Tony made his way back to his apartment, intending to take his painkillers and then sit down with a heat pad on his knee. He winced when he opened his door and saw his own forlorn Christmas tree propped up in the window. Despite McGee's assertion his place had not undergone a Martha Stewart type transformation but was looking rather bleak and uninviting.
He sighed and made his way into the kitchen where he saw a parcel standing on his island. Very few people had a key to his apartment: Gibbs, Lisa (the little girl who sometimes looked after the goldfish) and Gloria Gordon. The package was tied up with a ribbon and bow which, he felt, ruled out Gibbs who was more apt to put things in crumpled brown paper bags. Lisa could prise the top off the goldfish food tub but struggled to tie the laces on her shoes so this professional looking bow was unlikely to be her handiwork. That left Gloria Gordon and Tony felt a sense of anticipation about what his treasure of a neighbour might have left for him.
Tony carefully peeled the bow off and looked inside. A genuine smile swept across his face and a warm feeling swept over him. He limped into his bedroom, changed into jeans and the green and red top he called his Christmas sweater, grabbed Gloria's parcel and another package and hurried out.
As Tony drove towards his destination, he began to have doubts. His ill-defined Christmas tradition was to turn up unannounced at Gibbs' place sometime on Christmas Day and receive a welcome which hovered, beyond categorization, somewhere between complete lack of surprise and total surprise. A visit on Christmas Eve was something different but Gloria's package gave him courage.
NCISNCIS
"You've got a tree," were Tony's first words as he walked through Gibbs' front door.
"I knew Tom Morrow was wrong," replied Gibbs.
Tony was taken by surprise, "What?"
"When I hired you, he wasn't sure you had the right skill set."
"Boss?"
"But look, thirteen years later and you're showing great observational skills," said Gibbs.
"Funny," said Tony, "but, Boss. You've got a tree!"
This was undeniable. It was undecorated and bare but no wooden object in Gibbs' house would ever look uncared for so it looked a world away from Tony and Tim's poor specimens. Charlie Brown would have been envious. The Christmas spirit may have been lacking chez McGee but it may have been present at Casa Gibbs as Gibbs decided not to tease Tony any further.
"Kids next door wanted to decorate a tree," he said simply, "their Mom is allergic to the needles so can't have one in the house. I said they could do mine."
"That's sweet, Boss," said Tony, "but … uh … they don't seem to have done a good job. Unless they're imaginary decorations?"
"They decided to go to their grandmother's place for Christmas instead," said Gibbs, "didn't have time to decorate before they went."
"Wonder if they'll have Christmas sauce?" mused Tony to himself.
"What?" asked Gibbs.
"Oh," said Tony, "forgot. You weren't there. Apparently the McGoo has a Christmas tradition of putting red berry sauce out for Santa. Well, he probably had a tradition of putting out red berry sauce. I can't picture him doing it now … although he is the McGee. Who knows what that brain will get up to?" Tony ground to a halt under Gibbs' unwavering gaze. "It's not important," he said.
"Did you sort Tim out?" asked Gibbs.
Tony looked around nervously, "Boss? How did you know about that?"
"Bishop," said Gibbs.
"Ah," said Tony, relieved that there appeared to be limits to Gibbs' omniscience.
"She came by on her way out of town. Said she was anxious about Tim and then she was anxious about you and your knee."
"She has been a busy little Probie," hasn't she?" said Tony approvingly.
"She's got your six," agreed Gibbs.
"Sixes," said Tony, "she's got all our sixes. That doesn't sound right. Sixes, sixes, six?"
"DiNozzo!" barked Gibbs.
"Sixes and sevens," muttered Tony to himself, "no, that's something different." He became aware that Gibbs was silent, "sorry, Boss," he said, "… um, what was I saying?"
"Lord knows," said Gibbs, "Tim."
"Tim isn't here, Boss," offered Tony. "Oh. I see. You want to know about Tim."
Gibbs sighed and Tony took that as affirmation.
"Right. So I got a call from DOD Delilah this afternoon. She'd phoned Tim and … well … you know what sort of mood he's been in. Perhaps you don't, you weren't in the squad room much. Well, anyway, our little Timmy hasn't been exactly the proverbial ray of sunshine, the tinsel on the Christmas tree, the wand in the fairy's …"
"DiNozzo!"
"OK. You want the CliffsNotes version not the three reeler," said Tony. "So, DOD Delilah called Tim. She'd flown back here to surprise our McRomeo for the festive holidays but when she phoned him she found that he was McGrumpy instead of McPassionate. She began to doubt whether a seasonal surprise visit would be welcome. She phoned yours truly and Dr DiNozzo went round to administer a dose of Christmas cheer."
"Did it work?" asked Gibbs.
Tony looked offended, "of course it worked. We decorated his Charlie Brown tree. Ate Christmas sauce. Chewed the fat. I dispensed DiNozzo wisdom and Tiny Tim is firing on all Christmas cylinders once more."
Gibbs stared at Tony but seemed to decide just to accept that Tim was OK and not waste time by delving into the story behind Tony's sojourn with Tim. He turned to other matters.
"Bishop said you had painkillers."
"Yes," said Tony, proudly producing the box.
"Taken any?"
"Not yet. I got sort of distracted. Needed a clear head for dealing with the McGee woes."
"What you doing here, DiNozzo? You should be at home resting that knee."
"And I was going to be," Tony assured him, "but something came up." He didn't suggest that it was his cheerless apartment which had driven him out. "Gloria left me a package."
Gibbs looked interested. Gloria Gordon was Tony's eccentric neighbour of whom much was forgiven as she was an excellent baker who often shared her creations with Tony.
"She make you a Christmas cake?" he asked.
"Nope," said Tony.
"Snickerdoodles?" asked Gibbs.
"Snickerdoodles?" said Tony scornfully, "she's way above Snickerdoodles. The woman is a master, or is it mistress, of the mixing bowl."
"What is it then?" asked Gibbs.
For answer Tony lifted the lid on the box and held it out to Gibbs. He peered in,
"What is it?" said Gibbs.
"I'm not entirely sure," admitted Tony, "but it's cake and it looks good. I thought you might like a piece."
"Sit down," ordered Gibbs, "put your leg up on the couch. I'll get a knife and some plates."
Tony yawned as he obeyed, thinking it was a tribute to Gloria's cake that Gibbs hadn't just used the knife in his pocket. Even Gibbs recognised that some sort of ceremony had to attach to the masterpiece being eaten.
Gibbs had just moved the cake onto a large dinner plate and was preparing to slice it when another visitor arrived.
"Good evening, gentlemen," said Ducky, "and a Happy Christmas Eve to both of you! Good heavens! Is that a Tunis cake?"
"Don't know, Duck," said Gibbs, "what's a Tunis cake?"
"If I'm not mistaken," said Ducky, "that's a Tunis cake. Good Lord, I haven't seen one for years. Where did it come from?"
"Gloria," said Tony simply.
"Ah," said Ducky reverently, "that woman is a marvel."
"And what is a Tunis cake?" asked Tony.
Ducky leaned over the cake and sniffed happily, "it is a Madeira sponge, covered with thick chocolate and decorated with marzipan fruits. I believe it originated in Scotland."
Gibbs and Tony exchanged a smile. Ducky thought most good things originated in Scotland.
"Before Mother joined me in this country, she used to send me one each Christmas," reminisced Ducky, "but sadly, it is less available now and I haven't had one for years. It brings back such happy memories for me. But I suppose I am fortunate in having many happy memories of Christmas. I would also suppose that, like Eleanor, I find memories triggered by certain foods. I think it is something that I should do some research into. I wonder if it is something which could be usefully employed in the field of …"
"Duck," said Gibbs, "do you want a piece of this cake or not?"
"Bless my soul," said Ducky, "I fear the sight of this wondrous cake has caused me go off on one of my divagations. I do apologise but it is rather exciting."
"Why don't you do the honours?" suggested Gibbs offering him the knife.
"Well," said Ducky, "it would indeed be an honour but perhaps the privilege should fall to Anthony?" Ducky turned to Tony, "Oh," he said, "he seems to have dozed off."
Indeed, sitting on Gibbs' comfortable couch and listening to Ducky's gentle 'divagation' had sent Tony to sleep.
"Don't worry about it, Duck," said Gibbs, "it's been a busy couple of weeks. I don't think he's slept much the last few nights 'cos of his knee."
"Yes," said Ducky, "I prevailed on him to allow me to examine it this morning. I do not believe it is anything sinister but just a recurrence of an old trouble from when he injured it when playing Varsity basketball. Although at some point he may need an operation to 'clean' it up. I think two or three days of rest, and judicious use of painkillers, will sort the problem out for the moment."
"He looks out for the count," observed Gibbs.
"I would not suggest waking him up," said Ducky, "so long as you do not mind having an overnight guest."
Gibbs shrugged, "Better wait on cutting this cake," he observed.
"Indeed," said Ducky reluctantly, "it would not be fair to start eating it while Anthony is otherwise 'occupied'."
"What you doing here anyway, Duck?" asked Gibbs. "Didn't expect to see you until tomorrow."
"Ah well," said Ducky, "I wanted to confirm that your invitation was still in place."
"Would have told you if it wasn't," said Gibbs.
"Forgive me, Jethro," said Ducky, "I know you and Anthony operate on a more intuitive level."
"Duck?"
"Surely you realise?" said Ducky. "Over the years I have noticed that you and Anthony never make plans to see one another on Christmas Day but whenever I have dropped in he has been here. And you always have sufficient food to serve him and that food always seems to be the kind that he most enjoys."
"What you saying, Duck?"
"Just that, without apparently any planning or organisation, you both expect to spend a good portion of Christmas Day together. And, I would surmise, would be disappointed if it didn't happen."
"Oh," said Gibbs. "Oh. Doesn't explain what you're doing here, Duck."
"As I was trying to explain, I prefer to have more concrete arrangements in place so, as I was passing, I thought I would confirm that our plans for tomorrow still stand."
"Yes," said Gibbs, "they still stand. Looks as if we'll have DiNozzo here too."
"In that case, I will see you tomorrow," said Ducky taking a last regretful look at the unsliced cake.
"Night, Duck," said Gibbs deciding not to point out that, despite his professed distaste for ad hoc arrangements, Ducky had made a casual visit on Christmas Eve every year they had not been working.
Gibbs followed Ducky out and retrieved Tony's go bag from his car. He returned to the living room, threw an afghan over Tony's sleeping form and then removed the cake to the kitchen. He banked the fire and then sat down in an armchair to sleep the rest of Christmas Eve away.
NCISNCIS
Gibbs awoke the next morning to a sound of rustling. For a moment he wondered why he was sleeping in a chair rather than on his couch or under the boat and then he remembered his visitor. He looked round and saw Tony putting some lights on his Christmas tree.
"Merry Christmas, Boss," he said when he saw Gibbs was awake, "don't worry. I got instructions from McGenius on how to put lights on. The trick is not to bunch them. Symmetry is the key."
Gibbs shrugged and moved into the kitchen to make coffee. Tony waited until Gibbs had taken a mouthful and then asked,
"These your decorations, Boss? They don't look new but I've never seen a tree in your house before."
"Brought them back from Stillwater when I cleared Dad's house," said Gibbs.
"Oh," said Tony, "I'm sorry, Boss. I wouldn't have opened the box if I'd known."
"Yes, you would," said Gibbs.
"Yeah, you're right," admitted Tony, "but I wouldn't have started hanging them."
"It's not a problem," said Gibbs mildly, "that's what they're for. Shouldn't waste them."
"It's a rule," Tony reminded him. "Hey, Boss, I'm sorry for crashing here last night. I'll be out of your hair soon."
"Stay," said Gibbs.
"Boss?"
"According to Ducky we always plan to spend the day together but we just don't admit it."
"We do?" said Tony sceptically before saying thoughtfully, "yeah, I guess we do. Why do we do that? I mean, not admit it?"
"Must be a Gibbs thing," said Gibbs.
"And a DiNozzo thing," said Tony, "after all I never really talk to Senior. And I know that drives you mad. Although it's like the pot calling the kettle black."
"Taken any painkillers yet?" asked Gibbs.
"No. It doesn't hurt this morning. A good night's sleep helped."
"I'll get breakfast," said Gibbs, "no. Stay where you are. You're making a good job of the tree."
So Tony inexpertly dressed the tree while Gibbs expertly cooked them breakfast which they then ate in front of the now roaring fire. When they had finished eating Gibbs brought out some mulled cider and as they drank he spotted a present under the tree.
"What's that?" he said.
"Something I picked up for you," said Tony casually, "just saw it in a flea market. Thought you might like it."
Gibbs stared at Tony as he realised that this was something else they did. Picking out Christmas gifts for one another but pretending that it was all accidental.
"Appreciate it," said Gibbs.
He opened the parcel to find a cardboard box full of wooden discs. He picked one out and turned it over in his hands.
"Guy on the stall thought it was probably from some sort of timber shop," said Tony, "or a cabinet maker's. Customers could pick out what wood they wanted. They've got the names of the wood written on the back."
"Lignum vitae," said Gibbs, reading one of the labels, "You know, that's the wood that sinks. Heaviest wood around. Incredibly hard and tough."
"Sounds about right," said Tony.
"Used on boats," continued Gibbs, "means wood of life." He continued looking at the discs, "Boxelder Maple, Meranti, African Blackwood, Pin Oak, Scarlet Oak, Caranda, Andaman Padauk … this is great, Tony. I'll make a box to keep them in …"
"Plenty of wood to choose from," pointed out Tony, happy that his choice had gone down well.
"Got something for you too," said Gibbs resisting the instinct to say that he'd found it by accident. He passed Tony a brown paper bag.
"It's heavy," commented Tony. He tapped the bag, "something solid."
"Like your head," said Gibbs, "why don't you just open it?"
"Anticipation is part of the fun," said Tony, "got to get maximum enjoyment out of the moment."
Gibbs looked at him in sudden compassion, picturing a younger Tony trying to extract as much as he could from rare moments of family togetherness.
"Guess it shows you're an investigator," he said gruffly.
"A baseball?" theorised Tony, "an enormous candy?" He sniffed, "no, doesn't smell. So, not an orange either. Could be an apple … but it would still smell. Tomato? No, not squishy and anyway, would you give me a tomato for Christmas?"
"Believe me, I'm tempted," said Gibbs.
Something in Gibbs' tone convinced Tony that his patience was running thin and that even Christmas goodwill might not protect him. He opened the bag.
"Oh," he said.
"Seem to remember you said you had one when you were a kid," said Gibbs suddenly uncertain about the gift.
"Wow," said Tony, "I don't know what to say, Boss."
Gibbs took a sip of his coffee as he waited for Tony to decide what to say. There was something in the way Tony had said 'oh' that Gibbs didn't recognise but then he saw Tony smile.
"This is great," said Tony, as he gently shook the snow globe, "I can't believe you remembered. When I was feeling bad I used to shake it up and then watch it all settle down again – I think I always hoped that I'd leave my room and find everything had calmed down like in my snow globe."
"It's Italian," said Gibbs, "thought it might be like the one you had."
"Don't know what happened to the one I had as a kid," said Tony, "I have a feeling I wore it out." He shook the globe again and watched the snow settle. He didn't see Gibbs' frown at this additional evidence of Senior's shortcomings as a parent.
"Ducky'll be here soon," said Gibbs.
"I think I'll put this away," said Tony casually, "wouldn't want it to get broken."
Gibbs nodded as if it was perfectly reasonable to think that the unfailingly well-mannered doctor would somehow run amok and break the ornaments.
"I'll put these wood things down in the basement," he said, "don't want them to get lost."
Tony gave the globe one final shake and then tucked it out of the way. Neither of them admitted that they didn't want the perceptive Ducky to know they had carefully chosen gifts for one another. They would let him think that the bottles of Bourbon and Chardonnay they had casually exchanged in the office were the only gifts.
"Merry Christmas, Boss," said Tony.
"Merry Christmas, Tony," said Gibbs slapping him on the shoulder as he made his way to the basement. "And you'd better keep an eye on that cake. Ducky looked pretty hungry when he saw it."
"On it, Boss," said Tony. He sighed contentedly as he looked round the room, at the lights on the Christmas tree and the fire in the grate. He wondered what excuses McGee and Abby were thinking up to explain their traditional 'unexpected' visits to Gibbs on Christmas Day but he guessed he wouldn't have long to wait to find out. Tony raised his glass of cider in a silent toast to the weirdness of an MCRT Christmas.
Merry Christmas everyone! Apologies for the amount of fluff but sometimes I want to be nice to them!
Gloria Gordon has been a supplier of cakes in some of my previous stories.
I've put them back in their Christmas box with, I hope, happy smiles on their faces.