Ashleigh Anpilova


A sequel to An Acceptable Cliché.

Tony has decided tonight is the night.

An established relationship story.

Written: January 2012. Word count: 500.



Tony looked around his apartment, checking everything was 'just so' but didn't look 'just so'. He'd made a huge effort, but part of the effort had been not to appear that he'd made an effort.


Tonight was the night he'd propose to Ziva. He'd planned it all out carefully; her favorite meal was warming in the oven, a bottle of her favorite red wine was open on the table, her favorite music played in the background; he'd cleaned and tidied - but not too much. He was ready; well almost. He had one more decision to make: candles or not.


He'd put a lot of thought into how he was going to propose to her, so much thought he'd thought of barely anything else. He'd ruled out the 'down on one knee' bit, having got the impression it wasn't just the fact Ray had done it in public that Ziva hadn't liked. He'd also pushed away the idea of dressing up and shedding a tear as he'd done with Wendy - Ziva hadn't seemed impressed when he'd told her about it.


He didn't need to impress Ziva; that was something he'd finally learned: when you love someone, really, truly love them, you don't need to impress them. You just need to be you, because 'you' is the person they love.


So he was going for simplicity, but a well planned, well controlled, well organized simplicity. Now if only he could decide about the candles.


The decision was taken out of his hands when suddenly his lights went off. Nothing else was affected; he just didn't have any lights. A panicked call to the building manager proved to be more puzzling than reassuring, as it turned out it was only his apartment that was affected.


He hurried around the place lighting candles, trying to create a romantic setting that didn't appear to be romantic.


When the doorbell rang, he wiped his hands on his trousers and hurried to answer it; he realized he still hadn't quite decided when he was going to propose. "Ziva! You look beautiful." And she did.


She smiled and kissed him, sliding her arms around his neck and letting her body brush against his. "Thank you, Tony." She looked around her. "Everything looks wonderful. I love the candles. You have gone to a lot of trouble."


"No!" Tony said swiftly. "I haven't. I mean I didn't mean to . . . I mean I - oh, hell, Ziva, I -" And suddenly he knew: it should be now. "Ziva." He pulled out a small box from his pocket. "Ziva David, will you marry me?" He held his breath.


To his surprise her eyes misted up a little. Then she smiled; a smile he'd never seen before. A smile that seemed to offer everything to him, a smile that was one of pure, unsullied, contented happiness. "Yes, Tony. Yes, Anthony DiNozzo, I would be honored to marry you."


He smiled back at her as he slipped the simple diamond and emerald ring onto her finger.





My Hero

Sometimes You Are Wrong

An Acceptable Cliché

Under Control


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