“Remove your hand or I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it.” Ziva glared at the hand on her computer mouse.
“I’m just trying to help, Ziva. You’ve been trying unsuccessfully to get this program to work, I figured you could use a hand,” McGee protested.
“That’s because my computer hates me today for some reason,” Ziva replied through gritted teeth. She took a deep breath. “But I’m fine now, really. I just need to show this overgrown paperweight who’s boss, that’s all.”
“Fine, but when you decide that you’ve had enough, let me know, and I’ll be more than happy to help,” McGee replied, backing away from her desk and walking back to his own. He sat down, finished typing his own report, saved it to his desktop, then clicked on the printer icon to send the finished document to the printer across the room.
Just as the printer finished its task, Ziva let out a strangled cry and started slamming her computer mouse against her desk. “McGee! Get over here and fix this, or I’m going to pull a Gibbs and shoot it!”