#danvers sisters...save me danvers sisters...

You were Lena’s friend first. You came all the way from Central City to help her create one simple thing. Something that turned out to be anything but. So you stayed. Days stretched into weeks, weeks into months. Lena grew almost dependent, not just on your inventive mind, but on the way you listened to her fully, entirely. She leaned on you without realizing it, confided in those late, low moments when the office lights were dim and the city felt heavy.

Then it just… spread.

Tuesdays with Winn started casually. One shared comment about a game, one you play too? moment, and suddenly it’s become a ritual. He pretends he’s not emotionally invested. He is deeply emotionally invested.

Mondays with Nia began as an accident and turned out to be sacred. Coffee, sunlight, gentle complaining about the week ahead. Nia clocks the feelings you don’t even know how to name, but she doesn’t say anything. She just smiles, like she’s holding a secret in her pocket.

Alex’s protectiveness was instinctive and a little fierce. To her, you look like someone who might apologize for existing too loudly. Alex decided, immediately, that the world is not allowed to be mean to you. This includes aliens. This includes her own sister, if necessary.

And Kara?

Kara wants a kiss. Repeatedly. Intrusively. At inappropriate times.

It shows up without asking. While Winn is talking. While Lena is monologuing. While the world continues as normal and Kara loses entire seconds of her life to the shape of your mouth.

It’s all she can think about. It follows her into sleep, into dreams she wakes from too fast, heart racing, embarrassed by her own brain.

Which is why she can’t do it. Cannot, will not, must stop doing it.

Because you’re not just important to her. You’re important to everyone. Which means Kara’s fear gets smarter. Loving you wouldn’t just be dangerous. No. It would be selfish. Possessive. Risky in ways she knows too well. 

So she smiles. She shows up. She keeps her lips to herself.

Like the hero she is.

The takeout containers are spread across the table, cardboard moons orbiting empty plates. It’s loud in a good way. Winn arguing with Lena about something fictional and therefore extremely serious, Alex stealing fries off Kara’s plate with the confidence of blood relations, you and Nia giggling about something no one knows about. And here Kara is, losing whole stretches of conversation to the idea of your mouth: how it curves when you smile, how it might curve after a kiss, how there are sounds she is suddenly, inexplicably sure you could make.

Everyone sees it at the same time. There’s one potsticker left. There’s a beat. A collective, unspoken understanding. Kara Danvers and potstickers are a known law of nature.

Kara reaches for it. Pauses. 

She’s noticed you haven’t eaten much. You do that sometimes, get so absorbed in a conversation, in a story, that food becomes an afterthought. It doesn’t help that you eat incredibly slowly, while the rest of them—animals, really, except for Lena—basically inhale their meals. Kara most of all.

It’s a selfless act. That’s what she tells herself. The hero in her.

“Here.” She places it on your plate. “You have it.”

Winn inhales so hard, he starts coughing. Alex squints. Nia’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. Lena tilts her head just slightly, curious in that way that has ruined men.

You notice how the room has gone quiet. Not awkwardly quiet. Scientific quiet. Like something has just defied gravity and people have to document it.

“You sure?” Your voice is low, but the room is so still you might as well have shouted.

“Yeah.” Kara swallows. Everyone is still staring. “Not hungry anymore.”

You glance up at her, amused but gentle, because you’ve decided not to pull on the loose thread. “If you change your mind,” you say, holding up the potsticker, “I can share.”

Kara doesn’t think about the food. She thinks about your mouth. About the way your lips curve around words, around food, around things she is very much not allowed to want.

She looks away like that might undo the thought. It doesn’t.

“No,” she says softly. “That’s okay—” babe.

Her tongue knows the shape of it before her brain catches up. It almost slips out. Familiar. Easy. Babe. 

It rises to the back of her throat before she can stop it, before she remembers herself, the room, the careful lines she’s drawn and redrawn. Babe. 

She swallows hard, and lets the moment pass like it never existed.

Around the table, everyone very pointedly returns to their food. But something has changed. Not enough to be named. Just enough to be remembered later as something more.

She needs to fix this.

That’s the thought that lodges itself behind her eyes sometime after midnight and refuses to leave. Fix it. Smooth it out. Be normal. Be good. Be Kara Danvers, Earth’s most emotionally constipated hero.

So she compensates.

Aggressively.

Winn mentions coffee and the next morning she hands him his exact order, memorized down to the detail he only uses when he’s stressed. She smiles too hard. Calls it nothing. Lena gets pastries flown in from Dublin because Kara remembers an offhand comment and decides this is what being friends is supposed to look like now. Nia needs help and Kara is already there, already lifting, already saying friend like it’s a rule she can’t break.

This is just who she is, she tells herself. Helpful. Attentive. Overly invested in everyone equally. A model of emotional responsibility.

It backfires immediately.

“I don’t understand,” Winn says, staring at Kara’s TV. Pixel Paladins glows on the screen, unmistakable. His game. Yours too. “Why are you playing this now?”

“Because I love it,” Kara says easily. Too easily. “It’s fun.”

Winn slowly looks at her. She’s fairly certain she called him a nerd for this exact game three weeks ago, but she's ignoring that for now.

“Really? You like playing video games now?”

“I have passion, Winn. So much passion.”

He doesn’t even look up from his controller. “Truly inspiring. I’m moved. Would you like that embroidered on a pillow?” Then, casual as a knife between ribs, “Speaking of passion… Here comes your biggest one.”

“What?” Kara turns, heart immediately attempting to evacuate her body.

You’re walking toward them, distracted, smiling at something on your phone, utterly unaware that Kara has just been emotionally pantsed in her own living room.

“Shut up, nerd.” Kara mutters, too late, too quiet.

Winn grins like he just won a prize.

“Hey! Another Paladin is joining our quest, nice!” You drop down on the couch next to her. Close, deliberately so, like there was never another option. So close she actually has to hold her breath so she won't accidentally touch you. “I knew you would like it, if you gave it a chance. Now you can come play with us every Tuesday.”

Kara is staring at your lips.

She has been thinking about them for an alarming amount of time.

Yep, Kara thinks, turning to look straight ahead while her shoulder screams, this has completely backfired.

She’s safer at game nights. With this many people, the distance doesn’t feel chosen. It feels required.

Kara doesn't have to look at you, even though she steals glances consistently. She doesn't have to be your partner at games, though her heart drops on her chest when you reach inside the bowl and pull out Lena's name for the night. She doesn't have to feel weird to have bought your favorite type of soda, when she also bought everyone's favorite snack.

And she doesn’t have to feel bad for using any excuse to get out for a second, before the thought of you steals her breath again.

She's in the kitchen, dumping more popcorn into a bowl, when she feels a hand settle at the small of her back. A small pressure. The touch doesn’t ask permission. It assumes it.

And she doesn’t have to look because it's obvious by the way her body reacts to it. Heart kicking hard enough she’s briefly worried it might actually escape.

“Need any help?”

She could hear it somehow. The babe that never comes, lingering in the space after your voice like she’s the one finishing the sentence. 

If this never happened before, why does it feel so familiar? Right in the way nothing ever has before, settling somewhere deep and instinctive, like it’s always known where to land.

Kara’s grip tightens on the bowl. This is nothing. This is normal. People touch each other all the time. Friendly. Casual.

Entirely survivable.

The bowl snaps.

A sharp crack, plastic giving way in her hands, popcorn spilling like evidence across the counter.

“Here, let me—”

Your hands touch as you reach for it, fingers brushing hers.

Kara’s heart somersaults clean out of her body, leaves her hollow and shaking in its wake. The want hits her all at once: violent, instinctive, terrifying. She wants to kiss you. Has to. Like breathing. Like gravity. Like something she won’t survive if she lets herself finish the thought.

That’s what scares her. Not the feeling. The loss of control.

She drops the bowl.

And bolts.

The next time she sees you, Kara has already schooled herself back into containment. The walls are back up. The rules rewritten. She can’t afford to be in love. The world can’t afford her dividing her attention, giving more to one person than to everyone else.

She can’t. She won’t.

And then there you are.

Soaked. Completely. Water slicking down your hair, clinging to your lashes, tracing the line of your jaw before dripping from your chin. You’re holding your phone in one hand, your computer tucked awkwardly under your arm, a pillow pressed to your chest like it might still mean home.

“It’s all I could save,” you say, breathless, apologetic. Like this is somehow your fault.

Kara’s brain stutters.

Because she wasn’t there when it happened. When the pipe burst and turned your apartment into a rushing, rising thing. When seconds mattered. When water swallowed walls and floors and everything familiar. She wasn’t there.

The realization hits harder than the sight of you standing in her doorway, drenched and shivering and trying to smile through it.

This is what her control costs.

She reaches for you without thinking. “Come in,” she says, voice steady in a way she does not feel. “Stay. Stay as long as you need.”

It isn’t logic that makes her say it. It isn’t duty. This time, it isn't the hero in her.

It’s the simple, unbearable fact that when you needed someone, she wasn’t there. And she will not let that happen again. Never again.

The door closes behind you, water pooling on her floor, and Kara knows with a clarity that frightens her, that whatever lines she thought she’d drawn have already dissolved.

Water usually does that.

“I'm sorry I just showed up here, I should have gone to Lena's, it's just that… God, you know Lena. She would've bought me an apartment the second I told her about mine. Hell, she probably already has a spare one.”

“Probably.” She forces. She wants to comfort you in the only way she can think of right now. She wants to kiss you. Not gently. Not carefully. She wants to do it like she’s been holding her breath for weeks and just remembered how air works. 

“Nia has so many flatmates already, and Winn's apartment smells like dirty socks and men.” You drop your things, after you just saved them, and Kara has to control herself not to catch them before they hit the floor. “God, what am I doing? Why am I here?” you say quietly. “You don’t even like to spend time with me.”

“What?”

The word comes out sharper than she means it to, startled loose from her chest. It echoes faintly in the hallway, absurdly loud for something so small.

You freeze. Actually freeze mid-movement, shoulders tensed, hands hovering uselessly above nothing. Like you didn't mean to say it out loud. Like you're scared of what she might say back.

“I mean… You literally bolt every time I come closer.” You breathe out loud, shake your head, “I'm sorry, this is stupid. I apparently have a tendency of ruining everything, including but not limited to apartments. I shouldn't stay. I should just call Lena. She probably has a penthouse she's forgotten she owns anyway.”

“No. Y/N, no. Don't go. Don't—” She almost spills everything, tells you it's the opposite. It's love, can't you see? It's LOVE! “I obviously like you. And you—you came here for a reason, so just stay, okay? Take a shower, warm yourself up. I'm gonna go to your apartment and see what I can salvage.”

“Okay.”

“I'll bring dinner too.” Kara pauses at the door. For half a second, she considers saying something else. Something careful, something rehearsed, something that won’t echo later when she’s alone. She fails. Instead, she points at you, earnest and a little frantic.“Hot shower,like… surface-of-the-sun hot. And don’t apologize anymore. For anything. Especially not existing.”

You smile at that. A real one. Tired, crooked, warm.

“Yes, ma’am,” you tease, and she feels it in places she absolutely cannot afford to feel anything.

Your apartment is a disaster. Waterlogged, ruined, smelling like copper and panic. But she handles it like she handles everything else: with efficiency, fierceness, and a jaw set just a little too tight. She saves what she can. Clothes. Books. One framed photo she pretends not to linger on.

She orders food without thinking. Enough for two. More than enough for two.

When she finally comes back, arms full and cape tucked away, the apartment smells like takeout and clean soap. You’re curled on the couch in borrowed clothes that are definitely too big, and yet fits perfectly. You're on your phone telling Lena she doesn't have to worry. You're safe.

And that's when it hits her. You look safe. You look like you're home. Like you've always been home.

Something in Kara’s chest loosens. Something else tightens to compensate. Something she tries very hard not to register.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey—” babe. No. She bites the word down hard, like it has teeth. Babe. No. Not now. Maybe not ever. She clears her throat instead, uselessly. “I, uh. I brought food. And what I could save. Unfortunately it wasn't much.”

“More than I was able to.” You point at the single three things you managed to grab before running scared. “I had to borrow something to wear. Sorry.”

“No more apologies. You can use anything here.” Kara says, too quickly. Then, softer, “You hungry?”

You nod, setting your phone aside. “Starving. Trauma does that.”

She huffs a laugh before she can stop herself. It escapes her chest, betrays her. You look up at the sound, surprised, pleased, like you’ve found something shiny on the ground.

She sits on the opposite end of the couch. On purpose. On paper. Kara hands you a container, careful not to touch you again because she’s learned a lot from the bowl incident. You eat quietly for a moment, the kind of quiet that isn’t awkward but isn’t empty either. It’s… settling. Like dust after something breaks.

“This is good,” you say around a bite. “Even if it could feed an entire family.”

She laughs, “I panic-ordered.”

“Ah. A classic.”

You lean back, tugging your legs up beneath you, wrapped in her hoodie like it’s always belonged to you. Kara pretends very hard not to notice. She fails quietly.

“You can take the bed,” she says suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“The bed,” she repeats, gesturing vaguely beyond the door. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Kara, no. It’s your apartment.”

“And you’re a guest whose home is currently looking like Atlantis.”

You consider it, lips pursed, then shake your head. “I’ll take the couch. I have already invaded enough.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Loses the argument somewhere between your face and her own stubbornness. She almost suggests sleeping together, the idea flaring bright and reckless in her chest before she can smother it. She doesn’t. She can’t do that to herself. Or to you. Or to the world, which she drags into it like a witness she didn’t call but refuses to dismiss.

Still being able to remember the drunken hand slapping soundly across your cheek would do that to a person, you supposed.

“I hate you,” she’d hissed, green eyes cold and glassy, resembling the stone her heart had formed into, the stench of stale whiskey clinging to her like a lost child. “I don’t want you here and I never did so why the fuck do you refuse to leave?! There’s nothing fucking here for you.”

That was the night you left New York and never looked back. Not when the barrage of messages and phone calls came. Not when Tony sent you a plane ticket for Morgan’s recital. Not when Clint sent you an email that simply said, “I’m sorry.”

Kicking off your shoes, a chill rushed down your spine as familiar perfume wafted beneath your nose. The apartment was dark aside from the single lamp glowing in your living room that you certainly hadn’t left on, the shock of blonde hair just barely visible over your couch cushions confirming what you already knew.

“It’s illegal to break into someone’s home, Yelena,” you choked, fury and anxiety battling within your chest. “Especially when you’re not invited and haven’t been for nearly a year. Besides, why would you want to be here, since I’m a…oh, what did dear Wanda call me again? I remember: a cowardly bastard who was abandoning my partner in a time of need.”

Yelena flinched, inhaling sharply at the daring sarcasm falling from your lips. “Unfortunately, she spoke without knowing the truth. We all did.”

Snorting humorlessly, you muttered, “Of course, because we all know alcoholics are such reliable sources. Why believe me when I’d been screaming for months, begging someone else to figure out there was a goddamn problem? Clearly Natasha’s whiskey haze recollected our relationship with such clarity.”

You could almost hear the way Yelena prickled at your taunt, wanting to lash out and defend her sister but knowing she had no right. You’d suffered trying to save her sister; save the woman who did nothing to save herself, outright refusing it sometimes.

“What do you want, Lena?” you finally questioned, a weary sigh escaping as you trudged over to the chair across from her and dropped into it. Catching her gaze, you saw the guilt and sorrow swimming within but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care anymore.

“We did not know who should come find you but I thought you would prefer my company to others. We might not be friends now and you may hate me, rightfully so, but I am a safer choice, I believe.” She was rambling, clearly stalling, and you both knew it.

“Spit it out.”

“There was an accident,” Yelena swallowed. “Tony and Rhodey were on their way to pick up something for Stark’s company and…” a wave of icy fear washed over you as you anticipated her next words, “Tony didn’t make it and Rhodey may never walk again.”

Tears immediately filled your eyes.

Tony had been a good friend to you – and the reason you’d met Natasha originally. He’d been there in the darkest moments, before you ran away from the place you’d called home for so long. You hadn’t meant to lump him in with everyone else you’d left behind but a piece of you, however small, blamed him.

Now? Now you’d wished you’d said yes to that damn plane ticket.

“It may be a long shot but I was hoping you would come back to New York until the funeral. Pepper is a mess and we are all doing what we can. Kate thought you might put aside everything else for Morgan and Pepper. I have a ticket for myself back to New York and a round trip for you. All you have to do is say yes.”

You swallowed dryly. The idea of returning was daunting but you couldn’t imagine leaving his family to suffer. You had been close to Pepper and loved Morgan like a sister. The pain they must be feeling…

“Let me go pack.”

-X-

You: I just found out an old friend died. I know we had plans this weekend but I need to go see his family and help them prep his funeral. Rain check?

Kara: Oh my gosh, are you okay? That’s totally fine! I’ll let the others know you won’t be around for game night either.

You: I’m devastated, tbh, but he would do the same for me. Even if I was a bad friend in the end.

Kara: You weren’t a bad friend. You were just hurt and in pain. I’m sure he forgave you.

Kara: Do you want me to come with you? I know I don’t know them but I know you and I know this must be scary for you.

You: I appreciate it and I’ll let you know. They need you here though for now ;) Ms. Soon-To-Be-Pulitzer nominee.

Kara: The offer stands if you need me. Be safe!

Yelena hummed curiously beside you, dragging you back into the real world. “Girlfriend?”

There was no judgment in her voice, but your hackles still rose defensively. As though you were expecting more from her innocent inquiry; to be scolded for trying to move along.

She must have understood your look of distrust, a sad smile breaching her lips. “In spite of… everything, I do wish for nothing but your happiness, (Y/N). When Natasha began her journey to sobriety, she admitted to everything. Why you had left. And I felt incredibly stupid for believing her over what I had seen with my own eyes but there was something about knowing my infallible sister was struggling that I… was not willing to acknowledge.

“I still believe Natasha only chose to get sober in hopes of winning you back. When she realized you were truly gone, she understood the magnitude of her actions and jumped into it like she always does but I worry it was not for the right reasons. I love my sister, but I don’t think you should take her back. She is not in a place that would be healthy for that. And if you have a girlfriend, it makes it easier.”

Stunned by Yelena’s honesty, you shook your head.

“No, Kara isn’t my girlfriend. Not yet, anyways. There are feelings there, for both of us, but I haven’t been able to step into the fire with her. I want to, but…” you hesitated, eyes cast downward. “A part of me still loves your sister. Or, it holds me back from fully giving Kara the love she deserves, I guess. I loved Natasha with all I had and she hurt me in so many ways but those claws are still latched in… deep. I want to be able to give her all of my heart or I’ll just hurt us both.”

“Always the thoughtful one you are, (Y/N) (L/N). Maybe this will be the answer you need.” Yelena offered a kind smile, but you could see the nerves glistening in her eyes.

Neither of you were certain where you’d stand when you finally arrived.

-X-

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the five stages of grief,” Dr. Freeman stated, glancing down at her notepad before meeting your eye. “In my experience, both as a doctor and as a person, I believe you are going through them, though you remain trapped between denial and anger.”

Scoffing, you glared at the floor, trying valiantly to ignore the painful pressure in your chest. “How can this be grief when she didn’t die?” you wondered bitterly, keeping your second thought to yourself. It would’ve been easier if she had.

“Maybe she didn’t physically pass on, but the woman you thought her to be – the safety and connection you had acquired over the years – did die the day she hit you. Your trust in her died. Your hopes and dreams and aspirations… your future vanished. It would make sense for you to grieve it.” She leaned forward with a knowing expression. “I suspect you grieved that during your battle for her sobriety. Especially when you were the only one fighting.”

Your lip trembled, a fresh wave of tears filling your waterline pitifully. You felt like a damn fountain, constantly crying over a woman who clearly didn’t give a shit about you.

“It is okay to grieve,” Dr. Freeman assured you. “She made her choice and it affected you greatly. You’re allowed to be in pain. What happens next is up to you; do you let her control you for the rest of your life? Or do you accept that it happened and grow from it?”

A gentle elbow nudged you awake and your eyes flew open, a startled breath escaping as you glanced around. Apologetically, Yelena gestured for you to rise and you realized the plane was nearly barren, aside from the few stragglers gaining their bearings after the long journey.

“Kate should be waiting for us outside of luggage claim. Lucky for us, all you brought was a carry-on so we don’t have to wait for the idiots to release your clothes.”

Following behind the blonde, you kept your head down as she navigated the airport with ease. The reality of being back in New York left you nauseous, the urge to crawl back to National City overwhelming. If it wasn’t for the fact you could picture Pepper’s tear-stained face, you probably would have.

But you would do this for them.

For him.

The car ride to Tony’s home was worse, awkward and silent. Yelena was clutching her girlfriend’s hand while Kate drove, the dark eyes of the acclaimed archer flickering to you in the mirror occasionally. You kept fiddling with your phone, tempted to text Kara but not wanting to drag her into the drama that tended to surround your life.

As the trees grew thicker, encompassing the pathway to Tony’s, Kate finally spoke.

“Clint and Laura took Morgan for the night so Pepper could get some things planned. No one besides him knows you agreed to come back for the funeral. When I left, Natasha and Wanda were both there and planning to stay the night. We already have a room and there’s another guest bedroom you should be able to take. I know you’ve stayed there before, but I don’t think anyone else is there right now and…”

“Kate, it’s okay. Thank you,” you spoke up, cutting off her ramblings. She’d always been a good kid and a great partner for Yelena. “I’m sure this is going to be terrible and weird, but I’m hopeful we can all put it aside for Pep and Morgan.”

Nodding, Kate parked the car behind Wanda’s “mom van” as you had affectionately deemed it once upon a time.

Watching the front door swing open, you were transported back to a simpler time. Tony, standing on the porch with a toddler Morgan sitting on his shoulders, while Pepper nervously kept her hand resting on his back in case Morgan tipped over. You could still remember his suave voice and the smell of his aftershave when he embraced you. The sound of screaming kids and barbeque popping on the fancy grill he’d purchased just to piss off Steve.

How lucky you felt to be friends with such a kind man while you worked for a local newspaper in hopes of making it big someday.

Blinking back to the present, you could vaguely make out the frail outline of Pepper being supported by a heavily pregnant Wanda, their eyes piercing through the tint of Kate’s windows as they tried to decipher who was in the back.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kate promised, though you all knew it was a lie.

Swallowing back your panic, you shoved open the door and stepped out into the cool autumn air, wincing at the gasps that echoed in the stillness. Despite not seeing you for nearly a year, your awkward stance and sheepish smile was enough.

Pepper was an immediate mess of tears as she rushed down the stairs to you, tossing herself into your arms moments before her body collapsed with heartbreak. You could hear murmuring from the stairs, Wanda trying to gain someone’s attention within the house, but you desperately poured your focus into the woman sobbing brokenly in your arms. She felt weightless in comparison to the guilt you bore and you repeatedly apologized into the side of Pepper’s head, holding her as tight as you dared.

Your eyes fell closed when the voice you’d dreaded hearing again met your ears…

Over tea, Kara gives her sister the rundown of the evening-- omitting certain bits of her own exhanges with Lena. By the end, Alex is stunned, but heartbroken for her daughter.

"The highest of highs, and lowest of lows," Alex moans. "I was already going to call her out of school tomorrow, but now I really need to."

Kara nods. "I hope she'll remember the night more for what actually happened than the fact she lost the pictures of it. She really did have a good time, til she realized."

"What a night," Alex sighs. "Well, thank you for stepping in. I know she appreciated the time with you, in any case."

"Yeah," Kara nods. "Me too."

"You should come over more. She's not the only one who misses you."

"Alex..."

"You're not the only busy, I get that, but it sucks being the only one to reach out."

Kara closes her eyes. They've had variations of this conversation before, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. It's been busy lately, the last few years. And she knows she's missing out on key times with Esme, but... she's never been very good at juggling.

"I know." Then, "I should go. I'll call the venue in the morning, see if maybe one of the cleaning crew finds the phone and turns it in to lost and found or something."

All Alex can do is nod. "Thanks."

All thoughts of the ticket in her pocket disappears until the next day. Her calls to the arena have been fruitless-- no one had found anything, and no amount of cajoling or bribery could make them devote manpower to look for it. So when she's emptying her pockets to run a load of laundry, she's so frustrated she's willing to chuck it into the sun.

Until she sees a loop of a swoopy letter written on it, half hidden by a folded crease. Puzzled, Kara smooths it out and flips it over-- and finds a phone number written across its face in silver sharpie.

Stunned, Kara stares at the offending digits.

"What the fuck?"

---

It's probably her manager, Kara reasons. Or her assistant, at the very least. But when she punches the number into her phone, driven by the echo of her promise to Esme in her ears, she instantly recognizes the voice that answers.

"Hello?"

Kara's mouth goes dry. "Uhhhhhh.... hi? Shit. I mean--"

"I'm glad you called," Lena interrupts smoothly. "I have a phone here that's sorely missing its owner."

"Oh thank god," Kara releases with a heavy sigh. "Thank you."

"Sorry we weren't able to catch you before you left. I didn't see it until late."

"Esme was heartbroken," Kara tells her, unnecessarily. "You've saved a life."

"Her life? Or yours?" There's a tease in Lena's voice.

Kara grins. "Both. Definitely both."

A chuckle rumbles across the line. "Well, how can we get this to you?"

"Oh, if you could ship it..."

"No need," Lena says simply. "We're in town for another day or so. Is there a place we can deliver it?"

Kara blinks, surprised. "Um, sure. I'll be at my office in an hour."

"Perfect."

Kara rattles off the address to her, then books it to the office, determined not to miss the delivery. She stays on edge for the first hour, but soon finds herself distracted by her work-- until her assistant knocks tentatively on her door before poking her head in.

One look at Eve's baffled and somewhat dazed expression sends a bolt of electricity down Kara's spine.

"Miss Danvers? Um... there's someone here to see you. She-- she says its a personal delivery?"

Kara is already on her feet. "I'll take care of it. Thank you, Eve."

"It's--"

"I know," Kara assures her.

"You... know her?"

Kara sighs. "It's complicated."

She makes her way to the lobby, finding Lena Luthor leaning casually against the front desk, completely unbothered by the gazes peeking at her from between frosted sections of the glass walls.

"If you'd have told me you planned to bring it yourself, I would've given you a different address," Kara says drolly. Lena looks up at her with a puckish grin. "You're about to give the entire office an aneurysm."

"Sorry, not sorry." Entirely unapologetic, Lena straightens, pushing softly away from the desk to face Kara directly.

Kara folds her arms across her chest, unable to help the smile spreading across her own features. Lena lifts an eyebrow, retrieving Esme's phone from her back pocket to waggle it teasingly.

"Thank you...." Kara reaches for it, only for Lena to tilt it out of reach. Kara rolls her eyes. "What?"

"I'm... gonna be honest," Lena drags out, smirking. "I didn't come here with truly altruistic purposes."

Kara resettles her weight, cocking one hip. "This is becoming a pattern with you, Miss Luthor."

"I'm only human, you know." She taps Esme's phone on her chin. "And I'm not above taking a teenager's phone hostage, if it gets me a coffee with a gorgeous woman."

Bold. Entirely *too* bold. But Kara can't quite bring herself to mind.

"You have me at a disadvantage," she returns. "I really need that phone."

"Then a coffee with a charming lady seems to be in your very near future."

Kara rolls her eyes. "Let me grab my purse."

Lena waits patiently, and Kara doesn't bother pausing to explain a damn thing to anyone. It's none of their business, and right now she's a woman on a mission.

To get her goddaughter's phone.