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Back on the job (Charlie)
Work.
It was the one thing that he could do and fall into without worrying about what other people thought of him. It was normal for people to think that forensics guys were strange, and that anybody specializing in blood was an extra bit off, so Dexter took it in stride. When you could spout off about directional spatter and the differences between a swipe and a wipe, you knew that people were going to stop listening pretty quickly unless it was a part of their job to hear what you were saying. Kids didn't find it entertaining at Parents Day, and it wasn't exactly a thing you could turn into a party trick.
People expected him to be abnormal, but quiet. Dexter could do abnormal but quiet. He could even do professional. Professional was easy, especially when the subject matter was something so close to his heart. Blood didn't always calm him, sometimes it made him more antsy, set him on edge. But it was always, always, something he knew about.
His lab was already set up for him when he went in. Like he'd never left. The officers he passed nodded at him, as if he'd never left. There was mail waiting on his desk, samples sitting at his equipment, and files waiting in a tray, as if he'd never left. Dexter began to wonder if he had, in fact, ever left. Perhaps there had been another him while he'd been gone. Maybe he'd replaced this Other!Dexter. It had happened to Deb, why not him? Maybe he would get scores of people who began to talk to him about the things that they'd done together, and he'd have to inform them that he wasn't the same man. He wondered if that would suck as much from the telling end as it had from the receiving end.
Dexter sat on his stool and began to sort through the mail. He didn't get a lot of mail at work. Forensics Quarterly, The Forensic Examiner, and Forensic Magazine being some of that. As well as second-opinion letters answering queries he'd sent out. They were sometimes required by the courts.
It was the one thing that he could do and fall into without worrying about what other people thought of him. It was normal for people to think that forensics guys were strange, and that anybody specializing in blood was an extra bit off, so Dexter took it in stride. When you could spout off about directional spatter and the differences between a swipe and a wipe, you knew that people were going to stop listening pretty quickly unless it was a part of their job to hear what you were saying. Kids didn't find it entertaining at Parents Day, and it wasn't exactly a thing you could turn into a party trick.
People expected him to be abnormal, but quiet. Dexter could do abnormal but quiet. He could even do professional. Professional was easy, especially when the subject matter was something so close to his heart. Blood didn't always calm him, sometimes it made him more antsy, set him on edge. But it was always, always, something he knew about.
His lab was already set up for him when he went in. Like he'd never left. The officers he passed nodded at him, as if he'd never left. There was mail waiting on his desk, samples sitting at his equipment, and files waiting in a tray, as if he'd never left. Dexter began to wonder if he had, in fact, ever left. Perhaps there had been another him while he'd been gone. Maybe he'd replaced this Other!Dexter. It had happened to Deb, why not him? Maybe he would get scores of people who began to talk to him about the things that they'd done together, and he'd have to inform them that he wasn't the same man. He wondered if that would suck as much from the telling end as it had from the receiving end.
Dexter sat on his stool and began to sort through the mail. He didn't get a lot of mail at work. Forensics Quarterly, The Forensic Examiner, and Forensic Magazine being some of that. As well as second-opinion letters answering queries he'd sent out. They were sometimes required by the courts.