Chapter Text
Lena found the document while packing up to move from the penthouse.
She moved through the apartment slowly, bypassing dishes and books—she would have the movers take care of those—to instead box up those belongings that she didn’t trust to anyone else’s eyes.
She liked the monotony of the manual labor, the rhythm of picking up items and placing them in boxes, like a puzzle.
After weeks of mainlining coffee to produce invention after world-shattering invention to rescue Kara from the Phantom Zone, after days of tearful reunions and long conversations and lingering hugs, Lena was happy to shut off her brain for a while.
Lena found the paper poking out from under a stack of Lionel’s old calendars and leather-bound books of business contacts. She wasn’t sure why she kept those things, perhaps the sneaking suspicion that one day an old associate of Lionel’s would be of use to her.
Now, however, she was determined to actually throw away some of the junk tucked into the corners of closets in her otherwise neat and orderly apartment.
She glanced at the paper, preparing to toss it into the black garbage bag she gripped in her left hand. The paper was halfway into the bag when her hand froze in midair, her eyes alighting on an address within the body of the text.
Galway, Ireland.
That was odd. She was born in Galway, since her mother was from a village a dozen or so kilometers from the urban outskirts of the city.
Lena sank to a seated position on the floor to read what now revealed itself to be a legal document, taking advantage of the chance to rest her dully aching back.
Her eyes darted from side to side, skimming the words found there.
…hereby established…for all perpetuity…a blind trust…for the medical support of the individual cited on page 1 of the present document...
Lena realized her eyes were skipping over words. She must be more tired than she thought. She forced herself to slow, and she reread the document.
Her stomach dropped.
Some of the pages were missing, so she did not see the name of the individual that the document discussed, but it provided a substantial provision of money (the pages she held did not say the exact amount) for a certain individual in Ireland.
Her eyes darted to the stack of old agendas again.
Before she realized what she was doing, she tore through the stack and then all the folders, binders, and boxes in the stuffy closet, searching for the missing pages. Her heart pounded in her chest.
“Rao, Lena, are you okay?!”
Before Lena’s mind could put two and two together, a panicked Supergirl crashed into the closet, sending boxes and papers flying everywhere.
Lena blinked in astonishment. “Kara!”
“Oh,” Kara said a bit sheepishly. “I heard your heartbeat accelerate, and I thought—” she paused, feeling foolish. A soft pink spread across her face. “I was worried, but that was silly. Sorry, I’ll go.”
Lena released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.
“No, no, I just saw something surprising. I’m okay.”
Kara nodded and started to walk away.
“I needed a break anyway. If you want to stay?” Lena suddenly felt shy. The last three weeks since Kara had returned from the Phantom Zone had been nice, but they were still finding their rhythm together. Lena still struggled to accept that Kara wanted her back, and Kara still vacillated between clingy and walking on eggshells, trying to understand how they fit together.
“Uh sure! Okay,” Kara smiled.
“But darling, you don’t need to come flying across town every time I stub my toe or something. If I need Supergirl to save me, I’ve got my watch.”
“Er, sorry about that,” Kara mumbled. “Since I got back…I feel like I can hear more than before, y’know? Like my powers are more attuned. So I heard your heartbeat, and I don’t know… I guess I’m scared that what I saw there will happen here.”
“Hey,” Lena whispered, pushing down her awkwardness to pull Kara into a hug. “I’m safe. You’re safe.”
Kara took a deep breath. She relaxed into Lena’s shoulder, inhaling the faint vanilla of her hair and feeling the reassuring thump, thump of her heart.
After a moment, they parted, shuffling a bit awkwardly as they did so.
“So, what did you find?” Kara asked.
Lena’s eyes shot up, remembering the paper. Lost in Kara’s arms, she had nearly forgotten the odd discovery.
“It’s probably nothing. It’s just a page from an old trust my father established. I’d never heard of it before, but that’s hardly surprising. It’s not like he shared all his business secrets with his family. What’s odd is that it has an address in Ireland, in the city where I was born. I didn’t realize he had any connections left there, after…”
Her voice dropped off there. She didn’t know how she intended on finishing that sentence. After…? After her mother drowned? After Lionel snatched her away from her home?
Kara listened with a furrowed brow. “What are you going to do?”
Lena shrugged. “Without LuthorCorp and with things calming down at the Tower, I don’t have anything better to do, so I might as well go investigate.”
Kara bounced on the balls of her feet. “How ‘bout I take you?”
Lena smiled at the enthusiasm spread across Kara’s face.
“As lovely as that sounds, I think Andrea would fire you on the spot if you took another second off of work at Catco.”
Kara pouted, but then nodded. Lena was right. Andrea had given her a pass for leaving for weeks without a word based on her “collaboration with Cat,” but Andrea’s scrutiny was more laser-focused than ever.
“Besides,” Lena said, a plan forming, “I may make a trip of it, take a few days to reconnect.”
When she got off the plane in Ireland, Lena was met by a flood of emotions. She breathed deeply, taking in the heavy salt air that brought her back to her childhood.
Lena hadn’t spent much time in the city as a toddler—not that she could recall, anyway. Her memories of that in her life were faded, more flashes of moments and feelings than actual memories.
She seemed to recall visiting the city one time, clutching her mother’s hand as they walked by the formidable stone walls of the university. She couldn’t remember why they were there, just flashes of awe at the grandiosity of the city, so different from the nearby village where they lived. She also remembered warmth, the reassurance of her mother’s hand in hers.
Now, the feeling of sorrowful nostalgia was battling with another emotion. This one surged uninvited but powerful—shame.
Lena now sat in the back of the taxi as it traveled north to Galway, gazing out past the trees lining the road to the endless stretches of green, trying to ignore the growing lump in her throat, the heaviness that had settled into her stomach.
It was as if her childhood home was calling her out, shining a harsh light on all her many failings. Surrounded by green—so different than the semi-arid conditions outside of National City—she couldn’t help but think of the kryptonite-laced ice encasing Kara in the Fortress.
And once the image of a trapped, terrified Kara sprang to her mind, the others followed. Myriad, the prisoners’ violent deaths, Lex’s screams, the near-brainwashing of half the world under Lex’s perversion of her technology, Kara’s time in the Phantom Zone… the images all mocked her.
You’re not worthy of a home, they hissed at her from deep within. You haven’t been worthy to call this home from the moment that you took the name ‘Luthor.’
Lena remembered her mother’s softness, the way she would always stop to care for stray animals, the way she doted over elderly neighbors. What would she think if she knew what her daughter had become?
Lena squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the thoughts.
It’s time for you to forgive yourself, Alex had said. And she had tried, really, she had. In National City, it almost seemed like she had succeeded. Despite her lingering doubts that nagged at her when her eyes shut at night, Lena spent most of the day focused on the future.
She had even bought a space that she had transformed into a private lab, a place completely separate from LuthorCorp where she could start anew, submerge herself in the R&D that thrilled her. Now, she spent every moment she wasn’t at the Tower or with Kara in the lab, setting up equipment and planning research with a creative drive she hadn’t felt since her early days at MIT.
Here in Ireland, though, it was hard to deny the gulf between the person she had become and the person she remembered her mother to be. Here, far from the manor where she grew up, it was hard to believe that she had allowed herself to be so tarnished by the Luthors' toxic influence.
“We’re here, ma’am,” the driver announced, pulling Lena from her thoughts.
After freshening up at the hotel, Lena immediately headed to the address on the paper. It was a small building in a slightly rundown part of town with a single sign: Galway Long-Term Intensive Care.
Her heart pounding so much that she half expected a worried Supergirl to appear any second, Lena pushed the door open.
Lena was immediately met with the harsh smell of sterilizing agents and the glare of fluorescent lights bouncing off of stark white walls.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” a nurse wearing blue scrubs appeared from the back.
Lena hadn’t really planned in advance what she would say. Instead, she pulled on every fiber of her CEO persona, grateful she had yet to abandon high heels and power suits despite her recent unemployment.
“Yes. Good morning. I am considering making a substantial donation to this establishment, and I would like a tour of the premises.”
The nurse gaped at her. “Oh, well, that would be highly appreciated, ma’am,” he stuttered. “We’re really quite grateful. But, er, why didn’t you call ahead?”
Lena pulled her most disdainfully bored CEO face. “And give the institution the chance to put their very best face forward? No, if something is worthy of my support, it can bear being seen on its average day, not just its best.”
He nodded, still looking flustered. “Yes, but, you see, there are protocols—”
“And there are many, many other hospitals that could benefit from my donation. So if you’d prefer I leave…” Lena said, turning to walk away.
He turned pale. “Not at all, ma’am. Come with me, then.”
He led her down a wide, harshly lit hallway, chattering nervously about the history of the institution and the types of patients in their care. Mostly, he explained, they cared for coma patients whose states persist more than a month.
Lena nodded as they passed room after room, not really listening to the facts the nurse presented.
Why would her father be funding this small specialty hospital in a far-off city? While never miserly with his philanthropy, Lionel Luthor had always preferred public displays of generosity, the kind that made stock prices rise and kept PR executives happy.
No, Lionel was the type to fund gala fundraisers for art societies and endow Luthor wings of cancer centers.
Or make a show of adopting an adorable ‘orphan’, Lena thought with a grimace, remembering the relentless flashes of cameras as she was dragged to public appearance after public appearance during her first few months with the Luthors.
Suddenly, the nurse’s words pulled Lena from her thoughts.
“We have one patient, a Jane Doe, who has been here for 25 years,” he explained. His voice had lost its uncertainty as he fell into a rhythmic pride about his institution. “It is extremely unusual for a coma patient who does not regain consciousness to live that long, but it is a testament to the exceptional care that we have given her.”
25 years? Lena thought. But that would be… 1996. When she was four.
No.
It was impossible.
Lena’s stomach dropped. “Can I see her?” she whispered, before remembering the character she was playing. “I am very impressed to hear about this patient’s case and would like to learn more.”
“Yes ma’am, I can take you to outside her room. I’m afraid you cannot enter due to protocol.”
“And what was the cause of her condition?” Lena asked, hoping the nurse did not catch the way her voice raised in pitch.
“Hypoxia. Poor thing nearly drowned. Here you go,” he added, having reached the patient’s room.
Lena looked through the wide window and her heart stopped, and this time, she was sure Supergirl would appear because even Lena was unsure if she was actually breathing.
There, lying in a bed, hooked up to an endless number of tubes and monitors, was the still, small, and pale form of a woman.
She shouldn’t recognize her, not after so many years, not with all of the medical equipment surrounding her.
She shouldn’t recognize her, since the gray strands now mixed with auburn ones.
She shouldn’t recognize her, especially since if the last year had taught her anything, it was that she apparently had mild face blindness.
But somehow, she did.
It was her mother.