March 22
True friends are like marathon runners, pacing each other through the race of life. When one stumbles, the other drops back to help. When one surges forward, the other joins in flight.
Tony began to fervently wish that he had never emerged from his bed.
He had stupidly mentioned to Ziva that he needed to find a new running route, failing to inform her of the reason why: he wanted to meet some new women. She had offered to take him running for a few mornings and he had agreed. She was a good runner after all, and he trusted her.
He had not counted on her waking him up at 0500, practically throwing him into the shower before dragging him outside. The cool spring air stung his ears, while his lungs burned and his legs ached. What was she? Some sort of genetically modified ninja chick who could feel no pain?
But he loved it. Running with Ziva was smooth and steady. She made everything look effortless. Her shapely limbs continued to pound the path with ease, her long hair flowed behind her, and her head bobbed slightly to the music in her ears. She had yet to break into a sweat and wasn't even breathing heavily.
He felt himself stumble over his own feet, somehow managing to stay upright. But his pace was gone. He allowed himself to stop, and noticed Ziva paused and jogged slowly back to him. She eyed him up carefully, although she did not say a word. She didn't have to; she was perfectly capable of judging the situation without speaking. Patiently, she waited for him to catch his breath.
He took his time, knowing that she would continue to support him. Finally, he looked her in the eye to indicate that he was ready to continue. She grinned dangerously and he began to worry. That smile at work usually meant he was in danger of losing various limbs via office supplies.
"Only another five miles," she announced.
He groaned, but obediently followed. He would thank her when he caught the next escaping suspect.