Hey I'm at work so I can't participate as much as I'd like but I love and miss you cap. And if you wanted to write Alex's first Christmas without maggie (bonus points if it nb!Alex, totally not cus I'm dealing with that right now what do you mean?) and have all the superfriends help make them feel loved I'd really appreciate it.
Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10
They’d known it was going to hurt. But they weren’t prepared for quite how much.
Everything always reminded them of Maggie. Everything about their job, about investigating and making tough calls and saving the world and making progress in the lab, every little thing that irritated them throughout the day that they’d normally text Maggie about, every little thing that would normally make them smile but now just ripped their heart into even smaller pieces because they couldn’t share those things with her.
Everything always reminded them of Maggie, and they’d known it would get worse with the holidays, but if they’d known how much worse, they might cooked up some kind of cryo-freeze situation so they could just sleep the entire damn season through.
Because James took everyone ice skating and it was nice holding Kara’s hand and it was nice watching Lena giggle and it was hilarious watching Winn fall, but everything felt distant, like they weren’t quite in their own body, like they were watching from above because in their mind, everything was nice in theory, but really they should be doing all of it with Maggie. Really, they should be there together.
Even when they managed to smile, posing for selfies with their friends, it felt fake, false, unreal. Heartbreaking. Like everything was a performance, because really, everything was.
They did everything they were supposed to do.
They went Christmas shopping and they wrote Christmas cards and they even wore the Santa hat Kara had made them wear every year since they were kids.
They laughed when everyone else did during all the Christmas films, but they were all about romance, so really, Alex just wanted to scream.
And hole up in their bed and sob and sob and sob and sob.
Because their bed was too empty, even when Kara fell asleep with them because she knew they were hurting.
Their bed was too empty and their heart had nothing left to give except to perform, perform, perform.
Everyone else deserved a nice Christmas, even if there was absolutely no hope that Alex would have one, too.
Without her.
It took them a while to notice, what their friends were doing for them.
The way James took their hand at the ice skating rink and squeezed extra tight when couples passed by and Alex’s entire body twitched.
The way Lena snuggled up on their shoulder during the most disgustingly romantic bits of the holiday films they watched together, and the way Winn stayed at their apartment extra late most nights during the season, challenging them to video game after video game to keep their mind off the celebrations and the lights and the forced frivolity.
The way Kara flew into their window every morning to check in on them, with coffee and donuts, never the kind that were decorated with green and red and blue and silver, never the kind that were bedazzled with holidays.
And on the afternoon they were dreading most – Christmas damn Eve – everyone piled into their apartment.
They were expecting endless Christmas cheer and to have to pretend their way through yet another night of comfort and joy when they felt neither.
Instead, Winn brought horror movies and James brought Scrabble Deluxe and Kara brought endless pizza and potstickers and Lena brought all kinds of wine.
“You’re not by yourself, Alex,” Kara whispered as she snuggled up to their sibling, knowing they were crying quietly, taking advantage of all the lights being off, taking advantage of the moment of pause, of everyone knowing that Alex felt responsible for celebrating when all they wanted to do was mourn.
“You don’t have to smile for us, Danvers,” Winn promised as Alex’s sobs finally broke through their chest, letting it out in front of people for the first time just as Christmas morning dawned.
Kara gathered them into her arms as Lena knelt in front of them and rested her head in their lap. James’s hands ran over the buzzed side of their hair just like he knew they liked, and Winn let them squeeze his hand as hard as they needed to.
“Merry Christmas, guys,” Alex choked, relief starting to mix with their tears because crying was so much better than trying to hold it in. Letting their friends be there for them was so much scarier – but so much better – than trying to fake it for them.
It wasn’t going to be a merry Christmas, not this year. But maybe, just maybe, there would be joy again, one day.
Alex grimaced when Maggie winced, not saying anything. She was struggling to finish the stitches, hands shaking and mind filled with images of a hurt Maggie.
“Hey Danvers,” Maggie called her out of her head, a lopsided smile on her face. “I’ve got extra pockets now.” Maggie’s laugh was cut short when the needle pierced her side again, drawing the skin closed. Brows furrowed and head tilted, Maggie watched as Alex’s hands shook violently as she tied the string off.
“Alex?” The taller woman ignored her girlfriend as she went and vigorously washed her hands, unable to get the image of her bloody hands out of her head. Maggie gently padded over to her girlfriend, shutting off the water and carefully turned Alex around. “Lex? Talk to me please?”
A shudder broke through Alex’s body, sobs wracking her body. “I could have lost you today, Mags.” Her voice came out small and broken. “You were having difficulties walking, all I could see was your blood soaked shirt as you limped. I thought it was going to be out of my control.”
“Alex, look at me,” Maggie waited until she had Alex’s gaze before continuing. “It was only a few cuts, I’m alright.”
“What if it was more though? What if I couldn’t save you?” Voice cracking, she looked down at her hands. Unable to get Maggie’s blood out of her head.
“I’m ok, Al. I’m ok.” Maggie tapped Alex’s chin, drawing her gaze. “Let’s go home and have pizza, yea?”
With a nod from Alex they left, her bloody hands momentarily forgotten.
Sanvers arguing over the music at their wedding. Why the writers can’t leave some dignity to the ship? We already know they’re gonna break up and they barely fought about more serious things like Maggie cheating on Emily or during Valentine’s Day episode. Or when Kara went to Slaver’s Moon.
ARE YOU SERIOUS, SUPERGIRL WRITERS? I’M FUCKING DONE
Warning: Alcohol abuse and drug abuse mentioned. Also, a hella strong dose of angst (I blame @queercapwriting sorely ‘cause they gave the prompt).
Read on AO3
The first time you saw her… it was not a pretty picture.
Light white dusting under her nose, bloody eyes, unsteady walking, strong alcohol smell, long, messy hair.
The first time you saw her she was flirting shamelessly with anything that moved. After the fifth shot you saw her dawn (you had no idea how many she had before those), you saw her stumbling around, dancing, grinding into whoever would let her, rubbing herself all over them, invading their spaces, stealing fiery kisses, luring them in.
The first time you saw her, she led three men on three different occasions, to the bathrooms. They spent there enough time for you to know exactly what they were doing. She would come back way after the men left and head straight to the bar. She would order another shot, she would get back to the dance floor, she would start the whole process again.
The first time you saw her, you were drawn to her, to her wilderness, to her fierceness, to her passion, to her recklessness, to her beauty. You knew there was no way she was paying attention to you, she favored men all the time, and she would push away any woman that came too close…
… Yet…
… even from a distance, you could see the longing in her eyes. How she’d follow the women with lust filled, hungry eyes. How she, drunk out of her ass, incapable of thinking straight, would push down it all.
The first time you saw her… it marveled how she was so strong and so determined to deny herself and instead seek pleasure with men.
So, no. The first time you saw her wasn’t a pretty picture at all.
And years later, you couldn’t help but feel you were robbed of something so precious that night, looking from a distance to that wild girl – for she was no woman, she was a girl – you were entranced and hooked. But she believed herself straight and you were in the fallout of a nasty breakup. It was not the time for pursuing anything.
The first time you saw her sober… it wasn’t at a party. The first time you saw her sober you weren’t in town just for the weekend, just to have some fun, just to forget about home for a little bit.
No.
The first time you saw her sober, it was in an airport after some rogue alien tried to kill the leader of the free world.
The first time you saw her sober, her hair was short, her clothes pristine, her spine straight, her eyes clear…
The first time you saw her sober, she sparred verbally with you in such a refreshing way you were gone instantly.
The first time you saw her sober, you didn’t buy the FBI act. You didn’t believe she was a stiff collar and poor social skills… if anything, you’d regarded her as CIA, but you knew that was not the case either.
The first time you saw her sober, you saw that spark in her eyes that made you think she was, indeed, denying herself.
The first time you saw her sober, you promised yourself you’d keep her close one way or another.
And you did.
It didn’t take you long to realize who Alexandra Danvers is.
It didn’t take you long to fall in love with the woman that Supergirl looks up to.
It didn’t take you long to discover her tells, her little quirks.
It didn’t take you long to see how delicate she is… even when she’s all tough and brave and selfless and simply amazing.
It didn’t take you long to see how fragile she really is… how words, actions, thoughts, affect her in such a way that she simply shuts down to protect herself, to guard her heart against more pain.
The second time you saw her drunk, just as drunk as she was that first time, drunk enough to make bad choices, drunk enough to not be in control anymore, drunk enough to erase the agony… the second time you saw her suffering, you’d been an ass and you’ve tried to spare her from the pain that’s being near you and she’d gotten her fists bloody and an eye blackened because she couldn’t deal with it all.
Figures she’d be hurt either way. Both emotionally and physically.
Figures you realized she’d be better with your fucked-up-self close even when you’d end up hurting her, really hurting her, sooner or later.
The third time you saw her as drunk, so drunk she forgot herself for a while, it was after she introduced you to both her parents. Her mom kept making references you couldn’t catch, but that tensed Kara and made Alex refill her glass over and over and over and over and over and over again.
That time, though, that time she didn’t do anything stupid like having sex or getting into a fist fight… no… that time she shut down completely and it took you hours of gently coaching her to drink water, to rest. Hours of hushed praising, of gently petting, to get her responsive again.
She’d got better, yes, but it was not until days later that she was back at her former self.
The fourth time you saw her drunk, her dad had just betrayed her and it led to one of the rawest and emotion-filled sex you’ve ever experienced. It was not pretty and your back stung for weeks after that and she limped for days… and the haunted look in her eyes didn’t leave her for months.
She allowed herself to drink that day and no more. And for that you’re grateful.
You could count with one hand, then, the times you’ve seen her at her lowest, at her most intoxicated, at her most open, at her most guarded…
… and you believed that when she was taken, when she almost died, when the nightmares kept you both awake at night, when she couldn’t shower alone, when she sometimes froze and she didn’t take a drink, didn’t try to numb herself, didn’t try to drown – no, not drown, never drown, not after- didn’t try to erase the pain, the hurt, the fear, the agony that maybe it was over that maybe she was coping in other ways that maybe she was adapting differently, that she was getting better, that she was dealing with it healthier.
Yeah, right.
You’d known she’d go back to it. Go back to that reckless girl that put herself at risk in such a way that no one noticed.
No one, but you.
But, you weren’t there anymore, no?
And now, now, well…
Now you are a witness of that party girl you first saw so many years ago.
And it’s your fault.
Marry me.
Seriously.
Marry me.
Please.
Eleven words.
It only took eleven words to crumble your world.
No.
I can’t.
I’m sorry.
Radio silence for weeks after that.
You miss your favorite leather jacket, the one you kept at her apartment. You miss Diana, the sole bonsai you decided you could leave on her table. You miss her enormous bed, where you got to sleep nightly for months. You miss her brand of coffee, less bitter than your usual, a blend Kara gets for her monthly from Vietnam. You miss the dreadful painting she keeps in her living room, the one that you can’t decide if you hate or feel sorry for.
And you miss her, you miss her dearly, but you aren’t ready to commit at such level. It’s too soon. It’s too fast. It’s too much.
And so, radio silence.
Until you see her again, in the very same bar you saw her that first time.
Until you see the white under her nose, the bloody eyes, the unsteady walking, the short, messy hair.
Until you see her flirting shamelessly with anything that moved. Until you saw her stumbling around, dancing, grinding into whoever would let her, rubbing herself all over them, invading their spaces, stealing fiery kisses, luring them in.
Until you see her exiting the bathroom minutes after the man that she brought in.
Until you decide it’s enough and go meet her at the bar after she drowns her seventh shot of the night.
“Alex!” you call into her ear, the loud music preventing any kind of soft conversation. “You need to stop!”
You’ve never told her to stop… at least not directly.
But today, today is just too much. Today you’re reminded of all the times you saw her like this, you’re reminded of that first time and you’re reminded how she got better, with you by her side to take a little of the pressure off… you’re reminded, even when you are sure it wasn’t just you, but all her family – they were your family too, but then you had to walk away – that she was better by your side, that she was better with you, that she didn’t drink as much, that she simply was happier, healthier, better.
“Maggie!” Damn secret agent, she’s more alcohol than blood and her speech isn’t slurred and her eyes are focused. You don’t want to know what kind of training they give their agents if they can act sober when you know, you know, she’s tip-toeing into an overdose. “Fancy seeing you here!”
Yes. She’s too far gone.
Last time she saw you she was in tears, she was heartbroken, she was simply broken.
Last time she saw you she wished you luck, she kissed you once, she turned her back on you, she left you.
No. Last time she saw you, you were the one that left her, you were the one turning your back on her, you broke her, you made her cry, you abandoned her.
“You’re drunk,” you tell her because you know that if she wasn’t… if she wasn’t, she’d be gone already… she’d look at you and she’d cry and she’d give you those doe eyes that scream agony and she’d smile and she’d leave after a soft greeting and a polite inquiry about your work, your health, your day.
She wouldn’t beam at you as she’s doing right now.
“No, I’m not!” she yells to be heard over the deep bass.
“Yes, you are!” You can’t help but smile at her sudden pout… that pout that you’ve kissed away on more than one occasion. She looks like a petulant child that didn’t get another scoop of ice-cream.
“No! I’m not!” she yells again, throwing her arms around your neck. “If I were, I wouldn’t be seeing you here!”
You steady her, hugging her around the waist, confused. “What do you mean?!” you ask her, ignoring the warmth that spreads in your chest at her closeness and the sudden, overwhelming, crushing realization of how much you’ve really missed her.
You’re equally glad and devastated that she’s so drunk her tongue is loose.
“When I’m sober, every time I close my eyes I see you! Every time I breathe I smell you! Every time I move I feel you!” she tells you easily, with a smile. “I’m seeing you, smelling you, feeling you, ergo I’m sober!”
You want to laugh at her stupid logic, but you’re not surprised when her triumphal expression crumbles and she’s looking at you in concern. Her hand goes to your cheek, brushing away your tears. “Why are you crying, love?!”
You can’t help but hide your face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her smell. Yes, she smells like bourbon and sex, but she also smells like Alex, sweet, woody and somehow like rain.
God, you’ve missed her.
“I love you,” you murmur against her skin and you feel her arms hugging you more tightly.
God, you really love her.
“Come!” you tell her after a moment of weakness. After a moment of simply basking in her. “You’re drunk! I’m taking you to Kara!”
“No! Tell me what’s wrong first!”
“I’ll tell you on the way!”
You know as soon as she’s out the place, as soon as she lets her body rest for a couple of minutes, she’ll be out. She’ll pass out way before you reach Kara’s apartment.
It’s good you chose not to delete Little Danvers’s contact… you will call her as soon as you have Alex in the taxi.
God… how stupid you were? Letting this woman go.
But.
It’s too late now.
You’ve hurt her and you’ve made her feel like if she wasn’t important to you, like she wasn’t worth the effort.
How stupid you were.
How stupid you still are.
“Love you Mags,” she mumbles as she lets her head rest on your shoulder, seconds before she passes out.
Imagine after next week’s episode, after Alex almost drowns, how she’ll have major PTSD. She can't get in the shower alone for a good month without breaking down, and becomes super claustrophobic.
Imagine in the middle of the night, it starts to rain. Alex wakes up and starts sobbing uncontrollably and hyperventilating when she hears the water, and then Maggie holding on to her and helping her breathe and almost sobbing herself because her baby is broken. Her baby is broken and scared.
The way you said "I love you" - A whisper in the ear
Alex had fought bigger aliens, had fought aliens with multiple limbs, aliens with poisonous spikes, aliens who could warp her mind. And she had survived, had won, had not let her terror overwhelm her mid fight.
But that had been before Maggie, before she had someone else to protect, before she had someone else to love.
And watching the latest alien to take on national city fling Maggie against a wall as if she were a rag doll, listening to the sick sound of Maggie’s head cracking against the brick?
Well Alex was terrified. Horrified.
Without even glancing towards her agents, the cops, her sister; Alex all but sprints across the length on the warehouse and falls on shaky knees in front of her girlfriend.
In front of the woman she loves.
And Alex can’t breathe, can’t seem to force oxygen into her aching lungs, because the woman who has shown her what she had been missing for most of her life, the woman she wants to marry, to start a family with, to spend the rest of eternity loving, is lying in a rapidly growing puddle of her own blood and for once Alex is clueless on what to do.
Is clueless on how to make this better.
Reaching forward with trembling hands Alex searches for a pulse, searches for the hope that this isn’t over, that they aren’t over. And Alex feels her terror lift slightly, feels her heart kick start, feels her mind clear and finally, finally, she allows herself to formulate a plan.
Standing on unsure legs Alex searches for Kara, searches for the only person who can get Maggie to the DEO in less than 5 seconds, and when her eyes lock onto Kara’s cape Alex fights back the urge to vomit, fights back her tears as the red of Kara’s cape reminds her of the blood coating her hands, Maggie’s blood coating her hands.
And Alex doesn’t have to say anything, doesn’t have to scream for Kara because Kara had been searching for her too.
Cradling Maggie to her body Kara reaches for Alex, reaches to comfort, to reassure, to remind Alex that it isn’t her fault. And they don’t need to speak, don’t need words because Alex trusts Kara, trusts her with her life, with her heart.
With one final nod Kara disappears into the night.
-
Less than twenty four hours later Alex finds herself perched on the edge of Maggie’s hospital bed eyes tracking over her body. The bruises coating her face, the broken ribs that had been securely wrapped, the bandages covering the wounds on the back of her skull.
And Alex feels like she can breathe for the first time since the mission began because Maggie is there, is breathing, is surviving.
Lacing their hands together Alex revels in the warmth of Maggie’s body, revels in the knowledge that she hasn’t lost her best friend, her love, her heart.
“I love you Mags.” Alex whispers close to Maggie’s ear, wanting to keep their privacy, wanting her words to only be for Maggie. “I love you so much, like you have no idea how much. So I need you to wake up, I need you to open those beautiful eyes, I need you to know how much I love you.”
Settling on the chair beside the hospital bed Alex kisses presses gentle kisses to the cuts on Maggie’s knuckles, presses gentle kisses to the pulse point of Maggie’s wrist and hopes that Maggie wakes up soon.
And if Alex sobs as she’s woken up by Maggie’s croaked ‘I love you too’ than Alex doesn’t care who’s watching because Maggie loves her.
