Hi everyone! Glad to finally have the chance to post this here - just in case you need some Maggie/OA fluffiness today. If you've read some of my other fics, you probably know how much I love the idea that Maggie calls herself 'a small town gal from Indiana.' I really wanted to write more about that, and somehow I ended up writing this fluffy, tropey, sappy one-shot. It's just a few little scenes of Maggie/OA goodness. Hope you enjoy all the fluffiness – thanks for reading!
"FBI! We're coming in!"
The call that identifies them seems way too loud, echoing through the empty hallways in the old, abandoned building. It's dark inside, with any daylight blocked by dust-caked windows, and their flashlights cast wide shadows on the walls as they seek out their target.
As they approach an open room with a high ceiling, OA readies his weapon and pulls back for cover behind the wall. He can just make out Scola and Tiffany also crouching behind a wall in the opposite corner, and Scola gives him a slight nod. Quietly, OA taps his partner on the shoulder to signal her to move.
And she doesn't.
OA taps her again, a little harder this time, but she's completely frozen to the spot.
"Rose!" he hisses.
He hears her take a deep breath that's more of a gasp and she quickly rushes forward into the open space…and a paintball splatters into OA's chest.
OA's shout of surprise breaks the rest of the silence, and the lights immediately flash on, signaling the end of the exercise.
"Agent Hanson!" The reprimand from the training coordinator is loud and harsh. "You left your partner uncovered."
Rose looks up meekly, blowing her wispy blond hair out of her face. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
"It better not. Let's reset it."
Rose turns to OA but won't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Agent Zidan," she apologizes, and she scurries away before he can respond.
"You okay?" Scola asks.
OA wipes off some of the paint and nods. "Yeah…I'm fine."
"Look, OA, I remember pretty clearly what it's like to be the new girl here," Tiffany says. "I can take Rose through the next exercise if you want."
OA shakes his head. "Thanks for the offer, Tiff, but you don't have to do that. I'm fine. She's fine. We're fine."
His responses are so automatic that Tiffany can tell he's anything but fine. But OA has been this way for two months now, and while Scola and Tiffany exchange a concerned look over their friend, they know the subject is officially closed.
~*~o~*~
"OA, can I see you for a minute?" Isobel calls. OA is just returning to his desk at 26 Fed when she stops him at her office door. "There's a new assignment that I'd like to put you on."
"Uh, yeah, want me to grab Rose? It could be a good experience for her."
"No, this one's just for you."
A little confused, OA obediently enters Isobel's office and closes the door.
"I heard about the training exercise this morning," Isobel says. "Rose left you uncovered in the field."
"I should have prepared her more," OA explains, trying his best to have his partner's back. "It was a team exercise, and she's my partner right now."
"Well, I'm handing her off to Scola and Tiffany as of this afternoon," Isobel says.
OA blinks in surprise. "Ma'am, with all due respect, if you don't think I can handle it—"
"OA, I'm loaning you out to the Indiana state police for the next thirty days."
Whatever OA had expected Isobel to say, that definitely wasn't it.
"It's just a consultant position on some of their cold cases, so you might actually find yourself with some extra free time," Isobel continues. "And what you do with your free time while you're in Indiana…well, that's up to you."
~*~o~*~
OA is pretty sure he's never seen so many corn fields in his life. It's not like they were a common sight while he was growing up in Queens, and as an Army Ranger, he spent most of his time in the desert. But out here in rural Indiana, OA is starting to wonder if the highway ends somewhere in the middle of a corn field or if it just goes on forever.
Because whenever he gets to the end, that's where he'll find Maggie. He hasn't seen his partner – his real partner – in two months. After almost a week of worrying by her hospital bedside, the doctors had told him there was something wrong with the nerves in her legs. It could just be temporary, they said, or it could be permanent.
At that point, Maggie had made the decision on her own to go home to Indiana. Her family's old farmhouse was more accessible than her apartment in New York City, and her parents could help her with basic needs while she attended physical therapy.
Since she's been away on medical leave, they've texted each other and occasionally talked on the phone, but recently OA has been so busy working cases and training Rose, and last time he called her, Maggie had been in an extended physical therapy session. They just never seem to catch each other at the right time, and after having Maggie by his side every day for years, OA has to admit that her absence has left a bigger hole than he ever would have thought.
When he finally reaches an exit on the highway that looks like it might just lead into another corn field but the GPS is telling him to turn anyway, OA is surprised to find himself pulling into the long, winding dirt driveway of a traditional red farmhouse. The flat, open land behind it seems to stretch for miles, and he can see a couple more corn fields along with a small herd of dairy cows and a flock of free range chickens.
A woman emerges from the house when she hears his car, and the first thing OA notices is her confident stance, her friendly smile, and her shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Yes, there's a definite family resemblance.
"Omar Zidan," the woman exclaims, shaking his hand excitedly. He's dressed comfortably in jeans and a sweatshirt, and he doesn't look like a Fed because no one would ever drive halfway across the country in a suit and tie, but she seems to recognize him anyway.
"Maggie calls you OA, right? From the way she talks about you, I would know you anywhere. It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm Melinda, Maggie's mom, and I'm so happy you're here. Come on inside. Maggie's dad took her to physical therapy this morning, but they should be back any minute."
The old farmhouse is welcoming and well-maintained. OA can tell it's been painted not so long ago, and its front porch is lined with pretty potted flowers. There's a beautiful, hand-carved wooden porch swing accented with dark blue cushions at the far end, and the steps to the front door are covered by a long ramp that OA assumes has been built for Maggie while she recovers.
Inside, the kitchen is bright and cozy, the perfect mix of modern and old-fashioned country living, and OA probably shouldn't have been surprised at how much it feels like home. If Melinda and Maggie share their looks, he suspects that they probably share their interior design taste, too.
"Can I get you some lemonade?" Melinda asks. "You must be so tired and thirsty after driving all the way from New York."
Melinda is already pulling the pitcher out of the refrigerator, and OA decides that he can't refuse even if he wanted to. He also can't deny that the glass of cold, frothy lemonade tastes awfully good after inhaling so much dust and fertilizer on the highway.
"I had to beg Isobel to send you out here," Melinda begins, not wasting any time jumping into the conversation. "Because Maggie isn't doing as well as she should be."
Instantly, OA looks up in concern.
"She's been going to all of her physical therapy appointments, but if the nerves don't start working again soon, the doctors say she could be paralyzed for life. She puts on a strong face, but I think she's starting to lose hope, and I didn't know what else to do. I think she misses the FBI, I think she misses New York, and I think she misses you."
Melinda nervously taps her fingers on the lemonade pitcher. She's biting her lower lip, like she wants to ask more but is afraid to do so. "You were there, right?" she finally asks. "When the building exploded?"
"I was." OA clears his throat because he still doesn't like to talk about it. "We were evacuating hostages when Maggie found the explosives under the floor, and…and I couldn't get to her in time."
OA has to pause as he relives the moment when he's back inside that burning building, dodging the falling beams, feeling the heat of the flames lapping at his skin and screaming for Maggie as he digs her out of the rubble because even over the roar of the fire, all he can hear are her helpless cries that she can't move.
"I couldn't get to her in time," he repeats quietly. "She was buried under part of the building because she went back to help a little boy. She got him out in time, but she didn't make it out before the blast."
Melinda nods, her eyes starting to water a little bit. "That sounds like Maggie," she says. "Always trying to protect the kids. She never had any of her own, you know. It just wasn't the right time for her and—"
Just then, Melinda is interrupted by the loud bang of a truck tailgate outside. "Oh, I think they must be home."
~*~o~*~
"Okay, come on, sweetheart," Paul says, slipping one arm around his daughter's waist and his other under her legs so he can lift her out of the truck and into the wheelchair. He's a tall man, strong from spending all his life working on a farm, but he's getting on in years now, and he strains a little under his daughter's weight and laughs heartily. "This was a little easier when you were about six months old, you know."
As she wraps her arms around her father's neck, Maggie catches sight of a familiar Chevy over his shoulder. "Dad, that car—"
"What? Huh? Oh, one of your mom's friends probably decided to stop by."
Paul sets her down gently in the wheelchair and Maggie immediately swivels around to look.
"No, Dad, I know that car."
She just can't believe it made it all the way from New York to Indiana.
Quickly, she unlocks the brakes on her wheelchair and wheels herself towards the front door. Her mother comes out to meet them, and there's a familiar figure behind her who Maggie hasn't seen in two months too long.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey," he echoes.
And when OA kneels down in front of her and wraps her in a hug, Maggie hopes he never lets go.
~*~o~*~
Later that evening, Maggie is stretched out on the living room couch, working on her exercises to see if she can wiggle her ankles and toes, when she hears the front door open and the sound of her father and her partner laughing together as they enter the house.
"Hi," Melinda says, coming out of the kitchen to greet her husband with a hello kiss.
"I've made up the guest room for OA," Maggie hears her mother tell her father.
"Well, of course," Paul agrees firmly. "We can't let our daughter's partner spend his time in a hotel twenty minutes away. We've got plenty of room in this old farmhouse. Maggie's been staying downstairs, so OA can have the guest bedroom right across from her. No one will ever say that we don't know how to show a guy some good old midwestern hospitality."
When they enter the living room, Maggie pushes herself up into a sitting position. "So how did target practice go?" she asks. She has to admit that because she couldn't be out there with them, she's more than a little curious to find out what happened after her father took her partner down the road to the shooting range this evening.
"Well, I held my own against a federal agent," Paul replies, puffing his chest out a little proudly. "I hit pretty close to the bull's eye just about every time and took out a good number of targets in the trees."
Maggie raises an eyebrow in disbelief, especially when OA just happens to be studying the carpet and refusing to look at her.
"Hey, but your partner's a pretty good shot. I'd say he's more than a worthy opponent." Paul gives OA a friendly clap on the shoulder and then leans over to drop a kiss on the top of Maggie's head. "Well, I better say good night, sweetheart. I've got to be up early for the cows and the chickens tomorrow. And hey, you never know when the FBI might call to recruit your old dad…in fact, I bet they'll be calling tomorrow."
"Of course they will, dear," Melinda says patronizingly, patting her husband on the shoulder. "Good night, Maggie. Good night, OA."
"Okay, what was that?" Maggie demands, glaring at OA as soon as her parents had made their way up the stairs to their bedroom.
"I don't know what you're talking about," OA says innocently.
She knows that innocent act much too well. "My father held his own against an Army sniper? I don't think so."
OA's sly smile tells her everything she needs to know.
"You let him win," she accuses, laughing as she tosses a couch pillow at him. "Why didn't you tell him?"
OA catches the pillow easily, happy to be sharing a laugh with his partner again. "Maggie, it's not something I advertise."
"So you let my dad think he's a better shot than an FBI agent."
OA shrugs. "He's a good guy. I think he just wanted to make sure I was a good guy." He pauses and his gaze is warm as he looks directly at Maggie. "You know, someone worthy of being with you."
~*~o~*~
OA flops back against the pillows and rubs a hand over his tired eyes. It's nearly midnight, and he's been reading files for the Indiana state police for the last couple of hours.
The guest bedroom is just as clean and comfortable as the rest of the house, and the bed is large and easily accommodating to his six-foot-five frame. He's just starting to doze off when he hears the soft squeak of a wheel. At first, he's not sure if he's imagining it until he sees the wheelchair come to a smooth stop beside the bed.
"Maggie," he says, sitting up and tossing aside his file. "You're, uh, pretty stealthy in that thing. What's up?"
"Nothing," she says. "I just saw the light on."
OA chuckles. "Yeah, I was doing a little late night reading."
Maggie looks surprised to see all the paperwork spread out on the bed. "What is all this?"
"Cold case files for the Indiana state police."
"The official reason you're here," she realizes.
She's dressed in a tank top and pajama pants, and her hair is loose and damp, like it's still drying from an earlier shower. She looks like she was just about ready for bed herself, but now she angles her chair closer and twists a little so she's more parallel to OA's bed instead.
When he realizes what she's about to do, he moves to help her, but she holds up a hand and he instantly backs away, letting her do it herself. She pushes herself out of the chair and onto the bed, and it's not exactly graceful, but it gets the job done.
She uses her arms and elbows to squirm a little until she's settled into the pillows and then she hands his file back to him. "You want to run them by me?"
"Are you sure?" he asks. "You really want to hear about unsolved homicides right now?"
"OA, I've been on medical leave for two months…I can deal with it."
With an uncertain nod of agreement, he opens the file and begins to read. "Witnesses say that three gunshots were heard around 7:45 that night. No gunshot residue was found on the sole survivor of the attack, and ballistics was never able to confirm the weapon used to fire the casings found at the scene. No other witnesses were found in the area, and no other witnesses came forward…"
And it's not long before OA's voice fades away as Maggie drifts off to sleep.
Just after dawn the next morning, Melinda comes downstairs to start the coffee, and when she passes by the guest bedroom, she looks in on the sight of her daughter and her partner, both sound asleep, surrounded by a mess of paperwork and files on the bed, and it completely melts her motherly heart.
~*~o~*~
"Not something you see in New York City, is it?"
OA jumps a little as Maggie steers her wheelchair out on the front porch and spins in a circle so she's following his gaze, looking out at the stars in a black night sky that stretches way beyond the horizon.
"It's amazing," OA says. "You don't ever see stars like this in New York, and when I was in Iraq, all you ever saw was gunfire or helicopters lighting up the sky."
Maggie smiles a little at her partner's boyish, awestruck expression, and she's glad he's here in Indiana because as much as they both love New York City, there's something different about spending time together out here in the country. She knows that having him here has given her more hope for recovery, and she's so busy thinking about the progress she's made that it takes her a minute to realize that he's not looking at the stars anymore but at her.
"Stand up," he says softly.
"Why?" she asks stubbornly. "Because the physical therapists didn't torture me enough today?"
"Because I'm here to hold you."
He offers her his hand, and she takes it and pushes herself out of her chair. Quickly, he steadies her with an arm around her waist as she leans on him for strength. The two of them just stand in silence for a while, listening to the nocturnal sounds of the countryside and enjoying each other's body heat as the night turns chilly.
When she starts to shake a little, not from the cold, he can tell her strength is starting to fade. He helps her over to the porch swing, and they both sit down on the plush cushions as his long legs stretch out in front so he can rock them in a slow, easy rhythm.
"OA, this is still going to take a while," she admits, leaning against him and resting her head on his shoulder.
"What are you talking about? I saw you walk almost two hundred feet in physical therapy today."
Maggie laughs weakly. "Yeah, so I'll chase all the suspects the first two hundred feet and you'll take over from there, okay?"
"If that's what it takes." OA touches his fingers to her chin and tilts her head toward him. "Maggie, I just want my partner back."
The look in his eyes and the way he closes the distance between them makes her heart race, and in a soft breath Maggie assures him, "She's yours."
And he brushes her hair from her face and cups her cheek, leaning in to kiss her softly under a starry Indiana sky.