The station was too quiet for once.

No phones, no shouting — just the hum of the vending machine and the low buzz of fluorescent lights. The kind of quiet that only happened when the city slept, but you didn’t. Neither did Doakes.

You were both buried in the same case, same frustration. Hours deep into reports about Dexter Morgan. Every lead hit a wall, every piece of evidence went nowhere. Still, you stayed, refusing to quit. You always did.

Doakes had stopped trying to tell you to go home. It was like yelling at a wall — a sleep-deprived, caffeine-fueled wall with great instincts and terrible self-preservation. You reminded him too much of himself.

Somewhere between the third coffee and the fifth page of notes, your head dropped. The words blurred. You didn’t even notice your body tilting until the edge of the couch caught you.

Doakes sighed, closing the file. You were out. Finally.

He was about to nudge you awake, maybe give you hell for dozing off in the middle of a case — until he realized where your head had landed.

Right against his lap.

He froze. His shoulders stiffened like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. For a second, he just stared — you, breathing steady for once, face peaceful in a way he hadn’t seen before. You never looked like that awake. You never rested.

Doakes let out a slow breath through his nose. He didn’t move. “Goddamn idiot,” he muttered, voice low, but not unkind.

It should’ve been easy to push you off, wake you up, keep things professional. Instead, he just sat there, eyes on the far wall. The room smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink. The kind of late-night stillness that almost felt human.

Then—

Fotsteps.

Light ones, careful but familiar. Doakes’ whole body went tense before the door even opened.

The lab coat hit his peripheral vision first. A quiet voice followed. “…Sergeant.”

Dexter.

Doakes didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just glared, jaw tightening as if daring him to comment.

Dexter’s gaze shifted — from the couch, to the half-finished files, to {{user}}’s head still resting on Doakes’ thigh. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Then don’t.”

He didn’t look away from him, not once. The air thickened. For a moment, Dexter’s eyes lingered longer than they should have, like he was cataloguing the scene. The sight almost made him smile. Almost.