The soft hum of electronics filled the armory, broken only by the occasional clink of metal or the muted beep of a device powering up. It was familiar. Focused. A place built for the moments before things got dangerous.
Callen stood still, dressed in plain clothes—subtle, clean-cut. Just enough to pass as the kind of guy who could disappear into the criminal circles they needed him to infiltrate. He stared at his reflection in the small wall mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt without really looking.
Across from him, Nell moved through the armory with quiet precision. She'd already laid out the surveillance kit, each piece in perfect order—button cam, mic, GPS tracker, a concealed comm in a sleek earpiece. But her usual energy was muted today, replaced by something more reserved. Tense.
She stepped up in front of him, holding the button cam between her fingers. As she leaned in to pin it to his shirt, the distance between them disappeared—just inches separating them now. Her head was bowed slightly, eyes focused on her task, but Callen could feel the shift in the air. He could feel her—warmth, nerves, tension all wrapped in the space of a breath.
"You're awfully quiet," he said, watching her closely. "That's not like you."
Nell didn't answer at first. Her fingers brushed against his chest as she adjusted the small camera, more carefully than was necessary. Her movements were precise but unhurried, and there was something unspoken in the way her brows pulled together, her mouth set in a line.
"You look more worried than usual," he added, his voice softer this time.
She gave a tiny shake of her head, as if she could brush it off. But she didn't pull away.
"I'm fine," she said quietly. Then, after a pause: "I mean… no, I'm not."
Her eyes finally lifted to his, and in that moment the space between them felt heavier. Closer. She looked up at him through thick lashes, the concern in her hazel eyes unmistakable.
"The last time you went under like this," she continued, voice barely above a whisper, "you ended up with a bomb strapped to you."
Callen's smirk faded. He exhaled slowly, his expression shifting into something more sincere.
"You haven't forgotten," he said quietly.
"Hard to forget almost watching you die," Nell replied. "I don't care how many cases I've worked since—it still sits in the back of my mind every time you go off comms for even a minute too long."
Her hands were still on the front of his shirt, fingertips lightly grazing the edge of the mic she'd just clipped to his collar. She caught herself then, stepping back slightly, but her eyes stayed locked on his.
"I know you're good at what you do," she said. "You've done this a hundred times. But… that doesn't mean I stop worrying."
Callen gave her a long look, his blue eyes softer than usual.
"I've got the team watching my back," he said gently. "Sam, Kensi, Deeks, Eric… and you. Especially you."
Her lips quirked, the worry still there but softened by something else—something warmer.
"You say that like it's supposed to make me feel better."
"Does it?" he asked, one corner of his mouth tugging up.
"A little," she admitted, looking down briefly.
When she looked back up, he was still watching her, his gaze lingering—not just on her eyes, but on the way she stood close to him, the way her presence seemed to anchor the moment. There was no banter. Just the quiet weight of everything unsaid.
He leaned in slightly—not close enough to cross a line, but enough to make the moment feel personal.
"You'll be in my ear the whole time, right?" he asked.
"Always," she said.
He gave a faint nod. "Then I'm not worried either."
Nell reached out one last time, smoothing the collar of his shirt—a small, careful touch that felt more like a silent promise than a tech adjustment. Then she stepped back, just enough to reestablish that professional boundary they both knew they couldn't cross. Not here. Not now.
"Don't do anything reckless," she said.
"No promises," he said with a faint grin, before turning and heading toward the door.
She watched him go, the playful edge of his smile still echoing in her mind. And then she turned to the ops console, already pulling up the feed, already preparing to guide him through the mission—because if he was walking into danger, she would be the one walking him back out.
Like always.