Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

National City isn’t the same for Lena anymore.

She doesn’t really understand the why’s and how’s of it, doesn’t really understand much of anything happening nowadays but she feels the shift in her bones, feels it flowing in every cell of her bloodstream.

It’s not any one thing she can pinpoint, more of how she feels like a dagger is sitting snug in her chest these days, waiting to twist at the wrong moment. Or like a flower, with a petal drooping, about to wilt away but barely holding together. Or something of that sort. She doesn’t know.

Frankly, it feels a lot like the time she left Metropolis after the entire Lex ordeal, a lot like those times when she felt like all eyes were on her at every moment, judging each step she took, waiting for her to fall.

Except this time, it feels a little like she’s already falling. This time, it’s a little harder to deal with. This time, she functions a little different because of it, avoids old routes, avoids old friends—or well, not friends.

(Not anymore. That’s kind of a part of the problem too.)

This time it’s just—it’s all these little things adding up, it’s everything. Maybe it’s all of it together times infinity.

When she tries to think back, tries to understand it, all she really concludes is that she’s come full circle—she came to National City alone, and now, she’s alone again.

(It might even be poetic in some twisted way. Like it should be a sign, she just doesn’t know what for.)

It’s been a month since she found out.

It’s been a month, and in that time, Lena hasn’t stopped trying to not think about it. In that time, she’s probably gone through the five stages of grief ten times over. In that time, Lena has just—stopped working. Her CPU has crashed and burned and flung itself off a fucking mountain cliff but the memory unit is somehow still intact and she just Can Not seem to forget.

And she’s tried, okay? Tried drowning herself in work, tried her luck at yoga, even ramped up her already high alcohol intake. Tried every trick in the book that would get her to stop thinking about Kar—no, she doesn’t even know a Kara anymore. About Supergirl.

(All those, even altogether, worked barely.)

So she does what she always does—she assigns it a box. An itty bitty tiny little box she can stuff all this into and shove in the furthest corner of her brain, till she forgets that the box even exists in the first place.

Thing is, when Lex told her, she was shocked. She was hurt, confused, disappointed. She was all these emotions overlapping together to leave something catastrophic in their place.

But catastrophic or not, those were just emotions. Those were normal, were human. Those, to some extent, Lena was used to.

What she didn’t expect was for it to cripple her with this—with this emptiness. Of how there’s a hole where her heart’s supposed to be, except she’s still feeling everything like that’s her brain’s singular purpose, to a point where all she does is feel. But her heart’s still missing, and. And it’s all confusing, okay? It’s all very fucking confusing.

Kara. Supergirl. Is confusing. Was confusing. Has always been confusing. Has always made Lena into something she didn’t understand, pliable and soft and just. Confusing.

Which is a whole other issue, she thinks. The entire problem of having a person as valuable as Kara (no, Supergirl) was to her (is to her) is that she unknowingly intertwined every part of herself with Kara (Supergirl. Supergirl Supergirl Supergirl).

Like she couldn’t function properly without her.

And for the most part, Lena knew that wasn’t true. It just. Felt very true these days. Felt like it had weight to it, meant something.

Forgetting her wasn’t going to be easy. Not by a long shot. Lena knew that, understood that (even boxed it all up so she didn’t have to think of it).

(That was the whole issue, probably: the box she assigned for betrayal overflowed.)

(She just needed to reorganize, maybe assign betrayal two boxes instead, maybe ten.)

So she tries her hardest to rewire, tries her hardest to change, tries the hardest not to process it.

She just… feels a little unhinged. Feels a little like she’s the sand slipping away from someone’s hand.

And—she hates it.

Hates how it makes her feel. Hates what it makes her do. Hates what she becomes because of it. Hates its everything. She just hates.

Which is why selling CatCo is an obvious next step, something that occurs to her in a natural meant-to-be sort of way.

And it probably happens quicker than it should.

She forgoes her usual background checks and countless evaluations, and sets up a meeting with the first familiar face willing to get it off her hands, even if that face brings up memories just as painful.

All of that is background noise in comparison though, secondary to the knowledge that Kara will no longer be in the same building as her everyday. That in itself is comforting enough to make her tune out the rest, and she wears that comfort like a protective blanket. Lets it sit in her chest, lets it fill her up.

She still doesn’t know what she’ll do, how she’ll deal with this, where she goes from here.

(There’s just boxes and boxes and boxes—filling up, breaking apart, running out of space.)

All she knows is that National City isn’t the same for her anymore. It probably never will be.

She tries not to think about it.

(She thinks about it constantly.)

***

Lena works almost mechanically as soon as she gets her hands on a pair of the Obsidian North lenses, cherishes them even more when she thinks back to how difficult it was to procure them in the first place.

(Maybe it involved a little bit of suspension of belief regarding the status of her and Andrea’s newly rekindled 'friendship.'

Lena thinks, given everything, a little bit of fallacy is fair enough.)

Her progress is slow but steady. She can see the advancements being made with each modification, she hooks up her beta virtual assistant with the augmented contact lenses, notes down each new observation. Her steps are calculated, precise, and she knows in no time at all, she’ll be able to perform trials.

The first thing she notices is that it’s a little off, the way the device pronounces her name—awkward and strange around the edges, unfamiliar—but she decides it's probably for the best and doesn’t bother fixing it.

She works and works and works and works. Drowns herself in this project in a way she was trying to stop doing, makes it the single point focus of her existence, like it’s the only important part of her life, and maybe, to some degree, that’s even true.

Everything is else is slipping away, but this—this she can hold onto. This, she can still pour every bit of her energy into till it’s the very embodiment of perfection.

And that’s okay, has to be okay, because this project is her last shot at sanity, last shot at normalcy—her only hope.

(In retrospect, that’s the majority of the reason she names her AI Hope; feels strangely fitting with the direction they’re going in.)

Lena barely notices how she’s letting herself isolate, how she’s succumbing to the same tired tactic she’s notorious for. How she can work without any consideration behind it, like her brain knows what to do even when she doesn’t really think. How it might even be a little bit destructive.

How she’s probably not even ready to start testing this out.

But it’s okay.

It’s helping her cope and it’s okay.

***

Lena deletes their chat history when it starts to distract her too much.

(She wonders how many versions of Kara she’ll have to destroy before she finally forgets all about her.)

Her first trial was supposed to be the day before yesterday, but she doesn’t want to perform it. Can’t perform it.

She created the tech for a purpose, created it so that she could put a direction to her emotions, give them an outlet, but all of that seems to be going to shit apparently because all she does is think about Kara.

She’s already reread her way back to last February, when Kara had wished her Valentine’s Day with a long paragraph of everything she loved about her and it just. Breaks her, sort of.

To think that all of it was a lie, a long con seems like a far-fetched possibility at times like these. And that just makes it hurt all the more, makes her turn into the exact kind of person she wants to run away from—weak and messy and ugh.

She needs to be better than this, needs to get a grip.

(Hours after she’s deleted them, when she picks up her phone absentmindedly and it finally clicks that the messages are all truly gone, her brain jumps to code ten different complex programs to get them back, and she barely controls herself from acting on it.

It starts to feel more like a break up each passing day and Lena doesn’t know what to do with that information but cry.)

***

“It’s been 37 days since you found out Supergirl’s identity, Miss Luthor. Do we still have no plan of action?”

She gets used to the voice much faster than she expects to, looks over to the device with a sense of familiarity she shouldn’t have developed so fast.

“I’m meeting her today, Hope,” Lena replies, checks the numbers on her tablet, makes a few minor adjustments.

She still hasn’t performed any trials.

Truth be told, the AI has been acting a little more like a substitute friend (as sad as that sounds) than serving the purpose it was actually meant to and something about that makes Lena feel so pathetic, so fucking pathetic that she can’t even stand to look at herself these days, let alone leave the confines of her apartment.

Which is probably why meeting Kara was even happening in the first place.

The decision to meet her wasn’t a very conscious one. When she finally responds to one of Kara’s numerous attempts to reach out, she can tell it’s a bad idea as she does it. Knows she shouldn’t, is fully aware.

She just. Needs to hold on a little longer. Needs to feel a little less like whatever it is she’s feeling right now and find some source of grounding, a sense of stability amidst the chaos.

(Needs to see Kara so she can maybe breathe a little again.)

(And it’s ironic, she knows that—

But.)

It’s only till she figures out what to do.

Besides, she’s sure she’s already pushed it a little too far with the avoidance, that anything more would probably raise suspicion.

Which she obviously doesn’t want, so really, emotions aside, it all adds up anyway.

In a way, Hope is right. She doesn’t really have a plan yet—just keep your enemies closer, right?

That’s enough for now. She can work more on it later.

When the doorbell rings, she takes a long breath in, tries to prepare herself for—for whatever.

Another deep breath as she plasters a smile and swings the door open.

“Kara,” she says as a greeting, attempts her hardest to sound normal but her pitch is high and her tone is off and her breathing is too jagged. Too wrong.

Kara doesn’t seem to notice it. Doesn’t seem to care, seems more engrossed in having her arms around Lena as quick as she can, like it’s her Top Priority. Lena’s arms still wrap around Kara instinctively, which is probably for the best; it’s one less interaction she has to worry about forcing to perfection.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” Kara murmurs against Lena’s hair, holding her tight enough that Lena doesn’t want to pull away. Tight enough that Lena forgets she’s supposed to. “I was going crazy,” she whispers, lips brushing her temple, and it makes Lena want to rearrange her organs a little. “Was literally going to go crazy if I didn’t see you.”

“Glad your senses get to stay intact then,” Lena breathes out, still awkward, stilted, but a more manageable, less noticeable amount.

(Somehow, no part of the interaction really seems as forced as it should.)

(She doesn’t overthink it.)

Kara chuckles into her ear, sending shivers down Lena’s spine, and lets her go after another squeeze. “So, when do I hear about this ultra important project you’re avoiding me for?”

Lena laughs, pretends it’s more forced than it truly is. “Nothing ultra important, no. Just the usual work stuff. Meetings, conferences—you know what it’s like.”

“What’s got you so cooped up in your office if it’s no big project?”

“You can’t even begin to imagine the amount of turbulence Lex caused with his… spectacle, Kara,” Lena sighs, and it’s a little too close to the cold dark raw truth to be allowed as an acceptable conversational topic with a not-friend/maybe-enemy. “The stocks took a major hit, investors are doubtful. L-Corp was only beginning to make a name for itself outside my family and now it seems like it’s all back to square one.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara says, looks so genuinely distraught that Lena’s shoulders can’t help ease up a bit. “I didn’t realize the gravity of the situation, I wouldn’t have bothered you as much if I knew.”

“You’re hardly a bother, darling, you know that.”

Kara grins, moves them to the couch, grabs the fluffiest pillow Lena owns and adjusts it behind her back. The ease with which Kara maneuvers around her house makes her partly mad, partly angry but mostly just makes her want to yell at Kara, makes her want Kara to reassure her that they can fix this.

Nine times out of ten, she wouldn’t have even let it get this far, wouldn’t have even dreamed of ‘fixing’ it.

She knows this goes against the very fiber of her being. Knows that she’s always been more of a fool me once, end of story kind of person, always been black or white, and no gray. And even though it feels like being dunked in cold water and forcing herself not to shiver, she really wants this to be the tenth time.

It kind of feels like the tenth time, too. A part of herself—the weaker part—doesn’t want to give this up, doesn’t want to be alone again when she can just tell Kara she knows, let her fix it.

She hopes, prays, they can fix it.

(This can be the tenth time. It’s worth a shot.)

***

Kara comes to her apartment unannounced three days later, Lena doesn’t have the heart to tell her to go.

Kara doesn’t tell her she’s Supergirl, Lena doesn’t tell her she knows.

They hug and promise to meet again before the week ends.

***

Kara has to excuse herself in the middle of a movie night Lena ‘forgot’ to cancel.

It’s probably/definitely a Supergirl emergency.

Lena wants to say good luck or be careful or why the fuck are you still not telling me when you clearly want to.

She has to say oh, hope your stomach gets better instead.

***

When she agrees to meet her for an impromptu lunch the next week, she convinces herself it’s just a step of the acclimatization period.

A part of her knows that waiting for the tenth time is like sticking a knife into her stomach and hoping she doesn’t die, and that kind of self-loathing deserves its time to unlearn.

Letting go comes in part, Lena’s taking it day by day.

(In return, it’s taking Lena wholly-completely-all at once.)

***

They’d met eleven times since.

(Nine times out of ten turned to tenth time out of ten turned to eleventh time just because.)

Eleven times. Eleven different opportunities for Kara to tell her, even hint it at her, even a little—

And. Lena can tell Kara wants to, can see it in her eyes whenever she says i need to tell you something before covering it up with something stupid, can almost hear it coming out of Kara’s mouth and just needs her to fucking say it because the it’s okay i forgive you is sitting on the tip of her tongue, no questions asked.

Eleven times. Eleven extra times after a friendship full of opportunities and Lena doesn’t know if she has any more in her left to give, thinks she might’ve drained herself out dry trying to wring out these eleven anyway.

Which is why when Kara abruptly stands up, mumbles an excuse about her dog, or, no, no, wait sorry, i meant the neighbor's dog; another obvious lie that Kara thinks she can get away with another time, she might as well have kicked Lena to outer space with a post-it note worth of explanation stuck to her head.

(She doesn’t have to think too hard to picture the I don’t want you in my life, I don’t know why you’re trying so hard, in Kara’s messy scrawl, hearts over i’s and everything.)

And Lena’s done—she’s done, okay? This is the last straw. She can’t deal with it anymore, can’t do it. Doesn’t have it in her.

Time isn’t going any slower. She has the lenses, has Hope ready.

If Kara can’t do it and Lena can’t do it, maybe Hope can. Maybe Hope will.

She just has to test it out.

***

Kara is standing across her, she’s making both of them a hot chocolate, is almost done even.

It’s strange how Lena didn’t see it before, because now, it’s all she sees, sees it in everything Kara does.

Sees it when Kara grabs a carton of milk before Lena can even see the fridge open, sees it when she catches the cup she dropped inhumanely fast, sees it when she chops the chocolate a little too fast and a little too carelessly. Sees it like the world is screaming it at her every second.

Kara is Supergirl.

“You’re Supergirl,” Lena says, simple and practiced and controlled. She sounds emotionless, like she’s had too much time to sit on this information, has thought about this scenario time and again. “Lex told me. Told me you were lying all along.”

She looks up to see the multitude of emotions cross Kara’s face—shock, guilt, regret. Sees her mouth open, close, open again.

Lena wants to look away, wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to walk away, wants to do all of it at once.

She forces herself to stare at Kara instead.

Then it begins, Stage 1: the expected stuttering, the lame excuses. Lena’s already rolling her eyes before Kara can even begin saying “I—I wanted to tell you—”

“Oh, save it,” she scoffs. Kara had eons worth of time to tell her. If she really wanted to, she would have.

“Lena, I swear I did. I wanted to tell you, I hadn’t told you to protect you—”

“Protect me?” Lena laughs bitterly, swallows down the urge to cry. They’re at Stage 2 already, she supposes—quicker than she thought they’d reach it—where the ‘explanations’ come in. “How did that work out for you, huh? Did you compare the statistics? Hypothesize a drop in my assassination attempts?”

“I—I thought I was protecting you,” Kara says and the thing is, it reeks of sincerity. Lena really can’t tell who the better liar is, between the two of them. “I realized I was wrong, knew it was hurting you. Which is why I wanted to tell you. I really was going to, after the—”

Lena’s shaking a little, she realizes, when she feels her clenched fist quiver, feels her jaw tremble. She’s had too much time to think about this, enough time to counter each of Kara’s possible arguments, and.

(It’s the best and worst part of all of this.)

And there’s nothing to gain here, nothing to take from this.

She can’t even see Kara anymore, can only spot her hazy outline with all the tears blocking her vision, can barely hear her, barely process her words with how loud her thoughts are—

She hears a sob. She doesn’t know if it’s her own or Kara’s.

Lena swipes her fingers in front of her eyes, collects the lenses and deposits them in their case.

Her eyes don’t sting with unshed tears in reality.

“Miss Luthor, this simulation was your eighth failed attempt at—”

“Shut down.”

The device fizzles out, all the nanobots disappear into the disk at its base.

Lena takes that time to catch her breath, to realign her senses. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides.

She can do this. She can confront Kara without running away mid-simulation, without breaking down.

She can do it. She just needs time.

***

Kara♥️: There’s ??? chaos at CatCo???

missed call from Kara♥️

contact information updated

Kara Danvers: You need to come here

Kara Danvers: Some woman called Andrea showed up and says that she’s the new CEO

missed call from Kara Danvers (3)

Kara Danvers: Lena, you SOLD CatCo???????!!!!!!!!!

missed call from Kara Danvers (7)

Lena turns off her phone and tells her watchman not to let anyone up.

***

“You know, I chose you,” Lena says, not as a jibe, nor a taunt. Just words she wanted out there.

Kara blinks up at her, drags her eyes away from the movie to face Lena with obvious confusion, stares up at her blankly.

“Over Lillian. Over Jack. Over Lex,” Lena continues, barely controls herself from showing Kara a detailed powerpoint presentation listing exactly how. “I chose you every single time.”

Kara picks up the remote, puts the television on mute. Slowly, after a few long, uncomfortable seconds, she asks—concerned, always concerned—like she really doesn’t know that the entire problem is her, “Lena, what is this about?”

“I know.”

Kara’s eyebrows furrow together, and a moment later they widen. She’s about to open her mouth—

“You’re Supergirl. I know.”

“I—how?”

“That’s what you have to say to me? How?”

“Lena—”

“No, you listen to me,” Lena interrupts, doesn’t want Kara’s inputs, doesn’t want her Stages, doesn’t want her to speak—just wants to get everything off her chest, to unload, fuck, she doesn’t even know what she wants. “When I came to this city, I promised myself that I would never trust anyone again, and then I met you,” Lena spits out, like it’s venom, like it’s acid.

Kara just stands there, distraught, listens in silence, eyes bright with tears—

“You knew how important trust was to me. Knew how I had been betrayed in every single relationship I’d had. And even after I’d confided in you, you lied to me! Kept me in the dark like a fool—”

“No, no, that’s not—” Kara says, and Lena feels her boxes cracking up already. “That is different. I’m not—I lied to you because I love you!” Kara’s voice softens towards the end, she repeats it again, somehow even softer, “I love you.”

Lena feels her boxes explode at that, feels like her program might be malfunctioning—she can’t stand the thought of Kara loving her, can’t even begin to think of it as true.

She ignores it. Decides to say instead: “It hurts the most that you didn’t even choose me once.”

She ends the simulation, doesn’t stay to listen to whatever argument Kara has, knows that on some part she’s wrong about all of it herself, doesn’t want Kara to be logical about it. Doesn’t want to stop being angry so fast.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Nothing does.

She swipes away the lenses and her tears all in one go.

***

She almost goes to game night.

It’s a friday, she gets off work a little earlier than usual. Her driver isn’t scheduled to come till an hour later, it’s a pleasant enough evening and she decides to walk back.

(Her driver deserves a break.)

It’s nice, walking alone, letting the loud streets of National City mute her thoughts—even with the looming fear of assassination.

Half way through, she realizes she’s walking to Kara’s apartment.

She calls her driver from the middle of the street and breaks down in the car.

(She deserves a break too.)

***

Sometimes, the mantra of i’m not a villain i’m not i swear i’m good i’m not a villain plays in a loop in her head even when she sleeps, and she can never never never stop that voice no matter how hard she tries.

It’s a little bit of a constant, she thinks, has been there ever since Lex was incarcerated and the spotlight was on her, big and bright and daunting, but nowadays, it seems more constant than before, like an x=2 instead of an x=y, a constant constant.

(Maybe even just a 2=2. No variable in the equation, however mathematically redundant.)

It’s relentless, should also be unnecessary with actions speak louder than words, and whatnot.

But Lena doesn’t think people see her, like, actually properly notice her actions or her words or her, just look away when they hear Luthor and it’s—

She’s not a villain. She’s not.

“Anything you want to get off your chest, Kara?”

Kara just stares at her, looks a little bit like a ghost, a deer caught in the headlights.

“Huh?” Kara asks, muffled and muted, mouth filled with popcorn.

“Nothing?” Lena gets up, ignores Kara’s wait where are you going. Walks towards her balcony, stops only when her back hits the railings. She knows if Kara was a human, there’d be no way she’d be able to hear her all the way from the sofa in the living room, but because she’s a liar instead, Lena doesn’t even bother raising her voice the slightest. “Guess this is the last time I’m seeing you, then.”

“Lena, what?” Kara says, panicked, drops the bowl and rushes up—

“I’m not a villain,” Lena says, wants that to be the last thing Kara hears from her, wants to tattoo it to Kara’s brain, ingrain it there in bold letters, underlined twice. “You shouldn’t have treated me like one.”

She jumps.

She ends the simulation before Supergirl can catch her.

***

She doesn’t know why she does it.

On a lot of levels, it’s a bad idea, a very bad idea, but something makes her do it anyway.

When she looks at her mother, looks at the reflection that looks exactly like herself, just older, she wants to run away and throw up in equal parts.

Lena doesn’t really remember what her mother looked like, just visions from her childhood, faint and foggy, too vague to be concrete.

The memories that she does have seem too distant to be her own, seem like visions from an old favorite movie she hadn’t watched in a decade, seem more like peeping through a window at someone else’s memory than her own.

She remembers being read a book to sleep every night, something about a girl and a medallion, but she doesn’t remember much else. Remembers going to her bed, long after the story had been read (it’s too dark i can’t sleep i’m scared i’m scared mam help) (honey it’s okay you’re okay come sleep with me just close your eyes and think about happy things). Remembers the last time she saw her, in the lake, just standing there, paralyzed, watching her die.

She remembers things like that, hazy hazy hazy, doesn’t even know if they’re real but they’re there and they’re something to hold onto, and that’s enough, maybe. It’s all she has anyway, enough or not.

(Mostly, she doesn’t remember much except the scrapes of information she got from the screaming matches in the Luthor Manor from when she was five.

And, the thing is—she remembers being that kid, remembers the kid that always lived in Lex’s shadow, trying to measure up and always falling short. Remembers being the laughing stock, remembers being made a fool of for some or the other kind of running joke against her. Remembers being five and miserable but doesn’t remember being four.

Remembers everyfuckingthing except her own mother.

She doesn’t know what her stupid brain is even suppressing down anymore.)

In her head, she decides that her mother was kind—her first hero. That she loved her, in spite of all her flaws.

(It seems a little unrealistic, simulation or not.)

When she faces her, she doesn’t run away or throw up, even though those are her first instincts. She steps into her arms, hugs her tight and cries.

It’s the longest time she’s spent in any simulation, only lets go when the battery drains out and she’s alone again.

***

Some days Lena thinks Kara Danvers stopped existing for her the moment she found out she was Supergirl.

(And maybe, maybe that was a part of the problem too—that Kara melted into Supergirl all those weeks ago. Things might’ve turned out different if Supergirl melted into Kara instead.)

In spite of that, even on those days, there’s still some degree of separation, between Supergirl and Kara, a fine line she never wanted to cross but is constantly forced on the other side of.

And like, the distinction is still there, still exists in some capacity—on those days, however small, and other days, big and scary—where she’ll see Supergirl on the news and look away for a moment until it clicks and she can’t.

There’s that microsecond of indifference, a microsecond too long before she realizes and does a double take, sees Kara’s face where Supergirl is fighting and—

She’s convinced herself that she doesn’t care, okay? Convinced herself that she doesn’t have a single bone in her body that still cares about Kara Danvers.

(She wonders why her heartbeat still quickens with worry whenever she sees Supergirl on the news—doesn’t calm even the slightest till it’s confirmed that she’s okay. Wonders if Kara got the switchboard in her kitchen fixed, the one that she asked Lena to remind her of, wonders if it’d be strange for her to text her a reminder out of the blue, because she knows it’s insignificant, in the grander scheme of things, but it just feels very significant sometimes.)

Doesn’t care in the slightest, doesn’t care at all.

She tries to stop thinking about it, tries to stop it all the time but thinking about not caring so much is definitely expressing some amount of care and—she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t care.

(Like the masochist she is, she tries to fill the silence with words Kara would’ve said if she was here, if everything was normal.

She can’t even begin to picture it anymore.

Normal is distant. Normal is gone.)

***

“Terminate,” Lena says, the vision of Kara and the bus fading away and in just a second, she’s back in her pristine white lonely penthouse.

“Virtual reality simulation terminated.”

Lena sighs. Whatever comfort the simulations are supposed to provide her, they’re failing to provide. And it exceedingly seems more and more like a mundane task, one that only prevents her from actually confronting Kara, actually dealing with this.

The simulations don’t even make her feel better about it anymore, just more disgusted than anything.

And like, she doesn’t even know what she wants from this. What is she expecting out of it? What is a successful simulation—

“May I ask you something, Miss Luthor?”

“Yes, Hope,” she says, calm and even, showing no sign that the simulation is still running in her head, still haunting her. That she wants to wear the lenses again, pull Kara to her chest and just.

Just.

She forces her legs to walk to the coffee table. Places the lenses into their case.

Out of sight, out of mind.

“These simulations you’ve been running in virtual reality—my calculations show it’s possible they can be achieved in the real world.”

Lena tenses, processes Hope’s words as she grabs the newspaper, Kara’s Pulitzer news highlighted on the front page, her smiling face front and centre. She looks at the headline for as long as she can stomach it, buries the hint of pride that rises despite everything.

She slowly puts the newspaper down, realizes almost immediately that the fundamental programming of the device is supposed to interpret her own desires, is supposed to do what it thinks she’ll want. She freezes when she realizes that the AI thinks actually hurting Supergirl is in that list.

Still, she asks, just as confirmation, “Are you offering me to kill Supergirl?”

“Yes. Would you like me to facilitate?”

The answer comes mechanically, Hope makes it sound like it’s the logical next step in her plan, says it like it’s meant to please her.

Lena feels so sick to her stomach that she almost throws up.

(She decides then and there that she’s had enough, that there’s nothing left to get from this, that she’ll drive herself crazy with the possibilities and let herself drown.

She’ll destroy the AI and return the lenses and really confront Kara even if it’s the last thing she does.)

***

Of course, it doesn’t work out for her as planned. It never does.

She makes up her mind, formulates a plan as near to perfection as she can, and it's simple, really: she’ll give Kara her Pulitzer, let herself have this one last day (there’s never a last day. there’s never going to be a last day. it’s always going to be another day, and another, and another—) before she confronts her for once and for all, direct and forthright, just like she’s been practising.

But Kara finds her before she finds Kara.

Lena’s preparing for her speech, going through the notes she wrote years back when she first told Kara she’s meant for great things, and only ten minutes before she’s about to go on stage, she comes to face with Kara.

And as soon as Kara opens her mouth to speak, something in Lena senses that she isn’t going to like whatever comes out of it, can feel already that the words are going to push her off some or the other kind of edge.

Kara prefaces it a little, says something about not deserving Lena, something else that Lena just can’t process right now, but it’s not nearly enough, doesn’t buy her any time to—

“I’m Supergirl,” Kara says, and Lena feels the impact like she’s fallen from twenty feet above. “I’ve always been Supergirl.”

Lena’s tired, already so tired, already exhausted from having this conversation every day for a month and she really doesn’t want to do this right now, all she asked was for one more day, just one more (a million more) fucking day(s).

But Kara doesn’t know, doesn’t care about giving Lena another day, just continues, “I should have told you is long ago, I know that.”

Lena knows that too, knows this line, it’s Stage 1, she can counter Stage 1, she knows how, but the words aren’t coming out and she feels like the oxygen is being sucked out her lungs a little—

“And I just kept on making excuses because you’ve been hurt so many times. I convinced myself that I was protecting you.”

Stage 2. Stage 2 Stage 2 Stage 2.

“And then one day you were so angry with me—with Supergirl, but you still loved Kara... and I just kept thinking, if I could be Kara—just Kara, that I could keep you,” there’s a pause, and Lena’s heart stops right with it, no stage has a fucking pause, but Lena doesn’t even get to think about it because Kara completes, almost like an afterthought, “as a friend.”

There’re the tears then, in both their eyes, the Stage 3 she never got to see, that she was never strong enough to see, where Lena would usually just turn the simulation off and not have to face—

(Seeing Kara break down, seeing her devastated, choked up, in tears, was a lot more satisfying as a theory, when it was all in her head.)

(In reality, it makes Lena want to do nothing more than to wrap her up in her arms.)

Instead, she clenches her fist, feels her muscles tensing, throat closing up, and she gives up the idea of arguing back completely

“I was selfish and scared and I didn't want to lose you,” Kara continues, keeps speaking, keeps explaining even though all Lena wants to do is run. “So I kept pretending, and I never stopped.”

Lena wants to interrupt, wants to tell Kara how wrong she is, how all her arguments are shit, but before she can, Kara does it herself: “And every time I kept my secret from you, I wasn’t protecting you, I was hurting you, just like everyone else, and I am so, so sorry.” Even through her own clouded vision, Lena can see the tears flowing freely on Kara’s face, wet and messy and everywhere. The apology didn’t have a Stage, didn’t happen ever in Lena’s— “I am so sorry.”

Something inside Lena breaks, so loud that she can practically hear it, cracking her ribcage, jumbling her thoughts together in her throat into something strange, like if she opens her mouth they’ll come out as a cry, or a scream—

There’s no box big enough for them.

She tries her hardest to stay stoic, stay cold and calculated, but tears keep stinging her eyes and she feels off-balance, feels the sadness wash over her like it’s tangible.

None of her simulations prepared her for this, she never for a second considered that Kara would tell her herself, willingly. That there won’t be a confrontation. Just a confession, an apology.

And. Lena doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to channelize all that she’s feeling in an emotion that’s not anger.

“Please say something.”

Lena’s mouth quivers, eyes red and glassy, and she pleads her body to let her speak, say even a single sentence from the speeches she’d rehearsed So. Many. Times. The ones she planned, the versions of which she’d lived through again and again.

“Lena—”

She walks away before she can hear more.

Chapter Text

Lena gets all of four minutes and fifty-two seconds to let the information absorb before someone, probably a member of the crew, is asking her to move to the stage.

She knows she’s being pathetic, knows that there shouldn’t be any shock-value to this, that she’s known for far too long to let it paralyze her.

It’s just.

Still difficult, in a way. More permanent. More you have to deal with it now you have no other choice.

(And… too many choices have been taken away from her to deal with the loss of her sense of control on this one.)

Still, she walks to the podium confidently, with a sense of poise she didn’t think she could manage—she thanks every single Luthor gene that makes her steel her expression with such expertize, till there’s no sign of distress visible on her features.

It’s pretty short lived though, comes crumbling down as soon as she opens her mouth to speak.

(She’s never been much of a Luthor anyway, no matter how everyone deems her otherwise.)

Thing is, she knows this speech, knows it by heart, wrote it years back and it’s sitting on the tip of her tongue but—

She looks at the crowd and none of it comes out.

Kara looks at her in desperation, there’s some or the other type of plea in her eyes, something she’s trying to convey but Lena isn’t stable enough right now to decipher it, isn’t stable enough to even look at her—so she adjusts the mic, and lets out the last bit of shakiness with a long exhale.

When she starts speaking, tears pool her eyes from the get-go, tears that she’s half-sure can be mistaken as happy ones by the onlookers who have the vaguest idea of their friendship due to page 6 but as a Luthor, she’s embarrassed they made their way to her face in public, regardless.

She’s saying something about truth, something about integrity, most things about herself, about Kara, about herself and Kara—and she knows that she’s getting more and more off-track with every word she utters but.

But when she finally meets eyes with her, Kara mirrors her own expression, looks at her like this speech is the only one she wants to hear, and Lena finds the strength to continue.

Kara’s sobbing at the end of it, walking towards her in long steps and pulling Lena into her arms right away.

Lena lets herself sag against Kara’s body, lets herself lean on her, just lets herself be for some time, can feel that this is the last bit of peace and quiet she’s going to get for a while.

Kara murmurs another apology into her shoulder, squeezes Lena’s waist the tiniest bit and the reassurance seeps in through the fabric of her dress right into her blood, makes it flow a little steadier, a little calmer.

Lena feels her anger dissolve into something. Not forgiveness, maybe resignation—just something, but the weight off her shoulders makes her breathe a little easier, regardless.

The cat, if not totally out, is at the very least peeking out the bag—and given everything that’s been happening, given how she has the worst luck in the whole entire universe, she tries to find comfort in that.

Her luck is her luck though, shitty and tragic, and the comfort goes as soon as it comes.

Interrupted by an explosion.

(Surprisingly, not metaphorical.)

The panic it sets off is palpable, she hears—feels—people rush all around her, sees J’onn and Alex take out their guns and direct people to safety.

Her breath hitches in her throat, the flight or fight mode kicks in and she’s about to run away too when she notices she physically can’t, that she’s still in Kara’s arms.

(Things for her would’ve probably been a lot less calm if she felt endangered at all.

But something about Kara being with her—Kara, not Supergirl, makes it a tad easier.)

She swears she feels Kara hold onto her tighter, more firm, more protective, draws Lena closer to her body as she assesses the situation, looks around for a fraction of a moment, grips Lena’s hand and tugs her backstage.

The rest of it is like watching a movie in awe, eyes wide in wonder.

Kara whips her glasses off and just like that, the suit materializes over her body. In no time at all, Kara Danvers becomes Supergirl right in front of her eyes.

Even if Lena doesn’t want to admit it, something about that whole thing just makes sense, just fits.

“I guess that’s your cue, Supergirl,” Lena says, words tumbling out from her mouth before she can stop them. It feels awkward—weird, acknowledging the double identity like this, acknowledging it at all.

Kara looks at her again for a microsecond, gives her what looks like a smile amidst a blur and whizzes away, takes the last bit of Lena’s composure along with her.

(Lena can’t help but wonder what her fate would be—today and in her past—if Kara wasn’t Supergirl, and she had to face the threats to her life herself.

She doesn’t know if she truly minds the alternative, death considered.)

***

Lena lets herself think about it, about what would’ve happened if this is truly how she would’ve found out. If Lex never told her, if Kara had the opportunity to tell her on her own time, in her own way.

She’s not properly crying anymore, but there’re still tears in her eyes, she doesn’t think she really stopped crying in at least some capacity for more than a couple minutes ever since Kara told her.

They’re not angry tears or sad tears or happy tears—just tears, and Lena doesn’t know what to make of it.

She walks over to Hope, grabs her lenses, intent on playing this out, finding out what would’ve happened, could’ve happened. Wants to desperately drown herself in a new round of what-if’s one last time—

She keeps them in their box and presses the self-destruct button on Hope when she hears the swish of Kara’s cape.

Strangely, it somehow makes her feel a bit more in-control about this whole thing.

(Considering everything that’s happened lately, Lena thinks it’s one of the better decisions she’s made.)

***

Kara lands on her balcony just as she steps outside.

Lena twists her hands together, fiddles with her fingers when Kara gives her a shy smile.

She looks nervous, shuffling from feet to feet, like she’s expecting Lena to tell her that everything she said in the speech was a lie—

(Lena doesn’t know if it was. All she knows is that it should’ve been.)

Kara approaches her hesitantly, no greeting, and presents a bulky watch in front of her. Lena thinks this might be a peace offering, a white flag waved too late.

Kara meets her eyes with a soft smile. She looks shy, eyes lidded, cheeks pinker than usual, she says, low, “If you ever need me, all you need to do is call.”

Lena pauses for a moment before accepting the watch, holds it in her hand, feels the weight of it—figurative and literal—flips it open to reveal the S, same as Supergirl’s crest.

“You have to press the button. It’s, uh, the symbol of the House of El,” Supergirl—Kara says, somehow knowing exactly what Lena’s thinking. “El Mayarah.”

Lena looks up, raises an eyebrow—

“It means stronger together,” Kara explains. “It was my family motto.”

Kara gets a sad look in her eyes, and Lena wants to prod but doesn’t think it’s her place to question why anymore, wants to at least draw one line very clear.

“I think I’d like to tell you about Krypton sometime.”

Lena feels her throat close up, can’t manage anything more than a semi-interested hum.

“Not—um. Not now, but I’d really like to tell you once you get used to this.”

Lena wants to say she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to it. “Okay,” is what she says instead.

Kara smiles at her, looks hopeful, tentative. “Can I stay?”

Lena wants to say something, say no, should say no, but there’s this weight in her throat she can’t breathe past, can’t even try to get the words out against, can’t open her mouth without breaking so she does the next best thing—she nods.

Kara walks towards her, gentle, slow and soft, still in her suit and Lena’s brain hurts already. She stops only when she’s directly in front of her, when Lena can feel the warmth radiating off of her and whispers, “Can I hug you?”

Before Lena can even think about it, before she can formulate how this would fit in her plan—whatever that even is anymore—she nods again.

Kara smiles, cheeks bunching up together, and pulls Lena towards her like she has millions of times before.

(They fit together just as easily as they always have. Lena can’t help but be disappointed about it.)

“I’m so glad I still have you, Lena,” Kara murmurs into her hair, grip tightening around her ever so slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Tears blur her vision for the millionth time that night, it’s happening so often that it’s not even much of a bother anymore, the sting in her eyes has started to feel natural.

Lena can’t help but burrow herself deeper, can’t help but breathe Kara in—no inhibitions, no agenda.

Kara’s lips brush against her forehead, arms wrap her up further, and Lena feels herself melt, feels every ill intention she has had about Kara granulate.

They hold each other for a while, maybe a couple minutes, maybe more, neither making a move to let go.

Lena closes her eyes, presses herself further against Kara, lets herself feel her solid presence. She still has questions, still has so many ques—“You trust me, right?”

The malice Lena intended that sentence to pack is lost in translation, and it’s instead laced with the kind of vulnerability that comes to her more naturally around Kara, the kind that’s reminiscent of their interactions when Lena couldn't help but be an open-book, couldn’t help but strip herself bare in front of Kara without a care in the world.

“Of course,” Kara answers easily, like it’s the most obvious reply in the world. Like it’s absurd to even think otherwise.

In another time, maybe Lena would’ve believed it.

This time, it’s what prompts her to let go, to recoil.

She really needs a breather right now.

Kara’s worry is immediate, she ducks down to catch Lena’s eyes, asks in a voice laced with concern, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Lying to her leaves a bitter taste in Lena’s mouth, settles onto her tongue all strange and weird. “Just remembered all the things I have to do tomorrow. Meetings, reviews. All that boring stuff.”

The worry fades. With a grin, Kara says, “No rest for the world saving genius, huh?”

Lena smiles in response, gives it her all to make it look genuine, smiles when Kara flies off, smiles all the way to her room, all the way to her bed.

Then, she breaks down and cries.

***

When she wakes up and looks in the mirror, sometimes a part of her wants to erase herself completely, wants to go back in time, wants to start over, wants to fade away.

(She’s always wanted things that weren’t possible for her to have.)

Without the burden of her last name, without the blood on her hands of all the people Lex killed, without the expectations she’s constantly trying to rise against—without all of it, really.

She feels like she can do without her entire self.

Sometimes, on days like this, Lena doesn’t think she deserves to express any emotion that’s not (smile look up head high you’re a luthor everyone’s watching you smile smile smile) positive, doesn’t have the right to be angry, doesn’t have the right to be hurt or upset, doesn’t deserve it, because if she is, she’s just another Luthor, just like the rest of them.

And that part—that part wants her to forgive Kara instantly, wants to convince her that Kara wasn’t ever in the wrong, like Andrea wasn’t, and Lillian wasn’t and Lex wasn’t and that it was always her, is always going to be her and she just needs to accept what she gets, just take what people give her, even if it’s pretty lies because beggars can't be choosers, can they?

That she’s the one who came in faulty packaging, haphazardly stitched together till a somewhat human person was made with moderate functionality, still unsold, even on a discount.

That she had too many sins to pay for, even if she wasn’t the sinner—

And it’s hard.

It’s very fucking hard.

Lena remembers hating herself when she was 6. She didn’t even really understand love well enough to know hate but she remembers thinking she didn’t deserve it.

Remembers putting a tag with a value on herself as soon as she developed a thought process. Remembers the value being not much—remembers being not much.

When Lena looks into the mirror, sees the person she’s become, sometimes she wants to look away, sometimes she wants to rip her skin out and replace it with something acceptable to look at, acceptable to be in.

(Sometimes she feels like nothing’s really much from when she was 6.)

She never looks away.

Stares at herself for hours instead, lets herself feel everything she’s feeling, lets it become permanent in her head, lets her thoughts turn to facts, lets those facts guide her self-worth.

(She finds out from James that Kara is having a particularly hard time at CatCo.

Her fingers type out a semi-harsh worded text to Andrea without even consulting her brain.)

***

Lena’s ’plan’ still includes seeing Kara, apparently.

Again, not intentional, not unintentional, no intent or lack of intent or any decision-making involved at all.

It just writes itself onto her plan, starts executing itself without really consulting Lena at all.

And being around Kara now is even harder than before.

“You brought me coffee eclairs from Cafe Rue Serret on the Champs-Elysées?”

Kara smiles, wide and proud, like she just did this to seek Lena’s praise and her mission is accomplished. It makes Lena want to spit the food out, a little. “I know they're your favorite.”

After hearing that, Lena immediately needs the taste out her mouth for some reason, grabs the first drink she sees—which of fucking course is the coffee Kara brought over.

She reads the label, and her heart starts thumping even quicker. “The cappuccinos… did you really go to Pave in Milan?”

Kara blushes, literally vibrates from nervous energy, like her equilibrium just said goodbye and this is who she is now, and Lena feels like it’s contagious because she feels nervous too, feels like she needs to put her head down, feels like this entire thing is all wrong. “It didn't take me that long.”

She considers what to say, thinks about it too slow. “You know, I have really been missing out on the perks of having Supergirl as—” a best friend, she completes in her head but respects herself enough not to say it out loud. “—of, um, knowing you’re Supergirl.”

Kara just smiles wider, shakes her head and waves it off in a don’t mention it sort of way.

“Just having you here, with me, knowing that you’ve forgiven me, it makes me feel a thousand pounds lighter. Like I can do anything,” Kara says, and Lena’s heart drops down to stomach just as she completes saying it.

It’s wrong, all of this is two hundred different shades of wrong, just wrong wrong wrong.

Kara reaches for Lena’s hand, intertwines their fingers together, adjusts the grip till their hands entangle just right, so open and trusting and—

And Lena doesn’t want that.

Doesn’t want it, doesn’t deserve it, shouldn’t have it.

“I feel like I want to spend all my time with you lately,” Kara continues, looks down at their joined hands, not meeting Lena’s eyes, not seeing all the poison drain from Lena’s brain to her eyes, threatening to leak out, clouding her vision, clouding her mind, and fuck.

She can’t do this.

Can’t do it because the pain is still there; faded, like a persistent wine stain that doesn’t ever truly wear off, but still noticeable, still there. It raises its hand during roll call, stands out amongst the multitudes of emotions in her, and really, isn’t very hard to spot at all.

It’s still there and thinking about the betrayal still stings, still pricks her skin apart, still makes something twist inside her and—she’s not strong enough for this.

Kara should see that.

Why can’t Kara fucking see that?

“Hey, hey,” Kara whispers, ducking her head down to finally meet Lena’s eyes—something she does so often these days, like she’s automatically attuned to every emotion Lena feels, but always assumes it’s about something else. (Never considers it could be her). She lets go of her hand, tucks her chin up instead. “You good?”

Lena takes a deep breath in, feels like all her boxes are breaking out of their locks and spilling inside her brain, tries to focus on her breathing, tries to calm down.

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t had the easiest time of it, since Lex,” Lena says, words tumbling out of her mouth without any thought. She shouldn’t be saying this, shouldn’t be confiding in—“I’ve been having nightmares,” she admits, against every sense of control. “I try not to sleep.”

Kara’s eyes knit up even further, “I didn’t—oh. Um.”

“Yeah, it’s a little—I don’t know, feels weird.”

“Do you want to maybe talk to someone about it?” Kara asks, and Lena can feel how gentle it is, how the syllables sound softer than usual, more gentle, more guarded. “Kelly might know someone—should know someone. Probably does know someone.”

Lena sighs, regrets bringing it up immediately (just another thing to beat herself up over). “You know how private of a person I am, Kara—” and you’re the reason i have nightmares, they’re all about losing you and being alone and. “And really, it’s. It’s not that big of a problem.”

Kara nods, eyebrows still furrowed, eyes still crinkled with worry, lips still pursed together. But Lena thinks she’ll let it go, just look at her with pity a little and drop it.

Lena looks away. She can handle this, it’s nothing compared to everything else.

Tragically, Kara doesn’t drop it. “I can stay with you if that helps—”

“It won’t!” Lena says, rushes it out quickly, right as she thinks it, doesn’t give her mouth the time to filter her words out to something nicer. When Kara looks slightly taken aback, she amends, “I mean. I don’t think that’ll help.”

“Okay,” Kara says, still soft, still well-intentioned, still painfully unaware of what Lena is going through. “The offer still stands. Whenever you need me, all you need to do is call, remember? That’s not just for the big things. It’s for everything.”

Lena nods, thinks she manages to murmur out a thanks but she can’t be too sure because all she’s thinking about it that she doesn’t want to lie anymore, doesn’t want to nod when she wants to cry, doesn’t want to say thanks when she wants to yell, doesn’t want to do any of it. It’s taking too much out of her.

She can’t do this, needs to put an end to it, needs to stop stop stop because there’s no good that comes from this, Kara’s still here and she’s not going to leave and maybe that’s because it’s Lena who needs to leave, who needs to go very far away.

(She thinks about it a moment longer, and for what feels like the first time in this whole thing, she might have found herself something close to a solid plan she can actually follow through.)

***

Kara still comes over.

Even more often than before.

Inserts herself as a permanent fixture in Lena’s life, and that’s not a problem in itself because she’s sort of always been, since they met but things need changing.

Lena needs to feel that things have changed, she needs it, needs it in unhealthy amounts, needs it to function properly.

She can practically hear the words Kara had texted her earlier, the i can see you anytime now!! superspeed has its perks :) she sent a few days after she’d told her, the text that she’s been more than living up to. It rings in her head constantly, makes itself known every time Kara flies in to ‘check in’ with her just because.

And. It’s a little too much.

(Everything is a little too much.)

The good part is that she thinks she’s on the tail end of this entire confrontation, which… great, because she sort of wants to be done with it already, doesn’t want to drag it out any further, it’s not helping her anymore.

There’s nothing left to do about it, nothing left to do here in National City either.

(She remembers how desperate she was to come here, to be the Luthor that shares her home with a Kryptonian.

Oh, how the tables turned.)

The nagging hesitation that she’s probably the one being dramatic and bitter and petty still bothers her, still sticks itself to every one of her thoughts, still wants to alter all her actions.

It tells her she’s not being fair, tells her that if she thinks about it more (as if. as if there’s any plausible way to think about it more than she already is), she’ll find that it’s all her fault anyway.

Anything she thinks about long enough can lead back to being her fault—and sadly, that’s tried and tested. So it’s still a possibility, it being her fault. It’s always a possibility.

Like maybe, she should’ve changed her name altogether. L-Corp from LuthorCorp wasn’t enough—she could’ve changed her last name to Thorul (doesn’t deserve Kieran), or proved herself to be more trustworthy (doesn’t deserve Supergirl’s trust), or just done something else differently, just been better—

She tries to mute those thoughts down the best she can, tries to use any of her genius, apply some version of Le Chatelier’s principle to restore her sense of balance, do something, anything.

(They still bother her, just at a headphone safe volume. Laws of Chemistry can’t help with that.)

Later, she emails a proposal to focus more on the Metropolis Division of L-Corp to Sam, thinks it’s a good idea even without taking Kara into consideration whatsoever—with all the bad press from Lex, she could use the boost in sales, could use the press-coverage she’d get if she moved.

Sam texts her an enthusiastic omg please come here ruby and i miss you sm followed by wait is something wrong? after ten minutes.

Lena ignores both and texts her team to get her jet ready by next week.

***

Kara comes over again two days later like clockwork, like she can’t stay away too long. She’s three bags full of takeout, bright smile and light eyes, kisses Lena on the cheek as a greeting like it’s the most natural thing in the world and—

Lena can’t do this. She can’t do this. She can’t do this.

She doesn’t know why she’s subjecting herself to it anymore, doesn’t know what type of masochism this counts as but she knows her heart’s being used as a punching bag all the same.

It just. Needs to stop.

She needs it to stop.

Needs to tell Kara and move the fuck on, needs to love herself enough to not hurt herself each day, in different creative Karaesque ways.

Kara plops herself down right next to her, sits close to Lena even though the entire couch is empty. “I got your favorites from that Indian place we went to—”

“I knew it before you told me,” Lena cuts off, before she can really think about it, before her brain forces her to stop.

She exhales out all the air from her lungs in a single breath, is a little shocked that she went through with it. She feels like she’s plastered onto the floor, still and motionless, like she’s back in her simulations. She watches Kara carefully, doesn’t really process much but thinks there. that’s done now. it’s all over.

(It’s not. Not over. Never over. Will never be over because it’s Lena and the world loves torturing her.)

Kara scrunches up her eyebrows, “Knew wha—” She pauses, only has to look at Lena for a second before it clicks. “Wait, what?”

Lena gets up from the couch then, puts some distance between them. She doesn’t want Kara touching her for this. Thinks she might even not want Kara touching her, period.

“Lex told me weeks before you did,” she says, paces to the other side of the coffee table. Takes a deep breath. “After I killed him.”

“You didn’t kill—Lena, what?”

Lena waits for a moment, sees Kara’s eyes widen like it’s happening in slow-motion. She waits a moment longer, lets the information register, deep within both of them.

It’s all out in the open now.

Then, she says it again, repeats it for the sake of checking it off from the list of things she needs to say to Kara—she has to start somewhere. “Lex told me you’re Supergirl after I shot him. I don’t really want to revisit that with the details but—” she pauses. “I knew it before you told me.”

Kara looks distraught, looks betrayed and Lena wants to laugh at the irony. She sounds broken when she asks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What did you want me to say, Kara?” Lena asks, sounds a bit exhausted, feels a bit exhausted. “I can ask you the same thing.”

Kara’s about to open her mouth when Lena interjects.

“I'm not going to,” she clarifies. “I don’t—I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend I’m not hurt. I thought if I ignored it long enough, it would go away and everything would become normal but it’s not going away and—” she sighs. “I need time. Space.”

Kara’s voice breaks. She doesn’t address anything in detail, just says: “I never meant to hurt you.”

Lena looks away. “I know you didn’t, but—it still hurts, Kara.” She can’t keep her voice even anymore, feels like her blood’s boiling into tears but she won’t cry. Not again.

Kara doesn’t say anything, Lena doesn’t push her to. There’s no screaming match, no anger, no nothing. Lena doesn’t even feel angry anymore, mostly just wants all this to be over.

“I’m not going to be hurt forever,” Lena says. Feels the need to emphasize again, “Just need some time and space.”

“Is there anything I can say to—”

“No.”

Kara’s eyes are glazed over, she looks distant, lost, but manages a half nod. “I’m sorry.”

She’s not sure if she expected—wanted more of a struggle, more of a protest but is grateful, on some level, that she doesn’t get it all the same. She doesn’t know if she’d be able to quite handle it if there was. “I know.”

Kara leaves her apartment, leaves the takeout on the table and turns away without another word.

(Hours later, Lena eats the meal alone, slow and careful.

She finishes all three bags by midnight, doesn’t shed even a single tear.)

***

Lena gets a day off. There’s no one to spend it with.

It’s cold and lonely and sad.

All in all, it’s one of the better days she’s had lately.

***

When she makes all the preparations to shift to Metropolis, she realizes that going away isn’t really a decision she actively made.

It isn’t something she narrowed down on or circled out a list or anything, it was much more instinctive, maybe even a bit reckless.

It feels strange, trusting her intuition, feels unscientific, not like herself.

(She knows she’ll need to push herself more than usual to follow through.)

Not talking to Kara doesn’t help Lena nearly as much as she thought it would.

There’s a difference, definitely. A difference she can feel, that crashes against her and drags her under. It’s something she’s succumbed to, more or less.

Cutting Kara off, it’s—it’s hard, for starters.

Ignoring the texts is hard, not going to all places she might run into her is hard, avoiding the most prominent face in all of National City is hard. It’s all just hard.

Drowning herself in work is easy, in comparison, it’s the most obvious solution but it doesn’t particularly help, not with this.

There are things to do, for sure. There are all the details she needs to finalize to keep the headquarters in National City up and running. There’s arrangements to be made in Metropolis. There’s a lot to do but as a CEO, there’s a lot to do always, and it doesn’t distract her the way she wants it to.

She thinks about Kara still, is still at the very same place she was in before they stopped talking and it hasn’t really done anything, hasn't really changed anything for her emotionally.

Except—

Ever since she cut her off, she’s been a little lonelier than lonely.

It’s harder being alone, harder than before. Now that she had gotten used to the company, to Kara.

Everything considered, National City was cruel and traumatic and all things wrong but even with it’s crooked edges, bad memories and empty promises, it was home.

More home than any other place she’d lived in.

So when she starts packing up, gathering her clothes, a few valuables, her possessions, all of it fits into three neat suitcases. And that’s—she doesn’t want that. It makes it look more like she’s going for a weekend getaway than leaving.

(Even though she doesn’t really have much of anything else to take with her that matters, she calls a packing and moving service.

It needs to feel more permanent. She needs it to feel more permanent.)

***

Kara gets hurt two days before Lena’s scheduled to leave.

It’s some alien in some fight and Lena really can’t be bothered with the details when the news highlight reports that Supergirl is knocked unconscious.

Her mind is racing two hundred thousand miles an hour when Alex calls her, panicked and frantic, tells her about the injuries and background, asks her to come to the DEO as soon as she can but all of it sounds like white noise over the knowledge that Kara is unconscious. Unconscious.

Lena feels like she doesn’t have the right to be worried anymore, to care, especially now that she’d told Kara she needs space, she feels like she’s being a liar when she drops everything and rushes to the DEO.

The fact that the only reason she’s here is because they need her help—to catch the alien or build a device—is not lost on her but context doesn't seem very important when it’s stacked against the idea of Kara being hurt.

She knows it’s hypocritical, knows that in her darker moments she wanted to hurt Kara herself, wanted Kara to experience the same hurt she inflicted on her but now that that prospective is here, and real, (and scary scary scary), she crumbles it up and hides it away till the very part of her brain that produced that thought is scrubbed clean with eleven different detergents.

Brainy spots her first. Alex is standing right beside him in the medbay, looks just as concerned as Lena feels.

Alex sighs as soon as she sees her, pupils big and frantic, looking like she’s on high alert.

“She’s inside. Fell asleep. Stable, for now. We’ve activated the sun lamps,” she tells her mechanically, like it’s an automated response, like she’s speaking to her on an official Director of the DEO to Lena Luthor, CEO of L-Corp level.

Lena takes in a sharp breath, tries to stay formal, tries to remind herself that she’s here for a purpose, not just to make things worse with her emotions. “How long does it usually take for the yellow sun radiation to help?”

Brainy responds immediately, stats memorized. “Depending on the intensity of the attack and exposure to Kryptonite, it can take anywhere from 2 hours to 3 days.”

“This wasn’t a big attack,” Alex tells her, looks more defeated than anything, but Lena can still tell that the information is meant to reassure her. “Kara was just off her game. Careless. This was preventable.”

Lena nods, shoots her eyes to the room Kara’s kept in, barely prevents her urge to barge in. God, she needs to focus.

“We’re still working on finding the alien,” Alex says, looks at Brainy who’s engrossed in his tablet. “Could be anyone—from a member of Leviathan to a Fort Rozz escapee.”

Lena tries to process it, doesn't know how to respond, what to do with the information. What to do with herself. Just needs to be given a task so she can concentrate all her energy into a useful direction.

Alex turns to Brainy. “You need Lena’s help?”

“The Kryptonite signature is being tracked as we speak,” Brainy announces, not looking up. “My technology needs neither Miss Luthor, nor I to find who this despicable creature is in a matter of minutes.”

“I can still do something,” Lena says, a little desperately. She needs to help. Has to help, but once she meets their eyes, she realizes almost immediately that what seems like the Biggest Deal in the world to her is probably something everyone in the DEO is used to, is maybe even a common occurrence. They don’t need her, calling her was just a mistake, a precaution.

“We have it under control,” Alex assures her, confirms what Lena’s thinking. She knows that Alex is only being civil to her because Kara probably hasn’t told her yet, hasn’t told her they’re not really friends anymore, that Lena doesn’t belong here. “We’ve dealt with this multiple times. Kara’s tough.”

This is it then, Lena supposes. Very well. She doesn’t have any excuse to be here.

Lena looks to the window again, looks at Kara’s silhouette hooked up to at least ten different machines, a yellow tint across the room. She wants to walk away, wants to leave before she’s asked to, wants to save herself the embarrassment but can’t.

“You can go in, if you want,” Alex says. Lena’s eyes widen. What? “I’m sure Kara would appreciate it. Besides, I need to find J’onn and tell him what’s going on. You’d really be doing me a favor by keeping an eye on her.”

“Are—are you sure?” Lena asks, feels like she’s already overstepping being in the DEO and going in there and facing Kara seems like jumping right across the line.

“Go in, Lena. I can tell that you’re ten seconds away from exploding with worry.”

Alex gives her shoulder a squeeze, opens the door and pauses by the bedside to look at Kara’s charts when Lena walks in.

She tries to look around, focus on the machines she hasn’t seen before or the wall or even the fucking floor, just anywhere except Kara because she’s sure looking at Kara in this condition would most definitely make her want to die a little.

Alex leaves a minute later, says something about there’s water on the bedside table before leaving and Lena’s initial stress since the phone call hasn’t gone down even a little.

She walks to that bedside table then, pours a glass of water.

Lena’s standing right next to her, has her right there in her peripheral vision, but still has to give herself several moments till she finally wills herself to look at her.

Her reaction is automatic. As soon as she sees her, Lena feels her heart stop, feels a chill spread through her bones, feels her knees buckle at the sight, grips the edge of the table for stability. She’s never seen Supergirl, or Kara for that matter, look this small, this weak.

It makes her want to cry, makes her want to drop down and hug Kara’s body, shudders when she realizes how limp it’d probably be.

Lena’s still staring when Kara peels her eyes open—wait, what?

She’s not supposed to be awake.

“Lena?” Kara asks, blinking sluggishly, voice strained and hoarse, like it’s taking every atom of breath in her lungs to speak each word. “Is this a dream?”

Lena’s still frozen. Fuck. What’s the protocol here? There’s no nurse to call, no button to press, maybe she should ring Alex—

“Why does my face hurt?” Kara croaks, tries to push herself into a sitting position. Something about the way Kara winces accelerates Lena back into action.

“Lie back down, Kara.”

Fortunately, Kara listens to her, lies back down at once. Lena presses the glass of water in her hand against Kara’s lips, tilts it up and waits for Kara to gulp down at least half of it.

“Why—why are you crying?” Kara whispers, and only then does Lena notice the wetness across her cheeks. Kara looks around, distracted, eyes droopy. “Why am I here—what happened?”

“An alien attacked you. You were badly injur—” Lena tenses when Kara groans and squeezes her eyes shut. “You should rest.”

“I have to find him,” Kara wheezes out, but Lena can tell she’s not in any condition to move even an inch. “He was about to—”

“J’onn’s on it,” Lena interrupts. “Brainy and Alex too.” The coiled tension on Kara’s face eases just a little. “They have it under control.”

Kara hums in response, eyes still closed and Lena thinks Kara will fall back asleep, wishes she does so she can finally leave and not witness just how fragile, how hurt Kara is.

Kara opens her eyes again, and Lena can feel how restless she is, feels it in every second Kara spends staring at her.

”Lena, why are you crying?” Kara asks again, sounds so bothered by it, like out of everything—the solar flare, the wounds, the alien—Lena crying is the part that pains her the most and if anything, that just makes another sob escape her throat.

“You’re okay, Kara,” she says as a response, knows that’s not what Kara’s asking but needs to say it, needs to hear it herself. “You’re okay, I promise.”

Kara’s eyebrows furrow together, she reaches out a weak hand to rest on her head, just above the scar on forehead, and squeezes. Probably a headache—

She remembers that she’s supposed to be calling Alex. Or Brainy. Someone needs to check on Kara, someone more equipped to handle this. And, she should also stop crying, stop it because it’s bothering Kara, and because Kara is okay—

She haphazardly wipes a hand across her face, it doesn’t help the tears at all but makes her feel better anyway.

“Alex needs to know you’re awake. Alex or Brainy. I should probably tell someo—” Lena can’t complete her sentence, can’t stop crying, she can’t. Kara still has dried blood on her face, her lip is still busted and.

And she can’t watch this, can’t just stand here and see Kara in pain.

She has to call—

“Shh. Don’t worry. Just come here,” Kara says, blinking her eyes shut and opening her arms the slightest, reassuring Lena when it should be the other way around. “Don’t cry, please.”

“Kara, I need to—”

“I’m okay, Lena, I swear. Didn’t you just say that? You said I’m okay. I am,” Kara interrupts, but her voice still has an edge to it, a lilt of pain. Lena can look at her and see just how not-okay she is. “All I need right now is for you to come here and smile, alright? No more tears.”

Lena doesn’t move, can’t move, can’t just stay there with Kara and do nothing. Can’t just watch her suffer.

Kara opens her eyes again, looks annoyed that Lena hasn’t complied, still looks as weak as she did when Lena came in. She tries again, “Come lay with me? Please?”

Despite desperately wanting to do just that, Lena tenses when she thinks back to where they’re supposed to be right now—not talking and apart and definitely not here. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”

“We can go back to fighting tomorrow,” Kara pleads, sounds drowsy, like she’s on the verge of falling asleep. “Lay down with me? Please?”

Despite every muscle in her limbs protesting, she forces herself to comply.

Kara’s hurt. They can go back to fighting tomorrow. Lena can leave. Kara can recover. This doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.

“That’s it,” Kara says just as Lena pushes herself onto the bed, moves carefully, hesitantly, doesn’t want to graze any of Kara’s wounds. “My personal sunlamp is here. Recovery’s gonna be a breeze now.”

Lena clenches her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to think about boundaries anymore, doesn’t want to bother Kara, doesn’t want to worry her with anything unnecessary, just stays silent, even when Kara wraps an arm around her, even when she grips her shoulder with her fingers.

She can’t stay silent when Kara winces right after. “Is that hurting you?” Lena asks, whispers it low enough as to not startle her. “I can move—”

“Shh.” Kara doesn’t sound irritated, and when she squeezes her shoulder without wincing this time, Lena relaxes a bit. “I’m indestructible,” Kara says, eyes still closed, still holding Lena like that’s the only thing that matters.

Lena just hums. She doesn’t want to tire Kara with small talk, doesn’t want her to exert herself any more than she absolutely has to.

“There’s very few things that truly hurt me.”

Lena shuts her eyes close, doesn’t respond. When Kara falls asleep seconds later, she’s glad she doesn’t have to.

***

The doorbell rings for the seventh time this hour.

The mover told her he’s taking a quick break, and it’s a little quicker of a break than Lena expected but there’s still a couple boxes that need to be loaded into the truck, probably wouldn’t take more than two rounds, and she wants it done as soon as she can, so she’s sort of grateful that he’s back when she opens the door—

She comes to face with Kara.

What?

She doesn’t get time to fully process it, doesn’t get time to wrap that information around her head when Kara starts speaking.

“I just came to say that I appreciate it, uh, you coming to see me—” Kara pauses, looks behind her, eyes widening. “Lena, why is your apartment empt—are those suitcases?”

Lena sighs. Of fucking course, she thinks. Obviously Kara would show up to her apartment uninvited in the middle of a fight, obviously she’d question the suitcases, obviously that’s something that’s happening to Lena right now. Obviously. Of course.

Kara sort of barges in the room then, bewildered, looks around and stands in the middle.

“Lena, what is this?”

Lena doesn’t answer, asks instead—because really, Kara has no business questioning her, or being here for that matter. “What are you doing here, Kara?”

“What is this?” Kara repeats, punctures each word with a kind of force she’s never used with Lena before, looks a little angry too, and all of it really makes Lena want to scoff. “You’re leaving? You’re running away, huh? Are you serious—”

“I’m not running away!” Lena snaps, louder than she means to. “I don’t owe you an explanation anymore.”

“That’s how it’s going to be then?” Kara says, with a fire that Lena’s never seen. “You weren’t even going to tell me? Just leave?”

“Kara, don’t do this. Don’t make me do this.”

“You wouldn’t have told me?”

Lena laughs bitterly. “Tell you what? That I’m leaving? Is that information I owed to you after—” she cuts herself off. She doesn’t have the energy to fight. “I would’ve texted, okay? I wouldn’t have—I’m not cruel.”

Lena can see the tears bunch up in Kara’s eyes, can see her resolve crumbling, can hear it with how her voice breaks, “Why? Is it—is it because of me?”

“No. Yes. I just—I don’t know, okay? I didn’t put a lot of thought into it.”

“Then don’t go,” Kara says, and a tear finally falls, runs down her cheek and off her jaw. “Lena—”

“Just. Stay safe, okay?” Lena interjects. She doesn’t want to argue about leaving, knows that it’s something she’s doing, something that’s set in stone.

Kara’s jaw trembles, she’s crying freely now, not even trying to suppress it.

“Please be careful,” Lena whispers, doesn’t want to cry too but, fuck, there’s tears stinging her eyes already. “I don’t want to read about you being knocked unconscious ever again.”

Kara wipes her face with the sleeve of her suit. “You would hear about it instead if you didn’t leave. I’m sure Alex would call—”

“Kara.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighs, dejected. Her eyes are still glassy, she still looks like she’s on the verge of breaking down completely. “I’ll be careful, stay safe. Promise.”

Lena nods, takes a deep breath. The reassurance washes over her, calms her down, placates the part of her brain that’s been chanting i need kara to be okay before i leave kara needs to be okay she needs to be fine or i won’t be able to go she can’t be hurt ever again i can’t leave i can’t leave i can’t leave.

(She can leave. Needs to leave. Needs to put herself first, needs to patch herself up before anything else, needs to heal.)

“You have to stay safe too,” Kara says, and Lena can hear the shakiness in her voice, can hear how much Kara’s hurting. “Can’t have you getting in trouble again, not when I’m not going to be near enough to—” her sentence drowns in a sob.

Lena can’t bear it, can’t stand the sight of Kara like this, eyelashes clumping together, has to do something, say something. “I’ll be with Sam, I swear. I’ve even hired a new security detail—”

“Can I check them out? Train with them?” Kara interrupts, has enough pleading in her tone that Lena’s vision starts swimming, almost makes her miss the desperation in Kara’s eyes. “Give me something to work with here. How can I trust someone—”

“Kara,” she interjects again, and it seems to be the only argument she has. She wants to be stern, wants to be stringent but it comes out soft instead. Like a request. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Kara starts crying again, loudly and just—

Lena doesn’t even try to stop herself when she cups her cheeks, pulls her down to make eye contact.

“Kara. Kara—”

It doesn’t seem like Kara hears her, or pays any heed to her call for attention. Just whispers, desperate and quick, “Please don’t go.”

Lena clenches her jaw, swallows back her tears. She needs this—

“Please don’t go, Lena.”

Lena looks up at her, looks at the imploration in her eyes, and without even considering it for a second, rises up and pulls her into a kiss.

Lena can feel how stunned Kara is, can feel it in the hitch of her breath, can feel it in the ten seconds she takes to kiss back, can feel it in the hesitation of her lips.

She feels it for a moment longer and then Kara grips her waist, pulls her closer, and kisses her hard and rough and soft and with singular purpose, like Lena is all she’s thinking and breathing.

Lena’s stomach flips over, heat courses through her body and thrums all her senses into a high alert and it gives her brain the time it requires to catch up, to realize what she’s done.

She rushes to pull away, puts a gentle hand on Kara’s chest and pushes till there’s some distance between them.

She walks a couple steps back, breathing heavy, face red. She concentrates all her energy into managing to say, “You should go.”

The silence between them is louder than ever, and what just happened sinks into the space between them, pushes them further apart rather than bringing them together and Lena just wants to disappear, wants to melt into a puddle on the floor and evaporate.

She takes thirty seconds to speak again. “I’ll—We’ll talk, alright? I just need some time—”

“And space,” Kara completes, shakes her head and sighs. She looks like she wants to say something, like she wants to give convincing Lena another shot, do something to make her stay. She doesn't. Just walks to the door, turns back to say, “Take care, Lena,” and leaves.

Chapter Text

Kara Danvers is still Kara Danvers.

She still goes to CatCo sharp at 9 (still is sometimes-good/mostly-bad at her day job), still fights the bad guys (still has to face the Big Villain of the day over and over), still shows up to game night (still sucks just as bad at Trivial Pursuit).

For the most part, no one really notices anything is off, and Kara decides that’s maybe because nothing even is.

Kara is still Kara and she’s still Supergirl, and she still smiles, still saves, still socializes. Still does everything she’s supposed to, does what she always did.

(Still doesn’t have time to be sad, doesn’t have time to feel her world collapse around her as she loses yet another part of herself—part of her world, loses the person she loves so much that she can’t even fathom it most of the time.

Doesn’t break down, doesn’t have the time.)

Kara is still Kara and she’s still in National City, still protects it—still vows to, up until her very last breath, and Lena is maybe not very Lena at the moment and she’s in Metropolis and—

Lena is in Metropolis. Period.

No commas, no ands. That’s the whole sentence, the whole issue. She’s in Metropolis and has been in Metropolis for what feels like decades, and Kara… deals with it, kind of. Has to deal with it, has no other choice.

She misses Lena a little, then misses Lena a lot, then misses her some more, but mostly gets on with her days, has too much on her plate to let it affect her in a way that manifests itself more than that.

Kara texts her sometimes, knows she shouldn’t but she’s never been too good at handling loss (especially not when she can help it). She asks Lena how she is, tells her unimportant, mundane details of her day: what alien she fought, which article she’s working on—stuff like that. Nothing big. Never mentions the big stuff, never tells her how much she misses her, how she feels a little bit incomplete ever since she left, how much she loves her.

(How much she’s in love with her. Probably. Maybe. Jury’s been out on that for a while.)

Doesn’t do any of that because there’s some semblance of space even she needs to acknowledge, no matter how much she doesn’t want to, and she gets that—gets the whole space thing.

Besides, the only purpose of the texts is just to let Lena know she’s still here if she wants that (she most likely does not want that), really doesn’t want Lena to forget her completely (if that hasn’t happened already)—wants to give Lena space, understands completely that she should, but also wants her to know these things.

And it’s okay (bearable, at max, on a good day. not okay. never okay.)—it’s all okay—space et cetera, that is—really, it is.

She’s had time to herself, time to think, time to convince herself how okay this seemingly not-okay thing is, time to realize that no matter what, she’s still Kara Zor-El, still has a world full of responsibilities on her shoulder and is still made of steel, alright? She can deal with it, can handle it—

(Even if she feels like she can’t.)

(Even if it’s her body that’s made of steel, not her heart.)

—and that it’s all being dealt with, alright?

She’s done this before, too, to some extent. With Mon-El. Even though this feels about four hundred thousand times more intense, (which she should really unpack why), that experience helps in a way, makes her understand that isolating herself won’t help, that she needs to accept it, and understand it, and maybe then she’ll somehow navigate through it.

So she talks to Alex about it, talks to Nia, even Brainy, talks to anyone willing to listen, really just wants to talk about it till all her emotions empty out to words and finally stop bothering her.

Alex tells her to hold on, tells her to stay hopeful, tells her that things get better, will get better (spoiler: they don’t) and tells her she misses Lena too like that’s supposed to be some type of consolation.

Nia forwards her a playlist filled to the brim with Taylor Swift, and Kara listens to it on repeat for about a week before Nia forces her to delete it. It’s fair, all things considered—she couldn’t stomach all it made her feel, how it highlighted all the emotions she’s been trying to suppress and that kind of music is better off far away from her.

Brainy, when pestered endlessly, calculates that there’s a 21.56% chance that Lena comes back (the headquarters for l-corp are still in national city, so by my calculations—) (not national city, brainy. comes back to me), and even if that’s not really helpful in the standard good advice kind of way, it’s more helpful than the rest, plasters itself onto her brain, latches to every corner of her cortex till it’s Basic Information, like her name or address or birthday, till each decimal of the 21.56 is dissolved in her blood.

And at times, that 21.56% feels like something—a string to hold onto, a lifeline, a beacon of hope.

Other times, it feels like an impossible venture.

But 21.56% isn’t zero, and most of the time, that 21.56% is everything, is all that keeps her going. It’s what gives her the strength to get out of bed and face the music, gives her something to work with, a purpose.

Kara’s always dealt with the shots not being in her favor, has turned the tables when the chances were even lower, so having any kind of assurance that there’s still some scope—even if it’s less than a quarter in probability and any sane math major would call it useless—it’s just what Kara needs to fuel her on.

So when she thinks about how Lena’s really in Metropolis, how she really just up and left all the way to another city, she doesn’t always feel like the world stops spinning (at least not anymore), doesn’t always ache in a way she can’t quite explain.

It doesn’t always immobilize her with pain, but it always makes her feel something. Always affects her one way or the other.

Always makes her want to hug that 21.56% closer to her chest.

(21.56% is more more more more than enough, she thinks—believes. 21.56%, she can deal with.)

***

Realizing that she’s in love with Lena isn’t a surprise, so to say, isn’t something she’s particularly shocked about.

The knowledge hit her at once, like a wave, all-encompassing, crashing and flooding against her, drowning her in it a little and then leaving in a do what you will with this information kind of way.

It isn’t something she was particularly aware of in the past, not something she thought about ever but looking back, she can’t remember a time Lena didn’t make her feel like this, when thinking of Lena didn’t erupt butterflies in her stomach or make her heart beat a little faster.

She might’ve always felt like this about her, might’ve always been a little bit in love with her, just didn’t think to label it because (because ultimately, kara is still kara and kara has the worst luck with romance, because lena deserves better, because she shouldn’t even like lena like that, let alone love her, shouldn't like anyone, because everything and everyone she loves gets taken away from her—) labeling is a stupid earth tradition.

(It’s not like she buried it down or anything, that’s dumb. And not true.)

All in all, knowing that she’s in love with her is more of an oh, more of an okay, more of an alright than whatever shock classifies as.

She thinks, at least on some level, the feelings have to be reciprocated, right?

Like, Lena did kiss her. That did happen. It isn’t a figment of her imagination, it’s not something she made up.

(She doesn’t think about how the kiss burned like acid on her lips, how it felt like the final seal on an eviction letter, doesn’t think about it, flat out refuses to.)

And… it makes sense, doesn’t it? Lena likes her, maybe, and Kara likes her, definitely, and—

It’s just.

It makes her want to fix this all the much more.

(Even when it feels unfixable. Even when she thinks she doesn’t deserve the fixing.)

***

She stops texting Lena after a month.

When she notices all her unanswered messages have reached well into the hundreds, without any acknowledgement except a Read in the bottom right corner, she stops bothering. Decides to give Lena even more space. All the space, (whatever she needs before she comes back to her), doesn’t want to be too overbearing, fears that she might’ve even been toeing that line already.

(Maybe the 21.56%, the space and time Lena demanded, entails a no texting clause she didn’t notice before, that she probably missed in the fine print.)

Which is okay—great, even, it’s totally fine that Lena’s setting boundaries and whatnot. She’s proud of her for it, granted that doesn’t mean anything to Lena anymore, granted all of it is going against Kara’s interest in the first place—she’s still proud.

Lena can have space, have time, can move to another city, not reply to any of her texts, do whatever she wants, whatever she has to—anything that makes her happy.

And if that doesn’t include Kara anymore, (or at least doesn’t include her for the time being), if Lena doesn’t want to talk to her or see her right now, that’s totally fine, doesn’t bother Kara at all.

It’s fine. (It’s—whatever.)

Plus, Lena hasn’t blocked her or anything, hasn’t cut off the possibility of communication altogether and that feels… significant somehow. Feels like it could mean something.

That it isn’t over yet, maybe. That they still have a shot of getting a season 2, despite the low ratings and viewership.

And if Kara doesn’t get to interact with Lena till their show is renewed—that’s fine, she thinks. It’s fine.

(Finefinefine.)

(It’s not.)

***

Surprisingly, it turns out to be not all that fine. Turns out to be not fine whatsoever.

Kara… cries a lot. (To put it lightly.)

She cries when she’s flying and no one’s looking, cries when she’s at her desk at CatCo and that one person from HR is maybe looking, cries when she’s watching reruns of Lena’s favorite baking show in her bed, cries when she’s in the shower, on her couch, on Alex’s couch and she just. Cries a lot.

Kelly says it’s healthy, that it’s an outlet for her emotions and there’s nothing wrong or weak about it at all. Keeps saying that crying is healthy, missing Lena is healthy, not leaving bed on Sundays is healthy and it’s all just healthy healthy healthy but the problem is that Kara doesn’t feel very healthy right now, feels like her heart is beating backwards and everything is just wrong.

Like the first letter in the alphabet has suddenly changed to J and no one but her has noticed.

No one but her cares.

Crying is healthy, though, that’s what Kelly says, a stance she maintains throughout Kara’s (numerous) breakdown(s) but it being ’healthy’ (she feels it deserves quotations now, feels like it’s a lie) still doesn’t stop her eyes from hurting, doesn’t stop it from feeling like she’s used too much of her heat vision in too short of a time period.

So, what Kara’s really thinking is that—

(It isn’t healthy at all.)

—she’s not fine, that crying may or may not be healthy, and 21.56% may or may not be low enough to give up the idea of Lena coming back entirely, but it’s definitely low enough to cry about, healthy or not, definitely deserves a little bit of grieving.

Alex doesn’t really understand that as well as she does, though, doesn’t really seem to see eye to eye with Kara about things in general these days.

Really, that alone should be a good enough reason to cancel sister night, but Kara is still Kara, and Kara doesn’t run away from things, especially not from her sister, not even when she’s a mess and Alex will most definitely call her out on it (and they’ll have another passive argument till one of them concedes without wanting to)—not even then. Because if she cancels sister night, then.

Then it’d be a Thing, maybe—the crying and the grieving, regardless of its health factor. Then it’d be an entire issue, a whole cause-effect-prevention discussion. Which it doesn’t need to be because this...situation...isn’t a Thing.

So what if Alex and her are skirting around each other more than usual? That’s not a reason to cancel. Not a reason to officially make it a Thing.

And that’s somewhat how she gets herself into this predicament.

They had been working together in a comfortable silence—something that they did when they had to bring work home and didn’t want to cancel sister night (because that’s not an option. you don’t cancel sister night ever, not when you’re Kara, not when you’re Alex)—quiet conversations here and there, but for the most part, just giving each other company.

“How—” Alex starts, breaks the silence they barely established too early for Kara’s comfort. She pauses till she gets Kara’s attention, looks at her for a second with something resembling pity and Kara hates this conversation already, wants to undo her decision to accept Alex’s invite entirely. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Kara replies. It’s not the worst question she could be asked, and if she plays it carefully, she can probably redirect this conversation to neutral ground quick and swift. She tries, “It’s a puff-piece, this article. Clickbait-y, just like Andrea wants.”

“I’m not talking—how are you, Kara? How are you feeling?”

Kara sighs, (the redirection technique has a very low success rate, in her defense), and in her head, she can see two routes, can see two roads (diverged in a yellow road—robert frost, was it? maybe she can make a second attempt and redirect the conversation to him?) and. She has a clear choice here, a pop-up with two bubbles on the screen, an obvious decision.

On one hand, Alex knows what happened, knows the entire story, all the details, and Kara can probably just briefly brush up on some of them and leave it, end of story. It’ll probably come to bite her in the butt at a later point but. That’s not present-Kara’s headache, is it? It’s a very solid choice.

Or, well, more reasonably, she could try and make sense of what she’s feeling, try speaking about it and at the very least attempt to figure out what’s happening in her head along the way and just talk, you know? Talk—do all that talking entails. Make it a Thing, officially.

Or, the wildcard: that whole Robert Frost thing. (She adds this in panic, needs a plan C). Low success rate but maybe she frustrates Alex into dropping it?

She takes too long to make the decision, though, (takes too long to make all the important decisions in all her important relationships), because Alex speaks up before she can reply.

“Are you,” she starts again, a bit hesitant now, “holding up fine?”

The clarity of the question rules out the choice between ambiguous route and ambiguous route wildcard edition, makes it obvious that option B wins and this is another one of their Conversations (or, equivalently, as the trend follows these days—arguments).

And she refuses to let it be. She’s done this with Mon-El, dealt with this and—she can’t do the whole shutting people off thing knowing it reaps no benefits.

Maybe option B minus all the petty drama Kara’s head included is the best route—road less taken by or whatever. She’s willing to make this a Thing if it’s worth the hassle, really just wants to be done with whatever this whole problem is.

She speaks before she can overthink. “You know that part in movies, where the protagonist,” breaks up with someone, her brain supplies but—“loses someone? And there’s lots of ice cream and ugly crying? That’s how I am.”

Saying it doesn’t make her feel any lighter. Or better. And Alex’s is taking too long to reply. And Kara doesn’t want to meet her eyes and see the pity again. And—

They could leave it here, she thinks.

Kara could gain the confidence and meet Alex’s eyes and get looked at with pity, even though she doesn’t want to, and let it be but that would make it option A, and this isn’t option A because Kara’s life never has option A’s.

This can only be talk talk talk and probably cry.

“Kara—” Alex says after eons, voice pitchy and sympathetic and Kara can see that she chose the wrong path, (can see that there is no right path), that Robert Frost was right there and they could be talking about literature right now.

She digs her nails into her palm and just wishes for once that she could feel the sting, could draw out blood and force Alex to get a bandaid—anything that’s not this because she can not do this.

“No,” she says, suddenly, shocks herself by saying it. “No. I’m not allowing this. This is a sister night, we’re not doing this today. I don’t need to ruin it by moping.”

“You’re not ruining it.”

“I—Can we just work? Can we not do this right now?”

“We haven’t been doing,” Alex says, “this,” in air quotes, “for a long time now. It needs to be done now.”

“I have spoken about this!” Kara bristles, because she has. Speaking about it is all that’s she’s done. It’s all she’s done and it’s not working. Maybe that Mon-El thing didn’t teach her anything. “You know I have.”

“You don’t even—you end the conversation before it can even start,” Alex points out, accusing finger stretched. “Talking about it for a minute and ignoring everything I say isn’t talking about it.”

“I don’t end the conversation—”

“Oh, yeah?” Alex challenges. “Care to explain the time you blew your powers out for no valid reas—”

“He was about to attack L-Corp! Lena,” Kara emphasizes, because, how is this even an argument? “What was I supposed to do?”

“Um. Let me take a wild guess. Contact the DEO—”

Kara’s chest feels tight. Alex doesn’t get it. This was a wrong idea from the start. “What if she got hurt before we got there, huh? What then?”

“You can’t just jump fist first into danger like that, Kara!”

“When it’s convenient to the DEO, that’s all I seem to be doing,” Kara laughs.

A silence follows. Alex’s face falls. Kara’s brain catches up and she somewhat starts to regret it.

Okay. Okay. They might need to reel things back.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sighs into her hands. “Look, do you see why I end the conversation?”

Alex cocks up an eyebrow playfully, and Kara can’t help but thank Rao for this not becoming a whole other argument. “We’re admitting that you end the conversation, then?”

“We’re admitting that a little,” Kara smiles, exhales out all the tightness that was restricting her, her defences falling down. “You want to know how I’m feeling? I’m—I’m not very okay,” she admits. “I’m trying to be. It’s taking me a while.”

Alex moves closer to her, grips her hand and squeezes. “You need to stop thinking so much,” she says. “Can you just, I don’t know, talk without considering ten other things in the equation? Stop thinking about the words coming out of your mouth and speak.”

She considers it for a moment and says the first thing that pops up in her head. No point not trying. “You know, I knew something was off that night,” she starts, continues only because of Alex’s encouraging smile. “The game night all those months back. I told you I wanted to tell her the truth, that I was worried about her—”

“And I told you she’d been through too much and to let her have some time to readjust.”

“Yeah,” Kara whispers, runs a hand through her hair, feels pinpricks all over her body just at the memory. “I could tell something was going on there. She looked… bothered. If I’d just—” Kara sighs. She doesn’t know, doesn’t know what she’d just. “I don’t know.”

Alex purses her lips together in a half-grimace, half-smile.

(She wonders for just a moment if anyone, Alex or any of their friends, blames her for Lena leaving.

She took Lena away from all of them too.

She doesn’t ask, though, knowing the answer would hurt too much, probably, and with the amount of uncertainty in her life she’s trying to get accustomed to, not knowing this one thing is definitely not the worst of the lot.)

“We met so many times after she’d found out. You were pushing me to tell her, and if I’d have listened—”

Alex cuts her off. “Kara, what’s the point of wondering?”

“I should’ve known better,” she says, wants it to sound much harsher than it comes out, because she deserves harsh right now but she’s too tired to even do self-beration right. “I should’ve seen how much she was hurting.”

Alex’s voice is soft again, like she’s laying out mini-cushions in Kara’s ears as she speaks to soften the blow. “You can’t change what’s already happened.”

Kara knows that, knows that she can’t change anything no matter what but—“It’s Lena,” she says, and as always, expects it to explain everything.

Alex stays silent at that, probably doesn’t even have anything to say, not like Kara gave her a lot to work with, so Kara decides to continue, decides that there’s not much else to lose here and Alex wants her to talk and not think about it so she might as well.

“Remember when she finally came to game night?” Kara asks, almost laughs at the memory. “I had to try, and like, really put an effort there. It was so hard for her to trust people, but I made her trust me. Over and over again, I made her believe that I was her best friend who’d never ever hurt her—” she can’t complete the sentence.

Alex says, gentle, “Look, you were damned either way, Kara. Your choice to conceal your identity, it wasn’t born out of a place of maliciousness—”

“Doesn’t matter where it’s born out of if this is the end product.”

Alex shakes her head, just mutters out a soft Kara.

“I wanted to protect her. From everything, anything that could hurt her—I just always wanted to protect her,” Kara continues, smiles the saddest smile. Maybe even just a frown rotated 360°. “Didn’t realize that she might need protection from me.”

Alex stays quiet for a few moments. “You’re not being very fair to yourself right now,”

Kara doesn’t pay that much heed—this is fair. This is all a direct result of what she did. She only has herself to blame, only has herself to beat up.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says ultimately. “I can’t afford being like this, the world can’t afford me being like this—”

“You’re allowed to hurt, Kara,” Alex interrupts. “There’s no right way to do this, there’s no fixed path for you to follow.”

(No fixed path for her ever, she almost thinks. Just gets mislead alwaysalwaysalways, gets redirected and. That’s the problem, maybe. Her life has too many variables—has always had too many variables—for her to expect Lena to be a constant.

It’s an almost-thought, though, at the end. She chooses very consciously not to think it.)

“What if—” Her voice cracks regardless, (she’s never been great at settling for almosts), eyes gleaming with tears that she’s tired of crying all the time. “What if she’s the one for me, but I’m not for her?”

“You can’t lose hope, Kara,” Alex tells her simply.

Which is true, mostly. Hope, help, compassion for all—isn’t it? Hope. Hopehopehope. 33.3% of her entire persona (a starkly higher number than the chances of Lena coming back—but. hope.)

(If she doesn’t have hope, what does she have?)

The crying starts again then, doesn’t stop when Alex pulls her in, doesn’t stop when the pack of tissues she opened day before gets over, doesn’t stop when Alex tells her to change into pajamas, doesn’t stop with her shh-ing, doesn’t stop even when she pretends it stops just so Alex can finally leave—doesn’t stop, period.

When she goes to bed, she feels like she’s a little in over her head, sleepy and confused and like she’ll always be a little sad till she gets Lena back, will still be Kara but a little less so.

The feeling doesn’t go away in the morning.

(The crying doesn’t either.)

(Good thing it’s healthy.)

***

In a moment of weakness, she calls Sam.

Like all her moments (of probable strength, Kara wishfully thinks), Lena doesn’t pick up.

(Sam does text her, though, hours later; a simple she’s okay.

Kara has enough control to not text back.)

***

Nia writes one of Kara’s articles when she can’t focus.

It’s a piece about a gala that happened a day back, something about who wore what that Kara can’t force herself to concentrate on for more than ten seconds at a time, that she just can’t get her head into.

(Supergirl still wins every battle she fights even when Kara Danvers is slacking—that’s enough, maybe. That’s what matters anyway.)

And it’s not like she hasn’t been trying, okay? She’s been sitting on her desk all day, laptop open, word document right in front of her, but after eighteen cycles of typing and retyping the first sentence, Nia grunts and takes pity on her.

She puts the article on her desk not long after, stares at her with an Expression that Kara’s half-sure means to convey something.

“What?” Kara asks, when the staring doesn’t stop. “Thank you?” she guesses, a second later, scrunches her eyebrows the slightest bit but the expression doesn’t go away.

Nia addresses her after a long pause, eyes narrowing. “You should’ve tried harder to make her stay.”

Ah. There it is.

Kara‘s lip twitches upwards involuntarily, the not-smile that she’s gotten too used to pasting on her face, that she’s becoming better and better at masking into a publicly acceptable real smile.

Yeah, she could’ve done that.

Could’ve convinced Lena to stay, could’ve convinced her to forgive her, could’ve been selfish again—“Do you think I wouldn’t have tried if I thought it’d help?”

Nia shakes her head furiously. “You’ve just been so. So—”

“Sad?” Kara prompts, and can't help but laugh when Nia nods. Sad doesn’t even begin to describe it.

“You miss her,” Nia says, and Kara plasters on her not-smile again. “I can bet she misses you. Why are you both putting yourselves through this?”

“This is exactly where we were meant to end up,” Kara says. This is their climax. No matter how, when or where—they were always meant to end up here. “Some part of me knew it was too good to be true.” She remembers how queasy she felt before telling Lena, how unsure. Remembers refusing to overthink Lena’s acceptance, just wanting to bask in the comfort of it but. “I kind of bombarded her a little, you know?”

Nia looks confused, Kara takes it as a sign to continue.

“Like, went to meet her all the time,” Kara explains guiltily, still a little shameful. Not her best move. “I wanted to get the most of it, make up for lost time.”

“That’s okay—”

“It’s not,” she cuts off. “I unloaded—thought I unloaded this huge secret to her. I should’ve let her process it. Maybe if I’d—I don’t even know,” she sighs. “I’ve never dealt well with the prospect of being abandoned by the people I love,” she says, because that is something she does know. Her voice sounds even, calm, not even a trace of vulnerability in it. (She’s accepted it, a bit.) “Guess I need to start dealing with it.”

“You aren’t going to be abandoned this time,” Nia assures, fierce words and soft voice. “We have your back. And… Dreamer told me all of this will work out. The whole Lena thing.” She adds, teasing and light-hearted, “And like, you better deal with whatever this is, either way. I can’t write all your articles.”

“To be fair, I didn’t even ask you to write this one,” she quips back, forces out a laugh to play off Nia’s tone, too breathy and too sudden but passable, her not-smile unwavering in all its glory.

“Just go home and sleep it off, okay?” Nia says, sounds a little bit like a standard let’s-part-on-an-optimistic-note line that’s she’s been hearing way too much, but she does lean over to squeeze her shoulder and. It’s nice, having people. “J’onn and I will handle whatever comes up.”

Kara nods, doesn’t tell her how she can’t sleep, doesn’t tell her how she’s been waking up in cold sweat far more often than she wants to, just nods and doesn’t mention any of it.

(She thinks it, though. Can’t control that.

Thinks about when Lena told her she had nightmares, thinks about how she’s been having some of her own since—the worst, most recurring one: Lena alone in her bed, trembling with body-wracking sobs, shaking with tears, and Kara, trapped in her pod, walls closing in on her, can’t breathe, can’t move, unable to reach her.

Doesn’t mention it to Nia, or anyone, doesn’t want to burden them, but thinks about it a lot.)

***

Pictures of Lena are still hung up on her fridge—bodies pressed together, cuddles on her couch, kisses on cheeks—all of it. Her spare clothes are still in a neat bundle in Kara’s closet, still have their own dedicated corner from whenever Lena wanted an impromptu sleepover and didn’t want to head back home to pack an overnight bag. The chessboard Kara bought exclusively to play with Lena is still on display on her coffee table. There’s still a long, long thread of (not one-sided) text messages on her phone, even screenshots of chats where Lena was being particularly cute—

And just. It’s all still there, isn’t going to go away because Kara won’t let it, still there because the evidence of Lena is everywhere in her life, in all the ways Kara doesn’t mind, in all the ways she does.

Which is how she finds one of Lena’s sweaters while picking an outfit for the day.

The sweater is there, in Lena’s corner in her closet, right beside the flannel Kara was about to wear to the grocery store, just in the corner all soft and fuzzy and gray and always a little too big on her, (making her look so soft and so angelic and so so so lovely), and it’s just there, unapologetically.

Kara grabs it on instinct, runs her fingers gently, longingly, through its fabric and hugs it to her chest (maybe even shuts her eyes for a microsecond and pretends it’s Lena instead).

And she’s not actively seeking these things out, doesn’t want to find reminders of what she had and lost and torture herself but—

They’re everywhere.

They’re everywhere and Kara can’t avoid all of it, doesn’t even want to avoid any of it.

In fact, she wants to find Lena’s sweater at the randomest time of the day, wants to feel the fabric, wants to check if it still smells like her, like a faint-almost-not-there vanilla, wants it more than anything, needs it, in fact.

Even if she’s not actively looking for it, she doesn’t not want to keep finding it because all of it is just proof to how deeply rooted Lena was in her life, how entwined they were (sort of even makes her feel better about how devastatingly long it’s taking her to untangle them apart now), and no matter what, she doesn’t want to stop getting that reminder.

So she shouldn’t really be blamed when her brain starts to wonder if she’s as omnipresent in Lena’s life as Lena is in hers.

(It’s normal, to wonder. Maybe even healthy.)

(She’ll have to ask Kelly.)

If Lena still gets reminded of Kara the way Kara gets reminded of her, if Lena still thinks about her despite all efforts to stop, if Lena still has her NCU sweatshirt, if she still wears it on her bad days like she used to, if—if Lena still wears the watch.

Kara thinks she probably doesn’t. There’s really no reason left to.

She knows that at this point, she should consider herself lucky if Lena even has it anywhere in her new apartment (new life, new city, new everything) at all, if she hasn’t thrown it away first thing while packing.

It’s okay, though. Space. Time. Not-wearing-the-watch. She understands all of it.

(She plucks out the picture hanging on her fridge right before she sleeps, the one of her and Lena from game night months back, the one she knows Lena has framed in her apartment.

She grips the picture tight, stares at it till all its pixels blur into each other in her head—Lena pressed against her, soft smile, arms wrapped around her.)

(She hopes that maybe, just maybe, Lena hasn’t thrown the frame away yet.

Maybe she is thinking of her too, gripping the exact same picture, even if she’s miles away.)

***

It goes on the same way it has.

And Kara wants to stop missing her all the time, wants to stop filling all the empty spaces in her with Lena, wants to inject herself with another kind of obsession instead (Nia suggests TikTok) (J’onn tells her to visit Clark) (Alex tells her to talk it out, again) (Brainy tells her he agrees with the TikTok idea), just wants to stop being so tired and sad.

(Ultimately, she does download TikTok. It helps for about half an hour.)

***

Supergirl starts patrolling. A lot.

During the day. During the night. In-between. All the time.

Not even for the particularly important stuff, not just DEO sanctioned work either—just starts dealing with all sorts of petty crimes. Robbery. Theft. Trespassing. Even traffic violations.

Supergirl starts patrolling a lot and. That helps, maybe.

(In other news, she makes an enemy out of the NCPD.

All things considered, the scale tipping further down doesn’t seem like a concern.)

***

She thinks she’s never going to get used to a life that doesn’t have Lena.

***

A month passes; she gets used to it.

(Being used to it doesn’t mean liking it, though.

But that seems like a non-issue.

Seems like just a part of her reality—Kara Danvers is still Kara Danvers, disliking this particular aspect of her life, or not.)

***

It takes her eyes longer than usual to adjust to the sudden brightness of the sun lamps. Her vision fades in and out of consciousness, bright and dark and bright and dark and too bright.

She can still feel the after effects of her powers being blown out, can still feel the ache of her bones, a heaviness that settles onto her, presses her further into the uncomfortable mattress of the DEO bed.

She feels someone standing over her, focuses her vision for the littlest bit to see Alex’s vague outline, a hand pressing her hair back, tucking it behind her ears.

The memory comes back to her in parts.

CatCo. DEO signal. Waterfront. J’onn. Earth bender?

She tries to open her mouth to ask, tries to move, but she can’t. It’s too hard.

Alex whispers something in her ear, Kara doesn’t really understand what she’s saying but hears Alex’s voice wash over her, like the bottled-up personification of relief.

It calms her enough to let her shut her eyes.

***

It’s a typical boring monotonous morning that usually follows after being in the med bay all night—Alex forces her to take the day off, she’s been lazing around in her apartment since.

(Rama Khan was a bit tougher of a task—Supergirl needed that to open her eyes.)

She’s about to work on an article when hears her phone ring.

She has half a mind to ignore it, because she’s barely started thinking of being productive, but all it takes is a second long glance in the general direction of the phone for her to spot Lena❤️ plastered on the top of the screen.

The world pauses for her then. Stops right on its axis.

A part of her immediately feels like it’s a sick joke, or a hallucination, or maybe just some cruel prank.

It rings for not more than three seconds before it stops and her phone blinks with a notification for a missed call.

Kara freezes.

She gets a text notification not too long after, again from Lena. Then another, and then another. She stays frozen long enough that the phone screen darkens again.

Lena❤️: Can you come to see me?

Lena❤️ sent a location pin

Lena❤️: I'll be free at 8:30

The new texts don’t acknowledge any of her earlier sent messages, (none of the hundreds she wrote—which, partly, she’s grateful for), but they make Kara’s heart jump either way—because not only did Lena text her, but she also wants to see her.

The hesitation that comes with this sort of territory comes and goes fairly quickly, is overtaken by excitement and hope in its stead, and Kara has to force herself to not overthink it and plan their next movie marathon. Because that’s wishful thinking and Kara is going to be practical.

(She spends the rest of the day picking an outfit. It helps—focusing on the unimportant details of this thing, focusing on anything other than wondering if things could finally go back to normal.)

***

After Kara knocks the sixth time in under a minute, she begins to think that maybe she has the wrong apartment number—GPSes can be off sometimes, right? Aren’t they accurate upto only a certain radius?

She could call Lena to confirm. She could also just do a quick scan of the apartment to see if it’s actually Lena’s. She could—

The door opens before she narrows down an option.

The first thing she registers is that Lena looks at her like she’s a stranger.

Looks at her somewhat shocked, somewhat indifferent, but mostly just inexpressive, like she didn’t expect Kara to show up, like she never even called Kara here at all.

It settles all the excitement Kara’s feeling into nerves, makes her almost want to second guess herself, want to avoid Lena’s cold eyes so bad that she even considers turning and flying away.

(That’s not a valid option though, not even something she really wants to do because she’s waited, okay?

Understanding boundaries might’ve been dodgy for a bit but she has done her fair share of waiting, has day-dreamed about this far too much and far too often to run away from it when she finally got here.)

She doesn’t take any drastic measures and waits (im)patiently till Lena steps aside, opens the door a little wider and signals her to get in.

The emptiness of the apartment settles in as soon as she walks, this one looks even colder than the one in National City did before Kara revamped it, looks somehow even less lived in.

Doesn’t look like a home in any capacity.

(That shouldn’t make Kara as happy as it does.)

Kara wants to question why she didn’t stay with Sam, but refrains from doing it. That’s at the very least a third-meeting-after-horrible-fight thing to discuss.

What she can’t help but do is sneak a glance at her wrist.

The watch isn’t there. Kara doesn’t know how that makes her feel.

It’s not that she’s not expecting the absence of it, because she is, she is expecting it, which is also why she also really shouldn’t mention it and make things awkward, really shouldn’t because it’s totally unnecessary—

“You could’ve used the watch,” she says despite everything, it comes out automatically, flies out her mouth against every restraint of her vocal chords.

Out of every combination of words that she could make her first sentence to Lena after months of not speaking, this truly isn’t what Kara was expecting she’d select.

“Huh?”

Lena’s voice spreads like wildfire through her ears to all over her, she’s missed the sound of it so much, missed how her accent always manages to slip into a blend of irishamericanirish, missed how she runs the words into each other, missed listening to it because she hasn’t heard it in so long, (not counting the times she’d tune in during her visits to Kal-El… but that’s unaddressable/unadmittable/unspeakable. maybe she just missed it being directed at her.), and it hits her harder than she expects it to, makes her head reel a little bit.

“Um, the watch,” she says, scratches the back of her head. It’s too late to backtrack now. “That I gave you. You could’ve used it instead of calling—texting me. Would’ve been quicker. If you still have it, that is. Which hopefully you do because if you threw it and it ended up in the wrong hands, a direct line to me, well, Supergirl, could be potentially dange—”

“I didn’t throw it,” Lena cuts her off. “It felt…” she pauses, visibly scrambles for a word, uncomfortable in a way she’s never been with Kara, “wrong to use it for this. I wouldn’t have wanted to rush you if you were busy with an, um—Supergirl emergency.”

Kara thinks to say she’d never be too busy for Lena, (hates herself a bit for acknowledging that neglect) but controls herself, barely. “Fair,” she mutters.

Lena walks then, towards her living room and Kara blindly follows after a moment of hesitation.

There’s all this nervous energy that feels unfamiliar to her around Lena, and she fiddles with her fingers, can’t bring herself to speak until she finally pushes through. “How—um. How’ve you been?”

Lena’s heart-rate ticks up the slightest bit. “Uh,” she begins, and it mostly sounds like it’s out of shock, like she hadn’t been asked that in forever. It makes Kara’s heart break even more. “Fine.”

Kara’s eyes soften, her hands struggle against her sides, ache to wrap Lena up in her arms. Lena looks very not fine. A little distant, a little not-there. Not fine at all.

She doesn’t mention it.

Lena doesn’t ask her anything in return, doesn’t seem all that interested in continuing the conversation which.

Which is okay. Kara can do that, she can continue the conversation if Lena doesn’t feel up to it.

She doesn’t even need to think about what to say.

There’s questions, so many questions she wants to ask (did leaving help? will you come back? did you miss me at all?), so many things she wants to say (i love you. i miss you. i love you i love you i love you.)

She settles with the least controversial option.

“I’ve missed you, you know?” She admits, and even though it’s probably the safest bet, as soon as the words are out, she realizes she should’ve gone for something even less intense. “Felt kind of incomplete ever since you left.”

Lena takes in a sharp breath, doesn’t say anything.

Kara takes it as a sign to speak again—no point being silent, no point lying anymore. The only worse outcome is losing Lena a little more than she already has.

“Everyone missed you, actually. Alex, Nia,” she says, drags her eyes away from Lena’s face. Doesn’t want to stare too long and make things weird. “Brainy particularly. Even J’onn. James left. Winn visited. It was a whole thing. You missed a lot.”

Lena hums in response, it sounds non-committal and empty, makes Kara feel jittery all over.

Silence is not an option, though, Kara knows that, knows they can’t stop talking—not when they’ve just started, so she continues. “L-Corp is doing well. I saw the news. Um. Good stuff there.”

Lena rubs her hands together, murmurs Yeah, thanks and it’s so unfamiliar and so not them that Kara wants to burst into tears and then into flames and just vanish.

She’s so uncomfortable that she almost bolts up and pretends there’s a robbery or something, would rather escape and not talk to Lena at all for a dozen more months than subject herself to this.

Okay. Okay.

Maybe she can try a different, more direct approach.

“You called me here. You—don’t you have anything to say to me?”

Lena doesn’t respond still, doesn’t do anything but sigh, and even Kara’s patience is running out now, she’s starting to get a little angry, a little furious—

“I was doing what you asked, Lena! I was giving you space, respecting your boundaries—” Kara says, finally thinks the water’s boiled over. “It killed me every single day but I did it.”

Lena’s eyes stay trained on her lap, but Kara can hear Lena’s heartbeat race.

There’s a long pause, long enough that Kara doesn’t really expect a reply, is well on her way of regretting not asking about something stupid like the weather instead. Maybe if she did, they’d be talking.

She knows, at this point, it’s fair if she just gets up and leaves but she chooses to wait it out.

Time. Space. Whatever.

After what seems like an eternity, Lena whispers her reply, so quiet, so soft that Kara has to strain her ears to catch it. “I needed to know if you were okay.”

Kara slumps in her seat, tries-and-fails not to be disappointed. “The news would’ve told you that much.”

“I needed to see it for myself,” she says softly, then quickly, without waiting for a response, “I’m sorry for calling you.”

Lena is finally saying something, finally talking, but considering what it is that she’s saying, Kara’d rather the silence.

Lena continues regardless, “Sorry for bothering you," she says, quick, "You should go.”

“Lena, please don’t—”

She starts tearing up then, Kara can spot the beginning of Lena's crying, can spot her eyes moisten, her eyelashes clump together, can hear the erratic way her heart beats and she really can’t handle that, would probably agree to anything in the whole world if it’d mean Lena wouldn’t cry, even if it meant leaving.

“I’m not saying—I told you I’m not saying never, Kara. I’m saying not now,” Lena says, just about whining now, eyes clenched shut so hard that Kara’s resolve breaks into a million pieces. “Just. I’ll—Please.”

Kara nods her head, thrice in quick succession, the third the quickest, like if she did it even a fraction quicker, her head would’ve probably come off her body. (That doesn’t seem like a very bad thing, everything considered.) She doesn’t know what to do with herself anymore, doesn’t know how to leave.

How to go back to National City without Lena.

Should she walk out the front door? Leave Lena in tears and just walk away? Should she change to her suit and ask Lena to open the balcony door? How would she explain being in Metropolis leaving an apartment complex if anyone spots her? Should—

It doesn't even matter.

None of that is important anyway. Nothing is if they're still right where they left off. If Lena is still in Metropolis and still can't talk to her.

Kara makes a split-second decision, walks closer to Lena, knows she shouldn’t but has to, (can’t help herself), wipes away Lena’s tears from the pad of her thumbs as gently as she can manage, tries her hardest to ignore the uptick of her heartbeat, and leaps across probably twenty boundaries between them and kisses her on the forehead.

Not even seconds later, Kara flies away quicker than she ever has, needs to leave before the urge to hug Lena becomes insurmountable.

(Her ears catch the sound of Lena sobbing not even twenty feet away.)

(She has to take three laps around Metropolis to calm herself down before her own eyes stop tearing up.)

Chapter Text

It doesn’t affect Kara as much as she anticipated. (As much being the operative words—the very, very relative words.)

Which is expected, technically.

There wasn’t much interaction between them when they met for her to unpack, nothing substantial enough to overanalyze.

She feels probably just as bad as she always did, feels exactly the same way, no real change catalyzed by talking to Lena that makes her feel particularly better at all but not worse either—and that’s something, right?

(Lack of deterioration is pseudo-progress, it has to be.)

All her feelings are still there, still the same, not better or worse, but maybe just more amplified.

Like, they’re the same lot, the same bunch of confusing mess, but they’re suddenly wearing brighter colors, suddenly wearing the glitteriest shade of red, much easier to spot and—

(And, Kara just wants to turn them into something solid, something tangible and brittle and graspable, so she can crush it between her fingers and get rid of it. Maybe even punch her way out of it or something.)

—that’d probably not be an issue if Kara could ignore it, if she could drag that strategy to work again, because they’re the same bunch no matter the wardrobe choice, they’re the same ones Kara’s somewhat dealt with so if she didn’t have a stack of articles pending, didn’t have much more pressing issues to divert her focus to, this really would not be a problem.

(But she does have a stack of pending articles. And it is a problem.)

(Anything Lena related lately is all sorts of problem and a thesaurus full of its synonyms.)

She sighs, hovers the mousepad over the screen displaying her unfinished article when it starts to fade, mistakes the sudden brightness highlighting her incomplete work as a form of productivity yet again. (Another problem to add to the stack.)

And the thing is, Kara needs to be a more effective version of herself, okay? Needs to sieve all her emotions out into something resembling sanity, needs to be more proactive about it—start doing, instead of letting all sorts of things happen to her, needs to take a little bit of charge.

She’s not the best employee, Rao knows she isn’t, but. This is a bit much even by her standards.

Because, really, honestly, truly—she knew this would happen.

Pictured it in parts and then as a whole, painted the corners and filled in the lines till the image was done and complete and all things irreversibly sad.

She knew it would happen, knew it in every cell of her cerebrum. Knew that one day, ultimately—inevitably, Lena would find out.

(Ideally, she should’ve prepared for the ramifications, knowing and all. Should’ve known prevention is better than cure, and maybe if she did, she wouldn’t be worrying about all of this.)

(But it’s been all about should’ves and could’ves with her lately.)

One day, Lena’d find out in a way beyond Kara’s control, find out in maybe the worst possible way and leave. One day, Lena would walk away, far, quick and sudden and there would be nothing Kara could do to stop it. Lena would walk away and Kara would be frozen in her place. One day, it would happen—ultimately, inevitably—and the world would spin faster than usual on seven different axes and Kara would be stuck still, would pause without a functioning resume button.

She knew this would happen, really, honestly, truly. And now—now, she’s unfrozen, unstuck, unstill and unpaused, (mostly because she has to be, mostly because she’s still kara danvers, and she’s still supergirl, and neither of them can afford to stay like that for too long), and she’s thinking, constantly i knew this would happen i knew this would happen one day and it changes absolutely nothing.

It doesn’t help at all, the knowledge of the knowledge. It doesn’t help whatsoever, because she knew, had a premonition, and still couldn’t turn things around. It doesn’t help because she’s still sitting in her desk chair trying to write an article but all she can think about is that she’s been thinking about it, thinking that she knew this would happen, and it’s already happened so all of those aren’t particularly useful thoughts.

(It doesn’t help. Of course it doesn’t. Just makes things invariably worse.)

When she forces herself to look at the brighter side (because that’s who kara danvers is, that’s who she’s supposed to be), it is reassuring that they spoke, she thinks.

Reassuring in the sense where Kara thinks that they’re at the intermission of their movie, and there’s no real scope of a climax left in the second-half. (which is a good thing. right?)

It’s just a pause amidst the chaos, and it feels like the chaos has run its course and there’s nothing scary to look forward to anymore, that she’s just waiting for all the loose plots to tie in together to make an (oscar winning masterpiece?) okay-ish movie, deserving of not more than 40 on the metacritic, higher than at least a 50% on Rotten Tomatoes (anything shitty slapped with a happy ending, really will suffice. kara will make it work).

It’s reassuring in the least guaranteed way, like when a barely working traffic light that’s stayed on red too long suddenly starts flickering, no signs of green but at least the red might just go soon.

Reassuring to an optimist, at best—and Kara is willing to see the glass half-full, more than willing to take the plunge.

And, probably, also more than willing to start being a better journalist. That’s the point—it was the point (before all the points become Lena)—a little need-based, but a point is a point, and a plunge is a plunge and Supergirl knows how to fly so, it’s a piece of cake to leap.

She can focus. She can.

(Her laptop fades again after fifteen minutes of no use—Kara sets the auto-sleep timer to never.)

(Baby steps are still steps.)

***

She’s half-watching half-staring at Princess Diaries 2 when she decides to finally do it. It takes her a lot of self-persuasion, a lot of searching for inspirational quotes on Tumblr, but she finally gets the courage and calls Lena at 2:54PM on an otherwise regular Thursday.

The just-focus-stop-thinking-about-it technique was, tragically and (un)expectedly, awful, and totally and utterly useless, because she still couldn’t focus and still thought about it and that’s a strict 0 out of 2—and Kara, like everyone above the earth-age of 5, knows enough about probability to understand what that means. Obviously.

She had to vary the approach.

Amongst the things she knows also lies the information that Lena gets half an hour off till 3:15 on the first Thursday of the month, (knows it because she’s squeezed in a lunch in this time slot for months), right between the monthly budget meeting and stocks update and...knowing...that is a little bit of a conflict of interest.

It’s knowledge she fully means to misuse.

Maybe not even misuse, really, because when Kara makes the decision to call, she isn’t expecting Lena to pick up—expecting her not to, if anything, free time or not—so it’s barely even a consideration, just trial-and-error…but she just knows that this is a thing she can do now, knows that it’s kind of within the realm of her rights, legally speaking.

Lena called her.

They met.

Things need to change now. It’s the next step. Maybe the time and space has reduced to timeandspace. (Maybe—hopefully.)

No matter how awkward, it has to mean something. Right? Has to reinstate some form of open communication. It’s the law.

Lena made an effort, took a step towards her instead of away—so what if they didn’t get anywhere closer because of it? Kara definitely thinks this is a the thought counts kind of a situation.

And, maybe her judgement is clouded by TheCompassionProject and their blind optimism but. She does it. She calls. Change, next step, law, et cetera et cetera.

It’s okay. It’ll be okay.

The line rings, for five seconds, then ten, and Kara isn’t even bothered that Lena isn’t picking up by the time it ticks to fifteen, the beeps are even calming in a way with their periodic—

“Kara,” she hears from the speaker, and the twenty second mark flashes away from her in an instant; the shock is so sudden that she almost drops from her seat, Superhero senses and everything.

It’s Lena. The raspy voice, heavy from what Kara knows is mid-day exhaustion. Lena answered. Lena—

“Lena!” she replies, (oh god she took so long to respond only to lead with that?), startled and stunned, and dumb, so dumb, so so so dumb—“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

There’s a short pause. Kara wants to scream. And die. And scream and die. And—“You called me?”

“Of course I did,” she amends quickly. It’s too late to be scrambling for things to say. “I just—um,” she struggles, tries to find the words. (she really should’ve prepared a loosely-followable script for this, and she would have, if she had any expectation of lena picking up. damn it. damn it damn it damn—) “Wanted to say thanks for having me over last week. It meant a lot to me. To get to see you,” she completes quickly; her sentences come out in fragments, little unnecessary hiccups in between.

The line stays quiet for a while, and Kara would’ve probably had to check whether the connection got lost if she couldn’t hear the thud (quick—nervous) of Lena’s heartbeat through the speaker.

She isn’t prepared for this, technically. Isn’t prepared to face this, didn’t get a flight full of deliberation, didn’t get to decide to fly slower or faster, or take a u-turn or six, isn’t prepared to handle anything that comes in this territory.

Why did she have to call? Oh Rao, why did she have to call?

“I’m sorry about how it ended,” she hears, and all her thoughts granulate into nothingness.

Oh?

“Oh?”

“I—God, I don’t know,” Lena says in jumbled words. (It makes Kara feel a tad better that she’s not the only one struggling, but then she feels bad about feeling better and it neutralizes back into being a wreck.) “I thought I was ready to confront you. At least, my therapist might’ve implied that I was and,” Lena sighs, takes a long breath. “I don’t know. I had to see you but… but I don’t think I was ready.” A beat passes. “Yet.”

Kara doesn’t know what to say. Except I understand maybe, hasn’t even considered yet if she does, but that’s her line, that’s her role— her responsibility. To understand, to say she understands, or say something along those lines—

Lena doesn’t let her pick her words, breaks the silence first, voice just above a whisper, “Seeing you was a lot harder for me than I anticipated.”

“I understand,” she says now that she gets the opportunity to. If it’s just the whole space and time thing, she probably does understand, doesn’t even have to pretend to. (Just…expected—hoped for them not to be stuck at the very beginning still.)

She can understand, though, can try to. It’s the least she can do.

But it’s apparently the wrong thing to say, leads them right to another silence.

“I had to move, you know?” Lena says finally, takes too long to say it, sounds too distant, too wistful. “I can see how that’s hard to understand, Kara, I get if you don’t—”

Kara attempts (fails) to concentrate, feels the I had to move on echo in her head, each repetition like a stab to her chest. (From me? she almost asks, but it gets buried in early stages. Thankfully.) It sounds a lot like disappointment, a lot like go ahead, don’t wait up for me, a lot like goodbye.

“You did what you had to do,” Kara says anyway. It’s the last thing she wants to say, but—brighter side or whatever. (TheCompassionProject reblogged a quote about it). “That’s not hard to understand. I’m not—I’m not going to hold that against you.”

“If I stayed in National City, I would’ve always been too busy,” Lena explains, an explanation she probably doesn’t even owe Kara. (kara understands. she understands and understands and unders—). “Everything would always be too much and I’d get distracted from the pain, and mistake that for healing and—and I’ve done that way too often in my life to do it again.”

“I understand,” Kara reiterates, again, emphasizes because she does. Truly. She gets it. (It seems like all she’s been doing is understanding and getting it.) (It’s easier now, with the training.) She takes a gamble, chooses to say, “I just miss you,” partly because that’s the only coherent thought her brain can produce that isn’t reinstating coherency, mostly because it’s so true it hurts.

She hears Lena sigh again—deeper, longer.

(Wrong bid. The flashing red light stuck again.)

“I know that doesn’t change anything,” Kara explains quickly. ”I know we have so much to discuss—” but I’ve just always been a little selfish when it comes to you. She sticks to saying the golden words, “I understand. I—yeah.”

“Stop telling me you understand.”

Kara feels her chest tighten. “Okay.”

“I need a little more time, Kara,” Lena says, gentle. “I don’t want to rush this.”

Kara stays quiet. Doesn’t have more to contribute that she hasn’t said before. Time and t i m e and t i m e.

“I’ll text you?” Lena asks, surprising even herself if her tone is anything to go by, and Kara’s heart starts hammering in her chest, and she can suddenly believe there might be a light at the end of the tunnel. (Hasn’t learned, doesn’t know how to control her hopes from getting too high.) (Hope, help, compa—) “Maybe we can retry this conversation?”

“Yes!” Kara agrees, too urgently, too pathetically. Um. “I mean, maybe. Yeah. If you want.”

Lena chuckles; Kara’s heart bursts in her chest.

She lets herself feel it, in the fierce overwhelming sense, lets her hopes get sky-high. “I’m not giving up on you—on us,” she says, absolute and irrefutable, if not a little bit reckless. “I will make it up to you. I swear to Rao—God, I will.”

She hears Lena’s sharp intake of breath, hears her shaky exhale. She whispers, softer than Kara has had the honor of hearing in a long, long time, “I hope you do, Kara.”

The line clicks dead, leaves her feeling a little more alive than usual.

(The traffic signal slowly flicks to yellow in her head, unstuck like she is, and anything is better than red.)

***

It definitely gets better after, Kara thinks.

(For real, this time.)

She doesn’t get distracted as much when she’s on Supergirl duty, doesn’t accidentally type Lena’s name in articles she writes about CEOs (and also, more importantly, actually starts writing the articles she’s meant to be writing), doesn’t get through tissue boxes faster than she can buy them—it’s just, all in all, better and she can feel that.

She still keeps getting bombarded by flashbacks of Lena, of her smiling, laughing—being herself in general. She still spends a considerable amount of her time daydreaming about casual lunches, impromptu dinner dates and…all she wants is to go back there.

Wants to go back in time just to hear Lena complain about a board member or something just as absurd, just as miniscule, wants that back so desperately.

(Wants all the little things with Lena, wants all of everything with Lena.)

But those thoughts aren’t as all-consuming anymore, feel a bit more achievable, and that feels like it could be a bandaid to her heart.

Kara Danvers is still Kara Danvers—and she (not to get her hopes up) might just be getting her Lena back.

(The first letter in the alphabet is back to A) (J will very much not be missed).

***

Lena comes back to National City. Temporarily.

Kara doesn’t hear about it directly, not from Lena herself—obviously, she doesn’t have that privilege anymore (yet)—and doesn’t hear about it from anyone else either, but reads about it instead.

On an assignment.

On her desk.

(It’s maybe the most anti-climatic/journalistic turn of events possible.)

She scans her eyes over the words, the bold catching her attention first: a simple beat to interview Lena about the progress she made in the Metropolis Division of L-Corp, and then in the fine print, if she’s planning to shift headquarters. In the even finer print, there’s a line, right at the end—for Kara Danvers, as per Lena Luthor’s request.

Lena requested for her.

Specifically.

It’s…okay, it’s not exactly what she had in mind when she pictured meeting Lena again, not her ideal scenario from her (day)dreams but it is what brought them together initially so. Not all’s lost.

Lena, as promised, did text her. That’s a positive. That’s a point in Kara’s favor.

The conversation did die pretty soon, (lena’s texting skills were definitely leaps and bounds ahead of the time she used to sign of each single text with her name, but. kara would’ve preferred if they’d be back at the random-selfie stage), even Kara’s attempts at continuing the conversation didn’t fare any better. It was awkward, and short and Kara would’ve chosen not to reply four dry-texts in if it was anyone else but Lena.

It was Lena though, and she replied, and the texts got shorter and shorter till it was emoji for emoji and over. (It was what it was, and at least Lena showed up in her frequent contacts, if only for fifteen minutes. Kara can appreciate that.)

So, what she’s really thinking is—well, does Kara think Lena could’ve texted her instead of going through the trouble of putting in a formal request? Yes. Will she complain about it? Absolutely not.

Which is why, first thing she does, before even properly researching (she really needs to put some effort into becoming a better journalist; she’s let that pulitzer get to her head), is showing up to Lena’s office.

Even though it’s 20 minutes ahead of schedule.

The security—Ella, on the third floor still greets her like she’s a regular, asks her how she’s been and why it’s been so long since she came by. Kara doesn’t answer with words, but shoots her the kindest smile she can, one that very much does not say your boss and i had a...friend...break…up. sort of.

It helps calm her nerves a little nonetheless. Maybe she’s not as much of a stranger in the world of Lena as she thought, not that much of an absentee.

Regardless, a part of her knows that she can’t just enter anymore (the office, her brain emphasizes. nothing else. definitely not lena’s life—that was not a metaphor), and she doesn’t even want to check in and see if her access-pass has been revoked because she doesn’t want to confront a reality where it has.

So, she waits, texts the number printed in the corner of her assignment, probably the assistant’s assistant’s assistant or someone equally of insignificant background character status, a simple: Hi, I’m Kara Danvers, from CatCo Worldwide. Here for a scheduled interview with Lena Luthor at 1:00PM. I’m in the waiting room, 3rd floor, lobby 2.

She opens up her notepad then, skims over the notes she haphazardly ‘researched’, knows that’ll it’ll be a while till the information of her presence will be relayed back to Lena, a long chain of calls to higher ups, then higher-er ups, till she gets buzzed in.

Kara isn’t used to waiting, hasn’t been to the L-Corp waiting room in years, not since her initial three meetings with Lena—

It hurts a little. Feels jarring in the same way it did the first time she wore clothes that weren’t hand-me-down’s from Alex, feels like she’s being forced into a version of herself she’s not quite ready to be yet.

(She thinks she’ll never ever be ready to be a Kara Lena doesn’t want.)

It’s not till thirty minutes later when she hears footsteps approach her and she looks up from her notes, semi-prepared.

“Miss Luthor will see you now,” a woman tells her, sweet smile and kind eyes, and Kara realizes this is the first assistant of Lena’s that Kara didn’t help her shortlist in over a year.

It’s a terrifying realization, knowing that she’s so out-of-the-loop in Lena’s life. But Ella still knows her, and that helps her placate it a bit.

She looks at the badge, it reads Anna, in the neat bold font L-Corp uses for everything.

“Thank you, Anna,” Kara says, and follows her lead up to the familiar path to Lena’s office.

The office itself is the same.

Same color, same couch, same bookshelf, same television, same desk, (same lena. maybe), same everything.

(Except. Except the photo frame, Kara notes. The one that used to sit proudly on Lena’s desk—found family, she used to say.

She moves her eyes away. Emphasizes again, punctuates it in her head, that everything else is the same.)

“Miss Da—Kara,” Lena says, and Kara’s heart falls and rises in the same microsecond. Lena gets up from her chair and gestures for Kara to sit, in a very formal, business-like manner. It reminds Kara why she’s here, and she grips her notepad tighter. “Take a seat, please.”

Kara stumbles into the chair opposite Lena’s, the one she isn’t particularly used to sitting in anymore. (The sofa on the other end of the room seems very far away. Metaphorically. Physically.) The chair itself looks like it should be comfortable (nothing compares to the it’s the Soy Polyols foam that makes it comfortable, darling but. far away. whatever.), but the desk is isolated from it and Kara has no option but to keep her notepad on her lap; it’s awful for maintaining eye-contact, Kara can’t tell if she should be grateful.

“Lena,” she greets, voice even, not too happy to be off-putting but cheerful enough not to be odd. Business. Journalism. Interview. “The new assistant looks nice.”

“Hopefully she’s not a backstabber,” Lena quips back, makes a weird honk-sound-thing after that, most probably meant to be a laugh that was a little too forced to sound anything close to natural or natural’s distant relatives. She pushes a glass of water across the desk, towards Kara. “Uh, I mean. Like Eve—not. Yeah.”

Kara weird-honk-sounds back, coughs into a more genuine-sounding laugh when she realizes what it sounds like. “Yeah, hopefully. Wouldn’t want another Eve.”

“The dossier was clean,” Lena says, sitting back down in her seat, graceful, effortless, one leg over the other, crossed back. “I’d know it isn’t the most accurate metric for trust—” she cuts herself off, and Kara sputters in her drink. “For assistants,” she adds, quick, and then shakes her head. “Um. The article?”

Kara straightens up, composes herself, pulls out her notes and gets to it.

Interview, she reminds herself again.

She has a good amount of questions, despite being more underprepared than she usually prefers. The interview goes quick, no stuttering and no awkward pauses—it takes 17 minutes in total, and ends with Lena showing her a model for a new children’s hospital in Metropolis.

A lock of Lena’s hair escapes her bun when she tilts her head down to close her drawer and put the model back, and the urge to reach over and tuck it behind her ear is so strong that Kara has to clench her fists to bite it down.

Lena tucks it back herself ultimately, and looks up at her with a smile, shy and a little too professional. She rises up from her chair and panic bubbles in Kara’s chest. It’s time to leave. Interview. That’s all it was. That’s why she was here. Interviewinterviewinterview.

She stands up too, interrupts whatever it is Lena’s about to say, (screw the interview), and asks, “Dinner? The both of us?”

Lena’s smile curves down, and Kara’s nervousness bubbles into disappointment. “I’m leaving for Metropolis tonight—”

“That isn’t a problem for me,” Kara insists without thinking and then clamps her mouth shut. What is the matter with her? “If you want, that is.”

“I almost forgot for a second,” Lena says. Kara doesn’t think much of it, tries her best not to worry over the little things. “I do want.”

Her tone is too mellow for it to actually be as good as it sounds. “But?”

Lena sighs. “I can’t. Prior engagements.”

“Do you want, uh.” Kara can’t say it. Physically can not. She’d rather drink crushed-up kale in a smoothie every single day for the rest of her mostly immortal life than say the word space ever again. Alas, “Is this a space thing?”

“No,” Lena replies immediately, so quick that Kara can’t doubt it’s earnestness. “I have a lot of work I need to catch up on, Kara. I’ve to be back in National City tomorrow by noon and—There’s work. You understand that.”

“I unde—”

“Don’tsayit,” Lena rushes out in a single breath. “I don’t want to hear the words sorry and I understand from your mouth ever again. I kind of walked into that one, so I’m letting it slide but this is the last time, alright?”

“Alright,” Kara repeats, smiles. This is—it’s progress. (if only they banned the t word and the s word). “If you know I’m sorry enough to say it everyday without hesitance, I guess I could stop actually saying it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Lena says, mirrors Kara’s smile. “Can you come by tomorrow? An hour after my flight lands? I was about to hold a press-conference but maybe an exclusive—”

“Of course,” Kara agrees, quick, quicker than it’ll take for Lena to change her mind. “Exclusive—great idea! Anytime. I mean it. Anytime. I’ll clear my whole schedule.”

“I’ll text you,” Lena says, suppresses a giggle. “It’ll only require an hour of your time, no need to clear the day. I’m sure superhero time is much more valuable than CEO time.”

Kara exhales, smiles back. Another day, another chance. Lena wants to see her, wants time out of Kara’s superhero schedule—

She can get used to that.

(It’s the first time the secret has been out in the open, feather-light, without Kara feeling every ounce of the weight of it.

She can definitely definitely definitely get used to that.)

***

Lena does text. Again. Because that’s a thing they do now, occasionally (twice, but that’s what occasionally means, right?).

(She’s a woman of her words, Kara knows that, but she still jumps at the sound of the incoming text with Lena’s ringtone.

Mutually exclusive events, she decides.)

It’s nothing particularly grand, nothing revolutionary, just a Hi☺️, at around 5pm, a very safe time, not too late, not too early—the perfect time to text a friend (?) you’re trying to (?) mend (?) relationships (???) with.

Kara texts back immediately, Hi back😊🤗⭐️💓. Like, within microseconds immediately. Like faster typing than delivery time. Like, super—Super—fast.

Lena❤️: Did you use superspeed for that?

Kara puts her phone down, embarrassed, picks it up and sets a timer for seven minutes.

Her phone buzzes.

Lena❤️: Are you taking longer on purpose because you got caught?

Kara feels heat burn behind her whole face, and writes back, after 45 careful seconds, No comments.

Then, they text. (It’s a thing they do now, she repeats. No biggie.)

They text, and text, and text. Lena stops replying for stretches of time in between, and then explains what got her tied once she’s freed up. Kara asks her if she’s still at L-Corp once the clock ticks to 7, and Lena begrudgingly tells her 10 minutes later that Kara’s text is what prompted her to leave. She confirms the exclusive—only one hour of your time, she repeats, but Kara’s already freed up her day (she does not mention that). And then they text again, and text, and text some more.

And it isn’t…awkward, and it’s also maybe their first interaction in a long, long time that hasn’t been heated or emotional.

Kara feels strangely—like, like the ball’s in her court, racket’s in her hand and she’s the best damn tennis player in the world about to serve.

They’re texting—oh Rao. Texting and it’s not awkward. It’s long and not awkward and sweet and not awkward and perfect and. Not awkward. She can barely wrap her head around it.

(Kara’s screen time jumps a 116%, thanks to it. She turns off the feature. Just for the day.)

***

There’s an attack at L-Corp because of course there is—it’s Lena, and by her standards, seven weeks between two assassination attempts is considered commendable, not worrisome.

It’s Lena’s last day in National City according to the press release, she only has the exclusive interview with Kara scheduled for the day when a former board member, (a sexist misogynist Kara remembers Lena sacked after receiving an anonymous sexual harassment charge on her work email months back), respected enough in the office that the core security doesn’t catch him carrying a whole functioning gun, barges in.

He’s standing in front of her, gun loaded—standard pistol, pointed straight at Lena’s head, reeking of alcohol, bloodshot eyes.

Kara’s there.

As a reporter.

She hears Lena’s heart rate quicken the same time she hears the distress signal in her ear from her comms. She focuses all her concentration on Lena, hears the obvious fear in the aggressive thrum of her nerves and Kara’s brain starts going haywire in every single direction. Lena’s panicked. Kara’s panicked that Lena’s panicked.

Her instincts have sharpened enough that Kara stands up, between Lena and the gun, drops her notepad and thinks, hard and fast, about what she can do in her civilian clothes at this moment.

“You don’t want to do this,” she says automatically, Lena still behind her, and Kara’s hearing catches her clicking a button. She doesn’t dwell on it, can’t dwell on it, and tries to buy herself some time to figure this out.

If she could just escape for a second, she—Supergirl would have it under control.

The man moves his eyes away from Lena, glances in Kara’s direction the first time since he entered. His gun falls down against his side, and Kara scans to see that he has two knives tucked under the waistband of his pants.

“Get out,” the man spits at Kara, gestures wildly towards the door, juts out his gun in the direction of the door and, then, points it at her threateningly. “Fast, lady! It’s in your best interest to get the fuck out.”

Kara raises her hands in surrender. She can do this. Do something. She’s been trained.

Maybe if she leaves, she can come back and. No, she definitely doesn’t have enough time.

She can just. She’ll just face it. Even if she’s still Kara, and not Supergirl, she’s still going to protect Lena. There’s no way the bullet goes anywhere near Lena if she can help it, there’s no way she’s letting that happen—

The man takes a step.

He stumbles forward, raises the gun again, and Kara walks ahead too, right in front of him, would rather have it point straight at her chest and expose her iden—

The doors slam open, guards in black uniforms rush in and Kara speeds—as human as possible—to cover Lena, to shield her from whatever, if things go sideways.

Nothing happens. No gunshots, no bloodshed.

The guards, she learns, are the L-Corp security team, and they disarm the man quickly, efficiently, surround him from every direction and have him in handcuffs before Kara needs to take any action herself.

Kara’s still in panic mode, even as she hears the man shout out a string of curse words while he’s being lead out. Still can’t force herself to process things, even though this is her job, and she’s Supergirl and she should—she should probably be out there, with the guards. Police? She should call someone—

Lena moves, not behind her anymore, taking shaky steps towards the door, talking to the guards that lingered behind, something about paperwork and statements. Then, Lena waves a hand off, and walks back in.

Kara just stares, acutely aware that she should be doing something, and Lena needs to—not. Lena doesn’t need to be so equipped in handling this.

Still, Kara stares, stays frozen in her position.

“I pressed the panic button,” Lena explains, outwardly brave, voice barely staggering but Kara catches the obvious quiver laying underneath.

Kara sighs. Lena is so smart. “You’re so sma—”

“Stop,” Lena interrupts. Pauses. Walks towards her, then paces away. Exasperated, she ask-shouts, “What were you thinking? You could’ve seriously been hurt—”

“I’m bulletproof,” Kara intervenes, hesitant but defensive. Isn’t that the whole point?

“Exactly, Kara!” She shouts, voice laced with anger, seeping through all the layers now. “You just jeopardized your identity. Do you realize how dangerous that is?”

“Hey, hey, woah,” she says, holds her hands out, wide-eyed. “It worked out—”

“Kara,” Lena says, desperate, the quiver isn’t hidden at all anymore, and her voice cracks at the last syllable.

Kara doesn’t know anything to say that hasn’t been banned from her dictionary. She makes an attempt: “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

Lena looks at her again, (with anger? concern? worry? exhaustion?), looks like she wants to yell some more, but her defenses have already crumbled down, and as soon as Kara takes a step forward, she collapses into her arms, buries her face in Kara’s chest, smushing up the collar of her shirt crookedly till it pokes at her neck, till she feels her breath hot against her, hears it grow uneven every passing second.

It doesn’t catch Kara off-guard. She has her arms around her as quick as she can.

Kara knows it’s the telltale sign of Lena about to cry, can sense how overwhelmed she is, and wraps her arm tighter against her back, grips her hand in her hair, with the exact amount of pressure she knows Lena likes.

It starts, then. Lena cries into Kara’s chest, and Kara makes it a point not to cry herself, toughens up for Lena’s sake—

A buzz startles them, loud beep in the speakers till the intercom fills in with—Anna’s, she remembers from the last time, voice. It’s a weird combination of cheery and monotonous, quick with a question/statement/notice about Lena’s next meeting, stat in three minutes and then, a more hesitant addition, asking whether she should cancel. (It’s new for her, Kara assumes. New assistant, fixed boundaries. Still, the anger manages to make its way to her thoughts, and Kara can’t help but wonder how it’s even a question.)

Lena gasps harder against her chest, and even though it muffles her voice, Kara can hear her cry just as loud, ringing in her ears in high alert.

“Can I please take you home? You can wind up here and I’ll tell Anna you’re taking the day off and fly you out of here?” Kara asks, whispers it into her hair. She adds the desperation she’s feeling, stresses it, “Please?”

Lena nods into her shirt, slow and with considerable effort. She rubs her face in Kara’s shirt, and Kara can feel the wet spot right below her top button.

She concentrates on the feeling, the way her shirt clings a little through the seeped tears, needs to concentrate on anything that isn’t Lena crying. Even if it’s the effects of it.

Kara hugs her back for a moment, chooses to concentrate instead on how Lena sags against her, how she relaxes, how this is their first hug after the—fight, or whatever.

(It’s something, for sure, having it because of a tragedy. It’s very on-brand, very wrong. A delicate balance of what Kara wants and what’s healthy, probably.)

(She’s really let Kelly get into her brain. She doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.)

Slowly, she moves, tries to pull herself away to let Anna know and take Lena away as soon as she can but Lena’s grip tightens, she burrows herself deeper.

Kara whispers, “Bab—Lena, I’m just going to talk to Anna, okay? I’m not leaving.” Lena’s grip doesn’t loosen at all, and Kara presses a kiss to her hair-line, then her temple and then her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

After maybe a minute, she feels Lena nod into her chest, then untangles herself barely, creates an inch of space between them.

Kara wraps her cape around her, knows that she needs to feel the weight, covers her in its warmth completely, adjusts it around till it surrounds her just right.

She tells Anna, saves all the open docs on Lena’s laptop, gathers all the stray papers in a folder, tucks it under a paper weight and changes to her suit all within a minute—doesn’t want to leave Lena alone longer.

(She flies extra careful, with Lena in her arms, all the way to Metropolis. The aerodynamics is off sans cape but she flies slower to make up for it, keeps her posture right and takes her time.

It’s Lena—it’s important.)

***

Lena’s apartment is messy.

It’s Kara’s first observation, astute and glaring, because Lena’s apartment is never messy. It’s always pristine, always neat, always put-together. Kara’s never seen Lena’s apartment in a state she could categorize as even the fourth derivative of messy, or anywhere in the vicinity of it but.

The TV set is tilted off-centre, as if there was an attempt to move it (punch it?) unable to be followed through. There’s a shattered canister on the kitchen floor, and a tumbler rolled to stillness not too far away, the carpet drenched with whiskey (?) still uncleaned. A pillow on the sofa is ripped the barest amount, from the edge, right up till the point the fabric gets thicker with texture, but it’s still enough for the cotton to spew out on the cushion under.

It’s…chaos.

Lena is still in her arms, her head tucked neatly into Kara’s neck, cape tight around her body, eyes clenched shut but Kara can tell she’s not sleeping yet.

Kara grips the hand around Lena’s thigh tighter, digs her fingers lightly into her thigh and notes that Lena probably/definitely would not want Kara to witness this.

It prompts her to rush to the bedroom.

The bedroom, objectively speaking, is in a better condition.

(Bedrooms, by default, are allowed to be messy to a degree, and Kara is just extending that margin by a lot when she says that Lena’s bedroom is in a...better…condition.)

She finds her NCU hoodie sprawled out on the bed, crumbled like it had been worn over and over and over. The cabinet on the right side of the room is open, clothes spilling out of it, and Kara spots two of her other sweatshirts peeking out on top, like Lena went on a hunt for them.

It’s an interesting observation, but. Not for today, and definitely not for now. Kara shakes her head and gently places Lena under the covers.

Lena immediately opens her eyes, right the second her back touches the mattress. She doesn’t move them away from Kara at all, just stares at her plainly.

“Hi,” Kara says.

“Hi,” Lena parrots, voice a couple octaves deeper than it usually is. Her eyes flutter close, and she raises a loose fist to rub at them. She opens them again, and says, “Even though I hate flying—this was. This was definitely much more pleasant than the alternatives.”

Kara grins. She can feel the tension in Lena’s furrowed forehead despite her attempt to lighten the conversation, and wants nothing more than to make it go away desperately, so she chooses to say: “Was it because of my big, strong arms?”

Lena laughs, raspy, rolls her eyes and sits up. “Of course, Kara.” Adds, softer, “Thank you for bringing me home.”

“It was really no problem.” Kara looks around, makes it a point not to pause too long at the messier parts and focuses her gaze back to Lena. Lena who looks…tired. Exhausted. And her entire outfit looks downright painful.

Kara kneels down in front of her, eases Lena’s feet off the heels she’s wearing, one by one, with an angle of inclination greater than Kara’s ever seen on a shoe before. Lena wiggles some feeling back into her toes, and Kara massages her ankles. Lena looks down at her, and suddenly—starkly, she realizes the position she’s taken between Lena’s legs. She gets up at once, so shy that she floats an inch above the ground unintentionally.

But, her focus quickly dwindles back to the matter, and she notices the tight dress Lena has on looks like it’s the least comfortable clothing item in the world, and that distracts her enough to not die from embarrassment. Besides, Lena looks too sleepy, hasn’t even noticed that Kara’s feeling awkward, probably, won’t comment on it and. That’s—she should offer Lena a change of clothes. That’s the matter—the point.

“Do you want—can I pick something out for you to wear? Something more—”

“Comfortable?” Lena asks, nods in agreement before Kara can confirm, and tucks herself deeper under the blankets. “Please.”

“I’ll pick the comfiest outfit you own, promise.”

Kara walks to the cabinet, her own clothes on display make it a little harder to choose anything but them. (She shouldn’t, though. She knows. It’d feel like an imposition, somehow.)

She’s about to reach a blind hand in when Lena interrupts.

“Can, you. Um. I want the white one.”

Kara stills. White. She scans the cabinet, but can’t find anything even remotely comfortable in white. Looks back at Lena, questioningly. “White one?”

“The NCU one,” Lena clarifies, and there’s a lilt of whining to her voice. For some reason, Kara feels like she should be blushing, alien biology and everything. “Get me that. It’s comforting.” She adds in a whisper, soft, “It’s the only one that still smells like you.”

Kara’s heart cracks, and Kara can barely prevent it from shattering into a million pieces. Blushing is the last thing on her mind now.

(She’s trying to think, hard, of all the reasons why she shouldn’t go and kiss Lena senseless. Then, hold her in her arms forever.)

(Bad ideas, she reinforces, both of them.)

“I’ll wear it a few times and return it,” Kara says, as calm as she can. Chants in her head, do not think about it, it’s not important right now.

She picks up a pair of sweats, gathers the hoodie on the other side of the bed, and sits on the edge, besides Lena, reaches out a hand and pulls her up.

Lena’s still staring, and Kara can tell she’s scared, that the tremors of the aftereffects of the attempt on her life are still coming in waves. She’s just gotten too good at masking it, too used to dealing with this. And, all Kara wants is to take care of her.

She grabs the hair tie on the bedside table, bends down, runs her hands through Lena’s hair, once, twice, not too many times, not enough to get distracted, (she makes it a point to catch herself before she can), gently combs her way through the tangles, makes sure to grab all the loose ends and pulls her hair into a loose ponytail. The eyeliner Lena was wearing is smudged, sort of—the way smudge-proof eyeliners get when you test their limits. Her lipstick is barely there, just in dark splotches in parts and—

She looks tired. She looks beautiful.

Kara can’t look at Lena anymore, not when she’s this close, thinks she’ll probably end up saying (i’m in love with you, did you know that? does that change anything?) or doing (kissing her. kissing her. kissing her.) something incredibly stupid so she speeds into the bathroom instead, opens the top drawer of the cabinet under the sink and grabs the makeup wipes and cleansing lotion to help her out (she’s seen Lena do it enough times to at least try to replicate it for a semi-desirable outcome)—like all of Lena’s National City apartments, the main layout of where things are remains the same.

Then, she leads her to the sink, lays out her favorite facewash and the clothes she picked earlier, and makes sure Lena doesn’t have to lift another finger, doesn’t have to tire herself out more than strictly necessary.

Lena comes back to bed, 15 minutes later. Looks more fresh, looks more tired (more beautiful. always beautiful).

Kara stands a few feet away, shuffling from feet to feet, unsure of what to do. She makes a split-second decision to sit on the edge of the bed, the same place she was sitting before.

Lena splays out her hand on top of the sheets, inches it closer to Kara’s and Kara takes the signal and links their hands together. Lena tightens her grip, Kara squeezes her hand back. And, that’s just. It makes Kara—

It’s—not important, right now. (She’ll bookmark all of this for later.) She needs to put every iota of focus into making sure Lena is okay.

Lena is okay, and Kara will ensure that till the last second Lena lets her.

(Later, when Lena asks her to hold her till she sleeps, voice small and scared, Kara reminds herself again, of all the reasons why she shouldn’t kiss her/hold her senseless/forever.)

(For some reason, the list seems to be getting shorter.)

***

Kara doesn’t leave, even after Lena falls asleep. She’s wearing her glasses, has had them on ever since she changed to her own clothes from Lena’s selection (no glasses in front of Lena is…it’s not a boundary she wants to cross, wants to be extra careful of everything). Kara’s not sleeping, doesn't have any plans to, and neither has any plans to leave.

Lena never asked her to, didn’t tell her outright to go, and overstaying her welcome is not even a consideration because Kara doesn’t want to be away from Lena.

Not today, not ever.

She’s still holding her too, and that seems. That seems worthy of mentioning, she thinks. That seems important, seems like she needs to highlight it in her thoughts. She’s holding her and—

Kara stays still.

Very still. Almost too still—because she doesn’t want to ruin this by moving, alright? She can feel Lena waking up, can sense it, and she doesn’t want to fidget, doesn’t want to twitch, really doesn’t want Lena to think she’s uncomfortable or make Lena uncomfortable or. Just. Doesn’t want this situation to be uncomfortable because it’s the closest she’s been to Lena (emotionally. physically.) in months without the immediate threat of danger (emotional. physical.) and she doesn’t want to ruin that, doesn’t want Lena to move away, doesn’t want to give her any reason to.

It’s still Kara’s life, though, so of course, Lena moves in her arms anyway, twists her waist, stretches her arm and Kara’s instinctual response is to tighten her grip around her, reinforcing that she is comfortable. Doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want Lena to move but—still, Lena twists again and Kara knows enough to loosen her hold.

It’s okay, she thinks. It’s—it was good while it lasted. At least they’d still be within arm’s reach, even if Lena moves away. Unless she asks Kara to leave the bed, or the apartmen—

Lena doesn’t move away, surprisingly and Kara puts that thought process to a halt. She turns in Kara’s arms, till they’re both facing each other and Kara can feel her breath on her chin.

Kara stills again. Lena’s fully awake, fully up now. And Kara’s trying to send her signals that she’s not uncomfortable, so.

So she stays still, stiller than before, stiller than still, even when Lena raises her hands to Kara’s face, still when she gently pulls the glasses off her face and still when she traces her eyebrow. So still that she thinks she hasn’t breathed in a solid minu—

“Are you not breathing?”

Kara gasps, and lets out a whiff of air against Lena’s face, which blows her hair a little.

“That felt… cold,” Lena says, and her lips turn upwards.

“It’s the freeze breath,” Kara murmurs, smiling back. “I can control it most of the time.”

“Kara,” Lena interrupts, and Kara feels the heaviness again, in just a single word. The man, the gun, the guards—all of it flashes in her mind. She wants to grip Lena tighter, but that’s not an option right now. “I need you to promise me you’re never going to do that again,” she says, voice scratchy and hoarse in the absolute worst way it can be.

“No,” Kara replies automatically, not giving it more than half a second of thought. Not needing to.

Lena moves away from her, puts more than a little distance between them, more than an arm’s length.

“Promise me,” Lena repeats, with more vigor, more desperation. “You almost exposed yourself. You can’t be that reckless. I need you to promise me—”

“I’m not going to,” Kara says immediately, just as fierce, and she wouldn’t have regretted it even a bit if she didn’t notice the way Lena’s face falls. But she does notice, and retracks, “Wait. No—I mean. I’m not going to stop… protecting you. Or, at least trying my best to. So I can’t promise that,” she explains, slow and careful. Lena still has a frown on her face, not as deep, but still present. So, she adds: “But I’ll try to be more rational about it.”

Lena looks thoughtful, intense, barely manages half a smile before a short nod. Taking her time, she says, “Okay. Okay. I can deal with that.”

(It’s a compromise—ultimately. Kara can think of at least a thousand ways to make Lena start valuing her life more, enough to let a literal superhero protect her without feeling guilty. It’s a compromise, shouldn't have to be but. It’s better than nothing.)

“Good,” Kara says. (If a compromise is as good as it gets, she’ll take it.) “Nice to reach an understanding with you. Would love to do it again sometime.”

Lena laughs, but it dies down much too quick, so quick that Kara doesn’t get to cherish it. Then, Lena stares at her, stares at her nose, then her chin, then in between, then her eyes flick up to meet Kara’s. “Do you—do you think we could talk?” A beat. Lena’s throat bobs, the way it does when she’s trying to swallow down her emotions. “Now?”

“About,” Kara realizes how grave this is. How grave it can be. She doesn’t want to complete this sentence, doesn’t want to stop being at an arm’s length from Lena, doesn’t wan—“Everything?”

“Yes,” Lena nods. “I’ve held onto the hurt so many times in my life. I’ve internalized the pain and let it consume me each time. I can’t do it again. I refuse to do it again.”

“Okay,” Kara agrees. Sometimes she feels like she’d agree to anything Lena asks. “Let’s talk.”

“I don’t have much experience with any kind of relationships, let alone mending ones that have been broken,” Lena whispers, sounds like it’s more to herself than to Kara. “My basic instinct whenever I feel hurt or betrayed is to shut the other person down, to run away. I didn’t know—don’t know how to fix this. Or talk about it. I’m just going to try, okay? I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.”

“All we can do is try,” Kara smiles. “No judgment, I promise. You—we don’t have to be good at this, just honest.”

Lena looks up, nods her head—earnest and hopeful.

“Admitting that I missed you was, even to myself… it made me feel weak,” Lena sighs, biting her lip like she’s trying to stop herself from crying. ”It took a lot from me to finally be in a place where I could accept that.”

Lena looks miserable, looks like she wants to skip this and go to the next step where they’re back to normal as much as Kara does, she looks so so miserable, and it’s the last thing Kara wants but. This is a conversation they need to have, that they just can not skip.

“I’ve missed a lot of people in my life, Kara,” Lena says, after a long, long minute, as much time as Kara needed to gather her thoughts. “Lost a lot of people and missed a lot of people. But there hasn’t been anyone that I’ve wanted back so desperately. Except—”

“Your mom?” Kara guesses. She remembers the way Lena used to talk about her, back when—when things were okay. She regrets mentioning it already.

Lena nods. Takes a moment, sighs and shakes her head. Then, slowly, looks back up at her.

“The weird part is, I think I would’ve been more,” Lena pauses, scrambles visibly. “I don’t know, receptive? If—if that entire Kryptonite and Harun-El… issue didn’t happen.” There’s another beat, just as brief. “After a point, I did forgive Supergirl—you for not trusting me—”

Kara can’t help but interrupt. “Lena, I do trust you—”

“No, Kara, let me say this,” Lena cuts her off, and the rest of Kara’s sentence dies in her throat. “I understood that Supergirl didn’t really know me and that our entire family history made us come at odds sometimes, I really did understand that. So when I told her to let bygones be bygones, I meant it.”

Kara nods, her jaw aches from holding back everything she wants to say but she pushes through it—has to—and lets Lena complete.

“I forgave Supergirl because Supergirl and I were just allies, at best, we weren’t—Kara, you and I were so much more.”

Kara nods again. (It seems like all she can do.)

“I know I’m not completely innocent here, I know you have reasons—reasons for keeping your identity a secret that are valid and important and morally and ethically correct,” Lena says, sighs. “I know that, okay? But I did need—I needed this space,” she continues, doesn’t meet Kara’s eyes, doesn’t stop the idle play of her fingers. “I needed time to think and arrive at a neutral ground that wasn’t as tainted with my emotions so that logic could make sense to me, so that I could think clearly without my judgment being clouded by how hurt I was.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” Kara says instinctively, and, no, no—this is not what she’s supposed to do, it’s probably the worst point to intervene at. She’s making this about herself again and she shuts her mouth. “Sorry. I’m not trying to invalidate you. I just—”

“I know,” Lena says, slipping in with such ease that the pressure in Kara’s chest that was seizing her loosens its grip a little. “I understand that in your head, you were trying to protect me.”

The trying to sticks with Kara, it implies that she failed in actually protecting her—

“I’m sorry, too,” Lena says, and moves to rest her head on Kara’s arm. Kara’s feeling so much that she’s unsure which emotion to react to. “I didn’t mean to make this all about myself and my emotions. I should’ve tried to hear your reasoning before.”

“You found out in the worst possible way,” Kara says and that explains all of it, maybe. (It doesn’t explain any of it. Just…complicated it, when it didn’t need to be.) “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt ever again.”

“I will,” Lena replies. “I’m a Luthor, I have monopoly over getting hurt.” Kara’s about to protest—say not funny or something, but Lena continues before she can. “But I have you. And it’ll be okay.” Lena smiles crookedly. “Actually, if I spend more than thirty seconds imagining it, I can already see visions of me being thrown into a black panel van, you know? Like in the movies—kidnapped by some goon, head in black bag and everything—”

“Don’t,” Kara interrupts, fist clenched. Not funny at all. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not,” Lena says. “I’m just pointing out that it could be dangerous. That’s a real possibility.”

Kara stays quiet. She’s right, mostly. It’s a possibility—real possibility, and Kara’s been trying to ignore it since Day 1.

Lena moves closer again, not fully in Kara’s arms like earlier but Kara could reach over and kiss her, if she wanted. (The list is—she’s already held her. The forever part comes next but. The urge to kiss Lena senseless is so strong—)

“I had to leave,” she says, like a conclusion, a justification, whispers it so low that Kara’s not sure she was supposed to hear it. “If I stayed and I saw you—which I knew I would, because you’re everywhere—I knew it’d only take the slightest of effort for me to come running back and forgive you.”

“We couldn’t skip the montage,” Kara says. It’s something she’s been thinking about, and verbalizing it makes her feel tons lighter. Lena gives her a puzzled look. “You know, like in the movies?” Kara asks. “The trial-and-error. The practice. The misses. All the almosts before getting there. We needed to live through that in order to get to the good part.”

Lena looks at her, intense in her signature way, and asks in a low voice, not very sure of herself, “And we’re in the good part now?”

“I think so,” Kara whispers back. “I hope so.”

Lena looks at her with the same intensity a moment longer, and then smiles, smiles in the wide and unrestricted way she used, really smiles—a full Lena Luthor smile.

Kara can’t help but close the distance between them, pulls Lena into a hug, as close as humanly possible and buries her face into her hair—it’s been so so so long that Kara’s held Lena, in a non-tragedy-or-post-tragedy-induced scenario, in a just-because way that if it was up to her she’d (hold her forever—) do this all night long.

The 21.56% feels like a solid 50% now, (maybe even 60) (maybe even more) (she’d have to ask Brainy to help her out with the exact number but), seems like it’s getting closer to actually being her reality—their reality. Their as in Kara and Lena, collective.

Together.

(That thought is enough to guarantee Kara one of her first nights of full-sleep in months.)

***

It takes a little while for things to be truly okay between them, for them to settle into the Kara and Lena they once were.

It requires a little walking on eggshells, a little hesitation, some trial and error but Kara feels like the needle’s in, that she’s sewing it together, that she’s started the mending process.

They get there…eventually, at a place where Lena starts smiling again and Kara feels like she can finally breathe.

There’s definitely still some hesitation, a stumble here and a misstep there, but for the most part, they’re back to some version of normal.

Lena invites her for a late-lunch/early-dinner situation, texts her about it in the morning and by 4:32pm she’s already told Alex over the comms and is flying to Metropolis.

It takes 7 minutes to go from National City to Metropolis usually, if she’s taking her time, scanning over the area and going slow like Alex tells her to. (And not fast like she wants to, because, really, she knows she can get there in seconds.)

She blames it on her excitement when she shows up at Lena’s balcony in under 2 minutes. She’ll explain it to Alex later, but she’s honestly proud of herself for having some degree of self-control either way.

(Besides, Kara gets the privilege to see a wine-drunk, sleepy Lena again. Alex will understand that, has to understand that, because Kara considers herself maybe the luckiest person in the multiverse to be able to witness it again.)

***

She makes Lena laugh her full-belly-cheeks-bunched-teeth-peeking-out laugh and curl up her head against her shoulder again in one night.

She bookmarks the date in her journal with no less than a million hearts. For science reasons.

***

They meet again three days later. Then the next day, and then the next, and the next till it’s everyday, and it wasn’t even like that before. (Kara’s probably the most excited she’s been since she first discovered potstickers, knowing that their new normal might be surpassing their previous normal but. She’s making it a point to act cool. As a cucumber. Go with the flow. All of that.)

Lena gets a little clingy, yes, Kara...can admit that.

She wants to see Kara everyday, multiple times a day on some days, insists Kara stays over, cuddles closer than she ever has, doesn’t let Kara leave before the morning, sometimes will hold Kara hostage till there’s a Supergirl emergency and Kara has to go.

Lena gets clingy, and Kara is so so okay with it.

(She’s cool about it, as a cucumber. Like, ice.

Till she sublimates and gets excited and then.

Then, there’s no way anyone can get the smile off her face. The smile that’s been ever-present since their new normal got established.)

***

It becomes a bit of a tradition after that.

After she’s done with her duties of the day, she flies over to Lena’s apartment in Metropolis.

Most days, she cooks (correction: attempts to cook—mostly orders in) Lena dinner, serves it up and they have a quiet meal.

Some days, they stay in bed and watch reruns of their—Lena’s only, frankly, but Kara’s learnt to love it, with how much Lena loves it—favorite conspiracy show.

It becomes a routine, becomes natural, a thing-they-now-do, makes them cover that distance between Lena and Kara to LenaAndKara much quicker than Kara expected them to.

The new normal is good, the new normal is great, it’s every positive word and its superlative.

***

Lena starts wearing the watch.

She doesn’t mention it, doesn’t make it a Thing, but casually, one day, starts wearing it.

Kara notices it as soon as she flies into her apartment, sees it sitting on her left wrist—bulky, odd, unmatching with the rest of her expensive clothing, but there nonetheless, bulky and odd and unmatching and perfectperfectperfect.

(She doesn’t mention it, doesn’t make it a big deal, doesn’t make it a Thing either, but her heart bursts into butterflies, fluttery and frantic.)

***

The almost-kisses happen more often than Kara thinks she can handle.

It’s not like it’s new for her, not like it’s unchartered territory because Kara has her experience with kissing, okay? She’s well versed in the world of kissing but—but kissing Lena is just.

When she thinks about it, she feels like she’s a second away from bursting into flames.

In a good way. In the best way.

(In a very inconvenient way.)

So, it’s like, whenever she’s about to kiss Lena, whenever they’re close, whenever it’s about to happen, Kara just can’t function. It’s an automatic thing. Something in her forces her to turn, forces her to say something dumb and ruin it.

The almost-kisses happen…a lot.

Kara just wants to punch herself, and then the almost out of the way.

***

“Tired?”

“Exhausted,” Kara mutters, flops face down on Lena’s couch. It isn’t the most comfortable, but Kara doesn’t have the energy to go all the way to Lena’s bed—no matter how tempting that idea sounds.

“I saw the news,” Lena says, and Kara wants to meet her eyes but she’s pretty sure it’s physically impossible for her to lift her head right now. “Didn’t think you’d come here today. You looked—”

“Like I’d been beat up by seven aliens?” Kara groans. She knows she was teetering on the edge of blowing her powers, feels it in every protest of her muscles. “Yeah, I’m—I’ve been better.”

Lena stays quiet.

Almost for too long, Kara thinks, because she’s about to fall asleep right there, but the couch dips right before she can and she feels a hand rest on her back—tentative, feather-light, but there, with slow caresses that lull her further into unconsciousness.

“I’m going to run you a bath, okay?” Lena whisper-says, kind of. It sounds like it’s her inner voice, like it’s in her head. Psychic communication. “I’d offer you a back rub or something, but I doubt that does anything for you—”

“Back rub sounds nice,” Kara interrupts anyway. Lena’s right, technically. It wouldn’t help particularly—but. It does sound nice. Kara didn’t lie about that, makes a note not to lie to Lena anymore. Even about the little things. “It’s a great idea.”

Lena hums in response, presses significantly harder against her shoulder, and Kara leans into her touch automatically. “The bath?”

“Sounds nice too,” she says—whisper-says, like Lena. Hopefully she can hear, even though she doesn’t have heightened senses like Kara.

Lena chuckles, still rubbing gentle circles into her back. “You’re about to fall asleep on the couch, darling.”

Kara nods a little into the couch, doesn’t know if it actually translates into the head bob she means it to. Maybe Lena psychic-understands this too.

They’re silent for a moment, peaceful. Kara wonders if Lena feels as sleepy as she does.

“Come on,” Lena says, a beat later. “My bed’s not that far, and it’s a gazillion times more comfortable.

“Even your couch is a gazillion times more comfortable than my usual sleep-quarters.”

“A gazillion times gazillion than usual, then,” Lena promptly replies. “Doesn’t that seem worth the effort?”

With great effort, Kara turns, pushes herself up, leans back and meets Lena’s eyes. “Did you have dinner?”

Lena pauses, bites her lip. (Kara wants to kiss her sen—) “I was about to—”

“I knew it,” Kara says—yawns it out. “I’ll cook. Just give me a sec—”

“No chance,” Lena interrupts with a scoff, pauses and opens up an app on her phone. “You’re sitting right here and eating the eight pizzas I’m about to order.”

Kara squints her eyes. “Sounds like you’re just trying to avoid my cooking.”

“I would never,” Lena mock-scoffs, so adorably that Kara’s senses jerk awake from cuteness. Lena taps away at her phone for a second longer, then keeps it on the table, screen down. “Okay, they’ll be here in half-an-hour. I ordered ten, for good measure. You can get in the bath till then.”

“The back-rub?”

“Back-rub after that,” Lena laughs. “Then, I’ll cuddle you to sleep. If you want.”

“I want,” Kara agrees. The mental image makes her feel like she’s in heaven already. “Rao, I made a great decision to come here.”

“Keep making that decision,” Lena smiles. “I always want you here.”

Kara grins back in response—it’s the only other option than kissing her.

(Lena turns right before entering her bedroom. Looks at Kara, and the bath, and Kara, so fondly that she twists up inside, and whispers, in the softest voice, “You did a good job back there. As Supergirl. I’m proud of you.”

Kara smiles too, bright, also wants to cry, but chooses to smile wider instead.

Heaven indeed.)

***

Kara wakes up in three hours.

She feels so well rested that she thinks she’s still dreaming.

She doesn’t know when they switched positions, but Lena is snuggled into her now, wrapped up in Kara’s arms instead, which is a thing that happens. No matter how they fall asleep, somewhere along the night Lena gravitates into Kara.

It’s normal. It’s a thing that happens. They’ve done this before. Have been in this exact same position more times than she can count.

By all means, this should feel natural.

(It doesn’t.)

(All she can think about is that the list of reasons why she shouldn’t kiss Lena senseless is pretty non-existent now.)

Something about it feels charged, more than even the new-normal, like there’s some kind of energy flowing between them, demanding to be acknowledged.

Lena’s head on her chest, hands gripping her sweatshirt, legs tangled together, all make her feel fuzzier than they did before, make heart shaped cells rush to her cheeks and fill them with color, make her see iridescent nebulas when she closes her eyes.

Absentmindedly, Lena snuggles deeper into her, slots herself against Kara close and snug and Kara’s heart just about loses it. Because Lena is here, in her arms, and they’re friends, inching towards more and Lena’s comfortable enough to cuddle with her again and the new normal hasn’t even sunk fully in yet, and it’s all just—wow.

It’s everything she’s wanted for months. It’s everything she wants in the future. Everything she wants forever.

(She’s going to tell Lena, she decides, then and there. She’ll tell Lena she loves her, talk about the kiss and. And, it’ll be okay, probably. It’s worth a shot.

No more lying; no more withholding the truth either.)

***

They’re mid-dinner when Kara can’t control it anymore.

“Are we going to talk about the—” Kara blurts out, then catches herself mid-sentence, and immediately wants to disappear. It’s too late to back out, too late not to just say it. “Um.”

Lena glances at her quizzically, twirls her spoon around her spaghetti, raises it to her mouth. “The um?” She prompts, licks her bottom lip before taking a bite—which, to say the least, is not helping Kara here at all. Whatsoever.

Kiss sounds too childish, doesn’t really encompass what Kara wants it to, but she’s not articulate enough to come up with anything better, so she says, inarticulate and incomplete: “Kiss?”

Lena stills for a fraction, but doesn’t rush her chewing at all. She gulps down her food, carefully and slowly, places her spoon on the side plate, graceful as always. “Back in—before I left? You want to talk about it?”

“Yes,” Kara replies immediately. “Wait, no—no. Not no! Like, do you want to talk about it?”

Lena smiles, raises one eyebrow. “If you want to.”

“I want to if you want—”

“Kara.”

“I want to,” Kara amends, a blush spreads all the way up to the tip of her ears. Figuratively speaking. Literally, she just stands there awkward and not-blushing, even though she feels like she is. “—talk about it.”

“Okaaay,” Lena agrees, smile wider, if not too close to a smirk. Why is she not as flustered as Kara? “I kissed you.”

Kara nods. In superspeed. “You did.”

“You kissed me back.”

Just the mention of it washes over Kara and leaves this overwhelming urge to do it again as a residue. She nods again. Slower, this time. “I did.”

Lena chuckles, settles onto the half-smirk/half-smile. “And?”

Kara blinks. “Now we talk about it?”

“Okay,” Lena says easily. “Let’s talk about it.”

Alright. This is—this is talking about it. They talk about it now. That’s the next logical step here. So Kara starts, with the question on the forefront of her mind, however dumb: “Do you usually kiss your friends?”

“No,” Lena says, long and drawn out. “Do you?”

“No,” Kara echoes. “This is—um. Is this awkward? I feel like this is awkward.”

“It’s only awkward if you let it be.”

Right. That. Makes sense. Only awkward if she lets it be.

So she goes for it. It’s the only option. Straightforward. The Option C, the Robert Frost—because, the best way out is through, isn’t that what he said?

“I’m in love with you,” Kara says, up from her seat across Lena—because this seems like something she should be standing up for, right? Lena smiles wider, doesn’t look particularly surprised, but her heart rate skyrockets to a point where Kara thinks she’d hear it minus superhearing. “I have been, since like, the first time you laughed at my dumb jokes and—and it’s ridiculous that you didn’t figure it out, because I’ve been worse at keeping it a secret than the whole Supergirl thing. And you,” Kara points, rambling even to her own knowledge, but. There’s no other way. “You have an IQ of 200-something—”

“I do not,” Lena interjects, rising up herself, closer to Kara. “Or maybe I do? I haven’t really been tested since I was a kid, standardized intellige—”

“Seriously, Lena?” Kara says, wide-eyed, but smiling despite herself. “That’s what you choose to focus on? Are you forgetting the undying confession of love part?”

“You’re the dumb one,” Lena parrots, ignores Kara’s protest of really? and continues, “Of course, I love you too. Obviously. It couldn't have been more obvious than me kissing you, could it?”

“We were in a fight!” Kara argues. “It could’ve just been, like…sexual tension, I don’t know.”

“It was hardly a fight, darling,” Lena says, but Kara can hear her laugh into the words. “It was an argument—a couple of arguments rolled into something like a fight. Guess it warrants the sexual tension regardless of not being a fight, though.”

Kara shakes her head. “Do you usually kiss people you’re in a couple of arguments rolled into something like a fight with, then?”

“Well, no, but—” Kara’s about to interrupt, say something dumb like aha! caught you! but Lena raises a hand, says quieter, “I do love you. Really.”

Kara stops, processes, and grins the widest grin possible.

Lena loves her. Really.

Lena’s still looking up at her, soft smile, cheeks tinted in the prettiest shade of pink. Instead of replying, Kara just tilts her face up, cups it in her hands—and all she can think, all she can process right now is how beautiful Lena looks, how precious she feels in her arms. How she’ll never forgive herself—forgive anyone who hurts Lena ever again.

Lena leans in about the same time she does, meets her halfway for the sweetest kiss Kara’s had in her life, kisses her soft and slow and deep (and senseless. so senseless).

And once their lips meet Kara can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop and it very well seems like Lena doesn’t either. It’s like a dam between them broke and now all she can think about is the feeling of Lena’s lips against hers, the warmth flowing through her veins, the butterflies in her stomach.

Lena pulls away a small infinity later, smiling the smile Kara loves on her so much, the one where her cheeks bunch up and teeth peek out and just—this is too much happiness for Kara to handle, is a bit much for her senses, honestly.

Which is why, she doesn’t even think twice before:

“I’ll take you for the best date ever,” Kara promises, brings Lena’s hand up to her lips, mumbles the words against her skin.

Lena laughs. “A date, huh?”

“Yes.” Kara nods aggressively. “A date. Ooo maybe to another Earth? Earth-1 has this great—”

“Shouldn’t you be askin—” Lena starts, and then pauses. Slowly, she asks, “Wait. Did you say another earth?”

“Earth-1,” Kara corrects. “Like I was saying, it has this ama—”

“You’re joking,” Lena interrupts, looking a little more panicked than Kara would like after hearing about a prospective date, and hey, Lena doesn’t need to be scared of travelling to another Earth, Kara will protect her. She promised.

“Yeah, I am,” Kara grunts. Technically. It’s not allowed. “J’onn wouldn’t let me, probably. Not for a date. I could maybe bribe Brainy—”

“No, no,” Lena says, puts her hand over Kara’s mouth completely to stop her from speaking. “About the multiverse!”

“Wh-ub abu—” Kara asks, voice muffled against the hand Lena has pressed against her lips.

“Tell me everything.”

“Oh,” Kara realizes suddenly, eyes widening comically. “Yikes. I forgot that this isn’t common knowledge—”

“Really not the time to gloat,” Lena whines. “The science-nerd in me is going to explode because you just said the Multiverse Theory is real. Schrödinger was right?”

“So right,” Kara agrees. “On Krypton we knew this, from like—”

“Not the time to gloat,” Lena repeats, punctuates each word. “Can you explain?”

“I think explanations of the Multiverse is definitely fifth-date material, by Earth conventi—”

Lena groans. “Why do you insist on being so insufferable?”

“You love it,” Kara replies. Okay, no. They’ve been maybe-dating for about two minutes. Does she love it? “You do, right? Love it?”

Lena shakes her head, runs both hands through her hair, then rubs up at her eyes. Then, sighs. “I do love it, you insufferable idiot.”

Kara grins. Insufferable idiot. She’s Lena’s insufferable idiot. (It’s her new favorite descriptor for herself.)

Kara’s just about to lean in again when Lena tucks herself under Kara’s chin instead, grips her tight and hard, buries her face into Kara’s chest.

And Kara really doesn’t mind that at all, loves holding Lena, wants to hold Lena all the time—forever, like she said—just, kissing Lena seems to be a higher priority right now, is all. Kissing her senseless, that is.

“I was about to kiss you again,” Kara says. “Right before you bulldozed into a hug.”

“I can’t stop smiling,” Lena mutters, voice muffled by Kara’s shirt, words vibrating onto her skin. “Won’t be very good at kissing right now.”

“Lena.”

Lena detaches herself from Kara momentarily, blinks up at her all pretty and shy. “I’m—this is too much for me. I’m feeling too much to be sexy right now.”

Kara bites her lip to stop the Aw that wants to escape her mouth. “You never have to try to be sexy. You’re already the sexiest.”

Lena laughs, loud and unfiltered and undignified and it’s Kara’s favorite sound in the whole wide world. “You really want to make out, huh?”

Kara opens her mouth to respond but Lena pulls her in before she can make a further fool out of herself by an attempt at an answer, cuts off her would-be-ramble with the sweetest kiss in the whole multiverse and for that… she’s grateful.

For Lena, she’s grateful.

(“Are you going to move?”

“In a little while,” Lena murmurs, but burrows herself deeper, chin hooked over Kara’s shoulder.

“You’re on your toes, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Lena mutters, but Kara supports more of her weight around her waist so it’s easier for her to balance.

“I could carry you, you know?” Kara asks, laughs when she feels Lena furiously shake her head. “I’m half-carrying you right now.”

Lena stills, slowly eases her toes up till they’re off the ground. “Okay wow, you really are.”

“I won’t drop you,” Kara says when she feels Lena put her toes back onto the floor. She scoffs, “Is that really what you’re worried about? Like, hello! I’m Supergirl. I didn’t even drop you when I was holding half a plane in the other hand.”

Lena pushes herself up again, and this time, jumps up and wraps her legs around Kara’s waist. Then, grips her harder. “You could maybe carry me. In a little while.”)

***

Lena moves back to National City eventually.

It takes one month of constant flying back and forth for the both of them (mostly Kara, because duh) for Lena to factor in the convenience of moving back in to her penthouse in National City—her home.

It takes another six months for them to get a place together, fancy enough for Lena’s dinner guests/business people and home-y enough for Kara’s weekly game nights.

(National City isn’t the same for Lena anymore, she reminds Kara of that constantly, keeps telling her it isn’t the same, keeps telling her it’s changed in more ways than Kara can fathom.

Kara agrees, in all ways like and unlike Lena.

National City isn’t the same for her either—it’s more than she could’ve ever imagined it could be.)