A/N: Thanks to all of you who reviewed. And the reference to The Script was a title of their song "Long Gone and Moved on", which is off their new CD which I am in love with. Anywho…here's the second chapter and it's mainly Tony-centric this time. The third chapter, which will hopefully be posted today, will be TIVA-centric.

And to answer one of my reader's questions: No, Somalia never happened. That's why it is AU. Everything in Aliyah happened, but she was never sent on that suicide mission by her father. I usually don't do AU but this thought process took me here, so I decided to just go with it.

Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine.

Missed Calls

He offers one more wave before heading to his car. A smirk forms on his face when he hears the whispered, light comments coming from the ladies behind him, and he knows that his buttocks is once again being judged in the dim light of the street lamps. He will make sure to interrogate Abby tomorrow, because he still doesn't understand how it is appropriate for nuns to be checking him out. But that is for tomorrow. Pushing his curiosity aside he slides into the driver's seat and turns on the engine.

It's a short ride to his apartment from the bowling alley, which is why he caved so quickly when Abby had suggested the Tuesday night activity. It promptly became a weekly event, and after each evening he came home exhausted; he knew that Abby was quite the energetic one, but he never expected the Sisters to be equally so. Tonight was no different and Tony made a beeline for his bedroom immediately after walking through the door.

He falls unceremoniously on the bed, tossing his keys and cell phone onto the nightstand. Once the clatter of items dulls to a silence, a quiet beeping catches his attention. It's only then that he remembers that he left his personal cell phone at home; Gibbs was away at a mandatory conference for the next two days and Tony only felt inclined to carry the "Boss" phone, as he called it. He blindly moves to the open the wooden drawer, and he rummages without sight to find the object of his attention.

His fingers collide with something thin and smooth. He doesn't recall anything of real importance or anything at all being in the nightstand, but his curiosity gets the best of him. What he doesn't expect is to catch his breath and for his heart to skip a beat, all at the expense of a small glazed over piece of paper. The memories hit him like a thick, weighted winter wind, but he'd be lying if he said this was the first time he's experienced a moment like this.

He throws a quick glance at the clock, and the realization hits him that it's been a year; three hundred and sixty five days since he had seen her in person or had her close enough for him to touch. Since that plane had come back to the U.S. one short, he has buried himself under a pile of regrets and what ifs. Every day he runs through all the things he could have done differently, and all the things he might have said that would have changed her reaction. In the end, though, he is only hit with the hard realization that he cannot change anything. She's gone and she has been for awhile now.

Now, he can only simply stare at the photo in his hand and imagine where she is at this moment. The photo itself was taken at a barbeque at Gibbs' house; a moment after the deception of Jeanne but before Jenny's untimely death and before the team suffered a separation, which only deepened the schism in the partners' relationship. She is amid a laugh, her whole face bright with joy, in response to a movie reference he has just made. Her dark brown hair is set in natural curls and his arm is settled lightly around her waist; her partner, her support, and possibly something more. It illustrates a time when their relationship had reached a new level of understanding; they had reached a point when they could be a little more intimate and express the trust and honesty that had taken over between them.

He smiles sadly, and props the new found charm against the bedside lamp. It is a memory he cherishes, and it's possibly one of the last good ones he can remember before it all went to hell. In a way, this simple photo is all he has left of her; it's the last artifact that he can hold onto that is solely them. Aside from the photo, all he is left with is a hope; a hope that one day she will call, she will come home, or just give him a smoke signal that she's still out there and maybe, just maybe, thinking of him.

Shaking these thoughts from his head, he finally finds his phone. There is one missed call and the number is foreign. It's definitely not from the D.C. area, and he hardly doubts it's from anyone of immediate importance. Most likely, it is just another solicitor calling to offer him better insurance or assure him that he is the new winner of a brand new car. It's late and he doesn't have the time or patience to deal with such trivial things, so he makes a note to have McGeek trace it tomorrow.

Clearing the notification from the screen, his fingers deftly punch in a few numbers and he holds the phone to his ear. "You've reached Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, and I'm the big Boss Man today so I might be incommunicado for a little while. But leave your name and some digits and I'll call you back ASAP," his voices quiets as he nears the end. This part is always the hardest, but he can never stop himself from including it. "PS. If this is the ninja chick, I still miss you".

He holds back the tremors in his voice and shuts the phone, signaling the end of the recording. The phone lands with a loud yet short clatter when it joins his other belongings on the wooden surface. It takes him a couple minutes to situate himself but soon he is sound asleep, left only with the familiar dreams haunted by her and what could have been.

X

It's been a long day out in the field. After twelve straight hours of running between the field, autopsy, and Abby's lab, he has hardly gotten to sit down all day, let alone eat. It's moments like these when he understands why Gibbs needs the coffee, the boat, and the bourbon.

Absent mindedly, he reaches for his phone which has been resting forgotten on his desk. He pops its open, on reflex, and the number that appears catches him off guard. Once again, he has a missed call from the same odd number as the night before. Inwardly, he chastises himself for not having McGee run it earlier and he looks around, but then remembers that he sent everyone home only moments before. Pushing the idea off for another day, it comes to his attention that this time a voice mail accompanies the mysterious call. Initiating the appropriate codes and entering his password he readies himself to listen to the message, only expecting a confirmation of the previous night's conclusions; he wasn't prepared for what graced his ears.

Hi…um…Hi, Tony. It is me, Ziva. I am not sure what exactly would be appropriate to say on a voicemail. I called last night as well. I was hoping to catch you before work this morning, but I guess I just missed you. My number is 03- 435-9968. I know that you own me nothing, but I would really like to hear from you. Please.