Author's Note:

This is a little episode-related piece that came to mind after watching the season two episode "Rocket Man" again. The idea popped up in the middle of the night and I couldn't get in out of my head. I wanted to hold off on posting anything else as long as my other story is still work-in-progress, but here I am breaking my vow and dishing it out to you.

This is not exactly a sequel to the episode. I imagined this to be something akin to a missing scene piece right before the last one we saw on TV.

Enjoy!

Nell Jones noticed the signs sometime after he came back from the rocket launcher site.

The way he stopped typing way too often and kept flexing his fingers every once in a while, the way he massaged his temples and squinted his eyes at the monitor when he thought she wasn't looking, the way the left corner of his mouth twitched in a grimace every time he adjusted his position on his chair and the way his breathing picked up speed every now and then. Being 'frelted', as Deeks had so kindly put it, had definitely left a mark both physically and mentally.

She kept quiet though. Agent Hanna had given him a medical check-up on scene and according to him he was fine or would be. Nell trusted the Navy Seals' judgement just fine. But her overactive and overly intelligent mind kept reminding her of the fact that neither FAA Agent Gary Clay nor the man behind the alias, namely Eric Beale, Technical Operator at the NCIS Office of Special Projects were used to being in a dangerous situation like this and that maybe both personalities should have chosen to seek out professional medical attention instead of relying on the assessment of a hardened field agent.

Nell chanced another sideways glance at her partner and realized that this time his typing had stopped for more than just a brief moment. While his right hand hovered a few inches above the keyboard his left one pressed flat against his chest. He looked pale and pain was etched on his features.

"Eric?" she called tentatively, but he gave no sign of recognition. She nudged him in the shoulder and tried again, a little louder this time. "Hey! Wolfram?"

The blonde haired man flinched at the sudden contact and abruptly snapped out of his daze. "Uh, what?" he asked in a haze of confusion. He sounded out of breath and strangely… scared? Nell raised her eyebrows at him.

"Are you alright?" she inquired. The only answer she got was a blink of his eyes. Eric opened his mouth in reply, but no sound came out of it. Instead he hastily closed his mouth again, his eyes suddenly growing wide, his jaw clenched tightly and his face turned ghostly pale. Nell creased her forehead in concern. "Eric?"

"Umgnabesick," was the mumbled reply before he jumped out of his chair and left at a dizzying speed that Nell hadn't thought him capable of.

The Intelligence Analyst remained seated and watched after him, utterly perplexed at the hasty departure. She was getting worried now, the rational part of her brain making room for the emotionally driven one. The latter wanted to take over, run after him and lend her support wherever it was needed, but thankfully the former remained in control and reasoned with her that it would look weird if she followed her partner to the men's room.

When he had yet to return fifteen minutes later she left her work station and went looking for him anyways and the bullpen was as good a starting point as any.

Marty Deeks noticed the signs when he took a break from writing up his report in order to use the restroom.

Actually, it was more like he heard them. He was in the middle of relieving his overactive bladder, when he was rudely interrupted by the sound of violent retching and gagging and coughing. His detrusor muscle constricted immediately and stopped the relieving flow. Deeks winced both in dismay at his suddenly shy bladder and in sympathy with whoever was hugging the toilet behind the closed bathroom stall. The sounds were never pleasant to listen to, experiencing the ordeal in itself even less so.

Marty bounced on his heels and resisted the urge to whistle whilst waiting for the noise to stop. It was soon replaced by the flush of the toilet, some heavy groaning and wheezing which made the detective so uncomfortable that he contemplated escaping the more than awkward audio drama preferably five minutes ago. But just as he was about to make a hasty retreat he heard the click of the stall door and saw the miserable form of a certain blonde tech guru emerge from behind it. He watched in horrendous awe as said man stumbled over to the sink without acknowledging him.

The detective cleared his throat louder than necessary to make his presence known. "You okay there, man?" he asked and winced again as he watched Eric rinse out his mouth.

The younger man visible jumped. "Geez, can't a guy have a little privacy around here?" he croaked, vocal chords raw from their most recent abuse. He braced himself on the edge of the sink and threw very weak daggers in Deeks' direction through the mirror.

"Sorry, man. I didn't know you were here until I heard your very impressive performance on the colorful art of puking. While I appreciate a free show this wasn't really on my mind and I'm tremendously relieved that it was no visual, audio only," Marty cracked. Erics face twisted in a grimace. "So, you alright, buddy?"

Beale turned his head in the other man's direction, hands still holding onto the edge of the sink in a white-knuckled grip, and sighed. "Better now," he answered wearily. Deeks nodded in agreement. He found it strange that such a disgusting act could get rid of the cause that made one so miserable, but he assumed it was just natures' way of letting them know that you had to fight for everything you wanted in life.

"Well, this was your first undercover assignment, so I guess your reaction was to be expected. Especially after almost getting, well frelted," Marty chuckled at his own joke. It made him feel wickedly satisfied to dish out and not being on the receiving end of the teases. Even though it was mostly the agents cracking jokes at his expense, Eric was the only available and also very easy target and the detective was just having too much fun with his self-invented word.

Eric groaned and briefly closed his eyes in defeat. "Really not in the mood right now," he grumbled his response, pushed away from the sink and headed for the door. The tech didn't even bother drying off his wet hands and face, merely wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt as he exited the restroom.

Stunned by his surfer pal's reaction Deeks remained rooted to the spot. His eyes followed Eric and took in the haggard look, the sluggish movements and the stiff posture. The whole ordeal of the day seemed to have affected the geek more than Marty had first anticipated. The younger man had insisted on staying at Drewett Space Technologies despite his near death experience and his unhealthy state earlier that day and it suddenly shed a whole new light on him. The detective was impressed.

Sam Hanna was the first to notice the signs, G Callen the second.

They were the first on the scene of the crime, the ones dragging a red-faced, limp-as-a-doll and very much unconscious Eric Beale out of the chamber of death. In the almost fifteen minutes that it took the tech wiz to come back to full awareness, Sam had checked his vitals and while both his pulse and breathing were strong and steady he found them way too fast and irregular.

They rid their coworker of his jacket and loosened his tie to guarantee his body a better chance at regulating its temperature and ensure that he got enough oxygen in his lungs. He came to soon after.

During his exam the Navy Seal pointed out his findings to his partner, who forwarded them to Hetty via the phone. Red coloration of the skin, elevated temperature, first degree burns on his hands and his neck, slurred speech, dehydration, delayed pupil reaction and disorientation. He ordered for someone to bring a glass of water and only after his second one Eric seemed to come back to full awareness of what transpired.

Sam checked him once again and decided that he would be okay, Callen wasn't so sure and recommended a thorough exam in the ER, but it was Eric who made the decision for both of them and stated that he was fine and wanted to stay on site with a determination that stunned both of the hardened field agents. On second thought, they really shouldn't have been surprised. Their background man could get his teeth into something just as much as anyone else on the team, so they accepted his decision and left him in the capable hands of Kensi Blye and Marty Deeks. Let them keep an eye on the newborn undercover operative.

When they headed back to the Office the topic came up anyhow.

"Are you sure, Eric's okay?" Callen asked, still unconvinced if it was the right decision to let their tech at Drewett Space Technology. He unwrapped a lollipop and popped it in his mouth, swirling it in his mouth thoughtfully.

Sam glanced at him briefly. "Truthfully?" G stopped and threw him an annoyed sarcastic look. The Seals' mouth twitched and he chuckled. "He should have gone to the hospital, get himself a thorough check-up, maybe even stay there and get some fluids in him."

The team leader frowned. "Wait, Mr. Perfection. You telling me you weren't thorough?" he teased, clanking his lollipop against the top row of his teeth.

"Shut up, G," Sam warned easily. "You know I'm not a doctor. Besides there's only so much you can do with the most basic of all first aid kits."

"So tell me again, why you didn't insist on him going to the hospital?" Callen asked again.

The bulkier man sighed. "Because Eric doesn't need anyone putting him down right now. First undercover mission and he is already getting his ass kicked? The guy feels bad enough as it is."

G stared at him perplexed, then grinned and chuckled while shaking his head. "Are you getting soft in your old years, Sam?"

The Navy Seal pierced his partner with a narrow-eyed dangerous glare. "Me? Old? Ha." Callen smirked, but the dark-skinned man had already recovered. "You don't kick a dog when it's already down on the ground, much less a puppy."

Callen almost choked on his lollipop and extracted the sweet from his mouth before that actually happened. He pounded on his chest with his left fist a couple times and coughed. "Eric? A puppy?"

Sam glared at him incredulously. "Yeah!? Can't you see it, G?"

Callen coughed again, though about it a little longer and slowly started nodding. "I can," he realized with surprise. "You're absolutely right, Sam." A shared look had them laughing lightheartedly and made them forget about the original topic for the time being.

Kensi Blye picked up on the signs as they backed 'Gary Clay' up as he was on his way to question Mr. Kinto.

She had commented on it to Deeks, claiming he looked nervous. But that was to be expected and it was only a cover-up to hide her real concern for the non-agent currently doing their work. But she didn't want to give her partner the wrong idea so she simply accepted his recurring joke about being 'frelted' with a roll of her eyes and watched Eric Beale quietly.

The female agent knew Beale to be a bundle of energy. Even when he was deeply engrossed in extracting data from God knows what sources he was never completely still. His movements were usually jittery and squirrely, even more so when he was high on caffeine or exited over his findings. So Kensi was worried when she noticed that none of this reflected in his current behavior. The surfer held himself stiff, his movements slow and careful and there was a heaviness to it that couldn't be put down to frazzled nerves.

Blye decided to keep her observations to herself for now and call the man in question out on it when the case allowed him enough of a break for a talk in private and only if the need arose. Secretly she hoped that she wouldn't have to, though. Eric would bounce back sooner or later. Everyone would be shaken up after almost dying for the first time after all.

It was hours later, Kinto and Yilmaz long since arrested and the team regrouped at the Office of Special Operations, that Kensi was reminded of her silent vow to check on their resident Technical Operator. She was writing up her report, occasionally bantering with Sam and Callen, when an alarmed looking Intelligence Analyst hurried down the stairs and joined them by their partition.

"Have you seen Eric?" the redhead asked, face flushed and slightly out of breath from making such a fast descent. Nell braced herself on the metal partition and looked from one agent to the other hopefully.

Blye looked up from her laptop and at the small woman. Out of the corner of her eyes she noticed that Sam and Callen stood to attention as well. "I haven't seen him since he we left to catch the bad guys," she answered. Turning to the senior agents she asked, "You guys?"

Sam leaned on his elbows and shrugged. "Me neither."

Callen also shook his head no, but observed the conflicted emotions flittering over the analysts' face. She worried her lips in concern and hung her shoulders in defeat. The team leader called her on it. "What's wrong, Nell?"

Jones schooled her features and stood straight, the hand previously holding onto the metal frame dropping to her side. She sighed. "We were writing up our reports, when I realized that Eric was a little restless. I asked if he was okay and all of a sudden he bolted out of the room. He was very pale and looked like he was about to be violently sick. But that was," she briefly glanced at her wrist watch, "almost twenty minutes ago. I'm getting a little worried."

"Worried about who?"

Everyone turned to the voice coming from behind the quirky redhead and focused on the form of Deeks, who just came strolling back into the bullpen. Nell opened her mouth and prepared herself to lay the facts out for him as well, but before she even had a chance to brief him Sam took charge. "Eric," he pointed out in a clipped voice.

Deeks tilted his head back in realization. "Oh, you mean our favorite geek boy? The one who almost got frelted today and was just ralphing in the bathroom? That was kind of gross to listen to, by the way." Nell winced at the offending description, Kensi stared daggers at him for the inappropriate comment and Callen and Sam each provided their own deathly glares. Marty held his hands up in defense. "Just saying." The stares intensified. "Okay, right. That was not funny. I should just shut up and sit over there. Sorry guys." He maneuvered himself over to his desk.

"Best idea to ever come from you," Sam remarked with a sideways glance at the man he had to share his desk with. Deeks sat down and opened his mouth for a comeback, but Nell interrupted him.

"Is he still in the men's room?" Nell asked, effectively cutting any teasing off that might distract the team from the real problem at hand. The detective took his eyes off of the Navy Seal and turned to her.

"Uh, no. He left before me. Didn't say where he was going though and frankly, I didn't ask either. I was too busy keeping from vo…"

"Deeks!" Kensi cut in sharply and looked at him with disgust, realizing what he was about to say.

Marty had the decency to look apologetic. "Sorry."

"Just shut your mouth and keep it that way, okay?" the female agent firmly advised him and returned her attention to the Intelligence Analyst. She was getting annoyed by the conversation that was clearly leading nowhere, especially not to Eric, and Kensi sympathized with the petite woman. "Maybe he went out to get some fresh air? Clear his head?"

Nell nodded and gave the older woman a grateful smile. "I shall go and find out," she mumbled and turned around, taking a few steps only to find herself face to face with the man of her personal little search and rescue mission. "Oomph." The air left her lungs as she collided none too gently with his shirt-clad chest. The encounter was so unexpected to both techs that Eric almost lost his balance and staggered backwards. His arms flailed wildly and he somehow managed to keep upright. The smaller woman had better luck in balancing herself. Soft giggles emanated from behind them, but they were oblivious to it, too occupied with regaining their respective composures.

Marty Deeks, who had seen Eric's pale complexion only minutes ago in the men's room, was the only one to notice even more color left said man's face momentarily, but just as he was about to comment on it the pallor made way for a slight rosé tinge to his cheeks in embarrassment.

"Sorry," the tech rasped. "I didn't mean to startle you." Nell nodded absentmindedly. Her attention was on his hands though, that somehow had found their way to her biceps during their collision – presumably he had wanted to keep either himself or her from crumbling to the ground – and still clung to her tightly.

"You can let go now, Beale," she stated calmly, looking him square in the eyes and seeing the confusion she motioned to his hands on her arms with her eyes. His followed hers and upon realizing his desperate hold onto her let his hands fall to his sides unceremoniously, looking decidedly uncomfortable. The rosé color on his cheeks now a deep red. Nell hid a smile at his fluster and asked the question that bugged her ever since his hasty departure from ops earlier. "Are you okay?"

Eric wanted to nod, but refrained from doing so as he remember that it made his head spin. He scratched his head and stuttered, "Uh, yeah… fine." He cleared his throat and looked passed Nell at the agents. "You guys been talking about me?" the Technical Operator asked, his voice trembling in trepidation. Their expressions varied from slightly amused (Sam and Callen), to compassionate (Kensi), to smug (Deeks). It answered the question for them. The blonde man groaned. "Great, I'm never gonna live this down, am I?" he mumbled miserably, referring to his rendezvous with the toilet bowl.

"Nope," Sam quipped and smiled at him. Defeated, Eric turned on his heels and strolled back to ops, his stride lacking the usual energetic bounce and its dizzying speed.

Henrietta Lange had her own surreptious ways of catching up on things and therefore was way ahead of everyone in noticing the signs.

She knew the moment Nell Jones' frenetic exclamation filled the room of ops that Eric was trapped in the satellite test chamber. Her first instinctual reaction was regret for even putting her very much untrained Technical Operator in such a dangerous situation, but she shook that thought out of her head as soon as it appeared. There was no way she could have known something like this was going to happen.

Known for keeping an impeccable dossier on each of her employees, especially the handpicked ones caused her to worry about the effect the whole ordeal might have on Mister Beale. She found him to be a man of many contradictions and was well aware that he felt the need to hide his true feelings in a place where he was surrounded by A type personalities, something he was clearly not. Because of that he was prone to prove his worth by outsmarting them or downplaying his lack of physical strength in front of the team.

It was no different today. Instead of the advised medical care he insisted on staying at Drewett Space Technology as if he wanted to prove to them that he could rise to the challenge of true undercover work. Hetty was sure that it was a primal instinct embedded in him and not a conscious decision, but it was a dumb one anyway. She was pleased to see his resilience, but when she reluctantly approved of Erics' request she knew it would have repercussions later on.

To her relief nothing else happened at the rocket launch site and her best Technical Operator in fact returned in one piece, but she noticed the signs when he reported to her. Too chipper, too jittery, too happy to follow any procedures necessary after returning from an undercover assignment. Pupils dilated and expression dazed he almost looked like he was high on drugs. She knew he didn't take any, neither of the legal nor of the illegal type. This was a classic adrenaline high and Eric Beale would come crashing down hard. That only begged the question: when?

She would find out soon enough.

While Eric Beale was the subject of everyone's case study today he was surprisingly the last to notice the signs.

Truth be told, he had noticed, he had after all experienced them first hand. But they only really registered with him after he finished his report long after everyone else had departed for the night and he was the solitary figure sitting in the dimmed room of ops. He punched a few keys on the keyboard and shut the computer off for the night. Punched, not typed, because his hands didn't seem to cooperate anymore and his movements were sluggish and clumsy.

That's when realization hit him: He had almost died today and not exactly in the most reassuring ways possible. His mind went into overdrive and rummaged for all the information stacked in there. "After the chamber is blast-chilled to below zero it then heats up to 450 degrees Fahrenheit", Nell's words echoed in his head. Callen had mentioned earlier that the temperature read 220 degrees Fahrenheit by the time he hit the override button. He'd been in the chamber for less than five minutes, but long enough to faint and pass out. Also long enough to leave some longer lasting effects on the human body. The techs' brain, while still a little slow, started rattling off all the symptoms of a heat-related illness and made a mental checklist on which of the symptoms he experienced.

Headache: Check. The little minions hammering away in his skull were very persistent and made his head spin with every movement that he made. There was a constant throbbing, an almost unbearable pressure that slowed down his ability to think considerably.

Dizziness: Check. His vision kept swimming before his eyes and he felt like he was drifting when he tried to focus his eyes for too long on the same spot. He was lightheaded and experienced a severe case of vertigo. He knew that lying down flat would probably make him feel like he was on a boat, in the middle of the ocean during a heavy storm.

Nausea: Check. He'd proven that earlier along with the accompanying vomiting – in front of no other than Deeks to his dismay, who had wasted no time in spilling this particular detail with the rest of the team. He still experienced the queasiness and he had forced down acidy bile a couple times since then, too. So it wasn't much of a surprise that he lacked appetite as well.

Red, hot skin: Check. He studied his hands only to confirm the angry red splotches covering parts of his skin. They were most obvious where his skin had been directly exposed to the rising heat – namely his face, neck and hands – but he knew there were some more hidden beneath his clothing. He had seen them earlier when he had changed out of his undercover gear and back into his comfortable clothes. He had a few first degree burns on his hands, one particularly tender spot nestled on the inside of his left wrist. He touched it and winced at the tingling sensation.

Muscles pains: Check. His body ached all over and if he didn't know any better he'd say he'd either just completed a marathon or been run over by a bus. But he knew better. He knew that the high temperatures had messed with his electrolyte balance and that he was most likely deficient in important minerals like magnesium or calcium right now. It really shouldn't come as a surprise that an uncomfortable stiffness had settled in his fingers and that they kept cramping when he had been writing his report.

Rapid, shallow breathing: Check.

Rapid heartbeat: Check.

Those were the two symptoms that he was most concerned about. Circulatory problems were to be expected after his close encounter in the chamber. He had been in extreme conditions and it was bound to take its toll on the human body. But he'd been out of there for hours and his breathing should have gone back to normal by now. It hadn't though. His airways felt constricted ever since Sam and Callen had gotten him out of his hell hole and the constant feeling of not getting enough oxygen into his lungs had him worried. The heavy pounding of his heart in his chest and the arrhythmic heartbeats only added to the anxiety.

And there was the expected crashing down from an adrenaline high. All the information sank in and Eric felt on the verge of hyperventilating. Shallow breathing became even shallower, rapid heartbeat picked up speed even more. His eyes roamed, desperately looking for something to focus on, but his vision turned blurry and his head started to spin. He willed his brain to think of the measures to be taken in such a situation, but his mind came up blank. He tried to focus on the one thing that was hardest for him to do: breathing.

The corner of his vision started to go dark, his equilibrium was disturbed and his hands flailed to grasp for something, anything. He got hold of the edge of the desk and clung to it with aching fingers as if his life depended on it. His life probably didn't, but his hold on consciousness certainly did.

Unconsciousness: Check?

"Mister Beale?"

Fingers snapped mere inches in front of his face and he blinked.

"Mister Beale!"

A sharp whistle pierced his eardrums and he winced. He blinked again and drew in a sharp breath.

"Eric, are you with me?"

He slowly turned his head towards the disembodied voice coming from his left. Hetty. Of course. Who else would snap him out of his daze with a whistle? He stared at her with unfocused, foggy eyes, mouth hanging open half an inch and an expression of terror on his face. He found himself unable to speak.

Hetty laid a reassuring hand on his left forearm and squeezed. "Eric?" The firm and calm voice held a hidden concern that he wasn't used to hearing directed at him.

He blinked again, tried to uncross and focus his eyes. He shook himself out of the daze. His eyes landed on Hettys hand glued to his arm and further down to his white-knuckled fingers grasping the computer desk like a lifeline. He forcefully unclenched them, winced at the pain the movement caused and flexed them a couple times. He grabbed the armrests of his chair and shakily pushed himself into a more comfortable position, ignoring his protesting muscles. Only then did he dare look at the Operations Manager and managed a breathy answer.

"Huh?" Granted, it wasn't a very intelligible thing to say and his voice sounded so raspy and weak that he barely even recognized it as his own. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry, I was just…" Eric stopped. What was he going to say?

Hetty spared him an answer. "Back in the chamber, reliving the events of the day?" she supplied, her voice surprisingly – or maybe not so surprisingly – compassionate and understanding.

"No, I…" He sighed, his breathing closer to normal now. Who was he kidding? Hetty was pretty close in her assumption. As always. "Yeah. Something like that," the tech guru relented. He frowned and rubbed his temples, hoping to keep the lurking migraine at bay.

"I understand," Hetty stated in a contemplative voice. "What are you still doing here, anyway, Mister Beale? Your coworkers have gone home hours ago, why haven't you?"

"Writing my report. Needed to be done while it was still fresh in my mind?" he explained, brain still foggy.

"I suspected as much. But it usually doesn't take you this long. You're a fast typer, the fastest of everyone here, so you should have been done with that report ages ago." Eric grimaced, clenched and unclenched his hands absentmindedly at the reminder of why it had taken him so long. The motion didn't go by unnoticed by Hetty. "Which begs the question, are you still experiencing any lingering aftereffects from your adventure in the satellite test chamber?"

The tech squirmed uncomfortably. "Some."

"Elaborate."

"Elaborate on what?" he feigned ignorance and lowered his gaze to the hands resting in his lap.

"Which symptoms do you still have, Mister Beale?" It was more a request than a question.

"Hetty…" he tried to think of a way to get out of relaying everything to Hetty, even though he knew she would be the last person to ever make fun of him or consider him weak. He could trust her, be honest with her, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her.

Noticing his reluctance Hetty took the offensive and recounted every sign he himself had gone over in his head earlier. "Headache? Cramps? Trouble breathing? Arrhythmias?" He winced at each of them, involuntarily giving her the answer she was waiting for. "You were obviously nauseous earlier and I can see the burns on your skin. I also noticed that you were close to slipping into oblivion just moments ago, so I don't need to ask you about those." Her voice held a tinge of worry while being on the verge of reprimanding, but nothing indicated disappointment in his defined lack of 'sucking it up'.

"I'm fine," Eric argued, but it came out as a rather weak mumble. Even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to hide his embarrassment.

Well aware of his discomfort Hetty changed the topic. "Is that report written yet?" she asked and received a nod from the Technical Operator. "Good. Then it's time for you to go home. I took the liberty to call a cab for you. It's waiting for you two blocks down the road in," she glanced at her watch, "exactly ten minutes. I would drive you home myself, but unfortunately I still have a video conference to attend to."

"I don't need mollycoddling," he mumbled under his breath, frustration lacing his voice. He was old enough to make his own decisions and he could cope on his own just fine, thank you very much.

Hetty pierced him with a stern look that clearly told otherwise. "I liked to think so too, Mister Beale. You are a grown man after all. But your blatant disrespect for your own health clearly tells me that I was wrong in my assessment," she accused him.

"I don't know what..."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Eric. After years working for the agency and with the same people I believed you found your little niche and were comfortable enough to accept that your strength lies in another department than that of the field agents. Apparently your little venture into undercover work blurred the lines for you and you seem to have developed an overly heroic streak of confidence in something your body can't handle yet."

Eric frowned, his mind having a hard time following her cryptic message. "Uh, what?"

Hetty smiled tightly at him. "Let me rephrase that, Mister Beale. You are not a man of physical strength. You are a man of intellect. A brainiac, if you will. None of the agents expected you to stay out there after what you've been through today and you are doing your body no favor in trying to prove to them that this didn't affect you. You should have gone to the hospital. No-one would have thought less of you. Neither Miss Blye nor Mister Callen, Hanna and Deeks. They highly respect you, with or without you acting like a superhero." She underlined her words with a pointed look over the rim of her glasses.

Eric deflated. Hetty had a point. "What about Nell?"

"Excuse me?"

The blonde surfer swallowed and wet his lips. "You mentioned everyone but Nell. Would she have thought less of me?"

"Oh, most certainly not!" Hetty exclaimed, slightly perplexed that he would even think something like that. "Neither would I for that matter. Where would you get such an idiotic idea, young man?" She shook her head in exasperation.

Eric shrugged, feeling suddenly sheepish for even asking. "Dunno. Just wondering," he brushed it off.

Shaking her head in dislike of where this conversation was headed Hetty decided to cut it off right there. "That cab of yours is waiting. You should get going if you want to get home sometime today, Mister Beale. I highly recommend that you get looked at by a medic tomorrow, if those symptoms remain, especially the breathing issues and the arrhythmias. Don't take this lightly. Unless you'll be experiencing even more serious issues later on I expect you back at work the day after tomorrow."

Eric nodded. "Will do." Halfway out the door it belatedly registered with him what she had implied in her last sentence. "Wait. Day after tomorrow?"

"You heard right. You have tomorrow off to recuperate. Some relaxation is in order. You will need it, especially with the nightmares that you will most likely experience tonight." Eric gulped, he wasn't looking forward to those. "And no surfing tomorrow. Stay home, relax. Read a book. Sleep," the Operations Manager advised, making it sound more like an instruction.

The tech nodded regretfully. "Good night, Hetty."

"Good night, Mister Beale."

He ended up taking three days of medical leave instead of just one. Between the nightmares Hetty had promised and the still remaining circulatory problems he ended up visiting the ER.

It happened in the middle of the night. The nightmarish dream had him wake up gasping for breath and staggering in a disoriented daze on wobbly feet to his bathroom, where he unceremoniously fell to his knees in front of the toilet bowl and emptied his meager stomach contents, mostly acid water. Once nothing was left he picked himself up off the floor, or at least he tried to. A particular nasty dizzy spell was accompanied by a distinct lack in oxygen in his lungs and a heartbeat that was close to burst his ventricles and had him end up back on the tiles. He missed the unforgiving hard edge of the porcelain sink by mere inches and therefore was lucky not to crack his skull open in addition to everything else.

Eric received a systematic examination in the emergency room and won himself a bed to stay in for the better part of the day. He got hooked up on machines monitoring his vitals, an infusion to get his electrolytes in balance and a bag of nutrition after he mentioned that the offered hospital food made him want to empty his stomach again. They gave him antiarrhythmic agents, an antiemetic and muscle relaxants to ease the cramps and they applied an antiseptic, anti-inflammatory cream on the burns.

When they released him from the hospital late that afternoon he was sent home with the according prescriptions. His release papers came with instructions to mostly stay in bed for a couple days and to take it easy for a few more days after that. Filling his prescriptions in the downstairs pharmacy on his way out and calling a cab to drive him home Eric Beale had every intention on following the instructions to the book.

He didn't want to prolong his recuperation. He wanted to get better and fast. He wanted to get back to work. And most of all, he wanted to leave the memories of being in that chamber behind.

"Look who's back!"

A paper ball hit him square in the face when Eric strolled through the halls and into the open space of the hacienda. It came from Deeks, who was currently perched on the edge of Kensis desk and grinning like a madman. "Really? That's your way of saying welcome back? Thanks, I feel so appreciated," he quipped in return, voice laced with playful sarcasm and everyone in the room was pleased to see that his humor had returned.

"Thought it would," Deeks laughed, got up from the desk and walked over to give his surfer buddy a sloppy hug.

Kensi joined her partner. "If he can't say it, I will. Welcome back, Eric. Ignore him," she said with a pointed look in Marty's direction, turned to the tech and gave him a welcoming embrace.

"Doing it already," Eric answered with a lopsided smile. "And thanks. It's good to be back." He entangled himself from the femal agent and turned to Sam and Callen who had stayed back, quietly enjoying the scene playing out in front of them. They wore identical smiles, genuine and – proud?

"Good to see you alive and kicking," Sam remarked and held out a hand over his desk to greet him. "We were starting to get worried that you might have gone off the grid." Eric took the proffered hand and Sam drew him closer, making him stumble and almost crash into the edge of the desk. The muscular agent drew him in a lazy brotherly hug and then gave him a nudge in Callen's direction. "On second thought, that's more Callen's thing than yours."

The man in question cocked an eyebrow in humorous annoyance. He didn't comment and turned to the tech instead. "We're glad you're okay. Hetty gave us quite a scare when she told us that you were off on medical leave," he disclosed to the young man.

"About that…" Eric started, uncomfortable with the whole situation. The lighthearted atmosphere sobered a little, making room for a conversation more serious in nature, and everyone could feel it. Deeks sneaked back to his desk as did Kensi, leaving that discussion up to the senior agents. The geek tensed up at being left unsupported against them.

"Relax, Eric," Callen started. "We understand. But next time you're out in the field with us, be honest. There's no need to risk your health over your pride. In a more dangerous situation it could have decided over the faith of all of us. Keep that in mind, Eric."

Eric swallowed and nodded hastily. He hadn't thought about that. But the hearty pep-talk made his heart swell. He wasn't used to this kind of appreciation. "I will. Though, I don't think there will be a next time."

G cocked his head to one side in thought, narrowed his eyes and smirked ever so slightly. "We'll see about that. In the meantime, it's good to have you back." Callen stood up and moved around the desk to give the geek a brotherly hug as well.

"Eric!"

He turned around to see Nell at the top of the stairs, lingering for a second before she slowly made her descend and came to a stop a few feet in front of him, guarding her excitement very well. Little did Eric know that it was just a façade and that it took every ounce of self-control she possessed. The agents had witnessed her frustration during his absence, though and all wore varying degrees of knowing smiles on their faces, unbeknownst to Eric, who had his back to them.

"Hi Nell," he greeted her with a shy half-smile. She nodded her greeting in return and after an awkward moment where neither of them moved. But before he knew what hit him Nell had him captured in a tight yet gentle embrace. Eric was frozen in place, blinked a couple times and then shook himself out if his shock and wrapped his arms around her in return.

They parted a minute later and Nell gently took his chin into her hand, inspecting him closely. "So… are you okay?" she asked with a little hesitation.

Eric proudly smiled at her and bounced back and forth on his heels. "Yeah, I'm back to 100 percent."

The Intelligence Analyst was relieved to hear that and returned the smile. After staring at each other in awkward silence, she took his right hand and started walking to the stairs, dragging him with her. "Come on, Eric. I've got a special project waiting for you upstairs. You will love it!"

Let me know what you think.

- S.