AN: There are so many reasons this couldn't/wouldn't happen, but like I said, it's fun to imagine. I'm pulling this over from my AO3 account, so if you feel like you've read it before that's why. Enjoy :)

In a lot of ways things hadn't changed. Steak and beer. Empty plates on the coffee table while they relaxed on the couch. It was a bit different though Deb appreciated, as she reclined lazily against him. Dex draped an arm around her, his hand resting over her heart.

Fuck she loved this. Being here with him, never in her life had she felt more content. For a while she thought about nothing, happy to be lost in the rhythm of him. The steady rise and fall of his chest, his warm breath on her neck, the firmness of his muscled body against hers.

Somewhere along the way they'd reached a truce. Some place between him being a serial killer, her falling in love with her brother and both of them working in law enforcement. One where she'd let go of her hang ups and he'd started telling her the whole truth. It actually worked pretty fucking well. They did what they could by the book, sending Miami Metro's homicide solve rate through the roof, and any that slipped through the cracks? Well Dex took care of them.

If the latest one in court went the way she suspected it would, he'd have a new project soon.

"I think this creep's gonna walk." It was something all cops hated. They busted their arse's catching these pricks, people guilty of horrific crimes, only to watch some snotty lawyer get a known murderer off on some bullshit technicality. Dex slid his other hand around her waist and pulled her tighter against him. He spoke softly, wistful anticipation in his voice.

"He won't get far."

"No, I know." She accepted it easily now. Miami was better off with those scumbags dead, rather than roaming the streets free to kill again because some overworked cop forgot to sign the hundredth piece of fucking paper.

She ran her hand along his arm to his hand, which she lifted to inspect with her eyes and fingers.

Dex's hands fascinated her. The things they'd done, the things they were capable of. He killed people with these hands, but he also used them to gently take care of Harrison. They performed delicate lab work, and they caressed her body reverently when he made love to her. So many important things for him to do.

She raised it to her mouth and pressed her lips to his knuckles. He kissed her cheek and gently pulled his hand away to fish around in his pocket.

"I got something for you."

"Oh you did, did you?" she said with a crooked smile, shifting to angle her body towards his.

"Yep." He gave her a mischievous look, the one he got when he knew something she didn't. Then he took her left hand, his fingers singling out the third finger. Her heart hammered in her chest as he slipped a ring onto it. "I hope it's okay. I know it's not traditional."

She looked down at the deep, red stone sparkling up at her from it's gorgeous silver setting. It was elegant and modern, two smooth bands on either side of a round cut gem. She looked up into his eyes. This was everything she wanted, and nothing about it was conventional. Not their romance, or their work relationship. She was a homicide lieutenant who condoned killing. He was a psychopath that was capable of loving her and his son. She was his sister. He was a killer and one of the best things to ever happen to the homicide department. His insight made him invaluable. Her authority safeguarded against his kills ever being investigated. Nothing about their lives fit any set of rules, and their lives were fucking brilliant.

"Traditional? Fuck traditional!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, punctuating each new statement with another kiss. "I fucking love it!... It's fucking perfect!..."

He accepted her enthusiastic kisses and smiled back. "I'm glad you like it."