94. Chapter 94

Maggie doesn’t hear Alex come in.

As many times as Alex tells her it’s okay, she can play her music as loud as she wants, on as many speakers as she wants, Maggie still insists on listening with her headphones, even when she’s alone.

When you’re trying to listen to a strange combination of Lauryn Hill and Tegan and Sara growing up in a house as chaotic as mine, you get used to the headphones, Danvers.

So she doesn’t notice Alex walk in, because she’s too busy absently swaying her hips in time to whatever she’s got playing in those headphones, half humming and half singing under her breath, too busy spicing Alex’s favorite chili, too busy checking on the rice, too busy standing on her tip toes, her henley lifting all the way up her abs with her effort, trying to get at Alex’s favorite wine glasses.

Alex smiles and Alex fights to inexplicable urge to both laugh and cry, and Alex strides forward, putting a hand on the bare skin of Maggie’s torso to steady her, grabbing two glasses with the other easily.

Maggie jumps in surprise for a moment but then she melts, back into Alex’s arms, into Alex’s body, pulling her hand fully around her waist and reaching for her other so Alex is completely surrounding her from behind.

She lets her head drop back on Alex’s shoulder, turning to kiss her neck, and Alex moans out a sigh.

“Welcome home, babe,” Maggie whispers as Alex pulls her closer, as she keeps moving in time with her headphones, as she keeps swaying her hips and pushing her ass back slightly into Alex.

Alex splutters and Alex’s fingers tighten around her body and Maggie lifts her hand up behind her to run her fingers through Alex’s hair, down Alex’s neck, before turning around in Alex’s arms, so they’re chest to chest, mouth to move. Maggie tip toes so she can press a kiss to Alex’s lips as she wraps her arms around her neck, letting her elbows rest on Alex’s steady shoulders as she moves, moves, moves, and cajoles Alex into moving with her.

Alex turns the flames on the stove down before she runs a hand over Maggie’s hair, settles her hands on Maggie’s waist.

“What’re we dancing to?” she asks softly, and Maggie inclines her ear toward Alex, who takes the hint and takes out one of Maggie’s earpods and puts it into her own.

“Coldplay, babe?” she teases, and Maggie scoffs.

“I don’t mock you for that punk rock phase Kara keeps telling me about.”

But the teasing only makes them pull closer; the sharing of the rhythm only makes their heart beats more in sync; the way the song preaches magic and wanting no else one but you makes Alex blush and Maggie bite her lip before she leans up on her tip toes again, to kiss her again, and their feet keep them rotating in a circle, keep them slow dancing, keep them on the cloud they’re floating on, Maggie’s arms dangling off Alex’s shoulders, curling back to tangle in her hair as they kiss and they dance, and they kiss and they dance, until Maggie’s calves are nearly cramped and Alex is dizzy and they giggle into each other’s mouths because the next song on shuffle is an old school Linkin Park number and it puts something of a damper on the slow dancing idea.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever come home to,” Alex tells her, and tears sting Maggie’s eyes.

“Same, Danvers. Same.”