Can it be? A post from me? I'm fairly certain that the last time I posted something was last December. Goodness. Oh well. Here is just a little bit of Tiva fluff; hopefully it will get me back into writing.

Enjoy, and reviews are most certainly welcome! xx

Tony flexed the fingers on his right hand, wincing in pain. In frustration, and just a pure lapse in common sense, he had punched a brick wall. Hard. Two days with no sleep was really starting to take its toll on him. He was stressed to the max; no leads on a killer who had taken three victims in the space of two days. He had been running around, talking to family members of the victims, collecting as much information as possible.

He exited the elevator and sat at his desk, unaware of Ziva's eyes following him.

"Tony, what did you do?" There was concern in her voice, her brow furrowed as she looked him over.

"Punched a wall, Zee-vah. Not one of my better ideas, huh?" He tried to laugh it off, but the pain he was in was clear on his face. Ziva rose from her chair and crossed the aisle between their desks.

"Come on, I will help you clean up." She took hold of his arm and led him to the bathroom, grabbing a small bag from beside McGee's desk on their way. A first aid kit, Tony acknowledged. Once inside the bathroom, she took his hand and placed it under the stream of warm water in the sink.

"It's a little hot..." Tony mumbled, turning the cold water tap just a bit to get the right temperature. With a feather light touch, Ziva began to wash his hand, massaging the soap over the small cuts on his knuckles.

"Did you get any sort of gratification from punching the wall?" Ziva asked with a slight smirk on her face.

Tony sighed. "Not really. But it woke me up a little." Ziva finished washing the cuts and began to dry them with a paper towel.

"You know, I find it much better to talk about what is bothering you rather than hitting things."

"Really..." Tony mused. He remembered a time not too long ago when she wouldn't talk to him about anything. He found her statement to be quite hypocritical, but he decided not to say anything. An angry Ziva was just not something he had the energy for.

"Yes." She rubbed antiseptic onto the last of his cuts and placed a band-aid over the worst ones. She patted his cheek. "You're finished."

"Thanks." He pulled down his sleeve adjusted his collar.

"So, uh, would you like to talk?" Ziva asked, leaning against the sink.

"It's nothing," he said, settling next to her. "I'm just really tired. And hungry." His voice was sincere, and she felt nothing telling her not to believe him.

"What about you?" he asked. "Anything bothering you?" She thought for a minute. In recent weeks, her relationship with Tony – whatever sort of relationship that might be – had gotten surprisingly easier than it had been for a while. It was easy now. Natural. Words flowed freely between them, and there was no need for uncomfortable small talk. Silence was comfortable, and sometimes welcome. They were best friends again, and for the time being, she couldn't be happier.

"No," she replied with a smile. "Nothing."

"Well that's good," Tony said. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I don't like it when you're upset."


"It's um...not easy to..." He squinted and scratched his head, searching for the right words.

"Not easy to what?" Ziva prompted.

"It's not easy to see you upset, and know there's nothing I can really do to help." His answer surprised her; a warm tingly feeling was spreading through her body.

"Thank you, Tony," she said softly. She smiled at him, her eyes warm and gentle. No more words were spoken between them, only a comfortable silence hung in the air. After a minute, Ziva leaned over and kissed his cheek, and darted out of the room, leaving him with a goofy grin on his face. He had been missing the old Ziva, but he loved the new Ziva even more.