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Deb knew something was wrong the second she saw your name flash across her phone at two in the goddamn morning.
You never called that late. You texted. You apologized for calling late. You worried about waking her up even when she was already awake, pacing her apartment, still wired from a case that refused to let go of her throat.
“Fuck,” Deb muttered, grabbing the phone. “Hey—”
“Deb,” you said, breathless. Not panicked. Not screaming. Which somehow made it worse. “I think someone’s outside my apartment.”
Her blood went ice-cold.
“What do you mean think?” Deb was already on her feet, keys in hand. “What the fuck do you see?”
“I—there was a knock. Not a neighbor knock. A wait-for-you-to-open knock. And then—” You swallowed. “Someone slid something under my door.”
Deb’s grip tightened so hard around her keys it hurt. “What was it.”
“A photo.”
Deb didn’t breathe.
“It’s from the case. The witness statement I helped you with. It’s a picture of me leaving the station.”
That did it.
“Listen to me,” Deb said, voice sharp, steady, command-level even as something ugly and feral woke up in her chest. “You lock yourself in your bathroom. You do not open the door for anyone. I’m coming.”
“Deb, you’re off-duty—”
“Yeah, and I don’t give a single flying fuck.” She was already out the door. “Bathroom. Now.”
She didn’t wait for your response.
By the time Deb screeched to a stop outside your building, red and blue lights bouncing off the walls, she had already broken about six rules and was halfway to breaking six more.
Uniforms were there—someone else had called it in—but Deb barely registered them. She blew past the tape.
“Detective—!”
“My girlfriend is in there,” Deb snapped, shoving her badge in a startled officer’s face. “Move.”
She didn’t wait for permission. She never did when it came to you.
Inside, the air felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still.
Deb’s hand went to her gun without thinking.
She took the stairs two at a time, heart slamming so hard it hurt. Images kept flashing uninvited—your laugh, your hands curled in her jacket sleeves, the way you said her name like it was something soft instead of sharp.
She hit your floor and nearly lost her mind.
Your door was ajar.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” Deb burst through it, gun up, scanning corners, adrenaline roaring in her ears.
“Deb!”
Your voice came from the bathroom. Alive. Shaky. Real.
She found you curled on the tile, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes wide and glassy. The second you saw her, you broke.
“Hey,” Deb said, holstering her gun and dropping to her knees in front of you. Her hands shook as she touched your face, your shoulders, checking—checking—checking. “Hey. I got you. I got you.”
You surged forward, clutching her like she might disappear. Deb wrapped herself around you instinctively, pressing your face into her neck, breathing you in.
“You’re okay,” she murmured, over and over, like a prayer. “You’re okay. I’m here.”
Later—after the suspect was in custody, after the report-writing, after her captain ripped her a new asshole for going rogue—Deb sat in the quiet aftermath of it all, staring at the wall like she was seeing something she couldn’t unsee.
She had drawn her weapon in a residential hallway.
She had ignored protocol.
She had scared the shit out of half the precinct.
And she would do it all again.
That realization terrified her more than anything.
You found her sitting on the edge of your couch, elbows on her knees, jaw clenched so tight you could hear it.
“Deb,” you said softly.
She flinched.
“Hey.” You stepped closer. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she snapped, standing abruptly. She ran a hand through her hair, pacing. “I lost my shit. I broke rules. I could’ve gotten suspended—fired—”
“But you didn’t,” you said.
“That’s not the point!”
She turned on you then, eyes wild and bright. “I scared myself, okay? I didn’t even think. I just—” Her voice broke. “I just went.”
You didn’t interrupt. You never did when she was unraveling.
“I saw your door open and I thought—” She swallowed hard. “I thought I was gonna lose you. And I don’t— I don’t know what that says about me.”
You stepped into her space, close enough that she had to stop pacing.
“It says you love me,” you said quietly.
Deb froze.
“I didn’t say—”
“You didn’t have to.” You reached for her hand, steady and warm. “You saved me.”
“I’m not supposed to—”
“I know.” You smiled, soft but sure. “But you did.”
Deb looked at you like she was seeing you for the first time—really seeing you. Not as someone adjacent to the job. Not as collateral damage waiting to happen.
As hers.
“I was scared,” you admitted. “But when you walked in… I wasn’t anymore.”
Her breath hitched.
“Deb,” you said, voice gentler now. “Thank you.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
You didn’t let her.
You kissed her.
Not desperate. Not frantic. Just firm and grateful and real.
Deb made a sound low in her throat, hands coming up automatically to hold your face like she’d lose you if she didn’t. The kiss deepened for half a second—then she pulled back, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard.
“You can’t do that,” she whispered.
“I just did.”
She laughed weakly, eyes shining. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me.”
You smiled. “Already did.”
Deb closed her eyes, pressing a kiss to your forehead this time—careful, reverent.
“Next time,” she said softly, “I’ll try not to go full feral.”
You squeezed her hand. “No promises.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Didn’t fuckin’ think so.”
And for the first time since that knock at your door, everything felt safe again.