He always laid his jacket over a puddle so she could walk across. She always insisted it was not necessary, pointing out that she could avoid the puddle or tread carefully across to avoid getting her feet wet. She told him there was no reason for him to ruin a perfectly good jacket simply to keep her from getting a little wet. Still, every time they came to a puddle, he would shrug off his jacket and lay it down. Then, he would take her hand and lead her across. If he didn't happen to have a jacket on, he would scoop her up into his arms and traipse through the puddle, placing her safely on the other side.
Ziva knew the origin of this gentlemanly act. Sir Walter Raleigh had done it for Queen Elizabeth I centuries ago. Such a simple and relatively painless act; now, it remained a sign of a man's upbringing, though its occurrence rate had lessened in past years. It flattered her. Though she protested, she took great comfort in knowing that Tim cared so much that he would sooner dirty his own clothing than see her get even a splatter of dirty street water anywhere on her or her clothing.
"I thought that rain would never stop," Tim commented as he and Ziva walked hand-in-hand down the street. The pavement was slick with the freshly fallen precipitation and puddles lined the curbs at every crosswalk.
"I quite like the rain," she said. "The sounds are soothing and smooth. They can lull me into a nice state of relaxation."
When they reached the end of the sidewalk, Tim saw the rather deep puddle which had formed. He reluctantly let go of Ziva's hand and removed his jacket. "Let me cover this for you."
She grinned, though she had no intention of going without protest. "Timothy, as I have said many times before, this is not necessary."
"And as I have said many times before, Ziva, I will not have you trudge through a puddle and get wet," he told her firmly.
"I have gotten wet many times before," she said. "In fact, I recall the two of us taking a brisk swim in a fountain outside that bank," she teased, referring to her first case with the team. "I am not the Wicked Witch of the East! I will not melt!"
Her words fell on deaf ears as Tim stubbornly laid his jacket over the puddle. He held out an expectant hand which Ziva took with a smile. Tim placed his other arm around her torso, placing a hand on her hip as he led her across the jacket-covered puddle. When she reached the other side, he scooped the jacket up in his arms and folded it.
"Such a gentleman," Ziva said softly. "Are you this way with all women, or am I just special?"
"You're special," he assured her, brushing his lips against the skin of her cheek. "You are most certainly special. My special little goddess."
She laughed. "And you are most certainly my modern day Raleigh."