Disclaimer: I don't own Dexter. (damm)
Dexter leaned against the desk behind him, arms across his chest. This constant posturing and preening of the FBI was becoming a large irritant to dear Dexter, the constant check-in's and meetings that got them simply nowhere, and that was fine with Dexter. He watched as everyone filed in, eying them, trying to divine who, in the end, would pull dear deeply disturbed Dexter into the bright light of day. He smirked as Doakes sent a seething glare in his direction, as if telling him that he knew who, or what he was, that it was only a matter of time. But what was most perplexing was Deb's reaction to his presence, skirting around him, not meeting his eyes. She had been like this since their dinner 2 days ago, and it was starting to irk dear Dexter. Just as he was preparing to confront Deb on her peculiar behavior, Agent Lundy and the rest of the PD filed in, effectively cutting off Dexter's train of thought. Dexter sighed softly as Lundy began another pointless case briefing, earing him a glare from Deb.
"Now, while I know this has been a very stressful case, I was wondering if anyone has any leads as to who the Bay Harbor Butcher may be..."