[Broken and Bruised]

Mike pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, staring at the dark shadows that loomed across the floor in the living room.

It was close to 3am and no one else was awake. The rest of the house had turned in sometime around midnight, Mike included, but none of them had woken up from nightmares.

Mike grimaced at the word. He couldn't believe that a stupid nightmare had woken him up. He wasn't five years old for crying out loud. This type of thing wasn't supposed to happen anymore.

The nightmare had gripped him tight and thrown him into a blind panic that left him gasping for breath and groping for his weapon; not a good combination. It was a good thing that he had left his gun on his desk instead of his nightstand.

Spurts of blood flying through the air, flashed across Mike's vision, reminding him again of why he had woken up. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images.

Shivering slightly, Mike wrapped his arms across his chest, wool blanket hanging across his shoulders. He pulled his legs up to his chest, leaning his chin on his knees. He stared, unblinking, at the floor, trying to keep his breathing even and calm. He had read somewhere that yoga and meditation helped you relax, and while he didn't feel like getting down on the floor to do some downward dogs, he knew that breathing was an important part of both those things.

A hand lightly touched his shoulder causing Mike to explode away from the person. He flung himself across the couch, his breath hitching and his mind going twenty miles an hour. The blanket that had been protecting him from the chill fell from his shoulders, catching his flailing legs.

Betraying him, the blanket stopped Mike's progress away from the offending hand and he ended up falling to the ground with a thump.

"Ouch," Mike groaned, his back pressing against the thick carpet on the floor.

"Mikey," Charlie's voice came from the side of the couch. "What the hell was that?"

Mike propped himself up on his elbows, blinking as a lamp suddenly flickered on. Charlie stood over him, her hands propped on her hips. She glared down at him, though Mike could see the concern in her brown eyes.

"Uh, hey, Charlie," Mike said. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You're awake at 3 o'clock in the morning, sitting alone in the dark, and you react like I touched you with acid and all you have to say is 'sorry'?"

"I'm very sorry?" Mike tried, pulling himself up to a sitting position. He felt like a child, gazing up at Charlie from the floor.

"Not buying that shit," Charlie said. She shook her head before sitting down next to Mike, her back against the side of the couch. "Tell me what's up."

Mike avoided her eyes, instead he kept close watch on his hands that where twitching on his lap. "Nothing's up. Other than the ceiling…" Mike caught the scathing look Charlie sent him for that comment and he shut up quick.

"Not good enough."

"I don't really want to talk about it," Mike tried.

Charlie didn't move.

"Honestly, Charlie, nothing is the matter. I just woke up and couldn't get back to sleep so I thought I'd sit down here for a while and see if that would help me."

"Michael Warren," Charlie warned.

Mike started at the full name, side-eyeing his dark haired friend. He sighed; she wasn't going away and she apparently knew that he was lying. "Fine," he huffed. "I had a nightmare. Happy?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to act like he wasn't pouting.

"Mike," Charlie said softly. She reached over and lightly touched his arm. "What was it about?"

"Nothing. I mean, I don't remember," Mike said. He winced; sometimes he was such an amateur at this whole lying game.

"What was it about?" Charlie repeated.

Mike didn't say anything for a few moments and Charlie waited.

He shut his eyes, seeing the images blur behind his eyelids. "Tomato sauce," he finally said, bitterness creeping into his voice.

"Huh," Charlie said slowly. "Not quite what I was expecting."

Mike opened his eyes and turned his body slightly so that he was facing his friend. "That's what Briggs told me. It's just tomato sauce."

Charlie had a small frown etched into her face, but she nodded. "Okay."

"Do you remember sauce night?" Mike asked, deciding that if he was going to spill his guts to anyone it might as well be Charlie.

Charlie slowly nodded again and then understanding dawned on her. "Oh."

"I see him all the time," Mike said in a strangled voice. "Every night, Bello is there blowing out Eddie's brains. Sometimes, it's different. Sometimes I get found out and they both shoot me. Other times, I'm actually the one shooting Eddie. That one scares me the most, because when I shoot him I don't feel remorse…I feel vindicated." Mike stopped. He looked away from Charlie. "The worst thing is, I let that happen. I let Eddie die. How could I let that happen? I'm supposed to be one of the good guys." Mike felt tears spring to his eyes, but he angrily ignored them, hoping that Charlie couldn't seem them in the dim light.

"Mike," Charlie said, "I'm going to tell you right now: you couldn't have stopped what happened to Eddie. Yes, we set it in motion, but you couldn't have known that Bello was going to shoot his own man. There was nothing you could've done. Mike, look at me." Charlie reached out, gripping Mike's chin in her hand. She turned his face towards hers.

He blinked hastily, trying to hide his tears.

Charlie held him in place for a few beats, glaring at him, trying to force him to believe her words.

"Dammit, Mike," she muttered, pulling him close and hugging him tight.

Mike swallowed and took a shallow breath, determined not to start blubbering all over Charlie's white t-shirt. He clung tightly to her, despite the uncomfortable sitting position they were both in.

Charlie broke the embrace, holding Mike at arm length. She pointedly ignored his over bright blue eyes. "I don't know about you, but I could really do with a drink."

Mike nodded his agreement. "Yeah, tea would be great."

Charlie laughed as she stood up, pulling Mike with her. "I was thinking more like whiskey, Mikey."

"Oh," Mike said. "That's a better idea."

"Yes, it is. Come on." Charlie tugged on Mike's hand, leading him towards the dark kitchen. She looped her slim arm around his waist.

Unconsciously, Mike leaned into the touch, his cold body gladly accepting the warmth that Charlie was offering.

"Thanks, Charlie," Mike said quietly.

"You know I've got your back, kid," Charlie replied. "Don't ever forget that."

A/N: Okay, so I know it's been ages since I've posted a story, mostly because I honestly didn't know what to write about and the new season is pretty dark and I didn't exactly feel like writing any of the ideas that I got from the new season.

Basically since the first season when Bello killed Eddie, I've sorta wondered how Mike dealt with that. Obviously, he's seen a lot more shit since then, but at the time I felt like the show breezed over that whole thing. In my mind, I think Mike would've been struggling more with the fact that Eddie was killed right in front of him and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Anyway, thanks for all the reviews/follows/favorites! I really appreciate them! And, as always, if you guys have any ideas/prompts you want to throw my way I'll see what I can do.