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Maggie hates to acknowledge how much she thinks about her upcoming rendezvous with Isobel. She tries and spectacularly fails not to call it a date in her head, as if she didn’t put herself into this situation. She’d expected Isobel to turn down her offer, not happily oblige, and now she doesn’t know if she’s nervous or looking forward to it. She still doesn’t want to hit Isobel, not even lightly, despite that arguably being the whole point of this – to see which of them would win in a fight. Maggie thinks she’s just going to have to dodge that outcome and suggest they work out together instead, only to immediately almost collide with a wall at the thought of Isobel sweaty and breathless.
She’s so fucking screwed.
Friday has never felt so close and far away at the same time, and when it comes, Maggie can’t help being more distracted than usual. Her eyes find Isobel every chance they get, across the JOC, in the corridors, through the glass wall of her office, but she never mentions their later plans, not even in passing, and when Maggie eventually leaves to get ready for the evening’s boxing session, she’s half-expecting Isobel not to show up. She can’t decide if that would be a blessing in disguise or a resounding disappointment, shouldering her gym bag as she approaches the Uppercut’s main entrance, trying to ignore the anxious knot in her gut. She finds out the answer when she walks inside and initially thinks she’s been stood up, immediately disheartened until-
“There you are.”
Maggie is quick to turn at the familiar sound of Isobel’s voice, watching as she pushes away from the nearby wall and walks over to join her. She has leggings and a track jacket on, the upper half of her hair pulled back into a very short ponytail, and Maggie has to force herself not to stare, gripping the strap of her bag even tighter. “You showed up then,” she remarks, like an idiot, but Isobel thankfully only seems amused by her surprise.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” she asks, looking smug, and Maggie isn't sure what the correct response is, hating how easily she flusters and stumbles in Isobel’s presence.
“I just didn’t know if you were serious,” she admits, leading the way past reception, and Isobel falls perfectly in-step beside her. This isn’t the sort of environment she’s ever pictured Isobel in, and maybe that’s why she’d naively thought Isobel would never agree to join her. Of course, instead of catching Isobel’s bluff, Maggie had fallen right into her trap, and she’s way past getting out of it now.
“It has been a while,” Isobel admits, glancing around as she follows Maggie. “But you invited me, remember? It wouldn’t be a good look if I just didn’t show up.” She doesn’t know that she can actually beat Maggie in a fight, when overconfidence will do her no favors, but she’s certainly going to try.
“You want me to kick your ass that badly, huh?” Maggie teases, guiding her to a free punching bag in the corner. “Well, I want to see what you can do first.” She drops her bag at the edge of the room against the nearby wall, and Isobel does the same, hovering over her.
“Since this is a date, I’ll consider it foreplay,” she says, folding her arms as she waits for Maggie to retrieve her boxing gloves. Maggie hates the feeling that immediately coils through her at the comment, a warm flush already blossoming across her face before she stands again.
“It’s good stress relief,” she answers slowly, stuck for a response again, just to immediately realize Isobel doesn’t have her own set of boxing gloves. There are plenty to borrow from, but since she’s the only one who’ll be hitting the bag... Maggie reaches out to take Isobel’s hand without thinking, measuring it against her own, the abrupt touch of intimacy wasted on her until she realizes they’re a perfect fit and lets go, clearing her throat. “You can use my gloves after we warm up.”
Isobel nods obediently, and Maggie wordlessly starts to lead her in a series of stretches, following her usual routine when she’s here alone, only now she has to resist the urge to repeatedly glance over at Isobel in the corner of her eye, trying to stare stubbornly ahead until a few minutes later. “Alright, time to show me what you’ve got,” she declares after their last set of shoulder stretches, turning away to retrieve her gloves, then handing them over to Isobel. “Don’t overthink it though. If you’re really doing something wrong, I’ll tell you.” For a brief second, she worries about sounding arrogant, or condescending, when she’s not a professional by any means, just experienced, but Isobel seems unfazed, putting Maggie’s gloves on with more ease than she’d expected.
“I suppose that makes you the boss here,” she remarks, positioning herself in front of the punching bag, before flashing Maggie a teasing smile where she’s stood off to one side, and Maggie can’t tell if Isobel is oblivious to the affect it has on her or doing it on purpose because she knows. “Don’t let it go to your head.” Maggie is glad she doesn’t have to answer, folding her arms as she attentively watches Isobel start to punch the bag, but in less than a minute, it becomes clear that Maggie’s direction is going to be unneeded. Isobel has near perfect form, almost as good as Maggie’s own, every strike made with precision, and Maggie can only stare at her, a little dumbfounded and very in awe.
With any advice she could give now completely obsolete, she immediately finds herself lost instead in just how hopelessly attracted she is to Isobel – her slight frown of concentration, the faint flush of color in her face, her every movement. She’s gorgeous as it is, but maybe even more so when she’s unconstrained like this, and Maggie can’t help but be entranced until Isobel eventually stops, stepping back from the punching bag, and Maggie has to abruptly snap out of her daze. “Uh... You did say it’s been a while, right?” she asks, still surprised by Isobel’s skill, and Isobel laughs, the sound a little breathless, like heaven as far as Maggie’s concerned.
“Guess I haven't lost my touch yet, then,” she says, freeing her hands from Maggie’s boxing gloves, and Maggie is quick to take them from her, watching as she goes over to her own bag.
“I’m starting to think I won’t survive a round with you,” she admits as Isobel retrieves her water bottle, though it wouldn’t just be because of her ability. Maggie suspects she’s going to get horribly distracted by everything else about Isobel.
Isobel screws the lid back onto her drink, having downed almost half of it. “You ready to find out?” she asks, already looking smug, and Maggie almost loses whatever confidence she had left. She doesn’t know if she is.
“After you’ve had a breather,” she says, as if giving herself an extra few minutes is going to make any difference when the sight of Isobel sweaty and slightly flushed is having the exact effect on her that she’d dreaded it would. She returns her gloves to her bag and tries desperately not to think about it, pretending to check something on her phone as Isobel observes other people working out. It only takes two minutes before she decides she’s had enough of a break.
“Alright, come on,” she urges, returning her water bottle to her bag before she hooks it onto her shoulder, standing again, and Maggie does the same, though with an edge of apprehension. She glances around the room, then leads Isobel to a free space on the other side where the floor is covered with mats. They set their bags on the far edge, and Maggie flexes her hands in and out of a fist, strangely anxious. It’s only sparring, nothing serious; it’s not like she’s going to hurt Isobel, when their blows will only be light, but then that’s not the real worry. Maggie wants to impress her and dreads making an idiot of herself.
“Nervous?” Isobel teases, gently elbowing her out of her thoughts. Maggie scowls faintly, for once wishing Isobel didn’t have the ability to read her so well, but when she looks over to retort, her voice dies at the sight of Isobel taking off her jacket. It wouldn’t be so bad – that's a lie – if she wasn’t wearing only a sports bra underneath, and Maggie’s sure she experiences something like a stroke, or a heart attack. Probably both. She can’t stop herself from staring and staring and staring, at Isobel’s shoulder blades, then her arms, then the curve of her waist when she turns around. She catches Maggie in the act, tilting her head to one side in amusement, and Maggie still can’t look away, too enamored to be embarrassed by how much, struggling to stop her gaze from lingering on Isobel’s cleavage before their eyes meet. Isobel only smirks, folding her arms. “Ready when you are.”
“I’m ready,” Maggie forces herself to say, even though she is very much the opposite, even though she almost feels a little light-headed as they move to stand opposite each other in the center of the mats. Isobel immediately adopts an impassive expression not unlike the one she sometimes wears at work, clearly focused, while Maggie herself has never felt more discomposed in her life, trying to psych herself up without success. When it becomes clear that Isobel isn’t going to make the first move, patiently waiting her out, Maggie decides she has little choice but to take the initiative.
She punches with her left, non-dominant hand, hoping to catch Isobel off-guard, but Isobel is unflinching when she instantly blocks it, as if she’d anticipated the move even before Maggie had decided to make it, and Maggie’s brief surprise is all it takes for her legs to be kicked out from under her, and her back to abruptly hit the mat beneath them. She grimaces, staring up at the ceiling, and a moment later, Isobel leans over her. “You’re not taking it easy on me, are you?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow, having expected Maggie to be considerably less of a pushover than that.
Maggie frowns, getting to her feet again. “Not anymore,” she mumbles, as if she really had been taking it easy like Isobel seems to think – or maybe Isobel’s just giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maggie rolls her shoulders, getting into position opposite her for a second attempt. “Best of five.” She takes a deep breath, grounded slightly more this time by determination, wanting to avoid the embarrassment of being bested twice in a row.
She’s back on the floor in less than sixty seconds.
She managed to attempt to land a hit at least more than once this time, but Isobel is more agile than she’d expected – not to mention quick – dodging her last punch and using the opportunity to grab her by the ankles. Maggie realizes she might be horribly underestimating her, even despite seeing her precision with the punching bag. “If I win again, it's game over,” Isobel points out as Maggie gets back to her feet with a sigh. She's glad nobody else they work with is here to see her getting her ass kicked so easily. She knows she’s not exactly performing at her best, but that doesn’t make her feel much better – she thinks even if she was, she’d still be struggling. Isobel is better at this than she looks.
They stand opposite each other again, and Isobel strikes first this time. Maggie can usually read her well at work, but she’s having trouble predicting her now, trying to find an opening as she repeatedly blocks her punches. She doesn’t fight like anyone else Maggie has sparred with before, and while Maggie survives longer against her this round, she's not entirely surprised when it ends like the previous two: with her on the floor. It’s more defeats than she’s had in the last year put together. “Had enough?” Isobel asks, dropping to one knee beside her, and while Maggie appreciates that she isn’t smug, she still doesn’t want to give up so easily.
“Best of ten,” she counters, even though part of her thinks it won’t make a difference, but at least with a few more rounds, maybe she’ll get familiar with how Isobel moves – beating her might be possible then. Isobel smiles, clearly amused, but doesn’t protest, more than happy to humor her as they both stand up together. They return to their positions opposite each other, and Maggie envies how unaffected Isobel is, having barely broken a sweat. She flexes her fingers and steadies herself, desperate to come out on top at least once as they start to fight again, but the problem with Isobel is that she changes tactics in the blink of an eye, and every time Maggie thinks she has her figured out, she does something else entirely.
Maggie can block her successfully as much as she likes, but it doesn’t do her much good when Isobel’s movements are so fickle that she rarely leaves an opening and dodges Maggie’s own strikes with grace. She might not look like much of a fighter on the outside, but she’s evidently perfected her approach to physical combat during her years with the bureau, effortlessly assessing Maggie’s moves and tactics on the fly, using the best asset she has – her brain. She knocks Maggie to the floor a fourth time, and a fifth, and neither of them acknowledges that if it happens again – and it will – then she wins, because Maggie isn’t naive enough to suggest a best of fifteen.
She brushes the hair that’s come loose from her ponytail back behind her ear and resigns to just giving it her all when they go again, as if she hasn’t been already. Isobel strikes with no real pattern, and while Maggie is getting quicker at blocking her, she’s given no room to breathe or retaliate. She tries to imitate Isobel’s unpredictability, grabbing her wrist when she stops her next punch, but Isobel is always three steps ahead, grabbing hers in return. She twists Maggie’s arm, and immediately steps into the space between them, and-
Maggie’s back hits the mat with a thud, and Isobel pins her in place, one leg on either side of Maggie’s waist as she hovers over her. Maggie instantly forgets to think about how badly she’s lost as Isobel’s hands hold her wrists down, her heart thumping so hard in her head that it almost makes her dizzy. There’s a hot flush across her face and chest that she’s glad can be misattributed to exertion and not how dangerously close they are. If Isobel leans down just a few more inches, Maggie would be able to kiss her, though she tries not to think about that, watching as Isobel tilts her head to one side. “Another round?” she offers, giving her a sympathetic look, but Maggie knows when she’s been beat, and at least being pinned to the floor by Isobel almost feels more like a victory than a loss.
“You win,” she concedes with a sigh, but admitting defeat is worth it if only for the way Isobel smiles, deservedly triumphant.
“Anything else you want to say while we’re down here?” she asks, a suggestive glint in her eye as she leans ever so slightly closer, and Maggie briefly forgets how to breathe. She’s had her suspicions that Isobel knows, because Isobel seems to know everything, ever observant and so inexplicably good at reading her already, but now Maggie has to question more than ever if there’s any point in pretending she isn’t hopelessly attracted to her.
She scowls, realizing Isobel probably has her all figured out and that she might as well just be upfront before she looks like an idiot. “You’re hot,” Maggie tells her, slightly annoyed by just how much. “Distractingly hot.” She wants to think she didn’t lose purely because Isobel is better than her but partly from being disarmed by how gorgeous she is. “I think that’s an unfair advantage.” Isobel quirks an eyebrow, wearing a smirk that immediately makes Maggie burn with want. So fucking screwed doesn’t even cover it anymore.
“It’s not an advantage if I think you’re hot, too,” Isobel counters, and Maggie instantly falters, blinking in surprise. She almost asks Isobel to repeat herself even though she heard her just fine. She wasn’t expecting rejection necessarily, otherwise she would’ve kept her mouth shut, and yet Isobel’s response still catches her off-guard. “Did you really think I came here just for the fight?”
“Well, I don’t anymore,” Maggie says, wondering how the light flirting managed to go right over her head when Isobel is never close to this carefree or unburdened with any of the others, when she never would’ve suggested coming here had it been anyone else. Maggie had just thought Isobel was poking fun at her, though her teasing and enjoyment at seeing Maggie flustered certainly makes more sense now. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Isobel pretends to consider it. “And then what?” she asks, playing coy.
“Whatever you want,” Maggie tells her, and she’s certain it doesn’t go unnoticed when her attention flickers briefly to Isobel’s lips. She’s set on getting to bruise them with her own before the day is over.
“Hm, I like the way you think, Agent Bell,” Isobel murmurs, in a tone that makes Maggie's head spin slightly with yearning. She releases her grip on Maggie’s wrists and sits up before finally climbing off of her, and Maggie hates how much she misses the weight of Isobel straddling her waist, taking her hand when she offers it to help Maggie up in turn.
She hopes that by the end of the night, it’ll be Isobel under her instead.