A/N: You all knew this was coming! Sorry for slow updates... I hit two roadblocks with two other stories, but I'm working on them furiously. There might be an additional tag to Child's Play, but I get the feeling that many people will be writing about the exact same plot development, so maybe not. I haven't decided yet.

In any case, enjoy this one!


"Hey." Gibbs stuck his head into the bathroom, where Ziva was blowing her hair dry, clad in nothing but her dressing robe. Upon seeing him in the mirror, she turned the noisy appliance off. "We need to head out soon if we're going to be at Ducky's on time."

"I only need ten more minutes," she said.

"Okay." Gibbs knew better than to second-guess her. To date, she was the only woman he knew who accurately reported the time it took to get ready. Also, she was the only woman he knew who could apply make-up and get dressed in only ten minutes, and still look amazing.

Suddenly, Gibbs found himself on the receiving end of a scrutinizing look as Ziva scanned him head to toe. He allowed her to do so, ready to follow any corrective instructions she deigned to give out. He had learned to value Ziva's stylistic taste, as the Marine in him appreciated her eye for clean lines and careful presentation. After a moment, she nodded.

"You look good," she declared. She strolled over to him, a smirk tickling her lips. "But you could use some Chapstik." Her hands rested on his hips as she reached up and planted a firm kiss on his lips. He received it, a grin gracing his own features as she pulled flirtatiously away.

"Cherry?" he inquired, mimicking her playful demeanor.

"If you want it to be," she murmured seductively.

"Careful," he murmured back, "you keep using that voice we'll never make it to Ducky's." Ziva's brow arched suggestively.

"Perhaps that is the point," she responded. "After all, our own plans were not anything we could not simply postpone." She paused. "I am sorry for that, by the way."

"Sorry for what?"

"That you were temporarily relegated to 'neighbor' status," she replied. "I had to think quickly when Ducky first handed out the invitations."

"So that's why you mentioned your neighbors in the cornfield." His eyes crinkled at her. "You know, I wasn't aware you were so friendly with your neighbors. Anything I should be worried about?"

"Only if you are concerned that old Mrs. Cranshaw next door might steal me away from you," Ziva replied good-naturedly. Gibbs chuckled; Edna Cranshaw would sooner whack Ziva with her cane than steal her away. The crotchety old woman was openly hostile to the Israeli's presence in Gibbs' life, and only Ziva's amusement at the situation had kept Gibbs from putting the elderly woman in her place.

"Picture that," Gibbs drawled. With a smile, Ziva pecked him once more on the corner of his mouth before turning around to return to the bathroom. Gibbs reached out to swat her rear playfully. Ziva jumped with surprise before she shot him a mirthful glare over her shoulder.

"I'm gonna start heading over," he called after her. They had decided earlier that they would be taking separate cars over to Ducky's house.

"Do not forget you are supposed to bring the rolls," she reminded him as she picked up the hairdryer.

"Damn," Gibbs growled. Ziva poked her head out of the bathroom.

"You did forget," she accused, pursing her lips with a light tsk.

"Hey! I was trying to work a case!"

"Since when do you not multi-task?" Her eyes gleamed mischievously. "I happen to know for a fact that you are particularly gifted, at multi-tasking." She smirked. "It would be unfortunate to have you lose your touch."

"Oh that definitely hasn't happened," he assured her. He grinned. "I'll prove it to you later."

"I count it," she replied. "Now go. I need to finish getting ready, and you have to find dinner rolls."

Gibbs turned to obey, but then paused. He turned back, and padded softly into the bathroom once more. Before Ziva had a chance to say anything, he had wrapped one arm around her shoulders while the other snaked around her waist. Pulling her to his chest in a warm hug, he pressed a kiss to her temple. Her hands still laden with her brush and dryer, she nuzzled his cheek affectionately.

"Love you," he breathed.

"Mmmm," she sighed, resting her forehead against his jaw. "Love you more."

They stayed like that for a moment before Ziva spoke again. "You are going to make us both late," she murmured, but no made no effort to move. She was rewarded with another kiss to her cheek.

"I'm going," he yielded, releasing his grip on her. "See you soon."

"Remember, no sourdough!" he heard her call after him as he trotted down the stairs. The sound of the dryer coming back on preempted any response Gibbs might have called back. With a grin, he snatched the keys to the Challenger from their hook in the kitchen as he walked briskly to the garage. It wasn't until he had backed out of the drive and begun driving down the street that the thought struck him—where the hell was he going to get rolls at this time of night?

*****

Nearly forty-five minutes later, Ziva was at Ducky's and waiting with the rest of the team for Gibbs to arrive. Concern began to gnaw at her gut. She knew that Jethro would have sent a message to her cell if something had happened, but he had told her he would be there in time. On top of that, the mask of disappointment on Ducky's face threatened to break her heart. She had known for some time that the medical examiner had been feeling lonely after finally admitting his mother to a nursing home, and this dinner had come to mean a lot to him. And the disappointment at discovering that his oldest friend had not shown up was impossible for the man to hide. It took all of Ziva's self-control to keep herself from blurting out Gibbs' promise to be there—it would be too difficult to successfully explain away her knowledge of their supervisor's whereabouts.

Thankfully, Gibbs appeared in the nick of time, moments before the knife was about to slice into the flesh of the cooked turkey. She had fought to bite back a laugh when he dumped his assortment of random carbohydrates onto the table, resisting the urge to poke fun at the situation. A round of greetings followed, and then Gibbs quickly got to work on carving the turkey. Once enough had been cut for everyone to have a serving, and some extra slices for easy seconds, Gibbs took his seat at the head of the table. They made brief eye contact when their knees brushed as he sat, and Gibbs saw Ziva's small smile as she delicately laid her napkin over her lap.

They were just about to dig in when Abby's voice interrupted them.

"I propose a toast," the Goth declared. "Everyone has to tell everyone what they are thankful for."

"Abs," Gibbs said, his tone almost warningly. She looked at him with wide innocent eyes.

"What? It's a tradition we do every Thanksgiving in my family. It's a good tradition!" she assured the table.

"I think it is a good idea," Ziva said, earning glances of surprise from all around. Her eyebrows rose slightly in reaction as she scanned the table's occupants. "In fact," she continued, "I will even go first."

"Yay!" Abby exclaimed mutedly, but quickly fell silent as Ziva raised her glass with a slender hand. The Israeli hesitated when she felt the intense stares of the rest of the table, but Gibbs saw her take a steadying breath before speaking once more.

"I have a lot of things to be thankful for this year," she admitted, glancing around the table, "as much has happened in the past six months." Gibbs didn't miss Tony averting his gaze, no doubt as the senior agent remembered all of the less than pleasant events that had happened in the past year, some of which by his own hand. If Ziva saw her partner's reaction, though, she gave no indication of it. "But I think what I am most thankful for is the one thing that has been the source of all of the good things that have also happened in the past few months." Her gaze was soft and warm, the flickering candles reflected in her brown eyes.

"To family," she toasted, raising her glass a little higher.

Silence fell for a moment as her words settled on the team like a blanket. Gibbs was taken aback just as much as the others. Even after everything that had happened over the summer, after the hell she had managed to survive, she recognized the good that had happened as well. She didn't need to clarify that she was thankful for being rescued, for being allowed the chance to earn her spot on the team back—Gibbs knew of those already. But even after he and Dinozzo had wronged her last spring—Tony for killing Michael Rivkin, and Gibbs by not fighting for her on the tarmac in Tel Aviv—she still considered them, the team, her family.

A smile spread on Gibbs' features as he too raised his glass.

"To family," he echoed. Her eyes met his, her soft smile returned by one of his own.

"To family," Tony chimed in, leaning forward to touch his glass to theirs. The rest of the team followed suit, a chorus of tinkling glass filling the dining room as their glasses chinked together in mutual toast. When the glasses returned to their places on the pristine tablecloth, one goblet remained in the air.

"We've lost a lot of people in the past few years," Gibbs said, his voice slow and deliberate. The room was silent as the team avidly listened to their leader. "Colleagues and loved ones… sometimes both." He did not need to name names; every member of the team had loved ones who were no longer with them.

Kate. Ari. Paula. Jeanne. Jenny. Michael. Ziva.

"But this year we've been lucky to have one of them return to us." Ziva lowered her gaze nervously, knowing he was speaking of her own circumstances, but the sensation of a warm hand covering hers returned her eyes to his. "It's reminded us that life is short; to never hold back, because you never know what tomorrow might bring."

Her lips remained steadfastly still, but her eyes shone with appreciation.

"To life," he finished, raising his glass.

"L'Chaim." Ziva's words were husky, but her native language rolled off her tongue like honey. To her amusement, the team repeated the Hebrew phrase as they raised their own goblets, foregoing the English in favor of the classic Jewish sentiment.

"To second chances," Tony offered, picking up where Gibbs left off. "Because life is short and family important—shit happens, and sometimes the only way to move past it, the only way to preserve the family, is to start over." They toasted his words, and then McGee was there to take up the slack.

"To hope," he said. "The hope that each uncertain day will end happily, and that the bad days are fleeting. To the hope that we make can make a difference in the world, and will one day live the lives we dream for ourselves, whatever our desires may be."

"To change," Ducky chimed in, lifting his glass higher, "because as valuable as tradition is, remaining in a perpetual state of stasis inevitably leads to death. Change is a great boon in our fragile lives, and encourages us all to work towards bettering ourselves. And it reminds us that anything is possible, if only we have the strength to work for it."

"Hear, hear," Abby said. She then cleared her throat theatrically as all focus shifted to her.

"To love," she declared. "To knowing who our friends and family are, and knowing that without it, life isn't worth living. To knowing that it can happen when you least expect it, and can sustain us through the worst of times. To knowing that it can pop up in the most unlikely of circumstances, and that it is the single most important thing in life."

"To love," they chorused, touching their glasses together one last time. This time Gibbs had to stand slightly to reach the other glasses, and while doing so allowed his hand to brush his hand along Ziva's knee.

Her hand darted from her lap to capture his fingers underneath the table, giving them a tender squeeze. He squeezes back before he settled back and the connection was broken. As everyone began to tuck in, Gibbs took a moment to glance around the table.

The team as a whole was well-dressed, but still familiarly casual. Abby had strayed the farthest from her usual style, wearing something other than black in a very long time. However, her blouse still very much Abby with a slightly-off shade of metallic yellow that made his eyes hurt if he looked at it too long. All three of the men sitting in front of Gibbs were dressed similarly, with nice slacks and crisp ties around their necks. Tony was the most dressed down, with a sweater coat in place of his usual sport coat. But then Ziva, as usual, took his breath away.

The russet top she wore complemented her golden complexion perfectly, and her thick curls had been pulled back to expose her delicate features. A pair of long earrings hung from her ears, with a small section feather dangling at the end of each, tickling an elegant neck with each turn of her head. Her makeup was just enough to accentuate her natural beauty; dark liner set off her brown eyes, intensifying their gaze tenfold. A color similar to her blouse adorned her lips, and Gibbs had to force himself to focus on something other than the desire to kiss them right there and then in front of the entire team.

But what captured his attention the most bore no make-up at all. Her body was relaxed, her gaze completely without her defensive walls for the first time since her return from Somalia. She had allowed herself to be so unprotected with Gibbs for only a handful of instances in the privacy of their own home, but never in front of the whole team. But now her ease and comfort was undeniable, and Gibbs caught a glimpse of the Ziva they'd had yet to recover from the horrors of Somalia. Her smile was warm and unabashed, glowing in the dim candlelight of the room. She laughed and conversed with the team without restraint, enjoying the meal and the company wholeheartedly. It was a welcome sight, and Gibbs found he was powerless to not fall victim to the warm atmosphere as well.

They talked for hours that night, both during and after the filling meal. McGee and Dinozzo were delegated the task of washing and drying the china, allowing the women and elder men to converse lightly in Ducky's sitting room. Ducky claimed his favorite armchair for himself, and when the remaining three took up residence on his couch, Abby smoothly sandwiched herself between Gibbs and Ziva.

Gibbs was slightly disappointed at the arrangement, but he was never one to deny Abby anything. They continued to talk about anything and everything, each nursing a glass of red or white wine as they reclined in their seats.

Sometime later, Abby rose from her seat to refill her glass just as Dinozzo and McGee returned from the kitchen. Quickly reading how the situation would proceed, Ziva nipped it in the bud by smoothly sliding over to take Abby's spot. Gibbs' relief at the development was justified when Tony zipped to Ziva's now-open seat—a second or two later, he would have been wedging himself between Gibbs and Ziva.

"Hah!" Tony crowed triumphantly. "Snooze you lose, Probie!"

McGee responded with a mere roll of his eyes as he pulled up another armchair. Dinozzo proceeded to make himself comfortable, making a show of wiggling into the perfect position on the cushion before finally extending his arms to rest along the back of the couch. The movement resulted in his hand being directly behind Ziva; almost immediately his fingers began to swipe at Ziva's hair playfully. It lost its charm within moments.

"This may be an American celebration of giving thanks, Tony," Ziva said slowly, her voice deceptively sultry, "but if you do not stop I will not hesitate to castrate you."

"Don't make me reach over there, Dinozzo," Gibbs added, his voice gruffly nonchalant as he took a sip of his wine. However, the senior field agent recognized the genuine threat in his boss' voice and the offending hand was carefully retracted. It was at that moment Abby returned, and she scurried over until she was standing next to Tony, glaring down at him.

Suddenly, she lashed out, landing a sharp punch to the tender flesh of his upper arm, eliciting a yelp of pain from the agent.

"Tony!" she admonished. "You took my spot!"

"What?" Tony replied. "Nuh-uh! I took Ziva's spot—she took your spot!" Another yelp followed as Abby's fist darted out once more.

"Tony!" she scolded. "What kind of friend do you think I am?" She grinned. "I would never hit Ziva!"

"You don't have any problem hitting me!" Tony exclaimed, but Abby was no longer listening as she climbed over his legs to deposit herself between him and Ziva. Her added presence forced Ziva to scoot closer to Gibbs, pressing her warm frame against him.

He lifted his arm and placed on the back of the sofa, much like Tony just had, giving her more room to come closer. The four of them fit perfectly on the couch, though Gibbs could feel the touch of Ziva's body against his burn down his side. To anyone looking at them, they were simply two members of a closely bonded team, but Gibbs could tell from the way Ziva gripped her goblet tightly that she was fighting to keep her hand from straying to its customary place on his thigh. Her head tilted back imperceptibly until the back of her neck touched his arm, which he inched closer as soon as he discerned her purpose, cherishing the contact as much as she.

They spent several more hours chatting casually with the team, exchanging stories of past Thanksgivings that inevitably led to stories of past Christmases. Ziva had little to contribute, but she was happy to sit back and listen to the tales of holidays she was only marginally familiar with. Very few Israelis she knew observed the Christmas holiday, and none knew what the purpose of the Thanksgiving holiday was. Even those few Christmases she had been privy to in Israel were vastly different from Christmas in America. Within months of arriving in America five years ago, Ziva had quickly realized that Christmas in America was a completely separate holiday from the one the rest of the world celebrated.

It wasn't until Ducky began to doze off in his armchair that they all finally began to take their leave. McGee was the first to notice the medical examiner's exhaustion, and excused himself, assuring Abby that he would see her later in the weekend. Tony followed close on his heels, openly hopeful he might be able to call up one of his newest lady friends before the night was out. Abby moved to leave after the senior agent had left, but teetered dangerously as the effect of the copious amounts of wine she had consumed took effect. Gibbs steadied the happy Goth with a gentle hand.

"I'll drive you home, Abs," he said softly, giving Ziva a glance. She nodded her assent, approving of the plan and assuring him that she would meet him at home.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, Ducky," she told their host, giving the older man a peck on the cheek.

"No, thank you for coming," he replied, sleep coating his words. "I would have been sorely disappointed if I had been forced to spend such a holiday by my lonesome."

"I believe it is safe to say that we all had a good time," Ziva said. She gathered her coat and gloves in her hands as she accompanied Gibbs and Abby to the front door. "I will see you next week."

"See you Monday, Duck," Gibbs added, busy getting Abby bundled in her black cloak.

"Bye, Ducky!" she exclaimed, her words slurring slightly. "Good seeing you!"

"And you, my dear," the medical examiner returned. "Now all of you drive safe. It would be unfortunate to have to autopsy all of you because you were being irresponsible drivers."

"We will be extra safe tonight, Ducky," Ziva smiled.

"Oh, good Lord I forgot who I was talking to! Telling the two worst drivers in the metro area to drive carefully!" Ducky began to chuckle. "It's almost laughable!"

"And you have had a little too much to drink tonight as well, Ducky," Ziva observed.

"I do believe you're correct, my dear," Ducky agreed. "Now begone with ye, and have a happy holidays."

"Thanks, Ducky." Gibbs opened the door and gently guided Abby through it, and held it open for Ziva as well. "You too."

The heavy wood door closed behind them, leaving them in the near pitch black that was the crisp night air. Gibbs turned to find Abby already wandering towards the Challenger, appreciatively cooing over its bold, smooth curves. Gibbs let her go, as it allowed him a chance to speak with Ziva.

"You all right to drive?" he asked as she shrugged into her coat and pulled on her gloves.

"Yes," she responded. "I did not have as much to drink as the others. And we have been talking long enough for the amount I did consume to appropriately metabolize." Gibbs pegged her with a stare. "I read the drunk driving section of the driving manual today. Apparently I have to take a written exam to get an American driver's license as well," she revealed. Gibbs grinned.

"Okay," he said with a nod. "See you at home."

"I will be waiting," she teased softly, tucking her hands into her pockets as she trotted down the porch steps towards her own car. He grinned as she called a farewell to Abby and jumped into the driver's seat of her sedan. The next minute she was gone, rolling down the driveway with more than her usual caution, but still not quite as carefully as Ducky had requested. He caught himself mid-worry.

Grinning at his own foolishness, Gibbs moved towards Abby and the waiting Challenger. Perhaps there was still a little alcohol still floating around his system, if he was worried about her driving.

Pot, he thought to himself in amusement, meet kettle.

Gibbs gently helped Abby in the passenger seat, then paced quickly to the driver's side. Turning the engine over, Gibbs backed out of the drive. Only his practiced patience kept him from implementing his lead foot and tearing out of there; the familiar urge to speed to his own home burned a fire in his gut.

After all, he had one hell of a kettle waiting for him.