Author's Note: I can't believe it's been over a month since I updated. I have been very busy in my real life - I know that's an excuse everyone uses, but it's the truth. I want to repeat that every story I start will be finished, even if there are some delays in getting there. Sorry to those who have been waiting for a continuation to my story.
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Nell heaved a sigh and ran a cloth over one of her bookshelves for the 1,276th time. Well, maybe not, but it sure felt like it. She was bored – no, beyond bored, whatever that was. She was downright miserable, and she cast a sideways glance at the other person in her apartment. Maybe he hadn't noticed her repeated sighs. Just in case, she threw the dust cloth at him and bit back a smirk of amusement (barely) when it hit his newspaper and he looked up with sharp irritation.
"Something the matter?"
Actually, plenty of things were the matter, and she had no idea where to start. "You could help me, you know."
"Help you what? Clean? I don't think there's a speck of dust left in this apartment. If you dust that surface any more, you're going to ruin the polish," he added, quite unnecessarily.
She huffed and threw herself onto the sofa beside him. "How are you…normal?"
He knew she was referring to their current work situation, and her obvious frustration with it, while he appeared unaffected. It hit him, then, that perhaps she didn't know he felt pretty much the same as she did, he was simply better at hiding it. "How else should I be?" He couldn't resist asking.
She shrugged. She didn't expect him to sulk, or go the opposite route and rant about the injustice of things, but still…was it too much to ask for some sign that he was at least bothered?
"You're doing what you usually do, whether we're at work or not." She cast a scathing glance at his paper and he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on current events anymore. Correction: she wouldn't allow him to concentrate on current events anymore. He carefully folded the paper, setting it aside.
"Actually, I'm working on it."
"You 'working on it' looks a lot like doing nothing."
"That's why it's so effective," he argued. "The enemy suspects nothing."
"What enemy?" She asked, as she gestured around her apartment, empty except for the two of them. "We're completely alone."
"Exactly."
"That response doesn't even make sense!" She cried, unable to hide her exasperation.
He grinned smugly. "Exactly."
She was beginning to think her exaggerated sighs had no effect on him, and as such, she saved herself the trouble of doing it again. Her desperation led her to reluctant honesty, instead. "I'm miserable, Callen."
His eyes softened and the teasing glint disappeared. "I know."
"Who knew that not working would be…" she sighed again, inwardly this time, and stared at the wall. Any number of adjectives would fit the end of that sentence, all of them negative, and all of them depressing. Not something she wanted to admit to herself. Since when had work become the thing around which her entire life revolved? Had she nothing else important?
Entirely against her will, her eyes shifted to Callen, as if in unconscious answer to her own questions. He wasn't looking at her; he, too, was staring at the opposite wall, as if deep in thought. (And who knew the walls of her apartment were that fascinating, she considered with wry amusement).
He hadn't been willing to talk about work in the 6 days since Hetty's announcement about placing her (and Callen, by his own choice) on leave. Nor did he show any outward signs of unhappiness or frustration. It caused her an unreasonable amount of irritation, and yes, in her worst moments, anger.
"Don't you miss it?" She asked, in such a sharp tone that she winced immediately after saying the words.
When he turned to her, an emotion flickered across his face that she had seen in the past; she had only recently come to identify it as regret. "You have no idea."
"I think I have more than an idea," she said sullenly, hating herself for acting like a child. And for recognizing that fact, yet still being unable to avoid it.
"I get it, Nell, I do. I simply choose to react in ways different than yours."
She could only assume he meant her obsessive cleaning. She had barely stopped since being placed on leave. She was tired of dusting and polishing and organizing. It was far past the point of necessity, and she now found herself cleaning an already clean apartment.
Didn't he see that she had nothing left to do, though? She couldn't stop. She made to reach for the cloth she had thrown at him, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her.
She was about to question him, but stopped when she saw he was staring down, as if the sight of his hand holding onto her wrist was fascinating. As if maybe he hadn't meant it to happen, but it had anyway, and he didn't know why he hadn't let go of her yet.
She was going to make a joke to lessen the sudden ratcheting tension, but he glanced up to meet her eyes. She was stunned at the look on his face, barely registering that he released her wrist, only to run his fingers down her hand until he could lace their fingers together.
"I was waiting for you to finish," he said, tipping his head to indicate her apartment, and apparently her preoccupation with cleaning it. "Then I realized you were never going to finish."
She tried to smile at that, and failed.
"Not on your own," he added.
"Eventually I would have," she sighed. "If I ever went back to work."
"Do you always do this?"
"If I'm stuck on a problem. Cleaning usually helps me focus, work through things. It's never this bad. Maybe because I…no matter how long it went on, I couldn't think of an answer to my problem."
"Work?"
She swallowed, unsure if she should admit the next part, and doing so anyway. "That's only half of it."
She didn't know if he read the answer on her face, or if he'd known it all along. "Me," he said, pausing, and taking her silence as confirmation. "I've become a problem for you." He sounded far more upset than she'd expected.
"No!" She said automatically, then had to regroup. "Well, yeah. Sort of. I…this is hard for me, too, you know."
He didn't respond, and she fought for a way to explain herself.
The fact was, ever since that incident at the warehouse, she'd been expecting them to talk about things, but he kept every conversation they had frustratingly impersonal. In fact, not counting the debriefing afterwards where Hetty had told her (and him, by extension) to take a few weeks off, today was the first day she'd seen him in person. Her heart had just about left her body when she saw him at her door, and she hated that she reacted that way. She was supposed to be able to hold onto her professional demeanor when it was required – that was something he did with little effort (if it required any effort on his part, at all).
It was entirely unfair that he completely undid her. How could she be so strangely dependent upon him when he barely seemed affected? It was more infuriating because she'd seen him respond to her on more than one occasion. They'd kissed at the warehouse. Did he forget? Did he not interpret it the same as she had?
Every day that had gone by since, she'd felt more and more self-doubt. It was compounded by his seeming indifference on the matter. Or if not indifference, reluctance to talk to her about it. Maybe he'd been taking time to reconsider; maybe he had decided there should never be anything between them because it was beyond unprofessional.
Perhaps he'd come here today to find a way to let her down easy.
Her initial joy at the very fact of him touching her disappeared and she stared at their still clasped hands with a growing sense of unease.
"Was I wrong?" She asked distantly, horrified even as she said the words. Why was she always telling him things she didn't mean to say?
"Wrong about what?" He asked.
She scrambled to think of any explanation for her words aside from the real reason she'd said them. She came up with nothing. He was waiting, faint confusion on his face.
Sensing no answer was forthcoming, he looked away and said, distinctly uncomfortable. "Nell, there are…some things we need to talk about."
If she had been wrong…she rapidly re-sorted all previous information about them to accommodate this new idea.
She shut her eyes when she realized it fit.
Nell knew it was entirely her fault. She had allowed herself to develop inappropriate feelings for him, and when he showed signs of affection in return, she'd interpreted that as him returning her feelings. In reality, Callen might have been expressing his emotion for a team member he cared about. She knew he felt a close connection with everyone on his team.
But wasn't kissing her crossing the line? Surely he wouldn't toy with her like that. She refused to think him capable of it. There were other explanations, though. It had been a highly emotional moment in the aftermath of an extremely charged situation. Maybe he had been caught up in the moment, overwhelmed with relief and exhilaration because both of them escaped a situation that, for a time, looked as if it would prove fatal (or at the very least, injurious). Maybe he considered it a thrilled "thank God we're alive (and thank you for being my friend)" kiss.
He had tried to talk to her, right after their kiss, and she had stopped him. Oh God, she had stopped him, when he had probably wanted to apologize, explain they had acted inappropriately. He might have wanted to set things straight and she had talked right over him and referred to feelings and their relationship and – there was no other explaining it – he had felt bad for her.
Or maybe he didn't even know what she was going on about at first. He could have been confused, maybe thought she was referring to their friendship, and brushed it off as unimportant to address. Or, even worse, he had known exactly how she felt in that moment and couldn't bring himself to crush her right after they had escaped the situation. Hadn't he said as much, that he was the one who had nearly gotten her killed? In his guilt, he couldn't bring himself to break her heart, so he waited a few days, purposefully avoiding her. And she had been so excited when he came over, thrilled, in fact, when all he wanted was to…let her down.
Straighten out any misconceptions.
He must have pitied her.
The very thought –
She jumped up, clearly startling him, as she wrenched her hand from his. Nell felt her face burning as she stared at the floor. This had gone beyond humiliation into a feeling of physical illness. It was wrenching to go from thinking he was going to talk to her about whatever was between them, (maybe even confirm what she'd thought his feelings were since the warehouse), to realizing she had gotten everything completely wrong.
Callen did not – would never – feel about her as she felt about him. It was a huge deal in and of itself that she allowed herself to admit she felt for him something that she shouldn't. If she'd had her way, she'd have ignored it, entirely, until it dissipated. Too bad that her unconscious mind would refuse to allow her to do such a thing.
What now? She'd put him in the terrible position of having to break up with someone he wasn't even in a relationship with.
She thought about how much she would resent someone who put her in a position like that.
"What's wrong?" He asked, seeing that her face had completely drained of color.
"Nothing."
He stood, as well, appearing entirely unaffected. "Yeah, I can tell."
She wanted to seethe at his calm, only she didn't have the energy. Her mind wandered, and she thought, why had he chosen to leave work with her? He hadn't been placed on leave. But he'd made it clear if she had to suffer it, he was going to do so as well. Did he feel that guilty about her 'punishment'? Did he blame himself for her actions, thinking he had somehow propelled her to the course of action she'd undertaken? Was he trying to punish himself for that?
It was a question she could ask, because now she genuinely wanted to know. "Why did you voluntarily put yourself on leave?"
His eyes narrowed at her. "I thought that was obvious."
She merely raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to elaborate. Before he could, his phone chimed and he took it out of his pocket. "Aha! I knew Eric would come through. It's amazing what you can get done without the rules of bureaucracy and the burden of paperwork. In fact, I think in the past week I've been even more productive."
Oh. Now she got it, and it was obvious. He had seized upon the opportunity to get away from Hetty's watchful eyes. Maybe he'd been mad at Hetty, too, but here was the proof it hadn't been his main motivation.
She didn't know how he'd managed it, though. She had tried to keep working, too. She had no idea that Hetty would be so thorough. She had cut off access to work at every turn, getting to everyone before Nell could. They wouldn't help her, or give her any access to the case that had led to her being shot. Hetty had successfully brainwashed them into thinking if they gave her the slightest lead, she would be in imminent mortal danger. The only thing she knew was that the team was still actively looking for the people who had shot her.
They were supposed to wait until the case was solved, or abandoned due to lack of evidence, before returning to work. Both of them. Clearly Callen hadn't gotten that message. Or more likely, he didn't care.
"You've been in contact with Eric this whole time?" She was nonplussed. She had tried, several times, to reach out to Eric, but he gave her excuses each time. He didn't want to get into trouble with Hetty or the director. He'd also made it clear that he felt her taking a leave of absence was beneficial to her mental health. How come he was talking to Callen, then?
Callen must have sensed her aggravation, because she had no other explanation as to why he ran a hand soothingly down her arm before replying (and surprise was the only explanation she could come up with as to why she didn't pull away). "I…convinced him to keep me informed of recent developments in the case."
She was already upset, but more than that, she was too aware that the real reason he'd come over today hadn't been addressed yet. It didn't help her nerves to know he was stalling, trying to delay the moment he'd have to talk to her and set things straight. When he'd inform her that the only acceptable relationship between them was strictly professional.
"Oh really?" She asked, in a clipped tone. "It's okay to talk to you, but to me, no way. Have to give Nell a bunch of ridiculous excuses as to why he's not allowed to give me information."
"He's worried about you," Callen said, aware that at some point, something had changed. Nell radiated tension and discomfort and…hurt. "Everyone's worried," he added, striving for calm.
Which was the wrong decision, because the only thing sure to upset her more at the moment was calm. She spun away from him and stalked across the room, because if she didn't, she was afraid of what she'd do. Like apologize. Or beg.
"Nell," he said, coming up behind her, too close, and she could practically feel him lean forward to touch her when she spun around, stepping to the side to evade him.
"I think I need to organize the kitchen cabinets," she said, trying to move past him. He resolutely blocked her path.
"You do not," he said, quietly. "When I went to find coffee earlier, I saw that everything was alphabetized and sorted by expiration date."
She blinked, unaware he'd been in her kitchen. She must have been cleaning the bedroom or bathroom at the time. "I don't know if that's the best method," she insisted. "I should arrange the items according to my personal preference so that I can ensure the foods I don't like as much aren't wasted and – "
"Nell," he whispered. "This has nothing to do with the food in your kitchen cabinets."
She was thrown off balance, both by her feelings for him and his nearness to her. She stepped back in reflex, attempting to defend herself.
"Why are you here?" She asked, something she'd been wondering for hours, but too afraid to ask him. Now, though, she did it as an attempt to deflect her discomfort.
Callen tilted his head to the side, giving her a look that had her distinctly nervous. "There's more than one answer to that question."
She was all too aware. "Pick one," she ordered, angrily.
In response, he hit a few buttons on his phone and then handed it to her. She was astonished to find a series of text messages from Eric. With each one, she felt an oppressive weight lessen from her shoulders. "There's a lead," she said, glancing up at him for confirmation. He nodded, and she forced herself to relax her grip on his phone.
They had been investigating the death of NCIS Agent Derek Smith, who had both a wife and a lover. Smith had been working on a highly classified project for the government – developing a nerve agent similar to sarin gas. Their investigation had been focusing on that angle, as well as investigating whether Smith's death was the result of a more personal matter, namely either his wife or lover discovering his cheating ways and killing him in fury.
Eric's messages revealed that Smith's wife may have been behind his murder.
"You're kidding me," Nell murmured. "Smith's murder could turn out to be a domestic issue entirely unrelated to his covert work for NCIS?"
Callen nodded. "As unbelievable as it is…yes."
Nell shook her head. "And how did you get Eric to reveal this to you, in the face of Hetty's numerous threats about telling you and I any information related to the case?"
Frustratingly, Callen only smirked. "That's for you to wonder, and me to know."
He should have known she wouldn't accept such a statement lying down. "You will tell me, or you will find that all personal records relating to G. Callen are going to mysteriously vanish from the world."
He briefly considered the hassle he'd have to go through if his mortgage, health insurance, and any other records connected to his real identity "disappeared" due to Nell's interference. It would be annoying, but he'd dealt with far worse. And the fact that he knew she'd never follow through on such a threat in the first place…
"I'm telling you this because I want to, not because you've threatened me."
"Uh-huh," she said, clearly unconvinced.
"I reminded Eric that despite this temporary setback, he would eventually have to answer to me again," he told her simply. "He realized it was in his best interest to keep me informed, despite the threats of our admittedly terrifying superior, Henrietta Lange."
Nell took that in and then carefully concealed her smile. "In what world are you scarier than Hetty?"
Callen smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Yes, I would, she thought with such longing that it absolutely stunned her. Those kinds of thoughts did not help her self-preservation. She would forgive herself, though, because she knew that was one of her weaknesses – not the situation, but him, in particular. She worked to compose herself and had no idea if she was successful. "What did Eric find, specifically?" She asked, trying to distract him.
The knowing smile he shot her way implied that he knew exactly what she was trying to do. "Smith's wife recently found out he was cheating on her. And she was furious. She told numerous friends about the affair. It's entirely possibly she enlisted someone to kill him out of fury."
"And her actions caused us to get caught in the crossfire?" Nell asked.
At that, Callen frowned. "I'm not sure. It doesn't seem directly linked. It's possible that whoever wanted Smith dead, whether it was his wife or not, discovered the interest NCIS had in the case, and targeted us – or rather, you – because of any knowledge they thought you had that might implicate them. It's also possible the shooting happened not because of Smith's murder itself, but because of the consequences of his death. Eric is looking into whether any groups, terrorist or otherwise, had knowledge of the project Smith was working on. If any did, it's possible they wanted his research for themselves."
"And how does killing either of us help them?"
Callen shrugged. "If they thought we were in possession of any of his research…"
Nell froze, remembering exactly how much involvement she'd had in the case. It went far beyond the usual. In fact, she'd even gone to collect Smith's items from the medical examiner because everyone else had been busy that particular day. "It'd be easy to kill us and then take whatever they wanted. Pretty inept of them, though. We are both still alive."
"Just because they're willing to kill for their goal doesn't necessarily make them intelligent."
Nell tried to hide an unwilling shudder at Callen's words. It was worse, somehow. Being the target of a sophisticated assassin was terrifying enough, but to be a mere afterthought? To be the casualty of a group of dim-witted, impulsive terrorists, or anarchists, or whatever… She didn't know why, but it was all the more unsettling to realize that her attempted murder might have simply been convenient. They might not even have been certain her death, or Callen's, would bring them any gain. They just saw an opportunity and took it.
She couldn't explain her newfound dread, except that it felt paralyzing. She glanced at him, unsure how to voice her fears.
Callen was at a loss, mainly because he arrived at the same conclusions she had. "It doesn't matter why they shot at us," he emphasized the word, hoping she would remember she wasn't alone. "What matters is they didn't succeed. Nor will they in the future. Because we – our whole team – is going to stop them."
Nell turned from him and took several steps away.
"We will figure this out," he said from several feet behind her. "I don't care what Hetty has to say on the matter."
Her mind swam, and she felt as if she were drowning. Yet, she kept coming back to the conclusion she'd drawn earlier, and though it was a jarring change of topic, she was sick of waiting for him to say it aloud. "And the other reason you came?"
His silence told her he either needed to remember what she was referring to, or needed to gather himself to explain. She didn't bother turning to him to try and figure out which was the case.
"Nell…I…" He sounded as lost as she felt, and her self-control shattered.
She spun, immediately putting him on edge. "You don't have to say it."
"Say…what?" Now he sounded confused.
"Whatever it is you're going to say."
He watched her for one beat, then two, then – "Nell, maybe you should let me talk."
"No!" She insisted. "I don't want to hear it."
"How do you know that, if you don't know what I'm going to say?"
She hated his logic. But she knew, she knew, and she wasn't –
"Nell, what happened? Why are you acting as if I'm going to –"
"It was wrong, wasn't it?" She broke in. "What we did, that is. I mean, I thought things were one way, when really they were…"
He didn't do anything except stand there, a few feet away, watching her intently. He caught on quickly (which she should have been used to, because she knew how he was). "You think that what happened between us was…" he shrugged, presumably searching for the right words. "A mistake?"
"A misunderstanding," she corrected. "Entirely on my part." She glanced, away, cursing that her fair skin meant she was turning red and she could do nothing to conceal it.
"A misunderstanding," he repeated, testing the words, becoming more withdrawn with each syllable. "That's what you want to call it?"
She was taken aback. "I don't want to call it anything. I just know I…was wrong."
"Wrong about what?"
"Wrong about you." She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't bear to see the confirmation in them. The regret, the rejection, the – she wasn't that person, the kind who could witness such things and move on and remain as strong as before.
Because she wasn't looking at him, he was able to reach her without her noticing. He pulled her into an embrace, causing her to tense, still waiting for him to tell her exactly what she'd decided he would say.
"Nell," he said, muffled, somewhat desperately, into her hair. "Why do I get the feeling I'm going to spend my life righting every wrong notion you have about me?"
Her mind could focus on only two words, which told her she'd been wrong, so very wrong. "Your life?" She whispered, somewhat in wonder.
He didn't respond, simply framed her face in his hands and examined her as if she were something he'd never seen before.
She opened her mouth to ask him again, to demand clarification – because she was Nell, and she needed clarification like she needed order – but before she could expand upon her question, he leaned down to kiss her.
Within moments, she became unsure of what she had meant to ask in the first place. For some reason, she was entirely certain that his response was more than answer enough – for now.
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Thanks to those who have not lost interest due to my delayed absence! I will try to update in a more timely manner from now on, and this story does not have much longer to go.