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Alex expects she’ll have to explain the brownout to Kara. It happens during the summer, sometimes, when they want to prevent an actual blackout—
But Kara seems at ease with the temporary drop in voltage—well. Not exactly at ease. More resigned. In a flat tone she explains the last days of Krypton, the unreliable power supply, the bouts of darkness.
And Alex feels a hot flash of annoyance and something bordering on anger, followed by cold shame. She doesn’t yet know how to deal with it, when Kara brings up Krypton. Should she try to comfort her? Should she say anything at all? She doesn’t like being put in that position, and she wishes Kara would just…not talk about it at all. It would make it easier to pretend that Kara’s just an exceptionally weird human, and not a bonafide strange visitor from another planet.
It’s a horrible thought, she knows. One she has to force herself to swallow, choke it down like she might brussels sprouts, lest she face her mother’s wrath and her own gnawing guilt. (Or, worse, that sad, lost puppy look that Kara sometimes wears without even realizing it. It’s awful.)
She opts not to acknowledge Kara’s comment, just sort of grunts and declares that she’s going to make the rounds, check on everything to make sure nothing’s messed up from the momentary lapse in power. She can vividly recall that last time this happened; her mom had left her computer on and her work unsaved and needless to say, it had been a bad night at the Danvers’ home.
She checks the office first, relieved to find both computers off and unaffected. Kara trots diligently after her as she makes her way downstairs. They skip the living room and head towards the kitchen instead.
“The fridge,” Kara pipes up almost immediately. Alex starts, and almost asks how do you…? but the answer occurs to her before she can open her mouth. Super hearing. Right.
“Mom’s gonna be pissed,” Alex mutters under her breath, belatedly regretting her choice of words. She’s been told, repeatedly, not to swear in front of Kara, impressionable twelve-year-old that she is. (Well, in all honesty, Alex has been told repeatedly not to swear at all, but especially not in front of Kara.) She pulls the door open to confirm what Kara’s already told her. The light’s out, and the air inside the fridge is decidedly less…frigid.
“But the power will be back to normal eventually, right?” Kara asks. Alex nods absently.
“Yeah, but. The appliances shouldn’t have been affected…” She frowns. “Our fridge is kinda old. I think something…broke.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Alex considers calling her mom at the lab, because she’s not entirely sure what to do. Just. Leave the food in there? Hope it doesn’t go bad? How long can milk last, unrefrigerated?
She looks over at Kara.
“Um. Think you could maybe…?” She’s seen Superman use…what does he call it. ‘Freeze breath?’ on TV before. Kara, presumably, has all the same abilities.
But Kara also just recently learned how to not burn holes in her history textbook, so she hesitates.
“I…um. I don’t want to…I might…” she doesn’t even have the words to describe the vision of icy chaos she imagines might follow. “—don’t think I could control it.”
Alex sighs, annoyed again, but quickly shakes her head when Kara offers to try anyway. “No, no. Mom would probably be more bent out of shape over a frozen kitchen than some rotten cheese.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
At that point, the phone rings. Alex answers it, not at all surprised to hear her dad on the other end of the line.
“Everything alright over there?” he wants to know. Alex assures him that almost everything is okay. She breaks the bad news about the fridge.
“It’s been on its last leg for a while now,” he admits, sighing into the receiver. “Well. I won’t be able to look at it until tonight…better toss anything that could go bad.”
“'Kay.”
Goodbyes are exchanged and the phone is returned to the charger, though it won’t necessarily do it any good now.
“Go grab a trash bag,” Alex tells Kara, who hurries off towards the cupboard under the sink. She returns with the requested item, and Alex begins pulling the food from the shelves. Milk, cheese, a leftover sandwich her dad never finished.
The sandwich gives her pause. She holds it over the bag, frowning, before ultimately sliding it across the counter towards Kara.
“Here. Dad wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
“You sure?” Kara asks. Alex nods, and returns to collecting items, while Kara makes short work of the turkey on rye.
Alex knows, objectively, that her parents are the leading experts on Kryptonian physiology—possibly the only experts, because Alex isn’t exactly sure how forthcoming Superman is in regards to sharing his personal info. She’s never been allowed to see the files, though. She’s asked, dozens of times, but the information is classified. Top secret. The 'if-I-told-you-I’d-have-to-kill-you’ kind.
(Alex’s parents have never said so in so many words, of course. Alex has sort of decided that last part for herself.)
But Alex knows a few things. Mostly due to the fact that she now shares a bedroom with a Kryptonian; that, and her parents had to run a few tests on Kara shortly after she arrived, just to make sure she was okay.
She knows, for example, that taking a Kryptonian’s pulse is a little tricky, as their vascular system is just different enough from a human’s to cause some hiccups. The wrist will work, the neck won’t. She also knows that, thanks to their weird gamut of abilities, like…crazy heat beams and freeze breath and super strength and so on, Kryptonians need a freaking ton of calories on board.
She wonders if Kara walks around perpetually hungry.
Does their impervious nature also include their stomachs? Could they, hypothetically, eat just about anything and suffer no ill effects?
Alex eyes a jar of pickles before sliding her gaze over towards Kara.
“You still hungry?”
Kara looks up, obviously a little startled by the question.
“Um,” there’s a lengthy pause, like Kara’s asking herself the same question and waiting on an answer. (Which, actually, she probably is.) “I…guess so?”
“Give these a shot,” Alex hands over the pickles, and grabs a pad of paper and a pen from the junk drawer. This is, after all, a purely scientific exercise, and as such, she’ll need to record the results.
“…What are they?” Kara squints at the—to her mind—rather suspect green things, suspended in questionable liquid.
Alex rolls her eyes. Like Kara would have a clue, even if Alex told her.
Still, all of this falls under the further education of a Kryptonian refugee, so. “Cucumbers in brine and vinegar,” she explains. And Kara nods like she understands, even though it is very clear she doesn’t.
“Right. Sure. Cucumbers.”
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Alex graciously allows. But Kara shakes her head; she’s game to try, it seems.
And so, after twisting the lid off with nary a bit of resistance, Kara gives the pickles a shot.
And proceeds to cough violently.
“Rao,” she hisses, once she manages to finally swallow. Alex doesn’t know whether she should feel bad or laugh. She kind of inclined towards both. “That…was awful.”
Alex makes a note on the pad, and underlines for emphasis. Pickles: No.
“Here,” Alex offers her the milk. Kara moves to get a glass, but Alex tells her not to bother. “Don’t tell mom I let you, though,” she says, indicating Kara’s drinking straight from the carton. Kara nods.
“Okay.”
Further tests are performed, and a pattern emerges. Bland foods work well—applesauce is a winner, raw carrots seem fine. Spinach is tolerated, though Kara reveals that it’s remarkably similar to a Kryptonian dish that she never cared for.
“What was your favorite food,” Alex asks. “Back on Krypton?”
Kara doesn’t even have to think, just says something that Alex will never be able to repeat, no matter how hard she tries to wrap her mouth around the unfamiliar sounds.
“There’s…nothing really like it here,” Kara tells her, a little sadly. “I mean. Not that I’ve tried yet, anyway.”
“…Well you never know,” Alex is inclined to err on the side of optimism, if only to get Kara to smile a little. “Maybe it’s exactly like mustard.”
Kara tries the yellow substance in question, heartened by Alex’s hopeful tone. And then shudders. “Bleh. No.”
“Onions?”
Some thoughtful chewing, followed by thoughtful swallowing. “…Also no.”
“Salsa.”
Kara doesn’t have an answer for that one, just some desperate flailing and pitiful wheezing. At least they won’t have to worry about the milk going bad anymore.
Eliza returns home late to a trio of exhausted family members sacked out on the couch, The Never Ending Story going unwatched on the TV. The power’s back at full strength, and she finds a note explaining the still-broken fridge and its apparent emptiness.
She also finds an odd-looking list on the counter. She pokes her head into the living room, eyebrow raised.
“Alex,” she calls.
There’s an audible yawn, and then, “…Yeah?”
“Is this a grocery list?”
“…Uhhhh…yeah, sure…” The unconvincing tone is chalked up to sleep deprivation, and Eliza is ready to think nothing of it, except.
“Why does it say 'for future reference’ next to salsa?”