The Fortress was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the faint crackling of a failed compound dissolving into useless residue. Kara barely blinked as she reset the sequence, fingers moving with rigid precision over the controls. The calculations swam before her, fragmented, incomplete.

It should have been simple. She had done this before, every Kryptonian child had. Molecular synthesis was basic science, but without the schematics, without access to the Brainiac database, the process remained frustratingly out of reach. Each attempt ended in failure. Each failure felt like another part of Krypton slipping away.

A voice broke through the stillness. "I didn't realise the Fortress had a science lab."

Kara tensed. She hadn't heard Kal-El arrive, too caught up in her work to pick up on the second heartbeat in the room. She turned just enough to see him setting something down on the counter. A container, warm to the touch, fragrant with spices she didn't recognise.

"It's a kitchen," She corrected flatly, turning back to her work.

"Brought a peace offering." His voice was careful. "Vegan, this time."

"Vee-gan?" Kara repeated the word, not bothering to look up.

Kal-El leaned against the counter, watching her carefully. "Vegan means no animal products. No meat, no dairy, nothing that comes from an animal."

Kara's fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their work. "You shouldn't need a word for it," She muttered. "That should be normal," She paused in thought for a brief moment before adding. "No, Kryptonian's eat animal products too. Milk was a delicacy. Other products too. Unfertilised eggs were a popular ingredient among the wealthy, though, we never had them."

"Vegetarian then," Kal-El nodded. Another strange human word. He turned back to the dish, gesturing to it. "It's an Indian dish. Aloo gobi. Potatoes and cauliflower cooked with spices."

She didn't respond. But she didn't ignore it either. The scent was undeniably appealing, a mix of exotic flavours she couldn't quite identify. But she had trusted Earth food once before, and the betrayal still lingered in the back of her throat. So she kept her attention on her work, ignoring the quiet gnawing of hunger in her stomach.

Kal-El didn't push. Instead, he peered over her shoulder. "What are you working on?"

Kara exhaled slowly. "Synthetic food. The kind we had on Krypton." She gestured toward the machine, frustration evident in her movements. "It's basic molecular synthesis, but I can't get the balance right. The compounds keep coming out wrong. Dense, bland, nutritionally incomplete."

As if on cue, the machine hummed and produced another result. A clump of dull green protein plopped into a dish. Kara scowled.

Kal-El picked up the sample, turning it over in his fingers. "This is amazing," He said, genuine wonder in his tone.

Kara shot him an unimpressed look. "It's defective."

He grinned. "It's food."

She crossed her arms. "It has no taste. The nutrients aren't balanced. This would be considered a wasteful defect back home."

Kal-El didn't seem deterred. Instead, he reached for the curry he'd brought and, to Kara's horror, scooped a bit of it onto the synthetic protein. He mixed them together without hesitation. "Now it has flavour."

Kara's lips parted, caught somewhere between irritation and intrigue. Kal-El held the dish out to her expectantly.

She hesitated.

Her last experience with Earth food still lingered, an uneasy weight in her stomach. But this smelled different. No hidden horrors, no unspoken taboos. Just warmth and spices. Curling in the air, thick and inviting.

Curiosity won out.

Slowly, she picked up a piece, bringing it to her mouth. The texture was soft but structured, unlike the precise uniformity of Kryptonian meals. She chewed, her brow furrowing as the flavours bloomed on her tongue. It was layered in a way she didn't recognise. The synthetic protein soaked up the curry's flavour, making it richer, more palatable. But it was still wrong.

She swallowed, licking the remnants from her lips before shaking her head. "The balance is off."

Kal-El paused mid-bite. "What?"

"The nutrients. The structure." Kara gestured vaguely to the dish. "It's not bad, but it isn't right."

He chewed thoughtfully before shrugging. "Tastes fine to me."

A scoff left her lips. "Of course it does. You grew up eating food designed to be pleasurable instead of efficient."

His eyebrow lifted. "So you do like it?"

Rolling her eyes, she took another bite. "It's… acceptable."

A small smile played on his lips as he set his portion down, gaze drifting to the scattered remnants of her failed experiments. "You know, the fact that you're even doing this is incredible. Creating food from nothing-"

Her posture stiffened. "It's not from nothing."

His chewing slowed at the sudden bite in her tone.

"You can't create something from nothing, Kal-El." A flick of her wrist indicated the machine at her side, irritation lacing her words. "The star forge is powering the process. It provides the necessary atomic energy to restructure base materials into organic compounds."

His brows lifted. "The Fortress has a star forge?"

Arms crossed, she huffed. "Of course it does."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "I didn't know that."

She tilted her head, unimpressed. "How do you think it maintains itself?"

Glancing around, he took in the familiar walls of the Fortress as if seeing them for the first time. His sanctuary, built on the legacy of a world he barely understood. Sheepish realisation softened his features. "I guess I never really looked into the how."

A muttered comment about Earth-raised Kryptonians and their lack of scientific curiosity barely reached his super ears.

His grin widened as he took another bite.

Kara studied him for a moment before turning back to her food. It still wasn't right. But maybe, just maybe, it wasn't wrong either.

For now, that was enough.

The warmth of the meal still lingered on Kara's tongue, but it did little to soften the knot in her chest. She pushed the empty dish aside, her fingers tracing idle patterns against the smooth Kryptonian alloy of the table. Across from her, Kal-El sat quietly, his usual unwavering confidence subdued.

"I'm sorry," He said at last. His voice measured but sincere. "About dinner the other night. I should have asked… I should have thought about how different this would be for you." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just wanted to share something good with you. A piece of Earth that made me feel connected."

Kara inhaled sharply through her nose. Anger still sat heavy inside her, but it was no longer the blinding kind.

"You didn't think," She agreed, a quiet bitterness to the words. "But…" She added, hesitating in thought. "Neither did I…" Her fingers curled against the table. "I let my emotions control me."

Kal-El tilted his head, listening, patient.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I could have handled it better."

It wasn't easy to say. It didn't erase the revulsion she had felt, the overwhelming sense of betrayal at realising what she had eaten. But some of the heat had faded, leaving room for something more complicated.

Kal-El's hand hovered just above hers, a silent offering of comfort. His expression was steady, open. Free of judgement.

"You never have to compromise who you are," He said, squeezing her gently. "Your beliefs, your values. They are not just important, they are intrinsic to you. I would never ask you to abandon them just to fit in." A small, wry smile ghosted across his lips. "I know what it means to stand between two worlds. I don't want you to feel as though you must choose one over the other."

Kara exhaled slowly, the lingering tension in her shoulders easing.

"I should have expected it," She admitted. "Humans consuming animals… It is not as if I was unaware. I simply never considered it on a personal level until it was placed before me." Her brows knit together. "I still find it abhorrent. I will never partake in it again. The very idea of slaughtering another creature for sustenance is…" She paused, pressing her lips together. "It's tragic."

Kal-El nodded but remained silent, giving her space to speak.

"That said," She continued, her voice quieter but no less resolute, "I will not judge them by the standards of Krypton. Our ancestors were no different. Once, long ago, we too took life to sustain our own." Her fingers tapped lightly against the alloy table. "I may never accept it, but I cannot condemn an entire people for walking a path we once did."

A quiet understanding passed between them.

Then Kal-El tilted his head, a familiar warmth returning to his voice. "So… do you still consider them barbarians?"

A quiet breath left Kara's nose, unimpressed. "No," She said, tone dry. Then, after a brief pause, the corners of her lips lifted ever so slightly. "They are not barbarians. Just… primitive."

A chuckle rumbled from Kal-El's chest as he shook his head. "I suppose I can live with that."

She studied him then, truly seeing him. He was not Kryptonian in the way she was. Never raised beneath Rao's light, never spoken their language from birth, never shaped by the same traditions.

Leaning forward, Kal-El rested his arms on the table. "Come back to the farm with me."

Tension crept into her shoulders, but before she could refuse, he pressed on.

"My parents want to see you," He continued. "They want to apologise." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "And if I'm being honest, they're worried about you. You left in the middle of the night, and you haven't exactly been answering your phone."

A scoff escaped her. "Perhaps because I have no desire to engage with that infuriating device."

Laughter flickered in his eyes. "Fair enough," He conceded, before his tone turned softer. "But I'd like you to come back, Kara. Give them… give humanity another chance."

Fingers curled against the table's edge as she averted her gaze.

"This hasn't been easy," Kal-El said, voice steady and gentle. "And I won't pretend to understand what it's like to lose everything." A solemn weight settled over his features. "But you don't have to carry that loss alone. You need people. People who will stand by you, support you." A brief hesitation, then a quiet, earnest addition. "There are good people here. Not perfect, but good. If you care to look, you might see them too."

A slow inhale filled Kara's lungs. Another pause.

"…Your parents truly wish to apologise?"

His smile returned, smaller this time. "They do."

"But…" Kara added, after a beat. "I do not understand," She admitted, her fingers lightly drumming against the table's surface. "By their own traditions, they have done nothing wrong. Why would they apologise?"

Kal-El's expression remained patient, understanding. "That doesn't matter to them," He said. "They know you're upset, and they want to make things right."

Kara frowned, her mind turning over his words. By Earth's customs, she was the outlier. The one who had reacted emotionally. The one who had walked away. And yet…

A small breath of amusement left Kal-El's lips. "Because they care about you," He said simply. "They don't see this as a matter of right or wrong. They just want you to know that you're welcome. That your feelings matter."

She studied him, searching for some flaw in the logic. Kryptonians did not apologise when no wrongdoing had occurred. The concept felt… unnecessary. Apologies were meant to acknowledge faults, to mend offences. And yet, the Kents, good, kind-hearted humans, were willing to offer one despite having done nothing against their own laws.

A strange tightness settled in her chest.

Kal-El leaned forward slightly. "Come back with me," He urged again. "Not because you owe them anything. But because you deserve to have people who care about you." His smile was small but sincere. "And they do."

Kara exhaled, eyes flickering to the remnants of the meal between them. The scent of spice still lingered in the air, mingling with the sterile chill of the Fortress.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then, at last, she gave a slow nod. "Very well," She murmured. "I'll go."

The sun hung low over the Kent farm, casting long golden streaks across the fields as Kara and Kal descended from the sky. The familiar scent of tilled earth and fresh hay filled the air, a stark contrast to the sterile chill of the Fortress she had left behind.

Martha was the first to step onto the porch, her eyes warm despite the hesitance that lingered in them. Jonathan followed a moment later, wiping his hands on a rag before tucking it into his pocket. There was no tension in their stance, no lingering resentment. Only quiet hope.

"Kara," Martha said, stepping forward for an embrace. "We're so glad you're back."

The sincerity in her voice caught Kara off guard. She had expected awkwardness, discomfort. Not this immediate, unconditional acceptance.

Kal nudged her, barely noticeable. She straightened, meeting Martha's gaze. "I…" She hesitated, words slow, careful. "I leave with anger. Not fair to you." Her fingers curled at her sides. "I… am sorry."

Martha's face softened further, as if she had never once doubted that Kara would return. "There's nothing to apologise for, sweetheart."

"Not true," Jonathan said with a small chuckle. "We should've thought more. Didn't consider how this all might feel for you."

Jonathan glanced toward the pig pen, his gaze settling on the half-torn gate. The wooden slats had been hastily patched together, the repairs sturdy but rushed.

Kara followed his eyes, and her stomach clenched.

She remembered the sharp crack of wood splintering beneath her grip, the way frustration had surged hot through her veins. She had barely thought… hadn't considered, had just acted, with strength that could have done far worse than damage a simple gate.

Panic stirred in her chest. She stepped forward, scanning the enclosure with her enhanced vision. The pigs inside were unharmed, their soft grunts and lazy movements unbothered. No real damage beyond the broken wood, but still-

"I-" The words caught in her throat. She swallowed, turning quickly to Jonathan. "I not mean- I should not-"

Jonathan held up a hand, cutting off her frantic apology with an easy chuckle. "Kara, it's alright."

She shook her head. "No. Not alright. I- I use strength without care. I could have hurt..."

"That's true," Jonathan admitted, nodding toward the gate. "But trust me, you ain't the first Kryptonian to throw a tantrum on this farm."

Kara blinked.

"Clark did far worse when he was a boy," He continued with a knowing smile. "You should've seen him at sixteen. That fence got knocked down more than once." He let out a low chuckle. "Fixing up a gate? Simple."

Kara exhaled, tension easing just slightly.

They stood side by side, watching the pigs shuffle around the pen. One lazily flopped into the dirt, grunting in contentment. Another nosed at the patched-up gate, unconcerned.

Behind them, Martha and Kal spoke quietly, giving them space.

After a moment, Jonathan broke the silence. "You know," He mused, leaning against the fence, "I've been thinkin'. I'm too old for all this."

Kara glanced at him, brow furrowing. "For…?"

"The livestock," He clarified, gesturing toward the pigs. "Ain't got the energy to keep up with it anymore." A sigh left him, but there was no sadness in it, only peace. "Think I'll stick to milkin' cows and farmin' grain. That's enough for me."

Kara considered this, watching the pigs nudge at the dirt. "Then… they will stay?"

Jonathan nodded. "Yep. No more sellin' 'em off." A wry smile tugged at his lips. "Besides," His voice went down to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't tell Clark this, but my doctor's been tellin' me to cut back on bacon. Says it's not great for the ol' heart."

Kara frowned, concern flickering across her face. "Your heart?"

Jonathan chuckled, patting his chest. "Nothin' to fret over, just gettin' older." His easy grin didn't waver. "I plan on stickin' around plenty longer."

She studied him for a moment, then exhaled, letting it go. If he wasn't worried, she supposed she wouldn't be either.

She truly understood what Kal had meant earlier.

People could change. The Kents had no obligation to do this. No reason beyond the fact that they wanted to. Not because she had demanded it. Not because they had to. But simply because they cared.

The realisation settled in her chest, warm and steady.

Not all humans were cruel. She looked at Jonathan again, this time with something closer to understanding. "…Thank you."

He just smiled. "You're welcome, kiddo."

Jonathan gave her a final nod before stepping away, leaving her alone with the pigs. Kara leaned against the fence, watching as they played, their movements unhurried and content. The simplicity of it all. The warm breeze, the quiet rustle of hay, the animals nudging and chasing one another. It felt strangely grounding.

A soft crunch of boots against dirt signalled Kal-El's approach. She didn't turn immediately, instead observing the way the pigs interacted, how carefree they were in their small world.

"You okay?" Kal's voice was softer here, more relaxed.

She finally looked up at him, and for the first time, she noticed something peculiar. Here, away from the weight of their Kryptonian fortress, his entire demeanour had shifted. His shoulders weren't squared with that impossible Kryptonian pride. Instead, they slouched just a little, a comfortable looseness to them. His smile was gentler, lacking the quiet intensity he usually carried. Even his stance, one foot casually propped against the fence, felt different.

This was not Kal-El, the last son of Krypton.

This was Clark Kent.

Kara studied him, realisation settling like a slow-moving tide. She had known Kal-El, or at least, she thought she had. But had she ever truly known Clark? Had she ever tried to?

"You act… different," She said, tilting her head.

Clark blinked. "Different?"

"You are…" She hesitated, searching for the word. "More… human."

A soft laugh left him. "Makes sense. I did grow up here."

"I know." Her brow furrowed. "But… I not see before."

For so long, she had looked at him as a Kryptonian. She had measured him against what he should be, what Rao would have wanted. The meat, eating it like it was nothing, had cracked that image. Made her see the distance between them. But here, in this place, with his family, his home… the truth was clear.

He was not just Kal-El. He was Clark.

And for the first time, she wanted to know Clark.

"I want see," She said at last, straightening. "Your life. Your… normal life."

Clark's brows lifted. "You do?"

She nodded. "I go to Metropolis. Meet family. See… what is life for you."

For a moment, Clark only looked at her, as if making sure she meant it. Then, slow and bright, a wide grin spread across his face.

"They will be so happy," He said, excitement slipping into his voice. "Seriously, they've been dying to meet you."

Kara stiffened. "Dying?"

Clark let out a small laugh. "Just words. Means they really want to see you."

She relaxed, though she gave him a dry look. "Your language. Very stupid."

Clark chuckled. "You'll get used to it." He nodded toward the house. "Come inside. Mom's making lunch."

Kara frowned. "We eat before, no?"

"Ah, you see," Clark grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and steering her toward the house. "The thing about Earth moms? They always feed their kids. No matter what."

Kara sighed, shaking her head at the absurdity of humans. She let herself be guided toward the farmhouse, where the scent of home-cooked food drifted through the evening air. Kal-El was Clark, of two homes, two worlds. And somehow, he had made them fit together. Maybe, one day, she could too.