Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own NCIS; Season Eleven would have gone very differently if I did.
A/N: That's right, I'm not dead! It was too painful for me to read and write NCIS fanfiction for a while, but I think I'm (finally) to the point where I can do it again. I feel oddly disconnected from the fandom after being away for so long, though; I hope you're all doing well!
Tony sat in the dimly lit bullpen, a dwindling pile of paperwork in front of him. The office was quiet, everyone else on the floor long having departed for their holiday celebrations.
As he reached up and stretched a kink out of his back, the phone rang.
Frowning, Tony answered it.
"NCIS, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."
"Junior!"
Letting out a breath that was part exasperation, part something he refused to call disappointment, Tony said, "Dad, I thought I told you not to call me on my work phone."
"You weren't answering your cell; what was I supposed to do? Just wanted to wish you an early Happy Christmas."
"Thanks. Same to you."
"Why're you still at the office? You should be out celebrating."
"Just finishing up some paperwork, Dad. You know how it is here."
"Yeah, yeah, that's my son these days: all work. You got any plans for later tonight or tomorrow, at least?"
Tony shrugged uncomfortably, forgetting for a split-second that his father couldn't see him through the phone.
"Yeah," he said, making his tone cheerful. "Abby invited me over to Gibbs' house –"
His father chortled at this, and Tony swiveled around absently in his chair.
"Thatta girl!"
"Yeah, that's Abby for you. I'll be heading over there soon. Apparently she's got a proper feast planned."
The elevator dinged from behind him. McGee must have finally realized he'd forgotten his wallet.
"I just don't like to think about you being alone, Junior," his father said. "I know Ziva leaving hit you hard, but –"
Not this again.
Rather defensively, Tony began, "Ziva –"
He swiveled his seat back around and froze.
"Ziva," he repeated, this time in a rather different tone.
Because there she was, standing right in front of his desk.
"Call you back later," he mumbled and quickly hung up the phone despite his father's protests.
"Hello, Tony," she said. "Having phone sex again?"
Her tone was light and teasing, but her eyes were anything but.
"Ziva," Tony repeated, feeling like a broken record. "What – what are you doing here? When did you get in?"
"I drove here straight from the airport," Ziva said.
Tony frantically tried to will life into his limbs, but they stayed still in shock as a sudden, desperate hope rose in his heart.
"And I am back – for good. If," she added, somewhat hesitantly, gaze significant, "You will all have me."
Phoof.
But this is Christmas; yes Christmas, my dear
The time of year to be with the ones you love
So won't you tell me you'll never more roam
Christmas and New Years will find you home
There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain
And I'll be happy, happy once again
—"Please Come Home for Christmas"
