Chapter 5
As if the hands of fate themselves orchestrate the scene, the window pane explodes into a cacophony of crystalline shards, each fragment catching the light as Kara, in a sudden, graceless fall, crashes through. She lands amidst the glittering debris, her limbs contorted awkwardly beneath her. The sensation of the cold, hard floor against her skin is overshadowed by an internal tempest: waves of nausea and dizzying vertigo make the room spin menacingly. Her entire being feels aflame, the searing heat enveloping her like a torturous embrace, while her skull throbs with the ferocity of a sledgehammer's blow. The world is unbearably loud, unbearably bright. Gasping for breath, she murmurs a desperate, "Oh God..."
Kara's senses are ensnared by the harsh sting of dust and the metallic tang of blood mingling in the air. The sharp, acrid smell of her own fear mingles with the faint, familiar scent of Lena's lavender perfume, lingering on her skin—a cruel reminder of the sanctuary she has abandoned. Each breath is a battle, each heartbeat a drum of war in her chest.
Meanwhile, Alex Danvers, driven by a concoction of concern and ire, storms toward Kara's apartment. "Kara? Kara? I know you're in there! Open that damn door!"
Her frustration palpable, she sifts through her bag with determined hands, finally clasping the cold metal of the spare key. Her sister's erratic behavior, the ludicrous excuses that have recently piled up, they all come to a head now. Alex is seething, her mind replaying the unsettling incident involving Cat Grant. It has been a long, frantic night of ceaseless searching, her phone's call log a testament to her desperation.
"Kara, I swear to God, if you…" Her words catch in her throat. Upon forcefully unlocking the door, the stark contrast between the expected and the reality leaves Alex momentarily speechless. The apartment, normally a sanctuary bathed in light, is now a dark, chaotic void, punctuated by the merciless invasion of a cold wind that howls mournfully through the shattered window. The sight of Kara, lifeless and sprawled in her black bodysuit among a sea of glass, is so jarring, so heartbreakingly fragile, it cuts deeper than the physical shards littering the floor.
Rushing to Kara's side, Alex's trained eyes take in every detail—the pallor of her skin, the sweat that dots her brow like morning dew, her limbs, unnaturally twisted in silent agony. The room is heavy with the scent of an impending storm—of loss and despair. Alex's fingers tremble as she checks Kara's pulse, rapid and weak under her fingertips. She can almost hear the frantic drum of Kara's heart, fighting against the shadows that threaten to engulf her. Frantically, she pulls out her phone. "J'onn! Quickly! You need to come to Kara's apartment. I've finally found her!"
In this moment, the sheer magnitude of Kara's plight and Alex's desperate attempt to save her sister from the precipice stitch a poignant tapestry of fear, love, and urgency, woven with the threads of their unbreakable bond.
xxx
Alex paces the sterile confines of the hospital room, her movements painting a stark contrast to the silent stillness that surrounds Kara's bed. Beneath the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, a torrent of guilt and regret washes over her. How had she not noticed the missing vials of red kryptonite, now confirmed to have been used nefariously? And how had she allowed herself to become so wrapped up in her blissful moments with Maggie that she failed to see Kara spiraling into a desperate addiction?
In these moments of fleeting happiness with Maggie, she had let her usual vigilance slip—missed game nights, less frequent calls and visits to Kara—losing sight of the subtle shifts in her sister's demeanor. The guilt churns inside her as she whispers to the seemingly unconscious Kara, "I am the worst sister in the world. I'm so sorry, Kara." Lost in her remorse, she barely notices J'onn's arrival until his hand rests reassuringly on her shoulder.
"You're not to blame for this, Alex. Nobody is," J'onn's voice is a balm, yet his words struggle to seep through the thick fog of her self-reproach. As she leans into his comforting embrace, her mind circles back to urgent matters. "Have you spoken to Cat Grant?" she inquires, her voice a fragile whisper.
"Yes, she's letting the story go," J'onn confirms. The conversation shifts towards Lena Luthor and the undeniable evidence of Kara's last known whereabouts. Alex shakes her head; she hasn't reached out to Lena yet. Pulling away from J'onn, she returns to the side of Kara's bed, checking the monitors that display Kara's vital signs. "The red kryptonite is almost completely flushed from her system," she notes, a wave of relief momentarily lightening her heart.
But the gravity of the situation remains. "Alex…the withdrawal will take days. We really should restrain her with green kryptonite now, she'll wake up soon…" J'onn's reluctance is palpable in his voice, the idea of restraining Kara with kryptonite conflicting with his protective instincts.
"I know…" Alex murmurs, her fingers trembling as she activates the green lamps above Kara's bed, setting them to the minimum strength necessary to curb her powers without causing undue pain.
"Let's get some food, Alex, you've been at her side for twelve hours." J'onn's gentle urging guides her out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.
In the quiet aftermath of their departure, Kara stirs to consciousness, her body a landscape of pain and confusion. She attempts to rise, only to be overwhelmed by a crushing headache and a blinding haze that forces her back onto the bed. She covers her face, trying to shield herself from the harsh reality of the green kryptonite that fills the room with its ominous glow.
Confusion and fear swirl within her, punctuated by a deep longing for Lena—the memory of Lena's comforting embrace, the soothing scent of her sweet body lotion, the affectionate call of "honey" that once made everything seem alright. Now, more than anything, Kara wishes to return to that haven, to hold Lena until the chaos within her stills and her tormented soul finds a semblance of peace. But as she attempts to rise once more, only to collapse in agony beside the bed, the cruel realization of her current reality sinks in—she is far from the safety and comfort of Lena's arms, trapped in a battle against her own body and the haunting consequences of her past actions.
xxx
On this tranquil Sunday afternoon, Lena finds solace in the gentle embrace of the early summer sun, comfortably settled on her terrace in her cherished beach chair—a piece she had eagerly awaited since her travels through the Nordic countries. This chair, crafted from sturdy, weathered wood and wrapped in a soft, thickly woven fabric, recalls the countless evenings she spent shielded from the northern chill, book in hand, as the relentless, cold sea roared before her. Now, as it sits on her urban terrace, the chair bridges the serene, rhythmic pulse of distant oceans to the vibrant heartbeat of National City below.
Lena's reverie, accompanied by the wild rushing sounds she imagines from those days by the sea, is rich with nostalgia. The chair, a cocoon of comfort with its broad, sheltering canopy and deep, embracing cushions, holds her as she contemplates the complexities of her recent experiences. Her mind drifts to the previous evening's unsettling discoveries—Supergirl's aura tainted by a strange red sparkle, a sharp contrast to the superhero's usual gleam and even more to the person who had fallen asleep so quietly next to her. Stirring her Scotch, she sighs, her thoughts entwined with the mystery of the black suit and the chaotic, dual lives it represents.
Her introspective solitude is abruptly interrupted by the sharp ring of the doorbell. Reluctantly leaving the sanctuary of her beach chair, Lena crosses the terrace, her steps echoing slightly on the stone tiles as she enters the cool dimness of her apartment to answer the door. Expecting the simple interaction of receiving a delivery, she queries as she reaches for her wallet, "Do you have change? I don't think I pa..."
The door swings open, and Lena's words catch in her throat. There stands Kara, a stark, haunting figure, sharply contrasting with the serene environment of Lena's terrace retreat. Dressed in gray, baggy sweatpants and a tight, white long-sleeved shirt, Kara looks every bit the part of a fallen warrior. Her hands, wrapped in blood-stained gauze, hang limply at her sides. Her sneakers, grimy and scuffed, underscore the gravity of her state. She trembles uncontrollably, her sweaty hair clinging to her forehead, her eyes glassy and bloodshot, and her upper lip cruelly split.
"Kara!" Lena gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.
"Lee... please help me," Kara manages to whisper, her voice hoarse and desperate. As her eyes roll back, her strength gives way, and she begins to collapse forward. Instinctively, Lena reaches out, catching Kara in her arms, pulling her from the harsh realities of the world outside into the protective embrace of her home. The stark emergency juxtaposes sharply with the peaceful haven of the terrace, where the beach chair still sits, untouched by the chaos that has just entered.
Any thoughts on this one:-)?