A/N: The Kryptonian mantra was found at this link: /2017/11/13/doyle-kryptonian-on-supergirl/
I hope you like this chapter! This is set before Mon-el's return to the show.
Lena ambled down the hallway looking for a particular room number.
Her dark hair was drawn up into an intricate, and professional, bun and she wore a dark pencil skirt matched with a dark green blouse. Her neck was adorned with a silver necklace that hung just above her collarbone. Her lips were painted in a muted tone today, instead of her usual red lipstick. It would be 'absolutely horrid' if her shirt and lip color reminded people of Christmas. Oh, the media would have a field day, 'Lena Luthor supporter of Christmas music before Thanksgiving.'
Upon sighting her destination, the sound of Lena's heels slowed in pace, not that she needed to search for the room because she knew its location by heart by now. It was almost like a second home to her; it was a safe place for her. Gosh, she didn't have many of those. It still took some getting used to—the familiarity, and comfort, a little loft could give her—that a place could feel like home, and yet not be specifically her 'home.'
Lena came to a stop outside the apartment door. The young CEO felt her gut telling her the door was unlocked, and she really hoped her gut was right. In the past, it had almost always been unlocked when she, her friend, was home, except for a recent period where it had remained firmly locked to anything and anyone. However, with recent events, she suspected that the occupant might be back to old habits.
Lena turned the doorknob, her palms sweaty—she was nervous about visiting unannounced. It wasn't a typical interaction they shared. They always made plans, and they hardly ever showed up unannounced. The door gave a gentle click as the blot left the strike plate in the door frame. It was unlocked just as she hoped. Lena, without hesitation, entered. The CEO had been afraid to knock and have her friend turn her away. As a result, she entered the apartment without any verbal consent from the owner. Better to ask for forgiveness than for permission, as the saying goes.
When Lena entered the apartment, she turned and hung up her sweater on the coat rack. In the middle of doing so, and turning back around, she called out, "Kara, hey, I had some ideas I wanted to run by you."
As the CEO finished the sentence and had turned to face the kitchen area, Lena's feet glued themselves to the floor, her brows arched, and her eyes widened for a second, before she composed her features. Lena was dumbfounded by the sight before her.
Kara sat at the wooden high-top table, though she expected the blonde to be binge-watching some TV show on the couch, that wasn't what stopped the infamous L-Corp CEO. She was rendered immobile by the spectacle of multiple large glass bottles haphazardly sitting on the high top, and most of all, the view of one of those bottles pressed firmly to Kara's lips.
"Lena!" Kara coughed and sputtered, pulling the bottle away from her lips as she made eye contact with the estranged Luthor and registered what Lena had just uttered.
Lena immediately noted the delayed reactions—Kara was never this delayed. She would have heard her when the door opened, or even the rustling of putting her sweater on the rack. Kara had this sensory thing about her at times, Lena had observed in the past.
"Lena, sorry, I must've forgotten we were doing something this weekend," Kara said very slowly, too slowly, her brow crinkling in confusion. Kara got off the stool, stumbling to her feet as she did so, and Lena knew. Oh, she knew.
Kara Danvers, little miss sunshine, was drunk. Talk about a role reversal from three weeks ago. Lena helping her drunk friend Kara. It sounded almost like a joke if she wasn't seeing it for herself.
"Actually, we didn't have plans this weekend; I just showed up. Unannounced." Lena answered. Pointedly, she followed that statement, teasingly, with, "Kara, are you drunk? I didn't think Kara Danvers ever let herself get drunk."
"What, no? No. I'm not drunk." Kara slurred, her arms outstretched as if Lena was expressing a crazy notion. The blonde, unsteady on her feet, had made it over to Lena from the short distance of the high-top table in the kitchen, without much incident. Though, Lena's arms were ready if Kara had needed her assistance with walking.
"You're drunk, don't even pretend to deny it," chuckled Lena guiding Kara to the blonde's couch. Guiding, being more of assisting the reporter with the short distance of the kitchen, and dining area, to the living area of the loft. Lena seriously doubted her friend could have made it there without bumping into the other furniture pieces.
Once the CEO sat Kara down on the couch, Kara drew in a shaky breath. The sound reminded Lena of when she had confronted her at work about the way she had been acting. Lena, carefully, took a seat next to Kara on the couch. Lena had been playing it cool so as not to spook Kara—laughing and making light of the situation. Though, Lena was very concerned. This was something she would do after a bad day, not Kara.
The younger woman seemed to be focused on something at her feet, her head was bowed, her elbows rested on her thighs, and her back was arched in the position of leaning forward, instead of resting her back on the couch cushions. It was almost as if she was trying to wall out the rest of the world. Kara had, from Lena's perspective, seemingly shut down once she had dismissed Kara's objection about her not being drunk.
"Kara," Lena began gently, and put a reassuring hand between Kara's shoulder blades, "is this about Mon-el?"
Kara gave a heavy sigh. "Yes, and no. It's complicated," Kara slurred out—her words unsteady in her pronunciation. The reporter slumped backward and rested her body on the back of the couch cushion as if in defeat, Lena having had removed her hand when Kara had started to slouch backward.
"Kara, you can talk to me. You've seen me when I was wasted—"
"This is different. You haven't— You don't—," Kara let out a frustrated breath and ran an agitated hand through the hair on top of her drawn up hair. "This is different Lena," Replied Kara scooting away from Lena towards the arm of the couch. "It's not just about him. I-I did something, something that goes against everything I stand for."
"You don't think I felt the same way two weeks ago?" Lena replied her voice even and gentle, though not without a tiny hint of offense. Her green eyes, though, had no malice directed towards her friend.
"I didn't mean it like that. It's just different, Lena." Kara looked down avoiding eye contact with Lena.
Loose, blonde, hair from Kara's ponytail fell across the side of her face, and her hair was, noticeably, greasy from not being washed in the past few days. It had gross shine from the sunlight streaming in through the window behind her, and the hair in Kara's ponytail was limp and lifeless. The blonde also had a slight musty odor just barely detectable over the stench of alcohol.
Taking stock of Kara's state, Lena steeled herself, "Well, as your employer I can suspend you from work until further notice if I feel you need time, or what have you." Her tone firm as the threat left her lips.
Kara's head shot up, her blue eyes steely as they met Lena's, "That's—I don't need James and Alex on my butt for sudden absence at work. They'll figure it out, and…" Kara's eyes shifted to the side before they came back to look at her, "Look, Lena, it's about a lot of things." Kara finished looking down again.
Kara maneuvered her legs so she was sitting cross-legged on the couch and her back rested on the arm of the couch. Her shoulders were slumped. It was an odd contrast to the power and optimism Lena usually associated with Kara.
Kara nervously began picking at the threads in her socks, not knowing how to weasel herself out of this situation. She felt trapped. Alex was sure to find out now about what she had been doing, and the last thing Alex needed, after breaking up with Maggie, was to take care of her broken alien sister. Kara didn't know what to say; she couldn't tell Lena the truth without revealing her alter-ego to the CEO.
They sat in an uncomfortable silence as Kara stalled trying to figure out a way out of this situation. Lena sensed the silence might work in her favor for breaking through the shell of her best friend. Filling in the space left by their broken conversation, birds chirped outside, the sound of Kara picking at her socks, a honk as cars bustled out on the streets, a shuffle of feet as they padded down the hallway towards the elevator, and muffled words as a conversation passed Kara's apartment door.
"ha-ha," suddenly, chuckled Kara, "You know when you said I believe everything is good in the world, well," she again chuckled, "you were wrong. You don't understand, or even know what I've been through." Kara's eyes locked with Lena's—blue steel pierced through her as a rage was reflected in her best friend's eyes. Rapidly there was a flash in Kara's glower, and the rage morphed into hurt—Kara's eyes began to shimmer as moisture gathered in her eyes.
"I'm not some happy saint. That's all people seem to think I am. I-I've done things," a watery sob issued from Kara, "you could never bring yourself to do. I was so tempted to do something," a stifled sob makes it from her lips," and for a moment I thought I could do it. I've done it before—I've done it before, but I couldn't do it." Kara snuffled at the end, and couldn't hold the sobs in anymore. Violent sobs racked Kara's frame as if there was an earthquake within the reporter's body.
Kara bowed her head and covered her mouth with her hand trying to stifle her cries. She clenched her eyes shut in a, failing, effort to regain control of herself. Tears darted down her face one after the other, they wouldn't stop, and to Kara, her muffled sobs seemed so loud. She was crumbling in front of someone. She didn't want anyone to see how human she was. They weren't supposed to see this. She wasn't human, and yet here she was… being human.
Lena Luthor, the genius of L-Corp, was speechless. She awkwardly laid her hand on her friend's shoulder, and as she felt a violent sob shake through Kara's frame, she pulled Kara into her. Burying the reporter's face into her shoulder. Her hand cradled the back of Kara's head and gently pressed her face into her green blouse. Her other arm was wrapped around Kara's shoulders holding her close—trying to comfort her.
"Shh, sh, it's okay. It's okay, Kara," Lena said recalling a memory of her real mother doing the same when she had been alive. She repeated those words over and over, and slightly rocked Kara, in her attempt to comfort her distraught and intoxicated friend. The stench of liquor from Kara was overwhelming. Lena held back a grimace as, beneath the smell of alcohol, she got a good whiff of the stench associated with Kara not showering the past few days. Ignoring it, Lena focused on calming her friend down and slowing down the sobs that racked the blonde's frame.
Kara hesitantly accepted the embrace and wrapped her arms around Lena. Kara's sobs eased and quieted as Lena rubbed a hand up and down Kara's back, and rocked her slightly as if she was a child. Kara turned her head and rested her cheek on Lena's shoulder, and found enough control to speak again.
"Clark, my cousin, he hasn't had to k—do the things I have. Looking back, I—I," a sob escapes her control, "I could have done something different. My hands didn't have to be so dirty… I turned them into dust." Kara whispered the last part of her distraught ramblings, and the Kryptonian found her tears had ceased. The sobs had stopped. All she was, now, was exhausted—so tired, her bones felt like they were made of Nth metal.
"Turned what into dust?" inquired Lena, her concern growing at the weird gibberish coming from Kara. She made a mental note to find out the phone number to Kara's sister.
She didn't answer Lena. With her cheek resting on Lena's, now wet, shoulder, Kara stared vacantly out at her apartment
Waking from her slumber, Kara groaned. She felt terrible. Kara opened her eyes, and quickly closed them again. She felt sick—the room felt like it was spinning. The light felt like it was burning through the cell membranes in her eyes. Every sound within a mile radius seemed to reverberate through her skull. Kara cracked one eye open and caught sight of a note on the coffee table, as well as a glass of water and some pills.
Startled, she realized she was laying on her couch. A blanket, the one that usually resided on top of the couch, had been carefully draped over her. As she processed these details, she noted all the curtains in her loft had been drawn closed. They didn't do much though, considering the curtains were white and opaque.
Reaching forward, pulling an arm out from beneath the blanket, she grasped the note and brought it to her face to read:
Kara,
Here is something for your headache. I hope they help. Don't worry about coming into work for the next few days. I have given you the next three days off. Rest up, shower, and take care of yourself. I will be checking in on you, and depending on how you're doing, I will authorize when you can come back to work.
With love,
Lena
This is just great. Just what I needed, thought Kara as she finished reading the letter. James is going to be making the rounds, again!
Kara, with some effort, began to recall what had transpired a few hours ago. Overwhelming shame coiled itself in her stomach. She felt sicker than when she had awoken. She pulled the blanket over her head and swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. She was so embarrassed; she was supposed to be better than that. Better than being broken. Better than being human.
Would Lena still be her friend after what she had seen? She had seen that Kara Danvers was not some perfect embodiment of sunshine and goodness. What would her boss, and friend, think now? Oh, Rao!
Kara took a shuddering breath as she tried to calm herself down. She pulled the blanket off from covering her head, and she took deep breaths to calm herself.
"Star, make my life light. Star, build my power," Kara whispered in Kryptonian, matching her breathing to the rhythm of her chanting. Once she was a little calmer, she sat up on the couch. She downed the glass of water Lena had left out for her. The painkillers, she knew, would do nothing for her, so she picked them up and returned them to the bottle she had in the bathroom for when Alex was hung over.
Kara proceeded to defy how terrible she felt and pushed open a single set of her curtains so the maximum amount of light could shine through the window. Her eyes burned, and water leaked from her eyes, as the sunbeam shone brightly on her face. With one eye cracked open, she grabbed the latch of the window, unlocked it and swung it open so even more sunlight could shine onto the open spot in her loft. She shielded her eyes with her hand and followed the sunlight to where it rested on the wooden floor. Kara laid herself down on the wood floor, basking in the area of sunlight she had created. She turned her head towards the side to alleviate some of the stinging in her eyes from the light.
The female Kryptonian had learned, through trial and error, the quickest way for her body to get back to normal, after drinking strong alien alcohol, was to curl up in the sun. The behavior reminded Kara of Eliza's cat, and how she would curl up by the sliding glass door and lounge in the sun. It was just another thing that reminded her she wasn't human. Heck, she found a cat relatable, especially with how refreshing the sun felt on her skin after she'd had one too many drinks.
As she allowed her body to begin to heal itself, she found the images on Mars once again haunted her. She had disintegrated those White Martians as if it was nothing at all. She swung that staff and they turned to dust. Turned into soot. She couldn't even recall correctly anymore because she'd gone over the memory so many times if she knew swinging the staff would result in such an outcome-if Kara knew, at some level, those White Martians would be vaporized.
"Kara, this is war, and to win a war, sometimes the enemy has to die. But can you look me in the eye and tell me that you are prepared to kill?" Alex had asked two years ago.
"Superman doesn't kill," Kara replied pointedly.
The memory of that conversation haunted her at night. She isn't the hero she thought she would be. She has killed. A few Daxamites, and Rhea, too, died when she released the lead into the atmosphere. Now, she has killed—no, vaporized—White Martians. People are never entirely made of only evil, and she knows this. And, that fact makes it all the more traumatic that she, in certain situations, can execute a killing blow without batting an eye.
She could have just knocked those Martians out, but instead, she vaporized them. Turned them into dust. J'onn didn't even bat an eye at the incident either. It's as if people don't notice that her hands are covered in blood. In her first year of crime fighting, she couldn't even bring herself to kill Non, but, now, the body count is rising!
The hurting superheroine could hear Morgan Edge's voice:
"Now, if I had an enemy, I'd crush her without mercy. Let's say, for instance, I was your enemy, hmm? The thing for you to do right now would be to kill me. But you capes, you don't have what it takes. Do you?"
Kara is haunted by those words, in more than one way. They keep her up at night sometimes because Morgan Edge doesn't have the slightest idea of the acts she has done.
Oh, how she wished she could've proven him wrong and performed what he had asked. But, in a strange twist, she couldn't bring herself to hurt a human. It was almost as if she sub-consciously regarded their life as more valuable than an alien's. Was that it? Was that why she could so easily take those Martians lives?
Suddenly, a car honked loudly outside, and in response, Kara's head pulsated.
Her head hurt too much to solve this internal problem today. She pushed the thoughts, regarding the value system of how she saw alien lives vs. human lives, away. She pushed them back into the recesses of her mind. That was the last thing she wanted to think about. Mostly, Kara was terrified to find out if she had, somehow, been conditioned to regard human life as more valuable than alien life. Hence, the reporter preferred to leave that door locked.
All that mattered, right now, was that Edge was wrong, she had killed. And, she knows every single face that she has killed. She sees them in her dreams. Her hands are coated in blood, but no one, not even her friends, notices. No one cares that she has ended up killing. It's as if only she could see the dirt on hands, and it tore her apart inside. The thought and the memories made her heartache. Her friends also couldn't even fathom, that she might have killed Mon-el too. She might have killed him. He could be dead in space. Dead in that pod she sent him away in. There was a real chance she could have killed the man she loves.
Tears streamed down Kara's face.
Her hands were covered in red—so dirty. They were painted and caked in crimson. And everyone was blind to it, everyone, except herself.
Eventually, while Kara was curled up in the sun, she drifted off to sleep. Today was terrible, and rest, at least today, was an escape from the reality she lived in. Tomorrow she could deal with not being the hero she wanted to be—not being the hero she should be.
