Christmas Miracle

As if drunk, Gibbs staggered into the church. A few people turned and frowned disapprovingly at him when he knocked into a pew. Gibbs paid them no mind as he sat heavily in the back.

It was too much. Too fucking much. First Kate was killed, a member of his own team, something Gibbs still couldn't forgive himself for. Then, upon waking up from his own injuries a year later, he'd grieved for Shannon and Kelly all over again.

And now he'd lost another member of his team. More than just a member; Tony had been the heart of the team, and he could have been so much more to Gibbs if he'd done anything about it, but he hadn't. He'd thought he had time, but as of ten thirty this morning, Tony was dead. His car had been blown up again, and this time Tony hadn't managed to escape.

Gibbs had held out hope until Ducky had come up and confirmed that it was Tony, right down to the scarring on his lungs from his bout with the plague. Gibbs was sure the shock he saw on the faces of Tony's teammates was mirrored on his own. Shock at the fact that Tony, the most irrepressible person Gibbs had ever met, was dead.

It hadn't been until Tony came to work with Gibbs, that Gibbs had ever considered his job entertaining. Tony brought joy, and laughter, and teasing into an environment that was usually lacking in all three. Gibbs could barely bear the thought of going back into work and facing that empty desk.

Maybe it was really time to retire, but even that prospect seemed bleak. What did it say about Gibbs that the best parts of his day was when he was with Tony? Hollis had retired to Hawaii, putting herself quickly out of reach once she realized that Gibbs was never going to be what she wanted. She'd blamed it on Shannon and Kelly's deaths, and Gibbs had let her. She didn't need to know that Gibbs had wanted something else entirely.

Gibbs reached for his phone, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he shut the damn thing off. Suppressing a sudden urge to stand up and rip the pew from its moorings, Gibbs forced himself to breathe through lungs that felt blistered from the pain of loss.

The whole team was a wreck. Abby had been as devastated as Gibbs had ever seen her, sobbing in his arms. Even Ziva had had tears in her eyes, and McGee hadn't even been trying to hide his sorrow. Gibbs knew he should have stayed, at the very least been a physical support for his team, but it had been beyond him.

Gibbs closed his eyes only to snap them open when he saw Tony's car exploding in his mind's eye. Gone, up in smoke, was a future Gibbs had only allowed himself to contemplate in the privacy of his own home. He'd imagined coming home and finding Tony there, that insouciant grin on his face, a beer for Gibbs in his hand, wearing nothing but jeans, the top button open, his feet bare, and before Gibbs would have even taken a step, he'd have been pressed against the door, Tony doing his best to make him forget his name, let alone the day he'd had.

He'd dreamed about an end to long, sleepless nights. No more working on the boat until the sun rose to avoid being chased by nightmares and regrets. Instead, there'd be laughter and touching and a home, something Gibbs had been without for far too long.

But now it was all gone, and Gibbs knew he'd lost his last chance to find someone who could have taken Shannon's place in his heart. He'd waited too long to say anything and, now, all he had to look forward to was a lifetime of nightmares and regrets. The contemplation of those long hours between the end of the work day and the start of the next loomed like Mount Everest.

A child's voice broke through his misery, and he realized that he'd walked into the church during a rehearsal. There was a little boy near the altar, his voice like an angel. Gibbs found it hard, initially, to focus on the words, but then he caught the phrase: the miracle unfolds.

A craving for Tony swept through Gibbs so strongly it was as if the need was punched into him like a fist into a punching bag. A miracle. That's what he needed, a miracle to help him wake up and face each day. Eyes brimming with tears, he looked up at the hanging banners proclaiming the miracle of the Christ Child, the celebration of peace on earth, and Gibbs found himself on his knees, praying for mercy, praying for anything.

After a while, Gibbs remembered that prayers were seldom answered, and when they were, they weren't the answers hoped for. People suffered and died every day and miracles were all well and good in a gospel revival tent, but you seldom got them when you really needed them.

He sat back on the pew, exhausted, drained, too weary to even think about getting up and going home. Even the bottle of bourbon he had in the basement wasn't sufficient enticement.

Covering his face with his hands, he wished with all his heart that he didn't have to go through this again. He honestly didn't think he had the strength. Footsteps alerted him that someone was heading in his direction and he kept his face covered, hoping it would be taken as a sign that they could just keep walking.

"Hey," a voice said. A voice Gibbs could not be possibly hearing.

"I think," the voice said hesitantly. "I think I’m here for you."

Gibbs slowly lowered his hands and looked up to find Tony staring down at him. Disbelieving, Gibbs said, "You're dead."

"Yeah, I know," Tony said, looking bewildered.

"That means you aren't here, and I've cracked," Gibbs said bluntly.

"I don't think so," Tony said slowly. "The second part, I mean. Well, both parts, because I am here, but what I meant is that I don't think you've cracked."

"You got a better explanation?" Gibbs snapped out.

Tony sat down, his body right next to Gibbs, but Gibbs couldn't feel him. He didn't feel any heat from Tony, the displacement of air as he sat down, or the pressure of his leg against Gibbs'. Tony shrugged and looked around. "You know me," he finally said, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

"I knew you, DiNozzo," Gibbs corrected heartlessly, refusing to give in to any sense of hope.

Tony snapped his fingers. "DiNozzo. Tony. That's my name." He sagged back in the pew in relief. "I couldn't remember it. I just knew you needed me."

Gibbs was about to bite out that he didn't need anybody, but it was such a blatant lie that he couldn't force the words out. Furrowing his brow, he asked, "How could you forget your name?"

"I haven't been dead long," Tony said, as if Gibbs needed a reminder. "It was like all that was left when I died was the real stuff, you know? The real me, what really counts, deep inside, and my name just wasn't a big deal. But it's all coming back to me now."

Confused, aching, and angry all at once, Gibbs demanded, "What the hell are you doing here? And don't tell me you're a ghost, because I don't believe in ghosts, and don't tell me you're alive because--" Gibbs cut himself off, and just ran a hand through Tony's arm instead, watching as it went right through.

"Okay, that's weird," Tony observed. He tried to touch himself and successfully grabbed his own arm. "I feel real to me."

"Just answer my question." Not that it mattered. Whatever the answer, all it meant was that Gibbs had truly lost it. You could call it something fancy like post traumatic stress disorder, but crazy was crazy. Although, as crazy went, there was something so right about talking to Tony again, even if just for a moment before reality crashed back in.

"You caused a bit of a stir up there," Tony said, pointing up. "They haven't heard from you in a long time. You should have seen them," he added with a grin. "I think I even heard trumpets. There was a lot of frantic conferring, not," he amended, "like anyone was actually running around. It was very, well, more Claude Rains and less George Burns."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gibbs said with a scowl. He tried to remember if he'd ever had Kelly or Shannon appear in such a life-like dream. Maybe he wasn't crazy. Maybe he'd fallen asleep, and any moment now the minister would wake him up, and he'd have to go outside and drive home and start finding a way to cope with the rest of his life.

"All I'm saying is that you called and here I am," Tony finished up. "But I think something went wrong because I'm not really here, am I?"

"No," Gibbs said shortly. "You're not." Then, brutally, he said, "You're dead. Your car blew up and your body burned to a crisp."

"Ouch," Tony said with a wince. "That had to hurt."

Letting out a mirthless snort, Gibbs looked away, suddenly finding it almost impossible to keep looking at the man he'd just lost. Whether he woke up, or whether he was hallucinating, either way, sooner or later, Tony would be gone, and the pain would be back, and Gibbs would just as soon deal with reality than allow himself the temptation of losing himself in dreams. "And I didn't call you."

"Not in the moose call way of calling, but in the heart way you did," Tony said.

"Moose way?" Gibbs said, finding himself, as usual, charmed by Tony's silliness.

Tony grinned at him.

Gibbs wanted to grin back, but instead he said, "I need to know. Why are you here?"

Frowning, Tony glanced down at his body. "Not really sure. It's not like anyone gave me clear instructions. I was up there hanging around, trying to get the lay of the land, and then someone pushed me and here I was." As if just noticing that a choir was singing, Tony hummed a bar or two. "Nice," he observed, "That kid's got an amazing voice." Then, he offered, "Maybe I could check in and see if I'm doing something wrong."

Gibbs considered Tony for a moment. "This isn't going to work."

"Why not?" Tony said. "I mean besides the obvious."

"You mean the part where you're dead, and don't even have a body to go back to, even if you were able to?"

Chewing his bottom lip for a moment, Tony nodded. "That does seem to be a bit of an obstacle." He ran a hand though his hair. "Are you sure you can't touch me?"

Against his better judgment, Gibbs reached out but, again, his hand moved through Tony, meeting no resistance. He shook his head. "Time to wake up," he said to himself, forcing his body to stand. "You're dead, Tony, and nothing's going to fix that."

"Maybe," Tony said uncertainly, "but maybe this is a chance for you to talk to me, to say goodbye." He scrunched his face up, slowly shaking his head. "But that doesn't seem right."

"To say goodbye?" Gibbs asked, suddenly indignant. "And that will make everything all right? You're gone. Everyone I've cared about dies; you're just one more in a long line. And saying goodbye to you won't make that better."

Tony looked like he was sorry he'd opened his mouth.

Gibbs didn't care; he was on a roll. "Did you know that I loved you? Wanted you? Hoped that maybe one day we could--" He stopped, his lips tight, and pushed right through Tony until he was in the aisle. "Fuck it. I'm going home. Go haunt someone else. All you'll be is a reminder of everything I lost. Everything I'll never have."

"Gibbs," Tony protested.

Not answering, Gibbs strode for the exit, suddenly anxious to be home so he could put a serious dent in that bourbon and find oblivion. As he pushed the door open, he found himself looking back, but all he saw were empty pews.


*****
Hours later, Gibbs was beginning to believe that someone had watered down the bourbon, because it wasn't helping. It didn't help that all his memories of Tony had been recharged by whatever the hell that had been in the church. He should really go to bed. His body wouldn't appreciate the combination of too much alcohol and sleeping on the basement's concrete floor.

At least he didn't need to get up for anything. His team, what was left of it, was on mandatory leave. He suspected Abby, McGee and Ziva would be spending time together, no doubt a healthier response than his choice. But Gibbs was in no mood to offer solace to anyone, and there was no point in anyone offering it to him.

Pushing off the floor, using the boat as leverage, Gibbs made his way up the basement stairs. He managed to find the coordination to brush his teeth, some habits too ingrained to break, and after stripping down, fell into bed, hoping against hope he'd at least drunk enough to allow him to sleep.

But when he closed his eyes, the remains of Tony's burnt shell of a body haunted him. It made the false vision of him healthy and whole at the church even more mocking in comparison.

"Hey," a voice beside him said.

Gibbs let out an involuntary yell which he quickly cut off. "Shit, DiNozzo!" he snapped. "You almost gave me a heart attack." Despite his drinking, he felt completely sober and sane, but when he turned his head, there Tony was, still dressed, lying next to him. As if to prove a point, Gibbs reached out, fully expecting to feel the sheets where Tony lay, but instead, his hand landed on his chest. "I can touch you," he said, a shiver running down his spine.

"Yeah," Tony said with a smile. "I just needed a little help to figure out how, kinda like that scene in Ghost with that crazy subway ghost."

"You do know that I never understand your movie references, right?" Gibbs found himself asking.

"Not true," Tony defended him. "You get some of them. You're not completely out of touch. Just mostly."

Gibbs stared at Tony, his hand still resting on him, and found himself captivated by the rise and fall of Tony's chest. "You're breathing," he observed.

Tony glanced down. "See? What'd I tell you? You're sharp as a tack." The grin he shot Gibbs was Tony at his teasing finest.

"This is a dream," Gibbs decided. He was home, in bed, drunk, fast asleep, and having a dream. And while it would suck beyond the telling of it when he woke up, he couldn't walk away like he had at the church. Slowly, keeping his eyes on Tony's face, he moved his hand down over Tony's stomach and down to rest over his, somehow not surprisingly, hardening cock. He always suspected Tony had a trigger reflex when it came to becoming aroused.

"Hmm," Tony hummed, arching a little into Gibbs' hand. "Feels good." He lifted an arm but then hesitated. "Can I touch you?"

"Wouldn't be much of a wet dream if you didn't," Gibbs pointed out.

"I don't think I'm a wet dream, boss," Tony argued.

"That's all you can be, DiNizzo," Gibbs countered. "What other explanation is there?"

"That's sort of up to you," Tony said obscurely.

Gibbs couldn't remember ever having a wet dream in which the object of his affections wouldn't shut up. A small part of him, that he was steadfastly ignoring, knew something was off, that this was too authentic to be anything but real; but Tony was dead, of that Gibbs was sure. The whole thing was too confusing and painful to think about, so he leaned forward and kissed Tony, wanting to at least do the one thing he'd been thinking about since the first time he saw Tony smile at him.

He felt the shape of Tony's grin for a second before the warm mouth opened under his. Their tongues met in a wonderfully wet and hot kiss that had both men edging closer to each other until their bodies were pressed tightly together.

In a real dream, Gibbs thought traitorously to himself, Tony would be naked now. Against his mouth, Gibbs said, "Why do you still have your clothes on?"

"I like the way you think," Tony said delightedly, and he pushed away to strip his clothes off.

The pain of Tony's loss was hard to keep front and center when Tony was here, naked, rubbing his hands up and down Gibbs' chest and torso and closing his fingers around-- "God," Gibbs moaned.

"Like that?" Tony said with a smug grin. He started kissing Gibbs' jaw while his hand leisurely stroked Gibbs to an aching hardness. Gibbs wanted Tony to shut up again, so he went back to the kissing. Against his mouth, Tony whispered, "Lube?"

"Drawer," Gibbs managed to say.

Tony pulled away to reach for the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out lube.

"Why do you need this?" Gibbs asked, unable to completely let go of the assumption that this was a dream. He never needed lube in a dream. This isn't a dream, he thought to himself. It has to be, he told himself. He's real, he argued back. "He can't be," he snapped out loud.

"Are you trying to ruin the mood?" Tony asked quizzically.

"I need to understand," Gibbs said obstinately. "If this isn't a dream, then what the hell is going on?"

Lube in hand, Tony dropped back down to the bed, his eyes rolling. "Can't you ever take something on faith?"

"No," Gibbs retorted. "I can't. And you being here makes no sense."

"Can't it just be a Christmas miracle?" Tony asked.

"And what happens tomorrow," Gibbs demanded, "when I wake up and you're gone?"

"Maybe I won't be gone," Tony suggested.

"And how are you planning on explaining the being dead part? Or are you just planning on warming my bed as a ghost for the rest of my life?"

"Would that be so bad?" Tony threw out. "Good sex every night? Might loosen you up a bit. Probably be easier than having to actually hide a relationship from everyone, with the gay thing and the boss thing."

"Would you have considered it?" Gibbs asked, doubting his sanity for even having this conversation, let alone asking that question.

"For you?" Tony asked.

Gibbs nodded.

"Absolutely," Tony said emphatically. "I'd have risked it all for you."

"What about all the women?" Gibbs pointed out.

"What about you being a total bastard all the time and smacking me upside the head?"

"I thought you liked that," Gibbs protested.

"Not the point," Tony said. "You're still an unapproachable bastard."

"I've worked hard to be that way," Gibbs said truculently.

"Yeah, I watched you," Tony said. He held up the lube. "Any chance we might actually have sex tonight?"

"Not until I know what's going on and what's going to happen. I don't want to have sex and then wake up and find you gone and--." He stopped talking, not even willing to think about how bad things had been a couple of hours ago and how they'd be that way again. "What did you mean when you said it was up to me?"

"Ah," Tony said. "I was wondering if you'd caught that."

Gibbs was actually ashamed of himself that he'd forgotten until now.

"Cut yourself some slack," Tony suggested, as if Gibbs' thoughts were all over his face. "You've had a bad day."

Gibbs wished that Tony were really alive and really here, so he could allow himself the weakness of drawing on him for comfort. "Did you really die?"

"Yeah, boss, I did."

"Then what is this? Tell me the truth. Why are you here?"

"Because you prayed for me and, like I said, it got everyone into a tizzy. They sent me down before they'd given it a lot of thought, I think."

"But--"

"Wait," Tony interrupted. "Let's finish the other conversation we were having. Would you have considered it, if you'd known I was willing?"

That was a good question, and one that Gibbs had given a lot of thought. He ran his eyes over Tony's naked body, imagining joining him in bed every night. Having someone to eat dinner with and talk to about his job. "Yes," he said. They were both good at lying, and Tony was the best undercover agent Gibbs had ever worked with. They could have pulled it off.

"When you were praying back at the church," Tony prompted him. "What did you want? I mean, really want?"

"You not dead," Gibbs answered immediately. "Me not alone," he added truthfully. "But life doesn't work that way," he continued. "I wanted Kelly and Shannon back, too, and trust me, I prayed then, too."

"I'm sorry, boss," Tony said. "If I knew how to give them back to you, I would. But too much time has gone by, and it would change too many things to even attempt to try it. I think you're stuck with me or nothing."

Suddenly angry, Gibbs demanded, "Are you telling me there was a way to get them back, back then? That if I'd prayed the right way, or used the right words, that there might have been a way?" Just the thought that he'd missed the chance to hold his daughter again, to hear her laughter, made him sick to his stomach.

"No, no" Tony assured him quickly. "I'm not explaining this right. Things suck for everyone sooner or later, Gibbs, it's the nature of life. Either we die or the people we love die. Can't get away from it. And sure it sucks when something happens like it did to your family, but that shit happens, too. Some people, when bad thing happen, do amazing things with it. They start organizations like Mothers Against Drunk Driving, or the Amber Alert, or the Leukemia Society, or they go on to find a way to love again and find meaning in life. Other people, when bad things happen, they close down, get angry."

"Like me?" Gibbs asked defiantly.

"Nope," Tony said. "You're an odd duck. Yes, you closed down, but only to good things happening to you. You still fight like hell for everyone else, and if there was anything you could do to keep someone else from suffering like you did, you'd give your life to prevent it."

As uncomfortable as Gibbs was with Tony's words, he still felt warmed by them. "And?" he finally said.

"And you're like the prodigal son. You finally came home, just for a moment, and you asked for something for yourself. And no one had the heart to say no."

"And suddenly I'm supposed to become some sort of ray of sunshine, smiles for everyone? Are the choirs of angels celebrating my return to the human race, full of expectation that I'll be a kinder, gentler version of myself?" Gibbs asked derisively.

Tony snorted. "They're angels, Gibbs, not morons."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at Tony.

Tony grinned in return. "No one expects anything of you." Then, glancing down at their naked bodies, he amended, "Well, I was sort of expecting sex, but we haven't gotten very far."

"What happens in the morning?" Gibbs said after a moment. That was the important thing. "Is this a pity fuck to help me deal with your death? Sort of like," and Gibbs made sure Tony was watching him before he threw out, "We'll always have Casablanca?"

"See?" Tony said with a broad smile. "You can do it." Then, wincing a little, he added, "Although it's actually: 'We'll always have Paris'."

"They were in Casablanca," Gibbs said.

"Yeah, I know, but their love affair was in Paris. They just met up again in Casablanca, which is why he says," Tony's voice changed into a passably good Bogart imitation, "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine." Tony grinned at Gibbs.

Shaking his head, another unwilling smile forming on his face, Gibbs refocused the conversation, "What happens in the morning?"

"You see," Tony said, not answering the question, "things are precariously balanced right now. I've only been dead a few hours, and things are still in play. Ducky identified me, but there's still evidence out there, and he could be wrong. It's not like it hasn't happened once or twice. But if you wait too long, the teeth and the DNA samples will come back, and they'll prove it's me, and it could be too late."

"Too late for what?" Gibbs asked.

"For you to hope. Can you do that? Can you hope? Can you have some faith? Can you believe that something good can happen to you? For you? That's all you need to do."

"That's all," Gibbs said disparagingly. "Just hope."

"That's all," Tony said carefully. "Just believe it can happen."

It seemed so simple, but Gibbs couldn't do it. He knew better than anyone how fragile his heart was. If he allowed himself to believe, to hope, truly hope, and nothing was different in the morning, and Tony was still dead, there'd be nothing left inside him to keep him human.

"For me. For us," Tony pleaded.

"For you when I know you're dead?" Gibbs asked disbelievingly. "For us when there can't be an us? How am I supposed to do that?"

"You hope all the time, often against all reason," Tony said. "You hope that we'll find the bad guy, that the innocents won't be killed, that your team will be safe."

"That's not hope," Gibbs said darkly, "that's skill, and knowledge, and intelligence. And even with all of that I still lost Kate, I still lost you."

"So, it's nothing more than a case of you win some, you lose some?" Tony asked incredulously. "You're never hoping for a particular outcome?"

"I'm pushing for an outcome, using my skills," Gibbs argued. "And sometimes they're not enough."

"So you come home alone and work on your boat until you can't keep your eyes open anymore, occasionally getting into a belligerent relationship with some woman who'll grow tired of you before you have to risk anything?"

"And the way you lived your life was any better?" Gibbs snapped. "Any regrets now that you're on the other side?" Gibbs was startled to realize this was the first time he'd even given thought to everything Tony had lost when he'd died.

"Yes," Tony said quietly, sadly. "This was one. You and me. But, apparently, hoping for it, believing it could actually happen is beyond you. You can sit here and talk to me, and almost have sex with me, but you'd rather believe it's a dream, or post traumatic stress disorder, or some ingredient gone bad in the bourbon, than actually believe in a miracle."

"If I believe in miracles, Tony," Gibbs said guardedly, "how do I live my life when I don't get them?"

"The same way we all do," Tony said. "But most people don't get to be naked in bed with one who's just asking him to believe to make it happen. It's an engraved invitation, Jethro. Just fucking say yes."

Gibbs thought he might break apart with the opposing forces inside him vying for dominance. The part of him that had spent years keeping himself safe was screaming to say no. The part of him that he'd kept safe, that small child who had hoped for the right Christmas present under the tree, the young man who had kissed his first girl hoping she would kiss him back, the adult who'd asked his first true love to marry him, hoping she'd say yes, that part of him wanted to yell yes just as loudly.

"Will it help if I leave?" Tony offered. "Is it too confusing to have me here?"

Gibbs' hand shot out to grab Tony's arm. "Stay." If this was all he'd have, he wasn't ready to give it up, yet.

"Say yes," Tony said again, leaning in to kiss Gibbs. "Just say it and mean it." He rested his forehead against Gibbs'. "But hurry. Ducky's on his way in. He couldn't sleep. We're running out of time."

Fear was what finally motivated Gibbs. "Yes. Yes. I--" He stopped, the words bottled up.

"You what?" Tony asked hopefully, eyes pleading.

"I believe--" Gibbs stopped again.

"What do you believe?" Tony prompted.

I believe in miracles, Gibbs said to himself, trying it on for size. It felt like a lie. I have hope that you can be brought back from the dead. That felt like a lie, too. He searched for something to say that didn't feel like a lie.

Tony watched him, eyes inviting, head dipping as if he might say the words for him.

Finding something of truth in him, Gibbs finally said, "I believe in you and me, and I want that. If it's possible, I want that. And if anyone could come back from the grave, it would be you, DiNozzo."

"Almost there," Tony coached. "It's just a small step from there."

Gibbs swallowed. It wasn't the words, he realized. He could come up with the words. Give me a miracle, give me you, let this happen. But to actually believe that he, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was deserving of a miracle? That was the problem.

"If I tell you that you are, will it help?" Tony asked.

"That I am, what?"

"Worthy, deserving, loved, all of that and more," Tony said, the affection in his eyes giving truth to his words. "And by more than me."

In answer, Gibbs pulled Tony close, wrapping his arms around him. He let himself soak up Tony's strength and warmth, allowed it to feed his courage. It was funny how he could step in front of a bullet without a smidgen of fear, but offering up his heart to what he thought of as an unloving and capricious God was the most terrifying thing he'd done in years. Then he leaned back and cupped Tony's face in his hands. "I want my miracle. I want you in this bed, and in my life. I want to go into work and find you there. I want to listen to your stupid jokes, and watch you be braver than you should be and smarter than you let on. I want it all."

"Do you believe it can happen?" Tony asked, eyes shining.

"Should miracles be this hard to come by?" Gibbs asked with a small grin.

"Miracles are never easy, boss," Tony said.

"Then, you've been a miracle all along, DiNozzo," Gibbs teased. "And yes, I believe it can happen." And he did. Or at least he mostly did. Part of him did.

"Good enough," Tony said with a blinding smile. He kissed Gibbs on the forehead. "Go to sleep."

"What?" Gibbs said, exasperated, even as his eyes started to close and darkness settled around him. "I don't--" Unable to finish even a sentence, he drifted off.


*****
A phone was ringing. Gibbs tried to remember where his cell phone was and found a vague memory of shutting it off. He wrinkled his brow, thinking. It slowly percolated through his brain that it was his land line, and seeing as how he didn't have an answering machine, it would keep ringing until whoever was calling gave up. He waited a while, hopeful, but the phone kept ringing.

"Shit," he said as he reached out to grab the phone. As he brought it to his ear, all the memories of last night came back, and he frantically looked around for Tony.

He was alone. He tried to listen to see if someone was roaming his house but the insistent voice on the other end of the phone was pulling his attention. "What?" he snapped into it.

"Jethro," Ducky's voice said, sounding excited about something. "Ducky here. You'll never believe it."

"I'm in no mood for guessing games today," Gibbs bit out. In the light of day, his belief in miracles was waning quickly.

"It wasn't Tony," Ducky said happily.

"What?" Gibbs said, his breath catching, hope rising insidiously. "You mean--" He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Yes, my friend," Ducky said with immense satisfaction, "Tony wasn't the man who died in his car. Unbelievably, that's two times now that he's escaped that unlucky fate. I do believe he should install a good alarm in the next car he buys."

"Have you seen him?" Gibbs challenged.

"No," Ducky said, sounding worried, "and that has us all wondering where he is. It's possible that whoever blew his car up has taken Tony for some nefarious purpose; especially since they planted someone with lung damage so we'd clearly think it was him. I suggest we start looking immediately."

That was the moment Tony walked into the bedroom, a mug of coffee in each hand, dressed in a pair of low-riding sweats and nothing else.

"He's here," Gibbs said, his eyes taking a greedy look at the man.

There was a long pause. "He's there?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, starting to grin.

"Why did you ask me if you'd seen him then?" Ducky asked, sounding confused.

"Because I didn't know he was here," Gibbs said.

Tony rolled his eyes and said softly, "Oh, ye of little faith."

"He must have come in while I was sleeping," Gibbs finished, too happy to care that Tony was making faces at him.

"Well, good," Ducky said in satisfaction. "All in all, a splendid ending to a horrible day. Please convey to our Mr. DiNozzo that I'll be looking forward to seeing him. I'll let everyone else know, shall I?"

"You do that, Ducky. Thanks," Gibbs added and hung up. "You're here," he said to Tony.

"I'm here," Tony agreed. "Your very own Christmas miracle."

Gibbs couldn't believe it. If it wasn't for Ducky's call, he'd still be inclined to believe that yesterday had all been a dream, from the explosion of Tony's car to the church and then everything that happened after that. Not that that would explain what Tony was doing here half naked in his bedroom.

"They'll be showing up soon," Gibbs said. "Abby and McGee, Ziva, too, probably. What are you going to tell them? Where have you been for the last day?"

Tony put the mugs down on the bedside table and crawled into bed with Gibbs. "I gather you're not comfortable with telling them the whole Christmas miracle story?"

"I'm not even comfortable thinking it," Gibbs admitted. Although he did run a hand down Tony's side, letting his fingers rest on his hip. Tony was real. He was here.

Tony shrugged. "Out of town for the evening to visit a friend?"

"They won't buy it," Gibbs said. "I wouldn't buy it."

"Yeah, but we know what a hard sell you are," Tony said ruefully. "Trust me, I know," he added with a grin. He picked up a cup of coffee and handed it to Gibbs. "They won't care what the reason is because they'll be happy to see me. And by the time they do care, I'll have come up with a believable story."

Gibbs took a sip of coffee, then another.

"So, now, if it's not too much trouble," Tony asked, stealing Gibbs' cup away and putting it back on the bedside table. "Could we have sex now? Finally?"

Gibbs laughed out loud, a louder and truer laugh than he could remember laughing in years. "Yes, Tony, we can have sex now. A thousand apologies for making you wait so long."

"You're forgiven," Tony said magnanimously.

"It'll have to be fast," Gibbs warned. "The door's not locked."

Tony grinned. "Yes, it is."

Gibbs grinned back. "They're trained agents. Ziva will pick the lock."

Tony growled at him. "Are you trying to get out of this? I can go home, you know."

Grabbing at him, Gibbs drew them both down to the mattress. "No, you can't. I won you fair and square." And to prove his point, he kissed Tony.

When they drew apart for breath, Tony whispered, "Merry Christmas, Jethro."

The End
January 1, 2008

If you liked the story, let me know, would ya? Ladyra11@yahoo.com