171. Chapter 171

It’s a habit leftover from her teenage years.

She would always keep a toothbrush and travel tube of toothpaste in the glove compartment of her pickup.

Because she never knew what girls were going to kiss her under the bleachers (and then tell their boyfriends that she came onto them and their boyfriends would tell her to go back to where she came from and add whatever filthy word they could find for lesbian in their ever-expanding vocabulary, but hey, at least her breath would be minty fresh).

And, more, she never knew when she’d need to climb out her bedroom window or slam out the front door, and drive, drive, drive, and sleep in the truck because she kept blankets in there but still, it was cold, but the cold was better than her father’s reprimands, her father’s disappointment; and in the morning, again, at least her teeth would be clean when she pulled up to school in crumpled jeans and yesterday’s flannel.

So it’s a habit from her teenage years.

She still keeps a toothbrush and a travel tube of toothpaste in the slim saddle bad on her Triumph.

Because in her line of work, one never knows when night will turn into day, when strangers will turn into lovers, when work will follow the bar and something needs to quell the aftertaste of bourbon.

So the first night she stays over Alex’s place, she swishes around some of Alex’s mouthwash when she wakes up to pee, to process, to breathe, around 2 am.

And she’s got her toothbrush waiting in her saddle bag on her bike for when she – eventually – drives to work.

Terrified of moving too fast, of scaring Alex into running – again – Maggie doesn’t mention leaving a toothbrush in Alex’s bathroom, leaving a change of clothes in Alex’s drawers.

They’re both accumulating small piles of each other’s things, and Maggie has taken to wearing the leather jacket Alex left at her place the other morning – but they don’t talk about it, and Maggie doesn’t ask.

Because she’s got her toothbrush in her saddle bag, anyway.

But one evening, she notices a change in Alex’s bathroom. There’s a second toothbrush hanging in the little compartment, and Maggie freezes.

“Hey Danvers, did Kara stay over last night or something?”

“No, what do you – “

Alex freezes in the bathroom doorway and follows Maggie’s eyes with hers. She pales and she licks her lips and her eyes go wide and she stares, nervous, nervous, nervous.

And suddenly, Maggie understands.

“Is this… is this for me?”

“I mean it was, but obviously you don’t need to use it, and I’m not trying to imply anything about your breath, I mean, I just thought you know, since you’re here so often and it’s stupid, you don’t have to use it, I just thought – “

Alex’s spluttering has never been so damn moving, and Maggie is kissing her because no one has ever thought about her needs before, no one has ever thought about her comfort.

No one has ever thought about making their home a little more hers.

Until Alex Danvers bought her a toothbrush and hung it next to her own.

She might be able to break her old teenage habit, after all.