The back hallway of the NCIS building was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every small sound echo just a little too loud. Nell stood with her arms crossed, her weight balanced against the cool concrete wall, staring down at the offending object like it had personally wronged her.

It was an ammo case. A big one—metal, military-grade, and heavy enough that it hadn't so much been dropped off as it had been abandoned. The dolly, of course, had vanished sometime between morning and now, and everyone who might've helped had conveniently disappeared on some errand or task. Typical.

She'd tried moving it herself once. Then twice. On the third attempt, she'd gotten about an inch of movement and a lot of bruised pride.

So she did what any resourceful, strategic intelligence analyst would do.

She pulled out her phone.

I need you. Back hallway.

She hit send. And leaned back against the wall to wait.

She didn't have to wait long.

Less than two minutes later, the familiar rhythm of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway—quick and purposeful. Callen turned the corner with a look that flickered from alert to amused the second he saw her. He slowed to a near-prowl, one brow lifting as he took in the scene: Nell standing casually, arms folded, the massive ammo case still untouched.

He stopped in front of her, expression somewhere between suspicious and charmed.

"This what you needed me for?" he asked, tilting his head toward the case.

Nell pushed off the wall and gave him a look so innocent it was practically a challenge. "I can't move it," she said, lifting one shoulder in a helpless shrug. "I tried. It won."

He narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You texted me for this?"

She blinked slowly, stepping a little closer, her tone dipped in subtle mischief. "Sam wasn't answering. And you were option B."

He snorted. "Option B?"

She tilted her head, just enough that her hair fell a little to one side. "Okay. Maybe option A."

He chuckled at that, shaking his head as he moved to the case. "You know that I know I'm being used, right?"

"You love it," she replied, grinning. "Big strong field agent saves the day. Classic hero moment."

With a roll of his eyes and no further protest, Callen crouched down and grabbed the case handle. His forearm flexed under the strain, jaw tightening just slightly—but he lifted it without too much effort and started dragging it toward the armory like it weighed nothing at all.

Nell followed beside him, their shoulders nearly brushing as they walked. The hallway was narrow and the silence between them thick with something unspoken. Comfortable. Familiar. Charged.

"You gonna help, or just supervise?" he asked after a moment.

"I'm moral support," she said. "Essential to the mission."

He laughed—low and warm. "Right."

When they reached the armory, he lowered the case into place with a solid thud. He straightened, brushing his palms against his jeans, and turned back toward her.

She was watching him already.

There was a beat. A breath. Something almost hovered in the air between them.

"Thanks," she said softly.

He shrugged, but his smile was slower this time. A little softer. "Anytime you need me."

Her gaze didn't drop. "I know."

He hesitated, just for a second. Then his hand lifted—just barely—and brushed against her elbow, light and brief, but deliberate.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved away.

And then, as if reminded they were still technically on the clock, they both stepped back at the same time. But that lingering look lingered just a little longer.

Back to business.

But not back to normal.