A/N: This one is all Tali and Ziva.

I was worrying that we may learn more about the Davids this season when Ziva's Mossad loose ends are tied up, In that case a lot of this would be rendered irrelevant. Oh well, we shall see.

Ziva got pounded 12 weeks after I saw her in the desert. She got hit with some seriously high caliber bullets through a vest that prevented some damage, but caused some as well. Back then vests were more bullet resistant than bullet proof.

Anyway, the vest imploded and lodged a few shards of steel in her skin, but the real issue was the damage that the force of the impact had caused. Apparently one of her ribs had broken and punctured her lung and she had coughed up enough blood to get herself sent home for a couple of weeks.

Of course I was never told the exact circumstances, but again, I was the good little sister and never asked her.

She was very jet-lagged when she picked up a brush to comb her hair out. I was sitting on the couch eating cereal out of the box and enjoying the blare of the television.

She sighed and smiled sadly. "Do you remember when your hair was short and frizzy and stuck out from your head?"

"Those are dark times that no one dares speak of." I intoned.

Ziva chuckled.

"When I was 10 I finally figured out how to tame it so it looked somewhat presentable."

"I guess I understand the extensions, then." She continued with long even strokes. "But what about all your ear piercings? How did you do them all?"

"Rena did them with a needle and an ice cube. I told father it builds character, he was alright with it. I can do it for you!" I smiled deviously.

"Not right now thanks."

"They may come in handy on one of your missions, right? By the way… how is it? Officer David?" I peered over my shoulder at her.

"Well, it's not like I haven't been exposed to this before, you know."

"I know. You've been on missions before you were drafted."

"How did you…?"

"I acquired the files. Come sit, I'll finish doing your hair."

"Acquired?" She repeated indignantly. "You're too sneaky for your own good." She sat down at my feet.

"I have magnetic fingers. Except they pick up papers I'm not exactly supposed to be reading." I shrugged. "What about the people? Are they being nice to you? Made any friends? And how about sexy friends I could possibly date because I broke up with Michael?"

She grinned. "I did sleep with my control officer, but it was strictly professional."

"Yeah, that's a great way to break the ice. 'Strictly professional' my ass… actually, I forgot who I was talking to, so that is perfectly believable." She punched me in the leg and I rolled my eyes. "Which one, anyway?"

"Ben-Guidon." She sighed, rubbing her temples.

"He's pretty good looking. Want to switch? You can have Michael. I'm sure you need a second opinion on Malachi anyway. Sisters are supposed to share, right?"

Ziva was not happy. She hated being sedentary, but at least she tried to embrace it. She sat in front of the TV, eating the junk food I bought for her daily. I would guiltily ask her a million times if I could get her anything before going out for the night. She would glare at me and gulp her frozen margarita until I left. As far as I knew, she had refused to take her pain medication. "It's an experiment. I don't want to feel drowsy and confused." She explained. There was no use in telling her that she didn't need to be alert here and that it was okay to be high for a few days. She had gotten leave time precisely for that reason, it wasn't like she was at work anymore.

"So far it's not that bad." She brushed it off. Well maybe it wasn't so bad for her, but I was the one who had to deal with her. It wasn't my fault she got hurt, and there was no reason for her to take out her grumpiness on me. Ziva was just frustrated that she couldn't even go and see her friends while she was recovering from surgery.

I took her to the beach on the days she wanted to come with me. She sat in the hot sand in a navy blue bikini, displaying her bruises and scars. She smiled, and it was then that I thought maybe she didn't mind being in Tel Aviv and being back home so much.

But she was still eager to leave and get back to whatever it was that she had left behind. I wished she would stay with me longer, but I was happy to have her company for a short time in my mother's empty house. Now at least the pies I made got eaten, and there was someone there to worry if I never returned there after a long night.

Sometimes I would stumble into the front door drunk, sometimes only mildly so. On those hot summer nights I would hit up the clubs in downtown Tel Aviv. A Mossad badge can get you pretty much anywhere in Israel, but I usually just used the ID generator. (Of course I wasn't actually supposed to be using it; I had to be really stealthy about it if I couldn't convince a technician to do it for me.) I had always looked older than I actually was, too. All the other trainees did the same thing, but all of them were older than me and some were even old enough to get in without the badge. We got into the priciest resorts and private beaches meant for only the affluent that way as well. Ziva rarely came with us. She didn't want to abuse her power, I suppose.

I don't want anyone thinking all Mossad trainees are all irresponsible and drunk all the time, because that is certainly not true. Every one else did their absolute best. The irresponsible and drunk all the time description unfortunately fit me best.*

"You have training tomorrow!" Ziva yelled at me as I was doing back flips and dancing on top of the bar one night to the house music she loathed. "You had better get back home, it's a fucking Monday night!"

"It's only midnight, and you're just jealous! How did you get in here looking like that? And how did you get through the crowd?" We looked out at the rave that was currently in session. She sat on a bar chair and I leaned over so I could hear her. She still looked awful in track pants and a tank top. Healing cuts still stretched over her face and were only accentuated by the purple circles around her eyes.

"I was sneaky! And I kimbo-sliced my way through!" She smirked.

"Don't stop dancing!" Someone from the crowd insisted.

"Well well, Tali David, aren't you the life of the fucking party." She said crossly.

"Goddamnit, Ziva, please take your pills if you're gonna be a bitch! You shouldn't have come! You'll pull your stitches out! And are those my Madge track pants*?"

"Yes." She said devilishly. "And what are you going to do about it? Hit me over the head with that bottle of…?"

"It's Ciroc! And I most certainly will! Do you know what those pants cost me?"

"Not as much as that bottle?"

"What? No! Some guy bought this for me, said I was a dime. Do you want to help me finish it?"

"Only if you promise not to get revenge because I wore your luxury track pants." She said mockingly.

I pulled her up onto the bar with me and steadied her as she took a swig from the bottle. People cheered. "Hey Ziva!" One of our friends yelled.

She smiled up at the lights and we danced. With a bottle of vodka between us, our anxiety and pain were suddenly forgotten.

We went to one of those posh beaches on Thursday morning. It wasn't a popular vacation day and the guard at the entrance let us pass. I pulled out a pair of binoculars every once in a while to so it would look like we were doing surveillance on one of the sailboats close to shore.

"So tell me what you're doing Zee. I'm your sister, I should at least have a hint."

Ziva took a deep breath and repositioned her shoulders, the newspaper on her face shifted slightly. "Well you can think that all you want."

I had been expecting that answer. "Don't be a bitch." I propped myself up on my elbows. She reached up and removed the paper from her face and peered around. No one was there besides us, the ships, and the sounds of the ocean.

"I have taken father's old position." She whispered.

"Father's old position?" And then it came to me. Operation Wrath of God and Black September…what he had called the glory days. I laughed, it was absurd to me once the puzzle had clicked itself together in my head. With that one phrase she had told me exactly what she did and what department she had been assigned to. I assumed she had been assigned, anyway. "Kidon?" I giggled. "Seriously?"

"What did you think we were being trained for?" I stopped breathing. I stopped moving. I flopped back onto my towel. "I mean, think about it."

I already was. I knew that when we were recruited we would be involved in some pretty risky affairs, but not assassinations.

"Holy shit." I said, squinting out to the horizon. Something had caught my eye.

"How many things can you use as a deadly weapon? How many times have you been drilled to make a quick get away? Maybe you will not be in the same department as me, though." She shrugged. "You are a very good actress. How many polygraphs have you beat again?"

"Seven…" I said picking up the binoculars.

"I'm sure you'd like Collections, then. You would certainly fit in!" I didn't reply. It's not everyday someone essentially says to you: "You would be great at overseas espionage!"

"Um, Ziva? How fast do you think we could make that getaway?"

"Why?"

"Because there are two guys with M16s on that suspicious looking motor boat giving us awfully dirty looks."

"Oh shit." She breathed, allowing terror to show on her face for less than a second before she shouted "Run!" We ran across the burning hot sand, a trail of bullets following us all the way down the beach.

Oh crap! No characters were hurt in that last scene, don't worry! Those guys were just some disgruntled old friends of Eli's (most likely). Unfortunately, this is one of those scenes I'm going to let you interpret.

*ahem, to those of you who are not so fashion inclined, when I wrote "Madge track pants" I am referring to Juicy Couture velour track pants. The brand was made popular around that time by Madonna (whose nickname is Madge). Originally, many of their pieces had "Madge" printed on them because Madonna's were personalized and there was a high demand for replicas.

Now I feel like Ducky! Because there is absolutely no need for you to ever know that! Hehehe…

*the drinking age is Israel is 18, and apparently they don't card you unless you look really young (source is my friend who went on trip with her temple) usually kids over there don't binge drink but our little friend is the exception!

besides, I think Ziva would be a pretty cool sister, right?