A/N: Bet you thought I'd abandoned my stories... I haven't, but as I'm sure every parent out there knows, a 6 month old plus work doesn't leave a lot of time for anything else
Thanks, as always, to my lovely beta Trina109
McGee stumbled into his bedroom and collapsed wearily onto the bed. Ziva was the hardest taskmaster he'd ever encountered, he decided. His back ached, his head ached, his ears were ringing despite the ear protection they'd worn- but it was nothing compared to the dull throbbing pain in his shoulder.
Years of Mossad training had given Ziva a knowledge of how to shoot guns in some of the craziest positions, McGee had discovered, and she could do it with deadly accuracy. It had left McGee with a sense of awe, tinged with a little fear. She was even deadlier than any of them had ever imagined. He wasn't sure he could even get into some of the positions she did, let alone still be able to fire.
But her knowledge was serving McGee well. Today had been their fourth lesson in as many days. He wasn't sure exactly how Gibbs was managing to get the time off for Ziva, but he was thankful for it. They'd experimented with different stances, going from the two handed Weaver stance he preferred to a one handed stance when they'd discovered that those were the two he was most accurate with- most accurate being a relative term. He had a long way to go before he'd pass his firearms proficiency test. The strangest and most difficult thing for him was adjusting to using his right hand as his dominant hand. It felt quite weird; like he was trying to do things in reverse.
Sighing, he let himself relax, knowing if he did he'd fall asleep quickly. A faint noise caught his attention, making him open his eyes. Jethro was sitting next to the bed, watching him hopefully. Rousing himself, he got up to feed his dog.
...
Gibbs gave no sign that he was aware of the slight creaking of his basement stairs as Ziva made her way down the steps. After a few more long, smooth strokes of the sanding pad on the boat that was his current project, he spoke.
"How's he doing?"
"Well. Better than I expected." He heard the reservation in her voice and looked up.
"But?"
"Gibbs, don't you think we are asking too much of McGee? It is only a few months since he was injured." She stood up from her seat on the steps and paced towards him. "He is pushing himself... very hard. I worry... that he is going to hurt himself. And for what? So that he does not fail you?"
"Nope. So that he doesn't fail himself."