"Detective Kemp, was it?"

"Yes, ma'am. But you can call me Justin."

"Well, thank you for helping me with all the presents." I grin at the man to my right, who'd helped me carry two heavy boxes up to my floor.

"It was my pleasure." He tips his chin politely. "A young woman like yourself shouldn't have to carry such a heavy load."

"Kemp."

"DiNozzo."

"Tony?"

". . .Eva?"

Ziva and McGee stand behind Tony at his desk, all three staring in bewilderment as to why I'm with the homicide detective.

"Special Agent Gibbs. Sorry to ruin your Christmas." Kemp shakes the boss' hand.

Gibbs barely glances at the team. "It's December 23rd. We're not going anywhere."

"Looks like we'll be working together on this case."

"I. . .can't wait."

The reason Kemp's over at N.C.I.S. is because of a double-homicide home invasion robbery dealing with a petty officer — Ned Quinn — who supposedly died 17 years ago.

Ziva and McGee leave to talk to Ned Quinn's former wife, Connie Wheeler. And the next morning, Tony and I leave for the Vietnam Memorial at the chance of spotting Quinn well and alive.

"I did offer to help you with the presents, you know."

"I know you did."

"Well, I thought you didn't want any help. Turns out you didn't want my help."

A low groan leaves my body. "He saw me struggling and offered. What was I supposed to do, say no?"

"You could have mentioned you have a fiancé before accepting his help." He glances over at me from the driver's seat.

"And he has a wife. Whom you used to date." I nudge his shoulder in reminder. "Long-term, from what I hear."

"Guy in the blue hoodie. Could be him. I'll go check him out."

When he goes for the car door handle, I snatch the binoculars and take a look for myself.

"If Quinn was young, female, and pregnant, then sure. We found him."

"Am I wrong to be jealous?"

"You most definitely are."

My hand glides up his suit and neck before resting on his cheek. He presses his cheek further into the palm.

"Ever since the undercover assignment, I just. . .I'm scared you're going to leave me the second you realize you can do so much better."

"If I wanted to leave you, Tony. . .I wouldn't want to have children with you, now, would I?"

"I-I guess not."

Snowflakes flurry from the clouds up above, dark resting upon the night sky. Quinn stands in front of Roger Laurence Grant's name, not caring about the weather.

I call Gibbs, asking what we should do. But he insists we return to headquarters while he talks to our lead suspect.

Tony and McGee visit Quinn's hotel room downtown, Gibbs interrogates Quinn about the robbery, and Ziva and I observe from the backroom.

"Psst. Eva. Ziva."

The two of us glance back to see Abby — dressed in a very Christmas-red attire — standing at the door and waving us towards her.

"Abby, I thought you went home." Ziva furrows her brows.

"Did Gibbs tell him that his daughter was here and wanted to meet him?" She peers into the room through the glass window.

"Not at all, no." I shake my head. "His daughter came to see him?"

"Yeah. He has to." She bounces on her toes. "It means everything to her."

Unfortunate for her, Ziva immediately shoots her idea down. "Abby, this is not a lost puppy for you to rescue. You cannot make this better. This is a murder investigation, okay?"

"Eva, don't you think Gibbs should tell him?"

"I. . .I think he should."

"Exactly. Ziva, I think —"

"I think you two should stay out of this."

End of discussion there, no doubt.

The team concurs in the bullpen where Tony has stolen a platter of leftover deli sandwiches and a jug of eggnog.

"What'd you find out at his place?" Gibbs tries one of the ham and swiss finger sandwiches.

"Nothing to tie him to the murder." Tony grumbles under his breath. "Appears to have led a, uh, non-criminal and invisible life."

"Actually, uh, he's an artist. He sketches some. . .pretty good stuff." McGee mentions.

According to Ducky, Quinn definitely tried to save Mrs. Taylor's life by performing chest compressions — and why would he help the wife after killing the husband?

"Evaline. Nice seeing you here again."

Kemp greets me by Ziva's desk where he's showing her and McGee photos of his kids and his in-laws' luxuries.

"Well, I do work here, so why wouldn't you see me?"

I walk towards my desk.

"So, uh, where's Gibbs? I need to get Quinn downtown."

"We're gonna hold him here, Detective Kemp."

"The Navy's got some unfinished business with former Petty Officer Quinn."

Director Vance, closely followed by Gibbs, stalks down the length of the bullpen.

"What exactly?" Kemp questions after shaking hands with Vance.

"Faked his death. His family collected death benefits."

"With all due respect, Director, I've got him for a double homicide. Not even close."

"You know you won't be able to get Quinn in front of a judge for days." Vance responds "Why don't you relax? Enjoy a little family time."

"What am I missing? Why is N.C.I.S. interfering with a Metro case?" He looks among the two leaders and the other team members.

All of whom give him silent looks in return.

"Fine. Tomorrow's Christmas. I've got two bikes and a dollhouse to put together."

Just like that, all of our Christmas plans are ruined.

The next morning, Tony, Gibbs, and I venture to the elder couple's home to thoroughly examine the crime scene again, where a security patrol officer irritates us to no end.

"You make a habit of keeping people waiting?"

"What's the rush, Kemp?"

"It's Christmas. Maybe if you had a family, DiNozzo, you'd understand."

"Afternoon, Detective."

I make my presence known while faking kindness towards the homicide detective. He flashes a toothy smile in my direction, clearly trying to get on my good side.

"So, Agent Giudice, have anyone to spend the holidays with?"

"Oh, I do. We've spent every holiday together since. . .oh, how long has it been, Tony?"

"Little over five years, darling."

Tony lifts a sprig of mistletoe over his head, shaking about in suggestion. A mocking roll of the eyes, and I gently kiss him.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, too."

"Oh. And Merry Christmas, Detective Kemp."

After a faithful arrest of the security patrol officer — the true killer of the Taylors — Tony and I invite the team to my apartment to partake in the DiNozzo family Christmas tradition.

Well, I invited them, and Tony begrudgingly agreed.

"Caramel popcorn, hot mulled cider, and the greatest, greatest Christmas movie of all time. . .It's a Wonderful Life!"

The others joyously cheer from around the living room — Ducky in the armchair, Ziva and Jimmy in the loveseat, Abby and McGee on the ground.

Tony and I make ourselves comfortable on the couch as the movie begins.

"I think it's about time you moved in with me. Officially, at least."

"If that's what you want, Ev."

"It most definitely is."