Summary: When Tony's apartment is broken into, he loses something very important to him.

Disclaimer: If I owned NCIS, Tony would actually have an apartment :P not that he doesn't have one, you know, we just don't see it. He needs one. Preferably with Ziva in it.

Spoiler: None.

So, I was listening to Clay Aiken's Measure of a Man the other day, and it inspired this :D btw Court, I'll write the other one-shot tomorrow! Ran out of time today, lol.

Enjoy, everyone!

-Soph

Velvet

The door to his apartment was left standing open, so she let herself in.

Drew her gun first, of course. Held it in front of her as she cleared the rooms, quick and silent because she didn't know whether the intruders had come back and whether, if they had, Tony was with them. Thankfully, she didn't encounter anyone who shouldn't have been there. The last room for her to clear was his bedroom; she swung through the doorway only to find that she was pointing the gun roughly a-foot-and-a-half above his head, where he was sitting on the floor, alone. His knees were drawn up and his fisted hands were in his lap; his eyes, tight and angry even though she could only see him in profile, were aimed at something in front of him.

"Tony," she said, holstering the gun and hurrying to his side. She dropped to her knees and ran a hand through his hair, stroking his cheek and then his back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered monotonously, but his hoarse voice betrayed his actual state of mind.

"Why is the front door open?"

He shrugged. "They've already taken everything." He clenched his fists. "Everything."

She stared down at his lap. "Are you holding something?"

"No," he answered too quickly, one of his fists twitching. And then he sighed. "I suppose I have to make a police report."

"Yes, we should." She helped him to his feet, supporting him as he staggered unsteadily. "It'll be alright. We'll get everything back."

His deadened eyes met hers. "You don't know that." His voice grated harshly in her ears.

She bit down on her lip and shook her head. "No, I don't. But we have to believe so."

He turned away, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "Okay, I'm ready."

She pulled out her phone and dialled.

xoxo

She didn't really understand why he seemed so traumatized, or why he'd entered his apartment after discovering that it'd been broken into. A burglary was always shocking, but they'd investigated cases like these before; they knew protocol, and they knew it was always easier to collect evidence if the scene of the crime hadn't been disturbed. Yet, he'd gone in, searched every room, and then sat down on his bedroom floor to wait the ten minutes that it'd taken her to get to his apartment. She didn't quite understand it.

He was silent as she drove them back to her apartment. While his apartment had been cleared for them to enter again, she didn't really want him to stay there that night. So she'd invited him over to her place and, his eyes averted, he'd simply nodded.

She fetched him a beer the moment they stepped into her apartment. Alcohol never solved any problems, sure, but he certainly looked like he needed something to numb his senses. Pressing the can into one of his hands (the other was still in his coat pocket, probably still fisted), she drew him over to the couch and sat down with him, and he breathed out deeply and thudded his head into the back of her couch.

Very, very slowly, he reached forward and put the unopened can of beer on her coffee table. And only then did he lean back and properly face her, drawing his hand out of his coat pocket and opening it.

A single black box. A single, black, velvet, ring-sized box. "I was planning to give you this," he began quietly, and she almost couldn't hear him over the blood thundering in her ears. "But, y'know … now it has no ring."

She paused, opening her mouth, not knowing what to say. She'd never expected for a burglary to happen, let alone this. They hadn't talked about marriage in months. A million years ago, they'd discussed it, but the topic had been put aside and forgotten as their relationship had progressed … and somehow, she had been okay with things remaining the way they were for a while, as long as he stayed.

She hadn't known that he'd wanted to marry her, at all.

"We should hand that in as evidence." The words were out before she could censor them, and she watched, horrified, as his palm closed and his eyes fell shut.

"It's fine," he whispered, his voice monotonous again. "I understand."

"No." She made a grab at the ring box, but he'd already put it back into his pocket. "I'll marry you, Tony. Yes, I'll marry you."

He laughed humourlessly and opened his eyes again. "You'll marry me over what, Ziva? I've nothing to give you. No ring, just an empty box. No nice apartment. No ring. And it was perfect, damnit! I should've kept it on me. I should've gotten an alarm system … I should've—I should've done something." He stood up abruptly. "I should go."

"Tony!" Her voice arrested his movement, and he was frozen still apart from that slight twitch in his hand again. She stood slowly, pressing her hands into his chest to keep him grounded, and his jaw clenched as she whispered, "Tony, I want to marry you."

He glared at her just then, his eyes hard and angry. "Why? I don't have a ring for you. I'm not even sure I can afford a new one."

"I don't care. I want you, not a ring."

His eyes flickered down to her hands. "It would've been perfect, you know that?" he murmured in a low voice. "I made sure. Size five, platinum, diamond inlay. Not too flashy, because I knew you didn't like flashy. I had it engraved. It was perfect. It was perfect, and now I don't have it."

He stepped back, and her hands fell from his chest. "Always knew that damn getting-up-the-guts thing would get me someday," he continued, no longer meeting her eyes. He snorted derisively. "I could've thought up a hundred different ways to ask you, but no, of course I had to wait until I'd gone and been burgled. You'd think I'd at least get this right. Whatever. I have to go, Ziva."

"No," she said again, fiercely, her own eyes wet. "Don't you dare walk away. Not like this."

"What are you, threatening me into staying now?"

"Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"Ask me if I want to marry you!"

He exhaled in frustration and turned back to her. "Fine. Do you, Ziva David, want to marry this idio—"

She pressed her lips to his, cutting of his words before he could finish them. "Yes," she mumbled against him, "yes, I will. I don't care about the ring. I love you. I will marry you."

She pulled back, and his eyes, pained but no longer angry, bore into her. "Are you sure you want this, Ziva?"

"Yes," she reiterated thickly, and only then … only then, did he take a shuddering breath and pull her to him, his body trembling as he buried his face into her hair.

xoxo

He did propose to her, a few days later. She'd been at home, cleaning her apartment, when he'd dropped by and gotten down on one knee, presenting to her in the little black velvet box what was most likely a well-made, costume-jewellery engagement ring.

She refused to take off the engagement ring, even when he asked her to, until it could be replaced with her wedding band.