I walk down the twisting halls that I had began to think I would never see again. It's been a little over a full year now, I thought I was done with visitors. But my execution date is fast approaching. I guess it has prompted some more people to see me.

I can't fight back the small twinge of hope that maybe, just maybe, it's Deb, finally here to say her goodbyes.

It's not.

LaGuerta is sitting at the table with all of the air of dignity and pride that seems to constantly follow her in the station.

"Hey", I say, sitting down in my chair, as though it was any ordinary day in the station. Like I'm not just a few months from death. She looks down, gathering herself.

"Dexter", she says, looking back up. Her face is covered with passion, and I have to wonder which side she is on. Probably the State's side.

Her eyes skim over me, my hardened face, empty eyes, shaved head, orange jumpsuit, and chains. It's like when I first got here, when my friends would always appraise me.

"You've...put on some muscle", she says, looking at my arms. I look down, examining myself. I hadn't really noticed it, but she is right. Between working out and all the hard labor, I have put on some extra muscle. I look back up at her and shrug. It's part of the whole prison thing.

She seems to take another moment to figure out what to say and how. I'm not surprised. LaGuerta is organized like that; a politician. She only says exactly what she should, exactly when she should. She probably outlined what she is planning to say. I give her all the time she needs to gather her thoughts.

"You are a horrible person", she starts off. Wow, right off the bat, and already calling me a monster. "What you have done to not only your victims, but those around you is unforgivable", I feel no guilt for my victims, but the image of Deb, standing behind Lundy, with that confused look on her face, runs into my mind. I feel a pang of remorse for her pain, but I did the best thing I could do.

"I've already gotten that talk, just so you know", I tell her, my voice bored. The remorse for harming Deb was fleeting, and I'm back to feeling out of place.

She looks at me, frowning. I disrupted her prepared speech.

"You feel no remorse for any of the lives you took", she says, leaning towards me, her eyes burning. "You did it because it feels, 'fucking fantastic'", she says, making air quotes around 'fucking fanatic', quoting the explanation I gave to that reporter.

"You read the article Hill did on me?", I ask, my interest shifting. "Could you send it me? I never did get to read it", I ask. I always did wonder how she wrote me. I was even a little bit afraid she wouldn't, since our interview was cut short.

LaGuerta is not pleased. She scowls again, upset by just how little I seem to care about any of this. I consider trying to act sorry for my kills, but decide against it. No more lying for Dexter Morgan.

"You are a sick person, and you are getting exactly what you deserve", she ignores my request. I frown. I do want to read it before I die. Maybe I could guilt one of the guards into getting me a copy. They tend to be more sympathetic right before an execution.

"That aside, you did do the right thing turning yourself in", she says, standing. I blink, my interests shifting once again. I look up at her, confused and little bit happy she acknowledges my sacrifice.

I grunt unintelligently, thrown off by the sudden change of winds. She walks around the table and wraps her arms around me. I sit there, trying to figure this out. Some remaining part of me that still tries to act normal wants me to return the hug. My hands are not allowed to move much more than a few inches apart though, and the impulse quickly leaves.

She takes a shaky breath, and I can tell she is crying.

"Thank you for clearing his name", she whispers, her voice shaken and full of gratitude.

Doakes.

She is glad that I turned myself in. She knows that I might have gotten away with framing Doakes. Did he tell her himself? They are close. She knows exactly what I did. It's nice to know that at least a few people understand. Not everyone thinks I'm a complete monster.

I wonder if the first part was just a formality. She is a politician, sympathizing with someone like me could ruin her career.

She pulls away, and smiles at me.

"It was best for everyone", I say, nodding. Doakes is free, LaGuerta still has her friend, and Deb and Rita doesn't have to spend months agonizing over if I truly am a monster.

It truly is better for everyone. I think. It's hard to say that it has proven to be better for Deb and Rita, but they had to find out sooner or later, right? Rita seems to at least be on the path to recovery, but I doubt Deb is. She should see me. She needs to before she can move on. I even asked a prison psychologist. Maybe there was just no way for Deb to make it out of this.

LaGuerta pats me on my back and gives me one last sad smile. I smile sadly back too, but for completely different reasons. I don't feel bad about my death, I feel bad for what I did to my sister.

LaGuerta turns and moves across the room, having said everything she needed to say. I stand, getting ready to leave myself.

"Dexter?", her voice calls out, lighter and less burdened.

"Yeah?", I ask, turning around and looking at her.

"I'll send you that article", she says, smiling. I smile back her.

"Thanks", I manage to get out before the guard pushes me out of the room.