Title: My House
Author: rekkidbraka
Rating: T
Pairings: EJ Barrett/Mike Renko
Category: Romance
Disclaimer: No infringement intended.
Spoilers: None
Summary: EJ moves in with Mike.

"Shabby" was too nice a term for his apartment. "Seedy"... that was more appropriate.

It was around the corner from Spades. Probably why he'd taken her there. Easier to bring her back to his place for their one-night stand that never happened after they'd figured out that theirs would be a working relationship.

And now she'd be living here.

This was what her life had come to - being the roommate of an NCIS agent who was even lower on the agency totem pole than she was. And a disgusting slob to boot.

E.J. folded her arms and surveyed her new home. It was a pig sty.

Clothes draped furniture that hadn't met a feather duster in years. Beer bottles and empty takeout boxes and cartons littered every available surface. Back issues of GHM Magazine with half-dressed women lay strewn about. Tony had them, too. What was the deal with guys fantasizing over babes in underwear? They'd never score these types of women. Why waste the time and money on a glossy dream that wasn't happening? But just ask them what the last actual book they'd read was and their mouths dropped open. And the smell of that toxic waste Mike bathed in (when he apparently bathed) permeated the air. She wanted to gag.

Instead, E.J. gathered herself and formulated a plan.

First, she'd head to the little grocery store down the block and pick up cleaning supplies. Lots of them. And gloves. Many gloves.

Then she'd clean this pit.

After that, she'd figure out where she'd be sleeping.

But she knew one thing would be certain. Wherever she slept that night, it would damn sure be spotless.

"Hey, Barrett! I picked up all your junk from the office," Mike yelled, pushing the door to the apartment open with his hips. In his arms, he carried an expertly-taped cardboard box marked "E.J. BARRETT: NCIS - Box 6" in thick black marker. The thing was heavy as hell. "How many damn boxes of ..."

He stopped short, stunned by what he saw.

His apartment was spotless.

It occurred to him that this might be the first time he'd seen the hardwood floor since about three weeks after he'd moved in. Things had started to get a little dicey at that point. One carelessly tossed t-shirt turned into two, then three and then he just started buying new clothes or hitting the thrift store if his undercover assignment called for it. He didn't even know where the laundry room in the building was.

E.J. popped out from his bedroom door. She'd tied her hair back into a loose ponytail and wore a t-shirt and some old, faded blue jeans and tennis shoes. Yellow rubber gloves covered her hands and a dust mask shielded her nose and mouth. In one hand, she wielded a huge spray bottle with a logo of a smiling scrub brush. In the other, she gripped a sponge as if she were holding a weapon.

Mike gaped at her. She practically skipped to meet him.

"Awesome! Let's see what you've got there, Renko."

Without removing her mask, she chirped, "Box 6. My records. Good. Just put them down over there by your stereo."

Mike glared at her, but moved to do as she said.

"NO!" E.J. snapped. "NOT under the window! They'll warp! Over THERE! Away from the sunlight."

Mike snarled and, disgusted with his new "roommate's" attitude, let the box fall from his grip. E.J. raced to where it lay on the floor.

"JERK!" she said angrily. "What the HELL?" She tore the box open, checking its contents. Everything was okay. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had a lot of records but Box 6 was special. They were her dad's old records. Classics. Couldn't be replaced. But mostly, they had been his and he had loved them. That was what counted.

"Get your own stuff," Mike said coldly. "I'm done being your pack mule." He went into the small kitchen area, opened the vintage refrigerator and took out a cold beer. Uncapping the bottle, he took a long pull and flopped down onto the newly-cleaned couch, propping his feet on the coffee table - which E.J. had also just cleaned off and dusted. Her nostrils flared, seeing this.

"Take your feet OFF that table!" she barked. "NOW!"

"Go to hell, Barrett," Mike growled, "it's my place."

"OUR place," E.J. corrected him.

"Not YOUR place until you back-pay the past two years' rent," Mike sniped. E.J. narrowed her eyes at him.

If he wanted to play it the hard way, fine.

She ripped off the gloves and mask, putting them down with her cleaning supplies. Then she headed for her purse and took out her checkbook.

"How much?"

Mike, in the middle of a long swallow of beer, eyed her coolly. Was she joking? He'd only been trying to send her a message, not actually score a payoff. He finished his drink and slowly set the bottle down on the coffee table. E.J. gritted her teeth, knowing the bottle would leave a ring. And she'd worked hard on that table. It was vintage teak and he was slobbing it up again.

He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, trying not to laugh. But he couldn't help it. She had to be kidding. Had to be.

"How... much?"

Or not.

"I'm not taking your money," Mike said, crossing his arms as his glare met hers. She was going to be stubborn. But she didn't know him that well. He didn't back down, either.

"Oh, yes, you are," E.J. insisted. "I'll pay whatever I have to in order to keep you from wrecking everything I just worked all afternoon to clean up. You tell me what it's gonna cost to keep your feet off that table. How much I've got to pay to get you to put a coaster under your beer. What it takes to keep you from breaking my records. I'll write the check right now."

Now he felt like an ass. She'd cleaned up the apartment and he'd thanked her by acting like a creep. He felt his face grow hot.

"Cut it out," he said quietly, taking his feet off the table. He used his t-shirt to wipe up the water left by the beer bottle so it wouldn't stain. "I gotta go get your stuff in." He drained the rest of the bottle and tossed it into the wastebasket, which was now free of trash. Something else she'd taken care of. Then he turned and started for the door.

"I'm not kidding," E.J. called after Mike. "I want us to be all square, Renko."

Her answer to that was him closing the door softly as he exited, leaving her alone in the apartment.

Later, when she'd finished her cleaning, E.J. got out some of the groceries she'd bought at the store and started fixing dinner. Mike, carefully setting down the last of her boxes, regarded her with amusement.

"You cook?" he asked.

"And wash windows," E.J. replied, peeling a clove of garlic. "You're a lucky man."

"Huh..." Mike mumbled, opening the refrigerator. He took out another beer. They were obviously letting the checkbook incident go. Which was good.

"Nope," E.J. said, not even looking back at him. "That doesn't go with what we're having. Put it back. Open that bottle of Zin."

She nodded towards a bottle of a pricey red Zinfandel. Mike picked it up and frowned at it.

"I don't have a wine opener," he said.

"Corkscrew," E.J. corrected. "And you do now." She pointed to a shiny silver corkscrew on the kitchen counter. "You do know where it goes, right?"

"I know where I'd like to put it," Mike muttered, opening the wine. E.J. snickered, licking her teeth with her tongue. She deserved that. "I guess I have wine glasses now, too," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Cabinet over the toaster oven," she said, finishing a rough chop of the garlic. Mike found the glasses and started to pour them some wine but E.J. again stopped him. "Not yet. Let it breathe," she told him. He sighed, looking down at the counter. He wasn't a freaking moron. Realizing that she was being bossy, E.J. opted for a new tack. And a new tone.

"So... I saw your records when I was dusting the stereo. You have some cool stuff, Renko. I alphabetized everything. Now you'll be able to find what you want easy." E.J. smiled brightly at Mike. He frowned back at her.

"My records were organized," he said.

"How?"

"By the songs I like to fool around to," Mike replied.

"Oh my God..." E.J. said, pursing her lips as she shook her head.

"What? You have your system, Barrett, I have mine." He sighed, fingering the wine label. "Now it's all screwed up."

"Shut up and put on some music," E.J. teased. Mike headed for his newly-organized records, crouching as he studied the collection. "And NOT one of your 'doing-it' songs!" E.J. added, keeping her eye on him just in case.

Mike looked over his shoulder at her, smiled and winked. She rolled her eyes and went back to prepping dinner, trying not to smile back. It didn't work.

The shower had worked its usual magic, calming her, helping her settle in to her latest home. She felt warm, clean and relaxed - at ease for the first time since leaving D.C. Really, since arriving in D.C. Los Angeles would be kinder to her, she thought as she finished drying her hair.

E.J. collapsed on Mike's bed, exhausted. She'd washed his sheets and now the bed looked fabulous, as did the room itself. She liked his taste in color. Purples, reds, oranges and browns - the room had a Mediterranean feel to it, reminding her of Rota. Life had been pretty good then. Images of Spain crossed her mind as she drifted off ... This bed... was so comfortable... It still smelled like Mike's cologne but... she was starting to like the scent...

In the living room, on the fold-out couch, Mike lay staring at the ceiling. He hadn't even known the damn couch extended into a bed.

Thanks to E.J., he was learning all sorts of new things about the apartment he'd lived in for almost two years now. Like, that the stove worked. Dinner had been great. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't eaten at Spades or in some hole-in-the-wall around town when he was on assignment. He'd never cooked anything in his own kitchen. But E.J. had. And she was a pretty damn good cook, it turned out. Great wine, too. Not that he'd know, really, but he guessed her tastes didn't run cheap. They'd finished the bottle between them. He wasn't drunk but the wine had made him sleepy. And he was a confirmed nightowl. This was an early night for him.

He'd listened as she showered, trying not to imagine her naked and soapy under the hot water.

That had been a losing battle.

But he had to admit, at least he was happy. Yeah. For a change. Usually he hated being in his apartment. Tonight he'd enjoyed staying in. With her. They'd even talked. Well, mostly she'd talked. He'd listened. That was okay. Her chattering didn't annoy him as much as he'd thought it would. It was kind of cute.

Maybe having her around was going to be okay. Even if he was stuck on the couch.

For now.