Miranda was overheating. She felt like she was in a coffin. Panicking, she started kicking, and kicking and kicking. She sat up, pushing the hair out of her face. Miranda had been lying in bed, fully clothed, covered in a down comforter and two quilts. She exhaled, slowly. She had managed to kick all three blankets onto the floor. And now, looking around, she had trouble remembering where she was. Sluggishly, Miranda pushed herself off the low lying mattress and landed with a thud on the floor. The fog of sake and sleep was slowly dissipating and it was as if everything was from the night before was painfully rewinding for a special playback for her. The restaurant, Sloane and her brother, sake, her breakdown in the car, the kiss. Miranda groaned, resting her elbows on her bent knees and her head in her hands. She didn't know what she had been thinking. She'd certainly never been involved with anyone she'd ever had to work with in any capacity. Miranda exhaled and her legs stretched out in front of her. She slowly slid down onto the floor. Not knowing how long Dexter had been awake or where he was or even what time it is, Miranda finally decided to take a few deep breaths and bravely venture out of what she assumed was Dexter's bedroom. She took her time, straightening each separate vertebra at a time, taking care. She had managed to sleep on something wrong. As she made her way towards the door, a flash of dark hair in the mirror over the dresser caught her eye. Miranda stopped, horrified by her astonishing bed head. Hurriedly, she combed her fingers through it, gently easing the tangles out of what used to be curls.
Dexter was standing with his back to her. For just a moment, Miranda only stood watching, just a few steps away from the doorway of the bedroom. She opened her mouth several times to speak, but no words would or could come out. There was a medium size glass bowl of whole walnuts sitting on the counter between them.
"What are those?" Dexter turned around to see Miranda pointing to the bowl.
"Those are walnuts." He looked at her complacently, taking a sip of the coffee he held in a mug in his hand. Miranda bit her lip, frustrated.
"I know that they're walnuts. Why do you have a bowl of whole walnuts sitting on your counter?" Dexter smiled, as if he was playing a fun little game. He leaned back on the fridge behind him.
"You said you liked walnuts." Miranda lowered the arm she had been pointing with. The corners of her mouth turned down.
"I do like walnuts. A lot." She stood in the same spot, feeling very out-of-place. Dexter let out a laugh.
"I know that." Miranda let out a small sigh, glancing around her before sinking into a nearby armchair, her legs draped over one arm and her head draped over the other. She closed her eyes.
"What time is it?" She heard a clinking sound that she assumed was Dexter looking at his watch.
"It is… 9:45." Miranda jumped, sliding back into the side of the chair and sitting up, gripping the opposite arm, the one her legs were draped over.
"What? Why didn't you tell me?! We should have been at work—" Dexter was shaking his head.
"It's Saturday, Miranda." She felt her back slump in relaxation. On Saturdays, the two of them just had to be on call, just in case any thing happened with the case.
"Oh. Right." They sat in a long pause for a while before Dexter motioned to the bowl of nuts.
"Don't you want to eat your walnuts?" Miranda nodded slowly, with the nature of a three year old. She'd already made a fool of herself for one morning, thank you very much. Dexter smiled, pulling something out of a drawer. "Well, here. Here's a nutcracker. Why don't you go to town." Miranda slid sideways off the chair and deliberately made her way over to the counter, sliding onto one of the stools. Dexter splintered one walnut one with a crack and Miranda snuck one of the little broken pieces of nut into her mouth. She chewed, watching Dexter crack a few more nuts. "Listen, Miranda." He looked up, seeing her face not too far from his own. She was leaning on her elbows over the counter. Dexter squinted his eyes ever so slightly. "What happened last night…" Miranda frowned. "What happened last night. The kissing, I mean. I don't normally do that. I have to tell you though—" He chuckled there. "There is something about you that just reminds me so much of…" He paused, looking down into the bowl. The last word of the sentence he spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. "Myself." There was another silence.
"Open your mouth." He looked up. Miranda hadn't spoken for a while. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Open. Your. Mouth." After a second of thought, he obeyed. Miranda sifted through the broken pieces of walnut meat until she found the biggest whole chunk. She then carefully laid this chunk onto Dexter's tongue. He closed his mouth and chewed. After eating a piece herself, Miranda quickly leaned forward and kissed the tip of Dexter's nose. He looked up swiftly, smirking. She looked away, smiling to herself as she ate another piece of nut. After a while she looked back at him, kicking her feet. "I really do love walnuts, you know."
Dexter had suggested, after Miranda had managed to go through half of the bowl of walnuts in one sitting with barely any of his help, that they go for a drive. Miranda jumped up, saying she had no clothes, hadn't taken a shower, but Dexter just shrugged, saying that she looked fine to him. After brushing her hair and swishing some of his mouthwash around in her mouth, Miranda deemed herself presentable. As Dexter slid into the driver's seat next to Miranda, she spoke, as if thinking out loud: "I never really go for drives… you know, just for fun?" Dexter gazed over at her for a minute before starting the car.
"Really?" Dexter pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "I find that it helps calm me down." He didn't mention that, when he went on car rides by himself, he was usually following someone or had just finished up a project. Miranda nodded, quietly looking out the window. Dexter was driving through a part of town she barely recognized.
"Hey, stop here." Miranda was pointing out the window. Dexter frowned, pulling over onto the curb. They were right in front of a small craft store.
"What are you doing?" Miranda was already halfway out the car as Dexter called to her. She stopped, turning around to lean down into the car.
"I want to get something. Come on." Swiftly, Miranda shut the door. As she walked inside, she was overwhelmed with the smell of wicker and paint. The aisles weren't labeled, so Miranda wandered, looking down each row until finally she stumbled upon exactly what she needed. When Dexter finally found her, she had three medium sized stretched canvases under her arm and was looking at paint. He snuck up on her and she shivered when he touched her arm. "Your hands are cold." She looked up at him. He looked down at his hands.
"Really? Sorry." Dexter rubbed his hands on his pants until Miranda reached out to grab one.
"I like it." She smiled slowly, waiting until he looked up and smiled back.
"Well, okay then." Stuffing one hand in his pocket, he gestured to the canvases. "What are those for?" Miranda shifted the large wood-framed rectangles, holding them in front of her.
"Ever since we did that spatter experiment a few days ago… I've just really had this itch to paint." She was looking at the bins of paint tubes again. Dexter stood beside her, rocking back on his heels.
"An itch huh?" Dexter watched her, wanting to push her thick bangs away from her face with his hand. He refrained. As she reached towards a bin, Miranda handed him the canvases.
"What do you think? Does this color look about right?" She was holding out a large, silver tub wrapped with a large piece of paper colored a deep red.
"Red? That's the only color you want?" Dexter asked, tucking the canvases under one arm. Miranda smiled, pulling the tube back towards herself, rolling it between her fingers.
"I want to make some paintings like the blood spatters we did back at the lab." Dexter blinked. He had never met anyone who found spatter patterns as interesting as he did. After a moment, he plucked the tube from her hand. Miranda's fingers held onto it reluctantly, as if she thought he was going to put the tube back into its bin. Without saying anything, Dexter turned slowly and began walking toward the cash register. Smiling, Miranda followed him.
Back at Dexter's apartment, Miranda bounced around giddily. Dexter set up a station for her in the bathroom so she wouldn't make too much of a mess. He even gathered a few knives from the butcher's block in the kitchen for her to use. Within an hour, he was sitting on the toilet of the bathroom watching her fling the red paint from the knife onto the white canvas positioned on the other side of the bathtub.
Miranda dragged the blade of the knife through the puddle of paint that lay on the paper plate on the edge of the tub. Holding the knife upright, she closed one eye so the knife made a straight line down the middle of the canvas. She flicked the knife forward and opened her eye to watch the line of red dots join the ones she had flung before them. Her eyes darted over the painting, the layers of red spatter over the pure canvas. Paint was dripping down the tile around the canvas. Miranda looked down at the knife, running a finger over the flat, along the sharpened edge. She rubbed the paint between her fingers, looking at the paint on the tile. "God, I'm sorry. I've made a huge mess." As she spoke, she turned to Dexter, still rubbing the paint between her fingers. She turned to see his eyes staring intently at her. "What?" She shifted, facing him. As she stood there, he continued to watch her, almost in a studious and methodical way. He looked at the knife in her hand, still raised, and the paint she had smeared over her fingers. In the silence, Miranda absentmindedly reached out to touch his face, accidentally rubbing two lines of wet paint across his cheek. She made a sound of mistake, almost an 'oh,' but Dexter seemed to not notice. Slowly he stood up and Miranda had to take a step back as he stepped forward and reached out to grab the wrist of her hand that held the knife. Dexter stretched her arm out until the knife was raised over the sink. He squeezed her wrist and the knife landed against the porcelain sink with a clinking sound. Dexter took another step forward, making Miranda stumbled back into the closed bathroom door. The intention in Dexter's eyes was making her shake. Roughly, he put his hands on either side of her face, rubbing his thumbs against her cheeks. Miranda shuddered, closing her eyes and letting her head collapse into Dexter's hands. Her hands rose, pressing against his chest. She clutched his t-shirt in her fists and, little by little, opened her eyes. Miranda's gaze locked with Dexter's and almost immediately he pressed his lips to hers sharply. They kissed, Miranda pushing up against Dexter. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her cheek. Miranda broke the kiss, sliding a hand under the one Dexter was holding on her right cheek.
"Ow…" She leaned back against the door, holding her hand on her face.
"What? What's wrong?" Dexter's hands slid down to her shoulders and he craned his face to meet hers. Miranda brought her hand away from her cheek, looking at it. Across her fingers, there was a thin line of blood. Dexter's hand went back up to her cheek, hovering over the scrape. "Oh, god, I scratched you."
"What?" Miranda moved past him, leaning over to look in the mirror. Right above her cheekbone, it looked like one of Dexter's fingernails had broken the skin. He had been squeezing his fingers against her face. She touched a finger against the blood in disbelief. "Oh… it's nothing. Just a scratch." Miranda turned back to him, her hand pressed against her cheek.
"Here… Sit down." Dexter took a few steps forward and gently pressed down on her shoulders, forcing her to sit on the edge of the tub. Miranda watched him search through the bathroom cabinets, find a washcloth, wet it and kneel down in front of her. Her hand lowered from her face, coming to rest, palm up, in her lap. She held the bloodied hand cupped in the other. Miranda's eyes were on her hands when she felt the wet cloth touch her cheek. Rather than jump, she looked up at Dexter. His eyes were on her cheek. "Does it hurt?" Dexter's voice sounded raspy. Miranda shook her head, but didn't say anything. After a few minutes, Dexter pulled the rag away from her cheek. "There. It stopped bleeding." He said as Miranda raised her hand to touch her cheek again. Dexter grabbed it, wiping the dried blood from her fingers. When he finished, he held her hand in his for a moment. Then he looked up to see her watching him. It was Dexter's turn to ask Miranda: "What is it?"
Miranda half shook her head, but stopped, looking down. Dexter stood, going back to the sink. She spook to his back. "Something about you, Dexter…" He had turned the sink on and was wiping the paint off his face, but he stopped when she began to speak. Miranda caught his eye, his reflection in the mirror. Dexter kept his back to her. "Something about you is so… frightening." From what she could see in his reflection, a shadow seemed to cross Dexter's face. Miranda stood up, slowly. "But at the same time… something inside me just… aches to be frightened."
Dexter opened his mouth as if to speak as he turned to face her but suddenly a loud ring vibrated off the white tiled walls. Miranda's breath caught in her throat and she brought a hand to her chest. "Jesus… that scared me." She laughed nervously as Dexter flipped the phone open. As he talked, Miranda wandered into the main living area and into the kitchen. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was. When Dexter walked into the kitchen, Miranda had already chugged down half a bottle of water.
"Who was on the phone?" Miranda asked as she brought the bottle back to her lips. She began to take smaller gulps.
"Dispatch. They need me at some crime scene near the beach…" Dexter paused and an awkward silence fell between the two.
"Well… should I… go?" Miranda twisted the cap onto the plastic bottle. Dexter sharply shook his head.
"No!" Looking up at him, Miranda saw Dexter catch himself and shrug. "I mean, I still don't want you to be alone. And it—" Dexter stopped, catching himself again. After a split second he exhaled, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his head. "It would be nice for you to be here… when I get back." Miranda nodded.
"Then I'll stay. When you get back, though, can we go get some clothes from my apartment?" She pulled her shirt away from her stomach. "I really need something to wear." Dexter laughed, nodding.
"Sure. We'll go get you some clothes." There was another uncomfortable pause before Dexter spoke again. "Well, I guess I'd better go…" Impulsively, Miranda leaned forward to kiss Dexter's cheek.
"Bye." Dexter smiled, reaching up to brush a hair out of Miranda's eyes clumsily. He turned towards the door. Miranda called out to him. "I'll be here." Turning to smile again, Dexter took a few backward steps to look at her before grabbing his keys out of the key bowl near the door and say goodbye as he closed the door behind him.
And then Miranda was alone in Dexter Morgan's apartment, a man she had met just days ago that managed to make her anxious and thirsty at the same time.