[ ties that bind ]chapter three : dropping the ball

[kenandbarbie]

title: Ties That Bind (Chapter 3: Dropping The Ball)
author: Ken and Barbie
word count: 4,208
pairing: Dexter/"Rudy" (Slash), Referenced Dexter/Rita and Brian/Deb (Though not the focus of the story.)
rating: Mature / Adult / NC-17 (For possible adult situations, sexual content, slash, language, and gore.)
summary: An Alternate-Ending continuation of the Showtime Adaptation of "Darkly Dreaming Dexter". When it came down to the last moment, Dexter could not find the heart to finish off the only one in the world that could ever understand him. Now with Sergeant Doakes hot on his trail, and his sister Deb damaged beyond repair, Dexter comes to embrace his relationship with "Rudy" and accept him into his life. While under Dexter's roof, "Rudy" vows to repair the torn relationship between he and Dexter by abiding by the code set down by Harry with him, while slowly trying to convince Dexter to stop giving in to society's games. Together they move forward as wolves among the flock, trying to keep their secrets hidden and stay together despite all odds.
disclaimer: "Dexter" belongs to Jeff Lindsay and Showtime, not us. We wrote this story entirely for entertainment. Also, if you cannot handle murder, reference to adult situations, homosexuality, harm to other humans, and other controversial topics then this story isn't for you. We have no wish to offend anyone.
notes: MAJOR Spoilers. Do not read if you haven't seen the entire series, or read the book; as you won't understand the story at all.

Also, please leave feed back. We're really eager to see what everyone thinks of it.



T  I  E  S    T  H  A  T    B  I  N  D
A Disturbingly Dark Dexter FanFiction
by ken and barbie



Chapter Three : Dropping the Ball

Anticipation was an all too unfamiliar feeling in Dexter's head, these days, yet there he was at his office, surrounded by his beloved pictures of crimson spray with the pencil betwixt his fingers nervously tapping at the wood of his desk. While dear Dexter's gaze remained on the reports and files strewn across his desk, his mind was elsewhere.

What if Brian was caught while he was at work? What if he decided to go after Deborah again, or even Rita? His brother was less than sane of course, but despite these worries, the greatest anticipation he had was the simple act of coming home to broken Brian. No matter how much of a threat the man might have been to him, his friends, his fake-family, and his life the idea of not having him there made an emptiness burn cold in his chest.

Doakes was laughing with LaGuerta over something across the bullpen, for now seeming to ignore Dexter. LaGuerta's kind crush on him probably had saved his tail a few times now, as she'd no doubt flippantly dismissed any sort of theories presented against the red-haired forensics expert with a charming smile. Who could have ever suspected him, after all? Donuts for everyone, and always a kind word to say could buy one a lot of wiggle room on their devious deeds.

"Hey, Dex!", the all too familiar voice of Masuka would snap him from his day-dream, casting a glance over his shoulder and his usual wave. Angel was not too far behind. The man's heart was heavy since the departure of his wife, though it had given the duo a chance to hit up every singles bar in Miami.

"Man, I made it with a Picasso last night! ", he heckled, leaning back against his own desk with arms folded as his thin Asian stature tried it's best to come off as 'suave'. It was hard to peg a short-stature Asian as such a foul-mouthed pervert.

"Picasso?", Dexter said in a soft, questioning voice. It seemed that every crude sexual reference his co-workers made was beyond him. Angel was already laughing even as the Asian began to speak, a wide jack ass's grin decorating his face.

"Yeah man. Nice from far away, but close up it's just a fucking mess, man!", Masuka would say with a laugh in his voice, echoed by Angel's own. Dexter himself took the cue to laugh, though his sounded so hollow, and empty to the trained ear. Not that they ever picked up on it. "We're going out to lunch. Want go come? ".

The invitation, of course was declined with a grateful nod as the monster swiveled in his chair to face his desk once more, "Nah. I have to finish these reports or the Sergeant will have my ass. ".

The pair moving away was a blessing, as for a moment he was sure the testosterone was so thick in the air it might choke him. His serenity never lasted long in this place, however.

The clock ticked by much slower than he recalled on normal days. In fact, one could say time crawled at a snail’s pace for dearly damaged Dexter, who had a hard time pulling his mind from the fellow monster that lay dormant in his home.

What constitutes good behavior was completely up to the Florida state penitentiaries, but Brian was under the impression that the state's high level of recidivism had let someone out of the cracks once again. This was the kind of prey that Dexter sought out and pursued, fellow killers that must have been some kind of feign attempt to reach out to people. His little brother must have been trying to reach out to anyone who would share and understand his compulsions even if just for the brief moment before they were succumb to death. Brian was a little unsettled by the neediness of his brother in that regard, but the relief that he was now steadily becoming a part of Dexter's life masked any kind of insurrection he felt in his heart about the matter. Dexter did need someone, and Brian was there to accommodate him.

Accordingly, here was Brian mulling over the name dropped in the paper that Dexter had stared down before mentioning the nonsensical lack of separation of church and state that was provided by departed Harry's code. This was the notion of being both a killer and a hero, and Brian had already shown his distaste for that sort of notion. In the absence of his brother, Brian was able to think more clearly of his agenda without the fear of upsetting his brother. He would strap himself securely inside that straight jacket of a demeanor upon the return of his younger brother, but at the moment Brian just wanted to facilitate his interests.

In Brian's eyes, killing was not simply a satisfaction of his lusts. Killing was an art form, something to be perfected. The espionage and planning involved was interesting on the part of his brother, and in many ways he respected the hunting games that he had partaken when watching Dexter from the shadows. But Brian lived more for the chase, and flaunted the trophies he carved from the flesh of other human beings in broad daylight for the crowded audience of the Miami metro area. Brian relished in the legend of the "Ice Truck Killer", and in doing so managed to miss the ruse he had used for so long. It was his disguise amidst society's "normalcy" that allowed him a front row seat to the drama that unfolded around him, parting like the Red Sea so that he could simply smile at the cascades of blood and mystique around him.

But now, the killing game having escalated to different levels of intensity, Brian had to play the field much in the way Dexter had before him. Brian had to sort through records and reports long past, somehow sure the information had fallen ill against the test of time. It felt like an expert’s attempt at making excuses to display his expertise, even if just to the expert himself. Brian was already feeding his suspicion that Dexter just wanted a reason to dine upon the emotions associated with this beast the two of them shared. The scrolling of web pages filled with dated recants of horrible acts was beginning to grow tedious. Aside from the intention of befalling his victims with death, Brian was having trouble sorting through the mixed details from the varying news coverage at the time. What was clear was that the system was beginning to overflow, and someone whose terrible acts were committed far too long ago to be remembered was set free upon the world. Laughing to himself, the fellow killer relaxed in his seat and wondered what he would do if locked away for years and years.

What could really be said about his kills? Other than the security guard, Brian had targeted faceless and nameless people. Street walkers who were outside the grace of the law to begin with, they donated themselves to the legacy of the Ice Truck Killer. How many years would the legal system really have doted out to tame the beast? He already could plea towards insanity, making a mockery of the professionals who had tried to deter his killer notions. The defense would strongly hold up, and he would only receive a minimal sentence. Still, he did not want to be known as a failure in the history books. He was already insulted when that whelp of an imposter had shown his face trying to claim Brian’s fame. Bestowing a Christmas gift upon the city as both a distraction and a means to show that he truly wasn’t out of the game, Brian felt he had kept to his dues. That was about as flashy as he felt it needed to get.

Rocking back and forth, other targets began to pop up in his mind rather than the boring old timer who Dexter had caught scent of. Maybe things would have been more interesting if Brian had set his sights a little higher, rather than refining his art. Dexter worked the entire Miami metropolitan area on call, and the Ice Truck Killer easily could have struck a number of nearby facilities of political and societal nature. Brian never really liked the bureaucracy, but perhaps that was because he felt like a victim of it. For many years of his life, he was under the watchful eyes of the state. Correctional therapy to make amends for the wrongs that had been done; no one had taken in battered, bruised Brian. Where was the lack of normalcy in Brian? He felt he was a relatively collected being for someone who had gone through something so traumatic. That conviction which had held with him from the time they had freed the flightless bird from its cage to fly on synthetic wings seemed to motivate him, as if his triumph over the system and the burning resolve that carried him made him more than a man.

Struck with new ideas to add to his repertoire of existing plans, Brian resumed his study of the problem at hand. Dexter did fly, but he was carried by the frame work of mended wounds and fractured bones. If the little one could sprout new wings, like the angel of death Brian revered him to be, maybe Dexter could truly be free at last.

The blood splatter expert was on his feet as quitting time neared, signing off on the last report of his day with a whistle and a slight swing in his step as he crossed the room to drop the ugly orange-brown folder on the desk of his favorite hostile officer, who was bent over his own files, his dark blue uniform looking a bit shabbier these days than usual. Seemed he'd been in this bull pen too long.

"All done. “, he said with a smile. He hadn't had to say anything, really, but perhaps somewhere in the depths of his mind his Dark Passenger secretly chided him on to not so easily allow the man to feel he could scare Dexter. He had nothing to hide, after all. One had to keep appearances up, even against the harsh glare of a suspicious, deep brown gaze that burned with an intense hate for the red-head as he turned his back to him and moved back to his desk.

The damaged monster seemed oddly serene as the minute hand clicked to quitting time, and he started to stroll out of the station to his car, nearly bumping into his dearly damaged fake sister, Deb at the cross-section of hallways.

"Hello, you. ", he said with a smile, which was some what genuine. Despite how he might hate Harry, he could not help but be incredibly fond of her. She loved him, and it's what had saved her the last time. Though the emotional arms length distance between them was maintained by Dexter, despite her efforts.

"Hey. . . you want to do something tonight? I think I'll get off before midnight. . . ", she mumbled, her thin figure donning that black blue police uniform that would have made hardly honest Harry oh-so-proud.

There was a mental scoff inwardly from that voice again, that seemed so much more prominent now that Biney had returned. " Ah, I'm sorry, Deb. . . I have to spend it with Rita and the kids. She's going through some tough times right now, and I promised.". Of course. Dexter was after all the perfect boyfriend, right?

"Ah. . . ", she mumbled, her chin tilted down a bit. "I probably won't get off in time anyway. ".

There she went, lying again. Were I not such a devious monster, I'd say she lies almost as much if not more than I do. We may have been fake siblings, but times like this made me feel like perhaps we had something in common after all.

"I'll call you, though. ", he said with a smile, his fingers coming up to offer her a squeeze on the shoulder before he turned off for his car, grinning inwardly at the prospect of his evening to come. Sure, he would have loved to spend it with Rita and the kids, but the prospect of participating in his first kill with another person did seem all too -fun-. Fun was something Harry had always forbade associating murder with. . . but it was a new year. Time to make some changes.

The hours had rolled by, and people-watching had become a very boring spectator sport. In the tempo that this playing along at, this would normally be the point he would label the whole thing as a debacle and make a bold cobra strike at his prey. However, if he was to successfully put his disease into Dexter as he had hoped, this was how things were supposed to be. This was the timing of the waltz, and it must have been all this anticipation that made Dexter's art so respectable.

Brian wasn't really looking forward to the task at hand. It was hard enough for him to swallow the notion of defiling that poor security guard, but that had been part of the plan, where as now they were on the trail of an even older man. Previously, a respectable working class fellow was needed, and keeping him alive while distributing his various components was a form of ugly art in itself. Prosthetics had left him with a taste for desecrated smooth and pristine vessels, but Brian had already given himself up to the notion that he needed to swallow his pride to expand his art and bridge the gap between he and his fellow traveler.

Brian had successfully managed to gather more data on the target, which ironically left a sort of dry spot in interaction when Dexter had reached home. They hadn't done much different in the quiet of the new Driscoll residence compared to the current state, leaned against the stagnating comfort of the vehicles seats. The holiday was interesting, and Brian watched the worms crawl steadily towards their death in a sea of alcohol and loud music. He was certain that this was a night where prey could fall victim to itself and go to waste if not snatched up by predator. Brian could not bare the notion of his brother's disappointment if the holiday celebration had taken the life of the man they stalked.

This creature was just like any of the others that had become part of Dexter's slide collection. A murderer prowling the streets because of the weaknesses in the system, assumed to be back on the trail of a new adventures. The goal was to cease the existence of this person before they were allowed to return to their wary ways. Brian couldn't help but think that his younger brother had notions of heroic stature associated with fallen the traditions of a departed master. It seemed too much like a child's story book for Brian to stand. Between his infatuation over the errors in philosophy that he sought out to correct and the doldrums that had filled up the expanse of time in the car, Brian felt compelled to lighten the air.

"So this is what Pinocchio does while stuck on Jack-Ass Island? Sit in his four-door sedan and wait for salvation?" He scoffed, with a smirk.

"As I remember it, he partied and made just as big an ass of himself. Not my style. ", he mumbled, though it was more his brain on autopilot with a witty retort, his swampy green eyes narrowed in the dim shine of the moonlight, staring in the silence across the street.

It wasn't so hard really to find out where he worked, as working at a police station did have its benefits. You knew all the ways to uncover dirt on someone. He'd be out soon. Very soon. The clock was nearly to eleven, and what red-blooded American wasn't out having a drink, screaming like an idiot on New Years?

"You hate this. ", he pointed out, his predatory gaze shifting quietly toward his brother. This was no doubt the time that Biney would find his brother the most familiar. When that feral, macabre smile grace his features, and he seemed entirely himself. The thrill of the hunt pulsing through his veins.

" . . . I know you do. ", he began, cutting off what ever reply his brother might have been conjuring. " . . . It was never fun for me. It was survival. What I was taug-".

The sharp Bri~ing! suddenly jostled him out of his calm, his hand sliding for his pocket to work his cell phone from it. Dexter only let out what could be described as a growl under his breath. The minute he actually decides to talk, he's cut off.

Rita. Ah yes, she'd been wanting to have a 'talk' for awhile about 'Paul', her feathery soft voice weakly offering that it 'wasn't a bad talk'. That she ' would understand if he had something to tell her'. She knew. Of course she knew. Harry told him not to get involved. He played by Harry's rules, and now he was reaping the punishment. Everything the man ever gave him was false, and gave him only trouble in return.

An apologetic glance was cast toward Brian as Dexter drew the phone to his ear, his head idly canted to lean his head against his window. " . . . Hello, Rita. ", he said quietly. " Good to hear from you. Happy New Years.".

"Happy New Years, Dexter. . . ", she said with a weak smile in her voice. Her weakness seemed so attractive at the beginning of all this, but Rita was quickly becoming a problem all her own. " A-. . Are you stopping by? The kids miss you. ". Ah, the kids. Throw the guild card, Rita. Use it well.

Despite it, he did care about her. If Dexter had a heart, it would have probably loved them. It might have bettered his chances of spending this night with them, instead of with his brother, but things didn't always turn out the way society wished it would.

"I'm sorry, Rita. . . I'm with Deb. She's still shaken up. Needs me around right now. . . ". The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, as it was said in the presence of his brother. In the silence of the car his voice sounded so much louder than he wished it would be. "I'm sorry. Tell them I said Happy New Years, okay? I'll make it up to you later. ".

A soft laugh followed, though he could practically -taste- the tears forming on her lashes. He'd not been such a loving boyfriend lately. In fact, he'd practically ignored her entirely. “Okay. I'll see you soon, Dexter. . . tell Deb I said hello. ", she cooed into the receiver.

"Yeah. I will. . . Good night, Rita. Happy New Years". Click. The phone was snapped shut in his hands, casting what could only be described as a guilty look toward Brian.

Brian laughed at the conversation once haulted, continuing to try to string his brother along a more desirable path away from the woes of whatever lies had transpired on the phone. Women had always seemed to be Dexter's infectious weakness as he cared too much for them, and Brian just wanted to show him the comfort of family. Before that, the thought of his former fiancée hadn't really crossed the man's mind. She had just been part of the plan, and willingly volunteered herself to be part of the cause for most of the duration of their time together. The notion that she was still quivering in fear, or even mounting a tough girl attitude to keep herself from succumbing to instinctual suspicion that Brian might be around any corner was actually sort of a consolation prize for things going awry in a critical moment. He had left his mark.

"Don't worry about it, I know how people like her can be." Brian reached over, patting his brother on the shoulder in condolence for the nuisance that the woman had become. She seemed like an ordinary enough person, but he was beginning to think that the involvement was too much for his brother to stand. The look of guilt plastered upon his brother's face in the company of moonlight and streetlight seemed innocent, and Brian accepted it as a pledge of loyalty even if no such words were uttered. The expression spoke to him as if Dexter would rather be with him, even if their time was spent idling away watching the digital numbers on the car's internal clock change one after another.

What would Dexter want with a needy woman like that anyway? Rita must have been part of Dexter's facade, just like Brian had adopted his own over the years in his own hostile manner. Instead of eliminating individuals to adopt identities, Dexter feigned relationships. It was a curious notion, there was even an expressive concern for the well being of Rita's children. The woman must have been using his brother just so that they would have a stable male figure in their life. No one had done Brian any such courtesy, most of the doctors he had dealt with were uniformed women chosen under the notion that females were better with children because of their maternal qualities.

Giving and taking to stabilize their life; there was this underlying subtext that the couple had been using each other since the start. Brian decided this from the lack of remorse the two brothers expressed leaving their female cohorts to sleep alone in bed that night spent together cleaning up the residence that Dexter had been left. Moonlighting as a cable repair-man had a sincere pay off in the form of that memorable ceremonial moment in front of the bowling alley, bathed in the faint glow of commercial neon. Quiet moments housed inside family-sized vehicles were a whimsical notion that was becoming a common occurrence between the brothers. Brian laughed to himself, taking awkward comfort that Dexter was not completely lost cause. He had not gone so far as to purchase an even more socially acceptable vehicle such as a van or suburban passenger vehicle.

"She's no Blue Fairy, Dexter. She's not the secret to becoming a real boy." More nonsensical banter about fairy tales that would have been lost on anyone else but his brother. It was nice to be able to speak in parable and dance around conversations as he could with his brother. Brian was thankful that in the mystery game between the two dolls, Barbie had only been a blonde in appearance armed with sleek fashion sense and matching wits.

Dexter didn't offer up the usual perfectly practiced fake laugh that he usually made in presence of the flock, but rather a short, nasal sort of awkward chuckle that stopped shortly after it began, a grin on his tiers that was almost boyish in away. His brother did have a way of putting things that made it a great deal more fun.

Rita a blue fairy. That did make sense, didn't it. He'd thought that by pretending to love her that maybe some day he would, though it still did not happen. Dexter had become a master at going through the notions of being a real human, but had always come short.

"She's not so b--", he started to add, though his sentence was bit off as those sharp green eyes snapped to his left out the window, like a feline that had just caught the sight of a mice blitzing past it; claws out and chops licked.

The man seemed to be older, in his early forties with greasy long blonde hair knit into a pony tail. His mustache and goatee were scraggly like his hair, and a bit too much of his teeth showed when he smiled as he exited the bar he worked at, moving into the alley way just past their car to his own.

" . . . there he is. ", Dexter whispered in a feather soft voice, his fingers going for the door. Barbie definitely knew how to hunt. Dexter had a sort of beautiful grace to how quietly his steps could move against the damp pavement of Miami’s streets. Harry had trained him well to make sure his prey never saw him coming. How graceful and svelte his figure, highlighted only by the moon and fireworks cracking over-head on the occasion, must have looked now that someone was actually there to witness how he had finessed his craft.

Dexter swept behind the man in his car, the needle jabbed into the skin of his neck quick, and silent.

A rough voice that did not sound his own, let alone human, rolled past his dry lips as the man's body went limp in his arms, snarling a malicious "Happy New Years. " softly into his ear.

From Ken and Barbie: We hope that you guys enjoy this. Any feed back or comments is more than welcomed.

*Also, people have asked what "Dropping the Ball" is in reference to. It has to do with Rudy's "Stop chasing the ball" comment, along with the double meaning of the New Years Eve dropping of the ball.

**To awnser the question of when this fan fic is going to start getting more....well...dark? Trust me, it's all down hill from here.