Both men waved at him then sped up. They didn’t want him so intent on pacing them that he got himself into some kind of trouble.
It didn’t take them that long to get to the storage. Tony was waiting for them with the doors already up so they just rode right in and parked the bikes.
“There. Come on. Ducky actually gave me specific orders on what I can and cannot do. Basically, I can’t go anywhere near Jet. And, if either one of you coughs or sneezes ... well, just don’t. Man is seriously paranoid,” Tony laughed. “And do not fight over shotgun or you’ll both be in the back.”
Dean and Cos played rock, paper, scissors for front, Dean won.
They rode in silence for a bit, then Dean sighed, “Man, Jet’s really out of it. He’s been sleepin’ for the last twelve hours or so. Hope he’s gonna be okay.”
Tony snorted. “That man’ll be fine. He’s been blown up three or four times, survived a long tour in Columbia. He’s as tough as we are.”
“Okay, okay. I’m just freaked.”
Tony pulled into the driveway and let them out, then backed down to wait until they pulled out in front of him. They headed back down the street on their second pass.
The second drive was accomplished with silent efficiency. Tony locked the storage, while Dean and Cos waited for him.
They talked about nothing on the way back, in the way friends do.
They were almost home when Tony’s phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to Dean. “Answer that, will you?”
Dean just pushed talk and said, “AJ’s phone, Dean speaking. Gimme a sec an’ I’ll put you on speaker.” He pushed the appropriate button and held the phone up.
“AJ. Ducky speaking. Do not go into the house. I’m sure Gibbs is still contagious and you do not need to be ill.”
“Ducky, I swear. I gave my word, what do you want?”
“Your word is good enough. I’m just reminding you.”
“Okay, okay. I promised.”
Tony made a face as Ducky pulled a Gibbs and hung up.
“Damnit. I swear, Jet’s rubbing off on everyone. Good-bye just fell off the radar entirely.”
Everyone laughed at that and went back to gossiping like, as Gibbs said, old women.
Dean’s phone rang. “Yeah, Dean here.” He put his phone on speaker, which almost everyone in the Pod did. It kept them from having to repeat everything.
Remy was on the other end of the line. “Hey. Jet’s still sleeping, but I don’t want to leave him alone. Will you pick up some juice and some more aspirin?”
Tony replied, “Sure, we’re just coming up on that CVS. We can stop there and get stuff. Check the meds and call me back if you need anything.”
“Got it.”
Tony made the turn and parked a bit away from the store. He usually tried to park in an unused lane, as the Hummer took up all of a standard parking place. He parked across the line and took up two spaces as, if someone parked on either side of him, they wouldn’t be able to get the doors open. He knew it wasn’t really nice, but it was necessary.
They strolled into the store and split up. Tony went to find juice, while Dean headed for cold medicine; and Cos, he went for beer.
When they gathered at the register to check out, the bored-looking twenty-something girl tried to flirt. Tony shot her down easily. “Sweetie, I’m old enough to be your dad an’ mean enough to swat your ass. Knock it off and ring us up.”
The girl didn’t take offense; instead she snickered and said, “Well, who knows, I might like it if you swat my ass. Can’t blame a gal for tryin’.” She winked then continued, “And you’re nowhere old as my dad; my big brother ... maybe.” She finished checking them out quickly and bagged the snacks, cold medicine, and juice. “I know you don’t, but management insists that I ask ... Do you want a bag for the beer?”
The offer was refused with all the scorn it deserved. They left the pharmacy, bumping shoulders and laughing.
.
Remy looked up from his laundry as Dean, Cos, and AJ clattered in through the garage door. “Hey.”
“Hey your own self.” Dean gestured vaguely with the bags in one hand. “We got ... stuff.”
Remy pointed at Tony. “You. Go. Yo’ not supposed t’ be in here. You get sick ... Ducky kill us all.”
Tony pouted but headed back out the door. “Can’t shoot a man for tryin’.”
“Ducky’ll give you a shot.” Dean smirked at Tony’s rapidly retreating back. Everyone knew that Tony hated needles with a passion. Not that anyone blamed him, Y. pestis and double digits of stitches had made him what Ducky called needle-shy.
Cos dumped his bags on the kitchen table and fished out the new bottle of cough medicine. “I’ll run this up to Jet; he’s due.”
He took the steps two at a time and knocked on Gibbs’ bedroom door. “Jet? You awake?” He didn’t get an answer, so he eased the door open. It was just common sense not to startle even a retired Marine Scout Sniper from sleep; it could get you slugged. “Jet?” Cos stood and looked at the bed for several seconds… the empty, nicely made bed. “What the actual fuck? Damnit.”
Cos charged back down the stairs. “Remy! Remy! Where the fuck is Jet?”
Remy stuck his head out the laundry room door. “In bed.”
“Not.”
“Well, shit. I turn m’ back on ‘im for two seconds.”
Dean came in from the living room. “What’s all the yellin’ about?”
“Jet’s gone missin’.”
“What? Where?”
Cos gave Dean a ‘Well, duh.’ look. “If I knew that, he wouldn’t be missing, now would he?”
Remy frowned, “Okay, can that shit. Where the hell would Jet go? He’s ... under his boat.”
Cos nodded. “He is ... he surely is.”
Dean agreed, “Yeah, he always goes there when he’s overwhelmed. Let’s go. An’ bring his medicine. He’s due.”
So they trooped down into the basement and checked under the boat. Gibbs was there, cuddled up in the nest of blankets and pillows, sound asleep.
Cos backed out then said, “He’s sound asleep. I’d wake him up, but it’s the best rest he’s gotten in two days.”
Dean was already on the phone to Ducky. Jimmy answered the phone. “Dr. Mallard’s phone. Jimmy Palmer speaking.”
“Hey. So ... Jet’s under his boat, sound asleep. He’s resting so well we hate to wake him ... but he’s due for cough med, expectorant, and all that. So ... wake him or not?”
“Not. He needs the rest more than anything. Let him skip. Give him his meds when he wakes up, then go on from there. Make sure he has a full glass of water and some juice as well. Get him to eat something if you can. Call back any time.” Dean heard Ducky in the back ground but couldn’t understand him. “Ducky needs me. Bye.”
Since they usually put their phones on speaker when they all needed to hear, Cos and Remy just nodded. “Okay. Let’s get set up here.” Cos eyed Dean. “Yeah, I know. But he’s more comfortable under there ... not sayin’ I wouldn’t be too. So, we set the meds up on ... some clean, flat surface and go from there.”
It didn’t take them long to move a few tools back to their storage; Jet could find them again when he wanted them. For now, they went back to their proper places. This left a good spot to leave all his medicines and a pressure pot of water to take the pills with. Ducky had vetoed taking pills with liquid medicines.
As soon as they heard Gibbs stir, Dean brought down a glass of juice, tapped on the boat and said, “Jet. Medicine. Here.” A hand emerged from under the boat so he put pills in it. It disappeared then reemerged; he put the glass of juice in it. “There’s two liquids, too. Ducky said not to mix ‘em, so you need to come out for them.”
Gibbs rustled around a bit then crawled half way out. “Wet.” he shoved a couple of sheets and a blanket onto the floor then held out a hand for the rest of his medicine. “Okay.” He knocked back the first shot, making a face. “Gross.” Dean didn’t comment, he just handed the other dose over. Gibbs also knocked that one back then asked, “What’s with the cherry and grape?”
“Only other choice was bubblegum or licorice. Didn’t think you’d like either one of those. Juice.”
Gibbs took the juice and drank half; he swished a mouthful around to get rid of the medicinal taste then finished the rest. He handed the glass back saying, “Thanks. Could you wash that?”
“Sure thing. I’ve got some clean stuff for you ... couple a’ sheets, a blanket and a pillow with a clean case. Ought maybe drag all that nest out and sort it out. You still chillin’?”
“Yeah, but the nest does need sorting and whatnot. I can manage for a bit.” Gibbs was not visibly shivering.
“Nope. Here.” Dean showed Gibbs a pile of sheets, blankets and pillows. “This is all clean. Just shove everything out and start fresh. I’ll wash all that and you can decide how much of it you want back.”
Gibbs just turned and crawled back under the boat without saying a thing. He shoved the whole nest out and eased back to give Dean room.
Dean just squatted down and shoved his whole armload of things under the boat. “There. Water on the counter there ...” he pointed. “Meds too. You want anything else ... here.” He tossed the airhorn under the boat, then dragged the nest into the free floor space and started sorting.
He wound up with a pile of sheets and pillow cases, another of blankets, and a mass of pillows. “Well, Jet, looks like I’ve got about six loads of really dirty shit. How the hell did we wind up sleeping in that?” He sighed and started resorting into loads.
Meanwhile Gibbs grumbled, “No idea. Just ... no one dealt. Is there anything hot?”
“No, but that’s not a problem. I’ll just go up and heat you up some soup.”
Gibbs rustled around, arranging the sheets and blankets to his liking then dumping the pillows in. He settled back, his body cushioned by blankets and pillows, to cover himself with a sheet and blanket. He still felt like shit warmed over, but he’d stopped sweating through everything on the hour. His nose and chest were still congested and his whole body ached like an unlanced boil.
Remy returned with the chicken soup in a cup. Gibbs eyed it for a moment, took a sip then gave it back. “No.”
Remy sighed. “Jet, yo gotta eat somethin’.”
“No.”
Remy gave up but threatened, “If y’ doan eat somethin’ in six hours, I’m a call Ducky.”
“Asshole.”
“Yup.”
And Remy went off to move laundry around then upstairs. He put the cup on the table then went to answer the door: UPS delivery of some gun parts for Cos.
Dean came into the kitchen and found the soup on the table so he took time to fix himself some toast to go with the soup. No sense in letting perfectly good soup go cold.
Cos wandered in with his parts. “Sorry, I need the table to unpack this.”
Dean, mouth full of toast, just waved a hand so Cos started unpacking his stuff. “When you get done with that, would you make me one? Just use the same cup.”
Dean nodded, swallowed, then said, “Sure. Parts are for my M1911, right? So, it’s really gonna hurt me to make you soup.” He finished the last noodle and took the cup back to the counter to make Cos a serving. “Toast?”
“Be nice. Thanks.”
Dean made soup and toast while Cos finished the inventory. He was reconditioning Dean’s old WWII Colt. It wasn’t an issue, it was an antique and not in that good condition. It needed a new firing pin and some springs and screws. Cos absently nibbled at his toast as he checked things off his list. “Great, all there. Soup’s good. Thanks again.”
Remy wandered back in with an armload of pillow cases which he dumped on the end of the table. “I swear half the linens are under that boat.”
After folding the last pillowcase Remy took them upstairs to the linen closet and put them on a shelf. He checked the bathroom over, made sure that all Gibbs’ meds were downstairs, then settled to watch TV for a bit.
He was interrupted by a honk from the basement. “Okay, okay. Comin’.” He wandered down to peek under the boat. “You honked?”
“I did. Is there any more of that peach/mango juice?”
“Yeah. You ought to have soup. But I’ll bring you juice.”
Gibbs made a face. “Soup just smells off.”
“Nothin’ wrong with dat soup. Your sniffer fucked.”
“Okay. Bring some. I’ll try again.” He looked hopeful. “I do feel a bit better. I think that stuff that Ducky prescribed is workin’.”
“Good.” Remy went back upstairs to make more soup and pour some juice. This time Gibbs took it and managed to finish all the soup and most of the juice.
Remy took the glass and mug back to the kitchen. He rinsed them with a mild bleach solution, then put them in the dishwasher.
.
The next three days were a repeat of the last. Ducky called every day to check on Gibbs, and the three SEALs nursed him patiently. They took care of their own. Tony stayed away, grumbling grudgingly about “ol’ women.” Cos was in and out, obligingly picking up things on his way back from the Yard.
Finally, Gibbs came down early, dressed in jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, and flannel. He was wearing slippers without socks, but he looked much better. “Hey. Breakfast?” His hopeful look made everyone relax.
“Sure. What do you want?” Remy waited for a grumbled demand for poached eggs or something else gentle on a fussy stomach.
“Whatever you’re fixin’ is fine. I feel good.” Gibbs poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip and sighed. “Great stuff.”
Remy produced a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. Gibbs took one look at the plate and grinned, “Man, Remy, thanks. Looks really good, and I’m starved.”
While Gibbs and Remy were eating, Cos and Dean stumbled in, heavy-eyed and grumpy.
Remy eyed Dean. “Man, yo don’ look good.”
Dean coughed then snarled, “Fuck you, man, I’m not sick.”
Remy and Gibbs both flinched as Cos grumbled, “I’m not either.”
~~fini~~
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Conchiglie Grandi are really big shell pasta. Yummy when stuffed with just about anything.