Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The scent of cheap cologne and sweat hit Dexter like a wall the moment he stepped into The Salsa Room. He immediately regretted letting Angel talk him into this. The bass from the music thumped in his chest, a relentless pulse that made it hard to think. He scanned the room, his eyes catching on the flashing lights and the chaotic swirl of bodies on the dance floor, wondering again why he’d agreed to come.

Angel was already in his element, laughing loudly as he danced with two women who seemed more amused than impressed by his energy. Dexter watched from the bar, nursing his second beer—his self-imposed limit—while Angel kept waving him over, mouthing something about loosening up. Dexter shook his head and stayed put. He wasn’t here to dance or flirt or whatever Angel had in mind. He was here because Angel had insisted, and somehow, Dexter couldn’t say no.

As Angel twirled one of the women, Dexter caught a glimpse of his grin, wide and unapologetic. It was the kind of grin that made Dexter feel like he was missing something, some secret to life that Angel had cracked wide open. Dexter frowned into his beer. What was it about Angel that made him so... relentless? Absolutely convinced they were friends? They weren’t. At least, Dexter didn’t think so.

A woman slid onto the stool next to him, her perfume strong and floral. She leaned in close, her voice cutting through the noise. “You look like you’re waiting for something.”

Dexter glanced at her, noting the way her smile seemed pasted on.

“No, I’m just waiting for my friend to finish dancing so we can leave,” he replied, turning away from her.

The woman raised an eyebrow, her smile faltering for a moment, before she shrugged and slid off the stool, disappearing into the crowd. Dexter exhaled, relieved to be left alone again. He glanced back at the dance floor, where Angel was now spinning both women under his arms, his laughter loud enough to cut through the music. Dexter couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance. Angel was like a force of nature, impossible to ignore and even harder to understand.

Dexter turned back to his beer, swirling it idly in the glass. He didn’t belong here, surrounded by strangers and noise. He should’ve stayed home, focused on his personal project—something he could control, something that made sense. But Angel had been insistent, his enthusiasm contagious in a way Dexter couldn’t quite resist. “Come on, Dex,” Angel had said earlier that day, slapping him on the back. “You gotta help me celebrate this bump. Drinks are on me!”

Dexter hesitated, his usual excuses ready on his tongue. But Angel bulldozed right over them, his grin unwavering. “Blow off whatever you’re doing. This is important! We’re friends, right?”

Friends. The word echoed in Dexter’s mind now as he sipped his beer, bitterness lingering on his tongue. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to give Angel that impression. They worked together, sure, but that was it. Dexter didn’t do friends—not really. Not like this.

The sound of someone collapsing onto the stool beside him pulled Dexter from his thoughts. It was Angel grinning at him as he knocked back a double shot of tequila and ordered another.

“Maybe you should slow down on the tequila,” he suggested.

Angel leaned in closer, his breath heavy with the overwhelming tang of tequila. “Come on, Dex, one more drink won’t kill you. Live a little!”

Dexter shook his head, his fingers tightening around the beer glass. “I’m done. I’ve got to be up early. Some of us actually catch killers for a living.”

Angel laughed, slapping Dexter’s back with a force that made him wince. “Always so serious, man. You ever just let go?”

Dexter glanced at the dance floor, where Angel had been spinning those women like they were part of some elaborate game. “Does your wife mind you being out here, flirting like that?”

Angel shrugged, his grin never faltering. “Nah, man. As long as I bring home ‘la pasión,’ she’s fine with it. Keeps things spicy, you know?”

Dexter frowned. “What about communication? Trust? Emotions?”

Angel waved a hand dismissively, his grin turning sly. “Don’t go down that emotional road, Dex. Just go down on her. Works every time.”

Dexter stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or walk away. Angel didn’t seem to notice, already turning back toward the dance floor with a wink. “Stay loose, buddy. I’ll be back.”

As Angel headed back to the dance floor, Dexter felt a tap on his shoulder. A woman leaned in close, her perfume overpowering the smoky air. “So, what do you want to do tonight?”

Dexter rose from his seat, a familiar darkness clouding his thoughts. "Bathroom," he muttered, turning away from her. By the time he returned, she was gone, but Angel remained at the center of the dance floor, a shot glass clutched in each hand like trophies. With a weary exhale, Dexter reclaimed his barstool, watching the spectacle with resigned disapproval.

Dexter leaned back against the bar as he watched Angel’s antics with a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so carefree, so utterly unconcerned with the consequences of their actions. It was exhausting just to watch. He glanced at his beer, now warm and flat, and pushed it aside. He’d had enough.

As Angel stumbled back toward him, his grin widening with each step, Dexter braced himself for another round of unwanted enthusiasm. “Come on, Dex,” Angel slurred, clapping a hand on Dexter’s shoulder. “One more drink. You’re killing the vibe.”

“I’m killing the vibe?” Dexter muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not the one who can barely stand.”

Angel laughed, a loud, uninhibited sound that made Dexter cringe. “Relax, man. You’re wound tighter than a spring. Let loose for once.”

Dexter glanced toward the exit, calculating the quickest route out of the club. “I think I’ve let loose enough for tonight,” he said, his tone clipped. “And you’re in no condition to drive. Let’s get you home.”

Angel waved him off, swaying slightly on his feet. “Home? Nah, man. The night’s still young,” he said as he ordered two more shots and sucked both down in one gulp.

“Where’d my dance partners go?” Angel called out as he swiveled around fast on the barstool. Too fast, because he fell flat on his ass, but his sloppy grin never faded.

“Okay,” Dex said as he hauled his burly compadre up off the floor. “It’s time to get you home.”

Half dragging, half carrying Angel out of the Salsa Room, Dexter somehow managed to get him into his car. Dexter remembered where he lived because his wife invited him to Angel’s birthday party last year, so he put the car in gear and headed in that direction.

Dexter unlocked the house door with Angel’s keys, dragged him inside, and dumped him on the couch. Nina came down the stairs hurriedly. “What’s going on?” she asked with a frown.

“I’m sorry, Nina, but Angel had a few too many shots of tequila,” Dexter explained. “He wasn’t in any condition to drive.”

Nina shook her head. “Well, he can’t stay here, Dexter. I guess he didn’t tell you that we’re separated. I filed for divorce last week, so you’ve got to take him with you.”

Dexter blinked at Nina, processing her words slowly. Separated? Divorce? He glanced down at Angel, who was sprawled on the couch, his snores filling the room. “He didn’t mention it,” Dexter said finally, his voice flat.

Nina crossed her arms, her expression tight. “Figures. He’s been drinking more since I told him I wanted out. Guess he didn’t want to admit it to anyone, not even you.”

Dexter frowned. He wasn’t sure what to say. Angel had been acting like nothing was wrong, laughing and joking as if his life was perfect. But now, standing in this house that wasn’t his home anymore, Dexter felt a strange pang of sympathy. Or maybe it was just discomfort. He wasn’t sure.

“I’ll take him to my place,” Dexter said finally, bending down to hoist Angel back up. The man groaned, but didn’t wake, his head lolling against Dexter’s shoulder.

Nina nodded, her expression softening slightly. “Thanks, Dexter. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Friend. The word stuck in Dexter’s mind as he half-carried, half-dragged Angel back to the car. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to hearing it.

Back at his apartment, Dexter dumped Angel onto the couch and went to make coffee. By the time he returned, Angel was stirring, his hand pressed to his forehead like he was trying to ward off a headache.

“Where am I?” Angel mumbled, squinting up at Dexter.

“My place,” Dexter answered curtly. “You’ve been lying to me, Angel. I took you to your old house first, and Nina said she’s filed for divorce.”

Angel’s eyes were bloodshot but bright, his grin lopsided as he leaned forward on the couch. “Yeah, okay, you caught me,” he said, spreading his hands as if admitting to a minor offense. “Nina and I are done, but it was her decision. I tried to work it out with her for Auri’s sake.”

Dexter crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. “You didn’t think to mention that before I took you home?”

“Didn’t see the point,” Angel said with a shrug, his tone somewhat deflated. “I’m still figuring things out. It’s...complicated.”

“Complicated,” Dexter repeated with a dramatic sigh, his voice dripping with skepticism. He wasn’t sure what to make of Angel’s evasion tactics.

“Here drink this,” Dexter said, handing Angel a cup of coffee.

Angel leaned back against the couch cushions, his gaze drifting to Dexter. “You know, Dex,” he said suddenly, his tone shifting into something softer, almost thoughtful. “You’re a good guy. I mean, you didn’t have to bring me here. You could’ve left me passed out in that club.”

Dexter shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond. “I couldn’t leave you passed out in a club—I’m not a monster,” he muttered finally, glancing away.

Angel chuckled, the sound low and warm. “No, you’re not. But you’re...different. Serious. Intense. Like—wound tighter than a top. Really, you need to let loose before you have a stroke.”

Dexter smiled. “I’m fine, really,” Dexter assured him.

As Angel and Dexter sipped on coffee, they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Dexter saw Angel watching him intently, and the scrutiny made him shaky inside, but Dexter couldn’t fathom why.

Finally, Dexter broke the silence, getting up and putting his cup in the sink. “I’ll make the couch up for you, Angel. You’re still in no shape to drive.”

“Thanks, Dex,” Angel replied with an easy grin. “You’re too good to me.”

Dexter grabbed a blanket from the closet and tossed it onto the couch, avoiding Angel’s gaze. The man was still sitting there, slumped and disheveled, but his eyes were fixed on Dexter with an intensity that made his skin prickle. He could feel Angel’s stare burning into him as he fluffed the pillow and laid it down with more force than necessary.

“There,” Dexter said, straightening up and brushing his hands off. “You’re all set.”

Angel’s lips curled into a slow, lazy smile. “Always so thoughtful, Dex,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “You sure you don’t wanna tuck me in too?”

Dexter froze, his jaw tightening. He shot Angel a hard look, but the man just laughed, the sound rich and warm, filling the small apartment. Dexter turned away, his face heating despite himself. He wasn’t sure why Angel’s words were getting under his skin tonight, but they were.

“I’m going to bed,” Dexter muttered, heading toward his bedroom. “Don’t make a mess.”

“Aw, come on, Dex,” Angel called after him, with mock disappointment. “You’re leaving me all alone out here? What if I get lonely?”

Angel got up off the couch, swaying just slightly as he moved closer to Dexter. The closer Angel got, the more Dexter backed up, until Angel finally had him backed all the way up against the kitchen counter. Angel leaned in and stroked the side of Dexter’s face ever so lightly with his fingertips as he pressed closer.

“Angel,” Dex said with what almost sounded like a sigh. “What are you doing?”

Angel’s fingers traced a slow, deliberate line down Dexter’s cheek, his breath warm and tinged with the strong scent of tequila. Dexter’s heart thudded in his chest—something that never happened—a mix of confusion and something he couldn’t quite name. He pressed a hand against Angel’s chest, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his shirt.

“Angel,” Dexter said, his tone low but firm. “This isn’t—”

“Isn’t what?” Angel interrupted, his grin sly as he leaned in closer. “Fun? Exciting? Spontaneous? Come on, Dex. You’re always so serious. Let’s shake things up.”

Dexter’s mind raced. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t even considered it. Angel was drunk, his judgment clouded, and yet there was something in his eyes, something raw and unguarded that Dexter couldn’t ignore. He swallowed hard, his palm on Angel’s chest tightening.

“I didn’t know you were bisexual,” Dexter said as a storm of thoughts swirled in his head.

Angel chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Dex. But hey, tonight’s about celebrating, right? Let’s celebrate.”

Dexter hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling—discomfort, curiosity, maybe even a hint of temptation. He glanced toward the couch, the blanket still crumpled where he’d tossed it earlier. Angel followed his gaze, his grin widening.

“Come on Dex, stop thinking so much,” Angel teased. “Let me kiss you,” Angel said, leaning closer, his hot breath on Dexter's throat.

Dexter’s breath hitched as Angel’s lips brushed against his throat, the warmth of the contact sending an unexpected jolt through him. He could feel the weight of Angel’s body pressing him against the counter, the heat of his skin radiating through their clothes. Dexter’s hand still rested on Angel’s chest, but his resolve wavered. He didn’t pull away.

“Angel,” Dexter moaned as the large inebriated detective nuzzled his neck . Dexter's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, but mostly disbelief. “You’re drunk. This isn’t—this isn’t a good idea.”

Angel chuckled, low and throaty, his breath hot against Dexter’s throat. “Who cares about good ideas?” he murmured, his fingers trailing down Dexter’s arm. “This is a great idea. You’re thinking too much again, Dex. Just let it happen—just feel.”

Dexter's pulse raced. He wasn’t used to this—to being caught off guard, to feeling so... unsettled. But there was something in Angel’s voice, something dynamic and sizzling, that made Dexter hesitate. He glanced at Angel’s face, so close now, his eyes dark and intense. When Angel pressed his erection against his thigh, Dexter realized he was hard too. Harder than he’d ever been in his life.

Angel took the opportunity to pull Dexter flush against his chest, kissing him while shoving his tongue in his mouth. Dexter tensed, but still didn’t pull away. As Angel ran his hands up Dexter’s back, he felt himself falling into the kiss, a small moan escaping his lips.

Dexter's hesitation gave way to a growing desire as Angel's kisses became more intense and demanding. He felt himself being pulled closer, their bodies melding together in a primal dance of need and lust. Angel's hands roamed over his back, down his sides, and back up again, sending electric shocks through his entire system. It was as if Angel had awakened dormant senses that he never knew existed before.

As they continued to explore each other's bodies through their clothes, Dexter's mind raced with questions and doubts about what this meant for them both. He knew that this was something that should not be happening between them, but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to stop it.

With a deep breath, Dexter gave in fully to the moment, returning Angel's kisses with equal fervor. Their tongues tangled together in a fiery embrace that left him breathless. He wrapped his arms around Angel's neck, pulling him closer still, and moaned softly against his lips.

Angel's kisses trailed down Dexter's jawline, across his neck, and Adam’s apple. His hands found the hem of Dexter's shirt and started lifting it up slowly, exposing more of his skin to the warmth of Angel's touch.

Dexter shivered with pleasure as Angel's lips brushed over the shell of his ear, his heart racing faster than ever before. “Let’s take this in the bedroom,” Angel murmured against Dexter’s earlobe.

Dexter's mouth parted in a silent gasp as Angel pulled away and started towards the bedroom. His heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline and fear coursed through his veins. He followed Angel, unable to resist the pull towards him, yet unsure of what would happen next.

As they entered the bedroom, Angel turned around to face Dexter, pinning him against the door with his gaze. Without saying a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt and slowly lifted it over his head, revealing his bare chest. The look in Angel's eyes was intense, fiery, and deeply passion-filled. Dexter felt his breath catch in his throat, his body reacting instinctively to the sensation of being so desired.

Angel stepped closer, his warm breath brushing across Dexter's skin as he whispered, "You're so fucking beautiful."

With a shaky breath, Dexter reached up to touch Angel's cheek, his fingers trembling slightly. He'd never done anything like this before, and yet, he couldn't deny the fire that was igniting inside him. As their lips met once more, their bodies pressed together, electricity sizzling between them.

Their kisses grew deeper and more intense, as if they were trying to consume each other whole. Angel's hands roamed over Dexter's bare back until finally, Angel pulled Dexter over to the bed and pushed him down on it. Angel stripped quickly and then proceeded to pull off Dexter’s pants and underwear. Angel's eyes glinted with anticipation as he crawled over Dexter, his muscular frame silhouetted against the dim light of the room. Dexter's heart raced, his skin prickling with excitement or dread—he couldn’t quite tell.

Angel made his way down to Dexter's exposed chest, his lips trailing a scorching path along Dexter's jawline and over his neck. Dexter arched his back involuntarily, gasps escaping his lips as Angel's exploratory hands roamed across his firm stomach and down to his hips.

With one swift motion, Angel pinned Dexter's wrists above his head, their gazes locked in a heated standoff. Despite the fear racing through him, Dexter couldn't deny the thrill coursing through his veins at this newfound power play. His heart thundered in his ears as he felt Angel's hot breath against his ear. "Are you ready for this?"

The question hung in the air, taunting Dexter's vulnerability. Unable to find his voice, he nodded hesitantly, feeling his lower half throb in anticipation. The teasing kisses and caresses between their bodies had left him aching for more, and despite the doubts plaguing his mind, he knew he couldn't resist.

“Don’t be afraid,” Angel whispered in his ear. “I would never hurt you.”

“Please,” Dexter murmured.

Angel trailed his lips down Dexter's jaw, mapping every inch of his skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses. His tongue teased the sensitive skin beneath Dexter's ear, sending shivers down his spine. Dexter arched into the touch, unable to resist the pull of Angel's mouth on his skin.

With a sigh, Angel reluctantly pulled back and leaned down to capture Dexter's lips again. This time, it was a slow, gentle kiss, their tongues dancing sensually against each other. Angel nibbled on Dexter's lower lip, eliciting a soft moan from his throat. As they continued to kiss, Angel's hand snaked down between them, brushing against the sensitive skin of Dexter's thigh.

Dexter gasped into the kiss, his body tensing in anticipation. He felt a rush of heat pooling in his groin as Angel's hand moved upwards, tracing circles over his inner thigh. With a whispered "I want you," Angel slipped his hand lower, gently spreading Dexter's legs apart.

A tremor ran through Dexter's entire body, causing him to push further into Angel's touch. His heart was racing now, every inch of his skin tingling with anticipation. As Angel's fingertips brushed against the bare flesh of his erection, Dexter moaned in pleasure.

Angel looked up briefly, noticing the bottle of lotion sitting on the bedside table. He quickly grabbed his pants off the floor and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, where he removed a wrapped package. He put on the condom and slicked it with the lotion as he returned to the task at hand.

Dexter closed his eyes, basking in the sensation of Angel's warm fingers on his skin. He couldn't believe how quickly his body responded to Angel's touch; this intensity was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. His heart pounded against his chest as he felt Angel's other hand slide up his side and graze a thumbnail over his nipple.

As the pressure from Angel's fingers intensified, Dexter gasped and arched his back involuntarily, offering more access to his exposed flesh. He could hear Angel's shallow breaths, matching his own, and felt the weight of his gaze on every inch of his skin.

Suddenly, Angel broke away from their heated embrace and rolled them over so that Dexter was now on top. The room spun for a moment before Dexter found his bearings and looked down at Angel, whose eyes were still locked onto his. Something in that look made Dexter shiver with anticipation.

Angel situated Dexter over his cock, spreading his ass cheeks wider. “When you feel ready, just slide down, baby. There’s plenty of lube; it should be okay. I want you to ride me.”

With trembling hands, Dexter reached between them and grasped Angel's cock, guiding it to his entrance. The head of Angel's thick shaft pressed against his tight opening, causing Dexter to gasp in pain. "Are you okay?" Angel asked, his words filled with concern.

Dexter nodded, biting his lip. He took a deep breath, gathered all his courage, and slowly began to lower himself onto Angel. The sensation was incredible, yet overwhelming—every nerve ending in his body was on fire as he gradually took more of Angel's length inside him. As he sank deeper, their moans filled the room.

Angel held his hips gently, anchoring him in place. "Fuck, Dexter," he groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet Dexter's downward motion. Dexter clung to Angel, feeling the muscles in his arms ripple beneath his fingertips. His entire world centered around this intense bond between their bodies—it was exhilarating—like nothing he’d ever felt before.

As they rocked together in a fluid rhythm, Dexter's movements became more confident by the second, and the room spun out of control. Their skin slick with sweat reflected the dim light of the bedside lamp, casting shadows and silhouettes of them dancing across the ceiling. Dexter arched his back as he took every inch of Angel’s cock inside him.

"You feel so good, baby," Angel groaned as he gripped Dexter’s hips tighter.

As their bodies swayed in unison, Dexter quickened the pace. Angel's hips met Dexter's downward thrusts with equal force, their moans filling the air as they lost themselves in the moment. The heat between them intensified, their sweat mingling on slick skin.

Angel reached up and pulled him down for a deep, passionate kiss. Their tongues tangled as they explored each other's mouths, teasing and taunting one another. Their synchronized rhythm never faltered, each thrust pushing them closer to the edge.

Dexter's eyes fluttered shut, his head thrown back in ecstasy when Angel released him.

Angel upped the ante when he started stroking Dexter’s cock roughly from root to tip.

Dexter's body trembled as Angel's rough fingers teased his cock, desperately trying to hold on to the brink of ecstasy. With each stroke, he could feel the tension building inside him, like a rubber band about to snap. He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back again, letting out a hoarse moan.

The sensation was too much, yet not enough. As he felt the first droplets of his release splatter against his stomach, he cried out, arching his back and digging his nails into Angel's shoulders.

Angel's hands gripped Dexter’s hips with bruising force as he surrendered to the inevitable. His hips bucked wildly, driving himself deeper into Dexter's arching body over and over again until he too burst at the seams, his orgasm exploding like hot molten lava from an erupting volcano.

Dexter collapsed on top of Angel; their sweaty bodies stuck together like glue. Breathing hard, he gazed down at Angel, who was passed out cold. Gently smoothing back Angel’s hair from his forehead, he couldn't help but wonder if Angel would even remember this in the morning.

Dexter got up and went to take a shower, his mind still reeling. He’d just had the most intense orgasm of his life, and he figured it was probably the last time he’d ever feel this way. That is until he felt Angel slide into the shower behind him.

“Are you up for round two?” Angel whispered in his ear, and he shivered from the contact.

Dexter chuckled. “Are we making this a thing?”

“If you want it to be,” Angel replied.

“Um, we’ll have to be really careful, Angel,” Dexter replied in all seriousness. “You know Doakes watches my every move.”

“Don’t worry about Doakes, baby,” Angel replied confidently. “I’ll take care of him,” Angel said as he gently pushed his hard cock back inside Dexter's pliant ass.

Chapter Text

Dexter spent the next few days at work walking on eggshells, trying to find his footing in this unexpected situation. When Angel proposed they share an apartment—it would cut costs, plus no one would raise an eyebrow after he told everyone about his split from Nina—Dexter found himself considering it, despite his better judgment. And he still hadn't decided how to deal with Rita—what on earth was he going to say to her? 'I'm sorry, but I have to break up with you because I'm interested in Angel.' He didn't think that would go down well. Plus, what was he going to tell his sister?

As the days dragged on, Dexter found himself growing more and more unsettled. The idea of living with Angel started to seem less like a good idea and more like a terrible one. He could feel the tension building inside him, like a pressure cooker about to explode. He knew he had to do something, but he wasn't sure what.

Finally, on Friday night, as they left work together, Dexter mustered up the courage to broach the subject. They walked in silence for a few minutes until Dexter couldn't take it anymore. "Look, Angel," he said, stopping in the middle of the parking lot. “Maybe we should rethink you moving in with me.”

“Baby,” Angel said with his usual grin. “You’ve just got cold feet. We can make this work—okay?”

Dexter sighed, but smirked anyway. “Okay—but I hate to tell you this—we’ve got an audience.”

“Doakes again?” Angel growled, glancing over his shoulder.

“Ah huh,” Dexter muttered. “He’s eyeing me like I’m about to slit your throat.”

Angel’s grin faltered for half a second, his eyes narrowing as he gazed toward the shadowy corner of the parking lot where Doakes stood, arms crossed and expression unreadable. Dexter could feel the hatred of the sergeant’s stare like a physical blow, cold and unnerving. It wasn’t just the usual suspicion—this felt different, sharper, as though Doakes had pieced together something Dexter hadn’t even realized he’d revealed.

“He’s an ass,” Angel said. “I don’t know why he’s got it in for you.”

Dexter shook his head, though the tightness in his chest didn’t ease. He glanced at Angel, noticing the faint tension in his eyes and the way his fingers twitched as if itching for something to do. It was rare for Angel to show even a hint of unease, and that, more than anything, made Dexter’s stomach twist.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dexter said, turning toward his car. The asphalt felt unforgiving beneath his shoes, every step echoing in the silence of the empty lot. He could still feel Doakes’s eyes on his back, burning through his jacket like a brand.

Angel followed without a word, but the usual swagger in his step was muted, replaced by something quieter. They reached Dexter’s car, and Angel leaned against the hood, folding his arms over his chest as Dexter unlocked the doors.

Angel spoke quietly. “I’ll follow you home in my car, but you can leave first, and I’ll watch to see if Doakes takes off in pursuit.”

Dexter hesitated. “Okay, but what if he does? What then? You gonna pull in behind him, drag him out of his car, and slap some sense into his dumb ass?”

Angel’s grin returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Nah, but that’s an interesting idea. You go ahead, Dex. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Dexter nodded, though the unease in his gut didn’t settle. He slid into the driver’s seat, the leather of the steering wheel sticking slightly to his sweaty palms as he gripped the steering wheel. The engine roared to life, and he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Doakes making his way to his own vehicle.

As Dexter pulled out of the lot, he kept his pace slow, glancing back every few seconds. Sure enough, Doakes pulled out of the parking lot right behind Dexter, but Angel was on Doakes’ tail too. Dexter had a bad feeling—he knew Angel would fight to defend him, but could he take Doakes?”

Dexter’s hands tightened on the wheel as he drove through the streets, his pulse quickening with each glance at the rearview mirror. Doakes’s car loomed behind him, headlights cutting through the darkness like twin beams of unrelenting scrutiny. Angel’s vehicle was further back, a shadowy presence trailing the sergeant. Dexter’s mind kicked into overdrive, trying to piece together a plan, but all he could think about was the inevitable confrontation brewing behind him.

The traffic light ahead turned red, and Dexter slowed to a stop, his foot tapping restlessly on the brake pedal. He glanced in the mirror again, catching Doakes’s silhouette illuminated by the glow of streetlights. Angel’s car idled a few lengths behind Doakes, the tension palpable even from a distance.

When the light turned green, Dexter accelerated cautiously, his gaze darting between the road and the mirror. Doakes followed suit, maintaining the same pace. Angel did the same, creating an eerie procession through the quiet streets. Dexter’s palms were slick with sweat, the steering wheel feeling unfamiliar in his grip. He wondered if Angel would intervene if things escalated—and if he did, how far it would go.

After a few blocks, Dexter spotted a side street and turned abruptly, hoping to shake Doakes off his tail. The sergeant mirrored the maneuver without hesitation, his car clinging to Dexter’s like a predator stalking its prey. Angel’s car stayed close, but Dexter couldn’t keep this up all night.

At last, Dexter decided he was done and made his way home, prepared to face whatever consequences awaited. He drove into his parking space, turned off the car, and walked to the front door, where he unsteadily inserted the key into the lock.

Dexter pushed open the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him quickly. The familiar scent of stale coffee and laundry detergent greeted him, but it did little to calm his nerves. He flipped on the light, the sudden brightness making him squint as he scanned the room. Everything seemed normal—so he exhaled slowly, trying to shake the jittery feeling slithering up his spine.

The sound of a car engine idling outside caught his attention, and he froze. He didn’t need to look to know it was Doakes—or maybe Angel. Or both. Dexter’s stomach churned as he hesitated by the door, debating whether to peek through the blinds. He didn’t want to give Doakes the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled him, but the idea of the sergeant sitting out there, watching, was enough to make his skin crawl.

Instead, Dexter forced himself to move, tossing his keys onto the counter and shrugging off his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands damp with sweat, and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was late, but sleep felt like a distant impossibility. His mind was racing, replaying the events of the night over and over—Doakes’s unflinching stare, Angel’s uneasy grin, the tension in the air that felt almost suffocating.

He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water; his hands trembling slightly as a knock sounded on the door. It was Angel’s familiar ‘Shave and a Haircut’ knock, so he hurried to the door and let his lover in.

“Is he gone?” Dexter asked, taking a quick glance out the open door.

“Yeah, he took off as soon as I pulled up behind him,” Angel said with a smile.

“How are we gonna explain your presence?” Dexter asked worriedly.

Angel gave Dexter his patented ‘I got everything under control’ look. “Simple, I’m gonna drop the bomb about Nina throwing me out tomorrow morning, and that you, out of the kindness of your heart, took me in. I’ll tell em, I got a lot of bills, plus child support, so it’ll work out good for both of us to share expenses. Relax! Nobody will question it. Now, how about you stop worrying and kiss me?”

Dexter hesitated, not entirely sure about this plan. He wanted to believe Angel, to trust that this would work, but the knot in his stomach refused to loosen. Still, the warmth of Angel’s smile and the playful glint in his eyes were hard to resist. Dexter stepped closer, his breath catching as Angel’s hand brushed against his cheek.

“Fine,” Dexter said, his voice softer than he intended. “But if this blows up in our faces, it’s on you.”

Angel chuckled, leaning in until their foreheads touched. “Deal. Now stop talking and kiss me.”

Dexter’s lips met Angel’s, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the worry, the paranoia, the lingering presence of Doakes outside. It was just the two of them, sandwiched together in the dim light of Dexter’s apartment. Angel’s hands slid around his waist, pulling him closer, and Dexter let himself melt into the kiss, the tension in his shoulders easing.

But the moment couldn’t last forever. Dexter broke away first, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. “We need to figure this out,” he murmured, resting his forehead against Angel’s. “Doakes isn’t going to let this go. He’s watching me, Angel. We need to figure out why.”

Angel’s grin faltered, his brow furrowing as he pulled back slightly. “Let him watch. He’s got nothing on us—or you. Besides, we’ve got bigger things to worry about than Doakes. You still have to break it off with your girlfriend.”

“I know,” Dex said, sighing. “I’m trying to figure out how, but I promise, I will.”

“C’mon, baby, let’s grab a shower and some dessert—if you know what I mean,” Angel said with a wink.

And yes, Dexter knew exactly what he meant, as his over-amorous lover led him into the bedroom.

The shower steamed up the bathroom, the hot water cascading over Dexter’s shoulders as he tried to focus on the warmth instead of the storm brewing within him. Angel stood behind him, humming softly as he lathered his hands with soap, his movements unhurried and unbothered. Dexter envied his confidence, the way Angel seemed to traverse every situation with ease, as if the world couldn’t touch him. But Dexter couldn’t shake the gnawing unease that clung to him. There was something off about the way Doakes looked at him—something other than just suspicion.

He turned his face into the spray, letting the water wash away the sweat and grime of the day, but it couldn’t cleanse the tension knotting his muscles. Thoughts of Rita lingered in the back of his mind—a nagging reminder of the conversation he kept postponing. How could he even begin to explain it to her? And what would she say when she found out about Angel? Dexter’s stomach churned at the thought, his fingers tightening around the edge of the shower wall.

Angel’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, soft and teasing. “You’re too tight, Dex. Relax.” His hand rested on Dexter’s shoulder, warm and grounding, and Dexter leaned into the touch, letting out a slow breath. “You’re right,” he murmured, though his mind still buzzed with uncertainty.

Angel soaked several fingers with body wash while he nibbled on Dexter’s neck. He began by inserting one finger, gradually stretching his tense lover. After a few minutes, Angel inserted a second finger, stretching with the same gentle pressure. Once a third finger entered the mix, Dexter moaned loudly and pushed back on Angel’s fingers. “Um, maybe you could just go ahead and fuck me now—please?” Dex begged shamelessly.

Angel chuckled under his breath. “Whatever makes you happy, baby,” he replied, pulling Dexter’s hips back slightly to get a better angle.

Dexter exhaled deeply as Angel’s fingers withdrew from his well-worked hole. His body thrummed with anticipation, every nerve alight. He braced himself against the tiled wall, his breath coming in shallow waves. The water continued to stream over them, muffling the sound of Angel’s low groan.

“Ready?” Angel’s words were soft but thick with promise, his hands gripping Dexter’s hips firmly.

Dexter nodded, murmuring something incoherent. He could feel Angel’s presence behind him, the heat radiating from his body, and the faint brush of his breath against his shoulder blades. Then, slowly, Angel pressed forward, and Dexter’s breath hitched, his fingers scrabbling against the slick tiles for purchase. The initial stretch was acute, an almost electric sensation that quickly melted into something more intense, more consuming.

“That’s it,” Angel murmured, his hands steadying Dexter’s hips. “Just breathe.”

Dexter tried to obey, forcing himself to inhale deeply, even as his body trembled. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure threaded with a raw, animalistic edge that left him aching for more. He felt every inch as Angel moved with slow, measured strokes, his rhythm a perfect counterpoint to Dexter’s ragged breaths. The water cascaded over them, droplets catching in Dexter’s eyelashes, blurring his vision as he clung to the wall.

Angel’s hands slid up his sides, fingers tracing the curve of his ribs, before teasing his erect nipples, pulling lightly at the pert nubs. He slid his hands further south, grabbing hold of one hip while reaching around and fondling Dexter’s balls with his other hand.

“Oh God,” Dexter moaned breathlessly as he slammed his ass backwards on Angel’s shaft.

“Fuck, baby,” Angel groaned. “You’re so fucking hot—so fucking tight.”

Angel’s thrusts gained force and speed as desire coursed through his veins, pumping his cock into Dexter’s ass like a jackhammer.

The water continued to cascade over them, muffling Dexter’s cries as Angel’s thrusts grew more erratic. Dexter’s body trembled, his knees buckling slightly, but Angel’s grip on his hips kept him steady. Every movement sent waves of sensation through him, the friction building until it felt like his entire body was alight. His fingers curled against the tiles, rough and unyielding, as he pressed his forehead against the surface, trying to anchor himself.

Angel’s breathing grew ragged, his hand tightening on Dexter’s hip as he drove deeper. Dexter could feel the heat pooling in his loins, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it threatened to burst. His thoughts fragmented, replaced by a haze of sensation—Angel’s warmth, the water sliding over his skin, the rhythm of their bodies moving together.

“Dexter,” Angel murmured, trembling with effort. The sound of his name in that tone sent a shiver down Dexter’s spine, and he clenched involuntarily, drawing a groan from Angel. The intensity of it overwhelmed him, his body shuddering as he felt himself teetering on the edge.

Angel’s pace faltered as he buried himself deep, his breathing turning to gasps. Dexter felt the moment Angel reached his peak, the sudden tension in his body, the sharp intake of breath. Angel managed one more stroke to his cock, pushing Dexter over the edge as well, the pleasure washing over him as creamy spunk sprayed the shower wall, leaving him trembling in its aftermath.

For a moment, they stayed like that, unable to move until Angel’s cock slipped out of Dexter’s well-fucked hole.

“Mother of God!” Angel cried. “I’ve never felt so fucking hot for anyone, Dex—I swear!”

Dexter stood there, water dripping from his hair, his body still humming from the intensity of what just happened. He felt shaky, as though his legs might give out if he tried to move. Angel’s warmth lingered against his back, the heat of his fingertips gently brushing over his shoulders. Dexter leaned into Angel, reveling in the warmth and strength of his body.

“You okay?” Angel asked, his words rough with the remnants of their lovemaking. His hand rested lightly on Dexter’s hip, a soft touch that felt both possessive and reassuring.

Dexter nodded faintly, though his mind was still spinning. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice a little hoarse. He turned off the shower, the sudden silence making the air feel heavier. The steam clung to the bathroom, wrapping around them like a cocoon.

Stepping out of the shower, Angel reached for a towel, handing it to Dexter, before grabbing one for himself. Dexter wrapped it around his waist. He glanced at Angel, who was drying off with a casual ease that Dexter envied. There was something about the way Angel moved, so sure of himself, that made Dexter feel both drawn to him and acutely aware of his own vulnerability.

“Baby, stop looking like the world is ending,” Angel said; his tone teasing but with an edge of concern. He stepped closer, his hand brushing Dexter’s arm. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Dexter sighed, a small laugh escaping him. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to think that sometimes. There’s... a lot going on.”

“Yup, and I’m gonna handle most of it,” Angel said with unshakable confidence. “You’ve just gotta talk to Rita. I’ll even handle Deb if necessary.”

Dex finally smiled. “Okay, but I’m not gonna tell Rita about you, just that I think we should see other people.”

Angel nodded in agreement. “Good call, because nobody needs to know our business.”

“Right, but let’s get some sleep for now. This Ice Truck Killer on the loose has everyone on edge,” Dexter said as he crawled into bed, moving over to make room for Angel. If this kept up, he was definitely going to need a bigger bed.

“We’ll think about it all tomorrow,” Angel said, grinning, climbing into bed and snuggling up close to Dexter. The warmth of Angel’s body and his steady breathing soon lulled Dexter into a deep sleep, not hearing anything until the alarm went off the next morning.

It wasn’t such a bright morning in the office either, because the team was already hard at work with another case. The body of Dexter's female victim, Valarie Castillo, turned up in a junkyard, despite Dexter having thrown both corpses into the ocean. His head reeled at the implications, knowing the Ice Truck Killer was hot on his trail. Dexter thought miserably, ‘what else could possibly go wrong?’

Dexter’s fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of his desk, staring at the crime scene photos he’d taken earlier spread out before him. The image of Valerie Castillo’s lifeless body, her pale skin marred by jagged cuts, burned into his mind. He hadn’t been quite so careful—he’d disposed of her less cautiously because time ran out, so here she was, back on his radar like a ghost he couldn’t shake. His stomach churned, a bitter taste rising in his throat. The Ice Truck Killer was upping the stakes.

He glanced around the bullpen, the hum of voices and clacking keyboards blending into a dull roar. Deb was hunched over her desk, her brow furrowed as she scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad. Batista and LaGuerta were deep in conversation near the coffee machine, their tones hushed. Doakes leaned against a filing cabinet, his arms crossed, his dark eyes darting in Dexter’s direction every few seconds. Dexter forced himself to look busy, shuffling papers and pretending to scroll through a case file on his computer. But his mind was racing, replaying the details of the junkyard scene, trying to figure out how the Ice Truck Killer managed to retrieve the body.

Angel breezed into his office, his usual swagger intact, though Dexter noticed the faint tension in his shoulders as he approached. He dropped a file on Dexter’s desk, leaning casually against the edge. “Looks like we’ve got another mess on our hands,” he said.

“When don’t we?” Dexter said with a sigh. The Ice Truck Killer was out there, watching, taunting him. It was a game, and Dexter wasn’t sure he was winning.

Angel leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “You alright, Dex? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dexter forced a tight smile, though his stomach churned. “Just tired,” he lied, hoping Angel wouldn’t press further. He didn’t need Angel digging into his thoughts, not when he was already juggling too many secrets.

Angel raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he straightened and tapped the file he’d dropped on the desk. “We’re gonna need to hit the junkyard again. LaGuerta wants a second sweep. Think you’re up for it?”

Dexter’s throat tightened. Going back to the scene where Valerie’s body was found, felt like walking into a trap, but he couldn’t say no without raising suspicion. “Sure,” he said, his tone relatively steady despite the unease tightening in his chest. “When do we leave?”

“Now,” Angel said, glancing in Doakes’ direction. “Ride with me, Dex. Doakes is heading out there too with your sister.”

Dexter followed Angel out of the office, his mind still churning with unease. The elevator ride down felt unnaturally long, the silence between them heavy with unspoken tension. Dexter kept his eyes fixed on the numbers above the door, counting down the floors, trying to steady his breathing. Angel stood beside him, his hands stuffed in his pockets, humming softly under his breath. It was a familiar tune, one Dexter couldn’t quite place, but it did little to calm the storm brewing in his chest.

When the elevator doors finally opened, Dexter stepped out into the sweltering heat of the parking lot, peering around cautiously. Angel’s car was parked a few spots away, its sleek shape standing out among the more mundane vehicles. Dexter hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the passenger door handle. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see Doakes lurking in the shadows, but the garage was empty—at least for now.

“You coming?” Angel asked, already sliding into the driver’s seat. His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, a subtle hint that he was picking up on Dexter’s unease.

“Yeah,” Dexter muttered, pulling the door open and dropping into the seat. He buckled his seatbelt, his fingers fumbling slightly with the clasp, and stared straight ahead as Angel started the engine.

The car rolled out of the garage, the city skyline looming ahead. Dexter watched the buildings pass, lost in thought, but decided to shove them aside and do his job. The last thing he needed was to alert his new lover to the darkness that dwelt within him.

“Hey,” Dexter said, trying to lighten the mood. “You want to go out for dinner after our shift?”

Angel glanced at Dexter, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Dinner? You asking me out, Dex?”

Dexter felt a hint of warmth in his chest, despite the tension still lingering in his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I am. Maybe a real date, since you are living with me and fucking me through the mattress.

Angel chuckled. “Absolutely, baby. You up for some Cuban food? I know a new place.”

“Sure, sounds good to me,” Dexter said with a smile.

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Dexter’s thoughts wandered back to the case, the image of Valerie’s body flashing in his mind again like a bad dream he couldn’t shake. He forced himself to focus on the present, on the way Angel’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the leather of the car seats. It grounded him, just a little.

When they reached the junkyard, Dexter’s unease crept back in. The place was a sprawling mess of rusted metal and debris, the air thick with the stench of oil and decay. He stepped out of the car, his shoes crunching on gravel, and scanned the area. Doakes’ car was already there, parked near the entrance. Dexter’s stomach knotted as he recalled LaGuerta pulling the boy from the trunk of the car. He knew it was only a matter of time now until the jig was up, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.

After hours of searching, a rookie officer triumphantly emerged from a pile of rusted metal, holding aloft a knife with a gleaming blade. The lab confirmed what Dexter already knew—Jorge Castillo's fingerprints marked the handle. While the evidence team worked, LaGuerta summoned a police sketch artist to sit with Oscar, the boy's small hands gesturing as he described what he'd seen. Late that afternoon, Deb showed everyone the finished sketch in the briefing room with a solemn expression. Dexter's chest, tight with dread, suddenly loosened as he stared at the drawing—flowing hair, gentle eyes, and a familiar beard that graced a thousand church walls.

Dexter breathed a sigh of relief as he and Angel headed off to dinner at the new Cuban restaurant. Dexter followed Angel to the eatery, but was disheartened when he looked in his rearview mirror and saw Doakes following again. Angel pulled into the restaurant parking lot, with Dexter parking right beside him. Angel noticed his lover’s pained expression when he got out of the car.

“We’ve got company,” Dexter grumbled, tossing his head over his shoulder in Doakes’ direction.

“Motherfucker,” Angel growled. “What the fuck is his problem?”

The man was relentless, like a predator circling his prey, and Dexter couldn’t shake the feeling that Doakes wanted something from him.

Angel slammed his car door shut with more force than necessary, his jaw clenched as he strode over to Dexter. “Let’s just ignore him,” he muttered, though the tension in his voice betrayed his irritation. Dexter nodded, forcing himself to take a deep breath. The smell of the restaurant—rich spices and roasted meat—drifted toward them, but it did little to calm his nerves.

As they walked toward the entrance, Dexter kept his gaze forward, though he could feel Doakes’ eyes boring into his back. The sensation was like a hot branding iron pressing against his spine, and he fought the urge to glance over his shoulder. Angel’s hand brushed against his arm, a small gesture of solidarity that Dexter clung to.

Inside, the restaurant was warm and inviting, the hum of conversation filling the air. Dexter and Angel followed a hostess to a booth near the back, sliding into the seat with a faint sigh of relief. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he glanced at the menu, the vibrant descriptions of Cuban dishes momentarily distracting him. But the peace didn’t last long.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement a few booths down. Dexter watched with a frown as Doakes smiled at the hostess while she handed him a menu.

Dexter hung his head. “I just lost my appetite.”

Angel took a glance backwards. “Baby, do you wanna leave? We can grab something elsewhere.”

Dexter hesitated, glancing toward the entrance where Doakes now sat, his broad frame dominating the booth. The sergeant’s eyes drifted in their direction, and Dexter quickly looked away, his pulse quickening. He hated this—hated the way Doakes seemed to track his every move. “No,” Dexter said finally. “It’s fine. Let’s just… stay. He’ll only follow us somewhere else, but will you switch sides with me? I can’t look at him.”

Angel slid out of the booth and smoothly moved to the other side. Dexter followed, settling into the new spot with his back to Doakes. He stared down at the menu, but the words blurred together; his focus shattered by the distraction of Doakes’ presence. The clatter of dishes and murmur of voices around him felt distant, muffled as though he were underwater. He rubbed his temples, trying to steady his breathing, but the tension in his chest refused to ease.

Angel reached across the table, his fingers brushing against Dexter’s wrist. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the haze. “You’re letting him get to you.”

Dexter looked up, meeting Angel’s gaze. The concern in his eyes was unmistakable, and Dexter felt a hint of guilt for dragging him into this mess. “I know,” he admitted. “But he’s... relentless. It’s like he’s waiting for me to break the law so he can pounce on me, but sometimes when he looks at me, I see...” Dexter trailed off.

“See what?” Angel asked, shooting a look at Doakes. “He’s got nothing on you, Dex. You’re smarter than he is, but what is it you see?”

Dexter wasn’t sure. Doakes’s persistence gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how close he was to the edge. He glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Doakes sitting at his booth, his posture rigid as he pretended to study the menu. Dexter turned back to Angel, his stomach twisted. “I see hunger—wild predatory hunger. Angel, am I just being paranoid?”

Angel’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening slightly on Dexter’s wrist. He leaned in. “You’re not being paranoid, Dex. Doakes has always been a pain in the ass, but if he’s got it in for you, we’ll figure it out together—okay?”

Dexter nodded absently, though the knot in his stomach didn’t loosen. He forced himself to focus on Angel’s face, on the reassurance in his eyes. It helped, just a little. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But he’s not going to stop, not until he gets what he wants.”

Angel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his irritation palpable. “Let him try,” he muttered angrily. “He’s just trying to intimidate you.”

Dexter glanced down at the menu again, his fingers tracing the edge of the laminated page. The words still blurred, but he clung to the tactile sensation, grounding himself. “Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t believe it. Doakes wasn’t just trying to intimidate him—there was something more, something darker lurking behind his cold, calculating eyes.

“I know I didn’t get a chance today, but tomorrow I’m gonna spill the beans about Nina,” Angel assured Dexter. “I’ve also got a plan for our shadow, so take it easy—okay?”

Dexter smiled at his confident paramour. “Let’s order so we can get back home to dessert, and we don’t have to look at that asshole anymore tonight.”

Angel laughed heartily. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Chapter Text

Dexter never struggled so much to find the right words. Rita was the perfect facade—the girlfriend who made his life appear ordinary to the outside world. But circumstances changed in ways he never anticipated. Angel Batista awakened something in him, something that made his carefully constructed pretense unsustainable. Now, with Angel's toothbrush beside his in the bathroom and their clothes sharing the same closet, the charade had reached its inevitable conclusion.

Dexter stood in front of Rita’s door, his hand hovering over the doorbell. He’d rehearsed this conversation in his head a dozen times, but now that the moment was here, his mind felt blank. He pressed the button, the chime echoing inside the house like a death knell. Rita opened the door, her face lighting up with a smile that made his stomach twist.

“Dexter!” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “Come in, I was just making coffee.”

He followed her into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint smell of Astor’s crayons and Cody’s soccer cleats. Rita poured him a cup, her sweet smile so familiar. Dexter clutched the mug, the heat seeping into his palms as he searched for the right words.

“Rita,” he began tentatively, “we need to talk.”

Her smile faltered, and she set the coffeepot down slowly. “Okay… what’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath; his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his cup. “This isn’t working for me anymore. I… I think we should see other people.”

Her face crumpled, and she sank into the chair across from him. “Dexter, what are you talking about? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not you. It’s just… it’s me”

She stared at him, her eyes wide and searching. “I don’t understand.”

Dexter shook his head. “That makes two of us.”

Rita reached over and squeezed his hand. “Dex, you’re not making any sense. What about the kids? They love you.”

Rita’s grip tightened on his hand, her fingers trembling slightly. Dexter couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bear the hurt in her eyes. He stared at the coffee cup, the steam now a thin wisp curling into nothingness.

“The kids…” she murmured. “They need you. I need you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dexter said, his tone hollow. He pulled his hand away, the warmth of her touch lingering like an accusation. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Her tone rose desperately. “Dexter, please, just talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

He stood abruptly. “I can’t,” he said tensely. “I just… can’t.”

Rita’s tears spilled over, but Dexter turned away, heading for the door. He paused for a moment, his hand on the knob, and heard her stifled sob behind him. His chest tightened, but he forced himself to step outside, the cool morning air hitting his face like a slap.

The drive to the office was a blur, but at least it was over with. He felt numb, detached, as though he’d left a part of himself back in Rita’s kitchen. When he walked into his office, Angel was sitting at his desk, flipping through a case file. He looked up, his smile fading as he saw Dexter’s expression.

“Everything okay?” Angel asked, concern clearly evident in his tone.

“It’s finished,” Dexter said with a sigh. “Now it’s your turn.”

Angel nodded and stood up, seeing Lt. LaGuerta talking with Deb. All the key players were in the room, so he figured this was as good a time as any to drop the bombshell about him and Nina getting a divorce.

Angel cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “Listen, guys, I’ve got something to say,” he began with a hint of unease. Dexter leaned against Angel’s desk, arms crossed, watching the room’s reaction.

“Nina and I… we’re getting a divorce,” Angel announced. The room fell silent, some staring opened-mouthed at him. Dexter could see the surprise flash across Debra’s face, while LaGuerta’s expression remained passive.

“That’s tough, man,” Doakes said, breaking the silence. “Anything we can do?”

Angel nodded, glancing briefly at Dexter. “Actually, Dexter’s been kind enough to let me stay with him for a while. Helps us both save some money while I figure things out.”

Debra raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Dexter. “Really? That’s… generous.”

Dexter shrugged, offering a half-smile. “It’s no big deal. Just helping out a friend.”

The room buzzed with murmured condolences and awkward reassurances, but Dexter tuned most of it out. His mind was already elsewhere, replaying the conversation with Rita that morning. He felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it aside, focusing on Angel’s next words.

“Anyway,” Angel continued, “I just wanted to let everyone know. No secrets here.”

LaGuerta nodded curtly. “Alright. Thanks for sharing, Batista. Let’s get back to work.”

As the team dispersed, Debra lingered, her eyes on her brother. She finally approached him with a frown on her face. “Are you sure having Angel live with you is a good idea? You’re such a neat freak, and well, Angel is—a slob—just look at his desk.”

Dexter nodded. “It’ll be okay,” he replied as he turned and went back to his office.

Dexter sat at his desk, staring at the case file in front of him, but seeing nothing. His mind was still back in Rita’s kitchen, replaying the way her face crumpled when he told her it was over. He had to find the Ice Truck Killer—or at least keep up the appearance of searching—before the Ice Truck Killer found him again. The Valarie Castillo incident came too close for comfort. Finally, Dexter focused on the folder in front of him. The wounds on the victim were very familiar. He’d seen those cuts before. Then it dawned on him—Jeremy Downs—the kid he’d let go because he claimed he was raped. The cuts on the body were identical to the cuts on Jeremy’s first victim.

The office buzzed around him, but Dexter tuned it out. His thoughts wandered back to Angel for a moment, and how his presence shifted something inside him that he had no idea how to deal with. He glanced over at Angel’s desk, messy as always, and felt a strange warmth in his chest. It was unfamiliar, unsettling, but not unpleasant.

Debra’s words cut through his reverie. “Hey, Dexter,” she said, leaning against his desk. “You good? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

He looked up, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Debra raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

Before he could answer, Angel walked over, a cup of coffee in hand. He handed it to Dexter, their fingers brushing briefly. “Thought you might need this,” he said.

Dexter nodded, taking the cup. “Thanks.”

Debra looked between them, her brow furrowing. “You two seem… cozy.”

Angel chuckled, but Dexter could hear the nervous edge in it. “Just looking out for each other,” Angel said, leaning casually against Dexter’s desk. “Dexter’s been a good friend to me.”

“Hey,” Deb said, changing the subject. “Can you take a look at something for me, Angel? I think I might have a lead on the Ice Truck Killer. A name keeps popping up at the crime scenes—in fact, we’ve interviewed him once already.”

Angel’s words invaded Dexter’s thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “What’s the name?” he asked, leaning closer to Debra, his elbow brushing against Dexter’s arm.

Debra flipped open her notebook, her finger tracing down a page. “Neil Perry,” she said. “We interviewed him after the third murder. He was speeding near the scene, but he had an alibi. Now his name’s cropping up again.”

“Let’s bring him in,” Angel said. “You gotta address for him?”

Debra nodded, jotting something down. “Sure do. Let’s go find us a killer.”

Angel shot Dexter a small smile, his eyes lingering for a moment too long before he turned back to Deb. Dexter felt Angel’s gaze on him like a warm hand on his back, grounding him. He glanced again at Angel’s messy workspace, the clutter strangely comforting now. It was a reminder that everything around him was changing, including himself.

While Deb and Angel were out tracking Neil Perry, Dexter went looking for Jeremy Downs to try to rectify his mistake. He should’ve never let the boy go. He talked to an acquaintance of Jeremy’s, and finally tracked him to a park. However, when he eventually caught up with the kid, the police were there to arrest him. Doakes even knocked Dexter down, but didn’t recognize him.

Dexter was actually off that day, only going in to force Angel to break the news. But then Deb called him excitedly to let him know they’d found the Ice Truck Killer. She told Dexter to come to the crime scene, but he complained it was his day off. She told him to get his ass over there anyway.

Dexter arrived at the crime scene, his stomach twisting as he saw the familiar yellow tape cordoning off the area. He headed inside the trailer, spotting Deb holding a taxidermied animal head.

As he approached, Debra’s head snapped toward him, her expression smug. “About time you got here,” she said with a grin. “We’ve got him, Dexter. The Ice Truck Killer. I chased him.”

Dexter’s pulse quickened, though he forced his face to remain neutral. “Really? The guy living in this trailer?” he asked, not believing a word of it.

Debra gestured toward the sedan. “Neil Perry. We tracked him down after his name kept popping up near the crime scenes. Found evidence linking him to the murders. We’ve got an APB out on him.”

This couldn't be right. The Ice Truck Killer was meticulous, almost surgical in his methods. This felt sloppy, like someone trying too hard to fit the profile.

“We’re excavating the patio. I bet there’s a body buried there,” she said with certainty.

“I don’t know, Deb,” Dex said, shaking his head. Something doesn’t feel right. This guy doesn’t fit the profile.”

Deb smirked smugly. “Then what’s that? she said, pointing to the badly decomposed body they pulled out from under the cement patio.

Dexter stared at the body, his gut twisting with unease. The decomposition made it hard to tell much, but the positioning—folded neatly, almost ritualistically—felt off. The Ice Truck Killer wasn’t careless. He didn’t bury bodies under patios like some amateur. Dexter’s mind raced, sifting through details, trying to piece together what didn’t add up.

Debra fairly vibrated out of her skin with pride. “See? I told you we had him. This is it, Dexter. Case closed.”

He kept his expression neutral, though every instinct screamed that this was wrong. “Did you find any other evidence? Something definitive?”

Debra didn’t hesitate, her smug grin never faltering. “Yeah, we did—hidden folders with pictures of the crime scenes that were never released. Now we just gotta find him.”

Dexter shook his head, though his doubts lingered. He stepped closer to the body, crouching to get a better look. The smell of decay hit him hard, but he forced himself to focus. “It’s definitely female,” Angel supplied. “Been here a good while. Might’ve been his first victim.”

“Deb thinks this is it,” he said, his tone cautious. “What do you think, Dex?”

“Why are you asking him?” Deb said, raising an eyebrow.

“Because your brother has good instincts,” Angel replied unfazed.

Dexter stood, brushing dirt from his hands. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Something feels… off.”

Angel frowned, glancing back at Debra. “She seems pretty sure.”

“Deb’s always sure,” Dexter muttered under his breath. “I guess you’ll find out when he’s caught, but can I finish my afternoon off now?”

“Sure,” Angel said, clapping him on the back. “Deb and I are gonna check out Perry’s phone records. I’ll see you tonight roomy.”

He glanced back at the crime scene, the yellow tape fluttering in the breeze like mocking banners. Deb’s confidence grated on him, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. His instincts screamed that Neil Perry wasn’t their guy, but the evidence, the newspaper clippings, the crime scene photos, the body—all seemed to point squarely at him. Still, Dexter couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, something crucial.

He walked to his car, his mind racing. The Ice Truck Killer was meticulous, calculated. This felt… rushed. Like someone staged it all to make people think he was the Ice Truck Killer. Dexter slid into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary.

“Roommate,” he muttered to himself, echoing Angel’s words. The idea of sharing his space with anyone still felt foreign, but Angel’s presence was… different. It was the way Angel looked at him, the way his laughter filled the silence of his usually sterile apartment. It was unsettling, but in a way that Dexter couldn’t quite bring himself to regret. Who knew Angel would be the one to introduce him to the joys of gay sex?

He started the car, the engine purring to life. The drive home was short, so he stopped to pick up some take out for him and Angel later.

Angel and Deb followed a lead from Perry’s phone records and headed to the Pink Motel. They showed his photo to the motel manager, and she told Deb and Angel that their suspect was a regular. In fact, he was there now with a woman. They hurried to his motel room, but he’d gone out to a liquor store. They found a bruised hooker tied spread-eagle to the bed, with torture implements nearby. Angel and Debra waited in the motel room, and when Perry returned, they promptly arrested him. He bizarrely began to sing, as Angel and Deb exchanged confused looks.

Dexter pulled into his parking spot, the takeout bag still warm. The scent of fried rice and sesame chicken wafted up, mingling with the warm Miami afternoon air as he stepped out of the car. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard—3:50 PM—and wondered how much longer Angel would be.

Angel arrived home around 7:45 wearing a huge grin. “We did it—we caught the bastard. He’s enjoying lockup as we speak.”

“That’s awesome," Dexter said with a smile. “I brought dinner,” Dexter said, his tone softer than he intended as he gazed at Angel.

Angel’s face lit up, his smile warm and effortless. “You’re a lifesaver. I was just thinking about ordering something for us.”

They settled at the small table by the window, with plates of reheated takeout. Dexter poked at his fried rice with his fork, his appetite suddenly elusive. He couldn’t stop thinking about the crime scene, the body, the way Deb had been so sure. It gnawed at him like a splinter lodged in his mind.

“I hope you’re right about this guy,” Dexter said around a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, me too,” Angel replied. “But you don’t think we are—do you?”

Dexter hesitated, his fork hovering over the plate. "I don't know," he admitted. "Something feels... off about this whole thing."

Angel tilted his head, studying Dexter intently. "What do you mean?"

Dexter set his fork down, leaning back in his chair. "The Ice Truck Killer... he’s precise, calculated. This guy—Neil Perry—everything about him feels sloppy. The body, the crime scene... it’s like someone wanted us to believe he’s the killer."

Angel frowned, his brow furrowing as he processed Dexter’s words. "But the evidence—"

"Could’ve been staged," Dexter interrupted, his tone firm. "Deb might be convinced, but I can’t shake the feeling we’re missing something."

Angel looked confused. "You think he’s a thrill seeker—wants his fifteen minutes of fame?"

"Maybe," Dexter said, his gaze fixed on the half-eaten plate in front of him. "Or maybe I’m just overthinking it."

Angel reached across the table, his hand brushing Dexter’s arm lightly. "Your instincts are usually right. If you think something’s wrong, we should look into it. I’ll talk to LaGuerta, tell her I think we should proceed with caution."

Dex nodded strongly. “I think that’s a wise course of action. I just hope Deb doesn’t get all gung-ho over it. By the way, did you see Deb before she left?”

“Yeah,” Angel said, swallowing a forkful of rice. “Said she was going to a celebration party at the hospital for Mister Tucci. He’s getting his prosthetics today.”

“Ah, that’s great,” Dex said with a sudden faraway look in his eye. “I’m glad he’s doing so well after the ordeal he’s been through.”

Later at the hospital, as Deb was getting ready to leave, Rudy Cooper asked her to dinner for the next evening, and she enthusiastically accepted. She wanted to swing by Dexter’s to gloat about catching the Ice Truck Killer, and brag about her date with the prosthetics expert who rebuilt Mr. Tucci.

As she approached Dexter’s front door, she heard several loud thuds coming from inside that alarmed her. She peered cautiously in the side window, her heart almost stopping as she took in the scene unfolding on Dexter’s sofa.

Debra's breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened in shock. She stumbled back from the window, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure they could hear it inside. Her mind raced, trying to process what she’d just seen—Dexter and Angel, tangled together on the sofa naked, their movements unmistakable. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she felt like she’d intruded on something so out of character for Dexter. He’d been dating Rita for months now, so she wondered, ‘when did all this happen?’

She turned away quickly as she hurried back to her car. Her thoughts spiraled, confusion and disbelief warring with a strange, almost protective instinct. Dexter—her brother—and Angel? It didn’t make sense. And yet, the evidence was right there, seared into her brain forever.

Debra clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to steady herself. She couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t unthink it. Questions surged through her mind, but she forced herself to push them aside for now. She needed to get out of here before they noticed her, before she had to face them and pretend she hadn’t seen anything.

She slipped into her car, slamming the door harder than she meant to. The engine roared to life, and she sped off, her hands gripping the wheel tightly. The streets blurred as she drove, her mind still reeling. She didn’t know what to do with this information, didn’t know how to process it. All she knew was that her world had just shifted, and she wasn’t ready for it.

Later that evening, Dexter called Deb to see if she’d come down from her Ice Truck Killer high yet.

“Yeah, Dex,” she said, a bit too subdued for Dexter’s liking. “I need to talk to you alone sometime tomorrow, if you’ve got time.”

“Anything for you, Deb,” Dexter said cheerfully. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” she said a bit too quickly. “I just want to tell you about a guy I met.”

“Hey, great. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dex said as he hung up and went to rejoin Angel in bed.

She knew she had to talk to Dexter about this, even if it meant letting him know that she saw. This was her brother, and as much as she liked Angel, she didn’t quite trust him not to break her brother’s heart. Angel had quite a reputation as a ladies man before he got married, and even after that Angel was always a terrible flirt.

The next morning, Dexter woke to the faint sound of Angel humming in the kitchen. He stretched, the sheets cool against his skin, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was earlier than he usually got up, but the events of the previous day lingered in his mind like a stubborn headache. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something about Neil Perry’s arrest didn’t add up, no matter how much Deb and the others seemed convinced.

He rolled out of bed and grabbed a robe that he quickly slipped on. The scent of coffee wafted through the apartment, mingling with the faint aroma of something sweet. Dexter padded into the kitchen, where Angel stood by the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning,” Angel said, his tone warm and inviting with sensual undercurrents. “I figured you could use a good breakfast after yesterday.”

Dexter nodded, though his stomach still felt tight with unease. “Thanks,” he murmured, leaning against the counter. He watched as Angel poured batter into the pan, the sizzle filling the quiet kitchen. The familiarity of it all—Angel’s presence, the domesticity of their shared mornings—felt both comforting and disorienting. Dexter wasn’t used to this, to someone being so... there.

“You’re quiet,” Angel said, breaking the silence. “Still thinking about Perry?”

Dexter hesitated, his fingers drumming absently against the countertop. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I can’t shake the feeling we’re missing something, but Deb said she wanted to talk to me today. She said she was fine, but I’m not convinced. She sounded… off.”

Angel flipped the last pancake onto a plate and turned to Dexter, his expression thoughtful. “Hmm, she was so upbeat yesterday when I left her,” he said, handing Dexter the plate. “But maybe she’s just tired. Chasing leads all day, wrapping up a major case—it’s gotta take a toll.”

Dexter accepted the plate, the warmth seeping through the ceramic into his palms. “Maybe,” he said, though the knot in his stomach tightened. Deb wasn’t the type to sound off without reason. He picked up a fork and speared a bite of pancake, the sweetness of the syrup doing little to distract him.

The two of them sat at the small table by the window, the morning light filtering through the blinds and casting soft stripes across the floor. Dexter chewed mechanically, his mind always making calculations. Deb mentioned wanting to talk privately. Was it about Perry? A new boyfriend? Or something else? He glanced at Angel, who was happily digging into his own breakfast, seemingly unbothered by Dexter’s tension.

“Well, I guess I’ll find out when we get to work,” Dexter said, finally realizing the pancakes were actually good.

Angel smiled. “Damn, but I wish we had the day off. I could live a perfectly happy life, never having to go to work again, if I could just stay here and fuck you all the time.”

Dexter laughed and rolled his eyes, almost spitting out a mouthful of coffee.

Angel’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with intent as he reached across the table, his fingertips brushing Dexter’s hand. “I mean it,” he said with a hint of roughness threading through his tone. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

Dexter took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around the fork. He felt the warmth of Angel’s touch spread up his arm, sending a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t look away, trapped in the intensity of Angel’s gaze.

“Angel…” Dexter stated, but he didn’t know what to say. His mind raced, trying to reconcile the calm, composed Dexter he’d always been with this version of himself—the one who felt like goo under Angel’s attention.

Angel stood and stepped closer. Dexter’s pulse quickened as Angel cupped his face, his thumb brushing lightly over Dexter’s cheekbone. “You think too much,” Angel murmured against Dexter’s skin. “Let me take care of that.”

Dexter’s heart pounded as Angel leaned in, their lips almost touching. He could feel the heat radiating off Angel’s body, the faint scent of coffee and something uniquely him filling Dexter’s senses. His hands trembled as he reached up, gripping Angel’s robe, pulling him closer.

The kiss was soft and elicited a moan from Dexter, but the moment stalled in time when the shrill ring of Angel’s phone sliced through the moment, harsh and insistent. Dexter froze, his heart still racing as Angel pulled away, cursing under his breath. Dexter’s fingers lingered on Angel’s robe, reluctant to let go, but Angel was already reaching for the phone on the counter. Dexter watched him, his lips still tingling from the kiss, his mind struggling to catch up.

“Lt. LaGuerta,” Angel said, his tone shifting instantly from intimate to professional. Dexter could hear the captain’s voice on the other end, commanding as ever, though the words were muffled. Angel’s jaw tightened, and he nodded, even though LaGuerta couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

He hung up and turned back to Dexter, his expression frustrated but resigned to their fate. “We gotta go,” Angel said, already shrugging out of his robe. She’s about to interrogate Perry.”

When they got to work, Perry was already in the interrogation room, but LaGuerta was making him stew in his own juices. This gave Deb a chance to pull Dexter into his office.

“What so important, Deb?” Dex asked, noting the tension in his sister’s stance.

Deb crossed her arms and looked down at the floor. “I’m worried about you, Dex.”

Dexter sat on the edge of his desk as he studied Debra’s face. Her arms were crossed, her shoulders tense, and her gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. He could feel the weight of her concern like a palpable thing, pressing against the quiet of the room.

“You’re acting like you’re about to interrogate me,” Dexter said, keeping his tone even, though his pulse quickened the moment she mentioned being worried. He didn’t like the way she looked at him—or rather, didn’t look at him. It felt like she was holding something back.

Debra exhaled, her arms tightening around herself. “I just…” she trailed off, her words faltering for the first time. She finally looked up, her eyes meeting his, and Dexter felt a sense of unease. There was something in her expression he couldn’t read—something that made his stomach tighten.

“I saw something,” she said, almost tentatively. “Last night. When I came by your place.”

Dexter’s heart stuttered. He kept his face neutral, but his mind raced. She’d seen something—something she wasn’t supposed to see. He thought back to last night, to the way Angel looked at him, the way their bodies moved together on the sofa. Heat crept up the back of his neck, but he pushed it down, focusing on Debra’s words.

“What did you see?” he asked.

“You,” she replied tightly. “Naked on the couch with Angel. The two of you were into it pretty hot and heavy.”

Dexter felt the air leave his lungs as if someone had punched him square in the chest, and he had to grip the edge of the desk to steady himself. His mind scrambled, trying to piece together what to say, how to deflect, but Debra’s gaze pinned him like a specimen under glass.

“I didn’t—” he started, but the words caught in his throat. His pulse thudded in his ears, loud enough that he barely heard his own words. He could feel the heat spreading across his face, his skin prickling with embarrassment.

Debra uncrossed her arms, stepping closer. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes bored into him with a look of disbelief and something else—concern? Anger? He couldn’t tell, and it made his stomach twist tighter.

“Dexter,” she said, almost in a whisper, “what the hell is going on? You and Angel? Since when?”

His throat felt dry, like he’d swallowed sand. He forced himself to meet her gaze, even though every instinct screamed at him to look away, to bolt from the room. “It’s… complicated,” he managed to say.

“Complicated?” Debra raised an eyebrow, her tone harsh. “You’re dating Rita, Dexter—or were. And now you’re—” She stopped herself.

“You don’t understand,” Dexter tried to reason with her.

“Then enlighten me,” she said, crossing her arms again stubbornly.

Dexter sighed heavily. “For your information, I broke up with Rita yesterday morning—permanently.”

Debra’s eyebrows shot up, her arms still crossed, but her expression shifting from disbelief to something sharper—something almost accusatory. “Permanently?” she repeated curtly. “And you’re already… with Angel? Dexter, what the hell is going on with you?”

Dexter ran a hand through his hair, the weight of her stare pulling him down with her. He could feel the tension in the room thickening, the air between them charged with unspoken questions. He hesitated, trying to find the right words, but they tangled in his throat like a knot he couldn’t unravel.

“It’s not like that,” he finally said, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Angel and I… it just happened. I didn’t plan it. It was spontaneous.”

Debra scoffed, shaking her head. “Just happened? Dex, you don’t just fall into bed with someone like Angel. Not you. You’re… you.”

Her words stung more than he expected. Dexter clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tightening as he fought to keep his expression neutral. He didn’t know how to explain it to her—how to explain it to himself. Everything about this felt messy, almost dirty, and he hated messes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Deb,” he shot back with a sudden look of vulnerability. “He makes my insides feel like goo.”

Debra stared at him, her lips pressing into a thin line. Dexter could see the muscles in her face tighten, the way her fingers clenched against her arms as if she were holding herself back from saying more. Her eyes were wide, almost searching, like she was trying to find something in his face that would make sense of it all. He felt stripped bare under her gaze, exposed in a way he hadn’t been since… well, since last night.

“Goo?” she repeated, her tone flat, but there was a hard edge to it that made Dexter flinch. “You’re telling me Angel Batista makes you feel like goo?”

Dexter nodded dumbly. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, not like that, but the words just slipped out before he could stop them. Now they hung heavy and awkward in the air, like something you’d trip over in the dark. He shifted on the edge of the desk, feeling the wood dig into his thighs.

“I don’t know how else to explain it,” he muttered. He stared at the floor, avoiding her eyes.  

Debra didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence stretched uncomfortably until Dexter finally glanced up at her. Her expression was one of utter disbelief, but there was something in her eyes. “My God, Dexter—you’re in love with Angel.”

Debra’s words lingered in the air like a heavy fog, wrapping around Dexter and pulling him deeper into the unease he’d been trying to suppress. He stared at her, his mouth slightly open, but no words came. His pulse thrummed in his ears, loud enough to drown out the hum of the office beyond the closed door. The accusation—the realization—left him raw and exposed.

“I…” Dexter started, but words failed him, and he looked away, his gaze fixing on the faint smudge of fingerprints on the edge of his desk. His fingers twitched, restless, as though they needed something to do, something to anchor him.

Love. The word echoed in his mind, alien and unfamiliar. It wasn’t a word he’d ever applied to himself—not really—not in his wildest dreams. Relationships were always about convenience, about maintaining appearances. Even with Rita, it was more about the facade than the feeling. But this… this was different.

Debra stepped closer, her arms still crossed, but her expression softening slightly. “Dex,” she said, quieter now, almost hesitant. “Are you okay? I mean… this is… I don’t even know what this is.”

Dexter exhaled heavily. He didn’t know how to answer her. Okay? He wasn’t sure he knew what that meant anymore. His chest felt tight—panic was setting in. It was a knot of emotions he wasn’t equipped to unravel. “I can’t help it, Deb,” Dexter said softly.

Deb suddenly engulfed him in a tight hug. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want Detective Congeniality breaking your heart.”

Dexter leaned into Debra’s hug, the warmth of her arms giving him a feeling of stability. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to compose himself, but his mind kept circling back to Angel—to the way his laugh filled the apartment, the way his touch made Dexter’s skin tingle with a heat he couldn’t explain.

“He’s not going to break my heart,” Dexter muttered with uncertainty, even to his own ears. He pulled back slightly, meeting Debra’s gaze. “I don’t think he’s capable of that. Not intentionally.”

Debra frowned, her grip tightening for a moment before she let go entirely. “Dexter, you don’t know that. Angel’s… Angel. He’s a flirt, okay? Always has been. I’ve seen him charm the ladies more times than I can count. What makes you think this is any different?”

Dexter frowned. He couldn’t answer that—not without admitting how much he needed it to be different. How much he needed Angel to be different. He turned away, pacing the small office, his fingers brushing against the edge of the desk as he walked. The room felt too small suddenly, the walls closing in.

“I just…” He stopped, his back to Debra, staring at the blank wall in front of him. “I can’t stop it, Deb. It’s like a freight train that keeps gaining momentum.”

“Okay,” Deb finally acquiesced. “Just be careful,” she warned as she turned and left Dexter’s office. Her brother might not think Angel would break his heart, but she was going to make damn sure he didn’t.

After exiting Dexter’s office, she discretely took Angel aside before the Lt. began her interrogation.

“Angel, we need to talk about you and Dex—and no, he didn’t tell me. I saw you last night on the couch.”

Angel’s smile faltered, his easy confidence slipping for the first time since Debra had pulled him aside. He glanced around the room, as if searching for a way out, but Debra’s gaze pinned him in place. He rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle.

“Deb,” he started, almost tentative. “I wasn’t expecting… I mean, I didn’t think anyone would—”

Debra cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t,” she said firmly. “Don’t try to spin this, Angel. I saw what I saw. You and Dexter—why?”

Angel took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging as Debra’s words finally caught up to him. “It’s… complicated.”

“That’s what Dexter said,” Deb hissed. “But you know what else he said? He said you make his insides feel like goo. I’m here to make damn sure you don’t hurt my brother. He’s obviously in love with you.”

Angel blinked, caught off guard by Debra’s intensity. He shifted his weight, his hands slipping into his pockets as he glanced around the room, avoiding her gaze for a moment. His mind raced, trying to find the right words, but the truth was messy, and he wasn’t sure how to explain it without making everything worse.

“Deb,” he started, with more seriousness than she was used to hearing from him. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It’s… it’s not some game to me. Dexter… he’s different.”

Debra folded her arms tighter, her eyes narrowing. “Different how? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just adding him to your list of conquests.”

Angel flinched, the accusation landing harder than he expected. He knew her protective streak, her loyalty to her brother—but hearing her say it outright made his chest tighten. He shook his head quickly, his voice firm. “It’s not like that. I’m not playing him. I wouldn’t do that.”

Debra studied him, her expression skeptical, but softening slightly. “You’d better not,” she said, her tone still sharp as a razor, but quieter now. “Because if you hurt him, Angel, I swear—”

“I won’t,” Angel interrupted, his tone sincere as he met her gaze. “You don’t have to worry about that. I love him, Deb. Every time I look in his eyes, my stomach—legs—all feel like mush. You have no idea.”

Deb smirked. “Well, I guess your new nicknames will be mush and goo from now on.”

Debra’s smirk faded as she studied Angel’s face, searching for any trace of insincerity. His eyes held hers without flinching, the intensity of his gaze almost unnerving. She exhaled with a soft hiss, her arms uncrossing as some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

“Alright,” she said. “But if you’re serious about this—about him—you need to be honest. No games, no half-truths. Dexter’s not like you, Angel. He doesn’t do casual.”

Angel nodded, his expression earnest. “I know that,” he said quietly. “And I’m not taking this lightly, I promise.”

Debra’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she gave him a curt nod, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she glanced toward the interrogation room where LaGuerta was waiting. “You’d better get in there,” she said, her tone businesslike again. “LaGuerta doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Angel hesitated, his hand brushing against Debra’s arm briefly before he stepped back. “Thanks, Deb,” he said quietly. “For… caring.”

Debra didn’t respond, just watched as he turned and made his way toward the interrogation room. She stood there for a moment, her arms crossed again, her mind in turmoil. She didn’t know what to make of this—Angel and Dexter, together. It was certainly unexpected and very uncharacteristic of her brother.

Chapter Text

Dexter’s heart sank as he listened to Perry confess to the murders. He even had details that only the Ice Truck Killer could’ve known. It thoroughly confused Dexter—his instincts were never this off, but Perry’s last statement did it.

“See, you got to understand I… I hate blood,” he said.

‘And there it is—all the expectations I had, all the promises of greatness... wiped out. My circle of friends is down to one,’ Dexter thought.

The next day at work, Dexter came out of his lab looking for Doakes.

Dexter asked Pullman. “Hey, where's Doakes? He paged me.”

Pullman looked up briefly from what he was doing. “We need your report from that kid in the alley.”

Dexter turned away. “Yeah, it's in my lab.”

“Wait. I'm on to you,” Doakes said as he came up behind Dexter.

“Excuse me?” Dexter asked, looking confused.

Doakes gave a half-smile. “Your crazy-ass, knife-slashing two-step in the alley. You were right. You said the killer had previous experience.”

“He did. Really?”

“Masuka lifted a print from the alley that matched a kid from juvie. Cut up a victim five years ago. Same knife technique. We just grabbed him at Flamingo Park.”

“Great work, sergeant,” Dexter replied almost sarcastically.

Doakes glared at him. “Yeah. Your instincts were dead-on. They're always dead-on when it comes to killers. Why is that?”

Dexter let out a long-suffering sigh. “I'll just go get that report.”

“I'm still watching you, and don’t forget it,” Doakes growled before stomping off.

After retrieving the report from his lab, Dexter handed it to Pullman. His next order of business was to talk to the kid he let go. He knew Jeremy was in the interrogation room, so he cautiously turned off the camera and hurried in.

Jeremy gasped in shock as Dexter entered. “What are you doing here? Are you a cop?”

“The cameras are off. I have one minute,” Dexter spat out.

“Tell me why? I need to know,” Dexter asked, giving Downs a hard look.

“Why what?” Downs asked, crossing his arms.

“Don't!” Dexter hissed. “You killed again. I told you—I warned you—don’t kill anyone who doesn't deserve to die. Why did you do it?”

Jeremy scrunched up his face, looking like he was about to cry. “To feel something different.”

“Different than what?” Dexter asked. “What do you normally feel?”

Jeremy looked down at the table, taking a second to answer. “Nothing,” he admitted, “fucking nothing at all! I hate every fucking goddamn second of it. I can't stand it—living my life in my head.”

Dexter immediately felt a pang of sympathy. “Does killing make it better?”

Jeremy shook his head. “No. Worse. Fucking worse than ever.”

“Put your hands on the table,” Dexter ordered. “Do it,” he said as he started scraping under Jeremy’s fingernails.

“I'm a lot like you, you know?” Dexter said softly.

“Pffft, yeah, right,” the kid replied. “You're a killer?”

Dexter sighed. “I'm empty... but I found a way to make it feel less bottomless.”

“How?” Jeremy asked incredulously.

“Pretend,” Dexter said, looking Jeremy in the eye. “You pretend the feelings are there for the world, for the people around you. Who knows? Maybe one day they will be.”

“What the hell are you doing, Morgan?” Pullman asked, storming into the room like gangbusters.

I'm scraping under the nails for blood. Almost done,” Dexter answered calmly.

“Get out,” Pullman snarled. “I want 10 more minutes with this piece of shit before his lawyer shows.”

“Stand up!” Pullman yelled at Jeremy as Dexter hastily left the room. On his way back to the lab, Dexter stopped to tell the kid’s lawyer he’d better get into the interrogation room fast.

Sometime in the afternoon, as Dexter passed Jeremy Downs’ cell, he saw that the boy committed suicide. It seems he followed Dexter's advice after all, and killed someone who deserved to die. Dexter, still disappointed that the Ice Truck Killer was nothing more than a mentally disturbed psychopath, requested to see him so he could ask questions.

“How long you need with the prisoner?” The guard asked as Dexter entered.

“As long as I can get,” he replied, still listening to the monologue going on in his head.

‘Jeremy is gone, and Neil Perry will soon vanish into the catacombs of the system. I have so many questions for him. How did he discover my secrets? What was his message to me? He's been in my home, my photos... my life. He knows me. Now I need to know him... to connect face-to-face before he's beyond my reach forever.’

“Hi,” Dexter said as the guard brought Perry in.

Perry eyed Dexter, no recognition whatsoever igniting in his eyes. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked.

Dexter smiled to himself, knowing his playmate was still out there somewhere, just waiting to make his next move.

On his way out of the station, Dexter spoke to Deb for a minute. “Hey, is tonight your big date?”

“Yup,” she said grinning. “I can’t wait, but what are you and Mush gonna do?”

Dexter smiled sheepishly. “Don’t know yet—said something about teaching me the mambo.”

Deb laughed, floating on cloud nine. “Okay, but I didn’t think dancing was your forte.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been learning a lot of new stuff recently,” Dex replied, thinking that was no joke either.

“Great,” Deb said, almost running out of the station. “Have fun!”

“You too,” Dexter called after her.

Dex got home before Angel, so he penned a quick ad for Craigslist. He needed to get the cat and mouse dance with the Ice Truck Killer back on track.

"Dear Ken, I'm in pieces. Why the cold shoulder? Love, Barbie." Dexter didn’t know if he’d see it, but he had to hope.

~~~~

Down at the Coconut Grove, Debra told Rudy a little about herself as they got to know each other.

“My mom died when I was 16—Cancer—and then it was just me, my brother, my dad.”

"You have a brother?" Rudy asked, seemingly interested.

“Yeah. Dexter. He and my dad were... really tight. You know, they were always spending time together. I guess I was jealous,” she said, taking a sip of her wine.

“What, you mean you weren't daddy's little girl?” Rudy asked jokingly.  

Deb leaned into him. “No, I was... kind of. He just took a special interest in Dex, you know? I think that's why I became a cop. That's what he was. I thought maybe he would give me more attention or something.”

“And did he?” he inquired softly.

"Not really... but we had our moments,” she replied, shaking herself out of her sudden funk. “What about you? How'd you become... Captain hook?”

“Well, when I was little, my mom got in a car accident,” Rudy answered stoically. “She lost both her legs.”

“It's terrible,” Deb responded sympathetically.

“I remember when it happened, I just wanted to put her back together... You know, like Humpty Dumpty. Just the pieces weren't... around.”

Deb thought to herself, ‘What an amazing guy.’

~~~~

Angel breezed into the small apartment with an air of undeniable excitement, his energy palpable as he set the stage for a casual, culinary adventure. “I ordered dinner this time, babe. It’ll be here soon! Hope you don’t mind pizza, but it’s a new gourmet place. I got us a shrimp scampi, a pizza Cubana, some Mojo wings, and bread sticks.”

Dexter arched an eyebrow, tilting his head quizzically. “That’s a lot of food, Angel. Do you really think we can eat all that?”

Angel flashed a grin, chin lifted and eyes sparkling, as if champions had just been crowned. “We can take any leftovers to work with us tomorrow. Besides, it’s all about indulgence, right? Oh, and I got my days off switched to match yours. I figured we could both use some quality time together. Told LaGuerta I had a few things to juggle on those days.”

Dexter felt his heart sink, though he masked it with a practiced smile that could sell ice to an Eskimo. “Great… that’s great.” The words almost stuck in his throat. The illusion of normalcy teased him, tantalized him, yet the pressure of his Dark Passenger and unfinished business lingered like a ghost in the corner, chilling his spine.

Unfortunately, there was something about Angel’s boundless enthusiasm that tugged at him, igniting flashes of something he’d been trying to push away. Wouldn’t it be stupid to risk it all for an overly amorous, loud, and messy lover, not knowing if he could sidestep his darker urges? Dexter shook off the unease. After all, he was a master of deception, so surely, he could handle Angel, Deb, Doakes, and the Dark Passenger with relative ease.

“You’re too quiet, Dex,” Angel remarked, his tone light yet laced with curiosity. The tantalizing scent of the pizza drifted through the air, but Dexter felt an undeniable weight in his chest.

He paused, and took a moment to meet Angel’s gaze. There was a brightness in those eyes, an unwavering faith in the beauty of their connection. “Just savoring the moment,” he replied with a small smile. “This pizza is really something, isn’t it? I mean, shrimp scampi on a pie? Talk about a bold move.”

Angel chuckled, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. “It’s definitely adventurous, just like us. But I know you, Dex. You’re not one for silence—especially when there’s good food on the table.”

Dexter sighed, momentarily dragging himself away from the flavors of the shrimp scampi pizza. “Oh, I was just thinking about the case I’m working on—supposed to be a cut-and-dried suicide.” Angel’s brow furrowed in concentration, an instinctive response to any hint of unease in Dexter’s tone.

“Baby, you need to leave work back at the office,” Angel admonished.

Dexter nodded and took a bite of the pizza, letting the rich flavors burst in his mouth. It was a distraction, a momentary escape from the tumult of thoughts swirling in his mind. He could savor the taste, the company, and that warm glow of intimacy without having to confront the shadows lurking at the edges of his consciousness.

But behind the confident front he wore like a tailored suit, he felt the nagging shackles of restraint. He knew he was holding back, refraining from revealing the jagged edges of his psyche. The passionate nights they shared were breathtaking but controlled, a dance of chemistry and yearning that never dipped into the depths of true vulnerability. What if he gave in to the urge to lose control, to guide them into an uncharted territory of passion and honesty?

Dexter’s thoughts turned inward, wading through his memories like they were a churning sea. What if he opened those hidden doors, the ones that led to his dark side? What if Angel saw those secret recesses of pain, doubt, and shadow that haunted him? Angel would hate him for it, so Dexter decided he needed to make a few subtle changes in his life, just to make sure his lover never found out who he really was.

Forever foregoing the sofa—in the event someone else was watching—that night in bed, Dexter tried to relax more, mirroring Angels confident moves, but it still felt slightly forced—tight. Fortunately, Angel didn’t seem to notice, as he sucked on Dexter’s neck, and rolled his balls in the palm of his hand, before shoving three fingers into his ass. Dexter gasped and moaned with as much exuberance as he could muster. The sensations made him hard, sweaty, and aching for more, but there was something missing—he just didn’t know what.

As Dexter lay there, he thought about what a relationship should be and the reality of theirs. He knew Angel wanted more depth and intimacy, but Dexter couldn't reveal his true self without risking their bond. Instead, he focused on feeding the fantasy, moving in sync with Angel's touches and grunts, imagining himself as an entirely different person.

The problem was, the lines between fantasy and reality kept blurring. It was becoming increasingly difficult for Dexter to distinguish between their real-life relationship and the one he'd conjured up in his mind. He needed to maintain that distance, to keep some semblance of normalcy, if he hoped to protect Angel from the truth about himself.

“Baby, baby, I’m gonna fuck you now,” Angel growled, removing his lube fingers from Dexter’s quivering hole. “I can’t wait, love. I want you so much!”

“Nugggh, yes, please…” Dexter trailed off as Angel positioned the head of his cock next to his tight opening.

Dexter felt a spark of adrenaline at the thought of giving in totally to his desires. He closed his eyes and let out a soft moan as Angel pressed against him, the head of his cock teasing at Dexter's entrance. It was an intoxicating sensation, one that made him feel alive despite the nagging sense of unease lingering at the edges of his consciousness.

With a slow, measured thrust, Angel pushed his cock deep inside Dexter, filling him up inch by delicious inch. Dexter arched his back and bit his lip, trying to contain the groans of pleasure that threatened to escape him. He could feel every ridge and vein of Angel's cock as it stretched him open, claiming him completely.

As they moved together in a frantic rhythm, each stroke sending shock waves of pleasure through Dexter's body, he marveled at the intensity of their connection. He'd never experienced anything like this before—so raw, so real. Angel was right; they were daring and adventurous, pushing boundaries that still defied logic—or any type of good sense.

Angel pounded into him, doubling him almost in half. Dexter wrapped his legs tightly around Angel’s waist, pulling him in deeper as he held onto the headboard for leverage.

“Fuck, fuck!” Angel cried. “I’m so close, baby… so close.”

Dexter’s mind reeled with intensity as Angel’s slick hand slid up and down his cock, starting at the root and spiraling up to the tip, a thumb grazing over his leaking slit.

“Oh God, Angel!” Dexter cried as come exploded from his cock, splattering across his stomach and Angel’s chest.

Angel grunted heavily a few more times and followed Dexter over the edge, collapsing on top of him and gasping for breath.

His burly lover recovered quickly, capturing his mouth in a passion-filled, toe-curling kiss that spoke volumes, leaving no doubt about his intentions.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Angel moaned into the kiss. “I wish I had the stamina to fuck you nonstop—for hours—days—weeks—”

Dexter laughed. “I get it. You want me.”

Angel shook his head as he rolled to the side and pulled Dexter flush against him. “No. I don’t just want you—I want to devour you—every inch of you,” he said, cupping one of Dexter’s ass cheeks and squeezing.

Dexter looked into Angel's eyes, trying to read the depths of his emotions. He could see the uncontrolled passion burning within him, a hunger that matched Dexter's own hidden desire. Slowly, carefully, Dexter reached up and traced his fingers over Angel's ear, along the line of his jaw, down his neck, and over his chest. As he did so, he felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of calm and connection that transcended their physical union.

"You make me see life differently," Dexter whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “You make me see the possibilities.”

Angel's eyes glowed with an inner fire as he kissed Dexter again, their tongues dancing in a slow, sensual waltz. "I hope you know, no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you, Dexter," he said with a sincerity that was only believable coming from Angel. "Through thick and thin, through joy and pain... I'm yours, for better or worse."

Dexter smiled, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude and affection for this man he'd come to care for. He pulled Angel closer, resting his head on his chest and closing his eyes, savoring the warmth of their entwined bodies as he drifted off to sleep.

~~~~

The next morning before work, Dexter changed the sheets and cleaned the apartment from top to bottom. Angel already left for work, but Dexter was working the 12 to 8 shift that day. It would give him a chance to research a couple of other odd suicides that tingled his Spidey senses. 

Dexter sat in his office poring over three seemingly unrelated case files. “Talk to me, ladies,” he said out loud to the empty office. “What do you have in common? Same sorority? Pilates instructor?”

“Hmm, Dr. Emmett Meridian,” Dexter mused. ‘The three suicide sisters shared the same therapist—Dr. Emmett Meridian. He must be terrible at his job. So far, he comes up squeaky clean—no malpractice suit, no disgruntled patients. And I thought I was a master at damage control. Perhaps I should schedule a session with the good doctor and try out a little reverse psychology.’

Dexter sat at his desk, sipping his coffee, as the hum of fluorescent lights above filled the room. The faint scent of stale brew lingered in the air. His gaze remained fixed on the name scribbled in his notes: Dr. Emmett Meridian. Something about the suicides connected to this therapist didn't sit well with him. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number he'd found in Dr. Meridian's office listing. After a few rings, a smooth female voice answered. "Dr. Meridian's office." Dexter adopted a guise of weariness, giving the secretary a false name. "Hi, I need to schedule an appointment. I've been struggling with... some issues. I’m with the Miami Police Department, and I was hoping I could get an appointment as soon as possible."

The receptionist's voice, chipper yet detached, replied, "Of course. How about Wednesday at 2 PM?" Dexter agreed, his mind already racing with strategies to uncover the hidden truths behind the doctor's suicidal patients.

During a break, Dexter found Deb and asked her how her date with the prosthetics expert went. “So, tell me all about it?” he asked, feigning interest.

Deb’s eyes lit up as she leaned against the counter in the break room, the faint hum of the coffee machine buzzing behind her. “It was amazing,” she said; her words tinged with a giddy enthusiasm that made Dexter smile despite himself. “He’s an artist when it comes to prosthetics—can you believe it? And not just any prosthetics—high-tech, cutting-edge stuff. He showed me some of his designs, and honestly, Dex, it’s like something out of a sci-fi movie.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow as he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. The bitter aroma filled the air, grounding him in the mundane moment. “Sounds… cool,” he said, trying to muster genuine interest. He took a sip of his coffee, doing his best to focus on the conversation.

Deb laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, it was. And he’s actually really sweet. Nerdy, you know? Like, he gets so excited about limb reanimation that it’s kind of adorable.” She paused, studying Dexter’s neutral expression. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

Dexter snapped his attention back to her, forcing a polite smile. “Of course, I am. Limb reanimation, huh? Sounds… fascinating.” He meant it, sort of. People and their passions were endlessly intriguing, though he couldn’t quite relate to the emotion behind them.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, well, whatever. He’s got this energy—and he’s good at listening. Can you believe that? A guy who listens more than he talks. I might actually see him again.”

Dexter nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. The break room was quiet, save for the occasional clatter of dishes and muted voices from the other officers. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting an artificial glow over the sterile space. He liked moments like these—calm, predictable, free of the chaos that seemed to follow him everywhere else.

But they never lasted.

~~~~

On Wednesday, Dexter stood outside Dr. Meridian's office, a quaint building nestled between a quiet café and a vintage bookstore. The brick exterior was painted in a soothing sage, but it didn't ease the knot in his stomach. He took a deep breath, the clear morning air tinged with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the café, and stepped inside.

The waiting area was sparsely decorated with neutral tones and a few abstract art pieces, exuding a calmness that felt overly deliberate. The receptionist, a blonde woman with poised professionalism, greeted him and led him to the doctor's office. Dr. Meridian rose from his chair as Dexter entered, tall and slender with a face that seemed carved to inspire trust.

“Come on in, Sean. Have a seat,” the doctor welcomed.

Dexter smiled. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Hey, I expect the police to show up when I call, right? The least I can do is clear my lunch hour for a cop in need. So... what brought you here?”

“A friend of mine died,” Dexter replied, bowing his head slightly. “She killed herself. I need to understand why.”

“How come?” Meridian asked.

Dexter shrugged. “She had everything going for her. It doesn't make sense.”

“To some people, death makes perfect sense. Life—that's the puzzle, like you, Sean. What really brought you here?”

“I just told you I came—”

“To talk about your friend's suicide, I know. I think you're using this suicide deal as an excuse to come see me,” the doctor stated bluntly.

Dexter subtly smirked. “You're absolutely right. How could you tell?”

The doctor waved his hand knowingly. “I'm sensing you do it a lot to keep the world at arm's length.”

"And what are my real intentions?" Dexter asked with a raised eyebrow.

The doctor stood up. “As soon as I pay for my lunch, you're gonna tell me that. Excuse me a second.”

Dexter thought to himself. ‘Judging from what I've seen so far, I probably will. This guy's good. So, why do his patients keep dying? Vanessa's estimated time of death was Monday at 7:00 p.m., he thought as he quickly flipped through Meridian’s appointment book.

'Meridian was in session with Scott Solomon. I wonder if Mr. Solomon kept his appointment that night.’

“So, we got... almond chicken, pork fried rice,” the doctor continued on, picking up right where they’d left off. “So, Sean, let's start with the basics. You married?”

“No.”

“Significant other?”

“Yes.”

“Sex life?”

“It's personal.”

Meridian chuckled. “And this is therapy, where we share personal things.”

“You know, it might help me open up if you shared something about yourself. Why did you become a psychiatrist?” Dexter asked.

The doctor shook his head. “See what you just did? Trying to take control like that. You probably get away with it most of the time, too, right? That's a way of preventing other people from getting close to you. Let me ask you something, Sean. Have you ever been close to anybody?”

“My foster father. He's the only one who ever really knew me,” Dexter said almost wistfully.

“You're adopted?”

“Harry took me in when I was 3.”

“So, tell me about Harry. What kind of stuff did you guys do together?”

“You know, normal father-son stuff,” Dexter replied as his mind wandered back to simpler times with Harry.

As the session neared its end, Dexter thought this guy could really help him loosen up with Angel, and definitely a few more sessions were needed to ascertain the truth about the suicides.

Dexter left the office building with more questions than answers. The bright sunlight offered little comfort as he pondered the possibilities. He felt the enormity of his task, the need to delve deeper into Dr. Meridian's perfect world. The suicides, the shared therapist, the subtle unease—each piece nudged him closer to a truth he was determined to uncover. One line Meridian said stuck in his head. ‘To some people, death makes perfect sense.’  Dexter thought that was an odd comment coming from a therapist.

He walked back to his car; the city sounds around him fading into the background as his mind went into overdrive. The case was far from closed, and he was ready to dig deeper, follow every lead, no matter how small, to find the answers he sought. Dexter was just getting started, but right now, he needed to get back to work.

The next day, Dexter went for a run in Scott Solomon’s neighborhood, hoping for a chance encounter. The fates were on his side, as he saw a man in front of Solomon’s house, drop a melon out of his grocery bag.

“Hey, I got it,” Dexter said as he jogged up to the car, bent down and picked up the melon.

“Thanks,” the guy said with a smile.

“Hey, I know you,” Dexter said, taking a closer look at Solomon. “Monday night at Meridian's. You're always leaving your 7:00 when I'm arriving for my 8:00. You missed last week, right?”

“No, I was there,” he replied, looking Dexter up and down. “I don't remember ever seeing you, though.”

Dex smiled at Scott. “How do you like him? Meridian?”

“Best thing that's ever happened to me... so far. How about you? You finding him helpful?” he asked.

Dexter chuckled. “I'm a sociopath. There's not much he can do for me.”

“Cute and funny,” Scott said with a laugh. “Let me guess—taken?"

“Yeah, fiancé,” Dex replied.

“Lucky girl—well, thanks for the help—but I can handle it from here,” Scott said, juggling his grocery bags.

“All right,” Dex responded with a wave as he continued his run. ‘So, Meridian has an alibi for the time of death. My sexual hang-ups and control issues aside, I need a follow-up appointment—to dig a little deeper. Isn't that what therapy's all about?’ Dexter thought, smirking to himself.

That evening, lying in bed with Angel, as the larger man fucked him with a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm, he tried to clear his mind of everything else, except the feel of his lover’s cock inside of him.

Dexter moaned softly, tilting his hips to meet Angel's thrusts. Angel's reply was a growl mixed with a groan as he thrust semi-gently into Dexter's prostrate. Dexter’s hips rose off the bed, a strangled gasp escaping his lips.

“That feel good, baby,” Angel asked, pushing Dexter’s hips back down on the bed while he continued to lightly jab his prostate with the head of his cock.

“Uh, huh…” Dex answered with another soft moan.

“Have I mentioned how much I love fucking you?” Angel asked, punctuating his question with a harder shot to the sensitive gland.

“Fuck!” Dexter cried out, trying to form a coherent sentence. “I think I’ve heard you say it once or twice—or a thousand times,” he gasped.

Dexter’s hands rested on Angel’s biceps, his fingers tracing the curve of muscle beneath the skin. Angel’s weight pressed into him, steady as their bodies moved in sync. Dexter closed his eyes, focusing on the heat of Angel’s chest against his, the way their hearts beat together like a single drum.

“Harder, please,” Dexter begged.

Angel obliged, his thrusts deepening, each hitting the spot that made Dexter’s spine tingle. He clenched around Angel, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through his body. Angel groaned, his lips brushing against Dexter’s ear. “You like that, baby?”

Dexter nodded. He reached up, his hands tangling in Angel’s hair, pulling him closer. Their mouths met in a messy, desperate kiss, tongues clashing as their bodies moved faster, the rhythm becoming almost frantic.

The room blurred around them, the world shrinking to the space between their skin. Dexter felt the climb building in his gut, a tightening coil of heat and pressure. He broke away from the kiss, gasping for air, his hands gripping Angel’s shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, his voice raw.

Angel growled again, his hands tightening on Dexter’s hips, holding him in place as he drove into him with relentless precision. Dexter’s head pressed back into the pillow, his mouth open in a silent shout as the tension finally snapped. He came with a shudder, his body trembling beneath Angel’s, his own cock never touched. Dexter didn’t even know that was possible.

Angel followed a moment later, with a spectacular orgasm of his own, as he pumped his hot spunk into the condom. They lay there for a moment, slick with sweat, their chests heaving as they fought to catch their breath.

Finally, Angel pulled back, his hands framing Dexter’s face. “You okay?” he asked, so gently—he always asked after they had sex.

Dexter nodded, though his body still hummed with aftershocks. He reached up, his fingers brushing against Angel’s lips. “More than okay,” he said, still breathless. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

Angel smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and pressed a gentle kiss to Dexter’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured.

Angel’s warmth lingered against Dexter’s skin as he pulled away, leaving Dexter’s chest faintly damp. The room was heavy with the scent of sweat and the faint musk of sex, a primal reminder of everything they’d shared. Dexter lay still, his fingers trailing over the indented marks they’d left on each other’s skin. He could feel Angel’s heartbeat slowing against his side, a steady, comforting rhythm, almost lulling.

But the words hung in the air like a death sentence. ‘I love you.’ Dexter's throat tightened as he turned his head to meet Angel’s gaze. Those dark, expressive eyes searched his, unguarded and raw, as if willing Dexter to meet him halfway. For a moment, Dexter forgot how to breathe, forgot how to lie, forgot how to hide. All he could think about was the terrifying, exhilarating truth: I might love you too.

He pushed the thought away before it could fully form, before it could escape. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against Angel’s jaw, the stubble rough beneath his fingertips. “Show me again,” he repeated, his voice shaky. It was safer this way—losing himself in the physical, in the fleeting escape of pleasure that didn’t require words or truths.

Angel’s face softened, his lips curling into a quiet smile. “You don’t play fair, you know that?” he murmured, his words tinged with affection. But he didn’t press, didn’t push for the words Dexter couldn’t give. Instead, he leaned in, his mouth meeting Dexter’s in a kiss that was slow, sweet, and achingly tender. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a silent promise of patience and understanding.

Dexter’s heart ached in response. He didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve Angel’s love, his trust, his unwavering belief in the lie Dexter so carefully crafted. But as Angel’s arms tightened around him, pulling him close, Dexter let himself surrender to the moment. For the first time in his life, he felt the fragile edge of his control waver. Maybe it was the intensity of the moment, or the exhausting burden of his secrets, but tonight, he didn’t have the strength to pretend.

As Angel’s fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, Dexter felt the walls he’d built for so long begin to crack. Not enough to crumble, not enough to reveal the truth, but just enough to let in a sliver of light. And in that moment, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to be alone in the darkness after all.

The thought terrified him, but it also exhilarated him. He clung to Angel, his hands gripping the broad expanse of his back, as if anchoring himself to the only person who made him feel human. For the first time, he wondered what it would be like to let go, to trust, to be seen. And though the fear still lingered, knifelike and suffocating, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Angel might just be worth the risk.

But for now, he didn’t have to decide. For now, he could lose himself in the warmth of Angel’s arms, in the quiet strength of his love. And so, he did, letting the world narrow down to the two of them, their breaths intertwining, their hearts pounding in unison. It wasn’t the same as saying it out loud, but in this moment, Dexter knew he was speaking his own truth—the only way he knew how

Chapter Text

The next day at work, around 1 p.m., Dexter couldn’t concentrate on his assigned task, as he was anxious for his next appointment with Meridian. He grabbed a cup of coffee from the break room, hoping that would help him concentrate.

“Where’s my report, weirdo?” Doakes shouted across the squad room at Dexter as he headed back to his office. “I need it now!”

Dexter looked up, anger flashing in his eyes. He was ready to tell Doakes to go fuck himself when Angel stepped in. 

Angel, who'd just arrived at work, snarled. “Doakes, You need to start treating all of our coworkers with respect. Dexter helped us solve many cases—and you treat him like shit. There’s no call for that. Dexter is a nice person, and I find there’s something very suspicious about your dislike of him.”

“He’s probably got the hots for him,” McNamara chimed in. “He’s fucked everything else.”

Doakes leveled a death glare at McNamara, who just snickered unfazed and walked away. 

Dexter stood frozen for a moment, caught off guard by Angel’s intervention. The tension in the squad room crackled like static electricity, and he could feel the weight of Doakes' scowl bearing down on him. But there was something undeniably empowering about standing in the light of Angel’s defense.

“Thanks, Angel,” Dexter said, flashing him a quick smile. “I’ll get you the report, Doakes—don’t worry, I’m on it.”    

Doakes huffed, the muscles in his neck straining in anger, but the fire in his eyes dimmed. He wasn’t used to being called out, especially not by one of his own. The room shifted slightly, a subtle rebalancing of the power dynamics that made Dexter feel a thrill of victory coursing through him.

With his coffee in hand and the taste of vindication on his tongue, Dexter turned away from the unyielding glare of Doakes and the whispers of doubt that threatened to intrude on his thoughts.  

He could almost hear Meridian’s voice reminding him to embrace his strength—his confidence. He had a purpose that went beyond the petty squabbles of the precinct. Today was just another step closer to uncovering truths, both about himself and the good doctor's probable misdeeds.

Dexter left a little bit earlier than normal, so he could get to his next visit on time.

“You seem on edge today,” Dr. Meridian said.

“I'm not getting what I came here for.” Dexter replied.

“What'd you come here for? We established in our last visit that it wasn't to talk about suicide.”

“Or feelings.”

“Heaven forbid. So, what do you want to talk about?”

Dex smiled faintly. “Fakes—people who pass themselves off as something they're not.” The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Like a pre-owned-car salesman?”

“A brave politician.”

“A Jew for Jesus.”

“A wolf in sheep's clothing,” Dex continued.

“Is that how you feel, Sean? Like you're hiding a dark secret?”

“No, I wasn't talking about me.”

“Who you're talking about?”

“You,” Dex answered.

“That's a common first-time reaction to therapy. You think I can't care about you, that I'm only pretending to care because I have another motive,” the doctor suggested.

“Bingo,” Dexter said with a smirk.

“You got me. I do have another motive. It's called a paycheck. But that doesn't mean that I can't care for my patients or enjoy my job,” Meridian insisted. “How are things at your job?” he asked.

“Frustrating, to tell you the truth,” Dexter said, his mind straying to Doakes.

“What kind of forensics do you do?”

“Blood spatter.”

“Most people can't stand blood.”

 “I hate it.” Dexter retorted.

“Categorizing and analyzing must be very soothing for you.”

Dexter nodded. “Yeah, it is, actually.”

“So, okay, how are things with your significant other?”

“We work a lot, so it’s sometimes hard to make time for each other.”

“Sounds like a lot of things are out of your control right now. No wonder you cut yourself off from your emotions. That way, you never have to feel powerless.”

“So, then, what should I do?” Dexter asked.

“Accept that certain things are out of your hands. Let go.”

Dexter sifted through a few more memories of his life growing up, before the therapy session finally ended. He hadn’t made much progress, so he vowed he’d do a little breaking and entering later that evening. Angel had the night shift, so Dexter could get away with being out for a short while.

Later that night, while rummaging through the doctor’s office, Dexter thought to himself. ‘My therapist wants me to accept the things that are out of my hands. Tragically for him, he's not out of my hands, not if I can find proof that the death of at least three women under his care was not a coincidence. I hope he got my good side’, Dex thought as he found Meridian's hidden camera. ‘Now, what's he recording for posterity's sake?’

Dexter found Meridian’s files and played the video on the computer:

“C’mon ladies.”

Vanessa: I need another prescription.

Meridian: I'm sorry, Vanessa. I can't do that.

Vanessa: Just one more, please.

Meridian: We talked about this. The antidepressants were a temporary crutch, so that you could start taking steps on your own.

Meghan: But you don't understand. I can't do this on my own. I can't even get out of fucking bed. I just—I want to die.

Meridian: Look at me. I understand the appeal of death, okay? No more pain. All the career pressure, the hopelessness, gone. In many cultures, there's no stigma attached to taking one's life. Suicide's respected, even revered as a matter of personal conscience.

Carolyn: How do most people do it?

Meridian: Well, painkillers are the most common. But they're entirely unreliable. The truly courageous of heart... use guns.
Dexter shook his head in disgust.

‘You took women who trusted you at their weakest possible moment, and rather than help them, you suggested they end it all. God, you even gave them permission to use a gun. You're a mean one, Mr. Shrink. Create their drug addiction, pull them off, then fill their addled heads with noble thoughts of suicide. I think I've had a breakthrough in therapy.'

~~~~

Hey, how was your night?” Dex asked as Angel walked in.

“Exhausting—and Doakes gave me the cold shoulder the entire evening,” Angel said grinning. “I was so sad about that, but how was your night, baby? I’m surprised you’re still up. It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Dex said with a nod. “Couldn’t sleep, so I made a batch of pulled pork. We can take it to work tomorrow. Are you hungry?”

“Nah, I grabbed something earlier, but that was so thoughtful of you,” Angel said as he slid closer to his lover. “I knew something smelled really good as soon as I walked in. Can’t wait to have some tomorrow, but right now I need a shower. You want to join me, baby?”

Dex smiled. “Sorry, I just had one, but I’ll wait for you in bed.”

Angel grinned. “You want to top this time?”

Dexter stared, not sure what to say. He didn’t think he was ready for that. What if Angel saw who he really was, and then everything fell apart? “Um… I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” Angel said with an easy smile. “You don’t have to, but if you want to—”

“Um, maybe next time,” Dexter answered, still not knowing if he could actually get away with topping.

“No problem,” Angel replied nonplussed. “I won’t be long in the shower, then we can have a quickie.”

Dexter sighed in relief. “Works for me.”

Of course, Angel’s idea of a quickie was one to two hours of passionate lovemaking, instead of four or five hours. Knowing his lover was tired, Dexter took pity on him and rode Angel’s cock, like the fine stallion he was, several times before both of them gave out.

“Damn, baby,” Angel growled as he flipped Dexter onto his back and went down on him—for real.

“Fuck!” Dexter cried as Angel’s hot, wet mouth engulfed his throbbing shaft. Angel tucked in with gusto, licking a stripe up and down the thick vein on the underside of his prick. The slurping sounds made Dexter even harder, but when Angel inserted four fingers inside him, he thought he was gonna lose it.

“Oh, my God, Angel,” Dexter moaned as his lover’s mouth did sinful things to his cock while stabbing his fingers back and forth inside him.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Dexter moaned loudly until his hot seed shot down Angel’s throat, his large paramour swallowing down every drop.

Seemingly pleased with himself, Angel crawled up Dexter’s body and shoved his tongue in his mouth, kissing him until the need to breathe became imminent.

Dexter chuckled once they pulled apart. “I think you’re trying to kill me, but what a way to go.”

Angel smiled, pulling him close. “I could say the same—your stamina is impressive.”

“My stamina?” Dexter laughed. “I couldn’t even begin to keep up with you.”

“Well, we’ll debate the issue tomorrow night,” Angel said with a slow, easy grin. “We’re both off the next day, so maybe you’ll take me for a ride in that boat of yours?”

Dexter sighed as sleep began to claim him, “Absolutely, it’s a date.”

Doakes sat in his car parked outside Dexter's apartment, gripping a listening device tightly, a wicked grin forming on his face. "I knew Angel was way too cheerful for someone going through a divorce—now I get it," he muttered to himself. 'What on earth does Angel see in that freak?' he pondered.

That morning at work, Doakes watched Dexter even more intently than usual. However, Dexter didn't have time to dwell on it, as he had another appointment with Dr. Meridian lined up.

Around two p.m., Dexter let Angel know he was leaving early because he had a doctor’s appointment.

“Everything okay,” Dex?” Angel asked with an edge of concern.

“Oh, yeah,” Dexter nodded. “It’s just a routine checkup, but I’ll see you at home tonight.”

“I’m cooking—chicken and rice.” Angel supplied. “Mama’s recipe.”

Dexter smiled at his lover on the way out the door. “I bet it’s delicious.”

Dexter arrived a few minutes early for his session with Meridian, and the receptionist showed him right in.

“My fiancé asked me for something I’m not sure I can even give.” Dexter declared.

“It's okay, Sean. Don't beat yourself up. Your significant other really means something to you. I know that.”

“Then why do I keep backing away—or freezing up?”

“For the same reason, you work so hard to shut everybody else out. Cause you're afraid they won't like what they see,” the doctor said confidently.

“Yeah,” Dexter said, nodding thoughtfully. “I think you're right, but how can I change that?”

Meridian took a deep breath. "Well, for starters, you accept the fact that we all have a big, bad wolf hiding inside of us, a darkness we don't want anyone else to see.”

“Do you?” Dexter asked.

“Of course I do,” Meridian answered.

“Really? And how do you deal with your wolf?” Dexter asked, genuinely wanting to know.

“Well, first of all, I accepted that it was there. I made friends with it. And now I just let it out for a big meal once in a while,” the doctor replied.

‘At least three times that we know about.' Dexter thought.

“Can we get back to the sex thing?”

“This is all about sex. The reason you avoid sexual intimacy is because you don't want to surrender control.”

“No, I've surrendered control. It's not like my... fiancé hasn't been, you know, south of the border,” Dex said, remembering the way Angel’s mouth felt on his cock.

“That's not what I'm talking about. Intimacy—really letting go face-to-face—there's nothing more difficult than that. The minute you start to accept who you are, you just might feel free enough to share that intimacy together."

“What are you doing?” Dexter asked as Meridian got up and turned off the lights.

“I'd like to talk you through a deep-relaxation technique. It might bring some things to the surface.”

“What kinds of things?”

“There must have been a time in your life when you felt powerless, right? Foster child, no control over your destiny. If we can bring some of those memories to the surface, we might find the root of your control issues. First, I want you to close your eyes and focus on your breathing. I want you to count each breath, okay? In, 1, and out, 2. Just give it a try.”

‘This is ridiculous. I could be killing him right now.’

“Now I want you to think of a time when you felt completely and totally powerless.”

Dexter’s mind wandered back to his teenage years, focusing on a particular incident.

Josh: ‘Hey, Morgan. You still fucking your sister?

Dexter: Leave me alone, Josh.”

Harry: I told you to walk away! God damn it, Dexter. There are consequences to everything you do in life. Lose control, become powerless, and it's over. I found the grave, son.

Dexter: I'll be like this forever? Mommy!’

“I have to get out of here,” Dexter said, getting up and rushing out of Meridian’s office.

"Wait, wait, Sean, come here,” Meridian called after him. “Sean, Sean. Sean!”

~~~~

“Hey, baby, are you okay?” Angel asked as Dexter entered their apartment. “You look a little flushed.”

Angel was standing at the kitchen stove, stirring a pot, when Dexter approached, pulling Angel toward him by his shirt front and kissing him hungrily. When they came up for air, Dexter growled low. “I missed you.”

The kitchen was thick with the scent of garlic and spices, but Dexter’s senses were consumed by the heat of Angel’s body pressed against his. Angel’s hands, slick with olive oil from cooking, slid up Dexter’s back, leaving a trail of warmth that seeped through the fabric of his shirt. Dexter’s fingers tangled in Angel’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss as the world around them melted away.

Angel’s moan vibrated against Dexter’s lips, and the sound sent a surge of desire through him. It was raw, primal, and unfiltered. He pushed Angel back against the counter, the edge digging into his lover’s hips, but Angel didn’t flinch. His eyes, dark and hungry, met Dexter’s, and without a word, they both knew.

Dexter’s hands moved with a newfound confidence, yanking at the buttons of Angel’s shirt, the fabric tearing slightly as he stripped it off. Angel laughed, low and guttural, as he kicked off his shoes and shimmied out of his pants; the sound of the zipper echoing loudly in the quiet kitchen. Dexter followed suit, shedding his clothes with a need he couldn’t contain.

The tile floor was cool beneath their feet as Dexter pushed Angel down, the slap of skin against tile accompanied by a gasp from Angel. Dexter’s hands trembled as he reached for the cooking oil on the counter, pouring a generous amount into his palm, the slick liquid warming as he stroked himself in preparation. All the while, he devoured Angel’s mouth as he prepared him with oiled fingers.

Angel watched, his chest heaving, as Dexter positioned himself between his legs. The first press of Dexter’s hips against Angel’s was tentative, a hesitation born of unspoken fears. But Angel’s encouragement was immediate—a tilt of his head, a soft curse, a hand reaching up to pull Dexter closer.

The moment Dexter sank into him, the world narrowed to the tight heat enveloping him and the sound of Angel’s labored breathing. He moved with a rhythm that was both familiar and foreign, each thrust a recognition of trust. Angel’s hands clamped down on Dexter’s hips, guiding him, urging him faster, deeper.

The kitchen around them faded into chaos—pots clanged, utensils scattered, the remnants of the night’s meal pushed aside as they claimed the space for their own. The scent of chicken, sweat, and olive oil permeated the air, the slick glide of their bodies a symphony of sound and sensation.

Somewhere in the storm of their lovemaking, Dexter felt the shift. The fear of exposure, the weight of his secrets, the constant need to control—it all burned away in the fire of their passion. For the first time, he let go, truly let go, and found himself in the arms of the one person who saw him as whole.

Angel came first as Dexter’s hand stroked him to completion, his ass muscles clamping tight around Dexter’s engorged cock. When wave after wave of exquisite release finally broke, Dexter collapsed onto Angel’s chest, their hearts pounding in unison. The kitchen was a mess, the floor sticky with oil and come, but Dexter couldn’t bring himself to care. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Angel’s neck, sighing in contentment.

For a moment, they just lay there, the only sound the echo of their ragged breathing and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Then, without saying a word, Angel wrapped his arms around Dexter’s waist, holding him close as they basked in the aftermath of their ecstasy.

And in that moment, Dexter knew—he didn’t need to be in control. Because once he let go, Dexter found strength in the arms of the man who loved him unconditionally.

“Baby, you gotta take charge more often,” Angel said with a chuckle. “That was fucking brilliant!”

Dexter brushed a sweaty fringe of hair out of Angel’s eyes. “I hope I didn’t ruin dinner. I was looking forward to your mama’s chicken and rice.”

The sticky film of sweat and olive oil clung to Dexter's skin as he nuzzled deeper into the warmth of Angel's neck. The kitchen, now a battlefield of scattered utensils and overturned pots, smelled of garlic, spices, and the musky tang of their passion. Dexter's stomach rumbled, a reminder of the ruined dinner, but the thought of food felt distant, unimportant.

Angel stirred beneath him, a low chuckle vibrating against Dexter's chest. "I think I can salvage the chicken," Angel said, his tone playful. “It’s in a covered pot on the back of the stove.

Dexter smiled as he stood, pulling his lover up with him. “How about a shared shower, then I’ll clean the kitchen while you fix dinner?”

“Deal, baby,” Angel replied, leaning in for a kiss as they headed off to their badly needed shower.

That night lying in bed with Angel, Dexter almost hated to have to kill Meridian—almost—but not quite. He definitely deserved to die for what he did to those poor trusting ladies.

The next day was a Saturday, so Angel and Dexter picked up Auri and took her boating for the afternoon. The sun dipped lower, casting a golden hue over the water as Dexter steered the boat toward the shore. The sound of waves gently lapping against the hull soothed him. Auri’s laughter echoed across the water, her joy infectious as she pointed at a flock of seagulls soaring overhead. Dexter glanced at Angel, who was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the corners. For a moment, everything felt normal, almost peaceful.

As they docked, the scent of coconut and grilled fish wafted through the air, mingling with the salty breeze. Dexter helped Auri off the boat, her small hand in his as they walked toward the restaurant. The wooden planks of the dock creaked under their feet, and the sound seemed to echo the rhythmic beat of Dexter’s heart.

Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit, with fairy lights strung around the ceiling. The hum of conversation filled the air. They found a table by the window, the view of the marina a perfect backdrop for their meal. Once everyone ordered, Angel’s hands gestured animatedly as he talked to Auri, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Dexter felt a pang in his chest, wishing he could say a fond farewell to his dark passenger once and for all.

After dinner, as they walked back to the boat, the evening air carried a heavier scent of blooming flowers. Dexter’s fingers brushed against Angel’s, a fleeting touch, but enough to send a spark of desire through him. Auri skipped ahead, her laughter carrying on the wind. Dexter’s thoughts wandered to later, to the privacy of their apartment, where the world could fade away and it could just be them.

The boat ride back was quieter, the stars beginning to twinkle above. Dexter’s mind raced with the day’s events, but his senses were heightened, aware of Angel’s presence beside him. He could feel the warmth of Angel’s body, the occasional touch of his arm against his.

Back on land, they settled Auri into Dexter's car, her eyelids heavy as they pulled away from the marina. While Angel hummed softly beside him, Dexter's mind lingered on the day's simple pleasures—the glint of sunlight on the water, Auri's delighted squeals as spray misted her face, the weight of the steering wheel beneath his steady hands.

After dropping Auri off, they drove home chatting amiably, fingertips grazing thighs, the space between them charged with the unspoken promise of what was to come later.

“You want to take control again, baby?” Angel asked with a sly grin. “That was pretty spectacular.”

“Hmm,” Dexter said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “So, what do you want to do?”

Dexter sighed, already semi-hard. “Do—do whatever you want to me—anything you want, lover.”

“Oh, fuck,” Angel groaned. “That’s an open invitation to an all you can eat buffet,” he said with a laugh. “Can I handcuff you to the bed?”

Dexter smirked sideways at Angel. “Uh huh,”

Angel’s laughter filled the car, warm and rich, as Dexter turned the key in the ignition. He leaned back in his seat, the leather cool against his skin, and let the sound wash over him. The drive home was a blur of streetlights flickering past, the hum of the engine, and the occasional brush of Angel’s fingers against his thigh.

When they walked into the apartment, the air still smelled faintly of olive oil.

Dexter kicked off his shoes, the tile floor chilled against his socks as he followed Angel toward the bedroom. The promise in Angel’s eyes made his pulse quicken, a familiar tension coiling in his gut.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the bedside lamp. Angel stopped at the bed, turning to face him with a smirk that made Dexter’s breath catch. “You sure about this?” Angel asked teasingly as he unbuckled his belt.

Dexter nodded, and licked his lips in anticipation. He trusted Angel—unequivocally, irrevocably. That trust was a cornerstone, a foundation that made the rest possible. He pulled his shirt off, the fabric catching slightly on his shoulders before he tossed it aside.

Angel’s eyes tracked every movement, his gaze burning like a slow fire. He stepped closer, the heat of his body pressing against Dexter’s. “Say it,” Angel murmured, his breath grazing Dexter’s ear. “Say you want it.”

“I want it,” Dexter whispered, the words falling easily now.

The first touch was electric, Angel’s hands skimming down his back, sending a shiver rippling through him. Dexter closed his eyes, letting the sensations take over—calloused palms, the scrape of stubble, the slow way Angel undid the button of his jeans.

Time blurred, each moment magnified. The world narrowed to the press of lips, the scrape of teeth, the relentless drive of Angel’s hips, Dexter’s hands cuffed to the headboard as Angel pounded into him.

“Fuck,” Dexter moaned. “Fuck me harder,” he cried as he strained against the handcuffs.

Dexter’s breath hitched in his throat as Angel’s hips drove deeper, a rhythm relentless. He could feel the sweat-slickened skin pressed against his, the heat radiating from Angel’s body like a furnace. The handcuffs dug into his wrists, a sharp bite that only added to the storm of sensations coursing through him. He arched his back, meeting each thrust with a desperate hunger.

“Harder,” he rasped, the word barely legible over the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears. His vision blurred at the edges, the dim light of the room fluttering as if in sync with the pulsating pressure building in his groin.

Angel’s hands gripped his hips like a vise, the fingerprints pressing into his skin as he pounded into him with a ferocity that bordered on animalistic. The slapping of flesh against flesh echoed through the room, joining with their ragged breaths. Dexter’s mouth hung open, his lips dry from the relentless moans escaping from him.

His muscles tightened, the tension coiling like a spring about to snap. The room narrowed to the single point of contact, the world outside ceasing to exist. He could smell the muskiness of their arousal, the scent of them filling the air around them. Angel held him by the thighs, as he continued the onslaught, grunting in time with his own thrusts.

Dexter was near mindless when Angel released one of his thighs and began stroking his cock. Dexter gasped. “I’m gonna…”

“Come for me, baby?” Angel ordered in a commanding voice. “Come for me!”

When the release came, it was sudden and blinding, a white-hot wave of ecstasy crashing over him. He screamed, the sound raw and guttural, as his body convulsed. Angel followed close behind, his own climax drawn out in a guttural groan as he buried himself deep within Dexter.

They lay there for a moment, the only sound their labored breathing. Dexter’s body felt spent, his muscles trembling as the adrenaline began to ebb. Angel’s weight pressed down on him, a comforting heaviness. When Angel finally shifted, the cooler air hit Dexter’s skin, sending a shiver through him.

Angel uncuffed Dexter, pulling him close. Afterward, they lay in the tangled mess of bedding, sweat cooling on their skin. Dexter’s chest heaved, his body boneless and heavier than usual. Angel’s fingers drifted lazily through his hair, the touch grounding.

“You didn’t have to,” Angel said softly, his voice tinged with amusement. “I would’ve been happy just to….”

Dexter’s laugh was shaky, catching in his throat. “I know.” He turned his head, meeting Angel’s gaze. “But I wanted to. Now, that was truly spectacular.”

The room was quiet then, filled with the soft rise and fall of their breathing. Dexter closed his eyes, the weight of Angel’s hand on his back a steady comfort. For the first time in a long time, the shadows in his mind felt a little lighter.

And when sleep finally claimed him, it was with the memory of Angel’s smile etched in his thoughts.

Outside in his usual parking spot, Doakes listened intently to the couple as they fucked with abandon. It made him angry, jealous, and hard all at the same time. He’d never been attracted to another man in that way, but there was something about Dexter that made his skin prickle—made his gut twist—made him crazy with… what? Doakes didn’t know.

~~~~

The following Monday, late that evening, Dexter called Doctor Meridian and asked if he’d see him. The doctor told him to come right over, so Dex jumped in his car and went for his final therapy session.

“I was really worried about you. You sure you're alright?” Meridian asked. “I kept calling your house, but I think the number you gave me didn't work.”

You wouldn't have reached me anyway, 'cause I was having sex with my fiancé. Face-to-face.”

“Sean! That's very good.”

“It's all good, doctor. I even stopped worrying about that friend of mine who's been out of touch. You can't control other people, you know?”

“This is a real breakthrough. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I am proud. Truth be told, I never expected to... make progress in therapy.”

“That's not true. If that were true, you never would have come in here in the first place. What do you want to focus on today?”

“Glad you asked that. I'm gonna tell you something that I've never told anyone before.”

“Okay.”

“I'm a serial killer. Oh, God!” Dexter said dramatically. “Oh, that feels so—so amazing to say out loud!”

“Well, you must be letting go, because I've never heard you make a joke before.”

“I'm not joking. I kill people,” Dexter said with a small laugh. “There it is again. You should try it. I know. Your big, bad wolf has racked up a tidy little death toll. I'm just kidding. I disabled the cameras, and I copied the files.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Meridian protested.

“Then focus on your breathing, maybe you'll remember—Meghan, Carolyn, Vanessa.”

“Those sessions are confidential!”

“I'm a control freak, I know,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “But I watched your home movies. It's amazing stuff—drugs, guns, and a crazy psychiatrist. No wonder you're so well versed in control issues. You got quite the God complex.”

“This session's over,” the doctor said, jumping up from his chair. Dexter grabbed Meridian from behind and choked him out.

“Not so fast, doc.”

While Meridian was unconscious, Dexter set up his kill room in the doctor’s office.

“You're awake. Shall we analyze your dreams?” Dexter said as he sat calmly in a chair next to Meridian. “No. That's right. You've already told me everything I need to know, accept... why powerful women? You took powerful women and made them powerless. They left behind families, children,” he said as he got up and walked toward the doctor. “I have to confess, I'm a little conflicted. You've helped me make a major self-discovery,” he said as he ran the scalpel down the doctor’s cheek, depositing the blood on a blank slide.

“The fact that I'm a killer... that's something I can't control. You helped me to accept what I really am. I'm grateful for that. But... I was raised with a certain set of principles. I'm sorry, Doc. Actions have consequences, and this is yours. I'm gonna have to let you go,” he said as he put on his face shield and turned on the reciprocating saw.

Chapter Text

First thing in the morning, after Angel left for work, Dexter checked Craigslist to see if he had any other responses. He was almost giddy when he read the message that could only be from the Ice Truck Killer.

The message read: “Barbie, don’t be so impatient. One day we’ll sit down and drink a cold one together. Ken.”

Dexter smiled—his playmate was back, so now the game could continue.

~~~~

That same morning, Angel was partnered with Doakes because no one else was available.

As they drove down the street, Doakes suddenly yelled. “Stop the car, man!”

“What?” Angel asked in confusion.

“Stop the goddamn car!” Doakes cried as he jumped out of the vehicle and yelled at a man walking down the street.

“Hey,” Doakes shouted.

The man dropped the grocery bag he was carrying and took off running, with Doakes chasing after him on foot.

Angel wheeled the car around and pursued them down the street.

Doakes shouted after the fleeing man. “Stop! Police!”

The man jumped the rail, trying to escape from Doakes, but Doakes was right behind him. As Angel pulled the car to a screeching halt, he heard gun shots. He jumped out of the car and chased Doakes down under the causeway.

“Doakes! Doakes!” Angel shouted as he ran up and saw the perp lying on the ground shot. “You alright?” he asked.  

“Yeah,” Doakes responded.

Angel discovered the man was dead after approaching him to feel for a pulse.

A short time later, the investigation team arrived, along with Dexter, who was analyzing the blood spatter on the pier.

“The suspect's name was Jacques Bayard, according to his driver's license.” Angel told LaGuerta.

“Haitian?” she asked.

“That'd be my guess,” Angel replied.

“All right. Let's go over it again.” LaGuerta asked, turning to Doakes.

“I saw a gun in the suspect's waistband. I went to question him, and he took off running when he saw me.”

“Angel, you saw all this?” LaGuerta asked him.

“Yeah, I saw Bayard bolt, and I turned the car around in pursuit,” he replied truthfully.

“All right, and when you went under the causeway...?”

“He took a shot at me,” Doakes declared. “I took cover and returned fire from that corner.”

“No, not from there,” Dexter contradicted as he approached the group.

“Yeah, from fucking right there,” Doakes insisted.

Dexter shook his head. “But... If you shot him from right there, the blood spatter would go in that direction,” he said, pointing to his left. “Look at the patterns.”

“You questioning me?” Doakes asked with an angry snarl. “Cause I got questions for you too, freak.”

“Whoa, whoa, knock it off, Doakes,” Angel growled. “The man's just doing what he's supposed to do.”

“The man is a fucking creep job!" Doakes spat out.

“Fuck you!” Dexter shot back.

“What was that, weirdo?” James said, moving menacingly toward Dexter.

“Doakes, don’t take another step,” Angel warned.

“Just focus on the facts, okay?” LaGuerta ordered, stepping in. “The D.A.'s team is ready for you. You good?”

Doakes nodded. “I'm good. Yeah.”

“Okay,” you're up next,” LaGuerta said to Angel before walking away.

Angel moved to stand by Dexter, who shot him a wary glance.

“Sorry, but I didn't invent physics,” Dexter said quietly.

“He just got mixed up, is all,” Angel said with an addled expression on his face.

“Hell, I'm not even sure what the hell happened,” Angel admitted. “There’s something not right about the whole thing.”

Dexter looked thoughtful for a moment. “Trauma can distort the memory,” he said as he affectionately bumped Angel’s shoulder before returning to the crime scene.

~~~~

Back at the lab, Dexter went over the evidence from Doakes shooting, trying hard to concentrate, as Deb went on about her new boyfriend.

“Come on, I want you and Angel to meet my boyfriend,” Deb whined.

“It's just hard to go out on a Friday night, Deb. It’s our busiest night here.”

“But you’re off on Saturday. Dex, you're my brother. You should know my boyfriend.”

“You really like using the "B" word, don't you?” Dexter said with a chuckle.

“Well, Rudy is my goddamn boyfriend, so stop making bullshit excuses,” Deb huffed.

“Angel and I are trying to keep our relationship secret, and honestly, the last double date was a little awkward. I just want to make sure this one's gonna... stick.” 

“Well, thanks for the vote of fucking confidence!” Deb replied in a snit. “Dex, Rudy's different. I feel safe with him. I think... I'm falling for him.”

As Dexter and Deb approached the elevator, a letter carrier stopped one of the detectives. “Excuse me, where can I find Dexter Morgan?”

“Right here,” Dexter said.

“Oh, that was easy,” the carrier replied as he had Dexter sign for the envelope.

“An urgent registered letter?” Deb said excitedly. “Maybe you won a sweepstakes.”

Dexter noticed Angel standing by the wall, looking out of sorts. Angel motioned to him with a tilt of his head.

“Dex, you got a second?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, you finish your report on the shooting?” Angel asked.

“I'm walking it up to I.A. right now.”

“You still think Doakes' version doesn't add up?”

Dexter shook his head. “Blood never lies.”

“Shit. Listen, um... Can you sit on that till I talk to Doakes?”

“Here,” Dex said, handing Angel the file. “Now it's yours to sit on, stand on, do what you want with it.”

Angel flashed Dex a quick smile. Thanks, baby,” he whispered.

“You're welcome,” Dex replied with a smirk as he walked back to his sister.

“You know, it's a federal offense to read someone else's mail,” Dex admonished Deb, who was busy reading his letter.

"We regret to inform you of the death of your father?” Deb read with a frown. “Dad died 10 years ago.”

“This isn't about Harry,” Dexter said, taking the letter from Deb. “Joseph Driscoll of Dade City, Florida, names his son, Dexter Morgan of Miami, as his executor. It's a will.”

“Well, he can't be your biological father.” Dad said he died before you came to live with us. He wouldn't make a mistake like that.”

"The body's awaiting cremation while they notify the next of kin."

“I'm your only next of kin. Don't you fucking forget it,” Deb said as she walked away.

“Oh, and I inherited a house,” he called after her.

Dexter’s inner monologue took over as he read the letter again. ‘I know the truth, because Harry always told me the truth. He had to. He was teaching me principles, a code. He knew what I would become without it. So, Joseph Driscoll of Dade City must have been mistaken.’

Dexter’s mind wandered back to the past, caught in a memory.

“You know what this is?” Harry asked as he proudly held a piece of paper out in front of him. “This is Dexter's new birth certificate. The adoption finally went through. You're a Morgan now.”

“I thought I was already a Morgan,” young Dexter replied.

“Well, you have been to us, but it's official now,” Harry said with a chuckle. “It took a long time and a lot of hurdles. This is an important day for us.”

 “Hey, dad? How come you never told us what happened to Dexter's real parents?” Deb asked.

 “Well, they died,” Dex supplied.

Deb persisted. “I know, but how?”

“I don't know,” Dex answered with a perplexed expression etched on his face.

Harry stepped in. “Let's not talk about it.”

“No, how did they die, dad?” Dexter asked this time.

“It was an accident, a tragic accident,” was all Harry would tell them.

That evening at home, Angel asked about Driscoll. “So, have you found out anything else about this Joe Driscoll?”

“Well, I looked online. I even… looked at police records. There are no birth records, no driver's license, just the deed to the house… and a mention in the local paper about his bowling team.”

“That's odd,” Angel commented.

“Yeah,” Dex said with a slight nod. “I spoke to the probate lawyer, the guy who drafted the will. And apparently Joseph Driscoll was an insurance adjuster of sound mind, with no doubts about who I was.”

Angel looked concerned. “Dexter, you're not feeling any of this, are you? You're obviously so overwhelmed that you've shut down.”

Dexter nodded, answering softly. “Maybe.”

“Is it too much for you to handle alone, sweetheart?” Angel asked as he sat next to Dexter on the sofa, rubbing his arm gently.

“Yeah. I guess—I don’t know,” Dexter replied deep in thought.

“So, I think I should come with you, baby,” Angel suggested.

“Oh, no, you don't have to do that,” Dexter said gratefully. “I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.”

“Baby, trust me, you’re gonna need some moral support. I know from when I had to help pack up my grandfather’s house,” Angel said as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Okay,” Dex said, thinking he just gave in way too easily. “Tell me though, what happened with the report I gave you?”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “I talked to Doakes. There were a few things that didn’t add up. I told him I heard his gun go off first.”

“Damn, how did he respond to that?”

“He denied it and insisted Bayard fired first, so I told him I didn’t see Bayard with a gun. Doakes accused me of coming at him. Then LaGuerta intervened.”

“Fuck, what did you tell IDA?”

“Well, I sorta backed him up at first, but then I just couldn’t go through with it when they asked me if I heard Bayard’s gun go off first. I told them the truth, and I handed in your report. The case was dropped because of some foreign relations thing. Now, the department thinks I’m a snitch, but Doakes stood by me. I don’t know why he did that, especially after I threatened him.”

“He’s got ulterior motives that I can’t even begin to fathom,” Dexter said, shaking his head. “I’m ready for a couple of days away.”

“Me too,” Angel wholeheartedly agreed.

“Maybe we could console each other—in the bedroom,” Dexter said with a sultry glance in Angel’s direction.

Angel chuckled. “Are you sure you’re up for it? You’ve had quite a shock today.”

“Um, yes, I’m definitely up for it,” Dexter said, tugging Angel to his feet. “I really need you to fuck me now.”

“Well, I’m sure I can oblige,” Angel said, grinning as he began stripping out of his clothes, even before hitting the bedroom.

Dexter smiled fondly, following his enthusiastic lover, shedding his own garments with record speed.

“How do you want it, baby?” Angel asked hoarsely as they frotted against each other, groins grinding in a slow, sinuous motion.”

“Ah, if we keep this up, it’s only gonna take a second,” Dexter protested. 

Angel hummed. “Okay, baby. How about bareback? I can get really good purchase in that position.”

“Sounds exquisite—now fuck me—please!”

“As you wish,” Angel said with a delighted grin as he easily flipped Dexter onto his stomach.

Grabbing the lube out of the bedside table, Angel prepared Dexter carefully until he couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Please, Angel… I swear I might die if I don’t feel your cock in my ass soon.”

Snickering, Angel spread Dexter’s ass cheeks wide, and shoved his cock in balls deep with one smooth thrust.

“Ohhhhhh, I feel so full when you’re inside me. Fuck!” Dexter moaned loudly. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about all day, is how I love the feel of your cock sliding in and out of me.” Dexter moaned again, low, “ sighing when the stretch of Angel’s cock dissolved into boundless pleasure. “You can move now—fuck me raw.”

“Okay, baby,” Angel growled as he pulled almost all the way out, before snapping his hips forward back into Dexter’s tight heat. Dexter mewled in pleasure, the length and impressive girth of Angel’s cock creating a delicious burn. He never thought he’d have any dick up his ass, let alone one this size.

Dexter must’ve said that last part out loud, because Angel picked up the pace, doing exactly what he’d asked for—fucking him raw.

“You like that, baby?” Angel purred.

“Oh, God, yes,” Dexter said, reveling in the feel of Angel’s manhood pulsing inside of him.

Angel thrust into him at a pace he never experienced—or even thought possible. It felt so good, and his hot-blooded lover hadn’t even hit his prostate yet.

When Angel finally did nail him with a precise jab to his sweet spot, he screamed out a long slutty moan and arched his back. Dexter began rocking himself back on Angel’s cock, trying to find release. He was so cock drunk that he didn’t pay any attention to his own neglected dick, stuck between his body and the sheets, but of course his lover did.

Angel reached under him and wrapped a large hand around Dexter’s throbbing member, stroking him in time with his thrusts. One hard punch to his prostrate from Angel had Dexter gasping, the sudden need to come almost overwhelming him.

With just a couple of more strokes to his aching cock, Dexter exploded in a sea of bliss as his warm come soaked the sheet beneath him. Clenching tightly around Angel’s slick shaft, he pulled his lover over the edge with him.

Angel spasmed and groaned. “Fuck, fuck, oh God, fuck, Dex! You’re so fucking hot,” he growled, pumping his cock a few more times in Dexter’s ass for good measure.

Angel collapsed onto Dexter’s back, both men trying to suck as much air into their overworked lungs as possible.

Finally, Angel rolled off Dexter and pulled him into a tight embrace, and fucked his mouth with his tongue.

“Oh, my God!” Dexter sighed when they finally came up for air.

“Yeah,” Angel agreed with a breathless moan. “It gets fucking better every time.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be up for an almost five-hour road trip after that,” Dexter said, laying his head on Angel’s chest.

“It’ll be okay, baby,” Angel assured him. “We’ll take turns driving, but we’d better get some sleep.”

Angel looked down, smiling at a softly snoring Dexter, as he gently kissed him on the head, and fell asleep holding him in his arms.

~~~~

Meanwhile, back at Deb’s love nest, “I fell asleep,” Deb said, smiling up at Rudy.

“Sex like that takes a lot out of a person,” he replied, kneeling on the floor next to the bed.

 “So, are we still seeing your brother for dinner tonight?” Rudy asked.

“No. He's got to go to Dade City in the morning.”

“What's in Dade City?”

“I told you he was adopted, right?”

“Yeah,” Rudy answered with a shake of his head.

“Some dead guy up in Dade fucking City thought he was Dexter's biological father and left him a house.”

“Really? Oh wow. Man.”

“It's a mistake, a big one,” Deb insisted.

Rudy got back in bed, and Deb laid her head on his chest. “Still, though, that's got to... open up some old wounds. When are you leaving?”

“Me? I'm gonna stay in bed with you all weekend.” Deb insisted.

“I thought you two were close.”

“We are. Dex just likes to deal with things on his own. He doesn't need my help.”

 “Or... he doesn't know how to ask for it,” Rudy suggested.

“I don’t know—maybe,” Deb replied. “But you gotta promise me you won’t tell anyone about his relationship with Angel.”

“Sure,’ Rudy said with a nod.

“It won’t go over well if the department finds out,” Deb said with a worried look. “They could both lose their jobs over this.”

“Yeah,” Rudy replied with a pensive expression. “I can see where this might prove problematic. You said they’re living together?”

“Yeah, that’s how I found out about them. I saw them through the window, making it on the sofa.”

“Well,” Rudy said with a short laugh. “That must’ve been an eyeful.”

 Deb sighed dramatically. “That image is burned into my brain for the rest of eternity.”

Rudy laughed, rolling Deb over. “Poor baby,” he said, kissing her soundly.

~~~~

“They should have served a cardiologist with these burgers,” Dex surprised himself by saying, because he didn’t usually mind junk food, but those burgers were really bad.

“We had to eat them. Junk food's the unwritten rule of the road,” Angel replied as they got out of the car and headed up to the house.

“It's nice,” Angel commented offhandedly.

“The lawyer said there should be a key under the mat.” Dex said as they headed up the walkway.

An elderly woman came walking toward them from the house across the street. “Are you my new neighbors?” she asked.

“No. No, we're just here to clear up some things with the estate,” Dexter explained.

“So sad about Mr. Driscoll,” the old lady said sympathetically. “He was only 60, you know—too young for a heart attack. He used to clean my gutters every fall. I don't know what I'm gonna do now... unless you know how to clean gutters.”

Dexter shook his head. “We're not gonna be here for that long. But, uh, you have a good day.”

Once inside, Angel and Dexter looked around the room.

“This was a bachelor pad for sure,” Angel said.

“Well, we can head back tomorrow morning, as soon as I straighten things out at the morgue. I don't want a house in Dade City.”

“Which means it's gonna need to be packed up. And I don't think anybody else is gonna do it, so I guess that leaves us. Told you you'd need help,” Angel said with a smirk.

Dexter grinned and stole a kiss from Angel before having a good look at the place.

Later while going through the house, Angel asked, looking at one of the photos on display. “Is that Joe?”

“Must be,” Dexter said with a shrug.

“It's weird, but he looks a little bit like you... But not really,” Angel stated.

“Those seem to be the only pictures in the house. There aren’t family or kids' photos.”

“Lonely,” Angel said.

Dexter looked surprised when all of a sudden, the doorbell rang. When Dexter opened the door, he saw a strange man standing on the front step. 

“Dexter. Hi,” Rudy said with a small smile.

“Hey,” Dexter replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Surprise,” Deb shouted as she pushed her way past Rudy. “I know you can't ask for my help, but it's my duty to, you know... help while you deal with old wounds... or what—Jesus. Whatever. I'm here.”

“So, it appears,” Dexter said with a forced smile.

“And this is Rudy,” Deb introduced.

“I've waited a long time to meet you,” Rudy said, giving Dexter a hug. “And you must be Angel,” he said, shaking the detective’s hand.

“Hi,” Angel said, wearing a tight expression, thinking his passionate weekend with his lover just went out the window.

“He came here for me—for the both of us. Isn't he great?” Deb said with a huge smile.

As Deb looked through the kitchen cabinets, she commented. “A lot of work to pack all this up.”

“Even with the four of us, it'll take us the whole weekend,” Rudy added.

“The whole weekend?” Dexter said, shooting a glance at Angel.

“Where should I put our stuff?” Rudy asked.

Dexter fumbled with Joe’s bowling ball, looking back at Rudy. “It's too eerie, sleeping in a dead man's house. I saw a Motel 6 on the way in.”

“We could stay here and save the money,” Deb suggested.

“I mean, it is late, and we'd probably get more packing done if we stayed here,” Angel suggested.

“It's up to you, Dex. Just say the word,” Rudy responded, looking up at Dexter.

“As long as you don't mind the sofa bed,” he said, resigned to his fate.

“Okay, I'll go look for some clean sheets,” Deb said.

After grabbing a quick bite from the nearest restaurant, the two couples returned to the house, packing up what they could before turning in for the evening.

Dexter sighed heavily as he lay in bed next to Angel. “I had planned to take advantage of you this weekend,” Dexter said with a smirk.

Angel snuggled closer. “You still can, baby. We just have to be quiet. I sure hope this Rudy guy can keep his mouth shut.”

“Deb assured me he could, after I reamed her out for telling her boyfriend about us,” Dexter huffed.

Angel purred in Dexter’s ear. “Grab the lube—it’s on your side, baby.”

They shed their underwear in a synchronized dance of desire, fabric sliding against skin in the quiet darkness.

"Spoon me," Angel whispered, reaching back to guide Dexter closer. "Just like normal, but we'll have to keep it down." He turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a promise. "I can be quiet when I need to be."

Dexter chuckled slightly as he kissed a trail down Angel’s neck and between his shoulder blades. Angel’s breathing increased as Dexter inserted one slick finger inside him.

Angel's back arched like a drawn bowstring, every muscle taut as Dexter worked him open with meticulous care. A floorboard creaked from the living room. Both men froze, Dexter's fingers still buried to the knuckle.

"Christ," Angel mouthed against the pillow, hips pushing back in silent demand. The bedsprings whined in protest as Dexter removed his fingers, and drove his cock deep into Angel’s ass. His teeth sank into the meat of Angel's shoulder to stifle the groan rising up his throat.

Angel gasped, but remained silent.

The rhythm started slow—agonizingly so—each thrust sending shock waves through Dexter's nerves. Angel's choked whimpers vibrated against Dexter's chest, their sweat-slick skin sticking together like vellum pages. He counted each hitch in Angel's breathing, catalogued every suppressed tremor as his own control frayed.

When he reached around and started stroking Angel’s cock, slow and steady, the larger man seized and stifled another cry of la pasión.

Angel had to clamp a hand over his own mouth to keep from moaning too loudly.

Dexter tasted copper from where his teeth bit the inside of his cheek. The muffled shout against Angel’s shoulder felt hotter than the come bathing Angel’s insides. Two more strokes sent Angel into a silent spasm, as come burst from his cock in an explosive wave of ecstasy.

Dexter lay panting against Angel's heaving back, hyperaware of the unfamiliar ceiling above them. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed red in the darkness. He stared at the 2:17am display, waiting for sleep to finally claim him.

As Angel turned over to spoon Dexter, he threw an arm over his chest; his raspy chuckle warming the hollow behind Dexter's ear. "Told you I could be quiet."

Dexter snorted. "Deb's going to make puppy eyes at me tomorrow for 'bonding' with her boyfriend."

Angel chuckled. “Ah, it’s good to make your sister happy.”

The last thing Dexter registered before sleep claimed him was Angel's thumb tracing idle circles on his chest.

The next morning, Dex got up very early, musing in frustration. ‘How did a death turn into a couples' weekend? Luckily, I get up earlier than normal people’.

Quietly he slipped out of the bedroom and entered the kitchen, only to find Rudy already up and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Coffee?” Rudy asked as Dexter entered.

Dexter sighed softly. “Thanks,” as he sat down to tie his shoes. “I've got to hit the morgue.”

“Want company?” Rudy asked.

“No. Thank you, though,” Dexter replied with a smile.

“It's private. I get it.” Rudy said understandingly.

Dexter nodded as he left the house, heading to the morgue.

~~~~  

“I gave Joe a physical once a year, like clockwork, so no history of heart disease, but it happens,” Dr. Pittman said as Dexter followed him down the hall to the morgue.

“It appears so,” Dexter replied.

“We were about to send him to a crematorium when we found you. We thought his son should have a chance to pay his last respects.”

“I'm not his son,” Dexter said resolutely.

The doctor nodded knowingly. “Estrangement in a family is a shame, but death is the great unifier.”

Dexter gazed through the morgue window with a feeling of curiosity at the sheet covered body laying on the autopsy table.

The doctor lowered the sheet, and Dexter peered intently at the corpse of the man who thought he was his father.

“That's an interesting tattoo,” Dexter commented, taking a close look at the spiderweb tattoo on the dead man’s arm.

“Joe said he picked that up in Nam. You can be proud. He was a patriot.”

“Uh, perhaps he was also an ex-convict,” Dexter said as he stared at the tattoo.

“Excuse me?” The doctor asked incredulously.

“It's a prison tattoo. It's done with a pen and ballpoint ink. It's three or four decades old, judging by the fade,” Dexter replied analytically.

“Son, I knew Joe. He was no ex-convict. He was a good man, a quiet man, and a damn good bowler.”

“How'd you determine cardiac arrest? Was there damage to the coronary artery? It's, uh, professional curiosity. I work in forensics, down in Miami,” Dexter explained.

“I see. Well, uh, I found microaneurisms in the retinas. It's common with seizures during a heart attack.”

“It's also a sign of diabetic retinopathy,” Dexter retorted.

“Son, I may be a small-town doctor, but I know a heart attack when I see one. Who knows what caused it—stress, inactivity... French fries—but knowing won't bring him back.”

A vision of him riding in a convertible with a man bearing the same tattoo suddenly flashed in Dexter’s head.

“It's hard to accept so many unanswered questions, but sometimes...” the doctor said.

“No,” Dexter said, interrupting as he covered his face with his hands. “You're right... Dr. Pittman. Yeah, this is really hard.”

Doctor Pittman put a sympathetic hand on Dexter’s shoulder.

“You mind if I just take a minute alone with... Dad?” Dexter asked.

“I'll be next door in my office,” the doctor said as he left Dexter alone with the body.

As soon as the doctor left the room, Dexter grabbed two syringes out of one of the drawers, and drew blood from the corpse. Dexter exited the morgue and went into the bathroom, calling Masuka before drawing blood from his own arm.

“Masuka. Hey, it's Dexter Morgan.”

“Dude, I know your last name.”

“I need a favor, a DNA comparison.”

“I thought you were away for the weekend?” Musuka asked.

“I'm just helping out a local agency. I'm gonna send you two blood samples. I need it A.S.A.P. Do a tox screen, will you?”

“Okay, I got you covered,” Musuka replied.

After ending the call, Dexter drew a blood sample from his arm. His mind wandered to the day of his surgery, all those years ago. He replayed the scene in his mind.

Medical personnel clamored around. “Yeah. Run another I.V. Let's keep his blood levels volumized.”

“What's his pressure?”

“It's 80 and dropping.”

“We may need to do a belly tap.” One of the doctors declared.

Harry rushed in. “Hey, Dex. Buddy, I'm here.”

“It hurts, dad.”

“What happened?” Harry asked

Doris shook her head. “He tried to climb a fence to get Debra's ball, but a dog chased after him, and he fell on a wrought-iron post.”

Is he gonna be all right?” Harry asked the doctor.

“We can keep him stable for a while. But he's gonna need surgery to repair some internal bleeding, and that's a problem.”

“Can we talk over here, please? Dex, I'll be right back,” Harry told him.

 Hold your brother's hand, sweetie,” Doris said to a crying Debra.

“Okay, the complication is with your son's blood type.”

“I don't want to talk about this.” Harry stated emphatically.  

“Why are you being like this?!” Doris asked near tears.

“You don't need to mention that in front of anybody.” Harry said.

“Are you crazy?! He could die. You got to do something quick. You've got to go now,” Doris insisted.

Dexter sent both samples by same-day courier and returned to his inherited house. He and the rest of the group discussed Joe's life while they went through his things.

“Joe bought this house outright in 1976, paid cash, no records before that.” Dexter said, slightly perplexed.

“No records, no childhood photos... The guy was 60, but it's like his life started when he was 30,” Rudy commented, pausing a moment before taking another bite of takeout.

“You know, you're right,” Angel said, turning in Rudy’s direction. “He's right.”

“So, what happened between years one and 29? Deb asked.

“Maybe he butchered his entire family,” Rudy said jokingly.

“Yeah... Or he walked out on his two wives and a lot of bad debt. The guy was a loser, after all. Who else owns this many bowling balls? Deb asked snidely.

“What do you think, Dex?” Rudy asked.

“I think Joe spent some time in prison, probably mixed with some bad people. Maybe he had to hide from them.”

“Whatever it was, drugs were involved—narcotics anonymous,” Angel said holding up a coin. “I’ve seen these before.”

Dexter got up and went over to inspect the coins. “Looks like Joe was clean for...”

“Let me guess—30 years,” Deb supplied.

“Well, Joe said no to the drugs, but not his rock 'n' roll. Nothing in his collection post-1980,” Rudy said as he put a record on the player. “Got to love a purist.”

“Oh, good. Dancing,” Dexter said, shaking his head as Deb and Rudy started swaying to the music.

“C’mon live a little,” Angel said grinning as he stood and pulled Dexter up with him. Dex smiled, trying to muster some enthusiasm for dancing, making a couple of awkward moves before returning to the packing at hand.

The rest just kept on dancing, and also packing—multitasking while still having a good time.

Angel gave him a bump every so often, along with some very heated looks. Deb and Rudy pretended not to notice, but their desire for one another was hard to miss.  

In the kitchen, Deb said to Rudy, “I don’t know how they’re gonna keep hiding this at work. It’s pretty fucking obvious they’re in love.”

“Yeah,” Rudy replied, looking back at the couple with an odd expression. “Nobody with eyes could miss that.”

Later, Dexter stood at the sink, lost in thought, when Rudy came in to the kitchen.

‘A secret life—the only thing Joe and I have in common. There's nothing else in this house to connect us.’ Dexter thought.

“Hiding out?” Rudy asked as he entered the kitchen.

Dexter shook his head. “Cleaning up,”

“I can only imagine what you're going through.”

“A lot of lemon-fresh joy,” Dex replied with a chuckle.

“You joke. It's a good defense, by the way.”

“Thank you, I think.” Dex said, raising an eyebrow.

“Still, the possibility has got to be weighing on you.”

“What possibility?” Dex asked.

“That Joe could actually be your dad,” Rudy said softly as he stepped closer to Dex.

“The only way that's a possibility is if Harry was wrong. And, uh, that's just not possible,” Dexter replied as he continued to wash dishes.

“Or he lied,” Rudy suggested.

As Dexter thought about what Rudy just said to him, he had another flashback to his childhood:

“Don't you worry, little man. You're not gonna feel a thing.” The doctor assured young Dexter.

“I thought there was a problem—you know, the blood?” he asked.

“Your dad fixed it. See, you have a very special blood type—A.B. negative. It's hard to come by, and our supply was low. But your dad knew somebody with blood just like yours. You're very lucky,” the doctor said as they rolled Dexter toward the ER.

“Can I have a moment with my son?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” the doctor said, moving aside.

“Hey, Dex. Everything's gonna be fine. You'll be good as new.” Harry said, trying to assuage Dexter’s fears.

“I will?” Dex asked.

“Hey, would I lie to you?” Harry said with a smile.   

Chapter Text

That afternoon, Angel made some sandwiches for everybody. “Hey, I made tuna melts, hope that’s okay,” Angel said, passing around plates.

“Mmm, love me a little mercury,” Rudy said teasingly.

Just then a phone on the kitchen counter rang.

“That's Dexter’s,” Deb said.

“Oh, he's out stealing trash can space from the neighbors,” Angel said snickering.

“Criminal—I like it,” Rudy said with a grin.

“It's the station. “Morgan here,” Deb said, answering Dexter’s phone,

“Wait. Did I call the hot Morgan by mistake? Freudian. My subconscious has been exposed,” Musuka joked.

“Well, zip it up and tell me what's going on,” Deb said

“I got the results.”

“On what?” Deb asked.

“On the DNA test,” Musuka answered.

“What DNA test?” Deb asked in confusion.

After hanging up with Musuka, Deb confronted Dexter in the front yard, on his way back from stealing trash can space.

“You trusted dad your entire life, so why question him now?” Deb accused.  

“Am I missing something?” Dexter responded, looking around in confusion.

“DNA test?” Deb said, her tone bordering on hurt.

“Musuka called?” he asked.

“Your biological father was dead. Dad told us that. I remember.”

Dexter shrugged. “So, the DNA came back negative?”

Deb set her mouth into a thin line. “It was a match. Joe Driscoll was your bio dad.”

“Interesting,” Dex said in shock as he sat down on the hood of the car.

“Do you think dad... lied?” Deb asked, now on the verge of tears.

“I think he might have known Joe was here... five hours up I-95 my whole life.”

“Well, he must have had a damn good reason. And I'm not gonna let some guy you didn't even know draw him into question.”

“Deb, I'm not questioning anything.”

“That's why you got a tox screen, too?” Deb asked angrily.

Storming back into the house, Deb said to Rudy, “I need to clear my head,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Where are your car keys?”

Following her in, Dexter tried to explain his actions. “Deb, I ordered the tox screen because Joe had no history of heart disease, and the coroner's report was inept.”

“You did it because, for some reason, he is important to you,” Deb said tightly.

“It was professional curiosity, plus I needed to know the truth about my past,” Dexter defended.

“Then you will be professionally glad to know that the only toxin in his system was a sedative, which he probably took to... I don't know, sleep,” she responded.

“That would surprise me,” Angel interjected. “Joe was 30 years sober; I haven't seen anything stronger than Advil in his medicine cabinet.”

It wouldn't be the first time an addict fell off the wagon, Angel,” Rudy retorted.

“Or someone slipped him the sedative so he wouldn't struggle when he was injected with something,” Dexter surmised.

“Like?” Rudy asked.

“Diabetic insulin. It can cause cardiac arrest. We've seen it before. It's nearly impossible to detect unless you can find a point of injection, which I wasn't looking for, but if I had a chance to examine the body, I—"

“Jesus Christ!” Deb shouted, cutting him off. “He's not even your family! Mom and dad were. I am. Are you gonna start questioning me now?”

Dexter huffed. “You? Why would I—"

“Joe Driscoll was obviously bad fucking news,” Deb interrupted again, “which is why dad didn't want you to know anything about him! Doesn't that matter to you?!”

“I deserve to know the whole story. I don't know what you want from me, Deb,” Dexter replied.

“I want what dad wanted. I want nothing to do with this guy. Let's just finish packing up this crappy house and walk the fuck away!” Deb said half crying.

“All right,” Dex said, caving in under Deb’s tearful outburst. “That sounds like a good plan.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, until Deb nodded.

Dexter went out into the garage to think. ‘Okay? I guess I understand why Deb is upset. We both idolized Harry, lived by what he taught us... though Deb never had to be taught not to kill innocent people. That's why she doesn't understand why I need to know.’

Dexter wandered around the garage, looking at Joe's stuff, until he noticed the neighbor lady exiting her house, so he ran across the street to ask her some questions. 

“Howdy, neighbor. Let me get that for you,” he said, picking up her newspaper and handing it to her.  

“Well, thank you.”

“I was just wondering—did you happen to notice any visitors over at Joe's last week?” Dexter asked.

She smiled. “Visitors? Oh… I’m not sure.”

I'm just wondering if he has any outstanding bills—a gardener, maybe, or a delivery person, repairman?” he asked.

“Well, come to think of it, there was a, um, cable repairman here last week. He was polite. But, you know, he couldn't fix my TV antenna,” the old woman told Dexter.

“You remember what he looked like?” Dex asked.

“Oh, well, he had dark hair... average height—normal, I suppose,” she replied.

That night after the house was asleep, Dexter snuck out to verify his theory.

‘If Joe was shot up with insulin, there will be an injection welt... Maybe between his toes or in a freckle. If it's there, I'll find it,’ Dexter thought to himself.

He got into the morgue through an open window. ‘Small towns,’ he thought when he found the window unlocked.

He checked the morgue, but discovered Joe’s body was gone, so he headed towards the doctor’s office.

‘Come on, Dr. Pittman, which crematorium did you send Joe to?’ he asked himself as he went into Doctor Pittman’s office to look around. Once he got inside, he saw a box sitting on the doctor’s desk labeled Joe Driscoll. Dexter hastily grabbed the box off the desk and tried to make his escape unnoticed, but unfortunately the night watchman spotted him.

“Hey! You! Stop!” the guard shouted. Dexter took off running down the corridor with the security guard giving chase.

Dexter jumped out the morgue window he purposely left open and fled into the night. As he ran down the street, a car came out of nowhere and pulled up beside him.

“Come on!” Rudy shouted. “Get in!” he said as Dexter jumped into the passenger seat. “Heard you sneak out. Took a guess where you were headed.”

“Figuring I'd need a ride?” Dexter asked, shooting a glance back at the road.

“Figured I could talk you out of it. No such luck, huh?” Rudy said, giving Dexter a side-eye.

“Deb will be delighted,” Dex said, shaking his head.  

“As far as I know, you went out for a walk,” Rudy assured him. “Jesus, Dex, did you steal something?” he asked, noticing the box in Dexter’s hands.

“Well, my fingerprints were all over it. I figured it was prudent to get rid of the evidence. It's just a box with Joe’s ashes.”

“Joe was cremated, then?” Rudy questioned.

“Yep.”

“Guess you weren't able to find out if he was injected with anything.”

“No.”

“What are you gonna do with him?” Rudy asked curiously.

“I don't know,” Dex said, looking down at the box. “Hmm, dumpster?”

“I have a better idea,” Rudy said as he drove them to the local bowling alley.  

When they got out of the vehicle, Dexter sat the box of ashes on the hood of Rudy’s car, looking at it for a long moment.

“You know... no matter what Harry said, no matter what Deb thinks, that's your father,” Rudy said seriously, sitting down on the hood next to the box.

“Cardboard box?” Dexter queried with a raised eyebrow.

“I know you don't want to acknowledge it, which is why you're running around, breaking and entering, searching for some killer. But you took that, because there's a part of you that knows that this... that box... is your real father.”

Dexter took the ashes out of the box, holding them in his hands for a minute, “My father. Sounds strange.”

“I know,” Rudy said sympathetically.

Dexter dumped the ashes on the lawn in front of the bowling alley, and spread them out with his hand, while Rudy watched. The two of them then returned to the house.

“You okay, baby?” Angel asked, waking as Dexter entered the bedroom.

“Sorry, I was just getting some air,” Dexter replied. “I needed to clear my head.”

“I know, baby. It's a lot to take in all at once,” Angel said, still groggy. “Oh, hey, I found something in Joe's closet. It's just a bunch of papers. They're over there.”

Dexter picked up the box and sat down on the bed as he went through the papers.

“Any clues?” Angel asked.

Dexter was shocked when he came across the thank you card, he’d sent to his mystery blood donor all those years ago. His mind replayed the incident like it just happened yesterday.    

“Hey, buddy. How you feeling?” Harry asked as he brought Dexter a balloon.

“Good. It kind of itches, but they have ice cream here,” Dex said smiling.

“Life's a trade-off. What are you making there?” Harry asked, sitting down on the bed.

“A thank-you card. See? The nurse brought me the crayons and everything.”

“Who's it for?”

“Well, she said I should thank the man who gave me the blood. I mean, that's normal, right, giving thank-you cards?”

“Yes, it is. It's just that he's gone. And we won't be seeing him again. I'm sorry,” Harry said.

“That's all right. It doesn't really mean anything,” Dex said, slightly dejected as he tossed the card in the trash can.

“Yeah, it does,” Harry said with a sigh, fishing the card out of the trash. “You keep drawing, son. I'll make sure it finds him.”

“Okay,” Dex said as he started coloring on the card again.”

Dexter sighed and sat the box on the bedside table, laying the card on top of it. Angel stirred again. “Come to bed, baby. We’ve got to head back to Miami tomorrow.”

He glanced at the clock, the numbers glowing softly in the dim light—a reminder that the night was already slipping away. Dexter rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension from the past few days weighing him down.  “Yeah, I’m coming,” Dexter said, pulling his shirt over his head.

“You’re not yet, but you could be… if you’re up for it,” Angel said, snickering.

"Dexter smiled to himself. “Oh, I’m definitely up for it,” he said, slipping off his jeans and underwear, as he climbed in beside Angel.

Dexter snuggled close, while Angel nuzzled his neck. “Remember, we still have to be quiet,” Dexter said. “Deb has ears like an elephant. She can hear a pin drop.”

Angel flipped Dex onto his back and climbed over him, dangling his cock over Dexter’s mouth. Looking back at Dex, he gave his lover a wicked grin as he went down on him, sucking and licking his cock with gusto. Dexter took the hint, and sucked Angel’s hard member into his mouth, savoring the taste that was distinctly Angel. He moaned around a mouthful of his lover’s throbbing cock. The vibration caused Angel to moan around Dexter’s, now fully erect dick, and he shivered with a building need and burning desire.

The taste of salt and musk lingered on Dexter's tongue as Angel's hips jerked against his face. Sweat dripped down his temple, pooling in the hollow of his throat. Dexter's back tensed against the mattress, ears straining past the wet sounds and hitched breaths. Angel's fingertips fondled his balls, as he sucked him in all the way to the root.

He hummed softly around Angel’s large shaft, teasing the leaking slit with his tongue. Angel groaned, his hips spasming as he tried to keep his mouth from slipping off Dexter’s bobbing manhood.

Dexter involuntarily thrusted upward into Angel’s hot, wet, mouth, feeling his dick hit the back of Angel’s throat, but his lover didn’t seem to mind as he redoubled his efforts.

The alarm clock's red digits blurred as Dexter's vision tunneled. His calves cramped from toes curling too tight against the worn sheets. A groan vibrated against his groin as Angel's throat worked faster, spurring Dexter to suck harder on Angel. The slightly sweet taste of pre-come leaked from Angel’s cock—a prelude for what was to come. Dexter surged back into the heat of Angel's mouth as pressure coiled low and hot, threatening to unravel every careful construct of his control. His hips bucked uncontrollably, driving deeper as Angel's tongue slid up and down the underside of his shaft. The world narrowed to pulsing veins and salty-sweet skin, and the dangerous edge of release climbing up his spine.

When the orgasm hit, it ripped through him like a snapped cable—jaw clamping shut on Angel's shuddering prick. Stars exploded behind tightly closed eyelids as tremors wracked his body, every muscle locking in orgasmic agony.

Angel growled low, shaking with effort as his cock exploded, sending crashing waves of warm come down Dexter’s throat.

They collapsed tangled and sticky from sweat, chests heaving against each other. Dexter's tongue traced the sweat pooling in Angel's collarbone, until his burly lover claimed his mouth in an end-all kiss that nearly had him half hard again. Somewhere in the house, a faucet dripped, and car tires whizzed by on the road outside.

Angel's chuckle rumbled against his sternum. "Thought we agreed on quiet."

“Quiet’s overrated,” Dex laughed. “Deb’ll get over it… eventually.

Angel and Dexter shared another kiss, before falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

The next morning, Dexter carried the box with Joe’s papers in it out to his car.

Rudy met him in the front yard. “I know I should be sorry that we met under these circumstances, but truthfully, I think it was the best way to get to know you,” Rudy said, shaking Dexter’s hand.

Deb came up to stand next to Rudy. “Realtor said you won’t get much for it.”

“More than if I kept it,” Dex answered.

“Are we good?” Deb asked, hugging Dexter tightly.

“We’re fine.”

“All right,” Deb said smiling. “I’ll see you back at the station.

Deb and Rudy got in their car, just as the old woman across the street came out of her house. She hurried a little faster, seemingly recognizing Rudy.

“Cable repair man,” she called out, but Rudy hurriedly got in the car and drove off fast. “Wait! Wait! No, no, don't go. Wait! Please, I want to ask you something. Wait!” she cried.

Alone again,” Angel said with a grin, as he and Dexter got into their car.

“Finally,” Dex sighed, hooking his seatbelt. “You know what? I'm so glad you were here.”

“I knew you would be, baby. Angel knows how to keep you focused.”

“Got that right,” Dex said with a smile.

As they pulled away from the curb, the neighbor lady approached, shouting. “The cable repairman—did he say anything about my TV antenna?! No?” she asked, waving frantically.

Dexter waved goodbye to her as they drove off, never looking back.

Once home again, while Angel was in the shower, Dexter put one of Joe’s records on the player. Sitting down on the floor, he pulled the handmade thank you card out of Joe’s box of papers and looked at it again. He thought to himself, ‘I had a father... someone other than Harry who called me son. The thought never even occurred to me. Harry was all I needed. It was Harry who always had the answers. He knew who was good, bad, safe... and dangerous. I built my life on Harry's code. I lived by it. But Harry lied. Why would he do that? What else don't I know? My concrete foundation is turning to shifting sand. Maybe Rudy was right—you never can truly know anyone.’

After dropping off Deb, Rudy made a return trip to Dade City, paying the old neighbor lady a visit, while wearing his cable repairman coveralls.

~~~~

Monday morning at work, Deb sat at her desk eating cake and talking to Doakes.

“Hey, you want some? It's Kirk Bliloc's cake,” Deb said.

“I had some at Kirk's birthday… 10 days ago,” Doakes said with a smirk. “See, you have lunch every day with your boyfriend, you miss a thing or two around here.”

“Cake's still good. It's mocha, I think,” she said, shoving in another forkful.

“It started out vanilla,” Doakes informed her.

“Guys, you should look at this,” Jennifer called out, holding up a jar with a liquid substance inside.

“Put that thing down, for God's sake,” Doakes ordered.

“It was addressed to Homicide,” the young clerk said.

“Put it down!” Doakes shouted.

“Jesus, is that blood?” Deb asked, eyeing the suspicious substance dubiously as Jennifer sat the jar on the desk.

“Morgan, get your ass over here,” Doakes hollered.

“Ass en route,” Dexter replied, joining the group staring at the strange jar.

“You're the blood expert. What is this shit?” Doakes asked.

“It's a little watery for jam,” Dexter replied, picking the jar up tentatively.

“Maybe you should open it,” Jennifer suggested.

Dex shook his head. “What if there's an airborne toxin in here waiting to be released?”

“I got to wash my hands,” Jennifer said as she hurried away.

“So gullible,” Dexter snickered, holding the jar up to the light.

“What is it?” LaGuerta asked.

“Well, it's definitely blood,” Dexter told her. “Wait, there's something in here,” he said, staring intently at the jar of blood. “Marina View Hotel,” Dexter read as the crowd watched mesmerized.

“It's a key—maybe some sort of promotional gag,” Dex said jokingly. “You know, stay the weekend, you get a jar of blood.”

Deb laughed, but LaGuerta huffed, “show-and-tell’s over. Let's try and find out who sent this. Grab Batista and get over to that hotel,” she ordered.

Batista's still working on the explosion at the Smack lab,” Deb told her.

Morgan, put the cake down. You're with me,” Doakes ordered.

Dexter thought to himself. ‘A jar of blood, so dramatic, cryptic, playful. Could it be him?'

Morgan and Doakes arrived at the hotel a short while later. “Got an extra key from the manager,” Doakes told Morgan as they headed for the room. “Said the same thing as the front-desk clerk… the guy who checked into 103 was white and normal looking,” Doakes reiterated.

“I haven't seen a single security camera since we've been here,” Deb commented, looking around carefully.

“It's likely this guy scouted hotels and chose one with lax security,” Doakes supplied. “Better be ready to cancel your lunch.”

Doakes tapped on the door of room 103. “Police. Open up.”

When they didn’t get a response, Doakes put the key in the door and turned it. Doakes slowly opened the door, as both officers raised their guns.

“Oh, my God. Jesus,” Deb gasped.  “Get back in your room,” she ordered the couple standing in the hallway, along with one of the hotel maids.

Doakes called in to his radio. “Metro dispatch, this is 3-Henry-8-8 out at the Marina View hotel. I need uniformed backup, forensics… fuck it. Just send everybody out.”

“It's been a while since we went prophylactic,” Dexter said as he and Musuka arrived at the crime scene.

“Not me. Last night, I met this chick—"

“I'll stop you right there, Vince,” Dex said, cutting Musuka off before he launched into another one of his riveting sex tales. “So, they tell you anything about what's inside?”

Musuka shook his head. “No one's been inside. Too much blood.”

“Dexter,” Deb called out. “Just a heads-up—it’s bad in there.”

“Okay,” Dex replied nonchalantly.

“I'm serious,” she said again, trying to drive her point home.

“Okay,” Dex said again.

“She's not kidding. It's your wet dream in there,” Doakes growled.

“Okay,” Dex said, refusing to take the bait.

“You're going in first alone. Get a sense of what we're dealing with, and give me a report. Don't fuck up,” Doakes ordered.

Dexter gave Doakes a thumbs up as he entered the hotel lobby.

As he walked down the long hallway to room 103, Dexter thought, ‘Now I'm really curious. He's been gone so long, he had to be planning a splashy return, but a crime scene just for me.’

As Dexter opened the door, he stood and stared at all the blood covering most of the room. He had a vision of himself as a young child, sitting in a room full of blood, just like this one.

 As his vision blurred, he heard the little boy screaming, “Mommy!”

He suddenly felt light headed, and the room started spinning out of control just before he fell face first into the blood. He recovered quickly and staggered out of the room, running down the hall.

Outside, LaGuerta questioned Deb. “Tell me you found something, Morgan.”

“I talked to the guests in room 105. They didn't see anyone go in or out,” Deb said.

“What about across the hall?” Doakes asked.

“German tourists. They got their head up their lederhosen,” Deb explained. “They said they heard a whirring sound, but thought someone was mixing margaritas or vacuuming.”

“Oh, my god!” Deb cried as Dexter staggered out of the hotel covered in blood, shaking uncontrollably.

“Hey. Hey, you okay?” she asked, kneeling in front of him.

Dexter looked like he was about to throw up. “I'm just a little queasy. I fell down in there. Never should have skipped breakfast.”

“Bullshit. You're shaking. What the hell happened up there?” Deb demanded.

“No, I'm okay. I just need a little air,” Dexter tried to convince her.

“Something finally got to you,” Doakes said with a self-satisfied smirk. “I guess you're human after all.”

“Cut him some slack, all right?” Deb snarled.

Dexter shook his head. “I hate to disappoint you, I think it's just low blood sugar.”

“Tell us what you saw, Dex,” LaGuerta asked softly. “How many dead?”

“A lot,” Dexter answered. “But no bodies, just blood—50, 60 liters. Maybe half a dozen dead. I don't know.”

LaGuerta looked stunned. “You're saying there was a mass murder in there, but they took the bodies?

How is that possible? There's one elevator, emergency stairs with alarms. Someone would have seen corpses coming out,” Doakes said, badgering Dexter for answers.

“I don't fucking know,” Dex spat out, still breathing heavy.

“Hey, Dexter, you all right?” Musuka asked, coming to stand in front of him.

“I can't go back in there,” Dexter said, fervently wishing Angel was here with him.

“You don't have to,” Deb said.

“Fine,” Doakes said, showing a tiny bit of sympathy. “Just get yourself cleaned up and—I don't know—work from the hallway or something.”

As Dex sat on the floor in the hallway just outside the bloodied room, Musuka and a team worked diligently inside. “Hey, make sure you label the section of the grid each blood sample came from. All right?” Musuka ordered.

“Sweet,” Musuka muttered under his breath. “You should really get in here, Dex. I never seen anything like this.”

“Wait till you've seen a few more Columbian drug busts,” Dex replied.

“Dude, I got misting up the walls, across the ceiling, but no tissue. Come see,” Musuka said, trying to tempt Dexter to enter the room.

“Photos, Vince, take lots of photos,” Dex said, staying right where he was.

“Hey, and how come the blood's not clotting?” Musuka asked perplexed.

“The blood's not clotting?” Dex repeated.

“No, unh-uh,” Musuka said. 

‘Huh,” Dexter said, leaning forward slightly. “Genuine medical mystery. Just keep getting samples. I'll test it at the lab.”

Just then Dex’s cell phone rang. He was happy to see it was Angel calling.

“Hey, baby, are you okay?” Angel asked. “I just talked to LaGuerta. She said you got sick at the crime scene.”

“No, I’m okay, really,” Dex insisted. “I didn’t eat anything this morning and I got dizzy, but I’m fine now. But hey, don’t wait dinner for me tonight. I gotta lot of blood and photos to analyze—it’s gonna be a late one.”

“Okay, baby, but make sure you eat something—and if you feel sick again—come home,” Angel ordered.

“Yes, mom,” Dex said with a laugh. “I’ll see you at home later.”

“Okay, baby. Just be safe.”

Dexter smiled as he hung up with his lover. “Is there a wall socket in there?” Dex asked Musuka. “Check it out.”

“What? A wall socket?”

“Yeah,” Dex replied.

“Of course, there's a wall socket,” Musuka said, looking around the room. “There's lots of wall—hey, you're right. There was something plugged in here—a power tool to cut them up. Come take a look,” Musuka asked again, sticking his head out the door.

Dexter shook his head. “Photos, Vince. Lots and lots of photos.”

Back at the station, Musuka took a cooler to the evidence lockup. “Open Sesame,” he said to the officer on duty. “Blood samples for the fridge. And you better make room. There's a lot more coming.”

Shooters at the Bel Canto tonight. You in?” Musuka asked Angel, who was standing at the counter.

“Sorry, I’m tired—had a hell of a day,” Angel replied.

“Angel, you're on the market, and the Bel Canto is hottie central,” Musuka said, trying to tempt him.

“No. I’m going back to Dexter’s,” Angel replied firmly.

Musuka laughed and commented. “You're in worse shape than I thought.”

Angel just shook his head and walked away.

Dex was heading toward the elevator when he ran into Deb. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, Masuka was looking for you,” Dex informed her. “Something about drinks at the Bel Canto.”

“Yeah, I told him I had a yeast infection,” she said with a grin.

“Wow—a bit of an overshare,” Dex replied as they got on the elevator.

“You want to talk about what happened today?” Deb asked him.

“Already did,” he said, turning away from her.

“Dexter, the last time I saw you like that was when dad died. Can talk to me, you know? Just got to open your mouth and move it. I'll call Rudy. I'll tell him I'll be late,” she insisted.

“Deb, seriously,” Dex said. “I puked. I'm fine. I know you want to help, but unless you have breath mints, there's nothing to do.”

"Why do you always do this?" Deb asked in frustration.

“Do what?” Dex asked, looking innocent.

“You shut me out! Like your birth father, that lived up the highway your whole life and never tried to contact you. I still don't know how that makes you feel.”

“I'll tell you what, if some random emotion strikes me in the middle of the night, you'll be the first one I call,” Dex said sarcastically.

“Fine! Whatever,” Deb said, her expression resigned. “Are you going home?”

“I can’t—got too much work to do on the blood analysis. I’m gonna be here for a while.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, stomping out of the elevator, obviously still pissed.

~~~~

Later that evening, Dexter was getting ready to head home to Angel—finally. He cleaned up his work station, and shot a quick glance at the clock—10 p.m.—really late for him. He still had a lot of work to do, but he was too tired to do any more tonight.

He grabbed his keys, locked up his office, and headed out the door, waving to the night shift, milling about as he left. Once in the parking lot, he walked toward his car, which was temporarily hidden by a large SUV and a black van, parked beside him.

As he rounded the corner by the SUV, Dexter felt something hit him in the back. The involuntary muscle contractions caused his body to seize, and he collapsed to the ground. It was impossible for him to stand or remain in control of his movements. Dexter writhed on the ground as a flash of someone dressed all in black grabbed him and dragged him through the open back doors of the black van. As the stun gun effects started to subside, the assailant stunned him again, causing extreme pain and disorientation. Dexter could see through his blurry vision that the man was wearing a full-face shield. He tried to raise his head, but his attacker punched him on the right side of his face, and again in his ribs. Dexter sputtered and coughed, thinking this was it, he was gonna die right here.

Dexter's cheek burned where it pressed against cold metal flooring, the taste of copper flooding his mouth. A boot dug into his kidney as gloved hands roughly zip-tied his wrists behind his back. His right eye pulsed where the fist had connected, vision swimming with dark blotches that stubbornly refused to clear.

Leather-gloved hands flipped him onto his back. Through his functioning eye, the face shield reflected his own twisted expression back at him—pale skin glistening with sweat, blood smeared across quivering lips. The attacker's breath fogged the plastic visor with each methodical exhale. Dexter's racing mind catalogued details: military-grade boots, black tactical gloves with reinforced knuckles, but no hint of what the perp looked like. He was covered from head to toe.

“Please,” Dexter whispered.

The attacker paused, then reached for Dexter's waistband. Metal button, zipper—a slow, deliberate descent of fabric over hips and thighs until Dexter lay exposed on the cold van floor. The assailant—he was too muscular to be a female—fondled his genitals and squeezed his ball sack.

“No,” Dexter cried out and started fighting again, but his attacker pressed the stun gun to his abdomen.

Searing pain flooded his being, and the electricity made him physically sick. Teeth ground against each other as violent tremors wracked his body. Steamy Florida air blew over his exposed groin. Fingertips brushed his inner thigh, before gloved hands flipped him onto his stomach. Gravel embedded itself in his cheek through the van's diamond-plate flooring. He could hear the sound of the man lowering the zipper on his pants as he ran a hand over Dexter’s exposed ass. Dexter was finally able to let out a blood curdling shout for help, his only hope of alerting someone in the deserted parking lot.

The sound of footsteps pounding on the pavement and a shout, “What the hell was that?” sent Dexter’s attacker running across the parking lot and into a copse of trees.

Detective McNamara came running at full speed around the corner, finding Dexter tied up in the van with his pants lying on the ground.

“Fuck! Call an ambulance,” McNamara shouted to his partner

McNamara crawled into the van and turned Dexter over. “Hey, hey, it's gonna be okay,” the detective soothed. “You’re safe now.”

McNamara’s partner ran up to see what was going on. “Ambulance is on the way. God, that’s Morgan’s brother.”

“Yeah, go inside and find Lieutenant LaGuerta,” McNamara ordered.

The ambulance's rotating lights painted red streaks across McNamara's grim face. Dexter's teeth chattered against the gurney's plastic edge, despite the foil blanket crinkling around his shoulders. Every bump in the road sent fresh agony radiating from his bruised ribs.

"Almost there," the EMT said, adjusting the blood pressure cuff. Her gloved fingers felt like ice cubes against his wrist. Dexter stared at the vehicle's ceiling, counting rust spots to avoid remembering the van's diamond-plate pattern etched into his cheek.

Voices exploded when the doors flew open at Mercy General. He turned his face into the gurney's scratchy sheet as orderlies rushed him past the front desk.

LaGuerta paced the hall outside the exam room. "Did someone call his sister?" she hissed over her shoulder. Dexter caught her silhouette through half-closed eyelids—arms crossed, blazer straining across tense shoulders.

“Yes, Mam,” McNamara replied. “Pullman called her.”

Cold gel squirted onto his abdomen. He flinched when the ultrasound wand pressed against the tender skin below his ribcage. "No internal bleeding," the technician announced. Dexter focused on the strobing fluorescent light above the examination table, dissociating from hands probing between his legs for evidence.

"No semen," the nurse murmured, snapping off latex gloves. "We'll need a DNA swab from the..."

Dexter sat up too fast. Black spots swarmed his vision. "No. I wasn’t raped.”

Angel's voice sliced through the curtain before the nurse could respond. "Dios mío, Dex—"

He yanked the hospital gown closed as Angel barreled in, smelling of coffee and panic. Deb hovered in the doorway, knuckles white around the curtain grip.

“Dex,” Angel said softly, reaching out for his hand.

“Stop, Angel,” Deb warned. “LaGuerta’s watching.

Angel took a step back, but his eyes never left Dexter’s.

Dexter nodded reassuringly. “I’m okay, just sore.”

“Okay,” the nurse cried. “I want everybody out until we finish our exam. The doctor will speak to you once we’re done,” she said, pulling the curtain closed around Dexter.

The exam table's sterile paper crackled beneath trembling thighs. Dexter counted more ceiling tiles, while unfamiliar hands swabbed his inner cheek, the cotton stick catching dry blood at the corner of his mouth. His tongue traced the jagged edge of a bitten-through lip, coppery warmth blooming fresh with each prodding instrument.

"Minor contusions," the doctor announced to his clipboard. Dexter's left eyelid throbbed in time with the EKG's steady blips. "Police will want those photos."

Flashbulbs erupted behind closed eyes. Dexter's fingers curled around the table's cold edge in a death grip. The camera clicking sounded like zip ties ratcheting tight.

A wad of gauze pressed against his split eyebrow. "Keep pressure," the nurse instructed, fingers lingering half a second too long. Dexter jerked his head away, hospital gown gaping to expose the mottled bruise spreading across his collarbone.

Voices sharpened beyond the curtain, “nothing stolen. They didn’t take his wallet or watch.” LaGuerta's heels clicked like cocked pistols. "Surveillance footage shows... nothing! Fuck!” she cursed angrily. “We need to find whoever did this.”

The curtain opened, and Dexter clutched the gown's flimsy ties as LaGuerta strode in holding an evidence bag. His bloody shirt glimmered under plastic.

"Tell me again." Her pen hovered over a notepad smudged with coffee stains. "From the beginning."

Dexter's throat constricted around the memory. "Walking to my car. Someone tased me from behind." Nails dug into palms, crescent moons mirroring the van's floor pattern still pressed into his cheek. "He dragged me... into the van. He punched me several times, and I think he tased me again."

Frost spread through his gut at the memory of gloved fingers exploring bare skin. LaGuerta looked pained. “Dexter your pants were off when McNamara found you. Were you raped?”

“No… but he tried,” Dex said in almost a whimper. “He would’ve if McNamara hadn’t come when he did.”

“All right, we’ll be right out here in the waiting room when the doctor’s finished,” she said, giving Dexter a sympathetic look.

About thirty minutes later, the doctor entered the waiting room, clipboard in hand.

Deb noticed him first as she sat next to Rudy, who held her hand tightly. “Doctor, I’m his sister. Is Dexter okay?” she asked, jumping to her feet.

The doctor’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he glanced between Deb and the rest of the anxious group. Dexter watched through slitted eyes from his gurney being wheeled past the waiting area, the fluorescent lights strobing across his swollen face. Angel’s fist clenched around a styrofoam cup, coffee sloshing over his knuckles. Deb’s nostrils flared like she was scenting blood.

Cold air from the hospital's air conditioning bit through the thin gown as orderlies transferred him to a private room. A monitor beeped in time with the throbbing behind his right eye.

“—cracked rib precautionary measures—” The doctor’s voice drifted through the half-closed door, followed by Deb’s choked “motherfucker” and the plastic crunch of Angel crushing his cup.

“He’s bruised and battered, but he’ll heal,” the doctor relayed. “There was no sign of sexual assault. It’s a good thing the other detectives got to him before it escalated.

Angel and Deb entered Dexter’s room, both looking strained. Dexter’s fingers traced the raised welt from the stun gun, each ridge a brand marking his failure.

“Te amo,” Angel murmured, calloused thumb brushing Dexter’s wrist. The heart monitor spiked.

Deb shouldered through the curtain. “LaGuerta’s posting a unit outside your place after you’re released. Two-officer detail, round-the-clock.”

The heart monitor’s beeping accelerated.

“No police.” The words rasped like gravel in his raw throat. “I don’t need protection. It was probably just a random attack.”

Deb shook her head. “This wasn’t random, Dex. Guy targeted you. Attacked you where—" Her voice cracked. “Where you work.”

Angel leaned in close. “I think she’s right, baby. I don’t think this was random.”

LaGuerta walked in then. “Dex, the doctors are keeping you overnight for observation.”

Dexter started to protest, but Maria held up her hand. “No arguments. They need to check your eye periodically.”

“I’m staying with him,” Deb said, taking a stubborn stance.

“All right,” LaGuerta agreed. “But I want to see you and Angel in the waiting area for just a moment, so we can go over again the details of what happened.

LaGuerta and the people involved gathered in the waiting area for a quick briefing. “Dexter told me what he could remember of the attack. We’re definitely looking for a male, muscular, between 5’8 and 5’10, wearing all black. He had on a full-face shield and military-grade boots, black tactical gloves with reinforced knuckles. McNamara, did you see the attacker at all?”

“I only saw someone in black running away, but he was too far ahead to pursue, and I couldn’t leave Morgan. I didn’t know what condition he was in.”

A few moments later, Doakes arrived at the hospital. “Hey, I just got your message. What the hell happened?”

“Someone attacked my brother in the parking lot at work,” Deb told him. “Where’ve you been? I texted you quite a while ago.”

“At home, I took a shower and dosed off,” Doakes answered. “Can somebody tell me what happened?”

“Gee—no—is your brother okay? Was he badly hurt? Is he alive? Thanks for your concern, Doakes,” Deb hissed.

Doakes held up his hands. "Easy, Morgan. Of course I'm concerned. Just tell me what the hell went down."

Dexter's hospital gown stuck to his back with cold sweat as he listened to the muffled voices outside his door. The heart monitor's steady beep underscored the throbbing in his ribs. He flexed his fingers, testing the stiffness in his wrists where the zip ties had bitten into flesh.

The curtain rattled as Angel slipped back inside, his eyes filled with concern. "LaGuerta's organizing extra patrols around the station," he murmured, fingers hovering near Dexter's bruised cheek before pulling back. "You sure you don't want protection?"

Dexter swallowed against the metallic taste still coating his tongue. "I'll be fine." The lie tasted bitter. His pulse jumped on the monitor as the memory flashed—black gloves, the sting of electricity, the van's cold metal against bare skin.

Deb pushed through the curtain. "Doakes is being his usual charming self." She perched on the edge of the bed, her knee twitching anxiously.

Doakes stuck his head in for just a moment. “Hey, Dexter, I’m glad you’re okay. Is there anything I can get for you?”

Dexter shook his head. “No. I’m okay, but thank you though.”

Doakes nodded and left the room.

Dex watched him leave with a shocked expression on his face. “Wow, I think that’s the first civil thing he’s ever said to me.”

Deb took hold of Dexter’s hand. "Listen, Dex—"

"I know." Dexter adjusted the ice pack on his ribs. The cold seeped through the thin gown, numbing more than just the bruises. “But I still think it was random. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Angel shook his head. “No, baby,” he whispered. “This happened outside a police station. What idiot would do something like that?”

“He’s right,” Deb said. “You were the target, Dex. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Chapter Text

 Deb sat in the chair next to Dexter’s hospital bed, while the doctor checked his right eye.

“It’s looking better,’ the doctor declared. “We’ll release him in the morning.”

“What time?” LaGuerta asked.

“Ten o’clock,” the doctor replied.

“Great! Thank you, Doc,” Deb said.

The doctor smiled and left the room, while the others pondered the current situation.

“Like I said—I’m staying,” Deb told everyone.

“I’ll stay with you, honey,” Rudy offered.

“I want to stay too,” Angel interjected.

“I’ll be fine,” Dexter stated. “Nobody needs to stay."

“Rudy, thanks, babe, but one of us needs to sleep,” Deb said, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek. “You go home, and come back and pick us up in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” Rudy asked, worry etched into his expression.

“Angel, please,” Dex implored. “You go home too and bring me back some fresh clothes in the morning.”

“I’m leaving a guard in the hospital overnight,” LaGuerta said. “Don’t care if you want one or not, Dex.”

Deb glanced around the room, taking in the faces of her concerned friends and colleagues. She could feel their worry. Dexter’s attack and injuries rattled everyone, but she knew he was tough.

“Look, I’ll be fine?” Dexter said, trying to lighten the mood. “You don’t have to stay either.”

Deb crossed her arms. “Not leaving!”

“Okay everyone, then I’m… leaving,” LaGuerta stated. “I’ve got day shift tomorrow, but I’m glad I was on duty when this all went down. Try to get some sleep, people.”

After the Lieutenant left, Deb nudged Rudy, let’s give Angel and Dex a few minutes alone."

Rudy nodded knowingly, and they exited the room, closing the door behind them.

Angel sighed heavily and sat down in the chair next to the bed, grabbing hold of Dexter’s hand. “Baby, I was so worried. I don’t know what I would’ve done, if this creep…” Angel trailed off, not able to complete the sentence.

Dexter’s hand tightened around Angel’s. “I'm all right, Angel. I swear—please don’t worry.”

“I wish you’d let me stay, baby,” Angel said, stroking the left side of Dexter's face—the uninjured side. “I love you—so much.”

“I know, and I… I… feel the same,” Dex said, looking into Angel’s eyes. “It’s difficult for me to express—”

“You don’t have to explain, Dex,” Angel interrupted. “Deb told me you had trouble communicating your feelings. She said it was from the childhood trauma you suffered. It’s okay—I love you unconditionally… for who you are.”

“I’m sorry... I have so many issues,” Dex said.

Angel leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Dexter's forehead. Angel's thumb traced slow circles over the back of Dexter's hand, feeling the slight tremor there—whether from exhaustion, fear, or emotion, he couldn't tell.

"You don't have to apologize," Angel murmured. "Not to me."

Dexter's uninjured eye flashed with something unreadable before he turned his face slightly into Angel's touch.  Angel wanted to memorize every line of his face, the way his dark lashes brushed against the bruising, the stubborn set of his jaw… even now.

A knock at the door made them both tense. Angel didn't pull away, though. He'd promised himself long ago he wouldn't hide this, not when it mattered.

Deb cracked the door open just enough to poke her head in. "Hey, uh—shift change. New nurse is doing rounds." Her gaze darted between them, lingering on their clasped hands. Something softened in her expression before she cleared her throat. "Five more minutes, then I'm kicking you out, Batista. Doctor's orders—Dex needs rest."

Angel nodded, squeezing Dexter's hand again, before reluctantly letting go. The warmth lingered on his palm like a brand. "I'll be back first thing in the morning," he promised.

Dexter's fingers twitched against the sheets as if reaching for him even now. "Bring coffee.”

“Not a problem,” Angel said, leaning in and kissing Dexter very softly on his swollen lips. “Call me for any reason.”

“I will, but I’ll be fine,” Dexter said with a smirk. “I’ll have my pit bull of a sister here, watching my every move.”

Angel lingered in the doorway, not wanting to leave, but knowing he couldn’t stay.

"Go," Dexter ordered. "Before Deb drags you out by your collar."

Angel snorted a quiet laugh, but his throat felt tight. He forced himself to turn away, stepping into the brightly lit hallway where Deb leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. The dark circles beneath her eyes took the bite out of her raised eyebrow, making her look more exhausted than intimidating.

"You good?" she asked, pushing off the wall.

Angel scrubbed a hand over his face, the stubble rough against his palm. "No," he admitted. The word came out raw.

Deb exhaled through her nose and clapped him on the shoulder. "He's tough. Stubborn bastard," she said, trying not to cry.

"Yeah." Angel said, glancing back at the closed door. The guard LaGuerta had posted—a rookie named Esposito—nodded at him from his chair. The kid looked barely old enough to shave, but he had that same brightness that all rookies did.

Deb nudged him toward the elevators. "Get some sleep. You look like shit."

Angel didn't argue. His body felt heavy, every step like wading through wet concrete. The elevator doors slid shut behind him, cutting off the view of Dexter's room.

Rudy came up to Deb, holding a pillow and a blanket in his hands. “I commandeered these from a nurse.”

Deb smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Rudy asked.

“Nah, just pick us up in the morning,” Deb said, pushing Dexter’s room door open. “Come say bye to Dex.”

“Absolutely,” Rudy said, following Deb back into the room.

“Dexter,” Rudy began, his eyes lowered. “I hate this happened to you, man. And I really hope they catch this bastard.”

“Thanks,” Dex said. “I appreciate that.”

“If either of you need anything during the night, please call me. I’ll come running,” Rudy said, looking lovingly at Deb.

“Okay,” Deb said as she walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye. “I'll see you in the morning.”

After everyone was gone, Deb turned off the overhead lights and took up her vigil next to Dexter’s bed. Sitting down in the chair, she put the pillow behind her head and covered herself up with the blanket. “Get some sleep, Dex.”

“I’ll try, Deb, but I still wish you’d left with Rudy,” he said with a sigh. “There’s no need for all this when there’s a guard right outside my door.”

Deb rolled her eyes, adjusting the scratchy hospital blanket around her shoulders. She could see the tension in Dexter’s face even through the swelling—that stubborn set he got whenever he thought he could tough things out alone.

"You'd do the same for me," she said, kicking off her shoes and propping her feet up on the edge of his bed. The vinyl chair creaked under her weight.

Dexter's fingers twitched nervously, and the IV line tugged at the back of his hand with every movement. He kept glancing at the door, at the shadow of Esposito's silhouette through the narrow window.

Deb followed his gaze. The rookie's head kept dipping forward, before jerking back up—fighting sleep. She smirked. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on Sleeping Beauty out there too."

The heart monitor beeped steadily in the quiet. Dexter exhaled through his nose, the sound ragged. His good eye had that distant look Deb recognized—calculating, picking apart the attack frame by frame. She'd seen it every time he worked a case, but never turned inward like this.

She reached over and patted his hand. "Hey. Stop that."

Dexter blinked, focus snapping back to her. The dim nightlight made the bruises under and around his eye look worse—deep purple blooming into sickly yellow at the edges.

"Stop what?"

"Thinking about the attack." Deb pulled the blanket tighter. “We’ll figure it all out after you’re released.”

“Okay,” Dexter said, closing his eyes, but he knew sleep would be a long time coming. As he lay there, his inner monologue kicked in again. ‘My sister's right. I don't share my problems with her... or with anybody. Harry taught me that—secrecy, self-reliance, and a well-stocked cupboard of hefty bags are all I need. But I don’t want to alienate Angel, so I need to figure out a way to say—I love you to him—without spazzing. Now, I’ve got a bigger problem—figuring out who attacked me—at work—no less. I don’t think it was my playmate… not his style, but then… who?’

The following morning, the lights flipped on with a jolt, pulling Dexter from the shallow half-sleep he'd managed. His right eye throbbed in time with his pulse, the swollen skin pulling tight when he blinked.

Deb's chair scraped against the linoleum as she stretched, her hair sticking up on one side. "Shit," she muttered, rubbing her neck. "Hospital chairs are a war crime."

Dexter's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He reached for the plastic water cup on the tray table, wincing as the movement tugged at the IV line. The water was lukewarm, tasting faintly of plastic, but it washed away the cottony dryness.

The door creaked open, and Angel stepped inside holding two steaming paper cups and a travel bag hanging around one arm. The dark circles under his eyes matched Deb's, but he'd changed clothes—a fresh button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms. Dexter's fingers twitched against the sheets, remembering the warmth of those arms around him, holding him tightly.

"Brought coffee, and fresh clothes." Angel said, setting one cup on Dexter's tray table. The rich, bitter aroma cut through the hospital smells. "Black, two sugars. Just how you—"

"Like it," Dexter finished. Their fingers brushed during the handoff, sending a jolt up his arm. Deb smiled, noting the way Dexter looked at Angel.

Just then a doctor, accompanied by an intern and a nurse, entered the room and ushered everybody out. “We need to check him over once more before we release him,” the doctor explained.

Out in the hallway, Rudy arrived bearing more cups of coffee.

Angel took the coffee from Rudy with a nod of thanks, his fingers tightening around the cup as he glanced back at Dexter's closed door. He took a sip, the heat scalding his tongue, but he barely registered the pain.

Deb accepted her cup from Rudy, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, blowing across the surface before taking a careful sip. "They said it'd just be a quick check," she muttered, leaning against the wall beside Angel.

Esposito shifted in his chair by the door; his uniform wrinkled from the long night. The rookie's gaze kept darting between them and the door handle, as if willing it to turn. Angel recognized the look—that desperate need to prove himself useful. He'd worn it often enough in his early days.

The travel bag Angel had brought for Dexter dug into his shoulder. He adjusted the strap, imagining Dexter changing into the soft cotton shirt he'd packed—the dark blue one that made his eyes look like storm clouds. The thought sent warmth spreading through Angel's chest, momentarily easing the tightness there.

Rudy cleared his throat. "So, uh... any leads yet on who did this?"

Deb's fingers curled around her coffee cup. "Not yet. But we'll find them." The steel in her voice made Angel straighten. He'd heard that tone before—right before she tore into some asshole who thought they could get away with jerking her around.

The doctor and his team stepped out of the room. “He’s good to go—got drops for the eye—and pain killers. His ribs will be sore for a few more days, but the bruises and taser welts will fade soon enough.”

Dexter watched through the open door as the doctor nodded briskly and walked away. The slight ache in his ribs made each breath feel heavier than it should. His eye still throbbed, a pulse that refused to go away, but the painkillers had started to dull the sharp edges.

He turned toward Angel as the man came back in and set down the coffee and unpacked his bag. The faint scent of laundry detergent clung to the fresh shirt—clean, comforting. Dexter’s fingers twitched again, eager to reach out, but held back in case of unwanted onlookers.

Angel’s eyes looked him over, tired but relieved, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Dexter wanted to believe that, wanted to cling to the idea that everything was going to be fine—because, right now, it felt like all he could do was hold on to whatever semblance of normalcy was left.

“I’m gonna take a shower and get dressed,” Dexter said, getting out of bed gingerly and taking the clean clothes into the bathroom.

“Will you be okay?” Angel asked, going around the bed to help steady his lover.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Dex said, gazing into Angel’s still worried eyes. “I got this,” he said with a small smile.

Angel helped him into the bathroom and then stepped out, grabbing another sip of his coffee.

“Where’s Dex?” Deb asked as she and Rudy came back in.

Angel tilted his head toward the bathroom. “Taking a shower.”

Dexter stepped into the bathroom, the cool tile under his feet grounding him more than he expected. The mirror above the sink reflected a shadow of himself—dark eyes rimmed with exhaustion, the bruise darkening around his battered eye. He stripped out of the hospital gown and turned on the shower.

He stepped under the warm water, wincing as the spray hit his bruised skin. The water sluiced down his body, carrying away hospital smells, but not the memory of hands grabbing him from behind, the sharp bite of electricity through his muscles. He scrubbed gingerly at his arms, his movements careful and measured, while his mind kept replaying the attack in vivid, unwelcome fragments.

Once finished showering and dressing, Dexter went back into the room, to his waiting entourage. “We’re gonna take you home, Dex, and Rudy is gonna stay with you,” Deb declared. “Angel and I have to get to the station.”

“We’re not doing any such thing,” Dexter argued. “I’m going to work. I’ve got a blood analysis report to give.”

“Dex!” Deb shouted.

“Baby,” Angel said softly. “You’re in no shape to go to work.”

“No, but I'm going,” Dexter insisted. “And Rudy, don’t you have to work today?”

“Ah, um” Rudy stammered. “I was gonna take a vacation day.”

“That’s not happening,” Dexter said. “You’re not gonna waste a vacation day on my account.”

Rudy gave a half-smile. “Are you sure you two aren’t blood related?” he asked Deb. “You’re both about as stubborn.”

“You said it,” Angel agreed.

“You can debate this until the cows come home, but I’m still going to work, so let’s let Rudy get back to his life, and we’ll all ride in with Angel? What do you say?” Dex asked, not really giving anyone a choice.

Dexter ignored the pain that shot through his ribs. The fabric of his shirt felt heavy against his bruised skin. He could feel Angel’s eyes on him, concern radiating from his stillness, but Dexter refused to meet his gaze.

“Let’s go,” Dexter said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. He moved toward the door, his steps purposeful, forcing himself to ignore the lingering stiffness in his muscles. The hospital hallway stretched before them, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, their harsh glow making his head ache.

Angel hesitated, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out, but Dexter was already striding past Esposito, who gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. Deb trailed behind, her exasperation palpable in the way she huffed and muttered something under her breath.

Angel fell into step beside Dexter, his presence a quiet, comforting force. Dexter could feel the warmth of him even without touching, the faint scent of his cologne wafting through the air. He focused on that—on Angel’s steady presence—as they made their way to the elevator.

The ride down was silent, the only sound the hum of the machinery and Deb’s occasional sigh of annoyance. His thoughts churned, fragments of the attack replaying in his mind like a broken record. He clenched his fists, as the gloved touch of his attacker still lingered on his flesh.

The car ride to the station was almost as strained, but Dex sat up front with Angel, sticking Deb in the back. At least this way, Dexter could hold Angel’s hand in peace.

When the three of them entered the squad room, there was a palpable gasp from the entire department.

“LaGuerta raced out of her office, hands on her hips. “What the hell are you doing here, Dex?”

Dexter straightened his shoulders, ignoring the twinge in his ribs. LaGuerta's scrutiny burned into him like a spotlight, but he kept his expression neutral. "I'm here to give my blood analysis report," he said calmly, though his voice carried an edge that dared her to challenge him.

LaGuerta's lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced at Deb, who shrugged helplessly. Angel hovered at Dexter's side, his jaw tense, his fingers flexing as if itching to grab Dexter and drag him back out the door.

"You look like hell," LaGuerta said bluntly, folding her arms. "And you’re supposed to be resting."

Dexter forced a tight smile. "It's just a few bruises. I’ve had worse."

Angel stepped forward slightly, his tone firm. "Lieutenant, he's not—"

"I'm fine," Dexter interrupted, cutting Angel off before he could finish. He didn’t want pity, didn’t want anyone trying to protect him. He needed to focus, to figure out who’d attacked him and why. "Let’s get to work."

LaGuerta sighed, clearly frustrated, but she nodded. "Fine. But if you collapse, it’s on you."

Deb snorted from behind them. "Good luck stopping him," she muttered, shaking her head.

Dexter ignored the comment, striding toward his office. The squad room buzzed with murmured conversations, the weight of everyone’s stares pressing against his back. He could feel Angel trailing behind him, close enough that LaGuerta took notice.

“Angel, I got to finish a few things before I give my report on the blood from 103, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour,” Dex said, stopping Angel at his office door.

“Do you need any help?” Angel asked.

“Do what you need to do, Angel,” Dex said, smiling at his lover. “I’ll get Vince to help me.”

“Angel,” LaGuerta hollered. “We're having a meeting in my office. Dex, let us know when you’re ready.”

Dex nodded. “Will do, Lieutenant.”

Dexter winced as he lowered himself into his chair, the ache in his ribs flaring with the movement. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the stack of files, hating himself for showing such weakness.

His mind raced, replaying fragments of the attack—the gloved hands grabbing him from behind, the white-hot sting of the taser—but he pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand. The blood samples from room 103 needed analysis, and he couldn’t afford to let his mind wander. Not now. Not when there was work to do. He clicked on his computer and started entering the data into the diagram.

Vince appeared in the doorway, his usual cheerful demeanor muted by concern. "Hey, Dex. Need a hand?"

Dexter nodded, not looking up. "Yeah, I’ve got the preliminary results here, but I need you to double-check the samples while I prep the report."

Vince hesitated, glancing at Dexter’s bruised face. "You sure you’re up for this? You look like you took a beating from a freight train."

"I’m fine," Dexter said, his tone brooking no argument. He could feel Vince’s skeptical gaze lingering, but didn’t bother to elaborate. Instead, he turned his attention back to the files, flipping through the pages with precision.

Meanwhile, LaGuerta was pacing her office, grilling everyone involved. “Do we know who owned the black van in the parking lot that the perp dragged Dex into, and has it been processed?”

“Yeah,” McNamara replied. “It belongs to a rookie downstairs, Greg Myers. It’s registered to his dad, used to be his old delivery truck. He doesn’t own the business anymore, so he turned the van over to his son. Greg said when he came to work, he locked the van up tight. Greg was working the front desk and never left his post. He’s got witnesses to that, so Greg is not a suspect.”

“Forensics said the lock on the back doors of the van was jimmied open,” McNamara’s partner, Samuels, interjected.

“Any other forensic evidence found?” LaGuerta asked.

Doakes cleared his throat. “Only from Dexter. Blood, saliva, skin cells… the usual. The perp left no evidence behind. There was no DNA from the suspect at all.”

“He was too well covered,” McNamara said.

“And no surveillance footage at all?” Deb asked. “Or foot prints—nothing?”

Doakes shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Fuck,” Angel cursed under his breath.

 “Easy,” LaGuerta said. “We’ll get whoever did this.”

Angel growled. “And when we do, I’m gonna—”

“Do nothing,” LaGuerta said, cutting Angel off. “We let the law handle it. Am I making myself clear, Morgan, Angel?”

“Yes, Mam,” Angel replied, while Deb simply nodded.

The room reverberated with frustration, tension hanging over them like a dark cloud. LaGuerta took a deep breath, trying to maintain control. “Alright, let’s regroup. We need to find a connection—unless it was a random attack. There’s got to be something we’re missing.”

“We’ll keep on it,” Doakes said, but we really need that blood report from room 103.”

“Dexter’s on it,” Deb said, giving Doakes a side eye.

When everyone left LaGuerta’s office, she grabbed Angel by the arm. “A word—and shut the door.”

Angel shut the door and turned to the Lieutenant. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

LaGuerta raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is going on with you and Dexter?”

Angel froze, his eyes widening, but he didn’t say anything, just looked at her.

“Angel—I know you—and I’m not blind or stupid,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “I won’t even mention the fact that I’m sure I heard you call him ‘baby’ at the hospital last night. You have exactly thirty seconds to start explaining.”

Angel took a moment to collect his thoughts, the sudden spotlight on his relationship with Dexter catching him off guard. He swallowed hard, his heart racing. "Lieutenant, it's—it’s not what it looks like."

LaGuerta’s eyes narrowed. “Then what is it? Because from where I stand, it looks like you two have crossed a line. This isn’t just about friendship anymore.”

“I know how it seems,” Angel said, his voice dropping as he ran a hand through his hair. “Dexter and I… we’ve been through a lot together. We clicked somehow. I didn’t plan it, but it just happened.”

“Just happened?” LaGuerta pressed, crossing her arms. “You think I’m going to buy that? The risks you’re taking now, with this case—your personal life can’t cloud your judgment.”

“Believe me, I know,” Angel replied, his frustration bubbling up. “I care about him. It’s complicated. But I can separate my feelings and the job.”

LaGuerta studied him for a moment, her expression softening slightly. “You know the rules, Angel. I can’t have any distractions. If this jeopardizes your work, there will be consequences. You’ve got to keep this under wraps. If anyone else finds out—I won’t be able to help you.”

“I won’t let it affect my job,” he reassured her, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. “I will keep a professional distance.”

“You’d better,” she said. “This is your career on the line. It’s not so bad for Dexter, because he’s not a police officer. Now, get the fuck out of my office.”

Deb knocked on the door, and LaGuerta waved her in. “Dex is ready with his report.”

“Great, let’s go,” she said, following Morgan out of the room.

The group gathered around with rapt attention as Dexter gave his report.

“Everyone who set foot on the bloody carpet in room 103 left a footprint,” Dexter said as he displayed his diagram. “And since we do shoe molds of everyone on personnel, that leaves only one set of footprints unaccounted for—the killer’s. This shows everywhere he went in the room. The question is why.”

“Hold on,” LaGuerta interrupted. “Aren't we missing something? Where are the victims' footprints?”

“Give that lady a lollipop,” Dex said with a chuckle.

“Are you suggesting there were never any bodies in room 103?” Deb asked, perplexed. “Why would a guy stage a massacre and not have any bodies?”

“And where'd he get the blood?” Doakes asked, looking curiously at Dexter.

“I've just got a preliminary blood report,” Musuka interjected. “The blood in that room came from at least 5 different bodies, possibly more.”

“My fellow traveler had five victims.” Dex thought.

Deb chimed in. “Ice-truck killer had 5 victims.”

“5 bloodless victims,” LaGuerta added.

“I always wondered what he did with the blood,” Dexter pondered.

“Wait, wait,” Doakes jumped in. “The ice-truck killer did not hoard his victims' blood just to have a party at the motherfucking Marina View hotel. Why would he do that?”

“To chase me down the rabbit hole,” Dexter thought.

“What was that, Morgan?” Doakes asked

“I didn't say anything,” Dex replied, looking oddly at Doakes.

I'll remind you people—we arrested the ice-truck killer. His name is Neil Perry, and he's awaiting trial in county,” Doakes stated confidently.

“Bullshit,” LaGuerta challenged. “Neil Perry recanted his confession. He's a fraud.”

“Try telling that to the captain,” Doakes said to LaGuerta.

“I did,” she said with conviction.

“Do we have any more evidence to support this theory?” Deb asked.

“When Musuka noticed the blood wasn't clotting, I ran some tests, and it was loaded with Coumadin and Heparin,” Dexter answered.

“One's an anticoagulant, the other's a preservative,” Musuka added. “It means the blood's old.”

“Plus, the blood spatters' all impact and castoff. There are no hand transfers or swipe patterns to indicate the presence of any actual victims,” Dexter explained.

Musuka, run the DNA on all five vics and see if it matches the ice-truck killer's victims,” LaGuerta ordered. “You two,” she said to Deb and Doakes, “get out to the Marina View hotel. Retrace his steps. Maybe it'll tell us something. And not a word to anyone about the ice-truck killer.”

As the meeting broke up, Dexter was left again with his thoughts. He still didn’t believe the Ice Truck Killer attacked him. He was sure it had to be someone else.”

Late in the afternoon, Jennifer distributed the mail to the squad room. There was something in a pink envelope addressed to Dexter. Dexter eyed the envelope suspiciously. It had his name on it, and the station's address, but no return address.

Dexter picked it up carefully and held it up to the light. He didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so he opened it and pulled out a heart-shaped card—he knew Angel didn’t send it—so maybe his playmate? 

When he opened and read the card, he gasped and dropped it on the floor. Near hyperventilating, Musuka ran up to him. “Dex, what’s wrong?”

Dex doubled over his desk, but managed to point at the floor. Musuka bent down and read the contents, but didn’t pick it up. Musuka then ran out of the office door. “Deb, come quick!” he shouted.

Panic crept into the squad room as Musuka’s urgent voice echoed off the walls. Dexter remained hunched over his desk, trying to calm the tornado of thoughts swirling in his mind. The heart-shaped card contained a message too unsettling to ignore.

Debra Morgan stormed into the room, her expression shifting from confusion to concern as she spotted Musuka pacing frantically around her brother. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded, her eyes flitting from Masuka to Dexter.

“Dex just got a card, and—” Musuka stammered, still wide-eyed. “You need to see this.”

Debra walked over to Dexter’s desk, lifting the heart-shaped card gingerly from the floor. She scanned the message, and gasped as she absorbed the words printed in an exaggerated script:

‘I’m sorry I hurt you, my pretty baby. I just wanted to fuck you so badly, but I got carried away. I promise it will be better next time. I’ll make it good for you too. See you soon.’

Angel and LaGuerta entered the office and read the card together. Angel’s face was thunderous, and she knew he was seeing red.

“Easy, now, Angel,” she warned, just as Doakes entered behind them.

“What the fuck’s the drama now?” he growled.

Deb shot him a glare as she held her brother, trying to calm him down.

LaGuerta flashed the card at Doakes, who read it and said, “shit.”

“Angel, take Dexter home and stay with him,” LaGuerta said, as Dexter finally started to calm down. “And I’m sending police protection. No arguments. Obviously, this wasn’t a random attack.”

Musuka snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. “I’ll run the card and envelope for prints and foreign substances.”

“C’mon Dex,” Angel said, steadying Dexter on his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Rudy and I will be by later,” Deb said. “We’ll bring dinner—okay?”

“Thanks, we appreciate that,” Angel replied gratefully.

As Dexter leaned on Angel for support, his mind raced. The card, with its menacing words, replayed in his head. “Who could possibly want to hurt me?” he thought, trying to make sense of the chaotic situation.

LaGuerta observed the scene, her brow furrowed with concern. “This is more serious than we initially thought,” she declared, contemplating their next steps.

Doakes crossed his arms, his expression frustrated. “We need to step up security. Whoever did this won’t stop until they get what they want,” he warned.

“Right. We can’t take any chances,” LaGuerta agreed, moving toward her office to make calls. She knew the stakes were high, and they needed to ensure that Dexter was safe.

Angel guided Dexter through the precinct, his presence a reassuring weight. “You okay?” he asked, casting a sidelong glance.

Just… overwhelmed,” Dexter admitted, trying to mask the swirl of emotions. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before, but it’s different this time. No one’s actually wanted to hurt me.”

As they reached the parking lot, Deb’s voice cut through the open air. “You guys drive safe, okay? No speeding. I know how you are, Angel.”

“Don’t worry; I’ve got it covered. We’ll be fine,” Angel replied, giving Dexter a supportive rub on the back before they headed to his car.

“Thanks for being here,” Dexter said quietly.

“Where else would I be, baby?” Angel replied, gazing lovingly into Dexter’s eyes.

The drive home seemed an eternity, because Dexter’s mind finally shifted from the Ice Truck Killer to his attacker. LaGuerta was right—this was serious. During the drive, Angel and Dexter noticed their patrol car escort following closely.

Once inside their apartment, Angel gently deposited Dexter on the bed and removed his shoes. “Baby, do you want something—a drink—snack?”

Dexter leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to shake off the tension that had built up throughout the day. “A drink would be nice,” he finally replied, opening his eyes to meet Angel’s concerned gaze.

“Got it,” Angel said with a nod, heading to the kitchen. Dexter listened to the sounds of his boyfriend moving around—the clinking of glass, the rush of water. It was soothing, grounding him in this moment of uncertainty.

As he waited, Dexter’s thoughts drifted back to the card that had caused so much turmoil. The vague threat and fear it invoked were persistent shadows in his mind. Would he really come for him? He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another case… it was personal.

“Here you go,” Angel said, returning with a cold glass of water. He handed it to Dexter with a gentle smile, his warmth steadying Dexter's racing heart for a moment.

“Thanks,” Dexter said, taking a sip and relishing the coolness. He could see the concern in Angel’s eyes as he watched him intently, searching for any sign of distress. “You know, I’m… I’m okay. Really,” Dexter added, attempting to reassure him.

Angel furrowed his brow slightly, unconvinced. “You sure? Because it feels like we’re both holding our breaths here. I want you to talk to me, Dex—and I know it’s hard for you.”

Dexter took hold of Angel’s hand. “I’ve just never experienced anything quite like this—never been the object of someone’s obsession. It’s so disconcerting. I feel vulnerable and exposed.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Angel said hanging his head. “I failed to protect you—miserably.”

“No,” Dexter replied, squeezing Angel’s hand. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. It's nobody’s fault, except for the psycho who attacked me,” Dexter said, raising Angel’s chin with his hand.

“Even if I can’t always say at it,” Dexter paused, taking a deep breath. “I love you. Please, never doubt that.”

Angel leaned in and kissed him lightly on his good cheek. “I promise—I’ll protect you with my life. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” 

Chapter Text

That evening, Rudy and Deb showed up with Chinese takeout and a case of beer.

“Figured you’d need a few IPA’s,” Deb said, popping a cold one and handing it to Dexter.

“Thanks, and you know it,” Dexter said, taking a swallow of beer.

“Were you able to get any rest?” Rudy asked.

“Yeah, me and Angel had a nice nap,” he replied.

“You look better,” Rudy commented. “Deb told me about the card—scary.”

Dexter nodded tensely.

“Musuka find any evidence on the thing?” Angel asked.

Deb shook her head. “Yeah, lots of prints—all accounted for.”

“So were right back where we started—with nothing,” Angel sighed in frustration.

“Listen Dex,” Deb said with a serious expression. “Me and Angel got night shift tomorrow, so Rudy’s gonna come over and sit with you.”

Dexter threw his hands in the air. “You make it sound like I’m five years old, and for Christ’s sake, I’ve got round the clock police protection. I don’t need Rudy rearranging his life for me.”

“Dex, it’s not just about protection,” Deb pressed gently. “It’s about keeping you company. This isn’t easy for any of us, but especially not for you. We’re worried.”

Dexter looked down at his food, pushing the Chinese noodles around his plate. He took another swig of the beer, trying to ignore the fear in his sister’s eyes. “I can handle this. I appreciate you both looking out for me, but I just need a little space to breathe, you know?”

Rudy interjected, trying to ease the tension. “Look, man, I get it. You’re tough, we all know that. But this is serious. The card, the threats—it changes everything. Having another person around isn’t a sign of weakness.”

“I’m definitely not weak,” Dexter shot back. He immediately regretted it, seeing the worry etched into Angel’s face. He sighed and softened his voice. “I just feel like I’m losing control of my own life. I want to deal with this on my own terms.”

Deb reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “And we’re not taking that away from you. But we’re your family, and we want to help. Let Rudy stay, if only for peace of mind.”

Angel nodded. “It’s not just about you, Dex. It’s about all of us. You matter to us, and we can’t just sit back while you take all the risks alone.”

“C’mon, I’ll bring steaks,” Rudy said with a smile. “Ask Deb, I’m not a bad cook.”

“Okay,” Dexter finally agreed. “I just think this whole thing is getting blown out of proportion.”

“No, it’s not, baby,” Angel said firmly. “You were attacked—at work—in the parking lot… and almost raped. Then the sick bastard had the nerve to send you a screwed-up love letter. I’m not taking any chances with your safety. If I have to take a leave of absence to protect you… I will.”

After finishing dinner, the group sat around listening to music and trying to lighten the mood for Dexter’s sake. He’d been through enough already. A few minutes later, Deb’s phone rang, and she looked at it to see who was calling.

“Guys, excuse me,” she said, standing up. “I gotta take this.”

She walked into Dexter’s bedroom for a minute and answered the call. When she came out, she said, “Rudy and I gotta go, but do you need anything before we leave?”

“What’s up, Deb?” Dexter asked. “Who was on the phone?”

“Was it about Dexter’s attack?” Angel asked, getting to his feet.

Deb held up her hands. “No, no, it had nothing to do with it. That was a friend calling. It was nothing important.”

“So, why are you rushing off?” Dexter asked suspiciously.

“Because—you need rest,” Deb said, shooting a look at her boyfriend. “Right, Rudy?”

“Ah, right, yeah,” Rudy replied. “We’ll head out so you can get some sleep, but I’ll be back tomorrow night. Angel, what time are you leaving the apartment for work?” he asked.

“Probably around 7:30,” Angel responded.

“Okay, I’ll be her at 7:15,” Rudy stated.

“Are you staying home tomorrow, Dex?” Deb asked.

“No… I’m not,” Dexter stated stubbornly. “I have day shift.”

Deb shot Dex an exasperated look. “Damn it, Dexter!”

“Nope, been through this already,” Dex said.

“How are you going to get there?” Rudy asked.

“I’m gonna drive,” Dexter replied with a shrug.

Deb sighed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “You’re impossible. It’s like you want to ignore what just happened.”

“Deb, it’s my job,” Dexter replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I can’t just skip out every time something happens.”

Rudy added, “I get that, but it’s a lot to handle. You need to take care of yourself first, Dex. We don’t want you to push too hard.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dexter insisted, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his confidence.

“Seriously,” Angel chimed in, “Why don’t you just take the day off? Just this once?”

Deb crossed her arms, looking between the two of them. “I’m worried about you. I want you to be okay.”

“Worrying about me isn’t going to make things better,” Dexter countered, meeting Deb’s concerned gaze. “And honestly, I need the routine. It helps me process everything. I’ll have a police escort to and from work.”

“Fine, but just promise me you’ll take it easy,” Deb said, softening her tone. “No pushing yourself too hard, all right?”

Dexter nodded. “I promise. Now, can you guys just go? I swear I’ll be resting right after you leave.”

“Okay, okay. But if anything feels off, you call us,” Deb insisted, her protective instincts kicking in once more.

After Deb and Rudy left, Dexter commented to Angel. “Something’s up. That phone call she got had her looking—I don’t know—frenzied. Rudy just looked confused.”

“I think you’re right, baby. Deb’s expression gave her away,” Angel agreed. “She looked upset.”

“I wonder who the call was from?” Dex said as he and Angel headed for the bedroom.

“Don’t have a clue,” Angel answered, shaking his head.

As they walked into the dimly lit bedroom, Dexter couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was at play. The concern etched on Deb's face lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. “Do you think it could be work-related? Maybe some new lead in the room 103 case?” he pondered aloud.

Angel shrugged, eyes scanning the room as they entered. “Could be. But I’ve never seen her like that over a case before—except yours. It seemed more personal, you know?”

Dexter nodded, still processing the situation. “Right. It’s not like her to let something affect her that much. Whatever it was, it has her rattled.”

They both paused, caught in the moment of the conversation, the unspoken worry hanging in the air.

“Let me help you into the shower, then I’ll take one,” Angel said, leading Dexter into the bathroom.

“C’mon, Angel,” Dex sighed. “I’m not gonna come apart—you can join me.”

“Baby, I…”

“What if I fall down in there?” Dexter asked with a smirk. “I could break something.”

Angel laughed. “That’s cheating.”

Angel helped Dexter out of his clothes, being mindful of his bruises. Once both men were under the hot spray of the shower, Dexter wiggled his ass against Angel’s groin.

“Not happening, baby,” Angel said steadfastly.

“Do you want me to explode?” Dexter asked, with just a slight whine in his voice.

Angel chuckled and turned Dexter around so they were face to face. “I’m not taking the risk of hurting you, but if you insist, we’ll do this my way.”

Dexter smiled. “Okay—as long as we both come.”

Angel leaned in, gently stroking Dexter’s uninjured cheek. Moving closer, he let his hot breath ghost over Dexter’s collarbone, causing him to shiver.

“Please,” Dexter whispered so softly.

Angel suddenly began working the foreskin of his cock, pulling and stretching it until it was fairly loose.

Dexter watched fascinated. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Angel gave him a grin. “You’ll see.”

Once Angel was satisfied with the looseness of his foreskin, he took Dexter’s cock and his own member in one hand, bracing himself against the shower with his other.

He started slowly, stroking them gently together in his hand, a few tentative rubs. Then, the oddest thing—Angel began lining up the tips of their throbbing cocks—and once they were in the right position, he pushed the foreskin away from his cock until it started enveloping the tip of Dexter’s. 

“What are you doing?” Dexter finally managed to ask again, breathing a little harder.

“Close your eyes, baby. Just feel the sensation,” Angel replied huskily, his eyes glazing over.

“Fuck,” Dexter moaned.

Angel started stroking the two of them, ensuring his strokes were long enough to stretch the foreskin a considerable amount over Dexter’s cock. Angel moaned with each slide of his hand, causing Dexter to push forward a little. The heads of their cocks pressed together as Angel’s velvety foreskin held him in a warm embrace.

Dexter pressed his back against the shower wall, feeling the tips of their throbbing members wage war in Angel’s fist. Dexter then leaned forward, resting his head on Angel’s shoulder, to steady himself. He felt his pulse throbbing in his ear, because finally, he had Angel’s hands on him again.

“How does that feel, baby?” Angel asked as he rolled his foreskin back and forth over Dexter’s cock with a gentle slide.

Dexter’s breath hitched. “Fucking amazing,” he gasped.

It didn’t take much longer until Dexter felt the need to come.

“I—I’m gonna come, Angel,” he said with a groan.

Angel couldn’t even manage words at this point, only a string of low grunts as his hand sped up.

Angel tilted Dexter’s head up, placing a delicate kiss on his lover’s lips as he gave one final slide of his fist, and Dexter melted into a pile of goo. Dexter’s spasms and the feel of his come filling his foreskin sent Angel tumbling down the rabbit hole into a breathtaking orgasm of his own.

Dexter wrapped his arms around Angel’s neck to keep himself upright, while his lover cooed softly to him. “All right, baby… you okay,” Angel asked.

“Fuck,” Dexter sighed, still shaking a little. “That felt incredible. What was that?”

“Ah, it’s called docking,” Angel replied, rinsing the soap off of them and helping Dexter out of the shower.

“How do you know all these things, Angel?” Dexter asked.

“I’ve been around a bit longer than you, and I’ve watched a lot of porn,” he replied with a chuckle. “C’mon, baby, let’s get you tucked in. Do you want a pain killer?”

Dexter shook his head. “Probably shouldn’t, considering I drank a couple of beers,” he said, grabbing the eyedrops off the bedside table and putting two drops in his eye.

“Are your ribs okay, love?”

“Just a little twinge now and then, but a lot better than they were,” Dex said as he crawled into bed.

Angel climbed in beside Dex, spooning up behind him, and rubbing his back soothingly. “I love you,” he whispered as he turned off the lights.

Dexter hesitated for a moment, but then closed his eyes and let the words roll off his tongue. “I love you too.” 'He was definitely getting better at saying it.'

As Angel continued the gentle massage, it wasn’t long before Dexter was softly snoring. It took Angel a while longer to fall asleep, as worry still gnawed at his gut.

The next day, Angel gave the officer assigned to Dexter instructions. “Do not lose him under any circumstances,” Angel ordered. “Follow him to and from work and escort him in and out of the station. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” the uniformed officer answered as Dexter made his way to his car. Angel turned and followed his lover. “Baby, be careful, please, and don’t overdo.”

Dex smiled. “I promise, so go back to sleep and stop worrying—okay?”

“I’ll try,” Angel said, still looking less than happy about the situation.

“I’ll see you when I get home,” Dexter said as he pulled out of the parking spot with the patrol car right behind him.

~~~~

Dexter made it to work without incident. His body guard walked him all the way to the squad room, amidst the stares of his co-workers.

LaGuerta came out of her office. “You know, you could’ve taken a few vacation days.”

“I’ve got work to do, and sitting on my hands isn’t my idea of a good time,” Dex responded.

“Damn stubborn Morgans’,” she said exasperated.

“That’s Harry’s fault,” Captain Matthews said as he crossed the room. “You okay, Morgan? He asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Dexter replied with a smile. “I’m feeling a lot better.”

“Excellent,” Matthews said, turning away. “Don’t worry, we’ll catch the bastard. You can be assured.”

LaGuerta snickered under her breath as the captain left the room. “Feel safer now, Dex?”

Dex smiled and headed into his office. Doakes invaded his space a few minutes later. “Morgan! Where’s your sister? She’s late!” Doakes growled.

Dex cringed slightly and backed up a little.

Doakes noticed and eased off, relaxing his posture, so he wouldn’t seem threatening. He figured Dexter was going through some post-traumatic stress. “Have you seen or spoken to her this morning, Dexter?” he asked a bit more quietly.

“Not this morning, but she and Rudy were at my apartment for dinner,” Dexter explained. “She got a strange phone call later on, and it seemed to upset her. She and Rudy left right after.”

“Hmm, that’s odd,” Doakes commented.

A second later, Deb ran into the squad room, spouting apologies. “Sorry, sorry, I’m late, but shit happens sometimes. I’ll stay later to make it up.”

“Whatever,” Doakes snarled. “But we got to check into this 103 number significance.

“What about the 103 number?” Dex asked.

“We found several instances of it when we were going over the hotel room again,” Deb answered.

“The radio was tuned to 103, and the Bible was bookmarked at Leviticus 10:3,” Doakes added. “Can’t be a fucking coincidence. Let’s go Morgan,” he ordered.

“Um, could I have a word with my brother first?” Deb asked. “I promise, I’ll be quick.”

“You better be,” Doakes said, striding off in a huff.

“God, he’s in a great mood this morning,” Deb commented.

“Always,” Dex said, watching the surly sergeant walk away. “So, what’s up.”

“Come into your office,” Deb said, lightly pushing him in the door, which she promptly shut behind them.

“Okay, why so cryptic? What the fuck is going on?” Dexter asked, becoming slightly concerned. 

Deb took a deep breath, her expression serious. “I just… I need to talk to you about the phone call I received last night. It was from Rita.”

“What… what… is she okay?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you these last couple of weeks have been absolute hell,” Deb said, shaking her head.

“What the fuck happened to Rita?” he asked again, a bit louder this time.

“Yeah, she’s okay,” Deb assured him. “Last night, while we were eating dinner at your place, her ex-husband, Paul, broke into her house. He was drunk and waving a gun around, spouting shit like, ‘if I can’t have you—no one can,’” she said.

“Holy crap!” Dex cried. “What happened? You said Rita’s all right.”

Deb nodded vigorously, a small smile lighting up her face. “Yeah, empowered Rita is just fine. She grabbed a cast iron skillet off the stove and hit that son of a bitch upside the head with it. Laid him out cold, cracked his skull-fucked him up—then she called the police. After that, she called me.”

“Fuck,” Dex said, stunned. “Please tell me his ass is in jail?”

Deb’s smile broadened. “Oh yeah, they booked him right after the hospital released his dumb ass. He’s going away for quite a while. He busted down the back door, threatened Rita with a gun, and tried to strangle her. She still has his finger prints on her throat.”

“Christ!” Dex hissed. “What about the kids? Are they okay?”

Deb nodded. “Fine—thankfully, they were asleep. Rudy and I went over to Rita’s house last night, just to make sure she was okay.”

“God, I hate myself,” Dex said, staring down at the floor. “I never meant to hurt her, and I’m sorry she had to go through that. I just… I… can’t—”

“Stop,” Deb interrupted. “Don’t do this. You can’t help it—remember... Mr. Goo. I know how you feel, because I feel the same way about Rudy. We love who we love. Plus, new empowered Rita is gonna be just fine.”

“Morgan!” Doakes yelled from the bullpen.

“Shit, I gotta go, Dex,” she cried. “Talk to you later.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dexter replied as he sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh. He hated this happened to Rita, but his brain automatically reversed to the earlier conversation about the significance of the number 103. He was sure his playmate was trying to tell him something. He just had to figure out what. 

Dexter shifted his focus, his mind whirring like a well-oiled machine. He loved the thrill of the chase, the puzzle to solve, but this was different. Rita was in trouble, and the guilt, which he never experienced before, gnawed at him more than any number riddle could. He blamed his sudden guilt pangs on Angel. The man was doing serious things to his abject indifference. Maybe, just maybe if this kept up, he could say goodbye to his Dark Passenger forever. Whenever Angel was close to him, he felt almost like a thawing iceberg.

The number 103 flashed in his mind again. It felt both random and poignant, a fragment of a larger puzzle he was desperate to comprehend. Dexter leaned back in his chair, going over their earlier discussion. Deb said it was all over the hotel room. Dexter needed another look in that room, so he flagged down his body guard and they set out for the Marina View Hotel.

As they pulled up to the Marina View Hotel, Dexter's mind raced with a thousand questions. The receptionist gave Dexter a concerned look as he walked into the lobby. Dexter flashed his forensic technician badge, and asked for the key to room 103.  

“Room 103,” he said, the number resonating within him like a bell tolling. He’d never considered it could hold such weight, but whatever it meant, he was sure the Ice Truck Killer left it as a clue for him.

His police escort followed him down the hall to the room, but Dexter stopped him at the door. “Stay here,” he ordered.

Dexter tentatively opened the door and stepped into the room.

‘So, this is doom. I've been the architect of so much of it. It's only fair I should know what the fuss is all about. He left me this room for a reason. Five women gave their blood, their lives for this moment. There's only one way to find out why.’

Dexter stood there staring as the images came to life inside his head.

“Close your eyes, Dexter,” the woman cried.

“I want mama,” the little boy whined.

“No! Not in front of my baby!” The pretty blond lady screamed.

“Oh, God. Please don't cry,” she tried to sooth. “It's gonna be okay. Don't you dare! Not in front of my baby!” she cried again.

 “No!” she screamed. “Close your eyes, Dexter. Don't look. Dexter. Close your eyes.”

“I want mama! I want mama!” the little boy cried.

“Mommy loves you, Dexter.”

~~~~

That evening, after returning to his apartment, Dexter spent the next two hours lying in bed with Angel, trying to forget the past images that sprang up in his head.

“I’ll call in sick if you want me too, baby?” Angel offered.

Dexter smiled inward. “I’d love that, but Rudy’s coming over to babysit. Deb’ll be mad if I send him away.”

“In that case, would you like me to suck you again, baby, before I go?” Angel asked with a grin.

Dexter giggled. “I would never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Angel asked jokingly.

“Not even—you’re my thoroughbred stallion,” he replied as Angel slid his hand between Dexter’s legs and gently stroked his balls.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Dexter warned. “It’s almost 7 o’clock.

Angel chuckled. “I’ll be quick,” he said as he lowered his head and sucked Dexter's cock into his mouth.”

“Oh, God, your mouth is so fucking talented,” Dexter complimented. “Oh, oh, fuck—”

Angel hummed, sucking Dexter’s cock all the way to the root, hollowing out his cheeks, while massaging his balls with his free hand.  

“I think I’m having a come to Jesus moment,” Dexter cried as Angel circled the rim of his tight entrance with his thumb.

Angel chuckled around a mouth full of cock and gently inserted his thumb into Dexter’s ass.

Dexter’s hips bucked, and he moaned loudly, shouting something obscene as he came down his lover’s throat.

“Angel, please, fuck me!” Dexter begged.

“No way, baby,” Angel said, sticking to his guns. “Not until you’re fully healed.”

“Then let me suck you,” Dexter said with a smile and an expectant look.

“And make your lip and eye throb—not likely, love,” Angel replied stubbornly.

“I’m gonna start acting like Deb here, if you don’t throw me a bone,” Dexter threatened.

Angel laughed—a real laugh—devoid of stress. “Okay, baby. Just lay back and watch me.”

“Um, watch you what?” Dexter queried.

Angel grabbed a towel off the floor from his shower earlier and placed it under his butt. Facing Dexter, he took his own cock in hand and began pumping it with long, leisurely strokes. As he circled the swollen head with his thumb, Dexter’s mouth suddenly went dry, and he watched with hooded eyes as Angel jerked himself off.

Angel threw back his head, gasping softly as he increased the speed of his strokes.

“Fuck,” Angel—that’s so fucking hot,” Dex said as his cock rose to the occasion—again.

Angel groaned and pumped his fist harder—faster—biting his bottom lip as the pressure built.

He opened one eye in time to see Dex, stroking his own cock, matching Angel’s force and speed. A mutual groan escaped the lovers as they came at the same time, exploding in a haze of orgasmic bliss.

“Damn, Dexter sighed. “I think I could actually come again.” 

Angel grinned as he cleaned himself and Dexter up. “Hold that thought, baby. I’ll be home later.”

Just as they went into the kitchen, someone knocked on the door. Dexter pulled it open. “C’mon in, Rudy.”

“You should’ve checked first,” Rudy admonished. “It could’ve been anyone at the door,” he said, walking in with a grocery bag in hand.”

Dexter grinned. “There’s a patrol car sitting in the parking lot. We told the officer you were coming.”

“All right,” Angel said, kissing Dexter on the cheek. “I gotta go, but enjoy your steaks.”

“Next time,” Rudy said. “We’ll all get together.”

Angel nodded and headed off to work.

As Rudy prepared the steaks, he looked a little pensive.

“Everything all right,” Dex asked. “You seem a bit quiet.”

Rudy turned around from the stove. “Deb's pissed at me. We had an argument before she went to work. I need advice.”

“From me?” Dex asked laughing.

“You know her better than anyone,” Rudy replied.

“What happened?” Dex asked with a groan.

“Well, one minute we're talking about the hotel room, you know, the whole bloodbath thing.”

“Right, I follow,” Dex said with a nod.

“And the next, she wants to... jump my bones. I mean, Deb's hot and all, but sprinkle in a little conversation once in a while, you know?”

“She's my sister, so I don't know,” Dex said, thinking this conversation was bordering on TMI.

“Can I help you find something? Dex asked as Rudy looked around the kitchen.

“You wouldn't happen to have a good meat knife?”

“Yeah, there’s one in the drawer,” Dex said as he stood up and opened the drawer.

“Thanks,” Rudy said with a grin. “Anyway, the other half of the argument was about you.”

“Me?” Dexter responded, now thoroughly confused.

Rudy nodded affirmatively. “Yeah, it was bizarre. I told her how worried I was about you, and that I hope they caught your attacker soon. And she said she thought I liked you better than her. For a minute, I felt like I was back in first grade.”

Dexter laughed. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope. I thought she’d be happy because we got along. Honestly, I like you, Dex.”

“Thanks. I like you too.”

“So, what do I do? Rudy asked.

Dex shook his head, smiling. “Tell her it's all your fault.”

“Seriously?” Rudy asked incredulously.

“You will eventually,” Dex informed him. “Deb has a way of wearing you down. Just start from there. It's easier.”

Rudy sighed heavily. “Sometimes I think we’re all just slaves to our emotions.”

“Yeah, I know I am when it comes to Deb… and Angel.”

Rudy smiled. “Deb still can’t believe you and Angel are together. She said she never would’ve thought something like that in a million years. But I can see it when you look at him. You’re in love with Angel—aren’t you?”

Dexter looked wistful. “Yeah, I am,” he stated softly.”

At that moment, Rudy’s phone rang. “It’s Deb,” he said to Dex and stepped outside.

“Hey, how’s your night going, honey?” Rudy asked.

“Okay, but how’s Dex?”

“He’s looking better,” Rudy replied.

“Hey, I’m sorry about my tantrum. I was pissed ‘cause Dexter wouldn’t tell me how he feels, but you can bet he tells Angel. I took my frustration out on you. I’m so sorry. When my shift's done, do you want to come over and talk?”

I'd love to, babe, but it’s a long way to your place and it’s late. So, here’s the thing. I'm gonna sleep at my place tonight. I mean, it's closer, and I'm drinking, you know. You understand, right?”

“Yeah,” Deb said tightly.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” Rudy said as he ended the call.

After dinner, Dex and Rudy stood out on the balcony. It was almost time for Angel to get home from work, but Rudy refused to leave until he saw Angel come walking up the path.

Well, thanks for listening to me vent,” Rudy said.

“Hey, thanks for the steaks,” Dex replied.

“You know, I didn't get a chance to ask, but Deb mentioned you had a little—incident at the crime scene.”

Dexter’s eyebrow rose to his hairline. “Did she?”

“Well, most of my prosthetic clients are pretty traumatized by the time they get to me. Anyway, I'm a good listener if you ever want to talk,” Rudy offered.

“Thanks, but unless you know an expert in—repressed memories...” Dexter trailed off.

“For real?” Rudy asked with a shocked expression.

“You know something about it?” Dexter asked curiously.

Rudy sighed. “More than I ever wanted to. When I was in high school, I started having these dreams of a woman hit by a truck.”

“Who was she?” Dex asked with rapt attention.

“I didn't know,” Rudy replied. “Then one day I stopped by a mailbox, and it all came crashing back... my mom getting out to mail a letter, me still in the car. I watched her die.

“How old were you?” Dex asked.

“Around four,” Rudy replied. “I didn't remember anything until I—went and mailed a letter. Walked right into the belly of the beast without knowing it,” Rudy said, shaking his head as if lost in a memory. “What kind of memories are you having?”

“They're still a little vague,” Dex answered.

“Right. Well, you're gonna have to face it eventually,” Rudy told him.

“Maybe next time,” Dex said offhandedly. “Hey, but when you see Deb, go with white roses. They're her favorite.”

“That's a good tip. It's funny how life brings people together, huh?”

“Yup, but here comes Angel, so you can be paroled now.”

“Hey, I had a good time. We’ll all get together sometime soon,” Rudy said as he headed off.

Rudy misunderstands my problem. I want the boy and blood to go away, not come crashing back,” Dexter thought, as Angel made it to his side.

“Good night, baby?” Angel asked.

Dexter smiled as they went inside. “Yeah, I had to give advice to the lovelorn. Oh, shit. Rudy forgot his cell phone. Oh well, I’ll take it to work with me, he can pick it up there. It’s closer to the station from the hospital.”

~~~~

That same night, Doakes was still working the streets, interviewing hookers, when he spotted one with different colored nail polish on each nail. He grabbed her hand and stared at it, suddenly realizing it was a prosthetic hand.

I just need to know why you painted your nails the way you do,” Doakes asked, holding up the hookers hand.

“Okay. He was a real good client,” she began. “About a year ago, there was this guy. That's when I worked Calle Ocho. Anyway, he started getting all rough with me until he saw this,” she said, holding up her prosthetic hand.

“Then what?” Doakes asked.

“Then he changed his tune, got all turned on,” she said. “Told me to take my fake hand off. He started doing some kinky, weird stuff, like he was worshiping it. To cap it off, he takes all my nail polish and paints each nail a different color. I liked it, so I kept doing it.”

“You know that guy on the news they arrested for the ice-truck killings? Doakes asked.

“Yeah, the one who stuffs roadkill?” the hooker answered.

“Is he the guy?” Doakes asked, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

“No way. My trick, he's sexy. A freak, but sexy,” she said with a smile.

“How about this guy?” Doakes asked, showing her a picture of Dexter.

“He’s cute—but not the guy.” The hooker replied, admiring Dexter’s photo.

“Okay,” Doakes said. “Give it to me again, from the beginning, and with more detail.”

Back at the station, Doakes went to see the one guy who probably knew more about kinks than anyone else.

“Hey, this may be a shot in the dark, but I was interrogating hookers last night,” Doakes told Musuka.

“How many hookers are we talking about?” Vince asked with a gleam in his eye.

“Don’t get excited, Romeo.”

“So, you didn't fuck any of them?”

“Would you shut up?” Doakes growled. “It was a fucking lead.”

“On what?” Vince asked.

“Not sure yet, but what do you know about amputee fetishes?

Vince thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I know, it's... it's called acrotomophilia. But don't let them hear you call it that. It sounds like a disease. No, they prefer to be known as "devotees."

“I figured you’d be the one to ask,” Doakes said, writing down the info in his notepad.

Vince huffed. “Not really. I prefer a girl with a kung fu grip. You know who you should talk to? It's... what's his face—Deb’s boyfriend. Prosthetics guys deal with devotees all the time.”

“Yeah, okay, Thanks,” Doakes said as he left the lab.

The next day at work, Dexter was busy trying to recreate the crime scene from room 103 when Rudy showed up to get his cell phone.

He was thinking about the boy in the blood when Rudy interrupted.

‘No memory flashes here. No little lost boy in blood. Maybe he went back to hiding in the dormant reaches of my cerebral cortex. Here's to hoping.’

“Yo, Dex,” Rudy called out.

“Hey,” Dex responded with a quick smile.

“So, this is what you do for a living?” Rudy said, looking around the makeshift crime scene.

Dexter nodded. “I'm trying to match castoff patterns from a crime scene. A power tool was used. Here you go,” Dex said, handing Rudy his cell phone.

“Oh, thanks,” Rudy said, taking the phone from Dexter.

“Circular saw,” Rudy said, noticing the array of tools on the table. “Seems like there'd be an easier way to make a mess like this.”

“Yeah, trust me. I know. I've been in here for hours, trying to figure it out,” Dex replied.

“You know, in my line of work, you hear all sorts of horror stories—boat propellers, garbage disposals. This seems like something you'd see with a chainsaw, Rudy commented.

“Yeah, I hear that. But this power tool was plugged into a socket.”

“Guess you haven't heard of an electric… chainsaw,” Rudy informed him.

Dexter looked shocked, but knew immediately Rudy was right. It had to be an electric chainsaw.

That same afternoon, once Rudy returned to work, Sergeant Doakes paid him a visit at his lab.

“Hey, Rudy, do you have a minute?” Doakes asked him.

“Absolutely,” Rudy replied with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?”

“Sure, go ahead. Let me just grab the door,” Rudy said, as he shut it, closing them in the lab. “So, does this have to do with a case?”

“Hopefully,” Doakes said, as he glanced around the room.

“Well, fire away,” Rudy said, casually picking a tool up off the counter.

“Yeah, okay, I talked to this woman with a prosthetic hand—hooker, actually. Said she had a very unique client, an amputee devotee.”

“You have a lead on this client?” Rudy asked.

That's just it, I don't have a goddamn clue, except for the freaky sex stuff. I was hoping that you could steer me toward some of those weirdos.”

“I'm afraid I got into this business to help people get better… not help people get off.”

“Yeah, I'm sure Debra will be happy to hear that,” Doakes said with a chuckle.

“But I can talk to some of my colleagues—see if I can draw up a list of contacts for you,” Rudy offered.

Doakes gave a slight nod. “That'd be great.”

Rudy smiled. “Hey, how often does someone get a chance to help catch a bad guy, huh? You in a rush for this information?”

“No, no, I'm chasing a long shot, really. Well, just... give me a call at the station when you got something,” Doakes said, handing Rudy his card.

“Will do,” Rudy replied as they shook hands.

After Doakes left, Rudy’s own inner monologue kicked in.

‘No one is gonna interfere with my plans—especially not some filthy whore. Let’s see, I need to shift priorities temporarily. First off—kill the whore—kill the buffoon Dexter thinks he’s in love with—then take his bitch of a sister hostage. Dex and I can kill her together. Then we’ll leave town, headed for the bright lights of another big city, where we can kill together until our hearts content—just like it was always meant to be.’

Chapter Text

The next day, LaGuerta gave a press conference regarding the Ice Truck Killer case.

“The ice-truck killer case has been reopened,” LaGuerta told reporters. “Officially. We have new forensic evidence that shows the DNA from the blood at the Marina View hotel matches the DNA from his victims.”

The detectives and officers in the bullpen watched the press conference, hanging on the Lieutenant’s every word.   

“What about Neil Perry?” A reporter asked. “Isn't he supposed to be the ice-truck killer?”

“All those questions should be directed to Captain Matthews. He's been personally handling the Perry case,” LaGuerta replied.

“Oh, shit,” Angel said as he watched the broadcast. “I hope she told the captain.”

“Who knew?” Matthews asked angrily as he entered the squad room. “Who knew about this?”

“This is the first we're hearing about it, Captain,” Doakes told him.

 Matthews stormed into LaGuerta’s office.

“I'll call you back,” Maria said, hanging up the phone.

Matthews looked through the office blinds out into the squad room with a passive smile on his face. “You overplayed your hand, Maria.”

“I gave you a chance to make it right,” she defended. I told you—”

“You don't tell me shit!” He snarled. “This is my department… I made you… Lieutenant. Me. You were just another spic detective,” he said with a demeaning tone.

“Nice, Tom. Real nice,” she huffed, taken aback. “Your true colors finally come out.”

“Oh, no,” Matthews said, lowering his voice. “No, you haven't seen my true colors, Maria. But you're about to. Enjoy this office while it's still yours,” he said as he left with a purposeful glance back at her.

LaGuerta clenched her fists, feeling the heat of Matthews' words burning in her chest. The door slammed shut behind him, resonating ominously in the small office. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure.

The walls felt closer than ever, as if the fate of the entire department was resting on her shoulders. She’d worked hard for all of this—the promotion, the respect from her peers—and now it felt as though it was all crumbling at the hands of a man she once looked up to.

"How did it come to this?" she whispered to herself, half-expecting an answer.

~~~~

Later, just before the end of their shift, Angel stepped into Dexter’s office.

Hey, baby,” Angel said quietly. “After work, I’m gonna stop at the grocery store. I thought I’d make us some Ropa Vieja for dinner. Are you in the mood for that, Dex?”

Dexter smirked. “I’m always in the mood.”

Angel chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Dexter said smiling. “So, I’ll just head home once I finish up here.”

“Yeah. Just remember to grab your police protection on the way out,” Angel reminded him.

“How could I possibly forget, but I still think it’s a waste of resources,” Dex said with a sigh.

“We’re not taking any chances with your safety,” Angel replied, wagging his finger. “So, no arguments.”

“Okay. I’ll be good,” Dexter promised. “But you’re making a fuss over nothing.”

Angel shook his head. “Not a chance, Mr. Morgan. You're worth it. Just promise me you’ll keep your eyes open on the way home. We’re not just dealing with the usual cases anymore.”

“Right, right. I’ll stick to the main roads and go straight home. Got it.” Dexter replied, sincerity creeping into his voice.

“I’m serious, Dex,” Angel said, his tone shifting slightly. “Things have been ramping up out there. I just want you to be safe, all right?”

Dexter nodded, the lightheartedness fading a touch. “I know, and I appreciate it. I really do. But sometimes it feels like overkill, you know? I’m just a forensics guy.”

“You’re a lot more than that to me, baby,” Angel said with a quick touch to Dexter’s hand. “I’ll see you at home in a little while.”

As Angel exited the station and got in his vehicle, he didn’t notice the black car pull out right behind him. As he drove to the grocery store, the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, plunging Miami into dusk.

By the time Angel left the grocery store with his bags, it was almost fully dark. As he put the groceries in the back seat, he saw a person in the reflection of his car window, dressed all in black, standing behind another vehicle with a gun pointed at him.

A car came whizzing past just as the assailant fired his weapon. Angel dove behind his vehicle, but not before the bullet grazed his shoulder. The bullet struck the passing car in the tire, blowing it out instantly. The occupants of the car jumped out and ran to help Angel, while the gunman fled the scene. While fleeing, the perp slipped, his face hitting the pavement, but he recovered quickly and disappeared into the night.

Angel hit the asphalt hard, the world spiraling around him as he tucked in his limbs, feeling the heat of fury intertwining with pain. His shoulder throbbed, a hot pulse beneath his skin where the bullet had grazed him, the sting biting like a wasp. He fought against the urge to look back—sure that he could feel the eyes of the shooter boring into him from behind the parked car.

As he rolled onto his back, the lights flickered above him, illuminating the chaos starting to unfold around his corner of the grocery store parking lot. Two figures rushed toward him, frantic and wide-eyed, shouting for someone to call for help.

"Are you alright?" A woman knelt beside him, her face a mask of concern, framed by long, dark hair.

He blinked through the daze, trying to focus on her voice. "I—I think so," he managed, his own voice trembling at the edges. His heart raced, pounding in his chest like an errant drum in a quiet room. Adrenaline coursed through him, sharpening his senses even as the pain radiated from his shoulder.

“Stay down. Just stay down!” a man shouted, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting the shooter to return.

Angel felt a rush of recognition—a sinking realization that he needed to move. Dexter! The thought surged like an electric shock through his body. They’d only just begun to piece together everything after Dexter's attack, and now this. Angel was sure the events were related somehow. The couple from the car called the police, while Angel called Dexter to make sure he was okay.

“Calm down, baby,” Angel tried to sooth his lover. “I’m all right. The cops are here, and an ambulance. Once they bandage my arm, I’m heading back to the station. Meet me there—okay?”

The paramedics moved with calm efficiency, fanning out around him and speaking in clipped tones that didn’t quite reach his ears over the pounding in his skull. One knelt by his side, pressing an antiseptic pad to the wound on his shoulder.

Angel blinked, the sting mixing with the dull ache in his side from the fall. He tried to sit up, but a paramedic’s firm hand kept him down. “Easy. You’re hurt, but nothing critical. We need to check you out.”

He didn’t argue; the last thing he needed was to add injury to injury. His gaze drifted to the darkened parking lot beyond the ambulance, restless even as the paramedic’s hands gently probed his shoulder.

Once getting bandaged, he completely ignored the paramedic's advice to go to the hospital. Angel gave a quick statement to the police on the scene and took off back to the station. When he arrived, Dexter was already there, waiting for him in LaGuerta’s office.

Angel entered the Lieutenant’s office, shaking his head as Dexter tried to maintain his cool. He wanted to throw his arms around his lover and hug him tightly, but he knew that was out of the question.

“Angel, are you alright?” Dexter asked, trying to control his breathing.

Angel nodded, giving Dexter a soft gaze as Maria shut the door behind them. “You can breathe now, Dexter,” she said crossing her arms. “I know about you and Angel.”

Dexter’s eyes widened. “What the…”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Dex,” Angel stuttered. “I was going to tell you, but things got so crazy, I just never had a chance.”

Dexter’s pulse jumped, a heavy rhythm hammering in his ear as the words bounced off Maria’s calm but firm statement. His gaze darted from Angel’s tense expression to LaGuerta’s unreadable eyes. The room felt smaller, hotter, the air thick with something almost dangerous.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out. “You know about—us?”

Angel’s usual confident poise vanished. “I was going to tell you, Dex. I swear. It just… you know how it goes.”

Dexter forced himself to breathe, to slow the pounding in his chest. The wound on Angel’s shoulder was a raw reminder—not just of the night’s mayhem, but of how close they’d come to losing each other. His own bruises prickled beneath his shirt, reminders of vulnerability he hated to admit.

LaGuerta’s gaze cut through the tension like a blade. “This isn’t about feelings. It’s about keeping you both safe. And right now, with two attacks—they’ve got to be linked somehow.”

Angel’s hand brushed against Dexter’s, fleeting but electric nonetheless. However, the moment was broken when Doakes suddenly stormed into the office.

Doakes’s heavy boots thudded across the linoleum, his expression hard, eyes darting between Dexter and Angel like a hawk tracking prey. “What the hell am I walking into here?” he demanded, tone rough as gravel.

Dexter kept his gaze neutral, feeling the stubborn ache in his ribs intensify with the tension in the room. Doakes was no fool; the sight of Angel’s bandaged shoulder and the exchange he'd just witnessed would only confirm Doakes’s suspicions.

LaGuerta’s lips tightened further. “We’ve got two attacks now, both at the edges of this investigation. We need to know who’s involved—and what’s the damned connection to Dexter.

Dexter opened his mouth, but the words just wouldn’t come out. Something inside him bristled, that familiar streak of defiance and protectiveness. No matter what else was happening, he wouldn’t let anyone make this about him or Angel’s relationship. Not here, not now.

Angel stepped up. “I’ll tell you everything I know from tonight’s attack.

No one interrupted as Angel related the events of his shopping trip and the shooting in the parking lot. When he finished, the Lieutenant commented. “So, the perp was dressed all in black and wearing a ski mask. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Angel responded. “That’s right.”

“Just like Morgan’s attacker,” Doakes interjected.

“Except mine was wearing a full-face shield helmet… not a ski mask,” Dexter corrected.

“You know, I don’t really give a fuck,” Doakes growled. “You’re at the center of this whole shitshow, Morgan. There’s something drastically wrong with you. My suspicion is that you and the Ice Truck Killer are somehow connected. How’d you find the ice truck, Morgan? Huh? Why’d he toss a decapitated head at you? Huh? Why you, Morgan? I know you’re involved in all this… I just know it,” he accused as he shoved Dexter back against the door and held him there.

Dexter stared wide eyed. “Take your fucking hand off me!” he retaliated.

Angel grabbed Doakes by the shirt collar with his good arm, and hauled him away from his lover. “Don’t you touch him, you son of a bitch.”

“What are you gonna do, Angel?” Doakes asked tauntingly as he whirled around to face him.

“He’s not going to do anything,” LaGuerta replied, stepping in. “But I will,” she said, turning to Doakes. “Touch him again—ever—and I’ll have your badge and gun. This is ridiculous. Both Dexter and Angel have been attacked—and this is your reasoning. You’re way off base, James.”

Doakes backed up, hands in the air, and nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry, Morgan,” he said backtracking, but Dexter knew he didn’t mean it. Doakes was out to get him… but why?

Dexter pressed his back harder against the doorframe, his breath caught somewhere between his ribs and his gullet. Doakes’s accusation stung worse than any blow he'd taken, and yet, the words didn’t ignite the fire he expected. Instead, an icy numbness hollowed his chest.

Angel regained his composure, but Dexter could see the tension there, barely contained rage boiling beneath the surface. LaGuerta’s eyes cut into Doakes with a warning glare. Dexter could see the tightness around her mouth deepen, forcing Doakes back with reluctant compliance. Doakes’s shoulders squared as he left the office. His parting scowl at Dexter spoke volumes.

Angel closed the distance, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dexter. His presence was a steadying anchor, but Dexter’s limbs still trembled, the aching pulse behind his eye matching the beat in his chest. He swallowed down the sour taste of bile in his throat.

LaGuerta’s gaze swept the room, resting finally on Dexter. “We’re circling the drain if we let suspicion eat us alive. We need to figure this out quickly before any more of my people get hurt. From now on, until we figure this out, the two of you are working the same shift, with beefed up police protection. I do agree with James on one point, though, I think the same person attacked both of you.”

Deb came running into LaGuerta’s office, panic stricken. “Oh, my God, I just came from the crime scene. Angel, are you okay?”

Angel opened his mouth to answer, then closed it when Deb’s frantic eyes held him in place.

Deb looked at Angel and Dexter in turn, worry etched all over her face. “They said the shooter took off, but the description matches the guy who jumped Dex. This all feels way too damn close.”

Dexter shifted uncomfortably as he caught Angel’s eye briefly. The pressure in his chest tightened—not just from his own pain, but from the knowledge that Angel just went through hell too.

LaGuerta’s fingers tapped rapidly against the edge of her desk. “Do you have any concrete leads? Something tangible to work with?”

Deb shook her head, biting her lip. “Nothing new from the parking lot or the surveillance footage. The perp got away clean, like a ghost.”

“I’m fine—really, Deb,” Angel said quietly, forcing a smile. “It’s a graze. Nothing serious.”

Deb narrowed her eyes, unconvinced by Angel's bravado. “A graze? You were shot, Angel. You should be in a hospital, not here pretending everything's okay.”

Angel shifted his weight, adjusting the bandage that wrapped around his arm. “Look, I get it. But we need to focus. The guy who jumped Dex is still out there, and if he’s connected to this shooting, we can’t afford to lose him.”

LaGuerta nodded, her expression somber but focused. “Debra, get a team on the streets, check every lead, no matter how minuscule. We need to find out if Dexter’s assailant is behind this too.”

“On it,” Deb replied, her energy reigniting as she turned toward the door. “We can’t let this slide. I’ll coordinate with the other precincts, see if they have anything to add.”

As she left the office, a heavy silence enveloped the room. Dexter leaned against the desk, running a hand through his hair. “Angel, you shouldn’t be here. You need to rest.”

“I can handle it,” Angel insisted stoically. “You and I both know the longer this guy is out there, the more danger we all face. If he’s making a move, we need to be the ones in control.”

“No, your shifts were over a long time ago,” LaGuerta declared. “We’ve got enough people working this. Go home and get some sleep. We’ll meet again in the morning to see where we are, and if we’ve made any progress.”

Angel and Dexter nodded and walked out of her office. Two squad cars followed them back to Dexter's apartment after four uniformed cops walked them to their vehicles.

As Deb was getting ready to hit the streets again, Rudy stepped off the elevator carrying a vase of white roses.

“For you,” Rudy said to Deb, holding out the roses, but noticing her upset demeanor. “Are you okay?”

Deb took a deep breath. “Angel was shot.”

“What?!” Rudy cried. “Oh, my God, is he… all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Deb confirmed. “It was just a graze.”

“Holy fuck—did they get the shooter?”

“No. He got away,” Deb said tightly.

“What about Dexter? Is he okay?” Rudy asked.

Deb nodded. “Yeah, he’s fine, just upset.”

“I can imagine,” Rudy said, shaking his head.

“Why the roses?’ Deb asked.

“Because I’m sorry I made you mad. I wanted to come over the other night, but I was really tired. I think we’ve been giving each other mixed signals lately. I was sort of confused,” Rudy admitted.

 Deb crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I'm not confused. That's the problem, I know what I want.”

“I was confused, because I love you,” Rudy said softly.

“What I want is very simple and uncomplicated,” Deb continued on until she finally realized what Rudy just said. “What did you say?”

“I love you,” Rudy repeated.

“Don't try to... fuck,” Deb said, staring at Rudy.

“What?” he asked hesitantly.

“I love you, too,” she said, throwing her arms around him and kissing him passionately. 

“What happened to your lip?” she asked, pulling back as she noticed the small cut on his upper lip.

“I'm just, uh... incident with a tool at the workshop,” Rudy scrambled.

“Well, I’d take care of that for you, but I’ve got to get back to finding Angel’s shooter.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Rudy said, hugging her again. “That takes precedence over everything else.”

“I’ll call you when I get home,” Deb said.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Rudy replied. “I’ll talk to you later.”

~~~~

After arriving home, Angel and Dexter collapsed on the bed once they put the groceries away. “It’s too late to cook now,” Angel declared.

“I lost my appetite a long time ago,” Dexter replied, rubbing his ribs. “My stomach is in knots. God, Angel, you could’ve been killed,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Baby,” Angel said, turning to his distraught lover. “I’m okay—I swear. Everything will be all right, and we’ll figure this out.”

Dexter took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he looked into Angel's warm, reassuring eyes. “Okay,” Dexter finally said, forcing a small smile. “You better mean that.” He slid closer to Angel on the bed, their bodies instinctively seeking comfort in each other.

“I do,” Angel replied, wrapping an arm around Dexter’s waist, pulling him in tight. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together.”

“Together.” Dexter echoed, the word lingering in the air. He felt his heartbeat slowly begin to normalize as he leaned into Angel’s side. “I just wish things were normal again, you know? No shootings, no threats... just us.”

“I know,” Angel said softly. “But we’ll find a way to make it right.” He paused for a moment, glancing toward the ceiling as if searching for an answer. “Maybe we could take a break, get away for a while once this is all over, just the two of us.”

“We definitely need a vacation,” Dexter agreed. “Because I’m not sure what scares me more—our unknown attacker—or Doakes. Did you see the look in his eyes?” What the fuck?”

“Yeah,” Angel hissed. “I wanted to beat him into a coma. I just don’t understand why he hates you so. I used to think that you just rubbed him the wrong way, but now I see it’s pure hatred. Makes no sense.”

“I don’t understand,” Dex said with a sigh. “I’ve never done a fucking thing to him.”

“I know,” Angel replied, his frustration palpable. “It’s like he’s got this vendetta against you, and I can’t wrap my head around it. You’re good at what you do, Dex. You save lives, you help people. What does he expect from you?”

“Maybe he sees something in me that he hates. Or maybe it’s just the way I handle things,” Dexter mused, furrowing his brow. “Maybe that scares him. I don’t express my emotions well, but I can’t help that.”

“I don’t get it,” Angel said, shaking his head. “He’s supposed to protect and serve, not bully, threaten, and harass his coworkers. It’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, but he’s not the one feeling the heat—not with this unknown threat hanging over our heads,” Dexter pointed out. “He’s fixated on some imaginary offense that he thinks I’ve committed, while I’m just trying to survive each day.”

Angel’s grip tightened around Dexter’s waist. “You shouldn’t have to bear that burden alone. We’re in this together, remember? I’ll handle Doakes if he gets too close. I don’t care what Maria says. He touches you again and I’ll finish him.”

A small smirk crept onto Dexter’s lips. “As if that’ll help. You’ll just end up in jail for his murder, and I’ll be left here without you.”

“Okay, fair point,” Angel conceded, rolling his eyes playfully. “But we can't let him intimidate you, Dex. You can’t let fear dictate your choices. Not now, not ever.”

~~~~

Late that night, on the seedier side of Miami, Monique strolled down the street, on her way to meet her next client.

Upon seeing Rudy, she smiled. “No way. You're the one I'm supposed to meet.

“In the flesh,” he replied.  

“You know, I was just talking to someone about you.”

“Hmm,” he said with a smile, taking her arm as they continued down the street.

As Monique lay on her stomach in the bed at Rudy’s apartment, he drew lines on her with a marker. “That tickles,” she giggled. Don't stop.”

“I wouldn't dream of stopping,” Rudy drawled.

“You're so different this time—Gentle. Thought you were gonna try and get all pervy with my stump again.” She said with a smirk.

“Actually, your... imperfection is what saved you the first time,” Rudy told her.

“Saved me from what?” she asked as the first inkling of danger rose to the surface.

“True artistry. The message of my work is—not in the product itself, but rather the presentation. That wrinkled flesh on your radial carpal joint is far from perfect. It's quite unsightly, actually,” Rudy told her.

“Hey, you don't have to be an asshоlе about it,” she said, turning to face him.

“Hey, hey, no, no, no. Shh, shh, shh. I'm sorry,” he placated. “I didn't mean to offend. Truthfully... I'm thankful for you. You're my escape plan.”

“Escape from what?” she asked, confusion etched on her face.

“The police. Because of you, I've had to speed up my... project. I need something to distract them. And I’ve found a freshly chopped-up body always does the trick, he said, putting Monique in a chokehold.

“Wait, wait! No!” she implored.

“Don't struggle. That never helps. I'm compressing your carotid artery, and that is cutting off oxygen to your brain. In about 10 seconds, you'll be unconscious.”

After she passed out, he carried her out of the bedroom and into his custom-built refrigeration unit just off the kitchen, where he deposited her limp body onto a stainless-steel table. Smiling with satisfaction, he thought, ‘time for a few distractions.’

Rudy smiled and hummed to himself as he admired his handiwork, while removing the ring from Monique's finger. All of Monique’s parts were laid out on the table, neatly wrapped with bows. ‘This should definitely get their attention.’ he thought.

Just then, his doorbell rang. “Shit! Just what I need,” Rudy grumbled.

“Hey,” Deb said as Rudy opened the door. “I know it's late. I guess you didn't get my message. I drove by and saw your car. I can go,” she said, pointing to the street.

“Get your ass in here,” he replied, pulling her into the room and hugging her tightly. “It's about time you see where I live anyway.”

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” she said, melting into his embrace. “You feel good. And cold. You're freezing!”

“Well, then stay and keep me warm,” he said, shutting the front door.

After putting on a shirt and pouring them some wine, Rudy sat down next to Deb and gently stroked her hair. “This Angel thing has gotten to you.”

“Between Dexter’s attack and now this one—it’s like a never-ending—nightmare,” Deb sighed, trembling slightly.  

“Let's get out of town for the weekend—just the two of us. We need to talk,” Rudy suggested.

“I'm sitting right here,” Deb said with a shrug.

Rudy smiled impishly. “Nope. The time has got to be right.”

“Okay,” Deb agreed. “It'll have to wait... At least until we catch the asshоlе who did this to Angel.”

“Let me warn you—I can be very persistent. I need to get out of town, and I need you... to come... with me,” he said, kissing her repeatedly.

Deb gave a short laugh. “What I need is sleep, which is not gonna be easy. I'm totally wired from all this shit.”

Well, lucky for you, I have the perfect cure,” Rudy assured her. “My loving arms. And... I got a little thing to help you sleep.

Deb snickered. “That ain't no little thing.”

Rudy blushed slightly. “I meant Valium. It's one of the perks of working at the hospital.”

“Wine and Valium?” Deb said, nodding approvingly. “I'll be totally helpless.

“You read my mind,” Rudy said, kissing her again.

~~~~

The next day, after a quick meeting, which resulted in no new information, Dexter went to visit Camilla Figg for some info on his adoption. The number 103 still haunted his dreams, and he needed to know why.

“Well, as I live and breathe!” Camilla said with a smile as Dexter came in.

“You miss me?” He asked, grinning.

“You and the bear claws you're hiding behind your back. This must be important. Haven't seen much of you since the attack. Are you all right, Dex?” she asked with genuine concern.

Dexter nodded. I’m feeling a lot better, but no rest for the wicked. How's Gene?”

“Good days and bad. He just finished his first round of radiation.”

“Well, he's a good guy,” Dexter commented. “Not much of a bridge player, though,” he joked.

“Harry and Gene used to get so mad every time Doris and I would take them to the cleaners,” Camilla said, laughing about the good ole days.

“I was hoping you could dig up an old case file for me,” Dexter stated expectantly.

“Well, sure thing. Got a date?” she asked.

Dexter shook his head. “Not exactly. It's the crime scene where Harry found me.”

Camilla nodded, looking pensive. “Ah, I wish I could help, but... everything from that long ago is boxed up in the basement at City Hall. And... as you can see,” she said, gesturing to the mess on her desk. “I'm up to my you-know-what in year-end reports, so...”

Just then Dexter’s phone rang. “It's my lieutenant,” he said, looking down at his phone.

“Camilla, is there anything you remember?” he asked.

Camilla sighed. “What I remember, Dexter Morgan, is your father caring enough to bring you into his home and give you a loving family. I wouldn't keep your lieutenant waiting.”

Dexter nodded, with obvious disappointment written on his face, as he left her office, heading to see what LaGuerta needed.

~~~~

Fake snow flurried around as Deb and Doakes interrogated the Christmas elves at the fresh crime scene.

“Who found the body parts?” Doakes asked.

“I did,” the male elf supplied. “They were left under the tree. I thought it was the crew from last night just messing around... until I found the head.”

I told him not to touch anything, but he never listens,” the girl elf said.

“God, Patty, you're such a bitch.”

“Did you guys see anything out of the ordinary before you found the body?” Deb asked.

“There were some broken ornaments by the tree,” she told Deb. “Who could do something like this so close to Christmas?” Patty asked.

“The Grinch.” The boy elf said with a chuckle.

“Oh, you're a fucking riot, Max! Like anyone's gonna go shopping down here after this. There go our jobs,” Patty whined.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Doakes said as he and Deb walked away.

“Oh, sucks to be an elf,” Deb said with a smile.

“Get some visual surveillance,” LaGuerta ordered.

Dexter showed up and ducked under the crime scene tape. “I got here as fast as I could. What are we looking at?” he asked Maria.

“Female victim. Cut up into pieces,” she replied.

“The ice-truck killer? So soon?” he asked, looking around the area.

Yep. And after the bloodbath at the hotel, can't wait to see how the captain's gonna handle the press on this one,” she said crossing her arms over her chest.

“James!” the Lieutenant called.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to walk Dexter to the crime scene. And will somebody turn off this goddamn snow machine?” she ordered.

“Your sister can help you out,” Doakes said, purposely hitting Dexter with his shoulder as he walked away.

“That a whole sexual tension thing, or am I missing something?” Deb asked, her eyes following Doakes. “What the Hell? And Where’s Angel?”

“He’s at the station, working on another case that came in,” Dex answered.

“Did your police escort come with you?” she asked.

“Naturally,” Dexter sighed. “Wouldn’t be caught dead without them.”

Deb smirked. “It’s not a joke.”

As Deb led Dexter deeper inside the Christmas display, she stopped in front of the clock. “103,” she said, pointing at it. “It's the same numbers he left at Marina View hotel.”

“Any leads as to what they mean?” Dexter asked, staring up at the clock.

Deb shook her head. “We've talked to numerologists, mathematicians, code breakers—nothing. They need more to go on.”

‘First, he turns my whole world inside out with a carnival of blood. Now he leaves me this—a calming oasis in the desert of my confusion. It doesn't make sense,’ Dexter thought.

“Crime scene's wiped clean,” Musuka said, as he joined Dexter and Deb.

“Another hooker?” Deb asked.

“Ho, hо, hо—Another dead hо,” Musuka answered flippantly. “Somebody's been naughty. Hey Morgan, want to sit on my lap when we're done and tell me what you want for Christmas?” Musuka asked with a lascivious grin.

“And he's back!” Deb said, rolling her eyes. “No, thanks. Last thing on my wish list is a burning sensation when I pee.”

“This doesn't seem right. Body parts scattered among the presents. Broken ornaments. It's not his usual meticulous style. It seems rushed... haphazard.

“That would explain why we can't find one of the hands,” Musuka added.

“What's wrong?” Deb asked as she noted Dexter’s intense gaze when he moved one of the body parts.

“There's something underneath the torso.” Dexter replied as he pulled out a video cassette tape. “Merry Christmas, Miami,” he said, handing the tape to Deb.

Minutes later, Matthews arrived at the crimes scene amidst a hailstorm of reporters' questions.

“After all this time, why do you think the ice-truck killer has struck again?” A female reporter asked.

“Any answer at this time would be pure speculation on my part,” he replied with a tight expression.

“Do you think it has any connection with your department's handling of the Neil Perry fiasco? She asked, but Matthews walked away and ignored the question.

“Sir?” she called out, but Matthews kept on walking.

Police were setting up a television, getting ready to play the mysterious tape when Matthews arrived.

When they hit play, they saw a woman’s face on the video.

“That’s Monique,” Doakes declared. “She’s the hooker I talked to… with the fake hand.”

“Maybe that’s why her other hand is missing,” Dexter suggested.

“You've arrested the wrong man,” the woman on the tape cried. "Made the world think I'm a rank amateur, and I'm very, very angry, to answer for your mistakes…” the woman cried hysterically.

“Stop the tape,” Deb shouted.

“What are you doing? Doakes asked.

“Look at her tears. They're rolling up,” Deb said, pointing at the screen.

“Oh, my God,” LaGuerta said, leaning into the television.

“Bastard's got her upside down,” Musuka chimed in.

 “That's how he bleeds them out. He strings them up like meat,” Dexter added.

LaGuerta gave the signal to start the tape again.

“Please. No, please, no,” Monique cried as the killer moved in front of her and slit her throat.

“All right, turn it off,” Matthews ordered.

“I'll have the tape sent to the station for analysis,” LaGuerta said with a pained expression.”

“Sergeant Doakes, you're on point,” Matthews told him.

“With all due respect, sir, Lieutenant LaGuerta’s in charge of this investigation,” he replied, gesturing to Maria.  

“Not anymore. The fact is we haven't been able to catch this guy, and now he's rubbing our noses in it. We've got to come up with some fresh ideas,” he said as he walked away.

“This is some bullshit. I'll go talk to him,” Doakes grumbled.

 “No, no, no. Do as he says,” LaGuerta ordered him. “The commissioner has his ass in a sling. He's up for review. Word is he's getting the boot.”

“So, you're just gonna sit back and take this?” Doakes asked incredulously.

“Well, if it means being seen as his worthy successor...” she trailed off with a small smile on her face.

Chapter Text

After leaving the Ice Truck Killer’s latest crime scene, Deb and Dexter went to lunch together at the nearby Mexican eatery. They were seated on the outdoor patio, where they enjoyed the view.

“Are you okay? You look far away,” Deb said. “You could at least pretend you want to be here.”

“Sorry, I was thinking about Angel. But you're the one who had the urgent need for tacos.”

“I know—you’re worried, but we’ll get this guy—I promise,” Deb assured him. "Do you want to tell me what’s going on between you and Doakes?”

Dexter shook his head. “I don’t know—honestly. He hates me. But what’s the real reason you invited me to lunch?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, I kind of want to talk about Rudy. He's been acting weird lately. Last night, he said we need to talk.”

“Dexter groaned. “Well, that's never good.”

Deb gave him an incredulous look. “Thanks. I feel a lot better. I've only been obsessing about this all day. Think you could talk to him for me?” she asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Dexter followed her gaze and looked behind him. “Oh, look, it's Rudy.”

“I sort of called him,” Deb said with a satisfied grin.

“Dex,” Rudy greeted with a smile. “Deb didn't tell me you'd be joining us.”

“Apparently, she's had a lot on her mind," Dexter replied, shooting an irritated glance at his sister as Rudy sat down beside him.

“Oh, shit!” Deb said, looking at her phone. “That's work. I have to go.” Deb announced, standing up abruptly. “Here, take mine,” Deb said, offering Rudy her lunch. “Sorry,” she said, kissing Rudy on the cheek as she took off, but before leaving, she gave Dex the call me sign.

“What's with your lip?” Dexter asked. “Deb catch you with a right hook? She can be pretty protective with the remote.”

“I had a little... workshop accident this morning.”

“Doesn't look like it happened this morning. The cut's already closing up,” Dexter noted.

Rudy thought fast. “Did I say—I meant yesterday morning. I think I'm working too hard. Anyway, I don't think my lip is why Deb arranged this little chitchat.”

“My sister is afraid there may be trouble in paradise,” Dex answered, shrugging.  

“Your sister's wrong,” Rudy said firmly.

“So, this whole "need to talk" thing?” Dexter asked, now actually curious.

“I'm starting to look at the big picture. She's someone that I could see spending the rest of my life with, you know?” Rudy said with sincerity.

No, I didn’t know—not until Angel. But I do know that Deb's falling for you... Hard. You hurt her...”

“And you'll hurt me,” Rudy supplied.

“Something like that,” Dex said mildly.

“How is Angel?” Rudy asked. “Deb told me what happened. I can’t believe you both went to work.”

“We’re tough,” Dex replied with a sigh. “Angel is fine.”

“Rudy, you should mind who you keep company with—even if he is your girlfriend’s brother,” Doakes snarled as he passed by on the way to pay his lunch bill.

Dexter shot him a ‘fuck you’ look, but refused to take the bait.

“What was that all about?” Rudy asked, looking behind him, watching Doakes leave.

Dexter rolled his eyes and leaned back, sighing again. "Doakes is all about the drama. He's always looking—to stir the pot—especially with me."

Rudy frowned, clearly concerned. "Does he give you trouble often—seriously—he seems driven.”

"I get that he comes off as intense," Dex said, attempting to brush it off. "But I know him well enough to handle his bullshit. My focus is on my sister and Angel."

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to deal with a bully too—not with what you and Angel have been through already,” Rudy said with a concerned look. “Deb mentioned once that Doakes calls you names.”

Dex huffed. “Yeah. Freak, weirdo, crazy ass, just to name a few.”

“That’s unprofessional, and deliberately hurtful,” Rudy said with almost a growl.

Dex took notice. “Um, it’s okay, really,” Dexter assured him. “I can handle it.”

“Turn him in,” Rudy suggested. “Tell your Lieutenant.”

“She knows,” Dex said. “She reprimanded him a couple of times already,” Dex stated as he stood up. “Hey, it’s been great talking to you, but I need to get back to the station. I want to check on Angel, and I’ve got evidence to process.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem, see you soon,” he replied as Dex grabbed his lunch bill and left.

‘Add Sergeant Doakes to the list,’ Rudy thought to himself.

~~~~

Back at the station, Dexter and Angel joined LaGuerta and Deb in her office for an update. Detectives made some progress in Angel’s shooting, so she held a quick meeting without Doakes this time.”

Hey, we just got some reports back from Musuka and the detectives on the case. Hopefully, we’ve caught a break.”

“What is it?” Deb asked excitedly.

“Well, the bullet they dug out of the tire came from a thirty-eight caliber,” she stated. “But that’s not the best part,” she said, pausing briefly. “Detectives found a small drop of blood on an inlaid handicap parking emblem. It was found at the spot where the witnesses said the perp slipped and fell down. The witnesses said the shooter hit his face on the ground when he fell, so we’re positive it came from the shooter. They’re running DNA on it now.”

“Well, that’s something,” Angel replied, glancing at Dexter.

“Definitely a lead,” Dexter said, his mind already racing with the implications. “Once they get the DNA results, it could point us directly to the shooter. Do we have any suspects?”

LaGuerta shook her head. “We’re still piecing things together, but this blood could be the key. I still think the same individual perpetrated both attacks.”

Deb stood up, clearly invested. “In the meantime, we’re keeping round the clock police protection for Dex and Angel? Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” LaGuerta confirmed. “We’ll run the DNA and cross-reference it with anyone with a history of violent crimes in the area. If we can match it up with a known suspect, we can hopefully close this case quickly.”

Angel’s eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. “I just want this to be over, you know? The uncertainty is driving me crazy.”

Dexter nodded to his lover, providing silent support. “We’ll get through this. With every bit of information we gather, we’re one step closer to finding the bastard who did this.”

Deb glanced between Dexter and Angel, then turned her attention back to LaGuerta. “When can we expect the DNA results?”

“It should take too long.” LaGuerta adjusted some paperwork on her desk. “While we’re waiting, I want everyone to stay alert. If our shooter is still out there, we need to be prepared.”

After the meeting, Dexter returned to his lab and tried to concentrate on his current task, but as usual his mind wandered. ‘My mother was murdered before my eyes. ‘Makes sense, I'd choose a life where I search for meaning in blood. The sole memory I have of her is being covered in it. I need to know more details.’

Out in the bullpen, Dexter noticed Doakes setting up a monitor, so he wandered out of the office to see what he was doing.

 Musuka turned on the tape, and they watched as Monique pleaded for her life. "Oh, God, no! No, please!"

“I can't watch this again,” Deb said cringing.

“I know it's tough, but just keep your eyes on the monitor,” Doakes told her.

“Wait—what was that? Deb asked just as Musuka hit the pause button.

Doakes pointed to the screen. “The camera tilts up right before he hits the off switch. Watch. That, my friends, is a monster refrigeration unit.”

“He needs it cold to preserve the bodies,” Detective Simms interjected.

“We knew that, but check this out,” Musuka said, pointing at the top of the screen. “Look how much space there is between her feet and the ceiling. This room is way bigger than your standard commercial freezer. Most likely, it was a custom build.”

“So, we should focus our search on commercial districts,” Simms added.

“No. Residential,” Deb said with certainty.

“You think he built this in his own place? Doakes asked, shooting her an incredulous look.

“He picks up a hooker, right?” Deb said, with a knowing smirk. “I worked Vice. The smart girls know not to go near a factory or warehouse unless you never want to be seen again.”

“How do we know he didn't knock out his victims or drug them, then take them back to a warehouse?” Simms asked.

“None of the other victims showed any signs of head injury or narcotics. Besides, what better way to trap a victim than to get her to walk into your own home?” Deb said, moving over to the city map. “The escort service said she was meeting her client at the corner of Brickell Avenue and Coral Way. Her body was found at Santa's cottage, which is on Biscayne mall.”

“We'll map out grids. We'll focus on private residences drawing large amounts of power near those areas. We catch a break... We'll catch this son of a bitch,” Doakes stated with a smirk.

After the meeting, Dexter was headed down the hall when Deb called out to him. “Wait! Where the hell are you going?”

“I need to do some research on a case,” he said as he kept on walking.

You were supposed to call me after your lunch with Rudy,” Deb said, throwing her hand in the air. “I've been freaking out! He sent me this text message,” she said, showing Dexter the text.

Dexter smirked. "Cսm sail away with me?" He misspelled "come."  

“Dexter. This is no time to joke,” Deb said seriously. “This is good, right? A romantic weekend? What did he say to you? Oh, wait, no. Don't. Don't tell me. Maybe he wants it to be a surprise. Unless I should know. Should I know? Okay. Tell me. You know, no. Don't. "We need to talk"? Who says that unless you're getting dumped?” she babbled, borderline panicked.

“I don't think that's what this is about,” Dex said, trying to calm her down.

He probably wants me out on the water in case I make a scene. You know, I always do this. I put myself out there. I set myself up to get hurt…”

“He wants to be part of the family,” Dexter told her, cutting off her tirade.

“What? Wait. Like... propose?” Deb asked, stopping in her tracks.

“I have to get to the library and then back to my evidence, but we'll talk about this later, okay?”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” Deb cried, jumping up and down excitedly.

Dexter shook his head. “Deb, I’ve got to go,” he reiterated with a bit more urgency.

“Okay. You’ve got your escort right?” Deb asked, looking around for her brother’s assigned officer.

“Relax,” Dex said. “He’s in the can. Meeting me downstairs.”

~~~~

Dexter made it to the library around 3:00 o’clock, and sat at a table, looking through old archive footage.

‘I was never one to dwell on my past, always content to leave it a mystery. No details—just a blur of images rushing by. But my friend out there wants to bring those memories into focus… and so do I.’ Dexter thought as he wrote notes on a pad.

“This is it for the Metro News for 1972 through 1973 and the Tribune's archives,” the librarian told him.

Dexter painstakingly went through everything, piece by piece.

‘10/3? 1-0-3—same as the hotel, same as Santa's cottage. This is what he wanted me to find all along.’

‘Close your eyes. Don't look,’ Dexter’s mind flashed back on his mother’s murder.

“Laura Moser... My mother,” Dexter murmured. ‘No wonder I felt so disconnected my entire life. If I did have emotions, I'd have to feel... this.

After leaving the library, Dexter and his escort drove over to Camilla’s house. The records clerk was busy watering her bushes when Dexter drove up.”

“October 3rd, 1973. Laura Moser and three others found chopped up with a chain saw. Apparently, a drug dealer didn't appreciate Laura and her friends stealing his cocaine. First officer on scene was Harry Morgan,” Dexter started talking, almost accusingly.

“You've been busy.”

“A crime that big, and yet there's no record of the case file at City Hall, that seems a bit odd. Don't you think?” he asked her in a raised voice.

“It's a long time ago,” Camilla said with a sigh.

“What is in that report that Harry didn't want me to see?! Why was there no mention in any of the newspapers about a 3-year-old boy at the crime scene?! Camilla... Damn it, I need to know. I need that file!” Dexter insisted adamantly.

“I can't give you the file 'cause it no longer exists. I destroyed it the day your adoption went through,” Camilla admitted.

“You did what?” Dexter asked angrily.

“Made a promise to your father,” she declared.

“Why, to protect him?” Dexter asked a bit softer.

“To protect you,” she said gently.

“Harry had a code. He'd never ask you to destroy evidence,” Dexter replied with certainty.  

“Your father was a decent man and an honest cop, but what he saw in that cargo container changed him. You were left there for days, starving, in blood 2 inches thick.”

Just then, always at the most inconvenient time, Dexter's phone rang.

“Hello,” he said tightly. “What is it now, Deb?”

“Come back to the station, Dex!” Deb said almost on the verge of hysterics. “You received another love letter. Angel is having an apoplexy.”

“I’m on my way,” Dex said hanging up.

“Camilla, I need to know the truth,” he said imploringly.

She gave Dexter a tearful look. “Kid… leave this one alone.”

Dexter shook his head in frustration, jumping back in his car, and heading to the station.

~~~~  

When Dexter entered the bullpen, he was immediately waved into LaGuerta’s office. Deb, Angel, and Maria all wore the same horror-stricken expression.

“God, what happened?” Dexter asked, moving quickly to his lover’s side.

“This is one sick bastard,” Angel said with boiling fury.

“Jennifer spotted it, and delivered it to me,” LaGuerta said. “Just like before, it came in a pink envelope and was addressed to you, Dex.”

Dexter's heart raced as he processed the gravity of the moment. He could feel the tension in the room thickening. "What does it say?" he asked calmly, despite the escalating chaos around him.

LaGuerta handed him a copy. The original was already in the hands of forensics. “See for yourself. It’s the same twisted nonsense as before, but this one... This one's different. It's more personal, and it has a few crude drawings on it.”

Deb crossed her arms, worry etched across her face. "You have to be careful, Dexter. Whoever this is, they're escalating. They want a reaction from you."

Taking a deep breath, Dexter read the letter with a guarded expression. He glanced at LaGuerta, who nodded curtly, urging him on. The sound of his heartbeat faded, drowned out by the crinkling of the paper in his hand.

He opened the folded piece of paper and found another typed note, adorned with a picture of a noose, and what looked like an angel laying on the ground covered in blood. The computer ink, a deep crimson color, looked almost too vibrant to be mundane. As he read, his stomach twisted into knots.

‘Dexter, my love,

     You think you know darkness, but you haven’t seen anything yet. Each letter brings me closer to you, and believe me, my heart beats only for you. I know your secrets, and I plan to show you just how far my love can take us. I can’t wait to hear your soft voice moaning my name. See you soon.’

Dexter gasped and clutched at his chest.

“I know,” Angel said softly. “Easy now. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Dexter's hands trembled as he held the letter, its chilling message coursing through him like ice water. The imagery was grotesque and perverse, a vivid reminder of his darkest fears encroaching upon his carefully constructed life. Clutching the edge of the desk for support, he felt the ground shift beneath him, the world around him becoming a blur.

Angel placed a hand on Dexter's shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. “We’re in this together, Dex. You’re not alone in this fight. He’ll be caught.”

Dexter met Angel’s gaze, searching for reassurance. “This is a direct threat against you too.”

“I’m thinking about putting both of you into a safe house until the motherfucker is caught,” LaGuerta declared.

“I’m with her,” Deb said with a frightened look on her face.

“No!” Dexter said firmly. “You’re gonna need our help to solve this, and I’m done hiding,” he said stubbornly.

LaGuerta’s eyes narrowed, frustration etched on her features. “Dexter, this isn’t about hiding; it’s about protecting you and Angel. Whoever sent this letter is seriously twisted. We can’t risk you being targeted. You have to think about your safety first.”

Deb twitched with nervous energy. “We’re all scared, but if this person is as dangerous as we think, then you’re a target, and so are we just by being near you. We can be effective while staying safe.”

“No!” Dexter’s voice rose, drawing the attention of others in the precinct. “You don’t understand. “This is a game—a sick, perverted game. If I’m removed from the board, he wins. I can’t let him have that kind of power over me. It's exactly what he wants.”

Silence fell over the room, the tension thick as everyone absorbed his words. Dexter stood tall, his heart racing, resolve hardening within him. “I’ll be a target no matter what we do. If we’re going to catch this person, we need to be proactive, not reactive. In fact, it might be wise to use me as bait.”

Angel hesitated, glancing between Dexter and the others. “I don’t like it. The idea of putting yourself out there as bait is too dangerous.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Dexter asked him.

“Okay, so what’s your plan?” Angel asked with trepidation. “We can’t just leave it to chance, and he won’t strike while we’re surrounded by police protection.”

“Let me think for a bit,” Dex said. “I’ll come up with something.”

The others looked dubious, but they could see that Dexter was determined, so going into hiding wasn’t the answer.

Dex went back to his office and had a quiet conversation with his lover, while Maria ran into Doakes in the break room.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Doakes asked, noting the lieutenant’s expression.

“Dexter got another love letter from his sick admirer,” LaGuerta told him.

Doakes snickered.

“It’s not funny, James,” she chastised. “Dexter was almost raped, and Angel was shot. Lives are at stake.”

“I know… and I’m sorry,” Doakes said contritely. “May I ask, though, what’s going on with the captain? I saw the board members here.”

“The commissioner and the review board did not look happy this morning. They've been in Matthews' office for two hours,” she said with a smirk.

“You thinking his ass is about three shades of red right now?” Doakes asked.

I don't care what color it is, as long as it's on its way out the door,” she replied as they walked back toward her office.

At that moment, the captain along with the board members came strolling down the hall. They were laughing and patting Matthews on the back.

“Tell me that did not just happen?” Maria asked as she watched the procession go by.

Doakes shook his head disgustedly. “It's who you know and who you blow.”

“Probably picking their fucking tee off time,” LaGuerta hissed.

Doakes warned. “Maria, watch your back. He's gonna be gunning for you now more than ever.”

“Let him try,” she said, steeling her resolve.

Later that same day, Captain Matthews barged into LaGuerta’s office unannounced.

“Why, yes, by all means, Tom, please, come in,” she said, at the captain’s intrusion.

“Maria... Let's you and me have a talk,” he said, ignoring her comment as he sat down on the couch.  

“Congratulations on the review. I hear it went well. You must be thrilled. But now, if you don't mind—"

“Let me get right to the point,” Matthews said, cutting her off.  “All our mishaps these last few months—failure to bring in the ice-truck killer, mishandling of Tony Tucci... even Neil Perry.”

“Neil Perry was your fuck-up... not mine,” Maria reminded him.

“They're all the result of a bad command structure, and that's my failure,” Matthews admitted.

“Well... I'm glad to hear you say that. Takes a big man to admit his own mistakes,” Maria commended.

 “So, this morning, the commissioner gave me the go-ahead to restructure the division. Effective immediately, you will no longer serve as my lieutenant. I'm sorry. I know this must be difficult for you,” Matthews said with an obvious smirk.  

“Please, it's ridiculous,” Maria scoffed. “You really don't want to do this.”

“Because of your status in the Cuban community?” Matthews asked

“I'm a fucking hero to this community! You think they're just gonna accept it?” she asked, her voice rising with each syllable.  

“Your replacement has already been selected. Her name is Esmé Pascal, a transfer from Fort Lauderdale—a real up-and-comer,” the captain declared.

“Pascal, the Haitian-American? The one who got shot last year in the line of duty? Maria asked with a stunned expression.

“Turns out she's an actual hero,” Matthews taunted.

You think I'm gonna stay quiet for this, you're out of your mind,” she threatened, standing up behind her desk.

“I did warn you, Maria. I'm gonna need you to clear out this office tonight,” he said, getting to his feet.

“Expect a call from my union rep,” Maria hissed.

“You want it, you'll always have a place in the bullpen—" he said, gloating on his way out the door.

“And my fucking lawyer, too!” she screeched.

“…with all the other detectives,” Matthews added.

“This isn't fucking over, Tom!” she shouted as he left the office.

“You goddamn... son of a bitch,” she screamed, knocking things off her desk in a rage.

~~~~

As Dexter sat going over evidence in his office, snippets of conversations kept coming back to him.

‘Doakes said he’d talked to Rudy about prosthetic fetishes, and that same night Monique was killed. The parking lot evidence found a spot of blood from the shooter, and at lunch, Rudy said he'd hurt his lip that morning. He was lying. Then he said… see you soon. That’s the same thing my love letter said… twice. But I was too distracted to care. But he's got my full attention now.’

Dexter immediately left his office, going in search of Deb. He found her studying an evidence board, and asked, “Hey, you here tonight?”

“Yeah, we're tits-deep in the ice-truck killer. Might be onto something. It's gonna be an all-nighter.” She replied, sounding unhappy about it.

“So, that text message you got from Rudy about going away with him—you're not gonna do that?” he asked hopefully.

“Tragically, no,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “I was all psyched to meet him at the Miami Beach marina, but this bullpen's my home till we finish this.”

“Good,” Dexter replied.

“Good?” she asked confused. “I'm working on a theory that Rudy was gonna propose, and now he can't—why is that good?”

“No, I meant good that you're making progress here,” Dexter covered quickly.

“Yeah. We're getting closer,” she said, her tone full of enthusiasm.

“Fingers crossed,” Dexter said, sending goodwill vibes her way.

 ‘At least I know my sister is safe tonight, which gives me time to check out my own theory on Rudy,’ Dex thought to himself.

After Dex left, Doakes approached her.  So, we'll start canvassing tonight. You take the—” he started saying just as Deb’s phone rang.

“That him?”

“Yeah, how'd you know?” Deb asked with a smile.

Doakes shook his head. 'Cause you got that stupid-ass grin on your face again. Go ahead. Answer it.”

“Okay,” she said, almost giddy

“Hey,” she said, answering her phone, and stepping away from Doakes.

“Hey, Supercop. What's the word?”

“I'm kind of in a thing right now,” she said, her tone low.

“Got it. I'll be quick. You never answered my text. Do I have the pleasure of your company this weekend?” Rudy asked.

Deb hesitated. “Yeah, about that —"

“Come on, Deb, it's only two days,” Rudy complained.  

“I know, I know. It's just—we've had a major break in the ice-truck-killer case. I promise, as soon as we catch this douche-bag, you and I are gonna spend a whole week together in bed,” she promised. “You are not gonna be able to get rid of me.”

“Okay, okay, but — How about dinner? he said, using his best powers of persuasion.

“Oh, my God, you are persistent,” she said, giggling.

“Well, you got to eat, right? So why not eat dinner with me... on this yacht I'm on?” he replied enticingly.

“Where the hell did you get a yacht?” she asked in awe.

“I rented it. I thought we'd have a nice couple days together, but we could still have a nice night. And there is that thing we need to talk about...” he said, trailing off.

“Okay, well, maybe I can take an hour for dinner,” she finally acquiesced.

Rudy barked a short laugh. “I can work with an hour.”

“I mean, a real hour, not one of your "let's stretch this out till 2:00 a.m., so you might as well stay and have sex,’ hours,” Deb warned.

Doakes cleared his throat, trying to hurry her along.

“Right,” Rudy said with delight. “Real hour. No fakey hour. Got it.”

Deb laughed. “All right, I'll get out of here as fast as I can.”

“See you soon,” Rudy drawled.

~~~~

Dexter sat at his desk, wondering if maybe he was just being paranoid. ‘Thinking Rudy attacked me or my lover doesn't make any sense. He's a caring boyfriend. He spends his life helping people in need. He brought me steaks. At times like this, I wish the truth was more easily accessible. But Harry taught me to trust my gut. "People lie all the time," he said. "But your instincts will never fail you. So, how do I get his DNA?’

Just then, Dexter looked out his office window and noticed the vase of white roses sitting on Deb’s desk. He smirked to himself as he went out and took the vase from the desk, being careful to hold it with a gloved hand. He took it back to the lab and dusted it for prints. Once he’d extracted the DNA from it, he commandeered the sample of the blood found at Angel’s shooting.

~~~~

 “Fuck me!” Deb cried as she made her way onto the yacht, which was covered in bouquets of white roses.   

“I believe your rule specifically prohibits such action,” Rudy said, handing her a single white rose.

“Did you do all this?” she asked, looking around in wonder.

“In fact, I did. You like?” He asked, very pleased with himself.

Deb’s face fell. “I like. I like so much that it makes what I have to tell you that much harder.”

“Oh, please tell me you're not leaving?” He asked with a crestfallen expression.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It took me 30 minutes to get here. I have to turn around and go right back.”

“Oh, my God. Hold on,” Rudy said fumbling in his pocket.

“Hold on. Wait!” Deb cried.

“Well, you're sort of forcing my hand here. I wanted to wait until we were out in the water, but... here it goes. I know this seems fast... But I feel—I feel that I’ve waited my whole entire life for you. And now that you're here, I don't want you to leave,” he said, getting down on one knee and presenting her with a ring. “Debra Morgan... Will you marry me?”

 “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” she cried with joy.

“Is that your version of a… yes?” he asked a bit confused.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, but—no, no, no!” she cried again, bouncing up and down.

“Stop at "yes." Rudy implored.

"Yes", I like that part. Yes, but let's slow it down, you know? Like, let me savor this. I want to be with you. I want to enjoy it, you know?” Deb said beaming.

“So, it's a "yes," but—okay, I get it,” he said with a grin.

“You do?” Deb asked.

Rudy shook his head. “No, not really, but I can work with it.”

“Good, good,” she said, kissing him. When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled with happiness. “Oh, God, I can still wear the ring, right?”

“Yes, but... There's a condition. I know you have to go to work, but... If you're gonna wear the ring, we need to celebrate. One glass of champagne. That's all I ask,” Rudy begged.

“Rudy, I — I mean it,” Deb replied with a doubtful expression.

“You can't leave your sort-of fiancé on a yacht with a cold meal and an unopened bottle of champagne. It's kind of cruel. Just one glass of champagne... to celebrate. And then you can go back, saving Miami from the ice-truck killer,” he promised.

Deb gave a nod. “I can live with that.”

~~~~

“Hey, I need these two tested against each other,” Dexter said to the technician in the lab. “It's kind of a rush.” The technician had headphones on and didn’t hear him, so he pulled on them.

“Excuse me, hi. Hey, these two—tested against each other right now. Okay,” he said, giving her the print and blood sample.

Out in the hallway, he tried Deb’s cell phone again, but still only reached her voicemail. “It's Deb. Do it.”

Dexter left her another message. “Hey, I know you're working, but let me know when you come up for air. I need to talk to you. I'm in the building.”

~~~~

“This yacht's amazing. I didn't know you went for stuff like this,” Deb commented.

“Well, you have a whole lot to learn about me,” he said with a smile. “Was that just the phone ringing?”

“Yeah—big brother. I let it go to voice mail. He can wait till we're done here,” she said, cuddling up next to Rudy.

“Good. I want you all to myself,” he said, putting his arm around her. “So... let the toasting begin. To... what comes next.”

“You're not drinking?” Deb asked as Rudy popped a cough drop in his mouth and leaned in for a kiss.

Deb pulled back. “Tastes like menthol, which, it turns out, is not that sexy.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

Deb shook her head. “Nothing. Just bad memories.”

“That's right,” Rudy said with a thoughtful expression. “That was the—the one clue the ice-truck killer left behind, right?” he asked.

“Right,” Deb replied with a frown. “Wait. How did you know that?”

 Rudy shifted, putting both his arms around her shoulders. “I don't often make mistakes, but when I do, they haunt me.”

“Hilarious,” Deb said as the sinking sensation began to set in. “Your champagne's gonna get warm,” she told him.

“You know the one thing I've been dying to ask you? How did you not know who I was? You're a cop,” he said as he tightened his grip around Deb’s neck.

“This isn't funny,” she cried.

Rudy laughed. “I think a real cop would... at least have a sense that she was in the presence of the person she was hunting. Right?”

Deb cried out as Rudy’s grip tightened further. “You're hurting me.”

“I didn't show you the best part of my loft. Built it myself,” Rudy continued as Deb began to struggle.

“Stop it!” she screamed.

“The refrigerated room,” he went on.

“Oh, God, why are you doing this?” she cried, kicking over the champagne during the struggle.

“You know, the tricky part was getting you on the boat. The other women I could just pay. But at the end... You made it easy. So desperate to fall in love.

“Stop.” Was the last thing she gasped out before losing consciousness, so she didn’t see the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s almost time, Dex,” he whispered out loud.

~~~~

When Dexter returned to the lab, the technician had finished the comparison. “The samples you gave me were a match. They're from the same person,” she confirmed.

“Hey, are you alright?” the technician asked, noting the stunned expression on his face.

He didn’t reply, just turned and ran out of the lab. “Where's my sister?” Dex asked Simms.

Simms shrugged. “Took her code 12. Left about an hour ago.”

“She went to dinner?” he said, grabbing a radio off the closest desk

“She wasn't supposed to go anywhere,” he muttered, pushing the talk button on the radio. “Dispatch, this is Dexter Morgan. I need you to raise Officer Debra Morgan on her radio.”

“Sorry, sir. She's been out of range for the last half-hour.”

Dexter tried her cell phone again as he headed for the front door off the station. “It's Deb. Do it.”

“Where the fuck are you?” he cried frantically. “I'm here at work, and you're not. I need to talk to you. Do not see Rudy until you find me. Call me when you get this,” he said, running out of the station and into the parking lot, with his uniformed protection right behind him.

“Is everything all right, Sir?” he asked. “Do you need to go somewhere?”

“Not yet,” Dexter replied, going back into the building. When he entered the bullpen, he saw Angel standing in his office.

“Hey, baby,” Angel said as Dexter shut the door. Angel wore a tight expression.

“What’s wrong?” Dexter asked.

“Nina just called and chewed me a new one,” Angel replied sheepishly.

“Why?” Dex asked his lover.

“Um, well… I forgot to call her when I was shot, and she found out from a friend who didn’t know we were separated. Nina had her on speaker phone when she asked how I was doing since the shooting, and Auri overheard. Now Nina is fit to be tied. I have to go see Auri, so she can see for herself I’m okay.”

Dexter stared at him for a minute. “How could you not tell them you were shot?”

“Baby,” Angel said, shaking his head. “I don’t know—I haven’t been running on all cylinders lately. You know—so much going on. I know… my bad.”

“Go see them now,” Dexter ordered.

“Okay,” Angel agreed. “I won’t be long.”

“Take as long as you need,” Dex said, while the overwhelming desire to kiss his paramour came over him. Fortunately, he managed to control himself.

Angel seemed to know what he was thinking by the look in his eye. “When I get home baby,” he whispered softly.

Dexter nodded knowingly. “Okay, I’m headed home, so I’ll see you there later.”

“Good, you need some rest,” Angel commented. “You take one escort and I’ll take the other.”

“Okay,” Dex said, his mind returning to his missing sister. “I’ll see you at home,” he said, grabbing his keys off the desk as he exited the office.

“Where are you, Deb?” he asked himself as he got in his car and started for home.

Chapter Text

After work, Dexter headed toward the marina, rather than driving directly home. He parked and then walked along the dock, looking for his sister.

“Sir, what are we looking for?” Officer Brown asked as he followed Dexter’s every move.

“I’m trying to find my sister. She was supposed to be here, but obviously she’s not, so we can go,” he replied.

As he returned to his car, his thoughts turned dark. 'I’ve lived in darkness a long time. Over the years, my eyes adjusted until the dark became my world and I could see. I don't have much time—or, to be more accurate, my sister doesn't have much time. He wants me to find him, but where do I look? I can't think. It's too bright.’

The drive home was a blur, and he wasn’t even sure how he got there until he pulled into his parking spot.

Meanwhile, on the rented yacht, Deb finally regained consciousness. Realizing where she was and that she was tied up, panic began to set in.

“Let me know if the tape's too tight,” Rudy said, checking her restraints. “You know, there's no need for you to be uncomfortable.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked pleadingly.

“Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise,” Rudy said as he dumped a bag filled with knives and saws on the deck.

Deb struggled and cried out. “Oh, God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

“Shush, I'm just checking the supplies, okay?” he told her. “Things are moving a little faster than I had planned.”

“This isn't you,” she insisted.

“Pretty sure it is,” Rudy contradicted.

“No!” Deb declared. “I know there's more—I’ve seen it.”

Rudy turned and gazed into her eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know. I know,” Deb said crying.

“Does this make it easier for you? Because I can keep going,” Rudy said facetiously.

“Oh, God. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, Jesus Christ!” Deb cried.

Rudy returned to checking his supplies. “There's nothing to be ashamed of, Deb. I mean, you're not the only one who bought it, okay?”

“Your name isn't even fucking Rudy Cooper, is it?” she asked accusingly.

“Nope... but he died for a good cause,” Rudy declared.

“Yeah, so will you,” Deb spat out.

Rudy laughed.

“You kidnapped a cop this time, you know? Not some invisible hooker—you kidnapped a cop!” Deb screamed.

Rudy leaned back against the keel. “It's all part of the plan. Oh, Jesus. It's hard to believe it's almost come to fruition. I mean, this is a lot of years in the making. We're only hours away, then my true soulmate and I will be together forever.”

~~~~

Dexter ran into his apartment, slamming the door behind him, and started frantically looking for clues.

‘He wouldn't have taken Deb unless he left me everything a clever monster would need in order to find them,' he thought as he started tearing through his apartment, looking for a clue. He checked his email, but had no new messages. As he continued to search, suddenly his screen saver kicked in.

“♪ Born free, ♪
♪ As free as the wind blows ♪
♪ As free as the grass grows ♪
♪ Born free to follow your heart ♪”

‘Seems I have a new screen saver. I knew he wouldn't leave me stranded, but "Born free?” Of course. Thanks to Rudy, now I know where dearly disturbed Dexter was born. Born free of all that's human—that’s where I'll find him.’

Dexter found the article on the shipping yard massacre, and knew he had to search there, but he didn’t know how to accomplish that without alerting his police protection.

~~~~

Just as Angel was getting ready to leave Nina’s, his phone rang. Looking at his screen, he saw it was Doakes.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Angel asked.

“Have you seen Debra Morgan?” Doakes asked with a distinct edge to his voice.

“Nah, not since earlier in the afternoon. Why?”

“She was supposed to help me canvas, but she never came back from dinner with Rudy. That's not like her,” Doakes stated.

“Did you ask, Dex?” Angel suggested.

“Simms said he was looking for her too. Said he tried to raise her over the radio, but she was out of range. Then he left the station. I radioed Brown and he told me Dexter was at home now.”

“I’m on my way to the station,” Angel said, giving Auri one last hug and a wave as he went out the door. “Maybe we can put our heads together and come up with something.”

Once in the car, Angel called Dexter.

“Angel, are you okay?” Dexter asked, worry evident in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but have you heard from Deb?” Angel asked.

“No. I really need to talk to her about something important, but Simms said she went to dinner.”

“I just talked to Doakes, and he said Debra never came back from dinner with Rudy.”

“Fuck!” Dex cursed.

“We’ll figure it out, baby. I’m on my way to the station, so I’ll keep you posted.”

Arriving at the station, Angel parked haphazardly and rushed inside, where Doakes was pacing like a caged animal. “What’s the plan?” Angel asked as he approached.

“I was thinking,” Doakes said pensively. “No one knew about my talk with Monique except Musuka and Deb’s boyfriend. Now Deb has gone missing while supposedly on a date with him.”

Angel nodded absently. “That’s so strange, but Dex said Rudy was a great guy.”

“I saw Dexter earlier, skulking in the lab, ordering secret blood tests,” Doakes said.

Angel shook his head dismissively. “Have you had any luck on the DNA from the blood spot?” he asked.

“No. No hits,” Doakes growled in frustration.

“Shit,” Angel said with disappointment. “Look, I’ve got to go home and sleep. I’ve been working since early this morning, and my shoulder is starting to throb.” He told Doakes, not mentioning that the real reason he wanted to leave was so he could check on his lover.

“Go, go,” Doakes said. “We’ve got plenty of people on it.”

~~~~

Angel called Dex to inform him that they’d not yet located Deb, but he was on his way home.

When he arrived, Dex was waiting for him on the balcony with a panicked expression. “I keep calling her, but there’s no answer.”

Ushering his lover inside, Angel held him tightly. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll find her.”

“Angel, I need to tell you something. “I think it’s Rudy,” he blurted out.

“What? Why?” Angel asked with a shocked expression, especially after what Doakes just told him.

“Bear with me… okay?” Dex said. “Because it started out as just a hunch. Yesterday, Doakes said he’d talked to Rudy about prosthetic fetishes, and that same night the hooker was killed. The parking lot evidence found a spot of blood from the shooter from where he fell. At lunch the next day, Rudy said he'd hurt his lip that morning, but he was lying because the cut was already healing. I called him on it, and he backtracked, saying he did it the previous morning. Then he got mad at Doakes and he smiled at me strangely.  Then he said… see you soon, just like in the letters sent to me.”

“Baby, you’re rambling, and that’s all circumstantial," Angel said with a dubious look.

Dex nodded. “I know, that’s why I ran the DNA I collected from the vase of roses he gave Deb against the spot of blood found at your shooting… it was a match.”

“Christ!” Angel shouted and threw his hands in the air. “We’ve got to call Maria and Doakes.”

“I know, but Doakes is gonna hurt me. I just didn’t want to ruin my sister’s happiness on a hunch. So, you don’t think it’s just a coincidence?”

“No! Baby! Doakes was coming to this same conclusion. I’m calling them—okay?”

Dex shook his head. “Yeah, okay.”

Sometime later, LaGuerta and Doakes knocked on Dexter’s door. Angel answered it. As soon as he let them in, Doakes tore into Dexter.

“Where's your sister, Morgan?” he snarled. “She didn't come back to work, and she's not at her apartment.”

“I honestly don't know, Sergeant,” Dexter said, taking a step back. “I’ve been calling her all night.”

“Dexter... we think her boyfriend Rudy's connected to the ice-truck killer,” LaGuerta stated. “We're working on getting a search warrant right now to search his home.”

“I know, that’s why we called you,” Dexter said.

“You know something, Morgan! What is it?” Doakes yelled in Dexter’s face.

“James!” LaGuerta shouted.

“Yeah, just let him explain, Doakes,’ Angel growled.

“I was working on a hunch, looking for a DNA match on the blood from Angel’s shooting,” Dexter said with his head in his hands. “I ran the blood against the fingerprint DNA on Deb’s vase of roses. I got a match.”

“And who was it?” LaGuerta asked wide-eyed.

“Rudy's,” Dexter said with a heavy sigh.

“Motherfucker,” Doakes shouted.

“Knock it off!” LaGuerta said, holding up her hand to Doakes.

“He knew all along!” Doakes yelled.

“Rudy lied about a cut on his lip,” Dex tried to explain. “Angel’s attacker, face planted in the parking lot, plus Rudy said some strange things at lunch, but I didn’t put it together until later. It was just a wild hunch that I never expected to pan out.”

“Why didn't you tell us?” LaGuerta asked gently.

“I couldn't destroy Deb's love life on a hunch,” Dex replied, his expression desperate. “I had to get the facts, but even then, I didn’t believe it. That’s why I ran it by Angel first, to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind.”

“Here are the facts, asshole… if he kills her, it's your fault. Now, what else do you know?”

“Stop, right now, Doakes,” Angel warned. “Can’t you see Dexter is distraught?”

“Right,” Doakes said snidely. “What else do you know, Morgan?”

“That's it—I swear—I’ve told you everything,” Dex said, raising his right hand in the air.

Doakes growled dangerously. “He's lying.”

“Give him a break, James. It's his sister, all right?” LaGuerta reprimanded, wishing now she hadn’t brought him along.

“Well, if he knows what's good for him, he'll sit his ass at home tomorrow. He’s off,” Doakes said, pointing a finger at Dexter.

“I’m off too,” Angel reminded them. “But I feel useless, sitting here when Deb is still missing.”

“Me too,” Dex said. “I’d like to come in and help where I can.”

LaGuerta nodded. “Fine, try to rest and come in around 10:00. Call if you hear anything in the meantime.”

Doakes shook his head. “That little prick is lying through his teeth.”

Angel swung his good fist, catching Doakes in the jaw before he could stop himself. Dexter jumped in and pulled Angel back before he could hit him again.

“Angel,” LaGuerta cried. “You just assaulted a superior officer.”

“I don’t care!” Angel barked, his voice raw with anger and frustration. “This is about Debra. We’re supposed to be on the same side here, yet Doakes is treating Dex like a suspect instead of helping us find her!”

“Chill out, Angel,” Doakes spat, wiping the corner of his mouth, still stunned. “What, you think playing hero is going to change anything? Dexter knows more than he’s letting on.”

“Enough!” LaGuerta shouted, her authoritative tone cutting through the tension. “This isn’t the time for accusations or fights. We need to focus. If you both can’t handle this professionally, I’ll have to ask you to leave the investigation.”

Dexter watched the exchange with concern and guilt. “I’m not hiding anything,” he pleaded. “You have to believe me—I would never put Deb in harm's way.”

Doakes rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, your ‘innocent puppy dog eyes’ doesn’t prove anything. You don’t seem worried enough for someone who could lose his sister.”

“I’m terrified,” Dexter replied, the tremors of worry and anger threading through his tone. “I want to help. Anything you need—I’m here for it.”

“Great. Here’s a thought: how about trying to be someone we can trust?” Doakes shot back, still simmering from the punch.

“James, enough!” LaGuerta interjected. “Do you want to press charges on Angel? I can take his gun and badge for hitting you. It’s your call.”

Doakes glared at LaGuerta, his fists clenching at his sides. “This isn’t about me or a punch in the face,” he snapped. “It’s about the fact that Dexter has always skirted the line, and now we’re in a situation where his ‘help’ could mean the difference between life and death for Deb.”

“Your suspicions don’t change the facts, James,” LaGuerta said harshly, her patience wearing thin. “If we keep fighting each other, we’re just going to make it easier for this maniac holding her. Dexter, do you know anything else about this?”

Dexter nodded. “I’m not certain, but I think Rudy is the one who sent me those letters. I think he’s the one who attacked me in the parking lot at work.”

“What makes you think that, Dex?” LaGuerta asked.

Dexter hesitated, looking thoughtful. “From the way he acted at lunch. He got very angry when Doakes made some disparaging remarks to him about me, and…”

“Wait!” LaGuerta said, interrupting. “What the hell, James?”

“You’re about to get hit again,” Angel roared, taking a step forward.

“No!” Dexter said, stepping between them.

“James?” LaGuerta asked again.

“Fine,” James snarled. “I told Rudy he should be careful of the company he kept, even if it was his girlfriend’s brother.”

“You son of a bitch,” Angel yelled.

Doakes laughed, almost evilly.  “Look, I know you love him, but not everybody is as simple-minded as you, Angel!”

Angel went into berserker mode, cursing and trying to get at Doakes, but Dexter held him steadfast. “No! He’s not worth it.”

“Fuck!” LaGuerta cried. “That’s it, James. Get out of Dexter’s apartment and wait for me in the car,” she shouted angrily.

Doakes slammed the door behind him as he stormed out of the apartment, smoke blowing from his nostrils.

Turning her attention back to Dexter, LaGuerta asked him, “what else did Rudy say at lunch, Dex?”  

Dexter took a deep breath. “He smiled at me funny and said ‘see you soon,’ Dexter replied, thinking back on their lunch together.

“That’s the same last line from both letters,” Angel said, looking more than a little frazzled.

Angel ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “We need to understand what he meant by that. It’s almost as if he’s letting you know he’s lurking, waiting for the right moment.”

“Exactly,” Dexter confirmed. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it feels deliberate. Rudy’s testing the waters—seeing how I react, probing for weakness. He’s toying with us.”

LaGuerta nodded, her determination rekindling. “Then we have to act fast. If he’s involved in these attacks, he’s probably already planning his next move. We’ve got to find Debra.”

“Both of you come in tomorrow, like I said,” LaGuerta reiterated. “We need all the help we can get.”

“What about my punishment for punching Doakes?” Angel asked with his head down.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a small smile. “If he tries to press charges, we’ll counter with harassment charges against him for his treatment of Dex.”

“Thanks, Maria,” Angel said gratefully.

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant,” Dexter echoed. “I swear—I’m telling you everything I know.”

“I believe you, Dex,” LaGuerta said as she headed out the door. “I’ll see both of you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” they said in unison.

After she left, Dexter fell into Angel’s arms. “Oh, my God, how did Doakes know about us?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.” Angel replied, holding Dexter close.

~~~~

The next day at the station, LaGuerta flashed Rudy’s picture around the squad room as she gave a short briefing.

Okay, his name is Rudy Cooper,” she said, holding up Rudy’s picture. “Some of you may have met him. He was dating Officer Morgan. Now, she was last seen 16 hours ago, driving to meet him at the Miami Beach Marina. So, we need to canvass the entire area. Check boat rentals. You guys know the drill. I've already sent a team over to his prosthetics lab at the hospital.

Simms interjected. “The judge just signed off on the warrant for Cooper's apartment.”

“Well, let's tear that place apart,” she said, grabbing her purse off the desk. “Jake, Sergio, Kim, you guys are with me.

Just then Matthews entered the squad room. “Your attention, please. I want to introduce you to our new lieutenant, Esmee Pascal. She agreed to put her vacation on hold, come in early, to provide us with some much-needed leadership at this critical time. Lieutenant, you're on,” he said with a smile.

“I understand we have a new suspect in the ice-truck killer case,” she said, looking around the room.

“We're on our way over now to search his place,” Maria supplied.

“And you are?” Pascal asked.

“Maria LaGuerta,” she replied curtly. "And we have an officer missing, so we need to move fast.”

“I thought that Sergeant Doakes was running that investigation.” Pascal said in a battle of wills with LaGuerta.

“He's out following a lead,” Maria replied.

“What lead?” Pascal asked.

Maria moved to her side. “He said he'd let me know if it came to anything. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“I'll take it over from here,” the new lieutenant said, effectively cutting her off. “Thank you, Maria.”

“Who here can get me up to speed on the way over?” Pascal asked.

Simms offered. “I can, I guess.”

“You're driving,” Pascal told Simms.

“And feel free to join us when you locate your partner,” she said to Maria, before asking Matthews, “Would you like to come with us, Captain?”

Matthews smiled. “You seem to have everything under control.”

“Let's go, people,” Pascal said, as they left the squad room on their way to Rudy’s apartment.

After Pascal and her group left, LaGuerta found Angel in the break room, pouring a cup of coffee.

“Where’s Dexter?” she asked.

“He’s in the lab with Musuka,’ Angel told her.

“Doing?” Maria asked.

“Rerunning Cooper’s prints through the criminal database, making sure they didn’t miss anything,” Angel replied.

Maria huffed. “Let’s go see how they're doing. I’ve gotta wait here for Doakes any way.”

When they entered the lab, Angel and Maria saw Musuka, but Dex was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, Musuka, where’s Dex?” Angel asked.

“Don’t know, man,” Musuka answered, not even looking up. “Had a piece of paper in his hand, and said he was going to check on something.”

“Did he leave the building?” Maria asked.

“Yup,” Musuka confirmed.

“Did he take his uniform with him?” Angel asked, suddenly looking worried. 

“Yup, I think it was Gordon, hot on his tail this time,” Musuka told them.

Maria wiped her forehead. “Whew, at least he’ll be safe.”

~~~~

Dexter followed the trail of breadcrumbs and located the shipping container his mother was killed in by searching old photos from the shipyard massacre. He told Gordon he was expecting a shipment of new furniture and needed to check on its status. He instructed the officer to stay in his car, and said he’d only be gone a few minutes.

He walked into the shipyard through the open gate, quickly finding the yard’s empty office. He punched the container number into the computer and easily found its location.  

As he walked through the ship yard, his mind wandered. ‘It's in there somewhere—my birthplace. Now what? No cameras, no patrols, no dogs. So much for the war on terror.’

“Finding a needle in a haystack isn't hard, isn't hard when every straw is computerized. Reefer yard, plug 4-3-6.’

As Dexter headed down the aisles of endless containers, he thought, ‘I don't like this place. Something nameless was born here... something that lives in the deepest, darkest hole of the thing called "Dexter."’

Once he found the right container, Dexter stared at it for a few moments as another flashback popped into his head.

“Get in there! Somebody else—get in there now!” Harry yelled as he carried young Dexter away from the horrific scene.  

“It's all right, little guy. You're safe now,” Harry told the frightened child. “Nothing will hurt you—I promise.”

Dexter steeled his courage. “Okay, Deb... don't be dead,” he said with a quiver in his voice. He flung open the shipping container, only to find nothing but crates of bananas. “Shit!” He cried in frustration, just as someone hit him from behind.

Dexter fell to his knees, but didn’t lose consciousness. He felt himself being manhandled, and he could see through blurry vision, someone dressed all in black wearing a full-face shield.

His attacker kneed him in the groin and punched him in the stomach. Dexter writhed in pain, but again he was saved by someone running to his rescue. He heard the heavy boots of the assailant take off, and someone’s shouts getting closer.

The shipyard manager ran up, slightly out of breath. “Damn it, are you okay? What the fuck was that all about? Let me call the cops.”

“No, no,” Dexter said. “I’m fine,” he told the manager, getting to his feet. “The guy’s gone.”

They looked up in time to see an older model black vehicle speed away down an access road, but they couldn't get a good look at it.

“What are you doing here?” the shipyard manager asked.

Dexter shrugged. "I got a call—said my furniture was here, but all I found was bananas. They must've been mistaken. Sorry about that."

"Ah, yeah, no problem, but are you sure you're okay?" the fellow asked again.

"Yeah, I'm good," he replied, finally able to stand up straight.

Just then Dexter’s phone rang. “Ah, sorry, I gotta go.” Dexter said, taking off toward his car. He didn’t have time to deal with his would-be attacker right now—although—it might’ve been Rudy. ‘Dexter still didn’t think so.’

~~~~

Rudy drove down the road, listening to music, but the screaming kept drowning it out.

“Let me out of here, motherfucker! Let me out of here! Let me out! Let me out! Let me out, you piece of shit! Let me out of here, you fucking piece—aah. Fuck! Let me out!” Deb screamed.

Rudy stopped the car and opened the trunk where he’d stashed Deb, along with the dead guy, whose car he’d stolen. Grabbing the duct tape, he said, “Sorry, but you were drowning out Fred's radio, and he was kind enough to lend us his wheels.”

He pulled off a piece of tape and duct taped her mouth shut, telling her, “Bye!” as he slammed the trunk lid shut.

~~~~

“C’mon, Gordon. I’ve got a gig,” Dexter said, rushing over to the patrol car. “Follow me.”

Dexter drove to the address Musuka sent him, a million thoughts running through his head.

‘His happy place, where he kills more than time—this is where he'd leave me a clue—definitely.’ Dexter thought with a grain of hope.

When he entered the apartment, he passed by LaGuerta and Doakes. The sergeant gave him the evil eye as he passed by.”

Dexter walked into the refrigeration unit, looking around in stunned awe.

 “Hey, Dexter, better bundle up,” Musuka warned him.

“I like the cold,” Dexter replied.

“You know, hypothermia can easily sneak up on you,” Musuka explained.

“Yeah, and so can hypochondria,” Dexter added sarcastically. “And a home setup like this would take years to put together. He must have hated leaving it behind,” Dex said as he intently looked around the unit.

“What are you looking for?” Musuka asked

“A clue, signature, or calling card—anything that might give us a sense of where he went,” Dex replied.

“Well, I don't think he was exactly thinking about us when he did this. I mean, look at this place,” Vince said, waving his hand in the air. “Hey, you were right about the victim at Santa's cottage, though. He rushed his work.”

“He killed that girl to keep us busy so he could escape, but he wouldn't go without leaving us a message. We just need to find it,” Dex said, bending down to look under the table.

“Check this out,” Musuka said, picking up a set of battery cables. “This is where he played with his meat. Pretty whacked out, huh? I can think of 101uses for this table. Know what I mean?” Musuka stated crassly, not realizing what he was saying.

“He has my sister, Vince,” Dexter said incredulously.

“Right. I mean—I didn't mean—sorry, shit,” Musuka apologized.

Dexter went around the corner, spotting the evidence cataloger, he asked, “You're Karen, right?”

The young woman nodded. “That's right.”

“You're in charge of evidence—this entire room—evidence,” he said, whirling his finger as he looked around. “Take photos of every item in its original position: work-kit, packages. Show me the inventory list when you're done,” Dexter ordered as he put on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Is he in charge?” Karen asked Musuka.

Musuka shrugged. “Guess he is now.”

“Hey, have you seen Angel?” Dexter asked Musuka. “Shouldn’t he be here too?”

Musuka nodded. “Saw him back at the lab. He left with Pullman—got a call about a body in a dumpster.”

“Okay, thanks,” Dexter replied as he got to work.

“Okay. Got it,” Doakes said, as he hung up his phone.

“Maria, we traced the name and social of Rudy Cooper to a New Jersey plumber who mysteriously died in '98,” he told LaGuerta.

“You got to be kidding me. After all this, we still don't have an I.D. on this guy?” Maria said in exasperation.

Dexter was nearby getting something out of his kit when he overheard. “Rudy isn't his real name?” Dexter asked in a panic.

“You trying to be smart?” Doakes accused.

“Not trying, no,” Dexter shot back.

Doakes invaded Dexter's personal space, getting right up in his face. “If you fucking know his name, you better—"

Maria stepped between them. “Stop! That’s enough bullshit. We don’t have time for this. I’ve had it. Whatever it is going on between you two, it ends now.”

“What did you find in there?” LaGuerta asked.

Dexter sighed, stepping back from Doakes. “Other than the obvious, a lot of trace bloodstains. It's probably where he killed them all, but I'd like to look at the rest of the apartment before I go.”

“Yeah, okay,” LaGuerta said with a nod.

Dexter walked away and then spotted a record player with Barbie on it. “You mind if I...?” Dex asked the tech processing it.

“Be my guest,” the tech replied.

Dexter carefully opened the player. ‘It's perfect—right out in the open. At least he's consistent,’ Dexter thought.

“Was there anything else near this record player?” Dexter asked the tech.

“Yeah, a fucking doll sitting on top,” he said, handing Dexter a Barbie doll wearing an apron.

Dexter stared at the doll. ‘Home sweet home’, he read the words on the apron. ‘Is he taking me back before the blood, to a place where a boy was born? "Home sweet home", but which "home"?’ he asked himself.

Dexter handed the doll back to the tech and walked away with Doakes watching his every move.

~~~~

Rudy dragged a bound and gagged Deb into a garage and told her to get down.

“Down on the floor, please,” he said as she whirled around, trying to find a way out.

“It's kind of foolish, Deb,” he said as he grabbed her and knocked her to the ground. “I don't usually work this way,” he said as he pulled a syringe out of a black bag sitting on the floor.

“Call it an homage to a fellow traveler I greatly admire,” he said as he plunged the syringe into Deb’s throat.

Shaking his head, Rudy thought to himself. ‘This is taking way too long. Time to up the ante.’

~~~~

 Back in his office, Dexter went through his computer files regarding his mother.

Laura Moser—addict, dealer—my mother. Arrested in '69, again in '71. Same address listed both times. 1235 Mangrove Drive. They say home is where the heart is. Maybe this is where I left mine.’

Dexter’s phone rang just as he was about to leave again. “Morgan,” he answered, not recognizing the phone number.

“Dex, you need to hurry the fuck up,” Rudy chastised.

Dexter growled. “You son of a bitch, if you hurt my sister—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, cutting Dexter off. “Come home Dex,” Rudy told him. “But first, you have to go to your apartment. Trust me on this, and I’ll know if you don’t. I’ll kill Deb on the spot—so go now.” Rudy hung up the disposable phone, and made one more call before tossing the phone in the harbor. That was the last push Dexter would get. The rest was in his hands.

It was late in the afternoon, close to six p.m., when Dex rushed out of the station. It was Officer Thompson who followed him out this time. “Sir, where are we going?” his escort asked.

“I’m done for today, so back to my apartment,” Dex said, jumping in his car.

The officer nodded. “Okay,” he said as he walked back to his patrol car and followed Dexter out of the parking lot.

Angel arrived back at the station and went looking for his lover, but another uniformed officer told him he’d already left with Thompson.

“Fuck,” Angel cursed as he headed to the lab.

“Musuka, I had a thought on the prints,” he said, as he approached Vince.

“What?” Musuka asked.

“Dexter and I were talking last night, and Dex said Rudy was a lunatic. God knows what his next move will be, so it just dawned on me.”

Musuka looked at Angel expectantly. “Yeah?”

“Lunatic,” Angel said with excitement. “That’s the key word. It got me thinking. Did you run Cooper’s prints through the psychiatric databases? I need you to run Rudy Cooper's prints against psych, mental, and institution records.”

Vince’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Fuck me!”

Angel shook his head. “Not even.”

“That’s fucking genius, Angel,” Musuka commended. “I’m on it!”

Just then, Angel’s phone rang, he looked down, noting it was Nina.

“Hello,” Angel said. “Everything okay?”

“No, Angel!” Nina cried in a panic. “Someone just called the house and said he was gonna kill me and Auri, and that it was all your fault.”

“What—oh my God—Nina,” Angel cried. “I’m on my way, and I’m bringing backup.

Angel alerted Pascal, and several black and whites followed him to his former home.

~~~~

Dexter arrived at his apartment just as the sun began to set. He knew where he needed to go. He had the address, but Rudy instructed him to come here first. Dexter parked in his usual parking spot, with Thompson parking four spots down because there were cars already parked in the slots next to him.

He got out of his car and hurriedly ran up the flight of stairs to his second-floor apartment. Once inside, he looked around carefully for any clue as to why Rudy wanted him to come here. Finally, he spotted a folded note on his computer that read:

“Come home now, Dex. I’m waiting for you.”

Dexter wore a confused expression as he shoved the note in his pocket and headed to the door. Just then a loud explosion rocked the building, causing Dexter to recoil and cover his head. After getting his bearings, Dexter ran out, watching in horror as Thompson’s patrol car went up in flames. He tried to get to the officer, but it was already too late. The car was nothing but a raging inferno, and he could tell that Thompson was dead.

“Fuck!” Dexter screamed. Clenching his fists at his sides, his wrist brushed against the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. “Oh, no… Deb, I’m coming,” he cried out loud as he jumped in his car and sped off.

Chapter Text

Dexter drove up in front of the house at 1235 Mangrove Drive, got out of the car and went through the gate. As soon as he entered the yard, the flashback hit him full force. He stared at the house for a long moment, while memories of his childhood came rushing back.

“♪ Ring around the rosie ♪
♪ A pocket full of posies ♪
♪ Ashes, ashes ♪
♪ We all fall down! ♪”

“Dexter! Dexter!” his mother called out. He watched her smiling as she searched for him. He noticed her fingernails all painted with different colors. And he saw himself as a small boy hiding behind the bush.

“Where are you, you silly little bear? I'm gonna find you!” she called, looking around the yard. “Where can you be? You silly little goose. I'm gonna find you! You silly bear. Where is my baby? Where is my Dexter? Where are you?” she called again.

“Here!” Young Dexter cried, jumping out from behind the bush.

“Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness!” she said, hugging the little boy tightly. “You surprised me, you stinky little bear. Hey, where could your brother be hiding?”

“Bynie's right there!” Young Dex said, pointing behind a tree.

“Hey, Bynie!” Dexter called out.

“You weren't supposed to tell her,” Brian said, running around behind young Dexter and lifting him off the ground.

“You remember now?” Brian asked as he came out on the porch.

“Bynie,” Dexter said, staring at his brother.

“You always had trouble saying *Brian*,” his brother told him.

“I have a brother,” Dexter said in a state of shock.

“A real brother—none of this foster bullshit. We're blood brothers, through birth and death. Watching mom die—it’s amazing that we survived that, isn't it? The chain saw, the flying body parts, the blood.”

“You were there, too,” Dex said, finally remembering his brother in the container with him.

“Two days sitting in blood before they found us, but you were young enough to block it out. I've never forgotten the day that we were...”

“Born,” Dexter finished for him.

“Exactly,” Brian said with a sigh, almost a relief, as he moved closer to Dexter.

“Where's Deb?” Dexter asked, rushing past Brian and entering the house.

“I waited for you before we got started,” Brian said, following him inside.

“Debra!” Dex shouted, frantically searching for his sister.

“She's not in here,” Brian said, watching Dexter look in every room.

“Deb! Debra!” Dex shouted.

“This is not the way I envisioned our family reunion,” Brian said with a look of sheer disappointment.

“Come on, let's just sit down and have a beer?” He asked in frustration.

“Deb?” Dexter cried as he opened another room and stared inside at the two little boys sitting on the floor.

His memory kicked in as he watched the scene unfold.

“That was the best wipeout,” Brian said as he put a Band-aid on young Dexter’s knee. “You didn't even cry. Next time you try my skateboard, bend your knees, okay,” Brian told him.

Young Dexter nodded and looked up.

“Hi.” Dexter said to the little boy.

“Hi.” Young Dexter replied. “Look out!” he cried.

Brian came up behind Dexter and shot him in the neck with M99. “I didn't want to do it this way,” he said sadly as he gently lowered Dexter to the floor.

~~~~

Back at the station, everyone worked diligently, trying to ID Rudy Cooper. “Okay, let's run his description against Interpol's fugitive list, in case he isn't American,” LaGuerta said.

Angel ran in with Musuka right behind him. “Rudy Cooper? His real name is Brian Moser.”

“Angel, what the hell are you doing here?” LaGuerta asked. “You're supposed to be with your family in protective custody.”

“They’re well taken care of,” Angel assured. “Nina and Auri are at a safe house, so I came back here to see if Musuka had any luck.”

“I got a hit on his prints from a Tampa mental hospital where he grew up,” Musuka supplied.

“He was institutionalized for antisocial personality disorder,” Angel added. “At 21, they said he was cured. They released him.”

Run the name "Brian Moser" for credit cards, bank accounts, real-estate holdings—anything that might tell us where he's got Morgan,” Doakes instructed.

“Listen up…” LaGuerta started to say, but was cut off by Pascal.

“We've triangulated Officer Morgan's cellphone,” she told the officers in the bullpen. “Last known location—20 miles off the coast, which means he's got her on a boat.”

“Lieutenant, we have his real name,” LaGuerta interjected.  “We're digging into his records now.”

“His name's not gonna help us find him in open water,” Pascal said dismissively. “I want a coordinated search with the coast guard.”

“Waste of time,” LaGuerta mumbled under her breath.

“Chain of command,” Doakes whispered to her.

“Flyovers, helicopters, whatever it takes,” Pascal ordered.

“Lieutenant, that signal died last night,” LaGuerta tried to reason with her. “By now, he has most likely taken her to his final location.”

“Noted,” she replied curtly. “Let's get busy, people.”

LaGuerta followed Pacal into her former office. “Flyovers look good to the press, but they won't find Morgan.”

“You think the press matters to me?” Pascal asked.

“It matters to Captain Matthews, and he calls the shots,” LaGuerta countered. “Look, I know you need to define yourself here, and putting me in my place is one way to do that, but one of our own is missing, and we shouldn't waste our time pissing on trees,” she implored.

Pascal nodded. “I agree. I can also see why you were reassigned, and it has nothing to do with incompetence and everything to do with the captain trying to save his job.”

“Okay,” Maria replied with a dubious look.

“Now, I was hired with the directive to not make your life easy,” Pascal said with a small smirk.

“So you're gonna ignore the lead?” LaGuerta asked.

“You don't know me very well, but luckily for Officer Morgan, neither does the captain.”

Just then Simms ran into the office. “We’ve got an explosion reported at Dexter Morgan’s apartment complex—local precinct is on the scene.”

“Angel overheard and ran in. “Dexter, any word on Dexter?” he asked in a panic. “What the fuck!”

“Take it easy, Angel,” Maria told him.

“Come on,” Pascal said, jumping up. “Let’s get to the scene.”

When Angel and the rest arrived, local police and a SWAT team were already gathering evidence. Angel, Doakes, and LaGuerta ran up to Dexter’s apartment, but they found nothing—Dexter was gone.

Simms entered the apartment wearing a scowl. “That was Thompson in the burned-out patrol car. He was assigned to Morgan tonight.”

“Fuck! Doakes cried. “Morgan did this! I tried to tell you he was involved with the Ice Truck Killer!”

“Swat is playing the surveillance tape from the camera at the far end of the parking lot. You all need to see it,” Simms stated adamantly. “It doesn’t appear that Dexter’s involved.”

The group headed for the mobile command center and climbed inside, nodding to the Tactical Team Commander.

“We’ll run it back for you,” Commander Reyes said as he rewound the tape and hit the play button. “Mind you now, it’s not terribly clear, but we’ll get it enhanced.”

“What camera is this from?” Pascal asked.

“It’s from the only camera in the parking lot, way in the far-right corner. It’s a good distance from where the explosion occurred, but we can still make it out to a certain degree,” Reyes stated.

As the video played, the grainy image flickered on the monitor, showing the dimly lit parking lot. Shadows moved in and out of the frame, but nothing seemed suspicious at first glance. The group leaned forward, their eyes glued to the screen, the tension palpable in the air.

Reyes adjusted the playback speed, slowing it down for clarity. “This is where Thompson’s car was parked,” he pointed out, highlighting a spot on the screen. “Let's see if we can spot anyone else in the area.”

“There’s Morgan,” Pascal said, pointing at the screen. “He just got out of his car and he’s heading toward his apartment.”

The video showed a couple of other tenants passing through the lot, oblivious to the impending chaos. Suddenly, a figure darted across the screen. It looked like someone dressed all in black. He came up behind Thompson’s police car and shoved something underneath it. The assailant ran off, heading north, just as a loud explosion rocked the area in the video. The screen jolted, the image disorienting for a second as the camera shook from the force of the blast.

“Rewind it,” Doakes demanded, his voice rising in urgency.

The Swat commander tried to enhance it even further, but there wasn’t much he could do until they got the tape back to the lab. “You can’t really make out much detail on the man in black, but it looks like he’s wearing a ski mask,” the commander said, pointing to the blurry image.

“Run the rest of it,” Pascal ordered.

They watched the perp take off again, as the patrol car exploded in a fiery blaze. Moments later, they saw Dexter running down the stairs and straight at the burning vehicle. He tried to grab the door handle, just as an explosion from the gas tank sent him reeling back, almost knocking him down. He scrambled to stay on his feet as he whirled around, seeming to look for someone. He threw his hands in the air and headed for his car, which he got into and sped away from the scene.

“I told you he was involved,” Doakes cried angrily.

“Ah, from where I sit,” LaGuerta interjected. “It looks like he tried to save Thompson, but couldn’t get close enough to the inferno.”

“Then why’d he run off?” Doakes snarled.

“He would never leave the scene without a good reason,” Angel said with conviction. “We’re missing something.”

“I agree,” Pascal said. “Something is drastically wrong with this picture.”

“I’m telling you Morgan is involved with the Ice Truck Killer,” Doakes said again.

 “You’re fucking crazy, Doakes,” Angel hissed as they exited the van.

“Get that video cleaned up as much as possible,” Pascal instructed the Swat commander. In the meantime, let’s see what we can find on Brian Moser.”

~~~~

When Dexter came to, he saw that he was duck taped to a chair, pushed up to a table. He looked up into the eyes of his brother, who was sitting across from him.

“Nothing personal,” Brian said, as he sat at the table with a beer in front of him. “I swore that I'd have a—beer with you before we got started. You made that kind of difficult.

“Sorry,” Dexter replied, gazing into his brother’s eyes.

Brian shook his head. “You don't ever have to apologize to me, Dexter. Not for who you are or anything you do,” he said gently. “Looks just like it used to, doesn't it? Brian remarked, gazing around the room.

“Who does it belong to?” Dexter asked.

“Me,” Brian replied, taking a sip of his beer. “I got it for you, actually.”

“I'm really more an apartment person,” Dexter declared.

“You're trapped in a lie, little brother, the same lie they tried forcing me into,” Brian told him.

"They?” Dex asked.

“You know... doctors, therapists, group leaders—what a family they were,” Brian said with bitterness.”

“You were never put up for adoption?” Dexter asked in surprise.

“Afraid not,” Brian said, shaking his head. “You were 3, a little bird with a broken wing. First cop on the scene—Harry Morgan. He wanted to make you all better. But me—I could see it in his eyes. All he saw was a fucked-up kid—they all did, so they locked me up.”

“I didn't even know you existed,” Dexter said, staring at his brother.

“Of course, you didn't. Harry wanted to keep you all to himself. And while you were being raised by the Morgan family, I only had the memory of a family.

“Me.” Dex said introspectively.

Brian smiled softly at Dexter. “Mom always told me to look after you. Imagine how I felt when I tracked you down and found out you were exactly like me.

“I don't have to imagine,” Dexter said knowingly.

Brian got up and grabbed a knife off the table. He told Dexter while he was cutting him loose, “I know what you've been going through all these years—the isolation, the otherness, a hunger that's never satisfied. Well, you're not alone anymore, Dexter. You can be yourself with me—your real, genuine self. Takes the breath away, doesn't it?”

An image of the young child he once was, popped into Dexter’s head. An image of himself being hugged by his brother.

Dexter reached out and gently touched Brian’s hand. Brian gasped at the contact. He leaned in and kissed Dexter on the lips, barely slipping his tongue inside his brother’s mouth. 

Dexter melted into the kiss, waiting for the jolt of electricity he expected to come—the all-encompassing passion of finding a brother just like himself. He waited as Brian deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with Dexter’s as he wrapped his arm around his waist.

Dexter waited until he finally realized—no connection—no spark—absolutely fucking nothing! He pulled back, meeting Brian’s gaze, but he still felt nothing. He remembered the feeling the first time Angel kissed him—the feeling like he was a massive star about to go supernova, but this—this was like his blood turning to ice water.

Brian stared at him. He could see the nothingness in his eyes. “It will come with time,” he said with just a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Was it you who attacked me in the parking lot at work?" Dexter asked quietly.

Brian shook his head. "You're the only person in this would that I wouldn't hurt, but now, I think we're almost ready for Debra,” he said, sliding the knife into Dexter’s hand. He pulled him up, ushering Dexter out the back door, where they crossed the yard and entered the garage.

“I've prepared her just the way you like,” Brian said with a smile. “This time, we'll do it together.”

“Does it have to be Deb?” Dexter asked as he stared down at his sister, lying shrink wrapped to the table, the only family he’d ever known.

“It's the only way,” Brian said, turning up the pressure. 

“But she's my...,” Dexter tried to say, but Brian cut him off.

“Fake sister, I know.” Brian reminded him. “Tell me something... your victims—are they all Killers?”

“Yes,” Dexter responded. “Now tell me something—did you shoot Angel?”

“Dex,” Brian yelled. “He’s not good enough for you. You don’t love him—not really.”

“Harry taught me a code...to survive,” Dexter said, meeting Brian’s eyes. “He taught me not to kill the innocent—only the guilty.”

“Like an absurd avenger?” Brian scoffed.

“That's not why I kill,” Dexter said flatly.

“You can be yourself around me,” Brian declared with conviction. “Who am I?” Brian asked him. “A killer...”

“Without reason or regret,” Dexter cut in. “You're free.”

“You can be that way, too,” Brian assured him.

“What about the code?” I don’t hurt innocent people. You murdered a police officer—blew him up in his car. You shot at another cop—wounding him.”

“Damn it, Dex, you don't have a code,” Brian shouted in frustration.

“Harry did,” Dexter said calmly.

“And he's been dead 10 years,” Brian added. “You can't keep him sitting on your shoulder like Jiminy fucking Cricket. You need to embrace who you are now.”

“I don't know who I am,” Dexter said, looking down at his feet.

“Of course, you don't,” Brian said, moving closer to Dexter and putting his arm around his shoulders. “You've been away from your family since you were 3, but I'm here now. I can help you. We can take this journey together. We’re soulmates, bound to one another for eternity. We kill Deb, then you and I can kill that son of a bitch Doakes on our way out of town. You can pick it Dex—New York, Chicago, LA—we can go wherever you want.”

“I can't kill Doakes, and I certainly can’t kill Deb! Not Deb,” Dexter declared.

“Oh, no. Don't—don’t say that,” Brian implored.

“I'm very... fond of her,” Dex said, looking down at his sister again.

“You can't be a killer and a hero. It doesn't work that way!” Brian shouted angrily, finally losing all semblance of patience.

Brian took the knife from Dexter just as Deb’s eyes fluttered open. He was about to stab her in the chest when Dexter grabbed his wrist and slammed him backward against the wall. They struggled, but Rudy had the upper hand, because Dexter was still fighting the effects of the M99. Brian put Dexter in a headlock, kneed him under the chin, and dropped him on the ground, as he attempted to escape when he heard people outside the garage.

“Morgan!” Doakes shouted.

“Cover the yard! We're going into the house!”

Dexter tried to get to his feet, but he was too weak.

“In the garage!” Dexter shouted, as he held onto the table, that his sister was strapped to, for support, just as Doakes came charging in.”

“Through that door!” Dexter cried, pointing at the door Brian ran out of.

Angel ran in, and immediately rushed to his lover’s aid. Helping him to his feet, he whispered, “Are you okay, baby?”

Dexter nodded numbly, leaning into Angel. “I’m okay, but help me get Deb loose.”

Doakes tried to get the door open, but couldn’t. He shouted for LaGuerta. “It’s locked. “Cover this door! Cover the door!” he ordered as he ran back out the open exit in pursuit of Moser.

“Come on. Stay with me,” Dex said to Deb.  

“Shit.” Doakes cried as he ran around to the other side of the building where the door was.

“Maria, stay on the door. He's trapped inside. I'm breaking in,” he called over his radio. The officer behind him handed Doakes a sledge hammer, and he broke the lock off the outside of the door.

“Cover me, man,” Doakes cried as he ran into the room. He looked around, but didn’t see anyone. “Get in here.”

After searching the area for a few minutes, Doakes finally found a trap door in the floor concealing a hidden tunnel. “Shit,” he cried in frustration.

“Chopper 1 to command—we’re broadening the search to a 5-mile radius,” the pilot called to Doakes.

“Any headache, dizziness?” the EMT asked Debra as they checked her over.

“I'm fine. I just want to go home,” she implored.

“I'm afraid we have to transport you to the hospital—standard procedure,” the EMT told her.

“Are you saying Rudy called you?” LaGuerta asked as she and Doakes grilled Dexter.

“A police officer is dead!” Doakes shouted.

“I know, I tried to get to him,” Dexter said. “Rudy, or Brian—whatever his name is—called me and told me to go back to my apartment first and then come here. He said there was something waiting for me inside my apartment, but when I got there, I didn’t find anything. He told me to come here alone, but I had no intention of going without Thompson. I planned on telling him to hang back once we got to the address. I was getting ready to leave when I heard the explosion. I’m so sorry—I tried to reach him, but the car was nothing but a fireball.”

“I still don’t understand why he called you, Dexter,” LaGuerta said.

 Dex shook his head, lowering his voice so Deb wouldn’t hear him. “He seemed to feel like we have some kind of connection.”

“He's not the only one,” Doakes growled.

“Easy, Doakes,” Angel warned.

“He said he'd kill Deb if I didn't show up alone, so I jumped in my car and came here. Rudy told me he’s the one who shot at Angel. He also said he’d been watching me for a while. He was obsessed, so he kidnapped Deb to get to me.”

“Well, you almost fucking got her killed,” Doakes growled low. “I'm gonna request an immediate suspension when we get back to the station.”

“You're gonna what?” Deb asked, hearing the tail end of Doakes statement.

“Morgan, you shouldn't be out here,” Doakes chastised.

“Are you questioning Dexter?” she asked angrily.

“Morgan,” Doakes said in a loud voice.

“Back the fuck off my brother!” Deb screamed. “He just saved my life! He's a fucking hero! Want each of you to treat him that way, goddamn it!”

Deb stared down Doakes and LaGuerta until Dexter and Angel managed to get her back in the ambulance.

“I gotta stay with her, Angel.” Dexter told his lover.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Angel replied, patting Dexter’s arm. “I’m gonna check on Nina and Auri—okay?”

“Yeah,” Dexter said as he climbed into the ambulance with Deb.

“On the way to the hospital, Dex turned to his sister and said, “Way to go, Deb. I thought you were gonna burst a frontal lobe out there.”

“Assholes,” Deb said as she noticed Rudy’s ring still on her finger. She frantically tugged and pulled at the thing, trying to get it off, but it was stuck on her finger.”

“Stop. You're gonna dislocate it,” Dex said, grabbing her hand.

“Oh, God, get it off me. I'm gonna be sick,” Deb cried.

“Relax. Here,” he said, pulling the ring off her finger.

“He's still out there,” Deb said.

Dexter nodded. “Yeah.”

“And he didn't get what he wanted,” Deb choked out, gazing at Dexter with frightened eyes.

“No.”

“Think he'll try it again?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Dex said, still looking worried. “I'm gonna talk to Captain Matthews about getting us an officer stationed outside your hospital room tonight.”

“No, I'm not staying in a fucking hospital,” Deb replied adamantly. “There's nothing fucking wrong with me.”

“Well, you're not staying at home,” Dexter said firmly.

“Well, I'll just crash with you and Angel,” she said hopefully.

“Let's just wait and see what the doctor says, all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” she said, eyes cast downward.

After a moment, she asked, “why me, Dex? Why'd he choose me?”

“You're just lucky, I guess,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Deb started crying hysterically, throwing her arms around Dexter. “I was so scared. I was so scared, so scared,” she sobbed.

“I know,” Dex murmured, holding her tight.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Dad would be so proud,” Deb said as she clung to her brother.

Later that evening at the hospital, as Dexter waited while the doctors checked her over, his mind wandered back to the events of the night.

“What did I just do? I drove away a brother who accepts me, sees me, for an adopted sister who'd reject me if she knew, and a foster father who betrayed me. That's what it was—a betrayal. The most important single fact about me—I’m not alone—and Harry kept it from me. What do I really owe him after that? But I do owe Angel, for making me feel when no one else could. I don’t understand—it’s insane—but then again, I am a sociopath—for God’s sake.”

“Mr. Morgan? Mr. Morgan?” The doctor called out, looking around the waiting room.

“That's me,” Dexter said, standing up.

“Your sister has a few bruises, but no major injuries. Still, you should keep an eye on her,” the doctor told him. “I'll write a prescription for a mild sedative.”

“But she's okay, right?” Dexter asked with concern.

“She can go home with you tonight, far as I'm concerned, or we can keep her here at the hospital—it’s your choice,” the doctor offered.

“Thanks,” Dexter said with a nod. “I think she should stay here tonight, just to be safe. She’s been through a terrible trauma.”

“I understand,” the doctor replied sympathetically.

“I’ll stay with her, though,” Dexter said stoically.

Right after talking to the doctor, Dexter called Angel.

“Hey, baby,” Angel said softly. “How’s Debra?”

Dexter sighed heavily. “She’s okay, but emotionally traumatized.”

“That’s to be expected,” Angel replied.

“How’s Nina and Auri?” Dexter asked.

“There okay, but Auri wants me to stay at the safe house with them until this maniac is caught. Do you mind?” Angel asked hesitantly. “I’ll come to the hospital if you need me.”

“No, Angel, it’s fine,” Dexter replied understandingly. “They’re going to keep Deb overnight for observation, so I’m gonna stay here with her.”

“God,” Angel groaned. “I’ll be so glad when this mess is over. I swear, I’m gonna make love to you for days!”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Dexter said. “But right now we’ve got our families to worry about, so take care of Auri and Nina. I’ll see you soon,” Dexter said as he hung up.

Right now, he wished Angel’s arms were wrapped around him, as he headed towards Deb’s room for the night, but the fight wasn’t quite over yet. He still had to deal with Bynie.

“I feel silly staying here,” Deb said through a huge yawn.

“You’ve been through hell, Deb,” Dexter reassured her gently, pulling up a chair beside her bed. “It’s not silly at all. You need to rest, and this place is safe.”

Deb shifted slightly, her eyes heavy, but still filled with that stubborn spark he knew all too well. “I just wish this wasn’t happening. I hate feeling so helpless.”

Dexter reached out, squeezing her hand. “I know. You’re not helpless; you’re stronger than you think. It’s okay to let yourself feel vulnerable for a while. We’ll get through this together.”

With a sigh, Deb settled back against the pillows, her fatigue and the sedative finally starting to win against the adrenaline. “I just don’t want to be a burden to anyone. You have enough on your plate, Dex.”

“Right now, you’re my priority,” he insisted. “I’d do this for anyone I cared about, but especially for you. So, you just focus on sleep and putting this behind you, alright?”

“Okay,” Deb murmured, the fight slowly draining from her eyes. “But promise me you’ll take care of yourself too. I don’t want to worry about you on top of everything else.”

“I promise,” he said, his tone lightening a fraction. “I’ll grab a coffee or something later. Just get some sleep.”

Dexter waited a while to make sure Deb was sound asleep, before he left the hospital through an obscure exit and made a beeline to Rudy’s prosthetics lab, and then back to his apartment. When he got there, he did a little redecorating, setting up his bed to look like there was someone in it, using several artificial limbs from Rudy’s lab. He grabbed the brown wig from the closet, one he used on another project of his, and stuffed it to look like a head. He then covered it all up and talked to it for several minutes.

“Don't worry. The sheets are clean. We aim to please here at "Chez Dex". I'll be sleeping on the couch with a spring in my side just to make sure you're safe tonight, but... we're gonna have to talk tomorrow about a long-term plan, after you get a good night's sleep. Deb?” he said, stroking the brown wig lovingly. “Good night, sister.”

Dexter made the couch up for himself, and settled down for the night. Later, sometime after midnight, Brian picked the lock on Dexter’s apartment door. He stopped and gazed at his brother’s sleeping form, before heading into the bedroom.

Brian stabbed Deb in the back, but feeling the knife give too easily, he pulled back the covers, only to find out he’d been tricked.

Dex grabbed Brian from behind, pulling a wire tight around his throat. “I stopped by your prosthetics lab after I left Deb at the hospital,” Dex told him as they struggled.

“Your work's so good, you even fooled yourself,” he said as he tightened the wire further.

“Sweet dreams, Bynie,” Dex said as Brian went limp in his arms.

Dexter took Brian back to his apartment and set him up for the kill.

Brian opened his eyes and looked around, recognizing where he was, just as Dexter entered the freezer carrying a box. “Hey,” Brian said, staring at his brother.  

Dexter sighed and looked at the ceiling. “You weren't supposed to wake up.”

“I guess not,” Brian replied stoically. “Sorry.”

Police recorded all your knives as evidence,” Dexter said, grabbing a galvanized steel tub and placing it under the kill table. “Took a while to find your dinner flatware.”

“Sterling. I keep it for special occasions,” Brian said calmly.

“Which you are,” Dexter said regretfully. “I can give you more tranquilizer if you want. It's a service I don't usually offer.”

Brian smiled. “What am I—one of your victims now? You going to collect a little sample of Bynie's blood for your slide collection?”

“No, you're not a trophy... but you need to be put down.” Dexter said with conviction.

“Why? Because of your code?” Brian asked incredulously.

“The safety of my sister,” Dexter said, looking into Brian’s eyes.

“She's not your real sister. She's a stranger to you, and she'll always be one. I tried to help you by killing her, because I’m your true soul mate. I gave you my heart, and you were supposed to give me your soul in return,” Brian said accusingly.

“I know that!” Dexter said, raising his voice.

“You should know, this isn't easy for me. You've done more to deserve my knife than anyone,” Dexter said sadly, resting his forehead against Brian’s. “You're the only one I ever wanted to set free.”

“You're the one that needs setting free, little brother. Your life is a lie. You'll never be what you—” A crying Dexter cut off his words by slashing Brian’s throat.

“Sorry. I can't hear any more... 'cause you're right,” Dexter said to Brian’s lifeless body. Dexter sank back against the wall as he tilted the table and watched his brother bleed out. He regained his composure quickly, setting the room up to look like a suicide, and then made his way back to the hospital before Deb ever woke up.

~~~~

“How did you know he was here?” Musuka asked LaGuerta as they processed the room.

“A neighbor saw the door open,” she replied.

“We got his fingerprints on the knife, a note on the fridge, and a single incised wound to the neck. Slight upward angle. Even a stigmata of hesitation in the stroke. Looks like a clear suicide,” Musuka declared.

“LaGuerta shook her head, following Musuka’s gaze. “He does himself the same way he did the hookers. Poetic.”

“Retarded,” Musuka said, clearly unimpressed. Look at him—he’s dead.”

“The ice-truck killer always flaunted his kills like he was untouchable. By taking his own life, he's preventing us from ever catching him,” LaGuerta stated with obvious contempt.

“I don't care why he did it,” Musuka said, staring at the Ice Truck Killer. “I'm just glad he did.”

~~~~

The next morning, Deb was released from the hospital, and both she and Dexter went to the station to give a statement. Lieutenant Pascal interviewed them separately. Doakes and LaGuerta sat in on both interviews, with Angel staying by Dexter’s side.

“Is there a reason you’re here, Detective Batista?” Pascal asked.

“I asked him to come,” Dexter responded. “Can he not stay?”

Pascal shot a look at LaGuerta, who gave her a slight nod. 

“It’s fine,” Pascal said, glancing between the two men. “Now, tell me from the beginning exactly what happened.”

Dexter nodded and began relating his tale. “I didn’t want to go into all of this last night in front of my sister. She’s been through enough.”

“I understand. Now, what happened?” Pascal asked again.

“Late in the afternoon or maybe even early evening, my phone rang. I think it was close to 6 p.m.—it was Rudy—or Brian. He said I had to come to 1235 Mangrove Drive or he’d kill Deb. He told me to go home to my apartment first, because he left something in there for me. He said not to alert anyone, because he was watching my every move, and he’d kill Deb on the spot if I did anything stupid.” Dexter paused clutching at his chest.

“Take your time, Mr. Morgan—Dexter—may I call you Dexter?” Pascal asked.

“Of course,” Dexter replied with a nod.

“Would you like some water?” she asked.

“How about a blanky, or maybe you’d like Angel to hold your hand,” Doakes growled.

“That will be enough, Sergeant Doakes,” Pascal said with quiet authority. “Dexter, please continue.

LaGuerta shot Doakes a warning glare, so he wisely shut up.

Dexter took a deep breath. “I did what Rudy told me, trying to figure out how to alert Thompson without giving myself away. We drove to my apartment, and I ran inside looking for whatever Rudy supposedly left me, but I couldn’t find anything. I was about to leave when I heard the explosion. It rocked the whole building. I ran outside and saw Thompson’s patrol car on fire. I tried to get to it—I swear I did—but the flames were too hot. The car was a giant fireball, and then the gas tank exploded, throwing me backwards.”

“We know,” Pascal said. “We have that on video tape. Please, go on.”

“At that point, I sort of went on autopilot. I jumped in my car and drove to the address he gave me. I ran into the house. It was unlocked, and I searched room by room for Deb, but I couldn’t find her. That’s when Rudy snuck up behind me and stuck a syringe in my neck. When I woke up, I was duck taped to a chair at a table and Rudy was sitting across from me drinking a beer.”

“So, you just ran into a serial killer’s house—unarmed—and unprepared for what you might find?” Doakes asked harshly.

“All I could think about was my sister—and any good judgment I might’ve possessed—went out the window.”

“Okay,” Pascal said, raising an eyebrow at Doakes. “What did he say to you?”

Dexter cleared his throat, as Maria handed him a bottle of water. He nodded gratefully. “Thanks,” Dexter said, taking a large sip of the water. “Shaking off his anxiety, Dexter continued.

“He told me he’d been watching me for quite a while, and that I was his long-lost soulmate from a previous life.”

“That’s crazy!” Angel interjected.

“Tell me about it,” Dexter said with a visible cringe. “He said something like, he gave me his heart, and he wanted my soul in return. He said we could run away together as soon as we killed Deb.”

“He asked you to kill your sister?” Doakes shouted.

Dexter flinched. “Yes, that’s what he said.”

“How did you respond? Pascal asked.

“I told him, sure, and that I was attracted to him too.”

“Say what, Morgan?” Doakes shouted at him, taking a step forward.

“I was lying to him,” Dexter replied, holding his hand out in front of him and recoiling from Doakes. “I just wanted him to take me to my sister—and it worked—he cut me loose.”

“Then what happened?” Maria asked.

“He pulled me to my feet and took me out to the garage. I saw Deb strapped to the table, and I could see she was still breathing. Rudy said: “Let's kill her together, and then we can leave and start a new life somewhere else.”

“And,” Pascal encouraged.

“And then I said: “No! You’re a psycho.” I told him he’d murdered a police officer and wounded another. I told him that no matter what he did, this would end badly for him. He got angry. He raised the knife to stab Deb, but I grabbed his wrist and we started to struggle. He clobbered me pretty good, because I was still woozy from the drugs. He dropped me on the floor and ran through a side door. That’s when I heard noises coming from outside, and I screamed: ‘In the garage.” Doakes ran in at that point, and you all know the rest.”

“You expect us to believe that cockamamie story?” Doakes asked, shaking his head incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell us all this last night?”

“Because my sister was within earshot, and I didn’t want her to know that her fiancé was obsessed with her brother,” Dexter said, raising his voice slightly.

Angel could see the tension in his lover’s face, and knew Dexter was near his breaking point. 

“Would you be willing to take a polygraph test, Dexter?” Pascal asked mildly.

Dexter stared at her wide-eyed. “Yes, yes, absolutely,” he replied animatedly. “Set it up—I’ll take it right now.”

Pascal smiled softly. ‘Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, just yet. Some of the evidence does seem to corroborate your account.”

“I can’t believe you're just gonna let him off scot-free,” Doakes hissed. “He was probably fucking the Ice Truck Killer behind his sister’s back!”

Dexter gasped, shaking with rage as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Angel got to his feet, but Maria stepped in between them. “James, I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Sergent Doakes, I'm putting a written reprimand in your file,” Pascal said, shooting him a scathing look. “Dexter, that’s all we need from you, but I want to thank you for your cooperation.”

“C’mon Dex,” Angel said, helping his still shaking lover up. As they left Pascal’s office, Debra saw that Dexter was distraught, so she charged in shouting, “What the fuck did you do to my brother?”

“Deb,” Dexter called out. “I’m fine, so let it go.”

After Deb’s interview, Pascal shooed everyone out of her office except Maria. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on between Morgan and Batista?”

Maria took a deep breath and shook her head, sighing heavily. “They’re in love."

Chapter Text

Two weeks after Brian Moser was discovered dead in his own apartment, Dexter attempted to come to terms with the fact that he’d murdered his own brother. To make matters worse, he now shared a home with his lover and his "fake sister." The department also cancelled the police protection surrounding Angel and Dexter after Pascal and everyone else concluded the Ice Truck Killer was responsible for Dexter’s attack in the station’s parking lot. However, Dexter wasn’t so sure. Bynie told him he didn’t do it, so why would he lie?

“Deb,” Dexter said as he and Angel set dinner on the table. “We picked up all your stuff from your old apartment, and we put your furniture in storage. Um, since you can’t bring yourself to go back there—what are you going to do?”

Deb grabbed a roll off the platter, slathering it with butter, before rolling her eyes at Dexter. “You just want to get rid of me—is all.”

“Don’t be silly, Debra,” Angel said with a nervous laugh. “It’s been great having you here this week, but don’t you feel a bit cramped?”

“I’ve looked through the ads, but so far nothing’s jumped out at me,” she said around a mouthful of picadillo.

“Well,” Dexter said with a sigh. “Since no one else has a solution to our overcrowding problem, I guess I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

Angel smiled at his paramour. “What exactly do you have in mind, baby?”

Dexter took a long sip of beer. “So glad you asked,” he replied with a smirk. “I spoke to my landlord and told him I needed a bigger place. He said the end unit on this same floor would be opening up in another month. He’s doing a reno on it, but said we could have it when it’s finished. It’s a two bedroom, 2 and a half bath unit. Well, what do you think?” he asked Deb and Angel expectantly.

Deb’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she processed Dexter's suggestion. “A two-bedroom?” She wiped her hands on a napkin, clearly intrigued but hesitant. “You really think I should stay longer? I don’t want to impose on you two.”

Angel jumped in, his enthusiasm bubbling over. “No way, Deb! You’re not imposing at all. We love having you around! Plus, think of it this way: you’ll have your own space, and we can still hang out as much as we want.”

Dexter nodded in agreement, a smile creeping across his face. “Exactly. You can set up your room however you like, and we won't be all on top of each other. It’ll be perfect—no more air mattress on the floor.”

Deb glanced back and forth between her brother and Angel, contemplating. “I mean, it’d be nice... are you sure? I already feel like a freeloader staying with you guys.”

“Stop it!” Angel laughed lightly, reaching over to squeeze Deb’s hand. “You’re family. You can hardly put a price tag on that. Plus, this might be the opportunity you need to start fresh.”

“Yeah, Deb,” Dexter added, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, you’re gonna have to pay your share. The new apartment is a lot more expensive, so we’ll have to split the rent and utilities three ways. Will that be a problem?”

Deb took a deep breath, feeling a sense of warmth from their support. “I mean, I do like the sound of it, and between the three of us, I think we can swing it.”

“Great,” Dex said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll tell the landlord we definitely want the apartment. But there’s something else though,” Dexter said hesitantly.

“What now?” Deb grumbled. “I promise, I’ll try to be neater.”

Dexter laughed. “No, that’s not what I want to talk about. Angel and I have tomorrow off, so we were gonna take a day trip, but I’m worried about leaving you here by yourself. Do you think you’ll be okay for a few hours?”

Deb shrugged. “Or I could just come with you?”

Dexter shot Angel an exasperated glance. “I’m gonna be blunt, Deb. Our day trip was gonna consist of booking a room at the Econo Lodge down the road for four or five hours.”

Angel spit out a mouthful of beer, coughing and sputtering. He choked out, "Dexter!”

“Baby, you can't just say that in front of her!” Angel wheezed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he struggled to regain composure. “What is wrong with you?”

Deb raised an eyebrow, a mixture of incredulity and amusement on her face. “So, you're saying I don't fit in with your Econo Lodge itinerary?”

“That's exactly what I’m saying!” Dexter replied, his cheeks flushing slightly.  

Deb snorted. “Look, I get it. I’ll be fine. Enjoy your mini-vacation—or whatever you’re calling it. I know I’ve put a damper on—things.”

Angel, finally regaining his composure, shook his head vigorously. “No, no. We love having you here! Don’t worry about it, Deb. Next time, we’ll plan something as a group!”

Deb smiled, appreciating their concern. “You guys are sweet. I’ll really be okay. I can binge-watch some shows and catch up on laundry. Seriously, go have fun!”

"Alright," Dexter said, looking a bit more relaxed. “Thanks for being understanding. We’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Yeah, we'll think of a fun outing for all three of us soon,” Angel added, raising his beer in a toast to their togetherness.

“I just wish they’d let me go back to work,” Deb sighed. “There’s not a fucking thing wrong with me!”

“Give it time, Deb. Just two more weeks off,” Dexter encouraged. “Pascal wants to make sure you get the time off, and the therapy you need. The next two weeks will fly by—you’ll see.”

Deb rolled her eyes again, but smiled despite herself. “I know they mean well, but it feels like I’m stuck in limbo. I just want to get back to my normal life, you know?”

“You will,” Angel assured her. “Practice your cooking skills by making us dinner when we’re working,” he suggested.

Deb frowned. “I don’t want to end up in jail for poisoning someone.”

Angel laughed heartily. “It’s good. You’re making jokes—see you’re doing better already.”

Dexter groaned. “I don’t think she was kidding about the poisoning.”

Deb chuckled, the tension in the room easing a little. “Well, if I do end up poisoning someone, I guess it’ll be a real-life episode of ‘Cooking with Deb’—the dark edition,” she quipped, playfully raising an eyebrow.

“Just make sure to wear a good apron,” Angel grinned. “You know, one of those that says, I Brake for Cake.’”

“Or ‘Caution: May Contain Lethal Ingredients,’” Dexter added with mock seriousness. “That would really set off some alarms.”

The trio laughed, and for a moment, Deb felt lighter, the weight of her situation lifting, however briefly.

After dinner, a couple of more beers, and a movie, the group retired for the evening. Deb still had the bed, Dexter took the couch, and poor Angel was relegated to the air mattress, but Dexter knew that would change, even if it did take them a month to get into their new apartment.

“Good night, baby,” Angel whispered.

“Good night, love,” Dexter replied. “Until tomorrow—and our trip to the Econo Lodge.”

“It can’t come soon enough,” Angel commented.

Dexter snickered. “Exactly!”

~~~~

Dexter booked the room at the Econo Lodge for the whole night, even though he and Angel only intended to be there a few hours. After making sure Deb had snacks and movies to watch, he and Angel left for the motel.

“Call if you need anything,” Dexter managed to say, but kept his fingers crossed that she wouldn’t have to.

“I’ll be fine, so have fun,” Deb shouted with a grin on their way out the door.

Dexter thought to himself, ‘Oh, I intend to.’

“What’s in the bag, love?” Dexter asked his boyfriend as they drove to the motel.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, baby—it’s a surprise,” Angel replied with a smirk.

Dexter laughed. “What am I in for—sex, drugs, and rock and roll?”

“No. Just sex, sex, and more sex,” Angel drawled, running his hand up Dexter’s thigh.

Dexter booked a ground floor room near the far end of the motel, and once inside with the door securely locked, they quickly stripped out of their t-shirts and sweat pants.

“No underwear, baby,” Angel purred as he shoved Dexter down on the bed. “Bold—I like it.”

Dexter chuckled. “I wanted to break the world speed record for getting naked.”

"I believe you did it, baby,” Angel said as he covered Dexter’s body with his own, and attempted to suck every ounce of air out of his lungs with a searing kiss.

Angel moved onto his neck, peppering kisses from behind his ear to the hollow of his throat. Dexter groaned as Angel wedged a knee between his legs, pulling him up on his thigh as they frotted together.

“Oh, God, Angel,” Dexter moaned. “How long has it been since you fucked me—feels like years.”

Angel snickered. “Don’t think it’s been quite that long, baby.”

Angel’s tongue followed a path to Dexter sensitive nipples, swirling his tongue around each one, alternating between licking and sucking.

“I need you now, Angel, please,” Dexter begged as he continued to ride Angel’s thigh.

“No, no, baby,” Angel balked stubbornly. “I’ve got to prepare you… it has been a bit longer than we usually go.”

“Like—eight hours—” Dexter sighed breathlessly.

Meanwhile, outside the motel, the lovebirds never notice the burgundy Mercury that followed them at a safe distance. Once Angel and Dexter got inside the room, Doakes discretely placed a contact listening device on the wall beside their door, in an inconspicuous spot, and returned to his car to spy on the oblivious couple. He also had a pair of super high-powered binoculars with him, so he could just get glimpses of the pair through the small crack in the curtains.

Back inside, Angel prepared Dexter carefully, beginning with one finger and adding others gradually.

Dexter arched his back, moaning loudly at the sensations Angel created. He threw his head back, exposing his neck, and closed his eyes tightly.

Angel continued to tease Dexter mercilessly, using his fingers, tongue, and lips to drive him wild with desire. He leaned down to kiss Dexter's mouth, their tongues tangling together in a heated dance.

Meanwhile, Doakes watched from outside, his heart beating faster as he saw the passion between them. He adjusted the binoculars to get a better view, and felt a twinge of jealousy rising within him.

Inside the room, Dexter could no longer bear it and begged Angel to take him. Angel smiled wickedly and slowly slipped inside, moaning at the tightness of Dexter's body around him.

They began to move together, their bodies in sync as they found their rhythm. Angel gripped Dexter's hips, urging him to meet every thrust. Dexter dug his nails into Angel's shoulders, arching his back in pleasure.

They moved together, lost in the moment, their breath coming in short gasps as they approached their climax. Dexter cried out as Angel picked up the pace, his mind filled with images of their love and the future they planned together.

Angel groaned loudly, feeling the tension build inside him before he exploded; his body shaking with mindless la pasión as he spilled his seed in Dexter’s tight passage. Dexter wrapped his legs around Angel, pulling him deeper as he wrung the last drop of come from his lover’s body. Angel stroked Dexter’s shaft roughly, fisting it hard and fast until Dexter’s warm come splashed across his chest. “Fuck,” Dexter shouted, his body writhing in the aftermath of their all-consuming passion.

“Damn, baby,” Angel groaned, pulling Dexter flush against his chest. “It really has been too long, ‘cause I wanted to last longer than that, but next time I promise it’ll be slower.”

As Dexter and Angel recovered from their passionate love-making, Dexter couldn't help but wonder what surprises Angel had in store for them. He eagerly anticipated finding out as he rolled over to face Angel, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"So, what's in the bag, love?" Dexter playfully nudged Angel with his elbow.

Angel grinned mischievously, his hands running down Dexter's toned stomach. "Come here, baby," he whispered, pulling Dexter closer. "I think it's time you found out."

Dexter leaned in, his lips brushing against Angel's as he felt the warmth of his lover’s body envelop him. With a sly smile, Angel reached over to the bedside table and retrieved the small bag. He grinned as he pulled out a fat dildo, cock ring, and some nipple clamps.

"Oh my God, Angel!" Dexter gasped, his eyes widening in surprise. "Are those for me?!"

Angel chuckled, running his fingers through Dexter's soft waves. "We’ve been denied too long, so let’s live a little."

Angel pushed Dexter back down on the bed and clipped the sparkling gold nipple clamps on his pert nubs, and then slid the cock ring over his shaft that jumped with renewed interest.

Dexter watched with hooded eyes as Angel slicked the dildo up with lube. Angel bent down to kiss Dexter deeply as he slowly inserted the dildo, inch by inch, into Dexter’s tight passage. Dexter moaned loudly, his head thrashing back and forth on the pillow. Angel took control, setting a steady pace as they both lost themselves in the pleasure.

Their bodies moved together, synchronized in their lustful dance. As the dildo hit Dexter's prostrate, he arched his back and groaned, his fingers digging into the sheets. Angel watched him, his heart racing with desire. He leaned down, taking one of Dexter's hard nipples into his mouth, sucking around the clamp as he picked up the pace.

Dexter cried out, his voice hoarse from pleasure. His hips bucked against Angel's hand, begging for more. Angel increased the speed, driving the dildo deeper into Dexter's body. Dexter's walls clenched around it, milking it with each thrust.

Their breath came in short gasps as they approached their climax. Angel groaned loudly, feeling the tension build inside him before he exploded, his body shaking as he frotted against Dexter’s inner thigh.

“Please, Angel—need to come!” Dexter cried.

Dexter writhed beneath Angel’s comforting weight, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train, as his lover released the cock ring while he squeezed and fondled his balls. He felt the rush of warmth overflowing from him, spilling over Angel’s hand as the larger man removed the dildo.

Angel grinned down at his lover, kissing him open mouthed as he moved between Dexter’s legs. He was already hard again, so he plunged his cock balls deep into Dexter’s well fucked hole, pounding him into the mattress as he assaulted his prostate with every thrust.

“Fuck, Angel, fuck, yes, you feel so good,” Dexter cried incessantly.

Outside in his car, Doakes shook with rage, passion, and pent-up desire as he watched and listened to the couple fuck inside the motel room. He lightly stroked his own cock, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel what Angel felt when he buried himself inside Morgan.

Back in the motel room, Angel let out a long moan, his body trembling with pleasure as he felt Dexter's muscles gripping his cock tightly. He looked down at Dexter's flushed face, their eyes locking in a heated gaze.

"You're incredible," Angel whispered, leaning down to kiss Dexter tenderly. "I love you so much."

Dexter smiled, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Love you too," he murmured, running his fingers through Angel's hair.

They lay together in silence for a while, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Outside, Doakes finally gathered his thoughts, pulled himself together, and removed the listening device before starting the engine, preparing to leave.

As he drove away, he couldn't help but feel a sense of jealousy towards Angel. It was clear that Dexter was deeply in love with him, and Doakes couldn't understand why Angel went for Morgan in the first place. However, after listening to their intensity, Doakes finally realized that Morgan was obviously hell in bed. ‘What to do, what to do,’ he thought as he drove home, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind.

After two more hours of vigorous lovemaking, Dexter and Angel checked out of the Econo Lodge just before 8 o’clock. Arriving home, Deb noted that her brother and Angel wore matching grins.

“I take it, everything went well,” she said with a giggle.

“You could say that,” Dex replied chuckling.

Deb was in the kitchen, spatula in hand, “I’m making pancakes for dinner, so sit down and relax—have a beer. I think I can manage pancakes without poisoning anyone.”

“Thanks, Deb,” Dexter replied gratefully. “Saves us having to order something.”

After a hearty meal of pancakes, sausage, and a couple of beers, Deb, Dexter and Angel watched the last of the new movies Dexter had bought for Deb.

After Deb retired for the evening, Dexter felt especially tender and also rather sleepy, so he curled up with Angel on the air mattress for a little while, letting out a contented sigh.

“Just stay here with me,” Angel suggested. “I like holding you. No need for you to move to that spring-loaded sofa. Honestly, I don’t think Debra will care as long as I’m not blatantly fucking you while she's trying to sleep.”

Dexter laughed. “You just gave me a horrible visual of her watching us fuck.”

Dexter snuggled closer, the warmth of their bodies pressed together on the air mattress. He shifted slightly, feeling the softness of Angel's chest against his back. Even though they’d had a shower, the faint scent of their earlier lovemaking lingered, a reminder of the passion they'd shared just hours before.

"Maybe you're right," Dexter mumbled, his voice tinged with sleepiness.

Angel tightened his arms around Dexter, pulling him closer. "Your body next to mine is never wrong, Dex. This feels... right. Just let me hold you."

Dexter closed his eyes, letting the warmth and comfort of Angel's embrace wash over him. He could feel the steady beat of Angel's heart against his back, a soothing rhythm that seemed to lull him deeper into relaxation.

From inside the bedroom, the faint sound of Deb's TV show murmured through the walls, but Dexter didn't pay it much mind. He was too caught up in the quiet intimacy of the moment.  

"You're getting a little sentimental, aren't you?" Dexter teased playfully.

"Maybe a bit," Angel admitted. "But when you're this close, it's hard not to feel... everything."

Dexter turned his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of Angel's face in the dim light. He could see the faint outline of Angel's smirk, and it made him smile. "You're not getting soft on me, are you?"

"Soft?" Angel huffed, his arms tightening around Dexter’s waist. "Baby, I'm as far from soft as you can get."

Dexter chuckled. “Nah, you’re a softie from the get go.”

As the minutes passed, Dexter felt his eyelids growing heavy, the warmth of the room and the comfort of Angel's arms lulling him toward sleep. He tried to fight it, not wanting to miss a moment of this quiet togetherness, but it was no use. With a quiet sigh, he let himself drift off, the sound of Angel's steady breathing and the faint hum of the TV guiding him into a light slumber.

Angel lay there for a while longer, holding Dexter close, his thoughts a mix of contentment and lingering desire. He could still feel the thrum of their earlier passion, the way Dexter's body responded to his touch. It was moments like these that Angel cherished most—the intimate times when they got lost in each other's presence.

Sleep finally claimed Angel too, his face nestled against the nape of Dexter's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him.

The next morning, Deb woke first and went to the kitchen to make coffee. She smiled to herself, seeing Angel and Dexter wrapped around each other in a loving embrace. Images of Rudy holding her flashed in her mind, but she quickly drove them out of her head.

As the boys finally stirred, Angel reminded Dexter tonight was bowling night. “Deb, you want to come with us?” Dexter asked.

“Bowling—no fucking way,” she stated firmly. “I’ll just stay right here—thank you.”

“What you got against bowling?” Angel asked.

Deb tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Let’s see, stinky shoes, sweaty men, loud cracking noises, awful bar food—what’s not to hate?”

“Bowling is like therapy,” Angel insisted. “You can take all your frustration out on those pins.”

“He’s right, Deb,” Dexter jumped in. “I didn’t think I’d like it either, but I’m actually pretty good at bowling. I was genuinely surprised.”

“Yeah,” Deb said, shaking her head. “I’ll still pass—gonna catch up on some reading.”

Angel chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “You’re missing out, you know. There’s nothing like the sweet sound of a strike.”

“Sweet sound? Please,” Deb scoffed, pouring herself a mug of coffee. “It sounds like a train wreck, not a sporting event.”

Dexter laughed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “C’mon, it’s all in good fun. Plus, I heard they have a new cosmic bowling night with black lights and glow-in-the-dark balls. It could be an adventure!”

“Adventure? You mean standing in a dimly lit alley, waiting to get your turn while dodging drunk people? Sounds thrilling,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“Well, we are in the station league, so we can’t look like complete amateurs,” Angel said, looking out the window while sipping on his coffee. “We’ll be the laughing stocks if the other team skunks us.”

“Deb smirked, secretly amused by their enthusiasm. “You know what? You both go have your fun. I’d rather get lost in my book than witness the ‘thrills’ of bowling night.”

“Suit yourself, but you really don’t know what you’re missing,” Dexter said, chuckling as he stood up, stretching his arms overhead.

~~~~

Later that evening at the bowling alley, Dexter tried to concentrate on bowling, but his mind kept wandering. His Dark Passenger needed a fix, and Dexter wished he didn’t, but Doakes trailed him everywhere now, even when he was with Angel.

“Nice,” Angel cried as Dexter knocked all the pins down except one.

“Nice warmer ball. Now, you can get that spare. Remember. Loose arm swing,” Angel coached.

“Loose. Got it,” Dexter replied as he looked over at Doakes, who was sitting at the bar watching him intently. 

“Yeah, and keep your mind limber too,” Musuka added.

“I'm doing mental Jumping Jacks,” Dexter assured the team.

“Don't forget,” Angel encouraged.

Dexter nodded with a small smile. “Okey dokey.”

‘I'm on edge. I haven't had a single night to myself. Sergeant Doakes makes sure of that. He follows me everywhere. My human bloodhound, incited by the scent of darkness. My best hope of losing him is to act relentlessly normal. Dull. So, I bowl. What's really disturbing is that I'm good at it,’ Dexter thought.  

“Hey, baby,” Angel whispered in his ear. “We need you locked down tonight, huh? We're playing the Alley Cats.”

“I'm a little tense, Angel. But I'll try my best not to let the team down.”

“You gotta think positive, baby. ‘Cause what we think creates the world around us. It's all about energy and interconnectedness. I mean, you gotta think—positive.”

‘I keep trying to change who I am, because I’ve been having this reoccurring dream where Angel and I are old, living in a beach house on some secluded island, but that’s never going to happen if this leopard can’t change his spots.’

“Alright. Dude, just bowl a strike so we can go have some fun at the strip clubs,” Musuka cheered. “I want to see a real 7-10 split.”

‘I wish I could have fun. With Doakes tailing me, my life's been all Jekyll and no Hyde. No moon-lit play dates, no late-night social calls. Not one. My brother would be so disappointed, but then I’ve had Angel to distract me with smoldering looks and an afternoon spent in a cheap motel.’

“Dexter, tell the ball what you need from it,” Angel said with conviction.  

‘I really need... to kill somebody,’ he thought.

“Damn, sorry, Angel,” Dexter said after rolling a gutter ball. “Told you my mind wasn’t in the game tonight.”

Angel smiled. “It’s okay, we’ll get em next time.”

‘Fortunately, my shadow got bored and left the building. Let’s just hope I can lose him tomorrow night. Angel’s working night shift, so I can slip out for a while—if I can get away from Deb. I've known who the next target is—picked him right after I took care of the shrink. I just need Doakes to leave me alone tomorrow evening.’

“C’mon Dex, let’s call it a night?” Angel said, putting his ball back in the rack.

“God, you guys are no fun,” Musuka declared. “You act like an old married couple.”

Both Angel and Dexter smirked as they turned in their bowling shoes and left the building. ‘If they only knew,’ Dexter mused.

~~~~

Dexter got lucky the following day when Doakes was called to a crime scene late in the afternoon, and he wasn’t back by the time Dexter’s shift was over. Lucky at home too, because Dexter found a note from Deb, saying she was gonna spend the evening with Rita. So far, he was batting a thousand.

Dexter walked into the voodoo shop, peeking out the blinds as he quietly closed them and locked the door.

“What do you need?” the proprietor of the shop asked.

“I need to... curse someone,” Dexter responded.

“What kind of curse?” the shop owner asked.

“Death curse!”

Jimmy shook his head. “We don't do that kind of thing here. You can go down to Little Haiti. Find all the Hoodoo Voodoo you need there.”

“You are Jimmy Senseo, high priest, right? The man with God in his mouth. I'm not a tourist. I need a Petro curse, and I heard you were the best,” Dexter said as he placed a wad of cash in Jimmy’s hand.

Jimmy felt the money in his palm. “Thank you for your offering,” he said, going through the beaded curtains into the back room. “Come,” he said, beckoning Dexter to follow.

As soon as Jimmy turned around and laid the wad of cash on a shelf, Dexter injected him with M99.

‘A blind man. Not very sporting, I know. But I'm not one to discriminate based on race, gender or disability,’ Dexter thought.

“What... is... happening?” Jimmy asked when he finally regained consciousness and realized he was strapped down.

“The only pertinent question is: what happened to your victims?” Dexter replied, circling the table.

“What do you want? What are you doing?” Jimmy asked in a shaky voice.

“I can see how this might be confusing for you, Jimmy, but my favorite part's kinda ruined here. This is where I normally show you the innocent people you killed. I brought them along anyway,” Dexter said, gazing at the photographs of Jimmy’s murder victims. “That's part of my death ritual. Since you're blind, I'll just remind you. Emmanuel Azua. Jean-Philippe Peguero. Nono Baptiste.”

“I didn't kill them. I cast them,” he insisted.

“And then a remarkable coincidence, they each die of respiratory failure with fluid in their lungs. I guess murder is one way to make your curses come true. Good for business,” Dexter told him.

“What? What was that?” Jimmy cried fearfully as Dexter slashed his face and put the drop of blood on a blank slide.  

“Just the next part of the ritual,” Dexter answered nonchalantly. “How did you administer the ricin poison to your victims?”

“I am the one with the power in these hands,” Jimmy growled in an otherworldly voice.

“That's not entirely accurate,” Dexter said unfazed.

“Those who believe in me shall be free,” Jimmy continued in the same demonic voice, then switching to some foreign language.

“Knock it off!” Dexter replied, flicking Jimmy in the forehead with his fingers.  

“How do you poison them?” Dexter asked again.

“Not me,” Jimmy swore.  “Madoli, the Petro spirit told me, put the powder in the aguardiente bottles that they buy from me. And I did it.”

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Dexter said appreciatively. “My ritual is almost complete.”

“Madoli curses you! You!” Jimmy growled, but was cut off when Dexter duck taped his mouth shut.

“I'm afraid Madoli's a little late to the party on that one. Appreciate you helping me out tonight, Jimmy. I've been waiting a long time for this. I really needed it,” Dexter said as he raised the knife above Jimmy’s chest.

Dexter tried to bring the knife down, and plunge it into Jimmy’s heart, but his arms seemed frozen in midair. When he finally lowered the knife, he realized he’d struck the table instead of Jimmy. “What the fuck?” Dexter muttered in confusion.

Dexter pulled the knife out of the table and slashed the shrink-wrap that held Jimmy secure.

“Let that be a lesson to you,” Dexter said as he left his victim alive and headed straight to his boat, where he could think in peace.

Dexter’s inner monologue went into overdrive as he sat on his boat drinking a beer. ‘I've always enjoyed my work. It brings order to the chaos, fills me with civic pride. But what was that back there? Not voodoo. When I picked up the knife, it's like I didn't know who I was. I come here to dump bodies, not beer bottles. Now, I'm just a litter bug, but maybe in time I can stop completely.’ he thought as he tossed a beer bottle into the water.

Fortunately, he made it home before Angel and Deb, but as he drove up, he spotted Doakes’ car parked at the far corner of his lot. Dexter groaned internally, but pretended not to notice him.

Dexter went around to his trunk and pulled out a laundry basket with a large comforter inside it. He kept one in his car in case he needed an alibi—there was an all-night laundry down the street. He carried the basket up the stairs to his apartment, never once glancing in Doakes’ direction.

Around 12:30 a.m. Angel arrived home from work. Deb called a few minutes earlier, stating she was staying at Rita’s all night, so he and his lover had the place to themselves for a few hours.

When Angel walked in, he noticed the smirk on his lover’s face. “What’s up, baby?”

Dexter wiggled his behind in front of Angel seductively. “Deb is staying at Rita’s tonight.”

Angel grinned a full out grin. “Well, baby, what do you want to do with our free time?”

Dexter snickered. “Um, maybe we could read a book—or bake some cookies?”

“Right,” Angel responded with a chuckle as he grabbed Dexter around the waist and bodily carried him over to the air mattress.

“I guess you’ve got something else in mind,” Dexter whispered in Angel’s ear as his lover lowered him onto the mattress.

“You could say that,” Angel muttered while divesting Dexter of his shirt. “But baby, I need to take a shower first, because I’m all sweaty.”

“Uh-uh, “Dexter objected. “I like you all sweaty—glistening—and slightly dangerous,” Dexter purred.

“Fuck! Baby! You’re trying to kill me,” Angel growled as he attacked Dexter's mouth in a toe-curling kiss. Angel hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, while never breaking the kiss, as Dexter ran his hands up and down his back. In no time flat, both men were naked and writhing on the air mattress. “You want me dangerous, huh?” Angel murmured in Dexter’s ear.

“God, yes, especially tonight,” Dexter groaned as Angel wedged a hand between his legs.

Dexter's breath caught in his throat as Angel's warm lips grazed the base of his neck, the faint stubble sending a shiver cascading down his spine. The air was thick with the scent of Angel's sweat, a primal fragrance that stirred something deep within him. His hands instinctively reached up, tangling in the damp strands of Angel's hair, tugging gently as Angel's mouth wandered lower.

The faint hum of the TV in the background was a distant echo compared to the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. Dexter closed his eyes, the heat of Angel's body pressing against him, and let himself sink into the moment. But as Angel's hand brushed against his inner thigh, a hint of unease danced in the shadows of his mind. Doakes had been watching, always watching, and Dexter couldn't shake the feeling that even now, in this private moment, he was lurking somewhere.

Angel's lips found his nipple, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Dexter's thoughts fragmented, the tension in his body winding tighter with each passing moment. He wanted to lose himself in this, to let go of the weight of his secrets and the constant guard he kept around himself. But the Dark Passenger stirred, ever present, ever restless. It wanted more, always more.

"Angel," Dexter murmured, his voice low and rough, betraying the strain of holding back. His hands tightened in Angel's hair, pulling him closer. “I need you,” he whispered softly.

Angel growled, the sound vibrating against his skin, and obliged. He hurriedly retrieved the lube from the end table next to the mattress and slicked three fingers at once. The world narrowed to the touch of Angel's hands, the press of his lips, the way their bodies melded together. Dexter's breath came in short, sharp gasps, his thoughts spiraling as the familiar edge of control began to slip. Angel pressed in with all three fingers, watching with hooded eyes as Dexter rode them with wild abandon.

But control was a fragile thing, and tonight, Dexter wasn't sure he wanted to hold onto it. He wanted to let go, to feel the rush of surrender, to lose himself in the storm of their passion. Yet, even as he teetered on the brink, a part of him remained tethered to the shadows, ever vigilant, ever waiting.

Angel's mouth found his again, the kiss fierce and unrelenting, and for a moment, Dexter let himself forget. He forgot about Doakes, forgot about his secrets, forgot about everything but the man on top of him. The world was reduced to touch, taste, and the raw bond that burned between them.

As the kiss broke, Dexter's chest heaved, his heart pounding in his ears. His hands clutched at Angel’s shoulders as he removed his fingers and entered his lover with one massive thrust. Dexter looked up, meeting Angel's gaze, and for a fleeting moment, he felt a sense of peace, of belonging.

Angel set a brutal pace, pressing Dexter's thighs to his shoulders. Dexter's breath hitched with each relentless thrust, his hands clawing at Angel's back as the world around them blurred. He could feel Angel's heartbeat pounding against his chest, a relentless drumbeat that matched the rhythm of his own. All that mattered was the heat of Angel's body, the way he filled him completely, the way their bodies moved in perfect sync. He felt the pressure building, tight in his gut, as Angel's hands held his hips in a bruising grip.

"Harder," Dexter gasped, his voice laced with desire. Angel obliged, driving into him with ferocity as he stroked his leaking cock. Dexter tossed his head from side to side, his mouth open in a silent scream as the tension exploded, ripping through him like a firestorm.

He felt Angel's release moments later, the warmth spreading through him as they both stilled, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the steady thud of their hearts and the faint hum of the TV in the background.

Then, Angel's weight shifted, his lips brushing against Dexter's ear. "You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. God, how I love to watch you come," he murmured low. Dexter smiled faintly, the exertion still heavy in his limbs. But as the haze of pleasure began to lift, the familiar unease crept back in, settling in the pit of his stomach like a stone.

He glanced toward the window, the blinds slightly parted, and for a moment, he could have sworn he saw a shadow there. His heart tightened, but when he looked again, there was nothing. Just the night, dark and endless.

"Let's get a drink," Angel said, pulling away and heading to the kitchen. Dexter watched him go, the sight of his broad back and mussed hair putting a small smile on his face. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, the silence feeling heavier than it should.

His thoughts drifted back to Jimmy Senseo, to the ritual that had gone wrong, to the knife that had hesitated in midair. What was happening to him? He'd always accepted the darkness within himself, what he was. But now, there was this... doubt, this hint of uncertainty that he couldn't shake.

And then there was Doakes, always lurking, always watching. Dexter wondered if he'd ever be free of him, or if this would become his new reality—a life lived in the shadows of someone else's suspicion.

The sound of Angel returning with a beer broke through his thoughts. Dexter sat up, taking the bottle with a small smile. "You think we'll ever get used to this?" he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with a weariness he couldn't hide.

Angel sat down beside him, their shoulders touching. "To what?"

"To all of this," Dexter replied, waving a hand vaguely. "To us."

Angel laughed, a deep, warm sound. "We're just getting started, baby." And for a moment, Dexter let himself believe it.

But as they sat there in the dim light, the enormity of his secrets pressed against him, unyielding and constant. He knew it couldn't last, not like this. Sooner or later, something would break. And when it did, Dexter wondered if he'd be ready.

The following day, Dexter and Angel had the same shift, and as they were leaving, Deb was arriving.

“Good night at Rita’s?” Dex asked.

“Yeah, we watched movies after the kids went to bed,” she said, squeezing past her brother. “How about you guys?”

Angel smirked. “Yeah, not too bad,” he said, shooting an amused glance at Dexter.

“We’ll see you for dinner,” Dexter commented. “But we got to go or we’ll be late,” he said as they left the apartment.

Once they arrived at work, Dexter went straight to his office. When he unlocked and opened the door, he was surprised to see a red heart balloon floating around the room. He stared at it open mouthed before stepping back out into the bullpen and asking, “Hey, who left this in my office?”

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Pascal, Maria, and Angel stared at the red heart balloon floating around Dexter’s small office. Dexter nodded up at the balloon as he asked his lover a silent question. Angel shook his head negatively, with a pinched expression on his face. 

“Check every camera in the building,” Pascal ordered her team. “Downstairs, hallways, outside, parking lot, wherever there’s a camera. One of them will have to show someone carrying this damn balloon.”  

“This is bizarre,” Maria pointed out. “Who could sneak this in here without being noticed?” 

“Another cop,” Angel supplied. 

“No,” Maria disagreed. “A cop wouldn’t do this, not even jokingly.” 

“Dexter, you said Brian Moser was the person who attacked you in the parking lot at work. You were pretty convinced of his guilt.” Pascal prompted. 

“Ah, yeah,” Dexter replied, watching the balloon glide past him. “I was sure up until right now. Things he said all pointed in his direction.” 

Pascal narrowed her eyes at Dexter, sensing his shift in confidence. “What do you mean? You were certain. What exactly did he say again, to make you think he was the assailant?” she asked. 

Dexter sighed, an expression of confusion dawning on his face. “He said things like I gave you my heart, and the ‘see you soon’ remarks on the cards. Rudy used that line on me before. I thought of him as completely deranged, you know? So, I figured it had to be him, but this—this feels personal. Almost… taunting—or humiliating.” 

Angel snarled angrily. “What if this isn’t some twisted joke? Maybe someone other than Moser is out to get you.” 

“Could be,” Maria interjected, her brow furrowing in thought. “But we need to figure out the motive. Who else has a reason to target you?” 

Dexter looked between them, pulling back into contemplation. “There are some in the department who don’t like me. But this balloon… It doesn’t fit. I can’t think of anyone who'd take it this far.” 

“Maybe whoever it is, wants to send a message,” Pascal suggested, jotting down notes in her small notepad. “Not just a threat, but a warning. Think about it; if they could get this balloon inside, how many threats could they sneak in?” 

Angel sighed, frustration evident on his face. “Great, so we’re dealing with a coward who enjoys playing games. How typical. But my gut still says—cop!” 

Pascal nodded thoughtfully. “Musuka, print the balloon, even though I’m pretty sure you won’t find anything.” 

Musuka complied, grabbing the balloon out of midair with a gloved hand.  

“What about police protection?” Maria asked.  

Pascal gave her a pensive glance. “I don’t imagine the department will go for it over a balloon. We lost an officer the last time we gave Dexter protection. I don’t think the captain will approve it this time without more evidence.” 

“I don’t want police protection,” Dexter stated firmly. “I can’t be responsible for someone else getting hurt because of me.” 

“No,” Angel groaned. “You just take the brunt of it yourself. You’d let yourself get hurt while trying to protect everyone else.” 

Dexter sighed. “It’s only a balloon. Might not even mean anything.”  

Pascal's expression hardened. “You’re underestimating this, Dex. If a balloon arrives as a warning, it signifies something more profound. We can’t afford to be complacent.” 

Maria crossed her arms, her brow knitting in concern. “We should at least have a plan in motion. If someone is targeting you, we need to determine how far they’ll go. This could escalate.” 

Dexter glanced at her. “I appreciate the concern, but I can handle this. I’m not putting anyone else in jeopardy.” 

“Angel argued, his voice rising. “You’re just as important as anyone else. We’re a team. If one of us is in danger, we all are. Don’t dismiss this because you think you can protect us by shouldering the burden alone.” 

“Look, I get it,” Dexter replied, frustration creeping in. “But I’m not going to put my friends at risk for a hunch. This balloon could be just a prank. I won’t involve anyone else unless there’s concrete evidence.” 

Pascal leaned closer, her voice insistent. “We need to gather what we can from this balloon and keep a close watch on our environment. Try not to go anywhere alone. Okay?” 

Dexter nodded. “Okay, I promise to be careful.” 

After Pascal returned to her office, her thoughts turned to what Dexter said about people in the department not liking him. Everyone seemed to like him just fine—except for Sergeant Doakes. The sergeant’s dislike of Morgan seemed excessive—maybe even borderline obsessive. She vowed to keep a close watch on the situation, but no other incidents occurred. To make matters worse, the cameras showed nothing at all, and Musuka didn’t come up with a fucking thing on the balloon. 

So, as Dexter predicted, the next two weeks flew by, and that only left another two weeks until they could move into their new apartment. Deb was excited about the move, but more excited about getting back to work. 

As Dexter sat in his office, scrolling through footage about Jimmy Sensio, he thought about the kill—or lack of one. ‘I'll be okay. I followed the code. The stalk was good. I'm just a little rusty since killing my brother. Or maybe I took pity on my victim. I mean, sure, he's a heinous killer, but he also bumps into walls,’ he thought. 
 
“Hey, Sergeant,” Dexter said brightly, bringing up a porn site on his computer as Doakes walked into his office. “Thanks for supporting the bowling team,” he said sarcastically.  

“Fuck you!” Doakes growled. “Where's my blood report on the Maynard victim? So, what's that? A titty site?” he asked. 

“Caught me,” Dexter said casually.  

“Bullshit. What the hell were you really doing in here?” Doakes asked with an evil smile.  

“The tіts are right there,” Dex said, pointing at the screen.  

“But in ten years, you've never rented a single pοrn title. And we both know tits don’t do it for you. I also know you’ve got black belts in Judo and Jui-Jitsu, so the helpless act doesn’t work on me.” 

“How would you know all that?” Dexter asked with a raised eyebrow. “Call me an office crazy, but your humbling interest in my personal life could be misinterpreted as harassment in some circles.  

“So, report me,” Doakes drawled silkily as he grinned and left Dexter’s office.  

‘I could think of easier solutions,’ Dexter thought to himself. “He knows all about my personal life, my relationship with Angel, and my background—how? Or for a better lack of understanding—why? “Could he be my secret admirer?” Dex mused out loud. “Nah, I just can’t see Doakes as the red heart type.” 

Out in the bullpen, Maria searched through drawers at her desk.  

James, you got any misdemeanor A-forms?” Maria asked. 

“Filed in the filing cabinet,” he told her.  

“Can anybody tell me where the goddamn misdemeanor A-forms are kept?” She asked impatiently after not finding one.  

“I've got some right here, Lieutenant,” Deb said with a smile. 

Everyone turned to stare at her, but she simply smirked. “Okay, alright, move along. Nothing to see here, just another fucking day at work.”  

“Welcome back, Morgan,” Maria said in surprise. 

“Thanks,” Deb said, leaning in and giving her a hug. 

“Maria,” Pascal called. 

Maria entered her former office.  

“A tour boat guide called in a body down at the Breakwater. I want you to take Doakes and a support team. And take Morgan. I want to get her back out on the field today,” Pascal ordered. 

Maria shook her head. “She's not ready. Shouldn't even be here. What's it been, four weeks?” 

“Appreciate your concern, but according to her psych evaluation, she's ready to get back out onto the field.” 

“You just gotta look her in the eyes to know she's not right. You put her onto the field, she could melt down, freak out. She hugged me,” Maria said, throwing her hands in the air.   

“Alright, you partner with her today so you can keep an eye on her. That's... not a request. Put Doakes with Batista.” 

“Fine,” Maria said flatly.  

“I know that it's difficult for you to take orders when you feel that you should be giving them. And I really appreciate your professionalism. Thanks.” 

“Thank you,” Maria said as she noticed the bouquet of roses sitting on the floor. “You don't like roses? “ 

“Allergies,” she replied curtly. “Let me know what you find out about that body. “ 

“Okay, guys, listen up. Let’s hit the crime scene. Angel, you're with Doakes. Morgan, you’re with me.” LaGuerta said. 

~~~~ 

Heard your sister's back on the job already. Is she in any kind of shape? Musuka asked Dex as they arrived at the crime scene, 

“Well, you know Deb, nothing gets her down,” Dexter replied.  

“No, I mean, did she pack on any pounds while she was gone, cause last time I saw her, she was tight?” Vince asked with a lewd grin. 

“We got multiple chop wounds, pretty much head to toe,” Angel said, looking down at the body, lying face down on the rocks. 

Alright, you call it. Heads or tails? Musuka said, flipping a coin in his hand. 

“Heads,” Dexter replied, taking up a position at the head of the dead body. 

“Hey, I didn't flip yet,” Musuka whined. 

“You said... call it.”  

“Damn, I always get the ass end,” Musuka complained. “I got sharp force trauma here. Heavy impact, parallel wounds. Maybe an axe.” 

Dexter shook his head. “No, the defense wounds on the forearms are long and linear. I can make out beveled margins. A machete did this.”  

“The machetes are weapons of choice of the 29th St. Kings. The victim was in the gang judging from that tattoo. We think the body was carried from a nearby location.” Doakes interjected. 

“I found a real good blood trail coming down from the road,” Angel added. 

Just make sure we check the dock's lifts for criminal records. It's possible this victim was killed by one of these boat owners out here,” Doakes surmised. 

“Or maybe it was just an easy-access spot to dump a corpse at night. No light poles, and the freeway exit ramp is just a block away,” Dexter said, completely contradicting Doakes. 

“He's got a point,” Musuka said just as he noticed Dexter's shoe in the blood. “Yo, Dex,” he said, pointing to his shoe. 

“You're supposed to preserve the crime scene, asshоlе,” Doakes shouted at Dexter. 

“Hey,” Angel snarled. “You will stop calling him names. I fucking mean it.” 

“Whatcha gonna do—hit me again?” 

“If I need to—and I don’t give a fuck.” 

“For fucks sake, Angel—get a grip,” Doakes huffed as he got up and walked away. 

Angel turned to Dexter. “What's the matter with you today? Are you okay?” 

“Just a little off my game. That balloon thing still has me rattled, and I’ve been having nightmares about the attack, I'll be fine.” 

“Maybe you should talk to someone about it,” Angel suggested.  

Dexter waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve dealt with worse. I’ll work through it.”  

Angel didn’t seem convinced. “You sure? Because I know what it’s like to carry that kind of weight." He searched Dexter’s eyes, trying to gauge how serious his lover was. “You can’t just bottle it up.” 

 “Trust me, Angel. I’m fine,” Dexter replied, though a hint of uncertainty betrayed him. The nightmares plagued him—vivid and persistent—with the balloon incident replaying like a broken record in his mind. Each night, he found himself back in that parking lot, the frenzied buzzing of the taser echoing in his ears, the feeling of helplessness clawing at his gut. 

Musuka, still inspecting the scene, chimed in with an attempt to lighten the mood. “Well, at least you didn’t step in something worse. You’re not the one who’s going to have to explain why there's a shoe full of blood in the evidence locker.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe I should take it off and start a new trend,” Dexter quipped, forcing a smile. But beneath the surface, the darkness was stirring. 

Doakes reappeared, an irritated frown deepening the lines on his forehead. “Are you two done with your little heart-to-heart? Let’s keep our focus where it belongs—on finding this killer, not on your therapy sessions.” 

“God, you’re so insensitive, Doakes,” Angel chastised. “Are you the only one allowed to have issues, Doakes?” Angel said, his tone biting as he stepped in front of his colleague. “Maybe you should try to get a life of your own and stay out of Dexter’s." 

~~~~ 

Deb was over by the docks interviewing the boat owner who found the body.  

“What time did you find the body?” she asked. 

“Seven o'clock. I start prepping the Banana Boat every morning at seven o'clock for the Miami Banana Tour,” he replied with a smile. 

“Banana Tour?” she asked, looking a bit perplexed. 

“It's a Calypso journey through Miami's inner harbor. And you should try it,” he replied, handing Deb a brochure. 

“I'll think about it,” Deb said, taking the brochure. 

“Ain't that the Ice Truck Killer's babe? She was in the paper. She's fucking hot!” One of the spectators hollered out. 

“Did you see anyone else out here?” Deb asked the boat owner.  

“No, not this morning,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Are you sure?” Deb asked again. 

“Yeah, I'd have given him a brochure,” the boat owner assured her. 

“Hey, Mrs. Ice Truck Killer!” One of the guys in the crowd called out. 

 “Oh, God. Hang on, hang on,” Maria said to Doakes as she took a few tentative steps toward Deb, hoping to head off trouble. 

“Just turn around, look scared for the camera,” the guy called again. 

“Well, if you think of anything else, you have our numbers,” Deb said to the boat owner.  

“And you have mine,” the boat owner replied.  “Can I pass these on now?” he asked, waving the stack of brochures he was holding.  

“Knock yourself out,” Deb said as she started to walk away. 

“Just look over here, look scared for the camera,” the irritating guy called out again. 

Deb whirled around fast, and Maria thought she might need to intervene, but Deb held her own, flashing the guy a brilliant smile. 

“Thank you,” he said, thoroughly impressed.  

Just then a screaming woman ran through the crime scene, crying and waving her arms. 

“What, you need help with something? Angel cried.  

Rafael! Where is Rafael?” she wailed. 

“Sergeant! Grab her!” Maria shouted.  

“Somebody stop her!” Doakes growled. “Goddamnit, Morgan, grab her! Can we please secure this motherfucking crime scene?” 

Dexter grabbed the distraught woman and kept her away from the dead body. The woman cried and rambled in Spanish, but Dexter didn’t understand her.  

“What did she say?” Dexter asked, looking at his lover.  

“That's her son,” Angel explained. “She says she knows who killed him. Some guy named Little Chino.” 

“Felt like she was asking me something,” Dexter muttered as Maria and Doakes led her away from the scene. 

“She was,” Angel told Dexter. "She wants you to find Little Chino and kill him like a dog.” 

‘That look... I know that look. Like her mother, she wants someone to do something.’ 

~~~~ 

“Will you please take Eva's statement?” Maria asked Angel. “Set up her daughter Marissa with some crayons,” she told Deb 

“Sure thing,” Deb said, smiling at the little girl. 

‘That girl's gonna need more than crayons to make her world right. Killing Little Chino could restore my world too, but only if he satisfies Harry's code,' Dexter thought. 

After setting up the girl with some crayons, Deb told Dexter, who walked up beside her, “LaGuerta is just jealous the Ice Truck Killer fucked me instead of her.”  

“You’re chipper,” Dex noted. 

“I'm just happy to be back on the job,” she said with a grin. “What do you want?’  

“I’m just working on my blood report from the crime scene today. I wondered what you found on the suspect,” Dexter asked.  

“Cocksucker's guilty as they come. He's an enforcer for the 29th St. Kings, East Side gang, intensely violent. He's been linked to 9 murders in the last five years,” she replied in disgust. 

Dex thought, ‘So far, so good. I just hope he's not blind.' “Has he ever been tried?” 

“Twice. But the witnesses in each case were murdered. We think by Chino himself. Now, people are just too afraid to come forward,” Maria added. 

“Come on, Chino! Right this way,” Pullman said, leading the suspect to an interrogation room.

“Fucking beef bus!” Musuka said. 

‘A challenge. A mountain to climb. I need this one,’ Dexter thought. 

In another room, Angel and Doakes talked to Eva. “Little Chino came to me front door. He ask for me son Rafael. Rafael did not want to go with Little Chino. But he was afraid not to,” the woman told the detectives.  

“What was he going to do?” Angel asked.  

My brother was living in Georgia. Rafael was going to leave me with him. That's why he kill him...”  

"Eva! Are you willing to testify that Little Chino picked up your son on the night of his death?” Angel asked. 

“Come on, don't back down now,” Maria said as she watched the interview.  

“I want him to pay,” Eva replied with conviction.  

“Got him!” Maria exclaimed.  

‘Oh, that's discouraging... With a grieving mother as a witness, Little Chino will never reach my cutting courtroom,’ Dexter thought. 

“Hey, Morgan,” Vince said to Deb as she came back in from taking care of Marissa. “You wanna see something swell? Come a little closer.”  

“And the token has spoken,” she said grinning. “Good to see you too, Vince. I heard we captured Big Foot?” 

"Behold! The 8th wonder of the world,” Maria said as they watched the interview with Little Chino.   

“Am I speaking clearly?” Angel asked. “Then, answer my fucking question, Chino! What time did you pick up Rafael last night?”  

“Last night?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “I didn't see Rafael last night.”  

“Okay. So, why would Rafael's mother make up that story, Chino?” Doakes asked.  

Little Chino growled. “That puta's into the devil's candy, man—fucking heroin shit—that's true. 

“Fuck,” Maria cursed. 

"Eva Raines, two pops for drug possession,” Deb said after running it. “No fucking way—the D.A. puts a drug user on the stand."  

Maria shook her head. “That chulo's gonna walk again.”  

‘But not very far. We'll both be vindicated soon,’ Dexter thought, hoping his Dark Passenger would soon be satiated.  

~~~~  

Deb had the later shift that evening, not getting off until 8 p.m., and Angel and Dexter's shifts ended at 5 o’clock, so they were getting ready to leave for the day. 

“Hey,” Dexter called out to Angel as he walked down the hall.  

Angel turned and smiled at his lover. “I’m getting ready to leave, Dex.” 

“Great,” Dexter replied. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot. I’ve got to drop this report off with Mr. Sunshine before I go. I’ll meet you out there when I’m done.” 

“Okay,” Angel said. “But maybe I should come with you.” 

“Nah,” Dex said, shaking his head. “I’ll only be a second." 

Angel nodded. “I’ll wait for you by our cars.” 

Dexter ran into the bullpen. “Has anyone seen Doakes? I’ve got his report.  

“Yeah,” Pullman said, pointing behind him. “He went to get something from his locker.” 

“Thanks,” Dex said, heading for the locker room. 

Entering the locker room, Dexter looked around but didn’t see Doakes until he was right behind him. Doakes put his arm on the locker in front of Dexter, cutting off his escape to the door.  

“You lookin’ for me, Morgan?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got your report,” Dex said, handing him the manila folder. “I’ve got to go.” 

“Hold on a second,” Doakes said, taking the folder from Dexter. “Let me ask you a question.” 

“What?” Dexter asked, trying to slide around Doakes. 

“C’mon, what's the rush?” Doakes said with a malicious smile. “I just want to know what made you decide to spread your legs for Angel? Huh?” 

“Get away from me,” Dexter hissed. “Let me out of here.” 

Doakes put his hands in the air. “No one is stopping you.” 

Dexter glared as he pushed past Doakes and ran for the parking lot. 

“What's wrong, baby?” Angel asked when he saw Dexter running from the building like the devil was chasing him. 

“Ah, nothing,” Dexter lied. “I was just hurrying, because we’ve got about two hours or so before Deb gets home,” he said with a wink. 

As Dexter drove back to their apartment, he kept thinking Doakes might be his stalker, but why? Doakes hated him, so he couldn’t image the disagreeable sergeant wanting to fuck him. 

After arriving home, Angel grinned. “Quickie first, then dinner?” 

“Quickie in the shower,” Dexter replied, stripping out of his clothes. “Kill two birds with one stone." 

“Have I mentioned I love the way you think?” Angel asked, following Dexter into the bathroom.  

“Maybe, once or twice,” Dexter laughed as he got in and turned on the shower, with Angel spooning in behind him.  

“Mmm, you feel good,” baby,” Angel murmured, running his hands up and down Dexter’s sides.  

Dexter sighed and rubbed his behind against Angel’s groin. “I really need you now.” 

I know the feeling, baby,” Angel replied as he slicked his cock with soap. “I’ve wanted to fuck you all day.” 

“Well, here’s your chance,” Dex giggled. “Fuck me now.” 

Angel pulled Dexter's hips back and lined up his cock, pushing into Dexter's tight heat slowly, due to lack of preparation. Angel groaned as he eased in, the feel of Dexter's warmth surrounding him, driving him mad with desire.  

“Angel, move please!” Dexter sighed breathlessly.  

Angel took a tentative thrust, breath hitching as Dexter pushed back, impaling himself on Angel’s hard shaft. “Fuck, baby, fuck!” Angel cried out as he began increasing his stokes until the entire shower shook from the force of their efforts. 

“Oh, God,” Dexter cried when Angel reached around and palmed his balls, then stroked his cock up and down its length until Dexter shuddered and came with a shout. As Dexter’s ass muscles clamped tight around Angel, he shook from pleasure, spilling his seed deep inside his lover’s silky passage. 

“Fuck, baby! God, how I love you,” Angel moaned, resting his head on Dexter’s shoulder.  

“That was incredible,” Dexter sighed, spent and satiated.  

I’d take you to the air mattress, but I’m afraid we’d just get started and Deb would walk in."  

“Yeah, that’s the way our luck runs,” Dex said as they got out of the shower and dried off.  

“Well, I guess we can cook dinner, so Deb won't think we’ve just been fooling around."  

Dex grinned. “Even if we have. So, what’s on the menu tonight?” 

Angel thought for a minute. “Beef empanadas and fried plantains.” 

“Mmm, sounds great,” Dex said as they threw on some clothes and headed for the kitchen.  

When Deb got home, she was happy to see food ready and waiting, but Dexter noticed she had an odd expression on her face. 

“What’s up? You’ve got a look,” Dexter inquired.  

Deb shook her head as she stuffed an empanada in her mouth. “I don’t know, but I could’ve sworn I saw Doakes' car in the parking lot when I pulled up.” 

“It probably was,” Dexter said with a sigh.  

“Why?” Deb asked with a raised eyebrow.  

Angel growled angrily. “He follows Dex.” 

Deb paused, her mouth full of empanada, her brow furrowing in thought. “Follows him? What do you mean?”  

Angel leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his expression impassioned. “Doakes has been suspicious of Dex for a while now, always lurking around, trying to catch him up to something.” 

Dexter waved his hand dismissively, trying to downplay the situation. “It’s nothing to worry about, Deb. Doakes just has an unnatural interest in me, and he’s always been a little too invested in my life. You know how he is.” 

Deb narrowed her eyes, returning her gaze to Dex. “Yeah, but that doesn’t sit right with me. Why would he be following you? You’ve never done anything to him. Fuck, you’ve never even had a traffic ticket.”  

 “We can handle Doakes,” Angel said, trying to assure her. “But it’s just a matter of keeping our heads down and avoiding him as much as possible. He can’t catch what he can’t see.” 

Dexter nodded, though inside he felt a familiar tension knotting in his stomach. He often felt the need to keep his double life hidden, but with Doakes lurking, that pressure intensified.  

“He’s been acting stranger than usual,” Dexter said, deciding to come clean with Angel about his earlier encounter with Doakes. “When I gave him his report this afternoon, he said something very bizarre. It scared me a little.” 

“Is that why you were running out of work, baby?” Angel asked, suddenly concerned.  

Dexter nodded.  

“What did he say?” Angel asked.  

“It’s what he asked me,” Dex said with a sour expression. “I found him in the locker-room and gave him the report, but he put his arm up and wouldn’t let me leave. Then he asked me why I decided to spread my legs for Angel.” 

“What?! Deb cried. “Dex, that’s insane!” Deb exclaimed, her eyes widening in disbelief. “What a creep! You should have reported him to someone.” 

Dexter shook his head, his brow furrowed. “What good would that do? It would just escalate things. Doakes has already been looking for reasons to come after me.”  

Angel leaned closer, anger flashing in his eyes. “I can’t believe he had the audacity to say something like that to you. You don’t deserve that, Dex. Nobody does.”  

 “I know,” Dex said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “But I can’t let him see how much this gets to me. If he thinks I’m rattled, it gives him more power. I just need to keep a low profile and keep doing my job.”  

Deb looked between the two of them, concern etched on her face. “But Dex, we can’t just ignore it. If he’s that out of control, who knows what he’ll do next?”  

“Exactly,” Angel agreed. “We need to come up with a plan. We can’t let Doakes put you in a corner.”  

Dexter sighed, feeling the intensity of their concern. “I appreciate that, but this isn’t something I want to involve you both in. I handle my own problems, remember?” 

 “But it’s not just your problem now, is it?” Deb pressed. “He’s involved Angel now. You don’t suppose he’s the one who attacked you in the parking lot?” 

“No,” Dex said, shaking his head. “That a crazy notion. He wouldn’t do something like that. I just can’t believe he’d do that. Let’s focus on the food instead,” Dex suggested, hoping to steer the conversation away from Doakes. “How about we finish these empanadas and enjoy this dinner before it gets cold?” 

Deb hesitated, clearly not ready to drop the subject entirely, but as she caught a whiff of the fried plantains sizzling on the stove, her focus shifted. “If he says anything like that to you again, you’ve got to tell somebody! Agreed?” 

“Okay,” Dex said with a nod. “I promise.” 

“If I don’t beat the fool out of him first,” Angel snarled. 

“No, no, and no,” Angel,” Dex admonished. “You’re no good to me in jail.” 

~~~~  

Earlier that same day, off the Miami coast, a father and his sons were scuba diving for pirate treasure.” “OK boys, today's our day. If we find that galley, it'll bring back gold! There's an aberration on the sea floor. The crevice's at 65 feet. I’m positive it’s where the Santa Rosa went down. The crevice's 30 to 40 yards straight ahead. Crevice should be 25 yards ahead. Baring 1-1-4,” the father told his boys, but they didn’t find any treasure. Instead, they found trash bags—lots of trash bags—filled with human body parts! 

 
~~~~ 

Later that evening, Deb called Dexter and Angel into the bedroom to watch the news. “Look at this,” she cried. “You gotta see this,” Deb said glued to the TV. 

‘Mount Pleasant, at 81 and Salem... they've been playing it on the news all night. Treasure hunters made a ghastly discovery today, when they stumbled on what appears to be an underwater graveyard, in a crevasse, off the coast of Miami. There are bodies in those bags. The butchered bodies were submerged inside these heavy-duty garbage bags. Authorities have located at least 30 bags so far, but around the clock salvage efforts are still underway.’ 

Deb looked wide-eyed at Dexter. “Did you hear that? Thirty bags! Do you know what that means? There might be a new mass murderer out there, way worse than the Ice Truck Killer. Maybe I can finally get some peace! Isn't that great?” she asked. 

Angel and Dexter watched with rapt attention. “Wow, that’s wild,” Dexter replied as his heart beat out of his chest. 

Chapter Text

The following day, Dexter worked nine to five, while Angel and Deb both had the late shift. This was the perfect opportunity to go after Little Chino, but first he needed to make sure Doakes wasn’t shadowing him.

“Be careful going home, Dex,” Angel said just as Dexter locked up his office.

“Yeah,” Deb echoed, coming up behind him.

“I feel like a rat in a trap,” Dex said, looking between the two of them. “I promise, I’ll be careful. Has anyone seen Doakes?”

“He’s out on a call with Maria, but they should be back soon,” Deb said, looking around the bullpen. Their shift is almost over, but if he comes in, I’ll try to stall him here.”

“Thanks, Deb,” Dex said appreciatively. “I’d just like to get home without him tailing me for once.”

“If you see anything suspicious, you call me immediately,” Angel ordered. “Some lunatic is still out there trying to hurt you.”

“I’m good,” Dexter said with a smile as he tipped his imaginary hat on his way down the hall.

About a half hour later, Doakes and Maria returned to the bullpen, and Doakes immediately started looking around for Dexter. Deb noticed the sergeant wandering aimlessly and got him talking about the Little Chino case, managing to stall him for another thirty minutes.

After most of the day shift left, the office was quiet, and Maria was filing her reports when Pascal stormed into the room, shouting at someone. 

“There's nothing else to talk about! You are a liar! You lie!” Pascal yelled angrily.

 “Would you stop? You going to act a lot better!” Pascal's fiancé tried to get through.

“If you want me to act better, then you treat me better!" she cried.

“You got these things all mixed up in your head! Listen to me, I love you. Alright? It's all about you! There is nobody else!” he insisted.

“Is that why you sent me three dozen fucking roses? Get out of my sight!” she persisted.

“There's nobody else! I sent you flowers, baby, because I love you.”

“Get out of my sight! I've got nothing else to say to you, until you decide to man up! Please, go,” Pascal said with finality.

Bertrand shook his head and stormed out of the office.

“Maria?” Pascal asked, noticing her standing at the file cabinet.

“Fuck!” Maria muttered under her breath.

“I'm sorry you had to hear that,” Pascal apologized. “That was my fiancé. We are having some problems.”

Maria nodded. “Well, that happens.”

I called his house 3 nights in a row, and he says he's working. He didn't return my phone calls. And then he comes home and he says he's tired. He is tired because he's out there fucking some bitch. I can smell it on him,” she said adamantly.

Marie listened, but made no comment, not really wanting to hear her replacement’s problems.

~~~~

Later that evening, Dexter stalked his next target.

‘Some gangs earn teardrops of blood by killing. I understand. We all need our keepsakes. One man's tattoos are another man's blood slides. All I had to do was call the gang task force, ask where the 29th St. Kings get their tattoos, and wait for my prey to show up,’ Dexter thought as he waited for the gangster to accommodate him.

Little Chino got into his car and cried out when he saw his car filled with chickens. “What the fuck? What the fuck! Get the fuck off me! fuck! Get the fuck off! Fuck that shit!” he shouted, jumping out of his car and looking in the window. While he was distracted, Dexter shot him with two syringes of M99 in the neck, bringing Little Chino down instantly.

‘The scene of the failed crime. No better place to try again. I have it on good authority, the owner fled town. Plus, it's a much quieter working environment now without the chickens,’ Dexter thought as he prepared Little Chino in the back of the voodoo shop of his previous failed attempt.

“He wasn't easy to get here, but here he is. And here I am. Ready. Willing. Able,” Dex thought as he held his knife.  “Shit!” Dexter cried as he made too deep a cut on Little Chino’s cheek.

Little Chino opened his eyes and immediately began struggling. Swearing, he easily pulled free of the tape holding him.

‘There's not enough tape! Perfect! It’s now been 31 days, 22 hours and 18 minutes since I killed my brother,’ Dexter thought as he brought his knife down onto an empty table.

“I am cursed,” Dexter mumbled in shock as he watched Little Chino flee.

Dexter went home in defeat again, and to make things worse, Doakes was waiting in the parking lot. As Dexter locked his car and headed to his apartment, Doakes got out and approached him.

“Morgan?” Doakes called out.

Dexter stopped and turned around. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“Just stopped by to see if you wanted to have a drink with me? There’s a bar down the street,” Doakes asked.

Dexter stared at him. “Ah, no, not really. I’m kind of tired,” Dexter told him.

“Well, can I come in for a minute?” he asked mildly.

Dexter shook his head. “No. The place is a mess right now, because I haven't had time to clean up.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Doakes said with a smile.

“No.” Dexter said firmly.

Doakes took a step closer. “C’mon, Dexter, let me in for a minute?”

Dex shook his head adamantly. “Please, go home. I’m not letting you in.”

“You’re afraid of me?” Doakes suggested.

“I’m not, but you don’t like me, so there’s no reason to let you in,” Dex insisted. “If you need something, you can talk to me tomorrow at work. Good night, Sergeant,” Dexter said as he took off at a sprint toward his apartment. He had his key ready in his hand, but Doakes didn’t follow him.

Dexter got inside and locked the door, but as he looked out the window, he saw Doakes drive away. Dexter sighed with relief.  “What the fuck!” Dexter said to himself.

‘That was just bizarre,’ Dexter thought. “Doakes has never invited me out for a drink—ever,” he said out loud. He didn’t know if he should tell Angel and Deb about it. It might not mean anything, but Dex had a bad feeling about it.

Dexter leaned against the cool surface of the countertop, still rattled by the encounter. His mind raced as he replayed the conversation with Doakes over and over: the unexpected invitation, the subtle insistence, the unease that clawed at his gut. Did Doakes know something? Was he onto Dexter and the meticulous double life he led?

He grabbed himself an IPA out of the fridge, the amber liquid swirling in the glass bottle reflecting the dim light of his apartment. “Focus, Morgan,” he muttered, inhaling deeply. He needed to ground himself, regain control. There was work to do—Little Chino would be a problem—but so would Doakes.

As he stared out the window, watching the night sky deepen into an inky blackness, a shadow moved at the edge of the second-floor stairway. It was blacker than black, and lingered near the balcony for a second longer.

Shaking off the unease, he put the chain on the door just as his phone buzzed on the counter. It was Angel’s name flashing on the screen. Hesitating for a moment, he answered.

“Hey, Angel,” Dexter said, attempting to keep his voice steady.

“Dex,” Angel said, his tone casual but alert. “You good? You sound a little off.”

“I’m fine,” Dexter replied a bit too quickly. “Just… had an odd day. What’s up?”

“I was just checking in,” Angel said, a hint of concern in his voice. “I hate you being home alone.”

“Honestly, I’m good,” Dexter assured him. “I’ve got the apartment locked down tight, and I’m just getting ready to take a shower. I’ll see you when you get home, Love. How’s everything at work?” Dex asked.

“Yeah, everything's fine here,” Angel replied, but there was still an edge to his voice. “Just the usual craziness. But I’ve got your back, you know that, right?”

“I appreciate it, Angel,” Dexter said, his heart rate slightly calming at the sound of his lover’s reassurance. “I’ll be fine, really.”

“Alright. You need anything, you call me. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

“Will do. I’ll see you soon.” Dexter hung up, the sound of Angel’s voice—always a calming influence. He stared at the phone for a moment, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Did Angel sense something was wrong?

He moved deeper into the apartment, each step echoing the disquiet he felt. The shadow from earlier refused to leave his mind, intertwining with thoughts of Doakes and Little Chino.

The bathroom felt like a refuge. He turned on the shower and let the steam rise around him, hoping to wash away the anxiety that clung to him like a second skin. But even as the water cascaded over him, the feeling only intensified. Little Chino’s loose ends couldn’t be ignored. And then there was Doakes, a constant threat slowly encroaching on his carefully crafted facade.

Dexter stepped out of the shower, trying to quell the chaotic thoughts as he toweled off. He threw on some sweat pants and a t-shirt, running a comb through his damp hair. As he put his hand on the door knob, a sound from the outer room startled him. Dexter took a straight razor out of the medicine cabinet and slowly opened the door. He didn’t see anyone as he took a few steps toward the living room. It was then that the shadow moved, sweeping Dexter’s legs, knocking him off his feet.

Dexter slashed at the black-clad assailant, cutting across his leather like vest. The attacker immediately tasered him in the ribs, the same ones that were cracked in the previous attack. Dexter’s whole body spasmed as the attacker tied his hands together with a belt, and pinned him with the weight of his body. Dexter tried to think—tried to remain calm-but panic rapidly set in. The assailant removed one glove and ran his hand under Dexter’s thin t-shirt, fondling his nipples as his hand moved lower. He shoved his bare hand into Dexter’s sweat pants, roughly groping his cock and balls. Dexter cried out—screaming for help at the top of his lungs. 

From the edge of his peripheral vision, Dexter saw movement near the front door, but his attacker also saw it and tased the person coming at him. The attacker knocked the person to the ground, tased them again, and ran out the still open front door.

Dexter recovered first and moved to the downed man’s side, but his hands were still tied with the belt. As he wiggled closer on his knees, he saw that the person who came to his rescue this time was Doakes.

“Sergeant, can you hear me?” Dexter asked.

Doakes groaned, his body still twitching slightly. “Give me a minute. Fucker hit me twice.”

“Shit,” Dexter said coughing slightly.

“What about you?” Doakes asked.

“My hands are still tied with a belt,” Dexter replied, showing the Sergeant his hands.

Dexter’s breath came in ragged gasps, his ribs throbbing where the taser hit him. His hands, still bound by the belt, felt clumsy and useless as he tried to shift his weight. The carpet beneath him was rough against his knees, and his eyes darted wildly around the apartment. He glanced at Doakes, who lay a few feet away, his broad frame limp but for the faint rise and fall of his chest.

“Sergeant?” Dexter tried again, his voice hoarse from the earlier scream.

Doakes groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and slowly rolled onto his side. His face was twisted in pain, and his shirt pulled out of his pants. Dexter could see the faint red marks on his neck where the taser made contact.

“Fucker,” Doakes muttered, his words still slightly slurred. He looked up at Dexter, his eyes narrowing. “You okay?”

Dexter nodded, though he didn’t feel remotely okay. The memory of the attacker’s hand on him burned like a brand, and his skin crawled with the need to scrub it raw. He wanted to move, to untie himself, to get away from Doakes, but his body felt weighted down, as though rooted to the spot.

“Need to call this in,” Doakes said, his voice strengthening as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He winced, clutching his side where the second taser attack had struck him. “You see where he went?”

Dexter shook his head. “No, he ran out the door. Probably gone by now.”

Doakes grunted, then looked at Dexter’s tied hands. “You need help with that?”

Dexter hesitated. Trusting Doakes felt dangerous, but refusing might raise more questions. “Yeah,” he said finally, turning his back to Doakes to make it easier.

He could hear Doakes moving behind him, the soft rustle of fabric as he reached for something. Then the belt loosened, and Dexter pulled his hands free, shaking out the numbness. He turned to face Doakes, who was now sitting up straighter, though his face was still pinched with pain.

“Thanks,” Dexter said softly, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Doakes didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Dexter watched him, his mind racing. Why was Doakes here? Had he remained outside his apartment? And what just happened—was this connected to Little Chino, or his so-called admirer?

Dexter glanced around the room, taking in the scattered mess. The attacker had moved with precision, as though he’d known exactly what he was doing. The thought sent a shiver down Dexter’s spine. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like any of it.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Dexter said, breaking the silence. Doakes looked up, his expression unreadable. “You got tased twice. That’s not something to screw with.”

Doakes ignored him, still speaking into the phone. Dexter could only make out fragments of the conversation— “Officer needs assistance… break-in in progress”—but the urgency in Doakes’s voice was clear.

When he hung up, he turned to Dexter. “Backup’s on the way. You need to be looked at too.”

Dexter’s eyes shifted to the front door, noticing his chain lock was broken. Doakes followed his gaze.

“You didn’t hear anyone trying to break in?” Doakes asked.

Dexter shook his head. “No. I was in the shower. When I got out, I heard a noise coming from the living room, so I grabbed my straight razor out of the medicine cabinet, but he still managed to catch me off guard.”

As Dexter sat on the edge of the couch, the faint hum of the police sirens grew louder outside. His mind raced, each tick of the clock amplifying his anxiety. He glanced at Doakes, who was still on the phone. Dexter's breath came in measured inhales, trying to steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

The apartment was a mess, the air thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline. Dexter's ribs ached with each movement, a heavy reminder of the taser's impact. He could feel the sweat cooling on his skin, leaving a clammy residue that made him shiver despite the warmth of the evening. His hands, now free from the belt, trembled slightly as he pushed a strand of hair back, trying to compose himself.

Doakes hung up the phone and turned to Dexter. "Backup's here," he stated, his tone neutral, but laced with an undercurrent of suspicion. Dexter nodded, his eyes never leaving Doakes's face, wondering what he was thinking, whether he suspected anything.

The knock on the door broke the silence, and Doakes rose to answer it. Dexter watched him, the sound of murmured voices from the doorway. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in his chest, but the thought of the police in his apartment sent a wave of panic through him. He thought about the carefully hidden secrets, the trophies, the life he had built so meticulously. One misstep could expose everything.

When Doakes returned with two officers, Dexter's anxiety spiked. He stood up, smoothing his clothes, trying to appear as normal as possible. "They'll take your statement," Doakes said, his tone professional yet detached. Dexter nodded, his mind racing with how much to reveal, how much to withhold.

The officers asked their questions, and Dexter answered, each word carefully chosen, each emotion masked. But beneath the surface, a storm brewed. This attack, the presence of Doakes, the lingering aspect of an unknown assailant—all of it threatened the fragile balance of his life.

As the officers left, Dexter found himself alone with Doakes once more. The tension between them was palpable, a silent understanding that things had shifted. Doakes turned to leave, but not before casting a lingering glance at Dexter, as if trying to see beyond the facade.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” Dexter asked him before he walked out the door.

Doakes turned toward Dexter, a small smile playing on his lips. He seemed to consider the question for a moment, his jaw working subtly as if chewing on the words before speaking. “I was close by,” he said finally, his tone low and even, with a calmness that didn’t sit well with Dexter. “Heard a scream.”

“You were still outside—watching my apartment?” Dexter asked accusingly. “Even after I told you to leave.”

Doakes sneered. “Good thing I didn’t leave or you’d be in the hospital right now. Looks like I just stopped another attempted rape. Don’t I even get a thank you?”

Dexter nodded. “Thank you, but why were you still here? I told you I didn’t want to have a drink with you—so why?”

Dexter’s heart pounded as he stared at Doakes, the man’s expression twisting into something far more sinister. The atmosphere felt heavy with unease. Dexter’s breath caught in his throat as he waited for an answer, his mind racing with possibilities. Why would Doakes, of all people, be watching over him? It didn’t make sense. Doakes didn’t do favors. Doakes didn’t care—or did he?

“I want to hear you moan my name, the way you do Angel’s,” Doakes said with a smug smile.

As the words hung in the air, Dexter’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing with disbelief. Before he could muster a response, the sound of the apartment door bursting open filled the room. Angel and Deb rushed in; their faces etched with worry.

“Dex! What happened?” Deb exclaimed, her words laced with concern.

Angel’s eyes immediately locked onto his lover’s, his expression pained as he took in the scene. “Dex, are you okay?” he asked, hurrying toward him.

The interruption brought a mix of relief and anxiety for Dexter. He was grateful for their presence, yet the unfinished confrontation with Doakes gnawed at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat as he met Doakes’s steely gaze.

Doakes, seeming to enjoy the interruption, smirked and turned toward the door. “Looks like you’ve got protection now,” he said casually, walking out without another word.

As the door closed behind Doakes, Dexter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Angel and Deb exchanged a concerned glance, their attention refocusing on Dexter.

Dexter forced a shaky smile, trying to reassure them. “I’m okay,” he said, though his voice betrayed his unease.

Deb frowned, her eyes scanning the room. “What happened here? The locks on the door are broken.”

Dexter hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “There was an intruder,” he admitted finally. “Doakes showed up and… helped.”

Angel’s eyebrows rose. “Doakes?” he repeated, disbelief evident in his tone. “Why was he here?”

Dexter shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “He said he was close by and heard a scream. He stopped the attacker.”

The room fell silent, the tension thick as Angel and Deb processed the information. Dexter could see the wheels turning in their minds, their concern for him evident.

As they spoke, Dexter’s thoughts drifted back to Doakes’s cryptic request. The memory of it sent a shiver down his spine. He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the reassurance of Angel’s presence.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Angel said softly, his hand brushing against Dexter’s.

Dexter nodded, though his mind lingered on the unresolved confrontation. Doakes’s parting words echoed in his thoughts, leaving him unsettled and questioning what lay beneath the sergeant’s motives.

As the trio stood there, the reality of the night’s events weighed heavily on Dexter. The attacker, the encounter with Doakes, it all left him with more questions than answers.

And as they talked, Dexter couldn’t shake the feeling that the danger wasn’t over yet.

“Doakes said he’d talk to Lieutenant Pascal about getting the police protection reinstated, but I’d rather they didn’t,” Dexter said adamantly.

Deb crossed her arms, her brow furrowing in concern. “What do you mean you’d rather they didn’t? Dexter, you can’t just brush this off. An intruder in our apartment is serious. It’s gotta be the same asshole from the parking lot at work.”

“I know,” Dexter replied, his voice low. “But maybe Doakes means well in his own twisted way. The last thing I need is a bunch of officers camped outside my door, watching my every move. Doakes is plenty. You know how that can feel.”

Angel stepped closer, the worry on his face evident. “Dexter, this isn’t like the parking lot incident. This creep invaded our home, trying to get to you. You need protection until the motherfucker is caught.”

“I appreciate that,” Dex said, somehow resigned to his fate. “I just want things to be normal for once.”

Deb shook her head. “Normal? After what happened tonight? You think posturing will keep you safe? The situation is escalating, and you can’t handle this alone.”

Dexter’s gaze drifted to the window, shadows creating a sense of impending doom, an intuition telling him this wasn’t the end of it. “I just… I have to handle this my way.”

“Your way won’t keep you safe. This attacker is unpredictable,” Angel interjected. “Don’t you see?”

A moment of silence passed, filled with Dexter’s internal struggle. He felt torn between wanting to shield his loved ones from the truth of his life and the undeniable reality that he was always navigating dangerous waters.

“Okay,” he finally relented, but with caution in his voice. “If Doakes talks to Pascal and gets protection, I won’t push back, but Doakes is losing his mind—I swear! I’m beginning to seriously think he wants to have sex with me.”

“I’ll kill the son of a bitch if he touches you,” Angel promised angrily.

“You can’t do that, Angel,” Dexter said fearfully. “I need you here with me, so please promise me you won’t engage with Doakes?”

Angel reluctantly shook his head. “I promise, baby, but I can’t just stand by and let him hurt you.”

“I don’t think he’ll take it that far… honestly,” Dex said with a distant expression on his face. “He’s sworn to protect, not take advantage of a civilian. If push comes to shove, I think I can reason with him.”

“You know, we’ve all got the same shift tomorrow as we did today,” Deb added with concern. “That’s gonna leave Dex alone again tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dex insisted. “Even if Doakes doesn’t get protection for me, I can’t imagine the guy being stupid enough to attack me again the very next night. Besides, I’ll bet my shadow will be lurking somewhere close by—Doakes is relentless.”

Angel frowned, uncertainty etched across his face. “Dex, you can't underestimate Doakes. He’s a hard-ass. What if he snaps?”

“Then I’ll handle it,” Dex replied, attempting to sound more confident than he felt. “You know how I am. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Deb shook her head. “This isn't the Ice Truck Killer, Dexter. This is Doakes. He knows the system and knows how to play the game.”

“I know,” Dex said quietly, lowering his gaze. “But we’re all in this together. I won't let fear dictate my life—or yours.”

Angel reached out, squeezing Dex’s hand, grounding him in the moment. “We just need to come up with a plan. You can't face him on your own… it’s too dangerous.”

“Maybe we could talk to Maria,” Deb suggested tentatively. “She could handle Doakes if she knows how serious it is.”

Dex raised an eyebrow. “And put my head further on the chopping block? No way. LaGuerta's loyalty is to the department—not to me.”

“That’s true,” Angel admitted. “But we have to keep you safe. Can’t we think of something—a distraction, a way to throw Doakes off?”

“Or maybe,” Dex interjected, “I just keep my head down, go in, do my job, and let him chase ghosts. He’s got enough to scrutinize without my name at the forefront.”

“Dex, please,” Angel said, concerned. “You want to play this safe? Let me know you’re not taking unnecessary risks, alright?”

Dex nodded, but there was a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, a knowing admission that there was a real risk out there, hiding in the shadows. “I’ll do my best, Angel—I promise. Just... don’t do anything reckless.”

Angel sighed and smiled. “You know me—cool as a cucumber.”

“Right!” Deb and Dexter said in unison.

“Baby, how are your ribs?” Angel asked, noticing Dexter holding his side. “Let me take you to the hospital to get checked out.”

Dex waved a hand dismissively, a faint smile attempting to chase away the concern in Angel’s eyes. “It’s just a bruise, I swear. Besides, I'm not letting some minor discomfort slow me down.”

“You may think you can tough it out, but we both know you’re not invincible,” Deb chimed in, her voice laced with an edge of worry. “Ribs can be tricky. What if you really hurt something?”

Angel nodded in agreement, gently nudging Dexter’s hand away from his side. “Seriously, let’s just get you checked out. If Doakes is as much of a threat as we think, you need to be in top shape. We can’t afford anything less.”

“I promise, I’ll go tomorrow, if it still hurts, but it was just one taser blast.” Dex countered, though the resolve in his voice was shaky. Deep down, he knew they were right; he wasn’t one to shy away from pain, but this felt different. “Right now, I need to focus on my secret admirer. There’s too much at stake.”

Deb crossed her arms, obviously unconvinced. “You think Doakes is just going to wait around while you play the brave hero? He’s not going to give you a break because you’re feeling rough.”

“Look,” Dex said, with a sigh, his frustration evident. “If I go to the hospital, the attacker wins. He’ll know he’s hurt me again.”

“If it still hurts tomorrow, you’re going,” Deb stated in no uncertain terms.

“Fine,” Dex replied just as Deb’s phone rang. “It’s Rita. I gotta take this,” she said, stepping away from Angel and Dexter.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s no problem,” Deb said into the phone. “I’m on my way. Don’t apologize.”

“What’s going on?” Dex asked as Deb hung up.

“Rita’s at the bar you guys used to frequent for wings,” Deb replied, shoving her phone in her purse. “She and a girlfriend went together because Rita got a call from Paul threatening her life, so Becky wanted to cheer her up, but the ho left with some guy, stranding Rita at the bar. I’m gonna get her and take her home, but not before I have a beer. This shit just keeps getting worse, so I really need a fucking drink. I’ll be back soon,” Deb said, grabbing her keys off the counter.

“Wait!” Angel said, opening the door for her. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, but Angel wouldn’t hear of it, not with that crazy still on the loose.

After Deb left, Angel and Dexter fixed the lock on the door and reconnected the broken chain. They’d have to have the whole thing replaced, but they were moving soon, so they didn’t want to do any unnecessary improvements to the old apartment.

~~~~

“I’m sorry I called you, Deb,” Rita apologized again. “I know you’ve got a lot going on right now. Paul called the house and said he was gonna kill me as soon as he got out of jail.”

“I'm the one that answered that domestic dispute call way back when, remember?” Deb asked. “That prick deserves to be in prison. You need to report this, because you don’t owe him a damn thing.”

I know, I know. I'm just... I can't believe I still let him get to me after everything he's put me through,” Rita said, shaking her head. “Oh God... I'm such an idiot. What you went through is so much worse than my problems.”

“What? My psycho killer fiancé? Please. I've had worse. At least, he paid for my meals,” Deb said with a smirk.

I can't believe you moved on like that,” Rita said with genuine admiration for the way Deb handled things. “I wish I could be more like you. I mean Paul was... so horrible to me. Really horrible. It makes me miss your brother, but I guess that just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, but Dexter has issues of his own. He was attacked again at our apartment tonight.”

“What... oh my God?!” Rita cried. “Is he okay? He’s not by himself, is he? I would’ve never ca…”

“Easy,” Deb said, cutting in. “He’s fine, and Angel is with him. He was rescued this time by Sergeant Doakes of all people.”

“No way?” Rita asked wide-eyed.

“Way,” Deb responded with a nod. “That’s an even freakier situation. We're all a fucking mess.”

“Hey, need a refill?” Deb asked as she grabbed their glasses and headed for the bar.

“Can I get two more drafts, please?” Deb asked the bartender.

“Excuse me?” A patron, sitting at the bar, asked, turning to Deb. “Don't I know you from somewhere? Haven't I seen you on television? Are you that girlfriend...” the guy said, standing up and putting his hand on Deb’s shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Deb cried as she whirled around and punched the man in the face.

“Deb, what happened?” Rita yelled, rushing to her side.

“He grabbed me! You saw him, right?” she asked. “He grabbed me.”

“I think you broke my nose!” the man groaned in pain.

“He fucking grabbed me!” Deb shouted.

“All I did was touch you!” The man insisted.

“You saw it! He grabbed me!” Deb said again as Rita ushered her out of the bar.

“I’m reporting this,” the man hollered after them, still holding his nose.

~~~~

“Baby, let’s get you into bed,” Angel cajoled, nudging Dexter toward the bedroom. “Then… let me take a look at your ribs, okay?”

Dexter didn’t argue. He let Angel steer him to the bed, where he helped him remove his t-shirt. Angel ran his fingertips lightly over Dexter’s pale skin, where the bruise just started to purple.

Dexter winced slightly, but soon relaxed as Angel cooed softly to him. “It’s all right, baby—not too bad this time—just a bruise.”

“Told you,” Dex said with a smirk. “But maybe you should kiss it and make it better?”

Angel laughed. “I don’t think you’re up for that, my love.”

“Somebody begs to differ,” Dex said smiling, as he gestured to his tented sweat pants.   

Angel’s laughter was a warm, rich sound that filled the room, and Dexter felt it vibrate through the bed as Angel shifted closer. He could see the amusement dancing in Angel’s eyes, a spark of mischief that Dexter knew all too well. It was a look that said Angel was just getting started, that he was in no rush to let the moment fade. Dexter’s breath hitched as Angel leaned in, the heat of his body pressing against Dexter’s, sending tiny shivers down his spine.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Angel murmured smoothly, like honey drizzled over rough skin. He brushed his lips against Dexter’s ear, the touch sending a ripple of pleasure through him. “But maybe you’re not the only one who’s begging for something.”

Dexter’s heart quickened, his pulse pounding in his ears. He could smell the faint scent of shampoo in Angel’s hair, the familiar scent of his cologne, and something just a bit spicy. It was a smell that made Dexter’s stomach twist with anticipation. He turned his head, meeting Angel’s gaze. “Oh?” he said, as his fingers brushed against Angel’s arm. “And what might that be?”

Angel’s mouth curved into a smile, the kind that made Dexter’s chest tighten. “Maybe I’m the one who needs a little convincing.”

Dexter’s lips parted, a quiet laugh escaping. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Before he could answer, Angel’s hands were on him, steady and sure, tracing the line of his ribs with a gentleness that belied the intensity in his eyes. Dexter’s breath caught as Angel’s fingers skimmed over the bruise, the pain a distant echo compared to the heat spreading through him. He could feel every touch, every press of flesh, like hot kisses searing into his skin. “Careful,” he whispered, not meaning it at all.

“Always,” Angel murmured, his voice a promise. His mouth found Dexter’s, the kiss a desperate slow burn that left him gasping. He could feel the weight of Angel’s body pressing against his uninjured side. It was familiar, comforting, and yet it sizzled with something raw and powerful.

Dexter’s hands found their way into Angel’s hair, tugging gently as he deepened the kiss. The world narrowed to the feel of Angel’s lips, the scrape of stubble against his skin, the way their tongues tangled together. It was a kiss that said everything and nothing, a silent exchange of promises and unspoken fears. For a moment, the shadows outside didn’t matter. Doakes, the attacker, the endless cycle of danger—it all faded into the background. All that mattered was the man above him, the way he fit perfectly against Dexter’s body, and the way their hearts seemed to sync into one rhythm.

When Angel finally pulled back, Dexter was breathless, his lips tingling. “Still not convinced?” Angel asked, his voice rougher now, edged with molten desire.

Dexter’s smiled lazily. “Maybe not quite yet.”

Angel’s laugh a low rumble this time, a sound that Dexter felt more than heard. “Give me a minute,” he said, and Dexter knew he was in trouble.

Angel pulled Dexter’s sweat pants off and grabbed the lube from the bedside table, hurriedly slicking his cock. Spooning behind Dex, he slowly and carefully breached his lover’s tight passage, while gently stroking his hard shaft. Dexter gasped, the sound barely escaping his lips as Angel moved deeper, filling him with a warmth that spread through his core. The initial sting faded quickly, replaced by a familiar, comforting pressure. He reached back, his fingers twisting through the soft strands of Angel's hair, gently pulling him closer.

The rhythm was slow, measured, each thrust a tribute to Angel's control. Dexter's breath caught with each movement, his body responding with a heat that radiated outward, leaving his skin tingling. He could feel the gentle brush of Angel's chest against his back, the soft whisper of his breath against his ear, sending shivers cascading up and down his spine.

As the pace quickened, Dexter's heart pounded, echoes of the earlier tension in his apartment fading into the background. The world narrowed to the feel of Angel's hands on his hips, steady and sure, guiding him through waves of endless pleasure. He could smell the faint musk of their sweat, a primal scent that only intensified the shared love between them.

Dexter's thoughts blurred, his mind consumed by the sensations coursing through his body. He could feel himself tightening around Angel, the pressure building until it became almost unbearable. With a quiet moan, he let go, the release washing over him as warm spunk spilled over Angels pumping fist. Seconds later, Angel followed, his body tensing as he buried himself deep, the warmth of his climax filling Dexter completely.

They stayed there for a moment, the only sound their ragged breathing. Then, Angel withdrew slowly, his hands still resting on Dexter's hips. "Are you okay?" he asked, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Dexter nodded, turning to face Angel. He could see the concern in his eyes, a gentle softness that spoke volumes. "I'm fine," he said hoarsely. “All I ever need to make me feel better is you.”

Angel pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Dexter's body. They lay there in silence, the warmth of their bodies intertwining, the world outside fading away. In that moment, there was no danger, no Doakes, no threats—just the two of them, lost in the comfort of each other's arms.

“I love you so much, Dex,” Angel sighed into his neck. “Our next days off, I’m taking you somewhere nice where we can be alone for the entire two days.

“I love you too, Angel,” Dexter murmured. “Two days alone with you sounds heavenly.”

Outside, Doakes pulled his listening device away from the wall and stormed off in a huff. He had to find a way to be alone with Morgan—somehow—some way, and soon, because the burning need to fuck him was becoming all consuming.

Chapter Text

'I'm drifting. I finally get a chance to kill, and I can't do it. And a second chance, and he gets away. And now all my secrets are floating to the surface. Where is the orderly, controlled, effective, Dexter? How did I lose him? How do I find him again? I'm drifting. But not to sleep,’ Dexter thought as he lay on the air mattress next to Angel, who was snoring softly. From the bedroom, Dexter could hear the television and the news program Deb watched.

‘A shocking and gruesome discovery off the coast of Florida yesterday. Police are still searching through mountains of evidence found lying at the bottom of the ocean. Sources say there could be multiple victims...’

‘Here I am. Back in the belly of the beast. But how can I solve a crime when I can't even solve what's wrong with me? Yet, duty calls,’ Dexter thought as he pulled up at a crime scene the next afternoon around one o’clock.

“Eight confirmed,” Musuka said, sliding in beside Dexter.

“Eight confirmed, here?” Dex asked.

“Here is just one,” Angel, who’d been on the scene, clarified.

“We're talking 8 confirmed victims in the Bay Harbor Butcher killings,” Musuka supplied.

"The Bay Harbor Butcher?” Dexter asked with a confused expression.

“That's what the press is calling whoever dumped those bodies off shore. Has a nice ring to it, no?” Musuka asked with a smirk.

Dexter shook his head. “Well, it's a little... lurid.”

“Lurid and possibly wrong,” Angel added. “Part of me is hoping they found the Ice Truck Killer’s dumping ground.”

“Tell me about it. Last thing Miami needs is another serial killer,” Dexter replied as Angel pulled back the tarp to expose the body of Eva Arenas.

Angel sighed heavily. “Eva Arenas All she wanted was justice against the 29th St. Kings for whacking her son. First, she is the messenger.”

“Now, she's the goddamn message,” Doakes supplied as he snuck up beside Dexter.

“Death by machete… again,” Dexter said, examining the wounds.

“We got a BOLO on Little Chino. Gang crash unit, all local patrols after that cabron,” Angel remarked.

‘Last thing I want is for the cops to bring Little Chino in. He's mine,’ Dexter thought to himself.

“Why don't you take a picture, Morgan… it will last longer,” Doakes snarled at him.”

“What would I do without you, Sergeant? How’s your neck and side—giving you any problems?” Dex asked.

“I’m just fine,” Doakes said as he walked off in a snit.  

Deb tried to talk to a distraught woman ranting at the scene, but she was having a difficult time understanding her.

“Please slower... it's mas despacio” Deb said as the woman cut her off.

“It's mas despacio!” she cried and turned away.  

“She saying any fucking cops aren't doing nothing,” a little boy on a bike told Debra.

“Grandma really talk like that?” Deb asked.

“Not exactly. But you got the point,” the boy said. “Right, bitch?” he added before riding off.

“Fucking people don't wanna help,” Deb grumbled next to Dex. “Shit, she got a little girl,” she said, recognizing Eva.

“I know,” Dex said as he snapped pictures.  

“This stuff never gets to you?” Deb asked him.

“I'm more of a crying on the inside kind of guy, Deb. You know I don’t express my emotions well—never have.”

“Makes Mister Ice Truck Killer look like a goddamn artist,” Musuka said, but Angel gave him the evil eye.

“Sorry, Morgan,” Musuka said.

“What?” Deb cried. “I'm so over that,” she said striding away.

Pascal arrived on the scene, but remained in her car, talking to someone on the phone.

“You're just fucking with me,” Pascal yelled into the phone as Maria knocked on her window.

“I'm gonna have to put you on hold.” Pascal said, pushing a button.

“Fiancé?” Maria asked.

Pascal nodded. “Incarnate. Couldn't pick a worst time, right?”

“Hey, Esmee, how about you take off, let me handle this?” Maria suggested.

“I couldn't let you do that,” Pascal insisted.

“I'll write up the report and e-mail it to you for signature. Okay?” Maria pressed with a smile.

I want Morgan to report to me first thing in the morning about that bar fight of hers. Maria, I owe you,” Pascal said gratefully.

Dexter watched a police woman carry Eva’s daughter to a patrol car, as images of Harry carrying him away flashed in his head. He knew exactly what the little girl was feeling in that moment.

“Pobrecita,” Angel said as Eva’s body was taken away. “Seeing her mother that way... can you imagine that?”

I can't even go there, Angel,” Dexter said, shaking his head.

“This one's on us, man,” Angel said with a disgusted look.

“You’ll get him,” Dexter assured Angel. “I’m gonna head home from here. My shift is over, and I can work on my report from there.”

“Be careful, baby,” Angel whispered. “I still wish Pascal had agreed to police protection for you.”

“It’s okay,” Dex replied calmly. “It’s just not in the budget. I promise, I’ll go straight home and barricade the door until you get there. Plus, I’ll probably have my usual shadow. He’s been eyeing me pretty good ever since he arrived.”

“Fucker’s gonna get a fist in his eye,” Angel growled under his breath.

“Ut uh,” Dexter said, wagging a finger. “No fist in Doakes’ eye. Promise!”

“Um, okay, fine,” Angel acquiesced, “but if he touches you—all bets are off.”

“I’ll be fine. See you at home later,” Dex said with a reassuring smile.

‘If I’d killed Chino last night, that little girl's mother would still be alive. I gotta find Chino before he finds me,’ Dexter thought as he got in his car and drove away.

The radio blared the latest news. “...bringing to an even dozen the number of bodies found off-shore.”

I have to focus. Tune everything out,’ Dexter told himself.

“So far, authorities have no clue as to who that criminal...” the radio continued.

“If I don't, being linked to my beautiful bodies at work will be the least of my worries,’ Dexter thought.

Shit! Little Chino,” Dexter growled as he noticed the headlights behind him. ‘He was out there. Timing could be better,’ he thought as he sped up and pulled into the nearest alley. ‘That, plus I don't have my tools, but... It does give me the chance to tie up one mess of loose ends.’

Dexter grabbed a large flashlight and jumped out of his car, running at the vehicle behind him. As he raised the flashlight, Dexter realized his follower was Doakes… again!

“Oh, it’s you Sergeant,” Dexter said with a sigh, lowering the flashlight.

“Who else you got following you?” Doakes asked.

Dexter looked around apprehensively. “Apparently, no one, but I thought you might be my assailant from last night. I’m tired of being blitz attacked. I don’t even get a chance to defend myself. So, why are you following me?”

“I’m just making sure you get home safely,” Doakes replied with a smile. “Why don’t you get in, and I’ll take you for a ride?” We can talk for a while.”

“Ah, no, I’m not going for a ride with you,” Dexter replied adamantly. “I told Angel I'd go straight home.”

Doakes sneered. “Do you take orders from Angel now? What are you… his sub?”

“I’m going home now, Sergeant,” Dex said, turning back toward his car.

“I’ll make sure you get there,” Doakes told him as the chase started up again.

Once reaching his apartment, Doakes got out of his vehicle and opened Dexter’s car door for him. “Let me come in... I want to talk to you.”

“Fine, okay, whatever,” Dex replied, tiring of the fight. “But you can only stay a minute. I’ve got to work on my report.”

Doakes nodded. “No problem.”

Inside the apartment, Dexter flipped on the lights and motioned for Doakes to take a seat at the small kitchen table. He felt a pang of annoyance that the sergeant insisted on intruding, but the tension from their chase made him acutely aware that he needed to keep his composure.

Doakes settled into the chair, his arms crossed, scanning the array of clutter and uncapped pens spread across Dexter’s workspace. “You really need to tidy up in here, man,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “It looks like a lab explosion.”

“It’s called working on important things, but I’m usually neater than this. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, and we’re getting ready to move,” Dexter shot back, attempting to steer the conversation to safer waters. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Cut the act, Dexter. I’m not here to chit-chat about your report or your stellar organizational skills.” Doakes leaned forward. “I’m worried about you. After everything that happened last night, it’s not safe for you to be alone.”

Dexter felt the familiar irritation swirl in his gut. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I can handle myself. I’ve dealt with far worse.” His tone was defensive, but he could feel the anxiety creeping in.

Doakes' expression hardened. “Yeah, I know—you dealt with the Ice Truck Killer.”

Dexter’s heart raced, the implications dancing in the air. “You don’t need to worry about me, Sergeant,” he said, attempting to deflect. “I handle my business.”

“Yeah? And what about the guy who almost got to you last night—not to mention me? You thought he was just going to forget about you? You’re walking a tightrope, Dexter. It’s not just about you anymore. People around you are being affected.” Doakes leaned back, studying Dexter.

Dexter felt anger bubbling up, but he forced it down. “I have everything under control. Even if I did have a close call, that doesn’t change who I am or what I do. I keep my work separate from my... personal life.”

“Is that really true?” Doakes pressed. “Because it looks like your personal life is catching up with you. And at some point, it might collide with your work. You need to keep on your toes.”

Dexter took a deep breath, weighing his words carefully. “I don’t need a babysitter, Sergeant.”

“No, you’ve got Angel for that—or maybe he’s your pit-bull,” Doakes said as he stood up and took a few tentative steps toward Dexter.

Dexter took a step backwards, remembering a similar situation when Angel backed him up into the kitchen counter their first night together. He wasn’t about to let that happen with Doakes.

“Tell me what you really want, Sergeant, please?” Dexter asked softly.

Doakes moved into Dexter’s personal space and stroked his cheek with the back of his hand. “I want to take you to bed and fuck you through the mattress. That’s what I really want.”

Dexter shivered. “You know that I’m in love with Angel? I know—you know that—because you’ve been listening to us.”

“Yeah, so what?” Doakes asked with a hiss. “I won’t tell him… if you won’t. Who would know?”

“I would know,” Dexter stated firmly. “I love… Angel. I don’t want to sleep with you.”

“Then why aren’t you putting up a fight?” Doakes asked with a lascivious grin. He grabbed Dexter by his forearms, pulling him flush against his body as he crushed his lips to his. Dexter froze, remaining rigid with his eyes closed tightly until Doakes finally released him and backed off.

“I can’t fight you, Sergeant,” Dexter said, finally reopening his eyes. “It would be your word against mine, and nobody would believe me. So, if this is your course of action, then just do it,” Dexter said, trembling slightly.

Doakes growled. “Stop… I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want to fuck you.”

“That would hurt me, but since you don’t seem to care…” Dexter trailed off.

“Fuck!” Doakes swore. “Why Angel?”

“I don’t know,” Dexter said, meeting Doakes’ eyes. “I can’t help it.”

Doakes sighed and nodded. “Fine, Morgan, get some rest.”

Doakes turned and strode out the door, slamming it behind him. After he’d gone, Dexter quickly locked and chained the door. Dexter peered out the window, but he didn’t see Doakes drive out, so he figured the Sergeant would remain there until Angel got home. He couldn’t tell Angel any of this, because if he did, his lover would go ballistic… then they’d have a real bloodbath on their hands.

By the time Deb and Angel returned home, Deb was furious. “I can’t believe she threw me under the bus like that,” Deb cried indignantly.

“What did I miss?” Dex asked.

Angel gave him a wary look.

“LaGuerta totally douched me in the meeting with Pascal,” she said… “you clocked a guy in a bar, who touched your arm. Yeah, I told the lieutenant you weren't ready for active duty.”

“And I said, “Well, thank you for the fucking vote of confidence.” Deb was spitting mad as she grabbed a beer out of the fridge and guzzled most of it in one gulp. “I got my ass handed to me, so if I fuck up again, I’ll be on desk duty!”

“Um, sorry, Deb,” Dexter managed to get in. “I feel for you.”

Angel shook his head and got a beer for himself. “You want one, baby?”

“No thanks,” Dex said, shaking his head. “I’m still trying to finish this damn report.”

“Maybe we should all just get a good night’s sleep, and things will look brighter in the morning,” Angel suggested.

“Works for me,” Dex groaned. “After dealing with Doakes again I need…”

“Wait, wait,” Angel interrupted. “What about Doakes now?”

“Um well, he followed me home again,” Dex explained. “But he said he was just trying to play bodyguard, since Pascal couldn’t get police protection authorized. I let it go this time, because he seemed to have a point.”

“Dexter, you’ve got to be careful,” Angel said, his tone shifting to one of genuine concern. “Doakes might be trying to look out for your safety, but I still don’t trust his motives.”

Dexter sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “Safety? Please. It’s like he’s trying to make me look bad, so he can feel better about himself. I mean, I get that I have my issues. Not everybody understands my idiosyncrasies, but it’s just the way I’m wired.”

Angel leaned back against the kitchen counter, sipping his beer thoughtfully. “Look, I know you’ve got your own way of handling things, but Doakes is unpredictable. You can’t just dismiss his intentions because of your own experiences. He operates in a different world, one that you’re trying to get through right now—with this crazy stalker.”

Dexter’s frustration bubbled to the surface again. “You think I don’t know that? But every time he shows up, it’s like he’s trying to remind me that I don’t belong. Like he’s judging me, scrutinizing every little thing I do.”

“Maybe it’s not about that,” Angel replied gently. “He might just be doing his job in his own way. What if he’s genuinely concerned for your safety? He may not express it the way you’d like, but it doesn’t mean he’s trying to make you look bad.”

“I don’t know, love,” Dex said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve dealt with enough judgment in my life. I just wish people would see past the quirks and understand that I’m trying. I’m not out to hurt anyone. I just want to do my job.”

Angel studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I get it. But the truth is, you’ll have to find a way to work with Doakes. Whether you like it or not, he’s part of your world. Maybe if you show him that you’re not the mess he thinks you are, he might ease up a bit.”

Dex let out a heavy sigh. “Easier said than done, Angel. How do I prove to someone who seems to think I’m a walking disaster that I can handle this?”

“By showing him,” Angel said, determination creeping into his voice. “By leaning into your strengths and reminding yourself why you’re good at what you do. If you keep pushing through, he’ll have to recognize that.”

Dex nodded, feeling a little more grounded than before. “Okay, maybe I can try that. It just… feels exhausting sometimes.”

“Then let’s take it one step at a time,” Angel suggested, raising his beer in a toast. “To small victories.”

Dex chuckled softly, raising his own mug of coffee. “To small victories,” he echoed, grateful for Angel’s support. “And to a good night’s sleep, because I could sure use one of those.”

“Agreed,” Angel said with a grin. “And who knows? Tomorrow might just be the day everything turns around.”

With a renewed sense of purpose, Dex turned back to his report, less overwhelmed and more ready to tackle whatever challenge lay ahead, including the complex puzzle that was Doakes. After turning off his computer for the night, Dexter crawled onto the air mattress with Angel, but his mind still whirled from his encounter with Doakes. He knew what the man really wanted now, and there was nothing he could do about it. If he took Doakes out, he’d be breaking the code, and he refused to do that because the sergeant wasn’t a killer.

Angel turned and pulled Dexter close. “It’s okay, baby. One more day and we’ll have our two days off together. I’ve been making plans.”

“What are you up to?” Dexter asked with a laugh.

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” Angel replied, keeping his cards close to the vest. “I want it to be a surprise. Things haven’t been all that romantic lately—and you—definitely need some romance.”

Dex smiled, resting his head on Angel’s chest. “You always make me feel special,” he sighed happily as he drifted off to sleep.

“You are special, baby,” Angel purred softly. “Love of my life.”

~~~~

The next day at work, Dexter sat in front of the computer finishing up his report. ‘I have to find someone who knows I'm looking for him. Not exactly ideal in the element of surprise department, and I have to find a new way to dispose of Little Chino's body. If I can close the deal, this time!’ he thought.

“13! Confirmed,” Musuka said as he sauntered into the bullpen. “You know, buzz in the halls is that the Feds are coming in on the Bay Harbor bodies.”

“Well, that figures,” Doakes replied.

“FBI does all the heavy lifting; Captain Matthews takes all the credit. Nice political move when you're buckin' for deputy chief. Any idea who the FBI's sendin'?” LaGuerta asked.

“Some guy named Lundy,” Angel supplied.

“Frank Lundy? He's a rock star. The Green River killer and the DC sniper? The case was impossible, he broke it,” Doakes said with obvious admiration for the man.

“We're damaged goods around here, but you... You should do whatever you can to get on Lundy's task force. It's a career maker,” Maria told Doakes.

Angel slid his chair closer to Doakes. “Just visualize that door of opportunity opening up wide for you, and you just walk right through it,” Angel said in the hopes of getting rid of him once and for all.

“Angel, you keep up with this whoo-hoo shit, I'll walk right through you,” Doakes snarled.

Angel just smiled to himself and rolled his chair away from him.  

‘Little Chino... shit!’ Dexter cried out in his head. ‘This guy is officially the highest point in all Florida. But what's he doin' here?’ Dexter wondered.

Little Chino sauntered into the bullpen with his lawyer right by his side. “People tell me you're lookin' for my client.” The lawyer said smugly.

“People tell you right,” Pascal said as she came out of her office.

“Fuck, he's big!” Deb remarked to Dexter.

“The harder they fall...” Dexter trailed off.

LaGuerta pointed to the cut on Chino’s face. “That come with a story?” she asked during the interview.

“Cut myself shaving,” Little Chino replied snidely.

“Well, you should be more careful, amigo,” Angel suggested.

“My client's been repeatedly harassed by this department. Frankly, we are considering...” the lawyer said before Maria shut him down.

“Cut the shit, Raul,” LaGuerta growled.  

“There was another murder in East Kendall yesterday, and my client...” the lawyer started to say.

“Word on the pavement is you're lookin' for me regarding this... tragedy,” Chino interrupted.

“You bet your ass, we are. The victim was the mother of one of your compadres, who we know you killed,” Angel accused.  

“But can't prove. Right, Officer?” Chino’s lawyer countered.  

It's "Detective,” Angel corrected. “And can't prove yet.”

Show 'em the disc. Time-stamp has this at yesterday afternoon. Same time as... Eva Renez's TOD.” Chino ordered.

The lawyer snapped open his briefcase and presented a DVD to LaGuerta.

“That's bullshit. Anyone can reset a time-stamp,” Angel argued, as they watched the video.

“Check it out… yesterday's paper,” the lawyer insisted adamantly as they watched the DVD.  

Little Chino pointed to a buddy who held up a Miami Tribune.

“That arrogant prick. He knew we'd peg him for Eva’s murder, so... he covered his ass, had someone else do the deed,” Pascal remarked as she, Doakes, Deb, and Dex watched the interview.

“That makes him an accomplice, right?” Deb asked.

“Not without evidence,” Maria said, shaking her head as she came out of the interrogation room with an angry looking Angel behind her.

“Cut him loose,” Pascal ordered.

Dexter slipped back into his lab as Raul, smug as could be, and Little Chino, even smugger, passed the furious cops and exited the building. Dexter watched safely from behind the blinds.

‘Red Rover, Red Rover send Chino back over,’ Dexter thought with glee.

A moment later, Musuka popped his head in.

“Dex, check this out. Thirteen and counting,” Musuka said excitedly.

Dexter crossed into Musuka’s lab to view the new police video of the underwater meadow of Hefty bags. Dexter stared, fascinated, but deflected with, “you believe this Little Chino stuff?”

“Thirteen and counting. I’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Musuka said, pointing to the screen. “They're so swamped up there, they had to bring in outside talent, which would be moi,” he said proudly, tapping his chest. “Bet this guy never expected his work to see the light of day.”

“I bet you're right,” Dexter agreed. “Still, it can't be easy to hide a body nowadays.”

“You shittin' me?” Musuka asked in surprise.

“Hypothetical: you're the Bay Harbor Butcher. How do you make sure disposed bodies stay disposed?” Dex inquired curiously.

Vince thought for a minute. “Tons of options: Everglades, alligators... pig farms, sulfuric acid, wood chipper, incinerator. Hell! Even meat pies. The mind boggles.

Dexter looked dubious. “Don't all those run the risk of contact with the outside world?”

“You got a better idea?” Musuka asked.

‘And that's the problem. Where do I put Chino when I'm done with him?’ Dexter asked himself.

Dexter and Musuka’s attention momentarily pivoted to Pascal’s office as her door opened and she and her fiancé, Bertrand, stepped out. Seemingly tense, they tried not to show it as they left the bullpen.

“Captain's comin' up with that FBI guy,” Deb told the bullpen. “He's got a fuckin’ entourage.”

The elevator doors parted, and Captain Matthews, followed by three FBI Agents, got out. They turned and headed for the Briefing Room. Then Frank Lundy emerged, looking like the last thing anyone expected—50’s, rumpled, half-glasses.

‘So, this is the man who stands between me and death row,’ Dex thought morbidly.

Matthews stopped and addressed everyone in the bullpen. “Listen up. Briefing room in 2 minutes for show and tell. All right.”

“Where’s your Lieutenant?” he asked LaGuerta.

LaGuerta hastily covered for Esmee. “She’s liaising with the Gang Crash Unit on the Arenas’ murders.”

Matthews made a mental note with a nod.  

Moments later, Dex, Debra, Angel, and Musuka leaned against the back wall of the briefing room. Matthews stood in front of the huge screen, while Lundy reviewed his notes, and the FBI Agents set up a PowerPoint presentation.

“Oh, wow, fucking A/V Day,” Deb said to Dex.

“The Bay Harbor Butcher case is now a Miami Metro case...” Matthews began.

The cops reacted with intrigue and curiosity, creating a slight buzz in the briefing room.  

“And it’s shaping up to be the biggest in our history. We’re now at fourteen confirmed,” the captain continued. “The FBI has sent over their top man, Special Agent Frank Lundy, to help solve this crime. Now... This will not be a jurisdictional circle jerk. This will be a shining example of two agencies working together for the public good. Agent Lundy...” Matthews said as he turned the floor over to the Agent.

“Hello, everyone,” Lundy said cordially.

“There is no such thing as the perfect crime. Not in my experience anyway. With your help, and with the mistakes this person has made in, or will eventually make, we'll find whoever did this awful thing. I need everyone in every department up to speed on what we're doing, while I review your files and put our task force together. So, let's get a jump start on the Bay Harbor Butcher. A moniker which by the way repulses me,” Lundy remarked.

‘Well, we have something in common,’ Dex thought.

“Someone get the lights?” Lundy asked.

Doakes, eager to please, switched off the overheads. An image appeared on the screen of ominously bulging Hefty bags. The next image was a shot of a well-preserved human torso. Next, the screen showed several severed limbs.

“First report from the field had these parts as comin' from one body,” Lundy explained.

‘Actually, it's two,’ Dexter related to himself.

Actually, it’s two,” Lundy echoed Dexter’s thoughts. “There has been speculation that this human harvest might be connected to a case you've recently solved. But there are several inconsistencies between the two sets of body parts. Gender, exsanguination... specific methods of dissection.

‘Not to mention my guys deserved it,’ Dexter’s mind supplied.

The evidence just isn't there to piggyback this onto the Ice Truck Killer. We're looking for a different suspect. All information regarding this case…”

A photograph of Brian Moser flashed on the screen. Pleasant, smiling. The cops all stole a glance toward Debra. Visibly upset, Deb did all she could to withstand her own roiling emotions.

Suddenly the picture of Brain turned and spoke to Dexter. “Miss me, brother?” Dexter shook his head, trying to clear the fog, and when he looked up again. Brian’s picture seemed perfectly normal.

Dexter tuned out the rest of the meeting, and when he returned to his office, he found Doakes sitting in his chair. “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

“Now that’s a loaded question?” Doakes replied with a smirk.

Dexter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, well, I know what you’d like me to do, but that’s not happening.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Doakes bantered. “Maybe you’d consider just blowing me? Huh?”

“What do you want?” Dexter asked again, nearing the end of his rope.

“I’m guessing, since Angel didn’t stick a gun in my face, you never told him about last night,” Doakes stated.

“I told him that you followed me home, under the guise of protecting me, but that’s all,” Dex said, sliding into his chair as Doakes vacated it. “I can’t lose Angel over your idiotic bullshit.”

“Pffft, don’t make me hit you right here in your own office,” Doakes threatened.

“Go ahead,” Dexter goaded. “I think it gets you off. You like hurting me—don’t you? You like humiliating me—screaming at me in front of the team makes you feel like a big man—right? Now… you’re about to stoop to rape.”

“Don’t push me, Morgan!” Doakes warned.

“If you have any feelings for me at all, please stop.” Dexter said in almost a whisper. “Please stop.”

Doakes expression softened. “Does it really hurt you, or are you just an academy award worthy actor?”

“It hurts me, even if I don’t show it,” Dex replied, lowering his eyes. “I can’t express emotions the same way other people can, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have them. Every time you call me a derogatory name in front of others, it makes me feel like less than a person. Now with this nutjob stalking me—I can’t get a break anywhere. Makes me want to crawl into a hole and hide—or worse.”

Doakes shook his head and held up his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—okay? Seriously, I’ll try to do better, but maybe you should get some counseling—sounds like PTSD.”

Dexter nodded. “I’ll consider it, honestly.”

“Good,” Doakes said as he backed up and opened the office door. “Truce?” he asked before leaving.

“Truce,” Dexter agreed as the sergeant sauntered off. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he muttered under his breath. He didn’t think Doakes could go a full day without berating him about something, but time would surely tell.

Dexter’s inner monologue kicked in after talking to Doakes. ‘I can't afford to lose it like this. Not with Special Agent Rock Star on my case. I need to clear the Dex. And my head. I'm coming for you tonight, Little Chino. And this time there won't be any screw ups.’

Later that afternoon, Dex hit up the evidence officer for a little help with a gator problem.

"You just slam your CO2 cartridge here. Put in your tranq dart, and that'll rip. Wham bam lights fucking out. So, gators givin' you trouble, Dex?” Mack asked.

Dexter nodded sadly. “They... ate my puppy.”

Mack reached beneath the counter, coming up with a Tranq Stick that looked like a spear with a needle at the end.

“This sucker... You load her up right, should take down a goddamn grizzly. You may have to get closer than you like. She'll do the job, I promise you that,” Mack assured him.

“So, which’ll it be?” Mack asked Dexter.

Dexter looked from the Tranq Pistol to the Tranq Stick. “Both,” he replied.

Dexter got off at eight, so when he arrived home, Deb was already there. Dexter approached the door and heard the tell-tale pounding of Debra on the treadmill. He shook his head. Dexter put his key in the lock, looking longingly at the Barbie head hanging from his keychain.

The door caught on the chain lock. “Yo Deb!” Dexter called out.

Debra trudged to the door, closed it in Dexter’s face, unchained and opened it.

“Scared the shit out of me,” she grumbled.  

Dexter entered, but noticed Deb seemed edgy and unsettled. So, Dexter asked, “How are you doing?”

Deb stared at Dexter for a moment. “I saw the man I thought I loved. No wait. Did love—up on some goddamn screen with a gallery of the women he murdered and cut into pieces,” she blurted out.

“Deb, I…” Dexter tried to say.  

“Don’t,” Deb said, holding up her hand. “You fucking asked. So... how am I doing? I’m just fine, Dexter.” She headed for the door, but turned back. “And how are you today, brother?”

“I’m sorry, Deb,” Dexter tried again. “I know it’s hard, but it’ll get better with time.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Deb screamed.

Dexter flinched, instinctively holding his ribs.

“Fuck! I’m sorry,” she said a bit softer. “I know you’re hurting too. God, I’m so stupid.”

“No,” Dex said sympathetically. “We’ve all been through it, but you got the worst end of the deal.”

Dexter put his stuff down and picked up his keys again. “I’ll be back later. Gotta do some research for Musuka. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“Dex, you need to stop working off the clock,” she admonished. “You need to be careful about galivanting around by yourself. I swear, you’re fucking obsessive.”

‘If you only knew, Deb... if you only knew,’ Dex thought before leaving the apartment.

Chapter Text

Dexter watched the house from the alleyway, and in the strobe of a tropical Miami lightning storm, saw Chino come out, as a wild party spilled onto the block, the veranda, and into the front yard. Booze, sex, dope, dancing, and more sex, seemed to be the party’s main theme.   

Little Chino suddenly got an impromptu lap dance from one of the party goers. The girl wriggled out of her halter top and writhed on his lap.

‘Little Chino, hiding in plain sight. Nothing to fear but... me,’ Dexter thought to himself.

Dexter waited patiently in the alley for the right moment to strike, and was blessed when the gangster pushed the girl away. High and or drunk, Chino wobbled into the street, so Dexter momentarily retreated into the shadows. 

Watching. Waiting. Dexter came up holding the Tranq Gun.

 “Attaboy, Chino. A little closer,” Dexter whispered.

Dexter held out his other hand, and his fingers trembled ever-so-slightly.  A trace of worry etched his face.

‘Either performance anxiety.  Or... the thrill of the kill,’ Dexter thought.

Little Chino staggered closer to Dexter, but in a flash of lightning, Little Chino saw him. Showing no fear, he shouted, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Little Chino strode forward confidently, and when Dexter was about to fire, someone knocked the dart gun from his hand. 

Gang Members appeared from out of nowhere. ‘It’s a trap!’ Dexter’s mind supplied. Dexter started for the alley, but a Gang Member threw a Molotov Cocktail in his direction, and several old cars burst into flames!

Dexter turned quickly as four or five gang members advanced on him. One gang member managed to grab his shirt, but Dexter tore away from him. Another one moved in, attempting to bring him down, but Dexter elbowed him in the face. He bolted away as lightening streaked across the sky, but the gang members were hot on his tail.

The gang members searched yards, porches, under cars. One of the cars they checked under hid the storm drain Dexter was standing in. Abandoned ribbons of crime scene tape billowed from the grating like tiny flags. Dexter slipped from sight, falling back further into the drain. Looking up at the street sign illuminated by a flash of lightning, Dexter realized this was where Eva Arenas was killed.

Dexter shivered in the dripping tomb-like space... the occasional arc of a flashlight swept the moldy cement above. His cell suddenly rang, the sound ridiculously loud in the silent space. The readout showed ‘Angel’, but he quickly turned it off, hoping no one heard it.

A gang member standing near the drain swiveled toward the sound, but noticed a comrade nearby on his phone, so he moved on.    

Dexter sat in the putrid gunk… his spirits sinking fast. ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ he asked himself.

As Dexter sank even lower into despair, his mind latched onto images from his past… the nightmare he’d tried so hard to forget.

 In total darkness, he heard a child’s voice whispering. “Dexter, someone’s coming!”

Lightening flashed overhead, as Dexter opened his eyes and gasped.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” the child’s voice comforted.

Bright light filled the space, and Dexter covered his eyes to block it out. When he could finally open them again, he found himself sitting inside the shipping container.

The doors whipped open to find young Dexter and young Brian sitting in the blood, among the body parts. “These poor boys have been here for days,” a disembodied voice said.  Suddenly a man’s silhouette appeared in the doorway of the container, his shadow falling across the boys. 

Young Brian grabbed young Dexter’s hand and shouted. “Please don’t hurt us!’

The unknown man, his body wrapped in light, stepped into the container and bent down to the boys. His hands reached out and grabbed for young Dexter. The child let out a tiny scream. “No!”

Officer Harry Morgan tugged young Dexter away from his brother. Brian held on tightly, trying to pull Dexter back, but their fingers finally separated, and the boys were forcibly torn apart.

Harry hefted young Dexter to his shoulder and carried him out of the bloody shipping container.   

“Don’t leave me...” Young Brian cried out.

“Biney!” Dexter called back.

Harry, carrying young Dexter, exited the shipping container, leaving young Brian alone in the blood and the gore.

Young Brian cried out again. “Dexter... Please don’t leave Me!”

Then Dexter heard the sound of Harry’s voice yelling. “Get in there! Somebody else get the hell in there now!”

Lightening flashed again, waking Dexter from his fevered-dream. He sat up stunned by his subconscious delusions, as he called out softly, “Brian.”

A heartbeat later, Dexter got up and peeked out the drain. Seeing the gang still there, Dexter slipped back down into the slime and pulled his knees to his chest. ‘This would be the longest night of his life,’ Dexter thought bitterly.

Fortunately, after another hour or so, the gang members dispersed, and Dexter managed to make it back to his car that he’d hidden a few blocks over. He was filthy and stunk to high heavens, so he stopped at a gas station, washed up and changed clothes. Dexter was glad he always carried a spare outfit with him in the trunk of his car.

When he arrived back at his apartment, all the lights were on, and he could see Angel pacing in the window. As soon as he put his hand on the knob, the door flew open. Deb and Angel pulled him inside, wearing matching expressions of sheer terror.

“Where have you been?” They asked in unison.

“It’s 3 in the morning,” Deb said, tapping her watch with her index finger.

Dexter held up his hands in an attempt to calm them down. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Just had a… situation.”

Angel’s eyes were wide, disbelief mingling with relief. “A situation? You don’t just disappear for hours after saying you’re ‘going out for a little while, Dexter! We thought—”

“Thought what?” he interjected, shaking his head slightly. “That I’d gotten kidnapped or hurt?”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone, baby?” Angel asked.

Dexter lowered his eyes sheepishly. “I forgot to charge it, so it went dead.”

Deb crossed her arms, her brow furrowing. “You know this city isn’t safe for you, Dex. You can’t keep doing this. You’re making us worry sick.”

Dexter sighed, the depth of their concern hammering at his conscience. “I get that, really. But this isn’t how I wanted to spend my night. I just needed to track down some research for Musuka, and it didn’t go as planned.”

Angel paced a few steps away, before turning back to him, frustration behind his eyes. “Did you at least find anything?”  

“No. I stayed at the library until it closed, but it wasn’t really helpful,” Dex explained. “When I left the library, I got spooked. I was sure there was a car following me, so I made a few sharp turns and the car stayed with me. I’m pretty sure it was my secret admirer, because Doakes and I sort of reached a truce.”

Deb rubbed her temples in exasperation; concern etched across her face. “A truce? With Doakes? You expect us to buy that just because you might’ve had a moment of civility? He’s always watching you, Dex. You know that.”

“I know,” Dexter said resolutely. “Whoever was tailing me tonight, they were driving a late model black car. It wasn’t Doakes… unless he has another vehicle.”

“He’s never mentioned another vehicle,” Angel said, still looking worried. “Why’d it take you so long to get home, baby?”

“Well,” Dex said, shaking his head. “I planned to grab some takeout and come straight home, but my tag along had other ideas. He followed me all over the city, no matter how hard I tried to lose him. I guess I had a panic attack. I was afraid to lead him here in the event things escalated and he tried to hurt you and Deb. I didn’t know if he might have guns… or what. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I keep having nightmares about him jumping out from behind all kinds of things and attacking me. Sometimes, I think I see him when I’m awake,” Dex admitted.

Deb's eyes widened with concern as she processed Dexter's words. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, Dex. This isn’t just about keeping us safe; it’s about you needing support too. You’re clearly shaken, and we care about you. We can help.”

Angel placed a reassuring hand on Dexter's shoulder. “I really think you should get some therapy for this.”

“Doakes said the same thing,” Dexter grumbled with a sigh. “Thinks I’ve got PTSD.”

“I’d say he’s right,” Deb interjected. “Maybe you can see my therapist?”

“I don’t really like those one-on-one encounters,” Dex stated with a grimace.

Deb looked thoughtful. “Well, I got a card from my therapist for a survivors support group. They deal with PTSD. I still have the card. I didn’t go because I didn’t want to be stared at for being the Ice Truck Killer’s bitch.”

Dexter took a deep breath, grateful for their support. “I appreciate it, really. I promise I’ll check it out.”

“Do you still feel up to going, baby?” Angel asked tentatively.

“Can we still do that… even though it’s so late?” Dex asked in surprise.

“The hotel said we could check in anytime,” Angel replied with a small smile. “Your stalker’s cut into our two days off together, but we can still have a good time, even though it’ll only be a day and a half.”

“My bag is packed and ready to go,” Dex replied. “I packed it last night, so I’m still game if you are?”

Angel grinned. “Well then, let’s hit the road. I promise it’s not far.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re off to?” Dex asked.

Angel giggled. “Nope, baby. It’s still a surprise.”

“Deb,” Dexter said, turning to his sister. “I wish you’d stay with Rita while we’re gone. She might need some support, and you wouldn’t be here alone while we’re away.”

Deb raised an eyebrow, considering his suggestion. “You think she’d be okay with that? I mean, after everything that’s happened recently. Ah, she might not want me around after I punched that guy in the nose.”

“Absolutely,” Dexter replied earnestly. “Rita’s gone through a lot, and your presence could help her stay grounded. Plus, I’d feel better knowing you’re not alone here—especially with my mysterious stalker still on the loose.”

Angel nodded in agreement. “Honestly, Deb, you two could probably use some time together. It might help you both.”  

Deb bit her lip, contemplating the idea. “You might have a point. I didn’t even think about how much she might appreciate someone around. I just hope Paul hasn’t threatened her anymore. She was pretty upset.”

“Exactly,” Dexter encouraged. “She could probably use some adult company. What do you think?”

After a moment of silence, Deb smiled softly. “Okay. I’ll call Rita and see if she’s up for it. I just need to make sure she’s in a good headspace. But I like the idea.”

“Great!” Dex said with a grin.

Dexter felt a rush of relief at Deb's shift in attitude. “Thanks, Deb. It means a lot knowing you won’t be alone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled with a smile. “Promise me you’ll both be careful.”

Angel and Dex nodded. “We promise,” Dexter answered for both of them.

With their plans solidified and spirits momentarily lifted, they began gathering their things, the mood lightening as they focused on the trip ahead. As they readied to leave, Dexter felt a bit of hope amidst the uncertainty that still hung over his head, but perhaps a little escape was exactly what they all needed.

“Alright, Angel. Lead the way to this surprise destination,” Dexter said, trying to stoke the excitement again.

“Just trust me, Dex. You’re going to love it,” Angel assured him.  

With a final glance back at his sister, Dexter felt a wave of warmth wash over him. He was glad to have Angel’s support, even if the road ahead seemed rocky. Together, they could make it through the unpredictability of his crazy life—one thrill ride at a time.

~~~~

As they pulled up to the Eden Roc Renaissance Hotel, the warm glow of its facade welcomed them, a beacon of elegance against the Miami skyline. Dexter's curiosity piqued as Angel turned into the driveway, the sound of the engine fading as they came to a stop under the grand entrance. The valet, sharply dressed in a crisp uniform, opened the door for Dexter, offering a polite smile. Dexter stepped out, the cool ocean breeze brushing against him, carrying the scent of salt and the distant sound of waves.

"Welcome to Eden Roc Renaissance," the valet greeted, taking the keys from Angel.

Dexter's eyes widened as he took in the hotel's grandeur. The architecture, a blend of retro Miami Modern and contemporary luxury, exuded an aura of Old Hollywood charm. The entrance, with its sleek lines and vibrant decor, invited them into a world of sophistication.

Inside, the lobby was a symphony of marble floors, elegant chandeliers, and the soft hum of conversation. The air was filled with the faint scent of exotic flowers and the lyrical notes of a jazz band playing softly in the background, creating an atmosphere of refined indulgence.

Angel led Dexter to the reception desk, where the check-in process was swift and efficient. As they were handed their key cards, Angel mentioned their reservation at Cafe Pompei, and the receptionist, with a knowing smile, assured them their table would be ready for the following evening.

The Jacuzzi Suite was everything Angel had promised and more. Dexter’s fingers trailed over the cool marble of the bathroom countertop, the surface gleaming under the soft light. He wandered over to the balcony, pushing the glass door open with a soft whoosh, and stepped out into the warm Miami night—or early morning. The ocean stretched out before him, a vast expanse of dark water dotted with the faint lights of distant boats. The sound of the waves was a soothing backdrop hum, grounding him after the chaos of the past few hours.

Behind him, Angel moved easily, sliding the key card into the mini-bar and pulling out a bottle of champagne. The cork popped with a muffled crackle, and Dexter turned just in time to see Angel pour two flutes with a flourish. His partner’s smile was magnetic, and Dexter felt a rare sense of peace settle over him as he walked back into the room.

“Thought you might like a little something to unwind,” Angel said, holding out a glass. Dexter took it, the chilled crystal cool against his palm. He sipped the champagne, the tang of the bubbles hitting his tongue as he let his gaze drift around the room. The suite was a masterclass in retro glamour, with its sleek lines and opulent decor, and for the first time in weeks, Dexter felt like he could breathe.

“You shouldn’t have done all this,” Dex said, wagging a finger. “This is too expensive.”

“You need this, love,” Angel declared with a grin. “Nothing is too good for my baby.”

Dexter pulled down the elegant duvet on the bed, and running a hand over the silky bedding, he asked, “Are those satin sheets?”

“Uh huh,” Angel replied with a smirk.

Dexter's fingers tingled as the champagne's effervescence danced on his tongue, leaving a crisp, lingering aftertaste. He set the flute down on the marble countertop, his gaze drifting back to the balcony, where the ocean's rhythmic pulse seemed to synchronize with his heartbeat. The satin sheets beckoned, a soft sheen under the ethereal light, and he felt a shiver run down his spine as Angel approached him, the warmth of his body close.

"Let's make good use of that jacuzzi," Angel suggested, his voice smooth and inviting, as he reached for Dexter's hand. Dexter nodded, the idea appealing, and together they moved towards the bathroom. The steam rose quickly, creating a misty veil that promised relaxation.

As they settled into the warm water, the jets creating a soothing massage, Dexter felt the tension ease from his muscles. The gentle bubbles around them seemed to amplify the intimacy of the moment. Angel leaned back, pulling Dexter close, and Dexter rested his head against Angel's chest, the steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm.

Time slipped away as they lounged, the warmth seeping into their bones, and the world outside faded into insignificance.

Angel pulled Dexter into his lap, lavishing him with languid kisses, full of tongue as his hands roamed over his back.

Dexter moaned as Angel kissed a trail down his neck while he massaged the round firm globes of his ass.

“You feel so good, baby,” Angel sighed breathlessly against Dexter’s neck.

“Mmm, so do you, love,” Dexter murmured contentedly. “But it’ll feel so much better once I’m riding you. Don’t you agree?”

Angel chuckled as he slicked his cock with the expensive hotel body wash. He watched Dexter’s eyes glaze with passion as he sank down on his hard shaft.

“Oh, fuck!” Angel moaned.

Dexter’s hands gripped Angel’s shoulders tightly, his fingertips pressing into the muscle as he moved with a steady rhythm. The warmth of Angel’s skin beneath his touch was comforting and electrifying all at once. He could feel the rise and fall of Angel’s chest against his own, the rapid beats of their hearts synchronizing as they moved together.

Dexter closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the water cradle him as the pressure built in his veins. Angel’s hands were still on his hips, guiding him with a gentle yet firm touch, and Dexter could feel the heat radiating from his palms.

“Dexter,” Angel murmured, his tone low and husky, breaking through the bubble of Dexter’s concentration. Dexter opened his eyes to meet Angel’s smouldering gaze. He could see the faint bead of sweat trickling down Angel’s temple, glistening in the soft light of the bathroom.

Angel’s hands slid up Dexter’s back, his fingers intertwining in the hair at the base of his neck. The touch was possessive, yet tender, and Dexter felt a surge of desire course through him. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against Angel’s ear as he whispered, “I love you.”

The words were barely audible over the gentle hum of the jacuzzi jets, but they danced in the air like a commitment. Angel’s arms wrapped tighter around him, pulling him deeper into the embrace. Dexter could feel the pulse of Angel’s heartbeat against his chest, steady and strong, a rhythm that seemed to echo his own. Angel kissed him again, passionately and possessively as he thrust upward into his lover’s pliant body. “I love you so much, baby,” Angel moaned into the kiss.

Dexter’s breath hitched as Angel’s fingers tightened in his hair, the gentle tug making him tremble with desire. The warmth of the water lapped around them, but it was the heat of their bodies pressed together that truly held his attention. He could feel every contour of Angel’s chest against his own, the rise and fall with each labored breath creating a soothing rhythm that mirrored the jets of water swirling around them.

Dexter sped up his pace, as he impaled himself over and over again on Angel’s pulsating cock, while his lover gently stroked his aching member. Grunts and groans filled the space between them, and Dexter could feel his balls tightening as the tip of Angel’s cock struck his prostate. With a final upward thrust from Angel, Dexter shuddered and spilled his seed over Angel’s chest, his heart swirling with perfect ecstasy. Angel moaned, gripping Dexter’s hips tightly as he found his own earth-shaking release; his warm come filling Dexter’s tight passage with sweet satiation.

"God, you're incredible," Angel murmured, his tone still hoarse with desire. He brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from Dexter's forehead, his touch tender and loving.

Dexter nestled closer. He couldn't help but smile as he luxuriated in the moment.

Eventually, the water began to cool, prompting them to emerge, wrapping themselves in plush robes. The bed, with its inviting satin sheets, was too tempting to resist, and they slipped under the covers, the soft fabric a sensual delight against their skin.

Sleep came quickly, deep and restorative, but it was short-lived as the alarm sounded. Dex took a quick glance at the clock. 11 a.m. already. Angel rolled over, peppering Dexter’s neck with kisses.

“Are you ready for brunch, love, and then a dip in the pool?” Angel asked his sleepy lover.

“Sound’s lovely. I didn’t get dinner last night, so I’m starving,” Dexter declared.

“I’ll order room service, and while we’re waiting, we’ll take a quick shower—okay?” Angel asked.

Angel got out of bed and handed Dexter a menu from the mini-bar. Smiling at his lover, Angel asked, “What’s your pleasure, baby.”

Dexter perused the breakfast-brunch items listed. “It all sounds delicious, but I think I’ll have the strawberry pancakes with homemade whip cream and warm strawberry sauce. “What looks good to you, Love?”

Angel sat on the stool at the mini-bar, looking over the other menu. “Hmm, I think I’ll have the Bananas Foster French toast… comes with maple sausage.

“Wow, that does sound good,” Dexter commented.

“All right, baby. I’ll order, then we’ll take a quick shower,” Angel said as he picked up the phone in the room.

Dexter threw back the covers and sauntered across the floor naked. As soon as Angel hung up with room service, he hastily followed his lover, throwing off his robe and slipping into the shower behind Dex. “We’ve got forty-five minutes, babe,” Angel purred in Dexter’s ear. Let’s make it count.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dexter groaned, sliding the crack of his ass over Angel’s cock.

Angel took the hint, and yanked Dexter’s hip’s back with one hand while he soaped up his cock with the other.

Angel's breath hitched against Dexter's shoulder as warm water sluiced over them both. The citrusy hotel soap stung his nostrils when Angel squeezed another dollop, lathering slippery hands between their bodies. Dexter braced against the marble tiles, coolness seeping into his shoulder blades while heat pooled lower.

The showerhead's patter drowned out everything but Angel's ragged breathing. Dexter's knees threatened to buckle when clever fingers brushed that spot behind his balls. He bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, hips stuttering back against the insistent pressure of Angel’s hammering thrusts.

"Easy, Love," Angel murmured, teeth grazing Dexter's earlobe. The words vibrated through him like bass from a subwoofer.

Dexter's laugh came out breathless. "You started this." Condensation dripped from the ceiling onto his eyelashes, the world blurring into steam and golden skin. His fingers scrabbled against wet tile as Angel's grip tightened.

“And I’m gonna finish it,” Angel assured, pumping his ramrod harder and faster with each beat of his heart.

Angel fisted Dexter’s cock, slick with soap, in a downward spiral until his wobbly-legged lover’s ass muscles clamped tight around his shaft. Dexter bathed the shower wall with his creamy essence, shaking with the force of his orgasm. Angel growled low, and gave one last thrust before exploding inside Dexter's tight ass. “Fuck, Dex, fuck! You make me so fucking horny—I can’t…” he trailed off at Dexter’s breathless chuckle.

“Can we die from too much sex?” Dexter asked with a giggle.

“I don’t know, baby” Angel sighed. “But what a fucking way to go.”

Minutes later, dried off, semi-dressed, and waiting for brunch, the knock at the door startled Dexter mid-yawn. His stomach growled louder as Angel swung it open to reveal a server wheeling in a cart laden with silver domes. The rich aroma of maple syrup and sizzling sausage cut through the lingering musk of sex and citrus still clinging to their skin.

Dexter's mouth watered when the server lifted the dome off his plate—golden pancakes glistening under ruby-red strawberry compote, a cloud of whipped cream melting at the edges. Angel's French toast arrived drowning in caramelized bananas, the scent of rum and cinnamon, making Dexter's fork hover between their plates.

"Easy, tiger," Angel laughed, swatting playfully at Dexter's wrist. "Get your own damn bananas."

The shower after breakfast proved more functional than romantic, hot water sluicing away sticky residues as they took turns soaping each other's backs. Dexter lingered on the raised scar along Angel's shoulder—a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing him.

By the time they stepped onto the pool deck, the midday sun turned the infinity edge into liquid mercury. Dexter's new linen shirt stuck to his damp shoulders as they passed couples sipping mimosas under cabana stripes. He nearly tripped over a discarded sandal when Angel's hand slid into his back pocket, warm fingers grazing the curve of his ass through thin fabric.

"Behave," Dexter muttered, cheeks burning as an elderly woman lowered her Jackie O sunglasses to stare.

"Make me," Angel purred, his breath hot against Dexter's ear as they claimed two lounge chairs. Salt-kissed air mixed with coconut oil as Dexter watched a bead of sweat trail down Angel's chest, disappearing into the waistband of his swim trunks. The pool's turquoise water shimmered with reflected palm fronds, and for the first time in weeks, Dexter's shoulders didn't tense at every shifting shadow.

When the waiter came with frozen mojitos, Angel's foot hooked around Dexter's ankle beneath the towels. Dexter stared at the mint sprig in his drink, the ice crystals melting faster than he could sip. Somewhere beyond the hotel's seawall, the ocean kept its secrets—but here, in this gilded bubble, the only thing that mattered was Angel's thumb tracing circles on his knee.

"Later," Angel promised, teeth glinting in the sunlight as he nodded toward their suite's balcony. "Dinner. Music. Then I'm taking you back upstairs and—"

A child's cannonball splash drowned out the rest. Dexter's laugh felt foreign but welcome, like finding a favorite shirt he'd thought lost. He let his head fall back against the cushioned chair, the sun painting orange patterns behind his eyelids. For now, the world held only this moment—the clink of melting ice in glasses, the press of Angel's thigh against his, and the sweet, unsustainable fiction that tomorrow didn't exist.

The afternoon sun had begun its descent when Angel's gaze drifted from the pool to Dexter, his eyes darkening with familiar intent. He leaned close, lips brushing the shell of Dexter's ear. "Those satin sheets upstairs are still waiting for a proper introduction, don't you think?"

Dexter laughed. “I knew they had to be good for something more than just sleeping.”

“Let’s go, baby,” Angel said, standing and pulling Dex up with him.

Angel folded back the hotel duvet, revealing crisp satin sheets beneath. With gentle pressure against Dexter's chest, he guided his lover onto the bed. The cool fabric whispered against Dexter's skin as Angel's weight settled over him. Warm breath tickled the sensitive spot behind Dexter's ear before Angel's lips found it, drawing a soft moan from deep in his throat. Angel's mouth traveled unhurried paths—first exploring that tender hollow, then returning to claim Dexter's parted lips in a kiss that deepened like a slow-moving current. When Angel finally broke away, his tongue traced a damp path down the column of Dexter's throat.

Angel's fingertips charted a path down Dexter's sternum, then retraced their journey upward, his mouth circling each nipple with rapt attention. A tremor coursed through Dexter's body when warm lips closed around one sensitive peak, drawing it between teeth that knew exactly how much pressure to apply. Meanwhile, Angel's palms wandered across familiar terrain, mapping curves and hollows with possessive certainty.

Having lavished attention on both hardened buds until Dexter's breathing grew ragged, Angel's mouth ventured southward. His tongue dipped into Dexter's navel in lazy spirals—the calculated patience of someone who understood precisely how anticipation could unravel his lover. Then came the briefest flick of tongue against Dexter's straining erection—a fleeting touch that promised everything while delivering just enough to make him arch upward, seeking more.

"Please," Dexter murmured.

"Please, what?" Angel asked.

"Please, no more teasing," Dexter replied.

Angel grinned. "What do you want, Dexter?"

"I want you… want to feel you inside me,” Dexter pleaded.

A rumble vibrated from Angel's throat as he took Dexter completely into his mouth. Dexter's back arched off the satin sheets when Angel's tongue traced the sensitive vein underneath and then swirled around the swollen head.

"God—wait," Dexter choked out, his fingers threading through Angel's hair. His thighs trembled with the effort of restraint. "Not like this. I'll finish too soon."

Angel released him with a wet pop and looked up through dark lashes, one corner of his mouth curling upward. He could feel Dexter trembling at the edge—but this afternoon deserved a slower unraveling, a more delicate, romantic descent into pleasure than a quick sprint to the finish line.

Angel parted his legs with practiced hands, and Dexter's breath caught when that hot, insistent tongue found its target. His body jerked involuntarily at the intimate invasion, then went perfectly still at the husky order from his lover.

"Hold still, baby," Angel growled.

Dexter's body surrendered to Angel's experienced touch, tension melting away as his forehead glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration.

"Please…" Dexter begged again shamelessly.

Angel's tongue teased and probed, each stroke sending Dexter spiraling toward release, before withdrawing just as the sensation crested. When Dexter's gasps turned to desperate pleas, Angel reached for the bedside table, his fingers closing around cool plastic. The cap clicked open. Angel slicked himself with efficient strokes, then settled between Dexter's trembling thighs, nudging them further apart with gentle pressure.

Dexter's vision blurred at the edges, as Angel's fingertips traced up his hard length, while lifting his legs. The sensation of Angel’s cock pushing against his tight entrance built slowly, until their bodies joined in one fluid motion that stole Dexter's breath. His fingers twisted into the sheets, anchoring himself as Angel filled him completely. Each careful thrust sent waves of sensation cascading through him, crashing like the tide upon the shore as Angel found a rhythm—deep, measured, and intensely intimate.

Angel's breath caught in his throat with each movement, the sound half-gasp and half-prayer as Dexter's body yielded beneath him, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Angel's fingers trailed along the sensitive skin of Dexter's inner thigh, while a gentle thumb brushed across the head of his cock. Dexter's entire body went rigid, a gasp suspended in midair as Angel's hand wrapped around his throbbing shaft, establishing a rhythm that left no doubt about his intentions.

Their bodies found that perfect rhythm together, Angel's movements growing more urgent as pleasure built between them. When Angel gasped and his muscles tensed, Dexter knew he was close. Their eyes locked in that final moment—connection deeper than mere flesh—as Angel shuddered and surrendered completely. The intensity triggered Dexter's own release, his body arching as waves of pleasure coursed through him, leaving them both breathless and intertwined in the aftermath.

Angel eased Dexter's trembling legs down to the mattress and shifted beside him, gathering his still-panting lover against his chest. His palm made slow, tender circles between Dexter's shoulder blades until the rapid rise and fall beneath his fingertips gradually steadied into rhythm.

As coherent thought trickled back into Dexter's consciousness, a quiet realization settled over him, like the sheet Angel now pulled across their cooling bodies. His limbs felt boneless, his heart still racing with aftershocks. Angel's breath warmed the curve where his neck met his shoulder, lips pressing there with a tenderness that spoke volumes. When Angel's fingers laced through his, Dexter squeezed back—a wordless acknowledgment that some invisible threshold had been crossed. Neither of them needed to say it aloud. In that moment, Dexter knew with absolute certainty that what they shared transcended the temporary. Yet beneath his contentment lurked that familiar shadow—the one that whispered dark possibilities into his quietest moments. He tightened his grip on Angel's hand, making a silent promise to himself: this time, he would master the monster within before it could destroy everything that mattered.

Chapter Text

Later that day, the maître d' led them through Cafe Pompei's vaulted archways, where wrought-iron sconces cast honeyed light across white linen tables. Dexter's nostrils flared at competing aromas—saffron threads dissolving in seafood broth, the citrus bite of freshly cracked pepper over carpaccio. Angel's knee brushed his beneath the table as they settled into plush banquettes, the contact sending electric warmth up Dexter's thigh.

"Ever had branzino cooked in salt crust?" Angel murmured, fingertips grazing the wine list.

Dexter shook his head, watching the candlelight catch the gold flecks in Angel's eyes. The sommelier appeared with two flutes of Prosecco, bubbles rising like liquid stars. Dexter's first sip burst with green apple crispness, cutting through the rich scent of truffle shavings drifting from the open kitchen.

When the entrees arrived, Dexter's knife sank through the fish's crackling salt armor, releasing steam perfumed with rosemary and sea. The flesh flaked apart like wet silk against his tongue, brine and butter dissolving across his palate. Angel's foot hooked around his ankle as they ate, the secret contact thrumming through him with each stolen glance.

Dexter smiled at the thrill of the moment, the blend of flavors and sensations wrapping around him like a warm embrace. Angel’s laughter bubbled up like the Prosecco, filling the air with a soft, inviting cadence that drew Dexter in. "If you think this is good, wait until you try the special dessert," Angel said, leaning slightly closer, the glint in his eyes teasing with promise.

“Is that a challenge?” Dexter replied, playful mischief threading his words. He savored another bite of the branzino, feeling the lightness of the day solidify as they shared tastes, laughter, and knowing looks.

As their meal progressed, Angel's foot lingered against Dexter’s ankle, an unspoken connection weaving between them. He watched Angel with an appreciation that went beyond mere attraction; there was a depth to this man that intrigued him, a spark that hinted at adventures yet to unfold. The sound of muted conversations faded into a backdrop, the restaurant's ambiance cocooning them like a secret world.

When the dishes were cleared, the dessert menu arrived, and Dexter lost himself for a moment in Angel's enthusiastic descriptions. “Trust me, this dessert is to die for. You’ll fall in love with it, just like I did.”  

As servers presented dessert—a chocolate sphere that melted under brandy sauce to reveal blood orange gelato—Dexter grinned. Angel knew how much he loved the flavor of blood orange. His lover fed him a spoonful, thumb brushing chocolate from the corner of Dexter's mouth, before sucking it clean. The heat in that gesture pooled low in Dexter's belly.

A shiver of pleasure raced through Dexter as he met Angel's gaze, feeling the pulse of connection deepen with that simple, sultry act. The heady tang of excitement mixed with the sweetness of the dessert, spiraling through him like the brandy sauce that flowed over the chocolate sphere, creating an intoxicating concoction of flavors and sensations.

Angel lifted another spoonful of the vibrant gelato, the blood orange gleaming brightly against the dark chocolate, its aroma cutting through the air with a citrusy brilliance. "Your turn," he grinned, the mischief in his eyes inviting Dexter to lean in closer, excitement sizzling between them.

The gelato was cold against the warmth of his mouth, and the flavor exploded—zesty, vibrant, like a burst of sunlight on a winter day. Only Angel's insistent gaze pulled him back from the depths of flavor; he was fully aware of the way Angel’s eyes darkened with desire, the intent behind each precise movement.

“God, this is so good,” Dexter murmured, savoring the moment. He let the words linger in the air, loaded with more meaning than just the dessert. The atmosphere shifted slightly, a subtle undercurrent of tension building between them.

“Good, but not as good as you,” Angel teased, a low, sultry tone that sent warmth rushing to Dexter's cheeks. He could feel his pulse quicken with every heated glance from his lover.

“The evening’s not quite over yet, baby. Ready to hear some good music?" Angel whispered as he dabbed the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin. They headed to the Eden Roc’s nightclub, where the band just started playing.

The nightclub's pulse hit them first—congas thundering through black lacquered doors. Inside, Palo's lead singer wailed into a microphone dripping with sweat, her sequined dress scattering light like shattered mirrors. Dexter's sternum vibrated with tumbadora rhythms as Angel tapped his feet to the beat.

They had a ring side table, close to the band, the rhythm vibrating up through the solid hard wood floors. A waitress materialized with two margaritas, condensation dripping onto Dexter's thumb as he accepted the glass.

The singer's throaty contralto cut through humid air as she gripped the mic stand, hips swaying to the guiro's serpentine hiss. Dexter's margarita glass trembled with each bass slap, lime-salt tang sharp on his tongue when he licked the rim. Angel's fingers drummed the tabletop in sync with the timbales, eyes closed as trumpet brass punched through polyrhythms like a knife through ripe mango flesh.

The atmosphere was electric, a swirling mass of bodies moving in harmony with the music. Dexter glanced around, taking in the colorful crowd—couples entwined in each other’s arms, friends raised glasses in joyous celebration, all lost in the hypnotic beats. He felt the energy of the room seep into him, warmth blooming in his chest as the band launched into a lively number.

Angel leaned closer, lips brushing Dexter’s ear, his tone low. “Can you feel it? The music is alive tonight.” Dexter nodded, heart thrumming in time with the conga’s relentless rhythm. The singer twirled, her hair a cascade of dark curls, and for a moment, it felt as if she was dancing just for them.

As the band shifted into a sultry ballad, the tempo slowed, inviting. Angel’s fingers found the pulse point on Dexter’s wrist, his touch erotic. Dexter turned to meet Angel’s gaze, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. In that moment, under the spell of sultry melodies and dim, glimmering lights, the world outside faded into a distant hum.

Dexter's knee bounced beneath the table despite himself, the congas' staccato patter vibrating up through his shoes. He watched Angel's shoulders roll in unconscious response to the rhythm, his lover's crisp shirt darkening at the collar where sweat met fabric.

The final brass note faded in the air as Palo took their bows. Angel's hand found Dexter's thigh under the table, fingertips pressing with unmistakable intent. Leaning close enough that his lips brushed Dexter's ear, Angel's voice dropped to a whisper. "We need to check out by ten tomorrow," he murmured, thumb tracing small circles against Dexter's leg. "I've arranged something special for us before we head back to reality."

"You're spoiling me rotten," Dexter murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting as he met Angel's gaze. "I'm not sure I'll survive any more royal treatment."

“Sure, you will, baby,” Angel smirked. “You got years of royal treatment coming, so let’s head back to the suite for a little more.”

Back in their room, Angel put on the radio and took Dexter in his arms. Stripping him slowly as he plundered his mouth. The feel of satin sheets engulfed him as Angel lowered him to the bed. The sexy strains of ‘Rock Me Tonite’ played in the background.

♫ I'm rockin' tonite—I’m walkin' on air
Gonna find me some trouble—gonna grab my share
I want ya tonite—I want ya with me
Make me guilty of love in the first degree

You want it all right... we're goin' in style
Say you walk right—you talk right—and your hair's so wild
Snow-white—hey that's not what I mean
We go down in the shadows and crawl between ♫

Dexter’s back arched as Angel’s teeth found his collarbone; the radio's synth beats thrumming in time with his pounding pulse. Exotic cologne and sex musk mingled with the salt-tang of sweat beading between their chests. Angel’s fingers dug into Dexter’s hips as they rolled across cool satin, the fabric whispering against bare skin like the tide receding from the shore.

Angel placed open mouthed kisses down Dexter’s chest, ribs, stomach, swirling his tongue around his writhing lover’s navel.

Dexter's fingers tangled in sweat-damp hair as Angel's mouth moved lower, each hot exhale against his skin sparking tremors that mirrored the synth's staccato pulse. The radio's tinny treble merged with Angel's ragged breathing, creating a dissonant harmony that tightened the muscles in Dexter's stomach. He tasted salt when Angel surged upward to claim his mouth again—salt and the faint bitterness of tequila.

♫ Moonlight in the city brings the magic to your eyes
Freezin' a moment—leave me paralyzed
Breathe an emotion—set it dancin' in my ear
Bring on the rhythm when I hold you near
Take me in your arms—roll me through the night
Take me to your heart—rock me tonight

You do it all right—you’re a passion to see
You been schooled in the art of romancin' me
Hold tight—you’re in for a ride
Can you feel the blood poundin' way down inside ♫

The satin sheet slid beneath his shoulder blades as Angel pinned his wrists, the friction raising goosebumps despite the room's tropical heat. Dexter's laugh caught in his throat, transforming into a gasp when Angel's knee pressed between his thighs.

The sweat pooled in the hollow of Dexter's throat, cooling briefly before Angel's tongue laved it away. The song's bridge throbbed through speakers as teeth grazed his earlobe. Dexter arched against the mattress, every nerve ending singing as Angel grabbed the lube and slicked his fingers and cock. Angel pressed one finger in, working Dexter’s tight passage with care.

The initial stretch burned like guitar strings tuning to pitch, Dexter's breath hitching as Angel's finger crooked just so. Cool lube dripped down his cleft when Angel added another digit, the glide smoother now. Dexter's calves trembled against rumpled satin as Angel scissored him open, each movement sending liquid fire coiling at the base of his spine.

♫ No one's stoppin' us now—
We go down, down where the music's loud
If it's all night—hey that's all right by me
Go and play on my love—play it all for me

 A time for all... and all in time
To slip beyond the border line
Of who we are and where we long to be...
When every night you hear the sound
Of wakin' up and breakin' down
You find a chance and heave it all away

Take me in your arms—roll me through the night
Take me to your heart—rock me tonight ♫

"Look at you," Angel rasped against his thigh, breath fogging the sheen of sweat on Dexter's skin. “So beautiful.” The radio's power chords throbbed in time with Dexter's heartbeat as Angel withdrew his fingers, replaced by blunt pressure that stole Dexter's breath away.

Dexter arched into Angel’s careful invasion, nails scoring his lover’s shoulders as their bodies merged—a slow fuse burning through muscle and marrow. The drag of Angel's cock stretched him fuller than imagination allowed, every millimeter of advance sparking neural flares behind his clenched eyelids. When Angel bottomed out, Dexter's thighs quivered around his waist, the ache transmuting into molten gold as Angel stilled to let him adjust.

"Move," Dexter gritted out. “Please…”

Angel obeyed with a roll of his hips that pulled a moan from Dexter's throat. The rhythm built as the song changed to something with a Latin flavor—beats from the radio syncing with their slap of flesh on flesh. Dexter's heels slipped on satin as Angel drove deeper, each thrust striking that electric bundle of nerves that made colors burst behind his eyelids. The headboard's metronomic thud against the wall matched Dexter's staccato cries, their sweat making Angel's chest slide against his with every downward plunge.

Angel pounded into Dexter’s indulgent heat again and again, ragged breathing and breathless moans punctuating the air around them. Angel wrapped his hand around Dexter’s shaft, sliding it back and forth in time with his thrusts. The dual rhythm threatened to unravel him—Angel's pounding hips and stroking fist creating counterpoint beats that short-circuited all coherent thought. Dexter's throat burned with panting breaths, the air thick with sex and spilled lube, and the ozone tang of overheated electronics from the crackling radio. His vision blurred at the edges as pleasure coiled tighter, each thrust striking that live wire deep inside until his whole body tensed like a snare drum skin stretched too thin.

Dexter's release built like a storm surge—inexorable, devastating. When it broke, his shout drowned beneath Angel's mouth as teeth sank into his lower lip. A blinding flash of light or skyrockets—Dexter wasn’t sure which, went off behind his eyelids, as his come exploded over Angel’s hand and splattered across his chest. His legs wrapped tighter around Angel’s waist, as his ass muscles clamped down tight on Angel’s still hammering cock.

Angel’s orgasm ripped through him—white-hot strings snapping one by one in his spinal cord. He choked on Dexter’s name, as white hot come pumped inside his lover. “Dex, baby, I love you so much,” Angel moaned.

They collapsed in a tangle of trembling limbs, the radio dissolving into something a little less passionate. Dexter's heartbeat gradually slowed from a lust induced frenzy to a languid bolero, Angel's breath soft and warm against his shoulder. Somewhere beyond the curtains, waves lapped against sand in time with their slowing respiration—nature's lullaby for tangled sheets and sticky skin.

Wrapped around each other, Angel and Dexter slept soundly until the wake-up call came at 8:45. “Wake up sleepyhead,” Angel said, nudging his lover playfully.

Dexter groaned and rolled over, grumbling. “You’re just too damn happy in the morning.”

“C’mon, baby,’ Angel prodded. “We’ve got places to go before we return to Miami.”

“Where are we going?” Dexter asked, turning to face his lover.

Angel smiled and brushed the hair out of Dexter's eyes. “We’re gonna drive down the coast to Key Largo. I made us lunch reservations at the Bay Side Grill. Then I thought we’d take a quick walk on the beach before we head back home,” Angel explained.

Dexter smiled. “Yup, definitely spoiled. I’m never gonna want to go back to Miami.”

The marble floor shocked Dexter's bare feet as he stumbled into the bathroom. His reflection winced back at him from the fogless mirror—hair matted on one side, a constellation of love bites trailing down his neck.

The shower's first spray stung his overstimulated skin, but the citrus-scented body wash soothed as he scrubbed away last night's musk. Angel slipped in behind him and washed his back. “Um, we don’t have time for any shenanigans,” Dexter said with a giggle.

Angel's laughter cut through Dexter’s haze as he turned him around for a sensual kiss. "Wear the gray/blue linen shirt! Brings out your eyes!" he drawled.

With their quick shower over, Dexter's fingers hesitated over the turquoise buttons. The fabric whispered against sun-warmed skin, still sensitive from Angel's attentions. Downstairs, valets rolled their vehicle into the porte-cochere.

Key Largo unfurled beyond the windshield like a picture postcard—turquoise waters licking at limestone outcroppings, pelicans diving like crumpled paper airplanes. Dexter's thigh burned where Angel's hand rested on the gearshift, thumb rubbing idle circles through thin cotton.

At Bay Side Grill, dock pilings creaked beneath their table. Dexter's mojito condensed in the salt-heavy air, as he bit into a conch fritter, the crisp shell giving way to tender mollusk flesh perfumed with allspice. The server presented grilled lobster tail dripping with garlic butter—the scent so rich Angel’s mouth watered before the plate touched the tablecloth.

Later, white sugar sand infiltrated Dexter's loafers as they walked the tide-line. He paused to roll up khakis, seawater foaming around his ankles. The breeze carried coconut oil and distant laughter from a catamaran's party. Angel's arm slid around his waist, warm palm settling against the small of his back where muscles still ached pleasantly.

Dexter pocketed a sun-bleached cockle shell, its ridges imprinting his thumb. The cars leather seats would brand his thighs during the drive home, but for now, he let the horizon blur where sea met sky—a blue so deep it hurt to look at, yet impossible to turn away from.

 “This is the most relaxed I’ve seen you in weeks,” Angel remarked as they sat on the beach watching the waves and listening to the calls of the gulls.

“Yeah, I wish we could stay here forever,” Dexter said, looking longingly at Angel. “I have this reoccurring dream about us.”

“Really?” Angel asked curiously. “What is it, baby?”

“You and I,” Dexter said dreamily. “We’re old and living in a beach house, far away from everyone. We walk the beach, collect sea shells, and watch the evening sunsets.”

“Sounds peaceful,” Angel stated. “Is there still a little la pasión?”

Dexter giggled. “Still a lot.”

Angel's laughter joined with the crash of surf, his fingers tracing idle patterns through the damp sand between them. He watched a hermit crab emerge from its stolen shell twenty paces down shore, antennae twitching toward a fresh vacancy in the tidal debris.

"Maybe we start with," Angel said, brushing sand from his watch. The stainless steel glinted as he turned his wrist, afternoon sunlight fracturing across its face. "Buy one of those Airstream trailers. Park it at Bahia Honda."

Dexter's thumbnail picked at a barnacle scar on the cockle shell in his pocket, its ridges mapping against his fingerprints. Salt-cured driftwood cracked under shifting weight as Angel leaned closer, his shoulder radiating heat through Dexter's thin shirt. The fantasy shimmered like heat waves on asphalt—tarnished silver trailer, checkered curtains flapping in saline gusts, Angel's bare feet leaving damp prints on aluminum steps.

A child's shriek pierced the moment—tourists further down the beach chasing kites floating on the breeze. Dexter's heel dug deeper into wet sand, cool grit working between his toes.

The car keys jingled as Angel stood, sand cascading from his calves in miniature avalanches. He let himself be pulled upward, Angel's grip firm and sure, their shadows merging into a single dark smudge on the bleached sand.

"Home's waiting," Angel said, though the word sank strangely in Dexter's chest.

Miami meant high-rises and the bitter aftertaste of stress, but also Angel's aftershave on shared pillowcases and takeout containers stacked by the balcony door, along with Deb’s incessant exercising. But was it really home? Dexter liked his fantasy home with Angel better. There were no worries there—and no Dark Passenger to contend with—just him and Angel—forever.

Late Sunday afternoon, when Angel and Dexter finally arrived home, Deb was waiting for them, her expression dark.

 “What’s the matter?” Dexter asked, instantly concerned. “I thought you’d still be at Rita’s.

“Well,” Deb said, shaking her head. “It’s been hell here.”

“What the fuck?” Angel asked.

Deb sighed. “Rita’s ex-husband got into a prison fight and was killed Saturday afternoon.”

“Oh, my God!” Dexter cried. “Is Rita okay? How’s she handling it?”

Deb stood up and paced the floor. “She’s okay. Poor Cody is taking it the hardest. I stayed with them until just a few hours ago. There’s not a whole lot she can do until Monday morning—as far as funeral arrangements go. I’m gonna help her tomorrow—be there for moral support.”

Dexter's throat tightened as coconut-scented memories of their beach walk clashed with the sterile apartment air. The phantom taste of blood orange gelato turned acidic in the back of his mouth. He watched Deb's pacing feet imprint temporary valleys in the carpet.

“You taking tomorrow off?” Angel asked as his knuckles tightened around his car keys. "They need anything? Money for the funeral? Legal stuff?"

Deb's laugh came out sharp as a pistol shot. "Paul bled out in the prison yard over a fucking cigarette debt. Rita's just..." She scrubbed both hands down her face, leaving red streaks across freckled cheeks. "The kids keep asking if they have to visit graves now instead of visitation rooms. But yeah, I already cleared it with Pascal.”

Dexter's fingers twitched toward his phone, imagining Rita's trembling hands arranging lilies. The Dark Passenger stirred, whispering how prison shivs glint differently than kitchen knives. He swallowed against the rising bile, throat muscles working around unspoken confessions.

The air around him still smelled like Key Largo, saltwater and coconut oil bleeding through his pores, and beneath it all—the sinking reality of Miami seeping back in. "Text us the funeral home address when you get it," Dexter heard himself say. “We’ll send flowers, or make a donation to the charity of Rita’s choice. Just keep us posted. You’re not going back to Rita’s tonight?”

"Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “Her parents arrived this afternoon, so I'm here until tomorrow morning. “I’ll go over about eleven. You guys both got day shift, right?”

Angel shook his head. “No, Dex does, but I’ve got the 1 to 9 shift.”

“Okay, I’ll be back by 6,” Deb stated. “Don’t want you being by yourself, Dex.”

“Shit, Deb…” Dexter started to say.

“No arguments,” she insisted. “It’s not safe.”

He watched Deb's retreating back disappear into her bedroom.  Angel rummaged through the fridge, looking for something he could pass off as dinner. "Leftover Chinese?" The crinkle of takeout containers broke the silence—three-day-old lo mien. Dexter's stomach recoiled at the sight of congealed sauce, still saturated with seafood broth and citrus from their last meal here at home. He stared at it, imagining Paul's blood spreading across prison concrete instead of fish sauce soaking the carton. The Dark Passenger stretched behind his ribs like a cat arching its back. ‘I need to get control of him,’ Dexter told himself. ‘One more mission—have to finish Little Chino. I made a silent promise to Eva Arenas—and I intend to keep it.’

“I don’t think I can eat that, Angel. My stomach’s a little off now,” Dex said, showing a bit of green around the gills.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Angel replied with a nod. “How about some soup instead?”

Angel turned away from the fridge, and grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup from the cupboard, heating it in the microwave with a thumbs up. The familiar smell wafted toward Dexter, a comforting blend of salty broth and soft noodles. But instead of easing his stomach's churning, a knot twisted tighter in response to the day’s tension.

“Soup it is,” Dexter forced himself to say, managing a weak smile that felt more like a grimace. He took a seat at the small kitchen table; its surface scarred from hasty meals past. As the sweet and savory aroma lingered in the air, he noticed Angel's brows knit together, concern shadowing his handsome features.

"It's not bad," Angel said, offering a spoonful of the steaming liquid as he settled into the chair opposite Dexter. He watched closely, his eyes searching. Dexter accepted the bite, the broth warm and faintly earthy against his tongue, but it felt like a brittle promise. The taste melded with the lingering beach memories and the depth of Rita's sorrows, making each swallow feel like a lead ball rolling down his throat.

The ate pretty much in silence, but curled up that night together on the air mattress. “You know,” Angel whispered in his ear. “I wish we could’ve stayed in Key Largo too. I like your dream—of us old and living on the beach—it’s nice.”

“I wish we could have stayed too,” Dexter murmured, his thought still lingering on the warmth that resonated with the memories they’d created. The air mattress squeaked beneath him, and he burrowed deeper into the plush cocoon of sheets, his limbs entangled with Angel’s. “You know, sometimes I really think we could do that… build a life like that.”

He could feel Angel’s breath tickle the back of his neck, warm and steady. Despite the heaviness of the day pressing at the edges of his mind, every breath he took was infused with the sweet, sweet echoes of their short escape, a brief reprieve from the weight of reality.

He turned slightly to look at Angel, half-hidden in shadows. The angles of his lover's jaw were softened by the dim light, and Dexter sought the safety of those dark, expressive eyes.

“We can, baby,” Angel assured him. “All we have to do is visualize what we want and go after it.”

Dexter chuckled. “Okay—well—let’s start visualizing”

The night seemed short, as Dexter’s alarm sounded way too early. He cut it off quickly, so it wouldn’t wake Angel or Deb. He showered, drank a quick cup of coffee, and headed out the door, taking a good look at his surroundings before venturing to his car. The same old scene greeted him at work, detectives milling about, Pascal brooding in her office, Doakes staring at him with a feral gaze. Around noon, they got a call about a body, slashed to hell and dumped in South Beach.

Musuka and Dexter were called to the scene, and as Dexter walked around the body, his Dark Passenger filled in the details of the kill.

“Switchblade,” Dexter stated confidently. He blinked against the sun’s glare, trying to focus on the figure sprawled grotesquely by a dumpster. A thin trickle of crimson was coagulating slowly into the gutter, mingling with litter and the faintest scent of saltwater wafting from the shore nearby.

Dexter crouched next to the body, assessing knife wounds that marred the flesh, creating horrific patterns that formed an odd design. Each slash told a story he instinctively recognized—this was no crime of passion; it was calculated, ceremonial. Occult—ritual!

After thoroughly processing the scene, Dexter felt he could put a coherent report together, but as he was heading back to his vehicle, Doakes approached him.

“Hey, Morgan,” Doakes said as he moved closer.

“Hey, Sergeant,” Dexter replied tentatively.

"Been looking for you," Doakes said, his tone a low rumble. "You disappeared for a while there."

“Yeah, I was off,” Dexter said, his eyebrow raised. “I do get days off.”

“Right,” Doakes replied with a smirk. “Well, I was thinking, since we both have day shift, we could pick up a Little Caesar’s pizza and go to a Motel 6. Whatcha say?”

Dexter froze, staring in disbelief at Doakes, then he erupted into unexpected laughter that caught even him off guard. "Motel 6?" he managed to say, the words barely escaping between gasps for air.

“What’s so damn funny?” Doakes asked with a snarl.

Dexter shook his head after he got the giggles under control. “I just got back from the Eden Roc Renaissance Hotel. Angel booked us a jacuzzi suite with a king-sized bed and mini-bar. We ate brunch in the suite, lounged by the infinity pool, had a gourmet dinner at the Cafe Pompei, and listened to live music by Palo in the nightclub. We drank champagne and slept on satin sheets. The next day, we went to Key Largo for lunch at the Bay Side Grill, and then strolled along the beach. So, let me see if I’ve got this right—you want to buy me ‘Pizza Pizza’ and fuck me at Motel 6—is that correct?”

Doakes rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Morgan? I guess it would sound like a bit of a letdown after all that.”

“A bit?” Dexter said a little louder than he intended. “Ya think?”

“I didn’t know you were into all that fancy shit,” Doakes hissed indignantly.

“Dexter got in his car, but added a few more jabs before driving away. “I’m not. It was a complete surprise to me. A surprise I never asked for, but it was amazing and thoughtful—it’s called romance.”

Dexter put the car in gear and pulled away, leaving Doakes standing there with his mouth hanging open.

Dexter drove through the familiar streets of Miami, palms swaying lazily in the humid afternoon air. Each traffic light turned red felt like an eternity, and frustration bubbled beneath his skin. The vibrant colors of the city felt muted today, swallowed by the weight of the day’s grim revelation. He couldn’t shake off the memory of the gruesome scene, each detail replaying in his mind like a broken record, the blood against the asphalt, and how decisively it had been spilled. He tried to push it away, but the shadows clung tighter, echoing the flare of something darker in him. The victim-a young woman—had her whole life ahead of her until someone snuffed it out.

The conversation with Doakes replayed, each jibe reopening that tender spot where satisfaction from his brief escape collided violently with remnants of the familiar dread. Did he really want to go back to this life? It gnawed at him, unsettling his stomach. Had he really let Angel pull him into some bright fantasy that felt impossibly out of reach? He remembered Angel's laughter, the feel of the sun on his skin during their walk on the beach, warmth brushing beneath the cool water, and how that laughter drifted like music, soothing away the harshness of reality.

Pulling into the parking lot of the precinct, he took a steadying breath, steeling himself. He went straight to his office and began working on his report from the recent crime scene. He made his way past desks strewn with files and half-drunk coffees, the aroma of stale donuts lingering in the bullpen.

About half an hour after Dexter settled at his desk, Doakes pushed through the precinct doors, his face showing signs of annoyance as he passed Dex’s office. Fortunately, Doakes didn’t enter his sanctuary.

Out on the smoking veranda, Masuka puffed on a cigarette, chatting with a Forensics Tech as Doakes entered, and waved away the smoke.

 “What the fuck’s that smell?” Doakes asked, wrinkling his nose.

 “Clove,” Musuka answered pleasantly.  “What’s up, Sergeant?”

 “Still waiting on Forensics from the Arenas murders,” he said gruffly.

 “I’m kind of, uh, underwater with the Bay Harbor bodies,” Musuka tried to explain.

Special Agent Lundy watched the exchange as he made tea in the break room.

 “We’re all busy, Musuka. Make it happen,” the sergeant snarled.

As soon as Doakes left, Musuka turned to the Tech. “Somebody needs his knob polished—besides me.”

A few minutes later, Doakes approached Lundy. ‘Scuse me, sir.  Got a minute?”

“Or three,” Lundy said with a smile. “Good tea takes time. What’s up, Sergeant?”

 “It’s about your task force,” Doakes replied assertively.  “I think I could bring something to it.”

“I’ve looked into your jacket, Sergeant. Some fine work here in Homicide. Miami Metro is lucky to have you,” Lundy praised.

 “Thank you, sir. I’ve always tried to—”

“But I don’t think you’d be a good fit for my team,” Lundy said firmly, cutting Doakes off.

“But you just said I’m qualified,” Doakes retorted with a confused expression.

 “I said you’ve done some fine work in Homicide. Frankly, Sergeant, you’re more of a leader than a team member. I’m just not convinced you play well with others,” he said as he plopped his teabag in the sink and walked off in the direction of his office.

LaGuerta and Doakes exchanged a look, before Doakes shook his head and stormed off in a snit.

Dexter pulled his report together on the latest homicide and was about to print it when the need for caffeine hit him hard, so he went to the break room for a cup of coffee.

On his way back to his office, Doakes Screeched. “Where’s my fucking report on the slasher murder? What the fuck are you doing, Morgan?”

Dexter glared at the sergeant, as everyone in the bullpen stopped and stared.

“It’s ready, Sergeant,” Dexter said calmly. “I just have to print it.”

Dexter turned around and went back into his office, trying not to spill the coffee, but the shaking was so bad he had to use both hands to set the cup down. He ran his fingertips across his forehead as he hit the print button on Doakes’ report.

Dexter waited for the sound of the printer to finish, tapping his fingers on the desk in a staccato rhythm. The room buzzed with muffled conversations and the whir of machines, but all he could focus on was the lingering tension from Doakes' outburst. Enough to undo the calming effect of the beach and its warm, salt-kissed memories. He took a deep breath, savoring the bitter taste from a sip of the coffee, but it did little to soothe the knot tightening in his stomach.

The familiar sound of booted footsteps echoed through the bullpen, drawing his attention away from the document. He glanced up just as Doakes entered his office.

Dexter slammed the pages of the report into a manila folder and handed it to the sergeant without a word, but the look on his face spoke volumes.

Dexter's pulse quickened as Doakes took the folder from his hand, inspecting the report as if it were a ticking time bomb.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Doakes leaned in. “I’m sorry, I yelled at you like that.”

“Yeah, I knew the truce thing wouldn’t last,” Dexter replied snidely. “I’m too easy a target.”

“Look, I’ve had a really bad day,” Doakes attempted to explain.

Doakes stared at the report, the tension of his earlier anger shifting to something more vulnerable. Dexter sensed the change in the air.

"Doakes..." Dexter began, but the words escaped him. He hesitated, wary of the crack of a truce that might shatter again under pressure. The sergeant's brow furrowed deeper, shadows pooling beneath his eyes.

“Just... I shouldn’t have lost it like that. It’s not you,” Doakes murmured, the gruffness of his tone softened by sincerity.

Dexter’s grip tightened around his coffee mug. “Right. You just enjoy berating everyone—but mostly me,” he said lightly, trying to keep the conversation from diving into deeper waters.

Doakes chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling from his chest. “You’re different. You know that,” he added, then paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t really mean to take it out on you. It’s just—Lundy said he didn’t want me on his task force—pissed me off.”

“Why doesn’t he want you?” Dexter asked hesitantly. “You know your job.”

“Lundy can’t see talent when it bites him in the ass,” Doakes muttered, turning the folder over in his hands. Dexter caught a glimpse of frustration and anger crossed with something deeper.

“Just give it some time,” he said, trying to soothe the surly sergeant. “You know how things go around here. He might have a change of heart.”

Doakes snorted, half-laughing but still tense. “Yeah, I don’t think Lundy is the type to have a change of heart.”

Doakes turned, gripping the report tightly, and left his office. Dexter sighed with relief, thinking that dealing with Doakes was absolutely exhausting.

From across the bullpen, Lundy observed the interaction with careful eyes. He'd been keeping tabs on the situation ever since he heard about the stalker targeting Officer Morgan’s brother. Better to monitor these tensions than let them escalate into something worse.

Chapter Text

Deb returned home that evening with the information for funeral arrangements in hand. She'd spent the day at Rita's, helping mind the children, while Rita and her parents worked through the grim logistics of Paul's burial. The five thousand from his insurance policy wouldn't buy much ceremony, but at least it spared him the indignity of a state-funded funeral.

“The viewing is closed casket,” Deb told Dexter and Angel. “Wednesday night from 6 to 8 p.m., and the funeral is at 11 o’clock on Thursday.

“I know it’s hard on the kids,” Dex retorted. “But I can’t help think they're better off without him. I know… I know that makes me a terrible person for saying that.”

“No, baby,” Angel countered. “He wasn’t a good husband or father from what I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, remember I’m the one who got the call when he slammed her head against a wall,’ Deb fumed. “He was a no good, abusive son of a bitch.”

Dexter nodded, his brow furrowed with sympathy. “It doesn’t excuse the fact the kids lost their father, no matter how lousy he was,” he said softly. “I just wish there was a way to protect them from the pain of it all.”

Angel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know. It’s awful when kids have to go through something like this.”

Deb sighed, her heart heavy. “Rita needs support now more than ever. I can’t imagine what she’s going through. She’s lost so much already.”

“Do you think she blames me for abandoning her?” Dex asked, uncertainty creeping into his tone.

“I don’t think so,” Deb replied. “It’s a fucked-up situation, and it was fucked up before you even entered the picture.”

Angel stood up and stepped away to grab a glass of water.  

Dexter turned back to Deb, his expression serious. “You’re right. They need stability, especially now.” He paused, glancing out the window where the last rays of sunlight faded into dusk.  

“When things calm down,” Deb said steadfastly. “I’m gonna introduce her to someone else. You don’t mind, do you?”

Dexter shook his head. “No, I don’t mind. Who were you thinking about introducing her too?”

Angel returned, placing the glass on the table as he settled back into his seat.

“Well, I heard Mac say he liked blonds, so I thought about him, since he’s divorced.”

“I don’t know, Deb. Mac’s a vice cop—deals with lots of gorgeous women on a daily basis. I don’t know if Rita would go for that,” Dexter argued.

“That’s true, but I don’t think he’s fucking them,” Deb retorted.

Angel and Dexter gave Deb a side eye and shook their heads. “Do what you think best, Deb.” Dexter said with a shrug.

“You working tomorrow, Debra?” Angel asked.

“Yup. Got the same shift as you. Pascal wants us to hit the pavement on the Arenas case. It’s goin’ nowhere fast.”

“I hear ya,” Angel replied sadly. “Someone needs to bring Little Chino down.”

‘I couldn’t agree more,' Dexter thought to himself.

~~~~

The next morning, Debra and Angel arrived at a door in the Arenas neighborhood.

“Can’t wait to get another door slammed in my face,” Deb snarled.

“If I lived in this neighborhood, I wouldn’t talk to the cops either,” Angel replied adamantly.

“Brave guy like you?” Deb chided.

Angel shook his head. “It’s about survival. These people have families, kids. Not so easy to be talkative, with the 29th Street Kings playing whack the witness.”

“Just takes one, right?” Deb said, hoping for the best.

“Put that out into the universe,” Angel said as he knocked on the next door.

“Miami Metro. Can we talk to you?” Angel called through the door.

From inside, a female voice shouted. “Go to hell!”

“Okay, but before we do that, Ma’am, could we ask you a few questions?” Angel tried again.

“How many is a few?” the woman asked.

 “Uh, three. But one’s a two-parter,” Debra added.

The lock on the door suddenly rattled. Debra and Angel looked at each other.

 “Go away before I call the police!” the woman cried.

 “We are the fucking police!” Deb shouted back.

“I ain’t talking to no one who uses language like that,” the woman said.

Debra was about to pound the door with the heel of her hand, but Angel stopped her.

“Look on the bright side,” Angel said, pulling her away.

 “What bright side?” she asked, glaring back at the closed door.

“Karmically?  We’re batting a thousand. Something balancing about that kind of consistency,” Angel said seriously.

Debra rolled her eyes and headed off, but as she rounded the corner, she spotted the kid, Joey Nunez, vandalizing her unmarked patrol car with spray painted gang symbols. 

 “God-damn it!” Debra screamed.

Joey dropped the can and bolted away, but Debra bounded after him.

“Morgan!” Angel shouted, taking after her. 

The chase was on. Joey, young and fit, tore away, but Debra was possessed, and the kid couldn’t put any real distance between them. Joey kept looking back, not believing the lady could keep up with him. But Angel couldn’t. He lagged farther and farther behind.

Deb’s fury built with each stride, spurring her onward. Finally, Joey faltered as he careened into an alley, and Debra was on him like a puma.  Dragging him down from behind, she straddled him and drew her gun—her mind amped with irrational anger.

“You think you can just spray paint your gang crap on a police car and get away with it?” Deb screamed.

 “Get off me, lady,” Joey cried.  “Unless you want to fuck me like you fucked the Ice Truck Killer!”

“Wrong thing to say, kid,” Debra growled as she jammed her gun into the kid’s neck. “You little gangbang wannabe piece of shit; you wanna get shot? ‘Cause I’ll fucking shoot you, asshole!”

At this point, Deb was completely in a blind rage. “Every single goddamn one of you fuckers who keep fucking with me!”

“What do you want?” Joey whined, frightened now.

Deb, her finger twitching on the trigger, shrieked at Joey. “WHAT DO I WANT? I WANT TO PUT A BULLET IN YOUR BRAIN!” she screamed.

In the face of such unbridled intensity, Joey crumbled, his injustice no match for her fury. 

“No! Please! I’ll tell you...” the kid cried.

 “Tell me what?” Deb asked.

“Where the shit is. The drugs and shit... please don’t shoot me, Miss!”

His adolescent terror snapped Debra back to her senses. ‘Jesus,’ she thought. ‘I almost shot this kid.' She withdrew her pistol from Joey’s neck and got to her feet.  Just as she started to re-holster her gun, Angel came huffing around the corner, and he noticed Debra had her weapon out.

Debra’s heart was pounding as she secured her pistol and looked across to the kid as Angel yanked him to his feet.

When Dexter arrived for his shift, he walked into an eerily quiet bullpen. Dexter looked around, taking in the deserted squad room. Just before he got to his office, he saw where everyone was—all the cops and support personnel were at the windows, looking down at something.

Dexter crossed over to the group and looked out the windows too. Shackled gang members were being perp-walked into the building. Dexter scanned the Gang Members and turned to Angel. “The 29th Street Kings?”

Angel grinned. “Yeah, we got ‘em.”

LaGuerta broke away from the group and addressed her colleagues.

 “SWAT did a sweep of some Auto Body shop those animals were using as a front. Maybe we didn’t get them on murder, but we busted their asses on drugs, weapons and money laundering.

“Half of them are three-strikers,” Pascal said with a smile. “They’re going away forever.”

Pascal put her hand on Debra’s shoulder. “Thanks to Officer Morgan here.”

Dexter looked to Debra as the cops congratulated her.  She seemed somewhere between humbled and troubled.   

Angel pulled Dexter aside, trying to decide the best way to broach the subject.

“Something you should know, Dex. Um, Deb pulled a gun on an unarmed boy to get him to give up the gang.”

Dexter watched as Debra, clearly upset, slipped out of the station.  He looked to Angel.

Thanks, Love,” he whispered.  “I’ll talk to her.”

 I’ll give her one thing though—she’s in motherfucking good shape,” Angel commented admiringly.

 “Here comes another one,” Doakes announced.

Everyone looked out as a SWAT van arrived with another string of gang prisoners.  Dexter watched intently. 

“Did they get Little Chino too?” he asked.

Angel shook his head in disgust. “Cocksucker wasn’t there.”  

Dexter did his best to hide his pleasure. “That’s... too bad,” he managed to reply.

The group finally broke up, and Dexter headed for his lab, Pascal for her office. 

A Runner came into the bullpen and handed LaGuerta an Inter-Departmental envelope.  She opened it, read the contents, and went into Pascal’s office.

‘Scuse me, Esmee?” Maria said, handing her the envelope.  “Opened this by mistake. It said ‘Lieutenant’...” 

 “No worries, Maria. Today’s all about the win. Let’s enjoy it.”

But LaGuerta didn’t leave the office, so Pascal looked up at her expectantly.

Maria took a hesitant step forward. “You stop me when you think I’m speaking out of turn... or above my station... but we really don’t use department resources for personal matters around here.

“What are you talking about?” Pascal asked.

LaGuerta pointed to the envelope. “Let’s, for argument’s sake, say these phone records belong to your fiancé; it could open a shit-ugly can of worms you might not be able to close.

Pascal nodded. “Only if someone mentions it.” She held LaGuerta’s gaze and offered her a slight smile.

“Then, this is me not mentioning it,” Maria said with a knowing look.

As Maria started to go, Pascal stopped her. “Maria... I’m new at this. New at not trusting the man I thought I loved. I just want to say... I appreciate your support."

A silent moment of understanding passed between them before LaGuerta left the office.

Dexter called Deb while he worked on his computer. “Deb, it’s me. Again. You’re probably at the gym. Again.”

He tapped the keyboard, and photos of Little Chino appeared on the screen. “I’ve got some unfinished business outside the office. Plus, I was gonna check out the support group. I’ve already told Angel I’d be late. We’ll catch up when I get home, because I really want to talk to you.” 

Dexter hung up, pushing away from his desk, and got to his feet.

Doakes was sitting at his desk when Angel approached him. “Maria told me about the task force. They say when you don’t get what you want, it’s the biggest sign the universe is giving you a gift. Did you know Lundy asked me and Deb to be on the task force?”

Doakes gave Angel a look like he wanted to rip his head off.

“After what I’ve been through, that’s the way I see life? For every door that closes, another one opens,” Angel said, smiling placidly.

The door to Dexter’s lab opened, and Doakes stared at him intently. Dexter flashed a smile at Angel, which seemed to antagonize Doakes even more as Dexter left the bullpen.

“Why do you keep looking at Dex like that?” Angel asked with a low growl. “You need to stop following him, and ingratiating yourself in his life.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help protect Dexter from his crazy stalker,” Doakes said with a smirk. “The department’s not going to waste resources on him, so you should be grateful. Why are you still here anyway? I thought you got off with Debra?”

“I wanted to finish the reports on the kid’s statement. I also wanted to try and track down Little Chino, but he’s gone underground,” Angel said, walking away from Doakes.

~~~~

Later, on the top floor of an abandoned building, Joey Nunez was busy spraying gang symbols on the bare walls. A ratty mattress, fast-food bags, and a boombox indicated this was where the kid lived.

Down below on the street, a Chrysler 300C roared to a stop, and Little Chino emerged from the vehicle, looking as big as a silo. He reached into the car, pulled out his machete, and headed for the Freight Elevator.

Little Chino entered the building and pulled the iron grating closed behind him, pressing the number 10 button. The car ascended slowly, but suddenly the freight elevator shuddered to a stop at the second floor. Little Chino impatiently poked at the control panel. Nothing.

Dexter appeared out of nowhere, and quickly secured the iron grate with a pair of handcuffs, effectively trapping Chino inside. Brandishing the Tranq Stick, he jammed the business end into Chino’s neck, but the big man bellowed and grabbed the stick. Enraged, he pulled on it, yanking Dexter against the cage, as the Tranq Stick was now all that separated him from the huge wounded animal... trying to kill him.

The elevator arrived on the tenth floor, and Joey turned, startled by its presence, but the elevator was eerily empty.

Dexter wheeled the unconscious Little Chino on a four-wheeled construction dolly, as his inner monologue cheered him on.

‘It was simple really.  All I had to do was put myself into the mind of a killer. Hardly a stretch.’

He dumped Little Chino into the Chrysler’s trunk.

‘It was only a matter of time before Little Chino went after Joey Nunez.’ Dexter climbed into the Chrysler and started it. The car pulled away from the curb with the rear-end visibly sagging. 

“I’m gonna need a bigger boat,” Dexter said out loud.

Dexter took Chino to the auto body garage and donned his kill garb. He pushed the button on the lift, and Little Chino’s prostrate body rose. Dexter had the massive Little Chino bound to an auto lift.

‘Thanks to my sister’s exuberant police work, this place became available.  I’ll have to find a way to thank her.’

The lift jolted to a stop, and Little Chino opened his eyes, looking around warily.  Photos of Eva Arenas, Rafael Arenas, and his other victims were propped behind votive candles. Each victim had a blood-red teardrop weeping from his or her left eye. Little Chino struggled against his restraints as Dexter stepped into his field of vision.

“Trust me, you are not going anywhere,” Dexter told him.

 “Who the fuck are you?” Chino asked with a growl.

 “That kind of talk is only going to bring you closer to your victims,” Dexter assured him.

Little Chino’s eyes darted to Eva’s photograph. “You a cop? ‘Cause I was cleared on that bitch,” he said smugly.

“Maybe you didn’t do the deed, but her blood is on your hands. A lot of blood is on your hands,” Dexter said.

“What do you care about these people?” Chino asked.

 “Actually...” he began as he sliced through Chino’s stitched up face, a crimson thread of blood appearing in the wound.

“... I don’t,” Dexter added matter-of-factly.

 “Then why are you doing this to me?” Chino asked angrily.

 “I’m not so much doing this to you; as I’m doing this for me,” he replied calmly as he prepared the blood slide and sat it on a table. Then he lit another, votive, and when the smoke cleared, Chino could see a photo of Eva’s daughter, Marissa. Dexter returned to Little Chino with his killing tools at the ready. He nodded to Marissa’s picture.

“I never killed no kid,” Chino protested.

“No, but you killed most of her. Her brother, mother, her... innocence. You leave pain behind wherever you go,” Dexter said.

“You kill me, what do you leave behind?” Chino asked.

 “A world without you,” Dexter said with a satisfied smirk. He drew back his knife and regarded his steady hand—no tremor.

 “Look at that, steady as a surgeon,” Dexter said, impressed.

He sucked in a long deep breath, then confidently shoved the knife into Little Chino’s chest.

A smile crossed Dexter’s face.  ‘At last.’ And he finally allowed himself to exhale, a cleansing rush of air escaping his lungs. 

Dexter looked down at Chino’s tattooed arm of Christ on the crucifix, and the blood-red teardrops. Then Little Chino’s own blood coursed over the tattoo, totally obscuring it from sight.

Dexter piloted the ‘Slice of Life’ across the inky waters. “All in all, a good day,” Dexter said with a sigh. “I’ve changed from heavy duty to industrial strength for the proper disposal of...” He looked to a stack of plastic bags, full and lumpy with his secret.

Dexter examined his depth scanner.  “I’ve found a newer, safer place to dump my trash.”

He stopped the boat and lifted the first bag to the gunnel. “Moving at over four miles an hour, the Gulf Stream is one of the world’s most powerful deepwater currents.” He let the bag fall into the water and grabbed the next one.

“This time tomorrow, Little Chino will be north of Palm Beach,” Dexter told himself as he dropped the next bag overboard.

 “After that, it’s on to Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina; until eventually... well, let’s just say the North Atlantic’s a pretty big place.”

He released the last bag and watched it go wistfully, just as his cell rang, breaking the spell. ‘Angel.’

“Hey, love. What’s up?” Dexter asked.

“Where are you?” Angel asked in that worried tone of voice.

“Sorry,” Dexter sighed. “I’m on my boat. I needed some time to think about how I’m gonna approach Deb regarding her behavior. I really think she needs more therapy, but she’s gonna go off. I just know it.”

“Are you anywhere near home, because Deb and I were both worried?” Angel asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

“Yeah, I’m almost there,” Dexter replied as he put the boat in high gear and made a beeline for the shore. “I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

As he navigated the water, the water’s blackness mirrored his swirling thoughts. Dexter’s mind raced with all the potential scenarios. He could already picture Deb’s reaction: the defensive retort, the way her eyes would flash with anger when he suggested more therapy. He’d witnessed it before; the wall she built around herself was impenetrable.

“Dex? You there?” Angel’s voice cut through his reverie.

“Yeah, sorry, just lost in thought,” he admitted, glancing at the shoreline that was looming closer with every powerful stroke of the boat’s motor.

“Just… be careful with her, alright? You know how she can be. You don’t want to set her off in the wrong way,” Angel cautioned. “The incident with the kid was over the top.”

“I know,” Dexter replied, his tone laced with uncertainty. “But she needs help, Angel. I can’t just sit back and watch her spiral downward. It’s tearing her apart.”

“Just keep cool, Dex. Approach it gently. She’s fragile right now,” Angel reminded him.

As he beached the boat and shut off the engine, Dexter took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation ahead. “I’ll try, I promise,” he said, though his stomach was churning with the enormity of the upcoming discussion.

Before stepping onto the familiar ground of home, Dexter pulled the Barbie head off his key ring, and tossed it into the water, leaving behind the last vestige of Biney, and hopefully his murderous impulses.

As he approached his door, Dexter could hear the faint sound of Angel’s booming voice, a brief flash of normalcy in their chaotic lives.

“Hey there! You’re back!” Angel flashed a tight smile as Dexter walked in.

“Hi,” Dexter replied, forcing a grin. Deb glanced over at him with a concerned look.

“What were you doing out there?” Deb asked.

“Just thinking,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

“We saved dinner for you,” Angel said as he sat down a plate of food and a beer on the table in front of him. “I’m gonna grab a shower,” Angel said, nodding his head at Deb behind her back.

Dexter gave him a quick nod, taking a forkful of food, and a sip of beer. “Deb, I need to talk to you,” he said hesitantly after Angel left the room. “Will you sit down for a minute.”

“What now, brother?” Deb replied as she sat in the chair across from Dexter.

“It’s about what’s been going on… everything that’s been happening lately,” he started.

Deb’s brow furrowed. “Like what? You mean the mess with the case or…?” She trailed off, her eyes searching his face for answers.

He swallowed hard, not knowing where to begin. “No, it’s not just the case, Deb. It’s… it’s more personal. About us. About what we’ve been doing to cope.”

Deb leaned forward, her expression tense. “Dex, you’re scaring me. Just say it.”

Taking a deep breath, Dexter finally plunged into the heart of the matter. “I’ve been feeling really lost. I thought I was doing okay, but I’m not sure anymore. I don’t know how to deal with everything we’ve faced, and I know you’re struggling too.” His eyes met hers, searching for understanding. “I think we both need help.”

Silence filled the room like a heavy fog. Deb looked down at the table as she processed his words. Finally, she looked up, her expression wrought with irritation and a hint of vulnerability. “You think I don’t know that? You think I… I haven’t realized how much of a toll this has taken on us?”

“I know you do, but—”

“But nothing!” she cut him off, a flash of anger igniting. “It’s not like you’ve been open about it either! You’ve been out there, dealing with things alone, and now you want to suddenly talk about feelings? Like that’s going to fix anything!”

“I’m trying, Deb!” Dexter raised his voice, frustration boiling over. “I can’t pretend everything’s fine when it’s not, and neither can you. Let’s just be honest with each other for once.”

Deb crossed her arms, her defensiveness wavering slightly. “What do you want me to say? That I’m scared? That I feel like I’m drowning ever since Rudy? Because I do, Dexter. But just saying it doesn’t make it go away!”

Dexter took a moment, letting her words settle in. He could see the cracks in her armor, the fear hiding behind the bravado. “I know it doesn’t, but it’s a start. We can’t keep doing this alone. What’s the point of being family if we can’t lean on each other when things get tough?”

She let out a shaky breath, and the tension between them began to shift. “You’re right,” she admitted, her tone softening. “I just didn’t want to burden you with my problems when you have enough on your plate already.”

“Deb, you could never be a burden to me. We’re in this together, remember?” Dexter reached across the table, placing his hand on hers. “Go back to therapy, and tomorrow I’m gonna go to the survivors group meeting. Maybe we can both heal.”

“Okay,” Deb agreed. “But we still have to be careful, because your crazy is out there somewhere, watching and waiting to pounce again. We’ve got to get hot on this and find the wacko before he strikes again.”

Dexter nodded, the resolve in Deb’s tone a familiar comfort. “Right. We need to focus on that. We can’t let our guard down, especially with everything that’s happened.” He could feel the familiar adrenaline kicking in as anger bubbled beneath the surface at the thought of his stalker’s shadow still hovering over him.

Deb’s expression shifted into one of determination. “I’ll research what we already know at the station. Maybe we can set up a timeline of events, see if there are any patterns or leads that we might have missed.”

“Good idea,” Dexter said, pride swelling in his chest. He appreciated her tenacity, her ability to channel her fear into action. “I’ll dig through my files too. The more we can connect the dots, the better.”

As they spoke, a plan began to take shape, the atmosphere alight with purpose rather than dread. But even as they moved forward, Dexter felt the undercurrent of anxiety. It was like a coiled spring, waiting to snap. “You know,” he added cautiously, “I wish I’d got a better look at the car, but it was definitely an old-style muscle car. It had that distinct rumble that echoed down the street, something raw and powerful. It stood out, as if it was meant to intimidate. Maybe we can check local car clubs or forums,” Dexter suggested, his mind racing as he thought of the possible leads. “Those kinds of cars have a dedicated following. If we can find out what clubs are active in the area, we might turn up someone who knows more.”

Deb nodded, her brow furrowing in concentration. “That’s a solid lead. I’ll see if I can get a list of car meetups or shows in the last few weeks. Maybe someone saw something or knows who’s driving that car. It wouldn’t hurt to spread the word, either.”

“Exactly,” Dexter replied, feeling a sense of urgency pushing him forward. “The more eyes we have, the better. If it’s as distinct as I remember, someone’s got to know something. We can’t let this slip through the cracks.”

Deb let out a soft chuckle. “No, definitely not. We’ve come too far to let that happen again.” Her eyes sparkled with determination, a flame ignited by their shared purpose. “Let’s prioritize this. If we can nail down the timeline and that car, we might finally get the edge we need.”

Angel exited the shower, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt.  He noted that both Deb and Dexter were smiling. “What’d I miss?” he asked.

“We were just talking about my stalker and how to find him. Deb’s gonna check with some car clubs. I don’t know what make or model it was, but it was definitely a solid black, old style muscle car,” Dexter told his lover.

“I’m working day shift tomorrow,” Deb added. “I’m going to Paul’s wake in the evening. What about you guys?”

“No,” Dex said, shaking his head. “But I sent flowers. If she needs anything, just let me know. Okay?”

“Are you also going to the funeral, Deb?” Angel asked.

“Yeah, but I’m coming to work right afterwards,” Deb explained. “Got too much damn work, especially now with this Bay Harbor Butcher nutcase.”

"So, what’s the plan for tracking down this car? Do you think it’s connected to the stalker or just a coincidence?” Angel asked.

Dexter exchanged a look with Deb before answering. “I think it’s too much of a coincidence. If it was just an old muscle car, I wouldn’t worry so much, but there's something about the way it’s been around lately that feels intentional. It followed me all over town that night, and I might have seen it drive past work, but I wasn’t paying close enough attention at the time.”

Deb interjected, “And that’s why we have to be proactive. If we can get a lead from the car clubs, we might track down the driver’s name or at least get a better description. Maybe we can even find someone who recognizes it.”

Angel considered this. “I can help with that. I’ve got a friend who’s really into classic cars and knows a ton of people in that community. He might have some insight.”

“That would be amazing!” Deb said, her enthusiasm palpable. “The more resources we tap into, the quicker we can get answers.”

“Yup,” Dexter agreed, feeling a sense of hope building. “Let’s make a list of what we need to do. Deb can follow up on the car clubs, and Angel, you can reach out to your friend. I’ll keep an eye out for anything unusual around here and at work, just in case.”

“Oh!” Deb cried. “I almost forgot, while you were out boating, the landlord called. The new apartment is ready, so we can start moving our things into it.”

“Holy shit!” Dex said enthusiastically. “That’s great news.”

“I’m on night shift tomorrow, so I’m not gonna be much help,” Angel said disappointedly.

“I’ll start moving things little by little when I get home tomorrow,” Dex assured. “We can do it at our own pace. Landlord said take all the time we need to move out of this apartment.”

“That's a relief,” Deb replied, her smile widening. “It’s nice to know we don’t have to rush. With our crazy schedules, it’s gonna take a while to get all of our stuff out, but I can’t wait to move into a bigger place.”

“I second that,” Angel said, his spirits lifting. “A change of scenery will be good, even if it’s just a different apartment.”

Dexter nodded, envisioning the chaos of boxes and furniture, but also the excitement of a fresh start. “It’ll be a good distraction from everything else going on. New place, new beginning, right? No more air mattress,” he giggled.

Deb laughed, clapping her hands together. “And we’ll finally be able to get rid of some of the stuff we don’t need. I mean, how many old board games do we really need?"

Angel chuckled. “Touché. I think half of them are collecting dust at this point. But definitely keep the ones with sentimental value. We can also have some epic game nights in the new place!”

With their spirits lifted and plans in motion, they felt a renewed sense of purpose. They spent the next few minutes outlining a strategy for both their investigation and the move, jotting down notes and setting reminders.

“Alright, so I’ll call my friend tomorrow and find out what he knows about that car,” Angel said, scrolling through his phone to see if he still had the guy’s number. “And Deb, you’ll look into the car clubs. While you’re at it, maybe see if any local mechanic shops have any information?”

“Great idea,” Deb agreed, mentally cataloging her to-do list. “I’ll dig into that tomorrow too.”

“And I’ll keep my eyes peeled for anything suspicious or related to the situation while I’m at work,” Dexter added. “I think I’ll take another look at the love notes and balloon.”

“How about we get some sleep and awake with a fresh perspective on life,” Angel said with a grin.

Dexter laughed. “You’re the one bright spot of optimism we have left in the universe, Love.”

Deb shook her head as she headed for the bedroom. “You two are just too much,” she said grinning.

Later, curled up on the air mattress together, attempting to keep their slow, sloppy kisses from being heard, Dexter clung to Angel like a security blanket. He hoped with every fiber of his being that little Chino would be his Dark Passenger’s last victim.

‘I will not kill. I will not kill. I will not kill,’ he told himself over and over again until he finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

The next evening after work, Dexter stopped to check out the survivors support group before heading home. He walked into the large room, tucked away in a building on a side street in downtown Miami. There was a table along the back wall with paper cups and plates, while a smaller table near the door held some pamphlets. Down the center of the room were several rows of chairs.

Dexter picked up one of the pamphlets and briefly looked through it. As he was about to leave, he heard a voice say, “Can I help you?”

He turned around to see a man—maybe mid-forties with graying temples standing near the back of the room.

“Um, hi,” Dexter offered. “I was just looking for some information about the group. My sister gave me your card.”

The man crossed the room and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Ross Whitmore.”

Dex shook the man’s hand. “Do you run the group?”

“Yes, I’m a clinical psychologist, specializing in trauma victims and PTSD,” he explained.

“Ah, do you take new people?” Dexter asked tentatively.

“Yes, absolutely,” Ross said with a smile. “I just stopped to make sure the cleaners were here after the last meeting. We meet every Thursday from 7 to 9 p.m., so you’re more than welcome to join us for the next session.”

Dexter felt a bit of relief and nervousness as he considered Ross's invitation. He’d been hesitant about coming here, unsure if it was the right step forward, but there was something reassuring about the man's demeanor.

“Uh, do I need to bring anything? Like, do I have to fill out forms or something?” Dexter asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Ross chuckled softly. “No need for anything formal. Just come as you are. If you decide to join, we usually start with a brief introduction round where everyone shares a little about themselves, but you can share as much or as little as you’re comfortable with.”

Dexter nodded, processing the information. He could feel the anxiety churning in his stomach, but part of him was hopeful. “I’ll think about it,” he replied, glancing at the pamphlet in his hands, before folding it and putting it in his pocket.

“Take your time,” Ross said, his tone warm and inviting. “These things can be difficult to step into, but I can assure you, you’re not alone in this.”

The sincerity in Ross's voice struck a chord with Dexter. He stared at the rows of empty chairs and imagined the faces of people who had already battled their own storms—strangers who might each carry their own burdens, much like he did. Perhaps coming here could offer him a semblance of understanding, maybe even a path to healing.

“Actually,” Dexter said, surprising himself with the sudden surge of courage, “I think I’ll come Thursday. Just to see how it goes.”

“That sounds like a great plan!” Ross replied, his smile widening. “I’ll be here at 7 sharp. You’ve made a brave choice—one step at a time, right?”

“Yeah, one step at a time,” Dexter echoed quietly, feeling a sense of determination settle within him.

As he turned to leave, Dexter felt good about his decision—perhaps this was indeed a step toward something better. Thursday would be the beginning of something new.

~~~~

After arriving home, Dexter propped open the front door with the hold-open washer as he began the laborious process of moving. Fortunately, they didn’t have to move much furniture, because most apartments came furnished, so they only had to move electronics and Dexter’s computer desk.

Deb should be home right after Paul’s wake, but he wasn’t sure. She might stay to comfort Rita, but Angel would be home around 10. The sun was beginning to set, casting warm hues of orange and pink across the living room walls.

Dexter surveyed the small apartment, half-empty cardboard boxes scattered around. The faint sound of his computer hum filled the silence, providing a comforting backdrop as he worked.

He started by disconnecting the various wires from his desktop, carefully labeling them with sticky notes to ensure he wouldn’t mix them up later. After wrapping up the cords, he moved to the desk itself, grateful that it was a sturdy piece that wouldn’t complicate the move.

Thank God they were only moving four units down to the end of the second floor, but it was still cumbersome moving boxes by himself. Before anyone could get home, Dexter pulled his slide box out of the air conditioner and put it in the bottom of a gym bag, and piled clothes on top of it. Dexter took the bag to the new apartment. Making sure no one could see inside the apartment, he carefully put the slide box into the larger air conditioning unit.  

As he stood staring at the unit, Dexter thought he really should get rid of it, but his Dark Passenger was stubborn and not quite ready to let go of his prized possession just yet. He went back to the old place, sitting his phone down on a box, and started organizing the smaller electronics—his gaming console, headphones, and cables—thoughts drifting back to tomorrow’s group meeting. He still felt a flutter of nerves about attending, but the more he thought about it, the more determined he became to show up.

Just as he tossed a game controller into a box, his phone buzzed. It was a text message from Deb. “Rita’s doing okay, but it’s rough. I’ll be home soon. You good?”

Dexter typed back, “Yeah, just moving things. I’ll be here.”

He felt a bit better knowing she’d be home soon and could help with the move. With another quick glance at the clock, he went back to packing, as his mind focused on how they would turn this new apartment into a home. Together, somehow, they’d make it work.

He was in the midst of moving the desk down the balcony when he heard a familiar voice say, “What the fuck are you doing, Morgan?”

Dexter looked up to see Doakes standing behind him. He sat the desk down, taking a deep breath. “I told you we were moving, remember?”

“By yourself—out in the open—near dark—with some psycho stalking you?” Doakes asked incredulously.

Dex shrugged. “Well, Deb’s at a wake and Angel’s at work, so it’s me or nobody.”

“Where are you going with this heavy ass desk?” Doakes asked with a smirk.

Dexter pointed. “To the last unit with the door open.”

“I’ll get this end,” Doakes offered.

“Um, thanks,” Dex replied with a pensive look. He didn’t want Doakes here—not in any way, shape, or form, but he couldn’t very well tell him to go the fuck away.

They carried the desk down to the new unit and sat it by the wall in the living room. “This is nice,” Doakes commented. “A lot bigger than the old place.”

“Yeah, that’s why we took it. We needed more space,” Dexter said, leaning on the desk with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Doakes surveyed the new apartment, his eyes lingering on the bare walls and the muted hues of the carpet. “Came fully furnished, huh?”

Dexter maintained an even tone. “Yeah. All the units in this complex are furnished.”  

“Right,” Doakes replied, crossing his arms and matching Dexter’s posture. “Just be careful, okay? You can’t keep ignoring the situation and pretending everything’s normal. You know that.”

Dexter felt a heartbeat of agitation rise within him. “Is that why you stopped by to make sure I’m okay?”

“Look, I didn’t come over here to start something. I’m just looking out for you. You think I don’t see how off you are?” Doakes paused to gauge Dexter’s reaction. “You don’t have to handle this alone, Morgan. Not now, not with—”

“No!” Dexter interrupted, perhaps a bit too forcefully. “I can’t have you here, Sergeant, because we both know what you really want. Please, leave me alone.”

Doakes smirked. “Does that mean I don’t get a tour of the bedroom?”  

Dexter rolled his eyes. “Stop—with the innuendo. I’m not sleeping with you, and that’s final. Why can’t you get that?”

“Because I’m persistent,” Doakes chuckled. “Maybe, eventually, you’ll tire of Angel.”

“Never,” Dex replied adamantly. “I will never tire of Angel.”

Just then, Deb stepped through the door, noting her brother’s unease. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked, giving Doakes the stink-eye.

“Not at all, Debra,” Doakes replied with a lopsided grin, as if the very air in the room was charged with a playful tension. “Just checking in on your brother’s… well-being.”

Deb folded her arms, eyebrow raised. "Uh-huh. Looks more like you’re pushing buttons to me." She turned to Dexter with concern etched on her face. “You okay? I mean, really?”

Dexter sighed. “I’m fine, Deb. Just a little unpacking chaos and, you know, Doakes being Doakes.” He tried to sound casual, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

Deb’s gaze shifted back to Doakes, a challenge simmering in her eyes. “Right. Because who wouldn’t want a visit from their… best buddy?”

“Hey, I’m just looking out for Dexter. He was here alone while some crazy is trying to do him harm," Doakes shot back, his tone defensive.

“More like you enjoy making him squirm,” she quipped, that edge of protectiveness highlighting her words. “What do you want with my brother, Doakes?”

Dexter cleared his throat, desperately wanting to defuse the situation. “Can we just… focus on getting the boxes unpacked? I appreciate your help, Sergeant, but Deb is home now.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Doakes replied as he headed out the door. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Deb shut the door behind him and turned to Dexter. “What the fuck was that all about?”

Dexter shrugged. “He wanted a tour of the bedroom.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Deb asked with a sheer look of horror. “Did he really say that?”

Dex gave her a small smile. “Yup, but please don’t tell Angel. I can’t have my boyfriend ending up in prison.”

“This is serious!” Deb shouted. “I don’t know who’s a bigger threat to you, the stalker or Doakes.”

Dexter raised his hands in a placating gesture, trying to rein in Deb’s rising anger. “Look, Doakes is just… Doakes. He has a weird way of showing he cares, that’s all.”

“A weird way? He’s practically a sexual assault waiting to happen! What if he really decides to do something stupid?”

Dexter took a step closer, his voice softening. “I promise, I can handle this. The bigger issue is the stalker, and I need you to focus on that too. It’s not going to go away just because we’re worrying about Doakes.”

Deb paced the living room, her brow furrowed in thought. “I get that, but it feels like you’ve got threats coming at you from every angle—Doakes' ‘concern,’ this stalker, and the stress from moving. It’s like you’re caught in a fucking crossfire.”

“I know it seems that way, but I’m not in danger from Doakes, Deb. I can handle him. Besides, we both know he’s more bark than bite.”

“Still, I’d rather have the stalker lurking in the shadows than have him hovering around here,” she shot back, her words harder than intended.

“I’ll talk to him,” Dexter assured, the wheels in his mind already turning. “I’ll set some boundaries, but I need you to trust me on this.”

Deb stopped pacing and faced him. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just… you’re my brother. I worry, you know? With everything that’s happened.”

“I appreciate that,” Dexter said, genuine warmth creeping into his tone. “But I need to deal with my own problems, and you’ll be happy to know I’m going to the group therapy session on Thursday. Now, tell me you’ve set up an appointment with your therapist?”

Deb sighed, rubbing her hand across her forehead. “Yeah, yeah, I did. I’ve got some standing appointments starting Friday.”

“Perfect,” Dexter replied, relief washing over him. “Now, can we get back to unpacking?

Deb nodded. “What about Dinner?”

“Pizza’s on the way, should be here soon,” Dex responded as Deb started unpacking her bedroom.

The pizza delivery came within ten minutes, and Angel showed up not long after, just as they put paper plates on the kitchen bar.

“Wow, you’ve got a lot moved already,” Angel commented as he grabbed a slice of pizza.

Though they had pizza in front of them, Dexter’s appetite faded beneath the threat of lingering thoughts about the stalker and Doakes. He caught Deb shooting him glances from the corner of his eye, a silent question hovering between them.

"I’ll help move stuff after we're done eating." Angel said, his mouth full, oblivious to the unspoken words swirling around the room.

"You sure you’re not too tired? It’s getting late," Dexter replied. There’s mostly kitchen stuff left and your personal items.”

“I’m good, baby.” Angel’s tone shifted slightly, more serious. “You sure you’re okay? You seem a little tense?”

“Yeah, I’m—” Dexter paused, stomach tightening at the prospect of lying, but Deb put a stop to it.

“Doakes was here,” she blurted out.

Angel’s gaze shifted from Deb to Dexter, his brow furrowing deeper. “Why?”

Dexter felt the tension thicken, a heavy blanket smothering him as he moved his slice of pizza around on the plate. He could almost hear his heart thudding beneath the surface, a reminder of the precarious balance they were dancing on. The taste of cheese and crust lost its appeal in the face of the question. It filled the space like an echo.

“Just checking in,” Deb answered, her voice clipped. “He was making sure Dexter’s okay.”

“Checkin’ in?” Angel echoed, skepticism dripping from his words. “What the hell does that mean?”

Dexter swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s not a big deal,” he finally said, forcing a casual tone, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “He just came by to—and then he left.”

“Just like that?” Angel shot back, incredulity lacing his voice. “You think it’s fine for him to come here whenever he wants?”

“No,” Dexter replied firmly. “And I told him that.”

“He said he was here to protect Dexter, because we all left him alone,” Deb added.

Dexter watched the tension rise between Deb and Angel, the unease palpable as they exchanged glances that spoke volumes. Each silence felt like a chasm widening beneath him, threatening to swallow him whole. He fought to maintain a nonchalant expression, but the pizza's bland taste turned to ash in his mouth.

“Look,” Deb started, her gaze focused on Angel. “I’m just saying, you both need to be aware. Doakes isn’t just some friendly co-worker. He’s… intense… and I think a little obsessed with Dex.”

“Intense?” Angel repeated. “What the hell does that even mean? The guy's an absolute creep.” He turned back to Dexter, mouth set in a grim line. “You’re telling me you just let him stroll in here, rattle your cage, and you’re fine with that?”

Dexter’s stomach twisted. He wanted to say he was fine—fine with everything, really—but the words caught in his throat like a stubborn lump. He focused instead on the half-eaten slice of pizza, hoping to shrug off the suffocating weight that settled over the dinner table.

“Dex,” Deb pressed, voice softer now, "you can’t ignore how dangerous he can be. I know you want to handle this solo, but you don’t have to. You have us.”

“I know, but I can’t envision Doakes as a real threat,” Dex argued. “I think he would’ve hurt me by now, if that was his intention. Angel, I saw you talking to him yesterday before I left work. What did he say to you?”

Angel's expression shifted, concern creasing his forehead even deeper. “He didn’t say much, just—”

Deb cut in. “Just what?”

“Just that he was trying to protect Dexter, because the department wouldn’t waste resources on him.” Angel continued, knotting his brows as if searching for the right words. “I didn’t think much of it then. He was staring at Dex, yeah, but you know how he is. Always poking around.”

Deb shot a glance at Dexter, her eyes glinting with worry that made his stomach twist again.

“Yeah, but it’s his way to push,” Dexter interjected, letting the words escape in an attempt to regain control. “It’s just Doakes being… Doakes.” The dismissive tone rang hollow even in his own ears, and he could feel the heat of their scrutiny heavier than ever.

Angel shook his head, a hint of disbelief curling his lips. “Doesn’t matter what way it is. You shouldn’t let him in like that. You need to keep him at a distance.”

“Right, and I will,’ Dexter promised. "Trust me, I won’t let him into the apartment again unless one of you is here, okay?”

“Look,” Angel interjected, “if he shows up again, call me. I'll be here in a heartbeat." The fierce protectiveness in Angel’s tone sent a surge of warmth through Dexter, some small comfort amidst the constant mayhem that surrounded his life.

“Thanks,” Dex said softly, smiling at his lover. “Let’s grab a few more boxes from our old apartment, and then call it a night. I’ve got the beds all made up, so we can sleep in our brand-new bedrooms this evening.”

Angel sighed with relief. “No more air mattress on the floor—yay. Can’t say I’m gonna miss it.”

“This place is so much roomier,” Deb commented as she twirled around in the living room.

Deb spun in a circle, her enthusiasm cutting through the lingering tension as Angel and Dexter got to their feet.

“Let’s get those boxes,” Angel said, wrapping an arm around Dexter’s shoulder, grounding him momentarily. The warmth of Angel’s touch was a balm, a reminder of the life he craved. Dexter nodded, grateful for the support, and together they headed back to the old apartment.

“You know what’s funny?” Dexter said, with just a hint of nostalgia. “I’m going to miss this place just a little bit,” he added. “It’s where you and I first got together.”

Angel grunted, hefting another box with ease. “Really? I thought empty takeout containers and a mattress on the floor wasn’t your idea of ambiance.”

“Okay, so it’s not my usual neat self, but things are changing—thanks to you,” Dexter replied, picking up a box marked ‘pots and pans'. “Keep an eye out for anything I missed,” he called over his shoulder, glancing at Angel.

Dexter paused a moment to set the box on the counter. He scanned the kitchen, his eyes lingering on the spot where they’d both made coffee too many times to count while debating what to have for breakfast. There was history in the old place, a hazy memory of laughter and warmth. But it stirred a bittersweet ache in him now, almost suffocating in the still air.

“Everything seems to be packed,” Angel said, breaking the silence. “I’ve got my personal items, so we’ll get the rest of the stuff over the next few days. We’ve got time.”

“Great,” Dexter drawled with that look in his eye.

“What are you thinking, baby?” Angel asked with a glint of his own.

“I was just thinking about trying out our new king-sized bed,” he said with a wink. “There’s no better time like the present, right?”

Dexter felt a warm thrill ripple through him, igniting a spark of excitement that he’d buried beneath layers of stress all day. The idea of that vast expanse of a king-sized bed filled his mind, a tantalizing promise of intimacy and refuge. He exchanged a glance with Angel, their eyes locking for a heartbeat, the air between them heating rapidly.

“C’mon, baby,” Angel said with a smirk. “Let’s give the bed a proper christening—after a shower in our own private en suite!”

The promise of privacy bolstered his mood, helping dispel the nagging unease that had lingered since Doakes' unexpected visit. With Angel beside him, the worry seemed to lift, as arousal replaced the fear and doubt.

“Yeah, a shower sounds perfect,” Dexter said, the playful edge to his voice surprising even him. He touched fingers against Angel’s hand, the warmth of his skin sending an electric shiver up Dexter’s arm. The way Angel looked at him, all smirks and lazy grins, shimmered against the backdrop of the moving craziness.

Putting down their boxes, Dex shouted a good night to Deb. “We’re going to bed now,” he called out.

“I’ll bet you are,” she called back laughing.

They stepped into the bathroom together, the sight of their gleaming en suite igniting the air with sensual promise. Tiles shined under the overhead light, and the rock walk-in shower glistened like an invitation—one that begged to be answered. Dexter turned on the water, letting the sound of rushing water drown out everything else, a soothing backdrop to the tension still lingering in his muscles.

Dexter leaned against the counter, watching as Angel shed his shirt, exposing bronze skin that glowed under the soft light. The corners of Dexter's mouth pulled upward in a grin, his heart thrumming loudly in his chest—not from fear, but from a heady cocktail of desire and bliss. Angel's fingers worked the buttons of his vibrant shirt, each one revealing another inch of skin that made Dexter's breath catch. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, followed by his pants sliding down muscular legs, then his briefs, until nothing remained between them but steam from the shower. Dexter felt himself flush from his chest to his cock.

“Is this a good time to mention how much I love you?” Angel said, noticing Dexter’s rapt expression.

“Uh huh,” Dexter said, hastily stripping out of his clothes. “I love you too,” he answered as he took Angel by the hand and pulled him into the shower. “Say it in Spanish—it excites me.”

“Te amo, bebe. Mi amor es para siempre, hasta que de mi ultimo aliento y mi corazon deje de latir,” Angel whispered in his ear.

“What did you just say, love?” Dexter asked. “I caught the ‘I love you, baby’.”

“I said,” Angel replied as he nuzzled Dexter’s neck, “I love you, baby. My love is forever, until I take my last breath, and my heart stops beating.”

“Wow, that’s beautiful,” Dexter sighed.

 Angel smiled that sultry smile of his, as he pulled Dexter flush against his chest, and plundered his mouth until the need to breathe unfortunately became necessary.

Angel’s warmth wrapped around Dexter, their bodies slick under the cascading water as it enveloped them in a steamy embrace. The bathroom quickly fogged, amplifying the heat swirling around them, which bolstered Dexter's anticipation and desire. He could feel Angel's heartbeat against his chest, steady and inviting, creating a rhythm that perfectly matched the beating of his own heart.

“We still need to be quiet,” Dex warned. “Deb’s shower butts up next to ours.”

“Is this just for the shower?” Angel murmured, his breath teasingly warm against Dexter’s ear, sending shivers coursing through him.

Dexter leaned back slightly, gazing up into Angel's eyes, which deepened with playful mischief. “Well, we’ll have to be less boisterous in the bedroom too—at least when Deb is home,” he whispered, breath catching in his throat as he recalled the promise of their new bed waiting just beyond the bathroom door.

As the water hit Angel's skin, droplets sparkled and danced, trailing down the smooth lines of his back, pooling at the small of his waist. Dexter's throat felt dry despite the warmth of the steam, and his body responded instinctively to the sight of his lover—every curve, every muscle accentuated in the golden glow of the overhead light. The tension inside him twisted, coiling tightly, begging to be released.

“Well, let’s see how quietly we can do this,” Angel teased as he slipped one hand between Dexter’s legs.

Dexter moaned as Angel gently stroked his balls, just teasing the tip of his cock with his forefinger. He gasped as Angel continued to tease him, the world outside the shower fading into a distant murmur. Water cascaded over their bodies, creating a symphony of soft splashes that harmonized with their breaths. Each glide of Angel's fingers sent a jolt of electricity through him, sparking a fire within that demanded to be unleashed.

“Angel,” he breathed, the name slipping past his lips like a mantra. The way Angel looked at him, all wild energy and passion, ignited something deep inside him. It made him forget the lingering fears from earlier, just for this moment—a delicious reprieve from the turmoil surrounding them.

Angel smirked, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. “What do you want, Dex?” he murmured, his voice low and sultry, an enticing caress that made Dexter's pulse quicken.

“More of this,” he replied, thrusting his hips slightly forward, desperate for contact. The slickness of water pooled around them, mingling with the heat radiating off Angel’s skin. Dexter leaned into him, giving a breathy laugh, reveling in the sensation of warmth, skin, and pressure.

With a firm grip, Angel turned Dexter around, pinning him against the cool tiles. The contrast sent tingles along his back, chills that collided with the warmth enveloping him. “Let me help you relax, then,” Angel whispered into his ear, the words laced with a deep, throaty timbre that rolled down Dexter's spine like an added layer of heat.

Fingers slipped lower, tracing paths along Dexter's hips and sliding into his ass crack, making him shiver delightfully. Angel soaked his fingers in body wash and inserted two at a time, preparing Dexter hastily as the need to enter his lover mounted with each scissor of his fingers.

“Please, Angel, please,” Dexter begged.

Angel pulled his fingers out and replaced them with the blunt head of his cock. Gripping Dexter’s hips tightly, Angel sank into Dexter’s warm depths with an audible sigh. As Angel began to move, their bodies slapped together in a rhythm that matched the cadence of their accelerated heartbeats. It felt good, right. Everything else vanished in the moment, the only thing that mattered was their connection and the desire that coursed through Dexter. He moaned, arching into the warmth between them as Angel's movements grew bolder, his hips rolling in delicious circles.

"Harder," Dexter moaned softly, his voice cracking with need. Angel obliged, slamming into him with measured force, trying not to shake the foundation in their new apartment—just yet. Heat pooled in Dexter’s abdomen, spreading outward in delicious waves of fiery lust. The tension coiled within him, drawing tighter, threatening to snap the thread that connected them together. "Fuck, Angel," Dexter gasped, throwing his head back against Angel’s shoulder as his lover stroked his throbbing cock. His orgasm was a tsunami building within him, ready to break free. And then, it hit. Dexter cried out, clamping a hand over his mouth, as his body bowed under the force of his release. Pleasure blinded him, pulling him under, consuming him whole. He panted, head spinning, as the aftermath of his climax washed over him.

Angel grunted and thrust a few more times, before succumbing to his own mind-blowing orgasm. Shaking with release, he held onto Dexter’s hips; their damp bodies pressed together as the water whirled around them. Dexter's knees trembled against the shower wall, every nerve still buzzing like live wires. Angel's breath warmed the side of his neck—quick puffs of air that smelled faintly of pepperoni and the herbal shampoo they shared.

"Bed," Angel murmured, lips brushing the sensitive spot beneath Dexter's ear. The word ghosted over him like a moth wing.

Toweling off felt like a necessary evil, the terrycloth abrasion almost painful against his over sensitized skin. Dexter's fingers fumbled with the bathroom doorknob, still slick from steam. The bedroom air hit his damp shoulders—cool enough to raise goosebumps that Angel immediately warmed away with his palms.

Their new mattress sighed beneath them, still smelling faintly of the plastic wrap he’d torn off earlier. Dexter sank into the bedding, the unfamiliar contours molding to his body as Angel's comforting weight settled beside him. Cool satin sheets contrasted deliciously with Angel's heated skin, where their thighs brushed.

“Did you buy us some satin sheets, baby?” Angel asked as he felt the silky bedding beneath his hand.

Dexter giggled. “I did. Liked them so much when we were at the Eden Roc Renaissance Hotel that I bought us some of our own.”

"What a fabulous idea," Angel whispered, though his roaming hands promised anything but stillness. Dexter bit his lip hard when clever fingers found the dip of his hipbone, the tender skin behind his knee, the pulse fluttering at his throat. The mattress creaked softly as they shifted—a foreign sound in this unfamiliar room that Dexter already wanted to memorize.

When Angel's mouth closed over his, this time, Dexter arched silently, fingers twisting in the new sheets. The world narrowed to the slide of satin against his back, the salt-tang taste of Angel's shoulder when he dragged him up for a desperate kiss, the rhythmic squeak of bedsprings muffled by Deb's adjacent shower running.

Afterward, they lay tangled in sweaty sheets, Dexter's cheek pressed to the valley between Angel's pecs. The steady thump-thump beneath his ear gradually slowed as their breathing synchronized. A car alarm wailed somewhere in the complex parking lot—shrill and intrusive—but Angel's arms tightened around him, transforming the sound into just another layer of their new normal. As they both drifted into a sound sleep—a black shadow moved outside the living room window. The shadow lingered, a stain against moonlight bleeding through vertical blinds. Dexter's eyelids fluttered as a chill skated down his spine—a primal warning as a small noise filtered through his unconscious mind. His hand twitched toward Angel's warmth, fingers brushing sleep-warmed skin.

Something clicked again, bringing Dexter to full awareness.

It wasn’t the normal sounds of the Miami night, but the crisp snap of a latch releasing. Dexter's lungs seized mid-breath. The AC unit whirred to life, drowning all sound beneath its mechanical rattle. He counted heartbeats thudding in his eardrums, waiting for the hum to cycle off. Twenty-three seconds. Silence rushed back like water filling a vacuum. Dexter strained to hear past the blood pounding in his head. A floorboard creaked near the kitchenette. Closer than the front door. Closer than the balcony.

Angel murmured something unintelligible, rolling onto his stomach. Dexter's fingers dug into the satin sheets, the fabric suddenly slippery between his knuckles. He willed his breathing to stay even—in through the nose, out through barely parted lips. The digital clock on Angel's nightstand flipped to 3:14 AM, casting a sickly red glow across the dresser mirror.

Movement flashed from under the bedroom door, and Dexter's throat tightened around a soundless warning. The bathroom faucet dripped. One, two, three drops of water hitting porcelain before the shadow retreated. Dexter lay paralyzed until sunrise painted amber stripes across the ceiling. Only then did he slip from the warm side of his lover.

As Dexter peered into the air conditioning unit, the slide box sat undisturbed. But as he checked the door latch, he noticed it was unlocked, and pressed between the window screen and glass—a single red rose, still dewy with condensation.

Dexter discretely checked on Deb, noting she was snoring softly. He tentatively opened the front door, stepped out onto the balcony, and took a good look around. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, so he dropped the rose off the balcony before Angel saw it. He didn’t know if maybe Doakes left it as a joke, but he didn’t think so. He made a mental note to reinforce the locks on the new apartment ASAP.

When he arrived at work, Dexter was startled to see another red rose lying on his desk. Anger filled his chest because he didn’t like being toyed with. He picked up a scissors and cut the rose into little pieces, tossing it away in his trash can. If Doakes did this, he wasn’t about to take the bait. And if his stalker was to blame—well—he wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing him squirm either.

Doakes poked his head in. “Are you okay? You look pissed off.”

“Did you leave me a red rose?” Dexter just came right out and asked.

“No.” Doakes replied with a wary look. “I don’t do roses.”

“Hmm, must’ve been my friend,” Dexter said, glancing down at his trash can.

“You shouldn’t take this lightly,” Doakes chastised.

“What can I do?” Dexter asked with a shrug. “I can’t do anything unless he makes another move on me.”

Doakes smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you, Morgan.

Chapter Text

Dexter headed to the break room for his mid-morning cup of coffee. On his way back to the lab, his coffee was almost knocked out of his hand by a crowd of civilians. The corridor was packed with them, and Dexter watched as uniform cops herded them into a queue around the perimeter of the bullpen. “Here, please, form a line. A detective will be with you shortly,” Pullman told the crowd.     

Dexter pushed through the confusion into the bullpen and noticed Angel, LaGuerta, and Masuka huddled near a T.V. set on which a news program was droning in the background.

Dexter approached and asked Angel, pointing his head toward the group of civilians. “Who're they?”  

Angel leaned in. “Every family member of every missing person for the last ten years.”   

“Including some sad, lonely, and presumably single women. Courtesy of Lieutenant Pascal,” Masuka added.

“It’s not her fault. That reporter's an asshole,” LaGuerta grumbled. 

“Pascal is just caught in a cycle of reaction. She's not co-creating her own reality,” Angel chimed in.”

Dexter smirked. “You know those words don't actually mean anything, right?”

“Take a look around, Dex,” Angel said seriously. “She's manifesting negativity.”

“Hey, it’s on again,” Masuka said, pointing at the T.V. screen.

LaGuerta shook her head. “They’ve played it every hour on the hour, since last night.”

The T.V. screen showed a clip of Lieutenant Pascal leaving the station for the night, disheveled, distracted, in an obvious hurry. A male reporter ambushed her outside the precinct.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?” The reporter said, sticking a microphone in her face.

“No comment,” Pascal replied as she dodged around him, but he followed her.

Masuku nudged Dexter. “The boss' sweater melons look bigger on T.V.”

LaGuerta raised an eyebrow. “The operative word there is 'boss'. Show some respect.”

Vince smiled. “I thought I was.”

Turning their attention back to the T.V., the reporter managed to block Pascal's path.

“Reports say you've found dozens of bodies in that underwater grave,” the reporter stated.

“Not dozens,” Pascal replied.

“One dozen? Two dozen?” The reporter asked.

“Eighteen or so,” Pascal said as she continued to her car, but the reporter was relentless and followed her with his mic stuck in her face.

“Have you notified the families?” the reporter asked.

 Pascal jumped into her car, but the reporter wouldn’t let her close the door. “We're still trying to identify them,” she ground out.

“So, if our viewers have any information, they should come to you?” the reporter asked.

 “Just—yes. Fine, move,” Pascal cried, pulling the car door away from the reporter and slamming it shut.

The reporter turned back to the camera. “There you have it. Police are seeking any leads on the identity of the eighteen faceless victims of the Bay Harbor Butcher. So please contact...”

Angel’s comment cut off the last part. “Pascal's definitely off her game.”

Masuka leaned a little closer. “Word is, her fiancé is catching some strange on the fly.”

“That’d do it,” Angel responded from a position of personal experience.

LaGuerta wagged her finger. “Alright, that shit stops here.”

As the group continued their conversation quietly, Dexter's attention turned back to the civilians. He noted the pained, anxious, even hopeful families on the other side of the bullpen window. They held photos, DNA samples, and video recordings. As he scanned their faces, he thought: ‘Most of these people won't find answers here. Their loved ones weren't among my chosen few.’

A few minutes later, Captain Matthews entered the bullpen. Alongside him was the quietly reserved Special Agent Frank Lundy.

“May I have your attention please?” The captain called out, garnering everyone’s attentiveness.

“You've all been doing a great job on this horrific case,” the captain began. “And with the help of the best man-hunter in the FBI, we should have answers soon.”

Lundy didn’t even register the praise as the captain continued.

“But the daily work of the precinct must continue to serve the public. So, we’ll be dividing our resources. Agent Lundy has put together his final list, requesting the following officers for his joint task force.”

Agent Lundy handed him the list as Matthews put on his glasses.

There was a low murmur of excitement. Everyone wanted on the task force, but Doakes didn’t even look up from his work because he knew his name wouldn’t be called.

Masuka leaned over to Dexter. “Lundy made me LFI.”

“LFI,” Dexter inquired with a confused look.

“Yeah, Lead Forensic Investigator,” Masuka said with a grin. “But hey, sorry you got boned. No blood spatter.”

“Sucks to be me,” Dexter replied, but he was secretly thinking, ‘actually it keeps me off Lundy’s radar.’

Captain Matthews began to read Lundy’s list. “Sergeant Lee. Detective Ramos. Officer Panko. Detective Batista...”

Angel whispered to Dexter. “Yessss! I saw this happening.”

Dexter smiled, happy for his lover, but wary if things went badly.

“And Officer Debra Morgan,” Matthews said as he concluded Lundy’s list.

Debra abruptly looked up from her desk with a stunned expression. 

A couple of jealous cops, Simms and his partner, Hoagie, were within earshot of Deb’s desk.

“Guess Lundy figured he'd have a suspect, if Morgan started dating again,” Simms said snidely to Hoagie.

“Guess Lundy figured you were a useless douche bag,” Hoagie replied with a laugh as he elbowed Simms.

Debra smirked, even though she felt humiliated beneath all her bravado.

Captain Matthews cleared his throat. “Those called will report to Special Agent Lundy. But this is on all of us folks. Keep your eyes and ears open. The Ice Truck Killer was an amateur compared to this guy."

“Dexter almost preened. ‘Nice compliment!’ Dexter thought.

Captain Matthews handed the list back to Lundy as the crowd began to disperse. Lundy turned to him, speaking quietly. “I'd also appreciate it if your Lieutenant would consult with me before speaking to the press.”

Matthews nodded with an angry expression. “I’ll rip her a new one, if I can find her.”

As Matthews headed off, several task force members approached Lundy and eagerly shook his hand.

Dexter eyed the group on his way to his cubicle, his inner monologue going haywire. ‘Prints, fiber, trace evidence... No, they won't find anything. I followed all of Harry’s painstaking preventative measures. He knew that nothing stays buried forever. His Code will protect me.’

He glanced over at Debra, hunched at her desk, wearing a pained expression.

‘Still, I wish my own sister wasn’t hunting me. Makes for an awkward family dynamic.'

That evening after work, Dexter grabbed some fast food and headed to his first survivors meeting. He didn’t hold out much hope of it actually helping him with the nightmares, but he’d made a deal with Deb, so here he was, sitting in a crowd of strangers, listening to their harrowing stories of survival.

He’d talked to Angel and Deb before he left work, promising them both he’d be careful. He wasn’t really fearful, because he noticed his so-called protector following close behind. With Doakes on the case, who could possibly get near him?

As he settled into a folding chair at the back of the room, Dexter couldn’t shake the feeling of being an interloper in someone else’s grief. The fluorescent lights hummed above, creating a sterile atmosphere that felt out of place for the enormity of the stories shared. Each person he listened to seemed to embody a different facet of trauma, recounting vivid details of loss and pain that had etched themselves into their lives.

He let his mind wander a bit, attempting to drown out the growing chorus of emotions that threatened to seep into his own carefully guarded psyche. How was he supposed to relate to trauma? His own experiences lay buried in shadows, twisted and barely acknowledged. The darkness lurking in his past had long since become part of him—a secret he wore like an invisible cloak, but this new threat—his stalker—still on the loose—unnerved him like nothing else had.

In the midst of the group, a sultry woman with cascading brown hair shared her story; her voice trembling as she described the night, she narrowly escaped a violent attack by her own boyfriend. Dexter shifted uncomfortably, the words invoking feelings he’d buried deep; he questioned whether he was more survivor or predator. Perhaps it was just a natural tendency to focus on the primal instincts within him, to reclaim dominance from the shadows rather than slip into the role of a victim.

The meeting wore on, and while he tried to listen with genuine compassion, his mind drifted again. He wondered how long Doakes would shadow him, waiting for him to give in to his brazen request. Doakes’ presence, at times, was both a comfort and a prison; while it safeguarded him from immediate danger, it also reminded him that he was far from free.

The survivors continued to speak, their stories intertwining with the distant sirens of Miami outside, a city that never truly slept. Each tale drew him deeper into thoughts of his own past—his dark urges, the code that governed his life, the fuel for his own nightmares.

As the meeting finally began to wind down, Dexter felt relief, but also skepticism. It was easy to admire the strength these people exhibited in sharing their stories. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if they wouldn’t also see the monster lurking in his past, the horrifying reality of who he truly was. It was a risk he couldn’t afford to take, especially with Doakes lurking close by, his intrusions relentless.

As the group mingled by the refreshment table, the dark-haired woman he’d noticed earlier approached him. “The coffee sucks as bad as the donuts,” she said with a smile. “It’s a lot better next door. C’mon, I’ll buy you a cup and fill you in on the group. I’ve been with it for a few months now. My name is Lila Tournay,” she said, holding out her hand.

Dexter shook her hand. “Dexter Morgan,” he said with a small smile.

“So, how about that coffee?” she asked.

“Sure, I’d like to know more about the group,” he responded.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot, just gotta grab my bag and say goodbye to Ross,” Lila said as she turned away.

Dexter headed to the parking lot, where *big surprise* Doakes was waiting for him.

“Hey, Sergeant,” Dexter said with a resigned sigh. “I assume you’re looking for me.”

“You know it, but don’t get upset,” Doakes replied, putting his hands in the air. “I just wanted to see how your first meeting went. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Dex said in exasperation. “The meeting was okay, but I was just observing tonight—until I get a little more acclimated to it.”

“I get it,” Doakes said with a half-smile. “How about I buy you dinner? There’s a little Italian place around the corner,” Doakes said as he moved closer to Dexter and wrapped his hand around his wrist.

Dexter took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. “No, sorry, but I have other plans.”

Just then, Lila stepped into the parking lot and yelled. “Hey, Dexter. We still going for coffee?”

Dexter turned toward her and shouted back. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Doakes snickered. “Steppin’ out on Angel, huh?”

Dexter raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be stupid. She’s a member who was kind enough to offer me her take on the group.”

Doakes studied him for a moment, his expression shifting from playful to something more probing. “Sure, sure,” he replied slowly, but Dexter could see the gears turning in his mind. “Just remember, be careful. You never know who’s lurking around.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I can handle myself,” Dexter replied tersely, wrenching his wrist free from Doakes’ grip. “I’ll see you around.” Without waiting for a response, he strode toward Lila, who was leaning against her car, an amused smile on her face.

“Sorry about that. Sergeant Doakes can be a bit… persistent,” Dexter said as he approached her.

“Don’t worry about it. He seems protective. Good friend?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“More like a supervisor with too much time on his hands. But, enough about him. You mentioned better coffee?” Dexter smiled, trying to shake off the tension. He needed the distraction, and Lila seemed welcoming enough.

“Much better,” she reassured him. “Plus, they have this amazing chocolate croissant that you won’t want to miss. The place is right here,” she said, pointing at the secluded little cafe. “You'll love it.”

“Lead the way,” Dexter replied, falling into step beside her as they walked toward the cafe. The atmosphere felt lighter, almost refreshing compared to the subject of the meeting.

They made small talk as they walked, a pleasantly melodic exchange about coffee, pastries, and how she’d stumbled upon the group by accident. Lila’s laughter was infectious, and she seemed genuinely interested in sharing her journey.

When they arrived at the café, with its warm, inviting glow and aroma of fresh coffee wafting through the door, Dexter felt almost normal. It was a moment he could savor, if only for its simplicity. The sound of laughter and stirring spoons surrounded them as they stepped inside.

Once seated with their drinks, Lila leaned in, her expression shifting to something more earnest. “So, Dexter, what brought you to the support group? I mean, you seem… put together. You know what I mean? You didn’t really share anything tonight.”

Put together. The phrasing struck a discordant chord in him, and for a heartbeat, he considered the truth. That he was anything but whole. But he couldn’t share that—not with her. Not with anyone.

“I’m just trying to understand,” he replied, carefully choosing his words. “Life has a way of throwing curveballs, and I figured it might help to hear some different perspectives.”

She nodded, her brown eyes searching his face. “That makes sense. But it can be tough to admit you need help. It takes strength to even show up.”

“Right,” Dexter said, estimating his own strength against the thrall of the darkness he harbored. “Definitely not easy.”

“Hey, I’m still impressed. You’ll get there. We’d love to have you back,” she encouraged, her voice softening. “The more of us, the stronger we are.”

“Thanks,” he replied, touched by her sincerity, though he was acutely aware that he walked a different path entirely. What did strength mean when it masked the monster beneath your skin?

As the conversation flowed, Dexter let himself relax, keeping the darker thoughts at bay. For this moment, Lila’s light shone bright against the shadows he carried with him. He might not be able to share his true self, but he could appreciate the warmth of human connection—even in the knowledge that it was built on an illusion.

After finishing their coffee, Dexter thanked Lila for her insight, and promised he’d be at the next meeting. He also promised he’d introduce himself to the group and share something about his trauma. They parted ways with a smile, as Dexter headed home to Angel.

When Dexter walked in the apartment, his amorous lover greeted him, by pulling him into a passion filled kiss.

“Did you miss me?” Dexter asked with a chuckle as Angel released him.

“Yes, I did,” Angel replied with a grin. “How was the meeting?”

“It was okay,” Dexter replied with a slight nod. “I just observed tonight, but next time I might share something. Where’s Deb?”

“She’s at Rita’s—her parents left this evening, so Deb went to lend support,” Angel supplied. “That being said, we’ve got the place to ourselves, so I thought we’d celebrate my appointment to the task force. I’m so excited,” Angel gushed.

Dexter laughed. “Nooooooo, I never would’ve guessed.”

Angel smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter with a playful glint in his eye. “What can I say? I’m just a big ball of ambition.”

Dexter stepped closer, feeling the warmth radiating from Angel, as he considered the contrast between his lover's bright future and the darkness lurking within him. “I’m proud of you. You deserve this,” he said genuinely, knowing well the effort Angel put into his work.

“Thanks! But enough about me. What did you talk about?” Angel asked, leaning in with curiosity. “I want to know what’s on your mind. Did you connect with anyone?”

Dexter hesitated; revealing too much would risk exposing himself. “Just some light conversation,” he deflected, shrugging it off. “I’m still figuring out how to navigate that whole world.”

Angel frowned, sensing the hesitation. “Dex, it’s okay to talk about your feelings. You know I’m here for you, right?” He stepped closer, placing a hand on Dexter’s forearm, an intimacy that made Dexter’s heart race.

“I know,” Dexter replied, his tone softening. “I appreciate it, really. It’s just… sometimes it feels easier to keep things buried inside.”

Angel tilted his head, studying Dexter's face. “You know you don’t have to be strong all the time, right? You can lean on me.”

Dexter couldn’t shake the shadow of his darker proclivities, the part of him that craved the thrill of the hunt, the blood. But standing here, with Angel’s genuine concern clear in his eyes, he felt a twinge of guilt. “You’re right. Have I mentioned lately that I love you.”

Angel smiled. “You’re deflecting, but I’ll take it, Baby. I made you dinner, something light because it’s late. I also whipped up a pitcher of mimosas. And while you were out, I put on the heavy duty lock you asked for.”

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Dexter said with a grin. “You did all that in a couple of hours?”

Angel smiled proudly. “Yeah, sure did, but sit down and let’s eat while it’s still hot,” Angel said as he poured Dexter a mimosa. He filled two plates from a pan on the stove and sat one in front of Dexter.

“What’s this? It smells awesome,” Dexter said, licking his lips.

“Shrimp Mojo,” Angel answered. “It’s not too heavy, it won’t weigh us down,” he said with that sultry look.

“Are we expecting Deb back any time soon?” Dexter asked.

“She said she was gonna spend the night, so Rita wouldn’t feel alone. Deb told me the funeral was hard on the kids.”

“I can imagine,” Dex said sympathetically. “But that means we have the entire evening to ourselves.”

“Yeah, Baby,” Angel grinned. “Let’s finish dinner, grab a shower, and hit those satin sheets.”

“Works for me,” Dexter wholeheartedly agreed.

As they began to eat, the warm, savory flavors of the Shrimp Mojo enveloped Dexter, momentarily distracting him from the dark thoughts lurking in his mind. Angel watched him with a knowing gaze, a mixture of adoration and concern, as if he could sense that Dexter's thoughts remained tantalizingly out of reach.

“So, how was work?” Angel asked, trying to coax Dexter into conversation. “Any more visits from Doakes?”

“No, not at work,” Dexter replied, but decided to tell him the truth about after the meeting.

Dexter sighed, momentarily lost in the warmth of Angel's concern. “He did show up after the meeting, though.”

“Motherfucker,” Angel cursed. “You should’ve called me.”

Angel reached across the table, taking Dexter's hand in his. “You can’t trust Doakes, Baby. He has ulterior motives, and I’m just beginning to realize what those motives are. He wants you for himself.”

The vulnerability in Angel’s voice tugged at Dexter's heart. In the soft light of the dining room, surrounded by the trappings of their normal lives, it was easy to forget how much darkness still lurked beneath the surface.  

“So, regarding those sheets…” Dexter said, teasingly, breaking through Angel’s thoughts, trying to steer him away from talking about Doakes.  

With a playful roll of his eyes, Angel poured them both another mimosa. “You’re deflecting again, but you know I’m right. But… I’ll let it go for now, because those satin sheets are calling out to us.”

Dexter laughed brightly. “I believe you’re correct. I can hear them too.”

After dinner, another mimosa, and a quick shower, they did indeed fall into those satin sheets with a none too gentle thud.

"You really must’ve missed me," Dexter said jokingly as Angel attacked his mouth.

"Apparently, I did," Angel replied, coming up momentarily for air. Dexter leaned forward and nuzzled Angel’s neck, nipping lightly at a succulent earlobe. "I missed you too," he whispered in Angel’s ear.

Angel growled low, pushing Dexter down on the bed, as his hands roamed freely over Dex’s body. He leaned down and sucked one of Dexter's pale nipples into his mouth. "Angel," Dexter gasped as he rubbed his erection against his lover's answering hardness.

"Christ, you've got me burning up," Angel murmured against Dexter's collarbone.

"One more second and there'll be nothing left but ashes." Dexter's laugh vibrated through both their chests. "We've been over this before," he said, threading his fingers through Angel's hair. "No spontaneous human combustion in the bedroom. House rules."

Angel sat up, his smile full of seduction as he gazed down at Dexter. "Enough teasing. I want you now."

"Whatever you desire," Dexter murmured, settling back against the pillows.

Before Angel could make his move, Dexter flipped him onto his back in one fluid motion. Angel gasped as Dexter's warm mouth found its way between his thighs, his tongue exploring his sensitive hole. Each intimate stroke sent pleasure racing through Angel's body, leaving him trembling and breathless under Dexter's relentless attention.

The mimosas had left Angel's mind hazy, his body surrendering completely to sensation. Each flick of Dexter's tongue drew involuntary sounds from deep in his throat. When Dexter's hand slipped between his thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock with perfect pressure, Angel's back arched off the bed. The momentary absence of his tongue as Dexter reached for the lube in the nightstand left him bereft, but then that clever mouth returned, working him open with care and patience, while Angel's hips rose to meet each touch. "God... don't stop," Angel gasped, fingers clutching at the sheets. Dexter pulled away with a knowing glance, leaving Angel empty and wanting.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" Angel groaned.

"I can’t wait, Angel. I’m going to fuck you,” Dexter declared."

Dexter's fingers, slick with lubricant, pressed into Angel with careful tenderness.

"God—yes—don't stop," Angel gasped, his head falling back against the pillows.

"I've only just begun," Dexter murmured, working deeper as Angel's body yielded to him. The initial resistance melted into waves of pleasure as Dexter found that perfect spot within him. While his fingers continued their intimate exploration, Dexter's mouth traced a path across Angel's chest, teeth grazing a hardened nipple.

"Now, please," Angel breathed out. "I need you inside me."

Dexter positioned himself between Angel's thighs, their gazes locked in shared hunger. "Stay with me," he whispered, pushing forward slowly until they were completely joined.

Angel cried out as their eyes met in the shared intensity of the moment.

"You feel incredible," Dexter whispered, his words dissolving into a shuddering breath.

With expert control, Dexter established a rhythm that left Angel clutching desperately at the headboard, knuckles white against dark wood. Each thrust threatened to unravel them both. Sensing his own approaching climax, Dexter reached between them, his touch eliciting a tremor that ran through Angel's entire body.

Angel's world narrowed to nothing but sensation—the pressure building within him, the weight of Dexter above him, the exquisite tension coiling tighter with each perfectly angled thrust.

Dexter's rhythm faltered as he wrapped his hand around Angel’s shaft. He arched beneath him, crying out as release overtook him. Their eyes met in that suspended moment of vulnerability, Angel's warmth spilling between them as Dexter drove deeper, his own climax following in shuddering waves before he collapsed against Angel's chest.

The room held nothing but their ragged breathing as they lay tangled together, hearts gradually slowing to a shared cadence. Eventually, Angel shifted them to their sides, pressing gentle kisses to Dexter's temple, the curve of his cheek, the hollow of his throat. "God, Baby," Angel whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I know I say it all the time, but I love you so much. Te amo, te amo."

Dexter nestled closer, his smile pressed against Angel's chest. "Te amo," he murmured, their limbs intertwined as sleep claimed them both.

~~~~

The next morning, fortunately, Dexter and Angel had the same shift, so they could enjoy their upcoming days off on the same time table. Angel mentioned going out after work, and he was down for it, because they hadn’t been out since their excursion to the Eden Roc Renaissance. 

“Tomorrow, I’ve got Auri, Dex,” Angel reminded him. “Do you want to go with us to the zoo?”

Dexter nodded. “Yeah, but wouldn’t you like to spend some quality time with her alone?”

“You… are a big part of my life, Baby,” Angel said, smiling brightly at Dexter. “I want my daughter to know you. I plan on spending the rest of my life with you.”

Dexter grinned. “Well, since you put it like that, how could I possibly refuse? Do you still want to go out tonight?”

“Absolutely,  because we both need to blow off some steam,” Angel said with a wink. “Let’s car pool today, Baby, so you don’t have to deal with Doakes’ dumb ass.”

“Great idea,” Dexter applauded. “I’m really not in the mood for his bullshit today.

Angel growled menacingly. “That makes two of us.”

Once they arrived at work, the couple went their separate ways. Angel−joined Lundy and the rest of the task force, while Dexter went to his office to do a little research.

“Who's your daddy?” Dexter turned as Masuka strutted in.

 “Um... Harry Morgan but…”

“Dude,” Masuka said with a grin. “The Lead Forensics on the Joint Task Force Investigator, that's who.”

 “O… kay,” Dexter replied, giving Vince a side-eye.

“So, you want in on this bitch or not?” Masuka asked.

 “What bitch?”

“The only bitch in town, baby. The Bay Harbor Butcher. I got you temporarily assigned,” Vince said, almost giddy.

Dexter shook his head. “You didn't have to do that, Vince.”

“Nothing sexy, of course, just some bone marrow collection for DNA I.Ds. But it’ll get you in the tent. And you gotta see the tent. Amazing! Bring your own scalpel,” Masuka added as he strutted out again.

Dexter followed him less than thrilled.

“Say it,” Masuka urged.

“You’re my daddy,” Dexter deadpanned.

“Hmm,” Masuka stopped and noted. “Sounds weird when you say it.”

As Masuka and Dexter passed Angel, he was interviewing a wild-eyed man, probably in his twenties.  

“So, you know who took your brother?” Angel asked.

“I saw them tie Joey up, saw them drag him away. Saw the salt water ooze from their gills right onto my Grandma's Persian rug.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “They had gills?”

“How the hell else would they live underwater? Jesus,” he said, glaring at Angel like he was an idiot.

Debra sat across from a grieving widow in her 40’s. Heartbreak had made its permanent mark on the woman’s face, but she looked at Debra with hope. “I haven’t been much use since he disappeared. I know I’m supposed to move on, but…,” she trailed off as she handed Deb a photo. “That’s a picture of him.”

Debra took the photo from her, not sure how to respond. “He looks… nice.”

The grieving widow smiled sadly. “Not according to my mother. Or the police. A lot of people thought he was no good, but... my heart-just raced whenever I saw him,” she said as she dug through her purse. I brought this. It’s his toothbrush. You can get DNA off it? Find him with this, right?” She handed Debra the toothbrush, along with her trust, her need. Overwhelmed by the sadness, Debra saw Lundy making his way into the break room, so she excused herself for a minute. 

Lundy was steeping himself some tea when Debra entered.

“Special Agent Lundy?” she said as she approached him.  

He looked up at her, but kept making his tea.

“Thanks for choosing me for the task force and all, but I’d appreciate you finding someone else.”

“You want off?” Lundy asked in surprise.   

“As soon as you can replace me, sir,” she said with conviction.   

Lundy leaned against the counter, regarding her calmly. “This is a chance to solve a very important case. Most people get into law enforcement for just this kind of opportunity.”

“I've got cases of my own backing up, and the precinct is shorthanded with all this shit. So, if you don’t mind…”

Lundy put on a pleasant face, but studied her intently, and Deb couldn’t bring herself to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, if you could continue the interviews. . .?”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you,” she replied gratefully.

Lundy nodded and left the break room, while Deb let out a deep sigh of relief.

As Masuka and Dexter continued on to the morgue, Vince kept up the prattle. “The temperature on the ocean floor and the airtight bags kept them intact. I mean, a little gelatinous, sure. . .”

‘I'd rather remember my old playmates as they were. Neat, clean little packages,’ Dexter thought.  

“You know, Vince, I appreciate you doing me this favor, but…”

“Truth? You're doing me the favor. I need your help, buddy. The pressure's fucking ridiculous,” Vince said with a groan.   

“Glad to be of service,” Dexter replied as he and Masuka reached the Morgue. Adjacent to it was a huge white tent with an ominous feel about it. Dexter noted the security lights, cameras, the hefty portable generator, and refrigeration unit.

“Field morgue. For the overflow. It's state of the art,” Masuka said with a grin. “Fucking FBI, eh?”

Masuka, importantly, strode past the guard posted out front. Dexter showed his I.D., then hesitated at the door, not knowing if he could do this.

Dexter pushed forward and entered the refrigerated tent to find himself in an anti-chamber with desks and shelves of supplies. He stopped as he faced a wall of clear plexiglass and saw, for the first time, his body of work spread out on display.

Three rows of six metal tables were lined up in the white glow of the tent. Atop several tables were what appeared to be full bodies, pieced together under opaque plastic sheets, condensation clinging to the inside.

Several other tables had swollen hefty bags on them. Masked technicians in blue surgical aprons, booties and bonnets, pried them open, carefully removing slimy body parts. The remaining tables held white, gleaming bones, laid out like jigsaw pieces.

Techs examined them, playing mix and match: “Here, got a female foot,” one tech said.

"Might belong to my torso on table eight," another tech replied.

Masuka handed Dexter a mask, and a surgical apron, as he donned one of his own.

Dexter, reeling, didn’t move, and only half listened to what Vince was saying.  

“A good percentage are just bones,” Masuka explained. “Musta fed the fish when the bags tore. Humpty fucking Dumpty, right?” Masuka entered the plexiglass door, leaving Dexter behind. His inner monologue went on autopilot.  

‘Exactly. They weren't meant to be put together. They were meant to remain in the silent shadows. Keeping their secrets. Now they're exposed to the glare, reflecting my darkness like some grotesque carnival mirror. Harry was right. Nothing stays buried. Perhaps not even me,’ he thought, taking a step closer to the plexiglass.

For the first time in his life, fear gripped Dexter's heart—not the selfish fear of consequences, but dread at how his actions would affect Angel and his sister. The thought of them carrying the burden of what he'd done made his blood run cold.

Chapter Text

LaGuerta was working on the case board hanging on the wall outside the break room. A graph of columns with victim’s names, suspects' names, location of crime, detective assigned. LaGuerta added a twelfth name under "victim", while outside in the corridor, less of a crowd congregated, but many of the same people were still waiting to be processed.

Doakes watched LaGuerta fill in the board. “Homicides are backing up, got cases not even assigned yet, and Pascal's bottlenecking warrants,” he grumbled.

“She’ll get to it,” LaGuerta assured him.

“She's sitting in there doing who the fuck knows what. This should be your house, Maria!” Doakes declared before walking off.

LaGuerta shook her head and went to Pascal’s office door, knocking as she entered, and finding Pascal on the phone. “I know the card is in his name, but I want to check the charges—I’ll hold.”

“Yes,” Pascal said as she looked up at LaGuerta.

“Just reminding you that the Biscayne drive-by warrant needs your approval.”

Pascal nodded. “I’ll take a look.”

“And the homicide that came in last night still needs to be assigned.”

“Right. Thanks,” Pascal said.

LaGuerta started to leave, but then stopped, turning to face Pascal.  “Look, Esmee. I know things with your fiancé are rough right now. And I'm sorry for that. Really. But... we gotta keep clearing that case board out there.”

Pascal sighed and looked at LaGuerta, then at the phone in her hand. She shook her head, and hung the phone up. “You're right. Jesus. I've had my head up my ass lately.”

“It’s called being human,” Maria said gently.

Pascal nodded in appreciation, and took a deep breath, ready to get to work. “All right. Who’s up? she asked.

“Samuels and Kent are up.”

“Put them on the liquor store shooting,” Pascal replied while searching through her desk. “Where's that Biscayne search warrant? She muttered.

LaGuerta found it in a stack of papers and handed it to her. “Simms and Hoagie want to use SWAT for the entry. I think it’s a good cautionary measure, given the weapons charge—"

Pascal looked up in time to see her fiancé, Bertrand, striding off the elevator toward her office, and he didn’t look happy.

Pascal abruptly got up and hurried over to the blinds to lower them, anticipating they’d need some privacy.

“Yeah, that's—I’m going to need a minute—I…”

“Esmee,” Maria said.

 Pascal ushered LaGuerta to the door, opening it for her, then returned to the blinds. “Please, Maria, can you just handle it?”

LaGuerta exited the office, shaking her head in exasperation. She moved away from the door slightly, with her back to Bertrand as he stormed into Pascal's office.

As he entered, LaGuerta overheard Bertrand say: “You're having me followed now? Jesus Christ, Esmee, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

Maria headed back to the bullpen, a small smile playing on her lips, after Pascal shut the office door.

~~~~

Later, once Dexter returned to his office from the tent, he was still fighting the shakes from seeing his work laid out like that, but he didn’t have time to ponder it. Angel entered, a smile on his face. “Yo, Dex,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

“What’s up?” Dexter asked, smiling back at his lover.

“I talked to my friend Miguel, who’s into classic cars, and he gave me a list of possible models from your description. Although he did say it was rather vague, but he did the best he could. Here’s some pics he sent me, Baby. Do any of these cars look familiar?”

Angel let Dexter scroll through his phone, viewing the pictures Miguel sent.

“Hmm,” Dexter said as he perused the pics. “It kind of looks like this one,” he said, stopping on the sixth photo. “I can’t swear to it, though, but it’s close.”

Angel looked at the picture. “That’s a 1966 Charger,” he remarked. “I’ll get a list of people in the Miami area who own older model Chargers from the DMV.”

“Good idea,” Dexter concurred. “You got much more to do after you contact the DMV?” 

“No, I’ll be ready to go home soon. You?” Angel asked.

“We can leave whenever you’re ready,” Dexter responded. “I’m more than ready to go. Vince dragged me in on the Bay Harbor Butcher murders, and well, it’s kind of overwhelming.”

“You okay, Baby?”

“Yeah, I will be,” Dexter assured him. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“Tell me about it,” Angel said, shaking his head. “Let me check with the DMV, and I’ll come back and get you when I’m done.”

“Great. I’ll see you in a bit,” Dex answered, pulling his chair up to his desk and sitting down. He was looking forward to his days off with Angel. The blood spatter analysis just didn’t have the same appeal it used to. Lying in bed with Angel was more to his liking these days.

After checking with the DMV, Angel now had a print out of the old Chargers in Miami, and it was a lot more than he expected. He’d check it over thoroughly during his days off, but right now he needed to retrieve his lover and get the hell out of there.

Angel's keychain jingled as they stepped into their apartment; the sound drowned by Dexter's pulse thrumming in his ears. Calloused fingers brushed the small of his back—a casual touch that burned through the layer of polyester-blend fabric. The AC hummed too loud. Or maybe that was the blood rushing past his eardrums.

"Wanted to touch you all day,” Angel murmured, breath hot on his neck as he reached past him to flip on the kitchen light.

Dexter's throat tightened around a reply when Angel's chest pressed against his shoulder blades. The scent of Dior Eau Sauvage enveloped him—familiar, intoxicating. His fingers flexed against the granite countertop as Angel's hands settled on his hips, thumbs tracing circles through his light button up shirt.

"Angel," Dexter managed, turning to capture Angel's mouth in a toe-curling kiss. The taste of coffee and adrenaline danced across his tongue, as his belt suddenly hit the floor, while Angel's teeth grazed his lower lip—dangerously.

Buttons scattered like seashells across the tile, and Dexter's ass hit the kitchen table, as Angel pushed him down, the wooden surface unyielding against his back. Angel's knee pressed between his thighs, as a moan escaped against his collarbone, where Angel's mouth found the racing pulse beneath his damp skin.

“Dexter gasped as Angel unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his thighs, underwear and all. He fondled Dexter mercilessly until he was hard and begging. “Angel, please stop teasing.”

Angel unsnapped his own pants and quickly grabbed the cooking oil out of the cabinet. Dexter watched him slick his cock, the action leaving him panting in anticipation. As Angel’s pants pooled around his ankles, he spread Dexter's thighs wide and eased his hard shaft into Dexter’s unprepared hole, carefully, inch by agonizing inch.

Dexter's nails scraped across Angel’s back, the stretch burning white-hot behind his eyelids. The oil's faint vegetal scent mixed with Angel's cologne when he leaned down, sweat dripping from his jaw onto Dexter's heaving chest. Every millimeter of intrusion seared fire and trembling want through his nervous system—pain exploding into pleasure as Angel's hips finally met his.

"Breathe," Angel growled against his throat, fingers bruising-tight on his thighs. Dexter hadn't realized he'd been holding it until it burst from his lungs in a ragged moan.

The first thrust tore a sound from Dexter's throat he didn't recognize—primal—guttural—animalistic. Angel's rhythm built like a storm surge, each snap of hips hitting that electric bundle of nerves that made colors burst behind Dexter's closed eyes. The table legs screeched against tile in time with their ragged breathing.

Dexter's fingers found Angel's sweat-slick shoulders, blunt nails digging crescent trenches as the world narrowed to sweat-salt and friction, and the absurdly loud slap of skin against skin. Angel's mouth crashed against his, swallowing his whimpers as their tongues dueled for dominance.

"Yessss," Dexter gasped against swollen lips, arching until he thought his back would break in half. Angel muttered something obscene, lifting Dexter's hips to change the angle. The new position pulled a cry from Dexter's throat as Angel's cock dragged against his prostate with piston-force precision.

Pleasure coiled molten in his gut, threatening to detonate. Dexter's hand scrambled between their bodies, fingers slipping on precome as he stroked himself in frantic counterpoint to Angel's thrusts. The kitchen fluorescents burned his retinas when his eyes rolled back, vision fracturing into starbursts.

Angel's rhythm stuttered. "Fuck, Dex—"

The broken groan against his neck tipped Dexter over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him like shrapnel, back bowing as come striped his abdomen in hot spurts. Angel followed with a harsh cry, teeth sinking into Dexter's shoulder as he emptied himself deep with three final, brutal thrusts.

Collapsing together, Dexter registered the table beneath his sweat-slick back, Angel's trembling forearms bracketing his head, the sweet scent of sex permeating his nostrils. His racing heartbeat gradually slowed in time, with Angel’s where their chests pressed together.

"Guess we didn’t quite make it to the bed," Angel panted against his throat.

Dexter's laugh came out hoarse, fingers trailing through the mess on his stomach. “I’m good with right here, Love.”

“Sorry, Baby, but I don’t think we’ll ever find all those buttons,” Angel declared with a distinct giggle.

Angel's laugh rumbled against Dexter's sternum as he licked a stripe up his neck. The cooling come between their stomachs formed tacky bridges when Angel shifted, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound that made Dexter's spent muscles twitch.

"Shower?" Angel's lips moved against his sweaty temple.

Dexter's thighs burned when he tried to sit up. "You might have to carry me. I’m a little wobbly legged at the moment."

The answering grin against his skin became a raucous laugh as Angel hoisted him up, their sweat-slick chests sliding together. Dexter hooked his ankles behind Angel's back, breathing in their heavy musk—sex, Dior, and the faint spicy scent he always associated with Angel's skin after a shift.

Warm water poured over them as Angel pinned him against the shower rock wall. Dexter's head rested against rock when Angel's mouth found his again, lazy and thorough this time. His fingers traced the crescent marks on Angel's shoulders—half-regret, half-pride blooming in his chest.

"Baby, you drive me wild," Angel murmured against his jaw, hands sliding down to knead Dexter's ass.

Dexter's laugh dissolved into a moan as thumbs pressed into sore muscles. "Trying to kill me?"

"Trying to worship you," Angel argued.

Angel's mouth moved lower, teeth scraping a nipple before tongue soothed the sting. Dexter's back arched instinctively, palms squeaking against wet rock as Angel dropped to his knees.

The first swipe of his tongue along his half-hard cock made Dexter's knees buckle. Angel's grip on his hips kept him upright, the shower spray plastering dark eyelashes to cheekbones as he took Dexter deep. Fingernails bit into his ass when he tried to thrust, Angel's hum vibrating around him.

Dexter's head fell back against the wall, steam filling his lungs as pleasure coiled tight again. He fisted a hand in Angel's wet hair, not guiding—just needing to touch. The vibration of Angel moaning around him traveled straight to his spine, electricity crackling across every nerve ending.

When release came this time, it washed over him like a riptide—slow and inexorable. Angel's throat worked around him, swallowing every throbbing pulse as Dexter's vision whited out. He slid down the rock wall bonelessly, catching Angel's face between trembling hands as water sheeted over them both.

Their mouths locked together in a passion filled kiss, all tongue, teeth, and saliva. Angel's thumb brushed his cheekbone—reverent, tender—before pulling him to his feet. “We won’t make it out of the apartment if this keeps up,” Dexter said with a chuckle.

“I know, Baby,” Angel snickered. “And we’ve still gotta clean the kitchen before Deb gets home.”

“Well, she’s got her therapy session tonight, so she won’t be home for a while,” Dex said as they finally made it out of the shower, wrapping each other in fluffy bath towels.

“Okay, so we’ll give the kitchen a quick cleanup, and then we’ll head to the Rusty Pelican for dinner,” Angel said as they started to get dressed.

Dexter smiled. “Yeah, I’ve worked up an appetite now—thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome, Baby,” Angel snickered.

After cleaning up the kitchen and sucking up as many buttons as he could find with the dust buster, Dexter and Angel headed off to the restaurant.

Once arriving at the Rusty Pelican, Angel ordered them each a glass of white wine while they perused the menu.

“What looks good tonight, Baby?” Angel asked as he squinted at his menu.

“It all looks good,” Dexter replied. “I’m so hungry, I could eat everything on the menu, but the Arroz Meloso looks really good. What do you think?”

“I’m eyeing that Chilean Sea Bass—sound amazing,” Angel said, just as Dexter's stomach growled.

“We’d better get you fed, before you fall out,” Angel said grinning. “Didn't you get any lunch today?”

“No,” Dexter said, shaking his head. “Come to think of it, I didn’t. Vince interrupted me, and we ended up in the field morgue all afternoon.”

When the server returned, Angel and Dexter gave him their orders, and soon he arrived with salads and bread. “Your main courses will be out shortly,” the waiter assured them.

Dexter's speared a cherry tomato from his salad, the burst of acidity making his tastebuds zing. Across the linen-clad table, Angel watched in amusement as Dexter devoured his salad and bread.

“You really were starving,” Angel commented.

Dexter smiled. “Uh huh.”

Moonlight rippled across the marina through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting silver streaks in Angel's still-damp hair. Dexter's knee bumped Angel's under the table.

"Remember that time you made your mama’s chicken and rice?" Dexter flashed him a grin.

“Oh, how could I forget it?” Angel chuckled. “We had to clean the kitchen that night too.”

Their entrees arrived steaming—Dexter's saffron rice releasing earthy perfume as the server lifted the cloche. Angel's sea bass glistened under herb butter, its crispy skin crackling audibly when he pressed it with his fork.

Salt air from the open patio doors mingled with seared scallops at the next table, making Dexter's stomach growl again.

"Slow down, Baby. You'll choke,” Angel admonished. “And save room for dessert.”

Dexter licked turmeric from his thumb, catching Angel's gaze darken. The marina lights danced in his lover's pupils like twinkling stars.

With key lime pie and Cuban coffee, Dexter and Angel let their dinner settle, before heading off on the next leg of their night out.

When they finally left the restaurant, streetlights strobed through the windshield, illuminating Angel's handsome profile. “Where to next?” Dexter asked.

“Well, I thought we’d go to the Salsa Room for a little while—okay?” Angel asked.

“Yeah, sounds good, but are you sure we’re not going there just so you can hook up with your old dance partners?” Dexter asked jokingly.

“Angel shook his head. “Nah, you’re the only partner I need, even if you won’t dance with me.”

The bassline thumping from the club's entrance vibrated through Dexter’s shoes before they even reached the door. Angel's fingers laced through his, warm and sure, tugging him past the velvet rope where colored lights flashed across laughing faces.

"Two mojitos!" Angel called over the band’s explosive brass section, steering them toward a corner booth upholstered in cracked red vinyl. The smell of lime and rum cut through cigar smoke when their drinks arrived. The dance floor churned like a living organism—hips swiveling, skirts flaring, dress shoes clicking rapid-fire against polished wood. Dexter's knee bounced in time with the beat, gasping slightly when Angel's hand landed high on his thigh.

"Relax, Baby." Angel whispered, breath tickling the fine hairs of his ear.

The music shifted, trumpets giving way to piano cascades, as they watched the sea of ever-changing dancers. Angel and Dexter tapped their feet to the music, while Angel drummed lightly on Dex’s knee.

“Some night, I swear, Baby, I’m gonna teach you how to dance,” Angel threatened with a grin.

Later, half deaf, but grinning, they wandered out of the club to their car. The night breeze carried the scent of sea salt and diesel from the harbor, cooling their faces as they walked hand-in-hand toward the vehicle.

Angel hummed the last salsa riff under his breath, fingers drumming the steering wheel in time. Dexter's head lolled against the headrest as they drove for home. Angel glanced in the rear-view mirror once, twice, then a third time.

“What’s the matter?” Dexter asked, sitting up straight.

“Not sure, Baby, but I think we might have a tail,” Angel replied, glancing in the mirror again.

“Is it Doakes?” Dex asked with a furrowed brow.

Angel shook his head. “Don’t think so, Baby. It’s a black car.”

“Fuck, maybe it’s my stalker,” Dexter said, turning his head to look out the back window.

Angel jerked the wheel left, tires screaming as they fishtailed onto Biscayne Boulevard. Dexter's seatbelt locked, crushing the breath from his lungs. The black car’s headlights filled the rear-view mirror—twin suns burning through the night.

"Hold on!" Angel barked, downshifting as they careened past a delivery truck. The pursuing engine roared closer, rumbled through the floorboards. Dexter's teeth ground together, tongue tasting copper where he'd bitten his cheek.

A metallic crunch shuddered through the chassis. The car lurched forward, Dexter's skull snapping back against the headrest. Angel cursed, fighting the wheel as they skidded toward construction barriers. Orange traffic cones exploded against the hood in a plastic hail.

Dexter's fingers clawed the dashboard. "There!" He pointed at a service alley slicing between boarded-up storefronts. Angel wrenched the steering wheel, just barely managing to make the hairpin turn. The Charger's brakes screeched to a halt behind them, too wide to follow.

Silence crashed down as they emerged onto a dim residential street. Angel's knuckles glowed white on the wheel. "You okay?"

Dexter nodded, throat too dry to speak. His pulse hammered against his eardrums, drowning out the idling engine. The digital clock read 1:47 a.m. in toxic green.

Angel took a shaking breath. "Let's get the hell out of here." He floored the accelerator and made it back home in less than 10 minutes, a record-breaking time.

When they entered the apartment, Deb was sitting on a stool at the counter, eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. She immediately noticed their fearful expressions, and they were both slightly out of breath. “What’s wrong?” she asked, getting to her feet.

"Some asshole tailed us from the club," Angel said, running a hand through his hair. Dexter noted the tremor in those usually steady fingers—the same tremor shaking his own kneecaps.

Deb's spoon clattered against the countertop. "License plate? Make? Model?" The questions snapped out like gunshots, her cop instincts overriding the chocolate smudge on her chin.

Angel shook his head. "Dark—black I think—old.”

The apartment's kitchen light flickered. Dexter's scalp prickled as shadows stretched long across the balcony. His gaze drifted to the window—black rectangle framing, swaying palm fronds. Something dark shifted between slats of the half-closed blinds.

"Did they follow you here?" Deb whispered, following Dexter’s gaze.

Dexter's fingers curled around the counter edge. The taste of key lime pie turned acidic in his throat. Through the blinds, a car engine growled to life two stories below—deep, rumbling—like an old muscle car.

Angel's hand clamped around his bicep. "Dex?"

Streetlight bled through the blinds, as the engine noise gradually faded into the distance. “It’s gone,” he said quietly.

“We hope,” Deb said.

All three of them jumped when a knock sounded on the front door. “Who the fuck is that at 2:12 in the morning?” Angel growled. “Don’t open it,” he instructed as he went to retrieve his gun. Deb followed suit, grabbing her gun from the bedroom.

Deb and Angel moved slowly toward the door with their guns raised. “Who is it?” Angel snarled through the closed door.

“Man, it’s me, Doakes. Open up!”

Angel and Deb looked at each other, and then looked back at Dexter, who shrugged with a confused expression on his face.

Through the peephole's fisheye lens, Doakes' distorted face swam in and out of focus—jaw clenched, left eye twitching.

Deb's stepped back. "Let him in," she hissed, ice cream totally forgotten. "If he wanted us dead, he would’ve shot the locks off already.”

The deadbolt clicked open. Doakes shouldered past Angel before the door fully cleared the jamb. His service weapon hung loosely in its holster, but he had an edge about him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Angel asked with obvious annoyance.

“Looking out for your sorry asses,” he responded. “I’ve been tailing you all evening.”

Dexter's heart raced as he processed Doakes' unexpected arrival. The tension in the room thickened, each of them standing at a precipice of unspoken fears and accusations. He could feel the air crackle with the kind of unpredictability that always surrounded Doakes.

“Tailin’ us?” Angel hissed, his gun still pointed defensively. “What do you think we are—a bunch of criminals on the run?”

Doakes shot Angel a look that could freeze fire. “You think I’m here for kicks? You don’t know how deep this shit is. You’re all in serious danger, and it’s not just some random threat.”

Deb lowered her weapon slightly, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

Dexter moved forward then, drawn by an instinct to understand what was going on. “Doakes, just tell us what happened.” His attempt at calmness faltered as anxiety gnawed at his insides. He’d always prided himself on being collected in moments of crisis, but his past—and his dark tendencies—betrayed him at every turn.

“The car you were trying to lose was a black Dodge Charger—old model. When you slipped down that narrow alley, I followed it, but whoever was driving must’ve made me. Anyway, I lost it, so I came here to make sure you guys were okay. When I got here, the Charger was in the parking lot. It sped out as soon as it saw me,” Doakes said, stepping fully into the apartment. He closed the door behind him, ensuring they were sealed in against whatever outside threat loomed.  

“I didn’t bother to follow again, because I knew I couldn’t catch it,” Doakes said, shaking his head. “That sucker is fast.”

“Why were you following us in the first place?” Angel asked angrily.

“Well, you missed something after you and Princess left work, Angel. Dexter got another love letter from his secret admirer. Jennifer found it and took it to Lieutenant Pascal,” Doakes explained with a scowl.

“What letter?” Deb asked.

Doakes stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Came just like the last ones, in a pink envelope with a heart-shaped card inside. I took a picture of it,” he said, showing the group his phone.

‘I love you, sweetheart, but I'm so angry.

He’s not good enough for you, so he has to die.

You and I will be together forever, I promise.

See you soon!’ The note read.

"Pascal's running prints," Doakes said, watching Dexter's face. "But something tells me your admirer wears gloves. Pascal’s the one who asked me if I’d follow you tonight. Matthews still won’t authorize police protection, so I sort of volunteered, but I didn’t know you were gonna drag me on a fucking escapade all night long. You’re welcome!”

Dexter’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the foreboding threat of Doakes’ revelation. Dexter’s body tightened as Doakes laid out the chilling details. Each word the detective spoke clenched around Dexter’s throat, turning his stomach heavy and queasy. The love letters, now blossoming into a dangerous obsession—whoever was behind this was too close, lurking like a predator just out of sight.

He squinted at the phone Doakes was holding, focusing on the mocking scrawl that promised death. His breath quickened, heart drumming a frantic rhythm at the thought of an enemy, some faceless figure fixated on him. “Who the hell is this person?” he muttered. He couldn’t afford to feel fear; it was a luxury he didn’t want to entertain.

Doakes moved closer, wanting desperately to reach out and touch him, but knew he couldn’t with Angel hovering over him. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Doakes replied.

“Did you get a plate number, Doakes?” Deb asked.

“No,” Doakes said, shaking his head. “The plate was obscured. Mud—I think.”

“We’re off for the next two days,” Angel said with agitation. “I’ve got my daughter tomorrow. Dex and I were gonna take her to Zoo Miami, so what the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t bring her into this nightmare.”

Dexter felt a swell of frustration mixed with fear. This wasn’t just about him anymore; it threatened everyone he cared about, especially those closest to him. "Angel, maybe you shouldn’t get Auri tomorrow. I mean, it’s not exactly safe with this... this person out there," he suggested, his voice taut.

Angel shook his head, the lines of worry deepening on his forehead. "What kind of father would I be if I bail on my kid? I can’t let her think I don’t want to see her. I need to keep things normal for her," Angel insisted. "But I also can't ignore what's going on."

Deb interjected, her brow furrowing in concern. “You can’t just pretend everything is fine while some psycho is stalking Dexter. We need to take this seriously.” She turned towards Doakes, her expression shifting from concern to determination. "What's the plan? We can’t leave Dexter unprotected."

Doakes rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowed in thought. “I say… go with business as usual. What time are you taking Auri to the Zoo?”

Angel shrugged. “We’re gonna pick her up around eleven, and then go straight to the zoo. After that, we were gonna take her to lunch and then come back here, play some board games, maybe get in the pool.”

“Okay,” Doakes said, scratching his head. “I’ve got the late-night shift tomorrow, so I’ll meet you here at 10:30 AM, and follow you until you return home for the remainder of the day. Is she spending the night?”

Dexter chimed in. “She was going to, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea now.”

Angel frowned, glancing between Dexter and Deb. "I get that we’re dealing with some serious stuff here, but Auri was really looking forward to it. She needs to spend some time with me, you know? We can’t let this guy dictate our lives."

Deb crossed her arms, her protective instincts kicking in. “I understand, but if Auri is in the apartment, she could be in danger too. We don’t know what this psycho is capable of.”

“I’ll keep a close watch on her,” Angel insisted. “I promise, we’ll be cautious. Besides, Doakes will be tailing us. If anything goes wrong, we’ll be ready.”

Doakes nodded, the tension in his posture conveying his concern. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a smart idea to continue with your plans completely unchanged, but it’s likely the best way to flush out this guy.”  

Dexter took a deep breath, weighing the options. “If we do go ahead with the plan, we’ll need to establish a safe way to communicate. Text codes or something, so if anything feels off, we’ve got a way to alert each other without making it obvious.”

“Agreed,” Deb said, her brow finally relaxing a little. “Let’s come up with simple codes. If you text ‘Zebra,’ for instance, we know something’s wrong. I’ve got day shift tomorrow, so I’ll be home by six. That’ll give you extra protection around Auri in the evening. I’ll even arrange for dinner.”

"That works," Angel said, his determination tangible. “Look, I don’t want to put my daughter at risk, but I also don’t want to ruin her day. Let’s keep it minimal but still fun.”

“All right then, let’s do this,” Doakes said, firm and resolute. “I'll be here tomorrow—10:30 sharp. You guys enjoy the day, but stay alert, okay? I’ll be watching from a distance, but I won’t be far.”

“Thanks,” Dexter said, flashing a small smile at Doakes. “We have to make sure Auri is safe, but we’ll need your backup if anything goes wrong.”

“Count on it,” Doakes replied, something unsaid sparking in his eyes as he looked at Dexter. “I’ll take off now. Gotta catch a couple hours sleep.”

“Hey, thank you,” Angel said, grateful for the extra protection for his daughter.

“Yeah, no problem,” Doakes replied as he headed out the door.

After he’d left, Deb said her good nights and went to bed, while Angel made sure the front door was locked down tight. He also checked the windows, making sure they were secure.

As Angel moved through the apartment, the thought of Auri potentially being caught up in something dangerous gnawed at his mind, but he pushed it aside. He wouldn’t let anything happen to his little girl, not as long as there was breath in his body.

The day would be a test of their resolve, because Auri's happiness was paramount, but so was her safety. When Angel got into the bedroom, Dexter was sitting in bed looking pensive. “We’ve got to catch this guy,” he said with conviction.

“Yeah, no lie,” Angel groaned. “This creep is mucking up everything. He needs to be taken down… and quickly.”

“Come to bed, Love,” Dexter said, patting Angel’s side of the bed. “We’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Angel stripped out of his clothes, tossing them on a chair as he climbed into bed and snuggled up with his lover. “Well, at least we had a good time for a while,” Angel sighed.

“We had a wonderful time,” Dexter hummed, laying his head on Angel’s chest. “I had such a good time, I might even let you teach me how to dance.”

Angel chuckled. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Baby.”

Dexter yawned and drifted off to sleep as Angel tightened his grip and followed him into a restless slumber. 

The next morning, Deb left for work an hour early, just so she could leave sooner. Protecting Dexter, Angel, and Auri remained paramount in her mind. Dexter and Angel got up shortly after Deb left, making coffee and a quick breakfast, before going to pick up Auri at Nina’s. True to his word, Doakes arrived exactly at 10:30, banging on the front door insistently.

“We’re not deaf,” Angel grumbled as he flung open the door.

“Sorry, just making sure you two were up,” Doakes answered with a smirk.

“Of course we’re up,” Dexter replied. “We hardly got any sleep for worrying.”

“I’m confused,’ Angel stated, turning towards Doakes. “Didn’t you see that car following us all evening, since you were on our tail the entire night?” I meant to ask you that while you were here, but I was too rattled.”

“Nope,” Doakes said, shaking his head. “That Charger never showed up until you entered the Salsa Room.”

“Wait a minute,” Dexter said, cocking his head. “How did he know we were at the Salsa Room? Did he scour the city looking for us?”

Doakes shrugged. “Did you two tell anyone where you were going?”

“I didn’t—not even Deb, but then again, I didn’t know exactly where we were going,” Dexter insisted.

Angel thought for a minute. “Yeah, I told Masuka, ‘cause he asked me if I wanted to go chasing skirts with him, but I told him I already had plans at the Salsa Room. He said okay, say no more. He winked at me, then wandered off down the hall.”

“Masuka’s a piece of work,” Doakes snorted.

“Do you think he told anyone else?” Dexter asked. “I know he doesn’t own a black Charger.”

“Angel, call his dumb ass and ask him,” Doakes barked.

Angel gave Doakes a raised eyebrow, but pulled out his phone and dialed Vince’s number. After a couple of rings, Vince answered. “It’s your dime.”

Angel put it on speaker phone so everyone could hear the conversation. “Hey, it’s Angel.”

“I know who you are, dude. What’s up?”

“Remember yesterday when I told you I was going to the Salsa Room? Did you tell anyone else?” Angel quizzed.

“Nope. Why? Masuka asked curiously.

“Ah, someone followed me from the club last night,” Angel told him.

“Shit, no, man I didn’t tell anyone, but the uniform cop standing behind you must’ve heard. He was only a foot away.”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “What uniform cop?”

“Dunno—wasn’t paying attention—was watching the captain’s secretary’s ass as she walked toward his office. Only caught the cop out of the corner of my eye, but he was pretty close. All I remember is the uniform and dark hair.”

“Thanks, Masuka,” Angel said as he hung up.

The trio looked at each other with matching befuddled expressions.

“Well, now, that was interesting,” Doakes said, rubbing his forehead. “I wonder if our mystery cop drives a black Charger.”

“I got a list of all the older model Chargers in the Miami area from the DMV. I’ll go over it tomorrow after we take Auri home,” Angel said.

“Give me the list,” Doakes ordered. “I’ll go over it while I’m following you. It’ll save time.”

Angel hesitated, but retrieved the list and handed it to Doakes. “C’mon, we’ve got to get Auri.”

“Okay, take it slow and steady,” Doakes cautioned. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Chapter Text

All the way to Zoo Miami, Auri gushed about how thrilled she was to be going to the zoo and seeing lions and tigers. Happy Angel got to spend time with his little girl, Dexter grinned at her.

“So, lions and tigers are your favorite animals?” Dexter asked.

“Yup, and I like monkeys too, but cats are my favorite. Mommy got me a kitten for Christmas,” she told Dexter.

“It’s a cute little thing,” Angel said with a smile. “All white and fuzzy with brown tipped ears.

Mommy said she’s a Birman,” Auri supplied.

“Fancy,” Dexter crooned. “I like cats too, but I’m not much of a dog person.”

“I like both, but I prefer cats,” Auri stated.

Once they arrived at Zoo Miami, they parked the car, purchased tickets, and entered the facility. Angel shot a glance over his shoulder to make sure Doakes was still following. He smiled and nodded at Dexter, giving him a thumbs up.

“I guess we’re off to see the big cats first, huh?” Angel asked Auri.

“Yes, yay,” she cried, bouncing up and down.

As they made their way through the entrance, Auri could hardly contain her excitement. The vibrant sounds of the zoo—the calls of exotic birds and the chatter of families—surrounded them. She tugged at Angel’s hand, urging him onward.

“Look! There’s the map!” she exclaimed, pointing to the large kiosk by the entrance.

“Let’s see where the big cats are,” Angel suggested, leaning over to study the map.

"Right there!" Auri pointed enthusiastically. “It’s just over there!”

With Auri leading the way, they walked past the colorful flamingo exhibit, where the pink birds stood elegantly on one leg. Auri stopped to watch them, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Mommy says flamingos are called that because they’re colorful like a flame,” she shared, trying to impress Dexter.

“That's right! And they get their color from the food they eat,” Dexter replied, leaning in to explain. “They love shrimp and algae, which gives them that beautiful pink hue.”

“Wow, that’s so cool! I didn’t know that,” Auri said, her curiosity piqued.

Soon enough, they reached the big cat section, and Auri’s excitement reached new heights. “Look! The lion’s den!” she squealed.

Peering through the glass, they spotted a majestic lion lounging in the shade, its golden mane shimmering under the sunlight. “He looks so fluffy!” Auri giggled, mimicking a lion's roar.

“Do you think he could fit in our living room?” Dexter joked.

Auri burst into laughter, her imagination racing. “Only if we had a really big couch!”

Angel took a moment to savor the joy radiating from his daughter. He glanced at Dexter and noticed the warm smile on his face. “Let’s move to the tigers next. They’re super cool!”

As they continued their adventure, the trio wandered from the tiger exhibit to the playful monkeys swinging through their enclosure. Auri clapped her hands in delight. “They’re so silly! Look at them!”

Angel smiled at the sight of his daughter’s happiness. “You’re right. They’re full of energy. Just like you!”

“Maybe one day I’ll have a pet monkey!” Auri declared, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Let’s stick to cats for now,” Angel chuckled, as they moved on, leaving behind the rambunctious monkeys for the next exhibit.

“With all the animals we’ll see today, I might just change my favorite,” Auri mused, skipping alongside them, her spirit as vibrant as the sounds of the zoo.

“The elephants are awesome, and rhinos, and hippos,” Auri said, jumping up and down.

“Let’s face it, you just love them all,” Dexter said teasingly.

“Yeah, but I’m not crazy about the spider section,” Auri said with a shiver. “I don’t like them.”

“Ooh, I don’t blame you, sweetie,” Angel said, patting her head. “I can’t say I’m fond of them either.”

Dexter laughed. “Big strong he-man afraid of an itty-bitty spider?”

“You have one crawl up your arm, see how you like it,” Angel replied with a chuckle.

“Let’s go see the alligators,” Auri said, grabbing her father and Dexter by a hand.

Doakes followed as promised from a safe distance. He had to admit, as he watched the trio, Dexter was actually pretty good with kids.

They lingered by the alligator exhibit for a while because they were putting on a feeding demonstration, and Auri loved watching the gators snap the chickens out of the keepers hands.

“That’s so exciting,” Auri squealed. “I’d love to do that.”

“And that would be a no,” Angel said, shaking his head.

“Where to next?” Dexter asked. “How about lunch soon?”

“Yeah, I smell burgers cooking from the Oasis Grill,” Angel enticed.

“Do they have hot dogs?” Auri asked.

Dexter nodded. “I’m pretty sure they do, and after lunch we can explore Zoo Miami some more.”

The group ate lunch, and then went on the safari tram tour that transported them through the Asia and Africa exhibits. Auri smiled and pointed at the animals, loving every minute of her day at the zoo.

As the afternoon wore down, Auri’s energy began to wane, so around 4 PM they decided to call it a day and head back to Angel and Dexter’s new apartment. Auri hadn’t seen their new place yet, and Dexter borrowed a roll away bed from the landlord, so she could spend the night with them. Dexter would have to sleep on the futon in the living room, but he didn’t mind because Auri’s visit made Angel so happy.   

When they arrived home, Doakes got out of his car and told Angel he’d wait a few minutes, until after they got inside, but then he was gonna take off. He needed to get in a nap before his night shift started.

“Thanks, man,” Angel said gratefully.

Doakes gave a curt nod and got back in his car.

~~~~

Meanwhile, back at the station, Deb was doing one last interview before she left for the day. Debra sat opposite a care-worn Latino mother in her mid to late 30’s. Debra looked like a caged animal about ready to bolt from the bullpen.

“I want to know where is she. She was so young, mi Teresita, just seven years old. You help me, I know you find her. Por favor—"

“We’ll do what we—no, no don’t cry,” Debra said, waving her hand at the woman, but it was too late, the poor mother was sobbing.

“Me la robaron. Me la quitaron de mi vida, pero rezel y dios me mando a ti, Tu Ia encontraras.

“No, no Spanish, no habla, only English,” Debra pleaded. “Maria,” she called out.

Maria came over to see what was going on, and the stressed look on Debra’s face had her concerned.

“Esta senora encuentra a mi Teresa, verdad? Necesito saber que le ha pasado. Dios me mando aqui para saber acerca de ella,” the woman rattled off.

“She thinks you can find her daughter,’ Maria translated.

“Tell her there's no kids down there. Tell her I can't help her—just tell her we’ll call her,” Deb told Maria.

Suddenly the woman grabbed Deb’s hand, but she recoiled, then abruptly got up and walked away.

“Morgan,” Maria called after her.

Debra burst into the war room and found Lundy in there by himself. “It's been twenty-four hours since I asked to be replaced,” Debra said with agitation.

“Has it?” Lundy replied nonplussed.   

“What's taking so long? Every cop on the damn force wants in on this case. Just take your pick,” she huffed.

Lundy nodded, calmly sipping his tea. “I've been wondering about that, actually. Everyone wants on, but you want off.”

Debra looked down at her feet. “I told you. I have cases.”

Lundy shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“You don't think so?” Deb asked incredulously. “Jesus, I just don't want to be on your task force, all right?”

“Why?” Lundy asked, pushing her for a straight answer.

Debra blurted out before she could stop herself. “Because I’m the last person in the world who should be on it.”

And finally, after everything she'd been pushing down since the day Brian abducted her spilled out in a rush of words: “You want me to find a serial killer? I was engaged to one, for Christ's sake! What kind of cop, what kind of moron couldn't see who he was? That's why he chose me. Because I was an idiot, a desperate, clueless idiot. And he knew it. The whole fucking world knows it. Hell, I've turned down three offers for my pathetic life story—"Confession of a Fucking Moron.” So, I can't help you, Lundy,” Deb said slower, as she finally started running out of steam. “I can’t help anyone… and if you can’t see that,” she said softly, feeling defeated, raw, and close to tears. Dejected, with her head hanging down, she turned to leave the war room.

Lundy didn’t offer a shoulder to cry on, because he knew she didn’t need one. “It’s why I chose you, you know.”

Debra turned around and stared at him in confusion.

“Because of what you went through,” he said.

Debra’s face still expressed her bafflement. She didn’t understand what he was trying to tell her.

“You survived. I don't know how. I can't even begin to fathom the strength it took—continues to take. More than that, you were afforded invaluable insight into the heart and mind of a killer… and you lived to tell about it,’ Lundy said, pinning her with his gaze.

“If you can accept that, embrace it, tap into that strength to use it, you could help catch an even bigger killer than Brian Moser. But you'd have to stop running.”

Debra didn’t know how to respond. He’d completely thrown her for a loop.

“Finish today's interviews,” Lundy said, turning back to his tea. “Then, if you still want out, you got it.”

Debra nodded and left without a word, not sure what to do now.

Debra concluded her interview with the last family member in line, an anxious man in his 30’s. “I have all your forms. So, we’ll do what we can to bring your dad home—"

“I'm sorry,” the man interrupted. “You don't understand. I don't want him home. Just tell me he’s dead. We need to know he’s gone.”  

“Right, you want closure,” she said with sympathy.

“I want peace. He made our lives a living hell. When he'd go to prison, it was a blessing, but you people kept letting him out. I need to tell my mother and sister that they're safe, that he's rotting in hell. Call me when you can do that.”

The man got up and abruptly left. Debra tried to absorb the conversation... then she suddenly dove for her notes, dug through a file, unearthing the photo the grieving widow gave her the day before. Just then, she noticed Lundy, heading for the elevator.

Deb got up and ran after him. “Lundy, wait,” she called out, still processing her thoughts. “I think—I mean, it could be a coincidence, but there are two of them.”

Two...? he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Missing people with prison records,” Deb spat out.

“Hmm,” Lundy replied, rubbing his chin. “Interesting. And who, typically, has a prison record?”

“I don't know… bad guys?” Deb said with a shrug.

A slow smile crept across Lundy’s face. “Bad guys.”

“You think it could be—?”

“A pattern—maybe,” he replied as he pulled out his phone. “We'll run all the victims' DNA against the criminal database. The D.C. lab is still open,” he said, heading for the war room. “Come on, let's check it out.”

Debra grinned. ‘Yeah, I’m on the team,’ she thought as she followed him.

“It was around six PM when Deb finally made it home, carrying a large bag of tacos, loaded nachos, and burritos. “Sorry I’m late,” she said with a brilliant smile.

“Well, you’re in a good mood,” Dexter commented. “For someone who’s late getting home.”

“Hi, Auri,” Deb said, sitting the food on the kitchen counter. “Did you have a good time at the zoo?”

“It was awesome,” Auri said grinning. “We had lunch there, then we came back here and got in the pool, now we’re playing Mousetrap. Wanna play?”

“Sure!” Deb said enthusiastically. “We can start a new game after dinner.”

“So, how was work?” Angel asked curiously.

“Really good. I think we might’ve made a breakthrough,’ she chirped happily.

Dexter raised an eyebrow, hoping not too much of a breakthrough, or the jig might be up. 

“Let’s eat,” Angel said as he put out paper plates for everyone. “Thanks for picking up dinner, Deb.”

“No problem. You like tacos, right, Auri?” she asked.

“They’re yummy!” she cried, holding her fist in the air.

The adults all laughed, wishing they had that kind of energy.

As they settled around the table, the tantalizing aroma of the tacos and nachos filled the air, stirring everyone’s appetites. Deb grabbed a plate and began serving up portions, the vibrant colors of the food matching her cheerful demeanor.

“Look at all this deliciousness!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “You guys are in for a treat!”

Auri, already eyeing the pile of loaded nachos, nodded vigorously. “I want the nachos too, please. They look amazing!”

Angel chuckled as he swallowed a bite of taco. “So, what’s this big breakthrough you were talking about, Deb? Anything we should know about?”

Deb hesitated for a fleeting moment, her smile wavering just enough for Dexter to notice. “Oh, nothing too serious, just got some hits in the database,” she said, pointing her head in Auri’s direction.

Dexter nodded, still concerned, but wanting to let the subject drop for now. They needed to keep the child sheltered from the stress of adult worries, especially during dinner.

“Sounds promising,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s fun to work on exciting projects. Just don’t work too hard and make sure you take some time for yourself too!”

“Of course! I have good people around me to keep me grounded. Plus, how can I stay stressed out when I come home to these lovely faces?” Deb said, glancing fondly around the table.

After they finished eating, crumbs scattered, and the plates mostly empty, Auri bounced up from her chair, energy still bubbling over. “Can we play Mousetrap now? Please, Deb?”

“Absolutely! Come on, let’s clear this up quickly so we can get started,” Deb said, motioning for everyone to help.

As they busied themselves with the cleanup, Dexter caught Deb’s eye, sharing a brief moment of understanding. They both knew the importance of keeping the evening light and joyful, but the undercurrents of their lives were always just beneath the surface. Tonight, they’d just focus on family and fun for Auri’s sake. After all, what could be more important than that?

With a full day behind them, Auri finally crashed around 10 PM. With a shower taken, Angel tucked her into the roll away bed, while he and Dexter told her a bedtime story in tandem. She really liked it too, because they changed their voices to match the characters, and Auri thought that was so cool.

Once Auri finally fell asleep, Dexter and Angel got a chance to find out what the big breakthrough at work was.

Deb bubbled with excitement, as she related to them, that it was her who figured out some of the victims had prison records. “So, Lundy and I ran the ones we’ve identified through the criminal database, and guess what?”

“They all had prison records,” Dexter chimed in.

“Bingo—well—most of them,” Deb said with a grin. “Lundy was beyond excited.”

“Lundy excited?” Angel asked, shaking his head. “I can’t picture it.”

Deb snorted. “Well, you know, I could see it in his eyes.”

“Great, I’m on my days off and you make a breakthrough,” Angel said with a sigh. “Karma is against me.”

“No, Angel, I’m sending you good vibes,” Deb said, flashing her fingers at him. “Next time, you’ll make the breakthrough.”

Angel chuckled. “Thanks, Deb. I’ll take all the good vibes I can get.”

~~~~

The following day, after a hearty breakfast and a trip to the park, with Deb following as body guard, Angel and Dexter returned a happy Auri to her mother. After saying their goodbyes, Angel, Dex, and Deb grabbed an early dinner before Deb had to go to work. They stopped at Joe’s Stone Crab and filled up on seafood, sharing jumbo lump crab cakes, lobster mac & cheese, and fish tacos. By the time Deb headed off to work, they were all stuffed to the gills.

“Good luck, Deb,” Angel said with a grin. “Remember to save some major discoveries for me.”

She laughed and waved as she drove off for an action-packed night at work.

“Okay, Baby,” Angel said with that lilt in his voice. “We have some overdue alone time coming.”

Dexter grinned as they entered the apartment, partially opening his shirt; he flashed Angel his bare chest tantalizingly.

Angel locked the door, making sure the deadbolt was secure, before he chased his boyfriend into the bedroom and tackled him to the bed.

“Why, Sir,” Dexter said with a giggle. “Are you planning on taking advantage of me?”

“Absolutely,” Angel mumbled as he kissed his way down Dexter’s neck. Angel did a quick striptease, while Dexter divested himself of his pants and half-open shirt.

Dexter positioned himself in the middle of the bed on his hands and knees, his heart racing in sync with the pounding in his ears. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows that danced on the walls, but all he could focus on was the heat pooling down below and the anticipation of Angel behind him.

“Damn, you look good like that.” Angel's voice came low and throaty, a wicked edge to it that sent shivers down his spine. Dexter bit his lip, a sultry smile creeping across his face as he glanced back at Angel over his shoulder. The hunger in his lover’s eyes ignited a fire deep within Dex, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Angel, after quickly preparing Dex, pushed into his tight heat with a firm thrust, and Dexter gasped, the sound primal in his throat. He pushed back, urging him deeper, craving each powerful stroke like a desperate breath. “Harder,” he demanded. “Stop playin’ already and fuck me raw... please”

Angel gripped his hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh, as he established a rhythm that had them both teetering on the edge of insanity. Every thrust sent massive shock waves through Dexter’s body, overwhelming his senses and drowning out anything else. Dexter lost himself in the intensity of it all—the way Angel’s cock filled him completely, and the heat radiating from his skin in waves. Dexter slammed back on his thick shaft, giving just as good as he was getting.

“Fuck!” Angel groaned, continuing to hammer his cock as deep as it would go inside Dexter’s slick passage. “You’re going to be the death of me, Baby!”

Dexter laughed breathlessly, his voice a seductive whisper laced with exhilaration. “You know you love it,” he shot back, his body arching as Angel hit that bundle of nerves deep inside him. Dexter repositioned himself on his elbows to give Angel better access, while the slick sound of their fucking filled the room as Angel drove into him again and again.

“God, you’re so fucking hot!” Angel growled through clenched teeth, his grip tightening on Dex’s hips as he thrust harder, the rhythm growing desperate. Dexter could feel every inch of him, every movement igniting the sensation that built within him like a raging storm. He was lost in it all, abandoned to the delicious fury of their need.

“Oh, God, yesses, don’t stop,” he urged, his voice a purr that dripped with lust. “Don’t hold back.”

Angel was relentless now, every thrust pushing them closer to the edge. Dexter could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, each stroke taking him further from reality and deeper into the throes of la pasión’. He loved this—loved the way Angel made him feel, loved how they melted together in a heated dance of flesh and fire.

“Dex, Baby... I’m going—" Angel’s breath came in ragged gasps. His body wound tighter than a spinning top, and when he clenched his ass muscles surrounding Angel’s pulsating member, he exploded in a haze of sensation, his release spasming in waves of intoxicating pleasure. He pounded into Dexter a few more times, dragging his fingertips over the head of Dexter’s cock as he rode out the tidal wave of orgasmic bliss. Dexter cried out a symphony of gasps, moans, and filth, his orgasm ripping through him like a raging inferno.

Angel fell on top of him, but quickly rolled to his side, pulling Dex tight against his chest. His hot breath wafted across Dexter's neck as they trembled from the aftershocks. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Baby,” he murmured, his voice still rough with lingering desire. “I don’t know how I got through yesterday without touching you. It was pure hell.”

Dexter met his gaze, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “Well, let’s make up for it tonight. As soon as we rest a minute, you can fuck me again—and again—and maybe again,” Dex said chuckling.

Angel growled low. “Deal!”

~~~~

Monday morning came too early, as Dexter grudgingly got ready for work. He wasn’t thrilled about being on Lundy’s task force, even if it was in a limited capacity. “Baby, be careful and keep your eyes open,” Angel told him as he walked him to his car.

“I will, Love,” Dexter replied with a smile.

“I’ll be there at noon, Baby,” Angel confirmed.

“I’ll see you soon,” Dex said as he drove off. Angel watched him go, making sure nobody followed his lover before returning to the apartment.

Once Angel arrived at work, he stopped at Dexter’s office for a moment, but Doakes interrupted them.

“Hey, I got nothin’ on that list of cars you gave me,” Doakes griped as he stuck his head in the door. “None of them were registered to anyone who works here.”

“Shit!” Angel grumbled.

“What about possible family members or significant other’s?” Dexter asked.

Doakes shrugged. “Could be, but it'd be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“So, we’re back to square one,” Angel said with a disgusted expression. “With absolutely fucking nothin’!”

“Sorry, but I ran them every which way from Sunday,” Doakes replied. “What shift are you all working today?”

“Um, I’m on day shift,” Dexter supplied.

“I’m working the 12 to 8 shift,” Angel remarked. “And Deb’s on night shift with Lundy. She’s his new golden girl,” he said with a grin.

“Doakes shook his head. “Well, I’m on the night shift too, but definitely not with Lundy, so Morgan, you’re on your own this evening.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dexter assured everyone. “If I can see him coming, I can take him.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem, Dex,” Angel said with a worried look. “He’s an ambush artist, and damn good at it too.”

“Just keep on your toes,” Doakes ordered as he left Dexter’s office.

“Let me know when you’re ready to leave, Baby,” Angel said softly. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Dexter smiled and nodded, knowing it was no use arguing because his lover wouldn’t hear of it.

At work later in the day, Deb finished her interviews, the last of the people milling about, dwindling to just a hopeful few. Pleased that she was able to keep it together, her confidence began to grow.

As the shift ended, Dexter shouldered his bag for the night, still wrestling with his own thoughts when Masuka rushed in, juggling a large stack of files.

“Lead Fucking investigator. Translation… everyone’s bitch. I do have a life, you know,” Vince muttered.

“You do?” Dexter asked in amusement.

“Just give me your bone marrow results,” Masuka said tersely.

Dexter grabbed the file and laid it on top of Vince’s stack. “No matches,” he told Masuka.

“Big surprise,” Masuka said, shaking his head. “Hey, do me a big favor, will ya?”

He pulled out a file and shoved it into Dexter’s hands. “Drop these dental x-rays at the field morgue for me. The tech should still be there,” he said, racing out again, muttering under his breath. “Fucking Bay Harbor Butcher is butchering my online social life.”

“Sorry, Vince,” Dexter said to himself as he locked up the office and headed to the field morgue.

Reaching his destination, Dexter was just about to enter the seemingly empty tent, but got stopped by Doakes.

“Morgan, seriously, keep a close watch on your surroundings,” Doakes reiterated.

“Um, I know that, but thanks,” Dex replied. “I’ve got to drop off this file, and then Angel’s gonna walk me out.”

“I can walk you out,” Doakes said with a smirk. “No need to bother Angel.”

Dexter sighed. “No. Angel is expecting me to get him. He’ll be mad if I don’t.”

Doakes chuckled. “That’d be awful.”

“Please…” Dexter said with a beseeching expression.

“Okay, okay,” Doakes said, walking away. “Save the puppy-dog eyes for Angel. I gotta go out on a call, anyway,” he said, looking down at his buzzing phone.

Dexter took a deep breath and entered the tent, looking through the plexiglass, and reeled anew at the sight of the stainless-steel tables, with the body parts and hefty bags they held. The tables were draped with plastic, as shadows bounced around the tent, exaggerating the eerie feel. Dex moved closer to the plexiglass, repulsed by what he saw, but also drawn to the chaos.  

“Need a mask?” Dexter heard a voice say.

He looked around a cabinet and saw Agent Lundy sitting on the ground, leaning against a desk, facing the bodies, as he sipped tea from his thermos. He pointed to a shelf of protective gear.   

“Oh. No thanks,” Dexter replied.   

Lundy returned to looking at the bodies.

“I’m Dexter Morgan.”

“I know who you are,” Lundy replied, still looking at the bodies.  

Dexter fervently hoped not.  

“Masuka asked me to drop off these x-rays for the tech.”

Lundy nodded, but didn’t comment. Dexter looked around, but no one else was in the tent.

“So, I’ll just…” Dexter trailed off, setting the file on the desk. Dexter decided to try a little levity. “Hoping they’ll speak to you?”

“Just the ones with the heads,” Lundy deadpanned. “They always speak eventually,” he said a bit quieter.

“Um… I was kidding, Sir,” Dexter said sheepishly.

“Really,” Lundy replied dryly.

Dexter couldn’t read the man at all, so he had no idea what to make of him.

“I just have to ask the right question,” Lundy offered.

“Which is?” Dex asked curiously.

“Why were they chosen?” Lundy stated.

“You're looking for a pattern,” Dexter added.

Lundy sighed heavily. “One doesn't kill this many people, in this careful, methodical way, without a reason. Some twisted set of principles.”

“Yes, they would have to be twisted, wouldn't they? To do something this horrific,” Dexter said, shaking his head.

Lundy met Dexter’s gaze. “The worst killers in history are often the ones who think their murders are somehow just, even deserved. Leaders have slaughtered whole populations for the same perverse reasons.”  

“But there's never a justification for killing,” Dexter said softly as he stared at the bodies.

“No,” Lundy replied, but then retracted it, “Just one, of course. To save an innocent life.”

Dexter looked at him and nodded. “To save an innocent life,” he repeated.

“May I ask you something Mr. Morgan?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“I’ve noticed Sergeant Doakes doesn’t always treat you nicely. Is there a reason for that?” Lundy asked, his gaze penetrating.

“I don’t know, Sir,” Dexter answered honestly. “He’s treated me like that ever since the first day I started working here. I don’t know what I did to him. Although… he seems to have gotten over his intense dislike of me recently.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Lundy commented.

“Well, have a nice evening, Sir,” Dexter said, turning to leave.

“You as well,” Lundy responded. “Be careful going home.”

Dexter gave a tilt of his head. “Thank you, Sir, I will be careful,” he replied as he exited the tent.

Dexter headed back to the bullpen to find his boyfriend, who was deep in conversation with Deb.

“Hey, guys, I’m leaving now,” Dexter said, interrupting the pair.

“Deb, I’m gonna walk Dexter to his car,” Angel explained.

“No problem,” Deb said with a smile. “Stay vigilant, Dex,” Deb ordered.

Dexter chuckled lightly at Deb's admonition. “You know I will,” he replied, sort of appreciating her concern.

Angel smiled as he guided him toward the exit of the bullpen. The two walked side by side, the buzz of the department fading as they stepped into the early evening air. “So, how was your day?” Angel asked, giving Dexter a sideways glance.

“It was… interesting,” Dexter answered, choosing his words carefully. “Lundy asked about Doakes. It seems he’s noticed the tension between us too.”

Angel frowned slightly. “What did you tell him?”

“Honestly, I said I didn’t know why Doakes had it out for me. But I also mentioned that it seemed to be getting better,” Dexter replied, trying to sound optimistic.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed he’s not quite as hostile lately,” Angel mused. “But I think he still has ulterior motives—like trying to get you into his bed.”

“Possibly,” Dexter said, his tone contemplative. “Or maybe he’s just decided I’m not a crazy-ass freak after all.”

“Well, I don’t see him lurking around anywhere,” Angel commented as his eyes scanned the parking lot.

“Nah, remember, he’s got the night shift,” Dexter reminded Angel. “And he went on a call just before I ran into Lundy.”

They reached the parking lot, the lights just coming on and casting long shadows as they approached Dexter's car. He unlocked the door and hopped in it, putting the key in the ignition. “I’ll whip up a quick dinner for when you get home,” Dexter said as he started the engine.

“Sounds good to me, Baby,” Angel said, gazing softly at his lover. “I’ll be home around nine—earlier if I can manage it.”

“I’ll see you later,” Dex said as he pulled away, with Angel watching closely for anyone tailing him. When satisfied it was safe, Angel reentered the station and went back to work.

Dexter pulled into the parking lot at home and cautiously searched the area for anything out of the ordinary. The lot was completely deserted as dusk rapidly approached. Dexter got out of his car under the darkening skies, and made his way to the second floor. Keys jingling in his palm, he made his way along the balcony to his corner apartment and slid the key into the lock.

As Dexter turned the key, a shadow disengaged from behind the potted palm near the door and tasered Dexter in the kidney. The attacker immediately turned the key in the lock, opened the door, and shoved Dexter inside. He tasered him one more time, before sticking a syringe in his neck, filled with a drug that would incapacitate Dexter, but not fully knock him out.

Dexter tried to struggle, but the drug soon took effect. His vision blurred as the attacker stripped him of his clothes, leaving him naked, vulnerable, and helpless. The assailant, clad in black from head to toe, also wore a full-face shield. Dexter knew it was the same attacker from the three previous assaults, but there was something slightly different about him, and Dexter couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

“Shhh, shhh,” his attacker cooed softly.

The assailant removed one of his gloves and fondled Dexter's genitals, as he prepared to rape the drugged man. He unzipped his own pants, exposed his cock, and rolled on a condom. He pulled a tube of lubrication out of his pocket, and quickly slicked his hard shaft, as he squirted a good amount of the K-Y jelly into Dexter's tight hole. Despite his incapacitated state, Dexter felt the intrusion as the perpetrator penetrated him. It was a violation he couldn't fight against in his present state. As the attacker began to thrust, Dexter's mind reeled with confusion and fear. He didn't understand why this was happening to him.

Time seemed to stand still, as the shame of the assault filled his psyche. Dexter could feel himself losing consciousness again as his mind drifted into a hazy darkness. The last thing he heard was the muffled sound of the attacker's grunts and moans echoing through the darkest reaches of his mind. The initial pain of the intrusion faded as he floated just on the edge of consciousness. He vaguely realized the perpetrator was stroking his cock as he thrust into him. Dexter latched onto the thought that the rapist seemed awfully gentle for a criminal who wanted to hurt him.

Dexter’s head started pounding, a side effect of the drug, as he drifted back into consciousness. He tried to move, but his body felt heavy and sluggish, as if he'd been drugged again. Blinking away the haze, he slowly began to orient himself with his surroundings.

He was naked, lying on his back in the living room, as his attacker shuddered and grunted to completion. He registered the assailant’s cock slipping from his body, and the sensation of a gloved hand tenderly stroking his cheek.

When Dexter's eyes fluttered open again, it was to the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. He turned his head slightly, wincing at the effort, to find Angel and Deb perched anxiously in chairs at his bedside.

Chapter Text

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, making Dexter’s head throb even more. He blinked against the brightness, his throat dry and raw. The sterile smell of antiseptic clung to the air, and the faint beeping of monitors filled the silence. His back ached, a dull pain where the taser blasts hit him.

“Hey,” Angel said softly, breaking through the haze. Dexter turned his head slightly, the effort sending a spike of discomfort through his neck. Angel’s face was pale; his usually warm eyes clouded with worry. Deb sat next to him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched as if she were holding back a torrent of tears.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Angel said; his voice trembling just enough for Dexter to notice. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against Dexter’s hand, as if afraid to hold on too tight.

Dexter tried to speak, but his throat felt like it had been scraped raw. He swallowed hard, the movement sending a sharp pang through his chest. “Water,” he managed to rasp.

Deb shot up from her chair, grabbing the plastic cup from the bedside table. She held it to his lips, her hands steady despite the tension radiating from her. Dexter sipped gingerly, the cool liquid soothing the dryness, but doing little to ease the ache in his throat.

“Do you remember what happened?” Angel asked hesitantly.

Dexter closed his eyes, as vague images of the attack flashed in his mind like a broken film reel. “Attacked—tasered—drugged,” he murmured. “Don’t remember much after being drugged.”

“Do you know who it was?” Deb asked. Dexter could hear the edge of desperation she was trying to hide. She leaned forward slightly, her hands gripping her knees as if bracing herself for his answer.

Dexter hesitated, his mind drifting to the faceless figure in black, the cold touch of gloves, the muffled grunts. He shook his head slowly, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through him. “No face,” he muttered. “Just… black… helmet.”

Angel’s hand tightened around his, a warm, grounding presence that Dexter hadn’t realized he needed until now. “We’ll find him,” Angel said with anger and conviction. “Whoever did this, we won’t let them get away with it.”

Dexter’s chest tightened, but he wasn’t sure if it was hope or dread that coiled in his gut. He wanted to believe Angel—wanted to believe they could stop this before it happened again. But the thought of reliving it, of facing the attacker again, sent a cold sweat prickling across his skin.

Deb wiped silent tears away from her eyes as she leaned back in her chair and ran a hand through her hair.

“Who found me?” Dexter asked.

“I did,” Angel said through gritted teeth. “When I got home from work, I opened the door, and found you unconscious on the living room floor. I almost had a stroke, Baby. I thought you were dead,” Angel said, his voice breaking. “Someone covered you with the throw from the couch, and there was a pillow under your head. I checked your pulse and realized you were alive, and I called 911, then Deb.”

Dexter stared at the ceiling, the tiles blurring slightly as his eyes struggled to focus. His head felt too heavy to move, yet his thoughts raced, fragmented and disjointed. The faint beeping of the monitor echoed in his ears, a steady rhythm that somehow amplified the turmoil in his mind. He wanted to ask more questions, to piece together what had happened, but the words lodged in his throat, thick and unspoken.

Deb stood abruptly, pacing the small room with restless energy. Her shoes clicked on the tile, the sound frantic. Dexter watched her out of the corner of his eye, the way she gripped her elbows, her shoulders tense. She wasn’t crying anymore, but the redness around her eyes betrayed her composure.

“The doctors said you’re stable,” Angel said quietly. “You’ve got a couple of mild taser burns on your back, and some light bruising on your inner thighs, but the sexual assault itself didn’t cause any damage. They said you were lucky,” Angel ground out, closing his eyes tightly as he clenched his fists in rage. “You’ll be okay. They’re keeping you for a couple of days to purge the drug from your system.”

Dexter nodded, though the reassurance felt hollow. He didn’t feel okay. His body felt like it belonged to someone else, sluggish and unresponsive. His mind was worse—a shattered mosaic of fear and confusion.

As Dexter tried to process everything, Lieutenant Pascal entered the room. “Is it all right if I come in?” she asked.

Deb nodded and led her over to Dexter’s bedside. “Hey,” Pascal said softly. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

Dexter looked up at Pascal. Her presence felt heavy, like she carried more than just her badge. Her expression was calm, professional, but there was a hint of something else in her eyes. Concern? Pity? He couldn’t tell.

“How are you feeling?” Pascal asked quietly, as if she were trying not to startle him.

Dexter swallowed, his throat still raw. “Fine,” he lied. The word came out hoarse, barely audible. He didn’t feel fine. His body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry, and his mind was a jumble of fragmented memories he couldn’t piece together.

Pascal nodded, her gaze shifting briefly to Angel and Deb before returning to him. “I need to ask you some questions about what happened. Are you up for that?”

Dexter hesitated as he tried to find the energy to speak. The idea of recounting what little he remembered felt overwhelming, like trying to pull shards of glass out of his mind. But he nodded anyway, the motion making his head throb.

“Okay,” Pascal said gently. She pulled a notebook from her pocket and flipped it open, her pen poised. “Can you tell me everything you remember? From when you got home.”

Dexter closed his eyes, trying to focus. The images were hazy, fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t quite fit together. “I got out of my car,” he began, his voice raspy. “Checked the lot. It was empty. I went upstairs, unlocked the door…” He paused, the memory of the shadow emerging from behind the potted palm making his stomach twist. “He—he was there. Behind me. Tasered me.”

Pascal nodded, jotting down notes. “Did you see his face?”

Dexter shook his head, the motion sending a dull ache radiating through his skull. “No. He was wearing a helmet with a full-face shield. Black. Everything was black.”

“Did he say anything?”

Dexter frowned, trying to recall. The voice had been muffled, distant. “He… he told me to be quiet. Shushed me. Like he was trying to calm me down.”

Pascal’s pen scratched against the paper, the sound grating in the stillness of the room. “And you don’t remember anything after that?”

Dexter’s brow furrowed as he tried to focus, but the memories slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. “Bits and pieces,” he murmured. “I remember… the taser—the needle in my neck. The pain. Then… nothing. Just floating on darkness.”

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. How much could he say? How much did he even know? The flashes of what came after were disjointed, blurred by the drug and the haze of fear. He didn’t want to relive it, didn’t want to say it out loud, but Pascal’s steady gaze demanded honesty.

“When I woke up…” he started, then stopped, his chest tightening. His eyes drifted to Angel, who was sitting rigidly in the chair with his jaw clenched so tightly that Dexter could see the muscle twitch. He looked away, focusing on the ceiling tiles instead. “I was… on the floor. He was…” Dexter swallowed a lump in his throat, the words sticking like tar. “He was… still there. I could feel him moving inside me.”

The room fell so silent, you could hear a pin drop. Dexter’s stomach churned, nausea rising in his throat. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory, but it was etched into his mind, vivid and unrelenting. The cold press of gloves. The muffled sounds. The violation.

Pascal’s pen stopped moving. She hesitated, her tone softening even further. “Did he say anything when he… finished?”

Dexter shook his head. “No,” Dexter whispered. He felt the weight of the silence suffocating him. The memory of the attacker’s gloved hand stroking his cheek as he slipped away flashed in his mind—gentle, almost tender. It made his skin crawl, bile rising in his throat. He swallowed the bile, forcing it back down.

Pascal nodded, her expression unreadable, but Dexter could feel the tension in the room escalating. Angel’s hand clenched tighter around his, the warmth of his grip the only grounding force Dexter had left. Deb stood rigidly by the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her breathing shallow and uneven.

“We’ll the doctors collected what evidence they could while you were unconscious, and I’m afraid it won’t be very helpful. There were only some trace chemicals from the condom worn by the assailant,” Pascal told him.

“What’s the department going to do to protect my brother?” Deb asked angrily. “Do they think it’s worth their attention now?”

“I understand how you feel, Officer Morgan,” Pascal replied with deep empathy. “I blame Captain Matthews entirely for not taking the situation seriously. He should’ve provided police protection when I asked for it. I’ve already filed a complaint. This is totally unacceptable,” she ranted with righteous indignation.

Dexter's fingers twitched against the stiff hospital sheets. The steady beep of the monitor filled the silence, each mechanical pulse a reminder of how fragile his body felt. He wanted to ask Pascal more—about the evidence, about what steps they'd take next—but exhaustion and the lingering effects of the drug held him down like a lead weight.

Angel's thumb traced slow circles over the back of Dexter's hand, the warmth of his touch bringing him back to reality. Dexter focused on that sensation, letting it anchor him before he spoke again. "The condom traces... anything useful?" His voice came out hoarse.

Pascal hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Not much. Generic brand, no DNA transfer. Whoever this is, they're careful." She flipped her notebook closed, tucking it back into her pocket. "But we're not giving up. We'll review security footage from your building, canvass neighbors—"

Deb cut in. "That's not enough. He's been attacked three times now. Three! And the department's done jack shit." Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Dexter's heart tightened. He wanted to argue, to tell her he could handle it, but the words died in his throat. The truth was, he didn't know if he could. Not when every shadow in his apartment might hide another attack.

Pascal exhaled, rubbing her temples. "I'm assigning a patrol unit to watch your place 24/7, and there’ll be a police officer on this door until Dexter’s released from the hospital. In the meantime, Sergeant Doakes is rerunning the information on the black Charger to include family members of all the people who work at the station, right down to the janitor.”

Dexter’s eyelids felt heavy as exhaustion began to take its toll. He wanted to stay alert, to push for more answers, but his body betrayed him, sluggish and uncooperative. The monitor’s rhythmic beeping was lulling him into a fog, each pulse echoing the dull ache in his skull.

Angel’s thumb continued its slow circles on the back of his hand, the love and concern a comforting tether. Dexter focused on that touch, basking in the connection. He tried to speak, but his throat felt too tight, the words catching before they could form. “Dex?” Angel’s tone was soft, almost hesitant. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against Dexter’s cheek. “You don’t have to say anything. Just rest.”

Rest. The word felt foreign, impossible. Dexter’s mind raced, fragments of the attack replaying in a muddled loop. The shadow behind the palm, the burning sting of the taser, the muffled cooing of his attacker. He shuddered, the memory sending chills down his spine.

Deb paced the room. “We can’t just sit around and wait for this bastard to strike again,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Pascal sighed, her expression tired but resolute. “We’re doing everything we can. Surveillance, canvassing, forensic analysis. If there’s a lead, we’ll find it. For now, just concentrate on getting Dexter through this. Lundy said not to worry about the task force until after Dex gets home. That was meant for you too, Angel.”

“You’re safe here,” Angel murmured. “I’m not leaving you, Dex. Not for a second.”

Dexter wanted to believe him, but safe, not when the word felt like a cruel joke, with his attacker still out there, untouchable. He glanced toward the door, half-expecting to see a shadow lurking, but only the uniformed officer stood guard, his posture rigid, his gaze trained on the hallway.

~~~~

Back at the station, Doakes ran the names of everyone listed as next of kin for the entire station staff, including Captain Matthews, through the DMV database. He didn’t know what else to do, because every angle he tried came up with nothing.

“Fuck!” he cursed in frustration.

“No luck?” Maria asked him.

Doakes shook his head. “Not a fucking thing. I can’t find anyone who owns a black Charger connected to any of our personnel.”  

Doakes leaned back in his chair, the creak of the leather loud in the half-empty bullpen. He rubbed his forehead, the headache building behind his eyes. The DMV database stared back at him, the names and addresses a blur of useless information. He clenched his fists, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Whoever this bastard was, he was good—too good. The lack of a trail was almost impressive. Almost.

He stood abruptly, the chair almost falling over from the force. Pacing didn’t help, but he couldn’t just sit there. His hands itched to do something, to take action, but there was nothing to be done. No one to chase. Just a shadow that slipped through his fingers every damn time.

Maria watched him from her desk, her expression neutral, but her eyes penetrating. He ignored her, focusing on the walls of the station instead. He stopped pacing, staring at the bulletin board filled with case files. Dexter’s file was there, tucked among the others.

Doakes grabbed the file and sat back down at his desk, flipping through the pages, hoping something would jump out at him. Three attacks, barely any evidence, a faceless, nameless, phantom, who blitz attacked under the cover of darkness. He flipped through the pages of the file, the words blurring together. Tasers. Drugs. Condoms. Nothing concrete. Nothing that pointed to anyone specific. He slammed the file down on his desk, the sound echoing in the room.

“You seem to be taking this personal, James,” Maria noted. “I thought you hated Dexter Morgan. So, what’s changed?”

Doakes glared at her. He could feel Maria's gaze on him, her question hanging in the air like a challenge. “I don’t hate him,” he said finally, the words coming out low and gruff. He didn’t know why he said it, but once it was out, he couldn’t take it back.

Maria’s silence stretched, but he could hear the gears turning in her head.

Doakes paced the room again, his boots thudding against the concrete floor. His brow furrowed, the frustration bubbling up like acid in his gut. He hated feeling useless, hated the way this case seemed to slip through his fingers every time he thought he had a grip on it. Dexter’s file stared back at him from the desk, a taunting reminder of how little they had to go on.

He stopped short, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the bulletin board. The faces of suspects, victims, and case details stared back, a chaotic mosaic of dead ends. His mind raced, trying to connect dots that refused to line up. The black Charger was the only solid lead, and even that had turned into a ghost.

Maria’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re not going to find answers by glaring at the board, James.”

He turned to her, his tone clipped. “Got any bright ideas, LaGuerta? Because I’m fresh out.”

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his frustration. “Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place. Start with what you know. The car, the taser, the drugs. Someone had to get their hands on those things. Someone who knows Dexter’s routine.”

Doakes frowned, her words sparking something in his mind. He crossed to his desk, snatching up Dexter’s file and flipping through the pages. The taser—it wasn’t just any taser. It was a law enforcement-grade model, the kind you couldn’t just pick up at a retail store. All the gear was law enforcement grade riot gear as well.

“Has to be a cop, Maria,” Doakes said, coming to that unthinkable conclusion.

Doakes stared at the file in his hands, his fingers tightening around the edges. A cop. It had to be a cop. No civilian could access that kind of equipment—not without connections, without training. He flipped through the pages again, searching for something he might have missed. The taser, the drugs, the condom—all calculated, all precise. This wasn’t some random predator. This was someone who knew what they were doing, someone who knew Dexter.

He glanced at Maria, her eyes watching him like she was trying to piece together his thoughts. He didn’t say anything more, didn’t want to give life to the suspicion gnawing at his gut. If it was a cop, that meant someone inside the department. Someone Dexter worked with. Someone he trusted.

He slammed the file back down on the desk.

“James,” Maria said firmly, “start checking into everyone who’s worked with Dexter. I don’t want to believe it, but I think your suspicions are correct. Dexter’s attacker can only be a cop.”

Doakes cleared his throat. “If it’s a cop, they’d have access to the gear. They’d know Dexter’s routine. They’d know how to cover their tracks.”

Maria nodded, her expression grim. “Start with Dexter’s immediate circle, including the other civilian forensic analysts. Anyone who’s been assigned to work with him, anyone who’s had contact. Cross-reference their schedules with the attack timelines.”

“Thanks for the input,” Doakes muttered as he stomped off to interview anyone associated with Morgan.

~~~~

Down in the evidence locker, Mack cataloged the latest cash of guns confiscated from the Zoe Pound gang. He had his back to the window when Officer Bruno approached.

“Hey, Mack,” Bruno called out, startling the evidence officer.

“Hey,” Mack replied. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Got some cocaine, taken from the perp we busted this morning,” Bruno said, handing Mack the bagged packet of white powder.

“Gotcha covered,” Mack said, taking the baggie from Bruno.

“What’s up with everyone today?” Bruno asked, looking around at the pinched faces of the officers and staff.

“You haven’t heard?” Mack asked with surprise.

“I’ve been out on patrol all night. What happened? he asked.

Mack leaned slightly out of the window, lowering his voice. “Dexter Morgan was attacked in his apartment last night—drugged—and sexually assaulted.”

“What?!” Bruno hissed. “Is this a joke?”

Mack shook his head somberly. “No, no, man, no fucking joke. He’s in the hospital.”

Bruno looked pale. “What’s his condition?”

Mack sighed. “They think he’s gonna be all right, but there’s no clue as to who attacked him. Cops say it’s the same attacker from the other two attempts.”

“Really?” Bruno replied with a scowl.

“You know Dex?” Mack asked.

“Yeah, worked a few crime scenes with him. Seemed like a decent guy,” Bruno stated.

“Yeah, Dex is a good guy,” Mack agreed. “He’s always been nice—helpful—you know?”

“Uh huh,” Bruno said, seemingly lost in thought. “I gotta head out—shifts over. Thanks for the info,” he said as he walked off, muttering something unintelligible to himself.

Bruno walked briskly down the hallway, his mind reeling. The news about Dexter hit him like a punch to the gut. He tried to shake off the rising anger, but it clung to him like a shadow.

He reached the locker room, the metallic click of the lockers echoing in the small space. Bruno fumbled with his key, his hands trembling slightly. He yanked open his locker, the smell of stale leather and sweat hitting him as he pulled out his bag. The picture hung on the inside of his locker door—a smiling Bruno standing in front of a shiny black Charger.

He slammed his locker shut, the sound reverberating through the room. His reflection in the locker mirror caught his eye—pale, drawn. He looked away quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading for the exit. The station’s automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and the morning air hit him as he stepped outside.

Bruno rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension, but his anger quickly turned to rage. The thought that someone got to Dexter before him made his blood boil. Whoever did this would pay with their life, he promised himself, and then he’d claim Dexter for his own.

The morning sunlight felt too bright, too invasive, like it was exposing something he wanted to keep hidden. He slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut harder than necessary. The engine roared to life, and he tore out of the parking lot, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

His thoughts churned, a whirlwind of anger and frustration. Dexter! Someone had gotten to Dexter before he could. The idea burned in his chest, a smoldering ember threatening to ignite. He clenched his teeth, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. Who was it? Who dared to touch what was his?

The streets blurred as he drove, his mind racing faster than the car. He replayed everything he knew about Dexter—every interaction, every glance, every moment he’d cataloged in his mind like a precious collection. Dexter had always been polite, professional, but Bruno saw through the cracks, the moments when Dexter’s guard slipped. He’d noticed the way Dexter’s eyes lingered on Angel, the way he smiled softly when he thought no one was looking. Bruno thought he was patient, careful, waiting for the right moment to make his move. But now, someone else had stolen that moment from him.

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, the horn blaring briefly. The sound startled him, jerking him back to the present. His breath hitched, and he forced himself to focus on the road ahead. His neighborhood came into view, the tall palms and rows of ranch style houses. He pulled into his driveway, locked the Taurus, and headed inside to think.

As he stormed into his bedroom, pictures of Dexter covered the walls, and he stared at them with a manic intensity. “Who did it?” Bruno asked the empty room. He knew Angel would never hurt Dexter, so who… then who? An image suddenly flashed in his head—an image of the only other person he knew to be as obsessed with Morgan as he was—Sergeant James Doakes. It was like a light bulb going off in his head. “Doakes!”

Bruno’s hands trembled as he traced the edges of a photograph pinned to the wall. Dexter’s face stared back at him, smiling faintly in a way Bruno had always found captivating. He’d taken this one himself, during a late shift at the station. Dexter had been leaning over a microscope, oblivious to Bruno’s presence. He’d snapped the photo quickly, tucking it away like a forbidden treasure.

Now, staring at it, Bruno’s heart hurt. Someone dared to touch Dexter—violated him—and the thought burned through his soul like a wildfire. He'd been so careful, so patient, waiting for the perfect moment to make Dexter understand they belonged together.  

His gaze shifted to another photo, one of Dexter grinning at Angel. The sight of Angel’s hand on Dexter’s shoulder made Bruno’s stomach churn. Angel. Always Angel. He didn’t deserve Dexter. No one did—except him.

Bruno’s breath quickened, his chest rising and falling in short, uneven bursts. He paced the room, his footsteps heavy on the worn carpet. The walls seemed to close in on him, the photos of Dexter’s face staring down like silent judges. He stopped abruptly, turning back to the photo of Dexter and Angel.

‘Doakes.’ The name echoed in his mind like a curse. It had to be Doakes. The man was always hovering around Dexter, watching him with those eagle eyes, like he was trying to peel back layers no one else could see. Doakes had access to the gear—the taser, the riot equipment, the drugs, just like he did. He knew Dexter’s routine, his shifts, his habits. And most of all, Doakes had that simmering anger, that edge Bruno noticed from the start. Bruno saw it in the way Doakes’ lip curled when Dexter walked by, the way his shoulders tensed when Dexter spoke. It wasn’t just dislike. It was obsession.

Bruno turned and opened a long, locked box at the end of his bed, with a key on the chain around his neck. He removed several hand guns, shotgun, and an AR-15 from the box. He laid the guns on the bed and picked up his cell phone, punching in a number.

After a few rings, a man’s voice answered. “Hey Steve, what’s up?”

“Hey, Uncle Tony, can I borrow the Charger tonight?” Bruno asked. “I gotta hot date later, and the chicks love it.”

Tony chuckled on the other end of the line. “Sure, kid. You know where she’s parked. Don’t scratch her up, or your aunt will have my hide.”

Bruno grinned, though the expression felt hollow. “Thanks, Uncle Tony. I’ll take good care of her.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed, his fingers twitching as he stared at the array of weapons laid out before him. The AR-15 caught the dim light filtering in from the blinds, its sleek black frame gleaming like a predator. Bruno reached for it, running his fingers along the barrel, feeling the power it promised.

His mind raced, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. Doakes. It had to be Doakes. The man had always been too close to Dexter, always watching, always hovering like a vulture waiting for its moment. Bruno growled angrily as he imagined Doakes’ smug face, gloating while he fondled Dexter—while he fucked him mercilessly.

Doakes was worse than Angel. Doakes didn’t deserve Dexter. No one did. Except him.

Bruno’s grip tightened on the rifle. Doakes had ruined everything. His stomach churned at the thought of Doakes touching Dexter, violating him, claiming what was rightfully his.

He grabbed a bag and placed the weapons inside it, along with numerous boxes of ammo. He’d bide his time until tonight, and then… he’d rain down hell on Earth—starting with Doakes—and ending with Angel.

~~~~

In the meantime, Doakes spent the rest of his day interrogating everyone in the station about the black Charger. He was talking to Masuka in the hallway when Mack, walking by, overheard the conversation.

“Vince, do you know anyone who drives a black Charger?” Doakes asked with a snarl. “We think whoever attacked Morgan is driving one.”

“Hey, did you say a black Charger?” Mack asked.

“Yeah,” Doakes replied, giving Mack his full attention. “You know something?”

Mack hesitated, his fingers tapping against the clipboard he was holding. He glanced around the hallway, as though checking to see if anyone else was listening. “Yeah,” Mack said quietly. “I might know something. Bruno—Officer Bruno—he’s got an uncle who owns a black Charger. He’s mentioned it a few times.”

Doakes straightened, his eyes narrowing. “Bruno? You sure?”

Mack nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah, pretty sure. He’s always talking about it, how it’s his uncle’s pride and joy. Even borrowed it a couple of times for dates or whatever.”

Doakes’ eyes widened, his muscles flexing as he processed this new piece of information. Bruno. The name rang in his head like a warning bell. He’d seen Bruno around the station, and at crime scenes—quiet, unassuming, always lingering in the background. Too quiet, maybe. Too unassuming. Doakes’ gut twisted, a familiar unease settling in.

“Where’s Bruno now?” Doakes asked, his tone clipped.

Mack shrugged. “Shift ended. He clocked out about six hours ago. Probably at home—said that’s where he was headed.”

Doakes nodded, his mind racing. If Bruno had access to a black Charger, that changed everything. It wasn’t just about the car—it was about opportunity, motive. Bruno worked with Dexter, knew his routine, and had access to the station’s resources.

“I don’t know if this means anything,” Mack added. “Bruno seemed pretty upset when I told him Dexter was attacked. In fact, he seemed almost angry.”

A muscle twitched beneath Doakes' eye as his features hardened into stone. “Thanks, Mack,” he said as he strode off like a man possessed.

Masuka exchanged a concerned glance with Mack, before pivoting on his heel and rushing back toward the lab. Once safely behind closed doors, Masuka pulled out his phone and dialed Debra’s number. Dexter’s sister needed to know what was going on here before the shit got out of control.

Masuka paced the small confines of his lab, worry gnawing at his insides as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. Each tone felt like a countdown to something unavoidable. Finally, Debra’s voice broke through.

“Masuka? What’s up?” she asked, sounding breathless, as if she’d been running.

“Deb, you need to listen to me,” Masuka implored. “Doakes is onto something. He’s questioning everyone about a black Charger, and Mack just told him that Officer Bruno has access to one. You remember Bruno, right? The quiet guy who rarely speaks up? He worked with Dexter on a few cases.”

Debra’s silence stretched out. Masuka could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “Bruno?” she finally said. “I’ve never seen him in a black Charger. I’ve worked with him some myself.”

“Apparently, it belongs to his uncle. But the timing… It’s all too convenient. Mack mentioned that Bruno seemed pretty upset—almost angry—about Dexter’s attack. And you know how Doakes is; he doesn’t ignore a lead. If he connects Bruno to Dexter… but there’s something else. Doakes acted strange after Mack told him Bruno was angry.”

“Do you know where Bruno is? Debra asked in an urgent tone.

“Mack said he thought Bruno went home. His shift was over,” Masuka replied.

“Is Doakes on his way there?”

“It’s a good bet,” Masuka said, with a concerned edge to his voice.

“Understood,” Debra said, before she hung up. “Thanks for heads up.”

“Anytime, fairest Morgan. How’s Dex?” Masuka got in.

“He’s a trooper, but I gotta go,” she said, ending the call. Next, she dialed the personnel office at the station and asked for Burno’s home address.

As she walked back into Dexter’s hospital room, she tried to maintain her composure. “Angel, Dexter, I’ve got to step out for a little while, but I promise I won’t be gone long.”

“Everything okay, Deb?” Angel asked.

“Yes, yes,” Deb said with a neutral expression. “There’s something I have to take care of, and it can’t wait.”

Angel and Dexter watched her leave, both wearing surprised looks. “That was odd,” Dexter commented as his eyes drifted closed again.

“That’s for sure,” Angel replied, but Dexter was already asleep.

Chapter Text

As the late afternoon shift dragged on, LaGuerta sat at her desk, going over the latest case file—a liquor store holdup gone bad.

The bullpen was still quiet, with only a couple of others in the room. LaGuerta typed on her computer. As she hunted & pecked on her keyboard, Captain Matthews approached.

“Figured you’d still be here,” the captain’s words interrupted her typing.

She looked up as Captain Matthews came over to her, keeping his tone low. He said, “You were a pain in the ass, but always a damn hard worker, and of course, you always knew how to handle the press.”

Maria stopped typing and leaned back in her chair. “What's this about?”

He perched on the edge of her desk and sighed. “The public has to believe we can protect them, or all hell breaks loose. So, I need all my people operating at their highest levels.”

Maria nodded. “I agree.”

Matthews leaned in closer, quieter. “Should I be worried about Pascal?”

“Why? Pascal?” LaGuerta asked in surprise.

“Cut the crap, Maria. She's been AWOL on personal matters. The press fuck-up was huge, and now I'm hearing rumors of erratic behavior. We won’t even mention the fact that she filed a complaint on me for the mishandling of the Morgan case.”

Maria repressed a smirk. “And you're asking me because...?”

“You've done the job. If she's out, you're back in. That makes you her harshest critic, and I want it straight. Take your shot, Maria.”

LaGuerta weighed the captain’s words while he waited impatiently. Finally, after several seconds of silence, Maria answered. “You know what erratic means? It's code for "non-male" and it's the same bullshit sexism I put up with when I was Lieutenant. I won’t dignify rumors, Captain. Pascal’s fine.”

Maria gaze shifted back to her computer as she returned to typing. Catching him completely off guard, the captain stormed off, not expecting that answer.

~~~~

Bruno picked up the Charger from his uncle, leaving his Taurus in Uncle Tony’s driveway, and drove back to his house. He only lived a few blocks away, so the trip was quick. He loaded his bag of weapons into the fold-down trunk, which accommodated the bags longer length. He jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine that roared to life with the purr of a true muscle car. Bruno pulled out of the driveway and headed down the street. As he turned onto a main drag, he noticed a red car following behind him. Instinctively, he knew it was Doakes, so Bruno gunned the engine and sped off into the growing dusk. This time, he only stayed in front of him by a short distance. He wasn’t trying to lose him. He was trying to herd him. This was the perfect opportunity to take Doakes out.

As he raced down the street with Doakes hot on his tail, he made hairpin turns and daring passes, weaving in and out of traffic on his way to the abandoned factory’s parking lot, where Bruno would make his last stand. He hoped he could finish off Doakes, because he still had Batista to deal with, and probably Dexter’s sister too.

Bruno's heart raced in time with the pulsating roar of the Charger’s engine as he navigated the labyrinth of streets. The dusk shadows lengthened, wrapping the city in a cloak of darkness, but Bruno felt alive. The thrill of the chase coursed through his veins; he could almost taste victory.

Doakes was relentless, a stubborn phantom in the red car, his headlights slicing through the evening gloom. Bruno glanced in the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of the detective's rigid silhouette, which only fueled Bruno's resolve. This was personal. Doakes took what rightfully belonged to him, and he was going to make him pay dearly for that.

As he barreled down the street, the glow of neon signs flickered overhead, illuminating the way to the factory. The skies darkened like a harbinger of doom, each twist and turn in the road amplifying the stakes. Bruno navigated through the oncoming traffic, swerving with expert precision, daring the other drivers to remain unscathed while keeping his target close.

Finally, he spotted the factory rising up ahead of him, a decrepit monolith that loomed like a sentry guarding secrets of the past. Bruno's mind calculated as he formulated a plan—he could already envision the scene that would unfold. This would be a showdown. A true test of who would emerge victorious.

As he pulled into the cavernous parking lot, Bruno could feel the adrenaline surging through him, sharpening his focus. He skidded to a stop, the tires screeching in protest, and quickly spun the Charger around so it was facing Doakes’ oncoming vehicle. He dropped the back seat and grabbed his bag of weapons, as Miami’s warm, moist air swirled around him, mixing with the scent of rust and decay. He moved stealthily, taking a vantage point behind the Charger, positioning himself so that he could see Doakes as he came roaring in. Waiting for the right moment, Bruno felt the consequences of his action in the pit of his stomach. This was it—there would be no turning back.

The sound of the car's engine drew closer, and Bruno’s pulse quickened. He could feel the tension spiraling out of control. As Doakes' car came into view, Bruno opened fire on the Sergeant’s vehicle—a hail of bullets from the AR-15 peppering Doakes’ hood and grill. The Sergeant’s car came to a screeching halt as tires squealed on the gravel driveway, as he spun sideways, trying to avoid the spray of bullets.

Bruno’s finger tightened on the trigger, the recoil jarring his shoulder as he kept firing. The AR-15 spat bullets in rapid succession, the clatter echoing off the crumbling factory walls. His breath came in short harsh gasps, his chest heaving as he watched Doakes’ car fishtail violently. Gravel sprayed in arcs as the tires skidded, and for a moment, Bruno thought he might succeed in taking Doakes out right then and there. But the sergeant’s car jerked to a halt, the engine sputtering as smoke curled from the hood.

Bruno ducked down behind the Charger, his heart pounding like a war drum. He could hear Doakes shouting, “surrender now, Bruno!” As the clang of a car door being thrown open split the quiet, Bruno’s lips curled into a grim smile. He’d planned for this moment, led his prey here. Doakes wasn’t going to walk away from this.

He grabbed another magazine from his bag, his movements quick and practiced. The smell of gunpowder clung to the air, sharp and acrid, mingling with the damp rot of the decaying parking lot. Bruno’s fingers trembled slightly as he slammed the magazine into place, but he steadied himself, forcing his breathing to slow. He couldn’t afford to hesitate now. He fired off another volley of shots, one bullet just missing Doakes’ head by an inch.

A sudden movement caught his eye—a flash of dark fabric darting between the wreckage of old machinery. Bruno’s head snapped toward the source, his finger hovering over the trigger. Doakes was on the move, taking cover behind rusted metal.

Bruno crouched lower, his fingers tightening around the rifle’s grip. He could hear the crunch of gravel underfoot as Doakes moved closer, his footsteps cautious. Bruno’s breath hitched in his throat, the adrenaline surging through him like an electric current. He forced himself to stay calm, to focus. One wrong move, and this whole thing could unravel. Concentrate on the sound of footsteps—and fire! Bullets ricocheted off metal tanks, a muffled curse echoed from somewhere nearby. “Give it up, Bruno!” Doakes shouted.

The faint clink of metal against metal reached his ears—Doakes shifting position, maybe reloading. Bruno’s eyes darted toward the sound, but he didn’t move. Not yet. He needed the perfect shot. He could feel the weight of the rifle in his hands, the cool press of the metal against his palm. Sweat trickled down his temple, but he ignored it; his attention locked on the rusted machinery Doakes used for cover.

Another sound—a car door slamming shut, too close to be Doakes’. Bruno’s head snapped toward the left of his Charger. A pair of headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the moldy facade of the factory. His stomach dropped. He hadn’t planned for this. Not now.

The Crown Victoria skidded to a halt, gravel spraying in all directions. Debra Morgan leaped out of the driver’s seat, her Glock already drawn. She took cover behind the car door, shouting something Bruno couldn’t quite make out over the ringing in his ears. His pulse quickened, his mind racing. Two cops. Two guns. This was getting messy.

“Drop your weapon, Bruno!” Debra’s voice carried across the few feet of parking lot. Bruno squeezed the trigger, sending a spray of bullets toward Debra, but the crack of Doakes' weapon answered from his right flank. Bullets whizzed past his ear as Debra returned fire, her Glock barking in rapid succession. Caught between their converging lines of fire, Bruno flung himself beneath the Charger's undercarriage, gravel biting into his palms as he scrambled to level his weapon once more.

Bruno’s chest heaved as he pressed himself flat against the damp gravel, the scent of grit and oil filling his nostrils. The Charger’s undercarriage hovered above him, its frame shielding him from the barrage of bullets that ricocheted off the ground nearby. He could hear the sharp cracks of gunfire mingling with the ringing in his ears, the acrid stench of gunpowder burning his nose. His fingers tightened around the rifle, the cool metal slick with sweat.

He shifted slightly, peeking out from beneath the car. Debra’s silhouette was barely visible behind the Crown Victoria’s door, her Glock flashing muzzle fire in the darkness. To his right, Doakes’ boots crunched against gravel as he moved closer, his own weapon trained on Bruno’s position. Bruno’s mind raced, his heartbeat thundering in his chest like a jackhammer. He couldn’t stay here—he was pinned down, trapped between two relentless opponents.

With a surge of adrenaline, Bruno rolled out from beneath the Charger, firing a burst of shots toward Debra to keep her pinned. He scrambled to his feet, his knees scraping against the rough ground, and sprinted toward the factory’s sagging entrance. Bullets whizzed past him, kicking up dust and debris as he dove behind a rusted piece of machinery. His lungs burned as he caught his breath, the cold metal pressing against his back.

Bruno was just about to move again when he felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against his head. “Drop the gun,” Bruno,” Debra growled menacingly. Bruno’s mind reeled. How had she moved that fast, but he didn’t have time to ponder it as the looming shadow of Doakes appeared in front of him? Doakes shot an irritated glance at Debra and said, “Drop the gun, Bruno.” His finger twitched anxiously on the trigger.

Bruno froze, his fingers curling tighter around the rifle grip. The cold press of Debra’s gun barrel dug into the back of his skull made him sigh in defeat. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum. He could smell the faint metallic scent of her weapon, along with the decaying scent of the factory air.

He glanced up at Doakes, who stood just feet away, his own gun leveled at Bruno’s chest. Doakes’ jaw was clenched, his eyes hard and unyielding. Bruno’s throat tightened. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Every muscle in his body screamed to fight, to lash out, but he knew it was futile. One wrong twitch, and they’d pull the trigger.

“I said drop it,” Debra repeated dangerously. Bruno could hear the tension in her tone, the barely restrained edge of fury. His mind raced, scrambling for a way out, but there was none. He was cornered, trapped between them.

Slowly, reluctantly, Bruno loosened his grip on the rifle. It clattered to the ground, the sound loud and final in the stillness of the parking lot. His hands twitched as he raised them above his head. He felt exposed, vulnerable, like a wild animal caught in a snare.

Doakes moved closer, the barrel of his gun never wavered, trained on Bruno’s chest. Bruno could see the faint tremor in Doakes’ hand, the anger burning in his eyes. “Gonna take out the competition, Doakes?”

Doakes growled, his finger tightening on the trigger. “On your stomach,” Debra shouted. “On your stomach with your hands behind your back. NOW!”

Bruno's chest hit the gravel, knocking the wind from his lungs as Debra drove her knee between his shoulder blades. Cold metal bit into his wrists with each click of the handcuffs. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder as squad cars flooded into the parking lot. "That's enough, Sergeant," Debra commanded, her words cutting through the mayhem. “We got him. Stand down.”

Doakes shot Debra a venomous look, but reluctantly holstered his gun as police cruisers raced in, their red and blue lights washing over Maria's stern face as she approached, flanked by Pascal, Simms, and at least a dozen officers with weapons drawn.

“What the hell happened here?” Pascal asked, looking from Doakes to Debra.

“He’s Dexter’s attacker,” Doakes replied, wearing an expression Maria couldn’t identify. 

“Get Bruno back to the station and book him,” Pascal ordered the closest uniformed cops. “You two better start explaining,” Pascal said to Doakes and Debra.

Debra got to her feet as the uniformed officers hauled Bruno off to a patrol car. She and Doakes exchanged glances, before Doakes finally spoke.

“I got a tip from Mack that Bruno drove his uncle’s Charger sometimes, so I staked out his house late this afternoon. I just happened to be there when I saw Bruno load a bag into the Charger, so I followed him.”

“I got a call at the hospital—letting me know that Bruno sometimes drove a Charger, so I called personnel and got his address. When I was on my way to Bruno’s house, I saw Doakes chasing a black Charger, so I wheeled around and gave pursuit,” Debra explained.

Pascal’s gaze shifted between Doakes and Debra, her expression one of frustration. She crossed her arms, her posture stiff, as though she were holding herself together by sheer willpower. “And you didn’t think to call for backup—either of you?” she asked, her tone clipped.

Doakes furrowed his brow, his hand still hovering near his holstered gun. “Didn’t have time. He was already on the move, and I wasn’t about to let him slip away. Who knows what his intentions were—or what was in that bag?”

Debra stepped forward, her Glock still loosely gripped in her hand. “I didn’t know what I was walking into,” she admitted. “But when I saw Doakes chasing him, I knew it was bad. I couldn’t just stand by.”

Pascal exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This could’ve gone sideways fast. Both of you know better than to play cowboy. Bruno’s obviously dangerous—look at all the damn guns.”

Doakes’ eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensing. “Yeah, well, he’s not dangerous anymore. He’s cuffed and on his way to a cell. That’s what matters.”

Debra glanced toward the patrol car where Bruno sat, his head bowed, his hands cuffed behind his back. She could still feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her pulse pounding in her ears. The weight of the Glock in her hand felt heavier now, the echoes of gunfire still ringing faintly in her mind.

Pascal followed her gaze. “Who tipped you, Morgan?”

“Masuka,” Doakes supplied. “Little piss-ant was the only one who knew except for Mack. And I know it wasn’t him.”

Deb rolled her eyes, but didn’t give up Masuka. “I’m not sure who called me—didn’t recognize his voice.”

Doakes scoffed. “Right.”

“Let’s head back to the station, so you can fill out a proper report,” Pascal commanded. “I’ve got a warrant, and detectives en route to search Bruno’s house.”

As Debra headed back to her car, Doakes asked her for a ride. “Can I get a ride, Morgan? My car is too badly shot up.”

Debra nodded curtly as she slid into the driver’s seat. Doakes climbed into the passenger side, his movements stiff, the leather creaking under his weight. She turned the key in the ignition, the engine purring to life, and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the flashing lights of the squad cars behind.

The silence between them felt heavy, broken only by the hum of the tires on the pavement. Debra’s hands gripped the steering wheel, her fingers pressing white against the black leather. Her mind buzzed with a thousand questions, but she kept her eyes on the road, refusing to let herself glance at Doakes.

“I thought you were gonna shoot Bruno there for a minute, Sergeant,” Deb said, finally looking his way.

“Yeah, I wanted to,” Doakes replied with an edge to his voice.

“I didn’t think you gave a shit about what happened to my brother,” Debra said accusingly. “So, why so angry?”

Doakes shrugged as he stared out the windshield. His fingers twitched against his thigh, like he was still itching to pull a trigger. “It’s not about your brother,” he said finally. “It’s about the job. Bruno’s a cop. He’s supposed to uphold the law—not break it.”

Debra chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to swallow the frustration bubbling in her chest. “So, it’s just about being a good soldier, huh? Nothing personal?”

Doakes turned his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as they shifted toward her. “Everything’s personal, Morgan. You know that. But it’s not about picking sides. It’s about cleaning up the mess before it gets worse.”

Debra’s throat felt dry, like she’d swallowed sand. She glanced at Doakes, searching his face for something she couldn’t quite name—some kind of reassurance, maybe. But all she saw was the same hardened exterior she’d always known. “You could’ve called for backup,” she said quietly; her tone tinged with irritation. “You didn’t have to go in alone.”

“And let him slip away?” Doakes countered. “Bruno’s not an amateur. He’d have been gone before backup even arrived. You know how this works.”

The car fell silent after that exchange. When they finally pulled into the station parking lot, Debra killed the engine and stared at the steering wheel. "Go on in," she told Doakes without looking at him. "I need a minute to get my head straight." As soon as he left, she called Angel at the hospital. She knew he’d be there, because he’d refused to leave Dexter’s side.

After a couple of rings, Angel answered. “Deb, where are you?” he asked in concern.

“I’m at the station,” she replied. “Just… wanted to check on Dex. Any change?”

Angel’s sigh crackled through the line. “He’s okay, but sleeping. Doctors said he can go home tomorrow.”

“Good, but you need to know—we got him—his attacker,” Deb said, pausing for a moment. “He’s in custody, Officer Steve Bruno.”

Angel’s silence stretched on the line, heavy and loaded. Debra could hear the faint sounds of hospital machinery in the background, the rhythmic beeping of monitors. She wondered what was going through Angel’s mind—relief, anger, maybe both. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath.

“Bruno,” Angel said, his tone strained. “You’re sure it’s him?”

“Yeah, he tried to shoot me and Doakes,” she added.

Another pause. Debra could imagine Angel sitting there in that sterile hospital room, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair, his mind racing. She knew he’d been blaming himself, beating himself up over what had happened to Dexter. And now, here was the guy who’d done it—locked up, cuffed, and on his way to a cell. She wondered if it would be enough for Angel. She wondered if it would be enough for her.

“Angel,” she said, softer now. “He’s not going to hurt anyone else.”

Angel let out a deep breath, the sound almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Good,” he said finally. “That’s good. Can you come back to the hospital, so I can be in on the interrogation?”

“Absolutely not,’ Debra said a bit harsher than she’d intended. “Angel,” she said softer. “You’re in love with my brother. You can’t go anywhere near Bruno. You understand that, right?”

Debra could almost see him running a hand over his face, his frustration palpable even through the static. “Deb,” he said, “you don’t get it. This isn’t just about Dexter. This is about me. I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped him.”

Debra’s grip tightened on the phone. “You weren’t there, Angel. You couldn’t have been. Stop blaming yourself.” She paused, forcing herself to soften her tone. “Listen, Bruno’s in custody. That’s what matters. You need to focus on Dexter now—on helping him recover.”

Angel didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the hospital’s machinery in the background. Debra could feel the tension radiating through the line, the weight of Angel’s guilt hammering against her chest. She wanted to say something—anything—to ease it, but the words felt hollow even in her own mind.

Finally, Angel spoke, his tone quieter now. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

Debra leaned back in her seat, staring up at the car ceiling. “I get it,” she said softly. “But you can’t let it eat you alive. Dexter needs you focused—not tearing yourself apart over something you couldn’t control. I’ve got to go into the station now. I’ll be back at the hospital as soon as I file my report.”

“Who’s doing the interrogation?” Angel asked tightly.

“Pascal. She’s taking the lead,” Debra answered.

“Pascal? That’s... unexpected.” Angel replied.

“Yeah, well, she and Maria are conducting the interrogation.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ll be back soon. Call me if anything changes.”

The line went dead. Debra sat for a moment, staring ahead at the unyielding gray walls of the police station in front of her. Her chest felt raw—like she’d been punched and left gasping. She put the phone away, exhaled, and climbed out of the Crown Vic.

Inside, Pascal stood stiffly by the door of the interrogation room, with her cell phone to her ear. She caught Debra’s eye and gave a quick nod. The mood was grim, with the only sound being the hum of the air conditioning filling the silence.

When Pascal ended the call, she motioned for Deb and Maria. “That was Simms calling. He said Bruno’s bedroom walls are covered with photos of Dexter. They also found heart-shaped cards and pink envelopes, just like the ones sent to Dexter.”

“So, we got him—we really got him,” Deb said more to herself than anyone else.

“Looks like it,” Maria said. “Nice work.”

“Maria, are you ready?” Pascal asked. “Let’s get this interrogation over. Debra, you can watch through the one-way mirror.”

Maria and Deb nodded, while Maria followed Pascal into the interrogation room.

Debra took a deep breath, her heart racing as she settled into her chair near the one-way mirror.  She could see Pascal and Maria huddle close to the table, their body language poised and ready; it was showtime.

Through the glass, she noticed Maria's fingers tapping nervously on the table, a telltale sign of her anxiety. Debra felt a pang of sympathy—she’d been in that seat before, faced with a man or woman who held secrets tight against their chest, but this was harder because Bruno was one of their own.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and Bruno was brought in, hands handcuffed in front of him, a resigned expression plastered on his face. Debra’s stomach churned. This was the man who’d been stalking Dexter—who’d turned her brother’s life into a waking nightmare.

Once Bruno was seated, Pascal wasted no time. "Bruno, we have evidence linking you to the harassment, assault, and rape of Dexter Morgan. Photos, cards—everything you should have discarded, but didn’t.”

Bruno smirked, a chilling sight. “Evidence? You think that makes me a criminal? Just proves I care. Maybe he should have appreciated it more. Maybe if he’d shown me some interest, I could’ve protected him.”

Debra winced as she heard that line. It was the dangerous rhetoric of obsession. As she sat there listening, Doakes joined her in the tiny observation room, taking up the seat next to her.

Maria took a breath, leaning forward slightly. “Caring doesn’t involve invading someone’s privacy. You’re wearing the riot gear used in the attacks on Morgan, and we found a taser in the trunk of the Charger.”

Bruno shrugged, his composure unflappable. “I wasn’t harming him. I was reaching out. Dexter’s just… he’s special. He needed to know someone cared.”

As Debra watched, her blood began to boil. How could he speak about it so callously? She felt the urge to burst into the room, confront him, to protect Dexter's right to live free from fear. But she remained behind the glass, helplessly witnessing the unfolding confrontation.

Pascal pressed on, aware of the psychological game being played. “You understand what you’ve done could lead to serious charges, right? Stalking is a crime, not to mention rape, and they carry significant consequences.”

Bruno’s demeanor shifted slightly at the mention of charges. Debra noticed his jaw tighten, the bravado beginning to slip. “You don’t understand,” he said, strained. “He doesn’t get how much I love him. You keep saying rape, but I never raped him. That wasn’t me.”

Maria seized the moment. “That’s just it, Bruno. You think your feelings matter more than his rights? This obsession of yours isn’t love. It’s a destructive force, and it needs to be stopped.”

Debra leaned forward, her heart pounding. She could sense a crack forming in his facade, and she willed Pascal and Maria to push harder, to bring this man’s delusions into the light.

As Bruno shifted uncomfortably, Debra felt a surge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they were getting closer to making him understand the weight of his actions… and securing justice for Dexter.

“I admit, I attacked Dexter in the parking lot here at work, and once at his apartment—the night Doakes intervened. Sure, I planned on fucking him, but I got interrupted both times. This last attack—wasn’t me—you seriously need to look elsewhere.”

Bruno’s mind wandered to the actual second attack. The one in the shipping container yard. Dexter obviously never told anyone about it, so Bruno decided to remain silent. Dexter must’ve had a reason for not reporting it, and Bruno decided not to throw his fantasy lover under the bus.

“I want a lawyer,” Bruno stated, taking a stubborn line.

“That’s it. I’ve had it,” Doakes growled as he jumped up and stormed into the interrogation room.

“You sorry piece of shit!” Doakes shouted as he advanced on Bruno.

Bruno sneered and jumped out of his chair, head butting Doakes when he ventured close enough. He pushed Doakes with his cuffed hands, as an all-out brawl ensued, and Pascal had to bring in more detectives to break it up.

Panco dragged Doakes out of there, with Pascal following. “What the hell was that?!” She cried. “Have you lost your mind, Sergeant Doakes?”

Debra joined the fray, wondering about that herself. “What’s going on, Doakes?”

“Nothing,” Doakes snarled. “I was just tired of listening to his lies. Obviously, he’s the one who raped Morgan. The evidence is 100 percent.”

“Get out of the station, Sergeant, until after Maria and I finish the interrogation. Is that clear?” Pascal asked, leveling Doakes with a hard look.

“Perfectly,” Doakes hissed as he stomped out of the bullpen.

Pascal gave Debra a sidelong glance. “Are you all right, Officer Morgan?”

“Yes, Mam,” Deb replied. “May I go back to the observation room?”

Pascal nodded, thinking Debra was taking this a lot better than Doakes at the moment.

Maria and Pascal drilled into Bruno again, but he held steadfast. He insisted he didn’t rape Dexter, but they knew he had to be lying, as the damaging evidence kept mounting.

“You want Dexter’s rapist?” Bruno asked with a smirk. “Try looking at the other cop obsessed with him—and no—I’m not talking about Batista. I’m not the only one obsessed with Dex—and everybody in the building knows it.”

“Who?” Pascal shot back, her brow furrowing as she leaned closer, elbows bracing against the table. Bruno could sense the edge in her voice, and the glimmer of desperation in her eyes, a flash that ignited something in him. She wanted to believe she was one step ahead. But he wasn’t going to give in that easily.

"Do you really want to know?" he said tauntingly. He could feel the adrenaline mixing with the heat of the spotlight on him, a delightful rush. He wasn’t sweating, but he felt alive; every moment felt like a dance on a razor's edge. "Maybe you should consider who’s been lurking in the shadows. The one who follows, berates, and belittles Dexter every chance he gets.”

“You’re referring to Doakes?” Pascal ventured a guess.

“Sergeant Doakes would never rape Dexter,” Maria interjected.

“Wouldn’t he?” Bruno said with a mocking laugh.

Bruno watched the detectives’ faces, feeling the tension spiral in the room. Pascal’s eyes narrowed, calculating, but Bruno reveled in the dissention he’d tossed into the situation.

“Doakes thinks he’s above it all,” Bruno continued, a self-satisfied smirk stretching across his lips. “He’s the real predator here, always hovering, always lurking. It’s sickening, really—like a dog waiting for scraps. He can’t stand it because Dexter’s in love with Angel. Tell Doakes, I got news for him. Dexter—will never—love him!”

Pascal leaned closer, a hint of frustration crossing her features. “You think smearing another officer will save you?” she hissed, her body taut, like a bowstring ready to snap.

He could sense the anger in her tone, the way she shifted, pushing her body forward as if trying to contain the mayhem in his words. “I’m just saying, maybe you should look at your own house before you start judging mine,” Bruno replied, feigning innocence as he raised an eyebrow. He felt a thrill in her unease; it was a game of cat and mouse, and he liked being the one with the claws.

Maria’s brow furrowed, her agitation palpable as she crossed her arms. “We’re not playing games, Bruno. You may think this is a joke, but a life has been devastated.”

Bruno shook his head. “I think we’re done here. I want a lawyer—now!”

Maria stared at Bruno, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re the one making a terrible mistake. This game isn’t over… not by a longshot,” she said, but Bruno's smirk was unyielding.

“I said… we’re done.” Bruno answered stubbornly.

“Don’t play coy with me, Bruno,” Maria snapped, leaning forward. “This won’t end well for you if you keep deflecting.”

His laughter was a harsh sound that cut through the air. “Deflecting? I’m just speaking the truth. You’re so focused on me, why not widen your investigation to include the rest of your team? You might find it enlightening.”

Every pulse in her head throbbed with the need to strip away his nonsense, to get to the core of his twisted reasoning, yet part of her recognized there was something visceral in how he spun his reality. She’d seen him before—disarming, quiet, unassuming—but this version was new. It tasted like a challenge, but something in the back of her mind flared in warning.

Pascal shot her an introspective glance. “Fine, Bruno. We’ll get you your lawyer.”

Pascal tapped Maria’s shoulder, and they both left the interrogation room. Debra met them outside the door. “What do you think?’ Deb asked.

“There’s plenty of evidence to get a conviction,” Pascal assured her. “The guys have found a ton of incriminating evidence at Bruno’s house. It’s an open and shut case.”

Deb nodded absentmindedly, chewing a nail as she thought about what Bruno said. She couldn’t quite get the image of Doakes’ eyes as he stared down the barrel of his gun at Bruno out of her mind. It was like he was possessed by a demon.

“Officer Morgan,’ Pascal said, breaking through her fog. “Is there something you know?”

Debra hesitated, her heart racing as Pascal's question flitted through her head. The echo of Bruno’s accusations swirled around her. Was there something more to this than just a sick obsession? The way Bruno insinuated that someone else on the force might be involved unsettled her, lingering like the smell of gunpowder.

What if he was right? Could Doakes really harbor feelings for Dexter? The thought gnawed at her insides. She knew he wanted to sleep with her brother. Dexter told her as much, but she pushed it aside. No, it didn’t matter. They had Bruno, and that was what counted. But she couldn’t shake the unease as she studied Pascal's face, searching for a hint of confirmation. Pascal’s eyes were sharp, especially now. They shifted like quicksilver, seeking answers amidst the firestorm they’d just confronted.

“I think we should revisit what he said,” Debra said firmly, almost surprising herself with the conviction behind it. She didn’t want to consider Doakes a suspect, let alone an obsession gone wrong, but Bruno’s words pricked at her like a thorn. The notion of one of their own being as twisted as Bruno felt foreign—impossible—but it turned her stomach nonetheless.

Pascal crossed her arms, looking back toward the interrogation room. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Debra insisted, her pulse quickening. She wasn’t completely sure what it meant or where it would lead, but Bruno had thrown a spark into the air, and it threatened to ignite. “He knows something.”

Pascal’s brow furrowed, contemplation washing over her features. “All right—Maria and I will question Sergeant Doakes later—after we get video footage and timelines of where everyone was when Dexter was attacked.”

Maria gave her a curious look. “Are we really going there, Esmee?”

“What do you think, Maria?” Pascal asked. “Should we just blow it off?”

LaGuerta glanced at Debra, who looked like she was about to throw up. “No, we can’t blow it off, so I’m on board too.”