Dexter - "Of Boston Creams and Cheesecake", Deb & Doakes, R
Title: Of Boston Creams and Cheesecake
Author: lindentree
Rating: R for cussin'
Character(s): Deb & Doakes
Word Count: 1,378
Summary: One car, two cops, a pointless stakeout, too few donuts, and too many sharp edges.
Notes: Written for brightbear for this year's yuletide. Takes place in S1, sometime after "Return to Sender". Thanks to ishie for the beta, as always. ♥
James Doakes was certain that the only thing worse than being on a stakeout was being on a stakeout with a motormouth like Debra Morgan.
Doakes and Morgan had been stationed outside a house in Little Havana for the past six hours, following up a lead in the Ice Truck Killer case. A lead which, as the hours passed, was looking more and more like yet another dead end. The apparently pointless stakeout and the frustration of being unable to get a break in the case, plus Morgan’s nonstop, expletive- and sexual anecdote-laden chatter, were starting to get to him. The fact that Morgan had eaten the last Boston cream donut didn’t help.
“So then I said to him, ‘you think so, motherfucker?’ and I grabbed his arm and just fucking twisted it back and -“
“God damn it, Morgan! I don’t give a shit about you dislocating some john’s shoulder when you were in Vice. Anyway, you’ve told me that story thirty times already. Shit.”
“Jesus,” she hissed. “Bite my head off, why don’t you?” Morgan grabbed a jelly donut from the box on the dashboard and sunk deeper into her seat, sulking.
Doakes rolled his eyes. Despite her bravado and a mouth so foul that even he was frequently awed by her language, Debra Morgan was still a rookie. She was way too touchy, too sensitive, too eager to please everyone and to prove herself. The way she went scampering after her brother’s approval like a puppy after a treat made Doakes want to shake some goddamn sense into her. She had sharp instincts and was going to make a damn fine investigator once she got some experience under her belt; she didn’t need Dexter’s stamp on everything she did. More importantly, she cared about her work, about keeping people safe, which was more than Doakes could say for that psycho brother of hers.
Doakes scowled, picking up the binoculars next to his seat and squinting through them at the dark house they were supposed to be monitoring. No point in thinking about Dexter right now. It would only piss him off.
He glanced sideways at Morgan, who was still slouched crankily in her seat, her knees butting against the glove compartment. She was devouring her jelly donut with gusto, despite the displeased frown on her face.
“What’s your fucking problem with me, anyway?” she asked suddenly, turning towards him as powdered sugar from the donut exited her mouth in a snowy puff. She wiped her mouth, embarrassed but defiant. “Everything I do, you’re always riding my ass. You’re worse than my brother.”
“You’re worse than my sisters, so I guess we’re even,” Doakes snapped back. Tense silence fell between them again. Doakes was surprised to find that he felt a bit guilty for being so harsh with Morgan. It wasn’t like she asked to have that fucking creep for a foster brother.
“They’ve been asking about you, by the way,” he said after a long pause, his fingers tapping awkwardly on the steering wheel. He wasn’t usually a fidgety guy, and certainly not where women were concerned, but Morgan made him nervous.
“Who?”
“My sisters, Morgan. My sisters have been asking about you. They keep bugging me about when I’m gonna bring you around again. My mom, too,” he grumbled, wishing he hadn’t said anything. Why was he telling her this? To make her quit sulking and start talking again, he guessed. Pathetic.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he replied, casting a sidelong glance at her. She was smiling at him, a wicked glint in her eyes. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, shrugging and turning back towards the windshield with a smile on her face. “It’s just cute, you being such a mama’s boy.”
“I am not a mama’s boy,” he replied, huffing in annoyance. Jesus, she was a pain in the ass.
“Right, okay, the guy who drops everything so we can swing by his mom’s place to have cheesecake while we’re on a shift isn’t a mama’s boy,” she laughed.
“You’re the one who wanted to stay for cheesecake, not me.”
“Of course I wanted to stay for cheesecake. Are you fucking kidding me? I haven’t had a meal like that in years. I mean, the food alone, never mind the company. It was fun.”
“Hmph,” Doakes replied. “Just ‘cause I stop by her place now and then doesn’t make me a goddamn mama’s boy, Morgan.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, you know,” she said, grinning at him. “I’m a total daddy’s girl. Shit, my dad’s been dead ten fucking years and I still wonder what he’d think every time I do practically anything.”
He stared across the car at her in the dim light, and decided that Debra Morgan had to have the rawest nerves of anyone he’d ever met. The slightest thing offended, excited, appalled, or touched her. For a brief moment he wondered what it would be like to say something about his own father, about how badly he’d wanted the man’s approval, about how much it hurt when he died without giving it. He could even point out how they had that in common, and maybe she would smile at him like he sometimes caught her smiling at Dexter; like his opinions, his feelings, were the only thing that really, truly mattered to her.
Doakes frowned once again at the thought of Dexter. Deb had no idea that one of these days, someone was going to take advantage of her openness. She had no idea how vulnerable she was.
“Since your daddy’s not around, maybe you should try asking that freak show brother of yours whether we’re going to get anything on this stakeout or whether it’s as big a waste of time as every other lead we’ve followed. He seems to have all the fucking answers.”
Morgan recoiled, visibly stung by his words. Doakes almost wanted to take them back, but he didn’t. He knew he was right; it was better for her to toughen up now than to learn the hard way.
“Fuck you,” she spat, turning back to face the windshield. Her arms were crossed tightly over her thin chest.
“Yeah, whatever,” Doakes muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
The remainder of the stakeout passed in silence and total boredom, without a single new piece of information being obtained. At the end of the night, Doakes drove them back to the station, letting his car idle next to Morgan’s. She didn’t get out immediately. She just sat there, staring out the window.
“Well?” Doakes prompted her, irritated.
“You know, you don’t have to be such a fucking asshole all the time,” she said, her mouth drawn in a taut, angry line as she turned to glare at him.
“This isn’t kindergarten, Morgan,” he replied harshly. “You need to grow a thicker skin and quit leaving yourself open to so many fucking hits. Either you get that into your head now, or one day you’re gonna figure it out the hard way.”
“Fine,” she snapped back. “I get it. Really, I do. I have to toughen up. Like you, right? Maybe that’s true. But we’re on the same side, god damn it. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. So quit busting my ass.”
He almost told her that there was no such thing as the same side, but he stopped himself. Even he could recognize that that comment would say more about him than about her.
“You’re right,” he said softly, looking at her. “No more personal shit, all right?”
She blinked at him, surprised. “All right,” she said. “Fine by me.”
“Good. Now get out of my car, Morgan. I’m tired and I want to go home and go the fuck to bed.”
“Yeah, old men like you need their rest,” she wisecracked, getting out of the car. “Night, Doakes.”
“Night.”
He pulled away, leaving her standing alone in the dark parking lot, her slim figure appearing briefly in his rear view mirror before he turned the corner and left her behind.
Morgan would have to learn eventually to guard herself, or she’d put herself and her fellow cops in danger.
Doakes didn’t want to know what it was going to take for her to get that.
-end-
Author: lindentree
Rating: R for cussin'
Character(s): Deb & Doakes
Word Count: 1,378
Summary: One car, two cops, a pointless stakeout, too few donuts, and too many sharp edges.
Notes: Written for brightbear for this year's yuletide. Takes place in S1, sometime after "Return to Sender". Thanks to ishie for the beta, as always. ♥
James Doakes was certain that the only thing worse than being on a stakeout was being on a stakeout with a motormouth like Debra Morgan.
Doakes and Morgan had been stationed outside a house in Little Havana for the past six hours, following up a lead in the Ice Truck Killer case. A lead which, as the hours passed, was looking more and more like yet another dead end. The apparently pointless stakeout and the frustration of being unable to get a break in the case, plus Morgan’s nonstop, expletive- and sexual anecdote-laden chatter, were starting to get to him. The fact that Morgan had eaten the last Boston cream donut didn’t help.
“So then I said to him, ‘you think so, motherfucker?’ and I grabbed his arm and just fucking twisted it back and -“
“God damn it, Morgan! I don’t give a shit about you dislocating some john’s shoulder when you were in Vice. Anyway, you’ve told me that story thirty times already. Shit.”
“Jesus,” she hissed. “Bite my head off, why don’t you?” Morgan grabbed a jelly donut from the box on the dashboard and sunk deeper into her seat, sulking.
Doakes rolled his eyes. Despite her bravado and a mouth so foul that even he was frequently awed by her language, Debra Morgan was still a rookie. She was way too touchy, too sensitive, too eager to please everyone and to prove herself. The way she went scampering after her brother’s approval like a puppy after a treat made Doakes want to shake some goddamn sense into her. She had sharp instincts and was going to make a damn fine investigator once she got some experience under her belt; she didn’t need Dexter’s stamp on everything she did. More importantly, she cared about her work, about keeping people safe, which was more than Doakes could say for that psycho brother of hers.
Doakes scowled, picking up the binoculars next to his seat and squinting through them at the dark house they were supposed to be monitoring. No point in thinking about Dexter right now. It would only piss him off.
He glanced sideways at Morgan, who was still slouched crankily in her seat, her knees butting against the glove compartment. She was devouring her jelly donut with gusto, despite the displeased frown on her face.
“What’s your fucking problem with me, anyway?” she asked suddenly, turning towards him as powdered sugar from the donut exited her mouth in a snowy puff. She wiped her mouth, embarrassed but defiant. “Everything I do, you’re always riding my ass. You’re worse than my brother.”
“You’re worse than my sisters, so I guess we’re even,” Doakes snapped back. Tense silence fell between them again. Doakes was surprised to find that he felt a bit guilty for being so harsh with Morgan. It wasn’t like she asked to have that fucking creep for a foster brother.
“They’ve been asking about you, by the way,” he said after a long pause, his fingers tapping awkwardly on the steering wheel. He wasn’t usually a fidgety guy, and certainly not where women were concerned, but Morgan made him nervous.
“Who?”
“My sisters, Morgan. My sisters have been asking about you. They keep bugging me about when I’m gonna bring you around again. My mom, too,” he grumbled, wishing he hadn’t said anything. Why was he telling her this? To make her quit sulking and start talking again, he guessed. Pathetic.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he replied, casting a sidelong glance at her. She was smiling at him, a wicked glint in her eyes. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, shrugging and turning back towards the windshield with a smile on her face. “It’s just cute, you being such a mama’s boy.”
“I am not a mama’s boy,” he replied, huffing in annoyance. Jesus, she was a pain in the ass.
“Right, okay, the guy who drops everything so we can swing by his mom’s place to have cheesecake while we’re on a shift isn’t a mama’s boy,” she laughed.
“You’re the one who wanted to stay for cheesecake, not me.”
“Of course I wanted to stay for cheesecake. Are you fucking kidding me? I haven’t had a meal like that in years. I mean, the food alone, never mind the company. It was fun.”
“Hmph,” Doakes replied. “Just ‘cause I stop by her place now and then doesn’t make me a goddamn mama’s boy, Morgan.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, you know,” she said, grinning at him. “I’m a total daddy’s girl. Shit, my dad’s been dead ten fucking years and I still wonder what he’d think every time I do practically anything.”
He stared across the car at her in the dim light, and decided that Debra Morgan had to have the rawest nerves of anyone he’d ever met. The slightest thing offended, excited, appalled, or touched her. For a brief moment he wondered what it would be like to say something about his own father, about how badly he’d wanted the man’s approval, about how much it hurt when he died without giving it. He could even point out how they had that in common, and maybe she would smile at him like he sometimes caught her smiling at Dexter; like his opinions, his feelings, were the only thing that really, truly mattered to her.
Doakes frowned once again at the thought of Dexter. Deb had no idea that one of these days, someone was going to take advantage of her openness. She had no idea how vulnerable she was.
“Since your daddy’s not around, maybe you should try asking that freak show brother of yours whether we’re going to get anything on this stakeout or whether it’s as big a waste of time as every other lead we’ve followed. He seems to have all the fucking answers.”
Morgan recoiled, visibly stung by his words. Doakes almost wanted to take them back, but he didn’t. He knew he was right; it was better for her to toughen up now than to learn the hard way.
“Fuck you,” she spat, turning back to face the windshield. Her arms were crossed tightly over her thin chest.
“Yeah, whatever,” Doakes muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
The remainder of the stakeout passed in silence and total boredom, without a single new piece of information being obtained. At the end of the night, Doakes drove them back to the station, letting his car idle next to Morgan’s. She didn’t get out immediately. She just sat there, staring out the window.
“Well?” Doakes prompted her, irritated.
“You know, you don’t have to be such a fucking asshole all the time,” she said, her mouth drawn in a taut, angry line as she turned to glare at him.
“This isn’t kindergarten, Morgan,” he replied harshly. “You need to grow a thicker skin and quit leaving yourself open to so many fucking hits. Either you get that into your head now, or one day you’re gonna figure it out the hard way.”
“Fine,” she snapped back. “I get it. Really, I do. I have to toughen up. Like you, right? Maybe that’s true. But we’re on the same side, god damn it. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. So quit busting my ass.”
He almost told her that there was no such thing as the same side, but he stopped himself. Even he could recognize that that comment would say more about him than about her.
“You’re right,” he said softly, looking at her. “No more personal shit, all right?”
She blinked at him, surprised. “All right,” she said. “Fine by me.”
“Good. Now get out of my car, Morgan. I’m tired and I want to go home and go the fuck to bed.”
“Yeah, old men like you need their rest,” she wisecracked, getting out of the car. “Night, Doakes.”
“Night.”
He pulled away, leaving her standing alone in the dark parking lot, her slim figure appearing briefly in his rear view mirror before he turned the corner and left her behind.
Morgan would have to learn eventually to guard herself, or she’d put herself and her fellow cops in danger.
Doakes didn’t want to know what it was going to take for her to get that.
-end-