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It was unfortunate, but true, that in her line of work, Maggie had seen a lot of shit over the years. Dismembered bodies, charred remains, and more dead children than she wished she'd ever had to. Yet despite all the horrors she’d witnessed, somehow none of them had managed to haunt her quite like the image of Isobel Castille bound and gagged, bruised and bleeding. Not even in the wake of Kristen’s near-death had she struggled this much. No matter how hard she tried, the memory seemed impossible to shake; it plagued her like a cancer, seared into the darkness behind her eyes for whenever she closed them.
And if forgetting hadn’t been a pipe dream before, it became one when Isobel reappeared at work sooner than anyone would’ve dared to bet money on. She’d only been gone for just over a week. Her bruises were still visible, her cuts still healing, but she managed to wear them with the same confidence she did everything else. She spent most of her time in her office which was, at least, for the best if she had to be there at all, the blinds drawn across its glass partition. Maggie stared in their direction more often than she cared to admit, as though she would be able to see through them if she did so for long enough.
They hadn’t done much in the way of speaking yet, least of all about what had happened. Maggie couldn’t bring herself to talk about it, and Isobel didn’t need to know. She hadn’t been conscious when Maggie had found her, when she’d frantically freed her, when she’d carried her over her shoulders out of that hellhole, and Maggie couldn’t get any of it out of her head. She didn’t know why. Isobel was fine, or getting there, but there was something about seeing her like that, about the panic and fear that had swallowed Maggie like a black hole, that refused to let her forget a single second of it.
Maybe that was why she was loitering outside of Isobel’s office, replaying the event in her head for absolutely no benefit and all harm. Maybe speaking about it would help. It was the only thing left that she hadn’t tried. She raised her hand for what had to be the dozenth time, except she actually knocked. She actually curled her fingers around the handle and let herself in.
Isobel looked up to see who it was, and her face softened when she learned the answer. “Maggie,” she breathed as she shut the door, then, loud enough for her to hear, “Everything alright?” Maggie didn’t know how to respond to that. Her lips parted expectantly, but her tongue didn’t move, and her vocal chords stayed silent. How did you tell someone it had felt like the world was ending when you’d thought you were losing them? How did you explain that their near death had carved an indelible wound in your heart? How did you say that to someone you were only passing friends with? I know we’re not that close, and I know you just almost died, but I think it made me realize I’m in love with you. Maggie might've found it funny if it wasn’t such a brutal truth, and one she didn’t know what to do with.
At a loss for how to answer the question, she could only continue to stand in silence, staring at Isobel like an abandoned puppy caught in the rain. “Maggie?” Isobel said, concern gracing her features.
Maggie strained to say something. Anything. “I...”
It began and ended there. Nothing else followed. She couldn’t string two syllables together let alone a sentence. The last time she’d walked into a room to Isobel, she’d been tied to a chair, her head slumped to one side and her mouth bound with a dirty rag. Of course, that wasn’t the case here, but the visage refused to leave Maggie alone. Isobel rose to her feet, wincing almost imperceptibly, but it was clear as day to Maggie. Nobody else would’ve noticed, but especially now, Isobel’s every movement crashed into her like a wave against a rock. Isobel crossed the office to meet her, resting a hand on Maggie’s shoulder.
“Are you alright?” she asked gently, although the answer was perhaps obvious. Maggie’s breath hitched, her eyes updating the catalog she’d been unconsciously keeping of Isobel’s injuries; the cut across her forehead, the slight split in her bottom lip, the yellowing bruise on the right side of her face. Maggie knew the worst of it was where she couldn’t see.
She shook her head. “No,” she admitted quietly. How pitiful of her to be the one of them that was struggling to function when Isobel had been beaten half to death. “I’m not.”
“Talk to me,” Isobel coaxed, guiding her towards the chairs opposite her desk. Maggie could wear her heart on her sleeve, but she still had all the fortitude of a tank. She was a sword and a shield rolled into one, forged of steel and concrete, stubborn and persevering. Isobel had seen her cry only once before, had seen her teary-eyed a few times more, but this was unlike either instance. Isobel had never seen Maggie weighed down so heavy, a broken warrior with her shield split in two and her blade cut to the hilt.
“Why are you here?” Maggie asked, Isobel’s hand on the inside of her elbow as she fell into one of the chairs. She’d come back too fast, at least too fast for her.
“I work here?” Isobel replied, a touch confused, taking a seat on the curved arm of the chair.
“No, I know,” Maggie told her, “I meant... So soon.” She was a hypocrite; she would be the same, but would Isobel have let her do it? Maybe she was a hypocrite, too.
“I needed the distraction...” Isobel admitted quietly, lacing her hands together. She wasn’t doing much here that she couldn’t do at home, but she’d had to get out. She’d had to see people. She couldn’t stand being stuck in her house, alone, for so long. Being there almost felt like hiding, like letting her assailants win, and she’d only had the memories of what had happened to keep her company. She just wanted to feel a sense of normalcy again; she could get that here.
Maggie understood all too well, but it didn’t make her feel better about anything. She lifted a hand, reaching out to rest it against Isobel’s lower back, fingers brushing the curve of her waist. She jumped ever so slightly, stiffening before managing to relax again with a faint sigh. “Does it still hurt?” Maggie asked her, voice just above a whisper.
“No,” Isobel said, then amended: “Not as much.” It was still painful, sometimes, when she stood up after sitting for too long, and waking up in the mornings was still some degree of hell, but she liked to think she had it managed. It was to the point where she could grit her teeth and bear it. Maggie didn’t know how much she believed her, but she didn’t argue.
“Isobel... Do you know who found you?” she asked slowly, frowning slightly as she absently stroked her thumb back and forth across Isobel’s back.
“I do,” Isobel revealed. She hadn’t asked, but it had inevitably come up, especially when she'd read the case reports against her better judgement. “Jubal told me, and...” She paused, wetting her bottom lip before taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” She knew she’d looked horrific, and if her captors hadn’t found her pretty, she had no doubt her face would’ve suffered the same beating the rest of her had.
Maggie’s thumb stilled, and she had to resist the urge to grab the fabric of Isobel’s shirt, to bunch it up between her fingers. She wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to apologize; that it wasn’t her fault, that none of this was her fault. Instead, Maggie said something else completely. “I can’t get it out of my head...” she told her. She could see it now, clear as day even with the focal point sitting right next to her, perfectly safe and mostly sound. “Fuck.” She yanked her hand back, abruptly getting to her feet, and Isobel immediately looked over, watching as she approached the window at the other side of the room.
“Maggie,” she said gently, standing up. She hadn’t expected what had happened to bother her of all people anywhere near this much. Maggie shook her head.
“I can’t stop thinking about you in that fucking room,” she continued, gripping the edge of the nearby counter. “When I kicked that door down and saw you, I thought I was too late; that you were already-” She couldn't even bring herself to say the word, shaking her head in frustration. She didn’t know how to describe the feeling. It had almost been like getting shot, like feeling yourself slowly bleed to death and the life drain out of you. She’d done and seen the same sort of thing countless times before, breaking down doors and rescuing hostages, and yet in this case she hadn’t been able to move at first, as though time had frozen and her with it.
“Maggie, listen to me,” Isobel said firmly, stepping around the chair to join her near the window. "It’s over.” Maggie turned to face her, a glossy veil of tears in her eyes. “And I am very much alive, alright? You weren’t too late.” It fell plenty short of her usual attempts to comfort people, but she didn’t know how else to reassure her. This was different. This was Maggie, and she herself was the crux of what afflicted her.
“I know, but I- It’s not-” Maggie grappled with her words, trying to find the right ones to explain that it was about more than that. It wasn’t just almost losing Isobel, it was what living through that had made her realize. She’d suffered devastating loss before, had love taken from her too soon, running out through her fingers like sand in an hourglass. Thinking Isobel was gone had felt too much like that, except she wouldn’t have just been too late to save her, she would’ve been too late -- too blind, too uncertain -- to realize why she’d so desperately needed to in the first place. To think that she could’ve lost her, without ever having loved her, all because she had convinced herself it would be a waste of time to dwell on. “Shit.”
“Hey, breathe,” Isobel commanded, taking her gently by the shoulders, trying to ground her. She wasn’t panicking, but she wasn’t exactly calm either, clearly overwhelmed by whatever had her so worked up. Maggie closed her eyes, trying to focus on the Isobel standing before her instead of the one she’d found and couldn’t forget, breathing in time with her until she felt less like a whirlwind. “There, that’s better.” Maggie sighed, bowing her head. She would’ve been embarrassed by her outbursts if her mind wasn’t a mess; if she wasn’t preoccupied with trying and failing to figure out what to do; if she wasn’t fighting with herself over the choice.
“Isobel...” she started quietly before reluctantly looking up again, forcing her eyes to meet Isobel’s. They were soft with concern, as if she wasn’t the one of them that had been through hell and still bore the wounds that proved it. “What would you do if... you were in love with someone you couldn’t have?” Maggie knew she was balancing herself on a razor’s edge. Isobel was more than smart enough to read between the lines. Her eyes narrowed, just a fraction, the concern turning to intrigue as she searched Maggie’s own eyes for what she already seemed to know she really meant.
“I think I would... tell them,” she said, “just to make sure I really couldn’t have them.”
“And then what?” Maggie pushed. “If you found out you couldn’t?”
“Maggie...” Isobel smiled slightly, reaching up to brush back a stray bunch of hair that had freed itself from her ponytail. “What makes you think that you can’t?” Maggie had given herself a lot of reasons over the months: Isobel was her boss, they weren’t close, she didn’t seem to be interested in women like that, and she was beyond out of her league. Every time Maggie weighed the reality, it had seemed safer to keep her mouth shut, even though deciding that last time had run her through like a steak knife and brought her to this. Coming clean only seemed like a recipe for humiliation and rejection, and while she normally wasn’t the shy type, she normally wasn’t interested in her boss.
“I just...” she trailed off uncertainly. Was this supposed to be Isobel saying that she could? That she can? It sounded too good to be true, like a dream and a far-flung hope thrown together, denying all odds. Would she be naive if she took it that way? Her gaze flickered to Isobel’s lips, wondering, longing, wanting. She didn’t realize she was leaning in until they brushed noses, and the soft touch made her jerk back, a chord of panic struck. “Sorry, that was-” Inappropriate was what she would’ve said, if Isobel hadn’t chased and caught her lips, finishing what she’d started. In an instant, Maggie went from having too many thoughts to none at all, melting under Isobel’s touch, and she would’ve been a liar if she tried to claim she hadn’t thought about this before, even back when it had all been as simple as, 'Oh, she’s gorgeous,’ after they’d first met. The expectation, of course, was incomparable to the reality, and even though it only lasted a few seconds, Maggie felt as though a lifetime had come and gone, twice, by the time Isobel pulled away.
“I hope I understood your not-so-hypothetical correctly,” she said, smiling gently. For Maggie, it was a sight for sore eyes. and one that she'd never been more grateful to see.
She nodded, still a touch dumbstruck. “You did,” she confirmed. At some point, her hands had found their way to Isobel’s waist, resting as though they belonged there, and Maggie didn’t have the wherewithal to let go.
“Good. As for before...” Isobel’s expression fell, turning serious, and Maggie might have hastily mistaken it for the rejection she’d always feared if not for Isobel’s hand cradling her face, thumb soft as silk against her cheek. “Neither of us can change what happened, Maggie. Nobody can. And I know you can’t just forget because I can’t either, but at the very least, maybe we can give you something better to think about instead.” Her smile returned, albeit smaller, almost shyer, than before, and she tilted her head slightly, as if studying Maggie like she was a complex work of art in a gallery.
Maggie didn’t know how to respond, at a loss for words akin to when she’d first walked in there, and when her voice only continued to fail her, she instead used her grip on Isobel’s waist to pull her into a hug. Isobel’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, as if she hadn’t been the one to kiss her just moments prior, her arms moving instinctively to circle Maggie’s neck. “I’m sorry,” Maggie breathed against Isobel’s throat, finding two words she could put together. She felt useless, inadequate, weak, in the face of Isobel’s resolve; in her strength to hold herself together after everything; in her courage to come back from it when everyone she knew seemed to question whether she already should or even could.
“Oh, Maggie,” Isobel sighed, sinking into her embrace. Maggie held her close, tight but gentle, avoiding all the tender areas as though she’d already mapped out the bruises Isobel’s body bore even though there was no way she possibly could have. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Then, in an attempt to offload some of the weight that threatened them both: “Well, unless you don’t take me to dinner.”
Maggie lifted her head, pulling away just enough to look at her in confusion. “Dinner?” she echoed with a frown. Isobel nodded.
“Of course,” she said, a mischievous quality to her smile. “You can’t just tell a girl you want her and not buy her dinner.” She paused, drawing her arms back to adjust the open collar of Maggie’s shirt with both hands. “I might forgive you the roses.” Maggie breathed a sound of disbelief, thrown for a loop.
“You’re...” Unbelievable. Impossible. Astonishing. Maggie shook her head slightly. “Alright,” she agreed. “Dinner it is.” She owed Isobel at least that much, and it would do her some good: to take her mind off of that which tortured her and give it something better, happier, to focus on. “Thursday evening.” That gave her a few days to find somewhere worthwhile that wasn’t completely booked, but she had a few strings she could pull if she needed to.
“Hm, well I look forward to it,” Isobel told her, content as she finally released Maggie’s collar and stepped back. Maggie was loath to let her go, hands falling from Isobel’s waist as she moved away, but she replaced the displeasure with the anticipation of taking her on what was, for all intents and purposes, a date. She felt a little dazed by the idea as she wandered towards the door, and Isobel returned to her desk. To think she’d walked in here lost and defeated, as though everything had crashed and burned and crumbled, only to be leaving feeling more like herself from before it had done, and with a kiss lingering on her lips that had breathed new life into her.
“Oh, and Maggie?”
She turned just as her fingers found the door handle, her eyes meeting Isobel’s from across the room, and there was almost something pleading in their soft, deep brown as she offered Maggie a smile. “Don’t keep punishing yourself.” There was a guilt that curled uncomfortably in Maggie’s gut, and she nodded in a silent promise, hoping it was one she could keep. She'd been through this once before, and she couldn't let herself fall into the same trap again. It was time to challenge her demons, to shake off the blame she had buried herself under, to stop wishing for something she couldn’t change. She might not have been quicker, but she hadn’t been too late either. She couldn’t let herself be tormented by the sight of Isobel beaten and bruised when there were so many better images of her worth being stuck in Maggie’s head.