Chapter Text
"I don't feel it anymore," Lumen said, with a deep breath, as though she might be frightened of Dexter's reaction.
He wondered why that might be. He's proven to himself that ex-lovers are certainly not off limits if they meet the Code, but current lovers should feel no danger from him. It's impolite to exude the kind of aura that makes lovers feel afraid. Dexter had never condoned abuse like that of any kind. Why should Lumen be wary of him now?
I wouldn't hurt her. Well, probably not.
"Don't worry about your darkness being gone," he replied, "I'll carry it for you."
She smiled, a bright breezy smile, genuine with relief. He couldn't be upset or jealous of her, for her Dark Passenger leaving. His was a permanent backseat driver, but hers was only a fleeting ride-along. It's illuminating. Never before has he seriously considered that his state might be an impermenant one. But if it's true for Lumen, why not him? There might yet be hope for the possibility of real change to develop within him, the way that real feeling, and real lustful apatite did, with Rita and Lila respectively.
So many times he'd told himself he was incapable of change. Was that only an incorrect mantra he'd swallowed from Harry, never questioning it, never testing the boundaries properly?
Did I write my own self-fulfilling prophesy?
You certainly can't begin to change if you don't believe yourself capable of it and never try. Maybe he just needed to try harder. Maybe that's something he can do with Lumen's support.
*
The night did not start out this peacefully. In fact, it had been a very trying day. Not least because Deb caught them red-handed.
There was a moment when she was clearly gearing herself up to leave. The way she spoke, Dexter really believed she was going to give herself plausible deniability by walking out, and giving them a headstart to run. It didn't work out that way.
"I'm a Detective," she said, "So I can't just walk away, no matter how much I agree with what you're doing. God, fuck."
Dexter remained stock still, hardly daring to breathe.
"Fuck, I don't want to do this," Deb continued, "I don't want to arrest you at all. But I need to look you in the eye if I'm going to compromise my whole set of fucking principles, and shit I've lived by, my entire fucking life. So come out, slowly, with your hands where I can see them."
Dexter knew it was over. There was nowhere to run, no convenient window to dive through or drain in the floor they could rip up to dive into the sewer. They were stuck between Deb and her gun, and the exit. The only way out was through his sister, which was why, despite the widening eyes of Lumen and his misgivings, he opened his mouth and said:
"Deb, it's me."
There was a long, terrible silence. And then came his sister's voice; loud, incredulous and probably about to let out a string of curses.
"Dexter?!" she snapped.
"Yeah, it's me," said Dexter again, decidedly not moving.
Deb marched forward, snatching open the hanging sheets of plastic.
"Dexter, what the fuck?" she shrieked, her gun still steady, trained on him now, but her chin wavering, mouth hanging open with confusion and abject surprise.
"Would you believe me if I told you it's not what it looks like?" said Dexter ruefully, from where he was still crouched low, hands open, fingers spread.
"I'm about to cold-cock you with this pistol if you don't start talking," demanded Deb, which under the circumstances was probably fair.
"It's not his fault," said Lumen, and Deb noticed her for the first time, startling so badly she almost lost her grip on her gun. She re-tightened her hands, swivelling around to train her attention, and gun, on Lumen.
"I got him involved, I'm so sorry," Lumen insisted, "You can just arrest me, I won't say a word about Dexter."
"No, fuck that," said Deb, "What are you even doing here?"
"Taking a page out of Doakes' book," said Dexter quietly, so that Deb would turn her attention and gun back on him.
It had always been easy to manipulate Deb, and it worked now. Her focus was on him, her eyes pleading with him to say something, anything convincing enough to allow her to walk out and forget she saw him here.
"Don't say that," she said, "Don't you fucking say another word you stupid, stupid- fucking, fuck!"
"Deb, I'm sorry," Dexter started, but she didn't want to be placated yet.
"No, fuck! Shut your mouth, Dex," she snapped, her attention falling back on Lumen, "And you, Luna or whatever your fucking hippie name is, what did you mean it's your fault? What are you doing here too? Are you- Who are you?"
Lumen shifted her balance from one foot to the other, before she finally admitted;
"I'm girl number thirteen."
*
Everything after that had been a 'shit-show' as Deb might have put it. Deb was already willing to let them go, but now that she knew who exactly had been behind the vigilante killings, she was furious and disappointed and traumatised by the very idea that Dexter, who had been her reliable rock for so long, could have 'changed' so much to do something like this.
"What happened to Rita fucked you up even more than I thought," she said, with disgust on her face.
Dexter couldn't tell if it was directed at him, or at the Trinity killer for taking Rita away. But he didn't need Deb's dire warning to know that the wider discussion about this wasn't over. (She still told him anyway.)
*
Dexter thought he'd lie awake all night, wondering how long it would be until Deb changed her mind, and came barging in, possibly with Quinn and Angel, guns blazing, ready to take him down for being the real Bay Harbour Butcher.
Maybe he should have gotten his 'go-bag' out of the fake section of his wall, picked up Harrison, and been halfway to Cuba on the Slice of Life by now. That would be the sensible choice. But Dexter knew his sister. He knew that Deb took her time to deliberate over personal decisions, unless her hand was forced. She wouldn't go running to LaGuerta or Matthews when this was a personal issue between her and Dexter. At least as she understood the motive behind these vigilante killings. She empathised with their choice, with Lumen's plight.
The situation would rapidly devolve if she found his blood slides or other evidence linking him to Doakes' supposed crimes. He'd have to cover his tracks even more thoroughly.
It was an issue for the morning. With Lumen safe in his arms, content, free from her Dark Passenger, he easily drifted into a heavy, deep and dreamless sleep.
*
The conversation came quickly. After an hour or so at work, Debra barged into his lab and said:
"Get coffee with me," in no uncertain terms.
Dexter obediently grabbed his wallet and keys. They took their own cars to a small kiosk near the beach that they'd frequented for years, but it was unlike any drink they'd had before. They usually sat outside under the shade of a coconut palm on a bench somewhere. Not today; Deb marched them toward a marina and didn't slow down for Dexter to catch up. He jogged after her, a little exasperated, but mostly relieved that she was talking to him and not their boss.
After a short march, Deb stopped abruptly and turned to him, her face stony but expectant.
"Talk," she demanded.
While Dexter gathered his thoughts, she fixed him with a more steely look as though to remind him she was waiting.
"I don't have any excuses," said Dexter, "Only the barest bones of an explanation. After Rita died I was... lost. Filled with rage, that I didn't know how to channel."
"So you go to a grief support group, like those emails I sent you," said Deb, "But I bet you never even opened them, did you?"
He hadn't.
"Deb-"
"No, you're right, go on with your sob story. Like you're the first person to ever experience a horrific loss. We don't all become killers," Deb pointed out snidely.
Dexter couldn't deny the truth of her words.
"I was so angry after Rita died," he reiterated, "Angrier than I've ever been."
A lie, but a calculated one. Deb doesn't know the real me under the mask she thinks is me.
Deb seemed to buy it, so he continued: "I couldn't be around Harrison all the time. I didn't want to take my rage out on him. I never want to be a man like Paul. Rita's kids deserve better than that. They always did."
"Fucking right they did," said Deb.
"Well, sometimes I would tell Jamie I was working and just... drive around. Aimless. Hopeless, I suppose. No plan, just driving. Sometimes I'd go out on my boat and do the same."
"And?" said Deb, impatient to get to the pertinent parts, as always.
"And one night I thought I heard a dog howling. Like an animal in pain. I was in the middle of nowhere, by some abandoned warehouse, and there was no one. It was a stray or a lost pet, I thought. I just. Wanted to do the right thing, I guess."
Deb was silent, her arms folded across her chest defensively, leading against the safety railing. Keeping an eye out for anyone coming too close. Keeping an eye on Dexter.
"It wasn't a dog," said Dexter shortly, "It was Lumen. Beaten like an animal. Starved. Imprisoned. I could barely believe what I was seeing. You don't expect to stumble across shit like that."
"Fuck no you don't," said Deb. "Shit, that's fucked up."
"I didn't know what to do," Dexter continued, entirely truthful for a moment, "I know I should have called it in-" and just like that he was back to his default lies, "-but I was in shock. I tried to help her. I was going to get her out to my car, call 911, but I waited too long. One of her attackers jumped me."
There was a long pause while Deb took in everything he was implying, but refused to say.
"It was self defense," she said, "Any jury would have let you off. You were rescuing that girl."
"I'm not a cop," said Dexter, "I was nowhere I should have been. How could I explain how I found her?"
Dexter shook his head as though regretful and said: "Later, I found out there were other guys involved, but I didn't know at that moment... so Lumen would have assumed me to be another attacker. She did. She would have told the police that, I guess. I don't know. I just reacted. I was driving out of there with her in my car, before I knew what I was doing."
"And then what?"
"And then she tried to escape, cause she thought I was another piece of shit rapist," said Dexter shortly, "It took me a while to convince her otherwise."
Deb didn't crack a smile at his attempt at levity, so Dexter quickly moved on.
"After that, it was how you described it, before you knew it was me. I helped her find them. I gave her a place to stay, cleaned her injuries up. Lumen refused a hospital, she thought they might come after her. I was scared about her reporting it all, and my involvement becoming known, so I agreed. I told her to go home, gave her money for the Greyhound. She refused."
"Okay, fine," said Deb waspishly, "That's all fucking fine and fucking dandy. How do you go from Mr Good fucking Samaritan, your friendly neighbourhood rapist-killer in self-defence, to... whatever the fuck. A vigilante. Shit."
Dexter shrugged unhelpfully.
"I don't know." He admitted, and it tasted like the truth, "I don't know how we got here, Deb. I just wanted to help her. She didn't get far. Lumen was so broken, so in despair... she just wanted to kill them all. And I tried to stop her, but she just called me a hypocrite for it. How come I got to kill her attacker, and not her? She was just finishing what I started."
Deb scowled, but conceded the point, glaring at the cheery blue skyline, where the bright sky met the frothy sea.
The scene is too optimistic and lovely for the horrible conversation we're having, but you can't control the weather.
"She's got a fucking point." Deb admitted, "A dumb one though, you know better than that. None of this explains why you didn't just pick up the fucking phone and call me. I'm your sister. I would have listened, I would have believed you."
"I know," said Dexter, another soothing lie, "I thought about it, so many times. I was taking out my rage on those rapists like some kind of... madman. And I know I should have reached out to you. But I..."
"What?" she demanded.
"I guess I was a coward," said Dexter, "I couldn't stand the thought of you hating me. Of you looking at me like you're looking at me right now, second guessing everything I say, wondering if I'm being honest with you, if you can trust me, if you ever knew me at all."
"No shit, I'm wondering a few things," said Deb, "But you're my fucking big brother Dex. I would have listened."
"You would have tried to help," said Dexter, "After the first guy, I mean. You would have seen it wouldn't be so easy to argue self-defence, and you would have wanted to help me. And I couldn't let you compromise yourself like that. You're a good person, Deb. Honourable. You deserve better than to be dragged into this."
"Well tough shit," she said, and then finally began to soften to him, as she inevitably always did.
"I'm in it now," she continued, "And I can't un-involve myself. Dex, just let me in. I doubt I can help cover up anything - even if I wanted to, which I absolutely do fucking not - since it seems you two are done. But I gotta know what might come crawling out in future to bite you on the ass, if I have a hope in hell of stopping that from happening."
Dexter opened his mouth to deny her request - to insist he'd already told her too much - but she cut him off with a slash of her hand as though jabbing the unspoken thought away.
"Don't even try it," she said, "Fucking tell me, so I know what to expect."
So he did.