327. Chapter 327

She calls her mother every year on her birthday.

She probably shouldn’t.

She should have been defended as a child.

She probably shouldn’t call.

But she does, anyway, in the early hours of the morning when she knows her mother will be awake, but her father won’t be.

But this year? This year, for whatever damn reason, he’s awake. And he answers her mother’s phone.

He wants to know why she would ruin her mother’s day by starting it off with a call from such a selfish child who could have been such a beautiful daughter, but chose to abandon them all with her filth.

He wants her to know how much her mother loves her, how much he loves her, that she was the one who left them. That she was the one who broke their hearts. That she was the one who chose to be selfish. That she was the one who abandoned them, just like – he’s heard – she keeps abandoning these women she engages in such sin with.

He wants her to know – she hangs up the phone.

She doesn’t cry and she doesn’t think and she barely even breathes.

She tugs on her jacket. She tugs on her helmet. She kicks her Triumph to life and she speeds to Alex’s apartment.

She knows Alex will just be returning from her morning run. She knows Alex’s body will be warm, will be sweaty. Will be perfect.

“Maggie, hey, what – “ Alex asks as Maggie lets herself into her living room, as Maggie tosses her helmet onto a chair, as Maggie cuts off her words with a searing kiss.

A searing kiss that tears through Alex’s entire body, that makes Alex swoon, that makes Alex melt.

“Maggie,” she tries to say again, and Maggie pulls all the way back, fire burning in her eyes.

“You wanna talk or you want me to make you see stars?” Maggie asks, her eyes hard, her voice wrecked, her hands somehow both demanding and trembling, her body somehow both gentle and rough.

Alex gulps, because god, god, god, she knows what kinds of stars Maggie can make her see. Not even your typical G-class star. No, Maggie makes her see stars explode, makes her see supernovae, makes her see the birth and death of the universe in the curve of her fingers, the arch of her hips, the heat of her tongue, the insistence of her teeth. The intensity of her eyes, the relentlessness of her hands.

Alex gulps, and Alex wants, but there’s something off about Maggie’s stance, off about Maggie’s voice, about her eyes.

“Maggie, what’s wrong?”

Maggie grunts dismissively and backs Alex against the kitchen counter, eyes on her lips, on her body, like she’s starving for her, because god, she is.

“Wrong? The fact that you’re not writhing and screaming for me right now, Danvers.”

Alex’s body swoons of its own accord, and Maggie takes her weakened knees as consent, swooping in for another burning kiss.

Alex melts under her lips, her tongue, for a long, lingering moment, her lips parted and her body achingly pliant for Maggie’s aching hands, but only for a moment.

Only for a moment, because Alex knows Maggie.

She knows Maggie, and she knows she’s avoiding talking. Knows something’s wrong.

Knows she has something to say – so many things to say – and wants to write them into Alex’s skin with her body instead of forcing the words out of her lips, because fucking is easier than talking, because I want you is easier than I love you.

So she gathers all her strength, all her resistance, and she pulls back. Maggie growls, and the sound makes keeping from drowning in Maggie’s lust that much harder, but Alex loves her more than that.

“Maggie, stop,” she says soft, she says gentle, she says insistent, calibrating her voice carefully, intentionally, so Maggie doesn’t think she’s hurt her, because she hasn’t, she hasn’t, but god, she’s hurting herself.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Maggie.”

Maggie pushes away from Alex and retreats to the other side of the kitchen, the opposite counter, by the fridge. She crosses her arms over her chest and she glares.

“Why does something have to be wrong for me to want you, Danvers?” she counters, and Alex studies her with sharp eyes and a breaking heart.

“I love that you want me, Maggie. And I love when you’re rough with me. I love how much you tell me with your body. You make me feel wanted and cared for and respected and paid attention to. You make me feel…” She stops ahead of the word “loved,” because god if she’s wrong, she’ll never get over the humiliation.

“But you… you can fuck me like this, Maggie – I love it when you do, hell – but you can’t fuck me like this instead of talking to me. You can’t do it as a replacement. In addition, sure. But whatever’s bothering you, hurting you, right now? You have no intention of letting me help you with it. You have every intention of dealing with it alone, and the only way I get to help you is by spreading my legs for you. Is that right?”

Her voice is firm but her eyes are gentle, are brimming with empathy. With understanding.

And it’s that understanding that breaks Maggie.

She clenches her jaw so hard it might break, and she takes a shuddering breath, and she uncrosses her arms, and she steps forward.

Alex meets her in the middle and wraps her in her arms and kisses her hair as she shudders, as she counts her breaths, as she tries to still her own trembling.

“I got you,” Alex whispers. “I got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Maggie responds, her voice full of gravel. “I’m sorry, Alex, you don’t deserve… I… I tried to… it’s my mom’s birthday, and I tried to… I call her every year, but my… my dad answered and it… When he kicked me out, Alex, I never felt at home anywhere. Ever again. Anywhere. Not in college, not in Gotham, not when I first moved out here. Nowhere.”

She takes a shuddering breath and she steps back from Alex’s arms so she can look her in the face, because Maggie Sawyer is nothing if not absolutely brave.

“And then I met you. And then you kissed me, and then I kissed you, and then I… Alex, you’re… you’re my home. Now. You’re my home. My first home, my… my only home. So when my dad said all those things this morning, I… I had somewhere to go. For the first time in my life, I could… I could go home. To you. But I…”

“But you don’t like talking about yourself.”

Maggie nods, and Alex strokes her hair, and Alex dives, because if Maggie can be that brave, then dammit, so can she.

“You’re my home too, Maggie. And I… I love you. I’m here. Okay? I’m not going anywhere. Because I love you.”

Maggie doesn’t speak – she’s far exceeded her speaking quota for the day – but Alex doesn’t need her to. Not right now, anyway. Because the way she lets Alex hold her, the way she holds Alex back?

Those are all the words, all the promises, that she needs. All the words, all the promises, that she’s ever, ever wanted.