A/N:

I was on my way home from work the other night and "Austin" by Blake Shelton came on shuffle. Needless to say, I was inspired to write a similar story, according to TIVA. That being said, it's a little AU, in relation to Aliyah and ToC and the first chapter is a little Ziva-centric. If you feel so inclined, please share your thoughts! After writing the first chapter, I have decided to make it 3 chapters instead of a one-shot. Much love and TIVA–Ashley

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. I only spend my snow days watching reruns and writing my own little ideas, only to receive no compensation and a new episode tonight!

Hope

She doesn't exactly know what possessed her to pick up the phone and dial that all too familiar number. Her slender, worn fingers dance over the key pad with a surprisingly practiced ease, despite the invisible dust that has settled over that particular pattern of numbers. The common place dial tone is harsh on her ears, and with each ring her heart skips a beat as if her pulse is no match for her heart.

It's been a year to the day since she watched that U.S. Navy plane fade into the distance; three hundred and sixty five days since she had heard his voice, in any tone, say her name or say anything at all for that matter. It that stretch of time, work has been her only savior and, even then, it's nothing compared to the work she did with him. She has long since admitted her wrongs to herself, though; the mistakes she made before, during, and after the incident. The pain she has endured over that past year due to losing him and her 'family' is her own doing, and it is worthy of the guilt she is weighed with.

That pain and guilt, however, is nothing compared to the nervous fear that wracks her body as the phone continues to ring. For a moment she fears he might not pick up, but she would be lying if she said she did not understand why he wouldn't. It has been a year, and a long one at that. The average person would be long gone and moved on, and she couldn't begrudge him that. But it didn't stop her from holding onto a shred of hope that he may still be waiting, waiting for her.

The phone clicks, and she draws in a sharp breath at the inevitability of actually hearing his voice again. The excitement is short lived as the machine starts to play, offering her a recording instead of the real thing. Hey, you've reached Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. If this is a stupid person calling to buy the red Jetta, I don't have a damn Jetta so stop wasting your time. If this is anybody else, you should know its Tuesday and I'm bowling with Abby and the nuns. Leave a message and I'll call you back. Oh, and if this just happens to be the ninja chick, I still miss you.

She's too overcome with shock to form any words. Her phone falls deftly shut, and she stares dumbfounded into the hot Israeli sun. After a year, nothing has changed. He still narrates his voice-mail to the activities of his day, and uses that silly extension of his name. He still bowls every Tuesday with Abby, a habit he picked up when he finally came back from being isolated on the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan. He still misses her. It is almost too much to wrap her assassin, Mossad-trained head around.

That little glimmer of hope that has gotten her trough the past year, has just turned into a brightly lit candle just waiting to catch the closest thing on fire.

A/N: Props the person who can identify the reference to The Script haha