DISCLAIMER: The Dexter characters are
the property of Showtime. The story contents are the creation and property of
Djinn and are copyright (c) 2013 by Djinn. This story is Rated R.
Should Auld Acquaintance
Be Forgot
by
Djinn
1.
The
fireworks—why are there fireworks? Deb clutches Dexter's hand and tries to make
sense of what happened.
Fuck.
Fucking goddamned fuckballs. She killed LaGuerta. How much sense can she make of that?
Why
are they at Angel's party after she killed LaGuerta?
But
she forces her mind to slow down, forces the panic down. They are here because
everyone needs to see them here. Because Dexter fixed the crime scene to look
like what it was—
But
it was her gun. How do they explain that it was her damn gun?
She
tugs him back to her. "Dex, what are we doing
here?"
"Getting
Harrison, remember?"
"I
already called in for her location. The timeline—it's getting fucked up."
He
glares at her. He knows this. She's supposed to be quiet now. Go along with a
plan she's not even sure she can follow. But he's the one who comes up with the
plans. Always.
Only
his plan with Travis Marshall is what got them into this fucking mess. Maybe
Dexter shouldn't make all the goddamned plans. Maybe she should make the plans
from here on out.
Her
phone rings and she answers. She listens, not
believing and yet, it all makes sense on this night of all nights that Hannah
Fucking McKay would goddamn escape from custody and be on the loose.
She
decides not to tell Dexter. He does not need to start thinking with his dick
right now. She wishes she had brought her Xanax with her, but she thought she'd
be drinking and knows better than to mix. Why the hell did she think that fun
would be in the offing tonight? When is fun ever an option in this balls-up
life?
She'd
kill for a pill, would let it sink under her tongue. It melts faster that way
than when she takes it with water. Her doctor has told her not to take them
like that, but the drug hits so much better she can't help herself.
Shit,
she'll be an addict for sure after tonight. She holds out her hand; it's
shaking like a lush going through DTs.
"Deb,
stop it." Dexter looks worried.
Worried
for her or worried for him?
"I'm
good. I'm fine." She gives him her most brilliant smile. "Happy
fucking new year, big brother."
##
The
night is finally over. Dexter is not sure how his plan—so hastily amended when
Deb showed up and shot LaGuerta instead of letting
him use Estrada's gun on her—worked but it did.
He
was going to drop Deb off at her house, but one look at her eyes told him leaving
her alone would be a mistake. So she's in his car,
staring out the passenger window, hands clenching her dress.
He
reaches over, gently tries to work her hands free of the fabric, but she won't
let go so he leaves her alone.
"What
you said, Dex. 'Do what you gotta
do.' Why'd you say that?"
He
knows better than to tell her who said it to him, how much he understands it
now, the giving in, the giving up, the utter forgiveness and understanding in
that statement. He just shrugs and says, "It seemed like the right thing
to say."
He
can still hear Hannah saying it. Unafraid but not defiant like so many on his
table. "Do what you gotta do."
He
loves her. He misses her. He can't ever tell Deb that. Not just because she
hates Hannah, but also because Deb loves him and is in love with him and she
just killed an innocent woman to save him.
Or
did she do it to save herself, too?
He
needs to figure that out. Hannah would tell him motive is important. It was the
mistake he made with Isaac, assuming that since he knew who was after him, he
didn't need to understand him the way he would otherwise.
He
needs to understand who Deb is now.
They
get out of the car, walk to the apartment doorway.
"Oh,
fucking son of a bitch." Deb tries to get to his door first, but he pulls
her back.
A
black orchid sits in a pot in front of his door. He feels hope somewhere deep
inside of him. "What...does this mean?" He wants to know the true
meaning: the language of flowers. Hannah wouldn't give him this particular
flower by accident.
Deb
goes for the more literal answer. "It means she fucking escaped. Does this
mean she's after you? Is that piece-of-shit thing poisoned?"
He
picks it up, cradling it almost. "No."
"Dex, you can't take it in there. What about Harrison?"
"She
loves him. And he loves her." He sees it is the wrong thing to say as soon
as the words are out of his mouth. Harrison and Deb have a...cautious
way of dealing with each other.
He
unlocks the door, sees Jamie texting someone, and she smiles but shoots Deb a
halfway guilty look. "Hey, you two. Harrison is fast asleep."
"Thanks
for staying, Jamie."
"No
problem. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Sleep
in. We will."
"Will
we?" Deb asks, looking around. "What if they call? My car is at my
house."
Jamie
touches her arm. "I can be back at ten, how's that?"
Deb
nods, then seems to shake herself. "Thank you. You're so good to us."
Us.
There is an us, now. Dexter is not sure what that means.
Not
that he's opposed to Deb thinking of them as a family unit, but is that what
she's thinking? Or is she thinking of them as a killing unit? As something
evil.
Doesn't
she understand that no matter whose finger pulled the trigger, Dexter murdered LaGuerta. She would never have been in that shipping
container but for him.
He
looks over at the orchid.
Hannah
would have understood that.
##
Deb
tells Dexter she wants to go to her house, but he's like Velcro and won't leave
her side. She wants to go to the station, wants to get the video and anything
else that incriminates them out of LaGuerta's office.
Finally she just tells him to drive them there.
The
station is quiet. It's New Year's Day, after all. No one wants to work this
day. Half of those who are working are hung over, drinking coffee as if it's
going to save their souls.
She
walks in like she's still a good cop. Like she didn't murder their captain in a
shipping container on New Year's Eve. "Wait here," she tells Dex, and goes upstairs to LaGuerta's
office.
The
laptop is still on her desk. The disk isn't in it. "Mother fucking fuck."
Deb sits down at the desk—better to look like she's trying to help, trying to
clean up work that might need to go back downstairs now that LaGuerta is gone—than to look like she's a crazy woman
rifling through the captain's office. She goes through the drawers slowly, but
doesn't find the disk.
She
starts on the credenza behind the desk. Nothing. The long wooden file cabinet
to the left of the desk is next, but there's no disk. She even checks to make
sure nothing's taped under the furniture. No joy.
There
are no swear words that cover how she feels. She wants to lie down on the floor
in a ball and moan, but she picks up the files she has found and leaves LaGuerta's office.
Dexter
is coming down the hall when she gets off the elevator on the main level.
"Where
were you?" Evidence and the men's room lie behind him.
"Really?
Guess." He moves closer. "Did you find the disk?"
"No.
She moved it. Did you check her car last night?"
He
nods. "I can check her house again."
"I
don't know. Maybe it's better to let it go. Someone will pack up her stuff and
not even wonder what it is."
"Or
Angel will pack up her stuff. And then what?" Dexter has the look he
always gets when he's considering. "I'll check her house. I'll be quick. I
need to get those warrants anyway."
"Oh.
Right." Again she wants to curl up on the floor
in a fetal position and never get back up. "I want to go home, Dex."
He
nods. "Okay."
"You're
just saying that because you want to go break into her house."
"You're
not wrong." He smiles, the slightly awkward smile of her big brother. When
did that smile stop making her feel like everything was going to be okay? When
she killed to keep him safe? To keep both of them safe?
"Take
me home, Dex. I just want to sleep."
##
Dexter
slips into LaGuerta's house. The warrants are still
out and he takes them, goes quickly through the rest of the papers, taking
anything that looks like it might implicate Deb or him but leaving enough to
make their dead captain look obsessed, since that's the story he's set into
motion.
And
also the truth. She was obsessed. She was also dead-on correct. If her accuracy hadn't
threatened Deb and his safety, he might admire her. He never thought much of
her police work prior to this.
The
disk is there, too. She clearly didn't expect him to break in.
Dexter
clears out, sending a silent apology to Angel, who will probably get stuck
cleaning up his ex-wife's possessions because that is the kind of guy he is. Jamie
doesn't seem terribly broken up over LaGuerta's
death, and Dexter wonders how LaGuerta treated Angel's
little sister. Hopefully better than she treated Deb.
Once
he's safely away from the house, he heads to Hannah's house but sees that it's
locked up tight and imagines the handyman is looking after it for her. He pulls
out the piece of paper that he wrote Arlene Schram's address on, turns the car
around, and heads across town.
Arlene
is pretty much what he expects. She swears Hannah isn't there.
"I
want you to do one thing for me, all right? I'm going to stand here and you're
going to shut the door and give Hannah this"—he pulls out the pen he stole
from evidence while he was logging in other casework this morning and hands it
to her—"and she's going to know what it is. I'll be waiting." He
crosses his arms across his chest.
Arlene
closes the door and many minutes pass. Enough that he begins to feel stupid as
he stands there, nodding to the couple of people who pass by.
Then
the door opens and Hannah asks, "Why?"
"Things
have changed. Deb will have to drop the charges. But it won't be for a while. I
wanted you to know that, though. That eventually you'll get your old life back.
So don't do anything desperate. Lay low and be
patient."
"She
hates me. She won't do it."
"She
will. Like I said. Things have changed." He wants to kiss her, but his lip
still hurts from when she bit him. "I got your flower."
"It
means a number of things."
"I
figured. Does it mean death?"
"That's
one possible meaning."
"What
else does it mean?"
She
studies him. "It means sex. It means power."
"That
could be either of us."
She
smiles. It is a smile he is not sure how to read. "Exactly."
"Is
your place okay for now? Is there anything you want me to do?"
She
cocks her head as if the question has taken her by surprise. As if him caring
about her welfare is a surprise. "It's fine. But thanks."
"Deb
thought the orchid was poisoned. She didn't want it around Harrison."
Her
face loses all expression. "What do you think?"
"I
told her you'd never hurt Harrison. He misses you, by the way. He keeps asking
for you." He smiles, knows it is a smile that only she gets to see—he
wonders if she has any idea how much of him she owns.
"I
love him."
"I
believe that."
"You
trust me with him?"
He
nods slowly. "But I would worry about the kids around him who might bully
him. The poor girl who breaks his heart. A coach who belittles him. Any college
that won't let him in."
She
laughs. "I can't poison a whole university." He notices she's not
saying she wouldn't poison the rest of the people he named.
"I
don't know..." He's grinning. Feels a weight coming off. "I've got to
go. Things are crazy. I...we...I killed a cop."
Her
eyes widen. "You...what now?"
"It's
complicated. Really complicated. I know you have no reason to trust me after
everything, but...try?" He lets himself drink in the sight of her, then
turns and walks away.
"Dex?"
He
glances back.
She
holds up the pen. "Thank you."
He
nods and heads back to the car.
##
Deb
can't believe they're going to get away with this. There's the standard
interview after a shooting. She's seeing a different shrink this time, thank
God, and she's in and out of counseling for the shooting in no time. There isn't
even much of a peep from Internal Affairs: too many people witnessed the
devolution of Captain Maria LaGuerta to question Deb's
story. Dexter is popular. No one can believe he's the Bay Harbor Butcher.
There
are days she can't believe he is.
"Ma'am?"
A uniform stands in her doorway, looking very
uncomfortable.
"What
is it?"
"I
was sent to collect the evidence for the Hannah McKay flight hearing."
Deb
gives him her "Stop wasting my fucking time" look. "So collect it."
"That's
just it, ma'am. The pen...it's not there."
God
fucking damn it. Dexter and his "Guess where I fucking was?" Liberating
the one thing that would keep his escaped lover in prison where she goddamn
belongs. "Check again."
"We
checked three times."
"Someone's
head is going to fucking roll. Get the fuck out of my office."
The
uniform looks terrified as he leaves. He's just a kid, really. She should take
pity on him. She reaches into her desk drawer, pops open her pill bottle, and
grabs a Xanax, letting it sit under her tongue, the taste of the pill for some
reason reminding her of the smokiness of single malt scotch.
She
buzzes Dexter in the lab. He picks up the phone, doesn't leave it on speaker. "Deb?"
"Get
the fuck in here."
She
sees him look up through his window, his eyes narrowed.
"I
am not fucking kidding."
She
knows he's getting some lies ready for her. Because that's how he is. He lies. He
lies all the time. He always has and she's fine with that. She made a decision
to be fine with that. She made the ultimate decision to be fine with that.
"Do
what you gotta do," he said, and she blew a hole
in LaGuerta's chest.
Why
the hell was that what she had to do?
Dexter's
standing in her doorway.
"Shut
the door."
He
does it tentatively, but that too is part of his act. Playing the simple guy,
the harmless guy. The guy everyone loves: "wouldn't hurt a fly"
Dexter.
"The
fucking pen, Dex?"
He
at least isn't trying to bullshit her. "She escaped. It seemed like fate
intervened for her. I had to." He leans forward. "Drop the charges,
Deb."
"Even
if I did, she still fled from custody."
He
shakes his head, and his eyes are hard like they were the day LaGuerta had him in the interrogation room. When he turned
the tables on her. Deb knows she's wrong about the bullshit—she's going to get
played and wants nothing more than to reach into her desk and grab another pill
before he can start on her.
"She
had a seizure, Deb. She woke up in a strange place. Alone. Disoriented. She was
afraid. She had amnesia."
"Oh,
fuck me, Dex. She did not have amnesia."
"She
could have. I'm sure there's a doctor that will say she did." His look
dares her to say he won't find one.
"You
just want her back."
"No."
He leans forward. "She tried to kill you and I can't forgive that. But she
needs to know that you're done chasing her. I need to be able to tell her
that—to give her the freedom she needs so she takes you out of her crosshairs."
Deb
knows he's maneuvered her into a corner. "You won't get back with her?"
"You
and I need to stick together." He's looking at her with the same look he
had on his face the night he gave her the pen. The look that says she comes
first. First over Hannah. First over anyone.
"Damn
you, Dexter." She looks away, can't stand to see that look on his face,
can't stand to feel what it makes her feel when it doesn't make him feel the
same thing. "Fine. Tell her to find a fucking doctor that will certify she
has amnesia. Get her story airtight. I don't want to go down for this when we've
just dodged a bullet." Horrible saying. LaGuerta
didn't have a chance to dodge—didn't even know she should dodge. LaGuerta expected Deb to shoot Dexter.
How
different would things have been if she had? She'd still have been an accessory
to murder. Or would LaGuerta have destroyed the disk?
One favor in exchange for another?
And
what does it matter? The woman is dead. Deb can't go back and redo things. And
she knows she wouldn't if she could.
##
Dexter
knocks on Arlene's door. She's friendlier this time, lets him in and takes him
to where Hannah's sitting on the bed in a spare room.
"You're
still getting sun," she says.
"You're
still not."
"Keeping
a low profile. Wasn't that the idea?"
"It
was. Can I sit?"
She
nods and he leans against the footboard so he can see her face.
"Deb's
willing to drop the murder charges."
"And
the flight charges?"
"I
pointed out you have amnesia. That you have a doctor to certify that. You were
so sick with the seizure. You were confused and didn't know who you were. Could
remember Arlene, but not what happened to put you in the hospital. You panicked
and got the hell out of there."
Hannah
smiles. "A nice story."
"Get
a doctor to validate it and it will be fact and not just a story."
"I
don't know too many shrinks."
"I
know a few. Some who aren't too smart. You could play them if you wanted to. Throw
yourself on their mercy."
"And
then what? What do you expect from me?" She pushes her foot against his. "Resumption
of what we had?"
"I
expect you to start your life back up. As if I never came and disrupted it."
He looks down. "I told Deb we weren't getting back together. And I meant
it. You and I are done, Hannah. And she needs me right now."
"What
is it with you two?"
"It
would be unfair to her to tell you."
"Meaning...?"
She starts to laugh softly. "Ohhhhh. That
explains so much."
He
looks away, afraid to give her anything of Deb's truths—Deb's oh so unpleasant
truths. Nothing has shaken him as much as hearing that she was in love with him.
"Are
you going to be with her?" Hannah's voice holds a plaintive note he doesn't
like.
"She's
unraveling right now. The last thing she needs is that. She needs her brother,
same as always."
"Why
is she unraveling? What happened with you two?"
"I
can't say."
"What
can you say?"
He
meets her eyes. As always, she doesn't look away. That's probably the thing he
loves most about her: the fearless way she has of meeting his gaze. "That
staying away from you is hard. I mean if you wanted me back in. If you don't,
then it's not, because I would not want to be an unwelcome guest in your life."
She
laughs. "I'm glad you realize that." She crawls toward him. "I
could never hurt you. Don't you know that?"
He
touches his lip. "Evidence exists to the contrary."
"That
was just a demonstration." She is crawling onto his lap. "We never
got to say goodbye."
He
knows he shouldn't kiss her. He shouldn't run his hands up under her tank top. Or
pull off her clothes. Or let her ease his off. He should not make love to her.
He
does all of those things anyway.
"Our
time will come, Dex. You want to take a break, fine. But
this...this is just prelude, all of this. We're not done. Not by a long shot."
She pulls him closer. "I will love you forever."
It's
a morbid thought but he wonders how long forever lasts with her. Till she dies
or till he does?
2.
Deb
sits outside Hannah's house and watches her putter around her little
greenhouse. Finally she gets out of the car and walks
up the walkway.
Hannah
doesn't look pleased to see her. "You here to arrest me again?"
"Nope."
"Come
to buy flowers, then?"
Deb
shakes her head. "You said something. Of all the bullshit that's come out
of your mouth, one thing was right. But it's not true anymore. I'm not a
hypocrite."
Hannah
leans against a table and shrugs. "Okay."
"That
makes us even."
"I'm
not sure what you mean."
Deb
isn't entirely sure what she means, either. She's taken too much fucking Xanax
and she has to lean back against a table, too, copying Hannah's pose. "The
charges have been dropped. The flight charges too, once we got your doctor's report."
"I
know. That's why I'm back here."
Deb
can feel her face getting the ugly expression her mother used to hate. "Dex told you?"
"My
lawyer did." Hannah walks over to her. "Is there a reason you're
here? We have nothing left to say to each other, do we? Dexter is out of my
life. He chose you, remember? He betrayed me for you."
"And
you'll never forgive him for that."
"Would
you?"
"No."
But she has. And she probably will again. Deb has made a career out of
forgiving Dexter everything.
She
turns to go.
"Do
you want an orchid? A goodbye gift."
Deb
looks out over the flowers, then back at the woman she detests more than
anyone. "Yeah. Right." She manages to channel some of her old ballsy
attitude back into her walk, slipping on her sunglasses, trying to brush the
residue of Hannah McKay off her life.
It's
like pollen. There's just more where that came from.
##
Dexter
is dumping a body off the boat when his phone buzzes again. Deb. She's been
calling him all night. She knows he's on a kill. She knows what kill he's on. And
she isn't morally opposed to it.
And
yet he has voicemails piling up.
He
cleans up and listens to the voicemails. All the same. "Dex, where are you? I really need to talk to you." Her
voice progressively slurred in each one.
Great.
Drunk Deb is his least favorite version of his sister. She's never a happy
drunk. Not anymore anyway.
He
puts the phone away and finishes his routine, changing out of his kill clothes,
bringing the boat in. Then he drives to Deb's and finds her on the patio,
sitting in her nightshirt, her feet bare.
She
doesn't look at him when he sits down next to her. "Were you with her?"
"I
told you where I was."
She
takes a long pull from a bottle of beer; he wonders how many others have
preceded it. "I know what you told me. But that may be a lie. Because you lie,
Dex." She laughs and the bitterness of the sound
surprises him. "I mean, you do this so well, there's no sign, is there? You
could be off killing or..."
"Or?"
"Or
you could be with her."
"Her?"
He sees her face harden. "Hannah?"
"Yes,
her Hannah." Another long pull of the beer. "Fucking goddamn Hannah."
She looks over at him and she's wearing the smile that mocks, the one she's
rarely used on him, that she usually saves for the interrogation room. "You
have a type, Dexter. Rita. Lumen. Now Hannah. Blondes." She practically
spits the word at him.
He
wonders if he should remind her that Lila was a brunette. Decides not to. "Okay."
She
stands up, walks over to him. "Should I go blonde, Dex?
Would that make you love me?"
"I
do love you, Deb."
"Not
that way you don't. Not the way I need you to." She studies him, like he's
something she can't quite figure out. "I dream of her."
"Hannah?"
"LaGuerta. I hug her just like I did that night, and she
comes back to life and tells me to shoot you."
"And
do you?"
"No.
I can't. So she takes my gun and she does it for me."
He's
not sure what the right thing to say to that is.
"Or
sometimes I just shoot her again and make her stay dead."
"You
have this dream a lot?"
"I
do." She puts her beer down. "I don't sleep much, Dex.
But you sleep like a baby, don't you?"
He
thinks saying yes would be a stupid thing to do, so he just waits.
"I
think about finding a guy, any guy, but what if I talk in my sleep? What if I
give all our secrets away just because I don't want to be alone anymore?" She
takes a step closer, then another. Her knees are touching his. "Why won't
you love me?"
He
realizes she's crying. Doesn't know how much of this is the beer talking and
how much of this is really what she's feeling. Before he can say anything, she's
crawled onto his lap, is grinding against him, kissing him, and he's too
surprised to do anything other than let her go.
She
reaches down, finds him only half ready and seems mad. "She'd get you hard, wouldn't she? Not
this halfway shit?"
"Deb,
you're drunk."
"I'm
alone, Dex. I'm all alone."
He
pushes her up, trying to make it clear he's not rejecting her completely, and
walks her into the house. He gets her settled into bed, then lies outside the
covers, holding her.
"I
want you in here with me."
"Not
going to happen, Deb."
"I
can fuck you better than she can, Dex."
"You're
drunk. We'll talk about this when you're sober if you really want to." He
hopes to hell she'll forget all about this when she's sober.
Once
she falls asleep, he gets up and calls Jamie. "Hey, I'm over at Deb's. She's
had..." He sighs.
"Dexter?"
Jamie sounds concerned.
"She's
had too much to drink. This thing with Maria...it's really eating her, Jamie."
"She's
been acting kind of weird."
"I
know. I'm going to stay here tonight. Just to make sure she's okay. If you can
stay with Harrison?"
"Of
course. That's a good idea." Jamie sighs. "I'm worried about her,
Dexter."
"Me,
too. I just wish I could do more for her."
"You're
a good brother."
"Thanks,
Jamie. Goodnight." He hangs up, goes back into Deb's bedroom, sits on the
bed, and watches her sleep. He hopes this is just a phase, just a stage of
grief or something.
Because
she's putting them at risk. She's putting Harrison at risk.
##
Deb
wakes up to a pounding headache and a stomach that tells her she's overindulged
again. She gets up, pads into the bathroom, finds the Tylenol, and takes three
since it's going to be that kind of day.
She
can smell breakfast cooking and closes her eyes when she remembers what she
said to Dexter last night. Should she pretend she doesn't remember?
What
the fuck would that solve?
She
looks at herself in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes have dark
circles. She looks tired and just a little bit wrong.
Maybe
because she's a killer now, too?
She
turns and walks out to the kitchen.
"Good
morning," Dexter says, as if it's every day you make breakfast for the
sister who tried to get you to fuck her the night before.
"Yeah,
not so much." She sits, takes the coffee he hands her, sips it faster than
is wise but doesn't care that it burns—almost appreciates the burn. Physical
pain is something different to feel than remorse and shame and anger. "We've
gotta talk."
"Okay."
He dishes food onto two plates and brings them over. "Can we eat first? This'll
get cold."
He's
made her French toast the way their mom used to. She wonders if he's trying to
nudge her safely back into the role of sister. She pours syrup on the bread,
takes a bite, and sighs.
"Good?"
She
nods. "Just like she made it."
He
smiles and seems to get lost in the act of eating. Deb suspects it's an act. Dexter
is perfectly capable of multitasking.
"I
guess I should say I'm sorry?" She's phrasing this carefully. She knows
she should say she's sorry. The trouble is: she's not fucking sorry. She had
too many beers last night and said things that should have stayed in her head,
but it wasn't like she was just making shit up.
That
said, she made her brother uncomfortable, and she knows that was wrong. Sitting
on your brother's lap, grinding and telling him you fuck better than the ex you
hate with a fiery fucking passion is generally bad sibling form.
"Deb,
you need to cut back on the booze. You're starting to lose control."
"Oh,
you think that was me losing control? Think again. That was just me spouting
off a bit."
"Whatever
it was, it has to stop."
"Says
you?"
"Yes,
says me." He's giving her a look she's never seen before. Dark and intense
and angry as shit. But angry in a cold way—not angry the way she gets pissed,
with heat and swagger and much swearing. Dexter looks like he could fucking freeze her to death with his eyes.
"Jesus,
Dex, lighten up. Who knew you were such a prude?"
His
look, if anything, grows colder.
"Deb,
I know you think you're in love with me. But I don't feel the same way. You're
my sister and I love you—in a sister way. You've been the most important person
in my life for...well, forever, I guess."
"Till
Harrison came along."
"What?"
"Well,
he's more important now, isn't he? Your son?" She's trying really hard to
not let any jealousy into her voice. It creeps in anyway.
"He's
important in a different way." He's wording things so carefully, and she
can tell by the look in his eyes that he thinks she can't handle the truth. That
yes, Harrison is more important. "But you're right up there with him. I gave
up Hannah. To keep you safe."
She
looks away.
"Deb,
if you keep pushing this...it's going to make things weird between us."
She
starts to laugh, a slightly hysterical sound. "Right, because things aren't
weird already."
He
finishes his breakfast and takes the plate to the sink. "I've got to go. Jamie
may need a break before I leave for work."
"Right.
Get the hell out of here while you can."
He
takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Deb, go take a Xanax or
something."
"Fuck
you, Dex!" She throws her coffee mug at him. It
hits the counter, breaks and splashes coffee on him and the floor around him.
He
picks up his keys. "I'll let you clean that up." He heads for the
door and leaves her alone.
"Fuck
you, Dexter," she shouts after him. "I fucking hate you."
She
stares at the mess she's made. She doesn't want to clean it up but if she doesn't,
she'll get ants—and they give her the goddamn creeps.
Fucking
son of a bitch, she hates her life.
##
Dexter
watches Deb through the window of the lab. She's ranting at Quinn over
something and he's looking like a whipped dog.
"What
is with your sister, dude? She so needs to get laid." Masuka
shakes his head. "Why won't she give me a chance?"
Dexter
gives Masuka the look that tells him to stop talking
crap about his sister.
"Fair
enough. I know when to back off."
Dexter
wishes Deb knew when to do that. She's getting worse. It's been a week since
she propositioned him and she's wound tighter than ever. He doesn't know if she's
drinking at night; she's not calling him anymore and he's not sure if that's a
good sign or not.
He
tries to figure out what she's telling Quinn. He's not much of a lip reader,
but with Deb, you really only need to read between the swear words. And he's
pretty sure she just told Quinn to stay the fuck out of her business. She goes
into her office and slams the door.
A
while later, Quinn heads outside to the lunch truck and Dexter follows him. As
he waits behind him, he says casually, "She's been in a mood lately."
"Don't
get me started," Quinn mutters.
"Look,
I'm a little worried about her. Ever since she shot LaGuerta
something's been off. Is it out of line for me to ask what that was about just
now?"
Quinn
gets his coffee, waits for Dexter to get his, then leans up against his car. "She
was at Angel's restaurant the other night."
"Deb
was?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
So far this isn't really shocking. They are all trying to be supportive of
Angel's new business venture.
"She
was drunk and...friendly with some guys."
"Oh and you didn't like it."
"Not
me. Jamie saw it. She was concerned."
Dexter
frowns. "And you got involved...how?"
"Jamie
and I...well, we've sort of been hanging out a little."
He seems to read Dexter's expression and lifts a hand. "Hey, not when she's
taking care of your kid. When she's off. She told me and I mentioned it because
Deb was riding me. It was a stupid thing to do, and now Deb is probably going
to be pissed at Jamie."
"I'll
take care of Jamie. What did you mean...friendly with these guys."
"Draped
all over them. Coming on to them. Drunk off her ass. Maybe more than just
drunk. Jamie said she was really out of it. And she kept saying she was a 'bad
girl,' whatever that means."
"Jeez."
Dexter knows he's not having to fake the concern on his face.
"Yeah.
Right? I moved on finally, you know? It was hard, but I put Deb behind me. But
that doesn't mean I want to see her spiral down this way. I know what it's like
to hit rock bottom. And then keep going."
Dexter
nods. "Thanks, man."
"You
should get her some help."
"That's
easier said than done. You know how stubborn she is."
"Don't
I." Quinn gives him a smile they never shared when Quinn was dating Deb. The
smile of longsuffering males who love a woman that drives them nuts. "Keep
it quiet I told you anything, okay? She's pissed enough at me as it is."
"Mum's
the word." Dexter watches him go back into the station, stays out in the
sunshine, thinking.
Deb
walks out, her steps falling heavily on the path. "Dex."
"Deb."
She
gets her coffee and studies him. "Something wrong?"
"Nope."
"Were
you talking to Quinn?"
"He
was ahead of me in line. Wanted to talk about the Rosito
case."
She
sips her coffee. "Where are we on that?"
"Same
place we were the last time you asked me."
She
gives him a hard smile. "Well maybe if you did your fucking job instead of
standing her talking to shitballs like Quinn, we'd be
further along?"
"Maybe
so. I'll get on that." He turns and goes back into the station.
Tonight...tonight
he's going to see what Deb gets up to at night. He calls Jamie and asks her to
stay with Harrison. Jamie is, as ever, very accommodating.
3.
Dexter
gets Harrison out of his car seat, carries him up the walk to Hannah's
greenhouse. He sees her working, says softly to Harrison, "Who's that?"
He
sees the smile grow on Harrison's face and puts his son down. Harrison runs
toward Hannah, and she turns and picks him up just before he can barrel into
her legs.
"Well,
hello." The smile on her face is luminous.
"Hannah,"
Harrison says as he looks around the greenhouse in wonder.
"Hello
to you, too," she says to Dexter, nodding for him to come in, then she
carries Harrison around the space. "Have you ever seen so many flowers in
one place?"
Harrison
shakes his head.
She
points to a pink orchid with brownish-pink spots. "These are boat orchids.
And these are lady slipper." She carries him around, naming more of the
flowers, and Harrison seems entranced. "Do you want to help me repot some
of these?"
He
nods.
She
puts Harrison down and pulls out some pots and potting soil. Then grabs some
plants that are clearly on their last legs, winks at Dexter, and puts them down
with Harrison. "We'll do the first one together." She walks him
through the process, and he is very careful, then she leaves him with the rest
and walks over to Dexter.
"Hey."
He smiles.
"Hey
yourself. Nice touch bringing him. Never let it be said you can't manipulate
with the best of them."
"I
thought I might need to soften you up. Did it work?"
She
shrugs. "Aren't you afraid Deb might catch you here? I mean you alone is
bad enough, but I imagine bringing him here would be a capital offense."
"Deb
is no doubt home sleeping off a rather excessive night on the town." He
meets her eyes. "The latest of many."
"Not
with you, I take it?"
"No.
That's probably the problem."
"Girl
wants boy. Boy doesn't want girl?"
"Girl
is boy's sister." He sighs. "We were raised together. I know we're
not related. I understand that. But I can't look at her and see someone that I
should want to make love to. And she wants me to. She seems to...need me to. Especially
after what happened."
"What
did happen?"
He
shakes his head. "I'm not ready to tell you yet. But soon I might be."
"Hmmm."
She starts to walk back to Harrison, and Dexter stops her with a touch on her
arm. "When I asked you if you'd poisoned Deb, you said you never make a
mistake. But you did. How?"
"She's
the only mistake I've ever made, Dex. This is a hot
climate. People who drink water, drink it fast. They don't nurse it all night
and all the next day. But she did. That's what saved her. She should have had
much more Xanax, much faster than she ended up getting."
"Ah."
"Yeah."
"She
drinks a lot of coffee, normally. And beer at night. The water, she has it with
her but it's back up."
"See
what happens when you don't do your homework. But I was short on time." She
moves closer. "I find it interesting that you're asking. That you're here
with your son."
"You
should." He sighs. "Or maybe you shouldn't. Maybe I just missed you. Maybe
I shouldn't have done this to Harrison."
"I
know one thing about you, Dex. You love your son more
than anything else. You would never use him just to get me to talk to you. If
you're letting me see him, then it means something."
"You
still know me."
"Better
than you do yourself. Isn't that what you said?"
"It
is." Dexter wants to kiss her. He wants to push her onto the table of
orchids and make love to her.
But
Harrison is coming toward them, a big smile on his face, and he says "All
done," with a happy lilt in his voice.
"Look
at you." Hannah laughs, and it's the kind of laugh that makes everything
all right. "What a big boy you are."
"We're
going to go to the beach. Do you want to come?" Dexter smiles at her.
"I
can't. I have someone coming over."
His
smile dies as he feels a surge of jealousy rush through him. Of
course she's not alone. He looks down.
"A
client. Wow, if you could see your expression. Your dark passenger is back—I
fear for my poor customer."
He
smiles, knows it is a sheepish expression. "So, you're not seeing anyone?"
"No.
Are you?"
He
shakes his head.
"Well,
that's interesting, too."
##
Deb
sits in her car and waits at the marina. Dexter should be back any time now. The
Slice of Life is gone, so he really
is out on a kill. But he told Jamie he was going to be gone all night and he
certainly isn't planning to spend his evening with her.
She
reaches for her pill bottle, takes a Xanax out and then thinks better of taking
it. It'll only make her tired, and she needs to stay awake. She sips her coffee
instead and sits in the shadows of the parking lot, wondering how fucking long
it takes to dump a body when you're a pro like Dexter.
Finally,
she sees him coming up the ramp from the dock. He's got a spring in his
step—although maybe she's just imagining that? Maybe he really is going back to
the office to catch up on work like he told Jamie.
And
maybe pigs can fucking fly.
She
knows where Dexter is going and it's to that goddamned bitch.
He
gets in his SUV and pulls out, and she follows him, trying not to lose him in
the traffic. He's definitely heading in the right direction to be going to see
Hannah.
But
then he turns and she has to slow so her turn isn't right on his ass. He pulls
into a sub shop he likes. Still okay. He could be picking a late
night snack up for the two of them. She drives past and pulls to the
curb, waiting to see what he'll do.
He
comes out with a small bag and gets back in his car, then heads back the way he
came. She pulls a u-turn and follows him.
Shit,
he really is heading to the station. She doesn't follow him into the parking
lot, sits outside and watches to see if he goes in or not. Finally, when enough
time has passed, she pulls in to her parking spot and walks into the station.
She
pretends not to notice him at first, then acts surprised to see him. She walks
over, says, "Couldn't sleep, either?"
"I
just got done with...well, you know. So I was still up.
And I'm behind on the Carlysle blood work. Thought I'd
come in now since I'm taking tomorrow off for a parent-teacher conference and
then a trip to the zoo. I told you that on Monday."
Did
he tell her that? Fuck, he probably did. She was monumentally hung over on
Monday. "Right. Parent-teacher shit and then comatose animals."
He
pulls out the sandwich he got. "You want half?"
"No.
I am not hungry. In fact, maybe I can sleep. I think I'll go home now."
"Good
idea."
Or
better yet, maybe she'll go somewhere else. Not Angel's. Too many cops to see
her, to judge her. She's found some other places to party. Where no one gives a
flying fuck who she is or what she does. They just want to dance and maybe hope
she'll fuck them someday.
So
far she hasn't. But she's getting close. There's a
guy, reminds her a little of Dex. She thinks maybe if
she told him what she's done, he wouldn't be shocked at all. She wonders if
that's what Dexter has with Hannah.
Not
that she's anything like Dexter. Or that she's going to tell this dickhead at
the bar anything about her life. But he's fun to dance with.
And
he told her where to score more Xanax. She's got the prescription but she takes
the pills way too fast for that to hold her over for very long—it's good to
have other sources.
"Deb?"
She
realizes Dexter has been talking. "What?"
"I
was asking you if you are all right? We haven't spent much time together
lately."
"Are
you really that fucking broken up about it? Quality time with sis isn't really
so sisterly anymore, is it?"
"It
could be. If you'd just let that other thing go."
"It's
not something you let go. You act like it's a thing I made up."
He
is giving her a strange look. "Don't you think it sort of is?"
"God.
You won't even let my feelings be real. Just fucking great." She leans in.
"I will feel what I feel, and you don't get to tell me what's real and
what's not."
"But
with all the booze and the pills, how do you even know? Deb, it's not too late
to get some help."
"The
booze and the pills? What are you talking about?" She holds her head high,
thinks the best defense is arrogance in this case. "I'm perfectly fine. I'm
holding my shit together, big brother. You worry about your own fucking life."
"I
am." He touched her cheek. "I don't want to see you like this. You're
my sister and I love you."
She
jerks away from his touch. "Fuck you, Dexter."
##
Once
Deb is gone, Dexter sits looking out the window into the nearly empty homicide
bay.
"What
are you thinking, Dexter?" Harry is just behind him, arms folded.
"You
know what I'm thinking." He ignores Harry and he disappears.
Deb
was following him. If Dexter wasn't so used to scouting for tails, he might
have led her right to Hannah's house. And loosed the mother of all shit storms.
His
phone rings. Hannah. "Hey," he says, trying to hide the emotion he's
feeling.
"Hey,
are you all right? I thought you were on your way over."
"I
was. I picked up company on the way."
"I
don't follow."
"Little
sisters have a way of trailing after you when you least want them to."
"Ah."
There is a long silence. "And her knowing we're in touch again. That's
just...not an option?"
"I'll
explain when I get there. It's still okay if I come?"
"I'll
wait up—this time." There is more curiosity than amusement in Hannah's
voice.
"I'll
call if there's a problem. Sorry I didn't before. I..."
"Had
eyes on you. I get it, Dex." She cuts the
connection before he can.
He
closes up his work—he finished everything already. Being behind on the Carlysle case was a lie for Deb, once he realized he was
going to have to double back.
He
is extra careful on the way to Hannah's. Takes turns and more turns to make
sure no one is behind him before finally pulling in and parking in front of her
place. He feels the old excitement as he walks up and knocks on her door.
She
opens it and lets him in, her smile more than a little wary. "Before you
start, I need to know what happened that's got you so crazy—and so worried
about what Deb will or won't do."
He
nods. "I'll tell you everything." And he does. He leaves nothing out.
And he sees her taking it in the way he hoped she would. Not as a shocking
story. Not as even a tragic story.
But
as a problem that needs solving. A puzzle to be figured out.
"She's
putting me at risk," he whispers.
"You
could live with that. You could live with her putting me at risk, too—you've
already proven that. What you can't deal with is her putting Harrison at risk."
He
takes a shaky breath then exhales and it feels so good to let go of this. Because
she's right: this is the truth.
"She's
your sister, Dexter. You put her ahead of me once. You put her ahead of
yourself, from what you just said—in the shipping container, when you were
going to let her kill you?"
"I
did. But that was a different Deb." He looks down, feels something inside
him dying, wonders if it is one of the last bits of his humanity. "I think
she stopped being my sister when she tried to have sex with me."
"You're
not a prude. Why would that change everything?" Hannah tips his chin up,
and he thinks she wants to see what's in his eyes.
"I'm
in love with you. If it's a choice of what woman I'm going to sleep with—what
woman I'm going to be in love with—you win."
"So this time, she's the one who doesn't stand a chance?"
He
nods.
She
purses her lips, seems to be thinking. "Is there a way to get your sister
back? Rehab maybe?"
"I
don't think so." He closes his eyes. "Deb didn't just kill LaGuerta that night. I think she killed herself, too."
"You
think? Or you know?" She takes his hand. "Because you need to be
certain. Because we both know this isn't something you can do—not just because
you shouldn't have to, but because she can't just disappear like my father did.
And so for our sake, you have to believe with
everything in you that there is no other way. The same way you did when you
gave her that pen and sent me to jail."
He
nods. "Okay."
"In
the meantime"—she stands, pulls him up too—"I've
missed you, Dexter Morgan."
He
smiles. This he doesn't have to think about. "I've missed you, too." He
pulls her into his arms. It feels like home, like the home he's never really
had, one where acceptance is absolute, where judgment doesn't exist.
Trust...that's
a little harder. He may never completely be sure of Hannah. But he loves her
and he can be himself with her. And that's what he wants now. He wants to not
pretend anymore. Not with the woman he loves. He got a taste of that with Lumen
and it was good. And now with Hannah, everything's in the open.
He
doesn't ever want to go back to pretending to be something he's not.
"Take
me to bed?" she whispers as she nuzzles his neck.
He's
already pulling off her shirt, walking her backwards toward her bedroom. "I
love you, Hannah."
"I
love you, too."
Soon
there is no coherent sound, and he loses himself in the reconnecting. And
later, as they lie tangled together, he thinks to himself that this woman may
be his soulmate. A concept he always scoffed at before, but now, when so much
needs to be done and she stands ready to do it at his word, maybe she really is
that elusive thing.
The
mate to his soul—a thing he's sure Deb and Harry would say he doesn't possess.
##
Deb
sits parked down from Hannah's house. She pulls another Xanax out, breaks it in
half—she's cutting back, going to quit—and imagines what Hannah and Dexter are
doing.
Not
just the sex.
She
imagines what else they might be doing—what they might be planning.
She
was sloppy tonight. Rode his tail like an amateur and he made her. He doubled
back to the station and then once she left, came right here—and fucking parked
right in front like a goddamned doofus that was no doubt thinking with his dick.
If
she'd been as careful the first time as she was the second time following him,
she might not have been found out.
But
it was good, in its way, to be found out. Gave her insight. Insight that made
her rethink going to a bar, made her wait around and follow him instead. And
this time use some fucking professionalism.
Dex is on to her. Dex
is lying to her. No surprise there. What was surprising: Dex
knows about the booze and pills.
How?
She doesn't go to Angel's anymore. Jamie can't snitch on her. Neither can
Quinn.
So
how does Dex know?
Unless
he's been following her. The way he does one of his kills.
Only...she
can't be one of his kills. His kills end up on the bottom of Biscayne Bay and
she's the lieutenant of Miami Metro Homicide. She can't just disappear.
But
there are other ways to die. Especially if your brother is boning a goddamned
fucking poisoner.
Deb
looks at the water bottle she's drinking from. No more re-using from here on
out. She needs to be careful, learn from the last time.
She
starts her car, pulls out and gives Hannah's house one more look. She's beyond
feeling betrayal, hopes Dexter and that bitch enjoy their time together.
She
knows this will end one of two ways. With her dead or with the two of them in
jail.
She
doesn't give a rat's ass which it is.
And
Dexter does.
Which
probably gives her the power in this.
"Fuck
you, big brother," she says as she drives back to the station to start building
her case.
FIN