"Okay, let's run through New Year's again. Retrace your steps and don't leave anything out this time, Deb. Even if you left the party to get a freakin' sandwich, I wanna know about it. We just have to be sure of the timeline, that's all." Angel coaxes.
I look at the clock on the wall and if it's working properly, what feels like hours has actually only been twenty minutes. Lying to Angel hasn't been easy for me; he's one person on a depressingly short list of people that I can still call 'friend', and it breaks whatever heart I have left to see him like this. The old Deb, the Deb that Angel ingenuously believes still exists, would've never been able to lie in his face like this...but things change. People change; I've learned that the hard way.
Despite my heart thumping anxiously in my chest, I refuse to crumble under the weight of this untold secret between us. I've come too far to give up now. Dexter is mine and I'm his, and I wouldn't change that if I could. We're all we have left, and we have to do whatever it takes to keep our family safe. The illusion of safety that we'd foolishly created for ourselves has come and gone, and I try to tell myself that all the hurt I leave in my wake is just a formality. It has to be. Still, I don't think I could ever get used to wearing the mask like Dexter does.
I know that the excuse I gave Angel for calling dispatch was really fucking stupid, but there's no going back now. Changing my story after so adamantly defending it moments ago will only make it look like I have something to hide, and I don't need to give Angel any more reasons to place me under arrest.
Just as I'm about to retell my story for the third time, Matthews walks into the room with Dexter following close behind.
"Batista, I think that's enough. Unless you're making an arrest, you need to let Debra go." Matthews states.
Dexter moves to stand behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. I feel them shaking slightly. He's scared, but the fact that he's doing his best to comfort me doesn't go unnoticed. To be honest, I actually feel safe now, despite the fact that I'm still smack dab in the middle of this shitstorm.
"No, no arrest." Angel answers half-heartedly. "At least...not yet."
"Alright, I'm going to send all three of you home early. It's been a long, emotional day, so it's understandable that Angel took things a little too far. His heart was in the right place, but…" Matthews begins.
"Not you too, Tom." Angel says, getting out of his chair to stand eye to eye with the temporary police captain. "This isn't about emotion, this is about doing what's right. We're cops. It's our job to follow every lead, no matter how uncomfortable it might make us. I love Deb and she knows that, but I can't just ignore this."
"Come on, Deb. Let's go." Dexter chimes in.
"No, Deb. We're not through here. Please sit back down, I only have a few more questions and then we're all clear." Angel begs pathetically after I get out of my seat.
"Go home Angel!" Matthews shouts. "I won't tell you again. I'm closing the case this afternoon, and Hector Estrada will be listed as the perpetrator whether you like it or not. Please just drop this. Nobody wants to see you follow in Maria LaGuerta's footsteps."
"What did you just say?" Angel asks, inching closer to Matthews.
"You heard me. In her final days, Maria developed an unhealthy fixation on a lead that just wasn't there. That fixation ruined her career and ultimately cost her her life. Don't tarnish your legacy like she did hers." He replies.
"Don't you dare speak ill of Maria in front of me, Tom." Angel warns through gritted teeth. "I know that you aren't the most compassionate guy, but you must have even a sliver of respect for the dead."
"It doesn't matter if I respect her or not, Batista. Maria is still dead, and Estrada still pulled that trigger. Cut the bullshit and go home before I decide to give you a week's suspension." Matthews advises.
Before I can ever register what's happening, Angel descends upon Matthews and slams his fist against his face, hitting him so hard that he knocks him off his feet in the process.
"Don't you ever speak Maria LaGuerta's name again. She was a good woman, but you? You're not even worth the dirt on the bottom of my shoe." Angel says menacingly. He stands above Tom's keeled over form with his fist still raised, and his hulking silhouette creates a striking contrast to the gentle giant that I've known him as for years. "I don't care if you suspend me for twelve weeks, Tom. Do your worst."
Angel leaves the room in a rage, and Dexter helps Matthews get back onto his feet.
"Shit Tom, are you okay?" I ask hesitantly.
"I'm better than Angel Batista is going to be. I wonder how bold he'll be feeling when his only source of income is begging for change on the A-train." He proclaims, brushing dust off of his suit. "Go home you two. I'll get everything straightened out here."
Dexter nods affirmatively at Tom and grabs my hand. I don't even bother trying to break free of his grasp as we walk through the sea of onlookers. I don't want to let go of him for a second. Today was too much of a close call, and just because the brunt of it has passed doesn't mean we're out of the storm yet.
We make the drive to Dex's apartment in silence, neither of us quite ready to address the fact that I was practically brought up on murder charges. Once we get inside, I pour myself a glass of water and pop two of my anxiety pills while Dexter broods at me. How many of these things have I taken today? I know it's bad, but I've lost count. The numbness that the pills bring me is intoxicating, and I appreciate any sense of calm I'm able to feel, even if it's a false one.
"If you want to call me a moron, I totally fuckin' understand." I mumble.
"No, I'm the one who fucked everything up. Jesus, Deb. I'm so sorry." Dexter responds shakily. "I can't believe I almost lost you. I was supposed to protect you. You should've killed me, not LaGuerta. I would've understood."
"If I killed you, you would've been too dead to understand a fucking thing, asshole." I reply.
I place my now empty glass on the counter and move to stand in front of Dexter. I tenderly place a hand on his cheek and his eyes flutter shut as he leans into my touch. It feels weird to be comforting him in this situation since it probably should be the other way around, but in a strange way, I'm grateful. I don't think I've ever seen him act this delicate around me. Dexter isn't as indestructible as he wants me to believe, and that scares me, but it reassures me, too. He's human. He feels. Maybe not quite as much as I do, but it's there. The light that I've always seen in him is shining a little brighter now.
"It's okay," I assure him. "We're okay."
Dexter wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer.
"We need to talk." He whispers into my ear.
"We've done enough talking for one day, Dex." I reply, pulling away from him just enough to look into his eyes. "Don't talk, just follow."
I take his hand in mine and guide him to the bedroom. Once inside, I kick off my shoes and plop down on the bed.
"Lately, all I've been thinking about is what would happen if we lost each other." I begin. "While Angel was grilling me earlier, I started to consider how much easier things would be if I decided to give you up, or if I shot you instead of LaGuerta. But I don't fucking want easy, Dexter. I want you." I proclaim as he moves to sit beside me. "If there's a hell, I'm pretty sure that's where I'm headed. But if I'm riding shotgun with you, then you know what? Maybe it's fucking worth it."
"You're not going to hell, Deb." Dexter answers, his brows furrowing in response. "You're a good person. You're the best person. I don't deserve you."
He leans in painfully slow. When his lips finally meet mine, the kiss is tender and lingering, as if he's scared of hurting me. I glide my tongue across his bottom lip and he gives in immediately, parting his lips to grant me entrance. He groans as I reach down to unbuckle his belt, and I feel his erection pressed hard against me. He momentarily pulls away from the kiss to unbutton my blouse and toss it to the floor. As he starts working on my jeans, I direct my attention to undoing the buttons on his dorky shirt.
Soon, both of us are completely exposed as we wait for the other to make the next move. I decide to be proactive and lightly push him onto his back and climb on top to straddle him. His eyes stare deeply into mine as he waits expectantly for me to take control. I crane my neck to get a better look at him, letting my hair cascade across his bare arm.
"Yeah, you're right. You don't deserve me." I tease. "But, I love you for it."
"I need you." Dexter says, covering my hand with his as I reach down to guide him inside of me.
I gasp at he fills me up completely, and then place both of my palms flat on his chest as I start to ride him. He rests his hands on my hips, his soft grasp the opposite of his bruising hold on me during our first encounter. This time, he doesn't direct me. Instead, he lets me take the reins. My heart threatens to fly right out of my chest as I meet Dexter's gaze, his eyes telling me how much he loves me in ways that his words never could.
We move in perfect unison, and as we increase our pace, I bite down on my bottom lip to suppress my desire to cry out. Once I remember that there's no one home but us, I release a throaty moan and Dexter follows suit as he tightens his grip on my hips slightly.
I toss my head back as we find a steady rhythm, mumbling his name in between lust-filled cries. I close my eyes, taking a second to marvel at how well we fit together. There isn't a word in any language that could possibly describe what huge fuck ups the both of us are, but I know that if we've done anything right, it's this. Despite all of the chaos, despite all of the terrible shit that's happened because of us, this just feels right. The connection that Dexter and I share transcends the physical, but in this moment, joined with him in a way I thought impossible just weeks before, I feel whole.
Dexter trails his hands up my body, stopping to cup both of my breasts.
"Deb, look at me." He begs.
I drop my eyes down to meet his, flashing that crooked smile that I've reserved only for him at the passion I see in them. He lifts his back off of the bed and envelops me in a tight embrace, pressing his torso firmly against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck as I grind against him faster, pressing my forehead to his.
"I love you so fucking much." He pants, his breath tickling my cheeks.
"I know." I reply.
I keep my eyes fixed on Dexter's as he shudders and releases into me with a labored moan. I reach my peak moments later and he draws me into a searing kiss as I ride out my orgasm.
He lays down onto his back and I roll over to lay next to him. I let out a gleeful giggle in spite of myself, and Dexter raises an eyebrow at me quizzically.
"That bad, huh?" He jokes.
"No! It's just…I'm happy." I answer. "It's funny. You drive me fucking crazy sometimes, but other times, you make me feel like a lovesick teenager. It's pathetic."
"It's not pathetic." He replies, tucking a strand of stray hair behind my ear. "You make me feel the same way."
"For a guy who claims to have been emotionless for most of his life, you sure are oddly sentimental these days. You're just full of surprises, huh?" I ask.
"Yeah…um, speaking of surprises, we really should talk about the elephant in the room." Dexter mumbles.
"What? You mean how you keep fucking my brains out without using a condom? Birth control is only 99% effective, Dex." I tease.
"What?" Dexter asks. His cheeks start to flush, and I fight the urge to laugh. I think this is the first time I've ever seen him blush. "No, not that. I- I have to tell you something about how you got off so easily earlier." He stutters.
I trail my hand down Dexter's slick torso until I find what I'm looking for, wrapping my hand around him and giving a couple of playful strokes.
"I'm pretty sure it had a little something to do with this." I murmur.
"Deb!" He shouts, grabbing onto my wrist and bringing my hand up to rest against his chest. "I'm being serious. It's about Matthews."
"No offense, but the last thing I want to do right now is talk about Thomas Matthews." I reply, wriggling myself out of his grip and sitting up straight on the bed.
"He knows, Deb." Dexter sighs. "About me. He knows about me."
"Wh-what the fuck are you talking about?" I ask in a voice barely above a whisper.
"He approached me today and told me that he's known what I am all along. Harry confided in him before he died, and Matthews promised him that he would look out for us."
"For you, you mean." I correct him, hoping he doesn't catch the slight crack in my voice. "It all makes sense now. My fucking promotion…it wasn't about me, it was about you. He knew that whatever happened, I'd never arrest you. It was all to save your ass."
"Deb," Dexter begins, placing a hand on my cheek. "Don't you ever doubt yourself for a second. Nobody at Miami Metro was half as deserving as you."
"Whatever, it's not like it matters now. What else did he say? You might as well just spit it out." I mumble.
Dexter sighs before picking up his boxers and putting them on. He walks over to the closet and pulls out what looks to be a mini-safe. He hunches over it, blocking my view as he looks inside. After a few seconds, he comes back to me and spreads the items from the box across the sheets.
"What is all this, Dex?" I ask.
"I didn't want it to come to this. It was always for just in case…"
I look through the pile of papers, stopping to pick up the passports. There's one for Dexter, one for Harrison…and one for me.
"You…you want to run away?" I ask.
"I don't want to, but we're all out of options, Deb. I'm not going to let you go to prison, and it's only a matter of time before Quinn tells Batista about what he saw and they start putting two and two together. Matthews is doing all he can, but he told me that leaving Miami is my best option, and I know that he's right." Dexter explains.
"How long have you had these?" I ask, inspecting the very impressive fakes. "You just assumed that I'd drop everything and be the fucking Bonnie to your Clyde?"
"I've had them for a while…since before you found out. I never wanted to drag you into my shit, but I knew that if there was anyone I could start fresh with, it'd be you. You and Harrison are all that matter to me." He admits.
"Fuck." I sigh. "Fuck! So that's it, then? We just move to some foreign country and start a new life as Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds? Jesus fucking Christ, Dexter!"
"I wouldn't have even brought it up if there were other options, Deb. You know that." He replies.
"Okay." I blurt out. "Fuck. Ever since I walked into that church, a part of me has always known it would end like this. I don't know why we even bothered prolonging the inevitable. We should've bolted after LaGuerta."
Dexter climbs back into bed and wraps his arms around me.
"It's going to be okay, Deb. We'll always be together." He assures me, placing a kiss on my forehead. "As long as we have each other, that's all that matters."
I want nothing more than to believe him, but there's a nagging voice in the back of my mind that's asking how I could possibly be so stupid. For Dexter and I, there is no happy ending.
"Aunt Deb! Aunt Deb!" Harrison's voice booms across the walls.
"Yeah buddy?" I call out, but he doesn't answer.
How much time has passed? I'm still in Dexter's bed, but he's gone now. I look down and notice that I'm dressed, but I don't remember waking up. I don't even remember falling asleep.
"Harrison…baby, where are you?" I ask, getting out of bed and walking into Harrison's room. I'm surprised to find that he's not there.
"Come here. Come and see what you've done." An unfamiliar voice beckons.
I walk out towards the living room when I suddenly feel something wet and sticky beneath my feet. My eyes fall to the floor and I let out a terrified scream at what I see. I'm standing in a pool of blood. A pool of Dexter's blood. His pale form is sprawled out on the floor before me, and though his eyes are vacant, they're wide open and staring directly into mine.
"Dex!" I choke out, collapsing into the pool of blood and placing my hand on Dexter's cheek. It's eerily cold, and I know that this is truly it. He's gone.
A tall, blond haired man dressed in a familiar dark green Henley stands over me, holding a butcher knife that's stained a deep crimson. I look into his eyes, hazel like Dexter's, and see nothing but darkness staring back at me.
"See." He says.
"What the fuck!?" I shriek. "Harrison! Harrison, where are you?"
"You don't recognize me, Aunt Deb?" He asks, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "This is how it was meant to be. This has always been our destiny. Come to me. Let me repay you, just like I repaid dad."
"No…no." I mumble, refusing to believe that this monster could possibly be my innocent little nephew. But those eyes, so much like Dexter's…
He grabs me by my hair and savagely drags me across the blood-stained floor. He forces me to stand and holds the knife up to my throat so tight that I begin to gasp for air.
"Like father, like son." He says triumphantly as he carves the knife into my throat.
"NO!" I scream. "Harrison!"
I reach beside me for Dexter's arm, but he isn't there.
"Dexter!" I yell, feeling hot tears trail down my cheeks.
I know that it was just a nightmare, but I can't bring myself to get out of bed. I'm frozen in place, terrified of what I might find if I take those few small steps into the living room.
"Deb! What's wrong?" Dexter asks, practically bolting into the bedroom.
I jump out of the bed and fling my arms around him, ignoring the fact that I'm still naked.
"H-Harrison." I stutter.
"He's fine, Deb. I just got back from picking him up. Come on, put on some clothes and go spend some time with him. I'm sure he'd love that." Dexter adds.
"We can't fucking do this, Dexter." I cry.
Dexter reaches into his closet and takes out an old t-shirt. He presents it to me and I pull it over my head erratically.
"What's wrong, Deb?" Dexter asks. "What does this have to do with Harrison?"
"It has everything to do with Harrison!" I assert. "We can't do this. I can't let us ruin him."
"Deb, you're not making any sense." Dexter says, holding my face in his hands.
"Did you ever stop to think about what this would do to Harrison? Dragging him from state to state, robbing him of a chance at a normal life? We've already fucked up our own lives, and I've accepted that; but we can't do the same to Harrison's. He can't come with us." I reply.
"He's my son, Deb. I'm not going to just abandon him. I love him." Dexter says, abruptly dropping his hands to his side.
"I know you do, and that's exactly why he can't come with us. I love you so much Dexter, but I won't let Harrison become you. I'll die before that happens, do you fucking hear me?"
"We want the same thing, Debra!" Dexter shrieks. "You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if we left Harrison behind. You love him as if he were your own son."
"Turns out I can live with plenty these days. But what I can't live with is your son falling victim to your demons. All I want is to keep him safe, so don't you dare pull that guilt trip shit with me, okay?" I yell.
"The only way that I can guarantee he's safe is to take him out of Miami, Deb. He should be with the people who love him and have his best interests in mind!" Dexter fires back.
"Yeah, which is exactly why he's going to stay with Astor and Cody." I add, moving to stand face to face with him. "It's time to stop being so selfish, Dex. You want Harrison to come with us because you love him and you can't bear to say goodbye, but love is about sacrifice. Giving Harrison up is the hard choice, but it's the right choice. Please, give your son the life you wish you'd had."
A single tear trails down Dexter's cheek, and he doesn't try to mask his anguish as dozens more flood to the surface. He whimpers, introducing me to a vulnerable side that I didn't even know existed.
"Okay," He whispers. "You're right, Deb. We have to save my son."
He sinks down to the floor and I sit beside him, cradling him in my arms. I hold him until the tears stop flowing, silently wondering if I made the right decision. I know that there's no happily ever after at the end of the tragic tale of Dexter and Debra Morgan; but if I'm able to save my nephew's soul, then maybe that doesn't matter. Is the son always doomed to repeat the sins of the father?