For sheisse 'n' giggles. I don't own NCIS: LA.
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An oath that would make a sailor blush echoed through the Ops Center.
"I told you to stop touching it!" Special Agent G Callen yelled.
"If you don't let me touch it, I can't make it feel better!" Sam yelled right back.
Kensi's helpless giggles ricocheted off the walls, making Hetty look up from her desk.
"Mr. Callen," she called across the lobby, "kindly cease and desist with your blaspheming and permit Mr. Hanna to splint your ankle."
G yelped, trying and failing to scoot away from his partner- not an easy task when wearing jeans and sitting on a leather couch. "Saaaaaam," the man whined, sounding an impressive amount like an unhappy child, "lemme do it myself."
"G, you remember what it felt like when I bandaged your ribs ten minutes ago?"
Callen winced in recollection. "Yes," he grumbled.
"You try and reach your toes and I'm gonna have to bandage them again," Sam explained patiently.
There was a long pause. "Okay." Callen's voice was tiny and defeated.
Five minutes passed with a distinct lack of complaint.
"There. Done," Sam announced.
There was no reply.
"G?"
Kensi started laughing again. "I think he's asleep."
"Or he fainted," the other agent disagreed.
There was a faint noise, almost like…
"Is he snoring?" Kensi asked, biting down on one of her knuckles to stifle her mirth.
Sam smacked her hand away from his partner's face gently. "No, leave him be."
"But I'm so tempted! I think I have a Sharpie in here somewhere-"
"Kensi…" There was a warning and protective note in Sam's voice that made Kensi's giggles slow and stop.
"Oh, you're no fun anymore," she complained in a bad English accent.
"You've been watching Monty Python," Sam accused.
As the pair bickered and bantered, Callen smiled in his sleep.
Well, he grinned until he rolled off the couch.
Then there was complaining.
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Vive la France! Vive la Revolucion! Vive la- Whoops, wrong speech. Ahem. Hope you enjoyed.
