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Lumen Obscura	By : PinkSiamese Category: -Misc TV Shows > Crossovers Views: 1077 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Hannibal or Dexter in any of their incarnations (TV shows, movies, books). I am making no money off this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
I find the details of this case rather fascinating, but whether or not I am to participate in a more official capacity is strictly at the discretion of Will Graham
Just the thought of his name makes her flinch. It is a shrinking away, the expectation of a blow.
Lumen puts her phone in her pocket. She turns, the wind at her back, and looks up at the windows of Dexter’s apartment. She tucks her hair behind her ears. Sighs. So much warm light.
She climbs the stairs up to the second level, moves back toward the distant glitter of water; she walks the long balcony to the door.
She opens it, steps in. All the lamps are on; they gleam on the pale hardwood floors. Dexter looks up. He’s sitting as his desk, laptop open. The blue light of the screen washes up over his face.
Lumen gives him a brief smile. “Hey.”
“Wow.”
She pauses. “What?”
“That’s quite a sunburn.”
“Yeah.” She reaches up, touches her face. She laughs. “I, um, went to the beach for part of the day.” She smiles. “I couldn’t resist it. What can I say. I missed the ocean.”
“So I see.” He nods. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She kicks off her sandals, walks into the kitchen. “I think so.” She opens the fridge. “That friend I mentioned before? Kind of pushy.”
“Oh.” Dexter lifts his eyebrows. “I see.”
“I don’t like being pushed.”
“I remember. I pity the fool.”
“Yeah.” A grin flashes across her face as she opens a can of orange soda. “So what are you doing?”
“Oh…this? Research.”
Lumen takes a sip. She leans into the refrigerator. “You’re going after him, aren’t you. The mermaid guy.”
Dexter holds up his hands. He grins. “Guilty as charged.”
She straightens up, walks into the living room. She drops down onto the couch. “What do you have to do on?”
“Not much to start.” Dexter looks at the screen. His fingers tap the keyboard. “Your man Graham thinks the guy’s a commercial fisherman, or maybe a sport fisherman. Possibly retired Navy. Those are the guys who have the access to the needed equipment, the privacy to kill in this fashion, and the knowledge of shark fishing in general.” Dexter pauses. “In his opinion.”
This time, when it lands, his name feels like poking a bruise. She bites her lip.
“Sounds like you’re not too impressed with my man Graham.” Lumen folds her legs, stares at the wall. Takes a drink. The soda can numbs her fingertips. “Though I really wish you’d stop calling him that.”
“Well…” Dexter double-clicks. “It’s more that I think he’s holding something back.”
Lumen turns sideways on the couch. She leans into the back of it, looks at him through the bookshelf. She slurps stray droplets from the top of the can. “Why do you say that?”
“Dunno. Just a feeling.”
She puts the can on the coffee table. “So what do you think?”
“I think he’s probably right. But it’s only half-right. That he would need to know something about fishing is pretty obvious. What about surgical knowledge? Maybe he’s a surgeon, or has had some sort of surgical training. Maybe he’s a taxidermist.” Dexter turns the laptop around. “Ever heard of the Feejee Mermaid?”
Lumen leans forward and tilts her head, searches for a clear line of sight. “Yeah, I think so.” She sits back. “It’s a gaff, right? A taxidermied fake.”
“Yep.”
She picks the can back up. “So you think that maybe this guy drew his inspiration from this instead of whatever it is you think Graham is holding back.”
“Yep. That covers it.”
Lumen looks into the can. “Maybe he isn’t holding anything back.” She shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe he’s just slow.” She takes a long drink. “Maybe he’s not even really that good and it’s all…I don’t know, inflated reputation.”
“No. No. He is really that good.” Dexter spins the laptop back around. “His record is impressive. That’s what makes him dangerous. You’re right to be nervous about him.”
“You’re going to have to be extra careful, then.” Lumen takes a drink and looks at him. “Don’t you think?”
“Yeah. I dodged Lundy back when he was hunting Trinity, but it was still a lot of work.” Dexter tilts his head and makes a face. “Though hopefully Graham will manage to keep his hands out of my sister’s pants. That made things really weird.”
She snorts. “He’s so not her type.”
He snorts. “Neither was Lundy.”
“Oh come on. Have you seen him?” Lumen fiddles with the tab. “He’s, like, Tweedy McQuiet Mr. Bookworm Professor Nerd Man. He’s got the nerd glasses and everything.” She laughs. “Deb would never. Not in a million years.”
“You never saw Lundy.”
“Yeah, I know.” She puts the can down on the shelf. She looks at it. “He was like old enough to be her father or something.”
“Yeah. Or something is right.”
“Well, there’s none of that daddy vibe stuff coming off Will. The scary tweedy profiler man. Mr. Graham. Whatever. So. Yes, it’s just a guess, but I think that’s probably a low-risk situation.”
“Will?” Dexter’s eyebrows go up. He glances at her. “So he’s Will now? When did that happen?”
“What?” She presses her cold fingers to her sunburned cheeks. “That’s his name, isn’t it? We really don’t have to walk around going ‘Will Graham, Will Graham, Will Graham’ all the time.” She touches the can to both sides of her face. “You could also call Lundy by his first name, you know, if you wanted to. It is his name.”
“Please don’t make me.”
She takes a drink. “I think Deb is safe from Will Graham.”
“Well, you never know.” Dexter looks up from the screen, flashes her a brief grin. “Looks can be deceiving. You never can tell.”
“I just…” She makes a face. “I don’t see it.”
“Well,” he shrugs, “she’s gotten a taste for profilers, so…”
“Gross! That’s such a gross way of putting it, like it’s blood in the water or something.” She starts to laugh. “Okay. Sure.” She flips a hand. “Cause once you go profiler, you never go back. Right? Do you think we can get back on track please?”
Dexter closes the laptop. “Do you want to help me?”
Lumen’s hands, holding the soda can, drop into her lap. Her voice quiets. “You mean help you do the thing?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not like you need a lot of help right now. There’s nothing to do yet.”
“No. Not yet. But there will be.”
“I want to think about it.” She looks out the window. “I don’t know if getting in the middle of this is a good idea.”
“Because of Graham. Sorry. Will.”
“I know we’ve talked about this,” she says, flicking at the soda’s tab, “and that he’s probably nothing to worry about.” She looks up. “But I don’t want to take the chance.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask.” Dexter watches her face. “Did something happen? In Minneapolis? You seem different.”
“What do you mean?” Lumen starts to laugh. She rubs the back of her neck and shakes her head. “Like what?”
“Something…” He makes circles with one hand, lifting his eyebrows. “Killing-related?”
“No!” She makes a face. “No.” She picks up her soda can and looks at it, swirls the liquid still inside. “I stopped doing that when I left you.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “Did you stop wanting to?”
She stops. Flicks her eyes to his. “Most of the time.”
“You want to tell me what that means?”
“It means what it means.” She finishes off the soda, tosses the can into the trash. “Of course I thought about it.” She folds her arms. “That’s the kind of thing you never stop thinking about.”
“You didn’t do anything while you were there?” He shakes his head. “Nothing that might alert Graham—ˮ Dexter lets out a sharp sigh, closes his eyes. “Will, rather. Sorry. To your…adventures?”
“No, nothing.” She turns her face away. She tightens her lips. “You don’t have to call him Will if you don’t want to.”
“Good. Because I don’t.”
Her head whips around. “What is your problem?”
“My problem?” Dexter pushes the chair back, stands. He circles around the desk. “Why can’t I help but feel like you’re not telling me things? Because that’s what it feels like, Lumen. That you’re not telling me things.”
She sighs. “There is nothing to tell you. I didn’t kill anyone in Minneapolis.” She takes a breath, rubs her forehead. “There’s nothing like that going on. You don’t have to worry.”
He tosses his hands up. “What are you even doing here?” He shrugs, stops, turns around. “You don’t seem to want me. You know, you know,” he goes on, holding up a hand, “and that’s okay if you don’t, you don’t have to. I’m not saying that. I don’t want you to feel that way, like I’m saying that. But you come back here after…what, nine months? A year? Have gone by, out of the blue, no word. I heard nothing from you until you were scared shitless. And then you’re at the state line, telling me that you’re on your way back. I thought permanently, but now I don’t know.”
She presses her mouth into the back of her hand. “Yes.”
“Why now?”
“I wanted to come back!” Her eyes fill with tears. “Coming back here has been all I have been able to think about since I left. I dreamed about it. Everything about Miami…it haunted me. I couldn’t shake it. I didn’t want to, I thought I should, so I…settled down into the little fucking cabin in the woods and I tried. And I failed,” she hisses, through clenched teeth. “That was my failure. So I came back here, because there was nothing else for me to do.”
“You come through my door,” he goes on, voice rising, “all freaked out, panicking your brains out over Will Graham.” His voice drops. “What am I supposed to think of that? The only reason you called me after months and months of not talking is that you saw Will Graham in Minnesota. You were terrified. And here we are, you’re here, and he’s here, and we’re still talking about—still panicking about—Will fucking Graham. I’m sorry, Lumen, really. If it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to talk about Will fucking Graham anymore.”
“Fine!” Lumen jumps to her feet. “Think whatever you want about it! I’m scared. He still scares me. Oh, I’m sorry…that’s right, you don’t get scared, do you? Not like normal people do.”
“Oh, I’m scared plenty. I just handle it better than you do.”
“Why don’t you just…go and take him out, then? Isn’t that how you solve all your problems?”
“It’s how I solved your problems, isn’t it? Back then you liked it just fine.”
She gets into his face. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck me.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Fuck me. Fuck me, all right. As I recall you liked that just fine, too.”
“Oh, oh…okay. Okay. So is that what this is about?” She rolls her eyes and folds her arms. “I’ve been here twenty-four hours and I haven’t fucked you yet? You know, Dex, you didn’t used to be this much of an asshole.”
“What?” His mouth drops open. “So…now you think this is about sex? What the fuck?”
“I don’t know, is it?” Her mouth slants into a bitter smile. Her brow furrows. She folds her arms, cocks her hip. “Are you…are you jealous of Will Graham?”
“Oh please. That,” he says, pointing a finger at her, “is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Hell, it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”
She puts her hands on her hips and deepens her voice, makes the tone mocking. “’Don’t talk about him anymore, Lumen. I don’t want to call him by his first name.’” The tone changes into a high-pitched whine: “’I don’t want to talk about Will Fucking Graham anymore!’”
“I don’t!”
“Well I’m scared! He freaked me the fuck out!” She sticks out her chin. “I’m sorry. Everything isn’t about you, okay?”
“Do you want me to kill him?” Dexter leans in, brings his face close to hers. “You know, I almost think you do.”
“No!” Lumen recoils. “That…that would be stupid and it…it would solve nothing, and help no one, and it would make all kinds of trouble. Just take a few minutes here and imagine the manhunt that would happen because of that. No. No. I do not want you to kill Will Graham.” She lets out a sharp sigh, rolls her eyes. “Under no circumstances. No. Don’t be stupid, Dex.”
“Well…what am I supposed to think?”
Lumen lets out a hard sigh, starts to turn.
“No,” he says, taking hold of her chin and redirecting eyes to his. “Don’t you do that. You look at me. Is that what you want?”
She closes her eyes. “I said—ˮ
“I’m not asking about the risks. I know those already. Do you think I didn’t start calculating them that night, when you called me, in hysterics? No. I want to know what you want.” He shakes her face. “Open your eyes, Lumen. Do you want me to do this?”
Lumen’s eyelashes lift. Her chin quivers. “No,” she whispers.
He lets go of her face. He studies her expression.
“Stop doing that.” She takes a step back. “Stop trying to read me.” She shields her face with one hand. “I know that’s what you’re doing.”
“I’m not as good at it as you think I am, so don’t worry. I have no idea what you’re thinking right now.”
Lumen steps back. She hugs herself, looks around. Her arms loosen. She starts to turn. “I’m going to go.”
“Go? What do you mean, go?”
“I mean go,” she says, grabbing her purse off the counter. “I’m going to get a hotel room. I need space.” She gestures at him. “You need space, too.” She yanks an elastic off her wrist, gathers up her hair. “Obviously.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“No, I don’t, but I should. I’m going to get a room somewhere, I don’t know, and take a couple of days and then I’ll look for my own place. I’ve still got some money.” She half-laughs, half-cries. “I mean, it’s not like I spent any of it the last time I was here, right?”
“I…I guess.”
Lumen wipes her nose and shoulders her purse. She heads for the door. “This place is too small, anyway.” She halts, turns, heads into the bedroom where she grabs her backpack. “There’s not enough room here for you and Harrison, let alone me too.”
“Is this what you want?”
“This is the right thing.” She looks at him, brushes a wisp of hair out of one eye. “You know it and I know it.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“Dexter.” She sighs. “Come on. This isn’t good. If I’m going to stay here more than a night, we need to be sure of what’s going on between us. It isn’t fair—to anyone—otherwise.”
“What do you want from me? I mean…what am I to you? What do you want me to be? I don’t know. I thought maybe you wanted things to be the way they were, and if not that’s fine, like I said, but…Jesus, don’t leave me hanging here, okay?”
Lumen sighs. “I don’t know. What I need most right now is a close friend. A good friend. You’re more than a friend, though, it’s like…we did those things together, and that makes us more like family. A weird…I don’t know, murder family. Wait.” She grins. “That’s really weird, isn’t it?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, a little.”
“So I don’t know.” She bites a corner of her bottom lip. “I want to still have a relationship with you, I just don’t know what kind.”
“That’s honest,” he says. “Thank you.”
“I don’t want to use you just to feel comfortable,” she goes on, reaching over. She touches his face and smiles a little. “Even though it would be easy to fall back into old patterns.”
“No. I don’t want to use you, either.” He sighs. “It would be easy. And nice.”
She nods, eyes closed. “It would be.” She opens them. “But I don’t want to be those people.”
He lets out a heavy breath. “Me either.”
Lumen goes to him, puts her arms around him. He hugs her tight. Tears spill over, slide down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
He holds the back of her neck. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s…not. It’s not.” She shakes her head, covers her eyes with one hand. “I didn’t mean to be so loud.”
“He’s still asleep,” says Dexter, kissing her forehead. He releases her. “So no harm no foul.”
“I’ll call you,” she says, “when I find somewhere. When I settle in. Okay?”
He smiles and nods, but the smile does not quite touch his eyes. “Okay.”
“I’ll text you,” she says, turning, her hand on the doorknob, “when I’m in for the night.”
He nods. “Okay.”
Lumen opens the door. She goes out onto the balcony, gasps the soft night air. The wind blows in off the water with its scent of salt, moves through her hair, stirs the palm fronds.
A wave of dizziness comes and she takes hold of the railing, keeps her eyes closed. In the dark, she listens to her heart race. She measures her breaths.
She waits for the dizziness to recede.
When she opens her eyes she looks down, reflected water-light from the pool moving across her hands, her arms. It frosts the pale concrete with silver and blackens hot pink petals of bougainvillea. She shoulders her backpack, starts to walk. Her footfalls swell, trapped between the concrete floor and the overhead.
In the background, the constant whisper of the sea.
She walks to her car, exhaustion creeping in at the edges, a heaviness in her body borne of too much sun, hunger, the aftereffects of adrenaline. She tosses the backpack into the backseat, her purse onto the passenger seat. She climbs in. She rolls all of the windows down and sits, the direct line of wind from the sea cut into by the surrounding buildings. She peers up at the sky through the windshield; it is cloudless, humid, formless dark stained yellow and purple at the seams, where it touches the land.
Lumen starts the engine.
She backs out of the parking space and finds her way back into the currents of Miami traffic: too bright, too fast, the landscape whipping past in tangles of neon, greenery, stucco painted in bright colors muted by the darkness and the sodium vapor lamps.
She drives until she finds herself close to the water again, in darkness, passing the slips and their boats, their gentle rocking. The smell of rain blows in off the water, slices through the car windows. It tugs her hair out of its messy bun.
She finds an outdoor restaurant with a Mariachi band and pulls in. She leaves the car, is seated at a small glass-topped table with a bright green umbrella. She buys a virgin drink, a basket of fish tacos. She sits beneath the multicolored light of paper lanterns, wrapped in the rustle of banana plants, and picks at her food.
“Not that it isn’t good,” she murmurs. “It is.” She takes a messy bite, tastes the tang of lime and a kick of smoky peppers. “It’s delicious.”
She takes out her phone. She turns sideways in the chair, legs crossed. She waves the young waiter away as he approaches with a fresh basket of tortilla chips. She pulls up a search, puts the phone down, wipes her mouth. She takes a pen and notepad out of her purse.
Lumen makes a list. While she is writing, the waiter tries to bring her another drink. The song changes and a guy at the bar leaves, comes up to her table, tries to start a conversation with her.
She ignores him. She turns away, dials a number instead and holds the phone up to her ear.
“Hello,” she says, when the overnight desk clerk picks up. “I’d like to leave a message for Will Graham, please?”
The clerk looks at a computer screen, informs her that there’s no one registered by that name.
“Thank you.” Lumen hangs up. She crosses the first hotel off the list.
Six calls later, she waves the waiter over. He comes, asks if she wants another drink, if he can get her anything else.
“No,” she says. “I’ll just take the check. Thanks.”
She dials again. An overnight desk clerk picks up.
She pitches her voice a little higher, puts on a Southern accent. “Hi, I’m looking to leave a message for Will Graham?” She laughs. “I keep thinking I have the right hotel, but I keep being wrong. You’re, like, the third person I’ve called tonight. I’m pretty sure he said LaQuinta, but unfortunately for me he didn’t specify which one.”
There’s a pause. “Wait.”
Lumen props the phone between her chin and shoulder and she takes out her wallet, pulls loose a twenty.
The clerk comes back on the line. “I’m supposed to ask for your name.”
Lumen hangs up the phone. She tucks the twenty into the folder, circles the seventh hotel on the list, tucks the list into her pocket, and picks up her purse.
She takes her phone off the table:
I’m in for the night. Lunch thoughts? Don’t text me if this woke you up. We’ll talk tomorrow.
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Lumen Obscura