Work Text:
Thanks to that visit from her old friend Zeke, Pride had reopened some cold leads. And there hadn’t been much going on in the way of Navy crime recently, which meant that Percy had spent the last three weekends in a black SUV with Lasalle, keeping an eye on possible locations for this brand new underground casino and growing slowly more and more annoyed with Alabama.
Pride had set them on unending weekends of stakeouts during football season, so her weekends were full of the Alabama radio network and unending sports commentators, broken only occasionally by the actual game. Christopher was generally a good stakeout buddy, especially after he’d stopped complaining about her homemade vegan snacks (actually he still mocked, but he ate them when he thought she wasn’t looking, which she considered a victory), but during football season he was damn near insufferable. He argued with the commentators, and then talked more than they did about every play.
Sonja had gone to Tulane, a school that prided itself on academics, not football. And her family were LSU fans. It took all of her patience not to whack him upside the head during stakeouts with games.
This was the first Saturday off in weeks. Sonja was looking forward to a night free of any and all references to any kind of sport with a ball. She was going to sit on her favorite stool at Pride’s bar- chosen specifically for its lack of TVs and tendency to be filled with jazz lovers and hipsters on live music nights. She was going to have peace, quiet, and beer.
True to the spirit of the place, Buckley had a longneck Abita open and waiting on the counter before she’d even sat down.
“Thanks,” she said, taking a long swig in relief. The bar seemed so open and airy after weeks stuck in their SUV.
“Good to see you, Percy,” Buckley said. “Although I really didn’t think I’d see you in here tonight.”
Sonja shrugged. “Pride eased up the work schedule a bit.”
“Naw, see the band had to cancel- something about two flats and a busted axle outside of Jackson, so Agent Lasalle talked Pride into letting him have a ‘Bama tailgate party here.”
Sonja wanted to ask Buckley if he was just messin’, but before she could, the door to the bar swung open, and a large group of thirty something men wearing red and white jerseys and yelling in the thickest possible deep southern accents pushed their way into the bar. Sonja looked from them to Buckley in disbelief. The bartender shrugged and went to man the taps before they revolted. Sonja took an extremely long swig of her beer.
Buckley had kept them occupied over on the other end of the bar, but then one of them noticed her there, sitting all alone, and decided to mosey on over to try his luck.
“Hey there,” he said, accent thick in the way country boys do when they wanted something from you. “Looks like you’re just about out there,” he said, nodding towards her bottle. “Why don’t you come over with me and I’ll get you another one.”
Sonja raised an eyebrow, wondering why the hell he’d thought that would work. A hand fell on his shoulder. “I think the lady prefers to buy her own, Jefferson.”
Christopher Lasalle had come to Charity For All. Dammit, tonight was supposed to be her night off. She decided to ignore him.
“I’m not opposed to free beer,” Percy said, “I just am picky about who I get it from.”
“Hiya there, Percy, what’chu doing here tonight?” Chris said, his usual shit-eating grin pasted on his face.
“Drinking beer. Didn’t know it was gonna be ‘Bama worship night in here,” Percy said, turning back to the bar.
“Aw, come on, Percy, you’ve got to appreciate a good tailgate at least,” Chris said, “Good food, good company, crappy beer.”
“Last time you held a tailgate there was nothing but burgers,” Sonja said. “And I can pay for my own beer.”
“Awww,” Jefferson, who was clearly tipsy, interjected. He looked back and forth between the two of them. “Hey Lasalle, you know this lady?”
Chris threw an arm around Jefferson’s shoulder and began to lead him back towards the rest of the red shirts. “Yeah, buddy, she’s one of my coworkers,” He looked over his shoulder at Percy. “The beer is free, just so you know.”
Shit. NCIS was a good place to work but the pay had never been that great, and Percy was not the kind of girl to turn down free booze, even if it meant her evening was spent with the dregs of the South’s Cult of Football. Chris and Jefferson made it back to their friends and Sonja was left contemplating the dangerously low levels of beer left in her bottle.
She held out as long as the Abita did, which was all of 10 minutes, even drinking extra slowly out of spite. She shook the bottle one last time, hoping for a slosh that was clearly not there, and pushed off her stool for her descent into country boy hell all for a couple free beers. This masochism was why she’d ended up doing undercover work. A sensible person would have gone home. Sonja Percy went across the bar.
Lasalle was hovering near the bar, taking red plastic cups of the cheapest beer Pride served from Buckley and ferrying them across to his buddies who’d commandeered a table in the corner. Sonja intercepted him with empty hands.
“Alright City Mouse, what’ve I got to do to get some free beer?” She said, as neutrally as possible.
A smirk found its way across Chris’s face, the same one she’d had a couple weeks ago when he’d asked for some of her honey-and-granola crunch. “I’d say you’d have to yell ‘ROLL TIDE,’ and it has to be loud enough for the whole place to hear.”
Sonja shook her head in disbelief at how easily she was giving in, and yelled, “ROLL TIDE.”
“ROOOOOOLLLLL TIIDDDEEEEE,” the corner table echoed at her.
She raised an eyebrow at him.
He shrugged. “Not bad.”
She glared, recognizing him trying to get a rise out of her, and held her hand across the bar. Buckley obliged and put a cup in it.
“Thanks, Buckley,” Sonja said, giving Chris the eye as she sauntered over to the corner with the ‘Bama boys, knowing Chris was watching her go.
The corner table was busy trading player stats and game predictions when she got over there. It took them a good 5 seconds before they realized she was standing there.
“Gentlemen,” Sonja said, raising her glass.
Three of them discovered an urgent need to find her a seat. It was amazing how that always seemed to happen when she approached groups of men. Two sips later, she had a seat and the rapt attention of two of them, evently the more casual fans. Russell was a 6’2” dark skinned Chemical Engineer. It only took a polite question about his job for him to start telling her all about his glory days as a third stringer on Alabama’s team. He would have been higher, he insisted, but he had to go to class, because he needed a real job after school. His accent was nearly as thick as Lasalle’s, but aside from the nostalgia fest, he seemed sweet. Sonja mentally marked him down as a nice possibility for Agent Gregorio, who was slowly entering a men-phase again. The other guy was Jefferson, the creep from earlier. Every pause he could find in Russell's memories of the glory days he managed in slip in an aside about his own glory days in Sigma Phi something or other. Sonja knew from personal experience that southern frat boys were the worst kind of arrogant assholes, and thus spent her time nodding encouragingly at Russell. Hopefully he’d be a little less chatty about college on a non-game day. Gregorio seemed to have a knack for finding non-starters, Percy didn’t want to add to her bad record.
Unfortunately, Jefferson had started to realize that she was really not interested, and even more unfortunately, he was definitely the kind of guy to be an asshole about it. All Sonja had wanted for her Saturday was peace and quiet. Instead she had to manage the emotions of yet another man-boy. Rule number one for an evening where Sonja didn’t end up punching people in the face: move attention away from herself. Based on her professional assessment of Jefferson, her best bets were booze or women, which really meant her only choice was booze.
Sonja leaned forward a little, “You know, Bently- the bartender here- was telling me that they’ve go some tequila in here that’s so strong it’s illegal in 7 states, including Alabama.”
Not only did Jefferson seem intrigued, the whole table seemed to be excited about this. Go big or go home, Sonja thought.
Lasalle was the only one not rising to her bait. The look on his face was more extreme concern. He was probably remembering how bad it’d gotten the last time that tequila had come out. He raised an eyebrow at her, his version of an old hound dog’s ear perking up at any sign of trouble. Percy continued with the evening’s trend and ignored him.
“I haven’t had tequila in years,” Russell said, “Not since college.”
“I’m in,” Jefferson said, already on his way towards the bar. “First round on me, second round on pretty-miss-Tulane. That is if she can still stand.”
Sonja crossed her arms. “You’re on. I know how to hold my liquor.”
Across the table, Chris snorted and shook his head. Sure, last time she’d drunk this stuff she’d nearly passed out on the piano before puking in the alley, but that wasn’t going to happen tonight. She was on her game tonight.
Jefferson made it back with the first round of shots. Sonja made sure she was the first to grab one.
“Roll tide,” Sonja said, and downed the shot before she let herself realize how bad of an idea this was. She shuddered slightly as the burn hit her throat, watching the others do the same. Except for Chris, who was cradling his red plastic cup and keeping steady eyes on her.
That left one shot on the tray. Sonja shook her head at him, and before anyone else had a chance, she’d downed that one too.
Lasalle pointed to his watch and mouthed one hour at her. Sonja, who was beginning to feel the tequila, just gave him a confused look and started ribbing Russell about his third string career.
An hour later, the world was spinning but Sonja Percy was still going strong. Jefferson reached for another shot and missed it, spilling alcohol all over the table, which he very nearly fell into. Buckley wandered over and started cleaning up the mess. He was telling Lasalle that maybe it was time for them all to go home. Sonja would have argued but that would have required words and speaking and her head hurt right now. She shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair. At least she wasn’t on stakeout tonight.
“Percy, I’m gonna take you home,” Lasalle said.
“Don’t wanna,” Percy mumbled. “Drove with you enough.”
“Well that’s all fine and dandy but I’m pretty sure Jefferson hitched the last ride outta here, so you’re sticking with me, Percy.”
She opened her eyes. He was standing in front of her, stubborn as ever.
“Fine,” she said. “But no football.”
It took 10 minutes for Chris to steer her out the door and into his truck, but he eventually got her settled there. Two minutes after he’d started the engine, Sonja was half-asleep, only waking up when the truck finally turned off.
Sonja groggily stared into the darkness. “This isn’t my house,” she said suspiciously.
“No, it’s not, but I gotta make sure you don’t fall asleep and don’t wake up again, and my house has a better couch.”
“Okay City Mouse,” Sonja said and closed her eyes again. Chris sighed and got out of the truck. He walked around and opened her door. “Percy, come on. Don’t make me carry you in there.”
Sonja turned away from the cold air at the open door. “No.”
Chris sighed again. Sonja felt him unbuckle her seatbelt and slide her arms over his neck. She decided this was an okay way to get to a nice bed. Sonja wrapped her arms a little tighter and nestled her head into his chest.
Chris carried her up the stairs to his porch, fished out his keys with one hand, and opened the door. Sonja would have been impressed but she was sleepy. He navigated the house without turning the lights on, carrying her straight to the bedroom. He set her down on the bed.
Sonja grabbed his arm before he could leave. “You don’t have to give up your bed,” she mumbled, “I could’ve… the couch…”
“It’s called being a gentleman,” Chris retorted. “‘Night, City Mouse.”
He tried to leave, but she wasn’t letting go of his arm, because he needed to stop with the gentleman nonsense.
“Sonja. Percy. Come on,” Lasalle begged, his drawl getting heavy.
“We can share, a’ight?” Sonja mumbled.
“Fine,” Lasalle said, climbing over her to settle on the other side of the bed. “But I bet you’re gonna be embarrassed in the morning.”
Sonja would have glared at him, but the pillow was nice and instead she fell asleep.
She knew she was awake because she smelled coffee, and that wasn’t something you could do in dreams, smell things. Sonja opened her eyes, and almost immediately shut them again. The windows were throwing sunlight and fresh air straight at her, something her aching head was not too fond of.
“Rise and shine, Agent Percy,” Lasalle sing-songed at her, bearing a hot cup of coffee.
Damn. Why was he here? She looked around the room.
She was greeted with the sight of a spartan male bedroom with T-shirts thrown over a chair and a fish on the wall.
Nevermind. This is why she shouldn’t drink tequila.
“What time is it?” Percy said, slowly sitting up, the pounding in her head making it difficult. Chris handed her the coffee mug and sat further down the mattress. “8. Thought you should join the living sometime. Although I did miss prime fishin’ hours.”
Percy took a big sip of the coffee, letting the New Orleans chicory and caffeine overwhelm the hangover. “Like you were going to make it up before dawn after a ‘Bama game,” she retorted.
“Hey, it’s not just anybody I let hang with the ‘Bama Boys.”
Sonja rolled her eyes.
“No, seriously, I think that’s the first time we’ve ever let a girl hang with us on football night.”
Sonja gave him a look of disbelief over her coffee. “Like Jackson doesn’t try that trick at every bar he goes to?”
Chris laughed. “Sure he tries, but it never goes anywhere.”
Well that made sense. No woman with sense would have gone for that one.
“And Russell really liked you,” Chris said. “So you’re invited anytime.”
“Really?” Sonja asked, skeptical.
“No, really,” Lasalle said. “I always have a better night with you around, City Mouse.”
His eyes were sincere, and Sonja didn’t know what to do with that, so she sipped her coffee. Now that she had woken up a bit, the sunshine was warm and inviting, and the company wasn’t too bad either.
“Country Mouse,” she finally said, “I always have a better night with you too, although I’m real glad that it doesn’t always have to be a stakeout.”
Chris grinned. “We’ll make a ‘Bama fan of you yet.”
Percy rolled her eyes.