The house had been quiet for the last half hour, nothing but the steady rustle of paperwork and the sound of Callen and Nell's voices drifting down the hallway. Sam was in the kitchen sorting through a box of old receipts and mail, half-listening to their casual banter, their occasional laughs.
It was easy between them—comfortable in a way Sam had come to recognize. They worked in sync, teasing, trading theories, finishing each other's sentences.
He was just closing an evidence bag when the the peace shattered.
Automatic gunfire ripped through the front windows—loud, sudden, deafening.
Sam dropped instantly, drawing his weapon, heart in his throat. The sharp staccato of bullets echoed through the house, glass and wood exploding under the assault.
"Callen!" he shouted, already moving, rounding the corner out of the kitchen.
He rushed down the hallway and into the living room, expecting the worst.
And what he saw stopped him cold.
The front of the house was torn to pieces, papers fluttering in the air like snow. But it wasn't the destruction that rooted him.
It was Callen and Nell.
They were lying on the floor behind the overturned coffee table, bodies low, but not from panic—from protection. Callen was completely covering Nell, his arms braced on either side of her, his chest pressed against hers, shielding her with every inch of his body.
They weren't moving, just breathing hard, both wide-eyed and still as if caught in a suspended moment.
Callen's face hovered close to hers, and as the last echo of gunfire faded, he lifted one hand and gently touched her cheek, brushing glass-dust from her skin.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low, tight with something unspoken.
Nell nodded, too breathless to speak. Her hands were clutched in the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like she hadn't even realized she was doing it.
Sam froze just outside the living room.
He should've said something. Moved. Turned around. Anything.
But he didn't.
Because this moment—it wasn't just tension, or trauma. It was something else entirely.
This was the moment. The shift.
The moment Sam stopped being amused by what he'd seen unfolding over time—and started realizing just how deep it went.
Because Callen hadn't just covered her. He had laid himself over her without hesitation, without thought. Like her safety was more important than his.
And she'd let him. Trusted him with that.
Eventually, Callen helped Nell sit up, carefully guiding her as if afraid she might be in shock. He glanced up and spotted Sam, his eyes clearing slightly, but his hand remained on Nell's shoulder for a second longer than necessary.
"We're good," he said quietly.
Sam just nodded, slowly.
Yeah. He thought. You're more than good.
But what he didn't say, what he couldn't—was that for the first time, he truly felt like he was intruding on something sacred.