A/N: I was looking over my profile and realised I haven't posted anything in ages. I sat down at my laptop and just typed. This is what came out of my imagination. To be fair this idea has come to me a few times but at the moment life is filled with homework, revision and school. So this fic has used up my valuable revision time for my mock on Monday...
I hope you enjoy it :)
Hebrew is in speech marks and italics while thoughts and emphasis is in italics.
Disclaimer: Not mine... and my birthday is ages away :(
Six year old Anthony DiNozzo sighed. He hated his father's business parties. Normally they weren't this bad but Senior's current partner was very important and so he had to be on-his-best-behaviour. That meant he had to be good. Which meant he couldn't talk about movies, run around, or even impersonate Sean Connery's James Bond! Which unfortunately led to an extremely bored little boy.
And to make matters even worse he was stuck with a girl! Apparently she was the daughter of Senior's business partner and Tony had to look after her because she was only four. And he was SIX. He was loads older, meaning he was in charge. Not that there was much to be in charge of...
The girl was quiet; her olive face hidden behind a tangle of wild brown curls. Knowing that she must be shy – she was in the presence of a six year old boy – Tony decided to start the conversation. "I'm Tony, Tony DiNozzo," he couldn't help but quote James Bond.
"Ziva David," her voice was accented and not at all timid and small like Tony had expected.
"What kind of a name is Ziva?"
Ziva frowned grumpily at him. "It is a Hebrew name, what name is Tony? It is like a mix of a toe and a knee."
"Don't be mean to my name. I'm named after my daddy. He's great. That one in the expensive suit over there," Tony protested. He'd never understood what expensive really meant but Senior used the word a lot and he wanted to look clever in front of the 4 year old.
"My Papa's suit is 'spensive too. Ari got in trouble for getting one dirty. He could not sit down for ages! And when I laughed Papa got mad so I could not sit either. Tali did not laugh."
"Who's Ari and Tali?"
"Tali is my little sister, she is only 2. Ari is my half brother and he is 9."
Tony gasped. 9 was such a big age; no wonder Ziva wasn't shy! "I have no sibles."
"What are 'sibles'?"
Tony's face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to remember what his mummy had said. Not being able to remember he shrugged. "Brothers and sisters."
This time Ziva's face scrunched up. "How can sibles be brothers and sisters when they are different genders?"
Not grasping what gender meant Tony shrugged once more. "My mummy said it, so it has to be right."
Ziva nodded solemnly. "Ima is always right."
Only being four and six the conversation ground to a halt and neither girl nor boy knew how to continue. Tony began humming the theme tune to Magnum PI under his breath. Ziva rolled slowly back and forth of the balls of her feet watching the crowd of adults carefully like Ari had taught her. No one looked suspicious through her innocent eyes. Quickly becoming bored with Tony's humming she reached over placing a hand on his chest.
"Zig!" she declared before running away.
Tony gawped after her. "It's TIG!" he shouted before chasing the girl through the crowded garden.
Ziva may be two years younger but she was quick. And her small height gave her an unfair (in Tony's mind) advantage. She was able to dart dangerously close to the guests, leaving Tony far behind. It wasn't long though before the tables were turned and Tony pressed his hand against Ziva's back.
"Tig, you're it!" he yelled gleefully almost forgetting to run away.
Ziva watched Tony progress to the food tables trying to hide amongst the food. She hurried after him, ducking beneath the cloth that covered the garden tables. Crawling along the ground in search of Tony's smart black dress shoes, she completely forgot the rule; do-not-run-around-and-get-dirty-clothes-like-the-last-party. Unfortunately the damp grass left rather large smudges of green on her new dress Ima had literally forced her into wearing. Ziva did not understand the practical use of dresses. And cargo pants were far more comfortable.
Tony, panting slightly after the long run, stopped by the dessert table looking around for Ziva. Not seeing her anywhere he pressed his back against the table, trying to widen his sight of the garden for where the girl could be hidden. Suddenly a hand gently tapped his on the ankle and Ziva appeared next to him from under the table.
"Tig! Akh'shav you are it!" she grinned.
Tony's face fell in a pout. "No fair," he whined. "Going under the table is cheating! And what does 'at hav' mean?"
"No!" Ziva cried. "You never said the table was not allowed to be used as a disguise. And akh'shav is Hebrew. If I knew what the word in English was I would have said!"
Dis...gui...se, Tony thought slowly, was that another Hebrew word? Oh well, Ziva's in arms reach. "Tig!" he yelled hitting Ziva a little too forcefully on the shoulder. The small girl tumbled back landing with a hard bump on her bum. "I'm sorry!" Tony gasped. "Please don't cry!"
Ziva gracefully leapt to her feet. "I am not crying!" she growled indignantly, punching Tony's arm with a small fist in retaliation to him knocking her over.
"No, you're not," Tony gaped in confusion. "When Harry pushed Molly over at Kindergarten she cried for-ever!"
"Well Molly sounds like a pimp!" Ziva declared.
"Is that another Hebrew word?" Tony asked cautiously.
Ziva frowned. "No, it is someone who is silly and always crying, yes?"
"That's a wimp," Tony stated.
"No it is a pimp."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"YES!"
"NO ZIVA! And I think I should know. I'm SIX and I have always speaken English."
"So what is a pimp?" Ziva demanded.
Tony shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's like a goose pimple."
"What is a goose pimple?"
"When the hair on your arms and legs stick up when you're cold."
"I thought they were duck bumps," Ziva mumbled. "I guess you are right about the wimp, pimp thing too."
"ZIVA DAVID!" a woman's accented voice yelled. "JUST LOOK AT YOUR DRESS!"
Tony glanced up to see a grown up Ziva storming over to them and then peered down to see Ziva's grass-stained outfit. "It was very nice to meet you Tony. I believe this will be the last time you shall ever see me as my Ima is going to bill me."
"Nice knowing ya," Tony laughed. "Bye!"
He hurried away stopping to watch the foreign woman grasp his new friend tightly around her arms and roughly drag her away. Thinking of his own mummy's gentle loving touch he idly considered why Ziva's mummy was so mean. Even her voice seemed to sound evil. Tony shuddered, suddenly wondering if she was Ziva's evil step-mother like in the movies he'd seen. But that woman was looked too like Ziva to not be directly related. Pushing it to the back of his mind he went in search of his mummy.
Finding her surprisingly quick judging the number of people, he rested his head gently against her leg. A slim hand lightly smoothed back the hair from his forehead. "Hey baby," his mummy's soft voice murmured.
Secretly loving the pet name, he scowled. "I'm not a baby. I'm SIX!"
Mrs DiNozzo chuckled softly, dreading Tony's teenage years, not knowing in that moment she'd never know her son past the age of eight. "You'll always be my baby, even when you're old and balding."
"I'm not that old!" Tony protested.
A moment of silence passed. "Mummy?" Tony asked. "What does pimp mean?"
... "What?!"
Fin
Translation:Akh'shav = Now