A/N: I have nothing even slightly resembling an ownership stake in Graceland. Let's just say it's fair use and call it a day?
The idea is that this is a series of non-continuous, cannon, one-shots that offer a little more insight into how Mike and Paige's relationship developed offscreen. This first one is set sometime between 1x02 and 1x03.
Feedback is always greatly appreciated!
I.
"Sorry to disappoint. It's just going to be me."
Pushing away from the edge of the desk, Paige spins a few times in the rolling chair and absentmindedly nods along to the prattle coming from the other end of the phone line. The force of the movement pulls her too-loose ponytail out of place and leaves her hair cascading down her back in messy blonde waves. Exasperated, she runs a hand through it as she tries to bring the conversation to a close.
"Five o'clock at your place. I'll remember!"
The door to the room opens and the new kid—Mike, she remembers—steps in, freezing when he sees her sitting at the desk. His features contort into a wide-eyed, panicked look that perfectly compliments his neatly pressed blue oxford and khakis; he looks so lost it's almost adorable. He moves backwards, trying to pull the door shut behind him while simultaneously miming out an unintelligible apology for disturbing whatever he thinks he's interrupted, but she waves him in before he can scamper away.
It's the perfect excuse to end the call. Interrupting the continued tirade about her inability to make and keep plans, she confirms the date and time and then hangs up without so much as a "goodbye".
She allows herself one frustrated sigh before she spins back around to face Mike. Leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, she watches bemusedly as he hovers in the doorway looking guiltily at the desk.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't—" He starts to apologize, but she dismisses it with a flippant roll of her wrist and the warmest smile she can manage.
"It's really not a problem. What's up?"
"I—uh, nothing, really. Briggs is waiting to hear from Bello so I had nothing to do and I thought I would explore, I guess…" He trails off and leans against the doorframe, relaxing into the conversation now that he knows she's not mad. "I'm really sorry. I didn't know you were working in here."
She doesn't know him that well. Save their quick introduction at the karaoke bar and the bonfire, tying up her loose ends with Moi has kept her busy for the better part of the last few days. She's read Briggs' case reports and he hasn't exactly been sitting idly around either. He should be taking a break, using the downtime to decompress and re-center himself; but she recognizes something familiar in his eyes hiding behind the stoic East Coast austerity. Until a week ago she was the newest member of the house and even though it's been almost a year since she was assigned to Graceland she remembers all too well how overwhelming it can be.
And she had wanted to be here.
So instead of banishing him to a mid-day yoga class, she waves him further into the room and pulls a second chair up to the desk. He still looks wary but comes in anyway, and as he steps out of the shadows and into the alcove she appreciatively looks him over. It's the first time she's seen him outside of a dim bar or dusky beach and she wonders idly if she might actually have undersold him with her glib "he's hot" at the bar. He's not at all her usual type—a little too blonde and wiry and eager for her tastes—but she can certainly understand Charlie's enthusiasm.
And he certainly is eager. He's sitting in the chair next to her watching her so ardently she half-expects him to take out a notepad. Before he can, she widely gestures to the room.
"Well, welcome to the third-floor alcove. It's not the greatest space in the world, but I think everyone else has forgotten about it so it's a decent place to work if you're trying to avoid Johnny's lunacy."
As if on cue, a crash sounds from one of the lower floors, followed by a deluge of Spanish expletives and some uniquely Charlie-esque rebukes. She winks at him and he chuckles softly, finally relaxing into the chair.
"How are you liking it here?"
He's quiet for a moment and a pregnant pause falls between them. He seems trapped in his thoughts and she wonders if he's really had a chance to think about how he feels since "Mike the Marine" hit the ground running.
"It's an adjustment," he concludes eventually, staring at absently out the window opposite them.
"It's not what you wanted." It's not a question, and there's no judgment in her eyes as she studies his face, searching for some insight as to where his head is at.
Her phone dings next to her before he can answer and when she glances back up he's shifted his gaze pack to her, guilt again coloring his blue eyes. For a second she's worried he's going to offer another apology and she thinks she might have to slap him. Instead he points to the phone.
"Were you setting up a meet?"
Suddenly she has the perfect solution to both of their problems. Granted, it's a little unfair; but he was the one who was skulking around here all bored and unoccupied.
"Yes, yes it was." She informs him with a smirk. "And, uh, if you've got an hour or two I could really use some backup for this cover."
She'll just have to let her sister know she's not coming alone after all.
As far as Mike can tell, the woman sitting across from him could not be more unlike Paige if she tried. The two women have the same face, but the parallels seem to start and end with their check bones. Granted, he doesn't really know Paige; but everything he does know about her is bright. Her hair, her eyes, the way she walks, the way she teases Johnny; everything about her is full of life.
Alexandra—Paige had introduced her as Alex, but had been swiftly and sternly corrected—is not. She's just as striking as her younger sister, but her beauty is more severe. Her dark brown hair is styled in a short pixie cut and her well-tailored suit makes everything Paige is wearing look too big and dingy.
He knows he should be mad that she lured him to a family dinner under the pretense of broadening his professional skill set, but he's mostly curious as to how two such different people could have come from the same home.
They've been idly chatting about work while they wait for dinner to finish. Alex seems to be under the impression Paige is a bartender at a dive downtown and it doesn't escape Mike's notice that she sinks a little deeper into her chair with every not-so-subtle implication that she's not living up to her potential.
"So, uh, you have a daughter?"
Mike doesn't realize he's spoken until the two women turn to face him with almost-identical looks of surprise; he wonders if they've both forgotten he's here.
Alex nods, "Ramona." A tense silence follows and Mike is about to sacrifice a little bit more of his pride in an effort to redirect the conversation when it is fortuitously broken by the frenzied appearance of a mop of brown hair that launches itself at Paige with a squeal.
"Aunt Paige!"
"Roe!"
Beaming, Paige pulls her niece into her arms and spins her around—eliciting another squeal from Ramona and an exasperated sigh from her mother that Mike finds oddly satisfying.
He watches in silence as the pair talk animatedly about school and dance and basketball for a few minutes before the girl's eyes lock onto his.
"Is that your boyfriend?"
She says the word like it's a disease and Paige laughs warmly as she turns to him and nods. He can see a now-familiar mischievous glint in her eyes as she slips her hand into his and leans against his side. She's been playing this game all night, trying to get the reaction she'd clearly been hoping for when she'd casually mentioned that their "mark" was actually her sister; but he'd responded to that without breaking a sweat and was taking her increasingly-affectionate touches in stride as well.
Never one to miss an opportunity though, he takes advantage of the way her head is resting softly against his right shoulder to drop a light kiss to her temple. She tenses underneath him and for a moment he worries he might have taken their game too far, but when she looks up at him he can see amusement coloring her eyes.
He holds her gaze for few more moments, and Mike is suddenly very conscious of the way her body is pressed against his; of how incredibly beautiful she is; of how perfectly her hand fits into his. He abruptly feels like even this small bit of contact is dangerous even though he knows this is just another cover and he's only here because he happened to run to Paige at the right time.
His increasingly panicked thoughts are interrupted by a call to dinner. The food is fantastic and he lets himself be distracted by salmon and Ramona's animated description of her science fair project.
It works, and by the time Paige slips her hand into his to pull him out the door and back towards the car he's got this—whatever this is—under control.
Completely, totally under control.