AN: Okay, after lastnight's craptastic finale, I HAD to write a Christmas fic. Readers need something...cheerier.
Through the large office windows the first signs of winter were prominent. A silver sheet of fog kissed the ground sparkling with last nights frost. Above the horizon, a band of crimson came up with the late sunrise. Though it was only the first day of winter, the city had already endured subzero overnight lows for a fortnight. The frigged temperatures also brought the premonition of Christmas.
At the Naval Yard, the traditions were unique to each person. Ducky took delight in recitation of Dickens' A Christmas Carol to team who would gather in autopsy of all places to hear the classic tale. The morgue was usually a melancholy place of somber respect, however at Christmastime, it was viewed in a more bittersweet way. A place to remember how short and precious life is, and a reminder of those not with you this Christmas. Ducky always made sure that all his chrome drawers were emptied by Christmas so that each spirit was at peace.
Abby dressed happily as one of Santa's little elves had decorated the entire building with mistletoe, candy canes, ornaments, even decorating a seven foot tree in the bullpen. In addition, each member of the team was given a stocking to each agent decorated with their name in glittery letters. Apart from Halloween, Christmas was Abby's favorite holiday. Even Bert, her beloved flatulating hippo, wore a Santa hat in commemoration of the festivities. And in place of Led Zeppelin, all month long she blared Alvin and the Chipmunks, or as Gibbs called it, "munchkins on helium" singing classic Christmas tunes.
In the bullpen, the agents were all feeling lethargic and bored. In spite of drunken parties and icy roads, there hadn't been a case in three days. Which when combined with the free spirited feel of the holidays meant that though he had been late twice this week, Gibbs hadn't so much as slapped a hair on his head. Tony ran quickly to his desk in hopes that his boss hadn't noticed his absence. As he landed in his chair running full speed he suddenly realized, "My chair has wheels!!" By the time he realized this he had already flung himself into the filing cabinets.
"Smooth, Tony..." McGee said trying to contain his laughter as a stapler fell on Tony's head. He had been fortunate enough to capture the whole incident on his camera phone. Technically, he should be more sympathetic to his comrade, however after four years of being "Probie," "Elf Lord," "McGeek," and other tactless names, he felt he deserved this karmic retribution.
"DiNozzo!" a voice called from above, "What the hell are you trying to do?" Tony looked up to see Gibbs standing in front of MTAC with Director Shepard, both trying to stifle laughter at his misfortune.
"Um, boss, or should I say bosses, I didn't want to be late again and I-"
"Where the hell is David?" Gibbs cut him off mid-sentence.
Tony looked across from his desk where Ziva normally sat. Her desk was empty and she was now nearly an hour late. "Odd, she's been here over a year and never missed work before," he thought.
"I don't know," he said. Off Gibbs' look he quickly added "I'll try her cell." He hadn't even finished dialing when the elevator doors opened. Ziva walked quickly to her desk wearing many layers of clothing and still obviously freezing. They could hear her muttering something under her breath, most likely cursing in Hebrew, through the chattering of her teeth.
McGee broke the awkward silence by asking "Hey, uh, Ziva, are you alright?" She didn't answer. He came up to her and tapped her shoulder. "Ziva, are you okay?" he repeated. This time she turned around. Her skin was pale and her eyes were swollen and bloodshot.
"Well," she started, "the central heating in my apartment is out, there is no electricity because some idiot hit a power stick so my alarm didn't go off and now I am late for work so no, I'm not okay McGee." She looked exasperated and tired.
"Pole Ziva, they're called power poles not sticks" Tony corrected instinctively. Her mistakes were now few and far between but he couldn't resist rubbing her the wrong way.
"Gear up," Gibbs called out before Ziva could admonish Tony for correcting her. "We have a dead Marine of the side of a road near Quantico."
"What is this?" Ziva asked on her way out, indicating the stocking hanging on her desk.
"Oh, it's called a stocking, a Christmas thing. You hang them at Christmastime and people put things in them. Abby's been decorating for the holidays." Tony explained on the way to the car
"What do our feet have to do with baby Jesus?" she asked. "In fact, what do Christmas trees, presents, flying reindeer, snowmen, or any of this have to do with Christianity?"
Tony and McGee exchanged glances, neither one coming up with an appropriate answer.
Ziva reached up from the back seat, adjusting the heater to the highest setting. Tony slapped her hand away, returning the knobs to their original setting, "Its fine the way it is, Ziva." he told her, fighting off her persistent fingers, "Ziva! Leave it!" he sighed, knowing that this was a fight he wouldn't win, she turned it up again, angling the blowers to reach the back seat, "Fine. The driver's will means nothing. I submit to the backseat driver!"
"Stop being so melodramatic!" Ziva snapped, annoyed by his attitude, "Besides, how can I drive from the back seat?"
"Its an idiom," McGee explained, "Its a way of saying that someone is trying to control the driver with instructions, or in your case, fiddling with the heater." he always made it a point to try to correct Ziva's English before Tony had a chance. All too often she would get an idiom right, only to have Tony make her think she got it wrong.
"I am freezing, Tony," she sighed, "Turn it up, please?" she tried the polite approach, not that it would do any good with Tony of all people, the man who took pride in his ability to belch the alphabet
He looked at the knobs, "Its as high as it will go." he glanced in the rear view mirror, examining his partner with a critical eye, "You okay back there?"
"Yes," she insisted, "I am just not used to the cold." she gazed out the window at the passing snow-covered scenery, only able to watch it for a moment before her stomach threatened to upturn, "Tony, pull over!" she demanded
"Why?"
"Do it!" she snapped, "Tony pull this car over, now!"
He didn't need to be told again, not wanting to know what she would do to him if he disobeyed. The car hadn't even slowed to a complete stop before she threw open the door and ran for the privacy of the woods nearby. McGee ran to follow her, but Tony held her back, "Trust me, probie. One: you probably don't want to be around her right now. Two: if she sees you looking at her like there's something wrong with her, she'll probably shoot you."
McGee nodded, knowing Tony was probably right. He usually was, though his methods were unconventional, and he had a unique way of putting things. But he still felt like he should be there for her right now, seeing as she was probably very sick. "You think she's okay?" he peered through the foliage, trying to see where she ran off to, "She did seem kinda pale this morning."
"Probably just got a cold or the flu," Tony shrugged, "She's gonna be fine once we go on leave for the holidays. A little R&R will do her good."
Ziva stumbled back, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She looked ahead to see Tony and McGee standing out in the snow on the roadside, watching her with concern, "I am fine!" she assured them, "I think it was that sushi Tony bought us last night."
"You know, I did feel a little green after eating the unagi," McGee noted, following the others back to the car, chivalrously holding open the back door for Ziva
"Unagi's freshwater eel," Tony pointed out, "Not exactly kosher. Ziva didn't eat that stuff." he started up the engine, "Besides, I feel fine, and I ate more than any of you. I've got an iron gut. Admit it David, you're sick. Don't breathe on me," he warned her, "I don't want any bug that's brave enough to attack you."
Ziva leaned forward in her seat, licking his cheek, "There. I did not breathe on you." she sat back, smiling smugly. McGee laughed in his seat, enjoying Tony's look of horror.
Tony rubbed at his cheek furiously, "Not funny, Ziva! Not to mention unsanitary!" he wiped his hand on McGee's coat, "You're one sick chick, Ziva!"