(Untitled)
Who: The Morgans: Debra and Derek
What: Some fighting!
When: Day 49, late afternoon
Where: Main Street
Debra just watched as Emily walked away. The female Morgan was none to pleased with the manner in which the woman had pretty much told the two of them that they were acting like idiots. Hell, they were acting like idiots, and Debra knew she was ( Read more... )
What: Some fighting!
When: Day 49, late afternoon
Where: Main Street
Debra just watched as Emily walked away. The female Morgan was none to pleased with the manner in which the woman had pretty much told the two of them that they were acting like idiots. Hell, they were acting like idiots, and Debra knew she was ( Read more... )
The inability to decide what to label Debra with managed to piss him off even more. She wasn't a fuck buddy. Not in this hell they had been thrown in. It was a novel concept at the start but no. There was more than sex for both of them. She had saved him from an unforgivable sin. He was a constant for her.
So what had gone so horribly wrong?
Her brother was a serial killer and she fucked every guy who so much looked her way. Right.
Derek knew full well that Debra Morgan did not know what Dexter had done as a hobby since before her father passed. And what was that shit? Her father, a respected cop, taught his adopted son to take justice in his own hands?! Maybe Derek was jealous to never had that guidance.
And maybe he was bitter that Deb easily fell into bed with men. Derek Morgan was nothing special. Even if she had told him he was. What a sucker he was. Filling the void an old Fed had left. Derek was once again just Mr. Right Now. But really, was he looking for something more in Peaksville?
The place was seriously making him crazy. Seventeen days. That was all it amounted to. Just what the fuck was he expecting in that time frame? There was the fact that it didn't feel a little over than two weeks. He knew Debra Morgan. He was kidding no one. The problem lied in that he didn't know himself.
He stopped abruptly. Rigid with tension. His chest heaved with angry breaths and he just stared at the brunette. "Why don't you tell me? Or are we gonna fuck again just for you to disappear for a couple more days so you don't have to tell me shit until after the fact?"
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She looked just as angry as he did. Her mouth was tight and set into a grim line, and she was scowling and her eyes were hard as little pieces of flint.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Her words were spat rather than shouted. "No, really who the fuck do you think you are? I disappeared this time because I fucking died. It's not like I had any fucking choice over the god damn manner. It wasn't as if I sat in the fucking cornfield and went 'hey, let me stay the fuck away from everyone and have no contact except for fucking Catwoman."
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Although he held the physical presence of being severely agitated, he would never strike a woman. Defend himself and subdue her at worst. He considered it now. Subduing Debra Morgan to turn her foul mouth off.
It was the first that her vulgar vocabulary irritated him. Everything about her approach irritated him. No. Not everything. The fact that she appeared to completely expect that he would be frantically looking for her again. THAT was pissing him the hell off.
However, his anger was subdued by nonsense. Derek had no clue what she was talking about. None. Died? She hadn't died. And Catwoman?! From what he had seen on her DVD, the Miami detective wasn't certifiable so what was she going on about?
"What the hell are YOU talking about?! You didn't die. You disappeared after clocking West with your goddamn DVD! What the hell did you think was going to happen? Where were you when we were facing him? You showed up, clocked him and then a day later show up and run off MY friend!"
He didn't bother to address 'Catwoman'. Derek didn't want to know. There was enough shit that she needed to explain. Catwoman ranked low on the list.
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She didn't remember clocking West. Well, she barely fucking remembered it. It was like watching someone fucking else do it and she couldn't fucking remember precisely why. "I don't fucking remember. I just remember fucking opening the DVD. I can't even fucking remember what the god damn thing is."
However running off his friend? Well, fuck. "So go fucking find her then! Go fucking chasing after her and take your piece of shit attitude with you."
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He remained silent at her rant on the cornfield. She was right. He hadn't been and had no clue what it was like. But in that moment, he didn't give a rat's ass. Debra Morgan had done what many--specifically, Derek--had wanted so desperately to do in Peaksville: she assaulted West. What did she expect to happen?
Actions held consequences. Basic law enforcement. Derek didn't budge on his view. In fact, he didn't change in disposition or expression when she continued onto the subject of her DVD. Another subject he wouldn't comment on. Not just yet. He was pissed but he wouldn't spit it out at her just because he was.
Once she told him to go after Emily, Derek started walking toward their house again--opposite direction that Prentiss had gone. He didn't feel like dealing with anyone's shit. Not West, not Deb, not even his so called friend who apparently thought she knew what she was talking about. So what that she did? The male Morgan wasn't dealing with anyone's bullshit.
His swagger was more like a march. A charge, even. Anything to get the hell away from Deb and not say something he would regret. However, that didn't mean that he remained silent. Derek spoke as he walked, not caring whether she heard him or not. "Consider me as good as gone."
He would grab whatever was his and leave. Derek set his mind to it. Oddly, he planned on taking both their DVDs. As angry as he was, he decided that Deb couldn't take seeing hers. He would start a fire, throw their DVDs in, and once they had disintegrated, Derek would toss the rest of his things in. All his things.
If a burning envelope meant you no longer existed in Peaksville, it was quickly starting to sound like a very appealing thing.
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When Derek charged away, Debra just glared at him for a long moment, at the way he retreated from her and towards his house. Well, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. She didn't know what the fuck to say to this shit. She didn't know what the fuck to do with this shit. Not for the first time since her arrival in Peaksville, Debra Morgan was completely at a fucking loss for words.
But then she heard his. She heard them with a clarity that might as well have had him whispering the words in her fucking ear. "Good." She spat back. "Get the fuck out." Deb knew she was overreacting, but he pulled off the shirt that she'd borrowed from him and tossed it at him. "Here, take this too."
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The wall he spent a lifetime to build had crumbled considerably. Not completely--what Derek had experienced, that was an impossible feat--but he learned how much they needed him and his actions were less reckless, more methodical. That was what he had taken with him to Peaksville after a night that made him relive another trauma from his past. He was helpless to prevent a child from watching her father die.
He came to Peaksville with that wall being rebuilt. Derek had no idea what to think. He still didn't. Or so he liked to think. The realization that this was not an unconscious state had started to nag and take a firm hold of him. It didn't help matters that West found so many ways to mock him: Nearly making him abuse someone defenseless, giving him a wife, making him sheriff of the town. West was a fucking bastard.
Maybe that was the true motivation behind destroying his own tape. Derek decided whether he stayed or left. Even if it meant being brought right back. In that moment in time, Morgan didn't care about anything other than ending the vulnerable image he had involuntarily demonstrated. He blamed it for Deb having the hold on him that she had.
That was an easier pill to swallow than caring for someone who didn't care the same way. He wanted to slap himself for the slightest thought that he had his feelings hurt. Was he really that pathetic? It had been easier to keep people at a distance. Easier and empty. Letting people in left him less hollow but it also stung like a bitch when they lashed out.
Deb throwing her shirt at him provoked quite the physical response. He cocked back and expertly punched the wall, managing to break the plaster and wood slats behind them. As well as his hand in the process. However, Derek didn't even wince at the sensation. He aggressively turned and faced the topless woman who had been designated his partner, now his roommate. His chest rose and fell sharply while blood dripped from his hand. He yanked the sunglasses from his face then angrily tossed them on the dresser.
"I am gone. I came here with nothing, I'm leaving with nothing. I give a flying fuck what you do with anything I leave behind. There are two things I'm taking with me. And not even God can help you, Woman, if you get in my way. Are we clear?!"
His voice had begun low but sharp, close to a hiss. Volume accompanied his expletive to which he physically jerked forward with emphasis. Derek should have continued without reacting. He pissed himself off even further that he allowed Deb to see how she affected him. Hurt often hid behind anger and it was no different in that moment.
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She was remembering blood and violence and the picture of her brother holding a knife with his finger to his lips. In all of her life, all of it Debra had never been creeped out by the way her brother had looked. There were moments where she'd seen him looking weird, but never ever like that, and never once he'd grown the fuck up. Oh, he'd done some fucked up shit in the past, but holding a knife like that...
And Debra was fucking focusing on one crisis at a time. "Good. Well, fuck you, Morgan. I don't need your shit. And look at your fucking stupid ass shit. Hitting the wall like you're a fucking twelve year old." Like Debra had a place to be talking any sort of shit right now. Quickly she picked up the shirt and took a step forward with it, planning on using it to wrap around his fucking hand.
"You're fucking losing it. What the fuck is wrong with you?" She.. really didn't have any room to talk about anything, but here she was jabbing his buttons as hard as she could. "Call me woman one more time and see where my fucking foot ends up."
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"Try it, Woman." Derek challenged her threat. His voice was low and callous. There was no forgiveness in his eyes. Only anger. Bitterness and resentment no longer had a hiding place. It would be the ultimate push should Deb actually strike him.
Not that he was second guessing his decision to be done with Peaksville. However, Derek would be damned if he gave Debra Morgan the satisfaction of thinking she had broken him. He still didn't hate her but he sure as hell was fed up and aggravated by what he had witnessed in the past day.
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This was fucking bullshit. All of it, this whole fucking thing. Whatever this whole fucking thing just happened to be at the moment. Debra Morgan wanted to put her foot up his ass, despite the fact that normally she was mostly talk on the violent front.
Quickly her head was filling with things to say and things to do and she was overloaded with them. In the end, she just settled on one fucking thing. "Fuck you."
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He didn't bother with a retort but moved to the dresser, pulling out the drawer with his left hand then quickly gathering DVDs and his envelope. His journal could remain behind. Working one handed kept his words of leaving everything else though Derek reconsidered checking out of Peaksville.
The hell he would let her insolence push him to any direction. His left hand held a death grip on the few items. Why he cared to continue protecting her when she seemed intent on having nothing to do with him, Derek couldn't answer.
Much like that moment between them. Not a grunt, murmur, mutter or anything resembling any kind of response. He fetched the items and headed toward the door.
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Maybe there was nothing for them to keep fighting about. After all, they were only fucking forced together because West was a douchebag asshole and thought it was fucking funny. She'd been ready to just let him run off with his fucking tail between his god damn legs when she realized something very important: he had her DVD.
Deb's voice was sharp and harsh when she spoke. "I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, asshole, but you're not allowed to take my shit when you leave. That shit is mine, and it's not walking out the door with you."
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It may have had something to do with punching the wall. His hand was still numb and wet with blood from the damage he inflicted. The pain was a dull throb. He exhaled to where the air left him similar to a sigh, his shoulders slumping and eyes closing yet his left hand kept a firm grip on the items they held. Derek opened his eyes and met hers.
"People care about you. They want to protect you. We ALL know you can take care of yourself. It doesn't mean you have to take the world on alone. Human beings aren't wired that way. We need each other no matter how much we think otherwise."
Derek pulled his head back in realization and scoffed. He held a smile that bordered between bitter and embarrassed as he shook his head.
"I know you don't need me. That's why I'm pissed at you. Because I need you. I need people to need me and you just don't. I get it. But that doesn't mean I don't know you. You don't need this. Believe me when I say that it'll destroy you. I'm willing to take whatever other shit you wanna say or do to me just to walk out with these."
There was a stark contrast in his tone. Derek was pleading even though he was fairly certain it would fall on deaf ears. His wounds were open for all to see but he just didn't care anymore. Emily was right. He was terrible at being an ass. Deb would make him pay hopefully. There was some comfort in her hard exterior. She could hate him but he wouldn't let her watch the damn DVD.
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When he sought eye contact, she looked away for a moment before she returned his gaze with the Debra Morgan fuck-you-patented-bitchface. Her lower lip was sucked in, and her arms were crossed over her chest as he spoke, and Deb was just waiting for her chance to rebuff what he was talking about.
She didn't anyone. Needing people got them fucking killed or whatever the fuck else happened to people who fucking lived in this bullshit piece of 1950s hell with stupid fucking petticoats and skirts and all that other random fucking shit. Needing him was turning her into a fucking bitchy-ass basketcase and it was turning him into a fucking asshole who punched walls.
When he said that he knew that she didn't need him, Deb sucked her teeth and inclined her head. Her voice was sharp and filled with the cynical edge that she tended to use when she was trying to cover up how she was really feeling. There was a part of her that was pleased that he needed her too (even though she was firmly fucking against the idea that she needed anyone at all) and then there was the part that was pissed that he really thought she was that much of a shrinking fucking violet. "Destroy me? Christ you're a fucking drama queen."
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It only hurt slightly less to be proved right. Actions spoke louder than words and hers had always said she could take care of herself while his were spent looking for her. He mentally stopped for a minute, attempting to sort out just when the hell that all happened. When had he become co-dependent?
Memory flashed back to his boss reprimanding him for not trusting his team. Derek put his ass on the line time after time for his team but wouldn't allow anyone to do the same for him. Yet here in Peaksville, he didn't keep to himself and depended on someone. The thought was a sucker punch if there ever was one.
What Deb spat at him suddenly made a lot of sense. And didn't. His brow knitted together in question for a brief moment before relaxing naturally into place. There was no removing the sadness in his eyes but he physically resigned from argument. Verbally was another matter.
"Call me whatever you want. Do whatever you want. You're not getting it back. Not now. Not ever." Derek considered momentarily exchanging his DVD for hers but knew better. Deb wouldn't want it. And he really didn't want her seeing his either. He moved toward the door again.
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"You are not allowed to tell me what I'm fucking getting back or not getting back, ass." Her voice was certain and sure and it was angry. Whatever was on the DVD was something that she knew that she needed to see.
Watching things like those DVDs were an obsession for Debra, it would be a compulsion that clamored below her skin and dug through every part of her mind and spirit. Already now the image of her brother holding a knife was coming into her head, and she could see the finger pressed to his lips in the standard 'shush' gesture.
"I know you think you're a big fucking man and need to protect your nice little woman." The final three words were emphasized with a bitchy twitch of head. "But you don't get to decide what the fuck ever about my god damn life."
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