Summary: "I devote a little time each day … to wondering if it could've been." Tony drops by Ziva's place to talk about Wendy. Tiva friendship/romance.

Disclaimer: Dang! I had a really good one thought up. I forgot it :( so ... I don't own NCIS...

Spoilers: Major 9x11 "Newborn King". Wendy arc, and references to Jeanne and Michael.

Okay ... so this is one of those fics where it's friendship on the surface and tiny little marshmallow-sized hints of romance on the inside :D does that make sense? I mean, Tony and Ziva have a habit of regularly mixing both together. Also: It's a tag to Newborn King, obviously, and takes place hours after where the episode left off.

Also: In case you're wondering, in my headcanon, Ziva spent Christmas Day with Lieutenant Emma Reynolds and her little baby daughter. Who else do you think took the picture of them both and sent it to Tony (along with a "Merry Christmas" greeting), so that he could put it up?

Enjoy the fic! Please review! And Merry Christmas, everyone, even though it's not quite Christmas yet! :D

-Soph

Christmas Past

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" he greets when she answers the phone, and she smiles a bit at the sound. "I'm at your front door. Open up."

Terminating the call, she shoves herself up off the couch and obligingly goes into the hallway to open the door. He sweeps bits of snow off him and gives her the signature DiNozzo smile before stepping into her apartment; she shakes her head at him and closes the door as he takes off his heavy coat.

"What are you doing here?" she asks him, arms akimbo as he hangs up his coat.

He spreads his hands. "It's Christmas Day, Ziva. Can't I visit?"

"It's half past midnight."

"Okay, so it's technically not Christmas Day anymore. But Christmas lasts for twelve days, Probette; didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

"I know it lasts for twelve days, and that's why I'm wondering why you could not visit another day, at an earlier time." She shoos him towards the living room. "Sit. Do you want hot chocolate?"

"Nah. I actually … just really wanted to talk." He stops in her doorway and looks hopefully at her.

She blinks at his sudden change in tone, but leads him over to the couch and settles next to him on it. "Okay. So how did the brunch with Wendy go?"

"I didn't go in," he admits, and she feels her face fall. She opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. "Yeah, yeah. You're gon' tell me all about how Wendy wants to 'try again' with me and whatever. But that ship has sailed, Ziva. It sailed nine years ago, along with a very shiny engagement ring. You don't just waltz back into the life of the woman you dumped and demand to play father to the son whom she had with another man whom, coincidentally, she did happen to marry."

She furrows her brows. "You dumped her?"

"No. She broke it off when I chose NCIS instead." He snorts. "Never thought I'd say I'd choose Gibbs over a woman but there you go. It happened."

She chooses to ignore his deflective humour. "What do you mean, you chose NCIS instead?"

He falls quiet for a long time, and avoids her eyes when he finally says in a low voice, "See, when a woman you're engaged to be married to asks you to choose between her and your job because she thinks your job is taking up too much of your time, you're supposed to pick her. 'Cause you asked her to marry you. It's a no-brainer. Except, you know, I loved my job and made the mistake of thinking she loved me enough to stay. I guess I was wrong."

"Hmm," she murmurs softly, propping her chin on her drawn-up knees and ignoring the sinking feeling in her heart. "And she left you."

"Yeah."

"Sounds like you blame her, though."

"I don't. You know, I devote a little time each day … to wondering if it could've been, if I could've had her and kids and everything, if I'd been a little smarter. Is that what you wanted to hear?" He clenches his hand into an angry fist, still not looking at her, and she lays her fingers gently onto it.

"Are you telling me what you think I want to hear?" she questions softly.

"If I were, I'd have fed you some cock-and-bull story about how she cheated on me and I left because of the pain in my heart. No. This is all real, Ziva. Not that it makes any difference whether it's real or not; I'm a bastard either way."

"So then why are you telling me?"

His hand gives an odd twitch. "Maybe because … you deserve to see the kind of man I really am. I'm not a good man, Ziva. I mean, I don't know what you think of me, but I'm sure there are some pretty little illusions up there in your pretty little head, that I should get rid of."

She sighs and moves to cover his fist with her hand. "In case you haven't noticed, Tony, I was disillusioned a long time ago."

He glances up at her in confusion, and she wonders if he knows that his eyes aren't quite dry. "When?"

"Somewhere around the time that you dated Jeanne." She gives him a short nod. "I was disillusioned many, many times. Funnily enough, I still think you're a good man."

He opens his mouth, looking pained and lost. She can see the question Why? written all over his tired face, so she saves him the trouble of having to ask it. "You are a good man because you are a cop. You're a good man because I know you entered the La Grenouille assignment with the best of intentions, even if you screwed it up. You're a good man because you do a lot for the team, Tony, and even if we don't acknowledge it, we do see it. Yes, I know you made a lot of mistakes. But you also did a lot of good. You can't remember the bad and forget about the good. Life isn't supposed to work that way."

"Then what way is life supposed to work?" he croaks, and she rubs the pad of her thumb comfortingly across his curled-up fingers.

"You make mistakes, you apologize. You learn from them and move on, and don't repeat them again. What you did to Wendy this morning … that was wrong. You can't keep running away from your past, Tony. I know it's hard, but…" She lifts her fingers from his hand and brushes his jaw lightly. "You don't need me to keep telling you to 'be a man'. You know that."

He is quiet for a long time, and his voice is flat and emotionless when he finally says, "Yeah. I know."

"Call Wendy, tomorrow. Talk. Make amends. Make peace. You have a chance to get this right yet, hmm?"

"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "See the thing is, she's not who I want anymore. And I don't know how to go about telling her that … that I'm rejecting her twice."

"You can still call. And keep it courteous and simple, if you want. You are calling to apologize, Tony, not to hit on her."

"It's still going to be very complicated though."

"Maybe. But that's life."

He nods, looking more dejected by the second, and breathes out slowly. "I guess I better go."

"Stay. I will make you hot chocolate."

Patting his hand, she slips off the couch and heads into the kitchen before he can protest. She has put the kettle on and counted out spoonfuls of chocolate powder into two mugs before he enters the kitchen and leans against the kitchen counter, staring nervously at her. She raises her eyebrows at him.

"What?" she asks, turning her head to check on the kettle.

"How does this change things between you and me?"

She turns back in astonishment. "What does it have to do with you and me?"

"Nothing. But I figured …you know, you must be way less fond of me now…"

She chuckles despite his downtrodden look, and crosses the kitchen to lean on the counter beside him. "I'm not making you hot chocolate because I'm 'way less fond' of you."

"Doesn't it bug you that I'm … this kind of person?"

"What kind is that?"

"You know, womanizer. Heartbreaker … someone who … who hurts women."

She ponders for a while. "I'd be lying if I said there weren't parts of you I disliked," she begins, and he tenses up beside her. "But. But, Tony, there are also some parts of you that I respect and … l-love, very much. You had my back when another man set out to hurt me. I do not forget that. That matters more to me than what you did to Wendy, because … it concerns me. And Wendy does not."

He is so silent that she starts to worry, and over the sound of the kettle boiling she almost misses the tiny "Oh" that escapes his lips. She turns off the gas and pours hot water into the two mugs, stirring and indicating over her shoulder for him to sit down at her kitchen table. Then she places a mug in front of him and sits down with her own.

"Thanks for listening, Ziva," he whispers.

"That's what we do, yes? Talk to each other."

"Yeah." He stares into his mug until she taps his hand and makes him meet her eyes.

"If you're going to be spending 'Christmas Day' with me, then I insist on a toast."

A smile slowly grows on his face, and his eyes sparkle a little. "So what are we toasting?"

"Hmm. To our teammates' health, even though they're not here. And to us." They clink mugs. "Merry Christmas, Tony."

"Merry Christmas, Zi."