A/N: this is a Dexter quickie just because I had to burn off some of my post-finale plot bunnies.
Dexter and Quinn clearing the air.
Dexter follows him to the pier one lunchtime - and Quinn, after a quick glance over his shoulder, slows down to let it happen.
They both pretend the meeting is a coincidence. "Hey, Quinn!" Dexter greets easily, holding up a hand.
"Hey." His tone is quiet and subdued, not at all like the Quinn Dexter knows. It makes him uneasy, not knowing people, and he's sure all over again that forcing this conversation is a good idea.
Dexter leans backwards against the railing, arms spread wide. The textbook image of Careless In The Sun. "So... I have a question," he says to the sky.
"Yeah?" Quinn's eyes flash up to him for only a second.
"What do you think of Deb's theory?"
"Deb's theory?"
"About the Barrel Girls case. You know, the theory about… vigilantes. In love." He waits.
Quinn shrugs. "I don't know, I haven't really thought about it. Have you?" But the question is empty, he's distracted, and Dexter knows he's still not getting it.
So Dexter says, "Actually I have," and heaves a long sigh. "Deb thinks that one of the girls got away. That she… found someone." He waits until Quinn looks up again, and once he has his eyes continues, without letting them go. "Someone who started to care about her," he enunciates carefully. "And who was willing to help her find the men who had… hurt her…"
His hands are tightening on the railing behind him as he thinks about it, and he knows his agitation must be obvious. There – it's done. No turning back now; he sees that Quinn's eyes have gone wide.
"Holy shit – she did find someone," Quinn guesses under his breath.
Dexter nods. "At least… that's the theory," he adds, as brightly as he can. He turns away, taking deep breaths, hand still wringing the railing.
Quinn comes to lean against it, backwards, so that they can't really look at one another directly. It's a while before he speaks, and when he does, his tone is soft and even. "That girl was raped and tortured."
Dexter nods again.
"For days. Weeks."
Nod.
"It's a miracle that she survived."
Nod.
"I guess that when the guy found her," Quinn narrates slowly, "She must have been a wreck. And maybe he thought… he'd like to see her better." He's glancing over, checking Dexter for confirmation every couple of seconds. Dexter doesn't argue with him. "And maybe Deb's right… maybe he even fell in love?"
"Who knows. Maybe he wanted her to find peace," Dexter agrees, distant. "And maybe that couldn't happen as long as those men were still alive." His eyes focus abruptly and his voice turns hard. "So maybe she and her friend hunted them down together and killed them. One by one."
"Jesus Christ." Quinn is silent while he puts everything together. Dexter watches it all start to make sense. "Maybe the guy almost got caught… in a freak surveillance accident. A stupid coincidence. Yeah?"
"Yeah – maybe somebody tied him up, tazed him in the neck and tried to blackmail him," Dexter explains flatly. "Maybe when two guys struggle over a knife, the younger and stronger one wins."
"Jesus!" Quinn turns to face the water too. "Look, Liddy was an asshole, I hope you know I know that. I swear I didn't mean for things to go that far."
"I know. I knew." Dexter's lips quirk into half a smile, briefly. "The blood test cleared you, remember?"
Quinn shakes his head. "Yeah." It's silent for a moment, and then he asks: "What about the girl?"
"Girl Thirteen?" Dexter lets out a slow breath. "Girl Thirteen found peace… and moved out the next morning."
"Aw-… Dexter, I'm sorry."
"Yeah. But there's the consolation of it being a better ending than most Bonnie and Clydes."
They stand in silence for a while longer. Quinn at last offers: "It goes without saying I won't ever… you know, say anything. To anyone. For starters Deb would kill me."
"I know. I trust you. If I didn't – like, if I thought you weren't going to destroy those pictures in your nightstand – then the blood on your shoe would have been Liddy's."
Quinn swallows hard and it takes him a moment to speak. "You are a fucking creep."
Dexter shrugs. "You saw those DVDs. You know who the creeps are." He huffs and corrects himself. "Were." He clamps down on his cold smile just in time – there's a limit to what it's okay to share, even now.
"Yeah. That was …" Quinn fumbles a moment and then squares up, crossing his arms. "It was right. I hope you know I'd do the same thing for Debra."
Sure he would. But Dexter figures it's a sweet gesture and he might as well acknowledge it. He gives a bland smile. "A blood test would clear you then too."
The End.
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