Thanksgiving came and went, Jethro's father getting into town fairly early on Thursday morning with plans to stay until Sunday afternoon. He and Shannon had a nice dinner with their family; Joann actually being quite pleasant the entire time. The dinner with his team did end up having to be moved to that Friday evening, however, due to them working a case involving a young veteran - who clearly had severe PTSD - as well as a homegrown terrorist with the Ijil Rebels.
Things had got quite messy quite quickly.
DiNozzo had called Jethro, more than a little frustrated with their only witness, earlier in the week and had quickly picked up on the signs, figuring out with DiNozzo how to get Captain Joe Westcott some help. It wasn't an easy feat as the man was completely shut down, the brother was living in denial, and their father was far from supportive. If anything, George Westcott was making things worse. Shaming his son.
It had taken some convincing on Jethro's end to get the younger man to finally accept help. Jethro had met with the fellow veteran over breakfast on Friday morning and had a bit of a heart-to-heart with the obviously struggling veteran.
"This is hard," Captain Westcott said. "I feel like I'm going crazy."
"You're not," he reassured the young man. Your mind plays tricks on you when you're in pain. I've been there.
Incidentally, that was how Jethro had managed to put the pieces together so easily.
"How do you know that?" the captain asked.
He swallowed. "Because... I had my own head scrambled once a long time ago."
"I couldn't save Hall," the younger veteran said in obvious frustration, "I couldn't save Torres. I... I'm just a big damn coward."
He shook his head. "No, you're not a coward. You're human."
"I don't know how to do this," Westcott said, "I don't, and I'm supposed to be the one everybody leans on. The General."
"You'll get back there," he assured the younger man. "I promise."
"But what if I can't?" Westcott asked. "What if I'm stuck like this?"
"You won't be," he reiterated. "Face the fear."
The kid agreed to accept help and a couple of hours later, Jethro was sitting down with Captain Westcott again alongside Lieutenant Commander Peter Sanger - or Dr. Pete as the good doctor introduced himself - from Portsmouth Naval Hospital.
Apparently, Ducky had realized just how close the younger veteran's story was hitting home and decided to join him in the study. Not that it should surprise him. Ducky was nothing if not observant. "Oscar Wilde said, 'Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. But give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.'"
Jethro eyed his friend questioningly. "Duck?"
Ducky locked eyes with Jethro as he continued to talk. "I suspect that you know all too well the mask that the captain is wearing."
"Not about me," he countered.
"No, it's not!" Ducky easily agreed. "But perhaps your own past struggles can help you support Westcott." His long-time eyed Jethro knowingly. "It's obvious you feel a grave responsibility towards this young man, Jethro."
He sighed. "I sent home plenty of Marines like Westcott, Duck, and I knew their heads weren't right. I hoped that there would be someone on the other side to catch them.
"You had no choice," Ducky said. "I mean, you had to stay behind. It was your duty."
He shook his head slightly, eyeing his long-time friend. Ducky had served in the Royal Army Medical Corps and understood what being in a war zone was like. "Kids are going over and we're expecting them to come back the same."
"The experience changes everyone," Ducky stated simply.
"What are we doing, Duck?" he pressed. "I would raise my hand and take that oath all over again, but why is nobody doing more to help these kids?"
Ducky eyed him pointedly. "You can't fix the world, Jethro." The man's expression then softened noticeably. "But you can call the boy."
Jethro nodded, pulling out his cell phone checking in on how the younger veteran was doing. Westcott had a long road ahead of him, but Jethro hoped that the kid would be able to get most of his life back.
Closing his flip phone and shoving it back into his pocket, he made his way back to the main living area and rejoined the belated Thanksgiving dinner.
A few short minutes later, Ziva finally walked in. She's had a bit of a rough week for a variety of reasons that were neatly summed up in one four-letter word; Tali. DiNozzo had already given everyone a heads up that she'd be a little late because he'd planned something to help her honour her late sister's birthday. A kid taken way too soon.
He kissed Ziva on the cheek. "Hey, Kid. You alright?"
"Yeah," she said with an appreciative smile. "I am."
"I'm glad," he stated with a smile of his own before gesturing over to where the rest of the rather eclectic group was. "Come on in. Take a seat."
Everyone greeted Ziva before she took a seat right beside DiNozzo who couldn't seem to help but pull her in for a deep kiss.
When the couple finally separated, Ducky very cheerfully spoke up. "It looks as though it's time to carve now that everyone's here."
DiNozzo smirked. "And Ziva brought her chocolate babka."
Ziva rolled her eyes. "He's been bugging me to make it all week."
"It is really good," McGee pointed out.
"See?" DiNozzo retorted.
"High school principal," he muttered fondly to Shannon.
His wife chuckled softly. "And yet you love it."
He rolled his eyes, not bothering to attempt to deny the fact.
Ducky shook his head in amusement at their antics. "Indeed, well, thank you for bringing some today, Ziva." The man then grabbed his glass and held it in the air. "A toast."
The rest of the makeshift family raised their glasses.
Ducky smiled at them all. "Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast." The man then said an old Irish blessing. "May your neighbours respect you. Trouble neglect you. The angels protect you. And heaven accept you."
Shannon dipped her head slightly. "Well said."
"Hear, hear!" Abby exclaimed.
He shook his head, amused by Abby's enthusiasm. "Cheers."
"To all of us!" Ducky said.
"Happy Thanksgiving," McGee and Shannon chorused.
DiNozzo glanced between them all. "Cheers!"
The exceptionally bubbly goth was still grinning from ear to ear as she turned slightly and clinked glasses with their favourite Scotsman. "Happy Thanksgiving."
"Jolly good!" Ducky said happily.
It had been one hell of a Thanksgiving season, but they were all here. Together.
