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There was a thump from downstairs, loud enough to wake Bates up, and his hands instinctively went to his gun as soon as he was awake enough to form coherent thoughts. After slipping sweatpants and a tee shirt on, he made his way down the staircase, gun held steady in front of him. Tracking the sound to the kitchen, Bates was surprised to see Mike Warren, the house’s recently returned prodigal son, sitting on the floor next to the sink. The tap was still running, but Mike had his head between his knees like he was struggling to breathe.
“Mike?” the DEA agent whispered. “Are you okay?”
The FBI agent’s head whipped up, red faced and wide eyed. “I—I’m fine,” he gasped, hands trembling where he had them gripping his shins so hard his knuckles were white. “Just… go back to bed.”
“Are you sick or something?” Bates asked as he tucked his Glock into the waistband of his sweats. Growing up with younger siblings made it instinctual to put a hand to Mike’s forehead, and he was grateful Mike was too distracted to notice his motherhenning. The blond man was clammy and dripping sweat, but not feverish. “What’s going on?”
“Just a… panic attack,” Mike grunted. “I’m fine.”
Bates opened his mouth to respond about how clearly fine his coworker was, Mike’s eyes went wide and he clamped a quaking hand over his mouth. “I’m gonna…” Another big brother instinct came in handy as Bates grabbed the garbage can and lowered it to where Mike was still on the floor. Mike wrapped his arms around the plastic and retched, only bile coming up, as Bates filled a cup with water. Once the FBI agent had finally propped the garbage can up and sagged against the cabinets behind him, Bates squatted beside him and offered up the glass.
“Is it okay for me to touch you?” Bates asked quietly as Mike swished the water through his mouth and spit into the garbage. Mike nodded, but the darker haired man made no move to crowd him as he carefully sat down next to his housemate.
“You get panic attacks regularly?” the DEA agent prompted. Mike shrugged and then nodded.
“I’m kinda… still in the middle of one,” he wheezed, returning to his position with his head between his knees, “so… I won’t be the best… conver--conversationalist.” His lungs were punctured balloons, unwilling to inflate no matter how hard he struggled to inhale. Mike clenched his hands in his hair, frustrated by his body's failings.
“That’s okay,” Bates said. “What brought it on?”
“Nightmares,” Mike answered simply.
“You have any medication or something?”
“Yeah, but I—I don’t like to take it.” Warren drew in another shuddering breath, noisy in the silent kitchen. “I need to… handle it on my own.”
Wayne was silent for several seconds, eyeing the agent next to him. Mike sat up slowly, eyes clenched closed and lips parted, and leaned his head back against the counter. “You don’t have to tell me,” Bates said slowly, “but if you’re comfortable with it… what kind of nightmares do you have? The kind that bring this on?”
Mike took a heaving breath, eyes still closed, before he began, and he still had to pause every few seconds to gasp. “Eddie dying. Bello torturing people. Johnny almost dying. Odin attacking me. Getting stabbed by Jangles. Suffocating. Some stuff before the job. It varies from night to night, and… other things can set it off too.”
Bates immediately thought of Mike locking himself in the bathroom for a solid half hour after Johnny had tossed towel over his head. He’d refused to respond to Johnny’s constipation jokes, and Bates was now regretting that he had joined in as the FBI agent locked himself in his room.
Suddenly Mike’s eyes were open, glassy and darting like a caged animal, and he was rocking. “Sorry, Levi,” Bates mumbled. The blond agent’s gasps were audible, and it was clear that bringing up the memories had only made things worse. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Mike didn’t respond.
“What can I do to help you?”
There was no response for several seconds, and Wayne gnawed at his lip as he attempted to be patient. “I need… I need the medicine,” Levi finally gasped.
“Alright, Mikey,” Wayne said, reflexively running a hand over the top of the kid’s head. “I’ll get it for you. Where’s the bottle?”
“My bag,” Mike panted. “Next to the couch. Small pocket. Lorazepam.”
“I’ll be right back,” the DEA agent promised as he stood up. “Keep breathing, Mikey. I’ll be right back.”
Despite Agent Warren’s best efforts, the dark blobs blinking in the edge of his vision continued to spread until everything had gone dark.
The next thing he was aware of was the shoulder that the side of his face was pressed against. There was a hand making slow circles against his back, and another keeping him from falling over. “You in the land of the living?” Wayne asked quietly. Mike nodded slowly, too exhausted to try to pull away from the DEA agent. “You passed out before I got back with your medicine.”
“How—How long?”
“Maybe about fifteen minutes,” Zelanski answered. “Scared the crap out of me when I came back in here and saw you looking dead.”
“Sorry.”
With some coaxing, Mike managed to swallow the pills, and Wayne hauled him to his feet. The blue eyed agent’s legs were jelly, and he leaned heavily on the counter before Bates wrapped one of Mike’s arms over his shoulders and grabbed him at the waist. “It’s two AM,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”
The dark haired agent was patient as he all but dragged Mike to where he had taken up residency on the couch. “Thanks, Zelanski,” Levi mumbled as he flopped onto the couch.
“No problem,” the DEA agent promised, patting Mike on top of the head while he was sure he could get away with it. The kid was so exhausted and wacked-out, that Bates was fairly confident he wouldn’t be mocked for his mollycoddling. “Just feel better.”
The next day was a work day, so Bates dragged himself down the stairs and into the kitchen despite his tiredness. Johnny nodded his greeting and continued flinging grapes and Warren. “He’s usually up way before everyone else to go running,” Tuturro stated. “Looks like he’s skipping it today.” One of Johnny’s grapes hit Mike between the eyes, and the blond agent began to stir.
“Leave him alone, John,” Bates sighed. “The kid had a rough night. I’ll make sure he’s up in time for work.”
The FBI agent squinted at Bates for a brief moment before wiggling his eyebrows pointedly. “You paint something other than the walls last night, Bates?” Johnny asked. Wayne rolled his eyes and smacked his housemate on the side of the head. “Hey, I’m not judging,” Tuturro said as he danced out of reach, a sly grin on his face. “You and Mikey want to get freaky, that’s none of my business. Use protection. Have a safe word. Lube is important.”
“I will shoot you, Johnny,” Mike grunted without opening his eyes. “Don’t test me.”
“DC made you cold, baby,” Johnny said. “Am I still allowed to call you that, or is that exclusively for Bates now?”
Mike flung his pillow at Johnny and rolled over.