Ziva stood amid a sea of cardboard boxes, each filled to the brim with lights, garland, ornaments, and other odds and ends that were supposed to deck out one's home for the Christmas season. A demonic looking nutcracker looked up at her from between the white fabric in which he was engulfed, a laughing Santa Claus' eyes sparkled as he played "Here Comes Santa Claus,' and a faux tree sat, disassembled, in a heap on the floor.

"Thanks for helping me decorate, Ziva." Tim was dragging the final box in to the living room. "My parents love to have Christmas decorations up and with my dad's broken leg they were worried that it wouldn't be able to happen." He gently dropped the box on to the floor beside the other boxes, pausing to catch his breath. He hadn't realized how much work it was to retrieve the decorations from the attic and he was now glad that he'd recruited Ziva's assistance in decorating the house. His parents had no idea he was here – his father was still in the hospital and his mother was there with him – so it would be a nice surprise for them when they got home the next day.

"Let's start with the nativity," Tim suggested. He rooted through the box that seemed to hold the religious-oriented decorations and pulled out a nativity set that had likely seen better days. The roof of the stable was falling apart, the faces of most of the figures had faded away, and one of the shepherds had broken off the base and had to be precariously perched against the stable wall to keep him from falling. "This always goes on the fireplace mantel," Tim explained as he placed it down. "Then we put the angels on either side."

Ziva grabbed the miniature cherubs she found in the box and began setting them along the mantel. "What do these things mean?"

"What things? The angels?"

Ziva shook her head. "Not that. It's just that I see so many Christmas decorations that I do not understand. Like the Christmas tree. What does it mean? Why do you put up a tree and decorate it with lights and other accouterments, like candy canes and fragile little balls?"

"Don't you have strange traditions with Hanukkah?"

"Strange to others, yes, I suppose we do. But I understand the reason for those traditions. For example, we have the Menorah to remember how the oil lamp continued to burn in the temple for eight days without oil." Ziva plucked a wall-hanging that read "'Tis the Reason for the Season" and handed it to Tim. "I understand the Christian traditions of Christmas – the nativity, the giving of gifts, and so on – I just don't understand all of them and it seems that many of those who celebrate the holiday do not completely understand them either."

Tim nailed the wall-hanging to an empty space beside the fireplace, stepping back to asses it and make sure it was not crooked. Ziva's observation rang true to him, though he wasn't sure what to tell her. "The Christmas holiday isn't a solely religious holiday. Many people would sooner refer to Santa as being the most recognizable character of the holiday than they would Jesus. I guess the traditions have been passed down, but without any explanation of them."

"But Santa is a religious figure, is he not?"

"He's based on one," Tim said as he handed her a string of garland. "St. Nicholas, a bishop who was known for her generosity, particularly to children. Many nations have their own legends of him. In Denmark, children believed they would be rewarded for being good by having treats placed in their shoes."

"And how did he become a jolly, fat man in a red suit?"

"Clement C. Moore described him that way in The Night Before Christmas and that depiction just grew into the norm."

Tim discarded the now empty box to the side and pulled up the one that included all of the Santa paraphernalia. He began separating the Santas by which area of the house they were to be placed. "Of course, the idea of giving gifts at Christmas can also be tied into the gifts the wisemen presented to Jesus at his birth, though that really happened later in the season."

"The twelfth night, yes?" Ziva asked.

He looked up, obviously impressed by her knowledge of the Christmas season. "That's right, Ziva. January 6th is known as The Twelfth Night, among other things."

"So what about the tree?" she asked, nodding her head to the still unassembled tree. "Why are you supposed to have a fir tree decorated?"

"That actually stems back to the story of Adam and Eve. People used to decorate the fir trees with apples to represent the Tree of Knowledge from the Garden of Eden. The idea is that, after they were expelled from Eden, there was a prophecy that a savior would come."

"So that is why you place ornaments on it? And the lights?"

"Martin Luther was inspired to place lights on the trees when he saw stars shining between the branches of a fir tree. Of course, he had to make do with candles."

"And the tree topper…"

"It's usually a star or an angel and it is supposed to represent the angel who announced the birth of Jesus."

Ziva looked at Tim with a mixture of amusement and awe. "You are quite the fountain of knowledge about this holiday and its roots."

"Well, my parents made sure Sarah and I knew why we did things we did," Tim explained, his face tinting a slight pink hue, "whether it was a religious tradition, a tradition of our ancestors, or simply a tradition they'd come up with themselves."

He pulled up the next box and began unpacking the contents. There was a tree skirt, depicting a sleeping colonial town that Santa was flying over, several dishes that would eventually be filled with candy, candles, other winter figurines, and four identical stocking made with red material and a white, fur trim. The only difference between the stockings was that each one had a different McGee's name written along the top.

Tim handed the stockings over to Ziva. "I suppose you're going to ask about the tradition of hanging up stockings now?"

She shrugged, thought an impish smile played in her lips. "If you would like to tell me, I would love to know."

"It actually has to do with the legend of a nobleman who lost his family's fortune, leaving his three daughters with no money for dowries," Tim began as he nailed small hooks into the fireplace mantle. "In that time, if you didn't have a dowry to offer at your marriage, you would most likely end up an old spinster. So when St. Nicholas heard about this, he decided to anonymously donate money to them. He rode by the house and tossed three small pouches of gold coins down the chimney, and they were caught by the girls' stockings that had been hung up to dry."

Ziva crossed her arms in front of her. "I do not think I completely buy that."

"Well, it's just a story. Something similar probably happened and it's now been exaggerated a bit to explain a strange tradition."

"I suppose." Ziva busied herself, hanging the stockings on the hooks Tim had just set in the mantle. "I must admit, it's more fun to decorate when you understand the reason behind it."

Slowly, the house became jollier and jollier, brimming with a bright Christmas spirit. Lights blinked from between the needles of the tree, a mechanical Santa head laughed and wished you a Merry Christmas each time you passed by, and the small nativity shone in its place of honor beneath the spotlight that was trained on the mantle. The boxes were stacked within each other as they were emptied and soon there was only one box left.

"This just contains other trimmings," Tim told Ziva. "Like Poinsettias and holly."

"And…this?" Ziva asked as she extracted a mistletoe from the bottom of the box. "Do you know the meaning behind this tradition, Timothy?"

Tim had to admit that he didn't.

"It actually dates back before the time of Jesus," Ziva said as she held it up, teasingly rocking it back and forth over his head. "The Druids used it in winter celebrations because it managed to remain green in winter, despite having no roots."

"And it became a catalyst for kissing…how?"

"Scandinavians associated it with Frigga, their goddess of love, so it was thought that kissing beneath it would bring happiness and good luck in the year that followed."

Ziva inched herself closer to him, the mistletoe still dangling between her fingers. "Shall we test out that theory?" she asked in a hushed tone.

Their bodies only inches apart, Tim reached up and grabbed the small, green plant from her grasp. He leaned in to her and softly pressed his lips against her own. She responded by wrapping an arm around his neck and deepening the kiss. Tim leaned back slowly, pulling her body on top of his. He gently ran a hand through her long, thick hair and settled the hand on the back of her head.

After mere seconds that had seemed more like hours, the two reluctantly pulled apart. Ziva's body was atop Tim's, their arms entangled around each other, and in Tim's hand was the mistletoe.

"I think," a breathless Tim said as he pressed small kisses along her neck, "that is one tradition I can enjoy even without knowing the reason behind it."

The end!