A/N: And we're back! This is a companion piece to What Is Missing -though you probably shouldn't have to read the original to understand what is going on, I don't think at least. Anyway, established Tiva and mostly in-canon as far as on-screen events thus far have occured -though I am taking off-screen liberties :^). This is fluff, so far warning to you, but it isn't ridiculous (there will be no Tiva babies -for now :^)). I hope for this to be a couple chapters, maybe five, depending on feedback if I need to expand/shorten the story -let me know? Reviews are always welcomed, though never ever demanded, begged for, or required :^). Much love until next time, Kit.

DISCLAIMER: And, alas, I own not a thing.

Chapter I

"Eee!" the excited squeal added to the soundtrack of the chirping cell phone currently in the grasp of pudgy toddler fingers.

"Shira," Ziva admonished lightly, reaching for her phone, "May I see? Please? Be'vakasha?"

Two big brown eyes peered up at her between long lashes. Shira blinked slowly, once, twice, before unceremoniously depositing the convulsing cell phone on the quilt she was sharing with Ziva. Ziva lurched forward, snatching the phone up, just in case the little girl changed her mind, and hit the answer button deftly. "David," she answered swiftly, making a face at Shira and eliciting bubbly laughter from her small companion.

"Ziva?"

"Tony!" she greeted warmly, shifting on the blanket, keeping a watchful eye her charge, now occupied by the depths of her caretaker's purse.

"Hey! What'cha doing?" he asked casually, the dull roar of downtown traffic heard in the background.

She smiled, maneuvering her pocket knife away from the pile of objects that Shira had collected from her bag. "I am at a soccer game. The Wild Tigers are playing against the D.C. Wolves -the Wolves are winning."

"I don't think I'm familiar with those teams-"

"They are local youth teams. . . . Do we have a case?"

"Why is it assumed that I only call when we have a case? I believe I spoke to you this morning, a conversation definitely unwork-related."

She rolled her dark eyes at his antics, "So is that a no?"

He sighed, breath crackling over the line. "That would be a yes. As in: Yes, we have a case. Dead marine. Out in Manassas. I'll come get you -where ya at?"

"I am at the park on Third and Carver.

"See you in fifteen."

"I'll be waiting. And Tony?"

"Yeeessss?"

"Toda." Click. Shira looked up at Ziva, cocking her head to the side, absently sticking the handle of a hair brush in her mouth. Ziva gently removed the object from the toddler's jaws, offering her a container of cheerios left behind in a diaper bag.

"That is more edible," Ziva informed a munching Shira, who watched idly as her aunt returned the dislocated items to the depths of her purse.

Surrounding families erupted into cheering as the blue jerseyed sweeper made an impressive play, earning a second point for the Wolves. Shira squealed and Ziva clapped, whistling, attention restored to the game.

The open expanse of grass was scattered with orange and blue jerseys as fourteen nine year olds vied for the soccer ball, currently being chased up the field by 12. The nearest goalie, wearing a yellow vest over his blue uniform, spread himself out, raising his hands, occupying as much of the net around him as possible. . . .

The opposition launched the ball, a rotating sphere of black and white, at the goal only to have it deflect off the side and roll out of bounds. There was a disappointed 'aw' from a few parents as the shrill screech of the referee's whistle called the play and signaled the break for halftime.

Ziva got up, brushing nonexistent grass from the seat of her jeans, raising her arms over her head. Shira watched her, mimicking her movements as she abandoned her book and scrambled to stand. Ziva continued stretching, casting a sideways glance at Shira, fighting back an amused grin as the toddler copied her pose for pose.

"Shira, are you a copycat?" she asked coyly, picking the little girl up and settling her on her hip.

"Cat-cat!" Shira repeated, giggling, Ziva joining in as she carried the toddler to the gathering of parents congregated under a large tree. A familiar bob of dark hair was spotted on the fringe of the group, leading Shira to call, "Mama! Mama!" and struggle against the arms that held her.

Acquiescing to the toddler's demands, Ziva bent down, releasing her grip on the squirming child, watching entertained as she attacked her mother's knees.

Sonel Yosef turned at the sudden ambush brought on by her daughter, placing a hand on Shira's curly head and smiling apologetically at her friend. "Thank you, Ziva, for watching her."

Ziva smiled, waving off the other woman's gratitude, "She was perfect. She is always perfect. Aren't you, tatelah?"

"Squee!"

Sonel laughed, shaking her head. "My little angel, no? . . . . While I am thinking of it, what are you doing Friday evening?"

Ziva paused, mulling this over, mentally flipping through the pages in her date book. Eventually she reached her conclusion, replying, "Nothing of consequence."

Sonel bit her lower lip, eyes flickering down to her daughter, now perched on her mother's feet and tugging out tufts of grass from the earth, roots and all. "Do you think you would be interested in watching the kids? Overnight?"

"Of course!" Her question was met without hesitation, eager excitement blossoming across Ziva's face.

Sonel grinned but still looked skeptical, "They are a handful, Ziva. You do not have to feel obligated to do this . . . ."

"I would love to watch them," Ziva reassured, a note of unflappable certainty coloring her words. Sonel noted the other woman's conviction and nodded, "Okay then. Mikel has a convention downtown, he's speaking. We can always come home late that night, he was just hoping for a little time to ourselves-"

Ziva held up her hand, her friend ceasing her explanation, "You and Mikel need that. Go and do not worry, we will be fine."

"Okay, if you are sure . . . . You have leave?" she asked, catching Ziva's cursory glance down at her wrist before her eyes flickered over to the street.

She nodded her confirmation, "Tony is coming to get me -we have a case."

"Speaking of Tony," Sonel smiled mischievously and Ziva braced herself for who knew what. "Why doesn't your fetching partner come keep you company, hm? That way you will not be by yourself with three kids. . . ."

"If Tony comes then I will be by myself with four kids," Ziva explained, smirking thoughtfully. "However, the boys will like him. . . . You do not mind?"

"So long as you don't do it in front of the kids."

"Sonel!" Ziva cried aghast as the other woman dissolved into laughter.

"I am sorry," she chuckled, "Had to see your reaction. Priceless, by the way." And Ziva was smiling despite herself before her eyes strayed from her friend's face and fixated over her shoulder, watching as a familiar looking man jogged toward them. "I think your ride has arrived," Sonel said with a wink, following Ziva's gaze and earning herself an eye roll.

"Tony," the latter greeted with a warm smile and soft expression as her partner approached, Cheshire grin firmly in place.

"Zee-vah," he acknowledged, standing beside her, hand brushing hers. "Mrs. Yosef," he said, inclining his head toward Sonel who shook her own in reply.

"Sonel," she insisted, scoldingly. "Unless you want me to call you Mr. DiNozzo?"

"Sonel it is," Tony amended, glancing down at Ziva. "We gotta go or Gibbs'll have our heads."

Ziva nodded her agreement, unwilling to face the wrath of her boss –and the accompanying headslap that would ensue such tardy behavior. Ziva stepped toward her friend, enveloping her in a hug. "You be safe," Sonel whispered into Ziva's ear and the other woman nodded, "I will try, Mom. And you tell Simcha that I apologize for missing the second half of his game."

"He will understand," Sonel replied, hoisting Shira up in her arms. "I'll see you Friday?"

"I look forward to it."

Ziva clicked her seatbelt into place as Tony turned the ignition, the engine rumbling to life as he pulled away from the curb. "Dinner Friday?" he asked, turning around, making sure he didn't hit the parking meter. Or a pedestrian.

Ziva shook her head, already coiling her hair into a neat, regulatory plait. "Not dinner –babysitting."

"You're going to babysit?" he asked, slightly incredulous, but pleasantly surprised. He turned his green eyes on her, raising an eyebrow, mock shock dominating his features.

His partner glared, securing a rubber band around the end of her braid with one hand, punching his arm with her other. He winced in apology, flashing her a dazzling grin in repentance. "What are you implying, Tony?" she asked coolly, mahogany eyes contradicting her tone with their warmth.

He shrugged, accelerating around a nondescript white van. "Nothing. I just have a hard time believing you like to babysit. How old is the kid?"

"They are nine, five, and two."

"You're going to watch three kids by yourself?" Now he was impressed.

Ziva leaned toward him, peering up at him through a thick fringe of lashes. "Do not be silly, Tony," she purred innocently, "you are going to help me."