She is sitting at the table, very carefully keeping her opinions to herself. Not giving any advice that could be mistaken for "unnecessary correction", or taking any innocent glances that can misconstrued as "judgmental staring".

It's not her fault that Paul hasn't learned not to cook in front of her by now. Charlie heaves a pointed sigh.

"You know, Chuck," Briggs says cheerfully, using a spatula to stir what's in the skillet. "I'm pretty sure shrimp stir-fry isn't a traditional Italian dish."

She hums in confirmation.

"Then your ancestors can't help you here."

There's a scathing comment to be made there, but Mike saunters past them at that moment, and she has a bone to pick with him, so Paul with have to wait. "If I were you, Agent Warren, I'd swing back around and take a look at the chore wheel."

"I did the laundry!" Mike complains, adjusting the flashy watch he borrowed from the wardrobe room for his cover tonight. Jesus, she hopes that he's dressed like an ass on purpose.

Charlie is unimpressed. "When it's someone else's turn does it get left all crumpled up in the dryer, or does it get folded neatly and put in your room?"

"It's clean," he says. She almost feels bad about what she's about to do, but then he tosses that cocky, condescending little smirk of his her way, and she gets over that real fast. While he's digging through the drawer for his car keys, Charlie pulls them out of her pocket and lets them dangle from her fingers. The smirk disappears.

"Charlie," he says carefully, like he's talking to a bank robber who's about to knock off some hostages. "I have some very important casework to do tonight. I can't be late."

"Then you should fold like you've never folded before."

They're at a stalemate for a minute, both staring at each other with Briggs watching in amusement. Finally Mike mumbles something into his shoulder that she can't quite catch and asks him to repeat. "I mixed everything together in two loads, and now I don't know what belongs to who."

Charlie sighs. "I'm assuming you're never going to do that again."

Mike nods, shuffling his feet, and she takes pity on him. "Bring it here. I'll help you figure it out."

Once he's gone, she chances a look at Briggs, who looks like he's barely holding back a laugh, still stabbing at the skillet. Whatever's in there is overcooked by now, she just knows it. If he would just let her help…

"Kind of harsh," Paul says casually. "We don't usually make a big deal out of chores."

"Kid needs an attitude adjustment," she informs him, observing the stovetop for signs of smoke. "If I don't do it, the others will. And they won't be near as gentle."

"Ah, so it's for his own good."

"Exactly."

He turns away to get something out of the fridge, and she stands on her toes to get a look into the skillet. She's not quite back in her seat yet when he turns back, and Paul rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what she was doing.

"We all managed to keep ourselves alive before we came here, Charlie. We can all cook." He frowns. "Well, except-"

"Paige!" Charlie says loudly, smiling unnaturally. "Hi!"

Paige looks at her oddly and glances at Briggs, who shrugs and stares down at the stove until he can compose himself.

"Hi…" she answers. "What's going on in here?"

"Briggs is ruining dinner."

"Charlie doesn't trust me."

She nods. "Cool. Do I look like a junkie?"

Only in this house…Charlie gestures for her do to a spin move, and Paige complies, sliding on the wood in her socked feet. They rake their eyes over her outfit, looking for anything out of place or expensive looking that could damage her cover. Paige is an expert at this kind of thing, they all are, but sometimes things slip through the cracks. "Your nails," Charlie says, nodding towards her hands.

Paige glances at her perfectly shaped manicure and swears. She's halfway up the stairs when Charlie calls, "Bring me whatever you have and I'll fix them!"

Mike enters with a mountain of laundry that he somehow manages to balance in his arms. He dumps it on the table, and she barely has time to rescue her glass from tipping. Everything is clearly wrinkled from sitting in the dryer all day, but Mike is standing there looking all sorry and sad, so she doesn't have the heart to point it out. "What are you having trouble with?"

He holds out a crumpled white dress shirt for her to inspect. "Johnny," she decides, after checking the size. After making a trip to the laundry room to drag the baskets in, Mike drops the shirt in the red one and moves on. Charlie fishes it out and moves it to Johnny's basket, rolling her eyes.

"Is this your or Paige's?"

"Did you put this in the dryer?!" she demands, snatching the dress out of his hands. Sure enough, when she pulls at the fabric, it has obviously shrunken.

"Deep breaths, Chuck," Paul orders.

Though she's really not in the mood to listen to him, she does and reminds herself of the time Johnny ran an entire pack of gun through the dryer and they hadn't been able to salvage the sticky mess. This really pales in comparison. It wasn't even her favorite dress. "Next time, check the tag," she says reasonably. "Put it in Paige's basket. We'll see if it will fit her."

"Nice, Levi," Paige praises, knocking her shoulder into his before sitting down next to Charlie. "You should screw up more often."

Charlie smacks her hand, but Paul laughs and encourages her, so probably it did no good. The whole kitchen catches the smell of acetone as she scrubs a cotton ball of nail polish remover across Paige's nails, leaving some of the old blue polish along the edges to make them look messy.

There's a commotion in the foyer, and Johnny and Jakes make their way into the kitchen, jostling and shoving. Johnny grins at the horseplay. DJ looks genuinely irritated.

"Boys, play nice." She lets go of Paige's hand and gestures for her to bite her nails out of shape. Paige does so, flinching at the sensation.

"We're just messin," Johnny grins, stealing a shrimp out of the pan and scarfing it down. Paul jabs a hand towards him. See, he likes it!

"You've seen what he eats," Charlie dismisses.

Mike folds one of DJ's shirts on the edge of table and clears his throat to get their attention. "So, everyone's here…"

"Very good, Agent Warren." Paige applauds and makes a face like she's talking to a toddler that just showed off his counting skills. He lobs a pair of balled up socks at her. It almost hits the wet paint on her nails, and Charlie gives him a warning look.

"And I can't help but notice that everyone is wearing clothes."

Johnny stares, clearly not sure where this is going and looking a little disturbed. "What's wrong with you, man?"

"So I don't see why we're in such a rush to finish the laundry since everyone is already dressed."

"I'm not in a rush," Charlie corrects. "I don't care when you finish. But you're not going anywhere until you do."

That one throws him for a loop. He opens his mouth to respond, then snaps his mouth shut, looking to his other housemates for assistance. No one gives him any. "Okay. But see, you can't do that."

"Do you have a spare set of car keys?" Briggs asks helpfully.

"No…"

"Then it seems like she can do that."

There's some general mumbling of agreement from the others, and Mike gets back to work. Charlie smiles.

"You should really always keep a set of spares," Johnny snickers. He and Paige are grinning at each other in glee, clearly thrilled by this turn of events. Little shits. She'll have to remind them about their own run-ins her particular brand of tough love.

"Settle something for us," Johnny says finally, uncomfortable under Charlie's knowing gaze. "We can't decide who has a better shot with this gun lady tonight."

"She's smuggling the guns into the country illegally, Johnny," Jakes informs him. "This is an ICE case. It's settled."

"And then she's using them to kill people! That's FBI!"

That's a very valid point. Probably Jakes knows that, but still isn't giving it up. "It doesn't matter anyway. We have to go with who she's more likely to take home."

Johnny blinks, covering a disbelieving laugh with a forced cough. "And you think that's you?"

"Yeah, I do."

That sparks another argument that Charlie has no interest in. She finishes one hand and lets Paige tap impatient little fingerprint smudges into the polish before starting the other. Things get too quiet and she looks up to investigate. Johnny and Jakes are staring in their direction and suddenly she gets a bad feeling. "No," she says before they say anything. "Absolutely not."

"Come on Charlie," Johnny pleads. "You guys are women…"

"'You guys'? Really, Johnny? That's what you're going in with, right off the bat?"

"…and it's for the good of the case! So…if you had to…like, life or death…who would you pick?"

They want to play this game, huh? She crooks a finger at Paige and murmurs instructions against her ear. Paige plays her part perfectly and erupts in hysterical cackles. "You think?" she asks, crinkling her nose. "Really?"

Charlie actually hadn't said anything other than to tell her to laugh, but she plays along and shrugs, smiling widely. "Oh, yeah."

DJ and Johnny look like they might be sick.

"I didn't want see that," Johnny mutters, horrified. "Why did I ask that?"

Jakes grimaces. "I can't believe you actually chose someone."

Ignoring them, Charlie directs Mike to put the jacket he's holding in Paul's basket.

"And these?" He's holding a pair of lacy underwear he found in the pocket of the jacket with him thumb and forefinger, grimacing like they're toxic. The others hoot and holler, wolf whistling in an effort to embarrass her and Briggs into blushing. Charlie shrugs. She has only good memories of that night and she won't let them spoil that. "Also Paul's."

Briggs nods casually. "It's true."

That's what she loves about him. Any other man would have furiously denied it, but Briggs rolls with the punches.

Mike drops them in her basket anyway. "What about this?" he asks, holding up a T-shirt.

"Mike, that's yours," she sighs, shaking the bottle of clear top coat and turning back to Paige. "You're going after coke tonight, right?"

When Paige nods, she gets up to retrieve some powdered sugar out of the cabinet and gently blows some onto the sticky top coat. Enough to be seen from close up, but still hardly any. It'll make whoever catches it feel especially clever for having noticed it. Paige must like the look of it because she grins at her like she's some kind of rockstar of undercover work. This time, Charlie does almost blush. "You're done, go ahead."

Paige springs up and does a little dance, waving her hands around to help dry the polish. Johnny threads his fingers through hers and joins in, the two of twirling around the kitchen like the adorable little dorks that they are. Mike shakes his head and gives them a look. Charlie wants to defend them, but they have been pretty relentless today, so she'll let him have this little moment of superiority. It gets even better when he holds up a pair of colorful, cartoon boxers and she gets to proudly announce that they're Johnny's.

"No, they're not!" Johnny disagrees, Paige so low that her hair almost catches fire on the stove and Briggs has to shoo them away.

"Fine," Charlie concedes. "Then they'll have to sit in the kitchen until someone claims them."

Johnny stops dancing and snatches them out of Mike's hand, grumbling as he stomps up the steps. With her dance partner gone, Paige deems her nails dry and waltzes out of the kitchen, ruffling Mike's perfectly styled hair out of place on her way.

"Did you see that?" Mike complains.

Charlie nods. She did. "This gun lady, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say she likes guns."

Jakes nods. "Has a collection. Antique, new, custom."

"And you just need to get in the house?"

"Yeah."

"Don't try to flirt with her," she advises. "Work together. Talk up your own collection where she can overhear. Make sure she knows that she can beat it."

"She'll let us in to prove it," he finishes. "Thanks, Charlie. That's pretty good."

"I try."

When Johnny returns, Jakes grabs him by the collar and informs that there's been a change of plans. "I hate it when you do that without even consulting me," he complains. "Lack of respect, that's what it's called. And I don't appreciate-"

The doors slams behind them, so the others will never learn what exactly Johnny doesn't appreciate. No one's too upset by it.

Paul shakes his head, laughing. "Mikey Mike! How's it coming?"

"Why is there so much laundry?" he groans, staring at the pile and seeming genuinely perplexed.

Charlie shrugs. "Maybe because I've been unfolding it and putting it back on the table when you weren't looking."

Mike stares, stunned and betrayed.

"Are you going to respect the chore wheel from now on?"

He nods, still dumfounded.

"Go," Charlie orders, tossing his keys at him. He catches them seemingly by accident, staring at Charlie and not the keys. "I'll finish up here."

She'll also start over and put everything back in the washer so they actually have clothes that look clean this week. But there's no need to tell him that.

Mike's gone in a flash, leaving Briggs and Charlie alone in the kitchen. Once they're alone, Charlie can't stand it any longer and starts laughing so hard that she's not sure she'll be able to stop. Her rib cage starts to ache, and she leans against Briggs, feeling the laughter rumbling in his chest too.

"All of them," she says shaking her head. Paul nods and rests his head on hers.

"I know," he agrees. He realizes something and frowns, looking down at the pan of stir-fry. "Wait, who's going to eat this, now?"

"Put it in a container and write 'do not eat' on it. It'll be gone before morning."

He shrugs, and she smiles softly. "Or," she concedes, "I could try it. I'm sure it's delicious, even without my help."

Charlie knows she said the right thing when he grins and offers her a bite. She accepts and leans her head against his shoulder, ready for a quiet evening in.

Yeah, he should have listened, she thinks, smiling contentedly. It's definitely overdone.