The Yoga Class
She lies when Maggie asks if it was really that bad and she says yes.
She lies, but it’s okay, because Maggie knows she’s lying.
She knows because Alex knows that Maggie saw the way her jaw was on the floor the whole. Entire. Time.
The whole entire time, because the things Maggie can do with her body?
How she can hold herself up with only her hands, how she can go from stiff body slams on the job to graceful, steady, peaceful movements on that adorable pink mat of hers? (She’d laughed when Alex had insisted on getting a blue one for herself – to match – and she’d kissed her and she’d looked like she was in love.)
True, there were parts Alex hated.
Like the parts where she wasn’t the best one in the class.
Like the parts where the instructor had welcomed her as a newcomer, and the only okay part about that was the way Maggie had reached over and touched her arm and beamed because she was hers, hers, hers.
“Why do you do this stuff anyway, Mags? Isn’t it too… calm for you? Don’t you love your heavy bag?”
“I do, Danvers, but if I only got my release through my heavy bag, I’d just kind of stay angry all the time.”
“And this… breathy stuff… helps you not be angry all the time?”
“Some days,” Maggie had explained, and Alex could kind of see why.
Because, though she’ll never admit it, she found that it was kind of comforting – and kind of hot, okay, very hot – to watch Maggie move so peacefully, to watch the way her eyes fluttered closed.
Even if it earned her a gentle, smiling reprimand from the instructor, who softly reminded her to focus on her own practice for now.
Alex refrained from retorting that Maggie was her practice.
Because part of her? Part of her wanted that. Wanted to be like that. Like Maggie.
Because she admires the crap out of her, and damn, it would be kind of nice to be just as flexible as her girlfriend.
It would be… helpful.
In sting ops and such.
And in bed.
Her practice. Right. Focus on her practice.
And when she tried – when she took inspiration from Maggie’s soft breathing, from the way she wasn’t embarrassed to keep her eyes closed in this room, wasn’t scared, wasn’t guarded, like she was everywhere else in public spaces, and even alone together sometimes – Alex could see where this stuff was… relaxing.
Not to mention a little physically challenging.
Okay, a lot physically challenging.
Alex was used to motion. She wasn’t used to stillness.
And stillness? Stillness can be so much harder.
Stillness can require so much more strength.
The kind of strength she sees in Maggie. The kind of strength that makes her love her even more.
The kind of strength she wasn’t to develop in herself.
So she lies when Maggie asks if it was really that bad, because it’s funny and because they love teasing each other and because she’s still Alex Danvers, and she has a reputation to uphold, after all.
But really? She can’t find the words to tell her. Not yet.
How much she’s inspired by her.
How in awe of her she is.
She’ll find the words, one day.
But today? Laughing and nudging each other and flirting and teasing in the rain, neither of them caring enough to take their umbrellas out of Maggie’s gym bag, because god does everything, including the mist on their skin, feel perfect right now?
Today, this minute?
She’s got Maggie’s smile, and Maggie’s got hers, and that’s enough for now.