He had managed to sneak into the school that weekend. He’d found out what classroom was yours through the files he’d found in the main office. Dex had been curious to know what your classroom looked like since he’d seen you for the first time. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he wasn’t at all surprised by what he’d discovered. 

Your classroom was very neat and organized, and even in the darkness interrupted only by his flashlight, it felt…welcoming. Each kid had their own cubby with a laminated card at the top that had their names on it, which looked like they’d personalized themselves. Up against a wall in the back right corner, there was a decent sized shelf filled with books, all of varying reading levels, and there were a few bean bag chairs on the large garden themed rug next to it. They looked well worn from use.

The walls were decorated with various colorful posters. One had two flowers with smiley faces drawn in a retro 70s cartoon way with a slogan about treating everyone with kindness and respect. There was one with Spanish translations of things from numbers to colors to general common phrases. Another had the alphabet displayed in ASL. In what Dex presumed to be the reading corner with the bean bags, there was a decorated board labeled “The Reading Race” with all the kids’ names, and collections of gold stars by them. He didn’t know what the prize was, but Gabrielle was ahead of everyone else by six stars. Above his head there’d been several different sized glow in the dark stars that decorated the ceiling, and in the middle of them was an impressive sparkly model of the solar system hanging from clear wire.

Dex had sat in your chair at your desk and analyzed the items on top of it. On the left side of it was a clear medium sized open container that had what appeared to be various sensory toys inside. On the right side, a large light blue mug with daisies on it was being used to store multicolored glitter gel pens, highlighters, dry erase markers, and a few pencils. In the bottom drawer of your desk, he’d found a first aid kit, tissues and hand sanitizer, antibacterial wipes, several booklets containing different styles of stickers, including the highly sought after gold stars, and even a stash of miniature sized snacks. In the middle drawer you kept extra supplies for the kids. The top drawer contained stacks of graded papers from quizzes over different subjects to short essays, and he finally got the answer to his initial curiosity about if third graders even had homework. They did. Turns out third grade involved a lot more learning than he remembered. 

Sitting in your classroom had only painted you in brighter shades than the clashing muted colors Chris had thrown on your canvas. It was evident it belonged to someone that was passionate about their job and cared deeply about their students, and these kids hadn’t even been yours for that long. He knew most of the things in there had been acquired on your own dime. All the decorating had been done by your hand, probably after hours or on your days off. Even though you’d started all over at a new school with only a few months left before summer, you’d still taken the time to cultivate your space and make it special because you cared.

Between seeing how you’d interacted with your students and their parents that day at the school, and giving himself a tour inside your classroom, Dex was able to see exactly what kind of person you were. Generous. Kind. Empathetic. The complete antithesis of how you’d been introduced to him. 

If Chris wanted someone like you dead, Dex knew it ultimately had to be one of two reasons. Either you knew something you weren’t supposed to and he wanted a loose end tied up, or he felt you’d wronged him somehow and was cruel and vindictive enough to hire someone to kill you for it just because he could. Given the bullshit story he’d told Dex, he believed it was the latter, but he was determined to uncover the truth. 

It was completely outside the norm for him to even want to do that, but nothing about this job was normal. If you’d been anyone else, you would’ve been dead by now, and he would’ve already been looking for the next job, but you weren’t anyone else. You were you, and Dex felt magnetised by you, drawn in like gravity. 

There was something about you that struck an odd chord in him, like a string out of tune he couldn’t ignore and had a strong urge to fix. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but there had to be some explanation for his fascination with you, something that went beyond just you reminding him of Julie. There was some coveted answer hiding in plain sight about why he couldn’t let this go and just finish the job, and one way or another, he was gonna figure it out.

So, he’d kept watching you.

Luckily for him, you were a creature of habit, and after a week he knew your daily routine like the back of his hand. You left your apartment every morning with coffee you made yourself in different colored tumblers, always with a matching plastic straw. You got to the school an hour early and always stayed half an hour to forty five minutes late after making sure all your students were picked up. You took the same subway lines in the mornings and afternoons. You liked to read on your couch in the evenings, and always reached for the soft looking emerald blanket. You didn’t turn your bedroom light off until around eleven each night, but you kept the curtains in your bedroom drawn, so he could never see what you were doing. Dex let his imagination fill in the blanks based on what he knew about you. 

He’d tried to look you up online, but you didn’t seem to be on social media at all. It was a bit strange considering most people were and overshared every aspect of their existence, but maybe you were like him. Maybe you didn’t see the point of it, or thought it was a toxic cesspool of virtual hall monitors and brain rotting idiocracy.

Or maybe you wanted to be invisible, possibly for the same reason you moved abruptly and switched school districts and now felt the need to monitor the slightest detection of motion at your front door.

Dex had been under the impression that you were a bit of a homebody, but tonight, you’d surprised him. It was Friday night, and he’d already been watching your apartment for a few hours when he suddenly saw you gathering your things to leave through his binoculars. You were in a different outfit than what you’d worn to work. It looked like you’d gotten a little dressed up, like you were going out somewhere.

Going out with someone? 

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, it torched his blood with something akin to jealousy so strong it shocked him. He wasn’t sure where that feeling had come from. He also knew you weren’t dating anyone. Dex had been watching you for a week, and there had been no sign of you being in a relationship. It could be a first date, or you could just be going out with your friends. Either way, Dex bolted for the rooftop door and made it down to the sidewalk just as you were leaving your apartment building across the street. 

𖣠

Dex sat at the far end of the bar near the back so he had a clear vantage point of the whole place and where you were sitting at a high top table towards the front. It was the same bar in the West Village he’d seen in the transaction history of your bank records. He assumed it was either one of your favorite spots, or a favorite among the other two women you were with. He nursed a beer while watching you with your friends. You were an animated speaker, your expressions shifting with the tides of whatever story you were telling, gesturing with your hands to bring it to life. He wanted to move closer so he could hear it, but he didn’t want to risk being seen. 

You were barely finished with your first drink, but there was already a noticeable fluidity in your body language and a faint lethargy in your movements. Whether you were a lightweight or just not a big drinker, either way it worked in his favor. Alcohol lowered people’s defenses and impacted their sense of awareness. You didn’t seem like the type to get blackout in public, between the doorbell camera and your vigilance on the subway he knew you were a cautious person, but maybe your guard would be down enough that he could get a little closer.

When you got up to approach the bar, standing only a few spots down from where he was sitting, Dex dipped his head to feign interest in the label on the bottle in his hands, but subtly continued to watch you from beneath his lashes while you ordered another drink. Being this close to your orbit conjured an impulsive recklessness to leave his interstellar boundary and become immersed in your atmosphere.

Dex had narrowed his focus to you so completely that he hadn’t been paying attention to anything else, so he hadn’t noticed a man approaching you until he had already appeared by your side. Dex immediately straightened up on the bar stool at the sight of him, no longer obscuring his attention but staring intently in your direction. He was able to tell right away from your body language that this man was a stranger to you, and didn’t appear to be one you had an interest in knowing. The man’s cheeks were flushed with evidence of too much to drink, his eyes were visibly glazed, and his movements were clumsy. He leered at you in a way that made Dex want to pull out the knife sheathed against his wrist beneath his shirt sleeve and aim for the man’s throat. 

He couldn’t hear the conversation being exchanged due to the raucous chatter of the crowd, but Dex caught the polite shake of your head and the uncomfortable smile you forced. It was such a stark contrast to the bright one you normally wore that it was painfully unnatural. He hated its presence on your lips, and he hated the man responsible for its existence even more. The stranger was either too intoxicated to comprehend your rejection, or he didn’t seem to care that you were giving it. When you took a step back to try and create a boundary, the man took a step forward and violated it. The gnarled grin on his face was as predatory as it was arrogant.

Dex caught you glancing around, indiscernibly trying to catch someone’s eye. The bartenders had their backs to you or were focused on other customers. Your friends were engaged in conversation, too caught up in a new story to notice your silent pleas for assistance. No one was paying attention to you except for the stranger.

And Dex.

Don’t get involved. Don’t let her see your face. 

He was gripping the beer bottle so tightly it was a miracle it hadn’t shattered in his hands. Dex operated under a strict set of rules. He never let his targets see his face. He never interacted with them. He stayed hidden in the shadows until it was time to strike. If he intervened now, if he revealed himself to her, the job would be ruined unless he finished it tonight. That was a complication he hadn’t planned for, and overall a decision he’d been teetering on the edge of. 

Chris had already been up his ass, calling every goddamn day for an update. By the third call, Dex had finally threatened to give the money back and kill him instead for free simply for being a pain in the ass if he didn’t back the fuck off. The burner hadn’t rang in four days since. 

This entire situation had already become far more convoluted than Dex had anticipated. If he made the wrong call now, he’d only make things worse and tangle himself further in a whole new web of problems. He watched as the stranger stepped even closer, almost crowding you between the edge of the bartop and his own body. Dex knew he needed to make a decision, and he needed to make it now.

While he played Devil’s advocate with himself, the stranger lifted his hand to grab your elbow, and the way you flinched instantly settled that internal debate.

Fuck it.

Dex was off the bar stool and parting the crowd of packed bodies effortlessly before he even had the chance to second guess himself.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

Both pairs of eyes that snapped to him were startled by his sudden appearance for vastly different reasons. He didn’t pay any attention to the drunk stranger, keeping his focus entirely on you. He watched you blink a few times as you looked him up and down, and he generated his best friendly smile to put you at ease while gesturing towards the man with a faint nod of his head.

“Do you know him?”

Dex watched your eyes flicker to the intoxicated stranger before looking at him again. He could almost see your brain still working to figure out how to deescalate the situation while now also deciphering the reason for another stranger’s presence.

“Um…no.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

In his left peripheral, he caught the way the man bristled at the question and stood up straighter, but Dex kept his eyes on you, waiting patiently for the answer he already had. He saw something almost apologetic flash across your features, like there was some essence of guilt you felt over your subjection to a situation you didn’t even want to be in. He had the impression of you that you were someone who liked to keep the peace, but there was an undertone in your expression that betrayed a survival instinct you’d learned to adopt. Your discomfort was as tangible as the condensation on the beer bottle had been beneath his fingertips.

“Why don’t you mind your fucking business bro-”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to her.”

Dex kept his tone calm and even, not taking his eyes off you once, but he was hyper aware of every small movement the man made. As badly as he wanted to grab the back of this guy’s neck and slam his face against the bartop repeatedly, or drag him out back to the alley and gut him groin to sternum, he kept his composure. You were already on edge, and he didn’t want to be a contributing factor to that. He caught the subtle shake of your head, and he returned your silent communication with a faint nod of his head in understanding. When he stepped forward to position himself between you and the stranger, you took a few steps back to create space for him to fit and act as a barrier. This only seemed to incense the intoxicated man further, but Dex spoke before the other man could argue.

“Look, man, the last thing you wanna do right now is draw attention to yourself. You’ve clearly been overserved, and if one of the bartenders catches that, you’re gonna get cut off. And if you continue to not take no for an answer, that bouncer up front is gonna toss you out on your ass. So, you gonna behave, or you gonna ruin your own night?”

Dex continued to speak in that tame tone, but with his back to you, he didn’t have to control his countenance. The nonthreatening mask had disappeared entirely, and in its place Dex allowed the darkness he normally concealed to shadow his features. The man nearly stumbled back under the intensity of Dex’s hardened unblinking stare. Even in his inebriated state, the guy could see the evidence of something sinister that lurked behind Dex’s face. He quickly held up his hands in a show of surrender, that arrogance swiftly fizzling out into an uncomfortable ember of alarm.

“Whoa, Jesus, I wasn’t trying to-”

“Then don’t.”

“Yeah, fuck, okay.”

The drunk stranger staggered away in such a haste he didn’t even grab the drink he’d left sitting on the bar. Dex took a moment to recompose his face before turning back around to look at you. He watched as you followed the man with your eyes, puzzlement knitting between your brows. When you finally looked at him again, he watched that expression shift into almost imperceptible curiosity with a twist of wariness. The rapid contrast in the man’s behavior surely sparked questions, but Dex didn’t want to give you too long to dwell on how he’d scared him away. He didn’t want you to view him as a threat in any capacity. 

Taking a step backwards, he cleared his throat and offered you a small awkward smile, loosely gesturing with his hand in the direction where the man had disappeared.

“Sorry, I uh…I hope I didn’t overstep. I was just sitting over there, and you looked really uncomfortable-”

“No no, you didn’t. I um…I was kinda trying to get someone’s attention anyway. He was starting to get a little aggressive, and I…I wasn’t sure what he was gonna do. So, thank you. Really.”

The little smile you gave him wasn’t the bright one he’d seen you wear over the past week, but it was still a smile, and it was directed at him. That was more than enough to satiate the desire to be on the receiving end of your attention. Just that small gesture alone was worth breaking his own rules and enduring whatever calamity that ensued in the aftermath. Dex subconsciously mirrored the shape of your lips with the same diffident gentleness. A moment of silence passed before he realized he hadn’t responded to your gratitude, and he was uncertain on what was supposed to come next.

Keep talking? No, you were here with your friends, and after what just happened with the drunken stranger, he figured the last thing you wanted was another man impeding on your night. The smartest thing to do would be to leave and hope you forgot his face, to wait for you in the darkness of the alley while he untangled the mess he’d just woven for himself.

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll uh…I’ll let you get back to your evening.”

Dex barely took two steps past you before you called out to him.

“Wait!”

He promptly stopped walking as soon as the command reached his ears, turning to look at you over his shoulder. He saw you hesitate for only a second before something shy curved at the edges of your lips while you gestured at the bar behind you with your thumb. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Dex was visibly taken aback by your unexpected offer, his brows lifting slightly in a way that betrayed his surprise. He let out a quiet chuckle, turning to face you as amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

“You didn’t look like you were gonna use it.”

There was a lightness to you again. The absence of the drunken stranger seemed to bring your buzz back, and you were regarding him with a playful look that had his feet carrying him back towards you.

“I didn’t think you’d wanna be bothered after that.”

That slip of honesty from his tongue seemed to please you, evident by the stretch of mirth on your lips and the glint of something in your eyes that he caught in the dim amber glow of the ambient lighting. 

“I appreciate the thoughtfulness, but I still feel like I owe you a drink for that display of chivalry.”

“No offense, but if that’s your bar for chivalry, you need to get out more.”

When your head dipped back and your face split in laughter, he finally saw it. The smile that he’d witnessed a dozen times over the past week. The one that illuminated your entire face and radiated warmth he swore he could feel no matter how much distance was between you and him. The one he traced in his memories when he tried to sketch himself into them, drafting himself as the one they were aimed at. Seeing it up close like this felt like witnessing some cosmic novelty, and being the one that conjured it made his chest burn with something that could’ve melted the bones of his ribcage. 

“I’m Y/N.”

Dex’s hand lifted of its own accord to envelop yours with intentional gentleness, internally marveling at the softness of your skin, and the reality that he was actually touching you.

“Ben.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ben.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

Even just saying your name out loud felt like a privilege. He wasn’t sure if you could hear a hint of the verity in his voice that was interlaced with wonder, but he swore there was a faint twinge of heat in your cheeks that hadn’t been there before.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from your friends, Ben.”

“I’m not here with anyone.”

The rush to reassure you that you weren’t inconveniencing him induced an awkward pause. He didn’t miss the way perplexity muddled the opacity of your previous delight, and your eyes were wandering over him in polite caution once again instead of intrigue. This wasn’t some small dive bar where the older crowd went to drink alone on a weekday night. It was a trendy spot, packed on a Friday night, and he’d already told you that he’d seen what happened with the drunk guy, which meant he’d been watching you and now you knew that. He was hyper aware of his mistake as soon as it flew out.

Shit. Say something that doesn’t make you sound like a creep.

“I uh…had a long day at work, and didn’t want to drink alone.”

His face pinched slightly at his own words.

Nice, dumbass. Now you just sound like a fucking loser.

His lips parted slightly, and then he lifted his hand to rub his palm slowly down his jaw with a short self deprecating laugh.

“Which I’m…now realizing sounds pathetic saying it out loud.”

He watched you press your lips together in an effort not to laugh, amusement shimmering in your eyes as you cleared your throat.

“That’s not pathetic.”

The higher lilt to your voice made Dex lift one of his brows, giving you a pointed look that only made the laughter you’d barely managed to restrain burst.

“No, no really, I…I think it’s human nature to want connection, you know? Even if your only company is drunk strangers in the background.”

Dex clicked his tongue against his cheek and faintly shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle before a light smirk graced his lips.

“You have a way of putting a positive spin on things. I appreciate you sparing my ego.”

He watched your face shift into an expression of mock seriousness, lifting your hand to point your finger at him.

“Hey, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

Dex’s brows rose in surprise for just a moment before they knit together in thought. He cocked his head to the side a little, looking at you in reinvigorated interest.

“Yeah? What wise ancient philosopher said that?”

“Joe from The Princess Diaries.”

The deadpan delivery of it tore a genuine laugh from him, and he was almost startled by it. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had made him laugh like that. A victorious grin immediately split your lips wide open. You were visibly pleased with yourself, and he couldn’t help but grin too.

“The Princess Diaries. I’ll have to add that one to my watch list.”

𖣠

He hadn’t expected you to keep talking to him. He thought after the drinks came that you’d…well he hadn't been sure what to expect, other than a polite goodnight before you went back to your friends. But you’d only excused yourself for a moment to go say something to them, which made their heads turn in his direction, each pair of eyes assessing him for different purposes. One of them smirked and turned to whisper something to you without looking away from Dex, something that clearly left you flustered. He pretended he hadn’t seen it.

“So, what do you do?”

Shit.

God, he was really dropping the fucking ball tonight. He normally was always prepared with rehearsed answers for any prompt, but there had been no time to craft an identity or a story to present to you. Nothing that happened tonight was supposed to happen. He had never intended to meet you or actually talk to you, and now he was scrambling. Dex lifted his beer to his lips to take a swig, buying himself a few more seconds.

The easiest lies to sell are the ones with a sliver of truth in them.

“I’m an independent contractor in private security.”

Shock was etched plainly across your features, your drink suspended mid air in your hand.

“Oh, wow. Like…like a bodyguard?”

He flashed you a charming smile, enjoying the adorable puzzlement on your face.

“The job varies. It’s a lot of consulting and going where I’m needed. It all kinda comes down to what the client’s asking for.”

Dex could tell you were intrigued by the way you set your drink down and rested your chin in your palm, leaning a little closer towards him. He struggled not to inhale your scent deeply, and he hoped he was close enough that it would linger on his shirt. There was something in your eyes layered beneath the general curiosity, but he couldn’t decipher exactly what it was at the moment.

“How did you get into that?”

“Through my last job, actually. I was in the Army, and when I got out I joined the F.B.I., stayed there for a few years. While I was there, I met a guy through a mutual…acquaintance. He turned me on to the idea after I left the Bureau.”

“What made you leave?”

Dex forced space between his teeth so his jaw wouldn’t clench, and set the beer bottle down so his knuckles wouldn’t turn white from gripping it. He leaned back on the bar stood, projecting casual indifference with a faint shrug.

“I got tired of the bureaucratic bullshit. They only want you to do the job exactly as they say, or they hang you out to dry. When I did what I thought was best, that I felt saved and protected more people in the long run, I got punished for it because it wasn't by the book. So, I decided to work for myself.”

A sympathetic hum sounded from your throat.

“I totally get the frustration.”

Dex didn’t know what the politics were in teaching, but he assumed it wasn’t that different from the Bureau. Wanting to do more, but feeling restricted by rules set by some asshole who has no idea what the job is actually like in the field.

“I’m sure you do.”

You’d been absentmindedly stirring the straw in your drink until he said that. The way your eyes snapped to him made him tense.

Oh you fucking dipshit, what is wrong with you tonight?

“I mean…you seem like an empathetic person. You know, someone who can just…understand people.”

He held his breath until he saw your face start to soften, and he discretely let out an exhale of relief through his nose when a small smile appeared on your lips.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Yeah you have that…I don’t know, ability to make people feel…seen, I guess. And this…calming presence.”

He could see that the sentiment was working. He just needed to keep control of the conversation and think before he fucking spoke.

“You uh, a therapist or something?”

A smile quickly spread across your lips, almost dreamlike in quality.

“I’m a teacher. Third grade.”

Dex convincingly crafted his features into an expression of surprise, returning your smile with one of a similar caliber.

“Oh yeah? That explains a lot, actually.”

A soft laugh left you as you started to stir the straw in your drink again.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like…the empathy thing. And your patience with the guy at the bar.”

“Oh, well that wasn’t patience, that was just-”

The discomfort that flashed across your face when you hesitated immediately caught Dex’s attention. He watched your eyes fall to your drink, like there was something in there only you could see. It was fleeting. Within just a few seconds of going somewhere else in your head, you snapped back into focus, looking at him again with a noticeably smaller smile.

“-being safe.”

He didn’t like that answer. Something in his gut told him that little piece connected to something bigger. That the curvy edges of it fit into the carved slots that belonged to the presence of the camera, and the abrupt move, and your hyper vigilance on the subway. Dex mentally filed that clue away to explore later.

“What made you want to be a teacher?”

𖣠

Dex had offered to make sure you got home safely since your friends had already left. Well, he posed it like an offer, but he tried to steer your decision with carefully placed concern about the city being dangerous at night, and you getting into the back of a cab with a stranger after a few drinks. Whether you accepted after considering these factors, or just because you wanted to, he didn’t really care. You were letting him, that’s all he focused on.

“This is me.”

Dex slipped his hands into his pockets, looking up at the apartment building like he hadn’t spent the past week staring at it from across the street. He gave a faint nod and made a show of glancing around.

“Seems like a nice neighborhood. Definitely quieter than Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Is that where you live?”

“Yeah.”

He watched you arch one of your brows, and there was a faint tug at the edge of your mouth.

“That’s not exactly within walking distance.”

Dex shrugged casually at your comment.

“It’s a fifteen to twenty minute subway ride, not that big of a deal.”

Your lips just barely pursed in an effort not to smile, but he saw the corners of your mouth lift upwards even higher.

“Does this escort count as chivalrous, or do you just take your job very seriously?”

Dex struggled not to smirk at the irony you weren't aware of. 

“Can it be both?”

“I suppose it can.”

A moment passed where neither of you spoke. Dex cleared his throat, gentling his smirk into something softer.

“Thank you for the company tonight. And the drink.”

“Thank you for the company too, and for coming to my aid.”

“You had company already.”

“I did, but I still liked yours.”

You liked his company. That stirred up something he hadn’t felt in a long time. That desire he thought had been dormant to want someone to like him, to want him around. It cracked open a piece of him that he thought he’d sealed away. He didn’t know what to do with it. Clearing his throat again, he flashed you another small smile.

“Uh, well, goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Ben.”

He allowed himself just a moment more to soak up the way you were smiling at him right now so that he could burn it into his memory. With a faint nod of his head and another smile, he turned away to start walking down the sidewalk towards the nearest subway station. Dex’s mind felt like it was going a million miles an hour trying to process everything that had happened tonight. He was already analyzing every second of his time with you, studying each frame and dissecting the details to store in their respective places. Meeting you, touching your hand, hearing you say his name, every word you spoke, every look-

He nearly tripped, he’d stopped walking so quickly. His brows furrowed as his brain flashed that last look you gave him, and he realized he’d been so caught up in memorizing every tiny detail that he’d missed an important one.

You’d looked disappointed when he turned to leave. Why did you look disappointed? Did he do something wrong? Did he say something wrong? He immediately replayed the last thirty seconds of the conversation, and the look on your face when you’d told him goodnight. It was like you’d been waiting for something…but…what?

It abruptly struck him with clarity like lightning. 

She thought you were gonna ask her out.

He felt like an idiot. Of course you did. He’d essentially been flirting with you, to get information out of you that he already knew, yes, but still. He’d insisted on making sure you got home safe. He’d made a point to get out of the cab with you so he could tell you goodnight properly. He’d set up a goddamn lay up and missed the shot.

Did you want him to ask you out? Should he-

No. Don’t do that. Keep walking. You’ve fucked this whole thing up enough as it is.

Instead of moving forward, Dex turned around to look at you, watching as you walked up the front steps of your apartment building. He should keep walking. He should go home. He should be coming up with a plan on how he was going to salvage the shitshow he’d created for himself.

But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t. He’d known this whole thing was over the second he decided to step in at the bar, and the time he’d spent with you tonight was the seed of doubt that had been planted a week ago finally blooming, confirming what he’d already decided even if he hadn’t acknowledged that decision until now.

“Hey!”

You were just about to walk inside when he called out to you. The door was halfway open, and he watched you turn to look over your shoulder with a startled expression. With a renewed sense of purpose, Dex turned to walk back towards the building, stopping at the bottom of the front steps. He could see the silent question on your face, probably wondering what the hell his deal was. He could’ve already blown this, but what did it matter? Whatever happened next, he’d already made up his mind.

He wasn’t finishing this job.

“Do you wanna go out with me?”

The question he suddenly blurted out clearly surprised you, and he knew how confusing this all probably seemed. He waited with bated breath, analyzing every microexpression and subtle shift in your body language to try and gauge what you were thinking. After what felt like an eternity, your lips faintly pursed in an effort he’d come to recognize as you trying not to smile.  

“You have a very strange approach to asking someone on a date.”

Dex let out a breathy laugh, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah, I uh…I’m sorry. I…I wasn’t sure if you, you know, if you wanted me to ask.”

When you let go of the door for it to close on its own and turned to face him fully at the top of the steps, the tension in his shoulders instantaneously evaporated.

“You think I bought you a drink, spent the whole evening getting to know you, and let you accompany me home, without ulterior motives?”

He hadn’t expected you to be so bold. A quiet laugh escaped him, and he dragged his top teeth along his bottom lip, arching one of his brows with a smirk as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, so I’m the only one here with pure intentions, huh?”

He watched your eyes narrow lightheartedly before you slowly descended the steps with a playful look on your face, stopping once you were standing on the last step, now face to face with him.

“Were your intentions pure, Ben?”

He hadn’t allowed himself to consider you in any other capacity besides intrigue since he’d seen that first picture of you. You were beautiful, there was no denying that. And technically he had been flirting all night, but he hadn’t intended to. Being charming was the easiest way to make people let their guard down and voluntarily answer anything that was asked the right way. His only interest in you had been to study you and figure out why Chris wanted you dead. But you were making it clear that you were interested in him, and that changed everything.

With the lens of the job removed, Dex looked at you, really looked at you, and had an epiphany about why he hadn’t been able to let this go.

He was interested too.

Slowly he uncrossed his arms and let them fall to his sides, shifting his body language into something more open and receptive.

“No. I was just being polite.”

He noted again that his honesty drew a pleased smile on your lips. He watched you tilt your head to the side, and every single nerve ending in his body seemed to stand to attention under the path of your wandering eyes. When you met his gaze again, your voice lowered to a flirty whisper.

“Ask me again.”

Dex couldn't look away from you. He felt completely entranced, and his tongue obeyed immediately. 

“Do you wanna go out with me?”

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

He couldn't even hide the slight breath of disbelief that interrupted his cadence, like he needed to hear you say it again in order for his brain to accept it, even though your answer had slipped out without hesitation. 

“Yeah.”

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“Owens-”

“You deceptive bitch. You’re fucking one of them aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

She let out a grunt when he yanked her forward just to slam her back against the wall more forcefully this time. Matt took a step forward, his lips parting as if to speak and his hand stretched out with the intent to grab Owens and pull him off, but he paused as a new layer of confusion settled over him.

She wasn’t fighting back.

Owens held her by the shoulders with an iron grip. Her hands were against his chest, but they weren’t gripping his tactical suit. Her palms were flat against the material. She wasn’t shoving him away. Matt knew she could’ve gotten out of that hold easily. He remembered how quick she’d been on the rooftop when she’d taken him down, and how she’d outsmarted him in the warehouse when she’d tased him and knocked him out. If she wanted to, she could’ve outmaneuvered Owens before he even got close enough to touch her. 

He could hear the faint buzzing of the electricity encircling her wrists. One swift movement would bring Owens to his knees in agony, but she didn’t even try to attack him back. She didn’t try to do anything. She just…took it. 

“Not anymore-”

“But you were. That’s why Fury’s been letting you run the show.”

Matt felt almost paralyzed with mounting perplexity. Since she’d first shown up at his apartment, he’d been trying to assemble the jigsaw of her identity, and even though it seemed like the last pieces he’d been looking for were finally in his hands, the need to make them fit was overshadowed by the maelstrom evoked from the nightmare they’d uncovered.

“What do you mean it’s where you grew up?”

It was like the words had to claw their way out of Matt’s dry throat to escape. The heaviness of the horror was still pressing down on his chest. All those terrified little heartbeats were still thrumming in his ears, and the calamity of it all had pierced right through the core of him, puncturing his soul. It was difficult to focus with the way it felt as though his faith was slowly seeping from the phantom wound. Matt wasn’t ignorant to the kind of violence humans could inflict on each other, but finding frightened young girls in cages, young girls that he’d found out weren’t just being trafficked around New York, but throughout the entire world for God only knew what purpose, that left him feeling sick and unsettled.

“She’s a Widow.”

The edge of Owens’ mouth curled up in a snarl of disgust, shoving her against the wall once more before letting go and immediately stepping back, like he couldn’t stand to touch her or be near her. She didn’t move. Her veins were pulsing with her erratic heartbeat, but it wasn’t from anger or adrenaline. Her blood was weighted with anxiety, and the sharp scent of cortisol completely overpowered that spiced vanilla and jasmine that always lingered on her skin.

Matt’s brows furrowed beneath his cowl at the venom in Owens’ tone. There was something here he wasn’t picking up on. Black Widows were spies, but so were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. They were also trained assassins, but Fury had made it clear to him that S.H.I.E.L.D. would do whatever they had to in order to prevent threats, even if it meant preemptively taking them out. From Matt’s perspective, there didn’t really seem to be a difference. Natasha Romanoff had switched sides, why couldn’t she?

There was something big he was missing.

“Is that how you knew the girls were here?”

Santos’ voice was barely above a whisper, like he didn’t want to ask that question, or didn’t want an answer to it. The silence that followed however was an answer itself. Owens clenched his jaw so hard that the way his teeth ground together in his mouth made Matt tense in discomfort.

“And how she knew how often they were moved around, and where they were being taken. You and Fury knew this whole fucking time.”

“We didn’t know for sure-”

“Oh bullshit! You knew. You were a fucking recruiter yourself, that’s why he put you in charge, isn’t it?”

Recruiter.

Every single nerve ending in Matt’s body felt like it had been jolted by a live wire.

“What? Recruit-what’s he talking about?”

She wouldn’t look at him, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as dread filled the marrow of his bones like lead.

“Widows aren’t just good at manipulating and seducing men.”

Owens’ words seemed to snap those last jagged pieces into place. Matt had been under the assumption that these women, these girls, were just being snatched off the streets. He hadn’t considered the fact that they were being lured. A little girl would be more likely to trust a stranger if she were a seemingly harmless woman over a man, and she was a good actress. 

Manipulate. Seduce. Recruit.

“You did this.”

Matt’s voice was hollow with whispered disbelief and shock. He heard the stone of guilt she tried to swallow down, and her voice trembled as she took a step towards him.

“It’s not what you think-”

“You did this.”

The bewildered revulsion he’d felt since they stepped through the door was suddenly replaced, his epiphany striking like flint, sparking anger that flamed at the tips of the verbal arrows he began to fire.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie-”

“Don’t start with the loophole bullshit. You didn’t tell me you were one of them-”

“That’s not who I am anymore-”

“I don’t even know who the fuck you are now! And it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change what you were, what you did.”

Matt’s chest was heaving from his labored breathing. He didn’t remember when he’d advanced on her, when he’d taken Owens’ place crowding her up against the wall. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking in protest, and they shook with barely restrained rage.”

“How many.”

Her eyes flickered over his shoulder towards Owens and Santos, and she lowered her voice to a volume she knew only Matt could hear.

“Matt-”

“How many? How many girls have you tricked into cages, knowing what was going to happen to them?”

He could smell the saltwater swelling along her lashline despite her weakened control over that neutral expression she always tried to wear. It was ripping apart at the seams, but Matt couldn’t find even a pinprick of sympathy to feel for her. All he felt was loathing, towards her and himself. He never should’ve allowed himself to trust her. He’d been right from the beginning to be suspicious of her, to keep her at arms length. But she’d done exactly what she’d been trained to do. She’d manipulated and seduced him, and he’d fallen for it. She’d lured him like all the others.

And now he hated her for it.

“You know, Fury told me this was personal for you, and now I get why.”

“Probably made her the same deal he made Romanoff. Help out S.H.I.E.L.D., wipe the slate clean.”

Owens’ voice was dripping with disdain and mockery.

“That’s not what this is about-”

Matt let out a bitter scoff at her quick denial and cocked his head to the side, the edge of his lip faintly lifted in abhorrence. 

“What, did you think if you tried to help now, it would balance out what you’ve done? Did you really believe that playing the hero would ease your conscience, save your soul? Because I don’t think you have either fucking one of those.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and her shoulders seemed to crumble under the weight of his merciless assessment. The tears that had crested from the corners of her eyes were dangerously close to crashing over the edge of her waterline, but that rare display of emotion only incensed him further. It didn’t feel genuine. Not now that he knew what she really was.

“I never should’ve trusted you. All you’ve done is lie from the moment I met you. And maybe a few good deeds make you feel like you can wash the blood off your hands from all the people you’ve killed, but nothing will ever make up for what you did to those girls. You could save a million people, it still wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. It doesn’t matter how many different people you try to be, you’ll always be a fucking monster.”

He waited for her to snap back at him like she always did, to bear her teeth and tear apart his cruelty, retaliate with her own, but the only movement from her lips was their faint wavering. No defense slipped off her tongue. No appeal for justification. No reminders of his own atrocities he’d committed. Nothing but defeated silence. 

Matt didn’t stay long enough to question her unusual reticence or the lack of fight in her. He didn’t care. He was done.

tags: @the-swift-escape @lambmurdock @lunakkey @Lfdybadgirlsdiw @devilmurdock64 @moonyinthestars @suits-and-smirks @day-dreaming-goddess @natashasotherhalf @rebel13lion39 @pixelfaery @ebsmind @mattmurdocksscars @ahhhhhhhydbhdg @ayupcap @thepassionatereader @awenthealchemist @zomtart @superrbffun @buckypops @snicksbabe @redroomproperty @angel113431 @18raven @a-sunflower-in-bloom @shadypaperwitch @lizziela @givemylovetoall @dreadfulxives18 @jjprxntiss @bigratbitchsworld @s1xthirty @daisy-the-quake @raven18 @hipwell @scorpiovelaryon @yiiiikesmish @mel-thefrog @ponyosmom35 @daisydark @xoxabs88xox @punkshyteee @abbyhaslongshorts @wolvierinee @snowflames-world @yomnajir @fries11 @groovycass

the devil and the widow soundtrack

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Dex still had a contact at the Bureau with high level database access that was willing to hand over complete files on anyone for the right fee. If he’d noticed that every name Dex had given him eventually wound up dead, he never said anything. Dex paid him generously for the information, and for his discretion. 

He’d been sitting at the counter in the diner for the past twenty minutes, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Most of the files he got were thick, pages upon pages of intel. While local police could get away with falsifying records or making certain reports disappear, the Bureau had a record of everyone’s sins. Some of them were restricted and buried beneath mountains of red tape and black bars of classification, but a little patient digging went a long way. Your file however was only a handful of pages, and he’d re-read it seven times already.

There was nothing at all in the pages that aligned with the brief but vitriolic description Chris had given of a thieving, unfaithful gold digger. 

You were a third grade teacher working at an elementary school in Queens, living in a small one bedroom apartment. Astoria was definitely a nicer neighborhood than where Dex lived in Hell’s Kitchen, but it was nowhere near the luxurious price tag of the Upper East Side where Chris was. Your background looked pretty normal. There was no criminal record at all. You’d gotten your Bachelor’s from NYU. You’d worked two part time jobs the entire time you were in school. You’d graduated with honors. Your bank records indicated a decent teaching salary and smart budgeting, but apart from your bills and groceries, all of which you paid for on your own, the biggest purchase he could find in the past month that seemed like a splurge was a $77 tab at a bar in the West Village. So, you’d had maybe two drinks.

None of this aligned with the woman Chris described. It was such a jarring difference that he’d triple checked the information Chris had given him, and that he’d spelled your name correctly and hadn’t mixed up the numbers of your birthday when he gave them to his contact at the Bureau. It all matched, but it didn’t make any sense. The woman depicted in the file was not an exploitative opportunist. 

There was a picture of you paperclipped to one of the pages. It was a candid shot provided by Chris that looked like it had been taken in a luxurious living room with floor to ceiling windows that showcased a high rise view of the city in the background. You were standing in front of a big Christmas tree, your face turned towards the camera, caught in bashful laughter, with one hand outstretched in mid action of placing an ornament on a branch while your other hand cradled a different one. The longer Dex stared at it, the more the jagged fragments of the jigsaw he’d been presented refused to fit. You didn’t look the part either.

It shouldn’t matter. Dex wasn’t getting paid to unravel whatever tale Chris had spun for him, he was getting paid to kill you. Everything else was incidental. But something about this whole thing was beginning to not sit right with him. Maybe he was biased because he and Chris had gotten off on the wrong foot, and he just couldn’t fucking stand the guy, but the more he read about you, the more he had this gut feeling that something was off. 

You were nothing like his usual targets.

The only thing that stood out in your file was that four months ago, you’d seemingly made an abrupt move. You’d been living in Chelsea and teaching at the same elementary school for three years, and then all of a sudden had transferred to the Queens district in the middle of the school year. That struck him as incredibly odd. It hadn’t appeared to be a promotion, you were still teaching a third grade class, and your salary had stayed the same. Even if it had been some kind of offer from the other district, it made more sense that you would wait until the school year was over to make the switch. 

Maybe the school was desperate to fill a spot.

He had no way of knowing if you’d replaced another teacher for some urgent reason, not with what he had in front of him. He’d have to look into that on his own. But even then, he assumed the district would’ve had a substitute or someone who could’ve taken over until you started the following school year. The only other alternative explanation he could think of was that you had requested the quick transfer.

And he wanted to know why.

𖣠

Sitting at one of the picnic benches at the public park across from the school, Dex’s eyes were focused on the emerald green double doors at the top of the front steps from behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. He had a book in his hands that he’d gotten from a local bookstore he’d seen quite a few times in your transaction history. His fingers languidly flipped the pages of The Talented Mr. Ripley in timed intervals that would appear as a believable reading length. Trying to keep a low profile as a grown man sitting alone at a park across the street from an elementary school was a delicate task.

He’d only been sitting there for fifteen minutes. School let out at two-thirty, and showing up earlier than the parents of the kids would’ve drawn unnecessary attention to himself. So far, Dex had managed to blend into the background as an even flow of traffic built up along the street in the bus and pick up lanes. People gathered in groups along the sidewalks and school grounds, waiting to pick up their kids, engaging in polite small talk or hushed gossip. 

A few seconds after his watch struck two-thirty, the double doors opened, and children started to pour out down the front steps. He’d stared at your picture long enough today to memorize it, and he searched for your face in the wave of teachers leading their students down to the sidewalk, still flipping through the pages of the book in those timed intervals. There was a surge of activity as children were ushered onto buses, helped into cars or handed off to parents that all seemed to want a moment to exchange updates or concerns with the teachers. 

It was difficult trying to track someone down in such a large bustling crowd, like finding a specific flurry in a swirling snowglobe. Dex couldn’t turn his head or lift it too much, not without disrupting the illusion that he was trying to exhibit. He had to be patient. Even if he somehow missed you here, it wasn’t like he didn’t know where you lived. 

Dex nearly shattered his own act when he saw a young boy that looked startlingly similar to Sami, and it instantly broke his concentration. He knew it couldn’t be Sami, the boy was too young. Sami would be eighteen by now, either in his senior year of high school or already graduated. Dex didn’t even know if he and Seema were still in New York, or if they’d left after Ray died.

Ray.

It had been a long time since Dex had thought about him. Reflecting on the past was a complicated tangle he didn’t like to get stuck in. He didn’t see the point in it. There was no use in questioning if altering the arrangement of cards on a table would’ve changed how they played out. He couldn’t go back and change anything. But there was still a discomfort that settled in the depths of what made Dex human when he remembered Ray, or Julie, and the role he played in their deaths. It felt like a dull blade of something akin to remorse pressed against his throat, not sharp enough to draw a drop of pure guilt, but enough pressure that he was aware of its presence. 

He didn’t allow himself to dwell on it too long though. Before the darkness in the corners of his mind had a chance to swell towards the center and hide the way out of the complex tapestry of introspection, he snipped the strings and severed the tethers to anything that threatened to pull him backwards in time.

As the young boy disappeared with his mother into the mass of people still buzzing on the school grounds, Dex snapped back into focus and remembered why he was here, and as soon as he turned his head, you were directly in his line of sight. The intermission of his illusion continued as he took you in for the first time. You were as radiant as the golden glow of daylight caressing your face. He flipped back to the front of the book where he’d stashed the picture of you from the file, paperclipped to the first page. The candid shot didn’t do your smile justice. It was even brighter in person, and he could almost feel its warmth from here.

He watched you engage in conversations with parents, never once looking impatient or annoyed, bending down to hug your students or ruffle tendrils of unruly hair affectionately. It was evident immediately that you were passionate about teaching and genuinely cared for your students. That struck a chord within him he hadn’t realized was still strung. 

You stayed to see off every kid, even waited an extra twenty minutes for the little girl with the bumblebee backpack whose apologetic mother had been running late. Pretty soon the chaos of pick up started to ebb, and the park was clearing out. His window for how long he could stay without drawing attention was rapidly closing. When you disappeared back inside the school, Dex closed the book and rose from the bench. 

At the end of the block across the street, there was a cafe at the corner. He took a spot in a booth near the front window, where he could still see the front of the school. You didn’t have a car, so there was no reason for you to leave from the back lot where employee parking was. Dex had mapped out which subway stations were closest to the school, and which lines ran near your apartment. He had a pretty good idea of which one you took home. You would have to walk past this cafe to get to it. Pulling out the book, Dex turned to the front page again, tracing his fingertip along your smile in the picture. 

Chris was lying. Dex didn’t know why, but he knew he was. He’d already had a gut feeling that something was amiss, but the moment he laid eyes on you, that suspicion shifted into confirmation beyond a reasonable doubt, as solid as the book in his hands. Looking at you, he’d felt a familiar warmth and magnetic pull that he hadn’t been able to place in the moment, but now he knew what it was.

You reminded him of Julie.

There was an ulterior motive at play here for why Chris wanted you dead, and Dex was determined to find out. So, he waited.

𖣠

Almost forty-five minutes had passed. His mind wandered, curious as to what you were doing. Grading homework? Did third graders really even have homework? He tried to think back to being in third grade, but that felt like several lifetimes ago. Besides, school probably looked incredibly different since the last time he’d been in a classroom. Were you prepping for the next school day? You seemed like the kind of teacher that did fun activities with your students. He wanted to know what they were. He wanted to know what your classroom looked like.

He’d find out over the weekend when it was dark and quiet.

Finally he caught your figure striding down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street from the corner of the cafe. He tracked you with intense focus, his eyes diligently stalking your path, waiting until you were crossing the street before getting up and leaving cash on the table. The bell above the door rang with a shrill ding as he pushed it open to step out, staying on his side of the street, following you at a leisurely pace with the book clutched in his hand.

He’d been right in deducing which subway station you’d take, keeping a safe distance while venturing down the steps after you, waiting a few feet away from on the platform. The sunglasses were now tucked into his pocket, but he pulled the brim of his baseball cap down to his browline, leaning against one of the pillars casually, his eyes occasionally flickering to you in his peripheral vision. You were looking at something on your phone, your attention completely focused on the screen in your hands.

Despite his disdain for social media and modern technology in general, he had to admit it worked in his favor. Most people were so engrossed in the little devices in their hands, they were completely oblivious to their surroundings, unaware that they were being watched. Then again, some people wanted to be watched, although they didn’t seem to be conscious of the fact that casual attention could also attract something darker. Pair that with the fact that most people also wore headphones, and shared entirely too much personal information online, for someone like Dex, it made the game too easy. But he still found other ways to enjoy the hunt.

Resisting the urge to board the same subway car as you, he stepped onto the one to the left of it instead and stood at the far end so he could watch you through the narrow window of the gangway door. His brows lifted slightly seeing that you’d stowed your phone, and seemed to be subtly glancing around the half full car. Your eyes didn’t linger enough to catch anyone’s attention, but enough to be aware of your environment and those in it. You’d also taken a seat right next to the platform doors, ensuring a quick exit if needed at any stop. Amusement tugged subtly at the edge of his mouth.

Smart girl.

Dex followed at a little further back of a distance when you got off the subway, now that he knew you were more observant than most people he tracked. He didn’t want to risk any chance of you spotting him. About two blocks away from your apartment building, you stopped into a cozy looking ramen spot. From across the street, he watched through the front window as one of the staff greeted you with a familiarity that only came with being a regular. He took note of the name of the place, mentally cataloging it as somewhere you frequented.

You stayed standing by the counter, chatting with the elderly man at the front, not staying, he mused. About seven minutes later, the man handed you a neatly tied takeout bag with a friendly grin and a slight bow, which you returned with that dazzling smile and a soft wave. He found himself wondering what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that smile.

Staying across the street, he watched you walk up the front steps of your apartment complex, punching in a code on the metal side panel next to the door before heading inside. He knew you were on the fifth floor, apartment F. He’d pulled up the layout of the complex, and he knew your apartment faced the street. His eyes trailed up to the fifth row of windows, and a few moments later, he saw movement in the third one. Turning his head to look behind him at the apartments he was currently standing in front of, he dipped his head back to look up. There was a rooftop door in the building somewhere, and it wouldn’t be hard to get inside and access it.

Turning his attention back to your building, he looked up at your window one more time, already formulating a plan to come back later tonight.

tags: @demiebarnes @n1n1c @daniiibananiii @snowwythegloww @starlitflora @cxllicpxx @lvmxla @lambmurdock @delusionally-loveless-by-choice @lilly3946 @homiesexuallaj @daizybelle @jeonpendejo @xreader1989 @catsintophats5 @fatexuntold @tadzstuff @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @Grandbasementfart @atlanticstarr @the-sad-batch @were-wright-on-time @14wireboa @itwasthereaminuteago @xMaliciousx @valerinnwrld @avidreader73 @snowwythegloww @wroetolooter @Yllx13 @bloopleeboop @layalinthesun9 @mewmew222 @artandpunishment @olasz-2003 @Chondr1chthyes @ashjbu @deadbutbatman @ugh-whytho @miyamultivrse  @montagoves @nightmisfit @andysthoughtss @taemcatboy @bimboshaggy @bigratbitchsworld @wouldiwereshookspeared @aesthxticmess @liz @pns123tf

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