Work Text:
cos love's such an old-fashioned word
and love dares you to care for
the people on the edge of the night
and love dares you to change our way of
caring about ourselves
Two weeks and one day have gone by since Alex was put on paid leave to heal, and she’s caught up on eight television shows, read fourteen books, reorganized her record collection, reorganized her bookshelves, and cleaned her kitchen and bathrooms twice, and she still have another week before she can even step foot in the DEO for her assessment with the doctor.
Then there are the babysitters.
In the mornings, it’s Kara. Every morning she zips over and has coffee with Alex before heading to CatCo; sometime midway through the morning she reappears for a brief few minutes to check and make sure Alex hasn’t gone AWOL in an attempt to tunnel back into her office. At lunch Winn or James is dispatched to check again, and one of Lucy’s minions comes by every afternoon to provide an abbreviated status update that consistently amounts to “Director Lane thanks you for your concern and assures you that that DEO is running smoothly”.
Alex is about to tear her hair out every day by the time sunset rolls around and the only reason she hasn’t actually bulldozed back into work is because every night after work, Lucy stops by.
This time, she comes with takeout and a six pack of beer.
“What’s the occasion?” Alex waves her in and reaches for one of the bags in her hands; Lucy tsks at her and glares pointedly at the still-healing damage to her hands.
“I’m tired of eating alone at my desk,” Lucy says with a shrug as she hefts the bags onto the counter. She pops the tops off of two of the beers and hands one to Alex, clinking hers against Alex’s. “To working too much.”
“You wouldn’t have to if--”
“Nuh uh,” Lucy says. “Don’t even try it. Doctor’s orders, remember?”
“I’m a doctor!” Alex says.
“I’m aware,” Lucy says, shaking her head anyways. “Let’s eat, I’m hungry.”
She starts unloading takeout containers, handing them to Alex and pivoting on one heel to grab plates from the cabinets. Alex peels the lids off of the containers-- with difficulty; her hands still ache with every movement-- and pauses, looking back up at Lucy.
“Tacos?”
“What?”
“I figured you more for kale and quinoa than tacos and beer.”
“I guess you don’t know me as well as you think,” Lucy says, tilting her head to one side. She wrinkles her nose at the pull at the back of her head and hands the plates to Alex so she can take the pins out of her hair and let loose the military-standard bun coiled above her collar. Alex stares for a moment before shaking her head-- it hurts, and she winces in spite of herself-- and depositing food onto plates.
The minutes that pass in silence as they settle on opposite ends of the couch with their food and Alex turns on the TV, letting the news play quietly, are uncomfortable and Alex squirms in her seat at it, but not for any discernible reason.
Halfway through the 11:00 news, Lucy mutes the TV and curls up in her corner of the couch, staring blatantly at Alex.
“What?”
“How are you feeling?”
Alex rolls her eyes. “I’m fine, okay, I told you yesterday. A little sore, but nothing some exercise won’t help.”
“Right,” Lucy drawls. “Prove it.”
“What?”
“Come on.” Lucy stands up and shrugs out of her uniform jacket. “If you’re feeling that good, I’ll talk to the doctor about you coming back to your desk early, but you prove it.”
Alex stands slowly, eyeballing Lucy suspiciously and following her to the open hallway between the living room and the bedroom. Lucy slides into a casually defensive stance.
“See if you can land a punch,” Lucy says with a smirk.
Alex sighs, tossing a casual jab out at her, and then another, both of which are easily deflected. Her ribs protest as she starts throwing heavier punches and the pain in the laceration in her right shoulder spikes at the end of each punch, but she pushes forwards anyways. Lucy continues to deflect and dodge, stepping back a few times.
Alex goes for a throw-- it’s a terrible idea and she knows it, but she does it anyways-- and Lucy sidesteps her easily, pivoting and deflecting her momentum to one side. There’s no wall to catch her and she stumbles through the open doorway to her bedroom.
“Guess that’s a no, then,” Lucy says with a smirk. She follows Alex, stepping closer, and then closer, until her hands fall to Alex’s hips and she pushes gently until Alex backs up a step and then another step and then her knees hit the mattress.
“What--”
“Be quiet,” Lucy says, looking down at her and tracing a finger over the stitched cut above Alex’s eye. She kisses Alex, much more gently than they ever have before, and sets to work on the buttons on Alex’s shirt. One hand presses against Alex’s uninjured shoulder until she lays back and Lucy stares down at her, sliding her fingers over the yellowing bruises that spread over her abdomen, the still-healing cuts that had made their way past her bulletproof vest, the faded scars that litter her skin from too many field missions gone awry in just a few short years.
“What are you--”
Lucy shakes her head and stays quiet, pushing her hand against the curve of Alex’s ribcage and leaning forward to kiss her again. “Stop thinking so much,” she says against Alex’s throat before moving downwards, careful and delicate past the stitches in her shoulder, the cracks in her ribs, until she can bite at Alex’s hipbone and tug gently at Alex’s sweatpants, pausing to look up at Alex for permission.
Alex nods and Lucy keeps going, keeps touching her, gentle and meticulous until Alex’s body pulls tight under her tongue, her spine going taut and pulling at her ribs painfully as Lucy keeps moving inside of her until she relaxes.
Lucy sits back on her heels, settling between Alex’s legs and tracing her fingers along one, knee to hip and back again.
“Am I allowed to talk now?” Alex says after her heart rate slows back down.
“Well, I guess that depends on what you’re planning on saying,” Lucy says, her voice lilting but her eyes guarded.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on throwing you out or telling you that your money’s on the nightstand or anything like that,” Alex drawls. It pulls a smile out of Lucy, and she pinches at Alex’s knee.
“Is that so?”
Alex props herself up on her elbows, careful and slow, and Lucy’s eyes are drawn back down to her bare torso. An embarrassed flush spreads over Alex’s cheeks and down towards her chest, and she wraps her shirt around herself.
“Hey, what--”
“Actually, maybe you should go,” Alex mumbles.
“Oh my God, Alex,” Lucy says. She latches onto Alex’s wrists and manhandles them down to her sides, holding them there firmly. “Look at me.”
Alex protests against her grip, her body still too broken to pull free, and finally huffs out a sigh and looks up at Lucy, who’s still sitting between her knees being unbearably attractive and--
“We need to talk about this,” Lucy says firmly.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Alex says. “We work together and--”
Lucy kisses her, and she tastes like Alex and bites down on Alex’s lip and kisses her until Alex relaxes in her grip. “This,” she says against Alex’s mouth. “This is something to talk about.”
Alex doesn’t say anything, but she slumps into Lucy, forehead falling to rest on her shoulder and Lucy shifts, curls her arms around Alex’s back, holding onto her securely while she waits.
“Tomorrow,” she says after a long minute.
“Is that your way of asking me to stay the night, Director Danvers?” Lucy says with a smile, and Alex swats ineffectually at her side.
“Shut up,” she grumbles.
“Yes ma’am,” Lucy says. She pulls back and buttons up Alex’s shirt for her and lays her out on the bedsheets, pulling the blanket it up over her.
“Are you staying?” Alex asks, looking too young and broken with her bruises and exhaustion and tired shoulders, and Lucy pauses.
“Okay,” she says. She shrugs out of her jacket and uniform shirt and trades them for a tshirt from Alex’s stacks of clean laundry, shucks her skirt and climbs into the bed next to Alex. Alex turns her head tiredly to face Lucy, and Lucy curls on her side and watches, waiting, as Alex falls asleep.