"Big plans for Hannukah, Ziva?" Tim called from his desk as he typed furiously, trying to finish his crime scene report.
"Not anything big, no," She replied, her own fingers flying across the keys.
In a show of seasonal good-will, Vance had demanded that Gibbs let his team out of the office before it was dark outside so they could finish any holiday shopping they had left. Gibbs, begrudgingly had agreed on the concession that the team finish their reports first on Staff Sargent McKeon's murder.
The crime scene had been gruesome- enough to make even Ziva cringe. His wife and children had come home from holiday shopping to find the Sargent tied to the kitchen table, beheaded and gutted.
One look at the four year old daughter's face and Ziva had instantly felt the mother's anguish. Not only had she lost her husband and partner, but her children had lost their innocence.
Ziva apparently had stopped walking mid way to the house's front door when she saw the little girl sobbing in her mother's shaky arms.
It was the feel of Tony's strong hand on the small of her back discretely rubbing a gentle circle and ever so lightly pushing her forward that had snapped Ziva out of her momentary stupor.
Ziva mentally shook her head at the memory of that afternoon, trying to dislodge the image of the young girl's brown eyes from her mind.
"No rousing game of Dreidel at the bar? Taking all the money of those crazy sailors? It is pay week, you know," Tony teased, handing her a cup of tea before heading back to his own desk to finish his reports.
Tim noticed the interaction but, wisely, made no comment. His teammates had been moving towards a direct violation of Rule Number 12 and Tim was sure Gibbs was aware – not as if he'd squeal on them even if he wasn't. Ziva and Tony's happiness was worth a million Gibb's slaps- they both had been through enough in the last few years that they deserved to find some peace.
"Dreidel is for children, Tony," she said with a small smile. "I will go home, light my candles and read a book."
"No big feast?"
"It is not a feast, it is a seder. And seders are for passover," Ziva said, chuckling. "They really do not teach any Jewish culture in American Public Schools, do they?" She balled up a scrap of paper and pitched it across the aisle, beaning Tony in the side of the head and getting a death-glare in return from her wily Italian partner.
"Is that really all you do for the holiday?" Tim asked. "I thought it was a bigger deal than that."
Ziva shrugged and took a sip of her tea. "In America, yes. But in Israel, it is not a large holiday. Americans celebrate Chanukah much more than Israels because here Jews are surrounded by Christmas festivities. Children feel left out of the gift-giving, I think. In Israel, we remember the holy day, but we do not usually exchange extravagant gifts or go into this – this frenzy of shopping and decoration."
"Then I guess you won't want these, Agent David?" Gibbs asked as he strolled by her desk, coffee cup firmly in hand. He emptied his other hand on the top of her desk, chocolate-coins spilling out of his grasp and rolling on her paperwork.
Ziva gasped and sat back out of the way as she couldn't help but giggle like a small child at the sparkling items.
"Thank you, Gibbs," she said, running her fingers across the children's candies. It had been more years than she could count since she had received 'gilt' – even the chocolate kind – in celebration of the holiday. The small gesture by her boss and surrogate father suddenly made her feel much more at home during the often alienating holiday season.