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Love is such a hard thing to grasp. When you’re a child, it feels like love comes off so easily. She never understood how Lionel and Lillian would always quarrel at the bottom of the manor’s staircase, but at some point they parted ways in the wide estate Lena was forced to call home. By then, their raised voices had dimmed but the hopelessness was felt in every sinew and corner of its painted wallpapers.
She thought how ridiculous it is to watch these grown adults be dishonest about their true feelings. She could see it underneath the layer they masked themselves in. A lingering swirl of affection and want. Except it’s horribly painted over by their sense of selves, what they perceive as a priority over what they yearn for.
Either way, Lena vows to never be like that— to be the worst of what growing up would be. She tries to keep it in mind, she really does but she realizes that as one grows old, they soon forget the person they were.
When they are young, children don’t have a sense of dignity even if they could recognize possible danger. After all, the world is so new and so interesting, never to be taken for granted. Their minds absorb everything with such magnified fascination. However, as they grow, their sense of gratitude for everything in life is squandered by the feeling of dissatisfaction— to have finally recognized that not everything in the world is made to be explored by themselves. That not every experience will be given to them, and that their immediate narcissistic wants would not be adhered to as immediate as they preferred. Or that everything before them is theirs. Sometimes Lena would blame it on the Bible’s sense of human entitlement but most days she blames the innate greed that humans have.
It’s so easy to forget the lessons she’s taught herself, however. How is it that when she was younger, life felt a whole lot more bearable? She was able to rationalize better and was able to be far more passionate than she is now. It’s simply unfortunate that all those hopes for bettering one’s self crumbles in the weight of crippling insecurity, the idea that no side is far more important than hers— that others’ shoes are not meant to be walked upon by hers.
So when she’s now looking across the cold function hall filled to the brim with sycophants and illustrious figures, her eyes meet with blonde hair and strong back. It started off with a sound, a noticeable chime of her laughter that Lena could easily single out amongst the sea of people. And much like every recent interaction she’s had with Kara Danvers, or Supergirl— or whatever name she truly has—, Lena finds herself conflicted. Her heart yearns to be around that singing halo that brings her comfort. She yearns to sink in those strong arms and to inhale the scent of smoke and sunshine. Except, a large part of her, her indomitable pride, holds her feet back from approaching. After all, what she feels is nothing but unfiltered weakness that seeps through the armor she’s built for herself. Getting over her is nothing more than an obstacle she has to face in order to be stronger, mentally and emotionally. Her dependence on her is a sign of years being unguarded. She’s long allowed her heart to rule, now, she has to learn to trust her mind. She’s a genius, for god’s sake, she’s better than to be a love-sick—
Love.
Lena scoffs at the idea of loving Kara. She scoffs at it quite easily with the… number of scotch she’s consumed for the night. After all, how else would she be able to survive through the night? She looks up once more to see the electric gaze of blue. Suddenly, Lena feels nauseous with the amount of magnetic gravity that tries to pull them together. She doesn’t relent but Kara does. She took a step that had Lena easily back away. That stopped Kara from moving further. Beside her, Alex holds the woman back, gives Lena a stiff nod, before leading Kara away.
Two things happened thereafter. Lena felt relief flood her shoulders as her chest aches.
Jesus, she needs another glass—
“Lena!” Lex calls out to her. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the open bar.” He jovially winks as if a secret was shared between them.
“Lex.” She coldly greets. “The party looks lovely as always.
“Good to hear that it’s taken to your liking.” He quickly replies before introducing his most recent arm candy. It doesn’t matter since the name doesn’t register anyway. Especially when she’s sure the woman would be in her bed tonight if that lingering look wasn’t just her imagination.
“Pleasure to meet you.” She holds a hand out. “When you’re tired of following my brother around, I’ve got a spare seat waiting.”
She giggles. Her brother loves his women easy (...to manipulate), as always. She sees a slight pass of irritation in his face, making Lena relish in such small pleasure. It’s even more satisfying when she sees the woman slide next to her, who is slowly becoming intrigued in something other than a simple conversation.
Unfortunately, her plans for the night had been stolen away by a sharp look from her brother and a quick summon through the passing steward. Though the seat didn’t stay empty for long as another blonde woman sidled next. “I’m having what she’s having.”
Lena bites the accusatory remark about how alcohol doesn’t work on her anyway. Instead, she stews in her own silence, trying her best to ignore the constant screaming presence of the resident superhero. For a while, none of them spoke. After all, what would they say to each other? Every word they would share will be filtered through the layer of hurt that has been built between them.
The night ended with just them sitting there, never talking. If anyone asks, Lena would deny how Kara’s presence had soothed a part of her; she would deny how thankful she felt that even with the destroyed bridges, Kara chose her ; she would deny how she stares at her reflection, noting how immensely gorgeous she was tonight;
And she would deny how she preened under the examining gaze Kara gave back.
When Lena looks back, she would realize the significance of this single moment in shared silence— not a word passed between them— how she’d soon realize that both of them are exceptional liars and even greater deniers. It is perhaps this moment that would signify her somber understanding of their omission, how easily they hide themselves with words they hoped the other would need to hear.
In truth, they never truly needed to talk since their heart already knows the untethered connection between them. And as they say, where the heart goes the mind would soon follow. It was only unfortunate that they resisted its inevitability, thereby prolonging their own misery.
She’d think of them as fools for refusing something so beautiful.
And once they follow, would they even find how easier it is— how right it is; that all those time spent apart had been nothing but a form of self-sabotage. Whose weakness they’ve believed to be each other was merely a figment of their disproportionate anticipatory thoughts, further radicalized by the betrayal and hurt they’ve felt throughout their lives.
After all, what is strength if not following your heart?