A CODE TO LIVE BY
by MioneAlterEgo
DISCLAIMER: I asked for my own Deeks and Callen for my birthday. Didn't get 'em. So I guess they're still not mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: First off, HOLY COW! I'm floored by the positive response to the first chapter! (Really thought that my beta and I might be the only ones to read it, so to see 19 reviews already sorta blew my mind. LOL) Thank you to EVERYONE who Favorited, Alerted, or left a review. I can't tell you what a huge encouragement it's been!
Second, eleventy-one dozen thank-you's to my Beta Extraordinaire and Fandom BFF imahistorian (aka Mel). Her expert guidance has been indispensible, and if you're not reading her epic "Truth Be Told" you should really get on that, because stuff's about to get REAL. Read this, then go over there. You'll thank me later.
This segment is short, but it's one of my favorites. Hope you guys enjoy it, too!
STEALTH
Her head has been swirling for three weeks. That's how long this dance has been going on. Forward and backward, advance and retreat, complicated side-steps, and so many twirls and spins...
As a little girl, she took ballet. It didn't last long, but she remembers the importance of spotting—keeping your eyes trained on one mark during turns so that you don't lose your balance or get dizzy. The problem is that the object she's keeping her eyes on is exactly the thing making her head swirl in the first place.
She's ready for this dance to resolve itself. One way or another she wishes he'd either take the lead or bow out, whatever allows her to regain her equilibrium. Every time it feels like they're getting close to something, he backs off. Every time she's ready to give up, he steps forward. For a woman accustomed to merely ignoring guys she likes it's especially dizzying.
Even though it's only Wednesday night the whole team (with the exception of Hetty) has gathered at a bar on West Sunset. It's unusually crowded for the middle of the week, so they find themselves standing clustered around one of those small, round tables that's really only meant to hold a few glasses while the patrons chat. Between the throngs of people and the too-loud jukebox it's difficult to visit very much, but they're enjoying each other's company just the same. The six of them shuffle and shift between one another, moving from one half-shouted conversation to the next in the kind of easy waltz born only of practice and familiarity.
At one point, the entire team ends up on the same side of the tiny table, scrunched together to watch an impromptu dance-off taking place on the club's microscopic dance floor. It's at this moment that Nell realizes Callen is standing directly behind her. She can feel the heat in the room rise about twelve degrees with his presence and can almost feel the smirk on his face.
He's doing this to mess with me, she realizes. Fine. If that's how he wants to play this, let's play. She spares a fleeting thought for her control issues, takes a deep breath, and slowly enough so as not to jostle Sam standing next to her, she shifts her weight until she feels her back graze against the front of Callen's shirt.
It's a sneaky move, barely enough to draw his attention. They're so crowded and have been standing for so long that, even if one of the others had seen it, they'd likely have written it off as Nell just trying to get comfortable or find a better sight line. It's also innocent enough that if she's completely misjudged the situation and Callen doesn't want to tango she can feign surprise, apologize for backing into him, and carry on as though nothing happened. But, true to recent form, just as she thinks he hasn't noticed or doesn't want to play along she feels his fingertips ghost over her waist and settle lightly on her hips.
The height of the table and the mass ofbodies around them all but guarantee none of the others have noticed. Indeed, they're all still laughing and carrying on as Deeks and Sam (both several shots deep) lip-sync to a very over-the-top rendition of "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" aimed directly at Kensi, much to Kensi's inebriated amusement and the applause of Eric and several bystanders. At that moment Nell couldn't have cared less if the whole club went up in flames and Hetty herself lit the match. She's honestly a little surprised the place hasn't spontaneously combusted before now.
When Eric turns back over his shoulder to make some joking remark to Callen about the serenade, Callen's hands tighten just slightly on Nell's body. It's spontaneous, reflexive and possessive, and she can feel the blush creeping up her neck and cheeks at the implication.
Lead and follow, forward and back. This time, it's Callen who takes a half-step closer to her, eliminating any remaining gap between them as practically the whole length of her body makes contact with his. She can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest and his breath brushing against her neck long before his actual words register in her mind.
"Having fun?"
"Are you?" she counters.
His only response is the slow slide of his thumbs, back and forth, along a bare slice of skin where her top has ridden up just slightly above the waistband of her skirt, and for a good four minutes Nell Jones forgets to breathe.
The sensory overload of the place works to their subversive favor. The constant ebb and flow of bodies around them camouflages their own maneuvers as they lean and press into one another. The shoddy lighting and the effects of the alcohol conveniently mask flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. The deafening volume of the stereo speakers is more than sufficient to cover his muffled curse when she slips past him to get another drink and her hip grazes across the front of his jeans. And in the crowded, noisy, intoxicated haze of a badly-lit bar, no one notices a thing when Callen hooks an arm around Nell's waist, steers her toward a dark corner far away from the others, and finally captures her lips in a kiss that leaves nothing to supposition.
The next morning, when Callen stands directly behind her during the briefing and brushes his hand across the small of her back, Nell has to fight to keep a big, stupid grin off her face. Their dance isn't over, not by a long-shot, but she's a little more confident in following his lead.