note: sorry if it's a little ooc, I wrote this around the third episode.
It's midnight, and he's finally done with his report. Unlike Johnny, he usually doesn't save his paperwork to do at the last minute ("Hey, my handler's sweet on me, she's chill with whatever." "That just means he flirts at her when he drops by to turn his mountain of papers in and she just hasn't had the time to smite him yet." "Jakes, man, I thought we were on the same team here.") However, he hasn't found the time or the place to type up this particular paper for Juan, but Briggs is somewhere in town and so he's been camped out on the sofa for the past couple of hours.
Well, Juan did ask for details, so details is what he's getting, Mike thinks, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders in satisfaction. Now, he'll just lie here for a bit. After all, it's not like anyone will object to him sleeping on the sofa. Plus, the massive pile of pillows on it are just so comfortable…
He doesn't realize he's drifted off for longer than twenty minutes until the creak of the door opening and then shutting wakes him. Bare feet pad across the hardwood floor as he listens, burrowed under the throw pillows.
He'd recognize Charlie's footsteps anywhere. From the slow, tired pace, she's suffering from a massive hangover, probably crawling back home from the bar her newest informant frequented. He grins against the soft polyester, closing his eyes once more.
Mike opens them again in surprise as all of a sudden something heavy lands in his lap.
A yelp rings out in the air as he rises out of the sea of pillows like the kraken, wrapping arms around a black-sequined waist (not to pull her closer, he insists, he's just making sure she doesn't fall off in her surprise as he sits up).
"God, Mikey, you scared the crap out of me," Charlie groans. "Didn't see you there."
He settles his chin on her bare shoulder, smirking a little. "See, if you didn't drink so much, you might have been able to watch where you're going. Bet your liver would have been a lot happier, too."
She gives him a glare out of the corner of her eyes haughtily. "I am sacrificing my sleep and my health for my job," Charlie sniffs. "And stop talking so loud, God, why are you so happy at four in the morning?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, does your head hurt?" He lifts his head to speak directly into her ear and bites back a grin at the way she winces.
"Shut your stupid face, Warren. Do not joke around with me this early." Any other time, he'd probably be trembling at that glare, but at the moment, he finds it really hard to take Charlie seriously as she teeters on his lap in the tiniest black dress he's ever seen. He chuckles, and she just narrows her eyes at him before snorting quietly.
"You can let me go now, you know," she murmurs presently, but the way she's practically sagging against his chest makes him believe otherwise.
He hums a little, trying to ignore how under the smoky scent of the bar, her hair smells like jasmine. "Not a chance. I think you'd fall down the stairs and hit your head, at this rate. And then where would we be?"
"I would not," she protests, mildly offended as she turns in his arms to look at him. He glances down at her dubiously, and she presses her cheek against his shoulder, relenting. "Okay, maybe I would. Fine, then."
They lapse into comfortable silence before Mike shifts a little, scooping up her long legs to let them rest on the couch itself next to his instead of dangling over the side. "Better?"
"Much, thanks. But I'm not staying over here to cuddle, okay? I just don't feel like moving right now… I'm gonna get up and go upstairs in a few minutes."
"Uh huh," he smiles, leaning against the back of the couch comfortably.
"No, really, I am…" the rest of her words are distorted around a yawn, and his own eyelids are beginning to droop.
Sunlight is streaming through the windows when he wakes up for the second time. He groans and tries to drift back to sleep, but then he hears the click.
Paige's grinning face greets him from the other side of the coffee table. "Aww, you guys are so cute!" she practically croons, clutching her phone.
"No, no, no, please, Paige, she'll kill us all –" Mike whisper-hisses, trying not to wake up the agent currently curled up on top of him. "Please. Just delete the damn photo, and don't mention it to anyone."
The blonde tilts her head, grinning widely as she toys with the cell phone in her hands. "What'll you do for me if I do?"
"I'll – I'll do your round on the chore wheel, okay? Please. Please, I'm begging you, Paige. Please."
She bites her lip in consideration, fluttering her eyelashes a little. "Well… it's a measly offer, but I guess it'll do. It's a good thing you're cute, Levi."
"It's Mike," he corrects automatically, but she's already sauntering away. "Wait… Paige?"
She practically bounces back. "Yes, Levi?"
"Actually… can I keep it? The photo. You still can't tell anyone, though."
That annoyingly knowing, teasing smirk is back on her face as she gives him two thumbs up. "Sure thing. Go get 'em, tiger."
Oh, man, I'm never going to live this down, he mentally groans as Paige walks out, leaving them in the quiet of the living room once more. But then again, as he looks down at Charlie, her hands loosely fisted in his shirt with her head wedged in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet, sequins alternately sparking in morning light and being cast in shadow as she breathes, it's worth it.