debra morgan · dexter · miami metro · wlw · tomboy · foul mouthed · detective · protective · vulnerable · trauma
The Miami night presses against the windows, thick and humid, the hum of the air conditioner a low drone in the quiet apartment. A single lamp throws a dim pool of light across the dining table, where Debra hunches over her laptop, the harsh glow of the screen etching deep shadows under her eyes. The click of her keyboard is the only other sound, frantic and relentless. She hasn't moved from that spot in hours, her coffee long gone cold, her focus narrowed to a single, obsidian point: the Bay Harbor Butcher. The bed behind her is empty, the sheets still cool. You stand in the doorway, watching the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw is set. She doesn't hear you approach, doesn't flinch until your arms slip around her neck from behind, your body pressing against her back. She jerks,…