A CODE TO LIVE BY
by MioneAlterEgo

DISCLAIMER: Still not mine. Alas.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Back in October I was combing the net for some good Nallen fic and was disappointed to discover that (with a few notable exceptions) there's just not a lot out there for these two. I really love this underappreciated pairing and, as luck would have it, I was in something of a Densi-writing dry spell at the time. So, I decided to tackle the problem head-on with a self imposed mini-challenge, writing something word-of-the-day style for G Callen and Nell Jones.

The title is a reference to a line from the original NCIS series, when Shannon tells Gibbs that she has a rule for everything because "everyone needs a code they can live by." Each vignette here is based on a word-be it personality trait, value, or idea-that would influence Nell and Callen in their work, as individuals, and ultimately influence their relationship with one another. The vignettes/chapters will vary in length, style, POV, etc., so I'll try to give a little heads-up in the Author's Notes if there's anything crazy going on.

This story would certainly never have seen the light of day were it not for the invaluable insight and encouragement of the one and only imahistorian (aka Mel). She may not be a Nell/Callen shipper herself (I'm working on her!), but this story is definitely better written, more interesting, and more fully realized because of her contributions. I couldn't possibly wish for a better beta, idea-bouncer-offer, Densi shipmate, and friend. And if you're not reading her epically amazing "Truth Be Told," you really should be. Yes, you should. It's true.

Anyway, thank you so much for giving this story a go! It's been a blast getting to explore their world, so I hope you enjoy reading it, too!

She knows this crush won't lead anywhere. After all, what could a guy like Callen see in a girl like her?

Guys like Callen don't date girls like Nell. Hot, loner bad-boys with piercing blue eyes just don't go after scrawny, geeky overachievers. She's known this for a fact since about the 8th grade.

It's not any big deal, she reasons, that she finds herself attracted to him. Women are drawn to bad-boys. It's an anthropological fact: females naturally interpret rebelliousness as a sign that the male is unafraid to break rules and will therefore do anything and everything necessary to survive and provide. Nell may not even have a choice about the attraction, she tells herself; she's merely a victim of evolutionary science.

So the fact that her heart stutters and electricity skitters just under the surface of her skin any time he gives her The Look really isn't her fault. It's genetic. The way his combination of stare-and-smirk shuts down all her logical thought processes and leaves her short of breath is really nothing more than an involuntary physiological response. Really. Her extensive knowledge of which of his pairs of jeans do the best things for his rear means nothing—it's just a biological urge to propagate the species. It's definitely not a sign that she's got it bad for her obscenely attractive almost-boss, and it's certainly no indication of interest on his part. He may not even realize he's doing it.

Except that it's happening more and more lately. Not just The Look, but he's talking to her more than usual, cracking jokes, asking more questions. It's almost like he's finding excuses to be around her or make conversation, and she's even caught him staring at her once or twice. One day a few weeks ago, he walked all the way upstairs instead of just calling or e-mailing to ask a question she was sure she'd already answered earlier in the morning. Another day, the air conditioning in the Ops center was on the fritz, and by the time the field agents came upstairs for their status updates it was pushing 90 degrees in the room. Without even thinking about it, Nell had tugged off her cardigan sweater and given the rest of the briefing in her tank top. Her assets were still covered, but it was certainly more skin than she was accustomed to showing, and she could have sworn his eyes darkened a couple of shades as he watched her. Then one night, after they'd all stayed at the Mission much later than usual wrapping up some paperwork, he'd texted her to make sure she made it home okay. She was pretty sure he wouldn't have texted Kensi or Eric. But he'd texted her, just to see that she was safe and say good night.

If one of her girlfriends had described a guy behaving like this, she'd swear up and down that the guy in question was flirting and would encourage the girl to flirt right back, take control of the situation, and go after what she wanted. A thought briefly crosses her mind that she could do the same.

But that's impossible, she decides. He's not flirting with you. He can't be. A guy like Callen wouldn't be interested in a girl like you.

He knows this crush will never go anywhere. After all, what would a woman like Nell see in a guy like him?

G Callen has always had pretty decent luck getting women, but when it comes to actual relationships he's a disaster waiting to happen, which is why he never lets it get that far. Relationships—good relationships—are supposed to be built on trust and honesty; when he can't even be honest with women about what he does for a living it makes it awfully hard for them to trust him, and he's been tossed aside enough times in his life that he's got some pretty spectacular trust issues of his own.

Not that it will ever be an issue with Nell, because nothing will ever come of this anyway. What woman in her right mind would want anything to do with a 40-something year old pseudo-divorcé who doesn't even know his own first name?

There's no harm in looking though.

Nell's not his usual type, but there's something about her that draws his attention. Maybe it's the red hair that somehow matches her personality, or the faint scatter of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, or the hazel-brown eyes that light up whenever she's tackling a new project. It's surely nothing to do with the fact that she's so tiny he can imagine how easy it would be to wrap his arms all the way around her or lift her straight off the ground. Maybe he can blame it on her choice of wardrobe. She tends toward long sleeves, wide neck lines, and tights so much that on the odd occasion she wears something sleeveless, lower cut, or that shows off her legs he can't focus on anything else for at least an hour afterward. The day she gave a briefing in a tank top he was so distracted he almost had to leave the room.

If it was just her looks, she might be easier to write her off. But it's not. Despite her age, she's one of the top intelligence analysts in the country. Hetty would never have kept her around if she wasn't; the fact that she's earned Hetty's trust at all speaks worlds for her talent, skill, and potential. She can hack complex encryption, create microdots on the fly, read Arabic and speak Spanish, even correctly brew a pot of tea to the most exacting standards. And when she verbally bitch-slaps incompetent national security experts or LAPD liaison officers who've fallen behind on their paperwork, it's a scary kind of turn-on (which really makes him question his own mental health). She's like an earthquake or a flash-flood—a powerful natural event that seems to spring up out of nowhere and leaves you wondering what on earth just happened.

And so he flirts with disaster. He makes excuses to chat with her, does his best to be charming, lets her catch him staring because he gets a tiny thrill out of the way her cheeks turn pink when she realizes what he's doing and an even bigger thrill when she smiles or says something clever back. It's been a long time since he's been this interested in a woman, but since nothing will ever happen between them, he's figures there's probably no harm in playing the cards he's got.

There's no way she'll ever take the bait anyway, he tells himself. A girl like Nell would never want to be with a guy like you.