May 21
We must love our friends as true amateurs love paintings; they have their eyes perpetually fixed on the fine parts and see no others. – Madame d'Epinay
"An art gallery?" Tony found himself whining. "Why? Can't we just go to the movies like normal people?"
His partner glared at him. "I can kill you eighteen different ways with a paperclip," she pointed out. "Would you like to rephrase your question?"
He gulped. His ninja Mossad chick scared him sometimes. "I was thinking that this is more the Probie's thing. Why didn't you ask him to come along with you?"
She caught his arm and dragged him onwards. "Because you need refining! Besides, McGee and I came here last week."
"Why didn't I hear of this?" he inquired, somehow managing to keep his voice level as a woman smaller than him forced him to a spot in front of a painting.
"It might have had something to do with you rooking about your latest conquest," she noted dryly.
He reached for his mental English-Ziva Ziva-English dictionary. "Crowing, not rooking," he corrected. "They're both big black birds, I'll give you that."
"Can you tell them apart?" she inquired.
"Nope, no one can," he joked. Catching sight of the look on her face, he became more serious. "Except intelligent people who pay attention to those kinds of things."
There was a smirk on her face when she replied. "Better."
"Best?" he offered.
"Not best," she decided. "Now, stop talking and look at the painting."