Magnitude 7.6 on the Astrid scale
Memo to those less familiar with California geography: Maricopa is a little town 125 miles (200 km) north of central LA. Point Reyes is north of San Francisco Bay, 420 miles (675 km) from LA. The United Way is, sort of, a meta-charity, the fund-raising arm for many member charities together.
Special thanks to Motsie of Atlantis and Melbelle310
Standard Disclaimers apply: I don't own NCIS: LA or its characters.
Soon, I'll be posting "Granger, O." for Granger Appreciation Week that could also appear in this series.
The full moon of midnight shined along a gulch outside Maricopa, California. A mother fox, preternaturally nervous, had already moved her kits from her burrow into the desiccated bushes directly across the gully. Normally, this California shrubland was alive with rodents, bird's eggs, and even edible snakes, but the drought left her unsuccessful in her hunt, and she had just curled up with her family for a hungry night when it happened. First a gentle rumbling, then a shriek, then utter tumult tore across the land. By the time the shaking stopped, a dust plume emerged from the entrance to their burrow, now twenty feet down the gully. Mother and kids huddled for several minutes, but then gradually turned to cleaning the dust from themselves and each other.
Meanwhile, a mile up the fault-line, seismic sensors had sprung to life and data streamed forth, relayed at the speed of light to computers across California, racing to get ahead of the seismic waves themselves, which traveled a more modest 7,200 miles per hour. In Sacramento, a few milliseconds later, ShakeAlert computers spit out the earthquake's epicenter, magnitude, and displacement tensor onto its prototype seismic alert network. Across southern California, computers sprang to life, implementing their seismic safety protocols. The interstate natural gas pipeline valves closed. At nuclear power plants, control rods scrammed into safety mode and once-drowsy operators monitored their panels and braced for the impact. Frantic air traffic controllers waved off three airplanes on final approach at LAX, two at Orange County, and one at Burbank.
At a nondescript, tan building just south of downtown Los Angeles, the well-hidden emergency generator sprang to life, while inside the hard drives on the bank of computers scrammed, and long-neglected interrupts sent data streaming to flash memory. The routine was completed twenty seconds before the earthquake's S-wave hit. When it did, Hetty's abacus reset itself repeatedly, (from 000,000,000 to alternate between 444,444,444 and 555,555,555;) her tea set rattled across its cabinet until each precious cup and saucer had bumped against an egg-and-dart molding strip specifically installed against this eventuality; and her chess set went from placid contemplation to Wizard's Chess to full-on dance party.
Young Eric Beale had added one final step to the seismic safety subroutines in the Ops center, sending one last alert to his cell phone, which sprang to life with his own voice shouting, "Earthquake, Earthquake." That summer night, he had eighteen seconds to grab his glasses, his laptop, and his tablet before the shaking hit. The first tilt sent him hurtling to the surfboard leaning against the wall, which he spent the next fifteen seconds steadying in place.
As soon as the shaking stopped, his phone rang. "Good morning, Mr. Beale!"
"Good morning, Hetty. That was a big one!" Even through his jangling nerves, delight colored his voice: delight that Hetty was back from her inquisition in Washington.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, thank you." He reached for a light switch. "Oops, the power's out, but I'm fine here. How are you?" He closed the document he was word-processing.
"Fine, Fine. We're implementing the earthquake plan. I'll call Mr. Callen and Ms. Jones. You call Ms. Blye and Mr. Deeks. Callen will call Mr. Hanna."
"Right, then I'll see you at ops."
"Right. Secure your residence against both natural gas leaks and aftershocks, and please drive carefully."
"I always do, Hetty."
"Be more careful than usual. The streets are in unknown condition, so stay below the speed limit."
"Good point. I'll pass that concern on to Kensi and Deeks when I call them."
"We will rendezvous at the mission."
He hung up, then dialed Kensi's number.
"Hi, Kensi. Sorry to wake you."
"Don't worry about it. You didn't wake me. You okay there?"
"Yup. You?"
"Yup. Earthquake plan, Eric?"
"Yup. I'll call Deeks next."
His voice came over the cell phone, "No need, Eric. We'll see you at the mission."
Eric, unrattled, confirmed, "Right, see you there. Hetty says to drive carefully: road conditions."
"Got it."
Meanwhile, at a women's shelter in Reseda, a freckle-faced sixteen-year-old with magenta streaks in her hair rummaged through the dark and the rubble. She collected her laptop, her playing cards and two photos. Then she loaded them carefully into her duffel and disappeared into the warm night without looking back.
As Kensi steered through the darkened streets, occasionally avoiding errant power lines or tilting billboards, all that Detective Marty Deeks could do was grin with self-satisfaction.
"I tell you, Kens, it felt like the earth moved that time."
"It did, you goof, but you didn't cause it."
"When I was in law school, a personal-injury baron told us it took a great lawyer to turn coincidence into causation."
"I'll give you a personal injury if you don't shut up about it. We're at the mission now."
Once everyone arrived, Hetty assigned the tasks. Unless the Defense Department was directly affected, the team would work on standby for other agencies. Eric worked with the Department of Roads and Streets and CalDOT using Kaleidoscope to monitor roads and reporting issues as he found them. Nell worked with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, Kensi with ICE, Callen with the DEA, and Sam with Camp Pendelton. "Liasing" with LAPD fell to Deeks, but his relation with Lt. Bates was so fragile that he relied as much on news reports, on his old contacts in the force, and on the police scanner as he did on his official channels.
By dawn, the shift had settled into something of a routine as the team helped address all the conditions unique to disaster recovery. First light revealed the extent of the city's damage: downtown, Hollywood, and Anaheim survived quite well, while South Central, Watts, and Reseda, with their deeper, siltier soil and their older building codes, suffered larger shaking and more infrastructure loss.
Partway through the morning, Deeks took a few minutes to run out for Kensi's donut, and while he was away Kensi came into the ops center, pulling Nell out of Eric's earshot.
"Nell, can I ask a favor of you?"
"Sure, Kens, anything."
"I just got a call from Astrid, that girl in the wargames case. Remember her?"
"Oh, yeah. Now I remember."
"Turns out the women's shelter where she'd been living collapsed."
"That one in Reseda? It looked bad. Is she okay?"
"She didn't get hurt, but she needs a place to stay for a few nights, and with Marty…"
Nell interrupted, "Yeah, I see. Sure, she could stay with me! I'd look forward to it."
"Great, I'll see if she can hang out in the boatshed until we leave! Thanks, Nell!"
By 2:00 that afternoon, Hetty sent the team home. "Go! We started early today! Secure your own residences, and be ready for another day of recovery tomorrow!" When Callen started to object, she dismissed him completely, "Good afternoon, Mr. Callen."
Later that afternoon, Nell had picked up Astrid and was heading home when she took a call from Eric. "What's up, Partner?"
"Sorry to bother you, and I know it's a big favor, but my power's still out. Can I stash some food in your fridge or freezer, Nell?"
"Sure, Eric, I've got plenty of room in both. Astrid and I are headed there now. Bring your stuff over when you can."
"Thanks, Partner."
As soon as Nell and Astrid arrived at her place, Nell dashed about, neatening her already-neat living room. So twenty minutes later Eric rang the doorbell of a spotless apartment. For a while, he dragged in bags and boxes while Nell loaded them into her fridge. As soon as everything was stashed, Nell bribed him to a seat at her breakfast nook with a large pitcher of ice water. "Thanks, Nell." He took another gulp. "It is a scorcher out there," he conceded.
"So, what are you doing for dinner, Beale?"
"I left PB and J and a couple pears on the counter. I should be able to eat them before dark."
"Why don't you join us?"
"This wouldn't just be a play for those steaks I brought over, Nellster?"
"You've got to admit, it's a pretty good play," she confirmed as she bumped his shoulder.
Eric relented, "It worked."
"Good, I'll go light the grill!"
Astrid watched as Nell and Eric bounced around the kitchen, completing each other's sentences, dividing tasks like a married couple, actually better than a married couple. Thanks to that teamwork, the steaks soon jostled for space on the grill with garlic bread and kebabs of summer squash, red onions, and orange peppers, and Eric's formerly-frozen chocolate cheesecake finished its thawing in the fridge.
After dinner, they tried to decide what to do. At first, they thought about computer games, but Eric put an end to computerized Risk: "I'd hate to be in the same room as a vicious pixie intent on world dominion."
Nell stepped closer, brought her face within eight inches of his and smiled in challenge. " 'Vicious pixie'? I'm flattered, Eric."
Astrid sounded confused. "Wait a minute, Nell! He just called you mean and short, and the best you can say is that you're flattered?"
"Relax, Astrid. You've met Hetty. Back in the day, they called her 'vicious pixie,' and I can only hope to carry on the title. How 'bout poker? I've never seen Eric in action, and Kensi says you know your way around a stack of chips."
"Nell, it was blackjack that was my game, but, yeah, I held my own in poker, too. We'll just play for chips and bragging rights, right?" Eric confirmed.
Nell nodded, and completed the bargain. "Sounds good."
Astrid smirked. "Not strip poker?"
Nell and Eric's unison was impressive, "Definitely not!"
After eight friendly hands Nell had busted, so she became the dealer, managing an increasingly cutthroat game of Texas Hold-em. Once Eric turned on Astrid, his personality transformation was complete: polite, open, and easygoing in ops, he became an icy stoic under Astrid's glare. After a few more hands, though, he learned the inexperienced Astrid's 'tells,' and finished the game with a flourish.
"I must say, Astrid, you've got the weirdest set of tells I've ever seen."
"Do not!"
"Do too! They're almost backward. You stop twitching when you're nervous. You smile when you've got a bad hand."
"That's the point, they're backwards." Astrid grinned in triumph.
"Well, it's still a tell. You'd do better without them." Eric indicated his pile of chips.
"The thing is, you have almost no tells at all. It's like playing against a robot."
"That's his goal, Astrid," Nell interjected.
"Yup. I try to get into a robot mindset. 'What would the Terminator do now?' "
"It worked, almost made me mad. But Eric, I caught two mistakes you made when Nell was in. Raising on a pair of twos? You should have just handed her your chips!"
Eric gave Nell a sheepish glance, like the teacher had caught him passing her a note in class, while Nell gave an enigmatic smile.
Astrid pressed on, "And that's just the mistakes I caught. Eric, do you love your partner?"
Eric panicked. His eyes darted between Nell and Astrid and the blue chip in his hand. "She's a wonderful woman, and any man she chooses to date will be the luckiest man in the world, and …and… and…" he faltered.
"What, but she doesn't 'like you back'?"
Nell fired up, "What I think about Eric is nobody's business but my own!"
"And Eric's," Astrid interjected with a grin.
"Maybe, but when we work it out," Nell paused to catch her breath. Nobody noticed Eric's eyebrows shoot up. "It will be just for us, and no thanks to meddlesome teenagers like you."
She stormed into the kitchen with their glasses and could be heard vigorously rinsing them out: lemonade.
When she came back into the living room, Eric and Astrid were putting away the cards and chips. Astrid smiled in triumph, while Eric kept his smile on the inside. Nell asked, "So…headed home, Wolfram?"
"You got it. Who knows, but that a case may come in early tomorrow."
"But the AC's out at your place, and I've got plenty of space. Why don't you crash here?"
Eric looked nervously between them, "Are you sure?"
"Sure, I'm sure! I was thinking Astrid gets the office, if you're okay with the sofa, that is."
"Thought it all out, have you?"
"Sure have, Beale! Whaddya say?" And with that she stepped close to Eric and gave him a friendly, mock, slug on the bicep.
After Eric recovered, he looked down at her and said, "What can I say but 'thanks!'?"
"I do have one rule though," Nell added with mock ferociousness.
"Your place, your rules." Eric consented.
"No polar-bear pajamas."
Eric laughed, "I'm not crazy. Those flannels are just for winter. In the summertime, it's usually boxers with a porcupine print."
She scrunched her face and writhed. "That hurts just to think about!"
"Not to worry, I left those at my place. It's a pair of jogging shorts I've got in my go bag."
"That's too bad," Astrid interrupted, "Nell and I were hoping to see those boxers."
"No, we weren't! Let it be, Astrid!" She settled. "You want first dibs on the bathroom?"
While Eric said, "Nah, I need to get the bag from the car," Astrid accepted.
"Okay, I'll get some sheets for you." Once Astrid had started the water, Nell let her guard down. "I'm sorry, Eric. She just…"
"Yeah, she pushed our buttons."
"Made us say things we didn't mean."
Eric interrupted, "No I meant it. You are a wonderful woman, you do deserve the best."
She melted into his arms, whispering, "We'll work it out, Eric. We'll work it out." After a minute, they emerged from their stolen reverie, and Nell went to her linen closet.
Walking into the office, Astrid was heard to mutter to herself, "Oh, man! I'm bunking with a vicious pixie and a Terminator wannabe with porcupine underpants. How'd I get into this?"
Eric settled down, but couldn't sleep, so he counted sheep. He used factoring to get the sheep over the fence for a while. (103 sheep all in a row, but 104 as thirteen groups of eight, 105 as five groups of twenty-one or seven groups of fifteen…) Then he listed the Pythagorean Triples. Then he counted by atomic weight. As soon as he set himself the challenge, though, he lost his train of thought, impatient to reach Ununoctium: Rare, transitory, energetic, and yet…and yet… his island of stability. When an approaching aftershock set off another alarm on his phone, he dashed to a doorframe for safety. After exchanging shouted "You all right?" greetings through Nell's door, he went back to the sofa and tried to sleep.
First light ended his efforts toward sleep: it had been fitful anyway. He booted his laptop and went back to his word-processing, keeping one ear cocked for any movement in the house. When Astrid's door opened, he quickly shut that file, password-protected it, and pulled up a computer game he'd been writing. Then he set down the laptop and went to the kitchen to start a large pot of coffee.
As soon as the coffee was brewing, he turned around to find Astrid staring at him from about a yard away, wearing only a tee shirt.
"Ooh, umm… Morning…I just started the coffee." He spoke to her earlobe and stepped away from her side of the kitchen.
"I can see." Her mumble had a monotone severe even for zero cups of coffee. She followed him.
"Should be ready soon." He took two more steps backwards. Magenta hair. Why aren't her roots showing?
She took two steps forward. "I use hot water when I'm in a hurry."
The strained conversation crept like an inchworm around Nell's living room. "That was some aftershock last night: Five point two." How the hell can I walk backward when I can't even look at the ground?
"Your phone woke me before it hit." She bent over to pick it up. Eric winced.
"Yeah. I've got a friend prototyping the shake-alert system. She let me patch into it from NCIS."
"Did you date her?"
"No. it's not like that. We went to school together. When our paths crossed last year, we had coffee and worked out the plan. We each got permission from our bosses, and finally hooked it up."
" 'Hooked it up.' Is that what you call it?" Astrid smirked.
"No! It's not like that!" Why am I repeating myself? "The link protects the NCIS computers from the shaking."
"But if it's to protect the computers, why did it alert you, too. Does that seem fair?"
"I…umm…might have added an extra step as I was coding. Now the NCIS computers send an alert to me. Fair? It's just a prototype system, so I don't think it was unfair. There were bugs, too. The first alert I got was for a 6.1 up at Point Reyes. I nearly had a heart attack over it; but that was so far away I didn't even feel it. I was in a movie theater at the time. Embarrassing." He rambled on. "This is the first big test of the system, and if there were problems, Brooke and her team will work them out. Hopefully the next iteration will reach more people."
She looked again at the phone. "But how does it know?"
"The computers work together very quickly, and talk at the speed of light. Since this earthquake was up at Maricopa, it took almost a minute for the first bad shockwaves to get here. That's enough time for the computers to decide where they ought to warn." He backed into the coffee table. When he looked back up, he saw Nell standing in the hallway, wearing a plum-colored robe over her pajamas. Over Astrid's shoulder, he mouthed, "Help!"
Nell, who had seen enough of this, decided to rescue Eric. "Oh, good! You made coffee," she nearly shouted.
"Yes, it sounds like it's done now."
"Thanks, Eric. That's sw….very kind." Eric smiled. Nell continued, "Astrid, I'm sorry I didn't know you'd need a robe. Come with me, I think I've got a spare."
Eric used the reprieve to pour his coffee, (with one splash of milk) then to set up mugs for Nell and Astrid. When the two returned, Astrid was in a brown robe and, Eric was pleased to note, it reached below her knees. She jostled past Nell for the coffee, and did a clumsy job of setting hers up, (three tablespoons of sugar, a quarter-cup of milk, and a healthy splash of Irish Creme syrup.) She took one sip, but then said, "Too hot. I'll let it cool while I shower. Okay, Nell?"
Nell looked up from pouring her own coffee (one splash of milk,) to confirm, "That works."
As they settled on the sofa, Eric smiled. "Thanks for the save, partner."
"I'm glad I saved you when I did."
"My calves are going to thank you for a month. It was about to get dangerous."
"I think she just didn't know."
"I think you're right, Nell. So long in the women's shelter, she didn't know, or didn't think, about how to act or what to wear around a guy." They sat in companionable, groggy silence for a while. "That didn't make it any less awkward, though." Another silence. Eric ran his hand along the sofa cushion. "I seem to specialize in awkward."
"That's what I love about you!" Eric startled. "Yeah, love! You're so careful to do everything so politely and caringly that your mind reduces a situation like that to 'what's the least impolite thing to do?' "
"It still doesn't make it any less awkward," he repeated. "It seems like awkward follows me around like Pigpen's dust cloud."
Just then, his phone rang. "Oh, Hi, Marnie!" "Well, that's the kind of problem to have." He smiled. "I'd be glad to help out. I'll see what I can do. I'm headed to work today, but maybe later." "Okay, I'll call you." As Eric talked, Nell simply scowled at her coffee, but then she stomped to the kitchen so she could unload the dishwasher-noisily.
From the kitchen, she withered the last of Eric's smile as his attention returned to the present. "That was a … someone I volunteered with in El Salvador when we were building that hospital. Turns out she's now with the United Way here in LA," Nell's scowl turned to a sheepish grimace. "And they need a hand coordinating all the supplies: matching donations to needs, that sort of stuff. Donations have come out of the woodwork after the earthquake, but not always to the member organizations with a need. I said I'd stop by after work."
Nell thought for a few seconds, then replied, "There's another option." They shared a smile. "I'll bet Astrid would be good at it. Perhaps we all could stop by to get her started, then head in to ops."
"I like that."
"Thanks. I'm starting to think I could mentor Astrid a bit. I'll see if I can get her to 'let me in.'" Nell's mind raced to map out the scope of the problem. "I hope we can help her get some good work habits. She's at an age where she needs role models."
"The problem is," Eric objected, "that if we spend much time at the United Way, we'll be late to ops."
"Let me make a call," Nell said confidently as she reached for her phone.
"Hello, Hetty." "Yes, it went well. She's still here." "What do things look like in ops today?" "Good, we got a call from the United Way." "Well, Yes, Eric did." "They could use a hand matching donations from organizations with excess with organizations with needs." "Right. Angelenos have great hearts." "This would be a great chance to set her up as an intern." "Okay, we'll get to ops about eleven. Right. We'll get lunch on the way in. Thanks, Hetty!"
After she hung up, Eric reached over for an underhanded high-five. "Smooth talking, there, partner!" He continued, "How about Astrid and I go around the corner for some bagels or a Danish while you shower, then I'll swing by my place for a shower before we meet at the United Way. It's just a shower. I can light a few candles for that."
Forty minutes later, they met at the United Way. After introductions, they sat down to the ream of memos. "Hollywood Senior Center has lots of cookies, but needs plastic cups to drink from." "The Long Beach Boys and Girls Club has lots of plastic cups and hamburger buns."
Eric broke the shock of inundation. "Nell, on the way over here, I was thinking about how to route the truck for all these deliveries."
Nell confirmed, "The Traveling Salesman problem."
"Right, Nell. Would you like to structure the databases while Astrid inputs? Then I could modify the traveling salesman subroutine for these deliveries. Sound good?"
They spent the next ten minutes mapping out the tasks, then dove in. For the next hour, they all worked in silence, until it was clear that the "bugs" were worked out.
Nell handed Astrid her card. "Give me a call when you're done here. We'll see where things stand."
The two got into their cars and drove to the mission.
As Eric walked through the bullpen, Callen hailed him.
"Hey, Eric. We've got a favor to ask."
" 'We'?" he asked with trepidation. "Uhh…what's up?"
"It turns out Arkady's security system got damaged in the quake. Could you go help him get it back to form?"
Eric's eyes widened. "But I'm not cleared to go into the field, Callen."
"Don't worry, Eric." With his arm on Eric's shoulder, he could have said 'Little Buddy,' "This isn't an op. This is doing a favor for a source. Tell you what: how 'bout Nell comes along. You and Arkady could enjoy the company."
Reluctantly, Eric agreed. "We'll need to clear it with Hetty first."
Since she had stolen up behind them, any search became unnecessary. "Go, Mr. Beale. Mr. Callen's reasoning is unimpeachable."
The surfer broke into a wide smile, like he'd finally gotten the joke. "Is this about trapdoors? Would you like to have a covert feed from his security system?"
"No, he's certain to check. This is about maintaining his trust."
"And if I find someone else's trapdoor?"
Callen thought for only a second. "Probably depends whose. If it's a friendly, like the Brits', leave it. Someone else: Chinese, Cartels, study it, then disable it and tell Arkady."
"Got it. We'll see you soon."
Hetty interrupted. "Don't forget, Mr. Beale, that we've been starting early since the quake struck. Unless something comes up, we'll probably move quitting time early, too."
"Thank you, Hetty! I'll go get Nell."
Two hours later, the video work was complete and Nell and Eric shared the patio table with Arkady. The Americans drank orange juice while Arkady doctored his with vodka.
"Speak of screwdriver, you two…?" His hand gesture was unmistakable.
Nell hurtled around the table and grabbed Arkady's silken robe by the lapels. "Now listen here, you lard-bellied dirty old man." She switched to Russian and stepped beside him so she could whisper in his ear, "What Eric and I are doing—or might do— is nobody's business but our own. In American society, it isn't polite to ask a woman about her love life. Now, I happen to know that sixty percent of the diamonds you sold last month at the diamond exchange had Russian chemical signatures but no Russian laser serial numbers. So if you understand what's good for you, you'll just shut up about Mr. Beale and me."
Since Eric's Russian was only rudimentary, he could only wait, his eyes darting nervously between his partner and the guard, who bore an uncanny resemblance to the James Bond super-henchman, Jaws. Subconsciously, Eric checked the bodyguard's teeth.
At the end of Nell's tirade, Arkady raised his hands in good-spirited surrender. "All right! All right! You make your point. Apologize." He caught his breath and straightened his lapels. "Your accent, is Leningrad?"
Nell huffed, "Petrograd, now, Mr. Kolchek. Welcome to the twenty-first century."
"What they say? 'Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,' In Russia it all end up same place." He indicated the vodka.
Nell finished her answer. "But yes, my teacher was from St. Petersburg."
Eric, fidgeting with his cell phone, suddenly took a call. "Yes…That sounds bad…Yes, we'll be right there, Callen…Yes." He turned to Nell. "That was Callen." He rose to shake Arkady's hand. "Something's come up, Mr. Kolchek. We'd better go help the team out. Thank you for your hospitality."
"I thank you for your help." He looked at Nell. "Manners lesson, too."
Right before Eric started down the flamboyantly manicured drive, the guard came running out to the car. Through the window, he passed a bottle of champagne in to Nell, saying, "With Mr. Kolchek's thanks."
"Well, tell him thank you, too."
As Eric sped away, Nell asked, "So, what's this crisis in ops?"
"Crisis?" Eric gave a chuckle. "There's no crisis! I just had to separate you and Arkady. That was my bad-date app."
Nell laughed. "Separate us?"
"Absolutely! We were there to cultivate our source, not piss him off."
"Fair enough." She thought. "But what are you doing with a bad-date app, anyhow? Does it come in handy often, Beale?" She gave Eric her infuriatingly cute smug-face.
"It just did." He smiled, like he'd dodged a bullet.
"That's not what I…"
"Be prepared, and all that stuff," he muttered. Then he fired up, "But why are you prying anyhow? You almost came to blows with a Russian mob boss—KGB alumnus to keep your love-life secret."
"Us. Our L…" she hesitated, "thing, Eric! Our thing. Whatever it is, Eric, it's us who get to decide."
"Right, us! That's what we keep saying, Nell."
"But all this pressure, all these assumptions." She turned and stared out the window. "Before the quake, I was on fanfiction and read a story where we did it in ops. There's another where you seduce me with a meatloaf dinner then follow me to Rhode Island—of all places! Others are busy trying to set me up with Callen. It's like the fact that I'm single isn't just a trait or condition, but a plot problem to solve."
Eric completed her thought, "What does that tee-shirt say? 'A woman without a man is like a fish without orange juice'?"
"I think it's 'a fish without a bicycle,' and that may be a little strong, But still, when we start dating, it will be because we want to, not because anybody else wants us to." Eric mouthed, "when?" while Nell thought for a while, sour. "I just spent two weeks managing one of the elite teams in all of federal law enforcement. We stopped terrorists from using a submarine to shut down one of the busiest ports in the country."
While Nell caught her breath, Eric added, "under your command."
"Yes, and before that, we stopped Iran from getting nuclear weapons, we stopped a smallpox outbreak, and we reclaimed almost a billion dollars in US gold…should I go on? But in spite of all that, all people want to know is who I'm sharing my bed with?"
"Right, that's out of line." Eric muttered.
"And what is it with 'ghosting'? In all this fanfiction, you guys are 'ghosting' all over me: hands, breath…Yuck!"
"I'll keep that in mind: no tickling," Eric grinned. On Deeks, it would have looked rakish, but on Eric, it was simply goofy.
Until that moment, Nell had never understood Kensi's tendency to hit her partner, but now, … only the fact that Eric was driving held the temptation in check. "No! That's not it! A ghost is a disembodied spirit and all that stuff. It's just that everybody and their sister is turning it into a verb. It's overused."
While Nell was cooling down, Eric took a call. "That was my neighbor. Old Mrs. Silva says the power's just come back on. I'll need to be there to let the super in about my pilot light."
"That thing works for real calls too?" she smirked. "You can't just call them to set a time?"
"I like that idea. I figure by five the fridge will have cooled down enough that I can reload it. I'll ask for five." After that call, he checked that Nell's mood had improved. "He can't get there 'til tomorrow morning. I sure won't need the heater tonight," he laughed, "and I can get by one night without my stove."
A few minutes later, as the two walked down the tunnel into the bullpen, Eric carrying the champagne, Nell offered, "I'll go print out the form for the champagne. It's a gift from a foreign national. Strictly speaking, Hetty will have to put it into storage for an op."
"There will be no need for that, Ms. Jones. My contact at the United Way of Greater Los Angeles describes the wonders your protégé has worked in their logistics department. You and Mr. Beale deserve to celebrate the successful mentoring relationship you've established with that very talented young lady. Now, get that into the fridge before I officially see it."
As Eric hid the bottle behind his back with mock sheepishness, Nell put on a face of girlish innocence and asked, "Officially see what, Hetty?"
"Don't be cheeky." She shooed them on their way.
They rejoined the team as they continued to monitor Los Angeles for needs, as slowly life in the city returned to normal. Every so often the mainframe computers would freeze before an aftershock rumbled through, and soon other teams were running pools on the magnitude. "Put me in for 5.3 on that one," and Eric's phone became the go-to arbiter across the building.
Deeks was politely called in for one routine homicide investigation, a jealous ex, because patrols had been stepped up in some neighborhoods against looting. Fortunately, looting had not been a problem, but that didn't change the fact that LAPD was stretched thin.
As the team wound down from another day of watchful waiting, Nell called Astrid; "They found a spot in a home for you?" "Oh, you found it yourself. Well, that's good, you're advocating for yourself!" "And you're hourly at the United Way? That's great." "Listen: let's stay in touch, okay?" "Let's get pizza after work next week. Which day?" "Tuesday it is. We'll talk that afternoon. See you then."
That evening, Eric carried the champagne and chatted with Nell as they made their way out of ops, but the team seemed lying in wait, and Sam spied them. "Dom Perignon, Rose, 2003. That's four hundred bucks a bottle!"
Then Callen examined the bottle, too. "You got this from Arkady? Must have really done the job on his security system!"
"Well," Nell drawled, "there might have been a little dust-up when he asked questions he shouldn't have. I think it's by way of apology, as well."
"Well, you guys deserve it." Callen summarized.
"The dust-up or the alcohol?" Nell asked.
Sam took the bottle from Eric's grasp and examined it carefully. "Just remember, Eric: It has to be served at 47 degrees. Let it chill below that, and it will warm as you drink it. Here's the system. Bottle in the bucket, fill one-third of the way with cold water, then add ice the rest of the way. Lift the bottle about an inch, then let it rest. Should be ready in fifteen minutes. Wipe the bottle dry before you open it. Don't pop the cork; just twist the bottle away from the cork. And be sure to use a good pair of flutes. The wrong glass could really ruin your experience."
Eric concentrated to master the ceremony, but then squared up for his reply. "Thanks, Sam. We'll remember that."
"That's 47 Fahrenheit, guys!" Deeks added with a laugh.
Kensi gave her partner a swat. "They know that!"
Deeks massaged his shoulder, "But knowing Eric, his fridge is calibrated in Rankine."
"504," Eric replied without missing a beat.
"What do blue jeans have to do with this?" Callen asked.
"No, that's the temperature in Rankine," Nell answered. "But what I want to know is how Deeks knew about the Rankine scale."
Deeks looked hurt. "You may think I'm just a sassy surfer with a hot bod," Sam's snort interrupted him.
"But underneath, there's a science geek waiting to get out. I happen to know I'm the one who got you started on your Wolfram-Ununoctium nickname thing."
After Nell and Eric finished their blushing denials, Sam handed the bottle back and pointed at them both. "Just be sure to tell me what you think. I've never had this vintage."
Hetty joined the team. "Remember, too, that this is enough alcohol to put you both over the legal limit. Plan to sleep where you finish this bottle."
"Don't worry Hetty, we have no intention of wrapping a car around a light-pole," Eric said, and they headed out the door.
When the mission door closed, Nell asked, "Did Hetty just tell us to sleep together? Hetty, too?"
He put his arm around her. "Relax, Nell. She meant sleep-sleep, not…well…. And she's right, too. No DUI's for us."
A few minutes later, the beleaguered friends arrived at Nell's apartment. When Eric went to put the champagne in the overloaded fridge, he broke the companionable silence, saying, "I think there's time to get this stuff back into my fridge. Then we can celebrate."
"Sure, but besides the champagne, what should we eat? Can't drink Dom Perignon with take-out burritos, can we, Beale?"
"Well, Nellster, I figure we're drinking champagne that costs more than my TV. I say we go for it….Err…Umm…I say let's not mess around…Err…"
"You figure it might as well be fancy?"
He only nodded, then came up with a plan. "How 'bout I take you to that place that tries to be a French Café, Nell. Then we can settle down with the drinks afterward?"
"I like how you think. I've got Brie and crackers I can throw in."
"And there's still some of that cheesecake we had last night. Now, where would you like to have this celebration?"
"Don't you mean, 'your place or mine?'" She grinned. His awkwardness came back with a vengeance, but Nell continued unaffected. "I figure we might as well come back here. Who knows how your place will be after the power was out."
"Thanks, Nell. I still ought to get my groceries out of your fridge. Shouldn't take me more than half an hour."
"Can I ride along?"
"That'd be nice."
It took a little longer to get the food into Eric's apartment fridge. The ice cubes had melted and he wanted to swab down the fridge while it was empty. While he was working, Nell watched, but then stared down the hallway. "Y'know? I still can't believe you've got porcupine boxers. I've got to see them." Eric sprang from the fridge, nearly knocking over the pineapple juice, and planted himself between Nell and his bedroom. Slowly, he shook his head, 'no.'
"I'll let you see my hip-boo." Nell wheedled.
"Your what?"
"When I was two, I got a stuffed hippopotamus, slept with it every night. Couldn't pronounce the name though, so I called it 'hip-boo.' Last time I was home, my big brother dug it out and hid it in my suitcase. Now, for old time's sake, he sleeps on the bookcase and keeps me company."
"You, Ms. Jones, are a woman of surprises. I'll go get the boxers."
"Fashion show?" she asked.
"No. Definitely not!" he shouted from in front of his dresser. When he emerged carrying them, Nell had to search hard for the porcupines. The pattern showed principally a forest scene with pines, granite and moss. Much to Nell's disappointment, the porcupines represented just a small part of the print.
"It's just a forest scene. There are porcupines, but I'll have to tell Astrid you oversold these boxers."
"If you do, I'll tell her about Hip-boo!"
"But how will you know if I talked, Beale?"
He rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Got me again," he grumbled.
It took a while to find his champagne stopper, ("Hey, Let's save a little for Sam," he'd suggested.) Then they made a quick stop at a kitchen store for champagne flutes, but soon they were headed to the restaurant.
When they got back to Nell's, Eric rinsed the flutes and set them to dry, while Nell set up the champagne to ice. They worked together on the cheese and dessert, and soon had everything set up on Nell's coffee table. Conversation made its way from nervous and sober, to relaxed, to laughing, and finally to companionable cuddling. When Eric made to top off the champagne, he realized how little was left, just enough for Agent Hanna, so he reset the stopper, put the bottle back in the fridge, and stepped toward Nell's hall. "Where did you put that sheet from last night, Nelly?"
"You won't need it, Eric." She got up. "Come with me."
"But, Nell," he stumbled, "after everything we've said…."
"Everything we've said says this is just the right thing. Let's get to bed."