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He Prefers White Lilies over Roses	By : Kuronohime Category: 1 through F > Dexter Views: 7278 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Done for purely non monetary purposes. I do not own Dexter or the franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters © Showtime network

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His feral eyes flickered up and down between the shattered remains of the box on the floor and Astor’s hands.
“You… Did you touch… anything else?” Dexter demanded and pulled her up, keeping his eyes fixed on her hand which squeezed the slides of glass that entrapped a drop of blood between them.
Astor felt a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach and hasted to exclaim “No! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I heard a noise and…”
What was she? Six again?
She halted her explanation and fixed her composure. “What is this exactly?” She asked while tearing her hand free from his grip and staring back at him.
Dexter’s gaze was wild and terrified. He was like an animal again, but this time, there was none of his usual calculative coolness of an intelligent yet unemotional not-quite-human-being. Now he was full of basic, primitive emotions. They were displayed on his face like a rainbow of feelings. An animal, sure. Backed into a corner, with no way out, horrified.
“You don’t need to know.”
Dexter pulled out a paper towel from his pocked and laid it out on his palm. His hand quivered.
“Give me the slides.”
Astor complied. She dropped it on the paper. But she needed to know.
“Is this… your own blood? Are you sick? Do you have some kind of a blood disease?”
Dexter didn’t reply. He simply ignored her existence and knelt down. He neatly wiped the glass slides clean and placed it back in the box. Careful not to touch anything directly.
‘He’s wiping off the fingerprints. Why?’
Why would he be so cautious if it was his own blood? If someone was to find the box that had Dexter’s blood samples in it, wouldn’t it only be natural that it had his fingerprints all over it? But then again, why keep his blood samples in such a place? Hidden from who? From Harrison? Or someone else?
The man, who grouched over the box, eyed the damage. He was calculating the situation again. Estimating. Making damage control and then he noticeably relaxed. Nothing had been permanently ruined, this situation could still be saved.
“Astor,” he turned to look at her, “you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Understood?”
“Of course, I’m not stupid!” She lashed out. “If this is something that will get you into trouble, it will get me and Harrison as well. So… I won’t. But you have some explaining to do.”
Dexter stood up and picked up the box. “I’m not encounterable to you.”
A wave of anger washed over Astor.
“Now, go to your room.”
If it was anyone, but Dexter telling her, a 22-year-old woman, to ‘go to her room’, she would have ridiculed them for such a phrase, but not now. All the fear in Dexter’s gaze was gone and his emotions hidden by that dark veil that shielded his eyes. He could look out, but no-one could look in.
She would not get her answers, regardless of yelling at him, threatening him, or pleading with him. She was not up to bar at his game of manipulating people into doing her bidding. Dexter was a master at it. Best way to get her answers was to do as he said. For now.
The cold, predatorial eyes studied her as she left the room. Could she be trusted?
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Astor didn’t speak a word to Dexter the entire evening. In fact, didn’t even leave her room after the little blood sample episode. And she guessed that it was just how he preferred it.
The next morning she woke up early and went back to the bathroom to wash up. The floor was cleaned, as she had expected. It looked as if nothing had ever gone wrong in the world.
After she had brushed her teeth and washed her face, she peered at the air vent as she dried her face with a pale blue towel. She was so intrigued by the air vent that she didn’t even remember to take notice of the tacky flower print on the towel.
She hung back the towel, next to the Spider-man towel, and walked to the air vent. She grabbed the lid by both hands and wedged it open again. This time, it was empty. Dexter had even wiped away the dust. Figures.
Astor sighed and placed the lid back.
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She walked downstairs in search of the food supply unit. Or whatever Dexter called his fridge.
Astor walked into the kitchen, and as suspected, everything was freakishly neat. The man could surely hold his own in the army.
She located the fridge and pursued emptying it. She was famishing and tried to haul as much as food as she could carry. When she slammed the fridge door close, Dexter stood right behind it.
Astor was so startled that she simply froze. After she had stupidly stared at him for a moment, she could feel her heart starting to descend from her throat.
“Wha aww you hoing ugg sho eawwly?” She asked him, mouth full of plums she had looted from a fruit salad. It was 6.00 AM, on a Sunday.
Dexter was wearing a white wife-beater shirt and pale blue boxers. Astor tried to restrain herself from looking overly disgusted. But what fascinated her was his face. It looked like he hadn’t slept whole night. His hair was a rare sight of mess.
“When you are middle-aged your bladder isn’t what it used to be.” He replied. His joke was not warm-hearted. It was more like he was stating a fact, but nonetheless, he didn’t seem to be cross with her anymore.
Astor stepped aside to give room for Dexter to look through the fridge. When he opened the door, his right eyebrow slightly raised.
“Ah, I see. You have graciously left me some cabbage and asparagus.”
Meanwhile Astor had stuffed her face with a piece of bread and was estynyt of speaking. She simply handed out an orange for him.
He looked at the orange, then at her. “Why, thank you. I shall feast this morning.” His tone was flat.
Astor shrugged. She really didn’t care if he’d drop dead from starvation. She turned to leave, but Dexter said her name. She waited.
“I forgot to tell this yesterday,” Well, of course he forgot. With all the secrets of his private blood collection unravelled and all, “but the neighbours are coming for a BBQ today. Yes, I’m not thrilled about it either.”
Astor didn’t even have time to frown when Dexter had already said that he was not thrilled, either. Making the assumption that she didn’t enjoy such gatherings herself. How did he…? Sometimes Astor just forgot how good he was at analysing people. Not necessarily understanding them, but good at figuring them out. When he didn’t try to act like he was a social retard.
“Around mid-day. I suggest dressing into something that breathes. They said it was going to be a hot day.”
When was the last time it wasn’t hot in Miami? Back in 1475?
She nodded and returned to her room. Well, the neighbours were sure to be a drag, but she was actually intrigued of seeing the make-believe circus of Dexter. Act 1.
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He Prefers White Lilies over Roses