Eye to Eye - epilogue

~ "No way Sam. We kept in contact because… well, you know. My father, Arkady." ~

Disclaimer: This is a simple fictional story. Most characters belong to CBS. As for the others: names, places and incidents are made up. Any resemblance to real events or real persons are purely coincidental.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

NCIS Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles || April 8, 2016

He demonstratively leaned back in the office desk, stretching his legs. "Me coming with you? Not happening," he said.

"Oh, please, Callen. You'll miss all the fun!" Kensi exclaimed.

He shook his head again and motioned at his in-box. "I'll have all the fun, in here, you see? Now go on and enjoy yourselves.

He quietly observed Deeks and Kensi, who were disappointed when he decided not to join them for a quick pizza and a movie night. Then, he felt the glare of his partner coming his way.
"What?"

The large, former SEAL sat, his elbows resting on the clean desk. He shrugged. "You. Your mood. Your non-communicating."

He shrugged and smirked "Yet you love me."

Sam was quiet for a while. How many years they worked together? He knew his partner well enough. Even now, it seemed that Callen avoided to share his inner thoughts. "I don't get it, G. You know about your real name now, you've met your father, you spent some time with Anna…"

"No way Sam. We kept in contact because… well, you know. My father, Arkady..." He shrugged and smirked "Besides, she's far too young. And like you mentioned, think of having to spend Christmas with Arkady. No way!"

"What I was trying to say—"

"Michelle is waiting with supper." Callen interrupted, just to quit the discussion which went in a way he didn't have to like. He heaved a big sigh. "Look Sam, go on and enjoy your night and weekend with your wife and family. I'll be fine."

Sam got up, chagrined because in one way or another, Callen managed to annoy him and the rest of the team. "Fine, as in non-communicating. Gloomy. Not wanting to share any fun. Peeved. Unsociable. Irritated. Irritating. Pesky."

"I hear you."

Without any of the usual light banter, Sam took his laptop and his bag. "Enjoy your weekend."

"Same to you," Callen replied, still leaning back in his chair, annoyed by now. Once his partner closed the large wooden door behind him, he slowly got up, poured the last bit of coffee in his cup and got back to work.

"He has a point there, Mr. Callen."
Henrietta Lange had taken her small purse, ready to leave OSP for the weekend. It hung across the shoulder of her red pantsuit. "You haven't been that easy-going lately, young man."

He felt her gaze going over his face, something he didn't like since it made him feel berated like a schoolboy. There was an itchy feeling of being mothered, perhaps even manipulated, once again. He looked up, opened his mouth and wanted to let her know, but he knew it was senseless. Instead, he just shrugged. "I'm going to grab a pint of beer once I've finished this pile of unfinished reports Hetty. I'm fine, really."

"Oh, I never doubted that, in case you wondered. There's a different to being fine, on you own, or having fun with people who consider you as a friend. As family, perhaps."

He shook his head. "They all have their own families and friends to go home to. They should stick to that, you know. And as I said, I'm going to be fine. Run at the beach tomorrow, another one this Sunday. I'll see you on Monday," he said, turning his attention to the screen again.

All she did was shake her head when she left the building as well.

A long hour later, Callen closed his laptop, took out his CAC and took his bag. He checked his watch. Early enough to grab a pizza, get changed and find a place in his favorite bar. Get into the hustle and bustle of Venice, blend into the crowd, watch the sunset and the ocean and be just a guy like any other guys.

He stretched, took his grey jacket and his bag. Then he looked around and knew he was the last one to leave the building, so he put on the alarm, turned off the lights and closed the door behind him.

His car was the only one left of the team, and for the eye of the camera, the only one on the parking lot the OSP personnel used.

His, and another one. A car he didn't know. Parked in the shadows.

He drew his gun.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She'd known he would be acting like this. He was an agent, he never expected anyone to be this close to their secret office in the middle of town.

In a way she felt sorry for him.

He kept his gun aimed in her direction, and she decided to step out of the shadows.

Her hair was a little longer and she wore it in a short pony-tail. The lavender dress she wore was feminine, accentuating the curves of her body. No place to hide a weapon.

She flashed him a smile, read his thoughts and shook her head.
"It took me a day to find this place, you know."

He shrugged, the ocean blue of his eyes nearly icy in his glare. "Easy enough for the Company. I suppose they finally decided to share their and our secrets?"

She shook her head. "They don't know. I quit — had to quit," she corrected her own words. Then she wet her lips, the look on her face less determined now. "I… well, I thought, maybe… Maybe we could just have an ordinary conversation without the distress and those work-related things. You know."
Coming to LA, being here, now felt as a big mistake. From the papers of the JAG, she found out about NCIS in Los Angeles, and from someone of the LAPD she heard about their liaison, and his whereabouts.

It was quiet for another beat. Then he finally lowered his gun. "You quit?"

"Felt like the only thing I could do. With this arm now I'll never be cleared for full duty again, not even after another surgery." She shook her head, let out a soft sigh and shook her head again.
Underneath the streetlight, her hair appeared darker, or her eyes bluer, Callen noticed. "So?"
He posed the short question, trying to sound as indifferently as possible.

She shook her head once more and glanced his way, uncertain now. "So. Like I said, I—" Then she shrugged. "So, nothing." She moved, turning away from him. In a softer voice, she said "Bye, Callen. Take care."

She walked to her car and opened its driver's door.

"Nika?" His clear voice sounded now.

She halted, looked around. "It's Nicole now, Nicole Andrews. Farmer and writer. I thought it might be better that way."

"Okay by me. So, how about that conversation during a dinner?" he tilted his head slightly and smirked slightly. No woman with cuffs. No real Comescu. He might just give it a go.

fini

Thank you so much for sticking to this story. Mayby, once, in the future, I might write a sequel. But not anywhere soon...