It's ten forty-five, Thursday morning. Or wait, is it Wednesday? Who really gives a fuck anyway? Certainly not her. She's lying on the pale blue sheets with the faint floral pattern, staring at the ceiling, with him on top of her. Again. And though even though she hates him – she wishes he were the one with her…in her, right now – not him. She'd met him at a not-so-local bar and brought him back to her beach house. Old habits, right? What's his name from the gym had at least been somewhat playful, but not this guy. He was more about control, which, to his surprise – and hers – so was she. He calls when he's bored, as does she. Usually their meet-ups are in the evening, but for the past few days, they've been seeing more of each other during the day.

Once he's rolled off her, she fumbles around until she's upright, but only long enough to grab hold of the side table. She crouches down and just as she's done for the past three or four months now, she rolls up a dollar bill and does the line she had previously laid out for herself. Then another. And another. She feels him breathing on her as he slowly comes and sits beside her. She'd offer him some, but she doesn't have any more. Even if she did – she probably wouldn't be in the mood to be generous. He grabs her by the arms with just enough strength that it causes her to look up at him. His hands ghost over the scars of her past – the scars she has inflicted on herself ever since she sacrificed herself in order to save him. Him. The one she wishes she with right now.

She hasn't spoken to him since the night he showed up at the motel demanding that she leave with him. How she wished she had gone with her knight in shining armor. Retrospect is everything, isn't it? In the month that's passed, she's thought of calling him. Thought of stopping by the apartment. But she's in her own personal hell right now, and her new friend is all too happy to help keep her there.

He's whispering something vulgar. Something that, under normal circumstances, she would have smirked at – something that, in the past, she would possibly have even said herself. But not tonight. She looks away and maneuvers out of his grip. He mutters something, puts on his clothes, and leaves – slamming the door behind him. When she's finished off the handle of vodka that he had left behind, she grabs her things, heads to her car and towards her house.

She almost surprises herself when she reaches her destination. She's driven under the influence before, but still. Stumbling inside, she made it a point to go straight to the kitchen. The things he said to her before he left seemed to be on repeat in her mind. He was right, she thought. She was just a worthless fuck up – damaged goods only good for a booty call. There were other things he said, she was sure of it, however her concentration on his words were cut short when she saw the pill bottles on the counter. Thank you, Baby Jesus. She opened one bottle and then another, and then a third – spilling their contents on the counter. After grabbing a beer from the fridge, she picked up whatever small little white objects she could, and made what she believed to be the smartest decision of the day. Feeling warm, she turned on the fan in her living room and began to undress. If she was going to die of an overdose tonight, she might as well be comfortable in her last few moments here on Earth. She somehow managed to get her denim shorts and tank top off, leaving her clad only in the black lingerie her new – and now former – friend had given her, when she hears her phone ring. Not thinking, she answers without looking to see who it was first.

"Deb? Deb are you there?" Oh fuck. "Deb, you haven't been answering your phone. Deb I'm worried about you, where are you?"

"Fuck, Dexter. Wha – what do you want?" she mumbles, pressing her free hand to her head, massaging her temples. "I ju- I mean I'm- Dex, I can't. I don.." She collapsed on the couch, her phone falling to her side.

"DEB?! Deb what the fuck? Hello!?" Using the app on his phone, Dex was able to determine that Deb was at her house when she picked up the phone. He suddenly felt the urge to race there to make sure she was alright.

He made it to her beach house in ten minutes – speed limit be damned. Without bothering to knock, he unlocked her front door and nearly fell over himself. Before him, passed on the floor, was Debra – head rolled to the right. Her stomach, which he had not seen uncovered in quite some time, had bruises all over – some fresh, and some which looked like they were healing. On her left forearm, scars – gashes that were no doubt self-inflicted. Debra had cut herself when they were teenagers – the first time when her first boyfriend broke her heart, dumping her, and again after both Doris and Harry had passed away. Dexter only knew this because he had walked in on her once, and she had promised to not do it again and she had begged him to not say anything.

"Debra!" he screamed. "Oh God, Deb." Looking around, he noticed the pill bottles and beer on the counter. He ran to her. She had a faint pulse, and from what he deduced, this was no accidental event. Deb had tried to commit suicide. He scooped her up and brought her into her bathroom, placing her ever so gently on the tile floor. Patting her face and shouting her name was getting him nowhere. He knew she must have taken a slue of drugs & alcohol, so he forced her mouth open, placing two fingers inside. He knew he must have bruised her jaw but it would be worth it if it worked. Holding her limp, frail body up, he continued to force his fingers farther down her throat. Clutching onto her, he could feel the bones in her spine, ribs, and hips. Deb had always been slender but this scared him. He looked down at her near lifeless form, and began counting the protrusions amongst the bruises. Jesus, Deb, what have you done to yourself? What have I done to you? Whispering, chanting, "Come on, come on, please, Deb, please," he continued rocking back and forth.

When she began to gag and cough, Dexter felt a sudden sense of relief. She began to vomit but not enough to make Dexter feel comfortable that she would be safe from harm, and so he continued to force his fingers in her mouth. After a few moments of her throwing up all over him, Deb's head slumped to the side, resting on his shoulder – her arm across his chest, her hand spread out, fingers groping until they found his face.

"Dex? Wh-what hap… How did…" Tears started to run down her face, and she winced as if she were in excruciating pain. She probably was.

"Deb, its okay. I'm here. Jesus, Debra, what the hell were you thinking? Killing yourself? Deb, you can't keep hurting yourself like this. Deb, please, talk to me."

Debra broke out into hysterics, her body convulsing against his. "I just – I can't anymore, Dexter. I'm sorry, I just – I – I love you. I hate you but I love you. I'm still…." But she couldn't say the words. I'm still in love with you.

Dexter wiped her mouth and face with the washcloth that lay on the side of the sink. She grabbed hold of his hand once it was on her face and for the first time in months, the two stared long and deeply into each other's eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, and with still no other words spoken, Debra groped her way into a semi-standing position.

"Deb, I – I need to…"

"Just go, Dex. Okay?" She looked away from him, and he slowly backed his way out of the bathroom. She shut the door but he did not move any farther from the door. He heard the sound of the faucet, splashes and gargles of water, and then the sound that he hated more than anything in that moment – her faint sobs.

Assuming he had left, she slowly reached for the handle and was about to walk towards her bed when she saw him still standing there.

"Dexter, please just…" Before she could finish, his hands were cupping her face, his lips on hers. Oh fuck, finally.

The kiss, though tender and gentle, was full of need and passion. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she wrapped hers around his waist, pulling him in tighter. Closer. She was still trembling when she released herself to look at him as she began to unbutton his shirt, moaning in between quickly paced breaths. He reached down and once his hands reached her thighs, he bent down to get enough leverage in order to lift her up. She arched back, head towards the ceiling as he carried her to her bed, kissing, biting, and sucking on her neck and collarbone.

"Deb." He was panting now. He carefully lay her down, atop her unmade bed.

"Dex, I…" she moaned. "Come here."

That was all he needed. She sat up and reached for his belt, leaning ever so slightly on her elbows. Once it was off, she looked up at him and lifted her hands towards his face. As she pulled him in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss, he continued to undress himself from the waist down. Once exposed, she looked down at him, her eyes fixated on his fullness. Suddenly he placed his hands over hers, and began to slowly lower himself on top of her, forcing her to inch her way backwards on the bed. While doing so, he began to gently kiss each and every one of the scars on her arm. In between each kiss, he would mutter the words, "I'm so sorry." Tears began to well up in her eyes and she could feel herself getting wet just thinking about where this was all headed. Once he had reached her small, dainty hand, he moved back up to her face, kissing her, this time with more force and more hunger than before. She lifted herself off of the bed just enough so that she could reach behind and unclasp her bra, letting it slowly drape off.

Just as gingerly as he kissed her wounded arm, he began kissing her neck, slowly moving his way down her abdomen. With his hands now on her breasts, he made a point to kiss every bruise and mark on her body. Whoever did this to her will fucking pay. Debra continued to moan and arch her back up towards him, her hands now tangled in his hair. When he reached her jutting hipbones he stopped and looked up at her, waiting for her permission, even though he knew he didn't need it. She nodded, smirking ever so slightly, and with that he carefully took off her only remaining article of clothing.

She had been with other men before. There were the ones she had actually felt something for, like Rudy, Gabriel, Anton, Lundy, and Quinn. And most recently, the countless guys she had hooked up with in bars while searching for her personal bottom – including the one who beat her repeatedly, but that she stayed with, not because she was scared, but because she felt it was what she deserved. But this was different. Never had she felt this way before about a man. Never had she wanted anyone this bad before. Needed anyone this bad before. She reached down between the small space between them and grabbed him.

"Just – let me know…I don't want to hurt you," he said in a low voice, keeping his eyes shut.

"Dex, I…" and rather than answer him with words, she began to kiss him, while at the same time guiding him to where she desperately needed him to be.

Dexter moaned almost immediately once inside her. He grabbed her right leg and hoisted it up, so that she could wrap it around him. She got the hint and mimicked the action with her left. With her legs wrapped tightly around his thighs, he began to move with a ferocity and determination that he did not know he was capable of feeling. She surprised herself with how vocal she was with him, and when she yelled, "Harder, Dex. Deeper…" she couldn't help but let a smile escape when she felt him oblige.

"Fuck, Deb. I…"

"Oh Christ, Dex. Don't. Stop. Please. Please."

With that he flipped her over, so she was on top, and for the first time in months, she felt in control. And she liked it. She kissed his neck, his collarbone, his abs – all the while moving atop him in such a way that he could not help but groan beneath her. He bucked up to her, carefully placing his hands on her waist, being careful to hold her too tight, and to not press too hard against her bruised and beaten body.

"Shit, Dex, I'm close. Take me. Now." she exclaimed.

He flipped her again, this time not being careful at all. He thrust against her hard. She winced. Pain and pleasure were the same at this point. She wrapped her arms around his, pulling him close, stabilizing herself by bending one leg to get herself to just the right angle. He got the idea, and placed his hand just where she wanted it.

"Oh God. Deb." They came together in unison. When he was able to, he slid to her side, and rest his head on her chest. She cradled him there for a while until they both fell asleep. When he woke up, he saw that she was already awake and in the living room.

"Dex, I…" she began.

"I love you too…"

Deb's withdrawal from the substances she had abused for the better part of the year was brutal. Many times, she would end up cursing at, kicking, and pleading with Dexter to allow her to just do one line, have one drink, take one hit. But he just held her closer each time she fought him.

Her physical scars healed over time, and after a while she was able to take Angel up on his request to have her rejoin MMPD. Every once in a while, she would enter Dexter's laboratory while he was working, and Quinn would notice the blinds would get shut. He never said anything to anyone about it. Never questioned either of them. Masuka noticed it once too, and made some perverted comment to which Angel rolled his eyes and muttered something in Spanish.

Eventually, after long conversations about the matter, Dexter convinced Debra that the two should take Harrison and move to Orlando, so that he could be with Astor and Cody. They were all too thrilled to get to live with him again, and Astor especially was excited that her Aunt Deb would be living in the same house as her – she was, after all, a growing teenager, and though Deb never saw herself as a "mother figure" – she knew how hard it was growing up without her own mom, and so in a way, it worked out for her too.

Debra had the top floor in the house she shared with Dexter and the kids all to herself – the separate entrance had been his idea. With the kids in school and doing their own thing, she and Dexter were able to continue their affair without anyone being the wiser.

He had changed her. And she had changed him. And neither one of them ever looked back.