The 23rd ended up not been any less eventful than the day before, and it looked like they'd be working straight through the holidays, not for the first time.

Normally Jethro didn't mind all that much, and in prior years, having something to keep him busy would've been a relief, but this year he was hoping they'd actually wrap up this mess in time for him to spend Christmas with his family.

He'd already missed so much of their lives, particularly his daughter's, and he really didn't want to miss his first Christmas with his daughter since she was eight. He'd missed a lot because of work when she was little as well, including her birth, but in eight years, he'd only missed one Christmas. When Kelly was seven. He'd shipped out to Panama four days prior in order to serve in Operation Just Cause.

It had ended up only been a six-week deployment, but the absolutely crushed look on his daughter's face when Jethro told Kelly that he was shipping out and was not going to be there for Christmas had stuck with him.

His wife and daughter were both relaxing in the living room when Jethro, still dressed in his uniform, walked into the house. He forced a smile, not looking forward to the conversation that he was going to need to have with them that evening. It was going to crush them both, especially his young daughter. At least his wife could, by in large, understand. Kelly was still too young to really grasp it. Still, with the tensions raising in Panama as they had been lately, Jethro had known for a little while that he would likely be deployed in the near-future.

"Kelly Baby, look who's home!" Shannon commented with a grin.

"Daddy!" his little girl called out happily.

"Hey, Princess. Shan." Jethro unceremoniously tossed his new sea bag down onto the ground by the closet and took off his combat boots.

"Me and Mommy are watching a new movie called Prancer!" his daughter informed him quite enthusiastically. "Come and watch it with us, Daddy!"

"Sounds fun." Making his way over to the couch, he kissed his wife and then sat down in between both his girls, pulling Kelly in close so that he could give her a kiss on the forehead. "So, what've I missed?"

"Nothing," Kelly said, snuggling into him. "It just started."

"Ah," Jethro said, trying to push all the other emotions away and simply focus on the moment. He didn't want to ruin their evening just yet. "Good timing then."

"Always," Shannon said with a soft chuckle.

He clearly hadn't covered up his trepidation well enough, though, as, within the first half-an-hour of the movie, both of his girls had picked up on it.

"Daddy, what's going on?" Kelly asked, evidently worried.

He gave his daughter what he hoped was a warm smile. "It's nothing, Princess."

"You're being deployed, aren't you?" Shannon asked although it was really more of a statement. She always had been able to read him well.

Jethro sighed. "Yeah."

Shannon licked her lips. "When?"

"Wednesday," he replied.

"Eight days?" his wife stated, a little surprised as in the past they had usually received a bit more of a warning. "That's such short notice, and -"

He dipped his head slightly. "I know. I'll make it up to you, Shan, I promise."

"But Daddy," his daughter cried, tears starting to form, "you can't go! It's Christmas!" Kelly threw her little arms around him. "Please, don't go, Daddy! Don't go!"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I know, Kelly Baby, but I have to go."

"But it's Christmas, Daddy!" Kelly exclaimed. "I want you here! It's not fair!"

"Kelly, I -" he said, struggling for how to comfort his daughter.

He was taken aback, however, when his daughter shoved him before starting to run upstairs, presumably heading to her bedroom. "I hate you!"

That hurt. Seriously hurt. But, despite just how much that comment had stung, Jethro composed himself and headed upstairs to where he just heard the door slam, his wife following close behind him.

Sighing, he knocked on his daughter's door.

"Go away!" his daughter yelled through the door.

Having apparently figured that their seven-year-old was going to be upset either way, Shannon opened the door. "Kelly Baby, can we please talk?"

Their daughter was lying in bed on her stomach.

"Fine," the seven-year-old grumbled. Kelly then eyed him. "It's not fair, Daddy!"

He sighed. "I know, Kelly, but I have orders."

His daughter looked at him pleadingly. "Please, Daddy."

"I'm sorry, Princess," Jethro said, feeling bad that he was upsetting his daughter like this. He had a job to do, though. He'd made a commitment.

"Your dad has his orders, Kelly." Shannon was trying to comfort their daughter as well. "I know it's hard, and it's not fair, but -"

"It's really not," their daughter fired back.

"Kelly," he said, "I know parts of my job suck, and I want to be here with you and Mom for Christmas too, more than anything, but I have my orders." Jethro then took a seat beside his daughter on her bed. "I am really sorry about this."

The seven-year-old sat up. "How long will you be gone for, Daddy?" Kelly asked after a moment, calmer but still clearly upset. And rightfully so. He knew it was hard on her. It was hard on all of them.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I hope not long."

His daughter gave Jethro a curt nod before throwing her arms around him once again. "I wish you didn't have to go, Daddy."

"I know, Princess." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "I know."

Heading back into the squad room after a not-so-quick meeting with Director Vance and Secretary Davenport, Jethro was both pleased to finally have something and yet irritated that they were now seemingly back at square one. They'd cleared both Tina and the Colonel, their only real suspects at this point.

"Hey, Dad!" Jethro said, realizing that his father had apparently stopped by the Navy Yard for a little visit. "Stop making my team fat."

"I'd really like another one," DiNozzo said, stealing one of the chocolates his father was currently handing out.

"Gibbs," Ziva said, "why didn't you tell us your father was stopping in?"

"I didn't know," he stated simply, watching as his Senior Field Agent grabbed another piece of the chocolate his father had brought.

"Homemade," his father explained. "Best in Stillwater."

"Those the one's from Ms. Hannigan?" he inquired, already knowing the answer. "She does put together a hell of a care package -" Jethro walked by his father towards the middle of the squad room. " - when people are hurting."

His father didn't comment on that, as expected, so Jethro got both Ziva and DiNozzo's attention. "Where's McGee?"

"He's down with Abby," Ziva immediately explained. "Apparently she asked him to help her with something earlier."

"Doing what?" Jethro asked, his curiosity piqued slightly.

"Didn't say," Ziva said.

"Ah," Jethro said, turning his attention back to the case for the moment, "well, I just spoke with the director and SecNav. Colonel Ellis just alibied out."

DiNozzo looked at him in disbelief. "What?"

"Apparently," he said, "Colonel Ellis was visiting SecNav's Chesapeake Bay home the time the lieutenant was killed." That was about an airtight an alibi as it got.

"Seriously?" DiNozzo pressed. "And the daughter-in-law?"

"She drove him," Jethro said. "Thomas stayed home."

Ziva looked exasperated. "So we have nothing."

He shot Ziva a look but didn't speak. That was exactlywhat they had.

"Awesome," DiNozzo retorted, before throwing his hands up in the air. "All I want for Christmas is a clue trail!"

He eyed his Senior Field Agent. "You're not the only one, Tony."

Before that particular conversation could go much farther, the elevator doors opened and Chaplain El-Sayed walked out. "Special Agent Gibbs, I need to see you."

"Chaplain," he said by way of greeting. "What's wrong."

"We have a problem," the man said, "I just got this in the mail." The chaplain then held out the paper in his hands for Jethro to take.

Taking the paper, Jethro immediately understood why the chaplain was concerned. The sense of urgency. It was a letter in a colourful font which read: 'He died because of you. Bang. You're dead.'

Jethro sighed. "Okay, Chaplain, let's move this conversation to the conference room." The chaplain nodded. "Ziva," he said. you're with me." He then eyed his Senior Field Agent. "DiNozzo, go fill McGee in."

DiNozzo gave a curt nod. "On it, Boss."

Once the three of them were in the conference room, they resumed the conversation. They needed to figure out how they were going to handle the threat as well as if the chaplain had any idea who sent it.

"The letter came through the military postal service," Ziva confirmed.

The chaplain eyed them. "So it could have been dropped in a box on any base."

"By someone who has easy access to you," Ziva pointed out.

Chaplain El-Sayed looked between them both questioningly. "So you think the threat is real?"

"Or a distraction if we're getting too close," Ziva countered.

"NCIS will provide protection," he said.

The chaplain shook his head. "That won't be necessary."

Ziva looked at the man and disbelief. "You have a wife and a daughter."

"Whom I love very much," the chaplain stated without missing a beat, "but I am also a Navy chaplain. A man of honour and pride."

"Bullheaded stubbornness," Ziva retorted.

"Look," the young chaplain replied, "as much as I am here to pray for the injured and the dying, I am also here to open the minds of people. To help them to understand the beauty and strength of Islam."

"You talk to teenagers, Chaplain?" he inquired

"Yes," the young Navy chaplain confirmed. "Before society dictates for them what is and isn't moral. You see, in the Muslim religion, the most immoral thing a person can do is to not accept someone who lives by the pillars of Islamic belief. So, a while back, Thomas asked me to speak to his brother's prep school class."

He eyed the chaplain. "So you spoke with Patrick Ellis?"

"I did," Chaplain El-Sayed confirmed, glancing between both agents. "And let me just say, it is amazing how two siblings can be so very different."

That conversation over, the Navy chaplain headed back to his post and Jethro went to fill their team in on what they'd just discussed, sending Ziva down to Abby's lab to see if the forensic scientist could get any fingerprints off of it. Not before Jethro stopped to see if Ducky could inconspicuously have a conversation with his father and get a read on him for him, though.

So, after stopping by Abby's lab, himself, he made his way to Autopsy, noting that the two men were in the back office, rather than the lab.

"And by... by the time I got there, Leroy had fallen asleep," his father said, laughing, "he left the gate unlocked." His father froze. "I don't remember what happened next."

"Well," he said, filling in the pieces for his father's sake, "I spent the next twenty-five hours trying to round up twenty-six missing sheep."

"That's right," his father said, "that's right."

"Hello, Jethro." The man turned to face him. "Your father has been regaling me with stories of his youth. We have a lot in common. Naive heartbreak, tales of adolescent chivalry. Oh, oh, and fond memories of skinny-dipping as children."

"Duck," he said, "Uh? Too much information."

"Sorry," Ducky said with a chuckle.

"Dad," he said, "can you give us a minute? Maybe head down the hall to Abby's lab? Steal some of her cookies for us." He hated gingerbread, but his father liked it and it would get his father out of the room.

His father nodded. "Sure, Leroy."

Ducky held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure to finally meet you, Jackson."

His father shook the medical examiner's hand. "Pleasure is all mine, Donny."

Once his father was out of autopsy, Jethro turned to his friend.

"What a sweet, lovely man, Jethro," the man said, "and certainly much warmer than you depicted him, and in many ways more accessible than you were for a long time."

Wanting answers, he redirected the conversation. "Duck, please. My dad?"

"Well," Ducky said, "you understand I cannot make a firm diagnosis on the basis of such a short meeting, but there is most definitely something wrong."

That was concerning. "Well, how bad?"

"That's an interesting question," Ducky informed him. "I doubt what you experienced was any kind of dementia. I mean, despite his disorientation, your father shows no signs of impaired recognition, has no trouble solving problems. He certainly doesn't have any symptoms of motor aphasia."

Not that he wasn't glad it wasn't dementia, but that left a lot of other doors open to walk through, and wasn't all that comforting. "Well, what the hell is wrong with him?"

"Something far more old-fashioned, I believe," his longtime friend said, "Your father... is under significant emotional distress, the kind one sees when one loses a loved one or... I mean, has he experienced any kind of trauma recently?"

"Not that I know of," Jethro said, knowing that it didn't mean much. His father wasn't ever likely to simply spill his guts to him.

The man gave a little hum at that. "Well, I prescribe some phone calls back home on your father's behalf," Ducky said. "They just might prove enlightening."

Jethro played with his face some. Neither he nor his father had ever been the best of communicators, particularly with each other, and he had no idea how to handle the stubborn man. Hopefully, Ducky was right and a call back home to Ms. Hannigan in Stillwater would give him some idea as to where to begin.

By 1800, Abby still didn't have anything new for him, and neither Jethro nor his field agents had managed to figure out who sent the letter. So, calling it a day, he sent his team home for the night before updating the director and heading home himself.