It's only been fifteen minutes since I left Dexter that frantic voicemail, but I already feel like I'm going to jump out of my own skin. I've been sitting in a bathroom stall, doing an extremely poor job of trying to muffle my sobs as I wait for Dex to get his ass back here. To do what exactly I have no fucking clue, because we're screwed either way. I'm sure that Quinn is arranging for Dexter's arrest right at this very moment, and a warrant against me will probably be coming soon after.
So this is how the world ends. This next step that Dexter and I have taken in our relationship has made me the happiest I've been in months, but I should've known that it couldn't last. I guess I just wasn't meant to be happy. Dexter and I were destructive forces on our own, but together, we became ticking time bombs. And now, after we've finally found our way to each other, it's time for the explosion. The damage that will be left in our path is catastrophic.
Batista will be distraught after learning of my betrayal. Everyone at the station will wonder how they held the Morgans in such high esteem, how they were so close to us and still didn't see the signs. If the fallout after Doakes was bad, this is going to be a thousand times worse. And Harrison? My poor little nephew didn't ask for any of this. Who will take care of him after his aunt gets 25 to life and his daddy fries in the electric chair?
I want to blame Dexter for all of this, to go off on him for acting like a jealous teenager and sloppily killing that piece of shit at the bar, but that won't change anything. Right now I just want to hold him…maybe for the last time.
Suddenly, the bathroom door slams against the wall as it's roughly shoved open.
"Deb! Deb, are you in here?" Dexter shouts.
I fling the stall door open and practically knock Dexter off of his feet when I wrap my arms firmly around his neck. The tears are pouring from my eyes even faster now, and if I weren't so hysterical I would probably be embarrassed over what a blubbering mess I am.
"Sssh, sssh it's okay. We're okay." He assures me, stroking his hand up and down the back of my head like he did last night.
I pull away from his embrace and he guides me over to the sink. I look in the mirror and am instantly caught off guard by how terrible I look. Mascara is running down my cheeks in long, black streaks, and the red lipstick that I'd actually made an effort to apply this morning has smudged all over my mouth and chin.
Dexter carefully lifts me up and sits me down on the sink, then wets a few paper towels and begins to softly scrub the smeared makeup off of my face.
"What are we going to do?" I whisper after I finally manage to stop crying. "I didn't mean to let him leave, but it all happened so fucking fast."
"Right now, we need to relax. There's a reasonable explanation for Quinn leaving early. Today's still a work day, so he probably just went back to the station. If this were about us, I highly doubt that he'd involve Masuka, he's just a forensics guy. Even if Quinn does have a picture, showing it to Masuka would be pointless. He isn't law enforcement, and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it." Dexter explains.
"How do you know that he didn't just ride back to the station with Masuka? He's probably talking to Matthews right as we speak. Oh Christ. Oh Jesus fucking CHRIST!" I exclaim.
"Deb." Dexter says, tossing the dirty paper towels into the trash can and sternly grabbing onto my shoulders. "If you keep on freaking out like this, you're going to give yourself a brain aneurysm. Just fucking relax, okay?"
I smile at his clearly deliberate use of my favorite word, and a relieved expression washes over his face.
"Okay, good. We should probably go home and change, and then go to the station. It's vital that we act as normal as possible through all of this." He says.
"Alright…but you're going to have to teach me." I reply hesitantly.
"Teach you what?" Dexter asks.
"How to put on the mask."
After Dexter changes out of his mascara-stained shirt and I trade my dress for a blouse and a pair of blue jeans, we make our way to the station. I considered calling out sick again, but cases have been piling up lately, and I know that I should be there since i'm supposed to be the one in charge. I've been a shitty police lieutenant so far, the least I can do is actually show up for work.
I head to my office alone, wishing that Dexter could come in and comfort me, but I know that I can't risk someone finding him in here again. It'll be the best for both of us if we stay away from each other for the time being.
I close the blinds, pop a couple of Xanax (more than my suggested dose, but hey, this is a special fucking occasion), and start looking over all of the unsolved case files that have started to pile up on my desk. For the most part they're all run of the mill homicides that i've seen a dozen times before, but looking at photos of bloody corpses is starting to make me feel dizzy. It feels like my head is spinning, and I toss the file that I'd been perusing clear across the room. It hits the floor with a light smack, and I shakily get out of my chair and sink down to the floor.
What the fuck is happening to me? I've never been squeamish before; if I was, I never would've become a cop in the first place. It seems like ages ago now, but I used to be eager to get down to a crime scene and piece together what happened. Granted, I was never as…enthusiastic as Dexter, but I was anxious. My greatest desire as a rookie was to get up close and personal, to be where all the action was. Now, I can't even look at a goddamn picture. I'm slowly breaking, and I'm scared that I'll never be able to put myself back together.
I hear a knock on the door and I dubiously get up and open it. My breath catches when I see Joey standing on the other side.
"We need to talk, Deb." He says in a voice so stoic that I barely recognize it as his own. "I was going to do this as soon as you came back to work, but then I thought it would be better to just wait until after the funeral."
My feet feel like they're cemented to the floor, and I stand before him wide-eyed. I know what's coming next, but I have no idea how to handle it. He carefully pushes past me and sits down on top of my desk. I close the door and take a deep breath before turning to face him.
"Do we…do we have to do this now?" I ask shakily.
I can tell that Joey knows something is up. He's giving me that look that he used to once upon a time, back when we were together and he could sense that something was bothering me. Now though, instead of rushing to comfort me like he used to, he cuts right to the chase.
"Deb, I have something to tell you that I know you're not gonna want to hear. I think you should sit down."
"I can balance fine on my two fucking legs, Joey. If there's something you have to say to me, then say it." I snap, regaining control of my feet and backing up to lean against the door.
"It's about Dexter…"He clenches his fist at his side before continuing. "LaGuerta was right about him, Deb. I haven't taken this to Matthews yet because I wanted you to be the first person I told."
"Joey, whatever the fuck it is you think you know about my brother…"
"I don't think Deb, I know. I followed him two days ago on impulse. He went to that abandoned warehouse, and when I saw him drag a guy out of his trunk, I thought I was going fucking crazy. I mean, I'd suspected that something was off with him for a while, but I put it out of my mind for your sake. After LaGuerta, though…that was too many coincidences, too many accusations. Doakes? Dead. Maria? Dead. Even Stan Liddy! Dead. I know that you guys are close, but you're a detective, Deb, and a damn good one at that. I know that deep down inside, you believe me." He insists.
"Maybe you need some time off, Joey. Maria's passing can't be easy for you."
The expression on his face changes from hopeful to offended. It hurts me to invalidate his feelings like this, but what else am I supposed to do? Turn Dexter in? Of course not, that's never been an option. No matter how much I lied to myself in the beginning, no matter how much I insisted that I bled blue, my number one priority has always been protecting Dexter. Not for one second did I ever truly believe that I was going to turn him in. All that I can do now is try to get Quinn to let this go. There's a slim chance that this confrontation is as far as this goes, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that's the case. Quinn will never trust me or Dexter again, there's no stopping that now; but if I'm lucky, I can save Quinn's life.
"Don't do this, Deb. At least hear me out."
"No! I'm not going to just stand here and listen to you call my fucking lab geek of a brother a serial killer! Do you know how absolutely ridiculous you sound? Accusations like this could ruin you, Joey. If you walk away from this right now, we'll never speak of it again. No hard feelings, I swear."
"So that's it then? You don't want to hear a thing I have to say?" He asks.
I close my eyes and shake my head no in response.
"Then how about I show you?"
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and flips through the photos before getting off of my desk and shoving the phone into my face. I adjust my eyes to look at the screen. The scene is hard to make out, but I can see that there are two people in the photo: one lying still on a table, and the other with his hand on some sort of tool. A power saw, if I were to guess. I know that what I'm looking at is a picture of Dexter standing over Marv's dead body, but I doubt that anyone but Quinn would know the same. It's too dark to actually see much of anything.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say to this, Joey. It's way too dark to see the person's face…it could be anyone." I reply.
Joey glares at me, and then backs away.
"You and I both know who this is, Debra." He says. "I was fucking there, are you saying i'm blind?"
"That's not what i'm saying at all Joey. Maybe you're confused..." I mutter, looking down at my feet to avoid his icy blue gaze.
"Excuse me, lieutenant. I should probably get back to work. There's clearly nothing left to say here."
I step away from the door so he can pass, and he makes a show of slamming it as he leaves.
"Fucking fuck." I mumble.
The venom in Joey's voice as he called me 'lieutenant' told me all that I need to know. Whatever bond it is that might have remained between us is gone. It's devastating, and if someone told me a year ago that I would betray one of my best friends like this, I would've laughed in their face. Still, in some odd way, it feels like a weight has been lifted. It's better this way. Quinn can finally be done with me. He can be happy with Jaime, or whoever else he might end up with.
I place a hand on my cheek and am surprised to find that it's dry. I hadn't shed a single tear. It's getting easier and easier for me to lie, and I can't tell if that's a good or bad thing.
A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I sink back down to the floor and lean my head against the cool wooden door. I think back to the promise Dexter made me yesterday. Now, I'm actually starting to believe him. No matter what happens, we're going to be fine.
After sitting there for a minute or two, I decide to go to Dexter's lab and tell him what happened. I get up and grab a case file off of my desk so I can use it as an excuse as to why I'm there if anybody were to get curious. I hurry to his lab and let myself right in.
"I just got done talking to Quinn." I pant, slightly out of breath.
"What did he say?" Dexter asks, getting out of his chair and gesturing for me to sit down. I flash a hint of a smile and take a seat before continuing.
"He knows. But you were right. He showed me the picture, and he might as well just delete it because it proves absolutely nothing. It's too dark to make out any faces."
"See, I told you." He says, sitting on his desk and placing a warm hand on my thigh. "We've got nothing to worry about."
"I guess so, but it kind of fucking sucked to lie to him like that." I reply.
"I wish I didn't have to say this to you, but it'll get easier. Believe me." He says, rubbing his hand up and down my thigh.
I have half a mind to tell him that it already has gotten easier, but I decide against it.
The door to Dexter's lab abruptly swings open, and Dexter quickly snatches his hand off of my thigh as Masuka enters the room, carrying a yellow folder in his hand. I recognize it as the kind of folder the forensics guys use for test results, so I get out of Dexter's chair and move towards the door so they can get back to work.
"It's okay, Deb. You can sit back down. I was looking for you, actually." Masuka says uneasily.
I sit back down as Angel enters the lab and stands next to Masuka. They exchange an odd look that can only be described as weary, and Vince nods affirmatively at Angel.
"Deb, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I need you down in interrogation." Angel mumbles.
A queasy smile spreads across my face and my eyes dart around the room from Angel, to Masuka, and finally, to Dexter.
"It this some kind of joke? Masuka, what is he talking about?" I ask.
"A couple of the new forensics guys forgot to test a few DNA samples that were found on and around LaGuerta's body. I just found the samples filed away in the wrong box last night, so I tested them and the hairs found at the scene came back as a match for you, Deb." Masuka explains, looking everywhere but at me.
"Deb," Angel begins. "I have the grounds to make an arrest here, but I know you, so I'm not going to. Still, I need you to come with me. We have to get this straightened out." Angel says.
"You must've fucked up the test, Masuka!" Dexter screams with a fury that's so…un-Dexter. Well, at least so un-Dexter-at-work. "Give me the samples, I'll retest them."
"I tested the samples three times, Dex. It's a perfect genetic match." Masuka sighs.
Angel places a hand on my wrist and even though he said that I'm not under arrest, it sure as shit feels like I am. He guides me out of the lab and I turn to look at Dexter as we walk away. I try to put on a brave face, but I know that my eyes reveal just how scared I am.
Dexter leaps off of his desk and grabs the first object within reach: his computer. He snatches it off of the desk and slams it onto the ground. The screen shatters as it hits the floor, and I gasp at his sudden display of rage as Angel continues guiding me to the interrogation room, seemingly unfazed.
"Dex!" I shriek.
"Don't say anything, Deb!" Dexter screams. "I'm going to fix this, you hear me?"
I focus on his face until it disappears from view, and I know that no matter what Dexter says to try to make me feel better, it's up to me to get us through this in one piece. I brace myself as Angel leads me into the eye of the storm, ready as i'll ever be to finally face it head-on.