Kara knows its serious immediately, serious in a way that all the other cases haven't been. Alex's face is drawn tight and her eyes are both wary and sad – as if she's approaching a caged animal. Alex reaches for her, before retreating and squaring her shoulders. "It's Winn." There's a moment of disbelief, where a laugh manages to bubble through before the look in Alex's eyes hits her and she crumbles, grabbing the wall for support as she sags. "But we just got him back…" she whispers to Alex as she crouches before her.
They know too little. Winn's been taken. They don't know where or by whom. They're working around the clock to break the encryption. They'll let her know as soon as anything of use comes to light. She puts her entire arm through a wall and smashes a table to splinters.
But it's the empty desk that breaks her. The chair vacant, the screen blank, and suddenly she can't breathe. She makes it to their secret office before falling to pieces – tears streaming down her face, breath tearing through her lungs; as she imagines him, bound, injured, alone, not certain if she'd save him.
James eventually finds her but his arms around her feel wrong. They're too strong, and they hold her in the wrong place, and all of a sudden a realisation rips through her that shatters her heart all over again. Through the haze she can hear someone say something about a panic attack and there's a paper bag pressed to her mouth.
Lucy is crowded in behind James, standing awkwardly half in the door and looking unsure. There's a phone passed back and Alex's voice is coming through the speaker. Her voice cracks as she sobs out the question, "what if that was the last time I see him?" She pictures his face, that look in his eyes, one she'd seen too frequently, the face of a man who leapt off a cliff knowing full well the landing could cripple him.
He's in every corner of her mind, in every crevice of the room around her. And she thinks about the man she met that first day at CatCo., the man who left wrapped gifts and cupcakes on her desk every birthday, the man who was thankful for her, who loved her; she knows him. A memory of his voice breaks through the screaming static in her head, an accusatory "I'm never disappointed in Supergirl. I was disappointed in you." She gulps in a breathe and holds it, slowly stumbling to her feet and readjusting her glasses; he wouldn't have given up on her so easily.
It's three days later when he staggers out behind some DEO agents, Alex firmly beneath his arm keeping him standing. There's so much blood, burn marks through his shirt, and she can hear the whispers back at the van, "torture" they say, "admirable" they say. Her arms are around him in a split second.
She feels him breathe deeply against her and there's some part of her that just knows it's the first real breath he's drawn for days. He stays for a moment, one instant where his hands almost move to her back. But he withdraws and there's a new vagueness to his gaze she almost wishes she couldn't see through.
She wants to hold him there, force his eyes to meet hers. But he's fixed on some invisible point in the distance and his shoulders draw almost imperceptibly. She let's him go. His eyes dart to catch hers for the briefest of moments before he turns away with a small nod. "You're my best friend." It's almost a whisper, and she'd be embarrassed at the way her voice cracks over it if there weren't so much hanging in the balance. He's stopped shuffling away and she dares to take a small half-step closer. "Thank you. For saving my life. Again." And he's gone.
The door is cool against her forehead as she listens to him stutter around the apartment. She's been standing here for near an hour, trying to work up the courage to knock, or leave, she's not sure which. Instead she types out a quick text, 'I could do with that "creepy little doll" about now.' The only response she gets is quiet sobs that leak through the door as she slides down against it.