Ch. 4 – Looking Pious & Pure

A strong, ocean breeze blows through the open sliding glass door causing the curtains to billow and the papers strewn around the living room to flutter. My hand shoots out reflexively and stops a stack from scattering. The living room coffee table looks nearly as bad as my desk back at the precinct. It's the way things go though. Death waits for no man or er, uh, woman in this case.

Willow barely notices the wind's attempt at disorganizing our disorganization. Her head's practically attached to her computer. Just as well. This murder or murders, as we've found, has kinda dampened the whole 'vacation' thing we have going on.

We did get some shopping in. We had to. Neither of us brought much in the way of slaying type clothes. Truthfully, I think Will just wants to see how many skirts she can get me into. She has this thing with them. It's not a bad. Just means I get to shop. Can't complain.

I look over the reports from the first victim. Jimmy faxed them over the other day when I first told him and he's sending everything that he can get. I've got Autopsy, Toxicology, Blood Spatter Analysis and affidavits for the witnesses. The first vic hasn't been identified and from all the reading, no one will be able to.

Will and I are looking at local demon haunts. And surprisingly enough, the demon population down here is pretty integrated. As much as any demons can be. It's a good. Of course it also means that if it's a local demon, no one'll spill the beans about what's doing this. The most I hope for is the fear of having a slayer in the area.

Last night should be enough to spark some rumblings. Hopefully. It was…uhm…interesting enough. Will and I started out towards the south end of Miami and ended up working our way north. The last place we visited had no name on the outside. My guess: if you didn't know what it is or hadn't been there, you wouldn't go in anyhow.

The bartender was less than helpful, but what really sucks was a small group of vamps that thought they were actually going to take me. Now, sure, I know this sounds cocky, but I have a right for the cock…uhm, I … ya know, there's no way I'm salvaging this. Moving along now.

They start in on me. "Big bad slayer. Think you can come in here and start stirring up trouble." I would also like to add, vamps with Spanish or Islander accents – too funny. He carries on like that for a few. I let them blow hot air. They don't know who I am. Well, one of 'em started mentioning me by name.

Plane tickets – two grand. Cab fare – fifteen bucks. The looks on their faces when I flash my ID – priceless.

Of course you think it'd be enough. That they'd firm up. That a case of the stupids wouldn't happen. Not so much. They attack. Dumb. Dumber considering Willow's behind me and laughing at them. We walked out of the bar right after it caught fire. Didn't need to stick around for that headache.

I haven't burnt anything down in a while. Does it make me a socio if I say it felt good?

Probably, but I'll deal.

I tear my gaze away from the reports and search through the papers looking for something a little more visual. Ah, autopsy photos. They're grainy, but they do okay. Faxes just aren't that good for picture quality. I study a shape of something resting on the gray steel slab of an autopsy bench. The footnote says it's the excised skin that was left on the floor.

Yep, this is my life. Just can't have enough excised skin…gross. The skin's clean, dry and lays out nice and flat so you can get a solid look at it. Turning my head to the side, I look at it cockeyed and frown.

It looks like a rough triangle and the angle of the photo is skewed. I twist the photo so the point of the triangle is facing up. Weird. It kinda looks…well, it looks like a bunch of scratch marks. We call them hesitation cuts. For some reason, my tinglies kick in and I'm not sold on the idea.

The wounds in the skin are rough and shoddy. If I didn't know any better it looks like they tried to cut into the skin with a really dull knife. The flesh around the laceration's jagged and frayed. I search for the coroner's report and come to hi - I look at the name of the M.E. – his description on the photo.

'Blah, blah, blah, serrated edge used for the excision.' Bingo. 'Kay is that all? I turn to the next page and what…? Rolling my eyes, I turn frustrated to the other autopsy report, hoping to find something useful.

"Buff?" Willow questions. I look up and meet her gaze. She knows I've found something. Well a maybe-something.

"Think I got – these look strange to me. I'm just checkin' something," I chirp and go back to a stack of fax papers.

"Wanna share?"

"Will if it's something, Will." I grin back up at her and she rolls her eyes at me before going back to her computer screen.

I find the document I'm looking for and flip through the back to the photos. There it is. All grainy in black and white, but I tilt the page and it jumps out at me. Both vics were carved and marked before they were killed. Go me, go Buffy!

"Hey Will…" I look up at her and wink.

She puts her laptop on the coffee table and comes over to the couch. I hand her both photos and tilt them so she can see what I'm looking at. Her head goes to the side and her face scrunches. Too cute for words. I need a photo of her like that. Just like that. I'd replace the one I have on my desk at work for a picture of her like this.

"Hey, those…" Her scowl deepens as she reaches for her laptop. I direct my gaze back to the photos. It's hard to see. But if you squint, you can make out what the lines are. A primary line runs the length of the excision. The top part of the line has…okay the best I can get is two pac-mans lying over the top. The center has a single slash mark bisecting the line. The bottom…it's uh, an 'X' over top the primary line.

Will types away on her computer and I see she's sending an email to Dawn. "Buff, can you grab me my phone please?" I nod and go to the kitchen counter. I bring back her phone and she switches the thing over to camera mode.

Nothing is safe anymore. Technology's taken away all excuse for ignorance. You want the knowledge. It's out there if you know where to look. She snaps a few pictures of the faxes and sends them out.

Setting the laptop back on the coffee table, she grins at me. "I think they might be something. Dawn'll let us know soon."

"No clue on the what?" I ask.

"I- they could be runes. Used for a spell. It would make sense. Could be a calling card."

"Or it could be tic-tac-toe and we're barking up the wrong tree?"

She blushes and nods. Well at least it might be something. It'd help lots, if it was something.

"So," I say getting up and clearing up some of the paperwork, "What do we do now?"

She leans back on the couch and shrugs.

"Beach?" Oh please, oh please let it be break time. I see her mind run over the possibilities and then she nods. Yes!

I extend my hand to her and we go back to the bedroom. Behind me she asks, "Are you gonna try wearing the two piece you bought yesterday?" The hope in her voice makes me smile.

I turn back to her and shrug. She steps up to me and pulls my tank top off. Her hands slide down my ribs and over my stomach. Goosebumps follow her every touch. She leans in and captures my lips. It's hungry and warm and soft and makes me love her just a little more. And I think the beach's gonna wait.

Her mouth moves from mine and her lips blaze a trail down my neck and chest. She drops to her knees and begins a more thorough exploration of my body paying careful attention to the main scar that prompts her need to reassure. I know she worries about them. She doesn't want them to affect me. I get it. It's just that they aren't very nice. My pants go and she nips my side causing my knees to shake. For balance, my hands wrap themselves in her hair. I get it, Will.


Sweaty's usually bad. I mean it makes you sticky and kinda stinky. Usually when I get sweaty it's 'cause I'm running, nervous or scared. All of them not very good. Nope. But, sometimes, sweaty is a good. Like right now. I'm sticky, tired and sweaty. All of it though's 'cause of Buffy, so ya know, she can make me sweaty as much as she wants.

It's nice. The covers rest at the end of the bed and we're both all snuggly. The smell in the air is familiar and comforting. It smells like us. If I could find a way to bottle it, I would. Instead I just gotta live with trying to make the smell as much as possible. It's a burden I'll bear.

I look down at Buffy who's resting contentedly in the crook of my left arm. Her hair kinda tickles, but I'll deal rather than move it. She's peaceful and with everything, well, these moments are the few peaceful one's she gets. I know she loves her job. You can tell, but it's hard. I know it. I can feel it.

Sometimes I find her at night on top of our roof. I don't know what she does up there. I just know that when she wants to think or get away for a few minutes, that's where she goes. It's also when her eyes get the saddest. If I go and get her from up there, I see her weight. It's different – not the weight of the world, not like it was in Sunnydale or when I first came. Jimmy gets it too. It's their own thing. Which I get. Which I thank Jimmy for. He helps her when I can't.

I know that I'll probably never 'get' her job. I won't get the things she sees on the daily. That's okay. She has Jimmy for that and well, I've never quite figured out how to thank him. I run my hands over her arm. I play with her fingers and she barely stirs. Her like this with me is…heaven.

Of course it would be nice if we were left alone. The buzzer on the phone rings and I scowl over at the device. Hey, I was woolgathering here. Have some respect. I reach for the receiver and try for chipper, "Hello?"

"Hi, can I talk to Buffy Summers or Willow Rosenberg?" the female voice asks.

"This is Willow. How can I help you?" Sounds like a cop. Probably is.

"This is Detective Morgan. I was hoping I could swing by in a few minutes and follow up with you and your partner?"

Might as well get it out of the way. Means I'm gonna hafta wake Buffy. Poop. "Yeah, uh, sure."

"Great. I'll be up shortly," she sounds way too happy. Up? Up where?

Up here! No, not good. Research. Confidential police reports that she doesn't know that we have. "Uhm, wait, Detective, can we, uh, meet in the lobby?" Great Willow, sound fishy. Just what you and Buffy need.

"That's fine." If I try, I can probably here her cop radar going beep. I won't.

"Great. Just have the front desk ring us when you're here." If I could smack myself in the head right now, I would.

"I will. Thanks Ms. Rosenberg." The line goes dead and I scowl at the receiver in front of me. Ms. Rosenberg? Why does that make me feel old?

Placing the phone back down, I nudge Buffy awake. "Hey sleepy, we need to get up. Fast."

She rubs her eyes and blinks up at me. Ah, sleepy Buffy. It's all sorts of cute. Of course the question's written all over her face. I lean down and kiss the wrinkles away. "That was Detective Morgan. She wants to meet for a follow up. We need to meet her down stairs."

The information registers and she nods. "Shower?" she asks with the smallest amount of hope.

I shake my head. "She said a few minutes." I get up and start to dress. I look at the floor for my discarded bra and pick up…nope that's Buffy's. I toss her bra on the bed and go back to searching for mine. Aha!

By the time I'm dressed, Buffy's already in the bathroom. How she does that I don't know. On a good day, it takes me forty-five minutes to get ready. For her, it's like fifteen tops. And she manages to look good every single time. It's not fair.

The phone rings as I spit the last bit of toothpaste from my mouth and I hear Buffy pick up. She's here. Buffy drags me from the bathroom, to the living room for shoes and out the door. One day I'll get her to be more patient. Not today, but it'll happen.

Our reflection slides away as the elevator doors open. Buffy and I walk out of the elevator into the lobby hand in hand. I recognize Detective Morgan immediately and cringe as I see the tall, redheaded man behind her. I didn't catch his name last night. I just know that he's with their Forensics division. What's he doing here?

Buffy squeezes my hand and then let's go to extend a handshake to the officer.

"Ms. Summers, Ms. Rosenberg." She nods greeting us.

Buffy takes her outstretched hand and I see the small wince pass over the Detective's face. Buffy…

"Actually," my lover chirps, "It's Detective and Doctor, but Buffy and Willow will do just fine."

"Sorry," she says pulling her hand away, "This is my brother, Dexter, he's with C.S.U.. If we're gonna go by first names, then call me Deb."

I watch Dexter step forward and take his outstretched hand in greeting, "Hi," he smiles, saying, "Nice to meet you. I saw you at the scene last night, but didn't get a chance to introduce myself."

He still kinda wigs me out and I don't know why. He's all smiles and really nice. Maybe I was just creeped last night. "Nice to meet you too."

"Hi Buffy, nice to meet you. So do members of your forensics team usually come on follow ups?" Buffy asks shaking his hand.

I watch Dexter's face light up and he says, "Not usually. It's the Morgan version of family bonding. Our family's full of cops. Our dad was one, Debs followed in his footsteps and I work with them."

I nod and Buffy says, "Cool. The more the merrier, I suppose." I look down at her stomach as it growls. Well at least I know where we're going to be talking. "Uh, would you two mind if we took this to the restaurant? I haven't eaten yet." She offers an apologetic smile.

They look at each other and shrug. To the restaurant we go. Getting a table's easy and as we sit down, I take in the silent communication between brother and sister. Still weird that he's here. Guess if he works for the department it's fine.

The waiter comes and we all place our drink orders. Deb looks through her note pad and starts in, "So last night, you two, well you, Willow, said that you were going to grab some ice. Saw the blood on the door and then…?"

She trails off expecting me to finish and I do. It's not like the story's gonna change. "I noticed the smear on the door. So I went back and got Buffy. The door handle was already messed up so she pushed the door open and we saw. We left. We called nine-one-one."

She nods and looks back down at her notes. Does she think that we're lying? What's there to lie about?

Well, the lock on the door, but…

"And Buffy, you were where?" she asks looking up.

"I was actually in our suite. Will left. Mentioned ice. She came back a few minutes later and told me what she found. We went. We saw. We called."

"Nothing else out of the ordinary?"

I can't help the short hard laugh that bubbles forth. For that I get a small glare from Buffy and curious looks from the other two. Trying to play it off, even if it's not gonna help, I explain, "Well, flayed bodies that are missing organs aren't really ordinary. Just…" The heat flames my cheeks and I resist the urge to sink down in my seat.

And suddenly the tension at the table breaks. Everyone starts laughing and I calm down. Deb nods and Dexter continues to laugh. Well it helped at least.

"True. It's not really normal or ordinary." A wry look crosses over his face and the left corner of his mouth turns up just a hair. "What I wanted to ask was about the amount of blood and the little to no tracking at the scene. For it not to get tracked was odd. Did you notice anything?"

I shake my head and turn to Buffy. "I know," she says, "That's what sorta bugged to. But I'm on vacation and this is your guys' puppy. We just got the short end and found her."

"It is rather ironic. You ladies come all the way down here and end up working or at least you do, Buffy." Dexter turns me and asks, "What kind of medicine do you practice?"

"I, uh, just got done with med school. My residency ended in June."

"Well congratulations. So you two are here to celebrate?" he asks. It feels like he's fishing, but not. His eyes say genuine curiosity so I indulge.

"Pretty much. A month off at the beach sounded good."

"Miami's the place for it. If you have the chance, there are some really nice places to go out at night. Clubs and a few restaurants that I could recommend."

"Sure," Buffy jumps in. She's been dying to check out more of the 'locals' scene. "Recommend away. The concierge recommended a few places, but they had tourist trap written all over them."

"Deb, paper?" he asks, before plucking her pad and pen from her hand. Her scowl says volumes and I resist the urge to laugh.

"So how long have you worked for the N.Y.P.D.?" Deb asks Buffy. Ah, professional curiosity. I was wondering how long that was going to take.

Buffy, as she usually does when talking about work, smirks, "For about five years now. You?"

"Four going on five here at the end of the year," Deb commiserates.

Dexter rips a piece of paper off the pad and hands it over to me. "I think that's all the best places. If you guys like Cuban food, go to Rodrigo's. They're Mojo Chicken with black beans is the best in Miami."

The waiter brings our drinks and the conversation devolves into Buffy and Deb talking about work and Dexter and I discussing food. Not sure that's how I pictured this going, but I'll take it.


I check my seat belt for the fifth time since we left the hotel. While Deb can drive, well even, she tends to bring out my survival skills. And to add to my unease, she's got her phone jammed between her ear and shoulder, using her only free hand to concentrate on finding a radio station.

A few more moments of this and she slips the phone into her lap. "Angel says we got the post on vic. number two. You want me to drop you off where?" Her hand finally stops with the radio and settles on an alternative station.

"Station, please. My car's there. I need to leave a bit early and pick up Astor and Cody. What are you going to do for the rest of the day?"

She glances over at me and shrugs. "Angel and I are going to be looking at security camera feeds. Go over a few of the reports. Whoever's doing this shit is a sick fuck. Did you get a look at the skin that was removed? Sick shit, Dex," she stops and realizes what she's saying.

I'm sure my face shows surprise as she asks, "So last night, you were…?"

She looks nervous and I understand that. To her, it's not normal, but justifiable. "I was taking care of the missing house wives. I found the person. I stopped them."

Her mouth pinches and she nods. I know her. She's thinking, running that through and…here it is, "Dex, have you ever tried not to? I mean fuck, it's like, I mean can you try not to?"

"Yes and it doesn't work." It's the only thing I can offer her. It's what I have. When she found out, I laid everything bare for her. I explained what Harry and I did. The reasons why she was never allowed on any of our hunting trips. She now knows why.

My answer only gets her to bob her head more. "Then today…why'd you wanna come along?"

Ah, yes. I knew this was coming. The question I haven't answered is how honest does Dexter want to be. Not very, right now. I need more. The meeting with them today was good. They're quite the charming couple. In fact I found that I enjoy their company. In another life, perhaps we could be friends. But, now, I'm just more curious.

I flash my sister a winning smile. "No, I just wanted to tag along. We haven't spent a lot of time together lately and it seemed like it would be fun."

The office comes into view and I give an internal sigh. I'll be able to avoid my sister's questions just a bit longer.

The car pulls into an empty space and she throws it into park. We get out and she looks over to me before heading up the steps to the entrance. "Dex, don't fuckin' pull my chain on this. If it's something, I need to know. I may not fuckin' like it or agree, but we're family. I need to be able to trust you."

My hand goes to my forehead and shields the sunlight hitting me in the face. I gaze up at her and grin. "I know, sis. I'm not and you can. Have I ever let you down?" I know the answer and she does as well. It's why she nods at me sort of smiling. I stop her chance of talking and say, "If you guys come up with anything tonight, call me. I'll be at Rita's."

She agrees, and turns walking into the station. Fishing my car keys out of my pocket, I turn in the opposite direction. I glance down at my watch and notice I've just enough time to make it to the school.

I jog my way over to my trusty Ford Taurus, get in and fire her up. I hate making the kids wait. I slip into traffic and feel a little tickle in the back of my mind. I know what he's thinking. It's the same thing I am. When did Dexter's life take such a turn that he has to worry about picking children up from school?

I will admit to always having a soft spot for children, but there's always been something more between my girlfr…my fiancé's children and I. They are just as damaged as I was at their age and the recent development in our relationship has further deepened the bond. Who knew 'Dexter the Damned' would be a softy for the young?

When I come upon a shark in my waters and I know said shark's prey is for the young, it makes it doubly satisfying. The school is just letting out as I pull up to the curb. I switch the engine off and go stand next to the car. This isn't part of my regular routine, but their babysitter wasn't able to sit today. In comes 'Daddy Dexter' to the rescue.

Cody is the first one I see and I wave. He gives a small wave and comes to stand next to me. Smiling down at him, I ask, "Hello, young knight. How was the battle today?"

He shrug's non-committaly. It's what I expect. He doesn't say much. Never has. Recently, when you get him at the right moments he will talk. It will be less than ten words strung together, but we are making progress.

"Astor!" he yells and waves his hands to get his sister's attention. "Over here."

Astor looks in our direction and skips over to the car. She peers up at me and smiles, "Hi, Dexter."

"Hello, my lady." I usher them into the back seat and close the door. As I step in, I check my rearview mirror to make sure their seatbelts are secure. "Shall we be off?"

"Yeah! School was fun today, but I'm ready for home," Astor speaks on her and her brother's behalf. She is his great protector.

"Then off we shall go." I signal and turn into the flow of traffic. I glance back and they are going over something that Cody drew today.

Let's see Rita won't be home for another hour. What to do? Park? Ice cream? "What say you young ones about ice cream?" I look over my shoulder and see their faces light up.

But Astor's falls quickly. "What about dinner?" she asks.

"Well, we could go to the store and pick some up for desert if you don't want to spoil dinner. But I don't' think an ice cream cone will."

She gnaws on her lower lip contemplating my suggestion. She looks to Cody and they communicate in their silent way. "Can we share one?"

"Of course! And we'll pick some up for desert after our most proper meal with your mother." I smile back at them and head towards the store. 'Dexter Domestic' strikes again.

The store's vast selection of ice cream is impressive. Who knew they made pineapple sherbet? I look down the aisle to where Astor and Cody are contemplating their afternoon snack. I try to remember how 'Dexter the Demented' got to become 'Dexter the Dad'.

It was supposed to be simple. Deb introduces to me to a charmingly broken creature by the name of Rita Bennet, a creature that Deb found on a domestic disturbance call. She found my Rita beaten and raped in her bed, Astor with Cody locked in the bathroom, and the assailant, their father, passed out with his pants around his ankles, lying on the floor of Rita's bedroom.

For some reason Deb thought I'd be good for her. I couldn't disagree. To be 'Dexter the Man', 'Dexter the Demon' needs a good disguise. Rita is the perfect one. She is as emotionally crippled as me. She has little interest in sex and she has two small children that I appear to enjoy immensely.

It was pure bliss…until, in some unfathomable mix up, she thought I proposed. Truthfully we have been seeing each other two years. Perhaps it is time for the next step, but it's not one I'd do if I had known what I was doing. So now 'Dexter Deranged' becomes 'Dexter Engaged', and I even have a ready-made family.

I keep up the engagement for two reasons. Rita and her family add to the layers needed to keep my mask in place. 'Dearly Devoted Dexter' is a cover above reproach. The second is a bit of a surprise. I know Cody had suffered physical abuse from his father. Astor as well. I didn't know that what they witnessed has changed them. It was one of the neighbors coming to inquire about a missing pet that made me take notice. It was then that my 'Dark Passenger' glowed in paternal pride and set a knowing gaze on the two young children.

While their biological father is currently serving a life sentence in federal prison, I, Dexter Morgan, will raise them. I will teach them the Code of Harry and they will be my legacy. I think above all else, my affection for them is why I've decided to stay.

I grab a half gallon of Rocky Road and make my way down to my two budding sociopaths. Astor looks up at me and holds a Drumstick in her hand.

"Dexter, is this okay?" she asks and I nod my agreement.

"As okay as okay can be. How do you two feel about Rocky Road after dinner?" I take their selection and we go to the register.

"Good. When's mom coming home?" Astor asks. They move in front of me and begin browsing the candy bar selections.

"She should be home by five. So we have some time." I pay the cashier and hand over their ice cream. Cody takes it and carefully pulls the paper from around the ice cream. I make sure they're secure in the back, content sharing their Drumstick and head out of the parking lot towards their home.

I grab their attention and ask, "Are we up for a game of Kick the Can?"

Cody's head snaps up and he smiles a small smile. It's genuine and that's what matters. "Can we play Hide and Go Seek instead?" Eight words in a single go. For him, it's nearly a dissertation. As a reward for his speech, I nod to his nearly predatory smile and pull into the drive way. Cody does love to play the hunter.