It wasn't often that Dexter allowed himself to sleep past morning. But just once in a while, he'd stray from that rule. Especially if he had a reason to. It was the first time he'd shared a bed with Debra after the complications of their relationship. He didn't count the first time, considering he'd left the bed the next morning feeling completely disgusted with himself.

But when he woke up that morning, the 11 am sun warming his face through the windows, he was not disgusted. He was so far from disgusted it almost scared him. He'd never had a lot of feelings, unless they were for his son or Hannah or Debra. But it usually didn't feel quite as real as it did then.

He opened his eyes and saw the speckles of dust float around within the streams of sunlight that came through the windows. He could barely hear the waves against the shores not far from there, and he realized a window had to be open somewhere. But it was too warm in that room for the window to be widely open.

He hadn't taken into account the fact that his sister moved a lot during the night, and he noticed how they were both just a tangle of limbs and heat and skin against skin. His leg was caught somewhere between her own, and as he attempted to turn more on his side, Debra managed to wrap her arms further around Dexter. She pulled herself closer, resulting in his knee riding up against her crotch, and he could hear a soft moan from her mouth.

He was almost sure she was still asleep, though, so he tried to stay still in order not to wake her. Debra moved a bit more, including her leg, which then brushed up against Dexter's own, and she could see her wincing. She groaned a little, and then her eyes opened tiredly.

"You're here," she mumbled, pressing her lips against Dexter's shoulder.

"Of course I am," he said softly. "I'm not going to leave you again."

"Thank you," she whispered, and then she yawned a little.

"Deb, we should have a look at your leg. I want to make sure it doesn't get infected." Dexter said, a hint of worry in his voice. Debra groaned a little and untangled herself from Dexter, sitting up slowly.

"Right… fuck," she hissed, rubbing her eyes. "Can you look first? I don't… I'm afraid it'll look completely horrible."

"Sure," Dexter said. He sat up and pulled the blankets away from Debra's legs, his fingers lightly trailing along her shin as he looked for the wound that was quite visible on the inner side of her left leg. He narrowed his eyes a little to get a good look at it, and his demeanor faltered completely. His mouth hung open, a little gasp escaping him. "Deb…" He murmured.

"Dex, what's wrong?" Debra asked, looking worried. "Dex, seriously, what the fuck is up?"

"Deb, I'm sorry," he gulped, his lips trembling as he looked at her wound. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Dexter, let me see," she said, and it sounded like she was about to freak out. "I need to see!"

"Just… be careful," Dexter sighed and let go of her leg, letting her look for herself. She bent her back a little to get her face closer to her leg, having to twist her neck a little to see it from the right angle. She was completely quiet for a while. The wound looked fine, actually. Definitely not infected, but deep enough to leave a scar.

Carved with a knife, on Debra's leg, were the words she feared. They weren't meant for her, seeing as how she was mistaken for the butcher, but it didn't change the fact that it was true.

'MURDERER'

"Dexter," Debra whispered, her head turning to look at him. She was trying to compose herself but eventually she couldn't do it. "GET IT OFF!" She screamed, and the tears streamed down her face. "GET IT OFF I CAN'T HAVE THIS HERE PLEASE!"

"Deb," Dexter said, trying to calm her down. "Deb, it's carved in there with a knife, there's nothing I can do."

"I DON'T CARE, IT NEEDS TO DISAPPEAR!" She screamed, and there was a horrible sound in her voice. Dexter swallowed heavily, the guilt weighing down on his shoulders.

"Deb, this wasn't meant for you. He thought you were the bay harbor butcher, it wasn't meant for you, okay? It was for me. It's okay."

"It doesn't matter," she said with a tremble in her voice. "God, it doesn't fucking matter, because it's true. I'm a fucking murderer and now I've got a fucking brand!" She cried, her hands clutching at Dexter's shoulders. "Please get it off."

"Deb, if you want me to remove it… the pain is going to be unbearable." Dexter said, stroking her hair carefully.

"I know," she nodded, biting her lip. "But it doesn't matter. I need it gone. Just get what we need and… and just get it over with."

Dexter hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Okay. Okay, I'll go to the store and get a few buckets of ice, and you… you'd better try to get a little drunk in the meantime."

"You for real?" Debra asked, frowning a little as she wiped her tears off with the back of her hand.

"Yeah, I'm for real," Dexter nodded. "Look, I'll call Batista and make some excuse, just… I don't want you to feel absolutely all that pain."

"Okay," Debra replied. "I'll find some liquor in the cabinet. You go ahead and get ice," She said, though she didn't know exactly what he needed it for. Dexter left for the store and got a bunch of ice, hurriedly returning to Debra's house. He entered the bathroom with the buckets of ice, and Debra was already there.

"Hey," he said timidly. She put the bottle of whiskey down and spoke with slightly slurred words.

"I bet… we're doing it here, right?"

"Yeah," Dexter said as he started filling up the tub. He started going through Debra's bathroom closets. "Got a…" He felt bad for even saying it. "Got an iron?"

Debra clenched her eyes shut and swallowed heavily. "Y-Yeah," she mumbled. "Yeah, next to the closet with the towels."

Dexter found the iron and plugged it in as close to the bathtub as he could. Once the cold water had filled the tub, he poured all the ice cubes into it to keep it as cold as possible.

"You'll have to, uh… You can't wear anything over your legs, so strip down to your underwear." He said, and Debra pursed her lips.

"I put them on so I didn't have to see it," she mumbled as she pulled her pants of, tossing them to the floor. Dexter waited for the iron to heat up a bit, getting some things from the kitchen in the meantime. He made sure everything was ready. Alcohol in the bathroom. Bandages, something to bite… everything. Debra was shaking uncontrollably, and Dexter had to calm her down.

"I'm here, Deb," he whispered, stroking her hair gently. "It's going to be ok." He said as he kissed her carefully. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," she mumbled, her eyes cast upon the floor.

"I think we're ready. Would you sit on the edge of the bathtub?"

"Sure," she swallowed, sitting down on the edge. "So whenever you're done, I just… put my leg in the ice-water?"

"Yeah, pretty much," he replied. He handed her a rolled up piece of cloth. "You might want to put this between your teeth.

"… Kay," she mumbled, clenching her teeth over the cloth.

"You ready?" He asked, kneeling down in front of her.

"Mhm," she nodded, clenching her eyes shut. Dexter remembered one last thing. He picked two nose-pinchers out of his pocket.

"Deb, put this on first," he said, and they both put one on. She nodded again to signal that she was still ready, and again, she closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," Dexter mumbled as he took the iron and pressed the tip against the first letter on her leg. He wanted to focus it, instead of creating one big burn over her entire leg.

"Annngh!" Debra yelped, biting into the cloth as hard as she could. Dexter pushed the tip against the M for a little while, and then he pulled it back. It was completely blurred out, so he moved on to the U. He couldn't stop the tip from slightly touching the previous burn, and Debra screamed in agony. Dexter did his best not to flinch as he kept going. Debra grabbed his hair in her hand and tore at it, but he ignored the pain. Debra was in much more pain than him, so he had no time to complain. It felt like an eternity before he reached the last letter, and Debra was no longer screaming. She was sobbing and wheezing, and her voice was too worn out to scream. Putting Debra in so much pain made Dexter's chest tighten considerably. God he hated it. He finished up the last R, but soon realized that he hadn't been able to ruin the last of the E's.

"I'm sorry," he said and pressed the iron against it until it was no longer readable, and Debra just kept shaking and sobbing. He hurriedly pulled the plug on the iron and lifted Debra's leg, turning her until her leg was submerged in the ice cold water. She gasped and gagged at the feeling of the cold water on her burns. Dexter stood by her side as she sat there, not saying a word for at least 20 minutes. The ice had started to melt, and the water wasn't as cold anymore.

"Thank you," she finally whispered, her eyes closed tightly. There were trails on her cheeks where the tears had ran earlier. Dexter shook his head and swallowed heavily, a painful look on his face.

"No, this is all my fault," he said with a dark voice, clenching his fists. "I let you get hurt, and now… I had to hurt you directly."

"Dexter, you didn't do anything wrong." Debra said, opening her eyes slowly to look at him.

"Of course I did," he retorted. "That man was after me, not you… I don't understand what made him come to the conclusion that you were the Bay Harbor Butcher, or why he'd even want to get his hands on me in the first place…" He mumbled, which was something he had to figure out eventually. He had no idea how anyone knew he was still out there. "But you got hurt because that man thought you were me… and because I left you alone in a dangerous place."

"That wasn't your choice to make, Dexter," she mumbled, sounding worn out. "My choices are mine to make, and you're not responsible for them. So stop blaming yourself for every fucking thing that happens to me."

"Deb…"

"No, just… I need rest. My head hurts. I'm dizzy. I just… fuck, I need some sleep, even though it's the middle of the fuckin' day." She groaned, rubbing her head.

"Okay," Dexter replied after hesitating for a second. "Let me just patch you up," he said and went to get a towel and some bandages. He carefully lifted Debra's leg back up from the water, and she hissed a little from the pain. "Sorry," he said, and he carefully patted the towel against her leg to dry her off before he put the bandage around her wound.

"Don't we need to like, uhm… cleanse it, or some shit?" Debra asked him as she flinched a little.

"No, I think the heat took care of any possible infections. We just have to change the bandage regularly." Dexter said. He put Debra's arm over his shoulder and supported her back to the bedroom. He made sure she got to bed properly, and put the blankets over her body.

"Hey, Dex… you still gotta go to work, right?" She mumbled, earning a sigh from Dexter.

"Yeah, don't think Batista will let me off that easy. He told me earlier, when I called him, that he had some important news," he said, checking his watch. "He told me to relay it to you once you got back from the ER."

"ER?"

"Yeah, I told him you had an accident and you had to go have it checked out."

"I see… well, get back here as soon as you're finished with work, alright?"

"Sure thing."

…

Dexter arrived at the station quite a lot later than he usually would, but things seemed to be running smoothly there. He went to his office to finish up a few blood reports, and it didn't take long before Batista came in.

"Hey, Dexter," he said with a smile. "How's Deb holding up?"

"She's doing fine," Dexter said, nodding a little as he smiled back at Angel. "Her leg wasn't really all that bad, so she only needed to get a little burn kit."

"That's good to hear. Look, about that thing I wanted to mention… we got this call last night, and so far I've decided to only tell the people I think to be the most professional people here. There was this guy claiming to be the counting killer, and he said that he had proof that the bay harbor butcher is still alive." He said, a worried tone to his voice. Dexter did his best to hide the surprise that belonged to his dark passenger, and instead showed the one Dexter Morgan would express.

"What?" He asked with a frown. "Has it been followed up? I mean, it could be some prank call or something."

"We've barely released any information to the media about the counting killer, so it's just… weird that some guy would pretend to be someone he had no real way of knowing about in the first place."

"Yeah, good point," Dexter mumbled. He had to play professional, to act like a cop. "Did you track the call?"

"It was made from a moving vehicle, so there's no real way to pinpoint the location," Batista sighed. "I don't know Dexter, but I wanted to let you in on it. We'll keep it like this for a while, and maybe something more pops up. I think we should just, uh, keep our radar on, aye?"

"Absolutely agree," Dexter said, nodding firmly. "The last thing we need is to find out that we were wrong about…" He took a little pause to swallow heavily. "About Doakes."

"Exactly," Batista said. "Anyways… there's a crime scene, and there's a lot of blood, so I guess you should get down there."

"Will do." Dexter said, and Angel opened the door to leave. "Oh, and Angel?" Dexter added, and somehow he looked completely sincere. The worst thing being he actually was sincere. "Thanks… for, you know, for uhm… trusting me with this, and… valuing my position or whatever."

"But of course, Dexter," Angel smiled. "You're one of our best men."

…

Dexter worked overtime that night to finish his blood report on the latest crime scene. He went back to his apartment and relieved Jamie. "We're going to sleep at aunt Deb's place tonight, me and her are working on a theory at work." Dexter said to Harrison, which made Harrison very happy.

They went to Debra's house, and Harrison had to go to bed pretty early, but not before he'd said hi to aunt Deb.

"Night Harrison," Debra smiled as she turned off the lights.

"Good night aunt Debra," Harrison smiled back. Debra giggled softly and closed the door before limping to the bedroom where Dexter was seated on the bed. He'd acted weird ever since he got back.

"Okay," she said as she closed the door and leaned on it. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or are we going to pretend we're all happy-go-lucky?"

"That guy I killed last night, who hurt you, he… he called the station from the car," Dexter said, his eyes flickering as they shifted to look at Debra. His breath seemed heavy, and his voice was low. "He told them the bay harbor butcher was still alive, and it seems Batista believes it. It doesn't take a lot of investigation to find out that criminals are still disappearing."

"Oh my god…" Debra mumbled, limping a few steps towards Dexter. "Dex…"

"The investigation is going to be put back on. LaGuerta, she accused me of being the butcher, and she ended up dead in a container. How long do you think it takes before they start adding two and two together?"

"Jesus fucking christ," Debra whispered. God, this was bad. For the both of them. "We need to lead it away from us."

"I know," Dexter nodded, and suddenly he was smiling. It was barely visible, but it was there. "We'll find a way, I know it… I just…" He stopped for a while, his hand resting above his heart.

"You just… what?"

"When I was a teenager, I'd do all these crazy things to feel alive. Harry once caught me on the edge of a building, and he thought I wanted to kill myself, but I just… I just wanted to feel alive, to feel my heart beat. I felt that when they first discovered all my victims on the bottom of the ocean, and I feel it now… I should be terrified, but I'm… excited."

"Dex…" Debra said, surprise written all over her face.

"I know I'll have to get away from this, but at the same time… I feel like… like I'll enjoy it." He said, and then he stood up, his face gleaming with a new-found joy.

"Well I'm glad you're able to see it like that," Debra huffed. "But you really have to put your fucking soul into getting out of this mess."

"I will." Dexter replied, taking a step towards Debra. She looked a bit nervous, but part of her couldn't withstand the attraction she felt towards Dexter in that moment. She realized just how fucked up she had to be to think of that after hearing such bad news.

"Dex," she trembled as he came closer. He grasped her hand in his and led it to his chest.

"You feel that? It's beating so hard," he mumbled, and she nodded in reply, her eyes wide and glossy. She unconsciously wet her lips with her tongue, and it didn't take long before Dexter grabbed her waist and pulled her close to him, kissing her more passionately than he ever had. She gasped inaudibly and nearly stumbled backwards, but she threw her arms over his shoulders and kissed him back so hard she was afraid she might pass out.

Debra didn't really know when they'd made it to the bed, or when she'd straddled Dexter's hips and feverishly started pulling his shirt off. God, he was so hot she almost lost track of what was happening. Her mind was hazy and her entire body was warm.

Dexter flipped her around and bit down on her lip, but used his mouth to stop her moan. "We've gotta make sure not to wake Harrison," he murmured. Debra nodded, her eyes droopy and clouded, but there was a tiny chuckle escaping her throat. "Hey, are you… okay with this? We can stop, if-"

"I'm fine," Debra nodded, her breath heavy. "Just… mind the fucking wound and I'm all yours," she grinned, and they kissed again, and Dexter removed Debra's clothes and he played with her breasts – god those perfect, tiny breasts – and then they both lost track of time and everything else. They were locked in what felt like an everlasting moment of fiery passion, constantly kissing each other to keep themselves from making any sounds that could wake Harrison, and so it went until they were both splayed out on the bed, both exhausted.

I am alive.