Author's Notes: I realize this will probably raise more questions than it answers. I promise I will be addressing what details may seem like incongruities in future chapters, but please point them out if you're wondering. Thanks so much for the support.
Paige's eyes open. She looks groggily around at her surroundings. The ground below her is hard, but she's no longer in the alleyway. Her head is pounding, and her eyes squint as they try to adjust to the darkened room. Her mouth is parched, it feels like it's filled with cotton, as she pushes herself to a seated position.
She's in a sparse, cold, mostly empty room. She can't tell if it was a factory, or an old house that was stripped, but she knows she's lying on a dirty threadbare blanket on a cold cement floor. The California room is chilled with the night air, and she looks up to see a large window overlooking the city. Several of it's panes are cracked or broken. This place is not well loved.
She has no clue where she is.
She's not sure if it's the head injury, but she still doesn't feel scared. Waking up in an abandoned building after having her head bashed in, she should be terrified, but she's surprisingly calm.
She's sitting on a thin blanket in the corner, in what appears to be a makeshift bed on top of some cardboard. She seems to have been laid there with great care, despite its humble settings. A thin jacket is covering her like a blanket. Her shoes and purse sit within reach, but other than that, she is completely clothed. Her eyes quickly span the sparse room, trying to make out shapes in the moonlight. The only pieces of furniture in the room are a broken down desk and next to the desk is a chair with a man slouched in it asleep.
It's dark, but she would know that silhouette anywhere.
None of this makes sense. She tries to remember what happened, how any of this came to be. Her mind flashes back to the alleyway with Pedro. She thought she was going to die there. Before that, she was in the club, and she'd been dancing... and it had been Mike she'd danced with.
She'd known it.
Dammit, of course, she knew it!
Why had she doubted herself? What was it about Mike that made her doubt her own instincts? She was god damn Paige Arkin. Her BS meter never lied. Why did he make her question everything she ever knew? That asshole! Why had he run from her? And if he had been alive all this time, why hadn't he let her known sooner?
Paige can feel the familiar tendrons of anger wrapping around her spine, but she pushes the emotion down. She has spent so long being angry at Mike, that she doesn't want that right now. Anger is the easy familiar path that she won't allow herself to take tonight.
He's alive.
Or she's dead.
It doesn't really matter.
She doesn't know how or why all she knows is she's reunited with Mike somehow. That's what's important.
She silently climbs to her feet and looks around the space. It was just one room. No kitchen. no bathroom. Just a sink. There were papers hanging on the otherwise bare walls of Mike scribbling notes. She walks cautiously across the room towards Mike.
He's propped up in the chair facing where she had been laying in the corner. His chin rests on his chest and his arms are crossed loosely across his body. It doesn't look particularly comfortable. She doesn't want to disturb him, but she can't help but reach out to run her fingers through his unnaturally mussed hair. She just needs to make sure he's real.
Her gentle touch wakes him. He sits up a little straighter in the chair, trying to pretend he didn't fall asleep while guarding her. She smiles to herself. Even after all they'd been through, he was too much of a gentleman to sleep on the ground beside her without express permission. Boyscout.
"Hey." His voice is heavy from sleep as he sleepily rubs his face. His thin cheeks and sunken eyes don't escape her notice, but he seems to be avoiding her gaze. "How are you feeling?"
"It was you." She breaths aloud to herself in wonder. "You were at the club."
He nods his head ever so slightly as he closes his eyes. She stands over where he sits in the broken chair. Her fingers run through his hair, and he leans his cheek into her touch. She forgot how boyish he looks when he's sleepy. She takes in every change as she stares at him for a moment, watching him in wonder. His hair is longer, the lines around his eyes more defined and a thick scruff that threatens to become a beard covers his normally clean shaven face.
She feels like she's waking up from a bad dream. Or maybe she's just fallen asleep and she's dreaming of him again. He's wearing a black t-shirt... No wait, it's the same gray t-shirt he was wearing when she last saw him, just so stained by blood and grime it looks black. His dark jeans ride low on his hips, the brown belt just barely managing to hold them up.
His eyes are still closed, as if he is afraid to open them. Finally with a deep sigh, and what seems like a good bit of willpower, he stands up. He avoids eye contact with her by leaning in to examine her forehead. Paige on the other hand openly stares at him, mesmerized. She still can't believe he's here. She has so many things she wants to ask him, so many things to say to him, she doesn't know where to start.
She stares up at his stubbled jaw and the thin set of his mouth as he examines her injured head. She watches the way the lines of muscle shift in his forearms as he carefully brings his hands to her face to maneuver her head for inspection. Her eyes lower to his neck, and a small smile graces her lips when she sees his adam's apple move as he takes a nervous gulp of air. He's trying to play it cool and detached, but Paige can tell he's nervous as hell.
He observes her head in a clinical way, finally murmuring in a soft voice, "Who are you?"
"Mike, you know who I am…" Paige can't hide the hurt tone of surprise in her voice. There was a time when she thought Mike knew her better than anyone. She worries she's wrecked that trust now.
"Do you know what today is?" He continues to gently press against her bruised forehead, apparently pleased the bleeding had stopped. Mike still doesn't make eye contact as he stares at her head.
"Oh god, how long was I out?" Paige starts to panic. Were people going to be looking for her? How was she going to explain this to the bureau? What had she missed while she was unconscious? It seems these days she turns her back for a second and the whole world turns upside down.
"Not that long. A few hours." Mike's lips turn up into a small smirk at the edges. He finally stops examining her head and leans down to looks into her eyes. Not so much in them, but at them, like he's searching for something. "What do you remember prior to getting attacked?"
"I was at the club… I thought I was going crazy, but you were there. I was dancing and you came up behind me and…" Paige's hand instinctively comes up to the spot on her neck that still tingled from where Mike's lips had touched. A shiver runs through her body as she remembers the feel of him grinding behind her, kissing her neck. She looks up at him suspiciously, "Why are you asking me all this?"
"I'm trying to see if you have a concussion." He shrugs, seemingly satisfied that she was alright.
He turns and walks back to lean against the desk a few feet away from her. She's trying to figure out his cold aloof, clinical behavior. Just a few hours ago at the club there was nothing cold about him. She stares at him in confusion and waits for him to speak again.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here." He finally says, looking down at the floor again. "I just didn't know what else to do."
Paige can feel the space he's putting between them and it physically hurts. She hasn't seen Mike in forever and all she wants to do now is be close to him. She crosses the room to lean against the desk beside him so her side brushes against his.
"Where is here? This is where you're living?" She looks around the small run down room. He was obviously squatting.
"For the moment. I move a lot." Mike says defensively, scooting an inch over so he can't feel her skin burning against his. He shifts uncomfortably, arms crossed across his chest looking down at his feet. "Your head looks ok. Maybe you better go."
"Go?" She feels like the words knock the breath out of her. She just found him again. She can't just 'go'.
"Yeah…" Mike says running a hand down his face. "Just leave, Paige. Pretend you never saw me."
"What time is it?" She asks, looking up at him, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. Trying to stall. She didn't want to leave him.
He gives her a knowing look, and reaches over to gently grasp her left wrist. Lifting her arm to inspect her watch he says, "About two am."
"Maybe I should stay until it's light." Paige says, not even trying to hide the suggestive tone in her voice, "This isn't the best part of town."
"You don't know what part of town this is." Mike points out, somewhat breathlessly. He still hasn't let go of her wrist and his thumb is unconsciously tracing small circles over her pulse.
"Better safe than sorry." She says, looking at his hand on her wrist with fascination.
"It's not safe for you to be here." He says darkly, looking away and letting her wrist fall back to her lap.
"It's not safe for you here, either." She argues.
"I've put you in enough danger tonight. I shouldn't have been at that club. If anyone finds out you saw me-"
"If you weren't at that club, I might not be alive." Paige tries to assure him.
His eyes squeeze shut and he shakes his head like the very thought actually pains him.
Being here with Mike doesn't even feel real. Paige doesn't want to leave him. Not now. She doesn't want to return to the real world without him. The real world holds nothing but pain and loneliness and... Pedro… Shit.
"Fuck, what am I going to do about Pedro?" She mutters out loud to herself. She supposes she could have him arrested for battery and try to flip him, but it would ruin her cover.
"He won't bother you anymore." Mike's voice darkens as he pushes off the desk to go stand across the room, away from her. Staring out one of the broken windows he says quietly, "You should go home, Paige. Get some sleep."
"Fine." Paige says in frustration.
She doesn't know why he keeps pushing her away. Closing himself off to her. Things have been strained between her and Mike for what feels like forever, but after fearing he was truly dead, it all seemed so petty. He's back in her life now, and she won't lose him again. So Paige decides to play dirty.
"Fine, I'll just grab my purse and-" Paige stands up and allows her knees to go weak as she begins to faint. Sure enough, Mike catches her before she even comes close to the ground. Cradling her in his arms his eyes rake over her in concern.
"Shit. That head wound must be worst than I thought. I knew I should have taken you to a hospital." Mike starts berating himself as he begins to fuss over her head again.
"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy." Having him so close again, surrounding her, she breaths in his scent, burying her nose in the fabric of his grey tshirt. She's standing on her own now, but Mike's arms are still protectively around her.
"Jesus…" Mike groans as he once again stares at the gash on her forehead. Paige can't help but be reminded of back when their relationship was so new and exhilarating that even a knife to her hand couldn't dull the excitement she felt around him. "He really got you. How are you feeling? Honestly."
How's she feeling? She's feeling everything. Every emotion possible is all at once is racing through her veins. If she could choose only one, it would be relief. He's alive, and she still can't believe it and she just wants to hold him tight until she's convinced he'll never leave her side again. However, she can't tell him that, and it's not really what he's asking, so she'll take the easy way out.
"My head hurts." She admits, touching where her head had hit the wall and the ground.
"I think I've still got some pain killers around here somewhere from the hospital." He gently rests her in the chair, and then starts scrounging around through piles of papers and photos. She imagines this room is how his mind must look right now. Depressing, scattered and overburdened. He finds the bottle and holds the pills out to her. "Here."
"You didn't take these?" Paige asks, looking at the mostly full bottle. He hands her a lukewarm bottle of water, and leans back against the desk still trying to wipe sleep from his eyes.
"Only when I really needed them. They make it hard for me to think." His arms are crossed as he looks around the place, seemingly embarrassed of his humble abode.
"You must be in a lot of pain." Her eyes flicker down to his injured side which she can tell from his stance he's still favoring. He shrugs noncommittally.
She takes one of the pills and chases it with a sip of water. Crossing the room to where he's leaning against the desk she sets the pill bottle down on the desk beside him. He eyes her warily, his arms crossed across his chest, taking in her close proximity. At the club when she wasn't facing him, he was all hands and confidence, but now with her eyes staring up at him, he's reserved and cautious. She holds up one small pill in her fingers.
"You don't need to think tonight, Mike." His eyes flicker over to the pill and then cautiously back to her eyes.
He considers it, and she can see his mind turning. She can tell he's worried about giving up his mental edge around her. It's true they have a lot to talk about, but tonight Paige doesn't want to talk. She just needs to release the relief that has poured into her heart at seeing him again. He finally seems to come to a decision and without a word, he opens his mouth and closes it around the small pill she places on his tongue. He swallows it dry, his eyes still locked on hers.
She leans in to chase the pill with a kiss.