Author's note: Sorry for the delay guys! I got hit with a bad migraine and then I was busy with some family things but here it is! Hope you're enjoying!
Chapter Four
Gibbs was torn from the disquiet of his dreams by a penetrating white light that filled his tiny basement to near bursting with its brilliance. Jumping up from his cot on the floor and instantly awake, he dove behind the remnants of a bygone boating project and reached for a sidearm that wasn't there beneath his sweats. If terrorists were going to keep trying to infiltrate his home and poison him to death, he was going to have to remember to keep a gun beneath the bed.
Hearing no one descend the steps or call out his name, Gibbs peered around the boat's stern even as the bright white light began to fade, and he could tell now that the illumination was streaming in to the basement from the door at the top of the stairs; right where Leon had appeared to him uncountable hours ago. It all seemed to be coming from somewhere on the upper levels and Gibbs made his way slowly forward and up the rickety old wooden staircase that connected basement to main living area. It was ridiculous, being reduced to slinking around his own home, and if he came face to face with another spirit on the main level, he decided right then and there that he was going to blast it full of buckshot, his soul be damned.
When he finally reached the top the stairs Gibbs thought for a moment that he was back in the past again because as he emerged from the basement and into the foyer, his entryway was once again decorated in bows of pine, sprigs of holly, twinkling lights and was that roasting turkey he smelled? Just what the hell was going on here? He grabbed for the shotgun just inside the front door, secured it firmly beneath his arm and walked towards the family room which seemed to house the source of the light. It had diminished to a more manageable level now and one he no longer had to squint into or hold his hand up against. When a floorboard creaked beneath his feet, Gibbs froze.
"I hear you out there in the hall, Jethro. Come in and know me better man!" A jolly voice, regally accented and so friendly Gibbs found himself striding into the family room without fear, called to him from the room within. Rounding the corner and steeling himself should he once again be faced with the past and another vision of his long dead family, he was surprised to find the room filled to the brim with every delicacy, drink, and Christmas adornment imaginable. And seated amidst it all was a shorter, bespectacled gentlemen in a white lab coat complete with festive bow tie and a cloth fishing hat. He seemed to be some kind of mix between scientist, professor, and all around good natured fellow and Gibbs decided in an instant he liked this manifestation the best thus far.
"You the next spirit who's supposed to visit me?" He asked simply, masking any hint of his approval of the stately, albeit strangely dressed, individual standing before him.
"Right you are my boy! I am the ghost of Christmas Present. Come in! Come in, and know me better, man!" The spirit waived him further into the room with a welcoming smile that Gibbs couldn't help but return in his own bewildered way.
"You said that already."
"What did I say already Jethro?"
"To come in and know you better?"
"I did? Heaven's me! I don't often visit this planet and when I do its rarely to speak to the living. You must forgive me if I seem rather excited." Sensing no imminent danger from the fellow who was chuckling at his own self-depreciation, Gibbs left his shotgun leaning against a wall and took up a seat beside a roaring fire the spirit herded him into. To his utter astonishment, the apparition before him conjured another chair as if from thin air on the other side of the fire then set himself into it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Much better," the spirit smiled, laughing a little as he settled in. "What say we have some refreshment before we get started?" And with a flourish of hands a handsome table was laid out between the two with every food Gibbs had ever been fond of in his life. But while his mouth watered at the sight for the briefest of moments, it didn't take his brain long to kick in and warn him not to touch a bite.
"Oh for heaven's sake, Jethro. I'm not trying to poison you. At least have something to drink!"
"Only my mother calls me Jethro," he warned but the spirit just started laughing again. He seemed to be stuck in some kind of perpetual laughing fit.
"Ah, the infamous Gibbs humor. You're famous in some circles, you know," but Gibbs, having never had a sense of humor, even as a child, didn't believe it for a second.
Figuring he had nothing to lose, he picked up a heavy golden goblet from the table in front of him and sipped at the clear cold liquid sloshing around at the bottom of it. It was some kind of wine and it sparkled in the flickering family room light.
"What is it?" He asked, setting the cup down after only a few sips, brain still trying to suggest it was druged.
"Happiness, kindness, love, and just the smallest pinch of regret so as not to drop you," the spirit answered with a wink and Gibbs eyed him warily.
"Whatever that means," he grumbled, but there was no real bite behind it. The wine sat warm in the center of him and the warmth was spreading.
"Well, if you're quite ready, Jethro," the spirit started, either forgetting or ignoring Gibbs' earlier warning that only his mother called him by his given name, "let's get this show on the road - as they say - shall we?" The ghost of Christmas Present rose from his chair and walked to the windowed family room alcove. Unsure of what the spirit had planned, Gibbs followed cautiously.
"Where are we going?"
"Why to see the world, my friend!" the man exclaimed, throwing his arms wide in front of the windows as a faint light began to grow in the sky outside.
Gibbs peered out into the lightening night. "What is that?"
"Christmas Morning!" the spirit exclaimed. "Can't you tell?" and as the spirit laughed the brilliant light that had blinded Gibbs earlier burst from the sky like an atom bomb and engulfed them entirely. And when it receded, gone was the family room and all its finery and Gibbs found himself standing in the middle of a DC street, tucked back off one of the main routes through town. The street was lined on either side with little shops and the spirit had set them before a closed up Polish bakery. Gibbs was about to turn around and ask his guide what the point to visiting a closed business was when the sound of carried voices from down the lane stopped him. Gibbs turned his head instead to look down the street in the direction of the voices and spied his assistant, DiNozzo, jaunting down the sidewalk with a small child perched on his shoulder. The pair were finishing a rousing chorus of Jingle Bells and laughing as the young boy on DiNozzo's shoulder substituted the last stanza with a silly rhyme about Batman.
Gibbs watched the two approach them and almost started to call out to Tony but remembered what the first spirit said to him.
"They can't see or hear me, can they?" He asked, already knowing the answer. The bespectacled old spirit shook his head.
"And more the better for them, I think," the ghost replied a little playfully but Gibbs ignored the jab. He was too caught up in the scene before him. Tony and his young son were speaking to each other as they neared where Gibbs and his newest spirit guide stood in the street.
"Dad, do you think I could work for NCIS someday like you do?" The child was asking, looking down at his father from his perch on a shoulder.
"Tim, you can do anything you want to! The worlds yours, kid." Gibbs realized in that instant he'd never even known that Tony's son's name was Tim.
"Can I be Superman?" The little boy asked seriously.
"Well, that depends, are we talking like Christopher Reeves', Superman or Brenden Roth's, Superman."
Tony's son made a face, "Christopher Reeves, Dad. Duh."
"Then yes! Only you'll need a secret identity, like Superman has Clark Kent."
"But what should it be?" the child asked, tapping his chin in a way Gibbs had seen Tony do sometimes.
"Something simple," DiNozzo said, "you don't want to draw too much attention to yourself and Timothy DiNozzo just won't do. We're too famous about town! How about something like Timmy McGee or Timothy Smith. You can't go wrong with Timothy Smith!" Tony suggested and his young son collapsed into a fit of giggles even as Tony pulled him down off his shoulder and set him back on his feet in front of the bakery to fish for house keys. But just as Tony set young Timothy down and handed the child a little crutch, the little boy's legs collapsed beneath him and Tim lost his footing and fell sideways into the snow. Gibbs stepped forward without thinking, some hidden instinct he hadn't felt in a very long time alighting inside of him, but Tony was there to catch the young lad before any permanent injury could be done and pulled him back into his arms.
"Must be Kryptonite around, huh Tim?" Tony said with a sad smile, brushing away a tear from the lad's face before it could track down his cheek. "Come on, Mama's waiting for us."
"Let's follow them in," the spirit suggested, pushing a little at Gibbs' back with an icy cold prod. Gibbs thought about resisting, but let the spirit guide him forward.
Tony lived on top of the bakery they had arrived in front of and as Gibbs ascended the stairs behind Tony and his son, he noted the peeling paint and threadbare carpet on the stairs. There was obviously something wrong with Tony's youngest and the tall narrow stairs must have been murder on him and Gibbs couldn't imagine why his assistant would ever want to live in a place like this with a sickly kid. He wished he was corporeal in that instant so he could pull the stupid man aside and give him a piece of his mind.
When the group arrived up at the top of the stairs the door opened on a tiny apartment and a beautiful dark haired woman Gibbs had never met before admitted the two into the apartment with a wide smile that lit up her whole face. Tony's wife was beautiful; olive skinned with kind eyes.
"Merry Christmas, Mommy!" Tiny Tim exclaimed as Tony passed him over to his mother.
"Happy day after Chanukah my little monkey!" Ziva exclaimed, shooting a questioning look over at Tony when she found her son's pants damp from his earlier fall. Tony shook his head slightly in some hidden language known only to husbands and wives; a language Gibbs had known once upon a time himself but had long forgotten.
"Peter! Emily! Tim and your dad are home!" Tony's wife called out and an older boy of 12 or 13 who was the spitting image of Tony and a college age girl came running from the back of the tiny apartment to welcome the pair. Gibbs and the spirit managed to squeeze themselves in just as Tony closed the door after hugging his two oldest and Peter and Emily helped their brother into a small wheel chair and out of his winter coat then pushed him off into the living room to watch some Christmas movie playing on the small screen TV.
"Don't get too wrapped up in that, guys. Dinner's almost ready!" Tony's wife called out as the kids went off, and DiNozzo wrapped an arm around his wife's waist before she could head back to the kitchen. She turned and threw her arms around his neck. Gibbs and the spirit watched from the wall.
"Why was he all wet?" She asked quietly and Tony kissed her cheek before pulling away to take off his own coat.
"He fell in the snow outside the apartment. No harm done."
"You should have left him here this morning." She scolded a little. "Church last night and then the soup kitchen this morning was too much for him."
"I know, but I just couldn't say no to the little guy. He might not get another chance to do all this and you know what he said to me on our way there?"
Ziva shook her head, "No, what?"
"He said he hoped everyone we met today would see him with his little crutch and remember who it was that made lame beggars walk and blind men see."
"You let that child watch too many movies, Tony. That imagination of his is going to run off with him one of these days."
"Good! I hope it does because it beats him sitting around this tiny apartment all day feeling sorry for himself."
"Well you know who we have to thank for that," Ziva replied, crinkling her nose in disgust.
"Come on, Ziva. Don't start that, not today. It's Christmas."
"Your holiday, Tony," she bit back, fingering the Star of David at her throat, "Not mine." But instead of getting angry Tony just smiled and pulled his protesting wife back into his arms again.
"Stop that. I don't give you a hard time when it's Rosh Hashanah, do I." he chided lightly and tried to kiss Ziva but she pulled away with a laugh.
"I hate it when you do that!"
"Do what?" Tony asked with faked outrage.
"Try and distract me like that," He made to move towards her again but Ziva took off towards the apartment's small kitchen, calling over her shoulder as she went. "Go get your children. It's almost time for diner."
Gibbs watched from his place against the wall just inside the front door as the DiNozzo family gathered around a small table with Tiny Tim given the place of honor at the head. The little boy beamed and Tony placed a perfectly bronzed turkey on the table in front of him and began to help him carve. Tiny Tim took his job very seriously and chewed on his bottom lip absently as he tried to do exactly as his father instructed with the sharp knife and when he'd amassed a decent sized plate of carved turkey, the family burst into a round of applause. Tony tousled his son's hair affectionately and leaned down to kiss the crown of the small boy's head and Gibbs didn't miss the slight glisten to his assistant's eyes or how he lingered just a second or two longer than he needed to.
"Ok, guys," Tony announced after straitening up and grabbing a glass of wine from the table, "Now that Master Tim has carved the turkey but before we eat, would you raise your glasses please?" Ziva and the children lifted milk and wine alike and the three kids started to giggle for some reason.
"Now, I know this is usually the part of the meal when I make some silly Christmas speech and thank Alvin and the Chipmunks, John Denver and Johnny Mathis for the wonderful music and Jimmy Stewart, National Lampoon and Garfield for the excellent entertainment, but seeing as how this is the time of year for giving thanks, I'd like to raise a glass to Director Gibbs this year." Tony finished boldly and Gibbs started. DiNozzo was toasting him? After making him work in the dark with no heat? After paying him barely more than the NCIS office night watchman made, the man could still find it in him to remember Gibbs at his family's paltry meal? He shook his head at the thought and something tightened in his throat. But the rest of the table dwellers apparently didn't share DiNozzo's sentiments and three glasses thudded back onto the dinner table, all except for Tiny Tim who hadn't lifted his own to begin with and had sat back in his chair as if exhausted, watching everything unfold in silence but with wide and observant eyes.
"You've got to be kicking me, Tony." Ziva said, stunned.
"It's 'kidding', my dear and no, I'm not. Director Gibbs' generosity put this roof over our heads and the food on our table. We owe him our thanks!"
"All that man's 'generosity' has given us is an apartment that's too small and all the misery we could ask for, you especially. He puts you through hell love! How can you ask us to drink to him?"
"Mom's right, Dad," the daughter Emily piped in. "He's a tyrant!"
"Oh come on you guys, it's Christmas!" Tony pleaded to the dour faces around the table. "Please? For me?"
"Oh fine!" Ziva conceded finally, picking up her glass again with Peter and Emily following suit begrudgingly. "But I'm only doing it for your sake, Tony, and for the wonderful man that you are to think of such a stingy old miser at Christmas."
"I'll take it," Tony replied with a smile and raised his glass high in the air. "To Director Gibbs. May he find some happiness this Christmas day and to my beautiful family. May God Bless us all the days of our lives."
"God bless us," came a small voice from the head of the table, "every one."
"Here here, Master Timothy," Tony smiled at his son with a wink and the family clinked their glasses before diving into their meal. Gibbs watched his assistant settle in to help his youngest; Tiny Tim seeming to have lost all his energy and turned to the ghost standing next him to question him.
"What's the matter with the kid?" He asked a little roughly and the spirit's eyes went sad.
"He's very ill and not long for the world I'm afraid."
"Wait, you mean he's going to die?" Gibbs asked incredulously, the news effecting him more than he would have expected. "What the hell does he have? Isn't there something that can be done?"
"Oh there's something that can be done alright, but the DiNozzo's just don't have the resources to find it. Anthony has done his best, but I fear his efforts will have been in vain. I see a little empty wheelchair beside the table and a crutch without an owner."
"But if things changed, if someone helped them, is there a chance he could live?" Gibbs asked, ideas pooping into his head, and the spirit took him completely by surprise when he started to laugh.
"Why Jethro, is that concern I hear in your voice? Tiny Tim seems to keep Christmas as well as any other man on earth, should he not be thrown out the back of an F-17 with nothing but his own turkey for a parachute?" Anger shot through his veins at having his own words used against him, but before he could offer back some nasty retort, his focus was again pulled back to the family. Tony had taken Tiny Tim up into his arms and the family was saying goodnight to the boy who looked pale and trembled in his father's arms as he wished everyone a goodnight and received a kiss from each member of his family in turn. As Tony disappeared down the hall, the spirit once more addressed Gibbs.
"Come now, Jethro, there is much to see and my time grows short." And without warning, Gibbs was pulled from the tiny little apartment above the bakery spirited away to be dropped unceremoniously in the middle of a house party. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree was blaring from a stereo behind him and a handful of drunken party goers were dancing away near the speakers.
"Where the hell are we now!" Gibbs yelled over the music, glaring at the spirit and still trying to get his wits about him after being so suddenly thrust from a quiet apartment and in to a loud house party. Thankfully a moment later someone turned off the music and Gibbs turned to see his nephew Palmer addressing a crowd of people.
"Okay guys, my lovely wife says it's time for me to play and since she's extremely pregnant at the moment," Palmer turned and bowed to a woman sitting in a chair, hand resting on her very pregnant belly and smiling away proudly, "she's the boss. So any requests?"
Gibbs furrowed his brow confused as a several people around the room shouted out various Christmas tunes and Palmer made his way over to a baby grand piano set up in one corner of the living room. He sat himself down on the bench, opened the piano to reveal pristine back and white keys, and began to play without any sheet music as Gibbs watched him with eyes gone wide in shock. The room was at once filled with the merry noise of an old carol and Gibbs stood rooted in place as the music washed over him. Palmer attacked the tune with gusto and his fingers were a blur as they raced across the keys. Gibbs' sister Eleanor had played just like that and memories of her bombarded him as Palmer pounded away at piano. His lovely sister, snatched from this world too soon after having the baby of a man who'd left her with nothing but a broken heart. He closed his eyes and tried to push that darling face from his mind. He hadn't been kind to her that last year of her life, blaming her for having a baby out of wedlock and continuing to blame her even after she died, transferring that culpability to her son even after her death. Palmer was more like Ellie than he ever imagined and he lamented his decision to treat him so abysmally.
"He's amazing," Someone said at his elbow and Gibbs turned his head to find that the spirit had come up beside him.
"He is," Gibbs admitted and went back to watching his nephew's hands. The movement was memorizing and the music... beautiful.
"He does this every year, did you know?" Gibbs shook his head. He didn't know, but he did now and maybe there would be time to rectify that. He suddenly wanted to know the man sitting at the piano, playing it like his life depended on it; wanted to know him and see if there was any more of Ellie hidden in there somewhere.
After Palmer finished his mini Christmas concert, he rose from the piano bench to a round of genuine applause that Gibbs joined in with without even realizing. His nephew blushed a little at the praise then announced that it was time for games. Someone suggested charades and Gibbs groaned.
"Really?" He snorted, turning towards the spirit. "My salvation hinges on the bad party games my nephew plays at his lame Christmas party?"
But the spirit just chuckled at him. "The way you said that just now Jethro, I might actually suspect you're beginning to believe all this."
Gibbs looked away with an indignant sigh and watched the group organize themselves into teams and then begin the game. If he had attended the party he never would have participated, but as the friends got up one by one to act out the various scenarios outlined on their cards, even Gibbs had to admit it was fun. Some were better than others and one young man in particular stole the show with his antics. When it Palmer's turn came, he didn't even take slip of paper.
"I don't need one," he said mischievously when his wife reminded him he hadn't picked and Palmer's group started chatting away together trying to guess what he might use for his turn. Breena shushed them all from her chair and Palmer got ready.
Palmer stood in the center of the game space and pulled on some sort of invisible hat and outfit before crouching down and pretending to brandish a gun. Gibbs yelled out "Soldier!" forgetting that he was nothing but a silent observer and reddened a little when the spirit behind him chuckled. Someone else called out the same guess and he glared over at them and then at the spirit. Palmer made an indication that they were close then folded his arms across his chest and set his mouth into a deep scowl and glared at the next person to venture a guess. A second later his wife pulled in a shocked breath that had everyone in the living room turning towards her in concern. Palmer dropped the act immediately and ran forward to check on her but she stopped him with a laugh.
"No, sweetheart, I'm fine!" She said, putting up her hands. "I just realized who you're impersonating, that's all! It's your Uncle Jethro!" Palmer's wife exclaimed and the party goers all started to laugh as Gibbs sat fuming where he stood. It wasn't funny and he would have yelled would it have done any good.
"Okay, I get it." Gibbs said, turning towards the sprit. "Can we go now?" but his guide had taken a seat in a chair near the back of the room and Gibbs walked over to where he sat looking tired.
"You okay?" He asked and the ghost looked up at him.
"'Fraid not, old boy. I believe my time with you is over."
"Oh," He replied shortly, finding himself oddly gloomy that this particular spirit was leaving so soon. "Are you going to take me back to my place first?"
"No, Jethro, but I leave you in the capable hands of a colleague. Go forth an know him better man." The spirit said, nodding at someone behind Gibbs and when he turned around it was to an empty living room, all the party goers having vanished, and a hooded and cloaked figure stood ominously in the center of the room. Gibbs swallowed a little thickly but rounded up his courage and started towards the new spirit whose entire body was hidden by the cloak he wore except for long skeletal hands that reminded Gibbs a little of claws.
"Let me guess, Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" But the spirit said nothing and for the first time since all this madness had started, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was afraid.
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