AN: If this site allowed, I'd have tacked on almost every genre label: friendship/mystery/supernatural/drama/adventure…you get the point.

This isn't related to any of my other stories. It's primarily Callen/Nell with the rest of the team (Deeks/Kensi background) thrown in, and if it needs to be said, I own nothing except my own ideas.

XXXXXX

Nell pushed her sunglasses up on her head and surveyed the house in front of her. Actually, the word 'house' didn't do it justice – it was a mansion, and a sprawling one at that. It spread out further in back than she could see from the driveway, and though it was undeniably grand, the years had taken their toll and it was a bit rundown. It could have used new paint and a better landscaper. Those issues weren't as concerning as the fact that the bright October sun overhead did little to dispel the dark, foreboding atmosphere that clung to the building like a shadow. She wasn't superstitious by any means, nor did she believe in anything paranormal (not really…), and yet the idea of stepping foot in the place gave her a moment's pause.

She shouldn't have been worried since she spotted cars belonging to Eric and Granger in the driveway. She could only guess they were inside and (presumably) still alive. Though if they weren't, it wasn't like they could call and warn her…

Callen stood next to her doing his own assessment of Blackwell Manor. He shot her a sideways glance and it matched every thought she'd had in the thirty seconds since she'd gotten out of the car.

"It's…" she faltered, trying to think of the least sinister description possible.

"Something," he finished, somewhat in dismay. He hadn't come across many places more impressive (or ominous) than this one. He glanced down at the pamphlet he held. The mansion had been built in 1915 by Thomas Blackwell and he'd lived there with his family until his untimely (and violent) murder 8 years later. It had gone through a variety of owners in the decades since, and had been plagued by rumors of hauntings for equally as long. Now it was a hotel which offered occasional murder mystery packages that were (as the informational pamphlet excitedly announced) 'based on the original murder!'

"According to this," Nell read, "it was originally a 15-room mansion and subsequent owners have added on over the years. It's now over 25 rooms and has 10 bedrooms which can accommodate up to 30 overnight guests. They plan to renovate the third floor to increase maximum capacity to 50."

Their team would be the only ones there for the weekend and they'd also be the first to experience a 'revamped' version of the house's original murder mystery package. Nell didn't know whether to feel relieved or unnerved by the lack of other guests.

"Blackwell Manor…how original." Callen used his pamphlet to shield his eyes as he examined the top floors. "Was the name Blackwell Murder House already taken?"

"It's not that bad," Nell hedged. Because yes, yes it was.

"Need I remind you that a person was actually murdered here?"

"Almost a century ago," she tried to dismiss him. "It's not the house's fault – which only needs a little work, by the way."

His skeptical look told her he didn't necessarily agree. He couldn't deny that the house was magnificent, but the outside made him wonder about the state of the interior. He started pointing out issues as he spoke: "The hedges in front haven't been trimmed in weeks; you can barely see in the first story windows. The paint is chipping and the whole outside could stand to be power-washed. The railing on the front steps is falling apart. And see the porch that wraps around the side? What if the baseboards are rotten? One wrong step and bam!" he clapped loudly, causing her to jump, "instant death, Nell."

"Twisted ankles kill? Good to know."

She wasn't taking this seriously enough, in his opinion. "Don't you get the sense it might be the gateway to hell?"

"Not really; I don't see Granger guarding the entrance."

He smirked in appreciation. "I'm telling him that one."

She put her hands on her hips, craning her neck to take in the entire building. Although it had its flaws, the place had a presence from which chipping paint and overgrown shrubbery couldn't detract. "Look, we should reserve our judgment. Granger mentioned they're going through an ownership change, so a few things have been temporarily neglected." When Callen only mouthed 'a few?' at her, she stressed, "Temporarily."

"Yeah, I remember his speech that the 'cosmetic issues' mean that NCIS is getting a spectacular discount for the weekend, but I'd like to point out that even 'temporary' issues can be problematic." Truthfully, he doubted the place was that unsafe, but he'd been trying to scheme his way out of the mandatory trip since he'd been informed of it a month earlier. "You think I can get the local building inspector down here by nightfall? I could pay him off and save everyone from this weekend."

She knew he was only half-joking and refused to give him any encouragement. "I was looking forward to this weekend."

He dropped the sarcasm. "You were?"

She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. Of course he'd seize upon the topic. "Well, yeah. Not that I dislike my weekends, but they're always the same. After a while I want to do something different and this weekend sounded like it might be fun." Honestly, she'd been excited about the idea of spending time with her co-workers – her closest friends, really – in an environment that wasn't fraught with the high-stakes stress and urgency that often accompanied their cases.

"You're setting the bar for 'fun' way too low, Jones," he teased her. "What about expanding your horizons? Haven't you gone to some of those conventions Eric's always talking about?"

"I can only attend so many before they start losing their appeal."

"Let me guess…one?"

"I have slightly more patience than you," she reminded him. "It's mostly that he's a fan of everything. Comics, movies, games, and there aren't official conventions for everything year-round, so he started finding fan-created ones. I use the word 'convention' loosely, by the way, because the last one was in some guy's room at a run-down motel, and I lasted 10 minutes before fleeing."

"He brought you where?"

She mistook his horror for disbelief. "It wasn't too bad, I suppose, but I draw the line when I determine there's more than a 50% chance I'm going to wake up in a bathtub missing a kidney."

He did a double-take. "Those are urban legends, Nell. Most of the time."

"Your qualifier reassures me immensely. However, you may have a point because I left him there alone and we know he came back alive, right?"

"That remains to be seen," Callen's tone held the slightest hint of a threat. He started toward the house and she stepped into his path.

"Don't even think about it," she warned. "Complaining about Eric's idea of a good time wasn't the point of the story. It was to prove how awful some of my weekends have been lately."

He made a mental note to corner Eric later when she wasn't around. "Your weekends sound worse than mine," he admitted, "which should be impossible. It has to be a dire situation when you're looking forward to a training weekend arranged by Granger."

"Since we're both terrible at scheduling our free time, we should come up with something to do together," she proposed.

"Like what?"

"Like a murder mystery weekend!" she said gleefully, holding her arms out as if to deliver him the grand prize of Blackwell Manor.

"You're terrible at this," he informed her. "Next weekend, I'll come up with the idea."

She blinked at him – she'd only been using the set-up as a means of delivering her lame joke. But if he wanted to take it seriously… "Okay," she agreed.

Apparently oblivious to her surprise, he returned his gaze to the mansion that loomed in front of them. "Come on, isn't part of you apprehensive about staying here?"

"Don't tell me you're afraid," she scoffed, with a confidence she absolutely didn't feel.

"Not afraid," he said blandly, eyes moving from each window to the next (there were a lot of them). "I just don't want to die here."

She had growing misgivings of her own, which meant she had to deflect as much as possible. She was about to tell him to man up when a flicker at one of the windows on the third floor caught her eye. She stared at it, trying to determine if it had been her imagination or an actual occurrence. "Did you see that?"

Callen was studying the ostentatious fountain that served as the focal point of the driveway. "See what?"

It was fairly comfortable out, yet she felt inexplicably cold. Everywhere. "I thought…never mind."

"Nell." He spoke in that tone he'd perfected which more or less told her she better answer him or else.

She pointed at the window she'd been concerned with. Nothing out of the ordinary now. "It was nothing. It must have been a staff member."

He watched the window for a few moments before declaring, "Well, clearly this place is haunted." His voice was so even that she shot a look at him to check if he was joking. He had to be joking. Right?

"You don't believe in that kind of thing," she laughed. When he didn't join in, her laughter faded. "Tell me you don't believe that."

"I might believe any number of things that you have no idea about."

"No," she shook her head in denial, "that's not possible."

He leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice. "Me believing it? Or you not knowing I believe it?"

"I know you're screwing with me," she insisted, attempting to stare him down. When his expression didn't waver, she added (feeling more than a bit foolish), "It wasn't a ghost."

"How do you know? Are you an expert on the paranormal?"

"That's not a reputable thing."

"That's a no."

She crossed her arms, unsure if she should be annoyed or entertained. "There's no proof that ghosts exist."

"No proof aside from thousands of eye-witness accounts and various other paranormal happenings?"

Was he drawing her into a genuine argument or doing this entirely for his own amusement? Either option was equally plausible when it came to him. "Eye-witness accounts are not proof of anything except people's willingness – desire, even – to believe in the existence of life after death."

"Spoken like a true skeptic, Scully."

She barely managed to keep her composure. "Sorry, are you supposed to be Mulder in this scenario?"

"I could be Mulder," he insisted with such earnestness that she had to consider him sincere.

"Actually, I could see it," she said thoughtfully, as he started to smile in victory. "It would be satisfying to move your desk to the basement."

His smile vanished. "Do we even have a basement?"

"Don't worry, I'll find a basement for you somewhere, even if it's in a building far, far away."

"You'd miss me too much."

"Wellllll…" she stretched the word as far as she could. "Debatable."

He mock scowled at her. "I'd miss you."

She grinned at him, because she knew he was trying to make her feel guilty, but she still appreciated the sentiment. "You'd miss having someone around foolish enough to humor you. Sam or Kensi would have walked away by now."

"Deeks would back me up," he countered.

"You've made my point for me."

"Nell," he held his arms out to encompass the sky above them, "I want to believe that the truth is out there."

"Something's out there," she agreed, "but I'm thinking it's you." She found her gaze shifting back to the top floor windows of Blackwell Manor and couldn't suppress a shiver.

He pounced on her moment of self-doubt. "Admit that you aren't entirely sure about the paranormal."

"I'll admit nothing of the sort," she said haughtily.

"Fine," he grabbed his jacket from the backseat of the car, "but don't come running to me when weird things start happening. Creaking floorboards, flickering lights, an unexplained presence in the middle of the night…"

"Wait," she was hung up on his first sentence, "what could possibly make you think I'd consider you the best ally in a fight against vengeful spirits?"

He raised an eyebrow and, God, was he actually trying to convince her? "I might have salt."

"Oh for…" she actually could picture him pouring salt along the doorways, if only to try and prove that he was serious – when she absolutely knew he wasn't. Probably. "Who said salt works in real life? Do you believe everything you see in movies?"

He hesitated for a moment too long. "Yes." When she shot him another exasperated look, he shrugged, as if the matter weren't of consequence to him. "Believe whatever you want, Nell. I'm a survivor, you'll see."

She certainly couldn't argue with that (even if he was cheating by taking additional credit for 'surviving' things that didn't exist). It went against every instinct in her, but she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she relented, "Fine. If I feel I need help in fending off ghosts, I'll make sure to ask for pointers."

He gestured for her to come closer and she stepped forward, curious. "Nell," he whispered, "I feel you should have learned a long time ago…ghosts don't exist."

She resisted the childish urge to slam her foot down on his. "It's not normal how much I want to hurt you right now."

"You trust people too easily." It was an oft-repeated refrain that Nell had grown used to hearing.

"I don't trust people too easily, I trust you too easily," she corrected. It was a 'fault' she'd recognized for years now, and one which she was never particularly motivated to fix. "It's not as if you don't know it. You take advantage whenever you can."

"Do I?" he hummed, far too pleased with himself. "I wasn't aware."

"You should work on that," she said absently, as she started to text someone. "Be more aware."

He wondered what seemed off about the picture in front of him…wasn't her phone case green? When had he last had his own phone? He checked his jacket pocket and came up empty. "Is that mine?" he demanded. "What are you doing?"

"Just letting Deeks know that you're looking for someone to secretly team up with this weekend –" Callen grabbed his phone back, "– and he's your first choice."

He skimmed his messages – nothing new sent to Deeks – and then looked over at her. "Very funny."

She slipped her sunglasses back down over her eyes to combat the too-bright sun. "Would I do that to you?"

"I don't need to answer that."

"You're right. Of course I would do that to you." She managed not to smile through sheer force of will. "Consider it your first warning."

Callen thoughtfully tapped his phone against his chin. "Or…I could team up with him and then use him to come out the winner. Feed him false information, that kind of thing."

"And the week of sulking that will ensue after he figures out you used him?" Nell could only imagine the train wreck.

Callen's eyes lit up. "You're right! He'd give me the silent treatment for days. You're brilliant, Nell."

"I want you to remember this moment," she told him, as he started typing out a message to Deeks, "because this is what's going to haunt you for the rest of the weekend, not a ghost."

He quickly dismissed her warning. "Please, there's no way this can't work in my favor."

Before he could send his text, Deeks and Kensi arrived, pulling into the long, winding driveway with an unnecessary screech of tires. Nell unconsciously gripped the sleeve of Callen's jacket and before either of them could step back, Deeks spun the wheel at the last minute and parked at the end of the row of cars, careening to a stop two inches from the fountain's edge. Callen didn't flinch, which both impressed her and solidified her ever-growing suspicion that he was a bit crazy. Sometimes he acted as if his glare alone could force others to do what he wanted – even if that desire was to keep Deeks from losing control of a vehicle.

"What are you trying to do?" Nell glared at Deeks as he leapt out of the car with an excitement no one else possessed. "Kill someone?"

"Please Nell, I scored a 98 out of 100 in my last offensive and defensive driving course," Deeks assured her. He whistled as he examined the lack of clearance in front of his car. "Check out that precision!"

Kensi emerged from the passenger seat, equally unimpressed with her partner. "I wish you'd hit the fountain. I'd love to see them bill you for repairs."

"Almost went for the spot next to you guys," Deeks told Nell, nodding at the empty space between her car and Granger's.

"If you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now," Callen informed him.

"'Cause you'd be awed at my unprecedented skills?"

Callen waited a beat to ensure his next words sank in: "No. That's not why."

Deeks wasn't sure what their boss meant until his gaze dropped to where Nell was still holding onto Callen's jacket. He should have known – if Callen felt he was in danger, well, it was just another day of the week. If Callen felt Nell was in danger, God help whoever had put her there.

Deeks had seen other people on the end of Callen's threats and he didn't appreciate being there himself, not least of all because he'd take a bullet for Nell as quickly as Callen would, and the other man knew it, too. He was about to say as much when the woman in question stepped forward to avert an imminent fight (it was as if she had a sense about those things).

"I think we can all agree Deeks needs to find more appropriate times to show off his superior skills." Nell smiled brightly at Callen to let him know it wasn't worth arguing over. At least not as a way to start off what could be a miserable weekend if everyone was annoyed with each other.

Callen couldn't read her expression and reached over to push her sunglasses back on top of her head. "Superior?" he whispered to ensure Deeks couldn't hear him.

"Whatever avoids a fight works for me," she returned, equally as quiet. "It should work for you, too."

"What are you two whispering about? Is it me? I know it's me," Deeks accused.

"Yes, it's you. Everything's about you," Kensi sighed theatrically. She'd been enjoying the possibility of Deeks getting berated by both Callen and Nell. Sadly, it looked like it wasn't going to happen – damn Nell and her peace-keeping abilities. "By the way, Callen, don't think that I've forgiven you for abandoning me."

Blackwell Manor was almost three hours up the northern California coast, so when they'd been planning the trip, it made sense for some of them to carpool. Callen had agreed to go with Deeks and Kensi because Sam had to leave later in the day. He hadn't thought it through, though, and at the last minute (read: when Deeks texted him all morning about how he was making brand-new 'Road Trip Mix' playlists specifically for the drive), he'd realized that spending several hours in a car with them would have resulted in him seizing the wheel from Deeks and steering the three of them into the Pacific. Rather than suffering the catastrophic loss of half their team in one ill-timed bout of insanity, he'd made the executive decision to save all of their lives. He considered driving alone, but he had enough silence in his life as it was. One call to Nell later and she'd taken pity on him and let him go with her (as he'd strongly suspected she would).

Callen didn't think changing his driving plans warranted Kensi's accusatory tone. "How am I at fault? You do remember that he's your partner and most days you spend longer than a couple hours alone with him." He glanced at Deeks and couldn't resist adding, "Though I'll never understand how you manage it."

"Like you're some picnic," Deeks shot back.

"But the days I spend with Deeks are not hours on end uninterrupted," Kensi explained, "save for the once-in-a-blue-moon stakeout. For the most part, I can break up the time by interacting with others, or walking away, or hitting people. Did you know that hitting people who deserve it is a great way to relieve stress?"

"Then why not hit him?" Callen nodded toward her partner.

"Let's not advocate domestic violence," Deeks protested.

Callen couldn't resist repeating the word and dragging it out a little too long: "Do-mes-tic?"

Deeks instantly got flustered and turned the conversation back to their boss. "What I don't understand is how you and Nell can spend that much time together in a car and not want to kill each other."

"It's easy," Callen said airily, "I like her."

Nell smiled at him in reciprocation before turning to Deeks. "A few hours is nothing. In fact, we could spend days…weeks…months with each other and be fine."

"Years," Callen shrugged in agreement. And he meant it, because not only was she one of the few people whose company he could stand for long periods of time, he actually enjoyed it. In fact, the more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her. Which was a strange revelation to have at that moment, but there it was.

Deeks and Kensi stared at them, dumb-founded.

"I have to side with Deeks," Kensi said, "it's very unnatural, what you're saying."

"How do you have relationships with people if you don't want to spend time with them?" Nell was genuinely curious.

Kensi seemed taken aback at that. "I wasn't talking about relationships. Were you talking about relationships, Deeks?"

"No way, no relationship talk here!" Deeks exclaimed, before adding slyly, "Should there be?"

To most people, Callen's expression wouldn't have appeared to change, but Deeks knew him well enough to read the warning in the way he slightly narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you tell me?" Callen challenged him.

"Look at this place, isn't it a dream?" Deeks quickly changed the subject. "I can't wait to go exploring. Did you two become acquainted with the terrible history of the place on your friendly, 'we-get-along-way-too-freakishly-well' drive up here? I had Kensi read most of the pamphlet to me."

Kensi's gaze held the suffering of one who'd long ago accepted their fate. "Against my will, might I add."

Deeks lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I threatened to –" he broke off abruptly, glancing between Callen and Nell.

"Threatened to what?" Callen inwardly gloated when Deeks squirmed uncomfortably. God knew what he'd promised to do to his partner if she ignored him.

"I said I'd…um, make her life miserable," Deeks claimed, unconvincingly.

"Miserable, huh?" Nell took in the increasing redness on Kensi's face and smiled mischievously. "Sounds like a good time."

Deeks' eyes widened momentarily. "It's not what you're thinking," he insisted, and Nell wondered if he'd always been this bad at lying, or if it was only when it had to do with his partner.

"And what am I thinking?" Nell had to ask, ignoring the way Callen shook his head at her in mild chastisement (as if he didn't enjoy their discomfort as much as she did).

"That's a trick question, Deeks," Kensi warned. When he opened his mouth to inevitably dig himself a deeper hole, she cut him off. "If you dare say one more word on this subject you will regret it in ways you could only imagine."

"Sounds more like a promise than a threat," Deeks said, suggestively.

Kensi wasn't amused and threatened to throw his luggage into the fountain. "What man needs three suitcases for a weekend trip, anyways?" she demanded, gesturing at the backseat filled with bags. (Come to think of it, Callen had no idea where he'd have fit into their car.)

They were stuck at Blackwell Manor for a 4-day long weekend (Thursday to Sunday) and Callen was beginning to worry it'd feel like twice that long. He took a few steps back, ever wary of being hit by a flying suitcase. Honestly, being on the same team as them should earn him extra hazard pay. His thought was validated when a roll of socks went flying through the air (Deeks hadn't believed Kensi would follow through on her threats) and hit Nell on the side of the head.

"What the –" she began, and Deeks cut her off.

"My lucky socks!" he yelled, as Callen picked them up.

"My bad, Nell," Kensi apologized, "my equilibrium is off after hours in the car. That was meant to go into the fountain."

"I need those," Deeks insisted, as Callen held them out of his reach.

"Relax, you have twelve more pairs," Kensi reassured him as she rifled through one of his bags.

"Why do you have so many socks?" Callen hoped he wouldn't regret the question.

"What if I spill something on them? Or step in water? Or my partner throws them around the yard in a fit of pique and I lose them to this overgrown wilderness? I'm not going around without socks."

"Wear shoes like normal people do," Nell suggested.

"And stop throwing clothes at your teammates," Callen ordered, whipping the socks back at Kensi in an admittedly hypocritical move.

Kensi ducked and watched her partner chase down his socks as they rolled across the yard. "He deserves it, Callen," Kensi insisted. "I don't think you understand the level of my frustration. Do you have any idea what you missed by skipping out of driving with us? He made about fifteen separate playlists and said he wouldn't sing along to them if I could guess the artist for each song. Since I'm woefully inept at identifying obscure songs that came out decades ago, I had to endure a lot of singing."

"Tell them about my trivia games," Deeks called from across the yard where he'd finally caught up to his socks.

Kensi shook her head slowly as if trying to get rid of the memories, though a slight smile crossed her face and Nell knew her complaints – like most of their 'we're-two-seconds-away-from-transferring-partners' act – were mostly for show. There was no way Kensi would ever put up with Deeks' methods of 'torturing' her if she didn't want to be 'tortured'.

"Right into the Pacific," Callen murmured, lost in thought and staring in the general direction of the ocean.

Nell was standing close enough to hear him. "What?"

He couldn't express the depth of his gratitude for how she'd spared him a harrowing car ride featuring 'The Antics of Deeks and Kensi'. "Just thinking of another life where I'm at the bottom of the ocean right now." The look she sent his way informed him he was out of his mind, and he winked at her.

Before she could ask what he was talking about, she was distracted by Sam pulling into the driveway. He parked neatly on the other side of the fountain and slowly (perhaps reluctantly) got out of the car.

"Well. I'm here," Sam said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"Hey, I thought you were coming later?" Deeks asked, as he wildly shook his socks in an effort to remove a stray leaf.

"What are –" Sam began, before stopping himself. "No, never mind. I'm sure I don't want to know."

"His plans changed and he's thrilled about it," Callen said cheerfully, answering Deeks' question. Sam had texted him shortly after he and Nell left, complaining that his daughter's recital had been canceled and Michelle had practically kicked him out of the house, despite every excuse he'd made to try and stay home as long as possible.

Sam sent Callen an arch look before giving the house a once-over. He actually liked the general idea of the murder mystery and had gone on similar retreats with his wife in the past, but who knew what kind of twisted spin Granger had put on it. "This place is straight from a Gothic horror novel."

Kensi secretly agreed. "I'm not sure if having a real murder as the background will make the experience better or worse."

Sam had no idea what she was talking about. "What real murder?"

"Did you read anything beyond the introductory paragraph?" Deeks held up his pamphlet. Hetty had passed them around weeks ago. At Sam's blank expression, Deeks shook his head in disappointment. "Come on, man, even your partner read it and he's the most likely among us to do the exact opposite of what he's told."

Callen started to protest that characterization before thinking better of it. "Hetty threatened me," he admitted.

"I skimmed it," Sam defended himself. "I thought everything was made up for the purposes of the game."

"If you'd read more carefully," Kensi told him, "you would have seen that the mystery is based on the murder of Thomas Blackwell, the original owner of the house. I wouldn't worry too much, I'm sure Hetty has something elaborate prepared to start things off and help explain everything."

"Oh," Sam said in perfect monotone, "we can only hope."

"How many people do you think have died here?" Deeks randomly asked. "Aside from Blackwell, that is."

"Why do you have to be so morbid?" Kensi sighed.

"Think about it," he insisted, far too excited over the subject matter. "It was pretty common to die in your own home a hundred years ago, from old age or childbirth or diseases. Or what if the ghost that's supposed to live here has been killing guests? I'm sure the owners wouldn't advertise it; they'd probably cover it up!"

"Oh yeah," his partner scoffed, "I'm sure people have been dying here for years and they've magically kept it a secret."

He ignored her blatant sarcasm. "So you agree it's a possibility."

"Can we not focus entirely on death this early in the weekend?" Kensi pleaded, though as she walked with him toward the house, they started debating what the 'real' number of deaths might be.

Nell slowly trailed after them, blaming Deeks entirely for the melancholy turn her thoughts had taken. She had to shake herself out of it. The weekend might be for training purposes, but she was determined to think of it as a vacation (God knew she needed one), and she made a vow to have fun if it killed her. No, not if it killed her. Bad choice of words.

"Ladies first," Deeks announced, waiting for Kensi to open the door.

"Why don't you go first?" Kensi challenged.

"Because I am a gentleman," Deeks said, as if it were a valid answer.

Nell knew they could fight the rest of the day if they were inclined. She joined them at the top of the steps and reached past Deeks for the doorknob. Right before she could grasp it, the door swung open and she jumped back, hitting Deeks who had to reach out and steady her before both of them fell down the steps.

A middle-aged man stood in the doorway, silently watching her and Deeks straighten themselves out. His hair was greying at the temples and he was of average stature, dressed in the formal attire typical of butlers and servants. "Welcome to Blackwell Manor," he intoned somberly, opening the door wider to indicate they should come inside. "Don't worry about your bags; they'll be taken care of."

Nell and Deeks exchanged a glance. When the blonde detective motioned for Nell to precede him, she gave him a slight nudge toward the house. He would have protested except Callen was right behind her. And he did have his pride…for the most part. He grabbed Kensi's hand (not at all for courage) and pulled her through the door before she could protest.

Nell took a breath, tamping down on every instinct that told her to run, and followed them inside.

XXXXXX