The fight had been quick, ugly, and way more chaotic than either of them had planned for. Now, back in the quiet of the boatshed, the aftermath hung heavy in the air—bruises forming, cuts bleeding, adrenaline slowly fading.
Sam sat on one of the benches, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck with a towel. Across the room, Callen was perched on the edge of the metal table, shirt unbuttoned halfway as Nell worked methodically on the cuts along his ribs and brow.
She'd been at it for ten minutes straight, and Sam had barely said a word. Instead, he watched—because it was hard not to.
Nell moved with precision, gentle but focused, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her face held that quiet kind of worry, the kind that didn't need to be spoken to be understood. She dabbed antiseptic on a shallow gash near Callen's temple, and when he flinched slightly, she murmured something under her breath—something soft Sam couldn't quite catch—but whatever it was, Callen responded with a faint smirk, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little.
That seemed to settle her nerves for a beat, but the concern didn't vanish completely. Sam noticed it lingered in her eyes, in the way she touched Callen's shoulder lightly before she stepped away to grab a new bandage.
When she finally turned to him, Sam offered her a small, appreciative smile and let her clean up the cut on his cheekbone. He barely felt it.
What he did notice was how, every so often, her gaze drifted subtly back to Callen. Just a quick check. Not enough to be obvious. But Sam wasn't new to this. He saw it clear as day.
"You care about him," Sam said quietly, casually.
Nell's hands paused for just a fraction of a second, then resumed. "Of course I do," she said, her tone even. "I care about all of you."
Sam didn't press. He just gave a slow, knowing nod and a smirk that said he wasn't fooled for a second.
"Mm-hm," he said, the sound low and amused.
She finished up with a final swipe of gauze and packed the kit up quickly, her cheeks a shade pinker than before.
Callen, still sitting nearby, met Sam's gaze briefly. Sam just raised an eyebrow, then leaned back against the wall with a quiet chuckle.
Whatever was going on between them—whether they were calling it anything or not—it was real.
And Sam figured, for once, Callen might actually be in good hands.