He'd complained – vocally and non-verbally – and he'd grumbled all the way over, but he'd shut up as soon as they had entered the building. There was so much there that reminded him of Europe, the architecture of course, but also Jenny, how she seemed to visibly change right before his eyes in the soft light that fell in from the huge glass roof over the courtyard, that he didn't find it in him to be angry anymore at being dragged to a museum on his only day off.

He'd been on her security detail for the last five days during some security conference in Boston, and while DC wasn't warm and cozy yet in the middle of March, New England had been hit by a freaking snow storm. So on top of having to witness sleazy politicians and so-called experts fawning over her and inviting her to yet another drink at the hotel bar – just to warm up of course – he'd had to trudge through ten inches of snow to check her car for any suspicious devices. He still wasn't sure which had pissed him off more.

Today, however, he'd expected to go home when she had informed him that she had had Cynthia rebook their flights.

"And why is that, Di-rec-tor?" he'd asked sarcastically, drawing out her title. "Do you have some kind of special meeting with that Senator?"

Her lips had thinned at his comment and there had been the slightest hint of hurt in her eyes before she had carefully arranged her features into a blank mask once again. "No, Agent Gibbs, there is an exhibition that I would quite like to see. And as SecNav doesn't trust me to stay out of trouble for even three hours, you are coming with me."

He'd cited security concerns, mentioned the weather conditions, reminded her of the agency she'd left behind almost a week ago and had been reminded himself that she had never been one to step down from a challenge. In a move that reminded him strongly of Probationary Agent Shepard, she'd cast off her director persona, changed into a casual pair of jeans, let her hair down, and donned oversized aviator sunglasses. In the end, even he had had to admit that she didn't look anything like the high-end government official anymore that he normally saw in the newspapers.

"Jethro?" The sound of her voice ripped him out of his thoughts. "You can't still be smarting over having to go to a museum?"

He shrugged. "Why'd you want to go, Jen?"

The redhead didn't answer, instead she went into a narrow, rectangular room off the courtyard. On one small end there was a French flag with something that he translated as vaguely revolution-related written on it. He grinned a little smugly as he remembered the French lessons Jenny used to give him and the premature end he'd always set to them.

"Did you know she thought she was related to Mary, Queen of Scots?" her voice floated over to him.

"Who?"

"The Queen of England, hahaha", she answered sarcastically. "Isabella Stewart Gardener, of course. Who else might it be, we're in her museum?" She raised an eyebrow in a duh kind of way and he looked appropriately chastised for a moment before he resumed his usual stoic, no-nonsense expression.

"Well, director, maybe you should've been a little bit more informative, I don't even know what this exhibition is about," he teased her.

She sashayed over till she was right in front of him and had to crank her head upwards a little to be able to look him in the eyes. "You see, Jethro, all of this was a private collection," she turned a little and made a grand movement with her arms, "until Mrs. Gardener bought the land and built this palazzo after her husband died," she continued, launching into the history of the museum.

He tuned out her voice about thirty seconds into her mini-presentation and instead began to study her, taking notice of what had changed since Europe a little more than six years ago and how she still was the same.

"Come on, now," she eventually stopped herself and grabbed his arm, leading him out to the courtyard again. "We don't have that much time, but I want to see the Dutch Room, the Early Italian Room, the Raphael Room and the Gothic Room."

"If you want to see a Gothic Room, I can take you down to Abby's lab in the Navy Yard," he joked as she sent a half-amused glare his way.

"I will let you know that I have braved the walk down to Ms. Sciuto's sanctuary myself since I came back," she gave back before she added, "it seemed my knight in shining armor was too busy smarting over the fact that his ex-lover turned out to be his new boss."

He nudged her side lightly. "The least you could've done was sending me a letter announcing your arrival, milady," he deadpanned.

Jenny grinned back. It was a testament to how far they'd come as friends in the three months since she came back that they could bring up letters without wanting to tear each other's eyes out. They went up the stairs into the Renaissance rooms she was so excited about, and he watched her how she grabbed one of the plastic cards that explained the paintings and artifacts presented along all sides of the room, her eyes glittering.

She stopped in front of Raphael's pieta, her smile leaving her face as she stared at it. He let her have her time, but came to stand close behind her, lending her support and helping her through whatever dark place her mind had taken her to as she beheld the painting.

"Thank you," Jenny mumbled, her voice just above a whisper before she went on. He didn't ask her about her zoned-out state and she didn't offer an explanation, but whereas silences had so often driven a wedge into his relationships before, he felt like this one was the kit that helped fix whatever this was with Jenny.

They continued to walk through the exhibition, mostly quietly, but sometimes sharing their thoughts on one exhibit or another, till she led him into the greenhouse on their way out. Gibbs watched as she walked through the flowers, smelling the orchids or softly touching them, and then came back to him, once again smiling softly. They went out of the museum more closely together then they had come in, his hand ghosting above the small of her back, softly touching the soft material of her coat.

She leaned over to him when they sat in the back of a cab on the way to the airport, lazily watching the Boston landmarks go by. "Jethro," she began but trailed off, her eyes saying the rest, how much spending this morning together had meant to her.

"Anytime, Jen," he answered and carefully touched the palm of her hand with his fingertips, pulling them away before the moment could last too long. Still, he felt a spark that he had believed dead, and going by the sparkle in her eyes, she'd felt it, too.

This was inspired by the big snowstorm last week (my first) and the icy cold wind the following days that made me look for some indoor activity when I found this lovely museum (highly recommend!).

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