Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keeping a lie going for so long can be exhausting even for Dexter. And then having to keep up another lie so that the first and worst lie isn't discovered can be even worse.

He goes places and does things he wouldn't normally do to try to appear normal in Doakes' eyes. The damn sergeant who's been stalking him for weeks, like a sociopath, and look, it's Dexter who's supposed to be the sociopath in this situation. It's driving Dexter crazy. He doesn't usually feel much, but if he could, he'd hate James Doakes.

He can't take it anymore. He needs to kill someone. He needs to see the blood dripping on the floor, he needs to drive a knife as deep as possible into the chest of someone who deserves to be at his table, he needs peace - he needs Doakes to leave him alone.

Dexter can't do much without looking extremely suspicious, and that's not what he needs, Morgan has been able to remain discreet and normal for decades, and he was very good at it, too good.

But - in a place full of cops, James Doakes was the only one who looked into his eyes and saw something beyond all the lies. This is as bad as it sounds.

Dexter has to be even more cautious than he already was. He has to lie and pretend more, and that's putting him on the edge of a breakdown. He feels angry. All the fucking time. Dexter hasn't managed to kill someone in two weeks. Two fucking weeks. God, he was going mad, completely mad, the frustration and the urge were eating him up inside. The Dark Passenger was thirsty, hungry, lurking in his mind like a wild animal, waiting to break free.

He tried to endure and swallow it as much as he could without anyone noticing his obvious lack of patience and the scowl that remained on his face for longer than usual.

But everything seemed to be more unbearable than it used to be. Especially Doakes.

Doakes. Doakes. Doakes. Doakes.

The bastard was everywhere, all the time, he was always there, watching and watching Dexter as if he had nothing better to do with his free time, and it kept happening even when they were at a crime scene. Dexter could feel James' eyes burning into the back of his head. It was as if he wasn't even trying to disguise it. He wanted Dexter to know that he was watching him.

Dexter should kill him. He wanted to kill him. But he can't. He shouldn't. He couldn't.

But not getting caught was the first rule of Harry's Code, and Doakes was definitely trying to get him caught.

The Dark Passenger agreed. It was obvious. He was just as hungry as Dexter, if not hungrier. He didn't know how much longer he could go on like this. Playing with Doakes, having to be even more careful, feeling Doakes' eyes on him, hell, he could even feel Doakes on him.

It was almost painful.

He needed to kill someone.

He really needed to kill someone.

(. . .)

"What's wrong with you?"

Dexter took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, there were a lot of things wrong with him. "What do you mean?"

Debra raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You know what I mean. "

He couldn't concentrate. They were at a crime scene and he couldn't concentrate. His head was killing him. Doakes was killing him.

"Doakes keeps looking at you. " she said, as if he didn't already know that.

"Yeah, I know," he mutters, closing his eyes for a few seconds. God, he needed to sleep and he needed to kill someone.

"Did you do something or... is it just Doakes being Doakes?" she asks, looking over Dexter's shoulder, where James is glaring at him.

"Honestly, I've had enough of that. " he sighs, turning his attention to the victim's blood on the floor. "One day he'll get tired of it, I hope. "

"You two should just fuck each other and get over it. " Debra exhaled with a slight laugh.

Dexter made a disgusted face, looking at her with indignation, but remained silent. The only thing he would do to Doakes is throw pieces of his body in a bag into the sea.

"What?" she shrugged, with a satisfied smile. "I'm just saying. "

"How about you don't say anything, then?" he asks with a forced smile, holding back a grunt. He wasn't going to kill his sister. He wasn't going to kill his sister.

"Huh, rude Dexter. " she says with an evil laugh, stepping aside to let him do his job. "Doakes is really messing with you, hm?"

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the crime scene. If only she knew.

(. . .)

Don't kill Doakes. Don't kill Doakes. Don't kill Doakes.

He was going to kill Doakes.

(. . .)

He couldn't go on living like this. He just couldn't. Three weeks. Three weeks that he hadn't set a table for anyone. Three weeks in which The Dark Passenger moved inside him like something raw and cruel, it was feeding on him, since there was no one else for it to feed on.

(. . .)

"You look grumpy. " It's Vince who decides to say something this time. "You're usually never in a bad mood. What's going on?"

Not even the lab is a safe place for Dexter anymore, because Doakes is still looking at him through the window on the other side of the room.

"Nothing." Dexter replies, short and brief. "I'm fine." I'm going crazy.

Masuka doesn't look convinced. "You need to get laid, man," he says, as if that makes any sense.

I need to kill someone, that's what I need. "I said I'm fine, thank you very much. " he retorts, turning his attention to a blood sample.

"Anything you say, man." Masuka grumbles and walks away.

(. . .)

Three weeks and three days. He couldn't take it anymore. The Dark Passenger couldn't take it anymore. Harry would have been proud of him for going so long without killing anyone. Only if he knew that he really did feel like killing a certain sergeant.

(. . .)

He felt as if he might break at any moment on the fourth day of the third week. The Dark Passenger was furious, so fucking hungry, there was nothing left in Dexter for The Dark Passenger to feed on. He was raw, exposed to the bone, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat, he couldn't breathe for a second without feeling something painful and suffocating in his chest.

(. . .)

He fucked up on the fifth day of the third week.

He shouted at Rita.

It all started when Rita asked him what was wrong with him. Why was he quieter and not returning her calls, why was he so distant and so rude to Debra. Why did he seem so disinterested in her and the children, she kept asking questions, questions and questions.

They were in the kitchen, the children were in the living room. Watching TV.

He insisted that there was nothing wrong and that he was just a bit overwhelmed with work, but she insisted. She insisted. She demanded to know what was wrong with him.

"There's nothing fucking wrong with me!" was what he shouted after the eleventh time he was asked.

Rita became deathly silent, and the sounds of the children playing and commenting on the cartoon on TV also stopped. Everything was silent for long seconds.

Then her eyes. He realized he had fucked up when he looked into her eyes. It was as if she didn't recognize him. She almost looked scared.

Dexter swallowed and felt extremely tired at that moment, he took a deep breath and was ready to apologize, his head hurt. His head hurt so much. "I'm sorry, I–" he rubbed his face, there was something wrong. There was something more wrong than usual. He needed to get out of there. "I—I'm just going to leave. I'm sorry." he mumbled, quickly walking around Rita and away.

Rita called his name as he picked up his car keys from the table and opened the door, she called him a second time when he didn't look back and walked quickly to his car.

He didn't know what else to do.

(. . .)

The door to his apartment was open. An unnerving feeling settled in his chest because he knew who was in his apartment. It wasn't a good time. Definitely not a good time.

He pushed the door open and entered his apartment, closing the door behind him. The lights were on. Doakes was sitting on his sofa, as if he owned the place. Dexter didn't look where his belongings were. He wasn't stupid.

Morgan put his car keys on the table and sighed, standing up in the middle of the room. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a tired tone of voice.

Doakes had a smile on his face. The same smile as always. The same smile that Dexter wanted to tear off with his fists. "You don't look so good," Doakes comments, crossing his legs.

"I'm not having the best week, if that's what you're asking. " Dexter replies.

"Hm, I wonder why. "

The Dark Passenger was pushing at his walls as if it was trying to kill him in the process.

"What do you want, Sergeant? " he asked in a falsely neutral tone.

"You're so sweet today, Morgan. " Doakes retorts. "What's your trick?"

I'm trying not to kill you right now. This is my trick. "I just want to rest and try to get some sleep. There are no tricks. "

"Long day?"

"You could say that. " This was the least hostile interaction they'd had so far. Ignoring the fact that Dexter could feel his fingers itching to stick a knife in Doakes' chest.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"I don't see how that could be your problem. "

Doakes laughs bitterly. "It's not like there's much you can hide from me, Morgan. "

Who would miss you if I made you disappear?

"Where did you put the recorder this time?" Dexter takes a deep breath.

"No recorders. Just you and me. "

Hm. Who would be listening when I shoved a knife so deep into your throat that you choked on your own blood?

Dexter moved to sit on the other side of the sofa, Doakes watching every move he made. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Do you intend to leave or will I have to call your superiors? "

Doakes looks even more amused. Fucking sadist. "You could certainly try. "

"Just tell me what you want. " Dexter tries again. The Dark Passenger is suffocating him.

"It depends. Will you give me what I want?"

That sounds like progress, but he knows it isn't. "It depends. Will you tell me what you want? "

"You think you're so fucking clever. " Doakes hisses with a cold smile.

"Maybe it's because I am." Dexter shrugs. "More than you, anyway. "

Then Doakes is moving and Dexter is being pushed down on the sofa, on his back. There's a hand on his throat, an arm across his chest, keeping him still. The instinct to fight back is suffocating, but he stops himself. Mainly because he knows if he reacts, The Dark Passenger will break free and there will be blood all over his apartment this time.

Doakes is on top of him, keeping a grip on his throat, but he's not strangling him yet.

"Not so clever now, are you?" Doakes grunts, tightening his throat to emphasize his sentence.

Dexter takes a deep breath through his nose, he can feel his windpipe being squeezed. Restrain yourself. Keep fucking control. "I'm pretty sure what you're doing right now is illegal. " he comments with a little difficulty due to the grip in his neck.

"Do you think I can't see what you are? All this farce behind those eyes. Those fucking empty eyes. You can't fool me, Morgan. " Doakes hisses against his face.

Dexter says nothing. The Dark Passenger is snarling, wanting to get out, wanting to tear and bruise and make him bleed.

"Do you think silence will save you, Morgan?" Doakes growls. "Come on, react!"

When Dexter raises his head and kisses him, he tells himself that it's because he wants Doakes to shut the fuck up. Everything is silent for a moment. Then Doakes pulls away and grabs his throat even more violently, pushing him back onto the sofa and Dexter lets out a grunt of pain, well, now he's definitely going to be strangled.

Doakes looks at him as if he has another pair of eyes, frowning. He stays silent and for a second Dexter thinks his plan to make him shut up has worked. But then Doakes' lips press against his again and Dexter would be lying if he said he was expecting it.

Dexter frowns, his eyes still wide as Doakes kisses him even more intensely, climbing on top of him on the sofa, pressing Dexter down. Huh. What's going on? He lets out a confused sound against the other man's lips, Doakes' hand remains on his neck, but stops trying to strangle him.

Doakes' tongue is trying to slip between his lips and Dexter doesn't know exactly why he allows it, but he closes his eyes when he feels the kiss become even more intense, feeling Doakes' other hand on his thigh.

Is this supposed to be happening?

They kiss for minutes until they need oxygen. Doakes is the one who stops kissing him, pulling away to look at him. Dexter's face is red and his eyes are almost closed. He feels strange. There's something wrong, but... it doesn't feel exactly wrong. Doakes licks his lips and slides his fingers down Dexter's neck. "Do you have anything clever to say, Morgan?" he murmurs in a deep voice.

And as incredible as it sounds, Dexter doesn't.

Then Doakes kisses him again.

(. . .)

He doesn't understand why, but he's painfully hard against his pants when he feels Doakes' hands going under his shirt. His hands are warm where Dexter is usually cold. He's always cold. Doakes' hands squeeze his waist, then climb up his ribs, he exhales against Doakes' lips and puts a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down against him.

But Doakes pulls away, looking a little more agitated. "Come on, take that shit off. " Doakes grumbles, trying to get Dexter's shirt off.

Dexter sits on the sofa and raises his arms, Doakes pulls the shirt off his torso and throws it on the floor, then puts a hand on his chest and pushes him down on the sofa again, lying on his back, he pushes his knees apart and gets between his legs, pressing himself against Dexter's body.

James' lips press against Dexter's collarbone, nibbling lightly, Dexter sighs and throws his head back, eyes closed. He swallows a moan when James bites his chest hard enough to leave a mark.

James explores his torso as if he had imagined himself doing it before. It's almost as if he's following in imaginary footsteps.

Dexter remains silent even as Doakes' tongue presses against his nipples, he lifts his hips a little, pressing his erection against Doakes' abdomen, but refuses to make a sound.

"Don't be silent with me now, Morgan. " Doakes hisses, and bites his neck.

This time, Dexter lets out a moan of pleasure mixed with pain. "Stop fucking biting me. " he grunts.

"For the first time, I can see in your eyes that you like it. " he gives a wicked smile. "Looks like you're actually able to feel things, huh, Morgan?"

(. . .)

Somehow, he ended up naked. Completely without clothes.

Doakes is still wearing pants, something that bothers him a little.

He moans louder when he feels Doakes' tongue against the tip of his cock, sliding along its length. Doakes is on his knees between his thighs, with Dexter's cock in his mouth.

It all still seems like a very strange dream.

He doesn't notice how strangely silent The Dark Passenger is.

Doakes' mouth is moist and hot around his cock and Dexter throws his head back, letting out a long moan, he closes his eyes and grips the pillows next to him, James is sucking him intensely in a matter of seconds, his tongue making circular movements around his cock. It's obscene to think that Doakes might have done this before, so he doesn't think about it.

Dexter doesn't hold his head and doesn't try to make him take more, but he puts his hands on his shoulders and arches his back, a fragile moan escaping his throat when James sucks the head of his cock with a wet sound, he shudders and swallows dryly, his toes curling.

"Mm, fuck. " Dexter murmurs through moans, he feels the muscles in his leg tensing and there's a warm sensation in his abdomen. He grabs Doakes' shoulders a little desperately. "Fuck, I'm close—" he chokes, feeling an intense orgasm approaching. "D-Doakes–"

Then Doakes' mouth leaves his cock and he lets out a frustrated, choked moan, collapsing onto the sofa. His legs are shaking, he can't open his eyes. God, what the fuck? He can't remember feeling this good, it's wrong. It's so fucking wrong.

"You're not going to come yet. " Doakes informs him while licking his lips. Dexter will never get used to that. He opens his mouth and is about to make some sarcastic comment when two fingers abruptly enter his mouth. He chokes and tries to pull his fingers away from his throat, grabbing Doakes' wrist, trying to pull his hand away.

"I don't want to stick my dry fingers inside you. " Doakes says, pressing his two fingers against his tongue.

Hm. He's the one getting fucked in this situation. He probably feels like he should be surprised, but he's not. Doakes naturally tries to be the dominant one in any situation involving Dexter, and Dexter, well, he knows he could take Doakes down at any moment, and knowing that but not doing it makes something in his chest burn with excitement.

Then Morgan starts sucking on Doakes' fingers. He holds his wrist with both hands and closes his eyes, saliva dripping between the other man's fingers. Doakes watches, half hypnotized.

After a few seconds, he takes his fingers out of his mouth and pushes Dexter backwards on the sofa, climbing on top of him again. He pushes Dexter's thighs apart. A wet finger presses against the other man's hole and it's probably still too dry. This isn't going to work. Doakes slowly presses a finger into him and the discomfort is automatic. Should he feel like this? When he was with women it was never like this, he always used lube, or other methods.

Doakes places the palm of his hand against his abdomen, looking too focused. Then he pulls his finger out a little and presses harder inside.

Dexter groans in pain.

James stops, quickly looking at Dexter. "Shit. Does that hurt?" he asks, as if he's worried. Dexter must be hallucinating.

"Yes, actually. " Dexter mutters.

"Do you have any lube?" Doakes asks, with a finger still inside him.

"No." Dexter replies simply.

"What, are you going to tell me you don't fuck anyone?" Doakes grumbles.

"Not in my apartment. Not usually." Morgan mutters.

Doakes exhales softly through his nose, but doesn't comment. He carefully takes his finger out of him. Well, that was a good try. Dexter is ready to put his clothes back on when Doakes just spreads his legs even wider and pushes his knees up.

"What are you doing?" Dexter mutters, confused, looking down, still lying on his back on the sofa.

"Just shut up," Doakes replies.

Then Doakes bends down and his head is between his legs again, but going lower, his hands grab his ass cheeks, separating his buttocks, Dexter frowns and is definitely not prepared when he feels something wet against his entrance. He makes a startled sound and reaches for Doakes' shoulders. "What—"

Doakes lifts his head a little and looks at him. "What's the problem this time, Morgan?"

Morgan swallows dryly. "You – I never–"

Doakes looks a little surprised, but he smiles a little. "Never, huh? Then just lie back and relax."

Dexter looks at him for a few seconds, undecided. Oh, shit. What the fuck? He lies back on the sofa and takes a deep breath, staring at the ceiling, his legs spread. He's exposed. Extremely exposed. It doesn't feel right. But it doesn't feel wrong.

Doakes' tongue presses against his hole again, Dexter tenses and closes his eyes. It's a strange sensation, the tongue makes circular movements around his entrance, Doakes exhales and sticks his tongue inside him.

Dexter moans. Loudly.

(. . .)

"Oh, God." Dexter inhales through his nose, his hips moving uncontrollably, he's leaking against his abdomen, his cock is so hard that he feels like he could cum untouched.

James' tongue explores his insides, there's saliva dripping between his ass cheeks, it's so fucking good, he's never felt anything this intense, fuck, what the fuck, is it supposed to be this good? Dexter's hands want to grab something and hold on because the sensation is suffocating, in a frighteningly good way, he feels wet, and open at the same time.

"Fuck, fuck—" Dexter moans softly, his face is redder, the blush has gone down to his neck and to his collarbones, his ears are red too.

Dexter's legs try to close around Doakes' shoulders, it's so intense and so good that he's afraid he can't take it, his body wants to press back against Doakes' tongue and wants to run away at the same time. "Mm, fuck, oh. " he moans, feeling raw.

Doakes' hands grab his thighs and spread his legs again, he arches his back, but his body keeps trying to escape the intense pleasure, so Doakes grabs his hips and holds him in place, thrusting his tongue even deeper inside him. The moan Dexter lets out is embarrassing.

(. . .)

"Let's go. To bed." Doakes says as he finishes stretching Dexter with his tongue and fingers at the same time. Dexter is boneless on the sofa and he remembers at that moment that it's not over yet, he's still going to get fucked. Dexter doesn't move, his legs are shaking. He's still so hard, he just wants to fucking come.

"I know you have a bed, so get up, Morgan. " Doakes slaps his knee lightly, pulling him up by the arm carefully.

He's being gentle. Hm. That's new.

Dexter leans on him and they both walk to the bedroom.

(. . .)

Morgan is lying face down on the bed when he feels Doakes climb onto the bed behind him. He looks over his shoulder and swallows when he sees the other man's cock. He's big. Bigger than Dexter, and thicker too. He presses his cheek to the pillow and stares at the wall in silence. There's not much going through his head.

James spits in his hand and masturbates for a second, he pushes Dexter's ass cheeks apart with his free hand and his cock gets even harder at the sight. His entrance is red and full of saliva, he moves closer, on his knees, pressing the tip of his cock against Morgan's hole. "Tell me if it hurts. " Doakes murmurs, then presses in.

And obviously, it hurts.

The tip presses in slowly and painfully, Dexter bites his lower lip and grabs the bed sheets, lifting his hips. It's an eternity before the head of James' cock is inside Dexter. Oh, fuck. It's big. Doakes doesn't move, he leans against Dexter and places a hand on his hip, waiting for him to get used to the intrusion. Dexter stays silent, taking a deep breath.

"Are you all right, Morgan?" Doakes asks against his back, pressing his lips to his shoulder.

"Your cock is inside me and you still insist on calling me Morgan. " Dexter grumbles, slowly relaxing.

Doakes stays silent, and then; "Are you all right, Dexter?" he mumbles, and Dexter can feel him rolling his eyes.

He smiles a little, though. "Yes, I'm fine, James. " Dexter replies.

(. . .)

"You're so fucking tight, Morgan. " James groans deeply as he presses further into him, only to pull out a little and thrust hard inside him.

Dexter groans, his body shudders, his cock leaking out from under him, pressing against the mattress. "It's Dexter. " he says breathlessly.

Doakes grunts, holds his hips and starts to fuck him when Dexter is relaxed enough. "Fuck, Dexter. " the other man almost growls, pulling him back against his cock.

Dexter bites his lower lip, Doakes' cock pressing against all the right places inside him, he feels full, totally relaxed around James' cock. It's incredible. A long moan escapes his throat as the other man's cock presses against his prostate. "Oh – there, James, right there, fuck–" saliva drips from the corner of his lips.

"That's it. I knew you could take it. " James' grip on his waist is so strong that he knows there will be bruises on his hips next day. "That's what you needed, isn't it, Dexter? A cock deep inside you, my cock deep inside you. "

Dexter just moans, arching his back, his head is empty, light, he feels nothing, but he also feels everything, maybe he should have done this before—

"Tell me how good it feels, Dexter. " James's hand grabs his hair and pulls his head back, Dexter lets out a fragile sound and a particularly hard thrust into his prostate makes his eyes roll back in his head. "Tell me how good it feels to have my cock inside you. Tell me. " he pulls Dexter's hair harder.

"It's so fucking good." Dexter says, panting, he's drooling. 

James lets go of his hair and Dexter's face presses against the pillow, he whimpers muffled into the pillow, his hand moving under him, trying to reach his own cock. However, Doakes grabs his wrist and presses it above his head, Dexter lets out a frustrated, needy moan. "Fuck, fuck, I wanna come, James–"

"We've only just begun, Dexter. " then Doakes bites his shoulder.

(. . .)

He's lying on his back on the bed and his legs are spread, he doesn't have the strength to close them even if he wanted to. Doakes is kneeling between his thighs, his cock buried deep inside him. Doakes' hands haven't left his waist, it's as if his hands belong on his hips.

He wants to come. He wants to come so badly that it hurts. His cock is pressing against his prostate without pause, he's making pathetic sounds that don't sound like him. He's never sounded like this.

Doakes hasn't stopped fucking him for even a minute. Dexter suspects that he won't be able to get enough. This worries him a little, but it turns him on twice as much.

"God, look at you. " James grunts, looking at him through his eyelashes. "You're quite a sight, Dexter, if I'd known this was what you needed, I'd have fucked you sooner. "

"Mm... " Dexter bites his lower lip with a thrust that makes his body shudder. "I want to come... I need to—"

"Ask for it. Beg for it. "

The part of Dexter that hasn't been consumed by the intense pleasure and the desperate need to come almost wants to laugh at the insinuation of him begging for something. But still, he really needs to come. "Please — can I? Can I come? "

"Since you asked so nicely." Doakes says deeply in a hungry tone of voice.

His hand is on Dexter's cock and the reaction is instantaneous. He whimpers, arches his back and almost chokes on the sensation of being fucked and having Doakes' warm hand on his cock at the same time. "Yes —  I'm going to — fuck–"

"Come on, Dexter. " James purrs, pressing deep inside him. "Cum for me."

His eyes roll back. His mouth opens in a silent moan and his back arches even higher on the bed, he grips the sheets and his whole body tenses painfully. He squeezes Doakes' cock inside him and the other man moans at the sensation. He's cumming in James' hand and in his own abdomen at the same time, his body is burning, he's floating and sinking at the same time.

James fucks him through his orgasm, Dexter's back falls to the bed, he's breathing fast, his legs shaking around James' hips. It's too much - it's just too much.

He must have passed out for a few seconds because all he feels afterwards is James pulling out of him, and then something in his abdomen. He realizes only a few seconds later that James has come on his chest and abdomen.

There's a movement next to him on the bed, he doesn't want to open his eyes, he's too tired for that.

(. . .)

The next thing he knows, something is sliding down his body, something wet and warm. He lets out a confused sound, still with his eyes closed. 

"I'm just cleaning you up, Dexter. You can go back to sleep. " James' deep voice echoes in his brain. 

As he drifts back to sleep, he wonders for a second since when he trusted Doakes so much to do what he said.

The Dark Passenger is silent. 

Chapter Text

When Dexter woke up, he was alone. The empty side of his bed was untouched, as if no one had been there at all, he didn't think or feel anything about it, he didn't expect much from Doakes, in fact, he would have been surprised if Doakes had been there when he woke up. Especially since he was probably writhing in hatred and regret at having slept with Dexter. The thought made him sigh with a strange satisfaction. He needed to get back to normal, and this definitely wasn't normal.

His body ached, but it was a different kind of pain, one that made his heart race at the memory. He hated it, and then he kind of liked it, but he was still trying to understand and process everything that had happened, he stared at the ceiling for long seconds, everything was silent, it confused him, he frowned, but decided to enjoy it while his head didn't ache with the need to prepare a table for someone deserving.

And then everything was empty again. He sighed, it made him feel comfortable again, yes, that was more like it. Dexter stretched his limbs and grunted at the slight discomfort below his waist. Fuck. Fuck Doakes. He'd never do it again, he'd probably kill him as soon as he had the chance, if he was really speaking from his instincts, which was something he'd followed all his life. And Harry's Code, obviously. Except that Harry's Code wouldn't approve of what he did yesterday. Dexter sighed again.

He got out of bed, needed to shower, put on some clothes and get to work.

(. . . )

Dexter stepped under the shower and let the warm water fall over his body. He sighed and closed his eyes, silence and the sound of falling water. He liked that. For a brief moment while he was taking a shower, he mentally thanked Doakes for wiping the cum from his abdomen and the mess between his thighs. God, he would have hated waking up like that.

Never again. He'd kill Doakes before it happened again. And what was he thinking anyway? It was obvious that it wasn't going to happen again, I mean, he's talking about Doakes, for fuck's sake.

Dexter grunted to himself, suddenly annoyed. Fuck Doakes.

(. . .)

"Son of a bitch. "

Dexter looked in the mirror, and there were bruises all over his torso. Even behind his back, on the back of his thighs. Son of a bitch. Dexter couldn't believe what he was seeing. Fucking Doakes. Fuck him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me. There were some bite marks on his shoulders, on his fucking neck, where he couldn't hide it without a turtleneck. Fuck Doakes, fuck Doakes.

Dexter closed his eyes and his jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, what the hell was he thinking? Actually, what the hell wasn't he thinking, because his brain had clearly been switched off the whole time yesterday. Fuck. If he wasn't going to kill Doakes before, then he definitely was now. Fuck. He needed to calm down, this wasn't him, Dexter wasn't acting like himself and that made him even more reckless.

The bruises around his waist were more evident, and the bite marks, fuck—

Dexter let out a loud sound of frustration, punching the sink counter.

(. . .)

He was putting on a fucking turtleneck when his phone rang. He had to take another deep breath in order not to break the phone with his bare hands. Dexter approached the bedside table and picked up the phone. Rita's name appeared on the screen. Fuck.

Fuck.

(. . .)

He arrived at work with his eyes fixed on the floor. He put on a social shirt over his turtleneck and prayed to the non-existent gods that no one would ask him any questions. He felt as if he could kill anyone who stood in front of him. That was definitely worrying. Very alarming.

Dexter didn't raise his eyes, didn't look at anyone, in silence, he walked to the lab and let out a loud sigh of relief when he locked the door behind him. Dammit. The bullpen was empty, so he was probably late for some meeting he definitely wasn't going to attend this time. Debra could update him on his own investigation later.

He was being stupid, and pathetic. The whole thing was pathetic, Dexter needed to think straight. Where was all that cold intelligence that the FBI talked so much about? Because he definitely wasn't feeling intelligent and cold at that moment. He was furious. Possessed.

Harry would be so disappointed. So fucking disappointed.

Dexter kept his cell phone switched off in his pocket, because he couldn't handle Rita right now either. Fuck, he couldn't face anyone right now, he was really worried he'd end up doing something he shouldn't, like murder. Like killing someone innocent. Like shoving a pen into someone's carotid artery.

A knock on the door made him jump out of his chair. He looked at the door and Debra was on the other side, staring at him in confusion. She tried to open the door again and gestured. Well, that was great. He wasn't going to kill his own sister. He wouldn't.

Dexter got up from his chair and opened the door, looking away quickly and stepped aside, letting Deb in.

"You're fucking late, Dex," she said, and her loud voice made Dexter's head hurt.

He took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. The Code, Dexter, remember the Code.

"What the hell happened? You're never late. " she commented, approaching him, visibly worried.

"Uh... " Dexter hesitated, shit. "I'm just not feeling very well." It was partly true. "I got stuck in traffic too. " That was a lie.

She frowned. "I've called you a million times. " Debra sighed. "You're not feeling well? You, uh, want to talk about it? "

Dexter raised his eyebrows. "I - I don't know?" he shrugged. "I don't think so, but thanks. "

She pushed his shoulder, smiling, but it was a worried smile again. "Come on, Dex. We never talk about anything but work, talk to me, bro."

He rubbed his face. "I don't know, Deb. My head hurts." he confessed, trying to get her to leave him alone, maybe saying something partially would be enough for her to leave.

"Do you need to go to the doctor?" she asked restlessly. "I can go with you, if you want. Just to check. Is it a migraine?"

"No, I just - I don't know, it's been hurting for a while. " He knows exactly why his head hurts so much. "But I think I just need some time, eventually I'll get back to normal. Don't worry."

"Of course I'll worry, you're my brother," she insisted. "But, okay. " she sighed. "We're having another meeting about the Butcher in a few minutes, are you coming?"

"Yes, I—" it really couldn't get any worse. "I'll be there. " he nods, trying to smile. It feels more forced than it always has.

"Okay." She punches him again, more affectionately this time. "I'll wait for you there. Lundy has some news. "

I'm going to die in this place.

(. . .)

"What's with this turtleneck, Dexter?" Masuka bumped into him on purpose as he entered the meeting room.

"Not today, Vince. " he sighed. Masuka frowned. 

"Oh." he was surprised by Dexter's tone of voice. "Okay. Someone didn't sleep very well tonight. "

"I said not today, Vince. " and this time he almost grunted.

Masuka raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, I'll leave you alone, gee."

Dexter looked away and clenched his hands into fists, turned away from Masuka and walked to the back of the room, sitting down in the furthest chair possible, hiding as more people entered the meeting room. He sighed and bit his lower lip, feeling abnormally anxious. Fuck this whole thing.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down - because this definitely wasn't him, and damn it, he needed to pay attention to the meeting, after all, he was the one being investigated, as if it couldn't get any better, because his life is so perfect and he hasn't killed anyone for so long that he's lost count of the days.

That's when Doakes entered the room. He moved between the chairs and didn't notice Dexter in the corner. Dexter watched him, and he hated how calm Doakes seemed, because why the fuck was he more nervous than that fucking bastard? No, that wasn't possible. Doakes sat down on the other side of the room and looked at Lundy in the center of the room.

Dexter continued to watch him for long seconds, and when he realized what the hell he was doing, Dexter looked away and cursed himself.

Fucking hell.

How the fuck was he watching Doakes now? Why was he doing the same thing Doakes was doing to him?

Dexter stared at Lundy, trying to relax his jaw, because he felt as if he could break one of his own teeth with how tense he was. When Lundy began to speak, he took a deep breath through his nose, forcing his own body to relax.

His eyes traveled around the room again, and when Doakes' eyes met his, he froze. Doakes was looking at him.

Doakes smiled at him, and then looked straight ahead again.

Motherfucker.

(. . .)

Dexter was the third person to leave the meeting room. He had heard enough, and was three steps ahead of the FBI, as he always was, so it was comforting to know that he could relax for a second, since the FBI was far from having anything fundamental on him. Dexter walked quickly to the bathroom, he really needed to get away from it all, throw some water on his face and just breathe deeply for long minutes.

He entered the men's room and moved to the sink. He leaned on the sink and looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes were more dead than usual, he had to be careful with that, keep that mask on. Dexter tried to change his facial expression to something more friendly, but it just looked wrong, so he grunted and looked down. Shit. He turned on the tap and threw some water on his face, then looked in the mirror again.

He tried to soften his eyes again, he needed to look like he at least still had a soul, but it was difficult sometimes. Especially on days like these. He heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and ignored it, it was probably just another guy going for a piss, so he concentrated on softening his facial expression again. Fucking relax, he needed to be less tense, he needed to look like he wasn't about to kill someone.

When Doakes appeared behind him in the reflection of the mirror, he forced himself not to react, but his eyes grew colder in a way that he couldn't prevent. Dexter exhaled, and turned, looking at the older man. "Morgan." Doakes looked him up and down, and Dexter wanted to wrap his fingers around that throat and squeeze. And squeeze.

"Doakes." Dexter breathed.

"I'm glad to see you're managing to walk straight. "

"Really?" Dexter raised his eyebrows, unable to stop himself. "That's the first thing you've had to say to me, really? A sex joke?"

Doakes looked around quickly, alarmed. "Keep your fucking voice down. " he approached, grunting.

Dexter gritted his teeth. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he pushed Doakes away.

"Wow." Doakes laughed. "You really are acting like a bitch. God, didn't you like waking up alone this morning, Morgan?"

Dexter's hands were shaking, but it was because he wanted to grab Doakes' throat and crush his windpipe. "Bitch, really? I thought I was just Dexter now, James." Dexter pressed a finger against Doakes' chest, making him recoil backwards.

It was Doakes' turn to push his hand away. He pointed a finger in Dexter's face. "Listen to me, you motherfucker, yesterday was a mistake, do you hear me?" he maintained eye contact with Dexter. "That was a fucking mistake, and if you dare open your mouth about it, you'll regret it. "

"Are you really threatening me now?" Dexter whispered, his voice sounding like something close to a growl. "I don't know if you know, but there are cameras in the bathrooms. "

That makes Doakes grunt at him. Doakes looks towards the cameras and looks at him again. "If you think cameras can protect you, you're fucking wrong. "

This makes Dexter smile in an animalistic way, and the Dark Passenger is laughing inside him - oh, this is getting fun. "And who would I need protection from? You?" he tilts his head to the side. "That's funny, James. "

"Oh, motherfucker, call me James again — you feel brave now, don't you?" Doakes laughs back, sounding even more feral. "Come on, I've been waiting for this for months. Show me what you're capable of, freak. "

Dexter stares at him for long seconds, heavily breathing. For a brief moment, he realizes that he's going to like it when he kills Doakes. Dexter takes a deep breath, fixes his own shirt in place, abruptly unconcerned, then looks at Doakes one last time and turns around, walking calmly towards the men's room door.

Doakes' hand on his arm stops him in place. He closes his eyes and forces himself not to commit a crime he won't be able to get away with this time, the Code, he needs to remember the Code.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Doakes grunts as his fingers grip his arm tightly.

Dexter stays silent, turns and looks at Doakes' hand on his arm, and then looks at Doakes' face. "You should stop touching me now. "

"Oh really?" James grins, sharply, squeezing his arm hard enough to hurt a little. "Are you going to do something about it, or are you going to keep pretending that you don't like conflict, just as you pretend that you feel something and that you're not a fucking weirdo?"

This makes Dexter raise his eyebrows again. Oh, so they're going there. That's interesting, he blinks a few times and then comes close enough to whisper to him. "You know, if you want to fuck me again that badly, you just have to ask. "

Doakes lets go of his arm as if he's been burned. He looks at Dexter with wide eyes, then with anger, then something like disgust in disguise, but Dexter knows. He smiles at Doakes, licking his lips. "That's what I thought." Then he turns and walks away. Doakes doesn't stop him this time.

(. . .)

The day goes by slowly. Painfully slow. He does his job, avoids everyone, stays silent, and ignores Doakes as if he were the devil, because he kind of is. Debra leaves him alone too, like some miracle that would even make him believe in God, only if God took Doakes out of his sight too. Hours pass, he feels almost as if he's dying when it's finally time for him to go home, and to continue avoiding Rita.

He doesn't know how long he'll be able to do this, and he'd probably feel bad if he could feel anything, because she doesn't deserve it, and well, he's a monster, there's not much secret about that. He'll probably end things with her as soon as possible, again, because she doesn't deserve it. He might miss her and the kids, but it's for the best. It was good while it lasted, and it usually doesn't, so it must mean something.

Dexter gets his things together to leave, he tries not to think about anything as he walks through the parking lot, it's all dark now, there aren't many cars parked, he stayed late this time, leaving after Debra, he needed to finish analyzing some blood samples and being late for work in the morning didn't really help him with that. He sighs and finally reaches his car, rubbing his eyes.

And as if it were divine proof that that same non-existent God hates him, he's being pressed against the car door, painfully, hard enough to rip the oxygen out of his lungs, and damn it, that must be the least intelligent thing he's ever witnessed, because who the hell would steal from him in the parking lot of a fucking police station? He grunts, definitely not in the mood to deal with this shit.

He elbows the person behind him in the ribs, instincts speaking louder this time. The impact makes the person grunt and releases him, which gives Dexter time to turn around, grab the person by the neck and press him against the car, changing positions easily. And then: "What the fuck, Morgan?" Doakes' voice is muffled, Dexter's hand on his throat cutting off his oxygen.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Dexter squeezes one last time before pulling away, taking a few steps back. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he grunts, looking around. Shit, fuck.

Doakes just smiles, rubbing his own neck. "Thanks, you've just proved a great point now." he coughs.

Dexter is going to kill him. "Again with that shit? Don't you ever get tired? What the fuck is your problem? " he's really pissed off now.

"We both know you're my fucking problem. " Doakes coughs one last time and walks away from the car, approaching Dexter. He's begging to die so badly and he doesn't even know it. This infuriates Dexter like never before.

Dexter pushes him back violently. "You need to fucking leave me alone. " he really growls this time. 

"I've never seen you this angry before, Morgan." Doakes says with interest. "That means you're actually capable of feeling something, huh?"

"You're a fucking lunatic," Dexter hisses. "You're obsessed with me, are you? Am I going to have to fucking report you? Because I will."

"We both know who the psychopath is here. And if you were really going to report me, you'd have done it already. " Doakes doesn't look the least bit shaken.

Dexter rubs his face furiously, his breathing unsteady, oh God, he's going to kill him. "I need to go home. Get out of my way. " he says, anxious, nervous, angry to the point of murder.

"The mask is slipping, Dexter. " Doakes laughs, watching him. "You've been doing this for how long, hm? Years? Your whole life?"

"You don't know a fucking thing about me." Dexter starts to move, pacing back and forth. He can't stop. "I told you to get out of my face. "

"It must be exhausting, man." Doakes sighs falsely.

I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you so fucking bad.

"I mean, having to pretend all the time. " Doakes continues. "I don't know how you do it, I couldn't. Tell me, is that what you feel? Anger? How far does your anger go, huh? To the point where you feel you have to hurt someone?"

Dexter laughs. He really laughs this time. "Oh God, I can't believe this is happening to me, I mean, I always knew you had some obsession, but I didn't think it would go this far. What do you want, hm? Tell me. Are you that bored?"

"Yeah, your acting won't save you this time, Morgan, but it's cute, keep trying. "

"What exactly do you think I did?" Dexter tilts his head to the side. "I'm curious, really. "

"I know you're connected to the Ice Truck killer. "

Dexter narrows his eyes. "Could you be more vague? "

"I know you're too careful. " Doakes continues. "You don't belong to any organization, you were top of your class in med school, but you traded it for fucking blood spatter. I know you studied martial arts in college, but I don't know what a lab geek needs with advanced jiu-jitsu. " Doakes stares at him intensely. "I know you're a good liar too. "

Not good enough.

Dexter says nothing. He stares at Doakes and then approaches the door of his car. That's enough. And just as he predicted, Doakes grabs his wrist again. He's about to pull his wrist away from Doakes' grip when he feels Doakes' lips against his. He doesn't react at first, eyes open, trying to rationalize what's happening. When his brain decides he's been standing still for too long, Dexter pushes him back again, grunting. He opens his mouth to speak, furious. 

"Don't worry, it looks like you've chosen the right place to park, after all, the camera can't reach this angle. " he smiles. 

"Fuck off. " Dexter grunts. "What happened to the whole thing about this being a mistake? " 

Doakes just stares at him. "This is going to happen again, isn't it?"

That can't be happening. Dexter is smarter than that. "Well, no, it won't." he says simply. "Leave me the fuck alone."

Dexter grips the handle of the car door tightly, but doesn't get in. Doakes waits patiently. Don't fucking do it, don't fucking do it. He opens his eyes and looks at Doakes. "Fuck. " 

"Yeah, I know." Doakes shrugs, but smiles. Dexter hates that smile so much. "I've been thinking about it all day, Morgan. "

Dexter grunts, his body shudders, he can't believe it. "Don't... fuck you. " is the only thing he says before getting into the car and driving away quickly.

Chapter Text

Something in his stomach was twisting in an unfamiliar way. Were those feelings? No, impossible, he doesn't have feelings. He's not capable of it, but still, waiting for Rita to open the door after avoiding her for a whole day is enough to make him feel bad, and he'd like to say that ignoring her had been the worst thing he'd done in the last few days. Dexter sighed, he heard her approaching the door. Fuck, he knows what he's done, he knows it's wrong, still, a part of him still wants her. He wants to be with her and the children, he hasn't had much in his life, but he had them. And he ruined everything.

When she opened the door and smiled at him as if she was relieved and happy to see him, he was almost sure he felt something. It wasn't good. It felt too much like guilt.

(. . .)

He gave her one last kiss on the cheek, there were tears on her beautiful face, and at that moment that in his chest could only be feelings, but then, again, it was not. It couldn't have been. She was crying, and he mentally thanked himself for coming over when the children weren't at home, he knew he wouldn't be able to say goodbye to them. Dexter looked at her for a few more seconds.

Dexter hadn't given her any details, nor had he told her who he had slept with, but he had told her enough.

"I'm really sorry," he whispered.

She sobbed, and it made something inside him hurt.

Dexter knew at that moment that he would miss her and the children. It was something new. To miss someone. He sighed and left, the emptiness taking over again. It was for the best.

He broke three hearts that day, and would have broken his own if he'd had one.

(. . .)

Bowling nights are the worst. He's angry, deadly angry, as if that's all there is to him, the Dark Passenger is less silent this time, he watches people in silence while it's not yet his turn to play. The lights are too bright, the sounds are too loud, everything seems too much, he's in the process of hunting, he's finally found a good opportunity to fulfill his needs and his duty. Things are slower than usual, but the adrenaline of the hunt feeds the Dark Passenger, since he still can't have the real thing.

While he's not forced to interact with anyone, Dexter stays silent, he knows he has to control this more often, because he knows that his eyes do that thing when he's silent and watching, his eyes darken, his eyebrows furrow and he looks like a predator on the hunt, because that's what he is. That must be what Doakes saw in him, in his eyes, in his soul. And somehow, he knows that Doakes is like him. That's why he's always known what Dexter is. Whether in a more subtle way, Doakes recognizes his eyes, and he knows it means something.

Still, Doakes is very different than him, and Dexter knows it. That's why he needs to stay far, far away, as far away as possible. The problem is that he can still feel Doakes' touches on his skin, his hands on his hips, his breath, warm against the back of his neck and fuck - Dexter doesn't know what to do about it, and he's always known what to do before. The phantom touch of the other man's lips against his haunts his dreams, his nights of sleep, his life. He hates it.

Dexter has always held his opinion about men, about sex, and about sex with men, so it's extremely ironic how spending one night with Doakes was enough to change everything significantly, and oh - how he hates it, because Doakes is nothing. Nothing to him, nothing at all, nothing in his life. All he's done for as long as they've known each other is insult him in every possible way, treat him like he's a freak, and well, Dexter knows he is, the problem is that Doakes knows it too.

And yet, Doakes slept with him. Doakes kissed him. The memory made Dexter grunt and rub his face, he felt nervous for a second, he really hated thinking about it, about what it could mean, because he needed it to mean nothing. And he knows it doesn't, the problem is that Doakes slept with him. He slept with him even when he hates him so much, slept with him even when he knows he's different, a freak, empty, cold, a very discreet monster.

And even worse, he slept with Doakes.

But at the end of the day, Dexter still wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill him more than anything, but he knows he can't. Doakes doesn't fit the fucking Code, God, Harry would be disappointed in him just for the fact that he was thinking about it in the first place.

However, the thought led him to think of Brian. His brother. His real brother. Dexter hadn't had all that much time to think about Brian Moser since, well, he killed him, it was all still very recent, something that kept returning to his mind during the day.

His brother's blood was on his hands, and Doakes knows that he was involved with the Ice Truck Killer, for a moment he wondered what Doakes' reaction would be if he ever found out that the Ice Truck Killer was his fucking brother, his blood ran cold in a way that he didn't like.

Dexter missed when things were easier, when the FBI didn't know of his existence, when he hadn't slept with Doakes, when Brian hadn't shown up and changed everything he believed in and reminded him of how he was really born. Born in blood, and he'll always return to blood. Brian knew what he was, what he wanted, and he was still his brother. Brian was everything he could have once been, if it hadn't been for Harry—

"Dex?"

Dexter blinked, looking towards the voice in front of him. Angel was looking at him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Your turn to play, friendo." he smiled.

Dexter forced a smile back, swallowing the anger that wrapped itself around his throat. "Already?" he sighed.

(. . .)

"So, no more pizza nights?"

Dexter should have known that walking to his car after bowling night was over wouldn't be that easy, because Doakes was unfortunately still alive.

He had parked in an alley, his voice came from beside him, and when Dexter looked, the bastard was hiding behind another car, he approached when Dexter got close to his own car, like a fucking stalker. Honestly, Dexter could tell that Doakes liked that. It wasn't as if he was trying to hide it. It pissed him off again.

He felt tired that night, the back of his eyes ached and the pure anger was still there, the Dark Passenger was begging for something, to have a knife in his hands, to watch the light in someone's eyes fade. Maybe that someone would be Doakes, after all, you never know. Dexter took a deep breath. No, the Code. The Code, Dexter.

"Where did you put it this time?" Dexter asked, keeping that mask. It was easier this time, he was really tired that night.

"I didn't. You just look... sad, I guessed, since you claim to be such a good guy, that you'd done it. " Doakes shrugged, with a smile at the corner of his lips. "I suppose it was hard."

Dexter stared at him, then rubbed his eyes. "Look, I really want to get some sleep, can we get on with the whole stalking thing tomorrow? It's getting kind of boring."

"Did breaking things off with your girlfriend make you feel anything? At all?" Doakes asked, narrowing his eyes.

"It's late, Sergeant." Dexter said in a low tone of voice.

"Calling me Sergeant again, Mm?" Doakes smiled, taking a few steps forward.

"Would you rather I called you James again?" Dexter suggested, calmly. "I remember you didn't like that very much. "

"You're all bark and no bite, Morgan." Doakes analyzes him. "It was easy to put you under me, don't doubt for a moment that I wouldn't do it again. "

"Honestly, I can't tell anymore if you're threatening me or flirting with me." Dexter frowned. "I don't think you know the difference, do you? Big dog. "

"You're going to give in at some point, Morgan. You'll make the slightest mistake and I'll fucking catch you." Doakes moved close enough for Dexter to feel the car door against his back. "No matter how long it takes, I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to find out what you're hiding, and when I do, things aren't going to end well for you. "

That made Dexter sigh, there was less than a meter of distance between them, it made his skin itch. "You should get a life. A girlfriend, boyfriend, whatever you like. Anything that makes you leave me alone, hopefully. "

"Oh, I've got something much better in front of me right now, fucker." Doakes hissed.

Dexter frowned and bit his lower lip. "Tell me, Sergeant, do you have feelings for me?" he whispered. "Would you like to confess something? Or are you going to kiss me again?"

Doakes smiled, looking really annoyed this time. It was satisfying to see. "You give me the fucking creeps, Morgan, did you know that? " he took another step forward, Dexter leaning back against the car. "Are you going to run away again?"

"Why, are you going to kiss me again?" Dexter grunted.

"I'm sure you think you're so pretty, Morgan. " he says, as if he's disgusted, but Dexter knows better. "Do you think I didn't notice you wearing those turtleneck sweaters during the week? Trying to hide the bruises I made on you, um?"

"Oh, you think I'm pretty, Sergeant? " he tilts his head to the side. "Thank you very much for that, by the way. Do you usually leave handprints on the hips of everyone you fuck? You fucking brute. "

Doakes ignores the first provocation. "I don't remember you complaining, Morgan, in fact, I remember very well the happy noises you kept making." he leans against him and Dexter tenses up. "Tell me, are you always as loud when you have sex, or am I special? "

"I'm sure you'd love to find out, wouldn't you?" Dexter hisses, grabs his throat and pulls him into an aggressive, intense kiss.

He changes positions and slams Doakes against the door of his car, pressing his lips against it in a feral way, Doakes practically growls against his lips, kissing him back with the same intensity, trying to take control. They fight for control as if they were possessed, Dexter pressing his tongue between his lips and Doakes allows it, gripping the back of his neck hard enough to hurt.

Dexter wraps his fingers around Doakes' throat, a part of him wants to squeeze and squeeze, but he stops himself from doing so, grunting against the other man's mouth. However, something in him takes over and he bites Doakes' lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to hurt. And he expects it to hurt. The reaction is immediate, Doakes hisses in pain and pushes him back violently, Dexter pulls away, stumbling backwards, with a deadly look on his face. He smiles.

"What's the matter, Sergeant? " Dexter licked his lips.

"Bitch, are you crazy?" Doakes grunts, touching his own lower lip, probably looking for blood. "So it's going to be like this, um?" he pulls his hand away and approaches Dexter as if he's about to kill him.

Doakes pushed him backwards until Dexter's back hit the alley wall with a painful impact, he groaned in pain and didn't have time to complain because Doakes' mouth was against his before he had a chance to react. Doakes' hand came up to grab his hair and the younger man moaned, it was a different moan this time, something deeper and hungrier, it made Doakes smile against his lips. He pressed his body against Dexter's, practically crushing him against the wall, as if he were trying to get inside his body.

Dexter's hands went to his shoulders, while Doakes' free hand pressed against his lower back, pulling him against himself. Doakes pulled a few strands of his hair and Dexter growled against him. It was all very aggressive, intense, but also full of longing, as if they needed it, and Dexter didn't think about anything for long minutes.

They kissed for some time, like, a long time, long enough for both of them to run out of oxygen, for Dexter to feel his own lips swollen and a thin line of saliva connecting both their lips. They pulled apart for a moment to breathe and Doakes put a hand on his chest, keeping him pinned against the wall. "Don't you dare fucking move," he hissed, and then dropped to his knees.

Dexter blinked. "What are you—"

"Shut the fuck up." Doakes grunted, pulling off his belt as if he were almost desperate. "I already know you checked for cameras, and it's late enough that there's no one passing by, besides, this alley is fucking dark, so shut up and enjoy it, huh?"

Doakes pulled down his pants and underwear, and the next time Dexter blinked, Doakes' mouth was on his cock. He grunted, throwing his head back against the concrete wall, his eyes rolling back in his head. He didn't know where to put his hands, so he clawed at the wall, moving his hips against Doakes' warm, wet mouth. Fuck, that was good, so fucking good. Dexter arched his back as Doakes swallowed around his cock, moaning softly.

"Fuck." Dexter groaned, looking up at the dark sky full of stars, Doakes' tongue glided over his entire length before he swallowed him whole again, making circular movements with his tongue around his cock.

He grabbed Doakes' shoulders and leaned down, his legs tense, the muscles in his thighs trembling, Jesus fucking Christ, how the hell was he so good at this - in fact he didn't even want to think about it - Dexter bit his lower lip, trying to be quiet, but Doakes pressed his nose against his pubic hair and Dexter moaned even louder, rolling his eyes again.

"Jesus." he gasped, moving a hand to his own lips, covering his mouth, and closing his eyes tightly.

That's when Doakes stopped. "Let me hear the sounds you make, Morgan, c'mon. "

Dexter looked down with eyes foggy with pleasure, he panted. "Keep going. I'm close. "

Doakes smiled, slowly jerking his cock with his hand. "Ask for it, I know you can do it, Morgan. "

The younger man exhaled through his mouth. "If you don't put your mouth on me right now—"

"Oh, what are you going to do, um?" Doakes licked the head of his cock and Dexter's whole body shuddered painfully, he was leaking so much pre-cum it was embarrassing. "Fuck, look at you, you can't even stand up straight. "

"You son of a bitch, stop teasing me. " Dexter hissed. "Use your mouth for something good this time, Doakes. "

"Getting too comfortable, Morgan?" Doakes raised his eyebrows. "I said, fucking ask for it."

"I'd rather die than ask you for something again." Dexter practically spat out his tongue.

"Oh, really?" Doakes looked really surprised, he shrugged, making the attempt to get up and Dexter quickly grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back to his knees.

"Wait." Dexter grunted, God, he was so hard it hurt. "Wait, fuck, wait."

Doakes waited, looking at him with a cold stare. Dexter took a deep breath, God, he didn't fucking believe it. "Could you put your fucking mouth on me?" he said, trying to sound calm, as if he wasn't fucking leaking so much.

Doakes didn't move, and kept waiting."You fucking know what I want you to say, motherfucker."

Dexter was going to kill him. "Fuck you—" he hissed. "Put your fucking mouth on me, please. "

And having Doakes' mouth on his cock again was so good that Dexter almost came immediately. He moaned, exhaling through his mouth, his legs were painfully tense, he threw his head back again, eyes firmly closed. Doakes' hands grabbed the back of his thighs and pulled him forward, making him go even deeper into his throat. Dexter took a shaky breath through his nose, opened his eyes and looked down. Doakes was staring at him, his eyes watering slightly.

Dexter bit his lower lip again, there was a warm feeling in his stomach that grew deeper and deeper, his breathing quickened, he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "Oh." he whispered, his throat dry. "I'm close, fuck, fuck, m'gonna—"

The orgasm hit him like a truck, he leaned against the wall and shuddered violently, his eyes closed, intense spasms ran through his body, making his knees go weak, he had to lean against the wall to keep from falling to the floor. He opened his eyes, gasping, and Doakes was standing in front of him, wiping the wet mess from his chin with the back of his hand. Dexter grunted. "Fuck, did you swallow it—?"

Doakes ignored him, staring at the bare skin of his waist, Dexter took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together, damn it. He shivered once more and pulled his pants up, picking up the belt that had been thrown on the floor. "Wait." Doakes whispered, and moved closer.

Dexter frowned as Doakes pulled his sweater up a little, exposing his hips. Then he realized he was looking at the bruises, which were less apparent, but still there. Doakes slid his fingers around his waist, pressing his finger against his hip bone. Dexter sighed through his nose, boneless against the wall, and looked away. He let Doakes touch his abdomen, his ribs and waist, in silence.

"It looks good on you. " Doakes whispered.

Dexter grumbled, but said nothing.

When Doakes' hand touched his scar on his rib cage, however, Dexter grabbed his wrist. Doakes looked at him, and an awkward silence settled between them. "Where did you get that? " Doakes asked, oddly curious.

Dexter wondered how far Doakes had gone in his medical records. "I'm afraid that's none of your business." he let go of Doakes' wrist, took a deep breath, and put his clothes back in place, Doakes watched him all the time.

"Private stuff, Morgan?" Doakes grinned, bitter.

"Don't." Dexter hissed, closing his eyes for a brief second. "Just... Don't."

He opened his eyes, but didn't look at Doakes. Dexter turned away from him and walked towards his car again. He needed to get out of there. Doakes' touch burned into his scar. It suffocated him. "Wait, Morgan."

"I'm leaving now, and you're not going to stop me, do you fucking hear me?" Dexter grunted before Doakes grabbed him as usual.

Dexter didn't look back as he got into the car and drove to his apartment. His head and body remained empty the entire time.

(. . .) 

It took him a while to fall asleep that night.

Chapter Text

"You know, I haven't done this for a month and a half. "

The person with the tape over his lips at the table grunted, a man, considerably bigger than Dexter, and stronger too, a rapist who had escaped justice, the same man who committed the same crime three times after being released.

Dexter sighed, sitting down in the chair next to the table in the plastic-filled room. "I've been waiting for this for a while, it's not an easy job, I have to admit. "

The man grunted against the tape and struggled violently again, but the plastic was firmly wrapped around his body. Dexter exhaled through his nose and waited, unfazed. The man continued to make desperate noises for long seconds, then he stopped, looked at Dexter and began to beg from behind the tape. Dexter rolled his eyes. "You know this isn't going to work, stop it. "

The man stopped as Dexter ordered, tears streaming from the corner of his eyes. Dexter stood up from the table, looking at the photo of the man's victims on his desk, then looked at him. "Are you feeling that fear? That hopelessness?" he moved closer, studying him, the dread shining in the man's eyes. "That's what I'm talking about, that look in your eyes." Dexter whispered to himself.

The man tried to speak again. Dexter ignored him. "Your money and your power may well spare you from what you deserve, but I won't," Dexter whispered.

He began to cry even more intensely, and Dexter continued to stare at him. There was something inside him that was raw and exposed with satisfaction, something in his eyes gave it away, the micro-expression on his face, the brief smile, was enough to tell that he liked it. Biney wasn't wrong, no, not at all, Biney knew him better than anyone in all his years in this rotten, cursed world. Biney saw him for what he was, because they were the same.

Dexter ripped the tape from the man's face violently, and the sobs were automatic, just as he knew they would be. "Please, please, don't do this, please—"

The Dark Passenger grunted, it was a warning, a threat, and the man fell silent, before swallowing and starting again. "Please. I'll do whatever you want. I'll give you whatever you want. What do you want - is it, is it money?"

Dexter sat down at the table again. Yes, it was always about that. Money, desire, human needs, human wants, things Dexter didn't share, things he despised. "It's always about that with you people, isn't it?"

"Okay, then, no, not money. " he choked out, sniffling through his nose. "Tell me, anything, tell me your price. "

Dexter raised his eyebrows. "You're so convinced I want something, aren't you?"

"Please, God, oh God—" he began to sob again.

The movement was abrupt and violent, Dexter rose from his chair and grabbed the man's jaw, forcing him to remain silent. "Shut up about your God." he hissed, close, against the man's face. "Try begging for someone who will actually save you, at least. "

Nothing and no one was going to save him from this, but the brief glimpse of hope in the man's eyes was enough to feed the Dark Passenger. "Okay, okay - come on, let's talk about it. You don't have to do this - why are you doing this? "

Dexter frowned, then pointed at the pictures on the wall. "I mean, do you want more?" he tilted his head to the side. "Do you even feel bad about what you've done?"

The man grunted, gave a bitter laugh. "What are you? Some kind of vigilante? A superhero? Well, fuck you! " he shouted, eyes wide with adrenaline.

Dexter didn't seem the least bit surprised, the Dark Passenger, however, was out for blood. "Uh, fuck me?" he laughed softly, sighing. Dexter moved over to his knife table, picking up one of his slides and a knife. The reaction was instantaneous, the screams started, and Dexter was far enough out of town to really take his time with this one. He moved calmly up to the man's head, looking at him as he continued to scream.

Dexter leaned over and cut his cheek, placing the blood slide next to his face. He sighed with unnatural relief, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as if he could breathe again. He lifted the blood slide against the light and looked at the blood against the glass. Yes, how had he managed to survive for so long without doing this?

"What the fuck, what the fuck — you -" the man exclaimed in shock. "Is this something for you to remember me or what? You've done this before, you fucker!? "

Dexter didn't answer, he calmly moved over to the table again, placing the blood slide carefully on the surface. He took a deep breath and smiled, his back to the man at the table. Oh fuck, he could actually breathe again, the Dark Passenger was almost laughing, cruel and cold, alive as ever.

"Oh God. " the man whispered behind him. "It's you, isn't it?"

Dexter looked at him over his shoulder slowly.

"You are the Bay Harbour Butcher. " he whispered again. "I saw about you on TV. It is you, isn't it?"

The Dark Passenger clenched his jaw. "I really don't like that name." Dexter hissed.

"Fuck." the man whispered one last time and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh God, I'm going to die. " he said, as if he had accepted his fate, and then laughed. Soon after, he started crying again. Dexter watched the rollercoaster of emotions in silence, his eyebrows arched.

The man looked at him, spitting at his feet. Dexter sighed. The Dark Passenger almost growled. "Just fucking do it, what are you waiting for!?"

"As I said before, I haven't done this for a while. " Dexter said calmly. "You must understand why, though. "

"Ah yes, because you're being hunted like an animal, is that why? " he laughs, squeezing his eyes shut, more tears streaming down his face. "I hope they catch you, I hope they put you down like a sick dog, because that's what you are, a sick fuck—"

The Dark Passenger covered the man's hand with his gloved hand. Dexter looked into his eyes. "You know, just because of that, I'm going to take my time with you. " Dexter whispered.

"It's been a tough month, I certainly don't need someone else insulting me, I mean, look at you. " Dexter grunted. "You're worse than me, and that says a lot. A more vicious monster."

The man stared at him coldly, eyes glazed.

"I want you to look me in the eye while I do this. " Dexter informed him, the Dark Passenger threatened him. "Look at me or I'll cut your eyelids off. "

Fear and despair returned to the man's eyes, an instinctive reaction to being on the brink of death. The Dark Passenger almost purred with satisfaction, pleased. Dexter's hand moved to the knife on the table. The Dark Passenger began to hum.

The man gave one last scream before the glow in his eyes faded.

(. . .)

"Huh. You look better. " Deb said next to him, pushing him with her shoulder.

"I feel better, thank you very much. " Dexter nodded, eyes focused on the crime scene, but he smiled with the corner of his lip at her.

"Would you like to tell me your secret to waking up glowing the way you are?"

The images of him plunging the knife deep into the man's chest the night before flashed across his eyes and he suppressed a smile. "Well, I slept very well," he shrugged. "Maybe you should start doing that too, you know. Sleep. "

"Easy for you to say. " Deb sighed and then fell silent.

Dexter looked at her, frowning. Oh. Right. "How... How's it going in the new apartment?" he asked quietly.

"It's going well." she nodded. "I've been thinking about getting a cat. Or a dog. " she murmured quietly. "Or just going to therapy. Maybe that would be more responsible."

Dexter looked away. Therapy. Right. He had some memories about that, precisely, about Dr. Meridian. Dexter sighed. "I mean... it's probably a good idea, I don't know. I'll support you anyway, sis. " he carefully pushed her back with his shoulder.

Her smile at him was enough. "Thanks, Dex. " she sighed, looking relieved. "I just... I really feel - I don't know, unstable, kind of crazy?" she tried to laugh, nervously.

Believe me, I know what that's like.

"I mean, it's understandable. " Dexter said. "You've been through a lot, Deb."

She sighed, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I know we haven't talked about it much, but I really appreciate everything you've done for me, Dex. It meant a lot."

"Hey, it's okay. I understand. " Dexter said to her, trying to comfort her, one of the main things he really wasn't good at. "You could come by my apartment later, what do you think? Steak night."

Deb smiled, looking slightly surprised. "Really? What about pizza night? Rita won't be upset?"

Oh, right, shit. Dexter swallowed, looking straight ahead again, he fell into an awkward silence, trying to think of the best answer in a span of seconds that seemed endless. "Dexter?" Debra asked, confused. "What's wrong? You've gone quiet."

"How long are you girls going to be talking at the crime scene, for fuck's sake?" Doakes' voice behind him was enough to make him tense up, but in a way, Dexter was relieved.

"Sorry, Sergeant. " he said, turning away from his sister and kneeling next to the pattern of blood on the floor.

"Get back to work too, Morgan. " Doakes said to Deb, who was still looking at her brother, confused. She looked at Doakes and stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

"I'm already on it, Sergeant. " Deb grumbled, walking away.

Dexter, however, felt that Doakes' eyes remained on him, even when Deb turned away. He blinked, then looked up. "Is something wrong, Sergeant? " he whispered, narrowing his eyes.

Doakes just stared at him, and then that smile was on his face again. "You left work early yesterday." he said, calmly. "It surprised me when I didn't see you in your apartment either."

For long seconds, Dexter was silent, he stood up in such a calm way that it only gave away how calm he wasn't. "Did you go to my apartment? " Dexter said quietly.

"Don't panic, I didn't break into your apartment," Doakes replied, still smiling. "Not this time, at least. "

Dexter looked at him, blinked. "That's good, I appreciate that... However, I have been wondering something these past few days. "

"Oh really? What is it?"

Dexter nodded, licking his lips, he looked around briefly. "Do your police colleagues know that you're very good at sucking cock?" he whispered. "Or, am I special? "

Dexter watched as Doakes' hands closed into fists and a vein popped in his neck. The Dark Passenger waited.

"Finally fighting back, Morgan?" Doakes exhaled through his nose. "I've been waiting for this. " he hissed, and then turned away, walking away.

The Dark Passenger watched Doakes walk away.

(. . .)

Later that day, Dexter thought of the best answer he could give his sister, and none of them seemed good enough. He sighed, moving towards the elevator with his bag on his shoulder. Shit, everything was too peaceful to be true, he could never appreciate peace long enough in his life.

The elevator was about to close when a foot stepped between both automatic doors. Doakes stepped into the elevator and Dexter's whole body automatically tensed. He hated the effect the other man had on him, it activated a kind of alert in his brain, Dexter would never say it out loud, but it made his heart race, a human reaction that his human body insisted on having. A reaction that made no sense to his logical brain.

"Sergeant." Dexter greeted him, nodding.

"Don't look at me, keep your eyes forward. " Doakes ordered calmly.

Dexter blinked, then looked straight ahead.

"Despite your mediocre threat, I couldn't help but think of our previous interaction. " he declared. "You seemed really upset the last time I saw you, and damn it, Morgan. I almost believe you're half human. "

"Is that your best attempt at an apology?" Dexter asked, frowning. What did it all mean?

"I would never apologize to you, fucker. " Doakes was quick to insult him again. "So, what are your weaknesses? That room full of blood, the scar on your rib cage. " he numbered, amused.

Dexter closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, sighing, not replying at all though. The elevator door opened and he didn't wait a second before leaving. Fuck Doakes. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this, even if he tried very hard. And Dexter knows he will.

(. . .)

"Can we please not talk about this now?" Dexter was close to really starting to beg.

The sound of the music in the bar he and Deb were in was enough to start bothering him. Deb sighed and ordered another drink from the bartender. "Okay, but only because today I feel like getting really drunk. You won't escape for long, though. "

Dexter knows that. He sighed, rubbing his face. "Thanks? I guess?"

Deb laughed, and that calmed Dexter down a bit. "God, we haven't done this in a while, have we? What happened to us?"

"I'm not sure. " he replied calmly, he needed to be sober to take Deb back to her apartment afterwards, so he didn't drink anything. "You should try to distract yourself more, though. From work, from things in general. "

"I know, right! " Deb nods frantically, taking another drink. "You always know what to say, bro."

No, I really don't.

Deb smiled at him, then her eyes fixed on something behind him. "Don't look now, but there's a really cute guy behind you. "

Dexter exhaled. "Uh... " he continued, looking straight ahead. "You...?"

"Okay, he's coming over, act normal, Dexter! "

The stranger moves to stand next to Dexter. Dexter sighs and looks away, trying to make himself invisible.

"Hey." the stranger says, looking at Deb, and then at Dexter who doesn't even raise his eyes.

"Hey!" Debra replies, smiling. "I'm Deb, this is my brother, Dexter. "

"I was wondering if I could buy you a drink. " the stranger says to his sister, as if he wasn't even there. "My name's Henry, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you both. "

Dexter rolls his eyes, all right, he knows what to do in situations like this. "I'm going to the bathroom, Sis," he says, getting up from his chair.

Deb looks at him, a little confused, but then looks back at Henry. "Okay, uh, Dexter?"

"It's okay, I'll be back soon, you can have fun without me, though. " he gestures to his sister, he wonders if he's acting stranger than ever. "Don't accept things from strangers. " he whispers to her before walking away.

(. . .)

The men's restroom is as dirty as any men's restroom in a bar could be. It still bothers Dexter deeply, though. He grunts, approaching the sinks.

Footsteps beside him automatically leave him to his defenses, and he looks in the direction of the footsteps quickly, his whole body turning around. "Oh, hello! I didn't mean to scare you, hey."

A man bigger than him smiles at him, leaning on the wall with one hand, he has dark brown hair and even darker eyes. "Okay, that's weird, I don't usually approach guys in the bathroom. " he says, giving a soft laugh. "But, uh, I saw you, and I couldn't help but come closer."

Dexter feels as if this is a cosmic joke against him. Dexter swallows, looking at the man, he tries to smile, trying to look friendly, but he doesn't know exactly how to do it. It's always like that with anyone, man, woman, whatever, Dexter's not made for it. "Hey." he clears his throat. "I'm not really... "

"Before you tell me to fuck off, please let me buy you a drink or something." the man interrupts him, smiling. "Or we could just talk, I don't know."

Dexter continues to stare at him, not really knowing what to do. What would a normal human being do in this situation? "Honestly, I don't usually do this. "

"Me neither." the man replies, something about him seems shy. This confuses Dexter. "Does that mean you don't want the drink?" the man asks.

"No, actually, he doesn't fucking want the drink." A voice behind the man surprises them both.

The larger man turns to face the source of the voice.

It's Doakes, standing by the door, who stares at Dexter instead.

This can't be happening.

The dark-haired man looks at Doakes and then back at Dexter. "Do you have a boyfriend? Oh, I didn't mean to - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset anyone."

"He's not—" Dexter grunts, but Doakes interrupts him.

"Go away before I make you." He looks at the larger man, ignoring Dexter.

The dark-eyed man raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, sorry, sorry. " he says quickly, and then moves even faster out of the bathroom, leaving Dexter and Doakes alone.

Dexter remains frozen in place for long seconds, he's not really controlling his facial expressions at the moment, but he knows he must look like an idiot. He feels like one. He also feels as if he could smash Doakes' skull into the wall, but that part he has to ignore. "You know my sister's here too, don't you?" he practically snarls.

"Oh don't worry, I can be more discreet than you." Doakes moves closer, unconcerned.

"This needs to stop." Dexter grunts. Or, the Dark Passenger grunts. "It's going too far, you need to stop. "

Doakes doesn't look surprised. "Or what?" he takes a few more steps forward. "What are you going to do about it? "

You don't want to find out. You really don't.

Dexter grits his teeth, something crawls across his skin, he maintains eye contact. "This isn't going to end well for both of us and you know it. "

Doakes raises his eyebrows. "Enlighten me, motherfucker. "

The younger man is so tired of it. Really tired. It's as if last night had been nothing, as if it hadn't been enough, because Doakes is getting on his nerves again, it's getting worse, worse and worse. "I'm not going to do this today. " he declares. "I'm here with my sister, I'm here for her, can't you even respect her at least?"

"It's funny, isn't it?" Doakes says, narrowing his eyes. "Did you know who the Ice Truck Killer was?" he whispers. "Even when she was with him?"

The Dark Passenger moved towards the door, past Doakes, who grabbed his wrist on the way. The Dark Passenger pushed Doakes against the door before quickly moving away, he couldn't do that here, now, in public, he was in public, fuck, he was in public. Doakes looked at him with a sadistic smile. "Do it. I've been waiting, motherfucker. "

Something about him changes very quickly, which is ironic, because Dexter is clearly a very stable individual. He swallows, tries to breathe, but finds that he can't. It alerts something in his brain that sends him into a spiral.

"Fuck you. " Dexter whispers, moving from side to side, he can't breathe, his skin is itching, he can't fucking breathe. "Fuck, get out of my way. I need to —"

The abrupt change in his behavior surprises Doakes. He frowns, confused. Mainly because it seems incredibly real. Everything happens very quickly.

Dexter looks at his own feet, then at the door, but never at Doakes, he inhales deeply through his nose, feeling trapped, suffocated, he needs to get out of here, he has to. "I need to get out, let me out," he whispers, panting.

Doakes, still confused, refuses to fall into the trick of the man in front of him. "Oh, so you're going to act again, are you?" he laughs, bitterly.

Dexter lets out a raw sound. This makes Doakes stand still in place. He looks around again, then at the door again. "I need — I can't fucking breathe. " he grunts, grabbing his own shirt. "Let me out, fuck you, let me the fuck out! "

There's something wrong, Dexter doesn't like it, there's something deeply wrong, damn it, he doesn't like it, feeling trapped, like a caged animal, like he's in that container again, no, damn it, not again.

"Stop it. " Doakes growls, taking two steps closer to him, Dexter takes two steps back. "You can fool everyone with that act of yours, but not me. "

Dexter blinks and for a second he sees the blood again. "Fuck." he whispers, then gasps. No, no. "No, I can't do this. I have to get out of here, fuck off. "

He looks at Doakes who is blocking his way to the exit and this puts him even more on edge, what the fuck is this, what's happening, this shouldn't be happening. A hand grabs his arm and he moves violently, pushing the hand away. "Don't fucking touch me. " he growls, moving away, but Doakes blocks the exit again. "I need to get out of here, stop it, fuck—"

Doakes glares at him, and when he sees that Dexter's hands are shaking, he steps back.

Dexter takes this as an opportunity and quickly rushes to the bathroom door, running away, leaving a very confused Sergeant Doakes behind.

(. . .)

He moves quickly to Debra, puts a hand on her arm. "We need to leave," he says very briefly.

She looks at him, then at the hand on her arm. "What? No, I'm having fun—" she looks at Henry sitting opposite her.

"We need to go." he tries again. "Please, Deb."

Her brother's tone of voice frightens her. She looks at him, frowning. He seems nervous. He is never nervous. "Okay, Dex. " she whispers, getting up from her chair. "Okay." she says again, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"We're leaving, it was nice to meet you, Henry." she says to the other man who seems very confused by the whole situation.

"Yeah, sure." he says. "I hope everything's okay, man." he says, to Dexter this time. 

Dexter doesn't reply, he walks out of the bar quickly with Debra trying to catch up with him.

(. . .)

The silence in the car is deafening. Dexter takes a deep breath for the tenth time in the last five minutes alone. What the hell was that? He's not like that, that's not him. He doesn't panic like any normal human being, he doesn't have feelings, he's not normal, he doesn't feel, he's not human. 

The universe hates him and that's the proof, like a deadly joke that poor Dexter is forced to survive. Oh, if only Dexter believed in karma.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing happened," he replies firmly. "I was just sick, I didn't feel well and I wanted to go back to the apartment. "

"Dex... " she whispers.

"It's all right. I'm fine."

A brief silence.

"Let's go back to your apartment, I'm sleeping there tonight. "

Dexter is ready to argue against it. 

"Don't you dare complain, I'm sleeping in your apartment and that's it. " she grunts.

Neither of them says anything else for a long time.

Chapter Text

Dexter didn't think of himself as a wild animal, although he felt like one sometimes. After all, cornering a wild animal never ended well, it often ended in blood and body bags at the bottom of the sea, at least when it came to Dexter Morgan. He was more controlled, most of the time at least - obviously, like any discreet and restrained monster - Dexter didn't like being cornered, although the adrenaline rush was always welcome, the feeling of being alive, if only for seconds, was something Dexter craved.

The adrenaline rush from before, however, was unwelcome, and he needed it to go away. It reminded him so much of the three-year-old Dexter crying in that blood, or perhaps the Dexter of a month and a half ago, who slit his own older brother's throat; it was confusing, suffocating and frightening, as if he was exposed to the bone, raw, his insides rotting, long dead. He was the judge, jury and the executioner. Harry's laws were the only kind of law he followed, laws that had kept him alive all the years of his life, laws that still prevented him from bringing James Doakes to an end.

He's not a good person. He recognizes that. He's not a person at all; in fact, the real Dexter died when he was three years old and something crueler and colder took his place. Dexter wonders if in some different world there could be a human Dexter, a kind and happy Dexter, a Dexter who feels something instead of killing people to feed that cruel and monstrous thing inside him. Perhaps in some distant, non-existent world, he could have been something else, something good. It's a stupid thing to think, and too melancholy for the same Dexter who says he feels absolutely nothing. It is ironic.

He could never be anything real. He was a lie, everything about him was a lie, Brian told him so and Dexter knows how right he was about that. He couldn't listen, too blind to think about it, willing to pursue his life of lies, where anyone who knew him could never handle his truth. However, he had someone. Someone who is now as dead as those who last saw his true face. Dexter hadn't had much of his brother, he didn't even know him properly, and yet it was as if they were one. It's empty, when he thinks about it, when he thinks that he might even miss that brother he sacrificed even when he had accepted Dexter for the monstrous, bloodthirsty thing he was.

"I know you're quiet, but you're too quiet. "

He thinks about it when he looks at Deb. He doesn't like to think about it. He'd hate to put it on her shoulders, he'd hate it if one day she found out what he really was. She'd be devastated. She'd be hurt. He'd hate to do that to her. Dexter stays silent, rubs his face and sighs. "It's late. We should get some sleep. We have to go to work tomorrow. " he says, heading for his room.

"Dex." she calls out from his living room, looking at him, visibly worried. "Come on. Talk to me for a second. " Debra tries, sighing, she was sober enough to do her questioning, and that's exactly what Dexter feared. "You never talk to me, even after everything - I thought, I don't know. You still won't talk to me."

Dexter turned to look at her. He had nothing to say, he never did. He actually desperately wanted to sleep, the stress was still crawling across his skin, he could feel a migraine getting closer and that wasn't a good thing for his current situation, he had enough to worry about, things that would actually kill him if he kept doing this. "I already told you, Deb. "

"Yes, you told me you didn't feel good," she grumbles. "But it's never just that with you, Dex. You keep everything to yourself, all the time, as if you're trying to separate yourself more and more from the real world. "

Dexter frowned for a second. It was definitely too late for that. "I really need to get some sleep. "

"Stop doing this to me." Deb frowns, gesturing in frustration. "Stop pushing me away, stop it. I don't know, I don't know what to do to make you let me in, Dex. I mean, we only have each other, don't you see that? "

Dexter had no idea when everything got so intense and bigger than it really should have been, but he needed to get away from it. As soon as possible. "I don't know what you want me to say, Deb," he whispers, his shoulders dropping.

"Anything." Deb says. "Anything, but please say something, do I have to fucking beg?" she raises her eyebrows and a short, bitter, desperate laugh escapes her lips.

Dexter says nothing. She looks at him hopefully, expecting something, and Dexter doesn't know what to give her. He's lost, nothing comes out of his throat, it's as if he drowned in his own blood a long time ago.

"I'm sorry." he whispers, and knows that this will only make her even angrier; he doesn't know what else to say, though. It's all he has to offer.

She stares at him, disbelieving, then closes her eyes for a quick moment, opens them and looks away, and for a second Dexter sees the anger, hurt and frustration in her eyes. It makes something inside him turn, and he swallows, pressing his lips together. She presses a hand against her face, as if trying to pull herself together. "Somehow, I knew you'd say that. Do you even mean it? Fuck, what the hell are you even apologizing for?"

"I don't know how to do that. " he whispers, frowning to himself. "I'm sorry, I just don't - I don't know how. "

He doesn't look at her, but he knows she's looking at him. She moves closer, trying to meet his eyes. "Okay." she sighs. "Okay, fine." she says again, more to herself this time. "You're right. It's too late for that, we should get some sleep. "

Dexter looks at her, and her eyes seem surprisingly understanding. Dexter frowns even more, he stays silent. "Go get me some pillows and blankets, huh? Where's your fucking hospitality, brother?"

"I'm not—" he chokes, where is that coming from? He makes a sound from the back of his throat, as if there's something stopping him from breathing. He exhales with difficulty. "I'm not trying to upset you. I just—"

She sighs with a tired smile. "I know," she shrugs. "I know, it's okay, Dex. "

It's too late for that. He looks away one last time and moves into his room, grabbing some pillows and blankets for her. They don't say much more after that. He moves to his room in silence before she says softly, "Good night, Dex. "

He stops in place. "Good night, Deb." He enters his room, and locks the door behind him.

He didn't sleep much that night. He should have taken a sleeping pill.

(. . .)

He wakes up to a knock on his door, his body tense before Deb's voice echoes from the other side of the door. "How long are you going to sleep, Dexter? I need you to take me to my apartment to change my clothes!"

Dexter grunts, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm up. " he grumbles, forcing himself out of bed. Fuck, he's tired.

(. . .)

They eat breakfast in silence, Dexter's hair wet after he has showered, he doesn't have time to dry his hair, Deb, however, seems to have woken up before him, wearing the same clothes as the day before. "Can we leave early? I need to stop by my apartment and get some clean clothes." she says, taking another sip of her coffee.

Dexter swallows a yawn. Shit. "Yeah, sure. " he mutters.

(. . .)

He waits in the car while Deb runs into her apartment. He rests his forehead against the steering wheel and closes his eyes, he should have slept more, he should have smashed Doakes' head into the wall, he should have done a lot of things in his life. He doesn't feel very good. But then again, was there ever a time when he felt good?

When Deb gets into the car, wearing new clothes, he doesn't lift his head to look at her. Just a moment, he's so tired.

"Okay, I've already showered at your apartment, I've got all my stuff in the back seat... Am I forgetting something?" she whispers to herself. "No, I'm not. We can go."

She looks at him, and Dexter still hasn't moved. She frowns. "Dex?"

Dexter lifts his head, blinking. Right. They have to go to work, he turns on the car key.

"Are you all right?" she asks at some point when he starts driving.

"Yes." he replies calmly.

They both know he's not telling the truth.

(. . .)

"Oh, arriving at the same time?"

"One more word and I'll kick your ass, Masuka." Deb grunts, moving in front of Dexter. 

He doesn't interact, sighs and walks into the lab. Deb looks at him for a second when he just walks away without saying a word. She sighs and walks off. 

"The Morgans are in a bad mood today. " Masuka whispers as he moves to Angel's side.

Batista shrugs. "It's Monday. Everyone hates Monday, give them a break. "

(. . .)

"Hey, Morgan, where's my blood analysis from last week's case?"

The door opens too quickly before Dexter has a chance to pull himself together. He's leaning against the desk, head down, eyes closed, for just a moment. He moves too fast, knocking a few things off his desk in the process. Doakes' voice hammers his brain and he automatically tenses up. Great.

"Shit." he grunts, reaching down to pick up the things that had been knocked over, not even looking at Doakes.

Shit. Shit. Oh, shit.

"Sorry Sergeant, give me a moment. " he whispers, mentally cursing himself, Dexter wants the ground to open a hole and swallow him whole. This is humiliating. Fuck. He gets up from the floor, quickly tidying his desk, he'll have to clean everything up again, great, shit, he needs to put everything back in its place, he's put the papers in his drawer, that's fine, but he needs to clean his desk again, shit, shit.

"Jesus Christ, Morgan, just stop for a minute." Doakes orders, and Dexter ignores him.

"I'm going to have to clean all this up again. " Dexter whispers to himself. "Yes, the papers, I'll get them for you. "

Doakes takes a few steps into his lab and closes the door behind him. "You can clean this up later. What the hell were you doing anyway?"

Morgan rubs his face, staring at his desk; he doesn't answer, stretching out an arm to pick up the papers. He searches through them for a moment and holds back a sigh of relief when he finds the papers. He stretches out his arm, handing the blood results to Doakes, but he still doesn't look at him even for a second. His eyes hurt, he'd been scratching them for a few minutes, trying to keep them open. He was so tired. So fucking tired.

Doakes takes the papers from his hand, and Dexter expects him to leave immediately. He doesn't. "Morgan."

Dexter goes back to organizing the things on his desk. "Is there anything else you need, Sergeant? " he says, calmly. Cold.

Doakes doesn't answer for a brief moment. "Yesterday... "

No. No way. "Can we not do this now?" he whispers, pressing the palm of his hand firmly against his forehead. "I can't do this today, my head really hurts."

Doakes looks at him in silence briefly, narrowing his eyes. "Are you going to keep looking down or can you no longer bear eye contact?"

Dexter clenches his jaw. He breathes deeply through his nose and looks at Doakes, trying to soften his gaze, because he knows he needs to be as non-threatening as possible when it comes to Doakes. Doakes stares back at him, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, you're angry, aren't you?"

Dexter closes his eyes immediately. Oh, shit. He should know that doesn't work on Doakes anymore. He exhales through his nose and looks at Doakes again. "Can you blame me for not enjoying our last interaction very much, Sergeant?"

Doakes shrugs his shoulders. "I suppose I can't." he says, calmer this time. Dexter narrows his eyes. "Did you sleep tonight, Morgan?"

Dexter doesn't answer. He blinks a few times. What is he trying to do this time? "Not much, Sergeant." he replies truthfully.

James shakes his head. "You know it's not very professional to come to work without enough sleep. "

Dexter stops himself from rolling his eyes. It's almost as if Doakes is sorry, but that would never happen, not even if he died tomorrow. "Is that all, Sergeant? "

Doakes hesitates, and then: "I'm not going to fucking apologize, if that's what you were expecting." Doakes practically spits out his tongue, no longer able to hold it in.

Dexter expected nothing less. "I know that. "

James grunts, he looks away this time. "You seemed very human yesterday, Morgan. It caught me by surprise."

"I'm sorry about that, Sergeant. " Dexter says. Not a word more, not a word less.

Doakes looks surprised, he laughs, bitterly surprised. "I really messed you up, huh? "

Not violating Harry's Code was really difficult in times like these. Doakes should thank his father for still being alive. "I don't know what you want me to say, Sergeant. Can I get back to work?"

Dexter looks at the closed door behind Doakes and something crawls across his skin. No. Not that again. "Okay. Fine. " Doakes says between his teeth. "Get back to work, Morgan. "

When Doakes finally leaves, Dexter takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes even more violently. Fuck, he can't believe it was that simple this time. Doakes was surely plotting something much worse against him.

"Were you two messing around in here or something?" Vince's voice in the doorway made him grunt.

"He came to pick up the papers from last week's blood analysis. " Dexter replied, pressing his temple.

Vince narrowed his eyes, smiled, and left.

Dexter sighed through his mouth, placing his face between his hands. Fuck.

(. . .)

Oddly enough, Doakes left him alone for the rest of the day. Dexter could hardly believe it, he spent the rest of his day alert, looking around, he never coped very well with paranoia and this was one of the proofs. It was enough to keep him awake until it was time for him to leave.

He walked to the elevator, scratched the back of his head. He just needed to go to his apartment and get some sleep. Just for a moment, the universe needed to let him have this, please, fuck, please.

"Hey, I got you something. " Deb's voice came from behind him and made him turn his whole body towards her, shit, he apparently wasn't alert enough.

"Jeez, why do you look so scared, Dex?" she frowns, shoving a bag against his chest.

They both get into the elevator and Dexter holds the bag against his chest. "Sorry. I just didn't sleep very well today. "

"And you didn't even leave your lab to eat either, huh?" she complains. "I realized you weren't going to take a break so I went to get you something to eat." she gestures to the bag Dexter is holding.

Dexter looks at the bag, sighs, and then tries to smile at her. "Thanks, Deb. I was very busy today. "

"Yeah, no problem. " she nods. "Go home and get some sleep, okay? "

"You don't need me to drive you to your apartment? " he frowns.

"Nah. I asked Doakes to drive me. " she shrugs. "You can go home and rest."

Oh well, fuck. Dexter forced himself not to react. He fucking knew it. "I can give you a ride. If you want. It's not a problem. "

"Stop being all protective for a second, huh?" she smiles. "It's okay, you need to rest, so go home. I'll call you later if you want. "

No, no fucking way, he couldn't let Doakes do that, no, damn it. He swallowed, breathed through his nose, held the bag tighter against his chest. What the hell could he say without sounding too fucking suspicious? "Are you –are you sure?"

She looked at him, confused, frowning. "Is there something you want to tell me? You're starting to worry me. "

"No." he replied. "I just want to make sure you're safe. "

She sighs, with a soft smile. "I know, but it's Doakes, remember? I'm sure I'm safe with him. "

Dexter isn't so sure about that, but he doesn't say anything. He's gradually embracing the idea of spending the rest of his life in a jail cell.

(. . .)

He doesn't rest and doesn't sleep at all, waiting for Deb's call. Dexter began to pack his bag for a possible escape in which he would disappear to the other side of the world and never be found again. It was a bag that he had been keeping since the last time Brian had tested him by cornering him, putting him up against a wall to see if he would really be able to get out of it.

This situation, however, was considerably worse, that's for sure.

It's late at night when he hears knocks on his door, and for a moment he thinks, that's it. He's going to be arrested, and everyone will know who he is. Deb must already know, Deb must be crying in her apartment by now, Rita will see about his arrest on TV and then feel even more disgusted by him, Doakes will laugh in his face as the FBI handcuffs him and his dead brother will say to him: I tried to save you, didn't I?

He approaches the window slowly, his body and mind empty, he feels numb. He looks through the gaps in the window and when Dexter sees Doakes, he's sure it's all over for him. It was good while it lasted - not really, but it could have been worse, he thinks. Dexter moves to the door and his body seems to be moving of its own will, his brain switched off completely. He'd like to say goodbye to Deb first.

His hand - but not really his - opens the door. Doakes looks at him, and Dexter remains silent. He knows what words will be said now. "Morgan." Doakes says.

"Sergeant." Dexter replies and his voice sounds as empty as he feels.

Doakes hesitates, staring into his eyes. "God, Morgan, why the hell are you so pale? "

"What are you doing here?" Dexter's voice sounds weak, he doesn't move.

Doakes is still staring at him, looking confused. "I came... to tell you that your sister is safe and sound in her apartment. "

Dexter blinks, then he feels as if his soul is slowly returning to his body, he grips the door handle tighter, gritting his teeth, what the hell just happened. "Oh." he whispers.

"Yeah." Doakes says, still confused. "You look guilty." he whispers. "Did you think I was going to tell her about us?"

Dexter swallows. Fuck. He takes a deep breath, leaning against the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the door. He needs a fucking moment. He can't remember the last time he ate something during the day. He's felt sick since he woke up. He hadn't even touched the sandwich Deb had bought for him.

Doakes raises an eyebrow. "Huh, does that scare you that much? What the hell, she doesn't seem the type who would be bothered by her brother having sex with men."

Dexter almost wanted to laugh. He gasps through his mouth, smiling, probably losing his mind. "That's funny. " he grumbles, leaning against the door. "Sorry, I haven't eaten anything all day, I think I got up too fast from the sofa. Sorry. " he repeats to himself, he's going insane.

Doakes looks almost surprised and frightened. He hesitates again. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Dexter sighs even louder, looking at him, the smile slowly disappearing from his face. "Right. You can leave now, Sergeant. Thank you. "

He turns around, smiling to himself again, ready to close the door. Jesus, that was like dying and coming back to life. He needs to eat something and sleep, for real this time. That was fucked up. Doakes' hand on the door prevents him from closing it, however. Dexter turns around again, looking at him this time. Right. He forgot who was at his door for a moment. The smile disappears from his face again as if it was never there in the first place.

"What the fuck just happened? Are you really going to shut the fucking door in my face now?"

Dexter tilts his head to the side. "You sound hurt, Sergeant. What did you expect, for me to let you in? "

"No." Doakes answers too quickly. Dexter raises an eyebrow.

For a second, Dexter notices how Doakes' eyes don't focus on his eyes. He keeps looking down. At his lips. Dexter raises both eyebrows. "Are you sure you don't want to apologize?"

Doakes narrows his eyes, clenching his jaw. "I've already told you. You can go fuck yourself. "

Dexter sighs, looking at him through his eyelashes, he waits, staring at him. "You didn't come all this way just to tell me you took my sister to her apartment. "

Doakes grunts, and as an impulsive act, James' hand grabs his shirt and pushes him back, Doakes enters his apartment, using his free hand to close the door behind him, and then, the hand on his shirt pulls him against him, crushing his lips against Dexter's. The other man grunts against James, right, so this is happening. Doakes' hand presses into the back of his head, pulling his hair. Dexter lets out a soft sound and gasps against the other man's lips.

Doakes' other hand reaches down to squeeze his waist, pulling his hips against him, pressing into his pelvis. Oh. Doakes' tongue slid into his mouth and he let out another gasping sound, the blush that took over his face was quick, Doakes' strong hands kept squeezing, touching, and Dexter tried to keep up, he never knew what to do with his hands, what to do with himself, or what to do in general in these situations. It was always confusing, it took him a while to relax, but with Doakes it was different. They both knew that.

Dexter pulls back after a few long seconds, gasping for breath through his mouth, he forces himself to take a few steps back, the lack of oxygen, the abruptness of the lust combined with the fact that he hadn't eaten properly all day was enough to make his knees weak. He rests a hand on Doakes' shoulder, breathing deeply through his nose, he can already feel his lips swelling. "Give me a moment. " Dexter exhales.

"Tell me again why you haven't eaten anything, Morgan. " Doakes says, equally breathless against him, his hands still on his waist.

"I didn't told you. " Dexter inhales through his nose.

"Do you even have anything to eat in this apartment of yours? " Doakes says, clicking his tongue, but he makes no mention of stepping away.

"I guess you'd know, wouldn't you? " Dexter mutters, and then finally manages to stand up completely. He needs to sit down. So many things have happened in just a few minutes.

"That's cute. Fuck you. " Doakes grumbles, then moves into the kitchen, opening the fridge.

Dexter walks over to the sofa, throwing himself between the cushions. "What are you doing?" he mutters, his face pressed against a cushion, his voice muffled. He sighs, listening to the sounds in his kitchen.

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to poison you, Morgan. " Doakes says from his kitchen.

"Not yet. " Dexter grumbles back.

"I'm going to prepare those steaks you have in your freezer and you're going to eat them. " Doakes informs him. It sounds a lot like a threat.

"What makes you think you can break into my apartment and cook me steaks?"

"Oh, I can just leave then, you son of a bitch." Doakes moves into the room, staring at him with amusement disguised as anger.

Dexter shrugs his shoulders, unconcerned.

"Tough little thing you are. I miss when you wouldn't open your mouth about anything. " Doakes practically growls. "Just accept my apology and shut your mouth, hm?"

"Oh, so that's an apology?" Dexter raises an eyebrow. 

"Shut the fuck up." Doakes closes his lips and walks back into the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Dexter couldn't really blame Doakes, after all. The man was good at his job, very good in some aspects, but he kept letting his impulses and emotions get the best of him. Perhaps if Doakes were a little more committed and quiet like Dexter, he would eventually discover his secret, his origin, and who he really is. It's a frightening possibility, of course, but then again, it would never happen. Not when it came to Dexter. They weren't talking about just anyone, any killer or any serial killer; despite being a very modest monster, Dexter knew he was good at what he did, he had to be, he was literally made for it and nothing more.

If he wasn't good at the one thing he was created to be, then his whole existence would be nothing but a terrible mistake. Grabbed by the ankle, kicking and screaming until he stopped fighting back, Dexter embraced his darkness; the only friend he'd ever had in his entire life. The shadow that stayed by his bedside while he slept, that accompanied him during the torturous, incessant hours at school, that held him when Harry left, that was still there, even though he wished it wasn't. Call him a hypocrite if you like, Dexter didn't understand and at the same time envied the mediocre and normal lives of the people around him.

It was like a curse. A curse that he has learned to embrace and endure, because he knows it won't go away. Never. He was born from that blood, lived from that blood and will die in the same blood. It has taken root in his own circulation in his veins, beating his dead heart, but make no mistake, he's not alive, no, not at all, Dexter breathes, Dexter talks, Dexter needs to feed and hydrate himself like any human being in order to survive, but if you look into his eyes for long enough and really try to reach for something, you'll find that you can't actually find anything. Because there's nothing in his eyes, the sparkle that reflects his soul isn't there. He hasn't had one for some time.

Torn from his own life when he was still a child, stripped of everything he could have been, he wonders if his mother ever thought he would have a great deal of potential in his life, if he would have a family, children, if he would be happy; he would hate to disappoint her any further, cursed with two monsters disguised as her own children of the same blood. Luckily for his mother, DNA doesn't make a family. He didn't feel much about anything, but if he could, he would probably feel sorry for his mother.

Dexter could spend his whole life mourning what he could have been, what was ripped away from him, but he never believed it would change anything, because the moment Harry looked into his eyes for too long, he decided to tell Dexter how to live his own life. Harry claimed to know who Dexter was better than he did. He knows Harry was trying to help him in his own way, but it was on days like this that Dexter secretly wished Harry didn't; Dexter was caught in a dilemma, following Harry's rules as if that was the only right thing in his life, and strongly wishing that he was normal.

Insisting on these thoughts was insanity, Dexter knew it. The monster doesn't have a home, the monster doesn't have love and comfort to give, the monster doesn't have a life and the monster will always be a monster. Poor Dexter, trapped in a dark forest that will lead him to his own death, the obstacles are deadly, familiar, capable of driving him insane if Dexter concentrates hard enough. There's nothing he can do; it's already been done.

"How much longer are you going to stare at the wall, Morgan?"

Dexter blinked. His whole arm was tingling, his chin resting on his hand. He was sitting on his kitchen counter, staring at some random point on the wall. His eyes were burning, apparently he hadn't blinked for some time. Uh. Dexter blinked a few more times, straightening his posture, moving his arm, trying to get the blood flowing through his veins again.

There was a plate of steak in front of him. Dexter blinked at the plate in silence. Doakes was sitting in front of him, watching him with a look that Dexter didn't know what it meant and that made him terribly aware. "Why are you looking at me?" Dexter muttered, looking away for a moment.

"I'm trying to read your mind. " Doakes replied. "No, actually I'm trying to find out what your fucking problem is. "

Dexter closed his eyes tightly for seconds before opening them with exhaustion. "Great, we're back at it again." he sighed, his shoulders drooping.

"You've been staring at the wall for the last seven minutes, Morgan." Doakes raised his eyebrows. "For a moment I even thought your brain had died or something."

He exhaled through his nose, scratching his chin. "I'm just tired. " Dexter replied, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm still trying to figure out what worried you more. Your sister finding out about us, or about the Ice Truck Killer. " Doakes narrowed his eyes.

Dexter stared at him for long seconds, too exhausted to come up with any clever answers. He sighed again and looked at his kitchen, for a moment he wanted to say something about Doakes having made a complete mess in his kitchen, but he knew that would only cause another conflict. He grunted softly, looking at the things out of place bothered him to the point of making him get up from his seat to fix them.

Dexter walked past Doakes and started to wash the knife Doakes had used to cut the steak, he had to place the knife in the drawer, clean the sink, get the piece of meat in the right place in the freezer, and—

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Doakes grunted, staring at him.

Dexter rolled his eyes, but didn't stop what he was doing. " Cleaning up the mess you made in my kitchen, thank you very much by the way. "

"Are you kidding me, Morgan? Sit your ass on that chair and eat your fucking steak. "

Dexter ignored him, silently kept on with what he was doing.

"Morgan, I'm not going to tell you a second time. "

Dexter stopped, stoic, and turned to him. "I have to clean this up. "

"Okay, calm down your OCD for a second and fucking eat." Doakes complained again, gesturing to his untouched plate. "This shit is going to get cold and I'm going to make you eat it anyway, I'm fucking warning you. "

Dexter continued to stare at him. "I don't have OCD. "

"Sure, whatever you fucking say. " Doakes rubbed his face. "Okay, I'll clean that up, just sit over here and fucking eat, for fuck's sake."

Dexter grunted softly, turned around and washed his hands quickly, annoyed. He dried his hands on his own shirt. "Don't fucking touch anything. I'll clean it up later. " he said, harshly, and moved to sit down again.

He picked up the knife and fork next to his plate and began to eat, terribly irritated. Fuck Doakes, treating him like he was stupid. Fucking idiot. He was lucky that knife didn't end up in his throat. Fuck him.

"I can hear your brain swearing at me, you know that. "

"Fuck you. " Dexter grunted back, before he could stop himself. He shoved a piece of steak into his mouth and started chewing.

"Is this how you thank me? That's so sweet, Morgan. "

Dexter chewed even more angrily, giving him the deadliest look he was capable of. It seemed to work, because Doakes raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Damn, be careful where you point that thing."

He swallows. "You won't get a fucking 'thank you'. You've turned my life into a living hell and now suddenly you care when I look a little too pale?" he says between his teeth, holding the fork in his hand a little too tightly. "Give me another chance and Lieutenant LaGuerta will be the first to know about your extracurricular activities, or should I say, your hobby of stalking me."

"Are you really threatening me while holding a fork in your hand, Morgan?"

Dexter raises an eyebrow, looking at his own hand. He looked at Doakes soon after. "Did you put another recorder in my apartment? " there's not a hint of emotion in his voice.

"Maybe." Doakes shrugs, his jaw clenched.

Dexter continues to stare at him, not blinking once. He knows that the knife is not far from his reach, yet it seems like a very distant dream. Dexter feels his facial expression changing suddenly against his will, he – if he were human, Dexter would say he felt upset, for some reason. A part of him tells him that he should know better, because apparently he turns out to be the stupidest being in the world when it comes to Doakes, and yet—

"Okay, what the fuck, no, I didn't do it. " Doakes confesses, frowning. "Don't look so fucking hurt. There's no recorders this time. "

Dexter looks away. He wasn't hurt. He doesn't get hurt. Dexter sighed and continued to eat in silence, another wave of exhaustion hitting him hard enough to make him ignore Doakes' existence and his eyes against his skin.

(. . .)

Dexter stood up from his kitchen counter, looking at Doakes sitting on his sofa. "It's late. You should go."

Doakes huffed through his mouth. "Nah, I'm not going anywhere until you go to sleep. "

Dexter blinked, turned around and looked at Doakes sitting on his couch. "Excuse me? "

"You heard me." Doakes shook his head. "Go to sleep, I'll stay here. Then I'll come by your room to make sure you've slept."

"Okay, what the fuck?" Dexter said a little too loudly. "What do you think you're doing? I'm not just going to go to sleep knowing you're in my apartment—"

"So you're hiding something around here, huh? "

"Or is it not because you're someone of dubious reputation? I'm going to wake up with ten more recorders in every corner of my apartment, and everything out of place. It may come as a surprise to you, but I like to keep my things fucking organized. "

"I'm just doing what your sister asked me to do. " Doakes interrupted him sharply. "She asked me to make sure you'd slept. "

Dexter swallowed, rubbed his face and clenched his jaw. "Fine. I'm going to sleep, so go away."

"No." Doakes settled further into the sofa, making himself comfortable.

Dexter mentally begged himself that if God really existed, he would give him the strength not to kill Doakes. He pressed his fingers against his closed eyelids, taking a deep breath. Don't kill Doakes. Don't kill Doakes.

"Am I the only one who makes you that angry, Morgan?" Doakes laughed briefly. "I mean, that must mean something, right? What else am I capable of making you feel?"

Dexter had to turn around and go to his room before he had to clean up the blood of his own apartment.

(. . .)

In years of hunting, his eyes had adapted to the darkness, just as his ears had adapted to the smallest sounds. Dexter was lying down, but he wasn't even close to sleeping. He lay as quiet and still as possible, staring into the darkness, listening to every sound Doakes made in his living room. Incredibly, Dexter didn't really hear many sounds, so Doakes didn't move much. An hour and a half had passed, he still hadn't left and Dexter wasn't going to sleep either.

A few more minutes passed, and Dexter's body was so tense that it hurt. That's when the sounds in his living room got louder, Doakes' footsteps approached his room, the door was open and when Doakes got close enough, Dexter closed his eyes. Shit.

Silence echoed in the room and discomfort wrapped itself around Dexter's throat. He could barely breathe.

"I know you're awake."

Dexter opened his eyes. The brief light coming from his living room was enough to make him see Doakes' devious smile. Dexter remained silent, waiting for something he didn't know what it was.

When Doakes approached his bed, he held his breath. "What are you doing? " Dexter whispered.

"Move over. "

Dexter found himself doing what Doakes said. There was no disagreeing on his part, the reason why was unknown to Dexter. He scooted over to the other side of the bed, lying on his back, watching Doakes' every move without blinking. He breathed slowly when he was unable to hold his breath any longer. Doakes lay next to him on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He grabbed the blanket and threw it over himself in silence.

Dexter said nothing in return. What was going on?

"Stop thinking and go to sleep, Morgan. " Doakes whispered in the darkness.

Dexter frowned, looking at him. "I can't. " he muttered. "Why are you in my bed?"

Doakes turned sideways on the bed, looking at him, and the movements made Dexter even more tense. "Do I have to knock you out, Morgan?"

Dexter frowned even more at those words. Was Doakes really going to hit him now? "I can't sleep—"

A strong hand on the back of his neck pulled him forward, his lips pressed firmly against Doakes', Dexter's hand instinctively grabbed the blankets. Doakes exhaled against him, moving closer to the other man's body on the bed, keeping his hand on the back of his neck. His fingers slid between the strands of hair at the back of his neck and Dexter's body shuddered, an embarrassed sound escaped him, muffled against Doakes' lips. James slid his tongue between Dexter's lips, who closed his eyes tightly as something curled in his stomach. He gasped quietly as Doakes' tongue began to explore his mouth.

Dexter kissed him back as if on instinct, his hand slowly releasing the blankets and sliding up his arm to grasp his bicep, he wasn't sure how to touch him, Dexter never knew, and probably never would either. Doakes' body pressed against him strongly enough to make him gasp louder, knocking the oxygen out of his lungs. Doakes climbed on top of him, pressing him against the mattress, the weight of his body crushing him under him. Fuck.

Doakes placed a hand next to his head on the pillow and pulled away briefly, looking at him, the room was dark, but Dexter could still see the glint in his eyes. "We shouldn't do this." Dexter whispered beneath him, licking his lips.

"Do you want to stop, Morgan?" Doakes whispered back, looking at Dexter's lips.

Dexter hesitated. Doakes' lips against his made his head deadly quiet, and - he needed this, he wanted this. He really wanted it. "Kiss me. " Dexter said.

Despite the darkness, Dexter could see Doakes smiling, so he kissed him again.

(. . .)

Doakes kicked the blankets off the bed, he pushed Dexter's legs apart, placing himself between his thighs, moving his body against Dexter's, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Dexter's hands gripped his shoulders, trying to keep up with the intensity of the kiss and the touches. He pressed one leg against Doakes' hip, squeezing him between his thighs. For a moment, Dexter felt Doakes' cock against his own erection and he had to throw his head back against the pillow, pulling away from the kiss and gasping at the same time.

Doakes took the opportunity to kiss Dexter's exposed neck. "Don't leave bruises this time." Dexter whispered, arching up under him.

"Fine." Doakes mumbled against his skin, kissed the line of his jaw before capturing his lips in another needy kiss.

Dexter's hands slid down his back, he pulled his shirt up, sliding his hands under his shirt, Dexter's cold hands made Doakes' whole body shiver. "Fuck, why are your hands so cold, Morgan." Doakes bit Dexter's lower lip lightly.

"You're too hot. " Dexter whispered, lifting his head to kiss him again.

Doakes smiled against his lips. "Thanks Morgan, I didn't know you thought I was hot. " he said, muffled against the lips of the man beneath him.

Dexter pulled his head away. "I mean –" he hesitated, confused. "I wanted to say that you're - warm. " his eyebrows were frowning.

James seemed to be enjoying the fun of embarrassing Dexter. He placed one hand on his cheek while placing the other on the side of his head for support, leaning against him. "Whatever you say, Morgan," he whispered, licking Dexter's lips.

Dexter grunted, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him down. "Just fucking kiss me already. "

Doakes did as Dexter said for long seconds, kissing him gently this time, slowly, as if he were trying to memorize the taste of Dexter's mouth, the feel of the other man's soft, firm lips against his, the way Dexter's breath caught every time he pressed himself too hard against Dexter's body, the way his hands kept sliding down his back, as if he didn't know exactly where and how to touch him.

After kissing him until he was breathless, Doakes knelt between his legs, pulling away. He took off his own shirt, throwing it on the floor of Dexter's room, and noticed how Dexter's eyes were fixed on him, struggling between looking at his face, his torso and the erection that was evident in his pants. Doakes took a breath, he held Dexter's wrist and looked at him, ready to let go if there was any resistance.

Dexter let him hold his wrist and waited, blinking. Doakes placed his hand against his own abdomen and Dexter swallowed, lifting himself a little in the bed. He sat up, touching his abdomen, staring at his own hand as if hypnotized. "I wondered if I was the only man you'd ever had sex with. " Doakes whispered, looking at Dexter's face, his eyes fixed on his body instead of his eyes.

"But the way you usually don't know what to do with yourself when I kiss you was answer enough. " Doakes finishes, and Dexter is intrigued by how satisfied, even happy, his voice sounds.

There's no way he can deny it now, it's too late, and it's also too visible. "I don't usually have sex, if that's what you want to know. " he says quietly, sliding his fingertips over Doakes' chest.

"I wonder why, though. " Doakes retorts and his voice sounds suddenly soft. "You're an attractive guy, I suppose you have a lot of people dropping at your feet. The guy at the bar was an excellent example. "

"I'd rather do other things. " Dexter replies briefly, desperate to get away from the whole topic.

"And yet, I'm here." Doakes whispers.

"... and yet, you're here. " Dexter nods, and his hand slides to his lower stomach.

Dexter looks at him, and Doakes swears his eyes have never glowed as brightly as they do in this darkness, his cold hand stopping in place, as if it were glued to his abdomen. Doakes exhales. "I'm going to give you two options now, and you're going to listen to me, right, Morgan?"

"I don't take orders from you, Sergeant. " The answer came quickly and easily. Doakes didn't expect anything else.

"To your misfortune, you do take orders from me, Morgan. "

"You can say whatever you want and I'll do the exact opposite. " Dexter shrugged, moving his hand again, sliding his fingers along his hip bone.

"Oh don't worry, that's exactly what I expect. " Doakes smiles. "Now, I'm going to give you the options and you're going to choose. "

Dexter opens his mouth, ready to contradict him.

"Shut your damn mouth, this is not the time. " Doakes interrupts him before he can say a word. "Listen to me. I'm going to make you cum, and then you're going to sleep. Or, I'll spend the rest of the night here, you can call in sick to work in the morning, and then we'll do it all over again. "

Dexter pulled his hand away from his body, eyes slightly wide, he frowned shortly afterwards and looked away, really considering. "But you have to go to work too."

"It's my day off. " Doakes replies simply.

Dexter looks at him again, tilting his head to the side. "Why does it look like this was a bit planned?"

"Okay, I'm not that obsessed with you, Morgan. Don't get too carried away. " Doakes grunts. "I'll give you ten seconds to answer, starting now. "

"I mean, both options involve you touching me, so..."

"I can leave right now. I'm not the type who likes to do things when my partner isn't in the mood, for fuck's sake. What do you think I am, Morgan?"

"I didn't mean it like that. " Dexter grumbles, then falls silent, rethinking his decisions.

"Five seconds gone, Morgan. " Doakes waited.

"Did you bring lube? " Dexter asked, genuinely curious.

"Okay, I've been thinking about this for a while, is that what you fucking want me to say?"

A discreet smile appears on Dexter's face. "Mm." he exhales through his nose. "Right. Then I choose the second option. "

(. . .)

The light was on. Clothes have been thrown on the floor of his room, Doakes' hands touch every part of his body, squeezing and squeezing, Doakes is on top of him, and they are kissing again. Doakes took the small bottle of lube out of his pants before throwing it on the floor next to Dexter's clothes. He put the lube on the small table next to Dexter's bed, making sure they did it right this time.

Dexter wasn't used to being underneath, for obvious reasons, but somehow, he wasn't against it, it was... good, in a way, the weight of Doakes against him made his stomach burn and his heart hammer against his ribcage. His lips were swollen from being bitten and kissed so intensely, but he wasn't complaining, no, not at all. Right, it was happening again. All right, then.

Dexter grabbed Doakes and pushed him sideways on the bed, making him lie on his back on the mattress, and climbed on top of him. He positioned himself gracefully down Doakes' pelvis and sighed, watching him, Doakes' erection hard against his ass. It was a secret who was in control in that situation and in all the others, because Dexter knew that Doakes was sure that he himself was the one in control when it came to Dexter. But well, Dexter knows that's not exactly the truth, and that makes something hammer in his chest, excited and thrilled.

"Morgan... " Doakes grunted, his hands gripping his hips. Doakes moved beneath him, moving his hips up against him and Dexter put his hands down on his chest.

"Stop moving for a second. " Dexter said, his knees on either side of the other man's hips.

"It's cute that you think you can tell me what to do, Morgan. " Doakes smiled.

"I want to suck your cock," Dexter said, as if informing him. "I tried that once when I was younger and I had no idea what to do and gave up, so you have to stand still. "

Dexter's words seemed to affect Doakes more than ever. He looked terribly excited and confused at the same time. "Have you done this before—?"

"Handjobs. Kisses. Nothing more than that. " Dexter shrugged. "I was very curious when I was in my twenties."

"Right, I have so many questions now, but the interrogation will be delayed, concentrate on putting your mouth on me, Morgan. "

Doakes choosing not to drown him with questions was new. Surprisingly new. Dexter decided not to comment on it, certain that he should enjoy the opportunity.

(. . .)

Dexter was kneeling on the floor between Doakes' legs, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. It was a strange position, especially if he tried to think too much about who he was kneeling for. Doakes' hand sliding through his hair kept him away from these thoughts, mainly because he would never even have pictured himself like this, but there he was.

"Relax your jaw for me." Doakes stroked his hair and Dexter stopped himself from frowning. He relaxed his jaw, opening his mouth even wider.

He closed his eyes and the tip of Doakes' cock was heavy against his tongue, he tried not to think too much about the taste, it wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't so bad, it was simply a cock. Doakes' cock, to be more specific. He swallowed, Doakes pressed his cock deeper into his mouth, and the gag reflex was quick, he coughed, pulling his head back, shit. Dexter grunted. "I told you, I'm no good at this. " he complained, placing a hand on his own throat.

"We don't need to do that. " Doakes' hand slid between the strands of his hair.

"Shut up." Dexter complained, swallowing again. "I want to do this, I just need a moment. "

"Your sharp mouth is still going to get you into trouble, Morgan. I'm trying to be nice and I'm never nice. "

Dexter rolled his eyes, he swallowed a few more times, he grabbed Doakes' cock and the other man's reaction was instantaneous, he groaned from deep in his throat, grunting. Dexter licked the tip of Doakes' cock, closing his eyes, he slid his tongue along its length, and then put his cock in his mouth. "Fuck, Morgan. " Doakes grunted, grabbing a handful of his hair.

Dexter swallowed, trying to breathe through his nose, the gag reflex was still there, but he concentrated on breathing through his nose, swallowing around Doakes' cock. "Just like that, breathe through your nose. " Doakes licked his lips, stopping himself from moving his hips against Dexter's mouth.

He took a few more inches of Doakes' cock into his mouth, his eyebrows frowning, eyes firmly closed, and then he started to move his head away, and began to suck him, closing his lips around his cock. "Fuck, try not to use your teeth, Morgan. " Doakes hissed, pulling his hair in the process.

Dexter opened his eyes, grunting from deep in his throat, he moved his tongue around in circles, using his hand to help him. Why did his cock have to be so fucking big? Dexter grunted deeply, and in an impulsive move, he pressed his nose to Doakes' pubic hair, swallowing desperately around his cock, saliva running down the corner of his mouth, dripping from his chin. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and Doakes held his head in place, letting out a few swear words.

"Fuck, Morgan, your mouth feels so fucking good—" Doakes' fingers gripped his hair hard enough to hurt a little and Dexter's cock was hard against his own abdomen.

He pulled his head away and breathed through his mouth quickly, licking his lips, and it took only seconds for Dexter to swallow Doakes' cock, the wet sounds echoing in his brain, he was making a mess, saliva dripping down his chin. "Open your eyes, Morgan, open your fucking eyes. " Doakes pulled his head back by the hair, away from his cock, Dexter grunted, confused, opening his eyes.

"Stick out your tongue, come on, Morgan. " Doakes ordered, holding his head in place with both hands.

Dexter stuck out his tongue and Doakes used one of his hands to press his own cock against his tongue, biting his lower lip. "Look at me. Keep fucking looking at me. " he practically growled.

Dexter's eyes watered as he struggled to keep his eyes open, Doakes pressed his cock deep enough into his throat for a few tears to run down the corner of his eyes, he moaned, gasped, but kept his mouth and eyes open. "That's it, just like that, I'm going to need you to keep your mouth open now, all right, Morgan?"

Dexter grunted in agreement, trying to prepare himself. He relaxed his jaw as Doakes started to fuck his mouth, and closed his eyes, choking with every movement, but he stayed still, trying to swallow, his jaw starting to ache a little after a while, Doakes' hand moving his head back and forth, then he moved his hips against his mouth, deep and fast, hitting the back of Dexter's throat with every thrust. He was barely breathing anymore, his hair was being pulled up tightly, and fuck, he could have sworn he was leaking against his own abdomen, because he was so fucking hard.

He moved a hand between his legs, reaching for his own cock, which was so hard it hurt, and Doakes didn't pause for a moment from fucking his mouth. "No, don't you fucking dare. " Doakes grunted, pulling his hair even harder. "Don't even touch yourself, Morgan. You'll cum with my hand or my cock, or you won't cum at all. "

Dexter almost whimpered, but stopped himself as if he were stopping himself from killing someone innocent. He closed his hands into fists over his thighs and concentrated on breathing again. He was so hard, fuck, he was so fucking hard. Doakes grunted and fucked his mouth with more intensity, Dexter breathed through his nose, his jaw was starting to hurt now.

"Do you want me to come in your mouth, Morgan?" Doakes asked, panting.

Dexter's throat was considerably sore, so he just nodded weakly, his body trembling, everything was so warm, and he was still so fucking hard.

A few more thrusts into his throat were enough for Doakes to come in his mouth, Dexter quickly swallowed without a second thought, closing his eyes tightly. It was so fast that his brain didn't even have time to associate the taste. Doakes pulled his cock out of his mouth and Dexter groaned, lowering his head, saliva and a few drops of cum running down his chin. His face was red and wet with tears, and he breathed deeply through his nose, resting one hand on the floor.

One of Doakes' hands slid under his chin, lifting his head. Dexter sighed through his nose, swallowing a few more times, he didn't open his eyes, trying to pull himself together. Doakes' free hand slid over his cheeks, he wiped the last tears from his face with his thumb and Dexter relaxed, pressing his face against his palm, licking his lips. 

Doakes said nothing, but continued wiping his face with his bare hands. Dexter let him. 

After finishing, Doakes wiped his hands on the sheet and sighed through his nose, looking at Dexter's relaxed face. Mm. That was new. It was a nice sight, though. "Ready for part two, Morgan?"

Chapter Text

His eyes are focused on the ceiling, his arms are stretched out at his sides, he's lying on his back, and like a hidden, ignored memory, his heart is racing. His skin tingles, he's shivering from head to toe, his breathing is slow but merely controlled; he's nervous, tense, unsettled, but he doesn't know why. There's something different this time, and it makes his stomach turn, there's something wrapped around his throat, as if it were some kind of chain, there's something restraining him, keeping him trapped in that open cage. He doesn't know what it is, how dry his throat is and the way he wants to grab the sheets and hold onto something. It's new, Dexter doesn't like it, doesn't like how worried he is, but he doesn't even know what he's so worried about.

He didn't officially do much the first time, it was as if he had just switched off some part of his brain when Doakes touched him, as if he had become incapable of thinking, and it was... good. It was new, it was somehow exciting, he didn't have to worry about much, Dexter had total control of the situation, but he allowed someone else to have as much control as he did, in a way, and it was... different, euphoric, enthusiastic. But now, when Doakes touches his hip and his stomach, he swallows with difficulty, his breathing becoming even more tense. He grabs the sheets and stays as still as possible.

There's something about Doakes' movements, something new and somewhat slower, but as firm and in control as anything, Dexter is very good at recognizing it, in a way, he has a good idea of how similar Doakes is to him. To some degree, Dexter was used to being in Doakes' position; on top, touching and appreciating, taking care of his every move, worried about the person he had underneath him, more concerned about the other person's pleasure than his own, but he always had a hidden hunger, one that broke free at times, that made him want to consume, to possess, to hold.

Doakes' lips come into contact with his stomach and he exhales through his nose, without taking his eyes off the ceiling. He's not quite ready for eye contact again, the warm feeling that easily became something frightening to Dexter, the way he relaxed with Doakes' hand against his cheek, on his knees, as if this was his normal, as if he was supposed to do this, but he knows it's not, it could never be, he could never have this, it's one of the few treats of humanity that Dexter doesn't allow himself and will never allow himself to have. There are several reasons for this, which he can't even begin to list right now. Dexter is used to the insults, the threats of violence, the shoving and the hostility, but when he opened his eyes and realized what he was doing, what Doakes was doing, he quickly forced himself away.

Doakes pulled his hand away from his face when he saw the confused and conflicted eyes of the man kneeling at his feet. Dexter turned away from him as if he had been infected with some deadly disease, his eyes were slightly swollen with tears and his lips were a deep shade of red. He frowned to himself and tried to stand, but found that his legs were weak, unable to support his own weight. He leaned on the bed, and Doakes even tried to help him, but Dexter pushed him away again. Doakes said nothing, just sat on the bed, watching in silence as Dexter tried to pull himself together, looking deeply distressed. Doakes wondered what was going on in his head at that moment.

Dexter flexed his jaw a few times, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then he looked exhausted again, followed by confused, apprehensive and disturbed. Doakes' eyes were staring when he was on his knees, his hands were caressing his face, touching him tenderly which was the oddest thing that had ever happened between them. Dexter tried to quickly forget that look, what the hell those touches could mean and sat down on the bed next to Doakes. He took a deep breath, swallowed again and looked at the other man.

"Am I going to have to make you lie down, Morgan?" and there it was again, the commands, the aggression, and suddenly everything was quite right again.

Dexter rolled over in bed and gave Doakes an annoyed look, which made the other man smile. Dexter sighed and flopped back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling in silence. And here they were, Doakes' lips pressed against every inch of his skin, Doakes pushed his arms open on the bed and stared at him, as if he were trying to memorize what Dexter's body looked like. Dexter frowned and looked away, damn, men were confusing, weren't they? Dexter had always had a considerably solid opinion of them, of their dominance and their absurd need to make everything about sex, which bothered him deeply, and honestly, still does. They didn't tend to look for any kind of emotional attachments, or any kind of connection, it was always more carnal, at least in Dexter's eyes, and Dexter usually knew how to manage that. Well, he thought so, at least.

But when Doakes' fingers slid across the scar on his rib cage, Dexter quickly grabbed his wrist. Uh, that was familiar. He stared at Doakes, and for a second, they both stopped breathing. Doakes stared at him, raising an eyebrow as his eyes stared at Dexter's hand around his wrist. The silence was as deafening as the sound of their breathing echoing in the room.

"What are you doing? " Dexter whispered between his teeth, deadly tense, he wasn't going to do this again. He simply wasn't going to do this again. Every time Doakes' fingers slid too close to his scar, he felt too exposed, as if Doakes was capable of seeing through his scar, and that was quite terrifying, to say the least.

"I'm not allowed to touch you, Morgan?" Doakes retorted.

Dexter didn't answer, staring at him through his lashes, his heart hammering against his chest, everything seemed too tense all of a sudden. The idea of someone being able to see him through something so simple was like standing on the edge of a very high and very dark cliff that threatened to consume him entirely. Dexter didn't like it, didn't like how it made him sick to his stomach. His fingers wrapped around Doakes' wrist more tightly without him realizing it. "I highly recommend you let me go, Morgan."

Dexter blinked and forced his fingers away from Doakes, breathing sharply through his nose, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, lips firmly closed. He needed to hide more if he wanted this to work at all. It was just sex, nothing more. It would never be anything more.

"You know what, let's work this out. " Doakes decided, standing over Dexter. "I want you to put your hands above your head. And you'll only put your hands down when I tell you to."

Dexter raises his eyebrows and he honestly doesn't know exactly what makes Doakes think he'll actually do what he says. He stays silent for a second and doesn't move a muscle. "Why?" he decides to ask instead.

"Because I intend to touch you a lot over the next few hours, and I see that you need an incentive to fucking behave. " Doakes hissed, hovering over him like a wild animal.

"Behave?" Dexter asked, rather intrigued. Mm. It's intriguing, because others would say that all Dexter does is obey and follow orders like a good innocent citizen, but no, Doakes doesn't see that. Doakes sees something else. He wonders what exactly Doakes sees. "What exactly makes you think I'm going to do that? "

"Or you could tell me why that scar bothers you so much. And what exactly happened to you to have such a big scar." Doakes shrugs.

Dexter decides to take the bait. "Why do you want to know? Why are you so interested? I thought the interrogation would happen later."

"Because, every time I touch your scar, you stop breathing. " Doakes whispered, staring at him blankly.

The other man breathed calmly through his nose, maintaining eye contact, he bit his lower lip. "Try telling me something about yourself, then. " Dexter suggested, his body unconsciously settling onto the mattress beneath him.

"Nice try, Morgan, but if I wanted us to get to know each other better, I would have taken you on a fucking date first." Doakes hissed between his teeth, something in his eyes shifting with more hostility, as if he had remembered what was going on and who was really beneath him. What a shame.

"Too bad, then. " Dexter sighs and shrugs.

Doakes lets out a sound from deep in his throat and grabs his wrists, Dexter makes a confused sound in return, but his wrists are being held above his head before he really has a chance to do anything. Doakes stares down at him, as if to defy him to react, and Dexter is sure he'd really like him to, so he sighs and stays still, he doesn't try to break free, he just stares back at Doakes, licking his lips. "Don't fucking try me, Morgan." Doakes grunts too close to his face and Dexter puts on his best confused, innocent frown.

"I'm not doing anything, Sergeant. " Dexter murmurs back, calm, he's suddenly meek. It's an act that tends to work very well with others, but visibly doesn't work with Doakes, because he grabs both of his wrists with one hand and squeezes them hard enough to hurt a little. It's a warning - well, a threat really.

"Don't you fucking move your hands. " James orders firmly, sounding a little too aggressive, typical of Doakes. He gives his wrists one last hard squeeze before letting go, and Dexter doesn't move, staying where he was left.

Doakes watches him for a second, waiting, and when Dexter still doesn't do anything, he sighs contentedly with that smile on his face and Dexter suddenly wants to grab him hard enough for him to be the one with the bruises this time. It's a prevalent and very dangerous thought, because Dexter knows that Doakes isn't the kind of guy who would just accept that, and Dexter isn't really in the mood to cause a conflict while they're both undressed, it would be a bit awkward, to say the least.

Doakes breathes and Dexter is silent, his hands are on his body again and Dexter swallows, staring at the ceiling, hands above his head, his fingers keep twitching and he wants to put his hands down, he wants to, but he won't, at least not yet, let Doakes think he's in control. Doakes' hands slide down his ribs, caressing, almost soothing him as if he were a wild animal and Dexter wants to bite - wants to sink his teeth into Doakes' throat and bite, wants to mark him, let him know what it feels like to have to hide the fucking bruises this time.

"You hide under those loose clothes. " Doakes whispers, leaning over his chest. "Nerd freak, advanced jiu-jitsu expert, blood spatter analyst, ordinary charming guy... which one exactly are you, Morgan? "

He's forgotten about the murderous, monster Dexter, but Dexter decides not to mention it, obviously. "I'm just... Dexter, actually. " Dexter exhales through his mouth.

"Yeah, you can tell yourself that. " Doakes mutters. "Know that you're only fooling one person here, and it's not me. "

Dexter remains silent. There are words to be said and silent thoughts, but he decides to use good old-fashioned silence this time.

(. . .)

Even when Doakes' hands spread his thighs, Dexter doesn't lower his hands, even though he wants to a little too much. His eyes don't leave the ceiling, he's a little afraid of having to look down and make eye contact with Doakes again. There's a certain limit to what he can do when Doakes is touching his body as if he's trying to memorize what his skin feels like. His hands grip his thighs, exposing him, Dexter places the bottom of his feet on the bed, a little restless. He exhales through his nose a few times, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say he was nervous, but again, this is Dexter we're talking about.

Doakes' hands slide up his leg, he leans between his knees and presses his lips against the inside of his thigh and Dexter has a physical reaction, shivering silently. Okay, that was embarrassing. He still doesn't look down, he doesn't dare, his breathing is a little faster and Doakes keeps touching him, kissing the most sensitive spot on his thigh, which is a little too intense, especially since he doesn't exactly remember being touched like that before. So tender, but so fucking intense.

Doakes doesn't touch his cock at any point, even though it's still hard all this time, which is suffocating, because he wants to touch himself, he wants to come, but to do that he'd have to put his hands down and he's still trying to let Doakes believe that he's in control. His cock twitches against his stomach and he bites his lower lip again, his stomach burns, he feels sensitive and Doakes hasn't done anything yet, fuck, how humiliating. What's wrong with him? He's never been like this with any woman before. Disgraceful, that's what it is. He should throw Doakes down on the bed and really show him who's in control here, that would make him see that—

"Morgan."

Dexter blinks at the ceiling, breathing between his teeth. "Yeah?" he whispers.

"I'm going to fuck you with my fingers now. " Doakes says, as if doing him the courtesy of informing him.

"Mm." Dexter hums.

Doakes grunts at his lack of reaction. "Is that fucking okay?"

Dexter nods, eyes up, hands above his head, legs spread on the bed with Doakes between them. Uh, that's quite a situation. "Spread your legs wider. " Doakes slaps his knee lightly and Dexter tries to relax, stretching his legs out of Doakes' way.

He doesn't dare look at what's happening between his legs, but he feels something cold against his ass, making him let out a confused sound.

"It's just lube, relax, Morgan. " Doakes says calmly.

Easy for him to say, it's not him who's about to be fucked again, Dexter remembers all too vividly what it was like the first time, the intense, overwhelming pleasure that left him without oxygen for long minutes and made his legs tremble. Wait, did Doakes say he'll do it again in the morning? He can't possibly be thinking that there will be another round—

A lubed finger against his entrance is enough to make him stop breathing for a second. Doakes' free hand caresses his thigh, trying to make him relax. "Breathe, Morgan. You can take a lot more than a finger, we both know that. "

Dexter grits his teeth, several insults run through his head, but he stays silent and breathes through his nose. The finger slides into him easier this time, Dexter exhales through his mouth, his hips moving by themselves. "Right, that's it. " Doakes whispers, pressing his finger in and out with a certain slowness. Doakes moves the single finger inside Dexter for a few short minutes and then finally adds another when Dexter is loose enough.

A second finger changes things considerably, mainly because Dexter is moving his hips a little more desperately now, he chokes a few times, his breath caught in his throat, but when Doakes presses a hand down on his stomach, pinning him in place and shoves his fingers as deep inside him as possible, Dexter sees stars and maybe a whole constellation, the sound that escapes his throat is embarrassing and loud, his thighs close around Doakes' arm and the sergeant grabs his knees, making him spread his legs again.

"Did I hit the right spot, Morgan?" Doakes smiles smugly, and then starts fucking him with both fingers.

The hand on his stomach pushes him down every time his hips try to move, the fingers inside him stretch him with a voracious speed and intensity, always hitting that sensitive spot inside him. Dexter moans, biting his lips, fuck, he needs to grab something, his stomach is on fire, he's hard, leaking against his belly, fuck. Doakes seems very focused on bringing him to pieces, moving his wrist in circles and pressing his fingers deep inside again.

Doakes slides a third finger in and Dexter moans louder, grunting at the same time, his hands shaking above his head. "I need – I need to put my hands down." Dexter practically growls. "Doakes, fuck—"

"Fine." Doakes retorts. "You can put your hands down. " he says, satisfied, as if he's proud that Dexter has obeyed. Fuck him. Fucking asshole.

Dexter doesn't have time to continue insulting him through his thoughts because he has to hold onto the sheets when Doakes spreads his legs further apart, grabs his hips with his free hand and shoves all three fingers inside him really hard, the thrusts are fast and don't stop for a second, Dexter grips the sheets between his fingers, arching his back on the bed, closing his eyes tightly. "Oh, fuck, fuck." he whispers. "Doakes, touch me, fuck, touch me. "

Doakes just stares at him with a smile, watching his thighs tremble with each thrust and each time he turns his wrist at just the right angle to make him moan. His face is red, the blush has gone down to his collarbone and his ears, his lips are red and swollen from being bitten so much, his hands clutching at the sheet as if his life depended on it. Doakes would never say it, but he looks good like this, trembling, sensitive, consumed by pleasure. Maybe he should keep him on the edge like this for longer, and more often.

"Doakes, fuck, I need you to touch me. " Dexter says again, more desperately, gasping. "Just, touch me, I fucking need it. "

Doakes decides to have mercy on him now because he knows he won't have it later when he really fucks him. His free hand touches Dexter's cock, jerking him off at the same speed as he fucks him with his fingers. Dexter moans and growls, his toes curl and his whole body shudders, his legs tingling. That intense sensation runs up his legs, settling in his stomach and his orgasms seem to be on fire, he grunts between his teeth, the sounds escaping his lips are almost animalistic.

"I'm... close. " Dexter whispers almost as if he's dying and Doakes smiles even brighter.

"Then do it, Morgan. " Doakes whispers, leaning against his face. "And look into my eyes when you come. "

Dexter opens his eyes and his eyes are foggy with pleasure, pupils dilated. Fuck, if he's like this with just three fingers, then Doakes can't wait to fuck him hard enough to make him tremble again. He didn't stop to really watch him the first time, busy with his own pleasure, but he'll do it right this time. Dexter looks at him, frowning at the intense sensation, he licks his lips. "I'm going to fucking come, I'm gonna— " he whispers like a prayer, his eyes roll back in his head and he arches his back, cumming in Doakes' hand.

The movements inside him stop for a moment as the spasms hit him hard, ripping through his nervous system. He grunts, moans, gasps, all at the same time. Doakes realizes that he will never get tired of watching him. Dexter breathes through his mouth, gasps, his legs shake a few more times and he melts into the bed, boneless, the post-orgasm spasms hitting for a few more seconds. He lays his head on the pillow and stretches his limbs, shuddering. "Fuck." Dexter whispers, his voice sounding deep.

Doakes pulls his fingers out of him in silence while Dexter keeps his eyes closed, taking a deep breath. Uh. He seems relaxed again. That's... something. Doakes wipes his hand on the sheet and looks at Dexter, silently watching him. The other man is still breathing heavily, his skin is red and sweat is visible on his skin. Doakes moves closer, sliding a fingertip across his stomach and Dexter shudders again, exhaling through his mouth. He throws an arm over his eyes, licking his lips; his heart is beating through his eardrums, his skin is warm and sensitive, he feels as if his nervous system had shut down.

Doakes' cock is hard just at the sight of Dexter, as he relaxes through his orgasm, he hums softly and leans over to lick the sweat from Dexter's collarbone, making the other man pull his arm away from his own face, looking at him through his barely open eyelids. Dexter sighs, and Doakes continues to stare at him. "What are you staring at?" Dexter grunts, looking away, his voice hoarse and heavy.

"Shut your mouth. " Doakes retorts, and gets on top of him and kisses him.

(. . .)

The position is unfamiliar, and Dexter would be damned if it ever became familiar. He's on his hands and knees on the bed, staring at the wall in front of him, trying his hardest not to look at what's happening behind him. Dexter swallows, takes a deep breath through his mouth and lowers his head, his arms are a little weak and he feels he won't really be able to hold himself up for long; Doakes' hands grip his hips and Dexter closes his eyes. He's done this before, Dexter doesn't know what the hell is taking Doakes so long to get inside him.

There's movement behind him on the bed and a hand in the middle of his spine pushing him down makes him arch his back, Dexter remains silent and for a second the silence is so loud that Dexter thinks he can hear the sound of his own heart beating like crazy against his ribcage. "I'm going to put it in, Morgan. " Doakes says, and he sounds breathless. "Relax."

Dexter takes a deep breath through his nose when Doakes pushes his cheeks apart and for a second he wants to squirm away because he knows Doakes is staring, the fucker, Dexter grunts softly, he's on all fours again for Sergeant James fucking Doakes, in some other universe, Dexter would have laughed at this insinuation, but he's really here, in his own bed, about to be fucked again by the guy who claims to hate him that much. How ironic, surely he could imagine something that isn't as insane as this, like—

The tip of Doakes' cock presses against his entrance and Dexter exhales through his nose, trying to relax. That was the worst part, wasn't it? Doakes kept pushing until the tip pushed in, penetrating his hole. Dexter's body tenses, the muscles in his arms are starting to burn, he bites his lower lip and they both moan in unison as Doakes pushes in a little further. "Morgan, relax, let me in. " Doakes grunts from deep in his throat, gripping his hips tightly. Don't leave bruises again, damn it.

The lube certainly made things easier this time, because that discomfort on the verge of pain wasn't there this time, of course, it was still uncomfortable, but he feels he can take it easier now. He arches his spine and Doakes slides a hand down his back as he relaxes around him, breathing through his nose. "That's it. A little more, Morgan. " Doakes whispers.

Dexter wonders for a second why he's being so patient and... gentle this time. He frowns to himself and bites his lower lip harder, Doakes caresses his waist and presses in deeper, Dexter holds his breath and Doakes pushes all the way in, he lets out a moan mixed with a grunt and Dexter swallows a groan that's stuck in his throat. Fuck. He'd forgotten how full it made him feel, damn it. Doakes stays still in place, his pelvis pressed against Dexter's ass, his hands on his hips preventing him from moving away.

"It's all in, Morgan. " Doakes licks his lips and Dexter can feel his smile, even without looking at him. "Still so fucking tight. "

Dexter keeps his lips firmly closed, his head down, his arms starting to shake. He moves his hips, restless, Doakes' cock pressing against all the right places inside him and it's so deep that Dexter has to breathe through his mouth to stop himself from moaning. Fuck, if he doesn't move—

"You're always quiet at these moments, aren't you, Morgan?" Doakes squeezes his waist, moving his hips in circles inside him. "Don't worry, you'll get loud very soon. " he practically growls.

Doakes pulls out to the tip, only to thrust inside even harder. Dexter stops breathing for long seconds, the thrust hitting the nerve endings inside him, and then Doakes starts fucking him for real. The movements are deep and strong at first; Doakes' hands don't leave his hips, pulling him back against his cock, going as deep inside Dexter as possible. Dexter's fingers curl into the sheet as he tries to support his own weight and the thrusts that make his body shudder.

"Fuck." he chokes, trying to be quiet, but Doakes is unwilling to cooperate.

A strong enough thrust against his prostate makes Dexter groan and his eyes roll back in his head. Oh fuck, he's forgotten how good that feels. The thrusts get even faster and soon Doakes is pounding him harder, he's almost sure he can feel his own thighs shaking, Dexter holds back a few moans that keep trying to escape with each thrust inside him. Morgan arches his back again, the pleasure is intense and takes over his brain, his stomach is burning and he keeps trying to breathe, but Doakes is fucking him so hard that he barely gets any oxygen.

"That's it, take it." Doakes grunts, keeping a tight grip on his hips. "Fuck, I knew it would be even better than the first time, I'm going to have to fuck you every day, I swear to God, Morgan." he's panting, sweat dripping down his chest, Doakes is grunting, growling, all at the same time.

"Oh, fuck. " Dexter groans, and falls face-first into the pillows, losing the strength in his arms. He turns his head to the side, trying to breathe. "Fuck, fuck. " he repeats, clutching the sheets desperately.

Doakes leans over him and places a hand in the middle of his spine, pulling his hips back, his torso remains pinned to the mattress, the thrusts don't stop for a second, saliva drips from the corner of Dexter's open mouth, he gasps and moans as if he's suffocating, eyes tightly closed with the intense pleasure. Dexter's body shudders and the nerves in his body are on fire, his cock presses against the mattress beneath him, the friction against his cock and the thrusts against his prostate make him painfully hard again.

He can't breathe properly, Dexter gasps, opening his eyes, trying to lift his head, but each thrust causes his body to be crushed against the mattress, he grunts, gritting his teeth, trying to lift himself into his arms; Doakes puts a hand on the back of his head and pushes him down again, the sound of skin against skin echoes through the room, Dexter's toes curl, he shudders violently. "Stay there and take it, Morgan. " Doakes grunts, keeping his hand on the back of Dexter's head.

Dexter lets out another embarrassed sound and something that sounds very close to needy if he were to stop and think for a second. "I can't... fucking breathe. " Dexter grunts, trying to grab Doakes' arm.

In return, Doakes pulls him back, and Dexter desperately tries to hold onto something. Doakes pulls him up against him until Dexter feels his chest against his back, his knees still on the bed. Dexter takes a deep breath and Doakes puts an arm around his chest, holding him in place, and he starts to press his hips deep inside Dexter, making him moan even louder. Dexter grips the arm around his chest, grunting, his thighs really shaking now. Doakes puts his other hand in the middle of his stomach and pulls him back against his cock. "Fuck, so – deep. " Dexter grunts, biting his lower lip hard. "Fuck, Doakes. "

"That's it, you like it deep, Morgan?" Doakes moans against his ear, inhaling against the crook of Dexter's neck. "Does that feel good, mhm?"

Dexter lets his head fall against Doakes' shoulder, he's on fire, his cock hard against his abdomen, fuck, it's a bit too much, too good, shit, Dexter lets out a sequence of sounds with the thrusts inside him, always pressing against that sensitive spot inside him. "Tell me, is that good? Deep and hard, is that how you like it, Morgan?" Doakes whispers against his ear, panting against his neck.

"Y-yeah—" Dexter whispers, closing his eyes tightly, his throat is infinitely dry and the fucking muscles in his thigh are starting to burn.

Suddenly, Doakes pulls out of him and Dexter lets out a confused sound, opening his eyes. Then Doakes throws himself backwards onto the bed, pulling Dexter with him. Dexter grunts, about to complain because his whole body is too weak for such fast action. However, Doakes pulls him on top of him, making him sit on his hips, and Doakes faces him with a smile and sweat dripping from his forehead. "I want to see you ride me, Morgan." Doakes grunts between his teeth.

Dexter frowns. He hasn't done that before, has he - how the hell is he supposed to do that? Dexter positions his knees on either side of Doakes' hips and breathes, still out of breath, fuck, he's tired. "I—" Dexter mutters, licking his lips. "I've never... " he grunts.

Doakes raises his eyebrows, probably about to say something very clever and offensive as he usually does, but instead he leans up, positions his cock under Dexter's entrance and pushes down against his cock. Dexter groans, letting his head fall back, arching his spine. His cock is leaking against his abdomen, so hard that Doakes is almost tempted to touch it, but he needs Dexter to last a little longer, he's not even close to being done with him.

"Just move your hips, come on. " Doakes puts his hands on Dexter's hips, lying back on the bed.

It's an... interesting sight, to say the least. Dexter's head is thrown back and his neck and collarbone are a deep shade of red, sweat drips off his skin and his cock is still leaking, hard against his stomach. Dexter rests his hands on Doakes' thighs and moves his hips, moaning with Doakes' cock deep enough inside to leave him breathless. He grunts from deep in his throat, moving his head to look down at Doakes in particular. He slides his hands up Dexter's trembling thighs as the other man moves his hips in a circular pattern on top of him.

Dexter moves his hips up and then down, breathing heavily. Doakes' cock is pushing non-stop against that overstimulated spot inside him. Dexter looks down at Doakes through his eyelashes, biting his lower lip, and places his hands against his chest, leaning in. "Damn it, Morgan, look at you. " Doakes licks his lips, staring at him with such intensity that he forgets to blink.

"Shut up." Dexter gasps and his voice doesn't even sound like himself. "Fuck, I think I'm going to come. " he whispers as if surprised at himself.

"Is it that good, Morgan?" Doakes teases. "You can barely speak or open your eyes, you're all shaky, but you're still so hard, hm?" Doakes touches his cock for a second and the reaction is instantaneous, he grunts, his body trembles and he squeezes Doakes inside him, making him let out a grunt.

"Fuck, just —" Dexter grunts, his hands are too close to Doakes' neck, he has to control himself. "Just fuck me, okay? Can you fucking do that?"

"If you're so desperate, then do it yourself. "

Dexter lets out a loud sound of frustration. "Fuck you. " he whispers, and starts fucking himself on Doakes' cock, fighting every urge to strangle Doakes right there.

The effort makes Dexter's thighs burn and his arms are shaking, he can't move fast enough or at the right angle to hit the bundle of nerves inside him, fuck, he's choking, his body is starting to ache with the effort, he needs to lie down, fuck Doakes. Dexter lowers his head against Doakes' face and whimpers. Doakes' eyes widen slightly. "I can't, fuck, I can't do it, I'm... really tired, Doakes. "

Doakes slides his hands down his back, sighing with a smile. He doesn't say anything, but he feels immensely satisfied, as if he's won a battle. He just holds Dexter and turns him over on the bed, placing him on his back with his legs spread. He enters Dexter without hesitation, drawing a loud moan from the other man. Doakes leans against him, between his legs, and touches his cock, then starts jerking him off at the same speed as his thrusts. Dexter becomes a quivering, breathless mess beneath him in a matter of seconds, locking his ankles behind Doakes' hips.

"Yes, yes — I'm close. " Dexter whispers against his ear.

Doakes presses his lips against Dexter's neck. "C'mon, come for me," he whispers back.

Then Dexter falls into a deathly silence and his whole body tenses, he squeezes Doakes inside him and his eyes roll back in his skull, the climax is so intense that Dexter stops breathing completely, his breath caught in his throat, he grabs Doakes' shoulders and hugs him desperately, the orgasm runs through his body and he gasps once, and then breathes again, moaning muffled against Doakes' skin. Doakes fucks him through his orgasm and it's too much, just too much, the sounds that escape his lips are nothing less than desperate. The spasms run through his nerves tightly, his legs trembling around Doakes' hips. He slides his short nails down Doakes' back, trying to recover from the orgasm.

He feels overstimulated, Dexter presses his teeth against Doakes' shoulder and strongly considers biting him as the movements inside him don't stop. "Doakes — James, fuck, fuck. Mm—" he whispers, overwhelmed, he can feel his flesh melting, it's too much, he can't—

Doakes grunts, pulls out of him and jerks himself against him, his face pressed into his neck. He cums a few seconds later in his own hand, moaning from deep in his throat, his body goes rigid and he soon relaxes completely, out of breath, then lets the weight of his body fall on top of the other man beneath him. Dexter exhales through his mouth, throwing an arm around Doakes' back.

They fall into silence as heavy breathing echoes around the room. A few minutes later, Dexter tries to push Doakes to the other side of the bed because he can't breathe with the weight of the other man on top of him. Doakes grunts and doesn't move, actually settling on top of him, pressing his face against Dexter's throat, with an arm around his waist.

Dexter stares at the ceiling, frowning to himself. Neither of them moves or says anything for a long time.

Chapter Text

He can feel it quiet inside him, silent, as if it were lurking, waiting, longing, calm, patient, cold, cruel. Like hands sliding down his spine, squeezing his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, it's waiting for the right moment to take control, it's hungry, yearning, anxious, in the back of his mind, under his bed, in the dark corner of the room, that shadow that lives deep in his chest, threatening to take complete control. He hasn't tried to fight it for a while, there's no reason to fight it, but the Dark Passenger is out for blood, and it doesn't matter whose it is, it's hungry, hateful, bitter; it's moments like this that make Dexter remember why the Code really exists, restricting him, putting him on a leash, because the Dark Passenger wants to break free, he can even taste blood in his mouth, like a memory, an incentive, a message of what awaits him so desperately; an inevitable destiny. It has to happen. It always does.

It's telling him that this won't work for long, who is he trying to fool anyway? The mask is slipping, the information about the investigation is becoming more and more scarce, the FBI is more cautious, far from really getting close to him, but Dexter can't help worrying, after all, he's careless now, stupid, unconcerned, too busy with whatever it is that he has with Doakes; he doesn't even know how to call it, whatever the hell is going on between them. It's not a relationship, it's not a friendship, it's nothing. It makes the Dark Passenger laugh deep inside him, as if it knows more than he does, and it makes Dexter unsettled, deadly unsettled. He doesn't like being left out, he wants to know, he needs to know.

It keeps laughing at him, as if Dexter were a joke, and well, maybe he really is now, because look at him: lying in a bed with the man who promised him his downfall, the man who threatened him and stalked him for months, apart from all the other several years of insults and nasty comments that have been directed at him. It's like some stupid little cliche, Dexter thinks. The Dark Passenger mocks him again, it's having fun, of course it is, it doesn't matter whose suffering it is, as long as it's being fed. It hadn't been a month since his last kill, and yet, somehow, it felt like months; it's hungry, it's getting more vicious, it's rotting in his stomach, killing all his organs and taking his soul with it.

And like a nightmare, a breath blows into his ear and Dexter's whole body tenses up. He stops breathing, he doesn't really need to look to know who or what is there; he remains perfectly still, merely breathing, a cold, numbing sensation creeps through his body, covering him entirely, his muscles too tense to move, every joint in his body paralyzed, he swallows the saliva in his mouth with difficulty and breathes through his nose slowly, as if afraid to make any abrupt movements. His eyes are not open, and he has no intention of opening them.

"Hello, little brother. "

His stomach drops to his feet and he feels like he could throw up. Dexter opens his eyes, because of course he does; his dead brother's voice echoes in his head as if it's taking up space for him in there, settling into his mind uninvited, but he never really needed an invitation. Brian's opaque eyes stare back at him, he has that cruel, fake smile on his face. Brian looks alive, and Dexter knows he isn't. "I killed you. " Dexter whispers, his words feel too empty on his lips.

"Wrong. You just took my life. " Brian replies, sighing, as if he's upset, but he shrugs and smiles again. "Don't worry, I've already forgiven you for that. "

Dexter narrows his eyes. "Why would I need your forgiveness?" he asks, and Brian's smile only intensifies, he's amused by Dexter's confused tone. "I don't need your forgiveness."

"You really want to believe that, don't you, little brother?" Brian sighs, his eyes meeting his as if he's looking for something, but they both know there's nothing there to be found; Brian looks away, his head turning to the side, and then something changes.

Dexter blinks, then looks around, and there's something against his feet, it feels wet and warm. He looks down. His bare feet are surrounded by blood; he blinks, he feels as if his surroundings have suddenly become terribly cold, his whole body shivers, he trembles, and he can't take his eyes off the blood at his feet. He knows whose blood it is, and he also knows where it is, maybe if he just looks down at the blood, he won't have to see the walls of the container surrounding him, maybe he won't have to see Brian's face with that terrible smile that hides something Dexter needs to know.

Brian's hand reaches for his shoulder and he's completely paralyzed. He doesn't think he's even breathing, but he's not sure, he can't tell, everything is numb, it feels like the blood at his feet was his own, like he's bleeding to death, getting progressively weaker, the life leaving his body. "Tell me, what do you think you're going to get out of all this, brother?" Brian whispers, squeezing his shoulder. "Because I'm really curious. "

Dexter doesn't say anything, this isn't real, he knows that, but the feeling is, the way he can feel the blood on his feet, this is real, it was real, he remembers it. Brian's hand slides under his chin, his jaw clenches, he grits his teeth, but doesn't try to move. The hand placed under his chin lifts his head, forcing him to look into his dead brother's eyes. Brian is no longer smiling, he has no facial expression, his eyes are blank, there's barely any color in them, or even any sparkle. He looks dead. He is dead. "I know you miss me, brother," Brian whispers again. "But the guilt? That's new for you, isn't it?"

Dexter exhales through his mouth, frowning. "I don't—"

"You're not capable of feeling guilt?" Brian raises his eyebrows. " You're not capable of feeling anything, is that what you were going to say? "

Dexter's silence is self-incriminating and Dexter knows it. Brian sighs and tilts his head to the side, staring at him. "You don't have to pretend with me, remember?" he murmurs. "You can be who you are, Dexter. With me. So don't lie to me. Just don't. "

"I'm not lying." Dexter hisses between his teeth, pushing Brian's hand away from his chin. Brian lowers his arm to his side.

"So what are you trying to do, little brother?" Brian asks, curious. "What are you doing? Why are you playing with your food?"

Dexter struggles to move his legs, taking a step back, he finally looks around, and it turns out he's right; blood covers the walls of the container, and it feels tighter, as if the walls are slowly closing in around them. His breathing starts to quicken. He has to - he has to get out. Brian seems to notice his behavior, and grabs his shoulders, making him look at him again. Dexter's eyes are wide, quick breaths escape between his lips.

"You know how it ends. " Brian whispers, squeezing his shoulders - and it hurts, the grip hurts, he tries to pull away, but Brian just holds him tighter. "You know that, so why are you doing this? I can't be sure Harry's proud. I mean, sure, you saved the world from big brother Biney, but look at you, Dexter."

"Stop—" Dexter hisses.

"You can't be Dexter the serial killer and Dexter the lover, little brother. " Brian moved closer to him, burying his fingers in his shoulders. "Look at me. Look at the way it ended."

Blood begins to pour from Brian's throat, a large cut opens up on his neck, Brian chokes, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Dexter stares at him, and he feels nothing. He ignores and hushes all instincts to flee; he's the monster here, and he can't run away from himself. Blood is his only companion, and it will follow him until the end of his life, as a reminder of what he really is.

(. . .)

He wakes up, quiet and still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, he blinks a few times, doesn't even think about moving. That was a nightmare. A literal nightmare, and it's concerning, because Dexter doesn't have nightmares. Dexter doesn't dream, about anything, he doesn't have nightmares, he sleeps, he wakes up and that's it, no dreams for him, Dexter is too busy being the source of other people's nightmares. He blinks once more at the ceiling and knows he's frowning to himself, but he can't stop it, Dexter's face is tense, the expression lines must be visible now, he tries to relax his face, but fails.

"Damn, Morgan, do you always wake up in a bad mood? "

Dexter turns his head in the direction of the voice next to him, to find Doakes. Lying there. Next to him. Naked. His eyes wander down to where the blanket covers him from the waist down, Doakes waits, and when Dexter looks into his eyes again, he has that smug smile on his face that makes Dexter want to bite his lips. Dexter looks away, in silence, and looks down at himself. The blanket covers him to the waist. He feels as if his back is covered in sweat, he also feels as if he could really use a shower right now.

Dexter moves, throwing the blanket away from his body, he sits on the edge of the bed, and takes a deep breath, arching his back for a second, he stretches his limbs, feeling tired. Fuck. Right, he just remembered. Doakes moves on the bed behind him. "I tried my best to clean you up at night. I know I wouldn't want to wake up with dried up cum on my abs." Doakes says casually, lying back on the bed, as if he's more comfortable than ever.

Dexter looks at him over his shoulder, still quiet. He has nothing to say, really. He looks forward again, remembering Brian's eyes. Empty. Dead. In a way, Dexter could say that he doesn't sleep, not much anyway, he always felt like he didn't need much sleep, and well, apparently that's what happened when he gets enough sleep. Nightmares. The truth came back to haunt him, the consequences of his actions, the executioner.

Morgan lets out a sigh and gets out of bed, he feels like his body weighs tons, there's a dirty mess between his thighs and he really needs to take a shower. Dexter moves around the bed, his legs are a little weak, but he tries not to show it; he can feel Doakes' eyes on his body the whole time. Dexter looks at Doakes, lying on his back on the bed, staring at him with a smile at the corner of his lip, as if he's admiring the mess he's made.

"I'm going to take a shower. " Dexter says, his voice deep from having just woken up.

"Yeah, you go ahead, I'll join you soon. " Doakes sighs, yawning.

Dexter raises an eyebrow. "Join me?"

"I promised you a second round, didn't I?" and Doakes winks, as if he's having the time of his life.

Dexter looks away, a sense of something akin to embarrassment taking over his demeanor for a second, he scratches his head in disbelief. Dexter bites his lower lip at the shiver that runs through his body at Doakes' words and for a second he feels his own body showing interest at his implication. He exhales briefly and tries to get away as quickly as possible, grabbing some towels and clothes to put on after showering. He glances at Doakes over his shoulder before leaving the room and Doakes is visibly staring at his ass with a bigger smile. Dexter rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

(. . .)

The warm water makes his tense muscles relax as soon as it hits his body, he lets his head fall back, eyes closed, the water running down his face. Yes, he needed that. The sound of the water falling on the floor echoes in his brain and he tries to get the blood out of his head, but quick flashes keep passing before his closed eyes. He slides the soap down his body; for a moment he has to open his eyes again because he feels as if his body is covered in blood instead of the water. Dexter doesn't want to think about it, Brian's eyes and blood are stuck in his mind, his lungs are full and it's as if he's breathing blood instead of air.

There's something turning in his stomach that makes him sick, as if his organs are rotting inside him, it's not feelings, it's not guilt, it's not pain, he tastes ashes and death on his tongue, because that's all that surrounds him, bodies, blood, the shadow that pushes him down and tries to take control, he's a creature of darkness pretending to be a person for longer than he can remember. A creature of the night, a shadow that lurks around corners; Dexter lives as something capable of having feelings, but his hands are too cold, his eyes are too ruthless, his words are too empty, and in his chest there is nothing but a soul-consuming void.

His eyes fixed on a drop of water on the wall, Dexter always believed that one day he would be punished for the things he did, but he never thought it would be by his own subconscious. He needs it to stop. He needs to kill someone, and he needs his mind to shut up for a single second. Dexter has always been a calm individual, the kind who doesn't get caught up in conflicting thoughts, or anything that could be considered emotions, since everything and everyone has told him he's not capable of it, the normal human life isn't for things like Dexter, he's spent his whole life trying not to fit into the pattern of psychopaths and murderers, looking for a normal life in which he could hide among normal people, and look where that got him.

He's read books about it, watched documentaries, consumed all sorts of things that could help him hide in plain sight, Harry told him never to let it interfere, but he knows Harry meant never to destroy the lives of innocent people in the process. He's already done that to Rita, so he knows he's on the wrong track, on the path to getting worse and worse. I mean, look at him, look at Doakes, what is he doing, for heaven's sake? Not in a million years could this end in some way where Dexter doesn't end up on trial for his crimes, or even killed by the same cop who's lying in his bed. He wouldn't lie, he knows that would be too ironic. Doakes wouldn't hesitate to shoot him even for a second and Dexter knows it, but still...

Suddenly there are hands around his waist and Dexter looks back quickly, and his reaction is instantaneous; you should never put him in a position where he has to defend himself, Dexter doesn't usually initiate conflicts, but he always knows how to defend himself very well. He is so immersed in his thoughts that his first reaction to being abruptly touched is to turn around and grab the owner of the hands by the neck. Obviously, it's Doakes. Dexter grunts softly, looking away; did he really not even hear Doakes enter the shower? Fuck, that proves how far he is from his usual, careless, distracted, that's dangerous, that's a threat.

"What the fuck, Morgan?" Doakes grunts, lashing out violently, pushing him backwards. Dexter's feet slide on the wet floor and he presses himself against the wall.

Dexter takes a deep breath, suddenly tense again; he doesn't like being approached like that, his killer instincts are on higher alert than ever, but he tries to relax, frowning to himself in silence. He tries to cover himself with his hands discreetly, attacking someone in the shower really wasn't a good idea, what was he thinking? Doakes rubs his neck, looking at Dexter with an unbelieving and confused expression.

"What the fuck was that, Morgan? Do you fucking care to explain?" Doakes almost growls, visibly furious, well, that's fair enough, Dexter thinks.

Dexter reaches over to turn off the shower, still silent, and his skin is cold again, damn it. He exhales through his nose, running a hand through his wet hair. "I didn't hear you enter the bathroom. " he whispers.

"For fuck's sake, Morgan, who else would be entering the bathroom?" Doakes exhales, still pissed off, but the shock slowly dissipating. "Do that again and you'll end up with a black eye, I'm fucking warning you. "

Dexter raises his hands in surrender, exhaling through his mouth. "Don't sneak up on me like that again, then. " he retorts between his teeth.

"Fine." he hisses. "We have an agreement, then. Nobody has to end up with a black eye for now. "

Dexter takes another deep breath. "You've fought me before, don't you remember? We both know how that would end. " he says nonchalantly.

Doakes raises his eyebrows with a sharp smile, the anger easily replaced by amusement. "Oh really, you motherfucker?"

The other man shrugs his shoulders, licking his lips, oh dear, it's cold in here. He's about to say that it would be better to get out of the shower when Doakes presses him against the wall behind him and kisses him intensely. Well, that's an option too. Dexter exhales against the other man's lips, the wall is cold behind his back, he slips his arms over Doakes' shoulders.

Doakes presses his teeth against his lower lip."You're not so tough now, are you??" Doakes murmurs into his lips.

Dexter hums from deep in his throat, pulling him into another kiss. He closes his eyes, practically melting into the kiss before he even has a chance to realize what he's doing. Doakes kisses his lips one last time before slowly pulling away. "I've been thinking about fucking you again. " he whispers again, his fingers squeezing his flesh. "Maybe against the wall this time, or maybe I'll put my mouth on you first. "

Morgan makes a sound with his lips closed, he feels Doakes' chest against his, and then he feels the other man's erection pressing against his own cock, Dexter raises his eyebrows, his eyes remain closed, he says nothing, lips clenched, but somehow, he's terribly interested in Doakes' suggestions, it's almost as if the other man's touches against his skin are waking him up from the deepest coma and that's threatening, Dexter knows it, he knows how dangerous it is, and yet, here he is.

"Would you like that, Morgan?" Dexter feels Doakes' teeth rasping along his neck, as if he's stopping himself from biting him. "Do you wanna get fucked against your bathroom wall, mhm?"

"Are you going to keep talking or are you going to do something already?" Dexter grunts back, feeling truly impatient.

Doakes lets out a deep laugh, then turns him to face the wall. Dexter grunts abruptly, placing his palms on the wet wall. He lowers his head, arching his spine slightly, one of Doakes' hands remaining on his waist, while the other travels down the middle of his spine to his lower back. He uses both hands to push his ass cheeks apart and Dexter swallows a sigh because he hasn't had time to clean up the mess there yet. Doakes lets out a groan at the sight and Dexter presses his forehead against the wall, closing his eyes.

One of Doakes' fingers slides around the area of his hole and Dexter sighs, he's still a little sore in that particular area, but he knows that Doakes must have a good idea of that. Doakes bites his lower lip at the sight of the other man's well-used hole, his cock is painfully hard again, James slides a finger in easily, he's relaxed and open enough for a second finger to be slipped in soon after. Dexter licks his lips, moving his hips without being able to stand still. He gets slapped on the ass in return, causing him to let out a grunt that's a little too loud. Dexter looks over his shoulder, frowning, what the hell was that.

"Hold still, Morgan." Doakes says, and presses his fingers deep inside him, Dexter moans softly, leaning his head against the wall.

Doakes is fucking him with his fingers in a matter of seconds, Dexter bites his lower lip, his right hand sliding down the wet wall, he inhales through his nose deeply as Doakes thrusts his fingers deep enough to reach that sensitive spot inside him. Dexter reaches for his own cock, while leaning on the wall with his other hand, stroking himself slowly, Doakes humming behind him, stretching his hole with both fingers. A third finger pushes inside a few minutes later and Dexter moans muffled against the wall.

He breathes deeply through his nose, trying not to come so quickly, Doakes impatiently removes his fingers from inside Dexter, he spits on his own hand quickly and jerks his cock. "Remember to breathe deeply, Morgan." Doakes whispers, then presses his cock against Dexter's hole, penetrating him more easily this time. Doakes thrusts deep and moans heavily, he grabs Dexter's hips and pulls him back against his own cock, the change of angle makes Doakes' cock reach even deeper into Dexter and he closes his eyes, licking his lips, throwing his head back, his hands resting on the wall.

"Spread your legs a little," Doakes says, stroking his back. Dexter, unusually, but not really, does as he says, spreading his legs and arching his back. Doakes hums from deep in his throat, his fingers squeezing Dexter's skin.

Doakes pulls out slowly, only to bury himself deep enough in Dexter to find that stimulated spot inside him. Dexter grunts, his hands close into fists on the wall and a warm sensation settles in his stomach, Doakes repeats the act a few times before starting to fuck him as fast as the second time, Dexter's feet slide on the wet floor, he writhes, the pleasure consumes him easily and quickly, he feels that all the blood in his body is rushing to his face and ears. Doakes' hands grab his waist and pull him backwards as he thrusts, as if he were trying to get as deep inside Dexter as possible.

Doakes moves closer behind him, he slips an arm around Dexter's ribs, pulling him back against him. Dexter feels Doakes' chest pressed firmly against his back, he throws his head back on Doakes' shoulder, arching his back, he swallows every moan that threatens to escape his throat, Doakes' cock is deep enough inside him to stimulate his already sensitive prostate. Doakes breathes heavily against the crook of his neck, sliding his tongue across his wet skin, moving his hips against him, his cock so deep that Dexter abruptly loses oxygen, his stomach burning.

Doakes pulls him back, away from the wall, and Dexter tries to hold onto Doakes' arm around his chest, the thrusts are deep and hard, Dexter's legs are tingling and he's as hard as a rock, his skin is on fire, the cold of minutes ago completely gone, Doakes' pelvis is tightly pressed against his ass, he presses his teeth against his shoulder, but doesn't bite. He slips his other arm around his stomach, practically hugging him from behind. "Fuck, I can feel you tightening around me, Morgan. " Doakes gasps muffled into his shoulder.

The only response Dexter can manage is a choked moan, he licks his lips quickly because he feels like he's salivating, Doakes kisses his shoulder, his neck and then fucks him so deep that Dexter would feel his soul leaving his body if he only had one. Doakes' hand presses against his lower belly, pulling him back against the thrusts, Dexter's throat is abruptly dry, he's breathing harshly through his nose, the muscles in his thighs slowly starting to burn. Doakes' other hand reaches for one of his nipples and Dexter moans deeply.

"Yeah, that's it." Dexter can feel Doakes smiling against his shoulder and he grunts in response. "Are you going to cum with my cock inside you again, Morgan?"

Dexter gasps, the pressure against his prostate is endless, fuck, he exhales desperately through his mouth, Dexter reaches out a hand to reach his own cock and Doakes stops him, holding his arm back. Dexter practically growls, opening his eyes. He's about to complain, when Doakes replaces his hand with his own, jerking him off in sync with the thrusts inside him. Dexter moans, relieved, and closes his eyes again. Doakes makes a satisfied sound, pleased with the reactions he's causing in Dexter.

It doesn't take long for him to come, and when he does, he practically lets the whole weight of his body fall back against Doakes' body. His cum drips onto the floor and hits the wall, Dexter's thighs tremble and he shudders violently, the orgasm tears a deep groan from him, he squeezes Doakes inside him and the other man grunts, grabbing Dexter's waist with his free hand. The post-orgasm spasms hit him a few seconds later, and Doakes waits for his breathing to settle before carefully pulling out.

He holds Dexter with one hand while masturbating with the other. He cums in his own hand with an almost animalistic grunt. Dexter leans against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cold wall, breathing deeply. Doakes strokes his back, strangely silent, waiting. It's all very tender, almost comfortable, but Dexter would never use that word, because he's still talking about Doakes. They're silent for a brief moment, and then Doakes turns the water on again.

Dexter doesn't move, his legs are still a little weak, he remains leaning against the wall, pressing his face against the ceramic wall. The warm water falls over his body and he sighs. Dexter stays in that position for a few minutes and he's about to turn around because Doakes' silence is disturbing, but Doakes pushes him against the wall again, more carefully this time, and starts sliding the soap down his back. Dexter frowns like never before, as he stares at the wall.

"What are you doing?" Dexter whispers, his voice raspy.

Doakes rolls his eyes. "What do you think I'm doing, genius?" he grumbles. "You can thank me later. "

Dexter frowns even more. He would never do that, but he decides not to say anything. He stays against the wall and tries not to squirm with embarrassment when Doakes wipes between his legs. He's in no position to think too much about it, in fact, his brain feels like jelly, dripping out of his ears, fuck, he's tired. Fucked to the point of exhaustion, again, look at Dexter, who would have expected that? Dexter sighs with his eyes closed.

Doakes turns him on the wall facing him, and pushes him back, making him lean his back against the wall, it's almost as if he knows that Dexter can't exactly still stand without support. Dexter carefully throws his head back against the wall and Doakes cleans his torso, legs and private parts. He turns his brain off during the whole process because the thought of Doakes cleaning him in a shower after fucking him for the third time is too insane, even for Dexter.

"If you think I'm going to put shampoo in your hair, you're fucking crazy." Doakes whispers after he's finished cleaning his entire body.

Dexter opens his eyes as if he's woken up from some kind of coma. He blinks a few times, his eyes cloudy. "Huh?" he mutters.

"Are you even awake, man?" Doakes smiles, surprised, he snaps his fingers in front of Dexter's face a few times. "If I had the nerve, I'd say you're too comfortable with me, Morgan. Is that true?" he raises an eyebrow, sighing.

Dexter looks at him in silence for a few seconds. He just rolls his eyes in return, turning off the shower. Dexter stretches his limbs, moving away. He reaches for a towel and dries his hair quickly, then wraps the towel around his waist and leaves the bathroom without saying a word to Doakes. The other man watches him do all these things, surprised and annoyed by the silent treatment. "I need a fucking towel too!" he grunts at Dexter as he closes the bathroom door in his face.

(. . .)

He turns off his cell phone after calling in sick to work. He decides to warn Deb as well, just in case she turns up looking for him and finds Doakes in his apartment. He can't think of such a scenario, as it would be extremely catastrophic for him. First of all, it's Doakes he's talking about, and his sister. He has no intention of letting anyone find out what's going on between him and Doakes; which is a bit questionable, because nothing is happening between them. They're just fucking. That's it. Is that the word people are using?

"Hey, I need to borrow some clothes. I'll give them back to you later. " Doakes says, coming out of the bathroom after taking a shower alone, with the towel Dexter had thrown in his face wrapped around his waist. Dexter tries not to look at the parts of his body that the towel doesn't cover.

He is dressed, sitting on his kitchen counter. He looks at Doakes, one eyebrow raised. "Are you going to use this as an excuse to break into my apartment later?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"You think you're so special, don't you?" Doakes scoffs, water dripping down his chest, Dexter looks away. "No, if you really want to know. I'll knock on your door and hand you your clothes. Is that fucking good enough for you?"

Dexter shrugs. "Okay." He gets up from the counter and goes to his room.

He grabs the first clothes he sees in his closet, goes back into the kitchen and throws the clothes in Doakes' face again. Doakes picks up the clothes and grunts. "You need to stop throwing things in my face, you son of a bitch. " he complains.

Dexter tries to disguise a smile by sitting down at the kitchen counter again. "Would you like some coffee?" he offers.

Doakes stares at him in silence, eyebrows raised. "Did you just offer me coffee?"

The other man holds back a sigh. "Fine. Be an asshole about it." he retorts.

A brief silence. "Yeah, I'd fucking like some coffee. " Doakes grumbles, with a smile at the corner of his lip.

Chapter Text

If you ask him, Dexter doesn't usually take days off, except, of course, when there are any contingencies or things he has to deal with – taking out the trash – and in a way, he doesn't know exactly how to feel about having done it. It's contradictory, however, to say that he feels anything about it, because at least from his point of view, his attitudes lately have been somewhat... human. Even so, if you were to question him, Dexter would deny it to the end of his life and point out facts that would put the accusation of him being human in conflict. He feels strangely at ease, his movements are softer and his head feels like it's floating, these and other things in his behavior are more than enough to confirm that there's something wrong with him. 

Well, not that he didn't already know that, but there's something more. There's something even more wrong with him than before, it doesn't seem right, but it feels so right and it's suffocating. There's something trying to fight against his rational side, against everything he's been taught, years of training being thrown away, everything Harry's told him, everything everyone's told him, he can't be something they expect him to be, he can only be what he's been taught to be, what's in his blood, running through his veins, he can't escape, he doesn't want to escape, there's nothing to run from, only himself.

He's a monster. He could never be anything other than that, he can bear it, that's what he was created for, no other purpose, he never existed for anything other than that; after all, what the hell could he be other than that? He's buried it so deep that he can't reach it anymore, out of reach, rotten, it's all he knows, dead things, it's all he is, dead. Don't ask him to be anything else, he doesn't know how to survive any other way, no matter how much he wants to. Again, again and again, it keeps happening, it has to happen. Months in which he mourns something other than his own existence since Brian came back, and then left, shortly afterwards. Everything around him dies, it's only a matter of time. That's the only truth that remains. 

"What are you running from, hm?"

The question catches him by surprise, and he blinks a few times, turning his head in the direction of the voice. Doakes stares at him, sitting on his sofa as if he owned the place, looking at him as if he were trying to solve the biggest mystery of his entire career. Dexter looks away, sitting on his kitchen counter. "Are you going to stay here for the rest of the day?" he asks, genuinely curious, because he doesn't really know what Doakes' intentions are from this point on. Right, they've fucked, so why the hell is Doakes still in his apartment?

"Why? Do you want me to leave?" he retorts, narrowing his eyes, but nothing in his body language says that he's really thinking of leaving. Huh. Dexter tilts his head to the side. 

Dexter doesn't answer, but shrugs his shoulders, sighing. He doesn't know exactly what people usually do. He used to watch TV shows with Rita on her sofa, but Doakes doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would be interested in that, and after all, it's Doakes we're talking about. He doesn't know what Doakes likes to do to spend his time and he's not sure he'd like to find out either.

"So, what do you do when you're not working or pretending to be human around your coworkers?"

The question bothers him in a way it shouldn't, but he figures it's a very Doakes thing to say, so he doesn't say anything back.

Doakes rolls his eyes. "Okay, you fucking softy, let me rephrase that, what do you do to pass the time?"

Doakes' voice sounds genuinely interested and that only makes Dexter frown even more. Dexter raises an eyebrow, how—? This tactic is a bit unusual, Doakes is acting like he's really interested in him, in a different way, he sounds less murderous, less annoyed by the fact that Dexter exists, and Dexter doesn't quite know what to make of it. The question, however, sends some images running through his head for a second, and he tries to relax his body language as much as possible, because the blood consumes his mind briefly, he has to remember what he is, and what Doakes is.

Suddenly, it's hard to act as if he doesn't kill criminals in his spare time. "Not much. What about you?"

"Oh, I don't know, I watch you sleep sometimes. " Doakes gestures with his hands, with a smug smile. 

Dexter rolls his eyes with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, really?"

"Surprisingly, you look very soft in your sleep." Doakes licks his lips for a second. "Of course, before you wake up with a scowl capable of frightening anyone. "

Dexter swallows with difficulty, looking away again, he takes a deep breath, the conversation seems harmless in a way, but he knows better than that. Dexter mentally reminds himself. "By the way, what was that about, hm? Did you have a nightmare or something?" Doakes asks, intrigued.

"I don't have nightmares. " Dexter replies calmly. Dexter tenses at the memory, he lets his arms fall by his side, leaning against his kitchen counter and resting his back against it. He clenches his hands into fists for a second before forcing himself to relax again.

Doakes squints, tilting his head to the side. "Mm." he mumbles. "Interesting."

Dexter decides to take the bait, curiosity getting the best of him, which is totally unlike him. "What is it?"

Doakes laughs quietly to himself. "I'm pretty sure you used to believe your lies before. " he sighs, staring at Dexter. "But now... I don't think you believe it anymore."

Dexter clenches his teeth, he stays silent for long seconds, the words taking root inside him in a certain way that the Dark Passenger doesn't really like and it sets his nerves on edge. Doakes maintains eye contact long enough to make Dexter look away. It's stupid, but the Dark Passenger doesn't like that either. Dexter slides a hand through his hair, trying to relax again, but he feels deeply tense again, as if there's a hand on his back, sliding up his spine, grabbing the back of his neck.

"You act as if it pains you to be seen. " Doakes whispers. "I wonder why." he finishes more quietly to himself.

Dexter fidgets, uncomfortable, it's kind of funny, Doakes has no idea how right and how wrong he is, and it makes the Dark Passenger laugh silently. "One might think you were in love with me from the way you talk about me, Sergeant." Dexter says calmly, without blinking, a cold mask sliding over his face and every trace of forced emotion vanishing into thin air.

"Sergeant, huh?" Doakes mutters, his eyes narrowed. "Sure, you can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. " Doakes shrugs, unconcerned. "Remind me again if you even know what it's like to feel love. " Doakes suggests, curious, the words full of venom, it's as if they're back where they started, and that, Dexter can handle.

Dexter doesn't take the bait this time, he knows what Doakes is trying to do, and it won't work. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Sergeant," he offers, softly. "I didn't mean to. "

"What is it, what are you doing?" Doakes frowns intensely, shifting on the sofa. "All this playing nice, it doesn't suit you, so stop it, damn it. "

Dexter shrugs his shoulders. "Your hostility doesn't please me either, but you don't see me saying anything about it, do you?" he takes a deep breath.

Doakes sighs deeply, looking away for a few seconds. "Fuck, okay." he grunts. "Okay, fine then." the Sergeant complains between his teeth.

"You can always leave, I'm not stopping you. " Dexter gestures towards the door. "Nobody's forcing you to stay here. "

"I know that, you little shit, okay? " Doakes almost spits out his tongue. "And no, I don't want to leave, so I'm sorry about that too, cocksucker. "

They're name-calling again, Dexter thinks. That's interesting. That must certainly mean something. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to be hanging out with, Sergeant." Dexter confesses. "Some people would call me boring. "

"Well, they're not lying," Doakes sighs, rubbing his face.

Dexter narrows his eyes, confused. "I'm not sure what you want from me." Dexter knows exactly what he wants, but he'll never give it to him. He still has to play his game, though.

"I'm not trying to ask you on a date, hold your fucking horses." Doakes looks at him, visibly stressed, it's a familiar sight. "We're just fucking, right? That's all, so calm the fuck down. "

"Right." Dexter nods calmly. He thinks.

A brief silence, Doakes' deep breathing echoes in his brain and everything seems so uncomfortable that he's not sure how they managed to do all that before. "I've just realized that you're very good at pissing me off, Morgan. " Doakes exhales through his mouth, sounding a little calmer.

"I'm not really trying. " he licks his lips. "But I'm happy to help. "

Doakes laughs briefly, surprising Dexter, who remains silent. "I also realized that I've talked to you more than anyone else over the last few months. " he lowers his head with a disbelieving smile. "I haven't really spoken to LaGuerta for a while. "

Dexter raises an eyebrow, looking at him. Huh. He doesn't quite know what to make of that. "I'm... sorry?" he tries, figuring that this is something pretty bad for Doakes.

James looks at him and just smiles, then looks away again, almost as if he doesn't believe his own words. "Unbelievable. Looks like your tricks are really working, huh?" he scratches the back of his neck. "Even on me." he finishes, quietly. "How do you do it, man?"

"I'm not doing anything. " Dexter sighs. "I don't know what you mean. "

"I mean, LaGuerta said I was obsessed with you. " he grumbles. "And man, she was right, but not like that, you know? I was just trying - I had this feeling... " he stares at Dexter, visibly frustrated. "But look at me now, damn it, I look at you – and I want to kiss you," Doakes whispers. "What does that fucking say about me, hm?" he clenches his jaw. He almost sounds sick.

Dexter doesn't react. I make him feel sick, he thinks. Dexter doesn't feel anything about it, even though he thinks he should. It's not surprising. Dexter doesn't really have an answer to that. He stays silent, but there's a hand around his throat again, preventing him from breathing properly, and it almost hurts, but he doesn't know why. Doakes just shakes his head, as if disappointed by something, and looks away, exhaling through his nose. He rubs his face with his hand again. He has this look that Dexter recognizes, he looks upset, and Dexter has never seen him like this before. He almost misses seeing the hostile glint in his eyes every time they bumped into each other. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know if there's anything to say.

Dexter gets up from the chair he was sitting in, uncertain, hesitating, and approaches Doakes - what the hell is he doing - Dexter sits down next to him silently, keeping his eyes down. Doakes isn't looking at him either, lips firmly closed. Dexter swallows, moving a little closer. This is pathetic, Dexter tells himself, and he doesn't even know what he's trying to do. He remains silent, but stays where he's been left, without moving a muscle.

After a few seconds, Doakes finally looks at him. "What are you doing?" he asks, strangely calm.

"I'm not... sure." Doakes' words burn in his brain, and they sound very similar to the words he's been saying to himself about Doakes. About both of them.

It's a little comforting to know that conflict also vexes Doakes. Dexter doesn't look at him, his eyes fixed on his hands resting on his thighs. Someone else in this situation would provide him with comfort, but Dexter isn't like that, and neither is Doakes. He used to be good at comforting Rita with hugs, he thinks, words were never his thing, not even physical contact, but he knew she liked that, the gentle touches, the comforting presence. He wonders if everyone is like that too. If everyone wants to be touched gently, whether by words or physical contact. He wonders if Doakes also craves it. He wonders if he ever wanted that. If he did, he doesn't remember.

He looks at Doakes out of the corner of his eye and almost wants to ask. Does he need it too, like every human being, or is he like Dexter? I make you feel sick, why? What do you see in me? No one has ever really seen me and lived to tell about it, so why are you still here? Dexter looks straight ahead again, his face empty, just like everything else, he swallows and for a second he tastes blood on his tongue. He feels sick to his stomach. That must be how Doakes feels.

"Tell me something. " Doakes whispers next to him.

Dexter blinks. "What?" he whispers back.

"Anything." He looks almost like he's about to beg, it's not typical of Doakes and it scares Dexter. "Tell me anything, Dexter. "

His name takes root in his brain and wraps itself around the soul he claims not to have, and it hurts. Dexter closes his eyes for a brief moment, holding his breath. The Dark Passenger waits, as if daring him to open his mouth and actually say something. He says nothing for long seconds, and Doakes sighs, defeated. Dexter closes his eyes tightly. "Sometimes I... I upset my sister because I don't know... how to talk to her. " Dexter whispers as quietly as possible from the depths of his non-existent soul, his eyes firmly closed.

Doakes takes a breath. "What do you mean?" he replies. Softly. It sounds wrong. Dexter has never heard him sound like this. It's wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

"About what I'm feeling." he continues, opening his eyes. "I don't know how to talk about it. I never have. She gets angry sometimes. Because I don't... I can't just... talk. "

He doesn't even look at Doakes, he doesn't dare. His eyes are fixed in front of him, he feels a bitter taste in his mouth, it all feels wrong, he feels wrong, the Dark Passenger wraps itself around his mind and retreats into him, sharp, bitter, angry. "And why is that?" Doakes asks. "Why can't you? "

Because I can't feel anything. Dexter exhales through his nose, clenching his hands into fists. "I don't know," he mutters. "I've never really been able to talk about it to anyone. I just stopped trying. " he shrugs. "It still bothers my sister, though. "

Doakes doesn't answer for a moment, he scratches his chin, sighing softly. "I understand." he declares, looking away.

Dexter tries not to react abruptly. He swallows, forcing himself to breathe through his nose normally. "Really?" he murmurs, almost hopeful. It's pathetic. Terribly pathetic.

"Yeah, man." Doakes nods, waving his hand. "Some people find it easier to just talk, and others just don't." he says. "Sometimes speaking is as difficult as feeling something."

How - Dexter blinks comically, he looks at Doakes, confused, how could he know that? How could he understand? "You know how it feels," he repeats, as if he doesn't believe it. How could he?

Doakes nods, with a heavy sigh. "Believe me, I really do."

You can't. You're not like me. Dexter stays silent, breathing deeply through his nose. "But you should try, you know, I mean, it's your sister. You only have each other." Doakes grumbles, shrugging. "I know she cares about you. "

Dexter doesn't answer, he leans back on the sofa, this interaction was enough to put him into an even deeper conflict, he wants to stop talking, he misses the silence, the loneliness, the darkness, the knife in his hands. A vast feeling of emptiness rushes over him, he blinks, and finds that it's all gone again, it's enough to make him relax, yes, that's better, the Dark Passenger purrs inside him, coming closer again, the brief moment that the breach was opened was enough to make it grab any trace of emotion and tear it into several pieces.

Exhaustion invades his body and emptiness takes over his mind. He realizes what he was doing, he condemns his own actions in a matter of seconds, as if he had woken up again. What the hell did he think he was doing? He can almost hear Brian's voice whispering in his ear: Why don't you tell him you're a serial killer too, since you're so excited to talk. See what happens. Dexter trembles.

"You should go." Dexter says emptily and gets up from the sofa.

"What?" Doakes gets up too, surprised. "What – why?"

Dexter turns away, he needs him gone. "Because I said so. " he replies simply, and walks to the door of his apartment. "You can come by after work tomorrow to return my clothes. "

Doakes remains on his feet, extremely confused. "What the fuck, Morgan?" he complains. "What, did I say something wrong? What the fuck is wrong?"

Dexter doesn't look at him. Morgan opens the door for him to leave. "Just leave." Dexter gestures. "You didn't say anything. I just want you to leave."

Dexter feels something crawling across his skin, he needs Doakes to leave. There's something wrong. "Why the fuck?" Doakes insists, trying to get closer. "You – I thought that —"

Dexter clenches his jaw tightly, feeling his teeth grind. "Get out of my apartment. Now. " he says between his teeth, almost growling.

Confusion is easily replaced by anger for Doakes. He stands in place for endless seconds, looking at Dexter with that same hostility as always, and for a second, Dexter feels even sicker. He looks away, and Doakes approaches with heavy steps. "You know what, fuck you. " he hisses in Dexter's face. "Freak."

And he leaves, without looking back.

Dexter closes the door and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes tightly, his hands are shaking and he doesn't like it, there's something wrong with all of this. Why are his hands fucking shaking? Stop shaking, stop shaking. What's wrong with him? In one abrupt movement, Dexter knocks the books off his shelf, grunting from deep in his throat. He stops and takes another deep breath, pressing his hands against his face. Fuck.

Dexter stands there, taking a deep breath, until his hands stop shaking. He looks at the books scattered on the floor and sighs. Fuck.

(. . .)

He spends the rest of the day trying to distract himself and forget about the absolute shit show that had happened. His eyes are fixed on his laptop, he's hunting again, and nothing has ever felt so right. Brian was right, what the hell was he thinking anyway? Stupid, pathetic. Harry had taught him better, and he was ruining everything by just breathing near Doakes. Fuck, how far he'd come, how far he'd allowed himself to get. Shit. There's a reason why he only talks to his victims at his desk, there's a reason why people die when they find out what he is, there's a reason why the Code exists, there's a reason why he is the way he is, why his life is the way it is, and he needs to remember that. Deluded, Brian asked him how he thinks it will all end, and he doesn't know, he fucking doesn't know. And not knowing is like having to sign your own death sentence.

Dexter rubbed his face, looking away from the computer screen, the stress was crawling through his skin and he wanted to kill someone, damn it, that was the only thing that would make him calm down. He put his head down in his hands, biting his lower lip. Amateur, stupid, how the hell was he thinking about killing Doakes a while ago and now he was talking to him about fucking feelings, damn it, fuck all that, Dexter's better than that, he's smarter than that. The way Doakes looked at him is fixed in his mind, and he doesn't know why. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand why it doesn't leave him, why it's bothering him so much, it shouldn't bother him. It wasn't something new, but the way it hurt was completely new. It was wrong.

He spent the rest of the day trying not to go crazy, but perhaps it was too late. His mistakes were too deep now. He should have listened to Brian. He should have listened to Harry. He didn't. It's late at night when the phone on his desk buzzes. He looks at the screen, automatically sighing when he sees his sister's name. Great, as if his life wasn't fucked up enough. He answers the phone.

"Deb." he mumbled, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Dex, how are you?" she replied, there was something different in her voice.

"Everything's fine. It's late, why are you calling?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because I've been texting you all day and you haven't fucking answered. "

Dexter is silent for a second. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh, you fucking idiot. " she hisses. "What the fuck is wrong with you. "

"I texted you to tell you I was sick. " he retorts calmly.

"You texted me this morning. " she says quietly. "It's already fucking evening! I was worried, I tried to go to your apartment, but Lundy's fucking everyone today, you're lucky you weren't there! It's fucking chaos! "

His stomach drops to his feet, he suddenly feels cold. "Why? What happened?"

"One of Butcher's victims has escaped," she said enthusiastically. "We've already questioned him, but Lundy wants you at the crime scene tomorrow. "

Dexter remains silent for long seconds. What? A Butcher's victim escaped? What the hell, he hasn't left his apartment all day, what is this — a fucking copycat, really? He took a deep breath, trying to think. Maybe... Maybe this was a good thing, it would certainly keep him off the suspect list, put the FBI on a completely wrong track, and that was what Dexter needed right now. Maybe all is not lost and maybe he's not an idiot, but just maybe. "Huh... Is there blood? Why does he need me?" he asks instead, confused.

"I don't fucking know. " Deb sighs. "Just be there tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay." Dexter mutters. "Did he say anything to you or...?"

"Nah." Deb grumbled. "Why are you so worried, bro, are you afraid of the boss?" she laughed.

Dexter frowned at the wall. "No." he said harshly. "Masuka's the forensics lead, he should be at the crime scene, and if there's no blood, there's no reason for me to be there. "

"Masuka will stay in the lab looking after the other leads, apparently. " she replies. "You'll be holding hands with Lundy now, Dex. " she lets out a slight laugh again.

"Ugh." he grunts. "Okay. Was that it? " Dexter exhales through his nose.

A brief silence. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice sounding serious. "I was really worried, you jerk. " she says, annoyed.

Dexter rubbed his face. "Yeah, I'm feeling better, I just needed to rest a bit, and I did, so don't worry. Thanks, Deb. "

"Right." she sighs. "Call me if you need anything, I love you bro."

"Yeah, fine." he said quickly and hung up, placing the phone back on the table. Fuck.

A peaceful day is all he asks for, and that can't be too much. He looks at the screen, and his eyes tear up, Dexter rubs his eyes and turns off the computer. He rests his head against the desk and closes his eyes. Damn, he's tired.

He gets up from his chair and walks to his room. The sheets are clean, he changed them during the day, but something still seems wrong. He throws himself face down on the bed, grunting against the mattress. Something tells him he won't be able to sleep tonight. Dexter lies on his back, trying to get comfortable to sleep, he forgot to eat something again, but he'll do it in the morning, if he remembers to. He's not hungry. He stares at the ceiling, and something seems emptier than usual. Maybe it's him.

Hours go by and he can't sleep. Somehow, he feels he should have expected it. He's tired, but his mind doesn't rest, his eyes are closed and he stays awake. It's torture, it hurts. He keeps remembering Doakes' voice. 

Freak. 

He doesn't understand why it won't let him sleep.

Chapter Text

It wasn't the first time he'd been called a freak, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The problem was that it was the first time that something inside him hurt and it made him feel as if a sharp pain was crawling through every inch of his flesh, making its way to the roots, going too deep into his skin, he feared it would flood through his veins, leading straight to his heart. It was the first time it hurt. And it was anything but normal. Insults never affect him, they're just words, words he knows to be true, he's never tried to deny, say otherwise, or fight back, he knows what he is, and he's not trying to argue against it, so you have to understand that the fact that it bothers him so much is disturbing. It's like something that never mattered before suddenly starts to matter. Words, insults, lies, truths, the absence of the feelings he's been searching for his whole life, that he's been denied so much, accused of not having it inside him, he couldn't, he could never have it, not him, everyone but him. 

He doesn't understand. He doesn't know what it means, what it could mean, he doesn't understand why it hurts, he often has logical answers for everything; for almost everything, and almost always, but nothing seems logical anymore, this pain isn't logical, it isn't physical, it doesn't make sense, he feels sick, as if there is something so deeply wrong that his brain refuses to find any rational explanation. However, he knows what's wrong with him, he has an adequate answer, but it doesn't seem enough. It no longer seems true enough, there's something else, something even more wrong with him, and Dexter doesn't know what it is. And not knowing is bad. Very bad.

He's the one who has the answers that everyone is looking for all the time, he's the one who lies easier than he tells the truth, Dexter is constantly three steps ahead of everyone else; he has to, it's the only way he knows how to survive, it's the only way for him to survive, but he feels as if he's being tricked, endlessly mocked by some invisible force that insists on making him feel sick, as if his insides are rotting, there's at least something deep inside him that's rotting and he doesn't know what it is. Take the knife out of his hands and see how they'll start to shake; that's the only stable thing he's had in his whole life, certainty, The Dark Passenger, Harry, The Code, nothing else was important apart from that, his disguise as a good boyfriend, a good brother, a good coworker, a good professional, a good person, all lies, lies that Brian knew one day would suffocate him.

And it's starting to eat him alive, and that's the truth. Having a conscience isn't so good in these situations, and he almost wishes he didn't have one, but then, he wouldn't be him, in which case he wouldn't exist, just someone who uses his face, his body, his voice, his eyes, his hands, but isn't really Dexter, and could never be. He's sure that The Dark Passenger would be much happier that way, where he's nothing but his hunger, his instincts, his needs, the urges, but there's a Dexter who breathes, who talks, who blinks, there's a Dexter who feels pain and who wants that pain to stop. There's nothing else inside him apart from that, the pain. He doesn't feel anything, he never did, but the way his stomach turns every time he thinks about Doakes makes The Dark Passenger growl and tear at everything inside him.

It's furious, of course it is, Dexter would be too if he could, but he can't, he doesn't know how, maybe he never will, damn it, it's exhausting, he's never felt so pathetic. Dexter the Pathetic, Dexter the Rotten, which one was Dexter now? Every time he questioned it, he felt as if he might throw up. Why? He needs it to stop, he needs the knife back in his hands, the blood dripping from his fingertips, the emptiness, the coldness that covers him as if it could kill him, but there's nothing left to be killed and he knows it, he knows it. The Dark Passenger knows it too, it's what killed him, it's what finished the job.

He's a shadow among the living, never really there, just lurking in corridors and dark alleys, it's as if he belongs there, where no one can acknowledge his existence, where no one can see what he is, Dexter can never escape it, he never tried, he never could, he never had the chance, Harry knew what he was since he was a child, he can never escape it, condemned, sentenced for the rest of his life; the blood that runs through his veins is the same blood that runs down the walls of that  shipping container, it's the same blood that his brother chokes on, it's the same condemned blood that he can't escape. He will never be free. And the sharp pain in his non-existent soul proves it.

It feels like punishment. And Dexter knows it's a very fitting punishment for a monster like him. Nevertheless, it still hurts. Dexter doesn't know how to make it stop.

(. . .)

The hot coffee burned his tongue and he didn't react, quietly welcoming the warm pain in his mouth. It almost soothed his other nerves, he wasn't feeling particularly good that morning, and he wasn't exaggerating if he said he was sure it would only get worse. He hated it, hated it every time he and Rita argued and she got angry, he never knew what to do about it, he just used to agree with whatever Rita said, and then apologize, which usually calmed her down, but he knows Doakes isn't Rita, and that's quite frightening. He figures that an apology would only make him angrier, and as incredible as it sounds, that's not what Dexter wants; however, he doesn't know exactly what he wants either. Maybe he should just keep his distance from Doakes, it would be the smartest thing to do, and Harry would approve of his decision, unlike all the decisions he has made in the past few days.

Dexter rubbed his face with his free hand while holding his coffee with the other. He sighed, leaning the weight of his body on his kitchen counter. This was stressful, and he had more important things to worry about today. Lundy. The FBI. Being caught. His copycat. Escaping his sister's interrogation. He just had to survive until the end of the day. That couldn't be that difficult, could it? He sighed heavily at the thought, somehow surviving until the end of the year seemed so impossible at this point.

Damn it, he needed to kill someone.

(. . .)

Paranoia crawled through his brain as soon as he stepped into the bullpen. Logically, he knew he wasn't being watched, but even so, his body was shivering, and Dexter couldn't stop himself from looking around briefly, hoping to find someone staring at him. He was on edge today and that was just awful. He took a deep breath, moving quickly to his lab without really interacting with anyone. Just five minutes in this place and he was already on the verge of going mad. It was funny, tragically funny, Dexter was sure he was being punished for all his crimes by now. He rubbed his face for the tenth time that morning alone.

Harry would be disappointed with his erratic behavior and decisions, but then again, finding out that he was having an affair with his biological mother wasn't a very pleasant thing to discover. So many questions were raised, Dexter wasn't sure how to feel about it. He had questions, and he would never have the answers. Was Harry using her? Is that why he adopted him? Was Harry using him? How far would that go? What the hell was he supposed to do with this information? God, Deb would be so upset, he couldn't even think how she would feel, he couldn't tell, he couldn't feel it.

Dexter had spent his whole life trying to live up to Harry's expectations, to follow his Code, his words, his ideas, his principles, he could never be anything other than what Harry wanted him to be, and somehow, he almost felt betrayed. It was confusing, if Harry lied about that, what else could he have lied about? What about the Code? How valid were his words now? Great, now Dexter had another secret to carry around in his never-ending life of lies. He'd never bothered to lie before, and he wouldn't exactly say he's bothered now, but his chest aches with something unsaid and he doesn't like it.

It was excruciatingly frustrating. And stressful. He was tired of it. Of it all. Dexter sighed again. Maybe he needed more coffee. Fuck. Dexter Morgan shouldn't be having an identity crisis, but look at him now. How the hell could he make it stop?

(. . .)

Dexter approached the kitchen, hungry for more coffee, three hours' sleep was definitely not enough, he felt tired and stressed, and that was usually enough to put him on the verge of killing someone. Things really couldn't get any worse. Dexter has always been curious about all human conflicts, but now that he has one, he kind of wants it to stop.

But when his eyes met Doakes' in the kitchen, his feet grew roots in the ground. He stopped breathing for a second. Maybe he'd forgotten how.

"What up, Dex!" Deb said, standing next to Doakes.

Dexter blinked a few times and swallowed his own saliva with difficulty. Doakes kept staring at him and his eyes had never been so cold and hostile before. Right. Dexter forced himself to remember that he deserved it. Dexter looked away, approaching cautiously - he couldn't deal with this right now - Dexter kept his eyes on the floor. "Is there any coffee left?" he asked his sister quietly.

"You're late. " Doakes' deep, bitter voice behind him made him tense up even more. He needed to get out of here. Coffee. Leave. Coffee. Leave.

Dexter didn't answer, but to his misfortune, his own head drooped even lower, he couldn't take his eyes off the ground, things were going worse than he expected. He felt sick. Really sick. Being around Doakes seemed wrong now, he felt infinitely ashamed, avoiding him wasn't his main focus, but at that moment, he almost wanted it to be. He would have to continue being a coward for a while longer until his other life-threatening problems went away. Who was he trying to fool anyway? When did he stop thinking of Doakes as a threat to his life and freedom?

His sister poured some coffee into a cup for him and Dexter became even quieter, waiting, she looked at him, confused. "Is everything all right?" she asked, calmly.

Dexter just nodded, reaching out to get the coffee. Not a word crossed his mind. He had nothing to say, not to her, and certainly not to him. He just needed to get out of there.

"You look like shit. " Doakes exhaled.

Dexter didn't look at him, he was sure he couldn't, getting more coffee was a bad idea and he refused to face him, a hint of a headache was starting to grow on the back of his skull. That was a very bad sign. His eyes remained on the ground. He picked up his coffee, turned and left as quickly as he could.

Deb looked at Doakes, visibly confused. "What was that? " she whispered to herself. She was sure she had never seen her brother act like that before.

Doakes shrugged, sighing. And surprisingly, he asked: "Did you talk to him this morning?"

And then she became even more confused, with a disbelieving look, what the fuck was that? "Why do you care all of a sudden?" she laughed, incredulous. "I thought you fucking hated him."

Doakes clenched his jaw. "Okay, fuck him then. "

Deb tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, worried. "I mean... No, just last night. But he seemed fine. And now he seems like he hasn't slept for days, what the hell is that? "

Doakes looked away, silent for a few seconds. "I'll talk to him later. "

She raised her eyebrows with a surprised smile. "You? Talk to him? My brother, Dexter? What's going on? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Doakes grunted, turning away. "Fuck off. "

(. . .)

He arrived at the crime scene with an even worse headache. It was at moments like these that Dexter was sure he was being punished for his crimes and for all the crimes he had not committed. He pressed his temple, sighing, and Dexter wished he could say that his thoughts were focused on the copycat, but then he would be lying, and he always lies. The only thing that kept returning to his thoughts was Doakes. Fucking Doakes. He had more important things to worry about, and yet he couldn't stop himself from thinking about him.

Nauseating, that was the word. Doakes was a different kind of problem now, and he wasn't sure when it had changed into such a thing. He almost felt bad. For what he'd done. For... upsetting Doakes, but that wasn't possible. No, he could feel guilt for Brian, for Rita, but never for Doakes. He kept forgetting, Doakes meant nothing to him, it was crazy to even think about it, never, Doakes was just... Doakes. Annoying, stalkerish, obsessive, bitter and hostile. Doakes had cruel words and insults that never seemed to end, he's aggressive, terribly not-friendly and - he's Doakes.

He's cold, his actions are even colder, and despite being everything Dexter tries so hard not to be, he's just like him. They're more alike than they'd both like to admit. And it's nauseating, it makes his stomach turn, but something in his chest flames with excitement, he almost feels as if he could, as if he just could - with Doakes, if only for a moment he could - but speaking truthfully for a moment, he knows that he can't, ever, it could never be, he shouldn't even be thinking about it, contemplating the non-existent possibility, as if Doakes doesn't despise even his existence. Freak, isn't it? Doakes' voice echoed in his head as if his subconscious mind was trying to bring him back to the surface, only to let him drown again. The Dark Passenger was certainly having a lot of fun with all his self-torture.

Dexter sighed, shaking his head. How could he just go back to normal, how could he undo all that? How did this sort of thing work? And why the hell did it hurt so much? He felt constantly wrong now. Everything seemed so out of place, everything, especially him.

"Hey Dex. " Batista waved, gesturing him to come closer.

Dexter waved back, approaching, he tried not to look too upset, even though he felt even worse. "Hey." Dexter mumbled.

Batista looked at him for a second. "You don't look too good, did you get enough sleep today?"

Fuck, was it that obvious? The other man shrugged, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I'm fine." He tried to smile a little, but his face wouldn't cooperate with his brain.

"Mm." Batista murmured, worried, but decided not to insist. He started walking alongside Dexter. "Okay, so, the victim says the Butcher held him in this train car. Lundy wants you to search for trace evidence. "

Dexter nodded calmly, getting into the train car. Batista put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. "Take your time in there, we've never been this close to this pendejo."

Dexter nodded again. Closer than you think, amigo. Batista stepped aside and Dexter went inside. He looked around for a few seconds, trying to understand what he was seeing. Amateur work. The guy didn't know anything about his techniques, that was shameful, to say the least. Dexter sighed, but managed to smile a little. Killing tools left behind, he'd never be that careless. Whoever did this would never have Harry's approval... But then again, not even Harry. He lied about Dexter's past, cheated on his adoptive mother with his biological mother. Everything was so confusing now. He couldn't go on thinking of Harry as some kind of saint.

"If you were the Bay Harbor Butcher... " Lundy's voice behind him made him turn around quickly.

Dexter looked at him. What?

"Would you use a place like this?" Oh. Okay, Dexter swallowed.

He sighed. "Actually, yes." he shrugged. "Locationwise, it's not a bad choice. It's quiet. Remote. " Dexter nodded. "Could use an upgrade in the lighting department, but... " he turned to his bag and took out his camera.

"So, you think this is our guy?" Lundy asked.

Dexter tried not to hesitate. "Not exactly. " he turned around again. "From what I understand, the conditions in this space don't support his M.O. It's filthy, for one thing. " he said, and turned away from Lundy again, then a sharp pain ran through his head.

Dexter blinked, trying to pull himself together. Jesus, that hurt. Fuck. 

"Butcher's clean, orderly... " Lundy agreed. "And some people would say... Compulsive."

Compulsive? Really? Dexter lowered his head a little, taking a deep breath, God, he felt like he might throw up.

"Are you all right?" Lundy's voice behind him only made his headache worse.

Dexter exhaled silently through his mouth, what the hell was wrong with him today? He pressed his forehead against his forearm for a second. "Yes, just... a slight headache, nothing to worry about." his own voice was a little too tense for his misfortune.

"Are you sure? I get headaches all the time, I could pick up some analgesics for you in my car if you want. " Lundy offered, surprisingly friendly.

Dexter hesitated, the pause was longer than he would have liked. "Thank you, but I'm fine," he finished, turning back to Lundy with a friendly smile.

"All right." Lundy nodded. "Back to work, shall we?" he muttered to himself, and then looked down. "That doesn't fit either. "

Dexter looked at where Lundy was gesturing. "A hatchet is sloppy. The Butcher uses precise surgical instruments." Lundy said.

Dexter moved closer. "Well, he's not that predictable... Is he? Mixes it up, different tools every time."

"And never rope. " Lundy frowns. "He uses duct tape and plastic wrap."

Dexter forces himself to take a deep breath. "Plastic wrap? How can you tell?"

"Depression patterns in the skin." Lundy informs him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Mm." Dexter mutters. Pain creeps up the back of his neck and through his skull. Damn, something tells him it's only going to get worse.

"Maybe the Butcher's having an identity crisis." Lundy raises his eyebrows.

Dexter nods. "It's entirely possible. " Someone kill him right now, please.

"But not likely." Lundy retorts. "My guess is we're looking for a vigilante inspired by the Butcher's principles." Lundy puts his hands in his pockets, looking at Dexter. "Bet he never thought he'd be a role model." he raises an eyebrow and smiles.

Dexter tries to smile back. "Bet you're right. " he turns away, picking up the camera. His head won't stop hurting.

The pain won't go away, and neither will Doakes.

(. . .)

He returns to his lab feeling ten times worse than when he left. Dexter closed the blinds and sat down in his chair, resting his head on the table. Fuck, he needed to find out who the vigilante was, he needed to eat, he needed to get Lundy and the FBI off his fucking neck, he needed to sleep, he needed to kill someone, he needed Doakes to cease to exist in his thoughts for at least a fucking second, he needed Harry to give him answers to his endless questions, he needed - fuck, he needed so many things.

His head hurt as if it would never stop. He needs analgesics too, apparently. The sound of his lab door opening is not a sound he expected or wanted to hear for at least the next two hours. However, he still looks to see who has decided to disturb him at a time when he is already deeply disturbed. His eyes meet Doakes' cold eyes and for a moment he almost wants to die right there, in that instant, it doesn't matter how, if only his endless suffering would end. Doakes closes the door behind him and then Dexter hears the sound of the door lock, he tries not to frown, because the chances of Sergeant Doakes killing you in your own lab are low, but never zero. Dexter swallows, he unconsciously backs away, his chair sliding backwards as his own feet push him away from Doakes.

He wonders, though, if he's moving away for Doakes' sake or for his own. His eyes linger on the glass on his desk. It would be easy, to break the glass and hold a broken glass against Doakes' throat - no, he doesn't do that kind of thing, maybe he should just let Doakes do what he wants, I mean, it's not like LaGuerta doesn't know about the Sergeant's obsession with him, if Doakes attacks him, it will only end badly for him and Dexter knows it. He's not sure Doakes knows, though. He's not willing to find out, anyway, he swears he doesn't. He's tired. His head hurts. He doesn't want to do this now, please.

"How many hours did you get to sleep?" Doakes asks, visibly irritated, as always.

Dexter remains silent, trying to absorb what he has just heard. There were many things Dexter expected to hear, but that question certainly wasn't one of them. An insult, a threat, mockery or even a punch in the face were more to be expected than such a question. Dexter frowns, realizing only at that moment that he has stopped breathing. He inhales deeply through his nose, looking away, his posture so tense that his muscles protest in pain. The pain in his head is now concentrated in the middle of his forehead. He presses his palm against his forehead, closing his eyes for a second.

"What? I–" Dexter mutters, licking his lips, he pulls his hand away from his face, opening his eyes.

"Did you fucking eat something?" Doakes hisses, coming at him aggressively, Dexter clenches his jaw, closing his hands into fists. "You're pale and your eyes are all weird, how many hours have you slept, you motherfucker?"

Dexter feels even more confused. Why is he asking these questions and being so fucking aggressive at the same time? Can't he make up his mind? Fucking idiot. "What are you–" Dexter grumbles. "Stop talking so loud, what are you doing here anyway? "

"Fuck you, I'll talk loudly whenever and wherever I want, you piece of shit. " Doakes retorts, and he looks even angrier, as if that were possible. "I don't understand how you're theoretically so good at what you do. Your lack of professionalism certainly isn't going unnoticed, asshole."

Dexter raises his eyebrows, almost to the point of laughing. His insides boil with something close to anger. What is this? What's happening now? "Sergeant." Dexter started.

"Don't fucking 'Sergeant' me." Doakes interrupts him harshly. "How can you look so miserable when–" he laughs, bitterly, outraged. "What the fuck is your problem, Morgan?"

Dexter doesn't understand what's happening now. He really doesn't. "Why are you so angry?" he asks, eyebrows almost drawn together.

Doakes grabs his shirt in a fist and pulls him to stand, Dexter stumbles over his own feet, but Doakes holds him upright, standing in place, Dexter's eyes are slightly wide, he grabs Doakes' wrist, but doesn't try to push him away. "Why am I angry?" Doakes hisses between his teeth in his face. "You really don't understand, do you? Why did I think you'd understand? Look at you, for fuck's sake. " Doakes whispers, looking at him with something very close to disdain.

Dexter remains silent. He swallows, and lets go of Doakes' wrist. "I–" he mutters. Should he apologize? Apologies always work. He always apologizes. He feels that this will only make Doakes even angrier, though. He doesn't know what to say. He never knows what to say. He blinks, lips firmly closed. Doakes' eyes remain locked on his, waiting for something, something Dexter doesn't know what it is. What does he want? "I don't know what you want me to say–"

"Tell me, do you even feel anything?" Doakes narrows his eyes, his warm, heavy breath hitting his face. "Anything. Are you capable of that? I really want to know. " Doakes' fingers crease his shirt with every word.

Dexter sighs. He tilts his head to the side. "You're upset. " he whispers. "Why?"

Doakes' hand pulls him close, close enough that there aren't many centimeters between them. Dexter doesn't move a muscle. Another sharp pain runs through his head and he grits his teeth, swallowing the pain. His eyes tear up. Fuck. "You fucking dare to behave as if I–" Doakes grunts, pausing. "You fucking ignored me. You've been avoiding me all morning, did you think I wouldn't fucking notice?"

Dexter inhales through the pain. "I'm not sure what you would have preferred me to do, Sergeant. " he says between his teeth.

"Anything, fucking anything. Literally anything." Doakes shakes him, then pushes him against the cabinets. Dexter grunts, great. A part of him hoped it wouldn't get physical. "Yesterday, I–I didn't mean it, okay, dammit?" Doakes let go of his shirt, but pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him pressed against the cabinets. "Yes, I was angry, you pissed me off, but I–" he practically growled. "I don't want to do this anymore, okay? I don't want to say things like that anymore, or, I don't know, I don't want to treat you like that anymore, fuck, I, I don't know, I'm trying, you fuck. "

Oh.

Dexter blinked a few times. "Oh." he whispered. What? "Oh." he repeated.

"Yeah, oh, shit. " Doakes exhaled through his mouth. "You were an a-hole, but I... I get it." James looked away. "I was an asshole too. I know that, fucking believe me. But–" he hesitates, annoyed as if it hurts him to say those words. "Maybe I can try not to be. " he grumbles. "I'm not going to ask you on a date or any of that crap, but I, I think, I want to try, because I, I guess I've always wanted you. "

Dexter blinks.

"Don't get me wrong, I still want to punch you in the face sometimes. " Doakes whispers. "And I know you're hiding something. " he continues, more firmly. "But if, just for a second, we could just co-exist. " he sighs. "I want that. I'm so fucking tired of pretending I don't. It's not funny anymore, and I know it never was. So, fuck, Morgan, can we please, I don't know, just–"

But I make you feel sick. Dexter is barely breathing, he swallows, his eyes burn, he doesn't understand, why? - None of it makes sense, why would Doakes want that, even when - even when he knows, even when - Dexter frowns intensely, it only makes his headache worse, but he doesn't care, he can't care, Doakes looks at him, almost hopeful, and Dexter has no words to speak, everything has fled his brain. So, he places a hand on the back of Doakes' neck and pulls him against him, kissing him.

It's not an aggressive kiss this time, it's just there. Doakes presses him against the table and Dexter exhales against his lips, he presses back into Doakes, leaning the weight of his body forward against his, Doakes' hands grab his waist, squeezing, Doakes gasps into Dexter's lips, almost as if he wasn't expecting it, and Dexter knows he wasn't, because Dexter wasn't expecting it either. But it's - it's good. He feels - good. For a moment, everything disappears. His head floats, and he feels all his tense muscles relax, as Doakes holds him like it's the only right thing to do. Dexter forces himself to pull away, remembering where they are. He exhales, pressing his forehead against Doakes' shoulder. Oh. That's good too.

Does he feel sick now? Dexter almost wants to ask, but he settles for silence. Doakes breathes calmly, and his hands caress his waist, as if he's trying to calm down the wild animal that he is, and it's working. The pain in his head slowly becomes just a discomfort, it's still there, but it doesn't hurt like it's trying to kill him anymore. It's good. Dexter likes it. He doesn't want this to be over, ever. Maybe Doakes can stick around. Right?

"Are you going to sleep on me?" Doakes mutters, leaning in, pressing his lips against Dexter's neck.

Dexter lets out a soft sound. "I was just so tired all day. " he confesses, relaxing even more against Doakes' body. It's bizarre. It's good. It's so good. It feels wrong. He knows it's wrong, but it feels good, it doesn't matter, does it?

"You should go home." Doakes suggests calmly, and it's surprising how all that consuming anger has suddenly vanished. One of Doakes' hands goes to the back of Dexter's neck and his fingers slide through his hair and - fuck - Dexter melts. It feels good, Doakes' fingers caressing his scalp, Dexter's head buried against his shoulder, he feels warm, comfortable. Doakes smiles as Dexter visibly relaxes even more with his touches.

"I still have work to do. " Dexter whispers, muffled against his shoulder.

"You should eat, then. " he insists, stroking his hair.

"Yeah, I'm hungry." Dexter agrees, but doesn't move. He's not sure he wants to move. That's good. He wants to have this, just for a moment, please. He never has anything for himself, he just wants this, here, now, just for a moment. Harry would never approve, Brian would hate him, but please let him have this just for a second.

The Dark Passenger remains silent, Doakes doesn't push him away, and for some reason, neither does Dexter.

Chapter Text

He wasn't made for this. For this kind of touch, this affection, this sensation. It wasn't for someone like him, Harry used to say, and Dexter couldn't really argue that he was wrong, because he had always felt it to be true. Everyone was surrounded by love, experiencing it in its purest and truest form, while he was eternally asking himself when it would be his turn to feel this love. When would he finally be able to feel it, when? Harry said that Dexter wasn't meant to feel it, but that it was okay, because he could pretend. Pretend, lie, hide for the rest of his life. Dexter was made to kill, not to love. He was made to punish, to execute, to feed his instincts, to make the Dark Passenger stay silent. That's all he existed for. Because he wasn't like the others, no, he was doomed to something worse long before he even understood the reason why.

That's all he knows, all he is, all he has. Nothing else, that's all that's left. Dexter spent a good part of his life looking for what he didn't have in other people, in terms of feelings, love or anything else he wasn't allowed to have, only to discover that he could search endlessly, yearn for it, for that normal life that was always so far away, but which he always tried so hard to have, and still come crawling back to his sweet, monstrous lies. And what is this incessant search for what he could never have if not a desperate attempt to be what he could never, in a million lifetimes, be? He is forever chained to this vile creature inside him, in his mirror, in his hands, everywhere.

So when Doakes' hands find their way to his hips and hair, Dexter can't help but ask; why? What the hell could it mean, what was he supposed to do with this; could he have this? It didn't feel right, it never did, it never could, but still, he sinks into the other man's arms. He settles against Doakes' chest as if he wasn't a monster, as if Doakes wouldn't kill him the instant he found out what Dexter really was. The sour lie weighs on his tongue and around his neck as if trying to remind him, to keep him on his toes, chained, trapped in that container, with his mother's body parts and his brother Biney's empty eyes staring at him as if he had died at that moment like their mother.

Something tells him to pull back, to walk away and never look back, the Dark Passenger growls, writhes inside him, and it hurts. Dexter's body tenses briefly against Doakes, but the other man slips his fingers between Dexter's strands of hair again in the same way that made him melt in the first place. It's a cheap move, almost as if Dexter is a wild animal; and honestly, maybe he is. Maybe that's all he is. And maybe Doakes knows exactly how to appease him. The thought of it makes The Dark Passenger tear at some pieces inside Dexter. He feels raw, exposed to the bone, his flesh burns, nothing has ever hurt so much, but still, he's not walking away. Not this time.

"You're quiet," Doakes whispers after only a few seconds have passed, but it felt like years to Dexter.

"Everything's quiet this time. " Dexter whispers back against his shoulder. He feels like he could sleep against Doakes. That's scary.

"Everything, huh?" Doakes breathes out a slight laugh. "And things are usually loud for you?"

"Pretty much all the time. " Dexter confesses, his words muffled.

"Mm." Doakes echoes. "I didn't know that, Morgan." And he says it in a way that is unknown to Dexter. There is something in his voice that has never been there, something Dexter has never heard before. It's confusing. New in a way that it had never been before.

Dexter has always been a few centimeters taller than Doakes, but he's always been more well built than Dexter. His arms wrap around him easily. Something tells Dexter that he shouldn't be there. "You weren't supposed to know. " Dexter informs him simply.

"Oh, really? And why is that? " Doakes licks his lips. There's still something in his voice, deep and warm, something that's the complete opposite of Doakes. It sounds wrong. Dexter wonders if it will ever stop feeling wrong. He doubts that a lot.

"Because I make you feel sick." Dexter says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He moves his head away from Doakes' shoulder, taking a step back against the table behind him. Doakes also takes a step back.

"What?" He whispers for a moment, as if he's really confused. As if his voice didn't carry a deep regret that time. As if saying his name didn't weigh on his tongue like a sin, as if his fingerprints hadn't been placed on his body like the scene of a horrific crime. "I don't—" He tries again, taking another step backwards, but nothing seems to come out of his lips.

Suddenly he feels too cold again. A wave of nausea hits him like an unpleasant memory. He looks away, scratches his head, forcing himself to pull himself together. He almost wants to lean his head on Doakes' shoulder again. He craves it. He wants something. Physical touch. What a thing. He'd never dreamed of craving it before. There's something wrong with him. There's something deeply wrong with him. "Maybe you should go," Dexter mutters. "I've got evidence to analyze, we've got a vigilante on the loose to catch. " he says, without looking Doakes in the eye.

Doakes hesitates, still trying to absorb what had happened. Doakes clears his throat. "Morgan, I don't... " he shakes his head, looking as confused as ever, and still can't find anything to say. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, and then opens them, looking a little more determined. "Your clothes that I borrowed are in my car. You can pick them up later before you go back to your apartment. " he says, quite calmly. Calmer than ever, in fact, something unusual for Doakes.

"Oh. Okay, that would be good." Dexter nods.

"Right." Doakes grumbles, looking away. "I... I should go, then. "

Dexter swallows. "Yeah. Okay."

"See you later, Morgan. " Doakes nods.

"Later." Dexter whispers, as Doakes walks out of his door.

He stops at the door, in silence, and looks back a little. "Can we... later?" and Dexter knows what he means.

"Yeah." Dexter whispers back. "Okay." And Doakes sighs, then leaves.

There's something wrong. There's always something wrong with him. He takes a deep breath and leans against the table. Fuck. A painful shiver runs down his spine as an cold presence approaches him. The hand on the back of his neck is creeping closer. Harry said to him his whole life that he wouldn't be able to do that. Of having that. Of being that. He hoped Harry was right. It would be much easier if he were right. He swallows, rubbing his eyes so hard it hurts. Stop it, for fuck's sake, he clenches his jaw, his eyes closed, he bends down against the table and takes a deep breath. His hands move to his own face and he presses his palms against his face, the blood boils in his veins, he clenches his teeth until he feels like his head is going to explode, and then he breathes again, trying to relax. Fuck. What the fuck?

The door of the lab opens again, Dexter swallows a grunt, he turns towards the door, trying to pull himself together. "Morgan, I'm going to need you to–" Lundy's voice echoes in his head and for a second Dexter almost wants to run away.

Lundy grips the door handle, looking at him, confused. "Are you all right, Morgan?" he says, sounding really worried. Huh. Dexter looks away, breathing through his nose.

"Yeah, I, yeah, I'm fine." Dexter mumbles, terribly tired, he can almost feel that headache coming back.

Lundy moves a little closer. Dexter tries not to step back. "Are you sure? Because you look like you're about to faint. " he says calmly. "Do you need me to call Debra or–?"

"No!" Dexter shakes his head. "No, it's okay, I'm just a bit dizzy, that happens. " he tries to smile. "I'll be fine, I think I just need to eat something."

"Haven't you been eating properly, Morgan?" Lundy asks again, now even more worried. Great.

"No, I mean–" he was actually making things worse. Please someone kill him now.

"Does any of this happen often, Dexter?" Lundy asks, calmly, softly, as if Dexter – as if he were human, as if he were something worth worrying about - as if he weren't a monster, as if Lundy weren't capable of detecting that there was something horribly wrong with him. Something began to crawl across his skin and he swallowed.

"No!" Dexter grunts, biting his lower lip. "I just didn't - I didn't wake up feeling great today, but that's not important, you don't have to worry, it doesn't happen often. "

"You know, in our department, there's psychiatric care available, if you're struggling with something–"

Oh my God. He couldn't believe this was happening, for fuck's sake - it's not possible, how did they get onto this subject! Why Lundy, of all people. "No, oh my God." he tried to laugh awkwardly. "It's not what it looks like, I swear, I don't - I'm fine, okay? I'm a professional, I take my job very seriously, you don't have to worry about that or about me ruining some investigation because of this..." he bit his tongue. "Because of this one-time problem." Please, fucking please.

Lundy frowned. "I'm not worried about that. I'm aware that you're the best blood spatter analyst I could have for this investigation. " he said without hesitation.

Dexter swallowed his own saliva with difficulty again.

"I can see that this subject doesn't exactly make you comfortable, so I suggest you talk to someone else about it. " Lundy said, firm but gentle at the same time, as if Dexter was fragile at that moment. Dexter clenched his teeth. The Dark Passenger growled. "Maybe your sister, someone you're intimate with and can trust enough. I care about the well-being of my team, Dexter Morgan."

"Right." Dexter looked away. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to disrespect you, Special Agent Lundy. "

"Don't worry, you didn't. " Lundy shrugged with a slight smile. "You can just call me Lundy, how about that? "

Dexter just nodded, eager to get out of this situation as soon as possible. "Okay."

"How about you go and get something to eat, and meet me later?" Lundy suggested. "I'm going to need you for something. And I'd really prefer it if you were feeling more up to the job."

Dexter nodded quickly. "Yes, I'll do that." Dexter moved to pick up his things, agitated, yes, finally something to make him just stop thinking. "Is it something important? If you don't mind me asking."

Lundy narrowed his eyes with a smile again. "We have a suspect for the Butcher case. "

Suddenly Dexter didn't feel like eating anymore. Lundy moved out of his laboratory. "And you should consider what I've told you. Try talking to your sister." He looked at Dexter over his shoulder. "She cares about you. " He turned away.

Dexter blinked. A sharp pain hit the back of his head and he swallowed a groan of pain. Oh, shit.

(. . .)

He ate something. Not much, but enough so that he doesn't see black spots every time he gets up from a chair. Dexter scratched his head, returning to his lab with even more anxiety. He hated it, he was never nervous, never, but since Doakes – nothing was normal, nothing was ever normal, he wasn't normal, and he didn't know how to make it stop. He had his eyes down, going through the bullpen, and his head couldn't settle on any coherent thought. Everything just kept coming back to one thing. Doakes. Doakes. Doakes. Fuck, fuck; the suspect, he had to find Lundy, he had to – a hand on his arm brought him out of his thoughts. He looked at the hand, blinking a few times.

He had stopped next to Doakes' desk, somehow. He blinked again. Doakes' hand squeezed his arm softly before letting him go. Dexter looked at him, and Doakes stared back, speechless. "Did you... Have you seen Lundy?" Dexter decided to ask, simply because he didn't know what the hell to say.

"He's in your lab, actually. Waiting for you." Doakes replied, far too calmly for Dexter's liking

"Oh." Dexter whispered. "Okay." he muttered, glancing at the window of his lab. Lundy stared back at him, waving.

Doakes cleared his throat, and Dexter looked back at him. "Huh... " he hesitated, sounding as if he was in a lot of pain from simply talking. "Is everything... Is everything all right?" he said a little more quietly, looking around. Dexter raised his eyebrows, then realized that Doakes looked ashamed.

Ashamed of talking to him? I mean, they've spoken to each other like this in public before, but always in a hostile way, always shouting, insults, threats, never like this, never– Dexter blinked, clenching his hands into fists. He didn't like that. No, why - he was something to be ashamed of? He bit his lower lip and swallowed, feeling something very wrong in his stomach, something that almost hurt. His chest tightened, he didn't like it, he didn't like how it made him feel. The headache gradually increased and he looked away, his eyes watering. He simply nodded, turned and headed for his lab.

(. . .)

Ken Olson was the suspect and Dexter couldn't have been less interested. He was sitting next to him in the interrogation room, collecting DNA from his hands, listening to the questions Lundy was asking him. It was all meaningless, nothing mattered, and he was tired of it, he really wanted to go home, or just kill someone, it's not like he was asking for much anyway. He took a deep breath when he thought of Doakes again. The way he was acting. He was ashamed of Dexter; as if the bastard hadn't asked if everything was all right first. Fuck him. Who does he think he is? Dexter clenched his jaw, the headache had returned, as if nothing could make it stop. Fuck, he was tired; great, he'd already made Doakes feel sick, now he's making him feel ashamed. Why the hell does he insist on interacting with Dexter, then? It's not as if he's running after Doakes, it's not as if –

"Ow, fuck! Are you trying to break my hand, man?" Olson complained, trying to pull his hand away from Dexter's grip.

Dexter let go of his hand, frowning to himself. "I'm sorry, I–" what the fuck is happening to him, what the hell is he doing? "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was hurting you, you were moving, I didn't mean to." He glanced quickly at Lundy and the Agent was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Fuck, Lundy would want to talk to him about that later, wouldn't he?

The man grumbled, but stretched out his hand to Dexter again. "It's okay, just be careful. "

Dexter nodded and held Olson's hand again, terribly ashamed. Maybe Doakes was right. He sighed softly, the pain concentrated in the middle of his forehead and Dexter almost wanted to cry, but he knew he couldn't do it. He didn't know how. Nothing about him was normal. He didn't cry, he couldn't be sad, he couldn't feel, he was barely human. Dexter didn't know why he expected Doakes to treat him like one.

He felt Lundy's eyes burning into him for the rest of the questioning, but he didn't say anything else. Oh, shit. He was really starting to come to terms with the idea of going to the electric chair. The thought almost made him let out a sad laugh. Harry would be disappointed. Brian would be disappointed.

(. . .)

By the end of the interrogation, Dexter had a new location to be at by the end of the night. It didn't take much more than his pure instincts to decide that he was going to break into Ken Olson's house to get concrete proof that he was the vigilante who thought he could do what he does.

If his suspicions are right, all he needed was concrete evidence so that Lundy could arrest him.

(. . .)

He almost wanted to go back to his lab when he saw Doakes leaning against his car when it was time to go home. His feet stuck to the ground and he had to take a few deep breaths to work up the courage to walk to his car. He needed to prepare to break into Ken Olson's house later today, and he wasn't just going to let Doakes get in the way of that.

He walked calmly, stopping in front of Doakes. The other man had clothes in his hands. "These are yours. " Doakes gave them to him, calmly. Dexter took the clothes from his hand, but didn't say anything back.

"I was wondering... If we could talk, I really–"

"No, I really have to go," Dexter interrupted him, without even blinking. "If you could step away, I'd appreciate it. "

Doakes blinked. "What?" he frowned intensely. "I thought–"

"I have work to do at home. " Dexter said again, something crawled up his spine, a cold hand grabbed the back of his neck and he felt absolutely nothing. "I have to go." he gestured to his car.

Doakes took a few steps towards him, moving away from his car. "Hey, what's going on? Why are you acting like a fucking robot?" he approached Dexter. "What's wrong with you?"

Dexter just looked at him. That was the only question to ask, wasn't it? What was wrong with him? Dexter wished he had the answer. He just sighed, and walked past Doakes to his car.

"Morgan, what the fuck?" Doakes tried again, walking up to him quickly.

He grabbed his arm. The Dark Passenger wanted to grab Doakes by the throat and squeeze until all his troubles were gone, yet he felt nothing. His headache was gone. Nothing remained. Only the void. And the Dark Passenger. Dexter looked at Doakes over his shoulder. "Don't do that. " Dexter said calmly. But they both knew it was a threat disguised as something empty. Doakes recognized that voice, that look. "Don't touch me. " Dexter finished, without blinking. There was no emotion in his voice, or in his eyes.

"What the fuck happened?" Doakes whispered, still terribly confused, but unwilling to let go.

And then Dexter smiled. "Are you sure you want to be caught talking to me?" he raised an eyebrow. "Think what the others might say, huh?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Morgan?" Doakes squeezed his arm harder.

Oh, Dexter felt angry. Yes, that was anger, murderous anger. He licked his lips. "You're the one who's so worried and ashamed to just ask me if everything's all right. " Dexter shrugged, but his words were bitter, cold. "Are you ashamed of me, Sergeant? Is that the problem? Guess what, you're the one who's here, insisting on talking to me, you're the one who was stalking me, you're the one who keeps–"

"You're talking about when I — fuck Morgan! I was only worried about your sister seeing us like that because I know how terrified you were last time just at the thought of her finding out about us! "

Oh. Dexter blinks a few times, frowning. "What?" he whispers, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm not ashamed of you, you fucking idiot." Doakes grunts sharply. "I couldn't care less what other people say, but I know you do! "

"I–" Dexter shook his head. "I thought... "

"Of course you did, you stupid son of a bitch." Doakes sighed, frustrated. "And I thought you were going to kill me or something, because the way you looked at me, Morgan..." he pulled him by the arm. "That thing's dangerous, man."

Dexter sighed, looking away. The Dark Passenger was fighting inside him. "I just had a bad day," grumbled Dexter. "And then I thought you were..." he interrupted himself, rubbing his face. "Sorry, I should have talked to you before assuming anything."

The other man sighed, but was visibly calmer. Doakes shrugged. "No problem. You can make it up to me another day, Morgan. " He moved close enough to Dexter to feel his breath against his face. "Now go home and get some sleep, for fuck's sake. "

Dexter nodded. "Yeah, okay. " he sighed, then leaned over and kissed Doakes on the cheek. "See you tomorrow. " he murmured, walking away. Dexter got into the car, placed the clothes on the passenger seat and drove off.

Doakes blinked, still feeling the other man's lips on his face. Huh. That was new. He smiled with the corner of his lip.

(. . .)

It was late at night when he broke into Ken Olson's house through the window and found a mural with Bay Harbor Butcher written on it in his office. There was a lot of news about him on the wall, newspapers, fuck, the guy was a fan or some shit. It also didn't take less than five minutes for Dexter to hear footsteps approaching. Dexter quickly hid when Ken Olson entered through the door. He snuck up behind the man and immobilized him with an arm around his neck in such a way that Olson wouldn't be able to see his face. The other man immediately choked. 

"Why are you so interested in the Bay Harbor Butcher?" Dexter tightened his arm around his neck. 

"Who the fuck are you?" Ken choked, trying to free himself. 

Dexter didn't answer. 

Ken's eyes widened, and he stopped struggling. "You're him, aren't you?" he remained motionless. "Don't kill me, don't kill me, I'm just like you, I take out criminals. "

"You mean you try, pitifully. " Dexter grunted.

"No, no that was just the last one, he got away. I should never have made this personal."

"You killed others?" Dexter whispered, squeezing his neck.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, the first one was a drug dealer... "

And then he told Dexter about the people he'd killed, as if it were nothing. Dexter realized something at that moment. 

"See, you don't have to kill me. " Ken smiled, hopeful. 

"I wasn't going to."

(. . .) 

He prepared the kill room at Ken's own crime scene. Olson was at the table, prepared according to his ritual. He woke up slowly, Dexter looked at him. "This is what the kill room should look like. " he looked around. "The Inside of a big plastic bag. "

Ken immediately widened his eyes. "Oh my God, it's you. The guy who nearly crushed my hand. Fuck, you work for the police, what the fuck?" he began to struggle on the table. 

"Yeah. But I'm just the blood guy. " Dexter shrugged. 

"I did it because of you, man!" Ken grunted. 

"No." Dexter blinked. "You attacked those people because you wanted to."

"Yeah, but you inspired me! " 

Dexter denied it with a shrug. "No, I didn't."

"Because of your principles! "

Well, they weren't exactly his. "They're not my principles. "

"Of course they are! "

Dexter clenched his hands into fists. "Don't tell me who I am." He took a deep breath. "All my life, I've done what I was told to do. I was what he said I should be, I followed his plan, his rules. I never thought about what I wanted. "

Ken hesitated. "And... What do you want?"

Dexter smiled, looking away. "I'm not sure yet. But it feels good. Like I could have anything, do anything." He sighed. "I'm still trying to figure out what I am. Who I am."

"You're the Bay Harbor Butcher. " Ken said desperately. 

"Nah. I really don't like that name. " Dexter said with distaste. "I'm nobody's role model."

"What you do, man, is important! " Ken tries. "Nobody can stand living with this kind of trash on the streets any more, and you're taking the trash out! "

"Mm." Dexter tilts his head to the side. "Honestly, I don't feel like I need to kill you. "

Ken takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "That's a relief. "

"I mean, that need that always brings me here. Like I need relief, like I'm going to die myself if I don't do this. I'm not feeling it now." Dexter whispers to himself. "Mm, I wonder why."

Ken smiles, startled. "That's great, so can you let me out of here, please? "

"My head doesn't hurt and I don't feel like my existence is a mistake. I mean, I kind of want to see him again tomorrow." Dexter whispers. "This is so confusing, man, I was thinking about killing him months ago! " 

Ken blinks, confused, terrified. "Who are you talking about?"

Dexter ignores him, scratching his neck. "I was so angry, he was acting like I was–" Dexter pauses, sighing, lowering his head. "I mean, I'm a monster, but..."

"You're not a monster. " Ken says, trying to smile.

Dexter looked at him, narrowing his eyes. "No, I know I am. That's the only certainty I have about myself."

"But... You're the one killing the monsters. " Ken mutters, his whole body tense on the table. 

Dexter stares at him, blinking a few times. He looks away. "He'd kill me in a heartbeat if he found out who I am. What I do. In the least worst-case scenario, I'd end up in prison. " Dexter rubs his eyes. "That can't happen. "

"I won't tell anyone," Ken whispers. 

Dexter hesitates. "You don't know what it's like. You say you're like me, but you'd rather die than be like me." he comes closer, leaning down. "It's like I'm rotting away, like everything around me is just a lie that I can't keep up any longer. I have nothing and no one. Nothing real. " 

Ken swallowed with difficulty. "I'm sure you must have someone–"

"I killed him." Dexter is close enough to Ken to whisper in his ear. "He was the only one who knew, and I killed him, and now I live with his blood in my veins, on my hands and his voice in my head. But still, I am alone."

A tear trickles from the corner of Ken's eye.

"I'll never be able to be anything other than this. I'm something empty and I've never had the chance to be anything else, but you did." Dexter moved away a little. "You could have been anything, and you tried to be like me. "

Ken sniffed through his nose. "I... I'm sorry."

Dexter just looked at him. "I'm not allowed to live. " Dexter closed his eyes for a few seconds. "That's what I exist for. Nothing else. " Dexter sighs. He wasn't allowed to have, to love, to be, to breathe without feeling the blood in his lungs. He doubts he can breathe anything but blood now. He's so cursed, there's no stopping it anymore, there's no going back. It's too late, and things like him don't get a second chance, don't get a chance to live. He'll never get anything more than that. Brian was right.

"Do you understand now?" Dexter asks Ken. 

"Y-Yes–" Ken whispers. 

"Good." Dexter smiles. "It was a great talk, but I'm still going to have to kill you." Dexter says. "I just don't feel like I need to, you know? "

Dexter shrugs, turning to pick up the knife. Ken Olson's screams don't last long.

(. . .) 

Dexter sighs when he gets back to his apartment a few hours later, he's dead tired. He had left the clothes that Doakes had given him back on his bed. Dexter threw himself on the bed and stared at the clothes. He sighed, got up and put them away. He needed to sleep. He really needed to sleep. Dexter threw himself on the bed, and he was asleep before he could even think about anything else. 

(. . .)

He woke up to knocks on his door and quickly jumped out of bed, almost losing his balance. He stumbled out of his room, fuck, what time is it, what the fuck, who the hell is at his door this early, fucking hell. He opened the door, rubbing his eyes, trying to wake up. 

"Good fucking morning. " Deb smiles, pushing him aside and entering his apartment with bags in her hand. 

"Deb." he grumbles. 

Deb looks him up and down. "What the fuck are you wearing?" she laughs. 

Dexter grunts. Shit, he forgot to change his clothes yesterday. Shit. "Ugh, shut up, I'm going to take a shower. " he whispers, heading for his room to get clean clothes. 

"We've got a few more hours until work, don't worry, bro, don't worry." she puts the bags on the kitchen counter. 

He grumbles as he walks to the bathroom. 

"God, fucking feral hair. " she grumbles. "Looks like you fought a bear. Or had sex. " 

"Deb! " Dexter complains from the bathroom. 

"What!? It's not like I don't know that you and Rita aren't together anymore! " Deb grunts to herself. 

Dexter comes out of the bathroom carefully shirtless. "What?" he mutters. 

Debra rolls her eyes. "It's fucking obvious. But I didn't ask because I knew you wouldn't want to talk about it. "

Dexter swallows. "I... "

"Just go and take a shower, for fuck's sake. " Deb waves her hands. "We can talk about it later, if you don't run away. "

"I can't promise anything. " he whispers, and goes back into the bathroom.

Chapter Text

"So... the plastic bags with the pieces of Ken Olson were just left in the train car?" Dexter asked, sitting in the chair and leaning on the kitchen counter while his sister, for some reason, cooked bacons and eggs for him.

"Yeah." Deb shrugged. "We went there at night, we found the plastic bags there. It was like a warning, you know?" Debra muttered.

Probably because it was. Dexter had left Ken's body in the same place where he had committed the crime in the first place. He didn't need others to take the initiative to be like him. That's not why he did the things he did. And honestly, he's not sure why he does it anymore, apart from the Dark Passenger factor. Harry was a liar, just like Dexter, but he had principles - at least on good days - and Harry had shared those principles with him, like a religion, like something he should be devoted to. Still, at the end of the day, he found himself wanting to sin more and more.

"Um." Dexter mumbled, saying nothing more.

"Batista said Butcher probably did us a favor. Maybe people will stop trying to do what he does from now on. " she said, looking at Dexter over her shoulder. "We don't need any more serial killers running around loose," she grumbled.

Dexter nodded, scratching his chin. "Yep." he looked at her. "You're always right, sis. " he forced himself to smile, but something unpleasant settled in his stomach.

Deb sighed with a small laugh and fell silent for a moment, with her back turned to him. Dexter looked down at the floor of his apartment, one problem had been solved, now all that was left were all the others, which were even worse. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes for a brief second. This was getting exhausting. Like, really draining. He felt tired, like never before, and he knew that this was worrying, and that it would probably only get worse; still, he couldn't find enough viable solutions at the end of the day. It's not as if he really wanted the death penalty. Death wasn't an option in this scenario, because it would be too easy. Too pathetic, too much in vain. Dexter slid his fingers through his hair, thoughts flooding his head like a chain around his neck.

Deb placed the plate with bacon and eggs in front of him on the kitchen counter and sat down in the chair opposite him. She watched him for a few seconds, while he visibly remained lost in his thoughts. Debra didn't see her brother like this very often, in fact, hardly ever. He looked... tired. He seemed almost as if he was carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders; as if it was pushing him further and further away from her and everyone else. She watched him, noticing how there were slightly deep circles under his eyes, and how his breathing was heavy, really as if he was exhausted. Debra tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat, trying to get her brother's attention.

Dexter blinked, then looked at her, and his eyes seemed lost. Almost empty. She frowned for a second, but decided not to push it. Her brother was like a wild animal allergic to deep, sentimental conversations. "So. Are you going to eat, or what?" she gestured to the plate.

Dexter hesitated, looking away, scratching the back of his head. He looked at her, confused by it all at that moment. What was this really about? What was she trying to do? "Deb... what's all this? " he muttered, tilting his head to the side. "Why exactly are you here, making me breakfast?"

Debra let out a loud sigh, it took her a while to answer. "I had a talk with Lundy." she confessed.

Of course. Dexter grunted softly, getting up from his chair, shit, he should have seen that coming. Debra quickly stood up too. "Dex, come on–"

Dexter gestured quickly with his hands. "Look, I don't know what he told you, but I'm fine, okay? " he says emphatically, a spark of something akin to frustration rising in his chest.

She looked at him, in disbelief. "Oh, I'm sure you're fine," she laughed bitterly and with cynical humor. "At Olson's crime scene, Lundy told me–"

"Great, you were talking about me at a crime scene? Very professional." he rolls his eyes, putting his hands on his waist. "It was just a misunderstanding, okay? You don't have to make a big deal out of it. "

"You almost fainting because you hadn't eaten anything all day was just a misunderstanding?" she narrowed her eyes, almost growling, quickly irritated. Great.

Dexter arched his eyebrows. "I didn't – that's not what happened, for Christ's sake–" he rubbed his face, taking a deep breath. "Look, I told Lundy it wouldn't happen again, it was just a silly mistake, I was busy, I didn't really have time to–"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she grunts. "I know you, you piece of shit, if you're not eating properly, it's because bigger shit is going on, especially since you've been eating like a starving animal since we were kids! "

Dexter didn't answer at first. He almost feels like laughing, if she only knew. He licks his lips and looks away. He really doesn't want to talk about it. Like, never, if that's possible. Everyone who knew what he really was ended up dead, and their blood was on his hand, in his tears that could never be shed, in his own blood. "There's nothing going on." he mumbles. "You shouldn't worry about me."

"Fuck you." the words are bitter and full of anger directed only at Dexter. He takes a step back, confused. "All I do is worry about you, you asshole." she continues, getting more and more angry. "You've always been there for me at the worst times, always when I needed you most, and I – I'm not able to do a single fucking thing for you!"

Dexter blinks, even more confused, but now there is something more unstable in his chest that makes him run out of breath for a few seconds. "Deb... that's not true. " he says softly, taking a step towards her.

"At least when you had Rita, I thought you could talk to her, or something, but now? It's like you're trying to make yourself fucking invisible, and I tried, I gave you space, I was patient, but you, you son of a bitch–" she clenches her hands into fists, biting her lower lip harshly. "It's like you'd rather die than just talk to me! "

Dexter flinches, swallowing, his lips open with words that will never be spoken. He blinks a few times, not knowing what to say. "I don't know... I don't know what you want me to say." he whispers again.

"You always say that. Like you're ready to give me any shit I want to hear, just so you can go back to your corner and die in silence. " Deb looks at him, and her eyes are almost fierce with anger and anguish. "It's because you don't trust me, is that it? " she asks, out of breath for a moment.

My truth would destroy you. All I can offer you are my lies. He trusts her, as he's never trusted anyone, but that's not the problem, the problem is him. Dexter doesn't want to do that, to put her in the position of having to choose between her evil brother and doing what's right. To say anything would be saying too much, and she can't know that. She can't know his lies are so poisonous and sick, she could never see what's behind his dead eyes. He shakes his head, not knowing what to do with his own body. "Of course I trust you, Deb," he tries, still silently.

"So... Then why don't you just – why?" she demands again. She's panting, and Dexter always recognizes when she's about to cry. It leaves him in a position where he absolutely doesn't know what to do. Helpless.

Dexter hesitates, licking his lips, taking a deep breath. "I... I wouldn't know where to start. " he confesses, without looking at her. Because there's nowhere to start. Only where to end.

Deb inhales deeply through her nose, rubbing her eyes furiously. "Right." She puts her hands on her hips. "Let's fucking start with this. Why aren't you eating?" she stares at him, waiting for an answer.

Honestly, he didn't really have an answer for that. He was just tired. Constantly tired, confused, lost, and everything seems out of place, he's out of place, and he feels wrong, all the time, and eating wasn't as important as worrying about all the other shit that was going on. Doakes. Harry. Brian. Mom. The Bay Harbor Butcher. Doakes. Doakes. It's all wrong. There's something wrong with him. Dexter has never felt - never felt anything like this, and he wouldn't know how to describe it in words. Because he shouldn't, he shouldn't feel it. He just shouldn't.

"I..." he closes his eyes tightly for a moment. "Honestly, I, um, I don't know either," Dexter says under his breath. "I don't feel exactly like myself. " And there it is. And it's too late to regret it. A stabbing pain creeps into his head, the back of his eyes sting, he blinks a few times.

Something in Deb's eyes softens, she hesitates. "Okay." she says, calmer this time. "Can you find any reason why you feel this way?"

He shouldn't. That's the problem. He just shouldn't be able to feel it. If he can feel it, then - then Harry has made a terrible mistake; another terrible mistake. Dexter moves without leaving his spot, he's a little jumpy, terribly uncomfortable. Dexter doesn't want to do this. He knows that if he acknowledges what's happening, then it will all become real, and he doesn't know, doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to handle all this; saying it out loud will only dig a hole even deeper where he'll be buried with all his lies and the endless blood on his hands.

Dexter feels an absurd urge to get away from it all. He misses the sensation of the knife in his hands, everything is always easier when there's nothing there but his knife and the blood, that's how it is, that's how it's always been. It should never change, he should never change, he should never be that. It's wrong. Dexter scratches his neck, breathing shakily through his nose. "I–" he closes his lips tightly. Shut up, shut up. Think what she'll do if she finds out what you really are. What you've done. Shut up.

Deb waits, and the way her brother looks distressed by just talking is enough to make her heart ache. It's as if he's fighting against himself. And she wonders how long this has been going on. How long he's been hiding, fighting. "It's all right, Dex." she tries. "You can tell me. Whatever it is. "

He presses a hand to his face. "I – can't." he mumbles, choking. "I can't, I just can't. I can't, I won't." The mumbling is almost desperate, and Debra has never seen him like this before. She moves a little closer.

"Why?" she whispers. "Why can't you? Why couldn't you? "

Dexter grunts, pulling away. He moves quickly away, like a wild animal. No, that's not going to happen. He can't. He can't do this to her. Not her, damn it. He lowers his head, pressing himself against the table in his living room. "You – you don't understand, Deb." You can't understand. Ever. You can never know.

Deb follows him, calmly, not wanting to let him out of her sight. "Help me understand. Help me help you, bro." she insists.

No. Never. He can't. Something colder and more suffocating covers his body, grabs him by the throat and pushes him down, as if it wants to kill him. He clenches his hands into fists, clenches his jaw, trying to take a deep breath through his nose, but it's explosive, it's as if it's trying to push him further away from his own consciousness. What is it? Anger? Despair? The instinct to fight or flee runs through him like a bullet. "I don't want your help. " he grunts, turning his head away from her.

This makes her fall silent for a second. "Fuck you, you're not going to push me away, not now, you prick. " she retorts fiercely. "Not after everything. "

The man grumbles loudly, refusing to look at her. "I thought you were giving me space, huh?" he shoots back, harshly.

She blinks. It's frightening how her brother's anguish and despair disappear and are replaced by something cold and bitter, as if he's willing to fight tooth and claw to protect himself from whatever it is he thinks he needs to protect himself from. She's seen it only a few times. The anger, the instability, the lack of control, how he insists on being anywhere but there, sinking into wherever he is inside his own mind. It almost reminds her of Harry. Debra wonders in these moments if she's really the one trying to live up to her father's expectations.

"That's not going to work with me, Dex. " Debra laughs bitterly. "Have you forgotten that I'm the pro at pushing others away and fucking ruining everything?"

He visibly tenses up, staring at the floor. An uncomfortable silence fills the apartment. Something crawls across his skin painfully, his heart is racing a little, he feels a tremor coming on, something he doesn't know how to control because it shouldn't even be there in the first place. He's been told to pretend his whole life, that's all he needed to do, but now, it's like he doesn't even need to anymore, and that is fucked up, really fucked up. Okay, Harry lied about a lot of things, that's a fact, but Dexter is only alive today because of him, he only survived because of Harry, because of what Harry said and taught him; and that has to mean something, it has to, otherwise - otherwise it was all in vain, it doesn't mean anything anymore and that's going to kill him.

If Harry was wrong about him, then - then what is the truth? Dexter knows so much about lies, about lying all the time, that he's forgotten his truth. Doakes was right about him, he's just a thing trying to pretend to be human. That's the truth. Isn't it? It has to be. He doesn't know what to do if it isn't. He doesn't. And Dexter can't do it. Not again, he can't do it alone again, Harry at least was there, at the beginning, guiding him, but now, he's got nobody, fuck, nobody, nothing, it's just him and that damn thing, the thing that keeps him locked in a cage. Debra can't understand, and he doesn't want her to understand, he doesn't want her to know, it would be horrible, he wouldn't be able to do it, he's trying to protect her from himself and yet she keeps trying to hold on to his blood-stained hands from all those who once had the misfortune of knowing him.

"That day at the bar." his sister's slightly calmer voice reaches his ears, but he remains silent. "That day at the bar, you were scared. " she whispers firmly.

Dexter frowns, but doesn't answer. No, he wasn't.

"You were scared, and I've already seen you like that." she continues. "That day, the hotel room full of blood, when we were working on the case of the–" she chokes. "On the case of the Ice Truck Killer. 

Dexter's blood freezes in his veins. He doesn't blink, the mention of him makes something cold slide painfully through his body and that hand is on his spine again, sliding up, and he can't move, completely frozen. He doesn't react. He doesn't even know if he can. 

"You were scared, weren't you?" she mutters, trying to pull herself together. "Why?"

Dexter can't be afraid, because there's nothing to be afraid of. Only himself. Dexter is not what his sister thinks he is. He's not innocent, he's not in danger, he's not protecting himself from others. He's the fucking danger, he's protecting others from himself. How the hell could he be afraid of himself? He knows what he is, Dexter is aware of it, he's too self-aware of being a monster for his own good. When Brian tried to make Dexter kill Deb, it was at that moment that Dexter realized that he couldn't be what Brian wanted, and he couldn't be what Harry wanted either. He just couldn't, he doesn't know how.

"It was like you were having a fucking panic attack, Dexter. " she says, panting, tears in her eyes.

No, he wasn't. "No, I–" he shakes his head, this isn't something that happens to Dexter Morgan. How could it be? "I'm not going to talk about that. " Dexter decided firmly.

He wasn't scared, he just - just remembered. And Doakes was stopping him from leaving, and that feeling, that feeling was so similar to that day, and it seemed to suffocate him, but, but it wasn't fear, it couldn't be. He can't feel it. He can't feel anything. He never could. He never will.

"Fine." she hisses. "Then tell me why you feel like you're not yourself anymore, instead, for fuck's sake. "

He ignores her completely. "We should get to work. " Dexter whispers to himself, moving to get his things. He hasn't even eaten his fucking breakfast. Again. "We're going to be late. "

Deb stood in the living room, rubbed her eyes again and sniffed through her nose, but made no mention of moving. She took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling for a second.

"I can't fucking believe it. " she whispers to herself, clenching her jaw, feeling more like a failure than ever.

The plate with bacon and eggs remains untouched, but they don't talk about it. Dexter doesn't even look her in the eye for the rest of the day.

(. . .)

Dexter walks to his lab quickly, avoiding any pair of eyes that threaten to interrupt his mission to act as if everyone were the devil himself. He sighs as soon as he enters his lab, but has a brief second of peace before his eyes find Doakes in the corner of his lab wall, staring at him, arms crossed over his chest. Dexter stops himself from reacting, despite being taken by surprise - something that is quite rare - he rubs his face, closing the door behind him, and not making a bit of sense, but a part of him slowly relaxes a little at Doakes' presence.

"How long have you been standing there?" he mutters, putting his things on the table. God, he needs a break.

"You're late. " Doakes retorts, still leaning against the wall instead.

Dexter sighs heavily. "Yeah, I know, I know," he mutters to himself.

"Have you eaten anything?" his voice is harsh and direct. Dexter predicts that he's going to have a tougher day today.

He sighs again, closing his eyes briefly. "Um, I... " he runs his fingers through his hair. "I had some unforeseen circumstances..." he says quietly.

"Yeah, I figured." Doakes mumbles, then moves closer. Dexter glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and Doakes places a small bag in front of him on the table. Dexter raises an eyebrow.

Dexter hesitates, looking at him. "What's that?" he mutters.

"Sit down and eat. " Doakes orders, pushing the chair over for Dexter to sit down.

Jesus. Dexter shakes his head, but sits in the chair anyway, honestly, he doesn't feel like there's any strength left in his body to resist anything else today. He opens the bag and there's a fresh sandwich inside. Dexter frowns intensely, looking at Doakes again. Doakes raises an eyebrow in return, staring at him.

"Are you going to stand there staring at me?" Dexter grumbles, terribly confused by the whole situation.

"Just eat your fucking sandwich, how about that? " Doakes grins, looking a little too feral.

Dexter looks away, but does as he says. It's as if it's become a habit. A normal thing between them. It shouldn't be. Dexter knows that. Still, he can't find the strength to care. He sighs, and eats his sandwich in silence, with his eyes closed. For a brief moment, he feels... comfortable, as if Doakes wasn't inches away staring at him at that very moment. Something warm settles inside him. It's nice. It's good. He likes it.

"Did you get enough sleep?" Doakes asks again, softer this time.

Dexter nods, still chewing quietly and with his eyes closed.

"Good." Doakes whispers and it reaches something inside Dexter that makes him tense up a little, until he relaxes again.

He can feel Doakes moving behind him and the Dark Passenger is ready to attack, yet what about him? He keeps his eyes closed, as if there's nothing to worry about. As if he wasn't in a place with a creature as dangerous as him. But as soon as Doakes' fingers slip between his strands of hair, Dexter's spine melts and he unconsciously drops his head back against Doakes' palm. Oh. Dexter swallows, then takes a deep breath through his nose as the other man continues to stroke his hair as if he were a lapdog. It's not something he's seen happening in a million years, but here's Dexter Morgan.

Doakes makes a deep, satisfied sound from deep in his throat and Dexter trembles, a warm sensation running through his body. Doakes' hand slides to the back of his neck and squeezes gently; somehow Dexter's body melts even more with his touches, every trace of tension in his muscles slowly leaving his body as if they weren't even there in the first place. "Fuck, I want to kiss you so fucking bad, Morgan. " Doakes practically purrs, looking at the other man's relaxed face.

"Why don't you? " Dexter whispers, his eyes closed, but there's a small smile on his lips.

"I didn't lock the doors this time. " Doakes retorts deeply, squeezing the back of his neck a little harder.

Dexter opens his eyes, frowns for a moment, and it's as if all the spell slowly dissipates, he instinctively gets tense, pulling away from Doakes' hands. The other man sighs, but lets him move away. There's a brief, suffocating silence, and Dexter feels bad, because he - that was nice, he liked that, but –

"Don't worry your pretty ass about it. " Doakes shrugs, clearing his throat. "We can't be fooling around in the workplace anyway. "

Dexter bites his lower lip. "Yeah, you're right." he rubs his face. "Thanks for breakfast, anyway. " there's a heavy sincerity in his voice that doesn't go unnoticed by Doakes.

Doakes' eyes soften even more as he looks at Dexter. "Tough morning, huh?" he asks, and something in his voice sounds worried, but Dexter must be imagining things.

"You could say that. " Dexter sighs.

"If you want to talk about it. " Doakes suggests, calmly.

It takes everything in Dexter not to raise his eyebrows in surprise, but he looks away, he honestly doesn't even want to think about that for the rest of the day. "Maybe later. " he says anyway.

Doakes nodded, deciding not to insist - something that made Dexter silently surprised - and then there was a brief silence in which Dexter took a moment to reflect on the current situation he was in at that moment. He and Doakes, in the same room, not trying to get at each other's throats. It's a scenario he would laugh at if someone told him it would ever happen. Dexter scratches his chin, letting himself float into those thoughts again. He almost sighed as his mind drifted back to thinking about Deb anyway. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"So, what was that all about yesterday?" Doakes asked calmly, but there was something genuinely curious in the tone of his voice.

Dexter sighed for real this time, rubbing his face. He hesitated. "I... huh, I don't know, I just... " he didn't really want to put it into words, but he still felt terribly ashamed just thinking about how he had behaved and how the previous event had made him deeply upset. "I think I was upset. " he confesses painfully.

"That bit I fucking figured out. " Doakes laughs softly. "I'm talking about the kiss on the cheek. Is that going to become a thing now?" he raises an eyebrow, but that smile Dexter hates so much is there this time. Dexter almost wants to press his own lips against his to just make him stop smiling like that – huh, what the fuck?

Dexter blinks a few times, looking away, he scratches the back of his head. "Oh." he mumbles. "I didn't really pay attention to what I did, it was just... random?" he tries, shrugging. He's embarrassed. He's embarrassed and would die before admitting it.

However, it's as if Doakes can see right through him, because the Sergeant just smiles even wider. "I didn't think you were the soft kind, Morgan." He tilts his head to the side, licking his lips.

Dexter grunts, rolling his eyes, he almost smiles, but stops himself as if he's holding back a demon from possessing him. "You were the one saying you always wanted me, what was that about, huh?" Dexter narrows his eyes. "All that hatred you had towards me was just sexual tension, who knew. "

Doakes gets a little tense, and Dexter expects him to explode at the provocation, because that's what Doakes does, but this time he moves a little closer to Dexter, with something shining in his eyes. Dexter blinks, remaining perfectly still where he was left. "You could say that all the times I've made you moan so sweetly are far from enough. " Doakes leans over him. "Yeah, maybe I fucking want you, but I can tell you feel the same way just by looking at you, Morgan. "

Dexter's breath catches in his throat as he stares at Doakes' lips for a brief second, and then into his eyes again. Right, he doesn't have an answer for that. He doesn't... he doesn't want Doakes. That's not what's going on here. He just... Dexter exhales softly through his nose. He couldn't want Doakes, that would just be... wrong. Wrong for someone like Dexter. "You seem very convinced of that. " he whispers back to the other man.

Doakes just smiles sharply. "Of course, princess." Doakes' soft, deep laugh makes Dexter's body shiver. "I honestly think you like that. The fact that I want you. Does it make you feel good, Morgan?" Doakes' breathing hits his face and Dexter has fucking goose bumps.

"Maybe." Dexter whispers as quietly as possible. "Yeah, maybe." he says, as if hypnotized.

Doakes' lips are so close that Dexter could just lean over and – no, no, fuck! "The fucking way you look now, Morgan." Doakes hums softly. "You should look at yourself, acting like you're desperate for it. "

"I thought we weren't supposed to be flirting in the workplace?" Dexter retorts because it's the only thing he has to defend himself at the moment.

"Mm, you want me to back off?" Doakes teases.

"Leave and don't ever come back. " Dexter retorts, leaning against him.

"You'd miss me, baby. "

"Never." And then Dexter kisses him with such intensity that his head just goes blank.

The kiss is short and certainly not long enough, Dexter grabs him by the back of the neck, pulling him against him from where he's sitting, and fuck, Dexter moans against his lips. Doakes growls back at him, his hand going up to his hair and he pulls on it for a few seconds, before slowly pulling Dexter's hand away from the back of his neck, moving away from him. Dexter makes a sound of protest, trying to kiss him again, but Doakes steps back, looking around quickly, worried that someone might come through that door at any moment. Then he looks at Dexter again.

The man seems almost upset that he hasn't been kissed for a little longer. Doakes smiles. "Let's not do anything we might regret, huh?"

Too late, Dexter thinks. He nods softly anyway, licking his lips, and Doakes stares at him as he does so. "Cheeky little shit." Doakes grunts softly.

Dexter shrugs innocently. "Maybe you should go now, Sergeant. " he straightens his clothes and hair, forcing himself to act normally.

"Yeah, maybe I should stop by your apartment later, who knows."

Dexter bites his lower lip. Fuck. He shivers again, what the fuck?  "Yeah, maybe you should. "

Doakes winks at him silently and leaves his laboratory looking very smug. Dexter grunts and shakes his head, shifting in his chair. But when Doakes leaves his lab and closes the door behind him, Deb is not far away, watching as Doakes walks back to his desk. Then Debra looks at the door to her brother's lab again. She narrows her eyes and then walks away too.

(. . .)

The rest of the day passes quietly enough and Dexter manages to do his job, although he secretly hopes that Deb will walk through the door of his lab and yell at him for being an idiot, as she usually does. However, this doesn't happen at any point during the day. He sighs, leaning on the table. He hates how his mind keeps going from Doakes, to Deb, to Harry, Brian, the FBI, Butcher, Ken Olson, and all the other shit that threatens to sink him in a sea of all his lies. He scratches his head, an unsettling feeling has been creeping into his stomach since his little chat with Debra, and it hasn't left him alone all day. Dexter sighs loudly, leaning back in his chair.

Yet when he thinks of Doakes, something inside him calms down... It's something even more terrifying.

Chapter Text

There was something about the way the conversation he'd had with Deb kept coming back to him. It was like it was there all the time, insisting, trying to confuse him. Dexter was very good at letting things go, choosing to ignore them or just pretending that nothing had happened, but for some reason, none of these things had been working all day. He kept thinking about it, going over the whole conversation in his head, and he still couldn't decide which part disturbed him the most. Something definitely snapped in his head when Debra mentioned Brian, it was like being afraid of the dark, where you don't know what's so scary about the dark, but you still fear it.

Fear. It was a funny and petty thing, because he couldn't feel fear. However, Debra said with every word that she had seen him scared before. Well, that was something to think about, because that shouldn't happen. It shouldn't be possible, Harry told him. Harry treated him like something that had no feelings and was incapable of having any, so that's what he was and should be. Fear. It was as powerful as love, and he had neither. Fear, he had seen the fear in the eyes of those who died by his hand, it glowed in their eyes, it was the last thing they would feel before they died. Fear.

To say that Dexter had been thinking about it all day was no exaggeration. He remembered how he felt when Doakes cornered him in the bathroom of that bar, how he felt trapped, as if he was confined to die in the shipping container with his brother just like their mother. How something crawled through his body and settled in his stomach and he felt sick, his hands were shaking so much – and it never did, ever – not even when he slit his own brother's throat, his hand was steady; he knew what had to be done, but it didn't hurt any less. Being backed into a corner and helpless were not sentences Dexter was familiar with, but that day, in the bathroom with Doakes, those words kept coming back to describe his situation on that particular day.

Still, he wasn't helpless. No, he could easily have just killed Doakes in that bathroom if he wasn't an organized and conscious creature, he could have done it and walked away, without worrying about any consequences, with no camera, with no evidence and not a drop of blood; that wasn't who Dexter was, though. He was trained to think ahead, about the consequences, he was trained to plan, study, wait and then finally attack. Dexter likes to say that he's good at handling stressful situations that require agile thinking and action; he's done very well in situations like this, where he needed to do something quickly to get himself out of a mess.

And for some reason, he couldn't handle Doakes backing him into a corner very well. It was as if all his training and experience had simply been flushed down the toilet. So, when attacking wasn't an option, running away was the alternative, and that's exactly what he did. It was still embarrassing to think about, Harry would have been disappointed, Dexter was sure. It was just another flaw in his perfect creation, what was so wrong with that, right? It's not as if that meant Harry was wrong about him and what he could be.

(. . .)

When it's time to go home, Dexter is a little tired, but all he can think about is Debra and her poisonous words. He grabs his things, leaves his lab and comes face to face with an empty bullpen. Dexter raises an eyebrow. He turns his head and Masuka is not far away, Dexter supposes he must be working on his latest case evidence in his corner. Dexter decides to approach.

"Hey, where is everyone?" Dexter questions, holding his things close against him.

"Another crime scene." Masuka shrugs and he seems terribly focused on what he's doing, something that surprises Dexter.

Dexter watches him for a few seconds. "Did Deb go over there as well?" "

"Yep." he replies, without looking at Dexter.

Dexter sighs softly. "She didn't come to call me." he mutters to himself.

This obviously makes Masuka look at him. "Did the Morgans fight?" he asks, terribly interested.

Dexter stops himself from rolling his eyes. "No, it's fine, it doesn't matter anyway." he says, motioning to leave.

"If you want to talk about it, you know me, Dex." Masuka gestures with his hands, smiling. "I'm the best with words and at being a friendly shoulder."

Dexter stops in place and turns to look at him. He narrows his eyes. "Actually, why are you here?"

"Lundy asked me to take a closer look at some evidence from Olson's case again." Masuka rolls his eyes. "It sucks, man, it's not like Butcher's known for leaving anything behind. I've been doing this all day and I can't find anything. I don't know what Lundy wants from me."

Dexter takes a deep breath, hesitating, his face neutral. "Lundy doesn't like you very much, does he?" he grumbles with a slight smile.

"I mean, what's not to like?" Masuka gets up from the chair he's been sitting in, stands and spins around for a second, gesturing to himself. "Look at me, man, I know you're straight, but even you must think I'm kind of hot too, right?"

Dexter just smiles. "Sure, you're a nice guy. "

"Hey, that's not what I asked, man." Masuka grumbles.

Dexter shrugs his shoulders with an innocent smile. Assuming Doakes has also gone to the crime scene, there's no reason for him to keep waiting there. He turns to leave again. Dexter sighs, Masuka won't find anything because there's nothing to be found.

(. . .)

He goes back to his apartment determined to sleep for the rest of the day simply because he can and because he wants Deb's voice out of his head for at least a little while. He wonders if Doakes was really serious about stopping by his apartment later. Dexter decided not to think about it, because it was stupid, and he definitely wasn't looking forward to kissing him a little more anyway... The thought made him freeze as he closed the entrance door to his apartment behind him. He blinks, and almost feels like slapping himself.

Terribly stupid, that's what he is. Dexter rubs his face and throws his things on the sofa, sitting down. He can still feel Doakes' lips against his, his hand in his hair, on the back of his neck, squeezing, he takes a deep breath, he almost wants to feel it again, but no, he can't want that, never, never. Dexter closes his eyes tightly. Right, he has to think of something else. Deb is angry with him, something that doesn't come as a total surprise, but still makes him uncomfortable, but he knows he can't do anything about it, so he has to ignore it. Lundy is more demanding with his case, he can't describe how it makes him feel, but it's not very nice.

His stomach makes a noise and he sighs, staring at the ceiling, remembering only now that the only thing he had eaten was the sandwich Doakes had given him. Okay, he could start there. Dexter gets up from the sofa in the direction of his kitchen, sighing between his lips. However, he stands still when he sees that the plate of eggs and bacon that Deb had made for him is still there. Dexter blinks a few times, suppresses a sigh and picks up the plate.

However, a knock on his door makes him almost drop his plate.

Oh, maybe it could be–?

Doakes?

Dexter frowns to himself at the thought again. The Dark Passenger growls inside him. He puts the plate down again and moves to the door a little slowly. He almost wants it to be Doakes. Stop it. He opens the door.

"Hey, when I came back you were gone." Doakes' voice is a little breathless.

Oh, it really is Doakes. Something burns in Dexter's stomach, he tries to control himself, oh.

"Yeah, I'd already finished all the blood work for the day." Dexter murmurs quietly. "You–"

"Yeah, yeah, we can talk later, I need you to come with me now. " Doakes interrupts him quickly.

Dexter's stomach drops to his feet as he unconsciously holds his breath. He blinks, his hand gripping the door handle tightly. The Dark Passenger twists inside him as if warning him. Oh, no. He hesitates, Doakes looks at him with expectation. "W-what, why?" Dexter questions and forces himself to stay calm.

"I'll tell you in the car, can we go now?" Doakes gestures, visibly in a hurry.

What the fuck is this? What is he trying to do? Dexter clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes, the Dark Passenger is trying to force his way out. Dexter takes a slight step backwards, but holds the door open. He's barely breathing. This is where it all ends. Doakes must know. He must know. He may be trying to get him to the police station. To Lundy, where Deb must be waiting for him with a pair of handcuffs. That's why she didn't go to see him. She knows. They all know. That's how it ends. He's finished. He's failed Harry and Brian and everyone who ever expected anything from him.

"Morgan, come on, I haven't got all day. " Doakes grumbles, grunting.

"I don't–" Dexter hisses between his teeth. "I was about to–"

"I'm sure you can do whatever you were going to do, later. " Doakes gestures with his hands. "Don't be a fucking pain in the ass, let's just go. "

Fuck. Fuck. He's fucked. He's so fucked. Oh, God. Oh, shit. There's a hand around his throat and he can hardly breathe. I warned you, the Dark Passenger and Brian say in unison. He needs to get away, but where, he can't, he can't, he doesn't want to hurt Doakes – he doesn't want to do that, he can't just run, Doakes wouldn't let him, there's nowhere to escape to, he can't – fuck, how did Lundy find out? What did he leave behind? How could he make such an ugly mistake? Where did he go wrong? What did he do wrong?

What crawls down his windpipe can only be despair. That's the only word for it. He's almost unconsciously hiding behind the door. He's shaking. He's going to die. Dexter comes to a conclusion. He's going to jail, and then he's going to die. Dexter lets out a shaky breath through his mouth. He doesn't want that. Deb will be the one who puts the handcuffs on his wrists, and Doakes will be the last person he felt something else when his lips pressed against his. God, how could he let this happen, how? – Harry taught him better, he should be better than that, he was meant to be better –

"Let's go?" Doakes asks again, a little more sharply.

It starts as a small physical pain, right in his chest. It's as if he's being slowly stabbed, the knife goes through his flesh, and pushes between his ribcage, and it hurts. The pain then wraps itself around his chest until he feels as if he's hurting from the inside. His insides ache, and unlike physical pain, he can't do anything about it; then the pain increases, and he feels as if he's being torn from the inside out, being exposed to his bones, is he bleeding? He probably should be, because it hurts. The Dark Passenger laughs in irony, of course it hurts, what was he expecting? It was supposed to hurt. It's moving freely inside him, as if it's taking its rightful place. It hurts. He can't breathe. The Dark Passenger won't let him. He stops fighting it, he has no reason to, maybe it's just wiser, the Dark Passenger always knows how to deal with this kind of thing. Harry was right about him.

Dexter takes a breath. Then he nods. "Okay." the Dark Passenger says, looking at Doakes, waiting. "Do I need to bring anything?" and his voice is calm. Cold. Doakes visibly doesn't notice.

"Do you want to bring anything?" Doakes asks, gesturing into his apartment.

He thinks about getting some gloves and putting them in his pocket, just to make sure he doesn't leave any fingerprints. He thinks about taking the kitchen knife and hiding it inside his jacket. He thinks about just taking a pen and using it to stab Doakes in the eye in his car and let him bleed to death in his own car. But then he'd have to get rid of the car. Well, he'll have to get rid of the car anyway. He needs something that won't leave blood behind. He thinks about all that while the Dark Passenger looks Doakes in the eye. He decides not to take anything. He can strangle him with his bare hands, and then worry about the fingerprints later. The Dark Passenger purrs, satisfied. A feeling of dark peace runs through his body.

"No, I don't need anything." Dexter says with a soft smile and then Doakes takes a few steps back as Dexter turns off the light and leaves his apartment. He locks the door, puts the keys in his pocket and then looks at Doakes. "Let's go." he says, calmly.

Everything seems so cold and dark. He remembers that feeling. It's always the same feeling. Always when he's about to kill someone. It needs to be done. He can't be arrested. It doesn't matter that it's Doakes. He'll just run away and start again. It doesn't matter. He knows it doesn't matter. The pain is still there, anyway. The Dark Passenger tells him to ignore it. That's what he does. It has to be done, Brian tells him, and he knows it too. He just needs to do it quickly enough. There's no reason to hide anymore, they already know. All he has to do is grab his bag with his passport, money and some clothes and just disappear. He's been planning this since Brian, he knows what to do. But it still hurts. It still hurts. It doesn't matter.

(. . .)

When he walks out of his apartment with Doakes, he doesn't find any police cars or even any federal agents waiting with guns aimed at him. Dexter figures they want to catch him off guard, because they know how he acts, so naturally it would be best not to make a big fuss. The Butcher's criminal profile was pretty accurate anyway, even though it bothered Dexter deeply. He walks in silence with Doakes to his car, watching him out of the corner of his eye. He needs to do this before he even has a chance to get in the car, it'll be easier that way. Knock him out from behind. It won't be easy, Doakes is not a weak or untrained guy, and Dexter doesn't have his sedatives in hand. They'll fight, he's sure, but he's defeated Doakes before. He has to do it quickly.

There's no time to think about all the other things he'll leave behind, there are priorities at the moment, and his brain only cares about that, the Dark Passenger is so focused that nothing seems to exist apart from that. Apart from what he has to do. Apart from what he's going to do. He's a step away from Doakes, his hands clenched into fists. Do it. Dexter's eyes burn into Doakes' neck and he wants to crush his windpipe but doesn't know exactly why. He feels betrayed. It's irrational, because if he were Doakes, he'd do the same. It's the right thing to do, but he's not Doakes. It doesn't matter anyway. His fingers are closed so tightly that his knuckles start to hurt. He remembers feeling wildly angry before, especially when he was a child, all the time, the rage was everywhere, eating him up, and now he feels no different from his childhood.

Doakes looks agitated, breathing deeply, and Dexter has never seen him like this before, so he knows. He knows that he knows. It's almost funny. He imagines that Doakes must be so excited right now to be right about him, to have fooled him so easily. Dexter has fallen into his hands like nothing. God, he's so disappointed at himself it's painful. It's fucking pathetic. Brian knew, the Dark Passenger knew, everyone knew, but he was too unconscious to even open his eyes. His hands shake with animalistic violence, it's been so long, so long since he's really wanted to kill someone like this before. It's almost euphoric. He feels like he could die if he doesn't do this, not because of prison and the death sentence, but because he's going to explode, he's going to collapse into something much bigger than that, he wants to hurt, he wants to kill.

Harry was right about him, of course he was. Dexter wants to laugh. The craving for blood is pouring out of him. He feels that if Doakes breathes too loudly he'll end up breaking his neck before Doakes can even look at him. He bites his tongue hard enough to feel the blood in his mouth and he swallows. Dexter stretches out his hands and his fingers hurt, it doesn't matter, he doesn't even believe he's the same person who didn't want to hurt Doakes anymore, because that's all he wants to do now. The Dark Passenger is happy, unleashed, creeping up on him like a shadow on his shoulder, it's never been so free before, and Dexter is fine with that. It's too late anyway.

"Look, I don't know how to tell you this... fuck." Doakes says as they walk closer and closer to where he had parked his car, and his back is still turned to Dexter.

Dexter remains silent, jaw clenched so hard his head hurts. Kill him, the Dark Passenger whispers. Go on, kill him.

"That's not quite how I planned things, but well, I sure hope you're not gonna be a bitch about it. " Doakes sighs to himself and turns to Dexter as they approach his car.

Dexter stands still in place, not blinking, maybe not breathing either. He decides to listen, because curiosity will only feed his hunger for blood now, and Dexter always does that. Talking to those who are about to die by his hand. The Dark Passenger doesn't like that very much, though. Kill him. It repeats. Again and again. And again. And again. His head hurts.

Doakes looks at him for a few seconds, opens his mouth and then hesitates. "So, I was on my way to come here, like I said before, but then I got a call, my Mom, inviting me over to have dinner with my sisters." Doakes mumbles quietly, rubbing his face with one hand.

Dexter tilts his head slightly to one side.

"And well, I was already on my way here, so I thought, fuck it, I'll take you with me." Doakes gestures with his hands. "It seemed like a good idea, because, I don't fucking know, I thought it would be... fuck, I thought you'd like to go with me?" he mutters to himself at the end.

Dexter remains silent for long seconds, trying to take in everything he has just heard. Lies. Lie after lie. It all sounds like one big nightmare. Doakes just stares back at him, waiting. "I didn't know you have sisters," is all Dexter is able to say. It doesn't matter. Kill him.

Doakes rolls his eyes. "Don't act so surprised about it, Morgan, I've got a fucking family too." he grunts. "So, what do you think about it? Are you up for it? " he raises his eyebrows, hopeful.

Kill him, the Dark Passenger repeats for the tenth time, but Dexter's eyes meet Doakes' and he exhales silently through his nose. The lie is too good. Good enough to make him want to get in the car. The anger is still there, but it all seems so empty because Doakes is still doing it, still lying, and it seems so easy. That must be how it is for the others then, that must be how they see Dexter. Morgan looks away. This is a nightmare he can't wake up from.

"Right, you don't have to go if you don't fucking want to, you can forget I even asked." Doakes snaps when Dexter doesn't answer.

Dexter looks at him. God, he's tired of it. It's scary how the anger slowly goes away and that makes the Dark Passenger growl inside him. He feels tired. "I'm not sure why you'd want me to go." he shrugs calmly.

"Listen, I know it sounds like a big deal, but it's not, it's just a fucking dinner. " Doakes narrows his eyes. "Don't mistake this for a date or me taking you to meet my family and then asking you to be my boyfriend, because that's not what's fucking happening. "

"Sure." Dexter says anyway, bowing his head slightly. He takes a breath, closes his eyes for a few seconds and then looks at Doakes again. "Okay." he whispers. And Doakes raises an eyebrow at him.

The Dark Passenger remains silent. Dexter almost wants it to come back, because then everything else gets so loud and it hurts again.

(. . .)

Dexter's eyes remain locked on the window as Doakes drives. He's been silent for some time, feeling as if he's accepted his fate too quickly for Brian's liking, or even Harry's. Doakes is taking him to the police station at this very moment and he doesn't do anything about it. He just stays silent. Where's that anger? That desire to escape? That need to survive? It's all gone so quickly and he doesn't understand why. Maybe because a part of him really hopes that Doakes is telling the truth. Maybe it's because the stupidest, most pathetic part of him almost felt merely pleased with what Doakes said. It's shameful. Terribly shameful.

"You're too quiet. " Doakes pointed out from the driver's seat next to him.

Dexter has nothing to say. It's too late anyway. Maybe it's for the best. Numbness takes over the anger and he's had enough of it all. "I'm okay," Dexter retorts softly.

"Did you eat anything besides the sandwich I gave you this morning?" Doakes asks with a meticulous tone.

Dexter smiles bitterly. Oh, that's so fucking funny. Doakes glances at him out of the corner of his eye and then looks back at the road quickly, he frowns. "Why are you smiling like that? " Doakes asks, confused, and totally not worried.

Dexter turns his head to look at him, still smiling at the corner of his lip. He feels as if he's lost his mind. Well, as far as he was concerned, he'd survived quite a while, longer than Harry had expected, he was sure. "Why do you keep doing this?" Dexter mutters anyway, because he's curious. Dexter thought he was the cruel one between the two of them, but Doakes keeps making him feel so fucking bad, even after he's ripped him apart and turned him into a fucking tamed animal and managed to get what he wanted. Still, he won't stop. He just won't stop.

"Doing what?" Doakes arches an eyebrow. "Are you all right? You've got that strange look in your eyes again." he comments, trying to sound casual.

Dexter wants to laugh. And surprisingly, he realizes that he also wants to cry. Morgan looks away again. He thinks he'd be crying if he could. This is his punishment, so it's okay. He knew it would come someday. He didn't think it would hurt so much, though.

He doesn't answer and falls into silence for the rest of the ride. That was it. He really lost it.

(. . .)

Dexter sinks. The darkness consumes him like a hug that's too tight, so tight that it suffocates him. He doesn't try to escape, he knows it won't do any good. I tried to save you, Brian whispers in his ear and Dexter whispers, I know, back to him. I'm sorry. He really is. It was all such a tragedy. None of them really had any hope anyway, condemned long before they knew what freedom really was. It must have started the moment they were born. That's when the mistakes started, one after the other, Dexter doesn't remember much apart from the silence and the void, it was always there. Everything is so loud now, but the void remains.

"We could never really escape it, little brother." Brian whispers, with a sad smile.

Dexter knows it, but a part of him wanted so desperately to just live. Like everyone else. To have what everyone else has. Love. Happiness, sadness, desire, not feeling alone even with people around him, being able to just cry, because it seems so easy, but all he does is bleed. He's been bleeding for so long, ever since that shipping container, his mother's blood got mixed up with his and now he doesn't know which is which, and then his brother's blood was there as well, and he could never escape it. He could never stop it. Everyone goes on with their lives and he's stuck here, forever. It's all been over for him for so long.

"Why grieve over everything that you could never be, brother?" Brian asks, and he looks sad. Really sad.

And Dexter doesn't know, he doesn't have an answer to that, because he's been doing it for so long, so why not mourn everything he could never have and never be? Why not? It's not as if there's anything left. He never had anything in the first place.

"You had me, Dexter." Brian shrugged with a soft look. "We had each other this time. "

Dexter knows. God, he knows it, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. I'm sorry, Dexter says to him again.

"I know." Brian comforts him. "I don't blame you, I just miss you."

 He knows. Me too.

(. . .)

"Hey, we're here. "

Dexter blinks, his forehead pressed against the car window. The car is parked, and he slowly comes out of his subconscious, turning to look at Doakes. The other man looks at him, frowning softly. "You don't look so hot." he whispers, reaching out a hand, but quickly stops himself, as if he's fighting himself.

Dexter looks away. "It's okay," he whispers, then opens the door to get out of the car. His legs feel heavy, his whole body is heavy, he's tired. He stands beside the car, then looks around.

Doakes also gets out of the car, turning around and walking over to him. "Well, we're here. Look, I know you're a quiet guy, and my family is fucking loud, so I hope you don't mind. Anyway, don't bother too much about anything they say. "

Dexter is still standing next to the car, looking at the door of Doakes' house.

Where's the police station?

The federal agents?

Deb waiting for him with the handcuffs?

He looks at Doakes, confused. "Where are we?" he whispers.

"What do you mean? We're at my Mom's." Doakes gestures to his house quickly, then turns to Dexter again, staring at him. "What's eating you today? You're acting stranger than usual. "

Dexter blinks. Oh. "I just thought... " he whispers to himself, looking around again, just to be sure. There's nothing. No police. Just Doakes. Why?

"Think later, we're late enough, let's go. " Doakes says, then carefully grabs his wrist and leads him into his house.

Dexter isn't sure if he's really awake or if he's hallucinating. He doesn't understand what's happening. He really doesn't.

(. . .)

Doakes wasn't lying.

"James doesn't usually bring people to dinner with us, does he, girls?" Mrs. Doakes says, smiling at him.

Everyone is sitting at the table, Doakes is sitting next to him and Dexter is still so confused. It was all true. Is this really happening? He wasn't lying. He wasn't lying? Why is he here? Where are the police? Dexter feels as if he's floating out of his own flesh, numb, confused, adrenaline drained, exhaustion crawling through his bones.

"He doesn't actually come to dinner with us, ever, Mom." Roni grumbles with a smile at Doakes.

Doakes rolls his eyes. "Not everyone works in a bank, sister," he retorts.

None of this feels right. He feels out of place. He shouldn't be here. This isn't right. He's an intruder. He hasn't even touched the food on his plate, he feels like there's something broken inside his head.

"So, Dexter, you must be very special to my son, if he brought you with him on one of the only occasions he attends our family gatherings." Mrs. Doakes comments with a questioning look.

No, not at all, that wasn't happening. Where are the police? Dexter looks at Doakes out of the corner of his eye, who is also staring at him, waiting for him to answer. Dexter swallows, then looks at Mrs. Doakes again, he tries to smile. "Oh, I – uh, we're friends, Ma'am. We work together. " he tries, forcing himself to act like a person. He's done this all his life, it shouldn't be so difficult now. But it is.

He looks at Doakes. The other man is looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Oh God. What did he say wrong? Was it "friends"?

"Oh, really?" Mrs. Doakes seems more interested now. "Are you a cop like my son?"

The feds were sure to come through the doors and windows at any moment. "No, Ma'am. I do forensics, I'm a blood spatter analyst. " he says and swallows the despair that crawls up his throat. At any moment he will hear the police vehicles' sirens.

"In a very short way, he's a lab geek." Doakes says.

Jess rolls her eyes. "That sounds interesting. A tough job, I'm sure." Jess comments with a soft smile.

"Finally someone who's not a fucking brute like my brother, it's good to have smart people with us." Roni comments, smiling at Dexter.

Dexter blinks a few times, stoic. Where's Deb and her handcuffs? "Oh, I mean, it's just a job like any other, you know? " he quickly lowers his eyes. Please help.

"Morgan over here is the best blood spatter analyst in the whole state. " Doakes comments casually, but there's something different in his voice this time.

There's a slight sound of surprise in unison around the table. "Is that so, Dexter?" Mrs. Doakes asks in surprise.

Dexter looks at Doakes quickly. What the hell is he doing? Then he looks at her. "Huh, yes Ma'am. " he nods softly.

"So you're kind of super smart. " Roni leans on the table, looking terribly interested. Doakes narrows his eyes.

"Oh, no, no, I just studied a lot to get where I am, that's all. " Dexter shrugs.

"As well as being smart, he's modest. " Jess laughs softly. "How did you end up being friends with my brother?"

Doakes chews some of the food on his plate, leaving Dexter to answer that one. Dexter suppresses a sigh of despair. "Well, I've been working on the same cases as Doakes for a while, so... I guess it was kind of inevitable that we'd become friends." Dexter tries not to flinch in embarrassment. The police were still coming, right?

"He helped me solve a lot of cases. " Doakes adds calmly.

"Don't get me wrong, it's just that our Doakes here isn't a guy with friends. " Jess presses her hand against Doakes' shoulder for a few seconds. "That's why we're so happy and surprised."

Doakes sighs and then smiles. "Oh! Is that a smile!?" Roni exclaims, pointing to Doakes' face across the table. "He's smiling, Mom, look at that! "

Dexter looks at Doakes, the other man just shakes his head, but still smiles, and Dexter looks away quickly, because all this seems like something very intimate he shouldn't be here, seeing this, witnessing all this, as if this is where he belongs, because it's not. It definitely isn't. Dexter sighs softly, looking at the plate in front of him. He's so confused. So fucking confused. He feels so fucking wrong. 

Mrs. Doakes just laughs. "You seem like a good man, Dexter. I'm glad you're in my son's life. " 

Dexter closes his eyes. Oh, that hurt. He opened his eyes quickly, trying to disguise it. "That's very kind of you, Ma'am. Doakes is a great friend and I like having him in my life as well. " he says with such ease that he almost believes it too. It tastes like truth. But he knows it could never be. Because all that ever comes out of his lips are lies.

Chapter Text

Dexter is quietly chewing on his food while voices echo around him. They're happy voices, laughter, people who are at home, people who have a home, unlike him. He shouldn't be here. He doesn't belong in a place like this, in a house where everyone feels safe and loved. He certainly never felt safe and being loved was something he wasn't created to experience – he wasn't even born for it – so it was easy to accept what he wouldn't have for the rest of his life, because there was no point in searching for it in the first place. However, when he looks around, Doakes' sisters are smiling, his mother has this sparkle in her eye that Dexter doesn't remember ever seeing in his mother's eyes. It's a strange thing. They make it look so easy. To be human. A real person.

He glances at Doakes out of the corner of his eye and the man is saying something that doesn't really come into his head, because Dexter can't even look at him at that moment. Dexter looks away, staring at anything but the people around him. The food is heavy in his stomach and he feels sick. Dexter takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to shake off the nausea that hits him like a bad headache. He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to, he can't, he can't think about how he was so ready to kill him. Dexter's whole body is so tense it hurts, he feels ashamed, confused, angry, scared.

Scared... Scared.

He's scared, and that's scary. A shaky breath escapes from his nose and he tries to straighten his posture in the chair, moving, unsettled, he's scared. He's never been scared before. This is worrying. Very concerning. Dexter shakes his head softly, trying to get his head back on track, but it doesn't work, he keeps remembering, the anger, how he was ready to strangle him, even if he couldn't, even if it wasn't right, even if he didn't fit the Code; and Harry insisted, don't make it personal, don't make it into something personal, and that's exactly what he did. Oh God. He's so fucked.

But the first rule was not to get caught, right? He couldn't just – he couldn't. His chest hurt. Is this what it's like to feel afraid? Is this how it feels? Does it always hurt? Should it hurt? Oh God, he doesn't like it. No, not at all. It reminded him of her blood. His mother's. The shipping container. The sounds of the chainsaw, the screams, the cries, the blood, blood, so much blood. He was scared, so scared, damn it, he'd never felt such fear, fear that was capable of killing, he didn't understand what was happening, he was just a child, he didn't understand, he didn't understand why his mother was crying and begging him to close his eyes, he didn't understand why Biney was silent, his empty eyes staring at him with a soul that had been killed along with their mother.

He understands that fear is not a physical feeling; yet he swears he can feel it in his stomach, and it makes him sick. He's in a cold sweat, his hands are shaking under the table. He needs it to stop. He needs to make it stop. Dexter looks around quickly, then he clears his throat, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "Excuse me, may I ask where the bathroom is?" he asks and although he feels as if he's going to faint, his voice remains firm. He's done this so many times before.

"There's no need for such formality, dear. " Mrs. Doakes smiles gently at him. Dexter feels like he might throw up. "The bathroom is at the end of the corridor, make yourself at home. "

Dexter's smile is forced, but it's convincing enough for them. "Thank you very much. " he nods, gets up from his chair carefully and walks away, without looking at Doakes.

He tries not to run to the bathroom, but his legs are shaking, there's something wrong with him, there's something terribly wrong with him. Dexter enters the bathroom quickly and locks the door behind him. He presses his back against the door and closes his eyes tightly, trying to take a deep breath. It doesn't work. He feels like he's going to throw up, and that can't happen. Stop. Dexter lowers his head, closing his hands into fists, curling into himself. Just stop. Please. He gasps through his mouth, no, not here, please; everything seems to be falling apart around him and this shouldn't be happening, not to him, it shouldn't be possible.

Dexter crouches down slowly because his legs feel like jelly and he curls up, unconsciously making himself smaller. Stop it. Stop it. His eyes are closed so tightly that his head hurts, he holds his breath, biting his tongue hard enough to taste blood again. The sharp pain in his mouth helps him breathe for a second, before he has to lean on the floor and rest one hand on the ground to avoid losing his balance. It hurts. Shut up. Shut up. He uses his free hand to cover his mouth, swallowing any sound that escapes his lips. It's like swallowing fucking acid. It hurts. He can't breathe. It's like he's dying, because he doesn't make a sound, he doesn't cry, he doesn't struggle, he doesn't scream, he just stays there, suffocating until he feels like he's about to pass out.

The hand he presses against his lips remains there and he doesn't intend to move it away any time soon, because he still feels like he might throw up. When he realizes that he won't be able to hold his breath for long, he exhales desperately through his nose, almost collapsing on the floor of Doakes' fucking bathroom. What's he doing? What's wrong with him? None of this should happen, no, Harry said, Harry was so sure; just pretend, because you'll never actually be. Just pretend, because you'll never have any of it. This can't be happening, not here of all places, for fuck's sake. Stop it. He's shaking, inhaling through his nose with difficulty, his vision is blurred, he doesn't know why, but he can't see clearly. He swallows the blood in his mouth again.

He knows he can't stay there for long, he doesn't want to ruin dinner, he doesn't want to ruin things any more than they have already been ruined. He can't have that. Unwanted attention. He can't answer any questions now, he might lose his mind, if he hasn't already. It takes time. The pain won't go away. It's as if nothing can make it stop. Is this how his mother felt?

A nauseating sensation creeps through his body as if his insides were melting, as if his heart were in his hands, his chest ripped open, he wants to stick his hand inside and rip this feeling out, even if it's not rational, even if it's not something physical, it would be easier if it were something physical, he would know how to manage it; but no, this is different, it's threatening, the Dark Passenger tells him to stop it, but he can't, he doesn't know how. And everything is under his control constantly, he's so used to it, how everything is so easy; and this isn't easy, this is something out of his control, that's why it's so dangerous. Everything has been out of his control for some time and he hasn't even had time to realize it.

That's the maximum amount of emotion he's ever shown in his entire life; on his knees on the floor, about to suffocate himself, his face so red that he feels all the blood in his body concentrating only in his head. It hurts. He doesn't make a sound, he's barely breathing, maybe if he's quiet enough it will go away soon, maybe if he just turns everything off, maybe if he tries to reach that emptiness inside him, that vastness of darkness that resides in his chest, maybe if he holds on to it, then maybe – fuck, just, please. Make it stop, make it stop.

He doesn't know how long he stays there, bent over himself, shaking, but he really hopes it hasn't been too long, because no one has shown up to knock on the door yet. He forces himself to calm down as if he were fighting against his own claws, taking several deep breaths through his nose, furiously cursing himself in his head when he feels that feeling coming back, forcing it down his throat. He wants to lock himself in that cage again. Being in that cage is much more freeing than all this; because this, this is just painful, nothing more.

It takes a few minutes, minutes enough, for him to finally open his eyes. He sniffles a few times, then takes a deep breath through his nose, his hand still pressed against his lips. Dexter stays in that position for a few more seconds before forcing himself to stand up on his trembling legs. Humiliating, this is what it is. When he's sure he'll be able to remain silent, he pulls his hand away from his own lips and takes another deep breath, leaning his head back slightly. His heart is still racing, as if there's still adrenaline in his body, as if he's in danger. Maybe that's because he is. Fear takes root in his chest and he can't get it out.

Dexter managed to hold it in long enough. That's it. It's over. It doesn't matter that he's still shaking, it's fucking over. He shakes his head, trying to get back to normal, but he knows there is no normal to get back to. However, he needs to get out of this bathroom before someone notices his longer-than-it-should-have-been absence. Dexter moves to flush the toilet that hadn't even been used, just to try and buy him some time when the sound echoes in the bathroom, then he moves to the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He stops, and frowns. There's something strange, something different about his eyes. He rests his hands on the countertop and leans close to the mirror, trying to decipher the problem; he can't, he can't tell what's different, what's wrong, but there is something. His eyes. Why do his eyes look like that? Dexter rubs his eyes quickly, then faces the mirror again.

It's still there. He can't make it go away. He breathes heavily through his nose as he stares into the mirror. Dexter bites his lower lip hard, feeling the oxygen getting trapped in his windpipe again. He looks away, then turns on the faucet and splashes some water on his face. Right. He needs to stop this. Just stop. Nothing's happened. There's nothing wrong. Just go back there and pretend. He's done it all his life. For so long, all he wanted was to be like everyone else. To feel what they felt. But now that it crawls through his bones, he just wants it to stop.

He prepares himself to leave the bathroom, his eyes are a little puffy, and his face is still slightly red and wet with water, but he looks normal enough. It's all right. He can do it. There's nothing wrong. Nothing has happened. He inhales deeply through his nose, licking his lips, straightening his hair and his clothes. Okay. It's over. It was nothing. Really, it was nothing. Shivers run through his body and he forces his feet down onto the floor, forcing himself to keep his balance. He won't think about it, he won't think about anything, there's nothing to think about, nothing happened.

So why are his hands still shaking?

He shakes his head violently and clenches his hands into fists, takes one last deep breath and unlocks the door, opening it quickly, there's no reason to keep dragging this out, it's okay. It's fine.

And ironically, he bumps into Doakes, who has one arm raised, as if he's about to knock on the door. He has a strange look on his face. Doakes quickly lowers his arm. "You took forever, I thought you'd run out of the fucking bathroom window." he says, looking at him with an unusual intensity. "Are you... " he hesitates. "Is everything all right?" he finally asks, a little more quietly.

Dexter nods softly. "Yeah, uh, just having some stomach problems lately. Nothing to worry about, though." he says, his voice a little raspy.

Doakes just keeps looking at him, as if he's trying to solve a crime scene. "Do you want me to take you back to your apartment, Morgan?"

And Dexter hates the way his voice sounds. Calm, quiet, soft. It's sickening, because Doakes is using that voice to talk to him, of all people. It just sounds so wrong. "Oh, no, that's not necessary, I'm fine, let's just go back to the table, yeah?"

Doakes visibly hesitates again. "Right." he mutters, still looking at every inch of his face as if trying to mentally decide what's wrong with him.

Dexter would like Doakes to tell him if he ever had the answer to that question that has haunted him forever. Doakes turns around, and Dexter follows him back to the table, eyes fixed on the floor. He whispers a little "sorry" as he sits down again, with a nervous smile.

Doakes sits down next to him and there is a brief silence: "So, Dexter. " Roni begins, looking at him. "Our brother here says you have a sister too, tell us more about her, will you? " she suggests, with a soft smile on her face.

Dexter smiles out of the corner of his lip, right, Debra. "Well, Deb's my younger sister," he begins, clearing his throat. "She's a detective, and she's also friends with Doakes, they're even a bit alike, you know, with the whole being tough thing."

"Oh, she seems great. " Jess comments, with a gentle smile.

"She is." Dexter nods calmly. She probably hates him now too, but he can't think about that either.

"So it's a family thing? Working in the criminal field?" Roni asks, curious.

"You could say that, our father was also in that field for a long time. " he smiles softly.

"It really runs in your blood, then. " Mrs. Doakes says with an understanding look.

Not exactly in his blood. However, his mind goes back to his mother's blood on his feet as Harry lifts him up in his arms, carrying him away. And well, maybe it is in his blood after all. "Sort of." Dexter says anyway. "But yeah, it does."

"What about your mother?" Mrs. Doakes asks softly. "If it's not a problem for you to talk about, of course. "

Dexter's heart hammers against his chest for a few seconds. He swallows. Right. His mother. Not the dead mother he saw being dismembered, his adoptive mother.

Doakes is looking at him out of the corner of his eye, in silence. "It's all right. Our mother passed away when we were young. " he says, remaining calm. "So it was just me, Deb and Harry for a while. "

Mrs. Doakes sighs. "I'm sorry to hear that, dear. " Dear. She keeps using that word. Why is that?

"So, did you always want to be a blood spatter analyst or was that something that came to you later?" Jess asks this time, gently changing the subject.

"He went to a fucking med school." Doakes comments with a raised eyebrow and an accusatory smile.

"Really? You wanted to be a doctor?" Roni asks with surprise.

Dexter licks his lips, he presses his palms against his knees under the table. "I wasn't too sure what I really wanted to do at the time," he replies. "But Harry and I were very close, so I guess... I guess it just felt right, and it was also an area that I was very interested in, so it just sort of happened." he knows exactly why it happened and that wasn't the reason.

"That's very nice, Dexter. " Jess says.

"Okay, but I feel obliged to ask the main question. " Roni says with excitement. "So, are you single? Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? "

"What the fuck, Roni?" Doakes complains, glancing quickly at his mother. "Mom, stop her, for fuck's sake?" he quickly looks more annoyed than relaxed for a moment, just as Dexter is used to seeing him.

Dexter's eyes widen slightly at the question, hesitating. "Roni, don't ask such intrusive questions, you know your brother doesn't like us questioning his friends. " Mrs. Doakes says, trying to disguise a smile. The word "friends" is said with a little more emphasis, making Dexter frown briefly.

"Fucking unbelievable. " Doakes growls, shaking his head in annoyance. "How about we stop interrogating the fucking guy for a second?"

Dexter is confused by the whole interaction. Doakes is trying to defend him. To preserve his privacy. That's new. Dexter doesn't know how to feel about it. For someone who was so obsessed with finding out everything about him and his secrets, Doakes is behaving in a very different way than usual. He doesn't understand. None of it, he doesn't understand any of it really. And as incredible as it may seem, Dexter doesn't know exactly how to answer the question. He lowers his eyes, his skin tingling, he still feels unstable. He takes a deep, quiet breath, while there is a brief discussion around him between Doakes and his younger sister. Dexter takes the opportunity to calm down a little.

"Hey, knock it off, let's finish eating and leave Dexter alone, how about that? " Jess agrees with James, looking at Dexter with sympathy. "You don't have to answer anything you don't want to, I apologize for our sister, she usually doesn't know how to acknowledge certain boundaries. "

"It's okay, I don't mind. " Dexter mutters, but he obviously does mind, because he still doesn't know how to answer her question. He hesitates, and refuses to look at Doakes, because there is a brief silence around him. "I, uh..." he mumbles. He doesn't know what to say.

What the hell is he supposed to say? Doakes said they weren't dating, and that clearly wasn't going to happen either. He swallows. Doakes doesn't want to date him, and honestly, Dexter can't even see it happening. Doakes doesn't want him that way. The way that involves more than sex. The way that involves feeling something. And Dexter agrees with him on that. "I'm actually single. " he decides, trying to smile. Yet something burns in his stomach and he spits out the words, forcing himself to keep a neutral face.

The rest of the dinner continues as normally as possible after that, although Dexter still feels like he needs to throw up or run as far away as possible the whole time. However, Dexter realizes that Doakes doesn't say much more for the rest of the evening. When Dexter looks at him out of the corner of his eye, James has a strange look in his eyes. The look doesn't go away for a while.

(. . .)

After Dexter finishes saying goodbye to Doakes' family, they both walk to the car in a calm silence. Dexter takes a deep breath before getting into the car and sitting in the passenger seat. Doakes sits next to him in the driver's seat and they fall into a heavy silence for a moment. "They're good people. " Dexter comments, without looking at him, but with a soft smile.

"Yes, yes, they are. " Doakes agrees, then starts the car.

(. . .)

Doakes remains silent for the rest of the way. Dexter tries not to be annoyed, but it's unavoidable. However, he doesn't want to say anything either, because he doesn't even know if he really can, his brain is melting out of his ears and he just wants to sleep. For a good few hours. All the adrenaline has drained from his body and he feels so exhausted. Dexter is leaning all the way back in his seat, his head pressed against the window, breathing softly through his nose, forcing his eyes to stay open. God, he's tired. It was all just too much. Too much for someone like him. He's not sure he wants to do it again, like, ever. Dexter still forced himself to control himself, and almost felt like he was going to die, but he doesn't like to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't controlled himself. He really doesn't like to think about it.

"So, single, huh?" Doakes says next to him, with a strange tone of voice.

"Uh?" Dexter mutters, slowly turning his head to look at him.

Doakes' eyes don't leave the dark street. "You said you were single. " he clarifies, and the corner of his mouth twitches. Dexter frowns intensely.

What? Dexter tries to stop himself from looking too confused, because he is. He is terribly confused. The other man hesitates, trying to understand what's going on. "Well... that's because I am. " he shrugs carefully, feeling that he's entering a very dangerous road.

"Are you, now?" Doakes spits, then looks at him for a second, then looks straight ahead again.

For a moment, Dexter sees something different in Doakes' eyes that he hadn't seen before. It's true that Doakes is always angry or possessed by something, but this is different, Dexter hasn't seen it before. He doesn't recognize what it is, perhaps because he doesn't know much about emotions, or simply because it doesn't seem right to assume what the other man might possibly be feeling. Either way, it sends a shiver through Dexter's body.

He stutters quietly: "W-what do you mean?" Dexter asks, mortally confused. "What's happening right now?"

Doakes visibly clenches his jaw and exhales through his nose. "Fuck, I don't even know why I'm pissed off about this, shit. " he mutters to himself. He looks disappointed. Angry. Dexter doesn't know exactly the best word to describe it. It's all very confusing. He doesn't understand.

Dexter's lips are open with unspoken words. "What? Why are you upset?" he asks, genuinely. "I mean, it was you who said–"

"I know what I fucking said!" Doakes hisses aggressively. "I just – motherfucker!"

Dexter doesn't answer briefly, trying to find some logic behind what was happening at that moment. Doakes was the one who made it extremely clear that they were nothing but fuck buddies. Every time he thought Dexter was implying that he wanted something more, he would get that murderous look in his eyes, as if Dexter was committing a mortal sin, even though Dexter never really even mentioned that he wanted something more. Because he didn't. Obviously. Because it could never happen. And also because he didn't want it to happen. Ever. Right. "I don't understand. " he mutters, just because it's the truth.

"Of course you don't." Doakes sneers, shaking his head.

Dexter doesn't really know what Doakes wants from him at that moment. "Shouldn't I have said that?" he tries.

"No, I wasn't there to introduce you as my boyfriend, goddamn it, that's not it. " Doakes huffed. "It's just – I don't know." he sighs. "I really don't fucking know anymore. " he finishes. And then he looks upset. Even tired, too. This only makes Dexter even more confused. He's not made for this, not really.

Dexter still doesn't understand. He doesn't answer. He's too tired for that.

(. . .)

When Doakes parks near his apartment, there is still a heavy silence inside the car. And frankly, Dexter can't find enough strength in him to care. Maybe it's a sign that there's still hope for him. If he just doesn't care. It's so much easier. Less painful. It always seems right this way, because it's all he knows, all he was made to know. Emptiness is like the embrace of something long lost. His chest calls out for it, longs for it, for the absence of something, for an empty house, for a locked cage. It feels safer that way.

Doakes sighs, rubbing his forehead, leaning back in the car seat. "Okay, I – I don't know, I guess we're communicating pretty badly here?" Doakes begins.

It almost makes Dexter want to laugh. "Since when do you communicate in the first place?" Dexter mutters.

"Yeah, very funny, you little shit. " Doakes looks at him, rolling his eyes. "What I'm trying to say is that – that's not what I want. And I'm trying to force myself to believe that it was. Because it seemed like the sane fucking thing to do. " Doakes' words are angry, but also sincere. Frighteningly sincere.

Dexter waits for him to continue, but Doakes just stares at him. Dexter raises an eyebrow. God, he feels as if all his rational thinking has left him behind. "I don't understand what you mean. " is all he has to say.

Surprisingly, Doakes manages to look even angrier. "What I'm fucking saying is that I'm going to take you on a fucking date. " Doakes forces himself to say, spitting out the words as if they were poison. It's as if he's angry with himself.

Dexter freezes. He blinks, then just looks away. What? Why? That's not what he's been saying all this time. This goes against everything Doakes has said all this time. It goes against everything Dexter is supposed to not want. "Why?" he asks, incredulous.

Doakes licks his lips, shifting in his seat. "I told myself that if I didn't feel a fucking thing, then it wouldn't be so wrong," he says, a little more quietly. "Because being with you feels fucking wrong." Doakes' eyes are full of something Dexter knows all too well this time. Pain.

As soon as the words enter Dexter's ears, a kind of noise invades his eardrums. It sounds a little too loud, like interference. And then he blinks, and Doakes is still looking at him with the same pain. Oh. Dexter doesn't move, but he feels a small pain in his chest. He understands what Doakes means, for the first time during that whole conversation, because he feels the same way. Constantly. All the time, always. Still, it's strange to hear it from Doakes. It kind of makes him feel strange, it's a bad feeling. He doesn't know what it is, but it hurts a bit. He doesn't understand why either. It shouldn't happen, but there's a lot going on lately that shouldn't.

"But it also feels so fucking good." Doakes laughs, sounding a little manic, but... genuine.

Right, he wasn't expecting that. Somehow, his head still keeps repeating that he understands it too. Because he also feels what Doakes means. He remembers it, how Doakes' hand against his body made him feel so good. Like he was complete. And it wasn't just the touch, it was everything that came through that touch, everything that had never been said. Everything that should never have been said. His skin still burned when Doakes stroked his hair, when he melted against his arms, even though he knew he shouldn't have. Even though he knew it wasn't right. 

Dexter understood.

Dexter tilts his head to the side. "Oh." he whispers.

"Yeah, and I'm tired of feeling wrong all the fucking time and I also don't care anymore, because all I can think about is you, all the time. " Doakes grunts, biting his lower lip. "I'm tired of fighting it, because I don't want to fight it anymore. "

Doakes' words burn in his chest and he feels as if fire is rising in his throat. It burns. In a strangely good way. As if the fire wasn't really going to hurt him. Because he's so cold all the time. But he's still afraid of being burned. Of suffocating in the smoke, of burning up in those flames. And maybe it will burn him. Just as he couldn't find the strength to care before, he can't find the strength to care about that either.

Still, Dexter is at a loss for words.

"So, yeah, I'm going to take you on a fucking date. " Doakes looks away, shrugging, apparently decided. "Yeah, fuck it. " It's a decision. It sounds more like a mistake, but Dexter doesn't say.

There's a tightness in his throat. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to say anything. Never again. What's happening? He doesn't know what to think, everything seems numb around him, but there's something burning in his chest, warm, warm, he exhales through his mouth, without blinking, he feels as if all the blood in his body is leaking out of him, because it's so cold, but his chest remains so warm, he clenches his lips, in silence, trying to absorb everything that's happening. He doesn't think he can. Ever. His breath catches in his throat. He can't do it, he knows he can't. But then he slowly realizes that he wants to. He wants it. And it's terrifying. He's scared again. And he recognizes it; he's terrified. He wants to laugh.

Somehow, he swallows, and then: "When?" that's all Dexter whispers.

Doakes remains silent and Dexter refuses to look at him. "Whenever you want. " Doakes mutters beside him.

Dexter blinks. "Okay." he whispers. "Yeah." It's a mistake disguised as a decision.

"Yeah?" Doakes moves his body sideways in the car seat, looking at him more intensely. There's something in his voice that sounds hopeful. Unconvinced.

"Yeah." Dexter nods softly.

Then Doakes' hand is on the back of his neck and pulling him forward, against him, their lips pressed together and Dexter knows he'll live to regret it. Yet he doesn't try to fight it. Part of him knows it's because it's too late, but also because he doesn't want to fight it. Flames. His chest is on flames. He was about to kill him, had sort of collapsed at Doakes' house and now he was here, kissing him in his car. That was his life now. In the silence of his head, Dexter wants to ask why. With his lips pressed against his, he wants to never know the answer.

They kiss for what seems like an eternity, and Dexter thinks Doakes is trying to make it up to him for not kissing him before. And he's not complaining. Doakes' hand on the back of his neck grips him tightly, pulling a few strands of hair from the back of his neck, and again, Dexter doesn't know exactly where to put his hands, so he presses his fingers against his shoulder. Well, damn. This wasn't how he'd really expected to end his evening, in fact he'd expected handcuffs to be wrapped around his wrists and tears from his sister when she saw what he really was; he wasn't really expecting Doakes' lips against his and a planned date.

They stand apart for a second and Doakes pulls him by the arm with his other hand. "Come here. " he says, low, deep. 

Dexter raises an eyebrow, but moves, and then he's on Doakes' lap. Precisely, his knees are pressed against either side of Doakes' body and there's not enough room, it feels strange, they're too close, Doakes leans back in the seat and puts his hands on his hips, Dexter tries to adjust himself in place – the place being Doakes' lap – but not to look too embarrassed. He puts a hand on his shoulder, then looks at the other man. There are flames again. His chest is on flames. "That's better. " then Doakes lifts his chin and kisses him again. 

From the hands on his hips to the lips against his own, he still asks himself why. From the flames on his chest to the numb silence in his head, he refuses to answer his own question.

Chapter Text

Something is boiling inside him. It burns, it's euphoric, his breathing is accelerated, the palms of his hands are sweating cold, something much heavier and suffocating is taking over that empty space inside him, and it boils, it burns, it's stuck in his throat, his heart is hammering against his chest, threatening to burst out of his torso; it's as if there are thousands of needles in his skin, all the physical sensations are built up in a way that isn't exactly pleasant and the lump in his throat isn't helping much.

It all feels like too much. The whole day was just too much. The same feeling of panic that he experienced in that bathroom still resides in his body as if it's never going to leave him, and Dexter is beginning to believe that it really isn't going to. The silence consumes everything and normally it would be pleasant, it would be welcome; now, it's the same as forcing his head underwater and screaming, all that's left is silence.

As soon as he realizes that his hands are slowly starting to shake again, he grips Doakes' shoulders tightly, still in his lap, the position is certainly uncomfortable, the roof of the car pressing against the top of his head, so he presses himself down against Doakes' thighs, trying to get comfortable. James pushes the seat back a little to give Dexter more room and then Doakes' hands are back on his hips and Dexter's insides are boiling; he can't tell if it's a good thing or not, because it's a little too overwhelming. To stop himself from spiraling further down, he leans against Doakes again, kissing him a little more desperately.

The kiss is just all saliva and desperation, but it's good, maybe too good, Doakes' tongue presses against his and Dexter's fingers push into his shoulders with a bit of intensity, in return, Doakes' hands grip his waist with even more strength, Dexter bites the other man's lower lip before sliding his tongue between his lips again. There's something different between them now; something more vivid, suffocating, at least for Dexter, he doesn't exactly enjoy it, because it makes him feel too many things, physical things, and worst of all, non-physical things. It hurts, he feels like he's starving, like he's been starving for decades, there's an endless, devastating emptiness in his stomach, but it's not a regular kind of hunger, like the kind that goes away when you eat something, this is different, it's animalistic, it's consuming.

He gasps against James' lips, exhaling heavily through his nose, trying to get something from him that even Dexter doesn't know what it is, but that Dexter desperately needs; and yet Dexter knows that Doakes can't give him whatever it is. No one can. Nevertheless, he is still trying, trying like a wild creature, begging for what can never be given to him, demanding that someone give him back what was once taken from him, clutching with claws and teeth, trying to hold on to that spark of something, something unnamed, something unknown. Maybe that something will make him whole again. Maybe someday. Maybe someday it will make him stop bleeding.

He has a vague perception that the only sound echoing in the car is the loud sound of his fast breathing, and that should tell him something; why is he almost fucking hyperventilating? His skin is burning, the car is too fucking hot, there's barely any oxygen in there. Doakes doesn't seem bothered though, because Dexter opens his eyes for a brief second and the other man's eyes are closed, and he looks like he could stay in that seat with Dexter on his lap forever. It just makes him a little more feral, and he chokes quietly and pulls his head away, inhaling through his nose briefly, but quickly goes back to kissing him. It feels wrong. As if that was normal between them. None of this screams that it's right, that he should be there, that this should be happening.

Maybe that's why he just keeps kissing Doakes. Mistake after mistake, no one would approve of this in a million years, he has a silent realization that it's inconsequential, stupid, careless and disappointing. It doesn't look like it's going to get any better than this though, he needs to be in control of something, at least something, dammit. Dexter's hands go up to Doakes' neck, sliding one hand to the back of his head, while his other hand touches the muscle in his neck, his fingers are tingling, he almost wants to squeeze a little, press Doakes back into the car seat and keep him there, just hold him there and be in control of everything else. It's a persistent, intoxicating thought.

One of Doakes' hands slides up his back, in the middle of his spine, making Dexter arch his back, shivers run through his body, his breathing stops again. But somehow, he starts breathing even faster. This visibly alerts James, because he pulls his lips away from Dexter's, opens his eyes and calmly moves his hand away from his back. Dexter will have none of it, however, he kisses him again, panting, pathetically desperate, Doakes frowns and carefully pushes him away, placing a hand in the middle of his chest. Dexter protests from deep in his throat, but doesn't try to kiss him again.

Doakes looks at him and is a little confused and surprised by what he sees. Dexter's eyes are almost wild, a little too wide, his lips are red, and he can barely control his own breathing; it's strange to see him like this, as if he's falling apart. It feels like something he should never have seen. It feels wrong. Something too intimate, something James never thought he'd see, not again at least, not since the bar, even when he was so focused on staying convinced that Dexter was nothing but a fucking robot. And honestly, Doakes still believes that at certain times, but this moment certainly wasn't one of them. He seemed a little too human. Too much flesh and too many things buried behind those empty eyes.

Doakes swallows as silence consumes the atmosphere around them, it's a little suffocating, but Doakes is too busy looking confused by Dexter's gaze. In addition to what Doakes initially saw, there is also something almost frightened in his eyes. Exactly what he had seen when Dexter came out of that bathroom after staying there for too long. He looked too pale, too haunted, as if he had seen something he shouldn't have, as if he had experienced something he shouldn't have. His eyes looked different, with a distant glare that screamed something at him that refused to reveal itself. It seemed a little too real. And nothing about Dexter used to be real.

"Hey." Doakes says quietly, one of his hands caressing Dexter's hip. "What is it? What's wrong? "

And there it is again. That voice. The very wrong and disturbing voice, the voice that should never be directed at him, as if he were something broken, as if he were just another person, another real person. It makes his stomach turn, It brings a taste of death into his mouth, and makes all the fire in his body suddenly go out. He feels so fucking cold again. Dexter leans back a little and shifts his hands to Doakes' shoulders again, just to balance himself, and looks at him. He tries to take a deep breath as he thinks of some kind of answer, but quickly discovers that he has none to give. Well, who would have thought, right? Dexter, not knowing how to answer something. News flash.

When his breathing doesn't slow down, he starts to become a little more unstable. Dexter frowns to himself, confused, not knowing exactly what is causing this reaction. It should have ended, it should have stopped. All of this should have stopped. This feeling should have gone away. It shouldn't even be there. "Um..." he chokes softly, looking away, clenching his jaw, feeling his eyes go cold before he can even stop himself, right, that's just stupid. He presses his fingers against Doakes' shoulders and bites his tongue. Stop it. Fucking stop it.

"Breathe." Doakes whispers and one of his hands remains against his chest. "That's it, take a deep breath." It's a firm voice, but unusually calm. Especially for a guy like Doakes.

Why are you talking to me like that? Stop fucking talking to me like that. Frustration is something he knows very well, and it's the only word he can use to describe what's running through his head at that moment. Surely there are many other words that will never cross Dexter's lips, let alone be recognized by him. Dexter holds back a grunt that threatens to escape his throat and chooses only to inhale deeply through his nose. He realizes for a moment that he almost wants to lean forward and just lean his head against Doakes' shoulder. It's a disturbing thought. Annoyingly disturbing. It's wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Wrong, but also sickening, like a sin that wraps itself around his throat and squeezes, daring him to breathe through it, to find a solution, an escape. There is no escape. He can't run away, and he won't. The oxygen burns in his chest and it's as if he's choking on absolute emptiness. The feeling that settles in his stomach makes it even more obvious that he really shouldn't have accepted any more food from Doakes' mother when she offered him another plate. Doakes notices how he turns a little paler as the seconds pass and his forehead frowns more heavily. "C'mon, Morgan. " he mutters. "You're making me worry here, man," and he looks visibly disturbed, as if Dexter were another creature entirely.

Worried. He was worrying Doakes. Who knew the man would say that out loud one day. Doakes once asked him if anger was the only thing he was capable of making Dexter feel. Well, there was his answer. It takes a few minutes, but Dexter's breathing returns to normal, and silence prevails. It's strange. It's all so fucking odd. "Are you back with me, Morgan?" Doakes' voice reaches his muffled hearing again.

"Yes." Dexter grumbles.

"What was that, man?" Doakes asks. Still calm. Still confused. Still disturbed.

"Nothing." Dexter retorts, and his back is starting to hurt a little because of the position. "I'm fine."

"Okay, just like you were when I found you in the bathroom of my mother's house?" Doakes raises an eyebrow. "Just like you've been acting all day, or am I just imagining things here?" he casually points out, narrowing his eyes.

Right. Dexter understands this as the moment to return to his seat in the car. He sighs, then carefully makes a move to get off Doakes' lap. The other man, however, makes no mention of moving his hands away. In fact, both of Doakes' hands grab his hips and hold him still in place. "You can't keep doing this, you've thrown me out of your fucking apartment before, and it wasn't very nice, was it, Morgan?" there's a hint of frustration in his voice that still remains calm despite everything. "Come on, just stay here for a while, calm down, fuck, you don't have to put your tail between your legs like some neglected dog. "

He was too tired to get angry at that moment. "I don't find it very comfortable to talk to someone while I'm sitting on their lap." Dexter shrugs his shoulders as best he can.

Doakes is silent for a few seconds. "Right. You've got a fucking point. " Then he pulls his hands away and Dexter carefully climbs back into the passenger seat.

He settles into his seat, runs a shaky hand through his hair, pretending not to notice, then takes a deep breath, looking out of the window. It was dark enough outside that there wasn't much light. He almost feels like getting caught would be less disturbing than this whole day. "So? Let's talk, Morgan." Doakes turns his body on the side of the seat to look at him.

Dexter smiles bitterly, clearing his throat. "Talk... You want to talk." he whispers, unable to contain himself.

"I'm as confused as you are, Morgan, but you don't fucking see me making fun of it, do you?" Doakes snorts, pursing his lips. "Right, look, let's not fucking do this." he takes a deep breath himself. "You've just had a... panic attack or something, and–"

"No, I didn't." Dexter just stares at him, not even blinking.

Doakes stares back at him, lips parted, confused . "The fuck you mean, you clearly did." he retorts. "And I'm not judging or anything, I just, I mean, does that... does that usually happen, Morgan?"

"I don't fucking have panic attacks. " Dexter spits, clenching his jaw. "Don't talk shit you don't know."

"Shit I don't know? Fuck you, I can recognize the signs from miles away," he replies a little more harshly. "What the fuck, Morgan? First you're completely silent all the way to my mother's house, as if you're completely submerged in your own strange fucking mind. Then you come out of that bathroom looking like you've seen the devil in the mirror, and now this? And you insist on telling me it was nothing, you motherfucker?"

He still hates that Doakes is able to easily read him. It's so annoying. Scary, too. He needs to find a way out of this, because Doakes has valid points. Too many valid points. He swallows, shifting uncomfortably in his car seat. "Just... I don't know – can't you just leave it alone?" he mutters, pressing a hand to his face.

A brief silence. Then a sigh. "You know, normally I wouldn't leave it alone," he comments. "But honestly, you seem so miserable and frightened by all this that I don't see the satisfaction in making your situation worse. Although I was hoping for some proof of humanity from you..." he hesitates. "That's not what I fucking wanted, so I don't fucking know, is there anything... is there anything I can do?"

It's strange, because there was a time when Dexter was sure that all this would bring Doakes enormous satisfaction. However, the thing in his voice is the complete opposite of satisfaction. What a thing. Dexter laughs, emptily. "Right, no, it's okay, I should just go." he looks away, yes, sleep, he should go to sleep, pretend that none of this has happened and just carry on. That's what he should do. But that's not what he wants to do.

Silence again, then Doakes licks his lips. "Right. If that's what you want, that's fine." He says quickly, surprising Dexter.

That sounds too easy... and it's never easy with Doakes. But Dexter nods anyway, without really being able to look in the other man's direction. "Yeah, it's late. "

"Okay." Doakes nods back. And he says no more, turning to look straight ahead.

Silence again. Dexter sighs, scratches his chin. He doesn't understand what Doakes is doing. Damn, this is all pathetic. He also doesn't understand why he feels so uncomfortable and has no desire to get out of the car, to just walk away. To leave Doakes there. He doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know what to do... He just, fuck, he just wants to stay. "I had an argument with Deb." he whispers, before he can think of anything else that's good enough to give Doakes what he wants. A conversation.

"She came to my apartment in the morning, before work. " Dexter continues, providing information, giving Doakes what he wants, if only for a moment, and yet, he can come out on top on this one, he can use it as an excuse, mask all that fear that will never be mentioned, what happened in that bathroom, what happened in this car.

"That's why you were late, and quieter than usual." Doakes sighs, rubbing his face. "Shit, that's why she was acting so strange at the crime scene. "

This makes Dexter look at him out of the corner of his eye, alarmed. "What... what do you mean? "

"I mean, she barely said anything apart from insults. And she even told me to fuck off more often than usual. " Doakes scrunches up his nose, looking at him again. "What was the argument about? It was... was it fucking bad?"

"No, I just..." Dexter bites his lower lip. "It was about the same old thing, you know." He remains frozen in place.

"When you talk like that, it could be about fucking anything, Morgan. " Doakes complains. "If it was enough to upset you for the whole day, then it was something motherfucking bad. "

Dexter smiles silently to himself. This is all so ironic. It's not as if he could tell you the reason for it all anyway. He can't just go like; sorry, I was scared off by the probability of being discovered by the FBI because I'm the serial killer they're looking for, and the idea of my own sister arresting me didn't sit well with me. Anyway, I'm having serious identity issues that my own father condemned me with, but don't worry about it, I was also thinking of killing you when you showed up on my door, but now I just want to forget all that and just be with you.

He tilts his head to the side, maybe he's forgotten some of the other details too, like his sister finally calling him out on his behavior after he ran away so many times, or fucking Lundy getting involved in all this. And furthermore, it's not as if Doakes is making him question his own sanity at the end of the day. Maybe it really is better not to have a conscience.

He exhales through his nose, frustrated, and then a thought crosses his mind. "Do you want to come into my apartment? " Dexter asks in a tone of voice that doesn't even sound like him.

Doakes blinks, once, twice, three times. "You're not thinking of running away from this conversation again, are you, motherfucker?"

"I just invited you in. " Dexter hisses. "What do you think I'm going to do? Run out of the car?"

Doakes narrows his eyes, staring at him.

"Okay." Dexter moves to open the car door and Doakes grabs his wrist.

"Wait a fucking second, Morgan."

(. . .)

He doesn't know what he was thinking. He really doesn't. For some reason, he thought of nothing as he opened the door to his apartment, making room for Doakes to enter. He closed the door as soon as Doakes entered, sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, his head in complete silence. He needed some time out, like, really. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to talk about anything, he just wanted to – dammit, he didn't know what he wanted either. Just a moment. That's all. A moment of something. Something that didn't make his stomach turn or his blood run cold. Or even feel like someone else was living under his skin.

Doakes took a few steps into the apartment, then turned to look at Dexter, who leaned against the door behind him and stood still. "By the way, your family is very nice. " Dexter offered calmly.

"Yes, I know." Doakes decided to let him have his say. "They really liked you, for what it's worth. "

"That's good." Dexter tries to smile, nodding gently. "I liked them too. "

"Yeah, and all that talk about liking to have me in your life." Doakes shook his head, with a raised eyebrow. "Very interesting, Morgan, you managed to sound very convincing, well done. "

Dexter shrugged. "I was just trying to be polite." he sighs.

"So fucking polite that you decided to go have a panic attack in the bathroom instead of telling me there was something wrong, apparently. " Doakes' tone of voice changes, it's more defiant, straightforward, and manages to leave Dexter in silence... Fuck, not that again.

"That's not... " Dexter exhales heavily through his nose, blinking. "That's not what happened."

"Oh, well, fucking excuse me for jumping ahead, since you're not really willing to clear things up here. " Doakes shoots back, visibly frustrated.

In fact, this triggers something inside Dexter. Something rather unpleasant. "Enlighten me again why, or even when you first started to give a damn. " he takes a step forward, tilting his head to the side. "Because I can't remember exactly. "

Doakes takes another step towards him, something in his posture changes, he keeps his head up. "Don't come at me like a little feral dog, Morgan." he retorts quickly. "I'm starting to believe that we really aren't capable of going very long without trying to fucking go for each other's throats. "

"Should I apologize for jumping to conclusions? " Dexter suggests sarcastically. "Or maybe you just can't say out loud that you–"

"I do fucking care!" Doakes grunts, taking a few more steps towards him rather violently until he's close enough for anyone else to take a step away. Dexter isn't just anyone, though.

But even so, the words are enough to make something in him want to walk away. He doesn't know why. "Is that what you wanted to hear? That I care about you, motherfucker?" Doakes practically spits. "That I still sometimes want to smash your face in, or even that I want to put my arm around your waist while we're at the police station?" he continues, his eyes shining with something wild. "That the mere idea of finally having you drives me fucking crazy, and completely out of control!?"

Silence. Dexter doesn't answer. He has nothing to say. And even if he did, he wouldn't say it.

"Actually, you fucker, maybe you'd rather hear that I started worrying about you the moment I confronted you in that filthy bathroom of that shitty bar and saw that your hands were fucking shaking because of me, for fuck's sake." Doakes hisses between his teeth, all the words are hostile, but they have the opposite effect. Something that confuses Dexter to the core.

He won't stop talking. Dexter wants him to stop talking. Dexter wants him never to say anything again. "And I'll tell you, I thought that was it, that was finally it, I finally managed to get something out of you, but no. That look in your fucking eyes disturbed me for days, and it wasn't nice, it wasn't like pissing you off. " Doakes continues, now a little quieter, but still serious. "I wouldn't have given a shit, I swear, I would have been fucking happy, but I wasn't."

Dexter swallows. He doesn't really see himself being able to say anything. And he doesn't really want to either.

"And then I called you a freak, and it was the same thing. The same fucking feeling, but I thought: fuck you for kicking me out after having demonstrated some shit for the first time because you wanted to." he clenches his jaw. "Because you could have remained silent when I asked you to tell me anything. You could have told me to fuck off at that moment, but you didn't, and I've never fucking understood why. "

That's funny because he didn't know why either. "Me neither," Dexter whispers as quietly as possible.

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. " Doakes sighs, licking his lips, his facial expression relaxing a little. "Still, seeing you like that the next day was even worse. You looked sad, fuck, no, not just sad, you looked pale, and your eyes – it was the same look. The same fucking look as the day at the bar. The same as when you were silent in the car, the same as when I found you in the bathroom... As if even you didn't understand why. "

Dexter blinks. Something weighs on his chest. It hurts. He needs him to stop talking.

"Like you don't understand why you feel the things you feel." Doakes whispers. "Because you shouldn't be feeling any of this in the first place. "

Oh... What? How–

"And you want to know how I know that so well?" he asks quietly. "Because I understand. Because look at us, for fuck's sake," he gestures with his hands. "I don't understand the things I feel for you either, because they shouldn't be there in the first place."

The tightness around his throat is there again and something weighs on his tongue, he blinks, eyes wide, he's sure his face is making all sorts of facial expressions, especially as he doesn't see himself able to control it now. How... how could he understand? Doakes has always seen him for what he was, even before, and that has always disturbed him, but this, this now, scares him. Fucking frightens him. "— I shouldn't... I shouldn't feel it." the words are tiny, as if they needed permission to come out. And they weren't allowed.

"Yeah, tell me about it, Morgan. " Doakes exhales through his nose. "But you do. So try to face it, how's that? "

"It's not that easy." Dexter bites his tongue.

"It shouldn't be. " Doakes shrugged. "That's what being human is all about. "

No. That's not who he is now, and that's not who he ever was. Human. What a funny, but cursed word, that carried millions of tragedies in a single term, something so profound, yet so insignificant, it's nothing, but it's also everything, and perhaps at the end of the day that was quite appropriate for him, because humankind is a rotten, rotten thing, it carried all its sins with it; just like Dexter. Only there's that part of the humanity that Dexter doesn't have, the good part. The living part. The part that Doakes thinks exists in him despite everything. Even if he hates him so much, even if he loathes him. Even when he's so sure that Dexter is a monster, because they both know it.

Human? Is that what he is now? No, he knows the truth. Doakes might have been right about him to some extent, but he didn't know everything. And he never would. Still, something inside him hurt, hiding, as if it was painful to be seen. He needs Doakes to close his eyes and never look at him again. Why him of all people? Why would he understand? It's not right. None of it is. How could he be able to look at Dexter and see that instead of all the evil that his eyes carry? How is there anything beyond that to be seen? The emptiness, the death, the extent of the cursed mistakes that have been sewn into his skin, forming a shell of dead human skin over the one that has rotted away, but is not to be seen.

There is nothing to see but the lies so carefully put together, so much so that Dexter actually came to believe them at some point too, only to be reminded of the cruel truth by his own brother who suffered the consequences of really seeing him for what he is. Dexter isn't something real. That's why he's so sure that Doakes is wrong about him, even though he's been right for so long. He blinks, swallows and a twinge of discomfort starts to grow in the back of his head, and it's enough to make him lower his head a little. He recognizes that. That physical sensation. It's the one thing he's so familiar with. The physical pain.

The discomfort moves to the middle of his forehead, he clenches his eyes, frowning. "Is that what I am now? Human?" Dexter whispers, clenching his hands into fists.

Doakes sighs heavily through his nose. "It fucking pains me to admit it, but maybe that's what you've always been," he shrugs again. "It's fucking confusing, isn't it?"

No, it's not just confusing, it's wrong. Deeply wrong. Yeah, that's... that's fucking enough. "Yes, good talk, I–" he coughs softly, looking away, he needs this to stop before it comes back again. That fucking thing. The discomfort evolved easily and quickly into pain, just as he knew it would. It actually surprised him, considering that he hadn't had a headache all day. Well, the pain had probably been replaced by all the other disgraces he had been forced to endure during the day. "Got it all out of you?"

"Yeah, I fucking guess so." Doakes takes a deep breath, biting his lower lip. "Fuck."

Regret comes quickly and this time he doesn't try to mask it, he sees it for what it is. It doesn't come easy, or even acceptable, because that's not what's normal for him, he just doesn't regret things. And it's another thing out of his control, because he regrets a lot of things during this day. Dexter rubs his face, breathing softly through his nose, he also deeply regrets inviting Doakes in. Something heavy creeps over his body and he suddenly doesn't want to do this anymore. None of this. He's just tired of it all. Maybe he should just kill someone. That would get him back to normal, for sure.

Dexter walks over to the sofa without caring that Doakes is still standing there staring at him in silence, waiting for him to say something. Dexter has nothing left to give him. He sits on the sofa quietly and lowers his head, all because he thought he could finally rest for the day before Doakes showed up. How ironic. Nothing gets it out of his head that all this is just the taunting punishment of the universe. And it's paying off pretty well, but Dexter isn't having a good time. The Dark Passenger is crawling over him as if it's happy to be there again, pressing down on his head so hard that Dexter thinks his skull is going to split in half. He lifts a hand to run his fingers through his hair, trying to replace the pain with something else. It's not as if the pain bothers him in any way, he even prefers it, but he's so tired of it all.

He closes his eyes tightly and presses his fingers against his closed eyelids, the sharp pain goes through his eyes and he exhales through his mouth, this is great, of course, this was all he needed right now. It's very appropriate. His free hand grabs a handful of his own hair and he forces himself to breathe through his nose even when the headache proves it's not willing to let him go. Dexter doesn't mind. This is so much better than everything else. All the other things that won't be mentioned or acknowledged ever again. He appreciates the silence, but there is no comfort for him. He was wrong to think there ever would be.

"Morgan." Doakes' quiet voice next to him on the sofa only makes him tense up even more.

He doesn't open his eyes or move. He's silently surprised that Doakes is still there, considering everything. Dexter ignores him anyway, maybe this way he'll go away. It's funny because it was Dexter who invited him in the first place. Who'd have thought, if it isn't the consequences of his actions. He sighs through his nose, and lowers the hand that was holding his own hair, but bends forward a little. He doesn't like that he's doing all this in front of Doakes, not really, he hates that it's happening right now. But there is a quiet hope that this will make Doakes go away. Leave him alone with his pain. With all the bad that comes with it.

What he didn't expect, however, was a hand on his shoulder. "Hey." Doakes whispers.

Dexter lowers both hands and blinks, looking at the ground. His ears ring softly. His eyes are almost stinging. Why are his eyes hurting? "What do you want?" he replies softly. Leave me alone, is what really comes to mind first.

Doakes doesn't answer for the most part, he just pulls him softly by the shoulder. "Come here, Morgan. " Doakes is sitting next to him, too close for Dexter's liking. And he wants Dexter to come even closer?

Dexter blinks, trying to shake off the pain in his eyes, and in his head too. He turns a little towards Doakes, letting Doakes pull him towards him. It's all very empty. As if Dexter's body was empty and his conscious had gone because he was too tired to handle it any more. He doesn't care. It's not as if anything mattered anyway. Somehow, Doakes' hand, which was on his shoulder at first, carefully moves to the back of his head, stroking the hair there. Dexter looks through Doakes, not really looking into his eyes. He doesn't want Doakes to see anything else. Ever again. He doesn't know what he'll do if he keeps doing this. If he's honest, Dexter knows what he'll have to do in the end. Because it always ends like this. Brian said so, and the Code was still there at the very end of the day: don't get caught.

Doakes' other hand on his face causes a minor disturbance in his brain. The other man's thumb caresses his cheek and Dexter blinks. His palm presses against his cheek gently. A thought crosses his mind with all this, with Doakes' hand so soft against his face, while the other slides his fingers between his strands of hair. Dexter should kill him. Because when Doakes' lips press against his, he realizes that he doesn't want to kill him. But that he should. Because he realizes that then things would be normal again. And everything would be under his control again; Dexter closes his eyes anyway, and a part of him still wants to believe that it's not too late. And just as he is so used to lying, he also knows how to recognize the truth.

Chapter Text

There's something unusual about the kiss, and Dexter feels he should have gotten used to things being so different; yet the kiss is soft, calm, almost cautious, as if Doakes is trying to be careful with him. It's even a bit funny. Tragically funny. There are many reasons why he was disturbed by this at that moment, but he couldn't really focus on just one. He doesn't want to think about it anymore, actually, like for quite a while if that's possible. His hands remain lowered even though he wants to hold something, but doesn't know where exactly to put his hands. His neck is drawn towards Doakes, exposed, eyes closed, face frowning with a disturbed expression.

Doakes' hand grips the back of his neck tighter, pulling him closer to him on the sofa. It's interesting how this seems to be the most viable response as a result of everything that has happened. Even though he knows it isn't, Dexter doesn't really want to walk away. He can handle that. The physical touches, the physical feelings, that he recognized, that was easier; everything else was not. Doakes' tongue slips between his lips and Dexter eases into it, turning his head to the side smoothly. Doakes' hands touch the back of his neck and face as if they belong there. But it's so the opposite of being touched by Doakes before, because now, the actions can only be described as gentle. It's something deeply disturbing.

Dexter moans softly against the other man's lips, frowning even more intensely, and Doakes pulls away for a brief moment, pressing his forehead against his, eyes closed, breathing deeply through his nose. Dexter licks his lips, also with his eyes closed. They both breathe for a few seconds and Dexter almost thinks that's it, it's over, Doakes will leave him there like he should have done in the first place and he'll go to sleep with lies on his lips and truths stuck in his throat, slowly choking him to death. It's something easier to accept. Frighteningly easy.

Doakes, however, doesn't leave. He kisses him again with a little more intensity, as if something is growing inside Doakes with every passing second, increasing the flame, the desire, the intensity. And Dexter gets it. Doakes' hand, which was on his face, moves down to his neck and he presses his thumb against his windpipe. Dexter exhales through his nose during the kiss and moves on the sofa, making Doakes squeeze his throat a little harder. The sensation that settles in his stomach makes his whole body burn and a painful shiver runs through him; he has no doubt that his body is melting in Doakes' hands, just as his insides are boiling.

But there was a time when touches like that would have left him distressed, on the verge of jumping out of his skin, or even certainly prone to violence, but now that those hands belong to the same man Dexter was so eager to kill – even if he couldn't – he'd like to say that when his body relaxes from those same touches, it's not because it feels good, or even because some disturbed part of him wants it badly enough, but then he'd be lying. And that's what he does best. Regardless, Doakes' hand on his throat is dangerous, he knows it, he wasn't used to having other people touch him like that, in fact, hardly at all. Dexter isn't a type prone to touching, but he does his best to blend in with people. It's even questionable the way that sensation slides over his body as if he's being tamed, domesticated; it makes that part of him silently alert, wild, ready to attack, even if he knows he's not actually going to do it.

The headache slowly subsides as if he's falling out of consciousness and Doakes is taking control of everything that's left – and he already doesn't have much left. Dexter lets out a deep, confused sound at that thought because no, Doakes isn't in control here, he never could be. He takes advantage of Doakes pulling away again to take a deep breath and force his brain back into action, licking his lips. His hand remains on his throat, leaning his neck back slightly and Dexter frowns to himself. Why is he just letting Doakes touch him like that? As if this were something other than carnal pleasure? As if he could just let go and let Doakes take it all. Dexter's eyes are barely open, but he tries to pull his neck away from Doakes' hand and in return, his hand squeezes a little tighter, keeping him still in place. Dexter exhales through his nose, raising one hand to just hold onto Doakes' wrist. It's shameful how he doesn't do anything more than that. He doesn't feel like he wants to, but he feels like he should.

He feels Doakes' eyes burning into his face, as if he's admiring the mess he's responsible for. "C'mon, Morgan." Doakes whispers, moving closer again, and he just brushes his lips against Dexter's, but doesn't kiss him yet again, and the other man's tongue is there once more, licking Dexter's lips, and it sends an intense rush straight to his stomach. "Stop it, I can hear you thinking. " he whispers against the other man's lips, making Dexter close his eyes tightly.

"What are you doing?" Dexter retorts from deep in his throat, his Adam's apple trembling against Doakes' thumb.

"Just trying something. " Doakes replies quietly, and then he bites Dexter's lower lip and Dexter shudders. Despite everything, it's all still very gentle, very different. Dexter doesn't know exactly how to act. "You're so fucking sweet in my hands, let me make it good for you, yeah?" Doakes releases his lower lip and kisses him quickly before pulling away again to look at him. Dexter doesn't understand what he's offering. He doesn't even know if it's really an offer, but he opens his eyes slightly, looking at the other man. He swallows with difficulty.

"What do you mean?" Dexter asks, a little uneasily, not really moving his head, his neck still at that slightly uncomfortable angle, but holding him there, holding him in place, just when he knows he was slipping. It's even as if Doakes knew.

"Just, let me, Morgan. " Doakes whispers again, and he sounds a little more breathless this time. "Let me show you, I'll make it good for you, so fucking good, I'll make it so good." Doakes' voice is something deep, but bordering on yearning, something that disturbs Dexter deeply and quickly. "I can be fucking good for you, I want to touch you, I want to do it all night, I want to do it right. " Doakes continues, and Dexter is so fucking confused. "Let me make it up to you, yeah? Take that scowl off your face and replace it with something better, don't try to walk away from me now, not after everything, just, fuck–"

Dexter has no words. No thoughts either. He just sits there, his lips glistening with saliva and his eyes glazed over. Right, so there's an offer; but he doesn't understand it anyway. He remembers the feel of Doakes' hands mapping his body as if he were creating a path in his own head, how he touched his scar for far too long, how he pressed his lips against his skin and it all felt so right, even if it wasn't; was this, then, what he was offering? One right thing in the midst of so many wrong ones? A gentle touch in the midst of so much blood and violence? A pleasant lie in the midst of so many painfully unpleasant ones? A chance for him to forget who he really is? Something more than carnal, even if it was transmitted through touch? Something that wasn't meant for him, something that shouldn't exist in his world, his reality, but he still finds himself facing it; and how in a million years could he accept it?

But much worse, how could he tell himself that this isn't exactly what he's been looking for all his life? Human connection. Something real, even if it was built on lies. And he's been drowning in lies for so long. Maybe he could drown in something real at least once in his life. Even if it wasn't meant for him. Even if it came from someone he least expected, but which perhaps meant even more, especially when it shouldn't have. Doubt burns in his throat just as Doakes' touch burns against his flesh. And he still wants it. He wants both: the flame and the touch, Doakes and the lies. The sin and the punishment.

Doakes licks his lips, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Please, Dexter." and there it is again, with the same tone of voice, the same mistake, the same desperation. The same insanity. He moves closer again to press his forehead against Dexter's and closes his eyes. And it burns. It fucking burns. He puts one foot out of the cage and surprisingly, nothing stops him. Dexter's name burns on Doakes' lips. It bleeds over his lips and drips onto the floor. It consumes Dexter's head, takes him over completely. It's easy and warm; it leaves him breathless.

The feeling when he realizes he's going to say yes is slow and consuming, like accepting what should never be accepted, but it's so inevitable that he doesn't want to do anything about it, just surrender, let it go, it feels so right, so easy, he wants to. He feels like he could finally breathe. As if he could feel oxygen entering his lungs instead of the thick, cruel blood. And just as it's warm, it's also scary. Maybe that's the emotion that's always been there after all. Fear. The fear of finally being able to breathe.

"Yes." and he finally breathes.

(. . .)

That single word seemed to be more than enough for Doakes, because then Dexter is on his back on that sofa again, with Doakes on top of him, kissing him as if his life depended on it. There's a hint of longing and tenderness as well, it's as if he's drowning also, as if Dexter has even worse effects on him, and Dexter isn't really complaining about it. It makes him pleased, in fact; he's not the only one out of control. Doakes kisses him like a hungry man, a drowning man, as if all the answers to his life were on Dexter's lips. It's a strange thing to think, because theoretically, the answers really are on his lips. Answers that will never be given, truths that will never be known, never by those who live. Only those who die can take his truth with them into the complete void.

Doakes' hands grip his waist and squeeze, and in a way, it's familiar, but even more vivid. Dexter can barely breathe between each kiss, exhaling heavily through his nose, his hands resting loosely at his sides on the sofa; he never knows what to do with his own hands. He just stays there, and forgets everything else. His stomach boils and his skin is on fire, his fingers tremble with the urge to grab onto something, but he holds back, always keeping one foot inside the cage, even if the other is outside. And even when his chest burns with something unwanted and unknown, he grips the edge of the sofa tightly, trying to control himself.

He would like to say that it hasn't been like this before, that he doesn't feel feral every time with Doakes, because he feels he could show at least a tiny part of himself to the other man, because maybe they are similar in certain ways, and maybe that's even worse than he thinks it is. His train of thought is cut short when one of Doakes' hands climbs under his shirt, sliding over his abdomen, and Dexter is on edge again. The hand goes up to his chest and presses one of his nipples, Dexter raises an eyebrow while still being kissed by the other man, one of his nipples is caught between Doakes' fingers and he squeezes it gently, getting Dexter's hips to arch higher, grinding against Doakes' visible erection.

Doakes is touching him more willingly this time, as if he really means it. It's something intimate, quiet, not like the usual cautious and meaningless touches, no, this is different. It's real. Doakes is getting carried away with everything he's always wanted to do, and Dexter doesn't know what to do with it. It's frightening. It leaves him a little overwhelmed if he's honest. And yet, he moans softly against the other man's mouth as he plays with his nipple. "Yeah, Morgan. Let me hear you." he whispers back and sticks his tongue between Dexter's soft red lips again.

Somehow, before he can stop himself, his hands grab his shoulders and pull him even lower, against him, holding him almost violently. Doakes goes willingly, grunting against Dexter's lips. Dexter's hands grip his shoulders like claws and he feels a little suffocated. He wraps his arms around the other man's shoulders and holds him there as he bites his lower lip hard, but there's no blood. Doakes growls against his mouth and his hand moves down again, slipping into his pants and stroking his cock quickly. Dexter's eyebrows are almost drawn together in an overwhelmed facial expression, but he's not willing to let Doakes go. He can feel the sweat sliding down his back, his toes curling.

He chokes back the moans against the other man's lips as he begins to feel the stimulation increase, it starts at the tips of his toes, creeping up his legs and the muscles in his thighs become tense, he gasps quietly, eyes tightly closed. Something about all this is intimate, more intimate than it has ever been, more warm than it ever should have been. It's as if they were a normal couple, with normal desires, as if they could ever be anything other than that. Never in a million years would he have seen himself like this, with James Doakes. Holding him close like a lover instead of an enemy; it's the fruit of a much deeper sin taking root in his chest. How could he let this happen? How did it get this far? How disappointed must Harry and Brian be right now?

He doesn't like to think about it, doesn't like to think about the persistent truth and how he keeps trying to run away from it even after so long. He hates it. He hates how it feels. He hates the fact that he feels it. Because he does. And nothing has ever been so dangerous before. "Are you going to come all over my hand, Morgan?" Doakes exhales against him, almost purring, the other man's deep voice reaching into the emptiest places inside his mind and dragging him up again. It's almost as if he wants to see him melting under him, turning into a complete mess.

"Yeah." he whispers so low that it sounds more like a moan than anything and his face burns with shame and the intense sensation that overwhelms his body. One of his hands slides down the muscles of Doakes' back over his shirt and he wants to rip that clothing off his body with his bare hands. His hips move as Doakes jerks him off with his hand, a quick breath escaping from his nose.

He pulls his mouth away from the other man's and shoves his own face against the crook of Doakes' neck, pressing his teeth against his skin. He licks, inhales deeply through his nose and then bites down. Doakes grunts deeply above him, the movements of his hand get even faster and Dexter presses his teeth against his neck hard, locking his jaw over the skin. "Fuck, Dexter–" Doakes groans, and his name being said like that by the other man makes something in his mind snap. He moans against James' neck, moving his teeth away, and then presses his lips against Doakes' sweaty skin again, kissing and nibbling, he repeats the action a few times and then bites down again.

The orgasm crawls up his legs and settles in his belly, he can feel himself getting entirely tense, his muscles are burning, his abdomen is on fire, his own conscience is leaving him behind on that sofa. It's so fucking hot, he can barely breathe, he feels like he's leaking all over Doakes' hand and he doesn't even have a chance to be embarrassed about it. His face is so red that it looks like all the blood in his body has rushed to his face. Sweat drips down his forehead and back, he spreads one leg, giving Doakes more access, and immediately presses his thigh against Doakes' hip, trapping him between his legs on the sofa. There's not much room, so they're really melting into each other.

"Mmh." The moan he lets out against James' neck is embarrassing, high-pitched, sounds nothing like him, but nothing else sounds like him now. He grasps the other man's back so hard that his knuckles ache, his hands tremble. It burns. It fucking burns.

"Fuck." he whispers softly beneath him when he feels he's about to come. "Oh." Fuck. His nerves boil and he arches his back on the sofa, he feels as if he could float and Doakes is visibly unwilling to stop his movements until he comes. There are strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and he can't stop moving his hips, oh God, he's going to come, he's going to fucking come–

"That's it, look at you, fuck. " Doakes growls as Dexter throws his head back, lips open, there's a vein popping out on his forehead and his face is deep red and covered in sweat. "Cum, Morgan. " is the kind of order that makes his body react even more intensely. His hands grab Doakes' shoulders to hold himself up because he feels like he's falling apart, dismantled by the hands of the man who claimed to hate him so much. "Fucking come now. " he growls again.

And that's exactly what Dexter does. His mouth is open in a silent moan, his head thrown back, the muscles in his neck exposed, his whole body tense, he comes in Doakes' hand while almost painful spasms run through his limbs, and it feels so fucking good, so fucking good, he stops breathing for a second, all his nerves sensitive, his body stays that way for long seconds and the post-orgasm spasms run through him straight away. He shudders, and then moans. Loudly. Doakes smiles, but Dexter is too busy trying to recover from the intense orgasm to look at him. His eyes are closed, and his back falls on the sofa, completely boneless, his head infinitely empty. His facial expression slowly softens, but remains a deep shade of red, as do his lips, which he licks before exhaling deeply through his mouth. He shivers one last time before opening his eyes: which are clouded in deep pleasure, barely open, and looking at Doakes.

The other man's smug smile is the first thing Dexter sees and he instinctively rolls his eyes slowly. Doakes carefully removes his hand from inside Dexter's pants and looks at his palm, humming from deep in his throat. As he licks the cum from his own hand, Dexter looks away, shame quickly taking over his brain again. "That was fucking incredible, Morgan." Doakes purrs, looking him up and down, admiring his work. Dexter just concentrates on breathing deeply through his nose, his skin still a little sensitive and his nerves burning.

They stay like that for a few seconds, Doakes waits for Dexter to breathe, without taking his eyes off him, and he doesn't even seem embarrassed to look at him this time. It's as if he never wants to take his eyes off the man beneath him again. And Dexter once again doesn't know what to make of it. Doakes nonchalantly lifts his shirt, pushing it up to his collarbone, holding the shirt there with one hand while using the other to slide his fingertips over his abdomen. Oh. He's done this before, but never this concentrated. As if he's trying to feel every inch of his skin inside and out, reaching the deepest and most hidden places inside Dexter, as if trying to find something true through his bones; and when his fingertip touches his scar, Dexter expects to tense up painfully again. But that doesn't happen.

He just takes a deep breath and keeps looking at Doakes. Surprisingly, Doakes looks at him again, visibly waiting for a reaction, but something in his eyes is softer this time; as if it wasn't his intention to taunt him. He just wants to see. He wants to see Dexter. Really see him. Dexter blinks, in silence, and Doakes waits. Nothing happens, so Doakes looks at his torso again for a second before returning his eyes to Dexter's face. He's careful, patient. Everything Dexter never expected him to be. Nevertheless, Doakes' eyes remain on his face even as he presses his thumb against his scar. That instinct to attack or resist never comes. It's the strangest thing that's ever happened to him. But then Doakes slowly bends down – still looking at him – and presses his lips against his scar. Well, actually, that's the strangest thing that's ever happened to him.

Dexter has a physical reaction, shuddering, he grips the edges of the sofa again and this time holds his breath, mainly because he didn't really quite expect that. "It's okay," Doakes whispers against his skin. Dexter's eyes are slightly wide, but he still doesn't want to move away. He doesn't understand why. He really doesn't.

Doakes kisses his scarred skin and Dexter is sure his brain has broken in half. He frowns intensely, trying to understand what Doakes is doing. And why he's doing it. "You can relax." he continues, and the sensation of his lips against his skin is almost like a phantom touch, but one that goes too deep inside him, right through him. The touch is so tender and soft, but it sends the most intense waves of physical sensation straight to Dexter's nerves. He swallows with difficulty, but just keeps watching the other man, and feeling the soft touch of his lips against his skin. It feels like something real people would do. People who weren't like Dexter.

He takes his time while continuing to kiss his abdomen, as if he were finding it gratifying. As if he was really enjoying doing it, something that increases Dexter's confusion. Doakes is a strange man. Strangely surprising. "Please tell me you still have that lube I came with that day. " Doakes whispers against him, still kissing his skin, a little more breathless.

Dexter swallows again. Actually, he still does.

(. . .)

"On your back, I want to get a good look at you." and normally that would be enough to make Dexter tense and ready to bite back, but this time he does – again – exactly what Doakes says.

The cold air hits his bare skin as he lies back on the bed, carefully keeping his eyes on Doakes. He's secretly a little apprehensive, he doesn't know why, but there's this strange thing in his chest that he doesn't quite know how to describe. It isn't fear, but he doesn't know what it is either. He doesn't know how to feel with Doakes looking at him like that, as if he could see every crack through his skin. As if his blood was leaking through those same cracks, unable to keep it away any longer. He lies back on the bed and stays there, flat on his back, naked, while an even more naked Doakes climbs onto the bed and moves over to him. Dexter blinks, not saying a word; he still feels unusually relaxed.

The feeling is familiar when Doakes pushes his knees apart and places himself between his legs, but the way he keeps looking at him is anything but familiar. Doakes smiles – softly – and hovers over him, placing each hand on the side of his head for support. Dexter blinks again, and before his facial expression begins to get tense again, James leans in and kisses him; and it's so soft and warm that Dexter holds his breath again. Dexter tilts his head up a little for a better angle and in return, Doakes lowers himself even closer on top of him. The kiss is nothing more than that for long seconds, a gentle touch. Lips against lips. The silence that surrounds them both creates a void between his mind and his body, where Dexter finds himself falling even further. His hands grip the sheets between his fingers because he always feels like he needs something to hold onto.

Doakes slowly pulls away, gradually opening his eyes, and Dexter does the same, the distance between their faces is nothing but a few centimeters, and Dexter can feel the other man's warm breath against his face. "Breathe, Morgan. " Doakes whispers.

In fact, Dexter hadn't even realized that he hadn't let his breath out yet; he exhales through his nose with a confused but quiet look, and Doakes smiles again in return, then kisses him once more. Doakes' torso presses against his and his body is almost completely surrounded by James'. It's a strange sensation, but a pleasant one. He likes it. How he simply closes his eyes and sinks into that kiss as if it were just that and nothing more. It feels like a promise of something so distant and lost, some part of him tries to hold on to it, refusing to fall, to drown. He breathes. And he breathes. And nothing bad happens: somehow, there's no fear this time.

(. . .)

They had already done it in a certain way before, in this same position, but it had never been close, tender or deep. Always fast, fierce, hungry, things Dexter was all too familiar with by the end of the day. But now, two of Doakes' lubed fingers are moving slowly inside him as the man remains between his legs, his arm moving between his spread thighs, Doakes' chest pressing against his as he kisses Dexter's neck, using his free hand to support himself on the bed. It's a little suffocating in a good new way, because Dexter is melting against the mattress with Doakes on top of him, against him, inside him while his limbs seem to float, the comfortable silence interrupted only by Dexter's deep breaths in the bedroom leaving his head in a pleasant, peaceful state. It's good. And comfortable.

When this word comes into focus in his head, he feels confused. Comfortable. He feels comfortable... How could that be? "How are you feeling, Morgan?" Doakes purrs against his throat, and Dexter shifts a little, his throat dry, he licks his lips, his eyelashes trembling. His fingers keep trembling against the sheets every time Doakes' fingers go too deep inside him, pressing on that very sensitive spot. It's a bit overwhelming, but so good that Dexter never wants it to end. He's hard again and leaking against his own belly, but he doesn't feel like touching himself yet, he doesn't want to cum so fast and not so soon. He just wants to enjoy it. Enjoy everything Doakes is giving him.

"I feel... good." Dexter whispers back from deep in his throat. He blinks a few times and his brain seems to be leaking out of his ears. His eyes meet Doakes' and they stare at him with frightening intensity and tenderness. Doakes leans in and kisses him gently and turns his wrist at an angle that makes Dexter moan against James' lips. One of his hands grabs Doakes' bicep and he tries to hold on, the sharp sensation of pleasure that runs through his body is a little too suffocating, too good, it burns, he closes his legs a little around Doakes before he can stop himself.

"Everything okay?" Doakes whispers against Dexter's lips, opening his eyes without moving away. His lips are so close that Dexter could just kiss him again if he leaned in a few inches. Dexter just nods, his face absurdly red. "Keep your legs open for me, Dexter, c'mon. "

Dexter spreads his knees again and sighs softly through his nose. He doesn't know how far Doakes is willing to go, if he's just willing to keep his fingers inside Dexter forever or if he's really going to fuck him. Dexter would like that. Maybe Doakes would go deep and slow in the way that makes his legs shake and his breath catch in his throat. Maybe he could hold Doakes as he thrusts into him deeply, with his ankles locked behind his hips. Maybe they can kiss each other during it, maybe Dexter will bite his neck again when he's deep enough inside him, maybe—

"Do you want me to fuck you, Morgan?" Doakes licks the sweat from his neck as he asks in a deep voice. Dexter shudders. It's an involuntary reaction. "Do you want me to make you feel good, mmh?" he inhales against Dexter's throat, stretching his hole with his fingers a little faster, but still deep inside. Something in Dexter's lower abdomen burns with desire, he bites his tongue and breathes deeply through his nose, his fingers gripping Doakes' arm tightly. "I'm going to do it nice and deep, just the way I know you like it, how's that?" James smiles with the corner of his lip, staring at Dexter.

It's like making a pact with a devil he's all too familiar with. Yet the only thing that comes into his head is an incessant 'yes'. He wants it. How. He's never allowed himself to want anything before, and he wants this. Maybe he always has. "Yes." he whispers like a secret that isn't hidden at all. It's late at night and he's committing a different crime.

(. . .)

When Doakes presses into him, Dexter doesn't know where to look, so he closes his eyes. His body is entirely relaxed and the preparation has helped, so Doakes slides inside quickly and easily, and they both moan in unison with the burning sensations. Dexter is always warm and tight around Doakes, and it's always the same thought that he never wants to get out of inside him, as if he belongs there, between his legs, right inside him. He hovers over Dexter again, his hands on either side of his head, practically covering his body with his own. Dexter's eyes remain closed and he grips the sheets, breathing deeply through his nose, his skin feels like it's melting, he bites his lower lip down hard, everything feels too damn hot. Doakes always fills him in all the right places, deeply buried inside him, and Dexter hardly has any oxygen to breathe.

"Open your eyes for me." Doakes whispers above him, and Dexter hesitates. He's not sure he can do it this way. Looking at him. He's afraid of what Doakes might find in his eyes. "It's okay, Morgan. " Doakes murmurs, as if he knows exactly what Dexter is thinking.

Dexter slowly opens his eyes without really thinking why. He finds Doakes staring at him, motionless, as if waiting for something. Then he bends down and kisses him at the same time as he starts to move his hips into Dexter. Dexter's cock leaks a little more with the rush of pleasure that runs through his nerves and he moans again, yes, that's it, so deep and slow, while Dexter is boiling, he can feel the dripping sweat on his skin, he can feel everything, Doakes' saliva in his mouth, his tongue against his, the weight of the other man against him, the sheets wet with sweat beneath him, his hair all over his forehead, the way Doakes' cock goes so deep inside him that Dexter can almost feel it in his throat, and he can't breathe properly, but he couldn't care less when Doakes pulls out and thrusts so hard and so deep again that it reaches his prostate with such intensity that his eyes roll back behind his closed eyelids.

Dexter throws his head back against the pillow to catch his breath and stops kissing Doakes. He grunts from deep in his throat, eyes firmly closed, his knees pressing against Doakes' hips as he squeezes his thighs around the other man's waist. The muscles in his thighs burn, Doakes doesn't increase the speed of his thrusts, he just thrusts harder and deeper, and Dexter can't stop fucking moaning. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. " Dexter whispers with each thrust, panting, the blush has gone down to his collarbone, he grips the sheets, feeling like his body is falling apart, and fuck, he almost wants more, but he doesn't know what, just – he can't think, it's so good he can't think, he arches his back, it burns, it burns, it's too much; it's exactly what he wants.

One of Doakes' hands fits under one of his knees and pushes up, opening him up, the angle making it even harder to breathe, especially when Doakes places one foot on the bed and starts thrusting into him even harder, in a way that Dexter didn't even think was possible. "Gah—Uh!" he opens his mouth and his eyes are suddenly wide, because the angle causes his prostate to be pounded without a break. He can't do anything but take it, the pleasure that takes hold of him is so fast and so consuming that he feels saliva dripping from the corner of his lips, every thrust makes his body shudder, he stretches out his arms, his fingers trembling. Fuck, fuck, fuck – it's good, so good–

"Fuck, you're moaning so loud, it's so hot, Morgan. " Doakes growls, his skin shines with sweat, he's as breathless as the man beneath him. "That's it, that's how you like it, isn't it? You should look at yourself now, fucking beautiful. " Doakes places Dexter's ankle on his shoulder and leans against him, almost bending him over in half. Dexter gasps through his mouth, eyes wide, he looks down where their bodies are connected and then his eyes roll back into the back of his head with another deep thrust against his oversensitive prostate. He shivers so hard that his hands come up to grab Doakes' shoulders and he digs his nails into the other man's skin.

"Ugh, mhm–" he moans, grunts, almost whimpers, his stomach on fire. "Oh fuck, oh–" no coherent words get through his brain, he just can't. "—so good, Doakes, I–" there's no real sentence to be said in his brain, but he still tries, he doesn't know why, his brain stopped working some time ago.

"Yeah, tell me how good I make you feel, Morgan. " he moans from deep in his throat and lets Dexter's leg fall back onto the bed. Instead, he grabs the other man's waist and pulls him against his cock, fucking him as deep and hard as he's physically capable of. "I'm going to fuck you all fucking night, help you feel everything, gonna go deep, and then gentle when you're tired, and then deep again, I fucking promise you. "

Dexter just moans and writhes as the pleasure becomes more and more intense and suffocating, his whole body boils, he can't think of much else but: fuck, I'm going to come. He can't say it out loud, but he feels it when it starts to happen. It's a bit too fast and it almost hurts, but when he comes, his whole body tenses up and he arches his back, throwing his head back, he comes untouched so hard that his ears ring, everything disappears, the movements inside him slowly stop and he squeezes Doakes' cock inside him so hard that the other man's hands grip his waist a little too tightly

He can't hear anything, his senses become too much, the touches on his skin burn, he lets out a moan that must have been loud, but he can't hear it with that buzzing in his brain. His fingers grip the sheets so tightly that his knuckles ache. His back falls to the bed with a thud and he gasps, completely boneless. What the fuck was that? His eyes are closed and he can't really open them, but the aftershocks still run through his limbs, the orgasm has lasted longer than usual, and that sharp pleasure in his belly takes a while to dissipate.

He can still feel Doakes' cock inside him, but James doesn't move. He can feel hands caressing his sides and finally takes a deep breath, another painful spasm hits him. Fuck. Doakes' voice is muffled and he can't make out what the other man is saying, but he feels as if he never wants to get out of that bed again. He's just come untouched for the first time in his life and he doesn't know how to feel about it. He doesn't want to think. His skin is too sensitive, God, he can feel everything, he grunts, trying to open his eyes, but he's so fucking tired. When Doakes moves, Dexter protests incoherently from deep in his throat, trying to grab him to make him stand still. Doakes gets the message, because he stands completely still again. The rest disappears. Only Doakes remains. Dexter just lays there, eyes closed, and tries to focus on breathing and calming the nerves in his body. 

He doesn't know how, but he only just opens his eyes when Doakes is standing beside the bed, wiping him down with a warm, wet towel. Dexter blinks a few times, but he's still so tired. Doakes just looks at him with something strange in his eyes. It almost looks like affection. 

"Go back to sleep. " Doakes' soft and deep voice reaches his ears. 

Dexter slowly blinks, then closes his eyes, and that's exactly what Dexter does. 

Chapter Text

Dexter never really got used to waking up with someone next to him in bed. Every time he woke up with Rita next to him, all he could think was, "Why are you here? Why am I here?" In a way, it never seemed right, because how the hell could anyone just close their eyes and sleep next to him? As if he were just another normal human being? How could anyone feel safe and comfortable enough next to him to do that? How could anyone accept him that way? The truth is, Dexter never understood what Rita, Deb, and even Doakes saw in him. Because when he looked in the mirror, Dexter saw everything but a human being.

Being with someone never felt right, but Dexter knew he needed a "cover" for the other side of his life. He never saw the need that others saw in having a relationship; he never understood it, never felt it, never had it. It bothered him for a while, even though he never spoke about it. But then again, there were many things about him that weren't compatible with normal people. Harry often spoke to him as if he were something, a thing rather than a living being, and Dexter never complained about it, because it was clear there was a reason for it. Dexter wasn't really a human being, and no one knew that better than Harry. There were few things that connected him to the human world after Harry was gone, and one of them was Deb. He would never admit it, but in a way, Deb taught him to be human even more than Harry did.

That's why when he wakes up, he feels nothing. No, it's more than nothing, it's the absence of nothing. He blinks slowly as his eyes focus on the ceiling; his body feels too heavy for his bones and he feels as if there's a thin layer of sweat on his skin and he doesn't like it. He wants to take a shower, but quickly discovers that he doesn't exactly want to get out of bed. Still, his head is empty. As empty as his chest. His skin is still sensitive, his legs are tingling, all that's left are physical sensations; it's always the only thing he has left. He's alone, and nothing matters—

"Good morning, sleeping beauty. "

Doakes' heavy, deep voice echoes not far from him on the bed. Dexter blinks a few times, then slowly turns his head in the direction of his voice. Doakes is lying next to him, just as naked, with only the sheets covering him from the waist down. It's all very familiar and equally confusing. "You're still here." Dexter whispers, in disbelief, because he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand why Doakes would still be there, even after everything, even after seeing him. Really seeing him.

"Yes, I am." and that smile is there again. As if nothing had changed. But it has. The way Doakes looks at him has changed. There's something different in his eyes. A sparkle that wasn't there before. He would never admit it, but Dexter's heart races as he maintains eye contact with the other man. It's as if Doakes can see into his rotten soul. And yet, he's still there, even when their eyes meet and he doesn't look away as if he were something cursed.

"I don't... I didn't think you'd... "

"You didn't think I'd still be here when you woke up?" Doakes says softly back to him, with that same look in his eyes. Soft. Calm. And something else that Dexter doesn't know what it is. Doakes has never sounded so calm and smooth before. It's scary. It makes something inside Dexter curl up and hide. Fucking hide.

Dexter visibly hesitates. He's done this before, but the other times were different. The other times he wasn't so worried about what Doakes might possibly be thinking about him. The other times Dexter simply... didn't care. But does he care now? How could he? How could he in a million years... care? The other times it was never about anything like this, it never felt like this before, and he knows it's worrying, because he doesn't really feel anything, but now, now it's like it's about more than just sex, and that, damn it, that has him so fucking confused. "People don't usually stay. " he says sincerely, because it's the truth. The inevitable truth. Something he also knows he's the only one to blame for, he doesn't try to deny his guilt. He never has, he knows what he is. And everything he's done.

"Well, I'm happy to be able to surprise you, Dexter. " Doakes says with a calm tone of voice and a smug smile on his face. Everything seems too domestic for Dexter's liking, it seems as if he has nothing rotten running through his blood. He repeats the way Doakes said his name a few times in his head, blinking slowly, trying to absorb everything that was happening. He doesn't think he really can. He doesn't know what to do. What to say.

Dexter clears his throat. "Yesterday... " he begins.

"We don't need to talk about yesterday." Doakes waves his hand nonchalantly. "As I know you don't usually like to talk much, so this isn't the moment I'm going to fucking push you. " Doakes sighs, shifting on the bed. "Not anymore, anyway. I've had enough of that too. Let's just... I don't know, leave it alone, yeah?"

Dexter is still staring at him, waiting for some kind of plot twist to his whole speech. It's weird. It's definitely not what Dexter was expecting, and he doesn't know what to make of it. Some part of him is still on alert, waiting, being careful, never able to really relax, and it's in those moments that Dexter knows Harry would be proud of him. For never being able to act like a human being again. What a brilliant fate, isn't it? Dexter lies on his side calmly, keeping his eyes on the other man next to him on the bed. "Are you sure you're not going to interrogate me? " Dexter whispers quietly, with one eyebrow raised, clearly expecting something that Doakes isn't really going to give him. 

Doakes turns to him. "Honestly, interrogating you is the last thing I want to do at the moment, considering we don't have to go to work today. " the other man's words are firm and the tone of his voice changes to something heavier, making Dexter swallow with difficulty.

"Oh." Dexter grumbles back, blinking. A little shiver runs through Dexter's body, but he remains silent, not knowing what to say, damn it, what the hell is happening to him? Why is he acting like this? No, damn it, why is Doakes acting like this? What's wrong with him?

Doakes moves a little too quickly and Dexter tenses instinctively, but then he places himself on top of Dexter gently, maintaining eye contact. Dexter carefully tries not to move too much, lying back on the bed. "Looks like I caught you by surprise again, Morgan. " Doakes whispers close to his face, the other's breath hitting his face. One of Doakes' hands rests next to his head on the pillow. "But just to explain, because I don't want you to stare at me with those confused eyes of yours anymore, I don't want you to talk just because you feel you have to. In fact, I prefer to talk when you genuinely want to fucking talk. Because in some way, I don't think you've ever done that." the words are said with emphasis.

Dexter frowns deeply. "No, don't get confused with me now. " Doakes reprimands him firmly. "You understand what I mean, you just don't want to fucking accept it. "

Dexter opens his mouth to protest, but then Doakes is kissing him. And he still wants to ask why the hell Doakes is talking to him like that, as if he were something real and tender instead of a bloodthirsty monster. He still wants to ask so many things, so many things that simply don't make sense, but seem so obvious to the other man. Dexter doesn't understand. And he's not sure he'd ever want to understand; however, Doakes' lips against his silences some of his thoughts, the ones that are usually louder and more conflicting, the ones where he can hear Brian cursing in the back of his mind at the same time as Harry keeps whispering. And it never stops. And maybe it never will.

Still, he presses a hand against the side of Doakes' neck and just touches him. It's as if he miraculously knows what to do with his own hands now. Dexter exhales softly during the kiss, while Doakes presses his chest against his, pressing him down gently into the mattress. The weight of the other man on top of him is... nice. It's like being surrounded by something warm and at the same time firm, which Dexter doesn't know how to describe, but it feels right. It's not something dominant this time, for some reason, there's not a hint of violence lingering in his mind at that moment. He just breathes, and breathes, and Doakes just doesn't go away. Dexter still doesn't understand why. He probably never will either.

The kiss is just lips against lips, but it's long and slow, as if Doakes is trying to become part of him, part of his mind, and he swears, he knows, damn it, he really knows that it should worry him, but he just can't. Not now. He just can't. He doesn't know why, he can't understand why his brain is suddenly calming down little by little as if nothing about this is wrong, as if he's not a fucking serial killer, because make no mistake, he still knows damn well what the hell he is, and Dexter doesn't think he could ever regret that, because it's his whole life, it's all he is, it's all he ever was and ever will be. He doesn't know how to be anything else, no matter how hard he fucking tries.

But Dexter feels his own hands slowly gripping Doakes' shoulders, as if they had created a life of their own, and his hands hold him almost as if they never want to let go. He closes his eyes tightly because something in his mind still threatens him when he thinks about opening his eyes, something still tells him that this is too good to be true, because he knows it is. He could never have that. Not him. Not Dexter Morgan. Not Dexter Moser. Not The Bay Harbour Butcher. Not when there's not a shred of truth in his life. He is something nurtured in blood that has been sculpted by lies which have turned him into an inhuman thing.

An inhuman thing that Doakes is now kissing as if his life depended on it; so what the hell does that say about him? Doakes pulls away a little to take a deep breath, pressing his lips against Dexter's jawline. The man beneath him swallows, exhaling through his nose, he slides his fingers down Doakes' shoulders as James kisses his neck, causing Dexter to take a deep breath, and for a moment he almost fears that this is just too much. Too much intimacy, too much unsaid, too much; that's always been the worst part, the intimacy, the fear of being seen, of being discovered, not just as a monster, but as something worse, something cruel that craves blood, something that knows he can't control it at the end of the day, because he's the one being controlled by it. "Don't think too much about it, princess. " Doakes whispers against his ear, as if he were inside his head.

This makes Dexter take another deep breath, squeezing Doakes' shoulders. "You know, for a while I thought about it. Of having you like this." He continues to breathe against his ear, making Dexter's whole body shiver. "Relaxed. At last not looking like a wild, caged animal. It's nice. It looks good on you."

Dexter can't bring himself to be insulted by it, because he's right in a way, but still... "Careful, I'll bite. " Dexter whispers back to him, the Dark Passenger crawls on his head and he takes another deep breath.

"Oh, I don't doubt that one bit." Doakes laughs softly into his neck, licking his skin. "That's exactly what I like about you, Morgan. "

"You're a very strange man, James." Dexter whispers back against him.

"Maybe that's why we get along so well, have you ever thought about that, Dexter?" He's smiling as he breathes heavily, leaning closer and closer to him on the mattress.

Dexter hesitates for a moment. He actually pauses and ponders Doakes' words, yet in a way, it doesn't make sense at all, because they are as complete opposites as they are compatible. It's like the universe's twist against him, which should be karma for all the terrible things he's done, but at that moment, it feels more like a fortunate coincidence. Dexter absolutely hates how it doesn't bother him anymore; because something in his damaged mind is so comfortable and calm that he doesn't even try to understand why anymore. It's strange to even feel something beyond nothing, as if that something were real for the first time in his life. But it isn't. It never could be. Right?

Dexter growls when Doakes bites his shoulder, he grabs Doakes' shoulders and turns him over on the bed, getting on top of the other man. Doakes just looks at him with those eyes; those same eyes, which shine with something Dexter doesn't understand. What could it be? Why does it seem so different and strange? Dexter narrows his eyes and his hand slowly presses against Doakes' throat; somehow, he expects the other man to do something, he's actually sure that this will make Doakes finally react as he always does; violent, aggressive, dominant, even though Dexter has done his best not to let the Dark Passenger show itself at any moment, something inside him still wants to know what Doakes will do.

But when Doakes just smiles again, it makes something in Dexter's brain snap in half. He presses his own hand against the back of Dexter's hand and squeezes a little, as if encouraging him. "What are you doing?" Dexter whispers as quietly as he can, his eyes slightly wide. His fingers are tingling.

"I have a feeling you've been fucking looking forward to this for a while." Doakes licks his lips. "Is this what you want? Mm?"

Dexter blinks, looking down at both hands, confused. He swallows with difficulty, not trusting himself to say anything, or even to do anything. Suddenly it's as if that shadow is too close again, he can almost feel someone's blood on his hands. "Don't be shy." Doakes murmurs, caressing the back of his hand with his thumb. "Fuck, come here." He reaches for Dexter with his free hand, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down, kissing him quickly.

Doakes' lips distract him, but not enough, because his hand is still on Doakes' neck and suddenly he doesn't feel so damn confident. His fingers tremble and he can feel the Dark Passenger crawling across his skin, while Brian is whispering again, deep inside his mind. He closes his eyes tightly and kisses Doakes more intensely, trying to make it all go away. All the urges to actually strangle Doakes that were so strong before have suddenly disappeared now that it all seems too real, and he realizes he can't—he doesn't want to do this.

He doesn't want to hurt Doakes, but he wants to keep Doakes pinned down this time, he doesn't want to ever cross that invisible line that exists in his head, he was always very good at controlling himself, it was one of his great qualities; but now, with everything that's happening, Dexter has become unstable, he's not denying it anymore, yet it's as if he's getting hungrier and hungrier for his table, for the blood, for the knife in his hands. It's never going to end.

It's an internal struggle that seems to have no end, everything he's been taught is being put to the test now, everything he's been told is being questioned, and he's been stuck in the middle of this bloodbath for so long that he can't even begin to imagine how to get out of it; because there isn't a way out, there never was, not for him anyway. For a second, in a totally unconscious and unwanted way, he pictures himself squeezing Doakes' neck hard enough to feel him choking as he squeezed and squeezed, and that's it — fuck — he pulls away quickly, escaping Doakes' hands.

He sits on the edge of the bed, stopping himself from curling in on himself, staring at his feet, silently taking deep breaths, his hands gripping the edge of the bed hard enough to make his fingers tingle. Shit. What the fuck? He feels Doakes shifting in the bed behind him, but neither of them says anything. Dexter's heart pounds against his chest. He exhales deeply through his nose, lowering his head. It's as if he's doomed to fall apart in front of Doakes every time, damn it, what's wrong with him? "Are you okay?" Doakes' voice behind him echoes in his brain and he blinks, still looking down.

"Yeah, I..." Dexter stammers, unable to turn around to face him. Shame is becoming more and more natural to him, and that's terribly awful. Dexter licks his dry lips, runs a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself; it doesn't work for even a second. His skin feels itchy and his heart is still racing, he doesn't like it, he doesn't like how his head doesn't feel right.

"Do you want to talk about—"

"No." Dexter interrupts him too quickly, scratching his chin. "No... I don't want to, thank you," he finishes, a little slower, trying to force himself to act normal, even though something inside him is snapping, damn it, he almost feels nauseous.

"All right." Doakes replies calmly. And then he falls silent. Neither of them says anything. It's all a little too uncomfortable, but somehow it seems like the right thing to do at that moment.

Dexter takes a deep breath, still keeping his back to Doakes. They stay like this for a few short minutes, until Doakes moves again. "I'll make us something to eat, you should take a shower." His tone is calm and firm again. "It'll help you relax."

Dexter inhales, still wondering when he started trusting Doakes enough to let him move freely around his apartment. "Okay," he says anyway, a little calmer this time, his heart no longer feeling like it's about to burst out of his chest. "Sounds like a good idea."

(. . .)

As incredible as it may seem, Dexter's head is empty as he takes a shower. He briefly remembers Harry's comment about him being a very quiet child during some years of his childhood. Dexter can't say he remembers the first few years after being adopted very well, but he does remember always having this emptiness in his head that seemed to consume him for most of his life. It was like an incessant darkness that followed him everywhere. Even at that very moment. It always got worse when something considerably bad happened, as if that darkness took over every time whatever was buried deep inside him tried to break through to the surface. Harry said that there was a darkness inside him that he couldn't make go away, even if he tried very hard. Well, Harry really wasn't lying this time.

He looks at the drops of water on the wall and wonders where it will all end. He imagines Doakes finding his blood slide box, he can even see the look on Doakes' face right before his very eyes; confusion, denial, then terror and finally disgust. Maybe Doakes will kill him even before the death penalty, maybe he'll arrest him, maybe... And for a moment he realizes he hasn't thought of the first rule of the Code for a second, because he should do whatever it takes not to get caught, right?

He can even hear Harry's voice in his head, disappointed, worried, desperate "What do you think you're doing? Have you gone mad?" he would say, probably shouting in his face, angry, afraid, feeling everything that Dexter will never be able to feel, according to Harry himself. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know anymore. " Dexter would reply, tired, empty. Maybe he just can't think about it anymore. It's exhausting, suffocating, because something in him died in that container and Harry never told him, never...

"I don't blame him," Brian whispers in his head. "I remember everything, and look what happened to me."

Dexter presses his forehead against the bathroom wall and closes his eyes. He died in that container and now a monster lives on instead. Dexter clenches his jaw and forces himself to stop thinking. The silence is much welcomed.

(. . .)

As he walks out of the bathroom holding a towel in his hands, already wearing new clothes, he has this strange, incessant feeling that, despite everything, Dexter knows there is a name for. He's ashamed. And scared. Dexter can still feel Doakes' neck against his hand and for a moment he wishes he could say that he'd never really thought about killing him before, but that would just add another lie to his life made of lies. It's not as if he literally hadn't thought about killing him the day before. Dexter clenches his jaw and exhales deeply through his nose, rubbing his eye with his free hand. He's really tired of it. Of all this. He can even hear Harry saying "I'm so disappointed in you. " to which he would reply with "I know." with no real surprise.

Dexter opens the bathroom door quietly, he smells bancon coming from the kitchen and his stomach makes a noise for a brief moment. He hesitates to approach the kitchen, because he doesn't want to look at Doakes, he doesn't want to think about how he hates the fact that it got to him so much even when he was ready to kill him a few days ago. It's pathetic. It's wrong. It's everything Dexter isn't, and never has been; he doesn't even fucking know who the hell he is anymore. Dexter bites his lower lip fiercely, shaking his head, trying to shake off the wave of nausea that threatens to overtake him.

"Are you going to stand there looking miserable forever?" Dexter raises his eyes to look at Doakes staring at him a few feet away. Dexter swallows down, Doakes has a neutral, indescribable look on his face, Dexter wouldn't be able to tell what he's thinking in a million years and it definitely worries him. "Come on, I'm not going to wait around for your ass, I'm fucking starving too. " and then he walks away without saying another word.

Right. That does sound like the good old Doakes. Dexter slings the towel over his shoulder and approaches the kitchen in silence, eyes lowered to the floor. He doesn't really want to talk now, or even for the next few hours, but he has no idea how to express that to Doakes. He's never been good at it, at any of it; it's stupid, a waste of time. He sits down at the kitchen counter anyway, where Doakes has already placed two plates with bancon and eggs. Doakes is sitting opposite, eating in silence. Dexter tries not to think about how uncomfortable the silence makes him this time; how ironic.

They both stay silent for too long for Dexter not to feel uncomfortable, mainly because Doakes doesn't stay silent, and Dexter doesn't know what to make of it. He eats his bacon without looking up for a second and hates how his stomach feels like it's about to fall out at his feet; he doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know what Doakes wants him to say, he doesn't know what the hell Doakes wants from him. How should he know? He doesn't understand how it works, because it shouldn't work, no, it shouldn't even be happening, but here he is, and here's Doakes. He feels like a stranger in his own skin and wonders how he could have lived like this for so long without going mad before, but no, maybe it's too late, and maybe he's already mad.

He stops eating his bacon and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. "I... " he whispers, swallowing with difficulty. "I don't know what you want from me." he concludes, with difficulty, but he manages to finish.

Morgan looks at Doakes for a moment and one of his eyebrows is raised. "I don't want anything from you, what the fuck, Dexter?" he says, clearly offended. Oh, shit. Why can't he ever find the right thing to say? Why can't he?

"I just, I don't know." Dexter shrugs carefully. "You're silent, and I don't know what you want me to say. " he sighs.

Doakes frowns. "I'm silent because I thought that's what you wanted," he says with emphasis. "I thought your brain could use a bit of silence, I'm not trying to get you to confess your worst sins or anything, man."

Dexter raises his eyebrows. "Oh." he whispers, then looks away. Oh. Why would Doakes... How could he could know...?

Doakes huffs. "Yeah, it'll take a while, but I'm slowly learning how to work this out with you." he shrugs as he chews another piece of bacon. "You already know this, but you're a tough person to crack, Dexter. "

Person. That's what he was now. Since when? Another lie added to the list. "Yeah, I've been told that a few times. " he mutters, looking down at his own plate.

"Your sister has already complained a lot to me about you. " Doakes said, looking at him. "She said you were the quietest person she'd ever met in her life. She says that you don't speak out even if your life depended on it. "

That piece of information bothers him deeply, especially when he already knows that Deb isn't pleased with everything that has happened since, but knowing that she's talking about him to others really sends a bad shiver through his body. What else could she have said? What else does Doakes know? Dexter takes a deep breath. "I don't have anything to say. "

"But that's the thing, because I don't think that's true. " Doakes leans on the counter, staring at him this time. "Because to me, you've always had this look in your eyes like you're suffocating on things that have never seen the light of day before. "

Dexter grits his teeth, his whole body tensing up a little. "You think you know me so well," he whispers softly. "What makes you think that you know me so well? " Being confronted this closely leaves the Dark Passenger on edge; even if he tries to ignore it, something still wants to snap deep inside him. 

"Maybe I know you better than you know yourself. " Doakes smiles a little, but there's no malice in that smile, which makes Dexter look away quickly, confused, expecting confrontation rather than whatever that smile means. It's honestly tragic that he'll never know how regretful he should be for having said that.

There's something inside Dexter that constantly fights for control, there's something that craves confrontation, violence, blood, but it's precisely this something that Dexter tries to keep buried as deep down inside him as possible, because it's dangerous, it's inconsequential, it's everything that Harry has always hated about him, even though he's never said anything, but Dexter knows. He could always see it in Harry's eyes. "Or maybe you've just convinced yourself of that. " Dexter grumbles anyway, forcing that violence down his own throat.

"Maybe you're just afraid of whatever that might mean." Doakes retorts calmly as he finishes his breakfast. He doesn't even seem bothered by the whole conversation and it triggers something in Dexter's brain, making him fall silent again, with more thoughts flooding his head; none of the thoughts really please him. What the hell does he mean by that? 

He doesn't want to get too deep into it, that's what he's always done best, avoid, escape, pretend. "You seem to be too comfortable with... All of this." Dexter comments, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Well, I'm where I want to be, so... " Doakes replies, without looking at him, falling into another silence. "I think the rest can be sorted out later, anyway. "

He doesn't really know how to react to his words, but something inside him sort of feels warm, at the same time as his chest tightens in a slightly painful way, he swallows his own saliva as if it were acid, trying not to react in any way. He has no expression on his face at that moment and can't stop himself from pushing that feeling away, deep into the darkness. It's easy. "Mm." is all he answers.

He can almost feel his blood boiling in his veins with everything he'll never say, he's slowly suffocating, it's as if thick blood is flooding his nostrils and his windpipe at the same time and he just can't breathe. It won't let him. Doakes knows he won't get anything out of the conversation, so he decides to change the subject before the silence becomes uncomfortable again. "So, I noticed you didn't have any nightmares this time. "

The fire burning inside him slowly dissipates, he takes his time to respond, focusing only on breathing. That's what he is now. What a joke. Dexter nods for a moment, finishing his breakfast as well. He takes a moment to think about what to say. Yes, I didn't dream about my dead brother that I killed; that really wasn't an option. "Yeah, well, I was tired, I guess?" he mumbles, looking away.

Doakes smiles at that. "Yeah, you certainly fucking were. " he grumbles with that smug smile Dexter loathes so much.

Dexter looks away as a small smile appears on his lips for half a second. In fact, he did sleep well that night, of course due to certain factors, but it was still a fact. Dexter couldn't remember having slept that much in a while. "Don't you even start."

Doakes raises his hands defensively. "I didn't say anything, man." he's still smiling. 

He's about to say something else when he hears sounds from the front door. His heart almost stops as he quickly turns his head towards the door, getting up from his chair. Fuck. It's clearly someone trying to get in, but the door is locked, and then there are knocks. 

"Dex!? Fuck, I know you're in there! " Deb's voice from outside makes his blood run cold. 

He looks at Doakes with wide eyes, and the other man just stares at him with raised eyebrows, without moving. Dexter quickly takes the two plates and puts them in the sink, he gasps quietly, trying to keep silent. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Fucking move. " Dexter grabs Doakes by the arm and lifts him out of his chair. 

Doakes just stares at him, surprised by the other man's reaction. "Calm down, man–" 

Dexter quickly silences him, pushing him towards the bathroom without saying anything. He bites his lower lip down hard, closing the bathroom door after he pushes Doakes inside. Deb is still calling his name outside and he swears that this can only be his punishment; it's the only thing that makes sense. He takes the towel off his shoulder and throws it on the sofa, his heart is racing, damn it, Dexter moves slowly towards the door, more hesitant than ever. This can't be real. 

"Dexter, open your fucking door, you asshole!" she knocks on the door again. 

He takes the chain off the door while mentally cursing himself, this can't be happening, it just can't. Dexter tries to force himself not to look guilty when he opens the door and finds his sister staring at him, not looking happy at all. It's like proof that things really could get worse, and they have. "What are you doing here?" he grumbles, swallowing, looking away. 

In return, she just pushes him aside and enters his apartment. Oh no. "Deb—" he closes the door, looking at her in confusion. 

"His car is parked on the other street, Dex." she practically snarls, just when he thought he couldn't see her getting any angrier. "I knew it, I knew it and you never fucking told me anything, Dex, I can't fucking believe you—"

Dexter doesn't say anything, he doesn't know what to say, and he's pretty sure his brain stopped functioning right at that instant. He has no excuse to give, and he has nowhere to run. He just stands there in the middle of the living room. "I don't... " he whispers. Fuck. 

"Are you hiding him in your room or what?" she accuses, looking around. "Fuck, don't play around with me now, Dexter! "

And when Doakes calmly leaves the bathroom, Dexter swears that what he's feeling at that moment can only be regret. 

Chapter Text

He is seven years old and is waiting for his father in the school infirmary. He sits quietly on the stretcher while one of the nurses tells him that his father is on his way. He doesn't answer, he just nods and thinks: I'm fine, but he doesn't say anything anyway. The nurse strokes his hair and tells him that he is very brave and too strong for his age, but he doesn't really understand what she means; he doesn't really care, though. It's just an injury. It hurts, but it's nothing more than that; he doesn't understand why she says the things she says.

"My son cut his finger recently too, you know," she says to him, as she approaches and holds his injured hand carefully. "It wasn't as deep as yours, but still, seeing him cry always breaks my heart. "

He looks at her through his eyelashes with his head tilted slightly. His hand is bloodied and blood has trickled down his arm too, but most of it is already dry. He doesn't know what to say to her, but sighs softly anyway. He remembers for a second the moment he felt the blood running down his arm while he was in class, after accidentally cutting his finger with the scissors; he was silent, staring at the blood with a neutral face, and something about it almost seemed familiar. That color. The deep red, the way it kept dripping down his skin, he felt hypnotized, he couldn't look away, but he couldn't do anything about it either. He just stood there, staring, feeling nothing but the slight pain that still lingered in his finger.

"My God, Dexter! " he flinched a little when the teacher finally noticed what had happened, she ran over to him, grabbed his hand carefully, and then helped him up from the chair. "Okay, children, sit down for a moment, it's okay," she said to the other children, who were scared and staring at him and the blood on his hand.

And now there he was, quiet, still staring at the almost dried blood on his hands. "You're very brave, but it still has to hurt, doesn't it? " the nurse asks when there is still no reaction from the boy. She was already worried as soon as he entered the infirmary, but her concern was only heightened by his total lack of reaction. There was something in his eyes that just didn't... feel right. He kept staring at his own blood. And she understands that children often don't react well to blood, but this was different; he looked at the blood with nothing in his eyes, as if it were normal, as if he were used to it. "It's okay, your father will be here soon. " she said, trying to comfort him.

"I know." he replied calmly, without looking at her. "It hurts a little bit, but it's okay." he whispers, she assumes he's just shy, but no, that's something else, something else that has her worried. He sounds sad, but he doesn't look sad. She feels her heart heavy in her chest, but takes a deep breath, patching up his injured finger.

Then, when Harry arrives, visibly worried, his eyes wide as soon as he sees the blood on Dexter, he rushes over to him, quickly crouching down to be at eye level. "Dex, my God, are you all right?" he asks, stroking Dexter's hair with intense concern. "Jesus, that's a lot of blood–"

"It's nothing very serious, it's a rather deep cut, but there won't be any need for stitches." the nurse informs Harry, stepping back a little to make room for the boy's father. "Your son here was very brave, sir... "

"Harry, my name is Harry. " he informs her and looks at Dexter again, meeting his eyes. "Hey, Dex, how are you feeling, son?" he asks softly.

"I'm okay." Dexter shrugs, looking away. "I was cutting paper to make an origami, I guess I got distracted."

"It's okay, don't worry about it. " Harry lifts up a little to kiss the top of Dexter's head, squeezing his shoulder gently. "You had me worried there, kid. " he sighs softly.

The nurse just watches, noticing how the boy's gaze drifts when his father kisses him on the head, almost as if he were far away at that moment. As if he wasn't really there. Then he looks down at his hand again, and she realizes that he's actually staring at the blood again. She swallows with difficulty, inhaling. "How about we clean up that blood, hm?" she suggests with a soft smile.

Dexter looks at her and for a moment she wonders how it is possible for a child's eyes to look so... He has this look in his eyes that is too old for his age, as if he has seen much more than any normal adult. As if he has been suffering longer than he has been alive. It seems so wrong, she doesn't know what to do with herself and wonders how, why, what could have caused that look, and how she could help, because my God, that boy could very well be her son — then Dexter nods, answering her question, still not really moving, even as Harry hugs him against his chest. She forces herself to move, determined to clean up that blood.

After she finishes, she kindly asks to speak to Harry outside the infirmary. "Look, I just... I'd just like to talk to you for a moment because I'm a bit worried about your son... "

Harry visibly gets tense. "There's... Is something wrong? He'll be all right, won't he?"

"Yes, yes, he's perfectly fine, that's not exactly what I want to talk about... " she hesitates. "I know that not all children are the same or even react in the same way, but... I couldn't help but be a little troubled by the way your son seemed to... His behavior didn't exactly seem..."

Harry sighs, rubbing his face. "Yes, I know, I know... Dexter, huh, Dexter suffered a major trauma at a very young age." he says in a lower tone of voice. "He's adopted, so... It's still a work in progress, you know? But... but he's fine now, he'll be fine, he's a really good kid."

"Oh... Oh, I'm so sorry." she whispers, exhaling. "I didn't mean to — I just... I didn't knew..."

"It's all right. You were just worried, that's okay. " Harry massages his temple. "Anyway, just... Thank you for caring. "

She exhales through her mouth. "I hope he gets his sparkle back. No child should have their sparkle snatched away from them. " she smiles sadly.

Yet when the boy and his father leave, she can't get that empty look out of her head. She hugs her son tighter when she gets home later that day.

Later, Dexter is sitting in the passenger seat while Harry drives home. He looks at his hand – now clean – and still swears he can feel the blood on his skin. He doesn't understand. He really doesn't.

Harry looks at him out of the corner of his eye, still driving. "Everything okay, Dex? "

"Yes." he whispers. "I... I think–" Dexter mutters. "I think the nurse was worried about me," he mumbles.

Harry keeps his eyes on the street. "Yes, she was," he says calmly.

Dexter frowns slightly. "I think she expected me to cry or something. I don't know, I didn't really understand why."

Harry bites his lower lip, inhaling through his nose. All these years, he doesn't think he's even seen Dexter cry after... After that day. "And you didn't... Didn't have a feeling you wanted to cry, son?"

Dexter looks at Harry, confused. "No." He shifts in his seat. "Why? Should I?"

"You weren't upset?" Harry tries. "Sometimes when I get hurt I get upset too, you know."

"Well... It hurt, but I think it was only for a moment. " he says quietly. "Then I just... I couldn't stop... staring. "

Harry frowns and looks at him for a second before looking at the street again. "Couldn't stop staring at what, son?"

"The blood. " Dexter whispers. "It was... weird. As if... I don't know, it was just weird, I guess." he shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

Harry is sure he can feel his stomach about to drop to his feet. He is silent for a moment, blinking repeatedly. God. It suddenly seems too hard to breathe. " Strange how, son? Do you think... do you think you want to talk about it? " Harry silently begs him to just not talk, to please not remember. Not now. He doesn't know what to do if...

Dexter hesitates, quiet. "I think I'd rather have something to eat, Dad. Can we? I'm really really hungry."

Harry nods, taking a deep breath. "Yeah... Yes, we can do that, Dex. "

(. . .)

Dexter has this thought that there was never really anything more than that. The blood. Because he can feel it now, running through his veins, through every artery, he feels as if it's the only thing inside him; because it is. The blood on his hands, the blood in his veins, the blood between his teeth, the blood he swallows as he bites his tongue too hard, because when Harry said there was no more inside him than that, Dexter found it too easy to believe, because it was the only thing that made sense. When Dexter got older, enough to accept and understand, Harry no longer really tried to comfort him like he did when Dexter still didn't understand. No, Harry helped him to see it, to deal with it, to accept it.

It was like having his wounds opened again, and then closed, then cut open again and he'll never heal, there is no possible way; a cycle that really didn't seem to end, still, all he could do was face it. Hold on to it, take it with him, become it. And that's what he did. That's why when Deb looks at him with those eyes full of anger and disbelief, he's not too shocked that it's all being directed at him in particular; it's the only thing that makes sense, after all. Dexter has never really known how to deal with confrontational situations apart from shutting down completely, so as Doakes approaches them with a calm composure, Dexter slowly allows himself to shut down. He doesn't want to deal with Deb right now. He doesn't think he can.

It happens in slow motion, Deb is yelling at Doakes, and then she's yelling at him, and well, Dexter stands there, silent, ready to just apologize because it's always easier, even though he doesn't really care one bit. Doakes is saying something, but it doesn't enter his ears, he feels this thing like a shadow sliding over him, dragging him down, and for a moment he wonders exactly how the hell he became this thing. This unstable thing, unable to deal with confrontation, unable to breathe too deeply, unable to just be what he's always been; nothing. A ghost that still doesn't know it's actually dead. It's a bit funny, because Harry was always angry and upset with him too.

He always had this impression, this thing in the back of his mind that told him that Harry hated what he had become, even in his final days. It was interesting to think about, to say the least, because Harry was the one who had created him. "Harry was a fool." Brian whispered in his ear. "I would have admired every little thing you became. " but that was just another lie, because Dexter wasn't Dexter Morgan, and he wasn't Dexter Moser. He was something else entirely, and the one that hated what he had become turned out to be himself.

"How fucking long has this been going on?" Deb's loud voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he blinks, as if he's just come out of a fucking coma.

"For fuck's sake, stop yelling. " Doakes grunted at her.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to talk to my fucking brother!" she retorts fiercely, glaring at Dexter with intensity.

Dexter just blinked, looking between the two of them. He opened his mouth only to close it again. The whole thing was pathetic to say the least. "You need to calm down–"

"Don't fucking tell me what I need. " she almost growled. "I've been here, worrying, begging you to, I don't know, open your fucking mouth and just talk to me, while you were sneaking off with fucking Doakes!? "

Doakes raised an eyebrow. "Sneaking off? What the fuck are you, twelve?" he huffed, incredulous.

"And you, damn it, you're even worse. " she pointed at Doakes angrily. "Because while I was pouring out all my complaints to you about my brother, telling you how upset I was about everything, you were fucking him!" Deb nudges his shoulder. "Seriously, you hated him months ago, for fuck's sake, I even thought you wanted to fucking murder him, and now this!?"

"Deb–" he tries, but the look she gives him makes him fall silent again.

"No, really. I-I really don't understand, was that... Was that what you were hiding? That's why you were so paranoid?" she exhales through her nose quickly. "I need to know, Dexter, fuck. "

Right, he's doing this then. "I... " he swallows, not even daring to look at Doakes. "I didn't know how to... I didn't think I could tell you–" Oh, Dexter really is the worst. And he knows it.

She takes a deep breath, visibly trying to pull herself together. "What the fuck made you think that?"

"I don't know," he says, looking away.

"What, you think I care if you run around fucking guys?" she laughs bitterly. "I only care about you being okay, Dexter, for God's sake. "

Dexter looks at Doakes who is silently staring at him with a raised eyebrow, as if to say: I told you so. Dexter sighs, rubbing his face quickly. "I'm sorry, this is all new and I don't... know exactly how to manage it yet. " he's the worst, the fucking worst. It's a lie, but a lie that's too close to the truth. It's easy; his blood boils at the path this is all taking, and he doesn't know how to stop it.

Deb remains silent for a few seconds. "Fuck... Look, I don't care who you go out with. Even when it could be any other guy instead of the guy who constantly called you a freak." she glances at Doakes out of the corner of her eye as if threatening him to say something. "I just want... I want you to talk to me, okay? I want you to trust me, please, I'm so fucking tired of begging. "

"I know, I'm sorry. " he whispers. "I'll try. I'll try to talk. " he won't. He could never. "I'm sorry, Deb."

That seems to calm her down enough. She inhales deeply a few times, then rubs her eyes, trying to absorb everything that has happened.

"By the way, I don't do that anymore. " Doakes informs her. "You don't have to worry about me disrespecting your brother–"

"You'd better, because if I know you're treating him badly, I'll kill you. " she snaps at Doakes. "And I don't care that you and I are friends, he's my fucking brother, okay!?"

Doakes raises his hands in surrender. "I hear you loud and fucking clear."

She takes another deep breath, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears, and Dexter remains silent. Dexter had to deal with his adoptive sister's hostility for a long time, especially during adolescence, but in a way he knew it was fair, mainly because Deb no longer had her mother, and her father was too busy turning Dexter into something, rather than really giving her any kind of attention. Sometimes he saw it for what it was: he was a parasite, he takes, takes, and gives nothing in return. He never had anything in the first place. He... It was a problem. Well, at least he had come to that conclusion without too much effort after a few years. He really was anything but a human being, and he supposed that fact would make anyone else sad, but when he thought about it, he felt nothing; it was like an acceptable truth amid so many lies.

"You know, as your real brother, I can tell you that even... even after everything, I wouldn't change a thing, I would still have looked for you, I would still want to be by your side." Brian's voice echoes in his head like a pit of guilt in which Dexter finds himself eventually sinking. There is no escape. There never was, for either of them.

"Why do you keep doing this? I already told you I'm sorry. Why are you still here?" Dexter retorts mentally, unable to stop himself.

"It's you who can't let me go, little brother." Brian says calmly. "Just as I could never let you go. We are blood brothers. Born in blood, and made in blood."

"You're dead, and no amount of guilt will ever bring you back." He's being haunted by ghosts, and by himself. How tragic is that? That's a different kind of death penalty. A different kind of torture that he doesn't know how to deal with, doesn't know how to make go away. And if he were to be honest, he didn't want Brian to leave. Not again. It was selfish, it was petty, but he wasn't better than that; he really never was.

"At least you're being honest now, brother. Your guilt will kill you in the end, have you thought about that?"

"You know I tried. But I couldn't.. I couldn't. I wouldn't change anything, but I still miss something I never had."

"I know." Brian whispers quietly. "It's a strange thing, isn't it?"

"How do I let it go?" Dexter asks heavily. "How do I let you go?"

"You know you can't." His brother's voice is almost comforting. "You can't wash this blood off your hands this time, little brother."

And it's true. For once, at least.

(. . .)

"Look, I really... I really have a lot of questions, but I'm not going to ask them right now." Deb mumbles, visibly calmer, looking between the two of them. "I need to process whatever is going on right now, and I think you guys do too."

Dexter remained silent, not feeling like he really wanted to say anything for the rest of the day, frankly, but he also knew he didn't have much choice.

"God, I really don't know which one of you two is crazier." Doakes muttered quietly, putting one hand on his hip. "It really must run in the family."

Deb just rolled her eyes. "Don't feel so damn self-righteous, because I'm still mad." she ranted. "Just don't be a fucking asshole, okay?"

Doakes just nodded, looking away with a slightly irritated look, but she was fine with that. Then she turned back to Dexter. "And you, you owe me a lot of explanations, and I'm not going to let you get away with it this time!"

Dexter looked at her blankly, because that was exactly what he needed: more conversations that would be shaped by lies he was honestly getting tired of. Just the idea of having to somehow talk made something nasty settle in his stomach almost like poison. "Mm," he muttered exhausted, a brief feeling of needing to sit down on the corner of his room and put his head between his hands crept into his brain, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than that. Silence. The brief comfort of somewhere quiet and far away from all of this. Loneliness. It felt like such a distant dream.

She stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to figure something out, to find something that wasn't there. Dexter didn't even bother. It was stupid anyway. "Dex..." she began, inhaling. "You know I love you, right?" she asked with something that could only be concern. "And nothing will ever make me stop loving you."

If only she knew. He almost wanted to laugh. Dexter nodded anyway, too tired to do anything else. He really wanted to be alone now. "I know," Dexter said, of course, lying.

He remembers always being consumed by that emptiness at such times. Moments that seemed too real for someone who was not real. As if he were just a shell, a body, a lost memory, a lie, the absence of something. He never knew what to do, never knew what to say, just... silence, lies, and emptiness always helped. They always made things easier. Pretending to be dead. The truth was that the hard part was pretending to be alive.

She stared intently into his eyes, and Dexter just stood there. "Okay," she said. "I... I'll call you later, okay?"

Dexter nodded. "Yeah, okay." there was something wrong with him. To be fair, there was always something wrong with him.

She looked at Doakes one last time before sighing and leaving his apartment.

(. . .)

After she left, Dexter stood in the same spot for a while, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, he wasn't sure. He didn't really know what that thing writhing inside him was at that moment, but it wasn't really pleasant. It seemed too human; something he really wasn't. And now Deb knew. And he didn't know what to think about it. It was as if something had been taken from his chest, only to be replaced with more emptiness. It felt like guilt. But why? Why would he feel guilty?

She knew, and now it was all real: something real for something not real. She knew, and now Doakes was looking at him as if trying to decipher what was going on inside his head, when even he didn't understand. She knew, but that wasn't even the worst part, because he was still a monster. Replacing a bloodbath with a lie. Well, he really was the worst. Dexter blinked, then rubbed his eyes, looked away, and said nothing, tired. Nothing would ever change because, unfortunately, he was still Dexter.

He sighed and, without saying a word, walked to his room. He didn't bother locking the door because he knew Doakes would try to interact with him even if he just lay down on the floor and pretended to be dead, so Dexter didn't really care. Dexter sat on the floor with his back against the bed and stayed there, staring at the wall; he didn't understand what was happening, why it was happening, or how it was happening. He didn't try to understand anyway. Something burned deep in his throat, and something was stinging behind his eyes.

He looked at his own hands and saw nothing but blood; still, he didn't care. He heard Doakes' footsteps approaching, and he lowered his eyes to the floor with a silent sigh. Doakes' boots stopped in front of him, and then the other man calmly sat down on the floor beside him, also in silence. Dexter would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised; he had certainly expected something else, some other reaction from the other man, but they remained silent. Doakes' shoulder pressed gently against his, and Dexter exhaled through his nose.

Once upon a time, there was something good inside him. He thinks so, because no one is born evil. Once upon a time, there was kindness, love, and something more inside him. He's not sure, but he figures so. Then, one day, it dies and rots inside him; since that day, he has never stopped rotting. Undead, there was never a cure, there was never a chance. With every step there is a grave, with every step there is a name, with every step there is a drop of blood. His victims. His mother. His brother. All because of him.

Doakes' breathing is heavy beside him; a detail that reminds him that he is not alone, even though he really wants to be. He wants to be left alone with that thing inside him, as he has been his entire life. So when Dexter laid his head against Doakes' shoulder, he didn't think about anything. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence. He... he never had this before. A moment of silence with someone. It's strange. It doesn't seem real. Doakes didn't leave his side at any point, Dexter still doesn't feel anything.

(. . .)

"Why are you still here?" he whispers after endless minutes of silence.

"Because it looks like you need some company," Doakes mutters back, without moving.

"I don't need you." Dexter still hasn't moved his head away from his shoulder. The words are direct and cold. Doakes recognizes all this very well. I don't need anyone.

"I know," Doakes retorts. "That's not what I said."

"You should leave." the words flow easily from his mouth.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

"You used to be a better liar." Doakes sighs.

"You used to hate me more." He closes his eyes for a second. "What happened to that?"

"I don't know." He sounds sincere. "It takes a lot of effort for a person to hate someone for so long, maybe I just got tired."

You should hate me. You should fucking hate me. You should hate me so much. "Mm." Dexter exhales.

Another brief silence. "Your sister knows now."

"Yes, she does." Dexter sighs, his eyes still closed. I don't care.

"And how does that make you feel?" There is a brief hesitation in the question.

"I don't know." I can't feel anything.

"Well... it could have been fucking worse."

"I guess." It doesn't matter anyway.

Dexter doesn't know what to do now. He doesn't know if he should do something. He doesn't know if there is anything to be done. And honestly, he doesn't want to do anything either. He just presses his head against the other man's shoulder and breathes softly; having never done this before, it feels so wrong, but he can't care about that now. He just wants to stay there and pretend that all of this isn't pushing him to the edge, to feeling that need more and more. He knows what he needs, Dexter knows. It's quiet, sneaking into his head, waiting for the right moment to strike, and Dexter knows that moment is coming; it's taken too long.

He never managed to stay away long enough, there's no point in trying now. He needs it. The blood. The knife, it's stupid to try to ignore it, because he knows what happens when he attempts to. It hurts, it burns, it suffocates him, the Dark Passenger wants to kill him as much as it wants the blood, he recognizes the feeling. The cut is open again and he feels exposed to his core, his rotting soul on display for everyone to see what he really is, what he really craves. It took a while, but it's time to hunt. Sometimes he remembers how foolish he was to think that he could ever live without it. Without doing what he does. Without being who he is. It's funny to think about it now.

"Wanna go out tonight? "

Dexter slowly opens his eyes, without moving. He hesitates. "What?" he mumbles.

"I want to take you out tonight," Doakes repeats calmly. "Are you up to it?"

Dexter swallows, exhales through his nose, and finally pulls away, but still doesn't look at him. "Are you sure this is a good time?"

"No, but hey, who gives a fuck." the other man shrugs, looking at him, even as Dexter keeps his eyes on the wall.

"I..."

"I reserved a table for us as soon as I woke up this morning." Doakes interrupts him. "Maybe it was stupid, but it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Oh." Jesus, what?

"In my fucking defense, I really didn't think your sister was going to show up and yell at us." Doakes grumbles, clearly annoyed. "What really pissed me off, because holy shit, it was supposed to be a fucking nice day."

Dexter hesitated, glancing at Doakes out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out if he was serious or not. The man looked as serious as he could be. "I... I didn't think you were the type to go to fancy restaurants."

Doakes rolled his eyes. "Fuck you."

"Fuck me?" Dexter raised an eyebrow, there was a smile on the corner of his mouth that he didn't even realize was there. 

Seeing the tiniest smile on Dexter's face, Doakes couldn't help but smile a little himself. "It's not too fancy, you can still order your trashy food," he informed him. "I was just trying to... I don't fucking know, do something nice."

Dexter was silent, scratching the back of his head, conflicted. Doakes wanted to do something nice. For him. For Dexter. For him, of all people. How... How was he supposed to just accept this as if it were normal? As if it were acceptable? As if he — damn it... "This is... unexpected," he whispered. 

Doakes made a noise from the back of his throat. "Is that a fucking no?" he muttered. 

"No... No, I don't know, I mean..." he stumbled over his words, not knowing what to say. What would someone else do in his place? What was the right thing to say? He would never know. "It's just that this whole thing with Deb..."

"Hey, it's not as bad as you think it is, okay?" Doakes put a hand on his shoulder and Dexter sighed. "She's not... she's not pissed at you, I mean, she is, but for different reasons."

Dexter looked away again, but the hand on his chin made him turn his head toward Doakes. He blinked, looking into the other man's eyes, breathing softly. "You have that look in your eyes again..." Doakes murmured, staring deep into his eyes. 

Dexter sighed heavily through his nose, trying to turn his head away again, but the grip on his chin tightened, holding him there. "No, don't do that," Doakes whispered, leaning closer. "Stop thinking so fucking much, stay here."

They were close enough for a kiss if either of them decided to lean in a little further. Dexter stood still, the urge to look away spoke louder than anything else. He held his breath. "Stay," Doakes repeated. "It's okay."

No, it's not. "Why are you doing this?" Dexter whispered. 

Doakes' eyes shifted between his eyes and his lips. "Doing what?"

"All of this," Dexter murmured. "I can't give you anything in return." I have nothing to give.

"This is gonna be the second time I tell you I don't want anything from you." Doakes said calmly, as if he were taming some wild animal. Well, it seemed appropriate, given the situation. 

He really doesn't understand. "I don't understand."

"I guess at this point, I don't expect you to." Doakes' breath was warm against his face. "I'm still trying to figure it out myself."

Dexter exhaled through his nose, licking his lips. "When you figure it out, let me know," he replied softly. 

Doakes chuckled softly. "Yeah, okay." Then he kissed Dexter. 

Apparently he had a date that night. The Dark Passenger and his thirst for blood would have to wait.

Chapter Text

He didn't really think to mention it, but he hated dates. Partly because it involved everything he was terrible at, like being social. Sitting across from someone and talking—a nightmare indeed—plus having to maintain eye contact long enough to appear interested and not come across as an asshole. He hated everything about it because he never knew what to say, how to interact, and casually tried to eat more than actually talk. He was terrible at it, he had always been terrible at it, and honestly, part of the whole idea had always been so dysfunctional to him, mainly because the thought of having to sit across from another person for hours and just talk about whatever never seemed really enjoyable or rational to him. Why did people do it? Was it enjoyable for them?

He believes—no, he knows—that such human interactions are futile, meaningless, pointless, just something to fill the empty space between two beings as empty as emptiness itself. He never saw a reason behind many things that other living people did. Relationships, companionship, coexistence, love. Everything seemed so empty and excruciatingly flawed at times that Dexter worried that maybe he was the one who was right, and everyone else was just profoundly wrong. Dexter was like a constant bridge between life and emptiness, where he had been thrown off the edge and now lived by a thread, holding on to all the bad and worse just to survive.

But sometimes, it wasn't survival, it was death. He lived like a being on the very brink of death, and this became more evident with each passing day. But after all, the idea of living was something variable, he thought about it sometimes, he thought about what it meant to live after all, if there was any definition, any answer. Or maybe there would never be an explanation, and everything is as futile and meaningless as the things real people do to feel alive. To feel, to feel... something. Whether it's—religion, relationships, dreams, love—but at the end of the day, all that was left for Dexter was the most profound... nothing.

For a long time, he... feared. And now he recognizes it. He feared that it would be just that, because it couldn't be just that, could it? There was nothing else for him, nothing for him to feel, nothing for him to live for, nothing for him to be, just that, that thing, and nothing would ever make him feel alive; no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he insisted. It was frightening, the idea of living that way forever, dead, empty, incapable, as if he weren't made for that world, as if that life were never meant to be lived. The concept of life remained indecipherable to Dexter for years, a puzzle he never saw himself being able to solve.

Until... Until he took the knife in his hands; until the blood flashed in the reflection of his eyes, until he closed his eyes and could really breathe. It was like freedom, bloody freedom, dirty freedom, wrong freedom that burned deep in his throat, stabbing his own chest with something deeper than pain, because it wasn't pain, it was relief. It was an ugly relief, a relief he knew was wrong, but still, he was breathing—he was breathing deeply—and everything else had disappeared, for he was still nothing, he was still empty, yet he breathed. Dexter breathed like a living person, a human being, he breathed like blood dripping onto the floor, creating a pattern, guiding him through that sea of nothingness.

After that, there was a purpose. After that, there was something... something more, it wasn't life though, because despite everything; he knew, he understood, he saw. He saw it in the mirror, in the palms of his hands, in the car window, he saw what he was—nothing and everything—everything, except human. There was no dream, no love, no relationship, he closed his eyes and could still see what he was, could still see the blood, which he knew would never leave him; it was what he was, after all. So, after that, there was still no life, just something to help him survive. Because surviving will never be the same as living.

If Dexter had a soul, it would be stained with something dark, stained with blood. If Dexter had a soul, it would be faded, shattered, shaped by lies. If he had a heart, it would be shredded to pieces until there was nothing left, just bleeding, dying, cold, nonexistent. If Dexter were anything, that anything would be empty, dead, invisible to human eyes, a drop of blood in the snow, an open wound, a last breath. If he were anything, he would be a reflection in a broken mirror. If he were anything, he would be nothing.

(. . .)

There was a stain on the floor that Dexter couldn't quite figure out. He had been staring at that stain for some time—not too long, hopefully—and still couldn't break it down. It didn't look like it had been there for very long, maybe a day ago, he couldn't say for sure, it looked a bit like wine, as if they had cleaned it, but the stain wasn't completely gone, and they made no effort to clean it more thoroughly. However, there was something a little unsettling about the shade of the stain, a little too red, a little too dark, Dexter didn't exactly know, but it didn't seem right. The stain was close to his right side on the floor, so maybe a right-handed person had accidentally spilled it when picking up the glass of wine, or—

"You know, the floor isn't going to open a hole and swallow you whole even if you keep staring at it." Doakes' deep voice reached his ears as if pulling him out of a trance.

Dexter frowned to himself for a second, lifting his eyes from the floor and looking up at Doakes' face. The man didn't seem upset or angry—oddly enough—but he had this frown between his eyebrows that made him seem a little... concerned. Huh. Dexter cleared his throat, looking away, unable to stop himself from looking at the floor again. And he immediately closed his lips when he looked at the stain on the floor again. It was still there, the problem was... it was a little different, faded, not as dark and as red as he... thought it was. Almost invisible.

Dexter narrowed his eyes. "Seeing things, little brother?" Brian whispered smugly at his side.

Dexter ignored him, forcing himself to look at Doakes again. "Be careful, you never know what will happen next... you might start seeing dead people."

His brother's tone of voice sent an unpleasant nausea deep into his stomach, but Dexter sat up straight in his chair, adjusting his posture, while Doakes just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I... yes, yes, I know, that's... my bad." He tries to smile, but the smile dies on his lips. Weird, weird, always awkward.

They had made their orders a few minutes ago, and now they were sitting there in an uncomfortable silence. Dexter stopped himself from closing his eyes and cursing himself mentally, then licked his lips. He was terrible—absolutely the worst—at small talk. Still, he looked at every spot on Doakes' face except his eyes and tried to say some words. The effort had to count for something.

"It's a nice restaurant... nothing too fancy, just like you said." It didn't have to be so difficult, he just had to keep talking. Even though the discomfort twisted inside him as if it were killing him.

"Yeah, well... I'm glad you liked it," Doakes says, leaning back in his chair, clearly too comfortable. Fuck, how does he do that? "You're the first guy I've ever asked out, so... I hope I'm not fucking everything up so far."

The information surprises Dexter silently. "No, I mean... it's nice. This is new—for both of us, then."

"You could say that." Doakes shrugs, exhaling. He seems calmer now that Dexter is no longer staring at the floor as if he could see through it. "Anyway, I... I've never been any good at relationships either, so..."

Dexter nods softly, briefly silent. He could very well say he understands how it can be, but Doakes absolutely already knows that. Maybe he knows too much. "Too busy?" he asks, calmly.

"Yeah, but—it's not just that, I guess. It never fucking was." He says, scratching his chin. "It was always... too complicated, I didn't really know how to handle it." The words are hesitant but firm, as if he had never said them before, but now that he is saying them, he tries not to regret it. 

Dexter tries not to express how surprised he is that Doakes is saying these things to him, so his face remains neutral, even though he doesn't understand exactly what's going on. "Oh," he murmurs, speechless, again, fuck. "I think sometimes... it can be difficult," he offers, as if trying out the right thing to say. A test, to see how the other man reacts—sometimes he finds it easier just to agree with everything—it's always been easier that way, and he doesn't have to worry too much about what to say. 

"People," Doakes declares. "People can be fucking difficult."

Dexter is sure he's thought that before. Exactly the same thing. Dexter blinks. "Yes," he mumbles. "Yes, I mean, I think so." He feels as if he is walking on tiptoes, being careful with every word he says.

"You know, before... Before, I was in a relationship but it never really worked out. I... I was fucking angry all the time, and that was... complicated to deal with." Doakes sighs, clenching his jaw. "Well, I'm still angry today. It's probably gotten a little worse, considering the work I do. There is never really a break." 

Dexter remains silent. Probably anyone else in his place would try to comfort the man sitting across from him. The problem is that Dexter has no idea how to do that. "It's fucking pathetic, but it's been a while since I've felt that anger." Doakes mutters, leaning against the table.

Dexter understands anger, well, in a way. He may not understand the reasons behind it, but he understands the fury. How it consumes you from the inside, and it hurts. 

Doakes stares at him as if he wants to say more, but he doesn't. Morgan blinks, looking at him. "That's... good," he says quietly. "That's really important, you know?"

Doakes hums softly, then looks at him without blinking. "You know, I look at you... and I try to imagine what you were doing when you were younger." Doakes tilts his head slightly to the side. "But not a fucking thing comes to mind."

Dexter runs a hand through his hair, buying time before answering. "Well, um, you know... I was studying, I used to hang out with some friends from college, before, you know, doing what I do." Killing criminals.

"What about girlfriends? Boyfriends?" Doakes asks.

Dexter inhales. "A girlfriend and a few hook-ups," he says, trying to make himself seem as sociable as possible.

Something in Doakes' eyes changes, sharply.  "Oh yeah... from back when you were curious, right?" Doakes has that smug smile on his face again.

"It was nothing serious." Dexter rolls his eyes. "I was young." The lie comes too easily because it's partly true. He's always been a curious creature.

"No one is judging you here, you naughty little thing," his tone of voice is deep and playful, making Dexter exhale for a second, annoyed.

"Shut up." Dexter can't suppress a slight chuckle that rises in his throat.

"I'm telling you, man, there's always more going on with the guy who just looks like a lab geek." Doakes is still smiling, leaning over the table in Dexter's direction.

You don't even know half of it. The words bring back a bad feeling, an unpleasant memory. He doesn't like exactly how that inside him associates those words with something else entirely. Dexter looks away, but suddenly doesn't feel like smiling anymore. Still, he forces himself to act normal. "Maybe you don't know me that well after all." he raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe not." Doakes practically purrs back at him. "Or maybe I do. "

He's flirting, Dexter knows it, but the Dark Passenger associates it with a threat. It's no fun. Dexter looks at him, into his eyes this time, and feels a little uncomfortable with the way he can't tell what Doakes is thinking. Dexter has always been so good at reading everyone around him—but Doakes—Doakes was immune, somehow. He quickly looks away and sighs through his nose. "I—"

The phone vibrating in his pocket makes him fall silent. He frowns, reaching for the phone. Deb's name pops up on the screen. Dexter swallows with difficulty, then turns the screen toward Doakes, as if asking for help on what to do. But Doakes looks at him as if to say: why the fuck are you looking at me?  "Answer it," Doakes says calmly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's okay."

Fuck. It's not okay, for fuck's sake, nothing is ever okay. Dexter visibly hesitates, the frown on his face deepening. He takes a deep breath, then answers. "Hey," he says too quietly, unintentionally.

"Hey, how are you?" she replies calmly.

"Fine," Dexter mumbles, not looking at Doakes in front of him, even as he feels the man's eyes burning into him. "Everything all right with you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I was just calling to... I don't know, see how you were doing," she says, and for a moment Dexter notices how defeated she sounds. He bites his lower lip.

"It's okay, you don't need to worry," he tries, shrugging a little.

"But I do worry, Dex. You know I do," she whispers, sounding even sadder.

"I know." he swallows. For a moment, it all comes back to him, everything from earlier.  Something settles in his stomach, and it's bad, bad, bad. "I'm sorry."

"No... Don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong." she sighs loudly. "I felt like shit all day, you just weren't ready to tell me, and I understand."

Oh, fuck, not again. "You really weren't the problem, Deb."

"I know, I fucking know," she says, then a brief silence. "I just get scared because I never know what's going on with you, Dex. That really scares the shit out of me."

Doakes is still watching, but Dexter keeps his eyes on the floor. He feels bad. She always manages to make him feel bad; it's some kind of frightening skill. His sister has superpowers that only work on him. "Well, I... I guess I can tell you then that... I'm on a date."

Doakes raises an eyebrow at him but says nothing.

Silence, then: "You fucking what!?" her voice is loud and echoes in his brain.

Dexter rubs his face sharply. "I'm on a date right now, Deb."

"With... with Doakes?" she says, apparently calming down.

"Yes." He glances sideways at the other man, who watches him without even blinking for a second.

"And... he fucking asked you out?"

"Yes." He repeats, calmly.

"Oh." There's another pause. "That's... good, right?"

"Yeah, it is," Dexter affirms. "It's going well."

"Where did he take you? A restaurant?" This obviously opened the door to other questions that Dexter would obviously have to answer.

"Yeah, it's a nice place," he almost wants to ask Doakes to stop staring at him.

"Oh, well... That's sweet of him. He's being nice to you?" Deb continues.

"Yes, Deb, he's very nice to me." This time he looks at Doakes. The other man narrows his eyes at Dexter with a slight smile on his face.

"Oh, that's really good." Deb exhales deeply. "Are you guys dating now?"

Her question makes him fall silent, his eyes drifting toward the floor again. "Fuck, I'm sorry, that was too intrusive, I understand everything is still new." she says quickly. "Anyway, thank you... thank you for telling me, Dex. That really meant a lot. "

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Yeah, Deb... it's okay."

"Maybe... Maybe we can talk more tomorrow?" she says, a little more quietly, with a hopeful tone. "If you want to, of course."

He opens his eyes, shifting slightly in his chair. "Okay. That sounds... promising."

He hears her chuckle softly on the phone. "Okay, okay, have a good date, Dex. I fucking love you, yeah?"

He sighs with a soft smile. "I love you too, Deb." Dexter then hangs up the call, calmly putting the phone back in his pocket. 

He allows himself to enjoy the brief silence, taking a deep breath. Okay, it could have been worse, on some level. She didn't say she hated him or anything, so that was already something. After a few seconds, Dexter looks at Doakes, who hadn't actually taken his eyes off him at any point, and the man seems almost content. "So," he exhales softly. "I think this is the first time I've heard you say 'I love you' to someone."

"Mm." Dexter shrugs. Probably because he wasn't exactly capable of that. Love.

"Anyway... You told her." Doakes says, sounding surprised.

"Yeah." He nods. "It wasn't that bad."

"I'll take a wild guess and say that she was asking if I threatened to kill you or something like that."  Doakes laughs briefly.

"Or something like that." Dexter rests his elbow on the table. "Don't worry, I didn't mention that you kidnapped me and brought me here."

Doakes raises his eyebrows in surprise and laughs again. "Oh, that's very thoughtful of you, Dexter."

"Don't mention it." Dexter gives him a smile back. They fall into a nice silence this time, but Doakes is looking at him with that something in his eyes that Dexter still can't quite figure out. He feels like it should worry him, but at that moment, it doesn't. 

(. . .) 

For some reason, the rest of dinner is mostly Dexter talking. Yeah, like, words, phrases, sentences. The conversation is calm and doesn't set off any triggers in his brain, while at the same time it doesn't get the Dark Passenger ready to attack. They talk about everything and nothing at the same time; nothing important, by any means, nothing he needs to turn away from or hide. It's like a miracle, or some kind of dream that Dexter doesn't really want to wake up from. It seems too good to be true for someone like him, almost as if there's a chance it could be like this forever. It's like an alternate version of him, where he talks and doesn't have to fear anything anymore. 

And Doakes seems... different. Dexter never really thought he'd ever see him like this, calm, laughing, as if he'd never hated him before. It seems so strange. Sometimes he still remembers the way Doakes looked at him when he told him that Dexter made him feel sick; and now, all of that is gone. That distaste, the disappointment, everything Dexter knew so well, everything Dexter had come to expect so calmly. It's strange, because now Doakes looks at him with that look in his eyes that Dexter still doesn't know what it means. But it doesn't look like distaste, or even disappointment. It just seems... different. 

For a moment, he remembers something. "I was... being chased by a dog," Dexter says, after a pause in the conversation. "I fell on a wrought iron post. It was pretty bad, there was a lot of blood," he says, without really looking at Doakes. Why am I saying this? Why is he saying this? 

"Huh?" Doakes asks, confused. 

"The scar on my rib cage. You've always been curious, so..." Dexter explains calmly, looking at the man through his eyelashes. 

"Oh." Doakes presses his lips together. "That... must have hurt like hell."

"It hurt," Dexter grumbled, unconcerned. "But I think... what worried me the most was all that blood, I guess." Shut up, shut up. Just shut up, what am I doing? 

"I can imagine." Doakes nodded gently. "It must have been tough."

"So... There you have it, the answer to the question of the century." Dexter inhales, shaking his head softly. He tries not to make too many facial expressions, but still curses himself mentally. 

Doakes notices how disturbed Dexter seems, and although he doesn't really understand why, he sympathizes. Doakes hesitates. "You know, the time that I was in the military... it wasn't really good for my anger issues. If anything, it just made it worse. I couldn't—I couldn't control it, not after... Anyhow, there was a point where I thought it was just going to consume me entirely." He sighs deeply. "It was so fucking bad. I had to leave everything behind, it was... I don't know, I just thought there would never be anything else after that."

I wasn't supposed to know that. It doesn't seem right. Dexter was silent for a moment, looking at Doakes with his eyebrows almost drawn together. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, simply letting him continue. 

"And fucking hell, that... that wasn't new, man. It was always there, but it got worse. It got fucking worse, and I let it control me." Doakes shook his head with a bitter smile. "But fucking whatever." He cleared his throat with difficulty. 

Doakes looked at him for half a second before looking back down at his plate. Dexter should say something, he knows he should, but he doesn't know what. Shit. "You blame yourself." Dexter whispers. It's not a question. 

Doakes shrugs, looking away. "How the fuck could I not blame myself?"

Dexter doesn't have an answer for that. He really doesn't. "Sometimes anger is just pain," he whispers. "Pain that never leaves you, pain that will never leave you. Sometimes you just can't do anything about it."

Doakes looks at him out of the corner of his eye, breathing heavily. "Sometimes all you can do is leave, not allow your pain to hurt others." Dexter says, monotonously, and then looks at the table. 

Doakes remains silent, frowning. 

 "Anyway, I don't think it was your fault. You were just... being human." he sighs. Something I'll never know what it's like. Maybe he was spared from something much worse, at the end of the day. 

There is another brief silence. Doakes clears his throat. "That, huh, that was... Yeah, thanks, Dexter."

Dexter keeps on eating. "Yeah, no worries."

(. . .) 

Doakes ends up paying the bill, even though Dexter insists on splitting everything. They leave the restaurant quietly, and Dexter feels so calm that it's scary. It's a quiet night, Dexter looks up at the sky and watches the stars in such darkness, Doakes is beside him, silent, taking deep breaths. There is a brief thought that he is used to doing this on his boat, in the middle of the sea, alone; but here he is, on the sidewalk, with Doakes by his side. How peculiar. He would never get used to this. 

Dexter can feel Doakes approaching before anything else, and then feels his hand in the middle of his spine, pressing, just touching. Dexter looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and the other man is smiling calmly, one eyebrow raised. "Well, that was nice, wasn't it?" Doakes hums, smugly. 

Dexter looks back up at the stars. "Yeah, I suppose it was," he agrees softly.

"We should do this again sometime. Maybe you can pick the place next time."

It's strange to think there will be a next time. Dexter tightens his lips. "Okay. That would be... nice."

"Sure." Doakes' thumb strokes his back over his shirt, and it feels nice. "Come on, I'll take you home," he says, and then gently moves him over to where his car is parked. Doakes' hand doesn't leave his back.

(. . .) 

Before Doakes leaves, Dexter hesitates a moment before leaning over and kissing his cheek. Doakes closes his eyes and just smiles as Dexter moves away. "That's cute," Doakes whispers, and then presses his lips against Dexter's.

That night, he sleeps and dreams of nothing, but he goes to sleep thinking about the stars. And about Doakes. 

(. . .) 

The next day at work is even quieter, surprisingly. Another crime scene, no news on the Bay Harbor Butcher case, everything just seems... Dexter can't put his finger on it, but he knows something isn't right. Nothing ever is. He arrives at the crime scene with his camera in hand, his car parked not far away. Everyone is already there, except Debra, apparently. Dexter enters the room, already spotting a few drops of blood on the carpet in the living room. He crouches down and takes a few photos, analyzing the angle and how the blood is not yet completely dry. 

He gets up a few seconds later as he hears footsteps approaching in the hallway, and it's Doakes, who immediately looks at him silently. Dexter raises an eyebrow, and Doakes moves closer. "Morgan," he nods with a neutral expression. 

"Sergeant." Dexter nods back calmly, and then Doakes is at his side with a hand on his waist. Dexter frowns silently, while Doakes just squeezes his waist and moves out of the house. Well, okay, what the hell.

A few seconds later, Debra walks through the door behind him and nudges him in the shoulder. "Ow." He turns around, rubbing his shoulder, and comes face to face with his smiling sister.

"Dex, good morning, bro!" She is visibly happy, and Dexter doesn't quite understand why. 

"Deb. What was that for? " he grumbles, complaining.

"Nothing, I'm just dying to know about your... " she leans closer, looking around. "Date," she finishes, whispering. 

Dexter quickly looks away. "Deb, come on, not here," he whispers.

"Okay, okay, later then?" she nods.

"Later. At lunch," Dexter says calmly. "Especially when he's not around."

"All right, you got it, Dex."

"Look, if it isn't the brother and sister." Masuka approaches, coming out of the same hallway Doakes had left earlier. "What are you two whispering about, hm?" 

"Fuck off, Masuka, it's family stuff." Deb gives Vince the middle finger.

"Now I'm even more curious. Come on, tell Daddy everything." Masuka smiles openly. 

Right behind him, Batista approaches. "How about we let Dexter do his job, yeah?" He squeezes Masuka's shoulder tightly. 

Dexter smiles softly at Batista. "Thanks, Angel." Then he moves to pass them both. 

(. . .) 

"Damn, he paid the bill?" Deb mutters as she sits down in front of him on the bench. They were both having lunch not far from the station. 

Dexter shrugs, nodding as he chews his hot dog. 

"I never imagined him as the gentlemen type." Deb mutters to herself. "Shit, this is all so weird..."

Dexter looks at her, his cheeks stuffed with food, one eyebrow raised. 

"No, I mean, not like that," she clarifies. "It's just... It's Doakes, man. He wanted to kill you a few months ago, how is he taking you on fucking dates now?"

Dexter finishes chewing. "I don't know. It's confusing to me too."

"Maybe it's that hate sex thing, yeah?" she asks, staring at him.

Dexter's eyes widen, and he moves back a little. "No, what the hell — Deb."

She narrows her eyes. "No, no... You're embarrassed now, I know you, Dex."

He has a frown on his face. "I'm not going to talk about this with you. It's not happening."

"Why not? I always tell you about my boyfriends," she complains.

"Which I don't particularly actively listen to," he retorts, giving her a sour look. "You need to learn about boundaries."

"Okay, okay, Jesus." She raises her hands in surrender, then takes a bite of her sandwich. 

Dexter takes a deep breath, allowing himself to enjoy the moment, peace at last. And his sister, who never stops talking, in front of him. Things seem right for a moment. "I still can't believe he took you to his mother's house," Deb murmurs as she chews. 

"There was nothing really going on between us at that point, at least the two of us thought there would never be anything between us. " he exhales. 

"And now there is," she finishes, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. 

Dexter licks his lips. "Well... yes. I guess so."

"It's just that what's happening between you two doesn't have a name yet," she continues. 

"More or less."

His sister just looks at him, smiles, and then shakes her head. 

Dexter narrows his eyes. "What is it?"

"It's just... Is this new? Like, you dating men." 

Dexter hesitates, clearing his throat. "I've never dated anyone, but... no, it's not. " 

She rests her elbow on the table and props her chin on her hand, looking at him. "When? Who? "

"During college. His name was Cameron. We only went out a couple of times," he says calmly. 

"Damn, Dexter, it's nice to see you in a different light, you know. Tell me more," she encourages him. 

He rolls his eyes. "There's not much to tell, it didn't work out. I was young."

"Yeah, I guess." She mumbles. "Was he the only one?"

"Basically, yes." He mutters, not really feeling like talking about it anymore. 

"Mm." She sighs, still smiling. "This is nice, us, talking."

Dexter nods calmly, finishing his hot dog. 

"So, are you going out with Doakes again?"

Dexter swallows, cleaning his mouth with his napkin. "I think so, he told me to pick the place this time. "

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh, so you really are going on another date." She smiles at him from the corner of her lips. 

"You seem more excited about this than I am," he comments casually. 

"That's because you're never excited about anything, brother. So I'm here to feel your fucking feelings for you," she says with emphasis. 

"I just don't see why this is such a big deal." He takes a sip of water from his glass. 

"Maybe it's because the man who hated you months ago now fucking likes you."

Dexter closes his eyes. "He doesn't like me, he just..."

"Are you kidding me?" Deb says, incredulous. "Your lack of self-esteem really gets to me, Dexter."

"That's just... stupid. And I don't think about it at all anyway." He grunts, pressing his palm firmly against his eyes. 

"I mean, fuck, maybe he even loves—"

Dexter grinds his teeth tightly. "Can we just stop talking about this, fuck—" There is static in his ears, and suddenly he feels wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Deb seems surprised by his reaction, there is a frown between her eyebrows. "Okay, Dex."

The static takes over his brain and it's too late, that emptiness is there, reality, what awaits him. It grabs him and pulls him down and he doesn't try to fight it; he never really tried. He doesn't—what was there to fucking like about him anyway? There is a deep silence from Dexter, who stares at the table without blinking, and Deb recognizes when he does this, when he goes somewhere else. It's scary.

She sighs, looks at the time on her phone, it's time to go back. She carefully touches his arm, and he blinks slowly. "Time to go back, Dex," she whispers calmly. 

He finally looks at her, then nods and gets up, silently. He stays quiet most of the day. Why would she say that, why? 

(. . .) 

He forces himself not to think about it for the rest of the day because there is nothing to think about. There is nothing to consider, let alone say, but Deb seems a little too worried for the rest of the day. She knows she said something wrong. Still, Dexter ignores it and does his job in silence. What the fuck does he know about love anyway? 

It was just Deb being Deb, his sister who loves him so much and knows as little about love as he does, his sister who feels too much precisely where he feels nothing. His sister, who is the only person in the world who loves him. And that was the truth. Fuck, the day was really a bit too quiet to be true.