A/N: Truthfully, after hearing about what transpired at Comic Con, I didn't think I could muster up the motivation to write for awhile. But for reasons I will explain in the notes at the end of the chapter I decided to keep writing. I can't emphasize enough how much I enjoy Supercorp, and while I understand and agree with some fans' reasoning, it'll be sad to see a portion of the fans leave the fandom.
So without further ado, here is chapter 2. Make sure to stick around for the end of chapter notes. Thank you all. -WR
Alex walks into the guest bedroom, with a glass of water in her hands. The girl is seated at the edge of the bed, wearing an old college hoodie and sweatpants. They are a bit long for her, but she doesn't seem to mind. Her golden hair is no longer filled with knots thanks to a hot shower she took. There's a faint vibration in her hands as she tries to calm herself after the initial shock.
"Here's a glass of water." The girl graciously accepts the offering. When her fingers close around the cup, the glass shatters in her hands. Its contents spill on the floor.
"Oh god. I'm, I'm so sorry." She stands and frantically searches the room. "I'll get a towel or something—" The redhead lays a hand on the girl's shoulder, leading her back on the bed.
"No, stay here. I got it." Alex reassures her. She looks over her guest's hands, forehead creased in worry. "Are your hands okay? No cuts or anything?"
"I don't think so."
"Okay, I'll be right back." Alex returns with a towel and a broom. The girl insists that she help clean up the mess, but she refuses the help. When the mess is cleaned up, she comes back with another cup of water. This time, the cup is plastic. The girl is extra careful to not break this one, even if she couldn't.
Alex takes a seat right besides the girl.
"So…" She starts. "Do you remember anything? Any thing at all?"
"No. I can't—I can't remember who I am, or where I was born, or who my parents are, or how I ended up in the water, or, or," She stammers. Her eyes were close to spilling tears again. Alex reaches out and wraps her in a tight hug. The girl lets out a sob, which leads Alex to rub circles on her back for comfort.
"It'll come back. Take as much time you need."
The girl's trembling fingers grip the back of Alex's shirt, and she can feel some strands stretching and breaking off. When they part, the tears have mostly subsided except for some sniffles here and there. They sit in silence comfortably, just content to have each other's presence. Alex then remembers the odd capsule that she had found earlier embedded in the girl's hip and digs it out of her pocket.
"I almost forgot." Alex holds it out in front of her and the girl eyes it curiously. "I found this under your skin while I was patching you up." The girl takes the capsule and rolls it between her fingers, inspecting it carefully.
"Under my skin?"
"Yeah, it was implanted in you or something." Then, without warning, the capsule begins to emit laser powered light. Projected on to the wall, it reads: NATIONAL CITY BANK 000-7-17-12-0-14-26.
"That must be a bank account number." Alex notes, eyes fixated on the wall. "Why would that be in your hip?" She wonders aloud, knowing that even if the girl knows, she most likely doesn't remember. They are both taken out of their thoughts when the girl's stomach growls like a lawn mower. Alex lets out a laugh, her nose crinkling. The girl can only stare at her feet in embarrassment.
"Hungry?" She nods. "Come on, I'll make you some pancakes." Her eyes light up at the mention of food.
The next day, Alex drives for three hours to National City with the girl in the passenger's seat. They leave later in the morning after Eliza runs some MRI and CT scans, off the record of course. She had no identification and no health insurance to speak of, and given the situation, it seemed imperative that the girl had some scans done just to be sure of her health. Surely, two quick scans at dawn wouldn't hurt anybody.
It turns out, the girl's in perfect health.
"Incredible," Eliza breathes out; her eyes trained on the monitors, the CT scan on one screen and the MRI on the other. "She fell from the sky and nothing. She's practically the healthiest twenty-something I've ever seen in my life. Well, except for the bullet wounds."
They leave for National City soon after. Right after the girl inhales another batch of pancakes because she is starving again and, "oh my god, Alex, you make the best pancakes."
"Do you remember past pancakes you've had?"
"Um…no." She pauses mid bite with a forkful in hand. "But I'm like 99% positive that these are the best I've eaten even if I could remember." Alex pours another batch on to the frying pan, a smirk on her face.
After her second breakfast, the girl is eager to climb into Alex's beat up Subaru. She nods her head to the beat of the music that plays from the radio and even picks up on the lyrics to some of the songs that repeat. Alex had never noticed how often radio stations replay popular songs until she hears the girl belting out song after song after the first hour. She seems to be a big fan of I Feel It Coming, even doing a little dance when the chorus hits. Normally, Alex would be annoyed by the distractions while she's driving, but for some reason, she can't help but smile and occasionally sing along with her.
Alex pulls into the parking lot across the street from National City Bank. Once she puts the car in park, she turns towards the girl.
"Okay, the bank is just across the street from us. Do you want me to come with or do you want to go alone?"
"I think I'll go alone. Thanks for the offer, though."
"No problem, kid. I'll be right here when you're done."
It's half past noon when the girl towards the bank. The street is fairly busy with pedestrians and drivers alike rushing for their lunch breaks.
It's loud. Louder than she expected.
The incessant honking from some of the cars, businessmen and women talking frantically into their phones, trying to schedule a last minute meeting or meet a project deadline. Dozens, if not hundreds, of pairs of shoes clicking in their own respective rhythms. The distant wail of sirens and screeching of tires blocks away. Leaves bristling in the light summer breeze.
It's all too much.
She can't focus on one particular sound. Her brain is moving too fast to register each individual sound separately. They're all distinct, and the girl can recognize them as such, but at this point, they all just melding into a constant drone. Her world spins a turn, and her axis tilts ever so slightly. She looks back at the car and sees Alex frowning, probably debating if she should go help her or not. The girl flashes a bright smile and gives her a thumbs up. She faces the street once again and takes a deep breath. Just block it out. You'll be indoors in a few seconds.
She waits for the light to turn and starts walking, each step more confident than the last. Within a couple of seconds, she's at the doors of the bank. She steps inside, letting the sense of overwhelming relief wash over her as the cool air hits her face.
The bank lobby is expansive, with marble flooring and massive Doric columns spaced throughout. Before she understands what's she's doing, the girl makes note of the seven security guards that are on duty: two by the glass automatic doors next to the bank tellers, two by the entrance which she just passed through, one on each side of the stairs in the northeast corner of the lobby, and one stationed right outside the elevator. Each of them is equipped with a standard issue walkie-talkie and Smith and Wesson M&P 9s. There are four tellers window currently open, but the fifth window will soon reopen once the teller who left glazed donut crumbs on his desk finishes washing his hands in the men's bathroom. Once she is situated at the center of the lobby, it'll take her approximately five seconds to reach the nearest exit and an extra seven seconds if she needs to disarm a guard. However, from the center of the lobby, the nearest guard, with his build and presumed weight will be running about 4.3 miles per hour slower than her maximum speed that she can reach in four strides from a dead stop. Accounting for the extra 0.7 seconds that the security guard needs to assess and react to the situation, there is a good chance that she could make it out untouched, if she needed to. But why would she? This is just an ordinary stop at a bank right? And how the heck did she just think of all that? And why?
Surprisingly, there are no lines at this time of day. So, she heads over to the near teller window without much trouble.
"Welcome to National City Bank. How can I help you?"
"Uh yes. I have an account here? I'd like to access it."
"Of course. And what is the account number?"
"0007171201426." She doesn't miss a beat.
"Thank you, right this way, ma'am." The teller stands and leads her through the automatic glass doors. The girl nods nervously at the guards nearby in acknowledgement. They reach an elevator, and they travel up to the third floor. She steps out of the elevator and takes a few more steps but is stopped by a balding man in a grey suit. The girl looks to him in confusion. The man gestures to a screen to his left.
"Your hand, please."
"Oh, right. Of course." She places her hand on the screen and the device scans her fingertips and palm for prints. After what seems like an eternity, the security system lets her through, having identified her as a registered client of the bank.
She is then led to a small, almost cramped space concealed by a red certain. A few moments later, and the teller hands her a metal case, wordlessly. And she walks away, leaving the girl to herself. She closes the curtain, yanking it twice more for assurance of her privacy. Her hands hover above the case, unsure of what she'll find in there. Well, time to find out.
She unlocks the latches and the top cover flips open, revealing an assortment of items: several daily use contact lenses, a small flashlight, an American Express Centurion card, a watch which seems to have run out of battery, a couple of pens, and most importantly, a passport. An American passport.
"Okay, so I am American. That's nice to know." She mutters under her breath. She scans through the pages, looking for her personal information. When she reaches the page, she is faced with a headshot of herself staring back with a blank expression.
Surname: Bourne
Given names: Kara
She takes a moment to sit down, processing the information she just received. My name is Kara. That's a start. There's a pink slip of paper peeking out on the edges of the passport, stashed in one of the later pages. It's an identification paper, written in French.
Domicile: 104 Rue du Jardin 75005 Paris
"And I live in Paris?" She wonders aloud, folding the paper back up and placing both the passport and identification paper back in the case. As her fingers touch the felt lining inside, she notices that there is another compartment below. The tray lifts easily enough and the contents inside make her pause. Her breath catches in her throat.
Underneath the tray, she finds several passports of different nationalities, stacks of bills in euros, pesos, dollars, francs, yen, and pounds, and on top of it all, a pistol. A Sig Sauer P226, by the looks of it. Kara searches through the passports to realize that they're all hers with the same picture as the one in her American passport but with different names. In addition to Kara Bourne, she is also a Sofia Guarneri from Italy, a Valentina Torres from Argentina, and an Alisa Fedorov from Russia, among others. There is even another placeholder card for another American passport that belongs to a Catherine Kane. She looks around, unsure if she had dropped it, but the passport belonging to Catherine Kane is nowhere to be found.
Why do I have all of these passports? And a gun? And these stacks of bills… Just who the hell am I?
She makes a snap decision and grabs the complimentary bag from under the table. She stuffs the passports in along with the cash. There isn't much organization as she just mainly dumps all of her belongings into the red bag. The last thing she packs is the gun.
With everything accounted for, she slings the bag over her shoulder and heads out, climbing back into the elevator. As the doors close, she notices one of the attendants staring at her intensely. His gaze is unwavering, and it sends chills down Kara's spine. In the split second before the doors close for good, she barely catches the man reach for his earpiece. With the noise of the elevator, she doesn't pick up on what he says.
"Asset located at National City Bank. Treadstone priority one. Visual confirmation on Kara Bourne."
A/N: Including the comments from some of the cast members of Supergirl I found their Comic Con presentation to be incredibly disappointing. I have to admit, it was very upsetting, knowing the impact those comments could have on LGBT folks even though I only consider myself as a mere ally. It was disheartening to say the least. So much so that I considered quitting writing fics all together. But then I remembered why I write these stories. I write them for myself. And if at the end of the day, if I'm proud of my work and enjoying myself, then I shouldn't let those comment deter me from doing what I like.
On a related note, I was very underwhelmed by the season 3 trailer and noticed that it didn't seem very... Supergirl. Personally, I relate to Kara a lot, so the character as a very special place in my heart. And to see her story arc get muddled like that and steer away from what makes Kara so great didn't sit well with me. It's almost as if the writers missed out on the core of who Kara is as a character.
So, I've decided to write a series of connected one-shots that will allow me to really explore Kara's storyline and who she is. I have a tumblr that you can submit prompts to: .com
I'm very excited for this project and hope you are too. Also, last thing (I promise!), is that I also have a Harry Potter OC fic if you're into that. Would mean a lot if you checked it out. You guys mean the world to me. Thanks for reading. -WR