Chapter Text
Alex Danvers is a conundrum. That's her first thought after their encounter. Maggie has always prided herself in her intuition, but the agent somehow evades her shrewdest detective skills. It's what Maggie keeps thinking as she walks away, turning back once she hits the squad car to see the woman heading off, arms crossed, all black suit and high heels clicking on the tarmac. Danvers exudes arrogance and condescension, and Maggie wonders who the hell she thinks she is. If it's just a big intimidating front.
But Maggie isn't intimidated, she's intrigued. The truth is, Maggie doesn't meet too many other women in this line of work, and she's curious. Maggie doesn't quite know who she's dealing with, and it gets under her skin. So much so that hours later, back at the precinct, Maggie finds herself running a background on the agent.
She finds just a few simple stats. Alexandra Danvers, born July 7th, 1989, making her 27, young for a secret service agent, especially for one who seemed to be in charge. Born and raised in Midvale, she learns. Stanford grad, then enrolled for graduate studies at the University of National City, but no degree to go with it. After that, the trail sort of disappears. No job history, no addresses, but there wouldn't be. The government's pretty good about scrubbing their agents' records clean.
Still, Maggie is disappointed that the trail ends there. Alex Danvers remains a mystery, but Maggie doesn't have time to dwell. She has an alien assassin on the loose, and she needs to hit the streets.
—
It's three nights later, when Maggie is scoping out a lead at an abandoned warehouse, that their paths cross again.
Alex Danvers bursts in, all black ops and heavy machinery, a crew of muscle behind her, but she's clearly the one calling the shots. There’s no more business suit, and she’s grasping what amounts to a handheld rocket launcher as easily as Maggie handles a glock.
Secret service, my ass, Maggie thinks, before letting Danvers know that she's not buying her cover. They face off again, sparring with words, but after Maggie departs, leaving the DEO to their futile search mission, she wonders if maybe she could teach this Alex Danvers a thing or two.
—
She gets her chance the next night, and it's then that Maggie learns something else about Alex Danvers. She's feisty, hot-headed even. React now, think later. It’s enough to get a grown alien to cower, and Maggie starts wondering if maybe Danvers really is as tough as she acts.
—
She finds out soon enough. The warehouse is dark and dank and smells of mold. Maggie's wrist are raw from the manila rope chafing her skin, and she's wondering how the fuck she's going to get out of this one when Supergirl drops in opposite Scorcher, and Maggie sees another figure moving stealthily towards her.
Maggie wonders if she's maybe lost consciousness because the last person she ever expected is here to save her ass.
Danvers reaches up to Maggie's bound wrists and releases her swiftly. A look passes between them, an unspoken acknowledgement, but it's no time for pleasantries before Scorcher whips them off their feet. Maggie lands roughly next to Alex, and they scramble to their feet again. A moment later when the coast looks clear, Danvers' pleading voice tells her to run. The thing that surprises Maggie next isn't that Alex charges straight in unarmed to fight. It's that there isn't a shred of fear in Alex Danvers eyes.
And Maggie thinks, Like hell she's leaving Alex behind.
—
Maggie pulls herself into the passenger seat of the unmarked black suburban Alex had arrived in. The dull ache in her clavicle becomes a searing pain when she reaches out to close the door, and she winces from the feeling. She looks out the window at her surroundings, trying to determine what grimy part of town that Inferian had dragged her too.
"Factory district," Alex offers, answering Maggie's unspoken question. She's in the driver's seat, shifting the engine into gear.
Maggie nods in acknowledgement. "So how'd you find me?”
Alex glances over at Maggie with a look of guilt. “I might have ruffled a few feathers at the bar," she says, biting her lip.
Maggie smiles and releases a laugh, shaking her head as she looks over at Alex in amusement. “’Course you did. Firecracker aren't ya, Danvers?”
“They may not let me back in there.”
Maggie smirks. “Don't worry. I'll handle that."
Maggie catches the edge of Alex's lips curl into a smile. Maggie readjusts herself in the leather seat and notices the patch of singed skin on her left shoulder.
"We should get that checked out," Alex tells her.
"Oh this? It's just a scratch," Maggie replies with a nonchalant shrug.
"Come on, I'll take you back to the DEO."
Maggie looks up with a glint of excitement in her eye. "You're shittin' me."
"No, why?"
"You're telling me they're gonna grant some city cop clearance to enter a top secret government agency to get a bandaid?" Maggie asks incredulously.
Alex flashes Maggie a self-satisfied smirk. "Don't worry. I'll handle that."
—
Maggie sits across from Danvers in the medic bay. She had expected Alex to turn her over to an EMT, but Alex tends to Maggie herself, cleaning her burns and bandaging them. Maggie teases Danvers because that cold, arrogant woman she met on the airport tarmac just stuck her neck out for Maggie without hesitation.
It's getting late, and Maggie knows she has somewhere to be, so she pulls on her leather jacket and says her farewells to Danvers. But her last thought as she's making her way out of the DEO headquarters is that even though she's never had a partner last more than a couple of months, maybe, just maybe, this thing they've got could actually work.