Seven Weeks Ago
"I'd be better off with a staff full of chimpanzees!"
He doesn't yell, exactly. Doesn't have to. There isn't an ear in the room that's not tuned to his low, sardonic words already. Besides, what he lacks in volume he makes up for in contempt.
"Oh I'm sure I'd still be knee-deep in excrement, but maybe, just maybe, one of them might actually know how to use a comma!"
He slams his office door closed behind him, the force rattling the translucent glass in its frame, the tall black letters spelling out "Snapper" Carr across the center quaking down to their foundations.
"Hmm," Lena mutters under her breath where she stands in the doorway, an eyebrow quirked in reserved judgment. As the wall stills and the murmurs in the room pick up again, she turns her attention back to the task at hand, her eyes roaming the room, looking for -
There. Standing near a desk maybe fifteen feet away. Her hair is pulled up in braids today, and they ring her head like a circlet of amber, simple and elegant.
Her target spotted, Lena wades through the harried office to where Kara stands with her back to the door. As she approaches, she gets a glimpse of the sympathetic look on the young journalist's face. Across the way is the object of her sympathy, an older woman who looks like she's just been told her dog died, her lip quivering, her cheeks aflame, clearly the catalyst for Snapper's rant.
Lena can't help herself. When she nears, she stays one step back and to the side, just barely out of Kara's sight. In a voice low, conspiratorial, she comments, "He's a charmer…"
Kara startles, her head whipping around in a blur, her braids straining against their pins with the sudden movement, but Lena doesn't bat an eye. Instead, she stands in strict imitation of Kara moments before, watching the woman across the way pretend she's completely fine.
It's a fascinating sensation, feeling Kara's eyes on her, the sudden intake of breath, the fluttering lashes. And where her eyes land - sliding across her cheek, down the column of her neck, the length of her arm, and back up again - she feels a line, boiling, marking her porcelain skin with incandescent patterns.
A long moment passes, expectant, and Kara finally responds, her voice a whisper, "He's...something, alright."
When Lena finally breaks her vigil, Kara breaks into a wide smile. "Hi."
"Hi," Lena responds, the smile plain in her voice.
"What are you doing here?" Kara asks. When Lena merely raises an eyebrow at the question, Kara's eyes widen, and she begins to ramble. "I mean, yay you're here! But what, um, brings you to the lowly world of the media? Right into the vipers' nest, so to speak," she finishes, reaching up to adjust her glasses.
"Well, I actually had a business meeting a few blocks up this morning," Lena begins in explanation while Kara looks on expectantly. "And I thought that since I was over this way I would pop in, see if you might care to join me for lunch?" She bites her lower lip unconsciously, a nervous habit left over from childhood, something she's tried to get better at controlling over the years.
But some things, it seems, will not be banished to the shadows.
"I love lunch!" Kara replies enthusiastically, eyes settling on her lips. Lena huffs out an amused laugh at the answer, and Kara shakes her head, starts over. "I mean, I'd love to get some lunch. With you. Just...let me grab my coat, OK?"
Feeling a little uncomfortable waiting alone, in spite of the crowd, Lena ambles back toward the exit. The CatCo employees around her begin to take notice, staring unabashedly, curious at the interloper in their midst. Even Snapper, appearing in the doorway of his office, glasses pushed high atop his head, narrows his eyes when he sees her. He narrows them further when Kara returns to her side. Lena returns his gaze without blinking, her face carefully neutral, and when he turns away, a deep line marring his brow, she feels a sophomoric satisfaction at her imagined victory.
"Ready?" Kara asks when she walks up, a muted red-orange corduroy blazer added atop her monochromatic dress. It's the kind of thing one might find in CatCo Magazine - except they'd call this color pumpkin spice or cinnamon bark or something else trendy yet utterly banal. It's a maple tree, caught in its autumnal slide from orange to red, like the ones that covered the campus of the boarding school she went to as a child, and a warmth blooms in her chest at the sudden memories, cozy and familiar. She has to curl her fingers into her palm to keep from reaching out to run her hand along the ridges of fabric.
"You have a preference?" Lena asks when they're on the elevator, and before she even has a chance to respond, a low growl sounds from Kara's stomach.
Eyes lowered self-consciously, one hand placed delicately atop her abdomen, she answers, "I promise, just as long as there's food, I'm a happy camper."
"I'll keep that in mind," Lena says on a laugh that echoes off the elevator walls, melodic in the enclosed space.
When they leave the metallic confines of CatCo behind, the brilliant blue sky opens overhead, clouds few and far between, a refreshingly beautiful day in National City. The chill that has settled over the city in the last few weeks has seemingly halted in its tracks, and Lena's skin warms and reddens when the sun reaches down and runs its fingers across it. Half of the city seems to be out enjoying the break in the weather, the surrounding buildings emptying as their inhabitants swarm the streets in droves as if they've all come to some unspoken mutual agreement.
Side by side, or as much as possible in the crowd, the pair stroll northward a few blocks in the direction of midtown. A companionable silence settles over them as they walk, moving through alternating passages of balmy sunlight and chilled corridors, where the city's skyscrapers cut into the blue sky and trail shadows along the streets below. Rushing between the buildings, the cool wind crawls along the heated skin at her neck, exposed to the elements where her hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail. She shivers.
Around them the sidewalks are choked with the midday lunch crowd - herds of business men shedding their coats on their way to lunch, caught up in talk of budgets and bosses, women in small groups, chatting animatedly on their breaks, and kids from the nearby charter school sitting atop low walls, shouting and playing with one another in the carefree way that only children can manage.
The city is alive. It sparks in her lungs, burns electric in her veins. Each step energizing. Each step freeing.
Tucked back on a side-street the restaurant is the definition of nondescript, its dingy brick walls bearing no name, its windows boasting no hours. A lone dragon guards the entrance, lustrous red with eyes of sparkling obsidian, mounted with care in the masonry above the door.
A hostess seats them at a cozy table near the back of the room, and Kara, her eyes ravenous, wastes no time opening the menu in front of her, which promises the best "gourmasian" fare in the city.
"I've never even heard of this place," Kara mumbles, her lips pulling together in silent "oh's" and "ah's" as she reads through the dishes.
"Their potstickers are a-maz-ing," Lena responds from behind her own menu. Kara glances up at her, mouth open, looking for all the world like a child waking up on Christmas morning to a veritable sea of presents under the tree.
When the waiter returns, bearing a glass of water for each and taking their orders in turn, Lena settles back against her chair and Kara leans forward, elbows on the table. "So how was your meeting this morning," Kara asks, taking a sip from her glass.
"Dreadful."
Kara's brows crease in response, and Lena immediately wishes she hadn't spoken, hadn't been the one to mar the wondrous expression on her face. So she backpedals. "I mean not dreadful. Not really. Business-wise it was...productive." Kara's face smooths as she continues. "We're working on forming a partnership with a couple of local firms to subcontract out some work. Nothing too exciting to report, I'm afraid."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"Mostly it was a morning full of meetings with a bunch of slimy men who think that telling me what they assume I want to hear in their patronizing voices is somehow all they need to do to gain my favor or get me to lower my requirements."
Her lips pursed, fingers playing idly with the straw in her glass, she continues, "You have no idea how exhausting it is, spending the day surrounded by sycophants, people either unwilling or unable to speak their minds."
When she looks up at Kara across the table, her face softens. "You can imagine how refreshing it can be when someone, say...a journalist," she says, a smile creeping into her voice, "shows up, ready and willing to argue the moral complexities of your company's product direction."
Kara grins shyly and looks down at her lap at the fondness lacing her words. Lena watches her a moment before speaking again.
"The man this morning...your boss, I presume?" A nod in affirmation. "Is he always that pleasant?" she asks, taking another sip from her glass.
"Gosh, no, sometimes he's actually mean," Kara responds with a straight face. Or as close to one as she can manage. The corner of her mouth pulls slightly upwards where she tries to contain herself. When Lena lets out a sudden bark of laughter, far harder than she had intended, Kara gives up trying to suppress it, her face breaking into a wide smile at the sound.
"He literally stole candy from a baby once," she continues, her hands gesturing in emphasis. "Or at least that's what I heard. It was before I started working for him." Pushing her glasses up along the bridge of her nose, she says wistfully, "I never thought I'd work for someone who makes me long for the kinder, gentler days of being Cat Grant's assistant."
She pauses, taking another sip of her drink, and her tone turns thoughtful. "In spite of that, I do think he's making me better. He knows what buttons to push to get me to go out and prove him wrong, you know?"
"Speaking of, I read your article on the whole business with Cadmus and my mother last week. I wanted to thank you." Kara tilts her head as she listens. "It's just about the only one that didn't feel like a hit piece on the entire Luthor family, myself included."
A shrug of the shoulders. "I just write the truth, Lena."
She doesn't respond, doesn't really know how to. Instead, she finds herself studying Kara's face, her eyes, searching for a tell, a sign that it's all a bluff. Long seconds pass in silence.
The waiter returns, placing plates of steaming food in front of the pair. At the sight of the mountain of potstickers piled high in front of her, Kara's face lights up, and when she takes her first bite, the filling oozing onto her tongue, she moans indecently, her eyes closed, her head tipped back against her chair.
Across the table, Lena shifts in her seat and swallows harshly before clearing her throat. When she speaks, her voice is low, a hint of a silken edge. "Do you two need a moment alone?"
The flush starts at her ears and creeps into her neck, her cheeks with surprising rapidity. When her phone beeps, with a mumbled "Excuse me," she gladly dips her hand into her coat pocket to retrieve it, thankful for the distraction.
Lena takes another bite of her pork belly lettuce wrap, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.
"It's just my sister," Kara says, typing out a quick response before sliding the phone back into her pocket. "Checking to see if we're still good for game night tonight. Danvers Sisters tradition." She places another potsticker in her mouth, somehow managing to remain quiet this time around.
"Ah, right, the FBI agent." Kara nods. "You two seem close. Was that always the case?"
"Not at first, no. When the Danvers first adopted me, let's just say there was some...adjusting." She grins softly to herself before taking another bite of food. "Alex was an only child until I came along, and more often than not she got stuck looking after me. And, believe it or not, I wasn't always that easy to deal with."
Her face turns sad, her expression focused inward as she continues, "She was usually so responsible, though. Way more than she should have been for a kid. My parents were great. They loved me, but Alex - she's been my best friend since I got here."
Lena stills, fork suspended in mid-air, her face inscrutable. "You're adopted? I...had no idea, Kara." Her eyes turn serious. "How old were you?"
"Thirteen. I was thirteen. My parents, they...they died. And the Danvers, they took me in, treated me like one of their own. But, um-" her brows furrow "-I came with a lot of issues, you could say. I know it wasn't easy for them, helping me acclimate to my new, um, situation." She swallows thickly and skewers another potsticker on her fork before turning her attention back to Lena. "How old were you when the Luthors took you in?"
"I was four. It was my adoptive father's idea, adopting me. He was indulgent." Her tone is wistful, her eyes a million miles away. "And Lex, Lex was amazing. We were thick as thieves," she says conspiratorially, a sly smile creeping up her face. "He took me under his wing. We had our own traditions, him and me. Had our own clubhouse for awhile out in the back. When I was six or so, he came up with a secret code so we could write letters to each other like spies, like we were secret agents on a big case."
She sips from her water, runs her thumb through the condensation along the side of the glass. A drop rolls across the back of her thumb, falls to the table cloth in one smooth motion. She watches the dark spot spread in an imperfect circle.
"His...change was really hard for me. He grew cold, paranoid," she says softly, swallowing thickly, the words sticking in her throat like glass. "I tried to talk to him, but it was like he couldn't hear me, you know? Like I was speaking another language, one he couldn't decipher. He and my mother sort of fed each other's delusions until he was just...gone."
"I'm so sorry, Lena. Look, you don't have to- I mean if it's too painful-"
"No," Lena shakes her head, waving off the concern, "I came to terms with that a long time ago. The brother I knew, the brother I loved, he's gone." She looks up, a small smile on her lips, but it's a dull thing, a cheap imitation. "The memories I have of him are warm, and that's what I choose to remember. I grieve for the brother I lost."
"So what's your favorite memory of him?"
She's silent a moment, her mind cycling back through a catalog of memories, some smooth and worn with years of frequent examinations, some dusty with disuse, but she considers them one by one, turning them every which way and finding them inadequate or too personal or any shade in between, until finally, she reaches one that sparks a smile, slow and nostalgic.
"I was maybe eight at the time. It was summertime, and we were getting on our parents' nerves, naturally, so our nanny took us to the science museum to get us out of the way, out of their hair. We were...awful," she says, decades' old guilt creeping into her voice at the memory. "We snuck away from her in the crowd, and after we had a good laugh watching her try to find us, we sort of just...toured the place on our own."
"In one room they had this giant plasma ball. You know the kind, right? Where you put your hand against the glass and little filaments of plasma sort of spark toward it." She holds her hands up, about a foot apart over her plate as if to demonstrate. "It was totally fascinating on its own when you're a kid, but Lex, he got this sort of...mischievous gleam in his eye, and he asked me if I wanted to see something cool."
"And you did," Kara supplies in amusement.
"And I did," Lena confirms with a grin. "What kid wouldn't, right? So after making sure there weren't any adults watching, he reached into his pocket and brought out a stick of gum. The gum he popped into his mouth, but the foil wrapper, well that he placed on top of the plasma ball, and then he brought out a coin and placed it on top of the foil. When he knew he had my attention, he held his finger over it-" she extends her finger toward the center of the table, and Kara follows the movement with rapt attention, "-and a tiny bolt of lightning, bright purple, shot up from the ball and into his finger."
"Of course, now I know the forces at play, the science of it, but at the time, I remember thinking my brother was a magician, and that he had somehow removed the glass beneath the foil and set the lightning free into the museum."
She begins to chuckle quietly as she continues, "And I will never forget. He still had his finger on top of the coin, there were still violet sparks tickling his fingertip where the current ionized the nitrogen in the air, and he looked over at me with this completely straight face and said, 'Hey, is my hair standing up?'"
By the time the last word crosses her lips, Lena is laughing so hard she almost wheezes. "He was totally bald by then," she gasps by way of explanation, and Kara laughs in tandem, reaching up to cover her mouth, but their laughter escapes, bounds through the restaurant unfettered.
Customers at the tables nearby turn to stare at the outburst, clucking their tongues in disapproval, whispering to one another in hushed tones, but neither woman pays any attention. Neither woman remembers there's anyone else in the room.
When the laughter dies down, Lena wiping the ridiculous tears out of her eyes, Kara says, "Sounds like science runs in your family. Are you sure you aren't a Danvers?" She narrows her eyes in mock scrutiny. "You'd like them, I think. Science is in their genes. I...didn't get as much of that. I mean, there are ways in which I'm never going to be a true Danvers," she says, and her smile holds a sad edge.
"Quid pro quo. What's your favorite memory with your sister?" Lena prompts, her eyes zeroed in on the fading smile on Kara's face, the corners of her mouth flattening, beginning to fall into a frown. Like a wildflower pulling back its petals as the night falls, a frown on Kara Danvers' face just seems...unjust. A mockery of the natural order.
The silence grows. More than once Kara opens her mouth, begins to say something, but each time she changes her mind and closes it again. When she does finally answer, her words are halting, as if she's taking great care to pick just the right ones.
"It's not one memory, per se. It's a tradition, really. My birthday." She licks her lips and continues, "I spend every birthday since I was adopted with Alex. No matter what else is going on in our lives. One year my birthday fell during the week, and she was supposed to be away at college, and I was totally bummed. But I came home from school, and there she was, waiting on me."
Warmth bubbles in Lena's veins at the sight of Kara's emergent grin.
"One year I dragged her out to do karaoke, which I know she totally hated, but she spent the whole night indulging me." Kara beams as she explains, "Gosh, we went through like, half of the songs from Grease. It was amazing!"
"Sounds like you're a Danvers to me," Lena says softly, her eyes catching Kara's and holding them. It's a long moment before Kara looks away, picks up her glass.
"There are times when I feel so...different. Apart, you know?" She glances quickly at Lena before dropping her eyes again. "But not on my birthday. Never then."
Propping herself on an elbow, one hand cradling her head, the other outstretched, tracing idle designs on the tablecloth, Lena speaks softly, her eyes downward. "I know what you mean. With Lex, I felt like part of a family, like I belonged. But once he...went away," she swallows, the words bitter on her tongue, "I was stuck with the Luthor name, but with each day I felt less and less like one. I went away to boarding school, and the longer I was there, the more isolated I felt."
"Until one day it finally dawned on me - I wasn't loved."
A hand, soft and unexpected, reaches out and comes to rest on top of hers where it sits on the table. Her breath catches in her throat like an animal snared, bucking and rebelling against its capture.
It's a struggle to keep her face neutral, and she knows she's partially failed when a pain, sharp and insistent, breaks through the fog in her mind.
She's bitten her lip.
With wings beating wildly against her ribcage, lungs tight with held breath, she slowly turns her hand over, Kara's fingers dragging across her skin in torturous time until her palm is skyward, open in invitation. When Kara's fingertips graze the center where the skin is sensitive, they curl into one another, settling comfortably together against the table, warm and reassuringly strong.
With a shuddering breath, she manages to continue speaking, but her eyes never leave their hands linked on the table as if nothing's changed. As if this is their normal.
She thinks Kara doesn't look away either.
"It took me a long time...too long, really, to realize that. My mother would sometimes show up to the Parents' Weekend they'd have each semester at school, and in public, she'd be the picture of a doting mother. But only so long as there were others around to witness it."
Kara's thumb rubs small circles against the side of her hand, traces a new orbit in her galaxy, and she shivers at the contact, feels the pull of the gravitational shift, impossible to resist.
"It was impressive how quickly the pretext dropped when no one was looking."
In her periphery she sees the waiter approaching. Kara must, too, since she pulls her hand away. Lena leaves hers in place, returning to tracing her fingers over the rough texture of the tablecloth beneath. Silence settles between them as their glasses are refilled, their plates removed.
The spot near her wrist burns.
Softly, Kara speaks up, resetting the conversation. "Quid pro quo. What was your favorite part of being at school?"
Sitting back in her chair, reluctantly pulling her hand in, Lena thinks for a moment before answering, "As awful as it sounds, the isolation forced me to sort of...figure myself out." Kara smiles softly across the way, and Lena explains, "I really came into my own. Lex was...growing away, and my mother was...well, my mother." Her eyebrows raise in emphasis.
"I was still known by my name, I was still the Luther girl, but I was just one of hundreds from such families. Everyone had a name with history, with weight behind it, which meant that before long names became nothing. And it was so unbelievably freeing. I threw myself into my studies, fell in love with science."
"Are you sure you're not a Danvers?" Kara asks, and Lena smiles warmly.
"Of course, my family was involved with science, but it wasn't something I really took a large interest in until I was at school. Most of our science teachers were men, but there was this one teacher we were all crazy in love with - Mrs. Gilbert. She taught all levels of chemistry, and she was the kind of teacher that was so ridiculously passionate about her subject that it was contagious. We couldn't help but fall in love with science as well."
"It's really nice that you had someone to inspire you, a good female role model. Especially in a field that's really more male-oriented."
"Bullshit," Lena responds automatically, and Kara jerks back in surprise.
Apologetic, she explains, "I mean women have always been in science, Kara. They've always been in the STEM fields. Marie Curie, Mary Somerville, Lise Meitner, Rosalind Franklin - modern science stands on their shoulders, even when people don't know their names. I mean their contributions are overlooked, overshadowed, absolutely, but they're undeniably there."
"Hey, you are preaching to the choir here," Kara says, her hands up in a placating manner.
"I do wish more young girls knew that, though, knew the great things they could do in these fields, had the encouragement to give them a try," Lena says through pursed lips.
"Why don't you be that role model?" Kara proposes, her voice growing stronger. "You're a woman - incredibly intelligent, beautiful, head of a multinational corporation responsible for some of the most innovative tech in the world. Who better to show them what they can do?"
Lena just stares at her. She can feel her jaw slacken.
"You know I'm right, Lena," Kara continues, and she sips on her water, smugness rolling off of her in waves.
After a moment, a smile plays at Lena's lips, and she drops her voice, responds teasingly, "You think I'm beautiful?"
"Wh-I, um-," she starts, choking on her water, a hint of panic creeping into her widening eyes. "I mean-obviously. Yes. I- of course. I have-eyes, Lena." When she sees Lena's shoulders begin to shake with barely contained laughter, she throws her head back against her chair. "C'mon! Leave me alone." Her ears are a delightful shade of pink, and Lena doesn't bother hiding her delight at the sight.
"I might have an idea."
"Yeah?" Kara leans forward expectantly, resting her chin in her hands, her elbows propped on the table.
"Yes, I do." And she does, the possibilities coalescing in her mind in rapid-fire form, a to-do list crystallizing in its entirety, full of bullet points and action items, the wheels spinning a million miles a minute.
"You going to let the rest of us in on that?" Kara prompts after a few beats of silence.
A smile crosses her lips, sly, flirtatious. With a shake of her head, Lena responds, "No, I don't think I will. I need to make some phone calls." When Kara pouts across at her, her lower lip jutting out adorably in an amateur attempt to sway her decision, Lena leans forward across the table, letting her eyes linger at the sight before lifting her gaze and whispering, "Patience, Kara Danvers."
When the fading pink on Kara's ears immediately reverses course, deepening to match the color of her jacket, Lena savors the sight, thrills at the way her heartbeat has quickened.
Reaching into her purse, she pulls out her wallet, but not before a protest reaches her ears. Not that it makes a difference, in the end. She waves off Kara's attempt to pay for her own meal with practiced ease.
"I needed this," she says once the waiter has disappeared with the cash and a generous tip. "We should do this more often." She keeps her voice carefully light, but the question in it is plain, and it leaves her feeling vulnerable.
Vulnerability isn't a shade she wears well, long ago growing accustomed to the weight of her armor, the sight of the brick and mortar walls she's constructed high above her head. The long shadows.
She needn't have worried. Kara smiles brightly across at her and says simply, "Absolutely."
Unlocking her phone, she navigates to her contacts screen and slides it across the table to a confused Kara. "Save me the trouble of coming all the way upstairs next time?" Kara enters her name and number with a shy smile, and when she's done, she pulls out her own phone, asks the same. Lena's grin is smug, incorrigible even, as she types her number into Kara's phone.
They walk the long blocks back to CatCo in companionable silence, and although the crowd has thinned some, leaving them able to move freely along the sidewalk, by some unspoken mutual agreement they stay close, occasionally bumping into one another, their shoulders grazing from time to time.
On occasion she catches glimpses of their reflections, momentary snapshots captured in polished steel and sparkling glass, flecks of amber, shimmering and seraphic amidst waves of onyx.
About halfway back, they spy a few people stopped together up ahead, their attention on a low wall in the deepening shadow of one of the dozens of banks along this stretch of downtown. Lena and Kara don't slow their step, but as they pass, they, too, find their heads turning, curious to see what the fuss is about.
It takes less than a second for Lena to wish they hadn't.
The symbol is relatively small, no more than a foot and half across, max. At its center is an alien, or at least that's what she assumes it's supposed to be - the caricature is what one might find in a 1950's comic, all gangly limbs and large eyes, rendered in a vivid shade of acid green. It's bound in a circle of red, a line slashed through the middle in a message even a child could understand. The paint is fresh, and it shines dully in the dappled midday light.
But the artist, if they can be called that, had a heavy hand, the red sprayed on much too thickly. Pulled by gravity, the excess paint continues to roll down the wall, leaving deep red streaks in its wake like blood shed in an opening skirmish.
Neither of them speak. Lena clenches her jaw, swallows harshly, the city turning to ash on her tongue. When the crowd forces her closer to Kara, their hands bumping, she realizes the journalist's hands are bunched into fists at her side. Chancing a quick glance, she sees the line on her forehead, the flare of her nostrils.
The silence feels poisoned, the air dark and acrid. It weighs heavily on her shoulders and burns in her nostrils.
Risking another glance at Kara, she feels the pull of gravity. It's gentle but insistent, and before she can change her mind, before she can rationalize it away, she takes a quick breath and reaches out, lets her hand fall atop Kara's where she still holds it bunched at her side. The effect is almost instantaneous. Kara's fingers begin to loosen, uncurling from a fist inch by inch, and when they're relaxed, hanging loosely once more against her thigh, Lena squeezes briefly, trying to telegraph a silent it's OK before releasing her hand completely.
They walk the remaining blocks without speaking, but with each step the air loses some of its bitterness, the shadows lessen, beaten back by the sun. More than once she steals a glance to make sure the crease between Kara's eyes hasn't returned, and with each confirmation she feels her own muscles relax, the strain in her lungs ease.
When they slow their steps, come to a hesitant stop outside of Kara's building, it's Lena who leans in first, wrapping her arms around Kara's waist, crossing tentatively on her back. Only this time Kara doesn't freeze. Warm arms wind around Lena's shoulders, strong but gentle, and a breath brushes faintly across her neck. A bouquet of citrus tickles her nose, orange or lemon she's not sure, the scent too light, but it's the smell of summer, sweet and intoxicating.
She shivers in spite of the sun beaming down from overhead.
One. Two. Three seconds. The embrace doesn't last longer than that, not really, but for a moment time stands still, the world around them slows, stops.
With reluctance she pulls away, her cheek sliding slowly across Kara's, smooth, soft. It scorches where they touch.
"Have a good afternoon, Ms. Danvers," she says, her eyes blinking languidly in the early afternoon sun.
Kara's voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "You, too." Her eyes are still half-closed when Lena turns and walks away.
She drifts back to L-Corp on the breeze, the sun warm against her back. There's no armor pushing down upon her shoulders, no chainmail scratching at her skin, and even the shadows darkening her path are fleeting, shrinking back into the walls as she passes.
She feels lighter than she has any right to be.
Looking at her watch impatiently once more, Lena purses her lips, does her damnedest to will the elevator to just...speed up already. She's running late enough as it is.
It's her own fault, really, a fact that seems to irritate her even more, and she huffs in impotent frustration while the bright red numbers above the metal doors mark her slow descent through the building. After another lunch with Kara, her second in as many days, she stopped off at the lab, intending to check in quickly with the R&D team about some issues they've been having with one of their latest projects.
"Issues" might be a bit of an understatement. "Minor explosions" is a bit more accurate, and the mandatory fire evacuation this morning really didn't help their case. So, when a department lets a giant stack of company money go up in smoke repeatedly, figuratively speaking, of course, a check-in is not uncalled for.
What should have been a short meeting turned into an entire afternoon. It took nearly an hour alone for her to ferret out the mathematical error in her lead tech's chemical equation, the group of them standing around the whiteboard, marker smudges marring their hands. They'd given up on searching for the eraser early on.
And once she'd found the error, well, she couldn't very well just leave, could she? What sort of example would that have set? Adorned in a white lab coat, rubber gloves, and super fashionable goggles, she watched with rapt attention as the team put her tweaked equation to the test. When no fires erupted, no alarms went off, the looks they gave her, the unchecked respect in their eyes - it was worth every minute of her time.
I should do this more often. Leave the budgets and teleconferences and executive office behind from time to time, get back to the science.
She looks at her watch once more, the doors sliding open ahead of her, and notes with grim determination that she has exactly twenty minutes to make it across town in late afternoon traffic. Veering sharply to the right, she makes a beeline for the entrance, her movements precise, efficient, like a well-oiled machine.
After a week of repairs, the caution tape and construction equipment are gone, and the lobby is once again pristine, all signs of last week's attack vanished without a trace.
When she pushes through the glass doors and steps outside, she wishes she could say the same thing about the rest of her life. A handful of protesters are gathered near the street, again, huddled up near a barricade the NCPD erected the other day when they first showed up, handmade signs and posters held aloft, touting such sentiments as "Aliens Are People, Too!"
For christ's sake, this can't be my life. She sighs but doesn't break her stride, her face carefully composed as she makes her way through no-man's land. They've been peaceful at least, and the guards working the lobby and the door haven't had any real issues so far. If they're here tomorrow, perhaps she'll invite them in for a chat, plead her case, if need be. But not now. There's no time.
Rushing down the steps, her heels ring soundly against the hard surface with the rhythmic precision of a metronome. Up ahead her car idles at the curb, and her driver, Daniel, stands near the passenger door, waiting for her arrival, his eyes carefully surveying the protesters nearby. Just in case.
She has just enough time to register the blur, the streak of colors that interrupt her line of sight before Supergirl appears a few steps below her, the look on her face clearly indicating we need to talk. The suddenness startles Lena, and her feet fall out of step with a stuttering motion.
"Miss Luthor, I apologize-"
Recovering quickly, Lena sighs, "Hi. Listen, I"m sorry, can you make it quick? I'm running late for a very important meeting."
Supergirl turns, and they descend the rest of the steps together while the Girl of Steel delivers her message. "The DEO is tracking a number of unspecified threats against various targets here in National City." She pauses before adding, "Your name is on the list."
For the second time Lena's steps falter, slow. She allows herself a moment, just one, to close her eyes. "Dammit."
While taking another moment to survey the area, scrutinizing the straggling protesters, the passing cars, scouring the locale for threats, Supergirl continues to speak. "As you know, after your mother's arraignment yesterday the judge ordered her held without bond, but we think she's found a way to communicate with her associates on the outside. Maybe through her lawyer, maybe through a guard-" she sighs heavily, "-we don't know yet."
Lena cocks her head at the frustration in the tone, marvels at it.
Her mother's arraignment was the leading story on last night's news. Or, more specifically, the barely avoided riot that nearly broke out in the courtroom during the proceedings, supporters and detractors alike shouting from the seats, the bailiffs too outnumbered to quieten and remove them all before things unraveled.
And through it all her mother sat, as cold and unmoving as marble.
"But it would appear that although the public is still in the dark, information regarding your role in her failure and capture has found its way to her...circle."
When her jaw clenches, again and again, she can feel the tightness pull in her cheeks, and Supergirl's eyes track the movement with startling focus.
The protesters have fallen quiet around them, watching the scene with interest even though they are too far back to hear the content of the conversation.
"I just wanted to let you know. You have security, right?"
A nod, crisp and curt.
"Use them. Maybe-" she starts, ducks her head a little as she mutters, "-maybe take it easy on the walks alone through downtown for awhile."
It's a moment before Lena finds her words, but when she does, they're pure steel, cold and sharp and dripping with danger. "You've been watching me?"
"No! I, um, I have my sources." The words are rushed, and she continues quickly, the rest tumbling out haphazardly. "Look, just be careful. Please? We don't know how much bigger the organization was or how deep their resources go. Your mother has contacts, Ms. Luthor, and it looks like she aims to use them."
"My mother doesn't scare me."
Supergirl offers her a tentative smile in return. "I get the impression not much does. But still. Be careful. We'll continue to try and work the investigation from our end."
With a nod, Lena says, "I'll consider it." Looking down at her watch, she sighs heavily, "Look I really do need to go. I'm late for a meeting."
"I could give you a lift…?"
The peal of laughter that escapes from Lena's lips is unexpected, and it takes them both by surprise. "Thanks, but, I'm not really fond of flying. Think I'll take my chances on the ground."
With a chuckle, Supergirl nods. "Alright, but I promise, I'm really good at it."
"Noted." A smirk, slow and mischievous slides along Lena's face until, with a quick nod, she turns and climbs into her waiting car. The door closes behind her with finality. Outside her window, Supergirl remains still, her eyes trained on Lena's door until Daniel takes his place in the driver's seat. Stepping back, giving the area another quick once-over, Supergirl takes her leave, vanishing into the afternoon sky as quickly as she had arrived.
As downtown National City slides by her window, the people, the glass and steel, the powerhouses of business towering far above the streets, it all mixes and blurs in a swirl of color, suddenly nauseating. She pulls her eyes away, reaches into her purse for her phone.
Finding her last text, she worries at her bottom lip, types out a message and hits send after reading it back a few times.
Care to make it 3 for 3? Lunch at my office tomorrow?
A smile, soft and hopeful, pulls at the corner of her mouth, and her hand reaches up to touch her lips, to feel her face, so unused to the way this feels. Unaccustomed to dropping her mask at the thought of something so simple.
Thoughtful eyes track the movement in the rearview mirror before Daniel refocuses on the road ahead, a small grin to match his employer's as he hits the blinker, turns to take them uptown.