A/N: Hey everyone! First of all I just wanted to say thank you for the feedback, it makes me happy to know that you guys are enjoying this. I'll spare you the entire sob story but the excuse for my extended absence is that I have been really busy and unfortunately my computer broke at the most inopportune time and I lost EVERYTHING which sucks especially because I won't be able to replace it any time soon. I'm going to have to borrow a friend's computer in order to update for the time being, but I'm going to do my best to stay consistent with updates. I never planned for this story to take so long to complete and that's definitely on me, so I'm very grateful that you guys have continued to stick it out with me.
I hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts!
When Dexter wakes the next morning, the first thing he feels is the sun beaming down on his face. The second is the empty space where Debra should be.
He flattens his palm out on the sheet, finding comfort in its warmth. She hasn't been gone long, then. No more than a few minutes.
"Deb?" Dexter calls out, the low timbre of his voice disguising the worry that claws at him like a beast.
She comes walking through the door mere seconds later, looking down at him with her hands on her hips.
"What? I had to pee," Deb states. "Where did you think I went?"
"I don't know…somewhere that wasn't here, I guess."
"So you thought I ran away." It's meant to be a question but to Dexter it sounds more matter of fact, like she has no doubt as to what his thoughts were in that moment.
Well, she is right.
Dexter wonders if maybe he should hate the fact that he has become so easy to read as of late. His intentions, his fears — however small they may be — Deb has learned to read them all with relative ease. He once thought himself indecipherable, his mind an intricate puzzle never to be solved. It seems that he was wrong about that...that he has been for some time now.
"So maybe I did," Dexter shrugs, letting her accusatory tone roll right off his back. "It wouldn't have been the first time you left, so I don't see how you can blame me for thinking it."
"Oh, come on. Where the fuck would I have gone? I can't just leave. This is my house, you know."
"Our house." Dexter says, unable to resist the urge to make that distinction.
"Right. Our house."
She can't fight the smile that spreads across her face. It widens until it eventually reaches her eyes, and somehow, even from where he lays, Dexter can see the light in them.
"Our room," she adds, quietly shutting the door behind her before walking further into the room. "Our bed…"
"Mmm, is that right?" Dexter asks with a smirk.
"Yeah, that's right."
Deb tosses herself onto the bed and immediately goes to straddle him, her knees coming down on either side of his hips. She smoothes her hands up and down his bare chest, smiling to herself when he shivers at the contact he'd been craving as soon as he woke.
She wastes no time being gentle as she tucks her hand inside of his boxers, pleased to find that he's hardening already.
Dexter grunts, wrapping a hand around her wrist to stop her from taking things any further. She looks hurt for only a second before her frown melts into a smirk.
"Oh. So it's like that, huh?"
"Deb, can we just…can we talk about all of this for a minute? Last night was a lot and I want to be clear on things. Are you really sure about this?"
"Of course I'm sure about this. I'm horny as fuck, so hurry up and take those off before I take them off for you."
"No. I didn't mean are you sure about this," Dexter clarifies, gesturing to the minuscule amount of space that separates the two of them. "I meant…us. You know...living together."
...Existing together. Doing everything together. Even Dexter has to admit how final it all sounds, and he's the one who suggested it in the first place.
He doesn't fear spending the rest of his life with Deb — he fears the exact opposite of that, actually — but he does worry what that future would mean for her. She loves him so much, too much, and every day he wonders what he did to deserve it. If she ever wanted to stop, he doesn't think he could be angry at her.
"Of course I'm sure, dumbass. Why wouldn't I be?" Deb asks. "When you add it all up, it's like I've been living with you for my entire life anyway. It was always going to be you, Dex. This is our normal."
Normal. He sure likes the sound of that.
"I want you," she reassures him. "I want us and everything that comes along with it."
"I know," Dexter smiles at her. "And I'm so, so grateful. I guess I'm just worried. Choosing to spend the rest of your life with a serial killer, that doesn't really have the greatest track record."
She frowns, biting down on her lip and focusing her gaze down into her lap. Though neither of them dare say a word about her, Rita's presence hangs in the air.
His wife was a kind soul, one too good for this world or any other. Harrison is a constant reminder of that. As he sleeps soundly in the other room, Dexter wonders if the boy ever thinks of her. He never asks any questions and for that Dexter finds himself thankful, because he wouldn't have the first clue how to answer them.
Harrison was left with a monster and made to call him father, yet loved and nurtured by an aunt who he's come to think of as a mother. It isn't fair but neither is life, and at least Dexter knows that if he's done one thing right after Rita, it's this. Only the best for Rita's boy. Only Deb.
When Deb's gaze meets his again her eyes are full and burning. He thinks she blames him for what happened to Rita even still, but more so he thinks she blames herself. She introduced them. She saved Rita from a brute only to place her right in the hands of her final destruction. Maybe she'll be able to forgive herself for it. Maybe someday.
Almost as if she can read his mind, Deb takes it upon herself to silence his doubts. " We're doing this," she tells him. "There's no going back now."
"No going back now." He agrees, leaning in closer so he can kiss her.
She sighs against his lips, contented, and Dexter feels his muscles loosen in response to her own state of ease. Gone is any early morning tension. In its place, there is calm; the kind he's only really known when he's held Deb in his arms.
"I love you." Dexter mumbles.
It is by no means a new declaration, but something in Deb's eyes tells Dexter that she'll never tire of hearing it.
"Show me how." She says through soft, tender kisses that move from his lips down to his neck.
When Deb goes to lift her shirt over her head Dexter immediately helps her with the task, mindful of her bruises as he finds a safe spot on her hips to rest his hands. She shifts a little in his lap, just enough so she can expertly pull his pajama pants halfway down his waist and free his erection from its confines.
Reaching down again she slips her panties to the side, wasting no time when she slinks down onto the length of him. She's so wet that Dexter groans as he feels himself striking deep inside of her.
They've slipped into a routine so fast that he'd hardly even noticed. And he really, really loves routine.
The mere days they've spent together in this way, both hearts and souls intertwined, feels more like a lifetime somehow. And with her, he would gladly spend a thousand more.
This is his favorite position; Debra bouncing in his lap, taking complete control. He submits to her gladly, watches as her eyes flutter open and shut, studies the way her lips move as she whispers her love to him in words sweeter than he could ever deserve.
She kisses him again, and there's a softness to it that he didn't expect. She's known him at his most violent and still treats him with the gentle kindness of a thoughtful lover. He lets himself pretend for this moment only that they are of another time; still Deb and Dex, but different versions of themselves, ones who have somehow remained untouched by this cruel world and its many horrors.
He takes Deb's bottom lip between his teeth and she giggles, winding her fingers through the hair he still hasn't found time to trim. He reminds himself to get to that sooner rather than later before grabbing onto her hips more forcefully, making her grind lower against him.
Deb whimpers, mumbling something under her breath about how good he is. Her words are untrue, but there is no need to give her reason to rescind the compliment.
He works hard to hear her moan and she rewards him, burying her face against his neck when it gets to be too much.
She screams when he moves his hands to her ass, giving her a light smack there. He can feel her skin heating up beneath his palm and for a second he wonders if he's gone too far — which is funny, coming from the murderer — but Deb seems to enjoy it.
"Mmm. Yeah, Dex," she pants into his ear, her voice light and airy. "Do that again."
Dexter obliges her, smiling to himself when Deb tangles her hand in his hair again, her nails scratching greedily at his scalp.
Her boldness reminds him of their first night together, back in that shitty motel. He wishes he could've left her with a better memory, after all, first times are meant to be special; but deep down he thinks he prefers them that way. Wild and sloppy and free, coming together as their true selves. It wasn't exactly ideal; but then again, neither were they.
Dexter can tell that she is getting close now and so he helps her along, finding her swollen clit with his thumb and massaging it in time with his thrusts.
She comes undone with a sigh soon after, and if he were a religious man, Dexter would swear on every bible in the world that it was the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. After she comes down from her high she wordlessly hands him the reins, recognizing that he hasn't come yet.
More eager than ever Dexter pushes her down onto her back, mumbling a low sorry when he remembers her bruises.
Deb looks up at him through hooded lids, her eyes lit like topaz in the morning sun.
"Stop being so polite and fuck me." She says, kicking him softly in the stomach.
Well, she certainly doesn't have to tell him twice.
Dexter reaches out and grabs her by the ankles, sliding her down the bed to meet him. He then hoists up both of her legs and rests them on his shoulders, pulling her hips closer to him so he can position himself at her entrance.
She bites down hard on her lip when he enters her again, her flesh going white with the pressure.
He thrusts deeper inside of her than he normally would, and he can feel his orgasm looming. All of the blood rushes back to her face just then, her lips now a rosy pink. She tosses her head back, crying out as his strokes get faster, more rough.
Soon he loses his rhythm, only managing a few more erratic thrusts before coming undone with her name tumbling from his lips.
He collapses on top of her, spent, but quickly rolls over to his side of the bed out of fear of crushing her.
"Good?" Deb asks.
That's the understatement of the year.
Dexter simply nods, his heart full to bursting. He looks at her as if she is the one who hangs both the moon and the stars in the sky and she does the same, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she looks upon him.
What a surreal feeling, to love someone as much as they love you. To love someone and to really, truly mean it.
"Good," Dexter manages to say, still trying to catch his breath. "Really, really good."
"You were supposed to tell me how amazing I am, maybe even cry a little if you were feeling fancy."
"Okay. I'll jot that one down for next time." Dexter chuckles, pulling his love in for a kiss.
Before his lips can meet hers, though, his cell phone buzzes to life, whizzing around on the bedside table the longer it remains untouched.
"Ugh. Just ignore it." Deb groans, slamming her head back down on the pillow once she realizes that he has every intent on answering the call.
Dexter reaches for the phone, accepting the call without bothering to check who is on the other line. He isn't surprised when he hears Dr. Vogel's voice greeting him — after all, he did tell her to call him if anything else were to happen — but he thought he would have at least a day or two to get everything under control first. That's where he went wrong: there's never room to make assumptions. That false sense of control is what has led to the downfall of many who came before him and he refuses to make the same mistakes.
"Dr. Vogel." he answers, immediately hopping out of bed.
He knows that she's going to demand that he come down to her house as soon as possible, in her most polite tone of voice, of course. He tries to hide his annoyance but Deb is never one to be fooled. She gets out of bed as well, walking over to the bathroom. Dexter can hear the shower start, and he waits until he's sure that she's gotten inside to continue his conversation with the doctor.
"What is it now?"
He doesn't mean to sound irritated, but anyone with even the slightest grip on the human condition could recognize the bitterness in his tone.
"I didn't mean to impose, Dexter," the woman apologizes. "I can call back later, if you'd like."
"No, you're not imposing. I mean, you kind of are, but it's alright. Just...tell me everything."
"Well, there isn't much to tell. I woke up this morning with the intention to go for a walk, but I couldn't even make it out of my front door before I saw the box."
"Okay. This guy is clearly playing games," Dexter says. "He's targeting you for a reason, Evelyn. Do you have any idea why that is?"
"No, I haven't a clue."
"Are you sure about that? Everyone has an enemy, someone that resents them even if it is for no reason. Are you telling me that isn't the case with you?"
"I have dealt with many sick individuals in my life, Dexter. But I have no reason to believe that any of them would wish to scare or harm me."
"Yeah? Well think harder," he tells her, not at all kindly. "And install some security cameras while you're at it. If we can identify who the Brain Surgeon is sooner rather than later, we could save a lot of lives."
"And that is what you want to do, Dexter? You wish to save lives?"
Dexter groans, rolling his eyes at the wall. "Please don't psychoanalyze me right now, doctor. It's not really the time, don't you agree?"
"I'm sorry. It's the curiosity. It's been with me for as long as I can remember."
"That makes two of us, I guess." Dexter replies.
Being curious about the human mind and being curious about what it would be like to end a human life are two very, very different things, but Dexter can't help but feel an odd kinship with the woman. That she had her own childhood urges which made her into the person she is today feels like a rope that connects them, and though he still doesn't fully trust her, he thinks he might be getting there.
"So how is Debra doing?" Vogel asks. "I really didn't mean to upset her and I feel terrible about it."
Dexter answers the only way he knows how. "Deb is...better. My sister has been through a lot, but she's strong. It'll take more than Harry Morgan's fuck ups to do her in. A whole lot more."
He pictures the doctor nodding in agreement. "I'm glad to hear that. Still, I would like to see her if she's feeling up to it."
"Oh, I don't know about that. Deb in therapy...she isn't exactly the talk about your feelings to near-strangers type. No offense."
"None taken."
"I'll run it by her, Evelyn, but I'm not promising anything. Debra has tried therapy once before, and I didn't really get all of the details out of her but I don't think it went too well."
"I think you should let her know that it isn't good to write something off because of one bad experience. It's always best to get a second opinion on things."
"Like I said, I'll try my best," Dexter says. "I'll see you soon, Evelyn. Goodbye."
He hangs up the phone, turning around to find Deb standing in the doorway. She's dripping wet with nothing but a towel on, one eyebrow arched high as she watches him pace back and forth. He can tell that she's about to start harping on what he spoke about with Vogel, so he decides to start the conversation for her.
"It happened again," he says. "Dr. Vogel found another box of brain fragments on her doorstep."
"Jesus, hasn't this guy heard of flowers? Maybe a card?"
Her dark sense of humor adds some levity to the situation, but Dexter bites back a laugh. "That isn't funny, Deb," he says, his lie evident in the way his lip curls up into a tight smirk. "I have a feeling that the Brain Surgeon is just about ready to make his move. I'm going to get to him before he has the chance to hurt Vogel."
"And you're going to do that how, exactly? Last time I checked, you don't even know who the fucker is."
"I'll find him. Killers like this never can stay anonymous for long," Dexter says rather confidently. "This guy is a showman and a bully. His hubris will do him in."
"You think?" Deb wonders. "I know that you've dealt with worse, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about all this, Dexter. We get rid of one problem and not even a day later, here you go chasing after another one!"
"I promised Vogel that I would help, Deb. What am I supposed to do? Just let her die?"
Deb looks up at him like he's crazy. "Of course that's not what I'm saying. But this guy kills people and slices up their brains with fucking surgical precision. He's no amateur."
"Neither am I."
Deb inhales sharply, closing her eyes for a moment as she silently collects her thoughts. When she opens them she looks slightly calmer. Only slightly.
"Okay, fine. I'll get dressed. You should shower. Hopefully Jamie can watch Harrison for a couple of hours. I'll call her and check."
"I'm not going to be long. Why don't you stay with him?"
"No, dipshit. I'm coming with you, so don't get any ideas."
Dexter concedes to her because he knows that he has no other choice. Once Deb makes up her mind about something, he stands almost no chance of changing it. He's learned to pick his battles with her, and this definitely isn't something important enough to fight over.
If the Brain Surgeon decides to show himself at Vogel's today, Dexter will protect Deb like he always does.
He takes the quickest shower possible, dressing himself just in time to meet Jamie at the door and make up a lie about why he and Deb need a babysitter even though it's the start of the weekend. She questions why they're all at Deb's house instead of the apartment, but Dexter doesn't tell her about the move. Not because he thinks that Jamie will suspect that something is up between the Morgan's, not entirely; but because he doesn't really feel it necessary to explain. Not when it's so new, at least.
The two of them make it to Vogel's house a little over an hour after she'd called, and if she finds a problem with their punctuality —or lack thereof — she doesn't say as much. She offers them both a cup of tea which they promptly decline, taking a seat on the couch while Evelyn opts for a chair facing the siblings.
"It's nice to see you again, Debra," the doctor starts, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "How are you doing?"
"As good as I can be, I guess." Deb shrugs. "Why do you care?"
"Well, I can't help but feel like it's my fault, what happened yesterday. And as a psychiatrist I have an obligation to look after patients who are…in a fragile state of mind."
Dexter cringes, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion that's heading Vogel's way.
"Well I'm not your goddamn patient and I am definitely not fucking fragile, so you can remove those two words from your vocabulary. At least where I'm concerned. Okay, doc?"
"My apologies," Vogel acquiesces. She turns her attention to Dexter now, gasping when she takes notice of his bandaged hand. "Dexter, what happened there?"
"Uh, Deb accidentally cut me," he answers, thinking it better to tell the truth then to let Vogel create her own grim tale to explain the cut. "I forgot to change my bandage this morning. I'm fine, though. Really."
"Are you sure?" Vogel asks.
The kindness sparkling in her eyes tells him that this is genuine concern she feels for him, not some manufactured emotion to get him to talk. He would know. The past few decades have made him an expert at this whole manufactured emotions thing.
"Okay, now I actually feel kind of embarrassed about this. You don't have to lie, Dexter." Deb cuts in.
Dexter quickly redirects his gaze to her, unsure of where she's going with this. "Huh?"
"You see, me and Dexter have been kind of into bloodplay lately. We usually keep things pretty tame but I guess I took it a little too far last night. My mistake."
Deb shrugs, looking from Dexter to Vogel so she can gauge their reactions. They wear matching looks of horror on their faces, and Deb can't control the hysterical fit of giggles that hits her like a hurricane, shaking her entire frame.
"You can unclench now, it was just a joke," she finally says once the laughter has subsided. "But I bet that's something close to the answer you were looking for, right? You shrinks are always trying to find something weird to talk about. That's how you make all of your money."
"I don't recall ever asking you for any money, Debra. So if that's what you think this is then I'm sorry, but you're mistaken. I would be glad to talk with you, of course, but only if that is what you want."
Deb leans back into the couch, crossing her arms over her chest with a scowl. "Yeah. I don't know. Maybe."
Is this real? Could she actually be coming around to the idea of therapy? Dexter isn't so sure about that, but today is definitely a start. He must admit that this is strange, however. He remembers the not so distant past, back when Deb was the one who was pushing for the two of them to get in touch with their feelings and he would come up with some sort of excuse to avoid it. My, how things change.
"Okay, how about we take things slow, then? How does that sound?" The doctor asks.
Dexter answers for her. "That sounds fine, Evelyn."
Debra clearly doesn't like that. She rolls her eyes, shifting in her seat. She looks as if she's ready to jump out of her own skin. That can't be good.
"Well, in case you couldn't tell by now I'm not really that big a fan of therapists." She confesses.
Vogel perks up at this, leaning in slightly closer to her.
"Oh? And why is that?"
"I had to see one for work back when I was still at Miami Metro. I shot someone, but it was textbook self-defense and I didn't really get why people made such a big fucking deal about it, but — "
"Yes, I remember." Dr. Vogel interrupts.
Deb squints at the woman, but she voices no suspicions of her. Dexter takes note of her body's tautness. She clearly must think it a bit strange that Dr. Vogel would remember the time she shot a guy practically two years ago. But Dexter explains it away, telling himself that it was a very popular story that was in the news for a while when it happened. It elevated Deb to hero status almost overnight, and it isn't out of the realm of possibility that Evelyn had been keeping tabs on them over the years. She probably has as much of a vested interest in Deb as she does in Dex. That's all.
Deb inches a little closer to her brother, sighing deeply before turning to face Vogel again. "So like I was saying...I had to see this therapist to get clearance to get fully back on the job. I spoke to her for a while and there was a lot of the psychology mumbo jumbo that I remember from high school. I didn't really want to buy into it at first."
"And after a few more sessions, did your views change some?"
"I guess so. Maybe a little." Deb says, nervously biting down on her bottom lip. "Fuck, fine, okay. She helped me with a lot. Talking to her made me finally realize something about myself and my feelings that I'd been ignoring for a while. There may be a lot of terrible shit in my life right now, but this...this thing that she made me come to terms with...it isn't one of them. So, therapy. I didn't want to go in the first place and I still don't think it's some magical cure for all of my problems but I don't...hate it, I guess."
Vogel smirks, clearly satisfied with herself. It takes a lot for Deb to open up to strangers. That she practically confessed to being in love with Dexter even though she barely even knows the doctor is a feat within itself.
"Peace of mind is a beautiful thing." Dr. Vogel says.
"Sure, whatever you say," Deb replies, not ready to tear all of her walls down quite yet. "Uh, didn't you call us over here about a brain or something? This is fun and all, but maybe we should be focusing on the psycho killer instead of my laundry list of possible mental problems."
"Yeah," Dexter quickly interjects, getting up off of the couch. Debra does the same, standing up almost immediately as he does. Their movements are so in sync that it's hard not to notice. "I'm going to go look around a bit, see if he might've left something behind. It's unlikely, judging by how elusive he's proven to be so far, but I've got to start somewhere."
"Alright, Dexter. My home is your home." Vogel says. "I can show you around, if you would like."
"No, I think I can take it from here, thanks."
Dexter starts walking towards the next room with Debra following close behind. He opens the door, one hand on the knob and the other atop his pants pocket. Inside is a syringe full of M99. He doesn't expect that he'll have to use it, but it never hurts to be prepared.
He enters the room and starts to back out just as quickly. He's been in here before, back when Vogel showed him a few tapes of her therapy sessions with Harry. All he sees is a desk, a computer, and a couple of file cabinets; all decidedly useless in helping to discover the Brain Surgeon's identity.
"What is all this shit?" Deb asks from behind him, so close that he can feel her breath on the back of his neck.
"It's nothing. Just client logs, probably."
"That's not nothing, Dex. Like you said, gotta start somewhere, right? Pop a squat and let's get down to it."
Dexter raises his brow at her, wary of the suggestion. Looking through Vogel's files can't hurt, of course, but it ultimately seems like nothing more than a waste of time.
He doesn't like this feeling. Usually when he's hunting a killer, he has somewhere, anywhere to start; but the Brain Surgeon is like a phantom. He's left almost no breadcrumbs, no paper trail. All Dexter knows is that this killer has an affinity for Evelyn Vogel and the woman herself is a still a bit of a stranger to him. That doesn't sound promising at all.
Dexter eventually goes to sit beside Deb, pulling out the lowest drawer of Vogel's file cabinet. There have to be over a hundred folders in this one drawer alone. There's no way they can sift through them all before Vogel gets curious and decides to check in on them.
"This is a lot of shit," Deb sighs, running her fingers through her hair.
She'd straightened it this morning, just like she used to. Dexter noticed the change but decided against mentioning it, figuring that she would probably think it weird that he kept track of her cosmetic choices. He can even tell that she'd missed a few pieces. She holds the wavy ones in between two fingers, twirling them around.
"Yeah. It's a lot." Dexter replies dumbly.
"Whatever. I do this shit for a living. Not so glamorous from the other side, huh, Dex?"
"Guess not."
"So…you wanna fool around?" Deb suddenly propositions him, peering up at him through her lashes.
Dexter can't stop himself from getting flustered the longer he looks at her. "What? No." He answers, just barely managing to avoid stumbling over his words. "Vogel is ten feet away."
"Relax, Dexter, I was only fucking with you," Deb laughs, punching him playfully in the shoulder. "It would be funny though, once she hears those cute little moans that I can get out of you. She'd probably think someone was getting hurt and she'd rush in to help like the good little woman that she is."
"Shut up." Dexter says, unable to hide the devious smirk on his face.
He loves Deb so much, awful timing and all.
"Hey, your loss." She tells him, turning her attention to the pile of folders she's collected before her.
After a few minutes where the only noise is the two of them flipping pages, Debra gasps.
"What is it?" Dexter asks her.
Deb reaches out a shaky hand, showing him the single sheet of paper. It's a printed article dated January 1st. The title? New Year's Tragedy; written in bold, black type.
"W-why the fuck does Vogel have that?" She wonders, her eyes widening with fear. "Do you think she knows?"
Dexter can feel his ears prickling up, turning red with heat, but he can't let Deb see that. He continues rifling through the pile of papers before him, finding at least a dozen other news articles pertaining to violent crimes in the city, most of them murders.
"That isn't the only one. Look at these," he says to Deb. "Maybe she just likes to keep up with the news?"
It's unlikely and Dexter knows it, but he doesn't want to worry Deb. He skims the rest of the articles, unsurprised to find that a good fraction of them are missing person's reports for a few of his victims from the past couple of years. About half of them are cases that Dexter had nothing to do with, though.
Sorry, Doctor, but you seem to have overshot a bit on this one.
Vogel must've been keeping tabs on his work over the years, trying to piece together what he'd been doing before she finally got to meet him. She's been retracing his steps. Dexter doesn't know whether to be flattered or disturbed.
"Maybe," Deb says, sneering at the pages in front of her. "But what kind of weirdo prints out news articles and holds on to them for years?"
"This kind, evidently."
Deb holds her hands up in mock surrender, lifting herself up off of the floor. "Whatever. It could've been worse, I guess."
She starts to put the folders back where she'd found them and Dexter helps. Once they're done with that, they consider going through the second drawer but ultimately decide that it won't be of much use to them at the moment. They're meant to be looking for clues on the Brain Surgeon's identity, not leading a witch hunt in a therapist's office.
The two of them make their way back out into the living room. Vogel has barely moved from the place she was sitting during their mini therapy session. She looks upon them with curious eyes, no doubt making detailed observations about how close Dexter and Deb are standing to one another; their hands brushing against each other ever so slightly as they walk.
Dexter feels a surge of electricity run through him when Deb lets her knuckles skim gently across his own. She hooks her pinky finger around his for one brief moment, dropping his hand once they're fully back in Vogel's view.
The move doesn't go unnoticed, however. Evelyn's lips crinkle into a small smile, her eyes practically glowing with it. "You two continue to bemuse me."
"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Deb pipes up, stepping a few paces in front of her brother.
"I meant that in a good way," Evelyn chuckles. "When Harry first came to me, he was worried about where Dexter's relationship with his precious daughter was headed. In my opinion, he never thought for a second that Dexter could ever physically hurt you, Debra. He saw a protectiveness in your brother but I think he was beginning to question how deep it really went. He thought Dexter might have viewed you as more of a pet than a sister."
"Deb had a pet once," Dexter remembers. "A puppy. Harry thought I was going to kill it, so he made her give it away. Maybe not the best example."
He's been thinking about Banjo a lot lately. Ever since Deb walked in on him in the church, in fact. It's kind of funny; all of the murders he's committed in his lifetime and it's the memory of a dog that still haunts him.
"Well, did you want to kill this dog, Dexter?" Vogel asks him.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because Deb loved it. I saw how happy it made her and I didn't want to take that away. Just because I didn't know what it felt like to really love something back then doesn't mean that she shouldn't have gotten to feel that."
Dexter and Deb exchange a look. It can't last more than two seconds, but it says it all.
I love you.
He can read the words in her eyes. He knows that she sees them in his as well.
"It's a pity," Evelyn says. "I wish your father could see how wrong he turned out to be about the two of you."
Deb snorts in disapproval. "Nobody told Harry to abandon us. He could've stuck around if he wanted to but he made his choice in the end."
The doctor sighs. She clearly still harbors some type of feelings for Harry all these years later; whether it's simple remorse or something else entirely, Dexter has no way of knowing for sure. What he does know is that Evelyn doesn't much like it when Deb speaks negatively of him.
"For what it's worth, I think Harry would be proud."
"Sure, whatever you say."
"I assure you, Debra. I am quite serious. Before he passed, he talked about how much he hoped the two of you would look out for one another. And that was despite all of his reservations about what he feared Dexter was becoming."
"You talked to him before he died?" Deb asks, her voice more tender now, more forgiving. "I mean, right before he died? What did he say?"
When Deb learned the news of Harry's death, Dexter was sure that it broke her for good. He remembers the sight of her collapsed on the front steps of their house, weeping against Dexter's leg. She looked so small despite the fact that she had long since grown into her tall frame; it was like her entire body had caved in on itself. That was the first time Dexter remembers feeling genuine pain.
That night and for the many more that followed, he held her close, did his best to soothe her even though he knew it wasn't doing any good. He was never much of a talker, that was made abundantly clear every time Deb would ask him why? It always came back to that. How could this happen? How could the universe be so cruel? He never had an answer for her, no matter how much he'd wished he had.
"I still have some recordings of my sessions with your father," Vogel says. "I could show them to you, if you'd like."
"N-no. I can't," Deb shakes her head from side to side, her eyes glossy with the threat of tears. "I don't want to see any tapes. That feels creepy as shit."
Truthfully, Dexter is happy that his sister declined Vogel's offer. He's seen most of those tapes and nothing Harry had to say in them would help alleviate her pain. Seeing Harry's face again so soon after learning the truth would probably just leave her with more of it.
Dexter opens his mouth to speak, stopping himself when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. Impeccable timing, as always.
"Just…give me a second." He says, turning his back to the two women and walking a few short paces away to answer the call.
It's Batista.
"Hey, Angel. What's up?"
"We've got a fresh one, looks like it might be the work of the Brain Surgeon again," Angel explains. "I know it's your day off but Masuka is out on suspension so I really need you, Dex."
"Masuka is out on suspension?" Dexter gasps, feigning surprise. "What for?"
Angel pauses. Dexter hears him take a deep breath before answering the question. "I'll let Masuka explain that one to you."
"Okay."
Dexter listens as his Captain tells him where the crime scene is. It's a familiar location, but Dexter tries not to let that bother him. It isn't the greatest neighborhood in the city, crime is bound to happen. Still, it's an odd coincidence. He decides to leave that out when he explains the call to Deb and Vogel.
"That was Angel," he says. "There's a crime scene across town and it turns out I need to head into work after all. He thinks it might be the Brain Surgeon again."
Deb looks disappointed that he has to go, but she knows how demanding the job can be.
"Okay, I'll head home then," she says. "Me and Harrison can get started on decorating his room, yeah?"
"Sounds good." Dexter smiles. "I'll see you later, Evelyn."
"Alright, Dexter. Be safe."
"Always am."
After dropping Debra back at her house — their house — Dexter arrives promptly at the crime scene. He parks his car at a safe distance across the street, finding that the park is already abuzz with police activity.
He looks down for a moment to take the keys out of the ignition and retrieve his kit from off of the floor. When he looks up again, who does he see but Joey Quinn staring at him through the car's windshield. He gestures for Dexter to unlock the passenger's side door, and with a sigh and a few extended seconds of contemplation, he does.
The detective slides inside, keeping his eyes straight ahead as they sit together in silence. This entire scenario feels incredibly odd to Dexter. He clears his throat, wondering when exactly his life became one of those awful buddy cop movies. He hopes that Quinn doesn't think they are friends now. That would be as unfortunate as it is untrue.
"So…" Dexter decides to break the silence. Sitting with Quinn in such an enclosed space is not a very enjoyable experience. He'd like to put an end to this discomfort as soon as possible. "Is there something that you wanted to tell me because I really have to go do a walk through of the crime scene."
"I don't wanna hold you up. Just tell Deb that it's handled." Quinn states.
Dexter wants to ask the man why he's behaving as if this were some covert ops mission lifted straight out of a videogame, but instead he simply nods. "Thanks," he adds. "But you know you could've just called Deb and told her that yourself."
"Yeah, I could've." Quinn says, finally looking Dexter in the eye. "I just figured you should know, too."
"Okay. So what did you do with the gun, exactly?"
"Tossed it into the river down by the shipyard." He answers. "Then I called in an anonymous tip about some suspicious activity going on down there. The gun was recovered from the lake this morning, and during the briefing I suggested that maybe the gun was used in a murder. Once the results come back from the lab and they realize it was Briggs' gun, I'll do my best to explain why he killed El Sapo and it'll be case closed just like Deb said"
"Good. I'm relieved," Dexter replies. "I don't know what I would do if something happened to her."
Quinn nods. "Me neither," he says. "Maybe I'll even manage to track down Briggs soon, and we can get an arrest out of it, make the whole thing seem more legit."
Dexter remains quiet at that suggestion.
"You know, Dexter, I think Batista might promote me to Sergeant once this whole thing is said and done."
"Oh. What makes you say that?"
"He's wanted me to take the exam for a while now. Every time we get some time alone he's shoving hints down my throat. I think he wants to see me accomplish something for once in my life."
"Good…that's good," Dexter says, finding it difficult to make meaningless small talk with a man he barely even tolerates. "Angel's your friend. He wants what's best for you. But you and I…we don't have to be friends."
"Huh?"
"I just don't want you to feel like you have to force it. I know you don't like me, Quinn. That's fine. Your allegiances lie with Deb, not with me. And I feel the same way, so let's not make this into something that it's not."
Quinn rolls his eyes, reaching out for the door handle. "Believe me, Morgan. We're the furthest thing from friends," he says. "I know that. I was just giving you a heads up. Pretty soon I'll be moving up in the ranks at Miami Metro. Who knows what'll happen then? Well, I'll see you out there, Dex."
With that, he leaves. Dexter watches, waiting until Quinn is no longer in his line of sight to make his way over to the crime scene.
Was that a threat? He thinks to himself. Good. Bring it on, then.
This isn't the first time someone has declared war against Dexter, and he's sure that it won't be the last. He welcomes it. This is Joey Quinn, for god sakes. He went up against Dexter once before and that didn't turn out so well. Before that, better men have tried.
Dexter all but promised his sister that he wouldn't kill Quinn, and though he wishes he hadn't, he's not sweating over it. There are other ways to get rid of his problems.
He walks the short distance across the street, spotting Angel almost immediately. He's crouched down under a tree, getting some much needed shade to block out the hot Miami sun. Dexter puts on his brightest smile before joining him.
"Hey, boss. Beautiful day out, huh?"
"No, not really." Angel replies, shaking his head from side to side.
The man seems more down than Dexter has seen him look in a while. It's probably because he had to suspend Masuka. That couldn't have been easy for him, given their longstanding friendship.
"Okay," Dexter says, his cheerfulness unfaltering. "So what do we got?"
Angel raises his sunglasses to his face while Dexter slips on his gloves, and the two of them make their way past other members of the crew so Dexter can get a good look at the body.
What he sees nearly winds him. There, stretched out lifelessly on the Maria LaGuerta memorial bench is…Maria LaGuerta?
Dexter trips on his words. "I don't…that…t-that looks like…"
"Maria." Angel answers for him.
Dexter knows that it isn't her, not really, but whoever did this managed to find a damn good body double. If he didn't already know for a fact that the former Captain has been dead and buried for months now, even Dexter would have to admit that this tableau is pretty fucking convincing.
The woman's face is partially obstructed by her hair. It falls slightly past her shoulders in long, dark waves, incredibly similar to the way Maria LaGuerta used to wear hers. She's dressed in a silky blouse and a knee length skirt, clearly a deliberate outfit choice. One of her arms must have been pulled up and posed across her chest post mortem, while the other hangs limply at her other side. Both wrists are adorned with gaudy bracelets, while around her neck there is a large beaded necklace that Dexter swears he's seen Maria herself wear at one point. Minus her missing scalp and the missing pieces of her brain, this woman is the spitting image of the fallen Captain.
"Who would do something like this, Dexter?" Angel asks, doing his best to disguise the lump in his throat, the quiver in his voice. Dexter aims to be polite and doesn't comment on it. His friend deserves to handle his grief on his own. "I…why?"
"This was the Brain Surgeon," Dexter says, stating what they both know. "He's mocking us. His ego has taken over and now he thinks he's infallible. So he's gloating. Waving Maria's murder right in our faces because he thinks it will throw us off our game. We've seen this type of bravado with killers before, Angel. And if I've learned anything in as long as I've been in this line of work, it's that bravado always leads to their downfall."
Angel nods slowly, Dexter's words doing little to lift his spirits.
"Don't worry, buddy," Dexter says. "We're going to catch this guy. You and me."
"Yeah," he nods after a slight hesitation. "Yeah we are. Well, Dex, I'll uh…I'll just leave you to your work. Excuse me."
Angel walks off, no doubt looking to be alone for a while. Dexter can understand that. He even finds himself feeling a twitch of sympathy for the man he genuinely considers to be a friend. A bit ironic, considering Dexter is the reason Maria had to die in the first place.
He crouches down in front of the bench, retrieving his usual tools from his kit. He starts to inspect the body, first collecting a few swabs of DNA so he can test them back at the lab.
Even with his gloves on, Dexter notices that the woman's body is a bit cool to the touch. Strange, considering how hot out it is today. Suddenly, it clicks. The body was being preserved in a freezer somewhere, kept hidden until the right moment. Whatever the Brain Surgeon has been planning for Vogel, this scene is definitely a part of it. It has to be.
The brain fragments that the doctor has found on her doorstep these past few days must undoubtedly belong to this poor woman. Her only crime was that she had a passing resemblance to Maria LaGuerta, but why? Why her?
Dexter's explanation to Angel had mostly been to appease him. Truthfully, he doesn't believe that this was meant as a means to bring the entire police force down to their knees. No, this is more personal than that. The Brain Surgeon wanted the police to find this woman, obviously; but more importantly, he wanted Dexter to find her, to come face to face with his demons in front of everyone.
Dexter is being baited. He's being played with like a toy.
Well, if it's a game this guy wants, it's a game he'll damn well lose.
Dexter continues his inspection of the body, refusing to let the reality of this situation prevent him from getting the job done. Just as he's about finished, something odd catches his eye. Peeking out only slightly from the woman's exaggerated cleavage, Dexter notices the tip of something white. He turns around, doing a quick sweep of the area to ensure that no one is watching him before he reaches one gloves hand into her shirt and retrieves the item as quickly as possible.
He holds the plastic card in his hands — low, so no one else will see — rather disappointed when it turns out to be blank. He flips it over and it turns out that there is something on it after all. The very last thing that he wanted to see.
Dexter almost drops the ID card down to the grass when he sees Debra's picture on it. He narrows his eyes, wanting so badly for this all to be some sort of cruel trick of the mind. But it isn't. No, this is very much real.
Somebody out there knows that his sister killed Maria LaGuerta. Not just any somebody, but a bloodthirsty serial killer. It was fine when Dexter was the target of this madman but now it feels like his whole world has come crashing down around him.
Deb is being targeted, and so far, the man is a ghost. Dexter holds the card tight in his fist. The sharp corners dig into his skin, probably reopening his wound in the process, but he feels none of it. Debra is in trouble, and for the first time in a long time, Dexter doesn't have the first clue what to do.
All he sees is red.