Ziva feels scrutinised as her ageing body wobbled and stamped the treadmill under the cats gaze, judging her ability. Maintaining good fitness was paramount to her career, hoping it would come with some weight loss, but Ziva loved food and refused to compromise on her diet. Ignoring her audience, Ziva took a deep breath, adding speed to her incline, she pushed on. Exercise outdoors was preferable, Ziva took those jogs at a leisurely pace, and this punishing regime reminded her it was the late-night partying that had done the damage. Turning down invites to raves and a reduced consumption of alcohol was thanks to Vicky, evenings curled together with cats, kisses and a movie, the perfect way to end any day.
As children, Ziva moaned at the bowling sessions; she hated the shoes worn by other people, her inability to roll the ball and teased by her brother, to whom the activity came natural. It was time to change that memory; Vicky had yet to taste the cold chips and smell the stale alcohol from the bar’s carpet, years of party’s she was certain Rylan had contributed. Ziva had limited skills to impress Vicky despite sharing all the techniques Rylan told her. They laughed at the gutter balls and the few pins that could knockdown, enjoying a few glasses of cheap wine.
In the next alley, a girls team cheered; Ziva admired how they spun, kicked legs and danced the balls, pins leapt clear, producing strikes, spares, doubles, turkey’s, all impressive playing. As Vicky set up her next move, a girl from the group approached Ziva showing admiration for her curvy figure, her voice and actions flirtatious. Ziva smiled, watched by a jealous Vicky unable to hear the conversation over the music. She was polite, declining a party invite, enjoying the date with her girlfriend; the girl handed Ziva the scorecard, her number written in the grid. The card in her bag, Ziva returned to the game; however, it seemed Vicky had gone.
Ziva paced; Vicky had been cold, distant on the phone she had been reluctant to agree. They spoke in apology; Ziva bowed her head, the hurt in Vicky’s eyes she wanted to eradicate the memory. Vicky hated how she believed Ziva would betray her heart the way her ex had; seeing the other woman, her eyes caressing Ziva, made her jealous. It took a moment to admit she overreacted; Ziva looked sheepish, flattered by the interest, viewed as desirable, but Vicky was all she wanted. Emerald eyes brightened; Ziva wanted to dive in; no one made her this amazing; Vicky giggled, struggling to keep track. The gist was pure, simple; Ziva fell for the creative sweetness; she had loved the days waking up next to Vicky, finding herself disappointed when a wet nose was her morning greet. She worried Vicky might think it would be sudden to move in together, but Vicky could think of nothing better.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 