Summary: Kara in space at a bar getting hit on
With music blasting through the speaker, aliens' voices were blending together as Kara walked towards the bartender. This was her kind of place—noisy, loud, crowded, easy to disappear in.
Kara ordered a few drinks to start off the night, but soon, it wasn't enough. Kara needed more tonight, more than usual, because for some reason, her mind kept drifting.
The bartender slid one over.
She quickly finished it and took another drink.
Just then, someone slid into the empty seat beside Kara.
She didn't look over. "Depends on who's asking."
"Just making conversation," the man said.
She glanced at him then—tall, confident, clearly used to getting attention. The kind of guy who probably worked the bar scene for a living.
Normally, this would be her type, and she needed a distraction after all, but something didn't feel right.
"Buy you a drink?" he offered.
Kara lifted her glass. "Already have one."
He smiled anyway. "Are you always this unfriendly?"
"Only when people won't go away."
That should've been the end of it.
"So," he said, leaning back like he wasn't bothered, "are you here alone?"
Kara took another sip. "Obviously."
He chuckled. "Want to change that?"
She'd give him a smile, maybe trade a few lines, and be gone before it meant anything.
But for some reason, she didn't answer right away.
She frowned, just a little.
He blinked. "Not your type?"
Kara didn't respond, she just fiddled with the empty glass, not even bothering to respond.
The guy shrugged and slid off the stool, already scanning the bar for someone else.
Kara watched him go, then turned back.
That should've been easy.
She stared at the glass like it had personally betrayed her.
Normally, she wouldn't even think twice about something like that. Someone offers. She says yes. Or no. It doesn't matter.
Except this time, it did.
Just in a small, irritating one.
She took another sip. The drink tasted the same.
"Stupid," she muttered, more to herself than anything else.
"One more shot, please," she said.
A week later, Kara was alone on her ship, floating through a quiet stretch of space.
No music. No crowds. Just the low hum of the engines and Krypto curled up near the control panel, chewing lazily on one of his toys.
Kara opened a storage compartment and frowned.
"...You've got to be kidding me," she muttered.
Krypto lifted his head, his tail giving a hopeful wag.
"Don't look at me like that," she said. "This is your fault."
She leaned back against the console, arms crossed.
She punched in a familiar set of coordinates, pretending the irritation in her chest was about nothing more than running out of supplies.
Definitely not about where she was heading.
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