A/N: So I have to admit that at points I have really liked the idea of Quinn and Deb. Mostly because it was always apparent how deeply he loved her, even if he was a total screw up about half the time! Meanwhile Dexter is an asshole all of the time…poor Deb…

Anyways, I'm having so much fun with these and I'm glad you guys seem to also!

Prompt: Concerned third party asks about their relationship dynamic

Quinn presses his fingers into his temples, lets his head droop towards his desk as he fights his hangover. He groans loudly when Batista dumps a shitload of files in front of him with a loud bang.

"Fuck man. Can't you see I'm struggling here?" Quinn leans back, drops his head against the back of his chair.

"And that my friend, is why you're going to do all of my paperwork." Angel grins at him menacingly.

"Angel…"

"Naw man. You can't keep coming in here in this state and expect me not to get pissed off at you." He taps the pile until Quinn brings his head upright. "This better be done by lunch because there's more waiting." Angel turns on his heel and Quinn glares at his retreating back.

Sighing he reaches for the top of the pile and flips it open. He couldn't understand what Batista was bitching about. He hadn't been doing such a bad job lately, mostly keeping his head on straight and not partying too hard. But he was a young, single guy. Shouldn't he be having some fun?

His eyes drift towards the opening elevator and he watches Deb and Dex step off of it and head into Dexter's office. He can't help but notice the tension in Deb's shoulders, the grimace on her face.

He knows she shouldn't be his concern. She had made that perfectly fucking clear. But part of him couldn't help caring. And he had noticed the stress on her more and more. This was different than when she first took on the role of Lieutenant. As anxious as she had been about it, she had handled it well.

No, this was a different sort of problem nagging her. Something that wasn't about work, and was more likely about home.

He stared towards Dexter's office, watched as Deb and Dexter scanned the bullpen and Dexter reached out and flipped the blinds shut. He squinted towards the now blocked windows worriedly.

Their relationship had always been odd. But at some point he had accepted their closeness. Sure, he didn't feel the need to call his siblings about just anything. Or have a regular meal with them. Or do the occasional sleepover. But surely there were people like that? People who seemed to put their siblings before every other relationship in their lives?

Really, could he blame Deb? She had no other family, had been to hell and back more than once. So the way she leaned on Dexter could make sense. She always said how much she counted on him; how she knew he'd always be there for her.

But those old feelings about Dexter, those same suspicions in the back of his mind, had always made him wonder if her trust lay in the wrong place. Dexter was definitely not some bastion of perfection, like Deb made him out to be. And not that he himself was perfect either, but Dexter had always seemed to hate him a bit more than necessary.

He's still staring at the windows to Dexter's office when he sees Deb come out the other door. Head buried in a file she moves to her office, shutting the door behind her. Without thinking he gets to his feet, steps towards her office.

He ignores Batista's protests and knocks on her door, hearing her call him in. Pulling her eyes away from the file she looks up at him, raises a questioning eyebrow as she watches him close the door.

"I ah…wanted to ask you about something. Ya know…personal?"

Deb rolls her eyes at him. "Fuck Quinn. I thought we were done with this conversation. I can't do this right now." Deb's eyes are already focusing back on the blood report in front of her.

"No. Not about us. About Dexter." Deb's eyes come up, latching onto his. "And you."

He swears he can see her flush as she furrows her brow at him and waits for him to continue.

"I just thought something might be wrong? You've seemed a little out of sorts."

He watches Deb's hands fold in front of her as she pulls her shoulders back, looking like she is ready for a fight. "What are you talking about?"

He can recognize the tone. Her 'I don't know what the fuck you want but I'm not taking any bullshit' tone. "You just seem a little stressed out." Quinn shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage.

"Have you seen the fucking board? I think you should be a little more stressed out." Deb grinds out as her eyes narrow.

"Look, Deb, I'm not talking about work. Okay? I know you can handle that. I'm asking, as a friend, if everything is alright. If you need to talk."

Her gaze on him seems to falter. For a moment she seems vulnerable, fearful. But she remains silent.

"Is it Dexter? Is everything okay with him?" Quinn sounds increasingly suspicious. "Is everything okay between you two?" The concern in his voice is growing.

Deb sits frozen, staring up at him, her expression impossible to read. He thinks he may be on to something and takes a half step closer. "Deb, you know you can talk to me. I know we have a history, but I'm still here for you. If something is wrong-"

She cuts him off abruptly, getting to her feet, her hands planted on the desk so that she leans forward slightly. "I'm fine. Dexter is fine. And I appreciate the gesture, but I don't need to talk to you about anything besides work." There's a coolness in her tone, in her posture and it takes him aback. He can't help but feel hurt.

He nods awkwardly and steps back. Looking at her, he is more convinced that nothing is alright. But she doesn't want him or his help and maybe it was time for him to accept that. "Well…my offer stands. Just so you know…"

Deb doesn't reply, just stands straight, folds her arms over her chest and cocks her head at him. Quinn takes his cue and leaves her office, shutting the door behind him.

As he walks back to his desk he notices Dexter, standing just outside of his office, staring at him. As Quinn takes his seat he watches Dexter move towards Deb's office, a menacing glint directed at him.

The door shuts behind Dexter and once more the blinds are closed. He glances around the bullpen, wonders why no one else sees anything odd between the Morgans.

Sighing, he runs his hands over his face. He needs fresh air; fuck Batista and his fucking files. He grabs his jacket and heads down to the coffee truck, vowing to give Lieutenant Morgan a wide berth.