A/N: I'm obsessed with Michaela and Connor's friendship. A small part of me wishes he was bi. But, you know, here I am again with my doomed ships. Title comes from the song "Safe Place to Land"
Disclaimer: I am not Shonda Rhimes.
"Connor."
He knows it's her. He knew she'd be coming. It was only a matter of time. He'd gone back to his old apartment. There was nothing there, everything he really needed was at Oliver's, and he'd never been one for lavish decorations. There's a bed and a nightstand and a picture on the wall. It's a painting of a beach somewhere, and he doesn't remember when he even got it. It probably belonged to his parents and somehow ended up in his box of things when he came out here. But the beach looks nice, and sometimes he likes to pretend that's where he is. Some beach, far away from all of this. All the lies and complications and secrets.
Oh, and the murder. There's that too.
"Connor." He feels the weight of the bed shift as he's lying on his side, but he doesn't move. He just pulls his knees up closer to his chest and stares at the painting on the wall, willing himself to randomly appear on that beach.
He feels her fingers run smoothly through his hair, and soon she pulls his head into her lap. He flips over to lie on his other side, leaning towards her. Her nails are long but they soothe him, scratching at his scalp methodically.
"I think she's dead." He mutters, eyes looking up to meet hers. Her expression doesn't change, her fingers continue tracing the same patterns. "I think wait-list is right. She's dead. I don't know how or who- probably Annalise, or at the very least she's involved, because when is Annalise ever not involved..." He trails off, arm hooking around her waist. There's silence for a while, only his unsteady breathing breaking it.
"Oliver says you've been having nightmares." Her voice is clear and calm, as if she were stating something as simple as the weather.
"Oliver should keep his mouth shut." He snaps, feeling bad about it afterwards. He's not mad that Oliver told her. Maybe if it had been someone else, like Wes or Laurel or, God forbid, Asher. But he doesn't mind that she knows. He just wishes he didn't have them to begin with. But she probably knows that.
They know each other far to well, really. Every second that he's not at the office or in class or at home, he's usually with her. She's become a rather occurring fixture at he and Oliver's apartment, and he know's how she takes her coffee better than she does. She has nightmares too, he's almost sure of it, but they've never had much of a conversation about it.
"Well she's dead. And so is Sam. And Lila. I wonder who's next. As soon as we find her body, someone else is going to die. It's almost guaranteed. Maybe it'll be Wes. Or her brother,
Eggs 911." He stops, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry."
She shrugs. "Don't be. I was never really that into him." He smirks. "I know." Because he does. He knows that the only reason she really stuck with the guy was to get an orgasm, and while the guy succeeded, he must not have been all that great, because less than a day later Michaela was back to snapping at everything that moved again.
"I'm trying to figure out a way to break up with Oliver. Or make him break up with me."
Michaela didn't still her movements, and merely raised an eyebrow at him.
"He's too good for all this. He's going to be in danger constantly. The other day I had to carry a dead mouse out of the apartment because it hurt him too much to see its dead body in the trap."
And he doesn't even know he's dating someone who covered up a murder.
Connor doesn't say it, and neither does Michaela, but she knows that's what this is really all about. And how can she blame him?
"You've always got me." Because I'm just as guilty. She doesn't say that either, but they both still know that's what she's saying, and somehow, the thought is comforting. They're both in mutual guilty-ness, and they don't have to hide anything.
"But you can't sleep with me." She whispers, trying to lighten the situation.
"Why not?" Connor laughed, sitting up and bumping shoulders with her.
"Because for one, you're gay." Michaela laid down on his bed, scrunching her nose up at him
"I never said that." He joked, laying down beside her and closing his eyes.
And that night, laying next to a woman just as guilty and messed up as himself, he slept.
A/N: This is my first HTGAWM fic, so be gentle.