584. Chapter 584

She texts her under the pretense of needing to discuss a case with Supergirl.

That’s been the only way any of them – even Alex – have been able to talk to Kara, lately.

Since…

Since.

Kara won’t consent to meeting at the bar, and Maggie knows this. So she doesn’t even try.

The diner, across from the precinct, she says, because it’s not frequented by people Kara knows, but it’s also not in the middle of the damn precinct where anyone can overhear the mild-mannered – if these days quite depressed – reporter talking like she’s Supergirl.

Because she is.

And these days, that’s all she is.

And Alex had shown up, crying.

Shown up, crying, and Maggie had taken her by the arm gentle, loving, and taken her into the single-stall precinct bathroom, ignoring the raised eyebrows from her colleagues, because Alex was keeping it together in front of other people, but her eyes were red and her voice was broken and Maggie… knew.

Because Maggie knows her.

So she had dragged her into the bathroom and pulled her into her arms and let her cry, let her gasp for air that would never feel like enough.

She let Alex sob and claw helplessly at Maggie’s shoulders, at her shirt, at her back, desperately trying to find an anchor, something to hold onto.

Because Kara wasn’t letting her hold onto her sister, anymore.

Not even when they both needed it most.

“And she asked what if it’d been you, and she… she wouldn’t let me touch her, Maggie, she… she flinched away from me, and I… it was like Red K all over again, her eyes, Maggie, it was like she… she hated me, like she’s not… like I’m not her sister, like… and it’s my fault, Maggie – no, no, it is, it is – because she told me not to let you go, but then she… maybe if I were more available, maybe if she were the only person in my life again, maybe she wouldn’t shut everyone out so hard, maybe she wouldn’t be suffering so much, maybe… I can’t lose her, Maggie, but I feel like I have, I’m scared I… Maggie…”

Her voice broke and her body broke and Maggie held her. Just held her.

Held her and kissed her hair and kissed her face and shushed her when she started to fret about all the snot and tears she was drenching her henley in.

Held her and understood, finally, yet another reason that Alex was panicking about their wedding.

Because she was afraid it was contributing to the distance with Kara. That it was causing the distance with Kara.

So she held her and kissed her and soothed her.

She offered no solutions and she offered no empty platitudes.

But she did have a mission.

Because when Alex leaves – her shaking slowed and her breathing regulated, her tears kissed away and her agony somewhat eased – Maggie texts Kara.

Under a false pretense.

Because Maggie doesn’t like to lie.

But she also doesn’t like… this.

Any of this.

“So, what does your department need to know?” Kara asks when she slides into the booth across from Maggie.

No preamble, no greeting. No hug, no smile. No pleasantries. No glasses-adjusting.

No… Kara.

“Well, for starters, how you could have chewed into your sister like that when she was trying to help you.”

Because if Kara isn’t going to preamble, then dammit, neither is Maggie.

“Excuse me, I don’t think it’s your place to – “

Kara is halfway out of her seat, but Maggie is all the way out of hers.

“You’re going to sit back down and god knows I can’t make you talk to me, Kara Danvers, but whatever part of you still knows how to love your sister the way she deserves to be loved, how to love yourself the way you deserve to be loved, you’re going to sit back down and listen.”

Kara glares, and for a moment, she hates her.

For a moment, she hates everything about the woman standing across from her. The woman her sister is marrying.

Her sister.

Dammit.

Kara sits.

“Does this work on the suspects you interrogate?” she crosses her arms across her chest, and Maggie’s facial expression doesn’t change.

She sits, slowly. Her eyes don’t leave Kara’s. She doesn’t come back with a quip about how it apparently works on superior alien beings, so of course it works on her mere human suspects.

Instead, she tilts her head. She blinks.

“Yes,” she answers simply.

Kara glares harder. Maggie’s face, still, remains unchanged.

A moment passes between them. Maggie nods a thank you at the waitress that quietly sets down a plate of potstickers in front of Kara.

Kara opens her mouth.

“I didn’t order – “

“I did. You can eat them, or not.”

Kara’s stomach wins.

She shoves one into her mouth angrily, and Maggie almost smiles.

Almost.

“I’m not going to tell you how badly you made her cry. Or how you brought her back to that incident with the Red Kryptonite last year.”

“You just did,” Kara says, somehow injecting anger into her statement through a mouth full of potstickers.

“Not really. I could tell you much more. So many more details. About the pain you put her in. But I won’t. Because I don’t think you need to add that kind of guilt to your conscience, do you?”

“Maggie – “

“I know, Kara.”

“Know what,” she snaps, and it’s a statement, not a question.

“I know what you spend your nights researching. You use the DEO channel to access NCPD records, so I know. The casualty reports. The death tolls, the damage reports. This city nearly died, and you almost didn’t stop it. You practically invited it, falling into a relationship with the man who brought them all here, delaying the inevitable to try to keep him here. All those deaths – “

Kara is trying to leave again, and Maggie is faster again.

“All those deaths are not on you, Kara. And they’re not on Supergirl. They’re on the people holding the guns and the people flying those ships. They are not on you, Kara. None of this is on you. His leaving is not on you. Lena being kidnapped is not on you. None of it.”

Silence.

Kara sits.

Maggie sits.

Kara eats.

Maggie watches.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kara swears, and Maggie stands, this time.

“Maybe not. But I know you, at least a little, Kara. And I know you love her. And I know how easy it is to take out your guilt, your mourning, on yourself, and anyone who tries to help you. So you want to punish yourself? Okay. I’ll be here – we’ll all be here – to make sure you don’t take it too far. Which you’re about to, by the way. But you want to punish Alex? For loving you? I don’t care what your superpowers are. I won’t permit it. Understood?”

Kara’s lips part and her entire body freezes.

“You love her so much,” she says, and it’s a statement. It’s an admission.

“And I love you, too, Kara Danvers. Not Supergirl. God knows, Supergirl drives me insane.”

She gets a small smile from her soon-to-be sister-in-law, and her heart sings.

Because a little smile is a massive improvement.

“But Kara Danvers? She needs her sister. And Alex needs you. Alright?”

She’s about to leave – she’s already paid the bill – but Kara’s hand on her wrist stops her. She looks down, then up once Kara stands.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and Kara pulls Maggie in to a hug.

It’s stiff and it’s nervous and it’s a little begrudging, but it’s a hug.

It’s a start.

It’s an apology.

To Alex, to Maggie.

And, maybe, a little bit, to herself.

And that’s good enough for now.