"And sausages?" she asked hopefully. "There have to be sausages. Beef of course."

"And no cheese," he finished. He was now well able to follow the neurotic and inconsistent way she followed kosher eating. He did not tell her that he more often than not ordered it for himself now because of how much of his food she stole. She did not tell him that she knew he did it.

"And mustard," she insisted. "The yellow kind. Not the one with seeds or the one that is moreā€¦" she could not describe it.

"More mustard coloured?" he smirked.

She poked out her tongue and shuffled closer to her partner.

"I am wearing a dress," she decided. "Green with very thin straps. Short so I can soak up the sun. No shoes so I can feel the grass between my toes."

"Well if you are wearing a dress, I am wearing shorts," he bargained. "Short ones down to here." He indicated his mid thigh with is hands and began to rub his legs briskly through his trousers. "And no socks," he finished.

"Ah this sounds so good!" she moaned, rubbing her hands together half with glee. "I can not wait, Tony!"

"Well you will have to, my ninja," Tony reminded her as he blew into his cupped hands. "Spring is still two whole months away and if this SOB does not leave his house soon, all they will find of us come the Big Thaw are two Federal Popsicles."

Ziva slid across the seat, even closer to her partner, her breath hanging in the air like a heavy fog. "I am from the desert!" she said as if it could convince the snow to go easy on her. "I freaking hate winter stakeouts," she mumbled, sliding her left arm inside the back of Tony's warm coat trying to steal some of his heat.

"Yeah," Tony said unconvincingly as he put one arm around her shoulders and held her freezing hands his. "I hate them too," he smiled.