Hi everyone!

Okay, so this is a little one-shot that literally came out of nowhere. Although we know a little about Ziva's past, I feel that her childhood has not yet been disclosed much. I began to try and imagine what growing up was like for her, and invented this little fic :)

Please bear in mind that there are probably so many things wrong with starters, I don't even know/remember how much younger Tali was compared to Ziva. Secondly, although we know that Eli David is the director of Mossad, I have absolutely no clue as to whether he was director when Ziva was a child – so I left his actual job description a bit vague.

I really hope you enjoy it, and please review and tell me what you thought! I would love to hear your feedback :)

It is a Thursday afternoon. Eleven minutes past three, to be precise. The wind succeeds in masking the scorching heat, and she is sitting daintily on a large rock lining one of the many beaches in Tel Aviv, basking in the glorious summer sun, but staying ever alert.

The girl cannot be more than twelve. Her body is still small and lithe, lanky limbs tanned and lean. A few scrapes adorn her right knee- she had slipped slightly as she had climbed up into her seat – and the new wounds shimmer in the sunlight. Sharp brown eyes scan the shore, watching, waiting.

At that very moment, something bad is happening, she knows.

She tilts her head back, and thinks of her mother.

A little way off, skipping nimbly along the shoreline, is another little girl. Her dark curls are coming loose from their plaits, wisps of hair whipping gently around her as she moves. Her plimsolls are soaked from the ocean spray, and her small satchel is heavy on her back, but she doesn't care. She is late, and her sister will be angry.

As the girl nears her destination, she slows down and glances at the rocks ahead. There she is! Relief seeps through her heart. Her elder sister is watching her gravely, perched one of the larger rocks a few feet above the sand.

There is no mistaking the air of loneliness she gives off. Even from a few metres away, Tali can see that her siblings' face is flushed, and that her eyes are bright with fury.

She knows that the anger is not because of her lateness. Ziva is always angry. Or unhappy. She is saddened. Maybe that is what happens when you become an adult, she thinks.

Like her Papa. Her Papa does not smile much. Neither do her Papa's friends. Or the maids. Or her teachers. They all look sad – sad and old and wise.

A sudden wave of admiration takes hold of her. Oh, but how grand it must be to be an adult! And to know things that children do not! She returns Ziva's gaze now, grinning.

To her, her sister is golden.

Was Ziva ever a child, she wonders? No, she must always have been an adult. Stuck in the body of a child. Maybe that is why she is sad – because no-one sees her for what she truly is. Like Cinderella. She will ask her later, she concludes.

Ziva's pretty face is taut, hawk eyes trained on the younger child now standing in the sand below her.

'You are late.'

Her sister's smile falters. 'I am sorry, Zivalah.' Skinny arms reach up to her, and with uncanny strength for her age, Ziva plucks her sister from the sand, schoolbag and all, and plonks her down on the rock next to her.

'How was your day at school?'

'Hot.'

A dry chuckle escapes Ziva's lips. She looks down at her sister, and knows that, as usual, the young child before her can see through the sharpness, the hardness – the horror- in her dark, dark eyes. And she hopes can see…something else – she doesn't know what.

Tali always sees the best in people.

Ziva has come to realise that her sister's happiness is not just that of an innocent child – the type of naivety that slowly dissolves once a child begins to know the ways and disappointments of the real world. Tali is a happy person, she would be all her life. Tali would always forgive, Tali would always forget.

Tali is the best of her family, after all.

She is not like Tali. She has seen many things, heard many bad thoughts. She does not like herself, because sometimes, she fancies that these awful experiences have made her less human. It doesn't matter, though. What she does know, however, is that all that matters in her life is her six-year old sister.

If Tali dies, she will also. There is no reason for her to live, if not for Tali.

'Why are we here?'

Tali's question throws her off balance, and the older girl shifts into a guarded stance, ignoring her sister's question, and staring vacantly into the peaceful sea.

After a while, she hears a quiet huff. And then-

'I want to go home.'

Her sister looks miserable. Although used to the summer heat, she is only a child, and is tired out after her day at school. The plaits that Ziva herself had braided were wonkier than they had been at the start of the day, and her forehead is shiny with perspiration.

But this is the safest place for now. There are many people here. Only someone with a death wish would attack in broad daylight, on a beach full of tourists.

'We cannot go home yet. Papa….is having a troublesome meeting. Here is something to eat. I made it for you.' She takes a small object out of the bag lying behind her. It appeared to be a sandwich, but the cheese had melted into the bread, and Tali is sure it is quite inedible. Tentatively, she takes a bite, and Ziva scowls as she spits it out quickly.

'It tastes wrong. I like the ones that mama made, Ziva.'

'Well mama is dead!' Ziva snaps suddenly, giving the younger girl a clout round the head, burning hot emotions suddenly surging. She does not want to be here either. It's not as if she has chosen this way of life. 'And I am not mama.'

She spits out the last word as if it were repulsive – and instantly regrets it. It was wrong, she knew, to harbour such strong feelings of hatred towards her mother. But it was difficult to do otherwise. Mama was in a better place. Mama had abandoned her daughters – had left them to fend for themselves in a world that was hell. Mama had it easy now.

Tali begins to whimper, softly at first, but her cries gradually become louder, and before long, she is wailing. Her elder sister looks on not really knowing what to do, wishing that she had been more sensitive and had not lost her temper.

How can she help her? How can she help a child to thrive in a place that was so dangerous?

This is not working, she thinks. I cannot help her. I am failing.

'I'm sorry,' she whispers, hugging the small trembling body into hers. 'I'm sorry, Tali.'

A small hand surrounds her back, fiddling with the thick plait between her shoulder blades. And suddenly it is too much, for she is only a child too – surely- and her mother is dead, and her father does not care, and her family are in danger. And she wishes she could cry also, just to feel the thick salty droplets falling. Just to see if she can feel something that isn't just hate. Two tears fall, one from each eye, making their way silently down her face.

That is all she will allow.

Tali has stopped crying now, and pulls away. She cups her elder sister's face in her wet hands, and thinks that she has never seen someone so strong, no, no-one is as strong as her sister. She strokes her tear-streaked cheeks, gazes into her empty eyes, and kisses her forehead, just as her mama had done when she was younger, and had been upset.

'Don't worry, Ziva. I'm the one who feels. You are the one who does.'

Now the elder sister wipes at her face frantically, the stoic façade that had slipped for just a second regaining control over her features once more. She glances at her sister, raising one eye-brow.

'Since when did you stop being such a baby?'

It is an act of defense, one that she hopes will help her sister believe that nothing is wrong, trying to disguise that little slip-up, but in reality she knows that Tali is right, and that thankfully, what she had said made sense.

'Well,' she continues after a moment of watching the little girl's smile form into a smug grin. 'Perhaps you are right.' She raises her finger and re-emphasises the first word of the sentence. 'Perhaps.'

'Does this mean, that as you know I am no longer a baby, you will tell me why we cannot go home?'

Ziva's half-formed smile falters. She does not want to be the one who shatters a small child's illusion of a fairytale world, in which the good guys are good and the baddies are bad. The real world was much more complicated than that. Much more disappointing.

It would have to be done, someday, she knows.

Not today, though. No, not today.

'Papa sent us here.'

'But why?'

'Papa is very important – you know that?' her sister nods affirmatively. 'Well, some people do not like what he does.'

Let me tell you a story, Tali.

'These people are very bad. They want to hurt Papa.'

Tali gasps incredulously. 'No!'

'Yes. Papa is very strong. But they know what his only weakness is.'

'What? What is it, Ziva? Tell me!'

She pointed at Tali, and then, more hesitantly, at herself. 'Us. If we get hurt, Papa will be sad.'

'So we are hiding? What if they find us?' her eyes show signs of panic, and Ziva quickly continues.

'They won't. They won't have time. Papa will-'

'Papa will what?'

Kill them.

'Papa is very clever. He will capture them. And he will put them in a dungeon until they beg for his forgiveness, and promise never to hurt him again.'

'I love Papa. He must love us very much, too.'

Ziva says nothing, but leaves her sister to daydream and ponder. Let her have a glorified, wonderful father. Let her know of a story in which he is the victorious good man, and the villains are awful, merciless killers.

She does not need to know the truth.

Her father is a liar. He is not always good. In fact, sometimes, he can be merciless too.

She is a liar too. But it is for Tali, so it is all right.

Tali is all that matters.

'One day, we will both go far away from here, Tali. We will go to America, and live in one of those big houses without explosions. And we can get a dog – like Beethoven – the big St. Bernard. You would like that, wouldn't you? Then we will go to school, and you can go to ballet and become a famous dancer.'

It's a spontaneous promise – one that isn't meant to be taken seriously, because it sound's so farfetched that it couldn't possibly happen. But in that short, shining moment, it seems that it could be possible. Ziva even believes it herself.

Tali's eyes shine, and she grabs her sister's forearm excitedly. 'We're going to live in America? And get a dog? I can't wait!' she jumps up and down, squealing happily – her plimsolls sending up small dust clouds. After a few seconds, she sighs contentedly, and resumes her position next to her elder sibling, linking her fingers with hers.

Ziva always keeps her promises.

'What will you do, Ziva? Will you become a famous pianist-yes! That would be perfect! And then we could perform together!'

'I will just watch your shows and tell everyone 'that is my sister, the most beautiful dancer in the world.'

I will protect you. Because you are a good person, Tali.

'Come. I think it is safe to start returning.' She stands up, dusting off her shorts, and jumps off the rock, landing cat-like on the sand. Tali waits until she has turned around and then carefully slides off the rock into her arms.

As they walk along the beach, mindful of not straying into the path of the rising tide, Tali leans into her sister, reaching for her hand.

'Zivalah. Why couldn't you tell me before? About Papa.'

'Because I didn't want to scare you.'

To her surprise, Tali gave her an amusing look. 'But I am never scared. Not when I am with you. You make life safe, Ziva.'

Her sister's words calm her, because they comfort her and persuade her that she is doing something right. So she continues to lie. Life is happier when it's a lie, so she pretends too, grinning as she dips her foot in the receding wave and splashes her sister, watching her shriek in delight.

As they head off into the city, planning the name of their dog and deciding which colour their house is going to be, Ziva turns her head, and looks back at the sea, a shimmering mass of calmness and silence, now that most of the tourists had disappeared. The wind picks up, and her brown arms become covered in goose bumps as she squints into the sun.

Eventually, she would have to stop lying, and playing pretend.

But not today.

Perhaps tomorrow she would un-weave the fairytales and myths and her sister would grow up.

For now, her heart relaxes, and she is at peace.

Tomorrow is still far away.

Did you enjoy it? Please let me know what you thought. :)