Work Text:
They’d been too late.
The fire danced across the shipyard, taunting them. Times like this, when they could smell the victim trapped inside the inferno, OA desperately wished the world were kinder. They saw too much destruction in their line of work.
Maggie was fast. By the time he realized what was happening, she was already ten steps ahead of him. Luckily, he was faster.
“No! Let me go!”
She trashed against him, putting her entire body weight towards freedom. He was stronger. He wouldn’t let her go. Still, he hated the sensation of holding her against her will, even if it was to save her from herself.
“I can’t do that, Maggie,” he soothed. “It’s not safe.”
For a while, Maggie’s relationship with death had perplexed him. She seemed to fear it and chase it all at once. There were moments where she held on for dear life, barely daring to reach out her hand in fear of falling to her death. Then there were moments like this, where she’d run into burning containers, or offer herself up as a hostage, or steal a van with a bomb that was about to detonate. Then he’d realized that, as with much else with Maggie, it was about control. She didn’t mind flirting with death when it was on her terms. Especially when she felt guilty. When she felt guilty about something, it made her take more risks than usual.
“I can save her,” she begged.
She couldn’t. The woman was already dead. But telling her that wouldn’t help. Instead, he removed her from the fire, making sure she was physically safe. During dark times like these, when she purposely tipped the scales of fate toward her death, he worked just as hard to balance her out. He protected her, yes, but he also tried to remind her that life was worth living. There wasn’t just pain, even if she had suffered more than her fair share of it lately.
Whether it was exhaustion or realisation, her trashes became fewer the further they got away from the fire. Eventually, she grew still.
He trusted her enough to loosen his grip, though not enough to let her go completely. Hand secured around her wrist, he watched as she took in the impossible scene in front of them. Maggie would’ve surely died, but he didn’t think she minded. The woman in the shipyard — Julie — had an older sister they’d spoken to yesterday. Maggie hadn’t said much since then, but the heaviness of her silence carried the pain of the world, as it had done for the past month.
The fire brigade arrived then, far too late to save Julie.
By the time the formalities of their work were dealt with, it was dark outside. He knew she was in no state to drive, and that they had an unspoken agreement that he was bringing her home. It wasn’t the first time this month.
Try as he might, he struggled to keep his eyes on the road, rather than on his partner in the passenger seat. He didn’t know where to begin with her. He didn’t know how to help her; how to fix things. When she’d been taken, he had been so focused on getting her back alive that he hadn’t fully considered the cost of it.
He parked her car in its usual spot, and she slipped out of the car, not checking to see if he followed. He did. As he settled into the kitchen, she climbed the stairs and escaped into her bathroom. She was undoubtedly sealing herself away into her own personal oblivion as she searched for comfort in her shower. In the meantime, he’d heat the soup he’d frozen down for her last week.
Half an hour later, he knocked on her door. He knew there was no point in asking if she was okay, but he needed proof of life. She didn’t usually take this long.
“Maggie?”
No response.
“I’m coming in,” he warned. “3,2,1….” He waited another few seconds for good measure, giving her time to protest.
He found her on the floor of her shower, clothes soaked as she hugged her knees. The water still falling around her must be freezing by now.
He grabbed two towels and turned off the water. “Hey,” he said, packing the first towel around her, sliding down next to her. “You’re gonna catch a cold.”
“I don’t care.” She whispered, sunflower eyes locked to the floor.
“Well, I do,” he said softly.
Today had been too soon for a case that hit so close to home. Life was full of cruel coincidences. He felt useless: All he could do was secure the other towel around her.
She buried her head in his chest in response, and he felt her sorrow to his bones. As she cried, he wondered if Erin had pulled her sister with her in death, and that all that stayed of Maggie were remnants. There was a stark before and after. He could only hope that the part of her that survived would be enough.
“Erin,” she called her name as if she could wake the dead if she convinced the world of her pain, burying herself deeper into his chest.
“I know,” he murmured.
There were many things he thought of saying. He could offer platitudes or remind her again that she was loved and supported. He could try to distract her. In the end, he didn’t think any of those things were the right things.
“I warmed up some soup for you,” he offered instead.
She lifted her head. “Okay.”
For the time being, it seemed he had to love her enough for the both of them. He was confident he could.