Maggie couldn't breathe.
OA had been shot, in the vest, but he was shot. She was to busy wrestling this...this child, trying to gain internet fame, to the ground, and there was that...that rookie just STANDING there.
"Well...COME HELP!" She's yelling, desperately, trying to get him to focus. They let anyone into the field these days.
He wrestles the teen to the ground, and Maggie is free to go see to OA. She tears off his vest, searching for the telltale red that should be leaking out of him if he's been hit. Damn him for wearing a dark fleece, she can't tell. She feels the fleece, there's no hole, it's dry.
"You're ok. You're ok, OA, you're ok." Her voice breaks. She ignores it.
OA is still struggling for breath, but finds time for humor. "Still...gonna...leave...a mark." He huffs out the words, still trying to breathe.
Maggie smiles at him, relieved. She blinks back tears she can feel forming.
The transport between the scene and the hospital seems interminable and too quick at the same time.
Maggie is relegated to the waiting room. She paces desperately, wanting to burst in there, flashing her badge to gain entry, whether or not she's supposed to be there. He emerges after an eternity, and he has his arm strapped to his chest, protecting bruised and battered ribs. "I'm ok." They walk out of the ER silently. He turns to face her, knowing her better than she did.
"You could've been killed."
OA feels shame hit him. "I know. I acted on instinct."
Maggie's features shift, imperceptibly, for a moment. They close again. "You instinct was stupid." She pauses. "We could've lost you. I could've lost you."
OA doesn't know how to respond. He knows he was wrong. But doesn't even begin to know how to address it.
The father comes, and OA acts his way through the conversation. He just hadn't wanted to kill a high school kid. He turns his head to look at Maggie, and she shrugs.
The imperceptible movement hurts him more than it should. He slinks off, not saying anything.
Maggie loses sight of him, and her anger is replaced by a hot spike of anxiety. Where did he go? Was he going to be alright?
She pushes it down, sees a stand-down message from Jubal and Dana, and returns home.
She goes into the cabinet above the stove. She rarely ventures into it, but tonight is one of those nights. She grabs a bottle of amber whiskey, not bothering with a glass. She sits on the couch, zoning out in front of some mindless television show. She takes sips every once in a while, not after being drunk, but more after a numbness.
Something slams outside her door, and she's transported back to that moment. OA falls, and this time, the pool of red appears, and grows. It grows faster than it should, OA's color fades, but he looks at her, venom in his eyes. "YOU DID THIS. YOU DID THIS TO ME, YOU DIDN'T PROTECT ME. WHY DIDN'T YOU PROTECT ME?!"
Maggie's crying, scuttling to get away from it. "OA...I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, oh god I'm so sorry. Please, I'm so sorry, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me, I'm so sorry." She's gasping for air. She can't get enough in. She can't focus, doesn't hear herself fall off the couch, the bottle follow her. She doesn't feel it cut into her wrists, her hands. She just sees OA on the ground, starting at her, accusing her even in death. Her tears are unstoppable.
She doesn't register that she's huddled behind the sofa, eyes darting side to side until the early morning, dozing off briefly only to wake in a panic. When she consciously tries to sleep, she sees the accusing, empty eyes staring back at her.
—
OA arrives the next day, still sore, but better enough to handle the desk duty he's been placed on. He can do paperwork one-handedly.
He makes a note Maggie hadn't arrived yet. He calls her, and the lack of an answer to this or the text he sends following has him even more concerned. He lets Jubal know where he's going, assuring him everything is fine, but not sure of his words deep down.
He drives gingerly to her apartment, trying not jar himself on holes in the road, not always succeeding. He double times it up the stairs, forgoing the elevator. His ribs protest, but he can't worry about himself. Maggie isn't answering. Maggie never doesn't answer.
He restrains himself from beating down the door, and gets her spare key from where she keeps it. Behind the third brick to the left, nine bricks up. It was some obscure movie reference. He let it go, and entered the house. Seeing the blood on the floor, and the smashed bottle, he draws his weapon. It's not comfortable, doing it backwards, but if he has to shoot he'll make it work.
"Maggie?" He yells, searching for her. He clears the bedroom, her bathroom, hell, even her closets. He doesn't find her. He begins to panic.
"MAGGIE!" He stands still for a second. He swears he hears something rustling. "Maggie?" He says again. He turns, and finds himself staring down the barrel.
"FBI." It's Maggie, but it's not her. She's bleary eyed, unkempt, clearly hadn't gotten out of the clothes from the previous day.
He swallows. "Maggie, it's me. It's OA."
Recognition flashes behind her cloudy, unfocused eyes. He keeps talking, slow and low, reassuring (hopefully, his brain adds unhelpfully.) "Maggie, it's just me. Nobody else is here. Really. I'm gonna take your gun, and we can talk this out. C'mon, it's alright." He takes it carefully, before rapidly holstering it and pulling her to him. He half-carries, half-leads her to the bedroom, which was clearly not slept in the previous night. He sits her down on the edge, and sits below her. "Maggie, Maggie, it's just me. Look at me, it's just us here. It's alright." After a few minutes of this, repetitive, calming words, she straightens up.
"OA?" It's raspy, quiet, but it's there. He chokes back his emotions, knowing she needed him more. "Yeah...yeah. It's me. I'm here."
She throws herself at him. "You're ok?" It comes out as a question.
"I'm alright. I'm right here." Her grip had him grimacing, but he didn't care. He had her back, for now. "I'm alright. I'm ok, I'm right here." It seemed like this was the reassurance she was seeking. He would repeat it until he was hoarse, if it meant she wouldn't return to that...state. He settles them both against the edge of the bed. Maggie keeps her eyes trained warily on the door, her grip on him not letting up. "Maggie?" he asks after a bit.
Her head turns to look at him, her eyes not meeting his. "Maggie. Look at me."
She can't. "Maggie...please."
She shakes her head. She can't look at him, just for him to tell her the same things. Her head drifts towards him, she doesn't know why she's so tired. She...doesn't remember last night. She could've sworn she slept. Didn't she?
OA notices her eyes drifting shut, and he head falling towards him. "Maggie, c'mon. Let's get you in bed." He struggles with her to get her into her undershirt, and into shorts to sleep in. She's asleep before her head hits the bed.
OA goes out of the room, and calls Jubal. He doesn't give them a lot, just that Maggie wasn't well and neither of them would be in the rest of the day. Jubal tells him to do what needs to be done, and keep him in the loop. OA promises and hangs up.
His next task is to clean up the apartment. He's surprised to see it's alcohol that's spilled, not something else. He cleans it still, and has to keep from crying when he has to clean the blood off the floor.
When his task is complete, he's surprised to hear her moving around. He goes to look and sees her pulling clothes out of the closet. Work clothes.
Her head turns when he reaches the doorway. "OA?"
He looks at her. "Maggie." He addresses her cordially.
"How...what...why?" He holds out a hand to her. He leads her to the couch, and sits down on the coffee table across from her. "Do you remember any of last night?"
Maggie pauses, and then hangs her head. She shakes it, eyes firmly trained on her lap. He knows she's lying when she won't meet his eyes. He grasps her chin, kindly but firmly, and lifts her to face him. She still can't meet his eyes. "Maggie...what do you remember?"
She begins, whispering. "I came home, looking for a drink, and found one. Something loud was outside, and...I don't remember much until i woke up. It's all blurry." She shakes her head.
OA's heart breaks. He knows it's stress, and anxiety was no stranger to him. But it didn't hurt him any less. "How did you get here? Why are you here?"
OA decides to go for the truth. "You didn't answer your phone, when i called. Then you didn't answer my text. And you usually beat me into work. Then I knew something was wrong."
Maggie looks at him, still shameful. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure. I assume that when you fell, you fell into the glass. I still need to take care of it, your arm. Then, i don't know. I found you behind the couch, but you found me first. Almost shot me. I put you to bed, you were exhausted. Jubal and Dana have given us a stand down order until further notice." He didn't add that he'd asked for it. She'd never forgive him. He decides to steer the subject away from their stand down until she can coherently hold a conversation. He takes her by the elbow, leading her back to the bedroom. He knows she's tired when she doesn't protest his actions, leading her to the bed.
He says two words, and she hears them in her sleep. "Sleep, Maggie." She would tell anyone he didn't say the next ones. "It's alright now."
—
Maggie wakes in a cloud of confusion and fear. She didn't know where it was coming from but he could hear OA yelling those horrible words. Tears burn her eyes unbidden. "I'm so sorry, oh god I'm sorry." She's whispering into the pale light of her bedroom, barely remembering why she's here and not at work.
The memories of earlier return and she realizes OA is probably still here. Waiting for her. As she brings herself out of this confusion and shame, she realizes she can smell cooking. And not takeout, as if someone was actually using her stove. She didn't use it often, if at all. She hesitantly peeks out of her bedroom door, and sees OA stirring something on the stove, sink full of draining dishes. She's bewildered.
"OA?" He turns, surprised.
"Maggie." His tone is even. "I hadn't expected you to be awake yet."
"I'm feeling better. So, uh...whatcha doing?" The conversation is awkward, nothing like their usual back and forth.
He can't resist. "Hunting magic elephants, was thinking i saw some here."
She laughs, and it breaks the tension in the air. "Seriously, though. What are you cooking?"
"Soup. Figured it would be easy on you...r stomach." The last part is an afterthought. He's trying not to remind her of what happened, what he'd walked in on.
She knew he was going to make her talk about it eventually.
He knew that conversation was best had after a meal, over something comforting, like tea or cookies.
"Here, come sit. It's almost done." She's still tired enough, and coming down off the adrenaline, that she doesn't resist. He puts a bowl of the soup in front of her, and a glass of water. "Trust me." He says it softly. She does, every day, and this is one more trust she can place in him.
He watches her eat robotically, mind definitely not in this kitchen with him. She stops every once in a while to sip at the water, and when she's done, she finishes the water. She looks at him warily, for barely a second, and then returns her gaze to her bowl. "More?" He asks, and she shakes her head.
He leads her to the couch, gently, and it's so unlike him, so unlike how she's used to being treated, and looks at him, studying him. He's no happier about this conversation than she is. "Maggie?" His voice is soft, kind, different than it should be.
She looks down. The venom-filled voice, yelling at her, runs on a loop in her mind. "I'm sorry."
This isn't what he expected her to say. But it seems a good Segway into the conversation. "Sorry for what?"
"I...I didn't protect you." She whispers her shame for him to hear.
He's at a loss. He remembered her, not 24 hours before, telling him it was stupid. He pushes the memory away, focusing on the problem at hand. "What do you mean?"
"I remember...I remember you bleeding, yelling terrible things at me. That i didn't protect you." Her breathing speeds up with her words. "That i did this to you, that it was my fault, that i didn't protect you." She's shaking and crying and panting, trying to get the words out. He grasps her hand, looking at her intently.
"Maggie. It wasn't your decision to do what i did. I did it. Not you. You protected me the best you could. You did what you needed to do. You're the one who told me I wasn't bleeding."
"But you WERE!" Her exclamation cuts him off.
He tears off his coat frantically, followed by his shirt and his undershirt. It wasn't in any way neat, or sensual. It was to show her the bruises, the injuries that didn't include a hole in his chest. "Maggie. Maggie, look." Her head raises towards him, her gaze stopping at the ugly, black and purple bruises on his chest. He took her hand, and put it over his heart. "It's still beating. I'm still here. I'm ok. I'm here. I'm alright." He repeats the same reassurance over and over, while her breathing and tears slow simultaneously. She looks at him, hope filling her expression.
"You're ok." She breathes the words, as if not believing them.
He nods. "I'm ok. I'm fine." He pauses. "What else happened last night?"
Her mind, no longer stuck in the endless loop, starts piecing blurred memories together. "I...i was on the couch. Something...loud was outside. I don't know what it was." She pauses, the images slowing down, getting blurrier. "I...i fell? I think? The bottle must've fallen, too, and…" she trails off, examining her hands. THey're angry and red, flecked with small marks where the glass must've dug into her skin. "I was so scared. I...I think i dozed off, some, but every time, you were there, yelling at me, telling me i didn't protect you. I'm so sorry. Oh, god, OA, I'm so sorry. I...i tried, i really did." Once again, he lifted her eyes, and ran her hands over his bruises, let him feel that he was still alive, still here with her.
"You're ok." She repeated it a few times, reminding herself.
"What happened next?" His tone is even, not belying the fear and sadness he's feeling himself.
"I...I don't remember much after that, until you came in." She gasps in a breath. "Oh, god, OA, i held you at gunpoint. Oh god, I'm so sorry." He tightens his hold on her hand.
"You thought your were protecting yourself. It's alright. I'm not upset. It's alright."
She sinks against the arm of the sofa, drawing herself in tightly. She doesn't feel alright. She feels just as drained as when she awoke the first time. OA notices the change in demeanor and sighs inwardly. Clearly, her sleep had not been as restful as he thought. He redresses carefully, beginning to feel the pain caused from undressing so rapidly. He tucks his right arm into his lap, trying to stabilize his ribs before he moves away further. "Maggie, have you been sleeping alright?"
She looks into her lap and mutters something that bears a passing resemblance to "Not really."
OA looks at her. "In our line of work, you need to sleep. C'mon."
The words seem to burst out without her permission. "If i sleep...you're bleeding. Yelling at me, things that hurt. Or you're gone."
OA looks at her. "I'm not. And if you wake up form those, I'm right here."
Maggie doesn't protest, but makes no move to go to her bedroom. "Can...can i stay out here...with you?"
OA can't find it in him to say no. "Of course. C'mere." Like the big brother he is, he pulls her comfortably against his chest, small as she is.
She's asleep before he pulls the blanket over them.