The apartment was quiet, the dim light from the nearby lamp casting soft shadows across the room. The only sound was the occasional hum of passing cars outside, distant and unimportant.
Nell sat curled up on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, still wrapped in Callen's jacket. The sleeves swallowed her hands, and she gripped the fabric tightly, as if letting go would mean falling apart.
On the coffee table in front of her, an empty teacup sat untouched, long forgotten.
Callen sat beside her, not too close, but close enough. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, watching her for a long moment before speaking.
"You want to talk about it?"
Nell hesitated, her fingers tightening around the sleeves of his jacket. Her gaze remained fixed on the teacup, as if searching for the right words in its reflection.
Finally, after a few long seconds, she exhaled softly. "I just… I felt useless."
Callen didn't react, just let her keep going.
"I was in Ops, watching everything," she said quietly. "I saw it all happening. I saw you, Sam, Kensi, Deeks. I saw the agents go down, the civilians caught in the crossfire. And I just—" Her voice faltered, and she shook her head. "I couldn't do anything. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save anyone."
Her arms tightened around herself, her entire body sinking further into the oversized jacket.
"I just sat there, watching."
Callen exhaled, leaning back against the couch. He knew that feeling all too well.
Callen turned toward her. "You think being in Ops makes what you do any less important?" He shook his head. "Every move we make out there, we make because of the intel you and Eric give us. Every time you reroute us, pull satellite footage, hack into systems we shouldn't even have access to—you're saving lives.
Nell swallowed, looking down.
"Sometimes things go wrong," Callen continued, his voice steady but quiet. "We can do everything right and still lose people. It doesn't mean you failed. It doesn't mean you didn't do everything you could."
She didn't say anything, but her grip on his jacket loosened slightly.
Callen exhaled, glancing at her curled-up frame. "You know, you're not the only one who feels that way."
Nell finally looked at him, her eyes searching his.
"I was right there," he admitted. "I had a gun in my hands, I was in the middle of the fight, and I still couldn't stop it. I still lost people." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter if you're behind a screen or standing in the crossfire—sometimes, there's nothing you can do."
Nell blinked, processing his words.
Callen gave her a small, knowing look. "But we keep going anyway."
Nell didn't respond, but her shoulders dropped slightly, as if some of the weight pressing down on her had lessened—if only a little.
Callen watched her for a moment longer, noticing the way she still hugged herself tightly, arms locked around her body as if she were bracing against something unseen.
They weren't the kind of people who did this—the touchy-feely, open comfort thing between each other. But Callen had been around enough broken people to know what she needed, even if she didn't say it.
Without a word, he shifted slightly, extending an arm—not forcing, not pushing, just an open offer.
He expected hesitation. A second of awkwardness, maybe even a quiet "I'm fine" as she pulled further away.
But Nell surprised him.
The moment she noticed the invitation, she moved, pressing herself against his side without a second thought. She tucked her face into his shoulder, curling into him as if she had been waiting for the permission to do so.
Callen barely had time to react before she was there, small and warm against him, still wrapped in his jacket.
Slowly, he let his arm settle around her, holding her close—not too tight, just enough. Just enough to remind her that she wasn't alone.
She didn't say anything.
He didn't either.
The silence stretched between them, but for the first time that night, it didn't feel heavy. It felt steady. Safe.
And Callen knew, even if she wouldn't say it out loud, that this—this moment—was what she had needed all along.