Note from teh G-girl:

Greetings, all! This is a teeny-tiny oneshot I came up with late one night when I should have been studying. By way of explanation, I am a huge Dex fan. Now, this is not, I repeat, not a slash Joe/Dex story, but if it makes you happy, then you can pretend. Reviews welcome, as always, flamers will be used as manure to mulch the garden. After I laugh at you, of course.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. cries

Because I'm the Good Boy

Dex Dearborn had known Joe "Sky Captain" Sullivan long enough that it felt like forever. And more than half of that time he'd spent working for him. It was good work, the kind he liked, the kind he was good at. Inventing had been something of a hobby of his at a very young age that had quickly turned to obsession, which in turn was gradually swallowed by passion. Eventually he arrived at a point where every time he laid eyes on something even remotely mechanical, he knew he could make it better. More importantly, he knew how he could make it better. And that was what made him good at his job.

Of course, it was times like these that made such talents frustrating.

He was sitting at his desk, in a remote corner of the hanger, pouring over some blue prints he was in the process of constructing. He had recently had some ideas for modifications to Joe's plane. Good ideas, too. Making them work was proving just a little tricky.

He sighed, digging his eyes into the palms of his hands. Frustration was not something Dex dealt with very well – it was a roadblock, a set back, an unacceptable limitation. Not in a conceited fashion, of course – it was just annoying as hell. And the fact that it was little after one o'clock in the morning did not help.

He sat there for a minute, almost catnapping, thinking and going over the design again and again and again. Nothing had been missed. All the math had been done correctly. He'd even gotten one of the drones to check the algorithms. They'd found no bugs, no problems. In theory, it should all fit together, it should work . . . so why wasn't it?

The model plane beside his desk, an exact replica of the Cap's in every single way, down to the very engine, had been repeatedly taken apart and messed with over the course of the last four to six hours. Parts, both old and recently created, where strewn here and there, only barely noticeable on the already cluttered desk. Dex was brilliant, to be sure – but like most brilliant people, he was a complete slob. His desk was piled with books, papers, empty and full gum wrappers (not all filled with fresh gum), spare tools, a pair of gloves that didn't match, puzzles, comic books, three different lamps, and a host of paraphernalia that wasn't even remotely recognizable, there was so much of it. Even the surrounding area was a mess. More books, more papers, more comics stacked a mile high forming a sort of small booth around the desk, the only real opening being the gap behind his chair. A small radio was playing soft jazz on the smallest stack, near the left hand side.

Dex eventually deigned himself to look up, twenty minutes later. He thought about going back to the model, but decided against it. His head was hurting. Ordinarily he wouldn't have let a little thing like this stop him, but the lack of sleep and mental exhaustion were just too apparent even to him to continue trudging on. Besides. In his current condition, he could very well accidently end up electricuting himself – again – or setting something on fire, something he was rather unpleasantly prone to doing. So he did the only thing that came to mind. He laid his head down on his folded arms (Lord knew the desk had enough cushioning to make it seem like an over-fluffed pillow) and shut his eyes. A few hours rest and he would be back on top.

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Joe had been running a late evening/early morning reconnaisence, and by the time he pulled into the hanger it was almost four-thirty in the morning. He yawned a little as one of the lackeys fetched him a large mug of coffee. Of course, the caffiene would do wonders for the ultcer – but he'd worry about that later. He needed to consult with Dex, and then do a bit of paper work before he tried to get some sleep, and both of these things he would need to be awake for.

"You might want to oil the left wing flap, it's been slow on responding lately," he said to one of the maintanence crew as the lot of them scurried forward. The eager young man nodded, his grin reminding Joe of the one Dex got on his face every time he managed to make something work. A short lived thrill. But a happy one, none-the-less. Speaking of Dex...

"Dex, I've been meaning to have a chat with you, how are those modifications -?"

He stopped, noticeing that the afformentioned young inventor was not in any state to listen. His head was lolled against his left arm, which had bent to come back over his face in a lazy flop.. His other arm was bent at the elbow also, the hand very close to his face, palm upturned with a pencil still between his fingers. Joe gave it a gentle nudge, glancing at the smudged handwriting. It looked like the poor boy had fallen asleep mid-sentence.

Joe chuckled, even as he felt his irritation rising. He'd repeatedly told the kid not to stay up working on unsolvable problems during all hours of the nights. Obviously his advice was being continiously taken with a deaf ear. But Dex looked so much like a puppy, exhausted from chasing it's tale, it was hard to keep a very straight face.

He gave the boy a gentle shake.

"Dex. Come one, wake up."

It took a minute, but Dex did eventually start with a small but sudden jump that had him clashing heads with his employer in no time.

The inventor immediately clutched at the back of his head, narrowly avoiding the edge of the desk as his head lowered instinctivly, face grimacing. Joe was sent realing back clutching his nose. He couldn't feel any blood, and there were no broken bones, that he could tell. This did not stop it from hurting like hell, though.

"Ohmygosh,I'msosorryCap,Ididn'trealizeyouwhererightthere,didIbreakanything?Doyouthinkyou'llbeok?Ihonestly-"

"Dex! Please, stop talking!" Joe halted the hasty apology with a somewhat nasally voice. He waited a minute before removing his hands and tentativly scrunching his nose. Dex watched in silence, the initial horror on his face fading.

"Remind me never to disturb you while you're working," Joe eventually said, chuckling, and then wincing at the slight twinge he felt.

"I'm really sorry, Cap. It's my fault. I shouldn't have dozed off –"

"You're saying this at four o'clock in the morning?" Joe asked, amused. Dex blinked.

"Jeez, is it that late already?"

This time, Joe rolled his eyes. Now the boy was just being ridiculous.

"Dex, you realize that most people aren't even awake at this hour, and won't be for several? You haven't even gone to bed yet, have you?"

"I'm really not that ti-" Dex began to say, and was interupted by an unexpected and very large yawn, "-red." Joe raised an eyebrow, and Dex looked away sheepishly.

"Well, seeing as you're 'not really that ti-red', I'll have to ask you to step into my office, as I have something important to discuss."

Dex's face lit up (as much as one's face can when one's been sleep deprived for the past few days) and Joe knew he had him hooked.

"On one condition – as soon as we're through, you'll go straight to bed. For a minimum of at least six hours. Understand?"

Dex sighed, but nodded.

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The Captain hit the lights and proceeded to his desk, opening the top draw and rummaging around in it for a minute before looking up to see Dex sagging against the door frame. He motioned to the cot on the wall to his left.

"Go ahead and sit down. It's much more comfortable than the chairs anyway."

Dex took a seat, careful not to jostle any of the books. Who in their right mind put a cot right in front of a giant bookcase, anyway? Other than Joe, that is.

Meanwhile, Joe, having found the small ledger he'd turned the drawer inside out in search of, gave a small cry of triumph, and plumped himself down onto the other end, leaning against the bookcase and crossing one leg over the other. Dex relaxed slightlly.

"I've been meaning to give you this," Joe said, taking from the tiny book a folded up piece of paper, which Dex took and unfolded to reveal several lines of code. "I have absolutely no idea what it is, exactly, but a few local and foreign radio stations have been picking up this signal for the past few weeks. It comes and goes you see, the only real pattern being that it's always sent at approximatly five pm, US Eastern time. I haven't had much luck with it, but seeing as it's not exactly my forté, I thought that maybe," and here, he looked over to realize he'd once again lost his audience. Dex had fallen asleep, still fingering the code.

"Maybe you'd like to give it a whirl," the Captain finished softly, allowing himself a small grin. He really had meant to give Dex the code – but he'd also lured him into his office where he knew the cot just so happened to be convienantly and inconspicuously placed. His plan had worked. More or less.

He stood up and grasped the boy's shoulders in a firm but gentle hold, guiding his head towards the pillow. Once completely laying down, Dex curled on his side, tucking one arm beneath the pillow. Joe stood, hands on his hips, and watched him, just for a moment.

"Why do you do it, Dex? Why do you work yourself into the ground?"

Dex shuffled his head a little, and mumbled. Joe blinked, then crouched and leaned closer.

"Come again?"

"Because I'm the 'good boy'."

Joe grinned. He patted the dark brown hair. Dex sighed, his face visibly relaxing, body melting into the cot. Joe stood and turned towards the door, turning off the lights as he went. Closing the door behind him, he stopped with just a sliver of light shining through, illumintating the young inventor for a brief moment.

"Good boy, Dex. Good boy indeed."

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