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Special Agent Jethro Gibbs stormed into the squad room from the break room and glared when he saw Agent Tony DiNozzo chatting to Agent Tim McGee by the elevator. Chatting! He fumed.

“Good to have you back,” said Tim, oblivious of Gibbs’ arrival.

“You say that as if you mean it, Tim.”

“Well …”

“Am I to assume that all has not been well on the Gibbs front in my absence?” teased Tony.

“We managed … but he was pretty mad when you got held up for a day …”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Did you have to cover for me?”

Tim winced at the memory, “Did I? Bishop had already left for Oklahoma, so someone had to stay. You know, I actually figured that Gibbs might be a bit mellow over Christmas. You looked pretty chilled last time you covered Christmas Day with him.”

“DINOZZO!” came a roar from Gibbs’ desk.

“Boss?” said Tony mildly.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? YOU GET BACK A DAY LATE AND YOU STAND GOSSIPING WITH McGEE?”

“Be right with you, Boss,” replied Tony in what McGee thought was a foolhardily casual manner.

Tim pressed the elevator button in the hope that the doors would open more quickly, “I left updates on your desk,” he said hastily.

“Thank you, Tim, that’s kind of you,” said Tony gently, “And give my best to Wheels, won’t you? You know, the seasonal felicitations sort of thing.”

“’Kay,” said Tim briskly.

“And tell her I’m looking forward to the New Year’s Party.”

“How did you know about that?” demanded Tim.

“I didn’t, until now,” said Tony with a hint of steel.

“DINOZZO!” came the bellow again.

“Hmm,” said Tony thoughtfully, “Perhaps I should go see what Boss wants. See you, Tim.”

The elevator arrived at that moment and Tim scampered to escape.

Tony swung his backpack on to his shoulder and walked towards Gibbs. He wondered if this fury was for show or was real: perhaps the update waiting on his desk would show that the MCRT had got a case of the sort guaranteed to get Gibbs in a manic state. No, surely he wouldn’t have let McGee go home if there was a new crusade on.

“Hey, Boss. Good to be back,” he hoped that was true.

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Gibbs, fortunately at a lower level now he had Tony well within glaring distance. He was going now for quiet intimidation.

“Didn’t you get my message?” asked Tony innocently. He got his cell phone out and looked, “Huh, looks as if my texts and voicemails got through OK. Maybe there’s something wrong with your phone, Boss? We should get on to that. Don’t want to be breaking Rule 3, do we?” He smiled his patented vacant smile.

“The phone works fine! You just said that your flight had been delayed and you’d be a day late.”

“Thought that would be enough,” said Tony, “Figured the functional mute wouldn’t want a long message but hey, I can elaborate if you want. You see, the flights from Heathrow were all cancelled because of fog … and then there was a backlog and then there was something wrong with air traffic control … and it all sort of built from there. And seeing as I haven’t learned to pilot a transatlantic airplane … and in any case it might have brought the good name of NCIS into disrepute if I’d stolen one … well, I was pretty much stranded. Boss.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs as he tried to think what to say next.

“Hey, you put decorations up!” observed Tony.

“Not me,” said Gibbs, “The Director had a team of interior designers come and do it.”

Tony nodded. He noticed that Gibbs’ desk was conspicuously free of the tinsel that adorned the other desks and pin boards. He smiled to himself as he imagined the look Gibbs would have given to any hapless decorator who got within 3 feet of him with a tinsel garland.

“So,” said Tony as he decided to take a risk, “I thought that as we missed Two-Man-Team-Christmas Day, we could do Two-Man-Team-Boxing Day.”

Gibbs’ eyes brightened for the first time, “You want to do some boxing?”

“No, no,” said Tony hastily, “No, not that sort of boxing. No, it’s a British thing. It’s what they call the day after Christmas Day. Boxing Day.”

“Why?”

“Why? Oh, huh. Think it’s something to do with giving servants a Christmas box the day after Christmas.”

“Servants? They have servants in the UK?”

“Well, I guess some do but it’s a tradition, Gibbs. Goes back a long time.”

“How long?”

Tony threw up his hands in despair, “I don’t know! If I’d known you were interested, I’d have got McSleuth to look it up for you.”

“So, what goes on on this Boxing Day?” enquired Gibbs.

“Well, you sit around and eat leftovers basically,” replied Tony.

“What makes you think we got leftovers?”

“Well, the order we put in with Patty’s Pastry Paradise for one,” said Tony.

“I cancelled it.”

“Oh. And your jerky box is under the desk. And I’m betting that if I went into the break room, I’d see some turkey sandwiches in the fridge.”

Gibbs stood up and stared Tony in the eyes, “Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Tony swallowed his doubts and returned the gaze, “Yes. Yes, I am.” The stare continued. Tony was surprised he couldn’t hear dramatic suspenseful movie music being played although he could see, out of the corner of his eye, the handful of people on the floor hastily packing up their gear and deciding to find somewhere safer and more congenial to work that day.

“You sure about that?” asked Gibbs even more softly as he leaned in slightly.

Tony saw that they were alone on the floor: his co-workers might have blenched at the prospect, but Tony was made of sterner stuff. He leaned in too and smiled a thin-lipped smile, “Overplayed yourself there, Boss,” he said, hoping he was right.

Gibbs grinned, “Had you going for a moment though, didn’t I?”

In the interests of Christmas harmony, and his own self-preservation, Tony grinned back, “A bit. Hey, I’m really sorry about not getting back on time. I tried …”

“Hey, DiNozzo,” said Gibbs dismissively, “You tried, I know that. How was the …” He trailed off as he tried to think of the words to describe Tony’s absence.

Tony grimaced, “You know, family funerals have their moments – usually when you all say we really should meet up other times than at funerals. And Auntie Suse was 97; she’d had a good run and she’d only recently stepped down as chair of the local magistrates. Still …” He looked sad for a moment.

“Shows there are good genes in the Paddingtons,” said Gibbs helpfully.

“That’s true, Boss,” acknowledged Tony, “And look at Senior – he’ll go on for ever,” he added with a return to gloom.

“Good to have you back, Tony,” said Gibbs gruffly, “Now, I’m hungry. Want to see what we’ve got?”

“Do I ever?” replied Tony enthusiastically, “Did you re-order from Patty’s Pastry Paradise?”

“Of course,” said Gibbs scornfully, “She didn’t have any of those chocolate cherubs she made for us last year …”

“Aww …”

“But she made sugar Santas instead. And some miniature mince pies – think that’s what she called them. Said you might be missing them from Britain.”

Tony groaned, “Brits are obsessed with them at Christmas. Everywhere you go, you get offered a mince pie. Although,” he continued, “They are kinda nice.”

“You like everything,” said Gibbs mildly, “What are they? Guessing, not minced meat?”

“No. Ducky would have a theory. No, they’re little pies made with a mixture of chopped dried fruits and spices. And, if Patsy made them, they’re bound to be good. What else we got?”

“I made turkey and cranberry sandwiches; roast beef and mustard; pastrami, cheese and mayo.”

“And jerky?”

“Made some teriyaki turkey jerky …”

“Wow.”

“And some hickory smoked beef.”

“Sounds great.”

“And you? Did you bring anything?”

“Had a care package from Uncle Vincenzo in Long Island. Think it’s a thank you for steering Senior to go stay with Prince Al on Capri rather than reuniting with him and his family.”

“What’s in it?”

Tony delved into his backpack, “A Babbà, a Panettone, Amaretti and Biscotti.” He held out the open box for Gibbs to see, “You need to know what they are?”

“They good?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” said Gibbs in a business-like manner.

The two men loaded their plates and Tony drew his chair to sit opposite Gibbs at his desk. He was about to take a huge bite out of a pastrami sandwich when he exclaimed, “Hey, I forgot! I’ve got crackers!”

“’s OK,” mumbled Gibbs through a mouthful of roast beef, “Don’t need cookies right now,” He saw Tony’s disappointed face, “Maybe later,” he added kindly.

“No, no,” said Tony hastily, “They’re not cookies, they’re … well … I’ll get them.” He sprang up and retrieved a large flat box from his backpack.

“Something you brought back from England?”

“Ooh no, but they were shipped over from there … It’s a British tradition. You pull them …”

“Pull them?” said Gibbs disapprovingly, “I’ve told you before, DiNozzo, this is a federal agency – and it’s on the Navy Yard – you can’t pull here!”

“No, no,” said Tony once more, “Not that type of pull. Here …” He held out a long crepe paper covered tube, “Take one end and pull … or tug, if that sounds better.”

Gibbs frowned at the heavily decorated tube but obediently took one end.

“You need to hold it firmer, Boss,” ordered Tony. Gibbs strengthened his grip, “Now, p-I mean, tug!”

A loud bang resounded through the squad room. In an instant, Gibbs had his gun out of the drawer and was scoping the room for enemies. He frowned as he saw no threat and then frowned even more at the half tube of cardboard which had dropped to his desk.

“Wow!” said Tony.

“Wow?” snapped Gibbs, “Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“Sorry, Boss. Crispian told me he was sending me some luxury crackers, but I didn’t realise they’d be that loud.”

“You mean they’re meant to do that?”

“Um, yes. The clue’s sort of in the name – cracker. There’s this snap thing that tears when you pull it. But I’ve never heard one as loud as that. Wow.”

Gibbs scowled and put his gun back in the drawer, “So, what are the damned things anyway?”

“They’re table decorations. You all sit down for your Christmas meal and pull – tug – a cracker with the people next to you … or opposite you. If you end up with the bigger piece, you get what’s inside.”

“There’s stuff inside?”

“Sure,” Tony picked up the tube from Gibbs’ desk, “You won,” he said brightly, “Look inside!”

The scowl continued so Tony emptied the contents out himself, “Look, here’s a paper hat. Ooh, it’s red! Do you want to put it on? No? Well, perhaps later. And there’s a joke, Where did the mistletoe go to get famous? You don’t want to guess? OK, then I’ll tell you, Hollywood! Get it? Holly-wood! And then there’s a gift,” Tony unwrapped an object, “Hey look, it’s a little compass. Nice wooden case. You know, Crispian told me that they’re all hand-made.” Gibbs’ silence continued. “Why don’t we put these away for the moment? Can see you’re not really a fan. Tell you what, I’ll go and make you a nice hot chocolate with some of that whipping cream that comes squirting out of the can … I’ve got marshmallows and sprinkles …” Tony backed away.

Gibbs watched him go and then cracked a smile. He picked up the compass and admired the workmanship although the joke left him cold.

Tony was soon back with a huge mug of chocolate with three inches of cream balanced on the top with a chocolate flake bar protruding from it. “Forgot,” said Tony, “Picked the flake bars up at Heathrow. Thought you’d like them with your chocolate.”

Gibbs decided it was Christmas and Tony had been punished enough, “Thanks, appreciate it. Think I’ll have another of those sugar Santas.” He helped himself to three.

Tony had brought back an extra strong black coffee to try and settle his nerves.

“You say you had those … things … shipped?” asked Gibbs.

“Not allowed to bring them on airplanes to the US,” said Tony, “’cos … well, I guess you know why not. But they get shipped over. And they’re beginning to be made here too but I thought you’d like the British experience.”

Gibbs picked the flake out of the cream, licked it and then re-dipped it. As a feeling of contentment wafted over him, he decided to let the subject of crackers go … for the moment. Tony also decided to be optimistic and allow the oddities of Two-Man-Team-Day dynamics to prevail; he picked up a piece of turkey jerky,

“Hmm, this is good, Boss. Your best ever.”

“Thanks, Tony. I think the teriyaki really works. And this … what’s this?”

Tony leaned forward, “Babbà. It’s …”

“Delicious,” said Gibbs cutting off any detailed description.

“Zia Ilaria is a great baker,” enthused Tony, “I should introduce her to Patty. They’d get on well together.”

It seemed for a moment as if Gibbs almost purred at the thought of what Tony’s auntie Ilaria could do if she teamed up with the owner of the Pastry Paradise.

“Nice scents, Boss,” observed Tony as he inhaled the essential oils, “What is it? No, let me guess,” he sniffed again, “Hmm, I’m getting clove and cinnamon … but there’s something else.”

“Frankincense,” supplied Gibbs, “And fir … makes you think of fresh cut trees.”

“I miss Ian,” said Tony sadly.

“What? Who?” asked Gibbs, alarmed by the apparent non-sequitur and wondering if Tony had been afflicted by another bereavement.

“You know, Boss,” said Tony reproachfully, “Ian – the inflatable Christmas tree …”

“Ahh.”

The two men sighed.

“That’s why I used the reed diffusers this year rather than the burners,” admitted Gibbs, “The smell isn’t as strong but after last year …”

Silence fell as both men remembered the loud pop, agonised hiss and Ian’s last wriggly shuffle when Tony had inadvertently put him too close to the lighted candle.

“To Ian!” said Tony as he raised his coffee mug.

“To Ian! A good friend!” said Gibbs as he took another lick of cream.

“May he rest in peace,” said Tony solemnly.

A solemn, and somewhat somnolent, air descended upon the remnants of the MCRT as they tried to decide if they had enough energy to rummage for more food. Tony was toying with the idea of producing the Christmas crackers again but, before he could do so, the elevator dinged to signal a new arrival.

“Leon,” said Gibbs as Director Vance strode towards them.

The Director looked around him in a puzzled manner, “I thought more people were working here today?”

“They decided to work on other floors,” said Gibbs blandly.

Vance raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Hurricane Gibbs made landfall,” explained Tony helpfully, “After brewing up a storm yesterday.”

“Is that so, Gibbs?”

Gibbs shrugged.

Vance looked around once more, “Well, gentlemen, I require your presence in my office. Now!”

Their co-workers might have been surprised to see how blithely Gibbs and DiNozzo obeyed the Director and followed him upstairs and into his office.

“Jethro, Anthony!” came Ducky’s happy voice from his seat in front of the Director’s desk, “It is such a pleasure to see you! I trust your Two-Man-Team Day is going well?”

“Tony told me we should be calling it Two-Man-Team Boxing Day,” said Gibbs.

“Boxing Day?” Leon’s eyes, like Gibbs’ earlier, lit up.

“I fear, my dear Leon, that Boxing does not, in this instance, refer to the Sweet Science but to the old practice of giving a Christmas box on the day after Christmas Day. It has been a public holiday in England for nearly 150 years. It is not so widely observed in Scotland although more recently it has become a public holiday there as well. I confess that, in many ways, the Scottish prefer to celebrate the New Year and they actually have a public holiday on both New Year’s Day and the day after. You will know, of course, that we refer to New Year’s Eve as Hogmanay which is the …”

“Duck,” interrupted Gibbs.

“Jethro?”

“Think the Director wants to say something,” suggested Gibbs.

“Of course, Jethro … and Leon. I did not mean to hog the conversation with my divagation about Hogmanay …” he chuckled at his own joke.

The Director strode to his desk and threw a switch, “Put the room into SCIF mode,” he announced.

“Sounds serious,” said Gibbs.

“SCIF?” murmured Ducky to Tony.

“Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility,” whispered Tony, “Basically puts the room into lockdown.”

“You sure you want to do that, Leon?” asked Gibbs coolly.

“Some reason I shouldn’t?” demanded Vance.

“Well, sure, Leon.”

“Explain!”

“There’s uneaten food down there … thought you might want it up here,” said Gibbs.

“Good point,” agreed Vance, “Go on, go and get what you need.”

“Although,” chipped in Ducky, “I can assure you that we have brought in a most ample spread of our own!”

“Didn’t doubt that,” smiled Gibbs, “Come on, Tony.”

A few minutes later, Gibbs and Tony were back with the various boxes of food.

“What did you bring?” Tony asked Vance and Ducky greedily.

“I brought a Dundee cake,” announced Ducky proudly, producing a heavily fruited cake with a decoration of whole almonds on the top, “And some festive shortbread. And I thought you might like to try my personal recipe of mulled wine – non-alcoholic as, of course, we are all on duty.” He paused until the laughter died away, “Quite. And what have you brought in, Director?”

“The kids are off with friends today ‘cos I thought I’d be working.” The laughter came again. “So, I spent the morning making …” he lifted the lid on a box that sat on his desk. The other three leaned forward to inspect it, “It a chocolate log cake,” he announced.

“I would prefer to call it a Yule Log,” announced Ducky, “It’s …”

“… so cute,” cooed Tony as he gazed at the chocolate log which was covered with a rough coating of butter cream, “And is that …”

“It’s a model of the MCRT truck,” pronounced Gibbs, “Nice one, Leon.”

Leon shuffled awkwardly at the praise.

“Although …” began Tony. He trailed to a halt as he struggled to find a way to suggest that perhaps it was not normal practice to attach the decorations with toothpicks. He shrugged; it was the season of goodwill and he was reasonably sure that the precise Director would have made sure to use new toothpicks rather than pre-chewed. “It’s great,” he enthused, “And you’ve really come on well with your decorating.”

“Anthony,” said Ducky, “Do my eyes deceive me or do I espy a box of Christmas crackers?”

“Yeah … well, I thought we could give them another try, Boss?” implored Tony, “And the room is in SCIF mode so nobody will hear them go off …”

Gibbs was not proof against that wide-eyed look – at least not on Two-Man-Team Days, “Oh, go on then. I guess Ducky’s bursting to give us the history.”

This turned out to be true and, between the loud bangs, Ducky did indeed deliver a slightly more than potted history of crackers. It also turned out to be the case that Gibbs warmed to the crackers – he wasn’t averse to loud noises when he knew they were coming, and he admired the little wooden artefacts which tumbled out of the crackers. He refused to join in, however, with donning a paper hat and was even less keen, despite it being a Two-Man-Team Day, on the jokes.

“This one is for you, Anthony,” said Ducky, “What is Santa’s favourite pizza?”

Gibbs winced as Tony chanted, “One that’s deep pan, crisp and even.” Tony turned to Gibbs, “You know, Boss. The carol. Good King Wenceslas. When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even!”

Even the Director joined in, “What do you call a short-sighted dinosaur?”

“A do-you-think-he-saw-us!” shouted back Tony.

“Go on, Jethro,” urged Ducky, “What joke do you have?”

Gibbs sighed, put his glasses on, and read out emotionlessly as possible, “Why would you invite a mushroom to a Christmas party?” The others kept studiously blank faces, forcing Gibbs to deliver the punchline, “Because he’s a fun guy to be with.” And then he couldn’t help but smile at the incongruity of him telling a joke about being a fun guy to be with.

“Well done, Jethro,” said Ducky kindly as he patted him on the shoulder, “I wonder, however, if you have some more soothing essential oils at your disposal? I suspect that young Anthony is on something of a sugar high.”

“I’m all right, Ducky,” said Tony, “I’m just a bit tired. Bit of jetlag, I think. And I didn’t sleep much at the airport.”

“And no doubt you’ve been marking Two-Man-Team Day by consuming the extra strong coffee which is your preferred option,” said Ducky severely, “My boy, why don’t you settle down on Leon’s couch there for a couple of hours and have a short refreshing sleep?”

Tony rubbed his eyes and looked, for a moment or two, like the small boy he was most definitely not. The thought was clear, he didn’t want to miss anything.

“Take a break, Tony,” said Gibbs, “Director and I need to go through some old reports,” The Director raised a brow at this revelation but kept quiet, “We’ll wake you up when it’s time for tea.”

The question promise? hovered unsaid in the air. Gibbs nodded faintly and Tony, slowly and reluctantly, moved to the couch and lay down. Vance reached into a drawer and pulled out the throw he had once crocheted and laid it over Tony. Gibbs patted him gently on the head before joining the others at Leon’s desk. Tony drifted off peacefully while Ducky, Gibbs and Vance turned, not to cold cases, but a game of Canasta.

NCISNCIS

A couple of hours later, as Ducky perceived that Tony was beginning to wake up, he and the others began to assemble their next meal. By the time Tony was alert again, the table was spread.

“Hey guys!” he said, “Looking good!”

“Indeed,” agreed Ducky, “May I help anyone to a slice of Dundee cake? Or perhaps a slice of the Yule Log. Or perhaps of both?” To this latter offer, he received enthusiastic nods, and, with a benign smile, he cut generous pieces.

A little later, as conversation began to be possible once more, Ducky approached a delicate subject,

“May I ask, Anthony whether any of your … expectations were met while you were in the UK?”

“Expectations?” queried Gibbs as Tony was still mid-swallow.

“Anthony’s great-aunt Susanna was a woman of some … property,” said Ducky delicately.

“Oh, I see. You mean, did he get anything in the will?” said Gibbs.

“It is not entirely how I would have phrased the question but, essentially, yes,” conceded Ducky, “She was, for example, the owner of a rather fine garden flat in Kensington, London.”

“What do you want with a flat garden?” asked Gibbs.

Tony managed to swallow the mouthful and speak on his own behalf, “Not a flat garden, Boss. A garden flat. It’s what they call a flat – an apartment – that’s on the ground floor and has a direct door to the garden – the yard. Highly sought after.”

“And did you …” probed Ducky.

“No.”

“What would you want with an apartment in London anyways?” asked Gibbs.

“Yeah, you’re right, Boss. And it would have been complicated. Think that’s what Aunt Suse thought too.”

“And may I ask … did she leave you anything else?” asked Ducky.

“She left most of the real estate to Crispian and his sister. Stocks and shares and cash went to some charities …”

“Oh,” said Ducky, trying not to sound disappointed.

“… but,” continued Tony looking smug, “She left me her husband Peter’s collection of cufflinks and studs.”

“That good?” asked Gibbs a little blankly.

“He loved Art Deco,” said Tony dreamily, “And most of them are gold … or platinum …”

“That sounds most satisfactory,” said Ducky more cheerfully, “I hope you will allow me to take a look at your new acquisitions … I like to think that I have a good eye for design, and I would enjoy the experience very much.”

“’course, Duckman. It’d be a pleasure.”

Gibbs’ eyes narrowed suspiciously, “And?” he pressed.

“And?” asked Tony innocently.

“You know,” said Gibbs sternly.

“Can’t fool you, eh Boss?”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” confirmed Gibbs, “Go on, what else did you get?”

“Well,” said Tony with a return to dreaminess, “Uncle Pete was a director of … well, this really important London jewellers. He had a particular interest in watches … and he had …”

“A lot?” suggested Vance.

“Around 15,” said Tony.

“Doesn’t sound that many,” said Gibbs – the man who only owned the one he wore and his late father’s watch.

“There’s Omegas, Rolexes …Patek Philippe … Cartier …”

“My, my,” breathed Ducky, “And are we to infer that your esteemed great aunt left the collection to you?”

“Yep,” smiled Tony, “She said that they should go to the Paddington with the best sense of style. And that was me. And fortunately, she named me in the will, so we didn’t have to fight over who had the best sense of style.”

“Indeed,” said Ducky drily, “That might have been a rather awkward matter to settle.”

“Congrats,” said Gibbs.

“And I’m guessing,” asked Vance, “That the collection is valuable?”

“Yes,” said Tony simply, “And let’s put it this way, I won’t be wearing any of them to work. Not with how … dirty … I seem to get at work.”

Silence fell as all four reflected on how their line of work tended to be heavy on their clothing and accessories.

“Talking of work,” said Vance briskly, “I’m going to need you all to go on a security conference tomorrow. Might last two … maybe three days.”

“Meant to be on leave, Leon,” Gibbs pointed out.

“This is more important than your vacation time!” snapped Vance.

Gibbs’ eyes narrowed as he prepared to square off to the Director. Tony sighed heavily,

“Hey, you guys, can we just go straight to it?”

“Tony?” asked Gibbs and Vance together.

“Well, you know, it’s fun doing the misunderstanding thing … but we’ve kinda done it a lot today. So, Director, couldn’t you just tell us what we’re doing tomorrow rather than you and the Boss doing your macho macho thing to see who cracks first?”

Gibbs and Vance stared at each other for about a second before they both shrugged, “Suits me,” said Gibbs.

“And me,” said Ducky who, stunned by a vision of Tony’s watch collection, had managed to be silent for an unusual length of time.

Vance rubbed his hands together eagerly, “I’ve arranged for us all to go to a Japanese themed spa centre. We’ll have Japanese spa and massage treatments – Jethro, I thought you’d enjoy learning something about how they use essential oils,” Gibbs nodded, “And we’ll have authentic Japanese food … but don’t worry, they do Italian as well, “Tony nodded in relief, “We’ll have origami lessons – they’re supposed to be good for increasing manual dexterity and co-ordination. They’ll teach us about the Japanese tea ceremony. It’s supposed to be very soothing … and they say they’ll do coffee if we prefer …”

“No worries, Leon,” said Gibbs, “I’m open to new ideas. And, remember that it’s just a Two-Man-Team Day thing, but I don’t mind tea.”

“And,” said Vance even more excitedly, “They’re going to give us classes in ikebana …” he paused as he saw Tony and Gibbs’ expectant faces, “Japanese flower arranging! A little Bonsai as well …”

“Sounds great,” said Tony, “All that stuff can really help with the harmony in the home. A good flower arrangement can work wonders for Qi.”

“Well, that all sounds most satisfactory, Leon,” said Ducky warmly, “And I thank you most heartily for arranging it. Why, I would say …”

Gibbs interrupted him, “Tony, there’s something you haven’t noticed.”

Tony scanned the tables to check that he hadn’t missed sampling some item of food – although he thought it highly unlikely. He frowned as he looked around and then spotted something that he was sure hadn’t been there before he took his nap,

“Guys!”

“You said last year that you wished we could have a real tree,” said Gibbs, “And after Ian’s accident …”

“May he rest in peace,” said Tony.

“May he rest in peace,” agreed Gibbs, “I thought it was time. After all, we couldn’t replace Ian … so we went and bought …”

“Camille,” suggested Tony.

“Camille?” queried Vance.

“Rhymes with real,” explained Tony.

The others nodded in agreement. “So, Camille will come home and grow in my garden,” explained Gibbs, “And I’ll bring her in every Christmas we’re working – if it’s a Two-Man-Team Christmas …”

“Or if it’s one that Leon and I are invited to,” suggested Ducky.

“’Course,” said Gibbs.

“We decorated it while you were asleep,” said Leon, “But if you want to change anything …”

“Change it?” gasped Tony, “I wouldn’t change anything. It’s perfect. Thanks, guys.”

“Hey,” said Gibbs, “I reckon we’re off duty now. I’ve got a bottle of good bourbon here – 7 years old and real smooth. Who wants a glass?”

A minute later and all four stood with glasses charged, Tony found the words,

“To Two-Man-Team Days. Long may they last!”