Charlie has been trying to get her to roll over and have some kind of deep, meaningful conversation with her for the past half hour, but Paige is content to stay on her least bruised side, staring at her phone and swiping her thumb across the screen until the fingerprint smudges smooth into long streaks. Eventually Paige must do the unthinkable and out-stubborn Charlie DeMarco because she quits trying to engage her and settles on the bed behind her, holding the icepack to her eye with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

There's a cough from the hallway, and Charlie picks up Paige's hand and uses it to pin the icepack to her face before she goes to answer it. When she's gone, Paige sits up and slides to the end of the bed to get a better view. Paul is careful not to lean into the doorway and they keep their voices low, but glass doors aren't especially soundproofed, so she hears them as clearly as she would if they had the guts to talk about her to her face.

"Anything?" Paul asks gravely. It doesn't come out confident or teasing, and Paige startles, wondering if she's ever heard Paul's voice sound like that.

Charlie's shadow shakes its head. "Not a word. You get ahold of Mikey?"

"His phone's turned off. Left a message at the front desk. Couldn't say much to the receptionist, but if he gets it before we get there, he'll know we're coming for him at least. Have time to make his excuses."

"Mike should stay," she hollers from the bed, vaguely satisfied when the shadows jump. The door opens, and they both trail in, wearing matching variations on that infuriating sympathetic look Charlie's been giving her all night. Paige rolls her eyes.

"Mike should stay," she repeats firmly, dropping her legs from where they were folded against her chest and staring straight on. "We don't have Enos anymore. We're going to need his CI. Maybe with enough training we can push him up the ladder. Get him close and-"

"Paige, we'll get him," Paul interrupts, sitting backwards in her desk chair like some dorky substitute teacher trying to level with inner city kids. "I promise you, we're gonna regroup and then we're going at him full force, and we'll get him. But right now, Mike belongs here."

With you goes unsaid, but Paige scowls anyway, feeling it in the air. She wants Mike there too. Wants it so badly that she almost skipped Graceland altogether and drove to rehab herself. But at the same time, she knows things aren't going to be the same. Knows that there's no chance in hell he's going to get a look at the damage that's been done and just let things be the same.

Besides, she's never needed Mike to do her damn job before and she's sure as hell not going to start now.

She's going to argue it further, throw out words like "interferance with a DEA investigation" and see if they land anywhere (unlikely), and maybe get a foot under the front legs of the chair Paul's tilting off the floor and send him sprawling on his ass because that's where she's at right now and it would be satisfying in ways she can't even count. But then her phone buzzes from under her thigh, sound distorted by the comforter, and she knows who it is before she even punches in her passcode. It isn't much, just a time and a place, but she knows that she'll never make it if Charlie and Briggs are hovering outside her door all night.

"It's Mike," she lies, trying to keep her cool even though there's a spark of energy running through her veins and it feels impossible to appear as defeated as she felt thirty seconds ago. "He wants to come home, but he needs someone to sign him out."

"I'll go," Paul offers, rubbing his hands over his closed eyes. When he opens them again, he looks relieved, like he's been waiting for an excuse to get away from crazy, fragile Paige and the watercolor hurt on her skin. "I checked him in."

Paige sighs, imagining her eyelids getting heavier and hoping she looks as tired as she's trying to. "Charlie, do you mind? He sounds so pissed, and I just...I don't feel..."

Stroking her shoulder one last time, Charlie nods. "Let me go get changed and then I'll tag along. See if I can keep these two hotheads from egging each other on."

When she goes, Briggs stays, and Paige is irritated until she's gets a good look at him and realizes how little he looks like the man with a plan right now. She's never seen him like this, not even when he was the one digging himself into a hole that she's still not sure how he got out of.

"I'm really not doing this to piss you off," he sighs, easing all four legs of his chair onto the ground. "If I can help it, the people in this house don't get hurt. This time, I could help it."

Part of her wants to make a smartass remark about it being too late for that, but an even larger part recognizes that she went to great lengths to make sure that happened. And a smaller, secret part of her is remembering why she respects Briggs so much to begin with. He really will do anything to protect them.

"I know," she says, quietly because she really doesn't want to say it.

Briggs must hear it loud and clear though because he perks up and chances giving her a smile that she doesn't return. "Listen, if you're looking for something new, there's a file on my nightstand. Another PCP dealer."

"My favorite," Paige grumbles. Paul grins.

"Yeah, I know. But this one's interesting. They're dissolving it into these green lollipops and pushing them that way. Caught the FBI's interest when some kid took one out of his dad's glove box and ended up in intensive care."

Paige scowls because son of a bitch people suck, but still doesn't put any serious thought into jumping straight back into the PCP market so soon after this darling, little drown in the deep end she's been enjoying. "That's great. Real responsible. Why haven't I heard of this guy?"

They hear thumping on the stairs that means Charlie's headed for the car, but Briggs hangs back and pats her knee before he stands. "Probably because your guy's about to put him out of business. His product's good, and no cares if it not as concealable as the competition if it'll give 'em a better trip."

She's silent for a minute, and Briggs must think he threw too much at her at once because he has that carefully unintimidating look back on his face, like he thinks she's much more traumatized than she really is. "But only when you're ready. You don't have to rush into anything. Got it?"

She nods without really looking at him.

"Anything you want me to pass on to Mike?"

"Yeah," Paige mumbles distractedly, wheels turning as her mind kicks into overdrive. "Tell him it's all under control."


The address turns out to be the office she staked out with Mike and Johnny a month ago, except it's much less crowded at night. The food truck is parked outside but closed for business, security gate closed and shiny in the dark, and she can just make out two of Enos's men leaning against the side. The cab drops her off a block away, with enough time to spare that Paige can spend a few minutes mapping escape routes and bodyguards to the best of her ability. It's not perfect, and there's still a chance that he'll kill her on sight, but hopefully he's concerned enough with plugging the supposed leak in his operation to try to figure out where she got her information.

Unsurprisingly, there's someone positioned at the entrance to pat her down before they'll let her into the building. She swapped out her DEA issued weapon for one of the less cop-ish handguns they keep on hand, and he finds it easily, tucked in the side of her waistband for lack of a better place. Before he can remove it, she claps her hand down over the gun, pressing the cool metal into her hip as his fingers try to pry her away. He gets a decent grip on her hand and twists violently, and Paige chokes on her breath as she hears a crack and feels a sharp pain in her wrist, temporarily masked by adrenaline but sure to hurt like a bitch as soon as it wears off.

"You don't really think I'm stupid enough to go in there unarmed? I'm sure your boss isn't," Paige says, panting slightly. "You think he can't handle himself? Want me to go in and tell him that?"

His face hardens, and his grip on her wrist loosens until it falls against her side, throbbing. He grunts and continues his pat down, pausing when he reaches her front, right pocket. "What's this?"

"Phone," she deadpans, slipping it out into the open. He lets her pass, and closes the door behind her. From the way the frame settles, she can tell he's leaning against the other side. All of a sudden, it seems like a lot to be trapped in the same building as Enos after what happened in the parking lot that evening, and she has to pause and take a breath. Once and for all, this is going to end tonight, whether it goes her way or not.

Enos is leaning against an empty desk in the middle of the room, looking exponentially calmer than the last time she saw him, which admittedly set the bar pretty low. She straightens her back and relaxes the muscles in her face as she approaches him. "I was surprised to hear from you," she says, smiling softly. "Thought I wasn't worth your time."

Mouth twisted into something that might be a pained attempt at his usual smirk, Enos steps into her space, getting close to her face and faltering when she doesn't back down. For the first time since she conned him into inviting her into his booth that first night, she's the one in control. They both know it, but Paige feels better knowing he has no idea who he's really dealing with.

"It seems you found a way to make yourself worthwhile," he admits. "So you think I'm a drug dealer?"

Paige forces a laugh. "You don't?"

"I'd be very interested in hearing how you arrived at that conclusion." Enos leans back against the desk, apparently unsatisfied with the results of intimidation and at least willing to hear her out.

From the inside pocket of her jacket, she slowly removes Holly Preston's photo and smoothes it out with her palms before she offers it to him. She feels cold – dirty – when she sees his fingers running over it, like her own have done every day for the past month. But it's almost worth it to see the color drain from his face.

"Recognize her, do you? Holly and I seem to have a lot in common."

"What is this?" he asks hoarsely, eyes still on the photo.

"Consider it a show of good faith," Paige says, enjoying this more than she should. Her heart is pounding, and her wrist is throbbing, but it feels like the rush undercover usually gives her when she isn't being shoved around by men like Enos. "Something to give you a little confidence in where I get my information."

Enos crumples the photo in his hand, and it takes everything she has not to snatch it back from him before he shoves it in his pocket. "What do you want?"

Paige grins.

"Twenty-five grand could keep a girl comfortable."

He nods, face hard, and nods towards his office. "I'll cut a check. But then I never see your face again."

"Nice," she hums. "But not what I meant. You're going to pay me in product."

He laughs, a little on the hysterical side, and stares at her in disbelief. "What the hell does a pharmaceutical sales rep want with twenty-five grand worth of my product?"

She hisses a mocking sigh through her teeth. "Pharmaceutical sales rep may be a pretty title for what I really do. Turns out, I'm pretty important too." With her hand in her pocket, she strips off the wrapper with her thumb and makes sure Enos gets a good look at the green lollipop before she sticks it into her mouth, smirking around it. "Special, even."

"Sonofabitch!" His fist slams into a nearby filing cabinet, and she hears the cheap metal crunch and fold in around his hand. He pulls it out, bleeding and bent oddly, and Paige doesn't even try to hide her smile. "You were playing me."

"I was playing you," she confirms, winking. "You were bleeding my business dry, so I went looking for cracks in yours. Figured out that you have those nasty little temper tantrums every once in a while, and went digging from there. The rest was easy."

Her fingers slip into her pocket, and she holds a button on the phone until she feels it jolt. Stepping into his space for once, she sidles up next to him, pressing the front of her jeans to his hip.

"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to deliver on your end of the bargain by the end of business tomorrow. My dealers are going to put it back on the street with my mark on it until the market's just filthy with it. My reputation gets restored, and we never have to see each other again."

Paige pops the lollipop out of her mouth and aims it for where his jaw is hanging open, stunned. His teeth click as she uses her index finger to push his chin up, and his mouth seals around the candy.

"I don't keep that much in stock," he says finally.

Leaning up to whisper in his ear, Paige imagines every disgusting, demeaning thing he's said to her in the past month and grins. "Then you better get in the kitchen and start cooking."

Enos nods, and Paige steps back.

"Good boy."


When she's sitting on the high gurney in the ER, it takes all she has to keep from swinging her legs like a little girl. Her new cast is purple, which is her favorite color, and that's just the latest in the long string of things that have been coming up roses tonight. She studies the plaster as she waits for the nurse to bring her the pain meds she's almost definitely not going to take and stares at the phone in her hand, afraid to blink in case she misses something.

The curtain flies back, and Paige forces a sweet smile for the elderly nurse who's about to come in. But it's not pink scrubs that come into view, and the smile drops.

"Johnny," she says quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't even," he says, carefully cupping her face in his hands and tilting it up to face him. "Don't try that. What happened, P?"

She's working out how much of the truth she's willing to forfeit here when the curtain moves again. Paige frowns, confused. "You brought Jakes?"

Jakes scowls and pokes her forehead, far enough away from her black eye to make it more annoying than mean-spirited.

"Had to," Johnny confirms, wagging a finger between himself and DJ. "We're a search team. Not a search 'you wait in the car.'"

Search teams. Not good.

A phone rings, and Paige jumps, scrambling for the one in her lap. It turns out to be Johnny's, and he gives her a strange look before accepting the call and putting it on speaker.

"Hello?"

"Hey Briggs," Johnny answers, ignoring Paige's frantic shushing motion and waving her off. "I got her. She's okay. We're headed home now."

"Amen to that. How is she?"

He holds the phone out like he wants her to take it, but Paige slides away and accidentally bumps into DJ, avoiding the phone like a poisonous snake. Johnny sighs. "She's good. Her wrist's busted, and her face is a little banged up."

"He broke her wrist?"

Johnny snorts. "Nice guy, huh?"

"Yeah, a real class act."

He leaves to take the call outside, and Jakes knocks into her shoulder with his. Her cast scrapes against his side and he backs up to take a better look at her. He rotates her cast in his hands, looking down like he can see through the plaster and skin to the damage underneath. "How bad?"

"I wasn't listening," she admits sheepishly.

"Course not," Jakes mutters, rolling his eyes before they catch on the phone she's flipping from hand to hand. "That's not your phone."

"Nope," she grins. "It's a clone. Of Luis Enos's. He's going to have to call in his entire manufacturing team tonight, and we're going to listen in."

As it turns out, Jakes doesn't want to hear another word about that situation and instead congratulates her on being not dead as they wait for Johnny to return. When he does, there's something in his posture that catches Paige's attention and has her jumping down off the gurney. "What's wrong?"

"Mikey took off. Paul said he was fine the whole way home, went into your room and took something out your desk, and just kind of… I don't know, lost it? Any idea what's going on there?"

"No," she says frowning. "The only thing in my desk drawer is…"

Her other copy of Enos's file. With the domestic battery complaints and the other picture of Holly Preston's marred body.

Oh god. And the real estate holdings she took from Enos's apartment.

That idiot…