Fic: Moving In

[helsinkibaby]

Fic: Moving In
Author: helsinkibaby
Fandom: The Following
Pairing: Mike Weston/Debra Parker
Rating: G
Word Count:2157
Spoilers: AU from the end of season one
Summary: Debra goes home with Mike.
Notes: For the "moving in" square on my Cotton Candy Bingo card


Debra watches Ryan and Claire get in the car and drive away with a smile on her face. Well, she thinks it's a smile; she's so tired it's hard to tell. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and just about jumps out of her skin when a hand lands on her shoulder.

She instantly feels ridiculous because this just might be the safest spot in America right now, crawling with agents from multiple agencies and besides, she knows whose hand it is. He was standing beside her watching the car drive away, for crying out loud, and she doesn't need to be reminded that that particular hand has touched her a lot more intimately than that.

But that, she knows, was before the woods.

"Sorry." Mike's expression is caught somewhere between contrite and concerned and she forces a smiles to her face, forces her shoulders to relax. "I suppose asking if you're ok is kinda redundant?"

Debra shakes her head. "Little bit," is all she says and he jams his hands into the pockets of his jackets, rocks forward slightly on the balls of his feet.

"You need a ride back to DC?" She's caught by surprise and he shrugs. "Debriefings start tomorrow... and I don't know about you, but I'm ok with letting these guys run the show from here on out." His eyes drift across the water towards the lighthouse. "I've had just about enough of... everything."

Debra is in no mood to disagree with him so she just nods. "If you're sure-" she begins and he cuts her off with a raised eyebrow.

"No way you're in a condition to drive yourself," he says flatly, and considering he'd been there when the doctors had had a fit about releasing her from the hospital - she'd had to sign any amount of disclaimers to get here - he knows what he's talking about.

"I'm not," she says, not even attempting to put up a fight, stepping closer to him instead. "And thank you."

She's not just talking about driving her home and from the way his cheeks and eyes darken, he gets that.

Holding one arm out, he lets her lead the way towards Turner where he tells the agent what they're doing and where they're going. The older man nods, says he'll see them tomorrow and then there's a light pressure on Debra's back, Mike's hand again, guiding her towards his rental car.

There's not much conversation in the car; she's wiped out and barely five minutes into the journey she can feel her eyes getting heavy. She rolls her head around so that she can see Mike and he must catch the motion from the corner of his eye because he glances over at her. What he sees has his lips curling up in a grin and she can see a glimpse of the man she met only a few short weeks ago, back before all the crap came down. It's nice to see that he's still in there, she thinks. "You can sleep, you know," he tells her, eyes back to the road having met hers for only a second but long enough to warm her considerably.

She nods, closes her eyes and does just that.

He wakes her when they get to the city limits and she rubs her eyes as he turns off the radio. "So, I just realised," he tells her with a chuckle, "I have no idea where you live."

She gives him her address but suddenly she's not so thrilled about being at home alone and something of that must show on her face because he looks at her, really looks at her, narrowing his eyes. When he turns his attention back to the road, he sounds almost nervous when he says, "My place is closer." Her heart does a little stutter in her chest and she pretends not to notice it. "You want to head there... get some dinner? I can drop you back later."

Debra's fairly sure that if she goes to his place, she won't leave that night, but Mike can't read her mind, doesn't know what she's thinking, what she's feeling. She sees him swallow nervously, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel and she reaches out, places a hand over his knee.

"I'd like that."

She feels like she's putting herself on the line but his smile makes it worthwhile.

By the time they make it to his place however, she's starting to feel more than a little exposed. Which, she knows, is ridiculous. This is Mike, after all, the man who saved her life, the man who she's come to know better than anyone ever over the last couple of months. If there's one person in the world she can trust, it's him.

But for all the nights they've spent together, this is his home that she's seeing for the first time and it feels like a big step.

It's a surprise when he pulls into an area filled with two storey houses and nearly kept front lawns - she'd just assumed it would be an apartment building. He parks the car and waits for her before he walks up the driveway, and she doesn't miss his frown as he glances at the front lawn, grass noticeably longer than that of the surrounding houses. He unlocks the front door and steps in first, punches in the alarm code then steps back to let her through. He locks the front door behind them, puts on the safety chain and deadbolt for good measure and Debra feels instantly better. He looks over at her then like he's not sure what to do. He starts by taking off his coat, then takes hers, hangs it in the hall closet then looks at her again, reaching up with one hand to scratch the back of his neck.

"We can order in," he says. "I have menus in the kitchen. Or you could have a shower, if you want..." He stops, looking as if he's just realised something. "Our go-bags are still in Havenport. I'm sure I can find some sweats or something to fit you..."

He stops talking when she takes a step towards him, then another. She's smiling, because this much babble can only mean one thing - he's nervous too. Which means that whatever she's feeling, he's feeling the same thing and that makes her feel strangely better. So she closes the distance between them, slides her arms around his waist, lacing her fingers loosely together at the small of his back. Her head goes to his shoulder, facing in and she closes her eyes, breathes in the scent of him. It only takes a second for his hands to find her back, for his head to rest against hers, for him to press a kiss to the top of her head. She can feel him relax and when she pulls back, he's even able to give her a smile.

"A shower sounds great," she tells him. "Why don't you get the menus, we'll order, I can jump in before it gets here."

He actually salutes. "Yes, Ma'am," he says as he moves away and she can't help but grin after him. He goes into the kitchen and she can hear him rifling through drawers. Her attention though is focused on the living room, and maybe it's her FBI training but she's reading the room as she looks around, trying to see what it can tell her about Mike.

A large flat screen television adorns one corner, DVD player and games console on the unit underneath. Across from that is a very comfortable looking corner couch, with whatever ragged looking pillows adorning it all piled up at one end, the end that gives the best view of the television. At the far wall, there is a desk, books piled up on one side, pictures on the other. She walks over, takes a look and blinks as her blood runs cold.

"Hey, Mike?" she calls, and even to her own ears her voice sounds strained. He must hear the same thing because she hears him stop what he's doing, come across to her. "You got a wife you're hiding from me?"

"What?" He sounds surprised but she's holding a picture in her hand that is unmistakably Mike - a much younger, clean shaven Mike, but still Mike - in a tux, standing beside a beautiful blonde woman in full bridal regalia. Two older women stand on either side of them and before Debra can look at them properly, Mike is beside her, tilting the frame to turn the picture towards him.

When he sees what she's looking at, he grins. "Deb, that's my cousin, Ellie. See, that's my mom beside me, and her sister, my Aunt Ann, beside Ellie." Debra's face must show her doubt because he nods, continues, "They were pregnant at the same time, we were born two weeks apart... we were more like twins than cousins growing up." He blinks then, as if something has just occurred to him. "Wait, are you jealous?"

He doesn't sound upset or angry; delighted might be nearer the mark and she takes the picture back, lifts it up for a better look. The resemblance between the two mothers is noticeable when she actually looks at them and she finds herself fighting back a sigh of relief. "Surprised," she allows, then, a second or two later, "OK, maybe a little jealous." He actually beams at her admission and she looks back at the picture quickly. "You look so young," she murmurs. "How long ago was this taken?"

Mike shifts on his feet, clears his throat. "Eight months ago," he says and when her head swings around to stare at him in complete shock, he is smiling, reaching up with one hand to rub his chin. "My mom made me promise I'd be clean shaven for the photos," he tells her. "I tried to explain that I'd look like I was barely out of high school, but you can see who won that particular war." Another rub of the chin, a shrug of the shoulders. "Turns out the scruff's not just a fashion statement."

She can feel something strange happening in her face, in her chest. It takes her a minute to realise that she's smiling, that laughter is bubbling up and out of her. He laughs too, loud and hearty, takes her in his arms and the picture, as well as any lingering nerves and tension, is forgotten.

They're still smiling as they decide on Chinese food, as he shows her where the bathroom is and hands her two fluffy towels, a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She takes her time in the shower, savouring the feeling of the hot as she can stand it water flowing over her skin and when she comes back into the living room, she feels a hundred times better.

A hundred turns to a thousand when she sees the slow smile that spreads across his face when he sees her. "You even make my sweats look good," he says, wrapping his arms around her and she blushes, not used to such obvious admiration.

"They're a little big," she hears herself say, inspecting the rolled up sleeves and he shakes his head with a fond smile on his face.

"Deb," he says, lowering his lips to hers, "Take the compliment."

She must have been in the shower for even longer than she realised because things are just getting interesting when the doorbell rings. It's their dinner and as Mike pays the guy, Debra takes it into the kitchen, pulls cartons out of the bag, waits for him to get out the plates and cutlery. They talk as they eat, trading stories and memories and Debra is surprised at how easy it is, how natural.

Later, they curl up in front of the television, one of the music channels on low - no chance of news interruptions. Her head is on his shoulder, his hands playing with the hair when she lets out a contented sigh. "I could get used to this."

She doesn't realise she's said it aloud until his arm tightens around her shoulders. "You can stay," he says softly. Then, softer still, "Forever if you'd like."

There's a part of her that says it's too soon for that, but a larger part reminds her of the horrors of the last forty eight hours, about how close they were to not being able to do this. That's the part of her that lifts her head, looks into his eyes as she touches his cheek. "Sounds good to me."

The brief glimpse of his smile before she kisses him silences the smaller questioning part of her brain altogether.

She'd thought, before she came here, that she'd never want to leave.

Turns out she was right, so she doesn't.