Title: Break Me

Fandom: Dexter

Rating: M for language

Disclaimer: I do not own Dexter or any of its characters. Or anything much, really.

Author's notes: Another chapter bashed out. Hope you like. More Deb and Dexter for you. So much easier to write than Hannah! Thankyou PSiwrotethis, bellart (totally agree – Deb should never have just been like, "Oh, you're off, are you? Alright, let me eat some of your girlfriend's salad, even though neither of us have ever trusted her with my life before now, and have a lovely time!" I like Deb fiery, the way she always was before, like, four episodes ago. Not sure what happened. Actually, I do. The writers got lazy.), shadow, yuiop, Dahlia Faith Black and pgcarbyangus for taking the time to type your thoughts into the box at the bottom of the page.

Chapter Seven

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I must admit, I did not expect this car. I'd hoped for Deb's, but when it wasn't, expected it to be Quinn or Batista, either here to arrest me or to tell me Deb's driven her car off a cliff somewhere. It's not them. Thank fuck. I sound like my sister. My other fear was that it may be Deputy Marshal Clayton, having shaken off Elway and returning for a second, more concentrated shot at us.

It's not any of them.

It's Vogel's car.

And there are two people inside.

I return to the kitchen and choose the biggest knife from Deb's knife block. Harrison watches me idly, unconcerned, but Hannah's eyes widen.

"What's going on?" she asks, battling to keep her voice even for my son's sake. I head back to the door.

"It's Dr Vogel," I reply, "and Oliver Saxon." I glance back at her once and see the fear flash across her face. "Keep the doors locked and stay quiet. I'll be right back."

Hannah hurries to the door and locks it behind me as I step out into the evening air. The sun is halfway through setting, a semi-circle of warm orange casting a hazy glare that makes visibility negligible. This is not favourable, but will disadvantage my foes as much as it does me. And if I approach them from this angle and maintain my position, I will have the sun to my back, a step up on them.

What do they want? Why are they here? I heft the blade slightly, moving it into a more comfortable position. The handle presses against the tender wound in the middle of my palm, but as my anger rises I am more able to suppress it. It will hurt again later, but by then, Vogel and Saxon will have bled out in Deb's front yard and I... I don't know. I'm furious.

This surprise appearance puts a serious dent in the latest plans. I am supposed to ring Vogel tomorrow, fix our fight and wait until my son and sister are out of harm's way before killing her and her stupid son. Now they're both here. And even if I can divert them tonight, they can be back at any time. Vogel has brought a killer to my family's hideout.

I make no secret of the cleaver in my hand as I stride out to meet the Vogels. People driving by are squinting into the harsh sunset; they will not notice a non-descript man marching out of a beach house with a blade. But Saxon and Vogel will. They step out of the car, and Vogel walks quickly around to stand with her son. I am reminded of myself, hours ago, moving with the same haste to be near Deb in a tense situation. Solidarity. This is what it means to be family. Especially a family as messed-up as mine, or the Vogels'.

"Dexter," Evelyn Vogel says, relief in her voice and a small smile on her lips. She extends her hands to me and takes a step forward; I point my knife at her and continue on my trajectory.

"Get the fuck out of here," I snarl, feeling that inner monster uncoil, ready to strike out as it did when I saw her earlier this afternoon. Was that only today? It feels years ago. The desire to rip the doctor limb from limb is burning me. And my phone is not with me. Deb is nowhere nearby. Vogel stands no chance.

"Dexter, I am only here to talk," Vogel insists, slightly reprovingly. I shake my head.

"Talk? You don't bring your bulldog along if all you want is to talk. Couldn't remember my phone number, huh? What do you think you're playing at, bringing him here?" I stop before them and gesture to her son with my knife.

Saxon folds his arms and keeps his intense gaze on me, but he stays between his mother and the car. Vogel sighs. I see the small cut on her jaw line and feel incredible annoyance. My hand is worse off than her stupid face, and she was the one being attacked!

"Dexter," she says for a third time, sounding exasperated, as though I am being unreasonable. "I have been trying to call you for the past hour, with no answer. In the end I called your sister-"

"You stay the fuck away from my sister," I demand, forcefully. If I'm not allowed to talk to Deb right now, then Vogel certainly doesn't get to, either. My hand almost shakes with the unsprung tension of wanting, so badly, to sever this woman's windpipe. I hate her. Maybe she did try to call me, I don't know – my phone is still set to vibrate, still outside on the chair. I don't care. She continues as though I didn't interrupt.

"- and she said a few choice words to me, and told me the only thing holding her back from saying worse was a family of little kids standing in line in front of her," Vogel goes on, "which led me to believe she must have spoken at length with you. I presumed you would be here."

"Well done," I snap. Secretly I am pleased she has mentioned this. Deb really is in line buying burgers somewhere. "Sounds like some intense detective work."

"And I have brought Daniel with me," Vogel adds, turning to smile briefly at her son, "as insurance against your temper. This afternoon's misunderstanding has the potential to be very damaging to our relationship and I am here to talk it through with you before too much resentment can build between us."

I raise my eyebrows, surprised out of some of my rage. The potential to be very damaging? Uh, yeah. Consider our relationship damaged. Consider resentment already built. Like, a whole wall of it.

"I don't think there's much left to be said," I comment coldly. "What's done can't be undone, can it?"

"I realise you're upset about what happened with Harry," Evelyn says, calmly, in her best psychiatrist voice. "I can see that my failure to explain my motives more gently has triggered an animalistic rage response in you. I understand how you would perceive my long-term secrecy of this fact as a betrayal. I am very sorry for making you feel like this, Dexter."

She's very good, isn't she? All 'I' statements, taking responsibility for my feelings so I am not pushed into a defensive mode. I am not sold, however. I still hate her. I will still murder her.

"I am not angry with you for hurting me today, Dexter." The doctor smiles as though I am a child who thinks he will be in trouble. She has me all wrong. In this moment, I am not afraid of trouble. I am looking for it. I feel my control slowly sliding through my fingers. I relish the sensation and know it is not long now before I am past saving. "I understand. It was my fault. I went about it in the wrong way. I think, with time, you will agree I did the right thing about Harry, but I should have told you differently. Just look at you," she adds, smiling at me and gesturing to my armed and ready stance. "You were made for this. Harry forgot. He also forgot how carefully we'd built you – to unbuild you might have sent you off the rails completely, driven you to kill and destroy those close to you."

I hear and understand her closing statement and agree that this was a probable risk to my father's final plan, but also reflect that, regardless, I have become exactly that: a destructive force that consumes those who get too close. Rita is the best example, of course, but dozens of others are dead because of me, without my ever raising a knife to their throats – Paul Bennett, Ellen Wolf, Maria La Guerta, Zach Hamilton and my neighbour, Cassie, to name the first ones that jump to mind. And Debra has been broken open countless times since she walked into that church and changed both our lives forever.

"I want us to forgive each other," Vogel summarises. I tighten my grip on the knife. I bet she does. She's got it easy. I scared her and gave her a little scratch, big deal. She's done worse to me and mine than I've done to her. "I want to fix this."

I try to contain my anger and swallow the temptation to launch myself at her and slash her open. It would only take one swipe. I am quite sure I am faster than Saxon; I can kill this bitch before he can stop me, but I am not confident I can withdraw and be ready for his counter. I consider that this is a game of chess – I am the red knight, a sneaky and versatile piece preparing to take the enemy queen. But in doing so I lose said knight to the enemy bishop, and then there is nothing between him and my most precious piece – Harrison – inside the house. Check. In chess you cannot put yourself into check, a forbidden move, for good reason. I need to reposition. I need to wait.

"Your dear son tried to chase me down today," I mention, buying time, calculating. I eye Daniel Vogel critically, looking for weaknesses. He is similar in build to myself. He doesn't appear to be armed, but I cannot be certain. He probably isn't emotionally and physically exhausted. He has no injured hand, no burn on his leg and no exploitable cuts and bruises on his face. I have the sun to my back but physically I am disadvantaged. I hate him for it, even though all my injuries are my very own fault. His eyes are piercing, so bright.

"I was upset, too," Saxon tells me, evenly. "You had attacked my mother and threatened her life. I wanted to make you answer for it. When I returned to her, she explained your motivation. I realised there was no need for me to be angry. I would – and did – react in the same way."

More 'I' statements. Trying to calm me. Saxon has no need to want me calm. I have already deduced that he has the upper hand here, and I am sure he has done the same math and come to the same conclusion. So what is he doing?

"Dexter," Vogel appeals to me, "Daniel is my son. He was worried about me. You were quite a fright when you left my house today. You can understand why he would give chase. You would have done the same in that situation. I am sure you have, many times before, pursued a threat to your family. In any case," she redirects, more businesslike now, "I hope we can put this behind us. I hope we can go back to how we were. All of us. We are not like other people, your family and mine. We are much stronger together than we are apart."

I analyse this proposal carefully. All of us. Stronger together. She is requesting me to accept Saxon and to not kill him, but more than that, she wants me to align myself with them. She wants things to back to how they were. Does she mean when I was hunting and killing for her? I'm uncertain.

"I don't think I understand your meaning," I say eventually.

"We should not be enemies," Saxon explains. His words sound automatic. I hear no conviction. "We could all so easily destroy each other, but for what? A trail of blood, a mix of mine and yours and all the people we love?"

"You don't love anybody," I quip. Vogel glares at me; Saxon does not argue, but continues as if I did not interrupt.

"We achieve nothing by working against each other. You and I, we're not like everyone else. And we know too much about the other to feel comfortable with the other out there, unless we know we're on the same side."

I recognise the thinly veiled threat, but I don't let this show. He can unravel my life very easily if I move against him. I'm starting to understand their motives, I think. Dr Vogel wants me back under her thumb. She wants to survive me, but also to control me, as she did before, before I realised. I don't yet know for what purpose, but she definitely wants something from me. Saxon... I think he wants to subdue me. I don't think he wants me onside. I think he wants my back turned so he can put a knife through it. Or a powersaw through the back of my skull.

He wants me for a victim as much as I want him.

I should kill him first. Evelyn is manipulative but soft. She cannot take me out. If I incapacitate her son first, I can kill her without much effort second. Too bad she stands between us.

"We're a family, Dexter." Dr Vogel's smile is intended to be kind but I see its cruelty. The dying light of the almost fully set sun casts deep shadows on her lined face. "Come back and be part of it."

I realise the chess metaphor is no metaphor at all. The Vogels are playing me as surely and seriously as I am trying to play them.

This realisation calms me more than anything that is being said. I am not meant to win. Not tonight. It's a game, and it needs to be played first before anyone can win. That's fine. I can play. A familiar car pulls up and I smile in spite of myself. The playing field has been levelled. The red queen is moving into position.

"I already have a family," I comment simply. Deb turns her car off and steps out with her gun already raised.

"Get your asses back in that car," she orders the Vogels, "and fucking drive. I told you to keep the fuck away from us." She gestures at the car with the muzzle of her weapon. "Yes, it's loaded and yes, the safety is off. Now. Fuck. Off."

A strategist like me, my sister shifts to stand about three metres from me, putting herself between the opposition and the house, close enough to help me if I'm hit but far enough that we form a triangle with the Vogels in the crosshairs. We can come from both sides if we attack.

I feel my darkness, which was so focussed on the people before me, begin to retract. I feel it pull back and settle inside me. Deb does this. She brings me back.

"Debra," Evelyn says, starting her gentle voice on the newcomer. "I'm so glad you're here." The glint in her eye tells me otherwise; she does not like that my sister has arrived. "I've just been apologising to Dexter, for what transpired today. I wish very much that conversation had gone differently. I understand that, like your brother, you are probably very upset with me and are feeling quite betrayed. I never intended to make you feel this way. I am sorry you feel that I have lied to you."

"I don't feel that you lied to me," Deb corrects, harshly. "You did lie to me. Quite a difference."

"Can you blame me?" Vogel asks airily, smiling at us, obviously referencing our hostile reaction. "I only spoke to you about your father while you were in the clutches of deep depression, if you recall. I could not risk your mental health by sharing this truth prematurely." She smiles more widely. "You'd been through enough, after all, learning what your brother is, and what you did to protect him. The life you took."

"What an understanding sister," her son comments.

Deb's eyes flicker to Saxon. He is smirking. Whether he knew this about Deb before now, I can't tell, but his mother has given him power over us. Intentionally, I am certain. Knowledge is power, and I am furious that Vogel is playing this card over my sister.

"Get in that car," Deb snaps at him again, "or I'm placing you under arrest. There are a lot of people looking for you, Oliver Saxon."

He fakes an innocent look. "Me? What for?"

"Don't recall killing the sweet little thing that lived in my building?" I ask coolly.

"Oh." Saxon smiles and unfolds his arms. He begins to pick at one of his fingernails. "Cassie. Yes, she was sweet, wasn't she? I did like her. I'm offended you and your cop buddies are still looking into me over her death. Such a tragedy."

"Oh, seriously? Cut the crap," Deb says disgustedly. She flicks her hair off her face with a jerk of her head. "Put your hands where I can see them. Come quietly and I'll consider not shooting your ass."

"Arresting me without reading me my rights?" Saxon queries, ever innocently. "My, my, what will the judge say? And how will the rest of your team at Miami Metropolitan Police Station react to my well-documented, fully-evidenced story about a serial killer, his darling murderess sister and a lifetime of cover-ups?"

"Please," Deb snarls, smiling without real humour. She recognises the threat as fully as I do. We can't arrest him. We can't let him anywhere near the law. But she bluffs. "There's nothing you can say to them that they'll believe over my word. I used to be their boss. I'm squeaky-fucking-clean as they come. They love the shit out of me. And you... you're nobody. A murderer I'm going to nail to the wall."

Bright blue eyes shine with challenge. "Shall we test that theory?"

Vogel tries to placate the situation.

"Daniel, don't stir," she admonishes her son. "You are not helping."

"Sorry, Mother." But he is still smirking. He addresses me. "I think my mother is right. We are not that different. Our families don't need to be enemies. We can be allies. We're not the Montagues and Capulets; we don't need to fight our problems out, waiting for Romeo and Juliet to, you know..." He flicks his eyebrows upwards, suggestively, at Debra. "Not that it would be the worst solution."

Deb's mouth drops open, horrified. "Ugh, fuck. No. As if that would ever happen!" She lowers her gun momentarily, disbelieving. I adjust my footing to a more ready stance, in case we're attacked in this disarmed instant. I feel like spitting on Saxon. "I should shoot you right now, you slimy little fuck. In the... you know. Know what, I think I will."

She raises the gun to eye level and closes one eye to perfect her aim. Both Vogel and Saxon straighten slightly, apparently surprised by her actual resolve. Frightened for her son and his virility, Vogel steps forward with her hands raised. She did not expect this. She had planned to corner me, on my own, and talk me back into her hands. She did not count on my being backed up. She did not count on Deb.

"Please, Debra," she begs, clasping her hands together pleadingly. "Please listen. We don't want this. We don't want this bad blood between us."

"Bad blood?" Deb repeats. Her eyes slide over to me, and down to my hand. I wait until she is looking back up at our enemy before following her gaze. My knife is already bloodied. The wound on my hand has reopened and blood is running over my fingers, down the handle and along the blade. I hadn't even noticed. The doctor nods urgently.

"I didn't come here to make things worse," she insists. "I came to fix things. Daniel is not going to be a threat to either of you. He's going to stay with me, and we're going to work together to curb his urges, like Harry and I did for you, Dexter. Aren't we?" She turns to her son for confirmation. He nods, but I am not convinced. It is enough for Vogel, though. She looks back to Deb and I. "He wants to change. He wants to feel less empty."

"Good luck with that," I comment.

"You escaped me today," Saxon admits. "I was angry. But also jealous. You got mad with someone and were able to walk away without killing. I want to learn how to do that. You're a success story, Dexter. Your Code is stronger than the Need. I want that. My mother has promised to help me. But I could learn so much from you, too. I would never be a threat to you or your family again. I would be... content. We could both live our lives out the way we want."

Deb's expression conveys her opinion of this proposal, how twisted she considers it. I agree but do not let it show. I gather the implicit threat in that final sentence. If I teach and train Saxon to be like me, he'll leave alone my people. And when I have taught him everything I know, what will be there to stop him hurting us?

This is why they are here. They are protecting themselves, cornering me with veiled threats against my family, and they want my skill and expertise. If I'll share. If I won't, then, out come the big guns.

In this moment I kind of wish Deb would just shoot them both. She is a good shot. They would either die instantly or bleed out in seconds. We could bolt inside, grab Hannah and Harrison, jump into her car and drive for an airport. Fly to Cuba. Disappear.

She'd hate me forever.

Deb would be exactly what she and I both don't want her to become: a serial killer, like me. And guilt-ridden. And empty. And in pain. And pissed with me, for ending her life in Miami so surely and for forcing her into an unhappy existence in another country where she has to put up with Hannah long-term.

"We need time," I say finally. Deb throws me a dark look. "I want to fix this, too, but it's too raw right now and I need time to come to terms with everything that's been said today. I know you understand."

Evelyn smiles shakily. Deb's gun is so steady. My knife is still raised protectively. Blood drips quietly to the wispy grass.

"I do understand," she agrees. "Take as long as you need. Both of you."

"I don't need any time," Deb says staunchly. "I've made up my mind." She pauses. We all wait, though I'm pretty sure already of what it will be. "Fuck you, that's what."

"Debra-"

Deb breaks form. She closes the gap between herself and the psychiatrist. Saxon and I tense, ready to defend our queens, but do not otherwise move. We eye each other. At the first sign of threat to my sister, I will launch myself at him and shred him. Likewise, if Deb shoots, or if I step in to assist her, Saxon will throw himself into the fray. He is closer. I see now that he is not unarmed. Something silvery slides into his hand from its hiding place in his sleeve. A bolt? It looks solid enough to do damage to my sister or to me if we're struck with it.

Deb presses her gun to Vogel's jaw, the same place I cut her earlier. The doctor tries to back away but when Deb drives the gun higher, she freezes, recognising the implication. We all wait for someone to make a move.

"My brother might forgive you one day, but I don't have to," Deb tells Evelyn. "After today, I never want to see you again. I don't want you at my house. I don't want you to call me. I don't want you dropping into the station as if you have some reason to be there. I want you out of my life. You hear? You killed my father. Maybe he was a shit one, but he was my one, and the only one I had."

She twists the gun in her hand, contemplating. In her eyes I see the shadows. Her darkness isn't like mine, but it's just as real. She's considering this. I want to run to her, rip the gun from her hands, force her to look me in the eyes and yell at her not to listen to that dark little voice. I don't want to see her give in. I don't want to watch her fall any deeper. I want her to stay the same – the strong one, the good one. But Saxon is watching me closely, ready to pounce on my sister at the first twitch of my muscles. It is a bolt, I see now. He can break her arm easily enough with a strong strike with that. Or knock her unconscious with a whack to the head. Or choke her out by hooking it under her chin and yanking back. Or all of those, if he's quick. I've never seen him in action. I cannot move.

"Deb," I call, very softly, trying not to startle anyone. "Deb, come on."

"Just tell me," Deb murmurs to the doctor, "one thing. Did it hurt you to kill my dad?"

Vogel swallows. I'm fearful. I don't know what answer Deb wants or expects.

"I-I wished it was avoidable," the older woman stammers out. The manipulative queen is weakened by this surprise uprising of her former subjects. "I didn't enjoy it. I kept hoping he would change his mind. But he was stubborn, like you. I didn't know what else to do. I was trying to protect my own – I was trying to protect Dexter."

For a moment I feel like I'm on the other side of a glass wall. An outsider looking in. Over Vogel's shoulder, Deb and Saxon share a loaded look. Both are confronted by the notion of me being his mother's own. They don't like it at all. Their possessive natures reject the thought of their person belonging to someone else, too. I am amazed. Other people feel this, too. Not just me. I'm not so strange after all. Well – perhaps comparing my emotional responses to those of other serial killers and my incredibly damaged sister is not the most valid form of measurement – but I am sure it is a start.

"Dexter isn't your own," Deb says eventually. "And he doesn't need you to protect him. He has me." She slowly backs away, back to me. I feel relief with every step. Stronger, more in control, better, the closer she gets. "You didn't answer my question, but I suppose that's answer enough. I'm done. You can go." She reaches my side, so close I could put an arm around her if I wanted. I stay ready to defend myself and her if I need to.

"So kind of you to let us live," Saxon says snidely, reaching for his mother's arm and pulling her back as well. He pushes her into the passenger seat and goes around the car. Evelyn winds down her window.

"We will be in touch, won't we, Dexter?" she asks, hopefully. Saxon glares at us as he climbs into the driver's seat. "You will call?"

"I'll call you when I'm ready to talk," I agree, though firmly. I lower my knife, finally, and Deb lowers her gun as the car screeches away. We stand there for a full ten seconds, letting the heat of the moment cool. The adrenaline settles. The reality sets in. She flicks the safety back on. She hands me the gun.

"Fuck," she comments, eyes haunted, "I need that motherfucking burger."

The sun disappears and I'm standing in her front yard with a bloodied kitchen knife and a police-issue pistol.

"Deb," I say, but then don't know how to finish. I love you? I'm proud of you? How could you run off without me, after we agreed you'd go nowhere alone? I'm so amazingly glad you're back? I can hardly believe how well you handled that? I can't work out how to say all of this, so I don't. She knows, surely.

"I wanted to shoot her, Dexter," she exhales, running hands through her hair and closing her eyes. "I think I nearly did. Who the fuck am I?"

I feel useless as she suppresses a sob and presses her hands against the sides of her head. I didn't even do anything this time, yet because of the nightmares I've brought into her life she's cracking again. I drop the knife and gun and cover her hands with mine, bringing my face close to hers so I can see into her eyes when she opens them. They are so full – the colour of mine, yet overflowing with feelings and ethics and beliefs that I will never be able to fully embrace.

"You are you," I tell her. "You are my sister." She inhales shakily, her body struggling with the aftermath of the adrenaline rush, the effects of strong emotional responses and physical exhaustion. While I slept like a baby last night, I don't think she slept at all. "You didn't shoot. You could have and didn't. You did right, Deb. You did alright."

She sucks in another uneven breath. "You don't understand. I didn't care about right or wrong. I didn't even care about getting caught. I only didn't kill her because you told me I wasn't allowed."

I press my fingers between hers.

"That's not so bad," I say. "I only didn't kill Vogel today because you told me I wasn't allowed."

She takes deep, slow breaths until she has them under control. Beneath my hands, hers tremble for maybe a minute but then go still. She is strong. I feel a tickling sensation on my forearm and glance at it. A line of red is running down from my hand towards my elbow. I become aware of wetness between my hand and Deb's, and wonder how annoyed she will be that I am bleeding on her hair. She looks, too. She doesn't throw me off and yell at me that she's only just washed and straightened her hair this afternoon. I know it takes her a long time so I expect this. She looks back at me.

"So I'm no worse than you?" she asks sardonically.

"You never could be." I stroke her hair with my thumb.

"You were right, Dex. I'm not cut out for this. Look at me," she says, with a short, bitter laugh. "I'm a fucking mess. I should leave this shit to you. I should keep clear."

She should, but where would that leave me? "You don't need to worry about anything. I'm going to take care of Vogel and Saxon. They'll be dead by the time you come back from Astor and Cody's. You'll come back to work and you and Quinn and Batista will wrap it up in days. You'll see. You'll have three closed cases on Angel's desk by the end of the month."

"And you'll be... in Cuba?" Her voice is barely a breath. I shake my head.

"No. I'll be here. With you."

She looks into my eyes uncertainly, and I'm sure she's looking for lies. She won't find any. This is the plan. Get Hannah out, wait for things to settle, go visit. It works best for everyone. It means I can stay here with my sister, while she needs me, and slowly reorganise my life to give me more time with Hannah. Because that's what I want. I think. This close to Deb, breathing her in, drinking her strength to bolster my own, losing myself in her eyes, I can't even picture Hannah. I can't think of why I might want to leave town with her. I can only feel content. Deb came back.

When she can't find any dishonesty, Deb chances a small, lopsided smile. I smile back at her, realising this might be the first time she's properly smiled at me since I told her I was thinking of leaving. I love it. It's real.

At the movement of my mouth, Deb's eyes flick involuntarily downward. She tries to pull her gaze back to mine but her attention is drawn back almost immediately to my lips. It stays there for too long. Her breaths deepen. Her smile slips away. When she manages to meet my eyes again, I see fear in hers.

I know what she's afraid of. I'm afraid of her doing it, too. She's only inches away – one split-second bad decision and she could kiss me. I still don't know whether I think her insane feelings are real or imagined but that won't matter if she acts on them. The potential damage to our relationship is real. The awkwardness would be real. The heartbreak would be real. It has never occurred to me that we might both pursue it, but if we did, the fallout for everyone else around us would also be very real.

I am the older sibling. I should be the responsible one. I know that this is the right moment to let go of her hands, apologise for bleeding in her hair and step away. But for some reason I do not. I stay completely still, objectively noting the apprehension that builds between us. I am hyperaware of her closeness and how close we are standing to the edge of our relationship. Deb begins to shake again, paralysed by indecision. I was wrong earlier – she does know what she wants; she just doesn't know if she really wants it. If that makes sense. I am playing with fire. I am exhausted from our constant fighting, too tired to worry too much about getting burned. But that is exactly what might happen. It is in emotional turmoil that Deb makes her biggest relationship choices, and this would be a horrendous one. I hate myself for not making it for her, and think again about moving away. Still, I don't.

The tension builds to snapping point and Deb wrenches away from me, stumbling back a step. She breathes heavily and stares at me with frightened eyes. I wonder what she saw in my eyes that has scared her so badly.

I don't know what to say. Anything said will only, I expect, make this moment worse. And it can't get much more awkward than it already is. We both square our shoulders and seem to make the simultaneous decision to pretend nothing has happened.

"My burger's probably gone cold," she mutters, going to her car and grabbing two bags, one plastic and one paper, from the floor. I collect the weapons off the lawn and wipe down the knife before approaching her, keeping a brotherly distance. She thrusts the paper bag at me and I feel its warmth. Burgers. She reaches back in for her drink, a soft drink in the usual paper cup with the flimsy plastic lid and colourful straw. Deb locks the car and we start inside. What a picture-perfect family we are – adult brother and sister, me covered in bruises, her pale, waltzing into the house with groceries, a bag of McDonalds, a sticky red knife and a gun after almost kissing in the street.

Hannah has locked the door so Deb unlocks it and lets us in. She nudges it open with her hip.

"Auntie Deb!" Harrison exclaims, sitting up in his chair and grinning at her. My sister grins back at him, horrible, hurtful and unsettling episodes of the day and the past five minutes pushed to the back of her mind.

"My man, you're awake," she says. She empties the plastic bag onto the bench beside him. He watches her activity with interest; Hannah's sushi-making is forgotten. My girlfriend is rolling strips of chicken into the rice by now. She catches my eye as I unload Deb's gun. I throw her a quick, reassuring smile and head into my sister's room. I leave the gun and its ammunition in the drawer by the bed and dump the knife into her bathroom sink. I clean up my hand, again, and steal some sterile padding and a bandage from the bathroom drawer. I quickly redress the cut. I return to the kitchen with the McDonalds bag.

"Is everything alright?" Hannah asks nonchalantly. She is very worried, but trying to stay calm for Harrison. Deb is stacking her few groceries into the refrigerator.

"Everything's fine," she answers brusquely. She leans back to show us a plastic tub with a foil lid; some kind of chocolate mousse. "FYI, this is mine. Don't let me catch any of you eating it." She puts it right at the back of the fridge. "I'm allowed to eat it in fourteen days if I work out every single day and eat clean."

"Today not inclusive," I guess, and I get a half-amused look in return. I place the paper bag on the counter. Harrison eyes it. I address Hannah. "It sounds like they want some kind of truce. The Vogels are going to keep clear of us if we promise not to kill them and if I help Evelyn train Saxon to be like me."

"Which is all total bull," Deb elaborates, dragging another chair over to sit beside Harrison. She reaches into the bag and withdraws two fries. She hands one automatically to him. He devours it. "They don't want peace with you, Dex. Saxon enjoys what he does. He doesn't want to be like you. He wants you to let your guard down." She takes a sip of her Coke and offers the drink to her nephew. I make the assumption that she hasn't managed to source that rum yet to mix in, and that she is not giving my son alcohol. He takes it eagerly.

"I really don't think Saxon and Vogel are on the same page," I agree. "I think they want different things, and are using each other to get it from us. Evelyn wants a son she can keep, and he wants a piece of my brain for his jars."

"So what do we do about it?" Hannah asks. I can see that she is thinking about our plans, and how they may need to change.

"We be extremely cautious," I answer. "It's like a standoff. They know too much about us for Deb to arrest them; we know too much about them for Saxon to target one of us and not expect the rest to retaliate."

"It sounds... unfavourable."

"We continue as planned. I'll pretend to forgive them, after a few days, and once Deb and Harrison are in Orlando I'll do exactly what we talked about."

"Orlando?" Harrison pipes up, thankfully only taking in the one part of the conversation actually appropriate for his ears.

"Yep." Deb takes back her drink for a mouthful. "You and I are going on a trip to Orlando for Astor's birthday. It's a mask party. I'm working the next couple of days, but on the weekend I have a few hours to go shopping, and I'm going to get you," she leans close, and he leans in excitedly, "a Spiderman mask." Harrison's eyes light up at the prospect. "And you need to choose Astor a present, of course, so we'll do that, too."

Deb reaches into the paper bag and brings the fries out. She arranges the box on the benchtop between herself and her nephew. They both dig in. Hannah frowns.

"Harrison, don't eat too much," she chides. "You won't have room for your sushi."

Midway to his mouth with a clutch of golden fries, Harrison's hand freezes. He looks between the three present adults guiltily and uncertainly. He is young but he recognises that there is a choice to be made here, a choice between people rather than just between foods.

"McDonalds isn't very good for you, anyway," Hannah adds, continuing with her preparation. Harrison nods reluctantly, having heard this before from Jamie. He looks sadly at the pile of shoestring fries. Deb pops another one into her mouth.

"I eat McDonalds," she says. "I turned out alright. Besides," Deb continues, sliding the fries closer to Harrison, "there's no reason you can't eat some of these and the sushi, and then choose the best one. Plus, I like sharing with you."

Harrison smiles brightly at her. He shoves those fries into his mouth and chews. Hannah glares at Deb. I can see that her night is ruined. She was loving it, cooking with a little boy she might one day think of as her own. She loved having him all to herself, for three quarters of an hour. But though I sympathise, I wonder at her disappointment. A cooking lesson coupled with a chat about kindy, along with a few dinners and playdates six months ago, though pleasant, do not equate to four years of adoration. Obviously Harrison's loyalty would be with Deb.

He looks back at me, salt on his lips. "What are you having for dinner, Daddy?"

Hannah puts her knife down and looks at me expectantly with raised eyebrows. Deb digs through her paper bag and offers me a circular, wrapped package. I am torn, recognising that I am in the same awkward place these women just had Harrison in. The same awkward place I've found myself a dozen times in the past few weeks, and especially the past twenty-seven hours.

I look into two pairs of eyes, one blue and one hazel, like mine.

"Daddy asked Aunt Deb to get him a cheeseburger," I say finally, accepting it from my sister and accepting the furious look I receive from Hannah. I deserve it, I'm sure. But it seems I can only make one person happy at any one time, and I've found that Hannah is much easier to bring around later if I piss her off. And I can't take another fight with Deb, not today.

That night, after dinner and after finally getting Harrison down to sleep – a task made more difficult by Deb's Coke – we stand together in the living room, the three of us, and flesh out our plan in hushed voices. Deb is mostly quiet. Hannah asks a lot of questions about particulars. I do most of the talking. At the end we agree that the most important thing is to stay alive long enough to carry out this plan, and I decide to sleep on the couch, in view of the sliding glass doors and the main door, until Deb and Harrison are in Orlando. Hannah doesn't fight me on this, but I see through her angry eyes that she is annoyed I won't be sleeping in the same bed as her. I wonder briefly whether she wants me with her at night because she wants to be close with me or because it will upset my sister. Then I feel guilty for thinking this. Hannah is my girlfriend. I love her. I shouldn't go looking for problems with her. And she doesn't know about Deb's mistaken feelings. I promise myself she never will. It wouldn't be fair to anyone.

Deb finally agrees that my plan can work and that she'll be a part of it and we part. Hannah deliberately hangs back to kiss me and say goodnight, and even seems to be preparing to settle onto the couch with me, but I am insistent that she cannot sleep here with me. If the house is compromised, I do not want her in harm's way. She reluctantly heads off to bed. I check all the doors and windows again and lay on the couch to sleep.

I must fall straight to sleep. I slept deeply the night before, with Deb, but the day's events have worn me out. I dream.

I see my father, in good lights and bad, and I see my wife in a bathtub of blood. I see Oliver Saxon and Arthur Mitchell looking down at her with looks of triumph, blood dripping from their hands. Then Rita is gone, and the bathtub is still there. Naked, Hannah steps into it and begins to bathe in the red water. When she leans back, the tips of her blonde hair are stained with Rita's blood. Harry walks in, and Hannah offers him a glass of wine. He sits on the tub's edge and drinks. He immediately chokes and falls backwards into the water with a splash. The tub takes him whole and he disappears below the water. Hannah stands and looks down, red running down her gorgeous body. I run closer and look into the water. Harry is not there, but someone is there, lying on the bottom of the bath. Long dark hair obscures Deb's face and I fear the worst. I reach in for her but she is deep, much deeper than I expected. I climb in and sink immediately. The bath of blood is not a bath at all, but an ocean of it. I dive and swim as fast as I can.

My progress is painfully slow. When I reach her I find her wrapped in plastic with a red slit along her cheek. Eyes closed. I tear at the plastic and it comes away. Her hand, floating uselessly in the water, brushes against mine. Encased in her fingers I find a glass blood slide. I take it from her and examine it. There is no single drop of blood. The blood has been traced into letters across the surface of the glass.

'Too late'.

I force myself out of the nightmare and open my eyes to stare at Debra's living room ceiling. Many hours have passed. My breaths are quick and short, like I've been jogging, and work to get it under control. Control is what I do.

I am unsettled by the dream but remind myself that I have had a ridiculous day of upsets, and my brain is trying to work through everything. The dream makes sense, in this context. I take a slow, deep breath and close my eyes.

It is now that I notice a nearby sound, another rhythmic, soft pattern. I turn my head and, in the dark, make out a long shape on the floor. As I focus my eyes, I note the steady rise and fall of the central section of the form. Alive.

I am not the only one having nightmares. I smile at the ceiling. I am not alone. Harry did a lot wrong but he did this one thing for me that I will both be ever grateful for and ever regretful of.

I don't know what will become of us all. I don't know if my plan can work or if I can save myself or my family from the Vogels. I don't even know if we'll wake up tomorrow of if Saxon will get us in our sleep. I just know, as I drift back to sleep, that I have her, and that is enough.