5 Weeks Ago
It sits there untouched, its face dark, the persistent silence worrying at her nerves, leaving them dangling like a loose thread along a hem, the kind that demands to be pulled, to be unraveled. Unable to resist, Lena's eyes stray from her computer, sliding to the cell phone sitting quietly in the middle of her desk, a movement repeated a hundred times already today.
Reaching out, the glass cool beneath her outstretched fingers, she presses the button to bring up her home screen, the message no new notifications appearing in stark sans serif. It's what she expected. Nothing has changed, no alerts have sounded.
And still, she checks. Just in case. Another pull at the loose thread.
Pushing back from the desk, Lena slowly swivels her chair around, the crisp whites and elegant lines of her executive office giving way to a bank of windows. The view is different today. National City is gone, the streets below lost to the storm clouds that rolled in hours ago like a leaden ocean tide. All that remains are its mirrored peaks where they pierce the gloom here and there like lonely islands, ghostly remnants of a forgotten world.
Not that she sees them.
Her eyes are unfocused, her thumb rubbing listlessly along the sleek metal edge of the phone growing heavy in her hand. Ounce by ounce the weight presses until the scales tip. Pulling it close, she opens her texts, Kara's name at the top of the queue.
The last text in the string was from this morning. Walking through the lobby of her apartment building on her way to the office, she'd passed by another tenant, Mrs. Miller, leading her black lab, Wallace, back inside from his morning walk, a string of puddles dotting the tiled floor in their wake.
Mrs. Miller is...a little eccentric. Today Wallace was sporting a yellow rain slicker and miniature galoshes like some sort of oversized Paddington Bear. Lena stopped in the lobby to wish them both good morning, and they were gracious enough to pose for a quick snap. The picture isn't anything special; his tail is blurry and his tongue is hanging sideways out of his mouth. He's the picture of class and decorum - and completely irresistible.
There's no question it's the kind of thing that would send Kara into peals of delighted giggles. The kind of thing that would make her nose scrunch up as she laughs.
But the timestamp on the outgoing message reads 6:28 a.m., more than six and a half hours ago. There's been no response.
A flick of her thumb and she scrolls up through the text chain. A random check-in Lena had sent last night. A question yesterday afternoon. A text of nothing but emojis she sent yesterday during a particular grueling board meeting.
And nothing from Kara but silence.
For a day and a half.
A gust of wind whips along the building, and a cold tendril snakes into her office through the open balcony door.
She chews unconsciously on the inside of her cheek, her mind vacillating between the worry that something's happened to Kara and the certainty that Lena's done something to mess up...whatever this is. Both feel irrational. It's Kara, for chrissakes. She's chided herself for her overreaction a hundred times.
But rejection still aches dully, pulling at her ribs, weighing down her limbs. And worry still sits like lead in her gut. The two slide uncomfortably against one another, oil and water, existing side by side but never mixing.
A heavy sigh passes her lips. With a push of a button, the phone's screen goes dark in her hand, and she moves quickly to put it away, to set it far out of sight before she can glimpse the disappointment she's sure to find in her eyes reflected back at her in the darkened glass, another silent specter.
Turning back to her computer, she returns to her email and continues her work, the afternoon conference call with the CFO and the board approaching faster than she'd anticipated.
Alone in her office at the top of the world, she sits exposed, nerves raw, a mountain of unraveled thread piled at her feet.
It's late. Her eyes closed, her head resting heavily against the doorway, Lena brushes her teeth with robotic movements, the monotony prematurely lulling her into the realm of sleep. Even so, the prolonged bzzz of her cell phone vibrating in place on her bedside table is enough to pierce the fog. Holding her head over the sink, she spits and rinses her mouth, flipping the light switch off as she passes through the doorway. A new icon appears on her phone screen - a new text.
It's from Kara.
lena i'm so sorry! i was out of cell range on a story. can't wait to tell you all about it
Relief seeps through her skin, her muscles, soaks into the marrow of her bones, leaves her feeling light, and when butterflies tickle in her veins, the combination leaves her dizzy and disoriented, as if she's just stepped off a merry go round and is trying desperately to get the ground to even out beneath her feet.
Lena's response is immediate, her fingers flying over the screen in a blur of movement: Wouldn't miss it for the world :D
Before she can set the phone down it buzzes once more, the vibrations climbing the length of her arm, a tingle that hits her like lightning. She opens the notification without hesitation.
p.s. omg i want to meet wallace!
The words are followed by what can only be described as emoji vomit, the sheer number of which that Kara's managed to cram into the message boggles the mind.
Sliding into the cool sheets covering her bed, all she feels is warmth. Imagining Kara in her apartment across town, a dopey grin on her face has Lena's own smile pulling at her cheeks, a breathy chuckle escaping her lips. There's a part of her that aches a bit at the absence, at the miles keeping her from seeing the smile for herself.
In spite of it, she feels the warmth of it all the same, and even if it is a little less bright than the original, she feels the echo of it in her own.
Setting the phone on her nightstand, she reaches up to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the oblong rectangle of midnight blue against the ubiquitous inky shadows where the obscured moonlight filters in through the sheer curtains hanging across the window.
Sleep is almost instantaneous. Her eyelids sink quickly closed, and her breath slows, changes, evens out. The ghost of a smile still haunts the corners of her mouth.
There's a soft whoosh on the wind, a faint flutter outside the window, and a shadow of a caped figure cuts across the square of light on the floor. It's gone as promptly as it came, but Lena slips away from consciousness too quickly to notice it was ever there in the first place.
Bzzzzz.
Her cell phone blinks to life a few feet away, and Lena is quick to grin, the familiar pull of the muscles in her cheek an almost Pavlovian response to the sound of a text notification. She and Kara have been texting all morning, her phone buzzing to life at regular intervals. They've talked of nothing. They've talked of everything.
Turning from her computer, she snatches the phone from the corner of her desk and pulls up the latest message. Her grin falters. Kara can't get away for their standing lunch, it seems. She's in a frenzy, trying to write her article.
Disappointment flitters in Lena's periphery like a phantom, ethereal and vague, but before it can take form, before it can grow flesh or sprout claws with which to dig into her skin, she turns back to her computer and pulls up her browser, all hard focus and soft smirk.
Thirty minutes later her cell phone comes alive again, but instead of the familiar bzzzz, it rings quietly, skittering insistently along the top of her desk. When the name "Kara Danvers" splashes across the screen in large letters, Lena's grin is instantaneous, smug, and it echoes in her voice when she answers.
"Oh my god, Lena," Kara starts, her words indistinct, as if she's speaking around a bite of food. "You sent me potstickers?! You- you are the most amazing-" her words stop suddenly, transforming by increments into a muffled moan, the sound of a woman clearly unable to stop herself from taking another nibble.
Lena's laughter sparkles along her desk, shimmers across the office walls like jewels in the midday sun. "Even reporters need their energy," she says, a smile in her voice. "Thought you might need a little help getting through your story, whatever it is."
There's a pause followed by an audible swallow, and when Kara speaks again her tone is more subdued. "You remember the missing girl I told you about last week? The one whose mom came to the office?"
"Of course," Lena responds, her eyes narrowing at the turn in the conversation.
"I found her, Lena. We found her. And so many more."
The line is silent for a moment before Lena mutters, "Oh my god, Kara…," her voice trailing off just as quickly, her mind struggling with the magnitude of Kara's admission.
More muffled sounds make their way through the speaker, and when Kara continues, her words are halting, pausing to chew. "I've got to get this written today to go to print, so I'll be working late. But as soon as I can I want to tell you all about it."
Lena doesn't think she's imagining the note of longing in Kara's voice. It's a silken thing, and it insinuates itself deep into her chest, wrapping around her lungs, caressing her heart.
She's heard it often enough in her own to know the signs.
"I can't wait," Lena says. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye - Jess appears in the doorway. Holding up a finger, Lena sighs into the phone, her voice soft, "Look, I've got to go, I've got some people waiting outside the office for a meeting." The regret is palpable, a solid thing between them, and she makes no effort to hide it. There's an answering sigh on the line, an echo of her own, and her heart clenches infinitesimally at the sound. "Don't work too hard, Kara."
A quiet chuckle sounds in her ear. "Like you have room to talk."
They disconnect, and with a nod to Jess, she stands up, moves around her desk and walks to greet the visitors being ushered into her office wearing a smile more genuine than any she's worn this week.
Her hand hovers lightly above the keys, and her eyes scan the screen swiftly. A steady stream of words tumble from her lips, pretty things, polished and poised and waiting for their debut.
Garish lights flash across the TV in her periphery, a discordant note signaling the switch to the sports segment of the nightly news. Not that she's paying it any mind. It's background noise, a habit she can't seem to shake loose. The added voices, the stray musical interludes, they all combine to make the apartment feel a little less empty, to make her feel a little less alone here.
It's not much, but it helps.
Settled into the corner of her couch with her legs stretched out before her, the dark cotton of her pajamas a stark contrast to the warm camel color of the cushions, she's finally comfortable. Her laptop sits heavily atop her legs, her speech outline up on the screen, its light far brighter than the lamps dotting the perimeter of the room.
She's been at it all night, obsessively going over the details, the need to have everything finalized and perfect for tomorrow's charity event forefront in her mind. It's a familiar routine, a skill she's been honing since her college days. If she squints hard enough the line between final exam and hosting a public event blurs - sure, there are different facts to memorize, different lines to learn, but the frenzied feeling is the same.
The need for success is the same, too. She has a reputation for being an accomplished public speaker, and while she enjoys the appearance of ease she's fostered throughout the years, the truth is it comes down to hours and hours of anxious practice.
Bzzzz.
The phone vibrates against her leg, and she reaches into the pocket of her pajamas automatically to retrieve it, although she waits until she finishes the line of text she's highlighted with her cursor before tearing her eyes away and checking it out.
It's Kara. Of course it's Kara.
i'm about 95% sure you're still working but check your email
Her curiosity piqued, Lena clicks away from her speech and opens her email program. Sure enough, there's a new email from Kara Danvers, the subject "Unofficial Draft" in bold letters at the top of the queue. The body of the message is succinct: "Snapper might still change some things, but I wanted you to be the first to read it."
She doesn't hesitate.
And she doesn't dwell on why that is, either.
Taking a sip of water from the glass on the nearby coffee table, Lena gets comfortable, pulling her knees up closer to her chest and resituating the computer in her lap, her speech forgotten. As she begins to read the attached file, her hand reaches up to play idly with her hair, a dark strand wrapping around and around and around her outstretched fingers as her eyes fly across the text on the screen.
With each passing minute, her hand slows. And then it stills altogether, raven strands slipping from her fingers unnoticed.
It begins with a mother, asking for help.
It begins with a reporter, asking too many questions.
From there the story of the kidnappings, the slavery ring, the daring rescue, it all unfolds in hard-hitting prose, juxtaposing emotional accounts from victims describing their ordeal with Supergirl's heroics, everything in stark, technicolor detail. She reads it all with wide eyes, her hand sliding to cover her mouth.
Some passages she reads and rereads, her jaw falling open.
Moving her hand, running her fingers wildly through her hair, she calls Kara as soon as she's done.
Kara answers on the first ring. "What'd you think?" Kara asks anxiously.
"Kara...I...I don't know what to say," she answers truthfully, her mind still struggling to parse the details, to translate them to reality. "It's brilliant. And heart-wrenching. And...all of this is true? You...you uncovered this?" Wonder suffuses her words. It's probably the same tone she'd have if she found out Kara could time travel. Equally surreal, equally inconceivable.
Kara stammers, unable to find the words. Or rather she finds all the words, flittering between every one of them, unable to settle on the particular one she wants. The phone jostles against her cheek, and Lena thinks she might be climbing the stairs to her apartment. When Kara diverts, mentions Supergirl, Lena speaks up.
"Don't get me wrong, Kara. Supergirl certainly is a hero, and the two of you clearly make a formidable team," Lena begins, her voice reverent, firm. "But don't downplay your own role. You are every bit a hero, too. You followed your instincts, you helped someone that no one else would help." Kara falls quiet on the line. Lena continues, her voice softening. "It's down to you that all of these people are safe."
"It was the right thing to do," Kara says quietly. The sound of a door closing travels through the phone - Kara is home. "You still working?" Kara asks.
A heavy sigh passes her lips. "Yeah, trying to make sure everything's ready for tomorrow night."
Kara yawns in her ear, loud and uninhibited. "It'll be perfect," she assures, "don't worry." And she means it.
It's contagious. Lena finds herself pulled into a yawn as well, and when she regains control she laughs quietly. "That's your fault, you're a bad influence."
There's an answering laugh on the line, but the voice is tired. "Shush." When a rustling noise fills the speaker, Lena imagines Kara in her apartment across town, kicking off her shoes, shedding her coat, stumbling toward her bedroom with the phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear, a sleepy smile on her face. Her heart aches at the picture of domesticity she's conjured, and something flutters in her throat.
"Go to bed, Kara." Her voice is lace, delicate, fragile.
"Yes, ma'am. Goodnight, Lena."
"Goodnight," she says on a whisper.
Long after the line falls silent she stares at the phone in her hand, the screen dark, the face reflecting back at her familiar and yet...something's changed, something's shifted ever so slightly, a realignment on a cellular level, and she starts to smile even as a part of her fills with dread, names this for what it is.
After a long moment her fingers spring into action, pulling up her text messages and finding Kara's name, but as she goes to respond, as she starts to shout into the void, she remembers the yawn, the sleepy satisfaction in Kara's voice.
Leave it be, Lena.
With a shake of her head, she bites her lower lip and slips the phone back into her pocket. Switching back to her speech, she settles herself deeper into the couch and reads it again from the top, redoubling her efforts, a valiant attempt to focus.
Tomorrow needs to be perfect.
"That is not acceptable, Kevin." Lena's breath escapes in what might loosely be construed as a laugh, but it lacks any trace of lightness, any trace of joviality. It's a shadowy thing, dark and dangerous.
"My staff-," she starts, but she doesn't get to finish, the voice on the other end running ram shod over her. Her words perch on the tip of her tongue, bitter and sharp. She thinks if he were here, if he were standing before her now, how they'd fly like poisoned darts from her lips, find their mark in the sickly white jowls of his neck. God, how satisfying.
Unable to sit still, she moves around her desk, pacing back and forth in the open space in front, one foot in front of the other. Over and over again, she stalks like a tiger prowling, her muscles bunching, itching for action. Claws out, teeth gleaming in the strong midday light streaming through the windows along the wall, Lena Luthor is ready for the fight.
It'll be a cold day in hell before the board shortchanges my employees so they can make a few extra bucks, she thinks to herself. Her staff. Her people. The ones who count on her to have their backs.
It's a job she takes seriously.
But his next words halt her movements, and she comes to a stop facing her office door, one hand on her hip, her spine straight as hardened steel. When she speaks again, her words lack any trace of her earlier civility. Instead, her voice is sharp and dangerous, a weapon intimately wielded. "No, call a board meeting if you must. But it won't-" Her nostrils flare as she's cut off once more, the muscles in her jaw aching with tension, the tendrils snaking behind her eyes, up to her temples, needles of pain blooming along their tracks.
And then she stills.
And Lena smiles, alone in her office. It's a terrifying thing, her lips curled back, her teeth bared. The feral smile of a predator who knows the hunt is on. "Oh, I assure you, Kevin," she snarls, her voice pitched low. "I'm looking forward to it."
Pulling the phone away from her ear, she ends the call, vaguely missing the days of ubiquitous landlines, where one could slam a phone back into its cradle with crashing finality at the end of a call, a cathartic move if there ever was one.
"Ahem." A throat clears behind her, and the suddenness of it sends a trill of panic through Lena's system, her heart thrumming wildly against her ribs. A shock of red and blue slide into focus as she whirls around, waves of amber fluttering in the open doorway of the balcony.
"I'm sorry," Supergirl starts, her hands raised in apology as she lingers in the door, contrition etched in the lines of her face. "I didn't mean to startle you...or to interrupt," she adds with a nod to the phone held loosely in Lena's hand.
In her place halfway between the desk and the door, Lena stands unmoving, her features frozen in surprise as she stares at the unexpected visitor on her balcony, backlit against the daylight, sun playing through the loose curls framing her face, blurring her edges. She's striking, and Lena stares, immobile.
"I can come back if this is a bad time," Supergirl offers from the doorway, her tone a little less sure, a little more quiet. Her voice rises slightly at the end as if in question, and Lena doesn't think she's imagining the disappointment lacing the words.
Shaking her head, clearing all thoughts of before and wiping the slate clean, Lena offers her guest a private smile. "Of course not, Supergirl. You're always welcome." Her words have a visible effect, blue-clad shoulders dropping slightly, the tension she didn't realize was there relaxing visibly as Supergirl takes a tentative step into her office. It's something Lena isn't used to - Supergirl is a figure of decisiveness, of blockbuster action and comic book heroics, and the carefulness, the timidity coloring her movements in the last few moments stick out as aberrations. Always observing, always watching, she notes them and wonders at them before cataloging them and filing them away for future scrutiny.
"Are you alright?" It's an innocuous question on its face, but there's a personal nature to it that feels like new territory between them, and it leaves Lena's lips before she can rethink the play.
Across the way, Supergirl cocks her head in confusion, the question seemingly out of context, and Lena moves to her desk to clarify, reaching forward and grabbing the latest edition of CatCo magazine where it lies open near her computer. It slides in her fingers as she flips it closed, and its glossy cover comes into view: the words "Slaver's Moon" appear in small, understated print, leaving more room for James Olsen's haunting photograph to tell its own story, depicting Izzy Williams, her face smudged, her blonde hair dirtied and disheveled, smiling broadly as she's engulfed in an emotional hug by her mother.
"You've been busy this week," Lena says by way of explanation as Supergirl's eyes zero in on the magazine in her outstretched hand. "Broke up an interplanetary slave trade, saved a lot of people, reunited a mother and her daughter..." They rattle off her tongue, almost mundane, and god it sounds farcical, impossible even, like the world's most ridiculous to-do list. Supergirl remains quiet, her eyes still focused on the cover photo, and Lena wonders is it modesty that keeps her silent? Humility?
Or is it memory, perhaps?
Whatever the reason, Lena takes a moment to let her eyes look across long limbs held tightly, fingers curled protectively into palms. Observing. Analyzing. "It must take its toll," she continues, and although her voice is quiet, her tone soft, the words ricochet like a shot against the hard surfaces between them.
"Did they hurt you?" she whispers, her voice barely audible as she searches Supergirl's face, unable to find any clues on her body. It's another question blurring the line, bold and direct in spite of its muted delivery.
Blue eyes snap to hers with inhuman speed, but Lena returns the scrutiny with unwavering resolve, her brow furrowed in concern.
"I...it's not important," Supergirl starts, looking away, looking down, her feet shuffling as she moves further into the office, avoiding the focus on herself with careful self-deprecation. But Lena doesn't take the bait. When Supergirl lifts her head again, she finds Lena's eyes on her still, her eyebrows raised, unperturbed and waiting. With a sigh, Supergirl amends her answer, "I'm OK, really," she promises, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It was the right thing to do." She turns and paces a little further into Lena's office, her back to the windows, her progress marked by the soft swish of her cape against her legs.
Lena stills in her place beside the desk, her eyes narrowing as the words echo familiarly in her ears, the thread of a conversation she's had before. For reasons unknown, in her veins her pulse picks up its pace, the blood beginning to hum susurrant in her ears.
When she speaks, her words are gossamer, a fragile whisper barely audible even to herself, "Doesn't mean it was easy."
Supergirl hears her. Of course, she does.
Across the room, Supergirl pauses in her steps and turns to face Lena, her cape swinging loosely in her wake, and when she stills it sways lightly, the red vivid against the delicate white petals just beyond reach along the coffee table. For a moment her eyes flicker down to Lena's chest, to her heart, before climbing back up to search her face.
Although she stands there bigger than life in her hallmark blue and red, a uniform that symbolizes strength and hope for a whole city, Supergirl's eyes are wide, and her fingers tug at the edge of her sleeves where they hang low and brush against her palms, betraying a vulnerability most wouldn't believe existed.
Deja vu barrels into Lena with the force of a locomotive, tipping her senses off balance, dizzying and confusing, and she unconsciously bites her lip, pondering.
Tracking the movement with her eyes, Supergirl takes a deep breath, carefully flexing her fingers against her thigh before clearing her throat and changing the subject.
"So I hear you're throwing a party?" Her voice is light when she speaks now, almost joking, but there's a lingering tentativeness in its notes that rings discordantly in Lena's ears.
Lena leans back against her desk, bolstering herself with her arms, a picture of carefully crafted ease. With a smirk, she responds to the query, "Something like that."
There's an answering twitch at the corner of Supergirl's mouth at what they both know to be a gross understatement. "It's a risk, you know, such a public event," Supergirl continues as she slowly strolls back towards Lena's place at the desk. "You already know you're a target, and hosting an event is an attractive opportunity for anyone out there who may wish you harm. Not only would they get to you, but it's an attractive chance to make a statement on a grand scale."
Her tone isn't angry, it isn't chiding or fretful or any of the things it could have been. Not that it matters. Lena bristles at the words all the same, feeling defensiveness swirl around her back like storm clouds. Tingles of electricity spark along her limbs, and lightning gathers on her tongue.
But Supergirl must see the steel setting in her jaw, the thunderheads darkening her brow because she wastes no time in stepping closer, putting her hand up between them in a placating gesture before Lena has a chance to strike. The words tumbling out of her lips are fervent. "I'm not here to stop you, Ms. Luthor."
Lena's lungs deflate like a dying wind, the sparks coursing down to her fingertips begin to sizzle and still, and the storm clouding her features dissipates.
"I think your aims are amazing. And, frankly," Supergirl says, a smirk beginning to form on her face, "I know you're going to do what you want anyway - you're kind of hard-headed."
A bark of laughter escapes Lena's lips, genuine and unexpected, and the smile reflecting back at her from the Girl of Steel is playful, comfortable, the earlier tentativeness all but gone.
"I just wanted to talk logistics," Supergirl continues, pacing slowly through the office, turning back to Lena from time to time as she speaks. "I intended to do this days ago, but...like you said-" the ghost of a smile crosses her lips, "-I've been a little busy." She wets her lips, coming to a stop a few feet from Lena, arms crossed, eyes intent, the picture of focus. "What precautions are you taking for tonight?"
Nodding her head in understanding, Lena begins running through the arrangements she's painstakingly made over the past few weeks, a mere fraction of the flurry of phone calls and meetings and emails she's exchanged in preparation. "I'll have quadruple the security personnel on-hand tonight, all thoroughly vetted and vouched for by trusted employees."
As she speaks, she feels the familiar mantle of CEO settling over her, and she welcomes it - the way her voice firms, her words imbued with unquestionable confidence. The way her back straightens. But in the moment, with Supergirl standing at parade rest across from her, she feels less like a CEO and more like a general, like the two of them should be standing in some darkened room beneath a single overhead lamp, its bare bulb humming electric into the encroaching cloud of cigar smoke as they plot away, two generals huddling over a battlefield map, analyzing troop positions and strategizing for an upcoming skirmish.
This esprit de corps delights her, and she settles against the desk as she continues to lay out her plan, her feet crossed primly at her ankles.
"My team will be discrete but visible. Well,-" she stops, a cheshire grin pulling at her cheeks, "-most of them. There'll be some who you'll never know are there."
"And," Lena adds, keeping her voice even, "I'd hoped you'd be there, too."
Although Supergirl's lips had been pressed firmly together, flattened into a line while she listened intently, they quickly soften at the admission, pulling into a smirk. "Of course I'll be there," she assures, nodding her head quickly as if in emphasis, as if the gesture could assuage any apprehension there might be about her intentions. "But I'll monitor things from a distance. I don't want to pull any attention from your focus tonight. If all goes well, you'll never even know I'm there," she offers, and there's a laugh, soft and self-deprecating.
But there's a note to it Lena can't identify, a minor chord in a major melody. It echoes in her ears long after the other notes have fallen silent. A movement, small but noticeable, catches her eye - Supergirl is fidgeting again, her fingertips digging into her biceps where her arms cross, her lips pulled into a tight line once more.
"Besides," Supergirl continues, her eyes catching and holding Lena's. "I'm pretty sure Kara Danvers would kill me if anything happened to you on my watch."
And it's Lena's turn to squirm. Her cheeks warm in an instant at the sentiment, as if she's spent the afternoon basking in the sun rather than tucked away in the office, and she realizes it must be visible, the blush, when Supergirl's eyes waver from hers, slide downward ever so slowly while her lips twitch. It only takes a moment before Supergirl disconnects entirely, staring at her own boots, her smile far fuller now, like she's enjoying some sort of private joke.
Lena watches her a moment, and the silence stretches between them undisturbed. Silence exists on a spectrum, a dizzying array of types and qualities. But this one that sits between Lena Luthor and Supergirl isn't the kind that separates, the kind that invites division. On the contrary, the quiet pulls them together, solidifies their partnership in ways words cannot hope to.
Lena's cheeks have cooled by the time Supergirl looks up again, apologies in her eyes as she says, "'I've gotta go." Her arms unlock, sleek blue sliding down to rest loosely at her sides, her cape tickling along the back of her forearms where they dangle. "The mayor has a press event, and he requested a photo-op to bolster his campaign." Blowing out a lung-full of air, running a hand absently through the waves around her shoulders, it strikes Lena again how young, how human she is, this Girl of Steel. She carries the weight of the world - the weight of many worlds - settled atop her broad shoulders like a modern Atlas, but beneath it all, when the public has turned away, safely tucked in their beds, when the media has turned off the lights, when the bad guys have retreated to the safety of their lairs, this figure they've asked the world of...she's just a girl.
Rolling her shoulders and stepping away, her footsteps soft, unobtrusive in the large space, Supergirl looks back at her, eyebrows raised. "I'll see you tonight." It's not quite a question, not quite a statement.
But Lena understands it all the same. She nods decisively, one general to another.
One girl to another.
With a slight creak as her boots shift, her legs bent at the knee, Supergirl lifts gracefully from the balcony and flies out over National City. Lena watches her go, tracks her movement through the air as best she can, but the sun is strong today, and in the crowded labyrinth of downtown, its towering sentinels of polished glass and gleaming steel vying for attention, the glare is harsh.
She squints against the sun, but she loses Supergirl shortly in the shimmering skyline.
This is it. This is how I die.
It's the only concrete thought she can muster as he leans in, as the swirling cloud of cologne overtakes her, and she can only hope it's not immediately evident to anyone lingering nearby that she's holding her breath. As he pulls away, the fashionable stubble of his beard scratches irritatingly against her cheek, and Lena quickly schools her face into the appropriate mask, her smile bright, dazzling even, the picture of the gracious hostess.
She takes her leave as politely as she can. "I am so pleased you could make it! I've got to go do a thing-" she waves her hand, indicating the paper gripped tightly in her fingers, bullet points for her upcoming speech, "-but please be sure to check out the East Hall in a bit. I think you'll enjoy it." His answering smile is toothy but pleased, and a string of benign pleasantries follows Lena as she turns and moves through the room, gliding through the crowd with practiced ease.
It's a dance, her confident footsteps setting the tempo, the low murmur of voices, the tinkling of glassware the melodic backdrop. As she wends through the room, twirling wide around waiters bearing overloaded drink trays, casting a wave here, a smile there, a quick touch on a familiar shoulder in hurried greeting as she passes by, her steps are effortless, graceful. The movements of someone who knows the routine by heart.
Growing up a Luthor is good for some things.
But for all her circuits through the room, greasing palms and kissing cheeks, there's one guest she has yet to see. Glancing at her watch - again - her heart sinks a little. Where is she?
Kara had texted more than half an hour ago, all apologies, the indication being that she was running late. Lena hadn't even had a chance to respond, hadn't had a chance to get an ETA. Another crisis had arisen, pulling her attention away. Crisis is a broad term tonight, apparently, the one in question centering on a minor panic amongst the caterers: a tray of quiche fell during transit, and as a result, the order was shorter than contracted.
It's just the latest fire in need of fighting. Flitting frantically from one dilemma to another since she arrived a few hours ago to personally oversee the set-up, it feels like that's all she's done. Sure, she could have left it to an assistant, these last minute things. She could have done it all along as well, she supposes, letting Jess or Hector or someone else handle the phone calls and emails and scheduling invitations. But this is a personal project. It has to be perfect.
If you want it done right, do it yourself.
And so, shortly after Supergirl had made her exit from L-Corp this afternoon, Lena did the same, hurrying across town to make her hair appointment, stopping at the apartment for a quick change, and then on to the venue.
A self-satisfied grin flickers across her face when she thinks about how her hair turned out tonight. Let down in a cascade of gentle waves and brushed curls, falling delicately around her face, it's soft and sexy and elegant all in one, somehow simultaneously flawless yet seemingly effortless. Lena's inclined to call her hairdresser a magician. Whatever the source of her powers, she loves it.
Her eyes drop to her watch once more before they dart up and away, casting about the room in a last ditch effort, but there's still no Kara in sight. Tilting her head back, Lena empties her glass of the last few drops of champagne, placing the empty flute carefully on a waiter's tray before taking a step forward.
It's time.
As she mounts the steps to the small dais provided for just this moment, ever mindful of the long hem on her tailored suit - the last thing she needs is to face plant right now - a murmur works its way through the crowd before they begin to clap politely.
Men and women in their expensive cocktail attire, sipping wine, champagne. Waiting. Watching.
Judging.
Some are here to support a worthy cause. Some are here because they never decline a party invitation, a chance to be seen. But others - others are here because they wanted to look at the last free Luthor, vultures circling the carrion, watching with hungry eyes.
Oh, she sees them. And she'll remember them.
When the applause tapers off, Lena begins, letting her gaze dance from one face to another in the crowd. "Thank you for joining us tonight, and thank you to the National City Observatory for allowing us to run amok in their beautiful halls." She waits while another small round of applause fills the Grand Hall's rotunda, echoing brightly off the beautiful art deco tiled floors, ricocheting again and again off the walls like muted thunder.
After a moment, she begins again. "Just a little bookkeeping to start us off, bear with me," she says around a smile. "The observatory's pride and joy, the large refracting telescope is open for viewing in the West Hall, just beyond their award-winning solar exhibit. Staff have also set up a number of smaller telescopes on the balcony along the northern end of the building for your viewing pleasure tonight, and the observatory has a few docents posted nearby to answer any questions you may have."
A murmur breaks out in the crowd, the overall tone seemingly pleased, and Lena catches a few heads turning, looking this way and that as if making plans on where to go first. A photographer to the side of the stage snaps a photo and then another, the flash of his camera a minor distraction in her periphery.
"As I am sure you've noticed by now that we have a number of guests tonight who are a little...smaller in stature than normal," she continues, a smile coloring her tone. The laughter that returns to her is delightful, pockets of chuckles climbing toward the high ceiling, echoing back and forth across the space.
Her hands loosen on the podium as the reception in the room thaws. "No, you're not imagining things. Tonight we have some special guests: students from schools all over National City, along with their chaperones, of course." While some of the older kids are spread throughout the room, many of the younger ones are standing up front, just beneath the stage, girls with grins on their faces, hope and wonder like starlight in their eyes. Lena looks at them as she speaks, indulgent, fully aware that her own face mirrors their wonder.
By now, most of the kids have realized that they're in the spotlight, that hundreds of sets of eyes have sought them out, and they sit up taller in their uniform polos and pressed khakis. A few along the right side, however, pay no mind. Instead, after elbowing friends on either side of them, as a unit they look upward, staring in hushed awe at the mechanical model of the solar system suspended high above their heads in the rotunda, gears moving the planets along in perfect imitation of their actual orbit.
Lena doesn't blame them, casting her eyes upward herself. The model really is quite spectacular.
Pulling her gaze back to earth, she returns her attention to the adults in the room, the ones who have paid for the privilege of being here tonight.
"You may also have noticed a few women in rather fashionable white lab coats wandering around tonight. We have a number of interactive science experiments set up in the East Hall, just through the doors there," she says, indicating the direction with an outstretched hand. "Led by women of distinction in National City - scientists, teachers, professors, leaders in their field from both the private sector and the public - these activities are intended for the young and the young at heart."
Another wave of murmurs crests in the crowd, more heads turning in the direction of the hall, as if they could see the experiments through the grand double doors flanking the rotunda. When they turn back to her, the smiles are a touch less rigid, the eyes a little brighter, and Lena breathes a little more easily.
Glancing down, one little girl, in particular, is watching her with a grin the size of California on her face. Lena can see the moment she realizes that Lena is, in fact, looking directly at her - a small hand appears, and the girl waves at her excitedly from the crowd.
In the middle of a speech, in the middle of a crowded room, dressed to the nines amidst the National City elite, Lena Luthor melts. Pausing in her speech, her nose crinkles as she smiles, and raising her hand from the podium, she sends the girl a wave of her own, long fingers curling over her palm.
Her smallest fan's eyes light up, deep brown and sparkling with excitement.
With a deep breath, Lena lifts her gaze, ready to settle into her well-practiced speech properly, the prepared bullet points beneath her palm already seeming unnecessary, but her breath catches in her throat when she zeroes in on Kara, newly arrived, flushed and smiling as she moves to a free spot along the far wall.
The answering warmth in her chest is automatic, as is the smile forming on her face, the muscles pulling easily, long-since accustomed to this particular smile, the one she reserves for Kara.
Stepping back from the podium so she can move freely, Lena begins. The speech is succinct, just as she promised the crowd, but energetic as well, focusing on the ways in which one's life passion often begins in childhood, rarely planned, often messy, but wholly deserving of support.
At one point, she dips into her own childhood to pull out a story to use as an illustration, highlighting the refuge science offered for her personally when there was turmoil at home. It's sufficiently vague, any lurid details easily skirted or glossed over, but, nevertheless, the vultures take flight once more, circling amongst the planets overhead, eyes hungry, watching raptly and waiting for the merest hint of a tasty morsel.
She leaves them waiting, moving to the conclusion of her speech with a smirk.
"It is my absolute pleasure to announce that L-Corp is establishing a college scholarship program to be awarded to five young women in National City interested in pursuing degrees in STEM fields. Everyone deserves the chance to follow their passions." The applause thunders in the Grand Hall, and when the event photographer steps close again, lightning flashes into the dome high overhead illuminating the planets suspended above in glimpses and flickers. The accompanying murmurs are far louder this time, and Lena doesn't bother waiting for them to subside.
"I've kept you long enough. Please enjoy everything the National City Observatory has to offer - the interactive experiments, the telescopes, all of it - help yourself to the food set up in each wing of the building, and thank you again for coming out tonight to support such a worthy cause. Thank you!"
When she descends from the dais, a quiet sigh of relief passes her lips, one of tonight's major hurdles in the books. A few attendees move closer to shake her hand, to kiss her cheek, congratulating her on her words, her deeds. She thanks them politely, her smile broad, immaculate. Their honeyed words glide across her ears.
However, her eyes balk at the delay, flitting away in undisciplined rebellion from her guests with embarrassing frequency to the wall where she last saw Kara, her view irritatingly obstructed by a veritable sea of moving people.
Just because she can't see Kara doesn't mean she stops looking, though.
Excusing herself with a smile and a self-deprecating joke after a few moments, Lena moves at last, her steps deliberate, her path calculated. The crowd is slowly thinning, the attendees off to their next destinations, whether it's the buffet tables or star-gazing or the experiments or whatever. She finds that, at the moment, she doesn't much care what they do so long as they get out of her way.
Stalking across the hall in her tailored suit and heels, she cuts an impressive figure, fighting the current of bodies with aplomb, never faltering, never struggling, just another dance step learned long ago and executed with unparalleled ease.
Or at least that is until she finally emerges on the other side of the crowd, appearing a few feet from where Kara stands near the wall, looking utterly stunning in a vaguely vintage-inspired cocktail dress the color of emeralds, a skirt ending flirtily around her knees, her arms left invitingly bare.
It's no wonder Lena's steps falter, really. She's only human. After nearly tripping over her own feet like a novice, she manages to right herself, finding her rhythm once more. Pulling her gaze reluctantly from Kara's biceps, Lena straightens and closes the distance between them in two short paces, wrapping her arms around Kara's shoulders without hesitation.
They haven't seen each other in almost a week, and the ache that's settled deep in her bones during the absence has been hard for Lena to ignore, like a seam of ice growing beneath her exterior, splintering into her veins, frost tracing delicate patterns in her wake like footsteps.
Over the last few days, the return to texting has helped, her limbs thawing inch by inch, but an embrace? With Lena's arms wrapped tightly around Kara's shoulders and Kara's arms strong against her back, it feels more like immolation. Instead of ice, there's fire flickering in her veins, a flame shared between the two of them, leaping and growing, feeding on the proximity.
She'd like to attribute the warmth to the glass of champagne making its way through her system, or the lingering effects of the stage lights, but in the end, neither holds up to scrutiny.
In the end, she decides she doesn't care.
Closing her eyes, her lips graze Kara's cheek, and she breathes in shakily, a bouquet of citrus tickling her nose, sweet and intoxicating.
"You look beautiful, Kara," she says quietly, her breath warm along the shell of Kara's ear. That's what she says, but it's still not quite right. Gorgeous. Stunning. Heartstopping. None of the words that come to mind seem an adequate description - they all fall short in one way or another. Some things aren't meant to be reduced to a word.
There's a pull at her cheek. Kara's smiling, she imagines, and her cheeks tighten in response, as if it's contagious.
Thinking to pull away, Lena lets her hands fall, sliding softly away from the silken dress at her shoulders, down Kara's back as she prepares to take a step. But all movement ceases when she realizes there's no fabric beneath her outstretched fingers: only skin, smooth and warm - impossibly warm. Her eyes flash open, her breath catching hopelessly in her throat.
Kara shivers in her arms, a field of goosebumps rising to meet Lena's fingertips where they linger along the curve of Kara's lower back.
For a moment Lena wants to press. Wants to pull. Wants to curl into the fire until she loses all sense of where she begins or ends.
But there's a thudding against her ribcage, a wild thing with wings, and its insistence brings her back to earth. When she steps away to a more socially acceptable distance, the air thick between them, she's surprised to find that her heart is relatively steady in her chest.
The wayward beat wasn't her own.
Kara looks at her, a blush creeping along her cheek, and Lena unconsciously begins to bite at her own lip. To her amusement, Kara's eyes flicker down to her mouth and then continue further, taking in the rest of her outfit now that she's not on stage at the far end of the room.
Heat traces across her skin, electric and precise as Kara's eyes follow the edge of her blue cowl neck blouse, cut low beneath her blazer, and when they find the delicate pendant sitting lightly against her chest, the metal warms beneath the gaze.
The blush blooming on Lena's cheeks hardly surprises her. Under Kara's scrutiny, she feels far warmer than she ever did under the strong lights on the stage behind her with hundreds of people watching her every move.
Kara's jaw begins to work, up and down, up and down, as if she's trying to talk, but the only sounds she manages to make are unintelligible. It isn't until she shakes her head, dragging her eyes back to Lena's that the words begin to take shape.
Sort of.
"Wow...you look...I mean...wow." Kara blinks furiously, and the sight is enough to make Lena chuckle, low and throaty.
"Did I say wow already?" Kara says around a smile, her eyes comically wide, and she adjusts her glasses. Not that they needed adjusting.
With another shake of her head, Kara resets, her face transforming into a more solemn visage. "Hey, I am so sorry I nearly missed your big moment! I was on my way and got...interrupted." A trace of...something flashes in her eyes, but before Lena can ask, before she can figure it out, Kara's off again, telling her how great the speech was, telling her about the nearby conversations and asides she'd been privy to from her spot in the crowd.
A smile, soft and private, plays at her lips, and she replies, "I-"
"Lena!" a voice booms behind her, cutting her off, and while annoyance flickers across her features at the interruption, she banishes it before anyone can see it, the hostess mask slipping into place in the blink of an eye. Across from her Kara quiets, leaning to the side slightly to get a look at the approaching guests.
Plastering a wide but believable grin on her face (god her mother would be proud of the show she's putting on), Lena turns, spying an older man moving toward her, his hair silvery, his fashion a little out of date, and an expectant smile on his face.
Her smile relaxes instantly into something more genuine. When he nears, he leans down to kiss her cheek, and she steadies herself with a hand on his arm until he pulls away. Beside her, Kara looks a little uncomfortable, a nervous smile on her face, her hand reflexively reaching to fiddle with her glasses again as if she considering disappearing. It's her most obvious tell. Before Kara can move away, however, Lena reaches out, her hand settling on Kara's back again.
While Kara looks at her in surprise, Lena turns her attention back to the newly arrived guest. "Matthew! I am so, so pleased you could make it!"
"How's Rachel? I heard about the relapse," she continues, her eyebrows knitting, her face transforming fluidly into genuine concern.
Her fingers trace shapes onto Kara's skin, nothing and everything, and Kara alternates between shivering and stilling beneath her hand.
"Oh, she's going to be just fine. You know she won't let a little thing like that keep her down." His voice softens a little, and the hint of pride running beneath his words is hard to miss.
"I'm glad to hear it. The world needs her on her feet to keep you in line. Can't have you terrorizing National City without adult supervision," she jokes. He barks with laughter before kissing her cheek anew, promising to tell his wife what Lena said.
When he moves away, Kara turns, sliding out of Lena's grip. "You are...frighteningly good at this," she says, her mouth agape in wonder.
Inclining her head, Lena answers, her voice low, "Well, when you grow up a Luthor, you learn how to host a party alongside the training in villainy." Kara looks at her disbelieving, and with a wink Lena adds, "It's important to be well-rounded."
When Kara's stomach rumbles noisily, Lena laughs and rolls her eyes. "Come on. What kind of hostess would I be if I let you go hungry?" Crossing into the West Hall, Lena steers them toward the long line of tables set against the back wall, where gleaming trays are arranged atop impeccable white linens, piled high with a surprising variety of artfully arranged finger foods.
Kara fills a plate with no shame and no hesitation, her face a mix of focus and delight as the extra space disappears from view while Lena greets another pair of guests nearby.
When Lena manages to extricate herself, all too-wide smiles and thank you's, she finds Kara happily shoveling steak bites into her mouth. Leaning in, Lena slowly angles her body toward Kara, whose eyes widen, whose movement stills at the proximity. Letting her eyes drop, Lena steals a quiche off the side of the plate, and Kara's eyes narrow in mock outrage at her daring.
A moment later she steals another with a saucy wink before grabbing a glass of champagne from a nearby tray.
"I take it the buffet meets your approval then?" she asks before taking another bite.
"Mmmm," is all Kara manages in response, her mouth full of food, but her eyes crinkle with a smile.
And so they stand together on the sidelines in companionable silence, sharing a plate (or two) of food between them and watching the crowds of people flitter in and out of the crowded hall. It's an amusing mix, honestly, the socialites dressed to the nines in bespoke ensembles, their necks encircled by priceless jewels, and then the herds of kids running circles around and between them, giggling and shouting, pointing this way or that. Lena's smile grows unconsciously as she watches them work their way through the darkened hall, their zeal infectious, their laughter twinkling like stars against the celestial maps dotting the walls.
A click, a flash, the event photographer winds through the room on their heels, capturing the young and not so young guests alike in all manner of poses - talking, laughing, enjoying the exhibits, even elbows up and down the hatch.
When she turns, Kara's eyes are watching her, her face unreadable. Before she can linger on it, before she can sink into it, there's movement beyond Kara's shoulder, a small party making its way into the hall, and when the figure at the center turns in her direction, Lena's lips pull into a triumphant smile.
"Come on, there's someone I want you to meet." Her plate empty, Kara places it on a nearby tray and accompanies Lena across the room.
He sees them as they approach, and when they meet Lena extends her hand, which he shakes warmly, placing his left hand on top in emphasis. "The woman of the hour," he says by way of greeting.
"Mr. Mayor, thank you for coming! I know your schedule right now is rather unforgiving," she says, hand still wrapped in his grip.
He demures, dismissing the pleasantries with a squeeze of his hands. "You know very well I couldn't pass this up. What you're doing here is wonderful, and National City is incredibly lucky to have you here."
A click, a flash, a photo op guaranteed to make tomorrow's paper.
"No place I'd rather be," she says, smiling broadly. Turning, sliding her hand from his grip and placing it at Kara's elbow, she continues, "Where are my manners? May I introduce you?" Addressing the mayor, she says, "Mr. Mayor, this is Kara Danvers. She is the best reporter in National City."
At her side, Kara lets loose a peal of embarrassed laughter, waving her hand in a wide arc through the air as if to dismiss the compliment outright, an awkward and endearing display if ever there was one. Amused, Lena continues, "She's the one responsible for uncovering the slave trade operating in the city this week."
Her amusement grows when Kara reaches up to adjust her glasses yet again, the tell-tale blush beginning to creep up her neck, but before either of them can say anything more, the mayor positively lights up, reaching out to shake Kara's hand overenthusiastically, her arm flailing comically in its wake.
Speaking low, direct, the mayor launches into a simple statement of gratitude, followed by a question Lena, unfortunately, doesn't get to hear in its entirety. A staff member approaches her, getting her attention. Turning back to the mayor and to Kara, who has launched into full-fledged journalist mode, countering the mayor's question with one of her own, Lena offers an apologetic "Excuse me," and steps away to fight yet another fire.
It's an errand that takes only a few minutes, thankfully, another minor irritation billed as a "crisis," but she returns at the far end of the West Hall, a sea of people between her and the pair she left earlier. Beaming hostess smile in place, unflappable and immaculate, she begins the work of crossing the room, returning to the old routine, performing the steps with quiet perfection. From group to group, guest to guest, she wades deeper, sipping on her champagne along the way. In the interlude between each interaction she pauses, her eyes finding Kara still in place next to the mayor. Kara's hands are gesturing wildly, her face animated, and whatever she says it's clearly hilarious - the mayor leans back, his laughter echoing clear across the room.
A jolt of pride, warm and intoxicating, floods through her veins at the sight, but it's followed by a less pleasant pang of jealousy, one that twists and turns hot in her stomach, climbs into her throat. My Kara. Shaking her head, she pushes the thought away and moves to another group of guests, her smile once again wide and inviting, the hostess returned.
A throat clears behind her, and when she turns she finds herself face to face with a middle-aged woman in classic Dior, the dregs of some sort of science experiment covering her manicured hands and two students laughing hysterically in her wake.
Unaccountably, the woman is beaming.
"This is the most fun I've had at one of these things in years," she confides, turning quickly to look at the kids lingering in her shadow, her smile growing wider. Without preamble, she reaches into her purse and withdraws a checkbook and pen.
Shoving a check into Lena's hand, she says, "You're doing good work," before turning and walking away, glowing like a comet as she marches through the hall, her twin shadows trailing behind her, giggling all the way.
It's a moment before Lena can drag her eyes away from the retreating spectacle to inspect the check curled into her palm.
Holy shit…holy…
It's a $50,000 check. And judging by the name at the top, it's legit.
She blinks once, twice, reads it again. The elegant script hasn't changed, nor has the sum. Lena feels good. Really good. Like...hours in the lab working on a problem good.
Giddiness bubbles up like champagne, the laughter rising in her throat, and it's a herculean effort to school her features into the familiar mask of professionalism or something close at least.
The mask doesn't negate the giddiness, though, doesn't squash it or make it disappear. It's merely trapped, like a hum vibrating in her chest, tickling her ribs, and her heart speeds up to match the frequency. Frankly, it's dizzying.
Taking another sip of her champagne, she surveys the room once more, seeking out the familiar face. When she finds her, Kara is still in conversation with the mayor, although a third party has joined their little group in the meantime.
And then Kara looks up, directly at Lena, as if she, too, has been keeping tabs as she's moved about the room. All Lena can do is smile, the soft one she reserves just for her, her eyes crinkling, her giddiness finally calming. In response, Kara blinks lazily back at her, the corners of her lips pulling into a wide smile.
God, she's beautiful. Standing between exhibits against the darkened walls, where the recessed light glows along the base like an approaching horizon, its light fading into the deep blues and midnight blacks as it climbs the wall, dotted with incandescent paint to simulate the night sky, smiling like that Kara looks like a stray sun, bright and utterly unbound by the laws of physics.
But a cloud eclipses Kara's face, her brow furrowing, the light dimmed, and Lena has just enough time to wonder at it when there's a hand at her elbow, unsolicited, insistent.
"Lena Luthor," an unctuous voice says, drawing out the R at the end of her name.
Dammit.
"Councilman Drummond," she responds when he comes into view, all gleaming teeth and tanned skin, the epitome of the slick politician. She smiles winningly - she's a pro at this, after all - but it's plastic, the fit not quite right, its sharp edges cutting into her skin. She tastes blood, hot and metallic.
Not that he notices.
The councilman wasn't on her list of invitees, but now that he's here, posing in front of her waiting for a photo op, there's not much to be done about it.
"What a lovely event you've put together. And a great cause - one of the best - developing the young minds of our fair city." His voice is silken, polished, but it grates on her nerves all the same.
She can't even be sure what drivel comes out of her own mouth in reply, but it's a canned response, the type of non-committal pleasantries she's exchanged a hundred times already tonight, designed to be gracious, polite, and most importantly: brief.
He doesn't get the memo. Interrupting her, Drummond smugly rattles off a list of talking points, a smirk on his face, his hands moving in practiced gestures.
What an ass.
The councilman prattles on for a moment, and she allows it. It's not like she's actually listening anyway, although for all outward appearances she's a rapt audience, the plastic smile is firmly in place. Instead, she's watching his hair, which hasn't budged so much as a fraction of an inch the entire time they've been speaking.
How much product is in there? Is he just a walking fire hazard right now?
She feels Kara's arrival before she actually sees her, a sudden warmth blooming at her right side. With great pleasure, she interrupts his monologue to introduce the new addition to their conversation, her right hand landing delicately on the exposed skin along Kara's back.
"Allow me to introduce Kara Danvers with CatCo Magazine," she says, the smile on her face transforming, turning far more genuine. There's a challenge in her voice, her teeth gleaming and sharp. Almost predatory.
The councilman's smile is polite, but his gaze is lascivious, lingering, and Lena's jaw tightens unconsciously, her fingers tensing against the warm skin at her fingertips. Her voice, however, remains even. "She's the reporter responsible for breaking the news on the slave trade, and-"
Unsurprisingly, Drummond's eyes light up at the mention, and unable to control himself, he interrupts Lena again, launching into full-scale politician mode. In a blur his hand shoots out to shake Kara's, and his voice rises, as if playing to a campaign crowd, uttering sound bites for anyone nearby.
"You did this city such a service, exposing the danger of allowing aliens here," he begins, still shaking her hand.
Throughout it all Kara's been quiet. Too quiet. But when Lena studies her face, she sees the clenched jaw, the narrowed eyes, the overly polite smile. There's no fidgeting, no adjustment to her glasses. Just pure unadulterated righteous indignation.
Oh he's done for…
In a voice dripping with false cheer, Kara responds sweetly, "You must not have read the part about the humans running the operation as well." Kara returns the handshake, leaning into the contact as she continues.
The councilman's brows furrow, his eyes dropping to their joined hands, his eyebrows rising inch by inch in growing alarm.
"Or the part where an alien working in coordination with humans freed the victims," Kara continues, her tone saccharine, her face alight with an ersatz smile.
Drummond grimaces, something akin to a whimper escaping his lips as he glances nervously down again.
His voice is strained, hushed when he manages to speak, the politician brought to heel, "That's, uh, quite the grip you have there."
Kara lets their hands fall, a wide grin on her face, and Lena wants nothing more than to kiss her right then, to feel the grin shift beneath her lips.
Instead, she settles for excusing them and taking their leave, the type of polite departure sanctioned by all of the social handbooks. Or it would have been if she hadn't added a suggestion just as she and Kara had begun to step away. Eyes flitting to his hair, she offers, "There are some wonderful experiments set up in the East Hall you should check out. Maybe something will, um, spark your interest." The confused councilman stares at their retreating backs, rubbing absently at his sore hand.
When they cross the threshold into the Great Hall, far enough out of range now, Lena leans into Kara conspiratorially, "That," she starts, giggling uncontrollably, "was the highlight of my evening!"
Kara, who had been a little abashed at the turn of events, lightens, a chuckle emerging as she inclines her head to Lena. "What a...jerk!"
"Come on," Lena says, "let's head this way...I'd like to get as far away from that ass as possible."
And so they do.
The evening continues in much the same vein as it began, the pair moving through the hall in an elaborate dance, Lena taking the lead. A pirouette here, a promenade there, their steps in sync, orbiting one another on a graceful circuit through the room.
For awhile they content themselves watching the kids run around, their school uniforms in various levels of disarray as the evening wears on, hopping from one experiment station to another, oohing and ahhing at the demonstrations provided by the city's finest scientists.
The pint-sized attendees aren't without their dangers, however. A small pack hurries by on their way to check out the telescopes, one of the larger kids clipping Lena's thigh in passing, and the unexpected pressure pivots Lena off-balance, her heels twisting beneath her. Before she can make a fool of herself, a strong arm cradles her back, and Kara is leaning over her, concern etched into her face.
"Are you alright?" she asks, pulling Lena back upright.
A dazed nod is all Lena can manage in response. Kara's arm remains firm across her back, and Lena is definitely alright with that. They don't separate the rest of the evening.
Well, except for the one time. While Lena is deep in conversation with the Dean of National City University's science department, she turns to find that Kara is looking the other direction, her glasses pulled low on the bridge of her nose, her focus elsewhere. She must feel Lena's questioning eyes on her - turning, she excuses herself to the restroom and sets off across the hall with hurried steps.
It's a few minutes before she returns to Lena's side, her skin flushed, her hair a little disheveled.
"Is that a leaf in your hair?" Lena asks, squinting in an effort to find the answer herself.
"What?" Kara asks, her voice high, incredulous. "Don't be ridiculous!" But she reaches a hand to her hair all the same, and when Lena looks again, she sees nothing.
When the hour grows late, the crowds begin to thin, and they find themselves wandering toward the domed room at the far end of the building where the observatory's large refracting telescope resides.
Kara leads the way, and Lena contents herself staring at her muscled back, observing how the light plays across the expanse as they move, chasing shadows like a sunrise.
Blood rushes quick and hot through her veins.
Up ahead Kara turns her head, her eyes narrowing, as if evaluating. "You OK?" she asks.
Swallowing thickly, Lena smiles and nods, her response a little too quick. "Never better," she answers brightly. With a wary smile, Kara continues walking, and Lena exhales slowly, her eyes drifting again when they are underway, unable to resist the pull of gravity.
The observatory housing the large refracting telescope is deserted when they arrive, and their heels ring loudly on the tiled floor, their footsteps charting a path across an intricate mosaic of the night sky. They pause when they reach Orion, where the metal stairs have been positioned at the base of the telescope.
"After you," Lena says, and Kara climbs ahead of her, angling higher along the steps until she's able to press her eye to the lens.
"You should be looking at Jupiter, unless someone's changed it in the last few hours." Before everyone had arrived earlier in the evening, Lena'd stolen a few minutes in here alone. It had calmed her nerves, at least for awhile, admiring the striated planet, its swirls of browns and oranges reminding her of the marbles she used to collect as a child.
Looking up, she adds, "You should be able to see one of the moons...Europa, I think, maybe along the left side."
Wonder shapes Kara's face, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, her eyes, but as she pulls back, a flicker of something far less delighted crosses her face, a shadow easing her smile, a ghost behind her eyes.
"It's beautiful," Kara says softly.
"It is," Lena agrees, chewing unconsciously on her bottom lip, her eyes never wavering from Kara's face.
.
When Kara climbs down, they exit the room through a nearby door and find themselves on the far end of the balcony that runs along the building's north side, a dozen small telescopes placed sporadically along its lengths. Kara stands still a moment, surveying the view, and Lena leaves her to it, ambling slowly to the rail nearby.
The balcony is blessedly empty, and as the wind picks up, a chill sliding across her cheek, through the waves of hair framing her face, she can understand why her guests have all retreated inside. After a moment, Kara joins her at the rail, leaning forward on her forearms, her hands clasped in front.
"Thank you for being my date tonight, Kara." Her tone is soft, far softer than she had intended, but this wind carries her words away before she can pull them back, before she can try again.
"Pleasure was all mine," Kara responds, her features incandescent in the moonlight.
"I hope it was worth your while," Lena continues, forcing her tone to be lighter as she surveys the hills to the north, unmarred by the city's lights. "Did you make some good contacts?"
She can feel Kara nod at her side. "The mayor was super nice, and he was willing to go on record and give me some quotes to use. Oh, and some of the kids wanted to be included," she adds, "although I'll need to track down their parents for permission, I suppose."
Silence grows between them, but it's comfortable, settling around their shoulders like a warm blanket.
Turning, standing taller, her hip braced lightly against the rail where a chill begins to settle, seeping through the fabric of her suit, Lena speaks, her voice low. "This is all down to you, you know, and there's nothing I can say or do to thank you enough for suggesting it." Kara demures, of course she does, but Lena pushes on, placing a hand on Kara's arm in emphasis, stilling her movements. "I mean it. You are the most genuinely kind-hearted person I've ever met. All of this," she stops, struggling to find the right words. "I just..."
For a long moment, Kara says nothing - she looks down, away, suddenly self-conscious, and even in the low light of the balcony, Lena can see the blush creeping along her neck, tinting the tops of her ears.
When she gathers herself, Kara finally turns, straightening as she moves to face Lena fully. Her voice is barely a whisper, but the wind carries the words between them all the same. "You're going to change lives with this." A breath, deep, significant. "That's all you, Lena."
Maybe it's the champagne, leaving her bubbly, light. Maybe it's the way the moonlight plays across her features, all soft curves and radiant eyes. Or maybe it's the chill on the wind that has her leaning closer, in search of warmth.
Without thinking, without planning, Lena takes a hesitant step forward, her breath held captive in her lungs, and as she moves, Kara's eyes drop to her lips. Closing her eyes, Lena slowly leans in, her head angled.
Kara's breath tickles at her lips.
A noise sounds behind them, jarring in the expectant stillness, and they both pull back jerkily as a door opens nearby. Kara turns quickly to look out over the railing once more - anywhere but at her, while Lena, a ragged breath filling her lungs, watches Kara's retreat in mild horror as footsteps approach them.
Heat creeps into her cheeks, into her chest, sliding sickeningly into her stomach. She swallows her embarrassment as best she can as a staff member appears at her elbow.
"Ma'am, there's a guest inside waiting to write a check." A quick nod, a dismissal.
Taking a deep breath, Lena straightens, steel knitting itself along her spine.
When Kara finally looks at her, her eyes are jumpy, and it seems a herculean effort to hold Lena's gaze. "I should...I should go. It's late, and I know you have a lot to attend to." Kara's hands twist in knots along the rail, her knuckles white, and it's more than Lena can bear.
No no no no I've fucked it all up.
The steel in her spine spreads. Armor settles along her shoulders, clattering into place with a ring of finality, the weight familiar, secure. Nodding, the mask slips down her face, settling along the bridge of her nose, a perfect fit. With false bravado, she says, a practiced smile on her face, "Thank you again, Kara. Please be careful going home." Her voice is even, strong.
But it's wrong. It's all wrong.
Kara stares a moment before nodding, her own smile forced, melancholy along the edges.
Breaking her orbit, Lena pulls away, her heels ringing soundly along the balcony, the wind carrying her progress into the night sky. Her cheeks are red, her jacket is suddenly too hot, stifling.
She's Icarus, flown too close to the sun, and now she falls, shame burning tracks into the skin at her back as she passes through the door and back to work.
It's late when Lena gets home, although the past hour had passed in a blur, her motions on autopilot, her brain shut off for her own good.
She discards her suit in the first minute, slipping into her pajamas as quickly as possible before stepping into the bathroom to remove her make-up, to remove all traces of the night. When she's finished, she crosses the living room in search of water, determined to atone for the champagne, her movements slow, tired.
Shuffling back to her bedroom, the bottle cool and wet at her lips, a knock sounds at the door. It's hesitant, and Lena straightens, suddenly very much awake. Blood thrums in her ears as her heart begins to race. The list of possible suspects at her door is...unsettling, and Lena silently reaches for her purse where she'd set it on the buffet near the door, grasping for the taser she keeps tucked inside.
Another knock. Her grip tightens.
"Lena, it's me." As if she didn't recognize the voice, it adds, "It's Kara."
Although she lets the taser slide from her hand, clattering noisily back into her purse, her heart doesn't still. If anything, it beats even harder, climbing higher in her chest, a wild, raging thing moving heavily in her throat as she pads across the room and unlatches the door.
And there she is, standing in her doorway in sweats and a mismatched t-shirt that clashes terribly with the dress coat on top, as if she threw on whatever was closest to her as she ran out the door. The fashion is offensive, but the sight is incredibly endearing, and a tendril, warm and comfortable worms its way under Lena's skin.
"Hi," Kara offers.
"Hi…" Lena bites at her lip, unsure what to expect, and Kara's eyes track the movement. "What are you-"
"Was tonight a date date?" They speak at the same time, but Kara's question echoes in the hall, and Lena freezes in place, swallowing thickly.
For a moment she considers lying, considers bottling her emotions like she's done so many times before, afraid that honesty, no matter what moral high ground it might give her, will inevitably cost her a friendship. As if that's all this is.
In the end, however, there's never really any other option but the truth, not with Kara standing in front of her, her face open, guileless, but her body held close, tension evident in her form.
Sighing, Lena confesses. "I'd hoped so. I feel like we've been dating for weeks, honestly." She pauses, carefully watching Kara, who is busy worrying at her lips. Lena reads the tic as anxiousness.
Turns out she was right. But she had the reason all wrong.
"Look, if you don't want-" her words are cut off as Kara closes the distance between them, their lips meeting in a sudden kiss. It's chaste, simple, and wet, and it lasts just long enough for Lena to realize it's happening, but then Kara is leaning back, a small grin blooming on her face.
"Oh," Lena mumbles, her jaw falling open, her eyebrows climbing to her hairline, the epitome of surprise. She starts to say something else, but even as she begins she finds that she has no words, and instead she stands there, opening and closing her mouth, looking at Kara with wonder.
Kara, who is standing there, a blush coloring her cheeks, watching Lena imitate a fish, breaks the silence. "Do you want to have dinner with me?"
YES, Lena wants to say. Wants to shout. But there's a disconnect between her brain and her body.
Because Kara kissed her.
On the mouth.
She kissed me.
And Lena's still standing there, silent, looking at this woman who is staring back at her expectantly.
"Not tonight, I mean, obviously," Kara starts, filling the silence with her patented nervous rambling. When her hands begin flailing, Lena feels the smirk creep up the corners of her mouth, and suddenly she can move again.
And she does.
Stepping forward, she places a hand on Kara's arm to still it and returns the kiss two-fold, reveling in the way Kara's sighs turn into a hum against her lips. Lena smiles into it before stepping away, watching as Kara, eyes still closed, leans forward into the space she's just vacated, chasing her lips.
They both stand in the doorway of her penthouse apartment, grinning like schoolgirls. Lena lets her hand slide down Kara's arm, watches their fingers tangle together.
"I'd love to," Lena says quietly, her lips electric. Kara just nods as she stares, her eyes vacillating between Lena's own and her lips, a dreamy smile gracing her features.
"OK." It's all Kara can muster as she exhales slowly.
"OK," Lena responds around a smile.
"Goodnight, Lena," Kara says simply, backing away down the hall, their fingers slowly untangling with the distance, seemingly unable to stop staring. Lena's no better. She rests her head against the doorway as she watches them come apart.
Before she disappears from view, Lena whispers into the hallway, "Goodnight, Kara."
It's a long while before her heart slows enough to consider sleep, and in the dark of her bedroom, she traces the smile she still wears.
Her wings may be singed, she may have fallen, but the sun dipped in the sky to catch her, and her lips burn still where they joined.