Work Text:
The day her mother dies, it rains. They’re in a hospital in Germany after references and tests and a barrage of things an eight-year-old does not really follow. The plane ride home is turbulent, and the sky cries for her.
The day Tali is killed, it rains. In July in Tel Aviv, it’s a freak weather occurrence that has people praying fervently, because it does not rain in the desert—not in the midst of summer. She makes the funeral arrangements but does not call her father home. She’s not even sure where her father is; all she knows is that not even his family can reach him directly. Though he is not there to tell her she must be strong, she does it anyway; she is, after all, her father’s daughter. So the sky cries for her.
The day she kills her brother—that he is her half-brother has never mattered—it rains. She pulls the trigger, says the prayers over him in Gibbs’ basement, and makes the arrangements and writes up the paperwork to get his body sent back to Israel. Standing on the balcony of her hotel room that evening, she tips her head back and lets the rain soak her to the skin. Her body is unused to the drop in temperature, and she can feel the cold settling into her bones, but she does not move. The sky cries for her, and if her tears mix in with the rain for the big brother she lost, no one is there to see it.
The day Michael Rivkin is killed, it does not rain. DC remains dry; there are no off-colour storms in Tel Aviv. This does not occur to her until the evening after the C-130 has already left, and though she has never been superstitious, she finds herself standing at the window of her bedroom, holding her badge and wondering if perhaps the sky is trying to tell her something.
Finis.
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