Wow it's been a long time since I've done one of these...
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any characters or other aspects of Dexter, and I am not making any money off this fic.
This one-shot takes place somewhere towards the end of Dexter, Season 1. I hope you like it!
He would have to try harder. If he didn't work on perfecting his normalcy, Rita might go. And besides it being a great inconvenience to him, he found that he actually disliked the idea of her going.
She had started off as the perfect decoy. She was pretty, but not so pretty that she would draw attention. Intelligent, but not so intelligent that she would see through his web of lies. And most of all, she needed someone to love her more than anything.
And here he was, actually feeling… feeling something for her and her children. This was new. He never felt. Anything. It was foreign and he did not entirely understand it.
The emotions… he did not have enough experience to figure out which ones meant what. Not to mention the entirely new feelings he had from having spent the night with her. Now he couldn't get it out of his head. And to think, somewhere in the darkest depths of his twisted sense of humor, he found the irony in the fact that he felt far more guilty after fantasizing about Rita than he ever did after fantasizing about his next kill.
His next kill. It hung over him, waiting. His Dark Passenger was there, crouched within him, whispering. There would always be the next kill. It was a fact he had come to accept. When he finally found the release he sought by killing, he knew it was only a matter of time before he had to do it again.
Rita could not know. She had always taught her children never to talk to strangers and to beware of the 'bad people in the world that did bad things,' and yet she looked on approvingly when he played with her children.
Children. He never hurt a child. He never could. They were an entirely different playing field, a different game entirely. And that was how he viewed his little hobby, as something akin to a game. He thought that maybe he was doing the world a great service by getting rid of the people he did. But he knew that the law would not agree.
The law. He worked for it and against it all at the same time. It was the perfect profession for him. He would never be suspected for who, what, he truly was. Except by maybe one person: Sergeant Doakes. And his job, well it brought him closer to the one thing that he both loved and feared, needed… blood.
His mind wandered back to Rita, the damaged woman who had, for reasons of her own, taken a liking to him. All of the new things he felt for her, they confused him. The Dark Passenger stirred within, but the image of Rita seemed to subdue it. He wondered, perhaps, if Doakes had been at least partly right the day he had said, "I guess you're human after all."
Please review :)