Title: A Christmas Tree Story
Summary: A misunderstanding on Christmas Day may destroy Gibbs and Tony's friendship forever.
Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.
Spoilers: See Chapter One for details.
A/N: This chapter would probably be better named "Taken and Given" but I thought it sounded better the way I have it below. This one got away from me and I'm not all that sure I like how it came out. I'd appreciate you letting me know how I did.
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Chapter Two: Give and Take
Eight months ago, it was a relatively quiet day during a lunch hour we don't often get to take that I overhear DiNozzo making phone calls to friends asking if they know anyone who does restoration work. Specifically he wants to know if his friends know anyone who specializes in working with or restoring art glass.
I'm curious, but I don't pry. He may be making his calls in the not-so-private bullpen, but it's his lunch hour and he can spend it anyway he chooses to. I have no problems respecting my senior field agent's privacy.
I know he waited for Ziva and McGee to leave before making these calls so I suspect he doesn't want them to know about this and probably doesn't intend on asking them for their help either. He knows that to ask his teammates for help is to invite questions he may not want to answer. Which probably means these inquiries have to do with something very private and personal.
It's likely that my agent knows I can hear his end of the conversation, but then again he knows I won't pry into his private life without some sort of invitation. Over the years, he's increasingly let me past his walls, and I do all I can to keep his trust. If he wants me to know more, he'll come to me when he's ready. And as long as these calls don't put his life in danger, then I'm okay with him not completely confiding in me.
Ten days later, after a long day on the job, Tony pays me a surprise visit to my basement. I'm at my workbench beginning work on my plans for my latest project – a gift for Tony's tenth anniversary with NCIS – when I hear my front door slam shut. Closing the notebook and tucking it away, I get back to repairing the window shutter sitting on sawhorses that had been shaken loose during the last big storm.
When Tony comes in the basement, he says 'hey' as he's coming down the stairs. He seems to have a purpose for coming in mind, but once he reaches the landing, he seems to deflate a little and hesitate. Instead of saying anything, he sits on the landing and watches my progress with the repairs on the shutter. I decide to let the silence rein for the time being and only returned his 'hey' with one of my own. I figure he'll talk when's he's ready.
I've been working steadily for a little while when I stop because I need a tool from the workbench. It's then that Tony haltingly asks me if I know to work with glass. I unfortunately have to inform him that I'd not really worked with glass other than to replace window panes around my house.
At his crestfallen look, I immediately followed up by saying that a retired friend's wife works for the National Gallery of Art. I was pretty confident she would know some names and that I was willing to reach out to her to find out. I figure this is related to those calls I'd overheard my friend make over a week ago and I'm still curious but I don't want to push him for details. If I do, he might give me some lame excuse and pretend he never asked for or needed my help, but there are a couple things I do need to know.
"Can I ask what you need to have done? Patty will definitely ask so that she'll better know how to help."
DiNozzo pauses long enough that I begin to think he won't answer at all. I move to resume my work when he finally speaks. And what he says— No. Scratch that. How much he shares with me about what he wants to do and why surprises the heck out of me.
We've talked about his childhood before, but up until now he's avoided mentioning much of anything about his mother and the earliest years of his life. Much of what I hear though makes me want to get my sniper rifle out and aim it at Senior.
How can a father deny his son mementos and memories of his own mother? How can a parent deny their child the joys of the Christmas season beginning at such a young age? No wonder my agent doesn't know how to act or what to do during family get-togethers – especially at Christmas time.
I also now certainly understand why he never really mentions his mother. Her untimely death and his father's subsequent actions have made that time in his life painful to remember or talk about. It seems his last good memory of his mother is being snuggled up with her watching It's a Wonderful Life. At least I now know why he loves that film so much.
When he finishes speaking, all I can think to say in response to his story is: "Thank you for telling me."
Tony lowers his head and begins to blush so I add, "I won't tell Patty anything more than what she needs to know."
He looks up at me, and with confidence and trust emanating from his eyes, he says, "I know."
His response overwhelms me a little as I break eye contact with him. It makes me proud and yet humbled at the same time that he trusts me with this much of his heart and his past.
Tony then takes a deep breath and explains the situation further, "I finally have enough money to get it repaired, if it can be repaired, and I think it's the right time too."
He goes quiet after that and I offer to feed him, but he declines the invitation and leaves not too long after that. I suppose he was a little overwhelmed himself once he realized just how much personal information he shared with me and needed time to process that fact.
I'm glad he shared more of his life with me since it allowed me the rare privilege to get a peek around what is probably his most heavily fortified internal wall and get to know one of my kids a little better.
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Then, five months ago, I made a major mistake.
It didn't seem like a mistake at the time, but more like an opportunity to do something nice for my agent and friend.
I should've known better than to do what I did, but at that time and in that moment, my gut was oddly silent about the whole thing. It was a spontaneous action and I only had the best of intentions. But as I came to see, good intentions can often cause the worst problems and hurt feelings.
One afternoon, DiNozzo had received a call from the local LEOs about his and seven other apartments in his building being vandalized and untraceable items stolen. The whole team insisted on going with him to deal with the cops and perhaps give a hand cleaning up. We weren't able to get jurisdiction over the case, but did work it as much as possible. Unfortunately we were never able to catch the vandals/thieves due to the lack of any evidence beyond the fact that there were four of them.
Every year something major happens or breaks down in his apartment or building and every year I try to convince him to move somewhere nicer or newer, but he refuses and won't tell me why. This time around I decide to skip the argument and just give him this look which he rolls his eyes in response to. I glare back at him, but he only smirks, and I can't help but return it.
Once Tony was given the all clear, he'd begun straightening up his place to make it livable again. Ziva and McGee pitched in, but I could see Tony was uncomfortable about the idea of his teammates having access to his most personal possessions. If they were allowed to help, I was afraid they'd be tempted to go past the curious and cross the line into invasion of privacy. So I sent them out to help the local LEOs and any other residents who may need assistance regaining some semblance of order to their homes. A look of relief had briefly flickered over DiNozzo's face before a look of determination to get the task before him done took over.
I was attempting to put his things back where I thought they'd originally been when I accidentally kick a smallish, beat-up cardboard box. It felt like I should know what was in the box, but I didn't want to pry into Tony's things. I was about to pick it up and ask where I should put it when I see this torn expression on my friend's face.
He was standing just the side of the shelves I'd made him eight years ago and holding one of the ones that had been knocked down by the vandals. It was obviously damaged and the reason for the look on his face suddenly became clear. Tony must be feeling guilty that a gift I'd made especially for him was damaged. From here the damage didn't look too bad, but if the shelving unit was beyond repair, I had no problems starting all over again and building him a new one.
And then the reason Tony wouldn't move out of his apartment clicked in my mind. The shelves. Shelves that were permanently built into a corner of Tony's apartment. Shelves that I'd built that he couldn't take with him if he moved out. I'm beyond touched by his sentiment, but doesn't he realize that I'd build him another shelving unit wherever he ended up?
Probably not. And now he thinks it's his fault my gift to him was damaged.
Idiot.
I'd headslap him, but it would just be adding insult to injury given what he's going through right now.
I walk over to him and take the shelf out of his hands in order to examine it. Damaged, but not too bad. I thought the shelving unit could easily be fixed and told him so promising I'd be over as soon as our schedules allowed. His cheap coffee table hadn't faired so well. I told him I could probably provide a temporary fix, but that in my opinion he needed to get a new one. Tony had snorted at that and I knew he was wondering when he'd have the time to go out looking for furniture. I selfishly hoped he wouldn't find anything before I could give him his gift at the end of October.
Going back to the trashed entry hall closet, I resumed restoring some semblance of order. I picked up the box I'd almost kicked earlier. It was beat up enough that I thought it wise to check its contents for damage. Having barely begun taking the item out if the box, I instantly figured out what it was from my friend's description. This was the candleholder he'd told me about not so long ago. The one he wanted to get restored.
And that's when I made a major mistake.
Impulsively and without thought as to any consequences, I closed the box and with my back to Tony, I started towards his front door. Over my shoulder, I told DiNozzo that I was going to my car to get the tools needed to give his coffee table a temporary fix.
As I made my way down to my car and over the next few days, I reconsidered what I'd done. I knew I should tell Tony I had his mother's candleholder, but I didn't. In my head, I rationalized it as doing something for my good friend, someone I considered to be one of my kids, someone who knew how to keep me on an even keel on the job. In the five months since he'd asked me for information about restoration, he hadn't done anything about it as far as I could tell. I thought I could get it done for him as a way to show him I cared without actually having to say the words. It never even occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to get it back to him before he missed it.
Once I finally had time to examine the candleholder, I saw that it really had the potential to be beautiful once a candle illuminated it. What I couldn't figure out was why Tony allowed for it to be stored in such a flimsy, beat-up cardboard box.
An idea was born with that thought.
My appointment with the glass restorer my friend Patty set up wasn't for a couple of days yet so I decided to spend the time I had until then making precise measurements taking a few photos. My other project needed to be done before I could tackle this new idea, but I was confident I could get it done in time for Christmas.
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When my team drew the short straw and was scheduled to work on Christmas Eve, I called my dad to discuss what we were going to do this year. Given the uncertain nature of my job, Dad and I decided that we wouldn't get together this year though both of us were more than willing.
Our conversation naturally turned towards Tony.
"Son, don't forget to make sure that boy of yours remembers he has an invitation to have dinner with you whenever you can get around to it," Dad says.
"I won't forget."
"Are you going to bother getting him a gift or is your prime rib dinner the gift?"
"I'm making something."
"What? He raved to me a couple of weeks ago about the furniture you made for him. Even sent me a couple of photos," Jackson says with an amused tone.
"Yeah, he seemed pretty enthusiastic about the tables when I delivered them to him. Insisted I stay for dinner and break in the new pieces." I smirk at the memory of just how excited Tony was to finally have the furniture he'd only previously seen the plans for.
"So what are you making him? Can I chip in on the materials?"
I roll my eyes and tell him about the candleholder (only that it was broken and was a family heirloom), the circumstances around which I had taken it, and that it was currently in the hands of an art restorer I'd hired. I also mentioned the sorry-looking cardboard box it had been kept in, and my idea for making something more appropriate to house the candleholder.
"Have you lost your damned mind Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"
Uh-oh… Three names. What did I do now?
My father barely gives me time to consider what I might have done when he continues on.
"You took that boy's family heirloom, and are getting it fixed without telling him. What happens when, not if, he discovers it to be missing? What do you think is going to happen when and not if he figures out what you've done?
"From the way you described that candleholder, I know that there's more to the story than you are able to tell me. More than once you've mentioned that you wished Tony would open up to you about certain areas of his life and when he finally does…this is how you repay him!"
"Dad, I—"
"No, Leroy. No excuses. You need to confess to what you've done and hope like hell that young man will forgive you."
"Dad, I know what I'm doing. I probably know Tony better than anyone. It'll be fixed and returned to his apartment before he can even miss it. And when he finally gets it out for Christmas, he'll definitely be angry with me at first but I think he'll forgive me once he lights a candle."
My dad sighs, "I don't know, Son. I just think this is going to backfire spectacularly on you."
It turns out my father can be pretty prophetic at times because only a few days later I get a call. The art restorer thought he could find out what the original candleholder looked like in order to properly restore Tony's, but he hadn't managed to find an image of one yet. He'd cut some glass pieces in colors used at the time, and was ready to put them in, but he didn't know where to exactly place them.
Christmas was fast approaching and my window for getting the holder back into Tony's apartment was shrinking. I'd have to reveal what I'd done, if I couldn't find out what the original looked like.
Since my dad was the only other person who knew what I was planning, I let him know about the snag I'd hit. And thank God, I did. One of my dad's lady friends had an extensive collection of candleholders and quite a few of them were Christmas-themed. Despite his disapproval of my plan, he decided to help me anyway and ask his friend for help. Not for my sake, but for Tony's.
I sent him copies of the photos I'd taken and, a couple of days later, Dad calls me back with the good news that Helen had a holder just like Tony's. I passed her photos on to the art restorer as soon as I could, but knew it was now too late to get the candleholder back to Tony's place in time for Christmas.
It was only a matter of time before Tony discovered that his mother's candleholder was gone. It was only a matter of time before my actions would devastate my agent and friend. I've never wanted to cause him any pain, but it seems inevitable now.
I want to confess. I should confess and hope for forgiveness, but for some reason I don't. And I'm not exactly sure why. My gut remains frustratingly quiet about the whole thing, and I have no idea if I'm making the right decision to stay quiet about what I've done.
Usually I keep an eye out for all of my kids and how they're doing, but as the last few days before Christmas pass by, I found myself focusing most of my attentions on Tony. So far, it seemed like he was doing fine and was showing no signs of emotional distress. Either his mask, which I can usually see past, is that good or he hasn't yet discovered his precious heirloom is missing.
Meanwhile, restoration on the candleholder had been successfully completed. Another disaster almost occurred because our caseload prevented me from picking it up until very early in the morning on Christmas Eve just as the art restorer was leaving to catch a cab to the airport. I'd somehow managed to finish the box I'd made for the candleholder in between working case after case. Now all I had to do was wrap Tony's gift.
Having to work on Christmas Eve was not easy, especially with the bad weather, but we managed to wrap up our current case before dawn on Christmas Day. Once my team got their preliminary paperwork out the way, I kicked them out of the office and told them to be two hours late on Monday morning. Exhausted, the team headed out as quickly as possible to get some sleep before enjoying their day off with their family and friends.
I left the building as soon as I could as well. I had a gift to wrap and a dinner to prepare. And just maybe, a friend to lose.
From the moment I heard Tony come in my front door, I could just tell that he was dying on the inside. I could hear it in his every movement even before I'd come face to face with him. Valiantly he tried to hide what he was feeling – the devastation – but I'd known him too long and I could still see it seeping through the widening cracks in his mask. Right then and there I almost fessed up, but finally my gut kicked in a little and told me I should let this situation play out.
If I needed any proof of DiNozzo not acting like himself, all I had to do was listen to the silence of my house. Yes, Tony could more than fill the void with conversation, but often when it was just the two of us, I'd learned that he could also sit back and enjoy making only the occasional comment. But today, it seemed like Tony wanted to be anywhere but here and was trying to make fade unnoticed into the background.
I couldn't have been more thankful for the distraction of my Dad calling just before dinner. I know my dad and my agent enjoy talking to each other and Tony did an admirable job rallying enough to keep up his end of the conversation. It was killing me to see him like this – full of pain and guilt and a host of other negative emotions. But I knew that my gift would ease it, though anger would soon replace the dejection.
Further proof of Tony being un-Tony-like (as Abby would probably say) came at dinner when he barely ate half the amount I've seen him put away with a home-cooked meal before him. When I'd finished, Tony rose to help me clean up and almost dropped a dish because his mind was pretty firmly entrenched elsewhere. I sent him to the living room in hopes that the warmth of the fireplace might help him to relax if only a little.
As I cleaned up, I began taking covert glances to check on my friend, but after the first few times, I gave up and did it openly. He may have been at my house in body, but his spirit – and perhaps his heart – were elsewhere.
As far as I could tell, Tony never moved in all the time it took me to clean up the dinner table and kitchen. When I had finished, I let the coffee maker do its job and rejoined Tony. I tried to get his attention, but he couldn't hear me because he was far away from here in his thoughts. Instead of the headslap I normally would give him for inattention to his surroundings, I went back to the kitchen to get us each a coffee.
It took my putting the coffee cup directly in front of Tony's eyes for him to start to snap back to the present. Once I thought he was back enough in the present, I asked my traditional question. His answer combined with a small smirk gave me hope that my Tony was still in there somewhere.
At least this year the gift from his dad wasn't completely useless and was only impractical in that I think my friend had only ever once set foot in a hardware store. When he mentioned his apartment being trashed as he offered the card to me, I had to work hard to suppress what I was thinking and feeling and probably spent too long considering my agent and also what I was going to say next.
I wanted to say a hundred different things, but in the end I reminded him that hardware store sold other things besides lumber something I was confident he didn't expect to hear. Tony snapped off an irritable reply and I let the topic drop.
We sat in companionable, if somewhat angst-ridden silence, for a while basking in the warmth of my fireplace. Suddenly, Tony places his coffee cup on the table and leans his elbows on his knees. He looks so exhausted and I begin to doubt he was able to get any sleep before coming over this afternoon. I think he's about five minutes from telling me he's going to leave so I offer him pie made by my next door neighbor.
He looks torn for a moment before his manners kick in and he agrees to have some pie. Once in the kitchen, I take advantage of Tony's inattention and quickly grab the gift that I know he'll love but that may also cost me his respect and trust. Then, in consideration of Tony's lack of appetite, I dish out a slice of pie about half the size of mine. I balance both plates and the coffee pot on top of the gift and bring them out to the living room. I can see Tony wants to help me with my awkward burden but with a jerk of my head, I warn him off and set everything down without spilling anything. I've never forgotten the skills I leaned working at the local diner those couple of summers before joining the Marines.
Tony tries and manages to eat around half the slice of pie and all the while he stares at the wrapped gift before him on the coffee table. I know what he must be thinking, wondering if it's for him, so I ask:
"Are you going to open it or stare at it all night?"
Still he hesitates, so I shove the last bite of pie in my mouth and motion for him to sit back in his chair. Before he can say anything against it, I've picked up the box and set it on his knees.
"Got it?" I ask hoping he'll then get a good grip on it since the gift is heavier than it looks.
"Yeah," he mumbles then tries to protest my giving it to him.
I interrupt him in a slightly rougher toned, "Just open it," than I'd intended because I know that in just a few moments I'll find out the fate of our friendship. The pie is definitely not sitting well in my stomach right now.
DiNozzo becomes a little lost in his thoughts so I bring him back with a light headslap to which he smiles sheepishly in response. He semi-carefully unwraps the gift and looks at it with some confusion. He looks up at me and at first I think he's already figured out what I've done and I'm nervous our friendship will be at an immediate end, but then I realize the design is not properly oriented to him.
I reach down and turn the box so the design is facing the right way and sit back down to await my fate. Will he see that what I did, I did with good intentions? Will he ever forgive me for basically lying to him all this time? Will he ever again trust me with anything remotely personal once he knows my actions caused him such despair?
Watching his face, I can tell the nanosecond in which he figures out what the design I carved into the top of the box represents. He looks shocked, and then almost immediately after that, he looks like he's going to be sick. He must have figured out that his mother's candleholder is in the box and I'm the one who made him think it was long gone.
I definitely know he's figured it out when he goes even paler and looks inside the box after he fumbles with its latch. Once he sees the restored candleholder, I watch as he lifts his hand and with a brief look on his face bordering on wonder, he runs a finger over the recently installed glass.
After probably some of the longest moments of my life, his face goes disturbingly blank and emotionless. He closes the box, latches it and sets it carefully on the coffee table. Then he completely surprises me by suddenly standing and then hurrying out of my house.
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't take his coat which holds his wallet, keys and cell phone. If I didn't know any better, I would say he calmly walked out, but that is definitely not the case. If I had to guess, I would say that everything that he's been through in the last couple of days, the emotional rollercoaster of losing and then finding his tangible reminder of his mother, has completely overwhelmed him. And being that overwhelmed caused his flight instinct to kick in.
I hurry to the door and yell at him to come back, that it's much too cold outside and that he needs his coat. But he can't hear me. Or maybe he doesn't want to hear me.
He just keeps walking heedless of the snowfall, the temperature, and probably most of his surroundings.
I head back into the house long enough to grab both our coats and begin trying to catch up to him before something bad happens to him.
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To be concluded…
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A/N: Usually I obsessively check for errors, but didn't this time. Please let me know if there are any major mistakes – thanks!
