The house is a corpse.
Rotting gutters, old rust-colored brick crumbling off into soft top-soil, and grimy, yellow windows. Layers of dust on cotton curtains; the kind her grandma hung with the country blue patterns and depictions of watering cans and strawberries and sunflowers and fluffy brown rabbits. The smell of decay and hot moisture is rancid in the walls of white plaster and ugly beige wallpaper that seems fitting for such a house. The rooms are dim and hot and just walking through the house leaves her with sweat beading her hairline.
"Can you breathe?"
His concern is touching.
Not really.
A shift of red hair and the snap of a mask as it slips over her face is the only answer he'll be receiving tonight. Well, lovely. Sometimes he thinks he, of all people, cares about her health and well-being more than she does. Her eyes battle between swelling completely shut or turning into puffy, red dots barely distinguishable as eyes. Her face contorts in a sneeze behind the mask. He laughs. She glares. Sam snickers, from somewhere behind them.
Sneezes, again. Sniffles.
Damn allergies.
Sam presses a tissue into her gloved hand. "There's Benadryl in the car."
"I'm fine, Sam. Just allergies." Nell brushes the tissue over her nose. "There's a hide-out in the left wall and - achoo!"
"Bless you."
Enter Kensi and Deeks, stage right. Great. Deeks is staring at her in a way that makes her slightly uncomfortable and Kensi is slowly circling the perimeter of the room. The hide-out turns out to be an arsenal full of weapons with varying degrees of lethality. She continues to sneeze behind her mask and Callen only laughs once.
(He needs his shin to run.)
They brought her out in the field because of her Sherlock-like ability to snuff out the make-or-break details that they might miss. So far, all that this has snuffed out are her severe allergies. The house is gorgeous, Southern plantation style, all white-washed stone and marble. Sprawls out across acres of emerald grass still sparkling with the dewy sheen of daybreak. Only problem is, it hasn't been kept in years since the previous owner, Louisiana-born Verna Washington, passed away in the nursing home three miles back. Dust settles in layers, nothing to sweep it away, and no open windows to wick away the damp heat of California summers.
"How did a place like Washington Manor turn into a hide-out for Russians?"
Good question, Deeks.
"Plenty of hiding spots. They could squat here for weeks at a time, no one would know." Sam explains calmly, paying careful attention to his partner. For his seemingly cold attitude toward a case, Callen could be far more affected than he ever let anyone see.
"What's so special about this house, though?" Callen questions, tapping along the invisible center line of one wall, listening for the sound of something behind it. "It belonged to an unassuming Southern-born grandmother."
"Kensi, Deeks, take upstairs, I'll take downstairs." Sam directs Callen's attention to Nell. "You take her home. I'll call Hetty, explain."
"Sam, I'm fine." she protests, almost angrily.
"Nell, your eyes are red and you've been sneezing since you walked in." he's not having it. "Go home."
"Fine." Nell crosses her arms over her chest.
Callen hides a snicker behind a cough, and a response that's a little strained. "C'mon Nell. Let's go home."
The feisty red-head tries to glare but there is no power behind it; not with her puffy, red eyes. His palm is warm around her elbow, guiding her to the front door and away from the house. It doesn't take but a few minutes for her misery to catch up with her and when it does, she immediately realizes how itchy her eyes and nose are and how much she'd like a glass of cold water for her throat. Or hot tea with lemon and honey. Whichever one would work best.
Hetty would say tea.
She curls into the seat of the SUV, drawing her knees up, and resting her forehead on the cool glass of the passenger side window.
"Nell?"
"I'm fine, Callen."
His eyebrows arch sharply at that, because she certainly doesn't sound fine. He says nothing more, instead choosing switch lanes and focus on the road, waiting for the inevitable, and pretending not to laugh when she shrugs out of her cardigan. The Ops room she spent most of her days in may have been the coldest room in the building, but California summers could be wicked. He turns the air conditioner to a cooler setting, and reaches across the center console to take her hand.
"Callen." a sigh of his name but she still laces her fingers with his.
Nell wants to protest when he pulls into his driveway - wants to sass that she's not sick, that she's perfectly capable of handling allergies - but her eyes itch and her mouth is terribly dry and she'd very much like to lay down, for a few minutes, if only to stop the light feeling in her head. Instead, she lets him guide her in with a hand on the small of her back, and makes her way to his couch. It's a recent addition; a buttery cognac leather, overstuffed, and overtaking almost a whole wall. He disappears into the kitchen while she makes herself comfortable on the couch.
She's almost asleep when he reappears with a hot cup of tea and a bottle of water.
Sweet man.
Up next: fluffy Nallen cuddly goodness! This will be a two-shot because my muse got away from me. Also...look up Buddy Threadgoode for a glimpse at young Chris O'Donnell...isn't he precious? I just wanna squeeze and cuddle and kiss his cute face! Alas, he has five kids and a wife. Anywho, leave me some love dolls.
Love,
RobertDowneyJrLove
P.S. Child of Loki, if you're reading this, you simply must know that I miss your presence on my Tumblr. Just not the same without you, darling. Hope to talk to you soon!