I do not own Dexter.
I do not have a Dark Passenger. Mostly.
Tonight's the Night
Tonight's the night.
And it's going to happen again.
Has to happen.
I don't know if it's what I want or not.
But that doesn't matter.
Because this is something beyond my control.
Beyond anybody's control.
Things have been set in motion that can't be undone, can't be taken back.
And now it's all coming to a head.
A torso.
Two arms.
Two legs.
And blood.
Lots and lots of blood.
For once, I can only hope it's not too much.
After nine long months of waiting and biding his time, my son is preparing to come into the world.
I am going to become a father.
I'm holding Rita's hand, it's clamped like a claw around mine as she screams and cries and strains to push our child into the world.
And I can only wonder if I will always cause her so much pain.
I feel like I should be doing something more than just sitting there next to her.
Holding her hand and pushing on her back.
Murmuring hollow words of encouragement into her ears.
Hollow words like "it's okay" and "you're doing great" and, most ridiculous of all, "push".
Push.
As if she didn't already know.
But I say it anyway because it's what I'm supposed to say and I can't think of anything else acceptable.
And it's certainly not okay.
She's ripping herself apart just because one of my swimmers made it past the Great Barrier Reef and impregnated her.
And I'm wondering if she'll hate me forever when this is all over.
But this isn't about me.
This is all about her. And our child.
And she's not doing great.
She's doing amazing.
I can unequivocally tell you that if I was in the same situation, feeling what she's feeling, there would either be a great swath of bodies a mile long, or an unpresidented amount of tape holding me down.
So she's amazing.
And insane.
She's done this before, given birth to two children.
Separately.
At different times.
And she's choosing now to give birth to mine.
With me.
She must be insane.
No one with all their mental capabilities in check would choose to suffer like this more than once.
She must be crazy.
Crazy and amazing.
She's fighting with every ounce of her strength to give birth to our child.
Sweat pouring from her, mixing with her tears of pain.
She's giving our child life.
Expelling it from the warm safe dark haven of her womb into the cold harsh blinding light of reality.
I'm there, I'm with her as she fights to bring him into the world.
I'm there, right beside her.
But I'm distant.
Like I'm watching this from another room, from another world.
It doesn't feel real and yet it's the most real thing I have ever experienced besides my mother dying and me taking lives.
"It's a boy!"
She slumps back against me and for a split second, I'm terrified that she's dead.
But she's not. She's crying and shaking and exhausted.
And alive.
The sound of my son's irate cries fill the room.
Welcome to the world, little guy. It does suck here sometimes.
"Mr Morgan, would you like to cut the cord?"
They hand me a sharp implement and suddenly I'm afraid I won't know what to do. That I'll hurt my son just seconds into his life.
Cut, not stab. Cut, not stab.
I cut the cord and he doesn't die.
I should feel relieved.
But instead I just feel numb.
They're cleaning Rita up.
Blood, sweat, some light fecal matter.
She'd probably be embarrassed but I know in extreme situations the human body tends to leak all kinds of fluids.
Extreme situations like intense fear or the throes of death.
But that's not what is going on here now.
Not death.
Life.
My son is alive and clean.
He's small and innocent.
And very red and wrinkly.
Rita crying, I can only assume with relief and joy, quietly now and holding him.
She's talking to him and touching his face and he's gazing at her like she's the only thing in the entire world for him
Was I ever that innocent and pure?
Did my mother ever look at me like that with such pure emotion and absolute love?
"Dexter, do you want to hold your son?"
Yes, yes, I do.
I want to hold him and protect him from all the evils of this world.
I want to protect him from scraped knees and lunchbox bullies and the pain of this life.
I want to protect him from the blood and the monster inside me.
And I will. I will.
I will protect him from all that and more.
But right now . . .
"Harrison, say hello to your daddy."
. . . I will not drop him.
Okay, I guess they skipped over this part in the concern of the passage of time?
But seriously, why did they skip over this part?!
Well, anyway, here's my version of a panicky, new dad dealing with this very surreal situation.
And I don't think it's too far off from the norm.
Dexter was always more human than he wanted to believe anyway.
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