Add, Subtract to a New Start:

After my trip down lover's lane with Randall, I swore I'd never fall in love again. A girl can only pour her heart out so many times and face reality. Everyone important to me has always vanished in one way or another.

Contrary to what many believe, I didn't want my husband to die, but I didn't have a choice. He wanted to take the only thing away from me I could truly cherish and call my own, the only being I could protect from nature's food chain, the only person who would not judge me. So I took care of him.

But of course what can you expect from fate, that which took my baby away in a cruel ironic twist right afterwards. Miscarriage. I was left without a husband, without my child, and Randall became a ghost of my past.

For a while I tried convincing myself I was free, I could live without having to worry about anyone but me. Just like how it use to be.

I never had a conventional childhood, and it's something I'd rather not speak of. But I knew from an early age, I wasn't like the rest of the people around me.

I didn't care about normal things, show empathy or sympathy to others. While everyone else would cry about the hum-drums of life, my emotions would always stay the same.

I learned quickly however that just wouldn't do, I needed to fit in to become stronger, so no one would become suspicious of me. My acting skills adapted, and soon enough I learned how to cry at will, smile when I wasn't happy. It wasn't like anyone could tell the difference, just plaster on an expression and the world accepts it.

But that always left an empty feeling inside. I yearned for so long to find something, anything that made me feel emotion, human emotion.

I tried tricking myself into believing love, rebellion was the answer. When me and Randall began our escapade, I truly believed that I cared for him.

I mean, there was no care in the world traveling on the open road as kindred souls. But every night we kissed, and we'd thrash about in wild passion, there was no spark, no emotion. It was more or less wishful thinking.

The first time, I felt anything was when I murdered my first victim. It brought a whole new part within my soul to life.

I can't say looking back that I'm proud of what I've done, or that a twinge of regret doesn't befall me now and then. And I realize now killing isn't all as cracked up as it seems.

It's simply necessary, "survival of the fittest". That's why I kill, to progress, to keep the world believing that I'm just like them.

Perhaps that's the greatest irony of all.

Nothing ever comes easy in my life though. Just when I thought things were calming down I had Miami Metro back on my throat, and I was sent down a path if nostalgia.

It was pretty reminiscent of a child's nightmare, or rather would have been if not for...

Him. At first I didn't see much in Dexter Morgan, only offering a blip of interest here and there. When I found out, that he and I were the same, that's when everything changed.

I tried to refuse it at first. For as long as I could remember, I always losing some part of my life. Always subtracting another body. Never did I expect to add one more.

Neither of us can keep apart, we're like two teenagers dealing with the first feelings of love. But this is new, for both of us I can assume.

I've never met someone who could keep the same plastered grin, someone who kills and is okay with it. Granted, he enjoys what he does but I don't really care. Beggars can't be choosers, and I would chose no other. I'm sure we can work at taking care of those who stand in our way, and if not... I'll always be strong enough for the both of us.

Like say if the last person who wanted to crucify me, a certain dear sister to my lover, decides not to get off my ass I can handle it. He might be mad, but I think he'd learn to understand.

I won't worry about that just yet though, two deceased bodies in such a short time period might really land me in hot water, not that I'm afraid.

For now I just want to have fun, experimenting with these new feelings. I've yet to figure out if I care about Dexter yet, or if he's just a phase like Randall.

Those are the thoughts that cross my mind as I lay awake, snuggled against his warm body.

It's nearly morning, probably best if I start getting ready for him to drive me home. Funny thing is, I don't even recall coming over to his house, nowadays we just swap back and forth, whenever we feel an urge coming on. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

After taking a quick shower, he isn't up yet, so I take to prowling about. I find it funny how he knows every aspect to my life, and yet I still know very little to his own.

Then again I've never bother asking, so I can't really complain. An over-turned picture catches my eye, simply because it seems out of place to the rest of the orderly knick-knacks about his home.

Tilting the frame, I catch the glimpse of a young boy, a baby like the one I've lost. Resting one hand against my chest, I can't help but wonder, will I finally be able to add one more plus?

Can I relive the life I should of had, as a mother? A soft smile crosses my lips at the thought, and it isn't forced, it comes naturally.

"Ready?" Dexter calls over, bags for work ready in hand.

And as I turn to face him with a simple nod, only one thought crosses my mind.

A new start...

A/N: Yup, I felt like doing something from Hannah's perspective. At any rate, you know the drill. This is the second from the new batch so the least popular one will be deleted after five. Hope you enjoyed~lily