A/N: Hey guys! So happy to see that you enjoyed the last chapter. I really like writing this story, and the encouragement is very nice. A bit of a more laid back chapter this time; and by laid back I pretty much mean that nobody gets killed. Still, I hope that you enjoy it. Okay, that sounded wrong. I didn't mean to imply that you're all bloodthirsty or anything! Anyway, this chapter is a long one because I was having trouble figuring out where to cut it so apologies if some of you mind the length.
Also, for the sake of this story and me not wanting to retread on some of the shit with Vogel, let's just say that Dexter and Dr. Vogel have already established a little bit of a relationship before he went to the motel to win Deb back. She's shown him the videos of her sessions with Harry and he's spoken with her a bit. Basically, what I'm saying is that the events in 802 with Dexter and Vogel happened prior to the ending of 801.
Okay, I hope you enjoy this chapter, the next one shouldn't be too far off (I know, this coming from me...lol). Apologies for any typos, it's 1 AM ;)
Reviews are greatly appreciated! xo
6 Months Ago
She hates him. This time, she really hates him.
Her nails dig into his palm, the slight tremor in her hand is as persistent as it has been for the past few hours. Yet as Dexter goes to put Harrison down for bed, she moves with him, clutching his hand as tight as ever, almost as if she's scared of what will happen if she lets go.
She hates him. He's sure of it. But she makes no effort to pull away, doesn't even attempt to give herself some space even though she probably wants it desperately by now. It confuses him; the fact she can love him to the point of hating him.
Somehow, they manage to drift over to the kitchen where the two of them stand aimlessly by the counter. Their hands are joined and their eyes are trained on the floor, and Dexter silently wonders how long they can keep pretending to ignore each other before something explodes. Debra has always been the most stubborn of the Morgans, so there isn't a chance in hell that she'll willingly speak first. But to Dexter, the silence is deafening.
The first two words out of his mouth sound incredibly stupid to his ears, and he regrets them almost immediately after he speaks them. Not because he doesn't mean them, but because he knows that his sister won't appreciate them as much as he wants her to.
"Thank you."
Her eyes finally meet his in the dark, her brows knitting together before she drops his hand. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" She grinds out.
The way she'd howled at him in that shipping container has left her voice raspier than usual, but there's no mistaking the anger in it. The fury.
"I ‒"
"Shut the fuck up." She interrupts, using her free hand to shove at his chest. She hits him with all of her strength, and despite her weakened disposition, it's enough to set Dexter back a few paces.
"I can't believe you, Dexter. How could I have been so wrong? So fucking stupid."
A sob wracks through her, so violent that it threatens to bring her to her knees.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid." She mutters, slamming a fist against the side of her head to punctuate each syllable.
If her silence wasn't worrying enough, this is something much, much worse.
How did they get here? His sister threatening to do herself bodily harm, Maria LaGuerta dead by Deb's own hand…if only Harry could see them now. He would probably kill himself all over again. Dexter doesn't think he could blame him.
"Deb, stop it." He commands his sister, grabbing both of her wrists and forcing her arms down to her side. He holds them there despite her attempts to struggle free. "You're going to hurt yourself."
The corners of her mouth curl up, forming a smile that he doesn't recognize. It doesn't reach her eyes, their usual spark replaced with something frightening.
"Maybe I don't give a shit about hurting myself." She says. "Maybe I want to hurt myself."
Dexter answers for her. "No you don't." He yanks her by the arm ‒ the one rendered useless by her cast ‒ and forces her to other side of the room with him.
"Yes, Dexter, I really fucking do." She swears. "I want to hurt myself. It just sucks that I'm too much of a coward to ever go through with it."
Dexter sighs. He never thought he'd end up here, with his sister admitting that she wants to kill herself. However, the fact that she's deemed herself incapable of doing so is a small light in the dark. At least all hope is not lost.
"Dying is easy. When I shot Maria…that was it. She was gone. I held her in my arms and she was already starting to go cold. Gone, just like that. It all happened so quick, and I don't deserve quick. I deserve to rot for what I've done. I deserve to suffer through however many miserable years I have left on this earth, and when my heart finally stops beating and I get dragged straight to hell, I'm going to deserve that, too."
"Do I need to call and have you committed? Is that what you want?" Dexter asks, twisting her arm a little so he can better pin her against the wall. He doesn't think he can take any more of her self loathing. If anything, those words should be directed toward him. He's the real monster. Deb is just…lost.
She winces in pain when her arm hits the wall, her cries appealing to his sensibilities. He almost lets her go but soon thinks better of it. He loosens his grip the slightest bit, just enough so that he isn't hurting her but can still keep her pinned to the wall.
In his eyes, he will always see his little sister as an innocent; but there is no denying her recent penchant for manipulation. She knows just how to get to him and is definitely capable of using that to her advantage. He could never hurt her and she's well aware of that. She tries to remind him of that as a single tear streams down her cheek. But he won't allow himself to fall for it this time.
"Deb, please." Dexter pleads. "Everything is going to be okay. The worst of it is over now."
"You're good." She says, laughing through the tears. "You're really good. Just standing here and looking at you…if I didn't know you, I would probably think that you actually believe all of the bullshit you're spouting. It's a good thing I'm the only one who really knows you, isn't it? The good, the bad, and the worse."
"I do believe it. Because it isn't bullshit, Deb. It's the truth. You can hate me all you want but we are going to get through this. Together. All of the storms we've faced, all of the threats we've endured. It was tough, but we made it out. This isn't any different."
"Yeah, we made it out alright. We walked through the fire and landed straight in hell. I don't want to see what comes next."
"I do." Dexter says. "I'd follow you anywhere, Deb, because I love you."
"Of course you do." She nods, but sarcasm is evident in her tone. "It only took you thirty years of playing the devoted brother to realize it, but sure, I believe you. You have absolutely no reason to string me along. Especially now that I know all of your secrets."
Her words sting. He was wrong to avoid telling her how he felt about her for as long as he did, but how could she possibly blame him for that? How is someone supposed to admit to feelings that they didn't even know existed in the first place?
He repeats the words with more urgency this time. "I love you."
"You love me, but you're the one who got me into all of this shit in the first place. It's funny how that works out, isn't it? Now, let go of my fucking arm."
"Deb ‒"
"Dexter, I am not going to tell you again. Let go of my arm before I chop it off and bash your fucking head in with it."
Her voice is calm, but Dexter can see that there's a storm brewing within her. His grip loosens and she snatches her arm away, still making no attempt to put more distance between them despite her supposed hatred of him.
A fire roars behind her eyes, her rage burning red and hot. He isn't sure if she wants to argue with him or to punch him in the face or both; but any option sounds better than allowing her to walk out the door.
"You fucking asshole! You serial killing piece of shit!" She shouts. She unleashes on him, shoving both of her fists hard against his chest. "I killed her…because of you. How could you let me do that? How could you make me choose?"
"I didn't want you to. You weren't supposed to come after me, Deb. I told you to let me handle it and you didn't listen to me. Why don't you ever listen to me?"
She looks offended at the mere suggestion that any of this can be put on her. She had no problem assigning the blame to herself moments ago, but hearing that implication coming from Dexter in his own words must feel like the worst betrayal in the world to her.
"Oh, don't pretend that you didn't know any of this would happen." She accuses. "Ever since I walked in on you that night in the church, you have been manipulating me. You lied to me so I would help you cover up Travis' murder. You snapped? You snapped? I'm a fucking detective, Dexter, I hear that excuse every day and I know better than to believe it. But when it came from you, from my own brother, what choice did I have but to accept it? I idolized you when we were growing up. I couldn't believe that you were never the man I thought you were, the fantasy that I created in my head. So I believed it. I guess that's my fault. I should've known better. But you knew that I wouldn't. And you loved that. Stupid, stupid Deb. She could never put it together. She could never figure it out. Is that what you thought of me?"
"Never." He answers truthfully. "I just…I wanted to avoid all of this! Jesus Deb, you're impossible!"
Unfazed by his words, she continues on, her chest heaving rapidly as she bares her soul to him.
"When I finally figured out what you are, you let me think that I was crazy, that I couldn't possibly be right about you. But once I had you backed into a corner with no other options, you admitted to it, you dragged me along, you tried to convince me that you were doing the right thing. Didn't you?" She screams. "Didn't you, you sick fuck!?"
He stands there, mouth agape. Her distortion of events is insulting and he wants to tell her as much, but Dexter knows that his sister doesn't want to hear any rebuttal that he can muster. She's certain that her words have cut and now she's ready to twist the knife.
"I have been an accomplice for months now, Dexter. You turned me into this. No one else. So spare me the bullshit. You told me to stay out of LaGuerta's investigation but you and I both know that that was never going to happen. I'm a part of it now. Everything you do falls back on me. With every step you take I'm right behind you, covering your ass, taking your heat. Did you ever stop to consider that? No? Of course not. Because you don't ever think about anyone but yourself. You're a selfish piece of shit, and I don't know why I spent so much time denying that."
That hurts. He doesn't understand how she can so blatantly distort everything he's done to protect her. Every act, every precaution he took to make sure she didn't get hurt in his crossfire has been made something monstrous. How can she just stand there and turn their entire life together into something so awful? So wrong?
She isn't fighting fair and there is no reason that he has to, either. He can't help but stir the pot, to antagonize his sister even further. He knows that it will do him no good, but he's hopeless to fix her and she's left him with no other choice.
Raising his voice to match hers, he inches closer to her. Threateningly close. She doesn't fear him, never has, but he does notice a shiver pass through her small frame the nearer he comes. Though they're extremely close in height he does have a couple of inches on her and he uses them to his advantage, staring down at her like the predator that she's made him out to be.
"If you hate me so much, then why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance?" Dexter rasps. "I gave up. I surrendered. I knew that I was wrong and I wanted to make things right again. As right as they could ever be. But I could never give LaGuerta the satisfaction of parading me through the precinct in cuffs again like some sort of caged animal. You knew that. You knew what you had to do. So why didn't you do it, Deb? Why didn't you kill me? I wanted you to. I was practically begging you to. Or was that entire thing just for show? Maybe another one of my manipulation tactics, according to you."
"Stop it."
"Why? I asked you a simple question and it deserves a simple answer. You hate me, you think I'm a monster, you said all this yourself. You had the gun pointed at me. I had my hands up. I wanted you to kill me, Deb. So why didn't you? It would've been easy."
It feels good to let loose, to stop suppressing the rage that has been bubbling in the pit of his stomach for so long. He has no right to be angry with her but he most certainly is. Her supposed hatred of him just makes his desperation that much stronger, and the only way he knows to mask that weakness is through strength and indignation.
His hand finds its way to her throat, squeezing lightly before moving over to her shoulder. He slides the strap of her dress to the side, baring her collarbone. With the moonlight shining into the apartment it looks more pronounced than usual. He trails his thumb across it, trying to pry a reaction out of her. But it's to no avail. She's always had an iron-will, his sister.
"Why?" He repeats again.
Deb swallows deep, her eyes still boring into his. "You know why." She mumbles, not very confidently.
He can tell that she's feeling anxious as her eyes dart across the room in search of an escape route. No such luck. She'll have to go through him first.
"Remind me."
She surprises him by diving for his shirt, her fingers hurriedly undoing each button. He doesn't know where any of this is going but when she reaches down to pull it off he assists her with the task, lifting his arms above his head until the Henley is completely off. She tosses it clear across the room, her eyes looking him up and down, taking in the sight of him. She's seen him shirtless many times before, but this feels different somehow.
There's a weird thickness in the air as Deb leans in closer to him, an odd sort of tension that wasn't there a couple of seconds ago. Dexter doesn't know how to feel about it. He thinks that maybe he should run, but he wasn't made for that. He has the sudden urge to at least cover up, but with Deb standing so close that's near impossible.
"I've always hated that fucking shirt." She mutters. Her voice is low, and she looks hungry for something as her eyes trail across his naked chest.
Dexter can feel her breath on his face and suddenly realizes how close in proximity her lips are to his. How easy would it be to close that small gap? The question scares him, even more so the possibility that she could decide to close the distance herself and change their relationship forever. She has all of the power here and he doesn't like that.
He thinks back to that moment on Deb's patio a little while ago, to the confession that threatened to ruin them. At the time his initial response was to be disgusted; so disgusted that he hadn't even stopped to consider her words and how much they meant to her. But who could blame him? He was blindsided by her admission, and his reaction was one that any good brother would have.
But he has never been a good brother to her in the first place, has he? Does that mean he can be this instead?
Dexter's heart throbs hard in his chest, his head growing dizzier with each passing second. A terrible sensation runs through him, one that he should do his best to stomp down on, to banish to the deepest depths of his subconscious. He hardly understands what's going on, why he's thinking like this. He definitely doesn't want to think like this. But now she's moving even closer, too close, and he can't stop himself from staring down at her lips.
She sucks them into her mouth, her eyes wide as a doll's as they stare back into his. She takes a few steps back and then forward again, teetering on her heels as if she's unsure of something. She must make up her mind on whatever it is she's been pondering once she smooths her good hand along Dexter's bare chest. He wonders if she can feel the heat rising from there, because he certainly can.
Almost as if going in for a kiss she purses her lips, and Dexter braces himself for it, still unsure of his traitorous thoughts and what they all mean. He doesn't want her to kiss him, she's still supposed to be his sister, but somewhere down the line, things got fucked up.
He shuts his eyes, a move he tells himself is purely reflexive, as his heart threatens to tear through his chest. He can feel her reach out a hand and rest it on his shoulder, can hear her breaths coming short and ragged.
A second later and there's a glob of wetness on his cheek. It takes him a moment to realize that she's spit on him, and when he finally opens his eyes it's to see that she's standing halfway across the room with her back turned against him.
He wipes his face with the back of his hand, standing in complete disbelief. His sister, the one constantly good thing in his life, just spit on him. That's a gesture most commonly reserved for the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low. That's how she sees him now.
"You ruined me." She declares, her back still turned against him. "You ruined me and I let you do it."
He watches as she reaches for the picture of them that has been sitting on his desk for as long as he can remember and throws it across the room. It whizzes past his head and lands on the floor where it shatters. A broken mess, just like them.
She searches his desk for something else to throw, so focused that she seems almost in a trance. But Dexter doesn't care about any those items. Anything else that she could possibly get her hands on was made to be replaceable, so he squats down to the floor so he can retrieve his favorite picture. He studies their faces, so young and carefree. They wear matching smiles, and on the surface, they look perfect in every way. At least, she does.
Those were the best days of his life. Of course back then, he had no idea. He wishes he could go back.
He rises to his feet, somehow managing to duck just in time to avoid the phone that Deb decided to fling at his head. She screams like an animal when she realizes that she's missed again, running straight for one of his shelves and attempting to tip it over, completely dismissing the fact that it's much too heavy for her.
Dexter rushes over to restrain her, hugging her from behind so he can hold her in place. His first thought is to tell her to quiet down, to warn her that this constant fighting is going to wake up Harrison and force them to lie to the boy about what's going on with his two favorite people, but he quickly decides against it. There's nothing keeping Deb here in the apartment with him, nothing but her anger, and if unleashing it means that she'll stay here where he can keep an eye on her, he'll find a way to deal with it while still keeping his son in the dark.
Debra's sobs grow louder as she claws at his arms, her back shaking against his chest.
"I'm here, Deb." He tries to calm her. "I'm still with you, and I'm not going anywhere."
"That's the problem, though. Isn't it?" She asks. Her words are hard to make out through her tears but her broken heart is unmistakable. "When it comes to you, Dexter, there's never a choice. I will always put you first, even when it's not in my best interest. Fuck, especially when it's not. But you've never done the same for me. You're there for me until you aren't. It happens all the time. Something more attractive comes along and you choose that ‒ her ‒ over me. How much more of that am I supposed to take before I just…snap?"
"Hannah is in prison, Deb. For fuck's sake, I'm the one who put her there! I chose you, why can't you see that?"
"But you didn't want to. Not really." She says. "I could see it in your eyes when you gave me Sal's pen. You didn't do it because you love me more than her, you did it out of obligation."
"No, You're wrong." Dexter insists. "I mean, I did do it out of obligation, but it was an obligation to you. I chose you because I always will."
"That's bullshit and you know it." She sniffles. "You keep saying that you'll always choose me, but when I asked you to kill Hannah, when I asked you for one fucking thing, you turned me down. I asked you to make a hard choice and you couldn't do it, even if it meant my life. She's a killer, and she did what killers do. She tried to kill me, Dexter. Me. And even then, you didn't believe it until you were forced to. Is that what you call being there for me? Loving me? If that's what love is to you then I don't want it. I just wish I hadn't spent so many years chasing after it."
Her voice cracks a little, and Dexter holds her just a little bit tighter then. She feels weak in his arms, a hollow shell of the fierce woman she once was.
"Why am I the one always making the hard choices?" She asks him. "Why am I the one that has to keep giving more and more of myself while you stand there and leave me with nothing in return?"
"Deb. I'm sorry. I failed you, I know. You don't think I hate myself enough for that?" Dexter says, tears stinging in his eyes. He tries to blink them back, but he feels himself losing that battle. He can't remember the last time he's really cried, but this fight with Deb is worse than any other. It's taken too much out of him already.
"Don't apologize. It's too late for that." Deb says, slipping out of his arms so she can turn and face him. She wipes the tears from her eyes, seeing her brother clearly for the first time. "We can't keep living like this. I can't keep living like this. So I'm done, Dexter. I'm sorry."
"W-what are you saying?"
"I'm saying…goodbye." She answers simply.
She brings her thumb to his cheek, rubbing away the tears that have fallen from his eyes. The gentle way she touches him makes Dexter's heart race; and when she leans in closer to give him a kiss on the cheek, he feels as if it's going to burst.
Her kiss lingers for a moment before she pulls away, her eyes downcast. "Let Harrison know that I love him, okay?" She adds before she turns away and tries to head for the door.
Dexter catches her by the arm and pulls her back to him. He's never been one to beg, but he'll get down on both knees if that's what it takes to make her stay. That goodbye sounded a little too final as it passed from her lips, and nothing has ever been final between them. A life without her there would be unimaginable. The prospect alone is enough to drive him mad.
"Deb, please." He begs. "Please don't do this."
"It's already done." She says matter-of-factly. "Don't follow me, don't come by my house, don't call. I don't want you around. I need you to understand that."
"B-but I'll still see you, right?" He implores, desperate to find even the smallest glimmer of hope amongst the ruins of their relationship. "I understand if you want some space for a while but we still have to at least pretend to keep up appearances at work."
"Wow. You really don't get it, do you?" She asks in disbelief. "I'm never going back there again, Dexter. You may not have a problem facing everyone after being responsible for the death of their captain, but I do. They're good people, and they deserve better than me. I'm a fucking murderer. I'm a murderer." She starts to blink back tears as the realization sets in. Her voice breaks on her words and he breaks right along with them.
"Deb…"
"Stay away from me!" She yells. "Just leave me alone! Mark my fucking words, Dexter, if you come after me I'll…I'll kill myself."
Her words burn like fire against his skin. He wants to believe that they're nothing more than an empty threat, but as he stares into her wild eyes, he knows that she means it.
He's finally done it. This time, he's destroyed her.
"It'll be better this way." She says. "Now there's nothing stopping you, nothing holding you back from being the man that you've always wanted to be."
"And what about you?" Dexter asks, tears spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He wonders if he sounds half as helpless as he feels.
She ignores his question and offers him one last pitying glance before walking out the door, leaving him alone to find refuge in his own demons.
Now
"Ah! Fuck, that's cold as shit!" Deb whimpers, staring up at him with those doe eyes.
"Well yeah…it's ice."
Deb scoffs at him and Dexter laughs before he returns to the task at hand: icing her bruises. The worst of it is at her side. The contusions there are so large that they make him wonder how she could even manage to stand after the beating El Sapo dealt her.
After some pushing from his end she'd told the entire story of what happened an hour or so before Dexter had found her in the park, and he'd been nothing short of horrified to hear the entire tale. But now the horror has transformed itself into good old fashioned rage, and he wishes that there was a feasible target that he could direct it towards. With El Sapo dead he supposes that justice has been served, but he'd be lying if he said that it wouldn't be satisfying to revive the man just so he can kill him himself.
"Do you have any bandages?" Dexter asks. "Preferably the elastic ones. I want to wrap your stomach just in case your ribs are sprained."
"Why the fuck would I have any of those?"
"Forget it, I don't know why I asked." He replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His sister has never been the responsible one. It used to frustrate him, but now he's mostly just relieved that his sister hasn't completely changed on him. "You don't even had food in your cabinets, so medical supplies are definitely a no."
"Hey! I have food…"
"Deb, a case of beer and a three month old bag of pork rinds are not food."
"Speak for yourself. That right there sounds like dinner to me."
Dexter frowns, putting the ice pack down on the coffee table. He sits down on the couch where she lays, lifting her legs and setting them down in his lap.
He knows that she had only been joking, and he's missed her playfulness very much, but she is noticeably thinner than she was months ago, and that concerns him. She obviously hasn't been eating much, which means that she's been getting the majority of her calories from all of the boozing. That can't be good.
Deb self-consciously bites down on her bottom lip. It must sting, thanks to the cut that had only been just starting to heal, and she flinches. She crosses her arms over her chest, squirming as Dexter idly rubs his hand along her leg.
"Why are you staring at me so hard?"
"No reason. It's just…you look hungry, I guess. We were supposed to have dinner tonight, before everything happened. I was wondering if you still wanted to take me up on that."
"You know I do. I'm hungry as shit." She replies. But the way her eyes flit down to the floor tell him there's something else weighing on her.
"Okay, great…but something's bothering you. I can tell." Dexter says. "Tell me."
"It's nothing."
"Deb…"
"I'm worried." She blurts out, sliding her body off of him and retreating further to the edge of the couch. She sits on the arm of it, forcing her eyes shut as she tries to stomp down the pain from her injuries.
Dexter rises to his feet so he can move to stand at her side, chancing a hand on her shoulder. "Worried about what?"
"You said that you would go back to the station and switch out the evidence but it's getting late and you're sitting here pressing ice cubes against my stomach! That's what I'm worried about! She says, each word spoken without so much as one breath in between. "I appreciate you wanting to be there for me but I can handle this small shit on my own. I need you to go take care of it, Dex."
"I am going to take care of it." Dexter assures her. "All of it. Don't you trust me?"
"Of course." She nods her affirmation, but he can still see that small spark of uncertainty lingering in her eyes.
"Good, because I have a plan." Dexter says. "But I won't be able to pull it off tonight. The station will be a ghost town and I need an audience."
"Dexter…no offense but…what the fuck are you talking about?"
"It's risky, but hiding out in plain sight has worked well enough for me so far. I don't see why destroying evidence that way won't produce similar results."
"It's official. You've completely lost your mind." Deb declares, taking off into the kitchen. She makes herself a glass of water straight from the tap, and though Dexter knows that she's frustrated with him, he's happy to see that she's keeping hydrated at least. "If hiding out in plain sight has worked so goddamn well for you, then how do you explain LaGuerta? And Doakes? And me?"
"So I might've overstated things." Dexter admits. "But you can't tell me that I'm wrong. There may have been a few…incidents, yes, but I've landed on my feet every time."
"Great. You want a medal or something? Congratulations, you're the best serial killer of all time."
"You know this isn't about that."
"Sorry. I'd almost forgotten what a humble guy you are. My mistake."
"Stop it." Dexter says, going to join her in the kitchen. "Listen, I know that you're scared and I know that this sounds risky, but I not going to go in there and expose myself. I know what I'm doing. You have to believe that."
"You know that I do." Deb sighs. "There are a lot of words that I could use to describe you, but ineffectual is not one of them."
"Okay, so it's a plan then. I just need you to do one thing for me."
"Yeah? And what's that?"
"I need a distraction. I want you to come back to Miami Metro."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Dexter! You know that I can't go back there!" She yells, anxiously running her hands through her hair. "How could you even ask me that?"
"You know that I wouldn't put you through this if it weren't absolutely necessary, Deb. It's the only option we have. Masuka will be testing the blood that was found beneath El Sapo's fingernails tomorrow morning around nine. I need you to come down to the station and distract him while I swipe the samples from his desk. You only have to make small talk with him long enough for me to get rid of the evidence. And when he goes back into the lab and discovers that the slides are gone, he'll probably chase his tail for a little while as he wonders where he had them last, but he'll eventually fess up to Batista about misplacing them. He'll be angry, maybe dock Masuka a few hours' pay, but it'll be alright. Batista wants more cases closed for the sake of the department, but no one cares too much about getting justice for a mid-level street thug." Dexter explains.
Debra stands there in complete silence, taking a sip of water while she mulls over his plan. She's trying and failing to poke holes in it, to find anything that will keep her from walking into the very place she vowed to never set foot in again.
"What about the bullets?" She finally mumbles. "You said that Masuka is testing the blood, but what about the bullets? I shot El Sapo three times, that's three fucking bullets that have to be accounted for, Dexter."
Dexter's eyes fall down to Debra's hips where he knows he'll find the gun tucked into her pocket. He can see the handle poking out, and it looks unfamiliar to him, a complete different model than the one she used to carry when she was still on the force.
"They can test the bullets. It doesn't matter. As long as they have no gun to trace it back to, it won't be a problem." He says, "Give it to me, I'll get rid of it."
She hands it over. "What are you going to do with it?"
"That depends. Where did you get it from? Is it registered to you?"
"I don't…fuck, Dexter!" She exclaims. "That's not my gun!"
"What?"
"I forgot that I haven't been carrying my gun around. That's because I still had Briggs' gun."
"So let me get this straight…you killed the man who was coming after Briggs…with Briggs' gun? Okay, this is perfect. You did great, Deb. Now we can kill two birds with one stone." Dexter pauses for a moment, realizing that he probably shouldn't be congratulating his sister for gunning a man down. But when she doesn't react to his misstep, he continues on.
"When the police find this gun and match it to the bullets found in El Sapo's car, they'll figure that Briggs took him out. And with Briggs now off the grid, our good friends at Miami Metro Homicide will safely assume that he bolted after killing El Sapo, or that some of El Sapo's men killed him in retribution. Case closed."
Dexter feels a shiver run through him, a wave of energy similar to what made him act so impulsive the night before. It feels good to plan with Deb, to let her in on the entire process, no longer as a reluctant accomplice, but a real, actual part of it. He hates himself.
"So I guess it turns out the universe doesn't hate us." Deb says. "Or at least, not as much as we thought."
"I guess so." Dexter says, ensuring that the safety is on before putting the gun in his back pocket. "Why don't you go pack a bag so we can head back to my place?"
"A bag? I thought we were just having dinner."
"You didn't honestly think I was going to let you out of my sight again, did you?" Dexter asks. He tries to keep his tone light so he won't risk scaring her off, but he meant what he said. As if disappearing on him for six months wasn't bad enough, last night, she ran off on him at the first chance she got. He can't let that happen again.
"Hey," She says, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look her in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"
"That's what you said last time."
"I know." She nods. "I'll go get my stuff."
She disappears into her room only to emerge a few short minutes later. She carries a small bag that, by the looks of it, can't hold very much. Dexter thinks to tell her to grab another bag or two but ultimately decides against it. In this fragile state, anything could serve to irritate her, and he definitely doesn't want to do that. After a day or two spent at his place, he'll take her shopping for whatever else she may need.
The drive back to his place is relatively quiet, and Jamie greets them at the door, seemingly in a hurry to leave. She assures them that Harrison is fast asleep before heading out, refusing to accept the extra money that Dexter tries to give her for her trouble. They're hours later than they should be, and he feels bad for imposing on her. She's a young girl in the prime of her life. She should be having her own adventures, not cooped up in Dexter's apartment raising his son.
Deb goes to the bathroom to unwind, denying the help when Dexter offers to assist her climb into the bathtub. She tells him that she isn't a fucking cripple before shutting the door in his face, and he chuckles all the way to the kitchen. He gets started on dinner ‒ pasta, since he'd neglected to pick up a few steaks before his sister decided to go kill a guy ‒ and by the time she emerges from the bathroom he's already had their plates on the table for almost twenty minutes.
"The food's getting cold." He announces before taking a seat and pouring some sauce on his spaghetti. He does the same for hers, noting her prolonged stare.
"Why does this feel so fucking familiar?" She wonders, shoveling a forkful of noodles into her mouth. "You trying to put me in serial killer rehab, Dex?"
"No." He answers. "Because you're not a serial killer."
"Don't worry, there's still time for that."
"Deb, I didn't want any of this to happen. I fucked up with Briggs, I shouldn't have done that."
"Can we talk about…I don't know…literally anything else? I'm not in the mood for this."
"Okay. How are the noodles?"
"Overcooked."
Her face crumbles and she bursts into a fit of giggles, and Dexter thinks this is the happiest he's seen her in months. He hates that he can't remember the last time either of them were truly happy. Her laughter is infectious, making Dexter's stomach tighten as he struggles to catch his breath.
"So tell me, what have you been up to?" She asked after the laughter has subsided.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean while I was gone. You know about everything that I've done these past few months but I don't know how you've been keeping busy. That doesn't seem fair."
Dexter shoves his mouth full of food so he can avoid answering the question. He doesn't feel like explaining to her that his routine had essentially been going to work, killing, and of course, stalking her; but she keeps her eyes on him with laser focus, waiting patiently for his response.
"I…you know…mainly just the usual."
"I know that face. What aren't you telling me? Come on, it can't be that bad."
"There's nothing, Deb. I mostly just tried to keep living life as normal. It didn't go very well, obviously."
"That sounds lonely."
"It was." Dexter replies. "I was. Truthfully, I…nevermind."
"Oh come on, now I'm all curious. Now you have to tell me."
"You're going to laugh."
"Of course I am." She smiles. "Tell me anyway."
"The nights were really bad. The worst, actually." Dexter admits. "I can't remember the last time we actually lived together, so it's not like I expected you to be here, but every night when I would try to go to sleep, it was just impossible for me. Knowing that you were running around hating yourself, hating me, it made The Need grow stronger. So one night, I went out to a bar. I had been vetting this guy for a while, and I followed him there. As I sat there watching him, this woman approached me. She started flirting with me but I didn't really pay her any mind. Not until…forget it. It's stupid."
"Until what?" Deb wonders. "This story better have a good ending, Dex, because I'm not so sure that I want to hear about your random sexcapades."
"You're the one who asked." He fires back. For what has to be one of the only times in her life, Deb has so rebuttal. She watches him intently, her head propped in her hands, as Dexter reluctantly continues telling her about that night a few months ago. "She told me that her name was Debra, and I don't know, I guess I just shut down. She asked me if I wanted to get out of there. So I said yes…and…yeah. That happened."
"Oh my God. You fucked some skank just because she has the same name as me? Shit, that's pathetic."
Dexter tries to let her insults roll right off his back, but he can feel the red heat crawling up his neck and tries to hide the physical manifestation of his embarrassment. He wishes he hadn't told her that, the story of him at one of his lowest points, but the truth is that it had been weighing on him for some time. He's sure that she has had her fair share of illicit encounters ‒ in fact, he has walked in on quite a few of them ‒ but he knew from the moment it happened that it was wrong. He wouldn't consider it cheating, since they'd sworn no allegiance to each other. He doesn't even know what they are now, so it would've been impossible for him to have a grasp on their relationship back then; but he had been seeking solace in other people, trying to find a way to recapture the magic that was once his. He gave into lust, something he rarely ever does, because he missed Deb that much.
He thinks that night may have been when he finally came to terms with his feelings, his eyes shut tight as he moved inside of her, calling out Deb's name when that stranger brought him to climax. He couldn't even bear to look at her, because no matter how attractive she might've been, she was no match for the real thing. She wasn't the woman he was looking for and she knew that, immediately scooping up her clothes and scurrying out the door as soon as the deed was done. Dexter must've lay there for hours that night just staring up at the ceiling, wondering when exactly he'd gotten so lost. Because he was the lost one, truly.
Deb reaches across the table, covering his hand with hers. Her warmth brings him back to the present, and he looks up to see her smiling at him.
"I get it." She says. "I might've done the same thing…once or twice."
"Nice. So we're equally fucked up then."
"Looks like it. Maybe we need therapy."
"Actually, it's funny that you mention that. I've kind of been seeing a therapist."
"You? A therapist?" Deb snorts in disbelief.
"You could maybe try not to sound so shocked. I just met her recently, so this is all fairly new to me…but it turns out that Dr. Vogel has known about me for quite some time now."
"Um, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"It's late, I don't want to get into the whole story now. But Dr. Vogel…she knows things about me that no one else does. She's been here all along, an untapped resource to my past that I would be a fool not to take advantage of. I don't know if I can completely trust her, not yet; but as of right now she's done nothing but help. It would mean more than you could ever know if you came to one of our sessions. Just once to feel her out."
"Jesus, Dex. You're actually serious about this, aren't you?"
"I think I might be." He answers. "We've only just found our way back to each other, and I don't want to do anything to jeopardize that. But if we're going to work through our shit, we need to lay everything on the table and keep nothing held back. I think Dr. Vogel could really help us do that. I know that it's scary but we're worth the risk. I'm willing to fight for us if you are."
Deb looks up at him in consideration. "I'll think about it." She nods.
"Okay." Dexter says, a wave of relief washing over him. He hadn't expected this to go over nearly as well as it did, so he'll count her response as a victory, albeit a small one.
They make their way to his bedroom a few minutes later so they'll be able to get up early when morning comes. Deb lays down beside him, her back pressed up against his chest. It feels good to sleep beside her for the second night in a row, but in a way it's spoiled him. Now, he doesn't think it's possible to survive without this again.
He dreams.
There is no blood. Only her. They do mundane things, like having barbeques on the 4th of July and spending hours burning under the hot sun while they watch Harrison at a soccer game, cheering him on from the stands.
Maybe normal can be their happily ever after. That once unattainable life has just been made a bit more palpable, and when Dexter wakes, he finds himself reaching for it.
Deb groans back to consciousness, flashing him a pointed glare before rolling out of bed and slinking into the bathroom. When she emerges she looks presentable enough. She managed to put a clean outfit together and dust a little bit of makeup on her face, and that manages to make her look a little less tired than she did the day before. He would've preferred it if she'd put a bit more effort in, maybe straightened her hair like she used to, but he knows that this is a lot to ask of her.
It's also a lot to ask of him. He wonders how he got here, committing felonies for his sister, covering up her crimes. But he says nothing once he remembers that the blame can all be traced back to him.
They drop Harrison off at school and the rest of the drive is done in silence. When the Miami Metro Homicide building comes into view, Dexter notices Deb shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
"You only have to stay for ten minutes, fifteen at the most." He assures her, rubbing a hand on her thigh.
"Whatever, let's just get this shit over with."
The station seems oddly languid as they make their way through the hall. When they make it to the elevator Dexter is glad to see that it's empty. Debra undoubtedly is too. She retreats to the corner, tightly clutching the rail for support as she mutters curses under her breath. When the doors swing open Dexter is faced with the one person he wanted to see least of all: Joey Quinn.
He hopes that the man will just keep on walking and initially it appears that that's exactly what he's going to do; but by some sick twist of fate he turns his head and peers through the double doors. He looks past Dexter and finds Deb standing there trying to hide, his face practically lighting up when he sees her.
He greets her with the wide-toothed grin of a grade school boy and Dexter thinks he's going to be nauseous. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
"Hey, Deb!" The detective says, falling into step with the Morgans as they make their way through the corridor. "It's uh…it's real good to see you."
"Yeah." She answers, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.
"So uh, what brings you back to the station? God, It's good to see you. Real good."
"You said that already." Dexter chimes in, not at all nicely. Debra tries to shut him up, swiftly elbowing him in the side. "Oh, did I just say that out loud? My mistake."
"Yeah Dex. Yeah, you did." Quinn adds, his jaw clenched tight.
It's clear that he'd much prefer to speak with Deb alone, but Dexter certainly won't be allowing that to happen. Once the man stops buzzing around his sister like a fly on a picnic basket, that's when Dexter will finally be able to set his plan in motion. But until then, he isn't going to leave her alone with her former beau.
When they finally make it in close proximity to the lab, Angel comes swooping in to save the day. "Debra Morgan? Dios, it's been too long, my friend." He wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight to his chest. "What brings you around?"
"Day off….I figured I'd come by and see how you guys are doing without me here to bust your balls twenty four seven."
"We're doing alright. We'd be doing a whole lot better with you back on our side though."
"Thanks, but…I've really got a good thing going with Elway. The hours are super flexible, so now I have time to do other things besides working all the time."
"Yeah Morgan, like what?" Quinn wonders. "You used to love it here. You put your career above everything. What could be more important than that?"
"I don't know. Living my fucking life, I guess."
"Well shit Deb, I don't blame you." Angel says. "Not one bit. The job can take over sometimes. I get that. And after as much as you gave…I can't think of anyone who deserves a break more than you."
"Thanks Angel, I really appreciate it." She nods, a weak smile tugging at her lips.
If her ex-coworkers notice her air of detachment they don't dare mention it. Angel apologizes before dismissing himself and Quinn so they can head out to do an interview across town, and Deb seems to calm down a bit once they're gone. But before she has the chance to really relax, in walks Masuka. He carries the samples he's meant to be testing in his hands and heads straight for his lab, but there's no doubt in Dexter's mind that he's already spotted the two of them. It's only a matter of time before he ‒
"Who is this moving through these hallowed halls? Could it really be Debra Morgan? Or do my eyes deceive me?"
You've got to love predictability.
"Hey Vince." She greets him, keeping her eyes on Dexter the entire time. "Time to talk?"
She jerks her head to the side, trying to get him to hurry up and do what he came here to do so she can cut down on the amount of time she has to spend with her former friend; but he cannot run off straight away. He has to slip away organically, come up with a viable reason to excuse himself first.
"I always have time for you." Masuka insists, moving to stand closer to her. "It's been so long since you left, my memories were starting to grow fuzzy. So you can imagine my surprise to see you waltzing in here again just like old times. I'll definitely be tucking this image away in the spank bank for later, just in case."
"Watch it." Deb warns. "I came all the way down here to see you, but I could just as easily take my ass back home. Don't push your luck."
"You came for me? I'm honored." He replies. "Okay, I'll be on my best behavior from here on out. But first let me just say that you are looking absolutely ravishing this morning. The hair looks hot, very 80's porn star. Back me up here, Dex."
"She's my sister. Don't be gross."
"What can I say? Sometimes I just can't help myself."
"Ugh, I'm going to be sick." Deb groans. "I know I'm going to regret this, but…Vince, do you want to go get some coffee? Fair warning, I will not hesitate to pour it down your pants if you try anything slick."
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"No. But feel free to pretend that I am."
"Aww man, can you give me a half an hour? I really have to run these tests before Angel gets back."
"Nope, it has to be now. I'm supposed to be at work in an hour but I came all the way down here to spend some time with one of my only friends. You wouldn't want to let me down, would you?"
"Well when you put it like that…come on, let's do it."
He drapes an arm around Deb's shoulder as they walk away, making sure to turn around and wink at Dexter before they disappear from his view. His signature laughter echoes through the hall and Dexter waits until the coast is clear before sliding into the lab.
He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he's doing this for her. The blood evidence sits on Masuka's desk just as expected, and Dexter pockets the two meager samples that they managed to collect at the scene.
He peeks out of the window to make sure that there isn't anyone out there before slipping back out into the hall. As he's walking he realizes that he has no clue where exactly it is that he's going. He made no plans of how he was going to dispose of the evidence once he got it, and of course there's still the matter of where he's going to plant Briggs' gun to ensure that the police find it. His feet eventually take him out to the parking lot, and he decides that the most logical choice would be to store the slides in his glove compartment before he can properly dispose of them at home.
Once he's done with that, his phone buzzes to life in his pocket. He assumes that it's Debra, already desperate for him to get her out of her coffee date with Masuka. But when he looks at the screen it's Evelyn Vogel's name that he sees.
"Dr. Vogel?" He answers. "What's going on?"
"Dexter, I need you at my house immediately." The ordinarily calm doctor sounds a bit troubled to him, her voice much shakier than normal.
"Uh, I'm actually at work right now. Do you think it could wait a few hours?"
"No, Dexter. This is urgent."
"Alright, I can be there in fifteen minutes."
"Thank you. I'll see you then."
She hangs up before Dexter has the chance to ask her to elaborate on whatever it is that has her so shaken up. Though he hasn't known the woman very long it's clear that she isn't the type to scare easily, so whatever it is, it must be serious.
He spots Deb and Vince sitting by one of the food trucks parked across the street. Masuka looks to be enjoying himself very much, his head thrown back in manic laughter, while Deb looks…well…like Deb. As Dexter walks over to them it almost hurts him to break up their little meeting, especially when he considers the fact that Masuka could end up getting suspended for what he's done. This might be the only happy moment he has in a while. But there's no room to feel bad about any of it. He's never been that type of person and he isn't about to become one now.
"Hey Vince, sorry, but I have to steal my sister now."
"Are you kidding me, Dex? Way to cockblock, bro."
"Harrison is sick, I need her to go get him from school." Dexter lies.
"Oh, damn. Well, I hope the little guy is alright. Deb, we'll continue this some other time." Masuka says, following up his words with a suggestive wink.
"Count on it." Deb says. She puts on a smile for him but it quickly fades once her back is turned. They quickly walk over to Dexter's car. "Jesus Dexter, I thought that would never end. I could barely look him in the fucking eye, how do you do this every day?"
"I'm sorry. I won't bring you back here again, I promise. I took care of it. We're fine now."
"Thank you." She says, climbing into the passenger's seat. "Maybe don't use Harrison as an excuse next time, though. You know, karma and all that shit."
"What? It's the only thing he would've accepted and you know it."
"I guess you're right." She acknowledges. "So what now, you're blowing off work?"
"Actually, Dr. Vogel called. She said it's important."
"Well shit, it better be. If this is all some elaborate ruse to get me to go to therapy, I'll punch you in your smug fucking mug."
"I don't doubt that." He replies. "Don't worry. I'm sure this won't take long but she said she needed my help and…I guess I'm that guy now."
"You were always that guy." She says. "Even if it took you until now to realize it."
Though he doesn't believe a word she says it's nice to hear her say them. They fall into a comfortable silence as he makes the drive to Vogel's, and once they get there, Dexter is surprised when Deb immediately opens her door and moves to follow him into the home. He goes back for one of the knives he always keeps stored in the car, just in case he may need some extra protection. He walks in front of Deb, shielding her body with his own as he rings the doorbell and waits for the doctor to answer.
The door swings open and there she stands, looking a bit on edge but otherwise fine.
"Come in. Please." She says, gesturing toward the couch.
Neither Deb nor Dexter takes a seat, their skepticism painted across their faces in matching frowns.
"What was the emergency, Evelyn?" Dexter asks.
"This."
She picks up a package from the coffee table. The box resembles that of a gift, complete with a bow on top. But when she lifts the lid, what's inside is no gift at all.
"What the fuck!?" Deb gasps. "Is that a fucking brain or have I officially lost it?"
"It is." Vogel answers, setting the box back down on the table. "And believe it or not, Debra, this isn't the first. That's why I called your brother here today. I need his help tracking down the person responsible for this."
"How did you know my name?" Deb wonders, shooting Dexter an angry glare.
"Oh, forgive me. I thought Dexter had already gotten you up to speed on things. My name is Dr. Evelyn Vogel, and I'm a friend." She declares, extending a hand toward Deb. "It's been so long since I've seen you last. You've grown into a very beautiful young woman."
"We've met before? I'm sorry, but I don't remember." Deb says. She goes on the defensive, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Of course you don't. You were practically still in diapers at the time." Vogel explains. "Harry brought you along one day. Even back then, I could see so badly why he wanted to protect you."
"You knew my dad." Deb nods, the realization that there's more to this woman than Dexter had let on finally dawning on her. "He fuck you, too?"
"I beg your pardon?" Evelyn gasps, looking to Dexter for support. But he has nothing to say. He's never been able to control his sister or her massive mouth.
"Sorry, it's just that I can never be too sure. Turns out Harry Morgan was whoring around town while my poor mother was dying of cancer." Deb adds with a tight-lipped smile.
"Your father was a good man and he loved you and your mother until the end, Debra. I know you may still harbor some ill will towards him after the suicide, but I can help you move past that, if you'd like."
Dexter watches as his sister's eyes grow wide with shock. She turns to him and he can see the resentment in her eyes, and no matter how much he wants to step in an console her, his tongue feels dry in his mouth. He can't make himself speak, not even to tell Dr. Vogel what a grand mistake she's just made.
"What the fuck did you just say about my dad? Did you just say that he…that he killed himself?"
"Debra, I didn't mean to ‒ "
"Shut the fuck up! Dexter, did you…" She chokes on her words, tries to blink back tears as she silently pleads with him to tell her that it isn't true. "Did you know about this?"
He tries to reach for her but she pushes him away. "D-Deb, please, we can talk about this later. Just…"
"No! No! I don't wanna hear it, okay? I can't…I can't fucking deal with this right now. I can't."
She turns on her heel and runs straight for the door.
"Wait! Where are you going?" He calls out after her.
"Away from you." She answers, stepping out of the door and slamming it behind her.
And just like that, she slips through his fingers once again.
This time, he wonders if she really hates him.