Chapter Text
There was something about Supergirl that drove Lena crazy.
Well, there were a lot of things about Supergirl that drove Lena crazy. She kept a rather extensive mental list that seemed to gain new entries every second. She could start with the woman's god complex, her ability to lie to an entire city, or her prejudice toward the Luthor name. She could get even more specific and mention that time Supergirl saved all of National City from a giant alien but destroyed an entire children's hospital in the process (a hospital Lena happened to own, which hardly felt like a coincidence), or all those times someone had tried to kill her and Supergirl had conveniently failed to show up.
But if she had to pinpoint the one thing that bothered her more than anything else, it was that Supergirl was far too much like Kara.
Beyond the obvious similarities—both blonde, blue-eyed, tall, ridiculously athletic, and, much to Lena's dismay, ridiculously beautiful—there was the fact that they were both kind by nature, fiercely loyal, and burdened by troubled pasts they preferred not to discuss. Of course, Kara couldn't fly, didn't have super strength, and wasn't an alien. Even so, every time Lena looked at one of them, she was reminded of the other.
Lena hated that.
Because she hated Supergirl, and she loved Kara.
Yet every time she looked at Kara and thought about how much she resembled the Kryptonian, those feelings twisted together into something she couldn't digest. She refused to associate anything negative with Kara Danvers. Absolutely refused. And so her stomach churned with discomfort, unable to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions inside her.
After fleeing the apartment and running straight into Supergirl, those emotions had detonated somewhere deep within her. Her insides were chaos; her mind, a useless, shapeless mass. Kara had insisted on walking her back to L-Corp, and, as always, it had been impossible to refuse anything offered with that look she reserved only for Lena.
Lena knew something was wrong.
She was losing her mind.
What she'd witnessed wasn't normal. The way her friend's voice had distorted—like something out of a horror movie—wasn't normal. Stranger still was the way Kara seemed completely unaware that anything unusual had happened, ignoring the elephant in the room as though it had never existed. The blonde respected her silence, walking beside her without uttering a single word, an eternal smile dancing across her lips, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat.
There it was again: that infuriating perfection. The way Kara never pushed. Never demanded answers. With her heart hammering against her ribs and a knot lodged in her throat, Lena avoided those cerulean eyes the entire walk.
Usually, walks with Kara were fun. Effortless. Free from the awkward tension now wrapped around them like a second skin. Normally she'd wonder whether the brush of their hands had been accidental, tempted to break some invisible barrier and lace their fingers together. The distance Lena was deliberately putting between them now was, at the very least, unusual. But if Kara noticed, she didn't mention it.
Twenty minutes later, the entrance to the building finally came into view. Lena's shoulders loosened, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. They had been the longest twenty minutes in the history of eternity. Turning toward Kara, she forced a smile that never quite reached her eyes.
"Thanks for walking me here," she said, hoping the blonde would take the hint.
"No problem. I enjoy every moment we spend together."
The other woman's smile could have blinded the entire city.
Under any other circumstances, at any other time, Lena's stomach would have erupted with furious butterflies. She probably would have blushed all the way to the tips of her ears and attempted some clumsy flirtation of her own to hide her nerves.
But after what she'd seen, she couldn't help feeling her stomach twist for all the wrong reasons.
"See you later, Kara."
Normally, the interaction would end with a hummingbird-light kiss on the cheek or a hug powerful enough to melt Lena's nervous system.
This time, the younger Luthor settled for a strained smile and headed toward the building. After all, she had a lie to maintain. Every time she glanced back to see whether Kara was still there, the blonde offered her the same calm smile, hands in her pockets, patiently waiting until Lena went inside.
The feeling of unease never left.
Paranoid that Kara might discover she had never intended to enter her office, Lena stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that would carry her to her sanctuary of work. With every floor, her heartbeat settled into something closer to normal.
She pressed a hand against her temple and wondered whether that blow to the head had done irreparable damage to her psyche after all. Closing her eyes, she didn't open them again until the sound of the elevator doors sliding apart made her jump.
Her office looked exactly as she had left it a few hours earlier. Her desk was covered in paperwork that had kept her stressed all morning, she had forgotten to close the curtains through which the night light streamed in, and in her trash bin was still that obnoxiously bright yellow wrapper from the place where Kara bought the hamburgers she loved so much. Letting out a sigh, she wondered whether it would be terribly irresponsible to spend a few hours working just so she wouldn't have to think about what she had just experienced (though had she really experienced it, or had it all been a product of her imagination?). In the end, she decided a drink might help fix the disaster that was her mind, and poured a generous amount of whiskey into a glass she kept for the hardest days.
Then, the distinctive sound of Supergirl cutting through the air made her turn her head toward the balcony.
The Kryptonian entered without asking permission, as she did most of the time when it came to everything. Her boots echoed, killing the sepulchral silence Lena had been drowning in. The moonlight fell directly across her figure, giving her an almost angelic aura. The green-eyed woman didn't dare move, too confused, too stunned, too exhausted (and perhaps a little hypnotized). She didn't even have the energy to feel the headache pounding in her skull, completely numb.
“Lena,” Supergirl said so softly that it immediately set off the businesswoman's alarm bells.
“Miss Luthor to you, Supergirl,” she managed once she recovered, turning her back on her and walking toward her desk. That was why she failed to see the way the blonde seemed to take a physical blow from her harsh words. “I don't know what gave you the idea that you can address me so casually, but you're mistaken. This is a strictly professional relationship.”
“Is it really?” the girl in the cape challenged, feeling a little brave. Lena shuddered at her provocative tone. She disguised it by crossing her legs after taking a seat.
“Well, that's certainly what you implied the last time we saw each other,” she arched an eyebrow, challenging her in return. Then she took a sip of the drink, which burned her throat. The heroine didn't know how to respond. “Why do I have the honor of having National City's hero, someone so busy, visit my humble office? Hmm? I don't believe in coincidences, and this is the second time I've seen you today. I can't say I particularly like that.”
Supergirl seemed to hesitate, cracking the flawless image she had worked so hard to build. Lena respected that; after all, she herself had had to create a professional image to be taken seriously in such a misogynistic field. Still, watching the Kryptonian open and close her mouth in search of the right words and fidget with her hands from discomfort made the businesswoman begin to worry about the alien's state.
It was already proving to be a very strange day, so she took a longer drink.
“I understand our relationship isn't simple,” the blonde began, stumbling over her words with remarkable eloquence.
“That's an understatement,” Lena mocked, but Supergirl ignored her, focused on finishing her train of thought.
“Nothing that happened helped. I hurt you, you hurt me, and in the end, we both came away equally wounded.”
“What are you talking about?” Lena demanded with a frown. “Did you hit your head on a building flying over here?”
“Let me finish,” she pleaded, her voice rough with emotion, and the green-eyed woman clicked her tongue.
“Let you finish? You're not making any sense, Supergirl. And the truth is, I have a lot of work to do,” venom dripped from the sentence, while the lie floated plainly in sight.
She set the whiskey aside and picked up a black pen, pretending to write on the stack of papers still covering her desk. She assumed the heroine would take the hint and leave. Instead, the hand that slammed against the desk with a thunderous sound informed her otherwise. When she looked up, she was met with a fierce glare that made her shiver.
The Kryptonian was leaning over the desk, her brows drawn tightly together and her chest rising and falling unevenly. Lena could almost see the glimmer of heat vision through eyes the color of a storm-tossed ocean. Her jaw was tight, as were her shoulders. She was clearly struggling not to splinter the wood beneath her hands.
Lena loosened her grip on the pen, nearly dropping it.
“Enough!” she growled, making the glass tremble, and the businesswoman decided that perhaps provoking the most powerful being on the planet wasn't the smartest move. “I'm trying to apologize! I'm trying to fix us, Lena! I'm trying to save you, even though I have no idea how and you'll probably still hate me when this is all over! So for once, just listen to me!”
Lena lost the ability to speak for a moment. She had never seen Supergirl like this, so desperate, so broken. Tears were beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes, and she looked as though she were fighting to keep her lower lip from trembling. It was such a devastating expression that Lena knew she would never forget it.
Then something seemed to shift in her brain, forcing her to press a hand against her temple as sudden pain shot through her head. She closed her eyes for only an instant. Images assaulted her before she could properly process them.
Supergirl crying.
She was frozen, unable to move.
Green veins stood out against her pale skin, the result of kryptonite poisoning.
She shook her head, and just as quickly as the images had come, they vanished. The confusion was physically painful.
“Fine,” she said so quietly that if the alien hadn't possessed extraordinary hearing, she wouldn't have heard it.
That seemed to calm Supergirl somewhat; the tension in her body eased noticeably. She took a step back, giving Lena space, a little embarrassed by her outburst.
“Thank you,” she sighed wearily, softening her tone. Then she lifted a hand to her face as though searching for something (a gesture Lena's brain automatically associated with Kara, for some reason), before letting it fall to her side. “I know I sound insane, but I need you to remember, Lena. I really need you to.”
“Remember what?”
“Me.” She shrugged, her lips twisting into a sad smile. “Us. And I don't just mean the good things, all those times I saved you from death or you fell asleep on my couch. I mean the bad things too. Every time we fought, every time distrust or fear put us on opposite sides. All of that is what made us who we are.”
The pain intensified. Lena felt as though her insides were burning. Yet something told her she needed to keep listening to the Kryptonian. She forced herself to breathe so she wouldn't double over.
“I don't understand a word you're saying.”
Supergirl stepped close enough for Lena to touch her, then leaned over her chair so the dark-haired woman could hear her with her human ears as she whispered.
“Deep down, you know. But it all depends on you,” she said with an affection that sent turmoil through Lena's chest. The headache became unbearable, worsening with every passing second. “I just want you to know that I forgive you, and I hope you'll find room in your heart to forgive me too.”
She blinked once.
Supergirl was standing in front of her, eyes shimmering with tears.
She blinked twice.
Kara was looking at her. She could smell her vanilla perfume.
She blinked three times.
Supergirl again. The scent of vanilla remained.
“If you want me to forgive you for not coming to rescue me a few weeks ago and then acting like an idiot afterward, then I forgive you, Kara.”
The blonde sighed, realizing the green-eyed woman hadn't understood the implications behind her words. Her expression crumpled with disappointment. She ran a hand through her hair and stepped away. The distance helped. Lena felt that confusion and pain were not a pleasant combination.
“No, that's not…” Then she stopped abruptly, staring at her with wide eyes. “What did you call me?”
The dark-haired woman looked at the Kryptonian, and even that simple act required tremendous effort. Those blue eyes, shining with hope and the moonlight pouring through the window, stole her attention for a moment. She had to force herself to remember the question, frowning at her slip.
“My mind is elsewhere,” she excused awkwardly, uncertain where the name had come from.
“No,” Supergirl insisted, though Lena still couldn't understand why. “You just need a little help. Come on, Lena. You know my name. Say it.”
“Supergirl?”
“No.” The blonde looked both irritated and hopeful. “My real name.”
She searched for the information somewhere inside herself. She focused on retrieving whatever she had lost. At last she recognized the feeling that had been haunting her lately: loss. A flood of information struck her, forcing her to clutch her head in both hands. She gasped as a sharp pain pierced her temple. Then, as she began to remember, the pain started to fade.
Kara Zor-El.
Kara.
Kara Danvers.
Everything returned in a rush, and although her head no longer throbbed, it was her heart that felt ready to explode. She steadied her breathing, unable to look into the eyes she had once loved so much. Memories flickered before her eyes like a film, and she wished she had never remembered. The laughter, the movie nights, the board game nights, the spontaneous platonic dates, the arguments, the betrayal, the deception, the love. It all came back, far too much for her body to bear.
“Leave,” she demanded, her voice breaking beneath the force of what had just crashed into her.
“No.”
“Leave, Kara,” she growled, full of anger, full of feelings (little boxes, she tried to remind herself, but all of them were overflowing). She lifted her head, her expression twisted with fury.
Understanding immediately what had happened, the heroine started to place a hand on the other woman's back. Yet at the sight of that fiery glare, she decided to step back instead. She swallowed the knot in her throat, recognizing the expression. It was difficult to forget, after all, when it haunted her dreams. It was the same look Lena had worn in the Fortress of Solitude. The same look she had given her after the betrayal. Kara wanted to throw up.
“Okay,” she said softly, masking her own pain. She walked toward the balcony, dragging her feet.
“No,” Lena stopped her, and the blonde froze halfway there. “I mean leave for real.”
Kara needed a second to understand what Lena was asking. Then, with a weak nod and a heart that felt as though it were bleeding, she flew away. A few papers from the businesswoman's desk were blown onto the floor, but Lena was too exhausted to make any effort to pick them up. She pressed the bridge of her nose, knowing the woman would come back, that she would ignore her demand. It was such a Kara thing to do. So endearing, so infuriating.
As though everything had been perfectly planned from the very beginning (it probably had been), a few timid knocks broke the silence the Kryptonian had left behind. The door creaked as it slowly opened, and Kara poked her head inside with a shy smile. Lena nearly screamed at the top of her lungs. She had no idea how she'd managed to get into the building, but she figured she didn't really want to know.
“Hi. I know it hasn't been long since we saw each other, but I decided to keep you company for a while, if that's okay with you,” she stepped into the office carrying two disposable cups, carefully balancing them as she pushed her glasses up her nose. “I bought us some coffee because, knowing you, we're going to be here for a long time.”
Lena wanted to scream.
Lena was going to scream.
“This isn't a good time,” she swallowed the scream, clearing her throat as she avoided the blonde's gaze.
“Of course, yeah, no problem,” she laughed charmingly, approaching the desk. “I'll just leave the coffee here in case you need it. I know you sometimes forget to take care of yourself when you're working too much.”
Kara (no, the other version of her, she reminded herself) set one of the cups down on the desk. Then she leaned forward and kissed her forehead, catching the businesswoman completely off guard. Lena closed her eyes, enjoying the gesture despite herself. The knot in her throat became unbearable, and the urge to cry threatened to tear her apart from the inside out. She couldn't smell vanilla.
“Thank you,” she managed to say.
When she opened her eyes, she found the blonde's face very close to hers. Close enough to count her freckles. She hadn't moved after the kiss, frozen in place as she looked at Lena as though she were her entire universe. The journalist's breath brushed against her face, her pupils dilating. A timid, hopeful smile danced on her lips.
How many times had she dreamed of this?
How many times had she wanted Kara this close?
How many times had she wished she had the courage?
Lena gently raised a hand and cupped the woman's cheek. She brushed against her skin with devotion, almost as though it were something sacred. The back of her hand traced a straight line across her face. She wished she could lean in, seal what destiny had always meant to be hers. She hated herself because she couldn't.
That wasn't her Kara. None of it was real. Her Kara (hers, only hers) had lied to her, had hurt her, no longer looked at her that way after the damage Lena herself had inflicted. She didn't know if she would ever deserve to be looked at like that again.
She wondered whether, in some other universe, in some timeline where they had made different choices, everything would be different. Whether one of their other selves might have had the courage to do things another way. That person, however, wasn't her. Happiness seemed determined to evade her, and every decision she made appeared wrong once the fog of her emotions finally cleared. It was then that she understood that running from the truth was not a coping mechanism befitting a functional, mature adult.
She stored away the image of Kara narrowing her eyes as she leaned closer in her mind, knowing exactly what she had to do. And when the blonde's lips were only a breath away from reaching hers, she whispered:
“End simulation.”
(...)
She woke with a gasp, then promptly vomited onto the floor of her living room. Someone was holding her hair back while she emptied the contents of her stomach (that someone being Nia, who had reacted quickly). After a few seconds, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her throat burned from the acid.
“Gross,” she heard Alex Danvers' voice say from somewhere nearby.
Because of course Kara had involved all of her friends.
Her head was still spinning, and the nausea hadn't improved. She made a mental note to get rid of the virtual reality equipment and never go near one again for the rest of her life. She didn't want to go through that twice, even if she was hurting and her heart was broken. There were less damaging ways to self-destruct.
“Your body will need time to recover,” Brainy informed her. “We'll take you to the hospital.”
She didn't have the strength to argue.
When she finally looked up, her eyes glassy from the strain her body had endured, she couldn't find Kara anywhere.
(...)
Lena needed help walking for the first few days back in the real world. Her body had lost enough muscle mass to leave her exhausted quickly, and the mental and physical fatigue left her sleeping for hours after work (she had refused to relinquish any responsibilities, even when the doctors insisted).
That, however, wasn't the hardest part.
She hadn't spoken to Kara since she'd been rescued. The blonde seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth, avoiding her with remarkable success. Not that the dark-haired woman had made much effort to contact her, either. There were always text messages, or she could have used an interview as an excuse. But the embarrassment she felt whenever she thought about everything she had done was stronger than her desire to fix things.
The days passed, and neither of them managed to take the first step back into the other's orbit.
That was how Lena came to understand that Kara, at the end of the day, was still a hero.
No matter how angry she might be with the younger Luthor, she would save her without a second thought because it was simply the right thing to do. Lena couldn't decide whether that realization comforted her or irritated her (probably the latter, though she'd need a little alcohol in her system before she'd admit it).
Maybe their relationship couldn't be repaired, she thought.
Maybe the lesson in all of this was that she needed to learn how to let go, move past her mistakes like a mature person, forgive herself and Kara in silence, and continue with her life the way Kara probably already had.
She made the decision on a very sober Tuesday night.
She would forget Kara and move on with her life like a mature, rational adult.
(...)
Lena Luthor could never forget Kara Danvers.
After a single glass of vodka and juice on Wednesday night, the decision she seemed to have made in a moment of pain dissolved along with any coherent reasoning. It was impossible when that breathtaking blonde was on every television screen, on every social media feed, wearing a smile from ear to ear while rescuing a kitten from a tree or putting out a forest fire (seriously, could she be any more cliché?). It was impossible when Lena had built an entire world around her, and a world without her felt inconceivable. No, she refused to let things end like this.
Lena paid for three taxis to get to Kara's apartment (one driver thought she was going to throw up on the seats and kicked her out immediately; the other took the money and left). She fumbled with the elevator button, missing it once, twice, three times before finally managing to press it. Then she cursed her decision to take the elevator instead of the stairs when everything began spinning around her. When the doors opened, she stumbled out, nearly falling with what could generously be called grace. Still, she refused to let the mishap distract her from her objective. She wandered down the hallway until she found the Kryptonian's apartment number and, without thinking twice (because she would probably regret it if she did), knocked several times.
The blonde opened the door with a frown, her glasses sliding down her nose. She was wearing worn-out pajamas and was barefoot. Her hair was tied back as though she hadn't put any effort into it whatsoever. To Lena's entirely unbiased eyes, she looked perfect. Judging by the sound of a television playing in the background and the orange stain at the corner of her mouth, she'd interrupted an otherwise ordinary evening.
“What are you doing here?” the journalist asked without bothering to feign politeness, and the green-eyed woman shifted uncomfortably.
“I came to apologize, hoping it's not too late,” Lena said, discovering that her inability to lie stemmed from the alcohol that was beginning to wear off.
Kara hesitated. She studied her in silence, searching for any sign of a trap. Her eyes narrowed with the distrust Lena herself had planted there. Then she stepped aside, making room for the green-eyed woman to enter the apartment. Lena's shoulders relaxed as she recognized the white flag the alien had agreed to raise.
She stepped inside for the first time in a very long time, clasping her hands together as though it were her first visit. Her movements were hesitant, fearful of crossing an unspoken boundary (it was difficult to recognize a boundary when she'd never needed one before). Suddenly she felt small, acutely aware of the way the Kryptonian seemed to analyze every tiny gesture, of the way she appeared to judge her with that unwavering gaze and arms folded across her chest. She didn't dare venture farther than the doorway.
“You know, Alex would kick my ass for just letting you in,” Kara remarked casually.
“Yeah, well. Maybe I deserve some of her hatred, but she's not exactly a saint either.” At the sight of the blonde's furrowed brow, Lena immediately recognized her mistake and cleared her throat. “Right. That's probably not the best way to start an apology. How about I try again?”
“Yeah, that might be for the best.”
The words caught in her throat. A Luthor didn't apologize. That was rule number one. After all, they were far too proud for that, and far too perfect to make mistakes. Yet if there was one thing she'd been reminded of her entire life, it was that she wasn't really a Luthor. She had tried with all her strength. She had tried to be part of the family. She had learned how to behave, how to please others as naturally as breathing. But she'd never truly belonged because hatred didn't run through her veins as a shared family trait.
The moment green met blue, the spark of what had once been a fire stole away the words she had been searching for.
“I'm sorry,” Lena sighed, feeling her eyes begin to sting and her voice threaten to break.
The Kryptonian's facade didn't soften at her confession. She continued to watch her with suspicion, and that hurt far more than Lena wanted to admit.
“Why?”
“For everything.” She forced herself not to cry, remembering that her mother would hate seeing how pathetic she became whenever Kara was involved. “I'm sorry for manipulating you. I'm sorry for using kryptonite against you. I'm sorry for hurting you again and again. I'm sorry for not letting you explain yourself. I'm sorry for not trying to fix things sooner. I'm so sorry, Kara.”
Kara remained silent and steadfast while Lena finally broke apart.
A sob tore through her chest, and treacherous tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. The green-eyed woman tried to regain control by using the breathing exercises she'd learned that week in therapy. When the sobs finally eased and the tears stopped blurring her vision, she noticed the hand offering her a tissue. She accepted it shyly, murmuring a quiet thank you as she wiped her face.
“I'm not going to lie and tell you everything's fine, because it obviously isn't. But I appreciate the apology,” the Kryptonian said, clearly uncomfortable at the sight of Lena crying.
“I want things to be okay, Kara. How can I make that happen? Just tell me and I'll do it,” Lena insisted, sniffling. “I want to get you back.”
“I... I don't know.” The blonde hesitated, letting out a weary sigh as she removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What you did hurt me, Lena. I don't know if we'll ever be able to go back to the way things were.”
The unspoken I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust you again hung in the air, and it hit Lena all the same. She nodded sadly.
“I understand.” She swallowed hard, feeling her heart crack. “I won't push. I'm sorry I came here. I just didn't want any more regrets. I guess that's all. Have a good night.”
Lena gathered the broken pieces of herself as best she could. She turned toward the door, ready to flee with all the dignity of a coward. Then Kara's grip—firm yet gentle—anchored her in place.
She looked down at her wrist, then up into eyes that seemed torn between worlds. Her stomach flipped with hope.
“Wait, that's not what I meant,” the blonde rushed to clarify, releasing Lena as though she'd been burned before immediately pushing her glasses back up her nose. “That came out wrong. It's not that I don't want to rebuild our friendship. I'm scared, but I think you're worth it. There was a moment when I doubted, but I never stopped believing in you. Even if we're never the same people again, I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't take the risk. I just... I missed you, you know?”
The woman who had crossed galaxies, who could bend steel with her bare hands, who had watched her planet explode, stumbled over her words without being able to meet Lena's eyes. She fidgeted with her glasses, incapable of offering anything except the truth now that lies had been removed from the equation. All Lena could feel was the frantic beating of her heart.
“I missed you too,” she admitted in an unusually raw display of honesty.
Two confessions in a single day. The alcohol truly lowered her inhibitions. She really needed to learn when to stop talking if she didn't want that number to become three. But it was difficult when Kara was looking at her with that softness she'd missed so desperately and smiling at her like that.
“Well, I mean, it was pretty obvious if you built an entire reality just so we could still be friends,” the blonde joked, realizing her mistake a second too late. “Oh. Too soon, right?”
“A little,” Lena laughed, embarrassed and slightly humiliated.
The Kryptonian offered her an apologetic smile.
“Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Good. All this communication and apologizing stuff is a... start,” Kara hummed, and although a lingering awkwardness remained, the hope of reclaiming something she'd thought lost was stronger. They stood in silence for several eternal seconds, neither of them knowing how to fill it. Finally, the blonde had to speak or risk exploding. “Do you want to stay for a while and have some coffee?”
“I'd actually like that,” Lena admitted with a shy smile.
“Great! I'll make us a couple of cups and... Oh, Lena?”
“Yes, Kara?”
“I'm sorry too.”
Kara didn't need to say anything more than that.
Lena understood.
She smiled to reassure her.
“I know,” she whispered, carrying equal measures of sadness and forgiveness.
They looked at each other with their hearts lodged somewhere in their throats. Their eyes said what words couldn't, what fear wouldn't allow. Time and space blurred until all that remained was them. The world could have ended, catastrophe could have struck, and it all would have faded into the background.
Because there they were, trapped inside their own little bubble after everything that had happened, after all the mistakes and all the wounds. There they were, green and blue struggling to merge together, to memorize one another so completely they would be etched into memory forever.
At last, the spell broke when Kara looked away.
“Okay. Let's make those coffees.”
“Yeah. No more regrets, no more lies, no more apologies,” Lena said after they clinked their coffee mugs together.
If she noticed Kara hesitate, she chose to attribute it to the awkwardness of new beginnings.
(...)
Everything got better after that.
Not overnight—nothing that important ever did. It was gradual.
It started with a coffee. Then a text message wishing the other a good day. Spontaneous lunches. Before either of them realized it, they were seeing each other almost every day again, just like when they had been best friends and hadn't hurt one another.
The atmosphere between them, while undeniably lighter and friendlier, was still occasionally awkward. They remained uncertain about which ground was safe to tread, which words could be used without provoking an unwanted reaction. But overall, the improvement was obvious (even Alex had stopped treating Lena like she was invisible; the progress was real).
Lena naïvely believed everything was fine. Excellent, even. But everything changed after one fateful game night.
The green-eyed woman didn't know exactly what she had done wrong. She had thought and rethought every interaction, every gesture she'd made. She'd had a wonderful time despite her nerves about it being the first game night she'd been invited to since the fallout. Nia had joked around with her. Brainy had struck up a conversation about ionic bonds. Alex no longer avoided her like the plague. Kelly had been kind, asking questions about her life. And Kara had spent most of the evening glued to her side (even teaming up with her several times).
Then, the following morning, Kara sent her a message asking if they could talk.
Lena didn't know exactly what that conversation would be about. But she knew it couldn't mean anything good. And so, terrified of ruining whatever connection she still had with the blonde, she chose to avoid her instead.
Kara couldn't end their friendship if Lena was too busy to have the conversation.
Maybe, given enough time, she'd forget that Lena was a terrible friend.
Maybe things could stay exactly as they were for a little while longer.
(...)
Kara burst into her office two weeks after avoiding that conversation (Lena considered it a record, a personal victory).
The blonde threw the doors open with a bang (she had probably used her super strength without a shred of shame), her brow furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. She strode into the office with purpose, stopping in front of Lena's desk, where the brunette stared back at her wide-eyed.
“I have something to tell you, and it can't wait any longer,” she confessed seriously, squaring her shoulders to hold on to the courage that had brought her there.
Lena felt the color drain from her face, her stomach twisting with panic.
She couldn't lose Kara.
She wasn't ready.
“Does it have to be now?” she grimaced, pretending to check the time on her watch. “I have a meeting in five minutes.”
“I'll be quick,” Kara insisted, unable to back down.
Lena cursed Kara Danvers' persistence.
Lena cursed her own inability to deny her anything.
“Fine. I'm listening.”
Kara seemed to falter, losing some of the confidence she'd managed to gather. She took a deep breath and adjusted her glasses in that endearing nervous gesture that was so uniquely hers.
“We agreed not to lie anymore,” she began, finding the words harder to say with every step closer to her destination. “Well, I've been lying, Lena. And I can't do it anymore.”
The green-eyed woman felt her breath catch somewhere in her chest, confused and hurt in equal measure.
“What? What do you mean?”
Lena noticed the way the Kryptonian's throat bobbed as she swallowed.
“I can't keep pretending that I haven't been in love with you all this time. It's killing me.”
The words echoed against the walls of Lena's mind. She blinked, unable to grasp the obvious implications behind the confession. Under no circumstances had she expected the conversation to take such a turn.
“You... are...?”
“Yes,” the blonde sighed, smiling with a mixture of hope and embarrassment. “Very much so, actually.”
Lena let out a disbelieving laugh as she rose to her feet and walked toward the reporter. Kara never stopped looking at her as though she were her entire world (Lena would make sure never to become another Krypton for her—not again).
“Why are you telling me now?” the brunette demanded, though there was no real reproach in her voice.
“We're rebuilding our friendship without lies, without regrets,” Kara explained, her cheeks burning when Lena took a step that was perhaps a little too close to be accidental. “I couldn't keep hiding things, and I couldn't keep regretting what we might have been if I'd never said anything.”
Lena stared at her for a moment, studying the freckles across the bridge of her nose, the storm raging in those blue eyes, the laugh lines gathered at their corners. She cupped Kara's cheek (this time, it was real) with a gentle, almost reverent expression. The blonde melted into her touch like putty.
“To hell with friendship,” she murmured.
Then she kissed her.
She fisted Kara's shirt and pulled her into a desperate kiss. Their lips clashed mercilessly. Kara's hands fell to her waist, drawing her closer, roaming over her clothes and wrinkling the fabric. Lena felt Kara's duality—hard and soft in a way no one else could be—and she loved it. The wet sound of their mouths parting and meeting again was the only noise in the office. Their heartbeats fell into sync, and never drifted apart again. The scent of vanilla flooded her senses, and Lena felt like laughing and crying at the same time.
Kara loved her.
How could she ever have thought otherwise?
After all, there was something about Kara that told Lena it could never be any other way: they were meant for each other.