362. Chapter 362

It was always Kara that was scared of thunderstorms.

“They weren’t like this on Krypton,” she’d say when they were kids as she huddled into Alex’s bed, into Alex’s body, under Alex’s covers.

It was always Kara that had a hard time with showers.

“They’re so loud, and it’s like a rainstorm just on you,” she say when they were kids as Alex drew her a bath instead.

It was always Alex that was in the water.

Always Alex that was surfing, paddle boarding, swimming, diving.

Laughing.

Always Alex that was laughing.

Alex doesn’t drive out to the beach anymore.

She will again.

One day.

Maybe.

But not now.

And Maggie catches on quickly that the sound of running water terrifies her, now.

Sends her into a cold sweat, now. Which scares her too, now.

So Maggie only does the dishes when Alex isn’t home.

She only showers when Alex is out of the apartment.

She fills up all their ice trays, all their water bottles, when Alex is still at work.

She controls everything she can for the woman she loves.

Water itself. She controls it.

She helps Alex give herself baths with wet washcloths.

She helps Alex breathe through the anxiety and she helps Alex breathe through the night terrors.

She controls everything she can for the woman she loves.

But she can’t control the damn weather.

The damn thunderstorms.

And, naturally, the first rain after Alex’s torture has to be a damn thunderstorm.

Maggie thanks whatever powers there might be that Alex is home, that she’s home, when it starts.

When rain starts pattering on the roof, on the windows. When lightening starts flashing and thunder starts screaming.

And Alex starts screaming, too.

Moaning, more like. And rocking. Hugging herself back. And forth. And back. And forth.

She gasps for air like she’ll never have any more, because god, she almost didn’t.

Maggie pulls her close and Maggie puts her hand on her chest and Maggie kisses her forehead.

“Breathe out into my hand, babe. You can do it, Alex, you’re a badass, remember Danvers? Breathe out into my – yeah, just like that. See? That’s right, sweetie, one more. One more. There you go. I got you. I got you. I got you.”

Her breathing is still ragged and her breathing is still too loud, too much gasp and not enough oxygen, but there’s some. There’s enough.

Until the door slams open and they both jump and reach for their guns, but it’s Kara, it’s Kara, it’s only Kara.

She’s drenched and she looks defeated and she looks almost as terrified as Alex does.

Maggie puts two and two together before either of her Danvers girls can say anything, and she points to the closet where she keeps extra towels.

“Dry yourself off, toss on fresh clothes, and get over here, Sunshine,” she tells her, and Kara says nothing.

She just obeys.

When she’s towel-dried her hair, her face, and she’s padded into the bathroom to strip out of her cardigan and pull on one of Maggie’s oversized NCPD t-shirts and basketball shorts, she curls up next to her big sisters on the bed.

“You okay?” she asks Alex, and Alex is trying to be, trying to be, trying so damn hard to be.

She opens her arms for Kara, and Maggie opens her arms for them both.

They stay that way – holding onto each other like lifelines, because that’s exactly what they are – until the long after the storm passes, until long after the birds start to chirp again.

“Potstickers?” Maggie whispers when she thinks it’s safe, when she thinks both of her girls feel something that might, again, resemble safe.

They turn to her with identical grins, and Maggie just tosses her head back and laughs.

“Two paychecks worth of potstickers it is,” she teases, and she’s never been so happy to spend her money on comfort food.