Hi all. Well, a couple of people wanted me to continue this. When I wrote it, I had no intention of doing so, but after reading it over a couple times, I realized it not only seemed a l'il unfinished, but that I really could do something more with it.
I loved the whole voicemail, one-sided conversation, and the fic is called 'After the Tone' so I stuck with that, and set it after the last chapter. I think this'll be the last update, and I'm planning to leave it as a two-shot, but if you want another, feel free to tell me.
Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you break your DVD player watching your homemade marathon. (oops).

Listening to: Breathe by The Cinematic Orchestra feat. Fontella Bass.

His phone rings, but he stays sitting on the couch, out of laziness and fear. He knows he made a mistake. He knows he shouldn't have left. But he did and now they're left with the shattered little aftermath. He's really screwed up this time.

Beep beep.

..

Beep beep.

He knows it's her and that scares him, it really does.
He just lets it ring and ring until it gets to voicemail, and he sighs in relief of the automated
please leave your message after the tone

"I had a dream, Tony."

And just like that, he's hooked; breath catching in his throat and heart pounding. Of all the things she could have said, he never expected that.

"I had a dream, that you called me. And you told me all these things, about how life would not make sense if I was not there, and how you would only be at peace in death, if I was dead too.

"And you said about how you would sound... how did you put it? Crazy, and... suicidal, I believe?"

She pauses, her clear voice cut momentarily, and he holds his breath, because it can go two ways now.

"But then I realized, Tony. That it was not a dream. That you really had called me, and told me all of this-"

Her voice goes bizarre then- it cracks and ceases-, and he hears a sniff. She's crying, and he's the reason for it.
But still, he can't bring himself to pick up the phone in case she'll throw everything in his face. After all of this hell, he doesn't know what he'll do if she realizes they just aren't meant to be.
Because they are.

"Tony, I don't know what to do. Because everything you said was so perfect, that now I'm afraid I cannot... match up, to what you have said.

"And the other night, it seemed like we were finally going somewhere, and moving on. But then, I woke up and you were gone. But I did not know why- I still don't."

He pulls his hand back from the receiver, his fingers brushing it.
The tears in her voice were too much to bear, and he had reached forward. But now she's brought up that, he's worried again. He won't interrupt her, not until she's said her piece.

"I really did have a dream, Tony. It was... wonderful, and completely impossible. At least, I used to think it was. It was not the type of dream you talked about. I-I had an ambition; a goal, completely unrealistic.

"It was you, and me. And a house and a family..." she pauses, and he has to strain to hear her next words. "And love."

"That's not unrealistic, Ziva."
He says, having picked up now, determined to make her see that they really can have this dream of hers.
And they're both crying, too.

"Hang on." he says, putting the phone down and grabbing his keys, drying his eyes as he takes the stairs three at a time.

Five minutes and many car horns later, he's on her doorstep and trying to keep everything together. And when he knocks, it opens instantly and he blinks. Once. Twice.

There are tear tracks on her cheeks, but he doesn't care.
Her hair is completely out of place, but he doesn't care.
She's swamped in a sweater- one that belongs to him, he thinks-, but he doesn't care.
He doesn't think he's ever seen her look as beautiful as she does at this very moment.

Then, when he's stepped inside and closed the door, he holds her so tightly, and the walls fall down and the floodgates open. He just buries his face into her neck and weeps solidly. She does the same into his chest, both of them rocking back and forth with tears and hopes and exhaustion. Her hands ball up into fists and bundle parts of his shirt, and he tangles his hand through her hair.
No words are needed, just like they never were.

And when he pulls back and kisses her, and their tears mix as their lips meet, nothing has ever felt as perfect.

They go to bed, and he pulls her tight, as if the world will cease turning if he lets go.
And he thinks it just might, so he never does again.

Thanks for reading! Don't be afraid to drop a review on your way out.
-Kiera. x