Maggie comes to with a sharp intake of breath.

The world around her isn't nearly as sharp, nor is it forgiving.

Sensation comes first. Her head throbs, the origin point of a nasty headache blooming somewhere out from the back of her head, rife with waves of residual pain and nausea, as it sledges her into the present in slow ebbing bursts.

The hazy depths of her half-conscious mind shove small details like the uncomfortable, stuffy heat, her air plastering itself to her neck and forehead in a sweaty licks and tangles, and the sharp, twinge of indescribable pain tightening just below her shoulders, but nothing useful as her head continues to throb.

Something registering as an abhorrent mix of sawdust, rotting wood, sweat, and copper pries at her sinuses, infiltrating her sense of smell, and as a beat passes and her mind clears further, noise slowly drifts in, warped and distorted and entirely out of perspective.

She feels like she can hear her heart beating, something rumbling from above her, the scrape of something moving, her shaky breathes, and…. distorted voices. Someone else. Someone else is with her.

And that is what provides her with the impetus to open her eyes.

Muted red is the first thing she recognizes. The faded, crimson light swathing the warehouse like one of a photographer's darkroom. No windows provide any other source of light. Just walls and a closed door.

Her head continues spin as she looks behind her, and she realizes that the deep glassy pain in her shoulders, derive from the fact her arms are tied tightly behind her, lashed to a stake on wall.

What… the… fuck…

And as her hazy vision scours the room she sees the someone else… red cape, long blonde hair, twenty, thirty feet away, almost completely suspended in the air, balls of her feet barely scraping the floor.

Kara…?

Broad muscular shoulders held back, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, chest heaving….

Something's wrong… her sluggish mind tries to tell her.

"Nice of you to join us, Detective."

A new, familiar rumble pierces the fog in her mind and she suddenly remembers.

Being hit in the head. Dragged into a van. Shoved in this room.

And it is Kara strung up in the middle of the room, tied so that she had to stay on tiptoe while questions were fired at her from all angles.

Helpless under the synthetic red sun.

"We have some questions for you both."

… …. …

They give their spiel.

The spiel that Maggie really should have memorized by now.

Their captors want the safe return of a high level HIVE employee that had been detained in the previous weeks and information about some DEO affiliated program that Maggie had never heard of.

If their terms were granted by the DEO, the ringleader claimed, she and Kara would be let go.

The detective almost claims ignorance, she barely knew the ins and outs of the DEO much less its specific programs, even if her fiancé works there.

But she knows how it looks from the outside. She's engaged to marry one of its leading facilitators, and Kara… is Supergirl, the fucking poster child, even though the blonde only associates with the DEO in name, having never taken a paycheck from the organization.

It's going to be hard to convince the HIVE Corporation, composed of dedicated professionals, that they know nothing, not when they aren't taking no for an answer.

Their only saving grace is that they seemed to be trying to evade possible legal repercussions later, by avoiding interrogation techniques that would leave permanent marks or damage on their captives, but that was also by no means a good thing.

And they say as much.

"Either the DEO gives up the information or National City's hero does. Whichever one comes first. Now smile."

A camera lens swims into her vision and the flash goes off before her eyes can adjust.

Maggie swallows hard, blinking the stars out of her vision as she glances furtively at Kara who hasn't stopped glaring at the backs of the men who retreat toward the only door in the room.

Because they both know… the DEO doesn't negotiate with criminals.

The door slams behind them.

It's the last time the door opens for three days.

… …. …. ….

"Still no luck?"

Maggie questions and her words sound echoic in her ears.

The headache hasn't abated, in fact the tendrils have only engrained themselves deeper.

Are the walls moving? She closes her eyes in an attempt to steady herself.

Fuck. This room is definitely spinning.

"No."

Kara mutters. She'd been pulling at the chains suspended on the ceiling the for hours to no avail. Her chafing writs are the only evidence she'd even been trying, because not even the slightest of plaster dust had done anything to mark her efforts.

Maggie had warned her to be careful, paranoid of the consequences, if she were caught trying to break free, but so far, no one came to check on them, beyond the occasional glance in the door.

There's a lull in movement at the chains, at first she doesn't notice it, but then the noise ceases to long for it to be a small break.

The detective opens her eyes to see narrowed cobalt eyes come into focus.

Kara's staring at her.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

The blonde questions nervously.

Maggie frowns, brow furrowing in pain as her head continued to throb.

"Yeah… I'm fine. Just a headache."

Kara clucks her tongue, an indication that she doesn't believe her.

"Just a headac- They didn't hit you did they, because I swear to Rao-"

"Jesus, Supergirl, I'm fine!"

Maggie says in a firm voice, a warning voice.

She wasn't going to fall over foaming at the mouth because of a little headache, but drawing attention to it only seemed to make it worse.

Kara pauses and the hurt reflective in her eyes is almost enough to make the detective want to apologize, but then resolve replaces the wounded expression.

"Okay… fine. But when the DEO gets here, I'm making the medic check you out."

The nausea swimming in her head, allows her to at least smile at that. They've been skirting around using people's actual names, including Kara's, unsure of how much their captors are actually hearing, unsure of how much they actually know, but she knows the medic Kara's talking about is Alex. Alex, who must be losing her mind if both her sister and fiancé were missing.

"Yeah… yeah… when they get here, I'll let the medics check me out."

… …. …. ….

The hunger isn't the worst thing she decides. It's the thirst.

The burning coarseness that has taken unrelenting residence in the back of her mouth, throat and lungs.

Until it almost hurts to breathe and let the stale air rake over deadened taste buds.

The door hasn't opened for anything.

And maybe that's the long game they're playing.

Abandon them until they're literally begging to give up information.

She thinks Kara's fairing better. If anything she'd only gotten quiet, only moved less.

She licks her dry lips in an effort to keep them wet.

It does nothing to abate the splitting headache, ruminating in the back of her skull.

…. …. …. … .

They open the door on the third day.

"How are you doing, Supergirl? Detective? Comfortable?" the ringleader asks, alone this time.

And already the fight is rising up inside, Kara's chin is up, her back is straightening, her shoulders squared and Maggie struggles to plant her feet in front of her, sliding up into a more stable sitting position, but it's hard to do with her legs tied up.

It makes her painfully aware of their disadvantage.

She's startled by the sound of the ringleader's voice. She hadn't heard him speak in days, if the clock in the room was any indication, but he'd sounded condescending at first, now he sounds… gentle? And this sudden change in his approach didn't mean anything good even if the detective is going mad from all the idleness and constant thirst pulling at her nerves.

"Comfortable? You say that like you've been the perfect host."

Kara drawls, voice strained, scratched, and dry, but Alex's special brand of sarcasm written all over her words.

"Relax. I come in peace," he says, and he holds out a cup of water and one of those nature valley bars, "I'm sure you must be hungry. Thirsty too?"

Maggie's ashamed by the way her heart leaps at the sight of water, reinvigorating the intense thirst that had started to level off. Across from her, she sees Kara bite the inside of her mouth. But neither of them say a word.

They might as well have, their silence is as much of a confirmation of anything.

"I thought so."

He walks further into the room, pausing to squint at the red synthetic sun lights above him, and his grin widens wickedly, but the detective can't tear her eyes away from the water. Her head was splitting in half and her tongue felt like it had been dried with a hair-dryer, then raked over in sand paper.

But a little water… could fix that.

"Have a drink, detective, we can't have you dying on us," the ringleader says, crouching down next to her, laying the neck of the cup against her lips, carefully tilting it so it wouldn't spill. The water forces its way into her throat in her eagerness to swallow, and it burns. It reminds her of cheap vodka, expensive whiskey, old, old scotch that had all felt the same way. It wasn't the same, not really, but it triggers the memory.

Then almost as quickly the relief of water is gone.

Their captor chuckles darkly and when he stands his knees pop.

"I can get you some water if you want, Supergirl? Just say the word. "

The right words is what's left unspoken, but they all damn know what he means.

Kara doesn't say anything, eyeing the empty cup on the concrete ground warily, then her line of sight shifts up, glaring at the man, jaw clenching, resolve solidifying.

"I thought so."

…. …. ….

"I'm sorry."

Maggie whispers, lightheaded and airy, when he leaves.

"It's fine. I can go longer without water, without food, but you can't, so stop fighting back."

The detective wonders how much of that is an exaggeration.

... …. ….

The next time they come in, offering food and water, Maggie doesn't fight them.

She wants too.

But she doesn't.

The guilt is like gasoline; bursting into flames, burning hot in her chest, making her feel almost as sick as Kara looked, eyes hooded and glazed, glittering feverishly on her paling face, withering from no food, no water, no sleep, as the precious cup of water is given to the detective.

It tastes sweet. It still burns.

Her headache lessens a little with each swallow.

Kara gets nothing.

…. ….

Her eyes open again, brought to reality from another fleeting respite of unconsciousness.

And she knows now that this isn't the first time she's woken in this red-lit room.

She's woken in this room dozens of times.

It's been days.

Days.

They've been playing this fucking game for days.

Coming in with the same fucking granola bar and half cup of cloudy water.

Force feeding it to her, then pointedly giving nothing to Kara, unless she gave information up.

But Kara never does.

And goddamn, she and Alex and the entire fucking DEO are going to have a talk about response time and hostage negotiation when they get out of here.

Guilt curls within her as she sits ignored in the corner of the same room, forced to feverishly watch with growing dread as the blonde refuses to answer questions.

"Leave… Leave… her alone."

Kara growls. Slurring words and scratchy voice already betraying any real threat and Maggie wishes she would stop trying to draw attention to herself.

Her vision clears, with considerable effort, and she realizes the ringleader is crouched on his knees, looking right at her.

"You're lucky we're even keeping her alive."

The detective swallows hard, but maintains her glare, even when it makes her vision blur, refusing them the pleasure of seeing her scared.

It was an empty threat.

Kara has to have realized by now, like the detective. They've talked about it in the moments they're left alone. That their captors had no particular interest in bloody interrogation techniques. That their captors have no particular interest in the detective. But Kara bristles visibly over the exhaustion anyway at the descriptions of what they'd possibly do to the detective.

And Maggie is forced to remember that the blonde isn't entirely thinking straight right now.

Is forced to remember their captors had been keeping Kara awake for five- going on six- days straight.

Not by threat, but merely by circumstance.

It was a physical fact that the body, human or alien, was not meant to dangle by the wrists for prolonged periods of time. The diaphragm couldn't work properly, unless the person in question kept standing to maintain some of the weight on their feet. It meant Kara had to stay awake, or at the very least standing, if she wanted to keep breathing.

"I… I s-swear t-to Rao…."

"Be quiet!"

Maggie hisses, voice muffled from the grating burn in her throat, but still successful in cutting the blonde off.

Stop making threats, she wants to scream.

It earns a rumble of laughter from the man in charge and he motions to somewhere behind her.

Two men shuffle forward with a large, red bucket.

"Last chance."

And the detective becomes dimly aware that this conversation has been occurring for longer than she'd been awake.

Kara says nothing.

The ringleader shrugs, then nods at the other men, and without hesitance the contents of the bucket are dumped onto the restrained hero.

Maggie flinches back, though the spray of its contents, icy water, barely skims her bare feet. It hits Kara dead on, even as she jerks back in her restraints, and there's water everywhere, leaking from her eyes, her nose, her ears, and her mouth. It streams from her darkening hair like a storm. And Maggie distantly watches it puddle on the ground with foggy eyes as Kara's chest heaves of its own accord, aching and sputtering as it forces the last of the water from exhausted muscles, soaked shoulders, and spasming lungs.

"Listen to the detective, see where that gets you."

And they're left alone again.

… … … ….

Maggie wants to say something… anything, but she knows how it looks.

Kara standing, soaked in freezing water, while the detective is dry and sitting against a wall.

There is nothing she can say right now, her uselessness in this situation hurting more than any torture ever could.

So she watches in silence, as Kara repositions herself as much as she can, huddling into herself as she shivers in her dripping uniform, bloody wrists pulling against the chains as she switches to a different foot to balance on.

But eventually the blonde's bloodshot, cobalt eyes drift over to her and the soaked hero gives her a strained smile, the fluttering bravery of it ripping at Maggie's soul.

"F-for all... t-this talk… talk about the… DEO, they're sure t-taking their sweet time…"

She stutters between a chilled tremor. It's meant to be a joke. It isn't funny.

"Don't talk like that, they're coming. They're coming...:"

She croaks over her churning stomach, giving what she hopes is an encouraging look, but she doesn't know who she's trying to convince, Kara or herself.

No.

Rescue is coming, if only because it has to be.

"At least… I'm n-not thirsty… anymore…"

Kara coughs wetly, like rocks in a gurgling garbage disposal, as she tries to laugh.

"That's not funny."

The detective mutters, pressing her head against her knees, struggling to alleviate the burning ache in her mind.

"I never... s-said it was."

… …. …. ….

Maggie can't sleep even if she wanted too.

Someone turned off the heat. And without it it's an icebox.

She knows why they did it.

Can hear it from Kara in the constant sound of her teeth chattering, and her breath catching, and her body shivering its way through desperate attempts to keep warm.

Can see it, in the blonde's exhaustion, when she slips on the slick floor, quivering legs buckling and suddenly dragging all of her weight suddenly on her arms – or when she couldn't help it, and dozed off, and the same thing happened but with more dangerous consequences.

Maggie shouts at her the first time it happens, even when it grates at her throat, terrified that Kara might stop breathing that way, turning sleep into suffocation, but it never lasts long. The long, labored breathing and the cold forcing her to come alert again within seconds.

"Shit… shit.. shit..." Kara mutters to herself, in an airy mantra that makes Maggie wonder if she's actually meaning to speak aloud, as the detective hastens to reassure her- that she can do this, that she's strong, that the DEO's coming.

But it happens again and again and again.

Kara clearly isn't built to stay awake this long. And it's all Maggie can do to attempt and guide her through it.

Goosebumps begin to pepper the detective own skin as the temperature continues to lower, and she darkly wonders as her headache sends her cross-eyed and exhaustion tries to drag her down, how long it'll take for her to see her breath.

… …. …

Is it bad that she's tired?

That she wants to sleep?

That she wants to close her eyes and savor those precious seconds, when Kara only feet away from her, hasn't for days?

Does… Does that make her a horrible person?

Exhaustion doesn't give her an answer.

Instead, it continues to pummel at her and a dimly lit feeling within her realizes she shouldn't be this tired.

Everything feels off. Lethargic and floaty. And for the first time it feels wrong. Out of place.

It dawns on her that maybe the cloudy water they've been giving her is tainted.

Maggie gazes tiredly at Kara, wondering if she should voice her concern.

The exhaustion smothers her sluggish thoughts.

No, she decides. Kara had enough to worry about.

It doesn't take much longer for exhaustion to win the futile battle for consciousness.

… … …

When they come again hours later, Kara's barely conscious, head bowed, face hidden by strings of wet hair, feebly shivering. Her murmurs had faded in both volume and coherency, but she must still be awake, because she's still standing...

Maggie is ready to drag their captors to the pits of hell for what they're doing, no matter how infeasible.

Her head is spinning and the walls are moving and there's a floating orange color staining the backdrop of her vision that she wasn't entirely sure was there before and she's so… so thirsty, but goddamn if she still had her service weapon she'd shoot them all to death.

Because when they come again hours later, they bring another bucket with them.

Maggie strains against the bonds, watching warily as the bucket moves closer, water splashing from the rim, spattering against the ground, but Kara doesn't even look up.

"Come one… You don't have to do this. Come on!"

She begs. She pleads. Fucking grovels, pride way past gone as she pleads for them to leave the blonde alone.

The two men don't even spare her a second glance as they lift the bucket and spill its the icy contents.

Kara surges from stillness jerking from the sudden onslaught, spitting water out of her mouth, heaving shuddering breaths as more cold liquid streams down her back, and Maggie fights harder against the restraints.

To no avail.

"You must like it standing here? Freezing? On your feet all day?"

The ringleader teases, a patronizing grin playing upon his lips as he steps closer to the trembling blonde, while the men with the bucket shuffle back. Without waiting for an answer, he kicks out, knocking Kara's feet out from under her. The blonde grimaces painfully as her shoulders pull against her weight and the chains bite into her abused wrists, and to her credit she doesn't cry out, but Maggie does recognize the tell-tale sign of tears escaping, joining the water streaming down her face.

It takes a laboriously long time for Kara to find her feet again, the HIVE ringleader watching with barely disguised amusement.

"You know, I knew the detective was expendable, but apparently you are too. It's been what, seven days, and the DEO still refuses to make a deal. Hasn't even picked up the phone. You'd think National City's hero would be worth something, but it's okay because, you know, this is almost more fun."

Most of that can't be true.

There's… no way… There's no way that the DEO wouldn't have at least entertained the thought of HIVE.

"Are you ready to talk now?"

He asks smoothly, as if the violent act hadn't even occurred, when Kara finally finds her footing.

Maggie watches the exchange with bated breath, an unleashed string of expletives forcing itself back into her lungs, because she doesn't want to make it worse… she doesn't..

Kara's on the balls of both feet, head bowed, shivering, but she says something Maggie can't quite hear and apparently the man doesn't either, because he lifts Kara's head by the crook of her jaw, almost gently, forcing the blonde to look at him.

"What was that?"

He purrs eagerly.

"I… said..."

The answer is slower than usual, hampered by the cold and the growing inability to string her thoughts together.

"I… s-said… no."

Fierce pride surges through Maggie's veins, and she doesn't bother to hold back the low huff of approval that makes it past gritted teeth. Angry eyes turn toward her, all except for Kara's, who appears to have either not heard or lacked the energy to show interest, and for a moment the detective feels relief that the attention is off her friend, but the respite isn't long lasting.

Because the ringleader glowers, and then he's kicking the blonde's legs out from under her again, but this time while Kara struggles to stand, one hand grabs a hold of her elbow and his other hand snakes to grab her shoulder.

In a fluid moment, he yanks both in opposite directions, and for the first time since their capture, Kara screams.

It echoes against the ceiling. It ricochets off the concrete walls.

It doesn't drown out the nasty pop of a joint being torn from its socket.

Maggie jerks away, closing her eyes tightly.

They're coming. They're coming. They're coming.

They're not.

…. …. … … ….

Kara hadn't said a word beyond a few moaned curses. She hadn't even cried. But Maggie can see the unnatural position of her right arm, how it stretches just a bit longer than the other.

For the last few hours, the blonde's been unresponsive to any of Maggie's attempts to talk to her, and the detective knows with grim surety, that the dislocated shoulder will get harder and harder to ignore as the blonde's adrenaline wore off and Kara's exhaustion returned full force – because now, instead of the slow threat of suffocation if she fell asleep or lost her footing, there would be the sharp stab of agony as one arm took her weight and the other one lit up like a hot brand. There was virtually no chance of her getting any sleep now.

Now Kara wavers, teeth bared a little at she bit her lip against the pain, her head tipped forward casting shadows across her face, eyes tightly squeezed shut like she could ignore what was happening.

'It's going to be all right, Kara,' Maggie wants to say – over and over again until it was actually the truth, and not just wishful thinking. In fact, it was probably a downright lie because Kara had told them nothing and the DEO doesn't make deals.

She wonders what Alex is doing know. Wonders if she's torn apart the facility yet. Wonders if she's fighting with J'onn, Lucy, Vasquez, over what the best course of action is.

Then stops wondering.

Because it's too hard to think about ifs.

"You good, Supergirl?"

Maggie asks, if only to reassure of her existence. Her voice, thin and cracked, barely carries across the small featureless room, splitting her lower lip with the stretch of not-a-smile.

Kara makes no reply in voice, no movement either.

The only sound she makes is the soft wheeze of breath accompanied by the clicking of chattering teeth.

"Come on..." Maggie strains in a whisper. "Come on… Answer me… "

There is a long pause, a breath let out, long and shuddering, then…

"It… I-it… does… doesn't s-snow… on… K-Krypton..."

Spoken so softly it almost disappears in the atmosphere.

The detective shakes her head, salt blurring out the stars that swim in her vision, instead of pain.

"Yeah? I… didn't know that."

After another long pause, and she can just barely hear the soft reply.

"I jus…. I j-just… it's cold..."

Kara doesn't finish her sentence, disjointed and fractured and torn from her lungs, drifting somewhere high above them.

But it confirms that she's still conscious, even if not all there, a sick, twisted kind of win.

"I… wanna go home…"

The blonde breathes out shakily minutes later and if it hadn't been silent, the detective thinks she wouldn't have heard it.

"We're going to go home… They're coming, just hang on."

Maggie falls asleep shivering, wishing for warmth, for freedom, for anything but these four concrete walls swathed in red light.

They're coming.

Just hang on.

…. … …. ….

"You know it's only going to get worse," the ringleader taunts, stepping in close again so that Kara's dazed eyes had little choice but to look at him, "Even without you as wet as a drowned rat, the body loses its ability to regulate body-temperature when it's pushed to the limits by exhaustion. Did you know that? And even aliens don't last that long. So make it easy on yourself and tell me what I need to know. Then you and your friend can leave."

Lies.

Lies, because they had made it abundantly clear that they weren't being released until the DEO complied with their demands. Demands that the DEO clearly hadn't meant. Now they're just saying what they want to hear.

They had come in some time ago, well-dressed, well-rested, and sure of themselves after they'd drenched Kara for the fifth time.

The members of the HIVE probably thought that they were less evil, because they did not draw blood and they did not beat answers out of their captives. But in reality, Maggie has come to realize that this is worse and that this biggest danger at the moment was not the pain, but instead the encroaching look of hopelessness and bone-breaking exhaustion on Kara's face, and the detective feared that her will was finally going to snap, and possibly her sanity along with it.

Because Kara was in no way holding herself together anymore. Her head tilted so that her face pressed against the inside of her uninjured arm, blood staining the chain at her other wrist, which had been forced to bear her weight alone more than once, eyes half-lidded and fever bright, as she mumbles a string of low, barely, intelligible words without provocation, painfully delirious, drifting further and further into her own mind.

Pain was easier to fight than tiredness, and a localized injury was easier to ignore than the all-over ache of intense cold and their captors knew it too.

Which is why they stay this time, instead of leaving after that fifth drenching, knowing that the famed superhero is falling apart at the seams, and they're eager to pick at her mind, trying to get the blonde to focus on the right topic and spill those secrets.

And right now, loopy as she was after another cup of that goddamn murky water, Maggie didn't give a damn what those secrets were. They weren't worth their safety.

"I'm giving you a chance. A chance. I don't give lots of people chances, but you've had a rough few days. So just tell me the codes, Supergirl, and I'll let you both go."

Kara remains silent for a moment and she blinks in a horribly confused way, then clenches her teeth so they stop chattering.

"T-that's…." the blonde wheezes airly, "that's n-not my name."

Of all of the things Maggie expects her to say it isn't that and fear surges in her veins of the implications of Kara outing herself to a criminal organization.

Because a case file program was one of thing, but flat out exposing her secret… If … no when they got out of here, it would paint a target on their backs. On Kara's back. On everyone she knew.

The ringleader grins, realizing he may have unintentionally stumbled into something else worth his time.

"Thats… that's not… my name…"

Kara continues to murmur, words slurring into a miserable jumble.

"Then what is your name?"

The ringleader asks, coming closer, caressing her chin.

"Get away from her."

Her words sound to loud, to off kilter, when she says them, like they're echoing under water, but she can't let Kara keep on talking, not like that.

His eyes flit toward her in vague annoyance, as the blonde continues to mutter incoherently.

"I don't think I asked you detective."

"That's naugh.. n-not my name."

Kara continues to repeat obliviously.

And God, even through hazy sedation, the detective can see the whites of her eyes. Fuck.

The detective doubles her efforts.

"I said leave her alone."

Ignoring the tingling fingers in her bones, the heaviness on her chest, her aching skull.

Ignoring how the hazy water tries to drag her under.

His annoyance twists into something darker as he releases his hold on Kara.

"After all I've done you'd think-"

Gunshots ring out, faded and far away, before he can finish his sentence.

…. …. …. …

He leaves. And so do the other men. It's apparent the gunshots weren't their own.

Maggie rests her heavy head on her knees, willing the room to stop spinning, talking down the nausea.

She hears Kara in the distance muttering to herself, but she can't find the energy to ask if she's okay.

Instead, she can only listen as the gunshots, get closer. closer. closer.

Then the door is slamming open.

"Danvers!" yells a familiar voice, far, far away and just out of reach, like she's underwater.

But it sounds familiar, her head lolls onto his side, disorientated and nauseated, trying to understand.

Eyes searching the ground trying to pinpoint the sound.

"They're in here."

The sounds are closer now and a pair of black boots fuse into her vision.

Black boots.

Those look familiar too.

Why do they look so familiar?

She's dipping into precarious unconsciousness when suddenly there's a hand on her skin. The hand is fast, strong, but the fingers are different. Not like the ones that force feed the hazy water. They're everywhere. On her shoulders, along her hairline, and then cupping her chin bringing her head up back toward the red light.

It takes her a moment to focus, to look beyond the red light, and focus on the silhouette in front of her.

Vasquez.

"You took your damned time." Maggie manages to get out, head swimming again.

The DEO agent smiles sadly as she squints at first the detective's left, then her right eye.

"Can you stand?"

Vasquez asks, pulling a knife out, moving methodically, rapidly, and the ropes around her ankles are quickly cut away. As the rope behind her back was cut, she sucks in a breath, feeling her arms drop like dead stone weights, pitching her forward a bit as she struggles to gather her bearings.

Just behind Vasquez, she sees the blurry image of J'onn using his own superior strength to pry apart the chains that hoist Kara in the air and a fuzzy Alex is in front of her sister, both hands cupping the blonde's face, trying to coax awareness out of delirium.

That's not going to work, she wants to say. She hasn't been asleep for days. Just let her sleep.

Her sluggish mind won't let her find the words.

"Hey, Sawyer. Eyes on me. Keep your eyes on me. We'll do the reunion later. Now can you stand?"

She struggles to focus back on Vasquez.

"I think so."

She says underwater, trying to hold what little pride she had left as Vasquez moves to help her onto numb feet, rolling her shoulders trying to release some tension in her shoulders.

But when she finally stands fully for the first time in days, the world tips on its side, blackness and stars swamping her vision, and her carefully restrained nausea swells back to the surface, unabatingly.

"Uh uh. Nope. Nope, Sawyer stay with me."

But her voice suddenly sounds much farther than it had before.

"Sawy-"

Everything goes dark.

…

Maggie wakes up in a bed just like the one she'd been dreaming of for days; warm, comfortable and engulfing her. No cement floor felt through it, making her body ache, supplying enough heat to keep her warm, which is, at this point, a novelty.

She feels this more than sees it, and when she opens her eyes she realizes it isn't a dream. That she's in a hospital room that looks suspiciously like the walls of the DEO medical unit.

It probably is, she realizes; they don't sort out wounds like this at normal hospitals without asking questions.

She feels bandages on her head and around her ankles, and she sees them on her wrists, accompanying the needles feeding into her arms and hands, and IV drips supplying her with what is probably water and nutrients.

Somewhere behind her, the beeping sounds of a monitor measuring her vitals makes itself unknown.

The headache that had taken residence in her skull in the preceding days had faded considerably, and somehow she feels more awake than she has in a longtime.

She groans softly, stretching her legs, clenching her fists.

From somewhere else in the room, her groan startles someone into movement.

Alex.

Hair mussed, circles under her eyes, still in her DEO uniform.

She'd obviously hadn't changed out of anything since the rescue.

"Oh my god. Maggie!"

She whispers, shocked, sitting up straighter, scooting forward in her chair to take the detective's hand.

"Hey, you…"

Maggie whispers hoarsely, gazing at their intertwined hands. So warm…

"How are you feeling? Do you need anything? I can get you some water-"

It awes her for a moment, how Alex and Kara act so much alike.

"I'm fine, Danvers. Fine, just a little tired…"

She interrupts slowly, relishing the fact that her words don't echo anymore.

"Okay… Okay…," Alex whispers, staring at her with wide, watery eyes, bringing Maggie's hand to tuck under her chin, until her fiancé is practically hugging like a koala does a tree, "You scared us so much. You scared me so much."

"How long?"

Alex looks away, and her hand tightens its grip on hers.

"You guys were gone for t-twelve days. You've been down for about eleven hours, after we'd extradited you out of that fucking hell hole."

Her voice wavers. Full of regret, guilt, anger.

There's a beat of silence as Maggie absorbs the information, then…

"General Lane wouldn't let us make a deal."

Something dark twists behind Alex's voice, enough to almost make her bristle, but the wording is specific. General, not director. So not Lucy… her father.

"Asshole."

The detective mutters, eyes searching for Alex's again.

Her fiancé chokes out a laugh as she turns back to face her.

"Yeah… asshole."

The sour sarcasm is back in Alex's voice, but her eyes are watering, tears threatening to spill over.

"God. They kept sending pictures...It was horrible. Horrible. Then when we finally found you guys…"

The taller brunette's breath hitches as her thoughts trail off, clearly thinking back to twelve hours ago. Her grip is almost bruising on the detective's wrist, but Maggie doesn't tell her to let go. She'll never tell her to let go. Not after twelve days without her.

"Is she okay? Kara?"

Maggie asks anxiously, worry sprouting back when she remembers the last time she saw the blonde.

The tears spill over.

"They said they had been keeping her up for days, but when J'onn and I got her down, she wouldn't relax, she wouldn't calm down… She was convinced we weren't who we were saying we were and that she… had to p-protect you. I… I had to sedate her."

Alex rambles, sounding lost as she recounts the events.

"Where…", Maggie attempts to twist in her bed looking around for any unseen person, "Where is she now?"

Silently cursing the Danvers's sisters overprotective instincts.

"After we got her out of the red sun, the needles wouldn't go through her skin anymore, so she's in the emergency sunroom…"

Alex mutters tapping an unnaturally glowing window-pane of an observation window.

"No one goes in there with those things on unless they want skin cancer in two years. We were going to try to get her more fluids when she was more lucid, but she's out cold."

Alex says absentmindedly, sweeping her fingers over Maggie's knuckles, as she continues to look through the observation window.

The dejection isn't disguised in her tone, it's obvious that Alex would rather be within touching distance of both of the ones she loved the most right now, instead of being forced to be walled off from one.

Silence reigns for a moment.

"I wish... I'm sorry I could have done more. I could have-"

Maggie starts, guilt seeping forth from memories because at least she got water and food and some type of sleep, regardless how little, and how could she have taken it with any decency knowing that Kara got nothi-

"No. Nothing those bastards did... was on you."

Her anxiety spikes.

"But-"

"They were drugging you, Maggie... they were lacing the water with oxy... you were tied up...there wasn't.. .wasn't anything you could of done, but survive. And you did."

Alex's voice wavers, then cracks.

"And I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry I couldn't get there sooner. I'm sorry…"

Alex shudders in a rambling apology, tears back full force.

"Hey.. Hey if I'm not allowed to say sorry, you can't either... Kara didn't say anything, the DEO didn't give up anything, and we're all alive… so maybe we can just count that as a win."

She murmurs reaching out for Alex, trying futility to wipe her tears away.

It's hard with all the wires.

"We really need to redefine what a win is."

Alex mutters tearfully, taking her other hand.

"Well, when Little Danvers wakes up…"

Alex nods.

"When she wakes up."