535. Chapter 535

Maggie had known it was going to be a long day.

But this long?

Damn.

A double homicide in the morning and a hostile debriefing with a hostile higher-up?

She’s almost late grabbing Spot from home and bringing her to the park to meet Alex.

She almost doesn’t have time to be nervous.

Almost.

But then she sees Alex -- sleeveless, lacey tank top that shows simultaneously just enough but not enough skin, jeans even tighter than Maggie’s throat -- and she almost runs.

Almost runs, because there’s no way she deserves this.

But then Spot is tugging her forward and barking twice, sharp, excited. Tugging her toward Gertrude. Toward Alex.

There’ll be an extra treat for her later, for sure.

“Hi,” she offers dully, breathlessly, when they’re close enough to touch, and she’s about to curse herself for her inability to form proper words, for ruining this thing before it starts, when she realizes that Alex is having trouble speaking, too.

“Hey,” is all she responds, but her smile speaks of attraction and excitement and promise, and Maggie gulps as she squats down to greet Gertrude.

“Hey girl,” she whispers as Gertrude jumps up to lick her face, nearly toppling her over. Alex grabs at her waist, steadying her, and they both freeze.

“Thanks,” she rasps, and Alex hesitates before removing her hands.

“Yeah, of course. Sorry, she um... she gets a little overenthusiastic. Don’t you, Gertrude?” Alex nuzzles her friend, and Maggie briefly allows herself to imagine what it would be like if Alex was the one who got overenthusiastic with her.

It would be fucking amazing, that’s for sure.

She chastises herself immediately, even though she knows she’s not the only one who’s thought about it.

Because Alex’s texts this morning?

Yeah, she’s definitely not the only one.

But she clears her throat and she shoves the thoughts away, and she notices a long scar on Alex’s upper arm.

“Line of duty?” she asks, and Alex nods as they stand and make their way over to sit on a bench, tossing tennis balls to and fro with their dogs as they talk.

And they talk about everything under the sun, and some things above it.

They talk about work injuries and they talk about work dreams and they talk about teenage nights spent stargazing all alone.

They talk about their dogs and they talk about moving to National City.

They talk about how pretty Maggie is, how Alex is sorry, she can’t help it, she just stammers more often around cute girls, but it would be nice to do this again, wouldn’t it?

And then it starts to pour.

It’s out of nowhere and it’s sudden and it’s drenching, and Gertrude hates, hates, hates it.

She howls and she shivers and she runs in wild circles, and Alex doesn’t have a jacket or an umbrella, but Maggie has her lightest leather jacket.

“Come here, honey,” she coaxes Gertrude as Alex tries to soothe her, to shelter her tiny body with her own.

Alex glances up and she gulps, because Maggie is slipping off her jacket and her arms are immediately drenched, just like her perfect hair, and Alex thinks unbidden of shower and skinny-dipping in oceans, but then Maggie is wrapping Gertrude up in her jacket and cradling her close, passing her back to Alex when she’s secured against the rain, safe against the panic.

“But now you’ll be wet -- “ Alex tries to object, and Maggie gulps and grins and shrugs.

“Spot and I don’t mind, right Spotty?” she bends again, grinning, and sure enough, Spot seems to be absolutely loving the sudden downpour.

Alex isn’t sure she’s ever seen anything as beautiful as the sight of this woman, drenched with rain, nose-kissing her dog in a park in the middle of a passing sun shower.

And when Maggie stands again, it’s inadvertently close to Alex’s body. Her breath hitches and a drop of rain rolls off of Alex’s top lip, and Maggie watches its progress down, down, and when she looks back up into Alex’s eyes, they’re full of something they weren’t a moment ago.

“Danvers, I -- “ she starts, but Gertrude fidgets to get down, because the rain is ending already, the sun is peaking back out already. The world is safe for Gertrude again, already.

Alex sets her down and unwraps her from Maggie’s jacket, praying the spell won’t be broken when Gertrude runs back off with Spot and she stands back up.

It isn’t.

Maggie’s is still standing with fire in her eyes and certainly in her stance.

Alex’s heart leaps.

“You were saying?” she asks, hopeful, hopeful, hopeful.

“I’m sorry if this is too forward, or too soon, but I don’t meet many people that I care about, and I just... I wanna kiss you. Alex. I just -- “

But she doesn’t finish her sentence -- not with words anyway -- because Alex’s hands are on her face and Alex’s lips are crashing onto her mouth and her own lips are parting and Alex’s tongue is somehow both tentative and sure, and Alex tastes like sudden fall rain showers and Alex tastes like everything Maggie’s ever wanted.

“Wow,” Alex whispers when they finally come up for air, when they finally remember the world around them. “That was...”

“Yeah,” Maggie agrees, because she’s not sure if there could ever be words for... that.

“Thank you for protecting Gertrude from the rain,” Alex whispers, forehead against Maggie’s, neither of them wanting to move.

Maggie wants to thank her from protecting her heart from hopelessness, but it’s too soon, too soon. Too damn soon. And yet not soon enough.

“Thank me with a second date?” she asks softly, and Alex’s smile is her new favorite sight in this existence.

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely I will.”