Chapter One
A Whole Load of Trouble

Gotham

For all her high tech gadgets and prowess with a pistol, there was nothing quite as satisfying as a collision between body parts. Fist smashing into jaw, knee driving upwards into gut, elbow to temple. Each came with its own distinctive sound. Brutal and raw, hand to hand fighting was the very basest element of combat. Guns and flash bombs offered detachment from the target, while hand to hand offered only pain.

She knew everything there was to know about pain – physical, mental, emotional, it made no difference. Pain was pain and, for the most part, she had well established mechanisms for dealing with it.

Fist smashing into jaw – her jaw. Her head snapped back with enough force to knock her off her feet. The recovery was quick out of necessity. She propelled herself downwards into a roll. Her body armour meant that she felt little at the contact with the unyielding concrete. A flurry of fists passed harmlessly above. He leaned forward with his body committed to the attack and put himself slightly off balance.

Knee driving upwards into gut. A grunt of pain followed. It was not enough to buy her more than a few seconds, but she used it. She leapt upwards into a roundhouse kick only to find he had recovered more quickly than anticipated. There was a dull thud as her foot collided with a barrel-like chest instead of his head. With her momentum abruptly curtailed, his hands seized her leg and used the leverage to toss her backwards. Her body twisted in the air and she landed on her feet. She ducked, but not quite fast enough. Elbow to temple. Her head snapped back for the second time in less than thirty seconds. This time his momentum drove him forward and the flurry of fists she had avoided earlier found the soft planes of her face. Knuckles crashed into her cheek and lip, sending her crashing back to the concrete.

Get up, Kate.

The salty tang of blood from a split lip invaded her mouth – merely superficial damage. A guttural roar of triumph sounded above her. She had managed to force herself onto her elbows when a steel-toed boot slammed mercilessly into her gut – her body armour softened the blow, but even then she felt a not so superficial stab of pain radiate throughout her torso. Unfortunately she also gave him the satisfaction of crying out – a strangled grunt. Rough hands grabbed her beneath her arms and used the grip to haul her upwards. Her body slammed against a nearby wall.

Through clouded vision she saw a hulking blur move towards her. Vice-like fingers wrapped around her throat, constricting all but the most determined effort to draw a breath. She was cruelly hoisted upwards in a display of immense strength.

What the hell are they feeding these morons?

Her feet dangled inches above the ground as she struggled to find a way to get him to release her. Finally, there it was. The opening she needed. He thought she was done, getting sloppy as a result instead of finishing her off cleanly.

Fingers prised at the edges of her mask. Curiosity was never a good thing

"Time to find out who's under the mask, bitch."

"Time for you to fly, buddy."

It was over in a matter of seconds. A hiss of gas as her last remaining piton released, darting overhead to find purchase in the solid wood of the rafters. She moved, using the wire's tension as leverage, spinning her body. The wired looped around the goon's neck, once, twice, before she shoved him backwards. The tension gone, the wire retracted, dragging the goon with it. There was only a gurgled croak as his struggling bulk was propelled upwards.

Ignoring the twitching form overhead, she took stock of the situation. The warehouse was a mess. Smashed crates, their contents spilling out, filled the space. Not counting the goon above, no less than five more bodies lay in various states of unconsciousness or death. A sixth was making a futile attempt to crawl from her presence.

The wounded goon heard her bootfalls as she approached. He rolled onto his back, staring up at her with wide eyes. "Not giving you shit, Batwoman!"

"Nice to meet you too."

Kate Kane, aka Batwoman, hunkered down at his side. She gave his injuries a cursory glance. Judging by the trail of blood he was leaving in his wake, he was probably going to bleed out within the next five minutes. The whole crawling away thing was a futile exercise. Perhaps if she got the answers she was after, she'd think about trying to save his life.

She'd been working this angle for almost two months. It started as a side project, tracking down a couple of disappearances. At first Kate had thought them to be isolated instances, but a pattern soon emerged. They had warranted attention because those that had gone missing seemed to fit into a clear mould. A decathlete, a boxer who was touted as the next contender, an ex-special forces officer. Individuals at the peak of physical health - exceptional even. And they were disappearing without a trace. At least no trace that the local PD were capable of following.

She'd eventually switched her full attention to the project, uncovering a criminal organisation in Gotham she'd never encountered prior. A nameless, faceless entity whose objects she didn't fully understand, but whose resources were considerable. However upon tracking down their operation, she'd caught them in the process of packing up. There was no sign of the missing individuals, just a warehouse full of crates and a squad of goons that hadn't been pleased at the interruption.

They'd been even less pleased at the ass-kicking that followed.

In a perfunctory manner, Kate pressed her thumb into one of the bullet wounds riddling the guy's body. She took no pleasure at all in the scream that followed.

"I'm here for some answers. If I had as little time as you, I'd be inclined to start talking."

"You've got eyes, bitch!" he gasped. "All your answers are right here! Boss's packing up the Gotham operation!"

Kate dug her thumb in further. "I have got eyes. You'd better be a little nicer. You can start by giving me a destination."

"Gah! Nat...National City!"

That was more than enough to give Kate cause to take notice.

It had to be fucking National City.

A flurry of inopportune memories flooded her thoughts. Dark flashing eyes and a killer smile. Kate didn't dare close her eyes on those particular memories. That was a rabbit hole she hadn't dared to let herself go down for a long time. Not even when she'd received that text last week, relying on an immense display of willpower to shove it out of her mind.

Kate dragged herself back to the present. She was losing her source of information, letting him bleed out while she lost focus. He was past crying out, his face a shock white from lack of blood. "Give me a damn name. Who's behind this operation? And what the hell is so important in National City?"

His pained expression morphed into a grin as his head lolled about. Clearly he'd since realised that his life was already forfeit. She had no leverage and had wasted her chance to get anything out of the guy. Kate was already imaging what Jake Kane would say in response to her loss of control. She cursed and almost gently placed the dying goon back on the ground.

"Got one name for you, bitch."

Whatever emerged from his mouth, Kate knew it couldn't be trusted. Or at least the intent behind it couldn't be trusted. The guy was dying. Whatever he said, someone would have wanted her to hear it. What started out as trying to return a few poor schmucks to their families had the potential to morph into something much larger. And on a personal note, it threatened to take her somewhere she wasn't ready to go.

"What's the name?" Kate demanded.

"Cadmus."


National City

The last remaining shot was left sitting on the table in front of her, but Maggie Sawyer had lost all interest in downing it. Less than an hour ago, drinking herself into a comfortable stupor had seemed like a brilliant idea. Now? Well, now there was way too much going on in her head. She didn't want to dull any of her thoughts with something so mundane as booze.

"Maybe there's some truth to what you said."

"About?" Maybe the prompt had been unnecessary, but for some reason Maggie had needed to hear it.

"What you said. About me."

Maggie couldn't stop thinking about the way in which the voice almost broke as the confession emerged. Or the way those eyes shone with unshed tears. Now all she wanted to do was hold onto that moment.

Hold onto the moment and revel in the fact that Alex Danvers liked girls.

As was she, Maggie, a girl who also happened to like girls.

At the point that Maggie caught herself with a ridiculous, insipid smile on her face she reached for the last shot and threw it back in one motion. She needed to get the hell of public spaces before she embarrassed herself. Her plan was to head home, go to bed, and hopefully wake up as a functioning adult.

Outside the night was a washed out black. No starlight. Just the bright artifice of streetlights. It had been raining. Maggie remembered Alex hadn't been wearing a jacket and her thoughts immediately went to concern before lingering on the image of the agent with wet hair plastered to her head. There was that damn smile again. She wiped it, replaced it with a scowl and slammed her boot down into a puddle, irritated by her complete lack of cool. The sensible part of her brain was doing its best to remind her that everything about this situation screamed trouble. For starters the pain of her last relationship - an intense month that had felt like a year - still persisted. Hell, she hadn't even deleted Bridget's number from her phone. There was no need to even think about diving headfirst into another relationship. Especially not one that would be intense due to its very nature. Not to mention the fact that patience wasn't exactly her strong suit.

Playing nursemaid to a baby gay isn't what you need right now, Sawyer.

Regardless of how hot the woman was.

Hot doesn't even begin to describe it. Maggie gritted her teeth at her troublesome thoughts. Don't even fucking think about it!

It would have been easier to lay the blame on Alex Danvers. Alex fucking Danvers and her effortless, almost unconscious swagger. The manner in which she carried herself without any realisation of the effect her presence had. Maggie paused in the middle of the street, oblivious to the taxi rank in front of her or the terse muttering of a guy whose path she'd blocked. Reaching for her phone was the worst idea she'd had all night, but the irregular rhythm of her heartbeat was all the encouragement she needed. A few deft swipes later and her finger was poised above 'Danvers.' One little stab of her finger was all it would take. Utterly selfish, but potentially so rewarding - even if only to hear Alex's voice on the other end.

Someone thumped into her shoulder. There was a beat as she juggled her phone in her palm before managing to retain hold of it.

"Jeez, lady, move why dontcha?"

The moment was gone. Maggie thrust her phone firmly into her pocket and made a determined line towards the nearest taxi.

The only thing on Maggie's mind as her key turned in the lock to her apartment was the half-empty bottle of Jack and the potential solace it held. The taxi ride had given her all the time in the world to realise that she needed to dull her thoughts if she had any hope of getting Alex Danvers out of her head. A couple more drinks and she'd be able to fall into a blissfully dreamless sleep. No fucking moping. No more catching herself with an absurd smile on her face.

Something was off. She sensed it as soon as her boot crossed the threshold. A distinct whiff of a fragrance that hadn't met her nostrils in a long time. It was barely there, but undeniably cloying and just as intoxicating as the booze in her system. If not even worse. Maggie kicked the door shut as her gaze went straight to the fluttering curtain and the open window. Her bottle of Jack was on the coffee table - not where she'd left it - in front of the woman sitting in her worn leather armchair. A harsh exhale escaped Maggie's lips as she ripped off her jacket and tossed it over the back of the sofa.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Kate?"

The woman leaned forward. The weak light filtering through the window illuminated a pale, sculpted cheek. Strands of brilliant red hair obscured the woman's eyes until she tilted her head to one side. The gaze was piercing, direct. Even after all this time, that gaze drove a rod straight through Maggie's chest.

"Unless a text saying 'I need you' means something terribly different these days, I thought I was invited."

Maggie folded her arms tightly across her chest. It was a defence mechanism more than anything else. Not in a million years would she actually have thought that her drunken text would have elicited any sort of response. A week later and Kate Kane was in her apartment. Kate fucking Kane.

Aka Batwoman.

The ex she'd never been able to completely get out of her system.

"Shit, Kate...when have you ever shown up when I've needed you?" Kate was here now. Sitting in her chair, wearing a white shirt that offered a generous view of her cleavage and a pair of tight black jeans. "Instead you choose the one time I really don't."

Kate leaned forward in an almost predatory fashion, nodded towards the half-empty bottle on the table. "There's three empties in your trash that say otherwise. You always did try and drink away your problems."

Maggie snorted. "Only after I met you."

It wasn't until that moment that Maggie realised how exhausted she was. A rough day combined with booze and the myriad thoughts competing for her attention left her drained. There was nothing to do other than collapse onto the sofa. Her eyes slid closed the moment that the cushions embraced her tired body. Within the space of a few minutes, her night had gone even further south.

The situation was made infinitely worse when she felt a weight depress the sofa. First on one side of her body, then the other. A warm weight settled into her lap, immediately kindling an unwanted but instinctive fire in the pit of her stomach. Maggie didn't open her eyes, fully capable of picturing Kate straddling her, invading her space. There was no choice other than to respond by snaking her hands beneath Kate's shirt, finding the skin beneath just as silky as she remembered it.

"Maggie." Kate whispered in her ear.

It was all the invitation Maggie needed to increase the pressure of her fingers. Kate's muscular body was almost unyielding beneath her touch, again just as she remembered. A second later and everything unravelled even further as she felt lips pressed against her neck in a feather light kiss. The sigh that followed was instinctive, but it set off warning signals. Using every shred of willpower she possessed, Maggie twisted her head away from Kate's searching lips. The kiss instead landed on her cheek, searing with an intense heat, taunting her for being pathetic.

"Your timing couldn't be worse."

Her tone was irritable, partially caused by the fact that she could hear the lust in her voice. She knew that if she gave in she would be safe in the oblivion of fucking and being fucked. Instead she ruined the moment but letting her thoughts stray back to Alex.

"No. I get it. You're not gay."

"Right!"

Had the response been too vehement? Maggie hadn't been able to resist adding a comment. "You'd be surprised how many gay women I've heard that from."

"Kate." Uncompromising. Blunt. That was what was needed. She placed a hand on her ex's shoulder to keep her at arm's length. "You can't just show up after four years and expect to pick up where things left off. This...it's not a good time."

Maggie's resolve almost faltered whilst trying to deliver a withering stare into those pale green eyes. She breathed a discreet sigh of relief as the weight disappeared. Kate moved, somehow managing to make flopping onto the other end of the sofa look graceful. She drew one lithe leg into her chest, and rested her chin atop it as she studied Maggie with a piercing gaze. Unable to compete, Maggie looked at the floor instead.

"Don't tell me you got back together with - what was her name?"

"No." Maggie shook her head. If only the situation was that simple. "Bridget and I are done. Over. She made that abundantly clear and...well, let's just say I'm over her."

"Mags, you were always a crappy liar. Something's eating you up."

The irony of Kate Kane trying to get her to confess her demons wasn't lost on Maggie. She huffed, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. All those nights she'd lain in bed wishing that Kate Kane would stroll back into her life. Now the woman herself was here and Maggie wanted more than anything to be alone. She jerked forward, lunging for the booze. She didn't stand a chance. Kate's reflexes were honed by years of training and combat. Maggie was left staring at the bottle being waved in front of her.

Kate's eyes suddenly widened in surprise. "There's someone else? Shit. You move on fast these days."

"There's no one else." Damn the woman and her perception. "At least not like that. She's a friend. I was with her earlier tonight."

"With or with?" Kate probed.

"Fuck you, Kate. I said not like that. She's just realised she likes women and I was..."

Whatever she had been about to say was suddenly gone. She was pissed at herself for just blurting it out with barely any effort on Kate's part. For some reason she didn't want Kate to know about Alex. Two people who were part of two very different parts of her life. Suddenly her apartment felt claustrophobic.

"Ahhh." The sound Kate makes is irritatingly understanding. "And you helped her come to this realisation?"

"No...maybe. I mean, I thought she was hitting on me." The attempt explanation was making it all sound so much worse. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Kate smirked. "Like what? Like I'm judging you for corrupting a straight girl? Because you'd be right. How old is this kid anyway?"

"She's not a kid, Kate!" Maggie snapped, lurching to her feet. "Jesus fucking Christ! You show up unannounced and you're already scrutinising my life. You've long since given up any right to have an opinion on anything I do."

"Have I given up any right to care about you? You're clearly not thinking straight - no pun intended. This friend of yours? Maggie, if you value your friendship at all, you won't go there. Not with someone who's only just working out who they are and what they want."

As much as Maggie loathed Kate in that moment, she knew it was the truth. Alex liked her. Of that much she was certain. It was adorable and flattering but Kate was right. She didn't want to go there. In that direction lay only trouble. And Maggie had always prided herself on being able to avoid trouble.

Kate suddenly unfolded her legs and rose to her feet. "You're right. I shouldn't have shown up here unannounced."

"Really?" Maggie snapped in return. "I can't believe how you ever thought breaking into my apartment would be a good idea."

There was a small shrug in response. "I dunno. I guess I thought it might have been romantic." Kate retrieved her jacket and threw it over her shoulders. "I'll check into a hotel."

"Don't be ridiculous." Maggie realised that her voice had suddenly gone soft. She supposed it had something to do with the fact that Kate said 'romantic,' and - as hard as Maggie fought against it - it kind of was. She had sent that text, and Kate was here. Granted it was a week later, but she had still come to National City. "It's almost three am," Maggie continued, drawing in a cautious breath. "You might as well crash here."

"I promise I'll behave."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

Going to fetch a couple of blankets from her closet gave Maggie some space to breathe, to try and make sense of the whole damn day. Earlier, she'd written a nonsensical report about anti-gravity weapons. Then she'd watched as three men screamed and died in front of her for no apparent reason. Her day had already been strange enough without witnessing Alex Danvers come to what was the most important realisation in her entire life.

Now her ex, the woman she'd always thought to be the love of her life, was going to spend the night on her sofa.

With the blankets in front of her like some kind of shield, Maggie felt like she was returning to do battle. Kate had returned to her previous position on the sofa, although not before having stripped down to a plain white vest and underwear. She didn't notice Maggie's return, not immediately. Her gaze was fixed on an indeterminate point on the floor, but from the manner in which her hand was poised above her heart, Maggie knew her ex was lost in memories.

"Does it still hurt?"

Kate jerked suddenly, as though snapping out of some reverie. "Huh? No…not really. Just thinking."

Maggie approached the sofa cautiously, trying not to let herself linger over the swathes of exposed pale skin and the well-defined muscles of Kate's arms. "Why are you here, Kate?"

Kate smiled sadly. "You were drunk when you sent that text weren't you, Mags?"

"I…yeah, I was." That little fact was hardly important. "What does that have to do with anything. You weren't actually supposed to show up."

Kate's smile became an irrepressible grin, just for a moment. "I thrive on being unpredictable." Then it was gone, replaced by an expression that was as serious as it got with Kate Kane. Which was serious. "You've got trouble coming your way, Detective Sawyer. I'm here to help."

With an irritated huff, Maggie dumped the blankets on the sofa. "You didn't think of bringing that up to start with?"

Once again Kate's reflexes caught her out. One quick lunge and her wrist was encased in a gentle but vice-like grip. Maggie hated the fact that she shivered as Kate delicately swiped a thumb down the inside of her wrist.

"I did...then, well..." Kate paused, throat working as she swallowed before speaking. "I saw you, and I realised why we haven't seen each other for four years. Why I ignored that text and any others that came before it."

Maggie snorted disparagingly. "Please! I've hardly made a habit of texting you!" She sighed as the outburst reminded her that she needed to get to bed. "Is this something that can wait until morning?"

Kate released Maggie's wrist. She offered up a taut nod. "Of course. Sorry. I don't think any nefarious schemes are about to go down in the next few hours."

"Stop apologising, Kate. It doesn't suit you." Maggie backed away, shaking her head. "I...we'll talk in the morning."

With that she turned and practically fled from the room, breathing again only when a firmly shut bedroom door was in between herself and Kate Kane. She pressed her body gratefully against the barrier and closed her eyes, surprising herself when her thoughts didn't drift towards Kate, but rather towards Alex Danvers. Alex and her stunted, adorable attempt to confess to Maggie - and herself - the emotions she'd kept locked away for most of her life.

And Batwoman was currently sleeping on her sofa.

Maggie shook her head. What a fucking day.


Alex listens to Mrs Donohue make her way down the hallway after admonishing them not to stay up all night talking. Still, it's Saturday night and they're teenage girls. It's practically mandatory that they stay up all night talking. Vicky's already in bed. Alex casts a quick glance at her face in the bathroom mirror, checking she doesn't have toothpaste at the corner of her mouth before she turns off the light and scurries across the room. There's a giggle as she launches herself onto Vicky's side of the bed.

"This is a hostile takeover!" Alex announces gleefully, using her knees and elbows as she deposes Vicky from her warm spot.

There's a protest of course. Vicky tries to avoid heading into the cold expanse on the other side of the bed. A thought flits into Alex's head as she's burrowing against her friend. Just the ghost of one really, but it's enough at least to make her think that maybe...just maybe, it would be alright if she and Vicky shared the warm side of the bed. To Alex's rational mind it makes perfect sense. This side is warm. The other isn't. It doesn't occur to her to worry about the fact that they'd be crammed together, limbs touching...or entwined. There's a strange flutter in her stomach at the last thought.

Then Vicky, grumbling good-humouredly about how Alex is a guest, moves to the other side of the bed.

Feeling suddenly bereft, Alex lets her fingers slide into the empty expanse between them.

Alex Danvers - DEO agent and adoptive sister to the most powerful woman on the planet - jerked upright in bed, forced to press her hand against her thumping heart in an effort to calm down.

"Oh crap," she whispered after catching her breath.

She turned to check the time, despondent to find she'd been asleep for a few hours at best. Three hours of tossing and turning had preceded that meagre amount of sleep. Hours spent with her body crying out for sleep while her mind did its best to thwart the attempt. The dream - or had it been a memory? – lingered at the forefront of her mind.

Stuff was coming back to her in bits and pieces – feelings mostly, emotions. She felt a palpable thrill, wrapped up in layers of feel and denial, until the only thing she could do was admit to herself that it had been real. Alex flopped back down against her pillows, staring up at the ceiling whilst mulling over the fact that this wasn't entirely new information. Some part of her had known as a teenager, yet those feelings had subsequently been thoroughly buried.

Alex couldn't help but pose an alternate trajectory for her life – one where she'd acknowledged those teenaged feelings for what they actually were. Her life would have played out as it was supposed to. There would have been no awkward dancing with Adam Tait at her senior prom, when she'd deliberately trodden on his foot to avoid him kissing her. More importantly, no persisting with the thought that she was somehow broken because she didn't enjoy sex. Before she could surrender to the irritating tears that pricked at her eyes, Alex decisively threw back the covers and launched herself out of bed. Her prospects of sleep seemed slim, rendered so by the countless questions darting around in her head, all demanding immediate answers.

However as she walked into her living room, her sense of purpose disappeared as she realised that she didn't actually have anything to do. Instead she ended up standing in the middle of the space for almost ten minutes, an internal debate raging as to whether she ought to redecorate.

You're gay, Danvers, she helpfully reminded herself. Not having a teenage rebellion or a mid-life crisis. She glanced around her apartment, muted tones broken up with only a few splashes of colour. Being gay doesn't change the fact that you really…really like the colour blue.

Before she could seriously consider redecorating, Alex flopped onto the sofa. She booted up her laptop in an effort to distract herself with news, or videos of cats jumping into boxes, but twenty minutes of mindless clicking led only to her becoming even more frustrated with herself and the world in general. Alex slammed the lid of her laptop down and tossed the offending device onto the sofa.

Eventually she was left with nothing to do other than change into her running gear. A few minutes later and she was pounding the pavement along with a handful of enthusiastic souls who had clearly traded in extra sleep for the joys of physical exertion at 5am. Alex soon settled into a comfortable rhythm. After all, this was something she could do without thinking. Repetitive movements and the satisfying sound of her soles hitting the pavement soon replaced unwanted thoughts.

Fifteen minutes later and she'd worked up a decent heart rate. She could feel a thin sheen of sweat coating her face. It almost helped her forget that she had barely slept, however a yawn mid stride served to remind her. No matter how hard she pushed herself, or forced her limbs to move faster, she couldn't outrun the reason for her early morning jog.

The piercing wail of a siren somewhere suddenly broke her concentration. Alex's stride faltered and she caught her toe as she stepped up onto the kerb. The contact was enough to send her flying forward onto her hands and knees, swearing as the rough surface grated against her skin. Thankfully no one was around to witness her tumble and she was back on her feet in seconds. Instead of resuming her run, she found herself brushing small stones out of the indentations they'd made on her palms before staring at the thin trail of blood making its way down her shin.

Alex sighed and straightened, propping her hands on her hips as she tried to gather her breath.

She couldn't remember being this lost since that godawful day her Mom had told her that her Dad wasn't coming home. Not even in the months before she'd joined the DEO, when alcohol had very neatly solved most of her problems – or at least kept her in a state where they didn't bother her.

At her lowest moment, walking back in the direction of her apartment, suffering from sleep deprivation and utter boredom, Alex remembered that she had a potential source of answers. One that hopefully wouldn't bombard her information that she wasn't ready for or tell her to sort it out on her own. No, the solution lay in one small, exceptionally attractive package.

Maggie Sawyer.

Alex resumed jogging at a slow, measured pace, although now she had an actual plan forming in her head.

She didn't want a dummies guide to being gay, or her hand held (although she would hardly say no to Maggie holding her hand again), just a few pointers. Some advice as to what the hell to do next.

Although a little demonstration wouldn't go amiss either.

Alex's cheeks burned as she ran, but she didn't stop herself from asking one more question to which she didn't have the answer. What would it feel like to kiss a girl?

Or at least, what would it feel like to kiss one, specific girl.


A/N: I'm not a fan of love triangles, so I'm not going down that route. However a little angst and confusion makes the rewards all the sweeter in the end.

The title is taken from a song by the fabulous Florence + the Machine.