Author's Note: Cross-posted on AO3
Note 2: this is for OPS Manager, who asked for a Callen/Hetty centric story. I know it's short, but hopefully it's what you wanted anyway.
Xxxxxxx
When the World Comes Tumbling Down
He came awake in an instant, his senses warning him that he wasn't alone anymore.
Before he could get up and move into a more defensible position compared to the couch in the middle of the room, he froze, hesitating, waiting, listening.
Two more silent seconds went by before he relaxed. Another moment later, a voice called out in a soft greeting: "I didn't expect you yet, Mr. Callen."
The words preceded the appearance of a small figure in the doorway. Despite her small statue, she cut an imposing figure in the opulent entryway of her own living room. She stood in the middle of the doorway, backlit by the light in the corridor, a prime target the way her body was contrasted against the illumination. It was a testament that she knew who was in her house despite the dim lights within the lounge where he was, despite him not having made a sound. It was also testament to her trusted in him that she made herself vulnerable by stepping out of the shadows before seeing him.
Then again, she had spoken before her eyes fell on him, identifying him not by sight but by presence. He wasn't surprised. He'd left enough clues for her to identify him before she even saw him. Also, this was Hetty. She was the master spy after all, so she'd probably known he was here before she went to unlock the front door… maybe even before she parked the car.
Callen turned his head but stayed where he was, merely making eye contact from his horizontal position on the couch. Shifting was unnecessary and would only result in the reawakening of hurts or nausea. "Had to bug out early," he answered evenly, his voice drowsy with exhaustion after being woken by adrenaline, adrenaline that was quickly leaving his system now that he didn't encounter a hostile presence.
Her eyes moved over his frame, checking for grievous wounds. "Are you hurt?" The question sounded more rhetoric than anything else because Callen was certain that she could see it in his posture despite the dim light in the room. Also, he didn't exactly try to hide the pain from her.
"No blood on your couch," Callen reassured, his eyes drooping before falling closed.
"What about my wardrobe?"
Callen smirked and moved his head in a subtle nod, "some," he admitted. It was mostly superficial wounds and most of them had already stopped bothering him before he crossed the border. Only the headwound had bled profusely the way headwounds usually did - something he was way too familiar with. That one was likely the source of most of the blood on Hetty's wardrobe, too.
Light footsteps slowly came closer.
He didn't open his eyes. Despite the headwound - and what was possibly, likely, most certainly a concussion if the double vision, the staggering and vomiting throughout his travel was any indication - he knew exactly where Hetty was, felt the shift in the air before he felt her fingers on his forehead.
It was rare she touched him, even rarer that he allowed her to reach out, but the featherlight, motherly contact was appreciated for once. Cool fingers danced along his hairline, carefully following the crusted strands of hair to the source of the blood. He flinched slightly when the probing became too much for the sensitive area.
Hetty withdrew, silent as she watched him while he lay prone on her couch with his eyes closed.
"I presume you diagnosed yourself instead of doing the sensible thing and having a professional check you out."
Another rhetorical question. One he didn't deign answering.
"I see," Hetty muttered when his non-answer was an answer in itself.
With his eyes still closed, Callen swept his arm out and gestured faintly to the coffee table. "Information's on the stick," he said slowly, "my cover's been burned, but the information is still valid."
"We need to talk about you valuing your life higher than getting information," Hetty admonished lightly.
Callen squinted at her through one barely opened eye, arching an eyebrow. "I'm an undercover agent, Hetty. Getting in trouble for snooping is part of the job… it was pretty much spelled out in the job description and the fine print when I signed up." He watched her lips pull into a smile, knew she was as aware of this fact as he was, but sometimes, she displayed her motherly instincts openly - instead of the more discrete way she usually employed.
He gave her a smile in return before allowing his eye to fall closed again. Waving his hand towards the coffee table again, he made another attempt at distracting her. "You should probably take care of that."
There was silence for a few moments before Hetty stepped away. Instead of picking up the USB drive though, Hetty moved over to the cabinet in the corner of the room, fixing herself a drink - Callen glanced at her through half closed eyelids, checking she was only fixing one drink, half disappointed when he saw he wouldn't be getting one, even though knowing it was a bad idea to mix alcohol with a headwound.
He allowed his eyes to fall closed again when Hetty turned around and made her way back over, sinking down in the comfortable armchair that was facing the couch. The leather creaked faintly as she made herself comfortable, settling in.
"That information can wait for a little while longer, Mr. Callen," she said softly, referring to his last words despite the minutes that had passed since he'd uttered them. He listened to the crinkle of ice cubes in her drink as she moved before taking a sip of the alcohol.
Callen merely hummed in reply, understanding she had no intention of leaving him to take care of business. He allowed his body to grow heavier, sinking into the couch and waiting for sleep to creep up on him while Hetty kept watch over him.