A/N: I can't believe I wrote ANOTHER story...oops. I've got writer's block on WYDK. So.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Ziva hates this day. It is the day when anything, absolutely anything, can send her head spinning back in time. She barely makes it through the day at work. Even Abby's hyperness reminds her of Tali's excitement when she was having fun.
The anniversary of Tali's death. Her little sister, her beautiful sister. The woman who never cries tries to hold back tears as she stumbles into her apartment. Pulling a photo album from under the coffee table, she opens it and lets herself get lost in memories of their childhood.
Six-year-old Tali sitting at the piano, her first piano lessons. The beautiful music her teacher plays entrances both girls. Tali sits in rapture; Ziva jumps off the couch and begins to dance. As the teacher stops and begins to show Tali where to place her fingers on the keys, Ziva slips to the piano also and watches, learning just the same.
Eight-year-old Tali sparring with a child of another Mossad officer. Ziva remembers this fight. Tali is the better fighter, but her heart isn't in it. This ends sadly – Ziva tells their father, and Tali is furious – she does not like being told what she can't do.
So many memories filter through her head, both good and bad. Ziva does not like remembering, but she loves it as well. The memories make her weak. But they connect her to the home, the family she has lost. Beautiful, exciting, sweet Tali, who wanted to be just like her siblings but could not bring herself to seriously harm another person. Strong, silent Ari, whose mother's death gave rise to an unstoppable fury.
She does not remember ages in this memory. Both girls are young, curled up together in the backseat of a car. Now she knows – their first trip to America. They are both tired from the long plane ride, but Ari is wide awake. He sits next to the window, trying to get his little sisters to look at all the different buildings and signs and everything else in New York City.
Their parents leave the three children alone, knowing their twenty-three-year-old son is more than capable of taking care of his young sisters. Ari lets the girls pick where to go, from the world's largest Toys R Us to the Hershey's Chocolate Store. He is so patient as Tali becomes more and more excited, her six-year-old body almost vibrating with her happiness.
They are in Washington, D.C now, following their father's rule of 'seen and not heard' as they tour the Capitol building. Tali grasps her sister's hand, determined not to be reprimanded in this beautiful place.
Ziva can feel the tears run down her face. Tali was never again able to see America, the country she had loved so dearly as a six-year-old. It bothers Ziva so much – she had come to the country one of her siblings could never see, to save the other sibling, and was unable to. This is the day – it is not nearly so bad the day Ari died – when she despairs over how she had killed her older brother. The man who was like a father, who protected his younger sisters from as much as possible.
Tali is thirteen. She is excited, waving a school paper in the air as she skips through the doorway – an A in English. This would not be a big deal for Ziva, but Tali struggles to learn the languages that come so naturally to her big sister. Slipping into the living room, Tali sits down at the piano and begins to play a happy, intricate song on the piano. Ziva's feet start to move in time and she bobs her head to the music. But before she can full-out begin to dance, the back door slams – their father is home. The two girls glance at each other and scatter off to their rooms – Ziva is Mossad now. She is no longer allowed frivolous time to dance.
Tali is only eight when Ziva's best friend is killed by a suicide bomber. The fragile peace that is the household of the Mossad director is shattered, Ziva's life turned upside-down. The young, perceptive girl tries to hold her big sister together, but is unable to – when Ziva finally leaves the darkness of her own mind, she has become the hardened girl their father has waited for.
Ziva's tears come faster now, knowing she wasted the last eight years of Tali's life. Sure, there were happy times, but they were overshadowed by the grim new perspective Ziva had on life. And she knew Tali knew it. Mossad had taken over Ziva's life, revenge filling her brain. She can never get back those times, Tali's times.
It is a school fair, to show off what all the children are best at. Eleven-year-old Tali is in her element, working on a complicated science project with a friend. Fifteen-year-old Ziva has translated a familiar Hebrew story into four different languages – English, Arabic, French, and Spanish. Ari praises both his sisters, reading passages of Ziva's story and asking how Tali's project works. All three act as if everything is perfect, but it's not – their father has chosen once again not to show up.
The two girls did not often fight. But the few times they did, it was most definitely a fight. Because both were able to hold their own and attack the other, no one ever really won – the last word was always, "Shalom". Peace.
A knock at the store startles Ziva out of her reverie. She sniffles and rubs her sleeve across her eyes after a quick search for a Kleenex box turns up nothing. Heading for the door, she bends down slightly to peer through the peephole. "Tony?" she asks incredulously, opening the door. He nods.
"May I come in?" he asks. She steps back jerkily, leaving him just enough room to squeeze past her into the living room, where she has left her photo albums open.
"Why are you here?" she wants to know. He shrugs, but stops halfway through as he notices the albums on the table.
"I've been thinking about your sister all day. You were…not yourself at work today. I think you've told me before – she died in a suicide bombing, didn't she? And today would have been the seventh anniversary of her death," Tony says softly. Ziva sniffles again and nods.
"Yes," she whispers. He steps back up to her and takes her hands, leading her back to the couch. They both sit down and Tony turns so he is facing Ziva.
"Why are you here?" she asks again. Tony shakes his head.
"I don't really know," he tells her, "except I knew that I needed to come." He puts his arm around her shoulders and is surprised when she doesn't shy away from the touch.
"Tell me about Tali."