329. Chapter 329

She hasn’t thrown up in front of anyone since that party in college after that cute girl from organic chem lab dumped her, and god, how that backfired.

(Instead of taking care of her, her supposed friends had laughed and her supposed friends had let her drag herself back to her dorm and her supposed friends couldn’t be bothered to check in on her when she missed classes the next morning because, surprise surprise, she was still throwing up.)

This time, the cause wasn’t alcohol.

This time, the cause was the damn flu.

And Maggie is used to taking care of herself. She’s used to powering through, because no one had ever… offered. No one had ever taken care of her.

At least, not without making sure she knew what a burden she was, what other, better, things (or people) they could be doing. How grateful she should be.

So she doesn’t text Alex to come over, because sure, she’s a doctor, but why the hell would she want to be around Maggie when she’s gross and snotty and achy and – yep – there it is again – throwing up?

Alex wants to be happy with her, not be a caretaker, for crying out loud.

But when she doesn’t show up for work – because even Maggie isn’t stubborn enough to go infect the entire precinct with this damn flu – and Alex asks after her, and her cop partner tells her she’s got the flu, Alex is livid.

And she’s at Maggie’s apartment a half hour later, with medicine and tissues and cough drops and crackers and soup and and chapstick orange juice and a handful of old 90s and early 2000s DVDs she grabbed from Kara’s on the way over.

“I can’t believe I had to hear you have the flu from Donahue, Sawyer! This is a relationship, you need to tell me when you’re – Maggie?”

Because she’s not on her couch and she’s not on her bed.

But there’s retching coming from the bathroom, and Alex’s heart breaks as she deposits her grocery bags hurriedly on the counter and rushes to the bathroom door.

She pauses before opening it – because even alone, Maggie is a door-shutter – and she inclines her head toward the door, knocking softly.

“Mags. It’s me. Can I come in?”

“I didn’t call you, Danvers,” Maggie rasps miserably, and Alex hears her spit, and she sighs silently.

“I know you didn’t, Maggie, but I’m here now. Let me help you. Please?”

Maggie wretches and Alex flinches, because she knows that pain, and she hates that pain, and god, she’s only two feet away from her and the only thing between them is a very breakable wooden door, but she’s never felt farther from her, more useless to her.

“It’s okay, babe, it’s okay. I’m here, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Silence. Ragged breathing. The toilet flushing. Scuffling. Mouthwash being chugged. Mouthwash being spit. The doorknob twisting.

Maggie, poking her head out of the bathroom, looking up at Alex like she’s terrified, like she’s just killed someone and Alex is here to clean up the mess, like she’s wracked with guilt, like she hates herself for being sick, for being weak, for inconveniencing her. For being gross.

“You don’t have to be here,” she croaks, and Alex just tilts her head and smiles softly.

“I want to be here, Maggie.”

“I’ll get you sick.”

“Worth it.”

“Danvers – “

“Sawyer.”

“I have to throw up again.”

“Okay.”

To Alex’s surprise, Maggie lets the door stay open, and Alex slips inside as Maggie kneels, as Maggie starts holding her own hair back. Tears sting Alex’s eyes as Maggie retches, because her entire body is wracking with the force of her vomiting, but her hands are steady, calculated, holding her own hair back expertly, and Alex’s heart breaks wondering how much practice Maggie has had being sick and all alone.

Not anymore.

Alex’s gentle hands replace Maggie’s, stroking her sweaty temples and holding her hair back, one hand focused on her hair, the other focused on keeping a steady hold on her back, a comfort, an anchor.

“It’s okay, Maggie, I’ve got you. Get it all out, babe.”

Maggie starts to apologize, but her entire body tenses, and she convulses again, emptying whatever could possibly be left in her stomach.

She sniffs and she trembles and she shakes her head and she spits once, twice, three times. She wipes her mouth with toilet paper, and she shudders, and Alex thinks she might be crying, but she doesn’t let Maggie know her suspicions.

She starts to rise on her own but Alex shifts so Maggie can brace herself on Alex’s arms. Maggie hesitates, but concedes, and Alex smiles softly, flushing for her as Maggie gropes for her toothbrush. Alex moves to put toothpaste on it, and Maggie grimaces a disbelieving thank you. Alex keeps her hands out and waiting for Maggie to stumble as she brushes, rinses, mouth washes, spits.

When she’s ready, Alex puts a gentle hand around her shoulder, gingerly avoiding touching her queasy stomach, and guides her out of the bathroom.

“Do you like the couch or the bed when you’re sick, babe?”

“Couch,” Maggie grunts, and Alex smiles.

“Me too.”

Maggie’s exhausted eyes go wide when she notices the grocery bags Alex brought on the counter.

“Danvers, what – “

“I got you the necessities. Including…” She tucks Maggie in and darts across the house, pulling out old L Word and Sex in the City DVDs and holding them up excitedly.

“You know I have netflix, right Danvers?”

Alex grins, looking just like her little sister, and Maggie cracks out a smile.

“It’s better on DVD!”

Maggie doesn’t question her nerd’s logic, just watches as she bustles around the studio, bringing Maggie chapstick and water and tea.

“Why are you here, Danvers?”

“You’re sick,” Alex says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m gross,” Maggie amends, and Alex shakes her head and kneels in front of Maggie, stroking her hair and kissing her nose.

“Maggie, you’re my girlfriend. I want to take care of you. You deserve to be taken care of. Let me? Please?”

She doesn’t understand why, and she doesn’t really think she deserves it, but god, do Alex’s hands feel nice on her clammy skin, and god, do Alex’s eyes sparkle when they look at her.

She nods, slowly, nervously, and Alex’s smile goes straight to her heart, and she swears it’s that smile that’ll make her flu go away.