McGee had been feeling tired and moody ever since he left NCIS the night before, Tony making it a point to point out that fact whenever he saw him, and the slight headache he woke up with wasn't helping his mood. Plus, the Tylenol he had taken that morning were not helping one bit.
Getting outside, to a new crime scene, helped clear his head some. Until the traffic jam. Each time Ziva leaned into the horn, the shrill sound sent a new spike of pain through Tim's head. He tried to push it away, tried to ignore it, and actually managed it for a while.
In fact, he actually thought he kicked the headache, until Tony snapped his picture. The flash pierced his eyes, the throbbing returning full force, and it took all of McGee's will power not to groan in pain. His stomach churned as he stumbled out of the house, shielding his eyes from the nearly blinding sunlight.
He crossed the lawn, a wave of lightheadedness nearly sending to the ground. He leaned forward, hand pressed into the bark, breathing deeply through his nose. Slowly, the lightheadedness and nausea passed. He picked his head up, the sun shining innocently back at him. He shook his head once, heading toward the van, nearly running into Ziva.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"It is fine," she replied grabbing his shoulder when his balance wavered. "Are you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her eyes.
"I'm fine," he replied giving her a forced smile.
"Are you sure?"
"What's the hold up," Tony called before McGee could answer, snatching the keys from Ziva's hand. "Thank you."
Ziva flashed McGee one final look before turning to Tony and saying, "If you are going to drive you could at least ask for the keys."
"But taking them from you is so much more fun."
They continued to bicker back and forth on the drive back to the naval yard, McGee making an effort to ignore them. A dull ache was slowly building up across the left side of his skull, right behind his eye. He settled his head against the window, breathing through the pain.
Tim didn't know when exactly he fell asleep, but one moment he was dreaming of Oompa Loompas kicking him the head and the next he was being shaken awake by Ziva. Except his dream seemed to have followed him back to reality, his head feeling as if it had really been kicked several times by small, green haired, orange men.
"Are you…?" Ziva started to ask.
"I'm fine," he snapped, a little harsher than he wanted, and pushed the door open. He wavered for a second, grabbing the door to keep his balance. When he regained his composure, he snatched his bag from the van and headed toward the elevators in the garage, Tony and Gibbs already gone.
He let the retinal scanner scan his eyes, the laser not helping his headache at all, his stomach swooping with the pain. He breathed through the nausea, closing his eyes, barely noticing Ziva coming up behind him.
"McGee, you are obviously not fine," she said gripping his elbow when he started to waver again. She guided him onto the elevator, settling him against the wall. "It is okay, McGee," she said, her voice sending a sharp pain through his head. He barely kept a hiss at bay, gripping his head between his hands.
The elevator started moving under his feet, his headache slowly ebbing away again. It was once again a dull throb by the time the elevator dinged and the doors opened. McGee carefully opened his eyes, Ziva flashing him a worried look.
"I'm fine," he answered her unasked question. "Just a headache," he reassured her as he stepped out of the elevator. He headed toward his desk, Tony watching him and then Ziva, and barely sat down when Gibbs said, "McGee, go take the evidence to Abby."
"On it, boss," McGee said picking his bag up and heading toward the back elevators. He jabbed one of the buttons, waiting for the doors to open, slipping into the car when they parted. He pressed Abby's floor, the doors closing, and the elevator started moving.
As he rode down, the lights jabbed at his eyes, his dull ache getting worse. He rubbed the sides of his head, hoping it would help him-it didn't. He would have taken more Tylenol, but he had a feeling if it didn't work the first time it probably wasn't going to work this time.
The ding was like another kick to the head, he whimpered in pain, nearly falling out of the elevator car. He grabbed the edge of the car, resting his head against the cool metal, trying to keep his stomach contents in his stomach.
He stumbled out of the elevator, the doors colliding into his shoulders, and moved toward Abby's lab. Her music nearly killed him as he tripped over the threshold, a voice piercing his aching head as it said, "About time you…
"Oh my God!" Tim groaned in pain at the alarmed shout, his stomach churning so severely he knew he wasn't going to keep himself from vomiting. Sure enough, he barely made it six steps into Abby's lab before he fell to his hands and knees, his meager breakfast splattering across the floor.
His pain spiked again, McGee retched once more, his limbs shaking. His arms gave out, but before he could face plant with his stomach contents, hands were lowering him to his side. He could smell the sour bile, his stomach churning again. He gagged, groaning when the action sent another spike of pain across his skull.
He wondered if he were dying. It sure felt like he was dying. He tried to tell Abby-who he could only guess was helping him-to call an ambulance. But he just couldn't get the words out. To be honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to speak at all. Speaking would cause noise and noise would make his head hurt more. And he didn't want his head to hurt more.
In fact, all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball (which he did because Abby wouldn't judge him) and cry (which he didn't do because he knew it would get back to Tony somehow). Or he hoped he wasn't crying because that would be embarrassing, especially in front of Abby.
'God, you could be dying and you're thinking about embarrassing yourself in front of Abby. That makes sense,' a small voice, sounding almost exactly like DiNozzo, said sarcastically. I'm dying and the last voice I hear is Tony DiNozzo? Are you fricking kidding me?
"Timmy, you aren't dying," Abby's voice said quietly above him. He wasn't even aware he had been talking the whole time. "It's a migraine." A migraine? Really? "I'm going to turn the lights down, just sit tight." The music stopped, the room dimming behind Tim's eye lids.
"Here," Abby's voice said. Tim's head was painfully picked up then settled down onto something soft. The noise it made didn't hurt his head, but it did tell him it was Bert. He buried his face into the hippo, his pain slowly ebbing away again.
"I don't have anything for you," Abby said and Tim could almost hear her lip tucked between her teeth. "But I can get some."
"No," he groaned, blindly reaching out and grabbing her arm…or leg. He grabbed something.
"D…don't leave…" Tim trailed off, his head pounding again. "Please…"
"Okay." He could feel more than see her lower herself to the floor, her fingers hesitating before running through his hair. Since his headache, migraine, started this was probably the best he had felt.
"Timmy," Abby whispered some two minutes later. "Do you think you can handle moving to my office? You're taking up a lot of room."
Tim wasn't sure, but his pain wasn't as severe as before. He was going to try. So, he nodded once, pain spiking for a second, and attempted to get up. Moving, however, sent another spike of pain through his head.
"Here, I'll help," Abby offered getting to her feet. She took hold of his arm, trying to pull him up. "Timmy, you have to help…" Tim tried to help, more pain nearly sending him to the floor again, but they both managed to get him upright.
The room spun for a second, McGee's legs shaking under his weight, and he leaned into Abby as she moved him toward her office. Once he was inside, she settled him into her chair.
"I'm getting my bedding for you," she told him quietly. McGee could hear her moving around for a few minutes, and then she returned to him. She helped him up. He tried very hard not to lean into her, and helped him shuffle over to the bedding.
"Just lay down," Abby said lowering him to the floor, Bert already waiting for his head. "You'll be okay, Timmy. I promise…"
The only reason I am writing this is because I have had a headache all day and I wanted someone to suffer with me... Mean, sure, but I love hurt McGee and I never said I was nice... I mean, I'm not mean, but I am not always nice... That made more sense in my head.
Besides, I am attempting to write a McAbby story ('attempting'being the operative term). We'll see where this goes and let me know if I should continue.
I own nothing :)