The boatshed was quiet now, the adrenaline from the operation beginning to fade, leaving behind a heaviness in the air. The intel was secure, they'd get their guys, and everyone had made it back, though not unscathed.

Callen hadn't left Nell's side since they'd returned. He was standing a few feet away, arms crossed tightly, watching her with an intensity that made her feel like he was afraid to blink—like if he took his eyes off her for even a second, she might disappear.

Nell sat on the edge of the wooden table, her jacket draped over her lap. The graze on her arm had been cleaned, bandaged, but she could still feel the sting whenever she moved. It wasn't the worst injury she'd ever had, but from the way Callen was acting, you'd think she had barely made it out alive.

"I'm fine," she said for what felt like the tenth time, her voice strained as if she were trying to convince herself more than him.

Callen didn't look convinced. His eyes darkened, frustration creeping into his voice. "You got shot, Nell." The words were rough, weighed down with something that was more than concern—it was guilt.

Nell rolled her eyes, but the lightness wasn't there. "It's a graze, Callen. I'm not dying."

"That's not the point." His voice was tight now, like he was fighting to hold himself together.

She tilted her head, studying him. "Then what is the point? Because from where I'm sitting, we just pulled off a successful op. We have all the evidence we need to take down Delacroix and Vargas, and no one got seriously hurt." She could feel the tension building in her chest, a knot that wouldn't release.

Callen shook his head, but it was more than just disappointment. There was a deeper, more personal weight to it. "You shouldn't have been that close in the first place. I should've found another way."

Nell's frown deepened. She could see the conflict in his eyes now—this wasn't just about the mission. It was about her. "Callen—"

"I put you in danger," he interrupted, his voice quieter now, almost hushed, but the intensity in it remained. "That's on me."

Nell froze. She'd expected frustration, anger, maybe even a bit of relief, but not this. She stared at him, trying to understand the depth of what he was feeling. He wasn't just frustrated—he was blaming himself.

She softened, her voice gentler than before. "You didn't put me anywhere, Callen. I knew the risks, I made a choice."

"That choice almost got you killed." His words came out with a harshness that felt like it was cutting him, too.

She huffed, shaking her head, but there was a softness to her words now. "You're being dramatic. It was a bad situation, but I handled it. I can handle it."

Callen exhaled sharply, his hands running through his hair in frustration before they dropped to his hips. The motion was a mixture of exhaustion and worry, a silent plea for something that wasn't easily given. "I know you can," he muttered, but there was something else in his tone now. Something uncertain.

Nell arched an eyebrow. "Then what's really going on here?"

For a long beat, Callen was silent, his eyes turning away, avoiding hers for just a moment too long. She caught it—something flickering in his expression, something beneath the surface.

She knew him well enough to recognize the signs. This wasn't just about the mission.

"You're not usually this overprotective," she said carefully, her voice soft, trying to cut through the tension.

A muscle in Callen's jaw tightened as his gaze snapped back to her, and the storm in his eyes felt like it was pulling at her. "You sure about that?" he asked, his voice low—too low, almost like he hadn't meant to say it at all.

Something shifted between them.

Nell swallowed, her chest tightening. Despite the fact that she was sitting, she felt unsteady. "I…" she hesitated, suddenly unsure how to navigate the sudden change in the air. Slowly, almost instinctively, she reached out, her fingers lightly tapping his arm. "Hey."

Callen's eyes met hers, his expression stormy, unreadable, but there was a rawness in his gaze that made her heart beat just a little faster.

"I'm still here," she said softly, her voice steady despite the pull in her chest. "You didn't lose me."

His posture softened, just a fraction, but it was enough. He let out a slow breath, the tension in his body easing, just slightly, before he shook his head. "You really are impossible," he muttered, though there was a trace of something else in his voice—something gentler.

She grinned, the weight lifting off her shoulders. "And yet, here I am, still managing to save your operation."

That made him chuckle, albeit quietly, and she saw some of the tension in him fade. For a moment, the chaos of the night felt distant—replaced by a quiet understanding.

"Yeah," he admitted, his eyes softening just a bit as he regarded her, "you did."

She smirked. "Damn right, I did."

Callen's gaze lingered on her for a second longer, something unsaid hanging between them. Then, with a sigh, he relented. "Fine. But next time we see if there's another way before you go storming in."

"Fair enough," she nodded, the lightness returning to her voice as she nudged him lightly.

He shot her a warning look, but the edge was gone. There was something almost affectionate in it now.

Nell smirked, her voice sly. "Tell you what—buy me a drink when this is all wrapped up, and we'll call it even."

His smirk deepened, but there was a challenge in his eyes. "You sure you can handle a night out with Dexter Hughes?"

Nell groaned, rolling her eyes. "Not if he's going to talk about Bordeaux wine again."

Callen laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Alright, no wine talk. Deal."

Their eyes met again, lingering for a second too long, and the quiet comfort in the moment felt almost fragile, like the calm before a storm.

Just as it seemed like the world was slowing down, the sound of footsteps broke the spell.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Sam's voice rang out from the doorway, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Callen straightened, pulling back, his protective stance evaporating just as quickly as it had come. He stepped back a fraction, the guard he always had up in place once more, though Nell could still see the remnants of something unspoken between them.

Nell smiled to herself, watching the subtle shift between them. Interesting.

She might've been the one in danger tonight, but something told her that Callen was the one who was really off balance.