Luckily, my father had to be in Saint Croix so I would be alone for Christmas. Plus, we did spend Thanksgiving together. I have been celebrating without him for years. But, one this I do is keep up DiNozzo family tradition; I'm sitting here, eating my caramel corn and watching a classic Christmas movie.

Donna Reed in her hayday. James Stewart, his distinctive voice. As George Bailey, he spends his time wondering if he's done the right things in his life. Questioning what he knows. Like what I'm doing now.

My phone rings – Gibbs. "Pause It's a Wonderful Life and get in here." Guess we drew the short straw.

"On it, Boss." A wonderful life it is not right now.

I'm feeling good until I see McTinyTim and Ziva looking way to happy to be at work, especially today, She's holding it - the fucking Christmas card from Wendy. The card I should have just thrown out. Yet, I couldn't.

"You did not tell us Wendy sent you a Christmas card?"

"Wendy, who?" Like I don't know.

"Your Wendy. Baltimore Wendy" Really, Timmy. I know.

"Your former fiancee Wendy." Yup, got that too.

"Oh yeah, that. What are you doing reading my Christmas cards?"

"It was pinned on the wall behind your desk."

"People usually do that so others can enjoy them."

"I thought you and Wendy haven't talked in. . ."

" . . . Nine years. What's your point?" The night she said she wasn't going to marry me the next day.

Ziva re-opens the card and gazes over Wendy's long-ish note. She wants to highlight some more. "So it says here that she and her ex-husband got divorced last year."

"I read that." I've re-read the entire fucking card a bunch of times and now Ziva is quoting information I already memorized. "That's too bad. Very sad."

"And she invited you to Christmas brunch tomorrow. With her and her seven year-old son, Fred."

"So, you gonna go?"

"No, I think I'm going to relegate that part of my life the Christmas past."

Sure, I think of her from time to time. Wondering why it didn't work out. Wondering why she decided to wait until our rehearsal to tell me she didn't want to go through with it. I mean how long did she think about not marrying me? Did she want to say yes or was it because she felt she had to? Is it the type of thing you decided overnight, given how long we were together? Do you ever really know someone as well as you think you do? Yes, we haven't spoken in nine years. That kind of incident changes a man. Makes him cautious, too cautious maybe. Puts thoughts in his head, he'll never be good enough. Because of this I have never asked another person to marry me.

I sit at my desk holding Wendy's card. I open and glance at it. Divorced. Brunch. It would be wonderful to see you again. Things to discuss. Baltimore. Things I don't want to think about with her. What do I have to lose? Everything, again. What happens if I was George Bailey talking to Clarence? What would he show me? My regrets; paths I didn't take, things I didn't say, a life I didn't lead. No kids, no wife. Me, movies and wine. Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

I risk my life everyday for my job. I love what I do. I will never regret bringing Ziva back. I don't give it a second thought – I tried to live without her. I couldn't do it. It's not possible. Wendy, well I've lived without her for nine years. She wants to waltz in, send me a card and rekindle a flame that she put out. I don't think so. Yet, I'm utterly intrigued by her, this card, the alternate life she led. I imagine that my life would be different if we got married. I wouldn't be here holding a card. Cards we sent out would have matching ugly sweaters; us sitting front of the fireplace, stocking hanging down the mantle, kids in our laps.

The other is a stark contrast; Ziva would give in to some Christmas spirit. Though, some Jewish traditions would be instilled too. Having children jumping on our laps laughing as Mama flubs an idiom. Her laugh, her smile and her eyes radiating love. Papa Gibbs bringing gifts, sharing hugs and wooden sleds. Bourbon, boats and woodworking would come when they are much older.

Reality. Neither. Because I haven't figured out a balance.

I sat at the curb in front of Wendy's house for 20 minutes. I had inclination to unbuckle, open the door and walk up the path to her house. I debated, really. I played a game on my phone. I deleted out contacts I haven't spoken to in a long time. I did everything I could not to get out of the car. So I turned the key and headed home.

I thought about calling Ziva but I didn't know if CI-Ray finally emerged from the shadows. So, I went to Gibbs. He was downstairs fixing up a pretty pink bike complete with tassels for Amira. He looks after Mike Franks' family now. He has somewhere to be. I guess I did too. Home, alone.

I stood in Gibbs' basement holding two cups. One for family and one for job. Is there a secret to how they fit into one cup? Our job demands a lot of our time. My family would have to understand that. I'd have to miss baseball games, plays, ballet recitals. Maybe that's why I never had a family. I think back to the serious relationships I've had - Wendy, Jeanne, EJ (maybe) – pathetic, right. I could never give myself to them completely. Maybe I wasn't supposed to. I gave myself away to someone I've never had to courage to tell. What does that say about me? Am I ever going to be happy? Or is Gibbs right?

"You're not going to find what you're looking for down here, DiNozzo."

Where the fuck am I going to find it? I am completely in love with someone who didn't know – maybe she did. We are not so good at talking about each other. We talk around it, it works for us. Well for me, anyway. But she's in a relationship with a man who is hardly there and when he is, it's for short interludes. I'm here everyday. I have been since day one. Perhaps that's what Gibbs is talking about – not being like him. Say what you feel. You never know when it's the last time you'll talk, the last time you kiss, hug, or do anything together.

Life is short.

If you can't say it at Christmas, when can you, eh?