336. Chapter 336

Alex swears it’s Maggie.

Maggie swears it’s Alex.

Alex argues her case with meticulous evidence.

“You won’t get up and go for a morning run with me, but you’ll beat the crap out of your heavy bag in the middle of the night, Sawyer?”

“You only ever get up after I get in the shower, and you eat the driest things – gross – because your stomach can’t handle anything else so early, but you call me a morning grump, Maggie? Come on.”

Maggie counters with just as much ease.

“Danvers, let’s face it. The only reason you go for runs in the morning is to delay any kind of human interaction. Running doesn’t mean you’re a morning person: it means your body is capable of doing things before your brain is capable of not snapping at people.”

“Oh, okay Danvers, dry bagels are gross but my little babygirl can’t eat anything at all in the morning and you’re still claiming to be less grumpy than I am at sunrise?”

“Um, guys. You realize neither of you are morning people, right? Like, you realize you’re even more terrifying in the mornings than you are the rest of the time, don’t you?”

“No one asked you, Schott.”

“Go play with your computer, Winn.”

“You know he’s not entirely – “

“No one asked you either, James.”

“Don’t you have something to be guarding, Guardian?”

“Agent Danvers, Detective Sawyer – “

“Not you, too, J’onn!”

“I… I wasn’t going to weigh in on your morning habits, Agent Danvers. There’s an attack unfolding in the city square.”

“Right. Yes sir. On it.”

They turn as one to suit up, Alex already barking orders at her team.

J’onn leans into James and Winn, arms crossed over his chest as he watches his crack team of Earth daughters jog out to battle, to keep each other safe, to watch each other’s backs.

“My money’s on her girl being right.”

Winn claps and whoops and holds his hand up for J’onn to slap. “Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about, J’onn!”

James shakes his head behind J’onn’s back and J’onn just stares at Winn as he keeps holding his hand up, spluttering now, pursing his lips and muttering nonsensibly now.

“I’m not going to give you five, Mr. Schott.”

“Right, I’ll just… I’ll just go monitor the… attack…”

He lowers his hand, swivels in his chair, and turns to typing, turns to saving his big sisters with his intel, once again, for which they’ll all take him for drinks and revelry later.

As long as their mission doesn’t last until morning.

When both of them will be competing degrees of grumpy.