Written for the Tumblr "Fluff Fic-A-Thon" created by yours truly as a way to bring some happiness to this day of dread. I'm sorry, it doesn't start fluffy but bear with me, I am terrible at actual fluff for the sake of fluff.

Spoilers: 11x02, nothing after that.

Not mine. But if CBS is actually reading this and you want to use this on the show, I won't complain - and I won't even ask for royalties. JUST BRING HER BACK.

October 1, 2014

Today was just … terrible.

Terrible, horrible, awful, any synonym of bad, really. Today was it. Tony sighed as he leaned over the sink in the bathroom, the water running down the drain as he willed himself to get his shit together.

"Fat chance," he muttered, angrily knocking the faucet to turn the water off, then brushing a hand through his hair in an attempt to appear normal. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "I look like hell," he remarked, and if anyone had been in one of the stalls, they would have undoubtedly agreed.

It was evening, and he was fairly certain that Gibbs wouldn't want them to do any more with the case tonight. Not that there was anything to do with it. All the leads had dried up, Gibbs was in a sour mood, and Tony couldn't seem to do anything right, even though the whole team was working on the same case. No, for some reason, it was his screw-up, and his alone.

Tony sighed again, and made his way to the door, yanking it open with such force he was certain that a lesser door might have pulled right off the hinges. He let it slam shut behind him, and strode back to the bullpen with a sense of dread.

I just want to get out of here, he thought to himself, with a groan when he eyed all of the paperwork from last week's case still sitting on his desk. It isn't going anywhere, he reminded himself, and it would wait another day.

"Whatever the hell your problem is, DiNozzo, you'd better fix it by tomorrow. Now get out of my sight," Gibbs barked. Tony glared, but refrained from responding. The last thing he needed was to piss Gibbs off any further.

Bending over, he scooped up his bag and locked his computer for the night. He sighed, relieved that this day was almost over. There was at least a six pack of Corona sitting in the fridge, and he had big plans for it when he got home.

"The way this day is going," he muttered under his breath as the elevator doors closed on him, "I will be lucky to get that far." Silently, he said a brief prayer that traffic would be manageable for just this one day as the elevator started to descend.

He made it home in just under an hour, his plea for light traffic having gone unanswered. Whatever, he mused, the beer wasn't going to go anywhere. The elevator to his apartment was still broken and he slowly trudged up the stairs, panting by the time he reached the landing outside his apartment. He made a mental note to work out more, if he ever got the time.

Or the motivation, if he was being honest with himself. He fumbled with his keys, finally finding the right one and opening his door. His apartment was dark, but immediately, he felt the day wash away as his own personal haven beckoned to him. The apartment had been his one and only constant in the past year, and he'd relished that.

He slid his shoes off and made his way into the kitchen, pausing as he passed the small calendar on the wall.

"Of course," he groaned. October 1st. No wonder this day was so awful. How could he have forgotten the anniversary of the day he'd left Ziva in Israel, his life crying as he walked away?

Suddenly, the amount of alcohol in his apartment didn't seem sufficient.

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead, turning away from the fridge and heading toward the bedroom. Drinking wasn't going to do anything but make tomorrow unbearable. But it has been a year, a whole year, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief. Maybe if he took a sleeping pill, he could pass out and forget about today, and forget about her.

"Yeah," he grunted, rolling his eyes, "right." He sighed again. A year later and he still felt the same way he did when he left. Lost, alone, and without purpose. Ziva David brought purpose to his life, something he'd never fully realized until she was gone. And …

He paused. I don't remember having closed my bedroom door this morning. In fact, he knew he hadn't. He never closed that door, not even at night. But his apartment door was still locked …

He reached for his gun, leading with it as he started to push the door open.

What was waiting for him there was like a dream, something out of a fantasy. It couldn't be.

Ziva was sitting on his bed, perched primly on the edge of the bed, her eyes smoldering as they seemed to pierce right through his very being.

"Tony," she said softly, a small smile gracing her lips. She looked thrilled to see him.

"Ziva," he answered, unable to move.

"Your gun?" She prompted, and smirked as he awkwardly came to the realization that he hadn't lowered his weapon, stumbling to place it on the nearby dresser.

He crossed the room to her, afraid to touch her, certain she was just a mirage and that if he reached for her she would disappear. "What are …?" He couldn't finish the question.

"It has been a long year," was her answer, and that seemed to be all she would give him. He nodded. Yes, it had been, a long, terrible year full of long, terrible days without her.

She stood up, reaching for his hand. The touch brought Tony back to reality, and he reached for her instantly, pulling both of his hands to her face, cupping her gently and tangling his fingers in her hair, that hair of hers that he'd never fully appreciated before.

"Did you find what you'd been looking for," he choked out, his voice catching. He couldn't help it, seeing her again made him feel so raw, and yet so … alive.

"No," she mused, her eyes darting down toward the floor for a moment before catching his again. "I traveled the world but … the only thing I needed to be at peace with myself was here, right here," she emphasized, gingerly placing her hand on his heart.

"I needed you," she finished, and that was all it took. Tony pulled her slowly toward him, their lips meeting in a year's worth of longing. Ziva sighed into his mouth and Tony felt her wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her, if that were even possible. She caressed his lip with her own, tasting his tongue as he poured out his need for her, his hands still entangled tightly into her curls.

It felt so good, he thought, to have her back in his arms, where she belonged. He smiled into the kiss, the heat of her body radiating through his own. He pulled back slightly, placing another small peck on her lips, and another, and finally another before claiming her mouth again, feeling her surrender entirely to it, to him.

To them.

In seemingly no time at all, they were parted again, panting together, their eyes locked in a fiery gaze. They stayed locked together for several minutes, drinking in the moment, their reunion, before, finally, she spoke.

"I love you, Tony," she said, and before he could respond, she continued, "and I wish I had said that last year."

"I wouldn't have left," he breathed.

"I know," she said, an understanding look meeting his gaze.

"I won't let you leave now," he added.

"I know," she replied, and he laughed before kissing her again.

Today was just … perfect.

Yes I do love parallels, sorry(not sorry). Thank you for reading.