389. Chapter 389

She makes sure Kara’s alright.

She makes sure Kara’s alright – and of course she isn’t, of course she isn’t, but Alex gets her to stop shaking, Alex gets her to stop crying, Alex gets her to stop blaming herself, because Rhea is wrong, Kara’s survival is not a waste, and Lena will be alright, they’ll save her, she promises, she promises – and then she runs.

Runs and doesn’t care that there are Daxamite spaceships in the sky.

Runs because J’onn and that damn DEO shrink have forced her to desk duty, and the desk isn’t going to need much tending during this damn attack, and anyway, she needs her.

Needs to see her, needs to hold her in her arms.

Needs to be in her arms.

She calls as she runs.

She calls and she calls and she calls.

Maggie doesn’t pick up. Not once.

Alex nearly kicks down her door, too terrified to use her key, but Maggie isn’t home.

She isn’t there.

She’s not picking up her phone.

There are countless Daxamite ships in the sky.

She can’t find Maggie.

Kara’s girl is gone, and Alex’s is…

They have too many more firsts to do together.

Where the hell is she?

Alex paces and Alex calls and Alex texts and Alex screams at nothing, at no one, because Maggie isn’t picking up, Maggie isn’t texting back, and Maggie isn’t here, isn’t here, isn’t here.

She crashes to her knees and she forgets what breathing is.

Her chest gets tight and her vision swims and god, swimming is a bad metaphor, because dammit now she’s remembering the taste of that fencing, the taste of that water, and all she wants to taste is Maggie’s lips on hers, but Maggie isn’t here, isn’t here, where the hell is she?

“I need her,” Alex chokes to herself, fetal on the bathroom floor without quite knowing how she got there. “I need her, I need her, I need her.”

She rocks herself and she gasps for air and she finds absolutely none because Maggie loves her, but where the hell is she, where the hell is she, where the hell –

“Alex? Alex? Alex!”

The door slams open and Alex can’t speak, because she’s too relieved, too shaken, too overwhelmed.

Too humiliated.

She’s a secret agent, goddammit, and is this really how Maggie is going to find her during a Daxamite attack?

Fetal and pathetic on her bathroom floor, all snot and tears and tight chest and shaking hands and no breath?

“Alex,” Maggie says, but her voice is softer, now, not yelling for her, now, because now she sees her, is kneeling behind her, is gathering her into her arms, is checking her for any wounds, is checking her for any bruises.

But the only bruises are on the inside.

And Maggie knows.

“I’m right here, Ally,” she whispers, and she rocks Alex in her lap, bending to kiss her face, bending to wipe her snot, her tears, her sweat.

“Breathe into my hand, babe,” she soothes, wrapping a hand around Alex’s body and placing her open palm on Alex’s chest.

Alex can’t, can’t, can’t.

“I’m right here,” she reminds her.

“I need you,” Alex gasps.

“And I need you, Danvers. Good thing neither of us are going anywhere then, right?”

Alex shudders, and Alex nearly vomits, but Alex breathes out into Maggie’s hand.

“Good girl,” Maggie praises absently, and Alex smirks.

“Are you sex talking me, Sawyer?” she asks weakly.

“Somehow I don’t know if the best time for coming onto you is during a Daxamite invasion,” Maggie smiles, pressing kisses to Alex’s forehead, her temples, her eyes.

“I mean, it could be one of our firsts,” Alex counters, her voice still weak, her hands still desperately grasping at any and every part of Maggie she can reach.

“We’ll save it for next time, Alex. Something to look forward to. Okay?”

Alex looks up into Maggie’s steady eyes, and she gulps.

Maggie says there will be a next time.

That they’ll get through this.

All of them.

Together.

So Alex believes her.

Because she has to, and because she trusts her.

Because she loves her, and Maggie loves her back.

And if anything is going to get them both out of this? It’s exactly, exactly that.