A/N: I HAVE AN EXAM EARLY TOMORROW MORNING I SHOULD NOT BE DOING THIS (IT'S PARTIALLY A WRITING EXAM, SO MAYBE THIS COUNTS AS PRACTICE?).

Tag to 2x19 and all its beauty.

If you want to talk about that episode message me here or on twitter ( powertodanvers) and we can talk about how awesome Alex and Maggie are (and Kara and Lena).

Please let me know what you think about this (btw I wrote it in 3 hours in between reviewing for my exam, so I'm sorry) and maybe justify the time spent writing when I could have been studying?

Her head slinks against the window of Maggie's car, one knee pulled up toward her chest while the other leg stretches in front of her. Alex sneaks glances at Maggie—every stop sign, red light, and flickering streetlamp and her head is turning, lifting just barely off the side of the car. It's an effort to keep herself from staring, and it's failing miserably.

With a sigh, Alex raises her head and shifts, rotating so she's facing Maggie and both legs are curled toward her stomach, arms hung loosely around her shins. And Alex lets the side of her head fall onto the seat, so her hair is mused and her eyelids droop as she gives in to the tightness in her chest and looks at Maggie as she takes them home.

The vibrations from the street carry up the tires, through the seat, and rattle Alex's ribs. The moon hangs low in the darkened sky and just barely on the threshold of her vision, a star shines something of the constellations she used to watch with Jerimiah and Kara. She still feels the warmth of Kara's arms, from the full two minutes of hugging the youngest Danvers had insisted on, before finally letting Alex go, and Alex swears there were tears brimming in Kara's eyes, tears that Alex felt inside her, beneath her skin, in every crevice of her bone.

But when she looks over—when she looks over right now, under dim streetlights and the static hum of the silent radio and the nauseating residual grasps of near-death, Maggie is there.

Maggie is there and her fingers are firmly curled around the steering wheel, her breath an easy tattoo, eyes soft under moonlight despite the adrenaline still sifting out of her system.

She eases onto the brakes at a red light, looks over at Alex and her unwavering gaze. Maggie tosses a smile in her direction and Alex catches the warmth, feels it manifest in the loosening of tightness and aching in her chest.

"Alex," Maggie says, leaves it like that so the agent's name hangs in the air; like those phonemes alone say enough. Maggie's breath stutters over the rhythm, her eyes are shiny, her smile trembles on her bottom lip.

A hand slips from that death grip on the steering wheel, curls itself around Alex's. Maggie's thumb outlines the metacarpal bones strung through Alex's hand. They are firm and tangible and the skin is warm, skeletal muscle and blood still working, neurons still firing, lungs still filling, heart still pumping; the tremble disappears.

/

"Alex, babe, come to bed with me. You're half asleep," Maggie whispers and the clock below the TV glows just minutes before 3:00 am.

Alex murmurs, blinking in the dull light. " 'm not tired."

Maggie smiles and presses a kiss to Alex's forehead. The agent leans into Maggie's touch, sinking forward and wrapping her arms loosely around the detective's neck. Maggie reciprocates until she has a gentle grip on Alex's side, nudges her upward and leads her to bed.

As soon as her legs bump the frame, Alex leans forward, face pressing into the mattress, legs dangling over the side.

Maggie laughs softly and simultaneously tears brim in her eyes. This day almost had a very different ending, and she feels the weight of it seep through her cells, settle in her bones. It feels like she's been hit, like her lungs aren't working right.

Her exhales deflate and quiver.

The tremble is back.

"Maggie," Alex says, turning onto her back at the sound of her girlfriend's hitched breath. "Come 'ere." She extends a hand and Maggie falls into her touch, pulling Alex under the covers and against her chest.

"Sorry—" Maggie's breath catches and trips in her mouth. "I'm—"

"Shh, Maggie, no," Alex says, sitting up and hugging Maggie towards her this time. "Let it out, it's okay."

Maggie nods, buries her face into the crook of Alex's neck.

"I'm okay," Alex promises. "I'm not going anywhere. You got there in time."

Maggie nods and cries and exhales and kisses Alex's face as many times as possible between her shaky breaths. When she calms, Alex smiles softly and sinks into Maggie's touch.

They lay back down and Alex curls against Maggie—all warmth and strength and love.

Alex is asleep in minutes; Maggie refuses to even close her eyes.

/

A scream tears up and out her throat, burns through the rawness of her voice as she jolts upward, head knocking Maggie's chin.

Alex kicks and kicks but she can't get out. The blankets hold her down and press closer and closer.

The water is in her lungs, leaden. She sinks. She's sinking. Away from hands that reach and the shrieks that carry the letters of her name. She's submerged, sound is distorted. She hears screams and bubbles.

She can't breathe.

She's choking.

She's reaching.

Infinite, infinite gallons of water.

Crash down, pour, fill her lungs.

Kara and Maggie's form blink away. It's dark. Her insides burn, scorch for oxygen.

She's shaking, frigid to the depth of her core.

She's thrashing and fighting, kicking and punching and yelling—a gurgled sound that protrudes from her choked throat like bile.

She convulses, feels the pressure augment and build.

Close in.

Burns.

She can't get out.

She—

"Alex!"

Shit.

She blinks, draws in a full breath, sputters and gasps.

She can breathe.

She blinks again.

Darkness.

"Alex, hey it's okay. You're okay."

Voice. Maggie.

A light flicks on, floods the room.

Light, not water.

Blanket, not waves.

And Maggie.

Maggie, not anyone or anything else.

Maggie, not harshness; not drowning; not slipping away.

"Maggie," she breathes in a thready exhale.

Maggie cups Alex's face, thumbs away the tears that burn down her cheeks.

"You're okay, sweetheart," Maggie whispers.

Alex hiccups, let's her forehead fall against Maggie's collarbone. " 'm hot. It's too hot," she murmurs and wiggles away, struggles to pull her sweater off, damp and soaked with sweat.

"Shh, I got you," Maggie whispers. She puts a hand on Alex's back, stills her movements and sooths her breathing. Gently, she eases the sweater over Alex's head, leaving her in a tank top.

"Thank you," Alex whispers back and Maggie helps Alex on top of the covers.

The agents sits, propped up for a second, chest heaving in the darkness as a shade of night is stripped from the early morning sky; the black turns a deep navy blue.

"Of course," Maggie promises and situates herself beside Alex.

She eases herself down by Maggie a moment later, when her breath has eased and her tears have stilled and her eyes have adjusted to the dimness.

It's a minute before the shivering starts and Alex twists on her side, looks at Maggie with wide eyes, shimmering with recent tears.

"Cold now?"

Alex nods and Maggie leans over the edge of the bed to grab a blanket from where she'd discarded it on the floor.

"No," Alex whispers sharply as soon as Maggie changes positions.

Maggie drops the fabric and turns back against Alex.

"Just you," Alex says, voice lined with choked sobs and panic. "Please, just you."

Maggie pulls Alex against her, skin pressed flush, systems learning to synchronize again. Maggie's heartbeat guides Alex's, lures it slower and carefully until the agent's eyes slip shut and she's so close to Maggie she can feel each rise of breath, each vibration and quiver and ounce of warmth; can feel the love and safety and fierceness of her hold.

"Better?" Maggie whispers, nosing Alex's hair and pressing a kiss to her head.

Alex murmurs, clutches the hands Maggie has wrapped around her. Alex is almost entirely gone to sleep again and her lips brush the detective's arm as she speaks, but it doesn't lessen the warmth and pounding of Maggie's heart at Alex's words. The agent snuggles into her girlfriend's grip. "Always with you, Maggie."