Micah knew he had no room to talk, but Damon looked awful. He was in joggers and a t-shirt, a blotted reddish-brown stain along the bottom hem. Blood, Micah realized – Ren’s, most likely. Damon hadn’t even changed since blowing the man’s brains out. In addition to his slovenly appearance, Damon’s hair was messier than Micah had ever seen it, and the dark circles under his eyes probably rivaled Micah’s own.

More than all that, though, Damon’s shoulders were ramrod straight with tension, and he looked inexplicably nervous.

Tessa was right – he was scared.

As soon as the realization struck him, Micah was lifting his good arm, stretching it out towards the man and beckoning him, not unlike a child begging to be picked up and held.

Damon abided immediately, crossing the room in two rushed strides before sweeping him into his arms. Micah buried his nose into the crook of the man’s neck, inhaling Damon’s comforting musk like a drug.

“I was so worried,” Damon murmured into his hair.

Damon’s hold around him was frustratingly loose – he was obviously trying to be considerate of his sling – but Micah didn’t want Damon to be careful, he just wanted him closer – so he squeezed the man with his good arm for all he was worth.

Micah didn’t want to ever let go, but he knew he and Damon needed to “talk”, so, eventually, he forced himself to release the man and pick up the board and write.

Damon sunk to his knees by the side of Micah’s bed, foregoing the nearby chair completely.

Micah hesitated for only a second before showing the man what he’d written.

I thought you hated me.

“I could never hate you,” Damon immediately disputed, his hand a grounding force on Micah’s knee. “When I found out you were a cop, I was… upset.”

Pissed is what he meant, judging by the brief hesitation.

“I was confused – shocked even – and it’s very hard to catch me off guard. I immediately assumed the worst. That you’d been assigned as… well, bait, essentially – specially tailored for me. I figured you had been spying, gathering evidence to build a case against me-”

Micah couldn’t take it anymore.

“Never,” he pushed out through his swollen windpipe. “I swear-”

“Hush,” Damon immediately scolded him. “Don’t hurt yourself. Tessa explained. You were undercover when we met, and you were bait – but not for me, for… for McCormick.” Damon’s face twisted. “And it fucking worked. That lowlife took you. He hurt you.”

Micah would do anything to take away the pain that contorted the man’s face, the anguish that filled his voice.

I’m okay.