Disclaimer: Don't own NCIS. Totally forgot to add this earlier. Sorry!
Coughs racked his form and Tony leaned forward, fighting for breaths. He hated that he was getting used to this, hated that he was getting used to breathing being a battle. But that's what you have to deal with when you survive the plague, right? Yeah? Well, it sucks. The coughs got worse and Tony hunched over more.
Arms enveloped him, a hand gently patting his back. Tony could feel the rise and fall of the chest against him and he couldn't help but feel a bit envious that they could breathe without trouble. He hated not being able to breathe, anyone would, but each time he had a fit, his mind would flash to the itchy pajamas, the uncomfortable bed, and the blue lights. Tony shuddered. He still had nightmares about those lights.
His coughs harshened and the hand on his back patted a bit harder. Eyes shut tight and tears moistening his lashes, Tony could hear a voice telling him to, breathe, Tony, breathe
. He managed to nod as the mucus loosened and air rushed into his lungs. He sucked in the air fast, coughing as his lungs tried to admit past their capacity.
Tony nodded again, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He inhaled slowly, taking in the scent of sawdust as he relaxed into Gibbs' arms. Darkness crept in around him as exhaustion set in. As he drifted off, Tony felt Gibbs' grip on him tighten.
He didn't feel Gibbs press his lips to his head.