Author's Note: Well, this took me longer than intended to post. But my excuses are as follows… 1.) Carpal Tunnel (boo, real job, boo.) 2.) I've been trying to write more original fiction, in the hopes that one day I will not require my 'real job' and its physically damaging misery. And, 3.) I was iffy on what I wanted this fic to be, but ultimately it is simply a moment between Nell and Callen, full of cuddles and not much else.

So… enjoy?

G Callen had tried to shrug it off, suck it up. But damn, was he cold! Still cold. Likely cold forever more. But one look at Nell, the subtle shaking of her shivering body, that thin cardigan and camisole and those yoga pants... was that the only dry clothing she had on hand? He took the empty cocoa mug from her rather icy hands and set it on the coffee table, unzipped his hoodie and put it on her without a second thought.

It was his fault she was suffering from mild hypothermia. Why the hell had he brought her along on the op?

Because she was a smart, capable agent, with the technical skills they needed for the supposed intellectual property theft case, which ended up being nothing of the sort. So... it had been her job. He had only asked her to do her job. Except her job description of 'intelligence analyst' in no way, shape or form included jumping from a yacht loaded with explosives and set to explode, then trying to stay afloat in cold water for several hours with only a fellow agent to serve as a life preserver. And what a dismal one he was. Well, she was alive, at least.

Alive, but apparently exhausted beyond reason, uncharacteristically giggly (what was so funny about his smelling like lavender, anyway?) and tipsy, like a drunk sorority girl rather than quite a clever federal agent. But her body did seem to be giving off some lovely heat as she fell against him and he caught her to steady her in his lap.

"Why don't you lie down for a little while?"

Her response was incoherent but appeared to be in the negative, even as she trailed off, her eyes closed, her body softening into a pleasant weight in his lap as she fell asleep mid-muttering. He smiled to himself despite his own weariness. The red-headed pixie of a woman was rather cute in her sleep, even with the dark circles under her eyes and a frown on her lips. He carefully shifted her, laying her on the sofa, reaching for the fleece blanket draped over the back to use to cover her, feeling the exhaustion like a lead weight pulling against his muscles, dragging his limbs down. Maybe he could just lie down for a minute, too. The floor would be fine, but it was so far away. And Nell's petite body was so enticingly warm. He though it would feel very much like having a hot water bottle tucked beneath the blankets, warming a person's cold bones. At least, what he imagined having a bed cozy with quilts and hot water bottles felt like…

She wouldn't mind.

Judging by how heavily asleep she appeared, she wouldn't even know, because he would wake up first anyway, and she'd never have to know how he cozied up beside her, snaked his arms around her, pulled her against his chest and curled his body around hers, feeling the warmth of her radiate through him, trapped by the blanket he pulled over them, building into a snug nest that was the most intoxicating soporific he'd ever experienced. The smell of lavender mingling with the scent of vanilla in her hair (which Hetty must have supplied to the women's facilities), lulling him into a sleep so heavy it smothered all conscious brain function.

Callen woke slightly disoriented, which was a novelty that was rather disorienting in of itself. He always snapped to full attentive wakefulness, aware of his surroundings and circumstances. But this time, it took him nearly a minute to realize the precise nature of his situation, and all of the events leading to it.

He was nestled on the sofa in the lounge area at the OSP, with his little pixie junior agent curled about him like a cat. Her small slender fingers were laid flat against his chest, skin to bare skin, for one hand had snaked down into the neck of his t-shirt, her other hand cool but not cold against the back of his neck. How they had shifted into such an insane position, he wasn't sure, but his mouth was not an inch from her inner thigh, and he was beyond grateful for the black fabric covering her skin. And for his thick hoodie that was much too large for her, cushioning his head like a pillow so that he couldn't feel those round breasts of hers pressing against the top of his head. He'd had enough unsolicited and unintentional familiarity with the young woman's curves all those hours huddled together in the cold ocean water earlier that night. So why did he have his hand wrapped about her leg, holding her thigh close to his face, like a small child clutching a teddy bear? And what was filling his other hand? Round, soft and yet too firm to be blanket or throw pillow-oh, shit. He was cupping her ass.

What a disturbing development.

And yet he hadn't let go, wasn't letting go of the wonderful hot water bottle, which smelled of lavender and vanilla and breathed gently against the nape of his neck, soft and curvy and molded against his body, filling his hands.

He should really extricate himself from the situation.

If he were at all a gentleman, he would let go. He would just gently untangle himself, slide off the couch, and rearrange Nell to lie in a more comfortable position, tuck the blanket around her and make his exit, no one the wiser.

But it felt so nice. She felt so nice. So inexplicably wonderful.

He couldn't ever remember being cuddled in such a manner, without reserve or hesitation, without intent or purpose. There were no motives behind the way the young woman held him in her sleep, besides the comfort of the moment. She wasn't touching him to arouse him, seduce him, romance or claim him. She was just there, with him, warm and gentle and beautiful.

Succumbing to the pull of her languid, oh-so-cuddly form, he nuzzled the downy-like jersey fabric covering her inner thigh. She smelled of lavender, laundry detergent and woman. Her fingers flexed against his chest and she made a sort of whimpering noise in the back of her throat, which made him freeze, suddenly aware that he was Agent G Callen. And she was Nell Jones. They were not just any pair of human beings, exhausted, weary, desperate for the warmth only another person could provide. They were government agents, coworkers, two specific people with an established acquaintance of a very specific, friendly but not intimate variety.

He sighed, and slowly removed his hands from her backside and thigh. Her fingers flexed again, clinging to him as he attempted to disentangle himself from her. He managed it, just barely, ultimately having to scoop her up in order to lay her back down in a more normal sleeping position , pulling the blanket up to cover her, when her eyelids fluttered and she blinked a few times, finally settling her intent hazel gaze upon him. And all he could think was, She wakes up now!? Not when he first settled her upon the couch and then joined her himself, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. Not when his hands had apparently wandered in his sleep, as had her entire body, and his for that matter, until they'd somehow arranged themselves into the most bizarre of cuddles. And not when he'd more-or-less caressed and squeezed the flesh filling his hands, or rubbed his face on her fragrant thigh. Or even when he'd finally jostled her about, trying to free himself from the hold she'd had upon him, and the tempting pull of her cuddly self.

Wordlessly, she reached out and took his hand, tugging gently, staring into him with those piercing, sage eyes of hers. How did someone so young, so inexperienced possess the ability to look straight through him? It was more than just an open invitation. It was understanding without judgment or expectation. It said 'hold me. I know you want to, and I want you to, not for any other reason than the fact that we're both human and need the comfort of another person.'

G Callen willingly complied.

When he climbed back onto the sofa to lie beside her, she turned her back to him, guiding his arm to drape over her waist, and wiggling her bottom snug up to him, in quintessential spooning perfection. If there was ever a body made to be his Little Spoon, it was Nell Jones' eminently cuddle-able one. He buried his face in the slightly frizzy mass of auburn air, breathing in its vanilla scent. He tightened his hold on her... just a little, hugging her and smiling when she made a pleased humming noise, her slender hands squeezing his forearms in reciprocation. It was really, really nice. Yet... slowly, he slid one hand down her belly and hip, finding the bottom of the overlarge hoodie and darting beneath it, stealthily gliding deeper, prowling like a panther into the depths of the forest until he'd scented his prey. Skin, warm and silky smooth to the touch, tensing beneath the touch of his fingertips, and then softening.

More. He wanted more.

It just wasn't enough contact with her.

His fingers drifted farther up, with no sign of protest on her part, her hand resting lightly on his wrist, neither discouraging or encouraging as he continued his advance until his palm settled fully on her belly, the depression of her navel marked by the absence of skin-to-skin euphoria. He could feel her heartbeat, a pleasant, pulsing thump-thump, low, slow and steady in her chest. Its rhythm lulled Callen into a sleepy sort of dazed bliss, and he slowly traced the band of her bra across her ribcage with his forefinger.

So nice.

He couldn't help but compare the feel of Nell's warm, soft body with how frigid and cold her petite frame had been as he half-held, half-clung to her in the cool ocean just a matter of hours earlier. Now she was all deliciously supple flesh radiating heat, no longer shivering, teeth-chattering, gasping as the cold bit into her bones, but practically purring with pleasure. Hell, if he were a feline, he would be rumbling as loud as a panther himself.

Purr-fect.

Oh, god. He was so blissed-out from cuddling that he'd been rendered completely giddy. But he was neither inclined or capable of fighting the heady sensation, so Callen simply hugged Nell Jones tighter, closed his eyes and fell back into a peaceful sleep, one full of contentment and warmth.

END

A/N: I guess I'd call this friendship-plus, and am leaving it at that, up to you to imagine where it goes from here. I think I've proven/elucidated enough times where I personally take Nell and Callen (inevitably in my mind).