Chapter Text
It only happens a few times, and each and every time Susan knows that it has nothing to do with them at all. It doesn't make her angry or more than fleetingly bitter, but there is definitely a small wisp of sadness that curls into her belly whenever it's over and the two of them lay panting next to each other.
Maggie is charming and funny and gorgeous, but she is also vulnerable and lost.
Susan is only human, and when taken off guard can't quite bring up the strength to give the detective a hard 'no,' but, she does manage to make a deal with her own conscience not let things get out of hand.
So, the first time it happens, Susan promises herself that it won't happen again. It's a lie, of course, but she has to make it.
(She finally manages to keep to that vow when Maggie comes banging at her door in the middle of the night, in hysterical tears, pushing in and kissing her hard before Susan knows what is going on. But that isn't this time, that hasn't happened yet.)
They're playing pool. Not at the alien bar, because there are too many memories of Alex, and too much of a chance to run into Kara, both of which plant a solid stone of guilt in Susan's stomach and are also the last things that Maggie wants to happen.
It's a hole-in-the-wall little bar called the Trainyard, and it's near enough to Susan's apartment that she comes often enough for the bartender to know her first round by heart. No one from work has ever set foot here (except Val of course, and Alex that one time, and BOY had that been a wild night of drinking), and Susan prefers it that way.
She watches her companion from her position, leaning back against the hard, sticky bar.
Maggie is drinking ginger ales with limes on the rim to make them seem like mixed drinks, and is hustling a few of the younger regulars. Susan taught her exactly 3 tricks, and the NCPD detective is using them all, along with that mischievous dimpled smile and gorgeous pair of brown eyes, to win them the rights to the table for the rest of the night.
"Got it bad," Susan mutters to herself, feeling the guilt in her stomach grow heavy and hot, like a glowing coal.
She drinks half her beer to try and quench it, and turns around to motion for another drink.
"Yeah, ya do," the bartender agrees, shoving a piece of lime into the dark brown neck of Susan's new beer.
"Don't mock me, Sam. I have serious brooding to do," Susan says, only half kidding, taking a sip of the drink and wondering idly why half the bartenders she's met were named Sam in some form.
Really, there are about seven separate thoughts running through Susan Vasquez head at any given time - it's how she's built - and so it is a testament to the situation she finds herself in that more than half are in some way related to her Maggie problem.
Well, her Maggie and Kara problem.
Not that Kara is a problem. Or that Susan should be entangled in their... in their damn mess. But she can't help it.
THOUGHT: Maggie isn't the greatest pool player (though she has improved significantly since the first time they crossed cues), but she looks damn fine smoothly breaking a clean rack.
THOUGHT: Maggie does this thing with the corner of her mouth when she knows she's got you where she wants you, and THAT thing does OTHER THINGS low down in Susan's abdomen.
THOUGHT: The trajectory of the shot being lined up by the man well into his cups is going to cause a scratch. (It does.)
THOUGHT: She needs at least 6 hours of sleep tonight to function base-minimum adequate tomorrow.
THOUGHT: She could watch Maggie hustle these idiots all night.
THOUGHT: She should check on her analysis of the Brainiac program's adaptable algorithms.
THOUGHT: If she continued to act on her attraction to Maggie Sawyer, it would only make things that much more painful when the detective finally realized she was in love with Kara Danvers and that Kara loved her back.
That last thought was like a firm elbow to the kidney, and Susan sighed to herself.
She liked Kara - always had - and Kara clearly loved Maggie Sawyer. Both of these things made the situation precarious.
It would be so easy to let the light flirting that went on between her and Maggie lead to something more. Again.
Except...
Except she knew she would be slowing down the inevitable. Maggie and Kara were inevitable. As their friend, she had no right to get on between that.
Still, when Maggie smiled like that at her as she lined up a shot, bending low so that she flashed the lace of her bra (that shirt was way too low cut, the smaller woman knew it) it was hard.
(It didn't help that the detective was smart, and that she made Susan laugh louder and harder than anyone in... ever. That sometimes they would spend time and Susan forgot about all the noisy, insistent voices in her head.)
THOUGHT: Maggie was the first person to make her head quiet since Val died.
THOUGHT: They've had sex three times, and each time Maggie has stayed through breakfast.
THOUGHT: Susan hasn't had breakfast with anyone but Director Henshaw and Agent Danvers (and Director Lane that one time) in years.
THOUGHT: If she skips through lunch, she'll have the time to crack the firewall on Winn's laptop and install a program designed to play the first Hanson album on an invisible player that moved drives every time a key is pressed on the keyboard.
THOUGHT: Kara was progressing quickly enough that she would be comfortable introducing practice weapons soon.
THOUGHT: Kara had looked so sad when she came in this morning - a Friday, usually a morning she would spend with Maggie.
THOUGHT: She needed to find a way to resist temptation that didn't leave Maggie without support.
"Earth to Vasquez," Maggie says, waving a hand in front of the agent's face.
She doesn't startle exactly, but she knows Maggie can tell she wasn't expecting that.
"Victorious, were you?" Susan asks, taking another drink.
Maggie shrugs, dimples on stun.
"Nah I let 'em have it. I'm kinda pooled out for now," she says, eyes flickering down before coming back up - the picture of coy innocence.
"This was your idea," the agent reminds, not blind to where this is going.
She has to stay strong.
It's a Friday and Maggie is hurting and as lonely as Kara, and unlike Kara, Maggie deals with grief and ennui by chasing the high of losing herself in another person. Susan is under no illusion that this has much to do with her.
(Susan'd estimate that bedding her had about 17% to do with her. Though Maggie would engage in the behavior regardless, given the choice of partners that aren't Kara, Susan would beat out most of them, which is saying a lot...)
"Eh," Maggie is saying, rolling her eyes and reaching for Susan's beer. "I'm done playing with sticks for the evening."
It takes a lot for the agent not to snort. "That was the worst ," she assures her friend, letting the smaller woman have the drink. "You are the opposite of funny."
Maggie grins salaciously, taking a deep pull.
Warmth fills Susan's chest and curls into her stomach. She loves that grin. It means that Maggie's forgotten - even if it's just for a second - to be consumed by her guilt.
"You love me," the detective says, all cocky confidence, waving her free hand dismissively.
The word hits Susan's ear like a sharp slap, stinging, and she swallows hard.
"If you say so," she replies, forcing a smile.
Maggie raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.
The agent snatches back her beer (like taking candy from a baby) and finishes it off.
"If you're so bored with bars and balls, why not change things up huh?"
It's a gamble, playing this game. It's easy to get caught up in the flirting and forget she is supposed to be letting Maggie down gently.
"Hmmm what do you have in mind?" Maggie asks, sliding closer, so that she's pushing her hips and thighs against Susan's. "Notice, by the way, how I let that balls comment go? I'm a grown up."
Susan looks her friend-sometimes-lover up and down, expression droll.
"If you say so, detective."
"Shut up," Maggie mutters, poking Susan's side with an annoyed frown. (She manages to prod an old but sensitive scar, and it is by some hidden strength that Susan doesn't spasm in pain.) "No short jokes from you."
Maggie must notice though, because she soothes the spot with apologetic fingers, her eyebrows crinkling with concern.
"Objective observations are not jokes, detective, just facts," Susan replies with a smirk, squeezing Maggie's hip to reassure.
"Asshole," Maggie hisses, but her dimples are out in full force so Susan doesn't take offense.
Susan shrugs, reaching behind her without looking to place the empty beer bottle on the bar. She should turn, move away, but the feeling of her friend pressed close makes her feel something (something warm, and also hot, that flashes up and down her body like lightning).
This is more than she can say about her normal state of being in general. It's been a long time since Susan Vasquez has been anything but even for most of her day. Not since Val died.
There was a lot of head trauma - a lot of physical and emotional trauma in general - that occurred. Susan was inches from death herself, lost her right leg below the knee and gained some horrific scars on her torso (from the harried torture) and her scalp, hidden by her hair (from the attempts on her life).
When she woke up fully post incident, everything had hurt. Her nerves were live wires sending insane amounts of erroneous signals to her brain. Her brain itself was on fire, rocked by the trauma of her body being carved up like that, decimated by the psychological implications of surviving. If she had been able, she may have silenced it all. She's infinitely glad that she didn't, that she was too physically weak, and then that J'onn - then Hank - was around when she wasn't, to keep her grounded. But, she still wakes up screaming and sweating sometimes, mind back in those horrible first few months.
It was more of a blessing than a curse that as she recovered, everything became... muted. Her emotions first, which faded like sounds underwater, then eventually the sensations in her body. She isn't numb exactly, just... dampened.
But there are things that pull back the veil.
THOUGHT: Maggie Sawyer is one of those things. Her laugh, her easy banter, the way she forgets Susan isn't quite whole anymore. Not her body, because there is nothing Susan takes more pride in than being a badass, and her leg and other physical differences have nothing to do with her wholeness, but her... spirit, for lack of a better term. Maggie forgets, and when she remembers she only wants to make sure Susan is okay, but never pushes.
THOUGHT: So are early mornings at work, sipping that first cup of strong tea with honey. That first taste of the start of her day momentarily washes away everything that came before. Cleanses it away with the sharp bite of well steeped black tea leaves.
THOUGHT: She needs to replace the tea in the breakroom because Acquisitions is full of penny pinchers and J'onn has found her secret stash again. Or maybe it was Kara this time, because her cocoa nibs are also almost gone...
THOUGHT: The bright smile on Kara's face when she finally gets a new move in her training, under those harsh kryptonite lights, is another of those things. The pure, real joy of learning and self-improvement remind Susan of Val in ways that don't ache at all, but are warm and light and make her want to learn to be playful again.
THOUGHT: She really needs to look into a new cycling algorithm for her work passcode because Winn managed to crack her workstation in under an hour and replace all her icons with pictures of breakfast foods.
THOUGHT: If she can convince Maggie to jog with her in the morning, the detective is less likely to suggest late night outings. Which is probably the best for them both.
THOUGHT: There is NO WAY she will be strong enough to tell Maggie no tonight of she pushes it.
"You, me, early mornings..." the agent says, batting her lashes.
Maggie's grin gets sharper, a little predatory. She leans forward, pressing herself to Susan's front fully, moving to try and trail her lips up the agent's neck.
"I like where this is going..." she whispers, mouth oh so close to its goal.
"...running. Rain or shine. The reservoir route specifically."
Maggie groans, forehead flopping onto Susan's shoulder.
"Opposite of what I had in mind."
Chuckling, Susan pushes at her friend with a hand, trying to get out from between her and the bar. Maggie is stubborn, doesn't budge. Presses a little more firmly with her pelvis, if anything, and Susan has to bite her lip to keep a straight face.
"It's getting late," she notes, because it is.
It's almost midnight and she has to meet Kara at the D.E.O. at 8am for her Saturday training, which means she will probably end up heading there to sleep so she can get in a good length stretch beforehand. Her leg and back have been bothering her, the extra training reminding her that she is not in top shape anymore.
"Take me home, then?" Maggie replies easily, lilting at the end like it is a question but the look in her eye belaying that it is most certainly a firm offer.
(Like the one she makes with her hips, pressed solid and sure against Susan, and with her hands, resting on the agent's waist and gently, rhythmically clenching.)
"Didn't think you had that much to drink, detective," Susan quips, breath starting to shallow.
She just has to make it a little more awkward, because Maggie has never had the gall to outright ask to be taken to bed - just close little insinuations, just touches that lead, soulful gazes that spark something in Susan that was never really alive before. If the agent can throw off the game, then Maggie won't...
"Still pretty sober, those Canada Drys were definitely watered down, but definitely a little like I'd like you to make me feel dizzy somewhere private."
The smaller woman slips a hand under Susan's shirt, softly scrapes short, well cared for nails in whirling patterns on her sides.
Susan closes her eyes, swallowing hard and shuddering, feeling sensations well up in her body and mind.
Fuck.
"Maggie..." she whispers, dimly aware that she sounds a bit desperate. To stop this or to make it happen faster is up for debate. "This is a bad idea."
"You're absolutely right," the detective agrees, rearing back slightly so they can look at each other in the face. "Do you want to stop?"
What makes it humiliating is that Maggie sounds sincerely concerned.
Susan closes her eyes, defeated.
"No," she admits, guilt and lust crashing over her with equal, brutal strength. “I… I don’t want to stop.”
Maggie smiles a soft, relieved smile, and darts forward to latch onto Susan's pulse point, nipping with her teeth and laving it with her tongue.
THOUGHT: Susan is overcome with lust, yes, but it's not just for sex, or for Maggie's body anyway. It's an all encompassing covetous lust for the deep well of feeling she knows will come a long with fucking Maggie Sawyer.
THOUGHT: The guilt is part of it, sometimes better than feeling the underwater-through-three-layers-of-neoprene existence that she leads.
THOUGHT: She needs to remember to set her alarm for an hour earlier than normal, if she is going to make it to the D.E.O. on time to stretch.
THOUGHT: The emotions that well up and spill over after these trysts linger long after they are over, lasting for hours, days, last time almost a week. It's scary, because she was sure that the parts of her that connected were severed after the incident - that she wasn't capable of being a person like that anymore.
THOUGHT: Maggie was not her chance at completeness - she was Kara's. Susan knows this because it is Kara's name Maggie sighed as she slipped off to sleep, if she said anything at all.
THOUGHT: She's going to have to learn to say no to Maggie - to say no to hanging out anywhere this could happen - if she ever wants to be able to look Kara in the eye without feeling like a traitor.
THOUGHT: She hates that sad, lonely, broken look in Kara's eyes as much as she craves the ability to feel that Maggie gives rise to.
They're crashing together, crashing through her door and into her living room. They never use the bed.
Maggie always presses close, presses kisses to Susan's neck and shoulder and collar (never enough to mark, of course not) as she fumbles with the button and zipper of her own pants. It's frantic and sloppy and unbelievably hot.
She likes to be taken at least once almost fully clothed, Susan's noticed, like she's taking the edge off so she can concentrate. Susan is more than happy to oblige, insides turning to liquid heat at the sounds the smaller woman makes, at how she clutches at Susan to stay upright as the agent slips into her clothes, zipper pinching the back of her hand a bit while she works.
Maggie whimpers as she recovers, every time, and nuzzles against Susan's neck, hiding her eyes.
It breaks Susan's heart and makes her feel like she could beat a Valeronian in an arm wrestling match. She knows it has nothing to do with her, not really, but she can't help the swell of protective affection in her chest.
Maggie doesn't take long to come back to her senses, and when she does, she has a strong sense of fairness - eye for an eye, orgasm for an orgasm and all that. She wastes no time, undoing Susan's pants and yanking them down her legs so they bunch at her ankles.
"Lets see how long you last before you tap out," Maggie murmurs against her skin, sinking to her knees with a look of hunger that makes Susan squirm.
"Insert clever quip here," Susan snarks, left hand sliding into her lover's dark hair and gently grabbing hold.
It's to control the experience, but not how Maggie probably assumes.
The other times they've done this, they have made it to the couch, where there are blankets, and where Susan can sit down and make sure she doesn't accidentally topple over. Her prosthetic is good - amazing - top of the line equipment that under most circumstances serves as solidly as her own lost limb, hooked into her nervous system and everything (bless secret government black ops organizations with access to alien technology) but, there is something about this particular activity that makes it hard to maneuver smoothly (something she discovered with previous lovers).
Maggie looks up at her with deep, real affection, a genuine and reassuring smile on her face as she leans forward and lays kisses across the tops of Susan's thighs.
"Don't worry, Vasquez, I won't let you fall."
Susan's heart squeezes hard in her chest, tears suddenly springing to her eyes (she is able to hide these things because Maggie is immediately putting her mouth to work at the centre of her).
THOUGHT: Too late.
THOUGHT: Too late.
THOUGHT: Too late.
THOUGHT: Too late.
THOUGHT: Too late.
THOUGHT: Too late.
THOUGHT: Fuck.
Maggie stays through the night, muttering in annoyance against Susan's back when her alarm goes off before the sun is completely done rising.
"Sshhh, go back to sleep," the agent murmurs, kissing the detective softly on the temple as she gets out of the bed. "Just pull the door closed behind you."
"Should just... gimme keys..." Maggie says, already slipping back into sleep.
Susan has nothing to say to that, because they spend a lot of time together but almost always end the night in their own beds. Luckily the light snoring from the rumpled covers saves her from having to respond.
When Kara shows up to the D.E.O., Susan has showered, stretched, then showered again. They fall into their routine easy enough.
Afterwards, Susan can't quite look the taller woman in the eye. She doesn't seem to notice though, grinning and pulling Susan into a warm hug (something she has been doing more and more lately).
"You're awesome, you know that?" the blonde says, not yet letting go.
"You're just saying that because you finally managed to throw me," the agent replies, going for casual but her voice sounding strained even to her own ear.
"Nah," Kara says, confident as she pulls away. "It's just you."
She kisses Susan's cheek - something she used to do to Alex all the time when the other agent was down and needed cheering up. Innocent and sweet and caring.
Susan feels sick to her stomach. (A little part of her revels in the ability to feel that way at all, but most of her is horrified.)
THOUGHT: Kara Danvers is sunshine personified.
THOUGHT: Kara Danvers cares about her, as a friend. Enough to want to see her happy.
THOUGHT: Kara Danvers is in love with Maggie Sawyer.
THOUGHT: Maggie Sawyer cares about Susan as a friend and fuckbuddy - but nothing more.
THOUGHT: Maggie Sawyer is in deep, stupid in love with Kara Danvers.
THOUGHT: Susan is, much to her own embarrassment, very much in love with Maggie Sawyer.
"Same time tomorrow, Drill Sergeant?" Kara teases, looking as if she is genuinely looking forward to giving up 6 hrs on her Sunday to train with the agent.
Susan swallows hard but nods, not able to quite match the playfulness of her friend's tone.
"Same time tomorrow, Supergirl."
THOUGHT: Someone is going to get horribly, crushingly hurt. And if Susan has anything to say about it, it will be herself.