Author's Note: I was trying to break this fic up more, into smaller chapters so that it would be easier to update regularly, but alas, this bit seemed not to want to end. Finally hit a stopping point.

Warning: Vague allusions to mature subject matter, but nothing remotely graphic. (And out of character-ness?)

Exposed

Part 4: The Collision

Chapter 1: In which Callen finds an intoxicated Nell to be frustrating, amusing, mortifyingly verbose and in general, a handful…

"I'm not having sex with you. Go away!"

Callen's fist hesitated mid-knock. That was definitely Nell Jones' voice; a little more aggressive and aggravated than he was accustomed to hearing, but Nell nonetheless.

Upon locating the restroom, he had tried the door with the intention of simply doing a quick check for the petite red-head, only to find it securely locked. Good girl, he had thought, knowing Kensi and Eric had determined the specific ladies room that held Nell despite the analyst's incoherency over the phone (which Callen had found rather disturbing). The young woman had wisely taken measures to ensure her own safety. And so he had knocked.

Now he paused and listened intently at the door. Maybe it hadn't been Nell who had locked the world out. Maybe it had been someone else who had locked her in. In Kensi's more comprehensive relation, word-for-word, of Nell's initial phone call, there had been mention of an ex-boyfriend whom Nell herself had suspected as the poisoner. And a few of the people he had talked to before making his way into the hotel and (hopefully) to Nell's aide had mentioned seeing her with a man. It hadn't been necessary to stop for quick chats with various guests and hotel employees since Eric had called up the schematics and they'd determined there were at most three locations where Nell could be holed up. But it never hurt to solidify a cover, especially prior to any incidents arising.

And so Nell Jones' guilty and slightly anxious boyfriend had asked around, trying desperately to find and make amends to her for deciding to attend a business meeting rather than accompany her to her friend's wedding . The fool had obviously realized his grave mistake at upsetting his pretty, young girlfriend and excused himself from the meeting rushing to the country club to try some groveling. Maybe not groveling. Callen Morris did not seem the type to grovel, building up a fortune from nothing took a rather significant amount of assertiveness. Agent Callen could do assertive, but given Nell's condition, perhaps 'assertive alpha male' was uncalled for... Then again, if she wasn't alone in there...

Callen listened more intently, but heard no other voices or sound whatsoever. He knocked again.

"I said 'go away.' Just because you're so damn-" Here there was an audible sigh. "-delicious looking. And it's obvious I haven't been laid in a long time, doesn't mean I'm going to sleep with you, Jack."

Jack. Jack Worthington. A woman with ridiculously white teeth, a large brimmed sunhat and epic sunglasses had identified the man Nell had been having champagne with as young Mr. Worthington, the bride's brother. So the asshole had been pestering Nell, and when he hadn't gotten his way...

"Nell, it's Callen," he said. "Please let me in. I'm here to help."

"Who?"

Had he mistakenly gotten the wrong woman hiding out in the ladies' room? The likelihood of even two women locking themselves in restrooms to hide from ex-boyfriends named 'Jack' was minimal at best. So he tried again.

"Callen. You called, remember?" He didn't mention Kensi's name in the off-chance someone could overhear them. So far, this little drama was in keeping with their flimsy cover.

"How do I know it's you?"

"Did you tell someone here about me? Would anyone at the wedding even know my name?"

He was relieved to hear movement. The back and forth through a bathroom door was beyond irritating. He tensed slightly, involuntarily as a much louder sound than the simple 'click' of the lock issued forth from beyond the door. He relaxed as his brain couldn't find anything sinister in the noise. It sounded almost as if the analyst were moving furniture around. Then the lock clicked, and the door cracked open, revealing one bright and slightly reddened hazel eye.

The door opened wider and then stopped abruptly, leaving about a foot of space for Callen to squeeze through. Upon entering the ladies' bathroom (which he noted was what he assumed all ladies' rooms were- nicer than the men's), Callen realized what prevented the door from opening completely was a rather creatively (if one were being generous) upholstered couch. So Nell had barricaded the door. Maybe 'street smarts' weren't entirely a loss on the young woman, like they pretty much were on her oft oblivious partner. Don't get him wrong, Callen rather liked the pair of techies. They were excellent at they did; intelligent, trustworthy, and easy to get along with. They just weren't field agents, and Callen did not expect them to behave as such. Oh, he knew Nell had training, could handle a weapon and herself to a degree. But he didn't think it came naturally to her.

The forethought to secure herself was even more impressive considering the fact that she was barely standing. Her whole body swayed from side to side and she seemed to be looking through him rather than at him.

"Nell?" After closing and locking the door once more, Callen approached the young woman slowly, like she were a skittish rare animal, and surveyed her just as closely as if he were the zoologist making the discovery. The brilliant mind he knew she possessed was definitely residing elsewhere. And her body definitely seemed to be attempting to follow.

He placed his hands on her arms to steady her, thought about seating her on the couch before her legs decided to stop working, and instead settled on guiding her into the better lighting near the sinks. He wanted to do a more thorough check than 'yup, she's intoxicated.' So he lifted her up by the waist, felt a brief shock at the unexpected skin on skin contact (he'd forgotten about that damn dress' lack of a back), and set her down on the gray marble countertop between two sinks.

Before he did anything else, there was one responsibility Callen had to see to first. He had to let the others know he'd found Nell in one piece. Well, one piece physically, anyway. He still wasn't sure in what reality her mind was residing at the moment.

Sam was the only one remotely on site, sitting outside of the main drive of the country club, the mile long drive. Eric, Kensi and Deeks were combing through the guest list, trying to glean any leads. So they weren't running with comms up. They might need to later, but for now... Callen pulled out Mr. Morris' cell phone when he was certain that Nell wasn't going to fall over and crack her head on the sink without his support. She was looking better now that she was sitting still. Moving the overstuffed love seat around had doubtless made her inebriated head spin.

Callen called his partner first, informed him that he'd found Nell and inquired whether the big ex-seal had seen anything of interest. Sam reported that unless you thought trees growing and birds singing were suspicious, there was nothing of interest to note. Sam made Callen promise to keep him apprised of how Nell was doing and then they ended the call.

Now for the more difficult...

Eric picked up.

Did you find her? Is she okay? What happened? Tell me she's okay!

Callen fought the urge to chuckle as he replied. Eric's distress was endearing. Not that Callen did sappy or emotional.

"I'm with Nell right now. She's not hurt."

Saying she was fine would be an outright lie. But with all of that exposed skin, there was no way Callen would've missed any physical injury to the young woman.

"Is Hetty there?"

Here, Mr. Callen.

So he was on speaker phone... No surprise there. Actually, that was a good idea. Nell seemed to be coming around and she might as well brief all of them at once. He switched the cell to speaker and set it on the counter top beside Nell.

Placing a finger under her chin, he gently lifted the intoxicated young woman's flushed face, forcing her to look at him.

"Nell?" Her pupils were dilated wide despite the bright vanity lights that were obviously meant to aide women in 'powdering their noses' more than for making sure hands were washed clean of any signs of dirt. The flush on her cheeks might have been from embarrassment, if she had been sober.

"You have beautiful blue eyeshh." She slurred heavily on the last word. The smile twitched the corner of Callen's mouth despite his attempt to remain serious. Nell Jones was a little bit cute this way. And that was wrong because someone had intended to make her vulnerable and pliable, amenable to things she wouldn't otherwise be.

"...like the Caribbean ocean. You could jus-jusht swim..."

The inebriated pixie redhead continued to describe his eyes in a flattering way that was fast becoming more uncomfortable than amusing. Nell was a very blunt, straightforward person, but even drunk, Callen couldn't imagine her saying anything like this. There was definitely something stronger in her system. He decided to interrupt before she started improvising poetry. The others might forgive her drunken rambling, but they could only hold back on son much material for teasing. Especially Deeks and Kensi, who were doubtless gathered with Eric and Hetty at the other end of the open line.

"Nell," Callen said. She thankfully stopped comparing his blue eyes to 'a clear sky that could turn stormy at a moment's notice.' "Can you tell me what happened to you?"

The mop of auburn locks bobbed up and down in the affirmative. He waited for several moments until the realization dawned that she wasn't going to proceed in telling her tale. Apparently, her wandering (or floating away on a tide of alcohol and other intoxicants as it were) mind required more direct instruction.

"Well, tell me," he said, looking directly into her wide, bright, unfocused eyes. She blinked several times in rapid succession.

"Tell you what?" Nell asked, nonplussed.

He stifled a growl of frustration. Patience, Agent Callen.

"Tell me what happened to you. Start at the beginning."

Those big, round hazel eyes blinked slowly, blankly. Had she understood? Nell wasn't dumb. Even inebriated she had managed to identify that she'd been compromised, located a relatively safe place to hide and called for help. There was something else going on with her. Those flushed cheeks were perhaps in fact covering a blush. She'd reached out to Kensi but had withdrawn from him, remaining firstly quiet and then directing conversation elsewhere. The rambling about his 'blue eyes' was undeniably due to her altered state, but its subconscious intent had obviously been to deflect attention from her situation. She was embarrassed, more so because he was the one who had appeared to help her. He couldn't blame her. Being viewed as weak by someone who was neither a stranger, nor a friend, but whom you had to face every day nonetheless... How could he ease the young analyst's mind?

They didn't have time for him to take her through a touchy-feely, team bonding, therapy moment. What she needed was to get out of this predicament. And for that to happen they had to complete several other tasks first, such as...

"Nell, you arrived at the country club around 2pm? Who was the first person you saw?"

She chewed her lip in the way a very small, very adorable child contemplated the answer to an adult asking them how old they are.

"The parking attendant, I think..."

Callen was relieved when Nell began to take them all through her day. He had hoped the specificity of his question would focus her mind. And if she used whatever brain cells that weren't partying it up in a flood of chemical-induced euphoric oblivion to concentrate on remembering, then maybe she would no longer be able to be freaked out by the awkward position they found themselves in… Made more awkward as his hands began to explore her body, ghosting over bare skin and soft fabric, checking her for any injury he may have missed. Her skin was hot to the touch. Not feverish, but bordering on it. And the flush on her normally pale skin seemed to be persisting. Alcohol could take some people that way, so probably not conclusive evidence of poisoning.

Nell was becoming more animated as she described the wedding ceremony, which was obviously still a pleasant memory for her. Good. In their line of work, there was few good days. He was glad that whatever more sinister happenings were going on hadn't entirely ruined the event for her.

Not so good was the fact that her gestures as she described the gazebo and layout of the grounds were more exaggerated than usual. When he held a finger up before her eyes to test whether she could track the movement, Nell went comically cross-eyed, which made Callen smile despite everything. She only put up with the exercise for a second before becoming frustrated, or maybe dizzy. She swatted at his offending finger, failing to grab it as she'd obviously been intending to do. Unfortunately, she'd also fallen silent with the mental capacity he'd just forced her to use. He urged her to resume her story.

"What did you do after the ceremony?"

Nell began chattering, faltering for a moment when he pressed two fingers to her neck to check her pulse. He had no reference point for the young woman, but given her basically perky, energetic nature, Callen was fairly certain her heart rate was on the slow side of what was normal for her. Not dangerously slow, however. And she seemed to be breathing fine, when she actually took breaths between the run on sentences. Now that she'd started talking, she seemed incapable of stopping.

Jack Worthington was indeed the ex-boyfriend with whom Nell had drunk champagne, whom had brought her the glasses of ridiculously expensive wine with bubbles in it (laced with who knew what?!), and whom was now on Callen's agenda for the day.

"...he only did it because I never had sex with him back in high school. Actually I broke up..."

Callen picked up the phone from where he had set it on the counter, so that he could be heard over Nell's rambling tale. It had taken so much effort to get her started, he didn't want to risk interrupting her and inadvertently pushing her back into embarrassed silence. There could be something useful in all of the random, circuitous paths her narrative was taking, after all.

"Hetty, did you get all that?" he asked.

Yes, Agent Callen. Mr. Beale is already working up a background on younger Mr. Worthington.

Nell was continuing to talk with no sign of stopping, either not caring or not noticing the loss of her audience's undivided attention.

"...graduate a virgin. Like that would be any incentive to sleep with him. Not 'I love you.' Or 'you mean the world to me.' But 'hey, you don't want to be one of those loser girls who graduates a virgin'...'

Yup, self-consciousness had definitely vacated the young woman's thoughts as she became consumed by her rant. Women could really hold a grudge against their exes. Callen made a note to be more gentle when breaking it off with a lover.

"Where are we at with the guest list?" Callen asked of Hetty.

There were some voices on the other end of the line. He couldn't quite discern the specific words, but it was evident Hetty was getting a report from the team.

Mr. Beale informs me that with the assistance of Ms. Blye and Mr. Deeks, he's cleared 73 of the 257 guests.

How good a job could they be doing if they hadn't found any dirt on nearly a third of the cutthroat businessmen and aristocrats?

Hetty seemed to be reading his thoughts.

Well, they do tell me they've flagged a few individuals on behalf of the IRS and SEC but have found no one of particular interest to us thus far.

Callen considered reporting he was likewise empty-handed, but that would imply he had done any investigating besides tracking down Nell. Which he had not. Besides, he wasn't empty-handed. He had his hands quite full with Nell herself. The young woman was gesticulating so ardently as she rambled on, that he had to move a hand back to her arm to keep her from falling sidewise. Again, even from 50 miles away, the old spy seemed capable to pluck the thoughts straight from the lead agent's head.

How is Miss Jones?

Hetty's tone was as even as ever, but he knew the older woman well enough to detect the concern belying her unflappable exterior.

"I believe her when she says she had only a couple of glasses of champagne. But she's far more intoxicated than she should be... Even for someone of Nell's… uh…" Always tread lightly when describing a tiny person to an even tinier, extremely deadly one. "…petite stature."

Does she require further medical attention than you can provide, Mr. Callen?

Survival training for a field agent of his particular skill set didn't always include any medical aspect, but after having to swathe his own stomach in duct tape to prevent his guts from spilling out of an extremely nasty machete wound that one time, the seasoned undercover operative had decided some actual official field medic training might be beneficial. It was probably the best decision he'd ever made. And it currently gave him enough knowledge to recognize that the wasted junior agent in front of him was in no real danger at the moment. At least medically speaking. However, the words currently coming out of her mouth...

It was an undeniable fact that over 90% of all audio garnered on a stakeout was irrelevant. When either survielling in person or reviewing after the fact, such chatter had a tendency towards the mind-numbing. A vital skill to survive stakeouts thus was the ability to simultaneously tune inane prattle out and analyze it for anything of interest. Oddly, it was also a skill that seemed to be developed by college students everywhere. But however acquired, it was a skill Callen not only possessed but frequently used, and had been employing with the rambling, intoxicated young woman. There had been no mention of mafia men or shady dealings, but the topic of her monologue had taken such an unexpected turn that he simply stared at her in open-mouth shock.

In her entirely inhibition-free state, Nell had slipped from the topic of her high school boyfriend to retelling the circumstances in which she lost her virginity. Not an entirely random progression, for certain. But even drunk, Nell would never share such personal information. Callen had almost recovered enough to interrupt the young woman and get her to stop sharing such intimate details, but the story was as short as, apparently, the experience had been. When she immediately segued into discussing the merits of various sexual positions, the normally unfazeable (at least he'd like to think so) agent was shocked into inaction anew. Didn't they always say it was the ones you least expected that turned out to be nymphomaniacs?

Okay, that was unfair. Nell had been given inhibition-killing drugs and he himself had encouraged her to talk. And...

"Is that even possible?" he asked, completely forgetting himself.

With an immodest smile the likes of which he'd never seen her adorn before, Nell nodded her head vigorously, swayed a bit from the motion and then continued on her vivid verbal illustration. Callen couldn't help but contemplate the mental picture briefly before he came to his senses. He definitely needed to get her to shut up! Immediately!

Employing the oldest trick in the book for instantly silencing a person, he put a finger to her lips as if she were a small child who couldn't quite understand the social cues indicating that they needed to be quiet. Nell, thankfully, fell silent, once again going cross-eyed as she contemplated one of his fingers being shoved in her face.

Her lips were soft and warm.

Callen shook his head to rid himself of all the personal information that was just far beyond anything he ever wanted to know about the young woman.

A loud, meaningful throat clearing issued from the cell phone sitting forgotten in his hand. He switched it off from speaker. Much too late, he feared. Hopefully, Nell would remember none of this. He brought the phone to his ear in time to catch Hetty reiterating her previous inquiry as to the degree of medical attention Miss Jones required.

"She should be fine, Hetty. Just needs to sleep it off, I think."

Good to hear, Mr. Callen. Then we shall proceed with the operation.

"How exactly are we supposed to do that?"

A/N: Hope it was worth the wait…And oh, there are more "interesting" (hint hint, nudge nudge) things to come…