I've only seen as far as Season 11 so, in my mind, this takes place sometime after the end of season 11.

"Bishop, I'm fine!" said Tim McGee.

"But …" Bishop tried again, "I could …"

"Bishop," said Tim as kindly and patiently as he could, "I'm fine. Go!"

Ellie Bishop stood irresolutely in front of the door to McGee's apartment as she tried to decide what to do. The MCRT had had two weeks of exhausting and draining cases which, miraculously, had all just been wound up on the afternoon of Christmas Eve meaning that Gibbs' team could actually go on their Christmas break. Bishop and Tony had been wearily delighted, Gibbs had done his usual impersonation of the Sphinx and Tim? Well, Tim had been glum.

Ellie had known Tim to be angry, upset, exhilarated, triumphant or any one of a multitude of emotions but this lethargic glumness was outside her experience and troubled her. She had gone to McGee's apartment with the intention of finding out what was bothering him but he had frozen her out and hadn't even let her through the door.

Bishop opened her mouth to try again but McGee forestalled her,

"Merry Christmas, Bishop," he said and then closed the door on her.

"Oh," said Ellie. She stared at the door for a moment or two and then reluctantly turned away.

"Oh," she said again, this time in response to seeing Tony DiNozzo limping towards her.

"Bishop," smiled Tony, "are you here doing good deeds? Trying to bring the Christmas spirit to McScrooge?"

"Trying to," admitted Ellie, "he wouldn't let me in."

"This will take an expert and experienced hand," said Tony, "you'll have to go up a couple of levels before you're ready for this. But, you're a good Probie for trying."

He walked towards the door and staggered slightly. Ellie grabbed hold of his elbow to steady him,

"Your knee still playing up?" she asked.

"Perils of playing top level basketball," said Tony boastfully, "but no worries, I got some painkillers from the pharmacy."

Ellie might not have experienced a glum McGee before but she knew what a drugged up DiNozzo was like.

"Painkillers?" she said, "Wow, look at the time. Jake'll be waiting for me. Gotta go."

"Bishop?" said Tony.

"Merry Christmas, Tony," she said, standing on tiptoe to give him a hug, "have a good one! See you in the New Year!"

"Oh. Merry Christmas to you, Probish. And seasonal felicitations to your other half," said Tony to her retreating form.

Tony watched her go and then knocked loudly on McGee's door.

"Let me in, McGrumpy!"

As Tony stared at the door he noticed a movement behind the door viewer,

"You know I won't go away, McYoucantpretendyourenotin," he said.

The sound of an exasperated sigh came through the door. Tony squared his shoulders: this was going to be a tough one. The door flew open to reveal an unamused McGee.

"Go away, DiNozzo."

"That's not very welcoming," scolded Tony, "on Christmas Eve as well. Where's your Christmas spirit?"

"Not in the mood," snapped McGee.

"That's OK," said Tony, apparently ignoring this, "I've got enough for two. In fact, more than enough for two," and he barrelled his way past Tim. He paused when he got into the apartment,

"Whoa," he said, "You're really not in the mood, are you? This place would depress Ebenezer Whatshisname. You haven't even put your Christmas cards up. And I know you got at least one 'cos Abby showed it me."

"OK," said Tim, "you've given me your invaluable opinion of my apartment. Now go!"

"And your Christmas tree," said Tony, pointing to a forlorn collection of twigs in the corner, "it makes Charlie Brown's tree look like the National Christmas Tree!"

"I haven't had time!" said McGee crossly, "I guess your apartment looks like Martha Stewart dropped by but some of us have been working, you know!"

"Keep your Christmas sweater on, McQuerulous," said Tony, "we can sort this."

"I don't want it sorted," said McGee grumpily, "I like it fine as it is. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be at home? Resting that knee?"

Tony shook his head dismissively, "It's no trouble," he said kindly. "Now. Where do you keep your Christmas ornaments?"

"Tony," said McGee as patiently as he could, "I want you to go. Now! And what d'you think Boss will say if he finds out that you're not resting your leg?"

"No problemo," said Tony airily, "I got some painkillers from the pharmacy."

"Painkillers?" moaned Tim, "you've taken painkillers and you're walking around unsupervised?"

"Technically, I'm limping," mused Tony. "Now, where did you say those decorations were?"

"I didn't," said Tim.

"Ah," said Tony, "I see. It's a game. Find the Christmas festive things. See, I knew you were in the Christmas spirit really."

"No, Tony …" said McGee desperately but it was too late. Tony was making his way round the apartment trying to work out where Tim kept his Christmas ornaments. Tony came to a halt by Tim's bookshelves and looked up to where he could see a cardboard box on the top shelf.

"Found them," said Tony triumphantly. He began to look round for something to stand on and pulled a couple of squishy cushions off Tim's couch and made ready to stand on them.

"Stop!" said Tim, "you'll fall off and break your leg!"

Tony turned and gave Tim a hug, "Aww, I didn't know you cared," he said emotionally.

"I don't," said Tim bitterly, "but I'd never get rid of you if your leg was in plaster. Stay where you are. I'll get the decorations." He walked to his desk and retrieved a box from under it. "There you are," he said.

Tony seemed dissatisfied and continued to look up at the other box, "so what's in that box, McSecretive?" he asked.

"None of your business," said Tim.

"Ooh, a mystery!" said Tony, "I love a mystery. That's why I became a cop." He showed signs of wanting to continue his scaling of the shelves so Tim tried to think of a distraction.

"Have you had anything to eat, Tony?" He was thinking, and hoping, that food might somehow 'soak up' whatever drugs were making their demented way round Tony's susceptible body.

Tony inclined his head as he considered this, "Well, obviously I've had something to eat. Otherwise I'd be dead but …"

"But what?"

"But I can't remember when. Sometime today, I think. Possibly," Tony trailed off.

"Tony!" said Tim in exasperation, "you have to eat! Especially if you're taking painkillers."

"See, that's what I like about you, McGenius," said Tony admiringly, "you always know something about everything."

"You need to eat, Tony," said Tim very slowly and clearly.

"Thank you, Tim. Pizza would be good," said Tony gratefully.

Tim sighed. He just wanted to be on his own with his depression but his conscience wouldn't allow him to let a drugged-up DiNozzo loose in DC.

"OK," he said unwillingly.

"And garlic bread," said Tony as Tim got his cell out.

"And sodas. Ooh, and some ice-cream … and some chocolate sauce."

Tim huffed, "not exactly Christmas food, is it?"

"Thought you weren't in the Christmas mood," said Tony a little more sharply than Tim would have expected.

"I'm not!"

"Why not?" asked Tony.

"What?"

"It seems to me you're the sort of guy who is Christmassy," said Tony.

"Well, you're wrong. OK?" said Tim crossly. "I'm going to order the food. And … and … I'm getting Christmas sauce for the ice-cream," he added defiantly.

"What's Christmas sauce?"

"Red berry sauce. My grandma used to give it to us on Christmas Eve."

"Penny?" asked Tony in some surprise.

This got a laugh out of Tim. "No, my Mom's mom. She said it was what Santa had before going out to deliver the presents on Christmas night. If we stayed with her over Christmas we put out a saucer of it before we went to bed."

"That's cute, McGee," said Tony. He leant back on the couch and closed his eyes for a moment.

Tim took the opportunity to go and phone for the food. In a moment of weakness he ordered both chocolate and red berry sauce. He regretted his kindness when he returned to his sitting area and discovered that Tony had emptied all the Christmas ornaments over the floor and was staring at them with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Tony!" yelled Tim.

"Yes?" said Tony looking up innocently.

"You've taken all the decorations out."

"You're welcome," said Tony smugly.

"Well, you can put them all back. I'm not decorating."

"Why not? You have before," said Tony.

"Only because Sarah likes it," blustered Tim, "I don't care for them myself."

"They're good decorations," said Tony as he fingered a plush Santa figure which had seen better days.

"I guess," said Tim.

"We used to have new decorations every year," said Tony.

"Of course you did," sighed Tim, "always got to go one better, haven't you?"

"Oh," said Tony, "No. It wasn't a good thing. Senior wasn't big on tradition. It all had to be fashionable, up to the minute. And I wasn't allowed to help decorate the tree."

"Poor little rich boy," said Tim.

Tony kept his eyes on a tinsel garland he was untangling, "but the butler …"

"Butler?" exclaimed Tim.

"So we had a butler? Not my fault," said Tony. "Anyway, the butler let me help decorate the tree in the servants' quarters. And I had this Italian snow globe that my Nonna gave me. I kept it in my bedroom. When I was feeling sad I used to shake it up and then watch the snow come down and settle. I used to wish that things in the real world would calm down that easily."

"Here," said Tim, "give me that tinsel. You're making it worse."

Tony meekly passed the garland to Tim who quickly untangled it and then absentmindedly draped it along a shelf. Tony gave him another strand and Tim wrapped it round his computer screen. Tony continued to extract the tinsel and, after looking at each piece, passed it to Tim who then put it in what was clearly its customary place. They continued in silence until interrupted by a knock at the door.

Tim opened the door to the pizza delivery man who looked a bit disapproving of people eating fast food on Christmas Eve. Tim went back into the apartment and found that Tony had taken the opportunity to drag the sad Christmas tree in the centre of the room.

"Tony!" yelled Tim, "what are you doing? I told you, I'm not going to decorate the tree. And anyway, it's too late. Look at it!"

"McGivingupbeforei'vestarted," said Tony disapprovingly, "remember Charlie Brown's tree!"

"No," said McGee flatly, "I never watched Charlie Brown."

"McDeprived," gasped Tony, "you missed out on a kindred spirit."

"Why?" asked McGee suspiciously.

"Things always go wrong for Charlie Brown," said Tony earnestly, "he reaches for the stars but they always move out of reach; his friends are unkind to him; his dog is more intelligent than him; his plans never …"

"Stop!" said McGee, "I get the picture. Thanks, Tony. That makes me feel a lot better."

"You're welcome," said Tony with a sleepy smile.

Tim suddenly realised that if he let Tony fall asleep he would never get rid of him so he asked loudly,

"So what about the tree?"

Tony's eyes flew open,

"You mean we can decorate after all?"

"No. No. No, I meant. Tell me about Charlie Brown's Christmas tree."

"Oh, Ok. Well, I don't remember it all but Charlie Brown wanted a great Christmas tree but ended up with this wimpy weak one. And everyone laughed at it and he finished up giving up on it."

"Wow," said Tim sarcastically, "that's a great story, Tony. Real heart-warming. Good moral to it."

"Wait," said Tony, "you haven't heard the end."

"OK, surprise me," said Tim wearily.

"His friends came to the rescue. They decorated the tree."

"Thought you said his friends were mean to him," said Tim.

"They were," agreed Tony, "because they weren't perfect. They got things wrong sometimes. But, when it was important, they stepped up to the mark. It's what friends do, Tim."

"And the tree?"

"Stepped up to the mark as well. It was a great tree."

"It's just a story, Tony," said Tim, picking up the plush Santa.

"What is it?" said Tony, "life imitating art or art imitating life? Which comes first?"

"What you doing here, Tony?" asked Tim.

"Eating pizza, I hope," said Tony. "Come to think of it. What am I doing here?"

"Don't ask me," said Tim, "I didn't invite you."

"Don't feel bad about it," said Tony.

"Bad about what?"

"Not inviting me. I'm not hurt. Much."

"Go home, Tony," said McGee wearily.

"But we haven't finished the tree yet. Or had your Christmas sauce."

"We're not decorating the tree. And I don't want Christmas sauce." Tim flung the plush toy on to the floor and stamped out of the room to go to the bathroom. There he stared at himself in the mirror, wondering what was happening to him. Tony was right, he did usually enjoy Christmas but this year was different. He splashed cold water over his eyes and then went back to the task of dislodging the intruder from his living room.

"Tony! You're doing it wrong!" he said crossly when he got back and found that Tony had unearthed the Christmas lights and was in the middle of draping them round the tree.

"What?" said Tony vaguely, "what do you mean?"

"You've got to do it evenly," said Tim, "you're bunching them up."

"Hey," said Tony happily, "that's a new one."

"What?"

"Don't get your Christmas lights in a bunch. Nice one McInvention."

"Don't you know anything?" asked McGee, "Decorating Christmas trees is all about symmetry."

"Like I said," said Tony sadly, "I don't know much about tree adornment."

"Yeah," said Tim, "it must have been really hard. Having to watch your tree being decorated with the latest, most expensive type of decoration. And expensive presents under the tree too, I expect."

"Yes," agreed Tony, "best money could buy."

"What does that mean?" asked Tim, absentmindedly rearranging the lights to his taste.

"Money doesn't buy the best Christmas, Tim."

"Is that from the wisdom of Charlie Brown too?" asked Tim suspiciously.

"Hey. Don't knock the Charlie Brown," said Tony defensively, "he knew what he was talking about. Well, no, he didn't. Well, he did in the end but he usually took the long way round to getting there."

"That makes it clear," said Tim.

Tony passed him a Christmas snowflake which Tim hung on a branch.

"Just saying, Tim. In my experience money doesn't make a Christmas. I'm not saying it doesn't help but it's not the most important thing."

"Oh, so it's the DiNozzo wisdom I'm getting," said McGee, "not the Charlie Brown version."

"Let's just say that Christmas in the DiNozzo family wasn't the same once my mom wasn't around," said Tony. He handed Tim a silver bell. He peered at the heap of decorations. "You've got a Christmas Luke Skywalker?" he said incredulously as he saw another figurine.

"I was a Star Wars fan," said Tim defensively. He snatched the figure from Tony and hung it high on the tree.

"You know," said Tony pensively, "for someone who's decided they don't like Christmas you seem to have a lot of decorations. And what do you mean, you were a Star Wars fan? Don't turn your back on the Force, man."

"What are you doing here, Tony?" asked Tim.

"You asked me that before," said Tony. "I think."

"And you didn't answer me," said Tim.

"I'm chewing the fat with a buddy," said Tony.

"Yeah, we don't really do that, do we?" said Tim, "so again, what are you doing here?"

"We're talking about Charlie Brown," said Tony vaguely, "are you sure you never saw it? 'Cos it's so you."

"I'm sure," said Tim, "so …"

"Hey. Where's the ice cream with Christmas sauce?" interrupted Tony.

"What?"

"It's a McGee tradition," said Tony, "I want to experience it."

"Not a McGee tradition," said Tim.

"But you said …"

"My Mom's mom. Not McGee. Cooper."

"Whatever. Bring it on."

Tim acquiesced wearily and gave Tony a bowl of ice cream and red berry sauce.

"You not having any?" Tony asked.

Tim sighed and served himself a bowl as well. Somehow he thought obeying Tony was the quickest option. He reflected that was the pattern of his life with Tony.

"You always get your way, don't you?" he said bitterly.

"No," said Tony simply, "not that I've noticed." He took a spoonful of ice cream and sauce, "hey, this is good. Grandma Cooper was right."

"She loved Christmas," said Tim reminiscently.

"But you don't?" said Tony, concentrating on spooning the last morsel of sauce from his dish.

"I like those dishes," said McGee mildly, "no need to scrape the pattern off."

Tony grinned but wasn't diverted, "but you don't? Like Christmas, I mean?"

"What's there to like?" asked McGee, "it's just make believe."

"What do you mean?" asked Tony going back to handing decorations to Tim.

"All this pretending to be happy. Eating too much. Spending money we haven't got. Being with people we don't want to be with. Not being with the people we want to be with."

Tony didn't say anything but passed a wooden reindeer to Tim.

"And these last weeks. All the horrible people doing horrible things to one another. And we just play catch up all the time. What's the point?"

Tony didn't say anything immediately but handed Tim the star. Tim put it on the top of the tree. Tony pointed to the tree, "Don't know, Tim. But the tree looks pretty good, doesn't it?"

Tim looked at it. It wasn't the best tree he'd ever had but it certainly looked better than it had when Tony had arrived.

"Sometimes it's about rescuing things, Tim. It's not perfect. But it's better than nothing."

Tim managed a wry smile. "Thanks, Tony." He stood up, a clear indication that he thought Tony's visit should be over.

"So," said Tony, not taking the hint, "not being with the people we want to be with? That on your mind, McLonesome?"

"I miss Delilah," admitted Tim, "I sort of hoped she might be going to surprise me. Guess I was hoping … what was it you said, life would imitate art?" He shrugged philosophically and moved towards the door in a suggestive way.

"Red berry sauce," said Tony.

"Yeah. I know. You're a fan. I'll get you a jar," said Tim impatiently.

"You had it when you went to your grandmother's at Christmas?"

"I know, it's a boring tradition. Not like your amazing DiNozzo ones. I apologize for being ordinary."

"I always envied you being ordinary," said Tony.

"Gee, thanks," said Tim.

"I mean. You're not ordinary. You're one of the most extraordinary people I've ever met. Intelligent, sharp, knowledgeable. You know, apart from movies … and Charlie Brown … you've always have an opinion on everything. No, I used to envy your normal family. Mom, Dad, baby sister … sounded idyllic. Your parents never warehoused you, they wanted you – loved you, cherished you."

"But …" said Tim.

"But it wasn't true, was it? You were pretending it had all been wonderful."

"Says the master of pretence," said McGee.

"This isn't about me," said Tony.

"Makes a change."

"I will ignore that," said Tony loftily, "and just say that I find it interesting that you have a red berry tradition."

"DiNozzo," said McGee wearily, "it's late. Go home. Sleep off whatever it is you've taken that's made you loopy. I'm fine. The apartment is decorated. The tree has been Charlie Browned. I'm in the Christmas spirit. Go!"

"Wow," said Tony, "I don't want any Christmas spirit if that's what it's like."

"Tony …"

"How's your Dad?"

"What?"

"I know what it's like to have a … difficult … relationship with a parent. But I don't know how I'd feel if Senior was dying."

"I'm fine, Tony. Go home. It was nice of you to come round but I'm fine."

"And I'm wondering which the Christmases were that you spent with people you'd prefer not to."

"You mean apart from this one? Right now?"

"Yes. I'm guessing the red berry ones were OK? Otherwise you wouldn't keep it as a tradition."

"Putting those detective skills to good use, are you?"

"Don't know. Am I, Tim?"

"My life isn't a movie, Tony. Despite what you think. And my Dad and I are talking now."

"Not easy seeing what you've missed out on though, is it?"

"This about you again, Tony?"

"No. No, it's not. You liked the Christmases you spent with your grandmother. Putting out red berry sauce for Santa?"

"Yes."

"Why did you spend Christmases with your grandma?"

"It's what families do. As you'd know if you had one."

"Ouch, Timmy, that's not nice," Tony blinked a couple of times, yawned and tapped the silver bell on the tree. "It doesn't work," he said in a tone of disappointment.

Tim looked at Tony's unfocussed eyes and realised that Tony would probably not remember any of this conversation in the morning.

"We went to Gran's when my father was posted away," said Tim, keeping his eyes on the tree. "And they were happy Christmases because he wasn't there. He wasn't there criticizing me, judging me or undermining me."

"It's good to have happy memories," offered Tony sleepily.

"But I always felt guilty," said Tim, "for being happy that he wasn't there. Knowing that wasn't right. And now, when I know he's not going to be around much longer, I feel even more guilty. Thinking I should have done more, made an effort. Been the son he wanted. Not be a disappointment to him."

"You're a son most fathers would be proud of, Tim."

"Just not mine," said Tim sadly.

"It's not perfect, Tim. But …"

"Please. No more DiNozzo wisdom."

"Wasn't going to give you any. But don't give up on Christmas. Remember Charlie Brown."

"And his friends?" suggested Tim.

Tony shrugged, "we fixed the tree, didn't we? You've got time, Tim. Perhaps there's time to fix things with your Dad too."

Tony reached out and flicked the switch for the tree lights. "Your lights don't work." He stood up and stretched, "time to go," he announced, "No, don't try and stop me."

"You want me to drive you home?" asked Tim, still anxious about Tony's painkillers.

"No. I'll be fine. I'll call a cab."

"Thanks, Tony," said McGee with sudden sincerity.

"No problem. But you should get a better tree next time."

"Merry Christmas, Tony," said Tim showing him to the door.

Tony gave a gracious wave in acknowledgement and left. Tim went back inside and sat down next to the tree. He remembered that one bulb always came loose so he reached forward and screwed it back in. The lights came on. "Fixed," said Tim with satisfaction. The tree wasn't perfect but it had its own beauty.

NCISNCIS

Outside Tim's apartment block, Tony stopped to draw out his cell. He tapped out a text message,

"Delilah. Tim in Christmas spirit. Waiting for you. Tony. And Wheels, don't criticise the tree."

Tony nodded with satisfaction and put his cell back in his coat pocket. As he did so his fingers brushed against the unopened box of painkillers.

"Oops," he said, "I forgot to take any painkillers."

AN: probably one more chapter to come.