Things to Do:

Go to the grocery
*duct tape
*saren wrap
*garbage bags
*cookies
*eggs

Meet Rita at the florist

[locked]

Kill Miguel

[/unlocked]

Voice mails I need to delete

-Dex, it's Miguel. I've got us a tee time on Thursday afternoon at 3. Think you can make it? Let me know.

-Dammit, Dex. Call me
*From Deborah. She refuses to leave her name or any reason for the call

-Dexter, it's Rita. I know you're working but the kids wanted to call and say hi. Hi!Dexter! It's Astor. If you're home in time can you read a story to me and Cody? Yes Please! (Cody) Bye Dexter! We love you.

It's Rita again. We'll see you tonight. I love you.

[What Scares You?]

There’s a cacophony of carnival music that precedes the suddenly bobbing clown’s head. Both Rita and Astor jump, clinging to me. It’s an odd feeling, being someone’s life raft and my first instinct is to shake them off. Their screams are followed by laughter which is a reaction I’ve never understood.

“Aren’t you scared, Dexter?” Astor asks.

“Nuh uh. Dexter’s not ‘fraid of nothing,” Cody champions me. That’s right, Daring Death Defying Dexter has a champion in the form of a seven year old boy. If they only knew.

“Anything,” Rita corrects, beaming a smile at me. To the victor goes the spoils; apparently I am the victor.

“Not the same sorts of things most people are,” I finally respond to Astor as we exit the haunted house.

“Because of your job?” Astor probes. The older she gets the more curious and persistent her questions get. She gives me a look that is curious and reminiscent of her mother. I can only hope Rita does not develop the same habit of interrogation. I shrug in answer because it seems as good a guess as any. I suppose normal people in my job would not be scared of the same sort of things most people are but then I don’t know anyone normal in my profession. The real answer is, of course, I’m scarier than any monster a haunted house could produce.

“Astor, honey, let Dexter be,” Rita chides and it seems she will not be picking up her daughters new hobby or perhaps Rita sees something in me that should be left alone. Something Astor does not. “Let’s find something else to do.” I’ll have to remember that distraction works as a means of sidelining Astor.

“A jail!” Cody explains, jumping and pointing to something that is really just an animal pen with a poster board above it. Other parents are already serving time jailed for crimes that only the children can imagine. My heart sinks because I’ve an inkling of what is coming to me.

“Let’s put Dexter in jail!”

Once again, my instincts are right on the mark. As Cody pays the required ticket and the door shuts behind Dear Daddy Dexter I can’t help but think now he’s found my fear. I turn to look out the bars at Rita, Astor and Cody and I realize perhaps, for the first time in my life, my fear is based on a bit more than merely being locked in. It’s also the idea of being locked out.

Dangerous Dexter has become partially Domesticated Dexter and neither of us like being locked in, locked out and away from the world; away from the people, living and only living for now, that make up our world.

[Locked from Everyone]

[Discuss your feelings on the possibility of having a family with your partner]

In science and in society there is an argument that has been going on for as long as we recorded these kind of things. Nature vs. Nuture. Most people studying my situation analytically would say I am a product of my environment. One event changed my entire life irrevocably. From that one event, my entire life as it is has stemmed. Disturbed Dexter who might have been Downright Darling Dexter in other circumstances…at least according to those who think we’re a product of our environment. Instead I became a serial killer molded into a paragon of perfection, most of the time, by Harry.

However I know, apparently Dull Dexter has a dark secret. There’s something lurking inside of me. My dark passenger watches my life from the shadows and occasionally he takes over. As a scientist, someone who takes blood spatter and turns it into a series of mathematical equations, I have to wonder how much of that is in my genes and how much of it was born in a railroad car filled with blood and raised by a man filled with vengeance. These are questions Daddy Dexter needs to know.

Right, Rita is pregnant. Maybe I forgot to mention that earlier. So while I may not have ever considered having a family with her or anyone, it has been thrust upon me. And really…husband and father sound so much more upstanding, mundane, moral and safe than boyfriend. Rita may have provided me with my best cover yet.

I love that woman…or I would if I could love at all.

[Abandon]

His entire life has been a Technicolor scene from Willy Wonka. It’s all too bright and fake to be real. He knows that and watching Rita with the kids only intensifies the impression. She laughs from where she’s pushing Cody on the swing and waves at Dexter. He waves back, smile pasted to his face and he’s certain there’s no hint of what he is underneath. She thinks he’s genuine and he knows he’s enacting a movie when he places his hands on her hips from behind and presses a kiss to the top of her head. She leans into him with a smile and he takes over pushing Cody. He’s waylaid moments later by Astor. She’s still small enough that most people would crouch to speak to her but he stands, looking down, his hand on top of her head.

“Dexter can we go get ice cream?”

“Mom said it was up to you,” Cody chimes from where he’s scrambling down from the swing. Dexter looks to Rita for confirmation and she nods.

“Well then, I guess we’ll have ice cream.”

There is a chorus of glee and Dexter feels like he’s outside again. The movie is going according to script because the reality is too grisly for PG audiences. Astor grabs one hand, Cody grabs the other and they drag him toward the car. Dexter looks back to Rita for help and she just laughs, tagging along behind him.

Sometimes he wishes he could abandon his true nature for them and sometimes he just wants to escape to it. This particular moment is weighted with both desires.

[Diligence]

He neatly polishes off the Cuban sandwich on his plate. Deb is prattling on about something and Dexter is ignoring her with a diligence few have mastered. He applies this same sort of diligence in every aspect of his life. It is what drives him through his days. It is only with diligence that he can perform his job, dissecting blood spatter and turning it into physics and statics that can be used to catch criminals. And it is this same diligence that keeps him from living the rest of his days in a prison cell or a padded room.

“Dex? You alright? You seem kinda out of it,” Deb states as she pokes at her own sandwich. She’s a good eater but few hold a candle to Dexter.

“Right as rain,” Dexter tells her with a benign smile even though both he and Deb are well aware Dexter isn’t as right as rain, or as right as anything else. “However, if you’re not going to eat that,” he starts to reach over to nab part of her sandwich and she pulls her plate away with the ferocity of a lioness.

“Back off, Morgan.”

Dexter lets out a little chuckle that seems to be made of plasterboard and paste as he holds his hands up in a surrender position. “Hurry up and finish. Rita wants me to take you by the florist. For some reason she thinks because you’re female, you’ll instinctively know which flowers look best.”

Deb gives him a look that says he’s insane and he just shrugs. “I’m just doing what Rita asks me to.”

Because he applies diligence to his relationship with Rita as well, at least as much as is possible.

[wrath]

Our sin is clear, the Dark Passenger and Doting Dexter, but we bury it deep and we bury it well under a grave of normality that will keep anyone from questioning what lies beneath the bland smile and the docile eyes. Docile Dexter, blood analyst and maybe he’s a bit odd but he couldn’t hurt anyone. No, not him. He brings donuts to work and jogs in the morning.

And at night, he slips the dark on like a second skin and a hunting he will go. The Dark Passenger takes over but Dexter remains the navigation system. He decides where, when, who. The Dark Passenger doesn’t care. He just needs that kill, to watch the light fade and the body quartered into neat sections beneath his hands. I would say that the Dark Passenger is the epitome of wrath but I don’t think his power, our power, is anything to do with the divine. Harry never preached the bible but I’ve been around long enough to know good and evil. We definitely fall into the second category even though we adhere to Harry’s code. Only those the law can not catch, the law will not catch. Those too clever, too sharp, too evil and too slick to nabbed by anything so mundane as the legal system. We rise above the law, operate beyond and sin in the name of something much more primal.

But Docile Dexter…no. Not him. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.

There are a lot of ways to say I love you. Fucking is the fastest.

For a woman who didn’t like to be touched she loves to cuddle now. She loves to fuck and she loves to give blow jobs. I’m never quite certain if my reaction is what she’s expecting or not because of the way she looks up at me. I swear its half worship, half pleading and I don’t know what to do with either. I feel like I should stop her mid-act because I know how it’s going to end. She’ll give me those eyes, nuzzle against my neck and whisper my name like I’m a savior. I’m always afraid she’s going to see how empty I am in those moments just as every other woman has before. I suppose I’ve become a better actor, an excellent pretender. I’m quite certain if I could love her, I would. However the simple fact is, I can’t.

[locked from everyone]

In truth, my next kill makes me harder than the thought of Rita giving me a blow job ever will. I’m certain she is good at the act. It is me who’s defective but Rita has it in her head that fucking somehow equates to love and since she is an integral part of my façade she needs to believe I love her. It’s hard to force the words out sometimes so I succumb to the fucking even when I’d rather not. Besides, I am rather attached to her.

How did you get where you are today professionally? Did you always want to do the job you do now? Did you just fall into it? Do you have dreams of promotion? Another profession? Talk about it!

My adopted father, Harry Morgan, was a cop in Miami and he was a good cop. He raised me to be a cop. Yeah…I went blood spatter analyst but it’s still in the profession. Mostly I took that because physics and attention to detail come very naturally to me.

[Locked]

It was necessary for me to go into law enforcement. It was integral to what I am and what I do. Being involved in law enforcement allows me access that I wouldn’t have otherwise; criminal files, investigation details. It gives me insight to procedures and the way things have evolved in crime scene investigation since Harry taught me how to get away with murder so very long ago. It would be much more difficult to be what I am without my job. I have no idea what I would do if I wasn’t a blood spatter analyst. I’ve never considered it. I’m one of those men that work to support my lifestyle.

[unlocked]

I don’t like blood but I love my job. I enjoy the science and the logistics behind it.

By the book

Absolutely. You always go by the book. Even when the temptation to deviate is so strong you can taste it. If you don’t go by the book, the monster gets loose and then you’ve got a lot more on your hands then you started with

[locked from everyone]

I do go by the book. Every single time without fail. Only it’s not the same book that everyone else is using. I go by Harry’s code. Even when I don’t want to. For the people I kill I am judge, jury and executioner but I am a very careful judge, jury and executioner. I wouldn’t hesitate to say that my justice system is more accurate than the governments. I don’t make mistakes and I never kill anyone that doesn’t deserve it. I take care of the heinous crimes, the ones the police can’t touch because the monsters are too clever, too well protected or because ‘the book’ leaves too much room for error. That’s right, the worlds own person Darling Dark Avenger, Dexter. It sounds quite noble when put that way but the truth is I’m merely Deviant Dexter. It keeps the dark passenger reined in; it satisfies his hunger and does no harm to the side of good. I have to stick to Harry’s code though. Even more so than the ‘good’ cops have to stick by the book because if I slip up even once, if I let the dark passenger have that taste of freedom, he will never again be satisfied and the human I pretend to be is not strong enough to fight him all the time. He would be unleashed on society and trust me when I say no one wants that. Especially not Harry. I would so hate to disappoint him. Where ever he is.

"Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us without words?" Marcel Marceau.

Obviously Marcel does not include weddings as one of the ‘most moving moments of our lives’ because from my experience women tend to blather and sob rather than go speechless.

[locked from everyone]

I remember my first kill with such fondness. Last Nurse. I’d waited so long for her, trying and testing and pushing at Harry yet when he let loose my leash I wanted to beg him to reclaim it again. At the same time I was exhilarated. I was finally going to be me. It’s a scary prospect, that permission to be exactly what you are and nothing more.

It was messy and only Harry’s paranoia born into me kept me from being caught. Certainly if Deb had been on the force or Doakes or even a straight up man like the one I pretended to be…if Harry had been on the case I surely would have been caught. Afterwards there was such calm. Up to that point I’d never experienced such quiet, such peace. I returned to Harry’s room in the hospital and I remember how he nodded at me. I nodded back and it was just as well that he not ask questions for I was speechless. Dearly Disturbed Dexter had finally figured out precisely what he was meant to do.

And he wanted to do it again.

[unlocked]

Sleeping on the couch

Rita and I don’t fight. Honestly. We rarely ever fight. She’s a saint and I’m the lucky bastard that managed to snag her. However, this wedding and the plans that it involves is putting quite the strain on us. Apparently it is quite acceptable for one to spend an unhealthy amount of money on a wedding. As a man, I don’t see the point; its one afternoon and a piece of paper.

Now normally, I am quite adept at controlling my mouth, running words such as these through my brain and predicting her reaction. Once I do that I make the decision whether to say those words or merely nod at her. Obviously this was not a normal conversation for me because I didn’t go through that process. I blame fatigue and an overload at work. I’m dealing with a particularly difficult case.

Anyway, Rita ‘blew up’ at me as some might say. Thankfully Cody and Astor were already in bed and did not bear witness to this. However, it did end up with me sleeping on the couch. It’s a very comfortable couch.

[locked from every one]

To tell the truth, I didn’t sleep there at all. I took the opportunity to do some research on my next victim. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to come up with excuses to slip out in the middle of the night? I may have to ‘slip up’ more often if being remanded to the couch is to be my punishment.

I wish Harry were around. He never got to explain precisely how one such as myself is supposed to deal with a relationship.


Dexter Morgan/ Dexter: Books and Tv Series/ 279 words

How much do you trust your partner?

I trust Rita implicitly and she is an extraordinary confidante.

[locked from everyone including the doctors]

That’s what I’m supposed to say, isn’t it? We’re to be married and we live together. I’m rather fond of her but I don’t trust Rita at all. Not even a tiny. Little. Bit. It’s not her fault honestly. After all, how can she be expected to deal with what I really am? I can’t trust anyone. Harry taught me that and I certainly can’t trust the woman who thinks I’m her savior.

Murder on the Rise in Miami:
Should Residents be Scared?

Nonsense. Yes murder is on the rise. I blame the sticky heat and have you driven on the Miami’s freeways lately? They’re a mass of homicidal tendencies but then they always have been. My theory is not that murder is on the rise, it’s that murderers are getting stupider while the system is getting smarter. Residents shouldn’t be scared. They should be cautious as they’ve always been.

[locked]

Residents should be terrified but it’s not like I can say that officially. They’ve got a monster helping catch other monsters. And the monsters aren’t getting stupider. They’re getting smarter every single day. It’s the normal, run of the mill idiots that we’re catching. You know the guy who gets angry at his wife and kills her in a fit of passion. A trained monkey could solve that one.

The one thing that should scare residents and surprisingly probably won’t, I’m out there and I can’t wait for the next monster to come along.
[unlocked]

And you can trust Deeply Devoted Dexter. Not rain, nor sleet, nor snow can keep me from solving Miami’s murders with blood, strings and physics.

Patient:Dexter Morgan
Fandom: Dexter (books and tv series)
Word Count: 80
Partner: Rita (canon)

My relationship is like...

My relationship with Rita is like a pair of glasses. Rita makes everything shaper and brings it into focus. I appreciate my job more because of her and I appreciate my extra curricular activities even more. Perhaps because I understand what it is to share my life with someone rather than always spending it in solitude.

[locked from everyone including the doctors]
Clark Kent has a pair of glasses to keep his true nature from being seen. I have Rita.

Seduction

Rita is a poor, broken saint among women to put up with my romantic advances.

[locked from everyone]

I hear him all the time, whispering at the back of my neck and sending chills down my spine that radiate outward all the way to my toes. He quickens my blood, tightens my chest and it’s so damn hard to breathe when he wants to take the driver’s seat.

I hold up a cautioning hand, promising that his time will come. I just need one more piece of the puzzle but he is so seductive with his promises of the kill. He is a master at foreplay, describing just so the way their eyes widen, pupils contracting until they are mere specks in a puddle of color. He whispers sweet nothings into my hair about the crimson slash welling against the pale, pale, pallor of their skin and then reminds me lovingly of the Rosewood box on my shelf. He brings to mind our past liaisons with such poignancy.

He promises sections quartered nice and neat, wrapped like Christmas gifts in plastic trash bags, tied with a bow of twine. He hits his climax, our climax, when he describes the throaty rasp of their screams, muffled against the duct tape and then he cuddles us close, stroking the nape of our neck as he recounts the way the light in their eyes flares for one brief moment before it goes out.

He seduces like nothing human because we are not human and I almost feel guilty knowing that Rita, broken saint that she is, will never hold a candle to him.

[unlocked]

She’s quite certain to go to Heaven. Should you believe in that sort of place. And oddly enough, I’ve just discovered a few weeks ago that Rita does. It’s fascinating the things you discover about a person when you are planning a wedding with them.

Old Acquaintance

It’s bound to happen from time to time and now that Rita and I are getting married, the time has been defined. You see, Darling Dexter had to come up with a guest list. Rita, for some reason I still do not grasp, was not happy with the concept of Deb being my only guest. I protested and offered reassurances that I would not be upset should Deb be the only one sitting on my side of the church. Rita, dear woman that she is, would have none of it. My list is now prolific, filled with acquaintances I have not seen in years.

In any case, Rita seems quite happy and I suppose that was the point of this guest list after all.

[Locked from Everyone]

He’s come back. He’s come back and I could not be more relieved. I feel rather foolish now having behaved like the Dubious Dexter. I feel even more foolish that I actually spent time contemplating what my life would be without him.

I had never lost my dark passenger though, not in any memory of any part of my life. He was always there, whispering, smirking, offering opinions and urging me onward. Once he was gone I found that I was not only empty…I was hollow in such a way that I didn’t even echo. You have no idea how horrible it was, to consider that I might have to pretend to be human and be absolutely nothing else.

He’s back. Dexter’s fond, old acquaintance and I’m very grateful for that indeed.

I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when Deb made sergeant. I feel like I had a great deal to do with helping her get there.

[locked]

Deb making sergeant was a nice, normal event in my life. It made her happy, or at least relatively so. She wanted it and I wanted it for her. However, it is not the event I would most like to have been a fly on the wall.

In fact in this ideal scenario I would want to be a fly in the freezer. I would want to watch as he strung them up, as he spoke to them and prepared them for what he was about to do. Did he let them know why? Did he let them know how or did he give them hope? Let them think that when this was all over they would be safe at home?

The draining I could stand to miss. I don’t like blood, which I realize is odd given my profession and my recreational activities but there you have it.

I desperately want to watch every single careful, surgical bloodless cut. I want to see how the knife slices through that cold skin. I want to watch as he determines which cuts to make and I want to reveal in it all. I want to be the apprentice to his master.

But then he got caught and I haven’t.

Not yet.
[unlocked]

I’m very proud of my dear adopted sister.

Dexter Morgan
Books: Dexter Series
251 words