I'm sorry, but you knew the boss was gonna show up. Gibbs doesn't break his word, I don't know if it's a Marine thing or a result of being raised by Jackson Gibbs or what it is, but you knew that he wasn't gonna miss Thanksgiving at Ducky's. And when he says that he was late because he was going around trying to find some substitutes for dinner rolls, you believe him. Only Gibbs, and I do mean only Gibbs, with the boss' trademark common sense, would try to substitute crackers and whole load of other things for traditional Thanksgiving dinner rolls rather than just leave rolls off the table.
I probably didn't have to drink two glasses of wine at dinner but it's the holidays. Ducky can prepare a hell of a meal. Even Ziva's assistance with dinner couldn't ruin Ducky's bird. I kid of course; I've heard that the Ninja is actually a very good cook. I can cook…well, penne. Anything else I either burn or fail to adequately cook. After a couple glasses of wine, I'm on the verge of forgetting about Atlantic City. I don't know why I wanted to go anywhere for Thanksgiving. It seems kind of a stupid time of year to go away. I mean, did Planes, Trains and Automobiles teach us nothing?
There's nothing mystical about Thanksgiving. It's a holiday built for family gossip. Think about it. Football games containing the same teams every year. And every family has that one father or uncle, you know the one. He wears a wool sweater and corduroy pants, he eats too many yams or too much turkey at dinner, stuffs his hand inside his waistband as the guys sit down to watch the game and pontificates on the Cowboys or the Lions. But you don't have that with this group. I was sure McGee would head home and spend some time with his family. I was kind of amazed to see him at Ducky's tonight. Abby, well she loves Ducky and Gibbs so much; I couldn't see her being anywhere else. With all that's gone on with Ziva this year, I couldn't see her comfortably sitting at another table. And me? Well, I don't like Atlantic City all that much anyway.
"Well, Ducky, you prepare a heck of a bird." McGee wipes his face with a napkin and gets cold looks from Abby and Ziva.
"How long were you waiting to make that pun, McGee?" Abby re-fills her glass as the pumpkin pie finishes its way around the table.
"Uh…buh, not that long." McGee stammers. Ziva and I share a knowing look. The lower half of her face hidden behind the wine glass. I grin and slide another forkful of dessert between my teeth. Even the boss seems to get a bit of a chuckle out of watching Abby get on McGee's case.
"And Probie, really, who uses the word 'heck' any more?" I jest, my mouth still half full.
"Tony, manners." Ziva reaches out and smacks me across the shoulder.
"You're not Gibbs." I rebut as she reels her arm back in.
"DiNozzo." Gibbs turns to face me. "Manners."
"Sorry, boss." I hang my head a bit and Ziva gets that little triumphant smile on her face. I can't help but smile. This is probably the most normal family Thanksgiving I've ever had. I don't know that I want to do a lot of analyzing here but maybe that's why I was so anxious to be anywhere but here for this holiday. I mean, Atlantic City and Vegas are destinations for desperately lonely single people to gather and try to find a little meaning in screwing each other's brains out for a weekend. I'm sorry if that was too deep. In college, we used to do crazy things for no other reason I think than the fact that we'd be able to call each other up in ten years and talk about the fun we had doing it.
This coming from the guy who decided to re-live Spring Break five years ago. Holy shit, was that really five years ago? See, this is why I hate the holidays. Pretty much all holidays. All they succeed in reminding you of is all the things that you think you're missing and all the time that's gone by. Time that's gone by? Why doesn't Sam just cue up the piano in my head? Sitting here, trying not to spill red wine on Ducky's table cloth, I can't help but think of the fact that I'm 37 years old. Life's supposed to mean something by now, isn't it? There's supposed to be something to it, some substantive thing you can hold on to. Damn, I hate the holidays.
"Well, I suppose the time has come to clean up." Ducky grabs a few plates but Ziva waves him off.
"Do not bother, Ducky, I will get them." She smiles quickly and grabs as much as she can get her hands on and does a delicate balancing act as she takes it all into the kitchen. I watch her move, the gently sway of her hips. The last pool of garnet wine disappears from the bottom of my glass and I launch out of my chair. Grabbing what's left of the plates on the table, I head for the kitchen.
"I'll help!" I call as I jog toward the kitchen. I set down a few plates and glasses on the counter next to the sink. I pop my head back through the door from the kitchen. "Hey Ducky, where's the dish rags and stuff?"
"The rags are in the drawer to the left of the sink. The detergent and towels are under the sink." Ducky smiles from his chair. He and Gibbs are into the whiskey now. Not sure that bodes well for the remainder of the evening. Though, if he goads McGee in to drinking the hard stuff, that could be worth seeing. I slide back along the tile of the kitchen, next to Ziva along the sink. I watch as the muscles in her back tense up. It takes me back to last week at the bar, as I watched the muscles in her back dance through the smoke as she sang along with the piano. I'm not sure I'm in love with Ziva, I think so but I'm not sure you can know until you're with a person. Before that, I think you're more or less in love with the idea of that person. Now, that having been said, after last week I'm in love with Ziva's back.
I'm a little tense. I don't know why. Ziva casts a cursory glance over her left shoulder; those delicate high lashes hang just a little low so that it looks like she isn't looking. "Would Atlantic City really have been that entertaining, Tony?" She starts washing the dishes after laying out a towel on the counter for the clean ones to dry on.
"Probably not." I answer with a shrug as I finish rinsing one dish and hand it to her to be scrubbed.
"Then why do you seem so breastfallen?" Ziva stares down into the sink. She's trying to avoid looking into my eyes.
"I think the word you're looking for is crestfallen. Breast fallen is what happens to women of a certain age." I joke defensively and wait for Ziva to throw bubbles at my head. But they never come. Instead she gives her head a little shake.
"I do not think that is the point, Tony." She scrubs the dish a little harder. "Why were you so intent upon not spending Thanksgiving here?"
She's pushing me now. "As I recall this wasn't your first choice either." I retort, trying to justify my position and hopefully get us away from this topic.
"I would have come anyway once I was invited. These people are important. You seemed actively intent upon going to Atlantic City for the weekend." She just keeps right on pushing.
"I just…" I stop and brace myself on the counter.
"You what, Tony?" Her voice softens.
"When I was at Ohio State…" I can't believe I'm gonna go here. "Me and the frat brothers, we'd go have fun. Ya know, we'd just take off for a few days and go somewhere that was supposed to be a lot of fun. Like Panama City for Spring Break or Atlantic City over New Year's or one year we went to Chicago for St. Patrick's Day. I remember in senior year, the boys wanted to go to Montreal over Christmas. I had a late exam, so they went up ahead of me. Got this great hotel. I took a Greyhound from Columbus to Detroit."
"You went on a dog, Tony?" She looks very confused.
"It's a bus, Ziva." I chuckle. "Anyway, I took train from Detroit to Montreal, that's like a fifteen hour train ride. And on the way, I met this cute Canadian girl and…you know, you talk and stuff." I look out the window behind the sink into the night. "I guess, I just kind of missed that spontaneity." I take a very quick look over my shoulder. Just long enough to notice that her features have softened and her lower lip is even protruding a bit. But I'm not sure if that's sympathy or that she's impressed.
There's a heavy hanging silence for a few minutes or seconds, I'm not sure. I can't believe I just tried the whole vulnerable act on Ziva. I hate it when guys do that. For a second, Ziva looks resolved "We will go." She nods affirmingly.
"What?" I shake my head as we continue cleaning the dishes.
"We will re-visit Montreal, you and me." She smiles at me.
"Why?" I'm stunned.
"I have only ever been there once, and on business. It was a plane, a hotel room and then a plane again. You had fun, you wish to return. I wish to go and have fun. I hear Canada is very seasonal at the holidays." She shrugs a little when she uses the word seasonal, like she had to search her vocabulary for that one.
"You want to go on a trip with me at Christmas time?" I nod as I try to comprehend that. "Why?" I ask again.
"Is it really that odd that we should spend time together, Tony?" Ziva's hands lock in on her hips.
"Time? No. Four days in Montreal? Yeah, that's a little weird." I nod enthusiastically as if to emphasize my point. "Why do you really want to go?"
"I wish to spend time with you. We are friends, friends take vacations together." She protests. Okay, there she has a point.
I sigh. I'm not winning this one. "I'll make the reservations. Train and hotel."
"Train? Why would we not drive?" Ziva folds her arms in front of her chest.
"In order to make it in one day, we'd have to trade off driving shifts, part of which would be through the Adirondacks in upstate New York. It will probably be snowing and you drive like a maniac when the roads are level and it's sunny outside. We'd end up stranded on the side of the road somewhere in Northern Vermont." I counter and Ziva tosses me a glare.
"Fine." She states simply. "It should be fun, no?"
I want to make a sarcastic remark here but Ziva's actually smiling. She's actually looking forward to this. "You have a green card, right?"
"Yes, Tony. If we are going to travel across an international border, I will carry the proper identification papers." She rolls her eyes at me and settles back into cleaning the dishes. We exchange a few quick looks at each other. Neither of us says a word. Then I slowly creep my hand across the counter toward her. She sees it but I don't think she knows what's coming next. In a second, my hand dips down into the sink, grabs some bubbles and flicks them into her face.
Her mouth hangs open in surprise and maybe a little bit in flirtation. She gets a look of mock determination on her face and reaches down and grabs a hand full of bubbles all her own. She tosses them at me and I just have to smile. I reach down and grab another handful when the door to the kitchen swings open.
"Anthony, Ziva, I wish to thank you for cleaning up and…oh my." Ducky looks up and sees the two of us standing there with faces full of dish soap bubbles and hands at the ready to toss more at each other. "I trust the two of you will clean this up as well?" Ducky deadpans.
"Yes, Ducky." Ziva answers.
"Of course." I say simultaneously.
"Alright, well. Happy Thanksgiving." Ducky smiles and shuffles back through the door. I look at Ziva and try not to laugh. I raise my right hand and brush the bubbles off her nose. Then I think about having to spend vacation time with her. Looking back on her little performance at the bar last week, I allow myself a quick laugh. It might start out as I'd Do Anything for Love but knowing me and Ziva, there's a pretty good chance it would end up more along the lines of Paradise by the Dashboard Light.