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Mike wakes up in the middle of the night, lungs like lead, his heart fluttering in his heaving chest as he sits bolt upright and realizes that he's still alive. The inside of his throat burns and he can feel a bead of sweat roll down his back as he pushes himself off the couch that the residents of Graceland told him to sleep on, stumbling to the kitchen sink and dry heaving over it. He doesn't remember ever feeling this horrible when he's actually safe; his head spins so fiercely he crashes against the counter because he can't stand up straight. Muscles tense, he squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself to calm down and look from an outside perspective – he's fine, he's okay; he's in a safehouse, there are six capable agents upstairs, he has a gun that he knows how to defend himself with, the night is calm and quiet. He's in no immediate danger and he knows that, but his heart is racing in his throat and suddenly he feels like he's immersed in ice water and every part of his body is telling him flee or die.
He's gulping down air and nearly sobbing when he hears footsteps behind him and he whips around, slamming his hip against the counter as he does so. It's Briggs, in his late night half-grey-scruffed and sweatpants'd glory, and Mike buckles over as pain shoots up his sides. It's absolutely ridiculous and he feels like a caged animal. He can see himself like he's a mile away from his body; somewhere inside of him he recognizes he shouldn't be feeling like this, but panic's hitting him like a wave knocking him off his surfboard.
"Mike?" Paul says, his voice gruff with exhaustion and concern, and he approaches him, hands open in an offering. Mike knows he can't pretend this isn't happening; there are tears in his eyes and he's fighting for his breath, but he doesn't try to resist Briggs. "Mikey. Look at me."
He does, but he doesn't try to speak. The words will just come out ragged and flighty and he closes his eyes and swallows as he feels one of Paul's hands cup his jaw, stroking a rough thumb over his cheek, the other hand squeezing his shoulder.
"I won't let you get hurt again," Paul nearly growls, and Mike's scooped up in his arms, face pressed to his shirt, and he's sure that if it was literally anyone else he'd have shoved them away like he was being smothered. Instead, Paul's big but not overbearing and he smells like the house, of sand and the ocean and of wood and matches. Mike can stand when he's leaning on Paul and he shifts slightly, pressing his ear to his chest to hear his heartbeat. He can almost believe Paul's words, because Paul has that way about him, like he's speaking from the bottom of his heart in a sort of tough-love way. Mike knows that he will get hurt again, because that's what this job does; it shatters young people like glass and leaves them to glue themselves back together, wary of human contact in the fear that they'll cut others on their own stray shards. He knows that Briggs is powerless to stop any of it.
Paul guides him back to the couch and sits down, letting Mike curl up beside him and rest his head in his lap. It's weird. Since he returned to Graceland, and even before that, he's been so concerned with power – he is determined not to be the kicked around newbie again, determined to show the higher-ups at DC that he's their guy. Finally, he has a grasp at what he's wanted his whole life, and he isn't going to let it get away from him. And once he'd gotten back to Graceland and been given his assignment, he'd kept up the show – he is their boss. They're working for him. That is that, and he is satisfied with it, and he knows he can do it. It's difficult, though, and he can tell that the house is unhappy with it. He wants to – no, he needs to prove himself. And yet there are still times like this, when he can't hold his own authority over himself, when he's happy to let Paul take control, when he can let himself feel small and vulnerable and oh-so-human. Paul's stroking his back slowly and finally he feels air in his lungs. The ringing in his ears has stopped. He feels like sobbing in relief, but he just sighs softly and presses his forehead to Paul's stomach as he covers him with the blanket that had fallen to the floor.
"You don't have to worry about yourself or anyone else tonight," he tells Mike quietly as he closes his eyes and realizes he isn't quiet so afraid of the nightmares now that Paul's watching over him. "I can do that for you."