A/N: Okay, so I wrote this for a contest on another site. Here are the constraints:

A day in the life of America's favorite serial killer: Dexter has had to lay low to keep his cover lately, doing his best impersonation of a normal person. How would Dexter describe his day-to-day while he waits to strike again?

Max Characters: 15,000 Type: Story Rating: 17+





Wet, humid, heavy heat.

In Miami, heat is a person – it dresses up in a polyester costume and scares babies at the Triple-A Arena during basketball season. Sometimes heat is a killer; sometimes it is a catalyst. Sometimes it can make you crazy.

If you aren't already crazy, that is.

Dearly Delusional Dexter. That's me.

What I can't figure out is whether my delusions come from who I once was, who I am now, or who I am trying to be. Let me explain. I may not like heat, but I do not fear it. Instead, I understand it. I, too, am a catalyst. I, too, am a killer.

Or, I was.

I have spent the last three months playing it safe. I smile at strangers, I come to a complete stop at stop signs so as not to lose Sergeant Doakes - my ever present tail, and I wave at babies using only three fingers – the three finger wave is a trick I have perfected. I am devoted to the science of appearing human.

And like a human does when it comes down after too much caffeine or heroine, I am going through withdrawal.

Hello, my name is Dexter Morgan, and it has been three months since my last kill.

Unfortunately for me, there is no twelve step program to help me get past the urgings, and the only place where such a meeting of the minds would be welcome has too many bars and guards for my liking. So, instead of slapping on a name tag, I slap on a grin and walk into work with a box of doughnuts. Everyone likes doughnuts, and those feelings of eustress usually rub off on the bearer of said gifts.

Doughnut Delivering Dexter. That's me.

But right now, I'd rather talk about who I was – a superhero, complete with secret identity and hidden vices. My second career was being a vigilante, removing my mask in the light of the moon and ridding the streets of vermin. My code of ethics allowed me only to kill those that kill, as shaped and honed in the hands of Harry, my adoptive father, and the only one privy to my secrets.

When he died, so did a part of me that was free. When he died my secrets became mine alone to bear… along with confection covered treats.

And here is where the tale twists. Three months ago, I killed the only other person who would understand and honor my truer self. I killed Biney- also know as my brother, Brian.

Also know as Randy, the boyfriend/fiancé of my sister, Deb – or, he was her fiancé up until the point he tried to kill her. I think it's safe to say the engagement was called off somewhere in-between the drugging and the duct tape. Shakespeare wrote about tangled webs…he didn't know the half of it.

All Brian wanted was for me to become my true self; to become like him. To become free.

Instead, I chose to become human - selecting sister over brother; nurture over nature.

Brian was a killer. He did not play by Harry's code. So in turn, I made sure he would not play at all.

Like me, Deb has been crusading as someone other than her true self for the past three months. She used to hide her vulnerability behind a tough façade and a potty mouth, but lately, she hasn't even tried to hide. She's been living in my apartment, eating my cereal, leaving my lights on, and insisting that the toilet seat be put down after every use. She also sits in the living room with the blinds pulled and refuses to go outside.

Harry's Code for Dexter's Behavior includes a clause about caring for sisters, so I don't insist that she move back to her apartment. I don't try to talk her into going back to work, or talking to a shrink, but I do occasionally leave the toilet seat up on purpose – because brothers would take some pleasure in the teasing factor.

Also, I allow her to have the bedroom while I lie each night on my couch - and stare at the vent that hides the wooden box of slides from my past. From whom I used to be.

And like each morning of the past three months, today I roll off of the couch, enter the bathroom, and continue the process of becoming who I wish to be.

Except this morning…

"What the fuck, Dexter! Can't a girl sit on the fucking toilet without her brother going perv on her? Shit. Get the hell out!"

For the first time, my sister has gotten out of bed before noon and is getting dressed for work. She's also cursing like an orphaned sailor.

Which can only mean one thing… Defensive Denying Deborah is back.

Maybe it's time for Darkly Devoted Dexter to come back too.

"Why the fuck are you sitting there grinning like an idiot, Dex? Are you gonna get dressed or what? I don't want to be fucking late for my first day back. Shit! Why the fuck are my shoes in the middle of the hallway?"

Yes. The Morgans are definitely back.

The hindering heated hiatus is over.