Work Text:
2017
“Mornin’, Danvers.”
Alex smiled involuntarily, sinking into the warmth pressed against her back, Maggie’s breath washing over the nape of her spine. She turned her head, cheek pressed to Maggie’s lip and smiled. Humming as gentle fingers flexed around her the fabric of her shirt, barely scratching her stomach. “Morning, Mags.”
“You should go back to sleep,” a kiss pressed to her cheek, lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary, before the Detective leaned away. But not far, not far at all. In fact, she ducked her head, pressing the ridge of her nose against the dip of Alex’s shoulder. Inhaling the faded scent of Lucy’s shampoo on her skin from the night before. “Try actually sleep in for a change.”
“Sleep is for the weak,” but her voice was already drifting. Body dragged under by the solid weight of Maggie on her spine, the gentle breathing of Lucy mere inches away. Lulled back into rest by the strip of warm light painting itself across their bed, slowly inching upwards.
“Yeah, well,” Maggie’s lips grazed the exposed portion of her shoulder, smile itching itself into her skin. “We get one sleep in a month, and I plan on taking it with my girlfriends.”
Sinking low, digging the side of her face into the pillow, Alex smiled. The hand not tangled with Lucy’s coming to lay over Maggie’s. Winding their fingers together over her stomach as she started to drift – the gentle warmth of the room enough to ease her back into that soft space of pre-consciousness.
“You drive a hard bargain, Detective.” Mumbled, directly into the pillows, but still enough that Lucy’s fingers flexed around hers – an unconscious warning from the Director that she was two sentences away from being woken by their banter.
Just as she was about to succumb, slip away, Maggie’s lips pressed against the back of her neck, nose brushing the soft hair of her undercut. It was only by the edges of her mind that she caught the soft words whispered against her spine – the only time she’d hear those words from this partner that day – just the way she liked it.
“Happy birthday, Danvers.”
2003
Alex doesn’t really remember her fourteenth birthday.
She knows, logically, scientifically, it must have happened. September 10th must have come and gone. The day must have occurred, the sun raising and falling. She just… doesn’t recall. She does know there was no fanfare. No celebration. No birthday breakfast. No cake or balloons or even recognition that she was another year older. And, frankly, Alex didn’t need to be told that she was older.
The moment her mother called her downstairs and told her the news – that he was dead – that his plane had crashed – that she’d never see her father again – she felt herself age. Felt years sink away from her, dripping between her fingers.
A reality that her mother reinforced. Every dinner Alex organized, every page of Kara’s homework she checked, with each load of laundry and packed lunch she made, she felt older. She was certainly the eldest in the Danvers house. Eliza became nothing but a ghost. Her mother drained away with the news of her father’s death – leaving only this strange woman in her wake. Hollow, work obsessed, absent.
So, Alex knew she was a year older. It was inevitable. But no one noticed September 10th, not even her.
2004
Alex smacked her hand against the bedside blindly, groaning when she missed and sent the blaring alarm scattering to the floor. Out of reach.
Bastard.
Smacking her hands down on the sheets, she forced herself over the side of the bed. Snatching the screaming device from the floor she pressed the snooze button so hard the plastic groaned under her hands.
“You’ll break that if you aren’t careful,” Kara’s voice was sleep slurred and muffled by her pillow, but still audible to her sister across the room.
“Yeah, well,” Alex slammed the annoying device down on the bedside, digging her fingers into her eyes. “You broke the first six. I’m due one,” she dragged her body off the bed, yawning as she stretched. Trying to ignore wonder girl following suit.
“So,” Kara carded her fingers through ridiculously not bedraggled hair, blue eyes clear. Like it wasn’t seven am on a Friday. “Um, Alex?” she paused at the door, briefly entertaining the thought that she might get to use the bathroom first for the first time all school year. “Happy Earth Birthday.”
“It’s just called a birthday on this planet,” she huffed back, knowing it was unfair on the strange alien sister she’d been dumped with… just not caring.
She called it a victory that she didn’t slam the door behind herself.
She showered quick and efficient, like always. Habit born out of the days she squeezed every moment out of surfing before school – before Kara and the broken arm and her father and the enjoyment being violently sucked out of the activity.
But she forcibly shuffled those thoughts to the back of her mind. She could be bitter and angry every other day of the year. Today. Today was about her. Not about Kara or the lab or her dad or grades. Today was just about her. Perhaps the only day of the year. She was hellbent on enjoying it.
She passed Kara in the hallway, offering a polite nod. Recognition of the fact that the alien allowed her the small grace of a completely hot shower. The only thanks she knew how to verbalize to the girl Alex had pinned much of her pain on.
She changed quickly, trying not to care about the way this or that looked. Trying to ignore the twisting in her stomach at the thought of Vicky seeing her in this, or that. Trying to ignore the flare of heat in her chest when she thought about Vicky modeling each and every outfit she bought over the summer last week.
Tried to ignore the fact that she wore the flannel that Vicky commented on, the one that made her look cool, and the boots that made her just a notch taller than her friend.
Boots that thumped as she jumped the last stairs, catching herself on the edge of the banister as she anchored herself into a turn, heading towards the kitchen. Unbidden, she hummed, an old smile edging itself onto her face as she approached. Excitement hedged the corners of her chest, filling her up with the beginnings of buzzing energy
Her birthday had always been a big thing, especially with her dad. Pancakes and milkshakes were the staples – a face drawn on with whipped cream, even when she was too old for it and a milkshake for everyone, even though her mom turned up her nose. If she had school, she’d always return to the house decked out in embarrassing, cheesey decorations; banners and balloons and goddamn confetti strewn everywhere. If it was on a weekend, it would be set up before she made it downstairs in the morning.
And, without fail, on the edge of the kitchen counter, where she’d watch her dad make breakfast and slide around the kitchen in his socks, he’d set up a single helium balloon. It would float there all day, bobbing along as the festivities swirled around.
That. That was her first clue that this year was going to be different.
She could see the edge of the kitchen counter from the hallway, as she approached. And there was no balloon.
But she didn’t realize, not really, that anything was truly wrong. Not yet.
Not until she made it to the mouth of the kitchen.
The utterly empty kitchen.
Or, well, not empty.
There was a note.
Alexandra, lunches are in the fridge, and there is money for dinner by the front door. I’m working late at the lab tonight, so I’m going to need you to babysit. Please make sure Kara remembers her glasses for school.
She stared for a long minute, hallow.
She glanced up at the desolate kitchen, eyes fixed on the empty stove.
That’s when the blackhole opened up in her gut. A gaping wound tearing through her chest, sparking pain and hurt and loneliness faster then she could bury it all. Faster than she could shove it down – deep into that space where she put everything she couldn’t do anything about.
Her dad being dead.
Vicky’s new boyfriend.
Kara being her sister. Her responsibility.
But she couldn’t seem to bury this, control this. The pain was too sharp, too visceral. It burned everything, leaving her aching and bleeding and staring at the empty kitchen. So, no. Unfortunately. My mother forgot my birthday wasn’t available for clinical dismissal.
So, it continued to burn her alive from the inside out until Kara came up behind her.
“Alex?” confused. She sounded confused. “Where’s Eliza?”
“Work.” Stiff. Clipped. Eyes locked on the edge of the counter, where a balloon should be bobbing happily.
“Oh,” the alien shifted her weight, feeling the tension in the room, but unsure of the origins. “Did she get called into work?”
“Obviously,” Alex aimed for snippy but landed in empty. Hallow. Everything had been burned out – she had no heat left for the weird alien sister she was supposed to be taking care of today. Forever.
“I’m sorry,” and she sounded it, honestly. Sympathetic. Soft. Everything that made Alex straighten, indignation curling up her spine. “My mother once had a council meeting on my Name Day. But it still hurts, having to read your parents happy wishes, rather than hearing it.”
The note crumpled in her hand.
Alex took a slow breath, forcing the burning in her nose, in her eyes, back. Inhaling the heat gathering in the back of her throat, swallowing it down. Down, down, down into the blackhole consuming everything.
“Yeah,” stiff. Forced. “Well, whatever. Um, your lunch is in the fridge,” she ducked away, making herself step into the kitchen to open the bin. She tossed the note in, tossed her mother’s words away, and let the lip slam shut – just the way her mom always told her not to. ‘Kara’s hearing is a hundred times better than yours, Alexandra! Can you imagine how unpleasant that sound would be?’ “I’m gonna go wait for the bus. Don’t be late.”
She left so fast she didn’t see Kara wince at the slammed front door.
She also didn’t see the Kryptonian re-open the bin. Didn’t see her carefully, cautiously, uncrumple the note.
Didn’t see her almost snap the edge off the counter at the words she found inside. Or, the lack of two specific words.
[…]
School was good.
That’s what she kept telling herself.
It’s okay that your mom forgot your birthday. Your friends didn’t. Josie bought you a bundle of flowers you had no idea what to do with but appreciated nonetheless. Jake awkwardly slid you that CD you commented on last weekend. Vicky literally baked you a cake.
So, it’s okay. That your mother forgot.
She has a lot on her plate.
It’s okay.
It’s okay.
It’s okay!
It wasn’t okay.
Alex barely made it into the upstairs bathroom before her breathing started to become choppy. A full day of smiling and answering asinine questions about how it felt to be fifteen and and and… she broke.
After turning on the shower, the sink taps and her hair drier, she slid down the bathroom door. Pressed her spine against the wood and tried to breathe.
Tried not to think about how much more common these attacks were becoming. Tried to ignore the voice in her head that told her about panic attacks and stress and therapy and and and…
A sob tore itself out of her chest so violently, it felt like it scraped the inside of her throat. Tore away the skin and left her raw and bleeding and strangled. Like the world was folding in on itself. Like the oxygen was being sucked out of the room, and all she could do was gasp for breath, tears splashing against the tile.
And all she could think about was how stupid she was being.
It’s just a birthday after all.
Not like mom was ever really into the day – it had been dad’s thing after all.
Like surfing. And science fairs. And sci-fi tv.
All things that had either been banned – Alexandra, do you really think it’s appropriate to watch pulp television about aliens? – or impossible – the broken arm took her out of a surfing season, and her constant responsibilities kept her from picking it back up.
What was one more thing?
“Alex?” the tentative knock vibrated through the door, into her spine. She clapped a hand over her mouth, hiccupping against her palm in a useless attempt to stem the tears. “Are you… are you okay?”
She smacked her head back against the wood, more tears slipping down the side of her face. “Go away, Kara.”
“Are you…” Alex could barely hear her over the nose she’d used to try and drown out her crying. “Do you want me to try order dinner?”
She squeezed her eyes closed, the light from the ceiling burned behind her eyelids. “I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t eat breakfast,” a beat. “Or take your lunch to school.”
“I’m fine,” she swallowed, trying to compress the mounting shame blooming in her chest. The desire to just get over it. “Just… I’ll be out in a minute, okay? I’ll call the pizza place you like.”
Because Kara couldn’t use the phone yet. She either broke the buttons or got overwhelmed the volume of the receiver.
There was a hesitation on the other end of the door – not that Alex could see, but she could feel it. Feel Kara pause on the other side, feel her waiting.
Feel her eventually walk away.
Give up.
And Alex really couldn’t blame her. She’d give up on her too.
2006
Seventeen felt better and worse.
It didn’t sting so much when she found the kitchen empty. Or, well, it did, but the hope died quicker. A less painful death, now that she knew it was possible. She had two years of proof to back it back.
But worse because even she couldn’t convince herself that at least she had friends to fill the void.
Josie hadn’t talked to her since the incident. And by incident, Alex meant that small matter of, you know, getting her adult boyfriend she had arrested.
Vicky hadn’t talked to her since… the thing. But that was… whatever.
She was basically invisible at school. The only time people seemed to notice her these days was when she was punching them – for saying shit about Kara – for saying shit to Kara – but that wasn’t the kind of attention that got you cake and balloons on your birthday.
So better and worse.
It was actually better this year than last. Sixteen had involved an empty morning, and endless apologies that night when it finally clicked. Which had been worse, somehow. Her mom stumbling through a strange mix of apology and excuse had made her feel guilty for feeling hurt. So guilty she’d swallowed it. Grit her teeth and dug her nails into her palms and thanked her mom for a book she already owned and a CD that her mom wanted her to want to listen to.
Seventeen was better. At least her mom was stuck on the other side of the country for the week. (And Eliza did remember, eventually - a day late, timezones apparently slipping the registered geniuses mind).
At least it was just her and Kara this year. At least she didn’t have to pretend to be okay with it. At least she had someone to call the Chinese place her dad loved so much and order enough food for a family of four.
At least she had someone to wish her a happy birthday first thing in the morning. Even if it was quiet. Even if it was hesitant. Like Kara was walking on old eggshells, ones they’d cleared away after Kenny. Even then, it was better than nothing.
And because it was Kara, she managed to make it even, just a little bit, happy.
Kara hovered after dinner, while they got ready for bed. Rocking on her heels, gnawing on the inside of her lip, as she held something behind her back. A mix of anxious and eager.
“So, I know you’re not having the best day ever,” understatement, but Alex bit her tongue. Let her sister stumble through a speech she’d obviously been rehearsing all afternoon. She’d been too distracted to sing along with the Disney movie they watched, and Alex had seen her mouthing to herself while they cleaned up dinner. “And I was thinking about how for my Earth Birthday you made me a dozen of those cakes cups and let me eat eleven of them and bought me my sketch book and stuff.” Slowly, eagerly, Kara brought her hands back around, revealing a little wrapped square. The size of a book. It was more tape than wrapping, and none of the edges were straight, but there was obviously a lot of time and care put into the little package.
Alex’s heart throbbed, though she didn’t reach out for present.
“So, I thought I’d try and get you something? I looked for ages, and I think you might like it… or… not,” blue eyes widened, muscles tensing under pick pattered pajamas as Alex’s eyes watered, jaw clenching hard against a trembling chin.
Kara hadn’t seen her sister so much as wince in over a year – even when Lauran McBride slapped her for calling her ‘walking advertisement for contraception’ – even when Kara accidentally broke two of her toes – even when Eliza screamed at her for two hours when Kara’d missed a swim meet because Alex had to go to detention for punching a football player who cornered Kara in a hallway.
“Alex, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I,” she winced, taking a step back. The gift groaned under the suddenly too-tight hold, sending sparks of panic up the Kryptonian’s spine – she’d been so good about breaking things this year, she wasn’t about to ruin the streak now. Not when she’d already upset her sister somehow – having another breakage would only upset her further, even though she’d try hide it. Eliza had to blame someone after all. “I’ll put it away, okay, we don’t have to-“
“Kar,” soft fingers curled around her wrist before she could retreat. “You’re okay. I’m sorry, just,” she sniffed, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her wrist as she tugged. “Come sit with me?”
Kara swallowed; eyebrows furrowed as she carefully took a seat on the edge of the bed. Alex turned towards her, wiping away tear trails roughly as she turned, sitting cross legged against the headboard.
“Can I…” she waved a hand at the gift settled in Kara’s lap. “Can I still have it?”
“Yeah! Yeah,” she thrust it out, wide-eyed and awkward. “Of course!”
Alex smiled around wet eyes, taking the package with reverence Kara had never seen her display with anything other than her dad’s watch and the Jewish artifacts periodically pulled out of storage.
It took a minute – Alex having to dig blunt nails into the few remaining paper spots on the gift. But, eventually, tape was torn away and the gift was revealed.
When Alex froze, Kara started to fill the empty space – compelled by the void of silence.
“I know it’s not a lot. I just… it’s something I saw at that market last month – I know it’s probably weird. But… but on Krypton, I had this haletic box that my aunt gave me. Told that I could put anything in it I wanted, and it would be safe. Which was silly, really, cause I mean, I could smash through haletic metal with my pinky finger now. But I just, at the time, it was something I really loved. And I just… I thought you might… I’m sorry if-“
“Kara,” again, she reached over. A warm hand catching hers, thumb pressing into Kara’s palm. Pressure, hard enough to hurt someone else, but enough for the sister to feel. “I love it. It’s perfect.”
“Oh,” she blinked, taking in the shine to Alex’s eyes. The protective hand she’d placed over the lid. The beginnings of an actual smile, a real smile, on her sister’s face. The first one all day. “That’s… I’m glad.”
Alex looked back down, fingers trailing along the etching on the edges. Nails catching on the little patterns, dripping into the larger symbols at the center. “This is probably one of the best gift’s I’ve ever gotten.” Whispered. Faraway. Like Kara wasn’t there. Like she hadn’t meant to speak out loud.
For once, the Kryptonian let the silence sit.
“Hey, Kara?” She straightened, noting that gravel that returned to her sister’s voice. Noting the way that she didn’t look away from the present. “Can… Can I ask you to do something? And… and you understand that its not me not liking this gift?” Dark eyes flicked up, meeting hers with increasingly familiar intensity. “Because I do. Love this gift. But…”
“You can ask me anything Alex,” she smiled, turning her hand to squeeze her fingers, gentle. “It’s your birthday, you know.”
“I know,” a smile. Sadder now. Dipped in the shadows of grief and new pain. “So, can this,” she rubbed at the wood, the sound curling softly in Kara’s ears, pleasant, “be the last gift you ever get me?”
Kara’s eyes widened, even as her forehead pinched. “Ever?”
A nod, jaw ticking. “I just,” she swallowed roughly, breathing forced. “I just. Can we not do my birthday anymore? I think…” a breath, shaky. Tongue rolling along her teeth in an attempt to grasp the edges of her composure. “I think it hurts more than it’s worth? The day I mean, not, not you, giving me stuff or wishing me happy birthday, that doesn’t hurt, that isn’t-“
“Alex,” she interrupted, taking a page out of the human’s book. Stopping the stumbled apologies for just asking for what she needed. “Of course.”
Alex exhaled in a rush, relief washing out with her breath.
Kara’s heart throbbed for her as she promised herself, deep and careful and with the intensity of a girl who came to this planet to care for an infant. With the care of a girl that carried a whole dead culture. Promised herself that she would respect this wish, from a girl who was tasked with protecting her.
[…]
Kara didn’t comment when Alex came home from Standford with a gift at her next Earth birthday. A box, painstakingly, personally, hand engraved with Kryptonian symbols. The words osh i zhor lovingly translated, late at night with her father’s old files.
Kara whispered, soft and loved and seen, when she read the English translation out-loud; “For your heart."
2010
Alex pressed the mute button when her mother called.
She didn’t even read the message that dinged right after. She could already recite the message that she’d receive – so similar to the previous years it could be copied and pasted.
Happy birthday, my darling Alexandra! Hope you have a wonderful day. Love, Mom.
She never tried to call a second time. Like wishing her eldest daughter a happy birthday was a box ticking exercise.
She ignored the call, and the text, but she still felt that familiar burn in her chest. Like she did every year, this day haunted by the edges of pain she’d never been able to articulate to her parent. Even when she tried – eighteen, freshman, swamped by tests and term papers and a 150% course load – but no amount of words made her mother understand she wanted to just let this day pass in obscurity.
Didn’t mean her mother didn’t forget. No. She remembered 18. But 19 slipped by unnoticed. 20 wasn’t so bad, she called the next day, tumbling with apologies before slipping back into academic interrogations.
This year, she ignored the call.
At least the innocuous text Kara sent about making sure she got some sleep, and limiting her caffeine intake, were appreciated. No mention of the date, or its lack of significance. Just… just her sister checking up on her in a non-intrusive way. Just her reminding Alex that, even though this day is not mentioned, she loved her. In a way that Alex could actually appreciate.
So, she ignored the call, and tried to focus on the marked-up copy of her thesis. He, very obviously, hated it. But she was determined to take a positive approach to xenobiology – she would not feed into this mans bigoted bullshit. But that meant she was at the library until well after dark. Until the librarians shuffled through, all sympathetic eyes and soft noises, and they kindly reminded her that the library closed at 11pm sharp.
She’d walked from her crappy apartment off campus – the only benefit to being the youngest post grad student was that she was the only one in her age group that wasn’t in dorms. Even if the place had paper thin walls, and no working appliances. The water was hot, and the bed always clean – the only things she really used the apartment for anyway.
Trudging across campus, she blinked sleep out of her eyes, ignoring the noise exploding from various open windows. Rolling her eyes as people stumbled out of the campus bars, out of overcrowded appartments.
But. But then she was passing the local liquor store, just at the edge of her block. The blue lights buzzed on the sill, and blinking signs caught her eyes.
I mean, she glanced around, biting her lip, I guess today of all days…
Wincing at the sharp bell acknowledging her entrance, she nodded at the cashier, cheek mushed against his fist as he read a magazine. She strolled the aisle until she found the cheapest bottle of vodka she could, just the kinda stuff that had been in every punch bowl her first years of college. Just the kind of stuff that might actually let her sleep tonight (she hadn’t been able to in weeks).
Taking the bottle by the neck and thumped it on the counter. The guy barely glanced up before holding out his hand expectantly. Digging her wallet out of her satchel, she took out her real ID, smirking a touch at the fake one she may as well toss.
“That’ll be $20.50,” grunted. Fingers absently jamming at the keys of his register. Money handed over, bottle put in a paper bag, she was free to go. Go and drink herself to sleep, in the vein hope that she might actually feel rested the next day.
“Oh,” she paused at the door, glancing back. “And happy birthday by the way.”
“Um,” she swallowed the lump that gathered in her throat, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
It's the first time those words have been directed at her in years (or at least, years since someone has said it in-person) and, honestly?
She still hates it.
2011
She doesn’t remember twenty-two.
She knows there were drinks (there were always drinks).
And she knows that she drank more than her fair share.
And she knows that she went out with her friends. Or well, her drinking buddies. And that she went home with some guy, whose name was already kinda fuzzy. He was in her doctoral program… white, male, nondescript.
No one wished her a happy birthday that year.
That was probably for the best.
2012
She hit rock bottom. And then she went through the trap door at the bottom of rock bottom. And then she landed herself in a jail cell, hangover creeping up corners of her mind. The shame curled faster in her chest though – filling her with ever more familiar disgust.
Disappointment.
She was a disappointment.
And then. And then Hank Henshaw sat down against the jail bars in his off the rack suit and too knowing eyes. Filled her head with something other than her migraine and promised her that there was a future out there brighter than the red stamped academic probation letter sitting on her dresser.
Which is why she was here, on her twenty-third birthday. Not that anyone knew that – why would they? She hadn’t celebrated since she was, what? Thirteen? And she was hardly friends with anyone at the DEO. She wasn’t even with a recruiting cohort. Her entire day consisted of training or doctoral work. Plus, no one likes you when you’re twenty-three.
Which is how she found herself in the sparing room at 5pm; Sweet dripping from her nose as she braced her hands on her knee’s, sucking breath in through exhausted lungs.
“Again.”
In a 12-hour shift, that is the only word that Henshaw had deemed necessary to say. It was descriptive after all.
Straightening, she dragged her hand through her hair, damp from the water bottle she’d dumped on her head right before her lunch break. A lunch break she was regretting now, as she tried to swallow her exhaustion and square up. How many more ways could this man put her on her back? He must be running out of creative take-downs-
And yet, that one was new.
Huffing, she stared up at the circular lights of the sparing room she’d been living in for two and a half months. Stared until the white flared behind her eyelids when she blinked. Stared until, almost sounding amused, Henshaw repeated his catchphrase.
“Again.”
Because of course.
Bracing her hands on either side of her head, she vaulted to her feet – a move unthinkable three months ago, and now second nature.
Shaking out her arms she squinted, noted his relaxed posture. Calculated how he moved his feet this time. Tried to remember the last time he’d cicruled like that, with his hands braced just so.
It was honestly a shock when her body rolled away from his grab. She didn’t even tell her hips to do that.
And then.
And then she was ducked under that raised arm, bracing her forearm against his side, hand pressed against his shoulder. The angle kept his elbow locked over her neck and gave her just enough leverage and then-
Henshaw smacked to the ground with enough force that the floor rattled. That she felt his weight collide through her shoes, vibrating up her legs.
Their eyes locked; hers shot wide; his narrowed.
If he was anyone else, she might have guessed he looked… impressed? And as quick as it was there it was gone. Replaced by the serious, solid eyes of her mentor. Familiar at least. As was the way he swiftly, brutally, flipped their positions.
Ah, the familiar thump of her spine being brutalized by her friend, the mat.
The thump may have been familiar, but the silence that followed her groan was not. She rolled onto her feet, one knee on the ground as she looked up at her already recovered boss. He just stood there, hands behind his back, eyes set on her.
“Sir?” She pushed herself to her feet, fingers flexing anxiously. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” a nod. “We’re done for the day.”
“Oh,” she resisted the urge to check her watch, sure that she hadn’t completed her mandatory 12 hours of torture. “Great.”
“Until tomorrow,” and with a final nod, he strode towards the exit. She’s just started to imagine how good an extra two hours of sleep would feel when he paused, hand wrapped around the edge of the door. When he looked over his shoulder she braced for another assignment – whether for DEO training or her doctorate, only god knew which was worse. “And by the way Agent Danvers,” his lips twitched. “Good work today.”
She was still gaping when the door slammed shut behind him.
Every inch of her skin hurt, she was more bruised than not, she hadn’t slept a full night in months and yet, it was the best birthday Alex had since her dad died.
2016
“Alright,” the spatula whacked against her hip. “You’ve had your chance. Move it, Danvers.”
Alex looked up at Maggie’s indulgent look with wide eyes, “what?” A quick inspection of the pan found that the edges of the pancakes were perhaps… a little darker than recommended. “That… that wasn’t my fault.”
“Yeah, yeah,” a shooing gesture, undercut by the Detective’s curling grin. And the way she leaned up to press a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. “Of course, not babe.”
“Its! I!” she jerked a hand at Lucy, sitting on the edge of the counter, humming into the ends of her coffee. “It’s her fault!”
“Mine?” the arched eyebrow had Alex’s heart skipping a beat, as did the gentle press of Maggie’s hand to her side – edging her away from the stove and any further culinary murders. “Don’t blame your kitchen ineptitude on me, Al. I’m just sitting here.”
“You never just do anything, Lane,” Maggie argued absently, scrapping the admittedly… well done pancake directly in the trash. “But you really shouldn’t be cooking babe. At this rate your sister might have to actually eat breakfast at her own apartment today.”
“But I want to help!”
“Here,” Lucy held out her mug, wiggling the crockery until Alex huffed, rolling her eyes, but taking it. Sliding away, she set about refilling the coffee, both her and Lucy solidly two cups in the morning people – particularly on lazy Sundays where they had no reason to rush out. Particularly when they needed their energy for... other things.
Even as she begrudgingly handed over the beverage to the distracting member of the triad, Alex couldn’t even try to smother her smile. Not even the edges of it. She felt light, lighter than she could ever remember. As if she’d been walking around with lead in her feet. She'd literally glanced down to make sure she wasn’t floating, blushing at her own thoughts.
“Mmmm, thanks,” the slow sip was a little torturous – designed to be so – causing even Maggie to glance over, spatula poised over the bubbling pancake.
Seriously, they’d be lucky if there was anything to eat at all. Especially when Alex stepped between Lucy’s legs, pressing her lips into the Director’s grin, fingers flexing on her thighs when hey tightened around her hips.
It was only when Maggie let out a muffled squawk, followed by the pan being dropped, hard, into the sink. The cluttering sent the pair of distracting girlfriends apart – Lucy’s smile turning smug in an instant.
“Alright, new rule,” Maggie huffed, reaching under the counter for the other pan. “Lane, get out of my kitchen. You can’t be trusted.”
“And me?”
“You can clean up the mess you helped create,” but her demand was softened by the way the detective’s fingers curled around her wrist, pulling her in for another kiss. Just as lingering, just as soft. Alex could literally feel herself sink into the shorter woman, Maggie’s fingers tightening around her hand. And when she pulled away, Alex’s eyes remained closed a touch longer, mind caught on the crowding emotions in her chest. “You okay there, Danvers?”
“Great,” too fast, eyes snapping open at the teasing edge. “Perfect. Awesome. Um,” she winced at the smirk that edged higher on Maggie’s face, nose wrinkling involuntarily. “I’ll just…” she waved at the still smoking pan, ignoring the snort from Lucy behind her.
So, she was wrist deep in suds, when her phone started to ring on the counter. Loud and insistent and breaking the happy murmur of her girlfriend’s chatting.
“Alex, it’s your mom,” she glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows pulling. The literal last thing she wanted to do was talk to her mother, not with the room painted in soft sunlight and Lucy wearing Maggie’s flannel and Maggie wearing her DEO shirt. But, also, knowing if she didn’t answer she would call again. And again. And again-
“Can you…?” she jerked her soaked hands in indication, wincing at the request.
Cause her mom knew about Maggie.
And knew about Lucy. Ish. In the sense that she knew about her best friend Lucy who was always at her house and in all her stories and absolutely central to her life.
But her mom didn’t know about half naked Lucy sitting at her kitchen counter on lazy Sunday mornings. Not yet at least.
But Lucy smiled, soft and affectionate and not offended, before pressing speaker.
“Hey mom,” she called, taking out the last of the pancake prep dishes to dry on the rack.
“Alexandra,” she winced, exhaling slow and controlled as Maggie finally handed her a tea-towel. “I'm so sorry, sweetie! I know I’m a few days late,” Alex whipped around, eye’s shooting wide at the sudden turn of conversation.
“Oh, hey, don’t worry about it,” she swallowed, refusing to meet the sets of eyes locked on her. “How are you?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Let’s talk about you! How was your big day?"
Alex freezes, leaning back against the lip of the sink, keeping her eyes locked on the phone. As if she couldn’t feel Lucy's pulled eyebrows and Maggie's tilted head. Clearing her throat, she aimed for casual, for nonchalant, for anything but the panic crawling up her throat. "It was fine mom."
"You get anything special?"
"Um," a shrug, even though she couldn't see it. "Yeah. It was nice." Vague and nondescript and the kind of thing any other mother should have followed up on - just to make sure everything went okay – but Alex knew her mother. Knew Eliza took it was nice as everything was great! Thank you so much for asking.
And as quickly as the storm crashed through her perfect morning, it was gone. The line going dead after nominal pleasantries and descending the room into utter silence. Which left Alex standing in her kitchen, two sets of eyes locked on her, in a void of heavy silence.
"So... something you wanted to tell us Danvers?"
“Not really.”
“Alex,” Lucy’s mug clicked on the counter, leaning forward on her elbows. “Was… was it your birthday or something?”
“I mean…” she shrugged, cheek ticking, eyes fixed blindly ahead. “Kinda?”
“I can’t believe Little Danvers didn’t tell us,” Maggie frowned, bracing her hands against the counter behind her. “Was this like, some kind of test? I know she isn’t totally over the whole, coming out thing, but she wouldn’t-“
“It’s nothing like that,” too sharp, too hard. “My birthday just isn’t a big deal, okay?”
Lucy shifted her weight, watching as the woman withdrew. “Alex…”
“Look, can we just drop it?” Alex sighed, head dipping forward. “It’s not a big deal, guys, I promise. I just… don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?”
Lucy glanced at Maggie, shared a look in the space of a moment. Bit the inside of her lip as her mind spun out – they were new to this whole thing. And Alex was new to the whole… healthy relationships and communication thing. But this was new. This was Alex shutting them out. Hard. Too hard. So hard that Lucy's mind starts to tick over, and she starts to think.
Think about Alex's uncanny ability to give birthday wishes to other people – always sliding past Vas’s desk with her favorite whiskey and making sure Kara's day is packed with goddamn confetti. Two months ago, on Maggie's birthday, Alex woke up at 5am to drive out to a not-local bakery for her favourite dessert. But how, even two years into knowing her, Lucy'd never heard of Alex doing.... anything. She could be immortal for all the Major knows, and that is utterly insane.
But both of them can see that pushing will only push her away. That Alex had slammed that particular emotional door closed and whatever was behind it was too big for a random Sunday morning, dressed in each other’s clothes.
[…]
Lucy knew that it was a bad idea the moment Maggie suggested it. She just… knew. Deep in her bones.
But she also didn’t know know. And it was hard to rationalize – hard to understand why the woman that baked three dozen cupcakes at 2 am for the Kryptonian menaces Earth birthday wouldn’t want her own birthday to be even acknowledge. Wouldn’t even mention that it had been her birthday.
Cause Lucy looked it up. It had been on the Thursday, a day that they’d actually spent together. Maggie had been running late, but Kara was bringing takeout, so no one minded. They’d watched old TV and Alex had thrown popcorn at the cheesy lines and Maggie had inevitably fallen asleep with her head in Lucy’s lap.
It had certainly been a nice evening. Wonderful even.
Just not Alex’s birthday.
But still, Lucy knew it was a bad idea.
And she also knew from the hard glint in Maggie’s eyes that there was no changing her mind. Maggie was reacting to her own lifetime of missed birthdays – of being fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and alone and waiting for a phone call from her parents that would never come. She was treating Alex how she would want to be treated – and barreling through the warning signs.
It’s a wonder those two managed to communicate at all before Lucy showed up and forced them to talk. You know, instead of just taking a sledgehammer to emotional walls – emotional walls that Lucy could read loud and clear in Alex’s eyes. In the curl of her shoulders. The edge of her jaw. Maggie saw hurt, that her girlfriends had managed to not notice her birthday – read upset. Lucy. Lucy read awkwardness and discomfort. Read that Alex wasn’t playing the hurt girlfriend or burying bruised feelings about having her day ignored.
So, when Maggie approached her with her ideas on how to make it up to Alex, Lucy winced. Lucy bit her lip and tried to quell her overcompensation. But Lucy also let her do her thing, agreed to take Alex out on Saturday afternoon, to keep the apartment empty.
Agreed to watch the live action disaster of three people who hadn’t learned the types of communication they needed. Not yet.
But this would be a steep learning curve.
Because the moment Alex shouldered open her apartment door, her laugh died on her tongue. Lucy watched tension ricochet across her back, settling on her shoulders. Instinctively, Lucy reached out; she knew Alex’s comfort language was touch, and as much as that was a learning curve in and of itself, right now she didn’t even think about it. Her palm pressed into the small of Alex’s back, grounding her to the apartment. An apartment filled with banners and confetti and balloons. There was more food than even Kara could eat, and people were gathered in the empty space between the couch and the dinning table.
People Alex loved. And loved Alex. Winn, James, J’onn, Kara. Hell, even members of Alpha, and Vasquez.
And Lucy was sure that if this was an ordinary Saturday, and these people were just over to celebrate a DEO win, or Kara’s latest article or literally anything but her birthday, Alex would love it. Would relax and grab a drink and lean into Lucy’s touch.
As it was, she was as rigid as a board, even as she forced a smile onto her face.
Lucy could almost pinpoint the moment Alex turned herself off. The moment she shoved her emotions into a deep dark corner of her mind. Compartmentalized. And even if Lucy couldn’t see it, she could see Kara. And the younger Danvers was much much worse at hiding her emotions.
And she looked about ready to cry. About ready to snatch up her sister and abscond into the night.
Lucy wished she would just do it.
[…]
“Okay,” Maggie sighed, the bottle clinking violently in the otherwise quiet space as she dropped them into the recycling. “So, obviously, I fucked up.”
“No, Mags,” quick off her tongue, jaw too tight to be convincing. “Of course not. This was… this was great, really. I’m sorry, I was just… I’m just tired and-“
“Danvers,” not cutting, but enough to stop the stuttering stumbling nonsense. “Stop. We’ve talked about you pushing your emotions down. For whatever reason, you hated this,” she jerked her chin at the loud decorations, at the celebration.
Alex’s eyes slid closed, arms wrapping around her waist. Maggie’s fingers burned to reach out, burned to comfort. But she stayed on the other side of the kitchen, hands braced on the countertop. Trying to give the Agent space to unwind whatever was caught in her throat.
Lucy, sitting on the arm of the couch, glanced between them. Cautious. Ready.
“You were just trying to do something nice,” whispered, chocked. Alex visibly folding in on herself in her effort to excuse Maggie’s actions.
“Trying being the operative word,” she sighed, tilting her head. Squinting at the mounting signs of distress, trying to decipher the origins, hearth constricting in the process. “I should have known the moment I mentioned it to Little Danvers. Is it something about getting older? Or, just, birthdays in general...?”
Alex swallowed, shaky breath leaving her carefully. Like she was controlling a larger reaction. Suppressing it. Maggie’s fingers flexed on the counter, but she stayed where she was – unsure if her presence would even be welcome right now. Giving Alex that physical barrier, just in case.
“I don’t celebrate my birthday.”
“Okay,” slow, drawled. Maggie noting how Alex was visibly curling, fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt over her stomach. “Do you want to talk about why?”
A head shake, Alex’s jaw tightening hard enough that Maggie finally pushed away from the counter, circling the end of the island, only to hesitate by a couple of feet out. Alex suspended in space between her partners’, each on the edges of touch, of comfort. “No, I-“ a stuttered breath, forced through a trembling chin. “It’s… Its…”
“Hey,” Lucy’s voice was soft, gentler than she’d ever been known for, but it held that edge. The one that cut through board rooms of white entitled men, that drew eyes. That had Alex shoulders trembling, but her ears twitching. “Alex, you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”
“She’s right Danvers,” another step forward, inching into her space. Watching for a twitch, a flinch, anything to say that she was unwanted. “We can put a pin in this,” she waved a hand around the remains of her party, heart clenching at the obvious distress she’d caused. “Until you’re ready. There isn’t a rush, okay? At your own pace.”
“Always.”
A beat – the weight of the room sitting between them. Standing a couple of feet apart, it felt like a chasm; like the air between them was filling with liquid, barricading them from each other. Keeping Alex alone, trembling, at the center, as she roughly scrubbed at her face, eyes skirting away – towards the door. “I’m sorry,” a pained laugh, swallowing heavily. “I’m just being stupid.”
“No,” twin, Lucy and Maggie speaking in tandem. Conviction crackling at the edges of the word. In the silence that follow, thick and uncomfortable and unyielding, Lucy was the one that gave – somehow the least stubborn in the room. Pushing off the arm of the couch she took a small step towards the Agent, towards her heart, and, reached out a hand, fingers wiggling in the air between them. “Alex, come here.”
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Alex just stood there. Internally collapsing. Mind whirling through options too fast to grasp.
“Alex,” Alex’s first name jarring on Maggie’s tongue. Enough that Alex looked up, eyes still absent, but no longer curling inwards. She stepped into her space, equal distance between her and Lucy, and ducked her head. Seeking eye contact that Alex couldn’t provide. Cautious fingers came up, barely grazing her bicep as she lowered her voice. Like they were the only three people in the world. “Can you come sit with us?”
Soft. So, so soft. Soft enough that Alex didn’t flinch at the touch, at the voice. It didn’t break her fragile grasp on her control. But still, a nod was the best she could do.
One of Maggie’s dimples popping certainly helped.
As did Lucy’s fingers winding with hers, guiding her around her couch. The Director leaned against the arm, one foot tucked under her thigh, and pulled Alex down in front of her. The Agent kept her feet firmly planted on the ground, jaw hard, eyes down; trying to ground herself to the room. To reality. To anything but the stupid empty kitchen in her parents’ house and the stupid balloon that was supposed to be tied to the counter corner.
She didn’t even look up when Maggie sat across from her, sitting on the coffee table. Alex just refocused on her boots, on the fact that the leather was worn, and the laces had to be wrapped around the ankle to be tied.
“Alex,” she hated how fragile her name sounded, hated that Maggie’s fingers tangled around each other as she braced her elbows on her knees. “Hey, we don’t have to do this now. Or ever,” a beat, where Maggie’s words collided with the hissing voice in the back of her head telling her to suck it up. “We just want to make sure you’re okay. And maybe try and understand what’s got you so upset?”
“I’m not upset.” Fuck. That was too sharp. Too defensive. Her jaw ticked, shoulder’s flexing. “It- it doesn’t matter,” a breath, shuddered. “I’m fine. Its fine. This was… this was fine. I just- I’m overreacting. You did a nice thing.”
“I thought I was doing a nice thing,” Maggie amended gently. “But I missed the mark. And that’s okay, that happens. But I’d like it to happen as little as possible. Which means we have to try and unpack what’s going on right now.”
Silence.
Alex’s breathing filled the space. A touch too controlled.
“Alex,” Lucy’s fingers, dipped under the back of her Henley, painted soothing patterns on her lower back. “You aren’t fine. And that’s okay – you don’t always have to be fine. Whatever’s upsetting you… it’s okay. You’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to dislike cheesey banner’s or being the center of attention or just straight up hate your birthday-“
The words pressed out of her lips before she could bite them back. “I don’t hate my birthday.”
Silence again. This one more loaded, more confused.
Maggie took a deep breath, steadying herself.
“I’m sorry,” Alex's voice was gravel, elbows digging into thighs as she dug her hands into her hair, fisting the longer strands. She squeezed her eyes shut hard enough that stars burst into the blackness, distracting from the gaping hole in her chest. The throb that was born the day the military arrived at her front door with a folded flag and her mom clocked out of her life.
Nurtured with in every moment that followed; for each absent dismissal; lectures about her sister’s secret; the interrogated report cards; the eye rolls at barely contained anxiety.
Flourishing with every birthday Alex went down the stairs to find that there was no stupid balloon floating in her kitchen.
“I don’t hate my birthday,” less harsh. More vulnerable. Her voice broke midway, and the room’s energy shifted. Tension coiling into concern. And something Alex wasn’t experienced enough to recognize at the time but would later identify as love.
The tips of Maggie’s fingers brushed the end of her jeans. “You don’t have to tell us, Danvers.”
“I-“ she squeezed her eyes closed, still hunched over her knees. Lucy’s weight shifted, fingers still easing along her skin. Trying to pull the tension from her spine with sheer affection. Maggie’s steady pressure on her knees keeping her grounded. Present. “Birthdays were my dad’s thing.”
Pancakes with whipped cream smiles on top. Milkshakes made with ice-cream. Afternoons saturated in cheesy decorations.
A single helium balloon tied to the edge of the kitchen counter. The first thing she’d see in the morning before she saw her dad – wearing his Kiss the Cook apron, sliding around in his socks, singing into his spatula.
Her fingers flexed in her hair hard enough that her sculpt burned. Hard enough that Lucy reached up with her free hand, carding her hands through the same hair, dragging until she collided with her fingers. Gently, gently easing her away. Gently, gently, encouraging her hands to drop. Drop where Maggie immediately took them between hers. Both hands pressed between hers, thumbs rolling along her skin.
“I… I used to love my birthday,” whispered, pressed between her teeth. Pressed around the pain caught in her throat, choking words from her chest. “It was… it was the only day that…”
Fuck.
She wrenched herself backwards, eyes dragging to the ceiling as they burned; fire brewed in her chest, swirling around her heart. The edges of old pain – of her mom and her dad and her sister and a stupid balloon– sliced her open anew.
Like she was turning fourteen again and sitting on a beach, alone, watching the tide come in – soaking the edges of a wetsuit she never wore anymore, heels dipping into the sand (wishing she’d just sink through the earth – disappear).
Like she’d just turned fifteen and her mother reminded her Kara was the center of their universe.
Like she was sixteen and seventeen and swallowing the sting of blind eyes.
Like she was twenty-one and staring at plastic words sent by her mother – the performance of love without the substance.
Like she was twenty-two and getting blind drunk – because plastic words were better than the silence she’d received another year.
She blinked up at the ceiling as she tried to control it all. Put it neatly back into the box at the back of her chest, nestled between her heart and her spine. The place where everything that didn’t matter got shoved. The only place where she could manage to hide it from Kara’s kind eyes and Maggie’s soft words and Lucy’s gentle touch. But now… now…
“Fuck,” the words choked from her throat, eyes watering despite herself, even as she slammed them close. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” she pulled one hand from Maggie (unable to bear the thought of taking both back) and pressed it hard to her eyes. Trying to press the tears back, away. “It doesn’t matter. Its… I’m being stupid.”
“Alex, you are many things,” Lucy slid the hand against her back up, trailing along her spine. At the nape of her neck, her fingers carefully wrapped around, scratching at the sensitive skin she found there. “But stupid is not one of them.”
“Hey, Danvers,” Maggie squeezed her hand, waiting, patient, patient, for dark eyes to look up. To… not meet hers, but close. At least looking in her direction, so the Detective could see the pain painted across her face. “Your birthday, it was the only day that what, sweetie?”
It was probably the ‘sweetie’ that broke her. Or the comforting, grounding, press of Lucy’s fingers to her neck. Or the look in Maggie’s eyes – like she was the world. Like she was the center of their universe.
“My birthday,” slow. Precise. Each word carefully selected from the agony in her heart. “My dad. He… he always made a big deal. Made sure it was a thing. And it… it was the only day that I thought,” a shrug, a swallow. Voice wobbling as tears gathered on her tongue. “Maybe I was worth loving regardless of my achievements?” A shrug, eyes dragged away by her own shame. By her own weakness.
“Alex…” if she was less distressed, she might have heard the murder at the edges of Lucy’s voice. But as it was, the floodgates had opened. Which is why she also missed the spark of violence in Maggie’s eyes.
“But after my dad died?” a breath, jaw solid and rigid and absolutely no defense to the burning in her eyes. “My mom just…” a shrug did nothing to distract from the tear that finally escaped into the valley of her nose. “Stopped celebrating it.”
A beat of silence.
Where Lucy and Maggie gave her the space to add anything more. Made sure she was done.
A beat where they mentally choreographed an elaborated murder of a suburban mom.
A beat where their hearts were torn open.
And, finally, Lucy leaned forward, shifted her weight until her leg was behind Alex’s back, bringing her close enough to feel her body heat. “And so, you don’t celebrate your birthday.”
A head shake. A small, “yeah.”
Her girlfriends shared a look before Maggie leaned forward and softly asked, “and that’s the way you want it?”
“Yeah I…” a swallow. And, finally, barely, she looked up. Glanced at Maggie, at Lucy. Noted the fury lurking behind pain, behind concern. Noted the love whirling under their every inch. “It’s easier,” a shrug, eyes dragged back to her hand, still bound up with the detectives. “To just… not.”
“Easier?”
“Than being forgotten.”
Oh.
Oh.
The only sign of her partners rage was in the flex of Maggie’s fingers, and the flare behind Lucy’s eyes.
“Okay, hey,” Maggie slid off the table. Instinctively, sat back and upright, now pressed against Lucy’s leg between her and the couch. Maggie easily pressed between her legs, hands coming up to cup her cheeks, hold her face and meet dark eyes. “Alex. Me and Lane? We won’t forget you – be that a birthday or otherwise. But if you don’t want to celebrate this day?” She waited, waited for Lucy to lean over and press her chin to the side of Alex's shoulder, waited for whiskey eyes to widen at the sincerity. “Then we won’t mention it again, okay?”
“If you want us to spend our lives making up for lost time, for forgotten days, you better believe we will throw ourselves in,” Lucy agreed, soft and easy and loving. “But if you want the 10th to be just another day, we can do that too.”
“And I’m sorry,” one of Maggie’s dimples popped as her smile softened, becoming something more repentant. No less soaked with affection, with care, but apology sinking into the room. “And I didn’t hear what you needed.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe,” a shrug, thumbs rubbing into her cheeks. “But I didn’t do anything right either.”
Lucy leaned back enough to eye both her girlfriends. “And that’s okay. We’re still learning,” she scratched at the back of Alex’s neck, enjoying how she relaxed under her fingers. “All of us.”
“I know it’ll take time, and practice, but Alex, hey, Danvers. You gotta know. You might be the expert at shoving your feelings down into a deep dark place where they hardly even exist, but that isn’t why we want you. That isn’t why we’re with you. And I know, I know that you’ve been taught that’s how you earn love. But… but it’s just not true. We love you cause you’re you.”
And because loving Alex Danvers is a team sport, Lucy easily slid in. “A ridiculously beautiful, smart, snarky, kind, badass.”
“Messy feelings and all.”
Alex’s laugh was rough, with that edge of self-deprecation that had Maggie’s fingers flexing against her skin. “Even when I’m like this?”
“Especially when you’re like this.”
“Alex, we choose you.”
Her eyes finally, finally softened. Nose and eyes wrinkling as she sank into her partners touch, in their weight. “Forever?”
The vulnerability hedging the Agent’s voice had them responding automatically, in tandem. “Forever.”
2017
Alex hummed as warmth curled into her chest. The weight of an entire person pressing her into the mattress oddly soothing. Particularly with their finger’s winding in the fabric of her shirt, nose digging into her collar bone.
She huffed a little when the tiny heat thief pressed a leg into her thighs. “So, now you want my love?”
“Shhhh…” Lucy’s breathed directly into her skin should have been less endearing than it was, but Alex couldn’t help but grin.
“You woke me-“
A mumbled slur of “I’m asleep,” had Alex’s chest shaking with a chuckle. It vibrated right into Lucy’s cheek, cutting through her exhaustion enough to press her smile into the soft skin of Alex’s collar bone. Lingering there as she let the taller woman wrap an arm over her waist, pulling her impossibly tighter.
“You know Kara is going to be here any moment?” Silence. No dice. “You know Maggie is making coffee?”
“… is the coffee ready?”
“Mmmmm,” Alex rolled her head to the side, looking over their bed towards Maggie puttering around in the kitchen. “Two minutes?”
“Wake me up in two minutes then,” and with that she burrowed into Alex’s warmth impossibly more. Hair tickling under her nose, Alex tugged her up a little higher, letting the woman all but curl up on top of her chest, head tucked under her chin. The solid weigh eased the ever-present anxiety that pressed against her chest plate on this day. No matter how loving and careful and perfect her partners were, she still woke with the irrational itch of inevitable disappoint. Still waiting for the oxygen to be sucked from the room.
But that wasn’t going to happen, because two minutes later, Maggie was padding across the apartment. Was sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing a hand between lucy’s shoulder blades, dimples popping when Alex looked up at her.
The edges of miscommunication had long since eased into practiced affection – each having learnt the shape of love the others need. So, there is no party. There are pancakes, but there is no fanfare. Kara comes over for dinner, and they have Alex's favorite take out from that food truck Alex likes so much. There is dessert, and Kara even shares the fudge chunks in her ice cream. And Maggie and Lucy crawl into bed with her at the end, all warm hands and soft lips.
There is no single balloon on the counter. But Alex is sure from the moment she feels Lucy’ huff and smile and roll away to take the offered coffee; the moment Maggie chuckles and catches her jaw and pulls her up for a kiss. Alex is sure, right down to her bones, that she will curl up in bed that night with the knowledge that there are three people in the world that understand the shape the love that she needs.
And that, that is a happy birthday indeed.