<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">"I should stay," Tony objected.  "Kate stayed when I had the plague.  I should stay now."<br/>
<br/>
"Anthony..." Ducky began warningly.  "You will be no help to Gibbs if you allow yourself to get run-down and catch cold.  As reluctant as you are to acknowledge it, dear boy, you are more susceptible to respiratory infections -- and Gibbs will need you able to work."<br/>
<br/>
It was perhaps the only response that would make Tony scrub his face with his hands and nod in defeat.  "Yeah.  Yeah, okay Duck.  C'mon, probie.  I'll give you a ride home."  Tony clapped a hand on Tim's shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
Tim stifled another yawn.  "You sure you should be driving either?"<br/>
<br/>
Tony squeezed the shoulder under his hand.  "Yeah, I'm good.  C'mon."  They left -- still bickering -- and Ducky turned to Officer David.<br/>
<br/>
"Your consideration of my old bones is appreciated," he said with old-world courtesy, before settling himself onto the bed and closing his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
* ~ *<br/>
<br/>
Gibbs awoke precisely four hours after he'd collapsed onto the bed.  He took stock of his physical condition before rising -- minor aches and pains from  the past forty-eight hours, but nothing urgent.  His mental condition, though...<br/>
<br/>
... he'd dreamed of death.  Ari's death, of course -- only in dreams, Ari did not stay dead, but rose still bleeding to empty his magazine into either Ziva or Gibbs, depending on which iteration of the dream it was.  He dreamed of the bullet hitting Kate, that first hot splash of her blood against his face -- dreamed of it hitting her between the eyes rather than the side of the head, robbing him of her forever.  He dreamed of Tony, dying of the plague under blue lights -- dreamed that his order for Tony to live had not been enough.<br/>
<br/>
And of course... he dreamed of his girls.  He should have known it would happen, with Kate lying in a coma in a hospital bed.  It shouldn't come as a surprise to see the mental reconstruction of Shannon and Kelly's deaths -- deaths that he did not observe himself, but pieced together from reading witness accounts and seeing crime scene photos.  It didn't matter.  In the dreams, he was always just out of reach of them -- just too far to protect them.<br/>
<br/>
Just as he couldn't protect Kate.<br/>
<br/>
Mechanically, Gibbs dressed and made himself a pot of coffee.  He didn't think he could stomach breakfast... but knew he had to eat.  Diner, then.  If he couldn't force himself to eat his own cooking, he'd be better off stopping at the diner.  He ate there more often than he should... but it felt like home.  He took his usual booth and wasn't surprised to see Elaine -- co-owner and head waitress -- hand over the task she was doing to an employee and come to take his order personally.  "You look like hell, hun," the black woman said, and filled a mug of coffee.<br/>
<br/>
"Kind of feel like it, too."  Gibbs sipped the coffee -- which was damned near as good as his own.  "Need fuel for myself -- working on a bad one."  He never detailed his investigations to Elaine, but she had picked up enough over the years to guess it had to be pretty damned bad for Gibbs to admit it.  "And I was hoping I could get you to make up some food for my team -- sandwiches, I think, something that'll keep.  We're going to be pushing for awhile."  </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(153, 255, 153)">He hadn't realized until the words were out of his mouth that he was going to feed his team -- but it felt like the right thing to do.  They were all stressed, and though food wouldn't necessarily help relieve that... it was one small way he could take care of his team.  "DiNozzo, Ducky, McGee, Abby -- and a new one.  Think she's Jewish, don't know if she keeps kosher."<br/>
<br/>
Elaine nodded, patting Gibbs's shoulder.  "I'll get yours ready, and make up a to-go order."</span></span>