378. Chapter 378

She doesn’t like talking about herself.

Alex knows this.

Anyone who’s ever met her knows this.

And when she withdraws – which, especially these days, is pretty often – Alex will crawl right in after her.

Alex finds her each time she runs.

Sometimes, she literally runs.

All across National City, in her jogging gear, in the pouring rain. Alex will follow close behind, watching her, caring for her, making sure she runs safe, making sure she runs careful.

Sometimes, she drives.

Drives her motorcycle all the way out of National City, all the way into the desert, and she rips off her helmet, and she tosses her head back, and she screams.

She doesn’t know how Alex knows, but she’s always waiting up at home with a steaming mug of healing tea and warm, warm arms to crash down into.

Sometimes, she runs without actually going anywhere.

Sometimes, they’re on the couch and they’re watching some old movie or other, and Maggie just… goes away. Alex can’t articulate how she knows – maybe it’s something about the pattern of Maggie’s breath, or maybe it’s something about the way her body stiffens, the way she forgets to laugh at her favorite parts of the film, the way her eyes are staring at the screen without seeing it at all – but she knows. She always knows.

And she’ll whisper to her and she’ll ask if she can put her arms around her and she’ll tell her she’s beautiful and she’ll tell her she’s worth it and she’ll tell her she doesn’t have to run, because she’s right here, right here, right here, and she’s not going anywhere.

So usually, it’s Alex that finds her, that puts in the effort to know when she’s depressed. To know when she’s anxious. To know when she’s on the edge of breaking down.

But then Alex is away in Geneva, and she calls every night, and she texts every couple of hours, but it’s not the same.

It’s not the same, and Alex’s friends have invited Maggie out with them, and she agreed before Alex left, but now? Now, the idea of going out just seems funny.

So she bails.

Bails on James and Winn and Kara.

Bails because her couch is comfortable, and her couch is safe, and her couch doesn’t expect her to laugh and be in a good mood and be clever and be sociable. Her couch just wants her presence, and she can barely even give that.

She doesn’t know that James and Winn and Kara also don’t expect anything from her.

She doesn’t know, because – aside from Alex, and she’s still getting used to that, still trying to believe in that – no one has ever demanded… nothing… from her before.

But when she sends them the text that she’s gonna stay in tonight, she doesn’t expect them to care.

Doesn’t expect them to notice, because it was sweet of them to invite her, really, but it was probably just as a favor to Alex.

It was probably a relief to them that she wasn’t coming.

She didn’t really fit in with them, anyway.

She didn’t really fit in with anyone, anyway.

So she’s startled when there’s a soft knock at her door.

Startled when she opens it and it’s James bearing DVDs and Winn bearing root beer and Kara bearing box upon box upon box of pizza.

“We texted you back when you said you weren’t coming, but you didn’t answer,” Kara says by way of greeting.

“And if you don’t want us here, we can totally take all this delicious pizza and root beer and all these vintage, can’t-find-em-on-Netflix DVDs and go to Kara’s place,” Winn offers.

“But if you do want us here, you don’t have to say anything, and you don’t have to laugh at Winn’s terrible jokes. Heck, you could even just go to sleep. But we thought it might be nice to not… be alone,” James tells her, soft, studying her face like it’s a work of art. Because, to him, it is.

She fights down tears because she is still getting somewhat comfortable – somewhat – with crying in front of Alex. But in front of her sister and their friends?

She fights the tears back down. Hard.

“Did Alex send you or something?” she asks, and Kara shakes her head.

“No, we just… we wanted to make sure you were okay. And we wanted to spend time with you. But if you don’t want – “

But Maggie is stepping back and Maggie’s heart is swelling and Maggie’s face still doesn’t remember how to smile, but she thinks her heart might be, slowly, figuring it out.

“Get in here and quit letting the pizza get cold, Little Danvers,” she says, and though she can’t return any of their three brilliant smiles, they don’t seem to mind.

They just seem to want… her.

No matter what state she’s in, no matter how solid her shell is, no matter how hard she’s made it for them to connect with her.

And it makes her think that maybe, just maybe, she might be worth the effort after all.