My Mind Replays

by DebxterDefender (Cammerel)

Summary:

“What’s your biggest regret?” Rita. “If I told you that you could fix that,” Debra starts and he feels this thrum through his body, this longing, this sense of urgency, “For another you.”

That small sense of hope dwindles at her words as she holds her hand palm out.

“Not you. A different you. Younger,” she says, “One that hasn’t gone through all the bullshit. You can either go back in your body-” Debra motions down to him, “-and try and live out the rest of this already shit life, or you can go back and fix it for him, would you do it?”

Notes:

• For wolfish_willow.

Chapter 1: Future

He feels her hand start to slip away right before it grabs hold tight and pulls him up.

The pain, the agony, all of it falls away when he rises to his feet.

The Debra he sees standing there isn’t like the one he’s been seeing, crouched in the show at his side. She’s young, still wearing her hospital gown. It’s hard to look at her but it feels disrespectful to his sister not to.

“I can’t believe I told you to go and be happy and this is what you chose,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dexter stares into her eyes and then looks back to see his body and his stomach sinks. He touches himself, feels the gaping wound still there in his sweater… but he’s-

“You’re not dead,” she says and his eyes snap back up to hers.

“I’m not?”

She kicks his body’s shoe, “Don’t get me wrong, if you went back in now, you wouldn’t just pop back up and start singing Christmas Carols.” She smirks when he just stands there, gaping, “You were shot. You’re dying. But you’re not dead yet.”

He looks down at his old, broken, pitiful body, “I look pretty dead.”

“I thought the same. Especially when you unplugged me.”

He winces just thinking about it. About the implication of it. That she was there when he… when he… did what he did.

“You don’t have a lot of time in-between,” she says, her words cryptic as she reaches out to take his hand and squeeze it, “I only get a couple minutes with you, but I wanted it to be me. You’ve been seeing that psycho bitch for years, it’s about time someone reminded you that that shit is all just in your head.”

Dexter stares at her, trying to make sense of her words.

“If you had a chance to do it all over again and do it right…” Debra trailed off, looking up towards the sky, “Do it differently,” she looks to him, “What would you have changed?”

He’d never thought of it like that before.

Flights of fancy like that weren’t worth his time. There’s no point in wasting energy on thinking of a do-over. There’s no such things as miracles.

“What’s your biggest regret?” Rita. “If I told you that you could fix that,” Debra starts and he feels this thrum through his body, this longing, this sense of urgency, “For another you.”

That small sense of hope dwindles at her words as she holds her hand palm out.

“Not you. A different you. Younger,” she says, “One that hasn’t gone through all the bullshit. You can either go back in your body-” Debra motions down to him, “-and try and live out the rest of this already shit life, or you can go back and fix it for him, would you do it?”

Dexter looks back down to his body, “So this is…?”

“Think of it like an in-between state,” she says, that little smirk coming back, “A crossroad.”

“You… didn’t choose to live.”

Debra’s expression sobers and she shakes her head, “I didn’t.” That hurts, if he’s being honest with himself, “I knew it was selfish, but I wanted more for me.” And, just like that, he understands, “I don’t get to live that life, but I hope she’s happy, you know? With whatever shit she chose to do.”

He hopes she’s happy too. She deserves it.

Debra smiles and nudges him, “You get it, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“You wanna do it, don’t you?”

“I do,” he repeats himself.

“And you know you won’t come back from it, right? This is the end of the fucking line for you and me,” she tells him, “Once you go back and you do what you need to do, there’s nothing after. This,” she motions between them, “This is the only interaction I’ve had since I made the decision myself.”

Dexter nods, “I know.”

“You still wanna do it, don’t you?” she asks and he nods again, “Make the choice that’s right for you, Dex, but this?” she looks back down to his body still laying there in the snow, the thick patch of blood getting wider, and she shakes her head, “This is fucked up.”

“It isn’t right,” he agrees.

“It’s not fair to you,” she tells him, “You deserve to be happy. That’s all I want. You know what you wanna change?”

He nods, “I do.”

“Alright,” she claps her hand on his shoulder, “Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

Chapter 2: Past

He twists the cord in his hands once more in anticipation, watching Freebo at the counter in his boxers. He’s a breath from stepping out of the shadows when something grabs him from behind and pulls him out into the rainy night.

Dexter barely makes a sound as he stumbles back, trying to catch his footing and he turns, prepared to defend himself but stopping mid-swing when he sees the man standing there in the rain.

Even through the heavy drizzle, he can make out the disheveled hair, stubble peppered with age, those haunted eyes…

He blinks in disbelief, “Are you-” his eyes look down over the man’s body, so like his own, but also so… frail-looking.

Dexter could take him, if he had to.

“Who are you?”

“You,” the other man says. He doesn’t doubt it, it’s just- “Give it a decade and a half.” Reduced to such a pitiful-looking state, and it didn’t even take twenty years. He looks like he’s pushing sixty. “And dead,” he adds, lifting a brow, and that’s when Dexter notices the hole in his sweater.

Dexter eyes linger on it, “What are you?” he squints, “The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?”

“Something like that.”

Dexter steps around him, watching him closely, trying to understand his purpose, “Come to tell me not to kill Freebo? Is he some kind of… Golden Goose?”

“No,” his withered future says, not even glancing towards the house, “But I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Rita, and dropping in on the drive over seemed… reckless. She told you she’s keeping the baby,” not a question, “-and that you don’t need to be a part of its life.”

Dexter feels his ears go a little red. Even though it’s himself, and an older version of himself at that, this conversation still feels a little too personal to share. He’s soaked to the bone and there’s a stone forming in the pit of his gut at the sad look twisted on his older version’s face, but he gets the feeling this isn’t an optional confrontation. Whatever he’s here for, he’s here for a reason.

He continues, “Right now you’re probably feeling like your world is slipping out of your hands. You’re good with the kids but you never thought of what it’d be like to actually have one of your own. What would it be like to be a father. That you’d probably do a better job than Harry.”

Dexter shifts uncomfortably.

“You think of what traits you’ll pass onto him,” he feels sick, “What he’ll inherit from you, because anything from Rita won’t ruin him, but will it be enough to counteract whatever you pass on? Will he be a monster just like you? A… Dexter Junior. You might even find that thought appealing.”

His eyes narrow. It feels like he’s reading his mind, picking out every insecurity he has and putting it on display. He doesn’t like it.

His older self mindlessly reaches up to touch his own chest, over the hole.

“You can’t imagine everything that path leads to in the end.”

Dexter tenses as the other version of him reaches out and he tries to block it but he grabs him at the neck, their eyes lock, and he’s pulled into the vision of a not-so-distant future.

His skin is still thrumming as he lets himself in, coming home the night after a fresh kill, looking at all of the photos on the wall of the family he’s built for himself. He feels complete. He feels more human than he’s ever felt before. Everything that he’s ever wanted is right in front of him and all he has to do is reach out and grab it.

He stumbles over the kids’ toys on the floor.

He checks the messages on his phone, hears her voice, that gentle warmth in his chest spreading as she speaks. And then he tries to call her back only for the phone to ring nearby.

The tone of this recollection shifts and that fondness he was just feeling turns into dread as he stands and rushes to the purse at the kitchen counter, checking it and finding her phone inside. But her phone shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t know exactly why, but he knows that this isn’t a good thing.

And then he hears the crying.

He rushes to the bathroom, his feet carrying him there, and he stops in the doorway, turning on the light to find his son crying in a pool of blood. His knees give from under him and he starts to stretch his arms out to the baby. And then he sees her.

His heart… stops.

There’s a cold wash that trickles through him as he turns.

She’s dead.

It’s his fault.

Dexter isn’t even given a moment to process the icy feeling of her skin under his fingers before he’s pulled through to another memory.

He’s watching Debra asleep in the hospital bed for what feels like a hundredth time in his life. Too many times. His sister’s been hurt too many times because of him. She tells him to go, to be happy, she tells him she’ll see him soon. But when he comes back, he finds her hospital room empty.

Deb-… no. No.

He runs.

He’s alone.

Despite his attempts to hide away from the world, his son finds him.

“Close your eyes and look at what you’ve done!”

His eyes snap open and he gasps, shuddering in pain, expecting the bullet to hit him, pulling in air, choking, dropping to his knees.

But there’s no snow to catch him, just the hard, wet ground of the backyard, and his shaking hands clutching at himself to check for blood and finding nothing.

“No,” he closes his eyes again, desperate for anything but his wife’s-Rita’s… and Deb-

The grief hits him, seizes his lungs.

Hands take his face and he looks up through the rain at the sorrowful eyes of his other self, “Why did you show me-”

“So you could fix it!” he cuts him off, “This is what we do. This is who we are,” he hisses, “We’re not a good person, we never were, we just wanted to be. They deserved better. A better life. We’re toxic. We curse everyone around us. You can fix it. You can do better than I did.” His other self stands back up, looking down at him, “You can’t trust anyone that’s like you, we’re all… monsters. Kill them and move on. It’s not worth the lives of the people you care about.”

“Rita-”

“Set her free.”

Dexter’s eyes snap up to his own.

“She doesn’t need you,” he says, “She’s better off without you. She’ll be happy. She’ll live. She’ll find some nice guy that isn’t you, that isn’t a monster, and she’ll be happy without you.”

He feels like he’s been ripped open like a wound, gutted. Could he leave her? Could he do that? A life without Rita was hard enough before. And the thought of Rita being happy with anyone else but him… he doesn’t know why, but it bothers him more than he’d like to admit.

But he can still feel that empty, hollowed out feeling from her death. Skin that should always be red and flush with life, cold and dead.

He’s not sure which is worse.

“She deserves better than what we have to offer. Cut your loss. Don’t cost her her life,” he tells him, “I don’t care what you have to say to make her believe it, just do it.”

He stands back up shakily, soaked to the bone, watching himself walk away into the darkness of the night.

Dexter stumbles away from the house, down the road to the minivan, climbing in and staring emptily through the windshield. He’s dripping all over the upholstery, he can’t tell what are tears and what is water on his face, he can’t breathe. He hasn’t felt this bad since he killed his brother. This is… this is worse. Worse than anything he’s ever felt before.

He fumbles with the key but manages to start the car.

Dexter doesn’t mean to go to her place… he shouldn’t. In his state.

But in moments of weakness and need, he’s always gone to her, she’s been his comfort, his safe place. He always longs for the warmth of her arms, the feel of her skin, the sound of her voice. He wants it now more than anything.

He doesn’t mean to go inside.

“Dexter!”

Dexter tries to reach for her but his arms feel like lead. She hugs him and kisses him, and he can feel her nails at the back of his scalp. He closes his eyes, wanting to commit this feeling to memory, to remember it, even if he’ll want to forget it tomorrow.

“I’ve been so worried. It’s been hours!”

Hours?

“I called you, I wasn’t sure if you were… coming by. You’re soaking wet,” Rita kisses him and he doesn’t respond, even when she hums lowly, pushing her hands under his shirt, “Let’s get you out of these clothes and run us a nice, warm bath. The kids are asleep, it’ll just be us-”

“I can’t.”

Rita pulls back, looking confused, “Something come up?”

Dexter stares at her, feeling the tightness in his throat but he forces the words out, “I can’t be a father to the baby. I’m-… I can’t.”

She looks hurt by his words but she nods in understanding and still smiles but he can see the pain she’s trying to hide from him, “I understand,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, “I’m sorry if I made you feel pressured earlier, I know that was a lot and I know we… haven’t exactly been playing it safe.”

His eyes narrow.

“It’s okay,” she starts to lean in to kiss him again and he backs his head up, “What?”

“I…” he shakes his head, “I said I couldn’t do it.”

Rita nods, “I know,” she moves her hands up to his shoulders, “And I respect your decision, Dexter. I meant that. It’s okay if you don’t want to be the baby’s father. It doesn’t have to change anything between us. We can just-”

“I don’t want to be with you,” Dexter says and he sees the last glimmer of happiness drop from Rita’s face the moment he says it.

Her hands still, her brows furrowing, “What?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

She tries to smile a little, shaking her head, “What do you mean?”

“I wanna break up,” Dexter says, keeping his voice as calm and cold as he can, “I don’t wanna be with you.”

She flinches like he’s slapped her and Dexter can’t look at her face anymore, it hurts to see the pain and confusion he’s causing. Last time, with Lila, he was deep in the delusion of lust, but now… all he can feel is shame. And fear. And a clawing guilt of what he’ll put her through if he doesn’t ruin this before they get married, before they try to have a life together.

He can’t risk it.

He can’t do that to her.

“Dexter, wait-” she grabs his arm and he shouldn’t stop but… part of him wants her to stop him even now, so he stills, “I… I don’t understand. What happened? Why are you doing this?”

He closes his eyes and thinks of her there, in the tub, her wedding band. Reminds himself of the baby in the blood.

He has to do this.

Dexter looks her in the eyes, “Because I don’t love you,” he says, keeping his tone as level as possible, “I’ve never loved you, and I’m sick and tired of trying to be what you want me to be. I can’t be that for you.”

“You don’t have to be,” she says, reaching out to touch his face and he shoves himself back and hits the door with his shoulder to stop from shoving her away instead.

Her eyes widen, hands still there, reaching out for him.

Dexter turns and hurries out of the house, slamming the door behind him a little too hard. He hears it open but he keeps walking to the minivan, reaching blindly into his pocket for his keys but feeling them slip through his fingers.

“Dexter, wait. We need to talk about this. This isn’t… your decision to make alone-”

“Stop!” he snaps, turning to her and looking at her with as much hate as he can muster, thinking of anything he can to bring that darkness to the surface in hopes of scaring her away. He thinks of every person that’s been on his table. He thinks of his other self, that miserable, haggard shell of a man.

Rita’s eyes widen again and she stops just a few feet from him, her feet going flat on the pavement, hands in fists at her sides.

“It’s over. This is it.”

He walks around the minivan to the driver’s side and climbs in, peeling out of the spot he parked in and leaving her behind.

It’s nearly three in the morning when he gets to the apartment.

He can barely feel his hands, feel his feet, as he walks up to the door and lets himself in. He forgets to take his clothes off in the shower and sits numbly under the spray of water, his hands over his head as he stares blankly.

At some point, he reaches for the shampoo and tries to wash his hair only to realize that he used hers - the one she keeps at his apartment so she can shower here.

The smell of her fills the room.

At some point, he finishes the shower. At another point, he gets dressed. And then he’s… cooking breakfast and it’s somewhere between four and five, or later maybe.

He glances up when the door opens and Debra walks in.

“What the actual fuck, Dexter!?” she shouts as she slams the door.

“Deb-”

“She’s been crying in my goddamn arms all fucking night!” Debra walks around the counter to join him on the other side, “I mean, what the actual fuck!?”

He closes his eyes, “Deb, it’s more complicated than you realize-”

“She told me about the baby,” Debra says and Dexter’s eyes snap up to hers, “What the fuck are you thinking, ditching her and leaving her with the kid? I mean, what would Dad think?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says dismissively, “It’s over.”

“It’s over? Just like that? Well, news flash, jackass, it’s not fucking over when you say it is. There’s more to it than that. Dex, she’s got your fucking kid in her stomach now-”

“It’s in her womb.”

Debra stops and stares at him, looking somehow madder than she did a second ago, “What?”

“The baby doesn’t go in her stomach, it’s surrounded by the uterus-or the… womb, as-”

“I’m gonna chop your fucking dick off and shove it down your throat if you finish that fucking sentence.”

Dexter stops talking, staring at her as he rests his hand on the counter, “Rita said she’d respect my decision. She wants it, I don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

“That’s not all there fucking is-”

“It is!”

She shoves him.

“Deb-” he warns her and she shoves him again, he lets out a breath through his nose, “Deb, don’t-”

“Shut the fuck up,” she says and shoves him a third time, pushing him so hard this time that his hip hits the counter and his hand drops back to catch himself, “How can you do this to her? After all of the bullshit with Lila? She puts up with your ass more than you deserve, and you’re just gonna drop her because she got knocked up with your kid? You did that, by the way, she wouldn’t be pregnant at all if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s not… that,” he says and glances away.

“Then fucking explain, big dumb brother of mine.”

“She deserves better than me.”

“You’re fucking right,” she says and he swallows sickly, “Lucky for you, this isn’t about what people deserve. Love isn’t about what you think you deserve, it’s about what people want to give you. She wants you. She’s in love with you.”

“I’m not…” he shakes his head, “I don’t want to ruin her life. I can’t,” he says lowly, “I can’t do that to her.”

“That baby needs you.”

Dexter shakes his head even more, “No, he doesn’t.”

He remembers the shot, he can still feel it in his chest cavity, can feel himself falling in the snow. He didn’t live it, another version of him lived it, but he can feel it almost like he went through it himself.

He pulls the pan off the stove top, “I’m not…” Dexter looks down to the burned bacon, “Rita’s a good mom, she’ll be good for him. He’s better off not knowing I exist.”

“What are you even fucking saying? You’re gonna be a great father.”

He dumps the bacon into the trash and runs the pan under water, starting to wash it, “I won’t.”

“You’re overthinking it like you always do,” Debra tries to argue with him, “Sit on it a few days, you’ll change your mind-”

“If I say I will, are you gonna drop it?”

“Not on your fucking life,” she says and sits down at the counter, leaning on her arm, “I’m gonna keep fucking guilting you and reminding you how absolutely fucking perfect for you she is, and how much you love her goddamn kids, how this is a bad idea, and how you two are meant-to-fucking-be. You break up, you get back together, that’s how this shit works. It’s… practically science.”

“It’s over.”

“It’s not,” Debra insists, watching him finish cleaning up his mess, “Breakfast?”

He doesn’t know if he has the energy to try again.

Chapter 3: Present

Notes:

Just a heads up, this chapter has NOT been edited. XDDD No, we die like Season 4 Episode 12...

All of us hide something from the world.

A secret passion. A… guilty pleasure. A longing for change. An affair that started out as a one-night stand…

Something we’re ashamed of.

Something that reveals who we really are underneath.

For most of us, that secret is something we covet – something we take comfort in when we know no one else is looking. A small part of our lives that no one else is ever supposed to see.

It was the same for me, too. Even when I was trying to fit in, I was always alone with my darkest secret. I thought that there was no one that could live with it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was drowning in the loneliness. The self-isolation, afraid of anyone seeing. Especially… her.

And maybe he intended for me to continue living my life in the shadows, to live a life of solitude after letting her go… but I didn’t.

Over the last four years, I’ve been finding myself less and less alone.

Even in moments like this.

“Hunting?”

Dexter sets down his beer and glances over as Debra sits down on the stool beside him, “I was. What are you doing here?”

Debra quickly waves the bartender over to get a drink for herself, her other hand on her knee as she shifts to get comfortable, “You were right.”

Not something he normally feels guilty about, but he has a sinking suspicion this isn’t a good thing to be right about.

“I was?”

Debra finishes chugging half of her beer and smacks her lips, “Viktor’s set to walk in the morning,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I guess the fucking evidence with his name all over it grew legs and walked off.”

He tenses, “You want me to-”

“I do,” she says, her sharp eyes meeting his, “You think you can?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t seem all that interested.”

Dexter looks back over to the man and the waitress talking, flirting with each other, “I’m in the middle of something.”

Her eyes move from him to where he’s looking and she snaps back to him, “What the fuck are you doing watching Ray Speltzer?”

“He shaved his head.”

“He…” she makes a face, “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of getting a haircut. Again.”

Dexter takes his phone from his pocket and goes to the most recent photo he took, handing it over to her.

“Is that-”

“Nina Fleisher’s missing earring.”

Debra starts to stand up, “Where did you take this?”

He grabs her arm and tugs her back down to her seat, “Nowhere we can do anything about it. It’s proof. The proof I need.”

“What the fuck does his unshaved head have to do with this?”

“His head was recently shaved when he was questioned about Ann Feig’s disappearance,” Dexter says lowly, “-and when he was arrested for Nina Fleisher’s murder. I think it’s part of his killing ritual. I think he’s hunting his next victim right now.”

Debra looks back over to the waitress and frowns, “Her?”

“Her.”

“You think she’s next.”

“I’m-” he lets out a breath and nods, “-willing to put money on it.”

Debra nods as well and stands, “Okay,” she says, leaning in to look him in the eyes, “Do it. Get him done and over, but Viktor-”

“-won’t be leaving Miami,” Dexter assures her and she smiles.

“Don’t forget to pace yourself.”

Dexter watches her leave.

Deb found out. I didn’t mean for her to… it just happened. But I couldn’t take it back. Ever since then, she’s helped me mold the code into something new. Something better than what Harry had taught me.

The truth is, there are people that can live with my secret.

Harry was wrong. I was wrong.

I’ve kept to his requests as close as possible, killed quickly, and resisted the urge to reach out and connect with others that are… similar-minded. All of the ones like me are either locked up… or at the bottom of the ocean.

But not me.

He wanted me to vanish into the darkness like he did. Leave it all behind. Quarantine myself from the world. Hide away and hope no one would ever find me.

Instead of staying in the shadows, I’ve been peeking my head out into the light.

He polishes off the last of his beer, paying their tab and then quietly following Speltzer out of the bar, far enough behind not to be seen but close enough to not lose sight of him.

Dexter follows him back to the place he’s been staying and sneaks up after him.

“What the fuck is all of-”

He slides the needle into Speltzer’s neck and lets him fall, “What? You thought the place covered itself in plastic?” he asks.

And then he gets to work.

---

He’s squatted down, waiting, watching the unconscious man on the table as his eyes slowly come open and he looks down at himself, shaking.

“What the fuck is this?”

“The end of your run,” Dexter says, standing up and walking around the table to the other side.

“Get me out of here!”

“Yell all you want, no one’s gonna hear you.

“Fuck,” Speltzer says, shouting the word even louder and Dexter mocks him, yelling it back before he moves in and cuts the man’s cheek, “Fuck-what the-”

He takes the drop of blood and puts it on the slide, his skin starting to tingle as he encases it in glass, holding it up to the light.

“You’re a fucking freak.”

“I’m…” Dexter nods thoughtfully, “You might say I’m… freak adjacent. I know what you are. I always do. Because I’m like you.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Speltzer says and Dexter looks down at him, brows narrowed.

“That…” he smiles, placating the man, “… would be a twist,” he reaches for his knife, taking in a deep breath, drinking in the moment, “And not one that’s gonna happen tonight.”

Speltzer opens his mouth to scream but the knife goes in before he can make another sound.

The silence of his death calms the blood pounding in Dexter’s ears and he closes his eyes to relish the moment, breathing in sharply and then slowly exhaling. He’s still deep in it when he hears the sound of a car door shutting and his eyes snap open, waiting, listening to the footsteps coming up the porch.

And then the doorbell.

Dexter’s eyes widen and he looks around at the blood spreading through the plastic, hurriedly taking his hands away from the blade.

“Ray?” he hears the woman’s voice.

Shit, the waitress. They must’ve made plans.

He takes off his apron and hurriedly strips down to his kill suit, moving to the door.

She needs to go.

Whatever he’s going to do, he needs to do it quick.

Dexter pulls the door open and looks at her, then around, “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong house.”

“This isn’t Ray’s place?” she asks, frowning, “140 Everglade Court?”

“Sorry,” Dexter shrugs, “I’ve lived here for the last 5 years. There’s no Ray in this neighborhood. Maybe he… gave you the wrong address?”

“Or he wasn’t interested to begin with,” she says, looking disappointed, and then her eyes go up his body, slowly, slowly up to his eyes, “Any chance you make mojitos?”

Dexter huffs a laugh, “Not really.”

“No worries, I don’t need beer goggles to find you attractive,” Dexter’s about to ask when she means by that when she moves in and kisses him and he goes from still to rigid as her lips part against his to try and deepen the kiss.

He’s still even as she pulls back.

“Gay or not interested?”

He smiles nervously at the familiar question. You’d think after so many times, he’d be better at answering it. Or avoiding it entirely.

“Gay,” he says and motions to her, “But you look… really nice. Beautiful. Any guy would be… lucky to have you on their doorstep.”

“Not you,” she says and pouts a little, “Turned down twice in one night. You know, a girl can only take so much.”

“Sorry.”

“I’d let you fuck me in the ass.”

Dexter stares at her blankly, “Sorry,” he says again, “That’s… thoughtful, but-” but there’s a dead body leaking out in the living room and I can’t think of anything I want to do less than… you.

She nods in understanding, “But no.”

He nods as well and watches her walk away.

Dexter waves awkwardly when she looks back and then he hurriedly closes the door once she’s driven away. He stands in the foyer, still able to feel her lipstick on his mouth. It’s been years since he’s even kissed a woman. Not since…

He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and walks back into the living room, looking to Speltzer’s body, “Time to take care of you.”

He cuts Ray’s body free from the plastic and gets started on the arms, the neck. Dexter’s halfway through cutting up the body when his phone starts ringing and he turns away, tugging a glove off and reaching for it.

“Frank.”

“Dexter!” Frank Lundy starts cheerfully and Dexter moves to continue cutting up the legs, putting another glove on so he doesn’t have to feel it and tucking the phone in the crook of his shoulder, “I was wondering if you could join me for breakfast in the morning.”

“Sure,” he agrees easily, keeping his tone light, “Right, Deb has her… day with the kids.”

“Right,” Frank says, “She’s over there now, actually. Rita’s-”

“I don’t need the details.”

Frank stops trying to explain and hums lowly.

Dexter continues to cut, his chest tightening and he stops, letting his muscles relax to try and get the feeling to go away but it doesn’t, the knot there gets harder, making it difficult to breathe, “Deb’s gonna be pissed when she finds out we had breakfast together without her,” he tries to continue on, thinking of anything else, “What’s the occasion?”

“Well, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, it just hasn’t been the right time.”

“Until now?”

“Right.”

“Need me to… take down another… twisted son of a bitch?”

Frank laughs, “No, that won’t be necessary. But-can you bring some bacon when you drop by? Say, around six?”

Dexter flicks his tongue at his teeth as he switches to the bonesaw, “Bacon, fresh tomatoes?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be there at six.”

“Have a good night, Dexter,” Frank says, “Maybe you can bring back some fish this time?”

“Deb did suggest I… start bringing a cooler.”

“It is a lot more convincing.”

Dexter tenses only a little when the call ends.

Was it that obvious that I was in the middle of cutting up a body?

He looks back down to Ray and tilts his head in thought.

Frank would be proud of this one. One more lizard-brained creature of the darkness put to rest.

His phone rings again. He checks it, expecting it to be Frank again, but it’s a text from Debra.

V otw out.

Three interruptions in one night. This does not bode well. And if he doesn’t go after Viktor, he’ll be gone for good, back to Russia. Never to be seen again.

Dexter looks back to Speltzer and takes off his apron, “You’ll have to wait til tomorrow. Don’t go anywhere.”

Debra sends him another text and he hurries the clean up, packing his things and leaving Ray’s parts still spread out on the table. It feels wrong to leave a body unattended like he left Santos Jimenez. But he can’t finish Ray tonight and get Viktor, there’s not enough time.

One of them will have to wait. And Viktor’s waited long enough. If Dexter doesn’t get him now, he might never get another chance.

---

The plan is to grab him outside of Miami Metro.

Dexter’s poised for it when a car pulls up alongside him and Viktor leans down to talk to whoever’s in the passenger’s side seat.

I shouldn’t have left Ray’s body. There was enough time to pack him up and bring him along. At this rate, I’ll have one, maybe two hours to sleep before meeting Frank for-what the hell?

He sits up in his seat as Viktor’s grabbed and shoved into the backseat of the car, and then the vehicle takes off.

Dexter starts back up his car and peels off after them. Subtley.

Maybe he should just leave it.

Wherever they’re going, Dexter doubts it’ll be to a surprise party or some kind of happy reunion – especially after getting into the kind of trouble Viktor has. If it’s not full on torture for information, or the cutting off of fingers, hands, the breaking of kneecaps… it’ll likely be a death sentence with the Koshka Brotherhood. He’s living proof of the kinds of terrible things people like this do.

Leave two children in the shipping container with the chopped-up remains of their mother.

Dexter follows them despite his better judgment.

The code isn’t lenient on incomplete jobs, or rush jobs, or… deviating. Any life taken is a risk. Any change of plan could have results he might never recover from. He knows what it can cost him. This is a risk to him, to his sister, Frank. Anyone that’s ever touched his life.

And he was about to kill Viktor just minutes ago.

So why bother with it at all?

The car stops at The Fox Hole and Dexter slows to a crawl, far back and just out of sight.

He watches them walk a tall, older man out to the car and shove him in as well. Dexter remembers seeing him the day before. Isaak Sirko.

The car drives away and Dexter considers heading off, back to Ray’s remains. He should go. He should leave these thugs to whatever they’re about to do-

Dexter squeezes his eyes shut and then he goes… after them.

He follows them out to the port. To pier 18 on the northwest corridor. The men walk Isaak and Viktor both to a cargo ship there – the Fearless.

He’s a step behind them, quiet when he comes in and grabs the first, slicing his neck.

The best part about taking out any one of these men is that they each have a laundry list of lives they’ve taken. And are planning to take at least two more. Not on his watch.

The men start to turn when he takes out the second one, grabbing his gun before he can use it and hitting him in the face with the butt of it.

Dexter turns to the third, but not before he lifts his gun and shoots.

Viktor shoves Isaak out of the way and takes the bullet himself, and then Dexter moves in to stop the main from raising the gun again. He buries his knife to the hilt in the guy’s chest and guides him down to the ground.

“Viktor, no,” he hears Isaak say from behind him and he moves in to check the wound.

Blood is already spreading out from Viktor’s shirt, his eyes wide open, staring up. Dexter watches nervously as Isaak reaches up to close his eyes.

His own memory flashes back to doing it himself, her soft lashes against his thumbs.

Dexter moves closer and squats down, “We need to go-”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s not safe-”

“I don’t care,” Isaak cuts him off again and Dexter watches helplessly as the man cries, caressing Viktor’s cheek like a lover, “There’s nothing else, I have nothing else. This is where I should be.”

And then it connects. And he realizes the turmoil and regret that Isaak must be experiencing. On some level, he understands the pain the man is in.

“Other will come.”

Isaak shakes his head, “That only matters to people who care,” he says and then glances to Dexter, “You should go, though. I imagine that might be difficult to explain.”

“Wouldn’t you rather get even?” Dexter asks before he can stop himself, “They were going to kill you both, and would’ve, if I hadn’t…”

“If you hadn’t jumped in when you did.”

He nods.

Isaak combs his fingers through Viktor’s hair, fixing the collar of his shirt, “I suppose I should thank you. You did save my life. Both of you.”

Dexter steps back, “I’m… sorry. For your loss.”

Isaak chuckles wetly and lifts his brows, “You’re a strange one, aren’t you, handsome?” Dexter’s brows lift, “I get the feeling you’ve never said those words in your life. What were you even doing here, tonight?”

“I…” he holds his hands out from his sides, feeling stupid saying it, but- “I was just trying to help.”

Isaak nods gently and seems to collect himself, calmly standing back up, “You did pretty good for a man with only a knife. It didn’t occur to you to bring a gun to a gun fight?”

Maybe he should’ve. Maybe Viktor would still be alive.

Isaak leans down and lifts Viktor up into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

Isaak looks down to Viktor and then looks back to Dexter, “I’ve got nothing left to lose. I might as well go out with a bang.”

“Do you… need any help?” Dexter asks and Isaak stops again.

“What are you offering, Dexter Morgan?”

“I’m… not sure,” Dexter flounders and then chuckles, “You shouldn’t have to go through what you’re going through alone.”

Isaak considers him for a long moment before speaking again, “Alright,” he lets out a haggard breath, “I can’t take him with me. What can I do with his body?”

“Burial at sea?”

Isaak nods a few times, “Alright.”

“Let me just check over the crime scene real quick,” Dexter says, moving back to check on the three men he took out.

Isaak watches him do his thing, checking over each of the bodies and each and every little drop of blood. Fortunately, Viktor’s blood will tell its own story, all he has to do is make sure he doesn’t step in any of it.

Dexter motions for Isaak to go on first and they leave together, carefully, Dexter close behind him. Every step of the way is measured and he looks back to make sure it’s going the way he needs it to go. Isaak, fortunately, doesn’t bother asking about the tangled story he’s making sure they tell.

The trail of blood Viktor’s leaving behind will also do what it needs to do. Naturally occurring, as if the person that took him out didn’t look back. Because he didn’t.

Isaak keeps on going without question, stopping at the car he was taken here in and putting Viktor in the back, “I’ll follow you out?”

Dexter nods wordlessly and leaves him there.

They head off from the port together, out to his marina, out onto the boat together.

Debra’s been out on the boat more than a few times before, so it’s not like this is the first time he’s taken someone out with him, but it’s strange to do with someone he barely even knows.

Isaak holds Viktor tight to him the ride out to his usual dumping grounds and then Dexter slows and stops, turning back to him.

Isaak’s watching him with a curious look in his eyes, “You’ve done this before.”

Dexter stares quietly back and nods.

“I thought you had,” Isaak looks up at the sky, “A man that moves like you… the way you do… I imagine you’ve probably killed many others.”

Dexter still doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.

“Have you ever been in love before?”

His brows lift. He’s not capable of feeling such a thing, but the first person he thinks of is… her. Her smile. Her eyes. That soft glow she had about her even from the moment he met her.

“Maybe,” he admits.

He can’t even think her name without feeling immense pain, but he thinks of her now, remembers how it felt to hold her in his arms, feel her smile against his lips, her hands in his hair. The smell of her.

“Maybe,” he says again, sounding more sure this time, “Once.”

“It defies reason, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing defies reason.”

Isaak chuckles, “Logically, Viktor and I shouldn’t have been together. I mean, aside from the obvious social stigma, Viktor was impulsive, foolhardy even. Always out to prove something,” his smile widens, “I suppose the heart knows something that we just don’t know.”

Dexter thinks of his own longing, that want he still feels, to reach out to her. She’s a stranger now, for all he knows, and he still wants to be with her more than anything, “Or maybe the heart’s just wrong.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Isaak says with a deep breath, “Love can be inconvenient, perhaps inappropriate… it can be dangerous. Make us do things we wouldn’t dream of doing.”

Leaving.

“But wrong?” Isaak’s eyes are soft and full of sorrow, “That just depends on where we end up, doesn’t it?”

What he felt about Rita never felt wrong. Even when it resulted in him walking away. It still felt like the right thing to do, to save her life.

“Does it mean anything at all if you end up alone?” Dexter asks.

“I take it you’re… speaking from experience, Dexter Morgan?”

Is it experience? Is that what this is? I don’t feel so experienced when it comes to… matters of the heart.

Dexter swallows tightly and looks out across the ocean, “I guess.”

“And what of it? What has experience taught you?”

“That she’s better without me.”

“Is she?”

“She’s still alive, isn’t she?”

Isaak winces, but smiles through his gritted teeth, “Is that what you tell yourself? To make it easier?”

Dexter’s eyes snap back to him, narrowing.

They stare at one another for a long moment before Isaak casts his gaze back down to Viktor. Dexter averts his own when the man leans down to kiss him, not even glancing back when Isaak stands and gently sets Viktor down into the water and watches him sink.

He sits back, hands in his lap, breathing in deeply and letting out a low sob.

“Take it from someone that doesn’t have the chance for a do-over,” he says, the water lapping at the side of the boat, “The only thing I regret is the distance I put between us. I was like you: so detached. Until Viktor. Being with him, I never had to hide. I was finally…”

“Alive.”

Isaac smiles and nods, “There’s hope for you, yet.”

Dexter wants to believe him and, maybe if he were younger, he would’ve fallen for the fantasy of a normal life with a wife and kids. Being accepted in that intimate way. But he was lucky with what he has now. Really lucky.

Rita wouldn’t feel the same.

For all of the faults she could forgive and even accept, being a serial killer wasn’t one of them.

“Rita’s not like that,” he says and Isaak’s eyes light up.

“Rita?”

Dexter stills and presses his lips together.

“Tell me about her.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he says and stands up from his seat, moving to the steering wheel and starting the boat up.

It maybe isn’t the smartest idea he’s had, but he leaves Isaak at the apartment. They don’t have time to find another place or set something up, and Dexter’s still got a body to deal with.

By the time he gets to the house, it’s almost morning. The sun is just starting to peek out along the skyline. He’s staring at it for almost a minute before he remembers his prior arrangement. And maybe Frank would understand if Dexter told him what needed to be done, but breakfast felt important. That much was inferred through Frank’s tone of voice when he called.

He won’t have time to cut up Speltzer and meet Frank for breakfast, so he doesn’t turn down the road and instead calls in sick for work and turns the car around.

As long as there are no sudden, unexpected crime scenes, today is supposed to be relatively uneventful, just a lot of backlogged stuff to go through and some DNA sample that needs to be collected from the late Wayne Randall’s ex-partner that testified against him – one Hannah McKay. Vince can handle that without him.

Oh well. If he can’t cut up Speltzer now, he’ll do it after breakfast. As for dumping the body, that may be the hardest part.

There are few places open this time of day and he can’t go back to the apartment so he visits some early morning vendors and arrives at Frank’s just in time to get the paper for him.

“Dexter!” Frank moves out of the way to let him in, “Long night, I take it?”

Dexter smiles tightly and salutes him.

You don’t know the half of it.

“No fish?”

“I uh… didn’t get any, no,” Frank smirks and Dexter says in a low voice, “The body’s still in one piece.”

Frank looks surprised at that, “You didn’t get interrupted-”

“No-well…” yes, twice. He makes a face, realizing just how much the idea of Speltzer’s body still being there gets to him, “Viktor was released.”

“Ah, so you have been busy.”

You really don’t know the half of it.

Dexter forces another smile and Frank takes the bag from him, “Sit down, I’ll get us started.”

“I can help,” Dexter offers.

“Wash your hands, first.”

Dexter walks over to the sink to wash his hands, “So what did you… want to ask me about? Sounded important.”

“Breakfast first,” Frank says, turning back to meet his eyes, “If that’s alright with you, Dexter.”

“Sure,” he says back easily, “So long as you’re not planning on telling me you’re leaving on another case or something along those lines.”

Frank chuckles as Dexter joins him, “I may miss being in the middle of the action but… no. Between you and your sister, I get what I need when either of you come looking for a soundboard to test your theories on.”

Dexter chuckles, “You don’t miss it?”

“Sometimes,” Frank admits and Dexter appreciates the honesty in that, “But, truly, I’m as close to the hunt now as I can be without becoming a liability.”

They finish cooking breakfast and sit down in the living room area together.

There’s just enough clutter in the room to remind him that his sister also lives in the beach-side house, but Frank keeps the place pretty tidy in comparison to his sister.

It’s as he’s eating his breakfast, shoving his sandwich in his mouth, that he realizes how nervous Frank is sitting near him. Dexter’s known him now for enough years so pick up on his tells – fidgeting and cleaning his hands more than often and smiling that smile, being unusually silent. Or, more than normal.

What could this be about? Frank didn’t want Debra here for this conversation… the two are more in love than two people possibly could be. He’s not sure what he would do if Frank was thinking of breaking up with his sister.

He likes Frank. A lot. But he loves his sister more.

And they’re the only two people that-

“Forgive me if this puts you in an… uncomfortable position, Dexter, but, I am still very traditional when it comes to things like this. I would like to ask your permission to propose to Debra.”

Dexter nearly chokes, eyes going wide as he swallows his food and reaches for the glass of tea Frank set out for him. He uses the sip as an excuse to collect his thoughts.

“I know,” Frank sighs and sets his own fork down, lacing his fingers together, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to spring such a question on you, but you know her best and you’re the most important person in her life. I don’t even know if this is something she would want-”

“She might,” he says, watching Frank’s face closely as he sets his own plate down on the coffee table, “The right person. The right way,” he tilts his head a little forward as he leans in, “You already have the first part.”

Frank chuckles, “Do I have your permission?”

Dexter shrugs, “I think Deb would kill me if I didn’t give it to you.”

“Dexter-”

“Yes,” he says and wipes his mouth with a napkin, trying to hide his smile, “You have my permission. Just… don’t do anything big. And don’t buy her any white roses.”

“No yacht?”

“No yacht. Don’t even do it on the water. This is as close as it should get.”

Frank laughs harder now, “I’ll be sure to keep it simple.”

“The simpler the better,” Dexter says as he continues eating his breakfast. He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear a good thing like this.

They’ll be happy together.

---

He does some quick shopping and checks in on Isaak at the apartment on the way across town, leaving the food with him in case he gets hungry. There’s no telling how long Isaak will be there, but he knows things in the fridge have been getting low.

It’s past noon when he gets back to Speltzer and it’s… not a pretty sight he walks back into.

Dexter carefully cuts him apart piece-by-piece, taking time to step back out and breathe when the smell gets overwhelming. He should be dressed in full hazmat gear for this. If it were a crime scene, he would be. But he doesn’t have that luxury at the moment.

There’s no way he can get over to the marina and out on the water with all of this in broad daylight without raising suspicions. The smell of decay is already strong and even just a single pass through to the boat would be risky.

The trip will need to be short and quick.

Dexter takes him to the crematorium and sets the parts out on the machine, putting them in before heading back out and sitting on the steps as he checks his messages.

---

“Two in twenty-four hours and you’ve been fucking MIA all day,” Debra starts the moment he sits down in the passenger’s side seat, “You don’t respond to texts, you don’t answer your phone, you call in sick. I’ve been freaking the fuck out. Everything go okay?”

“Yes,” he says simply and she stares at him, waiting for more.

“Viktor?” she presses when he doesn’t respond fast enough.

“In the ocean.”

“And Speltzer?”

Dexter looks away from her to the smoke billowing up, out of the crematorium, “Speltzer.”

Debra’s eyes turn up and she’s silent for a long time before she lets out a breath of relief, “Good,” she says lowly, “One less thing I have to worry about,” she flicks her hair back and sits up higher in her seat, “And when the fuck were you gonna tell me that I was gonna get proposed to today?”

That was fast.

Dexter didn’t realize Frank was going to spring it on her within the hours he was away but, then again, he didn’t exactly ask. It’s not like they’re moving quickly though, they’ve been together for years now. Maybe Frank felt like it was time to… stop wasting time.

It reminds him, on some level, of what Isaak was saying-

“Earth to fucking Dex,” Debra snaps him out of the thought before he can get there.

Dexter smirks, “I… didn’t wanna spoil the surprise. He assured me he wasn’t gonna make it a spectacle, or involve a boat-”

“So you fucking knew!?”

“I…” Dexter pauses, confused, “Yes, I thought you knew I knew, that’s why you asked.”

“I didn’t know until just now,” she says, glaring at him, “You should’ve told me! I would’a told you,” the awkward silence stretches between them as they both think over his recent (or really, not so recent) track record, “Not that there’s a chance of that happening again… ever, if you fucking keep it up.”

Dexter tries not to think of it so hard.

It’s not like he’s new to not having things everyone else has. Why should ‘True Love’ be any different?

“It’s not for everyone,” he says, feeling this strange sort of tightening in his throat.

“It’s sure as shit not for me,” Debra says, laughing, “Fuck me,” she drops her head back against the headrest and stares up at the sky, watching the smoke wafting through the evening air, “I don’t want it to be something crazy like you see in shows and movies.”

Dexter lifts a brow but remains quiet, listening to her. He can’t have something like this for himself but he can at least be happy for his sister. At least one of them gets to have a happy ending.

“Something small, simple, would be better – personal,” she says thoughtfully, “I could wear a dress, but maybe not something that takes like… three people just to help me walk around.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

“Fuck me… I am,” she mumbles, “I want it. Is that weird?”

Dexter shrinks in on himself a little, “No?” he says, “So you said ‘yes’?”

“I…” Debra smirks and glances at him, “I told him I’d think about it,” Dexter frowns, “Well, you also fucking called me pretty much right as it was happening, it’s not like I had a lot of time to decide.”

“You left him after he proposed to you?”

“I was worried about you!” Debra snaps, defending herself, “You didn’t message or call me! This sounded fucking important!”

“You should’ve just told Frank ‘yes’.”

“It’s not that fucking simple.”

“Why not? If it’s what you want-”

Debra kicks her legs and arms out and slams the steering wheel in anger, “I don’t know, Dex, maybe because the last time a guy proposed to me, I ended up unconscious on his stolen yacht?” she shouts at him, “And fuck if that wasn’t the first fucked up thing that’s happened on a yacht. I don’t exactly have a good track record with love.”

That makes two of us.

“So yeah, I told him I’d think about it.”

Dexter doesn’t know why… but he’s annoyed. He’s silent next to her for a long time, trying to collect his thoughts, understand his own, personal intentions.

Maybe it’s because she’s risking being where he is in four years.

“You won’t find better than him,” he says, thinking of her… thinking of-

“Don’t I fucking know it,” Debra cuts the thought off and laughs, “He’s one in a billion,” she chews her thumbnail, “Shit, I should’ve proposed to him!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t think he wanted that… again,” Debra says, her cheeks heating up, “He’s such a traditionalist, I figured he would’ve just been married once, you know? And been done with it. And I sure as shit haven’t asked or suggested or hinted or… anything. If Dad was alive, he would’ve asked him permission and everything.”

Dexter tenses a little and the silence stretches between them before she finally looks over to him.

“Did he fucking ask you?” she asks, eyes narrowed and Dexter nods, “Holy shit. And you said ‘yes’?!”

“Of course,” he says, confused, “I… want you to be happy. He makes you happy. Doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Was I supposed to say ‘no’?”

“I don’t fucking know,” she says, shifting in her seat and finally taking of her seatbelt. “No,” she finally concedes and smiles again, “I would’ve killed you if you said ‘no’.”

Dexter smiles to himself.

“Fuck, I really wanna marry him,” Debra says, pulling out her phone and checking it, “I’m tired of not being married to him. What if we got married next week?” she asks, looking over to him.

Dexter blinks when he realizes just how serious she is, “Next… week might be a little fast, don’t you think?”

And he thought Frank proposing today was maybe a little quicker than he expected.

“A month,” Debra reasons, “You think a month’s enough time?”

“Uh… yeah? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He’s not exactly the best judge for this.

Debra calls Frank, “Hey, so… I was thinking we could set the date for a month from now?” she waits and Dexter can hear Frank chuckle, say something that he can’t make out, and then- “Of course it’s a fucking ‘yes’, it wasn’t even a question.” She’s quiet as Frank says something back again, “Okay. I’ll fucking marry you tonight, just try me.”

Dexter flushes, not sure if he should still be here, listening in on this.

“Okay a month,” she says and laughs at whatever Frank says, “Don’t tempt me,” another pause, “I can wait a month.” Dexter gives her a pointed look just as she corrects herself, “I can’t wait a fucking month, but Dexter thinks next week is fast.” She pauses and Dexter watches her eyes light up, “Three weeks,” she lets out a break, he can hear the excitement in her voice, “Alright. I’ll-… yeah I can pick up some… potatoes.”

She ends the call then and sits there in silence with him as she clutches her phone and smiles to herself.

“I’m gonna marry him so fucking hard.”

Dexter has finally reached his limit and motions to his own door, starting to reach for the handle, “I’m gonna-”

“Just fucking go,” she snaps and he climbs out but stops when he sees her leaning over the center console, “Thank you.”

Dexter smiles back at her, “Any time.”

“I fucking owe you.”

“That reminds me,” Dexter leans back down, “He asked me to be the Best Man, so…”

She stares back at him and he lifts his brows, “What?” she asks in defense, “You don’t think I have female friends?”

“You don’t.”

“I have one,” she says and Dexter tenses, “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

He stands back up, trying to hide his face from her because he’s not sure what she’ll see there, “No problem,” he says, struggling to keep his voice light, “It’s your decision.”

“You’re not gonna perform a fucking disappearing act, are you?”

“Not unless you say I can.”

“You can’t.”

“Deb-”

“It’s been fucking years since the last time you saw her,” - and it still hurts to even think of her - “I hope you realize you don’t get a say in this, Best Man.”

Dexter sighs and lifts his hands, “Okay,” he gives in, backing away from the car as she reaches out to close the door on him instead of the other way around.

---

Angel slaps his neck, gasping in pain as he misses the mosquito and Dexter watches him as he grunts and complains, “Fuckin’ bugs,” he says in annoyance and motions off, “I’ll go get some spray from the car.”

Dexter sips at his water and tense when Hannah McKay joins him at the cooler to get a cup of her own.

“This part of the job? Stand around and stare?”

“I’m not needed unless there’s a body or blood.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she says and he watches her, the ease and comfort of her shoulders, seeming to be bewildered by the whole thing. Is it real or is it just an act? “First time Wayne killed somebody he… shot him right in the chest and I… I couldn’t move. Never seen that much blood in my life.”

There’s a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye just talking about it, he catches the shadow there in her gaze.

She’s not thinking back on a horrific tragedy in her past like he would if he were thinking of his mother. She’s… reminiscing.

Dexter could tell her about the first crime scene he worked. How it had felt like Christmas morning. And he had been a good boy. He could recall with perfect clarity the gift-wrapped corpse, just for him, twisted up on the warm Miami sidewalk, legs bent, the pool of blood that had formed from his head outwards.

He could tell her every little detail down to the hole in the middle of the man’s forehead.

But he would follow the code to the letter here. Nothing that intimate could be allowed in order to keep her at arm’s length. People like him can’t be trusted, and he’s sure she’s one of them. She hides it well but he can see the serpent underneath her act as clear as day. She’s not as good as he is.

“First crime scene I ever worked,” he starts, “A woman stabbed her husband after fixing him a sandwich. By the time I got there he looked like he was asleep, just floating on a sea of red, and the sandwich… next to his head. Seemed so sad that no one was gonna eat it.”

She buys into it better than he anticipates.

“Look at us talking blood and gore like we’re on a date sharing a first sexual experience.”

Her words make him more uncomfortable than the Miami heat and he hears the voices pick up in the distance. A good excuse to get away from her and he takes it.

“I’ve got work to do,” he says, walking away from the tent.

It takes some time for the team at the site to bring the bodies out, Hannah McKay watching them from a distance as him and Vince squat down to get a closer look.

Vince laughs as they spread the plastic shower curtain open, “‘Til death do us part’ didn’t quite work out for these guys,” he looks to them as he continues to laugh, “Get it? Cause they’re… dead but… they’re still… together?”

It hits a little too close to him, between his own personal experience and what’s happening with Debra right now.

She’s been talking about looking at dresses for over a week now, flowers – anything but white roses, who at the station she should invite, so far it’s been an endless stream of wedding-related content.

And now this.

The remains of a couple that, in another life of his, may have been Frank and Debra. May have been… his own wife. Or what would’ve been his wife.

“Okay, moving on.”

“The shower curtain helped preserve the bodies and the clothes,” Dexter says.

“Our lucky day.”

Dexter stands up and walks around the bodies, glancing over to Hannah McKay and back down to them, “It’s a safe assumption that Wayne started with the male. It would’ve been important to… immobilize him first – as he presented the biggest threat.”

As he paints a vivid picture of their massacre, the real picture comes to life: how it wasn’t just Wayne, but Hannah and him together, that killed the couple. This innocent husband and wife, having their lives brutally taken by two vicious killers.

There’s a passive spatter stain on the victim’s dress that he would bet his unborn son on testing positive as belonging to Hannah McKay. It’s likely that if he checked her palm, there would even still be a scar there from where the knife, soaked in the victim’s blood, slipped from her grip and cut into her. She was excited. She was enjoying it.

She needed to die.

Dexter decides to keep the details about Hannah to himself. There’s no point in saying anything now or raising suspicion. He doesn’t know how dangerous she still is. But he can see, just from the look in her eyes, that she’ll do anything to protect herself. If anyone else catches onto this, it could threaten the people he cares about.

And even if he did say something, he knows already from looking into her file that she has immunity from anything her and Wayne did together. Nothing discovered here today will bring her to justice, no matter how damning the evidence is.

He’ll just have to do it himself.

Dexter finishes up at the crime scene and packs his things, heading to the station separate from the others and scooting his seat over into Vince’s territory.

“Hannah McKay.”

Vince barely glances at him, “What’s it to you?”

“You finish your report?” Dexter asks and Vince hands it over without looking, “Find anything?” he asks without reading it.

“Nothing, you?”

“Nothing.”

Vince sighs and takes his glasses off to wipe his eyes, “Just what we need, another dead end.”

“At least we found the bodies.”

“For all the good it did.”

Dexter leaves him at that and glances over Vince’s report. Just as he had hoped. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Tonight’s the night.

---

“Blood report on the bodies that were dug up at the motel,” Dexter says as he sets it down on his sister’s desk, “Hannah McKay-”

“I swear to fucking god and all that is holy, if I fucking hear Hannah McKay’s name again, I’m gonna snap-”

Dexter’s mouth clicks closed as he stares back at her and she glares.

“What?”

“She killed the woman herself,” he says lowly.

Debra’s eyes light up, “Really? You fucking found something?”

“Nothing we can use.”

“Why not?”

“She has immunity.”

“Fuck,” Debra hisses out, pushing her hair back in frustration, “I thought you came in here with good fucking news for once.”

Dexter stares flatly at her and it takes her a moment.

“Holy fuck,” she says, “Tonight?”

He nods.

“Promise?”

“It’s just a matter of time now.”

Debra grins, “Best fucking news I’ve heard all week. Oh, fuck! But you need to come with me after work, first.”

“Do you really think I’m the person you want to take to go shopping for your wedding dress?”

“Yes.”

Dexter’s eyes narrow but he can see she’s set on it, “There isn’t anyone else?” he presses in a last-ditch effort, “Someone… smaller? More… blonde?”

“Good idea, I’ll invite her along.”

“Deb, no-”

She holds a finger up to shush him as she dials on her cell, glaring at him, “Pack up and clock out, I’ll be there in five.”

It takes everything in him not to groan out loud, but then he hears Debra’s softer tone when the person on the other side of the phone answers and he leaves before he can hear any more.

Tonight cannot come any sooner.

---

“Too much?”

Dexter looks up from the magazine he’s been mindlessly thumbing through. He really should’ve brought some proper reading material with him. He could’ve taken a case or two with him to help pass the time. Something complex, maybe even a cold case-

“You look beautiful,” he says, nodding as he looks her over.

Debra drops the bottom of the gown and glares at him, “You’ve said that about the last four dresses.”

He sighs, “Deb, I really don’t think I’m the person to be asking to do this. I… think they all look nice. And Frank would love you if you arrived in a trash bag.”

She looks offended and stomps back to the changing room, snatching up the next dress as she goes in.

He sighs once more and presses his palm to his forehead.

I will not kill my sister. I will not kill my sister.

Dexter glances over when the front door to the store opens and he feels all of the air in the room go out. He had tried not to imagine her at all, but even still, he expected her to be wearing the black clothing of mourning that she’s been wearing for the last two years (or so he’s heard Debra complain about).

Rita’s last husband was murdered in cold blood by one of their neighbors. The guy is on death row now, but he remembers getting the call from his sister when it happened.

But Rita doesn’t have a thread of black on her now, dressed instead in bright, vibrant colors or pink and yellow, her long blonde hair tied off to the side, those sparkling eyes finding him first and locking onto him as all the sounds around him drown out.

And she smiles.