A/N: Hey guys! Apologies for this super unexpected hiatus. I'm really mad at myself for taking so long to update but unfortunately a lack of internet will do that to ya :/ I've been working on the next chapter so hopefully I'll have that up soon.
Apologies if there are any typos, and thanks for sticking with me! It means more than you know xo
"Dexter. I don't know what to say. That wasn't quite the reaction I was anticipating."
Dexter hadn't even noticed the doctor creep up behind him. When she moves to rest a hand on his shoulder he shrugs her off, his motion probably a little rougher than necessary. Not that he cares much.
"Oh? And what exactly were you anticipating she would do, doctor?"
"I just wasn't expecting her to be so…expressive. You two are practically polar opposites."
"So I've been told."
Dexter rolls his eyes at her before deciding that he has nothing left to say. When he starts for the door Vogel asks him to wait. He doesn't know why, but he grants her request.
"I'm sorry, Dexter." She says. "I assumed that your sister already knew the specifics of your father's death. That was my mistake."
"It was. You don't even know Deb. You have no right to assume anything about her. Or about me, for that matter." Dexter says, turning to face the woman. "Debra was a teenager when Harry died, and I wasn't much older. The police didn't tell us that it was a suicide. Two traumatized kids… that news wouldn't have gone over well, I'm sure. But I don't even think they knew at the time what the cause of death was. It wasn't until a few years ago that I was able to figure things out on my own."
"And once you figured out the truth...you didn't tell Debra?"
"No, I didn't tell Debra. She had already been through enough, and she was finally starting to put Harry's death behind her. Telling her the truth would only upset her and void all of the progress she'd made so far. I couldn't do that to her. I'm not that cruel."
"Alright. And what about now?"
"Now...I don't know." Dexter admits. "You saw the way she stormed out of here. Maybe I should give her some time to cool off. I could stand to learn some boundaries, and I'm not exactly her favorite person right now."
"Yes, but you're her only person." Vogel says. Her eyes are soft and sincere, as if she actually cares deeply about their relationship and not just what Dexter himself has to offer her. This is a sort of kindness that he isn't much used to.
"What Harry did may seem selfish to you and your sister on a surface level, but he did it knowing that you would always be around to keep that girl safe. He trusted that you would be able to do what he couldn't. Are you going to let him down?"
"Of course not." Dexter answers. "I've tried to protect Deb for my entire life. And that isn't just because Harry told me to. It's because I love her."
He notices Vogel pull back a bit, as if she is surprised that he could ever allow those three words to pass from his lips. Her reaction annoys him but he doesn't let that show.
"Alright then," she nods, clearly learning her lesson on voicing assumptions that she has no business making. "Go to her. Help her understand."
"I don't — "
"She's just outside that door." Evelyn interrupts, pointing past him. "So don't tell me that your sister doesn't want to see you. If that were true, she would've left by now."
Dexter turns around and sure enough, the doctor's assessment is correct. He can make out Deb's shadow through the curtain, standing on Vogel's porch with her back turned against the door.
The fact that she hasn't left yet can certainly be taken as a good sign, but Dexter can't help but fear what she's going to say to him once he goes out there to face her. But he won't know until he knows, so he leaves Vogel's house without a word, carefully opening the door and stepping outside.
Deb doesn't spare him a single glance. She must know that he's there, but he figures that she finds some joy in taunting him this way. She knows how much he hates being ignored.
She takes a seat on the steps, leaving just enough space for Dexter to claim the empty place beside her, intentionally or not.
The stairs are a bit warm thanks to the beaming Miami sun. When Deb rests a hand on them and then quickly snatches it back, Dexter is unsure if it's the heat that is to blame, or the fact that his hand happened to be in such close proximity to her own.
He takes a deep breath and turns to her, accepting that he'll probably be made to stare at the side of her face for the duration of this particular conversation.
"Deb,"
"Did dad kill himself because of you?"
The question is blunt but not totally unexpected, and Dexter senses that she already knows the answer that she seeks. But of course, this is Deb, so she asks anyway.
"Deb, could you please look at me?"
She doesn't redirect her gaze. He knew she wouldn't. But she hasn't fled from him, not yet. He counts that as a win.
"Yes." He sighs, hanging his head. "I guess you could say that he did."
"No, I didn't say anything. That was all you and your fucking shrink." She replies, her eyes falling down into her lap. "How long have you known about this? And be honest with me, okay? No bullshit."
"Deb, could we not do this? It's been just you and me for so long now. I know this is tough to hear but it doesn't have to change anything if we don't let it."
"My father offed himself and you never once thought that that was something I might want to know? Jesus Christ, Dexter! This is a lot, even for you." She says. "How long have you known? Please, you can at least give me that."
There's no use in lying to her now. It'll only make things worse and Dexter knows that for a fact. But old habits are hard to break, and he's had a lot of practice in dishonesty over the years.
"I…" He stutters.
"Dexter!"
"I found out around the peak of the FBI's investigation into Doakes…" He admits. "So… I guess it's been a while."
Deb drops her head into her hands. "Oh. Great."
"It was Matthews who told me that Harry committed suicide, and I know that I should've told you but Deb, you have got to understand — "
"Matthews told you?" Deb asks, her head jerking up in a rage. She trips on her words, her voice quivering as she tries to rationalize the implication of what he's just said. "No. I thought he cared about me. If dad killed himself, Tom would've told me so. He stayed with us that entire night…he told me everything would be alright…"
"Matthews does care about you, Deb. You're like a daughter to him, you know that. And before Harry died, he told Tom to look out for you. For both of us. And he's been doing that all along."
"Bullshit. You call this looking out for me?"
"I do."
"Agree to disagree." She scoffs.
Dexter finds himself at a loss for words. All things considered, Deb seems oddly calm about this entire thing. The Deb of a few months ago would be absolutely broken up over the news. She would swear at him, slap him, cry hysterically until there was no fight left in her and she had nothing left to do but collapse into his arms. But this reaction isn't anything like what he was anticipating, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.
She goes unusually quiet, so quiet that Dexter can hear the cars that are driving by a block or two away. So he waits. When she's finally ready to talk, he'll hear everything she has to say. It's the least he can do after this betrayal.
"No." Deb says after a few more minutes of silence. "My dad didn't kill himself. I don't believe you. He wouldn't have done that."
Dexter reaches for her hand, more than a little surprised when she doesn't shrug him away but instead clutches tightly to it. Her eyes finally meet his and the breath he'd been holding in for far too long finally leaves him. He doesn't know if he should be relieved or worried.
"Can't you see, Dexter? Dad never would've left us. Not willingly."
Dexter doesn't attempt to hide his doleful expression. It's obvious to him now that Deb isn't going to accept the truth no matter what he says, but he wonders how long this state of hers will last.
"I'm sorry he isn't the hero you wanted him to be." Dexter tells her. "I wish everything good in your life didn't turn out to be so fucking disappointing. But Deb —
"Dad never would've left us. Not willingly." She repeats. "The only way he would do that is if somebody made him do it."
Her voice is hushed, as if she doesn't want anyone to hear whatever she's about to say. But there doesn't seem to be anyone around. No one but...
"Dr. Vogel. Okay, just hear me out on this for a second." Deb leans in closer, so close that her lips are almost pressed to Dexter's ear. "You said that dad had been learning things from her, right? That he'd been getting advice on what to do with you? Well what if he woke up and finally got tired of being manipulated? What if he realized what I've always known? That you're a normal person who is capable of love and all of the shit that comes with it. What if he told Dr. Vogel that, and she got scared, maybe even angry? She couldn't let Harry take away her pet. Could she?"
Dexter doesn't like the way that Deb practically spits out those last few words. A pet. Is that what Dr. Vogel sees him as?
Her desire to study him certainly raised some red flags in the beginning, but despite some initial skepticism on Dexter's end, he can't seem to find anything more sinister than a professional curiosity in the woman. Over the course of their short time together she's even shown hints of caring about both Morgan siblings, not just the supposed psychopath. Would a truly evil person be capable of that? Well...he is. Maybe not the best example.
"Deb," Dexter starts, pulling away so he can look at her face.
Her eyes are wide and almost hopeful, like she really believes the nonsense that she's trying to convince him of. Of course she doesn't want her father to have been murdered, but at this point, anything must sound better than the truth.
"Deb," he tries again, using one of his hands to cup her face. "I know it's hard but...Harry committed suicide. That's the truth. He overdosed on his heart medication because he couldn't accept what I was becoming. What he thought he'd created. But me being a killer wasn't his fault, just like Harry killing himself wasn't your fault. I wish he'd just kept on walking that day. I wish he left me in that shipping container and never spared me a second thought. Maybe then you wouldn't have to be searching for answers that just aren't there."
Deb offers him a small smile before placing a hand over his. "You think I'm crazy..." She says. "But I'm not. That woman in there...she's a doctor, Dex. Isn't that maybe just a little bit convenient? Harry starts talking to this bitch months before he died, and she gets him tangled up in some crazy shit. And then he just happens to overdose on pills he'd been taking responsibly for years? I call bullshit. But see...a doctor...a doctor would know about dosages. She would know the exact amount of medicine to give him to make it look like an accidental overdose. What if he told her that he didn't want to see her anymore and she did something about it? You don't think that's even just a little bit plausible?"
"I don't." Dexter quickly responds. "And I know that you don't either. Not really."
Deb suddenly lurches onto her feet, taking off down the street.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Dexter exclaims.
He begins to run after her, and though her lifelong athleticism should put her in a clear advantage in this race, he catches up to her without much difficulty at all. He figures that all of her self destructive behavior of the past few months is to blame for that.
He grabs her by the arm, yanking her backward and almost knocking her off of her feet.
"Sorry." Dexter cringes.
He can see that she's winded even as she keeps her back turned away from him. Her breathing is haggard and uneven and so he lets go of her arm, fairly certain that she isn't going to try and run away from him this time.
When she finally turns to look at him there are tears streaming down her face, a cruel picture of the pain Harry left them to deal with alone.
"He left me." She says. "He fucking left me, Dex."
The way her voice breaks over his name should be enough to send him to his knees, but he makes himself stay strong for her. It's what Harry would've wanted him to do.
Dexter inches closer to her, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She crashes into him face first, sobbing against his chest, and it feels like he's back in that parking lot again, holding tight to his sister so she won't completely fall to pieces.
There's no way to sugarcoat it this time. Harry did leave her. He made that choice. A part of Dexter resents him for it; hell, he thinks he might even hate him for leaving his precious baby girl with nothing to cling to but a no good serial killer.
Did he think it was cruel to leave his only child with a monster? Did he stop to consider the life that he was condemning her to? When he swallowed those pills, did he wonder if she would find him there, sitting gray and lifeless in that chair? Did he even care? When he drew his last breath, did he think of her? Dexter hopes that he did. He hopes that she was the last thing he ever saw. He hopes that the man choked on his regrets.
Deb falls to the ground and takes Dexter right down with her. Her tears have slowed, her sobbing has all but stopped, and it seems as though all the fight has left her for now. Dexter holds her close, both arms wrapped possessively around her waist.
They've collapsed right in the middle of somebody's front yard, their sudden movement activating the sprinkler system. Dexter hops back on his feet before the water can hit him, holding a hand out for his sister.
She doesn't take it. Instead she sits in the grass and watches him, her eyes wide and unfocused, devoid of their usual spark. Makeup streaks down her face as the water washes over her but she makes no attempt to move. It's like she doesn't even care.
"Come on, Deb," He beckons her. "You're going to catch a cold."
She snorts in response, stretching out completely on the damp grass. His sister is stubborn, but that particular trait runs in the family, blood or no blood. Dexter lays down next to her, crossing his arms over his chest to mimic her pose.
The chaos of a few minutes ago had dissipated into a comfortable silence, one that neither of them feels pressed to fill. It isn't until Dexter notices the smile on his sister's face that he opens his mouth to speak.
"What?"
"It's nothing." She answers. "I was just...I was thinking about Myrtle Beach again."
"You think about that a lot." Dexter acknowledges. It isn't a question. He just knows.
"Yeah. It's the last time I remember being really happy, you know? I wasn't just happy back then. I was...complete. I know it sounds stupid, but it's the truth. Mom and dad. You and me. It was so perfect."
"It was."
"I thought so. But now I'm not so sure." Deb admits. "Knowing what I know now...that just ruins everything that came before it."
"Yeah, but only if you let it." Dexter says. He realizes that his words must sound a bit harsh, so he searches his mind for something more to say. "I mean...think about it, Deb. You and me have had our fair share of shit thrown at us, but that doesn't change the fact that there was good stuff, too. We're still here."
"Look at me, Dexter. That's maybe not the best example right now."
"I just want you to understand. Harry...he wasn't perfect. But he loved you, and that's what counts. He only wanted what was best for you. He wouldn't want to see you in pain."
"No. He didn't want to see me at all." She states, matter of factly. "He would always tell me what a beautiful young woman I was becoming, or how successful I was going to be after I got finished with school. How am I supposed to believe any of that now, knowing what I know? It was all just empty bullshit, every goddamn fucking word of it. Those last few days...every time he would look me in the eye, did he know what he was about to do? Did he know that he was going to leave me?"
"I'm not going to pretend to know what Harry was thinking that night." Dexter says, keeping his voice soft as he addresses his vulnerable little sister. "And if it makes you feel any better, I think I hate him for what he did. But I know that the choice he made didn't come easy to him. He loved you, Deb. He did. Try to remember that."
Without a word she moves to sit upright, and Dexter follows. His damp shirt clings uncomfortably to his body, and Deb is even worse off than he is. Her hair sticks to both sides of her face in wet strands, and he reaches out a hand to quickly smooth some of it back into place.
He hears a faint sound in the not so far off distance: leaves crunching beneath someone's feet. Dexter pulls away, placing his hands in his lap and assuring that he is a good, brotherly distance away from Debra before their visitor shows her face.
"Are you two alright?" Dr. Vogel asks, concern etched deep in her gentle features.
"We're fine." Dexter answers, more for himself and his sister than for her.
Evelyn extends a hand, offering it to Deb. She simply shakes her head, dragging herself back onto her feet. Dexter does the same, forcing a proper smile to his face before he turns to face Vogel.
"I'm just going to take her home," he starts. "It's been a long day."
"I'm sure." Vogel nods. "But Dexter, please don't forget the matter for which you came to see me today. I'd say it's time sensitive."
"Don't worry. I told you I was going to help and I am."
"But your sister comes first." She states, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It was nice meeting you, Debra."
"Yeah…I wish I could say the same thing but I'm not really the best liar, so…yeah"
"That's quite alright." Evelyn chuckles. "Believe it or not, this is far from being my worst experience with a patient."
"Don't call me a patient. I'm not one of your fucking patients."
"My mistake." Vogel nods.
She seems rather unfazed by Debra's rudeness, like it's something that she's had to put up with for years now. That she's become acclimated with the Morgans so quickly is certainly a good sign, but Dexter can't help but look at her with a bit of a side eye. He doesn't believe Deb's ridiculous murder theory, but he wouldn't be staying true to himself if he didn't at least consider that maybe there is more to this woman than what she is presenting to him.
Everyone wears their own mask in this life. Maybe hers has more in common with Dexter's own than he'd originally thought.
"Hopefully next time we can get off to a better start." The doctor says, turning to Dexter for support.
"Next time? Fat chance." Deb snorts. "Come on, Dexter. Take me home, I'm fucking exhausted."
She starts for the car without him, trusting that he'll follow. He watches her walk away, making sure that she's safely tucked away with the door closed behind her before turning to Dr. Vogel.
"You stay safe, alright? Lay low for a while, try not to leave your house unless it's absolutely necessary."
"Dexter, as I'm sure you know, I do have a practice to run. Do you want me to give in to this terrorist?"
"Listen, you called me, remember? You wanted my help, and this is me helping. What's more important to you? A couple of rescheduled appointments, or your life? Because if you're not careful, your brain might be the next one wrapped up in a box on somebody's doorstep." Dexter threatens. "I am going to find this guy but you have to give me some time. I'm not a miracle worker."
"I don't expect you to be. I know that your sister is your number one priority right now. As she should be." Vogel says. "Please, do convince her to come back around for therapy one day. I like her. She sure is feisty, that one."
"I guess that's one word to describe her..." He says. "Okay, I'll see you soon. Call me if anything else happens."
Dexter walks back to the car, immediately taking off down the block once he gets behind the wheel. Deb has yet to buckle her seat belt, her leg jiggling as she stares out the window. She must be anxious to get back home.
He thinks some sleep might do her good. The massive bomb that was just dropped on her coupled with the stress of the past couple of days has surely done a number on her, and she's had little time to recover.
Dexter checks the clock. It's just a little past noon, meaning he still has hours left in the work day. Batista is probably back at the station by now, wondering where his blood guy has disappeared to. He really should be getting back to work, but there's really no way that he can leave Deb now. Not in this state.
The breakdown on the lawn was expected. It was necessary. But it also wasn't the end. Deb is going to be wearing the scars of Harry's decision for the rest of her life, and the consequences of that have only just begun to show themselves. And although he's been adapting to his sister and her flip-flopping emotions for most of his life, she is certainly capable of lashing out in unpredictable ways. He has to keep a close eye on her. At the very least, for a few more hours.
They arrive back at his apartment a short while later. Deb heads straight for the bedroom and Dexter follows, lingering behind in the doorway.
"Do you want me to draw you a bath or something?" He asks, hoping that she can sense the affection he's trying to show her. "Maybe that'll help you relax?"
She shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Not unless you wanna come in with me."
"Deb…" Dexter trails off, watching as she saunters toward him.
She pulls her shirt over her head, then quickly tosses it to the floor before reaching out to do the same with his. He takes a few steps back, his brows knitting together in confusion.
"What are you doing?"
"The fuck does it look like I'm doing?" She mumbles. "Take off your shirt or I'll do it for you."
"Deb, this isn't a good idea."
"Why not?
He searches for a good excuse, settling on "because…it's not."
It isn't his most articulate response, but he hopes she'll get the message.
She doesn't.
She tries to go for his shirt again and he dodges her advances, moving past her and walking further into the bedroom. It's a rookie mistake.
Deb shuts the door, trapping the both of them inside. She moves closer to Dexter until she has him backed up against the wall. He can feel her breath on his skin, can feel small droplets of water trickling down from her hair and tickling his collarbone.
"Deb, stop."
"Dexter, please, I just want you to make me feel better." She pleads with him. "I just want to feel something different for a change."
He doesn't like this. She sounds desperate, like she's begging him for something that he can't give. This is not about the sex — they've done it before and each time he's enjoyed it far more than he should have — no, this is about Deb and her fragile state of mind. He has never experienced this firsthand, this hyper sexuality as a result of her trauma. Not until this very moment. And although this is all in Dr. Vogel's wheelhouse and not his, Dexter thinks that giving in to Deb's pleas will only make things worse, not better.
She doesn't want this. Not really. But she moves closer and with every inch he feels his resolve weakening.
How greedy of him, to crave that closeness even now. She presses her lips to his neck and then moves lower still, leaving wet hot kisses along his neck until she reaches his clavicle. Her tongue feels like fire against his skin, burning as bright as the one that roars to life in the pit of his stomach.
He musters up enough strength to pull away, retreating towards the bed. His second mistake in as many minutes. Deb follows, pushing him down and climbing on top of him. He tries to reverse their positions, succeeding with only minimal effort. Deb rewards him with a smile and a growl. She must think that he's encouraging this, that this is foreplay for him.
He grabs a hold of both of her arms and raises them above her head, holding them there. He looks down as she starts to struggle but only barely, as the fight she puts up is only for show. She's enjoying this. She thinks it will distract her from the pain she harbors inside but the both of them know that isn't true.
Dexter thinks that he hears something and turns around, still holding onto Deb's wrists with bruising force.
It isn't real. He knows it isn't. But there, leaning against the door, he sees him. Harry. He wears the look that all disappointed fathers have mastered over time, the look that is guaranteed to bring a feeling of shame to anyone who happens to find themselves on the receiving end. And although Dexter no longer feels much allegiance to the man who broke his sister's heart, he still owes him one thing. His purpose has always been to take care of Deb, and he's done a rather piss poor job of that so far.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, his eyes still fixed on the imaginary figure at the door. "But you don't get to stand there and judge me after what you did to her!"
He loosens his grip on her wrists, realizing that he's probably going to leave a mark. Deb, newly freed, takes the opportunity to sit upright.
"Dex…you're being weird. Who the fuck are you talking to?"
When he doesn't reply she moves in for a kiss, grabbing him by the base of his skull and pulling his face closer until his lips naturally meet hers. Her fingers tangle in his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp as she deepens the kiss. He doesn't put up much of a fight. He doesn't put up any fight at all, actually.
Although he knows that he should end this right now there's that nagging voice in the back of his head that he wants nothing more than to defy. As a teenager he hadn't really been the rebellious type. He kept his nose in his books and avoided most members of the opposite sex like the plague. He wonders if maybe now he's catching up on time lost, defying his dead father's wishes in an odd showing of independence.
Deb reaches for one of her bra straps, pulling it suggestively down her shoulder.
"Dexter," Harry's voice booms in his ear, low and menacing. "Haven't you done enough already?"
Haven't you? Dexter accuses. But his words remain internal as he realizes that he won't have much of a leg to stand on while worrying over his sister's mental health if he's busy having meaningless conversations with a man who's been dead for over twenty years.
He pulls away from Deb just as she's about to go for the zipper of his pants, their mouths separating with a loud pop.
"Oh come on, Dexter. I need this." She begs, hooking a finger through his belt loop.
"No you don't." He says as he rises from the bed, his jaw clenched tight. "I love you Deb but this...this isn't right."
"This isn't right? Okay, Mr. morality police. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
Her voice cracks on her words, tears welling up in her eyes. It's a sorry sight to see; her body shaking, her arms crossed protectively over her chest as she glares at him, yearning for him to fix that which had been broken years ago.
"It feels like I'm taking advantage of you and I can't do that."
"Why can't you? It's not like this would be the first time."
Dexter's heart drops low in his chest. Her words are true. Every time he betrayed her trust by using her to hide his secret life, every lie he told fits the very description of taking advantage. And yet he did it anyway, often times with no regard. He's a failure. A disappointment.
"You're right, and I'm sorry but this is different." He replies.
"So that's it, huh? You're gonna leave me, too? Go ahead then. See if I fucking care."
"Of course I'm not going to leave you, Deb. Do you even hear yourself?" He shouts. "This isn't about us right now, okay? We're fine. This is about you. You're scaring me. You're heading right back down the same path you started on after LaGuerta and I'm not going to let that happen again."
"Fuck you!" She screams, leaping off of the bed and pushing past him. She storms over to the kitchen, slamming her fist down on the counter. "I should've known. You're all the same. Everyone's the fucking same. I can't do this anymore. I give and I give and when I want you to help make me feel good again all of a sudden you're worried about me. Like I'm some fucking basket case. Do you think I'm dangerous, Dexter? Is that it?"
He doesn't know what to say. Instead he just stands there, maintaining a close enough distance at his place against the refrigerator.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I am dangerous. But only to myself."
She reaches over to retrieve one of the knives from the block and Dexter sprints toward her, covering her hand with his own and tugging the weapon away from her before she can move any further. It's a reflex, protecting her. He'll choose her life over his own every time.
But Deb is more powerful than she knows. Her grip on the knife is strong, so strong that when Dexter finally pries it out of her grasp the blade cuts into him, tearing at the flesh of his palm.
The knife clatters to the floor, blood dripping from Dexter's hand down to his shoes in bright red splotches.
Deb's eyes go wide as saucers when she realizes what she's done. "I hurt you." She mumbles. "Dexter, oh my fucking god."
"Ssssh, ssssh. It's okay. Really, Deb, I'm okay. It's just a flesh wound, I'll be fine." He tries to assure her. Truthfully, she cut him deep — so deep that his hand may even need stitches — but he isn't about to tell her that. It could be the catalyst that sets her off even further.
"No you won't." She protests, her head moving from side to side. "I hurt you, Dex. I'm fucked up. You should've just let me do it. If I'm not hurting you I'm hurting myself or everyone around me. So tell me, what is the fucking point? Dad killed himself. Why is that good enough for him but not for me?"
"Stop it." Dexter says, the threat of tears stinging in his eyes.
This is exactly what he'd feared. A life without Deb is a useless one, and though he didn't think her capable of suicide before, the look in her eyes as she stares down at him sends a chill straight through him, like maybe she's going to make good on her threat this time.
"Dad killed himself because he thought he created a monster. What am I supposed to do now that I am one? How could anyone be expected to live with that, Dexter? Tell me!"
"Y-you...you're not a monster, Deb. You're my sister and I love you."
"I'm a worthless piece of shit. I deserve to die so why won't you just let me die!?"
"No! Jesus, Debra, stop!" Dexter pleads.
Deb sinks down to the floor, banging her head against the counter as the tears begin to spill from her eyes again. Dexter crouches down before her, extending his bloody hand to caress her face.
"Get away from me." She mumbles the words without much heart.
"Look at me," Dexter says through gritted teeth, jerking her face forward. He doesn't like being rough with her but he doesn't know how else he can get through to her. "Do you want to die? Do you?"
She mumbles something low under her breath as she tries to wriggle her way out of his grasp. He only holds her tighter, repeating his question for the second time.
"I don't know," she cries. "Fuck, Dexter, I don't know, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"
"Would you really do that to me?" He asks, his voice growing thicker as the tears spill from his eyes. "You would leave me here alone? After all that we've been through?"
"It's not about you," she chokes out, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze. "Harry — "
"Harry was a coward," Dexter growls. "Harry was a fucking coward who abandoned the two people that he claimed to love the most in the world. So tell me Deb, does that sound familiar to you? Are you going to leave me and Harrison the same way that Harry left us both? Are you still a slave to your deadbeat dad after all of these years?"
Deb looks hurt, betrayed even. He doesn't enjoy speaking to her this way but if tough love is what it takes to bring his Deb back then so be it. He'll drag her back to the shore kicking and screaming if he has to.
"I didn't think that was the type of person you really are. Are you going to sit here and tell me that I was wrong about you this entire time?" He continues, trying to bait her into a response.
When she says nothing he tips her chin upward, forcing her to look him in the eyes. Hers are deep and golden, her pupils dilating as her sorrow gives way to rage.
"The Deb I know is capable and tenacious and strong. She doesn't take anyone's shit, least of all mine. But she's also loyal, and loving, and kind. She doesn't know how to give up, and I love her with all that I have because of it." He insists. "But God, if there's one thing that I hate about her it's that she constantly disparages herself. All of this time she's spent hiding in her father's shadow. If only she could realize that she is so much better than he ever was. If only — "
"Shut up!" She interrupts, snatching her face out of his hands. "Shut the fuck up!"
"You want to kill yourself? Is that it? Do you want everything that we've fought for to have been for nothing? Then go ahead. I guess I can't stop you." It's a bluff and he's sure that Debra knows it, but he hopes against hope that maybe, just maybe, she'll realize what a dangerous mistake she was just about to make. "But I hope you realize that you're never going to get his approval."
The tears fall from her eyes faster now, and she doesn't try to hide them. She crashes face first into Dexter and he drops the knife to the floor, wrapping his arms around her as the both of them collapse against the tile.
"I don't want to die." She cries. "I don't. But I don't know how much more of this I can take. I just...I just want it to stop."
"I know." Dexter says, cupping the back of her head as he cradles her close. "I know. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
He holds her tight to his chest, whispering all of his hopes and regrets in her ear until her tears subside. When she finally looks up at him he is surprised to find a smile on her face. It's not completely genuine, not yet, but it's a start.
"Dad was a real piece of shit, wasn't he?" She asks.
"Yeah." Dexter nods, scooping his sister up into his arms. "But I don't want you to think about him anymore. You are worth so much more than your ghosts, Debra."
She lets him carry her into the bedroom without another word, and when he lays her down on the bed her eyes flutter closed almost immediately, the chaos of the day finally hitting her head on. She looks so peaceful that he could almost forget the scare she'd given him, but the blood smeared across her face serves as a very stark reminder of that.
His wound has practically coated his own palm in red, and it will definitely scar now thanks to his foolish neglect. But he doesn't much care about that, not while he's still got Deb to worry about.
He reaches into his back pocket with the hand that's still clean and retrieves the backup syringe of M99 that he always keeps with him. As he inches closer to the bed Deb hardly moves at all, the rising and falling of her chest starting to even out. He leans in to place a kiss on her forehead, stealthily sliding the needle into the side of her neck before pulling away.
He gives her a full dose and she passes out immediately. She's going to stay out for a few hours at least, which is a welcome relief. Dexter expects his sister to be angry with him as soon as she comes to, but he'll deal with her wrath just as he always has. The peace of mind that comes from Deb not trying to hurt herself again is enough consolation for now.
With that problem finally out of the way he heads into the bathroom to tend to his hand. He uses the contents of the first aid kit he keeps stored in the medicine cabinet to handle the stitching. It isn't the easiest operation but he gets it done, covering his shotty stitch work with a nice, sterile bandage. After that's done he washes Deb's face, taking his time to make sure that she's clean and to admire her quiet beauty. She's steel, that woman. Chipped and bent but miraculously she remains unbroken. Just like him.
Soon after, with much internal debate, Dexter decides to go back to work. There are blood reports to be done, work that Angel expects on his desk by the end of the night. And of course there's still the matter of Briggs' gun. He has to do something with it soon and there's no use in wasting the rest of a perfectly good day. The sooner he solves this problem, the sooner Deb can get started back on the right path once again.
He pockets her phone as a precautionary measure, fearing that she might wake up itching for a fix and call one of the many undesirable characters that she'd aligned herself with in the past. Better safe than sorry, of course.
When he arrives at the station the atmosphere there is rather subdued. Detectives sit at their desks making calls and interns buzz about fetching coffee and donuts for the higher ups. All is well at Miami Metro Homicide. Not a hair is out place, and not a peep has been made about any missing evidence.
Dexter walks into his lab with a great sigh of relief. At least one thing has gone well for him today.
"Hey, Dex." Masuka says. He stands far off in the corner, his footfall so light that it's almost as if the man materialized out of nowhere.
"Shit, Vince. You scared me."
"Really? I was standing here the whole time." He chuckles. "I was wondering how long it was going to take for you to notice. Maybe I should've kept quiet a little longer. I've always wondered what it is you do in here when you're all alone."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just work." Dexter says, plopping down in his chair. "Uh...is there anything I can help you with?"
"Is everything okay with Harrison?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"
"You said that he was sick. Isn't that why you had to rush out of here so quickly and ruin my date with your sister?"
"Oh yeah he's fine. Just a stomach bug but he should be back in school by the end of the week."
"Good. Glad to hear that."
There's something strange about the man, something serious in his tone. There's no trace of his usual levity in his voice, and he doesn't even crack so much as a smile. Is it possible that he had just been really, really concerned about Harrison and is relieved to hear that he's doing okay? Dexter doubts that.
"Thanks...so, uh, where's Angel? I haven't seen him around and I kind of assumed that he would be back by now."
"No, he's still out. No idea when he will be back." Vince answers. "Fuck. What happened to your hand, dude?"
"I cut myself."
"Oh Dexter," he pouts. "You know that there are people you can talk to to get some help with that kind of thing. You don't need to suffer in silence, bro."
Ah, there it is; the lighthearted, borderline offensive banter that Dexter has come to expect from his friend over the years.
"It was an accident." He replies with a chuckle. "No need to have me committed."
"Alright, but you might want to go get that checked out or something. It's looking pretty gnarly, man."
"It's really not as bad as it looks, but if it makes you feel any better I'm probably going to go see a doctor tomorrow." Dexter lies. "I wouldn't want it to get infected or anything."
"Good. That's good..." Masuka goes quiet for a moment, his eyes dropping to the floor. He looks to be deep in thought, which is definitely a rare sight in this precinct. "Dexter, we're friends right?"
"Of course, Masuka." He nods. "Why are you asking such a stupid question?"
"Well...friends can tell their friends anything, right?"
"Sure."
"Okay. And those friends, the ones who are on the receiving end of what the other friends have to say, they won't get mad after they hear it, will they?"
"Uh, I guess it depends on what that person has to say."
"Well, theoretically…"
"Look, no offense Vince but I've really got work to do so could you please just come out and say it!?" Dexter snaps. "I won't get angry. You have my word."
"Okay," the smaller man gulps. "I know what you did and I just want to say that it was so not fucking cool of you."
"Sorry Vince, but I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."
Dexter's face is the picture of stoicism; not a muscle moved nor a sweat broken as he plays dumb. On the inside, though, he can feel his heart sinking low in his chest.
If Masuka means what he says, if he truly knows that Dexter destroyed the evidence and is prepared to do something about it, well, Dexter can't just sit there and let that happen. Not while his sister's freedom is at stake.
Over the years Dexter has admittedly grown quite fond of Vince Masuka. He's even gone so far as to call him a friend on several occasions; but that doesn't change what he is at his core. There's a monster in his bones, all sharp teeth and claws, and any man who dares poke the beast will surely regret it. If they live that long.
He doesn't want to believe that he could ever kill the man, but he finds himself scanning the room regardless, searching for anything he could possibly use as a weapon if he were to need one. There's his microscope, or the scale. He could even make use of the phone, if he had to...
Dexter takes a deep breath, reminding himself to stay calm, to avoid jumping to any conclusions. He'll do what he has to but step one is to deflect.
"Listen, buddy, if this is about what happened earlier with Deb...I wasn't being completely honest earlier. I kind of came up with an excuse to get her out of here. She wasn't feeling well but she didn't have the heart to let you down, so she asked me to handle it." He says, deciding to tell only a partial lie for now. "I know it wasn't cool of me and for what it's worth, Deb promised me that she would make it up to you at a later date."
"That sounds…promising." Masuka replies, one eyebrow raised suggestively. "But that isn't what I was talking about. This is about you making everything think that I screwed the pooch!"
"I...okay?"
"Dexter, we've known each other for a while now. And if you respected me at all, then you would have the cajones to be real with me. No more bullshit. No more lies." He says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know that you got rid of the evidence from the Guzman murder. What the fuck, Dex? Are you trying to sabotage my record?"
Dexter wears his best surprised face, feigning offense that one of his oldest friends could even accuse him of doing something so unlike him.
"You're accusing me of destroying evidence? Me?" He asks, his mouth agape. "I'm just the fucking blood guy, why would I do something like that? H-how?"
"Why don't you tell me."
"Vince, what you're accusing me of is a felony." Dexter says. "Disposing of evidence, hindering a police investigation...that's obstruction. I wouldn't go around making claims like that without some kind of proof."
"Quinn. Is that enough proof for you?"
"What?"
"He was supposed to go interview a couple of suspects with Angel this afternoon but he told me that he forgot his badge so he came back here to get it. Right when he was about to leave he saw you bolting from my lab, shoving something into your pocket. I went to check and sure enough, the samples were missing." Masuka explains. "I didn't want to believe it. I actually thought that I had misplaced them but I know that I left them right there on my desk before going out to get some coffee with Deb. Do you think I'm that stupid, Dexter? Did you think that I wouldn't notice?"
"I — "
"Why did you do it?"
Dexter's eyes dart across the room, landing on a collection of beakers. He could break one of them, producing a shard of glass big enough to slit Masuka's carotid artery. He'd bleed out in less than a minute, and it would be relatively painless. But then of course there's the matter of disposal. He can't exactly drag his coworker's lifeless body across the station. So, something else then.
Ever the quick thinker, the words come to Dexter almost immediately. He drops his head in his hands, his words coming out muffled and low.
"I'm so ashamed of myself." He says. "God, what have I done? How did I let it get this far?"
He squeezes out a tear or two, sensing that that's something Masuka might appreciate as he makes a case for forgiveness.
"Dexter, I — "
"Things have been really difficult for me lately. Well, actually, since Rita died," Dexter says, adding a slight tremor in his voice for dramatic effect. "I didn't anticipate becoming a single father, and carrying this burden on my shoulders...I don't know, I guess it's started to weigh me down. Deb helps out when she can but there's always that fear that everything I do just isn't enough. My only priority has always been to provide my son with everything that he needs to live a good life, but money is tight. So when I heard that Angel was looking to give someone in our department a promotion...I got desperate and I had to make sure that he chose me for the position."
Dexter goes quiet, searching the other man's face for some sort of reaction. He looks crushed and completely apologetic that he even dared to broach the subject at all. A poor man down on his luck, determined to do any and everything in his power to provide for his family. How could anyone blame him for that?
"I knew that it was wrong the moment I made that choice but I didn't see any other option. Everyone knows you're better at your job than I am." Dexter says, peering at Masuka through his lashes. "There was no way Angel would choose me over you unless there was a blemish on your record. And, well, Javier Guzman was a career criminal, and the city of Miami is a safer place without him walking the streets. Why would anyone care if his murder went unsolved? I don't know, I had to rationalize it somehow, and that's what I told myself the entire time. That was the only way I could go through with something so stupid."
"Shit, Dex, you could've just told me that things had gotten so bad." Masuka says, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I can't believe you've gotten to such a dark place...you've seemed a little on edge lately but I figured that was because Deb isn't around to keep you in check any more."
"I'm not proud of myself." Dexter says, staring up at Masuka with remorse in his eyes. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, but if you want to tell Angel then I completely understand. I'll take whatever's coming to me. I deserve it. I'm a fuck up."
"Fuck that," Masuka says. "We're brothers, Dexter. Your mess is my mess. I'll take this fall. You would do the same for me."
Perfect.
"No, Vince, I can't let you jeopardize your career for me. No!" Dexter protests.
Masuka brushes him off. "Just shut up and let daddy handle this." He says.
Sometimes people just make it too easy.
Dexter breathes a sigh of relief, rising from his chair so he can pull the smaller man in for a hug. "You have no idea how much this means to me. I owe you."
"Damn right you do," He replies. "And I'll come collect in due time."
"I'm counting on it." Dexter smiles, pulling away from their embrace. He pats Masuka once on the shoulder before sitting down in front of his computer again. "You're a lifesaver, Vince. I really mean that."
He waves him away. "Yeah, yeah, I'm awesome. But you might want to have a talk with Quinn soon. Something tells me he won't be quite as forgiving as I am."
"Thanks, will do."
Dexter waits until Masuka is long gone to let his frustrations go.
"Shit!"
He slams his hand down hard on his desk, biting back a scream when he feels one of his stitches tear, slightly reopening his knife wound.
Fuck.
He cut it close with Masuka but the web of lies he'd spun was convincing enough to save his ass. But Quinn? The man who has had it out for him since day one? This is one problem that won't just disappear.
The rest of the work day passes in a blur, and if Quinn is around he does a good job of laying low. Though he's had hours to come up with a plan Dexter is still relatively clueless on how he should handle things this time around. He's explored every avenue but the only end in sight is one where Quinn lay lifeless on Dexter's table with a knife pierced through his heart.
He promises himself that he won't kill Quinn unless it's absolutely necessary; solely for Deb's conscience, not his own. But as fragments of a plan start to fall into place, he wonders if his sister may have to brace herself for another heartbreak this time.
It's a little past five when night starts to fall, and Dexter hops into his car. He's heading to Deb's house instead of his own, making two phone calls before he is to arrive there.
The first is to Jamie, his dutiful nanny, to ask her to pick up Harrison from soccer practice and bring him to her house instead of his own. The angel of a woman predictably agrees and so Dexter makes his next call. To Joey Quinn.
He uses Deb's phone to call the man, assuming that he'd be more likely to answer if he believed the call was coming from the woman he is still smitten with rather than her suspicious brother. Dexter's assumptions prove to be correct.
Quinn answers on the second ring with a notable amount of pep in his voice. "Hey, Deb. What's up?"
"Sorry to disappoint, but this is Dexter."
"Dexter? What are you doin' on Deb's phone?"
"Calling you." He answers plainly.
"Okay, smartass. Why exactly are you calling me from your sister's phone?"
"It's Deb. She's hurt and she wants to see you."
"She's hurt? She was fine this morning, Dexter. What the fuck happened?"
"Don't worry, it's nothing serious. She's at her house resting right now but I'm calling because she wanted to see you."
"She wanted to see me?" He asks, no doubt honored by the invitation.
He sounds like an excited child and Dexter's rolls his eyes at the man's obvious glee. He could at least have the tact to pretend to be concerned for Deb.
"Yeah, so if you could come by tonight, that would be great." Dexter says. "Whenever you're free, you know, there's really no rush."
"I'll be there in fifteen." Quinn declares, ending the call before Dexter can slip in another word.
When Dexter arrives at his sister's bungalow he makes himself right at home, laying out on the couch as he waits for the guest of honor to arrive. By his count it only takes the man twelve minutes to get there. He must have blown through a couple of stop signs or something. Cute.
Quinn greets him with a nod when Dexter lets him into the house, pushing past him and lingering in the living room as he waits for some sort of explanation.
"Ay, Deb!" He calls out, his brows knitting together when he doesn't hear an answer. "Where is she?"
"She's in her room." Dexter answers. "I'm assuming you know where that is."
"You're funny." Quinn deadpans, turning his back on Dexter as he makes his way towards the bedroom.
Bad mistake.
Dexter reaches into his pocket, brandishing a syringe. He keeps a safe distance away from Quinn as they travel down the dark hallway together, advancing on him just before they make it to the bedroom door.
He slips the needle into the side of Quinn's neck, catching his limp body in his arms before he can collapse to the floor.
The man is certainly heavier than he looks. Dexter drags him carefully back out into the living room, tossing him unceremoniously on the couch. Once that's done he takes a seat on the chair opposite him, watching as his breathing starts to even out.
"Okay," he mumbles to himself. "Okay, I got this."
But for some reason, he hesitates. He doesn't know how long he sits there and stares at the man, his brain moving a mile a minute as he weighs his options once, twice more.
He expected the play he ran on Masuka to go over relatively well, but he doesn't know what he's meant to expect here. Whatever it is, Deb waltzing into her house just as he's about to stow her unconscious ex-boyfriend in the trunk of his car certainly wasn't a part of the plan.
"Dexter, what the fuck?" She breathes out, dropping her keys to the floor. "Either I'm really out of it, or Quinn is passed out on my fucking couch."
"Deb — "
"No. I can't deal with this right now."
She turns sharply on her heel and storms straight out of the door, though she walks slow enough that Dexter quickly catches up with her.
"Deb, it's not what it looks like, I swear." He says, his voice raised barely above a whisper.
"It looks like you tranqed Joey and threw him on my couch."
"Okay, so it is what it looks like."
"Fuck, Dexter! Are you serious? Is one day without your shit too much to ask for?"
"Do I smell alcohol on your breath?" Dexter asks. He isn't purposely trying to deflect this time — he'll certainly be made to explain what he's doing with Quinn soon enough — but he can't help but be concerned. Getting drunk mere hours after being tranquilized won't exactly do a body good.
"It was just two beers, dad. Relax."
"Deb."
"Fine, maybe a shot of tequila was also involved but that's besides the point."
"Deb."
"Okay, two shots of tequila!"
"Really? What made you think that was smart?"
"I don't know. Seemed like a good idea at the time." She shrugs.
"Have you eaten, at least?"
"Stop acting concerned about my health! I didn't ask you to tranquilize me, jerk." She yells. "Don't think I'm just gonna let that slide, either. We're gonna get to that, don't worry."
Dexter shushes her. There aren't many neighbors close by but the last thing he needs is a random passerby to hearing a woman screaming about being drugged by a man twice her size.
"What are you doing here, Deb?"
"What am I doing here? You mean at my fucking house? I came here looking for more booze because all you had was that prissy shit." She says. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Well, there's no use in lying to her now. They've already come this far. LaGuerta, Briggs, El Sapo. They've accumulated quite the body count as of late.
"Quinn knows." Dexter states. "Apparently he saw me stealing the evidence so who knows what crazy theory he came up with to explain that."
"Crazier than the truth, you mean? You know, somehow I doubt that."
"I think he's been watching me for a while, trying to catch me slipping. I didn't know what else to do, okay? I had to think on my feet."
"So you bring him to my house!?" She asks, her voice a few octaves higher than normal. "Oh, Christ, Dexter. Fuck me. Fuck me!"
"He's going to ruin everything, Deb." Dexter says. "If he takes me down then you're going right down with me and you and I both know that I could never let that happen."
She bites down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood as she nods at him. "I know," she says. "So what are we going to do now?"
"What we have to."