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It’s Lena who finds Supergirl first, when she falls from the sky.
A Kryptonite missile. Lex Luthor’s deadly aim. Supergirl falling 200 feet, hitting the sharp edge of a building with a sickening crack, and falling 100 feet more. Lena screaming, blood curdling, as her brother fires.
Supergirl is crumpled in a dark, empty alley at the bottom of the building. It’s late, the emptiest hours of the morning, and there’s nothing but Supergirl’s ragged breathing as Lena sprints towards her, her heels loud against the concrete, and the near-silent patter of the fading rain that dampens Lena’s shoulders.
“Supergirl,” breathes Lena, dropping to her knees beside her. She sweeps the hair away from Supergirl’s face and gasps—it’s bashed on one side, blood beading on the bruised, dented skin of her cheekbone, and her veins are bright green, overlapping and crossing each other hungrily.
She blinks open her eyes and rasps, “Lena.”
Supergirl’s bleeding profusely from somewhere, Lena can already see it pooling, and she searches desperately until she realizes it’s her side, right at the bottom of her ribcage. Lena rips off her blazer and, in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, presses it firmly enough into Supergirl’s side that she hisses in pain.
“Help,” Lena mutters. “We need someone to help you. The DEO. Director Danvers, right? You’re close with her, aren’t you? Can you call them?”
“Yes,” says Supergirl, “yes.” Weakly, she taps her ear and says, “Alex.”
For the first time, Lena notices her small black earpiece. She leans over so her ear is right next to Supergirl’s, and hears a small, tinny voice come through. “Supergirl? Where are you? Are you alright?”
“No,” says Lena, and Supergirl winces at Lena’s loud voice directly in her ear. “She’s not. She’s badly injured.” Lena looks around, then leans back in to give directions. “Hurry,” she adds after. “Please hurry. It was Lex. He had Kryptonite.”
She notices a tugging on her sleeve and looks down to find Supergirl staring up at her intensely. “Lena,” she says again. “Lena.”
And Lena knows better than to adjust someone whose body is this broken, but Supergirl looks so pleading that she can’t stop herself from lifting her shoulders from the concrete, positioning her so Supergirl’s head rests in the crook of her elbow, her shoulders across Lena’s thighs. Supergirl shouts in pain at the movement, but quiets once she’s in Lena’s arms, closing her eyes and nodding through it.
“Lena.”
Supergirl almost always calls her ‘Miss Luthor’, often in the sharp, clipped tone of voice she uses when they argue. Lena prefers that from her, likes their relationship cordial and businesslike. But there’s something so strangely, achingly familiar in the way that she says Lena that Lena finds herself stroking Supergirl’s cheek and whispering, “Yes, yes, I’m here.”
“I have to tell you something,” says Supergirl. “Important.”
“What is it?” says Lena. “We have time. We have all the time in the world, okay?”
She’s not sure it’s true, with the blood that started to pool as soon as Supergirl hit the ground, with the creak of her every breath, with her green-infested veins. But it feels like the right thing to say all the same.
“It’s—you,” says Supergirl, and winces, a hand coming to her damaged ribcage. “I have to tell you… how I feel.”
Lena hurries to shush her. “I know how you feel about me, Supergirl. It’s okay, I’m fine with it.”
Supergirl frowns, and she looks like a petulant child. “No, not… her.”
The words make no sense to Lena. “What?”
“Supergirl. Not her. Tell you how… I feel.”
She’s delirious, clearly. But Lena thinks the kindest thing she can do right now is humor her, so she says, “Okay. Tell me how you feel.”
“I love you,” Supergirl whispers. “Should have told you… ages ago. I was so scared. You’re so kind. ‘N beautiful. Smart. ‘N perfect. Should have told you… how much…”
For several long seconds, Lena just stares at her, struck frozen. There’s not an ounce of sense to Supergirl’s words. She thinks Lena is someone else, that’s the only explanation. But then Lena remembers her words, Lena, Lena, Lena, as she tugged on Lena’s sleeve with desperate eyes, and can’t fit the pieces together.
“What do you mean?” she says. “You hate me. We barely know each other. I don’t even know your real name. What do you mean?”
Supergirl scans Lena’s face silently, her mouth gaping, and then something seems to click in her brain. She closes her eyes and breathes a heavy, “Oh.”
And Lena doesn’t understand, understands nothing as Supergirl nods several times and then opens her eyes, fixating on something far above Lena’s head.
“I’m a terrible person,” she says. “I’m a terrible, terrible person.”
“No, you’re not,” says Lena, and it’s like they’re barely having the same conversation. “You’re a hero. You save people every day. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count.”
“Still… Still, I broke it. You’ll hate me. I broke it.”
“What? Broke what? I don’t understand.”
“My—my promise,” whispers Supergirl, and then she coughs like she’s choking on her own lungs. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth. She reaches up a shaking hand to wipe it away, but only succeeds in smearing it across her chin. “I broke it. M’sorry. So sorry, Lena.”
“What promise?” says Lena, brushing a strand of golden hair, stained red, from Supergirl’s face. She looks so small like this, so fragile, so human. “You didn’t break any promises. You’re just fine.”
Supergirl shakes her head slowly, like the movement pains her. “Told—told you I would always protect you. Promised. Promised I’d always be… your friend.”
Lena stares at her. “You’ve never told me that. That was—”
And then her stomach drops so violently that it’s like someone’s reached in and ripped out her organs.
She whispers, “No.”
It’s like an abrupt pressure shift. Her ears pop, and she thinks she blacks out for a second, the darkness pressing on the edges of her vision. The world swirls into a blur of shapes and colours, the slick black of wet concrete, the blue and red, too much red, in her arms, as her gut contracts so hard that she thinks she might throw up.
Supergirl swallows, her eyes shutting as she nods through the pain. “M’sorry,” she rasps again, only managing to grit out a few words at a time. “I never… meant for you… to find out… like this.”
“No, no, no,” Lena says, shaking her head.
“Was going to tell you,” says Supergirl. “Promise… promise I was. Too late.”
And Lena looks down at her broken face and whispers, “Kara?”
“S’me.” Supergirl attempts a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. It hurts to look at as much as it seems to hurt her to make. “Always has been. Lena…”
A thousand memories are trying to reconstruct themselves in Lena’s brain all at once. She thinks of Kara in her office with burgers and hugs and laughter, she thinks of Supergirl fighting with her in the bowels of L-Corp, thinks of anger and allyship and love and trust and sees every single moment with both of them on high speed and their faces swirl around each other and together in a nauseating blend and—
When she looks down at the face of the woman in her lap, it’s like a veil has lifted from her eyes. Something fundamental has changed in Supergirl’s face in the time it’s taken her to look away and look back, and while Lena still sees her, National City’s hero, now the face in her lap is overwhelmingly…
“Kara.”
Her beautiful, brilliant blue eyes. The tiny divot of a scar beside her eyebrow. Her golden hair, her lips, her face. She’s dropped Supergirl’s front entirely, and all Lena can see now is Kara Danvers, her best friend, blood smeared across her cheekbone and chin and temple. Lena’s always thought Supergirl was invulnerable. She’s never seen Kara Danvers bleed.
Kara’s eyes—Kara’s eyes—brim full and shiny with tears. They spill over and trickle down her temples and disappear into her hair.
All Lena can think to do is whisper, “Why?”
“I wanted to tell you,” Kara says, her voice thick and almost inaudible. “For so long. Almost did.”
“But you didn’t. You—”
A few minutes ago, she’d been preparing herself to give National City’s most loved hero something human to hold on to until she… until the DEO could come and fix this. Now, in one fell stroke, she’s losing her best friend too.
“You’re mad,” says Kara. “You’re mad.”
Mad. It’s not a word that comes anywhere close to encompassing everything that Lena is feeling right now. Her mind is still working like it’s trying to mix water and oil, swirling and lurching pointlessly in confusion. There’s betrayal, sharp and acrid, and blinding, raging fury. And then, heavy enough to choke her, undiluted grief.
The most important friendship, the most important relationship in her life has been entirely built on a lie, all these years. It’s cold steel directly in her heart. And in the same breath that she learns this life-shattering truth, it’s being pulled out from under her.
In her arms, Kara coughs up more blood. It stains the sleeves of Lena’s white shirt.
Mad. Kara thinks she’s mad.
“Why now?” Lena says. “Why bother telling me now?”
“Wanted… wanted you to know. Always wanted you to know. And I… I want to die as Kara Danvers, here, with you. Not Supergirl. Not—not Supergirl. No. Kara.”
“You’re not dying. You can’t… Kara Danvers,” Lena mutters, her eyes skittering across Kara’s face. Kara’s lagging, she can see it, her cheeks white, her eyes unfocused. The blazer she’s been holding steadily to Kara’s side is warm and damp under her fingertips, but Lena’s afraid to look at it. Keep her talking, she thinks, her desperation overwhelming all other feeling. Keep her talking. “Is that your real name?”
Kara looks up at Lena, her eyes unsteady. She lifts one wobbling hand to Lena’s face, wincing at the movement, and places it on her cheek. Her index finger smears blood across Lena’s eyebrow.
“Zor-El,” she manages, and it clearly takes her great effort. “Kara… Zor-El… that’s my real name.”
“Kara Zor-El,” Lena whispers.
“I have… question.” Her voice scratches, quiet and desperate.
“What, what is it?”
“Did… did you love me? Me, Kara? Did you love me back?”
“Did I?” says Lena, and for the first time she’s aware that there are tears slipping down her cheeks, fast and hot. She’s not sure how long they’ve been falling, but they drip down Kara’s hand. “Darling, I do. Of course I do. Of course I loved you, of course I love you, god, I was so… so certain you’d never feel the same I—Kara.” Her voice cracks. “You’re not allowed to die on me. We have to fix this.”
Kara nods, but it’s clear she’s just humoring Lena. “Will you… will you kiss me? Just once? I want to know… what it could have felt like. What it could have been.”
Lena nods, desperately, wordlessly, cupping Kara’s cheek in her free hand. Kara’s blood-slick hand slides from Lena’s face to grip in her hair, and she pulls herself up just slightly, even though it causes her a horrible, pained whimper. Lena hunches over, awkwardly, so their lips can meet.
It’s a brush of soft skin against skin. Kara’s lips are cold, and Lena tries to kiss the warmth back into them, the delicious pinkness of her mouth that she’s watched and daydreamed about from afar, tries to feel the spark of wonder and delight she’s always imagined for their first kiss. Instead, she feels dizzying desperation, the clawing of anguish at inside of her chest and throat, and the weak movement of Kara’s lips as she tries to kiss back. Lena can taste the iron on her tongue.
There’s pain bubbling up inside her, sharp and visceral, and she has to pull back before it explodes out of her, her breath coming so quickly that she might be hyperventilating.
Kara has her eyes closed, and for a dreadful moment, Lena thinks she’s gone, but then she nods, her face neutral in a way that exudes pain. “Ah,” she whispers, pained and reverent.
“Hold on, darling,” says Lena, stroking her hair repetitively. “Hold on just a bit longer, please. Alex will be here soon. Alex. Don’t you want to see Alex?”
“Alex,” Kara repeats, still nodding. “She’s my favourite. Her ‘n you. The most important.”
“Yes, that’s why you have to hold on until she gets here, okay? Just until Alex is here.”
“Mm,” says Kara. “Tell her… I’m sorry. Tell her I love her. S’much.”
“Tell her yourself. She’ll be here soon. She’ll be here and you can talk to her. Hear that? She’ll be here any minute. Come on, Kara, hold on. For me, please. For me, I can’t—we haven’t even started, this hasn’t even started. It isn’t fair.” Her voice breaks completely. “You can’t go, it isn’t fair, it’s not, it’s cruel.”
Kara opens her eyes for the first time in several minutes, and she looks at Lena like she can’t quite see her but she’s trying to drink everything about her in at the same time. Her eyes are so blue against the white of her skin and the red of her blood and the green veins of Kryptonite that streak her skin. Blue as the depths of the ocean.
There are raindrops shining in her hair. They sparkle like diamonds in the glow of the streetlamp.
“Love you,” she whispers, her knuckles grazing Lena’s cheek. “Love you so much. Love you. Love you.”
She takes a shuttering breath and opens her mouth like she’s going to say more, her eyelashes fluttering, and then her hand slackens. Lena sees the moment her eyes go out.
“No,” she says, her trembling fingers scrambling across Kara’s face, her hair, her chest. “No, come back. We’re not done yet. I’m still so mad at you, Kara. Kara. Kara, come back. You’re not allowed. It’s not fair. It’s not, it’s not fair. It’s not, it’s not, it’s… please, I love you, please, please…” And she lifts Kara’s limp shoulders and buries her head into stained golden hair and sobs, so hard she can’t breathe, so hard she thinks something inside of her might break apart.
She’s still wailing into Kara’s hair when the DEO vans pull up, too late, far too late. She hears the heavy thuds of footsteps sprinting towards her but can’t bring herself to look up or pull away. She clutches Kara closer, afraid they’ll take her.
She hears Alex’s voice, quiet and filled with pure horror. “Oh god.”
They have to pry her away from Kara’s body, after many minutes of coaxing produces no results, and Lena screams at them, every awful, foul thing she can think of, screams and wails and tries to rake her fingernails down their faces as they pull her away. Strong arms envelop her from behind, pinning her arms by her sides, and she thrashes desperately, until a voice in her ear sobs, “Stop, Lena, stop, please.”
All at once, the energy drains out of her, and she sags. She turns her head and sobs silently into her own shoulder.
Behind her, Alex shakes. Lena feels the hitching of her breath.
She doesn’t know how long they stand there. The DEO agents put Kara on a stretcher and carry her away, and Lena can’t stop staring at the spot of concrete where she lay alive minutes ago. There’s a massive puddle of thick, dark blood, and it drips down the alley into the storm drain.
“She said to tell you she loved you,” she tells Alex, after what feels like hours. Her voice is hollow. “And to tell you she’s sorry.”
She hasn’t moved her arms from her sides to hug Alex back, despite the fact that she’s maybe the only person in the world who will be as broken by this as Lena. But she doesn’t want Alex’s comfort. She doesn’t even feel pain anymore. She just feels numb. Empty.
“She told you, didn’t she?” Alex whispers, her voice hoarse. “Everything?”
Lena nods. “Yes. She did.”
“I’m sorry,” says Alex, and her forehead drops onto Lena’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Lena says nothing, just stares at the slow drip of the blood.
They take her back to the DEO. Ask her questions that she answers in a monotone. Someone wraps a blanket around her shoulders and offers her tea, which she refuses. It’s dawn by the time she’s being dropped back off at her apartment, after hours of insisting that all she wants is to go home and be alone.
Lena stands, blood-soaked, in the doorway of her blindingly white penthouse. It’s brilliant in the morning light; the glass of her windows refracts little rainbows on the cabinets, and the sun shines long, yellow panes across the carpet.
It’s different.
She walks to the counter and pours herself a drink.