Chapter Four-Fight
For the longest time, Ziva did not leave her quarters. She fell into this rather darkening and deep depression. She would sit by the window all day, just staring. She barely moved from there for anything, she did not eat much, and she did not talk to anyone for about two weeks. This especially included Monique. Several times, Monique called and even on a few occasions, she dropped by. Once, the older woman remember sitting outside for five hours straight tiredly knocking on the door, but eventually she gave up fighting.
She fucked things up. That is how Monique saw it. She had to go and be her overly flirtatious self and ruin everything that she and Ziva had started to have with one suggestive remark. She really did care for Ziva, in ways she never thought she would. At her own temporary apartment, she paced the floors of her living room and wondered what it was she could do to get Ziva out of her quarters long enough for them to have a conversation. It dawned on her.
The next day, she had Eli call Ziva down to the training gym in the Mossad building and Ziva reluctantly followed orders. Prepared to train, she came down to the gym wearing sweats and a tank top with a pair of tennis shoes that had hardly been worn. When she got there, she noticed Monique in there and nobody else. Ziva breathed a wry laugh before turning to leave.
"No, Ziva! Wait!" Monique called after the Israeli, rushing over to her. "Please, don't go."
Ziva turned around, glaring at Monique. The twenty-eight year old could see the anger in her mocha orbs and hated herself even more.
"What do you expect me to do, huh?" Ziva snapped, getting into Monique's face. "Do you want me to act like that did not happen?"
Monique's face then held a solemn and defeated look. She shook it before sighing.
"No, Ziva. Obviously I do not." She replied honestly, running a hand through her hair.
"Oh, really?" Ziva questioned, it quite apparent that she did not buy it. "Because to me, the only thing that was fucking apparent was the fact that you want into my pants!"
For a moment, Monique stood there and looked to the brunette, silent as her jaw signified that she was now angry. She let out a slow breath before speaking.
"That's low, Ziva." Monique said before going over to the punching bag. "Sorry I can't be a lesbian and have a friend who's a girl. It's all my fucking fault."
Ziva watched as Monique punched the bag a few times and with each time she felt more and more remorse drowning out the anger she felt towards the advance she thought Monique had made. She began to walk towards the woman, her arms out in a questioning manner, almost as if she were surrendering to her.
"Monique, I..." Ziva started, pausing between blows to the bag. "I am sorry. Can you please forgive me?"
Monique stopped mid-punch before bringing her arms down and stepping towards Ziva. She looked her square in the eyes.
"No." Monique speak hardenly. "I will not be the type to forgive ignorance."
A sorrowful look painted Ziva's face, and Monique crossed her arms after removing her boxing gloves.
"Though you can make it up to me," She spoke again. "Spar with me."
Ziva's eyes widened then, surely surprised by this notion. She wanted to fight with her. Why? It was then when it dawned on Ziva. Or, she thought it did at least. She wanted to hurt her. This was not true at all, of course, but Ziva had always been the 'worst case scenario' type. This time was no exception.
"Spar?" Ziva asked, tilting her head as nervousness swarmed over her. "Like, you wish to fight me?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes." Monique replied, putting her gloves aside.
"But, why?" Ziva further questioned, brows knit.
"Why are you questioning it?" Monique asked challengingly. "Afraid you will lose?"
"No."
Her answer was simple and matter-of-fact. More importantly, it was confident; more so than Monique liked, if she were so honest with herself.
"Oh? Then what is it?" The woman probed further.
Ziva let out a long sigh after that before sitting down on the mat, looking up at her with honest eyes, eyes which met very lonely ones in that moment.
"I am afraid that I will win... and that I will not only cause you emotional pain, as I have, but physical pain." Ziva started to explain, continuing to look between Monique and her lap. "I don't want that for us, Monique. I want to be your... friend, not your foe. That's the last thing I want."