The alarm sounded from the bedside. Eric looked up at it, groggy with fresh sleep. Batting the air around it a few times, he finally managed to hit the impossibly small 'off' button. Rolling over, he saw the prettiest sight he'd seen in his life.

Nell Jones. Under the covers. On his bed. Sleeping peacefully. His first thought was to wake her, but he decided against it. It was Saturday, after all.

Sighing a bit, he laid back down. Almost instantly, she was curled into him, resting her head on his chest. She grasped his hand like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

He knew he should wake her, but didn't. Moments like this one were fleeting, and rare.

He was brought back into wakefulness an hour later by a gentle hand stroking his face. There she was, looking into his eyes with so much honesty, and something else, something he couldn't identify, not yet, anyways.

It was a mad rush, getting her out the door. Their extra hour of sleep had cost them their buffer, and the last thing they wanted to do was show up to the Mission, late, obviously together, with Nell in the same cardigan as the day before. There was too much to accomplish, and not enough time to explain appearances.

They worked together during the morning. Scanning traffic cams, they searched for their suspect, and the suspect's car. They needed to find him before they could jump to the next step of the mission.

As often as they were interchangeable, her knowledge on South America was sometimes required. They were being separated, for the afternoon, at least.

He stood idly by as he watched her put on the bulletproof vest over her blouse and loaded her service weapon. He knows she's more than capable of handling the mission that's been placed on her slender shoulders, but that does nothing to quell his anxiety.

The operation started according to plan, but didn't end that way. The mission had failed. Extraction came as the building blew, covering the block in debris.

She escaped the explosion, but found herself thrown into the back of a van. She was still alive, but did he know that?

Eric Beale's heart shattered on a Saturday, as soon as he saw the building go up on flames over his surveillance cameras, and her comms cut to static.

He all but ran to the site, and held her cardigan, the only thing they'd found, as emergency services put out the blaze, and the team opened a new investigation.

An investigation into the disappearance of Nell Jones.

She trusted him with her life, and knew he'd never stop looking.

He knew she was still out there, regardless of the odds, and never stopped scouring the world.

And he knew that Nell Jones was no damsel in distress, yearning for her knight in shining armor to come rescue her from god knows where. But Nell Jones was human, and sometimes humans do need a little help finding their way back home.

It took weeks, but he found her, in the suburbs of Bogota, looking thin and exhausted, but still very much alive, and vibrant, and breathtakingly beautiful.

No matter how much he pleaded, one thing never changed: he wasn't going to rescue her himself. He wouldn't be needed on the ground.

He supervised her return from his screens, falling to his knees the minute Callen and Sam had her.

She was safe, and that's all that mattered.

Then she appeared, hours later, looking as radiant as the sun setting on the beach, her hair tucked behind her ears.

"So, he ran down the stairs, leaping over the last few, and landed right in front of her.

And with the entire team watching, he wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her, hard, and his tears of relief mixed with hers.

It was Saturday again, after all.