Spoilers: Through Season 7's "Faith." This is a post-ep for that episode, so if you haven't seen it, this probably won't make much sense.

Disclaimer: In the spirit of the season, can't we all just share? I promise to give them back much happier than their original condition.

Warning: Serious fluff and cliché action ahead. You've been warned! Grab your eggnog and molasses cookies, sit back, and enjoy!

A.N.: I tried to whip this out pretty quickly. I know many things here have been done before, but this is my take on it… Many thanks and hugs to Ana for all the Tiva-analyzing that inspired this and for being my willing guinea pig.

Playing Santa

Christmas Eve

The Squadroom, 5:47pm

"You can do this, DiNozzo," Tony mutters to himself. "It's just a doll. What's the worst that could happen? She could swing her stocking filled with coal at your family diamonds, thus ending the DiNozzo line once and for all?"

He chuckles into the dark bullpen at the mental image. Dolores is wearing striped knee socks and fake pointy ears in his vision; the curl of her elf-shoes mirroring the steep downturn of her lips.

"Do not worry, Tony, I will not let her harm your precious gems," a voice suddenly murmurs into his ear. Tony jumps three feet off his chair. The cackle that follows in response leaves no denying exactly who ambushed him in the otherwise silent space.

"It's jewels, Cindy Lou Who," he snarls as he turns to face his partner. Then, on further thought, he adds, "Though I don't see how that's any better than gems."

"Exactly," Ziva nods, as if she had known the distinction all along. Out of habit, he tracks her every movement as she first leans against his desk, then shifts her weight so she's sitting on top of it. His eyebrows rise as he watches her wiggle her way closer to him and the festively wrapped present taking up most of his workspace.

"What are you doing here?" He asks because he is sure that is what she expects him to ask, though he knew as soon as he dropped the time and date of his Secret Santa exchange into conversation that Ziva would get it. That Ziva would come.

Ziva just shrugs and picks at the bow on his present. She ignores his hand when he tries to swat her away. She ignores his question, too.

"What did you get her?" Her eyes narrow as she studies the gift. He doesn't doubt her super ninja senses can detect exactly what he spent hours trying to find the day before, then spent even more hours trying to wrap with his bruised hand. In the end, his neighbor, Mrs. Clark, had taken pity on him and worked magic with gold ribbon.

Every year, he declares he loves Christmas. Then, every year, it manages to let him down. He sighs. He watches Ziva with interest as she bends her body, trying to get closer to the present, and gives the box a tentative shake. She arches an eyebrow at him, but he gives nothing away.

"Stop being so nosy or Santa will put coal in your stocking, too," he scolds as he moves the box out of Ziva's reach. She watches it go with a dejected face but makes no move to follow it. If anything, she scoots closer to him. Then, his words sink in. Her face contorts. Tony smirks when he imagines Dolores and Ziva arguing over the last of Santa's coal. It's better than nothing, the Scrooge of HR grumbles as Ziva lands a roundhouse kick to her pinched face.

"Santa does not visit me, Tony," Ziva says slowly, as if speaking to a confused child. "I am Jewish."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Yes, I realize that, The Probie Who Stole Christmas."

In a huff, Ziva slides off his desk and glides out of his cubical. "I believe it is time to face the carols, Tony." She glances back at him over her shoulder and the movement sends a cascade of brown waves down her back. Tony's hand twitches with the urge to touch those silky strands. It's his sore one, so he grimaces. Questions rise in Ziva's eyes but he pushes past them.

"You'd do well to spend less time on the language of love and more time on English, young Ziva," Tony replies as he stands up. He starts to straighten his suit.

Because he's looking down, he misses when Ziva has invaded his space again. He gets a whiff of her shampoo, something that reminds him of tea and makes him feel all relaxed inside, as he takes in the former assassin in his face. Ziva's eyes sparkle with mischief, a grin tugs at her lips making that adorable hidden dimple in the corner of her mouth stand out. His stare drops to it immediately. She moves closer. Heat flushes his body.

"It was a pun," she growls, her sweet face a stark contrast to the threat in her tone.

"Cute, my red-nosed Probie," he grins and taps her on the nose.

Scrunching her face at him, she retreats toward the elevator. He grabs his gift and hurries after her.

The Elevator, 5:58pm

They are silent as the doors close in front of them. Tony looks straight ahead. He waits until Ziva's eyes flicker up to his face before he leans over and hits the emergency stop switch. Ziva barely has time to throw him a questioning look before the elevator grinds to a halt and makes them both stumble a bit.

"Do not chicken out," she says and reaches across him to turn the elevator back on. He takes the calculated risk of grabbing her and gently turning her to face him. She looks up at him questioningly.

"I'm not chickening out," he whispers, his voice coming out much softer than he anticipated. It startles her, too, and he feels the muscle under his hand relax as she focuses her attention on him. He soothes her worried expression with a smile. "Santa decided you've been a good little ninja after all."

She gives him a strange look that quickly changes to one of surprise when he lifts his hand. A white gold chain is threaded through his fingers. Ziva's eyes go wide as she takes in the pendant that swings gently from the chain, an elegant, understated Star of David.

"Tony," she breathes and just the light he sees blossom in Ziva's face makes Tony's grin widen. She traces a finger along the points of the star, following the solid and clean lines of the shape. "But…we agreed not to exchange gifts."

Tony shrugs. Like he ever intended to follow through on that promise. "You deserve it. For saving my worthless ass the other day and everything else that you do."

He regrets his choice of words the instant they leave his mouth. Ziva straightens and looks up at him in alarm. Suddenly, they are both back in Israel. Tony shakes his head, trying to clear the image. Now is not the time to go back there. Now is the time to focus on the fact that Ziva's here. In America. For good.

"I didn't mean…" He hurries to say and Ziva, clearly just as eager to switch topics as he is, waves her hand to clear the air.

"I know," she nods and they share a brief moment of understanding. He thinks. It's so hard to tell with her sometimes. But then she is looking at the necklace again, and her eyes peek up at him from beneath long lashes and her smile is soft and he finds himself feeling all melty inside again. "Thank you," she says, rather shyly for an assassin.

"Here," he gestures for her to spin around. In several clumsy movements, he has Dolores' present on the ground and Ziva's necklace free from his fingers. He finds himself measuring his breath as he carefully moves aside Ziva's hair so that her neck is bared to him. They are silent; the only sound in the small space is their breathing, slow and even. Ziva gathers her hair out of the way with one hand and he swears he sees it tremble. He has to resist the urge to run his finger over the smooth skin of her neck. Instead, he fumbles with the clasp to the necklace. He lays it gently on her skin, admiring the contrast of the light chain on her sun-kissed flesh.

When he's finished, Ziva takes a deep breath. Her hand closes over the pendant and she turns to him with shining eyes.

"I know it's not the same…." He starts to explain, "I know it could never replace the one you wore before."

"It's perfect," is all she says and studies him again with a look he thinks he's supposed to understand but, instead, just makes him feel all jittery. Like he's thirteen years old again and wondering where he's allowed to put his hands. All he can do is stare back and hope there isn't drool running down his chin.

With a sigh that could be either contented or frustrated, Ziva flips the switch to send the elevator whirring back to life. "If you think this gets you out of giving Dolores her gift, you are sorely mistaken, Saint Nick."

For a few blissful minutes, he had forgotten all about the sugarplum sourpuss upstairs.

"You just wish you celebrated this happy holiday," Tony grumbles as he lifts Dolores' present back into his arms.

Ziva just laughs at his misfortunate. He really should've looked into coal.

The Hallway, 6:22pm

Ziva can't stop grinning, and he can't stop staring at her. Even when Dolores wraps her bony arms around his body in some poor imitation of a hug, her treasure mashed between them, Tony finds himself seeking out Ziva's warm gaze over Dolores' head.

"Thank you, Agent DiNozzo, thank you," is all Dolores says, over and over, as her long dormant smile finally emerges.

His cheeks feel a bit warm; the heat must be really cranked up, which is odd considering it is a holiday and most people have gone home for the night. He pats Dolores on the back and steers her toward her office. He's going to have to remember this trick for the future. He wonders if Sandy in Accounting has any Christmas regrets hidden in her personnel file; he could really use a break on his expense reports.

"That was a lovely gift, Tony," Ziva says when Delores has closed herself in her office once again.

Tony looks up at his partner, aglow in the soft afterhours light and framed by the snow gently falling outside. Metaphors about Christmas trees and angels and other beautiful, fuzzy things jingle around his brain, but he bites back the urge to speak them aloud. Instead, he smiles and hopes that is enough. The twinkle in Ziva's eyes makes his palms start to sweat. He tries to discretely rub them on his pants.

"I might be giving ol' Kris Kringle a run for his money this year," he teases as they begin to walk toward the elevator. Ziva bumps her hip into his.

"Still, you probably should not have looked through her personnel file…" she chides and pushes the call button. She folds her arms across her chest, trying to be stern, and he has no choice but to argue with her.

"We have the clearance!"

"That does not give you the right to poke around anyone's records." She gives him a look that promises death by office supplies. He winces. He will never be able to beat that look.

Tony cannot resist one last whine, "But Santa gets to see you when you're sleeping! He knows when you're awake! He's omniscient! How can I compete with that?"

Ziva rolls her eyes. They listen to the elevator rattle down to their floor. Just before they enter, Ziva turns to him. "I believe Abby has some cookies left in her lab."

Tony feels his mood improve instantly. "Cookies! One of the many perks to being Father Christmas!"

Abby's Lab, 6:27pm

"Cookies, cookies, cookies," Tony chants to himself as he peruses Abby's lab. It is a mess of tinsel, lights, and dancing elves. "Where are the cookies?"

He pokes at a pile of bears wearing faux fur-trimmed Santa hats and is rewarded with the tinny tune of "Jingle Bells." Hunting through Abby's fridge, he comes across something that looks like either brain matter or the remains of a Jell-O mold. He quickly shuts the door.

"Ziiii-va," he whines, and looks around for his partner. "Did you lie about the cookies?"

"No, I did not," Ziva answers and Tony whirls in the direction of her voice. She's standing in the doorway between the lab and Abby's private office with a plate in her hands. Tony's stomach rumbles.

"Sugar cookies!" he exclaims and hurries over. "You were holding out on me, Probationary Agent David."

Just before he can close his fingers over one of the delicious treats, Ziva snatches the plate away and places it on a table behind her. When he tries to move in the same direction, she blocks his path.

"Wait, Tony," she says firmly and places a hand on his chest. That is enough to draw his attention away from dessert and onto the woman standing in front of him. For the moment.

"Yes?" He replies, interest piqued. She drops her hand.

"I, too, participated in the Secret Santa Exchange," she confesses. The way she admits it, so matter of factly, makes him grin. This could be interesting.

"Oh, really?"

She nods.

"And who was the lucky recipient of your holiday cheer?" His mind races with possibilities. Palmer did look awfully perturbed by the giant wheel of cheese someone bestowed upon him. He had started pacing the lab and muttering something about Lactaid.

"You," Ziva answers and takes a step to close the distance between them so that they are standing toe to toe. Tony tries to take a step back, made uncomfortable by the gleam in her eye, but finds himself up against a wall.

"Umm…" is all he can stammer out. Ziva's gaze drops to his lips and his heart starts to jackhammer in his chest. He tries to find words beyond the buzzing that has started in his head. "I don't remember getting a present." It's true. He was so caught up in his own Secret Santa drama that he forgot to worry about what he was getting in return.

"Look up, Tony," Ziva murmurs and he remembers seeing this same look on her face before in the artificial light of a hotel room; he remembers what came next. He swallows and chances a look up.

"Mistletoe?" He squeaks. Put off by the sprig of green, he looks away but that proves to be a mistake because he finds himself staring into Ziva's predatory eyes once again.

"I asked Abby to put it up earlier." Ziva's breath flutters across his face as she leans in even closer and he stumbles back into he wall again. He ends up grabbing Ziva's waist for balance. Her body falls into his, warm and soft.

"You asked her to put up mistletoe?" He wonders why he's still talking when he has a sexy ninja in his arms. Ziva tilts her chin up and he swears he can feel the caress of her gaze on his face. His fingers clutch at the wool of her sweater, itching to feel the heated skin beneath it. He waits; his body tenses in anticipation.

"Happy Hanukah, Tony," Ziva purrs the heavy Hebrew syllables before she closes her mouth over his.

And then he decides that, past years be damned, Christmas is well and truly his favorite holiday.

Ziva's lips move softly over his, unsure at first. The gentle pressure is nearly too much to handle; his first thought is how he almost never got to have this moment with her, how he almost never got to taste the hint of her afternoon tea on her lips. But then hormones quickly override sentiment when Ziva pushes her body more firmly against his and runs her hand up his chest, skirting over the exposed skin there, and wraps around his neck. He takes that as his cue to run his hand over her jaw and into her hair, deepening the kiss all the while.

Long before he's finished kissing her, Ziva pulls back to rest her forehead against his. Her lips are slightly pink and swollen and the vision she makes before him may be his greatest present ever. He twirls some of her hair in his fingers. She gives him a satisfied grin. "Now who is the best Secret Santa?"

He chuckles, not wanting to admit that she may have a point. "I didn't know Santa gave out Hanukah gifts."

Ziva responds with a throaty laugh that sends pleasant sparks shooting throughout his body. "Oh, well, in that case," she takes hold of his jacket and pulls him down to her. With a sultry look, she adds, "Merry Christmas, Tony." And then she kisses him again.

Tony wastes no time in responding. This time he's certain: Christmas is the best holiday ever.

Fin. Or is it? Vague idea for a potential part two is brewing; stay tuned (maybe)!

Thanks for reading! Happy holidays to all!