Maggie.

He halted for a moment to stare at the woman in front of him, overpowered by the warmth flooding his chest.

The wars she'd been through had rendered her skin speckled with yellow and green, and dependent on a cane to keep her balance. Accompanied by her weight loss, he knew that whilst she hadn't stayed dead, it had been close. Yet, she looked like herself. She looked radiant, alive.

"Hi," she said, voice quiet and raw.

Just like that, all the rage left him. At the sound of her voice, constellations formed within him, rebuilding his burned structures. Once again, breathing didn't hurt.

For a few more moments, he could only stare, fully bewitched. He could tell she was nervous, her fist whitening around the cane as she waited for him to respond, her eyes searching his face for tells.

"Maggie…" was all he managed to say, taking a step in her direction.

For the first time in almost a week, her name didn't feel like it would crumble his heart. Wow, he'd missed her.

Her name had always been one of his favourite things to say. He hadn't said it much lately. She, or my partner, or her. With unfamiliar coworkers that called to check in, he'd say Agent Bell. Her name, beautiful as it was, carried a lot of ache. It had been yet another reminder he'd never be talking to her again, that he'd never say her name to grab her attention.

Come to think of it, he hadn't spoken her name since the day of, which felt like a small betrayal. It felt unnatural not sprinkling it into everyday conversations; Mona hadn't been wrong about how he always talked about her.

Though he didn't dare speak her name, he still spoke of her, even if his company mostly consisted of his goldfish. You know, I named you Ollie because she said you looked like an Ollie. Not that the fish cared. He never thought he'd feel jealous of a goldfish, but he envied Ollie's ability to forget.

He took another few steps in her direction, finally close enough to cup her jaw. This time, she was warm and vibrant, not dying in his palm.

Her face softened with a mixture of pity and guilt, her defenses fading away, and she leaned into the touch.

"You're real," he whispered, and lowered his forehead to hers.

"I'm real."

Real. Alive. This wasn't a dream.

He let the moment last for a few more seconds before he said anything else. "Is it okay if I hug you, or will that hurt?"

She answered by wrapping her arms around his waist, abandoning her cane to rest against his body for stability, head now snuggled against his chest.

Ever so gently, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, securing the other one across her back to keep her steady. His chin rested on top of her head, breathing her in.

She's okay, he told himself, still not fully believing it. His heart had not quite caught up to his mind yet, as evident by the growing collection of teardrops sprinkled into her hair. She's okay. He gingerly pressed a kiss into her hair. She smelled of apples, erasing any memories of blood and sterile hospitals. She's okay.

There was a lot to say. From dumb jokes he thought she would enjoy, to new life philosophies he had discovered. Most of all, however, he needed to make sure she knew she was deeply loved and dearly missed.

"I missed you," he whispered. "A lot."

"Missed you too." She shifted her stance. "I'm so sorry, OA."

He shook his head. "Not your fault."

"I wanted to tell you," she continued. "I should have told you."

"I know you didn't have a choice." He brushed his thumb across her shoulder, hoping to reassure her. "I don't blame you, Maggie."

She relaxed further into his chest, tentative. "Are we good?"

"Mhm." Of course. "We're great." How could they not?

"Thank you," she said, even though she didn't need to.

Careful not to hurt her, he tightened his grip. Her warmth was enthralling; It was a grounding reassurance that she was real. It was still hard to fully convince himself that she wasn't a dream, conjured up by grief and guilt.

If he wasn't mindful, he feared he might grow dependent on having her within arm's reach, just so that he'd know she was safe. Had he not felt he might sob, he'd chuckle at the impossibility of that idea.

"I know this is a lot to take in." She always had a way of reading his thoughts.

"I'm just happy you're alive." Everything else would be sorted out later. Well, most things: "I love you," he murmured, "In a you're-my-best-friend sorta way," not that she needed the clarification.

"I know," he could hear the smile in her voice, the previous edges long gone. "I love you too."

It was strange how powerful words were. One short sentence, and she'd ignited something in him. He burrowed his nose further into her hair, eyes closed. He didn't think he'd ever felt this close to anyone. Part of him wished they'd stay in this moment forever, safe and comforted. This, she , meant everything.

But everything must come to an end, this moment included. Maggie adjusted against him, and even though she hadn't said anything, he knew she was tired.

"Let's sit down, yeah?" He pulled back, still keeping a hand on her back for steadiness. "Jemma will kill me if she finds out I kept you on your feet for so long."

She gave a watery chuckle, turning toward the bed. "Wouldn't want that," she said, sliding down to take a seat, wincing at the movement.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, joining her.

"I can manage," she reassured him, forcing a smile. "I don't want any painkillers."

Oh. Her sister. "Okay." He placed his hand on her forearm, offering a comforting squeeze: I understand. "No painkillers."

"Nothing I can't handle." No doubts about it. "You, on the other hand, look awful." Her tone was softer now, and she tilted her head a little, studying him. "How have you been sleeping?"

He looked down at his hand, unsure why he felt embarrassed. Maybe because he'd believed Isobel and become a pawn. Maybe because he had been such a mess lately. Though she would never judge him, he wished he had handled things better. After all, she's the one who'd died and endured what would best be classified as a legal abduction. She shouldn't worry about him.

Maggie placed her free hand on top of his, brushing her thumb across his knuckles. It's okay.

"Not well," he admitted. Then he cleared his throat: "But it's fine," he said, trying to keep his tone light.

She stayed quiet for a few beats. "I know you've been through a lot, OA," she said. "And I'm not expecting you to feel okay right now," she squeezed his hand. "I wouldn't."

Hoping not to break, he looked at her again. She was here . That should be enough, but it wasn't.

"I thought you died. I-" grieved you. "You did die, Maggie."

He didn't manage to say anything else before the pictures flooded his mind. For a moment, he's back in that alley. He could feel the life seep out of her. He could hear her ribs crack beneath his shaking palms. He could taste her blood as he forced air into her lungs.

By now, he was crying. He hadn't been able to keep her alive. He hadn't had her back. Even now, that powerlessness haunted him. Maybe that was the source of his shame.

"And then you saved me." She lifted her hand to brush away his tears, bringing him back to the present. "The medics were only able to bring me back because of everything you did."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She was right. She was sitting right there to prove it. His emotions just hadn't caught up yet.

She stroked her thumb against his cheek. "And I-" her voice got caught in her throat, and she sighed, needing a moment. "I came back for you, I think."

He raised his eyebrows, not entirely sure what she meant.

"When I was...gone, I could still hear you." She didn't really seem to understand her own words. Death experiences were traumatic enough without shifting your perception of reality. "I guess I couldn't leave you."

For that, he was grateful.

"Not until you watch Pretty Woman with me, anyway," she said, lowering her hand to gently jab his side.

He chuckled. "So you did hear that."

"I also heard you promising me your chili recipe." Her voice was lighter now, playful.

He matched her tone: "I think you're imagining things. Sure you didn't hit your head?"

" Haha ," she suppressed a yawn, and rested her head against his arm. "My head is perfectly fine."

"Okay, you got me," he said in feigned defeat, "the recipe is yours."

"Victory at last," she mumbled.

He smiled. This felt normal.

"You know, it'll probably take me some days to learn the recipe when I can't move my arms much," she said and yawned again. "I could use you as a live-in-chef when I get home."

With the array of takeaway food options, he suspected she didn't really need him for his cooking skills. She just wanted him there.

"Will I be paid?" he joked.

"In love and appreciation."

That was more than enough. "I can't say no to that," he said, and hooked his arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you, OA," she murmured. "For staying, and for always having my back."

Finally, he let himself relax, daring to close his eyes. "Always."

As they settled back into a familiar rhythm, a renewed sense of warmth grew from the ashes within, promising him that eventually, it would all be okay.