If Deb were awake, she would have noticed that it took them over twenty minutes to get rid of the party. People would constantly stop them and engage in a conversation, to which Deb would only display a faint smile and nod, unaware of a word they were saying. She would see their mouths moving, she would notice Dexter replying something, but everything seemed faded, as if watching a very old movie in which the audio and the video were damaged.

Masuka had passed them by wearing baby's diapers and had wanted to grab Deb. And that was when she finally snapped out of it - but Dexter was faster and told Masuka to get lost. He seemed a little hurt, but walked away.

"I'm sorry" whispered Dexter, hoarse, and Deb wasn't sure about what he was sorry for – was it only the inconvenient party? Was it... what happened?

All the while, though, she felt the firm grip of his hand on hers, until, finally, they were off.

Dexter had started to walk towards her car, which was parked a few blocks away, but Deb resisted. He turned around, confused. "I thought you wanted to go. The car is over there..." he mumbled, and Deb could see his uneasiness. But she didn't care. For the first time, she didn't care about what he was thinking. She just wanted to flee.

"No", she found herself saying, before she could think about it. "Just..." she shook her head. What did she want? What could she possibly want? The image imprinted on her mind burned her from inside out. She felt like puking, and she felt her knees weaken. She knew she was looking distraught… But she didn't care at all.

"Okay", murmured him in return, a bit confused. Despite her silence as to what to do, he grabbed her hand and led the way. And Deb didn't care to where. It was like her whole body had been drained from her very willpower. "The beach?" Dexter suggested, seeing they weren't too far away. She just nodded, making their way to the beach, which was less crowded now, after the fireworks had ceased.

Each step was like walking on air, and it wasn't a good feeling. As a matter of fact, it didn't feel at all. Deb was empty. The ground underneath her feet, the wind blowing through her hair, Dexter's hand holding hers... Everything felt empty. She wish she could scream, or vomit, or blame Dexter, attack him, kill herself, feel pain, or sorrow, or rage. But instead... Instead of everything else, of every bad emotion Deb was so familiar with, she didn't feel anything.

And Deb wasn't exactly known for her cold blood.

She was emotional and spontaneous. She ran according to her feelings, she was a machine moved by sentiment, it didn't matter how bad it was. Debra Morgan had grown up being an intense kind of person. Everything was too strong, be it love or hate. Everything burned within her – her love for Dexter, her hate for so many criminals who had scarred her life.

But now… Now she felt nothing. Now Debra Morgan, for the first time in her whole life, felt nothing. She was empty and numb, and she didn't know what to do with herself – not that she would do anything if she knew what was supposed to happen to her.

She just followed Dexter, like a good dog would follow its master, and she didn't really care as to where they were going. When they reached the beach, he would look at both sides, deciding as to which way to go. Deb saw him shrug to himself and go to his right, further away from the party where they were, but in the direction of plenty of other celebrations at the beach.

Even though less crowded, the beach was still full of people. Deb didn't mind them. They wouldn't spare her a second glance, going about their business, and she was glad for that. Because she was nothing. She was nothing really. Invisible and weightless, that's how it felt, wandering aimlessly through people and places and feelings and histories she could never have. The happy couple, the big family, the absentminded friends. It was all untouchable and belonging to a world where she no longer existed.

She could see in her mind's eye LaGuerta pleading for her life, sitting on the ground, urging her to kill her brother, her accomplice and the man she loved. She could see the scene very clearly in her mind, when she had made up her mind, had looked deeply into Dexter's eyes, almost pleading for him to stop her, when she turned the gun in LaGuerta's direction and pulled the trigger. At that time, she knew she had no other option. She had to choose between the truth and Dexter.

And she chose Dexter.

Deb could see all of that, she could even remember how it felt. The destruction. The fall. Nonetheless, right now, she felt nothing. She felt no sympathy for herself or LaGuerta, all those emotions and the feeling of utter despair being like a hazy dream, one of which she wasn't sure she was part of.

Immersed in her own emptiness, Deb was quite surprised when Dexter tightened his grip on her hand and she actually felt it. She didn't expect to feel it, her whole body had gone numb while walking on the beach, she could barely feel the sand on her feet. And however, as much as she felt invisible and weightless, when he touched her, she felt it.

"Deb?", he would mutter, unsure. Her eyes would be lost staring at nothing, and she would unwillingly turn and look at his face. It was hard to assimilate her own ability of looking at something – someone – and seeing them. She didn't belong to that world of feelings, did she? "Deb, please… Just…" he mumbled, but left the unfinished sentences hang in the cool night air.

Deb felt his hand on hers, he never let go of her, not for one second since they arrived at the party. She felt the breeze on her hair and the sand on her feet. And more importantly, she felt his eyes on her, pleading for something she could not give him.

When Dexter noticed she was surfacing again, he insisted. "Please, just say something, Deb. Please".

She averted her eyes and stared at the dark ocean ahead of them. "Dexter…" the word felt like a razor on her tongue. "I have nothing to say, Dex."

"Deb…" he started, but trailed off when she turned to him once again.

Her eyes were hollow and she struggled with the words, appalled that she could actually think something up to say. "There's nothing, Dexter. There's nothing left in here…" and she put her free hand over her chest, clutching her dress. "I did what I did, and I can't take it back. It's done. I've done it."

He just looked at her, and she knew he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

Deb sighed. "And I know I'm supposed to be losing my mind, going mad, hating you, hating myself, going to the nearest police station, screaming or hitting you hard… But you know what, Dex?" and finally, she sobbed and felt the tears in her eyes. "You know what? I'm so tired. I'm so tired of feeling torn apart that I can't bring myself to do or say anything. I look at you and you know what I feel? Nothing. I feel nothing. I don't feel hate or love, I look at your face and I just see a blank, pointless face staring at me, wanting me to do or feel something that I can't even bring myself to think."

As she spoke, a line formed on Dexter's brow. It was his concerned face, Deb knew it too well.

"What can I do, Deb? What… What can I possibly do?" he asked, slowly and hoarse. He was becoming agitated, which wasn't normal of him. Now, they had suddenly changed roles: Deb felt the uninvited coolness she could only recognize in Dexter, and on his turn, he was becoming nervous as he looked at her. "I… I'll go to the police. I'll turn myself in. I'll confess about LaGuerta and everything else… You just have to say the word, Deb. Just say it, and I'll do it…"

She looked at him, still half-numb. She turned and looked at the dark sea, which she knew was there only because she heard the waves. Upon her lack of response, Dexter tried again: "Or I could go."

That made her turn back at him, and he went on. "I could disappear from your life. You'd never have to look at me again, you'd never have to worry about my mistakes. Because they're mine, Deb, all mine and…" he gulped hard, rubbing his eyes, holding back the flimsy tears welling up there. "And I will not bear to watch you fall into this abyss with me. I will not bear. So… I can go. I can disappear for you, if that's what you want."

Deb let her eyes drop to the sand. Sighing and suddenly feeling too tired, she found herself kneeling to sit down on the beach. Dexter stood still, looking at her, puzzled, trying to grasp the meaning of her behavior.

When she didn't move or say anything, Dexter felt his heart burst, and his knees gave way to gravity. He kneeled beside her, staring at her, looking for his sister.

He didn't find her.

"Deb?..." he tried, anguished. "Please… Say something. Tell me what to do. Just tell me and I'll do it. Please."

The waves crashed on the sand, unaware of the pair and their problems. It just kept crashing on the sand beach, making a cool, soothing noise, with no respect whatsoever with the thunderstorm going on inside their minds.

"It's no use, Dexter" she finally replied, not looking at him. "I'm already lost."

"No…" She wasn't looking, but she could feel him cry silently, without moving a muscle, without emitting a sound. "Deb…" his voice had become suddenly muffled.

"Go home, Dexter. Go home." She asked, effortlessly. "I want to be alone".

"I can't lea—".

"You asked me what I wanted you to do", she said firmly. "I want you to leave me here."

She saw at the corner of her eye when he finally got up from his kneeling position and walked away. She didn't watch him leave, though. She had no intention to look at him.

He walked away, as she had requested. And as the minutes and the hours passed by, Deb welcomed the oblivion that washed over her for many hours.

At the crack of dawn, though, when finally there was almost no one around, the truth finally hit her, as the veil of obliviousness was lifted with the sun.

They weren't apart. Now, more than ever, nothing less than death could tear them apart. Deb finally understood that. Whether liking it or not, whether for bad or good, they were tied together, it didn't matter if she had send him away for that night.

Now, it wasn't all about him. Now it wasn't only his mistakes. As he had chosen to become a killer, so did she. Her actions were her own responsibility, and no one else's.

Her actions. Her killing.

Hers.

And savouring that bitter moment, while sitting there all alone, Deb finally allowed herself to cry.

They were bound. And they were heading for something unknown.


Finis


A/N: And finally, Deb's POV. I find it hard to write on her perspective in that moment of utter loss of her own self, but there you have it. I hope it isn't as lame as it sound to me. And I also hope for some closure in season 8.

As much as I'd love a "happy ending" (or at least them being together) here, I don't think that's quite possible at this stage on the canon. God knows how the writers will mend them, but one thing is for sure: they're together, liking it or not, making amends or not. I can't wait for season 8 to finally begin!

Hope you liked it,

Mistrust.