Insight
Once, when Charlie's standing on the balcony drinking her morning coffee, she catches Mike, just back from his morning run, on his hands and knees sifting through the sand. She turns right back around and pretends that she didn't, wanting know absolutely nothing more.
She'll feel bad if she discovers something that she'll be obligated to make fun of him for.
The face she makes when he brings each new one back from the beach and presses it into her palm is somehow more innocent than any of her other expressions. Eyes slightly widened, lips pulled back in a grin that she's trying to hide, she looks so genuinely delighted that he doesn't even think about listening to her when she tells him that this is really not necessary and how she doesn't know where she's going to put them all.
Long fingers lightly trace the creases on the surface of the delicate shell, thumb brushing stray grains of sand onto the rug. Mike remembers the same fingers tracing a path up his spine and instinctively steps closer, winding his arms around her waist. Playfully, she makes a half-heartedly move to squirm away, but eventually settles against his chest.
"I like this one," she murmurs, rolling it in her fingers before setting it on the nightstand with the others. "It might be my favorite. Was it hard to find?"
"No," he lies easily. "It just sort of caught my eye. Didn't even have to stop running."
Smiling because they both know that isn't true, she pecks his lips, rests her cheek against his, and waits for him to wind his fingers through her hair to complete the pose.
Paige sighs contentedly when they're settled into position. "Good morning," she hums.
Mike grins. It is.
Paige accidentally leaves her door open one morning, and before he can stop himself, Jakes catches sight of what she's doing and slows to a stop. When she sees him, she stops unmaking the bed and flushes, looking like she's about to give an explanation. "No," he says firmly, walking away.
He'll count himself lucky that's the worst thing he's seen through her open door.
If you ask Paige, Mike has a real problem. And she thinks it's a lot funnier than he does.
Every morning, it never fails. He cannot allow himself to leave her room without making the bed. And every morning, Paige unmakes it.
When he sees her covers yanked out of place, half on the floor, sheets twisted and pillows by the foot of the bed, Mike takes a long deep breath. "This isn't cute," he says, pointing sternly.
"So don't fix it," she challenges.
"Paige," he groans, laughing as he tries to pull her off the bed by the arm. Grinning, she flops back uncooperatively, pulling him down on top of her. "Why can't you just let me have this?" he complains, digging his fingers into her side until she shrieks and rolls away. "I care whether it's made or not. You don't."
Paige manages to climb onto his chest and pin him to the messy sheets. "So why do I do it?" she prompts.
"Because then I have to come in here and- oh." He gets it and shuts up.
They mess it up again. Together.
Briggs finds Paige in the kitchen at two in the morning, four cups of tea steaming in front of her. "Is that mine?" he asks because he's the only one that drinks it so it likely is.
She nods, frowning. "I can't tell. Which one helps you relax?"
He hands her the chamomile and makes a cup for himself, shaking his head.
It's so late, but he's still awake, sitting up in bed and torturing himself going over that same case file again and again. Paige watches from the doorway, frowning when she sees him rubbing his eyes. He's so close to sleep, but he just won't let himself go.
She climbs up next to him and forces a trade, the file for the mug of tea.
"Try it," she orders. "It'll help you unwind."
He looks skeptical, so she leans over to slip the file folder under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind. "It does!" she insists. "I tested it."
Tentatively, he takes a sip. He doesn't say anything, but he does keep drinking. Satisfied, she rests her head against his shoulder, deliberately slowing her breathing and hoping he'll unconsciously do the same. She knows they all run a little short on sleep more than every once in a while, but for some reason, it's harder to watch him do it than to do it herself.
His skin heats up as he drinks, warm and solid under her head, and if she weren't so worried, she would be drifting off herself. There's a faint click as porcelain hits wood when he puts the empty mug down on the nightstand.
"Paige?" His finger gently strokes the side of her face. "I have to get back to work."
She feigns sleep, knowing he'll never risk waking her just to get his file back.
When he drifts off a few minutes later, she thinks she deserves more credit than the tea.
The TV's flashing in the dark, and Johnny stops to investigate. "Dude, are you watching the shopping network?"
Mike shrugs, and Johnny groans. "I gotta tell you man, sometimes it's like you're asking for it."
When she finally comes home, he's so distracted that he almost doesn't hear her. She may be used to this kind of work, but it makes him anxious. More so when he realizes that she's shaking, with a bite mark on her neck that he knows he didn't leave. Carefully, he drags his sleeping limbs off the couch and reaches for her.
She rears back a bit. He's not sure if it's because she doesn't want him to touch her or because she doesn't think he should want to after whatever she's been through tonight. But then there's a flash of insecurity on her face, and he knows exactly what she's thinking.
"Come here," he urges, pulling her tightly against him and guiding them both down onto the couch. "It's okay."
Half in his lap, she starts sputter about how ridiculous she's being. How she's done this a million times before and shouldn't still be so affected. That is not exactly comforting to hear, and Mike holds tighter, swaying slightly. "Do you want me to-?"
She nods, and he brushes the hair away from the nape of her necking, placing his own light kisses over the angry, red mark. He tastes beer and nicotine on her skin and winces, thinking about how it got there.
Did anyone wait up for her before he got here?
Settled against his side, she smiles slightly and asks about his evening. Mike kisses her forehead.
Doesn't matter. He'll be there from now on.