Dean stayed home the next day. His muscles were sore, the cut above his eye swelled a bit, and his hand hurt horribly. A day or two to rest up and heal, and he would redo his devil's trap and pick up with his interrogations.
That evening, there was a knock at his door. He looked trough the peephole, saw Kinsey, and quickly opened the door.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Fine. I wanted to check your bandages... especially your hand."
"They're fine."
"Look," she said with a smile, "I have closure issues, okay? I started the bandaging and you left before I could finish. It's been bothering me all day." She motioned back to her apartment. "Two minutes, then you can leave."
Dean hesitated, staring over at her door. "Okay," he said with a sigh. "Give me a minute and I'll be over."
She smiled as she turned to leave, and Dean closed the door. He had been cleaning his knife and putting things away. He shoved everything back into the closet and ran his hands through his hair.
Why did he agree?
He grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him. He was at Kinsey's door with just a few strides, and he knocked.
"Come in," she said, as she opened the door.
He walked in and looked around for the first time. She had the same kind of open apartment as he did, but she had decorated so that the room seemed to be divided into definable spaces: kitchen, dining room, living room, bedroom. The dining room caught his attention. There were two place settings at her table. He glanced up at her and saw a blush rise up into her cheeks.
"I thought you might wanna have dinner. Something tells me you don't get home cooked meals too often."
"I don't think-"
"You can think it over while I check your hand. Okay?"
Dean nodded and sat on the sofa while Kinsey got a clean bandage for his hand. He sank into the cushions. Much more comfortable than his cot. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but they flew open when he felt Kinsey sit next to him. She unwrapped his bandage and held his hand in one of hers while the fingers of her other hand gently traced the outline of the wound. Dean winced, and she shook her head.
"This could probably use a couple of stitches," she said.
"I'll be okay. I've had worse."
She looked into his eyes and stared for a moment, "I believe you have." She looked back down to his hand. "This needs to be cleaned again. Come with me."
She held onto his wrist as she led him into the small bathroom. They stood at the sink as she first washed the wound with soap and water, then poured peroxide over it.
"I know you're not supposed to put this on anything deep, but I think it's safer than not doing it," she said as the liquid bubbled on Dean's skin.
He sucked in a breath. "It's okay. I do it all the time."
After his hand dried, she put on an antibiotic cream and the new bandage. As she wrapped the bandage, around his hand, she talked.
"You asked me a question yesterday, and I changed the subject."
"That's okay," Dean said. "I didn't mean to pry."
"No... after the way you stepped in, I think you deserve to hear it." She glanced up at him and he nodded. "I've never really had luck with guys. Every guy I've ever been with has turned out to be a jerk. One actually stole from me. The man you ran off was my fiancé, Ethan. I was with him for almost two years before he proposed, and he seemed like the perfect guy. So, when he asked me to marry him, I said yes. He started getting really clingy. He called all the time, wanting to know where I was and who I was with. I wasn't allowed to talk to any of my guy friends anymore. My friend, Jason, called one night just to see how I was... Ethan hit me."
"Jealous bastard," Dean muttered under his breath.
"He immediately started crying and kissing me and telling me he was sorry... It seemed sincere, but I guess when I stayed, he figured he could get away with it more often. It happened occasionally at first, and then once or twice a week... then once or twice a day. I left. I ran. I thank God we weren't married. I tried to get a restraining order, but I never had any proof that he was the one hitting me. He covered himself well. I've moved twice now, and he's found me each time. I'm tired of running."
"Well, you could file for a restraining order now. You have a witness."
Kinsey smiled at him. "Thanks, but something tells me you don't like cops."
"What makes you say that?"
"As badly as you were hurt... no hospital?"
Dean just shrugged. Kinsey finished wrapping the bandage around Dean's hand. "All done," she said. "What about dinner?"
Dean looked into her eyes. They were almost pleading with him to stay. He was already way more involved than he wanted to be, with anyone, but he couldn't find it in him to tell her no.
"I'll stay."
"Good," she said as she stood. She motioned to the table. "Have a seat, and I'll grab the food."
They ate in silence, but, if Dean was honest with himself, he enjoyed just having another person there. He had a feeling Kinsey felt the same way. He devoured the food, and waited for her to finish. He stood with his plate, but she put a hand on his.
"I'll get that later... just sit."
Dean put the plate down, but didn't sit. He walked over to a window and looked out. He saw his car. A small smile pulled at his lips when he remembered Kinsey's face looking down at him from this window. The smile faded when he felt her presence behind him.
"I don't know what you're going through," she said softly, "but I know the look in your eyes. I've seen it in the mirror. Pain, sadness... loneliness. I may not be able to help with the pain or the sadness, but you don't have to be alone, Dean." She reached out and ran a hand down his arm. Dean turned around to face her.
"You won't end your bad luck streak with me, Kinsey. It's better for everyone if I'm alone."
"It's not better for you. People need human contact. People need some kind of affection. Even dinner tonight... just sitting quietly with another person... I felt less alone." She took his uninjured hand in hers. "I'm tired of being alone," she said.
Dean had unconsciously closed the gap between them. His face moved closer to hers, his lips hovering just beyond her reach. His mind yelled at him to leave. He couldn't afford to get involved. He was involved too much as it was.
"I'm not what you need," he whispered. "I can't promise you anything."
"I'm not asking for promises. Aren't you tired of being alone? Don't you want a little comfort?"
Dean leaned down and kissed Kinsey's neck. His tongue ran over her skin and he felt her fingers in his hair. He groaned as his hands ran over the curves of her body. Was it possible that he had forgotten the feel of a woman beneath his hands? Had it been that long?
He began to ache as he kissed and licked his way around her neck and jaw. He felt her hands travel over his chest, back, and shoulders, and he thought of how badly he wanted to feel her skin against his. He quickly removed his shirt and returned his lips to her neck. His good hand buried itself in her hair, holding her head close. The other hand was pressed against her back.
Kinsey turned her head, trying to capture Dean's lips with her own, but he pulled away, only to return his lips to her neck. He slowly began to move her toward the bed, around a folding partition that gave her 'bedroom' a little privacy, until her legs were pressed against it. He removed her clothes, and watched as she moved onto the bed while he removed his.
His hand and mouth found her breasts. His tongue worked expertly, causing her breathing to become ragged. His lips worked their way back up to her neck and he entered her slowly. Kinsey's mouth fell open, and Dean watched as her eyes fluttered shut. His slow movements didn't last as his need for release overtook him. He knew that she must have been feeling it, too, because her body began to spasm around him, pushing him over the edge.
Dean rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. His body was satisfied, but his mind was racing. He was stupid and careless. He had let his hormones take over. He got out of the bed and gathered his clothes.
"I should go," he said. He couldn't look Kinsey in the eyes as he got dressed.
"Dean," she said as he headed for the door. "It's okay. I'm here if you ever need to talk... or not talk."
He looked up to see her standing by the partition, wrapped in her sheets.
"Thanks for dinner," he said, then closed the door behind him.