the monster in me (loves the monster in you)
PAIRING: Benjamin Poindexter x F!Reader
SUMMARY: Newly appointed "good guy" CIA!Dex gets a handler. It goes about as well as you expect.
WORD COUNT: 5K
WARNINGS: Casual stalking, some small not-so-casual jealousy, a dash of gore, guns and a Dex-amount of knives.
CHAPTER EIGHT: the troublesome toxin job
[AO3] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]
TAGLIST (by request): @doesanyonereadthis, @bitch-spaghetti-o, @mrsriddlenott, @thecityofspareparts, @n0bodykn0wss, @suzucain, @attheheartofmylove, @weallhaveadestiny, @21st-century-daydreamer
A/N: Apologies for the delay! This was meant to drop yesterday on my birthday, but work has been hell and I had to take some time to watch the newest Spidey movie and eat cake before getting this chapter up.
The job gets done.
So does the job after and the one after that. For over two months it was like this. Dex worked alongside you, traveled with you, occasionally got patched up by you. It takes some time, but things between you stabilize to a degree. The air between you and Dex became less tense. You smile again. The same smile you did before. Easier, a little brighter, and more often. That space between you both forms into something that resembled a functioning team once more. Partners. Nothing more, nothing less. Normalcy... or the closest thing to it.
Dex was near you again, which he was glad for. However, he wasn't with you. Not really. Not in the ways he wanted to be. You were friendly and you worked well together, but Dex didn't just want you as his partner on assignments. He didn't just want your warm smiles and endless, effortless chatter. He wanted the touch of your hand for longer than the brief moments you gifted him. He wanted the feeling of your lips on his mouth, his neck, and all the places he could only think about in the darkness of his empty apartment at night. He wanted the touch of your skin, the weight of you, the sounds of you that he wanted no one else but him to be familiar with.
Want wasn't what you asked him to think about though. It was whether or not he was ready for what came with getting what he wanted. There were expectations that came with exploring something more. Certain things Dex was sure came naturally to other people. Things like proper communication and consideration.
Commitment.
But to what exactly?
Relationships were a social construct. Those desires weren't universal. Dex didn't really consider relationship-adjacent feelings -- or most feelings in general -- essential or needed for his survival. Had something shifted in that time since meeting you? Had becoming one of the good guys allowed the possibility of more for him? Dex had no clue. He only knew that he wanted you and you were set on keeping things platonic until he figured things out. So Dex kept things platonic. Platonic assignments where he worked closely with you, platonic travel and boarding for missions, platonic afternoons tailing you during days off, platonic nights spent watching your nightly routines from the roof of the building across from your apartment...
In his defense, the first few things were expected of him.
The last two just happened one day and had quickly become a habit the past two months.
You kept an interesting schedule on your days off. Interesting in that your routine was so frustratingly inconsistent to Dex. You woke at different hours on any given day. You fluctuated between jumping up to start the day and laying in bed for an additional hour before moving. There was no sign or pattern as to why. At least none that Dex could tell. You spent mornings padding around your apartment with a canteen, watering the jungle-worth of potted plants you were determined to keep alive. You danced to records Dex couldn't hear, but was sure from artists he never heard of. You shimmied and shook to music as you cooked and cleaned. On more than one occasion, you slid across hardwood floors from one room to the other on fuzzy socks. You cooked on random days and at odd times. On days that didn't appeal to you, you frequented small, family-owned restaurants and shopped local. Places where people seemed happy to see you. On the days you decided on something more upscale, you had no issues spoiling yourself. You took up space wherever you went, like it was rightfully yours.
If your mornings were considered random, your evenings were dizzyingly chaotic. Your sleep schedule was virtually non-existent. It was borderline negligent how much you didn't keep to a proper sleep schedule. You would wind down in the evenings with a glass of wine and a book in bed or some sort of sweet treat curled on your couch with something on the TV. On one particular night where you stayed up late, Dex watched as you seemingly organized your fake IDs on the floor of your bedroom. Dex could flip a coin on the nights you made it to your bed with the intention of sleeping or if you found yourself dozing off on your couch or -- at one time -- the round wicker chair in the corner of your bedroom that couldn't have possibly been at all comfortable to fall asleep in. No matter what it was you did, you indulged. You enjoyed. It was a mental delight for life that had escaped Dex completely. He could watch you move through your day and never lose interest.
What he did lose however was you.
Somewhere between brunch at Le Diplomate and window shopping around town, Dex had lost sight of you. It was rare, but it happened. Two months of tracking you around town. Occasionally you would unknowingly give him the slip. He'd check to see if you returned back to your place before Dex would even think to return to his own. He felt the twinge of disappointment twist in his chest when he went to check in on your apartment from his rooftop perch and found you hadn't returned yet. Check ins. He called it that in his head. It was different than the alternative words that could mistakenly be used to describe what he was doing.
You were his partner. You were his to watch over and protect during the job. It only made sense to extend that to the days outside of the job. That's what good guys did. Check in on their people. Ray checked in on Seema. Matt checks in with Karen... or, well, he did before he got himself thrown in prison. Dex decided he would do the same with you. He'd watch over you, made sure you were safe. You just weren't aware of it yet. You will though. Later. Once things were right between the two of you again.
Dex fished his keys from the pocket of his coat as he approached his apartment door. He paused just before he set his hand on the door knob. There was music playing from inside his place. He never played music aloud. He didn't even own a radio. Just a lone walkman player and a singular CD. Fingers quietly tested the door knob. Unlocked. Dex slid his keys back into his coat pocket, careful not to make a sound as he did. A hand still on the door knob, Dex moved to reach for the blade he kept tucked into his belt at his back once his keys were secured. He eased the door open quietly, hoped that the noise of the music would drown out his entrance. He slipped into his apartment, head on a swivel as he looked for the intruder. The hand that held the blade dropped to his side almost instantly.
"Took you long enough."
You laid across the end of his bed, head faintly dangling off the edge. Dex nudged the door closed behind him, eyes still locked onto you. Your phone sat on your stomach, music blasting from the speaker as your fingers drummed on the hard plastic of your aquamarine phone case. You made no effort to move from the spot, though you did take that moment to cut the music. Dex watched as you flashed him a small -- albeit upside down -- smile from your spot on the bed.
"How'd you get in?" Dex asked, as he shrugged out of his coat.
"The door," you simply replied, as if that was the only explanation you needed to give.
Dex caught the glimmer of stainless steel on his dining table as he moved to hang his jacket on the coat rack by the door. Lock picks. He placed the blade in his hand beside your discarded tools on the table, paused near the purse and coat you discarded on wooden chair nearby. He reached to retrieve the flamingo pink cell phone out from his back pocket, checked the screen. No messages or missed calls from you. You just... appeared.
"You place is... nice."
Dex set the bright pink phone onto the table before he moved towards the bed.
"Just nice?"
He watched your face as you struggled to conjure up another compliment.
"Very... organized."
The corner of his lip twitched. The hint of a smile. He set his palms on the mattress, your head caged between his hands as he bent his head over yours slightly.
"You hate it."
"I don't hate it."
"You don't like it."
He pulled back as you moved to sit up, straightened his posture and stepped back as you moved to situate yourself on the end of the bed. The sight of you in his apartment -- on his bed -- was a lot to take in. The image burned into his mind and made a permanent home there.
"I'm not here to talk about your ridiculously bare apartment," you told him, "Not even about the almost aggressively Spartan-like--"
"Is this not talking about it?" Dex asked you, amused.
"Sorry." You waved a hand slightly, as if the motion could wipe the previous conversation away. "Not the topic of this meeting. However, we will make time to talk about the importance of softer furniture at a later date."
Dex watched as you pushed yourself up from the bed and pocketed your phone.
"I've got a favor to ask you," you continued, "It's out of state and not affiliated with work. Total top secret stuff. Dangerous, obviously. No trail and probably no survivors--"
"Okay."
You blinked at Dex's short reply.
"Okay?"
"Yeah," Dex confirmed, "I'm in."
"Just like that?"
"Pretty much."
"Seriously?"
Dex stared at you, face blank.
"Did you want me to say no?"
"I mean, consent could be granted and rescinded at any point. I don't want you to agree to something without hearing the full story and then feel pressured to continue. So if you-- Dex, what are you doing?"
You watched as Dex moved towards his closet. He pulled a small duffle bag from a shelf before he turned towards you.
"You said this thing was our of town," he replied, "That means a change of clothes. You also said no survivors, which means I need my gear."
He tossed the bag onto the end of the bed.
"I'm packing," he finished, "And you should too, if you haven't already."
You haven't and he knew it, because if you had packed Dex would've seen you return to your apartment instead of finding you waiting in his own.
"You don't even know where we're going."
"Doesn't matter."
"It should."
"Still doesn't. Your car or mine?"
"Yours, obviously. Can we stop for road snacks?"
"Can't stop for snacks if you're not ready to go."
That lit a fire under your ass.
You rushed to grab your coat and purse from the chair you hung it on and barely made it two steps before you circled back to grab your lock picks from the table. Dex watched as your hurried for the door, felt the corner of his lip curve into a smile as you waved in farewell before slipping out of his apartment. It was a job. That's all. Sure it wasn't official in any capacity, but you had asked him and he said yes without question. Damn the consequences. Damn the details. Dex had packed and readied himself in record time. His mind repeated the thought of going on a job with you over and over in his mind. It wasn't until he had locked his apartment door and began to head to his car that he even wondered how you knew where he even lived.
"What's in Rockport, Massachusetts?"
The question was finally asked about three hours into the drive as Dex pulled his Jeep off the main highway, towards the convenience store by the off-ramp.
"A chemist," you replied, "Samuel Carvel. Got word from a little birdy that Carvel's been attempting to create a not-so-fun bioweapon."
"Sounds dangerous."
"Probably because it is," you replied, as the car rolled into a stop in a vacant spot outside of the store.
"If it's so bad, then why hasn't the CIA sent us after this guy sooner?"
"Best guess? They know and are sitting on the info," you told him, "Which is why this whole thing is off the books. No CIA. No Mr. Charles. We do this, then wipe our hands of it and never mention it again."
You unbuckled and moved to open the passenger's side door. Only Dex tapped the lock with a deafening click of the door.
"Who are we doing this for?" he asked, after a moment of thought, "This mission that we can never speak of, that not even the CIA can know we took part in... Who hired you?"
"No one hired me," you told him, "I heard about it from an old friend and I volunteered."
Old friend.
"Captain Mutton Chops," Dex said through clenched teeth.
Your brows furrowed faintly at the words, then rose almost instantly after.
"Oh my god," you breathed out, "Seriously?"
You tugged on the passenger's side door. Still locked.
"You're ridiculous," you told him.
"How am I ridiculous?"
"Because," you replied, "You think I'd actually include you in anything having to do with John after the first -- and not-so-shockingly also the last -- time? Trust me. I learned my lesson."
You tugged again on the still locked door handle, pointedly looked from the lock to Dex.
"So yeah, you're ridiculous," you added, "And I need to pee so--"
CLICK.
You rolled your eyes as you opened the passenger's side door and slipped out of the SUV. Dex pocketed the keys as he got out of the car as well. You didn't wait for him to fall into step with you. A small slight that Dex had to take on the chin after the exchange you shared just a moment ago. He followed after you towards the convenience store, sharp eyes narrowing at the heads that turned as you passed. True to your word, you disappeared into the bathroom without a glance in his direction. Well shit. That could've gone better, but Dex took one good thing away from the exchange. Whoever you were working for wasn't your ex. It wasn't much in terms of information, but it was enough for now.
He moved around the store, eyes trained on the bathroom door as he waited for you. After a few minutes, he saw the door swing open and you step out of the restroom. His hand moved to grab the first item he could reach on the shelf as you rounded the small aisle where he stood. He held up the item to you as you neared, watched as your eyes lowered down to the...
"Sugar Daddy?"
Dex wondered if it was possible for the ground to split around him and swallow him whole. He was dragged from the embarrassing though as you plucked the fun sized lollipop from his hand. A small laugh on your lips, you brought your gaze up to meet Dex's.
"I can't believe they still make these," you noted, "These are--"
"Ridiculous?" Dex offered, a small beat before he added, "Like me apparently."
He watched as your eyes softened slowly. It wasn't much, but it was as close to an apology as Dex could get without fully talking about the earlier conversation. You gave the stick of the lollipop a small twirl, lips pursed slightly as you considered your next words.
"I guess they are," you replied, "But I don't mind a little ridiculous sometimes. Within reason, of course."
You unwrapped the lollipop, all too aware of the fact that Dex's eyes were locked onto you as you brought the candy up to slip past your lips. Lollipop in your mouth, you still managed to flash Dex a small smile before you moved to collect more snacks and a drink for the road. It took several beats before Dex's feet regained the ability to move again. He remained quiet and followed behind you as you brought your treats to the register for purchase. You pay in cash and motion for Dex's hand as you both moved back to the car.
"I don't like carrying coins," you told him, as you dropped the loose change into his palm. "Jingling is bad in my line of work. Too noisy."
"No coins," Dex nodded, as he pocketed the change, "Got it."
You load into the car and peel away from the stop, moved back onto the highway to continue your journey. After a few minutes, you spoke once more.
"His name is Hank."
Dex glanced in your direction.
"The old friend I'm working with," you added, "He's the birdy I mentioned earlier. More beast than bird, but that's beside the point."
"Hank," Dex tried the name, found it strange to say on his tongue.
"He teaches at Xavier's."
The warmth in your voice carried admiration in the words.
"He's nice," you told him, after a beat of silence. "A little stuffy in a studious way sometimes, but he's funny... and kind."
You leaned your head back against the headrest, tilted your face to look at Dex as he drove.
"You gonna be jealous of this one too?" you asked him.
There was humor in your voice, but beneath was a twinge of honesty. It deserved an honest enough reply from Dex.
"Probably," he replied, before adding, "Do I have a reason to be?"
"Probably not," you confessed, "I actually think you'd probably like him."
Dex hummed in approval. Not so much about the thought of meeting this Hank guy. More because you also thought about him when it came to someone you seemed to carry in high regard. You both sat in the silence for a few moments before you reached over to flip the radio on. The radio tuned in, mid-song. A tune you were both familiar with.
Private Eyes.
You stifled down a small snort of a laugh as the chorus sang out through the speakers. Dex's lip twitched. He bit down the amusement. The attempt to reach our his hand for the radio control was stopped as you slapped at his hand with a small 'don't you dare' from your lips. You'd spend the majority of the ride like this. Comfortable in silence, the music filling the space around you.
It took another four and a half hours before you reached Rockport.
The sun had long set by the time the SUV rolled to a stop at the destination. A fairly rundown, seemingly abandoned hospital that was partially surrounded by equal parts waterfront and trees. Dex had killed the headlights before the building came into view, kept the car well hidden and at a distance. You peered through a pair of binoculars, took note of the security that walked the perimeter as Dex got out of the truck. He rounded the trunk of the car to access his bag and gear up.
"Two guards," you said, lowering the binoculars to look over in Dex's direction from your seat at the passenger's side, "Rotating security."
"There'll be more inside," Dex replied, as he stripped off his shirt, "No head count, no layout of the building. We won't know anything for sure until we get in there."
Dex changed into his Bullseye suit, armed himself with the countless blades be brought. His eyes rose from his spot at the trunk and watched as you slipped out of the car, shrugging out of the cardigan you wore. You tossed it into the trunk as Dex fastened on his gun holsters.
"You're certain you'll find it?"
"Not finding it isn't really an option for me," you replied, "I need to pull whatever data I can on it and if I can't safely extract the compound, then we'll need to dispose of it. Hospitals usually have incinerators onsite. Unfortunately, this isn't exactly one of those instances where we can set the building aflame and walk away. We can't risk the vapors being airborne and others in the area breathing the toxins, especially if we don't know what else this guy's cooking up."
Dex checked his pistols before holstering them; one strapped to his chest and the second at his thigh. You tugged a black, long-sleeved turtle neck from your bag and made quick work of discarding the shirt you wore for the darker top. He noticed the furrow of your brow, the tightness in your jaw as you secured the shirt into place before digging out a pair of neoprene gloves. The sleeves, the gloves, the boots you were now changing into... You weren't just arming yourself for a job.
You were covering yourself up.
Minimizing any risk of access to skin.
"You're nervous," he stated, "You're never nervous."
"You've seen me nervous before."
"This is different than before."
"Well, this is different than the others," you confessed, "It's not petty gangsters or foreign dignitaries getting taken out. It's more than that. The compound can't exist after tonight and neither can the chemist. He can't get the chance to recreate this. If he does--"
"People will get hurt," Dex tried to complete your sentence.
"No, not just hurt," you told him, "These kinds of weapons seek out targets like a missile and wipe them out. This one in particular is meant to target a genetic trait called the X-gene. If Carvel perfects his work and it gets released, then anyone with that specific gene marker is will be at risk."
"Mutants," Dex finally said, after a beat, "The bioweapon will target mutants."
Dex looked at you closer at that moment. His body tensed as he took in your gloves and sleeved arms. Suddenly you weren't covered enough. His mind buzzed with anxious concern. There was no way he could allow you anywhere near that weapon. It didn't matter if the weapon was complete or not. Dex only had one thought.
"You're not going in there."
"Dex--"
"No," Dex insisted, "I can't let you go in there."
"You're not letting me anything," you told him, "This is my job."
"It stopped just being your job the second you brought me in," he replied, "I'm your partner."
"Then be my partner," you softly said, "And let's get this done."
Together.
You tried to keep the concern from your face, but Dex had spent too long studying your face. He knew when your smile touched your eyes and when the your smiles you presented were for show or genuine. You were putting on a brave face. For him. Dex's hand reached out, long fingers curling around the back of your neck. He cradled the base of your neck, eyes sought out yours. Met your gaze. Held it in his own.
"Be careful."
"You too."
The old hospital was less of an abandoned space and more of a deranged madhouse maze of rooms. Former medical rooms were converted into chemical labs. Rows of stainless steel worktables were littered with beakers and flasks, test tubes and pipettes filled the different rooms. There was a low hum of energy that coursed through the building and powered the countless machinery that scattered through the building.
Disposing of the security outside had been easy enough. It was the unknown elements inside the deserted building. With the threat of a mutant targeted virus looming like a dark cloud overhead, Dex took no chances. He kept you close. Each room was swept and guarded as you scoured the area for the virus and its related notes. When Dex spotted a roaming guard, he handled them quietly. One guard with a knife across the throat ended up tossed into a storage closet. A second would be tucked underneath an abandoned nurse station cubicle. Each room you both visited slowly grew more and more gruesome. Neat workrooms slowly formed into blood-stained and burnt tabletops. Rooms with small cages that once held animals turned into spaces with larger cells and metal cots. Inhumane spaces meant to keep those locked inside captive until needed. Until disposed of. You gave away no emotion as you moved from room to room, but the mask slipped more the deeper Dex traveled with you.
"Oh god."
The lab you had both stepped into smelled of copper. The sharp metallic scent of stale blood. It was not just the scent of death that had drawn out that reaction from you. It was the carnage left in the space. The first body spread across a steel procedure table, sliced and pried open from chest to stomach. The second body was strapped to an examination chair, head scalped and hollowed out. A third body seemingly hung from a hook on the ceiling, lifeless alongside the others. The floor of the room was slick with fluids. You turned almost immediately after you followed Dex into the room, but you couldn't erase the image that had seared into your mind. Dex's arm moved as you turned away, instinctively wrapped around you. Hand pressed against your hip, he guided you back towards the door.
You didn't deal in gore. It wasn't part of your job description. At least not anything this messy. You kept your hands clean, kept the damage at a distance. Dex knew death intimately. He was familiar with the scent and look of it, had seen light diminish from his victims and moved on without a second thought. The weight of something so grisly didn't sit on Dex the way it would other people. On you. His lips brushed against the crown of your head as he leaned down faintly to speak to you.
"I got this room," he softly told you.
You fixed him with a stern look.
"I can't just stand outside the door and do nothing, Dex."
His hand, still at your side, squeezed the curve of your hip.
A comfort and a warning.
"You aren't lasting a minute in here, sweetheart. That's just facts."
His hand moved from your hip, reached out to take your hand as he checked the hallway. Satisfied you were still alone, he moved to peer into the lab across the hall, hand still in yours. When he was satisfied with his check, he nudged the windowed door open and led you inside. The difference between the previous lab and this one was night and day. The room was pristine, felt almost too sterile at first glance. Large refrigerators that lined the farthest wall, file cabinets did the same on the opposite side of the room. No bodies. At least none that were dead. Dex reached for the gun strapped across his chest, tugged it free from where he had it stored.
"I'll be right across the hall," he instructed, hand holding out the gun for you to take, "Take this."
Your eyes dropped down to the gun in his hand before flickering back to meet his gaze.
"I don't gun," you instantly told him, "Do I look like someone who guns regularly?"
"I'm not leaving you without a weapon."
"Dex, I am the weapon."
The sound of static crackling in the hallway tore through the air before Dex could reply, followed by voices in the distance. Your gaze shot towards the door, then back to Dex. You both seemingly moved without another word. Dex moved away from the door, hand tucking his gun back into the holster before drawing out a blade from his belt. He stepped out of immediate line of sight, into one of the darker corners of the room. At the same time, you shifted in the opposite direction, pressed yourself against the wall beside the door. Your eyes locked onto Dex as his gaze focused on the door. Footsteps in the hall grew closer, as did the voices.
Plural.
Fuck.
A rough hand slapped against the door, pushed it open. The door swung in your direction, partially shielding you from view. The first security guard cleared the door. It was when the second was mid-step across the door's threshold that you moved. Dex sent a knife flying towards the first guard's armed hand. At the same time, you threw your body into the door, sending it -- and you -- crashing into the body of the second guard. Voices rang out from the hallway as Dex sent another blade into the first guard's chest, then another in the direction of the stunned second guard's forehead. You leapt away from the door as it came swinging back towards you, your hand shooting out as a third guard came in, gun aimed. Dex watched as the third man's steps faltered suddenly, his armed hand cranking backwards at an odd angle until the gun dropped from his grasp to the ground. With the opening presented, Dex crossed the space with quick steps and sent the third man flying back into the hallway with a sturdy boot to the chest.
Dex moved to follow the man into the hall, a sharp sigh escaping him as he heard footsteps barreling up the stairwell to his left. He drew a blade to each hand, footsteps heavy on the tiled floor as he moved to meet the rest of security halfway. Blades flew through the air, cut through the noise from the guards, and impaled themselves repeatedly into each guard that poured in from the stairs. A body came into view, a body dropped. The knives sailed true, found their marks with a relentless sort of efficiency.
It was during the last of his kills that Dex heard it.
The pop of a very distinct gun.
An air gun.
His head snapped towards the hallway behind him, eyes locked onto yours in an instant. You stared in his direction, lips parted and brows furrowed in confusion as you reached up to pluck something from the back of your neck. When you brought your hand back to look at the item, it was a dart that sat in your palm, tipped with a hypodermic needle and a now empty syringe. Dex watched as you dropped the dart, sent it clattering to the ground at your feet. Your body followed soon after. A strangled, horror-struck sound tore from your throat as Dex watched you drop to your knees in shock.
It was then that Dex saw the man -- the chemist -- several feet behind you, arm extended out.
Gun still aimed where he had shot you.