Chapter Text
In the seventeenth hour of negotiations with a trio of bank robbers, Detective Maggie Sawyer turned back to her unmarked car for a fresh notepad. Just as she opened the car door, a wrecking ball crashed through the roof of National City's historic First Bank. Followed shortly by an alien who cleared through two walls. Three times her size, he turned the sidewalk to dust where he landed.
Maggie let out a sigh of relief. She'd just gotten the interior of her car detailed. She swung the door shut, but it didn't make it to the latch. A second alien flew through the air and landed on the hood of her car. Her door swung uselessly against the now crushed frame.
Son of a bitch. That was going to be a fuck-ton of paperwork.
Dressed all in black, with goofy Halloween masks to match, the pair looked like they'd studied "bank robbing" from a Hollywood movie. Their outfits failed to hide the obvious spikes down their backs that identified them as Mintakka.
From the new hole in the side of the building, a blonde in a red and blue suit peeked out in the midst of her remodeling. Of course. Just follow the sounds of smashing, exploding, or general crashing, and Supergirl was bound to be at the center.
Supergirl gave her a sheepish wave and mouthed something that could have been "sorry!"
Maggie sighed. There was a lot Supergirl got away with just by being beautiful and blond… even as she was an alien with superhuman abilities. Proving that at the end of the day, human beings were just shallow assholes.
Supergirl flew out and personally delivered the last bank robber at Maggie's feet. The human fell to the ground with a yelp.
"Here you go! You're welcome, officer!" Supergirl announced cheerily. She turned to the sky and zipped away before Maggie could respond with anything snarky.
"It's detective," Maggie said to no one.
"Excuse me, officer!" Maggie heard right before she was almost bowled over by a half-ton metal suit from her left.
"On your right!" A cape swirled past her on the other side.
The wind whooshed as someone flew by above—"Excuse you!"
What in the—
Her hair swept into her eyes. Her hand sat uselessly atop her sidearm as she stood in the wake of the rush of capes. They trailed after Supergirl like a fan club.
No doubt the papers tomorrow would be singing Supergirl's praises as well. "Supergirl saves the day! Once again showing up the NCPD."
Maggie groaned in frustration. She wasn't even supposed to be here. As a homicide detective, hostage negotiations weren't within her purview. She'd been off-duty, running a bank errand just before close of business. She'd found a gaggle of uniformed officers organizing a strike force. They'd been running around like children playing commandos. Evidently, the hostage negotiator was on vacation.
To forestall a bloodbath, she'd ordered them into a defensive perimeter. She'd gotten a line of communication into the bank. She'd been patiently, carefully, meticulously negotiating for the last seventeen hours. Commiserating with the man about his grandmother who'd raised him, now swamped with medical bills that neither of them could afford. The job that had let him go because he'd missed too many shifts trying to be at the hospital with his grandmother. The housing they could no longer pay for without his job. How could anyone in a first-world country turn a dying woman out on the street?
Seventeen hours of "this isn't the way" and "what would your grandmother say," building a rapport with a man she was pretty sure was about to have a come-to-Jesus moment and release his hostages. Only to be Supergirl-ed.
The man who was now at her feet, holding his wrist at an odd angle, whimpering in pain and begging forgiveness from his grandmother, god, whoever would listen.
He was cut off by the sound of the sprinklers cycling up. Water shot fifteen feet into the air. It showered them all in a warm summer downpour.
Sure, Supergirl had stopped a bank robbery, but she'd destroyed a historic bank branch, torn up the sidewalk, destroyed city property, broken the sprinklers, and maimed three people (granted, they were the perpetrators). And then there was the fact that none of these perps would actually stay behind bars. Supergirl's heavy hand doling out justice as she saw fit made for a field day for defense attorneys and personal injury lawyers.
The uniformed officers around her started cleaning up the scene and loading the injured bank robbers into a wagon. Someone led the hostages out of the bank single file.
"Is it really safe? Maybe we should wait for Supergirl to tell us it's safe."
Maggie rolled her eyes at the lady cowering as she looked to the sky like Supergirl herself would appear to escort them personally. Actually, Maggie wouldn't put it past the girl scout to do just that.
The hostages filed out, their expressions a mix of starstruck and shell-shocked. "Supergirl saved us all! Did you see?" a man exclaimed to an officer. He nodded and waved the man on.
This was what the police department had been reduced to. Supergirl's cleanup crew.
"What the hell happened to you?" a newly arrived officer asked as he pointed to her ruined car.
"Supergirl."
The way the uni nodded in understanding at the one-word answer encapsulated the problem.
"Fuck!" Maggie stormed into the bullpen. She slammed her heel into the side of her desk, then dropped into her chair. Tearing off her blazer, she wrestled with the sleeves as though it were a giant squid.
"Court not go well?"
Maggie exploded at the hapless detective who had drawn her misdirected ire. "These lawyers and their 'hero defense'"—she drew out the air quotes—"all they have to do is point at the Supergirl-sized hole in the building and say excessive force."
It hadn't helped that the very human bank robber had sat at defense table in a neck brace, an arm cast, and a leg cast as his attorney said the words "vigilante violence." And then, in a cross-examination that had dragged nearly as long as the hostage negotiation itself, the defense attorney had run circles around her.
"Detective Sawyer, one final question. In your professional opinion, could the hostage situation have been resolved without Supergirl's intervention?"
"Well, I—"
"Yes or no, please."
"Yes, but—"
"Your honor, no further questions for this witness."
That smarmy lawyer had closed out the preliminary hearing with the damning, "And so, in the seventeenth hour, Supergirl had flown in and done what our local heroes at the police department were about to do in seventeen and a half—without the property damage or casualties." And even Maggie couldn't argue with that.
She had watched the judge sign off on a plea deal that had been barely a slap on the wrist. Armed robbery, multiple counts of kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon… all reduced to "felon in possession of a firearm." Maggie had pulled aside the assistant district attorney afterward.
"Nobody wants to try a Supergirl case," she'd been told. "You think Supergirl would show up to testify?"
"I thought public defenders were supposed to be jaded, overworked government hacks," Maggie had grumbled.
"Not in this county," the ADA had scoffed. "Maybe in other parts of the country, but here, they're a tank of flesh-eating piranhas." She paused. "Maybe I should've been more specific. Nobody wants to lose a Supergirl case. The media would have a field day. The mayor would have our heads. It's an election year, after all."
Maggie dropped her head to her desk at the memory. She grumbled incoherently into her arms. Another detective grinned at her as he walked by. "What's got a stick up your ass, Sawyer?"
Jumping to her feet, Maggie slammed both hands on her desk. "You know what? Supergirl! That's who!"
Two desks away, Renee startled at her outburst. One hand leapt to her chest while the other fell to her sidearm. "Mother of God… Fuck!"
Her partner, sitting at the desk facing hers, looked up lazily from his file. "Did your parents never take you to church, Montoya? That's exactly what she didn't do."
"Shut up, Cris. It's mass for Catholics, and the religion clearly didn't take." Renee gestured lewdly down her body. "There's no praying this gay away."
Cris snorted. Renee threw a stapler at him.
"So what's got Sawyer's panties in a twist?"
Renee turned to the detective speaking. "Maggie had that hearing for the bank robbery today. You're new, MacDonald, or you'd know just how annoying court is."
Cris hummed. "Ah, that's right. Our resident 'hostage negotiator.'"
His dry sarcasm was not appreciated.
"They're extrajudicial!" Maggie complained. "Who holds them accountable? When we fuck up, we have to answer to someone—"
Cris cleared his throat. He looked pointedly across the bullpen at Maggie's partner trying to see how many donut holes he could cram into his mouth at the same time. Maggie rolled her eyes. She qualified herself with, "Well, there's supposed to be a system—"
"Yeeapp."
They all turned—two Latinas, a black man, and a black woman—to regard Maggie's partner: a straight white man with personal connections to the commissioner. They'd lost count of the number of disciplinary reports hidden in his internal department file. The same records the union was desperately trying to shred in the face of police disclosure laws.
"My point is still valid," Maggie insisted. "There's zero oversight for the capes and masks."
Cris raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you're preaching to the choir here, girl. I think we should clear out the lot of them."
"I dunno. I worked pretty closely with the Bats in Gotham," Renee said with a shrug. "I think there's room for what the capes do. It's not like there's a shortage in crime."
"This isn't Gotham," Maggie snapped. She'd left Gotham to get away from the corruption in the force and the city's over-reliance on vigilantes. "We don't need masks in National City. They only get in the way of proper police work."
"Got a lot of hate there for Supergirl, huh?" Renee teased.
"I don't like any of them. As if Supergirl wasn't bad enough, now they're a dime a dozen out there!"
"The costumed freaks are roving in packs now," Cris grunted. Renee smacked him with a file.
Maggie ignored them. "They make our jobs more difficult. Don't get me wrong, they'd be great for the odd alien invasion and maybe if we had an attack of zombies. But good old-fashioned police work requires a delicate touch. Supergirl leaves everyone with broken bones and bruises. The media doesn't complain about her brutality because she's pretty and blond."
"We should serve them all with papers."
"Cris…" Renee sighed. "Don't egg her on."
"No, he's right," Maggie muttered. The wheels turned in her head.
"I've got it!" She smacked the desk in front of her with both hands. Renee jumped again and threw her a glare.
"What's the most important thing to a vigilante?" Maggie asked, quieter but with palpable excitement sneaking through.
"Justice, hope, and compassion?"
"What the hell, Montoya? Are you reading Supergirl's personal manifesto?"
Renee looked askance. "No, I just catch an interview here and there," she mumbled.
"What're you? A cape chaser?" Maggie turned back to the room at large. Everyone else gave her blank stares. "What are they always hiding?"
"Their identity," Cris answered without looking up from his file.
"Exactly! Why the secrets if they're on the level? If they fuck up, who do we arrest? Who does the DA charge? Where do we send the subpoena?"
She didn't give anyone the time to answer. "If we knew who they were, we could hold them accountable. Suddenly their actions have consequences. And then we'll see how long they can stomach sticking around when they're brought into the light."
"Okay, that sounds all well and good," Renee said, not sounding convinced. "But how are you going to ID them? They're not just going to come out of the shadows and sign up on a registry for you."
"That's the beauty of my plan." Maggie paused for dramatic effect. She struck a pose. "You're looking at National City's newest vigilante hero."
Renee gaped, and Cris rubbed at his goatee. For the first time, Crispus Allen regarded Maggie with something other than his usual patronizing demeanor. "You know, you may be onto something here, Sawyer," he said.
"I'm sure the captain will back me for this undercover op."
"That's either brilliant or the most idiotic thing I've ever heard," Renee said as she shook her head. "Right now, I'd say it's a toss-up."
"Watch me."
Maggie pulled on a pair of shiny new boots. She fingered the half mask that was to cover the top half of her face. Even taking off those ridiculous points, it looked preposterous; would these edges obscure her peripheral vision? Would this even cover enough of her face? She put it on. She felt like a clown.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. It was all about presence and presentation. She zipped up a thick leather jacket padded with Kevlar.
Six weeks of prep work. This was it: her big debut.
How hard could it be?
Maggie spat gravel out of her mouth. She almost laughed out loud at how dumb she'd been not an hour before, but there wasn't time. She rolled and hopped to her feet. Ducking another wild punch, she kept her hands up in a guarding posture and her eyes on her attacker. "You're supposed to give up," she grumbled.
"You think putting on a mask makes you some sort of hero?" He spat at the ground between them.
"No, I think trussing you up for the police does."
He landed a glancing blow that had her stumbling back. "Maybe you should go home before you get hurt," he taunted.
"If you're so concerned for my safety, you could just give up."
The man charged. She was ready. He grunted at her flurry of punches, but barely moved. He spat blood and smiled at her. "My turn."
Fuck.
The man must have been a prize fighter in his regular life. His heavy blows knocked the wind out of her. It wasn't long before she was turtled on the ground, her hands over her head as she weathered his attacks. Perhaps if she held out long enough, he'd get tired and leave. Maybe?
From the shadows of the rooftops, the saviors she hadn't asked for swooped in.
She could not fail to miss the blond profile and billowing cape of Supergirl. Maggie groaned softly into the asphalt. It was just her luck.
"Step back," Supergirl commanded. "You don't want to hurt her."
Maggie groaned louder this time. Yes, he fucking did. The last few minutes seemed like evidence enough.
Ready to give her Exhibit B, the man pulled back to kick Maggie again in the ribs. Supergirl opened her mouth—probably to give one of her speeches on hope. Or maybe this would be the one about compassion. Maggie closed her eyes, preparing herself for the ass-whooping ahead.
She heard the thud of a body colliding with another. Cracking just one eye open, she recognized the hooded figure in a tight jumpsuit from her photobook compilation of the who's who of the vigilante underworld. Sentinel.
Light on her feet, Sentinel danced in and out of the man's reach. His strikes hit nothing but air. He grunted with the wasted effort.
Sentinel wasn't much bigger than Maggie—okay fine, she was a little taller—but she wasn't so much bigger that this wasn't highly embarrassing. Sentinel made it look easy as she darted behind the man's guard. She stepped into him and then, lightning quick, used his own momentum to throw him to the ground in a judo-style takedown.
Sentinel put a boot on his neck. "Stay down," she growled in his ear. He fucking wimpered.
Maggie gulped. That display sent a confusing shudder through her body.
Just when things couldn't get any more embarrassing, she looked up to see a posse of vigilantes coming around the corner. The armored figure of Guardian. The green face and red cross of the Martian Manhunter. A frat boy in tights with a cape, no mask. A woman in a blue and white suit with no cape and a mask.
Maggie cringed, flattening herself into the asphalt. Maybe none of them would notice her. Maybe they would just all leave, and Maggie could crawl off on her own to lick her wounds.
Supergirl turned to Sentinel. "I had it under control," she said with a petulant frown.
Okay, if that was her position, Maggie couldn't help herself. "No offense, but I preferred her way better," she muttered.
Heavy footsteps approached. Maggie hissed as a toe jabbed her in the thigh. She looked up into a dark hood that obscured everything but hard eyes that glinted in the street light. A mask covered the lower half of her face.
She reached a hand down to her. Maggie took it. Sentinel hauled her roughly to her feet.
"Who're you? The Blue Beetle?"
"No, I'm—"
"Stay home, amateur," Sentinel said coldly.
Well. That was rude.
"You're only going to get hurt out here."
Through the electronic voice disguise, Maggie could detect no malice. But the patronizing words conveyed everything she needed to know about Sentinel. "Boy, aren't you guys fun," she muttered.
Whether any of them heard her—and chose to ignore her—or not, she would never know. Supergirl looked up like a dog that had heard a very-important squirrel skittering in the distance. She blasted off into the sky without a word. The other capes and masks followed like a pack in her wake.
Maggie could only glare at the back of Sentinel as she parkoured gracefully up the side of a building. She disappeared from view in only a few bounds, her long legs flying across the rooftops.