The shuttle from Stillwater arrived at the exact moment Special Agent Jethro Gibbs pulled into the driveway of his conservative, one story home. It was Christmas Eve and, as usual, Washington D.C. was been hit with a snowstorm the weekend before leaving a light, picturesque coating of snow on the ground.
"It's good to have you here, dad," Gibbs greeted his father as Jackson stepped off the shuttle, dragging one enormous bag that was practically splitting at the seams behind him.
"Glad to be here, Leroy," his father replied, pulling his son into a warm bear hug. "It's been a long time since I've been down to this part of the country."
"Now whose fault is that?" Gibbs teased as he effortlessly picked up his father's bag and pushed open his unlocked front door.
"Yours, Leroy," his father responded, pounding his feet into the Welcome mat and shaking the snow off of his jacket before brushing past his son and plopping down at the kitchen table. "You're so dargone busy at work that you hardly have a free moment to visit."
Gibbs stared at his father without speaking and raised his eyebrows quizzically.
"Don't start that with me, L.J. We both know it's the truth."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room that was punctuated by Jackson's intermittent table tapping. Not surprisingly, Gibbs chose not to speak, instead walking to the spare bedroom where he set Jackson's luggage at the foot of the bed. He stood in the room a second longer than necessary to gather his thoughts.
He was not going to fight with his dad over Christmas. No matter what the elderly man said, whether it was true or not, he was not going to respond. There. That ought to do it.
With an additional breath, the Lead Agent headed back to the kitchen where he discovered Jackson had already gained control of the room, pulling out the various ingredients needed to begin preparations for the turkey in an almost choreographed rhythm.
"Did you bring the cranberries?" Gibbs asked as he leaned against the doorway so as to not interrupt his father's pattern.
Jackson stopped gathering his materials long enough to stare at his son with a sharp "What do you think?" expression. Gibbs shrugged in response and continued waiting silently for his father's answer.
"Wouldn't leave home without them," Jackson said after a moment, having just made a similar pact to his son's own. While Jackson removed a loaf of white bread from one of the brown bags sitting on the counter, Gibbs grabbed two knifes from the silverware drawer. The Gibbs' sat at the handcrafted kitchen table and began slicing the bread into small pieces for the stuffing.
The two men swapped stories while they diced, Gibbs offering small contributions about NCIS—only when specifically asked—while Jackson informing his son about everyone and everything that had happened in Stillwater since Leroy had last been there. Apparently, the store had had a record sales year, Ethan LaCombe was hanging around Emily Kingston's home and taking good care of the child in his father's absence, and Sheriff Gantry's daughter was expecting twins, due in February.
Jackson finished cutting the last piece of bread, put down his knife, and yawned widely, stretching his arms over his head.
"I'm no spring chicken anymore, Leroy. All I've done today is sit on a bus from Pennsylvania and slice some bread, yet, I'm exhausted."
"I know the feeling, dad," Gibbs agreed, fighting yawns of his own. It had been an unusually long week at NCIS since his team had closed two major cases, both of which had involved some sort of interagency cooperation nightmare and a lot of bureaucratic red tape.
"Good night, son," Jackson added before heading to the spare bedroom.
"G'night, dad," Gibbs replied. He hadn't realized how exhausting the week had been until this very moment when he dropped onto his mattress fully clothed, having fallen asleep before his head hit the pillow.
"That's quite a large turkey you have there," Jackson commented during one of the final checks on the bird's condition. He pried open the oven door for a quick second, noticing the deep golden brown coloring that was appearing on the turkey's skin.
"Well, I didn't get to the store until the day before yesterday and all the regular sized ones were sold out," Gibbs answered, standing directly behind his father until the older man moved aside so his son could have a look. "I thought we could donate the rest."
Jackson pondered that idea for a moment. "That's a mighty fine idea, son, but I don't think it's necessary."
Gibbs stopped inspecting the turkey and stared confusedly at his father. "What do you—"
As if on cue, the door bell rang, interrupting Gibbs' question.
"Right on time," Jackson smiled, pulling himself upright to check the potatoes that were boiling on the stovetop. He tasted one cube, grimaced and reached out with his left hand to grab the salt without looking. He shook a few more dashes into the pot and continued stirring.
"Why don't you answer it, Leroy? I've got it under control here."
"But the door's unlocked…" Gibbs began, but his father was no longer listening, completely wrapped up in ensuring that his mashed potatoes would be the best batch he had ever cooked. Gibbs shook his head, a half-grin on his face. And people said he was stubborn…they clearly had never met his father.
The door cautiously slid open as Gibbs entered the front room and DiNozzo poked his head into the room.
"Hey boss," he exclaimed, throwing open the door so Gibbs could see who was behind him. Gibbs was shocked at the sight of Ziva, McGee, Abby, Ducky and Palmer, each holding a covered bowl of some sort.
"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked, his question coming out gruffer than he had intended.
"Jackson invited us," Tony responded, holding up an aluminum covered pan. Gibbs looked at the pan questioningly.
Tony mistook Gibbs' look as one of disgust, not momentary confusion as to why his team had appeared at him home when he had been certain they had all had plans. The smile faded from his face for a quick second before Tony forced it back with more intensity than before.
"I know my cooking pales in comparison to Miss Dah-veed's," he spoke up, "but the one thing I do know how to make better than anyone I've ever met is the DiNozzo family lasagna."
"I never said that, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied, taking the dish from his Senior Field Agent with a small grin on his face. "It smells great."
Tony's smile morphed from fake to genuine in a matter of seconds. His self-confidence restored, he turned to Ziva, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"Speaking of Julia Child's apprentice, I'll bet anyone in this room twenty bucks that she can't use her Mossad-honed, ninja senses to figure out the ingredients."
"I'll take that bet," McGee agreed, balancing two dishes in one hand and pulling his wallet from his back pocket. He looked at Tony suspiciously. "Who should we give the money to?"
"You don't trust me, Probie?" Tony asked with false hurt.
"No, Tony," McGee repeated, his voice thick with strain as he struggled to extract the necessary bill from his wallet without tipping over the dishes he brought. "I remember the last time I made a bet with you, you cheated."
"Did not," Tony returned. "I removed that nasty computer virus fair and square."
"Yes, but you put it on the computer in the first place."
"Semantics," Tony shrugged and looked at his colleagues to decide who would be honest in holding the money for the bet. Gibbs hands were otherwise occupied in holding Tony's lasagna, and Ziva would most likely keep the money for herself. Abby had a tendency to side with Ziva on all matters Girl Power, so it would have to be…
"Duck-man!" Tony gave McGee a final suspicious glare that told the Probie he had better be ready to hand over the money. McSkeptical returned the glare and stretched out his hand halfway to Ducky, waiting for Tony to do the same. At the same time, they deposited the bills in Ducky's hands and returned to their respective positions, one already inside the Gibbs' home, ready to assist in taking coats and scarves, and one still waiting out in the cold, salad bowl in hand.
"That's just about all I can take from the two of you," Ziva interrupted, stepping past her bickering partners into the toasty front room. "It smells delicious, Gibbs."
She offered her boss a plate covered in what looked like hash browns. "I was not sure what you American's ate for Christmas but in my religion it is customary to make latkes during Hanukah to commemorate the oil that kept the Second Temple of ancient Israel lit for eight days," she explained. "I hope they will be okay…"
"I'm sure they will be great, Ziva," Gibbs replied, placing DiNozzo's lasagna on the side table in order to graciously accept Ziva's latkes. The Israeli chucked her coat and scarf at Tony before heading into the house to see if Jackson required any help.
"Gibbs!" The Lead Agent barely had time to set down Ziva's dish before he was attacked by a flying mass of black pigtails and a black, skull-embroidered trench coat. "Merry Christmas!"
Gibbs placed a gentle kiss on Abby's cheek. "Merry Christmas to you too, Abs."
Abby cleared her throat pointedly and McGee shuffled into position behind her. She grabbed the large cake pan from atop his large salad bowl and handed it to Gibbs.
"This, bossman, is Sweet Potato Casserole a la Scuito. It is a casserole so sweet and succulent that the recipe was outlawed during the first half of the 19th century. But a Scuito never gives in!" Abby paused for dramatic effect, and raised her index finger into the air declaratively. "My family continued to make this delectable dish in secret, passing the recipe down from generation to generation until it reached me."
Gibbs slipped the lid off the casserole to see mini-marshmallows arranged in a large skull-and-crossbones over the center of the casserole with some smaller mistletoe decorating the four corners.
"It looks wonderful, Abby," Gibbs said, giving the Goth an additional kiss.
"Hey, boss." McGee had finally tired of standing out in the cold and pushed past Abby, ignoring her cries of indignation and protest. "It's cold out there," he offered by way of explanation. Abby stuck her tongue out at McGee before deciding she had better uses for her time than trying to reprimand her occasionally clueless friend.
"It's just a green salad," he informed his boss, glancing down at the wooden bowl he was holding. "Wasn't sure what else to make."
"Thanks, McGee." Gibbs took the bowl from his agent and placing it on the side table. Though he appreciated their generosity, he was silently hoping that the rest of them hadn't brought much more. The little table was creaking under the weight of all the dishes, and it didn't appear than anyone was interested in helping move them to the main table.
"Jethro!" Ducky exclaimed, wiping his feet thoroughly on the Welcome mat and shaking the show off his jacket before stepping into the house. He was about to offer Gibbs his tin but saw there was no room on the table. Instead, he pulled the aluminum off of the mold and tilted it so Gibbs could see inside.
"This the famous Mallard Christmas pudding?" Gibbs asked, inspecting the grayish substance.
"Yes, my dear boy, it is. And by now you must have heard about the sixpence has been baked into every Mallard pudding since the 18th century. It has brought luck to every family member who has discovered it and I don't foresee that this year will be any different," Ducky alluded, handing his jacket to Tony and proceeding to inform the Italian about the luck every Mallard had encountered after discovering the sixpence. Not long after he began, the Scotsman sniffed the air and decided to offer Jackson his assistance, which in Ducky speak, meant talk the other man's ear off and occasionally offer his opinion on the food.
"Hello, sir…" Jimmy Palmer stuttered, standing at attention on the Welcome mat. "Umm, boss…er, Special Agent Gibbs.."
"You wanting for an invitation Palmer?" Gibbs questioned as the man continued to stand in the snow.
"Um, no. Of course not. Sorry," he apologized as he leapt into the room, not wanting to keep his second boss waiting. But he was unprepared for the stoop and tripped, sending both himself and his bottle of wine flying into the air.
Time slowed for the young assistant as he reached out mid-fall, trying to catch the bottle of wine to keep it from smashing into Gibbs' floor and forever staining the polished wood. Almost without blinking, Gibbs calmly snatched the bottle from midair, much to Palmer's relief.
"Thank you, boss…er, Special Agent—" Palmer stammered, pulling himself upright and pretending that nothing unusual had happened.
"Boss is fine, Palmer," Gibbs cut off the sputtering assistant who was straightening his dinner outfit. "Make yourself at home."
Palmer nodded his thanks and grabbed a dish from the side table to bring to the main table. As Gibbs followed with the lasagna and latkes, he noted the table was already expanded in order to accommodate the additional persons and the extra place settings were already laid out. His father must have been planning this for a long while if he had time to prepare all this already.
Gibbs handed the bottle of wine to Tony before heading back to the kitchen to assist his father. Ducky and Jackson were moving in a syncopated rhythm stirring, chopping and mixing, and Gibbs knew it would be beneficial to his health if he did not interrupt.
He stepped back into the dining room where DiNozzo had uncorked the bottle and was pouring the red liquid, while the rest of his team was standing around the large table, chatting amiably.
"That's a good looking bird," Tony commented, handing his boss a glass. "How big? Fourteen, fifteen pounds?"
"Sixteen and a half," Gibbs responded, taking a sip of the red wine Palmer had brought. Not bad on an assistant Medical Examiner's salary…
"Good size."
Tony continued pouring and handing out glasses in silence for a long minute before Gibbs finally decided to ask the burning question that was plaguing him since his team had arrived.
"Why are you all here?" Gibbs grimaced as he realized how callous and uncaring his words sounded. "I mean, I thought you all had plans…"
"Well, it was either come here and risk eating your cooking—just kidding boss," he amended at Gibbs' glare, "Or sit alone at my house eating this lasagna all by my lonesome, watching either How the Grinch Stole Christmas or Santa Who? with the late, great Leslie Neilson."
Tony immediately screwed up his face in his best imitation of Dr. Barry Rumack. "I am serious…and don't call me Shirley!" Tony paused, the goofy grin stuck on his face, waiting for a response from the rest of the room. He frowned at the quizzical looks he received.
"It's the 1960 classic Airplanes! Please, all of you," he begged, "buy a DVD player. It'll be one of the best investments you've ever made."
"I love that movie!" Abby enthused, returning from the kitchen in time to hear Tony quote Neilson.
"Thank you Abby! You're the only one in this room who understands."
"It's not my favorite Neilson movie, though," Abby continued, grabbing Tony's arm and pulling him slightly away from the group so they could continue to discuss Leslie Neilson in all his glory.
Gibbs watched the two of them go before turning his gaze to Ziva.
"I was invited to another Christmas party by my neighbors, but their eldest daughter became sick and was rushed to the emergency room. She encountered a slight case of food poisoning, and will be released from the hospital in the morning. I was not seasoning staying home by myself—"
"Relishing," McGee corrected in Tony's absence, but Ziva waved him away.
"—and watching one of the many movies Tony had lent me," her expression soured at the thought of watching another black-and-white 'classic'. "Needless to say, I was more than enthusiastic when Jackson called."
"You McGee?" Gibbs asked, choosing to ignore his arguing agents.
"My parents won a cruise and had been delaying redeeming it. It's set to expire at the end of this year and this was the only week both of them were available," he explained. "Since they were gone, my sister decided to visit her old roommate in California, leaving me here all by myself."
McGee lowered his voice. "Thanks for the invite, boss. I had no idea how to begin to make a turkey, and YouTube wasn't much help either…"
Gibbs clapped McGee soundly on the back before turning to Palmer.
The assistant gulped audibly before beginning. "Mother is away visiting her sister. She is one of six children you know so I have plenty of cousins—though…that's not important now. She and my father decided it would be a good time to visit my family in Europe and I can't afford a European vacation now, I couldn't go with—it's expensive these days to travel, especially with the bag-checking fees and all…" He stopped talking and took a big swig of wine.
"My little brother is off saving the world, somewhere, somehow. It's G-14 classified," Abby chimed in from across the room. "What he doesn't know is that my mother is using all her contacts to find out what he is up too and will find him faster than lickety-split, if that is possible."
"Leroy," Jackson called from the kitchen. "Would you like to do the honors?"
Gibbs placed his glass of wine at the head of the table and headed into the kitchen to slice the turkey.
"So…" Tony began, leaning back in his chair to leave room for his quickly expanding stomach. The turkey had been delicious, the lasagna more amazing that usual but he might have been partially biased in that regard, even the salad made by McHealthy wasn't too terrible—not that Tony would ever admit that out loud—and Abby's casserole was out of this world: he had had two large helpings and had sweet-talked the lab goddess into letting him take some of it home. "McGee. How's your newest novel coming?"
McGee choked on his turkey and reached desperately for his water glass. How did Tony know about his newest novel? Not even his publisher knew he was trying to write another one…
"You spoke with a slight drawl when you answered the phone," Tony explained. "That only occurs when people speak while something is resting in the corner of their mouths: toothpicks, popsicle sticks, thermometers, pipes…" Tony grinned at the shocked expression on McGee's face. Oh how quickly his team forgot he had worked as a rather successful Homicide Detective long before computers and new technology came along.
"If you need further evidence, watch Sherlock Holmes, the classic with Basil Rathbone, not the new one with Robert Downey Junior. I guarantee, you will find that Rathbone speaks differently with the Calabash pipe in his mouth."
"I wasn't really writing per say," McGee clarified. "It was more along the lines of free-thinking. The bank balance is getting a little low and I thought I would see what ideas I have for a sequel."
"Good for you Timothy," Ducky lauded. "I am most anxious to see the newest adventures of L.J. Tibbs and company."
There was a comfortable silence while everyone finished eating. When Jackson finally pushed his plate away from the ledge, Abby immediately popped up.
"I'd like to make a toast if that's okay. I know it's usually the man's job, but I know how Gibbs feels about words, so I thought it would be okay."
She waiting and everyone expressed their approval with her idea, raising their glasses. She had already planned out what she was going to say since this morning, even though she had no idea she would actually end up here; she had planned on saying it the next time she returned to work if the opportunity arose.
"Wow. I can't believe it's been another year. If you'd told me last week that'd I'd be here, spending Christmas with one Leroy Jethro Gibbs and company, I would have never believed it. My family and I are really close, and we see each other at least three times a year, especially around the holidays. This only proves one thing to me: that you guys are closer than family. We're like, tighter than tight, snugger than snug, closer knit than one of Granny's old sweaters, more awesome than Captain America and more super than Superman. We do absolutely amazing work on a daily basis and accomplish more than anyone would ever believe possible. I can't imagine what my life would be like without each and everyone of you in my lives," she paused, sniffling back the impending tears. "I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank all of you for the wonderful memories and for the many more adventures that lie ahead of us."
She sighed deeply and raised her glass. "To another wonderful year!"
"Of saving lives!" Ducky continued, standing next to Abby and raising his glass as well.
"Solving mysteries!" McGee added, following the others' lead.
"Identifying dead bodies!" Palmer chimed in.
"Coming home safely," Jackson spoke up, shrugging at Gibbs' questioning look. Somebody had to be the voice of reason and it sure wasn't going to be anyone else in this room tonight.
"Catching killers!" Ziva contributed.
"Bringing peace to the greater D.C. area!" Tony declared.
There was silence as everyone looked to Gibbs for his contribution. The Lead Agent gathered his thoughts for a long moment before speaking, trying to shorten everything he wanted to say into as few words as possible.
"To many more years," Gibbs smiled a full smile, not the usual half-smile, borderline smirk that usually crossed his features during the work days.
Everyone clinked their glasses together, cementing the promise of many more wonderful years of solving crimes, catching killers, but most importantly, spending time together.
After the main meal, a multitude of conversations littered the table. Jackson and Ducky were reminiscing about "the good ol' days" and the advancing technologies that they did not understand on any level, especially "those confound mp3s and iPhones," as Ducky put it. Tony and Palmer were discussing GSM's "Best-Of" edition which was set to premiere this New Years and debating which months they thought should be included. Abby and Ziva were arguing about the perfect crime—Ziva was revealing some of her more illusive methods of murder, while Abby was shooting them down by describing the possible evidence that could be found from that particular method. Gibbs noted with a grin that McGee was serendipitously jotting notes on a spare napkin, probably ideas for his future novel.
He sat in silence for an extra minute before grabbing the now empty turkey platter and heading to the kitchen. As he entered, a loud collision at his back door resounded through the room. Gibbs dropped the platter rather loudly on the counter, pulled a gun from the farthest drawer and headed toward his back door.
He turned the corner, gun drawn and aimed, to discover a medium-sized, black dog barking and bouncing around on the other side of his Arcadia glass door.
"Come here, girl!" Gibbs heard a little girl's voice floating through the glass and quickly holstered his gun at the small of his back. A petite, blond-haired girl entered from the side of the house. Seeing Gibbs' standing unhappily at the backdoor, she quickly ran to her dog and looped her finger through the collar.
"Bad girl, Shannon. You know you're not supposed to go into other people's yards." She reprimanded her dog, shaking her small finger in the animal's face before turning turned to Gibbs. "I'm sorry, mister. Your side gate was unlocked. Shannon hardly ever does this."
Gibbs' eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly. Had he heard right? It couldn't be…
"What did you say your dog's name was?" he asked, already anticipating the answer, knowing he had heard correctly the first time.
The door leading from the kitchen banged open and Gibbs saw Tony and Ziva enter, guns drawn, followed closely by McGee, who had not thought to bring a weapon to a dinner but had grabbed one of Gibbs' larger carving knifes on the way. When they saw the small girl on the other side of the glass, they holstered their weapons and McGee slid the knife onto the kitchen counter so as not to frighten her.
"Shannon," the little girl responded, looking wide-eyed at the group. "My dog's name is Shannon."
"A very nice name," Gibbs remarked, unable to believe the events that were unfolding in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs saw Ducky, Palmer and Jackson deem it safe to enter after seeing his agents lower their weapons and crowded around the back of the very small rear foyer.
"And I'm Kelly, mister. I live just down the block. Shannon's usually a better dog than this—I guess she smelled something she liked," Kelly offered, looking up at Gibbs with big, blue eyes.
"Kelly! You come out here right now!" A sharp voice drifted around the corner and the girl winced slightly.
"Oops!" The girl dropped her gaze and looked bashfully at the ground. "Coming mom!"
She turned back to Gibbs and company. "That's my mom. I'd better get going…Sorry we interrupted your dinner, mister. Looks like you have a great family."
"Don't worry about it…Kelly," Gibbs replied honestly as the little girl dragged her dog home.
There was a moment of stunned silence as the team processed what they had just heard.
"You don't think…" Jackson ventured.
"Don't believe in coincidences, dad."
"You're incredibly lucky, Gibbs," Abby lauded. "I mean, the chances of that happening—any day—are astronomical: one million to one."
The Medical Examiner took one look at Gibbs' face and knew that the Lead Agent was clearly asking for a moment alone.
"The Mallard Christmas pudding is in the refrigerator," the elderly man began, putting one arm around Abby's shoulder and directing her out of the room. "I am anxious to see who will draw the sixpence."
"And the paramedics are on stand-by just in case someone swallows it," Tony quipped as they headed back to the dining room leaving Gibbs and Jackson alone in the back room.
Jackson came over and wrapped his arm around Jethro's shoulders. "They're watching out for you son. Always have been."
"I know, dad," Gibbs replied, an unfamiliar wetness starting behind his eyes. "I just wish we could have had a few more…Christmas was Kelly's favorite holiday."
"I know, L.J. I know," Jackson nodded sadly. "She used to sit up all night waiting for Santa and I had to wait up all hours 'til she finally fell asleep."
"I remember, dad."
"I'm not sleepy! I'm going to see Santa!" Kelly announced, bouncing up and down anxiously as she sat on the couch in front of the tree, refusing to lay down for fear she would fall asleep and miss Santa Claus. The homemade chocolate chip cookies were arranged on one of Shannon's Christmas plates next to the tree with a few carrots: "for the reindeer of course!" Kelly exclaimed when Jethro had jokingly asked while extracting the vegetables from the fridge.
Jethro slung his arm around Shannon who was leaning against the doorway and watching her daughter prepare for her all-nighter. "How long do you think she'll make it this year?"
"Not really sure," Jethro said, leaning in to kiss his beautiful wife. "She made it 'till one last year and that's nothing compared to the time she spends awake at her sleepovers—I don't think those girls got one hour of sleep that entire night."
Shannon swatted her husband on the arm, none too gently. "You be nice, Jethro. It's the Christmas season in case you've forgotten."
Jackson entered from the guest room where he had been arranging his Santa outfit on his bed. "She asleep yet?"
"Are you kidding? She's up for at least the next three hours," Shannon responded with a laugh.
Kelly turned to see her family in the doorway and waved excitedly. "Is the camera all charged daddy?"
"You bet, sweetie." Jethro walked over and gently kissed his daughter on the top of her head.
"I'm going to get a picture of him tonight! I know I will!" She patted the instant camera beside her repeatedly.
"All right," Shannon began, pulling her husband away from the family room. "We'd better get to sleep so Santa can come."
"Awww, mom! You don't want to see Santa?"
"I'll leave that to you, sweetie," Shannon laughed. "Mommy's getting too old to stay up all night."
"Never!" Jethro gasped, pulling his wife into a tight embrace.
"Thank you, dear," Shannon told her husband before turning back to her daughter. "Merry Christmas, Kelly."
"Merry Christmas, mommy!" Kelly cried before turning back to the tree, propping her head in her hands, ready to catch Santa in the act of leaving her presents.
The two sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the space in the Arcadia door where Shannon and Kelly had briefly waltzed into their lives once again.
"Merry Christmas, Jethro," Jackson said after a while.
"Merry Christmas, dad."
"C'mon Jethro," Ducky called from the other room. "It is your turn to see if you've been graced with the sixpence."
"Well, we should get going before they send a search party," Jackson suggested.
Gibbs nodded and headed back into the dining room. He took a moment at the door to revel in everyone's bright, smiling faces and knew that he would never change the moment for the world.
They may not have been related by blood, but they were a family. A dysfunctional family at times to be sure, but nevertheless, a family.
Happy Holidays to you and yours!
Always,
usa123