We Cry 3/5
Fandom: Dexter
Pairing: Debra/OC, toys with Dexter/Lumen
Rating: R...have you heard Debra say more than two sentences without throwing a cuss word in it? I thought not.
Disclaimer Not mine, never said they were, I'm just taking them out for some fun in the sun. I'll give'em back safe and unharmed.
Spoilers: EVERYTHING...just to be safe
Ch. 3 - Gravity
Ivey and I got back to the station and decided to sack out in the crash room for a few hours.
I’ve been up for less than an hour and I only have one cup of coffee in me. None of this is particularly helpful.
Dexter. Fucking Dexter hasn’t shown up either. I wonder what kind of shit he’s pulling. What could he possibly be thinking?
Midmorning rolls around and the station’s so busy. The noise-back chatter, ringing phones, a few of the plain clothes barking orders to the uniforms-all of this is going on and the only things I can focus on are the images of the twelve victims’ autopsy photos and the burning of my eyes.
I sigh and rub my eyes again. I need to find the link to Chase. I know it’s staring me right in the face, but for the life of me I can’t figure it out. There’s no way he’s not wrapped up in this. He’s linked to two of the three primary suspects.
The fucker’s dirty. I just don’t know how yet.
“Morgan!”
My head snaps up and I see Ivey standing in the hallway. She’s waving a white paper bag with grease stains along the bottom and a tray of steaming paper cups in her other hand. She’s all grins and I can’t help but smile back a little.
It’s fucking ridiculous.
When I was growing up, Dad used to tell me this story of how he met Mom. He was young, just starting out in uniform. He used to tell us, me and Dexter, how hard the job was. Then one night, he stops this girl from getting mugged as he was patrolling with his partner. They went out for coffee shortly thereafter and the rest is history. He used to tell us that life is hard and brutal, but it’s worth it.
He used to tell us, before he died, that when things were bad and we were up to our necks, in so deep that it felt like we were drowning, not to give up. Life usually helped you out. He never called it God or whatever, Harry Morgan wasn’t a religious man, but he would just say, “I know how hard it’s going to be. Without me or your mom around, it’s going to get tougher, but just remember that life always seems to find a way to balance things out. Recognize the gifts and find comfort in them.”
He was always one to throw some philosophical bullshit in at the most annoying times. Like when he was laying on his deathbed and sucking in as much oxygen as possible, he’d wax optimistic bullshit and all I could think about was how we was leaving us.
But seeing Ivey there with that ridiculous grin and the food and coffee in her hands, I think maybe I understand a little bit about what he was trying to say. Joey would have made working this case that much harder. We fight too much and provide each other too little comfort.
Ivey seems to have all the right words at all the right times to reel me in.
It’s weird shit.
I’m glad she’s around.
So I push back from my desk and follow her to the briefing room we’ve put the case information up in. I watch as Ivey sets the bag down and says, “So I picked up some breakfast burritos. I don’t think you can go wrong with some chorizo and egg. Also, some coffee that won’t eat a hole in the bottom of your stomach.” She looks up from passing out the food and wiggles her eyebrows. “You think maybe they did something to the coffee maker so all it makes is the equivalent of battery acid?”
“Maybe it’s the filtration system that puts in one part acid and one part coffee,” I joke back and unwrap my breakfast. We eat in silence and I appreciate it. I think after this I’m going to go grab a shower in the locker room and slip into some dirty clothes. Maybe sometime before the next decade hits, I’ll find someplace to live. I could rent a motel for the week, that wouldn’t be too bad. All I really need is a shower and a bed anyhow. I can do my clothes at a laundromat and worry about the rest later.
Ivey chews slowly, deliberately and I watch her study the board of victims. I don’t need to look at their pictures to see their faces. I swallow the last bite of my burrito, ball up the wrapper and toss it in the trashcan by the desk.
“Thank you,” I say and sip at the hot coffee. Groaning as it slides down my throat and warms my stomach. The need for a shower becomes more pronounced. “I think I’m going to go grab a shower and then we can hit up the case fresh. See if Masuka’s got anything back on the house.”
She nods and says around a mouth full of food, “I know I’ve only been on the case a few days, but,” she swallows and glares at the case board, “I really want these fuckers.” The anger in her voice makes me take a step back.
Through most of this, Ivey’s been pretty calm. She’s remained as professional as you can when you look at shit like this. It’s good to see this is affecting her just as much as me, even if she doesn’t show it.
I nod. “We’ll get them,” I promise.
“Morgan, Herrera.” Our boss comes in with Masuka, Batista and a few other cops trailing behind her. “I need an update on the Barrel Girls.”
Ivey wipes her mouth and comes around to the other side of the desk, the one I’m on, and stands next to me.
“What happened last night?” LaGuerta asks.
“Nothing much,” I say, tucking my hands behind my back between the waistband of my jeans and skin.
“But you guys found something?” LaGuerta presses and I nod.
“Morgan and I were walking around to the front of Alex Tilden’s home. We had gotten a call earlier from Jordan Chase with some information and went to Tilden’s to follow up and have another conversation. Tilden’s a known associate of Cole Harmon. Tilden wasn’t as forthcoming as we thought he could be in the initial interview.” Ivey pauses as she leans back against the desk and folds her arms across her chest casually. “Mr. Chase said that Tilden had called his offices wanting to talk to our suspect, but as we know, Harmon’s been out of the picture for a while. When we showed up at the scene last night, the front door was open. Morgan and I swept the place and exited the rear door to the back yard. Coming around we found two sets of footprints leading away from the residence and to the vacant house next door. We followed up.”
LaGuerta nods and looks to Vince Masuka. The little geek looks fucking happier than a pervert at a porn convention. Shit.
“I was going to find you, Deb,” he starts off and hands me a folder. While I open it and hold it so Ivey and I can look at the findings together, he continues, “The tread patterns are run-of-the-mill shoes but there are a couple of things that are interesting. There are two different sizes, likely to be one male and one female. Also, the imprints are deeper for the ones we found leading between the houses. The ones leading away from the vacant house are lighter,” he says this happily.
“Like they were carrying something?” Ivey asks not looking up from the reports.
“Exactly,” Masuka confirms. “Deb, this fits into your theory about there being two vigilantes going after this group.” My eyes snap up to him and he’s all smiles. Fucking idiot.
LaGuerta looks sharply in my direction and she snips, “Do you want to fill us in on this, detective?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m going to fucking kill Masuka when I get him alone. Fucking prick!
With Rita, the moments of domesticity were rather lackluster. I cared for Rita. In my own way, I was quite fond of her. She was a beautifully broken creature that provided Doomful Dexter a near-impenetrable façade. We worked at what we had. Or rather, she worked and I went along with it because I wanted to keep her happy. As long as my nighttime activities weren’t interrupted too much, I pretty much did anything that she asked.
I could never tell her what I did when I was gone at night, but I’m sure she appreciated the fact that I kept her in the dark…
Up until the point she paid for the sins of her horrific husband, Death-dealing Dexter.
I regret nothing, but I wish she hadn’t had to pay for loving me.
Nothing will change it and now here we are. The morning after Lumen’s first kill. Lumen wouldn’t be here if Rita were here. Lumen would more than likely be dead.
That thought is upsetting. More than I’m comfortable admitting.
Instead of Rita, I have Lumen. I just don’t know what to do with her. Sex is just sex, and if it’s up to me, I go without. I’m not sure of her feelings on the subject, and given the situation, I wonder if she’s put any thought into it at all. We’re more than friends. We’re more than the Dark Avenger and his sidekick, the Avenging Angel. I just don’t know what we are.
After last night, putting a name to it would seem to cheapen the entire experience. I’ve shared with her more than I’ve ever shared with anyone else. Well, save for those that have come under my knife, but even then…
They’ve not seen both sides.
Even Miguel Prado-the mistake that he was-wanted revenge and revenge only. His purpose was power. It was a mistake I will fully accept the blame for. He of course did find himself on my table in the end. We don’t murder to murder. We murder only those that truly deserve to be parted from their lives.
As I remind myself of this, I have to think that that’s not entirely true. Would Alex Tilden, Cole Harmon or Jordan Chase have come under the gun? Would their sins be exposed through due process had I not interrupted it?
I scratch at my chin, careful to not shake Lumen, who is resting against my side as I do so.
I don’t know the answer to that question.
In the end, justice is served and Lumen finds some peace after the pain she endured. I suppose that’s enough. Moral dilemma solved.
“Don’t you have work?” Lumen whispers, her lips sliding across the soft fabric of my t-shirt.
“They won’t miss me for another hour or two. I thought it would be nice to sleep in this morning,” I whisper back.
“Dexter?”
“Hmm…?”
“Thank you,” she breathes.
The arm that’s encircling her shoulders gives a gentle squeeze. Affectionate movements are usually lost on me. I’d sooner stab a person than hug them, but for some reason, with Lumen, I know exactly what to do.
It’s funny how this has turned out.
“Dexter?” she whispers again as I feel her shift along my side.
I look down into confused brown eyes.
“What…” she licks her lips.
What, what?
“I…what are we?”
I’m a little surprised by the question. Sure, I was just thinking the same thing, but it’s funny to me that she was thinking the same thing.
“Dexter and Lumen,” I answer. It’s what we are.
“Well, your sister assumed and Astor assumed.” She looks down at how we’re laying and I feel her shudder. “I can’t. Not yet and…”
“Can’t what?” I ask.
“I can’t…m...m...make love,” she nearly cries.
“Oh,” I say. Well, that answers my questions on whether or not she’s wanting to have sex. I’m actually a bit relieved. “That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she growls.
I shrug. “Why not?”
“Because…” she stops and props herself up on her elbow to look down at me. “Because it’s something that I should be able to do.”
I press my lips together and shake my head. I’m more than likely going to screw this up. This is an emotional conversation and I just plain suck at these. “Is that what you think I want?” I ask.
She falters for a second. Her lips move, but no sound comes out.
“I don’t expect it, Lumen,” I press. “If you want to…If or when you’re ready, I’ll be here, but I don’t want you to think that’s what this is.” Her head drops. I take my free hand and tilt her chin up to look me in the eyes. “I’m not sure what we are either. I know I want you around. I like having you around. We can go at any pace you want.”
Unshed tears magnify her eyes and her chin quivers under the force to not shed them.
There’s something there, something between us that I can’t seem to shake or deny. It speaks to me and my Dark Passenger. Calls to it and I’m forced to oblige. She needs reassurance. “Remember, I tried to get you to leave. To go home and forget about me and this place. You didn’t,” I pause and offer her a Dazzling Dexter smile, “Much to my annoyance. I am glad you’re here. Being able to share what I am with you like I have…”
She nods her head in understanding.
“For now, we’re friends. I won’t let anything happen to you and you will never do something you don’t want to again,” I promise.
She leans down and presses warm, soft lips against my stubbled cheek. “Thank you.”
She’ll eventually learn that it’s me that should be thanking her.
“I’m not sure,” Ivey’s voice rings through the car, causing my eyes to snap open and my head to come off the head rest, “if I should be offended or not.”
I rub my eyes and mumble, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
She gives me a snort-laugh thing and I blink against the bright afternoon sun. “Well, you fell asleep. I could be flattered because that means that you trust my driving and are relaxed around me. Or… I could be offended because I’m terribly boring and can’t keep you entertained.”
I roll my eyes and slip my sunglasses on. Looking outside, I see we’re stopped in the parking lot of a nice set of apartments. “Where are we?”
“My place,” Ivey answers.
I look at her and raise an eyebrow. Why the hell are we here? She smiles at me and answers my unasked question, “Well, the way I’ve seen the last few days play out is this,” she holds up her left index finger, ticking off the reasons, “One, you’ve broken up with your boyfriend, whom you were living with.” Her middle finger joins the index, “Two, because of one, you’ve been sleeping at the station.” The ring finger follows. “Three, if you make me crash in the bunks one more night, I won’t be held responsible for who I kill tomorrow. And four,” she holds up her pinky, her thumb tucked into her palm, “There are apartments that are open here, the rent’s not bad and your neighbor would be me.”
My mouth hangs open. She reaches over and gently closes my mouth.
“Look, I called my super and he said there’s two furnished units ready to go. You need a new place. You get to check out potential new digs and I can change my clothes. It’s win-win, Morgan.” The knuckle that was resting under my now-closed mouth lingers and trails up my jaw line. Her smile falters as she takes her hand back. “Partners have each other’s back. Given the case…you need help.”
I give a low growl in the back of my throat and cough. “Fine,” I mumble. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
I watch as she exits her car and follow shortly after. This is just fucking great. First the meeting with LaGuerta that signed Masuka’s death warrant and now we have to wait for LaGuerta to find a judge that actually has a pair to sign an injunction on Chase before he leaves the country. This day just fucking sucks.
I follow my partner towards the two-story, light blue stuccoed apartment building. I take a quick look around and notice it’s relatively quiet.
“Ivey!” An older man comes from the lower corner apartment of the building. He’s on the shorter side with a full head of white hair, black slacks and a white V-neck t-shirt.
She holds out her hand as the two meet in the parking lot. “Frankie, how’re you doing?”
He eagerly shakes her hand and shrugs off the question. “Not bad. This your friend?” He looks over to me and holds out his hand.
“Yeah,” Ivey answers as I shake his hand. “Frankie De Bease, this is my new partner, Det. Debra Morgan.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Same here.” He retracts his hand and motions for us to follow him. As we walk, he talks, “We’re a small complex. Twenty one units on the bottom and eighteen units on the top. The people here are pretty decent. Nice, they help each other out for the most part and we don’t like people who cause trouble. Ivey gave you the okay so I’m willing to work something out ’cause she says you don’t have a place right now.” We trail up the steps and go to the left rear of the building. “Now the only units open are a corner unit and a lower level unit that needs some repair work. I hope you don’t mind steps.”
He takes us around and stops in front of the first door. He finds the right key and unlocks the front door. “I’d like to get a nice security door up so give me a day or two.” He flips the light on and ushers the two of us into the space. It’s nice. Like really fucking nice.
I blink and look around the apartment. The place smells like paint and wax. The hardwood floors shine and the fresh off-white walls are free of any marks. The living room sits off to my left, the kitchen and dining off to my right. All one big open space. I like it. The granite kitchen counters gleam under the light and there’s a well-worn living room set that looks like it was made just for this apartment. A built-in entertainment center and bookshelves take up one wall in the living room. “My son just finished the floors, there’s a fresh coat of paint, and we had to replace the tile in the shower so I hope they’re okay.”
I spin around and look at Ivey. She’s propped against the kitchen island, her arms folded across her chest. “He’s serious,” she tells me.
“You comin’?” Frankie says, his head peeking around the corner of the entrance to the hallway.
I hold my hands up and follow him.
He stands by two open doors pointing a finger behind me. “Second bedroom is behind you, bathroom’s here,” he hooks a finger to his left. “The master bedroom,” he says pointing to his right, “is here.” He lets me go first and I look around. It’s larger than I expect and there’s a large window that will either be a friend or an enemy. “Now, I don’t have the new lighting fixture up. I was thinking of putting in a ceiling fan. Would that be all right with you?”
“You shitting me?” I ask, spinning around to him, my hands on my hips.
“No. I figure if you take the place, then you should have a say so, considering you’ll be sleeping in here.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs.
“I don’t care,” I say surprised.
“Okay. White or brown?” he asks. I raise an eyebrow. “You know for the fan blades. White or brown?”
“Don’t care,” I answer again.
“Brown then. It’ll hide the dust that can build up.” He sends me a charming smile and says, “You don’t strike me as a June Cleaver type. If you work like Ivey does, you’ll be lucky to see this place six times a week.” He winks at me and I shake my head.
He turns around instead of saying anything else and limps back towards the living room. Ivey’s sitting on top of the island, swinging her legs. I watch as he pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “Now, the only utilities you need to worry about are electric and cable service if you want it. Gas, water, sewage and trash are rolled into the rent. When you start to bring your stuff, you can drop off the first month’s rent along with a five-hundred dollar security deposit and a hundred for the door.”
“You shitting me?” I ask again. Running a hand through my hair I look between Ivey and Frankie.
“Detective,” Frankie says slowly letting the title linger like you would saying the name of a child who you were trying to explain something to, “Ivey vouches for you. I hate making these things difficult. The place is yours, showing you around was for your benefit not mine. Rent’s seven-fifty a month which is cheap. Sign the papers, take the keys and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“He’s right,” Ivey takes his side. “This place is a steal and you won’t find a better landlord.”
I look between the two and summarize the situation I have myself in. I have no place to go. No furniture. Nothing really. This place is really nice. The rent’s super cheap. Ivey trusts him. I shrug. Fuck it.
“Okay,” I go over to the island and scribble my name on the bottom of the lease.
“Great.” Frankie takes two keys off his key ring and hands them over to me. “Good to know you’re smarter than you look.”
“Hey!” I glare at him.
Ivey laughs. “She’s pretty though, isn’t she?”
“She’s not hard on the eyes, Ivelisse. You never did have bad taste.” He winks at my partner.
“She’s still right fucking here,” I snip.
“And she cusses more than a Marine.” Ivey winks at our landlord and he laughs.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I throw my hands up in the air. “We done?”
“Pretty much. I’ll see you two later. I want to go get that ceiling fan and door. Also, since you’re here, you got a bed or should I go get one of them too?” he asks, tucking the lease in his back pocket.
I shake my head.
He nods. “We’ll take care of that. Give me a day or two.”
I laugh. The first feel-good laugh I’ve had in a really long time. He’s like a damn fairy godfather.
Next>>>
Pairing: Debra/OC, toys with Dexter/Lumen
Rating: R...have you heard Debra say more than two sentences without throwing a cuss word in it? I thought not.
Disclaimer Not mine, never said they were, I'm just taking them out for some fun in the sun. I'll give'em back safe and unharmed.
Spoilers: EVERYTHING...just to be safe
Ch. 3 - Gravity
Ivey and I got back to the station and decided to sack out in the crash room for a few hours.
I’ve been up for less than an hour and I only have one cup of coffee in me. None of this is particularly helpful.
Dexter. Fucking Dexter hasn’t shown up either. I wonder what kind of shit he’s pulling. What could he possibly be thinking?
Midmorning rolls around and the station’s so busy. The noise-back chatter, ringing phones, a few of the plain clothes barking orders to the uniforms-all of this is going on and the only things I can focus on are the images of the twelve victims’ autopsy photos and the burning of my eyes.
I sigh and rub my eyes again. I need to find the link to Chase. I know it’s staring me right in the face, but for the life of me I can’t figure it out. There’s no way he’s not wrapped up in this. He’s linked to two of the three primary suspects.
The fucker’s dirty. I just don’t know how yet.
“Morgan!”
My head snaps up and I see Ivey standing in the hallway. She’s waving a white paper bag with grease stains along the bottom and a tray of steaming paper cups in her other hand. She’s all grins and I can’t help but smile back a little.
It’s fucking ridiculous.
When I was growing up, Dad used to tell me this story of how he met Mom. He was young, just starting out in uniform. He used to tell us, me and Dexter, how hard the job was. Then one night, he stops this girl from getting mugged as he was patrolling with his partner. They went out for coffee shortly thereafter and the rest is history. He used to tell us that life is hard and brutal, but it’s worth it.
He used to tell us, before he died, that when things were bad and we were up to our necks, in so deep that it felt like we were drowning, not to give up. Life usually helped you out. He never called it God or whatever, Harry Morgan wasn’t a religious man, but he would just say, “I know how hard it’s going to be. Without me or your mom around, it’s going to get tougher, but just remember that life always seems to find a way to balance things out. Recognize the gifts and find comfort in them.”
He was always one to throw some philosophical bullshit in at the most annoying times. Like when he was laying on his deathbed and sucking in as much oxygen as possible, he’d wax optimistic bullshit and all I could think about was how we was leaving us.
But seeing Ivey there with that ridiculous grin and the food and coffee in her hands, I think maybe I understand a little bit about what he was trying to say. Joey would have made working this case that much harder. We fight too much and provide each other too little comfort.
Ivey seems to have all the right words at all the right times to reel me in.
It’s weird shit.
I’m glad she’s around.
So I push back from my desk and follow her to the briefing room we’ve put the case information up in. I watch as Ivey sets the bag down and says, “So I picked up some breakfast burritos. I don’t think you can go wrong with some chorizo and egg. Also, some coffee that won’t eat a hole in the bottom of your stomach.” She looks up from passing out the food and wiggles her eyebrows. “You think maybe they did something to the coffee maker so all it makes is the equivalent of battery acid?”
“Maybe it’s the filtration system that puts in one part acid and one part coffee,” I joke back and unwrap my breakfast. We eat in silence and I appreciate it. I think after this I’m going to go grab a shower in the locker room and slip into some dirty clothes. Maybe sometime before the next decade hits, I’ll find someplace to live. I could rent a motel for the week, that wouldn’t be too bad. All I really need is a shower and a bed anyhow. I can do my clothes at a laundromat and worry about the rest later.
Ivey chews slowly, deliberately and I watch her study the board of victims. I don’t need to look at their pictures to see their faces. I swallow the last bite of my burrito, ball up the wrapper and toss it in the trashcan by the desk.
“Thank you,” I say and sip at the hot coffee. Groaning as it slides down my throat and warms my stomach. The need for a shower becomes more pronounced. “I think I’m going to go grab a shower and then we can hit up the case fresh. See if Masuka’s got anything back on the house.”
She nods and says around a mouth full of food, “I know I’ve only been on the case a few days, but,” she swallows and glares at the case board, “I really want these fuckers.” The anger in her voice makes me take a step back.
Through most of this, Ivey’s been pretty calm. She’s remained as professional as you can when you look at shit like this. It’s good to see this is affecting her just as much as me, even if she doesn’t show it.
I nod. “We’ll get them,” I promise.
“Morgan, Herrera.” Our boss comes in with Masuka, Batista and a few other cops trailing behind her. “I need an update on the Barrel Girls.”
Ivey wipes her mouth and comes around to the other side of the desk, the one I’m on, and stands next to me.
“What happened last night?” LaGuerta asks.
“Nothing much,” I say, tucking my hands behind my back between the waistband of my jeans and skin.
“But you guys found something?” LaGuerta presses and I nod.
“Morgan and I were walking around to the front of Alex Tilden’s home. We had gotten a call earlier from Jordan Chase with some information and went to Tilden’s to follow up and have another conversation. Tilden’s a known associate of Cole Harmon. Tilden wasn’t as forthcoming as we thought he could be in the initial interview.” Ivey pauses as she leans back against the desk and folds her arms across her chest casually. “Mr. Chase said that Tilden had called his offices wanting to talk to our suspect, but as we know, Harmon’s been out of the picture for a while. When we showed up at the scene last night, the front door was open. Morgan and I swept the place and exited the rear door to the back yard. Coming around we found two sets of footprints leading away from the residence and to the vacant house next door. We followed up.”
LaGuerta nods and looks to Vince Masuka. The little geek looks fucking happier than a pervert at a porn convention. Shit.
“I was going to find you, Deb,” he starts off and hands me a folder. While I open it and hold it so Ivey and I can look at the findings together, he continues, “The tread patterns are run-of-the-mill shoes but there are a couple of things that are interesting. There are two different sizes, likely to be one male and one female. Also, the imprints are deeper for the ones we found leading between the houses. The ones leading away from the vacant house are lighter,” he says this happily.
“Like they were carrying something?” Ivey asks not looking up from the reports.
“Exactly,” Masuka confirms. “Deb, this fits into your theory about there being two vigilantes going after this group.” My eyes snap up to him and he’s all smiles. Fucking idiot.
LaGuerta looks sharply in my direction and she snips, “Do you want to fill us in on this, detective?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m going to fucking kill Masuka when I get him alone. Fucking prick!
With Rita, the moments of domesticity were rather lackluster. I cared for Rita. In my own way, I was quite fond of her. She was a beautifully broken creature that provided Doomful Dexter a near-impenetrable façade. We worked at what we had. Or rather, she worked and I went along with it because I wanted to keep her happy. As long as my nighttime activities weren’t interrupted too much, I pretty much did anything that she asked.
I could never tell her what I did when I was gone at night, but I’m sure she appreciated the fact that I kept her in the dark…
Up until the point she paid for the sins of her horrific husband, Death-dealing Dexter.
I regret nothing, but I wish she hadn’t had to pay for loving me.
Nothing will change it and now here we are. The morning after Lumen’s first kill. Lumen wouldn’t be here if Rita were here. Lumen would more than likely be dead.
That thought is upsetting. More than I’m comfortable admitting.
Instead of Rita, I have Lumen. I just don’t know what to do with her. Sex is just sex, and if it’s up to me, I go without. I’m not sure of her feelings on the subject, and given the situation, I wonder if she’s put any thought into it at all. We’re more than friends. We’re more than the Dark Avenger and his sidekick, the Avenging Angel. I just don’t know what we are.
After last night, putting a name to it would seem to cheapen the entire experience. I’ve shared with her more than I’ve ever shared with anyone else. Well, save for those that have come under my knife, but even then…
They’ve not seen both sides.
Even Miguel Prado-the mistake that he was-wanted revenge and revenge only. His purpose was power. It was a mistake I will fully accept the blame for. He of course did find himself on my table in the end. We don’t murder to murder. We murder only those that truly deserve to be parted from their lives.
As I remind myself of this, I have to think that that’s not entirely true. Would Alex Tilden, Cole Harmon or Jordan Chase have come under the gun? Would their sins be exposed through due process had I not interrupted it?
I scratch at my chin, careful to not shake Lumen, who is resting against my side as I do so.
I don’t know the answer to that question.
In the end, justice is served and Lumen finds some peace after the pain she endured. I suppose that’s enough. Moral dilemma solved.
“Don’t you have work?” Lumen whispers, her lips sliding across the soft fabric of my t-shirt.
“They won’t miss me for another hour or two. I thought it would be nice to sleep in this morning,” I whisper back.
“Dexter?”
“Hmm…?”
“Thank you,” she breathes.
The arm that’s encircling her shoulders gives a gentle squeeze. Affectionate movements are usually lost on me. I’d sooner stab a person than hug them, but for some reason, with Lumen, I know exactly what to do.
It’s funny how this has turned out.
“Dexter?” she whispers again as I feel her shift along my side.
I look down into confused brown eyes.
“What…” she licks her lips.
What, what?
“I…what are we?”
I’m a little surprised by the question. Sure, I was just thinking the same thing, but it’s funny to me that she was thinking the same thing.
“Dexter and Lumen,” I answer. It’s what we are.
“Well, your sister assumed and Astor assumed.” She looks down at how we’re laying and I feel her shudder. “I can’t. Not yet and…”
“Can’t what?” I ask.
“I can’t…m...m...make love,” she nearly cries.
“Oh,” I say. Well, that answers my questions on whether or not she’s wanting to have sex. I’m actually a bit relieved. “That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she growls.
I shrug. “Why not?”
“Because…” she stops and props herself up on her elbow to look down at me. “Because it’s something that I should be able to do.”
I press my lips together and shake my head. I’m more than likely going to screw this up. This is an emotional conversation and I just plain suck at these. “Is that what you think I want?” I ask.
She falters for a second. Her lips move, but no sound comes out.
“I don’t expect it, Lumen,” I press. “If you want to…If or when you’re ready, I’ll be here, but I don’t want you to think that’s what this is.” Her head drops. I take my free hand and tilt her chin up to look me in the eyes. “I’m not sure what we are either. I know I want you around. I like having you around. We can go at any pace you want.”
Unshed tears magnify her eyes and her chin quivers under the force to not shed them.
There’s something there, something between us that I can’t seem to shake or deny. It speaks to me and my Dark Passenger. Calls to it and I’m forced to oblige. She needs reassurance. “Remember, I tried to get you to leave. To go home and forget about me and this place. You didn’t,” I pause and offer her a Dazzling Dexter smile, “Much to my annoyance. I am glad you’re here. Being able to share what I am with you like I have…”
She nods her head in understanding.
“For now, we’re friends. I won’t let anything happen to you and you will never do something you don’t want to again,” I promise.
She leans down and presses warm, soft lips against my stubbled cheek. “Thank you.”
She’ll eventually learn that it’s me that should be thanking her.
“I’m not sure,” Ivey’s voice rings through the car, causing my eyes to snap open and my head to come off the head rest, “if I should be offended or not.”
I rub my eyes and mumble, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
She gives me a snort-laugh thing and I blink against the bright afternoon sun. “Well, you fell asleep. I could be flattered because that means that you trust my driving and are relaxed around me. Or… I could be offended because I’m terribly boring and can’t keep you entertained.”
I roll my eyes and slip my sunglasses on. Looking outside, I see we’re stopped in the parking lot of a nice set of apartments. “Where are we?”
“My place,” Ivey answers.
I look at her and raise an eyebrow. Why the hell are we here? She smiles at me and answers my unasked question, “Well, the way I’ve seen the last few days play out is this,” she holds up her left index finger, ticking off the reasons, “One, you’ve broken up with your boyfriend, whom you were living with.” Her middle finger joins the index, “Two, because of one, you’ve been sleeping at the station.” The ring finger follows. “Three, if you make me crash in the bunks one more night, I won’t be held responsible for who I kill tomorrow. And four,” she holds up her pinky, her thumb tucked into her palm, “There are apartments that are open here, the rent’s not bad and your neighbor would be me.”
My mouth hangs open. She reaches over and gently closes my mouth.
“Look, I called my super and he said there’s two furnished units ready to go. You need a new place. You get to check out potential new digs and I can change my clothes. It’s win-win, Morgan.” The knuckle that was resting under my now-closed mouth lingers and trails up my jaw line. Her smile falters as she takes her hand back. “Partners have each other’s back. Given the case…you need help.”
I give a low growl in the back of my throat and cough. “Fine,” I mumble. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
I watch as she exits her car and follow shortly after. This is just fucking great. First the meeting with LaGuerta that signed Masuka’s death warrant and now we have to wait for LaGuerta to find a judge that actually has a pair to sign an injunction on Chase before he leaves the country. This day just fucking sucks.
I follow my partner towards the two-story, light blue stuccoed apartment building. I take a quick look around and notice it’s relatively quiet.
“Ivey!” An older man comes from the lower corner apartment of the building. He’s on the shorter side with a full head of white hair, black slacks and a white V-neck t-shirt.
She holds out her hand as the two meet in the parking lot. “Frankie, how’re you doing?”
He eagerly shakes her hand and shrugs off the question. “Not bad. This your friend?” He looks over to me and holds out his hand.
“Yeah,” Ivey answers as I shake his hand. “Frankie De Bease, this is my new partner, Det. Debra Morgan.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Same here.” He retracts his hand and motions for us to follow him. As we walk, he talks, “We’re a small complex. Twenty one units on the bottom and eighteen units on the top. The people here are pretty decent. Nice, they help each other out for the most part and we don’t like people who cause trouble. Ivey gave you the okay so I’m willing to work something out ’cause she says you don’t have a place right now.” We trail up the steps and go to the left rear of the building. “Now the only units open are a corner unit and a lower level unit that needs some repair work. I hope you don’t mind steps.”
He takes us around and stops in front of the first door. He finds the right key and unlocks the front door. “I’d like to get a nice security door up so give me a day or two.” He flips the light on and ushers the two of us into the space. It’s nice. Like really fucking nice.
I blink and look around the apartment. The place smells like paint and wax. The hardwood floors shine and the fresh off-white walls are free of any marks. The living room sits off to my left, the kitchen and dining off to my right. All one big open space. I like it. The granite kitchen counters gleam under the light and there’s a well-worn living room set that looks like it was made just for this apartment. A built-in entertainment center and bookshelves take up one wall in the living room. “My son just finished the floors, there’s a fresh coat of paint, and we had to replace the tile in the shower so I hope they’re okay.”
I spin around and look at Ivey. She’s propped against the kitchen island, her arms folded across her chest. “He’s serious,” she tells me.
“You comin’?” Frankie says, his head peeking around the corner of the entrance to the hallway.
I hold my hands up and follow him.
He stands by two open doors pointing a finger behind me. “Second bedroom is behind you, bathroom’s here,” he hooks a finger to his left. “The master bedroom,” he says pointing to his right, “is here.” He lets me go first and I look around. It’s larger than I expect and there’s a large window that will either be a friend or an enemy. “Now, I don’t have the new lighting fixture up. I was thinking of putting in a ceiling fan. Would that be all right with you?”
“You shitting me?” I ask, spinning around to him, my hands on my hips.
“No. I figure if you take the place, then you should have a say so, considering you’ll be sleeping in here.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs.
“I don’t care,” I say surprised.
“Okay. White or brown?” he asks. I raise an eyebrow. “You know for the fan blades. White or brown?”
“Don’t care,” I answer again.
“Brown then. It’ll hide the dust that can build up.” He sends me a charming smile and says, “You don’t strike me as a June Cleaver type. If you work like Ivey does, you’ll be lucky to see this place six times a week.” He winks at me and I shake my head.
He turns around instead of saying anything else and limps back towards the living room. Ivey’s sitting on top of the island, swinging her legs. I watch as he pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “Now, the only utilities you need to worry about are electric and cable service if you want it. Gas, water, sewage and trash are rolled into the rent. When you start to bring your stuff, you can drop off the first month’s rent along with a five-hundred dollar security deposit and a hundred for the door.”
“You shitting me?” I ask again. Running a hand through my hair I look between Ivey and Frankie.
“Detective,” Frankie says slowly letting the title linger like you would saying the name of a child who you were trying to explain something to, “Ivey vouches for you. I hate making these things difficult. The place is yours, showing you around was for your benefit not mine. Rent’s seven-fifty a month which is cheap. Sign the papers, take the keys and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“He’s right,” Ivey takes his side. “This place is a steal and you won’t find a better landlord.”
I look between the two and summarize the situation I have myself in. I have no place to go. No furniture. Nothing really. This place is really nice. The rent’s super cheap. Ivey trusts him. I shrug. Fuck it.
“Okay,” I go over to the island and scribble my name on the bottom of the lease.
“Great.” Frankie takes two keys off his key ring and hands them over to me. “Good to know you’re smarter than you look.”
“Hey!” I glare at him.
Ivey laughs. “She’s pretty though, isn’t she?”
“She’s not hard on the eyes, Ivelisse. You never did have bad taste.” He winks at my partner.
“She’s still right fucking here,” I snip.
“And she cusses more than a Marine.” Ivey winks at our landlord and he laughs.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I throw my hands up in the air. “We done?”
“Pretty much. I’ll see you two later. I want to go get that ceiling fan and door. Also, since you’re here, you got a bed or should I go get one of them too?” he asks, tucking the lease in his back pocket.
I shake my head.
He nods. “We’ll take care of that. Give me a day or two.”
I laugh. The first feel-good laugh I’ve had in a really long time. He’s like a damn fairy godfather.
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