The Riverboat Gamblers
By: ncisnewbie

While Nell worked the agencies to set up a rescue team, Eric worked on reconnaissance. He’d accessed a half-dozen security cams through the Ports of Long Beach and Los Angeles. As soon as Nell got of the phone, Eric shouted, “That’s the Research One. I’ve got a contact at Scripps!” He placed a call, and explained while it rang. “One of my college buddies is now a whale researcher at the Scripps Institute of Oceanography. Memorized the barnacle patterns on four hundred whales.”

“Hello, Brittany? It’s Eric Beale,” he greeted, putting it on speaker-phone.
“Ferris Bealer! How are you? Calling about getting together for some Hot Socks?” The woman on the line answered heartily. Meanwhile, Nell first startled, then stared.

“I’ll explain later!” Eric mouthed to Nell.

“Actually, no, Brittany. I’m here with my colleague, Nell Jones and we’re on speaker-phone, Britt.”

“Hello, Brittany.” It sounded like Nell was doing her best to hide the wariness in her voice.

“Hello, Nell Jones!” came the disembodied voice. “We probably owe you an explanation. Let’s all get together for a beer sometime.”

So while Nell muttered her consent, Eric continued, oblivious. “I actually got out of the blackjack racket a while back. Now I’m with NCIS, a federal law enforcement agency, calling ’cause we need your help.”

Brittany asked, “What’s up, Eric? I always figured you’d end up with the good guys.”

“Are you on the Research One right now?”

 
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Salvation, With Fear & Trembling
By: Motsie of Atlantis

p>Staff Sergeant Jason Beale was tired. He had just been asked to sign up for a fourth tour in VietNam, but he was so tired. He was tired of all the wanton destruction of the native villages and the countryside. He was tired of seeing each and every new soldier come into his unit, only to leave zipped up in a body bag, or have their dog tags turned over to graves registration with an approximate location of where they were buried. He was tired of not being home to watch his son and daughter grow up, to teach Eric how to throw a football, hit a baseball with a bat, or just help him climb a tree, to watch Monica go to dance class, play house with her dolls, or be her guest at an outdoor tea party. He was tired of falling asleep every night on a rickety cot in a steamy Quonset hut with thirty other guys, instead of the queen sized bed in his quiet bedroom with only Karin, his lovely wife, curled up next to him. He was just so tired of all the life that this war was sucking from his body, and even worse, his soul.

But coming home did not restore the fatigue of his body and soul. His PTSD seemed to take control of him more and more as he disconnected from his family and life. His son was extremely uncoordinated, and could not catch a ball of any type, even if his life depended upon it, because no one ever worked to help him overcome his vision problems. His daughter did not share her little girl fantasies with him. Instead, she looked upon him as a monster, someone to hide from behind her mother’s skirts, because she never knew him as a young girl growing up. His wife Karin spent all her time working in the office of the real estate company, or trying to care for the kids. She had been doing it for such a long time while he was over in ‘Nam that it had become routine for her and now filled up her life. No one from his family seemed to want to work with him to bring help him bring his dreams into reality.

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Eric Beale was always fearful of new things and places, but he always denied that he was afraid. His definition was that he did not like change. If things stayed the same, he was happy. If things did not, he was not. He waited until two weeks after his due date before his mother was induced for his birth. He came out kicking and screaming, as if he wanted to go back to the comfort of his mother’s womb.

When Eric was two years old, it was discovered that he was farsighted, and couldn’t see anything very close unless it was printed extremely large. His mother took him to get glasses and two days later he heard the term “four eyes” referring to him for the first time. Unfortunately for him, it would not be the last time he was called that name. He tried going without his glasses as often as he could, but his eyes just seemed to get worse, and finally he was forced to wear them.

All through childhood he was teased and bullied. He never was very well coordinated, so he was the last one chosen for any games, and the others let him know that they really didn’t want him on their teams. The less he played, the less he improved, and the less he improved, the less he played. It became such a vicious cycle that he finally decided to break it by not even showing up to play.

 
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