Work Text:
“How do you cope with darkness?”
You always have an answer, no matter how many times she asks. You talk about hope and never giving up. You try to always say it with a smile on your face. You try to not to let the sadness or the anger creep into your eyes and give you away.
Some days you aren’t sure you cope with darkness very well. Sometimes you aren’t sure if you cope with the darkness at all.
You’ve seen what it can do - what it did to Kal, what it’s still doing to Batman, the deep scars left on this world. The remains of another, remembered now only by you. And it feels overwhelming. Like the vastness of space - as though Adam never found you and brought you down to Earth - it’s everywhere and all encompassing. Smothering. Like a pitch black ocean that you can easily drown in.
“I don’t lose sight of hope,” you say one night, automatically, after she asks you again.
The two of you sit outside on the edge, in the rain. The air is hot, sticky with humidity. Straight ahead, beyond the city before you, past the horizon, peach-gray clouds are darkening as the sun sets.
Kori is quiet. Somber. It’s not fair that someone so vibrant has been so dimmed - but you can relate. “How?” she asks after the silence stretches out and becomes something thick and heavy like the air before a storm. “How do you not lose sight? How do you hold onto hope after everything?”
It comes out almost like an accusation. Something bitter and resentful - why do you get to keep your hope? Why is it so easy for you?
And you almost lash back. You want to snap that it isn’t easy or scream that you cling to it so tightly it feels like it's slipping through your fingers. But you meet her green eyes and can see the sorrow you struggle with every day, that constantly threatens to pull you under. How can you speak words like weapons when you’ve been pretending you never bleed?
So you sit on the edge with her, on the roof of a tower she used to call home, and take her hand in yours. You stare out at the city, a sea of neon light after sunset. “I look for it in others, even those who feel like they’ve lost it. And I try to find it for them. Because keeping hope is hard...but someone has to. Especially when it’s all you have.”
Kori stares out at that same sea of lights. Does she see it that way? Is she thankful that when the sun sets the world still feels so alive? Artificial light still keeps the darkness at bay. She doesn’t reply this time - doesn’t mention Grayson, doesn’t bring up lost worlds, lost families. She scoots closer to you, though. Her fingers interlock with yours. “Keep hope for the both of us, Kara,” she finally whispers. Her head is resting on your shoulder.
The rain continues to fall, but you barely feel it. You finally smile. Genuinely. “I will.” Your hand squeezes hers, and, at least for now, hope doesn’t feel so hard.