Summery: A series of drabbles, tied together in their own sweet little ways, set after "Greed" and focusing around what should be known as the precursor to all things Nelric - the FLOWERS!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

~*~ Ivy ~*~

"Stupid, selfish, son of a - !"

Hetty materialized just before Eric could complete his shout, forcing the Tech Operator to swallow his words. His fingers viciously struck the keyboard's keys to channel his anger as he swept through the NCIS database. "Hetty," he said tersely.

She acknowledged the borderline polite greeting. "Mr. Beale, I understand your anger at the moment, but you've been working for over sixteen hours without a break."

"He's got my partner. I'm not stopping until I find this sick son-of-a-bitch and get her back."

"Be that as it may, you are running on fumes," Hetty stated. "If you burn out, you will be useless to everyone. You need rest."

Eric scrubbed his face with his palms, trying to re-energize himself. "I can do this, Hetty."

"I believe you Eric, but I'm now giving you an order. Make this thing go on automatic, go down to the couch in the bullpen, and close your eyes for at least ten minutes." The look in her eyes left no room for argument. "Computers exist to make time for ourselves, don't they?"

He couldn't argue that line of reasoning. His eyes were ready to glue themselves together from exhaustion. With a jaw-cracking yawn, Eric pulled himself off his chair and stumbled downstairs for the couch. His eyes were shut before his head hit the pillow; he was asleep before his body could register the impact.

That's where the team found him three hours later, in the exact same position he'd flopped down in. Kensi shook her head and moved to cover him with a blanket, but Deeks held her back. "If he's as worried as I think he is, he'll wake up when you touch him," he said. "Let him be."

The three agents and detective headed up to their boss's office. "Any luck?" asked Hetty as she trimmed her climbing ivy vines.

Sam held up a sheaf of papers. "I've got a couple possibles."

"So do I," Callen added, showing his own handful of paper. "And I've got a match between them. Special Agent Ian Turner."

Hetty put down her shears. "Wake him," she said, pointing to Eric. "He needs to pull Agent Turner's life apart, yesterday."

Nell stretched as far as her iron tether would allow, fingers wriggling to grab a sizeable shard of glass just beyond her reach. She would've liked to snag one of the knives, but Turner had put no silverware near her side of the table. Delusional he was, but stupid he was not.

She knew her time was limited. For all she knew, Turner had put up cameras in the room to monitor her. While she hadn't seen any in the visible places, Nell knew too much about covert surviellance to assume that there weren't a few lenses pointed to her.

The shard was almost at her fingertips. Just another few centimeters...

"What are you doing, my dearest?"

She thought fast and put a smile on her lips. "Cleaning up. I didn't want to leave such a mess," she lied, sitting up on her knees. "But I can't reach all the glass."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I have to leave for a while. Don't kick up a fuss." As quietly as he'd arrived, he left. Turner seemed to have calmed down from before, and Nell was determined to keep him that way. At least until she could use it to her advantage.

Her genius IQ was working at lightspeed to figure out a plan. The pilfered shard rested on her lap, hidden under her shirt hem. She had two hairpins in her hair, her sterling silver posts had been left in her ears, and a good feeling that, contrary to her fears, Turner had no surveillance cameras set up in her prison.

I've done more with less. I just need to hang on a little longer. She closed her eyes briefly. Just until the cavalry arrives...

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