Posting right along… Oh! And I should have posted a disclaimer a while ago!
DISCLAIMER: I borrowed these characters CBS and the writers/producers of NCIS own to write a bit of fiction. I'm sorry, I'm not making any money, so sue me for the satisfaction of a job well done that I received while writing this.
Dance required discipline, and my father recognized this. I had an aptitude for grace and coordination like my mother, and I was still a toddler when I began to aspire to a little girl's dream job- a ballerina.
"It is a valuable art." My father condoned. "If the child wants to be a ballerina, let her. It will come in hand if she ever goes undercover." Maybe my mother thought that was a joke. "Let her learn, but do not let her quit."
I never even considered it. I adored dance, even the rigorous 3 hour practices didn't damper my spirits. Ziva was already signed up for the Israeli ballet program; Eli believed his children should be well rounded.
When we were still very young, we used to take the bus to our studio. Everyday Ziva took my hand and we ran to the bus stop. When practice was over we would catch the bus back. One day the bus didn't come, I was 5 or 6 and we had to walk the 3 blocks home. When we finally mad it to our street we found the bus, it was flipped over in the middle of the street and charred. The windows were shattered and there were cars crushed beneath it. We didn't go to class the next day.
It was Ziva who eventually quit ballet. When she was 12 she began to focus more on the piano, which she eventually taught me to play.
My dance teacher, on the other hand, taught me far more than just dance. Elena Romanov was a real Russian ballerina who had made her aliyah when leg warmers started getting popular. Her eyebrows were shaved and painted back on causing them to always look slightly raised. She had a severe gaze and a keen eye for detail. Not one misstep went unnoticed by her. Elena's voice was as harsh as any drill sergeant's although it was sometimes befuddled by her thick accent.
I learned to speak fluent Russian by the time I was 10 but the only person I ever used it with was Elena and the occasional Russian representative who would stop by Mossad. Elena and I spent far too much time together and bickered like an old married couple. Our relationship was an odd one, she was much older than me and I had been her devoted student from a very young age. We were both friends and enemies. Frenemies, if you will. We criticized each other and argued most of the time. When I remember Elena, the first thing I recall is our shouting matches.
I ended up learning to drive from Elena, who was prone to severe fits of road rage. If I had to choose between her and Ziva though, the choice was clear.
She drove me home from practice a few times a week and when I was 14 she let me try it out myself.
"Vhy not? Zis' car is shit anyway." She pointed out while leaning out the passenger window with a cigarette.
She noticed that no one ever came to watch my shows at the Suzanne Dellal Center, which was only just a few blocks away from my house. My mother went when she was alive and occasionally dragged my father along. Ari showed up at one of my recitals once because Ziva had been in a car crash in Turkey and was being flown back. Then they stopped coming all together.
"Vhere is your family, Taliah?" She asked one day.
"Don't worry about it Elena, I have my passion and that is all I need."