Back by popular demand, a sequel to Another Neric Christmas.

I had trouble coming up with an overarching plot for the rest of the story, but here are some scenes. Foreshadows "Spiral"

Standard disclaimers apply: NCIS: LA and all its characters are property of Shane Brennan and CBS.

PWP = Plot? What Plot?


Nell, Eric and her dad marched up the front sidewalk, between three-foot-high snowbanks. William Jones, bringing up the rear, pulled down the neck of his parka so he could offer, "Normally, we'd use the garage door and bring you in through the mud room, but Ellen says Eric's front-door company so we've got to do it the hard way."

Eric's "You don't have to go out of your way for me," was drowned out as Nell pushed open the front door. As soon as they'd entered, family came from all corners of the house. They barely had room to fit everyone into the entryway for greetings and introductions. In fact, Eric admired Nell's presence of mind to get the door closed before the entry got too crowded even for that.

"Eric, meet my family: my mom, Ellen, and my Aunt Ethel," Since they'd had priority on the hugs, they needed now only to nod. "My brother Chris," he found his hand gripped in the claw of a sturdy man only slightly older than he was, a redheaded Sam Hanna, "and his wife, Jill," Nell indicated a blond woman in a blue sweater, who gave him a quick hug.

"CJ's around here somewhere, probably in the kitchen—fourteen-year-olds!" Jill pointed over her shoulder.

"This is my sister Linda and her husband, Rob, and there are their kids," she indicated a phalanx of siblings still in pajamas, "Liz, Bobby, Will and Chris." It looked like their ages matched what Nell had told him: ten, eight, six and six.

Mrs. Jones broke the split-second of silence, "Well, come on! Let's get you three started on breakfast! We couldn't hold off the kids, but there are fresh waffles in the oven. I fired up the waffle iron when William called from St. Cloud. The bacon should be just about ready, too."

"Bobby, would you run their suitcases up to their rooms? Then you can go back to your checkers game." Linda sounded like she'd had plenty of practice managing her kids, but Eric noticed Bobby scowl, anyhow.

Nell indicated for Eric to pass the bags to the redhead, "Thank you, Bobby!"

"Your Aunt Nell will be in her old room, and her friend Eric will be in your mom's old room," Mrs. Jones shouted up the stairs. Then she looked over her shoulder as she proceeded down the hall. "You can get settled after breakfast. That okay, you two?"

"We'll be fine, Mom!" Eric noticed that Nell nearly interrupted her mother.

Aunt Ethel fretted, "Traveling all that way, no time to sleep, and probably just peanuts to eat."

Eric thought, "Actually, it was pretzels and Cold Duck, but that's another story."

Nell replied, "Oh, we'll be fine, Aunt Ethel. Relax."

"And Nelly, I'm so glad you phoned ahead about Eric. I'm just putting the final touches on his"

Nell interrupted her aunt, "Aunt Ethel! Those are presents: they're supposed to be secret."

"Oh, relax, Nellybean! It's not like he works at the CIA or something. Besides, he saw that we do sweaters three years ago when we Skyped you at work."

"See," Nell whispered to Eric as she sat down beside him. "Without even thinking about it, she told you it's sweaters she was talking about. And don't you dare"

"Nellybean? I wouldn't even think of using it. It's your name: you get to decide. And I'm betting you'd rather it stay here."

"You can say that again, Beale."

After breakfast, Mrs. Jones led him up to his room. "Here you go. This is the closet, and the bathroom's through there. You share it with Nell, so be sure to lock the door on Nell's side when you go in. The top drawer is empty for you, and there's an extra blanket in the closet."

"Thanks, Mrs. Jones."

As soon as Eric had unpacked, Nell came in. "I figure we've got some sleep to catch up on. Mom'll let us nap 'til about two, when they leave for hockey. Bobby has a home game this weekend."

"Do you want to go?" Eric asked.

"Nah, I'd rather show you the sights around here. Rest up." She pulled him in for a quick kiss. "There's a lot to see." After she left, Eric pulled the shades and curled up in bed for four hours of the sleep of contentment.

Too soon, he found himself being shaken awake. "Get up! We can't sleep all day. Up and at 'em."

"Oh, Nell! Do I have too?"

"Yes, Eric. We need to reset our clocks to Central time so we can sleep tonight. Dress warmly. We're going for a walk."

Ten minutes later, Eric pulled a cotton sweater over his Hawaiian shirt and ran the scarf twice around his neck. Sneakers and board shorts finished his outfit. He found her in a small room off the kitchen. She'd dressed in woolen leggings and an olive-green knee-length down parka, and she held a furry lambskin cap and mittens. "You look toasty!"

"You ought to try it."

"I don't think it's my size."

"No, Wolfram. Toastiness. You might like it. We should be able to scare up something that fits."

"Nell, board shorts are my signature look! Me in long pants and a coat would be like…like Santa in a Speedo."

She covered her eyes and recoiled in mock horror. "Ouch! There's a mental image I can't un-see."

"See? I'd be just as out-of-place in warm pants."

"Okay. Suit yourself, Macho Man, but Dad's coveralls are right here!"

"Just let me try it, Nell. We're only here a few days."

Nell trundled down the driveway and started along the road while Eric shivered beside her. Overhead, the sky was gray with heavy clouds, and the sun, already low in the sky, showed just barely through the solid, milky bowl. The snow crunched beneath their feet, and in the distance a train whistled its next grade crossing. Wood smoke from a half-dozen chimneys scented the air spicy with the evergreen and oak.

The road turned and led them across the side of a hill. Here they stopped to look out over the scene. Three granite glacial boulders peeked up through the snow to their left, dotting the cleared pasture. At the base of the hill, a creek gurgled under the snow and another hillside rose beyond, its crest swooping up and to their right. Beyond that, a fence line arced across the face of the next hill, a stripe of barren bushes tan against the white. The pastures spread before them, undulating like ocean swells until, at the horizon, a line of evergreens divided earth from sky.

Nell smiled up at Eric with rosy cheeks and a cold-born tear running down from each eye. "Look, Eric. This is what I wanted you to see." Eric stood, amazed. Amazed that he could see so many different shades of white, and that a scene of such simple, expansive gray could bring Nell such happiness. She pointed down the road, to where it disappeared into the maples. "Can we go on? There's one more thing I'd like you to see." Eric looked to where the limbs traced a fractal web of black against the sky.

Eric's teeth chattered. "Is it warmer in the woods?"

"Nope, but moving will warm you up a little bit."

"Okay if we try that later, then? This cold is getting to me. Sorry, Nell."

"Let's get you back and get you warmed up. Cold like this is not something you mess with. Wanna run?"

"Sounds good," he said through chattering teeth.

"Just be careful: there's probably ice under this snow."

As soon as they stepped in the door, Eric's glasses fogged, so he could only hear as Nell popped some water in the microwave for tea. By the time the fog had cleared, she had returned to get him settled in front of the fire, wrapped in a yellow blanket. "You sit here and warm up. I'll bring you tea in a minute—chamomile okay? —then start on some hot chocolate—not the powdered stuff but the real, good, homemade kind." She started some Christmas music on the stereo, put a log and a few pieces of limb onto the fire, and then bustled around the kitchen, pausing only when the microwave beeped. "Hetty would have my hide for using a tea bag, but that's what Mom has, and this is an emergency."

"I'm sure it will be fine, Nell. Thanks." He took a sip. "Ooh, the honey really helps. Thanks, Nell."

She returned to the stove, to whisk the chocolate as it warmed. A few minutes later, she poked her head into a cabinet in the living room as she muttered "secret ingredient." Soon, she returned to the sofa, a steaming mug in each hand. "Give this a try."

Eric set his tea on a coaster on the side-table and carefully took the cocoa. "This smells really good." He took a sip but then gave an involuntary cough. "Packs a wallop. I'm betting this secret ingredient is about eighty proof?"

"Yup." She smirked as she snuggled into the blanket. "None of this cocoa for the little kiddies."

"So the secret ingredient is…?" he probed.

"I can't tell you. That's the definition of 'secret.'"

"Oh, come on, Nelly. I've got security clearance."

"Still can't tell you. All I can say is that it got me through watching more than one snowy football game in high school."

"You didn't!"

"Oh, c'mon, Beale. Haven't you seen that I've got a wild side?" She curled a leg across his, and ran her hand beside his knee. Her tone changed instantly. "Your legs are still icy-cold, Eric!"

"Nell, I'll be fine."

By the time the tea and cocoa were finished, some of the heat had started returning to his legs, and he fell into a drowsy, contented haze. As naturally as all the world, he put his arm across her shoulder and she put her ear to his chest. They were so relaxed that the combination of the jet lag and the alcohol and the brush with hypothermia kept him from noticing as the door from the garage opened. Mr. Jones barreled into the living room. "Hey, what's my schnapps bottle doing out in the kitchen?"


The next day, Eric woke in the strange room at about nine, and he listened as the family buzzed around him. Nell's mom gave a stream of instructions, comments, and opinions. Chris and Linda, her brother and sister, were also constant talkers, so he wondered how he would have been able to get a word in. Then it hit him: Nell's habit of completing people's sentences arose to fit just that need. Nell's dad thumped along, a man of few words, the bass drum of his voice providing the rhythm of the family one pronouncement at a time.

Once he had dressed, he spent some time debating whether to brave the family on his own or wait for Nell to wake. Just as he decided to camp out with the latest Robert Harris novel, Nell knocked and bustled in to wake him. She wore a poblano-green skirt and an oxblood red sweater over a burnt-gold turtleneck with white paisleys. Eric nearly chuckled when he thought about how Nell must have struggled to find clothes in her earth-tone wardrobe that were "holiday" enough for the trip. "C'mon. The whole family's up and at 'em. Today you get to have my mom's famous breakfast casserole. You'll love it!"

She ushered him down to the breakfast table and as soon as he sat, his breakfast materialized before him, delivered by almost every female hand in the household: a mug of coffee, pitcher with cream, glass of cranberry juice, and a plate with sausage, English muffins, and the casserole. The sole concession to convenience was that gravy for the casserole was offered straight from the pan, but Eric, thinking that the effect on his cholesterol count would give his doctor a heart attack, declined that.

At breakfast he felt more like a celebrity besieged by paparazzi than a suspect at an interrogation, but the effect was the same, even if the power dynamics was different. Nell worked valiantly to ensure that he had a chance to eat. It became a routine—like taking turns. Somebody, usually Aunt Ethel, would ask a romantic question. Eric would start to answer it. Nell would take over, and Eric would take a bite. Just as he took the second bite, they'd pipe up with another question. Eric had just started to appreciate Nell's intercession when William Jones emerged from his basement.

With a nod to him, Mrs. Jones sprang into action. "Nell, dear, since you don't seem to be very hungry, why don't you come with me to look over the dress I'm making for Elizabeth?"

"Can I come up in a minute, Mom? I told Eric how I loved your breakfast casserole, but haven't had a chance to have any." Eric smiled. It was a pleasure to think of how many times Nell had used flattery to get what she wanted, frequently with him.

"I'm sure he'll save you some, dear. You said he's a gentleman, right?"

"But Mom…" Eric thought she would have outgrown that wheedling tone when she was about eight.

"Nell Renée Jones, this is not a request."

Eric watched the women troop out of the kitchen and when Nell looked over her shoulder he caught enough worry in her look to make him feel like a condemned man.

The older man poured himself another coffee then lowered himself into the seat at the head of the table. "So, Mr. Beale,"

"Please, Mr. Jones, call me Eric."

"Very well, then, and I'm Bill." They reached around the breakfast dishes for another handshake; as if this were their first meeting and the previous twenty-four hours had never happened.

"So," It came out more as Eric's breath than as the start of any particular line of thought.

"So, Nell's told us so many good things about you."

"She has? Well, I hope I merit them, then."

"Before Nell started working at that TV station, I always wondered what type of man would charm her. Immensely talented, she tended to expect the same skill, dedication, and insight in the people around her. Anyone who can meet that standard, who can keep up with her, must be a special man."

"Bill, your daughter is an amazingly talented woman, and I'm glad just to be in her world."

"Nothing subtle in your admiration. I like it."

"Trust me, Bill. I tend to keep my opinions in check, especially about people, but when it comes to Nell, I finally learned to just put it out there."

Silence. But Eric had learned from Hetty long ago what a powerful tool silence could be, so he just waited, occasionally taking sips of his coffee or cranberry juice.

"Nell tells us you're a professional blackjack player?"

Eric braced himself. No secure income, flirting with the law. He knew what was coming since he'd played that life before. "That's right."

"Well, I'm more of a poker player, where I suspect you can hold your own."

Eric's sense of relief was palpable, he only wondered if it was also audible. "Yeah, I hold my own. But at poker Nell's really good, too."

"She must have picked it up since college. She was just so busy then."

"We both know she's a quick study."

"We'll have to have a game, then, after Christmas. I know Chris and Rob play, too."

"Sounds good. But understand, outside a casino, I don't play cards for money. Tell you what: If you guys beat me, I'll get the takeout pizza."

"Deal! Loser buys." And they shook hands again.


By Christmas Eve, Nell had managed to borrow her mom's car to take Eric to the mall. All the way, Eric watched, amazed, as Nell navigated along the snowy roads. Once they got there, he did his Christmas shopping for her family and then they found a pair of khakis and a pair of jeans, each about two inches too big for Eric in the waist. Nell had persuaded her Aunt Ethel to take in the waist, but leave the thighs roomy enough that Eric might be able to survive the holidays. She also snuck a set of thermal underwear, "Think of it as a wet-suit," onto the counter as the frazzled clerk rang up Eric's purchases.

After an informal dinner on Christmas eve, Rob pulled Eric aside, "Hey, can we get you to watch the kids for a little while? Chris, Linda and I still have some Santa-wrapping to do for them."

"Sounds fun, but I think Nell would want to help."

"Don't worry, Jill's talking to her already. We'll need to leave for midnight Mass at eleven. Books should be good, but it's kind of a tradition that we read 'Night before Christmas,' so could you save that for us?"

And so it was that Eric found himself sitting beside Nell on the floor in front of the sofa, the two of them surrounded by kids. Each had a twin on their lap, while Liz, CJ, and Bobby poked their heads over Nell and Eric's shoulders. They'd wrapped the yellow blanket across the laps of everyone on the floor and draped a blue blanket across the shoulders of everyone on the sofa. In a voice that would out-Karloff Boris Karloff himself, he launched into The Grinch.

"All the whos down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot,
But the Grinch, who lived just north of Who-ville did …nnnnnot!"

The twins drifted off to sleep by the time they met Cindy Lou Who, but Eric, completely absorbed in his performance, barely noticed. When he finished, Nell gave spirited reading of the first scene of A Christmas Carol. When it got to the scary doorknocker, Eric suggested skipping to Fezziwig's ball scene, but only when Liz joined in did Nell agree. With a tattered copy of Year Without a Santa Claus, Aunt Ethel took over to cover for Nell and Eric while they got ready for church.


It had been a long time since Eric Beale had stepped inside a church for anything besides the funeral of a fallen agent, but he knew it would be important to get tonight right. He laid out his new clothes on his bed and stepped into the bathroom. A pencil-thin tie, a drop of cologne, a thorough tooth-brushing, he figured he'd survive—and, more importantly, not embarrass Nell. He couldn't help but smile: when Hetty made him wear khakis, he ended up desecrating them, but something, whether it was Nell's family or the cold he couldn't say, ensured that tonight he'd wear full pants with pleasure. He'd nearly finished shaving when Nell slipped into the bathroom wearing her bathrobe.

"Hi, sweetheart," she greeted.

"Hello, yourself…sweetheart." It came out tentative, for he still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea. "I'm still worried about that poker game. For me, cards are not fun. It was work, and a single tell could cost you thousands of dollars."

"Well, when you play, it will just be pizza at stake, so you can keep it light. Take part in the conversation, and don't become the Tungstenator."

"Tungstenator: I like it." He thought for a second, then growled, "I'll be bivalent!"

Nell had finished setting out her toiletries, and she stepped beside him so they could look at each other in the mirror. She gave him a kiss. "Did you get a shower?"

"Yup, I had one before dinner."

"Your loss. I'm about to get mine now." She smirked.

He turned and pulled her in toward him. "Isn't the first rule of diplomacy not to make a threat you wouldn't be willing to follow through on?"

"What? You'd be threatened by a shower with me?"

"Well, here and now I would. Nell, please, can we talk about this later?"

"Okay, but by the way, the second rule of diplomacy is never to put all your cards on the table. Maybe I would have simply offered you the first shower."

"But maybe not?" The kid-at-the-candy-store hopefulness returned about him.

She shooed him toward his door. "You'll never know, Beale. You'll never know."

In complete confusion, Eric retreated from the room, carefully setting the door to lock behind him. Finally he regained enough consciousness to wipe the last of the shave cream from below his ears, and he reached for the tee shirt he'd set on his go bag.


The day after Christmas, Eric came shirtless into Nell's room. Nell, sitting at her desk with her back to him, didn't react. "Hey, Nell. Can I borrow your hair dryer?"

"Mr. Beale. I caught you!" came a voice from Nell's laptop. He looked with trepidation over Nell's shoulder and wilted. The screen showed Leon Vance on video-conference from MTAC.

"You certainly did, Director," he agreed glumly.

Eric sat beside Nell, and she passed him one of the earbuds. While he waited, he realized he must look like a suspect waiting in the boatshed. As an attempt at explanation, he wrote on her tablet. "Thin walls. My cover: Nell's boyfriend." Then he held it up in front of the camera.

"And it looks like you're doing a very good job of it."

"I've read that you should throw yourself into your cover, sir. I think it was Ian Fleming."

"I contacted Ms. Jones because we have an interagency symposium coming up. Analysts from the entire US intelligence and law enforcement community will meet at Langley, part of that 'connect-the-dots' initiative. In response to current events, they added sessions, 'the Emerging Relation with Cuba' and 'Cyber-Policy after the Sony Hack: Lessons Learned,' I thought you two should represent NCIS."

"Thank you," Eric offered.

"Thank you, sir, but there's not much to know about Cuba these days: it's been off the radar."

"Well, you're one of the Latin America specialists with the agency, Ms. Jones, and Ms. Lange tells me you're a quick study."

Nell smiled at the compliment. "I do my best."

"Good. You'll have a week in Los Angeles,"
"That's good. It looks like things are heating up on that mailroom thing."

"Say no more, Ms. Jones. Then on Sunday, you two will fly out to DC."

"It will be an honor."

Director Vance continued, "There is one complication, though. Almost all the rooms we booked for the conference are already assigned and lodging is scarce in Washington because of the new Congress. There's one room in Arlington that would be nice and close, but if you needed separate rooms, you'd end up in a Comfort Inn in Stafford, about ninety minutes away."

As Eric asked, "Can we get back to you?" he was interrupted.

"We'll take it," Nell interjected.


As soon as they had settled in their seats for the flight home, Nell had curled into him. The whole way, Eric could only smile. He'd survived the trip, their relationship had survived, and soon they were headed to share a swank hotel room in DC. Finally, the pilot brought up the cabin lights for final approach into Los Angeles, interrupting his reverie. Nell stirred. "Hey, Eric, can I just drop you off at your place?"

Eric had the sense there was more, but repressed the tendency to go into panic mode. "Umm. Sure? Can I ask why?"

"I just have some shopping to do."

"If it's groceries, I could tag along. I'll need some groceries, too."

"It's not groceries."

She turned suddenly serious. "Do I want to know what it is?"

"Yes," she said with an air of mystery.

"Aaannnd?" he prompted.

Nell's smirk settled the last of Eric's concerns. "And just because you want to know doesn't mean you get to, Beale."