"Especially me, Nell Jones."
And, that was not the very heavily brandied egg-nog talking, either. He hadn't taken but a few sips – not nearly enough to raise his blood-alcohol level – and, she knows from experience that he wouldn't lie to her. The Tracy Keller case being the first example she calls on, even if it had been a bit harsh and unnerving at first, to prove his honesty, however brutal it might be considered, at times.
"Especially you, G Callen." She murmurs into her cup, staring at the man in question, talking animatedly to his partner across the room. "Especially you."
"What'd you say, Nell-Bell?"
Deeks' arm is barely noticeable around her shoulders and she no longer jumps in fright at the sudden onslaught of physical contact – not that she minds any show of affection, be it friendship or something more, but the blond liaison had a taste for surprises.
"Nothing," she smiles up at him; something he tries to return but, Marty Deeks can't say he's feeling all that joyous this Christmas season. Nell knows why, too. She's got long legs, dark eyes, and darker hair. "You miss Kensi."
"You should kiss Callen."
"What?" Okay. If they're earning points for shock factor, Deeks wins. How did he know, anyway? "What are you talking about?"
"You. Callen. Kiss. You know what that is, right? Because if not, I have all sorts of charts and diagrams, illustrations. Whatever you need." Deeks' cheeky wit is going to get him in trouble one of these days and if he's not careful, today might be that day. "I would demonstrate but as gorgeous as you are, Nell-Bell, you aren't quite my type."
"I know what a kiss is, Martin." Nell narrows her eyes at the detective. It is almost as effective as Hetty's and he backs off with the cocky smirk just a little bit. "But, what makes you think I want to kiss Callen?"
"You've been staring at him all night."
"And?"
"You blushed when I said his name." Deeks points out smartly.
"That means nothing. Especially since I've had like four glasses of this eggnog." Nell holds up her cup for him to see but he calls her bluff.
"Liar. You've had three. And, I've seen you drink with Kensi. You can throw down tequila like a professional." Deeks smirk is back and God, if she doesn't want to slap it right off of his smug face. "You probably don't even feel drunk."
"Doesn't mean I want to kiss Callen."
"Defensive." He squeezes her. "Take it from me, Callen wants to kiss you. I think every man in this building wants to kiss you. Except for Grainger. That would just be weird."
"And you." Nell giggles, looking up at him. "Not quite ready for my life to end at NCIS, just yet. I'll leave you for Kensi. I've had all of Marty Deeks I can handle for now."
"Oh. That hurts, Nell-Bell." He grabs at his chest for dramatic flair. "Really, though. Just kiss the guy. You both want it because if he stares at you, anymore, I'm going to start wonder if he wants to kiss you or if he's plotting to kill you."
"He could be."
"Could be what?" oh. Crap. Deeks slips away at the silent beckoning stare of the Operations Manager, leaving her at the mercy of Callen. "Nell?"
"Nothing." She fumbles, punch glass dropping to the table with a thunk that's a little louder than she would have preferred. Oh. Great going, Nell. Make an awkward situation even more uncomfortable. Callen doesn't seem to notice though, setting his own glass down, and turning his interrogative stare on her. "Just Deeks being Deeks."
"He's good at that."
"Kensi seems to like it." Nell points out, grinning when he's forced to concede her point. "Or, maybe, she likes having a toy to push around."
"That's Kensi." Callen laughs.
"Dare I point out that she is in love with him?" her eyebrow quirks heavenward, because a taboo topic in OPS is inter-agency romance, and Deeks and Kensi were redefining sexual tension every single day they remained partners.
"Point it out all you like, it won't make a difference." Callen laughs. "Not with those two but – there is someone I think it might make a difference with."
"Who?"
"Me." He isn't speaking out of arrogance or because he wants to take advantage of her feelings for him. He's speaking because if he doesn't kiss her soon, one of two things is going to happen; Sam is going to crush his skull with his bare hands, or he's going to accidentally-on-purpose knock his head on the nearest hard surface. "Nell."
"Callen?"
"Come with me." Callen's hand is large and rough when it wraps around her wrist and tugs her behind him. She isn't quite sure where he's insisting they go, until the smell of burnt paper and smoke is almost overwhelming and the click of the incinerator shutting off is audible in the small room. "Sorry," he murmurs, sandwiching his hand between her and the door in order to close it. "This is the only room Hetty doesn't have cameras in."
"No cameras?"
"Look – I don't know how to be happy. I don't remember the last time I felt genuinely good about my life." Callen sighs and she feels his breath, damp and warm, on the top of her head. "Hetty is great, so is Sam and Kensi and even Deeks but I've never had that – "
"Person you felt totally comfortable with?" Nell interrupts softly, looking up at him. "Me neither. And, before you say Eric, it's not like that."
"So, what is it?" Really. He'd like to know because sometimes, it sure as heck looked like that. But, then again, Nell didn't seem like the type to string somebody along with no intention to follow through, so if she says that her relationship with Eric isn't romantic, he should be inclined to believe her.
"A friendship."
"Good." Callen nods, feeling a bit breathless from the revelation. It isn't all that easy to throw him off of his game, until his emotions come into play, then he feels out of his element. "I'd hate to ruin a relationship right before Christmas."
"What are you talking about, Callen?" Nell looks up at him; confused because if he's trying to say something, he'd be so much better at this whole communication thing – him and Deeks should start a club – if he'd just say it.
But, oh wow.
Wow.
His lips are soft, slightly dry, and he tastes of sugar cookies and brandy. His teeth nibble and tug until she opens her mouth, allowing him entrance. His hands seek purchase on whatever part of her they can reach and his hips – oh god, those hips, and the wonderful, magical things they're doing. He lifts her up, hand finding her thigh when she wraps her leg around his waist, and pushes her against the door a little more, ensuring she can't go anywhere. Not that she wants too.
And, okay, she understands now.
They sneak out twenty minutes later, both suspiciously disheveled, and not unnoticed by Hetty. The all-knowing, all-seeing operations manager just laughs because, honestly, it's about time.
"Mister Hanna, pay up."