Prompt: Patching up wounds
She tries not to flinch when he lifts his shirt and shows her the source of the blood.
"You call that a fucking scratch?" Deb asks him angrily. She stamps down the fear that is threatening to bring tears to her eyes.
"I'm fine Deb." Dexter tries to assure her, even as he groans, trying to pull his shirt back down.
"Fucktard." Deb sounds more exasperated than anything else as she yanks on his arm and drags him over to the kitchen.
"Ow!" Dexter whines.
"Oh yeah, you're totally fine. Fucking wimp."
She gestures for him to take off his shirt as she pulls the first aid kit out and then tries not to stare at the contours of his pectorals, the shape of his arms. She wets a towel and wipes it gently around the open wound with shaking fingers. He grabs onto her trembling wrist and holds it still until she looks up and catches his gaze.
"I'm ok." He wants to comfort her, reassure her. His first kill after she acquiesced, decided that she couldn't change who he was, and this is what happens. And he can see it on her face, the worry, the unhappiness. It is proof, at least to her, that she was right. That there are so many reasons he should not be what he is.
She's still staring at him, and there's that warm feeling spreading across her chest, sliding up her neck and into her face. She glances away quickly, pulling her hand out of his grasp and clearing her throat. "You're not ok, Dexter. You're fucking bleeding all over my kitchen." She mutters as she pulls out the anti-bacterial and generously wipes it across the raw flesh.
"Ugh." Dexter grunts and looks down at her annoyed.
"Yeah, fucking fine, aren't ya?"
He remains silent as she tapes the gauze over the wound, her fingertips now gently sliding against his skin. When she's done, she pauses, finally looks back up at him. "Does this happen a lot?"
He shrugs in his usual nonchalant manner and Deb has the urge to punch the gauze covered portion of his torso. She rolls her eyes instead, puts the supplies back into the first aid box forcefully.
He senses her irritation and struggles for a way to ease her mind. "You don't have to worry about me. I've been doing this a long time."
Deb scoffs harshly, "Yeah, I had nearly forgotten you're a fucking expert." She shakes her head as she closes the kit, her gaze turning to look out the window. "I don't know why I expect you to understand. You're a fucking serial killer; you couldn't possibly know how I feel." She turns to look at him, her eyes narrowed, her mouth turning down. "Do you get that I'm fucking scared for you?"
"I'm telling you that you don't have to be." Dexter tells her on the verge of exasperation.
"And you're telling me this when I've just finished taping you up. You can fucking understand why I don't believe you." Deb scoffs, places her hands on the edge of the sink and shakes her head. She looks back out the window and tries to hold it together. "You're all I fucking have. It's bad enough you're a goddamn serial killer, but I swear to fuck if you die on me..?" She can feel herself shaking now and can't finish the thought, unable to meet his eye.
Dexter turns towards her, places his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. "I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you. And if that means I have to come back in one piece, then that's what I'll do."
He feels her taking a steadying breath under his grip while her gaze focuses somewhere over his shoulder. She shrugs away from him finally and shakes her head. "Thing is Dex, you're always going to do what's best for you."
He frowns at this unexpected revelation and watches as she puts away the first aid kit. "What do you mean?" He finally asks uncertainly.
She is turned away from him and he can see her drop her head back, roll her shoulders, as if she is preparing for a fight or bracing for an impact. "I mean that I will always put you first and you….won't do the same."
It hurts him in a surprising way. He hadn't anticipated the train of thought, the simplicity of the observation. Most of all, he hadn't realized how true it was until this very moment. He feels sorry for her which is perhaps most surprising of all.
She turns back towards him and sees the pity and it makes her seethe. If she could find a way to rid him from her life, extract his very essence from her every thought, she would. But she knows this is a futile wish. Even if she was able to achieve this, she would miss him. It only makes her angrier. "You shouldn't come here after. I don't need to know what you've done." Her voice is raw, oscillating somewhere between tears and rage.
He looks away from her, unable to meet her eye. The disappointment in her face has been evident these past weeks, but tonight there is a feeling in the pit of his stomach caused by that look. He thinks this must be shame. He doesn't apologize, doesn't promise to change. What would be the point? Instead he nods, "You're right. It's part of why I kept things from you. I didn't want to upset you."
Deb scoffs, presses her palm against her forehead. "I'm so fucking done with this." She turns away, enters her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Dexter wants to go after her, find a way to make things right. But that doesn't exist. He sighs heavily instead, pulls his shirt back on and heads home.