No Rest For the Wicked

by BrianaBree

A re-write of one of my favorite scenes in the entire series: Deb and Dexter's confrontation in the motel from "A Beautiful Day", the premiere of the final season. What happens when Dexter refuses to take no for an answer? Rated M for language typical of the show and all that good stuff. Deb/Dex, of course.

8. Chapter 8

A/N: Well look who's back from the dead! Lol I feel like I have a new excuse every time I take forever to update so I'll spare you guys the long story, but I just got a new job and I've been super busy. That, coupled with my computer troubles are the main reasons for this ridiculously long hiatus. I've missed you guys and this story so much while I was gone, so to make up for that, this chapter is the longest I've ever done. This was originally meant to be enough for two chapters but I decided to post it all at once, so it ended up being over 40 pages and 15K+ words in total. I really hope you like it, and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

Thank you all so much for sticking with me this long. I hope it'll all be worth it in the end :)

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Myrtle Beach. For some odd reason as he stands over some poor woman's body, blood dripping from his palm down to his wrist, that is what Dexter finds himself thinking about.

His recollection of those times at the beach are shrouded in nostalgia. Dexter knows that, and he's sure that Debra does, too. Memories are a tricky thing, even for the most rational of thinkers. When the present is bad, the past ends up looking better by default.

The beach couldn't possibly be as beautiful as Dexter remembers it. The sands weren't as white and the water definitely not as clear; but that doesn't change his desire to go back.

Whenever Dexter allows his mind to wander back to those days, there's always one image that stands out above the rest.

It's Deb.

In this particular memory, (his favorite) she couldn't have been any older than ten. Dexter himself was about to officially become a teenager, and although birthday rituals had never really appealed much to him — an introverted kid more interested in cutting throats than slices of cake — the Morgans had still insisted on some kind of celebration.

"You're thirteen now, Dexter. In some cultures, that would make you a man." He can remember Harry saying.

Dexter had no idea what to say to that. He'd always felt different from the other kids at school, sure. He was more intelligent, more practical, and certainly more detached. But grown up? Being grown up meant having everything figured out, and on the eve of Dexter's thirteenth birthday, he felt anything but. Worse, he found himself more lost than ever, his urges only growing louder and more violent the more he was forced to integrate himself with other people.

"I don't feel like a man." Dexter answered dumbly. "I don't know what I feel like."

His answer pleased Deb. Dexter can see her young face perfectly, even now. She had a big, wide-toothed grin on her face after he'd said that, two pigtails pulled tight and neat at either side of her head.

"He's not a man." His little sister said in disgust, the tip of her tongue poking out of the space where her two front teeth used to be.

She'd knocked them both out only a few days prior. She'd slammed face first into Dexter's bedroom door, rushing in to tell him a story that he probably wouldn't have cared much about anyway. The accident had left her with a gap big enough to whistle out of and she did so very often, much to the dismay of her already exhausted parents.

The more that Harry insisted that Dexter was a man now, telling tales of his own Bar Mitzvah and those of every other Morgan man who came before him, the more visibly upset Debra had become. Dexter can remember her crying quite a bit, her lanky limbs shaking like leaves on a palm tree in a breeze the longer Harry pressed the issue.

Back then, Dexter had no idea why she had been so upset. He blamed it on her hormones at first; on those wild emotions that he could never quite understand. But now, he thinks he might get it. He understands now why Deb wanted so badly to hold on to that little piece of youth, and he only wishes that he understood that way back then. Back when there was still time.

If he'd understood, then maybe he and Deb could've made more memories together. Happy ones, full of love and laughter to drown out all of the screams that were soon to come. If he'd understood, then maybe it wouldn't have taken so long for them to really see each other.

If he had only known the torment that would be waiting for him as the years went by, maybe Dexter wouldn't have been in such a hurry to find it.

Ultimately, it was Doris who calmed Deb down that day. She was always so sweet, that woman, and she deserved better than the harsh fate that would find her only a few short years later. If there was any upside to her death, however, it's that she was forever spared of knowing what the boy she had considered a son was destined to become.

With her tears wiped away, Debra's hesitance quickly turned to excitement. The prospect of a family vacation was everything to her, and when Harry and Doris asked Dexter where he wanted to go on his special day, he had only one answer for them: Myrtle Beach. He could've gone almost anywhere he wanted thanks to the generous Christmas bonus that Harry had received from work a couple of months prior, but in truth, Myrtle Beach was it. There could be no second choice. It was the only place he could remember feeling anything close to happiness.

They'd spent most of his thirteenth birthday in the water, and most of the evening, too. Just him and Deb, ignoring the concerned calls from Harry and Doris as they tried to lure them back to shore before the sun completely set on the day.

Dexter had learned how to swim a few years prior. He'd taken to it like a pro, but his sister was never very good. She took every opportunity to practice, vowing to beat her big brother in a race someday.

That afternoon at the beach, she'd decided that she finally had what it took to do just that. Dexter didn't really want to race her. He knew he'd beat her and that when she did, she would cry, and that would only ruin what remained of their vacation. But he accepted the challenge anyway, purposely slowing his pace so he could let her win.

Deb seemed so happy when she first started to gain on him; even happier when she overtook him, kicking water in his face as she left him behind.

She was almost to the buoy that they'd agreed to make the finish line when Dexter saw her go under. At first he thought that she was playing with him, that she caught on to his cheating and wanted to give him a chance to catch up with her. But after a few seconds of her still not coming back up for air, Dexter realized that this was serious after all.

His baser instincts kicked in as he swam towards her as fast as he could. When he came closer, he could see her limbs flailing wildly at her sides, the top of her head barely able to be seen above water.

They'd ventured out too deep. He should've known. If she died, it would be his fault. He couldn't let her die.

He dove under the water, holding his sister in one arm and using the other to paddle them both to safety. Harry and Doris rushed to their side as Dexter lay Deb out on the sand, pounding a fist on her chest to help her spit up all of the water that she'd swallowed.

They told him what a wonderful thing he did, how brave and heroic he was for saving his little sister. But saving her didn't feel like bravery to him. It felt like second nature.

That vacation wasn't much different than any other, yet Dexter finds solace in it even still. It was ordinary. Maybe that's what made it so special. Whatever small bit of innocence Dexter Morgan ever had, he left it there on the beach with Deb.

Dexter takes a deep breath, trying his best to picture those icy blue waters again. This time, it does little to calm him. Instead of the saltiness of the ocean, he smells the all too familiar stench of a decaying body; the unpleasantness only amplified as it bakes under the hot sun. Instead of feeling a volleyball hurled at his head by his baby sister's hand, Dexter feels the blood trickling down his palm, warm and thick, as he continues to clutch the ID card that bears his sister's name.

Vacation's over. The sun has set on that chapter and all that remains now is the darkness.

It feels like the earth is spinning. Slowly, so as to avoid drawing any attention to himself, Dexter rises back to his feet. He looks all around him, taking in all of the surrounding faces. Most of them are familiar to him, but others, not so much. Any one of these people could be the killer he is searching for; any of them, or none at all. The possibilities make Dexter's skin crawl. He finds himself wading through a sea of monsters, each of them with the potential to be more dangerous than the last.

Deep down he knows it's just the paranoia talking, that more likely than not each of his co-workers are exactly as they appear: well-meaning individuals who work hard at their jobs so they can support themselves and their families. But if he can manage to hide so easily in plain sight, who's to say that one of these average Joes can't do the same?

Dexter feels deranged, his blood pumping far quicker than normal. That's a good thing. He can't afford to make any mistakes, to assume the good in others. That's never worked for him before, and one wrong move could put Deb at even more risk than she already is.

After scanning the park, Dexter settles on a young woman who appears to be fresh out of college.

"Hey, uh…"

"Maritza." She answers, giddy with the energy of a kid who doesn't know any better yet.

"Martiza. Okay. Well, I'm —"

"I know who you are," she says. "I shadowed you a couple of months ago Mr. Morgan. Don't you remember?"

A couple of months ago. Back when Deb first went MIA and tore his entire world apart. Now that she's back in his life, it's getting easier for him to forget just how razzled and ineffectual he'd become in her absence.

"Oh yes, sorry. Of course I remember you. And please, no more 'Mr. Morgan'. Just call me Dexter."

"Okay, Dexter. Jeez, that's pretty messed up about Maria LaGuerta, huh?" She asks, using her thumb to gesture towards the crime scene. "Why can't people just let the dead rest in peace?"

"I don't know. There are a lot of sick people in the world, I guess." He answers. "Stick around here a little while longer and you'll find that out soon enough."

"Yeah. Honestly, I'm looking forward to it."

She smiles, and her eagerness reminds Dex of a younger, slightly less homicidal version of himself fresh on the job. For her sake, he hopes that the similarities stop there.

"So...Dexter, did you need me for something?"

"Oh, yes, would you mind letting Captain Batista know that I'm heading out for the day? I would do it myself but I'm kind of in a hurry."

He lifts his hand high enough to give her an overview of the damage, offering her a somber nod as she looks on in horror.

"Ouch. That looks pretty bad. What happened?"

"Uh...long story. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. Thanks for all of your help Martiza. I'll see you around."

After leaving the evidence he gathered at the scene with the employee he believes most equipped to deal with it, Dexter hops into his car. He doesn't have much time to tend to his freshly re-opened wound; electing instead to wrap it with some gauze from the first aid kit he always keeps in the trunk. It isn't ideal, and he'll definitely need to disinfect the wound as soon as possible, but it will at least prevent him from bleeding all over his car's leather interior.

He takes every shortcut that he knows of so he can get to Vogel's as quickly as possible, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day. The ID card tucked safely into his pocket digs persistently into his thigh, the throbbing pain oddly serving to keep him focused.

How could he have been so stupid? Trusting Dr. Vogel, letting her kind, mothering words overshadow all of the values that had been instilled in him since he was a teenager. Harry had known this woman for a brief stretch over twenty years ago, and somehow Dexter gave that bond more weight than it had ever deserved.

It's clear now that Evelyn knows more than she's let on. The only question is, just how much more? He doesn't see her as a puppet master, exactly. He doesn't think that the woman has it in her. The accent, the small frame, the comfortable timidness...it would be a good enough disguise as any; but even against his better judgment Dexter still can't see her as the ultimate villain here. There's someone else, someone that she seems to have good reason to be scared of. It was all fun and games when she had Dexter playing bountyhunter for her but now that her actions have gotten Debra involved, well, the rules have changed.

She knows what a monster Dexter can be when tested. One could even say she had a hand in creating him. Now it's time for her to witness the wrath of that monster firsthand.

When he arrives at the doctor's house, her car is noticeably absent from the driveway. It's good that Dexter knows where she keeps her spare key. He lifts the welcome mat and retrieves it, rolling his eyes at the cliche hiding space before letting himself into the house.

Once inside, he notices that the lights are still on; a definite sign that when Vogel left, she didn't plan on staying out for long. Dexter weighs his options, wrestling with the choice to shut off the lights and greet her in the dark — possibly scaring her into submission — or to pick up where he and Deb left off earlier that morning and tear the house apart.

He chooses the latter.

A half an hour later Vogel finally shows herself. She's as calm, cool, and collected as ever, completely unphased by Dexter's presence in her home. She must have noticed his car parked in the driveway, as he made no real effort to hide it.

"Dexter?" She calls out to him. "Dexter, what's going on?"

"You know, that's exactly what I came here to ask you." Dexter growls, stepping into the living room with a stack of manila folders in his hands.

"What are you looking for with all of that?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, letting all of the contents spill onto the floor. "Anything that will help me find this guy. I'm tired of fucking around with you, Evelyn. I'll give you one chance to tell me everything that you know. Either comply or don't but I don't think you're going to like what happens if you choose option B."

"Dexter, slow down," she says to him, playing the phlegmatic doctor even as one of the most notorious killers in American history makes a threat against her life. "Let me help you through this. I'm here for you, just as I always have been."

"Yeah, that's the problem, isn't it?"

"I don't — "

"You're the one who's got me chasing after some phantom! You show up and force your way into my life after spending so many years in the shadows so you could have me do your bidding. Just what exactly am I to you, Evelyn? A hired gun?"

"No, Dexter. You are so much more than that. I need you to understand."

"The only thing I need to understand is why the Brain Surgeon has decided to target Debra now," Dexter says, retrieving the ID card from his pocket and tossing it in Vogel's direction.

She doesn't catch it, he figured that she wouldn't.

"What's this?" She asks, bending over to pick it up off the floor.

"The crime scene I went to this morning was modeled after Maria Laguerta's murder. I found that in the victim's pocket. Somehow, this guy replicated Deb's old employee ID and left it there for me to find."

"I don't understand, Dexter. What does your sister have to do with any of this?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Just what exactly are you accusing me of here? I am just as much of a victim in this situation as you are, Dexter," the doctor says with convincing sincerity. "Your hand...it's bleeding again. Let me patch that up for you. Please."

"Fuck my hand. It's not going anywhere."

"Nonsense. It could get infected if you leave it like that. Here, come with me. It'll only take a minute."

She starts to advance on him and immediately Dexter's goes on the defensive. He moves to shield himself from her prying hands, extending an elbow out towards her. Putting his hands on her wouldn't bring him any pleasure, but at this point, he'll do whatever he has to to protect himself. He doesn't know what to believe anymore. Everyone is a threat.

"No." Dexter coldly states.

He lunges for her, his fingers wrapping around her neck before he even realizes what he's doing. But he makes no effort to stop. He slams her against the wall and she hits it with a thud, her breath getting caught in the back of her throat.

Dexter towers over her, the predator he was meant to be; the predator that she'd had a hand in cultivating. As she stares up at him, Dexter sees no fear in her eyes. Confusion, maybe some slight apprehension, but at her core, she trusts that he won't hurt her. That could prove to be a mistake.

His hand tightens around her neck, her heart beats coming short and fast the longer he restricts her airway.

"Dexter..."

"Don't Dexter me," he growls, "Tell me everything you know or I'll cut you open from ear to ear and watch while you bleed the fuck out. These carpets are pretty nice. White. Clean. It would be a shame to ruin them, don't you think?"

"I told you, I don't know anything! I am as lost in this as you are!"

"Bullshit. If you don't know anything then how does this person know about LaGuerta? The only two people who know what happened that night are me and Deb, and we never told anyone."

"If you never told anyone then what makes you think that I know?" Vogel wonders.

Her face betrays her feigned confusion. Save for the rampant rising and falling of her chest, she looks normal. Her eyes are steely and assured, her lips taut, an eyebrow raised ever so slightly. She thought that she could play him.

She thought wrong.

"Don't give me that shit," Dexter tells her, "I found your file. I know that you've been keeping tabs on me."

"You didn't find anything that I didn't want to be found," she says. "I gave you permission to look through my things, remember? Is it a crime to collect newspaper articles now?"

"Those articles say nothing about me. So let's try this again. What do you know about New Year's?"

"I know that your sister killed Maria LaGuerta. I know that she did it for you and I know that you helped her cover it up. I know that I haven't said a word about it to anyone. That, Dexter, is what I know."

"You...what?" Dexter tries to keep his composure. He'd suspected that she's known for some time now, but that doesn't make hearing the words out loud hurt any less.

Your sister killed Maria LaGuerta. The words are a cancer to his ears, now that they've been spoken, now that they're out in the open. His primary responsibility has always been to protect Deb and at that he's failed her tenfold. She would lose it if she found out that someone other than Dexter knows that she's a murderer now, that someone sees her as that which she despises the most. In this moment, his heart breaks for her.

"What makes you say that?" Dexter asks. It's a weak retort but it's the only thing that he can find the strength to say.

"The truth is what makes me say that."

"You," Dexter grinds out, removing his hand from her throat so he can press his finger hard on her breastbone. "You have been keeping tabs on me and my family for months."

"That is correct," she nods, "I'm not stupid, Dexter. I figured out that your sister was the one who killed the Captain almost as soon as the story was released to the public."

"How?"

"It was obvious. She would do anything to protect you. You know that more than I do. I had been doing some consulting work at the station at the time of your arrest last year, and I saw the fear in her eyes. There was no mistaking it. Never is a woman more dangerous than when the man she loves is at risk. She did what she had to do, nothing more, nothing less. I just wish that she wouldn't blame herself for it. I can see the shame on her face, it's printed clear as day."

"I...I don't..."

"It's alright, Dexter. We're family. You're safe here. Both of you."

"Who else did you tell?"

"No one, I swear. How can you even ask me this? Surely you know me better than that."

"I don't know you at all. Who else did you tell!?"

"When I first came to you, you told me that Debra had disappeared. That she hadn't spoken to you in months."

"Yes, and?"

"Who is to say that she didn't confess to someone? Guilt is a sickness, Dexter. It eats away at people and leaves them irrevocably changed. I've seen it happen too many times. You may not know what that feels like, but your sister certainly does. Debra is strong, there's no denying that, but she is human above all, and even the strongest humans can fall victim to one moment of weakness."

"Bullshit. Keep my sister's name out of your mouth. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you accuse her of something she clearly didn't do."

"You don't have to. But I was only trying to help you get down to the bottom of this like you asked."

"Oh yeah? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now. It wouldn't be hard. I've done it a hundred times before. Who would miss you? Not many people, I bet, save a few patients. But that can easily be fixed. Do you know how many doctors there are in this city? They'd find another soon enough. You're not married. You have no kids. You see, I do my research too, doctor, and what I found is that for a world renowned psychiatrist, you've lived a pretty insignificant life. I can ensure that your body is never found. Just another Jane Doe drifting in the sea."

"That's enough, Dexter. That may work on the lowlife thugs that you deal with every day, but not me. I know who you are."

Dexter grits his teeth, unable to piece together the words that are scattered through his brain. This is bad. This is dangerous. This is...

"Dexter, is that your phone?"

He feels the buzzing in his pocket, ready to ignore it until he retrieves the phone and sees that it's Deb calling, her smiling face flashing across the screen. She looks so young and happy in that picture, so far removed from the woman he knows now.

"It's Deb. Don't say a fucking word," Dexter says, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before accepting the call. "Deb. Hey."

"Hey, Dex. What are you up to?"

"Uh,"

"Still at the crime scene?"

"Uhm, no. I just left, actually."

"So was it him again?"

"Yeah, Deb," Dexter sighs, gripping Vogel's shirt with his bloody hand. "It looks that way."

"Well, shit. Again? And so soon after the last one. That's not normal, is it?"

"No, it hasn't been. Not that I'm aware of, anyway."

"Did he leave anything behind? Some kind of calling card maybe?"

"You mean besides the missing brain fragments? No. Nothing."

Dexter doesn't like lying to Deb. Even when that was standard protocol for him, he never got any type of enjoyment out of it. It always felt like he was betraying her, disregarding all of the kindness and love she'd instilled in him. But in this case, the lie comes easy to him. He can't allow this guy to frighten his sister. He doesn't want this killer to find his way under her skin.

He's already done enough damage, riling Dexter up without even showing his face. He can't give him more power than what he's already taken.

"Goddamnit, Dex. I know you told me you could handle it, but I don't like this. This dude could be any fucking where. You're an idiot, so your pride won't let you admit it, but he is the one in control right now, not you. Accept that shit and maybe we can get somewhere with this."

"I must say, Deb. I thought you had more faith in me than that." Dexter says with a light air in his tone.

He's only messing with her, but there is some truth to his words. He's already begun doubting himself. He doesn't need Debra doing the same.

"I love you, moron. Of course I have faith in you. But I also have faith in this guy being a fucking batshit crazy murderer, so just shut up and let me be worried about you, okay?"

"Fair enough. But I don't want to talk about him anymore. What have you and Harrison been up to since I've been gone?"

The question isn't only meant to distract her from the worry in voice — the worry that she has certainly already taken note of — though that definitely is a part of it. He could also use a break from the anger that has been brewing deep inside of him since he found that ID card. And the thought of his son and his...Deb, together, laughing about something or another, is enough to lift his spirits if only for a mere moment or two.

But more than that, he finds himself fantasizing about these moments. What if they were to become common? So common that he no longer has to ask about them because he'll be there, front and center; the involved father that Harrison is going to need as he grows older, the man that Debra has always imagined him to be. What if.

"Well..." Deb starts. Dexter can hear the smile in her voice and fights off one of his own, "your son owes me a thousand dollars."

She makes the declaration with no trace of levity in her voice, and Dexter wrinkles his nose in confusion.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"We've been painting his room for the past hour — I'm going to need to find a new exercise room, by the way — and we hadn't even gotten one full wall covered when Harrison decided that he wanted to take a break. Kids, right? But whatever, I said okay because I'm the cool aunt and that's what I do. So he goes into our room and accidentally — his words, not mine — breaks the painting that I've had hanging up in there for years, Dexter. Years."

"Good," he laughs. "That thing was hideous. I have no idea why you even bought it in the first place. Harrison did you a favor."

"Years, Dexter," she repeats. "That's a long time."

"Yeah...still not quite understanding how that means my son owes you a thousand dollars."

"Because he broke my shit!" She answers, clearly joking now.

"You got it from a thrift shop, Debra. It was ten dollars, tops."

"Oh please. Am I supposed to believe that you've never watched any daytime court shows? Sentimental value, Dexter. It's a thing."

"I don't watch daytime TV. I have a job."

"Ouch, that was below the belt," she laughs, "I used to watch a lot of People's Court when I was in between gigs, so shoot me."

"Hey, we've all got our bad habits."

"Yeah. Speaking of bad habits, where the fuck are you right now?"

"What do you mean? I told you, I just left the crime scene."

"So you're in your car then?"

"Yes..."

"Bullshit. I don't hear any other cars around."

"That's because there aren't any cars around."

"You always take the expressway home. Of course there are cars."

Damnit. He should've known better than to think he could pull one over on her. Despite her current line of work, Deb will always be a detective at heart. Asking questions, prying into his business, that's all normal for her. It's a pain in the ass but deep down, he appreciates it. If she were to ever stop, that would definitely give him pause.

"Don't worry about it," he answers, knowing full well that she definitely will worry about it, "I'll be home in a half an hour or so. Let Harrison know that we'll straighten out this painting thing when I get back."

"Dexter don't you fucking dare hang up on me. Are you seriously going to lie to me? Even now? Typical. That is so fucking typical."

"Dexter, why don't you let me speak with her." Evelyn suddenly suggests with an unmistakable hint of optimism in her voice.

Dexter immediately lowers his phone, covering the speaker portion with his hand so Deb can't hear their conversation.

"Shut the fuck up." He orders, his voice a whisper-scream. His hand returns to the doctor's neck, holding her still against the wall.

"Was that Dr. Vogel?" He hears Deb ask once he brings the phone back up to his ear. She sounds genuinely worried about the doctor's safety despite barely knowing or trusting the woman. "Dex, what the fuck is going on?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he sighs, "just trust me, alright? Can you do that for me?"

"I don't know, Dexter, that depends. Are you gonna fucking kill her?"

"What? No."

"That wasn't very convincing."

"Well I don't know what you want me to say to convince you that i'm not going to hurt her."

"I don't want you to convince me of anything, Dex. I want you to tell me the truth for once! You know what? Fuck it. I'm coming over there. Don't do anything stupid."

"No, Deb. That would just make things worse. I'll be home soon, I promise. Just stay with Harrison."

"Don't tell me what to — ugh, Christ. Give me a second. And don't you dare hang up."

"What? What is it? What's going on?"

"There's just someone at the door. Relax, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll be right back."

Dexter finally releases his hold on Evelyn. He starts for the kitchen, throwing a glare over his shoulder to ensure that she doesn't follow him. "No, Deb. Whatever you do, do not open the door. Please."

"Too late."

"Deb, fuck!" Dexter cries out in frustration.

He imagines her looking out through the curtains, wonders who she sees looking back at her. His mind immediately goes to the worst possible place, and if he thought it would do even the least bit of good, he would drop everything and drive home right then and there. But it's hopeless and he knows it. He's hopeless. All he can do is listen.

"You're in danger, Deb," Dexter says, making one final appeal to her. "I can't explain everything over the phone, but I need you to trust me. Lock all of the doors and find someplace safe to hide with Harrison, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"I'm in...what the fuck are you talking about? Is this about the Brain Surgeon? Goddamnit, Dexter, I fucking knew it. You are so fucking predictable that it makes me sick."

"That doesn't matter now, Deb. You can beat me up later, I don't care. Just as long as I don't come home to your dead fucking body. Hurry up and find someplace to hide. Get your gun, just in case things come to that.""

"Jesus, Dex, he's just a kid. He's wearing khakis and a sun visor. I think I can take him."

"That isn't funny." Dexter sighs, tugging at his hair in frustration. "Deb?"

Silence, and then the sound of the front door squeaking open. There's a low beep as Deb activates the speaker function on her phone, and though Dexter feels helpless in this moment, at least he isn't completely in the dark.

"Hi, I'm sorry for making you wait. Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah," the word is spoken with a slight hesitation, in the nasal voice of a teenage boy. "Are you….uh….Mrs. Debra Morgan?"

"Oh, I'm not sure where you got that whole Mrs. thing from, but yeah, I'm Deb Morgan. Who wants to know?" his sister asks.

The slight inflection in her voice doesn't make it past Dexter's keen ear. He doesn't think that Deb is scared exactly, but her guard is definitely up. At least that's something.

Sure, his sister has known how to protect herself since she was in her early teens, but her reckless behavior has been scaring Dexter as of late. This little stunt is no different.

"I have a delivery for you," the boy tells her, "from 1-800-Flowers."

"What?"

"Flowers, ma'am."

"Bullshit. This must be some kind of mistake. No one ever sends me flowers," Deb says with the acrid delivery of a war torn woman. "Well, there was this one guy, but he was a massive disappointment in the end."

The Morgans are both understandably on edge, but Dexter still finds himself scowling at Debra's confession. She never really had good taste in men, but could Brian really have been the last guy to send her flowers? That hurts.

"Who are they from?" Deb asks.

"Beats me." The deliveryman replies.

"What's that supposed to mean? There's no card?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well, who placed the order?"

"I don't know. I'm just the delivery guy. You can take them...or not. They've already been paid for. So….yeah."

"Fine," Deb sucks her teeth at him, "give them here, kid."

Dexter hears some movement in the background as the package exchanges hands, and then Deb thanks the delivery boy before sending him on his way.

"That was fucking weird, huh?" She mumbles into her phone. "White flowers. Is that like a declaration of love thing? Oh, wait, I think they're roses. I used to love white roses, remember?" Deb pauses for a second, the air growing notably thicker.

"Did you send me flowers, Dexter? Because if you did, not fucking funny."

"What? No. Why would I do that?"

"Fuck you," Deb laughs. "Okay. It was probably….er….somebody else then. Just forget about it. I'll just put 'em in a vase in the dining room or something. Heh, they'll probably die within a week. That's why flowers are a shitty gift. They're such a waste of money."

Though it's left unspoken, they both know who most likely sent the flowers, and Dexter doesn't like it. Quinn is getting too bold. If this is another tactic of his to assert dominance over Dexter, it won't end well for him. But Dexter's got more important things to worry about at the moment.

"Listen, Deb. I'm going to call you right back. I just have to handle something first, okay?"

"Not okay. Don't think that I forgot what was happening before this shit just because the flower kid distracted me. What the fuck is going on with you and Vogel?"

"Deb...I'm not going to hurt her if that's what you're thinking," Dexter sighs. He hopes that he's telling the truth, but there's really no way to know for sure. "It's about the Brain Surgeon. I think she knows more than she's letting on so...me and the doctor are going to have a nice little talk."

"A nice little talk?" Deb snorts in disbelief. "That's rich, coming from you."

"I need you to trust me, Deb. Can you trust me?"

She sighs. He can hear her breathing, slow and measured, his heart heavy as sin as he awaits her response.

"I trust you," she finally says. "God knows why, but I do. Don't make me regret it."

Dexter hears the phone click before he can thank her for having faith in him, hanging his head in shame as he shoves his own phone back into his pants pocket. The denim is smeared red with his blood now; he'll probably just have to throw the jeans out at this rate.

Dexter digs his nails into his palm, deep enough so he can feel that itchy burn.

Focus, he thinks, don't lose sight of what really matters.

"Okay, Evelyn," Dexter says, heading back to the living room in a significantly calmer state than he'd left it. "You want to talk things out, let's talk."

"Change of heart?" Vogel asks.

Dexter sees the way that she raises her eyebrow at him ever so slightly. As much as it pains him to do, he ignores it, slowly advancing towards her and raising both hands in the air. He lowers himself into a seat and the doctor follows suit, sitting down opposite him.

"My sister thinks we can handle this like civilized adults," he tells her. "I'm willing to give that a try if you are, Doctor."

"Of course," Vogel nods, folding her hands together in her lap.

"Tell me about the Brain Surgeon," Dexter says. "Now, when I say that I want to hear everything that you know, I mean everything. Even your dumbest theories, I want to hear them."

"The more that I think about it, the more that I start to believe that he has to have been a patient of mine at one time or another." Vogel admits.

Dexter nods. He figured as much.

He can see that it hurts her, to be made to face the evil that she probably had a hand in creating. It can't be an easy revelation to make, but Dexter stares at her straight faced. All of his excess sympathy has long since withered and burned away.

"But you have to understand something, Dexter," she continues. "I am not in the business of making monsters."

"No, they're already damaged when they come to you. You just cultivate that sickness and help those monsters reach their full potential for destruction. Is that right?"

"Is that what you think I am?"

"Well, if the shoe fits, right? I don't know, how else would you describe a woman who encourages confused children to kill?"

Gone is any thought of the Brain Surgeon for the moment. Dexter knows that he shouldn't be wasting time, but Vogel doesn't seem any more helpful now than she was ten minutes ago.

It was always going to come down to this sooner or later, he supposes. With Harry as a willing participant, Dr. Evelyn Vogel willfully gave up on seeing Dexter as a human being and labeled him a psychopath instead. He was a robot, nothing more than a science experiment to them, something caught between living and dead; and instead of trying to fix him, instead of trying to find a way to make him whole again, they gave up. They decided that maybe he was already whole. That maybe all he was ever meant to be was wrong.

"I did not encourage you to kill. Not in the beginning," she insists. "You were never supposed to be an indiscriminate killing machine, Dexter. That isn't what either of us wanted for you. Least of all me."

"And what did you want?"

"I wanted you to exist, Dexter. Not as the man that they wanted you to be, but as the man you have always been. Too many doctors wish to change their patients, to poke and prod and medicate them until they become a shell of their true selves. I never wanted that for you. You now have the ability to live your life as the best possible version of yourself, wouldn't you say? Do you think you could say the same if Harry hadn't brought you to me when he did?"

She waits for Dexter's response, the corner of her lips quirking ever so slightly when one doesn't come.

"Freedom, Dexter. Power. Control. I gave that to you."

Vogel's face is steely and determined as she stares at him, unflinching, daring him to say something to the contrary. Her bravado doesn't scare him — he's got more than enough of his own to spare — but he leaves her words unchallenged.

"You're fine the way you are, Dexter," she says, suddenly out of her chair and coming to stand directly behind his own, one hand resting on his shoulder. "You are more than fine, in fact. You're perfect."

"The perfect little psychopath, huh? Dexter asks, mulling over the implication of her words in his head. "Maybe they'll make a television show about me one day."

"You kid, but I am deathly serious. Being a psychopath doesn't always have to be seen as such a bad thing. Psychopathy isn't all blind rage and darkened thoughts. It's also meticulous planning and careful consideration. With the right tools and the proper guidance, I believe that people such as yourself can do a great service to this world. Think about it, Dexter, you are the true neutral. You are the hand that should wield the sword."

"What if I don't want to be of service to the world anymore?" Dexter wonders. He speaks the words so low that Vogel has to ask him to repeat them. "I want to be...different. Better. I have for a long time now."

"Alright, then, Tell me, what's better than perfection?"

Dexter's jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together until he feels the ache in his mouth. From this close, he can smell Vogel's perfume in the air. He takes in her scent: a light musk that reminds him of a perfume that Deb's mom used to wear. The fragrance, her outward appearance and kind, understanding attitude each shroud her in just enough warmth to make most people feel comfortable in her presence. Hiding in plain sight. He knows the tactic well.

Sitting here, taking in the weight of her words, Dexter thinks he likes the real Dr. Vogel much more than the woman she presents herself as. The real Dr. Vogel is honest if not slightly abrasive with her true intentions, and that's a definite breath of fresh air. Harry spent so many years trying to change Dexter, trying to turn him into the son he'd always wanted. Without Vogel's influence, who knows what kind of man Dexter would be today?

He reaches up to touch her, the palm of his hand sliding gently along her knuckles.

"You have a gift, Dexter. And you have used it to do great things. Together, I think we can do even more."

He doesn't know what it is that she's been planning for him. He doesn't ask.

"Thank you...for saying what you said about me. All of my life, I felt like I didn't belong, like no one would ever accept me. Now, I know that you do. That Deb does."

"Deb — "

"Let me finish," Dexter interrupts, shrugging Vogel off of him so he can rise out of his chair, "Deb accepts me for who I am even though she shouldn't. She loves me even though I've given her every possible reason not to. But no matter how much she tries to claim otherwise, I know that if I could change, if I could become the man that she deserves, she would take that Dexter in a heartbeat. I love Deb with all of my heart. So maybe there is something better than your idea of perfection. I don't know. But I want to find out for her. Don't you think she deserves that?"

"And what about what you deserve?"

Vogel purses her lips. She looks like she's caught somewhere between confusion and pride at how far Dexter has come.

His love for his sister has always been a point of contention for the doctor. It's the one chink in her armor; the one fault in the theory that psychopathy will never permit true, genuine emotion. The way Dexter feels about Debra — hell, the fact that he even feels anything at all — has the power to call years of Vogel's hard work into question.

She's still too polite to shoot down what Dexter claims to be feeling outright, so instead she skirts around it. She says that he has a "fondness" for Deb, unknowingly throwing Dexter's own thoughts right back in his face. She says that the Morgans have grown dependent on each other out of necessity, that Harry brought them together for better or worse. Dexter knows all that to be true. But he also knows something else, something that Vogel could never understand.

When he sees Deb's face every day, the ache that he feels from his skin down to his bones, that can be nothing short of love.

Dexter loudly clears his throat. "The files that you let Deb and I look through this morning," he says, making an effort to get their conversation back on track, "were those all of the records you keep here in your office?"

"Those were all of my physical copies, yes."

"Hold on. You have got to be fucking...fuck!" Dexter yells, slamming his injured hand against the wall. He pays no mind to the pain the runs along the length of his arm. "Don't you even fucking say what I think you're going to say, Evelyn. Don't you dare tell me that you keep classified information about your patients on your fucking computer."

"I just keep a few patient logs…maybe a couple of notes that I want to look over after my sessions have ended."

Dexter sighs deeply, bringing his hand up to his face. He's almost tempted to laugh at how funny this entire thing would be if it wasn't his own family's safety on the line due to the doctor's naivete.

"I know that keeping this stuff on your own personal computer probably didn't seem like such a bad idea in the beginning, Dr. Vogel; for most doctors, it probably isn't. But your patients aren't exactly of the common variety. I'm sure you know that if information about your….unusual care methods were to fall into the wrong hands, it wouldn't turn out well for anyone involved."

"I...everything is password protected," the doctor insists. "I had a firewall put in place. Every precaution that I could have taken, I did. No one was supposed to have access to my files except for me."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Dexter says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "What, like it's hard to hack into a computer? These days, any sixteen year old with a reasonably high IQ and fifteen minutes to spare can hack into a computer!"

"I'm sorry, Dexter. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I know you didn't. That doesn't change anything though, does it?" He sighs. "So, patient files. What is on these files, exactly?"

"Well...I do keep dossiers on a select few of my patients. Including —"

"Debra," Dexter finishes the sentence for her. "You have a dossier on my fucking sister. Why? Technically, she isn't even one of your patients!"

"I've been looking after the two of you since just after Harry died. You know this already."

"I don't know how looking after Deb and I translated into stalking us and keeping notes on your findings. A lot of good that's done us now, huh?" Dexter asks. "Where's your computer? I'm going to download all of the files so I can see what exactly it is that this guy had access to. Better yet, just bring the computer here. I'll take it home with me and spend some real time with it, see if I can find anything valuable."

"Alright." She nods, walking off to retrieve the laptop.

"Hey, Dr. Vogel?"

She stops, turns back around to face him. "Yes Dexter?"

"You better hope that I get to this guy before he gets to us first. Because if my family is hurt, you're not going to like what happens next."

---

"Well, well, well. Look what the fucking cat dragged in."

Dexter flashes his sister a tight lipped smile, placing Vogel's laptop on the coffee table before flopping down on the couch. Harrison sits still beside him, too engrossed in whatever he's watching on the television to acknowledge his presence.

"Jesus, man. You look like actual shit right now."

"Okay, Deb. You really do know how to flatter a guy."

"Shut up. I'm being serious. You look way paler than usual. And you should probably redress that wound. I don't want you bleeding all over my rug. Especially not after me and Handy Manny over there did such a fantastic job cleaning it while you were gone."

"You got Harrison to clean up around the house?" Dexter asks, his face contorting with genuine surprise. "My Harrison?"

"Yeah, daddy," Harrison giggles, finally turning away from the TV for a brief moment. "It was kinda fun."

"Wow. I'm sorry to have missed that." Dexter replies.

"Yeah, I'm a freaking superhero." Deb chimes in. "What else is new?"

"A lot, actually. We should probably talk."

"Oh God. You're already pulling the whole 'we need to talk' card. That's ominous."

"It's not like that. I'm serious, we really do need to talk about...some things."

"Oh, believe-you-fucking-me, I know," Deb's expression goes from soft to hard with startling speed. "Harrison, why don't you watch TV for a little while longer? Me and your dad need to have a little talk."

"Kay." He nods, picking up the remote and flipping aimlessly through the channels.

Deb waits until they're out of Harrison's earshot to grip Dexter by his upper arm, digging her nails deep into his skin.

"Ow, Deb!"

"Look at my face, Dexter," she says, her voice so calm that it almost frightens him. "Go ahead. Take a good, hard look and tell me what you see."

"Deb, do us both a favor and just start yelling at me now. Just get it over with please."

"You don't get to tell me when to start yelling. Don't rush me, okay. I'm just really curious to know when I got the word idiot tattooed across my fucking forehead. That's all!"

Ah, there she is.

"You aren't an idiot, Deb. What are you even...is this about what we talked about on the phone? Because I didn't hurt Vogel, I swear. I promised you that I wouldn't."

"Yeah, because you always keep your promises, right?" Deb scoffs. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms over her chest. "But I couldn't give a single solitary fuck about Dr. Vogel right now. This isn't about her. This is about the Brain Surgeon recreating LaGuerta's murder and leaving the body in the park for the police to find. Seriously, Dexter. You didn't think that this was something I would've wanted to fucking know about?"

"Deb...I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry, that's all..."

Deb's eyes go wide with anger. She pulls back and then swings her fist at him, punching him on the shoulder. "You didn't want me to worry? I worry every fucking second of my life, Dexter!"

"Don't hit me!" Dexter shouts, holding his hands up defensively in front of himself. "See, this is exactly what I was trying to avoid!"

She hits him again, harder this time. "You didn't want me to worry. Fucking incredible. You're about twenty years too late with that one, asshole."

"I know. I'm sorry, Deb. It's just...I wanted to be the one to tell you, but I didn't want to do it over the phone, so I decided to wait until I made it back home. I guess I underestimated the speed of the news cycle in this city."

"Yeah. No fucking shit. Me and Harrison were watching cartoons until the show got interrupted by a fucking Breaking News bulletin. I thought I was going to have a full on panic attack when I saw it, Dex. It's like I can't escape this shit. If Harrison hadn't been here with me, I don't know what I would've done, to be honest with you."

"Okay...you may want to sit down for this next part then."

"Next part? Oh, you have got to be fucking….whatever. Just come right out and say it, alright?"

Dexter reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ID, folding Deb's hand over it. "I found this in the victim's pocket," he tells her, watching as her face starts to fall, "I took it before anyone else could see."

"This...this is..." Dexter can see the tears forming in Deb's eyes as she looks down at the card; her younger, more innocent self staring right back at her. "Fuck, Dex. This is...this is bad."

"It is," he agrees with her. There's no point in lying. Deb has never been one to appreciate it when anything is sugar coated. "But we're going to beat this guy, do you hear me? I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"I know you won't," she says, forcing a weak smile past her lips. "But would you be mad if I told you that I'm scared anyway?"

"No. Of course I'm not mad," he replies. "Hey, Deb, can I tell you a secret?"

She nods, her eyes still focused on the card in her hand.

Dexter leans in toward her, bringing his lips close to her ear. "I'm scared too." He whispers.

"Oddly enough, I think that makes me feel better," Deb says. "Fear is supposed to be a good motivator right? Well, good. I'm being targeted, and that's scary, but at least now we know. And now that we know, that means that we can fucking do something about it. So we're going to catch this fucker, right?"

"Right."

"I want to be there when you kill him," she says, reaching for Dexter's uninjured hand and squeezing it in hers. "You'll be doing everyone a public fucking service."

Dexter flicks his gaze upwards, looking his sister directly in the eye. "Deb..."

"I mean it, Dex. You'll be doing the world a favor."

"Yeah...but let's say I don't kill him. How would that make you feel?"

"I don't understand...all of a sudden you're anti killing?"

"Of course I'm not anti killing. I'm just anti putting you in any more danger than what's absolutely necessary. If I could give this guy over to the police, have his fate decided in a courtroom instead of on my table…isn't that what you've always wanted me to do with my victims?"

"It was before," she admits. "But things are different now, Dexter. The Brain Surgeon knows who I am. He knows who you are. Who's to say that he won't come after someone else we know next? It's all too dangerous. I know you want to do what you think is right and I love you for it. But right now...this is what's right."

He can't argue with that logic. In truth, he doesn't even know why he'd suggested taking the peaceful route in dealing with this menace. Even if Deb had said yes, Dexter couldn't see this ending anywhere but his table.

Seeing that ID card has stirred up something fierce in him. It won't truly be over until this killer is taking a trip up the Gulf just like all of the others who came before him. Dexter is going to be the last thing the Brain Surgeon sees before he dies. He'll take great pleasure in that.

"Our guy is definitely one of Vogel's former patients," Dexter tells Deb. "I've got her computer, I'm going to look over all of her records and see if anything jumps out at me."

"Count me in." Deb says.

She starts walking back out into the living room before stopping dead in her tracks. Then, she backs up, tosses the ID card into the garbage disposal and watches as it's torn to pieces.

"Okay," she says. "Now we can go."

---

After rewrapping Dexter's bandages, the two of them pore over Vogel's records for hours, taking extra interest in any people who have demonstrated that they have violent tendencies, or those who Vogel may have suspected of even being capable of violence at all.

They're a little over halfway done when they hear a knock at the door.

"I'll get it." Deb volunteers.

Dexter grabs her by the arm before she can even get up from her spot on the floor. "No. I'll get it."

Before he gets it, however, he makes a pit stop back in the kitchen. He grabs a medium sized steak knife — small enough to hold comfortably in his hand but big enough to serve as a useful weapon — and then makes his way over to the door, holding the knife behind his back.

There is no monster, there is no bloodthirsty killer. It's only Masuka, his lips pulled back into a goofy smile as he meets Dexter's eyes.

"Heyyy, Dex man. What's up?"

"Uh, well, you know, nothing much. Just having some quality family time."

"Oh, okay. Nice. I was wondering why you were here at Casa Deb this evening."

Dexter offers his friend a tight lipped smile. Deb walks up beside him, mimicking the insincere expression on his face.

"Little Debbie! Just the girl I was looking for."

"Yeah...don't ever call me that again," Deb chuckles. "So what's up? It isn't very like you to make house calls, Masuka. Everything alright?"

"I don't know. I've been spending most of my free time perusing the want ads, but other than that, I guess I'm golden. I'm thinking maybe I'll become a male model for some extra cash. I've got the physique, right?"

"Oh, come on, Vince. Things can't be that bad. You and I both know that Angel is too sweet to ever fire you. Whatever you did, it'll blow over in a week or two. Trust me."

"Am I missing something here? How did you even know that I was suspended?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Wow, news sure does travel fast around here." Masuka says, throwing his greatest attempt at a death glare Dexter's way.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Dexter agrees, mumbling low under his breath.

"So...are you guys going to let me in, or are we going to have this entire conversation in the doorway?" Masuka asks.

"Oh. Sorry, yeah, come in." Deb backs up slowly, giving Dexter enough time to duck into the house and place the knife back where he found it.

Dexter sends Harrison off to his room, leaving the three adults alone to talk about whatever it is that brought Masuka over in the first place.

They all sit down on the couch, Masuka taking a seat in between the two Morgan siblings. It's a tight fit and more than a little bit awkward, but neither of them let their frustration show on their face.

"How come you and I never hooked up?" Masuka suddenly blurts out. "Am I really that repulsive?"

"Well, you're not really my type Masuka." Dexter answers.

"Ha, ha. Good thing I was talking to your sister, then."

"Uh...I don't know Masuka. It's nothing personal. I guess I just don't like to shit where I sleep, or however that dumb saying goes."

"Shit where I eat," he corrects her. "And come on, Deb. Are you really going to lie to me? Me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, dude."

"That was a lie. A bald-faced lie. What about Quinn, and Lundy, and that other guy...what was his name? Antoine? He was C.I., right? I bet that broke a shit ton of ethics laws, but you risked it all for that little office romance."

"Yeah, and that was really fucking stupid of me. Anton, by the way, he was almost killed because of me, Masuka. So don't go throwing that shit in my face."

"Sorry. I didn't mean it like that," he says in an uncharacteristic display of shame. "I was just curious. I was messing around."

"I know. It's fine. He's much better off now, anyway. He added me on Facebook a little while ago. I guess he actually still gives a shit about my wellbeing, if you can imagine that. He's married, got two kids, a fucking house in Fayetteville...he hasn't even gotten any of his skin cut off since he dumped me or anything, so yeah, he's much better off without me. Sometimes I think maybe everyone is."

Dexter turns to look at his sister and finds her staring at Masuka, her lips downturned. His heart sinks low in his chest, a heavy weight that threatens to drag him down to the depths of the sea. This sudden bout of sadness reminds him that everything isn't fucking peachy. For a moment he'd let himself believe that he had healed Deb, that he would be the one to kiss away all of her pain. The threat from the Brain Surgeon is still very much real, but Dexter wanted so badly to think that as long as they had each other, they would be okay in the end. But healing is a process. He knows that now.

"You should learn from Anton's mistakes and stay far away from me." Deb says with a melancholy chuckle. She's speaking to Masuka, but Dexter wonders if that had been a thinly veiled warning to himself.

Deb's eyes flit from Masuka down to the floor, her face rather dejected. When her romantic history is completed laid out like that, nothing but bodies and broken men, it's a wonder that she even has the courage to keep on loving at all. The only person with a worse track record when it comes to dating is Dexter himself. What a scary thought.

"Don't get so down on yourself, Deb. You're worth the risk." Masuka assures her.

Dexter rolls his eyes. At this point, he can't really tell if Vince is joking or not, so this back and forth is bordering on desperate now. No, actually. This is way past desperate. Now he's bordering on delusion.

"Masuka...it's just, you can't really force these things, you know?" She smiles, still trying to let him down easy.

"Oh, I know. That's why I am prepared to woo you like a proper gentleman, Debra Morgan. You'll be sipping on my sweet, sweet love nectar by Christmas."

"Love nectar?"

"Mmmhmm." Masuka says, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The knots across Masuka's forehead remind Dexter a lot of the ones in his own stomach, and if he were a weaker man, the thought of his sister and Masuka together...sexually...would surely be enough to make him keel over in disgust.

"Sure, okay." Deb laughs, clearly not as offended by his advances as Dex is.

"So, uh, this is probably going to sound really awkward, but you really do owe me a date, Deb."

"Wait, what?"

"Dex owes me a debt, and I'm here to cash in," he answers. "Also, you did kind of run out on our last one. So, technically you owe me a double date."

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember designating Dexter as my pimp. You wanna explain how my brother owing you a favor means I have to go out with you?" Deb asks. "Please, just tell me that he didn't promise I'd suck your dick after."

"No, we never discussed terms. But that's optional." Masuka winks. "Okay, I'm going to quit fucking with you now. Sorry, I don't ever really know when to stop."

"Oh, believe me, we know." Dexter says.

Deb laughs, patting him softly on the knee. "It's okay Masuka."

"But about that date..." he starts. "How do you feel about hitting the club?"

"What, you mean tonight?"

"No time like the present, baby!" He says. "I know a place where we can score half price drinks. Don't even try to tell me that you wanna turn that down."

Dexter turns to his sister. He can see that she's considering Masuka's offer.

"Deb...we have that thing tonight, remember?" He suddenly interjects, hoping to deter her from going out.

He knows that he's probably being selfish in trying to prevent her from going. She hasn't really hung out with any of her friends in months, so social interaction with someone other than her own brother will probably do her some good; but he still doesn't have to be happy about it.

"What thing? I wasn't aware that there was a thing." Deb says, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Going out for a few hours, that actually sounds kinda nice, don't you think?"

"For you maybe," Dexter replies. "I'm not a party guy."

"Come on, Dexter. Don't be such a buzzkill!" Masuka says. "You should come too. I'd never leave you out of the fun. It'll just be three friends out on the town"

"Thanks, but...no thanks. You guys just go and have fun without me."

"Uh, Masuka…give us a second." Deb says, grabbing Dexter by the wrist and trying to force him out of his seat.

He comes with her willingly, figures that there's no need to fight over something so ridiculous.

They step into the kitchen, far enough away so Masuka can't hear what they're saying.

"Deb…"

"I'll probably regret this later but...fuck it. Dexter, grab your tightest little shorts and come on. It looks like we're going clubbing tonight."

"What?" He asks, physically recoiling in disgust. "Come on, Deb. You can't be serious. You, me, Masuka, clubbing? I don't think that is a good idea."

"Why was it a good idea for me ten seconds ago but not for you?"

"Because you...do those things. Loud music, sweaty people, that's not my typical environment. I don't even know how to dance."

"And what, I'm Janet Jackson now? Dancing is not hard, Dexter, you just sway back and forth. If you even vaguely understand the concept of rhythm then you should be fine."

"Rhythm? See, you already lost me."

"You're a fucking loser, you know that?"

Dexter nods, biting back a smile when Deb laughs at his idiocy, tilting her head as she looks on at him with admiration in her eyes. "Well tough shit. But when I told you to get ready I meant it. If you think I'm going to spend hours on the dance floor with a bunch of randos and Masuka as company, you're nuttier than squirrel shit."

"Okay, good. Don't go then. Now I'm happy again. See?" Dexter smiles, pressing his fingers against the apples of his cheeks.

"Oh come on, Dex. The man did take the fall for you, you know. He got suspended for two weeks! If Angel wasn't such a nice guy then that would've been his job on the line."

"He took the fall for me? Remind me, when did I kill El Sapo? I seem to have forgotten a few important details in this situation."

"Fuck you. But fair enough."

"Glad we agree on something. Well, I'll see you when you get back."

"Ugh, brother, come on. Don't you think it's about time we had some fun? I can't remember the last time I saw you cut loose...you know...in a non-homicidal sort of way."

"That's because I don't cut loose. You've always been crazy enough for the both of us."

"That's true. Even more of a reason why you should come with us, though. Think about it. Who knows what kind of trouble I could get into without you there watching over me?" Deb says, tugging gently at the collar of his shirt.

Dexter sighs. All it takes is one look from her to render him completely useless.

"Why must you always play dirty?" He asks.

"What can I say? I learned it from the best." She replies with a wink.

Dexter chuckles, accepting defeat. "I hate you."

"Hey, Masuka!" Deb calls out. "Count us in. Just give us a little while to get ready."

"No problemo."

"Wait…you weren't planning on going to a fucking titty bar, were you?" Deb asks. "Because if you were…oh, who am I kidding? If you were, I'd probably still go."

"No, not a titty bar," Masuka says. "But good to know that you were down for it anyway. Debra Morgan enjoys the ladies. Who knew? I'll jot that one down for next time."

"Whatever. Oh, we should probably call up Jamie first. Hopefully she isn't too busy. Otherwise, we're gonna need a rain check"

"Oh, I think her schedule's pretty freed up," Masuka chimes in. "Word on the street is that her and Quinn recently booked a one way ticket to splitsville."

"Oh, well, that...that's a shame." Deb manages to say. "I didn't even know that they were like...a thing, thing. She was too good for him anyway."

"Yeah, most women are." Masuka laughs. "But sometimes it isn't necessary to have much in common outside of the sack."

"I was going to pretend to be disgusted by your sex talk, but I don't even think I have the energy right now, Vince," Deb says, biting back a small smile. "Dex, go call Jamie. I'm gonna try to find something decent to wear."

Dexter calls Jamie, asking her to watch Harrison for a few hours so he and Deb can go out shopping for birthday presents for the boy. Harrison's birthday isn't for a couple more months, but Dexter figures that it's a better to tell his babysitter that then "Hey Jamie, could you stay with Harrison for a couple of hours? Me and Deb are going to go party with our perverted coworker."

As kind hearted as ever, Jamie agrees to watch Harrison. She tells Dexter that she'll be over in about forty five minutes, and Harrison is ecstatic when his dad tells him that he'll be hanging out with Jamie tonight.

With that done, Dexter heads into his and Deb's room to get changed. He hasn't yet moved all of his clothes over to the house, but even if he did, he's sure that he wouldn't have anything that even remotely resembles a club outfit.

Deb is still holed up in the bathroom by the time Dexter is finished getting dressed. It's bordering on a half an hour now, and Masuka expresses his disappointment in a series of over exaggerated sighs and grunts.

Dexter knocks twice on the door. He hears a thud and what sounds like something shattering on the floor before Deb finally swings open the door.

When he sees her, his breath catches in his chest. She's wearing a tight black dress, short enough to accentuate her already naturally long legs, and the neckline plunges low, revealing some slight cleavage. Dexter takes a couple of paces backward, metaphorically and almost quite physically knocked off of his feet.

He hasn't seen her in a dress since New Year's, and this is definitely a most welcome sight. She has never known how gorgeous she truly is, whether she actually makes an attempt to put herself together or not, and though Dexter thinks he likes her the best when she's her normal, dressed-down self; he can definitely appreciate her beauty in whatever way it's packaged.

Dexter has never been a guy who notices makeup very much one way or another, but he can tell that Deb put a lot of effort in painting her face. The dark shadow she'd applied to her lids draws even more attention to her already expressive eyes, making them appear wider and brighter, like enflamed gold.

Debra raises her head, looking straight up at Dexter. "Well?" she asks.

"You look...really, really nice." He answers, dumbfounded.

"Thanks." She replies, smiling that lovely crooked smile at him. "And you look...nice too."

Her smile gradually fades into a subtle frown. There's no doubt that she's a bit disappointed in his outfit choice: a black Henley and a dark pair of jeans.

"Glad to see you made an effort." She sarcastically adds.

When they make their way back out to the living room, Masuka immediately lets Deb know how much he appreciates her outfit choice. She rolls her eyes playfully at her friend, sitting down beside him on the arm of the couch.

There's a knock on the door a few moments later and Dexter opens it, greeting Jamie with a warm smile. She suggests taking Harrison back to her place and Dexter agrees, figuring that the boy is long overdue for a visit with Batista, the man who was once like a godfather to him.

Once Jamie and Harrison are on the road, Dexter, Masuka, and Debra all pile into Masuka's car.

"Uh, I don't know about this," Dexter says as he gets into the passenger's seat. "Are you going to be good to drive back, Vince?"

"Oh, I'm almost always sober," he answers. "I don't need liquor to have a good time, man. Look at me. I am the party."

The drive is no more than ten minutes. When they arrive at the club, Masuka leads the way, clearly familiar with this particular environment.

The woman at the door practically lights up when she sees him. "Hey, Vinny. I see you brought some friends today."

"Vinny?" Deb silently mouths to Dexter.

He shrugs, biting back a laugh as the woman leads them into the club.

Immediately, Dexter is hit with sensory overload. The lights are too bright and the music is playing much too loudly. He can feel the vibration of the speakers all around him, can see people wobbling across the room, doing something that vaguely resembles dancing, and he hates it. But Deb immediately starts bobbing her head to the beat, and he thinks that maybe he can find a way to enjoy it somehow, too.

She leans in closer to Masuka and whispers something in his ear. Afterwards, he disappears into the crowd, returning with a drink in his hand a couple of minutes later. Deb thanks him for it, downing the drink in one go. Masuka nods, walking back into the crowd once more, presumably to go do whatever it is that drew him here in the first place.

"What was in that?" Dexter asks Deb, shouting so he can be heard over the music and the crowd.

"It was a Virgin Bloody Mary!" she answers. "Okay...maybe, minus the virgin. But still."

"Deb..."

"It was one drink, Dexter. And you aren't supposed to just quit cold turkey, you know. This stuff takes time."

"So you admit that you have a problem." Dexter counters.

"I mean...we all have problems bro. Relax. You're here, and you're going to be watching me like a hawk anyway. Nothing is going to happen to me, okay?" She says. "So do me a favor and at least try to have fun. Take a break from chasing serial killers for a couple of hours and just….live. Come on, don't you ever want to just get away from it all?"

Yes.

Dexter finds himself thinking of Myrtle Beach again. Not any particular moment, really; more so, the idea of it. He and Deb aren't kids anymore, but he thinks they deserve a moment where they can allow themselves to be carefree again, to put all of their worries behind for an hour or two.

That doesn't mean they have to let their guards down, and although the Brain Surgeon is still very much on Dexter's mind, here, in the back of a dark club, even he has to admit that it is highly unlikely that the man has any chance of finding them. And with his son safe with Jamie and Angel, Dexter finds himself slowly exiting meltdown mode.

"One hour," Dexter sighs. "We'll stay for one hour."

"Deal." Deb agrees. She takes a second to surveil the area, a satisfied smirk coming across her lips when she realizes that they're alone in a sea of people.

"Dance with me." She says.

"What?"

"Dance with me, moron. No one's watching. No one is going to make fun of you or your two left feet. So come on, punk."

"What the hell." Dexter shrugs, taking Deb by the hand and leading her further out onto the the floor.

His actions surprise Deb, but more than that, they surprise Dexter himself. He thinks back to their dance at his wedding and immediately assumes that position, placing one hand on Deb's shoulder and letting the other rest just above her hip bone.

Deb bites down on her lip, wrapping her arms around him, her wrists crossing together behind his neck. "You know this isn't a slow song, right?" She laughs.

"Give me a break, Deb, I'm trying here."

"Yeah, yeah you are." She nods, swaying back and forth as she tries to keep the pace with him. "It's cute."

"Did you just call me cute?" Dexter asks, arching his brow. "I'm never going to let that die, just so you know."

"Never let what die? I can't remember anything, suddenly. I don't know."

Deb leans in even closer to him — a seemingly impossible feat, but she makes it work — burying her face into his neck. It's a little surreal to Dexter that he manages to feel peace in this moment. It feels like it's just the two of them, here and now, moving in slow motion as the rest of the world stops and stares.

The rainbow lights shroud them both in screaming color; reds and blues and golden hues that flicker to the beat, keeping time with the music. Dexter can see the end of the tunnel. He knows that when this night is over, it's back to real life. He'll track down the Brain Surgeon and his hands will be bloodied and raw by the time night falls again. He closes his eyes, pushing those thoughts away for now.

The song ends and he holds Deb close through another, eventually becoming comfortable enough to switch up his dance moves just a bit. When the third song starts — a fast paced pop song that Dexter vaguely remembers hearing at one of the dances he'd been dragged to in high school — Masuka suddenly reappears, holding a hand out to Deb.

"Excuse me, miss, but I think you owe me a dance."

"Sure thing, baby." Deb playfully winks, grabbing Masuka by the collar of his shirt and leading him to the middle of the floor.

"Deb!" Dexter calls out. "Where are you — hey! You can't leave me out here to fend for myself, that wasn't a part of the deal!"

"You'll be fine!" She shouts.

He can no longer see his sister or his co-worker and accepts that they are lost to him for now. He stands right where Deb left him, shuffling his feet awkwardly so he can look like he's meant to be there without drawing too much attention to himself. It's funny; after all of these years of hiding in plain sight, he still hasn't completely mastered the art of average. He's accepted that he'll always look just a little out of place, just a little suspicious to anyone who's paying enough attention to notice. Well, so much for Vogel's "perfect psychopath" theory.

"What are you doing over here all by yourself?" Dexter hears an unfamiliar voice in his ear, deep but still undeniably feminine.

"What?"

He turns around and comes face to face with a tall, curvaceous woman, her raven hair stopping just shy of her collarbone. She looks very young despite her heavy makeup, most likely still in her twenties.

"I said, why are you here all alone?" She asks, speaking louder so she can be heard over the music.

"No, I mean, you didn't have to repeat yourself. I heard you but….I'm sorry. I'm kind of waiting for someone."

"Yeah, I bet you are."

"So, uh…." Dexter trails off, unable to come up with anything else to say. "See you around, I guess."

"You certainly will."

"Okay..."

"Oh come on. Are you seriously going to tell me that you can't tell when a girl is trying to ask you for a dance? Because I must say, I was laying it on pretty thick. I did everything but get down on my knees and beg."

"Me? Oh, no, I can't dance. No need to waste your time."

"I'll teach you," she suggests, coming in closer to him. "I love this song."

Before Dexter has time to protest, the woman spins around, pressing her back against his chest. Dexter feels incredibly uncomfortable, his embarrassment only intensifying when she starts to grind up against him.

It's meant to be harmless fun, but save for a few moments of weakness and ill informed romantic liaisons, Dexter has never been the guy to engage in this type of behavior. His personal brand of debauchery has always fallen under the criminal variety, so this girl's advances do absolutely nothing for him.

He and Deb have yet to give their relationship much of a definition but this still feels like a betrayal in its own way, despite the fact that she's halfway across the room getting up to who knows what with Masuka.

But he entertains the woman for a few minutes longer, one song spilling into another. She seems none too eager to let Dexter go about his business, and he can't even begin to understand why. Although he never had to try very hard with women, he also never had them flocking towards him, either; so this blatant attempt at wooing him is strange to say the least.

When he realizes that it's been about fifteen minutes since the last time he's seen Deb, that's when Dexter finally stops being so polite and walks away without another word, leaving the woman to find another dance partner.

The club is a mess of bodies, people packed together like sardines. Dexter pushes past the crowd, every place he searches turning up negative.

Suddenly, there's a loud crash across the room. Dexter immediately reroutes his path, his heart skipping while his brain leafs quickly through each and every possible scenario, trying to come up with the most rational explanation even now.

His feet carry him over to the bar slower than he would like them to. His eyes fall down to the floor where a crowd has started to gather. He sees Masuka amongst them, hunched over, his face more grim than he's ever seen it before, and he knows.

"Get the fuck out of my way!" Dexter yells, pushing past the useless spectators who stand around doing nothing.

Deb is laid out at Masuka's feet, unresponsive, the only thing preventing Dexter from losing it right then and there is the slight rise and fall of her chest. Her breaths are short and unsteady, which is not a good sign. She's definitely out. He doesn't understand how this happened so quickly.

"Dude, fuck, Dex, I don't know what happened. One minute we were sitting here telling dumb jokes and the next minute she was on the ground!"

Time stops as Dexter places both of his knees to the floor, cupping Deb's face in his hands, tilting her head to the side to prevent her from choking if she were to suddenly start vomiting. He presses his index and middle fingers by her carotid artery, feeling for a pulse. All of his breath leaves him in one relieved sigh when he feels a relatively normal pulse throbbing beneath his fingertips.

"I saw her eyes roll into the back of her head before she went down, Dexter." Masuka says. "I'm freaking out. I don't know what to do."

"You've done enough, Vince. Just call 911," Dexter instructs him. "How much did she have to drink?"

"Not that much," he answers, shakily punching the numbers into his phone. "Three, four shots."

"Not that much? Jesus fucking Christ. She isn't supposed to drink so much. She has a…condition."

"What kind of condition? We used to go out loads of times after work and I never saw anything like this, Dex. Believe me, if I knew, I would've put a stop to it. Fuck, I never should've asked in the first place."

"It's not your fault, Masuka." Dexter forces himself to admit. He sighs, taking an unsteady breath. "Deb? Deb, can you hear me?"

Nothing.

Dexter feels small and helpless. He feels thirteen again, and his sister has just vanished beneath the water. He wants to dive in after her like he did back then, only this time it's not that simple. This time, he couldn't save her.

---

Deb wakes up in the hospital almost an hour later to find Dexter waiting at her beside. He'd dismissed Masuka almost as soon as they'd arrived, wanting nothing to do with him after what he'd allowed to happen to Deb.

It wasn't his fault, of course, and Dexter knows that kicking him out when he'd only wanted to make sure that his friend was okay is a jerk move if there ever was one, but if he didn't blame Masuka that means that he would have to blame himself, and he doesn't think he's ready to admit the truth of the situation. He knew that Deb was fragile and yet he let her put herself in danger anyway. He knew that she had a problem and he did nothing to solve it. That's on him.

Dexter practically jumps out of his seat when he hears Deb groaning back to life, awake but clearly not feeling much better.

"What the fuck?" She mumbles. "Wha-what happened? Why am I in the fucking hospital? Dex?"

"You fainted," he answers. "Well….sort of. The doctor said it was alcohol poisoning. Whatever you were drinking apparently didn't go very well with the medication you're on."

"Well, shit."

"They said that there were excess amounts of Mirtazapine and Benzodiazepine in your system. You wanna tell me why that is?"

"Dexter..."

"I didn't know you were still on those anti anxiety meds, Deb. Why didn't you tell me?"

"What, was I just supposed to slip that into casual conversation? I had everything under control, I thought it would be fine. I've been taking my doses as normal, I guess I just….overshot a bit these past few days. I saw a doctor a couple of months ago and she gave me some anti depressants, too. Sometimes I get confused. It's just hard to keep track. It's a lot, you know?"

No, he doesn't know. He can't even begin to understand how this had been happening right under his nose. When he finally found her, Deb wasn't in very good shape, and that's a fact. He knew about the alcohol, and Briggs had certainly gotten her into some harder stuff, too, but he had no idea that she was abusing prescription medication as well.

On its own, that news is disconcerting. But the three of them all thrown together in one toxic mix? That's life threatening. It seems that the world is doing its damndest to kill his sister. Dexter can hardly believe that she had been trying to do the same.

"Ow," she groans, clutching her stomach as she attempts to sit up straight. She just as soon gives up, slamming her head back against her pillow. "My stomach...I feel like I got trampled by an entire fucking zoo. What the fuck did they do to me?"

"The doctors had to pump your stomach," Dexter answers. "Didn't seem very fun."

"And what about my head?"

"Concussion. You hit it pretty hard when you went down."

"Holy shit," Deb says, rubbing her eyes. Her makeup smears even more than it already has. She looks like a tired raccoon. "I'm sorry."

Dexter sighs. It should make him feel happy, to hear her voice again, to know that she regrets putting herself in danger for what feels like the millionth time this year. Just to know that she's alright should be enough to keep him going. But instead, he just feels sick. Sick of watching things get worse instead of better. Sick of watching his sister slowly kill herself. Sick of not being able to do a thing about it.

"Deb. I need you..." Dexter pauses, swallowing hard as he fights against the tears that well in his eyes. "I need you to tell me what to do because right now I'm clueless. Whatever you need, Deb. I'll do. Just tell me. Please."

"Dex," Deb whines, her voice breaking on his name. "Could we please just…not do this now? My head is fucking pounding and all I want to do is sleep."

"You can't sleep," Dexter tells her. "Concussion, remember?"

"Fuck me," she mumbles. "Fine, whatever. I still don't want to have this conversation now, though."

"If not now, then when? I'm scared, Deb. You can't keep living like this."

"Who the fuck are you to tell me how to live?" She snaps, clearly regretting her words immediately after she says them. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be mad at you. I'm sick of being mad at you. I guess it's just hard to get used to being the family fuckup. I'm no better than dad now."

"You are so much better than Harry ever was, okay? Look at you. You've got the one thing that he never had."

"What? Is it my charming personality?" She asks with a completely straight face.

"No. Hope."

"Pssh, that's a reach if I've ever seen one."

"I'm serious. Harry gave up on us. He didn't think we were worth fighting for. But you? You would do anything for me and Harrison. I know you would, because I've seen it. You weren't built to sit around and wallow in your own misery. You're Debra Morgan. You say 'fuck it' to any obstacle in your way and then, you overcome it. You're the most incredible woman I've ever known."

"You're full of it." Deb replies.

She turns away from him for a moment, pressing the side of her face into the pillow. If Dexter had to guess, he would say that she was purposely trying to hide from him. Her cheeks are probably red with embarrassment. She never could take a compliment, not matter how well deserved.

"Maybe," he nods. "Maybe I am full of it. I just wish you were too. Just promise me that you'll try to get better, Deb. That's all I want."

"I've been trying," she says. "But sometimes it just so hard. I want to get better, Dex."

"I know you do," he says, taking her hand in his own. He feels like he's done this so many times before, in this setting, under less than ideal circumstances. He closes his eyes, hoping that this time will be the last. "And you will."

"I hope so. I'm so fucking sick of hospitals. Aren't you?" Deb laughs and finally he sees pieces of the old her swimming back up to the surface.

"Yeah," Dexter says. "Remember that time Harry wouldn't let you have dessert, so you snuck downstairs when he was asleep and ate an entire bowl of sugar as revenge?"

"How could I forget? I'm pretty sure you seriously considered killing me that day. I threw up all over you."

"And the couch," Dexter chuckles. "I remember us spending hours trying to clean everything up before your parents found out what happened. We eventually just passed out right there in the middle of the floor. I can still hear Doris screaming 'Debra Charlotte Morgan, what have you done now!?' That was hilarious."

"No it wasn't. That sugar fucked my stomach up pretty bad. I couldn't keep any solid food down for a week. To this day, I still refuse to eat oatmeal ever again."

"Yeah, that's...understandable." Dexter smiles, squeezing her hand tighter. His smile falls as the memory passes.

"We're going to beat this, Deb." He says.

"Together?" She asks, her eyes wide with hope and just a tinge of fear.

"Together."

Dexter holds her tighter, wanting nothing more than for his words to be true this time.