"DiNozzo. I told you I don't want lights." The first volley in the yearly battle began.
"I do."
"Then put them up at your house." This response was as lame as every year as both men knew Tony really couldn't put them up at his condo.
"I can't." The yearly reply came quickly.
"Buy a house."
"My boss keeps me too busy to house shop ergo he must volunteer his own house in its stead."
Here the year's argument took a turn. "Ducky said you were to take it easy. I don't think he would consider this taking it easy."
Unfortunately, their unarmed suspect hadn't been so unarmed. Tony had taken the bullet meant for McGee in his arm. It was a through and through but through an important muscle so Ducky had forced Tony into a sling and off duty. He was using the slinged arm to hug the ladder while he awkwardly hung lights with his good arm.
"Down. Now, DiNozzo." Gibbs ordered.
For the past five years, the yearly event was well choreographed. The carefully laid out arguments. Tony ignoring complaints. Cowboy steaks to warm up after decorating along with a game on TV. Then home to his lonely apartment watching the lights in his rearview mirror until they were gone. The injury changed the dynamic, or did it?
Tony brewed coffee and watched Gibbs hang the lights. Suspiciously more than he remembered buying. Tony definitely did not remember buying the large Bethlehem star that hung from the apex of the roof or the icicle lights that framed the porch roof. There had been no tree inside to be decorated other years either.
There were still cowboy steaks, this year with baked potatoes and a nice wine. There was also a game on TV but both sat on the sofa. What followed was not a trip home to his lonely apartment but waking up secure in Jethro's arms to the glow of the outside lights. But that's a different story.
