fell down from the atmosphere (so i could whisper in your ear so long)

by tinyvariations

Amid increasing hostilities, Supergirl does what she always does: saves the day. But this time the price is too high. Her body slack, lifeless, she plummets to the ground. Lena Luthor witnesses the fall from her office high above downtown. Only it's much, much worse for her. Why? Because she's dating Kara Danvers, and she's only just realized what that really entails. Supercorp.

10. Chapter 10

Week 4: The Day After The Kiss

The cell phone clatters wildly against the cold metal of the table in the otherwise silent lab, jolting her out of her focus, and she jerks her head away from the microscope with a start. The lab is empty at this hour of the morning, so when Kara's name appears on the screen, there's no one around to see the lovesick grin steal across Lena's features at the sight of the incoming text.

"What's she doing up?" Lena wonders aloud, a line of worry briefly flitting across her forehead. Not that she has any room to judge. After all, it's half-past four in the morning, and rather than luxuriating in her palatial bed at home, she sits alone in her lab downtown, reviewing the latest batch of trial data. Sleep had proven elusive after Kara left. No amount of turning or twisting could stop the torrent of thoughts in her too-awake brain or soothe the burn on her lips where they had pressed against Kara's.

Perhaps Kara couldn't sleep, either.

are you busy tonight?

Kara's text is remarkably void of emojis. Things are getting serious.

There's no hesitation as Lena's fingers fly over the screen, sending her response with equal candor.

I'm all yours

So much for chill.

Only after hitting send does Lena check her calendar. Of course, she's busy, and her sigh at the sight of the cluster of events listed for tonight feels more like a curse. She's always busy. Business never stops, not really, and given the state of affairs in National City, her PR department has been on overdrive, lining up special appearances, donations, etc. The same could be said of her security detail.

She takes it all on herself, the responsibilities, the details, the daily operations, keeping her fingers in all parts of her business. This is a critical time for L-Corp, and it wouldn't do to cede control when the sharks already smell blood in the water.

But one night? One night she can allow. Pulling up her email, her fingertips working steadily over the keys, Lena giddily taps her Chief of Operations to step in for her at the opening session of the West Coast Innovation Summit, which kicks off at the National City Convention Center tonight. She re-reads her email before sending it, adding in a final note: "Give Lars my regrets, but let him know I'll be on hand for his presentation during tomorrow's plenary session."

One elbow on the table, her head cradled in her palm, Lena's mind begins to race as she considers the possibilities. A date with Kara Danvers. Where should they go? What should they do? Almost as quickly, however, she slows. She's still on a leash, after all. Her first instinct is to take Kara out, to whisk her away and show her the world. Lena has a feeling that Supergirl might not appreciate the flagrant contempt for her current security situation if she were to take that route. Lena bristles under the restraints, feeling suffocated. She's a woman of action, and the low profile order she's under is a poor fit for her plans. It clings and cages when she wants to fly free.

A heavy sigh crosses her lips, mourning the grandiose plans that were already taking shape in her mind. Their time will come. She clings to that.

Come over. We can order in.

Kara's response is almost instantaneous: i can do one better. your kitchen. 7 pm.

The tone is no-nonsense and bold, and a flush creeps across Lena's cheeks at the images the confident text brings to life in her imagination.

She shivers.

It's a jarring thing, to shiver and flush in the same breath. Intoxicating.

She wants more.

---

By the time a knock sounds at her door, Lena is in her third outfit of the evening, having spent the better part of an hour trying to find the right look for tonight. For Kara. The others have all disappeared back onto the racks in her closet, having been found lacking in one way or another. Giving herself a final once-over in the mirror, she fusses with the placement of her jewelry, in particular a drop necklace in silver and emerald, assuring herself that it falls correctly down the center of her torso. It accents a silky blouse, black and sleeveless, paired with a chic black pencil skirt. Simple but effective, she thinks.

Crossing out of her bedroom and into the living room, Lena takes a moment to set the lights to medium. The effect is instantaneous, turning her pristine penthouse into a cozy space, allowing the wonderful views of downtown beyond the bank of tinted windows and the balcony to take center stage.

A few feet from the door, Lena slows, then stops. Her breathing is reedy, quick with anxiety and anticipation.

It's just Kara. For god's sake, you've shared a meal with her dozens of times before, Lena. It's fine!

But that's the entire reason she can't seem to catch her breath. It's Kara.

With a last, shaky breath, Lena reaches for the door and swings it wide, only to find Kara on the other side, arms full of brown bags and seemingly struggling to keep the bags and herself upright. Well, she assumes it's Kara. The person behind the mountain of brown bags is largely obscured.

"Hi," comes the greeting from behind the mountain. Definitely Kara.

"Oh my god, let me help! Here-" Lena offers. "Let me just...I can," she continues, assessing the proper weight distribution of the carried load and reaching forward. "I'll get these two, and we can just..." They shift awkwardly in the doorway, the crinkling of the paper bags between them drifting into the penthouse ahead of them. As Lena adjusts to the groceries now in hand, Kara finally comes into view, a vision in a sleek white dress and grinning from ear to ear.

Lena stops fidgeting. Stops breathing.

"Hi," she manages, her voice impossibly soft, unrecognizable, even to her own ears.

When Kara smiles in response, Lena feels it. It's visceral, tactile, a warmth suffusing her lungs and veins in an instant. Lena Luthor, with all of her knowledge, all of her talent, has no explanation for this particular phenomenon. Part of her never wants to know, wants to leave it to the magic of a moment in time. All she knows is that when Kara looks at her like that, she never wants it to stop.

And so they stand, suspended in time, staring, just the two of them. There is nothing else. There is no one else.

Only when the paper bag slips in her grip does Lena come to, inhaling deeply, blinking quickly, the moment shifting away. Across from her, Kara's eyes slide along Lena's body, taking in Lena's outfit.

Lena feels the gaze as it moves and appraises. As it feasts. It burns wild and bright across her skin, leaving her insides warm and wanting. She watches Kara swallow harshly, watches the steady flush color Kara's cheeks. "Lena, you look...wow..." Kara stammers in that adorable way she has.

Her skin afire, Lena clears her throat. "So do you."

Turning away from Kara, inward into the apartment, feels like trying to pull apart two magnets, and it takes Lena a couple of shaky steps backward before she can finally tear her eyes away from her date.

Indicating for Kara to follow, Lena asks, "How did you make it up here with all of these?" Her tone is mildly chiding when she continues. "I could have helped. Or gotten someone at the door to help."

"Oh! No, this is nothing, Lena. It's totally fine!" Turning the corner and leaving the entryway behind, the kitchen comes into sight, and they begin to unload and unpack the grocery bags. It isn't until Kara speaks that Lena slows her actions.

"Holy COW, Lena, this place is amazing!" Kara's eyes are wide as she takes in the sleek, modern kitchen in clear awe.

"Do you like it?" Lena hates the vulnerability cowering in her voice, hates the need for validation lurking behind it. She's spent her entire life crafting an armor so impenetrable, so all-encompassing that such an insignificant thing as this should deflect off of her with all of the deadly force of a pebble.

But it doesn't.

Where Kara is concerned, it seems, all manner of things slip and slither beneath her carefully crafted protections, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating. And it's only with Kara.

"May I?" Kara requests.

In a whirl of movement, Kara begins setting out ingredients along the countertop, stepping aside to pop the dessert into the freezer for later. It's only when she goes to set the oven to temperature that she pauses in her tracks, her face scrunching in concentration.

"This is like, chef-quality, Lena," she says, hitting a sequence of buttons that results in...nothing. Her eyes narrow. She tries again with no success.

"If the chef is a mad scientist," she huffs to herself as she tries a third time. Whether by design or sheer luck, a blinking light and an annoying beep seem to indicate that she's found the right sequence to get the oven going.

Lena smirks, enjoying the scene before her.

"I really like cooking. Everyone gives me a hard time about my cooking, but the oven at my apartment is definitely wonky," Kara explains.

This earns a raised eyebrow from Lena.

"It overheats. It under heats. You never know what you're going to get. But this?" Kara practically squeals, her frustration of a moment ago forgotten.

On a laugh, Lena asks eagerly, "What are we having, and what can I help with?" She leans forward on her elbows, her necklace swinging in a lazy orbit. It reflects on the sheen of the counter, sparking embers of silver and green like stars around her in the ambient light.

Straightening the glasses perched on her nose, Kara begins pointing to the ingredients laid out before them with a flourish. "Tonight, madam, we'll be sampling a pasta orecchiette with roasted broccoli served in a delicate mascarpone cream, topped with rosemary, capers, and-," Kara pauses, shuffling the packages around until she finds what she wants, "-walnuts." In speaking, she imitates a maitre d' at a posh restaurant, her words confident and refined, and Lena delights in this side of Kara. It's playful, silly even, and it is something missing wholly from her day-to-day world.

"We also have a salad of spring greens, romaine, and pepperoncini, and for dessert, we've got tiramisu," Kara finishes, pointing to the fridge behind her. "It's store-bought, though," she adds self-consciously, her face faltering ever so slightly.

"Um, yes, all of that please!" Her stomach grumbles, barely able to contain itself. Sidling up to Kara's side along the counter and nudging her shoulder playfully with her own, Lena offers, "Chef Danvers, how can I help?"

There's a moment, their arms grazing, their eyes connected. Kara is smiling, and Lena feels the warmth of it splashed on her face. It burns hot and bright like a comet, and it takes several long beats before Kara is able to break gravity's hold and pull her eyes back to the groceries before them. Looking quickly over the mess on the counter, she slides all of the vegetables in reach toward Lena. "Mind rinsing the veggies?" Kara asks sweetly.

Lena nods resolutely. "Rinse the veggies. Got it, Chef."

Kara scrunches her nose and smiles in response, and Lena physically pulls herself away, lest she fall victim to Kara's gravitational pull again.

One at a time, Lena begins rinsing all of the vegetables she can grab in the sink opposite the counter, handing them over to Kara in bunches as she finishes each group.

Kara is on chopping duty. They work in silence for a few minutes, each focused on their tasks. After tossing the broccoli in the colander to dry, Lena turns to hand off the basket to Kara. Kara's hand is not a blur as she finishes chopping up the greens, not quite, but the speed stops Lena in her tracks.

"Holy shit, Kara-"

Kara squeaks, all movement ceasing in an instant.

"Where did you learn how to do that? Did you secretly attend Cordon Bleu in your spare time?" Lena teases, but the awe in her voice is clear. She leans in closer and whispers conspiratorially, "Was Julia Child a close family friend or something?"

Kara laughs awkwardly, taking the broccoli from Lena and redoubling her focus on the cutting board. She moves more slowly this time, albeit still faster than Lena herself has ever managed without putting her fingers in danger.

Under Kara's keen tutelage, Lena prepares the chopped broccoli and slides it into the waiting oven, setting the timer to the appropriate length. Kara busies herself filling and salting a pot of water before setting it over high heat on the stovetop.

"Would you like some wine?" Kara's agreement is quick, and Lena steps into the adjoining room to select something appropriate.

She keeps a modest selection on hand. Some are personal favorites, while others found their way to her as corporate gifts, things meant to impress and sway her favor. It never works, and yet still, she receives them.

For a moment she vacillates, eyeing the row of reds, knowing any of their ranks would pair nicely with the pasta, but her attention flits further along the racks. Running her hand gently over the labels, she stills when she stands before a simple Sauvignon Blanc from the Loire Valley. This is the one.

Bottle in hand, she turns back toward the door, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on the same wall. Her face is so open, almost carefree. There are no stress lines dividing her brow tonight, no tiredness lingering along the edges of her eyes. She's just Lena. No armor. No facade.

She marvels at the woman in the mirror. This is Lena, happy.

With the ghost of a smile on her lips, she strides back to Kara's side in the kitchen, noting with wonder that the water for the pasta is already at a rolling boil. "That was quick!"

Kara is all smiles. "Seriously, Lena. Your stove is amazing."

"So where did you pick up this love for cooking, hmm?" Lena asks, searching for a corkscrew.

"Umm, my moms. Both of them." Kara puts the pasta into the water, setting a timer before moving on to the next task. "Very different styles, of course, but they were both amazing."

With two glasses poured, Kara continues reminiscing while sauteing the rosemary and capers. Her stories are warm and delicate things, and Lena can almost see it, the little version of Kara in an oversized apron standing on a step-stool, whisk held awkwardly in her hand as she tries to scramble eggs.

"What about you?" Kara asks.

The kitchen is suddenly too bright, too stuffy, and she can see the darkness beyond. It pulls at her. "I learned many things from my mother," Lena drawls, her eyes shifting away from Kara's. She finds that it's hard to speak of her mother while looking at Kara, like the two women don't belong in the same space. It's a terrible thing, being the one to cast a shadow on Kara's sunlight.

Lifting her wine glass to her nose, Lena gives it a delicate swirl. "Exactly none of them involve cooking." The wine is smooth on her tongue. "Quelle surprise, right?" She laughs, but there's a note of bitterness to it. There are no warm, fuzzy memories of mother/daughter bonding time in the kitchen. No tales of Lena, flour on her nose, helping Lillian Luthor with a family meal.

Her thoughts drift and swirl like the wine in her glass, swift and wild, and she closes her eyes to the torrent, urging it to settle.

It does, and it tickles at a memory tucked quietly away in the corner. She gives voice to it.

"For a while, we had this one cook," she starts, her fingers tracing idle patterns along the curve of her glass. "Mary. I think her name was Mary." The start of a smile twitches in the corner of her mouth. "I would sneak in when she baked cookies. She always pretended she didn't see me." Lena opens her eyes, and Kara smiles softly over at her.

"I was an awful sneak." Lena's smile forms in full. "I would get closer and closer, standing stock-still in the middle of the kitchen when she would turn, like she couldn't see me if I didn't move. Just ridiculous," she adds, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, she would set the mixing bowl to the side, and eventually, I'd get too excited to sneak any longer and just run and snatch it away." Kara giggles, shaking her head slightly while she cooks.

"There were never any harsh words. Nothing like that. She'd just smile indulgently at me when I had finished and say, 'All done, my sweet?'" Lena huffs before continuing. "She'd call me her sweet. I'd forgotten about that."

Next to her, Kara is all googly eyes and wide smiles. "Aww...my sweet! How cute is that?"

But Lena's smile is already dimming, and she remembers why she had tucked the memory safely away in the first place. Even now, the darkness is swirling around it, trying to get in. "She-" Lena speaks haltingly. "She wasn't around long."

Images flash in her mind. Silent things, thank god. She remembers.

Images of mother banning her from the kitchen, her face etched in ice, brooking no arguments. Of mother poking her in her stomach, reminding her about appearances. About what it means to be a Luthor. What it means to be the best.

The hurt and confusion swirl again, pulling at her like the tide, and Lena closes herself to it.

"Well. The truth is, the good ones were never around long." She tries to hide the darkness away. Pain is a weakness. That is a lesson she learned well at her mother's knee.

But Kara is looking at her in that way she has, like she can see everything, like she knows what's left unspoken. And maybe, Lena thinks, maybe it's time she starts unlearning the lessons of Lillian Luthor. The vulnerability she feels under Kara's gaze is terrifying, but she stays in it, and for once in her life, she greets it.

With an unreadable look, Kara hands Lena the chopped greens and peppers. "Salad," she says simply. No prying, no pitying looks. Just a squeeze of her arm and a task to do. It's exactly right.

When the alarm sounds after a few minutes, Kara moves around the space, a blur of action and intent. One after another, all of the disparate pieces come together, and suddenly two plain white bowls are filled to the brim with pasta and fixings, and there are two small salads sitting in wait. Grabbing the dishes, Kara takes a step around the counter before faltering, looking around the pristine apartment anxiously.

"Where, umm-" Kara starts, unsure of where to go.

Lena circles to the other side of the kitchen island, where she pulls out two barstools by way of explanation.

"I mean I do have a dining room we could use," Lena explains, setting her wine down and then her bowl, "but it's formal and stuffy, and we'd be shouting at each other across the room."

With a delighted laugh, Kara follows suit, setting down her dinner and settling into her seat next to Lena's. Their knees bump against one another's, and Lena can't suppress the shiver it starts in her limbs.

"I like this much better," Kara confesses, before reaching for her glass.

As do I, Lena thinks to herself, keenly aware that neither of them has turned completely in their seats, allowing their knees to remain in contact, the skin warming quickly where it touches Kara's.

"Cheers," Lena proffers, her glass extended, and Kara echoes the sentiment, clinking their glasses together before taking a sip and settling in to eat.

"OK so first of all, let me apologize for my gross oversight as hostess." Kara, her mouth full of food, looks on in confusion. Lena clarifies, "I can't believe I forgot to give you a tour!"

A little more quietly, she confesses, "I'm not used to having company, to be honest."

"I'm not sure I'm ever actually alone in my apartment," Kara responds, her eyes narrowing in thought. "But I hold the world record for shortest tour." She elbows Lena playfully as she laughs.

"I keep this as sort of my inner sanctum, you know? I have to be available a lot, but not here." Lena spears her food with her fork. "Never here. This is off-limits. I can just be me."

"In that case, thank you for letting me in." Kara's voice is soft, a gentle caress. "Thank you for letting me in. I happen to like you when you're just you."

Lena can feel her ears warming, and she places a fork-full of food in her mouth. A moan slips out without warning, and both of them go stock-still in their seats. Swallowing, Lena sheepishly confirms the question written across Kara's anxious features.

"I don't know who gives you hell for your cooking-," Lena says, gathering another round of pasta onto her fork, "-but I will absolutely end them for you. Sue them for slander..." She trails off, and Kara absolutely beams at her in return.

It's blinding and brilliant, and it calls to Lena in a way that only someone who has clawed their way through the inky depths in search of daylight could possibly grasp.

And so they dine, bathed in the pool of light from the lamps overhead, talking of family and found family, the bowls in front of them slowly emptying. Kara spills the beans about Game Night, and Lena finds herself invited to participate in this hallowed tradition, an invitation she secretly treasures. There's an ease between them borne of dozens of lunches at the office, of hundreds of text conversations and unexpected heart to hearts. At times it's easy to forget what lies between them - the longing, the butterflies that start at too-long glances or an incidental touch. The bowls in front of them are empty now, yet they remain close to one another, side by side at the kitchen island. As Kara holds court, filling the rosemary-scented air with an episode of her junior high hijinks with Alex, Lena finds herself leaning in conspiratorially, one elbow propped on the island, her legs shifted so that both knees rest against the cloth covering Kara's thigh.

Kara is talking, her face animated, afire. It's a moment identical to hundreds of others tonight on the surface, but something has subtly shifted. It isn't a ray of ambient light springing from one of Kara's stray curls or the meeting of their eyes or anything so mawkishly romantic as that. Whatever it may be, Lena has felt its pull all night, like gravity, drawing her deeper into Kara's orbit. The moment - this moment - has been an inevitability since Kara stepped through the door two hours ago, and Lena is powerless to fight such a force of nature.

One slender hand reaches out and up, carefully brushing a stray lock of hair away from Kara's face. Lena lets her fingers graze the downy hair along Kara's cheek on the way, and she notes with almost scientific awe the flutter of Kara's eyelids, the soft intake of breath.

Leaning forward, Lena's own eyelids drift shut, and she presses her lips to the warm cheek before her. Kara completely stills beneath the pressure of the touch to her cheek. It lasts no more than a second, this inevitable collision. Lena's lips are warm as she breaks contact. They tingle with the electricity of the possible.

Kara inhales sharply but says nothing, Lena still only inches from her burning cheek, unable to pull further away.

"I can do that now," Lena murmurs on a sigh, the words lilting higher. It's half statement, half question, and it hangs, hopeful and full, in the still air between them. "I've been wanting to do that for ages," she confesses, her voice barely a whisper, her words sliding smoothly over the expanse of skin before her.

A beat passes, and Lena opens her eyes, pulling back to find that Kara is frozen in place, her lips parted, her eyes screwed shut.

Doubt rushes in too quickly, age-old insecurities insinuating themselves into Lena's thoughts, whispering cruelly in her ears.

Did I move too quickly? Did she...did she not like it?

Lena Luthor is unsure of herself, afraid of missteps while navigating this space the two of them now occupy. Worry pricks at her exposed nerves before she can mount a defense.

Her heart is a wild thing, fighting against its cage.

Swallowing thickly, but without turning, without opening her eyes, Kara responds to Lena's statement with one of her own. The words are gossamer, spoken carefully, delicately into the fragile space between the two of them.

"You should probably do it again," Kara husks, her breath coming in shallow puffs. "For, um, good measure," she appends, swallowing again, her throat working up and down, eyes still firmly closed. Lena stares at Kara in profile, the woman's words tickling along her skin, setting her hands to tremble.

The weight of the moment, the plainness of the intent - they have an immediate effect on Lena. Her nerves spark like live wires, ready and waiting, charging the stillness between them.

Unconsciously, Kara's tongue slowly juts out to wet her lips, followed by an anxious bite on her bottom lips. Her brow dips anxiously. Lena watches raptly, marvels at the glossy sheen on Kara's lips, at the way they dimple where the pressure of Kara's teeth betrays the want she clearly feels.

Shifting her vision, Lena notices the flush of Kara's cheeks, dusty pink beneath the deep red of Lena's lipstick mark. There's a primal feeling building inside her at the sight of the mark of her own lips upon the cheek in front of her. It sparks fire on her lips, and want settles hot and low in her belly.

She moves with intent, leaning in unspeakably close, her fingers tracing a delicate line along Kara's jaw. Goosebumps erupt in its wake. With her thumb and forefinger, she loosely takes hold of Kara's jaw, anchoring them both. Wetting her lips, Lena places a slow, sensual kiss to Kara's cheek, leaving another, albeit more faded, mark. The skin burns beneath her lips, and she feels the responding intake of breath rumble against her lips.

This feels like a beginning.

It feels like a promise.

Lena places another damp kiss, this one lower, directly on Kara's jawline. She can feel the strength beneath her touch, can feel it in the pressure under her lips. There's resilience there, and it turns her on. Moving again, Lena carefully kisses the corner of Kara's mouth, reveling in Kara's hot breath against her own cheek, shallow and wanting. She can feel, too, that Kara's mouth has opened expectantly.

And this is where Lena stops.

She doesn't open her eyes as she pulls away. It's silly, but there's danger in opening her eyes. All sorts of what-ifs await her, some marvelous, and some terrifying. No, for now, she will hold tight to this dream, to this Schroedinger's kiss. Her lips are scorched, and her heart beats a wild tattoo in her veins. It's safe here, replaying the moment, eyes screwed shut, the dream alive.

Her mind stills when a warm hand hesitantly touches her face, and a thumb (so soft) traces the fullness of her lips. The shaky breath she exhales is swallowed whole when full, wet lips meet her own. There's nothing uncertain about this kiss. It's confident but controlled - a statement. All too soon the lips withdraw, but Lena covers the hand with her own before it can be removed, holding it to her cheek and leaning into it with all that she has.

Slowly opening her eyes, Lena returns Kara's gaze, the two women staring silently at one another in the space they've made between them. They don't speak. Not at first, anyway. Lena can't stop staring at the darkness in Kara's eyes, at the red along her cheek.

She places a kiss on the wrist near her mouth, soft and delicate. By some unspoken agreement, they both lean forward, each resting their forehead against the other, creating a cocoon between them.

"I could really get used to this," Kara says, her fingers sliding down Lena's arm, setting her skin ablaze. Lena shivers again. Their fingers intertwine, and Lena marvels at how perfectly they fit together.

"So," Kara starts, her voice cracking slightly, watching raptly as their fingers move together, finding a fit. "How about desse-?"

Kara's voice stops abruptly as her phone trills to life next to her purse nearby, the staccato ring piercing the dreamy haze they'd built around themselves at the island. Alex's face brightens the screen, and Kara pulls away suddenly, her face alight with contrition. She rises half out of her seat in order to reach across the island, collecting the phone with some effort before sitting back down, knees bumping Lena's haphazardly.

"Sorry-I really need to answer this. She wouldn't be calling unless..." She trails off as she answers the call on the third ring. "Al-" she starts, but she's cut-off by the excited voice on the other end. Lena watches as Kara's face transforms, frown lines appearing between her brows, sudden and deep. Kara leaves her seat and turns to the view of Natural City beyond the windows, letting herself out onto the balcony beyond and leaving Lena alone under the pool of light at the island. A breeze from the open doorway slithers around Lena, and she holds her arms together, seeking a hint of warmth in Kara's absence.

Kara stuns against the night sky, her soft curls reflecting the cool light of the moon slung high over the city skyline.

"No, I-" Kara starts again, only to fall silent. She worries at her lip. "I'm on my way." The moonlight trembles around her.

Turning, Kara moves urgently through the room. "That was Alex. There's been an emergency."

"OK." It's all Lena can muster. She stands awkwardly aside as Kara grabs her purse, surveying the mess of pots and pans still cluttering the kitchen. Lena brushes the concern aside. "I've got this. Go."

Kara hesitates, as if she wants to say something more, but the moment is ephemeral, and it passes like smoke between them. With a short nod, Kara is gone, the door closing resolutely behind her, the sound reverberating through the empty apartment like the toll of a bell.

Lena has never been fond of stillness. It lends itself to overthinking, gives voice to a cacophony of critics in her mind, all too eager to analyze every word, every second of the evening, looking for cracks to pick at and exploit. She and Kara were on the same page, surely. This is just awful timing. But the voices are already stirring, sowing doubt, the age-old misgivings rearing their head. So she moves, cleaning up the chaos of dishes in the kitchen, washing the pots and pan, and putting everything back in its place. It's an easy distraction.

When she's done there, she makes her way to her bedroom, removing her outfit mechanically, tossing it in the dirty clothes before slipping into her pajamas. She doesn't look in the mirror as she passes. She doesn't wish to see the face she wears now, so changed from the one reflected hours before.

Grabbing her glass and the bottle of wine, Lena shuffles to the couch. Sleep would elude her, anyway. Her laptop whirrs to life as she refills her glass, and she settles in, ready to catch up on her email. This habit, this distraction, is equal parts comfort and curse.

---

Lena loses focus somewhere on the other side of midnight, the numbers on the screen transforming and blurring recklessly into one another. There's no use in continuing. The insidious insecurities are quiet now, their claws retracted, their rage dulled. With a yawn, she closes her laptop and heads to bed. It's only as she slides between the cool sheets that she picks up her phone, having intentionally set it out of sight earlier so she wouldn't lose herself staring and wishing it would light up with a text or a call from Kara.

There are news alerts by the dozen awaiting her, and she wipes at her eyes in an attempt to clear the sleep from her vision.

There's been an emergency. That's what Kara had said. Tendrils of unease slither their way under Lena's skin, and a shiver racks her body, a cruel mockery of the way she had shivered earlier tonight. One after another, the headlines are all a variation on the same theme: there's been an attack in her city.

The unease becomes dread, and it settles icy and leaden in her belly.

When the phone trills with a new notification, this one promising a video of the "National City Nightclub Attack," Lena has to still her shaking hand in order to click on it. A grainy video begins to play.

The music is all-encompassing, the bass thumping hard enough to rattle the speakers on the clubgoer's phone. Turning slowly back and forth, it's clear from the video that the club is packed, the twenty- and thirty-somethings of National City out en masse enjoying the night. It's exactly what you'd expect to see in any of the other clubs around town. When the video begins moving up and down in a mostly vertical fashion, it takes Lena a moment to realize the phone's owner must be jumping up and down, the quick movements matching the frenzied beat of the bass. The music is visceral, the dancers' movements feverish. Eyes closed, it surrounds and engulfs, and the collective heartbeat of the crowd alters subtly, matching the tempo. It's a shared moment of ecstasy in a hot, crowded room, and it's easy - so easy - to get lost in the moment, connected and alive.

But in an instant, the beat stops, and the world changes.

The video goes absolutely black. It's not the dark of an electrical outage, where ambient light still filters in through windows or other sources, no matter how slight. No, this is the absence of all light, a darkness so complete, so thick that it surrounds and engulfs. It's the darkness of nightmares, the kind that fills the nostrils, the kind that encircles the unsuspecting and squeezes the life from a vibrant body. This is the darkness that tastes fear and thrives on it.

The music dies. Voices come through on the recording, disembodied and muffled, clubgoers voicing confusion and panic. And then a shout pierces the darkness, clear as a bell. It comes from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It isn't human.

The screams rise on all sides, and the video captures a sound like rustling, and Lena imagines panicked people trying to jostle through the crowd. More screams sound, muffled in the miasmic darkness.

Lena can't breathe, can't tear her eyes away. The dread in her belly has grown claws, and it rips and tears into her as it spreads.

Shocks of light, pulsing a dazzling blue, pierce the darkness in the club like knives. The screams are instantaneous and clear. The phone is dropped but keeps recording, capturing the sound of all hell breaking loose before cutting short. It ends with a woman's terrified scream, a scream that reverberates in Lena's empty apartment long after the video has ended. It drills into her ears, freezing every nerve in an instant. It's a primal thing, and it calls to Lena even now, her heart hammering, her adrenaline spiking, ready to fight or flee.

Lena's out of her bed like a shot, and in a matter of seconds, she's turned on the large TV in the living room to view the news live.

She watches, her shaking hands covering her mouth as if to hold in her own answering screams.

She watches, horrified, viewing the aftermath on the big screen as an array of correspondents stand and point and opine. The destruction is unreal. Walls have crumbled and collapsed, the roof partially caved in. A chyron scrolls across the bottom of the screen, announcing five dead, several missing, and dozens injured. So far.

And she cries, hot tears carving tracks through the pain etched across her face.

With the blast of a soundbite, the feed cuts to breaking news: a new eyewitness video has been found. The news anchor, face stoic, offers a warning: "Be advised, this video is graphic and disturbing."

It begins similarly to the other video, although clearly from another angle, a club-goer who had been closer to the entrance of the club, far from the point of origin. Blue pulses blaze across the stream in startling detail.

Lena freezes, her eyes widening. The channel replays the video again in slow motion.

The blood drains from her face, and she drops to her knees in the middle of the living room, her face awash in electric blue.

No. No no no no no no no no no.

Grabbing her phone, she tries calling Kara. It goes straight to voicemail. With trembling hands, she pulls up their text conversation and frantically taps out a message.

Kara - I need to speak with Supergirl. It's about the attack.

She waits for a beat, considering the weight of her words.

I recognize the weapon.

---

Lena startles awake on the couch. There's a moment where she's unsure where she is, what's going on. Bad dreams, she thinks, shuddering. Sitting up, her eyes attempt to focus on the TV, still tuned to live news coverage of an attack downtown.

The nightmare is real, and it stares back at her in high definition.

A knock echoes in the apartment, and she stumbles onto her feet, drowsily making her way toward the entryway.

The knock sounds again, and it takes a moment to register that the sound is coming from behind her. Lena turns sharply, an edge of panic pricking at her overwrought nerves, but her eyes quickly find Supergirl, who is standing on her balcony, her face dark, unreadable.

Lena doesn't hesitate. She pads over in her bare feet, unlocking and opening the door.

"Thank you for coming." She nods her head towards the living room by means of invitation. A cool breeze snakes into the apartment, and Lena self-consciously folds her arms over herself. But Supergirl hesitates on the threshold, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, the wind turning the edges of her cape.

"I'm, uh-" she starts, looking down at the state of her hands, her suit. With concern, Lena notes the layers of dirt and ash, the dark streaks of soot slashing across her suit. Even her face is smudged and marred, the impact of the long night hanging like dark clouds across her visage.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lena responds softly. "Please. Come in." She turns, leaving Supergirl to follow behind her. Gesturing to the couch, Lena invites her to sit before stepping into an adjoining room for a moment, emerging quickly with a warm, wet rag.

"You've got…" Her words trail off as she approaches, handheld outstretched between them, but she needn't worry. Supergirl nods in understanding and takes the offered rag, wiping at the soot and grime covering her face and hands. The movements are methodical but forceful, as if cleaning the grime covering her skin might somehow also wash away the grisly images burned into her psyche. When she's done, her skin is left red and raw beneath. Stirred by the movement, the air fills with an odor, metallic and sharp. It clings to them both like a funeral shroud.

The scent is a confirmation of a theory Lena had hoped might still be wrong, and she steels her spine, slips on her armor, readying for what's to come.

"Kara gave me your message."

It's a simple statement, and nodding, Lena sits down near Supergirl and picks up her laptop. With a click of a button, her computer screen appears on the room's large TV, and she pulls up the second video of tonight's attack, or rather a version of it she cleaned up and enhanced earlier. Frame by frame, the video slowly advances, and when the first spark of blue pierces the cavernous darkness, Lena presses pause.

Without turning to look at Supergirl, Lena begins to speak. "This is particle beam technology. Handheld particle beam weaponry. Think of the Large Hadron Collider, but roughly the size of a 50 caliber machine gun. At its most basic level, it uses electromagnetic fields to propel particles at a target at phenomenal speeds, displacing massive amounts of energy and causing-."

Lena pauses, swallowing thickly. Her voice is shaky when she continues. "-causing catastrophic damage. To the naked eye, it looks like a pulse, the blue a result of ionization. There's a smell that accompanies it, like ozone. You, um-" Lena pauses, finally turning her gaze to her guest. "I noticed it when you came in."

"How-" Supergirl starts, staring at her with an intensity that bores clean through Lena's armor and scorches the porcelain skin beneath.

"This isn't alien tech," Lena clarifies, her voice quiet. "It's Luthor tech."

Supergirl shakes her head automatically, disbelieving. "No," she says, but her face slowly contorts, a scowl forming across her brow, thunderous and menacing. "No. What are you saying, Le-," she stops, corrects, "Ms. Luthor?"

Lena sits up straighter, her defenses slipping into place around her. It's her natural reaction, one borne from a lifetime of bearing judgment based on the reputation of her surname.

"I'm saying that when I took over, after my brother-," she explains, "I spent weeks in R&D, looking at every scrap, every thought, everything that my brother not only worked on but anything he dared dream of." With a click, she unpauses the video on the screen in front of them. The audio, thankfully, is off. Electric blue lightning strikes again and again, sudden and deadly, and every pulse sets Lena's jaw trembling. "This one never saw the light of day, until now."

Her voice is steel when she continues. "I want to be very, very clear. This is not my doing."

Supergirl turns to stare at Lena again, and the intensity of it makes Lena feel like her skin is on fire, an insect caught under a magnifying glass.

"I believe you." Supergirl's voice is soft, and sincerity colors it fully, a bright star in the darkness of this long night.

Lena closes her eyes and releases a shaky breath, the relief at the words, at the support, immediate and total. "Thank you."

"But we need to find out how it got out. Who could have gotten through your security?"

Lena's anger rises, just below the surface, but it isn't hot. It's cold steel, strong and unbending, and her voice is low, her words clipped when she answers. "Two possibilities. One: plans were shared while Lex was still in charge. Or-," she pauses, her jaws clenching, her tone a deadly blade when she speaks again, "-or I've got a mole in my midst."

Across from her, Supergirl's hands bunch into fists, ready to bring the fight to the guilty party. Or parties. "Are you sure?"

"I've already run logs of anyone who has accessed any level of security in R&D since Lex left. It's a shot in the dark, but it's a starting point. If this happened while he was here…" The rest is left unsaid.

"Maybe Agent Schott could help." Supergirl doesn't frame it as a question, and Lena doesn't take it as such.

"Can he meet me at the office?" Lena glances outside, noting with some dismay that it is still very much night. "I mean...when it's not 4 am, I guess, would be what a normal person might ask."

Supergirl offers a tired smirk before nodding, her eyes returning unerringly to the video playing on loop on the screen. As the moments pass, her shoulders begin to sag, her body curling into itself inch by inch. Lena notes the soot matted in Supergirl's hair for the first time, the blonde waves further dulled by ash and dust. Supergirl wears the aftermath of terror on her body, and the weight of it is slowly crushing her.

"Are you ok?" It's a ridiculous question on its face, and Lena feels foolish once it's out there, the words hanging leadenly between them in the still air.

Supergirl is quiet when she pulls her eyes from the screen to return Lena's gaze. The movement dislodges a tear from the corner of her eye, and it slips slowly down her cheek, dropping silently onto the dirt along her collar, where it turns the discolored material back to deep blue.

A shake of the head.

A soft "No."

"I-," Supergirls starts, her voice shaking, more tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I wasn't there to save them."

Lena looks on, helpless, at the hero next to her. At the girl next to her, tasked with more than anyone has a right to expect.

"I should have been there." Supergirl's eyes shimmer, her tears electric blue in the glow of the TV.

Before she has a chance to rethink it, Lena moves on instinct, scooting closer and pulling Supergirl into an embrace. Never mind the soot and dust. Never mind any of it. All she can offer to the cause at this moment is comfort and safety, however fleeting, and she does so without hesitation.

Supergirl doesn't shy away, doesn't question the gesture. Instead, she presses her forehead resolutely into Lena's collarbone while Lena wraps her arms around the woman's shoulders, holding her close.

Moisture, hot and sudden, gathers along the exposed skin at Lena's neck as Supergirl's shoulders begin to shake and heave, silent sobs wracking her body. She cries for the losses, the painful what-ifs, for the world so out of control. Lena holds her tight, rubbing comforting circles along the cape at Supergirl's back, her hands wiping away the dirt where they touch, leaving trails of bright red in their wake.

They sit together, a Luthor and a Super, grieving what they cannot change.

Lena doesn't mark the passage of time, doesn't count how long they sit in the glow of the TV, but eventually, the sobs become sniffles, and the tears dry up. When Supergirl shifts and sits back, wiping at the remnants of tears in her eyes, she doesn't meet Lena's concerned gaze. Instead, she looks at the TV, at the video still looping.

"The darkness. That one actually is alien technology." Supergirl's voice is rough as she speaks. "Anndrannian to be exact. The Anndrann are known for their military prowess, and this...weapon, it's one of their specialties."

She finally faces Lena directly, her eyes raw and red, the anguish clear on her face.

"The voice, too. Before the-before it starts. All Anndrannian. But there's a problem."

Lena listens raptly, unsure where this is going.

"They have an allergy, if you want to call it that. To iron. None of them will intentionally put themselves in a position to be around it. With the sheer volume of air pollution, the iron-containing particles in the atmosphere around us, they aren't compatible with Earth."

"I had wondered…" Lena trails off, her mind racing at the new knowledge. "Is this a frame job? Something made to look like something it isn't to stir up anti-alien sentiment then?"

Supergirl nods her head grimly. "It looks that way. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Fuck," Lena exhales, taking stock of the situation unfolding before them. There's a note of fear in her voice, sharp and feverish. "They'll burn down this whole damned city." Her hands cover her mouth, willing the screams to stay silent.

"My brother's technology, my technology, should never have seen the light of day!" Her voice is rising, the panic barely restrained. "I want to use technology as a force of good in this world, to help people. This...I don't want this!"

Pain seeps through her words. An old pain, as familiar to her now as it was as a child. "I've never wanted what my brother wanted. What my mother wants."

But alongside the pain comes clarity of purpose, and when she speaks again, her voice is even and strong. "Please. Send Agent Schott. I'll get you a name."

---

Downtown National City is hauntingly empty, and Lena's car passes through the canyons of darkened windows like a shadow. There's a chill in the air, and it seeps into her where her forehead rests on the passenger window.

I hope you and your sister are OK.

The text isn't at all what she wants to say, or rather, it only scratches the surface of what she'd like to say. But her mind is everywhere and nowhere at once, her whole body unsettled and anxious. The feeling is ill-fitting, and it chafes and scratches more intensely with each passing minute.

As Daniel pulls the car to a stop outside of the towering L-Corp building - her building - her phone trills, signaling a text.

we are. i hear winn is with you? he won't let you down

Stepping from the car, a lone figure stirs near the building's entrance. His hair is wilder than she remembers, but it's unmistakably Agent Schott waiting on her arrival. Before Lena can respond to Kara's text, her phone trills again.

i miss you

Three simple words, that's all they are, but they work a spell on Lena all the same. Her nerves ease, and her anxiety quietens, the incantation's magic working quickly. Grinning while she walks towards the entrance to her building, she sends the most honest response available: a heart emoji.

"Ms. Luthor." Winn is waiting for her, coffee in hand, laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

"Call me Lena, Agent Schott. Please."

"Winn."

They don't speak further until they arrive in Lena's office, the seriousness of the task at hand a heavy thing, and it takes up space all around them as they silently ascend. Winn wastes no time once inside her office, setting up his laptop next to Lena's at her desk. Through the windows at their backs, the first glimpse of pink appears on the horizon, the deep blues and purples of the long night beginning to lighten across National City.

"Look, for obvious reasons, unfettered access to my systems and security data is not something I share lightly. Or...ever," Lena begins, and Winn listens as he finishes his setup. "But Supergirl trusts you. And more importantly, Kara trusts you."

Winn nods simply in the soft glow of the computer screen, his fingers twitching, ready to act, ready to help.

With a deep breath, Lena repeats the conversation she'd had with Supergirl in her apartment only an hour ago. It's no easier the second time. By the time she's done, her office feels more like a confessional, the walls closing in around her as she catalogs her sins. She watches Winn's face, his reactions, keenly aware of the damning nature of her admissions, unused to sharing vulnerabilities so freely.

There are no fluttering wings inside her ribs, no tremors aching to break free. Her nerves remain steady, and when she speaks again, there's a note of something else, something feral lurking in the shape of her words, in the tone of her voice.

"I have nothing to hide. Please-help me get this bastard."

"With pleasure."

Using the R&D access log files she ran earlier, Lena runs the raw data through hardcore statistical analysis sequencing, looking for outliers while also mapping any noted dates of access, projects accessed, patterns, or abnormalities. It's a heavy lift, and the query results will take a while. Next to her, Winn begins a deep-dive background check on L-Corp staff, focusing on employees with any level of security access, no matter how trivial, looking for any trace of inconsistencies or questionable associations in their lives, among other things.

Noticing Lena watching over his shoulder, he explains his home-built program, its use of machine learning, the scope of the data feeds he's hooked into like a father talking about their child. The pride in his voice is unmistakable. But Lena narrows her eyes, a slow grin forming on her face.

"You're tied into government feeds, aren't you? And you said you developed this a few years ago, right?"

Winn's face pales, but before the stammering can start, Lena leans forward and asks, quite seriously, "Do you want a job? I could always use someone with your skill set."

Winn blinks repeatedly, his mouth agape.

Lena smiles, amused, before turning back to her own machine.

In a few minutes, her initial statistical assessment completes, and she pours over the results ravenously.

But there's nothing.

The security logs are absolutely normal. No abnormalities, no irregularities, just business as usual. According to her security system, she is the only person to have accessed this project, an event that occurred roughly six months ago when she took over.

Winn spends a few minutes with the results as well, and eventually, reluctantly, he is forced to agree with Lena's findings. There's nothing there.

While Winn turns back to his laptop, Lena swivels in her chair and leans forward, her elbows braced on her knees, and she faces the rising sun beyond her office windows. Although her eyes stare at a point in the distance, she doesn't see it. Internally, her brain is spinning, her synapses firing while she scrambles to solve the problem at hand. Outwardly, however, she sits stock still and poised, a post-modern version of Rodin's "The Thinker," the soft pinks and oranges of dawn bathing her in ethereal light.

And so she sits. And thinks.

And when the answer materializes, she swivels her chair around so suddenly that Winn visibly jolts at the movement like a spooked horse.

"We're going about this wrong. We're missing what's right in front of us. Or...what's not."

Winn is nodding, a grin sparking across his features. "Sometimes it's what isn't there. Oh, you are good."

Lena explains, "The logs say no one has accessed this top security project since I did six months ago. So. The logs are wrong."

Winn's grin transforms, the excitement catching. Even his fingers are twitching, ready to act. "May I?" he asks, indicating her laptop with a nod of his head.

Lena consents, and he scoots over to access her computer. "If I were going to hack your system and get myself access to some limited edition Lex Luthor weapons of mass destruction, I wouldn't actually alter anything about my own security, right? Pffft. That would be like standing outside your office with a neon sign."

Her jaws grind at the truth in the statement. "You'd tweak the parameters of the security system from the inside. Make it work for you."

"Exactly. Let's just…" Winn trails off as he hones in, clearly having no intention of actually finishing his sentence. He's pure focus and intent. He'll type a moment and then lift a hand to follow a thread of code on the screen, a process he repeats dozens of times, all the while murmuring to himself.

Suddenly, he slaps the desk, yelling, "aha!" like a mad scientist in an old black and white movie. "Oww," he mutters to himself, the aftermath of the slap prickling in his palm. With the uninjured hand, he points animatedly at a section of code midway down the screen. "You see right here? This has been tampered with."

But without explaining further, he says to no one in particular, "Amateur. Now I've got your scent…," and he is a flurry of activity again. Lena thrills at the chase, the clacking of the laptop keys a steady drumbeat, the blood in her veins matching its frenetic pace. Winn attacks the data, code streaming across the screen seemingly too fast for consumption, but he never wavers, never slows.

Each time he finds a breadcrumb, his smile widens a fraction, his teeth slowly revealing in the glow of the screen until, finally, he spins to face Lena, grinning from cheek to cheek.

"They hacked your system and altered the security assignment of this and several other projects, moved them to minimal security. They would have then physically accessed the site, and when they finished, they'd reset the access in the system so no one would know."

Lena's reaction is far less sunny. "Goddammit!" She stands, prowling back and forth through the space behind the desk, a lion pacing menacingly along the bars of its cage. Winn swivels in his seat to track her movements, her shadow reaching into the depths of the office as the sun continues its rise on the horizon.

"When?"

"Twenty-three days ago," he answers, pointing at the time stamp highlighted by the cursor. With a few more calculated keystrokes, he pulls up the logs and runs a new analysis, displaying a list of roughly two dozen employees who accessed any level of security on the day in question.

"Surveillance?" Winn asks.

"Are you kidding? This building is covered in cameras. He's got to be there."

Winn brings up the archived video storage and keys in on the right date and time frame. It's easy work finding the incriminating video, but the playback is damaged, the objects in the screen unrecognizably distorted. It's the same story with the footage from the other cameras, the relevant frames manipulated, obscuring the suspect's entire path through the building.

Before Lena has a chance to utter the expletives on the tip of her tongue, Winn cuts in. "Oh, they don't know who they're messing with!" Snagging a flash drive from his bag with frightening speed, Winn pops it into Lena's laptop without a second thought, loading the affected video and executing a program labeled only as " ." Cracking his knuckles, he tells Lena, "This might take a bit."

Still pacing anxiously, Lena asks, "What level of sophistication are we looking at here?"

"Good enough to get past your admittedly decent system defenses, which you need to change, by the way. Like, right now. But...not good enough to cover all of their tracks."

It's infuriating. When Lena had taken the reins, she painstakingly stripped the company bare of her brother's loyalists. Or so she had thought. The idea that she had failed in her task gnaws at her ceaselessly. Failures have never been acceptable in the Luthor family, and she can practically feel her mother's glare burning into her, can hear the disappointed tone, the one that carries a promise of danger under its barbed words. Even now, in her office above the city, she's a little girl haunted by the ghosts of her childhood.

Nostrils flaring, Lena posits to no one in particular, "If I missed one of my brother's toadies, and it's clear that I did, how many more did I miss?" It's this thought that troubles her the most, as it places culpability not only for the security breach but for anything resulting from it squarely at her feet. The screams from the nightclub ricochet in her mind, the terror blazing through her thoughts in electric blue. This is a personal failing, and nothing can erase it.

"They won't be able to hide for long." Winn is so confident, so self-assured, and Lena leans into it with all she can muster.

"Are you sure you don't want a job here? I can pay you three-, four-times whatever the feds can."

Winn just grins back. "Tempting."

The morning sun is rising quickly now, its rays multiplying across the highly reflective steel and glass sentinels of downtown, and it finds Lena's office at just the wrong angle, the light striking harshly onto Lena's desk, blinding and disorienting. Picking up the remote on the corner of her desk, Lena punches a button, and the office windows tint immediately, decreasing the glare on the laptop screens. Minutes pass, measured in the sound of keystrokes, the shift of muted shadows along the floor.

Checking the status of his efforts, Winn reluctantly announces that the video defragmentation is only 41% complete, while the background checks are nearing completion at 87%, both laptops maxing out their processing powers. Although it's only nearing 9 a.m., the progress they've made has been substantial, and she repeats that to herself like a mantra when the nerves set her hands to trembling again. Too anxious to continue the wait quietly, Lena moves across the room, opting to turn on the news instead, hoping some positive developments have occurred while she and Winn have been sequestered.

"-less than twelve hours since the attack, speculation on the perpetrators and possible motives is spreading like wildfire through social media platforms. Among the-"

The anchor, a middle-aged man with the personality of wet cardboard, pauses a moment, listening to the directions being piped in through his earpiece before speaking again. "We'll go ahead and take you live to City Hall, where the mayor is holding a press conference in the wake of last night's deadly attack."

The studio camera cuts out, and a feed of City Hall comes into focus on the screen, the mayor center screen behind a podium covered in news mics and voice recorders. He looks rough, his shirt rumpled, his tie non-existent, and Lena thinks it's unlikely he's managed more than a couple of hours of sleep in the night. One camera offers a wide angle of the scene, the mayor and his cabinet standing at the top of the steps, while reporters and concerned citizens fan out all the way down to the street and up the sidewalk in both directions, waiting to hear what the city's leadership has come to say. Looking for answers. Looking for solace.

Although hard to imagine, some of National City's citizens are just waking to the news of an attack on their city, watching the now-viral videos on replay like scenes from a waking nightmare, their voices stopped in their throats, their hearts shattered in an instant. Many more, it seems, are wide awake, already grappling with this horror that surpasses understanding. These are the people lining the streets outside of city hall or the streets outside of the National City Police Department, searching for answers. These are the people who are standing silently outside the yellow crime scene tape surrounding the destroyed club as if on pilgrimage, to witness with their own eyes.

The news camera cuts to the close-up feed when the mayor begins speaking, his voice raw and his movements slow, the toll of the long night evident. To his credit, he doesn't sugarcoat the facts and doesn't speculate about what's yet to be known, being bluntly honest that at the heart of it, all they really know is that an unidentified perpetrator or perpetrators used as of yet unidentified technology to carry out a blitz attack on the public. Acknowledging the scope of what's happened, he states that the NCPD is working hand in hand with federal officials to follow dozens of active leads.

When the camera angle switches again, the cameraman sweeps over the crowd, focusing on its membership. Lena spots Kara's sister, her lifesaver, surveying the crowd next to a dark-haired NCPD detective. And a moment later, Kara comes into view, her attention split between watching the mayor and watching the crowd, her movements mimicking those of her sister.

Lena can't help herself, fetching her phone and sending Kara a text.

Because she can. Because she wants to.

It's criminal to look so beautiful this early in the morning.

Kara shuffles, juggling her notepad and pen to her off-hand whilst wriggling her phone from her pocket. Lena notes with amusement that Kara's wearing the same corduroy skirt she'd worn on one of their many lunch dates, where she had exclaimed enthusiastically, "Look! It's got pockets!" With the phone out and Lena's text clearly received, Kara's face transforms, and Lena delights in watching it happen on camera. The worry line in Kara's brow smooths, her cheeks pinken deliciously, and the smile that breaks out across Kara's face is bright enough to blind the sun, Lena thinks, feeling her own smile forming in response.

Lena's phone beeps, and Kara's responding text is a simple blushing emoji, a pale imitation of the real deal on the screen.

As the mayor begins to wrap up his speech, the camera cuts back to him, his silver hair moving gently in the breeze. The heartbreak, the grief - he wears them both plainly for all to see, but neither read as weakness. There's a strength to his stature, in the broadness of his shoulders, that hint at the resolve beneath his words. A decorated military veteran, he's a man familiar with loss, sure, but he's more than familiar with a fight.

"This will not be over in hours or days. The road will be hard, and it will be painful. But if we stand together, we will persevere. There are no strangers in National City; there is only community. We are a strong city. We are a resilient city. Nothing, not even this cowardly attack, can turn our hearts." There's a moment, short but perfect, where applause breaks out in the crowd, the sound echoing like bells through the streets.

And then it all goes sideways.

"That's exactly what this was! An attack...on us!" The voice is muffled, disembodied, and the cameraman struggles to hone in on its source in the crowd. The effect on the assembly is instantaneous. The applause slows and then stops altogether, confused murmurs spreading through the ranks like wildfire in its place.

The voice rings out again like a clarion call, "An attack on the red-blooded folks in this city!"

A chill finds Lena, icy fingertips raising the hairs on the back of her neck, as the voice in the crowd gains a name.

People shift and move out of the way, parting like the Red Sea for the passage of Councilman Drummond, who emerges from the depths of the crowd front and center and staring down the mayor with barely concealed rage. Reporters push in to fill the gaps, scenting blood in the water.

In stark contrast to the mayor, who is sporting yesterday's suit, the councilman is dressed in "political casual," sporting chinos and a dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, trying to position himself as a spokesman of the people, even though Lena spots his $1400 loafers from a mile away.

Lena grabs her phone, texting swiftly.

I have a bad feeling about this. Please be careful!

always

His teeth gleaming in the glare of the cameras, the councilman slowly advances on the mayor's position behind the podium as he continues to hurl accusations. "For all of your talk, what have you actually done to make us safer, Mr. Mayor?"

When the mayor begins to respond, Drummond cuts him off with the shake of his head, speaking over him. "Our youth have been murdered! Here! In our city! In our home!"

The murmurs of the crowd begin to shift and fracture, with some corners voicing agreement, almost hesitant at first, while others shout their support for the world to hear.

"Got him!" Winn's voice cuts through the madness, and Lena blinks repeatedly, pulling herself back to the task at hand. Rounding the desk, she's brought face to face with a workable video paused on a singular frame, the image imperfect but still identifiable. One glance and she knows who he is, this man who has done the unthinkable.

"I've already run the image against the employee IDs in your system, and I've come up with an 89% match. Just so happens, this guy's also on the list from my first query, along with two other names of potentially compromised L-Corp employees."

"His name is Carter Votto," she seethes, venom in every word. "He started with the company a few months before Lex left."

The other two names on the list don't ring any bells, for better or worse, but they'll need further review.

"We need to look at all three. We can't...I can't risk anyone else getting hurt on my watch. I have to root this out for good."

"I'll call Supergirl." Winn steps away, and Lena turns back to the TV, gnawing at her lip in worry.

The size of the crowd outside City Hall has grown, like Drummond has brought his own rally with him, and with the newcomers' arrival, there's a noticeable shift in the energy on-site, the crowd's movements becoming more erratic, more frenetic. With growing alarm, Lena watches the sea of people swell, a tidal wave threatening to wash out the shore.

"Got voicemail," Winn shouts as he walks back in from the balcony, but his footsteps falter when he spies the scene on the news. "Ohhh this isn't good."

Drummond, his face red, looking as much at the camera as at the mayor, continues his verbal assault. "You say there are no strangers here? I'd say after last night it is crystal clear what the problem is here. Who is the problem here."

The mayor's security team has tightened its presence around the podium, but the man himself waves them off, squaring his shoulders, the retired army captain waves them off.

"What are you actually going to do about the alien menace in our city, Mr. Mayor?"

Gone is the heaviness of grief, of heartache. The mayor straightens to his full height, his shoulders taut, to address the councilman's allegations head-on. "Again, Councilman, the perpetrators of this heinous act have not yet been identified. We need to know-"

Drummond doesn't let the mayor speak, shouting over him when he tries, spittle flying from his twisted lips. "No! We need more than your weak words, Mr. Mayor. We need to act, and we need to act NOW."

The camera pans to the crowd, which has spilled into the streets in front of City Hall, snarling traffic and eliciting a steady beat of angry horns from the vehicles stuck in its tide. Lena spies a few new faces in the crowd who look…different from the rest. They sport subtle earpieces and move with calculated steps through the sea of people, speaking to those around them as they pass. Military, perhaps? Pointing, Lena draws Winn's attention to them.

"Who are these guys?"

"This is really not good." Winn slides in with the understatement of the year.

The icy fingers climbing along Lena's spine curl into a fist, clamping around her throat, robbing her of breath.

Turning to face the cameras, Drummond postures and poses, City Hall positioned conspicuously behind him as he points angrily to the audience, both in-person and at home.

"An act of war occurred in our city last night. Make no mistake, justice will be swift, and it will be terrible."

Disparate groups break out in applause, drowning out the concerned mutterings of the others. The camera finds another of the military-like men mixed in amongst the sea of people. Dressed in a plain t-shirt and sporting a ball cap and earpiece combo, this man's tattoo is mostly visible emerging from under the tight material around his bicep.

A memory tickles Lena's thoughts, and slowly, she gives voice to it. "Wait… I've seen him before."

Winn turns to her quizzically, but before Lena can explain, Supergirl lands at City Hall, standing between the mayor and the councilman, her cape waving with the breeze created by her arrival.

A hush falls over the crowd.

"Finally," Winn mumbles.

A smattering of applause breaks out at her appearance, but there are whispers slinking along the periphery, lurking in the depths, waiting on the tides to turn.

They don't have to wait long.

Turning to their new guest, Councilman Drummond comments drily, "Ah, Supergirl. Right on time." His tone is dripping with sarcasm, and his followers are quick to pick up on the cue.

"Go home!" shouts someone in the distance.

"Alien!"

"Where were you?"

The video feed captures Supergirl's reaction to the heckling, the hurt behind her eyes, the shock that she can't quite cover in time.

Drawing a deep breath, Supergirl stands tall and responds to the crowd as a whole. Her voice trembles when she speaks, the emotion on the surface for all to hear, for all to see.

"National City is my home. The people here are my friends. My family. My heart is here with all of you. All of you. I will assist the city in any way I can to find out who did this, and they will face justice. In the courts. Not in the streets."

Regaining his footing, the mayor speaks clearly yet forcefully, thanking Supergirl for being a friend to the city and reinforcing his previous statements, quashing Drummond's mad ravings in one fell swoop.

As the crowd slowly disperses, the feed cuts back to the talking heads in the news studio, ready to put their spin on the events of the morning. Lena rewinds the footage until she finds what she's looking for: the tattooed man from her memories.

As she presses pause, a swish of air ushers in a visitor at her office balcony. Supergirl strides in to join them.

"I got your message."

Winn looks to Lena for direction, and with a simple nod, she gives him the go-ahead to do the honors. While he catches her up to speed, Lena takes a moment to study Supergirl in profile, noting with wonder the contrast between the woman standing before her now, regal, powerful, and the heartbroken girl she held while she cried just hours before. It's a cycle Lena is all too familiar with, picking up the broken pieces, putting on a brave face while walking on the jagged shards.

But there's always a piece left behind each time, whether it's the blood lost, a shard that couldn't be recovered, leaving the reconstituted self fragmented, an imitation of its former self.

Not for the first time, it strikes Lena just how much she and Supergirl have in common. The woman in question looks up, catching Lena's studious gaze. Lena doesn't know what she finds there, but Supergirl offers her a small smile, the kind that's soft at the edges.

"So. We've got Votto as a primary suspect, plus two more that you'll look into, right, Winn?"

"Right," Winn responds, clicking away on his laptop. "I've sent all of Votto's info to you already. His phone went dark last night, but I'm working on ways to locate him as we speak using his phone's GPS location history."

"Can you identify this guy?" Lena requests when the opportunity presents itself. "I've seen him before."

"Can I identify this guy? Pfffft…c'mon, now!" Winn pulls up the footage on his laptop and gets to work, his fingers flying over the keys.

They watch the image slowly de-pixelate on his screen, and once enough of an image is available, Winn snags the section of photo with the man's tattoo and runs it through a program that uses an extensive image database to suggest options for the pieces of the tattoo hidden by the man's shirt sleeve.

"Right, so we've got a serpent," he surmises. "How original."

But Lena is too focused on the man's face to acknowledge the discovery.

"Is the coloration right on this?" Her eyes don't leave the screen, but Winn and Supergirl both turn to her all the same. "Is it?"

Confused, Winn double-checks the settings and confirms, "Yeah. Color should be spot on."

"What is it?" It's not confusion in Supergirl's question, but concern.

"Grey eyes. He's got grey eyes."

"Tell me what that-" Supergirl starts, trying to elicit more information, her eyebrows knit together.

Lena obliges. "I saw him at the courthouse a few weeks ago, when I went to speak with the DA about…" she stops, breathes deeply, going back to the moment in her mind. She can hear the echoing clanking of the shackled inmates, feel the sun coming through the dome in the ceiling, and she can feel the officer's stare, cold and knowing, as he passed her in the marbled halls, the unease of that moment finding her again in living color, stretching its tendrils throughout her body, leaving her feeling heavy, bound.

"When I gave my statement about my mother. He was guarding a line of prisoners. I think-, I think he's working for-"

Winn, who still has his nose glued to his screen, interjects. "Ugh, such a fanboy. He tattooed his employer on himself." Turning to Supergirl, he quips, "Tell J'onn I'm not doing that."

On the screen before them are two images: an image taken from an obscure art history book, and next to it, a simplified but still identifiable version of the same image in the form of a tattoo. The caption beneath the original image reads simply, "Cadmus and the Serpent."

---

Lena sighs, and not for the first time. There's an ache in her upper back that's particularly persistent, like the tip of a dagger moving torturously beneath her shoulder blades. Tensions have been high over the last few days, and she carries the whole of it coiled in her muscles.

Stretching her shoulders back, she rubs at the spot in a futile attempt to assuage the pain. It doesn't work, not this time or the dozen other times she's tried today. With a sigh, her fingers reach for the keyboard again, ending her latest email: "Douzo yoroshiku onegai itashimasu, Tanaka-san." News of the nanotech breakthrough from Tanaka's group in the company's Japanese branch is promising. Very promising, she corrects, pouring over the technical specs again. A trip is in order, and soon.

There's a soft knock on the door, and it shatters the bubble she's built around herself, the sudden interruption leaving her confused and out of sorts. Around her, the office is still, the sky dark in the windows at her back. The knock sounds again, and this time Lena answers, "Jess? I thought you went home?" It's nearing 9 p.m., she notices, long past time for anyone else to be in the office. Fear tingles in her limbs, running icy fingertips along the nape of her neck at the possibilities unfolding before her.

"Umm, she did," the voice clarifies, Kara's blonde head peeking in as the door opens. "But not before she told me you were still here. Burning the midnight oil, so to speak."

They haven't seen each other since their date, neither of their schedules allowing for any deviation, not when the city is in crisis. The texts have been nice, but they're a poor substitute for the real deal.

"Kara," Lena lets out a shaky breath, and she can feel the fear uncoil and the tension in her muscles ease ever so slightly. A surprised smile stretches across her face and settles, warm and soft, into her limbs. It's a phenomenon she's taken to calling the Kara Effect, the feeling of lightness, of weightlessness that accompanies Kara's presence. On days like today, it's just what the doctor ordered.

"Hey," Kara calls gently as she makes her way across the office, a smallish brown paper bag held in front of her body, which Lena assumes has got to be food. Bless her.

Standing to greet her, to hug her, Lena starts, "What are you doing out-," but her words falter and fail when she sees the conflict written across Kara's face. The ache between her shoulder blades flares, and she clenches her jaw unconsciously.

"I just...I um..." Kara is wringing her hands, clearly nervous. Lena's brow furrows, and she leans against the edge of her desk, unsure of what's to come. Dread, cold and cruel, starts in her stomach, and the longer Kara hedges, the more it spreads.

"Kara?" she tries, "You can talk to me."

Kara opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out - only a sigh, quiet and unsure. She smiles awkwardly before starting again.

And again - silence. It suffocates Lena, her mind spiraling at the unspoken. Kara huffs. It's a hesitant sound, a frustrated emittance, and it becomes clear to Lena there's a battle playing out, Kara fighting with herself about how much, if any, to share of what's really on her mind.

In the end, though, with a small shake of the head and a deflated, self-conscious smile, a decision appears to have been made, and Kara finally speaks up.

"I-I wanted to apologize for leaving in the middle of our date the other night. I was having such a great time, and-I think you were, too?" She raises the tone of the last word like she's unsure if it's true. Trailing off momentarily, Kara's hands gesture nervously in front of her. Lena starts to interject, the words already formed on her parted lips, but Kara continues her thought. "And it's not how our first date should have ended. Our first official date."

It's not what Kara had been thinking of saying, Lena interprets, and the dread pulls at her still. Gauging the growing uncertainty lurking behind Kara's eyes, it's clear that Kara is aware her switch did not go unnoticed, and for a moment they are both silent, a gulf stretching between them.

It's not important.

As soon as the sentiment enters Lena's mind, she grasps the simple truth of it, and it surprises her. Trust is a hard-won thing for Lena, and her childhood in the Luthor household ensured her insecurities would be long-lasting and deep-seated. The only other person she has ever truly trusted is Lex, and his descent into villainy fractured her in ways she hasn't yet fully plumbed. No, trust will always be difficult, but at this moment, she lets it go. She must.

Lena stretches out her hand, her fingers grazing Kara's, and Kara loosens her nervous grip, allowing their pinky fingers to link. With a gentle tug of unspoken intention, Kara falls into her orbit, pulled close as Lena stands from her spot on the edge of the desk. The wool of Kara's skirt scratches against the exposed skin at Lena's knee.

"Can we skip to the part where we kiss?" Lena proposes.

And just like that, Lena feels Kara's smile against her lips, full and content, and she basks in the warmth of her proximity. They kiss slowly, fingers still linked, learning one another. It's new and heady, and as the kiss begins to deepen, Lena reaches up, running her fingertips along Kara's jaw, tracing the soft skin beneath. When Kara shivers under her touch, heat begins to thrum through her body, knowing that she's the one who elicited that reaction. Kara moves even closer as they continue to kiss, her fingers grazing the silk of Lena's blouse at the waist, slipping her arms around her, holding Lena in her strong embrace. It's dizzying in the best way when she's pulled close to Kara's chest.

As their kisses slow, Kara's arms slide away, but her hands remain on Lena's waist. Lena rests her forehead on Kara's, her eyes closed, relishing the sensations, already missing the phantom touch of lips pressed to her own.

They stay that way for a long moment, both catching their breaths, comfortable in each other's arms, comfortable in the contented quiet between them.

In the end, it's Kara who pulls away first, leaning over the desk to grab the forgotten bag she'd brought with her.

"I know you have mega important things going on," she reassures, tugging on Lena's hand and leading her resolutely to the couch. "It's been...a hard couple of days," Kara adds.

"Understatement," Lena interjects.

"But! You are going to sit." Kara sits first, pulling Lena to sit next to her, which Lena does, albeit far more gracefully than Kara had managed. "And you are going to take a couple of minutes to do something for yourself." She smiles, one of her pleased ones, and in spite of it all, Lena falls a little more for this woman, whose heart is so much better, so much kinder than anyone else she's ever met.

Handing over the paper bag, Kara explains, "I, um, I brought dessert. To finish our date."

It's a lemon tart in sheer glossy perfection, and when Lena takes a bite, the pastry melts slowly on her tongue.

"Kara, I don't know if I'm starving or if this is the best thing I've ever eaten, but holy shit."

Kara beams back at her. "Yeah?"

"Where did you find this?" Lena asks, looking in the direction of the now-empty paper bag. Kara reaches for it, folding it in half before responding.

"Oh! It's just a little place on the other side of town." She says it with a shrug of her shoulders, cool and nonchalant.

But Lena presses, "I haven't had one this perfect outside of France."

Kara laughs a little too loudly, eyes a little wide. "Ha! France, huh? Nah, it's just a little bakery on the, uh, west side?" Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, Kara shifts in her seat, watching Lena eat voraciously. "Wait, did you even eat today?"

"What day is it?" Lena asks without looking up.

"Lena!" Kara answers, aghast.

"I'm sure I had something earlier," she clarifies, shrugging her shoulders. "And I was going to eat later when I got home! Promise. I was supposed to have a call with an investor's tech firm in Japan in an hour, but we've rescheduled."

Swallowing another bite, Lena coos, "This is a godsend. This...you...perfect."

Kara blushes at the words, and Lena grins to herself, enjoying the sight, enjoying that she is the one to put the blush there.

Inclining her head towards the table in front of them, where today's CatCo Magazine, hot off the presses, sits front and center, Lena says, "I read your article."

Kara looks nervous, and Lena wishes Kara understood just how gifted she is, how she needn't worry.

"Well done. As always." She places emphasis on the last words, hoping Kara hears them through the doubt clouding her mind.

"Thank you," Kara responds, her voice subdued. "To be honest, I hated writing it."

Lena quirks an eyebrow in confusion, in concern, but she doesn't press, waiting on Kara to fill in the blanks herself.

"I have such a hard time with objectivity, you know? Especially with something like this," she clarifies, clenching her jaw. "Snapper sent it back the first time. Again."

Lena finishes the last bite and turns inwards, pulling her legs onto the couch, her knees bumping Kara's legs.

"I know better. I know what I'm supposed to do," Kara says on a sigh, looking towards the back of the office where the skyline glows bright against the night sky. Lena squeezes her knee in a sign of support, of comfort, and Kara continues. "But when people are dead. Hurt. Scared. When the city is falling apart. I want to scream! I want to fight! But-" There are tears swimming in her eyes as she turns to Lena.

"Oh darling," Lena interjects, her voice calming. "But even though it's not an editorial, your voice comes through. You know that, right? These aren't lifeless words. You give them life, and the passion you have, it comes through. This is your home, and what you feel is what everyone in this city is feeling. You make that crystal clear, please know that."

Kara reaches up, wiping an unshed tear from her own eye, and deja vu hits Lena. It's quick, and it's hard, and she has no idea why. Lena strokes Kara's face, and Kara melts into the outstretched hand as if on command.

"How do you do that?"

Lena scrunches her face, unsure of the question being asked of her.

"Make everything better," Kara explains.

"I wish I could." It's a brutally honest answer, and it triggers something deep within. Looking up, anxiety clear across her features, Lena begins, "Kara, there's something I want to tell you. I wanted to tell you when it happened, but...text didn't seem like the right medium." Kara's face is open, guileless, so Lena presses on. "I don't know the extent of what Supergirl has told you-"

They sit, curled inward on the couch in Lena's office together while Lena opens up about her role in the aftermath of the nightclub attack, everything from discovering one of Lex's lackeys to working with Supergirl and Winn. All of it.

"I've taken steps to secure everything else, and Winn has been helping me with that. He's been so amazing. I just-," Lena pauses, her voice shaky. "This can never happen again."

"Oh, Lena." Kara puts her arm out, making room, and Lena follows the suggestion, leaning in to rest her head on Kara's shoulder, crossing an arm across her torso, curling into her with her whole body.

The rambling ceases, and Lena sighs, her worries voiced. She's so used to shouldering these things alone, for most of her life, really. But it's different with Kara, who is here, holding her tightly, stroking her hair. Kara doesn't look at her with disdain or disgust but instead with empathy so deep, so pure, that Lena can fully relax into it, the tension in her muscles finally uncoiling. Kara's arm around her, her cheek resting on top of Lena's head - all of it feels like a security blanket, safe and warm and hers.

The two of them stay curled into one another on the couch for long minutes, neither breaking the comfortable silence. Occasionally, Kara will shift just enough to place a chaste kiss to Lena's forehead, where the warmth of it lingers for long seconds, a balm for her worried mind. Lena watches their reflection in the bank of windows along the back of her office, watches Kara watching her, an inscrutable expression on her face. The two of them appear almost celestial, illuminated in reflection against the stars and the city sky.

Our city. Home.

The silence lasts until the first yawn escapes Lena's lips.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"This feels like a trick question," Lena answers drowsily, eyeing Kara with mock suspicion.

"Lena!" Kara exclaims, gently poking her in the ribs.

"It's been a hard week!" Lena cuddles impossibly closer into Kara's side, and Kara squeezes her tightly.

"Yeah. It really has been. Let's get you home."

Their fingers intertwined, Kara leads a sleepy Lena through the darkened corridors of L-Corp and out through the front door, where Daniel waits for them at the curb. As they near, he exits the car and holds the back door open, greeting them as they climb in. "Ms. Luthor. Ms. Danvers."

"Hi Daniel," Kara smiles.

Rather than go around to the other side, Lena simply tugs on Kara's hand, and Kara follows in, taking up the window seat while Lena unabashedly snuggles into her other side. There's a split second in which Kara is embarrassed to be so close with someone nearby, but Daniel is ever the consummate professional, and he keeps his eyes on the road ahead as he chauffeurs them through the darkened city to Lena's apartment building, allowing them their privacy. Not that Lena noticed. Her limbs went heavy less than a minute after they started the drive.

Once parked at the curb outside of the apartment, Daniel alights, quickly opening Kara's door. Kara steps onto the sidewalk while Lena practically oozes out of the car, but Kara is quick to offer her an arm of support.

"Do you need assistance helping Ms. Luthor to-"

"I can manage." Kara smiles before adding, "Thank you, Daniel."

Lena walks as if in a dream, vaguely aware of the overly bright lights of the elevator, followed by the low, warm lighting of her own entryway. She knows she's home.

As they walk in, Lena shucks her jacket first, followed by her shoes, each item a breadcrumb in a trail leading from the front door towards her bedroom. When they reach the bedroom, Kara hesitates beside her instead of following.

"I'm just...I'm going to go get you some water." Lena doesn't want to let her go, but with a squeeze, Kara backs away all the same.

Kara is familiar enough with the kitchen to accomplish her task, but when she comes back to the bedroom a minute or two later, talking the whole way about her own nighttime routine, filling the silence throughout the house, she suddenly cuts off mid-sentence.

Lena is passed out atop the covers, her feet still hanging comically over the end of the bed. After pausing to impress the scene upon her memory, Kara pads over to the bed, lifting a sleeping Lena with ease while pulling back the covers enough to place her inside. Once settled, she strokes the hair out of Lena's face, and Lena lets loose a small moan of contentment at the touch. As Kara moves to pull away, to leave Lena to her rest, Lena, eyes still closed, reaches out to search for her girlfriend's now missing warmth.

Never one to disappoint, Kara kisses the searching hand, and softly, so softly, occupies the space behind Lena, leaving soft kisses on Lena's cheek while holding Lena's hand in her own. Unsure where the idea came from, Kara quietly begins to sing a lullaby from her own childhood, one that has brought her comfort her entire life. Beside her, Lena sighs contentedly, her breaths coming slowly, evenly.

Leaving the water on the table, Kara returns to the entryway to pick up the trail of clothes, putting them away as best she can, as quietly as she can, before leaving for home.

---

When the incessant rays of the morning sun find Lena's peaceful form under the covers in her bedroom, her body slowly begins to rouse. Eyes still closed, she reaches behind her, a phantom memory of Kara, here with her, and she pushes back, searching for the warmth she remembers. But her hands grasp at empty air, and the sheets are cold at her back. Rolling over, her eyes finally opening, she finds an empty room.

A glass of water sits untouched at the corner of her bedside table, along with a note. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Lena reaches for both.

I wish I could have stayed the night with you, holding you while you slept. Everything feels right when I hold you. I don't have the words to explain it.

Be safe today and know that I'm thinking of you always.

Yours,

Kara

P.S. Breakfast is waiting for you in the fridge.