470. Chapter 470

She rejected her.

She rejected her because she doesn’t like her like that, but she still wants pool tomorrow night.

She rejected her because she doesn’t want her, and it hurts more than it did the first time she got shot without a vest on, but she still wants to flirt and she still wants to touch the small of her back and she still wants to smile at her and melt her from the inside out and she still wants to let Alex catch her staring at her lips over her beer bottle, over her shot glass.

She rejected her, but she still wants to flirt with her, all the while saying they’re friends, friends, friends – looking at her like she wants to strip her then and there, talking to her like she’s about to kiss her, touching her gentle and subtle like they’re dating, laughing too loud and leaning too close but they’re friends, friends, friends – and it’s driving Alex out of her mind.

It’s driving Alex out of her mind because goddamn does she want her.

She wants her, but Maggie made it clear – too clear, painfully clear, clear like a shard of glass driving into her heart and twisting, twisting, twisting – that she doesn’t want her back.

But she’s driving Alex home because J’onn had to head back to the DEO and he trusts this woman with his daughter – trusts her, because he understands much more than Alex does, the real reasons Maggie rejected her.

Protectiveness. Care.

Genuine desire buried under genuine fear of causing Alex pain.

“I don’t need your help, Maggie,” Alex slurs slightly, and Maggie furrows her brow at the frustration, the anger, breaking through the surface of Alex’s words.

“It’s no problem, Danvers. What are friends for?” Maggie asks, and Alex rolls her eyes but slumps against the window of the passenger seat, because at least the glass is cool, unlike her body, burning with alcohol, with rage, with confusion, with raw, desperate want.

When she helps her out of the car and into the elevator, Alex hisses because Maggie’s arm around her waist makes her feel safe, loved, wanted.

Which, apparently, she’s not. Wanted.

But she thinks she hears Maggie’s breath hitch at their contact, and it makes her want to scream.

She holds it in until they’re in her apartment, until she tries to leave Maggie at the doorway.

“Alex, you’re really trashed. Please, just let me get you a glass of water, okay?”

Alex huffs and she staggers toward the couch, tossing her hands out behind her aggressively.

“Sure. Do whatever you want, Maggie. It’s what you do anyway, isn’t it?”

Maggie furrows her brow and she flinches like she’s been smacked, but she purses her lips and grabs a glass from the cabinet, filling it in the sink while she watches Alex with careful, scared, sad eyes.

“Here sweetie,” she murmurs absently as she crosses the room and presses the glass into Alex’s hand. “Drink all of it.”

Her voice is warm and her touch is tender and her eyes are so damn loving.

And Alex can’t take it.

She lets the glass slip from her grasp, crash to the floor, because she’s broken glasses in her hand before, and she’s not in the mood to clean up that kind of mess.

“Whoa Danvers,” Maggie pushes her back gently so none of the shards get on her feet, and it’s that instinctive act of concern, that genuine movement of love, is what breaks Alex.

What lets how livid she is flow out of her body, out of her lips, and straight into Maggie’s skin.

“No! No, you don’t get to be protective of me, Maggie.”

“Alex, what – we’re friends, Alex, what – “

“No, Maggie. We’re not friends. You keep saying that, saying we’re friends, but Maggie, but you damn sure don’t act like it. You’re always flirting and you’re always looking at me like you want me, so what is it, Maggie? Is it the thrill of keeping me wild about you? Flirt with me constantly, even after you rejected me, made it clear that you don’t want me, to make sure I stay hopeful, stay completely yours? Is that what it is, Maggie? Because if it’s not, I don’t know what – “

She staggers and she stumbles and Maggie doesn’t hesitate to catch her.

Alex shirks out of her grasp.

“Well?” she demands.

“You’re wrong, Alex.” Her voice is soft and her voice is terrified. Her voice is strained and her voice is firm. “You’re wrong about why I said we shouldn’t be together. You’re wrong. You’re wrong about thinking I don’t want you. Because I do. Want you.”

Alex’s breath hitches and Maggie’s pupils dilate and tears threaten to stain Alex’s cheeks.

“But that’s not something we’re gonna discuss while you’re drunk. You know what we’re gonna discuss right now?”

Alex can’t speak – can barely breathe – so she shakes her head, her eyes wide, open.

Anger vanished.

Humility and hope in its place.

“What are we gonna discuss right now?” she asks, her voice apologetic, her eyes soft.

Maggie smiles gently.

“We’re gonna discuss where your pajamas are, so you can get changed. And we’re gonna discuss where your toothbrush is, so you can brush your teeth. And we’re gonna negotiate how many glasses of water you’re gonna drink before you go to sleep.”

“And then?” Alex asks, licking her lips, her eyes drifting down to Maggie’s lips.

Maggie shakes her head. “And then you’re gonna point me in the direction of an extra blanket, and I’m gonna curl up on the couch while you sleep in your bed. And if you wake up and need to vomit, you’re gonna wake me so I can help you. And either way, in the morning, I’m gonna take care of you if you’re hungover, and if you’re not, we’ll talk. Okay?”

“Do you always have everything planned out like this, Sawyer?”

“You gonna tell me a soldier like you doesn’t appreciate it, Danvers?”

Alex grins, now, appreciating the flirtation, now, because maybe, just maybe, Maggie flirts because she likes her back.