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Isobel is used to threats. They’re an unfortunate side-effect of the job, and although most of them tend to be empty – just people trying to strike fear or force some sense of control – she gets an uneasy feeling that this one isn’t. After all, Duke Ducoyle followed through on his first threat of today, inciting a mob outside the office. There’s no reason to believe he won’t do the same with the one directed towards her personally.
It doesn’t help that she’s exactly the type of person these people hate – Latina, a woman in a position of power and attracted to other women. The whole trifecta, even if they shouldn’t know about that last part. She suspects she was always going to be the biggest target out of anyone working on this case.
While still at the office, she tries not to be too concerned about it. It’s unlikely anyone is going to get to her here. She focuses on her paperwork instead, on tying up all the immediate loose ends, and it’s enough to distract her from the unease, even if only temporarily.
By the time she finishes anything pressing, it’s only an hour later than she should’ve left. She glances out at the bright city skyline with a frown, fidgeting with her ring. It’s already dark, she’s lost any security that daylight could give her, and the longer she leaves going home, the emptier the streets will be.
She decides that if she’s going to fear for her safety, she might as well do it in the comfort of her brownstone, getting ready to leave. The apprehension of self-preservation is inevitable, but she does her best to ignore it as she shoulders her bag and switches off her desk lamp. It isn’t until she’s closing her office door behind herself that she realizes she isn’t the last one there for once.
It’s a little odd to see Maggie stay later than her, and yet she’s still sat at her desk. Isobel can’t think of anything that could be keeping her, but she must have some reason, immediately looking up at her. Isobel smiles faintly. Maggie is the only one who’d taken today’s danger as seriously as she had, far better at threat assessment than Isobel’s official second in command. Jubal had been nothing but dismissive by comparison, clearly of the opinion that she was overreacting. He and Duke might as well be cut from the same cloth – no wonder the insufferable bigot had seemed so familiar.
“Goodnight, Maggie,” she calls gently, hoping she doesn’t stay there much longer. It’s been a hectic day, and she knows Maggie was on her feet for most of it – she needs to get some rest.
“Goodnight,” Maggie echoes back, returning her smile, and Isobel lets her eyes linger on it perhaps a moment more than she should before heading for the elevator. It’s enough to make her forget about the target on her back for a blissful minute, until she finally reaches the parking garage and suddenly feels on edge, her heels echoing in the silence.
She doesn’t remember the last time she walked to her car so fast, a little relieved once she’s inside and starting the engine. She’s barely five minutes into the drive when she starts to question if someone’s tailing her, checking the rearview mirror every few blocks. She almost wonders if she’s overreacting, but she thinks she’s earned the right to be paranoid. She’s been followed home from the office once before already, and it had nearly come at the cost of her life.
It’s why she parks as close to her brownstone as she can get tonight, why she holds her keys between her knuckles until she's inside and immediately locks the door behind herself. She sighs, tousling a hand through her hair, and tries to reassure herself, but an actionable threat is still an actionable threat, and instead of taking her paperwork to the couch, she posts up in her office where she can see her security monitor.
She does her best to avoid watching it, focusing on her laptop and the music she has playing faintly in the background. Just having the feed in the corner of her eye is reassurance enough, and she trusts the system she has in place, far more extensive after the last one failed her. She only gives it attention when she goes to refill her drink, eyes scanning each of the cameras when she gets up, and again when she sits back down.
Fortunately, despite her concerns, nothing happens. She gets through her report, her proofreading, her emails and everything else without incident, though it’s certainly late when she finishes. She sighs, standing up to stretch her legs, and moves to draw the nearby curtains shut tighter, but a sweep of the street outside stops her dead.
There’s one too many cars.
She tries to ignore the flicker of dread in her chest and checks again, just to be sure. The result is the same, but realization stops her from worrying any further.
Isobel knows that car.
She starts to frown, turning away from the window, and immediately heads downstairs. Despite the thick coat she shrugs on, the late-night air still cuts right through her when she steps outside. She pulls her front door shut and hugs both arms around her waist with a shiver, making her way down to the sidewalk. The odd car out is more than halfway along the block, deliberately parked with a perfect view of her brownstone but as low a chance of being noticed as possible – the mark of a professional.
She has no doubt that they see her coming, but they make no attempt to drive off as she approaches, perhaps because they know there wouldn’t be a point when they’ve already been caught. She stops right in front of the passenger door, gently tapping her knuckles against the window, and it immediately opens.
Isobel leans into view, resting her arms on the ridge, and scowls faintly at the person in the driver’s seat. “What are you doing here?”
Maggie shrugs. “Nothing much,” she answers, as if it’s completely normal for her to be sat parked on Isobel’s street this late at night in the middle of December. “Scenery’s nice.” Isobel narrows her eyes, noticing that Maggie is avoiding them, sat with her leg propped up against the other door. The heating’s on, and there’s empty wrappers stuffed in the pocket between the seats. She’s been here for a while.
“Maggie,” she deadpans, because they both know she’s not telling her the truth.
“Isobel,” Maggie echoes back, though without the same stern tone, finally looking over at her. Their eyes meet, but for once, Isobel’s withering stare isn’t enough to make her concede.
“I will stand on this sidewalk all night,” Isobel warns stubbornly, watching as Maggie’s resolve immediately starts to waver, knowing she’s serious. She scowls, holding Isobel’s gaze for a little longer before turning her head away with an indignant huff.
“Look, you told me that asshole threatened you, okay?” she mutters, sinking a little lower in her seat as she folds her arms. Isobel had been blasé about it when Maggie asked how the arrest went, but if Duke Ducoyle could brazenly send a mob to a federal building, then he was perfectly capable of following through on his threat to Isobel, and Maggie sure as hell isn’t going to give anyone a chance to do something. “I just want to make sure nothing happens.”
Isobel’s expression softens with realization. “You’re guarding me,” she says, and although she’s more than a little surprised, she supposes this isn't entirely unprecedented. Ever since they’d stood together in the lobby and observed the hateful riot outside, Maggie had kept herself closer than usual. She was rarely more than a few feet away when they were in the same room, and she’d stared whenever she thought Isobel wasn’t looking – and not in the way she normally does. She, too, had clearly come to the conclusion that Isobel is the most obvious target of them all, even before the direct threat.
“Yeah, I’m guarding you,” Maggie confirms quietly, returning her attention to Isobel’s brownstone. She might not be in there anymore, but someone could easily take that as an opportunity.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” Isobel asks, knowing that once Maggie has her mind set on something, it can be hard to dissuade her. As expected, she shakes her head in answer, clearly determined to sit vigil for God knows how long. Isobel sighs, standing straight, and walks around the front of the car to the other side, pulling the driver’s door open without warning. Maggie scowls up at her, setting her leg down now that it has nothing to lean on, and Isobel scowls right back. “It’s below freezing, you idiot. Come inside.”
For a moment, Maggie looks like she’s going to protest, but to Isobel’s relief, she reluctantly reaches over to kill the engine, removing her keys. Isobel steps back to let her climb out, watching as she locks the door and shoves her hands in her coat’s pockets. They walk right beside each other, but Maggie remains on the lookout, surveying the street until they step inside the brownstone. Isobel is just glad to be warm again, locking the door behind them before going to hang her coat up.
Maggie does the same, setting her beanie on the console table, but there’s still something visibly on edge about her as she follows Isobel into the other room. She clearly isn’t giving up on her self-imposed guard duties so easily, even if she is now inside, and sits herself at the far end of the couch so she can face the hall.
“Just how long have you been out there?” Isobel asks, sitting down beside her. She almost dreads to hear the answer, drawing her knees up onto the cushion as she angles herself towards Maggie.
She at least turns her attention away from the door, eyes flickering to meet Isobel’s. “Since you left work,” she says offhandedly, clearly considering it far more inconsequential than Isobel does.
"¿Qué pasa contigo?” she retorts, exasperated. This explains why she was still at the office when Isobel left. She was waiting specifically for her to go home, just so she could follow and continue keeping an eye on her. “That was three hours ago, Maggie.” Even if she was wearing a coat and had her car’s heating on, that’s far too long for this weather – hell, any length of time is too long as far as Isobel’s concerned.
Maggie is unfazed. “Didn’t feel that long,” she claims, but before she can go back to watching the doorway, she’s distracted by Isobel gently nudging a foot against her leg.
“That means you haven’t eaten,” she points out with a frown. Not that she has either, but it’s unusual for Maggie – not that she sees anything wrong with that.
“I had snacks,” she says, as if that should be enough to assuage any concerns Isobel might have, but it has virtually the opposite effect.
“That hardly counts," she murmurs. She’s not entirely sure if Maggie had lunch today, given the workload they were dealing with, and even if she did, that was so long ago as to almost feel like yesterday. Still, Isobel can remedy that neglect. “I’ll make you something.”
Maggie visibly falters, clearly not expecting the offer. “You don’t need to-”
“And you didn’t need to sit outside my house for three hours,” Isobel counters, stubbornly cutting her off. Ill-advised as she thinks it was, she’s still touched that Maggie would go to such lengths just for her, when certainly nobody else would. The least Isobel can do is care for her in turn, refusing to be deterred.
“Someone threatening you is more serious than me skipping dinner,” Maggie argues, but she’s trying to win a losing game – Isobel is already getting to her feet. “Isobel.”
“I’ll just make burritos. It won’t even take that long,” Isobel insists, offering her a smile. “Come on, I know you like my cooking. You practically inhaled that quesadilla I gave you a few weeks back.” She turns away, and Maggie has no choice but to reluctantly follow, sighing faintly in defeat as she gets up and trails into the kitchen after her. Isobel immediately starts to take things out of the fridge, and Maggie wordlessly positions herself at the other end of the room, leaning against the counter where she has a perfect view of the street outside.
Isobel shakes her head fondly at the sight of her, staring intently out of the window. She seems to be expecting someone to strike at any moment, while Isobel’s own anxiety has since faded away in just the comfort of having her here. Even if nothing happens tonight, Maggie has at least achieved one thing – making Isobel feel safe.
Still, as she starts to cook, it feels a little odd to see Maggie so unresponsive, standing there in silence. As noble as her sentiment is, there is no immediate danger, and they aren’t exactly going to be caught with their guard completely down – the doors are locked and Maggie herself still has her gun at her hip. Isobel decides to find amusement in trying to break her focus, bored of the quiet after ten minutes.
“What about that empty street is so much more interesting than me, hm?” she asks after adding the next ingredients to the pan, glancing back at Maggie. Isobel is sure she hasn’t so much as moved a muscle, still stood rigid in the exact same position with her weight resting against the counter, gaze laser-focused on the view through the window. “Am I not worthy of your attention?” Isobel side-steps into Maggie’s peripheral, pretending to seem hurt. “Or can you just not bear to look at me?”
That certainly gets her attention. Isobel doesn’t think she’s ever seen Maggie’s head turn so fast, her eyes widening. “What? No, it’s not like that,” she insists, clearly mortified by the thought of Isobel thinking either of those things are true. That was too easy.
Isobel pouts slightly. “You’re breaking my heart,” she says, turning back to the stove. She isn’t expecting Maggie to immediately gravitate after her, finally moving away from her position in front of the window.
“I’m trying to keep you safe,” she murmurs, leaning on the counter beside her instead, apologetic eyes following Isobel’s every move – proving that she is plenty worthy.
“Do you have to do it so coldly?” Isobel asks, but her playful tone goes unheard as she places the lid over the pan of food, leaving the contents to thicken.
She thinks Maggie actually winces. “No, I just-”
“Excuses, excuses,” Isobel interjects, trying to make it clear that she’s only teasing as she faces her. “And why are you wearing a blazer over a jacket?” She pulls a face, reaching out to fidget with the lapels, running the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. “At least all these layers kept you warm, I suppose.” Maggie sighs, finally realizing that she was only winding her up, and visibly relaxes with relief.
Unfortunately, it’s not enough to deter her vigilance entirely. Although Maggie stays right beside her as she finishes cooking and preparing their burritos, she still glances regularly out of the window, staring for longer and longer each time. It only worsens again when they return to the couch with their plates. Maggie sits exactly where she did before, at the end facing the hall, and although she occasionally glances away to take a bite out of her food, she otherwise fixates on the doorway.
Isobel sits against the other arm and watches her in turn, although it’s hard to say if Maggie notices. She’d hoped the teasing would get her to loosen up, but it seems she can’t be so easily distracted from what she set out to do. Isobel reasons that she’ll just have to try a little harder, but at least her devotion is endearing.
It was already getting late by the time Isobel spotted Maggie’s car on the street, and when she glances at the clock after eating, she realizes more than another hour has passed, even if it hadn’t felt that long. “We should get some sleep,” she advises, standing up. Maggie’s attention immediately moves over to her, and Isobel holds a hand out to take her plate, but it isn’t until she’s halfway to the kitchen that she realizes she isn’t being followed.
She frowns, placing the plates in the dishwasher, and when she returns to the other room, Maggie hasn't moved at all, eyes immediately meeting hers in the doorway. “Why are you still sat there?” Isobel asks, confused.
“Staying down here is more efficient than me being in the guestroom,” Maggie explains as if it’s obvious. The guestroom’s windows face the back of the house rather than the front, and if she stays within the immediate vicinity of both entrances, she can stop any threat before it ever gets upstairs.
Isobel sighs – she’s treating this even more seriously than an official protective assignment, even at detriment to herself, but all Isobel wants her to do is rest, not stay up all night on guard duty. “Well, what about my room?” she offers, determined to get her to sleep. “Then you’ll be right next to me.” Maggie immediately falters at the idea, distracted long enough for Isobel to take her arm and coax her off of the couch.
She doesn’t try to push her ridiculous idea any further, at least, relenting to Isobel as she leads them upstairs. The lamp in her office is still on, and her laptop despite the darkened screen, left abandoned after she was sidetracked. Isobel motions at the open door to her bedroom, leaving Maggie to head in without her, and goes to turn them off – she needs to set the rest of her security system anyway.
She double checks the camera feeds and everything else for good measure before switching off the light, and when she joins Maggie in the other room, she’s already shrugged off her arguably mismatched blazer and jacket. “I’ll find you something to wear,” Isobel says, approaching the dresser opposite her bed and opening the second drawer. Maggie is a little broader than her, but she’s sure she has something that will fit nonetheless, even if it is a little tighter on her than Isobel’s lithe frame.
“I can sleep in my tank top,” Maggie offers, unbothered. Isobel’s brownstone is well heated, and she’ll only feel warmer once she’s under the covers.
The image that forms in Isobel’s head is certainly tempting, but she resists the urge to let her do that. “Not in this weather,” she says, unearthing an old pair of pajamas from the back that should fit. They might not be as warm as the set she pulls out for herself, but they’ll certainly do a better job than Maggie’s suggestion. She turns around to hold them out, then moves towards the ensuite once Maggie takes them. “Just tell me when you’re changed.”
She kicks the door shut with her foot and tries not to think about Maggie without a shirt on, waiting for the sound of her voice even before she herself is completely changed. “I’m done,” Maggie calls just as Isobel frees her hair from her shirt, tousling a hand through it.
She gathers her folded clothes and steps back out to find Maggie waiting by the bed as casually as if it were her own, with Isobel’s pajamas hugging her figure. Isobel can’t deny that the sight does something to her, trying not to stare too much when Maggie follows her over to the dresser this time, setting her pile of clothes directly beside Isobel’s.
Her gun is already sitting on the nightstand, unsurprisingly on the side of the bed closest to the door. Even when it comes to this, she has only one thing at the forefront of her mind. Isobel has never known a devotion like hers, let alone completely unprompted, although it doesn’t stop there. In the faint glow of the light from the hall, they climb into bed together, but Isobel is the only one who lays down. She gets comfortable and falls still, only to immediately realize that something isn’t right, and rolls over to find Maggie sitting up beside her, the cover pulled across her lap.
Isobel narrows her eyes. “What are you doing?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer – Maggie's gaze is fixed, like a hawk’s, on the open door.
“Keeping watch,” she answers without even looking away from it, arms folded across her chest.
“Por el amor de dios,” Isobel murmurs, suspecting that she should’ve seen this coming. It seems that Maggie only came up here to make her happy, but Isobel won't be swayed from making her get some rest. “You don’t have to do that, Maggie. My security system is perfectly capable – there's backup alarms and half a dozen sensors. I gave it a drastic improvement after the last time someone got in here.”
In laying right beside her, close enough to touch, Isobel immediately feels it when Maggie suddenly goes tense. Last time... She hadn’t been there then, unconscious in a hospital bed, and nobody had told her about it until weeks after the fact – that someone had held a knife to Isobel’s throat and almost stabbed her to death. Somehow, even under those circumstances, nothing had scared Maggie more than knowing that she could’ve come back from the dead just to find out Isobel had taken her place.
She hadn’t been able to protect her that time, but she can make sure she does now. Maggie refuses to add another close call to the list of times she’s almost lost her, or let this be the time she ultimately does, the possibility only fortifying her resolve, and Isobel’s reassurance does the opposite of what she’d desired.
She never would've expected that night to weigh so heavily on Maggie, let alone years later, looking up at her with resigned affection. That explains why she’s been taking this so seriously, but Isobel refuses to let her stay up all night watching over her – desperate times call for desperate measures. She sighs, resting her head against Maggie’s waist and a hand on her thigh. As expected, it’s enough to finally, sharply, make her look away from the door, staring down at Isobel instead.
“I already feel safe enough just having you next to me,” Isobel tells her, which isn’t even remotely untrue. She trusts Maggie above all else, and she doesn’t think anything will ever change that. If she had to place her life in anyone’s hands, it would be Maggie’s – always and completely. “I’d prefer it if you would lay down and keep me warm.”
She isn’t tense anymore, at least. Isobel can feel her wavering. “But...” Maggie immediately trails off. It’s her weakest protest yet, a single half-hearted syllable. She doesn’t even glance back towards the door, transfixed by Isobel curled into her. Gotcha.
“Please, cariño?” Isobel murmurs, stroking her thumb across Maggie’s thigh. She was already about to inevitably fold, disarmed by Isobel’s touch, but now she instantly gives into it entirely, wordlessly doing as asked. Isobel moves back slightly as she lays down, then immediately cuddles into her again, resting her head against Maggie’s chest and an arm across her waist. She is meant to be keeping her safe, after all.
“There, that wasn’t so hard,” Isobel says quietly, closing her eyes. Maggie is much comfier than her pillow, and she tries to ignore how easily she could get used to this – knowing that she already has. She can yearn for it when it’s over. “Isn’t this much better?”
Maggie sighs, relaxing into her, and cards her fingers idly through Isobel’s hair. “Yeah,” she murmurs in agreement, her hand falling still as it cradles Isobel’s head, and lets her eyes fall shut. “Much better.”