Chapter One

em"He who has not Christmas in his heart will not find it under a tree."/em

Snowfall. What was Christmas without snow, anyway? Even George Bailey, with his entire world falling to pieces around him knew that it should snow on Christmas. Tony shrugged deeper into his wool coat and held out one bare hand to let the feathery flakes touch down on his skin. Christmas should always be snowy. Cold. With grey skies and a hazy, blurred horizon. As if Someone was telling all of them to stop, to savor this day. That looking to the future could wait for just a little while.

Upstairs in MTAC he was sharing part of the DiNozzo Christmas Experience. 'It's a Wonderful Life' on the widescreen. Homemade caramel popcorn. While out here, another vital Christmas puzzle piece was taking care of itself. New York. Ohio. Illinois. Baltimore. And here in DC. A DiNozzo Christmas meant snow. Twinkling lights tucked into green fir branches didn't look right against any other backdrop.

Yes, the set dressing had been perfect for Ned Quinn's return to his family. The Great Director and Screenwriter in the Sky couldn't have arranged it better, not with all of the special effects stored in Spielberg's garage. The prodigal returns. Tony's breath bloomed before him in a cloud as he laughed. Wrong Bible story. This was 'no room at the inn' season, right? Yeah. He nodded. Except, this Christmas, the doors had been opened and the weary traveler had been welcomed with loving arms.

Strange. They hardly ever got storybook endings around here. He should be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Tony glanced at his watch. He wanted to time this perfectly. George Bailey should be at the end of his rope right about now. Lost. Confused. And, finally, realizing that he might have made more of an impact on the little town of Bedford Falls than he ever knew. Pretty soon he'd look into the eyes of the woman who should be his wife, of his Mary, and see only fear there. Only might have beens. Only what ifs.

What ifs. This case had been full of them.

What if Ned and his buddy hadn't switched patrols? What if Ned hadn't drowned his grief and guilt in drugs and alcohol? What if he'd gotten help sooner? What if a different charitable family had picked him up for some Christmas good will?

And what if it had been Detective Anthony DiNozzo who had married Victoria Vanderlicht twelve years ago, not Detective Justin Kemp?

If there was one thing Tony had learned from George Bailey, from his yearly tradition of watching the best Christmas movie ever, it was that what ifs and might have beens only lead you down the wrong roads. Roads where a war hero died in childhood. A harlot with a heart of gold never got a second chance. Where you weren't even welcome in the toughest, meanest bar in town.

For a moment, out there in the car with Ziva, Tony had almost forgotten that. For a moment, he had let his thoughts take him there, back to the breath-stealing romance between a Baltimore cop and a beautiful woman. To the dinners and movies and walks in the park. To the all night talks and simple pleasures of cooking a meal together, browsing a book store, laughing so hard at something only the two of them got. She'd been sweet. He'd been head-over-heels.

And then he'd met her father. He'd been ushered into the great man's study after their dinner at the Fell's Point mansion, the whole scene just a little too familiar to Tony. He could feel the dream unraveling before Victoria's father could blow his first smoke ring as he swirled the 20-year-old scotch in the monogrammed Copenhagen glass. When the multi-millionaire told him point-blank that, oh, yes, he knew of Tony's father, that he'd been in business with him once and learned his lesson about the integrity of people named DiNozzo, Tony's gut had filled with ice. Vanderlicht was a man of few words, but with them, he'd managed to rip Tony's romantic dream into tiny pieces. He was sending Victoria away, to their villa in Tuscany. She was on her way to the airport. And, considering that Tony's father was barely more than a conman and a thief, a certain young detective should count himself lucky that no "anonymous sources" would be tipping off the Baltimore PD about his familial ties to the criminal element.

And Justin Kemp, sometime drinking buddy, softball rival, law enforcement colleague, was waiting not so patiently in the wings to step in and become the good son. Tony shook his head, setting the flakes that fell around him into a mini whirlwind. Kemp brought his honest roots, his middle-class parents, and his aw shucks attitude with just the right mixture of pride and appreciation. He got the girl. And the children. And the fortune. And Tony got Wendy. Another broken heart. And a transfer. He got Vivian and Katy and Tim and Ziva, Jeanne and Paula, Tom and Jenny, Vance and Franks and Gibbs, and a family known as NCIS.

Well, why stop the what ifs there? What if Tony had still been dating Victoria when Gibbs offered him the job in DC? Happily married when a certain lipsticked envelope was delivered? Would he have been so quick to claim it? To open it? To breathe in deadly white powder that had scarred his lungs for life? Would Jenny have approached a married man to steal Benoit's secrets and his daughter's heart or would her obsession have taken another course? Would she have died alone in an abandoned desert bar or gone quietly into the night? And would Vance have still sent him away, with no notice and no discussion, if Tony had been married with a baby on the way?

Maybe his teammates would have respected a married guy when Gibbs took off to Ole Mexico. Maybe his probie, Michelle Lee, would have trusted him to help her, to dig her out of the bottomless pit of treason and deceit before it was too late. Too late for her, for Langer, for so many others. Maybe Gibbs would have thought twice about the head-slaps and the overtime, the ridiculous demands, the distrust, and the damned secrecy. Or, maybe he'd have looked into Tony's eyes, the eyes of a father, like him, and allowed a tiny spark of camaraderie to burn there. A link. A more level playing field. Maybe even a friendship.

Upstairs, a certain Angel, First Class, knew better. "Strange, isn't it?" Clarence had said to George Bailey. "Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"

"Ah, Clarence," Tony sighed. "Where are you when I need you?"

When George Bailey saw Mary's face, watched her faint away in fear, he knew. He knew his life was worth something. Something more than the money he'd lost. Than the adventures he had never known. That even if his life was less than perfect, he'd touched others. Saved some, helped some, and bound a few together. His true family was worth jail, or disgrace, or bankruptcy. It was worth anything. And, upstairs, Tony had a family. Weird, dysfunctional, yes, but a family. And he was going to embrace it, enjoy it. It was his turn to bring laughter, to bring joy. If not at Christmas, then when?

Tony rubbed his hand against his coat and slipped his leather glove back on, clenching stiff fingers. Not one of his teammates seemed to do family right. Ziva's had raised hardened patriots, sacrificing love and tenderness for strategic gain. Tim's admiral father couldn't look past his son's ultimate sin of not joining up to continue the legacy. Ducky – never married, perennial child to his childlike mother. And then there was Gibbs. Stubbornly alone. His heart eternally unhealed of the searing pain of his losses.

Tony's family history fit right in.

He shivered and drew his gaze back down from the mesmerizing sight of fat flakes appearing out of the darkness. Around the Navy Yard, the concrete and brick was shrouded in a smooth, clean blanket. White. Pure. It was a thin façade, but, tonight, it would do. He slid his key into the lock on his trunk and lifted out the shopping bag filled with brightly wrapped packages. He had just enough time to get to the bullpen, set each package on its owner's desk, and see the end of the film.

"Daddy, teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings!"

Tony smiled, mouthing the last words of the movie along with Jimmy Stewart. "Atta boy Clarence. Atta boy."

Abby bounced out of her chair to wrap Tony in a hug. "Tony! I was afraid you were going to miss the end!"

He laughed. "Never, Abs. Just had a little elf-ing of my own to do."

She linked arms with him as they followed their teammates down the stairs, her head on his shoulder. Like a slightly skewed brother and sister, Tony and Abby didn't apologize for reveling in the season, in presents and Santa, twinkling lights and snowball fights.

Her head popped up and she clapped black-gloved hands together. "Oh, look! Gibbs is back!"

Tony watched the team leader shake water off of his coat with both hands as he rounded the corner into the bullpen. His usual stiff posture was eased, his eyes clear for the first time since Ned Quinn's case had erupted. Good. Maybe Gibbs could still head up to Stillwater and spend a little time with his dad. Tony slid one hand into his inside jacket pocket, feeling the smooth paper of the envelope he still held there, unsure whether to leave Gibbs' present on his desk or deliver it to the man's house himself. This was better, he nodded. Together. That's how a family should open presents.

He felt Abby's bony hip bump into his. "You know he was only kidding, right? Just grumpy old Papa Smurf keeping up the act."

"Kidding? About what?" Tony frowned, still fingering Gibbs' gift, wondering – for the sixty-second time – if he shouldn't have just bought his Boss another bottle of Jack.

"About the 'attitude adjustment' thing. You know."

Tony stopped midway down the stairs and turned towards her, his mind stuttering like a broken film on an old fashioned projector. "'Attitude adjustment'?"

"You know." Abby's hands were flying. "When I asked Gibbs what he was getting you for Christmas and he snarled, 'an attitude adjustment.'" Her best Gibbs voice sounded more like Ethel Merman. "That was just Bossman being Bossman."

He couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it if he tried. Tony's head turned, his gaze grazing over Ziva's excited face as she slid a knife beneath the curled, blue ribbon wrapped around her gift, across Tim's hurrying figure as he moved quickly towards his own desk and his own present. Gibbs didn't sit, just bent over his desk, one hand on the back of his chair, the other quick to tap a few keys, shut down his computer, and nudge his belongings into order. One hand lifted, reaching for the single lamp, and Gibbs' eyes lifted with it, finding Tony. Tony and Abby. Their voices loud in the empty bullpen.

"Why does Gibbs think I need an attitude adjustment?"

"You mean this time, DiNozzo?"

Tony let Abby pull him down the steps, let her lead him into the alleyway that defined his team's home within the bright orange walls of NCIS. Ziva was cooing, running her hands across the cashmere and silk pashmina she'd snatched from the wrapping. Tim's voice registered from across the way, exclaiming over the Dashiell Hammett first edition Tony'd found in a New York bookshop. This is the part Tony loved. The part that he'd been waiting for. Seeing the faces of his teammates as they opened the gifts he'd searched high and low for, after weeks of hunting – deliberating – investigating – until he was sure this was that one gift they would truly love. Tony loved everything about Christmas, but this? Seeing the look in the eyes of those you care about as they open something meant just for them? This was perfect.

Or it should have been. Now he couldn't tear his eyes from Gibbs' face.

"Wow, Boss. Thanks – I guess." Yeah. It hurt. So sue him.

Gibbs half smiled. "Bad time to stop being able to take a joke, DiNozzo."

It was as if the two of them stood within a calm, the whirlwind of Christmas swirling around them. Abby let go, dropping away to be caught up in Ziva's purring and Tim's high-pitched excitement. Where was the snow? The twinkling lights? The warmth of family that Tony had been fostering all evening? This place – this moment – was cold and dark and felt a lot like dismissal. Disappointment. Regret.

He stared into steely blue eyes, the what ifs and might have beens shouldering their way forward in his thoughts to crouch, predatory, eager to pounce. He brushed aside Gibbs' too frequent, too familiar excuse as if he hadn't heard it. Not this time.

"Something about my attitude bothering you, Boss?"

"Well, yeah, Tony." Gibbs' chilly expression and daunting body language could sink a cruise ship. "Thought maybe you'd grown up a little, left the chucklehead out there when you were A-floating."

"Huh." Interesting choice of words. "And just how have I been acting like a 'chucklehead,' Boss? I mean, specifically." Tony took a half-step forward, hurt and anger tying his gut unto a knot. It had all been so happy – so peaceful – just a moment before. "So I can adjust precisely to your specifications."

"Tony – "

That was Tim. Probie. His eagerness for a peaceful settlement to this stand-off just bouncing off the bubble of confrontation he and Gibbs had built around themselves.

"I mean, was it my getting my face pounded by the MPs during your secret mission with Domino? Too immature for you? Or maybe it was my accepting of your latest award, after all," he laughed, all teeth and bitterness, "I am almost as big a narcissist as a serial killer." Wasn't this perfect? A true family Christmas couldn't be celebrated without the clichéd fight – the undercurrent of resentment and anger bursting up through the thin layer of crispy pie-crust happiness. Joy to the freaking world.

Gibbs was not one to back down. Ever. If anything, he fine-tuned his blandness into his blunt weapon of choice. "I dunno, DiNozzo, I guess I was hoping you'd changed, but between the air guitar and thinking face competitions, not to mention Christmas movie night, kinda poured cold water all over that."

Voices around them intruded, soothed.

"Gibbs! What's wrong with movie night?"

"Hey, c'mon you guys."

"It has been a long few days, perhaps …"

Not exactly a choir of angels, but their teammates' interference pricked the darkness around Tony and Gibbs, allowing in tiny shafts of light and hope. Tony shoved down his resentment – his anger - that his dream of a sweet, joyful Christmas had been cancelled out by Scrooge McGrinch. Bossman. Gibbs. Another father figure Tony had apparently disappointed, earning the blue ribbon of Not Good Enough.

It was a damned wonderful life, wasn't it?

He snatched the envelope out of his jacket and slapped it against Gibbs' chest, forcing his boss to grab at it before it could fall. "Hey, Merry Christmas, Gibbs. Hope you get everything you wish for."

The snow had stopped falling when he pulled out of the Navy Yard. Alone. The night sky was clear, stars watching from a cold distance.

"Clarence, don't get any ideas," Tony mumbled as he made the turn onto 9th Street. Sleep was all he needed tonight. No family. No friends. No yule logs or tree trimming or carol singing. No ZuZu petals or bells ringing.

As if on cue his cell sounded from his coat pocket. "Gotta change that ringtone," he muttered as he finally grabbed it and thumbed the off-switch. Vance had promised them a day off. Tony would be breaking rule number three for the duration.

As he took a left onto M Street, he unconsciously finished the musical phrase his ringtone had started. "… and danced by the light of the moon."