The door is cracked.

Splintering faintly, where his foot had collided with it, not ten minutes before. "You," her head tilts, eyes narrowing in a vaguely accusing manner. "You broke my door."

"Nell?"

"Agent Callen," her voice is dangerous. It is so amusingly Hetty-like, but he dares not venture down that road, because this is Nell. And, it wouldn't be funny to be so infuriatingly aroused by the danger in her tone if he were to touch on how much like his boss she sounds. "You broke," her teeth click for emphasis on the k, "my door."

"I see that, Nell." he nods slowly because she is honest-to-God scaring him, right now.

Her hips sway hypnotically with every deliberate step toward him, the lacy band of her underwear sitting prettily on the smooth curve of her hipbone, and if she had a swear jar, he'd so be emptying his wallet into it, right now, along with his savings. Plus, whatever his colleagues were willing to donate to the cause, and some credit cards, if he could snag a few without Hetty noticing.

"Now," the erratically buttoned shirt is slipping off her shoulder, torturing him with glimpses of peaches-and-cream. "What do you intend to do about it?" Her fingers curl tantalizingly into the waistband of his boxers. "I mean, I can't very well get maintenance to fix it."

Oh.

Now, there were images he'd rather not think about. The idea of sweaty, portly men carting her splintered door away and Nell having to explain why exactly they had to do so is making this conversation far more awkward than he would prefer.

How," her nails scrape his skin and the growl that escapes him is feral, if it is anything. "would I explain that my boyfriend broke my door when he kicked it in his haste to have sex?"

Shit.

Nell's always had a bit of a lisp but he's never really paid it much attention until now. Until, that word snags on it and instead of being juvenile, it vibrates all the way down his spine and gathers in a hot coil of tension in his stomach. And, he's suddenly all the more grateful for the decided lack of swear jar, because he's fairly certain he could make even the most seasoned of sailors blush with the endless stream of expletives that are threatening to pour out of his mouth.

"You better not explain anything."

"Oh, but, how will I get my door fixed?" her expression is cherubic. Damn her. "If I don't fix it, I'll have to get maintenance to fix it and I'll have to pay for the damages."

Elastic snaps and she backs away a few steps.

She's smiling around the finger between her teeth, amused at his obvious frustration. It is relatively hard to fluster Callen but Nell Jones seems to have found the secret, and she'll be keeping this particular piece of information to herself. Unless, Callen's sexual habits become a matter of national security, she doubts anyone cares anyway. The easiest way to rile him up, without him snapping, is to simply tease him with something he can't have.

"I will fix it."

Score.

To see G. Callen wielding a screwdriver is a sight to behold - one, Deeks requires photographic evidence of to believe - and she's certainly not going to miss it. She hadn't exactly been biding her time, waiting for him to give in, and offer to fix it; that was mostly due to the fact that he was unpredictable and could just as well have offered to pay for the damages himself. But, she always knows that if she plays her cards right, he'll inevitably give in to her, even if it means wearing a tool belt.

What can she say?

She has a bit of a fetish for handy-men.