Workaholic Yet to Come

Gibbs was most definitely in his happy place again, with the steamy brew in his hands. He almost didn't care what else happened tonight. But, he had to admit, that Jimmy and Anthony had had very valid points. Perhaps he did need to lighten up on his agents, and most especially, on himself.

He wasn't surprised to feel a breeze in his room, but was a bit startled to discover who it was who stood before him, in all her ghostly glory.

Ducky smiled warmly over at Ziva, whose eyes suddenly became wide with surprise. "ME, Ducky?" she asked, delighted. Ducky smiled at her, as her face lit up like an excited little girl, and hereturned to the story.

"Ziva," Gibbs said. Ziva stood before him, in flowing garments, and her hair stirring lightly as if in a gentle breeze. "We have to make this quick, Gibbs." Gibbs turned to her. "Because your time on earth is short?" he asked, quite seriously.

"No, because this breeze is wreaking havoc with my hair. It will take me forever to get the tangles out if I remain here too long. And I'm a ghost. I DO mean forever." She winked at him.

Gibbs smiled at this. "Your hair is kind've… well, it does seem to have a personality all its own."

Ziva nodded. "I see that Jimmy and Tony have gotten through to you somewhat?"

Gibbs smiled again. "I think so. Whatever you have to show me tonight, I'm ready to listen. So, you would be the ghost of Workaholic Yet to Come?"

"Well, of course, Gibbs. I'm Jewish. I certainly wouldn't be the ghost of CHRISTMAS yet to come. Hanukkah Yet to Come, maybe… but no. Workaholic yet to come," she confirmed, with a small smile and a sparkle in her dark eyes.

"Well, let's go, then. I'd hate to think of Jimmy and Tony having to listen to you forever complain about your bad hair… uh… eternity."

"Ah, to have just a DAY of bad hair… how I miss it so," Ziva lamented, sadly.

Gibbs closed his eyes as he felt a familiar pull, and knew that Ziva was whisking him away from his bedroom.

He was startled to see himself in the squad room.

"Okay, I know there's a point to this," he said, worried.

"Oh, there is, believe me," the ghost reassured him. "That is still McGee's desk, and that is still Tony's desk, and that is still my desk. But that, over there…" she said, pointing to Gibbs' desk, "is now occupied by another."

Gibbs squinted. "Jen?"

Ziva shook her head, and Gibbs' reading glasses suddenly materialised in her outstretched hand.

"Jen," Gibbs said, as he slipped his glasses on and took a better look. "But, she's the Director. Why is she at my desk?"

"She decided that she couldn't handle the stress of having you work under her. But when you… well, when you, um… "left" NCIS, it was the last hay for her, and she requested a demotion. She always was happier in the field, anyway. You taught her well."

"Straw, Ziva. You mean, "the last straw." Wait… what did you just say?" he asked, suddenly. "I'm leaving NCIS?" Gibbs was becoming increasingly worried.

"Um… well, in a sense, yes."

Gibbs felt a familiar pull again, as they appeared at a lonely grave.

"Oh, come ON, Ziva. You can't be serious. This isn't some old novel."

"No. But that doesn't change what happens to you… if you do not change, that is."

Gibbs protested as Ziva pulled him towards the ornate headstone.

"Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs" he read. "Oh… no. Ziva, what happened?"

"You were killed in the line of duty. Rather unnecessarily, I might add. It was completely avoidable. You weren't protecting anyone from a terrorist act, you weren't protecting a family from a dangerous felon. You weren't protecting anyone, really. But you had pulled an allnighter, on top of a double shift, and you were tired. And you made a fatal mistake, because you didn't know when to go home and get some much needed rest."

"I was killed…?" Gibbs asked, as if he still didn't quite grasp the idea.

"The greenest rookie would not have made the mistake you made, Gibbs."

"Ziva, I can change. I think I'm already changing. Tell me I can avoid this? I don't want to leave my team behind… it's a Marine thing…"

Ziva smiled at him. "Of course you can avoid this. The future is not written in stone, as these words on this headstone are. You can change it, by changing yourself."

Gibbs sighed with relief, and closed his eyes. The last thing he heard was Ziva muttering about the knots in her thick, unruly hair, when he opened his eyes, and found himself in his bed.

"A bad hair day is nothing to joke about," Ziva said, with mock petulance. "Any woman will tell you that."

Abby smiled at her, and she and Faith said in unison, "Amen, sister!"

Gibbs threw back his covers. He glanced at his watch - it was December 25th. Christmas day. He hadn't missed it!

The first thing he had to do, was take a long, leisurely shower. Nothing rushed, just something relaxed, something to be savoured. Savouring the simple pleasures in life was something that he had very nearly forgotten about.

Then, he had to get himself dressed. He had somewhere he needed to be. And for once, it wasn't the squad room. No - work would wait another day… his cases weren't going anywhere, after all.

Where he had to be, instead, was with his people, celebrating this day with them - his friends and family, just as it should be - and just as itshould have been for all these years. And, if McGee - who under ordinary circumstances could assemble technical gadgets with his eyes closed - was having so much trouble assembling a scooter, then he'd just have to pack up his trusty toolbox and take it with him.

He chuckled to himself as he dressed, and dashed downstairs to retrieve his tools. His team would be SO surprised, they wouldn't know what to say.

Ah, he thought to himself. Second chances were grand.

Ducky looked around, expectantly. The eager, entranced faces that surrounded him seemed to want some kind of conclusionary remark. The glittering dark eyes of Ziva, Faith, and JT; the sparkling blue eyes of Jethro. The shining green eyes of Timothy, Abigail, Anthony, Jimmy, Jasmine, and all the children, save for Anthony's son… oh, my. For a recessive gene, there certainly were a lot of green eyes amongst this group. Oh, but he was digressing again, he realized. Now, where was he again?

Oh, yes, of course.

The end.