This was written for Sehrezad as part of the Zibbs holiday exchange :). The prompts I got for this were kind of terrifying - as well as Zibbs (obviously), she asked for Borin/Fornell, knitting, two rescued greyhounds, someone being embarrassed, Gibbs's basement, and a pink blankie. I think I got them all...three chapters altogether. I haven't done any obsessive editing on this (another terrifying thing) and it should be posted fairly quickly. A massive thank you to Sehrezad for the prompts - which actually made it really fun to write! - and to Zivacentric for organising the story exchange again!

Disclaimer - the usual. I own nothing.


Coffee. Finally, he had coffee.

Gibbs inhaled the steam from the take-out cup as he stood in the elevator. He liked to think that you could learn a lot about a man from the way he drank his coffee, and Leroy Jethro Gibbs certainly wasn't a syrup, froth, and chocolate sprinkles kind of guy. He never had been. He had always taken his coffee straight-up, black, and as strong as he could stomach, and this one smelled good. He took a tentative sip, and realised that it actually didn't taste bad either - especially in comparison to the muck that popped out of the vending machine around the corner from the bullpen. He hadn't had one since he had left the house that morning, and he was beginning to really need the kick it gave. It had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

The ping of the doors announced that he had reached the right floor, and, as he strode out of the elevator and down towards his desk, precious coffee held carefully in one hand, he wondered what his team had managed to dig up in his twenty-minute absence.

He wasn't wondering for long.

'Tony...'.

It was amazing, Gibbs thought, how much a person could tell from a single spoken word. Take that one, for example. Heavy on the frustration. More than a touch of desperation. And a definite hint of doubt - over whether to laugh or cry, believe or disbelieve.

It had been aimed at his senior field agent, Tony DiNozzo, and it had been agent Tim McGee who had started to speak, standing beside the plasma screen with his whole posture betraying his irritation. Gibbs set his coffee down on his desk and shrugged out of his coat, watching, waiting for the usual banter between his team members to begin. Mostly, he just let them get on with it...and although he would never have said so, he usually quite enjoyed it.

'Yes, McGee?'

DiNozzo swung around in his chair, a self-satisfied smile etched firmly onto his face and his eyebrows raised as he looked over at McGee.

'Be serious'. McGee gestured to the plasma. 'This is serious. We have a sailor in hospital in a serious condition after being attacked, and it's two days before Christmas'.

'Ahh'. DiNozzo leaned back, and stretched out his legs. 'So what are you more concerned about, McRudolph, the beaten-up sailor or the prospect of missing your Christmas dinner?'

McGee opened his mouth to retort, and then thought, and then closed it again. Gibbs tried to hide his smirk, but DiNozzo didn't bother, his smile broadening and his eyes lighting up. Gibbs could almost see his mind working, processing, saving McGee's reaction and storing it away to use for teasing or bribery at a future date. But before he could prompt his senior agent - or walk over and give him a slap to the back of the head - DiNozzo returned to the case in question.

'Anyway, I am being serious. Our sailor's friend claims that he saw someone in a Santa outfit running away, right?'

'He was drunk, Tony'.

'And here you go'. DiNozzo pointed at the plasma screen.

Something told Gibbs that he would not like what he was about to see.

Somewhat unwillingly, both he and McGee followed the line of DiNozzo's finger, their eyes falling on a brightly-coloured, photoshopped advert that showed an enormously fat Santa standing on Capitol Hill. He had a sack thrown over one shoulder, and a wide grin that was visible even through the mass of curly white hair that formed a spectacular beard. But what caught Gibbs's attention was not the fact that no man could keep a beard looking that fluffy and white. It was the text at the top of the advert - the bold red lettering that proclaimed,

'13th Annual Washington DC SantaCon!'

Gibbs couldn't help himself.

'SantaCon?'

'Santa convention'. DiNozzo said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'The non-denominational, non-political, charitable get-together of Santas from all over DC and beyond. Happens every year, I was thinking of going myself once. Anyone can join in as long as you have a half-decent Santa outfit. Would have needed some padding, of course, but the stick-on beard wasn't bad'.

'So ...' McGee looked like he had a nasty taste in his mouth as he looked from DiNozzo, to the plasma, and back to DiNozzo again. 'The attack took place on the evening of the convention. Which means...'

'Which means, McScrooge, that we have at least five hundred and eighty four suspects who all looked exactly alike'.

Gibbs reached for his coffee.

'Five hundred and eighty four people went to this thing?'

'Oh, yeah'. DiNozzo chuckled. 'I called the organisers. Highest number so far, and they also broke their record for the fattest Santa. Two hundred and thirty eight pounds of ho ho ho'. His grin faded a little as he considered what he had just said. 'Although I'm not sure if that's a good thing, or whether that would just be scary...'

'DiNozzo'.

'Yes, boss?'

'You got a register of participants at this thing?'

'Yes, boss'.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. He didn't have to do anything else, and the words 'get on with it' didn't need to be spoken. McGee shot back to his desk like he had been released from a spring, and DiNozzo tucked his legs back underneath his chair and reached for the phone. Five hundred and eighty four Santas needed to be tracked down, investigated and eliminated - or not.

Another mouthful of life-saving coffee.

'Oh, and Fornell's downstairs'.

The coffee went down the wrong way, and Gibbs spluttered. Fornell? As in...

'Tobias?'

'Yeah'. DiNozzo looked totally unconcerned. 'In Abby's lab'.

Gibbs didn't stop to ask why Tobias Fornell was in Abby's lab. His old friend and sparring partner - probably more of the latter than the former, but still - was an agent with the FBI. And the FBI poking their noses into the NCIS forensics lab was not good. Not good at all.

He heard DiNozzo call after him, but didn't turn around to find out what the younger agent had said and, deciding that the stairs would be quicker, he went straight past the elevator doors and took them two at a time. At the bottom, he heard Abby's lab before he could see it. A slightly tinny, jazzed up version of 'Hark the Herald' was playing at almost full volume and, if he hadn't known better, he could have sworn he heard a man's voice singing along.

But the sight that greeted him as he swung through the door and into the lab was even more extraordinary, and he stopped in his tracks. He had seen some strange things down here. But never anything as strange as this.

'What the...?'

Abby was standing with her back to the door, her attention focused on the computer screens in front of her. Her bright red mini skirt was fringed with white fur, and glittery tinsel was wrapped around her ponytails. But that was relatively normal. It certainly wasn't what had brought Gibbs to a halt.

'Afternoon, Jethro'.

It was that.

Tobias Fornell was sitting at the work bench behind Abby. In front of him was a plate of Christmas cookies, a glass of what looked - and smelled - suspiciously like Abby's homemade, non-alcoholic mulled wine...and a ball of baby-soft pink wool.

Tobias Fornell was knitting.

'Gibbs! You're late!'

'Late, Abs?'

Gibbs didn't take his gaze from Fornell as Abby turned the music down and spun around to face him, her expression stern.

'You always come down as soon as I have something. And I had something five minutes ago, I've been waiting'.

'Coulda called...what the hell, Tobias?'

'Knitting, Jethro'.

'I get that. Why?'

Fornell just inclined his head towards Abby, who immediately dropped the stern look and broke into a smile.

'Oh, my friend's just adopted two greyhounds. From the rescue centre. They're the cutest things, Gibbs, they really are. And it's cold this time of year, so I'm knitting them coats. Or rather...' She paused for breath. 'We are. Everyone who comes down has to do at least a row'. She nodded happily as Tobias held up his contribution for inspection, and Gibbs was surprised to see it was almost perfect. No holes. No dropped stitches.

He didn't like to ask where, when, or how, exactly, Tobias had learnt to knit.

'Our ex-wife'.

'Ah'.

'Your turn, Gibbs!'

Not a snowball's chance in hell.

And besides, he had more important things to be thinking about...like why, precisely, Tobias Fornell had come to Abby's lab in the first place.

'You come here to knit, Tobias?'

'Nope'. Fornell chuckled, and put down the knitting - Gibbs noticed that he didn't even try and hand it over. 'I came because your case and my cases are linked, I think. Went up to the bullpen, but you weren't there. So Miss Scuito here kindly offered me a homemade cookie while I waited'. He looked ruefully at the ball of wool. 'Although now I think she might have had an ulterior motive'.

Abby pouted. 'Agent Fornell, I'm hurt'.

'Linked how?'

'Same MO, same victim profile. Young men, all in their early thirties, beaten with a blunt object around Christmas time. No apparent motive, no forensic evidence. Three other states so far - New Jersey last year, Pennsylvania and Connecticut the year before - but the other victims weren't so lucky'.

Gibbs took that to mean that the other victims had died.

'You got anything that might help?'

'Nope'.

At least, Gibbs thought, he was honest.

'But I do'. Abby looked pleased with herself. 'And if you'd let me get a word in, I would have told you by now. I found a fibre on the sailor's jacket, right where he'd been beaten. And it doesn't match anything he was wearing'.

'Know what it came from?'

'Working on it'. Abby reached over Tobias for another star-shaped cookie. 'But it's red'. She took a bite, and chewed quickly. 'I can't believe Santa would do such a thing'.

Gibbs groaned inwardly. DiNozzo must have rung down to the lab in his excitement over the SantaCon, or whatever it was. He drained his coffee cup and dumped it in Abby's trash, wondering whether his twenty-minute absence had been worth it. Everything seemed to have happened while he was out getting coffee.

Half an hour later, and the plate of cookies was empty. Tobias had done another row - 'one row knit, Jethro, one row purl' - and Abby had changed the music to 'Jingle Bells'. The fibre was under the microscope and displayed in all its glory on the computer screen for Gibbs and Tobias to see as well...not that they had any idea what they were looking at.

'One hundred percent polyester', Abby announced. 'PBT. Polybutylene terephthalate'.

'So what could it have come off?'

Abby turned around to face them. 'Lots of things, Agent Fornell. Polyester is one of the most commonly used fibres in clothing, bed linen, carpets, industrial textiles, and so on and so on. But, having said that, it is fairly unusual to find this particular polyester in clothing. It's used mainly for sportswear, swimming costumes, that kind of thing'.

'Swimming costumes?'

Gibbs had a sudden mental image of a man in a red swimsuit, with a Santa hat and beard, and his eyes widened slightly while Tobias spluttered a bit over his last mouthful of cookie. Gibbs could tell that he had the same thought, and their eyes met in amusement.

'Yeah'. Abby turned back to her computer, ignoring the smirks on the mens' faces. 'And some other things, too. But you need to give me some time, Gibbs. I'm good, and I know it's Christmas, but I'm not a miracle worker'.

'Not too much time, Abs'.

Abby waved a hand to show that she had heard, that she understood, and that the conversation was over. But before Gibbs and Tobias could make their exits, a familiar voice came from the doorway.

'Knitting, Abby?'

Gibbs knew that voice. What he didn't understand was why he was hearing it here.

'Don't tell me'. He turned around. 'The coastguard are after Santa too'.

'Why would we be after Santa?' Abigail Borin replied as best she could, considering that she was being smothered in a hug by the other Abby. 'I want presents on Christmas morning as much as anyone else, Gibbs'.

Gibbs inclined his head, his characteristic half-smile spreading across his face. He liked Agent Borin. She was fun, smart, and, on those occasions when NCIS and the Coastguard had worked together, he had found her very good at her job. She was also very attractive - not that he was interested - and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tobias turn a faint shade of pink that was remarkably similar to the wool he had been knitting with.

'So'. Borin finally extricated herself from Abby's crushing hug, and gestured towards the table. 'What you making?'

'Greyhound coats'. Abby sauntered back to her computer. 'Agent Fornell was just helping out'.

Tobias's face began to turn from pink to a light red.

'Oh?' Borin raised her eyebrows, and looked over at him, but before she - or Abby - could say anything else, Gibbs interrupted.

'You need something, Borin?'

'Nope'. Borin perched on the corner of the desk, her long wool coat slipping open to reveal a simple black jumper and tight jeans. Gibbs didn't dare look to see if Tobias was watching. 'Came to meet Ziva for a coffee and thought I'd call down and say hi first. Didn't she mention it?'

Her question was directed at Gibbs, and he nodded. Now that he thought about it, that did ring a bell. Ziva had mentioned something about meeting Abby...but they had been in bed at the time, and his full attention had not been on what she was saying. And he had thought that she meant the other Abby. Their Abby.

'Yeah. She did'.

'So why did you think I was after Santa?'

Gibbs looked at Tobias, who still looked as if he was having a hot flush, and suppressed a smirk. He would have to try and ask Ziva later if she thought it might be reciprocated...but for now, he couldn't be bothered to explain about the case. He would leave that to the others.

'Never mind'. He headed towards the door. 'Abs, call me if you get anything. Tobias, you dropped a stitch'.

'Hey!' Despite himself, Tobias was indignant.

'And Borin...have fun with my wife'.