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"Hey, Sergeant," he greeted, quickly switching windows on his laptop as the man came in, "Thanks for supporting the bowling team." There was a smile dancing on his lips, smarmy, plain, and pedestrian. Exactly the sort of thing that pissed off Doakes. And if he couldn't at least piss off his new stalker, was there any fun to be had for Dexter Morgan?
"Fuck you." Came the unnecessarily hostile reply. "Where's my blood report on the Maynard victims?" This was their game: Doakes the asshole who had it out for him, and poor unassuming lab geek Dexter, who hadn't done anything wrong that the Sergeant could concretely prove.
Dexter handed the requested file over easily; relaxed even though he knew the Sergeant's eyes were combing the office space for anything he may deem out of place or otherwise suspicious. It wasn't like he'd find anything. Dexter wasn't a fucking amateur.
"So what's that, a titty site?" the Sergeant asked, looking through the blood report he'd just been handed.
"Oops!" He looked to the screen of his computer then sighed, "You caught me."
"Bullshit. What the hell were you really doing in here?"
As if he'd ever answer that question honestly.
"The tits are right there," he said, pointing to them with surgical disinterest. (They were just tits, he didn't get what the fuss was about). Searching up the website himself had been such a strange experience, he really did not get why people did that sort of thing. It wasn't like tits were that difficult to imagine.
But it wasn't as if Dexter had the same level of interest in sex that most adult men seemed to have.
"Yet in ten years you haven't rented a single porn title," The Sergeant fired back. Quick enough and strangely sure enough to catch him off guard.
Huh.
Dexter frowned, he hadn't even known that, and this was about him.
"How would you know?" he asked after a thoughtful pause, looking up at the man and tilting his head to the side a bit. Getting Doakes to admit the tailing and investigations into his personal life wouldn't get the man to stop, but at least he would have the pleasure of having the man admit to it. Or maybe learn about how he'd done it. As he certainly hadn't found that sort of information on Dexter in any sort of legal fashion.
Doakes didn't answer.
He had the upper hand now. Dexter was a private person, they both knew it. And this was just another step into his life and his world that he would rather the cop had not taken.
"Maybe I'm just renting from a different shop," Dexter said, wondering how many different adult video stores there could be in Miami. Surely there were too many for Doakes to confidently claim that he had not rented any at all. (Though, honestly, with his general disinterest in sex... it would not surprise him if the Seargeant's claim was correct).
(But Doakes certainly did not need him to confirm that). (He might take it as some sort of signal to keep digging into Dexter's life).
"No. Unless you paid someone else to get your pornos for you-" Great, he still didn't know how it was that Doakes had figured that out. Had he been staking out adult video stores and showing Dexter’s picture around, asking questions? He might have.
He had probably also gotten ahold of his credit history or bank statements. (A crime, but not one that Dexter could prove unless he knew how the Sergeant had done it, and even then...) (The reason he used cash more than anything else: because it didn't leave a paper trail).
But the more pressing question, "Why do you know that?" Why was the Sergeant looking into his sexual spending history (even if there was none)?
Doakes didn't answer.
"Why are my sexual preferences any of your business?" He tried, instead. Even if the Sergeant didn't answer there was a small chance he'd be granted a sliver of privacy. Unlikely, but not impossible.
"What preferences? You could be jerking it to dead bodies for all anyone knows." Doakes stared him down, focussed and sharp. A man that knew he had already caught onto Dexter's scent, onto a hint of the monster he worked with.
He grimaced, insulted, "That's gross." He might not have much interest in sex, but he knew that corpses didn't turn him on. He might get interested in the particular ways a person was killed and the artistry a killer might have used but that appreciation had never crossed paths with what he found sexually appealing.
The Sergeant's intent stare didn't change. Didn't let up.
"What are you going to accuse me of next?"
"Depends," Doakes shrugged, leaving in and over him, "What shady shit are you into?"
If the Sergeant meant sex, he was certainly barking up the wrong tree. As Dexter was not much interested in sex. And based off the years working with Masuka and never once understanding the appeal of various kinks or other unorthodox sexual acts or desires that Vince brought up; Dexter was almost certain that he was not into anything shady in the sexual sense.
He might have had an appreciative sensibility about men that was not quite normal. But it wasn't like he was ever going to act on it.
Men who had... sensibilities about other men did not fit in. And Harry had drilled into his head the importance of blending in. And Dexter had understood the unvoiced general disdain his father had for men and boys like that.
There was no point in bringing that up now, however, as he had a girlfriend and it wasn't anyone's business. And it also probably wouldn't help get the Sergeant off his tail.
He scoffed, "Call me an office crazy, but your humbling interest in my personal and sex life could be considered harassment,"
"Then report me," Doakes says, leering down at him. Dexter would like to do something a bit more drastic. But that would be wrong. "-We both know you won't."
He didn't clench his teeth, or bite his tongue. But the tight grimace of a grin he gives the man gave him away anyway. And it was true.
We both know you won't. Ugh. It sounded like something one of those stalker-turned-killers usually said about their victims. Twisted the story around to make it seem like someone not being able to get the police to do something about their stalker as an intentional act to allow them to continue stalking.
Doakes was tailing him and apparently looking into his social and financial choices. Doakes was stalking him.
"Like anyone would believe me. We've worked together for over a decade and now I report you?" Maybe he was a bit on edge. There was only so many nights a man could go bowling or go through whatever other charades of normal life while a cop tailed him before something snapped. "Like anyone would believe that you're stalking me and looking into my porn history?" He laughed. Not only would he not be believed, then it might alert others. He could not risk another cop on his scent.
And the porn thing? It was almost funny. Doakes was so desperate to find something wrong with him that he was trying to find what porn Dexter had rented. (The answer was none, apparently).
Doakes wasn't grinning anymore. Not quite. But he still looked smug.
"Or maybe they would believe me and you'd get demoted or fired. You may have it out for me, but I'm not trying to ruin your career or your life over it."
"Why not?"
"I respect you, Sergeant," he answered, whether or not the man was a pain in his ass, it was true, "You're usually pretty good at catching bad guys. And that's kind of the whole point of our jobs. I just don't get why you think I'm anything like them."
Doakes leaned further in to look down at him from a closer angle, "You're a damn good liar, I'll give you that."
Dexter would really like an easy way to get Doakes off his tail. Violence was unfortunately off the table, and they both knew reporting him would cause more harm to the code. He just had to hold out, keep up the simple suburban act until Doakes lost interest.
"Nice tits," The Sergeant grinned as he turned to leave, the blinds softly crashing back against the door as it swung shut behind him.
What? Tits? Dexter blinked, wondering-
Right, the 'titty site' on his laptop. The one with an image of naked boobs that took up nearly the whole window. Those tits. Not his. The Sergeant had not been complimenting his tits.
Not that the Sergeant would compliment his tits. Not that he really had tits. (Were pectorals considered tits?)
Dexter shook his head. Now was not the time to think of the semantics of what were and weren't considered tits. Or about why he was suddenly feeling warm in the face and around the collar. He was just frustrated because he needed a kill and Doakes' stalking. It had nothing to do with anything else.
Not the curiosity of something he'd never let himself explore.
Now wasn't the time to think about that. He had a girlfriend. He had Rita. He liked Rita.
He was not flustered because he mistakenly thought another man complimented his tits. (Whether or not they could be called that).
He was just frustrated. And if he was flustered it was because he had been confused about the remark. If he was flustered it probably had more to do with the fact that he knew that the Sergeant had gone poking into his life to find his (albeit non-existant) porn history.
Which was not a thing that was good. It was a breach of privacy.
It crossed the lines from harassment to sexual harassment. He should only be frustrated, feel violated and disrespected. Not... warm or flustered.
He wasn't flushed. He had a girlfriend. He liked his girlfriend.
He shouldn't be flustered. Especially not by his harassing stalker-coworker. Especially not when he didn't know how his stalker went about finding his lack of adult film rental history.