A/N: Super delayed but finally here is the new chapter! I changed the most amazing scene in Argentina for this, so hopefully it's worth it!

Prompt: Actually Making Up

"Oh my god…Are you fucking her?"

"Deb, I can explain."

"Oh I know what fucking is, no explanation necessary."

She shakes her head and painfully laughs. "Just get the fuck out." She doesn't afford him a second glance as she walks back into her bedroom and shuts the door.

Dexter sighs, runs his hands through his hair and gives up, heading out the door and on to Isaak.

He won't bring her candy or flowers. Those weren't the best way to apologize. Food worked sometimes, but it had to be better than chocolate. And beer always helped. But the best idea, the thing that always made it work, was gin. So there he stood on her doorstep, fifth in hand, and anxiously knocked. With the kids back in Orlando, he would have some time to sort things out with Deb.

See, he had a plan. He knew she wouldn't speak to him until the third shot, but she would be listening by the time the first went down. And by the fifth she would be feeling nostalgic, open to his gentle words. The sixth would make her cry, but the seventh in quick succession would wash away her tears. And by the ninth she would be smiling at him, and that's all he needed.

Of course, the first hurdle was getting through the door. And as Deb stood on the other side, visible through the window, arms crossed with a terse expression, he realized that might be more difficult than anticipated.

"Can we talk?" Dexter used his best sad face, the one he reserved for when he was most in trouble. But all this got him was a sterner glare, a longer frown.

"Deb?" But Deb turned away, headed back to her couch, ignoring Dexter on the other side of her locked door.

Dexter sighed, placed the bottle of liquor at his feet and took out his tools. The door was open before Deb could object and she stared at him dismayed. "God you're such a fucking asshole." She muttered as he closed the door behind him and went into her kitchen for some glasses.

"We need to talk."

"No actually, we really fucking don't." She watched him bring the glasses and bottle to the couch and settle down next to her. She smirked at him. "You think you can just fix it, just like that?" Her eyes drifted over the bottle and back to him.

"I just want to have a drink with you." Dexter shrugged nonchalantly and poured some for each of them. He held out the glass for her and she stared at it for a moment before taking it from him and downing it without him. He smiled softly to himself before taking his own shot.

"You remember the first time we drank gin together?" Dexter grinned and glanced sideways at her, catching a glimpse of her scowl before she rolled her eyes and turned her gaze away. Unperturbed, he continued "I think your skin was actually green the next day." Dexter chuckled to himself.

But he was the only one in the mood to reminisce and he watched as Deb leaned past him and poured herself another drink, downing it then coughing from the after burn.

Dexter took that as his cue and took a steadying breath. "You didn't give me a chance to explain yesterday. You threw me out before I could tell you anything."

Deb scoffs "As if you were going to tell me anything about it in the first place. If I hadn't seen those keys I'd probably still be blissfully ignorant that my stupid shithead brother is dating a fucking serial killer."

"Deb, she's not a bad person." Dexter reasons.

Deb guffaws in return "Not a bad person?! A fucking serial killer is not a bad person?! Fuck, that's probably what you like so much about her, huh?" Deb grabs the bottle from the table and pours another shot, downing it while Dexter watches.

"You don't have a fucking clue about anything do you?" Deb shakes her head at him angrily, slamming the bottle and empty glass back down onto the coffee table. "She fucking kills the people closest to her. So if you date her that means you dumbass."

"Deb, she's not going to kill me." He replies, though undeniably he has had his doubts.

"How the fuck do you know?" Deb looks at him hard, realization dawning on her. "She knows about you, doesn't she?"

Dexter sits silently, his gaze fixed on his hands, answering Deb's question without opening his mouth.

"Fuck me." Deb whispers. There's a silent pause before she chuckles to herself sadly. "It doesn't take much huh? For you to tell people? You just manage to find every goddamn killer around and befriend them and share your stupid little secret don't you?" Deb bites her nail as she turns all of it over in her mind once more. "Trinity…" She whispers. "Rudy…no wonder you two were so close." Deb looks at him sideways, the hurt and pain clear.

"I didn't know about him then, Deb." He tries to reassure her. "I didn't know anything until he already had you."

But Deb just shakes her head and turns away from him. "Doesn't fucking matter. You're the reason for everything bad that ever happens. Fuck…even Rita and Lundy."

He almost wants to point out that neither would have been in her life to begin with if he hadn't been in the picture, but he realizes what a poor idea it would be and sighs instead.

"You just don't care if you hurt me, do you?"

"I'm not trying to hurt you." Dexter reasons.

"Well you're doing a pretty fan-fucking-tastic job of it anyways, aren't you." Deb plants her feet on the ground and leans forward, turning her head back to look at him. "The best part is as usual you have no fucking clue."

Dexter returns a confused look as she stares at him, his eyebrows raised in question.

Deb emits a small laugh and then without warning she moves forward suddenly, her lips connecting with his. Dexter doesn't have time to react and finds himself staring at Deb's closed eyes, her dark eyelashes. It takes him a moment before he grabs onto her arms and pulls her away. Deb opens her eyes slowly and gives him a blank stare that gives way to a snicker. "You should see your fucking face." She laughs again and Dexter can feel her body shake between his hands.

For a moment he thinks she must be drunk, but suddenly her expression turns sober. "Don't you fucking get it?"

"Deb, what's wrong with you?" Dexter continues to look at her in bewilderment which only makes her angry.

"I'm fucking in love with you moron!" Deb shoves his hands away while he looks at her quizzically.

"I…you…" Dexter's brow furrows deeper as he stares at his sister in confusion.

"How do you not get it stupid?" Suddenly she climbs into his lap, throwing one leg across him and settling down face to face. Her expression is intense and she presses her palms against his chest. "It all makes sense Dex. Our entire relationship makes sense." She shakes her head trying to gather her thoughts and make him see. "You're my entire fucking life whether I like it or not. It's too late, it's already done. And now I don't know how it can ever be anyone but you."

He stares up at her and tries to understand but he can't decide if it's the alcohol's effect on him or her that makes it so difficult. "You're my sister." He tells her hesitantly.

"Don't you think I fucking get that? Do you know how fucking disturbing this is?" She laughs to herself before continuing. "You're even a fucking serial killer! But this is it. Every choice in my life, everything has always been about you. You are totally unavoidable. It took me so long to see it, but now I can't see anything else."

He looks up at her sadly, "I don't understand why you think you're in love with me…"

"Fucking hell!" Deb pushes away from him in frustration, getting up to pace her living room. "I don't fucking think I'm in love with you – I know it! I think about you constantly. I care way too fucking much. And seeing those fucking car keys yesterday was possibly the most hurtful thing you've ever done to me – which is saying a fuck of a lot."

Dexter shakes his head and gets off the couch, standing in her path so that she'll look back at him. "I know you've thought about this a lot, but it isn't real. I'm your brother. We've been together for as long as we remember. That's all this is, Deb. You're not in love with me." He tries to reason with her because this entire conversation seems so improbable. And he's more than sure of how unreal it all must be. Because if this was real, if she truly felt this way, he's not sure what might happen, how he might hurt her more.

"No. You don't get to fucking tell me how I feel." Deb looks at him stubbornly.

"Deb…I just don't know-"

She cuts him off as she closes the distance between them. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close, her chin resting on his shoulder. "Just shut up. Don't say anything." She doesn't want to hear him deny her feelings anymore, or worse tell her he doesn't feel the same. As prepared as she's been for a rejection, she doesn't think she could bear it in this moment.

He wraps his arms around her, pats her awkwardly on the back. "I love you, Deb." He tells her with conviction, because he wants her to know that it's always how he felt, even if he couldn't always understand it, even if he couldn't give her what she wanted.

She sighs against him and he can hear the tremble in her voice, the tears, as she replies. "Me too."