She fidgets uncomfortably.
All of the attention - all of the praise that the team usually directs at each other, it's all for her, and she doesn't know how to feel about it. The expensive whiskey that Hetty only shares with select people is shared with her. She wonders, just as Hetty had, why she doesn't work harder to become the field operative she wants to be. She knows she doesn't have the athleticism of Sam or Kensi nor does she have the over-confident swagger of lovable goofball Deeks, or the sharp-minded intelligence of team leader, Callen. Hell, it hadn't been that long ago that she'd been confessing her fear of never being able to work in the field because she'd never be able to keep up with them. But, that had been to Eric - sweet, awkward, Eric. The one who didn't have the drive that she did for being out in the field, who wasn't part adrenaline junkie.
He's perfectly comfortable hiding in the dark OPS room with his technology and endless strings of code.
She needs out.
And, today just reminds her of why. It had been fun teaching Sam and Callen something they didn't already know. There had been a jolt of something, something that begged for her to come out from behind the computer screens and bring her own skills to field work. Then, she had talked Callen through landing a drone and wished, despite a part of her knowing that neither Callen nor Hetty would have allowed it, that she had been there to do it herself, or at least talk him through it in person.
"You better thank this one, G." Sam's lip curl upward, eyes full of mirth. Oh. That is the ex-Seal's affectionate smile; one reserved for only the people he loves most. To be on the receiving end of such smile is knowing that you are a part of his inner circle. "Nell, here," he cocks his head toward the feisty analyst. "bailed your sorry ass out of a jam, today."
"I know."
Does he?
But then, he smiles and it's soft but there's a predatory gleam in his eyes; the one that will manifest itself later in an unrelenting but exquisite form of torture because oh-dear-God is he talented with his tongue and she doesn't mean his way with foreign languages, either.
"Nell-bell!"
Terrific timing, Deeks.
He smells of sweat and liquor - just what in the hell is the alcohol content in that whiskey?- when his arm slings clumsily around her shoulders and if not for Sam standing next to her, his off-balance hug might have sent her tumbling to the floor. "You amazing thing, you. They should declare this day National Nell Day." his smile is supposed to flirty but it's all teeth and dry lips and not all that attractive. "I can see it now. Fireworks. Streamers. The whole nine yards. And, maybe a few, ahem, entertainers if that's your thing."
"You gonna dance, Deeks?" Kensi grins into her glass.
"Don't be cheeky." his retort is directed at the tall brunette, even as he remains glued to Nell's side. "No, seriously, Nell. You saved the day!"
"I just - "
"Helped G, here, land a drone." Sam's arm slips around her and she's thankful for the strong cage of his arms tugging her away from the clammy trap of Deeks. She leans into him easily, feeling a bit child-like, compared to the ex-Seal. His height and muscular build made him a force of nature and she could only imagine what suspects must feel like when he holds them down to handcuff them. "Seriously, amazing work, Nell!"
"Thanks, Sam." she can all but see the blush heating up her cheeks, spreading down her chest, and illuminating the tips of her ears. She has to be some shade of red not currently on the spectrum; bright and dark and burnt all at the same time. "Guys, really, thank you, but Callen's the one who landed the thing."
"Couldn't have done it without you, Nell." And, there's that smile, again. Nell absently wonders if he had used that smile on Joelle during his brief fling with her. That was one relationship that hadn't done him a bit of good, but that was for later contemplation. "Don't doubt yourself."
"He's right." Kensi smiles from her place, sandwiched between Hetty and Deeks. "Don't doubt yourself. You're one of us."
"You guys aren't going to let this drop, are you?" her eyes flick between each teammate, and the proud smiles curling their mouths at the corners.
"Nope." Sam laughs, giving her a squeeze.
She releases a breath, letting her shoulders relax, and holds up her glass. "Fine, but I'm going to need another drink."
"That's the spirit!"
"Watch yourself, Mister Deeks."
xxx
"Kens, I think it's time to take Shaggy, here, home." Sam juts his chin toward the drunken liason. "If he passes out on Hetty's desk, the hangover he's headed for is going to be the least of his worries."
"Come on, Deeks." if Kensi notices the twinkle of mischief in her partner's admittedly glazed-over eyes, she says nothing when she grabs his collar and tugs him toward the door. "Time to go home. Come on."
"Ooh, should I call you Mistress Kensi?" Deeks slurs, grinning wildly at the brunette. "Are you going to spank me?"
"No." Kensi grits her teeth, shooting a soul-withering glare over her shoulder at the snickering agents behind them. "But if you don't shut up - I might shoot you. All of you."
The team is all but laughing out-right, needing to turn away from them to stop. When she is certain, she no longer needs to shoot the entirety of the team - and, take a few family jewels with her - she continues dragging her drunken puppy of a partner out of the building. The only people left are Callen, Sam, Nell, and Hetty, who is soon to leave and be escorted home by Grainger. It is no secret that despite his cold indifference toward the operations manager, Owen Grainger is, and probably always will be, a little bit protective of Henrietta Lange. And, not letting her drive with even the smallest amount of liquor in her system is his way of displaying it.
"Go home, get a good night's sleep. You've earned it." Hetty smiles fondly, eyes flicking to each one of them. "Mister Callen, might I suggest you see to it that Miss Jones reaches her home safely? She more than proved today how vital she is to this team."
"Yeah. I'll take her home."
G. Callen is a world class liar but he can't hide his affection for the aforementioned analyst. Hetty just chuckles and pats him on the arm as she passes; "Have a good night, Mister Callen. Mister Hanna."
"Have a good night, Hetty."
"Night, Hetty."
"Now," Callen sighs, turning toward Nell. "About you."
"'m fine. 'ome?"
The intelligence analyst blinks heavily, bleary eyes regarding him with such innocence, he'd almost believe she's just tired if it wasn't the two refills of Hetty's scotch he'd seen her down, earlier. Her small stature would never fool him into thinking she couldn't drink. She could throw them back with the best of them but scotch is a little bit different than Friday night tequila shots with Kensi or a couple of beers with Deeks. Hetty's scotch is almost pure alcohol and she's had more than enough to send her blood-alcohol level skyrocketing.
"Not quite, Nell." he laughs, moving her toward a chair. "Wait here. Sam, don't let her leave."
"I don't think that'll be an issue, G." Sam chuckles, slipping an arm around the petite analyst, after a near miss with the chair G had tried (and failed) to guide her into, who sways into his side, resting her head against his ribs.
Callen is only gone for a few moments before he returns, Nell's bag in hand. A quick glance around Hetty's alcove office reveals her sweater slung haphazardly over a chair. He picks it up and tucks it away into her bag, before turning to retrieve his favorite red-head.
Oh.
Well, he's never thought of her like that before. Okay - yes, they've gone a couple of outings with the team. Minus the team. In a setting that might be considered a date, and yes, he's kissed her. Oh, he most assuredly has kissed Nell Jones. And, they've even had sex. Lots of sex, actually. Just, for future reference, two people can fit in an office chair, if the pair are willing to indulge in a little creativity and time to find that perfect position. Other than that, he's never really considered where Nell fits into his life. Mostly because it's not something he's ever had to consider, before. He generally knows where people fit into his life, or whether they fit at all.
Sam is his best friend and Kensi and Deeks are like his siblings. For all of their squabbling and bickering, there is a silent agreement between them that they would tear the damn world apart to save each other. Now, though, Nell is slowly wiggling into their group. Not that she has much wiggling to do - Kensi adores her, Deeks treats her like the little sister he loves to tease but would take a bullet for in a heartbeat, and Sam doesn't have him fooled in the slightest. Sam loves her, too.
Callen's different, though.
She is different.
She isn't school-teacher Joelle, all patience and sweetness.
No.
She is Nell.
Take-charge, say-what-she-thinks Nell. And, God,if he doesn't find himself regarding her with the kind of admiration and love, he didn't think himself capable of, anymore. He loves her. G. Callen loves Nell Jones, even now, when she's slurring her words and her eyes are heavy because she's tired and the whiskey is wearing on her, and if it wasn't for Sam, he's not sure she'd be upright. Or awake. He just laughs and reaches for the intelligence analyst.
"Hey Nell," his voice is a soft rasp, drawing her out of the sleepy daze. "Let's get you home."
"'k, G."
His warmth is familiar, comfortable, when she trades Sam's arms for his, and lets him pick her up. While Sam is all brute strength and obvious muscle, G is a bit quieter about his own strength. He downplays it, which is why, the first time he had scooped her up with one arm as if she weighed nothing, she had barely restrained her gasp of surprise. He's a lot stronger than he looks, and she's learned that picking her up with one arm is nothing for him. And, if she happens to snuggle against his chest while he carries her to his car, then who really has to know?
She's earned it.