Jumbled Pieces
Monday
The conversation was not the sort of one that you had in day light, in relative public. It was one left usually for cold, dark, rainy nights; when all civilisation apart from those in question would be under lock and key. Maybe a dark alley way in a secluded part of town; in the middle of an abandoned highway; or maybe, on a boat at night in the middle of the ocean. But for reasons undignified, this was not the case.
Winslop's eyes hazed over his Captain's gold name plaque, positioned perfectly for his eye level. He respected the man, there was no question about that. He had worked with him many years and was like a father figure to him, took him under his wing, showed him the ropes, when his own father had died.
But today, today he was in for a bollocking, and he knew it.
There was only so long he could hide though; that he would allow him to hide.
Winslop rapped loudly and confidently on the office door before opening it.
"You wanted to see me, Clyde?" he asks, giving nothing away.
Sat behind a mound of paperwork, the older man acknowledges the younger one over the top of his half-moon rimmed reading glasses. Verging in his sixties, he is a large, stocky man; his missus obviously piles his plate up at least three times for breakfast and for dinner. If she is smart, she is trying to induce a heart attack. He had managed to fit in a 2XL white work shirt, but he probably should have gone a size up, if not for appearance sake, for the very least, so that his skin could breathe. But then with the room's AC cranked to the max, it was near freezing in this room.
A chill runs down Winslop's back.
"Sir", the older man corrects with a pointed look before resuming his paperwork; leaving Winslop to stand dumbly in the middle of the room.
After a few hesitant treads on the spot, Winslop moves to take a seat.
"- Don't sit", the booming voice reprimands; removing his glasses, and lodging them in a breast pocket. "That seat is for guests, not for persons currently in my major fuck up books".
His large, hairy hand gestures glumly to the paper work, "this is the aftermath of your fuck up", he says gruffly, retrieving his glasses so that he can twiddle the ends between his teeth, "I should be making you do it".
"Clyde-", Winslop starts, his hands up in an apology, but stopping short as the older man's eyes narrow on him. "- Captain Channing", he starts again, "I know I made a mistake with th-"
"Mistake!" Channing laughs out a cough in his disbelief.
Winslop purses his lips, his cheeks heating.
"Mistake", Channing continues, "a mistake might be sending the wrong good to one of out C list clients; a brunette instead of a blonde; white instead of black; tall instead of petite. They would have really strung us up all by our balls untill dry from your, 'mistake'. Thirty five years of work gone to the shit house".
"I, I, why – wa-", Winslop bumbles, trying to find the right words. "Well what the fuck do you want me say. I –"
"What the fuck do I want you to say?" Channing repeats incredulously, once more, sending sharp shivers down Winslop's spine. "I want you to fucking apologise, you fucking fuck. I've been sat waiting for two weeks for an apology".
"Alright – well I, I am sorry I fucked up", Winslop admits, shuffling nervously, his hand roughly touselling his curls near the back of his neck. "How the fuck was I supposed to know who she was? I thought she was just another potential girl...but, it's it's sorted now, I took care of it. The spooks have their guy".
"I really hope it is, Rory", he condecendes.
"It is", he assures, "they wanted someone to hang, and they have him. He's a homeless drunk, no one is going to miss him".
Channing nods, as convinced as he is going to be on the matter.
Winslop takes that as a queue to bolt.
"Winslop", the voice calls after him. "I know you can't help who you like, but you need to learn to control your God damn urges. Patterns lead to suspicion. Now I love you like a son, but I am not above throwing your name to the dogs for the sake of my business".
Winslop nods understanding. "I am. Believe me, I am. I'm finding away round them".
THE HYPE around, 'Operation Duckling', left no sooner than it had arrived. Miami's interest had been lost as soon as their lost duckling became a white swan. Or unidentified officials, *cough, cough*, the FBI, had taken it over, and put a red tape around media coverage. Nothing had been revealed to the public as yet, of the victim's true identity. All the paperwork, everything logged concerning, 'Operation Duckling', and its links to the three trafficked girls, dropped, destroyed. Officially and unofficially. At least so is thought.
...
A little over two weeks later, Miami is relatively back to normal. Four or five homicide cases have been added to the whiteboard chart, but then, that was what made everything normal.
Duties at work and at home kept Deb out of the field, and relatively out of the loop; save, the odd morning pep talk she manages to attend, or when Angel would would update her on the stance of a case, so that she could update Matthews, so that he could update the board, and so on. Bureaucracy. Heaven forbid if the hierarchy was compromised.
Sat in her lonely, expanse office, Deb sighs loudly over the lack of her speech written in front of her, despite working on it for almost an hour now, and with the conference she glances up at the wall clock – forty minutes.
Fuck.
Her eyes mournfully flick back over her speech – it is just was not witty enough, it is just not, 'Deb', enough.
Perhaps her sigh was over a loss more than her speech.
She decided to take a wander for inspiration.
Down the corridors, the lift, until she finds herself outside Dexter's office. She is not exactly sure why because she knows that he is not here – but maybe Masuka would provide her with some entertainment.
Entering the office, panic rises in her over the three huddled forms of Quinn, Masuka, and Angel sat around Dexter's computer.
Before loosening.
Masuka staring so intently at a computer screen – they are probably looking at porn.
She clears her throat purposefully, making Quinn and Angel jump, whipping around quickly, Masuka waits to close whatever it was they were looking at.
"What the fuck is going on in here?" she smirks lightheartedly.
But from the panic and guilt etched on the men's faces, they do not share her humour.
Deb's earlier felt panic starts to rise again.
Suddenly the sight of them surrounding Dexter's property, like scavenging hyenas, makes her see red.
She feels her eyes visibly darken, transgressing through her entire body.
Like a lioness, she must protect her pack.
Why the fuck does she not have her gun on her?
She backs up against the door, knowing full well that they could bolt through Masuka's side of the office; but she is not creating a barricade, she is edging for the fire extinguisher. It is light and at the same time solid, so that with a harsh swing, she figures it could knock someone out, or even three fully sized men. The fire alarm is placed above it, and would add beautiful anonymity to her actions, and then perhaps, there will be an actual fire.
"What the fuck is going on here guys?" she repeats, this time darkly.
Deadly, alien thoughts suddenly pollute her mind.
She has killed before. She can again, easily, if necessary.
Her eyes dart towards Quinn when his laugh breaks their rouse.
Her eyebrow cocks up at him for an explanation.
"Just working on a case"
"What case?" she hisses.
All three are silent, guilty stares gazing anywhere but on her.
"The Norma Rivera case"
"OK" Deb crosses her arms, still unconvinced, "what did you find?"
"Nothing", Quinn laughs, scratching the back of his head.
After being together a year, it is tell-tale sign to Deb that he is lying.
"Why are you using Dexter's computer?"
"Masuka's is being repaired, and Dexter is not using it, so...", he trails off, shrugging his shoulders and lips. Explanation over.
"How did you log on?" One arm drops, her fingertips brushing lightly against the metallic red of the fire extinguisher.
"Masuka", he points his thumb to the man sitting next to him. "Dexter gave it to him a while ago for a case, and its the same one..."
Deb does not even entertain that as the truth. Dexter is too meticulous for that.
She flicks her gaze to Masuka, who is looking at her so un-Masukaish.
Her eyes narrow on him, and he smiles weakly at her.
"Not my fault Dex forgot to put the plastic back on his dick" – huh huh huh.
Pure Masuka.
Deb's eyes further narrow on him as he proudly looks to the men either side of him to gain appreciation over his joke.
Quinn stifles a chuckle and Angel looks to the heavens, muttering something under his breath.
At the same time, she inner walls clench deliciously; fighting away images of Dexter's rampant penis.
A worrying thought suddenly crosses her mind, and just like that, she has to leave.
"OK", she says slowly, her twitching hand relaxing.
She has to go.
"Just remember chain of command. Anything, and you come to me first", she warns before exiting the room.
Fuck. She sounded just like LaGuerta.
Deb did not know what shat her up the most.
She delivered her speech and then spent most of the conference, drawing as little as attention to herself.
Stewing.
They were definitely hiding something.
Something about Dexter.
Something that could... hurt him.
And then in turn destroy her.
She has to stop them.
But how?
She knew know that her earlier solution was if anything, fatuous and puerile.
Although... she had ... delighted in the ... thrill, of the idea.
But what if there had been cameras and she had gotten caught?
Where would Harrison be then.
And now there was not only he to worry about.
It was shameful.
Throughout the meeting she had tried to become discount over the wave of, of... what she could only describe as lust, adrenaline, and maybe deeply longed for connection; when she had contemplated smashing there heads with the cylinder metallic red tube.
Would have it even have had an affect...?
Or would they have just shook it off and met their blinking bewildered eyes.
It was harrowing how much her curiosity wanted to know for sure.
...
The conference cleared around her, but Deb stayed.
"A penny for your thoughts"
A cent is flicked in her direction; landing loudly on the birch wood surface.
Deb's heart stops over the voice so close to her, breaking her negligent reverie.
Breathlessly, she turns a glowering stare on the assaulter.
Winslop.
He is smiling coyly at her.
Even sexy...
Frowning, she then realises how hot her face feels, boiling even, and fans her clammy hands around her fiery cheeks and neck – imperfection free again. Trailing her hand down the skin of her front, slipping it through her charcoal silk blouse, with a low V, to rest it on her speedy heart rate. Her nails dig into her skin as she wills herself to get a grip. It is not like she was thinking her thoughts out loud.
Indeed, that is the great thing about thoughts, only you know what you are truly thinking.
"Or do you need to spend a penny?" Winslop jokes, flicking another cent in her direction; still frowning, she dodges it, and it falls to the floor, echoing loudly.
"Jesus. What the fuck?" she admonishes harshly, starting to hurriedly collect her things.
Winslop chuckles, "you looked kind of out of it, in fact, the whole meeting you looked like you were just not here... in heavy contemplation of something... it troubled you..."
Deb flushes, feeling his eyes analysing her closely, her movements instinctually slowing own.
"...it showed on your face", he continues in a snake like whisper, "you had lines... you still have. So, I can only surmise that it was something you perhaps should not be contemplating...".
Her frown hardens.
Fuck.
She could not allow herself to be that easy to read.
"What do you want, Winslop"
Winslop raises his hands in the air, retreating away from her.
"Just making sure you did not end up spending the rest of the day here, stewing in your thoughts".
Stewing.
How did he know she was stewing.
She scowls at him again, which annoyingly only seems to make his amusement over her increase.
"Whatever it is", he smiles reassuringly, it could even be mistaken for, kindly, "it's not important. There are more important things, that require no worrying".
She glances at her wristwatch, he is half right.
"How was school?" Deb asks turning as much as her seat belt will allow her.
"Fine", the less than unenthused pre-teen slumps into the 4x4.
"Cody!" Harrison squeals excitedly.
Cody sighs deeply, "yes Harrison, it's me", he grumbles belting up and placing himself as far in the corner of the back passenger seat as possible, away from his half brother and 'aunt'.
"He's just excited to see you", Deb chirps; but it does not lift the twelve year old's mood, or his vacant stare out of the window.
"Still. After two weeks", he mumbles finally.
"Yeah, well...", Deb starts the engine, straightening back in her seat; there is a steady flow of school traffic.
"... I'm sure it will ware off...", her eyes find Harrison through the rear view mirror, staring patiently after Cody, his podgy legs kicking silently against his car seat. He hums a quiet tune through the fingers stuck in his mouth. But Cody stares on out the window in front of him to, she turns in her seat to follow the twelve year old's eye sight...
A tree...?
"...Eventually".
Eventually.
Eventually, everything will just stop and fit into place.
It has to.
Deb sighs drumming her fingers against the string wheel; the traffic is not letting up.
"Did you make any friends?" she asks after a while.
"Sure".
"Good", she smiles relief washing over her pinched face.
"Sooooo many. They all asked me round to dinner too. I'm going to have to make a schedule", he utters sarcastically.
This pre-teen needs his bedroom ...Or the bedroom that he shares with his estranged half brother (whose father was responsible for the death of their mother) in his 'aunt's' (who is fact his step father's adopted sister, who actually introduced her adopted brother to his mother after she acquainted with her after a vice case) house - Oh, and lets not forget the fact that his 'aunt' once wanted her brother to make her his lover.
Spotting a slight gap in the traffic, Deb goes to pull out, but is forced back in by Land Rover.
Fucking soccer moms.
... Did she just call fuck on herself...?
"Can we order pizza?" Cody asks in what would be called the hallway of Deb's shrinking bungalow. The spot where the kitchen/ dining room, living room and hallway to the bedrooms all meet.
Deb looks up from the game she is entertaining Harrison with.
Darkness has not yet swept over Miami and he is already dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt for bed. His mother's spindly limbs, are now starting to take structure and form into sturdy strong muscular ones. Just like his father, she guesses..
"Cody!"
They both look out of place, sprawled out on the living room floor dressed in their beach ware, with no sand, Harrison's flourescent orange swimming arm bands. But then Cody had not wanted to go to the beach, and Deb had not wanted to leave Cody by himself. So, they were playing pretend.
"Again?" she jokes through her annoyance.
Cody shrugs, "yes", in all seriousness.
She lets out a sort of chuckle, "we agreed. One more day of take out and then proper food".
Cody shrugs again.
"It's not Playdo", he indicates to the plastic blob Harrison is about to chew on.
Deb's eyes follows, and swipes it out of the toddlers hand.
"Healthy".
"I'll order extra sweetcorn".
"Home made".
Cody sighs, "whatever, I just won't eat".
Tuesday
"Finally ditched the dream team then?" a voice asks, just as Deb takes a large bite into her large, chicken burrito – chipotle salsa - she has not worked her way up yet to habanero.
Deb rolls her eyes.
Annoyingly, she has come to know that voice by sound.
Winslop.
She will not give him that satisfaction though. Fixing a frown on her forehead, she turns, as if bewildered by the speaker's voice.
The way he is smiling at her knowingly though, as if he can see through her ploy, fucks her right off.
By their own will, her lips fight to twitch in their frustration, against the large portion of cow, currently rolling around in her mouth. She raises her eyebrows up over her aviators at him in recognition, and then turns to walk away.
"Wait", his fingers skirt her wrist, making her skin go all goose pimply.
Shocked by his too interment action, Deb jumps around, almost dropping her food.
Specks of salsa make it onto her shirt, but then its black – but satin - oil - going to be a bitch to get out. Some has made its way on to Winslop's white work shirt, but she does not feel guilty, if anything, it is his fault.
She is surprised however, that when she meets his eyes, they wear the same shock as hers.
They then turn to intrigue, and then ... – something else she cannot quite put her finger on it...
A glint maybe...?
Looking so intently into his eyes, she realises she has never noticed the colour of them before.
How blue they are...
Like the ocean...
Reflecting a brilliant blue sky...
Light blue, not dark...
The hue you find on a white sand beach...
"They are beautiful", she hums.
Her mouth instantly gapes.
Horrified.
But luckily Winslop had not noticed her indiscretion. He is too busy smiling at something in his own little world.
She hurries off.
Wednesday
Deb sits alone on a park bench on the Miami River near NW ninth street. Picking at her burrito; she has treated herself to steak, and went for medium salsa so she could enjoy it more.
But it makes no difference to her appetite.
She misses Dexter.
She misses her 'friends'.
Adult company.
She is doing a definite botch job with Cody.
Harrison...
Her mind wanders to the imaginary friend he has now somehow acquired.
... questionable.
She sighs deeply.
Are her friends still her friends...?
...Dexter.
"Another penny for your thoughts", a cent is flicked in her direction.
Jesus fuck, thrice in a row.
"...unless you want to spend a penny", Winslop chuckles, flicking another one.
Deb turns her frown towards him, but cannot help the smile over his lightheartedness.
She quickly averts her gaze away.
He is actually rather handsome.
"What?" she asks her burrito, a chuckle getting caught in the back of her throat.
"Sorry. I studied in England for a year when I was younger".
Deb frowns at a memory, "I remember", she slips out.
She turns her head towards him and catches his full watt smile... She decides to refocus her attention on her half eaten food.
"What? Are you following me now?" not raising her gaze.
"Following ... who?" Winslop asks, "...me?" he feigns shock, and Deb cannot help but look up, laughing over his over dramatical expression.
"I, I, was following up on a case", he looks away from her, as if embarrassed.
It is quite adorable actually.
Deb cocks an eyebrow up.
"Really", Winslop assures, "Captain Channing's orders", he jokes, making a salute. "And as you know, he is not a force to be reckoned with".
He notices Deb's face darken.
"What?" he falls too.
She does not just miss, she needs Dexter.
Were their friends still their friends...?
Angel had Maria.
Masuka had ...? Maria...?
Quinn had...? Maria...? Jealousy...? He had always suspected Dexter's involvement with Rita's death. An act of jealousy.
If they were not her friends, how would she deal with it ...?
What about Harrison.
Cody.
...!
"What?" Winslop persists.
From her peripheral, she sees his hand come to encase her shoulder, she moves quickly.
"Nothing important", getting up, she walks away to her car.
Thursday
07:42
"Cody...", Deb raps on the closed door of her spare bedroom – Harrison's bedroom - 'Cody's and Harrison's bedroom'. Or at least it is supposed to be. The double sofa bed was squeezed back in to accommodate Cody, but for over two weeks now, Deb has been sharing her bed and chest of drawers with a two foot nothingner.
"Cody".
Silence.
Quietly humming by her feet, Harrison swings his small tri-coloured rucksack by his side; while the other one, hangs languidly round Deb's calf; Clarence digging into her skin. Even with Thomas back, Clarence is still the favourite.
"Cody...", Deb repeats through her weariness; her mind is fuzzing a hundred miles an hour. Over what, she does not know, but she is certain of one thing, all she wants to do is to scream.
Scream and run away.
"...Cody come on or you'll be late for school".
"Only you care", sounds through the door.
Deb goes to open her mouth, and then bites it shut.
"Fine", she says, trying another tactic.
"I'll just call in work, and take the day off. That way we can all stay at-"
Her words are stopped by Cody slumping out through the bedroom door, slamming it closed behind him, as he stalks with his backpack slung over one shoulder to the car.
Ahhh - Family love.
09:44
Deb has managed to keep away from these morning meetings since uncovering Quinn's, Masuka's and Angel's indiscretion; but there is no opting out of this mornings. Matthew's wants an update, and of course, it has to come from Deb.
All throughout the meeting, Deb's gaze remains fixed in front; half heartedly listening to the case details:
Norma Riveira - the case that the guys were using Dexter's machine to do 'research' on.
Hispanic.
Maid.
Found dead in her apartment.
Her boss, Ed Hamilton, suspect.
Matthew's would not want to bored with anything more than that.
Instead her concentration whirls overdrive, trying A) not to sweat while she B) decides what she is going to do about the lieutenant, the detective and the forensic... -er?
And she can feel their eyes on her.
All three pairs.
Boring into her.
Waiting for her to make her decision.
To act.
To revolt.
To put them in their place.
But she does not know how...
If it were just she and Dexter...
...
Angel tries to pursue her once the meeting is over.
"Deb", he calls over the crowd.
She weaves through the homicide staff; so many new faces, people she has yet to know.
... Or maybe they have been here all the time, and she just never bothered.
She bumps into one of them, harshly, and mumbles an apology.
Maybe she could ask Matthew's...? He did after all tell her to come to him if she was ever in trouble. Although this 'trouble' was probably far from what he had in mind.
...
Deb lets out a sigh of relief when she is in the lift. Then tenses slightly over the memory of her and Dexter's infamous lift encounter. Her reflexes have not entirely recovered.
She loosens, eventually, and lets out a sigh. Before going cold, when she realises, there is a pair of eyes on her.
Sea blue.
The same pair she had silently complemented before.
"Hey, knock knock", Winslop smirks, leaning off the lift wall.
"Oh! Jesus fuck"
She watches his large, close clipped thumb punch her floor.
"Not funny, huh?" he asks.
Deb closes herself off from him, turning to face the lift. Lips pursed shut, elbows hunched over her tightly knotted arms. Her black pant work attire seemed a little heated against her skin this morning in the lift, but now all she feels is ice cold and invisible. Strangely, her nipple buds and the hollows of her stomach seem like the only body parts filling the silk and cotton cloths.
The lift carries them up, it feels, under a mile an hour.
When it finally pings, its doors opening, Deb bolts, but Winslop beats her to it.
"Let me just get to the butt of it", he whispers - too close, "when are you going to let me in?"
14:34
"Deb, Deb, Deb", Angel rolls off her name, pacing after her.
Fuck, he must have been waiting for her.
"Deb!"
She does not stop until his hand rests largely on her silk shoulder and he turns to stand in front of her.
Deb shrugs his hand away; glaring at him as best as she can through her aviators, her lips pinched.
He waits to get his breath.
"Look, I'm, I'm, a-", he breathes heavily, resting a hand on his heart.
Deb's left eyebrow shoots up, maybe if she keeps running away from him, she will cause him to induce a heart attack.
"I'm sorry about all that secretive-", he pauses, caught up with his breath "all the secretiveness the other day... but, well", he scratches his moustache while he finds the right words, "the less you know, the better it is for you... at least until we know for sure. Sorry I know its cryptic...", he trails off, resting his hand to rub the back of his neck. "... So, how is everything with you... You know... with Cody...?"
"Everything's fine", she moves to walk away, "oh fuck - I forgot, Matthew's says Hamilton is a no go"
Angel frowns, "but he is our leading suspect"
Deb shrugs, "take it up with him, just a messenger".
21:04
Deb pokes her head around the corner of the wall in the 'corridor', to the loud peacefulness in the living room.
Cody's lounged on the sofa watching whatever children's show is blaring from the television set, with Harrison, sprawling on top of him in a star shape.
Dressed for 'bed', Cody in his boxers; Harison, who toddled in on her treadmill work out an hour or so, demanding to put on his Pull Ups, is dawning nothing but. It seems the pepperoni pizza that Deb gave in and ordered, has as much ended up down Harrison's front, than it has in his stomach. They have been watching TV for almost two hours now, but -
Cody and Harrison explode into a fit of giggles over something they have both seen.
Cody laughing.
Deb's face breaks out in a smile. It is a much welcomed noise. And maybe she is not portraying the best parenting in the world, but if pizza and television is what it takes – then fuck it. It has been Deb's most easy evening in over two weeks.
Her heart flutters over Cody tightening his grip around his brother, holding the loving embrace long after their laughter has died down.
...
She is still smiling when she renters her bedroom. Her face falls however, as she is confronted with her laptop screen, and what has been keeping her in her bedroom for the past two, almost three hours.
Digging up dirt on Quinn, Angel and Masuka. It is all she can really do, she does not trust anyone enough to look after Harrison while she... while she does what...?
She flops dismally on to her bed and stares at the screen.
The Dirt is going ... well it would be going better if she did not take a twenty minute treadmill break every ten minutes to run off pent up worry.
She wishes her mind would run clear.
That it would not worry over the consequences for Harrison.
That she had someone to run her worries through.
That Dexter was right here by her side...
But he will be home soon, and then her thoughts will run crystal.
She worries her bottom lip.
He told her not to worry, that he would deal with it.
If only she could stop fretting that it would not be all to soon enough.
Maybe she should just confront Quinn about it tomorrow. If there is anyone she could break, it would be him...?
Maybe she should just listen to what Dexter instructed, to just sit and wait...?
23:04
Since has become the recent trend, that in the evening after Harrison is asleep, and Cody is as close as she is ever going to get to a structured bed time, usually consisting of him just in his room. Which has laid fact that for many of a night, Cody has actually been the first to go to 'bed'.
Regardless, the ritual has become that Deb enjoys a beer, whilst sat on her front porch, listening to the waves against the shore. Sometimes it is a steady gentle swosh, sometimes a rolling sound of drums, this evening they are surprisingly calm.
"Deb?"
Deb frowns into the poorly lit darkness.
"Quinn?"
"Yeah" he makes himself more apparent, trudging his way up the steps, he stops and hovers around the second step.
"What do you want?" she holds her breath, her thumb playing with the label edge of her beer.
"I don't know", he puts his hands into his pockets, looking longingly at her, "I guess I wanted to see if we were still OK?"
"I don't know, you tell me?"
"Well what the fuck is that supposed to me"
"Tell me the fucking truth about what the fuck you guys were doing on Dexter's computer".
Quinn lets out a huge gust of air.
"I can't tell you that", he says eventually.
Deb raises her gaze to him for the first time, looking him square in the eyes.
"Why the fuck not?"
Quinn wavers slightly, trying to find the right words.
"I just can't. It's best that you don't know".
"Well", she swings a mouthful of beer down her throat, "you've answered your own question. Now please fuck o-".
The front door swings open and Cody steps out, inspecting Quinn closely.
"Cody?" Deb asks, placing down her beer.
She hears Quinn mumble that he will see her tomorrow.
Cody watches him leave.
"Is that your boyfriend?" he asks.
Personal much?
"Uhh, no. What are you doing up out of bed?"
"I was up getting water, I thought it was Dexter", he sighs mournfully.
"When is he coming back?" he mumbles to his feet, it is so muffled that Deb suspects that he might be crying.
"Uhh I don't know... soon", she sighs, looking into her palms. "... I hope", she whispers to herself.
But Cody hears it, "me too".
He stands for another moment or so before turning back into the house. He stops.
"You know..."
Deb raises her attention from her palms to the twelve year old.
"... you don't have to pretend to care about me".
Deb is so shocked by his insinuation, that her response does not make it out until he is out of earshot.
Friday
Deb spies Winslop sat on the bench outside Miami Metro entrance as she leaves for work. Behind his shades he is reading a newspaper; she figures that maybe she can slip past him unnoticed.
Of course to no avail.
"Come back for another joke?" he asks, folding away his newspaper. "Have you heard about the rookie cop that became a captain...?" he smiles.
Smiling too, "almost as funny as the penny spender who made it to lieutenant"
"Touché" he laughs, folding his newspaper away completely.
"Listen, I have a favour to ask...?" he waits.
"...OK? What's the favour" Deb jokes when he does no ask straight away.
"Oh yes", Winslop chuckles, "well I just expected that you would blow me off. Or is that only on the third favour", he smiles suggestively.
Deb rolls her eyes and starts to walk away.
Winslop lurches after her.
"Sorry. I'm sorry, it just slipped out", he apologises, taking off his sunglasses to show his sincerity, like he knows the effect his eyes have on her. "Really..."
Deb looks away, and tries to suppress a grin, "OK, well slip it back in".
...
"So what is this favour you wanted to ask me?" Deb asks when she has finished her burrito, bunching and throwing the wrapper into the red plastic vendor basket.
"Hmmm", Deb eats faster than the normal human being and he is stilling making his way through his. "First, tell me what's been eating you all this week?"
Deb frowns, "No. I asked first"
"Well not you", he smirks.
Deb smiles, not believing that she has walked into another one of his innuendos.
Winslop clears his throat, "seriously, I want you to do some background research. I am working on a case, my staff are all tied in the field. If you ever have time in your leisurely Captain hour days, or want a break from writing press speeches and paper work..."
Deb chews her lip, contemplating his proposal, "sure".
"Great", Winslop enthuses, impressed with himself. He takes a large bite of his food, "so", he says between his munching, "what's been eating you this week?"
Deb's eyes narrow on him through her aviators. "Nothing, just having some trouble with my homicide team".
It is not a complete lie.
"Yeah, like how?" he asks, interested.
Deb frowns. She does not need him to fight her battles. Instead, she shrugs his question away.
"Hey", he starts, "it ain't all roses at the top. It's then you learn who has really got your back, and who is ready to stick a knife in it. You gotta keep your friends close but your enemies closer".
That is the fucking third time someone has warnes her of that.
Which reminds her, is Winslop not her enemy...?
So... Winslop? What's Angel and co hiding? I'm a review whore, so let me know your thoughts.
First, sorry for the wait, same reason applies with last chapter update. I will try so the next one does not take so long.
2) Thanks, Dahlia Faith Black, for offering to beeta but it took so long for me to get this finished, I just wanted to get it up and not have to be waited on any longer.
3) I will go through and re-edit later. This chapter is a bit bleagh, did not quite get to the good bits, but next chapter, part II, will be more exciting. Please review and let me know your thoughts. Until next update – oh and for all of you watching s8 - am I the only one who just does not trust cassie, and that she looks like she could be dexter's sister.
