Kara settled into her desk early Tuesday morning, sipping at a fresh latte from Noonan's between bites of an apple cider donut. She was steadily returning to her old self: big smiles and relentless optimism. Sure, on some days her chest felt hollow, like every emotion echoed with sadness. Those were the days she forgot to avoid the gossip columnists and anything they produced like the plague, namely their latest headlines featuring what they affectionately called The Luthor-Tech Merger. Still, most days, breath filled her lungs just the same. She started jogging in the mornings with Alex and even went on a couple dates to appease her. If she spent too much time talking about Lena and never saw them again, she couldn't be blamed. No one could measure up. It was...a start.

The reporter's company computer whirred to a start, slowly booting up as she rocked side to side in her chair. Tapping a syncopated beat against the clacking keys, she logged in to her home screen, where 36 new emails waited for her perusal. After forwarding and replying to the simplest of the bunch, she spotted an email from her boss.

From: cgrant

To: kdanvers

Subject: Press passes

Body:

Swing by my office when you have a minute, press passes have just arrived.

-CG

As she poked her head into the older woman's office, she inquired, "Hey, Cat, some passes came in?"

"They're right there," she gestured toward a series of badges resting on the coffee table, inviting Kara in as she continued drafting an email.

Stepping toward the center of the room, she examined the table. There were three badges with her name on them. Two for an upcoming film festival and one for the 43rd Annual Luthor Corp Gala. In the haze her life had become, she forgot completely about the gala. She stood frozen solid in front of her boss' desk. She felt her lungs collapsing as the barely mended wounds deep in her chest ripped open.

"Is there a problem, Kara?" It lacked the uncertainty of a question as she failed to shift purposeful eyes from her monitor.

I can't go, can I?

As Kara met the powerful woman's gaze, she realized there was no point fighting it. Whether it was Cat's half-hearted attempt at reuniting them (she couldn't very well take credit for a pre-planned story, try she might) or a stubborn power play, the reporter knew she had been beat.

"No, no problem," she choked out.

"Well. That'll be all."

With a small nod and tight smile, Kara returned to her desk. She couldn't go. She just couldn't. It felt more like a press pass to a death march than a lavish gala and it only seemed to grow more foreboding the longer it sat on the edge of her desk, as though the small lanyard might suddenly burn through the solid laminate table-top like horrifically corrosive acid if it stayed there too long, a ticking time bomb.

In a way, it was.

She glanced at the date on the badge - in two short weeks she was meant to be in the same room as her ex-girlfriend. Did Lena even remember inviting her? Should she call? Text? Email? Carrier pigeon? Remember me, the woman you're in love with? A gnawing selfish need in her gut ached to call, to hear the brunette's voice once again, but she knew it would do more harm than good.

No matter what she did, nor how many pictures of Maxwell Lord crossed her desk, she couldn't hate Lena. She had to trust that Lena didn't forget her, she couldn't have. She had to believe that somewhere on the other side of the city Lena was thinking of her and only her. That on late nights over mind-numbing reports and scotch, green eyes peered out crystal clear windows in desperate hope that if only she looked long enough, Kara would meet her gaze.

That when Maxwell touched her - and god, how her heart ached, wishing he didn't, but he did - Lena could do more than just grin and bear it. That she was too tired or too drunk or working late or not tonight or later or whatever it took for the brunette to feel at home in her body in all the ways she hadn't been for years. That she was safe. That she was some kind of happy.

That when her cell phone buzzed in alert, she wished it was the reporter checking in with a have you had dinner yet? or i miss you. That behind the dazzling smile captured on the crisp pages of CatCo Magazine was a woman who wanted to come home. That Lena was still hers, regardless of the gaping crevasse between them. Kara couldn't change the way her heart called out to the brunette, or the way she yearned to hear the same reflected back.

Kara sighed, rising with more effort than she cared to admit. She had work to do.

—

Alex insisted on coming over an hour before game night "to help prep," which Kara could only interpret as, I know you had a date last night and I want details. Not much interpretation was needed, however, for Alex's prying gaze as they placed a selection of frozen snacks in the oven. "So…?"

"Alex," she groaned. "Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen." Her jaw was set as her frustration bubbled over, finally, after weeks of failed first dates and the sudden unrelenting stress of the gala. She'd had enough, more than.

"Kara…" The concerned sister did her best not to react to the outburst as the blonde kneed the oven shut, a behavior not particularly out of the ordinary though the vigor behind it was, as evidenced by the slight rattle of the grates on the stovetop. Alex watched cautiously as the tension that filled her sister's body dissipated as quickly as it came, replaced by watering eyes.

Kara let out a shaky breath. "Fuck. Sorry. I'm just…" As though she could wipe it all away, a tanned hand came to meet a worried brow. "How did this happen?" A teary laugh rose from her throat, more certain in that moment than she'd ever been before that Lena was seconds from bursting through the door to explain what an elaborate, hilarious prank she managed to pull off. Certainly, that was more feasible than her simply being gone. Simultaneously, she straddled feeling that Lena was by her side both mere seconds and several lifetimes ago, unable to parse which was right.

Alex hugged her, steady as ever. "Should we cancel?"

The blonde hesitated with a tentative sigh into the soft cotton of her sister's t-shirt.

"I'll cancel. More food for us." The decisive nudge of a protective older sibling.

"Yeah, okay," she relented quietly, releasing her hold on Alex only to lean against her, their backs pressed against the countertop.

Long moments of silence passed, filled only with the quiet sounds of Kara's sniffling as she held back tears and the sizzling of the food in the oven. Alex spoke. "You saw her today?"

"Um, no." The reporter cleared her throat, raw. "I got some passes in today. The Luthor Corp gala is in a couple weeks. I've gotta…" she trailed off, unable to find the words and still not quite sure what it was she was walking into. She just knew it had to be done.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

When they finally moved from their post in the kitchen, jarred by the oven timer, Alex propelled them with a suggestion of, "So...Star Wars marathon?"

Kara's head bobbed with an excitable nod before she turned to grab a bag of microwave popcorn from the pantry.

"I'll get the wine," Alex chimed.

—

In a cavernously empty penthouse across the city, Lena Luthor was opening a wine bottle of her own. She was all too aware of the press pass searing a hole in her ex-girlfriend's purse as anxiety danced in her fingertips.

An email sat open on her sleek laptop that rested on the glass dining table, haunting among a graveyard of paperwork.

From: lillian

To: Executive TeamBoard of Directors

Subject: Final List

Attachments:2020 Gala Guest List

Body:

Attached is the final list. Please contact Emily in Corporate Events for any last minute changes.

Lillian Luthor, MD
CEO, Luthor Corp

We make things grow.

National CityMetropolisWorldwide

At the bottom of the spreadsheet, one name called out to her, though she had no need to look for it. She remembered...well, she couldn't forget.

Kara Danvers, CatCo Worldwide Media.

—

The next week of work was unbearable. With each passing moment, the weight of the gala seemed to grow heavier, floating over Kara's head and waiting to crush her for all it was worth. (And if she remembered Lena's last stress-induced diatribe correctly, that was somewhere in the low millions, depending on the year.) When reality set in, so did panic: she had nothing to wear. She was seeing Lena for the first time in months, she couldn't just show up. The minute she arrived home from work that Friday, she began tearing through her closet.

The green floral? No. She wasn't preparing to teach kindergarten. Her pink dress? Too...cheery. She needed to be appropriately sad. What said I've-been-lost-without-you-but-am-also-a-functional-independent-adult? Certainly not her houndstooth skirt. Or her red dress. Or that admittedly loud patterned number she bought on impulse last year and is totally going to wear, Alex. She finally found it, the one she had been avoiding, shoved far into the back of her closet months prior in a fit of anguish.

Lena's favorite: her sleeveless black dress. She wore it on their first official date, both stuck late at the office and instead opting to indulge in take-out in between glances up from their respective reports.

The businesswoman sighed into the phone, not even bothering to say hello. "I'm so sorry. I'm stuck."

"No, it's okay. Me too. I figured you'd be with everything going on. I was calling to ask if you wanted me to grab food for us. I need to get this article out by print tonight but...work date?"

"That sounds perfect," Lena grinned. "Can you get Chinese? You know what I like."

"I'll be there in thirty."

The memory pressed, sharp, on her aching heart, but still the sight of Lena's bright smile as she stepped through the threshold - the scent of sesame chicken and lo mein wafting through her overworked senses - was unmatched.

Running a hand over her bicep, Kara noted that her muscles had grown more defined since she last wore the dress. She had been working out more to cope with the break-up...and it wasn't as though Lena didn't miss her. It wouldn't be desperate - maybe brutally obvious - but not desperate. It was decided. Hooking the hanger over her door, she grabbed for the matching heels and sighed in relief.

At least that part's over.

—

Otherwise innocent black fabric taunted Kara for the days that followed, reminding her of where she was headed. Each morning that drew the gala closer, she felt increasingly compelled to pick up the phone and call the woman that occupied her thoughts.

How are you?

I miss you.

I love you.

I'll see you soon.

Will I see you soon?

When finally the moment came for her to get ready, lead coursed through her veins. Each movement proved more difficult than the last. Her usual fifteen minute shower edged on forty-five, no shade of makeup in her bag was right, her jewelry just didn't work, and what was I thinking wearing this dress?

Her phone chimed with an event reminder that read leave now! as she rushed across her apartment in a search for anything that would pull the night together. With a deep, heaving breath to calm her nerves, she looked in the mirror. This is as good as it's gonna get.

The National City Art Gallery was a short cab ride from the blonde's apartment. When she arrived long after closing, it sparkled with the city's elite who waxed poetic about Van Gogh and Rembrandt between glasses of champagne.

"Hi," A bright grin. "Kara Danvers. I'm with CatCo," she said in introduction at the registration desk, fishing a press pass out of her small clutch.

"Welcome, Miss Danvers. Here's your ticket, you can head on in. Hors d'oeuvres should be out shortly."