And every time you saw Dex nearby, you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose and look away, keeping as far away from him as possible, as if he were radioactive. On the other hand, luckily, he didn't seem to be trying to get close or gain your trust. And he'd better not. And Daredevil, more and more often, had to hear you grunt and say something like, "No. I work alone," and then you'd go your own way, leaving him alone with Bullseye. And he had no choice but to accept it; he wasn't judging you, though.

Dex, for his part, watched you all the time. And that included when you weren't on guard duty. You captivated him with your mysterious aura and indifferent demeanor. Part of him enjoyed this cat-and-mouse game. At first, when the two of you were working with Daredevil, he tried not to pay much attention to you or bother you, because he knew why you rejected him, as everyone else did. But the more he watched you, the more he wanted to find out why his presence disgusted you so much. Had he hurt someone close to you or something like that? He didn't think it was possible, at least not that he'd found out.

Anyway, that night you and Daredevil had to take down a smuggling ring. Luckily for you, Bullseye wouldn't be around this time. You didn't ask why. Nor did you care. You wanted to take advantage of the little peace that remained now that Dex wasn't around to bother you two.

If only you had known what would happen, you would have changed your mind..

There were more people than you thought, and no matter how hard Daredevil tried to cover your back, he couldn't prevent you from being seriously injured. Suddenly, your body felt heavier. You had several cuts and bruises on your torso. The worst was a knife stuck in your shoulder. When you felt it, your back arched, and you groaned, feeling a searing pain in that area. Matt decided he'd had enough; you needed to get out of there.

He put his arm around your waist while he put your arm over his shoulders to hold you.

"We have to get you out of here now," he said, panting.

You frowned and shook your head with a grimace, denying it. "No... not yet... we still have to stop-..." you said tiredly and breathlessly, feeling like you were going to faint at any moment.

"It doesn't matter. You can't keep going on like this hurt and that's the end of the discussion. Come on," Matt urged you.

He started walking away. Every now and then he spoke to you to make sure you didn't lose consciousness. You followed him as best you could, dragging your feet clumsily, with a sharp burning sensation where the knife had been stuck in you.

That's when Daredevil took you to Dex's apartment. He knocked insistently. When Dex opened it, he first saw Matt in his red suit, also injured and with blood on his face. But then he saw you hanging from his shoulder, your head tilted slightly, even more hurt. His brow furrowed. You tilted your head back like a rag doll to look at him, your eyes squinting. You grimaced and glared at Daredevil.

"Noo... not himm..."

You slur your words like a drunk. Matt ignores you and stares intently at Dex.

"Can you help her? She needs treatment for her wounds," he asks, hoping for a yes.

Dex looks at him seriously, barely raising an eyebrow subtly. "Do I look like a doctor to you?"

Matt ignored his sarcastic comment and pleaded in a softer voice, "Please... do it for her, not for me..."

Dex's expression shifted slightly. His gaze slid to your face, which was now looking down at the floor, unable to speak due to exhaustion. He pressed his lips together slightly, looking back at Matt. After a few seconds, he said nothing and simply opened the door wider to let you both in. Daredevil sighed in relief. As Matt pulled you inside, you muttered incoherently while Dex stood watching everyone with his arms crossed.

"Leave her on the couch," Dex pointed out.

Matt walked until he felt the couch in front of his knees. He gently laid you down while you groaned in pain. Then he stood up and turned to face Dex.

"Thank you..." he murmurs. "I... I have to go. I also need to get my wounds treated, or rather, have someone treat them for me."

Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly stopped. "Take good care of her. And if you hurt her, I swear I'll hunt you down until my last breath," he threatened in a low voice.

Dex just stares at him and then murmurs, "I'll do what I can," he says, unable to keep promises.

Matt nods and leaves. Meanwhile, you continue to squirm and groan stubbornly on the sofa, grimacing. Dex sighs and approaches you. "Stop moving, it'll only make the wounds worse."

You glare at him with a furrowed brow and a murderous look. He remains unfazed and turns to look for something, saying seriously, "Stay there, I'll get the first aid kit."

"Screw you" you spit softly through your teeth.

Dex walks away trying not to roll his eyes

"How cute" That's his only sarcastic thought

You waited for Dex to return, which thankfully didn't take long. He knelt in front of you, and you could feel his body heat as he drew near. Instinctively, you moved back slightly, leaning your back closer to the sofa's armrest. He ignored this and opened the first-aid kit, taking out everything he needed. He set the items aside and began inspecting your wounds. You were still wearing your suit, which consisted mainly of a thermal shirt, now slightly torn and stained. That's when he noticed the knife stuck in your shoulder; Matt hadn't wanted to remove it yet for fear of bleeding.

"I need to get that out,"

he says, pointing to the knife and gesturing as if to reach for your shoulder. You grunt and swatt his hands away.

"Don't tocuh me.." you groan, annoyed

Dex sighs, gathering patience, but pulls his hands away. "If I don't get it out, I can't heal you, genius," he says sarcastically.

You huff and puff in annoyance but say nothing. He takes the opportunity to place his hands back on the injured area. He grips the knife handle and, in a swift and precise movement, draws the weapon. You close your eyes tightly and let out a cry of pain that ends in a guttural growl like a wild animal.

"MOTHER FUC-! You could have warned me sooner, you bastard!!" you sneer with a grimace

One corner of his lips trembled slightly. "And what would you like me to do?" he asked calmly as he wiped the knife blade and put it in his pocket.

"I don't know! A countdown like 1, 2, 3! Jesus!" you exclaim, gesturing with one hand.

He chuckles softly. "Countdown? What is this, a rocket launch?" he scoffs slightly, then adds, "Besides, countdowns go backwards."

He looks at you indifferently. "You know how to count backwards, right?"

Oh, this son of a-

You glare at him, wanting to kill him, your chest rising and falling a little faster with the anger boiling inside you. You smile with a sarcastic, hateful grin that looks more like a grimace. "Mmh, very funny," you hum. "I remind you that if you hurt me on purpose, Daredevil won't leave you alone for a long time."

He smirked, grabbing cotton and staring at your wound. "I'm not afraid of him..." he simply mumbled.

"Well, you should," you say, looking at him when he's not looking at you. "And you should fear me too."

His smirk doesn't disappear, it even gets slightly bigger

"Mmh, feisty.." He murmurs in a hoarse voice, barely parting his lips, amused.

You sigh, feeling your body heat up with anger as you realize Dex doesn't care and even seems amused. Suddenly, he places his hands on the hem of your thermal shirt and begins to pull it up. You open your eyes and gasp in surprise.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What are you doing?!" You stop him by grabbing his wrist with one hand and suddenly pulling down your shirt with the other.

Dex simply shrugs. "I have to take your clothes off so I can heal you properly," he says, as if it were obvious.

"Okay, next time, ask before you touch me, okay?" you say, sounding both annoyed and embarrassed. Then you make a gesture with your finger, twisting it. "Now turn around," you order.

He blinked "What?"

"TURN.AROUND" You say firmly through gritted teeth, pronouncing slowly as you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, no longer anger. "And don't turn or look until I tell you," you add, already starting to roll up the hem of your shirt.

He grunts softly, his brow slightly furrowed, but accepts with a " 'K." He gets up with a grunt and turns away so he can't see you. You take the opportunity to try to pull up your shirt, but there are so many wounds that you can't move much. With each pull of the fabric, you let out a hiss or a pitiful moan as you feel your skin and muscles stretch, reopening cuts or inadvertently touching fresh bruises. At the fifth groan of pain, Dex sighs and turns to face you.

"Hey! I didn't say you could watch!" you grumble, looking at him, somewhere between offended and nervous.

He doesn't answer, he just frowns and moves closer again. This time he doesn't kneel or crouch down, he just bends forward, hovering over yours. "Let me help," he says, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it up despite your protests and grumbling. You still raise your arms, gritting your teeth, as he pulls the fabric over your head. When you're left in just your bra, you suddenly look away shyly, frowning. Dex takes your clothes and folds them to put them in a laundry basket. You glance at him, puzzled, but don't say anything. You can tell that Dex's apartment is impeccably clean and tidy, so he probably wouldn't want anything out of place.

Now he kneels in front of you, holding a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, and begins cleaning the cuts. You have several on your shoulders, chest, and stomach, and a large bruise on your abdomen near your navel. When you feel the cotton ball cleaning the wounds, you hiss, closing your eyes.

"Yeah, it might burn," he murmurs at your reaction, without having warned you before.

You sighed softly and rolled your eyes. Your gaze followed his hands at work, gentler and more delicate than you'd ever seen them. It gave you a strange feeling. Dex changed the cotton when it was worn out, running it over your shoulders. You had a cut on your chest, below your collarbone. When his hand moved there, above the curve of your breasts, your breath caught slightly, making you tense. But he seemed focused on his task, judging by how slow and deliberate his movements were. The cotton traced a slow, smooth, downward line near your bra strap. His eyes followed the movement while yours were fixed on your chest, which was now rising and falling with a bit more nervousness. You cleared your throat uncomfortably.

"Does it hurt?" he asks in a soft, low murmur, looking at you.

Unable to look him in the eyes, you frown and shake your head almost imperceptibly. "It's okay.." you reply in a raspy voice.

He hums, nodding, and continues dabbing the cuts with cotton, thankfully far from your chest. Then he moves on to the most serious cut, where a knife had been plunged. After inspecting it critically, he takes a needle and thread from the first-aid kit. He holds them up, showing them to you. "You need stitches," he says in a deep voice.

You look at the needle and thread apprehensively and slightly press your lips together. "Uh... you don't have anything to bite on, do you?" you ask hesitantly.

"Right," he sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. He hands it to you. "Here. Bite on that."

You slowly take the handkerchief and stuff it in your mouth as if you were being gagged, still holding it with your hand. He looks at you for a few seconds before deciding whether or not to sew you. You stare at him intently, and he knows what to do. Without a word, he holds your shoulder and makes the first stitch. You close your eyes tightly, feeling them fill with tears, and stifle a scream. But he doesn't stop. He continues stitching the wound, though he tries to do it more carefully. When you feel you've grown accustomed to the pain, you pull the handkerchief from your mouth with a groan.

"I'm not finished yet," he warns without looking at you.

"I know, but I think it doesn't hurt anym- Oh fuck!!" you grunt as you feel another sharp stitch, this time deeper, and you bite down hard on the handkerchief again.

A faint smirk forms in Dex's mouth. You take a deep breath through your nose, and when he finishes, you pull the cloth handkerchief from your mouth, slightly panting. You look at the now-closed wound. It's perfectly taut, and the stitches are clean, neither too big nor too small. You make a sound, half hum, half low grunt of surprise and admiration.

"You have good hands," you murmur now looking at him.

Dex stops and looks at you, raising an eyebrow curiously. It's probably the first time you've complimented him during the tour you've been on. He analyzes your face, searching for a sign of sarcasm or mockery, but you seem genuine. He sighs and puts a bandage on your stitches. "Thanks"

Then he glances at the bruise on your lower abdomen and stands up. "Wait here," he says, going to get an ice pack. When he brings it back, he crouches down in front of you again and this time looks at you before placing the pack on your skin. "May I?" he asks, looking at you intently. Shyly and with your guard down, you nod. "Y-yes."

He places the bag of ice wrapped in a cloth on your stomach. Your muscles twitch from the cold, and you shiver. "Ah!" you hiss, closing your eyes and parting your lips, remaining motionless for a few seconds. Dex hasn't taken his eyes off you.

"Sorry," he whispers, almost guiltily.

"Don't worry," you comfort him, downplaying its importance.

His hand remains resting on the ice pack even though isn't necessary. A few seconds of silence pass, then suddenly he speaks.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

You're stunned, staring at him wide-eyed. You weren't expecting a question like that. Then you let out a humorless laugh. "Are you seriously asking me that? You killed Foggy," you snap.

"He wasn't a relative of yours," he says, looking down and frowning.

"So? But he was innocent. It's called having empathy, something I see you lack," you say coldly.

You notice his jaw tense, but he doesn't say anything. He seems hurt. You realize you might have gone a little too far with your words. Your frown softens, and before you can say anything, he speaks again.

"It's... complicated," he simply says, not wanting to go into detail about how he was manipulated.

"Oh, really?" you say with a somewhat sarcastic, mocking tone.

Then he looks up at you, and your mocking smile disappears. His gaze now seems more tired, more real.

"Oh..." you murmur very softly, and for some strange reason you feel guilty. "Maybe it is..."

You sigh and look down at the ice pack on your stomach. A light silence falls between you. You bite your lip, thinking about what to say.

"I don't hate you.." you admit

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, not believing you. You roll your eyes. "Fine, maybe just a little..." You gesture with your fingers. "But it's because it makes me angry that even when you have the chance, you choose the wrong ones," you vent and sigh, frowning at him.

He looks at his hands, flexing his fingers. You speak again.

"Is it true that you want to do good deeds...?" you ask, more out of curiosity.

He nods once, slowly.

"Can I ask why?"

Dex looks away, staring out the window and lightly clenching his fists. "I want to have more control over my life..." he says tersely.

You sigh and nod without insisting. "Well... I hope you're being honest," you murmur, one corner of your lips twitching upwards.

"Would you like that?" he suddenly asks, looking at you.

You look up in surprise, staring at him with slightly wider eyes. "Excuse me?" you stammer, confused.

"I mean... would you like me to do good deeds? To balance.. the scales?" He looks at you seriously, waiting for a yes.

You frown, unsure what to say. You shrug and blink a few times. "Yeah, I guess. Only if you mean it," you murmur.

Dex hums sympathetically without adding anything else, but in his mind he's already prepared to make things right for you, so that his presence won't bother you so much anymore. Suddenly he gets up and silently picks up your perfectly folded suit shirt to wash it.

"Hey! You'll give that back to me later, right?" you ask, following his movements as he walks away towards the laundry room

"Of course," he chuckled softly with a smirk, "but I don't want dirty things in my apartment," he said, almost mockingly.

A few minutes passed while Dex put your clothes in the wash, carefully selecting the detergent and setting it to a gentle cycle. When he returned to the living room, he found you gently dozing on the sofa. The only sounds in the background were the washing machine running and your soft snores muffled by the noise of the machine. He sighed, his face softening. He walked over to grab a blanket and cover you with it. You automatically let out a satisfied sigh as you snuggled deeper into the soft, makeshift comforter. Dex offered a tender but almost imperceptible smile. When he tried to move away, he suddenly felt someone grab his pant leg. Turning his head and looking down, he saw that you had reached out, still half asleep, babbling unintelligibly. Your brow was slightly furrowed, and your fingers were gently closing in the fabric of his pants, preventing him from leaving.

Dex let out a long sigh and gently took hold of your wrist to move your hand away. "Fine," he said softly, sitting down next to you and gently placing your legs on his lap, one hand stroking your thigh through the blanket.

"I'll stay.." He whispered like a coo until the soft noise of the washing machine also lulled him to sleep.

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