A/N: I did not see the recently aired "She," and don't know what is now canon for Ziva, but the parts of this chapter which touch on her were written a couple months ago, and any similarities or differences are sheer coincidence (sorry, Gibbs.)

And sorry this took even longer to post than the last. What I had written before became a monster chapter in "editing" and adding to Gibbs' portion, so it took a while to corral. Hope it makes up for the wait.

HOME TRUTHS

At least the Marine didn't storm out, but he pulled back, clearly not expecting the doctor's reaction. Seeing that he might have lost the opportunity to help his friends mend long neglected fences, the doctor took a steadying breath and tried again, in a calmer tone, "Why do you ask now, Jethro? What made you think of Anthony now?"

The agent remained quiet for long moments, unmoving, but finally chose to speak instead of leaving his demons unchallenged. "He's here, Duck. In the District. He and Tali came back."

SIX

Ducky was again surprised, but this time, cautiously hopeful. "For the holidays?" he asked.

"Indefinitely," Gibbs began, until he saw the look in the older man's eyes. "He's got return tickets," he added heavily, not willing to get his own hopes up. "Just no set date back yet."

"And ... he's called you?"

"Showed up at the house."

"Ah." Ducky watched his friend closely, waiting for more. He could see the man's thoughts churning, and when the wait got too long, prodded, slightly, "but ... you have not yet spoken?" The Marine's expression confirmed his guess, and this time the doctor waited him out.

"...no." Shifting uncomfortably, Gibbs corrected, "not much." After a moment, he added, frustration in his tone, "he was just sitting in his car, Duck, down the block. Dunno know if he would ever have come up to the house if I hadn't gone outside to see him." When his friend nodded in understanding, as if he would have expected Tony to do just that, Gibbs threw up his hands. "I can't tell what he wants, Ducky. I don't know if he wants to talk or not. Hell, I don't think he knows." He paused again, recalling the brief meeting, and wondered how they'd gotten to this point. "He seemed ... wary. Of me, Ducky! He said he was here because too many things felt unfinished, but he sure didn't seem like he was ready to do anything about it. I told him I'd been wrong when he left, that I owed him better, and he didn't react." He stopped again, his gut still turned sideways by the encounter. "He wasn't the DiNozzo I knew."

Ducky closed his eyes momentarily, weighing the wisdom of wading further into the complicated connection between the men, and, sensing there might not be another moment like this one, decided his course. "And who was that, Jethro?" he began, softly and cooly, "the young man you brought here from Baltimore? Or the man who blossomed into being your Senior Field agent, who helped train an earnest but too-green young probie and an overly-confident soldier into solid field agents, without the reminders they needed from you to respect Anthony's role and his authority in the chain of command? The man you left behind to lead your team and deal with the Director's personal vendetta, and then just as abruptly unseated when you'd decided it was time to return, without so much as an acknowledgment of his work in your absence? The man who pulled you and a young civilian from a submerged car which resulted from another of your lone wolf causes?"

As Gibbs' eyes darkened, his defenses rising from long habit, Ducky pressed even harder. "The man who walked away from the woman he loved, first because you told him to, and then because she did? Did you even know that man, Jethro, or what the years under your lead have done to him? And most recently – did you even try to know the man who avenged the man behind your most grievous wounds to date, or to thank him for his loyalty, or did you simply decide to shun him in the most public way on your return, by assigning him to de facto desk duty?" As Gibbs turned to stalk out of autopsy, Ducky's voice rang out behind him as the doctor drove his point home. "I dare say you may never have know the real Anthony DiNozzo, despite his showing you the stuff of which he is made over and over and over again. I dare say that, like in so many unhappy endings, you had no idea what you had in loyalty and skill and support until Tony was gone."

Gibbs turned to throw back, "he knew that wasn't me. I didn't need to hold his hand. He knew how much I valued him."

"Which 'he' knew that?" Ducky crossed over to stand toe to toe with Gibbs, where he stood at the doorway. "The man you chained to his desk when you came back from medical leave, so there would be no question that you were back and capable of doing the job 100%? That was it, wasn't it, Jethro?" Mallard pressed, not willing to lose what might be the last opportunity to push his stubborn friend toward the truth. "You were afraid that if DiNozzo was in the field, working side by side with you, that everyone would assume he was doing the work that you no longer could do. And after years of Anthony running interference for you, drawing your ire to protect the others on your team or to diffuse your frustrations and get the team back moving forward – I can see how you might fear just such an assumption.

"But the final blow came after years of Anthony's choosing, time after time, to remain with your team instead of accepting his own, instead of pursuing relationships, instead of staying in Israel with Ziva – all because he could not do any of those things and remain your 'faithful Saint Bernard.' All after years of doing so with only a rare word of appreciation from you, after being chronically undervalued by his teammates and by the Director, not in small part because that was the example you set – you came back from medical leave, and, without even recognizing his efforts in your behalf, cut him from your team, in his mind, as effectively as if you had him transferred.

"Never leave a man behind, Jethro. Has any Marine ever stood by you for as long and as faithfully as Tony did? Any Marine continue to endure your physical demonstrations of frustration or disapproval while he stood firm between you and the rest of the world, making excuses for your bluster or diffusing your anger? Any Marine stand by you as you consistently garnered admiration and accolades for your successes, while doing a good share of the work himself without recognition for it?" Ducky's eyes flashed with the anger he had held too long in check. "Yet some seven months ago you left Anthony behind when he could have used your unique understanding of his loss - only a few hours into mourning the unexpected finality of Ziva's loss, he is hit with the sudden and complicated news that not only is he a father, he fathered Ziva's child – whom she kept secret from him! Did you ever stop to consider the devastating impact all that would have had on anyone, especially Tony? Or was your only thought that it proved your suspicion that they had broken your bloody Rule Number 12 after all?"

Gibbs said nothing but paled slightly in the Scotsman's ire, who at that point was too overcome to see it.

"Not one person here can say they understand the depth of your loss of all those years ago, Jethro, and ever since they learned of it, your team – your friends – have helped you deal with it as best they knew how. But as a result, sadly, this team has become all about you, and you have been allowed to charge though each day without thought or concern for those you are harming in the process. You've had a remarkable career, Jethro, and have done extraordinary good for your country and its people – but at what cost?" Ducky wavered, his long-held thoughts voiced, and he looked closely at his friend for a sign that his point had been made. Understanding that he might have to ask himself the same question – his point may have been made, but at what cost? – he took one more weary breath. "So, finally, there is the answer to your question, Jethro – nothing you can say in a mere sentence or two will set things right with Anthony, no matter what he might try to tell you. Nor should it."

Tony woke slowly, an unfamiliar feeling these past few months. Usually he slept in snatches and at some level of alert, a result of his still-developing parenting skills, occasional calls from distant time zones, and all around chronic and immediate stress. When the feeling of a full head and near-stiffness intruded as well, the sure signs he had hit a wall and finally slept much longer than usual, he woke with a start. Jumping out of bed in one swift move and looking around the momentarily unfamiliar room, he felt a moment of panic that Tali hadn't awakened by now and at least called out to him, if not come in to wake him. Before he made it to the closed door of his bedroom, however – when had he closed it? – he heard voices that allowed his internal alarms to stand down from high alert: his daughter, clearly delighted even in her poor attempt at a stage whisper, and his father, talking away to his grandchild despite their not being quite on the same linguistic page yet.

And what was that – singing?

Tony grabbed his watch from the dresser, checking it as he pulled the strap through the buckle. Nearly 1000! He drew a breath and ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he'd managed to sleep at least twelve hours, if Tali had been okay while he was dead to the world. He couldn't remember when he crashed or if Senior had left before he did, so maybe his father had stayed over and had been there to catch any nightmares or early morning toddler activity. Tony sat heavily on the bed, giving himself just another moment to ground himself. He really hadn't thought much beyond getting to the District, once he'd gotten word back from Adam that they should be okay to return to the States, and it showed.

The former Mossad officer had been a lifeline to him as Tony struggled to make sense of Orli's actions and clearly incomplete information. He desperately needed to know the truth about the attack on the farmhouse, confirmation of Ziva's status, and, of greatest importance, any potential threats to Tali or even to himself, given their connection to the David family. Tony had never been one to turn over his responsibility for the safety and protection of others, especially those close to him, but this was way outside of his expertise: the threats were of such a different type, by those he didn't usually engage, in countries where he had few contacts or language skills, and against his family. He didn't even have creds in his own country anymore, and had not yet sought a civilian licence to carry. So while he was always on alert, using every trick and technique he'd ever known to keep his daughter safe, he found the wisdom to turn over the investigative and intel concerns to Ziva's former colleague and friend.

Ziva had trusted Adam Eishel; Tony would now, too. Adam had been stunned when Tony told him of Orli's sudden appearance with Tali in tow, and his grave promise to help Tony get answers raised even more questions and concerns for Tony. He had yet to know what had caused Adam's concern, or the Israeli's apparently shared distrust of Orli's version of events, but it had been slow going, and Tony hoped that maybe some day he would learn it all. For the moment, Tony was comforted to have Adam's assistance and his access to intel Tony could never hope to have. It let the new father focus, for the time being, on figuring out how to be a parent and to get to know the bundle of energy he and Ziva shared.

After a trip to the head and a splash of water on his face, Tony quietly opened his bedroom door and came silently down the hall, the sounds, and then the sights, of the living room allowing him to observe without interrupting for a few moments. Since he'd been to bed, Christmas had arrived, all lights and sparkle and amazement his daughter's face. Tony took it all in, a lump in his throat.

He had spent the last weeks agonizing over just this: it was most likely Tali's first Christmas, and certainly the first when she was old enough to do more than stare at the lights and activity around her. Living in Israel with a Jewish mother, Tali could not have been as steeped in Christmas as she would be here. Even since being with Tony, their little Paris neighborhood had much less flashy Christmas trappings than those Tali would encounter in the District.

The choice left him in a quandry. So what did he owe Tali? Or Ziva? Celebrate both holidays? Ignore Christmas and observe Hanukkah? Ignore Hanukkah and observe Christmas? Tony wanted to do what was right for his child but knew no one with those answers, and the dilemma felt bigger than just the question of which juice to buy or whether she was still too young for Disney movies. By the time they boarded the plane for the U.S., he was no closer to an answer.

But now he was, and, much like his gratitude to Adam for taking over one concern, Tony felt something like relief that, at least for now, for this year, Senior had made the decision for him. Ziva had always participated with joy in the little Christmas exchanges or parties at NCIS, so Tony thought that she would be okay with this, for Tali. Especially if she could see the wonder in her daughter's eyes...

"Abba!"

He'd been made. As Tali ran to him to be scooped up for a hug and morning raspberry, Senior looked over with his usual, 'hope you don't mind this particular over-the-top thing I did, Junior' expression to say simply, "morning, Junior."

"Abba, see!" Tali bounced in his arms as she pointed back the way she came and squirmed to be let down, grabbing his hand to run back to where Senior stood beside a modest, five foot tall Christmas tree, blinking merrily with little white lights and tiny toy-shaped ornaments. "Tinkle tinkle..." she started to sing.

Tony chuckled in helpless surrender, impressed with Tali's application of the song he'd sung to her when they saw stars pop out in the sky at dusk. Eyes misting that her mother missed this moment, Tony sang the rest of the song with Tali's limited help, then managed, "Christmas lights, Tali, twinkling on the Christmas tree. Grandpa brought you a tree?"

At Tali's vigorous nod, Senior shrugged, "I hope you don't mind, Junior - but the place needed a bit of holiday cheer. Any home that has a child in it should be decked out for Christmas."

"Thanks, Dad," Tony managed as he noticed a few more things with sincere appreciation - an ornate stocking, a few wrapped presents. "She's certainly taken with it. When did you do all this?" As his father explained, Tony only half listened, struck with his father's newfound paternal side. He didn't want his thoughts to go there, but at Senior's words of home, wisps of memory came unbidden, a large but joyless house, which, after his mother's death, was less "home" and more a stop between semesters. Still ... he remembered, even after his mother was gone, that there would be a tree, decorated with her favorite ornaments and with twinkling lights and the tiny gold beads from her own mother. He swallowed the lump in his throat and kissed his daughter's cheek as she squirmed to be let down again.

As Tali ran back toward the tree and its festive ornaments, Junior came further into the room to bring his arms around Senior in a grateful hug. "Thanks, Dad. Merry Christmas..."

The men stood face to face, Ducky's words ringing in both their thoughts, and Ducky showing no sign that he thought he had gone too far or overstepped. But he did not turn to leave or say anything else. Understanding what was being offered, Gibbs finally spoke.

"Then what, Ducky? He may be here only a couple more days."

Gibbs was unreadable. But the doctor believed he was listening, and he had asked. Ducky would not let the moment pass. "As senior agent, you have always held more power than those on your team. Add to that your penchant for a set of absolute rules, and your demands things go your way or not at all – ostensibly wise, with the dangerous jobs you have, but also easier for you to bear, given the horrific loss of your wife and daughter. It guarantees that you have control over your agents' lives, which you did not have over your family. While likely your 'gut' was telling you to keep such a firm hand, not a conscious decision in those terms – you must have recognized that your demands were not always easy on the agents you were trying to protect.

"Over time, even though Anthony flourished as an agent and clearly had earned your trust, you still threw up your rules as a wall between him and yourself at times, or emphasized them as a reminder of your authority and your demand for unswerving loyalty. Timothy was lucky that none of the rules were particularly difficult for him to incorporate into his life here; Ziva was far less worried about their effect on her, first because her status as Mossad liaison provided her some ... flexibility ... against the finality of your rules, and later as her training and her own mind set allowed her to deviate from anyone's rules when she determined there was a need. It matters not that she followed your rules most of the time. The stress of living every moment under another's exacting rules was simply not as great for Ziva as it was for someone who understood them to be inviolate.

But Anthony? At all times, he has wanted to exceed your expectations and justify that early faith you showed in him. He is a man who spent his childhood in search of an authority figure to respect, and other than a few supportive coaches, was unfulfilled in that search. You offered him much to admire and he repaid that in his service and unflagging loyalty. Your inability or unwillingness to show him the same loyalty, and your actions over time which communicated the opposite, no matter why they were done, took a toll. Which particular action did more damage than another, or which hurt the most or longest – that is for Anthony to say. And as in all things, there may be things for which Tony owes you an apology or explanation. But for right now – the damage has been clearly more one sided. That is what you need to address now if you wish to repair the friendship you once had.

The elderly doctor considered him closely, sensing that his words finally might have registered. "Listen to him, Jethro. Ask him what he came here to address. Draw him out and let him talk – you know just how that's done with your witnesses, and you know Anthony well enough to know he can sense whether you are sincere in your interest or readiness to hear what he has to say. Do not interrupt or rationalize or deny or justify. it is not the time to raise your own grievances. If anything is to be salvaged, you need to hear him and he needs to know that what he says matters to you. He may not know what he needs now; he has probably not thought it through in those terms. He may want to revisit some of the past or he may not. But one thing I know you can do, and can do well, if you are so inclined, is to listen – and I strongly advise you to do so now."

Gibbs stood in place for long moments, staring at the wall behind Ducky as he played the doctor's words over in his head, a haunted look replacing the anger and defensiveness there before. Finally, breaking his stare, he looked back to the doctor, an unreadable look on his face. "Thanks, Duck," he murmured as he moved to leave autopsy. He was not surprised that the doctor, uncharacteristically, did not call out to him to offer a few final words of support in parting.