The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a sound that felt louder than it should be in the quiet of Nell's apartment. She tossed and turned in bed, her mind racing despite the exhaustion that weighed on her body. Sleep was elusive, a stranger that refused to visit. Thoughts of Callen filled the void, swirling like a storm in her head. She tried to push them away—tried to focus on anything else—but the memory of his fists pounding into the punching bag, the pain in his eyes as he avoided her, wouldn't let her go.

What was happening?

The mission had been dangerous, brutal, and necessary, but the aftermath had been something neither of them had prepared for. The physical pain in her lip had dulled, but the emotional ache lingered, gnawing at her every time she thought about him. It wasn't that Callen had hit her. It was the silence that followed. The avoidance. The unspoken distance between them, growing wider with each passing hour. She felt like she was losing him, like something that had once been there—something she wasn't sure she even had a name for—was slipping through her fingers. And for what? For something that shouldn't have even been an issue, but somehow, inexplicably, it was.

She sighed, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling.

Was this how it was going to end?

After all they'd been through, after all the missions and near-death experiences, was this how they were going to fall apart? Not with a bang, but with a bruise on her lip and an unanswered question hanging between them?

With a frustrated huff, she threw the covers off and swung her legs out of bed. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, hoping that something as simple as a cup of tea would settle her nerves, calm the storm inside her head. She moved mechanically, reaching for the kettle and filling it with water, placing it on the stove without really thinking about it.

As the water began to heat, she leaned against the counter, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. She felt the familiar pressure in her chest—the kind that came from being unsure, from standing in the middle of something she didn't understand. She couldn't even pinpoint the exact moment she had started to care about Callen this much. It had always been a slow burn. A quiet understanding between them. But now, it felt like everything was unraveling, and she didn't know how to fix it.

She had just reached for the tea bags when she heard it. A soft knock on the door. Almost too soft to hear, like a hesitation. A tentative tap that made her freeze, her heart skipping in her chest. She stood still for a moment, wondering if she'd imagined it, the noise slipping through the walls of her mind. She waited, her breath held, straining to hear.

There it was again. Another knock, this time just a little louder, a little more certain.

Her pulse quickened. She didn't need to look through the peephole. She knew, without a doubt, who it was.

Callen.

For the first time in two days, she would see him. Really see him. And maybe—just maybe—he would look at her again, the way he used to.

Her heart thudded in her chest, but she didn't hesitate. She moved slowly toward the door, every step echoing in the silence of the apartment. Her hand shook slightly as she reached for the doorknob, her breath held tight in her lungs.

When she opened it, Callen was standing there, his figure silhouetted in the dim light from the hallway. His posture was stiff, but for the first time in days, his eyes met hers. His gaze was uncertain, but there was something in it—something raw—that made her breath catch in her throat.

Callen, the man who had avoided her for days, was finally looking at her. And in his eyes, Nell could see a thousand things: regret, frustration, pain. But more than that, there was a flicker of something softer, something vulnerable that she hadn't seen in him for a long time.

He didn't speak at first. Neither of them did. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Nell stood there, trying to read him, trying to understand what he was thinking. Her heart beat in her throat, and her hand—still on the doorknob—tightened just a little, grounding her.

Then, finally, Callen spoke, his voice rough, like he hadn't used it in days.

"Hey Nell."

For a moment, Nell couldn't speak. She felt the weight of everything—everything that had been unsaid—settling around them. But there was something in his eyes now, something that made her believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way through this.

She took a breath and stepped back, opening the door wider, her gaze never leaving his. "Come in, Callen," she said, her voice quiet but steady.

And for the first time in days, Callen stepped forward.