The clock read two eighteen when she pried her eyes open, startled by an odd set of footsteps and a twisting of the handle to her door. More alert than anyone realistically should be at this time of morning, she moved her hand to hover over the gun that she kept on her bedside table, ready for whoever this intruder might be.
What she wasn't ready for, though, was him. He was just standing there in her doorway, wearing a pair of faded dark gray sweats and a trademark white tee shirt, his face sickeningly pale and his hands shaking. His eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks were tearstained, and just the way he looked at her was enough to make her heart burst in two. He was just so vulnerable and she couldn't handle how it made her feel.
But she beckoned him in anyway, patting the space in the bed next to her. He was hesitant to move at first, but she smiled at him in that way she has, and he came in closer. He crawled underneath the sheets and pressed his body flush against hers, tucking his head under her neck the way a child might his mother. She wasn't comfortable, but she couldn't bring herself to move.
Really, the whole exchange was exceedingly inappropriate, and she should have been upset with him. It was, after all, just before two thirty in the morning, he was seriously invading her personal space, and he had broken about four rules that the HR department wouldn't be happy to hear about. But she wouldn't tell. She didn't mind at all. He was broken and she just needed to be there to fix him.
It was a comfortable silence that they fell into, him and her. She didn't ask questions and he didn't supply answers. It was just the two of them in their own little world where time had stopped and nothing else existed.
And then there was morning.
Mike crept out sometime around five thirty that morning, making his side of the bed meticulously and somehow managing to not wake Paige. He found the way to his bedroom soon after, leaving Paige to wake alone. But when she did, she wasn't the least bit surprised.
It made perfect sense that Mike didn't want anyone to know about their early morning rendezvous in her room. There was this unspoken rule about not sharing private and slightly intimate interactions with others, and Paige was never one to break it. So she would keep their moment as her own little secret; her own burden.
Paige crawled out of bed that morning feeling almost guilty. She hated that everything about last night would have to be forgotten. The closeness of their two bodies, the tickle of his uneven breath against her neck, the way she carded her fingers through his hair to calm his trembling— as soon as she made her bed it was gone, folded into the soft sheets where it would linger no more. Slipping out of her nightdress, Paige ducked into the shower, letting the memories fade into the beads of hot water.
Mike's door was slightly ajar when Paul walked past, but that was nothing extraordinary, not even unusual. In fact, he would have walked right past had it not been for the strange sounds he could just make out from within. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but Paul stepped inside quickly, closing the door quietly behind him. Scanning the bedroom, he found it empty, but not before noticing the rumpled sheets and recognizing the clothes Mike had worn the night before in a heap on the floor.
Paul followed the sounds to the bathroom and carefully pulled open the door so as not to startle the younger man. The sight he took in was dismal. Mike was wrapped around the toilet, his skin pasty white and his breath hitching as he retched. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, and it was dripping off of his clammy forehead and into the bowl. Paul was quick to aid him, rubbing soothing patterns on his back and mumbling encouraging words.
"Shhh, Mikey, it's gonna be okay," he tried, "You're okay."
But Paul knew they were lies. Mike wasn't okay, and he probably wouldn't be for a while. Seeing what he had seen… Paul couldn't even pretend to sympathize with the way his rookie must have been feeling.
When the retching subsided and morphed into tearless sobbing, Paul pulled Mike into his side and enveloped him in a warm embrace. They sat there on the cool tile for what seemed like forever, until Mike had melted into Paul's side and was well on his way to sleep. Hoisting Mike into his arms bridal style, he carried the limp form into the bedroom and redressed him in a clean t shirt and sweats before placing him gently on the bed and tucking him in. Paul cringed at the way Mike curled in on himself when he pulled back. Patting him gently on the forehead, Paul slunk out of the room.
Charlie called for dinner around six, not at all surprised by the absence of her newest housemate. By now everyone in the house was aware of the circumstances; it was no secret that Mike had witnessed a man take his own life. There were sacrifices that had to be made for the job, of course, but everyone had their limits. It was one thing to deny yourself a chance at a real relationship outside of the house. Giving up the ability to sleep at night or even close your eyes was an entirely different story. Needless to say, Mike wasn't expected to come to dinner.
Which is why Charlie almost choked on her dinner when Mike sat down next to her.
The agent had done a complete one eighty, and Charlie was pretty sure the person sitting next to her was not her housemate and friend. No, the man she saw before her looked much too young to be her Mikey. He looked like a child, an innocent youth who had seen things too ugly for his tender eyes. There was light in the bright parts of this world, there was shadow in those parts that remained, and Mike was falling to the wrong side of that analogy. And Charlie didn't like that.
But still they ate, caring little for conversation. The quiet cleared the table quickly.
Silence was the only thing that greeted Johnny when he went in to check on Mike somewhere after nine. He didn't expect anything else, really. The things Mike had seen… He was so young, so tender, so innocent—no. Not innocent. Not anymore. He'd never be innocent again. Johnny winced, sick at the thought. Mike didn't deserve the scars he wore.
Johnny opened the door to the bedroom, but it was empty. The bathroom, too, was empty. He couldn't help but think of how ironic it was. The emptiness in Mike's living quarters just mirrored the void that had very recently opened up inside of him. Johnny laughed quietly without mirth, turning to leave the room.
He kept searching, desperate to find the rookie. He might not have been so adamant about finding him had he not known that if their roles were reversed he would want to be found. He would want someone to feel like they should look after him, to care enough to try and mend him. So he kept searching.
His search led him out to the beach, where he found one Mike Warren, looking a little worse for the wear. The kid was sitting right on the shore, knees pulled up to his chest, letting the water crash over his body as the waves came in. His face was taut, his features expressionless. Johnny hesitated to sit down next to him. Mike had left the house for a reason, probably because he wanted to be left alone, but then a tear slipped down the rookie's cheek and Johnny knew what he needed to do.
Johnny quietly lowered himself down next to Mike, who jumped a little at his sudden presence and rushed to wipe away the tears. But Johnny just stared out at the sea.
The two sat in a companionable silence as the waves covered their bodies and the water swallowed their words.
Dale wasn't good with comfort. He was too quiet, too awkward, too up front. It just wasn't something he did. So naturally, taking care of Mike fell to the others. They were more capable, after all. It didn't hurt that he couldn't help, he swears.
But then Mike ghosted down the stairs that night, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The kid walked into the living room, hands in his pockets and eyes on the floor. That's when he saw Dale, jumped a little, and proceeded to mumble an apology.
"Sorry, I thought you'd be-"
"Sit down."
Dale tossed him the remote and Mike almost dropped it, but he looked at Dale with eyes that look slightly less dead and Dale just smiled and looked back at the screen.
It took a few minutes, but soon enough Mike changed the channel. In a few more minutes, the kid's eyes were closed and he was lightly snoring. Dale snorted as he spread the afghan over him, turning off the TV and walking away in the fading glow.