I do not own any Dexter characters, nor the rights to any pop culture references to characters, people, institutions, or things such as MacGyver, Tom Servo (the name), Dan Marino, Kramer Knives, Target, Publix, Notre Dame, Julliard, etc nor do they endorse this.

Special thanks to CorvidCoccinelle, Jack E. Peace, and Shrike176 whose work inspired me to post all of this. Thanks for the hours of enjoyment; look them up...

* When I wrote this I was just going to let friends read it, not telling them it was a Dexter story. Posting this in the 'Dexter category' ruins the intended 'oh!' effect I was looking for. I worked hard on this chapter setting the scene with the reader not knowing it was a Dexter story…

Chapter 1

B and E

October 31th 2012

Miami, FL

Blood, the precious liquid of life! Nothing was as precious to life as blood, neither your breath which could be caught, nor time which would always be slipping away. Blood, she felt it flushing her face. She heard the pounding of her heart like the drums of a cannibalistic tribe before a hunt, as it rushed the fluid of life through her veins it caused her hands to shake as she battled with her adversary. The adrenaline coursed through her, she could feel the throbbing of her jugular. The rush hit her like a wave crashing against that beach; she could see and hear the ocean from here. Even though she knew the owner of the dwelling of which she now sought such a serendipitous form of entry, she still felt the rush all the same, the thrill of the hunt. The pupil has now come to challenge the house of the master.

It was very late. It was way past last call and closer to the time of night that Death came for the old, sick, and feeble. Although it was late October, the Miami air was hot and sticky, her hands were sweating in the leather gloves making them stick to her and sweat rolled down her back soaking her hooded forest green shirt. There was a cold front coming in, but it sure as hell wasn't here yet.

He had taught her to wear dark colors, but never black which always raised suspicions of rent-a-cops and little old ladies faster than a perverts penis on Viagra. 'I know, my mother is so proud,' she thought, 'almost two hundred thousand dollars spent on higher education and that's the analogy that I come up with.' She always selected long sleeved shirts with hoods as her hair is naturally blond and captures the moonlight too well for her liking. She had tried to dye it black once, but with her pale skin she ended up looking like a prepubescent Emo. It's pronounced like Emoe, not Emu; that's a bird. What a silly name, they are the new phase of 'Gothic' near as she can tell.

As for looking prepubescent, don't worry, 'I'm used to it at this point,' she sighed. Not so much of height, she was tall for a woman at 5'8" but she was always slight of frame and her low body weight recently has become more of an issue than ever. She was working out a lot and not eating enough. It doesn't help that her mother is still waiting for the day when she gets to take her shopping for her first training bra. 'Good luck with that mother; I just turned thirty last Thursday,' she thought. She liked to look on the bright side; she never had issues with men not looking her in the eye when they talked to her, when men bothered to speak to her, that is. 'Chocolate brown, by the way, my eyes.'

The renter of apartment 10b was her savior for lack of a stronger word. He had vanquished her real life demons to the hell that they deserved. She had watched them all die, watched as the nectar of life pumped out of their freshly punctured chests. Sometimes she did more than watch, although their deaths were meager compensation for the months of extreme barbarism that she had suffered under them, quite literally. She wished now that she would have spent more quality time with them, she was sure it would have done wonders for her recovery to have been able to obtain some level of reciprocity with her former captors. They now only dwelt in her nightmares, but her hero was the Dark Defender of her dreams… he was always there waiting for them. Always coming out of the shadows to slay the wicked and save her, her Dark Defender.

She had once joked about getting him to teach her the secretive and elusive ways of bolts and tumblers; lock picking was a magical skill that he was so very apt, but she had left him before he could teach her that. She was self taught and it showed. His lock was Defiant in more than just the brand name.

She would have normally thought that it was lucky for her that he lived at the end of his apartment complex, but luck had nothing to do with it. He had chosen this unit with a purpose in mind; he wanted to be away from prying eyes and ears. But it was on the second floor and open to the world. She had to pick the lock standing up to avoid suspicion, which made it much harder. At last her adversary relented and yielded its' oh so forbidding fruit; she slowly turned the picks and the knob at the same time. She resisted the urge to look around to see if anyone was watching her, a clear give away of her shameless wrong doing.

She had to duck under the yellow Crime Scene: Do Not Cross tape that crisscrossed the door as she slipped inside. It didn't go unnoticed that the police trespassing sticker that sealed the door had already been cut, but not by her. The air it the apartment was hot and flat, stale from neglect. As warm and as humid as the Miami was, she felt a chill run through her, this her worst fear; that he really wouldn't be here, that he was really gone.

She turned and watched through the large slatted Jalousie windows, one slat high up was missing and she observed the broken pieces of the glass still set in the window. She surveyed the court yard, looking for the quintessential nosey neighbor. You know the type, a retiree with nothing else to do. Not even a mouse was stirring, well except for her.

The moon was bright over the bay which reflected it back in a million shimmering pieces. His apartment overlooked the apartment's pool; the security lights reflected off the water and bathed her and the ceiling in an eerie dancing light. She remembered lying naked in his arms watching the pool's reflection dance on the ceiling. She had found it so comforting. She lowered the blinds, noting that it indicated he was last here during the day. There was no way he would have had the lights on and the blinds up and she laughed slightly at what he once called its effect, a 'humaniquarium'.

She heard a long slow CLICK and her laugh died in her throat, short as its life was. She had just heard one of the most distinctive sounds in the world, a sharp CLICK as the hammer on a firearm locked into place. Her body froze; a million years of evolution doing their job, as her mind raced for a way out.

The front door was her best bet, but was 5 feet away and closed and locked. The bedroom was five feet past that, but there was nowhere to go after that, unless she wanted to dive through the Jalousie windows that ran from floor to ceiling down the length of the place. Not an appealing option, but better than a bullet.

Someone behind her had a gun pointed at her back, most assuredly not her dark prince. Guns were the bane of his existence; he was like a demented MacGyver, sans the mullet of course. Guns were loud and messy. If it was him she would be unconscious on the floor pumped full of M-99, an animal tranquilizer properly named etorphine hydrochloride. Or, if she had surprised him before he could prepare, he would be strangling her from behind. Oddly enough this made her think of his strong arms in which she felt so safe, which she knew was surly a sign of her damaged psychological state. He would never harm her, nor would he allow anyone else to. If anyone did, he would be taking them for a late night boat ride. Just like Charon's boat rides of Greek mythology; it would be a one way trip for which they would certainly pay for, but they wouldn't be handing over a piece of silver but their very lives.

If it wasn't him behind her then that left, "Hello, Deb," her voice cracked as she spoke. "Hands up bitch," said her adversary in a cool firm tone. She slowly complied, as she had also done the last time she had seen Debra, which as it happens was also at gun point. That time she had been caught by Deb, she had been shaking like a leaf, but those days were gone. She thought to herself, 'I really needed a new hobby, that and a bulletproof vest.'

She heard Deb move; she was sitting in the complete darkness on the far side of the room, opposite the door. A lamp clicked on, her eyes were that of a nocturnal apex predator now after so many months of hunting at night and even though she was outside but a few moments before she found the 60 watt bulb to be far too illuminating.

"Turn around slowly…" she complied, slowly turning left, acutely aware of the contrast of the light blue walls to her black leather gloves, a gift from her soul mate. She saw what appeared to be a bullet hole in the wall, the window AC unit looked like the front of it had been shot up as well, and the broken window was high up and must have been from a bullet too. Someone got at least three shots off.

Trying not to move her hands she blew hair out of her eyes. "LUMEN? Fuck me sideways! What the fuck are you doing here and where the hell is Dexter?"

"Lt Debra Morgan, as elegant and demure as always," Lumen Pierce said sarcastically.