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Maggie’s not squeamish.An encounter with a nest of Denebrian eggs has rendered her immune to most gore, but this coroner’s report has her stymied if not uneasy.Draco Krimakov: Revolving arrest warrant and all-around pain in the ass until his body surfaced, bloated and tangled in netting by the Hennessy dockyards. Krimakov’s what Maggie calls a try-hard. No real connections despite his boasts, and while she’s not exactly weepy over the loss, the details stink worse than he did when they pulled him from the water.First, he had a Thurnian dagger in his boot, a knife hewn from a metal forged inside neutron stars; so rare no one on Earth has seen one outside a museum, unless you count celebrity chef, Chasten Zark. But that guy’s always been a show off. And the cause of death?A harpoon.“An old two-flu,” Doc Bramwell told her down at the morgue. He made a stabbing motion with his hand. “The kind that dragged Ahab down with the whale. Quick forceful incision and let the barbs do the rest on the way out.”Only problem is the exit wound is missing. His insides are shredded up, but it’s like the thing phased just before it was yanked from his chest cavity. High tech with a dash of that coarser, ancient design just for the cruelty of it.She slaps her laptop shut and sinks back in her chair, her mind shuffling through the thin list of suspects. National City has been all too quiet of late. Suspiciously so despite the cease-fire. The Odessa mob, the Whale Weavers, and a host of the usual troublemakers have declared a temporary peace, promising a halt to all funny business during the Skyfire Festival—a once-a-millennium meteor shower set to grace National City with the best view of the spectacle.She glances up at the clock and rises, allowing herself to stretch. Save for Cohen on dispatch, and Hinn, the desk officer, now rapt in an opera on his headphones, the station is a quiet clutter. Most of her colleagues are already down at the bar, pounding beers and concocting mischief for her eventual arrival.Tonight’s the night. They’re celebrating her big move—treating it like a goddamned bridal shower, in fact.
Too bad she hasn’t told the bride.She slips a hand into her pocket, her thumb sliding along the edges of the duplicate key she’s just picked up at the locksmith. She was going to slip it in a card or maybe put in a jewelry box, although she’d worried that might be extra. She doesn’t need to go all out.
She just needs to be enou--“—Sawyer!”Maggie turns back, her fist tightening around the key ring as Chief McConnell leans out of his office. He never bothers to get up. Just kick strokes back in that big chair of his like he’s had a trolley track installed. “Come in here, will you?” The teeth bite into her palm. #McConnell doesn’t look at her as he gestures to the chair across from his, so Maggie doesn’t bother to sit. “I know you’ve got a thing tonight,” he says, “so I’ll make this quick.”He slides his data pad across his desk and starts thumbing through a series of photos, each one of a human or alien lying eyes open, gaping up at the sky with their mouths smeared with whipped cream and all manner of condiments. Strands of pasta trail from the lips of one woman like she’s just auditioned for D-grade horror flick. Petit fours rest across another’s eyes.“You’re aware Nat City’s restaurants have been experiencing a series of…incidents.”“It’s called meshi-tero, Jim,” Maggie says, stifling a sigh of impatience. Marley Shizah’s told her all about it, how the term originated in Japan and was meant to be cute and apologetic, like when someone posts a picture of a lavish meal or a Frappuccino doused with whipped cream and mango slices. They were little Instagram moments that soon escalated into armies of nuisance streamers: kids filming themselves licking soy sauce bottles or sneezing on the conveyor belts at the revolving sushi bars, and soon evolving into Michelin star break-ins. Every clickbait headline is announcing a novel way to be an asshole with your food. She’s already backing toward the door.“These aren’t just pranks, Sawyer.” He holds up the pad, on it some surfer kid is flat on his back with his tongue lolling in a wave sculpted out of aspic with tiny flecks of shirasu fish forming the crest. Maggie grimaces. She likes shirasu, but aspic sends her right back to her great aunt’s Christmas Jell-O.“Sure looks like it to me.”“Some of these folks have been hospitalized.”“Let me ask you a question, Jim.”“Yeah?”“Are any of these people dead?”“No.”“What’s my job, Jim?”“Homicide detec— Look…” He twirls his his white rug of a mustache, agonizing through another approach. “We’ve got the Skyfire Festival coming up in a couple of weeks. The city could stand to lose a ton of business if this blows up in our faces.”“So why not check with Shriver in narcotics? Maybe there’s a new strain of Ratgum or Orephria out on the street?““I have. The victims are all squeaky clean. Most of them are upstanding citizens. Last night, Councilman Gilford Watts tried to do the limbo under a dim sum trolley.“Gilford Watts?” Maggie quirks an eyebrow. “Gilford Watts can barely handle a press conference without a half-pint of JD.”McConnell sags back into his chair and scratches his head. “Sawyer, I know, you’ve been a team player. I get it and even more, I appreciate it. But we’ve got thousands of people coming into town to see the biggest celestial event since Tunguska. Hotels are booked from here to La Jolla and the restaurants? Christ, I don’t even want to think about it.” He puckers his lips into what alarmingly resembles a pout. “Please. You did so well on the Dasher case, and you’ve got an in at most of the eateries around town and—““Reopen the Thomas case.”“The Thom—”“—You heard me.”The fifteen-year-old murder of a Dyralian woman, the details of which have obsessed her since her early days at the Academy. Maggie’s been poking around in her off hours, striking up convos with witnesses, and the now retired Detectives who worked the case. She’s got more than enough to reopen it, but neither McConnell nor the DA seem willing to budge. “Okay?”“You mean that?” she says. “Because that sounded an awful lot like a question.”McConnell is so still for a moment, Maggie wonders if there’s a bug in her hair, but his mouth goes tight and he gives a short, curt nod. “I said what I said.”She fights down a grin and opens the door, only turning back when she’s halfway out. “Oh, and I want a plus one added to my expense account. My girlfriend’s not going to be happy eating home alone every night.”He rolls his eyes. “Sure, sure. Just bring me some leftovers.”#Mulcahy’s is a cliche. That place you see on every TV cop show, all dark wood and backless stools; a pool table with stained and tatty felt sits to the side of a precariously located dart board for all your passive-aggressive moments.Come as a tourist, and you’ll thrill to the sight of neon and rugged abjection before the hard stares of the regulars make you down your drink and drop an extra twenty on the bar so your car won’t be towed.It’s a real cops’ bar, which is why Maggie’s never cared for it, but there’s a long-standing tradition to toss back a few here when something major happens in a cop’s life: engagements, weddings, new kids.Maggie Sawyer making a commitment.So she smooths back her hair and tries not to flinch when the pop and spray of several bottles of Cava greet her on the way in.“Assholes.” She chuckles as she shakes some of that floral dampness from her vest. “Just got this from the cleaners.”She didn’t. She knew this was coming, but she leans into the act and makes a show of hanging it up on the coat rack. Owens passes her a shot as the rest of the precinct surrounds her in a volley of clinking glasses.“To Sawyer! May this one stick!”“Yeah,” says Larson. “Maybe you can get some then, Lenny?”More laughter. But Maggie does that thing where she checks to make sure it registers as a joke. Owens is a good kid with an even better sense of humor, but she’s seen too many situations where good-natured ribbing tumbles into slugfests.Owen blushes. “Just hope I’ll be as lucky as you are, Mags. Alex is a good one.”Maggie wraps an arm around his shoulder and they clink their glasses again, downing their shots. A pleasant warmth floods her chest, and for an instant, she almost forgets that they’re celebrating nothing.She hasn’t even asked Alex to move in with her yet.Correction. She hasn’t worked up the fucking nerve.So many excuses too. It’s not the right moment or work was a bitch or the wrong people show up and ruin the moment—Kara!She’s even blamed it on Emily a couple of times, because it had gone poorly when she’d asked Emily, although in hindsight Emily liked her head games more than she did most people.
You don't deserve to be happy.
She downs another shot and keeps her face in a cheerful rictus, checking her phone every so often because even though Alex knows it’s squad night and she’s off in Midvale anyway, Maggie’s half-praying to see that telltale glow on her screen and that the booze, however indecorous, might just help her get the words out.The cops drink and play pool, and nosh on the greasy food from the fortuitous presence of a truck outside, and before they get too drunk or someone decides to get in a fight, Larsen remembers to roll out the present.“We chipped in,” he says. “Got you something that you and the lady might enjoy.”Maggie goes pale and trades a glance with her old partner, Turpin who rolls his eyes, and for a minute, she thinks it’s going to be a sex toy. That’s just the kind of thing a guy like Larsen would do. Didn’t he get Sayers a bondage harness?But instead of a box with chintzy pink wrapping, she hears the sound of heavy rattling along on the floor. Maggie looks up to see Parasecoli and Park pushing in something square and heavy and draped in a cloth, out from behind the bar.“We heard your lady likes the good stuff,” Turpin says. “And we didn’t want you to fight over it so…”Park grins and looks about, her eyes asking for permission before she pulls off the cloth.“All right, none of you guys touch this stuff until Mags and Alex invite us over.”Maggie steps back, blinking in surprise.It’s a combination wine cooler and liquor cabinet, made with Coluan smart technology that calibrates temperature by the container, and inside of it are bottles of Alex and Maggie’s favorites. Hakushu and Aberlour, a bottle of champagne, and some good sake cooled to a crisp temperature.She wipes her eyes, and in a half-choked laugh says. “Did you guys rob Sub-Zero?”There’s laughter as they crowd around her, but as she hugs each one of them, that warmth of camaraderie and the promise of good times is soured by a rising sense of guilt, and yes—inadequacy.Maggie’s an expert at that despite her bravado.By her fourth shot, she’s sequestered herself in a back booth to pretend fascination with a Carggian triplet dance-off up on the flatscreen above the bar. Dan Turpin strides over to her and places a glass of seltzer water down in front of her, alongside a plate of fries and a vegetarian cheese steak from the food truck outside.“Thought you could eat something,” he says. “You’ve been surprisingly jumpy for someone trying to take the edge off.”“Thanks. I guess I forgot to with all the business over the move and all. Plus,” she shoots him a pointed gaze “McConnell called me in tonight.”Turpin grimaces. “Ah, shit. Did he dump that on you?”“He did.” She takes a few fries and finds her mouth is so dry she can barely swallow them. She grabs the water and takes a long pull. The carbonation scrapes against her throat.“Predictable chump,” Turpin mutters, “but…” He glances up at her, his expression cautious. “That’s not the only thing that’s bothering you, is it?”Maggie pauses, taking another swig of water to give her time to think. Turpin sits there, unthreatening but perfectly still, wielding that good cop act he’s honed to an art during interrogations. It works on her too.“No.” She glances about, making sure the others are out of earshot. “This party and everything, I’m grateful. And I’ve got the place. Just signed the lease, but—““You haven’t asked her yet, have you?”She looks away. The Carggian triplets are forming a human pyramid while doing a jitterbug. It feels a little too close to life. “I keep meaning to, but every time, she’ll do or say something that makes me question the decision.”Turpin rears back, his voice lowering in preemptive hostility. “You think she’s stepping out on you?”“No, Dan.” She gives a quick, resolute shake of her head. “Alex wouldn’t do that. It’s me.” She lets out her breath. “Did you know I’m her first?”“I thought you were over that.”“Yeah, well, maybe I’m not.”“She’s twenty-eight, Mags.”Maggie takes her shot and downs it; the bourbon goes down like a Magnum slug doused in sugar. “Well, we queers age a little differently. Different expectations, different lifecycles. Sometime we’re mayflies and at others ocean quahogs.” She snorts. “You know, she taught me that. That quahogs live for centuries.”“You’ve definitely had too much to drink.”He reaches over to pat her shoulder, thinks the better of it, and reaches for his beer instead. “Come on, Mags. You both like punching things, leaping out of moving vehicles, and you can crush at trivia on Interstellar Criminal Justice. If that doesn’t mean soul mates, what does?”Maggie pauses, the words forming, although she’s not sure she wants them to because they’ll lead to the same conclusion, that however good she feels about this situation she isn’t good enough for it. “I guess it scares me. I don’t think I’ve felt—“A shriek.More like Daryl Hannah’s TV-shattering blast in Splash along with the thousand pterodactyl talons skittering down a chalkboard.“Fucking Christ!” Turpin’s hands slap to his ears, as do everybody else’s. They turn, wincing, to the source of the noise, and Maggie half expects to see King Shark rushing them from the pool table. Owen is on his back, his eyes bulging, his body arcing like there’s a current racing through his veins. His mouth is stretched open so wide he could beat Kara during a gyoza-eating contest. “What’s the matter, Owen?” Larsen says. “She turn you down?” Turpin shoots him a look as he and Maggie slide out of the booth, pushing the others back as they kneel over him. Turpin holds him down by the shoulders as Maggie leans over him, flicking a pen light in his eyes the way she’s seen Alex do so many times before. Owen’s pupils are dilated; his breath ragged, and there’s a glassy wheeze emerging from his throat. “Owen?” Turpin’s voice cracks with concern. “This a new line or something buddy?”Maggie nods up to the bartender who’s already calling an EMT.“One of those,” Turpin says. He doesn’t look at Maggie. There’s no need to.“McConnell’s got timing,” she says. “I'll give him that.”
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"I still don't know how you manage in this space,” Alex says.They're in Maggie's kitchen, if it can be called that. It's more of a closet with two burners and a refrigerator that might be mistaken for a router. Alex sits cross-legged atop the counter nursing a mug of Zakkarian ale. She's watching Maggie make dinner with a look of contained worry.“I do alright.”Maggie wills herself not to get defensive. Alex was justifiably shocked the first time she spent the night here, taking in this small, hyper-efficiently managed space like she'd stepped inside the cockpit of a fighter plane.It's turned into a thing between them, Alex joking about how Maggie never forgets where she puts anything; how she can find a set of errant keys faster than Kara's X-Ray vision. Maggie laughs it off, but underneath is a raw patch.Alex has always had money and the space. Maggie not so much, and she can't help worrying that there’s some judgement tucked in Alex’s jibes about her alphabetized bookshelves and the small but elegant study she's carved out of an alcove near the window.She stands on tiptoe, feeling around inside a cupboard until she finds what she's looking for. A narrow, coppery cylinder that could be a coffee grinder were it not for the instruction label in Interlac. “All you need is a system. Best thing my father ever taught me…there.”She puts the device down on the counter amid her dinner preparations. She's gone all out tonight. The water chestnut is sliced paper thin, the tofu is drained and cubed, and a root vegetable from Thelari sits trussed up and ready for baking like a proud rack of lamb.“Is that… a Thanagarian spice infuser?" Alex slides the device over, her eyes flicking over the instructions. “This is pro equipment.”“It was a gift,” Maggie says. "Helps with the savory when you eat like I do.”Alex holds it up and rotates it, peering at the marking. The jeweled controls flicker under the lamp. “You’ve got enough alien cookware here to fill a room in the DEO basement.""Maybe we could trade sometime,” Maggie says, stopping to take a sip of wine. “A few flash grenades for Sh'iar mandoline?""Right," Alex eyes her with jocular wariness and takes a long pull of ale. She wipes the foam from her lips, her expression suddenly contemplative. "You know, you still haven't told me why you stopped eating meat."Maggie’s eyes dart back to her and Alex seems to spook for a moment. They're both still working out their boundaries, but Alex is new at this, never quite sure when she's overstepping. She shrugs, hoping it will put Alex at ease. “It’s not that exciting,” she says, although the drop in her tone reveals the opposite. "When I was thirteen, Papi decided it was time I took on some of the adult responsibilities on the farm. We raised pigs.""Oh..." Alex says, nodding as she takes it in. “Oh…”"Yeah.” She leaves the rest of her imagination. "Suffice to say, he wasn't too happy with me after I took off with a pair of our piglets. I rode all the way to Landry with them on my bike, gave them to some hippy farm that wouldn’t hurt them.”Alex smiles at that and warmth nudges her insides. “You were a hero even back then.”She pauses, wanting to disclose more, but not wanting to spoil the mood. “I eat fish and chicken occasionally but not when I can avoid it. Having a host of off-world ingredients to choose from has made that a lot easier."She picks up the infuser and opens the top, revealing the intricate loop of gears within, then takes a jar of purplish seeds and sprinkles them into the contraption. "You'll like this,” she says. "Makes truffle oil seem like all-spice."She presses one of the buttons on the side, and then holds the device over the root, letting it disperse a light layer over the skin before she slides the platter into the oven. A savory, yet pungent scent wafts through the kitchen.Alex rocks back a little, her eyes closing in delight, and something inside Maggie starts to shimmer to life.Alex Danvers might have seemed like a jaded hard ass upon first meet; she might cast a glare to rival Kara's heat vision, but the way she reacts to surprises--the good ones anyway—makes Maggie feel like part of her innocence has been restored. The worried cast of those brown eyes--reminiscent of a gothic heroine in profile-- dissipates in an instant, replaced by someone lighter and freer, a glimpse of the Alex before Kara was foisted on her, before her father's disappearance turned her life into an unfinished sentence.She takes another sip of wine and nearly misses her mouth. “So, what's this about a new tenant?""Oh," Alex puts her beer down and folds her hands, blinking off into space as if she's still processing the details. "The new... guy. Still haven't identified the species yet. We found him down at the Hennessy dockyards. It was creating massive interference with the transport portal used by the Angtu.""Them," Maggie says. The Angtu are a strange lot. Maggie isn't quite sure why they're even here. They walk around in lumbering EVA suits, pumped with toxic gas that they need to survive in Earth's atmosphere; not exactly a growing demographic. Yet they insist on maintaining an Embassy here, a stipulation the Feds have agreed to in exchange for an ongoing supply of Xanshian-Yttrium from their world.“Is it sentient?” Maggie asks. She stoops and punches the numbers into the oven timer. From what she's heard, the Angtu aren't well-liked. Anywhere.“We’re still not sure yet. Our attempts to establish communication haven’t been going well. But it's definitely a liminalian.""Liminalian?""Interstitial or interdimensional, capable of existing in both worlds at once," Alex says. “We don't think the disruption was intentional, particularly as Angtu portal technology is more sensitive than a Hewlett-Packard printer cartridge. Might just be a case of wrong time and place, but until we can communicate with it, we're keeping it locked up in a Nexus Vault.""That legal?" Maggie quirks an eyebrow to soften the question, but she's half serious. The DEO's constant overreach is a frequent source of banter if not tension between them, one Maggie suspects is also a stand-in for the other tensions in their relationship. She takes a slice of water chestnut and pops it into Alex's mouth.“Mmmrrphh,” Alex says. “You’re like a dentist. Shoving things in my mouth before the interrogation starts.”Maggie smiles. “I just know which questions you can't answer.”“Considerate,” she says, with just enough sarcasm that it functions as both a compliment and a retort. "At any rate, Mom's been helping me map the creature’s biology. Hard when spin keeps it in a constant state of transition.""Eliza's helping you?" Maggie asks."Yeah," Alex smiles. "It's not so bad, really. To be at a stage where I can teach her a few things. I feel…adult."“Must be nice,” Maggie says. She douses a twinge of wistfulness with more wine and tries not to wonder what it would be like to have a relationship with her own mother. And she doesn't ask her that other question, about whether she's told Eliza that she and Maggie have been spending a lot time together--that maybe things are getting serious.”It’s nice to be with you,” Alex says. “Feels like we haven’t had any time like this together in weeks.””Thought things would let up with the ceasefire,” Maggie says. She leans in for a quick kiss that lingers when Alex slides her fingers around her neck. She draws back, breathless and on the cusp of stuttering out the question, but Alex’s earlier caution gives her pause. What if she says no?"Which reminds me,” she says. “Do you think you could maybe ask if your colleagues know of any new substance circulating with the off-world crowd? All the better if it’s tasteless and capable of inducing mind control."They’d brought Owen into the ER last night, where he came to begging for a chocolate malt and unable to remember much more beyond arriving at the bar. His bloodwork didn’t show any anomalies.“Why?” Alex dips in for another kiss. It’s been a week since they has saw each other, and that was a lunch date, halved to fifteen minutes by Kara’s need for an emergency consultation about that L-Corp CEO. "You trying to take advantage of me, Sawyer?"“Maybe.” She moves in as Alex scoots to the edge of the counter to meet her, not hard in such a cramped space, but even with such limited room, Maggie makes more of it by pressing up against her as she brings their mouths together. Alex tastes of ale and spice and the cologne she's feathered over her skin, and Maggie suddenly isn't thinking about dinner, or mothers, or the case McConnell's dumped on her. She's only thinking about how to maneuver Alex around the counter and through that narrow embrasure to the sofa."Fifteen minutes," she whispers. "I mean it--."Alex cuts her off with another kiss, needier this time, and still with that awkward, frenetic energy she had when they'd first started sleeping together. It's that shakiness more than anything that adds to loosens her control— the way Alex's breath hitches, the way her fingers tremble over her skin is like a current, making her feel fierce and alive. She lets out a gasp as Alex wraps her legs around her. Maggie hoists her up in her arms, moving her to a wider space between the wine glasses and the tofu. Even so, she nearly knocks everything to the floor as her fingers work at the buttons of Alex's jeans."I think," Alex says, dizzy with breath "... this is a first, Sawyer.”She leans back on her hands as Maggie tugs at her jeans. "I mean... us. In this kitchen.""Told you I have a system.”Off come the shoes. The jeans drop around her ankles.
Maggie drops too.#Hours later, Alex is nestled against her thick with sleep. Maggie's drifted off for an hour, but she's sensitive to light and the blue glow purling through the blinds tugs her back into consciousness.It’s bright and intense—like a dawn made out of Smurf. She gets up and draws aside the blinds, whistling appreciatively as she takes in the night sky.Meteors. Already slashing the heavens like cracks in a teacup. The peak isn’t until next week when the Earth passes directly through the Artemis cloud. She’ll have to buy some blackout curtains or drag a cot into the closet if she wants any shuteye.A rattle.Then the muffled thunk of a door. She grabs her gun from the side table, just in case, although she's ninety-nine percent certain of who it is.The counter is stacked up with leftovers from dinner. Kara, her hair mussed, her blue suit scuffed and smelling of kelp and machine oil is digging into a plate of the root, which Maggie and Alex were feeding to each other just a few hours ago. Her eyes balloon big enough to match her cheeks as she zeroes in on the gun.“Jesus, Kara." She lets out a sigh and lowers it as Kara makes a mmrrrmmm sound and waves a hand over her mouth. "Oh. My. Rao. This is so good! So. So good! Alex said you could cook but I had no idea!”“Thanks.”"She awake?""Nope. You ever think about knocking?”"Didn't want to wake you," Kara says, shoving another forkful into her mouth. She closes her eyes, fork dancing in the air like a conductor. "Oh. My. God. This is Krava dust, isn’t it? I don't think I've had anything like this since—where did you—“"A friend.” Her voice is harder, and she glances back, relieved to see Alex still sound asleep. She must have become inured to these visits years ago."I've been out all night," Kara says, "responding to calls all over the Pacific Seaboard. The meteor showers have been causing all kinds of chaos. Folks reporting UFOs and sea monsters. They’ve all been false alarms--well except for that barge full of North Korean defectors. Had to drop them off at the port to start the asylum process.”“Does seem brighter than usual.”Kara waves her off. “Aww, this? Pffft! This is nothing compared to what we used to see on Krypton.”She’s about to bristle again, but Kara take another bite and thumbs a tear from her eye and Maggie loses all motivation to complain. She grabs a container from the cupboard, and scoops in a generous helping of the leftovers with some extra Krava dust on the side. "Here, kid.”“Really?” Kara's eyes light up as Maggie looks out at that eerie blue glimmer."Take it. I have a feeling you're in for a busy night."
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“You’re going to need glasses soon, Sawyer.”Maggie squints up from her paperwork and almost chokes in surprise. This is the second time this month Hinn’s let Parker Torres slip past the front desk. She’s standing there smug as Cat Grant, holding a device that could have been cribbed from a Best Buy on Themyscira.It’s plated in gold, the real thing from the looks of it, and etched in a blocky alien script with sensor crystals shimmering on each node.“Whoa, kid. Who’d you get that from?”Parker smirks and glances around at the moribund chaos of the station, the dented file cabinets and boxy desktop computers fused to their boxier desks by dust and time. “I helped someone out when I was in Gotham last month. It’s Thelarian tech.”“Someone.”“I’m not allowed to tell.”“I can guess.”“Anyhow, I figured that you cops with your smoke signals and ear horns might need my services.”“Spying on cheating frat boys not pay enough?”“It covers my textbooks,” Torres says. “But I’m feeling more ambitious.”She holds the device up to Maggie’s nose and presses one of the controls. A familiar voice floats in from the next room along with the alarmingly tempting smell of a grilled cheese sandwich—Hinn’s go-to order from one of the food carts outside the station.“All you have to do is aim this thing,” Torres says. “No need to plant cameras or mics. Pick a spot and it can penetrate even lead, picks up sounds, images, smells. Thought it might be of use.”Maggie contemplates her for a moment. It’s tempting, especially if it gets her off this case sooner and she admires the kid’s hustle. “Maybe," she says. “In the meantime, tell Kate to call me.”Torres gives Maggie that impish grin that reminds her so much of herself when she was young. “So how’s the place search going?”“I got one,” Maggie tilts her head and lets her reticence do the rest. It loses out to Torres’s squeal of delight as a pair of arms wrap around her. Maggie leans in and gives her an awkward pat on the back.“You guys are going to invite me over, right? Like we’ll have dinner parties and wine and play charades?”“Got plenty of those already.”“Oh, come on. It’ll be stylish. Like Nick and Nora.”The phone vibrates in her pocket. Maggie draws back and puts a finger to her lips.You haven't asked her yet? Torres mouths. Maggie glares and turns away.“Hey, Danvers.”“Hey,” Alex’s tone is hurried but optimistic. “ That substance you were looking for. I have a candidate.”She grabs a pencil from the coffee mug on her desk. “Have at it.”“The bloodwork of your victims shows a peculiar biomarker. Nothing narcotic which is why it didn’t raise any flags, but in all of them there was a gastrokine indicating, get this— vinegar.”“Makes sense. Fermentation is a culinary universal.”“Right? But vinegar dissipates in the system within hours. This one still shows days after any of these people ingested it. There's an iodine like substance interacting with it, interrupting the breakdown of digestive enzymes.“Fish and vinegar,” Maggie says. “I think I know where I can follow that up. Danvers, you’re one of a kind.”“Up for takeout at my place tomorrow night? We can watch For All Mankind and pretend shoot my alien gun at Danny Stevens.”A smile slips into Maggie’s voice. “Chez Danvers it is."She glances over at Torres, now gazing at her with a mix of impatience and frustration, and mouths, tomorrow. #At the halfway point between the Old and Neo Hennessy dockyards, where the fish mongers still sell their catches, is a joint called Uoshin’s Blues. Uoshin’s is an intergalactic kaiten zushi with a revolving parade of everything from sea urchin to fresh cuts of Thanagarian orange tail served with pureed mountain vegetables and ponzu. Artie and Ben, two Glirell who trained under the late, great Jiro, teleport their nigiri straight to the belt as an added lure for the tourists. Uoshin’s opens Tsukiji style, well before dawn as the fresh catches come in, and Maggie’s sometimes dropped in before an early trip to the gym. J-pop blares from the speakers as a huddle of dockworkers shovel down plates of shrimp and baked egg, slurping their crab miso with the kind of delight Maggie reserves for Alex’s blueberry pancakes.But she’s not here for that, although she is partial to their tororo. She’s come for its new owner, one Sam ‘Sora’ Jones; he pronounces it Jonesu. A self-proclaimed moneyman and devoted Japanophile—see WEEB — who’s taking Uoshin’s in “an exciting new direction.” Sora also likes to brag about his ties to the Ariyoshi-kai, a yakuza gang allied with the Syndicate. Maggie doubts this very much, although his use of their extortion tactics, not to mention a few chemical side businesses, are like breadcrumbs soaked in fluorescent paint and helped along with arrow signs.In short, the guy’s fishy.“Come on, Sora,” she says, “You can’t tell me Ren Saito’s new place getting hit on opening night is coincidence. Thought you were a better liar.”Saito’s starred kaiseki restaurant is the latest to shutter itself after a group of influencers tore up the shoji and tried to chew up the tatami mats.“Ain’t me.” Sora’s jaw shifts in indignation and he scratches his shoulder, causing a bark of protest from one of the sentient tattoos lacing up his biceps. Two dragons coil around his arms, facing each other like neighbors chatting over a garden hedge. Sora’s had them inked with sentient nanites, and both he and his tats will tell anyone they’re the work of a real horishi, a thing no real yak would submit to for fear his ass cheek might smart off to the boss. “Wrong person, Sawyer. Watakushiiii de waaa arimaseeen.”His tattoos follow suit like a chorus.
[Duh!]
[Some people are so oblivious.]
Maggie shoots one a glare and then feels ridiculous for it. She steps closer. “Saito’s a star, Sora. Got a new show on Netflix. Catered for Bruce Wayne’s gala. You’re telling me that disruption didn't make you a little bit happy?”One of the dragons rears up and gives her a quick and scathing once-over.
[If you bothered to read the Yell reviews, detective, you’d know that Saito was being targeted by a less savory individual.]
“See?” Sora gives a vigorous nod in response.Maggie tilts her head, not quite sure who she should be irritated with. “Don’t read Yell. Mob rule tends to taste bad.”[But of course] says the other in a singsong voice. [That’s why your local cops are always a step ahead, right?] A haughty curl of smoke flumes from its nostrils. [Allow me to present a few exhibits for your perusal.]Sora smiles and lifts his other arm, allowing the dragon to spew another plume, real enough that Maggie has to stifle the urge to cough in response. She watches, not quite able to temper her fascination as clouds shift and separate into a reel of text displaying one-star reviews and hyperbolic headlines in the air in front of her.
[Ask about their ingredients and Ren Saito’s staff couldn’t tell you if a haffa cutlet hails from Formalhaut or some dudebro’s edible token. Utterly appalling that they can’t answer basic questions about their sourcing. Go somewhere more ethical, like Zark’s.]
Chasten Zark?Thurnian knife wielder. Celebrity Chef and host of Taste Invasion, the Food Network’s number-one source of alien food porn.That’s too damned easy.
[I tried to give Bakrata’s a chance. They boast of portal-to-table service, but it took two hours to get my Sensana and when it came, the hide was soggy. When I complained, the waiter just said two hours was “normal considering a Sensana takes decades where it’s from. RUDE! Try Zark’s. It’s cruelty free too!”
“You think he’d be that obvious?” Maggie says.Sora’s eyes lift skyward like a martyr. “He’s not one for subtlety. Try his risotto if you don’t believe me. It’s like visiting the salt flats.”That night, Maggie scours the reviews and puff pieces on Zark. Trommite survivor, former chef on Queen Rhea’s ship the Le Guin before he was dropped planetside to become an alien food evangelist, a connection he never fails to exploit in interviews.Queen Rhea. Maggie snorts. Even Kara’s starstruck. Alex told her she flies out to the Le Guin every so often when she needs a safe drunk.She scrolls down to discover a miracle. He’s holding a charity gala tomorrow night at the Otto Binder Community Center.
She rings Torres first before she remembers. Then after a few minutes of deliberation, she picks up her phone and calls Alex. #As tips go, Sora’s is a good one. Human, alien, anyone who’s anyone in National City’s flourishing restaurant scene is here to show their support for Zark’s latest charity: a scholarship fund for Phlonian culinary students. The humans pay twice the ticket price, a request meant to reflect alien and human economic disparities. It’s not a bad idea, Maggie thinks, but in person, Zark is a puzzle, flamboyant but reserved, wearing a dark suit with an ascot that could double as a bib. Tonight he’s serving up his specialty, Trappist-1 Fondue, featuring cheeses from an exosolar dairy near the X-Quen Terminus, along with bioluminescent noodles from Talokian wheat.If she wasn’t here on business, she might even enjoy herself.But that would also depend on Alex, who’s serving up the same thoughtful silence she did over the phone.“So what do you think, Danvers?” she tenders. “Beats ordering in?”A smile, more of a line really, tightens her features, causing Maggie to instantly regret the question. Sure, it was a split-second decision, and sure, Alex had just told her she’d wanted to talk about something important before she dropped this change of plans on her, but she’d hoped the dazzling ambiance might shift the mood once they arrived.It hasn’t.Alex isn’t tetchy, but she’s aloof, her attention redshifting faster than a distant galaxy. And what makes it even more agonizing is that she took Maggie’s instructions to “wear something nice” with her trademark A-student seriousness. That dress she’s in? Tight and wine-dark with a collar low enough to make Maggie’s heart race, is sheer passive-aggressive vengeance.“It’s certainly novel,” Alex says. She shoves some enthusiasm into her voice the way she might a suitcase onto an X-ray conveyor.“You didn’t want to come?” Maggie says, feeling herself sag inside. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Not fair, Sawyer.
Alex plucks a martini from a passing tray. “Didn’t think to. It’s been a long week.”“Hey.” Maggie takes her hand, tugs her gently away from the crowd toward a table laden with Coral crab and shargluts on the half shell. “I’m sorry.” She reaches up and brushes Alex’s cheek with her thumb, and watches her soften just a little, her gaze drawing closer like a sunrise ghosting a world. “It was inconsiderate of me to drag you out here like this. Want me to call a car? I can handle things from here, just a lot of posing and talk of small plates.““No,” Alex says, her smile more energetic this time. “Of course, I want to be with you. And I know McConnell’s ambushed you with this case, I’m just—“Maggie’s earpiece hisses. “Shit. Just a second.” She frowns and drags a strand of hair behind her ear as Torres’ voice slides into her comms.“Hey, Chief.”“Hey. Got anything?”“A surveillance bubble over the whole kitchen. And holy fuck, that garlic and butter and arofrushian spice. I’m gonna die here. You’d better bring some of that back.”“Torres.”“Okay, okay. Got a clear view of everyone coming and going, from the sommelier station to the passerelle.”“Passerelle, huh?” Maggie grins and turns away, trying to ignore the look of disappointment blooming on Alex’s features. “That’s great, kid. Let me know if you see anything funny and I’ll pilfer the dessert plate for you.”“How about a bottle of Veuve Clicquot?”“Talk to me in a year and a half.”“Hold you to it,” Torres says.She slips her phone in her pocket and turns back. “Hey, sorry that was—“But Alex is already yards away, in physical as well as emotional distance. In fact, she’s being chatted up right by the one and only Chasten Zark, now lit from his podium, and from his expression, he’s actually being pleasant.She snuffs out a twinge of jealousy, and starts to push back through the gaggle of humans and aliens, their speech garbled and their mouths full of star grapes and phosphorescent bruschetta. Maggie allows herself to eavesdrop as she winds her way through elbows and tentacles and gravity defying hooves. Some chatter about donations. More bragging about the Queen.“Her Highness was like Elizabeth the first upon tasting the sweetness of the tomato. When Daxam blew, she tossed away that musty, patriarchal prison and divorced the King, whom she claims bears an unpleasant resemblance to a D-List American actor—Her words, not mine.”Alex tries to switch the subject, to tell him about Eliza’s work with a charity for the Regulus supernova refugees, but Zark’s a predictably lousy listener. Now he’s droning on about the Phlonian ability to induce the Maillard reaction and stoke umami in a dish with just the wave of a hand. “They’ll revolutionize cooking,” he says. “The poor won’t be given a choice of junk food or gruel. Everyone will be able to enjoy sous vide and molecular gastronomy at the drop of a hat.”“Too bad,” she says, sidling up pointedly close to Alex. “I think I’d miss my Tia’s avena.”Alex turns, her smile ratcheting up as Zark’s crashes like a drink tray on slippery tile. He gives Maggie a lingering once over, his expression shifting into an archness Maggie recognizes from all those times he downvotes a dish on TV. “But of course,” he says. “Too often we underestimate the complexity of simple fare.”What a condescending fuck. She offers her hand anyway, but he holds his own—it’s gloved in some pearlescent material—at his side.“Detective Sawyer, is it? Wasn’t expecting any police tonight, but I suppose you have to make yourself look good after the Echols incident.”The punch doesn’t land, but the attempt pisses her off anyway. She’s not defensive; she knows her profession isn’t well-liked and often for good reason, but while she’ll side with the criticism, she can’t abide all the talking out of one’s ass that comes with it. She draws up, head cocked and wishing she’d grabbed another cocktail from that tray that passed them a few minutes ago.“Sorry to disappoint you. That was Fountain Valley you were thinking of.”“The only thing that disappoints me,” Zark says, “Is that I didn’t triple the price for cops. If I’d known you were going to be here, I most certainly would have.” He nods to Alex, his tone dripping with saccharine. “It was a pleasure. If you’ll excuse me.”They’re both quiet as they watch him go, Maggie unsure if Alex doesn’t quite share a little of his disregard for different reasons. She tests the waters.“Now I’m hoping he’s our guy.”Alex answers by downing her cocktail. “And lose the hundreds of thousands going to the Dyralian Children’s fund or all those foreclosure bailouts he’s thrown his money into?”“Doesn’t have to be an asshole.”Alex puts the glass down on the table behind her and draws up. “It’s not wrong to be an asshole if you do it for the right reasons. ACT UP were assholes. So were those folks in the Compton’s Cafeteria riot. You were the one who taught me that.”Maggie feels a slug go into her gut. “You're right,” she says. “I’m sorry.”“Maggie,” Alex says, her eyes lowered. “On any other night, this would be lovely, but I wanted to—“She’s cut off by a strange barking sound. Maggie turns toward it, mistaking it a clumsy shift in the music. Zark is just the kind of hipster to keep his guests on edge Balarakii Slither punk or a Coluan Cipher Choir—basically an acapella group chanting Reiman surfaces and Mandelbrot sets. She's disabused by a flash of blue and a table clattering over to reveal Brian, his tux smeared in sauce and a white asparagus jammed into his ear like he's mistaken it for a Q-tip. The dishes barely have time to shatter before he's up and leaping upon the mess, jabbing his hands into the runny sauce, shoving bread rolls into his mouth so fast he could be Barry Allen on a Domino’s run.“ Alex swipes her hand up, deflecting a pair of fondue tongues that ping into the chandelier. “Is that—““When is it not?”Maggie flashes her badge and shouts a "move!” catching an eye roll from Zark as he leans in to whisper something to one of his assistants. She and Alex fight their way through the crowd. Not hard as they’re acting like Brian’s got a bomb strapped to his chest. His pupils have dilated into moons. He’s on his back, flopping around like a beached fish, his mouth open as if he’s hoping the skies will bless him with a bucket of popcorn shrimp.“Hey!" Maggie pats his face, knowing it will be useless, but she doesn't know what else to do. “What are you on, buddy?”“He’s warm,” Alex says. “Brian's cold blooded. We’d better call J’onn. Take him into the DEO.”#Neither Owen nor any of the other victims could give a lucid account of what happened before blacking out, but thanks to Torres, they’ve got footage of Brian skulking around the supply room. Maybe enough to jog his memory. But when Brian wakes up in his cell, he offers nothing more than his signature grin and a small canister he’s tucked into his ribcage. “Taking this was the last thing I remember,” he says. He holds it under his nose. “Mmmm. Still fresh.” Alex grabs his wrist as he turns the and sprinkles a little into his palm. “No!” She just out an arm and shoves Maggie back against the wall. “Close it! Vasquez!” She calls into her comms, “We need a BSC in cell 7!”“What is it?” Maggie says.Brian is sniffing his hand, his eyes closed in a rapt expression. He opens them to see Maggie and Alex backed against the wall of the cell.“This?” he says, indignant, “is a lifesaver. It’s xior salt, developed over thousands of years on generation ships. My people relied on it during the long exodus after Roxxas took our world, and many other wanderers do as well.”“What does it do?” Alex says.He turns the canister in his hands, the light flickering off the Interlac letters on the side. “Only makes the prospect of hundreds of years inside a tin can bearable for those who’ve got no other sustenance than nutrient paste. Chasten Zark’s appropriated it as his secret ingredient.”“But why?”Brian shrugs as if it’s obvious. “Stuff makes anything taste good. Even Alex’s paella.”“Wait. What?”Brian’s smile slides down his face. His eyes flick over to Maggie. “Hey, I just go on what I hear.”Maggie coughs, studiously avoiding eye contact with either of them. “But people steal recipes all the time. Why’d you have to break in?”“Because,” Brian says, “it’s not just a matter of ratio and freshness. xior-salt contains a rare and secret ingredient. One that’s not easily available on Earth. It’s made by running a cloud mesh through a nebula and fermenting the particles in an ionizer. It’s an extremely rare substance in these parts and not replicable. Zark here seems to have an endless supply. I was asked to do some reconnaissance. Getting a sample for analysis.”“Did you ingest any of this before you blacked out,” Maggie says.“I wish,” Brian says. “Didn’t have time.”And it’s true. Footage shows Brian noshing on a few canapés and guzzling a half bottle of Dom before he gets to work decrypting the spice locker. From there, he hurries along, slipping the vial into his pocket and trapping out the swing door to the serving area where he collapsed.The door wheezes open. Vasquez is there in full hazmat gear and holding a biological safety container like she’s ready to speak heptapod. She shoots Alex a look through the visor.“Oh…” Alex says. “Sorry. It’s not that kind of thing.”“Sure,” Vasquez says. With a flourish, she opens the container, gusting them all with a cloud of condensation. “Regardless, your chariot awaits.”“So this is promising,” Maggie says.Alex slaps her gloves on and takes the vial from Brian, slipping it into the box. “It is, but there’s something else I’d like you to take a look at.”#“I told you I’ve been trying to identify our visitor downstairs,” Alex says. She pulls up another slide.A creature, spiny and eyeless and glowing in all sorts of baleful places grins back at them from the wall screen.“Jesus, Danvers,” Maggie pushes back in her chair. “Warn me first, will you?”Alex doesn’t smile at that. She’s all business as she clicks on another image; this one Maggie recognizes: a gulper eel, its broad mouth gaping like a face hugger as it sits atop a whale carcass. “Bioluminescence, sightlessness, not to mention these filaments used in filter feeding. Even under extreme cases of convergent evolution, the similarities between our basement guest and the life in Earth’s hadal zone are alarming.”“The lowest part of the sea,” Maggie says, suppressing a shudder. For as much as she likes the ocean, she’s never been inclined to know its secrets. “So how does that connect to our victims?”“It’s in their movements,” Alex says. “Notice that every fit starts with an overwhelming and insatiable hunger. They shove food in their mouths, press it to their skin, into their ears, other orifices before they go into that seizure state. And they wind up on their backs, making that…noise, like they’re trying their damndest to speak in sonar.”“Maybe they're picking up a signal of some kind. Like Havana syndrome.”“It’s possible,” Alex says. “A neurotransmitter perhaps, disrupting the normal signaling between the brain and digestion.” She looks away, her expression distant. “I’ll need to collate more data about their neural systems. There’s a massive diversity in their anatomy in the deep. Even on such limited resources. Different cycles, life-history, tradeoffs.”“Just like humans.""What does that mean?"Maggie looks up at her, shrugging off her confusion. She's not sure where the question came from or why Alex is looking at her with such intensity. "It's just an observation. People have different life cycles too. Not everyone runs on the same clock."Alex's response is slow. It takes a long minute for Maggie to realize they’ve drifted into another conversation. "Are you trying to tell me something?” Her shoulders go taut and then sag again as if she's cutting off a valve of pent-up hostility.“Where’s this coming from, Danvers?”Alex sighs and leans into the conference table. "I don't know." She reaches up and thumbs at a closed eye. "I'm just tired. I'm starting to wonder if that's not our only problem. I'm tired of not coming home to you.Tired of everything always being galas and explosions and not one minute to sip coffee and doomscroll over the morning headlines.""Well maybe your sister could try not interrupting us as often.""You know it's not that." She scoffs and looks away. "I thought...I thought we were heading toward something more…I’d even hoped we might think about a place together. I was even looking around, you know?”"You what?"Maggie doesn't mean for the shock to roll out that way, for there to be anger in her response. But it's that old anger of being caught out, of having her vulnerabilities exposed and exploited by people who weren't worthy of them. By people who hurt her.Her parents.Emily.
But you know I start law school at UNC next year. What are you going to do when I'm there, sweetie? Wait tables?
Maggie would have if Emily had wanted it. But she was an accessory, an easy way to get cool points during undergrad until the novelty wore off. Had she felt guilty about cheating? Sure. And Emily, of course, played it up. As a future star prosecutor, she was good at turning people into bad guys.
You don’t deserve to be happy.
Alex's face goes white when she sees Maggie’s expression. She’s reeling a little, rolling back on her heels like she's been slapped. “So that’s…I guess that wasn’t on the table.”“Danvers,” Maggie says. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that we haven't had a chance to talk about it and--""Nope, no chance to do that," Alex says. A tear drops down her cheek."Hey." She starts to rise, but Alex whips around so fast she sinks back into her chair."You know what, Maggie? It’s okay. I mean, I’ve figured it out by now that it wouldn’t work for us. Different life cycles, right? We’re more mayfly than quahog.” What people don’t know about Maggie Sawyer—what they often never know her long enough to figure out—is that while she seems cool and steady on the outside, inside she’s boobytrapped.One minute, a woman she’s dating will be talking holidays or waiting for her to unwrap a surprise gift, and the next, she’ll find herself adrift and wondering what it was that made Maggie shut down and go cold. Draw the wrong straw, tug from the wrong angle, and Maggie Sawyer’s insides collapse at the moment she so desperately needs someone to help her hold everything together. So when Alex tells her that she’s changed her mind, Maggie doesn’t argue. She doesn’t pull those keys from her pocket and say, ‘Hey, I had the same idea, and maybe let’s calm down and talk things out because we’ve got a whole life to plan.’That lens she's been taught to see with, the one that makes her worthless and worthy of pain, is only evidence that her hesitation was intuition, a vital defense mechanism because maybe what Emily told her was true after all.She doesn’t deserve to be happy.She sure as hell doesn’t deserve Alex Danvers, Baby Gay of the multiple advanced degrees, who would have figured that all out sooner or later if this fight hadn’t pushed them to it.So she just bites her lip, nodding with slow deliberation as she grips those keys in her pocket so hard they cut into her skin.“If that’s what you want,” she says. “Let’s just get this case over and done with.”Alex looks down at her phone, the relief in her expression an added bucket of ice in Maggie’s face.Kara’s name flashes up on the screen, and Alex turns back to her briefly, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’ve got to go.”She gives a limp, backward wave as she walks out of the meeting room. She doesn’t even pause when that “see you around” drops from Maggie’s lips.It’s a habit after all.One she’ll have to break.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“You’ve got it bad, Sawyer.”Maggie looks up, her hands tightening around the glass she's been nursing for hours. "I was trying to be unobtrusive."Chef Marley Shizah slides a glass of Winathian Glimmer in front of her, the bubbles rising from it like a sneeze. Hopscotch is busy tonight, the locals crowding in before the onslaught of Skyfire tourists, but all the same, she sidles into a chair on the other side of the bar. "You look," she says, her cheerful brogue softened with concern, "like a stock photo for abject misery. Where's Alex?"Maggie blinks down into her glass. "Never wants to see me again."Shizah rolls back her head and cackles, causing Maggie to glance up for the first time, her brows hunker in mild offense and almost hope. “At least you've still got a sense of humor.”“Sawyer, Sawyer, Sawyer,” Shizah says, taking a sip from Maggie’s glass. “Remember I said that to you. As did Darla and Molly, and that Beltanian tax preparer. What was her—““Shen. She was a financial advisor.”Marley shrugs. “ You see my point. And considering how many of those ladies have twice—hell, triple—the average human lifespan, they gave into your charming ass rather soon I should think.”“You think?” Maggie lifts her head, embarrassed by the tinge of hopefulness in the question. Marley chuckles again. “Fret not, Sawyer. Earth Girl is easier than you think.” She smiles and reaches back to take something through the embrasure and sets it down in front of her. Freshly roasted oregus leaves, grown only on Argo. They’re known to break down the toxins that arise from both alcohol and sour experiences.“What you need, my dear, is some good food and a good wallow to shore yourself up for some groveling. These should get you started.”She takes the bottle and pours herself a glass, clinking it with Maggie’s. “Now then. Jenn will take over this evening. Tell me about your lady troubles.”So Maggie does.She tells Marley Shizah about Alex’s history, that goddamned pedigree over a glass of Rannian elixir, lets her tongue loose over Zamaron ambrosia about the strained dynamics at the house in Midvale, and how that Hallmark warmth comes baited with more emotional tripwires than Manderley.Over a flight of Trommian ales she points out everything going against their happiness with each shot.IPA—she’s not good enough.Stout—she’s Alex’s first; she has no business asking her to move in with her like this.A Sour ale—That sister.“She's…” Maggie says. Shizah’s gaze is coming in and out now, the colored lights of the floater lamps staining and softening the edges around her. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but being with her, it's like walking in cool, clear water and suddenly stepping on glass.”“Sawyer,” Shizah says. She reaches over, tracing three of those seven fingers along her jawline. “For as tough as you are, you've a very low tolerance for pain.”She ducks down and takes a bottle from under the counter. It looks like a djinn's lamp, if that lamp had a swirling, multi-lingual interface. Then she plucks out two flutes and fills them with two graceful turns of the wrist. The liquor funnels up, the bubbles a spray of constellations. “I’ve saved this for last,” she says. “Taurian tonic. Said to bring insight.”Maggie blinks at her, not sure if she can locate her wallet much less an epiphany.“It takes a while, my friend. Days even. But allow me to offer you some advice of my own. You give up too easily. You see any small thing as a reason to bolt. But you never give up on a case. Why do you not fight for yourself?" She picks up a glass, giving it a small shake before she places it in front of her. Maggie takes it, her hand weaving a little. She has to focus hard not to spill it.“All things hurt,” Shizah says. “The best things hurt like a bastard. But you shouldn't flee from the one person who can bandage your wounds, aye? Think on it.” She tosses back her drink and slips a vial into Maggie’s pocket. “My special hangover cure. Take it as soon as you wake up.”#A half-hour later, Maggie is staggering her way home along the quay. Marley’s run her through a gamut tonight, every taste offering the sweetness of a memory or the piquancy of insecurity before the booze washed it all down again. She insisted on getting her a cab, but Maggie had the driver park around the block. She needs the night air and a good sleep. And then she needs to see about getting Alex Danvers to talk to her again.The night is bright, the meteoroid cloud painting the sky in a blue glow as if the Milky Way has leaned down for a kiss. The air is cool and the rhythm of the water is slowly lulling her back into self-possession as she sifts her way through the thinning crowds, couples mostly, drifting into bars or all-night restaurants. A few have stopped to gaze at the starlight as it dapples the water like a field of baby blue eyes.She grabs the railing for balance as she steps onto the old wooden bridge leading to the promontory. A pool of light expands across the water. Reflected across it, the weaving shadows of two hyper-muscled men as they hoist a writhing package over the pier. They’re struggling with the thing, nearly toppling into the water as it whips its body like a great white with two tails and twice the teeth.The one at the end shouts a “fuck!” as it smacks him in the face. “I told you to use the taser!”“Doesn’t work!” the other one says. “Current won’t pass through. Remember?”A chill rides through her, adrenalin spiking her sober as she recognizes the shimmering meshwork on the material. That’s colocracite, derived from the Speed Force and resistant to shape shifters and phaser power.Maggie’s sober enough to understand what’s happening but still drunk enough to be stupid. Not a late-night fishing expedition, that’s for sure. She ignores her phone and unholsters her gun. The planks creak beneath her feet as she hurries across the bridge.The thing in the bag is writhing to the point of vibrating as she approaches, and there’s a light seeping from it, that same eerie blue like they’ve scooped a meteor out of the sky. She spots the van parked in the distance, the engines purring and its backdoors open and waiting. They’re not trying to toss a mark into the drink, but trying to drag whatever this is from the water. A man in a scuba suit bobs up from the water. He yanks his mouthpiece off, panting.“That’s the only one. The rest hightailed it into the deep. Can’t see ‘em no more.”The leader hisses back to keep it down, but his buddy’s already spotted Maggie. He rises to his fee, leaving their writhing quarry in the hands of his buddy. Maggie levels her gun.“Police! Put whatever the fuck that thing is down and your hands up!”Snorkel guy yanks his mask down, ducking back into the water, but the other two drop the bag, causing whatever’s inside to wriggle out and splash onto the dock. Maggie catches its outline for a second, a brief one, because in that instant, the creature flares so bright both she and her quarry are forced to stagger back, their eyes shielded as it hits the water.When her vision returns both men are aiming harpoon guns at her, visors lowered and the thing in the bag is gone. Didn’t even have the decency to leave a telltale ripple on the water.She hears a click as the prongs release, that razor whoosh of air as they fire upon her, and then a snap, as a red cape billows into her line of vision.Kara makes fast work of her would-be killers, incapacitating them in seconds, before winding them up like presents in their own manacles. When she’s finished she glances back at Maggie, reclining woozily against a piling, and looks at her as if she’s seeing her for the first time.“You could have been hurt,” she says, taking on a casual version of her PSA voice. “Or worse.”She strides over, reaching out just as Maggie pulls her phone out and passes it to her. This is a goddamned routine now. Kara swooping in during a firefight or a hostage situation, only needing Maggie—or Maggie’s phone—to call the clean-up crew down at the local precinct. “I needed to do what I needed to do,” Maggie says, her tongue not quite cooperating.“You’re drunk.” Kara’s tone lets up. She grabs her by the waist and lifts her up. “I’ll take you home.”“Nah,” Maggie says. “Can’t imagine another close call happening like tonight. I’ll wait until the guys get here. How’d you find me?”“Alex was worried about you.”“She could call me.”“Yeah, and look at what she would have found,” she says. This cuts, but it’s also wholly unfair.“She dumped me."“She dumped you?” Kara shakes her head and slips her arms around her waist and the sidewalk spins away beneath them. “You are drunk and I'm taking you home."There's no way Maggie's telling her about the loft, so she lets Kara drop her at her old place. When they touch down, Kara snatches Maggie’s doggie bag from Hopscotch.“Do you mind?"“Have at it,” Maggie says.She lingers for a moment, a sadness flitting across her features. “Just give her a call, okay?”Then she lifts her arms and ascends, a crimson afterthought against a lonely, starlit backdrop.#
THE HOLTZ OBSERVATORY SAYS THERE'S NO NEW INFORMATION ABOUT THE BRIGHTER ILLUMINATION WE'RE SEEING, BUT ONE THING'S FOR CERTAIN, FOLKS. WE'RE IN FOR A SPECTACULAR SHOW! AND ON THAT NOTE, HOW ABOUT A STAR SHOWER BY OUR FAVORITE K-POP GROUP, BYE BYE SEA!
Head throbbing and mouth full of cotton, Maggie smacks at the alarm clock, only to smash the vial of Marley Shizah’s hangover cure instead. It’s gummy, sliding down her fingers and she tries licking a little of it off her palm, but it tastes like horseradish mixed with wheatgrass juice, and most of it is being absorbed by the throw rug next to the bed.She sits up and yanks off the top sheet now soaked with the smell of booze and hangover sweat. Through the blinds, the sun stares her down like a school principal, but there’s a strange tinge to the light sunlight, an indigo mist suffusing the air as she pads the entire five feet into her kitchen.She ignores the phone, downing two enormous glasses of water as it rattles its way toward the edge of the counter. The number is unlisted, but its persistence is a tell. Some numbers are more unlisted than others.“So you’re talking to me now?” Regret stings her as soon as those words leave her mouth. She’d wanted to sound conciliatory, but the hangover has expelled her belligerence like it’s threatening to do with the contents of her stomach.Alex doesn't seem to notice. Her tone is far more urgent than angry. This has nothing to do with their fight.“We’ve got a situation," she says. "You need to get down here. Now.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They’re in the Situation Room. Kara, Vasquez, that goofy guy Maggie kind of likes named Winn who jangles a box of candy in his pocket as he gapes up at the monitor. They're all gaping, none of them quite believing that that the meteors in the Artemis cloud have congealed into a single body--a comet in a direct path for Earth.Maggie stands near the door, flanked by a pair of agents she hasn't been introduced to yet. She's not sure if they're guarding her or just being assiduous. Alex acknowledged her with a nod when she came in, but she’s keeping her distance now, eyes averted as she stands like a sentry on the far side of the room. "So this is--""--A world killer," J'onn says. He turns away from the monitor, his jaw taut as if he's about to throw up. "It's set to make impact in approximately 107 hours."“What I don't get is how this thing snuck up on us?" Winn says. He shakes his candy box for emphasis. “Wouldn't there have been a wobble or something? Or maybe those space telescopes might have sent us a text?"J’onn squeezes the bridge of his nose, and his irises flicker red from exhaustion.” It didn't go solid until a couple of hours ago. Not to mention that it's cloaked itself somehow. Only the Coluan spectrography at the JLA and our desert facilities have picked up on its transformation."Kara wrings her hands and starts that half-hover, half-pacing thing she does when she gets nervous. Reminds Maggie of a Roomba. “Kal and I thought we could knock it off course. He's still up there trying, but if we so much as poke a finger into it, it goes intangible."“So that’s good, right?” Winn says. “It will just phase through us when it hits?”“If only that were true.” She reaches out and takes a candy from him, grimacing when she bites into it. “It’s knocking other space debris out of its way like ping-pong balls. It’s only when Kal and I touch it that it phases. We think it can sense our intentions.”“So what do we do then?” Maggie feels Alex’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t glance back, not directly. For as much as she's tempted, this isn't the time to kiss and makeup. She's just grateful that if the world's ending, Alex at least considers her competent enough to be of help.“That’s why we’ve called you in, Detective,” J'onn says. "We need you to help maintain the public order. Particularly if this leaks.”“Wait.” Maggie huffs out a laugh, her focus swaying between thoughts of imminent death and Alex’s cold shoulder. She’s not sure which is worse. “So you’re not planning on letting people know we're all going to die?”“Not at the moment, no,” J’onn says. "The Lantern Corps are materializing a network of evacuation portals around the globe in the event we can't stop this thing. Until then, we've got to avoid a panic.""There's still hope," Kara says. "That's what's important."Maggie nods, ingesting that logic with a side of cynicism. She lifts her palm and accepts a Good & Plenty from Winn, her gaze landing on Alex as she pops it into her mouth. The medicinal sweetness is like a balm against Alex's cold stare. “Then let’s not waste time then.”#Maggie and Demos stand around the tactical display table, a sprawling holographic map updating with real-time information on weather, traffic flow and population movement. They’ve marked the main roads and freeway exits, coding access points and the locations of hospitals, power plants, and water treatment facilities. There’s not much they can do about the comet itself, but if word gets out, they can at least ensure people don’t trample each other to death before the comet or its subsequent shockwaves get there first.The Lantern Corps, along with some assistance from L-Corp and more grudging aid from The Reach, have constructed portals at a hundred thousand points across the globe, readying a quick evacuation if Plan A fails to materialize. Queen Rhea’s even gotten in on it, flitting back from the Proxima system to offer bunk space for the evacuation crew on Le Guin. So there’s that at least, but where folks will go after that, and if they’ll even want to, is anyone’s guess.Maggie’s too hungover and hung up on Alex to think about it for long; the glowing traffic rings and blinking lights are threatening a migraine. When Demos heads for the loo, she sinks into her chair and puts her head down in the holographic model of the waterfront. She’s cursing herself for breaking Shizah’s hangover cure, or at least not licking some of it off the carpet, when the smell of something warm and aromatic envelops her. Alex is in front of her, holding a bottle of tea and a container.“I figured you were hungry,” Alex says, her tone gentle enough to cast a faint glow in Maggie’s stomach. “I didn't give you time to catch breakfast. Not cool if it was your last one."“Thanks,” Maggie says. “You make this?”“Mom,” Alex says. “She was over last night.”The mention of Eliza drops a stone into Maggie’s center. But also a little hope. Midvale is hours away and they had had plans last night before everything fell apart. Alex wouldn’t randomly invite her unless it was something serious.“Oh...right."Maggie’s almost overtaken by the savory, herb-infused aroma as Alex opens the container. “She wasn’t, but I needed the company. She made lasagna.”Lasagna. Must have been very serious indeed.Alex nudges the food in front of her, and Maggie takes a sip of tea and digs in. The head pounding and the nausea retreat on the first bite. It’s warm and tangy on the tongue, like the flavors of a lost summer.“Nice of her to cook for you."“She wanted to,” Alex says, looking away. “Feels good to have her make something just for me.”"What am I? Chopped honka gourd?"Alex laughs. "I meant she was always cooking for Kara. Her nutrition took precedence. Plus there was rarely much le--""Holy shit!"They glance up to sees Demos on the other side, his face strobed in the flashing lights of the console. The entire map is blinking like a Lite Brite. “Welp, folks!” Winn strides into the situation room and points to a monitor above the door. A ticker tape message rolls across the bottom screen. “Comet on a direct pathway for Earth. Scientists Baffled but Confirm.”“It’s out of the bag now. Ace reporter Nia Nal has managed to scoop our story.”“Galaxy Communications,” J’onn says. “No integrity.""At least it should slow things up a bit where the rest of the world's concerned," Demos says. "No one believes the shit they shovel."Maggie jabs her fork into the last bite and makes sure to chew it slowly. Then she wipes her hands on a napkin and gets up, staring at Alex like a dare. “Guess I'd better go keep the peace."“I’ll go with you,” Alex says."You sure?"Alex looks away for a second, as if taken aback by her own impulsiveness. She meets Maggie's gaze. "Of course, I'm sure. We'll take my bike."# If there’s one place Maggie avoids shopping, it’s ExoOrganics Oasis.Owned by a so-called crunchy Republican who votes against alien rights, ExoOrg is vast, high-end supermarket specializing in alien ingredients and patronized by the blandest of all worlds. Yuppies love it, and Michael Bellend, food journalist who’s made a career out of excoriating the tastes of the poor has given it his stamp of approval. Also, it's really fucking expensive. Like twenty-five bucks for a cup of Xnee chowder.Okay, so she’ll cop to having shopped here once; a last-minute dessert for a Braalian friend who wouldn't have been able to digest anything else at a dinner party, but she did leave feeling appropriately guilty.It’s not a place she ever thought she'd make her last stand.They've been bulleting around town on Alex’s Ducati, putting out fires and quelling riots from Woolfolk Square to Noonan's, but now her tank has burned dry and they’ve just limped into ExoOrg’s lot to find it looking like a Richard Scarry book as drawn by Hieronymus Bosch. The windows are smashed. Every single one. Humans and aliens are zigzagging in frightened packs, colliding in their hover carts and toting sacks full of booze and expensive cheese. As for security, they gave up hours ago. Maggie spots a guard sitting atop the cart corral, digging into a bag of truffle chips with such delight she’s half-inclined to join him.“Always said this place was a rip.” She slides off the motorcycle, not daring to check whether she’s managed to crack a smile on Alex’s face. Despite that odd request to tag along, she’s remained all business, their conversation happening only in clipped bursts of strategy. She slips off her helmet and gives her head a good shake. “I bet they're out of wine."A prolonged, high-pitched whir. They both wince at a familiar fzzzt that they’ve long learned to identify as a Thanagarian blaster.“Is that—“They’re answered by an explosion. Shards of glass jettison from the already broken windows, scattering onto the concrete like a myriad of tiny phantom zone portals.“Someone wants their artisan pizza.”Maggie looks at her in surprise, hoping the quip is a good sign.It isn’t. Maggie's learned that as a born nerd, Alex Danvers can spout things that sound like jokes, but are really just a kind of guilelessness. She’s all seriousness as she scans the storefront. "Come on!” With a swift tug of her chin, she takes off toward the entrance.Inside, it's war: arms, tentacles, and prehensile proboscides wrestle for boxes of Rimborian vinaigrette and Quasar jelly, while hover carts dance and jostle above them in a pile-up to shame the 405.Alex dashes into the fray, skidding in a wine puddle as she rescues a teenager about to down a mini-bottle of Aldeberaan rum. She pries it from his fingers it before shoving the label, dotted with skulls and crossbones, in his face. “Not for humans! See?”“Whoaahhh,” the kid says. “Thanks…”“Get out of here before I call your parents.” She shoves him toward the door and pockets the bottle, then glances up at Maggie and shrugs. “Kara might need it later.”“Sure,” Maggie says.Another blast.She snatches a hover cart from a shopper, dumping its contents with such bravado Maggie barely notices the two thick lines of mustard streaking her polo like a reverse murder hornet. “Get on!”Maggie forgoes the dread of tiny jokes and hops on the edge of that cart as Alex toggles the controls and shoots them over the aisles and toward the deli section. “Department of Homeland Security! Put down the arugula and go home or I fucking swear your last meal on this world will be Lunchables and Diet Rite!”Mist from a wayward hose circulates with crumbs of iridescent flour and the reek of freezer burn as mad chow hounds stagger through the aisles, swigging from open bottles and noshing on Braalian gherkins. The Thanagarians are in between the baking aisle and the deli having a tug-of-war with a gaggle of humans over what appear to be some very long noodles.“Ah shit!” Maggie says. “That’s Hyperbulk Udon.”“And?” Alex says."Nothing, except it's a rare and extremely pricey delicacy. Humans love them because they're free carbs, and Thanagarians because they make a spectacular explosive.""A what?""Eat ‘em and they’re fine, but if you stretch them too much they just…” She leaps off the cart and rushes forward. “Hey! Put that down! You don’t want to be mess— fuuuck!”A thoooom and a dizzying flash. Maggie's teeth jounce as she's blown back into a still-standing pyramid of honka gourds. They scatter about, knocking cans off the shelves and deterring any would-be rioters as they ping around the aisles. Alex's face drops as fast as her body.“Maggie!"That touch sends a tingle of warmth through her despite the clamor between her ears. Alex is hovering over her, her face obscured by flash floaters, her hair a soft curtain blocking out the chaos. “Still with me, Sawyer?"Always. Or at least that’s what she wants to say. Instead, she coughs and offers. “We should treat ourselves too if there’s anything left after this.”Alex sags in relief, the corners of her mouth rising like one of those hover carts. Maggie's heart does the same."Maybe some sake if we can find some?” She slips a hand behind her shoulder and rolls back on her heels as she helps her up. “I’ve never tried Onigoroshi."“I have a bottle.”The store smells like pepperoncino glazed in cordite, but thankfully no one’s hurt. The humans and Thanagarians are down, dazed and sitting on their hands in the remnants of an upturned barrel of goat cheese. But Alex is still looking at her though, her tone almost light as a Thanagarian barrels up behind her, trying to get at the zorn fritter dough.“You do?”"Outta the way, Earth woman!”Alex reaches back as if she’s replacing something on a shelf and grabs his wrist, sending him hurtling into the flour. A cloud of powder explodes around them, dusting the air in a flurry of iridescent particles.“I was saving it for a special occasion,” Maggie says. Time slows, a protracted bubble enfolding them amid the chaos. Motes of color scatter over Alex's hair, her polo with the bright yellow stains. Maggie kicks her leg out to trip the man’s friend as Alex, still smiling at her, drops him with a stun blast from her alien gun..“You were?” She plants a foot on his back“Yeah.” Maggie doesn't tell her about the cooler yet or the move. "End of the world sounds like as good a time as any.”When they get outside, most of the crowd has dispersed. A few teenagers are sitting on the curb chugging a growler of craft beer they’ve pilfered in the chaos. They see Maggie’s badge and get up, scuttling away, as just then, a small squadron of Lantern Corps swoops over the plaza.“See?” Alex says. “I think we’re off duty. “ She gives one a wave, a young woman with dark hair and a slight resemblance to Maggie. “Hey, Jess!”“Hey, Alex!” Jessica Cruz waves back, then dips into the crowd, scooping up the remaining rioters in an enormous emerald energy net. It’s like a Cirque du Soleil version of Soylent Green.Maggie's leg hitches and Alex slips an arm around her. "Can you walk? Doubt we'll get an Uber."“Don’t need one,” Maggie says. She nods toward the promontory.When they reach the loft, Alex just stares at her like that pasta might have done something to her head. But Maggie’s too exhausted, her ears still ringing from chaos, to try to explain it all now. The power’s out on the elevator, and so she nods to the stairwell. "You'll see. Just help me up the stairs."Alex does, all eleven flights. They arrive in front of Door 28, winded and bathed in sweat, as Maggie unlocks it and leads her inside.She hasn’t had much time to do up the place, but the lights work. The hot water too.“Thank Christ." She dips her face into the warm stream, lets it run over her skin like a welcome. "I thought it was the whole building. You want to...”She dabs at her face, sees Alex has crossed over to the balcony to open the sliding glass door. She stares out at lights of the city, the water stretched out to the horizon under that pale night sky. "Hey," she says, still too foggy and exhausted to realize she hasn't explained anything. “I’ve stocked up the bathroom. There are towels and I got some of your shampoo. But….” She gestures to the half-unpacked boxes, the large unoccupied areas haloed in the blue, crepuscular light. It's half-empty space that might be half-full.“Maggie?” Alex turns back, ridiculous and beautiful with that mustard stain on her front. She's nodding to herself as she speaks, piecing things together, just too scared to vocalize her questions."Is this..." She trails off and waits.“I signed the lease two weeks ago. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. I wanted to surprise you, but I could never find the right moment.”“It’s not because I complained about your place,” Alex says, suddenly stricken. “Oh Maggie I’m so sorry. That was shitty of me, I--““No... I got it because I’m tired too. I thought it might be good. For us.""You what?" Alex's voice is a whisper. She blinks like it doesn't quite register.“I mean, we can take it slow. I just thought… “ She takes Alex's hand, pulls her away from the balcony to slide the door shut. The sirens and shouting on the street below are cut off, replaced by a soft but loaded silence. She still can't say it. Still waiting for the right moment.But if that Taurian Tonic has brought her any insight, it’s that there isn't one. Not when it comes to Alex Danvers. Alex, who is right and wrong and all the highs and lows that make life worth living.“Do you want to live? I mean live here. With me?"Alex’s face changes, that look of confused impatience dissipating with a warmth and intensity so deep it stills her breath. "There's nothing I want more."They fall into each other, their bodies a tangle of yearning and delight. Maggie’s fingers tease the hem of that polo, her shoulder hitching as she tries to raise it over her head. Alex laughs, planting a kiss on her neck before she steps back and does the job herself. She's breathtaking. All the same, Maggie can't help chuckling at the mustard smeared across Alex's cheek."Oh..." Alex's eyes go wide with embarrassment as she reaches up to find the spot. Maggie chuckles, stepping in to brush it away with her thumb. Alex’s hand enfolds hers as their foreheads touch.“Do you like it?""Mustard?""No," Maggie laughs. "Here."Alex answers with a kiss, their bodies easing into each other. Alex tastes of gunpowder and flour and sweat, and Maggie draws her closer even as she walks them toward the shower. If this is going to be their last night on Earth, she wants no distractions. No all spice or zorn flour or fusty freezer burn, just Alex's taste and scent and the heat radiating between them.#They sip sake and doze in and out, wilfully oblivous to the chaos outside. They talk about decorating and argue over furniture and whether they should have Thanksgiving here instead of at Kara’s this year. It’s a game they’re playing, pretending for just a few more hours that they might still live out the rest of their lives on Earth.Kara did say there was hope.Maggie’s jolted from a good dream a few hours before dawn. Alex is pacing in front of the bed, her eyes bright with excitement.“Danvers? You okay?”“I think I've got it,” she says. "Got?" Maggie has to refocus on her words as Alex stands aglow in the starlight. She understands now why blue is her favorite color.“I know how we can stop it," Alex says.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“It’s a food source.”Alex hasn’t bothered donning the uniform from her locker. She’s jammed her limbs into a pair of Maggie’s sweats that stop at her ankles and a T-shirt so tight she looks bounced from a yoga class. But if Alex looks odd, the rest of the superfriends are even more of a sight. Kara’s face is streaked with oil and scorch marks, Vasquez and Winn are in a permanent state of anime hair, and J’onn looks like he’s been dragged through a Lush on Black Friday. His eyes are rimmed with exhaustion and his human form is glitching, patches of hot pink and green rippling across his skin like he’s impersonating a lava lamp.“You’re saying they eat the comet?” Vasquez says. “Like fish food?” “It’s a feeding cycle,” Maggie says. “Just a really fucking long one."Alex clears her throat, tugging at her collar to reveal a strand of hickeys along her neck. Everyone’s eyes dart to the monitor, upon which a much more fascinating DNA readout ticker tapes across the screen. “I’ve found a connection between our liminarian and the victims in Maggie’s case. That vinegar in their system is similar to an enzyme our guy uses to emit unique acoustic signals akin to sonar and echolocation. The creatures from the hadal zone come up once a millennium to feed on the matter that falls with the meteors. They've been starving for it, trapped and sending out sonic hunger pangs. That's what's been causing the fits in those diners. The vinegar in their systems was reacting to it."“So the meteor shower is sentient?” Winn says.Kara huffs and drops a hand on her hip. “At least enough to play a mean game of Keep Away.” Alex nods back to the bio readout, bars and letters running in rivulets across the screen. “The relationship between these creatures and whatever bacteria's on those meteors is mutualist from what I can tell. They or something clinging to them benefits from being ingested. But as we’ve trapped our guy, he can’t feed, and so the storm has fused together in what we think might be some form self-defense. Either to destroy the threat--us--or if they think these guys aren't coming to the surface, to ensure that the meteor rock makes it to the hadal zone.”“But we've only caught one of these creatures,” J’onn says. “This can’t be the result of just us.""True." Alex frowns at the screen as the readout completes itself. “Now see? Here's where this gets interesting." She turns back to Maggie, her eyes bright with excitement. "This is the same substance we’ve found in the creature and the same substance in the victims' bloodwork. It's also, she says, in Brian’s xior salt.” She quirks an eyebrow. "I see an ascot in your future, Sawyer.""Promising, but we'll have to build a case first," Maggie says. Her mind is racing, hopping from that Thurnian dagger in Krimakov’s boot to Brian and those thugs down at the harbor. She’s going to have to treat Brian to dinner if they get through this alive. “But in the meantime, I think I know how we might find those other creatures." She picks up her phone. "Turpin, get me the records on those oafs who attacked me at the dock."#Despite the panic, this side of the dock is quiet tonight, a small pocket of stillness and lapping water amid the sirens and the sounds of a city facing its end.The comet is a moon overhead, its light raining down over the water, casting it in an ethereal blue glow.Beautiful.Or it would be if it wasn’t about to destroy all life on Earth.Maggie takes Alex's hand as they back away from the truck and J’onn hoists the tailgate, revealing the Nexus Chamber, and inside, their liminarian. Fanged and phosphorescent, it's like a perfect hybrid of all those slides Alex spooked Maggie with a few days ago, but as she stares into those eyeless sockets, all she senses is a hunger and a yearning not to be alone.J'onn waves them away from the truck. “Back away and best to shield your eyes." They scatter as he punches in the key code, Kara hovering above the truck as cover. The plexisteel door judders open, sending several tons of sea water splashing onto the dock. It smells of mud and brine and secrets best untold. Maggie slips her arms around Alex's waist and leans into her shoulder, not quite able to resist a peek as the creature begins to glow, its brightness increasing as wriggles from its prison. A thunderous sploosh as it hits the water and they open their eyes to see the harbor lit up like the surface of Io.But a dimmer light approaches from the far side of the bay. An unmarked boat, two burly silhouettes at the helm, aiming their interdimensional harpoon gun at the water."So," Maggie says. "Seeing as this involves aliens and stolen Carthaginian technology, which one of us gets the pleasure of arresting Zark?"“How about we compromise and let the good Queen Rhea handle it?” Alex says. "I hear Daxamites still use a scold's bridle."Maggie laughs. It’s tempting after their snotty altercation. “How about we just ask her to refill his charity coffers when this blows over? Just maybe in her name?""She would love that," Alex says, grinning wickedly. "Kara could get her a photo op with Cat or maybe Liza, but first..." She gives her a not-so-chaste kiss as the poachers fire their harpoon gun and watch it ping off a Martian instead.#From there, it doesn’t take long for Zark’s thugs to cough up the location of the warehouse. Even less time for Kara and a DEO tactical team to surround the place and free its prisoners.Vault upon vault of the creatures trapped in nexus chambers, ready to be slaughtered in a secret processing plant, their bodies strained through a nebula mesh to produce Zark's miracle spice.They've been ingesting the substance over eons, waiting out millennia for the meteors to drop sustenance into their lonely corner of the sea. But now, they're free. They surge through the waves, their shimmering baleen plates scooping up stardust to begin another millennia-long feeding cycle.The bacteria fusing the meteors together dissipates, the comet that loomed behind the Artemis cloud, returning to that fainter, friendlier spatter in the sky. A perfect ambiance for two reconciled soulmates to laugh and love and talk about a future.Should we head back to your place?" Maggie says. "Seeing as mine only has booze and towels?""Ours," Alex says. "And booze and towels sound heavenly." She slides her hand into Maggie's as they turn away from the dock, their steps echoed by the lapping of the water. "We'll dig a frozen pizza out of the rubble."#Another crisis.This time it’s the clean-up before the festival. Kal and Kara flit about the city, clearing out the wrecked cars jamming the freeways and fixing broken support beams while the Lanterns set about with touch-up work. Even the Bats send in a convoy or two of supplies, seeing as Gotham is just fine, thank you very much. Nia Nal’s panic piece didn’t get much leverage in other parts of the world. Lena Luthor, rich and brilliant and new in town has all sorts of gizmos in her basement, and well, she just happens to own a device that blocks the flow of information, or at least dilutes and discredits it the further the signal travels.Galaxy Communications is calling her out for sorcery and Cat Grant is furious, already deep in a lobbying effort to get the device banned. Kara, however, is smitten. She's taking Ms. Luthor up to the Le Guin as an Honored Guest of Her Highness.And as for Nia Nal? Kara’s stolen her away from Edge with a staff position at CatCo. "Just a rookie reporter trying to do the right thing," Kara said. "You try getting noticed in today's media hellscape."By the time the shower peaks days later, Maggie and Alex are too tired to join in the festivities, and they’ve already got the best view. Up here, the noisy throngs are softened by sea air and the trickle of jazz coming from the radio Maggie’s perched on the balcony. They've got wine, enough food to stave off Kara, and a picnic blanket on which to watch all that brilliance unfold."What do you think, Danvers?" Maggie says. "Worth almost going extinct?""Going to miss the sky looking like toothpaste," Alex says. "But we'll always have red sun bombs and--""Hey!"Kara drops onto the balcony.“What did I say about knocking?”"Is this a door?" Kara gestures at the air and peers through the glass, clearly scanning the other rooms in the process. "It's lovely though. How are you two settling in?"“Fine,” Maggie doesn’t say anything else in protest. Kara’s dropping in on them feels reassuring, like things are finally getting back to normal."That's...oh...is that?" Kara's eyes alight on the spread Maggie's prepared, a galaxy of dips and double-toasted bagels and Tharnian pilaf burritos. "May I?""Go right ahead,” Maggie says. "I've made extra, just for you." She also knew she and Alex would likely be too preoccupied to eat much, but she leaves that part out.“Kara,” Alex says. “Remember what Mom told you when you came here? About chewing?"But Kara's at the food faster than Brian was at Zark's gala. Chewing is clearly an imposition. “Thrrrisss so gooffd! You know, you could really start a food cart."Alex buries her face in Maggie’s neck, suppressing a laugh as Kara grabs another wrap. “Youff be a hit. With me! And I bet a lot of Daxamites.”“And keep Queen Rhea’s party boat in orbit?” Maggie says. “No thanks. The flood of awful reality shows was bad enough the first time.”“I don't know," Alex says, shooting a sly grin at Kara. "Sawyer’s Zap and Wrap has quite the ring to it.”Maggie snatches the wine bottle and pours herself a generous glass. “There.” She gestures to the food. "Take it all, will you? Just bring back the container. Washed preferably.”“If you insist." Kara gives a mock shrug and picks up the container, luxuriating in another whiff before she snaps on the lid. "Think about it. It'd be perfect for stakeouts. James could even do his Guardian act out of the back." "Ahh, nah," Maggie says, waving her away. "That's too much, Kara. Now take the food and go!" Kara lifts off, hovering at the edge the balcony for a moment. "This really is a beautiful place, you two. I'll be over every night for dinner." They’re both quiet as they watch her flit off into the sky."You think she's serious?" Maggie says. "She's going to eat us out of house and home."Alex slips her arms around her. "Just think of her as large omnivorous pet.""Like a dog?" Maggie laughs. "Jesus, she can hear you, Danvers." And then, she stops, her laughter trailing off as she deliberates. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe she shouldn’t ask, but the question comes out anyway."Do you think you'd maybe want one?"Alex looks at her. "A dog?""Or a cat. Might eat less."She’s not sure where that question came from. A week ago it would have felt so far away. She only knows that for once in her life it comes easy.***