The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting a clean, warm glow across rows of sleek suits and tactical gear. In front of a long mirror, Callen stood adjusting the cuffs of his black suit jacket with a subtle scowl pulling at the corner of his mouth. He tugged at the collar of his crisp white shirt again, then gave a sideways glance at the bow tie hanging loosely around his neck, mocking him.
He let out a quiet groan.
"Of all the covers I could pull tonight…" he muttered, fidgeting with the knot that wouldn't quite form. "Black-tie gala. Why does it always have to be black tie?"
From around the corner, just past the edge of a wardrobe pillar, Nell popped her head in.
"You nearly ready, Agent Bond?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "Sam's already annoyed he had to put on a tie—if you're late, he might actually combust."
Callen turned halfway toward her, brow raised.
"I'd be ready if this thing would cooperate." He gestured toward the rogue bow tie with frustration. "Honestly, I don't know how anyone ties these without a degree in origami."
Nell stepped fully into view now, arms crossed, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You realize you still look ridiculously good, even with the bow tie hanging like a defeated ribbon?"
Callen smirked faintly. "Flattery will not fix this fashion crisis."
She rolled her eyes but was already moving closer. "Come here, hopeless."
He straightened instinctively as she stopped in front of him, their height difference more noticeable up close like this. Her fingers were already reaching for the fabric, nimble and sure, as she began folding and looping it into a neat knot.
Callen watched her as she worked—eyes down, tongue just barely pressed to the corner of her lip in concentration, like this moment required tactical precision.
"You do this often?" he asked, voice low, teasing.
"Only for the agents who stubbornly refuse to learn," she replied, not missing a beat.
He smiled, the kind of small, private smile that only came out when the room was still and he was with her. She wasn't just fixing a tie—she was grounding him, like she always did, without even knowing.
Her hands brushed lightly against his collar as she adjusted the bow, straightening it perfectly. She met his eyes briefly, the quiet lingering between them more intimate than the space should allow.
"There," she said softly. "Now you look like someone who's about to infiltrate a high-society fundraiser and probably dismantle an arms deal while sipping champagne."
Callen chuckled. "Sounds like a Thursday."
Just as she started to step back, Callen caught her hand gently.
She looked up at him, surprised—but before she could say anything, he took a half-step back, kept hold of her hand, and spun her lightly in a smooth, playful circle.
Nell let out a laugh, quick and delighted, her loose hair swinging behind her. "What was that for?"
He shrugged. "Had to make sure the tux had full range of motion. You know. Tactical dancing."
She gave him a look—half amused, half fond—and tilted her head. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're way too patient with me."
Their eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Then Callen gave her hand a soft squeeze before letting go and stepping toward the door.
"I'll see you after."
Nell nodded, watching as he disappeared down the hall toward Sam and the waiting op.
Callen didn't look back, but he felt the tug of her smile even as he walked away—quiet, genuine, just for him.
And the knot at his throat wasn't the only thing that felt more in place now.
Yeah… definitely worth learning to like bow ties.