He woke up.

Every morning he felt grateful that he was even alive, much less functioning properly. He groped for his glasses, slamming his palm against a side table repeatedly until he hit some hard plastic frames. Those would be his glasses, he realized bitterly, hoping he didn't break them.

The boy slid them on over his squinting hazelnut eyes, muttering about how he should be a little more careful. He did something like this every morning before finally standing up, clutching his head, and walking out of his cramped room.

Falling down the stairs, the boy landed face-first into carpet. He spit out some stray fuzz before looking up at the sneering face before him. His sister. She literally stepped all over him, though she was no more than three feet tall. Her black hair whipped around as she gleefully jumped off of his kneecap and onto a higher stair, looking down at the flattened teenager.

"Get UP, Mandark," she demanded in a sour tone before jumping into the bathroom.

Mandark lifted his head. He could already tell that this was going to be a spectacular day.

--

He felt like killing himself after two periods of school.

Indeed, 'twas a spectacular day so far: Olga putting his back out of alignment, him forgetting his English homework, and being shown up by Dexter in chemistry. Chemistry was supposed to be HIS subject. Mandark had NEVER lost to Dexter in chemistry, but luck was obviously not on his side today.

Mandark ignored a cluster of giggling girls as he twiddled the lock on his locker. Girls. They had a language of their own, a subculture of their own, their own vicious fighting style… why get involved? No girls cared for him, anyway… a thought that stung him bitterly. Dee-Dee wasn't ever to be his. Mandark wasn't the kind of guy girls fell for, anyway.

"Looking exceptionally sulky today," a voice cat-called at Mandark's lower thigh. Mandark rolled his eyes and glared down at the object of his abhorrence, Dexter McPhearson. His shock of red hair, his horn-rimmed glasses, his immaculate lab coat… everything about Dexter screamed 'annoying'. Especially at the moment.

"Just go away," Mandark said coldly.

"Just thought you might be wondering how I managed to defeat you at your own game."

Mandark's eyes narrowed precipitously. He didn't have time for this; he was going to be late for math, and his teacher there was brutal. "Dexter, can't you rub it in my face la -?"

His eyes widened as he looked down. In his purple-gloved hand, Dexter held a good chunk of Mandark's chemistry notes. Mandark couldn't believe what he was seeing… Dexter, stealing HIS notes? How was that even possible? They'd been in his backpack the entire time – in his –

"So you figured out my locker combo. Good for you," Mandark sneered. He snatched the notes out of Dexter's surprisingly loose grip, shoving the paper into his open locker. "The next time you steal anything from me, I'll set one of my mechs on you."

"Actually, those fell out of your backpack," Dexter admitted emotionlessly. "I was trying to hand them back to you."

"Uh-huh, sure," Mandark muttered, closing his locker and snapping the lock back on.

"I still have a page of your notes," Dexter blurted out triumphantly.

Mandark angrily stared at Dexter. "Where is it?"

"You have to find it yourself… I hid it," Dexter stated with a wicked grin.

"…Yeah, I really don't have time for –"

"If you don't find it by tomorrow, I'll tell Ms. Rodriguez that you stole my English notes."
And Mandark was backed into a corner. Well… he couldn't deny that. He'd done it. Solely to see the design of an infrared flashlight in the margins, but he'd done it. Mandark shook his head, sighed irritably, and turned on his heel, facing Dexter with his arms crossed. "Okay, Dexter. How will I find my chemistry notes?"

"I hid them somewhere in this physical building," Dexter responded, "and they're in a box. A red box."

"A red box," Mandark muttered. "How big is your mystical red box?"

"Small. A foot by a foot, I'd say."

"Is it in plain sight?"

"I refuse to tell you."

Mandark and Dexter stared each other down for a few seconds.

"All right. I'll find this red box," Mandark spat. "And when I do, it'll be your DOOM!"

It made no sense, but Mandark laughed evilly anyway. Dexter's turn to gape in impatience. The pint-sized genius strode away, leaving Mandark to giggle maniacally at his almost idiotically detached statement.

--

"How am I going to find that box?" Mandark wondered. The question had plagued him during the whole of geometry. The school building was huge, though; Mandark somehow had to whittle away at the task.

One thing Mandark could be sure of was that the box couldn't be hidden in anyone's locker besides the two of theirs. Mandark got the feeling Dexter wouldn't be as asinine as to hide the box in his own locker.

One area down, only a zillion more to go.

Mandark blocked out Mr. Dender's drone-like voice and began to scribble down a map of the school, copied from a page in his binder reminder. All of the rooms in a certain hallway taught similar subjects: his geometry class, the stupid-people's math, the normal kid math, and algebra were all in the same hallway.

Mandark devised a plan to visit every room in every hallway. It wasn't very scientific, but it was thorough. He grunted at the sheer effort it would take, though. Why was Dexter being so trying, anyway? Why didn't he just attack, as usual?

The wind blew lightly against the trees outside. Branches rapped against the windows rhythmically, the noise boring into Mandark's head. Could his day get any better? Or any worse?

The scales were tipping towards worse.

--

Dee-Dee skipped through the hallways, her pink ballet slippers barely touching the ground below. She was, as usual, oblivious and on cloud nine. Reason… there was none. It was just a good day. (Of course, when you're skull's as thick as concrete, nothing gets to you.)

She's gotten a good grade on her math test – very good!

She'd aced her dance solo – very very good!

She'd hidden a red box for Dexter – very very VERY good!

But Dexter acted weird when Dee-Dee asked what was in the box. It was almost as if he was hiding a secret away, and the secret was a dangerous one. But Dee-Dee wasn't one to pester people about secrets. She was just doing a favor for her brother, that's all.

And she'd made him happy. Now THAT was the true meaning of life.

As Dee-Dee rounded the corner, she noticed that someone was headed right for her. She skidded to a halt and stepped out of the way, just as she noticed that mystery boy was Mandark. Uck. He was running around like a psychopath, flustered and a bit angry. Normally, Dee-Dee would just ignore him, but he looked so pathetic that she felt she had to intervene.

"Whatcha doin', Mandark?" Dee-Dee chirped.

Mandark immediately froze. He turned around, beads of sweat running down his cheek. Dee-Dee blinked. He looked so focused, and it was making her blush… incomprehensibly…

"Dee-Dee," Mandark murmured airily. He quickly regained use of his brain and sighed. "I'm looking for a box."

A little light bulb went off in Dee-Dee's brain.

"Is it red?" Dee-Dee questioned.

Mandark stared at her incredulously. "Yes. It's… it's red."

"I just hid a red box in Mr. DeGrandis' room," Dee-Dee recalled, almost nonchalant in her observation. "My brother told me to hide it somewhere… somewhere where…"

Somewhere where Mandark wouldn't find it.

Dee-Dee placed a hand to her mouth, biting her lip. "…Oops. I wasn't supposed to…"

Mandark grabbed Dee-Dee in a hug before running away. He was practically jumping for joy, Dee-Dee noticed. She looked after his gangly frame for a long time, wondering whether she should chase him or not. After all, he deserved to be smacked for hugging her. But it wasn't that big a deal…

In fact, Dee-Dee almost liked it.

Almost.

Funny how a good day can turn bizarre so quickly.

--

Mandark couldn't believe it. Mr. DeGrandis' room! Mandark wouldn't have thought to look too hard in there – it was the art room, and Dexter was so BAD at it! Never in his life had he loved Dee-Dee more than he did at that moment. That beautiful goddess had given him exactly what he wanted, exactly what he needed.

Mandark was enjoying the moment while he could.

Rounding the corner of the fourth hallway, Mandark made a bee-line for room number 777. On most days, he HATED going to art. He wasn't very good at art, but at least he was better than Dexter. Much better.

And now Mandark was to have his sweet revenge. The day was about to get much better.

He slammed open the door. Deserted room. Glue spilled off of the communal tables, glitter stuck to the soles of Mandark's shoes, and paper of all colors, shapes, and textures lay abandoned in every nook and cranny. There was so much stuff to search around, Mandark realized before wallowing in despair. Dee-Dee couldn't have picked a WORSE place! It would take him HOURS to search the classroom!

But he needed his chemistry notes back, no matter what. He swallowed his misery and began to crawl under the tables, eyes constantly on the move. Now there'd be glitter on his pants, too. Exactly what he needed.

Mandark navigated the dark crevasses beneath the tables, relentlessly looking out for a red box, a box, anything red at all. He'd found maybe three pounds of construction paper and a twist-tie when he heard the door open. Mandark immediately curled into a ball beneath a chair. Great. Now he'd be accused of trespassing. A great way to cap off a sucky day.

Dexter was going to get shot tomorrow, that was for certain.

A voice echoed in the stillness. "Are you in here, Mandark?"

Dee-Dee.

That was weird. Usually she didn't give him the time of day.

"Under a chair," Mandark responded.

"Well, um, just so you know… that box is in the top cupboard above the markers," Dee-Dee shyly informed him before the sound of shuffling, slipper-adorned feet grew tiny and distant. Mandark maneuvered out of his little hiding place, hoping to see Dee-Dee there, but she was gone. He looked to the ground. Why was she helping him? It seemed a little… odd… but Mandark was just grateful that something was going his way.

Mandark climbed up onto the laminate countertop and threw the first cupboard door open. Like Dee-Dee had said, there, sitting on the shelf, was a red box with a small tag on it.

"Found it," Mandark cackled before opening up the box.

What he saw inside made him gasp.

It was his sheet of chemistry notes, sure, but on top of it was something wrapped in green tissue paper. Mandark slipped an envelope out of the tissue paper – why was this in here? An envelope, wrapped in tissue paper… weird. Definitely weird.

Mandark pried the envelope open with his thin fingers, pulling the note inside out of it. He scanned the first few lines before doing a double-take and rereading the note. Still not convinced, he reread them yet again. He was reading correctly. Indeed.

Mandark pressed the note to his chest, looking to the ceiling and falling down upon the countertop, his legs splayed beneath him.

"What the HELL is this about?!" Mandark seethed in a hiss. His hands were shaking, and, much as he hated to admit it, he was enjoying reading this note.

This love letter.

The words were simple, plain; too simple for Dexter. It was as if he was unsure of what to write. There were many cross-outs, ink blots, and other abnormalities with the letter. But…

But… it was heartfelt.

Mandark finally finished the note, unsure of how to react. So Dexter was in love with him. Interesting, very interesting. It explained the constant rivalry, constant one-up-man-ship (AN: sp?), and unexplainable bickering. Mandark clutched the note close to his chest again, this time searching the deep recesses of his soul.

What was Dee-Dee anyway? He'd said it himself; he was better off without women.

Mandark devised a plan. He was going to pretend that he couldn't find the box, and leave his own letter in that very box. Put Dexter through the same agony he'd been put through, only to reveal that, yes, maybe they could try a relationship, see where it takes them.

Mandark slipped the envelope into his breast pocket and took out some lined paper of his own, brushing glitter off of his knees.

"Dear Dexter…"

A/N: I hope this came out all right… I really thought it was a bit of a weird idea. Note that this has been posted on Christmas… that's because it's my gift to the Dexter's Lab section: a Dexdark slash fic. Woot. Now stop riding me. (haha… just kidding. I love you Wistful Wish… really…)

DISCLAIMER: Well, I don't own Dexter's Lab… obviously… I mean, would Gendy Tartarovsky write this?!