Page 109 of Oddly Fine

Matthew snorted in amusement, then carried on, undeterred.

“He has quite the case of hero worship of you. I told him it was unfounded, but—” he sighed tiredly, as if that had been an old argument between them.

“Hero worship?” Beckett scoffed, because he’d been on the receiving end of his brother’s sharp tongue too many goddamned times. His criticisms of Beckett’s life choices had always been harsh and cutting. There had been no worship whatsoever. Just constant friction and verbal abuse.

“There is no martyr as grand as his work. As Cerberus guards the underworld—so does he guard his own reality,” Matthew said.

“I’m not into Shakespeare,” Beckett said, hopefully sparing himself the philosophical lecture.

“It isn’t—” he snorted, like Beckett was an idiot. “You believe you should die for those you love. That your life is forfeit almost—worthless unless you are sacrificing it to protect those you love. Your brother disagrees.”

And—God, Beckett wished he didn’t understand those words as easily as he did. He suddenly felt the eggs stick in his throat and he had to swallow hard to get them down.

“I don’t—” he lied. Openly so. And everyone here—including deaf Kyle, was fully aware he had.

Matthew laughed like the fucking asshat that he was.

“You know, I thought your brother might be a little jealous of you. A little—dare I say, delusional? But—” he shook his head. “It is actually quite alarming just how accurate his description was.”

Beckett opened his mouth to counter his assessment and tell him he was an asshole, but suddenly the front door opened. He reached for the pistol he’d stashed under his shirt.

“Unarmed,” Hayes announced, knowing that Beckett would be armed and ready when he heard the door. With a smile and wink, he veered towards the bedroom to shower.

“Now, Agent Monroe, on the other hand—I don’t believe your brother has figured him out yet.” Matthew lowered his voice so only Beckett could hear him.

“What do you mean?” he asked against his better judgment, tucking away his gun in the waistband of his jeans.

“He is far more enamored of you and dangerous to be around than I—or your brother—had been led to believe.”

Perhaps that was the most accurate description of Hayes that Beckett had ever heard. Franklin had once called Beckett a ticking time bomb, and maybe he’d been right. And sure, yes, he had a measure of insanity in him that he couldn’t deny. The kind that made him as unpredictable as a homemade bomb—still, wasn’t it much more insane to be the man holding steadfast to said bomb?

“You talk too much,” Beckett grumbled and then shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Matthew grinned smugly, pleased to have gotten under Beckett’s skin.

The moment Hayes entered the kitchen, he picked up on the tension between Beckett and Matthew. Beckett was muttering and staring hard at his coffee cup, his plate wiped clean. Matthew sat near the end of the counter, his arrogant smirk advertising his success in their latest round of verbal jousting. Hayes sighed, already exhausted just thinking about what the day held for them and he hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

“Had a good run, Agent Monroe?” Matthew asked.

Hayes walked up to stand behind Beckett, ignoring Matthew’s question, as he leaned down to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek. Beckett instantly blushed, and Hayes couldn’t help but smile and kiss him again.

“Shooting him would not help,” he reminded Beckett, knowing he’d been seriously considering the option.

“But it would be fun, and I really want to,” he protested with a slight whine.

Hayes snorted but couldn’t disagree. He too wanted to shut up the Mafia prince for good, yet—

“Are you hungry, Agent Monroe?” Matthew asked.

“No,” Hayes said, sitting down next to Beckett. “But I’ve been thinking,” Hayes said, looking at Beckett’s set expression. He saw his boyfriend open his mouth—no doubt for a quick quip but Hayes spoke first.

“Don’t,” he warned flatly.

“You’re right—I’ll leave the low hanging jokes to you.”

Hayes snorted derisively and directed his next comment to Matthew.

“Last night, you seemed all too willing to call this whole thing a mistake, but the FBI wouldn’t have gotten involved based simply on your suppositions about Mario. You had to have evidence to get them onboard. What was it?”