Chapter 13
Lena sinks into the plush leather of her private jet's seat, though comfort feels like a foreign concept, hollow against the rush of thoughts and lingering warmth from Kara's kiss. The plane hums above the Atlantic, carrying her back to the island—her refuge, her supposed sanctuary from the fragments of her past life. She once believed that the solitude of her hidden paradise could numb the ache Kara left in her chest. Yet, even in the delicate hush of dawns and the rhythmic lull of waves, Kara lingered, an unspoken presence woven into each sunrise, each sigh of the sea breeze.
She remembers those first mornings, a ritual of waking to emptiness stretching across the bed beside her. The open windows let in the ocean air, gentle yet sharp against her skin, carrying not the relief she'd sought but reminders she couldn't seem to shed. Hours passed in silence, her gaze lost in the endless blue, as if the horizon might somehow absorb her scattered thoughts. What once felt like peace had become a vivid, unrelenting reminder of absence.
Leaving Jack behind weighed on her, an ache settling deeper than the sand slipping through her fingers each evening. Had she been too rash, too brutal in severing their lives so suddenly? The echo of Kara's kiss, bittersweet and raw, haunted her with the urgency of choices left unmade. Was this departure truly about seeking clarity, or was she simply fleeing from one void to another, unwilling to confront the emptiness lurking beneath the surface?
Jack had offered a kind of solidity, a calm anchor after the tempest that was Kara. Yet, in the measured cadence of life with him, she'd found herself drifting, his gentle presence a quiet current when she craved the wild, consuming depths. No part of Jack's steadiness had ever come close to replacing the spark Kara ignited in her, a fire she'd never managed to extinguish, no matter how many nights she spent in borrowed beds or buried in her work.
The environmental projects, the coral reefs she labored to revive, were her refuge of sorts—a vessel for her restless energy, a semblance of purpose. But even pride in her work fell short of filling the hollow spaces. In the stillness of her office, in the long hours poured over plans and projections, her thoughts drifted to Kara. Was she faring any better? Or had she, too, been marked by the shadows they had left in each other's lives?
As the jet touches down, the island's silhouette rises to greet her, familiar yet altered. She steps onto the tarmac, breathing in air thick with the scent of salt and memories. The recent glimpse of Kara had undone the careful barriers she'd erected, left her with the bittersweet fragrance of a past she could neither discard nor embrace fully. And in that gentle assault of longing, she feels her sanctuary slipping, its calm tainted by the unyielding question of what might still linger between them.
In the weeks that follow, Lena immerses herself in her familiar routine, hoping the steady rhythm of her work and the island's gentle cadence might quiet her mind. She spends her mornings leading environmental initiatives, her afternoons swimming through the crystalline waters that stretch before her villa, her limbs moving in the cool depths in a silent prayer for release. But no matter how she tries, fragments of her encounter with Kara drift back, unbidden, like a tide she cannot hold back. The memory of that kiss lingers, vivid against the muted palette of her days, a warmth she tries to ignore but can't quite erase.
It's in the stillness of night, as she lies in bed, that her defenses fall apart. Hours pass as she stares at the ceiling, haunted by echoes of Kara's laughter, the way her eyes narrowed in concentration, that softness of her touch. Lena thought she'd left all of this behind, believed she could carve out a new chapter with Jack and finally move forward. But Kara has woven herself so deeply into Lena's story that even now, she's as present as the air filling her lungs. That single kiss had brought it all back, raw and undeniable, exposing the love she'd spent years burying.
Rest becomes a luxury she can't grasp. The weight of sleepless nights creeps into her days, her mind fogged and wandering, unable to settle. A colleague, Sarah—whose sharp eye catches everything—notes Jack's absence, Lena's weariness. One afternoon, she gently asks, "Lena, you've seemed so far away lately. Is something wrong?" Lena manages a smile that feels like glass. "I'm fine, Sarah. Just a lot going on." But she knows that answer is thin, a placeholder for the truth. Deep down, Lena feels the pull of that unresolved chapter with Kara—a tether that won't snap, even as everything else unravels. She knows these choices looming ahead will alter everything, each path branching with uncertain promise.
Sarah's concerned look lingers in Lena's mind long after the conversation fades. She feels the island closing in, its once-comforting solitude now heavy, the echo of her own footsteps inescapable. She knows she cannot keep pretending this is enough, that running from her emotions will ever lead her to peace.
As the evening settles, casting the sky in soft hues of gold and rose, Lena wanders down to the beach. She walks along the shore, feeling the sand cool beneath her feet, the gentle lull of waves brushing against her senses. She settles onto a large, timeworn rock, eyes tracing the distant horizon where sky meets sea. For a moment, the salty air fills her lungs, and the weight pressing on her heart eases. A quiet thought stirs within her: maybe it's time to stop running from what she feels for Kara. She doesn't need to act on it, but perhaps she can let it exist, to release the grip denial has on her soul. She knows it's time to make peace with what will never be, to let herself feel rather than flee.
Later, back in the quiet of her villa, Lena sits at her desk, pen poised above an empty sheet of paper. She writes to Kara, each word a gentle exhale, a release she knows will be unspoken. She tells Kara of her love, her uncertainties, the years of aching silence, and the hollow attempt at new beginnings with Jack. Each line spills forward, slow and deliberate, until it becomes something honest, unvarnished. By the end, she's emptied herself onto the page, every unspoken word and fractured dream finding a place at last.
With careful hands, Lena seals the letter, walks down to the water's edge under the quiet watch of the moon. She sits, cradling the envelope, tears spilling freely as she bids farewell to the hopes she once held so close. She touches the letter to the flame, watching as the fire eats away at the paper's edges, a final act of release. As it drifts out to sea, carried by the night tide, Lena breathes deeply, feeling the weight lifting, piece by piece. She walks back to her villa lighter, the first hint of calm settling over her, as though in letting go, she's made space at last for peace.
Meanwhile, in National City, Kara feels the weight of emotions she'd thought long buried pressing against her ribs, tight and unyielding. The kiss at the gala had stirred something deeper than desire—it was the reminder of a love she'd tried, in vain, to suppress. It clung to her, raw and relentless, a reminder that no amount of distance or time could unravel what she felt for Lena. But how to approach her without undoing them both? How to reach someone who had disappeared so completely?
Sitting at her desk in CatCo, Kara stares blankly at her computer screen. Despite her efforts to immerse herself in her work, she feels like a hollow shell going through the motions. She's supposed to be writing a major exposé on the social injustices tied to pollution in underprivileged neighborhoods—a piece that, under any other circumstance, would ignite her with purpose. But since the gala, her thoughts are fogged, fractured, drawn back to Lena and the kiss that had unleashed emotions she'd spent years bottling away. Questions flood her mind in a relentless tide. Was Lena thinking of her, too? Did she regret walking away?
Over a year had passed since Kara's release from rehab, but the urge to reach for that bottle of red kryptonite remains, a shadow lurking at the edge of her resolve. There's a dark comfort in its memory, a reminder of how it once dulled her pain. But she holds back, fueled by the indelible image of Lena's gaze, broken and tired, after her last relapse. The craving is a constant hum, a low beat she knows she'll live with forever. But she's stronger now, or at least trying to be, refusing to return to that place of lost control.
Kara's journey through withdrawal had been more brutal than anything she'd ever faced. It wasn't just the physical toll—the tremors, the nausea, the visceral ache. It was the emptiness that crept in afterward, the hollowness that gnawed at her spirit. The loss of Lena nearly shattered her, left her grappling with a despair she could barely contain. But even in her darkest moments, Lena's voice would surface, soft yet unyielding: "You're stronger than you think, Kara. You can overcome this." Those words had become her mantra, a fragile thread she held onto. Lena had stood beside her when no one else could, had fought for her, even when Kara could barely fight for herself—until the day Kara's own demons had driven her away.
As Supergirl, there's no room to pause. National City pulls at her constantly, the relentless demands of the city her only reprieve from the chaos inside. Last-minute rescues, earthquakes, fires—each mission is a temporary balm, the physical strain pushing her demons to the background. But she knows it's only a matter of time before her emotions resurface, undeterred and unforgiving.
She recalls a day when she had battled the flames engulfing an apartment building. The gratitude of the residents lingered with her, a small light in the endless dark. But later that night, alone in her apartment, the silence pressed in, and Lena's absence became a tangible ache. No act of heroism, no amount of lives saved, could quiet the ghost of that love.
Since the gala, Kara's restlessness has taken her across continents in the dead of night, flying silently through the sky, listening—searching for Lena's heartbeat in the quiet spaces of the world. But each journey ends in silence, a reminder that Lena remains just out of reach. Weeks pass, nights blend together, and still, Lena's heartbeat eludes her.
Kara finds herself seeking Alex's company more often now, retreating to her sister's apartment, where quiet understanding is her sanctuary. Alex, her unwavering anchor, doesn't pry, but her presence grounds Kara, offering a brief respite from the storm of feelings that linger. "You need to let Lena go," Alex urges, her voice gentle yet firm, a familiar refrain. "You can't keep chasing a memory, Kara." She knows Alex is right, logically. But in her heart, letting go of Lena feels as impossible as pulling the stars from the sky.
Still, Kara tries. She dives into her work, Supergirl missions, and assignments at CatCo, hoping the physical and mental exertion might finally ease her mind. For a while, it works—the rhythm of saving lives, filing reports, and filling silent spaces with action is a balm to the ache. But then the invitation to the green energy conference arrives, piercing her carefully built resolve. A major international event like this is crucial for her work, and Cat Grant insists she cover it, knowing Kara's voice can give it the reach it deserves.
But beneath the sense of duty, a quiet fear lingers. She reviews the attendee list, relieved not to see Lena's name—but Lena has made surprise appearances before, especially at events like this. The thought of encountering her stirs something deep, a reminder of the reunion that had reignited her heart only to leave it burning alone. And yet, duty calls, and despite the dread pooling in her chest, she knows she has to be there.
On the other side of the world, Lena boards her private jet with a sigh, the weight of resignation pressing down on her. She'd planned to avoid this conference, letting Sarah attend in her place, but a sudden illness had kept Sarah grounded, leaving Lena with no choice. As the plane hums through the night sky, Lena takes a steadying breath, willing her mind to settle. The past few weeks had brought an unexpected calm—a gentleness she hadn't known in years, her mind clearer, her body quietly insisting on a slower, more deliberate pace. She'd begun to feel as though her sharpest memories were finally softening, her thoughts smoothing over. Being drawn back into the emotional chaos she had worked so hard to quiet was the last thing she needed.
Yet, as she steps into the conference hall the next morning, she can feel the tension—an atmosphere thick with something unspoken. Across the crowded space, Kara moves with practiced vigilance, her gaze sweeping over unfamiliar faces, every sense on high alert. She should be focused on potential dangers, and yet, her eyes keep straying, unbidden, searching for Lena. She remembers all too well the way Lena once commanded spaces like this with calm resolve, each word a quiet force. Lena could handle herself, but worry tugs at Kara's thoughts. If Lena is here, what if she's caught in something beyond her control?
Lena, standing among a small group of delegates, finds her thoughts drifting, an unease prickling beneath the surface. She tries to brush it off as nerves, a byproduct of long nights and too many quiet mornings. But the feeling lingers, creeping along the edges of her awareness.
Then, suddenly, an alarm shatters the calm. The echo of an evacuation order ripples through the hall. Kara's instincts flare, narrowing her focus as she guides people toward the exits, eyes scanning each movement—until she sees her. Lena, caught in the fray, shadowed by a figure whose intent seems anything but innocent. Without hesitation, Kara steps into her role as Supergirl, her only thought to keep Lena safe.
But the attacker is ready. A weapon appears in his hand, its green glow unmistakable. Kryptonite. Kara feels the radiation the moment it hits her, the debilitating pulse weakening her movements, robbing her of her strength. But the sight of Lena in harm's way drives her forward. She dodges as best she can, barely managing to evade his attacks, until one blast strikes her shoulder, sending her reeling. Pain sears through her, blinding and fierce, but she grits her teeth, grabbing a table to shield herself from further hits. Weakness claws at her, but she inches closer, closing the distance despite the weight pulling her down.
With a final burst of strength, Kara strikes, shattering the weapon. Yet the attacker isn't finished. He draws a kryptonite blade, its edge gleaming with lethal intent. As he lunges, Kara deflects his hand, but not before the blade slices across her temple, a line of red seeping down her face. Her vision blurs, strength draining as the knife remains lodged, but she pushes through, landing a final blow that sends him crumpling to the floor. Moments later, her own body gives out, her legs folding beneath her as she collapses.
Lena, frozen until now, springs into action, rushing to Kara's side, her hands steady as she gently removes the knife and hurls it far away. She kneels beside Kara, her hand pressing against the bleeding wound, voice trembling. "Kara, stay with me," she whispers, her tone a soft command. "Please… you're stronger than this."
Kara manages a faint smile, but the pain is blinding. Lena doesn't move, her hand firm against the wound, her other hand slipping into Kara's, a lifeline between them. They stay that way until the DEO team arrives, medics taking over, but Lena's grip never loosens. Even as they lift Kara onto a stretcher, she remains by her side, murmuring quiet words of comfort, though her own hands tremble.
At the DEO, Alex's hands move with practiced ease, cleaning and stitching Kara's wound. Lena stands on the other side of the glass, her gaze unyielding, tracing every movement as if tethered by the fragile thread of hope Alex's work represents. When Alex finally steps out, her expression softens as she meets Lena's eyes. "She's going to be okay," Alex says quietly, her voice a balm against the antiseptic silence. "The wound was deep, and she lost a lot of blood, but it's not life-threatening. She just needs time."
Relief stirs through Lena, though it settles alongside an ache she can't ignore. She steps into the room, almost hesitantly, and sinks into the chair beside Kara, watching the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing—a fragile comfort she didn't realize she'd needed. Kara's calmness brings a familiar warmth, though it's layered now with a rawness she had pushed away for months.
Alex steps beside her, arms crossed loosely, her stance both protective and searching. "Why are you here, Lena?" Her voice is soft, with no accusation, only a quiet question weighted by the pain she's seen her sister carry. It's as if Alex already knows part of the answer but waits for Lena to offer it, her gaze flickering down, catching on Lena's form with a faint pause before returning to her face.
Lena's fingers trace her own hands, an old habit of self-composure. "I didn't know she'd be here," she murmurs. "I didn't expect… any of this."
Alex studies her, the slightest flicker in her gaze betraying a new understanding. "She's been clean for over a year now," she says, the words gentle but edged with a quiet protectiveness. Her eyes soften, lingering on Lena with something almost like recognition, as if seeing something Lena herself isn't ready to acknowledge. "If that's what you were wondering."
The weight of Alex's words presses against Lena, settling deep in her chest. She nods, feeling the space between them fill with all the things they aren't saying. Alex's expression shifts, a gentleness overtaking her usual fierce protectiveness, as if silently acknowledging what Lena is carrying with her now.
"Kara fought for this," Alex murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper. "She fought for herself, Lena, every single day. And I was there for each one of those days." Her gaze holds Lena's, at once a shield and a plea. "So if this is just a moment, if you don't plan on staying… please, don't break her heart again."
A tear slips down Lena's cheek, then another, silent and unchecked. "You're right," she whispers, her voice as fragile as the ache between them. Alex hesitates, her gaze softening, flicking once more over Lena with a depth of understanding neither puts to words. She places a gentle hand on Lena's shoulder, the touch imbued with quiet strength, a tenderness that speaks volumes. Offering a small, bittersweet smile, Alex steps back, leaving Lena in the silence.
Once alone, Lena leans close, fingers brushing the edge of Kara's bandage with a gentleness she can barely contain. She presses a tender kiss to Kara's forehead, letting it linger, a final tether to all she's letting go. "Goodbye, Kara," she breathes, the words a delicate tremor, drifting through the quiet room as she pulls back, a farewell as heavy as it is inevitable.
By the time Kara's eyes flutter open hours later, Lena's jet is already high above the clouds, carrying her back to the distance she knows she must keep, not only for herself.