Two days. Almost two full days since Kensi's words had settled in, since the quiet weight of the truth about Callen had sunk into Nell's chest. And yet, Callen was still avoiding her. He hadn't made eye contact once, hadn't spoken more than a few words. He'd gone out of his way to steer clear of any moment where they might be alone, where they might have to face what had happened.
Nell stood at the edge of the firing range, looking through the glass window that separated the range from the gym. She wasn't there to shoot; her gun was still holstered. Her eyes were focused on the figure in the gym, hunched over the punching bag with a fierce intensity.
Callen was hitting it like he was trying to tear it apart. Each punch was brutal, his fists slamming into the bag with such force it swung violently against the chains. His jaw was clenched, his body tense with anger and frustration. The rhythmic sound of his fists striking the bag filled the otherwise quiet space, and Nell couldn't look away.
She had seen Callen fight before—physically, emotionally, mentally—but this… this was different. This wasn't just the controlled aggression of a man in a fight or on a mission. This was raw, unfiltered rage. And underneath that, there was something else. Something darker. Pain. The kind of pain that wasn't just about the job, but about something deeper. Something personal.
Nell's heart twisted. She had never seen him quite like this before. The way he moved, the way he swung at the bag as though he were trying to beat the demons out of himself—it wasn't just anger. It was self-loathing. Regret. Maybe even guilt.
She reached up, her fingers brushing over the still-raw bruise on her lip. It was swollen, the purple hue almost a permanent fixture now, a reminder of what had happened. Of how the mission had gone sideways. Of how Callen had hit her, even though neither of them had wanted it. And now, she stood there, helpless, not knowing what to do with the aftermath of it all.
Give him time, Kensi had said. But as Nell watched Callen in the gym, taking out his emotions on the punching bag, she wondered if time was enough. She wondered if Kensi was wrong.
Was time going to fix this? Or would the silence, the avoidance, only make the rift between them grow wider?
Nell's mind raced with the possibilities, each one more uncertain than the last. She could feel the weight of the unanswered question pressing down on her: What now?
She wanted to go to him. To walk down there and confront him, tell him that it was okay, that they could talk about it. But the thought of facing him now, when he was so clearly drowning in whatever was tormenting him, made her hesitate.
Could she offer him the comfort he needed, or would it only make things worse? Could she really be the one to help him, when she wasn't sure how to help herself?
Nell took a deep breath and stepped back from the window, her eyes still locked on Callen, but the distance between them growing once again. She didn't know what the answer was. She didn't know if time was the right thing. But maybe she wasn't the one who had to fix it. Maybe, like Kensi said, she just needed to give him space. Let him come to her when he was ready.
But as she turned and walked toward the exit, a part of her wondered if that moment—if any moment—would ever come.