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7. “There’s a frog in my throat.”
Since moving to D.C., there weren’t many times that Ziva David missed living in Israel; she loved the changing of the seasons, the cherry blossoms, the green of summer. She hated winter with a passion, however. She missed Israel the most when the snow was blowing sideways and the icy wind snaked its fingers down her coat.
It was mid January and Ziva woke to an unpleasant scratch in her throat and a throbbing in her temples. She contemplated calling out sick for all of three seconds before hauling herself out of bed and into her morning routine, determined to act as though she felt 100% to try and trick her body into believing it. She feared it wasn’t going to work well.
The morning passed in a blur of crime scene photos and coffee cart runs. Ziva kept her winter jacket on when she returned from her most recent coffee run, although she had gotten tea this time, and she had just settled in at her desk to call some eye witnesses when her train of thought was interrupted.
“Ziver, let’s move!” Gibbs called from his desk.
She looked up at him, confused about where they were going. “Where are we moving to?” she asked, her voice coming out hoarse and nasally. She cleared her throat and tried to ignore Gibbs’ worried glance. “There’s a toad in my throat,” she said quietly.
DiNozzo was at her desk in a flash, concern etched on his face. “It’s frog.” He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek and frowned.
“What?” Ziva pulled away when she felt a blush creep up the back of her neck at his touch.
“The saying. It’s ‘there’s a frog in my throat’, not a toad.” He backed up a step when Gibbs walked over to his agents. “She’s running a fever,” Tony said quietly, glancing at Ziva with a look so soft that she felt like she might shatter.
“I’m fine, Gibbs,” Ziva stated, scowling at Tony for tattling on her. She really didn’t feel that badly, other than the scratchy throat and headache. Her nose was starting to feel stuffy, and goosebumps kept popping up on her skin, but those things were easy to ignore with the amount of training her father had put her through.
“Let’s see what Duck has to say,” Gibbs said quietly, his eyes running over his agent, assessing her well-being. “Come on.” He waited for her to stand and followed her to the elevator, signaling Tony to stay put as he walked by his senior agent’s desk.
Tony opened his mouth to argue, but a look from Gibbs shut him up, and he watched them walk away without saying anything.
“Ah, Jethro, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Ducky asked when Gibbs and Ziva walked into autopsy.
“Ziver’s sick,” Gibbs said, resting a hand on Ziva’s back and pushing her forward gently.
“Oh, dear. Come here, child, sit on the table here.” Ducky gestured to the metal table in front of him and smiled warmly as he waited for her to sit. “Jethro, my bag?”
“On it,” Gibbs replied, turning on his heel and going to the closet in the back of the room.
“Now, what seems to be the matter?” Ducky felt Ziva’s forehead before moving his fingers down to prod at her neck. “Swollen lymph nodes, low grade fever.”
“I’ve a headache,” Ziva said quietly. It felt wrong to be admitting that something was the matter with her.
Gibbs came back with Ducky’s bag then, and Ducky dug through it until he found his thermometer. “Under your tongue, if you will.”
Ziva did as she was told, and waited patiently until the thermometer beeped.
“100.2,” Ducky reported. “You should be at home resting, my dear.”
“I feel okay,” Ziva countered, pressing at her temples to try and force the ache out of her head.
“Hey, you heard him. Go home, get some rest. Doc’s orders,” Gibbs said softly.
“Drink plenty of fluids and alternate Tylenol and Advil every three hours. And don’t come back into the office until the fever’s been gone 24 hours,” Ducky instructed, pulling Ziva’s hands away from her head and placing a dose of Tylenol in them. “Feel better soon, my dear.”
Ziva swallowed the medicine with a swig of the water bottle Gibbs was holding out to her and maneuvered herself off the metal table. “Fine.” She walked towards the elevator, sure that Gibbs was following her, and pressed the button, glad to find that the elevator was still there waiting for them.
“Need anything at home? I can send Tony or McGee on a supply run for ya,” Gibbs asked once the doors slid shut behind them.
“No, thank you.” Ziva was angry that she was being sidelined. She’d worked through worse in Mossad; it was insulting for Gibbs and Ducky to be siding against her.
“Ziver,” Gibbs said as he pulled the emergency stop for the elevator. They were plunged into darkness and he waited a few breaths for Ziva to relax a little. “Let us help you.” He pulled his agent into a hug and could feel her trembling as her fevered skin warmed him through their layers of clothing. “What do you need?”
Ziva sighed, pushing down her anger. She knew Gibbs just wanted to keep her safe. “I don’t have much at my apartment,” she whispered. Her throat hurt too much to speak at a regular volume.
Gibbs pet the back of her head. “I’ll send Tony home with you.”
Ziva nodded and pulled away from Gibbs. “Thank you, Gibbs.
Gibbs lip twitched up as he pushed the button back into place and the elevator resumed it ascent.