Auld Lang Syne
by Bangfangs
(This fic is mirrored at my tumblr: deadthingsloveyou)
"Skin Deep"
We hide many secrets beneath our skin. I have been known to dissect human scum in search of what created their monstrocities- as though the line of a tendon, a fractured bone, or a yellowed deposit of fat will whisper the truth to me. I never found anything of that nature in my numerous and frequent teardowns of the human body. My approach has been all wrong, though. I can say that with confidence and introspection now. Whatever honesty I see left in this world is in her eyes.
I wake up alone, three days after Deb and I nearly slept together. It's finally Friday, and the weekend cannot come quickly enough. But there's still a full day of work ahead of me. I rise and shower, then check my messages. There's just one quick one from Deb, a single word: TFGIF. I assume the extra f stands for 'fuck'.Jaime arrives right on time, as usual, though she's been acting weird for a few days now. She barely meets my eyes as she comes in the door, bustling around with extra noise and greeting Harrison with a little too much enthusiasm. Today, at least, it's warranted, though.
"Let me know when you get to Orlando," I say, kissing my son on the cheek as I load the last of his bags into the back of my SUV. Jaime's driving it up for their long weekend with Astor and Cody. He smiles back at me. "Of course, Daddy!" He climbs into the back seat and quickly buckles himself in.
"I was asking Jaime, but you make sure you get on the phone, too, mister," I tease him, and he sticks his tongue out at me. He learned that from Deb.
Jaime slipped on sunglasses the second we were out of the apartment, so her gaze is a mystery. "Of course," she says absently, checking the mirrors and adjusting the seat. "Do you want my keys?" she asks again.
"No, Deb's going to take care of me," I answer, and I see a flash of some distaste in her features. If I hadn't been a professional at reading human expressions as a means of survival, I might have missed it, but I am what I am. It vanishes fleetingly, and she slaps a smile on. "That's nice of her, what a great sister." There's a tiny inflection on the final word. "But seriously, hang on to them for me. With my luck, I'll lose them." She hands them out the window.
"All right," I agree. After a moment, she takes her leave and my vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the street, and I wave at Harrison as they disappear from sight.
Now I can have a weekend to myself. Well, not entirely to myself, of course. I head back inside and start to straighten up, rather unnecessarily, and manage to load the dishwasher and get my sheets in the wash before my phone starts buzzing. It's dispatch, and there's a fresh body clear across town. It looks like I'll need Jaime's car after all.
On a more positive note, it's about a block from Angel's cafe, so at least there's the possibility of a good lunch.
Jaime waits until she's about about ten minutes down the road before she starts calling people. Her discovery of Deb's jeans and panties in Dexter's bedroom, and the disturbing implications they suggest, have been festering in the back of her mind like a disease, but she couldn't really let them run too far in her head, because after all, she still had to face him every day. But now with the promise of four days without seeing him, she feels safe enough to at least broach the subject with someone.
She tries Quinn first. It rings and rings, but there's no answer.
She thinks about calling Deb, mostly because she wants some innocent answer, maybe even to hear that one of her friends borrowed the jeans and then banged her brother. Sure, Dexter didn't seem to be dating anyone, but that Hannah woman had breezed into and out of his life with barely a blip on her radar, so she could hardly say she knew everything about every moment of Dexter's life outside the house. And that's the logical explanation...because seriously... they're siblings. Who the hell would even think of doing that to a family member? Especially two attractive, intelligent family members with no lack of opportunity to date?
She calls Angel, and he answers on the first ring. "Yes?" he asks.
"Hey, brother," she greets him. "Are you busy?" She glances over at the next lane, makes sure it's clear, then merges.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" he asks, and she can hear the usual noises of the restaurant in the background. "Yes, it's always busy. But I have time to step away for a moment. Hang on." He puts his hand over the receiver, but she still hears him bark out some orders to what sounds like a busboy. After a moment, he comes back on the line. "Sorry about that," he says. "So what did you need?"
"There's something weird going on with Dexter," she says, and he pauses, then says, "Did he hit on you? Because after this whole Hannah thing..."
"No, no, nothing like that," Jaime assures him. "It's... awkward. And complicated."
"Well, you should talk to Debra about it. She's the expert on all things Dexter," he says, and he already sounds less interested. She struggles internally with what to say next, but he continues his train of thought helpfully. "You know, he's probably going through some rough stuff. The whole thing with McKay, and then... well, he found out something about his family, Maria told me about it before she...died." He stops for a moment, then composes himself. "I'm guessing he didn't tell you," he finishes.
"Tell me what?" she asks.
"Dexter recently found out that his brother was a guy who we hunted down for being a notorious serial killer... the Ice Truck Killer. It was even more awkward, because Debra almost married the guy."
"What do you mean, his brother? How would that not be her brother too?" She's lost at this point.
"Well, Dexter and Debra aren't really brother and sister. They were just raised together, they're not blood. He was adopted by the Morgans when he was a little younger than Harrison is now."
"Oh," she says lamely. She wonders why she never knew this, but then again, his personal history had never exactly come up in conversations about lunchtime, flash cards, and potty training.
"I guess that explains some things," she says, wanting to get off the phone and stew over this revelation some more on her own. "Look, I'm headed into traffic."
"You're on the way to Orlando, right?" He lets some concern slip into his voice. "Well, be careful."
"I will be, Angel," she promises, and laughs when he says "Pórtate bien!" in a pseudo-stern voice before ending the call.
I get to the scene before Deb and all the rest of them, since I manage to avoid a big accident on the freeway. I flash my laminate at the uniforms holding the crime scene line from curious neighbors and bystanders, and make my way through the well-decorated, expensive house out to the backyard. The body of a middle-aged man is sprawled on the concrete in a rather undignified pose, face-down. It looks like he fell from the second story of the house, which has a rather low railing. I stoop down next to the body and start taking pictures.
Vince is the next one to show up, though he scowls when he sees that I've beaten him there. He heads into the house and starts documenting the conditions of the porch and taking photos up there as well. The maid was the one who found the body, and she's speaking rapid-fire Spanish to one of the patrol officers next to the pool. She mentions how he liked to drink heavily, and my interest in this particular death wanes quickly.
I hear a familiar throat clear behind me. "So did he look before he leapt?" Deb asks sarcastically. I shrug. "If he looked, I guess he liked the view well enough to let it be the last thing he saw," I remark, examining the impact site of where his face made friends with the patio. It's a gruesome enough scene, but not quite as bloody as it should have been. I lean in closer and take in the sight.
"Well, that's something. I think he was dead already when he fell. Or I should say...when his body was thrown. The angle of his limbs suggest a degree of rigor mortis had already set when he landed, and the localized pooling here-" I motion to the halo of blood around his shattered skull- "indicates that the heart had already stopped pumping a while before the impact occurred."
"Great, so now we just have to figure out why someone tossed him off the railing," she intones darkly, and I bite back a little smile. "After he was already dead." She seems rather frustrated, and a touch flustered. The coroner arrives just then to collect the remains, and we all head back to the station. As we head back to our cars, Deb stops me.
"I went to your place and you weren't there... I was a little worried," she says. "I thought we were riding together until Jaime and Harrison get back on Tuesday."
"I borrowed her car for today, but I can leave it in the garage at the station," I answer, and she looks at me and then away. "At least until Monday night. I'm sure it will be safe there."
"I'm sure," she says, and gets in her own car. While waiting for the insurance check to come through, she's still got the rental, though it seems to be growing on her. She smiles as she passes me on the highway.
There are butterflies in my stomach for most of the ride back. I decide to skip lunch.
The waiting room for the laboratory is cold and there are a bunch of harried mothers with crying children and a few other profoundly uncomfortable men like Vince. He reads a copy of Oprah's magazine from 2009 and sighs, hoping that they'll hurry up already. Hell, he could have processed this test and had the sample digesting already at this rate. Which was something he'd suggested, but Amelia had said they needed to find a neutral lab to assure the results were accurate. But really, Maddy wasn't her boyfriend's kid, and Vince was the only other guy who could be the father, so it was actually just a formality at this point.
Amelia hadn't told her boyfriend the truth yet. He thinks back to that conversation. Maddy had been bouncing around across the table from him, on her side of the booth. She gave him a sunny smile and went back to peeking over the edge of the seat to spy on the couple behind them.
"I only realized it when I found some old medical files, and I read that my boyfriend was B positive. Maddy and I are both O positive."
"And so am I," he sighed. "If those records were accurate, there's no way she could be his."
Amelia motions to him. "Ergo, she's yours."
"There was nobody else? And why were you sleeping around if you had a boyfriend, anyway?"
"We had a big fight right before I left that weekend for the conference. You and I hooked up, I got home expecting him to have moved out, but he was still there and he was so sorry and we slept together within a few hours. You and I used a condom, he and I didn't...I really didn't think it was enough of a chance to worry about-"
"Excuse me," a voice interrupts. An old lady gives them a warm smile. "I just wanted to let you know, you're a beautiful family!"
"Vincent Masuka?" the receptionist calls, breaking him from the memory.
He barely suppresses another sigh.
When the day finally draws to a close, Deb collects Dex from the lab and they head back to his apartment. She fights jitters and nerves the entire time, which is silly- it's Dex for fuck's sake- but at the same time, this is huge and life-changing and crazy and...
She decides to just go with instinct. It has served her well enough so far.
Deb parks the car and locks it after he grabs his stuff from the back seat, following him up the staircase quietly. He unlocks the door and they slip into the empty apartment, and he throws down his briefcase as she pulls off her blazer and hangs it unceremoniously on the couch. An awkward silence hangs in the air.
She keeps her eyes down, aware of his movements as he paces into the kitchen and yanks open the fridge. She hears him call her, and finally looks up when he says "Hey- Deb. I got steaks, is that all right? Deb?"
"Yeah, sounds good." She picks at her nails.
The refrigerator door shuts abruptly, and he grabs her arm, startling her. "If you don't want to do this-" he says, and she's surprised to hear that he sounds shy, almost.
Debra's always been one who favored direct action to sitting around talking about her feelings and all that horseshit. He still has his hand on her arm. So she throws her insecurities aside, focuses on how this is Dexter, the boy who became a man before her, who has always been her staunchest defender and her oldest friend. She reaches out with her opposite hand and takes hold of his arm for a moment, squeezing it and looking up into his eyes. She sees the answers to a dozen unspoken questions in them, and then slams her own shut as she leans up and pulls his head down to hers in a deep kiss.
Their bodies entwine of their own accord, and he sets the forward momentum that sends them toward the couch. She kicks off her shoes along the way, and he follows her lead, surfacing only to strip off his shirts in one careless motion, ripping off the buttons in his haste. She tugs off her tank top and bra in one yank, and sheds her pants and panties with another. All she wants is skin and all of him, so she surges forward and grips his belt, opening it with a flick of her wrist. She pulls the button of his khakis free and slides down his zipper. He kicks them off as they ease down his thighs and makes sure his boxers follow their trajectory.
His hands are sliding freely now across her chilled skin, and she shivers. She falls back onto the cushions with a bounce and he catches her with his smooth, tanned hands around her slim waist, just above her hips. He lands with more control, putting his knees outside of hers one at a time as he leans down to catch her in a sweet, open-mouthed kiss, his fingers ghosting back up across her ribs and teasing her breasts. Her pulse is so fast beneath her wrists; her heartbeat feels like a gong in her chest.
His skin is warm and smooth under her palms as she caresses his back, tracing the dip of where the muscles join his spine and create the sharp angle of his hip, the curve of his ass. His lips leave hers and trace her jawbone, and he starts to nip at her neck and makes it up to her earlobe, where she really starts to squirm. When he slips a hand between them to dip into her core, she bites back a scream. While what he's doing feels awesome, she only lets him proceed for a moment, then lets her legs fall open at a wider angle. Her hands slide down to his hips, and she yanks him down like gravity, giving him an unmistakable message. He gets it loud and clear.
I know what it feels like to drown. My lungs burned; my whole body ached with the need for oxygen. It was nothing compared to this. Deb pulls me down and I feel her feet slide down my calves, wrapping herself around me as I push down to the correct angle. I slide into her and kiss her mouth at the same time; the sensation is incredible. My brain has left the building; all I feel are purely physical things. Heat, constriction, silky wetness around me. She makes a noise deep in her throat and my eyes flutter open, and I look into her eyes. That incredible connection we have had to one another is like a live wire, sparking between us as I move, gentle and tentative at first, trying to let her adjust and not hurt her. But it takes all of my control to not buck wildly against her- and that control vanishes when she grabs my neck and uses her calves to push me even deeper, and breaks our kiss to growl "Faster."
She certainly doesn't have to ask twice.
She arches up into our rhythm as I grind furiously against her, blinded by the white-hot light that seems to be running over my nerves. Her motions get wilder and she stills me for a moment as she comes apart beneath me for the first time, then keeps me going as she does again.
I scoop her into my arms and bury myself into her completely, seizing her shoulder with my teeth as she bites mine when I fall over the edge into release. We lay in silence and stillness for a minute until I feel something tickling my collarbone. I support myself on one arm as my other hand comes up to my shoulder, and when I pull it back, there's redness on my fingers. She drew blood.
She looks at my hand and wails. "Oh, fuck! I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me..." I wipe my hand on the back side of the couch and smile down at her.
"Uh, me?" I deadpan, and she pushes my shoulders up, grinning at my corny joke. "Not as sorry now," she teases as we rise from the couch. "Come on, I need a shower. You do too." Her eyes drop past my waist. "And that better not be a one-trick pony, old man." My body forms its own answer surprisingly quickly in response.
I follow her into the lavatory, and feel pretty accomplished that we only manage to rip the shower curtain in the next hour. It's enough that I have to replace a blood-stained couch.
Though it was utterly fucking worth it.
Homicide is the last floor on the mail guy's route through the building; it's just before quitting time, the last day before the weekend. He pushes the cart leisurely, flipping through and ordering the packages by mailbox number. He makes sure to sort the Morgan's mail properly, because the girl one has cussed him out more times than he can count for getting a blood report in her mailbox. The guy, Dexter, never says anything to him, so the mail guy hasn't got an opinion of him, though he does appreciate the occasional donut that comes his way.
He slips Dexter's mail- a forensic supply catalog, some envelopes from various law enforcement agencies, and something via Airmail- into his box, then moves over to Debra Morgan's. There's less for her- a few letters, and a postcard. It's a weird looking thing- a glossy image on one side, maybe some modern art piece? It has a photograph of a gravestone on the right side, and a broken, burned-out light bulb on the other side, divided by a thick black line. The reverse is addressed to Debra Morgan, but there's no return address.
He slides it through the slot and finishes the rest of the mail before heading home.
