AN: How come every time I edit a chapter it gets longer? Oh well! This is the second to last chapter. Thanks to everyone who has enjoyed this, you make me want to continue posting.
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After Hetty disappeared for about a half hour, Nell hoped they'd gotten a reprieve. Unfortunately, their boss isn't yet that forgetful. She returns with a clipboard and calls Deeks and Kensi over to explain the torture she wants to inflict upon Callen and Nell.
Deeks skims the paper and then looks at Hetty with childlike glee, far too close to malicious. "A class taught by Callen and Nell? Against their will? I don't want to take it, nor do I care about the subject whatsoever – sign me up first. Top line, baby!" He scribbles on the paper with a flourish and throws the pen at Granger who considers stabbing him with it.
"If only you had as much enthusiasm for actual NCIS requirements," Granger gives a long-suffering sigh.
"Torture more of my colleagues and I might," Deeks replies smartly.
"Believe me," Granger says, "I'm doing my best."
"Not that I'm in any way agreeing with this," Nell says, "but Hetty, what happened to new agents?"
"I changed my mind," the older woman informs them.
Callen knows Hetty sometimes has an odd sense of humor, and he's hoping this is one of those times. "This is an elaborate joke. We get it."
"We'll find out who's joking, Mr. Callen." Hetty nods at him and then walks away with Granger, the two of them discussing when to wrap up the morning.
"Don't you two worry," Deeks says. "I'm going to be front row, star pupil of the year. Not to brag or anything, but in school I was often known as the teacher's pet."
"Seriously?" Kensi can tell where this is going.
"Don't worry, Kens, I signed you up, too. And Nell, I might have had a thing for a few of my teachers back in the day. You better watch out."
He expects an eye roll, or a shove, and he shouldn't – she's too unpredictable now. "Really?" She takes a few steps toward him. "I find that intriguing. Maybe you should be the one…watching out."
Deeks' retort dies instantly. He knows she's trying to turn the tables on him and he can't let her know that it's working. If she knows she has the upper hand, she'll go in for the kill. His eyes go from Callen to Kensi to Nell and back to Callen. For some reason, the other man's reaction seems to be the most important, even as he wants to yell at him: You see what you've done? We're not even sparring and she's trying to psychologically outplay me.
Callen's not showing any reaction, though (like the uncaring bastard that he is), and Deeks decides to up the stakes.
"You're right, Nell," he won't be outdone. "I should be watching out."
"Then you do that," she nods, taking another step closer to him. They're now less than a foot apart.
"I will. I mean, I am." Every instinct in Deeks yells at him to flee before she launches a surprise attack, or whatever else she's planning, but he won't give in first.
"Are you?" She leans in closer. "Because I don't think you could handle me."
"What the hell are we watching?" Callen asks Kensi when she comes over to stand next to him. Deeks and Nell are staring at each other, unblinking. It's unnerving.
"Don't ask me," Kensi says. "I've never been able to figure Deeks out. And Nell's your problem."
"That she is," he murmurs, affectionately.
Kensi's double take at him means she almost misses it when Nell surges forward and jumps up to kiss Deeks on the cheek. He's so startled thinking she's about to try and take him down that he stumbles backwards, arms windmilling in an attempt to keep his balance.
Callen grabs Nell's arm and pulls her away before she can traumatize Deeks any further. "I hope you're enjoying yourself."
She most definitely is. "It's way too easy to psych him out. Did you see his face?" She twists around to revel in her victory. Deeks is sputtering about unfair attacks (and how he'd probably escaped certain harm) to the uninterested audience of Kensi and Eric.
"I'll give you credit for ingenuity," Callen allows, "but you're unlikely to have much success with that particular strategy in the field."
She's silent for longer than he finds comfortable. "I don't know. It might work on some."
He begins to wonder if she's trying to psych him out this time. "Try to focus on why we're here today."
"To harass each other as much as possible?"
He has to admit her summary isn't far off. "I'm sure Granger would enjoy that outlook."
Despite the general air of everyone not taking the day seriously, somehow each one of them has managed to accomplish a few things to Granger's satisfaction, and they both hope their boss calls it a day soon. In the meantime, they have to wait it out. Her best strategy to pass the time (okay, mostly to have fun) is to antagonize Callen. "I hope you realize that you've fallen behind. I have around 47 points to your zero."
"Your math sounds exaggerated," Callen says dryly, taking in her deceptive stance – she seems relaxed when she's probably about to spring at him any second. It's times like these that he's inordinately proud of how far she's come.
"No, I'm definitely right." She rocks back and forth on her feet.
"Watch your footing this time," he absently reminds her.
"Or what, you'll drag me to the beach again?" She's trying, and failing, to sound annoyed. "Man, that day left me sore."
It had been around a month ago, training – or rather attempting to train on unforgiving sand. Callen had insisted it was a crucial skill, and she put up her usual token argument that she wouldn't be getting into many fights on public beaches. Their bickering was more of a formality than anything else. She'd come to enjoy the unconventional as much as he did.
Besides, she knew that his real desire that day had simply been to spend time near the ocean. And he'd wanted her there with him.
She wouldn't lie; it was a nice change, salt air and sea breeze and high 60's in January. Better than being stuck inside yet again.
That doesn't mean that fighting on the beach isn't damn near impossible, especially when Callen insisted they avoid the packed sand near the waves and set up in the deeper sand further back.
"What's the first weapon at your disposal, here?"
She didn't have to look far, kicking some sand at him with more viciousness than was warranted. Walking on sand was hard, how were they supposed to train on it?
"Perfect, right for the eyes. We're not going to do that today for obvious reasons."
"I'm grateful for small favors," she said, smoothing out the area around her feet to try and form a stable place to stand. She'd kicked off her shoes, and Callen followed suit, even as he mocked her that if she couldn't stand a bit of sand getting in them, she didn't have much hope against him that day (he was able to sidestep the shoe she threw at him in retaliation).
They sparred for a bit, not talking much, both content to enjoy their Saturday. It was exhausting, though, trying to move and balance, trying to pay attention to what she was doing when the sand and scenery kept distracting her.
She scrambled backwards one of the times he came at her, and brought her foot down on something sharp. "Wait, time –"
He tackled her anyway and the breath left her as she hit the sand. It wasn't as soft of a landing surface as one might expect. "Wait, Nell, were you calling time?"
"For all the good it did me." She sat up and started shaking out the back of her shirt.
"Sorry, heard you too late."
She rummaged around by her feet and found the culprit, a half-buried seashell. "I stepped on this."
He took it from her as she rubbed her foot. "That's why you needed to pause? A shell."
"It hurt!"
He pushed aside her hands and inspected the bottom of her foot. "There's not a mark on you."
She yanked her foot away and struggled to stand, nearly falling over again when a pile of sand gave way under her. "There could have been."
He couldn't hide his amusement. "Okay."
"You remember this next time, when it does pierce my foot and I get a blood infection. And then I die. Bet you won't be laughing then."
"Assuming I buy into that insane scenario," he flung the shell as far as he could down the beach, "then I've just saved your life, my lady. I expect a proper thank you."
She started laughing at his earnestness, affection for him nearly overwhelming her. Before she could quiz him on what constituted a 'proper thank you', shouts from some nearby teenagers interrupted them. She reached up to catch a wayward frisbee before it could clip her in the face. She threw it back and the wind caught it, forcing one of the kids to chase it almost into the water.
"Sorry!" She called, though she'd already lost their attention.
She turned back to Callen who appeared more content than normal. She wondered if he was remembering his days on the beach as a kid. She hoped so; if anyone deserved their happy memories, it was him. She wished he'd had more.
He caught her sudden smile. "What are you thinking about?"
"You. Building sandcastles."
He didn't know what to say to that, couldn't express his amazement that his good memories could inspire happiness in someone else. How did that happen?
Nell had gotten used to hearing less than pleasant things about his past. She'd mostly mastered the art of not reacting the way she always wanted to – had learned to hold back the anger at the horrible people he'd had to deal with in his life. She knew he wanted to leave certain parts of his past behind him, as much as he could, and she understood and respected that choice. As a consequence, she tried not to press at any of the places she knew were difficult for him to talk about.
Maybe it was the carefree mood of the day, or their easy enjoyment of it, because that day she broke her own rule and dared to press.
It was a short time later, when he'd come up behind her and grabbed her shoulders. She was supposed to get away from him, but the sand was bothering her and she was getting tired; she wouldn't have been able to pull it off. She shook her head slightly and he knew she was done.
"Too much?" He asked, easily shifting his stance from a potential threat to become more relaxed, sliding his arms over her shoulders and clasping them loosely over her collarbone.
"What's it been, three hours?"
He laughed. "More like one."
"Ugh. Maybe I'm getting old." She leaned back against him, and when he automatically rested his chin on top of her head, she found herself appreciating that her height allowed them to fit together perfectly. It felt silly to admit it (so she never had to anyone except herself), but she'd realized some time ago that although she could take care of herself now, she never felt as safe as she did with him. She'd accepted it as a foregone conclusion that could never be changed (and worse, she liked it). She also liked that he felt comfortable with her, to the point that he didn't need an excuse to touch her anymore.
It was easier to talk when she was watching the ocean instead of him, and she felt brave enough to ask a question she'd been wondering since she met him: "Does it bother you that you don't know your birth name?"
Of anything he'd expected her to ask, it wouldn't have been that, although he'd asked himself plenty of times in the past.
She took in his silence and quickly reached up to grasp his arms where they were wrapped around her. It was part silent apology in case her question hurt him, and partly a plea for him to not get angry and walk away.
He could practically feel her anxiety over thinking her question was a mistake. He pulled her closer, leaning down so his mouth was next to her ear, ensuring she could hear him over the wind. "It used to. Not anymore."
His answer encouraged her to keep going – before that moment, she hadn't been aware of the extent of her curiosity. "If someone told you they knew it, would you want to know?"
He was quiet for too long, to the point that she gave up expecting an answer. She hoped she hadn't overstepped her bounds (whatever they were nowadays).
At any other point in his life, his immediate answer to her question would have been a swift, unhesitating 'yes'. Things were different now, though. He was different, and he'd seen it happening for months (for years) and he didn't know why. "I honestly can't say if I'd want to know," he told her, the best answer he had.
She had given the topic a lot of thought over the past few months, and she believed she understood. Without meaning to, the words broke out of her, like she couldn't keep them in. "I think whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." Her words were strangely vehement. "The family you were born into, the people who treated you horribly as a kid, every single person who wasn't there for you – none of them get credit for the man you turned into. Whoever that little boy would have grown up to be if he'd had a different life…that's not who you are."
There was nothing he could say to that. She was right; he knew she was right. He'd often pondered the reality that if he'd had a normal life, he wouldn't have the career he did. He probably wouldn't even live in the U.S. Everything he'd experienced – the good, the bad, and the horrific – had led to his current life, his place in NCIS, and the gift of being surrounded by people he'd do anything for.
It had led to him standing on a beach in Los Angeles with her.
It would have been enough if Nell had stopped there, except a minute later she whispered, "I know who you are." He wouldn't have heard her if he hadn't already been so close. It was almost as if she didn't necessarily need him to hear it. Like it was enough – for her – that she felt it.
He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into her shoulder, and he had to struggle to breathe right again for a few minutes after.
He blinks again and he's not on the beach with her anymore, he's standing in the gym, watching her across the mat as she patiently waits, hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, like she knows what he's thinking.
Out of everyone…she just might.
"I know who you are, too." His words fill the air between them and he recognizes the change in her once she places what he's referring to, the way she slowly breaks into a smile that fills him, that fills the whole damn room.
"I'd hope so," she says lightly, almost adding that she hasn't been keeping any secrets. She can't say it, though, it's too much of a lie. In fact, it's more of a lie now than it ever was before.
Eric stops her self-reflection by illogically calling out to her for help. Kensi's pinned him again, and in that split second, Callen tries to take advantage. Nell's paying attention, though, and she manages to counter, taking him down instead. He's not content to give up without a fight, throwing her off of him and flipping them the second they hit the floor. She ends up on her back with him leaning over her, and she tries to get away (she really does) but she can't help laughing at her predicament, and his reaction of complete confusion isn't helping.
"You're not supposed to think this is funny," Callen says, holding her wrists to the mat.
"I know." The problem, strangely enough, is that she's happy. She's so damn happy lately. Some of her amusement disappears when she meets his eyes. She wonders if he can read her true feelings. If so, he's never let on.
"Do I need to point out that your distraction is not helping you today? You need to work on that."
"It almost sounds like you're above distraction, Agent Callen."
"I am." He knows it's a mistake as he says it.
She considers not doing it, knows it might throw them off-balance – though would that be such a bad thing? She leans up to kiss him, a press of their lips that startles him into relaxing his hold on her wrists. It's exactly what she'd been aiming for and she launches herself upwards, pushing him back and jumping to her feet.
Truthfully, it isn't the kiss that knocks him sideways (he'd been warned from what she did to Deeks earlier), it's the fact that he'd been a second away from responding before she threw him off. He should know better than that.
He sits back, arm resting casually over his knees, as if she hasn't perturbed him in the slightest. Inside he's turning every which way. "What move was that?"
"It's in the revised guidelines," she informs him, half-smiling.
Sam waves the manual at them. Of course he'd been watching. "There's nothing of the sort in here. Don't believe her, G."
"I kind of want to, though," Callen strives for as nonchalant a tone as he can manage. "Think of how much fun that would be." He gets up without taking his eyes off Nell – for fear she might do something, or because he hopes she will, he can't say.
"I want to believe, too," Deeks says, conveniently forgetting his earlier protests about how 'unfair' that tactic was. "Kensi, you need to get notes from Nell on how to pass the new test." Kensi hits him in the shoulder, but there's no heat behind it.
Callen can't think straight. He's torn between writing her kiss off as a surprise tactic, or acknowledging it as more. It feels like it's more, and he has no idea if that's wishful thinking on his part. He puts it aside, like he usually does. Like he has to.
"Nice trick, Nell," he keeps his voice as light as possible. "I guess it does have some merit after all."
That's not the reaction she wanted, and she only has herself to blame. They always look for ways to throw each other off. They always go too far. It's not his fault if he assumes this is yet another one of those times.
Or maybe he does understand and this is his way of letting her down easily and masking it to minimize her potential embarrassment.
That thought is actually sickening and she turns away, but not before he catches the glimpse of hurt in her eyes.
He starts sifting through every possible reason for it. "What's wrong?"
Way too many things, she thinks. "Nothing," she says.
He'd ask her again if he thought he'd get a different answer. And he'd ask her about the kiss if he weren't afraid of an answer he didn't want to hear. Anytime they get close to the question of what's between them, they both avoid it. He's not sure about Nell's reason, but his boils down to one fact: He cannot lose her (and he's been waiting for it to happen since the beginning).
He figured that after a few sessions of training with him, there'd be no way she'd want to keep it up for the long-term. The entire first month, every time they finished a session, or she talked to him outside the gym, he'd been waiting for her to quit, for her to say she'd learned enough. He kept expecting her to say their styles didn't exactly mesh, or Kensi had more free time, or she'd outright changed her mind about training in the first place.
He had no idea why he felt that way, since he'd never gotten the sense she didn't want to be there. In fact, she seemed to enjoy their sessions more as time went on, as she learned more and they got to know each other better. It made him wonder why he was always waiting for her to quit.
Maybe he was just that used to people walking away.
It took him over a month, and their first real argument, to accept that she was going to stay. It was during session 18. It had been a long week, investigating a triple homicide (initially with a single victim – the next two had died while they tried to solve it), and she insisted on practicing that night anyways. He'd agreed because he couldn't say no to her, and he didn't want to go home alone, either.
He knew she wanted to work off some of her sadness; he couldn't blame her for that. Fighting each other that night was a terrible idea, though. He knew it and he let it happen anyway.
They weren't getting anywhere and it drove them to resent each other more every minute, exhaustion and misplaced anger rolling off them in waves. It came to a head when she kept missing the timing to get out of a hold, and he was sick of telling her the same things over and over with no results.
"Come on, Eric could do this on the first try," he said, words punctuated with every ounce of frustration he felt.
"Right," she scoffed, as they set up again, "if he could make sense of your contradictory instructions, more power to him." She missed the window of opportunity for a fifth time and he pulled them both down to the mat. The move wasn't supposed to end that way, but he was trying to prove a point. She was too tired to catch herself, and even though he made sure they didn't get hurt out of reflex, they both hit the floor jarringly.
"See what can happen when you don't pay attention? If I were even the mildest of threats, you'd be injured, or captured, or worse."
"You're a jerk," she muttered as she sat up, angling herself away from him to prop a hand under her chin and shut her eyes. "It's like you're trying to make me look bad."
How could she accuse him of that? He was trying to help her, not inflate his ego by humiliating her. She was selfishly acting like she was the only one upset over their last case, and his sudden anger propelled what he said next. "Six weeks in and this is where we are? Why don't you come back to me when you've actually learned something and aren't going to waste my time?"
Normally, he wouldn't have said something that petty, and if he did, she would have given back as good as she got. They'd fight until it was out of their systems and then start over again. But it wasn't a normal night – he hadn't checked himself and she didn't have her regular defenses.
Callen had no way of knowing that he'd twisted a dagger into one of her deepest vulnerabilities.
When she didn't respond, he decided retreat was the best option. He was halfway to the door when a whisper in the back of his mind – the part that had been subconsciously turning since she fell silent – told him to glance back. She was sitting where he'd left her, but her hands were over her face and she wasn't moving and he got this incredibly sick feeling like he'd destroyed something important to him and hadn't even known he'd done it.
"Nell?"
He walked back over, praying he was wrong, but the way she turned from him as he approached confirmed that he was right.
"Go away," she said, sniffing slightly and attempting to stand. It coincided with him dropping onto his knees beside her and he easily pulled her back down.
"I'm sorry," he tried, as his mind chanted at him to fix it. He didn't even know what to fix.
"For what?" She challenged, rubbing her eyes and feeling humiliation burn through her. It was practically her worst nightmare to be called out on her abilities (or lack thereof), and by someone she trusted, someone she respected (and cared for too much, too soon).
"For making you cry? For being a bastard? I don't know, for everything!" He was panicked, they both knew it, and though it made her feel slightly better, she couldn't shake what he'd said that easily.
"Forget it." She tried to stand up again as he put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back down.
"Nell…"
"You can tell me," she hated how weak her voice sounded. "I want you to be honest. The past month, this whole time…have you been humoring me?"
He was too shocked to speak, trying to process such an absurd question, and he missed it when she pulled in a little further on herself, taking his silence as possible confirmation. "I get it. I know I'm good enough to be in NCIS, I just thought…I hoped with enough time and practice I could learn more." An even more depressing thought occurred to her. "You weren't doing this for Hetty, were you? She didn't ask you to say yes to me?"
In hindsight, reacting with anger wasn't his finest moment, and he was far closer to yelling than not when he accused, "You think that little of me?" He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice, too, but it was hard and he didn't think he fully succeeded.
She was taken aback. "No. That's not what –"
"I must be doing this out of pity, or against my will because Hetty told me to?"
"Callen –"
"Stop." He couldn't remember the last time someone had so easily hurt him without even trying. "If you think I'm not capable of… genuinely wanting to help you, of caring about anything other than myself, then what are we doing here?"
"I didn't say that. I don't think that!" She cried. "And you're not being fair. You're the one who said I was wasting your time. What am I supposed to think?"
He took a deep breath at her words. They were true. The rational part of his mind reminded him that most of the emotions he was feeling (anger, distress, inadequacy) weren't about her, but about their last case. Not to mention that he was the one who'd unintentionally started their fight. "I'm sorry, Nell. I didn't mean that. I was angry and upset." He searched her face, willing her to believe him.
She saw that he was telling the truth and she couldn't hold it against him. She'd been unfair, too. "I don't actually think you're here because of Hetty," she admitted. "I know you better than that. And I certainly don't think you're uncaring. You care more than…anyone else knows."
He knew he wasn't the only one affected – they'd both been letting the last case get to them. "It's not enough, Nell. Today wasn't enough."
She looked like she might cry again, and that had been the opposite of his intention. "There are times when we can't fix things. I know we have to accept that, but some days…I can't."
"It's okay. I've been doing this a decade longer than you and sometimes I feel the same way." He sort of laughed in self-derision. "I mean, look at what happened, I started a stupid fight over nothing."
"To be fair, I willingly participated."
He carefully reached out, brushing his hand over her hair. He wanted to reiterate that he was doing this of his own free will, make sure she knew without a doubt that it had nothing to do with Hetty or anyone else. It only had to do with him, and her. "Nell, you have to know I wouldn't be here, with you, unless I wanted to be."
She swallowed, deciding she might as well be honest. "That accusation about you following orders? It wasn't as much about you as it's…" How did she explain? "There are times when I wonder if I'm coasting by and no one's discovered that I might not belong here."
He leaned back from her a little, having no idea how she could think she didn't belong with them. "What?"
"I look around at work, and you know we're surrounded by brilliant people. What if I'll never measure up?"
"You? You worry that you'll never measure up?" He started laughing in relief that her doubt wasn't about him, or their team. It was about her, and that was something he could try and fix. "I don't believe this. You mean to tell me you have the exact same doubts as everyone in the world? That you're human like the rest of us?" He watched her face to make sure he was on the right track, and when she started to smile, he knew he'd succeeded.
She took in what he was saying, trying to assuage her fears in the most light-hearted way he knew how. To try and get her out of her own head and remind her that everyone had felt the same way at some point in their lives.
"It's good to know," he was saying, "since I have to admit, there were times we'd wonder. You know, Eric thinks you're so perfect that he has this theory that the government implanted a computer chip –"
She cut him off by getting up on her knees and throwing her arms around his neck. She felt the moment he let go of his surprise to hug her back.
"Nell Jones, you don't belong anywhere else but here." His voice was somewhat muffled in her hair, and he hoped she knew how fervently he meant that statement. There was no good reason for anything that had ever happened to either of them. Decades of luck and chance and random decisions had led to her ending up on his team and in his life. He didn't have anyone to thank for that; he settled for hugging her a little tighter instead.
She held onto him for longer than she ever had before, and when she pulled back, her eyes were dry – still exhausted, but dry, and he was grateful. Some days were definitely harder than others. Thankfully, they were surrounded with people who would willingly help them through it.
They got up, both of them knowing enough to call it for the night. Callen also knew he had to face the inevitable and rubbed his eyes as if he could wipe away the tiredness. "Do you want to keep doing this?"
Her puzzled look indicated she was lost.
"You know how I can be. If you don't want to keep going…" He stared at his feet, black socks on the red mat; hers were yellow and sunny, every day a different bright color, cheerful and always making him smile. He liked that. He liked her.
"It was as much my fault as yours. We both overreacted."
He knew he had, but her? Her words had hurt and he'd instinctively denied them, but he really didn't believe that he was as good of a person as she seemed to think. It was her nature to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he hadn't earned it. "Come on, Nell. I made you cry."
She waved him off, wincing at the reminder. "I made myself cry. You don't get all the credit."
"Does that mean you still want to train together?"
"I wouldn't be here, with you, unless I wanted to be," she threw his own damn words back at him without hesitation and he nudged her foot with his own. She wasn't looking at their feet, so she jumped at the ticklish sensation and then frowned at him, like he should be taking this more seriously. She had no idea how seriously he'd been taking it since the beginning.
"You're staying?" The 'with me' was left unsaid, though they both heard it clearly.
"Someone once told me I don't belong anywhere else but here."
"Are you going to keep repeating things I've told you?" He asked, not that he minded.
"Why not?" She stepped closer until she was right in front of him and had to look up. "It's the truth. If I belong here, then so do you."
Maybe the point wasn't where they belonged, but that they belonged there together.
He'd accepted her words at the time, stopped worrying as much about the day that things would be over. It hadn't gone away completely, though. From time to time, that old fear would come back and he'd try to bury it again, as much as he could.
He ignores everything in the background: Granger lecturing Kensi, Eric begging Hetty for a dismissal, their other colleagues chattering amongst themselves, grateful they aren't in the spotlight today. Nell's across from him and he knows she's still unhappy over something. He wishes she'd tell him what it is. He wants to cross the four feet between them and kiss away every line of worry and unhappiness on her face. He knows it's a ridiculous thought, and it doesn't make him want it any less.
He loves her. He always has.
Most of the time, he tries not to think about it, pushes it into the furthest recesses of his mind. He's pretty good at lying to himself, which makes it a little easier. He doesn't know how she feels, but he's intentionally chosen to believe she views him strictly in the context of co-workers and friends. He'd never wanted to take a misstep, couldn't risk doing the wrong thing and driving away the one person that he thought…maybe…
He knows if he's wrong, that will be the end of it. It'd be too uncomfortable to continue spending time together if one of them wanted more than the other. His philosophy has always been that it was better to have her, as they were, than to risk anything more. His life up until NCIS had given him little reason to have faith in anything, least of all people sticking around. It was hard to admit caring for someone in a world that had already stolen so many people from him.
That's not to say he hasn't considered telling her. He's thought about it more times than he can count, endless scenarios playing out in countless different ways. He's tried to come up with the exact words said at the right times, the precise steps in the necessary places that would keep her from vanishing from his life.
He'd never come up with anything remotely close to foolproof for one simple reason – the world didn't work that way. He had no guarantee he could keep her, which meant he'd never risked it. The loss of her would wreck him, and he's through with being wrecked. Is it too much to ask for one thing? One happiness that wouldn't leave him ruined? (Considering the cruelty of the world he's lived in his entire life, he figures it probably is.)
He's resigned himself to living with things the way they are. He's happy with their friendship. Despite avoiding a few key topics, what they have is pretty great: they work well together, have fun training, and talk about nearly everything. They're always there for each other, no matter the amount of advice or support or help the other one needs. They're as affectionate with each other as they want, and they put each other first, and they – it hits him with such force that he actually sways on his feet, vision temporarily blurring.
They're already in a relationship.
Not officially. Not one they've ever talked about. But damn if it isn't as clear to him as the room he's standing in, as her across from him, concern crossing her face at what must be his expression of pure shock at how deep his denial has gone.
Once he sees what's been happening, it can't be unseen.
He remembers last week when she'd asked if he had any dates recently. He'd struggled to get through that conversation without revealing his true feelings, and what had he told her? You're the longest I've spent with one woman in nearly a decade. He'd spelled it out to himself (and her) and it still hadn't occurred to him how odd their behavior was.
Has Nell picked up on the way they've been acting? Has she been playing into it for the same reasons he did? Or has he been living this delusion completely on his own while she thought of him as her close friend, indulging him because she saw how much he needed her?
A seven-month-long series of delusions starts collapsing on him like dominoes. How they've spent more time together the longer this has gone on (when it should have been the opposite – less training as she became more skilled). Their easy intimacy with each other. The questions and reactions from people around them. Good God, half the building thinks they're in a relationship and worse than that, it must seem like he and Nell are making it obvious to everyone in some kind of insane challenge to see if they're ever openly called on it – and they have been. Multiple times! They'd laughed it off, agreed that everyone around them was delusional, when in reality the truth was the exact opposite. They were the delusional ones. (Or maybe it was just him.)
He thinks he'd be humiliated if it weren't so hilarious how he'd expertly manipulated himself.
His entire time with her could be summed up in one word: denial. He'd deliberately chosen to avoid the subject of a relationship between them while acting like they were in one.
In an instant, his strategy of pretending no longer applies. He's unknowingly been living an elaborate lie, a fantasy spun out of his refusal to see reality, and he can't feed into it anymore. It was one thing when he hadn't recognized the extent of it, quite another when he'll now be analyzing everything he does. He can't continue to pretend he's not in love with her when every move he makes tells everyone that he is.
It can't be healthy; the mere act of deciding to stop pretending feels like a tremendous weight's lifted from his shoulders. It's replaced with the terror that he might lose her, imminently, but there's a freedom in finally knowing and accepting the truth. Whether she's pretending not to know, or truly doesn't see it, eventually something's going to snap her out of her own state of obliviousness, and he knows if neither of them is willing to talk about it, they're going to lose each other anyway.
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