Chapter Text
But I'm not what you need
But only so much stronger
But you are such a pleasant fiction to me
So I guess that I'll dream of you a little longer
- Joe Purdy, "I'm Not What You Need"
Maggie runs that kiss over in her mind.
Too much, she does. For too long. She can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
She knows she’s into Alex Danvers, obviously. Has known it since the woman walked into her crime scene. That’s not the question here.
Maggie has done the impulsive kissing just because you want to. She’s done the rush into a relationship and be ready to u-haul after two dates. She’s done the stay up all night talking because this girl is so amazing and you don’t want to fall asleep and be away from her company. And she could, she thinks, she could do that with Alex. She’s done it, a little, already, has stayed at a bar way too late just because she couldn’t stand the look on Alex’s face when she said she should go.
But it’s not what she wants anymore.
With her ex, she thought— she thought she was getting something more. She meant to be getting something more. Apparently that wasn’t clear. Maggie had tried to open up and be with someone for the long haul, and her ex had called her borderline sociopathic. So it turns out, she’s not great at relationships. And she doesn’t want to do that to Alex.
When Maggie was fourteen, she got a dog, a puppy. He was a big dumb mutt, probably had some lab in him. She named him Hooch. As a puppy, Hooch was so enthusiastic. He thought everything was exciting and he wanted to explore the entire world, had boundless energy for it. One day he went flying through the woods on the edge of their property and came back with thirty porcupine quills in his face.
Alex is Hooch. Maggie doesn’t want to be the porcupine.
It doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about that kiss, though. She thinks about the kiss, thinks about how soft Alex was, how determined she was at first— catching her by her arm and yanking her back, and then how gentle, how sweet. She thinks about the way Alex’s excitement went down in degrees, as she realized what Maggie was saying. She thinks about the hurt on Alex’s face.
She thinks about the hurt on Alex’s face the most. Because as much as she wants to go back and play everything differently and never make Alex feel that way, that hurt would happen eventually. If Maggie had said yes, if Maggie had let being attracted to Alex be enough, that hurt would have just come later. It would have been worse. Maggie would have still been the porcupine. So she remembers the hurt on Alex’s face and reminds herself she made the right decision.
-
The next time she sees Alex is two days later, back in the bar. Alex is a few drinks in by the time Maggie gets there, and she isn’t distant, not exactly, but she’s not genuine. She smiles and beats Maggie at pool and is normal enough that Maggie can’t call her on, but it all feels fake.
Porcupine quills are hard to get out, is the thing. They’re barbed, actually, you can’t just pull them right out, because they’ll pull whatever they’re stuck in with them. That’s what talking to Alex feels like. It feels like a careful extraction, like any wrong move could make it worse.
Maggie asks if she’s okay, and Alex laughs. She laughs and says, “Really, Sawyer, I’m fine,” and Maggie doesn’t believe her for a second.
-
The next week, Alex flashes a badge and ducks under the crime scene tape. She gives Maggie this tight-lipped grimace that Maggie thinks is supposed to be a smile. “What have we got?”
Maggie doesn’t know if this is the real Alex Danvers or if she got to see the real Alex Danvers, and by turning her down, she sent her into hiding. Her Alex— well, not her Alex, but the Alex she was getting to know, before everything blew up and they stopped hanging out. That Alex was sweet and easily worried, tough, yes, but there was a softness to her. This Alex isn’t just tough, she’s hard , she’s uncompromising. This Alex doesn’t smile.
Supergirl doesn’t either, when she shows up. Supergirl glares, actually.
“Is the NCPD’s involvement really necessary on this case?” Supergirl asks.
Maggie looks at Alex, like are you fucking seeing this?, but Alex is pretending not to notice. Jesus. Maggie knew Supergirl and Alex were close, somehow, but really?
Supergirl keeps standing between them. Maggie is trying to work, and Supergirl won't let her within five feet of Alex.
-
It gets better. Not much, but it does.
Alex stops avoiding her, slowly. One step at a time. Supergirl still glares at her, but Maggie doesn’t mind so much. Alex deserves it, deserves someone who will watch her back, protect her. And sure, sometimes Maggie worries that she pushed Alex away right into the arms of an honest to God superhero, but even if she did, Alex deserves it. Alex deserves better than a borderline sociopath who just got out of a relationship. If Supergirl takes care of her, treats her right, Maggie’s happy for her.
She does wonder, sometimes, if Alex kisses Supergirl the way she kissed her.
-
One Saturday afternoon, Alex watches her play pool. Maggie doesn’t know why Alex is there, nursing a beer at one thirty on a Saturday, but she doesn’t ask. They still don’t talk much. Maggie doesn’t push it.
Alex drinks slowly, and watches her play pool, and Maggie doesn’t say anything.
Maggie plays against herself, wins as solids without much trouble. She puts another dollar in the machine and reracks the balls.
“You’re actually not bad at this,” Alex says.
Maggie laughs. “You sure know how to charm a girl, Danvers.”
As soon as she says it, she regrets it. It’s something she would’ve said before Alex kissed her, before Alex came out to her. It’s teasing banter, but Maggie has a feeling Alex isn’t going to think it’s funny. She doesn’t look hurt, though, when Maggie glances over at her; she looks contemplative.
“You didn’t play this well when we played.”
That’s because she was letting Alex win. She had just gotten dumped and Alex was a pretty girl who liked to smile at her, and so Maggie let her win.
She doesn’t tell Alex any of this— can’t, as nice as it would be to see Alex smile at her again. Instead she just shrugs, sends Alex a little grin.
“I’ve been practicing.”
Alex watches her play one more game, sink the balls faster than she did in the first. Then she slides off her stool.
“I should get going.”
Maggie tries to ignore the pit in her stomach as Alex walks away. “Hey, Danvers,” she says, and Alex stops, looks over her shoulder. “It was nice to see you.”
Alex smiles, just a little, and for the first time in weeks it doesn’t look forced. “You too, Sawyer.”