758. Chapter 758

She doesn’t get a call, because it would have been too much to ask of her father, apparently.

All she gets is a text.

That her aunt – the one who begrudgingly took her in when she was a child – had died.

And that she wasn’t welcome at the funeral.

She only thinks for a moment about going anyway.

It wouldn’t be worth it. It would be more spiteful than respectful, and anyway, it… she can’t afford to break, not right now.

She doesn’t even text Alex to tell her. Alex would want to know; she knows that. And she’ll tell her.

But right now, she’s at work. And if she’s not present at work while she’s there, people die.

Someone’s already dead, someone whose bed she used to curl into, someone whose style of loving was distant and cold but at least it was distant and cold with a roof over her head and hot food on her plate.

But she can’t think about that.

She can’t deal with it.

And if she doesn’t, she’ll be just fine.

She’s always fine.

It’s whatever.

She’s not welcome at the funeral.

It’s whatever.

She apparently doesn’t have the right to mourn.

It’s…

She pops her head into her Captain’s office to ask if there are any murder investigations with a side of science she can hop onto.

Turns out, there is.

Turns out, the scene is gory and exactly what she needs to throw herself in to.

Alex shows up, because the side of science came with a heaping helping of extraterrestrial.

She flinches away from her girlfriend’s touch, because her touch is soft, and it will soften her.

And Maggie cannot be soft right now.

So she comforts Alex’s confused, rejected face with a soft wink, and though Alex still seems to want to ask what’s wrong, they have a system: that work is work and home is home.

It’s not a perfect system, and often, it makes absolutely no sense.

But it’s steady enough to keep Maggie standing, right now.

She tells Alex that night, after they take a long, quiet shower together, slowly washing the crime scene off of their bodies.

Alex is extra gentle as she washes Maggie’s hair, spends extra time massaging conditioner into her scalp.

Maggie collapses back into her, sobbing breathlessly.

It takes them an hour to get all the suds out.

It takes Maggie another hour to tell Alex why she’s crying. Why she’s broken.

Alex holds her and rocks her and covers Maggie’s fists with her own palms to keep her from lashing out at her own body.

The next morning, aside from Maggie’s eyes being bloodshot and puffy from crying, she acts as though nothing’s happened.

It’s a dance Alex is familiar with, and she lets Maggie lead.

She lets Maggie lead for weeks.

In the field and on dates; working at the DEO and screaming through orgasms in their bed, Maggie never mentions the loss again, and her eyes shoot warnings every time Alex wants to bring it up.

Alex did this dance with her father, all those years ago, mourning only through how much she could scream at her mother.

She knows all the steps, and she waits for the collapse.

It comes only months later, when they catch a case involving a Pholian child, rejected by her parents because her telepathy never developed as it was expected to.

Maggie kept a poker face; she fed and comforted the girl; she promised her she was normal and wonderful; they found her a safe, affirming home, together. Collected.

But when they got home, Maggie broke.

It made that first night of tears look tame, but Alex’s arms were strong and her heart, even stronger.

Maggie screamed through tears and kicked helplessly down at the mattress, slamming futiley down at the pillows, and only breathed evenly when Alex covered her entire body with her own.

When she was shivering with cold and her throat was sore and swollen with agony, Alex took her into the shower.

More tears joined the water spray, but they were calmer, now, slower and steadier.

She wrapped her in their softest robe, and she knelt before her to put warm slippers on her numb, still body.

She told her that she loved her and that she was going to make her a strong tea, and Maggie waited numbly for the drink and for the return of Alex’s warm body next to hers.

After she had sipped, she spoke.

She spoke until the sun came up, stories of distances and of bridges built; of collapses and disasters and odd stretches of peace and calm and, sometimes, something that felt like a truce.

She told Alex about a woman who was as kind and warm to other children as she was distant and removed from Maggie; about a woman who, however, always took care of her when she was sick and taught her to drive with steady hands and an even steadier faith.

She talked until she was emptied out, until she nodded wearily when her girlfriend asked if she could call in sick for both of them.

Because the floodgates were open, and they would ride the waves together.