"I was thinking that we should be the ones to host Thanksgiving this year."
Tim's razor slipped and left a gash on his cheek. "Ow!" He turned to where his wife was standing in the doorway. "Can you wait until I don't have a razor in my hand to make announcements like that?"
"Why, so you don't have a better chance of cutting your throat if you don't like them?" she asked, smiling slyly.
"First off, you can't just announce that out of the blue and think I won't react. And if you keep interrupting me when I'm shaving, I will have this beard forever."
She laughed, and the sound made him smile, even as he pressed a wad of toilet paper to the cut on his cheek. "Want me to kiss it better?" she asked.
"That would be nice." He leaned against the counter, turning to stare at her. "Dee, how are we supposed to host Thanksgiving exactly?"
"Why wouldn't we be able to host, Tim? I know it's not your favorite holiday…" she trailed off, making a face.
"Dee, aside from the fact that you will be very close to having the baby at that point," he pointed out, "We do not have the room."
"We do too! Tim, we got married here. We should have our first Thanksgiving here too."
He sighed. "I thought we were supposed to be looking for a house."
"Oh, we are, don't worry. This place is not big enough for three." She saw that he looked worried, his brow furrowed, and she couldn't help but giggle a little at the toilet paper still stuck to his cheek. She held out a hand, "C'mere."
He walked over, taking her hand. "What do you see in me?"
"A future," she replied, as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He leaned down and kissed her. When he pulled away, he gave her a look that made her certain he saw the same in her. "You're bleeding on me, Tim."
He pulled away, horrified. "Sorry!" And then he shot her a suspicious look. "Don't think that I've said yes or anything."
"Wasn't it Clay who said you were… what was it? Oh! Whipped." She giggled.
"He also implied that I don't wear the pants in this family."
"You don't," she teased. He turned and shot a dirty look her way, but she continued. "Neither do I. That might be how we got into this predicament." She placed a hand on her belly, and grinned at him. "And yet, here I am. And I love you."
"I love you too, Dee. Now do you want me to finish shaving or what?"
"Yes. Get that hairy abomination off your face."
"You didn't mind it when I first got home," he muttered, continuing with his shaving.
She snorted. "Actually the first thing I thought when I saw you was what the hell is on his face?"
"I fight that hard to get home to you, and that's your first thought?" he asked, amused. "You're terrible."
"And yet you love me."
"Don't you forget it, Mrs. McGee." He turned his head, winking at her.
She grinned. "So we'll do it, then? Host for Thanksgiving?"
He groaned. "Clay is right. I am whipped. Yes, we'll host for Thanksgiving. Wait. Who all is coming?"
"I was thinking the team…"
"You want Nick here, making more comments about dead bodies?" Tim asked, examining his face in the mirror.
"If he makes a comment about any carcass but the turkey, I will stick the carving knife through his hand," she replied sweetly, eliciting a laugh from her husband.
It hadn't been easy, but they'd mended their fences. He wiped off his face, and set down his razor, turning to her. "Better?"
"Much," she said, as he followed her out of the bathroom.
"Breakfast?"
She checked her watch. "Tim, you're going to be late for work."
He kissed the top of her head. "Gibbs will understand."
"Tim," she told him firmly. "I can make my own breakfast. You'll make us both late."
"Dee," he replied, just as firmly. "You may have won on the Thanksgiving debate, but trust me on this, you're having breakfast. You have to-"
"Don't say because I'm eating for two," she all but begged.
He smirked. "Fine, starve poor Peanut in there."
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Okay, if you're going to make us both late, then you're going to call Gibbs right now and tell him why."
"He's not going to mind. He has a soft spot for you, Mrs. McGee."
"He's still Gibbs," she warned through her laughter. "If you're making breakfast, then I would like eggs."
"Scrambled?"
"Yes. And toast-,"
"With grape jelly," he said, completing her sentence.
She giggled. "I'm a lucky girl."
"If anyone is lucky, I think it's me."
"Any man who fought this hard to come back is worth it," she responded softly, knowing he wouldn't hear her. And then, louder, she called. "I never finished telling you about the guest list!"
"Ha!" She saw him grin, shaking his head. "Why does this conversation sound familiar?"
"You know, the joke's on you, Tim, because in the end, who planned the whole little wedding?"
"Me," he admitted. "And I deserved it, for slacking so much."
"Can I get that in writing?" she asked, and smiled as she watched him roll up his sleeves.
"No!" he called back. She turned and looked over at his typewriter, which he'd pulled out from a closet, and set up, only two days after his return from Paraguay. She knew he wrote sometimes when the nightmares were too much, and she was curious about what he worked on late at night, but never asked.
The phone rang, and she grabbed it, smirking at the name on the display, before answering. "Hi Gibbs!"
"Delilah!" He sounded genuinely pleased. "How are ya?"
"As well as I can be. I'm assuming you're looking for my husband?"
"Yeah, I'm wonderin' where he is."
"He's currently in the kitchen, making me some breakfast."
"Ah." He sounded gratified. "Thought so. Don't let Bishop hear he's making somethin', she skipped breakfast."
"She's welcome to drop by," Delilah said with a smile. And then she sighed. "Let me guess, there's a crime scene of some kind?"
"Downtown DC. No rush though."
"Gibbs, this smacks of favoritism."
"I think it's the least I can do for ya, Delilah." His voice was quieter. "Not lettin' Tim miss anythin' else."
"Very chivalrous."
"Do what ya have to for family."
"Is that what I am now?"
"Oh yeah," he said with a chuckle. "Family."
"Bishop can stop by if she wants, and pick Tim up," she offered.
"All right. Be there soon."
"Bye Gibbs." She hung up, and called to Tim. "Hope you're making enough for six people!"
"I thought it was just Bishop and Gibbs stopping by?" he asked.
"It's Ellie, Tim. And me, I'm really hungry."
He rolled his eyes. "Something else you and Ellie can bond over. I get it."
She rolled into the kitchen, and smiled. "Can I help?"
"No, it's okay. Do you think Ellie will want an omelette?" he asked, brow furrowed again. She grabbed his hand, and he turned to smile at her. He was leaning against the counter, but looked at her with a look on his face that no matter how long they were married, she didn't think she'd ever get used to; it was one of pure adoration. "Probably. So tell me the rest of this guest list."
"Well, the team, obviously."
"Our mothers?"
"And sisters."
"Breena and Victoria?" he asked.
She nodded, and smiled. "While we're at it, how about we invite Tony, Tali and Senior?"
"Tony, Tali, and Senior?"
"You said it yourself, Tim," she said with a smile. "Thanksgiving is getting close to when Peanut here makes their grand entrance. And Tony wanted to be here for it. If he comes for Thanksgiving and just stays on…"
"And where is he going to stay?" Tim asked. "We're kind of living in his apartment."
"I doubt he'd want to come back here anyway," she said with a giggle. His face had turned pensive, and she squeezed his hand. "Tim, I know you miss him. And he wanted to be here for us."
"I know, but I don't want to tear him away from his new life-,"
"Tim," she said softly, talking over him. "Hon, he knows what he's doing."
Tim finally smiled. "Okay. Though by the way you're describing it, we are not going to have enough room for everyone."
"Should we invite Alex?" she asked. "Or the Director?"
"Dee, it's the end of September," he said, shaking his head with a smile. "We have time to plan this out."
"You said that about the wedding too, but we ran out of time," she teased.
He winced. "Don't remind me."
"Tim, these things happen, and we don't plan for them, but that's okay. I won't go back and change it." She placed both hands, one still wrapped around Tim's, on her belly. "Would you?"
He looked down at her, and smiled, one of the happiest smiles she'd seen since he'd returned to her from the grave. "I wouldn't change a single thing," he said, honestly, before leaning down and kissing her.
They broke apart only when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it."
"No, you're on kitchen duty. I'll get it," she said, squeezing his hand again before letting go, and as he watched her leave the room, he shook his head. So lucky.
She opened the door. "Hi Gibbs. Hey Ellie!"
"Delilah! You're… wow." Bishop was staring at her, eyes wide. "Very pregnant."
"What?" she asked, mock horrified. She looked down. "When did that happen?"
"Very funny, Delilah," Gibbs said, walking in, and leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "You're glowin', as usual."
"Don't worry, Tim put the coffee on when he heard you were coming," she said with a smile. "And I'll give it to you without a bribe."
"So," Ellie said, following Delilah into the dining room yet. "Do you guys know if it's a boy or a girl?"
Tim, who'd walked in with several plates of food balanced on his hands and forearms like a master waiter, answered. "I refuse to speculate."
"We want it to be a surprise," Dee said, shooting a look at her husband, and if she glowed with pregnancy, he glowed with contentment. It was enough, wasn't it?
Ellie's eyes went wide when she saw the feast in front of her. "Wow, Tim, this is awesome!"
"Very domestic," Gibbs said with a grin.
"Thank you boss." Tim set down a coffee in front of him, before handing Delilah her breakfast. "All right, let's eat."
Dee leaned in. "Have I mentioned you're the best?"
He smiled at her. "If anyone here's the best, I'm looking at her."
They'd come back to each other, the way they always had. After the Conrad Gala, after Dubai… and now after Paraguay. Two people torn apart again and again by circumstances, but bonded together by something greater than circumstance; held together by a band of gold, a child, and a love too resilient for any situation to shatter.