sanvers oneshots

Dancing.

[The first time they meet, Alex Danvers is standing over a body with a smoking gun.]

SONG:
Sober by Lorde

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It had been a quiet shift.

Then Maggie got a call a little after noon. From Brian, a hapless alien who she had met and befriended at the bar. He always meant well, although had a penchant for getting himself mixed up with the wrong crowd. Therefore, to hear that he was being followed wasn’t all that surprising. It was also probably minor but, given that she had little else to do, she headed out to go check on him.

She said to meet at the bar.

She found him, dead, in the alleyway with some chick standing over his body, gun still smoking in her hand.

Maggie immediately reached for her own firearm. ‘NCPD. Drop your weapon, put your hands in the air and turn around, slowly.’

The woman, about five foot six with short brown hair, did so. She was strikingly calm about doing so. She was also strikingly beautiful. ‘It was self-defence. He reached for his gun,’ she said, voice and expression utterly impassive.

Maggie kept her gun aimed as she approached, anticipating unrest.

However, the girl did not physically resist. Verbally, on the other hand, she was putting up one hell of a fight. ‘I respect that you mean well, officer, but this is way, way above your head.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Maggie muttered as she reached for her cuffs. ‘You’re under arrest for murder. You have the right--.’

‘I mean it. You’re making a mistake.’

‘—to remain silent,’ Maggie continued as she made sure the cuffs were a little tighter than usual for her cheek. ‘Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.’

‘That will not be necessary.’

Maggie decided to indulge her. ‘And why’s that?’

‘Because there’s something in my back pocket that will prove otherwise.’

It wasn’t like she was able to try much with her hands secured behind her back so, again, Maggie decided to humour her. Admittedly, her hand was a little hesitant to go scooping into the pocket of those skinny jeans but she did so anyway, because anything less would be unprofessional. She pulled out a leather card holder, flipped it open and saw three big blue letters. ‘You’re a Fed?’