"Hey," she is vaguely aware of him kneeling beside her, rubbing tender circles on her back with his hand. "Nell, hey, you awake?"
"Hmm, yep." groggy, and slightly disoriented, but yes, she is awake. "Thirsty."
"Water or tea?" Callen tilts his head in the direction of the beverages on the floor at his feet.
"Water," Nell nods, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position, leaning one side against the back of the couch with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Hetty would say tea but my throat says water."
He bends down and retrieves the bottle of water from the floor where it had been sitting by the now tepid cup of green tea with lemon and honey, giving the cap a quick twist before handing it to her. And, okay, so he hadn't bought a coffee table yet. He's still figuring out how this whole living in an actual house thing is supposed to work. Nell wants to laugh but the light feeling in her head persists; the water, at least, calms the hell-fire burning her throat.
Callen settles on the cushion at her feet, slipping her boots off and much to his amusement, when he tugs one off of her, she wiggles her ankle and toes. He squeezes her foot and traces his thumb along its graceful arch before moving on to the other foot and repeating the process.
"You should go back to Ops. I'll be fine." she rasps, twisting the cap back onto the plastic bottle.
"Sam called Hetty." Callen absently rubs her leg, from the top of her foot to her knee. His hand is warm and rough and his touch is tender and it feels good, soothing, almost hypnotizing.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
"Hetty let you out of a case for me?" Nell's sleepy voice is skeptical. "G..."
"You aren't expendable to Hetty, Nell." Callen explains softly, his fingers curling around and pressing into her calf muscles. "She said that if you need to be at home, then I should be at home with you."
"Hmm. Callen - "
"Do you want me to defy Hetty's orders?" Callen interrupts, eyebrow arching heavenward.
"No," Nell shakes her head. Oh. Bad idea. Terrible idea. She pauses for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass before managing a genuine smile of gratitude. "I was going to say thanks."
He wants to tell her that she shouldn't thank him. Wants to say that he likes taking care of her, likes that she's willing to let him take care of her, but he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable. Even if the way she says thanks makes it sound like he's obligated to do so. "You know, you should probably eat something." Callen suggests, hoping like hell she'll eat, even though it seems unlikely. "I could order some chicken soup from that cafe you like. Have Kensi or Sam stop by and get it. I'll even get them to take the carrots out."
"I'm fine, Callen." Nell insists hoarsely. "I'm not hungry."
"Nell..."
"G, I'm just not hungry." Nell manages a weak smile.
"Okay." Callen concedes because he knows this is one battle, he's not likely to win.
Her eyes flick around his living room, coming to rest on the pile of books next to the fireplace. There's a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, a few Russian books she'd never heard of, and a worn copy of War and Peace balanced precariously on top. He follows her gaze to his small but still impressive collection, and stands up to retrieve one. He shuffles through them and plucks one of his favorites from the stack. Book in hand, he makes his way back to the couch.
"To Kill A Mockingbird," the faded black print is barely visible but the tree on the cover is recognizable. "I thought you'd go for War and Peace."
"Not really feeling Russian, today." Callen winks at her, flipping the book open.
Without need of instruction, she shifts closer to him, curling into his side with her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapped around one of his. His hand rests on her knee as he flips through the pages, looking for the dog-earred page from the last time he read this book. It had been a couple of nights ago, on the tail-end of their last case, when they had finally been able to leave Ops for more than just the time it took to shower and change.
"I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway, and see it through no matter what..." His voice, soft and calm, soothes her, lulling her into a drowsy state, just on the cusp of sleep. Eyelashes flutter, drooping eyelids heavy with the weight of sleep. Her breathing is deeper, a little more even, except for the slight rattle of congestion in her chest.
"How about we move this party to the bed?" his book falls closed and he sets it aside, focusing his attention on Nell.
"'kay." Nell slurs, groggy and slightly disoriented. She stubbornly pushes his hands away when he moves to pick her up, sitting up with a slight sway and the insistence that she "can walk."
"I don't think so." It doesn't take much for him to scoop her up, given she weighs next to nothing, and he is not inexperienced when it comes to the fine art of carrying Nell. When he cradles her to his chest, he isn't surprised when her stubbornness gives way to a vulnerability, and she sinks further into him and drifts off.
"Stay with me?" she murmurs into his t-shirt, arms wrapped lazily around his frame.
"Yes, Nell." he presses a kiss into her hair as he tucks her into his bed.
She nearly disappears underneath the blue and gray quilt that he keeps on his bed, snuggling further into the soft fabric. He kicks his shoes off and nudges them under the bed before climbing in beside her. She's soft and warm and vulnerable when she burrows into his arms, her red hair the only visible part of her. Despite the fact that G. Callen is a perpetual insomniac, he stays there with her, holding her while she sleeps in relative peace, even with her terrible allergies.
And, when she wakes later, he'll have called Deeks to bring some of that chicken soup she likes (no carrots) and a thermos of fresh Hetty-made tea, and he'll dig a shirt out for her to wear and he'll continue reading To Kill A Mockingbird while she eats and drinks her tea. She'll shower and wear his shirt to bed and when he curls around her, he'll smell his soap on her and his shampoo in her hair and it'll make him smile.
As she drifts off to sleep, she'll swear she hears him say, "I love you", in Russian.
"Я люблю тебя."