Better late than never - this was my part for a collaboration of holiday fics centering around our two favorite people. A huge thank you to the lovely McGeekle and FrannyLuvsAll for pulling the project together. They are superwomen. I highly recommend hopping over to tumblr and checking out the other installments - there is more backstory to this.

Merry ( Belated ) Christmas, and Happy Holidays!

"On behalf of every man, looking out for every girl

You are the God and the weight of her world.

So fathers, be good to your daughters

Daughters will love like you do.

Girls become lovers, who turn into mothers

So mothers, be good to your daughters, too."

The "Pretty Room" was how his grandaughter-of-choice referred to the room at the far end of the hall on the second story. It was also the Pink room, the Third bedroom, and what had been a storage space long before a certain little girl had been born. It had been abandoned for many years, housed a wounded agent for several months after a summer filled with torture.

But before all that, it had been Kelly's room.

When his agents had announced the impending addition to their unorthodox, growing family, Gibbs had swept up to the room he rarely spent too much of his time contemplating, opened the door and gazed around at the remnants of memories that belonged to another lifetime. The deep colored oak bed frame needed dusting, the curtains were outdated, stuffed animals needed to be aired, and the toys stored in the dilapidated boxes needed sorting. He had plucked an old stuffed pony from the dresser, admiring the once-glossy coat of brown and wiped a thumb over the dusty marbled eye. It seemed to wink at him in the light, but he supposed, it could have been a trick of the sun streaming through the room.

As it turned out, this room had another master to serve.

If there were ever a child that epitomized their parents, Lena DiNozzo was it. With curly, unruly hair and a toothy smile that always seemed just a touch mischievous, she had inherited all the beauty of her mother and compassion of her father. Energetic but thoughtful, she was a force all her own and one to be reckoned with.

And Leroy Jethro Gibbs was absolutely enamored at first sight.

After the passing of his late wife and daughter, he'd never imagined his heart would have the capacity to accommodate any more people, any more loved ones. But each addition to his team served to prove him wrong. Then Ziva David came along, the second daughter he hadn't wanted, never expected, but had chosen to love unconditionally despite it all, and who in turn had given him a granddaughter through love, choice, and without hesitation.

It was almost too much for his old, Grinch-like heart.

But just like his counterpart, his heart grew and made room for the love they had to share.

The lost daughter is never spoken about, but silently acknowledged by both Tony and Ziva whenever important milestones and bittersweet moments between Gibbs and their daughter occur. They see the shadow of her in his eyes whenever he looks at their daughter. But if Lena picks up on his ghosts, she doesn't show it.

It is how Gibbs wants it, and so they will abide.

xXx

The low hum of a jazz album croons softly from the living room. The tunes are tinged with familiar, christmas cheer, and it's an album she's heard countless times in their home, and before that, Tony's apartment around the holiday season. The melody does not flow unencumbered, however; Instead, punctuated with the sounds of deep snores echoing through the open layout of the first floor, and she gives the soufflé she's prepping a wistful smile; at least someone had gotten a quick nap in. She gives a few carrots an equally wistful sigh. If only their daughter could nap so easily.

She abandons the carrots in a pile near the sink for washing later, her mind instead reminding her that she should prepare the potatoes first as they will need to boil for appropriate mashing and mixing to accompany the feast due in two hours' time. She brings a pot of water to a boil, the flame catching after a few clicks of Gibbs' ancient oven, and murmurs a prayer that by this time next year, he will have finally replaced it.

The kitchen is outdated, but at least, she amends, the supplies are not; Over the last few years, when their traditional Christmas dinner at Gibbs' had begun, the kitchens supplies and stocked items had suspiciously increased. She attributed this to Gibbs secretly enjoying her use of his kitchen for their newly adopted sunday family dinners and holiday events, and had gone out of his way to make sure she had all she needed. However, this didn't mean it was in any way organized.

She huffs when her search for a small bowl comes up fruitless, narrowed eyes scanning the cabinets as if the correct door with the bowl behind it will glow with indication. This does not happen, nor does she expect it to, so she clears a space on the counter after a moment's consideration and hoists herself up with little effort, expanding her search for the hidden object. The shuffling of other kitchenware fills the room with noise, masking the snoring that had since ceased, and so she blames the clatter for why heavy footsteps trick her of the incoming person's identity.

"Gibbs, where are your small serving bowls?"

Behind her back, her partner smiles fondly, taking a moment to admire Ziva perched precariously on their bosses countertop, nimble fingers scrutinizing the contents of the cabinet. She's still in her old, washed out denim jeans that ride low on her hips, revealing twin dimples and a generous glimpse of exposed golden skin. Her emerald sweater is rolled up to her elbows, a knot of tangled curls at her nape tied together loosely. Drowsiness is ebbing quickly as he grins and asks, "Gibbs keeps more than coffee and bourbon up there?"

Ziva smirks at a colander that looks as though she'd unearthed it from the late eighties. "Do not be silly, you know he keeps the bourbon downstairs." She turns around with it still in hand, peering through the perforated plastic to look at him. "And we left two bowls here a few Christmases ago." She drops the colander from eye level, giving him a sudden frown. "Speaking of, where did Gibbs go?"

Tony shrugs, watching as she gracefully twists and places the object back into the depths of a cabinet. His eyes fall over the spread around her, and his stomach grumbles, reminding him why he'd awoken. A soft aha escapes his partner, and she holds up a bowl victoriously, another successful mission completed by the seasoned investigator. He watches tensely as she eyes the floor and he can see her brain calculating the distance and jump needed to land safely on her feet, and quickly holds out his hand to help her by more conventional methods. Ziva gives the offending limb a small frown, but her face softens as she grasps his hand after brief consideration, hopping down from the counter with his help much more out of amusement than actual need.

"I am not quite so delicate yet." She teases him, her free hand coming to rest briefly over her abdomen. The gesture causes his heart to skip a beat, and Tony grins broadly, taking the bowl from her hand and placing it on the recently vacated space of counter. He drops a hand to her shoulder, gently rubbing her arm.

"I know, but humor me?"

She smirks, silent understanding conveyed through eyes alone, and turns her attention back to the tasks at hand. She moves a few vegetables around to begin slicing, and over the sound of the blade meeting the cutting board, footsteps echo loudly above their heads. Ziva's head tilts as she turns an ear to the direction overhead, her hands coming to a stop. "Is she up there alone?"

Tony ruffles his hair, his eyes going heavenward as he tries but fails to see through the ceiling. "Gibbs went up before I clocked out there," He frowns, "I saw munchkin follow him up." He's not too worried, their daughter rarely gets up to any trouble in Gibbs' house, and Ziva seems to follow his train of thought, nodding in bemused agreement. Gibbs had cleaned up the bedroom upstairs for her enjoyment, and so she habitually made her way to the bedroom at one point or another during their visits. There were plenty of toys and a bed for when she occasionally exhausted herself out (which was frequent with her imagination and Tony's inherited energy) and it had become one of her favorite places to spend time.

Ziva resumes her chopping, shrugging a carefree shoulder. "So long as she does not ruin her dress before everyone arrives. I do not have time for one of her meltdrowns."

He snickers in understanding, all too familiar with the albeit rare, yet no less dramatic antics of the three year old. "Meltdowns," He says instead, because it's ingrained in him and he can't help but correct her idiom idiosyncrasies, though they've become few and far between in recent years. He smiles indulgently at the swat she makes to his arm.

America has always looked good on her.

Her previous sentence resonates with him a few seconds later though, as his eyes roam around the kitchen. "Do you need any help?"

Ziva's smile flickers briefly, her gaze warming as she contemplates him. Setting down her knife, she reaches for the fridge and pulls a beer from the door, twisting the lid off with a flick of her wrist and hands him the long neck with a wink. "Your movie marathons start soon, yes?" She smirks, as he takes a deep sip of the cold liquid. "I would not want you to break a tradition."

He grins over the bottle, letting his arm fall to the side with it and nods knowingly. "She is three years old now - these are impressionable years."

She swats at his arm a final time with a spatula she's pulled from thin air. "I was thinking along those lines this morning when she expressed her disappointment of yet another year without a pony under the tree." Tony shrugs her off, waving his hand in the air. "She'll get over it - she's getting a sibling."

Ziva gives him an affectionate smile before leaning over to give him a swift kiss he greedily deepens. "Yes she is." She murmurs softly against his lips.

He gives her a longing look as his eyes briefly travel down her frame, but before he can translate his thoughts into words, a swift echo of footsteps come crashing down the stairs. "Oh Lena Talia, your timing is always impeccable." Tony drawls loudly, bemused, over a chorus of "Momma, Dad!"

Ziva laughs aloud, giving him a final peck before returning to her spot at the counter. Heavier but slower footsteps follow the sound of their daughters' feet leaving the stairs and meeting carpet. Her excited chirps grow louder, announcing her arrival in the kitchen when she slides on stocking feet to a halt before them. Tony reaches out a hand to steady her, leaning around her to place his beer on the table top. "Easy, little lion." He chastises over her mumbled apologies, taking a moment to smooth down the ruffles of her dress. From across the room, Ziva sighs silently at the state of her stockings; shaking her head at the lost cause.

"Daddy," She implores, rolling her eyes up to his amused expression. "Grandpa's got s'prise for me!" She turns quickly to her mother who looks on with equal amusement. "A BIG s'prise!" She emphasizes, throwing up her hands. Before the partners can do much more than exchange glances, a large, sheet covered package appears and announces what they assume is Gibbs' presence in the kitchen. Sure enough, silver hair peeks out from the top of the object, and Tony quickly moves to help him set it down on the floor. Ziva bites back a laugh at the typical wrapping job, Gibbs not one to spring for colorful paper or waste the very little patience he does possess on trivial things such as wrapping a present. The sheet appears to do the job just fine though; for whatever the big object is, not one glimpse is revealed.

"Gibbs..." Ziva's soft voice begins warningly, but Gibbs shrugs her off.

"Didn't cost a thing." He assures her gruffly, but Ziva continues to frown as she senses a little emotion behind his words. She's attuned to him that way, as they're quite similar. But it doesn't seem Tony picks up on it.

"Wow, munchkin, did you thank Gibbs?" Lena wrinkles her nose at the use of her grandfather's surname, because he'sgrandpa, not Gibbs, and rolls her eyes so hard she may very well topple over from the force of it.

"Daddy, I haven't opened'd it yet." Tony's eyes go heavenward, and he settles down in a chair by the table to take another sip of his beer, longer this time. Before Ziva can reprimand her, however, Gibbs nods between the object and then the little girl. "Well, get to it." He drawls unceremoniously, and it's all the direction she needs to get to work on unveiling the old linen.

Her soft sound of surprise brings universal smiles to all of the watching adults faces. The little girl's mouth forms an O that goes slack as her eyes widen and take in the beautiful, hand-made Victorian dollhouse now before her.

Its age is the first thing registered by both parents, the painstaking detail the next.

It's so real and vivid, and the love and hours that went into this masterpiece could have only been spent on somebody cherished beyond all others.

It didn't take an investigator to figure out who the previous owner had been.

"Gibbs," Ziva's throat closes up, and damn her hormones, her eyes become dangerously filled. Tony's rendered speechless, already up and out of his seat and admiring the craftsmanship; running a finger over the edges of the roof, the fake miniature gutters, the faded pink siding punctuated by plastic windows with real frames painted on.

"Just been collecting dust," Gibbs shrugs off, his tone easy, but his expression betrays him. Lena, oblivious to the tone of the room, cries out enthusiastically and practically throws herself into Gibbs, and his instincts kick in, his arm coming up to wrap around her and his hand coming up to cradle her head. And though he's received countless hugs like this before, and her sweet kisses to his cheek, in that moment he is blind-sighted by memories of similar embraces from another little girl. He doesn't fight the memories – in those few seconds, it's almost like he's holding his little girl again.

But she is not his little girl, as reality comes rushing back. She pulls away gently, and he remembers whose daughter he is holding, molten brown eyes with her mother's curly hair and father's bright smile. The soft pat on his cheek is what finally brings him to his senses, and there's something familiar in her eyes, an understanding that her own mother has fixed him with dozens of times in the years he's known her. She leans in, her voice hushed in a secretive whisper. "I'll take very good cares of it, Gram-pa." The last exhalation of the syllable but a soft puff of breath. She pulls away, slipping out of his lap and tugs at her mother's leg, who has completely abandoned dinner preparations to admire the gift up close. "Can I keep it in my Pretty room here?" She looks between the adults, whom all exchange bewildered glances.

Gibbs speaks up first.

"I'm sure you want to take it home to your real bedroom, sweet pea."

She shakes her head, turning her attention back to the dollhouse, her hands delicately tracing the picket fence with more care than a typical three year old possesses. "It b'longs here," She decides firmly, oblivious to the exchanged glances of the adults. "I wanna keep it in da Pretty room." Her attention swings to Tony, as if just realizing her father was in the room. He drags his eyes away from the look of awe he's been giving his boss for the last few minutes as she commands his attention. "Daddy! Can we play?"

Tony gives his head a shake, getting up and wringing out his hands. "Yeah, but uh," he hesitates, looking around at Ziva and trying to gather his bearings. "Why don't we move it in the living room so your mom can have room to make dinner?" He gives a knowing look to Ziva, picking up the dollhouse with extraordinary care and following their daughter's stern commands and direction of where to best place it in the living room, leaving Ziva and Gibbs alone.

"You did not have to do that."

She continues to look at him with both awe and shock, her voice layered with emotion. Slowly, Gibbs gets up from where he's been kneeling on the linoleum floor. "It's a toy, Ziva. They're meant to be played with - no use letting it collect dust." She shakes her head wordlessly, can't think of anything to say. And really, there was nothing to be said. They'd always communicated best with silent understanding, with meaningful gestures and a few choice words. Ziva takes a moment to admire the man that has been so much to her in the years she'd arrived in the states. The man who took on a role in her life he had no obligation to adopt. He was the man who had had her back countless times, a man who'd encouraged her to allow herself to love the son he'd readily considered his own, and more importantly, to love herself. The man that had accepted her daughter as his own granddaughter, allowed her to fill voids in his life no one could ever replace, yet did anyway. And she knows she's not Kelly, and she will never be his little girl, but the unexpected gesture reminds her yet again, how very loved she is by this man. And she thinks, as she pulls Gibbs into a rare but welcomed hug, if her daughter could have this man in her life, if her future-maybe son could be half the man he is, she thinks her and Tony haven't done half bad at all. For two people who started out on different sides of the world, who chose their family rather than settle for the disappointment of their bloodline, who've been to hell and back and everything in-between, they were blessed to be surrounded by this much love, this much grace and fortune.

Gibbs' grip on her tightens as he turns his mouth to her ear. "This is my gift." He murmurs, and she exhales a slow, watery breath. She knows he's not referring to the gift he gave her daughter.

But rather, the gift of a second chance at loving a daughter.

They break apart after a few moments, for neither of them are the type for emotional embraces and flowing words of thanks. An understanding nod, a gentle wipe of his thumb at her stray tear, and they're back in the moment of the smell of dinner cooking, of Tony's exaggerated voice booming over Lena's giggles, the front door opening as guests begin to arrive for dinner. He looks around the kitchen, gives her a smile, and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Now let's get this dinner rolling, David." The use of her old surname is a welcomed dose of levity, and her laugh mingles with the sound of Abby's exclamation of hellos, of McGee's hearty chuckle, her daughter's calls of greetings.

Love and happiness abound.