March 18
I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with roughest courage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frostwork, but the solidest thing we know. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Friendship"
"McGee!" Ziva exclaimed. "What were you doing?"
Tim looked at her wearily. They were in the gym at NCIS, and Ziva had offered to give him a training session. Knowing her exceptional fighting skills, Tim had readily accepted. It had been a good feeling to see Tony's face when he learnt of Ziva's offer.
Now, he thought he had made the wrong choice. Ziva was quick on her feet, fighting fit, and seemed to be able to predict his every move. Even when he trained with Gibbs, he did not end up on his back this much. And Gibbs gave him a chance to catch his breath between bouts. Ziva was tiring him too quickly.
The Israeli came over to his side, not to attack him but to check up on him. She eyed him up carefully, looking for something that he did not understand. He felt uncomfortable, like a fly being observed by a spider before it was eaten.
"Why are you not fighting me?" Ziva demanded suddenly.
"I am fighting you," he protested, confused.
She shook her head softly. "You are holding back," she corrected. "You are being too dainty. I am not going to break. So why are you not fighting me?"
Tim recalled fighting Kate in the same gym, and how he had held back then. Ziva was right; they were both right. He knew Ziva would not break easily; he doubted even Gibbs could break her.
He nodded his head to show he understood, and prepared for the next round. This time, he did not plan to hold back.