I WALK INTO THE ROOM DRIPPING IN GOLD.

            better at this? than – lena? oh, no. no, no, no. definitely not. her knowledge of earth science isn’t any better than what they teach in high schools – and that’s because that’s where she learnt it. (when lena’s out at l-corp, she’s busy with a head in a textbook trying to understand earth’s primitive science. they only have 118 elements?! how?!)

       so there’s that awkward laugh, and the awkward fumble with the frames of her glasses. oh, nooooooo. that’s not – i’m not – earth science is weird. and by weird, i mean it’s different. so different.

                        ‘my family were scientists by guild.’     and that means she learns things. picks them up quickly – because at night, her mother would show her the stars, and at day, her father would show her the sun and descend into his lab like  she was already a member of the science council. but she isn’t. and she never will be. so this – this is what she has.      ‘you know, my father used to let me watch when he experimented. he made so many great things – things that could help people. that could help us. and he was… incredible, really. and me? i… wanted to do him proud. but i’m not – better at this. no way. nuh-uh. not true in the slightest. you are amazing at this and i could never do half the stuff you’ve accomplished.’

    but she shuffles, draws a little closer as she peers over the flask and squints down at it.

                                       ‘what kind of buffer did you use?’

“I think you’re over-estimating me. But we have two such different brains, and what I gather from yours is that you-- learn things at a pace far accelerated,” and this doesn’t mean she’s not blushing a tiny bit, there, a flush of pleased color the minute Kara compliments her. --Do not mistake this for modesty. It ISN’T. Lena knows where her strengths lie.

(Her strengths lie very strongly in her ability to decipher the scientific mumbo jumbo of it all. A place not even her father had been adept. A place EVEN LEX does not ultimately touch. Because where Lex was brilliant, there is this major downfall---

--- that little thing called PHILANTHROPY. What a blind-spot.)

“Phosphate 7.0. But I can’t figure out whether I’ve got to go up or down. And I can’t find the-- sweet spot I’m looking for. I thought a second-opinion would be helpful. I’m trying to develop the beginnings of an affordable medicine but I’ve been staring and stirring for so long I’m getting nowhere.”

She’s getting NOWHERE.

So she sighs out. She’s tired. (She’s always tired since the company falls so heavy on her shoulders and she’s the expected producer, has to impress more than she’s comfortable, has to make a name out of a prodigious name because she’s so young.)

“You’re admittedly better than I am.”

Which is not to say that Lena is a SLOUCH when it comes to the science side of things. Oh, no, she’s been accelerated in scientific theory since she was very small. She understands things that escape the clutches of GROWN ADULTS. At maybe six or seven she could talk circles around the likes of Stephen Hawking-- well, in enthusiasm, maybe, and only half in theory.

So admitting this to Kara is the result of many hours of observing just how SMART Kara is.

It’s trust-built, really.

She puts the beaker down in front of her filled with some solution. Beside it, another, and then another. Altogether, three.

@hercmind.

             ‘i don’t– i don’t really know where to start. uh.’     but this– this is a step. and a big one. this is a trust between the two of them that kara wasn’t sure she’d ever find. (it’s not lena– lena has been nothing but kind. caring. the– transition’s been harder than she thought it’d ever be.

                           this isn’t something she ever thought she’d have to do.

                   ‘ehrosh :bem means, kind of like– a greeting. so, a hello, or– it’s also used to say goodbye, and– it translates roughly to– good journey.’

Lena treasures every word out of Kara’s mouth. This is trust, this is kindness, this matters more than anything they can ever have between them. Lena wants to carry Kara’s cultured, too. Wants to keep it cradled between her palms like a sacred flame so it may never die.

She tries her hand at the language-- it comes out inelegant and sloppy, the sound of effort clear in spite of how it fails. And boy, it fails.

“--I’m... sorry. I think I’m no good with languages. Pronunciation-wise, I mean,” She tries again, a little better, “--So.... does it mean that it’s a-- greeting that you’ve been on a good journey to meet the other person, too? Does it mean that-- it’s a good journey just to be speaking, as well?”

That sounds--

                                                           ‘i can do that.’

              she’s a proficient hand at the translation now. she reads english as well as she reads kryptonese– probably not as well as she teaches lena. (i’m all that’s left of krypton. kal-el and i. that’s all there is. and kal–… he’s young. he doesn’t pass on the same–) the ever-present bearing of guilt and duty hangs on her shoulders like hooks. she writes it and teaches it because someone has to.

                          and as for english? it’s– simple enough to get a grasp of.

so she reaches for the papers– one stack beneath her fingers as the tips flutter at the edge of the pages. that’s–… that’s a lot of paper. (she sets about reading it, and it’s only then that her words fill her ears. el mayarah. she’s learning.)

                it only makes her smile. a full, gratifying, stare-at-your-feet smile that she’s not sure she’s smiled since leaving krypton. she’s learning. and she’s trying. if she wasn’t trying, she wouldn’t recognise it– she wouldn’t recognise that it’s okay to accept help. that’s– a big step. and she… is– only grateful for that.

                ‘stronger together. and you– are my family now. they’re your words too.’

“Thank you.”

It’s formal and almost apologetic. But there’s a bright flush of pink scattered across her cheeks. Lena doesn’t know how to take that-- you are my family now. The words are strange. She’s always been shunned as a Luthor when it counted. Good for the tabloids, good for the image, but when things came down to it, she knew where her place was not. And while Lionel kept her close, Lillian made it clear.

And it was often only mother’s words that mattered.

Kara doesn’t lie to her. She speaks only straightforward honesty, and Lena knows she can-- trust Kara, as frightful as the concept is. She has learned to trust Kara. Which is why she lets her touch her paperwork, lets her rifle through pages Lena often only trusts for herself.

“You can-- go ahead. Talk, I mean. Bounce off me what you think may be a worthy investment,” There’s a pen in her hand, then, flicking idly in an arc, a wide indication, “I think the first one there is biotech, but I’m hesitant to expand into a medical venture. That opens the door to potential lawsuit risks. Partnerships with hospital or private--” she stops herself, suddenly overwhelmed with thought.

It’s a lot to handle with no experience. Absolutely no experience. This is all a lot to blindly push someone into.

Why didn’t Lillian just take over herself?

“But if you have a differing opinion you’re welcome to try to sway mine. The benefit of a-- partnership is that the other is always willing to listen.”

She may have skimmed a couple hokey self-help books recently.

this isn’t about whether she’s hungry or not. and this isn’t about whether she wants chinese food or thai. and yes, maybe she was only looking for an excuse to come and talk to her… wife…(?)– yes that’s still weird, but– it’s okay. and it’s something that she’ll inevitably get used to. but the last couple of days have been too quiet. too… lonely. i was sent to earth to protect my cousin, kal-el, and i can’t even find him. let me protect you, too.

                          ‘oh–! no, it’s… it’s fine, really. i just– i wanted to make sure that you were okay, and not… just–… saying you were.’       because she’s used to that. kara does it too. i’m okay, like she didn’t lose everyone she’d ever loved. i’m okay, like her home wasn’t destroyed and took another planet in its wake. i’m okay, like she can’t hear the way lena’s heart beats, or how everything still feels so… new.

          lena could be bleeding from her side and would still tell her that she was okay.

       ‘–i mean, if you’re swamped with work–… is there anything i can do? to help?’    that’s what people do, right? they help each other. back on krypton– that’s what happens. that’s the norm. this… independent, quiet life–… this isn’t normal.

Is there anything she can do-- to-- help?

She remembers Kara mentioning she was very prominent as a scientist on Krypton (this young? so young? Lena thinks. And remembers herself with her chemistry sets and her solutions and how Lillian would give her anything her heart desired as long as it was quiet and unobtrusive and she kept to herself. Lionel helped her, when he could. Congratulated her when she found new things.)

They’ve never really cared about me, but Kara, she hardly knows me, and she cares about me.

“I wasn’t. I’m fine, I’m not being untruthful about it. If I were I would’ve told you. Your family motto, el mayarah, since we’re married it becomes mine, too, doesn’t it? --If you’d like to help, you could run through these last ten with me and we can weigh the advantages and disadvantages of backing these potential products. I’m sure I could use your insight. Fresh eyes are always useful.”

She’s pushing over the-- stack of papers. It looks like more than ten, but it isn’t.

open.

                ‘i made pancakes–’      she made a lot of pancakes. stacks on stacks on stacks. (she couldn’t help herself– if there’s one day she can get behind, it’s a day where it’s socially acceptable to eat dessert for dinner. annnnd–… okay, maybe she still has stacks on stacks on stacks. even now. and maybe she needs a little help eating them.)

                         ‘annnnd– i might’ve made- uh- too many.’

It’s not displeasure on her face. Really! It isn’t! There’s just-- there’s-- uh-- there’s a lot of pancakes in their kitchen, ones filled with-- a lot of things and topped with-- a lot of other things-- and she’s glancing left, right, left-- everywhere she turns-- pancakes--

                  ‘oh, yeah– no– i’m fine–’    she’s getting used to this. slowly. the house is still a maze (still? – it’s big and bright and hell, at night, she could be walking just about anywhere. but she knows her way to the kitchen in the dark, so she’s content enough with that. everything else? total mystery. kryptonians can’t see in the dark.)

        ‘i just– haven’t seen you in a couple of days. which is– you know– which is weird, because, uh- we kind of… live together.’     not that odd. for them, anyway. the communication thing sometimes breaks down, and sometimes lena’s way too busy and kara’s almost 90% sure she’s taken to sleeping at her office. and that– isn’t healthy. (next time, she’s vowed that she’ll bring takeout and force her away from her computer, if only for a couple of seconds.)

                                ‘mostly, i just wanted to make sure you’re –okay.’

Lena has been sleeping in her office. Days turn into nights and she forgets to sleep, that’s the thing. Sleep doesn’t forget her, though, and then she wakes up half-slumped over her desk with a few bewildered blinks and a very perplexed look around. Once or twice she’s ended up owlishly confused, ink smeared across her cheek in sloppy numbers and her illegible handwriting.

“--I’m sorry. You’re right, I hadn’t-- noticed. I’ve been working on assessing a few proposals from investors looking for us to back their products and there have been so many details I think my time is bleeding together. I’m okay. I hadn’t meant to--” a laugh, incredulous, at herself, “--barricade myself in here.”

She checks her phone for a moment. Scans the screen, glances over the time. It’s Thursday. Have I been that distant? I hadn’t wanted to be. But I had been, hadn’t I? Distant. Again.

“Do you want to order something to eat?”

She isn’t sure when she ate last, but there’s half an untouched carton of white rice at the edge of her desk.

it’s okay, because it can’t be anything other than okay. it’s okay, because if either of them think for a minute that it isn’t, they won’t be able to drag themselves up and out of that rut. (it’s okay because you have to think so when i can’t. it’s not okay. none of this is okay. i’m alive, but i’m alone. i’m alone, and i’m–…)

                                                 scared. i’m scared.

i’ve never been more scared. (loud noises– car alarms, footsteps, heartbeats, ducks, dogs, cats, coughs, horns, sirens, gunshots, backfires– everything, always). new language. new custom. new people. new tradition. i can’t learn this much. i don’t know how to do this. i don’t– i can’t– there’s too much. too much all the time. it’s so different. so loud and bright and–… fragile. (she can crush just about anything, but she’s never felt weaker. more vulnerable. there are tears down her cheeks and stinging the corners of her eyes that just– won’t– stop. i’ve lost everything. and i’m losing this. and i don’t know what to do. i’m not strong enough for this.)

         we’re going to find kal-el. everything is going to be okay. you’re not alone. you’ve got me. i’ve got her. (lena is… lena. here but not here. warm and soft and– more here than she’s ever been.) so she nods. quietly. slowly. and presses her face further into lena’s neck. (it’s warm. comfortable. lena is here. i’m here. i’m alive. the last kryptonian.)

                                   ‘i don’t–… i don’t know… how to do this…’

“I don’t, either.”

It’s the first time she’s admitting it. Talking into the nape of Kara’s neck, the crooked curve of her body, the way she nestles against, and it’s strange, Lena thinks, to know someone feels safe with her, that someone is relying on her for this kind of comfort or emotional support. It always feels strange. Strange, strange, strange.

It feels strange to know someone wants you. No one’s ever wanted you. No one ever had reason to want me. Father wanted me because-- I was his genetic responsibility after his affair. That was why father wanted me. I would’ve been a worthless orphan again otherwise. Now I’m a worthy orphan, how the tables turn. She’s not worth more than her name, Lena knows this, Lillian doesn’t let her forget. In his own way, Lex hasn’t, either.

“I’m trying to find the best ways I can to make you feel safe and, dare I say, to-- jump to the conclusion of happy, but I think that one will have to wait awhile, when you’re ready or-- okay to feel happy again. Which isn’t something I want you to feel like you have to rush, but I want you to--” she pauses, and finds she has to breathe, “--feel happy again, I mean. Or as happy as can be possible. With whatever it is I can do for you.”

I put you here. I did this to you. Which makes me responsible for doing all I can to change it. To make it better. To make a life for you. To build a home. It will be my first one, too.

@hercmind.

                                 ‘lena,’

        she’s in sweats. and they’re– surprisingly comfy. mostly because the alternative, in this life, and in this wardrobe, is something floral and high-necked, and sweats go with fluffy socks. (and she’s got about three pairs on each foot right now). she likes soft things. it’s–… a thing. (ignore the number of blankets stacked at the end of her bed, and ignore the pillows she’s accumulated– one from each room, one from each couch, one from lena’s bed, one from the lounge–). she leans against the door frame, for one beat, then another, as her mouth opens– closes– then opens again.

                      ‘can we talk?’    – we never talk. and that… that’s expected. but– the house is quiet and huge and–… lena’s here, but not here and she’s starting to get used to that paradox. a couple steps toward her. toward the desk.

You are Lillian. You’re doing it, do you realize? I know I am. I’m being Lillian. I’m neglecting my interpersonal relationshi-- I’m neglecting MY WIFE in favor of my work. Lena’s eyes flick upward swiftly at the mention of her name and she’s dropping her pen, expectant eyes fashioned languidly on Kara Luthor. She’s happy to see her, you can see that warmth on her face that simmers more to a slow-bubbling excitement. She’s glad to see her wife, who wants to talk to her, for one reason or another.

Whenever you feel you want to talk to me. I want you to talk to me. Whatever I’m going. A phone call or a drop-in or a holler from another end of the house or a room. I’m here.

“Of course we can,” Arms extend across the desk, stretching, and her little notepad with all those numbers is set aside, as is her expensive monogrammed pen.

lena is warm against her chest. she is warm and she is light, and there’s only a slight pressure (featherweight, really, but there nonetheless) that reminds her that she’s in her arms like that. (this is strange, and it’s fast, and when she pulls her closer, all she can think about is lena. i almost lost her. i almost lost this. i was almost lost again.)

     i could hear you. and i can still hear you. i’m not supposed to be the one that’s afraid.

but they’re home– to the house that’s never felt that much like a home. (it won’t be her home for years. it can’t be– she holds a dead planet on her shoulders and the lives of everyone who’d lived there before. this is not my home, but it’s as close as i can be to having one. and maybe- slowly, reluctantly, with dragged heels and shattered coffee cups, she’s going to start to think of it this way. your fridge is my fridge. your weird cheese things in packets are my weird cheese things in packets. or–.. something like that.)

                  ‘i’m not going to let anything happen to you, lena. not now– not ever.’     you’re my human. a guide. a reminder that when she doesn’t know what to do, lena probably will– lead glasses, heavy curtains, quiet keyboard tapping– we’re going to find your cousin. and you won’t be alone. she doesn’t want to be alone anymore. 

she stares down at the phone- mother blares back in bold white text, and while lena may not have the heart to decline, or she may not have the thought that she can, kara slowly slides a hand between the phone and lena’s palm, and shakes her head.

                              ‘i’ll call her tomorrow. you don’t have to talk to her.’      how could she do this? why would she do this?! what kind of mother– what kind of person– i’ll handle this. let me handle this. for all the times you showed me how to be human– let me do this. (a thumb hovers over the decline button before pressing it. firmly.

            ‘you need to rest, now you’re safe– are you hurt?– did i–?’   – did i hurt you?

She told me you wouldn’t need me. That when you were going to leave me when you figured everything out. She told me I wouldn’t matter. She told me you’d be through with me. I don’t know if I believe her or not. You need me right now, but you won’t always. And you need me much less each day. And soon you won’t need me, and I’ll be the one who needs you most.

What Lena doesn’t realize is that this only gets truer and truer each moment. She stays there, she stays there in the warm touch that Kara always affords, in the way she so frequently has never felt this before. It’s comfort, absolute, and each time Kara holds her and her eyes close she’s closed up in the shade of this.

This is not her home, but it’s becoming more her home each day. She was not home as a child. Lillian’s cold shoulder, Lex’s moods, hot and cold, Lionel’s attention to her, but he could not give her everything. No one can. But these walls feel like hers-- they feel like Kara’s, too, they get better and better every moment. They don’t avoid rooms anymore. The floors are Kara’s as well as hers. Everything is theirs, both. She’s learning to share spare. And, unexpectedly, she’s finding she likes it.

“No. I’m-- okay. I feel just fine,” She feels just fine. Brief, only brief, there’s this moment where her eyes flick to Kara’s mouth and then they stray. She feels the urge and then it abates, and she finds she’s afraid of it, the touch of mingling want that’s curling in her gut, “You didn’t hurt me. And I can-- call her tomorrow. She upset me earlier... and Jessica-- thought I was unfit to stay in work.”

Her voice drops to that level, a little more than ashamed.

Now her eyes are-- flick-- away.

“I’m--” hard swallow. She won’t need you one day. And when she doesn’t need you, she’ll leave you. You’ll break apart like a continent and she’ll live where she lives and you will become Lionel and Lillian just the way you never wanted and it’s all because you forced this, you never said no-- “--I’m okay. I only lost my temper with her. It was foolish of me, I should’ve thought first. After her-- last reaction to my defiance you’d think I would’ve considered more readily beforehand.”

Stupid girl, do you have a death wish?

It’s toxic. It’s idiotic. He almost says the thought out loud, but manages to hold it in. Personal bias can’t color him to blatantly here; Lena Luthor is a clever woman. Anything that even hints at the Bat could have her on its tail, and that is something he can’t allow, no matter how much he trusts in Kara’s faith. Bad enough that Lex had figured it out so easily. It was just fortunate that no one tends to listen to lunatics who try to kill Superman. The name Luthor has left a bad taste in his mouth that he can’t quite manage to get rid of.

“Of course, Ms. Luthor.” They’re both playing a game here and both of them know it. It’s all idle flattery and charming displays of teeth. She wants to improve her reputation. He wants to ferret out whether or not her intentions as the head of L-Corp are genuine. To say he’s baiting her into a partnership sounds harsh, but not entirely inaccurate. Working together with her company could prove advantageous to them both, and it would allow him easy access to whatever is going on behind the scenes. Easier to be Bruce Wayne rather than the Bat in these situations.

Another sip of his drink. In truth he prefers stronger stuff than champagne, but the thought is irrelevant right now. He’s busy considering his next words carefully. How not to insult and instead nudge her further towards the concept of working together. A Luthor and a Wayne. Imagine the headlines, the ruckus it would stir up in the business world. Like kicking a nest of hornets. But the risk is decidedly calculated; Wayne Enterprises is a mountain of a corporation. It can’t be shaken by much.

“I can still remember when the name LexCorp meant something. A time when it actually helped people. When your brother destroyed that image, he destroyed a lot more than just your family’s name.” Bruce knows that, both as a businessman and the Bat. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. “Changing the way you do things is a start, but trying to do it all on your own is foolhardy. You need someone notable who can vouch for your efforts; someone who can sway people back into supporting you.” He shoots her a pointed look, but his intentions are good. Mostly. “Partnering with someone is your best option.”

“People don’t exactly jump into bed with a Luthor these days,” She glances the room-- there’s a hard sense of something like paranoia in her body, something crawling up her spine. It’s unhelpful and blatantly accidental. She doesn’t mean it, not even now, but there’s a fearful sense of danger that is both exhilarating and terrifying, that both fills her lungs and deflates them. She remembers Supergirl in the helicopter with her. The assassination attempt. Se seems, always, to be looking around corners, to be peering constantly into shadows.

Her attention returns back to Bruce after a long moment and she allows the smile to replace itself on her face. She finds it’s beginning to show itself in daylight more and more-- paranoia is an ugly thing and, more than anything, so is the summoning sense of fear. She doesn’t like being afraid. There’s Luthor pride to be had here. And Luthor pride says that fear is not a thing to be felt.

“LCORP,” She corrects it with a smooth stroke of her tongue, almost a bit of an irate sound, almost corrective and agitated, “Lexcorp didn’t do much by way of helping others. Scientific advancement was paramount, but it had a lot of militant developments, more so than ones designed to benefit the human race. Lex didn’t care much for what he could do for the good of humanity. He just wanted to be the most impressive man in every room with the most toys.”

She loves her brother-- she always will, even if his betrayal aches, pangs, hurts in the center of her heart. Even if she knows she cannot trust him ever again-- that’s the worst part. (I want my brother back. I want the only person I’ve ever known in my corner back. But I can’t have that.)

“I saw your light on,” Kara repeats with a simple nod of her head, smile painting across her features with a very small sense of pride. As though she’s done something she should smiling at. Her eyes wonder in the direction that Lena is pointing. The stack of papers is bigger than average, she’d note, definitely bigger than what she’d usually have in her own office. And for a moment, Kara is saddened that it’s 2am and Lena is still up and working. “Well,” the Kryptonian nods, trying to push past her initial sadness and plaster a smile upon her face, “I’d say you’re lucky. Most people would hate to get a social visit from me.” With a chuckle, Kara folds her arms across her chest as she lingers before her eyes lift to meet Lena’s once more, head shaking at her question. “Uh- no. No thank you. Maybe you should finish your takeout though, keep your energy up.”

“Please. I insist,” Maybe she wants to know if Supergirl is a Chinese food person or not. There are rolls and rolls of sushi laid out across the desk in neat rows-- spicy salmon and eel, California and her guilty pleasure for sweet potato rolls. “Are you unpleasant or is it just the do-gooder about to destroy any potential sin possible thing? I expect this means a social visit from you is a little like slowing down when driving up to a cop car.” Arms cross, then, like an unconscious motion she’s almost copying, not quite. “What is it you do when you’re not being the Super, exactly? Am I allowed to ask that question?” She’s smiling.

@hercmind.

              college is strange because it’s the first time she’s really been away from alex. (and the rest of the danvers’ of course, but she’s pretty much relying on the last six years of here’s how to be human to get her through the next couple of semesters. without alex telling her that it’s weird to to eat unpopped poptarts and stare at birds for a solid half hour– yeah, this college thing is strange.)

she has a bag slung across one shoulder, a hot coffee in one hand (that’s another thing– who’d’ve thought coffee tasted this good? or bad?– she’s not entirely sure which. but everyone else seems to drink it, right?)

‘lena!–’   she catches her leaving the coffee shop (after a quick goodbye, have a nice day, and a wildly-too-big smile for this early in the morning) and kara all but skips toward her. they’ve never really spoken. and they’ve never really been formally introduced–but she won’t let that deter her, and she sidles up to her.

                 ‘i just– hi. i’m kara. i kind of wanted to apologise about the whole Iex thing.’    i broke his hand. legitimately– broke his hand. (not that he didn’t deserve it. and not that i wouldn’t do it again.) and if anyone asks, it’s sprained, and it wasn’t just from grabbing it to hard– it was the struggle… and the way he fell… because i’m not an alien…

                       ‘uhhh– i mean. he was being a jerk. but– yeah. i’m sorry anyway.’

“.......”

Lena Luthor is in the midst of doing her chemistry homework right this minute, right now. She would’ve-- and should’ve-- done it yesterday, but this very moment she has to make up for it as lickety-split as she can. She fell asleep last night at her desk without ultimately meaning to, dead to the world after a long group project she would’ve preferred not to participate in.

(Doesn’t particularly like people a lot of the time. You learn not to trust them after one too many anglers-- the types who know a Luthor is a Luthor and a Luthor with a full wallet is liable to treat you well if you just pretend to like her. And a Luthor who is often considered the good one of the two of them is much more liable to be approachable. Lex’s ego needs stroking but he won’t be generous for it.)

“I’m sorry. Have we-- met?” She asks it slowly, hands wrapped protectively around the plastic cup of coffee she’s hanging onto. She’s searching that face for something recognizable, coming up with nothing. Oh. Wait! “Oh. Oh. You broke Lex’s hand.”

OH.

“Lex can be a considerable jerk a lot of the time. I’m just sorry you had to break his hand. But-- um... thank you for-- apologizing-- to me?”

she feels alone. she is alone. there are tears that blaze down her cheeks and one that hangs off the tip of her nose– one that she slowly raises a hand to smudge at, and she drags the base of her palm across the sides of her cheeks with the same thought. (she’s unsure that she’s done crying– she thinks it’ll come, not now, but in a few seconds, when her heart begins to hurt so rawly and powerfully that it closes around her throat and tugs until she’s sobbing once more–)

my cousin’s out there. kal-el is out there. i need to find him. i need to make sure he’s safe, and i need to protect him from them– (them– who is them?– they have powers that no one’s ever seen before, and technology that outcompetes anything from earth by a hundred years–) more importantly, i need to make sure that he doesn’t struggle like this. (and if he does, he needs to know that he’s not alone. that i’ll never let him be as alone as i am.)

there is nothing that’ll bring back my family. and there is nothing that’ll bring back my people. (we are the last of them, kal-el. wherever you are. i need to find you. please. please, kal-el.)

i’m sorry. all she hears in it is the way that lena shoulders her grief and still– takes one deep breath, then another, then poises herself to speak. (she’s still. quiet. unmoving like a rock in the ocean– wait… is that an earth cliché? i think that’s an earth cliché– okay, ignore that. i didn’t mean that. what i meant is that she’s there. she’s always there, and she’s always still.)

even when she leaves, spends her life in the office, spends her days as far away from the alien in her home (because neither of them know what they’re doing, or how they talk, or how they do this– LISTEN TO ME, LOOK AT ME, I’M HERE, I’M ALIVE, I’M ALONE, I’M CONFUSED–) she’s still. poised. together. and kara comes apart with each chip and each break.

i’m not strong enough for this i want to go home i can’t go home EVERYONE I LOVE IS DEAD.

she accepts the hug like it was hot chocolate made with milk– even at the mere invitation, she’s never been closer to lena luthor than she is now– and arms wrap themselves as tightly as she can let herself (as tightly as she listens out for the cracking of ribs and the wheeze of breath and the thumpthumpthump of her pulse) before she feels it wellling in her chest once more.

                            ‘i don’t– i don’t know if i can… can do this, lena–’

“It’s okay.”

She does for Kara Luthor exactly what she has wanted others to do for her. For every moment no one soothed her nightmares, for every moment no one calmed her sobs, for every moment she felt scared and alarmed and alone, she holds Kara just a little tighter. And she feels Kara hold her tighter, too, and it hurts but she thinks she deserves it-- I did this to you. Me. I made the choices, I made the decisions. I didn’t kick back.

Me. I brought someone else into the places I’d hurt. Me, I dragged you into the dark, too. Me, me, me.

She deserves it, if you ask her. For condemning someone else to the pain she feels. She always swore the crosses she bears would be her own and yet she’s letting Kara take up the other end of the crucifix. She feels it. Guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt.

“I know. We’re going to find your cousin. And I’m here-- I’m on your side. We’re going to find your cousin. And when we do, you won’t be alone anymore. And then, from there, we can figure out exactly what to do. It’s going to be okay. You aren’t alone. You may not be able to do this right now, but I can. I am able to. And while you can’t, I can assure you that you have me. I can, do you understand?”

I can. I can make right the things I’ve ruined. I should’ve stood up to Lillian for you. I should’ve said no. I should’ve fought. And I didn’t. I didn’t because I was a COWARD. And I am. But that has to change.