484. Chapter 484
She loves her complete and utter devotion to her family.
The way she sacrifices everything for Kara (even though she needs to learn to care for herself quite a bit more), the way a single look from Eliza can send her into a tailspin of insecurity and self-loathing (even though she really needs to stand up for herself more often), the way she blasted her way into the most heavily guarded facility either of them had ever seen, all to rescue a father who more likely than not didn’t want to be rescued.
That’s one.
She loves how deeply awkward she is around pretty girls.
The way she splutters when she thinks Maggie looks particularly beautiful, the way she blushes and the way she stammers and the way she doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands when she’s excited, when she’s turned on, when she’s happy, when she’s sorry.
That’s two.
She loves the way she thinks.
The way she can see her brain work when she’s calculating a particular biochemical equation, the way she comes up with solutions no one else would even dream of imagining, the way she innovates and the way she learns and the way she processes and the way she wants to know… everything.
That’s three.
She loves the way she tries to pretend she doesn’t love yoga.
The way she teases Maggie for how slow it is, how calm it is, how hippy lesbian it is, but how she’ll wake up early on Saturday mornings to find Alex practicing the more difficult poses, eyes fluttered closed, eyes serene, body learning, body challenging itself, herself, because Alex Danvers doesn’t back down from anything, even yoga.
That’s four.
She loves the way she handles herself in a crisis.
The way her first instinct is to protect, always, always, always, to protect the people she loves, to protect the people she cares about, to protect people she possibly doesn’t know, people she’s possibly been taught to hate, but is making herself learn to love, alternately calm and raging, alternately brilliant and brutal, but always, god, always so damn loyal.
That’s five.
She loves the way her body moves.
The way she goes to stroke her hair, always, always, the way she freezes when she’s overwhelmed with feeling, the way she deepens their kisses when she’s keening for more, the way she writhes when she needs Maggie closer, the way she lifts Maggie up like she weighs nothing, the way her hands, god, her hands, can kill, have killed, but have never, not once, not even by accident, hurt Maggie.
That’s six.
She loves the way she loves her brothers.
The way she won’t admit it, but Winn is her brother and she constantly keeps a supply of snacks for him, the way rare, vintage toys show up on his desk with no note every anniversary of his father’s arrest, every day after his father tries to call him from prison, the way she cries into James’s chest when Kara gets hurt, the way she sprints madly, desperately, to save him when he’s in danger, the way she screams and laughs and clings to him when he spins her around when they all go ice skating.
That’s seven.
She loves the way she protects her father.
The way she casually weaves the stories of protecting him from the U.S. military, from Cadmus, the way she was so willing to die for him, to be tortured for him, to live for him, the way she shows up at the precinct raging and ready to kill when he was stopped and frisked on the way to the DEO one morning, the way she only calmed at Maggie’s touch, at Maggie’s reassurance that she’d already taken care of it, that the white boys who did it were already being threatened with disciplinary hearings and mandatory sensitivity trainings, the way she brings him Thanksgiving leftovers when he works through the holiday and the way she smiles and wipes away subtle tears when she sees him happy with M’gann.
That’s eight.
She loves the way she so fiercely protects her time with her sister.
The way her eyes go wide with fear when she reminds Maggie that tonight’s Sister’s Night alone with Kara, terrified that Maggie will be angry, will leave her, but telling her anyway, the way she sinks into Maggie’s embrace with sweet relief when Maggie tells her to have an amazing night, the way she laughs when Kara crinkles her brow in concentration on Game Night and the way she snuggles both her sister and her girlfriend on Movie Night, the way she whispers secrets to her little sister with a massive, nerd grin.
That’s nine.
She loves the way she loves her.
The way she brings Maggie lunch on the days she knows she’s likely to forget to eat, the way she looks at her while she’s brushing her teeth, like she’s never seen the sun before and Maggie is the most beautiful sunrise, the way she makes love to her diligent and passionate and perfect, god, so perfect, the way she asks how her day was and listens so damn intently, the way she defends her without making Maggie feel like she’s not capable of defending herself, the way she makes her heart sing and fly and heal, heal, heal.
The way she gives her heart superpowers.
That’s ten.
That’s ten, and that’s only the beginning of the ways Maggie loves her.