The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead, casting a sterile glow across the empty bathroom. Water ran in a steady stream from the faucet, splashing against porcelain, pooling slightly before slipping down the drain. The air was thick with humidity, warm from the hot tap, the mirror above the sink fogged in soft clouds that obscured her reflection.

Nell stood motionless, her gaze fixed somewhere past the sink, unfocused. Her hands moved automatically beneath the flow of water—rubbing, rinsing, lathering again. She didn't know how long she'd been standing there. Minutes? Longer? Her sleeves were damp at the cuffs, her fingers red from the heat. She wasn't crying. She didn't look broken. But something in her expression was frayed at the edges.

The op had been messy. A young NCIS agent—barely more than a rookie—had gone down in the chaos. Nell had been the first one to reach him, the one kneeling in the dirt, pressing her hands to the wound, trying to keep him here, trying to do something. But there hadn't been enough time. There hadn't been anything she could do. He'd bled out beneath her hands.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen death. Not by far. But this one lingered. This one clung to her skin like something she couldn't wash away.

A soft knock at the door barely registered.

"Nell?"

She didn't look up. The water kept running.

The door opened gently, quietly. No urgency, just presence. Then came Callen's voice again—low, cautious.

"You okay?"

That time, she blinked. Her eyes found him in the foggy mirror, his reflection muted by the condensation. He was just inside the doorway, hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching her with that same steady gaze he always carried. Patient. Quietly perceptive.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice even, maybe too even. She reached for the soap again. "Just needed to clean up."

Callen didn't respond immediately. He looked at her hands—red now, raw-looking from the near-scalding water—and then at her face. She looked composed. Controlled. But he knew the signs, the way her jaw was tight, the slight tremor in her fingers.

"You've been in here a while," he said.

Nell shrugged, eyes still down. "Lost track of time."

He took a slow step forward, then another. She didn't flinch, didn't acknowledge the movement, but her shoulders got just a little tenser.

She went to lather her hands again but before she could, Callen reached out and gently caught her wrists, stopping the motion and taking them out from under the hot water. Her skin was raw, red, from the constant scrubbing.

Nell didn't pull away as he turned her hands over in his, his thumb brushing over the tender, irritated skin. His hands were warm, steady, and he held hers gently, as if letting her know he was there without saying a word.

He just held her hands still, his fingers curling lightly around hers, grounding her. His touch was warm, firm—but not forceful.

Nell blinked, staring at their joined hands. Then he turned off the tap.

Silence fell. Heavy. Still.

Nell stared down at her hands, then slowly looked up at her reflection. Her eyes were glassy now, red like her hands.

Callen's hands were still holding hers, steady and sure.

He didn't speak. Didn't need to.

Instead, he reached past her for a paper towel then guided her hands into the towel, cradling them in his own as he dried them with slow, careful movements. Like every motion was deliberate, like he was trying to press calm into her skin through touch.

Her hands were so much smaller than his—cold now, damp, trembling.

He worked silently, dabbing away the water, letting her lean into the moment. Into him.

When he was done, he balled up the towel and tossed it into the trash, but he didn't let go right away.

"Nell," he said softly, "they're clean."

Her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "I know," she murmured.

He didn't let go.

The silence stretched between them—not awkward, not heavy. Just quiet. Shared.

"I thought I was okay," she said finally. Her voice was low, like she wasn't entirely sure she wanted him to hear. "I've seen worse. I've seen… a lot worse."

"I know you have."

"But this one…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked at their hands again, still wrapped together. "He was just a kid, Callen. I was talking to him an hour before it happened. He was excited to be on his first op. Joking around, nervous. And then he was just—gone."

Callen's hands stayed steady on hers, grounding her.

"You did everything you could," he said quietly.

Nell gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Doesn't feel like enough."

"Because it never does."

She looked up at him then, her eyes red but dry. "I know I'm not supposed to take it personally. I know we sign up for risk. I've said that to other people so many times I've lost count. But when it's right there—when it's your hands…" She stopped, jaw tight. "I just keep thinking I could've done more. Moved faster. Said something. Done something different."

"You didn't fail him," Callen said. "And you don't have to carry it alone."

Something in the way he said it made her chest ache. Because he wasn't trying to fix it, and he wasn't trying to make her feel better with platitudes. He was just there. Present. Steady.

"I didn't even realize how long I'd been in here," she said after a beat, her voice quiet again.

"That's why I came looking," he replied. "Figured you'd either vanished or started growing gills."

It was enough to make her smile, barely. Small and tired. But it was something.

Callen's expression softened as he held her gaze. "You're allowed to take a minute, Nell. You're allowed to feel it."

She nodded, and slowly, her shoulders began to loosen, just a little. The tension didn't completely leave her, but the edges of it frayed—enough to breathe again.

"Thanks," she said.

He gave a subtle nod, then gently released her hands.

They stood in silence for another few moments, the only sound the distant hum of the building and the occasional drip of water from the faucet.

Then, quietly, Callen said, "You hungry?"

Nell blinked. "What?"

"I was gonna swing by that diner on Wilshire. Thought I'd see if you wanted to come."

She hesitated. It was late, and she was exhausted. But something about the offer—the normalcy of it, the way he wasn't pushing, just being there—made her want to say yes.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Okay."

Callen gave her a faint smile. "Good. You're buying."

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted. As they walked out together, her steps were a little slower, but more solid. And even though the weight hadn't vanished, it felt a little lighter with someone else carrying part of it.