sanvers one shots

"it's not your fault" (cont'd)

Maggie slept for the rest of the flight, leaning against her girlfriend, who read a book. Ativan pills make her drowsy, so Maggie was disoriented and loopy waiting at baggage claim. Alex was amused watching her zombie nod off for a few seconds, then snap her head up, hyper alert.

"Little sleepy there, Sawyer?" Alex held her shoulders as Maggie started to droop. Maggie scoffed and rubbed her eyes, scanning the room in hopes of finding a source of caffeine, to no avail. "Let's get you some food soon, you've passed out on me three times already."

Suitcases and bags started pouring out of the chute, onto the conveyor belt, and to their owners as one by one passengers retrieved their luggage. Maggie spotted hers first and hoisted it up off the rotating mat, placing it gently behind her as Alex's followed shortly behind. Baggage in tow, they marched to the exit where a driver waited for them, holding a sign that read "Danvers". The DEO had assigned Alex to a recon mission in Argentina for a few days, and she figured she'd make a trip of it; she'd only be on duty a couple hours every day, and it wasn't often she got time off. She and Maggie had mornings and nights together, but it was rare for them to spend consecutive full days without work.

The driver introduced herself and lifted their bags into the trunk of a black van with tinted windows. From the corner of her eye as they got in the car, Maggie spotted a flash of bright colour in the driver's irises – she was an alien. Maggie grinned, pleased and slightly surprised. Legal progression alone isn't enough to establish safety and prosperity for aliens - they often still face prejudice and societal rejection – so seeing the pro-alien social movement, especially outside of National City, was exciting.

"¿Hablan espanol?" Rosa, the driver, seemed intrigued by Maggie's Latin facial features and skin tone.

(Do you speak Spanish?)

"Solo un poco," she responded, having heard the question before, "soy italiano." 

(Only a little, I'm Italian.)

"Ah, Italian? Argentinian Spanish is similar to Italian, you know," she replied in English with a strong accent, making eye contact in the rear view mirror, "you will blend right in."

Maggie smiled at the friendly woman, who turned her attention back to the road. The three of them made polite conversation on the way to the hotel, Rosa humming along to classic boleros (style of Latin music) playing quietly on the radio. She seemed to be in her mid-30's, and had assimilated very well into human culture; Alex guessed she had come to Earth as a child, as she fit in seamlessly. They pulled up to the hotel and parted ways, giving Rosa a generous tip, and taking her card in case they made other excursions during their stay. Maggie spotted a coffee machine in the lobby and made a beeline in its direction; Alex chuckled and checked them in.

It was evening by the time they'd settled in, and Alex had to attend a dinner with the senior officers she'd be working with. Maggie decided to nap after such a long day, arranging to rejoin Alex in the hot tub when she was finished at the hotel bar. Alex undressed, her outfit clinging to her uncomfortably as a result of the air travel, and sweating upon their arrival; Maggie picked up the newspaper and pretended to read it, the perfect cover to stare at her girlfriend in a bra and underwear. What she failed to notice, however, Alex pointed out.

"You know that's in Spanish, right?" Alex faced her, arms crossed, a glint of amusement in her eye, "And upside down."

Maggie lowered the newspaper and smirked, caught but shameless. She smiled innocently and replied "yes, I'm aware."