The Other Side
A/N: This picks up about a week after 2x13 and is completely in cannon. This is my first attempt at Graceland fic (and my first time writing anything in awhile) so any comments, etc. would be helpful. Rated T for language.
"I'm not leaving."
Paige runs hand through her hair as she leans back, hitting the wall with a soft thud and an exasperated sigh. From across the kitchen she can feel the frustration radiating off of Charlie as she pushes her knife into an onion with a little more force than is probably necessary.
"The suitcase next to you says otherwise."
They've been stuck in this argument since Charlie found her packing last night, and it's been a miserable twelve hours. Paige knows these last few weeks have been especially hard on her, with the baby, the mess with Paul, and her own recovery adding to the general anxiety over Mike.
She looks guiltily at the bag in question, shakes her head and sighs again.
"I'll be back in a few days, Charlie. I just need…"
She trails off, unsure what to say. She just needs to breathe; needs some space from the all-encompassing guilt that threatens to suffocate her every time she walks past his empty room; and needs to fucking finish this case so she can have a second to think about the absolute wreck that is Graceland.
"Well, we need you here," Charlie whispers. Paige suspects that the onion had long since been chopped to satisfaction, and wondered briefly if Charlie was still slicing because it was a good release, or because it was decent cover for her teary eyes. Still not looking up from the counter, she manages with a little more conviction: "This house is falling apart. This family is falling apart."
"You say that like I don't know it already!" Paige snaps. "Charlie, I'm going to fix this. But I can't do that if the DEA cuts me loose because I decided my personal life was more important than my job!"
"Bullshit." There's a harder edge to her voice now, "You're running away because you'd rather get yourself killed chasing a cartel than sit in this empty house and face reality."
Sometimes it scares her how perceptive Charlie can be. She'll be a great mother; and for a moment Paige falters. Charlie is wrong—of course, Charlie is wrong—but even if she's not running away, she's still leaving people behind.
But she doesn't have a choice.
"I promise you that we are going to make it to the other side of this," she says in lieu of an apology, pulling her bag to her shoulder and grabbing her keys. "But I have to go."
Six Weeks Later
The sun is high and hot and the diner's air conditioning unit has been broken for a least a month, so the heat hangs heavy on the room's single occupant. It's almost three and the lunch rush has passed, leaving Paige alone behind the counter to watch the clock.
Charlie was supposed to be there at quarter of and Paige is starting to get worried, which does nothing to quell the general feeling of anxiety that's been suffocating her lately. She fidgets with her top, trying to cover up the obviously finger-shaped bruises that cover her collarbone. It's futile; Charlie doesn't need to see the physical evidence to know she's too far under on this one, but she'll still feel better knowing this particular failure won't get back to the house.
The door swings open a few seconds after she pulls her hair down to cover the last of the marks and Charlie walks in. It's cliché, but she's absolutely glowing and its breaks her heart a little to be reminded of how much she's missed out here. The bell on the door is loud enough that Luna would have heard it in the back, so Paige calls out that she's got it and nods towards a table in the back.
"How are you today?" She's is careful to keep the conversation light as she slides into the booth and pushes a glass of water towards Charlie. She's been up a few times claiming to be Paige's pregnant sister, but with the way this particular case is going she can't be too careful.
"Work's a bitch. It's hotter than hell. Same as always."
They've done this enough times over the years that the loaded answers are as easy to give and receive as the ostensible truth, and through the guise of the cover Paige easily can hear Charlie's worry—though exactly what's on her mind is anyone's guess.
"How are the kids?"
"Fine. I don't see much of them. DJ's been moping around and Johnny's been after some girl. They miss their Aunt."
If she ever makes it out of here she'll kill the boys. Hypocritical as it may be, she can't believe Johnny abandoned Charlie to chase after a girl so deep into the Cartel—and the drama with Sid—that it's a security breech just knowing her. And Dale? Dale should just know better.
"Any word from your guy?"
The last time Charlie came to visit she'd mentioned that things between her and Briggs were getting better, if not just because they were the only two sane adults left in the house. But as soon as the question leaves her lips Charlie's face falls.
"Not lately."
The sadness is gone so quickly Paige wonders if she imagined it; but nonetheless feels a fresh wave of guilt wash over her.
"He picked up an extra shift, so we're not seeing much of each other these days. It'd be nice to have some help around the house."
They fall silent, both hovering around the one question Paige hasn't been able to bring herself to ask. Six weeks, six visits, and no word on Mike. She knows Charlie's waiting for her to ask, but she's terrified that whatever reality holds is far worse than even the most despondent situations she imagines she's forced him into. She takes a small amount of comfort in the security Charlie's continued silence holds; no matter how bad things were between them Paige knows she'd say something if he were hurt or dead.
Charlie eventually breaks the silence, asking for a burger and fries—extra crispy—to go. The carryout container is already prepared in the back, stuffed with a week's worth of reports and papers that need to be signed and dropped off at headquarters.
"Coming right up."
When Charlie passes her a blank check in return she's confused, and by the time she thinks to flip it over she's already gone.
It's a little too hot to be wearing your hair down.
The apartment is exactly as disgusting as Charlie remembers it being the first time Briggs brought her here. They should be cleaning it—or at the very least making it livable. Instead, they're sitting on top of the new table making their way through the deluge of files Page sent her back with.
"How's she doing?"
Charlie shakes her head and sighs, pushing the file across the table. She's pregnant and nauseous and her trip up North had done nothing to improve her growing worry that Paige was in trouble. She was strong and smart and badass; but this cover was about so much more than shutting down an exceptionally violent corridor and she's worry Paige has gotten lost in the chasm between the truth and what she tells the DEA.
"Not great. She's got him on the possession but doesn't have enough to connect him to any major suppliers. She's hoping if she sticks it out he'll let something slip, but…"
"You don't think he's that stupid?"
"I don't think she's going to make it much longer. You should see her Paul. She's a mess and she is way too deep in this cover."
"Do I need to make a call?" Paul demands. When he's met with silence he reaches across the table and hooks his finger under her chin, softly drawing her gaze to meet his. "Chuck, do you want me to make a call?"
Pulling away from his embrace, Charlie shakes her head. Paige is so damn stubborn. They're both so damn stubborn.
"So we can force her back here? No, if we pull her out we'll lose her." She pauses, remembering the faint bruising that Paige's longer and darker hair wasn't quite able to hide. Honestly, a few bruises weren't really anything to worry about in their line of work; especially with what Paige did, a few were expected. She wasn't worried about them; she was worried that she was hiding and lying and leaving them out of the reports.
"But Paul, she can't stay under. She's getting the shit beat of her day in and day out as if the key to her redemption somehow is in Hugo Trejo's fucking fist."
"What do you want to do?"
About Paige, who was so out of control Charlie hardly recognized her—and she didn't seem to care?
About Johnny, who hadn't checked in since last week and could very well be dead at the hands of his girlfriend's family?
About Jakes, who seemed to be very invested in cultivating a relationship with his favorite whiskey?
Or about Mike?
She shook her head, bringing her hand to rest over her slightly swollen stomach. "I don't know."