Nell Jones couldn't quite put a finger on when the Ops center started feeling like home. She just knew that somewhere in the last several
months, the subtle hum of electronics, the rhythmic percussion of typing and mouse clicks from Eric's computer station as well as her own, the
white noise of the air conditioning, the distant voices from the bullpen, and the subtle smells of the mission gently overlaid with coffee,
Hetty's tea, sea salt, and Eric's sweat and laundry detergent had melded in her mind to produce a homey, almost calming, combination. As
she stood in the doorway this morning, the Ops scent had a double helping of sea salt and sweaty Eric due to the inopportune time of the call-up.
Eric's wet hair fell wildly across the back of his head, some sections slicked down and some standing strait up. His t-shirt was wet over his
shoulders and lower back, indicating it had been thrown on after a perfunctory towel-drying, and the way his shirt rode up and his board
shorts rode down revealing a strip of his sun-tanned back indicated to Nell that he hadn't even bothered to put real pants on. (Well, that and
the small puddle accumulating where the corner of his shorts hung over the edge of his chair.) Not that she looked much better. Hetty's call had come at the point in Nell's run when she was the absolute farthest from her apartment, and as a result she had only bothered to grab her messenger bag and the clothes she had planned on wearing as she flew through. Consequently she was standing in the door of Ops wearing a loose performance shirt and shorts that were just short enough to make her uncomfortable sitting down in front of Eric.
The rest of the team hadn't showed yet, and Eric's computer was still starting up. Nell walked over to her computer desk and started getting
set up, the smell of sea spray and sweaty Eric becoming stronger with proximity. The water droplets on his face cast weird reflections in the
light of the computer monitor.
"Looks like Hetty caught you in the middle of something too," Eric commented as Nell self-consciously slid her chair a little further under
the desk than usual.
"The farthest point of my running route from my apartment possible," she replied.
Eric ran his hands backwards through his wet hair. "The rest of the team isn't here yet; what about we tag-team it here while the other one
gets some real clothes on?"
"Sounds good to me, why don't you go ahead and I'll get everything started up?"
Eric all but sprinted out of Ops, his flip-flops making the sloshy, sqeaky sound flip-flops make when wet. Nell started moving windows between the Ops screens and her computer, gathering information as displays came to life.
Eric came running back up the stairs. He looked much more like himself wearing (dry) flip-flops, cargo shorts held up by a wide belt, and a haphazardly-tucked in undershirt; he was in the process of buttoning up his shirt. Nell glanced at the stopwatch on her computer screen. "Two minutes,forty-seven seconds."
Eric half-fell into his chair and glanced at Nell with a half-smirk. "Three, two, one, go!" Nell raced out of Ops.
Eric surveyed the displays, which were organized with the sort of meticulous sloppiness he had come to expect from Nell. Not that meticulous sloppiness was a term most people used, but it fit Nell's organizational style perfectly. Suspect information in one area, crime scene footage in another...her organization used to drive Eric nuts, but he was starting to get used to it, even like it a little.
Nell skidded back into Ops. She felt much better in a plaid tunic top and jeans. Eric glanced at the stopwatch. "Two minutes, forty-six point five seconds. Tie?"
Nell returned his high-five as the mission door opened. The ruckuss downstairs indicated that the rest of the team had arrived.