Archive of Our Own

The usual CIA rendezvous room in Ryker’s currently smelled like peanut butter.

Matt flexed his fingers against the metal table, feeling the coldness of his table cuffs press into his wrists. They were tighter than usual, or maybe it had just been too long since he’d had to be in them for longer than five minutes. In fact, the longest Dex had ever waited to take them off was only five minutes. Matt had teased him about it once, telling him it didn’t matter, he still wasn’t going to move this any faster than the pace he wanted to set. Dex kept Matt’s handcuff key on a personal keyring and used it every time he visited, ever since he stole one from his very first visit. Matt didn’t anticipate that Dex could be sentimental. Or maybe he wasn’t sentimental at all. Maybe it was just convenient for him and that was it.

But Dex currently wasn’t taking off the table cuffs with the key he kept in his personal keyring, because Dex wasn’t here at all. Dex actually hadn’t been around for two months and seventeen days. No visit and all Matt had to focus on was an offer for a transfer out of Ryker’s and into house arrest. Nice fucking try. Not a chance. Matt refused the offer and suddenly a few days later he was being pulled from his cell for a surprise visit in the usual CIA rendezvous room. But it wasn’t Dex sitting across from him this time.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want some?” Mr. Charles asked while chewing, pushing something wrapped in cellophane across the table. That was where the peanut butter smell was coming from. It mixed with the leftover coffee on his breath. “I just got ‘em from the vending machine in the break room. They got some good stuff in there. Sorry for eating during this meeting, but my sugar gets low so quick, I tell ya, it’s crazy. I’m yapping again, you want a cracker or not?”

“I’m fine,” Matt told him. He breathed out, leaning back in his chair, letting his wrists rest. He’d clenched his fists before being cuffed to give himself a little looseness, but they were still tight. “What’s all this about?”

“Straight to brass tacks,” A stray crumb landed on Matt’s hand. A briefcase was set on the table and unlocked, a folder taken out and carelessly flapped onto the table. “I got two major pieces of business to cover, Mr. Murdock. Or do you prefer Daredevil?”

Matt smiled at him, showing his teeth. He didn’t answer the question.

“Anyways, we should start with your accommodations here in Ryker’s.”

“I’m fine here, thank you.”

“You were in solitary.” A page turned. “For a week. Due to a fight, it says here. You broke some bones in that fight.”

“Not my bones.”

Mr. Charles laughed at that. “Funny. A funny guy. I like that. True, true, not your bones. But that was pretty fucking brutal, pal. This is gonna follow you to your appeal, ya know?”

Matt flicked the crumb off his finger. What the fuck does he want? “I didn’t think the US government cared about one convicted vigilante in a prison brawl.”

“Oh, they don’t.” Mr. Charles was flippant, shutting his folder. “You’re not going anywhere for a long time. They’re actually more concerned with the folks coming in and out of this place. I work in special intelligence, you know, keeping tabs on certain groups the federal government wants to make sure don’t act out of turn. You’re familiar with one of them. I think they go by The Hand?”

Matt breathed out through his nose this time. Calm. Anything other than calm gives Charles something new to chew on. “Somewhat.”

“Measured response. Bet you were a hell of a guy on that stand, Mr. Murdock.” The cellophane around the peanut butter crackers crinkled again. “Anyways, I have intel that members of the Hand are getting new passports and haircuts and moving into New York City. And the reason they’re doing this is that they’re looking for certain folks. And you, my friend, happen to be on that list of certain folks.”

“You and I are not friends.”

The air whistled around Charles's head. He was waving a hand in a dismissive fashion. “We’ll get to that. As I was saying, they’re looking for you. And your location is public information they can easily access. Now, due to this intel, you were scheduled to move to house arrest. You were informed of this, and you refused the transfer.”

“That’s correct.”

A loud crunch from the other end of the table, and another spray of crumbs floated down to Matt’s side. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because I’m fine here.” Play cool. Play diplomat. Play dumb as a rock. “I don’t think they could get to me. I appreciate the concern of the US government, but I think their resources could be better spent on something or someone else.”

More crunching, and a bobbing motion. Charles was nodding. “See, I thought you’d say some bullshit like that. Which brings be to business item number two.” The briefcase was opened and closed again, the folder put away. The weight shifted on the table, with Charles now leaning on his elbows on his side. “I don’t think I’ve really thanked you, Mr. Murdock, for what you’ve done for me.”

Matt pleaded the fifth on that one. He kept his mouth shut, waiting for more information.

“I was a little nervous at first, you know, about letting Luke go. He was one of my finest assets on my crew. Yeah, the sentimentality and do-gooder mindset got a little grating, but we had a nice rapport going. I like to think we left on good terms.”

In Charles’s mind, he was telling the truth. It wasn’t how Luke would explain the work he’d had to do, the things he’d go over on visitation days as he and Jess and Karen and Danny put all the pieces together. Charles was never, ever planning to let Luke go for good. Not unless he got a better offer.

“But I gotta tell you something, pal. Poindexter is a fucking machine.”

Okay. We’re going here. Put what you know out in the open. Let’s go.

“I’ve never in my goddamn life seen anyone work like him. Everything gets done on time and on schedule. No questions. No negotiations. He’s a class act through and through. He gets knocked down, he gets right the fuck back up. He’s like a roach. You could cut his head off and he’d only stop moving because he starved to death.” Another crunch. “Can’t thank you enough for sending him over.”

Matt smiled with teeth again. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah. Real good deal you set up there. But I will say, there’s one flaw with Poindexter.”

“Really? Just one?” Cruel is good. Be cruel.

The remark got a startled laugh out of Mr. Charles, and he choked on his peanut butter crackers. He had to flip open his water bottle and take a sip before he continued. “Again, real funny guy. Ya got me, there’s a lot going on with Poindexter, and not a lot that’s any good. I like the guy a lot, but he’s short a couple screws, to say the least. You know, I could get a hundred doctors to stick him with pins and have him stare at some inkblots and not a single one would be able to tell me what the fuck is wrong with Ben Poindexter. Frankly, I don’t even think they have a name yet for whatever he is.”

Dex’s hysterical laughter falling four stories off of Josie’s, covered in three different blood types.

Dex breaking down screaming at being told Matt wanted him out with Charles and not with him.

Dex begging on his knees on his mattress in his shitty apartment with a razorblade to his neck, just waiting for an order.

Dex staying silent when he was asked what he wanted from Matt in this room, metal spine grinding against the metal surface of this table, saltwater streaming down his face.

“No, there’s one thorn in my side with Poindexter that really kinda irks me. When I had Luke with me, Luke’s got a lot going for him. He stayed in line because I could use Jess or Danielle against him.”

Matt curled his fingers in his cuffs.

“Same with you.” Crunch. “I could threaten Karen Page or Jess or Luke or Kirsten or Danny Rand or whoever and it’ll at least make you pause before you swing or run your mouth at me.”

“Right.” One word answers, stick to them. Just smile and nod.

“The problem with Poindexter, though, is I can’t do that shit with him.” Charles sipped his water again, a slurp when an air bubble got stuck in his straw. “He does what he’s told but I don’t have anything on reserve in case he ever says no, y'know? What the fuck am I going to hold over Poindexter’s head to keep in line? I got nothing. I got no one.” A thoughtful, slower chew. The peanut butter smell was overwhelming. “And then I really thought about it the other day. He does the work with no complaint and he likes what he does. He doesn’t smile much but I can tell he likes it. You know he does, too. That’s why you sent him over.” Charles shifted in his chair again, the creak indicating he was sitting back, nonchalant as ever. “And it hit me: he works for me because of you. Right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I never had him on my radar. You told me to meet at a certain location to pick him up, and there he was, overhead carryon packed and all. Didn't ask a single question, just got in the car. And I was thinking about why he did that the other day. And why he scans into Ryker’s every so often when he has time off.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why the fuck did you keep coming here? Why didn’t I tell you to stop?

“Look, amigo, I don’t really care why Poindexter checks up on you. It doesn’t matter to me. But what does matter to me is that if for some reason you were murdered by ninja assassins in a federal prison, that would disrupt my friend’s routine. And I don’t know how well you know Poindexter, but he doesn’t like it when his routine is disrupted.”

Where are you, Dex?

“And I think if his routine stays disrupted, it would start fucking him up, yeah? Big time. You realize I can’t afford to have him fucking up. It would look bad on me, on him. I would hate to have to feed him a steak, take him for a ride with the car windows down, and then have a veterinarian put him down after a nice sunny day just because he couldn’t keep his shit together. I’ve put a lot of money and time and effort into him. I don’t like wasting any of those three things. You understand what I’m saying?”

Matt said nothing. His lips were twitching with curses he wanted to say but held back. Just let him talk.

“So what I’m telling you, Murdock, that you’re going into house arrest beacuse I’m moving you. You can pick where you want to stay, if you want. I just want the address so my friends can check on you and make sure you’re safe and sound.”

“Why should I believe you?” Good question. Keep the suspicion up. That’s all you’re allowed to be. Suspicious and cruel. “How do I know you won’t just move me to a different maximum security cell once I give you an address?”

Charles balled his cellophane wrapper into a ball, his hand swishing the table surface for leftover crumbs. “You don’t,” was his simple reply. “You just have the option to pick your location before I pick it for you. This is no longer about your personal welfare or legal status. This is about me protecting my investment. That’s all this is, Mr. Murdock.”

A pen clicked and a chair scooted back, footsteps walking to the door, knocking a few times before it opened and Peterson’s usual footstep pattern entered the room, walking over to Matt’s side. Charles rolled a pen down the table towards them, setting a paper down.

“Okay. Where are you going, amigo?”

Matt chewed on his response, feeling the gaze of both men at his face. Son of a bitch. Fuck. He took half a minute to think about a response, and quietly replied with the address of a previous safehouse. Peterson wrote the address on the paper while Charles took an obnoxiously loud sip from his water bottle.

“Anything else?” Matt ground out through his teeth. Masking his irritation was getting more difficult.

“Nope,” Charles replied, flipping the cap on his water bottle with a loud-ass click. “Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll send a fruit basket for the welcome wagon.” And then he stopped talking to Matt, addressing Peterson directly: “I want the photocopy sent over in two hours, cool?”

“You got it.”

“Thanks again, gentlemen. Enjoy your afternoon, I have a meeting in an hour so I gotta run.”

Matt focused on the sound of Charles’s footsteps heading down the hall while Peterson started unlocking his cuffs, muttering about more paperwork he had to fill out before break. Right when Peterson paused to glance at his watch like he always did, Matt kicked out hard, right in Peterson’s crotch. Peterson didn’t get more than a choked gasp out before Matt was up on his feet, wrapping both handcuffed arms around his throat and squeezing, pulling him down to the floor. He put a knee on Peterson’s chest to keep him down, feeling his skin turn red from lack of oxygen.

“Listen to what I’m telling you.”

“You fu-”

Matt squeezed harder to shut him up, letting go only when he could feel his pulse get weaker. He really wanted to swing on him, but he needed to leave less obvious bruises. Peterson wheezed after a beat, Matt smiling at the sound. “Listen, asshole. You’re gonna take that paper and change the address to the new one I’m going to tell you. You understand me? Cough once if you understand.”

Cough.

“Good. You’re giving Charles the old address. You’re not telling him where you’re actually putting me. Cough if you understand.”

“You’re cr-”

Matt knocked his skull against the concrete floor, shutting him up. “You breathe a fucking word to Charles about this and you will lose the ability to walk, understand?” Another knock to the concrete. “You think just because I’m in here I can’t make that happen?” He laughed, spittle falling on Peterson’s nose. “You know exactly what I can make happen sitting in here. So cough if you fucking understand what I’m telling you.”

A weak cough from the body under him. Matt got back to his feet, kicking Peterson in the side of the ribcage just for his own satisfaction. “Good. Now let’s walk. Don’t want you to miss your break time.”

Jack Duquesne had three New York apartments, and one he hadn’t touched in a year. It was easy to swap some names on some papers and for Matt to end up there, far from his previous safehouse and nothing to tie him directly to this location. His friends knew and the NYPD personnel working his transfer knew, and that was good enough. Two weeks into house arrest was starting to get old. This apartment was huge, the bathroom itself the size of his Ryker’s cell, but he couldn’t go any further than down the hall to the garbage chute. Not many other residents on this floor, and the visits from friends were scattered to keep a low profile. Every day two NYPD officers came in for a basic survey that Matt was still here and breathing and wearing the ankle monitor. It was heavy and cold and Matt hated every second of wearing it.

This day, NYPD came in talking about neeedling to update the software on the monitor. They stuck around the apartment for longer than their usual ten minutes even with the strong WI-FI signal. Then, since the update had happened, Matt had to re-walk the perimeter of his house arrest to set the parameters.

It smelled like a bullshit excuse, taking him up and down the stairs and the elevator adn past the trash chute before letting him back inot his apartment and out again without much more than a standard goodbye. Matt got his answer for the strange behavior after they left and he was sipping from his glass of water.

There was a whirring noise coming from above his head in the living room. It couldn’t be the lights, he left them off to avoid the buzzing noises and this was lower-pitched than that and stayed whether he flipped the switch on or off. The sound was coming from higher up than he could reach standing on his couch, his fingers not even brushing a light fixture.

A bug. They’d bugged the space. Shit, shit, shit.

Matt sat back heavily on the couch, scratching the skin around the ankle monitor. He turned his phone off so any messages wouldn’t be read out loud to him and turned the TV on to a morning cooking show. He needed to get used to extra noise in the house until he could get the bug moved out of the main space. Wiping a hand across his face in annoyance, he moved to stand to head to the bathroom to wash his face and paused at the sound of a small clank. He turned his face in the direction of the supposed sound, listening through the glass balcony door. No more clank sounds, just the enthusiastic stirring of risotto coming from the TV.

Not paranoid if they’re really out to get you.

Matt got up then, slow and steady, waiting for another sound. Nothing, just risotto and the whine coming from somewhere in his light fixture. He shook his head, ignoring the thoughts racing through his mind as he went into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he turned the faucet on. Wetting his face, he started scrubbing face wash into his face and beard, before pausing when he heard a click sound this time. He immediately turned the faucet off and waited for another sound. Nothing came. Faucet back on, scrubbing face again, click. Off again, listen again, nothing. On again, scrub, click click click. Matt wiped his face dry on a towel but left the faucet on this time. Click. Click. That was the sound of lock mechanics slowly turning. That was his balcony door lock.

Tap tap tap tap on the glass. Then a quick taptap.

That wasn’t mechanical clicking of a lock. That was tap code.

Tap tap tap tap. H.

Taptap. I.

Hi.

“Fuck,” Matt hissed out, leaving the faucet on and running into the living room, too late as the door slid open and the intruder stepped in, aftershave and slight metallic ring to his step.

Fucking Dex. Jesus fucking Christ.

The door started to shut behind him and he was taking a breath to speak, so Matt didn’t give him the space for either, slapping a hand across Dex’s mouth before the words left his mouth. Dex frowned and mouthed what? against his hand but Matt shook his head, putting a finger over his own lips in a shush motion. He pointed at his ear and then up in the direction of the light fixture. Dex nodded against his hand, indicating he understood. Matt pulled his hand off of Dex’s mouth, grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him towards the bathroom. Was the metallic ring when he walked always this loud? It seemed to echo.

Matt shoved him into the bathroom with the faucet still running, shutting the door behind them and moving around Dex to turn the shower on to full power. Satisfied the room was sufficiently soundproof enough, he turned back to face Dex.

“Hi,” Dex spoke at him, his sneer audible.

“Hi,” was Matt’s dry reply. “What the fuck are you doing here, Dex?”

“Why the hell are you bugged?”

“Answer my question first.”

“Who bugged you?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“Why would I fucking ask, then?”

“NYPD, they planted it while they mapped out the perimeter of the monitor this morning.”

Dex let out a disbelieving noise. “What?” He raised his voice. “You let the-”

“Shhhh! Keep your voice down!”

Dex brushed past him to flush the toilet to cover up his loud exclamation of - “You let the NYPD bug you? Of all fuckin’ people? They don’t even have the good high-tech shit!”

Anger started to lick at Matt’s insides. “Well, I’m sorry they jumped the gun before Charles could have his guys plant his stuff for him.”

Dex snorted, breath hot. “He’d have to find you first.”

Matt ignored the other emotions rising inside of him. “You think he hasn’t?”

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Dex took a half step back at those words, and didn’t have a snappy reply to that. Good. Good. It was stupid of you to come here. It was stupid of you to ever come back to me this city after I sent you away. “You should go. They come around to monitor in the early afternoon.”

“Nope. They just left,” Dex spat at him. “They left thirty-one minutes ago. Took them nineteen minutes to map out the perimeter on your ankle monitor. Didn’t even let you shave before they took you out.”

You fucking freak. You’ve been staring at me all day. How long have you been staring at me? Where the fuck have you been all this time?

“And it’s a cheap monitor, it’s not a federal-issue one.”

“How do you know?”

Dex’s tone turned smug. “Thought I was the stupid one, counselor.”

Matt slapped him across the face for that, pure instinct taking over. Dex took the hit with a shocked inhale, before huffing out a laugh.

“You think this is funny?” Dex laughed again, short giggles coming out like they were involuntary. Matt resisted the urge to hit him again, knowing it would just make him keep laughing. He forced himself to step away from Dex. “Charles moved me to house arrest. Do you know he knows where you go on your time off?”

“Yeah.”

Jesus. The steam from the shower was starting to build on Matt’s skin, making him sweat. “Do you know he monitors every time you scan your ID?”

“Yeah.” Dex wasn’t laughing anymore, but he wasn’t offering any new information. Fucking say something.

“Do you know that he-”

“That he monitors my passport, my pills, my credit account, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.” Dex’s voice was flat, like he was bored. “Anything else I should know about?”

Matt shut his mouth against the angry questions he wanted to spit at him, ones he’d had since entering the pen, since that interrogation room, since Dex stole his suit years ago. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and instead just said, “You can’t help me here, Dex.”

Dex took another step backwards. Matt could feel the glare aimed at him.

“You know that. There’s nothing either of us can do right now. So you should just-”

Midway through that sentence, Dex suddenly breezed past him, opening the bathroom door and walking out. Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare walk out of here until I tell you to!

Matt pushed that thought right to the side, the vulnerability of it chilling his blood as he also left the bathroom, the shower steam following him out. The kitchen sink faucet turned on and Matt walked right toward it as a drawer opened. He clasped a hand over Dex’s wrist and felt the spoon in his hand. He hissed a Don’t as softly as he could but Dex actually pulled away from him and walked back into the living room. Every step was that metallic clank, sounding out of rhythm, not like how his spine usually sounded. What the fuck?

Dex, stop it. Sit. Stay. Drop it. Come here. Heel.

Dink.

The spoon had hit something that wasn’t lightbulb glass and now Dex was walking back towards Matt, ignoring him to shove the balcony door open. He took three steps out and came back in, yanking the sliding door shut so hard it shuddered.

“Dex, what did you-”

“Shut up.” Dex’s voice was vibrating, uncomfortably loud. The faucet abruptly stopped running. “Stop talking. I put the bug outside. You don’t have to whisper but just shut up right now.”

“You can't-”

“I said shut up!” Now his tone was getting frantic. “Just shut up. You’re not talking right now, I’m talking. Let me finish. You - you fucking idiot. You should've just taken the affidavit. You should’ve just taken it and gotten out of there but you didn’t and now you’re here and you’re not supposed to be here, you're supposed to be there and you’re not there, you’re here. Why the fuck would you listen to Charles about anything? Why would you let him move you? Why would you lie about where you were?” Dex paused to take a shaky breath. “I had to pay off the NYPD for this information. I barely even had to hurt anyone. Do you know how cheap the NYPD are? Do you know how much money I have? Do you know how fucking stupid this is? I - I’m not around for two months and you just-”

“Where have you been?” Matt demanded.

Dex swallowed. He didn’t answer the question. “It’s just two months and you fucked it up. You weren’t supposed to-”

“Where have you been, Dex?”

“Croatia, whatever, it doesn’t matter, I was busy.” That slight ringing was back, a bad echo to Dex’s usual mechanical spine creaking. “You’re not busy. You shouldn’t have moved.”

“What were you doing in Croatia?”

“I told you not to ask me that anymore.”

“What were you doing in Croatia, Dex?”

Dex’s pulse was getting more and more erratic. “Killing people, Matt, what do you think? It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at. I killed seven people in a row five days ago and I - I wasn’t even paid to do it! I just wanted to do it! Is that what you wanted to know? That’s - that’s why I went over there in the first place!”

I went over there. Not you sent me there.

“So I wasn’t here because I was killing people for Charles and for the US government and just for fun, and I spent my paycheck on pain pills and bribes and sushi. That’s it. That’s all.”

Pulse spike. You’re lying to me.

“Meanwhile you just fucked off to some random apartment and got yourself stuck in here for no goddamn reason at all. You never listen to anything I fucking say. Fuck you.” Dex coughed, like his throat was dry. He swallowed, taking a step back from Matt. Then he started talking again, changing the subject completely. “Charles is not just working for the CIA. He builds his own black ops groups with his CIA connections and sends them anywhere in the world as long as they pay him. And not just in money, but information. He can blackmail half the UN if he wanted. The CIA director knows and doesn’t care because he gets results and she’s working with her own team. Last extraction was in Croatia. It doesn’t matter what Charles or…”

Matt let Dex’s words fade into the background hum, focusing instead on Dex’s ever-increasing heartbeat and uneven metallic echoing.

I need to know what he’s doing, who he’s doing it with, and where he’s doing it. You’re the only person I can trust to do this for me, Dex.

Dex was rattling off everything Matt asked for, in perfect repeating order.

You know I can’t make any promises, right?

Goddamn it. Dex did every single thing he asked, crawling back even when he didn’t know where he was. He was so pissed off that flecks of spit were coming out of his mouth as he spoke at him. He could’ve killed him the entire time he was standing on his balcony watching him without Matt even knowing. Fuck. He was so dedicated, so obedient, so good. And loyal to him and not Charles, no matter how Charles tried to convince either of them because how there was nothing he could do to Matt without losing his best right hand. And also the sudden realization that Matt had missed Dex so much he hadn’t even recognized that had been the feeling at all.

Dex was still talking when Matt stepped forward, yanking him by the shirt collar and closing the space betwen them as he kissed the curse right out of his mouth. He reached out to steady himself against Dex’s shocked gasp by resting his hand on Dex’s ribcage. Instead, his hand touched cold metal underneath skin and perfect stitches.

Matt pulled away from the kiss right as Dex started to return it, the frustrated noise following Matt as he moved. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Shut up, Dex. What happened to you?”

One month and seventeen days earlier

The cogmium in Dex’s two lower ribs was cold under his skin. So was the cogmium in his spine, but he’d had years to get used to that sensation. The metal was so new that the cold was still sharp, not adjusting to his body temperature yet to get to manageable levels. Sometimes it made him shiver, and that was the worst, because shivering made his stitches rub against themselves so he had to clench his teeth at the feeling. Worse than nails on a chalkboard.

Dex was going to kill all seven people on that taskforce for shattering two ribs into dust on that job to get out of paying. Charles had told him about it once he came to in the hospital room, cuffs keeping him from throwing loose scalpels from the surgical table out of sheer panic. Easy, buddy, take a breath. You don’t wanna break ‘em again, they were expensive. Charles had paid for two brand-spanking-new ribs into their place, just like his tooth. He paid for the hospital room, nicer meals than cafeteria slop, and new meds that were going to keep him zooted out of his fucking skull until he recovered.

He reached out with his hand for the cup on his bedside table and sipped his electrolyte water. His chart said the nausea from his reaction to the new medication was causing his dehydration and muscle weakness. Two straight days of curling his fingers back as far as they could go in his cuffs to stick down his throat to vomit out the medication had left him apparently weak enough that Charles had allowed his handcuffs to be taken off. Praise the Lord for small victories.

A brief knock on the door had him curling his hand back under his blanket and turning his head to the side, staring out the window. He followed a plane with his eyes as two sets of footsteps entered.

“Hey, buddy,” Charles warmly greeted him, the smell of microwave popcorn filling the room. The doctor behind him, Kemper, was already taking notes on his clipboard. “How we doing today?”

Dex blinked at the window and shrugged, wincing at the motion as he pulled his little-used muscles.

“Whoa, whoa, we talked about this, no unnecessary movements. Easy does it. You eaten anything today?”

Dr. Kemper answered for him. “Lunch was two hours ago, he ate half of it.”

“That’s better than last time I was here. Bet you’re tired of soft foods, huh? You can have the rest of this.” Charles set the bag of popcorn on the bedside table. Buttery grease streaked the spotless surface. It took real mental effort for Dex to not sit up and wipe off the table. Stay down. Stay down.

Kemper wrote some more notes on his clipboard, setting it down on the cot by Dex’s leg before retrieving a vial from his pocket with a syringe.

“I thought he was on those new pills we talked about?” Charles was fond of asking questions where he already knew the answers.

“He was,” Dr. Kemper explained, filling a syringe with clear liquid. “But we tried to put him on that oral medication and he reacted poorly to that one, too. He couldn’t keep anything down for twelve hours. The metal alloy is reacting with his bone marrow and we think that’s what’s causing his nausea. So we switched to these injections instead and he’s been much better.” And with that, he injected Dex right where his vein was closest to the skin, in the crook of his elbow.

Dex didn’t move at all when the needle went in or when the needle went out. He slowly blinked, then blinked again, eyes zeroing in on the clock across the room. 1:21. 1 + 2 + 1 = 4. Divisible by 11.

Charles tapped Dex on the arm, right where the injection had gone in. Dex’s eyes moved towards him, but not his head or his body. Charles was smiling at him. “You got at least another two weeks in here, buddy. Or three, gonna depend on your progress. Gotta let ya heal, yeah?”

Dex blinked in his direction. His eyes fell unfocused as a surge of pain gripped his ribcage.

“Once you’re cleared, I’m gonna give you some time off, okay?” Dex guessed this was an attempt at a parental tone of voice. “You go rest, I can set you up in that place you liked in Barcelona.” A short pause to work a popcorn kernel out from behind his front tooth. “Or I can drop off the key for the place you just bought in Manhattan. I heard they finished painting it this week.”

Just a little nudge, a little wink of I own your entire life, Poindexter, and you better not forget it.

“Yeah.” Another friendly pat to the arm, fake butter grease sticking to his otherwise dry skin. “I bet you would prefer Manhattan, wouldn’t you?”

Dex didn’t move at all.

“Alright,” Charles said, straightening up, digging up his phone from his pocket. He pointed it at Kemper as he talked. “I’m gonna finish his paperwork at the front. He goes into shock again, he starts seizing, hell, he coughs funny, you call that number, ‘kay?”

Kemper nodded, already picking up Dex’s chart from his cot and writing down the time he gave him his medication. Charles left the room already a bonsoir deep into his conversation on his phone as the door shut behind him. Kemper finished his notation before putting the chart back. His fingers were now trembling.

Dex breathed out all at once before sitting straight up once the coast was clear, wincing at the pain. He aggressively shook his head to get the blood flow back. He swallowed and winced again at his dry throat. “Pills,” he barked, coughing at the lack of saliva. The doctor didn’t move at first and Dex cocked his head to the slide, hand already reaching over the bedside table for a pencil or folded paper or piece of popcorn to throw. Kemper immediately started to sweat, taking the bottle of Dex’s normal pain pills from his pocket and dropping them next to Dex’s leg on the cot. Dex looked at the bottle, then at Kemper, before narrowing his eyes. “Water.”

Kemper passed his electrolyte water over to him and tried to quickly scoot back but Dex was still faster, hand closing around his wrist like a vice. Dex shook three pills into his mouth and chased it with the full cup of water. He took a deep breath after, dropping the cup on the bedsheets and wiped his mouth with his free hand. “Leave it. There are thirty-six pills left. I’ll need a new bottle in six days.” He paused to swallow against his still-dry throat, squeezing Kemper’s wrist until he could hear a pop. “You change those pills, you put anything in that syringe that’s not saline, first place I visit out of here is room 7133 at NYU’s Rogerson building at nine-twenty PM after your son’s night class.” Kemper’s face was white as he nodded. Dex smiled with all of his real and fake teeth before falling back on his cot, his fingers around the phone he stole from the doctor’s pocket. “Good. Now fuck off.”

Dex was alone in that room in under ten seconds. New record. Smirking, he typed a number into the stolen phone, tilting his head against the pillow as it rang and rang until that jumpy fucker from Ryker’s finally answered. It was routine: Dex called, he set up an appointment, he got his ID scanned, routine as always. Evans was easy enough to intimidate and pay off for extra information in the meantime.

Except jumpy fucker Evans was stammering in a whisper through the line that Matt Murdock wasn’t in Ryker’s anymore, he doesn't have details, no, he’s just not here, he was moved, I don’t know where, he’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here.

The metal in his spine and ribcage were so cold against his heating skin that his teeth were chattering. He hung up the phone mid-panicked explanation and breathed out again to calm down. It wasn’t working. He scratched at his stitches and thought about ripping them open to bleed right through the sheets, picking at the scab over and over until it left a permanent scar.

Not here. Not here. Not here.

He took the tablet from his bedside table and opened tabs for all seven taskforce members, staring at each of their faces to memorize so he could put them all down quickly. He opened another tab with his Ryker’s contact info, and one extra tab for his second offshore account.

The next number he dialed was answered on the second ring. “Hello-”

“Ten grand for information in the next sixty seconds.” Dex shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth to eat something that wasn’t chicken broth. “Take the money and write this down.”

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” Dex’s skin itched under his nails.

“Shut up, Dex. What happened to you?”

“I said nothing happened.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” Dex snapped. “So I must be fine. It was just - it wasn’t anything.”

“What did you do?” Matt’s voice was cold, his arms folded, like he still had authority and sway over him in a cheap gray t-shirt and sweats instead of the suit.

Dex’s mouth twitched in a snarl. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant, though, yeah? That's what you meant. Well, it wasn’t my fault, okay?” Dex blinked the tear that sprang to his eye out of nowhere. He could still blame the chemical imbalance in his body so he was going to stick to that. “It was a routine gig and they didn’t want to pay up so I took it in the ribs.”

“Were you in a coma?”

“No.”

“Dex.”

“I was just out for two days, it wasn’t anything. I’m fine! How many times do I have to fucking say it before you believe me?” You’ll never believe me. You don't trust me. You just said that to get me off.

Matt didn’t move, his head cocked to the side like he was listening for a lie. “Why didn’t you tell me at the start?”

“Not important,” Dex cut him off, folding his own arms in an unconscious mirror. “You wanted to know what Charles is doing, I know what he’s doing. You want me to write it down, talk it into a tape, maybe-”

“Come here.”

The command was so sudden that all Dex could do was blink. “What?”

“I said come here.”

No. I’m not going to listen. You’re going to listen to me. I’m going to get off, you’re going to get off, I won’t see you for three months and everything will be fine.

“Now, Dex.”

Dex’s feet evidently weren’t connected to his brain, because he crossed the room to stand in front of Matt. Matt’s hand uncrossed to feel the new metal. Dex resisted the urge to squirm.

“Does it hurt? Don’t lie.”

Dex rolled his eyes. “Everything does. Why do you think I’m on meds?”

Matt flicked the skin through his shirt. Dex didn’t move at the sting of pain. “Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.” Matt abruptly moved his hand to grab Dex’s hair and yank him down to his level, kissing him hard enough their teeth scraped against each other. Dex could've sworn a piece of plaque that wasn’t his went down his throat. Matt didn’t let him up to breathe, fingers pressing into the stitching. Complete tonal whiplash.

When they broke apart, Dex vocalized that thought, breathing hard as oxygen came back into his system. “I don’t understand you at fucking all.”

Matt laughed at that, fingers still on the sorest spot on Dex’s body. He started walking him backwards with just those fingers pressed there. “Same here, sweetheart.”

Dex almost tripped on the carpet as they kept walking, elbow bumping the bedroom doorframe as Matt kissed his jaw. And Dex wanted to get lost in it, he really did, wanted to completely shut down and pretend nothing else existed on planet Earth except them in this moment, but -

“Shower’s still on.”

“Shit. Stay here.” Matt used one hand against Dex’s stomach to break off the kiss and push him down to the bed in one fluid motion. Dex easily fell back, spine bouncing against the mattress as he turned his face against the unmade bed and breathing in. Matt hadn’t worn his cologne in months and the smell of clove was all over the sheets. He didn’t get further than one deep inhale before Matt was back, turning him back over and straddling him. He kissed him again, knocking Dex further off balance, erasing any last notion that he was still pissed at him and that this was a terrible idea.

Matt’s hand ran down his ribcage to the stitching, putting his rough hand right over the delicate skin and pressing hard until Dex hissed at the pain. Goddamn. Don’t stop.

“What do you want?” Matt asked into the kiss, breaking it to bite kisses down the side of his jaw. His voice was low like they were going to fight. God. “Tell me. We’ve got time.”

Dex’s brain was empty. Fuck. They have time. That was different. They usually had exactly ninety minutes. Now they have time. Now what? What do I want? I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know. What do I say? I want to suck you off. I want your hand on my dick. I want you to pull my hair. I want my head in your lap. Uh, I want… I want…

Matt bit harder just under his earlobe and Dex blinked back to himself at the pain. That was better. “Asked you a question, Dex.”

Dex shrugged as best as he could pinned down. “D-don’t care.”

Matt moved away from his neck and sat up on his knees, away from him. “What did you say?”

A sharp sting flooded his gut at the loss, turning his blood cold in places other than his spine and his ribs. Wrong thing. Wrong thing. Wrong thing. Wrong thing. “I said I don’t - I don’t care.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Dex snapped. His body felt like it was twisting inward. Fuck, I ruined it, I ruined it. “I don’t care, I meant it.” He tried to sit up and Matt pushed him back. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want that answer,” Matt growled at him, pinning him back down with one hand on his neck. “If you came here, you came here for a fucking reason, yeah? I want to hear it. Now.”

I came here because you lied and you disappeared and it was stupid to think you could ever get away from me. I came here because I thought about killing you the entire flight back to New York. I came here because I just wanted to be able to sleep.

“If you don’t have an answer you should-”

“I needed to see you.” Dex instantly regretted blurting that out, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly not a bit of sunlight from the window could peek through. His body was too warm and he felt nauseous again.

He moved a hand that wasn’t clutching the sheets to cover his eyes and Matt’s hand suddenly dragged it away, pressing it back to the mattress. He hovered above Dex’s lips for a brief moment before he kissed him again. Dex kept him down to him with a hand in his gray t-shirt, nearly ripping it when Matt pulled back enough to breathe, letting go of Dex’s throat. “Was that so hard to say?”

“Do you want me to answer that, too?”

Matt laughed, dirty and dark. “You’re sounding real smart for a guy pinned down in my bed.”

“What do you want?” Dex snapped back, hoping he could feel his sneer.

Matt shifted on top of him, his hips lining up to Dex’s as he rocked them forward. Dex’s brain shorted at the touch, at Matt’s weight pressing him down. Matt kissed him again, like he knew it made Dex dizzy, his grip on his hand still tight. “It’s been a while.” Kiss. “You tried to lie to me.” Kiss. “We have time.” Kiss. “And not just a stainless steel table.” Kiss. “I want to fuck you.” Kiss. “Right here.” Kiss. “Now.”

Dex swallowed hard, trying to keep a few strands of thought together. They’d done everything else except that and now it felt like the only thing Dex wanted in the entire world. “Okay.”

Another kiss. “Or not. Maybe I don’t care, either.”

Dex broke out of Matt’s hold on his hand and slapped him across the face. Matt laughed as soon as he made contact. “Not so hot, is it?”

“Fuck you.”

Matt clicked his tongue in a no-no sound, ignoring the spread of red on his cheek. “No, I don’t think so. Other way around, sweetheart.”

Dex was going to kill him as soon as he got off and could think straight again. He promised that to himself as Matt sat back on his knees, tugging his gray t-shirt off and letting it fall to the floor. Dex sat up and took his own shirt off, folding it in half at least once before dropping it on the other side of the bed. Matt took Dex’s hand, put it on his slacks “Take these off.”

Dex did as he was told, shrugging out of his slacks and his boxers, laying back on the mattress. Antsy wiht nothing to do with his hands, he drummed his fingers, nudging Matt’s thigh with his foot as Matt dug in the bedside drawer. The ankle monitor was blinking away. “You gonna fuck with that thing on?”

“Can't take it off.”

“I could take it off you.”

“And have the NYPD come in during this?”

“More action than they see in a week.” Dex nudged him again. “Hurry up.”

Matt moved away from the drawer, settling between Dex’s legs, lube already uncapped in his hand. “So impatient.”

“You’re the one taking forever.” If you keep waiting you’re going to be disappointed. I’m not going to last. I’m going to mess this up. “If you don’t-”

The cold, slick feeling of Matt’s finger entering him made Dex’s jaw clamp shut. It wasn’t from pain, it was just so much feeling and wanted it so, so, so much but - but that’s not why he came here, he came here to stop all the whirring in his brain but everything felt like it had gone up two notches. He was hyper-aware of his body and he hated that.

“Easy.”

Dex suddenly came back to himself and realized he had one hand gripping Matt’s wrist that was not in use, squeezing so tightly he could feel a bone bending under his grip.

“Relax.”

“I’m relaxed,” Dex snapped. Stop asking me so many questions. “It’s… fucking cold.”

Matt laughed at that, always did when Dex was flustered, like he knew he had that power. "You’re just running hot.”

Dex scoffed, the bite leaving his tone as Matt kept working him open. He worked in a calm rhythm, and never pulled away from the grip Dex had on him. Dex felt himself start to unclench, from the focused attention and confident movements. The second finger made him squeeze his wrist again, and Matt didn’t try to pry him off. He let him touch him like that.

“Too much?”

Not enough. I could get every part of you under my skin and it wouldn’t be enough. “‘s good.”

“Yeah.” Matt’s voice was lower now, even lower than when they fought, it was low like he was on his knees in an visitation room and the time limit made everything happen so fast. Now, it felt like time stretched on forever. “Really good, Dex.”

Dex’s eyes fluttered at the praise, his skin prickling. There. Right there. His sweat dripping onto his body, his fingers curled at just the right spot. All he had to do was focus on the motion and everything else started slipping away. God. Yes. Yes. Just like that. Don’t stop. Please. Please. Please.

Matt started to move his hand, pulling out, and Dex’s eyes opened again, kicking out and knocking against the monitor. “No. No. No.”

“I was just-”

“Now. I want it now.” I’ll tell you whatever you want this time, I promise. “I need it. I need you.”

Matt pulled back completely from Dex, and Dex froze at the motion, eyes falling shut as he waited for the rejection until he heard foil unwrapping. Just pausing for a condom. Okay. He let out a breath that sounded shaky even to him.

“Shh, shh, Hey.” Matt’s voice was right against his ear, low and too soft. “Stay with me.”

Dex was going to tell him that didn’t have anywhere else to go when Matt moved his head down and kissed him, at the same time gripping his hip by his stitching and sliding into him. Dex’s brain went silent at the first thrust, his hand snaking into Matt’s hair, pulling him flush against him, as close as possible. He didn’t let him break the kiss, didn’t let him come up for air, like they were sharing the same breath. Matt's grip on his skin was bruising, the faded scars on his body flexing with the movement of his muscles. Dex focused on one scar on his chest as Matt pulled away to breathe, no mask or glasses to hide the expression on his face. He wiped the trail of saliva from his lips off with the back of his hand before bringing it back down in a slap against Dex’s chest. Dex’s eyes rolled back at the sting as Matt leaned back down to kiss him again, wet and full of teeth. Dex wanted him to bite him, dragging his nails down his shoulder blade to leave any kind of mark he could.

His spine and ribcage and the ankle monitor were cold and everything else was on the side of too warm. The metal scraping against each other while they moved in a brutal pace, just on the side of too-fast. Every roll of Matt’s hips forward drove another spare thought out of Dex’s mind.

“What do you want me to do?” Matt asked suddenly, voice rough, his sweat dripping onto Dex’s face.

Dex didn’t have a response for that. His mind was blank and every other part of him felt like it was full of Matt and nothing else.

“Tell me,” Matt ordered, beard scraping against his jaw as he kissed him there. He punctuated with a slower thrust that felt deeper, making Dex’s spine curl off the bed.

“Las’ - last time,” Dex slurred, closing his mouth to swallow some of his drool before it leaked onto the sheets. “You - you sssssaid las’ time-” Another shift up and a choked gasp came out of Dex that he couldn’t control. “Say - say it again. Las’ time. Say - unf - say that again.”

Matt sat up as best as he could in their position, pulling Dex up close until he bottomed out. Dex could feel his heart beat through his fucking teeth. Jesus Christ.

Matt nuzzled against his jaw again, sweeter than before. “What was it?” Thrust. “Mmm, yeah, think I remember now.” He bit at his pulse point. “Was it when I said you were mine?”

The cover sheet ripped in Dex’s fist as a whimper escaped his throat. Matt chuckled against his skin before trailing off on his own groan. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck. You liked that?”

Dex nodded and hit both of them in the skull with the motion. Matt didn’t even slap him for it, free hand over his stitching to leverage himself in this position. His kisses were sharp down his throat. “You really liked that. Fuck, of course you’re mine, baby. I trust you, remember? So good for me. So tight, so easy. Just for me, nobody else. Right?”

Dex was so close he had to stare at a water spot on the ceiling.

“I know I'm right.” The saliva Matt left down his neck was tacky on his skin. “Because every time I see you, you never last longer than some pretty words and a firm hand.” Another bite, this time on the sensitive skin on his collarbone. “Like right now.”

“Matt-” Dex scrambled to move his hand so it was covering Matt’s over his stitches.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I want you to. You want to do what I say, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.”

“So come.”

Dex came without even trying to hold back. His mouth opened but no real words came out, his voice cracking on a whine. Matt melted against him, either ignoring or not caring about the come drying across Dex’s stomach. He just kissed his throat and drove into him again.

The new pace he set was slightly slower, taking his time to bury himself deep before moving again. In Dex’s hypersensitive state, each thrust made him hum in sheer doped-up bliss. It felt like scratching an itch or taking a pain pill, soothing this deep ache. He wrapped his arms around Matt’s head, both hands pulling his face up to kiss him again, swallowing the next noise he made and imagining he was saving it under tongue. He rolled his hips back to meet each thrust, smiling stupidly at the way it made Matt grit his teeth.

He squeezed Matt’s hand over his ribcage and moaned “please, please” into his mouth and if he wasn’t so far gone, he would’ve been stunned at how that single word sent him over the edge. The last thrust to the hilt made Dex’s eyes cross before Matt relaxed on top of him, panting against his skin from the exertion. He shook his head to get some clarity back. From his end, Dex felt high as a fucking kite. He could feel the soreness, the sting of bitemarks and scratches, the tackiness of saliva and semen and -

“Oh shit,” Matt swore softly against his cheek, pushing himself up with an elbow as he flexed his fingers against Dex’s hand still covering his. Dex squinted at the feeling of wetness coming through his fingers until the smell of iron hit his nostrils.

“You ripped my stitches,” Dex giggled, using his legs to pull Matt back down when he tried to pull out and off of him. “Where’re you goin’?” Matt used his other hand to press down on one of Dex’s pecs, pushing himself back up on one elbow. “Don’t go an’where.”

“Thirty seconds,” Matt told him like it was a promise, kissing over a particularly sore spot on his throat. That distracted Dex enough he managed to get up, Dex whining at the loss. “Count them.”

Dex let his head loll against the dirty sheets, inhaling clove and iron and salt. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen-

His counting was cut off by a warm but wet washcloth dropped on his stomach, Matt rolling him back to straddle his legs. A first-aid kit sat open beside him.

“Don’t have to,” Dex said, making no effort to move anyways. He was still giggling to himself.

“Of course I do,” Matt told him, already wiping the blood off his skin. “Can’t promise they’ll be neat.”

Dex shrugged. It hurt to do that, but the pain didn’t feel like it was coming from his body. He was somewhere else and yet entirely here in this room. He didn’t want to move an inch from this spot. The first sharp dig of the needle in his skin made him wince in sheer pleasure. The needle coming back out the other side made him convulse, moaning as he threw his head back.

“Jesus, Dex,” Matt swore under his breath.

“‘s your - ah - fault,” Dex murmured. “Keep going.”

Matt smoothed the blood away with his thumb before the needle went back in. In, out, in, out. It was so steady that Dex’s eyes started to feel heavy. He leaned his head against the pillow and breathed the scent in deep.

When he opened his eyes again, the stitches were done and the first aid kit was put away. The covers were over him, up to his shoulders. The hand in his hair tugged when Dex shifted his head to survey his surroundings. Dex grunted to himself, the endorphin rush starting to wear off. His stomach was clean, the washcloth also put away. He shifted up and felt his spine pop and crack, sending a cool rush to his too-warm skin.

“Hey.” Matt’s arm slid around the front of Dex’s hips, stopping him from getting up any further. He ran his thumb across the new stitching. “Where are you going?”

“Should - I should get up.” Stringing words together was hard, his brain still hazy.

“Why?” Matt’s voice was low in his ear, deep gravel like a purr. “You gonna vacuum my floor, too?”

Dex blushed, the hot flush spreading up his cold spine. Matt laughed against his warm skin, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. He laid back behind him, leaning back against the pillow, pulling Dex down with just the arm on his hips. Dex went without protest, his head landing against Matt’s chest. On instinct he moved his head to roll over, to press his face against the sheets, but Matt squeezed his hipbone twice and he stopped. Matt’s grip wasn’t even that tight, not like the ones that usually left him with deep purple marks, Dex could’ve pushed him away and gotten up if he wanted to.

But he didn’t want to.

Instead, he reached out with his foot and lazily kicked Matt’s ankle monitor. “Cheap NYPD tech,” he murmured. “Easy to bypass.”

Matt moved under him so Dex was more centered on his chest. “It senses for a pulse. Even if I managed to take it off and put it around a chair leg, it would send an alert downtown.”

Dex scoffed, nonchalant as he started turning his body to bury his face in Matt’s chest, settling half on top of him. “Could fix it for you.”

Please let me do something for you. Please.

“What time is it?”

Dex opened one eye to the digital clock across the room on the vanity. “3:42.” 3 + 4 + 2 = 9. Divisible by 2, 3, 4, 6, and 9. Good number.

“How much time do we have?”

The six million dollar question. Technically, they had roughly eighteen hours until guard check in the morning. Technically, Dex didn’t need to be anywhere in the world until DC in six days for his next body scan. He laughed against the faded scar on Matt’s chest at the image of Kemper’s fucking face at the new messy stitching that would ruin all his neat handiwork.

Matt left a kiss on his hairline. “Something funny?”

Dex shrugged, still smiling. “Nope.”

Matt stroked his jaw. “Answer the question, then.”

“Eighteen hours or six days. Depends.”

“Hmm.” Matt hummed right against his temple, kissing there again. Dex’s hand was already sliding up Matt’s thigh under the covers. “I guess that’s enough time, sweetheart.”

Two Days Later

As usual, Charles was chewing something on the other end of the phone line. Dex ignored how it bothered him to angle his foot laying on his back on the couch. The NYPD-issued ankle monitor glinted in the afternoon sunlight, and he sent the white reflective dot across the room, bouncing from the face in a decorative painting, to the corner of the TV, to Matt’s face as he slid the balcony door back open. He didn’t react to the dot at all, dragging his hand across his face to wipe the sweat off before heading to the kitchen for water. He’d been out for the last four hours on some of his first patrol in months. Dex muted his end of the call while Charles talked and watched as Matt turned the water on, drinking straight out of the tap before wiping his face again. Charles was still talking, only interrupted by the sound of a takeoff as he walked across a tarmac. Dex unmuted himself once the tap was turned off, making an agreeing sound into the phone. Yes, he’d be in DC in four days. Yes, he was feeling much better, thanks. Yes, he’d be ready to work in another week. What did he have in-

Matt nudged Dex’s head against the couch arm with his sweaty knee. Dex lifted himself up by his core muscles, leaning up enough that Matt could sit at the edge, his head falling back to rest against his thigh. Matt’s fingers found their way into his hair as Dex adjusted himself, nodding into the phone and asking Charles to text him the details for the job. Dex got another well wish for his recovery and he hung up on Charles as he always did. Charles sent the text for the job at the same time his wire transfer came through. With the phone off, Matt turned the TV on, flipping it to the news station. He left it on the metahuman hearings in Congress as he took one of his files from the stack on the coffee table and started to read.

“Once I’m done with this, I’ll shower and we’ll switch the monitor back,” Matt told him, his fingers moving quickly from line to line.

Dex hummed in agreement, moving his money to his second account on his phone before going back to his crossword app. His target’s mugshot appeared in a text message, he wiped it away to look back at the black and white squares on his screen. 12 down, monologue spoken alone on stage, 9 letters. Soliloquy. 13 across, to cut into thin ribbons, such as greens or herbs. 10 letters. Chiffonade. 14 across, 8 letters…

“What’s the term for questioning biases during juror selection?” Dex asked, stretching his neck and leaning into Matt’s hand. “Eight letters.”

“Voir dire.”

That fit. Dex continued on his crossword until Matt finished his file, setting it back on the coffee table and nudging Dex. “Gonna shower, up.”

“Thought you were going back out tonight.”

“Nah, not tonight. Luke has it. Move.”

Dex shrugged, staying where he was, smiling when he got shoved again, this time harder.

“I told you to move, Dex.”

“I’m fine.”

Matt sighed. “It’s been two days, you should check in at your apartment.”

“Probably still standing.”

“Where even is it?”

Dex grinned to himself, flicking a bottle cap at the glass balcony door. “Floor fifteen in the Dauphinia building.”

This time, Matt shoved him hard enough he almost did fall to the floor, sending Dex laughing hysterically at the exasperation in Matt’s tone. “The one facing across the fucking street?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Matt swatted the phone out of Dex’s hand, sending it to the carpet as he pulled Dex back to get up himself. “You really are insane.”

Dex twisted around on the couch, yanking Matt back on his back and landing on top of him with all the grace of a ballet dancer. He laughed into his mouth. “You wanna read my paperwork?”

Matt huffed a smile against his lips, his hand coming to rest at the small of Dex’s back, adjusting him so their hips were aligned. He didn’t answer Dex’s question, just pulled him down into a deep, slow kiss. Dex sighed into it, body molding against his like they weren’t two separate people at all.

“Stay,” he told Dex, feeling the uneven stitching through the worn gray shirt Dex borrowed. And he knew Dex would.