Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

Author's Note: The story is set after the 7th season's finale.

The Black Orchid

An orchid on my doorstep could mean only one thing. Hannah is on the run.

He crouched in front of the flower and stroked a dark petal, reveling in its velvet softness as forbidden hope made his breath catch in his throat. His muscles coiled in anticipation, as though he had been touching Hannah's smooth skin, not plant tissue. His fingers curled around the plastic flowerpot, and he sprung to his feet. He put the orchid on his desk as the door to his apartment clicked shut behind him.

The scent of the sea breeze filled his nostrils as he turned on the light. Jamie must have plugged in an air freshener. She always did that after cleaning. Harrison was sleeping soundly, his little body sprawled on spotted cushions, a slight frown on his face. He had hardly stirred when Dexter laid him on the couch. Jamie had tired him out with cheerful songs and easy games. She was good at that, but not as good as Hannah. No one understood Harrison's little dramas like Hannah did, she was exceptionally receptive to his needs. Dexter leaned against the fridge, pressing his back hard against the cool metal, his gaze fixed on the orchid.

While he should immediately dispose of the evidence linking Debra to LaGuerta's death, he kept wondering about Hannah's whereabouts. He closed his eyes, his heart pounding against his rib cage when his cell phone began to vibrate. He took it out of his pocket, hoping against hope. He couldn't be with Hannah, but he still cared about her. He could help her leave the country. Nobody would ever find out about his involvement in her miraculous escape from Miami. It was the least he could do for her after having betrayed her trust. Determined, he glanced at the screen as it flashed blue. DEB CALLING.

He cursed under his breath, trying to resist the rush of disappointment and failing. Debra had compromised everything she cherished to protect him, yet he wasn't grateful for it. She made a mess of his life whenever she meddled in his affairs. He had a feeling that her complicity in LaGuerta's murder would prove to be a burden. Bracing himself for an imminent bout of hysteria, he took the call. "What is it, Deb?"

"Your fucking whore escaped," she spat. "Is she there with you? I bet she is! Why did you help her, Dex? Why are you fucking that murderous bitch? Can't you fuck anyone else?"

Dexter inhaled deeply. He could tell Debra had been drinking. "I'm not fucking Hannah. Not anymore."

"You're saying this like it's my fault. She fucking tried to poison me!"

"Deb, I helped you arrest her. I don't know where she is."

But I wish I did.

Debra sighed, and he took it as a good sign. She kept quiet which indicated she was mulling over what he had just told her. He waited for her to speak, but instead of her voice, he heard a loud smash. "Deb? Are you okay?"

"Jesus, Dexter, how can you even ask?" she sobbed suddenly. "I'm not okay, I'll never be okay! It's fucking impossible! What I did... I shouldn't have gotten involved... I... Oh, God..."

Anger replaced by despair, she was falling apart. He knew he had to act quickly. "You did what you had to do."

"Bullshit! You're bullshitting me, Dexter!"

"Do you want me to come over? Harrison's asleep."

She took a shuddering breath. "I don't want to see you ever again."

"Deb–"

"Goodbye, Dex."

She ended the conversation abruptly, leaving him no time to respond. He stared blankly at his cell phone. Debra's fate was in his hands, so he would take care of her whether she liked it or not. She was being unreasonable, but she would get over it. She always did. Besides, he had chosen her over Hannah, and he wouldn't let his sacrifice go to waste.