8 Weeks Ago
Ding.
The sleek elevator doors slide open, and with each inch, Lena Luthor finds herself slowly immersed in brightness.
She loves the entrance to the executive floor, its walls consisting of scores of bright bulbs secreted away behind translucent fixtures, floor to ceiling, giving the entire entryway a warm, incandescent glow.
It's like walking into a dream. She lingers a moment longer, eyes falling closed, her lungs expanding gratefully before moving forward.
Click click click, she strides off the elevator, and as she passes the entry table, where fresh calla lilies are arranged and displayed in simple yet elegant vases, her progress stirs their petals, and passing the company logo, her logo, she steps into her world in a delicate floral whirl.
She's late.
Ordinarily, she's damn near the first to arrive at the office in the morning. Perhaps it's silly, a sentimentality she's probably too old and too sophisticated to hold dear, but there's something about it that thrills her, walking into her office before the sun rises, the halls quiet and shadowed, the workstations empty, her only companions the phantom hums of random computers or the quiet whisper of the heater pumping air through the vents.
Watching the office fill up, her employees trickling into work, is like watching L-Corp coming to life before her eyes, transforming from a graveyard into a hive practically buzzing with activity. In turn, it breathes life into her own lungs, gives motion to her own limbs. It makes her feel alive.
But today is no ordinary day.
Although, she thinks, perhaps ordinary isn't a word that generally applies where Luthors are concerned.
Having spent the last hour in a grueling business breakfast meeting, doing battle armed with nothing more than false cheer and french pastries against a man who, at best, can be described as a slimy toad (one who had almost cancelled on her, no less), she wants nothing more than to retreat to her sanctuary. To doff her armor and rest her weary limbs behind her desk for a quiet moment.
But there's no buzz in the office, no whirl of movement or din of activity despite the dozens of people occupying desks all around her. When her footsteps sound, what little noise there was ceases altogether.
It feels like a funeral.
A hushed whisper. Another. Heads turning to steal sly looks at the Luthor in their midst.
Lena's steps falter.
Her nostrils flare slightly, but she doesn't turn her head. Staring straight ahead, she lifts her chin, straightens her spine, and tightens down her armor. The murmurs slide harmlessly off the polished steel.
Click click click.
"Ms. Luthor," her assistant, Jess, says by way of greeting, grabbing a pad of paper and pushing back from her desk, ready to follow Lena into her office.
Once inside, the doors shut resolutely behind them, Lena takes a deep breath, taking care to keep her back to her assistant. The tremble in her jaw is subtle, and she gets it under control before anyone can notice.
She hates that she has to.
"This morning you've had calls from Channels 4, 7, 11, 13-" Jess recites, her pencil ticking off the names on her notepad with an incessant scratch as she reads on. The list is unending.
Each name is an arrow, a dagger angled toward her body, and as the list grows her shoulders grow heavier and heavier under the blows. While she sheds her layers, her red wool coat finding its home on the rack near her couch, her favorite Hermes scarf next to it, her armor remains in place, the chain mail scratching at her porcelain skin.
It's a who's who of regional newspapers and media groups, although she notes with slight relief when Jess finishes the lack of national news outlets amongst the names.
"Your schedule today includes a 10:00 with Rosenberg from Research and Development, an 11:00 video conference with the Gotham subsidiary, a 1:30 meeting with the budget chair, and a 2:30 with an envoy from Palmer Industries."
After a moment of consideration, her eyes narrowing in thought, Lena turns to Jess with a request. "Please go ahead and schedule a-," she looks down, checks the sleek silver watch sitting coolly on her wrist, "- 9:30 face-to-face with PR here and shift the R&D meeting to this afternoon, say 4:00."
"Yes, ma'am, I'll take care of it," Jess says, making a note on the pad in her hand while Lena crosses the room to her desk.
"Oh, and please get the head of building maintenance on the phone for me as soon as possible. I know they've cleaned up what they could, but I need to make sure repairs are scheduled for the lobby," her voice trails off a moment, and when she continues, her tone is quieter, "just as soon as they let me take the crime scene tape down."
Jess offers a small smile and nods quickly, "Of course."
As she takes a seat, the leather cool against the thin material of her dress, she looks up and catches her assistant's eye. "Thank you, Jess. I mean it." The rest tumbles out on a sigh. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Jess smiles shyly and backs out of the office. The door closes with a soft thud, and she's alone.
When her computer screen comes to life, Lena pulls up her personalized dashboard, where she can access the latest figures, news, data points, whatever she needs at the touch of a finger.
Apparently, almost as soon as the opening bell sounded on the stock exchange this morning, L-Corp stocks began trending downward, and analysts believe they'll close today with a loss. With a grimace, she swipes to the next page, which tracks company mentions in the news and online.
It's even uglier.
"Anti-Alien Terror Plot Foiled"
"Mass Murder Thwarted in National City"
"Terror in the Skies"
"Another Luthor Scheme?"
Unsurprisingly, news of Cadmus' unsuccessful attempt to eradicate alien life is the top story on every local outlet. Details are few, for now, but every article she clicks cites some variation on the theme of "unnamed source with the investigation names none other than Lillian Luthor, mother of infamous Lex Luthor, as an involved party."
Every article - every last damned one - follows with the quick and dirty Wikipedia summary of the Luthor family, from Lex's sordid history down to herself, including mentions of L-Corp and the attempts on her life in recent months.
It doesn't matter that the few words spent on her and her company are neutral, free of any malice or negativity altogether. But she's still a Luthor. And this is her corporation.
It's a simple matter of guilt by association.
And once more she finds herself wounded at the hands of her mother. At least this time she's not left bleeding.
Sifting through the articles, it appears that only one mentions an uncorroborated report of a break-in at the L-Corp headquarters last night. Curious.
She knows what comes next, what the weeks and months ahead will bring - slander, libel, wild allegations and deleterious speculation. Time to get out in front of it.
Sitting up tall behind her desk, her armor clanks, the plates shifting and sliding and settling to adjust for her posture. Pulling up her email, she prepares for a counter-assault, ready to wield her words like swords.
No one sees the angry red welts forming on her skin where the armor chafes and digs and cuts unchecked.
A sudden noise breaks Lena out of her concentration. She shakes her head, tries to find her place again in the string of numbers dancing along her screen-
It happens again. Sudden and shrill and then absolute silence.
Is that...is that laughter?
Her brow furrows. A quick check of the clock shows it's after 12:30 - she's worked clear through the morning without pause, storming through meeting and call alike. She's been caught up in a whirlwind of action, issuing press statements, putting out fires, setting the lumbering machine in motion, never pausing, never stopping in its course.
Pushing back from her desk, she stands, and the stiffness in her legs is almost enough to knock her right back down. It seems for all the activity she hasn't actually moved in hours.
Arms up, she stretches her back, delighting in the pull at her shoulders, and slowly she moves, rounding the desk and crossing the room in unhurried, stilted steps. With each footfall, her ease begins to return, each step more firm than the last.
There's another laugh, quieter this time, coming from right outside the door. A jarring change from the funereal atmosphere in the office earlier. A smile pulls at her cheeks. Curious, she wraps her fingers around the cool metal handle of her office door and pulls, ever so slowly, the door opening silently inch by inch, unsure of what she'll find on the other side.
In exactly zero of the scenarios running through her head did she imagine opening her door to find Kara Danvers in her blue chinos and pale blue button down leaning over her assistant's desk with her phone out, the two clearly enraptured with whatever is happening on the small screen.
A smile, genuine and spontaneous, breaks out at the sight. Of course it's Kara. In an attempt at stealth, Lena creeps forward, mindful of her heels on the hard floors. At two steps in, she's able to get a glimpse of the screen - what appears to be a golden retriever bouncing around someone in costume?
She must have made a noise, must have given herself away somehow in spite of her care because Kara whirls around with inhuman speed, and Jess quickly follows suit. While Jess, her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to stifle yet another bark of laughter, looks a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, Kara is all smiles, and she finds her own growing to match.
She wants to stare, wants to curl up and bask in it. For all the people she's met with today, all the meetings and video conferences, planned or otherwise, this may well be the first genuine smile she has come across, and she would wrap herself in it if she could find a way.
Someone should bottle that, sell it as a cure-all. They'd make a fortune...
But it's like leaving a matinee movie, walking out of the darkened theater into the sunlight, the sudden change jarring and disorienting, the light too intense. She blinks, and her eyes drift back to Jess, who, still trying to quiet her laughs, croaks out, "Ms. Luthor, Kara Danvers here to see you."
Lena huffs out a laugh quite unexpectedly. "Thanks, Jess, I see that." Turning to Kara, amusement splashed across her face in neon, she asks, "Care to come in, Ms. Danvers?"
"Looks like you've made a new friend," she starts when the door closes softly behind them, a coy smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She leads them to the nearby couch so they can sit and chat comfortably. Away from her desk, away from the battlefield where she's passed her entire morning. It wouldn't be right, wouldn't be fair to drag Kara into that arena.
The fabric is soft beneath her hands, and she turns sideways, angles her body toward Kara, who sits down a few feet away near the other end, placing her shoulder bag on the floor by her feet.
Silence settles around them, warm and comfortable, and it soothes the dull ache in her limbs.
Across the way, Kara studies her, head angled, brow furrowed a little in the middle. The silence remains unabated, and the longer it lasts the more Lena feels like she's being undone, like the layers and walls around her are being systematically destabilized, deconstructed brick by brick.
It's simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
"How are you?" Kara finally asks, concern plain in her voice.
"Peachy." The quip is automatic, the accompanying laugh charming enough. But it's forced, a knee-jerk response typical of one she'd give just about anyone who asked.
Except this isn't just anyone. This is Kara. Her friend. Her only friend here.
For what it's worth, Kara is unphased, the brush off ignored out of hand. She sits quietly still, her face softening minutely, but her gaze just as direct, just as knowing.
With a sigh, Lena amends her answer, "It's been a long morning. An even longer night." Her laugh is humorless, the weariness of centuries compressed into a single sound. "I don't think I've slept…"
"I'm so sorry, Lena, all of this must be so hard on you."
Whether real or imagined, Lena hears pity in the words, barbs that needle and prick around the edges. Not that she knows why it bothers her. But the mask she's so accustomed to wearing begins to slip into its familiar position, and she tries desperately to fight the temptation. To remain here. To remain real.
And Kara, staring softly at her, lips pulled downward fractionally into a pout, makes her want to fight harder, and she finds herself bending, leaning forward ever so slightly.
"Oh! Before I forget," Kara starts, reaching into the bag at her feet and pulling out a plastic cup emblazoned with the name of a local cafe, a place a couple blocks away. "I'm kind of here on my lunch break," she says by way of explanation, "so I stopped to pick up a bite on the way. And I...I don't know, I just thought you might be too busy today or too distracted?" Her voice raises, as if in question. Her words are rushed, and they tumble out, seemingly unable to stop while her hands begin to gesture increasingly erratically in emphasis. "Anyway, I brought you a fruit cup…" she finishes with a shrug of her shoulders, her gift held up in her outstretched hand.
Lena stares, her mouth slightly open. It feels like it must be an eternity, sitting there, looking into the earnest eyes of Kara Danvers, her face hopeful, her smile warm.
In reality, the silence lasts only a second or two.
"I mean in case you wanted it." Kara amends, uneasy with the quiet. Her smile falters fractionally, the wattage dims.
"Thank you," Lena manages, smoothing over her delayed response and reaching out for the proffered cup, her fingertips brushing Kara's in the exchange. A shock of warmth, smooth, and then it's gone, her grip on the cup secure. But not without effect. Her lips part, and her breath catches momentarily before she recovers.
"That's so thoughtful of you. I'm famished," she says smoothly, working at the lid on the fruit cup. "I hadn't even realized the time. It's been...hectic, today." Once open, she reaches in, pops a grape into her mouth. When she looks back up, Kara is watching her, her mouth open as if in surprise, her expression inscrutable. Lena offers her a tired smile before popping another grape.
With a small shake of her head, Kara seems to refocus, and with a weak smile, she bends down, pulls a pen and notepad out of her bag. "Do you mind?"
Lena's smile freezes in place, and she blinks once, twice - too many times. Her heart beats harder at the effort to keep her face unchanged, to hide the strain, the disappointment.
Apparently, she doesn't act quickly enough. Across from her, Kara is a study in contrition, the apology ready in her eyes before she even utters a word. "I'm sorry…" she trails off, her voice quiet. "If it's too soon, if you need time…"
The words hang in the air, suspended like a lifeline, but Lena shakes her head, sits up straighter on the couch, feeling the armor settling heavily against her limbs once more.
"It's alright, you have a job to do. Of course, you have questions." With a practiced ease, she continues, her tone switching effortlessly to the one she uses for business meetings, all confidence and silk, but minus the underlying warmth. "I assume you're looking for something other than the statement my staff released to the press this morning?"
"It was very...polished."
"It has to be." Her answer is immediate, albeit perhaps a little sharper than she had intended, but her morning has been spent fighting just this battle. "Every word, every letter, every space is intentional. The media will take it and pick it apart, turn it upside down looking for a weakness, looking for an 'in' so they can spin it however they wish to suit their needs." When she looks at Kara, her gaze is unwavering. "It has to be polished, or it won't survive. Or L-Corp won't survive. We're already being dragged into this...this thing, and I have to find a way to separate the two."
"Is that possible?"
"What are you implying, Kara, that I was involved?" Her voice is steel, a sharpened sword at the ready.
"No!" Kara shouts, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet office. "No! No, not...that's not what I meant, Lena." Her hands flail wildly, and she leans forward suddenly, her head shaking dramatically, as if each move, each turn could call forth the wind to banish the words from the air. It's Kara Danvers in full-on panic mode. "Gosh no, what I meant was...can you separate yourself, your company, from your family? From your mother and her...actions?"
Lena stares a moment, letting the question and all of its implications sink in. Shifting, she reaches toward the coffee table and picks up a recent edition of CatCo Magazine, holds it up between them, as if it alone holds the answer to Kara's questions.
In a way it does. In the weeks since the first attack on her life, since the first time Kara Danvers, budding journalist with CatCo Magazine, shuffled into her office on the coattails of Clark Kent, she's taken to keeping a copy on hand, keeping up with Kara's work in her own way. Not that she'll admit it. Seeing her name on a by-line is still an infrequent delight, but when it's there, she settles in to read it with a smile on her face.
With the magazine in hand, she asks, "What do you think I've been doing all this time? With Lex? With this place?" She tosses it back down, looks over at Kara before continuing, "What did I tell you the first time you interviewed me?
A ghost of a smile plays on Kara's lips as she responds, word for word, "That you're just a woman trying to make a name for yourself outside of your family."
A smile pulls at her lips. A genuine one. "Exactly. The Luthors are my family. They adopted me. They raised me. And I can't change that. But my name is Lena." Her voice pitches higher, stronger. She yields no ground. "And my mother's aims are not mine. Her choices are not mine. I make my own, for better or worse. And while they may not always be the right ones, I live my own life." A sigh rattles deep in her chest, leaves her jaw trembling, her voice suddenly unsteady. Leaning her head back, the rest follows, albeit quieter, barbed with bitterness, "But it seems no matter how fast I run away, how far I get, it's never quite far enough."
Kara's voice is quiet. "Family's complicated."
With a bittersweet smile, Lena nods, echoes, "Family's complicated."
Silence gathers around them again, thickens the air, crawls into their limbs and weighs them down. Neither seem eager to disrupt it. Or able to, for that matter.
Eventually, when Lena pulls loose, shakes free of the ghosts gripping her thoughts, she grabs the plastic fork that came with her cup and spears a piece of melon. Mostly as something to do, something to occupy her mind, keep it from dwelling on all of the complications inherent in being a Luthor.
But the melon sits like lead on her tongue. She swallows mechanically.
Next to her, Kara breathes deeply, as if coming out of her own reverie, but Lena keeps her head down, focusing instead on another bite, another swallow. It's something, at least.
After a moment, Kara clears her throat and switches gears. "I saw the lobby when I walked in," she says, licking her lips while Lena continues to pick at her food. "Tell me what happened."
Lena's response is smooth, almost robotic, the polished answer of someone long accustomed to dealing in sound bites. "There was an attempted break-in last night. Nothing was stolen. The authorities responded but the intruder was able to get away."
At least for a little while…
Kara is staring at her, her mouth agape. "What?" Lena asks, the longer Kara just...sits there, staring. She lifts her hand up to her mouth, suddenly worried she'll find food in her teeth or on her face, unable to discern the meaning behind Kara's expression.
"But they didn't have to steal it, Lena! You tricked your mother, you played everyone." The words rush out of her mouth in a flood, her head shaking in disbelief, eyes wide. As she continues, though, she fails to see Lena freeze by her side, her features suddenly rigid with tension, as if carved in Carrera marble. "You saved the day. You saved everyone. Lena, you're a hero!"
"Who told you that?" When she speaks, her voice is barely audible, a shadow of a whisper.
But the quiet is deceiving. After all one word, one voice can start an avalanche. Once word can topple mountains.
And Kara hears it. She stumbles, panic overtaking her voice. "I, uh, I have sources."
Ah. Eyes closed, Lena tilts her head back as she sighs, "Supergirl."
Her jaws clench in disjointed rhythm.
"Off the record," she says quietly, her eyes sliding to Kara's.
Kara nods, clicks her pen and holds her notepad to her chest.
And waits.
Before she responds, Lena takes a moment, her eyes wandering around the office. Her office. When she arrived, she had ordered the whole space redone, doing away with the black marble, all of the dark trappings preferred by her brother, opting instead for walls of light, touches of silver, everything designed to radiate and brighten. The L-Corp logo spins silently on the screen to her left, and something flutters in her chest at the sight.
She thinks it must be pride.
"Kara, do you agree with everything your parents have ever done?" she asks, turning back to look at the journalist sharing her couch. Kara presses her lips together but remains silent. Waiting. "Can you even imagine what that's like, your mother using you, using that bond? Or even worse, being so particularly aware of your mother's disdain for you that you know going into it that she's using you?"
The line in Kara's forehead deepens. But the silence remains.
"My mother was Medusa. Intent on the worst imaginable thing. And she aimed to use me, to use my company to do it."
"We all want to believe the most of our parents, Lena. It's human." Softer, she amends, "It's universal."
She licks her lips, and brings a hand to her face, before turning to Kara, "I knew better. But all this time, all these years, even with reality chasing away all of the doubts, shining a light on every dark corner in our lives, there was still a scrap of hope. There was still a little girl in me wanting to believe it wasn't true. Wanting to hold on to a fairy-tale version of family that never existed."
Moisture pools along the edges of her eyes, and Kara swims in her vision, indistinct and glimmering. "Can you imagine what it feels like, being the one to hold up the mirror and turn it on your own mother…" She trails off.
With a shuddering breath, she swallows harshly, attempts to blink away the threatening tears.
Kara's face is unreadable. She opens her mouth to respond but closes it again without sound. Shifting her glasses, she simply looks down at her hands where they sit in her lap, twisting together in knots.
Picking up her fork once more, Lena picks at the fruit cup in her hand, spears another slice of melon and places it on her tongue without conscious thought. Simply for the purpose of moving. For the purpose of doing something.
"What I did - it's what anyone would. What anyone should, when faced with such a decision." When she continues, her voice has regained a measure of its strength, and she sounds more like the CEO again. "I won't brag, and I won't use this to further myself or my company. Like it's some sort of leverage." Her throat moves as she swallows harshly again, and her shoulders rise and fall as she regains her breath. "My mother is where she needs to be. That's all that matters."
Another slice of fruit on her tongue like ash.
"I'm sure it will out eventually, just as I'm sure I'll be hearing more from my mother's compatriots. Or my brother's, for that matter…" she says softly, quietly resigned to what the future holds. If Lex was mad about her change in direction for the company, just wait until he hears...
A tear tracks down her cheek. She tries to wipe it away, to wipe it from existence so she can pretend it was never there. But she misses. It falls onto the couch, the fabric instantly darkening with moisture. She can't seem to tear her gaze away from the spot.
She can't take it back. It's too late. There's no more pretending.
A hand reaches out, sets down solidly on her knee where it's angled toward the door. Kara. While Lena was lost in thought, Kara has inched closer, reached out to offer comfort. Even through the fabric of her dress, the warmth radiating from Kara's hand is remarkable, and for a moment Lena can think of nothing else. The melancholy of mere seconds before, the uncertainty of the future, the absolute chaos of her life - all of it disappears the second Kara Danvers places her hand atop her knee.
Her world reduced to a touch, impossibly placed beneath the armor she wears so carefully around her limbs, beneath the mask she dons so easily.
With one gesture, the steel bends, melts into the girl next to her.
It's only when Kara speaks that Lena tears her eyes away from the hand at her knee and looks up into the face across from hers. It's equally warm.
"It'll be alright," Kara says, and she means it. She does.
A voice in Lena's head screams that she can't possibly know, can't possibly be that naive, and her heart aches a little with jealousy that Kara can hold on to something so impossible.
She wishes she could believe the same.
But the smile growing on Lena's face is genuine and warm, as if she's drawing power directly from Kara. "Thank you," she says, her eyes intent. With a squeeze, Kara moves her hand away, although she remains close by.
Lena misses the warmth immediately. But she doesn't know how to ask for it back. Doesn't know that she can.
"Look, thank you for coming, Kara. I know you're doing your job, but-" she takes a shuddering breath, "-I suppose I hadn't realized that I needed to talk to someone. You're the only one in this city I can talk to. So, as a friend, thank you." She laughs, but there's a sadness to it that rattles in her heart.
Kara smiles at her again as she stands, puts away her pen and pad. Straightening, she fusses with her glasses once more before saying, "Lena, you can talk to me anytime. Off the record. As a friend. Whatever you need. Anytime."
Placing her fruit cup on the table, Lena stands as well. She doesn't know what comes over her. Momentary madness, perhaps. The need for warmth, maybe, to feel something other than the cold weight of her armor.
She steps forward and reaches out, one arm sliding over the simple cotton on Kara's shoulder, the other around her torso, and pulls her close for a hug.
Kara is stiff in her arms, and Lena can feel the girl's breath catch briefly, but with a shaky exhale Kara relaxes into her, tentatively puts her arms around Lena.
God, she's warm.
Lena doesn't linger. The hug is quick, and with a squeeze of emphasis she backs away. Kara doesn't move, though, doesn't breathe - just looks at her, lips parted, a blush creeping along her ears.
Oh...oh, that's interesting.
They walk to the door together, in silence, and with a shy smile, a tiny wave, Kara Danvers walks away. Lena watches for a moment before biting her lip and closing the door to her office.
Heading back to her desk, she pulls out her chair and sits, pulls up the budget numbers to prepare for her next meeting.
Sitting quietly, she returns to reading through figures and forecasts, performing calculations in her head and jotting down notes before the budget chair is due to arrive.
Beneath her desk, she rubs absently at the spot on her knee that's still warm to the touch.
It's late. Again.
The sun gave up hours ago, ceding its territory to the moon, continuing their timeless dance across the heavens. And with it went her staff, trickling out in groups, slowly emptying her office of life and light. Even Jess, stalwart Jess, bid her goodnight an hour ago.
She's all that remains amongst the graves.
When it's quiet like this, empty, it's easy to hear the ghosts. And as a Luthor, she does have her fair share.
Swiveling in her chair, she turns, attempts to gaze out the bank of windows along the outside wall at her back, but the view leaves something to be desired. So with a creak of leather, a few heavy footfalls along the hard floor, she lets herself out onto the balcony. She turns her back on all that the day has held, all the battles, all of the metaphorical bloodshed, and she lets the cool night air soothe her wounds.
The moon is half full, and although she tries, squinting her eyes into the darkness, she can't seem to find any stars.
She misses them, on days like this. Nights like this.
When her parents sent her away to boarding school, there were countless nights spent looking out her window in study, finding and naming the constellations - she knew their real names, of course, but there were nights where she took refuge in creating, giving them their own stories, their own names.
Names, after all, are weighty things.
And there were nights where she did nothing but wish upon the stars. Millions of wishes, whispered fervently and sent floating up into the heavens like kites.
So she finds herself looking skyward again, watching, wishes ready on her tongue.
When a streak of blue and red caroms between the skyscrapers nearby, slows, her eyes are already focused on it. And when Supergirl hovers no more than ten feet out from her balcony, looking for all the world like she's casually leaning on a doorframe, one leg kicked out a little lower than the other, her cape billowing regally around her shoulders, she can't help the amused smirk that breaks out on her face.
"Good evening," Lena offers casually. "To what do I owe this honor, Supergirl?" No matter how many times the Girl of Steel comes to see her the novelty absolutely doesn't wear off. She feels a warm pulse in her heart to know that such a thing is possible.
That she's still capable of such an emotion.
An answering smirk on her face, Supergirl responds, "Last night, I didn't get a chance to talk to you. I was hoping you might be able to spare a minute?"
Lena studies her, the super floating in space across from her, asking for her time. With a slow inclination of her head, she assents, and Supergirl comes forward, landing softly a few feet away along the balcony.
"I do hope you're not here to tell me you were right all along - about my mother, about Cadmus…" Although her tone is teasing, it carries an unmistakable edge to it, razor sharp and daring to be tried.
"No! No, not at all!" Supergirl takes a step forward before stopping herself, cognizant of their boundaries and their histories. Her hands are out in placation, and her head shakes quickly back and forth, blond curls bouncing along her shoulders in emphasis. Something about it tickles in Lena's mind like deja vu, but the thought is like smoke, and it's gone before she even thinks to grasp it.
"Forgive me, it's been a long day, and I've heard a dozen iterations on the theme," she says, drolly. "Haven't you read the papers? We Luthors are all the same."
"No! I...Ms. Luthor, I came here to thank you!"
Still leaning against the railing, Lena freezes in places. Stares, as if she could somehow divine truth from fiction if she just focused hard enough. "What?" is all that she offers in return.
"Thank you. I know what you did, the risk you took. You, Lena Luthor, you saved everyone."
Her brow furrows, the confusion plain on her face. "I wasn't expecting this..."
"I wanted to say something to you last night, but the DEO pulled me back, and you-" Supergirl swallows, considers her words before continuing, "-you seemed to have your hands busy with National City's finest."
"Yes, well, when one's mother gets arrested for attempting to pull off one of the largest mass murder plots in history, it does tend to tie up one's time a bit." Again her tone remains light, even joking, but her eyes are shrouded in shadow.
The sarcasm is a shield, one she's wielded for more than half her life with a fair amount of success. Even if she tried, the impulse to deflect doesn't seem capable of being diminished at this point.
Impossibly, Supergirl huffs out a laugh as she takes a spot against the railing herself, but where Lena angles toward the city, her face shadowed, Supergirl leans back against the metal, and the soft glow of light from the office plays across her face. "Are you always this hard-headed when someone is trying to thank you for saving their world?"
"I'm-" she sighs heavily. "I'm sorry. Like I said, long day. Not a lot in the way of positives today." The spot on her knee glows with a phantom warmth.
"I've seen the headlines. Read the articles. It's not right. Aliens everywhere owe our lives to you. For every article about your mother, about what she tried to do, there should be one about your role in stopping her."
Staring up at the starless sky, Lena laughs humorlessly, "Ah, but you see no one is clamoring to hear about a Luthor doing good. It's an impossible thing."
Taking another step closer, sliding slowly along the railing, Supergirl speaks softly, but her tone is just as emphatic as before. "A Luthor is the only reason my friends...my family are alive right now."
Lena has had a lot of practice in controlling her emotions, governing her facial expressions and keeping a tight leash on her reactions. But the clench of her jaw, the rapid blinking, they give her shock away. Silence settles between them, but after a moment Lena drags her eyes away from the sky, turns her head just enough to meet Supergirl's gaze, to measure it.
A single nod of acknowledgment. Thank you and you're welcome condensed into one efficient movement.
The smile that breaks out on Supergirl's face outshines the moon tonight, chases the shadows from under Lena's eyes. With a quick movement, the Girl of Steel turns along the rail and faces outward alongside Lena. They stand side by side, leaning against the cool metal and looking out over the city in companionable silence.
"The world would have changed last night. Irrevocably. And not just for me or my kind. When that missile detonated, I thought it was all over. I thought...I thought I wouldn't get to see my friends again, wouldn't get to laugh with them, hear stories of their homes, their families." She nods her head, gesturing below. "I thought it was all over." Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, and her hands clench the rail like vices.
"I've done it once," she says, her head bowed, glancing up at Lena under her lashes. "Watched everyone I love die - my parents, my friends. Everyone. I don't think I could have survived it a second time. I don't think I'm strong enough."
Lena watches her surreptitiously, waiting on the rest.
"There's one thing I don't understand." A line develops on her forehead as she continues, "Why didn't you tell me what you were planning? I mean with the gala a few weeks ago, I get that. Sort of. But again?" Supergirl's head shakes slowly as she processes through the thought. "I thought we made a pretty good team. A Luthor and a Super. So why the secret?"
Turning, resting one arm on the rail and facing Lena in profile, she says, "You didn't have to take on your mother alone, you know? You're not alone here in National City, Ms. Luthor."
Lena doesn't respond immediately. Her eyes continue to wander across the rooftops, along the streets, up into the sky. When she finally turns her body, mirroring Supergirl's stance, her body leaning on one arm against the rail, the light filtering through the windows of her office washes half her face in brightness. The other half remains in shadow, bleeding into the night sky.
Slowly, like one might with a frightened child or pet, she raises her hand and reaches forward, her arm crossing the distance between them. She stops shy, her palm hovering an inch from the top of the crest emblazoned on the suit.
Warmth emanates seemingly from the crest just beyond her reach, and she fights the impulse to stretch, to move closer and steal a touch of it to warm her bones.
"This. This crest. Most families tell stories of vacations and inside jokes and all number of things in their histories, things that they bond over. Things that they share. My family tells stories of this." She nods her head toward the crest in emphasis.
"With Lex and Superman, and then when he...when he went away, my mother took up his rants with equal fervor. God, maybe even more. It filled the house, like a phantom lurking behind every door, standing over every shoulder. It was everywhere."
She withdraws her hand while Supergirl looks on in concern. "You have no idea how hard a time I have believing or understanding how someone like you, someone who wears that crest so proudly could ever believe me, or could ever really see my actions for what they are…"
Silence falls between them again, and Lena takes her time gathering her thoughts.
"When you told me that my mother was involved, was in charge, no less, I knew what the stakes were. I couldn't risk it, I couldn't take the chance that you wouldn't believe my intentions. So I played the only card I could. Or the only card I thought I could."
Supergirl's hand clenches and releases along the rail, but she doesn't speak.
"My mother is a user. She's cold, calculating. And she was going to get what she wanted, with or without me. Or...through me, if need be. So I used that against her." When Lena laughs, her voice is humorless, and although her body remains still, she turns her face away, sinking back into the night.
"She taught me well, my mother. I learned to be ruthless at her knee. Maybe I'm her daughter after all."
When Supergirl speaks, her voice is quiet. "Do you know what this crest means?"
Lena looks at her and answers almost mechanically. "It's your family crest."
"Right, this is my family name. But…" she says, and waits until Lena turns, faces her fully once more. "It also stands for a Kryptonian phrase, our family motto. El mayarah." The words are melodic when she speaks them, and Lena straightens.
"It means, stronger together." Supergirl raises her hand in mimicry of Lena moments before, reaches out until her hand hovers inches from Lena's heart.
"You are not your name, Lena Luthor. You are who you decide to be. And you've decided to be a hero."
Lena swallows harshly, and her lips part in shock. No words come.
But Supergirl isn't finished.
"You are a hero. So thank you. Thank you for being my hero."
Moisture prickles at her eyes for the second time today, and with a watery smile, Lena speaks slowly, emphasizing every word. "You are very welcome, Supergirl."
The Girl of Steel smiles, and it's so bright, so luminous for a moment Lena thinks the moon might retreat, ceding territory to the sun hours ahead of schedule.
They don't speak again. No words are needed, after all.
Supergirl takes a step back, and then another. And with a softening smile, she kicks off, flies into the night.
Lena is left staring after her, stardust flickering in her veins.