A/N: Hey guys, I'm back again with another chapter! This was supposed to go up a few days ago, but life has a way of ruining plans, unfortunately lol. I cut this chapter earlier then I wanted to, only because it was getting pretty long (over 11K!), but that means the next one should be up pretty soon. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

"Well, shit," Deb says with a sigh that actually sums up the mood in the room quite well, "looks like this guy's deader than we thought."

Her words are muffled as she struggles to block out the odor in the room; rather unsuccessfully if her pained expression is anything to go by.

The smell of death is not an easy one to get used to, so it comes to no surprise to Dexter when he sees his sister — a former detective who must have seen at least a hundred dead bodies through the course of her career — react with such disgust.

Death is an acquired taste. Dexter would know.

He takes a few more steps so he can inspect the body more carefully, though there's really not much of a point to any of it now.

To say that Sanchez has seen better days would be a definite understatement.

What's left of him is bloated and disfigured, his skin now a ghastly shade of green as nature does its work and continues the process of decomposition.

"Hey, Dex?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember back in high school when we had to dissect the cats?"

"Sure I do. Why are you bringing that up now?"

"Pretty sure it smelled exactly like this," she says, staring at Dexter as if she expects him to say something in response. When he doesn't, she just keeps talking, "I remember feeling nauseous for like a week straight after that. I threw up all over John De Robertis' sneakers, and he was a major ass to me, so in retrospect, it was kind of worth it."

Dexter rolls his eyes, but he secretly enjoys the pointless trip down memory lane. Leave it to Debra to bring up a decades-old story and somehow lighten the dour mood.

The man who Dexter thought to be a villain turned out to be nothing but a victim himself, and yet Dexter still hasn't flown into panic mode. He'd rather that she weren't here, but Dexter and Deb make a good team, he must admit. She is the one thing keeping him sane through all this.

"You want me to go make sure the rest of the house is clear?" Deb asks, using her gun to gesture towards the next room.

"No. There's no need for that," Dexter answers, walking back towards the door, "Sanchez has been dead for at least three days. Probably a little bit longer, just judging by the condition of the body. Whoever killed him definitely had no intention of sticking around."

"Jesus. We should've known it wasn't going to be this easy. It never is."

Dexter nods in agreement. "I should have been smarter about this. I can't believe I let myself think it would be that simple. I hardly did any vetting. I guess I just got too excited."

"It's not your fault, Dexter," Deb says, snaking her arm around his waist, "he seemed legit. It was a good lead. Sometimes shit just doesn't pan out. That's like, Detective 101. Don't beat yourself up about it. You always get your guy in the end, yeah?"

Dexter thanks her, but he can't allow himself to forget that she had been feeling iffy about his Sanchez theory almost as soon as he'd voiced it to her. He should've listened, he should've taken more time to vet each of his potential suspects instead of running with his gut feeling. This momentary lapse in judgment might end up costing another person their life. And then what? Dexter is still lost, left with nothing more to go on than the basket full of questions he had a few hours ago.

If she were a different person, Deb could view this fuck up as the perfect 'I told you so moment'. Hell, she could still decide to throw it in his face later and he wouldn't blame her. But Dexter knows that she won't. She's too good for that.

"So, Dex. Uh, what are we gonna do with this?" Deb asks, "and by this, I mean this dead guy, in case that wasn't, you know, obvious."

"I don't know. I wasn't planning on having a funeral for the guy. No one saw either us coming here. Unless there's something you want to tell me."

"Fuck you, Dexter. No one saw me coming. I took mostly back roads, I came to a complete stop at every stop sign, and I even used my blinkers. I was careful. Like always."

"Did always suddenly come to mean something different to you than what it means to me?"

"You're funny, Dex. Absolutely hilarious."

"I know. Listen, as long as we leave everything the way it is, we should be fine. It'll be like we were never even here."

Deb moves her arm from around Dexter's waist, scrunching up her nose at him. "So we're just going to leave him here to decompose?" She takes another look at the body, then quickly amends her statement, "to finish decomposing? I don't know how cool I am with that, to be honest with you."

"What do you want me to do, call the police? That will just put more attention on the Brain Surgeon then there already is, and I told Vogel that I was going to be the one to catch him, not them."

"Who's saying that you won't? I may not be on the force any more, but it's clear as fucking day that the MMPD is going to be chasing their tail on this Brain Surgeon shit for a while. At this point, if you don't catch him, I'm not sure that anyone will. So where does that leave us then? Well, Sanchez is going to stay dead as fuck, that's the one thing that's certain. So we can either allow him the dignity of a funeral and a proper burial, or we can leave him here and let him end up like the mom from Psycho. Is that really something you want to live with?"

What he wants to say is, "well, I've definitely lived with worse," but those words die on his tongue. Instead, he says "I'll think about it."

"You'll think about it? Seriously?"

"That's what I said, isn't it? Come on, it's not good for you to be in here. You're starting to look a little green yourself. Let's head home."

Deb nods, probably too grossed out by the smell in the room to press the budding argument any further. She leads the way out of the house and Dexter follows close behind, taking extra care to close the door just as he'd found it upon arrival.

With that done he walks Deb to her car, then instructs her to wait for him before pulling off. He would prefer it for the both of them to travel back together, but one of them leaving their car at the scene of a gruesome murder and coming back to pick it up later is most definitely out of the question. So Dexter sits alone in his own SUV, rolling down the window when he gets to the spot that his sister is parked at.

"Can I trust you to lead the way back?" He asks, "I guess I can if you don't remember the way, but I'd prefer to keep you ahead of me just in case."

"Jesus, man. I didn't just suddenly forget how to drive, if that's what you're implying. Also, Google Maps is definitely still a thing."

"Sorry. But you know how I am."

"Yeah, yeah. But you should probably think about dialing the worry down to a five or six. I don't want to you dying on me. Especially not because of something as dumb as high blood pressure."

"I don't know, Deb. That's actually kind of poetic, don't you think? A part of me always figured you would be the one to finally take me out anyway."

"Shut up or I'll kill you for real," Deb says, leaning out of the window so she can give him the finger.

She holds it there for a while before rolling up her window and driving off. Dexter follows behind her, keeping a safe distance the entire drive back to the house.

They make it home without incident, though the drive ends up taking a bit longer than anticipated because of Debra's insistence on stopping for pizza on the way.

As they stand on the doorstep, Dexter with an extra large pizza in hand and Deb digging in her pocket for her keys, Dexter breaks the silence.

"I can't believe you left my son alone with Masuka."

"Why not? You act like he's a child molester or something. Christ."

"Well, you can never really know a person."

Deb eyes him with her mouth agape before she speaks again."Oh for fuck's sake, Dexter. Don't be ridiculous. The list of people that we can trust is awfully goddamn short, but I know for a fact that Masuka is on it."

"Yeah, but he's still Masuka."

"You got me there. But come on. He won't be able to corrupt Harrison any more than I already have."

"Oh. Okay. Well, when you put it that way, that definitely makes me feel better."

"That's what I'm here for."

"I was being sarcastic, Deb."

"And I knew that, Dexter." She says, looking at him with a cocked head and a smile.

When the door is opened, the first thing the two of them see is Masuka and Harrison fast asleep in front of the TV. The pair are in equally deep states of rest, their mouths hanging open as they snore. If Dexter hadn't just gotten finished reprimanding his sister for leaving Masuka in charge of his son, even he would have to admit that they make for a sweet sight.

"Aww!" Deb shouts, voicing that admission for him.

Masuka begins to stir, but Harrison thankfully doesn't move a muscle.

"Where am I?" Vince asks, rubbing his eyes, "what year is this?"

"You're at my house," Deb answers, taking the pizza from Dexter's possession and setting it down on the coffee table, "and you know what year it is, dumbass."

Masuka glances up at her, squinting. "Are you an angel?"

"Sure I am." Deb smiles, opening the box and taking out a slice of pizza. She eats most of it in record time, tossing the crust down on the table.

He's grown accustomed to her sloppiness over the years, but the image of the greasy crust against the clean glass table still makes him cringe.

"Fuck, that was hot. I burned the shit out of my mouth."

"I would gladly burn the shit out of your mouth." Masuka says.

"Dude, that was bad," Deb replies, "like, shockingly bad. It's like you aren't even trying anymore. You've really got to step up your game."

"I know that I've been off lately. No need to tease," Masuka says, raising his hands defensively in front of him, "hey, either one of you guys seen my glasses? I'm basically blind without them, so if one of you was planning on taking advantage of me sexually, now would be the time to do it."

Deb groans. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Now, just so we're clear, that offer was geared more towards the fairer of the Morgan siblings. But Dex, you are still quite the dreamboat. I mean, if I had to pick a dude, you would definitely make the shortlist."

"God, Masuka, why don't you just blow him already?" Deb asks, "and your glasses are right there on the table, dipshit."

"Oh. That makes sense," Masuka says, releasing that all too familiar chuckle before putting his glasses on his face where they belong. "So, you two going to the party tomorrow? I hear that it's supposed to be quite the fiesta."

"Party? What party?" Dexter asks.

"Well, officially it's supposed to be celebrating Quinn's big promotion. But unofficially, I think Batista probably just wanted an excuse to throw a party at Papa's," Masuka says, "my presence might be just a tad bit awkward there since, you know, I'm still on suspension, but I'm hoping we can all look past it in the name of party rock."

"Oh. Well, I guess me and Deb didn't get an invite." Dexter shrugs, "that's...that's a shame."

"You probably didn't, but I'm sure he plans on inviting Deb," Masuka says, "I mean, come on."

Deb pulls her phone out of her pocket, taking a little while to scroll through her messages. "Oh," she says, "looks like he texted me a couple of hours ago, right after I left."

"Wait, you're not actually thinking about going to this thing, are you?" Dexter asks her, two seconds away from complete disbelief.

"I don't know. I mean….why not? We're supposed to friends, it would be pretty rude of me to skip it without any good reason to. It's not like I've got work."

"You turned down the guy's marriage proposal and he's still fawning over you. I think he'll get over you skipping a dumb party."

"Ooh, Dex. Sick burn." Masuka chimes in, "well, I hate to abandon you all at a time like this, but duty calls. I'll just take a slice and be on my way. See you two tomorrow. Hopefully."

He flashes the both of them a wink before walking out the door, leaving Dexter and Deb to sit in silence for a moment.

Deb speaks first.

"What the fuck, Dexter? It's just a fucking party. Why are you acting like this?"

"The last time I let you go to a party you ended up passed out in the middle of the dancefloor. The police were called. That is why I'm acting like this."

"Okay, just because I'm in a forgiving mood, I am going to give you three seconds to retract that statement."

As Deb begins counting down, Dexter winces, realizing his mistake. "That came out wrong. I meant let as in agreed to. Not let as in….let."

"Jesus, how thick is your fucking skull?" Deb asks — rhetorically, Dexter assumes — shaking her head from side to side, "I just don't see what the big deal is. I'm trying to keep the peace!"

"But I never asked you to!"

"Of course you didn't. But that's what we do for eachother, Dex. We make sacrifices. We make hard choices. We do what we have to do to keep this family safe. This doesn't rest solely on your shoulders anymore, and you're going to have to accept that."

"Yeah, but you see how Quinn is with me. So, go ahead and explain to me how us keeping our distance from the guy is a bad thing, because I don't see it."

"We have been through this a million times already, Dex. You promised me no more bullshit. Was that just a lie because I was in the hospital and you thought my fragile little heart couldn't take it if you disagreed with me?"

"I wouldn't call it a lie. But I didn't sign up for this. I thought no more bullshit meant no more arguments, and I don't see how putting me, you, and Quinn in a room together is going to make that happen."

"I don't care that you didn't sign up for this, because this is the hand that we've been dealt, okay? Quinn knows some pretty serious shit. We can't do anything to piss him off. So if he says party, then I say grab your fucking dancing shoes, brother. That's just how it is now."

"And that's alright with you? Being Joey Quinn's slave?"

"Oh, for fu — now you just sound like a fucking psycho. Do you ever think about anybody but yourself?" Deb asks, getting up off the couch so she can pace angrily around the room, "did you ever consider that maybe I want to go to this party?"

"No. No, I didn't," Dexter says, careful to keep his voice low because of his child sleeping beside him, "I didn't ever stop to consider that because that's absurd."

"Oh, it's absurd, is it? You know, sometimes I don't even know why I try to talk to you about shit like this. You wouldn't understand."

"You're right. Sometimes I really don't understand some of the things that you do, Deb. I definitely have no clue why you're suddenly so fucking eager to spend the night with Joey Quinn."

"This isn't fucking about him!" She screams, her voice so loud that Dexter can no longer stand to continue the conversation in front of his son, asleep or not.

He stands up and grabs her hand, leading her into the kitchen. Once there, she immediately frees herself from his grasp, turning to face him with her arms folded across her chest.

"I thought you wanted me to get better," she speaks in a near whisper now, her eyes shiny with the threat of tears.

It hurts to see her like this, but he doesn't understand.

"Of course I do."

"Then you should get why I want to go back to Papa's tomorrow," Debra insists, "I haven't been there since New Year's, Dexter. And every time I think about that place, I think about shooting an innocent woman. About watching her die."

"And I understand that! That is all the more reason to not go!"

"No, Dexter. You don't fucking get it. I have to know if I can go back. I need to know. You're the one who wanted me to see a therapist so fucking bad. You're the one who tracked me down and practically forced me to get help. But now that I'm taking some fucking initiative, that suddenly becomes a bad thing? Fuck, Dex. When did you become such a jealous freak?"

"Me? Jealous? I am not jealous." Dexter says,

He finds himself unable to resist laughing at her baseless claim, which only seems to make Deb angrier.

"Oh, I know you are. But guess what? This time, I don't fucking care," she comes closer, practically whispering in his ear, "You don't own me, Dexter. So I'm going. You're welcome to try and stop me. I would love to see you try."

"Fine. Go to the party. Test out your brilliant jealousy theory," Dexter replies with a shrug, "I'm a psycho, remember? Psychos don't get jealous."

"Come on, Dex. Don't do that."

"Don't do what? You're the one who said it, not me."

"What even are we — " Deb silences herself when Dexter's phone begins to ring, looking at him expectantly until he looks to see who is calling.

"It's Vogel." He informs her.

"Answer it," she says, "you were going to have to tell her about Sanchez sooner or later."

Dexter nods, answering the call just before the final ring. He turns the phone on speaker so Deb can hear, because despite the fact that they were just two seconds away from a potentially explosive fight, she's just as much a part of this Vogel business as he is now.

"Dr. Vogel. Good evening." He says.

"Hello, Dexter. I was just calling to check in, actually," the doctor says, "I haven't heard from you or Debra for a couple of days now. I was beginning to worry."

"Yeah, sorry about that. The past couple of days have been a bit hectic on our end. We were actually chasing a lead earlier today."

"Oh? That sounds promising." Vogel says.

She sounds as close to excited as Dexter can ever recall hearing her sound. Telling her that the madman who has been threatening her for weeks is still on the loose is definitely going to suck.

Likely sensing his unease, Deb jumps in. "No need to get your hopes up. Our guy is dead and it looks like your guy killed him."

Vogel's line goes silent for a few beats. She sighs before she speaks. "Alright. So we keep looking then."

Her delivery is cold. Emotionless, even. Dexter admires her ability to hide her anger so well. She's even better at it than he is.

"The victim was a former patient of yours. Emilio Sanchez was his name. Do you know of anyone who might've wanted to see him dead?" Deb asks, slipping back into her former detective self. She wears it well.

"Emilio Sanchez….I haven't thought of him in years, to tell you the truth," Vogel says.

"Yeah? Well I bet he's given you a lot of thought. All the shit you put him through under your so-called expert care probably left him with a lot of scars. Both mental and physical."

"You're talking about the operations," Vogel acknowledges, "Alright, well, you'll forgive me if I don't understand why you sound like you've been betrayed by me. I gave you and your brother complete access to my files. I never made a secret of the unorthodox methods I would sometimes use in the past."

"You only gave us complete access to your shit after Dexter fucking threatened you. Don't give me that reverse psychology, lying politician bullshit." Deb is clearly beyond angry now, her knuckles turning white as she grips the kitchen table, "Dexter might be too much of a punk to say it, but I'm not. You're taking advantage of him and it has to stop."

Dexter stiffens at the mention of his name. "Deb, can we please not do this now?"

"Shut up," she tells him before she starts to address Dr. Vogel once again, "you can't expect my brother to act as your hired gun for absolutely nothing in return. He has been putting his life on the line to find this fucker and you don't even have the decency to be honest with him! If you really want us to find this guy, then we need you to cooperate with us. And I mean all the way. Not just when it suits you."

Vogel clears her throat, considering Deb's words. "It seems like we have a lot to talk about," she says, "I'll be meeting with patients for most of the day tomorrow. But I would love to have the two of you over later in the evening."

"Yeah, I don't know about that. I have a thing," Deb says, "why don't you just come over now? What could you be doing that's more important than this?"

Dexter picks the phone up off of the table and butts into the conversation before Vogel has time to accept or decline Deb's offer. "We'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Vogel."

He ends the call and Deb turns toward him, scowling at him like he kicked her puppy.

"Do you constantly have to undermine every single thing I do? Is that, like, your kink or something?"

"I'm just trying to keep the peace. I thought that was sort of your thing a couple of minutes ago."

"Ha, ha, smartass. I didn't ask you to respond. I'm still mad at you, for the record."

"Aunt Deb," Harrison calls to her from the living room, "you're mad at daddy?"

Dexter sighs, silently wondering how long Harrison has been awake, what parts of the conversation he might've latched on to. Deb walks over to him before Dexter has a chance to catch up, picking him up off of the couch and holding him close to her chest. It's more difficult now that's he's bigger, but she doesn't seem to struggle at all with him.

"Yeah, I am mad at him. He was being an idiot," Deb says, "but that's nothing you need to worry about. Alright, buddy?"

"Alright." He mimics her.

"Good. That's what I like to hear. Now, what do you say we both go lay down for the night? You can even sleep in my room if you want. Just you and me."

With that, she turns to face Dexter, no doubt trying to gauge his reaction to the clear cut boundaries she just put into place. He catches a hint of a smile from her when Harrison enthusiastically accepts the offer, unknowingly picking a side in a war that Dexter doesn't even understand.

He watches in silence as Deb heads upstairs to the bedroom. It looks like he's been banished to the couch for the night. Oh well. It probably could've been worse.

No matter how much he wants to apologize, to pour his heart out to Deb and try to tell her everything that she wants to hear, he doesn't actually end up saying anything. It would probably be wise for him to start choosing his battles a bit more wisely, now more than ever.

"Goodnight."

And with that, Dexter is thrown by a single word. At first, he can't be sure that it wasn't just his brain playing tricks on him. It wouldn't be the first time. But no. He knows what he heard.

Deb said goodnight to him.

She doesn't hate him. Not yet.

It isn't much, but he'll take what he can get.

Dexter wakes with the worst ache he's had in months.

He hasn't had much time to keep up with his exercise routine lately, and Deb's couch isn't exactly the picture of comfort. It's only been less than a day of this, and already Dexter knows that he can't take much more. Surely Deb will come to her senses soon.

Almost as if on cue, Deb comes walking down the stairs with Harrison in tow. They're both already dressed, which only confuses Dexter, because they're never up this early. He decides to use that as his jumping off point, hoping to get a conversation started.

"I can't remember the last time you two woke up this early," he says, his voice still raspy from sleep, "what are you up to? Should I be worried?"

"I'm taking Harrison down to the aquarium," Deb answers rather emotionlessly, "it's a bit of a drive so we really should be heading out."

Dexter gets off of the couch, casually blocking their path to the door while trying to make it look like he isn't doing just that.

"Uh, what about breakfast?" He asks.

"We'll probably just stop at McDonald's. You know there's one on every corner these days."

"Yeah, but that isn't very healthy," Dexter can't help but point out, "I can whip up something quick, no problem. I make a mean scrambled egg, right buddy?"

Deb answers the question for him. "No thanks. Your eggs taste like shit. No offense."

Dexter has no clue what answer Harrison would have given him, (though in all honesty he probably would've still sided with Debra out of some forced sense of obligation); but it definitely wouldn't have been that.

After a moment of awkward silence, she takes Harrison by the hand. Her shoulder softly brushes against Dexter's own as she moves past him to get to the front door.

"Drive safely." Dexter tells her, just because he wants to say something to lighten the air.

It doesn't work, not exactly, but Deb acknowledges his words with a solemn "I will" before closing the door behind her.

The realization dawns on Dexter that he's in an empty house for the first time in a long time, and instead of something like relief all he feels is a pang to his heart, which is ironically more full than it's ever been.

He takes his time preparing for work because he'd woken up about an hour earlier than he usually does. He lingers in the shower until his fingers look like prunes and the mirrors in the bathroom are all thick with fog. And when he dresses he takes his time too, weighing the pros and cons of the white button down shirt versus the blue, as if he actually gives a shit.

When he walks into work he wears his usual mask of innocence, wanting nothing but to be left alone to do his work in peace. So naturally, he can't even get that.

Almost as soon as he sits down in the lab, there's a knock at the door.

Oh, great. It's my favorite person. Dexter thinks when he opens the door and sees Quinn standing there with a stack of papers in his hands.

"Yes?" Dexter asks, "I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but I'm kind of swamped today. You understand."

"Sure," Quinn nods, "I get it. But there's a crime scene down in the Glades and I'm gonna need you down there."

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"What kind of crime scene?"

"A murder. What else?" Quinn asks, scrunching his nose up at Dexter as if he has any right to do so, "there was an anonymous tip and I have good reason to believe that this is another Brain Surgeon vic."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"Well, I mean, for starters, the brain has been removed."

"Okay, but you haven't even seen the body to know that this is true. You don't even know if there is a body. What if it's just some kid playing a prank? Seems like a waste of taxpayer dollars to send a bunch of our guys down to the Glades on nothing but an anonymous tip."

"True. But I'm not sending a bunch of our guys. Looks like it's just you and me for this one, Dex. Angel's orders." Quinn says, "Well, you, me, and a couple of CSI's to remove the body. If there is one."

The smug look on Quinn's face would give a lesser man no choice but to slap it off of him. It's a good thing that Dexter doesn't break easily.

He fixes his face with a smile of his own, moving to stand eye to eye with Quinn.

"You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me, all you had to do was ask," Dexter says, "this is a bit much."

"I don't like this any more than you do, alright? But with Masuka still gone, I'm left with no other choice. We're at work. We're supposed to be professional. So this is me being professional."

Dexter rolls his eyes. Quinn lecturing him on professionalism in the workplace has to be one of the strangest thing to happen in a week filled to the brim with strange things. "Sure. I'll give that a try."

"Great. So, should I expect to see you at my party tonight?"

"No. I don't do parties."

"Oh, that's a shame. Deb said she'd be there. I'll tell her to bring you back a slice of cake or something."

"Listen, Quinn. About this whole party thing….my sister is very fragile right now. I don't think it's such a good idea."

"Your sister is a grown woman, Dexter. She doesn't need you making decisions for her. Something tells me that if she knew we were even having this conversation, she'd beat both of our asses," Quinn warns, "but hey, look at it this way. If she's as fragile as you say she is, a night out with friends will probably be good for her."

"Friends? But I thought you said she was going out with you."

"There it is!" Quinn exclaims, looking overly excited, "I knew there was a sense of humor somewhere in there."

He claps Dexter on the shoulder as if in congratulations, leaning in closer so he can whisper into his ear. "You ever think that maybe the reason Deb's so fucked up is because she spends so much time around you?" He pulls back, flashing a quick smirk before saying "meet me out front in thirty. I'm driving."

Dexter wants to kill him. He wants to cut him into pieces and toss the bags into the ocean one by one. He wants to leave small, insignificant portions behind so he can scatter them across the beach for the birds to find. He wants to break him down until he's nothing.

He remembers his back and forth with Doakes, and no matter how much the man's persistence annoyed him, there was still something honorable about him. And it was that honor that made Dexter hesitate even though he knew he had to end his life. He never wanted to kill Doakes, though his death definitely worked out in Dexter's favor.

But Quinn is a different story entirely.

He's more than just a fucking nuisance. He's unbearable to be around, and for such an incompetent detective, he presents an undeniable, serious threat.

Deb would never agree to killing him. Even if he did his best to hide it from her, went out to the Glades with him and made it look like an accident, she would still know. Maybe if he could prove that Quinn was actively looking to harm them, maybe then Deb would at least back down on the kumbaya shit.

An idea pops into his head just then, and Dexter reaches into his pocket and grabs his phone to call the man that he hadn't really given much thought since the last time he'd seen him.

The phone rings a few times before he picks up, his greeting a painfully rehearsed "Elway!"

"Hi, it's Dexter Morgan. Are you busy?"

"Dexter! Hey! How have you been doing?" He asks, "I heard Deb was in the hospital for a bit. That's a bad beat. How is she now?"

"She's fine. How did you know she was….never mind. Listen, I don't really have much time. I'm at work right now, so I'm just going to cut to the chase. I'm calling because I need to collect on the favor you offered me a couple of days ago."

"Sure. Who do you need me to stalk?"

"Stalk is a pretty harsh word. I want this all done by the book, no sketchy business is necessary."

"Dexter, all I do is sketchy business, so you're going to have to lower your standards a bit in the purity department," Elway replies, showing a refreshing amount of self awareness for a private investigator.

"Fair enough. The man I need you to look into is named Joseph Quinn. He goes by Joey Quinn."

Elways seems surprised. "Joey Quinn as in detective Joey Quinn? As in your co-worker?"

"It's Sergeant Joey Quinn these days. But yes."

"So what is it about the guy that's got you all hot under the collar?" Elway wonders, "I mean, feel free not to answer. It's just…. It isn't everyday that I get asked to follow a cop around, you know?"

"I get it. And if you feel like the risks are too great, then we'll pretend this conversation never happened."

"Dexter, I would open an investigation into the President of the United States if the check cleared. Don't worry about me. I just wanted to make sure that you know what you could be getting into with this," there's a pause, and then his voice gets softer, "you think he's dirty?"

"What? No, no, nothing like that. I, uh, I think he's been getting closer to Deb and I don't really trust his intentions when it comes to her."

"Didn't she date that guy a couple of years back? Oh well, sometimes you just never know when to quit a person I guess."

"Yeah, he even proposed to her at one point. How'd you know they had history?"

"You know man, at some point you're going to have to stop asking me how I know things and just accept the fact that I know them."

"Okay. Sorry. I just don't think this is the guy that my sister should be dating, and I'm hoping that you'll find something damning enough to bring her back to her senses."

"Deb's a smart girl. She knows how to do her homework. If there was something that bad about him, she probably would've discovered it already." Elways says, "you really want to blow your favor on this? She'll probably have a new boyfriend by the end of the month anyway. What, are you jealous of this Quinn guy or something?"

"I am not jealous. Why the fuck would I be jealous of him?" Dexter feels his muscles tense as he tries to keep his composure, his neck flushing red, "I didn't call you because I wanted to be subjected to the third degree. I have a job, and I need it done. So either you're going to do it, or I'll find someone else who will."

"Woah there, Dexter. Put the dog back on the leash. There's no need for any hostility, we're friends here."

"I'm sorry. I got carried away for a second there. This is just really important to me."

"I get it. I've got sisters. They're a fucking handful," Elway says, "So I take it you don't want Deb finding out about this little arrangement?"

"No. Of course not. She'd murder me," Dexter replies.

"Yeah, that sounds like Deb," Elway says with a chuckle, "alright, it'll be our little secret. I'm still not quite sure what you're hoping to find on him, though. If you really want, I could upload some nudes on his computer for her to accidentally find. Male, female, something in between. That would probably be a hell of a lot easier than all this."

Dexter wishes Elway would stop pushing this. There's no real way to tell him that he's hoping he finds concrete proof that Quinn has been stalking Dexter or snooping around where he doesn't belong, so if he doesn't buy this concerned brother angle soon, Dexter will just have to launch an investigation of his own. It would be a rather difficult task given everything else on his plate at the moment, but he supposes it's doable.

But what the fuck is the point of having friends if they can't help you out? Suddenly, Dexter remembers why he used to avoid socializing at all costs.

"No. No porn. No frame jobs," Dexter tells him, "I just want to find out what kind of guy he really is. That's all."

"Sure, man. Where do you want me to start?"

"There's this party tonight at a restaurant downtown. It's called Papa's, a friend of mine is the owner. Deb and Quinn are going to be there, probably along with a bunch of other cops. It might be a hard place to stake out, but…."

"Text me the address," Elway interrupts, "I'll send one of my best guys down there. No one will notice a thing."

"Thanks, Jake. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," he replies, "I'm not usually in the business of handing out shit for free, so consider yourself lucky. The next one'll cost you."

And with that, he hangs up, ending a strange conversation that Dexter still doesn't quite know what to make of. He supposes that Elway is nice enough. Once you subtract the flashy suits and over gelled hair, that is.

Dexter lingers in the lab for a little while longer, using the extra few minutes before he's meant to meet Quinn to finish up a blood report. When that's done, he stops into Angel's office.

After answering a few of his questions about Deb, work, and of course, the party, Dexter makes sure to bring up this solo mission with Quinn, mainly just to verify that this thing was actually the captain's orders. It very well could be Quinn's own dumb plan to lure him out to his death, so Dexter wants to come prepared.

With or without a weapon, he still likes his odds if he were to go against Quinn one on one. It doesn't hurt to double check, though, and when Angel assures Dexter that he was the one to give the order, Dexter nods, leaving the office to go meet Quinn out front.

He spots Quinn's car and slinks into the passenger's seat without a word. They drive in silence for what feels like hours before Quinn turns on the radio, flipping through the stations, seemingly unable to settle on something that he actually likes.

"Silence is fine. I like silence." Dexter says, reaching over to turn the radio off.

Their hands touch for a second and they both recoil in disgust.

"My bad. That was an accident." Quinn says.

Dexter shrugs, barely making eye contact with him. "Yeah. I mean….I didn't think it was on purpose, so…."

"We're about five minutes away. It should be coming up soon, on your right."

"We don't have to talk, Quinn. Silence is golden, remember?"

"I get that. We can go back to ignoring each other in a second, but let me just say that my comment back there, that was uncalled for."

"Don't apologize. You meant what you said. Now you just sound weak."

That shuts him right up. Excellent.

The silence settles between them again, and even when they make it to the scene and embark on the trek through the swampy area, neither of them speaks until they absolutely have to.

Dexter opens the door, that familiar stench hitting him as soon as he steps foot in the place. He makes his way over to the body, gripping his camera as he leans before it to take the necessary photos.

Sanchez's eyes stare back at him, empty and dead and yet somehow focused.

"Jesus." Quinn says, "what would you put the time of death at? Two days ago? Three?"

"No, I'm thinking maybe a week." Dexter lies.

Quinn nods his head, considering Dexter's theory. He'll most likely go along with it until the autopsy is completed and the proper time of death is confirmed, but that at least buys Dexter some time to catch the Brain Surgeon before MMPD had a chance to. Deb and her good heart could've possibly ended up fucking the both of them over if he weren't here to cover their asses. Maybe she'll thank him later.

"This doesn't make any fucking sense though," Quinn says, "the Brain Surgeon is known for public displays. Why would he kill this guy and leave him to rot in his own house? It's almost like he didn't want to take credit for this murder. So why do it?"

"I don't think this was the Brain Surgeon. Look at this body compared to all of the others. This guy's work is shotty. The incisions in the cranium are all wrong. The places where his instrument hit flesh are jagged and inelegant. The Brain Surgeon is an artist above all, and this is the work of a novice," even after all of these years, Dexter is surprised by how quickly the bullshit seems to roll straight from his tongue, "I think we have a copycat on our hands. Whoever this guy is, he probably had every intention of displaying his victim in a public forum just like the real Brain Surgeon does, but something tells me he realized that this was a botched job and he decided to go back to square one. He took a piece of the brain as a trophy though. A big chunk of the frontal lobe is missing."

Dexter stands up to lean in and get a closeup shot of the brain.

"Two killers? I don't know how you can be so confident about that. It just seems pretty unlikely."

"Does it? The media has taken this story and ran with it. They've practically been glorifying this guy on the news, painting him as the next Bay Harbor Butcher. Who's to say that some psychopath bored at his office job wouldn't get inspired by someone like him?"

"Yeah, but a full blown copycat?"

"Yes. It's nothing we haven't seen before," Dexter says, "but hey, you're the Sergeant. I'm just the blood guy."

He shrugs, putting his camera back around his neck and gathering the blood evidence from the surrounding CSI's so he can take the samples safely back to the lab.

"Well, I'm just about finished here," he says, "let me know when you're ready to head back to the station. I've gotta get this stuff into evidence."

"Yeah, give me a second. I'll be right there."

Quinn stands in the center of the living room, staring at the corpse so hard that he could will it back to life if this were one of those cheesy magic detective shows. He played the role of the skeptic quite well, Dexter has to hand that to him at least, but he knows that Quinn is starting to buy this two killers theory. It's not much, but it should lead the detectives of Miami Metro down an even wilder goose chase than the one they were on before. Any worries Dexter had about them solving the Brain Surgeon case before he got the chance to are long gone now.

But there's still that lone butterfly in his chest, a feeling of fear that had remained alien to him for a good duration of his life. He has to make it stop somehow. He has to go see Deb.

A couple of hours later, Dexter is home alone, staring blankly at the TV. He'd figured that Deb and Harrison would be back already, so he's a little worried, though he tries his best not to show it. When they walk through the door, he wants to appear unbothered.

And about twenty minutes later, that's exactly how it happens. Harrison looks happy to see Dexter; Deb seems….less so.

"Look daddy, Aunt Deb got me a dolphin!" Harrison exclaims, waving the stuffed animal in his face.

"Wow, he's going to look great up on your shelf," Dexter says, "what's his name?"

"Not he. She!" Harrison replies, frowning as if Dexter should have already known that fact, "And her name is Hannah."

Dexter sees Deb stiffen when he says that, clearly as put off by Harrison's choice in a name as Dexter himself is.

"Uh….I…." Dexter stutters, unable to form a cohesive thought strong enough to cut through the tension in the room.

"I think it's a great name, Harrison," Deb says, forcing a smile, "why don't you go put her in your room, yeah?"

"Okay," Harrison says, running up the stairs to his room.

"Deb…." Dexter starts, "I can talk to him if you want. I don't know where that came from."

"No, Dexter, what's done is done. Maybe if you hadn't let that witch spend so much time around him, he wouldn't have gotten so attached. But he is. So we're just going to have to deal with that."

Great. Another thing for the two of them to argue about. Hannah is long gone and she's still causing problems. If time machines do exist, Dexter hopes he can find one sooner rather than later. There are tons of things that he would love to undo.

Dexter doesn't want this Hannah conversation to continue any longer, fearing that it'll only wind up going in circles, so he quickly pivots to another topic. "So, you and Harrison got back kind of late."

"Yeah. It was an hour and a half drive both ways. I'm fucking beat," Deb says, "I called Joey up. He's going to give me a ride to the party. Speaking of which, he should be here in a few. I should probably go change."

It's obvious that she's trying to get to him, and Dexter doesn't want to give her the satisfaction. But he stops her before she can make her way upstairs with a breathy "Wait".

"What?"

"We have to talk, Deb."

"It can wait."

"No, actually. It really can't."

She crosses her arms across her chest, teetering back and forth on her heels. "Okay. Spit it out, then."

"I had to go out with Quinn to a crime scene at work today. Our crime scene. You know anything about that?"

"First of all, it isn't our fucking crime scene. That crazy brain slicing fuck owns that shit, not us. And second of all, if this is your way of asking me if I was the one who made the anonymous tip, then the answer is yes. Yes I did. I told you that I would, so I don't know why you're acting so surprised."

"I am acting so surprised because I told you that I would think about it. You can't just make a decision like this without me, Debra."

"Well it looks like I already did, huh?" Deb says, "because of me, Sanchez isn't going to die as a nobody. I made the right choice, and because of it, I am going to sleep well for the first time in a long time. So please, just let it go, Dexter."

With that, she turns away, climbing the stairs so she can go and get ready for the party.

Roughly twenty minutes later, Harrison is cuddled close to Dexter on the couch, the two of them watching an annoyingly cheerful animated movie, complete with songs that Harrison knows every word of. In the middle of a particularly grating ballad, the doorbell rings.

Deb finally ascends down the stairs wearing a tight dress that Dexter can't ever recall seeing her in. She opens the door without checking who it is first, and is clearly surprised when she sees Harrison's babysitter standing there.

"Oh. Jamie. Hi." She says, moving to the side so she can let her in the house, "what's up?"

"Dexter texted me."

Deb glares at him, "Oh, I didn't know that. He's actually staying with Harrison tonight, so…."

"Yeah, I know. He invited me over for movies and popcorn," Jamie replies, "and it's not like I was doing anything else, so here I am. Plus, I missed this little guy."

"Okay. Well, I hope you guys have fun."

"Oh, Deb, were you just heading out?" Jamie asks, "you look really pretty. That dress fits you like a glove."

"Thanks. I found it in the back of my closet somewhere. Nothing special or anything, I'm just going to a party."

"Joey's party?"

Deb's answer is a hesitant one. "Mmmhmm."

Jamie clearly didn't get an invitation. This is awkward. Dexter should know. He wrote the book on awkward.

"Jamie, we're not like…. together, if that's what you're thinking."

"And neither are we. So I don't care who he's with, if that's what you're thinking."

"I don't give you or Quinn's love life much thought, actually," Deb answers rather coldly. She then turns her attention to the window, where the white-yellow shine of car headlights can be seen through the glass, "I guess that's him now. I should probably go meet him outside…."

Dexter waits until he hears the car pull out of the driveway before setting up the DVD player, putting on one of the Ice Age films, as per his son's request. Jamie and Harrison both seem oddly engrossed in the thing while it plays, but Dexter's mind can't help but wander.

He imagines Quinn and Debra sitting dangerously close to one another, the tender skin of her thigh brushing up against him, stirring his own desire. The very idea of them together again makes Dexter's skin crawl, his vision shrouded in red.

"Hey Harrison, how about we have some popcorn now, buddy?" Dexter asks, trying his best to banish those unsavory thoughts.

"Oh, I can make the popcorn if you want, Dexter." Jamie offers.

"No, Harrison's got it. He's become kind of obsessed with the microwave lately. He likes to play around with it. I think it makes him feel like a professional chef," Dexter answers, watching as Harrison's runs excitedly into the kitchen, "just make sure you don't burn the popcorn this time!" He calls out after him, earning a hearty laugh from Jamie.

She turns to face him, her smile slowly fading into a relaxed expression that is no less beautiful. Looking into her eyes, it finally hits Dexter, how little he appreciates her. She's always there when he needs her, and she never asks for anything in return. He doesn't like most people, but Jamie is definitely on the short list of ones that he does. He should show it more.

She moves in closer, her hand finding his knee and resting there. Dexter looks down and then back up at her, repeating the process twice more before deciding that it probably wasn't an accident.

"Uh…."

"You're always so sweet to me, Dexter. There aren't many men out there like you" she says, "I just wanted to say thank you."

"Uh….thanks. I mean, you're welcome?"

"Why are you always so modest?" She laughs.

Dexter shrugs. "I don't really know how to be anything else, so…."

"Listen, Dex, I don't really know how to say this, but…."

"Your hand's still on my knee."

"What?"

"Your hand….it's on my knee. Could you….could you maybe move it?" Dexter asks.

Jamie looks hurt. Dexter thinks he should feel bad about it, but all he really feels is uncomfortable. He probably could've phrased that better, but it isn't every day that he gets hit on by his kid's babysitter. He hasn't learned how to properly react to the situation.

She takes her hand off of his knee, placing it in her own lap. "Sorry. I don't know what the hell that was."

"It's okay, Jamie. I get it. But believe me when I say that you can do much better than me. You're a very sweet girl, you've got a good future ahead of you. And even if I….you know….you're still my best friend's sister. We shouldn't bark up that tree."

"You're right," Jamie nods, "God, I am so embarrassed, Dexter. Can we please both agree to pretend that this never happened?"

"Agree to pretend that what never happened?" Dexter asks, offering her a smile.

That seems to set Jamie at ease, and Dexter lets out a sigh of relief. That could've gotten messy fast.

It's obvious that Jamie did what she did because of her confrontation with Deb earlier, and somehow, Dexter understands. She was jealous. People get jealous.

"Um, Jamie? Would you mind watching Harrison for a little while? I've got to go," he asks, getting up off of the couch, "I'm sorry, I know I invited you over here so you could spend some time with the both of us, but…."

"It's fine, Dexter. Really," Jamie laughs, "go ahead."

"Thank you so much. I'll pay you. Don't worry." Dexter makes sure to add.

He says goodbye to Harrison before heading out the door and getting into his car, driving straight to Papa's.

It doesn't take long to get there, and it isn't hard to find Deb in the large sea of people. Her voice carries above the roaring crowd, and Dexter spots her sitting at the most populated table, everyone listening intently to the story that she's telling. The fact that she's also sitting right next to Quinn, the two of them so close that their thighs are indeed touching, doesn't go unnoticed, either.

"And I said to the guy 'empty your fucking pockets, bozo. I won't ask you again!' He kept on ignoring me, though, and then he started digging around in them for something. So you know, immediately I thought, gun, which is why I drew mine. And you know what happened next? He shit his fucking pants, that's what!"

The entire table erupts with laughter and Deb raises a finger, shutting them all up so she can finish her story. Dexter's heard this one at least a hundred times before. It was one of her first arrests, and it's dumb, but he still loves the way her face lights up every time she tells it.

"That's not all, though. You know what he had in his pocket that he didn't want me to see so bad? Well, besides the heroin. It was a fucking butt plug!" She recalls, cracking herself up in the process, "I gotta tell you guys, there are days where I really miss this shit. The thrill of the chase, it really is something else. But I also have to say that….those days are definitely few and far between now."

She reaches for the glass in front of her and downs half of the clear liquid inside of it, wiping the corner of her mouth on her sleeve. "Fuck, that hits the spot."

Dexter clears his throat, loudly, so as to announce his presence. Deb doesn't seem all that surprised to see him. She glances at him from across the table, her hazel eyes meeting his for a few brief seconds before she looks down at her glass again.

"Ay, Dexter! I didn't expect to see you here, man," Angel says, taking a swig of his beer, "you need me to get you anything to drink?"

"No, I'm fine," Dexter answers, still staring intently at his sister, "what's in the cup, Deb?"

Her fingers wrap protectively around the glass, her eyebrow raised high, daring him to say another word. "Excuse me?"

"I can't believe you're drinking. You promised me that you were going to try."

"Fuck you, Dexter. I don't even know what the fuck you're doing here. Why don't you just go home and let me mind my own business for once?"

"Dexter, what's this about, hermano?"

Though Dexter is the one he originally addressed, Angel's eyes look to Deb. The rest of the people at the table follow his lead.

Deb looks absolutely mortified by all of the attention being put on her, her cheeks flushing cherry red, and Dexter's heart sinks into his chest. He didn't come to the party to cause any problems, but the anger took over, and he reacted. Isn't that the human thing to do? If Deb hadn't insisted on going to this party in the first place, then none of this would've even happened. So Dexter doesn't feel all of the guilt that he probably should be feeling.

"I love you, but you need to mind your fucking business too, Angel," Deb says, "and that goes double for the rest of you nosy fucks."

"No one's here to judge you, Deb," Miller calmly replies, trying to reassure her.

Deb takes that as a slight. She's always hated being pitied. So naturally, she goes on the defensive. "Yeah, I know you're not judging me because there's nothing to fucking judge!" she shouts, "but if you all really are dying to know, I am currently in the process of passing a very large kidney stone, and the doctor told me that I shouldn't have any alcohol until it's gone. There. That is your big, scandalous story."

Her lie is oddly specific enough for the entire table to believe it, and they all shut up quick.

Dexter opens his mouth to speak, trying to come up with something that resembles a genuine apology, but he can't get anything out before Deb does.

"And this isn't even alcohol, you fucking presumptuous ass. Ask Angel. Ask Quinn. Ask anyone. They were all here when I ordered water."

Dexter says nothing, which only angers Deb more, which in turns, angers Dexter even more. It never ends with them, does it?

Deb rises from her seat at the table, glass in hand, and although it's obvious what she plans to do, when she tilts the glass and splashes the liquid across his face, Dexter flinches, still taken aback by it.

"Tell me, Dex. What's that taste like?" She asks, a crooked smile forming on her lips.

"It tastes like water." Dexter answers, wiping away as much of it as he can with his shirt sleeve.

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page now, jerk." She flips him the bird, satisfied, and then turns away and walks through the door where Dexter knows the bathroom to be.

"I should probably….uh….yeah." He says, taking off after her.

The bathroom is a pretty nice size. There are only two stalls inside, both of them empty, and a large countertop across from them that has two sinks built in. Besides the hand dryer in the corner, the rest of the room is essentially a big, empty space; perfect for Deb and Dexter to stand across from one another, ready to square off before their inevitable argument.

"You know, if you keep leaving Harrison with Jamie, pretty soon he's going to start calling herd daddy." Deb says.

"What the fuck was that out there, Deb?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that question? What, are you stalking me now? Don't think I didn't notice fat Jeff sitting at the table right next to us, trying to look all inconspicuous and shit. I take it that was because of you?"

"Fat Jeff? Who the fuck is fat Jeff?"

"He's one of Elway's guys. There are two Jeffs at the office, and it was starting to get confusing so they started calling him fat Jeff. He's the skinnier one, so it was supposed to be ironic or some shit. I don't know," Deb says, "but I bet you know. Do you always have to be such a creepy fuck, Dexter? Jesus."

"I did call Elway. He owed me a favor," Dexter says with a shrug, "I didn't tell him to follow you around. Just Quinn."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Dexter! Why can't you just drop this?"

"Because I can't. That's why."

Deb inches closer to him, sizing him up. "You're jealous of him," she says, "admit it, Dexter. You're jealous."

Dexter bites down on his bottom lip, his pride threatening to get in the way of his confession. But it's all out in the open now, whether he admits to it or not. There is no keeping secrets from Deb, only delaying the truth.

"I am." He whispers.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard that."

Oh, well now she's just toying with him.

"I said, that I am jealous of him. I'm jealous of the stupid fucking normal life that he can give you that I can't. I'm jealous that you still insist on spending time with him no matter how much I beg you not to. I'm jealous that he clearly still has feelings for you. I'm jealous, okay! I am."

Deb grabs him roughly by the chin, kissing him with bruising force. This definitely wasn't the reaction he'd been anticipating from her.

"Fuck." She groans in between kisses, "You are such a fucking idiot."

She deepens the kiss, her hands falling to his chest and pushing him hard until Dexter's back hits the wall. His kisses are equal parts desperation and gratitude as he grinds against her, letting her feel just how thankful he truly is.

She shivers when he presses up against her, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He's already hardening from just a few light touches; her hand brushing against him for a moment that's much too brief, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip as she gets more excited.

He feels like he's on fire, his desire for her too much to quell. It's been too long since he's been with her like this, just the two of them, skin on skin. He aches for it.

He lets his hand travel lower, hiking up the bottom of her dress so he can rub two fingers against her panties. The friction makes Deb groan soft with pleasure, so he keeps going, trying to rub her clit through her underwear. But that isn't enough to satisfy him. He wants to feel how wet she is for him and only him, to enter her and hear her scream his name again in something other than contempt.

When he attempts to pull her panties down, tugging at them by the band, Debra stops him, her hand catching his wrist and holding it in place.

"We can't," she says, her chest heaving, "everyone is right outside, Dexter."

"Deb, please," Dexter begs. He's prepared to get down on his knees, if that's what it'll take, "I need you."

She starts to chew on her bottom lip, considering him. She wants this as bad as he does. He can see it in her eyes.

"Lock the door."

Dexter does what he is told, then quickly returns to her. Deb pulls her underwear down and pulls up the bottom of her dress to reveal herself to him. He thanks her with a kiss, his hand returning to her core, warm and wet and perfect. He slips one finger in with ease, adding another so he can get her ready for him. She starts to shake as he works her hard, moaning with pleasure directly into his mouth.

She hooks a leg around him and Dexter breaks their kiss so he can focus his attention on hoisting her up into his arms. She trails kisses down from his chin to his Adam's apple until he places her on top of the counter. When the coolness of the granite hits her skin she curses low, her legs still spread as she waits anxiously for him.

Dexter drops his pants and his underwear at once, not wanting to waste any more time. He lines himself up along her entrance and penetrates her with little warning, making her dig her nails harshly into his neck as she holds on to him.

He finds his rhythm easily, fucking her hard and fast. She arches her back, grabbing onto the corner of the mirror for purchase. It bangs against the wall with each thrust, though neither of them seem to pay much attention to the volume. They remain caught up in one another, everything else is simply background noise.

Dexter can see that he's building her to climax. Her eyes are shut tight, her breaths come short and quick, and she holds on to him for dear life, one hand falling down to his lower back so she can keep him inside of her.

Suddenly, Dexter hears footsteps, and Deb freezes. She must hear them too.

Dexter stiffens, turning his head so he can look toward the door. He can make out a male figure standing outside, though not one he recognizes.

"Fuck." Deb whispers.

Dexter places a hand over her mouth, silencing her. He hopes that this person just walks away. There's a perfectly good bathroom at the other end of the restaurant that he can use. But he can't exactly say that to the guy, now can he? Not while he and Deb are in the middle of this.

The man starts to jiggle the doorknob, trying to force the door open.

Though Dexter would never admit it aloud, mainly out of fear of being punched in the gut by Deb, the threat of them being caught in the act only makes it that much hotter. He turns to face her again, looking her deep in the eyes as he starts to move again, his hips grinding slowly against her as he goes deeper.

Deb takes his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them with the dual purpose to keep her own self quiet and to drive Dexter insane.

It works.

He uses his free hand to tip her hips forward and fuck her from another angle, her legs tightening around him.

Soon, it all becomes too much, and she can't resist the urge to vocalize her pleasure. Their little visitor seems to have finally given up and left in search of another restroom, so Dexter pulls her tighter against him and delves even deeper until he feels her squirming against him, now desperate for release.

He takes his thumb and uses it to rub her clit, bringing her to climax before he can reach his own.

Though clearly spent, Deb doesn't move, allowing him a few more impassioned thrusts before he finally comes inside of her.

He presses a soft kiss to her lips, tasting blood in his mouth when he notices that the cut on her bottom lip has reopened.

After giving herself a few moments to catch her breath and make sure that her legs are working again, Deb hobbles into one of the stalls and sits down on the toilet so she can pee, cleaning herself as much as possible. She leaves the door open, watching as Dexter redresses his bottom half.

Once finished, she retrieves her panties from the floor and slips them back on, standing in front of the mirror to make sure she looks presentable enough to go back out there. In Dexter's eyes, she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He walks up behind her, brushing her hair to the side so he can place a kiss to her neck. But Deb flinches before Dexter's lips can make contact with her skin, turning around so she can face him.

"Don't get too comfortable. I'm still mad at you." She says.

"Come on, Deb. You can't be serious."

"Serious as cancer," she replies, "I'm going back out there. You can stay, or you can go, I don't care. Just wait a couple of minutes before leaving. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about us."

Dexter doesn't know what to say. He thought that this rift in their relationship would be over almost as soon as it began. He doesn't know why Deb won't come around. For the first time in a long time, he's the one left in the dark.

"Oh yeah, wash your hands before you leave. You smell like pussy."