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“Do you have to…” Gibbs’ voice trailed off with a hugely dramatic sigh.
In response, Tony wiggled his feet, coughing slightly. “Hate hot feet, Gibbs. I like them sticking out.”
“So stick them out the side! Why’d ya have to untuck my sheet? It’s four degrees out there.”
“Testy,” Tony said, a slight wheeze in his voice now.
“Sit up, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said, softening his voice. He pulled Tony upright and thumped his back as gently as he could, handing Tony a Kleenex when he started hacking. After five minutes of Tony’s tormented sounds, Gibbs let out a mental sigh. He knew he’d let Tony do whatever he wanted.
“S-sorry, Boss.”
“Can’t help the coughing. Getting better?”
“Yeah,” Tony admitted. “Not the coughing. For being here.”
“No heat in your place. Coldest snap in years and this is your first post-plague winter and you’ve got your first post-plague cold. You’re fine here, Tony.”
“You sure, Boss?” Tony questioned.
“Positive.” Gibbs mussed Tony’s hair and eased him back to the bed before getting up himself.
“Where you going?” Tony asked, sitting up, hair ruffled and sleep mussed. It was a good look on him, Gibbs realized.
“To get another pair of socks,” Gibbs said, rolling his eyes. As he doubled up on his socks, his gaze drifted over to the bed. It was early days yet but Tony looked good there — damned good. Gibbs could get used to this.
“It’ll never work, you know,” Tony said, an exaggerated pout on his face.
“What won’t?” Gibbs asked casually.
“This.” Tony gestured to the bed. “Gonna need my own sheet soon.”
Gibbs chuckled, slipping in beside Tony and burrowing under the mound of blankets beside the younger man. “You let me work that out, DiNozzo. Get some sleep.”