A/N: Hey everyone! I'm so sorry for taking such a long, unexpected hiatus. I didn't abandon this story, but I did run into some writers block for a while, and there were also some personal problems that I had to take care of. But now I'm back, and I have some ideas about where I want to take this story in my head, so the next update shouldn't take very long! fingers crossed lol
I'm so glad that there's still some interest in this story, and I hope you all continue to enjoy it. This chapter is a little lighter than the first two, but you know with these two, things can never stay happy for long...dun dun dunnn
Thanks for being patient with me. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!
It's the beep of his alarm clock that finally wakes Dexter from the best sleep he's had in months. The sun peaks slightly from behind the clouds, offering him a few more moments of solace before he's forced to head out for another mundane day of work.
Dexter reaches over to his nightstand and swiftly silences the alarm, careful to make sure that the noise hasn't woken up Deb. He isn't surprised to find that she hasn't moved a muscle; and though she isn't snoring, he can hear the deep exhalations of a body at rest.
His sister is ever the heavy sleeper. She always has been. Dexter remembers mornings spent in a haze, clothes strewn about left and right while Deb struggled to put herself together before arriving late for school. He'd always been the one to stir her from sleep back then, even when Doris was still around. But this morning, he thinks he'll let her rest. Last night was...something, to say the least. She's earned the right to sleep in.
She lay on her side, legs sprawled wildly across the sheets and her back turned towards him. His eyes are fixed on her, studying the back of her head and then traveling further down, settling on her backside and the reddenned skin there to which he is owed all of the credit. The light but unmistakable imprint of his hand is still etched across her flesh, marking her as his.
The sight alone makes something rise in his stomach, something dangerous, something exciting. He feels whole next to Debra. No longer an empty shell of a man, but a person. A real, complete person. But in this moment, he thinks he might hate himself. He defiled her, he let the monster take over and it hurt her with little regard for what new devils it would be unleashing upon her. No matter how much she claimed to have wanted him at the time, that doesn't make it alright.
"Mmmm…." She moans, her voice raspy as she grapples with consciousness. "Is that a siren?"
Dexter doesn't hear a thing. He props his head up in one hand, his brows knitting together in confusion, "What?"
"Fuck, Dex, my head is pounding." She declares, turning around to face him. They are unusually close, one move from either of them and their lips would probably be touching. "Close the blinds, will ya? I feel a wicked migraine coming on."
He obliges her, getting up to shut out the world, if only for a few minutes longer. When he returns to the bed it's to find that Debra has stolen the majority of the space. She smirks at him, her eyes droopy with sleep but still full of unmistakable challenge.
"Come 'ere." She mumbles, holding out her arms expectantly towards him. Her eyes travel down the length of his body, the corners of her mouth gradually turning upward the lower she goes.
"Can't." Dexter replies, pacing around the room in search of his cell phone.
His growing erection is starting to bother him, and it will only get harder to mask once he starts straining against his boxers. He can feel her heated stare on his back. He does his damndest to pretend he doesn't notice.
"I've got work in a couple of hours, and I have to get Harrison ready for school before then." Dexter explains, figuring that any excuse is better than none. "I can't just...not go."
"In all of the years you've been at the station, I don't think I remember you missing a single day of work. You almost drowned once and that didn't even stop you. Just say fuck it and stay here with me today." She purrs, shifting to sit up on her knees. "Be a bad boy, Dexter."
His bowling shirt hangs loose on her and she hikes it just above her thighs, letting the slightest bit of her underwear peek out in an attempt at persuading him to stay. He hates that he actually stops to consider it.
He inches closer to her, hovering near the bed. "Deb…"
"It's still early." She interrupts, checking the time on the bedside clock to support her declaration. "We've still got some time to kill, and I think I know a pretty good way we can make use of it... "
"That sounds...tempting." Dexter admits, his voice hitching in his throat when Debra reaches out a finger to circle the front of his boxers. "But if I want to burn that blanket from the motel, stop at a car wash, drop Harrison off at school, and make it to work on time, I have to leave now."
"Shit. I completely forgot about that stupid fucking blanket." Deb sighs. "Don't worry about it. I'll handle it. I've got time before I have to check in with Elway."
"No, I've got it. Just stay here for the day, take some time for yourself. You look like you need some rest."
"Fuck you. I look perfectly fine, because that's what I am." She argues. "I'm fine."
"Okay, Deb, I believe you." He lies. "But you know how I am. If you don't want to take some time for yourself, then do it for me. Humor me."
"No. I don't need to rest, Dexter. Would you stop babying me? Let me do this for you." She appeals. "I was being stupid last night. I knew that Briggs would be coming back soon but I just couldn't wait to spread my legs for you. Why did we stick around that motel anyway? God, that was so stupid. It's my fault that Briggs is dead. That means I'm the one who should do the dirty work."
"It's not your fault, Deb. You weren't being stupid. Us sleeping together…it just…it happened, okay? It isn't like either of us planned for it. I was the one who put a knife through his heart. It's my problem to solve. Not yours."
"Dexter — "
"No, Deb, that's enough. I don't want you getting involved in anything dangerous. Don't even try to fight me on this. I've already let you do enough. Too much, actually."
"Dangerous? I killed a woman for you. My boss. The captain of the fucking police department. I'm pretty sure I flew straight past dangerous and landed directly on illegal. So yes, I'm going to handle this shit, too. I don't need any more ghosts, Dexter. Not while LaGuerta is still haunting me every day."
He doesn't know what to say to that. They still haven't really talked about New Year's in depth since the explosive fight they had that night six months ago. When she left him and swore that she would never look back. Everything is a trigger now, even little kids playing in the street with their cheap firecrackers serve as a reminder of what Dexter allowed his sister to do that night. For him. He may be a coward for avoiding the conversation, but if it keeps Deb in his life, a coward he shall remain.
"I have to handle everything by the book, like always." He finally answers. "It's not that I don't trust you, Deb, you know I do; but it would make me feel better if I took care of everything myself."
"It's a fucking blanket, and I'm not that incompetent. I can handle it."
"A blanket with your dead ex boyfriend's blood on it."
Deb narrows her eyes, the glare on her face making him reconsider his choice in words even though he isn't so sure what the problem is. He's only trying to protect her.
"Could we not use the B word anymore, please?" She asks. "I already told you that he was never my fucking boyfriend. Quit being a jealous tool."
"Okay, okay." He acquiesces. " But boyfriend or not, that blanket is pretty damning evidence, if you were to get caught with it."
"Good thing I'm not gonna get caught with it, then."
She winks at him, suddenly reaching for his underwear. Before he can say a word she has his boxers pulled halfway down his hips. She takes his cock in one hand, the other gripping his side. She smiles when he reacts almost immediately to her touch, a breathy moan escaping his lips as she starts to move her fist up and down his shaft in slow, steady motions.
"There you are," she boasts, celebrating her accomplishment with a lopsided smirk. "You should know by now not to argue with me, Dexter. Looks like you aren't the only one around here who knows how to get what they want."
She begins to rub her thumb along the underside of his cock until she has him squirming, abandoning that method soon after so she can start stroking him at an agonizingly measured pace. Almost uncontrollably he thrusts up into her hand, throbbing as the pressure gradually starts to build inside of him.
Her hazel gaze moves away from the task at hand and lands back on him. Dexter can only imagine how he looks right now, wound up tight and desperate for release; but through her eyes, he must look like something good. Something worth sticking around for. At least, that's what he hopes.
She breathes his name, beckoning him closer as she dips her head and brings him to her mouth. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, rosy and pink, as she prepares to taste him for the second time.
This isn't something he thinks he could ever get used to. A shiver runs through him as she brings her tongue to his length, licking up the drops of precum that have begun to leak from the tip. She holds his gaze, looking damn satisfied with herself as she wraps her lips around him and takes the head into her mouth.
Dexter reaches out, cupping the back of her head for extra support. He's already shamelessly hard — has been since he woke up and saw her lying there beside him — and so the feeling of her warm mouth on him makes him go almost delirious with pleasure. The desperate sound he makes as he feels her mouth vibrating around him sounds almost alien to his ears, her effect on him a dizzying one. He jerks forward, unintentionally forcing himself deeper down Deb's throat as he struggles to keep control.
She doesn't seem to mind. She makes a noise low in the back of her throat, her eyes wide and focused as she reaches a hand down between her legs and past her panties, using two fingers to stroke herself as she continues to take him further.
Over the years, Debra has taught him how to love. The pure, familial stuff came naturally to her, but Dexter never considered the other side of things. He never had to. She certainly is skillful in the realm of sex, and of course, that skill came from experience. He imagines her touching another man the way she touches him, putting her lips on another man just as she puts her lips on him, and he doesn't like it. He sees red, bucking up into her mouth with newfound ferocity as he tries to banish thoughts of Briggs and Quinn and all the rest from his mind.
He knows that he's being ridiculous, that he's the only person she could ever truly want in this way, but he can't seem to move past the strange feelings that he's been experiencing since she left him all those months ago. He's always been rather possessive of his foster sister, even long before he realized what it is that they really have between them, but it seems absence really did make the heart grow fonder. And angrier.
Dexter isn't jealous — at least he doesn't want to believe that he is — but the thought of Deb being with someone else, even if that someone is ancient history now, won't stop rubbing him the wrong way. With Briggs dead and gone, that really only leaves Joey Quinn. Dexter can certainly understand why Quinn feels the way he does about Deb. She's always had an irresistible charm about her, and her pull may very well be gravitational, leaving no one immune; but he had his chance and he blew it.
Truth be told, Dexter thinks himself no more deserving of Debra than Quinn is, but the Morgans are inevitable, just as they have always been. There's no way the other man can compete with that.
But the thought of Deb leaving still nags at him, despite his best efforts to fight those feelings. Maybe if he were finally able to get the surly detective out of the way, things would get better for the two of them. He could finally have some sense of peace, at least. Dexter decides it better not to voice that opinion aloud, though. Especially not in the middle of sex.
He can feel Deb's lips forming a small smile around him, and he cranes his neck so he can properly look into her eyes as she brings him closer to climax. Saliva dribbles down her chin, the fingers tucked between her legs working faster to keep time with the motions of her greedy mouth.
Dexter has half a mind to put a stop to her ministrations right then and there, fearing that she'll bring herself to an orgasm before he has the chance to get her there himself. He's come to realize that the look of pure ecstasy that washes over her face once she finally finds her release is one of the best gifts in the world. The only thing capable of making the sight even better is knowing that he is the one to get her there, that his deft fingers and rhythmic strokes can make her legs quake with pleasure.
But Deb is the one to bring him over the edge now, and he surrenders to his orgasm gladly.
La Petite Mort, the Little Death. It's no wonder why the French gave it such a title. For a moment, the world goes black. Dexter feels as though he's in a trance, floating through time with only Deb there to tether him back to reality. Though it can't last more than just a few seconds, the time it takes to come down from his high feels impossibly longer.
He opens his eyes to find Deb staring back at him, wiping one corner of her mouth and bringing her thumb to her lips.
"You still wanna leave?" She asks, though in her heart she has to know that it's no question at all.
Dexter simply shakes his head, finding that he can't move his mouth to form the words that he wants to say. He carefully tucks his limp dick back into his boxers, watching as Deb stretches out on the bed and buries her head into his pillow, inhaling the scent. "That's what I thought."
She rolls onto her back, waiting expectantly for him to join her in bed so they can waste the day away. She looks tired, despite the way she scoffed at his suggestion that she was in need of rest not too long ago. He considers curling up next to her and actually calling out of work for the day, assuming that the only way she'll actually get some much needed sleep is if he's lying right there beside her; but he can't help the fire that burns low in his belly as his eyes travel up the length of her legs.
He doesn't think it's particularly fair that she's pleasured him only to be left with nothing in return. He must remedy that immediately.
"The fuck are you staring at, Dex?" She mumbles, one eyebrow raised. "Come here."
With a devilish smirk he grabs onto both of her feet and pulls, dragging all of her slight weight down towards the edge of the bed.
He rubs his hand along one of her legs, his touch lingering as he takes in their impossible smoothness. He soon replaces his hand with his lips, kissing up her leg and then the back of her knee, giving her other leg the same treatment once he's finished with the first.
His exploration of her body is far from over, but he can see her growing restless, can tell that she's desperate for him by the way she wriggles beneath his touch. He loops a finger through the waistband of her panties, tugging them down slowly. Debra, all too eager to get things going, brings both of her hands down to her hips and hurriedly pushes her underwear down past them, doing the rest of Dexter's work for him.
Holding her gaze, he takes his index and middle fingers and gently runs them along her opening. He's surprised to find that she's practically soaking wet, her juices coating his limber digits. Without wasting any more time, he slides both of his fingers inside, working her slowly.
The moan that escapes her lips is one of his favorite sounds in the world. He wants to hear what other pretty noises he can pry out of her.
He watches as she hurriedly unbuttons her shirt to tug at her hardened nipples, rubbing them in circles beneath her fingertips.
Dexter drives his fingers deeper in experimentation, feeling her walls wound tight around him. "Is this okay?" He wonders.
"This is….good. Incredibly fucking good."
He loves this woman. He loves her with everything he has left in him. He tries to show her that by the way he touches her, the way he holds her, the way he falls down to his knees, fully prepared to worship the goddess writhing beneath his touch. He takes her in like she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life. Because she is.
He inhales her natural musky scent, his stomach growling in anticipation. He's certainly built up one hell of an appetite, one that only the sweet taste of her can properly quench.
When he removes his fingers Deb responds with a groan in protest. Dexter flashes her a warm smile before he settles his mouth at her entrance. He presses his lips against her, not directly on her clit but close enough to make her tremble. When he finds that sensitive spot with his mouth, her back arches up off of the bed as she reacts to the sudden surge that rips through her. He takes his time with his ministrations, determined to drive her as insane as she's made him.
"Fuck," she whimpers, her toes curling involuntarily. "Yes, Dexter, just like that."
She is absolutely ambrosial. She is perfect and pink, the most delicate flower that has bloomed just for him. Only for him.
He uses his tongue to gently spread her lips apart, smearing through her sex so he can finally sample her tangy-sweet taste. His mouth has never experienced something as gratifying as this. He begins to work her harder, growing hungrier for more with each second.
Deb cries out, her hands slamming down to the bed so she can tug harshly at the sheets that surround her. Dexter reaches his hands up to meet hers and she latches onto him, lacing her fingers through the gaps between his.
It's an extremely romantic position, one that he would have never allowed with any other woman. It makes him feel vulnerable, in a way; riding the waves with Deb, giving himself to her fully. This is the first time in Dexter's life that he thinks being vulnerable may not be such a bad thing after all. He finally has the right person to experience that with.
Insatiable, Deb grinds wildly against his face. She rolls her hips against his wandering mouth, his tongue still skillfully working between her folds. He wants nothing more than to bring her shuddering over the edge, his name dripping from her lips like a song.
He gets just what he wanted a few minutes later. She comes undone when he lets go of one hand to rub furiously at her clit, making her cry out with pleasure. Neither of them stops to consider the noise as she screams Dexter's name at the top of her lungs, too wrapped up in the heat of the moment to care who it may disturb.
Dexter plops down beside her on the bed with a languid sigh, feeling completely fulfilled and maybe a little bit sleepy.
It takes Deb a while to catch her breath, her chest still heaving up and down once she finally manages to speak. Tears stream down her face, one of the aftereffects of her orgasm. "I fucking hate you."
"What?" Dexter asks. He hopes that she doesn't notice the inflection in his voice as his heart starts to beat a little faster. "What do you mean, you hate me?"
"If you would've realized your feelings sooner, I would've been getting fucked like this every night." She replies, turning to him with a devious smirk on her face. "And morning…and afternoon…and on holidays…"
"Oh," Dexter smiles, draping an arm around her shoulder. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
"You're an idiot." She laughs. "And you've got decades of wasted time to make up for now. I hope you realize that."
"I have absolutely no problem with that." He says, pulling her closer to him. She lays practically on top of him now, yet even that doesn't seem like enough. He doesn't think there's any way Deb could possibly get too close anymore. There are no more barriers standing in their way.
"I can't believe this is real." Deb says, laying her head across his chest. "I've been thinking about this a lot. Ever since the night I told you I was in love with you. Even before that, actually. But after you turned me down, I never thought it was possible that you would ever feel the same about me one day."
"I'm sorry." Dexter says. "For everything."
"Don't be," She replies, climbing into his lap. "Doesn't matter now. I love you and you love me and that's all that matters. I don't want to think about anything else right now, okay?"
"Me neither."
Dexter holds her tight, his hands splayed across her hips as she starts to rock against him. Her lips leave a frantic trail of kisses along his skin until they find the space between his neck and collarbone and start to suck, marking him. His hands leave her hips and move to cup her small breasts, feeling her nipples pressing hard against his palm.
"You're gonna get me in trouble." Dexter mumbles playfully, doing his best to turn and see the clock while Debra's lips roam the length of his neck.
"Good." She fires back, her breath hot against his skin. "Punish me."
He's running extremely low on time, but her offer is one he can't seem to refuse. He uses his strength to flip the both of them, laying her flat on her back. Her shirt is still unbuttoned, giving him access to her bare chest, but he has the sudden urge to feel all of her and so he attempts to manoeuvre her out of it altogether.
A sudden knock on the door followed by a sleepily-mumbled "daddy" makes him take his hands off of his sister as if burned, quickly hopping off of the bed to throw on the closest pair of pants he can find.
"Your son is a fucking cockblocker, Dex." Deb bites out, closing the buttons on her shirt as fast as her fingers can manage.
Dexter flashes her an apologetic frown, letting her know that he's no more thrilled with Harrison's untimely interruption than she is.
Harrison lets himself in to the bedroom, sending Deb running for the bathroom before she can be spotted.
"Was that Aunt Deb?" He asks. "Is she here?"
"Yup." Dexter answers, scooping the boy into his arms. He's been getting bigger. Too big to carry around anymore, probably. But Dexter doesn't care about that. He'll keep carrying him until it's physically impossible to do so. Preserving his son's innocence is the most important thing in his life. That, and a certain foul-mouthed brunette. "You think she wants pancakes?"
"I think she definitely fucking does!" Deb's voice calls from behind the door.
He can hear the water running and assumes that she's about to take a quick shower, which gives him some time to make breakfast. The idea of the three of them sitting down and having breakfast together as a family makes something flutter in his chest. She sounded so enthusiastic about staying, and so he chooses to ignore the fact that she just carelessly dropped a F bomb while his son was standing a few feet away. For now.
"I want pancakes, too, daddy!" Harrison chimes in. "With syrup."
"Well, that settles it then. Pancakes it is. Why don't you go and set the table, buddy?"
He watches as Harrison flings the door open and runs for the kitchen, hurriedly tearing open the cabinet doors and retrieving enough plates and silverware for the three of them.
Dexter picks out a suitable outfit for work and locates a few items of Deb's clothing that he's kept around just in case she ever decided to come back for them. They still smell of her, and they would offer him solace on the nights where there was none. Even though she wasn't there, for a brief moment he could pretend that she was; cursing his taste in television or drinking enough beer for the both of them.
The Dexter of a few years ago would've thought it pathetic to mope around and smell a woman's clothing in anticipation of her return; but things change, and evidently, so do people. There are many ways to break a man. It turns out forced separation is a pretty effective one.
He leaves the clothes out on the bed for her —a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans —and heads into the bathroom so he can brush his teeth and wash his face. It takes everything he has in him to fight the urge to hop into the shower with her, and the way she pleads with him to is definitely persuasive, but he can't leave his poor son out there wondering where the both of them ran off to. He almost caught them together before, and that is one conversation that Dexter definitely does not want to have with his kid any time soon.
Deb lingers in the shower as Dexter makes the pancakes and serves himself and Harrison. She emerges from the bathroom just as Dexter is really starting to worry, dressed in the outfit he laid out for her.
"Smells good." She comments, drowning the contents of her plate in syrup.
She immediately grabs her fork and starts wolfing down her food, her appetite adding credence to Dexter's hidden belief that she hadn't been taking proper care of herself these past few months. He felt it when he touched her, her hipbones protruding a little bit more than he remembered, her eyes hollow and devoid of their usual electricity. He can see hints of her magic returning, though, and he has to bite back a smile as he watches her, hardly even bothering to chew her food as she eats it.
"So…how is school going, Harrison? I've missed you, buddy. So much."
Harrison giggles when she runs her fingers through his hair, messing up all of his hard work. He'd recently started combing his own hair and picking out his own clothes each morning, a new accomplishment that the toddler has been very proud of.
"Where did you go?" He wonders, sidestepping her question completely. "You left us, Aunt Deb."
Deb chokes on the piece of pancake she'd been in the middle of chewing. She clearly was not expecting the nephew she left behind to turn into a pint sized detective in her absence.
"I didn't leave you, Harrison. I would never leave my favorite boys. I've just been…busy."
His eyes narrow as he sets his cup of orange juice down on the table, leaning in closer to her. "Busy how?"
"You promise that you'll keep this just between you and me?" Deb asks, extending her pinky finger towards him.
"I do." Harrison answers, taking his spot as the other half of the pinky promise. "Well, you, me, and daddy."
"Oh yeah, no way we can leave daddy out of this." Deb replies, meeting Dexter's gaze from across the table, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"This should be good." Dexter mumbles under his breath, smiling at the way his son stares adoringly at his aunt.
"Well, I was so busy because I was on a very important mission. The truth is, baby, I had to go undercover." She explains, her voice barely above a whisper to give the story more weight.
"Undercover?" Harrison gasps, already completely engrossed in the tale. "Like a spy?"
"Exactly like a spy." She answers. "My boss got me involved in some really serious shi —stuff — so I had to lay low for a while. I missed you guys every day, but I also couldn't jeopardize the mission."
Well, Dexter has to give it to her. That isn't exactly untrue.
"So did you do it?" Harrison wonders, propping his head up in his hands. "Did you catch the bad guys? Is that why you finally got to come back?"
"Yeah, Harrison. I got 'em." And watched her brother dismember his body. "I got 'em real good."
Dexter had almost forgotten how great she is with him. Looking after Harrison, loving him, even just humoring him like she is now, it all just seems to come so natural to her. He can hardly believe that this is the same woman who labeled herself a failure destined to never have any children of her own.
"That's good." Harrison says. "Does that mean you get to spend more time with us now, Aunt Deb?"
"That's exactly what it means." Dexter answers for her. He doesn't think she would ever say no to Harrison, he doesn't think there's a reason for her to, but he doesn't want to give her the opportunity.
All of a sudden, Deb's phone buzzes to life. She drops down her fork with a groan and rises from the table, irritably reaching into her pocket and greeting the person on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
Dexter gets up and follows her. The two of them stand in the doorway of his bedroom, just out of earshot of Harrison.
"Who's that?" Dexter silently mouths, unable to hide his annoyance. He only has a few more minutes before he has to get his day started.
"Elway," she answers, rolling her eyes as she listens to the man speak. Directing her attention back to the call, she nods her head before saying "I know I was supposed to check in with you a couple of days ago, but I wasn't able to get much alone time…wh-where is Briggs now? Uh, see, that's the thing. I'm kind of…not privy to that information at the moment."
Dexter can hear Elway shouting on the other end of the line, probably scolding Deb for disappearing for so long without having anything to show for it. He knows that the man is justified in his anger — after all, Deb is his employee and her behavior lately has been by no means professional— but he doesn't like how comfortable he sounds when he speaks to her that way.
"I'll explain everything later. Now? Okay." Deb continues, her face crumbling while Dexter keeps his eyes focused on her. "You got it, Jake. I'll see you soon."
"Let me guess, you've been summoned." Dexter says once she hangs up the phone.
"Mmm hmm. He wants my ass down there in thirty minutes, so I should probably go. He sounded pretty upset."
"Wait," Dexter pleads, his hand gripping her forearm. "Are you sure you're ready to go back?"
"I'm fine, Dexter. A little hungover, but it isn't like the job is all that demanding. Chasing after bail jumpers and trying to catch cheating husbands with their dicks out. I've dealt with worse when I was walking the beat."
"That isn't what I meant." Dexter says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What are you going to tell Elway? About Briggs, I mean. It didn't sound like he bought that you didn't know where he ran off to."
"He'll buy whatever I tell him to because he has no other choice." Deb says, crossing her arms over her chest as if she's daring Dexter to challenge her on this. "I'll explain to him that I went to go get a sandwich the other night, and when I came back, he was gone. No jewels, no car in the parking lot, nothing. There you go, problem solved."
"I guess he'll accept that…."
"Why wouldn't he? I had no reason to get rid of the guy. I was just doing my job. It was in my best interest to bring him in. Now I won't even make any money on this case, which makes the whole thing a massive fucking waste. But whatever. I'll live."
"Well, the whole thing wasn't exactly a waste." Dexter says, kissing her on the shoulder. "We found our way back to each other after all this."
"We did." She agrees, taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze.
"So, how about dinner tonight?" He suggests. "You, me, and Harrison. Steaks and beer. Well, of course no beer for him. He probably won't want the steak, either. Actually, I could just get Jamie to babysit and we could go out to a restaurant, if you want. But…only if you want."
"Dex," she giggles, placing her palm flat against his chest. "You know, you're really cute when you get all flustered."
"Flustered? I'm not —"
"It's okay," she interrupts. "Both options sound great, as long as it means I get to spend time with you. Just call me tonight and let me know which one you choose."
"Okay." Dexter nods. "And if you get off of work early, maybe you could even stop by the station. Everyone misses you there, especially Masuka. He hasn't shut up about you for months."
"That's…oddly sweet. But I think it's best if I keep my distance."
"For now?"
"For…I don't know. Forever, probably. I can't go back there, Dexter. I can't do it."
"Okay. I get it."
"No you don't. But I love you for trying."
Dexter wants to comfort her, to let her know that he does get it, but he knows that he can't. Killing LaGuerta flipped a switch in Debra's brain, ruining the lifelong image she had of herself as a good person armed with the duty to protect and serve. His heart aches for her, but he admires her ability to feel, even after all this time. At least she has the decency to feel badly about what she did. Dexter, like a coward, framed Doakes for his own crimes, completely sullying the man's name and indirectly causing his death; but he continued on at the station, nodding his head while his stunned co-workers gossiped about the horrors unleashed by the sergeant turned serial killer.
Maybe she's right. Maybe he doesn't get it.
Deb starts for the door, tensing up when Dexter grips her arm to keep her from leaving. He had every intent to kiss her before she left for the day, the idea of being away from her for just one unnecessary second taking the form of a lump in his throat, but he doesn't know if that would be the proper protocol in a situation like this. Does he have free rein to kiss her now, or would that be weird?
She answers that question for him, her eyes flitting from his and moving straight down to his lips and settling there, staring at him expectantly. He makes sure that Harrison isn't watching before pulling her close and leaving her with a gentle kiss.
"I'll see you soon." He says.
Deb simply nods, saying her goodbyes to Harrison before heading out the door. By the time Dexter collects his son he remembers that Deb doesn't have her car with her. But when he goes after her to offer her a ride to work, she's already long gone.
He drops his son off at school and then burns the blanket that was the source of his mini-fight with Deb this morning, chuckling to himself as he watches it go up in flames. It turns out Deb didn't win the argument after all.
His next stop is the car wash. He gets the most expensive service available, just to be cautious, making sure his car is as clean as possible. He even stops to vacuum out the car's interior, cleaning until there's no sign of last night's events, not even a hair to show for it.
With that all taken care of he goes straight to work, hoping that the day will go by in a flash. Unfortunately for him, things move at a crawl rather than a sprint. He spends a few hours doing tedious blood work and putting together some documents for court, only to be pulled aside by Angel as the end of his shift approaches.
"We've got a fresh one." He informs him. "Some guy found dead in his car, a couple of gunshot wounds. Should be pretty straightforward, but I'm gonna need you down there just to be sure."
Dexter heads down to the crime scene —a ratty looking storage facility —with Angel, Masuka, and Quinn also in tow. The detective seems to be a rather useless addition, reaching into the vehicle and retrieving the victim's wallet so he can identify him. It's a task that anyone could've done, really. It's a wonder that Dexter has yet to be caught with fine detectives like him on his case.
Dexter swallows hard, the mere presence of the man serving only to annoy him. With his camera hanging around his neck he walks toward the front of the vehicle, preparing to photograph the bullet holes in the windshield that the killer left behind.
"According to his I.D., the vic's name was Javier Guzman." Quinn shares.
Though he mispronounces the name Dexter recognizes it immediately as Briggs' fence.
"El Sapo." Angel says. "I brought him in once or twice on a drug charge a few years back, but he's also known for dabbling in some grand theft. Jewelry, guns, anything this guy can resell for profit, he's on it."
"Yeah? Well, not anymore." Masuka notes. "This guy's dead as a doorknob. Two shots to the chest and then bam, here comes the headshot. That's what killed him, obviously. It looks like it was an ambush."
"Whoever did this…it had to be some other criminal." Quinn suggests. "Maybe we should start with some of the usual suspects, see if any of them had a reason to want this El Sapo out of the picture."
"Yeah. Makes sense." Dexter agrees, snapping a few pictures of the victim and of the bullets sprinkled inside of the car.
He thinks it a bit strange that someone directly connected to Briggs would wind up dead the very next day. But these things happen, especially in their chosen profession. Dexter tries not to give it much thought, focusing only on getting his job done and the fact that Deb should be completely safe now that both men are dead. It doesn't matter who killed El Sapo, but whoever it was they certainly did the world a favor.
Dexter takes his last round of pictures and Angel gives him the okay to head home for the night. Just as he's about to retrieve his phone and call up Deb, Masuka appears next to him, standing around for no reason in particular.
"Any plans tonight, Dexmas?" He asks, placing an unwelcome hand on his shoulder.
"Uh, not sure yet, Vince."
"Going to spend some more time with the kitty who gave you that?"
"What?" Dexter wonders.
Masuka's eyes are trained just above Dexter's collarbone, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Dexter tugs at his shirt in vain, trying his best to cover up the inflamed skin where Deb chose to leave her mark.
"That's a hickey, dude!" The man says, following up his claim with his eclectic chuckle.
"I know what is is." Dexter replies. "I —"
He's interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing. He walks off to the side so he can be out of earshot of Masuka, fully expecting it to be Deb checking in on him. He isn't happy when he doesn't see her face smiling at him on the screen. Instead he finds a number he doesn't recognize.
"Hello?" He answers.
"Any luck?"
"Um, I'm sorry?"
"Your sister. I haven't gotten so much as a courtesy call from her in weeks. I called her up this morning and she told me she would come and check in today, but she was a no show. I've been waiting for hours." Elway explains. "I figured since you're family, maybe she finally stopped blowing you off. Any idea where she's at?"
"Uh, no clue, actually." Dexter lies. He can feel his pulse quickening, the prospect of Deb disappearing on him again threatening to destroy the sense of calm he'd worked so hard to return to. "I'll let you know if I hear anything."
"Well good luck with that, Dexter. Your sister is a real piece of work, you know that?"
"Yeah." He sighs, ending the call before Elway can manage to slip in another insult.
Dexter takes a deep breath, trying to contain himself before he reverts back to meltdown mode. That behavior is so unlike him, and he didn't like who he was becoming without Debra in his life. He starts towards his car, sure that there's a reasonable explanation for why Deb would decide to skip out on meeting with Elway as planned.
Dexter is behind the wheel, blocks away from the crime scene when he realizes that he has no idea where he's actually going. He dials his sister's number, not at all surprised when the call goes straight to voicemail. He tries her a few more times and is met with the same result, not even bothering to leave a message when the machine prompts him to for the fifth time. If she wanted to hear what he had to say, she would've picked up the phone.
Night falls as he continues to drive aimlessly along the streets of Miami. His angel of a babysitter agrees to watch Harrison for the night, thankfully giving him one less thing to worry about. He's about to give up and swing by his place with the hopes that Deb might turn up there, but suddenly, an idea hits him. A stupid idea, for sure, but stupid ideas end up working out every once and a while.
He goes where his heart tells him to, where he thinks Deb might have gone to chase away some of her guilt. Or more likely, to drown in it. She said she was being haunted, and instead of running from her demons, she's confronting them.
He parks his car about a block away from the park. It looks rather empty, save for a couple of teenagers looking for a discrete place to hook up. He walks until he finds the spot he was looking for, trying his best to keep his footfall light under the crunch of the grass.
He can see her sitting there, backed turned to him, shoulders slumped and resigned. If she notices him she doesn't say as much, barely even acknowledging his presence when he takes a seat beside her.
She nurses a can of beer in her lap with three more scattered at her feet. Dexter thinks it's safe to assume that those belong to her, too.
He wants to be angry with her, feels that it's the only thing he can be, given the way she'd let him believe that he'd been abandoned once again, but he knows he doesn't have the right.
It's silent as a graveyard out there, the only sound coming from Deb pulling out a lighter and sparking up the joint she must've been carrying in her other hand the entire time.
"You scared me." Dexter finally says.
"Yeah, well, I didn't mean to." She answers, coughing as she inhales the smoke into her lungs. "You know something? This woman was on the force for over twenty years. Twenty fucking years. She worked her way up from the streets to the captain's office, and after all that, the only thing her so called friends had left to give her was a fucking bench. That seems a little…."
"Fucked up." Dexter finishes, taking the can of beer from her hand and sitting it down on the ground. "How often do you come here, Deb?"
She shrugs off his question, instead taking another hit. Though she doesn't directly face him, he can still make out the distance in her eyes, like she isn't all there inside. It breaks his heart, wondering where she's gone.
"You there?" He asks, almost dumbly.
"Where else would I be?" She replies with a weak smile.
"Deb, look at me."
For some reason, she hesitates; taking a long drag before throwing the joint to the ground and using the bottom of her shoe to put it out. She turns to face him, sighing before Dexter even says a word.
"Jesus, Deb. What the fuck happened to you?"
Though it's dark out, the sight of Debra's split lip is unmistakable. Dexter reaches out to wipe away the blood. It's only just begun to dry, so the injury couldn't have happened more than a couple of hours ago.
He can feel her trembling beneath his fingertips, her eyes flitting down to the ground in shame. He sees something akin to fear in them, and he isn't sure what to make of it. The last time he remembers seeing true fear in them was after Brian, after she all but begged him to wipe every reminder of her fiancé's false promises from her brain. He'd pried that ring from her finger and she'd embraced him as if that was the most noble thing he could have ever done for her. He made no mention of his sacrifice then and he doesn't think he ever will. But his decision still weighs on him as heavy as it ever has, and the look in her eyes takes him back to that night. He doesn't like it.
He uses his thumb to instinctively stroke the back of her hand, noticing a few bruises on her knuckles, still in their infancy. "Talk to me, Deb."
"What if I did something bad?" She mutters low, her eyes still studying the ground. "Something really bad?"
"Debra. There is nothing you could do that would change the way I feel about you." He says, placing his thumb and forefinger on her chin so he can tilt her face towards his. "Nothing."
"I shot someone." She whispers. "Jesus Christ, I'm pretty sure I fucking killed him."
She starts to laugh as the sobs rack through her, shaking her head in disbelief.
"What do you mean, you killed him? Who?"
"E-El Sapo." She answers. "I don't even know how it happened. It all went so fast."
Dexter feels as if his head is spinning. It's a good thing he's already sitting down, because this news surely would've knocked him off of his feet. To think that he was at Deb's crime scene, collecting evidence against her….
"Tell me what happened." He demands through gritted teeth.
"I told you, it happened so fast, I can barely get it straight in my fucking head."
"Well the booze and the drugs surely aren't helping with that. Tell me!" He shouts, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Deb, it is very important that you tell me everything that happened, exactly how it happened. Okay?"
"Okay…I just…I remembered where Briggs hinted that he'd been stashing the jewels, and it wasn't like he was going to be needing them any time soon, so I thought that if I got them and brought them back to Elway, it would be better than showing up empty handed. I was going to tell him that I found Briggs' stash, but he left the motel late last night and I haven't seen him since. Everything was fine, but then that fucking bastard snuck up on me out of nowhere…tackled me, beat the living shit out of me, and then ran off with all of the stuff. It's not like I could just let him get away with it, so I followed him into the parking lot and the last thing I saw was his brains splattered across the fucking interior!"
Dexter holds his head in his hands, unable to even look at her in that moment. "How did El Sapo even know where to find you?"
"The hell if I know, Dexter! He must've been following me or some shit. Does it matter now?"
"Of course it matters, Deb. Before I found you, I was just at your crime scene. I need to know if there's any way that this can be traced back to you."
"No. There's nothing. Nothing but…."
"The bullets." Dexter finishes. "Fuck, fuck! The bullets have already been placed into evidence! They're going to be tested tomorrow. Not to mention the hair that could've been found at the scene, or the blood that could've dripped from your wounds."
Deb takes a deep breath, wiping her face before using one hand to caress Dexter's cheek, taking his hand in the other. "It's okay, Dexter. It's alright."
"You killed again, Deb. How is that alright?"
"Because you're going to switch out the bullets and whatever else they stored in evidence tonight, and no one is going to be able to trace anything back to me."
The coldness in her tone unnerves him. He remembers the two of them in this very situation only six months ago, and her clear horror to his suggestion that they get rid of the evidence of her crime. Now though, she's singing a very different song.
She derives her own meaning from his extended silence, her pointed glare cutting him worse than the sharpest knife.
"So it's fine when I'm shooting people for you, or watching you cut up a body, but when I need you to come through for me for once, then suddenly, what? You're ashamed?" She asks, tears stinging her vision.
"I'm not ashamed of you." He replies. "I could never be ashamed of you, Deb. Do you hear me?"
"I love you, Dexter." She insists. "I need you."
"I love you, too." He says. "I'll do it."
She nods, moving closer so she can press her lips against his. The kiss is warm, and he can taste her blood in his mouth, metallic and sour. When they pull apart he looks into her eyes again.
This time, he doesn't know what he sees.