It is pouring. Has been pouring for days. There are no cases, nothing to distract her or the rest of the team, and Ziva is too near snapping at Tim for her own liking. (Tony, Tony she snaps at all the time, it's how they communicate, with words that taste almost familial.)
Sometimes, Ziva needs to breathe, needs to stare out at the horizon and not think for a moment. The portico outside the building would not be her first choice, but it will have to do.
The rain falls off the roof in sheets, blurring the outside world until she can imagine that it is all a fairytale, and she is the only person on this planet. She can imagine peace and hope and all good things. They aren't things she ponders all too often. She isn't one to embrace melancholy, after all. Still, standing here, she takes a moment.
It is interrupted by a cup of coffee being pushed into her hand. Gibbs is soaked to the skin, little droplet failing from his hair on to his nose.
He smiles at her, like he knows exactly why she is here and what she has been thinking, but that only thing he says is, "Rain's nice."
"Yes," Ziva replies, "yes it is."