Jumping on the Christmas bandwagon!

Tony DiNozzo stood looking at himself sadly in the mirror in the men's room at NCIS. His eyes were full of bewildered sorrow. At least, he thought they probably were. It was difficult to see them through the wire rimmed glasses and the white ringlets tumbling over his forehead. His smile was upside down but this sign of misery was also hidden; the full silver beard hid most things. Tony took a moment to wonder if all Father Christmas costumes were designed to hide the wearer's features because they were all likely to be unwilling conscripts to the grim task.

Tony pulled the red Santa hat on and adjusted the belt around his stomach padding. At least, he thought, he still needed padding. He was momentarily cheered by this 'glass half-full' attitude but then gloom descended once more as he looked at his reflection and considered how long it would be before his hair was really that white, before he needed the wire rimmed glasses and before nature supplied the padding. Well, he told himself, he would never let his hair go this wild even if it did turn a snowy white.

He heaved a sigh as he braced himself to go about his Santa-ly duties. He had, after all, only got himself to blame …

Earlier that day.

Perhaps Special Agent DiNozzo had sucked on too many candy canes, perhaps he had tested his mulled cider recipe too diligently or perhaps he had just been too full of the Christmas spirit. Perhaps he was just unlucky? How many times had he put superglue on McGee's keyboard and got nothing but a pained McExpression and an amused head slap from Gibbs? Why should Christmas Eve of all days prove to be an exception? Why on earth should Gibbs choose Christmas Eve as the one day ever to sit at McGee's computer and use it? Gibbs barely used his own computer so why would he decide to use someone else's?

There were many things that puzzled Tony DiNozzo, many of life's mysteries that eluded his understanding but Gibbs deliberately touching McGee's keyboard – and with all his fingers at once: this was something which would defeat the world's best brains. In fact, Tony would not be surprised if the world had stopped on its axis for a moment or two. If the flap of a butterfly's wings could precipitate a hurricane what would Gibbs turning computer geek do to the delicate balance of the earth's eco-system?

As Tony heard Gibbs' roar of fury and turned with bemused horror towards its source, he found himself almost wanting to laugh at the shock on Gibbs' face. He quickly suppressed such a foolhardy impulse but did wonder if this 'accident' would be the death knell for any minuscule affection Gibbs might have for a computer. What would he do now that a computer had fought back?

"DiNozzo!" roared Gibbs.

"Boss?" said Tony, reaching rather unsuccessfully for studied nonchalance.

"DiNozzo!" repeated Gibbs with increased decibels.

"On your six, Boss," said Tony obediently and reaching for his backpack in an effort to pretend that he thought he was being dispatched to apprehend an unwary felon.

"Are you responsible for this?"

"For what, Boss?" said Tony innocently.

In answer Gibbs simply raised both hands and the keyboard came with them.

"Uh, yes, Boss," admitted Tony, knowing that evasion was futile. Although, he mused, with Gibbs' hands otherwise occupied, at least the Boss couldn't shoot him. He winced, however, at the thought of how much a head slap would hurt when administered with the benefit of a state of the art keyboard. "But," he went on reasonably, "it wasn't aimed at you." Gibbs glared at him apparently unable to decide what would be more stupid: putting superglue on a keyboard or pranking him.

"Gibbs, you never use anyone else's computer; hell, you never even sit at anyone else's desk. You barely sit at your own. This is not my fault."

Gibbs glared again. "OK," said Tony, "I admit it's more my fault than yours. OK, I admit it's entirely my fault. But why are you sitting at McGee's desk anyway?" Another Gibbs glare. "OK, that's none of my business. You're the Boss, you can sit at anyone's desk. That's why you're the Boss. And, of course, you don't need to explain yourself. Er, I'll just go get the acetone."

"You do that, DiNozzo," said Gibbs in a calm voice that was even more menacing than the previous roars.

Tony thought that freeing Gibbs' fingers from the keyboard was probably one of the bravest things he had ever done and that included rescuing the Boss from a watery grave and hanging by his finger tips from a great height in the multi-story car park. Fortunately for Tony his usually fertile mind dried up during this ordeal meaning that he couldn't think of any helpful banter which, despite his eternal optimism, would not have made the situation any less … er … sticky.

As the last fingertip was eased free of the keyboard, Tony stood back and braced himself. Gibbs smiled, the sort of smile that perhaps he had once smiled when, as a sniper, he realised that he finally had his prey at his mercy. Perhaps it was the smile of a snake when an unwary animal came within its coils. Gibbs raised himself slowly to his feet and moved towards his senior field agent as a panther approaches a goat.

Tony recalled his proud Italian and English heritage. He remembered that he was a trained federal agent. He tried to remember if his will was up to date. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, raised his chin and swallowed anxiously, "B-b-boss?" he quavered.

"It's your lucky day, DiNozzo," said Gibbs after a long pause.

"It is?" squeaked Tony.

"Oh, yes," drawled Gibbs, "Oh yes."

"That's good?"

"The Director asked me a favour just now," said Gibbs, "and I was going to say no, but I've changed my mind."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The Director needs a volunteer."

"Good?"

"Some people might think so," conceded Gibbs.

"Good," said Tony.

"But I don't think you're one of them," said Gibbs moving another inch towards Tony.

"Oh?"

Gibbs smiled again and a chill ran down Tony's spine. "No," he said, "I don't think you're one of them."

Tony tried a chuckle in case Gibbs was joking, although years of experience should have told him that was as unlikely as Gibbs sitting at McGee's keyboard. The laugh wasn't one of his best efforts. Gibbs canted his head as he considered how long to continue the agony and then seemed to decide to go for the killer blow,

"The Director needs someone to play Santa at the Christmas party in half an hour."

This was punishment on the grandest scale. Gibbs was renowned for his imaginative reprimands but this reached new heights. The child phobic, elegantly dressed Tony DiNozzo to be offered up, in an ill-fitting red suit, to the attentions of over excited, over tired, demanding tots was a punishment which more than fitted the crime.

Gibbs stared at Tony. Tony stared back. The tension in the air was almost tangible.

"I'd be happy to do that," said Tony stoically with barely a quaver in his voice.

Approval flickered over Gibbs' face as Tony walked to the metaphorical firing squad.

"Good," he said, "go see Abby. She's got the costume."

Tony winced but said nothing and walked bravely to the elevator.

NCISNCIS

Tony walked moodily along the corridor to the cafeteria. He could hear the dull roar of children enjoying themselves as they feasted on food designed to send them on a sugar high. Why, he wondered, didn't they serve raw carrots and lettuce at these affairs; and water rather than sodas? In his head, he began to draft a letter of suggestions to the catering manager.

Tony looked at the floor that his black booted feet were walking on. He could tell that children had preceded him; there was a litter of candy wrappers, a mitten, two gloves and what looked like a misshapen hat. He resisted an impulse to bag and tag the crime scene and noticed that Phil the janitor was coming up behind to clear away the detritus.

He sighed and then jumped as a message reached him through his earwig.

"They're ready for you, Santa."

Tony braced himself and walked briskly to the door. His triumphal entry was slightly spoiled by pulling instead of pushing the door but he got in eventually and was greeted by screeches of delight. For a moment, Tony thought this might be OK. He didn't usually get this sort of reception.

"Ho, Ho, Ho," he said as jovially as he could, "have you all been good girls and boys?"

"YES!" the children roared back.

"Hmmm," said Tony, "I might need to check the most wanted wall to make sure of that. Some of you look a bit suspicious to me." The children gazed at him uncertainly and the parents scowled at him. "Ho, Ho, Ho," said Tony again, thinking that might be a winning formula.

Fortunately for Tony, Abby took pity on him. To be truthful, she was actually taking pity on the children but Tony chose not to interpret it that way. Abby led Tony to Father Christmas's chair in the centre of the room, saying as they went,

"Santa's had a difficult trip from Lapland and the reindeer got tired, so let's all be nice to him, shall we?"

The children looked a bit puzzled at the novel idea that they should be nice to Santa but, seeing the bulging sacks of presents, decided to go along with this. Abby chose a placid looking girl to be Tony's first victim/visitor.

"This is Samantha," said Abby, "ask her what she wants for Christmas," she added in a whisper.

"What do you want for Christmas, Sammie?" asked Tony.

"Mommy doesn't like it when people shorten my name," said Samantha.

"Oh," said Tony, "some mommies only use full names when they're cross with their children. Ho, ho, ho. What does your mommy call you when she's cross with you?"

"She's never cross with me," said Samantha firmly, "I'm a good girl."

"Oh," said Tony, losing interest, "that's nice. Here's your present. Merry Christmas. Ho, ho, ho."

Santa Tony was not the most jovial or insightful of Father Christmases but he proved to be an efficient one. The children were handed their presents and given a ho, ho, ho with commendable speed. Tony began to relax as the number of children without a present went down but pride proved to come before a fall. Abby went off to get Santa a well-deserved beverage and while she was gone a tearful, woebegone little girl approached.

"Hello, little girl," said Tony, "what's your name?"

The little girl sniffed and came a bit closer.

"Her name's Ruth," said her mother who looked equally sad.

Tony looked up and recognised Nina Brading from Human Resources.

"Ho, ho, ho," he said for lack of anything else to say.

"Go and sit on Santa's knee," said Nina encouragingly and stared at Tony.

Tony was aghast. So far, nobody had wanted to make much physical contact with Santa although a couple of well-trained boys had shaken his hand on receiving their presents. Ruth didn't look very enamoured of the idea either but she was obedient and started to clamber on to Tony's lap. He reluctantly helped her up and she sat there uncertain what to do next. So she wiped her nose on his arm.

"Ho, ho, ho," said Tony. He paused, "Ho, ho, ho," he caught Nina's puzzled expression. "Ho," he began again, "uh, why are you sad, Ruth?"

Ruth turned big grey eyes on him and said, "I lost Raf," and the eyes filled with tears again.

"Ralph?" asked Tony.

"R-r-raf," repeated Ruth, "I lost him. And he'll be lonely. And so will I!" and the tears spilled over and she let out a loud sob.

"Don't cry," pleaded Tony in desperation and embarrassment, "ho, ho, ho. You shouldn't cry on Christmas Eve. It's unlucky."

This produced an even louder wail from little Ruth and a glare from Nina.

"It's not really unlucky," said Tony hastily, "it's lucky really."

"Lucky?" said Ruth, "why?"

"Er … because it is," said Tony, "because it means you get your tears out of the way before Christmas Day. And that's a good thing."

"Is it?" said Ruth.

"Yes," said Tony firmly, "it is. Ho, ho, ho."

"Oh," said Ruth, "but I'm still sad and I don't think I'll stop crying before Christmas Day. I miss him so much."

Tony looked at Nina who looked tearful at the thought of her daughter crying throughout Christmas. Tony wondered fleetingly if his mother had ever looked at him with such compassion and he found himself drawn to this rather unattractive child. He remembered what parents did in movies and produced a handkerchief,

"Blow," he said, as he put it to her nose.

The attraction waned a little as she blew enthusiastically.

"Keep it," he said when she had finished blowing.

"Is that my present?" Ruth asked with a touch of worry.

"No, that's an extra," he said, "here's your present," and he fished in the sack until he found something soft and squishy, hoping that it was a cuddly toy to take her mind off Raf.

"Thank you," said Ruth and gave him a hug before scrambling off his knee.

"Thank you," said Nina.

"It was nothing," said Tony honestly. "This isn't really my bag, you know."

"You've stolen Father Christmas's sack?" said Nina in mock disapproval, "I think that might be a federal offence."

"No," said Tony desperately, "I meant this isn't really my thing … but you knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo. But anyway, thank you for listening to Ruth."

"I don't think I did anything," said Tony.

"No," agreed Nina, "but she's an odd child. She takes these fancies to people sometimes. I think she likes you."

"Oh," said Tony feeling absurdly pleased that an 'odd child' didn't hate him.

"I think you mean 'ho, ho, ho,'" said Nina.

"Who's Raf?" asked Tony.

"Raf the giraffe," said Nina, "she had him for her first birthday. She takes him everywhere. He's been stitched up so often that there's barely anything original left of him, but she loves him. Oh well, perhaps Christmas will take her mind off it. Oh, better go, looks as if the tears are about to start again."

Tony watched as she walked to her daughter and tried to comfort her. He lost sight of them as the remaining children came up for their presents and when he posed for the group photograph, Ruth and Nina were gone.

Gibbs gave him a nod of approval as he went past on his way to change out of the costume. Tony was exhausted, he had never realised that saying ho, ho, ho was so wearing. He wondered how parents coped with the constant noise and activity and he wondered if he had some Tylenol in his desk drawer.

As Tony walked back from the men's room having reinvented himself as Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, he found himself picturing his walk along the messy corridor. He stopped to consider something he had seen and then set off at a run. Alas, Phil the janitor had done a good job and the corridor was pristine. Tony was not to be defeated, however, and took the elevator down to the janitors' office,

"Phil," he called as he came near.

"Tony," said Phil emerging with a cup of coffee in his hand, "what you doing down here? Ho, ho, ho!"

Tony ignored this. He thought he might be doing a lot of feigning deafness in the days to come.

"The garbage you picked up from the corridor. You know, where the kids had run through. What did you do with it?"

"What?" asked Phil blankly.

"The trash, what did you do with it?"

"Is this a joke?" asked Phil.

"No, I think I saw something in it. I want to check it out."

"It's in the dumpster," said Phil.

"Why?"

"Because it's trash," said Phil reasonably.

"Show me," said Tony.

"OK," said Phil, "how much of that mulled cider did you have?"

"None," said Tony stiffly, "Father Christmas is teetotal."

"Really?" said Phil, "we always left him a shot of whisky in our house. Still, it was my daddy's favourite brand so I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Phil, I'd really love to stay and chew the fat about your childhood," said Tony, "but I've got more important things to be doing."

"Like looking for trash?" said Phil sceptically, "on Christmas Eve?"

"Yes," said Tony firmly, "yes."

"OK," said Phil, "have it your own way," and he led him to the dumpster, "there it is. Of course, I put the food waste in afterward."

"Of course," said Tony bitterly. He was about to give up but a memory of Ruth's tear-filled grey eyes came back to him and he remembered Nina's sadness. "Ho, ho, ho," he said and jumped into the dumpster.

NCISNCIS

A couple of hours later, having showered three times to remove the smell of what he was convinced was some of Gibbs' three day old take out, he stood before Nina's front door. In his hand he held a patched, worn, more than slightly grubby woolly bundle that looked a bit like a misshapen hat.

"Ho, ho, ho," said Tony when Nina opened the door, "Happy Christmas."