Fuck.
"This cannot be happening." I mumble under my breath.
"Yeah Angel, I'm in here." Dexter replies unexpectedly.
"What the fuck?" I ask him in a voice that's half whisper, half scream.
I slam my fist against Dexter's chest and stare angrily into his eyes, trying to understand why on earth he just did that. This morning, I assumed that he'd suggested telling people about us just to appease me, and I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that I was fine with keeping this part of our relationship between us. There's no way that anyone but Dexter and I could ever understand the way we feel about each other, so why even go there? Especially with Angel. He would probably think that it was disturbing. He'd never look at me the same way again, and I don't think I could stand losing his respect. I can barely look him in the eyes as it is, ever since New Year's…
"Deb and I were just reviewing some case files," Dexter adds, walking over to the door and letting Angel in. "She wanted me to double check the blood work I did on the Lopez case."
I exhale, relieved that I was just over-thinking things as usual. Dexter would never take off his mask and expose hidden parts of himself unless he absolutely had to. No matter what he might tell me when he's feeling oddly romantic, I know that he wants to keep this a secret as much as I do.
"I figured you'd be in here, bro." Angel begins. "If you find one Morgan, you find the other. Anyway, there's a crime scene not too far from here and we're going to need you both. By the way, Deb, it's great to have you back."
"Great to be back, Angel. Just give me the address and we'll head down there now."
Angel writes down the address and after he leaves my office, I turn to face Dexter.
"Let me guess…" I start.
"Yeah…" He answers. "I've got to hand it to the department, though. These days, they've been finding my trash a lot quicker than they used to. I wonder what made them decide to become competent detectives all of a sudden."
"Now's not the time for jokes, fuckface." I say angrily as I reach into one of my desk drawers and take out my favorite pair of sunglasses. "Come on, let's just hurry up and get this shit over with."
"Cause of death is a single stab wound to the chest. In my opinion, the person responsible definitely knew what they were doing." Dexter explains.
I roll my eyes, thankful that no one can see them from underneath my aviators.
I'll never get used to seeing Dexter like this. When he breaks down a murder, a murder that he was responsible for, he always seems to have a smile on his face. Now, knowing what I know about him makes it seem almost…perverse.
Before I set foot in that church all those months ago, I thought that Dexter smiled while dissecting a crime scene because he was in his element. I thought that he had enjoyed the thrill of putting the pieces of the puzzle together; but now? It's like he's congratulating himself for a job well done. Like he's relishing in the fact that the naive detectives would never guess that the man they've been searching for has been right under their noses all this time, leading them further and further off of his scent.
It still pisses me off sometimes, because I could've stopped him. I still can, but of course, I won't. Dexter and I are in this together now. The thought of that scares me more often than not, but as sick as it sounds, I wouldn't have it any other way. I love him more than anything, and I've learned to make peace with this part of him. Still, that doesn't mean that everything is peachy fucking keen.
"What do you make of the severed leg?" Angel asks.
"Well, I'm only theorizing here, but maybe the severed leg is the killer's signature, or his calling card, even." Dexter suggests, as if he's made some huge breakthrough.
I know that I shouldn't be, but I'm surprised that he's able to come up with this bullshit off the top of his head like that. He makes deceiving people seem so effortless.
"Could be." Angel replies.
"Or maybe he was interrupted." Quinn suddenly interjects. Everyone turns to face the small corner of the warehouse where he stands. "I don't know…it was before I came to Miami Metro, but this seems kinda reminiscent of the Ice Truck Killer, don't you think?"
I feel an aching pain in the pit of my stomach at the mention of Rudy (…Brian), and the words spill out of my mouth before I even realize I'm saying them.
"The Ice Truck Killer has been dead for years, Quinn. Surely you can't be this big of a fucking idiot. What's next? You gonna tell me you saw John Lennon at the grocery store last week?"
An awkward silence fills the air as everyone tries their best not to acknowledge my rude outburst.
"Jesus Joey, I-I didn't mean that." I add, taking off my sunglasses to look into his eyes and hopefully show him how sorry I am.
"It's fine, Deb. I only meant that the way the body was placed was kind of familiar. Maybe it was a copycat or something. Someone who identifies with that psycho on a deeper level." Quinn replies.
"Yeah…yeah, maybe. Uh, give me a minute." I say, bolting out of the warehouse to get some much needed fresh air.
My heart is racing a mile a minute, so I reach into my pocket and pull out my nearly empty bottle of Xanax, quickly popping two pills with the hopes of calming myself down. I sit down on the sidewalk and drop my head into my hands, waiting for the anxiety to pass.
I don't know how Dexter does it. I can't just remain calm in situations like this. In this moment, I'm actually thankful that I was in that psych ward a few days ago. If I had to listen to everyone analyzing my crime scene and profiling me while I just stood there and watched, I probably would've had a complete mental breakdown. I can't even fathom how I'm going to pull myself together for LaGuerta's funeral tomorrow. I'm sure that Dexter will be great at keeping up appearances, though. He always is.
As my breathing starts to even out, I feel a familiar hand on my shoulder. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
"Are you okay? How can I help?" Dexter asks.
"I'm fine; just leave me the fuck alone." I reply, putting my sunglasses back on and rising up off of the sidewalk.
"We need to talk." Dexter says, wrapping an arm around my waist.
I notice that he's shaking and I know that things are about to get even more fucking difficult. Great! Just what I needed, more stress.
"What could have possibly gone wrong now, Dexter?"
Dexter guides me to his car and once we're inside, he places his hand over mine. I harshly pull myself away from his grasp, far from being in the mood for his weak attempt at comforting me. If I've learned anything over the years, it's that it's better to rip the bandage off. No need to prolong the inevitable.
"Goddammit Dex, just spit it out!" I yell.
Dexter sighs, and then places his hand back on top of mine.
"It was Quinn."
"What was Quinn? What are you talking about?"
"The guy who walked in on me last night, it was Quinn. That speech he made in there about the killer being interrupted has me convinced. He disguised his voice a bit, probably so I wouldn't figure out it was him, but I knew he sounded familiar. I just couldn't place him...until now." Dexter explains.
I release a dry, humorless laugh. Of course it was Quinn. Of course. This just keeps getting better and better.
"How could you be such a fucking MORON?" I ask.
"Deb…"
Before he can say another word, I slam my fist against his face. I go to raise my fist a second time, ready to punch him again and make him feel as damaged as I do, but he promptly grabs onto my wrist and restrains me. I cry out as a result of the pain that comes shooting up my still-healing wound, and Dexter releases me when he realizes that he's hurting me.
"I'm sorry." He says.
"You always are, aren't you? But that never stops you from hurting me over and over again. And I just take it."
A sullen expression forms on Dexter's face, and it takes everything in me to refrain from apologizing to him. Fuck him if he thinks that he can blink those big hazel eyes at me and release a few crocodile tears to make everything all better.
"Well...what are you going to do about Quinn?" I ask, breaking the painful silence.
"I don't know, Deb. I mean…"
"Don't say it. Don't you dare. You better not even fucking think it." I growl.
"I'm not going to hurt him, not if I don't have to. I couldn't do that to you." Dexter says, tenderly touching my chin and turning my face towards him. "But you know I can't just do nothing, either."
I slowly shake my head yes, because I know he's right. Sitting around doing nothing will just make things worse, but so would hurting Joey. We've had our ups and downs, but I still care about him, and it scares me to think about how this could end. If Dex had to choose between protecting me or leaving Joey alone at the risk of him exposing us, there would be no hesitation. He'll always choose me. Hell, he chose me over his own brother. There's no doubt in my mind now that, with the exception of his son, I'll always be Dexter's number one priority.
"There has to be some other way." I add.
Dexter takes his hand off of my chin and places it on my thigh.
"Maybe there is," he begins. "Like I said last night, I don't think he saw much of anything. That proclamation in there was for show and nothing more. He wants me to know that he's on to me, maybe scare me into a confession, but it won't work. He's got nothing, Deb."
"I pray to fucking God you're right." I sigh.
"I need to be sure, though. If I can get into his apartment and see if he's keeping any notes on me, maybe even pictures depending on how long he's been following me around, I can just get rid of them. Then we can both have some peace of mind."
"I'll do it." I answer. "I know where he keeps his spare key."
"No, I'm not going to risk you getting caught. But I suppose you can help me."
I gesture for him to go on, and he looks deeper into my eyes before continuing.
"After LaGuerta's funeral tomorrow, I'll slip out sometime during the wake and you can make sure that he stays the entire time. It shouldn't take me too long. I'll be back before anyone notices." Dexter explains.
"It sounds simple now, Dex…but if he's already suspicious of you, I'm pretty sure he'll notice you randomly disappearing during the wake."
"Quinn isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. If you keep him entertained long enough, he won't notice a thing."
"Oh? And how am I supposed to entertain him?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him quizzically.
"You'll figure something out. Nothing too risqué, I hope." Dexter answers.
His mouth twists into a slight smile, and as much as I want to stay mad at him, I can't. I return him smile and place my hand over his. Fuck him and those stupid hazel eyes.
"I never wanted to drag you into this. If Harry could see us now…" he murmurs.
"Well, let's hope he can't." I laugh. "I can only imagine what he'd have to say about this." I squeeze his hand lightly. "We're going to be fine, right?"
"No matter what happens, we're going to be fine, Deb. I promise."
He leans in and gives me a quick peck on the lips before leaving the car, and I linger close behind.
I watch him as he makes his way back to the scene. His shoulders are slumped and his stride lacks its usual confidence. I don't know if I believe him or not, I don't even know if he believes himself; but right now, as I prepare to face the storm head on, his promise is all that's holding me together.