The tree, the angel and DiNozzo

A/N: I hope this final chapter isn't a disappointment, but I find it hard it really difficult to write Gibbs!

DiNozzo vaguely recalled being hauled from the elevator and dragged rather ungracefully into autopsy, his limbs refusing to respond.

"Ducky! Ducky!" Abby didn't appear to realise that screaming out the doctors name wasn't helping Tony's head at all; in fact, the room did an extra somersault in protest.

"Yes, my dear?" The Scotsman came immediately out of his office and stopped, his expression morphing into one of confusion, but he asked no questions, "put him up here, Jethro."

Tony wanted to insist that he could climb up onto the table himself – he wasn't a child – but that would have just led to further embarrassment. He was somewhat grateful when Gibbs lifted him up onto the table as if he were a damsel in distress and as light as a feather.

DiNozzo keened in pain at the bright overhead lights.

"He fell off a chair and smacked his head on a desk, Duck." Gibbs said, stepping away as Ducky took Tony's face in his hands and began to examine the head wound.

"And the Christmas tree fell on him," Abby added, pointlessly.

Ducky frowned at that, but said nothing.

"My dear boy, that's a nasty laceration. There is no doubt that you're going to need stitches – "

"He got concussion, Duck?" Gibbs asked, hastily, frowning at the way DiNozzo's head lolled in Ducky's hands, as if it wasn't attached to the kid's shoulders anymore.

"Again, there's no doubt about that." Dr Mallard replied quietly, "Anthony, do you know where you are?"

Tony groaned and tried to pull away, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.

"Anthony, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Ducky held up four as he, Gibbs and Abby gazed expectantly at the Italian.

They received no reply.

Ducky sighed and took out his pen light, before shining it directly into DiNozzo's eyes. But before he did that, he beckoned for Gibbs to come around the back and hold Tony still.

Anthony DiNozzo was a very uncooperative patient.

"Goddamit!" Tony cried, fiercely attempting to pull away as the burning light of the pen appeared to scorch his eyeballs and sear his brain, "stop it!"

Gibbs tightened his grip on the Italian's shoulders, "DiNozzo! Let Ducky do his job."

Tony blinked slowly and settled again.

Ducky studied the younger agent's pupil reactions carefully.

"Pupils are little slow to respond to light…ask him some questions, Jethro."

Ducky continued with his checks, of which there were many.

"DiNozzo, what did you have for breakfast this morning?"

Tony frowned – at that point, all he wanted was some painkillers and a pillow. He'd have slept on the floor if he had to. Screw Christmas.

"Uh..." Tony grimaced in concentration, attempting to rewind back through his day to the morning. Instead, he found himself dropping forward, the only thing preventing him from face planting the floor was his boss.

"Come on, DiNozzo, you better answer unless you want to be sent to the hospital – "

"I think that would be for the best, Jethro." Ducky stepped backwards and bustled around the autopsy looking for some gauze to stem the bleeding.

"But he didn't lose consciousness, Ducky." Abby spoke up for the first time, aware of the intense fear Tony seemed to have of hospitals.

"No, but he evidently confused and is having trouble staying awake, alongside other worrying neurological symptoms."

Gibbs gave DiNozzo a gentle shake for good measure and the kid perked up slightly.

"Duck, he hates hospitals." Gibbs whispered, perhaps hoping that DiNozzo wouldn't overhear their conversation. Thankfully, Tony appeared to have been distracted by the sound of the clock.

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

"What did you say, DiNozzo?"

"What?"

"You said something."

The Italian sighed and let his head fall back onto Gibbs' shoulder, his face pressed into the older man's neck, all inhibitions lowered apparently.

"Anthony, what were you doing before you hurt your head?" Ducky asked as he prepared the makeshift gauze.

"Decorating…that tree." Tony mumbled quietly, "Gibbs chose the angel."

Abby smiled at that.

"Do you think he needs a CT scan, Ducky?"

"I won't send him to the hospital, Jethro, provided you take him back to your house and keep an eye on him."

"It goes without saying, Duck." The marine smirked at the younger agent in his arms.

"Then we can stitch up his head here." Ducky smiled grimly and disappeared again.

It took DiNozzo a few seconds before he raised his head, glanced at Gibbs and then at Abby, before a look of pure dread took over his face.

"Wait…who is stitching what?"

After half an hour of listening to Tony complain as Ducky stitched up his head wound – it was peculiar that when DiNozzo was really hurt, he remained silent, but when he had just a minor injury, he milked it for all it was worth – he was buckled into Gibbs' car.

Tony had silently let the former marine manhandle him into the vehicle and buckle his seatbelt for him, which both amused and worried Jethro.

"You. Stay. There." Gibbs jabbed a finger in Tony's chest, who nodded begrudgingly, before closing the car door and jogging lightly across the car park towards Ducky, who beckoned with his hand.

"Jethro, you know what to do – "

"Yes, Duck. Wake him every few hours, ask the usual questions, and watch out for any other symptoms that could indicate serious brain injury – I've had enough concussions myself remember." Gibbs said, with a hint of impatience.

"Yes, well, I had rather hoped young Anthony wouldn't be quite so reckless." The older Scotsman smiled gently, patted his friend on the arm, before heading inside, "make sure you call me in a few hours, Jethro."

Gibbs nodded and returned to the car.

He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

It amazed Gibbs how childish a concussed DiNozzo could actually be. The young agent was stubbornly refusing to go to bed.

Kelly used to do that.

"I'm not tired, Gibbs. I swear."

"I couldn't give a damn if you're tired, DiNozzo! You split your head open like a damn melon two hours ago, so you're going to bed!"

"'bit of an exaggeration, boss…" Tony murmured, rubbing at his forehead with a wince.

Tony was sat on the couch, one leg on the coffee table, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"Gibbs, I feel sick. And tired – "

"So you are tired?" Gibbs smirked.

"What? No, I just want to stay here." DiNozzo clenched his jaw in frustration and let himself drop gracelessly back onto the pillows, pulling his knees up to his chest to mimic the foetal position.

Gibbs was plagued with an unwelcome surge of paternal affection at the sight. The former marine heaved a sigh, before fetching a blanket and dropping it over the still form on his couch. He managed to resist tucking his agent in and ruffling his hair (he did have a reputation to maintain after all.)

Jethro sat down on the coffee table and leaned forward, closely studying the Italian who gazed in awe at the thick woollen blanket.

"Still hate Christmas, DiNozzo?"

"I've always hated it, boss." The kid whispered pathetically, sounding more defeated than Gibbs had ever heard him, "My dad was never there and if he was, it was to argue with my mother…she just used the holiday as an excuse to drink more. Not that she needed one. She'd do it anyway."

Gibbs was thankful that Tony was coherent now, even if the conversation had taken on a very morose tone very quickly. Gibbs also found himself seething in anger at the hurt, the pain, laced in his agents tone.

Every child deserved a happy Christmas.

"She drink a lot?"

"Binge drinking was her thing – she could have a few sober days and then she'd be off her face by seven thirty on some random morning. I know she had a problem, Gibbs…"DiNozzo trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose, "but she could never admit it. Admit what she did to me. Maybe she didn't care, or maybe she just cared about the alcohol more."

Unable to respond to that, Gibbs gave the kid a swift pat on leg. The older agent found it difficult to be openly affectionate, except with Abby, but it was getting increasingly more inadequate to just pat Tony on the back and tell him to 'cowboy up'.

That just wasn't enough for someone so broken.

It was then that DiNozzo shifted his position and turned to look at his boss, eyebrows knotted together in something akin to curiosity.

"But why do you hate Christmas, Gibbs?"

Gibbs hated Christmas because Shannon and Kelly were dead.

There was nothing more to it.

But he wasn't going to tell Tony that. The only one who knew was Ducky, and he'd known the doctor for years.

"I just don't. Not a very festive guy, DiNozzo." Gibbs tried to brush off the question with nonchalance, but Tony, being an astute detective, saw through it.

"If you say so, Boss." Tony yawned widely, reaching out clumsily with one hand to pat Jethro on the knee, "that's okay."

Gibbs snorted in amusement, one eyebrow raised as he watched DiNozzo lose his battle with consciousness and drift slowly off into sleep.

Before he went, Gibbs had to ask another question.

"Are you still up for Christmas this year, DiNozzo?"

Tony blinked blearily, half his face buried in the pillow.

"Why?"

"Answer the question."

"'dunno. Could be."

"Right," Gibbs grinned and stood up, his knee joints creaking, "then be here at 9 AM sharp on Saturday."

"Saturday…what's happening on Saturday?"

"It's Christmas day, DiNozzo!" Gibbs exclaimed in exasperation, without any vehemence.

"Oh…" Tony frowned again, eyes squinted in intense concentration, before a sudden spark of realisation took over his face, "oh!"

"Yeah, 'oh'. You bring the potatoes. I'll take care of the turkey."

DiNozzo smiled lazily, gleefully, at the older man, drawing the blanket up higher, "Gibbs?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, kid. Just go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"I know you will, Gibbs… I know."