A/N: Inspired by a yuletide prompt about Dexter and fatherhood. This Takes place during Season 5, when Lumen's still living in the empty house and they're not yet an Item.

Dexter's phone rings at midnight and he answers it with his heart in his mouth. "Lumen? What's wrong?"

"Oh- uh, nothing. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Are you… still awake?"

He just manages not to sigh aloud. "I'm on the phone with you – yes, I'm awake. What do you want?"

"Nothing. Sorry. I just… it gets creepy in here sometimes and I wanted to hear your voice. I thought you might still be up. Um, never mind, okay? See you tomorrow bye."

"Wait-" he says fast, and catches her before she hangs up. He is awake, he's at his computer, and Harrison is awake too now. The baby has dragged himself to his feet, silent. Watching. It almost looks like he has an idea, and after a moment Dexter guesses what it is. "Deb's staying with her boyfriend tonight," he volunteers. "It's just me and Harrison, and there's an extra bed. If you think you'd sleep better in an apartment with other people, I can come get you." There's a long silence. "Lumen?"

"Yeah," she says, and it almost sounds like she's crying. "Thanks, Dexter. I really… thanks."

"No problem. Be right there." Harrison seems delighted to be strapped in for a nighttime excursion, and once he's gurgling happily in his carseat Dexter shakes his head in the rearview. "No, we are not getting in the habit of this," he anticipates. "Daddy goes out at night alone. Usually to make people go bye-bye."

He waves into the mirror and they exchange smiles. "Die-die," Harrison agrees.

He picks her up at the door and she locks it behind her. She clings to his arm as they make their way to the car, looking nervously in every direction.

"You really are jumpy tonight," he notes.

"Too much caffeine. You're right." She shakes her head. "I really don't sleep much. I know, I know, it can't be helping my mental state. Maybe if I slept more I wouldn't be such a basket case. Hopefully we'll see," she adds, hazarding a smile.

"Ee!" Harrison pipes up from the back seat. Lumen gasps and jumps.

"God, I didn't even see you there! Hey, Harrison. Hi." They wave at each other. Dexter notices that he doesn't mind – usually it sets his teeth on edge when strangers talk to Harrison. Maybe it's because one day Harrison might open his mouth and say, Guess what my daddy says to me!

But Lumen knows all that already, and anyway, she's not really a stranger. He drives home, brings her into the apartment and finds spare sheets.

"I'll take the couch," she offers at once. "I don't want to kick you out of your bed, Dexter."

It usually seems to put her at ease when he jokes a little, so he answers: "Good – I wasn't offering to let you. I'm not that nice." They make the couch-bed and go their separate ways. "If you need anything, I'm in there, okay?"

"Yeah." She lies down and exchanges waves again with Harrison. "Night, Dexter. Thank you."

"No problem."

He gets right to sleep, but he senses it hasn't been long before a sharp knock on the doorframe wakes him up.

His eyes are open in a second. He raises his head and says Lumen? but she's already whispering "It's Lumen."

Dexter likes her for that; most people would have just said it's me, which would tell him nothing. He lets out his breath in a long huff and tries to wake up all the way. "What's up?"

She still hasn't moved. "I didn't want to sneak up on you… can I come in?"

"Sure. Yeah. What's up?" He sits up in bed, the covers pooling around his waist, and the sudden chill reminds him that he has no shirt on. He can only see her silhouette, but the quick little dip of her head says she's noticed.

Awkward. But he doesn't move to cover up, because that would be even more awkward.

"I still can't sleep. I hear noises, I… I even put a chair in front of the door but I still... Dexter, I'm sorry… but could I maybe come in with you?"

He swallows, wondering if he's processed that wrong. "Uh, you… want to come in… here?" he indicates the bed with a shrug.

Now she's come close enough, to the side of the bed, that the light falls on her face and he can see her bite her lip hard a moment and then nod, resolutely. "Please."

He thinks it through, and decides the request makes sense and nothing bad is likely to come of it. "Sure." Then, because he remembers it's polite to ask, he says: "Which side?"

Her eyes move over the room and she jerks her head toward the far side of the bed – the one away from the door and the windows. Dexter obligingly scoots over for her and lies flat again, on his back.

She comes carefully around the bed, hesitates once more, and lies down.

She's curled up on her side, with her back to him, tense. He can see how stiff she is, and hear her breathing, but he figures it's none of his business and he doesn't say anything.

After a bit she speaks. "Mind if I check for monsters?" she asks, pointing at the closet. "Or, you know, serial killers?"

"Go ahead. But the only-." He stops, abruptly. He had been about to say the only serial killer in the room is lying right beside you, but it is too dangerous to get in the habit of making jokes like that. He takes a deep breath. "I should be more careful," he says aloud, and turns to watch her search.

She opens the closet, peeks in, feels around a moment. When she turns back to the bed, she meets Dexter's eyes and seems to relax just a little. "You've never slipped up," she says, and it's half a question. "All these years?"

He's feeling a little shy now with the way she's looking at him, and he finds himself staring down at the sheet, tracing patterns with one finger. "I was well trained," he says at last, and smiles at her.

She smiles back, but she's still tense when she lies down. They settle. Dexter tries to keep perfectly still so as not to disturb her, but when he shifts his weight just the tiniest bit she gasps and whips around to face him. "I'm sorry. I just…"

He turns onto his side too, and watches her hands clutch nervously at her shirt. "It's fine," he assures. "You tell me what you need, and we'll try that."

He's expecting her to ask him to leave, maybe sleep on the floor in the doorway to reassure her that nobody is going to come in…

But she surprises him by saying bluntly: "I need to touch you."

"Uh."

"Not-…" She laughs a little, rolls her eyes. "I didn't mean that in a porno way. I just meant I need to be touching you, so that I know it's you in bed with me and not-…" She swallows.

"Okay." Dexter shifts back onto his back. "Like I said: we'll try whatever you want."

"Great. Uh…" She creeps closer to him, closer still, until she can reach out and lay an arm across his chest. "Is this okay?"

"It's fine." Instinctively he reaches around her shoulders, gathering her in.

She cuddles against him, and he's amazed to find his own breath suddenly irregular and his eyes stinging.

"Dexter?" Lumen is sitting up immediately. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, it's just…" He shakes his head, clears his throat. "Wow. It's just that that reminded me of Rita – my wife. It's the way I used to hold her."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry. Here, we won't-"

"No. No, it's fine," he assures. "I just… missed her for a second. Really… viscerally. It caught me by surprise, that's all. I'm fine."

He opens his arm to her and she lays back down. "Thank you, Dexter."

"Not a problem." He rubs her back, slowly. He's half-expecting her to stiffen and pull away, but instead she nods against him.

"Talk to me a minute?"

This is easy; Harrison's made him an expert in smooth soothing murmurs. "Sure. You just go to sleep, okay? You're safe here. I've got you," he promises. "It's fine, I'll be awake for a while. You can just sleep. Nobody can get at you here, I'm watching. Shhh. You're safe here. I'll take care of you." Like I didn't with Rita, he thinks, and a fierce feeling of protectiveness sweeps over him. All of a sudden he's awash in adrenaline and there's no way he's going to get his own eyes to close. "Shh. I'm right here. You can sleep," he repeats, and before long her breathing evens out.

He holds her and strokes her and thinks of Harry. He thinks he's doing the right thing, but it's hard to know. What would Harry say about this? He tries to imagine it but maybe he really is tired because the image just won't come. Eventually he decides it's because Harry could never have envisioned this; it makes no sense. Dexter, not the smiling façade but real, actual Dexter, is a comfort to somebody. Bizarre.

She jumps once, squeaking, and kind of as an experiment he murmurs Dexter's here, it's okay and it soothes her back to sleep before she's even fully conscious. Bizarre indeed. It's a while before he can match his breathing to hers and feel himself fading out, but he's never had a problem sleeping and eventually it happens.

The End.

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