Work Text:
Kara,
I received some information today I thought you should be made aware of. Well. I thought you should be made aware that I am now aware, given that you clearly did not want that to be the case.
So.
I know who you are.
I’d like to say that I understand, but that would be a lie, and I try not to lie to my friends when I can avoid it.
Although I suppose maybe we were never really friends, because I don’t understand how someone who calls me their friend could do this.
How could you do this, Kara?
Or would you prefer I said Supergirl? Would that make it less personal?
You know what, you don’t get to have that. You can’t make it less personal for me; I certainly won’t for you.
How could you do this?
Kara. Kara! KARA!
I just – I don’t understand.
Her first attempt is riddled with holes where she pressed too hard with her pen, and has a number of suspicious stains that she would deny were tears if questioned (no matter, no one will ever see it anyway). It’s wrinkled from the way she crushed it in her pocket at game night, holding onto it as though her grip on it was a physical representative of her grip on the normal façade she was attempting to maintain. She was half-drunk when she wrote it, hadn’t slept in days, but honestly she’s produced academic work under worse conditions so that’s no excuse for the deterioration of her eloquence partway through (no, that’s all kara’s fault). She means to give it to Kara, she really does, but she can’t bring herself to do so, she’s weak, weak, and she knows that if she doesn’t give it to her now she never will, but maybe she shouldn’t, maybe she should wait for Kara to tell her, so she doesn’t, and that’s that. Her fate has been set.
Kara
Kara Kara Kara
What’s your real last name?
Not that Danvers isn’t your real last name. I would never
Luthor isn’t my first last name. But it is my real last name, I know it is, much as I might wish it wasn’t.
What’s your first last name?
Did you even have them? Last names?
Or just those symbols?
Luthor represents me – does your name represent you?
I don’t know how it could
How it really could
I don’t think there’s anything that could really represent all the parts of you
I thought I knew them but I was wrong
But I like to think I know enough that I could never name them all
Wouldn’t be able to get through them without
Just
I don’t know
Crumbling under their weight
Your weight
But I know you would never let me
You just take parts of me
Even the ones you don’t know you have
She tries a second time, back in her office after leaving all of them, after another couple glasses of scotch and the smashing of a photo frame (she thought it would make her feel better. it doesn’t. neither does running her fingers through the broken glass – that just means there’s blood on her letter). She falls asleep writing and wakes up with the paper stuck to her face. She gets through reading half of it before ripping it to shreds and throwing it away. She can’t bring herself to clean up the broken glass until evening.
Kara,
Some information has recently been brought to my attention, and, in light of it, I think it would be best if we were to no longer continue our friendship on the same level that we have been. Of course, if you have any questions for Catco, you are welcome to stop by, but beyond that, I don’t know that I can trust you anymore.
She manages to wait a few days before writing another one, this one steeped in formality and with nothing she really wants to say. She crumples it up and tosses it into the trash, before pillowing her face in her arms and only stopping herself from screaming by reminding herself that she doesn’t want to run the risk of Supergirl hearing and showing up.
Kara,
I have something to tell you that I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, and I just couldn’t bring myself to because I was scared of what your response would be, and I know I should be saying this to your face, but this way was just easier, and
I’m in love with you
There. I said it.
Did you have something you wanted to tell me?
She’s disgusted with herself after writing the next one. No matter that none of it is a lie; it’s still awful. She promises herself that she’ll write no more, but even as she does so she knows she’s only deluding herself. Every time Kara texts her it’s just a reminder of her newfound knowledge, and this is how she can bring herself to respond as though everything is normal. She can’t give that up.
Ms. Danvers,
She can’t even get past the name this time – it just feels so wrong. She pushes the paper away until she can’t see it and then drinks herself to sleep on the couch in her office. She wakes up in pain and thinks it’s what she deserves.
Kara,
I’m selling Catco and moving L-Corp back to Metropolis. Have a nice life.
She isn’t going to do that. She prides herself on being a professional and keeping her personal life separate from her business, even now that she actually has a personal life. (did you keep your business and personal life separate when you bought catco? whispers her brain. her brain is a traitor.)
Kara,
I’m sorry. I’ve tried to understand. I’ve tried so hard, but I just can’t.
You know me. I know you know me, and I know you know that I don’t often let people know me. So what I don’t understand is how, knowing this, you could hide yourself from me, and lie to my face, for years, Kara.
I thought you really cared about me. I guess I was wrong.
Kara walks in on her. She hasn’t changed anything regarding Kara’s access to her office, because of course she hasn’t, so Kara walks in while she’s writing one and Lena can feel the blood drain from her face as she very unsubtly crumples up the paper and throws it toward the garbage. She misses, of course, glaring at the ball of paper as though it will magically (ahem, scientifically) float itself into the bin.
“Lena!” Kara says brightly, having watched this whole scene play out in real-time, and Lena looks over to see a slightly confused-looking but still warm (so warm) smile on her face. Kara takes a step toward the trash bin and Lena suddenly finds herself practically flying (ha) over the few steps it takes to get there first, falling hard to her knees in her haste to throw the paper out.
And then Kara is there, in her space, all soft and concerned, picking the paper up from the floor and placing it in the garbage (very gently, for some reason, lena notices in the back of her mind, the part that isn’t completely distracted by kara just being so close), before she lifts Lena to her feet (so easily) and wipes a thumb across her cheek (so gently), catching a tear Lena hadn’t even realized was there.
“Are you okay?” she asks, and Lena doesn’t know if she wants to run away or melt into her arms and really start crying.
She goes with neither. “I’m,” she pauses. “I will be.” She pulls out a smile from the depths of her upbringing, and she knows it’s too shaky to convince Kara, but she hopes maybe it’s just steady enough for her to accept the statement for what it is and allow her the illusion of agreement for a little while.
Kara just looks at her for a moment, frowning. Lena finds her gaze automatically drawn to the small crinkle between her eyebrows and hates that she has to stop herself from reaching out to smooth it away.
“Okay,” Kara says, and Lena brings their gazes back together. “Let me take you home?” It’s said with the intonation of a question, but it isn’t one, not really. Lena nods, chin dropping to her chest and not coming back up. “Oookayy,” Kara breathes out, and it’s strangely calming, enough that she doesn’t flinch when Kara grabs her hand and tugs her toward the door, and makes no effort to grab any of the work that she normally wouldn’t allow herself to leave behind.
Kara holds her hand all the way down the elevator, as they walk out of the building and she waves amiably to the few people they pass with her other hand, as they sit in silence in the Uber (lena is realizing how useful flying really must be), as they go up the elevator to Lena’s apartment, as she unlocks the door with the key Lena had given her. Lena can’t bring herself to pull away.
Kara does first, albeit reluctantly. “I should probably go,” she says with an awkward grimace, shoving one hand into a pocket and bringing the other up to her glasses. Lena wants to disagree, wants to ask her to stay (stay forever), but she knows she’s right – she probably should go.
“You probably should,” she says with a rueful smile, before stepping forward and putting her hands on Kara’s shoulders to place a soft kiss against her cheek (perhaps slightly closer to her mouth than is necessarily appropriate). She pulls back slightly, keeping her hands on Kara’s arms (superguns, she thinks, momentarily, and almost wishes one of her would-be assassins had been successful). “Thanks for bringing me home.”
“Of course,” Kara says, all aw shucks, it was nothing, but Lena is close enough to feel the heat coming off of her cheeks from her blush, and god, if she doesn’t want to just take back her agreement and tell Kara she should stay, even if she’s upset with her right now (she’s supposed to be upset).
Then Kara is backing away, hand back to fiddling with her glasses, nearly knocking them off accidentally, and Lena can tell she’s a little shaken, even if she can’t be sure exactly why.
“Have a good night, Lena. Get some sleep. I’ll see you soon?” This last said as a question again, and like before, Lena nods, though she looks up afterwards this time to see Kara make her way out the door.
She sighs, feeling like some sort of tension has been released from her whole body, so that she can hardly stand, barely able to bring herself to walk to her bedroom, strip off her work clothes, and drop into bed. She somehow manages to fall asleep within five minutes, and she dreams of Supergirl.
Kara,
She tries to start another one when she gets up in the morning.
She tries to start one, and then comes to the realization that she is being absolutely fucking ridiculous, and should probably just talk to Kara.
So she formulates a text:
Good morning, Kara. I hope you slept well. Not to bother you, but I was hoping you could tell Supergirl that I need to see her? Nothing urgent, don’t worry, just sometime soon?
She considers adding something to make it a little less abrupt and more normal, but she figures Kara being Supergirl and the fact that she will likely know very soon that Lena knows that mean it’s unnecessary.
She turns out to be right, as in lieu of a response, Kara has evidently decided to immediately fly over and is now standing on Lena’s balcony. And it’s Kara standing there, not Supergirl (so much as there’s a difference). She’s standing there in her pajamas, no glasses and hair up in a messy bun, clearly having just gotten out of bed, and she’s holding a piece of paper in her hand. Lena lets out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d taken in, and goes to open the door.
“Lena,” Kara says as soon as the glass barrier between them is gone, and she kind of looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. “Lena, I shouldn’t have, I know I shouldn’t have,” and she’s all set to start off on a rambling apology until Lena stops her by pressing her lips against hers (fuck talking. for now). She can feel Kara take in a gasp of air and freeze for a moment before she’s kissing back, tentative but with feeling, and she smiles.
“You’re right,” she says, pulling back after a few moments, but not too far. “You shouldn’t have. But you did, and I can – we can – deal with that.”
“We?” Kara asks, and it’s a little breathless and a lot hopeful and absolutely one of the best things Lena’s ever heard.
She leans back in in confirmation.
Kara,
I love you.