I wrote a little continuation thing to it, because a) they asked 'what if', which y'all know is my kryptonite, and b) the idea stuck with me.

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When Lena finally wakes, days later, she stares blearily at Kara as though she can’t quite piece together where she was or what her friend was doing there.

“What happened?” she asks, voice coarse and thick.

Kara blinks away her tears. “There was an incident, at the docks. Supergirl–”

“My mother.” Lena’s voice turns sharp. “Please tell me it was enough.”

“She was examined at the prison. She’s fine but in custody without bail. Your plan worked.”

She’ll never forget the sight of the fried wires poking out of Lena’s pretty magenta coat, seared by Supergirl’s heat vision. Nor will she forget the faces of the detectives that arrived shortly after the ambulance– the undercurrent of fear that confirmed they’d heard it all through the microphone Lena had taped to her collarbone.

Lena relaxes in relief, sinking against the hospital mattress. “Good. That’s… that’s good.”

Wiping her eyes, Kara reaches for Lena’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I did.” Lena looks at her. “I didn’t expect Supergirl to show up. I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell her the truth without blowing the sting.”

She smiles weakly.

I think of this as a Sanvers song through and through, and I could write forever about it with them (and I might) in addition to this one I wrote centuries ago -- -- but for some reason, it came on in this coffee shop and I started crying (I’m going through a lot of positive life changes right now, and they’re great but everything has changed, so I’m extra emotional lol) and for some reason, Supercorp came to me. Anyway wow doing it now.

She met Lena Luthor when her world was at once perfect and falling apart.

Clark was there, and it was brilliant.

But nothing else was.

Because it was right after Myriad and right after Astra. It was right after Alex had attacked her with a kryptonite sword, and though it wasn’t her fault -- of course it wasn’t her fault -- Kara remembered every moment of it.

She dreamed about it, just like she dreamed about a sword running through Astra’s body.

Like she dreamed about Kelly’s body smashing to the ground because Kara had chosen to save James and Winn instead of her.

She’d acted like a god, and she felt like a monster.

Alex was frustrated and angry and maybe a bit jealous; of Clark, of the way Kara lit up around him like she hadn’t around Alex in… a while. The way Clark made her feel like she wasn’t alone, when Alex had been there the whole time, and Clark had abandoned her, but he’d done it to save the world, and… he was playing god, too.

Isn’t that what they did, on this planet?

Rao, could she not do anything right?

And then there was Lena Luthor.

Asking for her name in the face of the famous, charming Clark Kent; telling Kara, not Clark, looking at Kara, not Clark, about being adopted, about what it felt like to be made to feel like family, anchored to this planet by only one person, like she’d known instinctively that Kara would understand. Telling her, later, that she’d be a great reporter.

She liked Kara… for Kara.

Not for Supergirl, not for saving her from the helicopter or looking good in a short skirt and tights.

She laughed, almost giggled, at Kara’s nervous habits, but never like she was laughing at her; she laughed, almost giggled, like she was more charmed by Kara’s flying there on a bus than she could ever be by Clark Kent’s steel or Kansas wheat.

So when Lena invited her out -- her, not Supergirl -- she went.

Of course she went.

Lena took her dancing: it didn’t surprise her nearly as much as she thought it would. They were both women who needed to break away, to separate themselves from their jobs, their responsibilities, sometimes.

Alex gave Kara a flask of alcohol that she’d calculated would actually let her get drunk, if she wanted to be.

And she did, with Lena.

That blissful approach of oblivion. Lena’s fingertips on her waist. Lena’s smooth laughter in her ear. The way Lena moved her body. The way her throat looked as she swallowed shot after shot, winking at Kara as they clinked glasses, trusting each other with to catch each other when they stumbled over tall heels and swirling lights.

They managed to get themselves home -- to Lena’s penthouse, because ‘it’s closer, it’s closer’ -- before Lena started getting sick.

Kara helped get her to the bathroom. She waved her away when Lena tried to protest that she was gross and disgusting. She held her hair back while Lena was throwing up, and she’d never known that anyone’s hair could feel like a cooling spring breeze on warm skin.

She rubbed her back and, once, she kissed the nape of her neck, when Lena had had a particularly rough time getting up what she needed to.

Kara told her that she was doing great, that she had nothing to worry about, that she could just let go, because Kara was here, and Lena can just rest when her stomach is done protesting the liquor.

Lena reached behind her and squeezed her hand.

Kara helped her up, stayed steady by her as she rinsed her mouth, brushed her teeth, rinsed again.

Kara’s world was swaying with alcohol, too, but it was all spinning around Lena.

And when Lena walked out of the bathroom, she smiled over her shoulder at Kara, at once shyly embarrassed and boldly mischievous, and perfectly, perfectly… perfect.

Kara’s world froze, because her galaxy, in this moment, centered on the woman in front of her.

She asked Kara to stay over, tilting into her arms and looking down at her lips.

Kara gulped and kissed her forehead and told her, gentle as she could, promising as she could, that she should get some rest.

Lena pouted, and Kara learned that the Danvers girl pout had nothing on the Luthor girl pout.

She knew, in that moment, that she loved her.

But she also knew that they were drunk, and that they had more time.

They had more time, more time, more time.

Kara would make sure of it.

Supergirl isn’t supposed to bid. She’s there to be bid on– in the name of charity. But while her contribution is a photo-op and a Super special personalized voicemail for the winner’s phone, Lena’s is a dance of the winner’s choosing, to be redeemed at the closing of the auction.

It’s better than selling a kiss, or– Rao forbid– an actual date, but Kara’s tongue dries with each consecutive bid. She knows from watching her best friend all night that the persistent bidder is the handsy Silicon Valley transplant Lena’s been trying to avoid for hours, and the way Lena’s facade of good sportsmanship ebbs with every bidder who drops out.

Soon, the creep– drunk as well, to add insult to Lena’s imminent injury– is nearly salivating with his prize so close at hand.

“Going once, going twice–”

“Ten thousand dollars!”

Oh, Rao. Kara outbids by thousands, a lifeline if anyone’s heard one. But the auctioneer slams his gavel down sharply. “And sold! To the woman the red cape! The bidding is now closed, thank you all for your contributions!”

Maybe it’s just Kara, but the auctioneer seems relieved to award the dance to Supergirl. Kara isn’t complaining. She’s relieved too. “Would the winning bidders please come forward to claim your tickets, please, thank you.”

Kara approaches the table in long strides, steadfastly ignoring the rude gesture offered by the jilted bidder. Lena makes a beeline for her as soon as she descends the stage, sweeping into her arms with a relieved smile.

“Thank you,” she releases in a single breath. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Kara can’t quite manage to hide her grin. The dance floor clears around them as the orchestra starts up a slow waltz. “Well,” she says, trying to look anywhere but the bare skin of Lena’s neck, “damsels in distress are kind of my thing.”

She freezes, panic sending a deep flush creeping up her neck. “I didn’t mean–”

“Don’t worry,” Lena promises with a low chuckle. “Your secret is safe with me.”

The assurance does nothing to abate the sudden heat in Kara’s cheeks. She reaches for the next available topic.

“You look beautiful tonight.” No! “Not that you don’t usually– that’s not even what tonight is about– I mean, it’s not what I first noticed–” Shit.

Despite her fumblings, Lena’s smile only grows. “I may be more than a pretty face, but I still enjoy a compliment. Especially from a pretty girl.”

Kara’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly before she can muster a response. “Uhhhh…”

“Did you do something different with your hair?” Now Lena’s eyes glint with mischief, and Kara realizes she’s being teased.

She relaxes with a huff. “No,” she grins.

“Doesn’t it get in your way when you’re superheroing?” Lena’s fingers trail through the ends thoughtfully. “Why not pull it back? I hear battle braids are all the rage.”

Kara shrugs. “It’s not pulled as often as you might think.”

“Shame.”

A cough of surprise explodes out of Kara, and turns into a bright laugh. Lena joins in, and this time, it’s her cheeks that turn pink.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “You’ve just saved me from the world’s worst dance, and here I am teasing you.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t mind the occasional tease,” Kara informs her. Her chest feels warm, and light. She can’t stop staring at the way the lights sparkle in Lena’s eyes. “Especially from a pretty girl.”

The pretty pink in Lena’s cheeks floods to a deep red. Their eyes meet and suddenly the world seems to still around them. Kara almost doesn’t notice, until Lena’s brow furrows.

“Why is it suddenly so quiet– oh!” Lena grabs her tightly, eyes squeezing shut at the eight feet between them and the ground. “Oh… wow. Okay.”

“Sorry!” Kara says quickly, immediately reversing their direction. “Let me–”

“Wait.”

Lena pries her eyes open, and looks down at the people below. Cameras flash, and Kara waits for Lena to give her direction. “You know…” Lena says slowly. “Rumor has it that a guard slips Lex copies of the National Times every week.”

Kara takes in the devilish glint in Lena’s eyes; it’s a look she’s very much starting to enjoy. “Well then… what do you say we give them a show?”

She firms her grip on Lena’s waist, but waits for Lena to nod. She does.

As the music resumes, Supergirl sweeps Lena Luthor around the dance floor, ten feet above it. She starts slow, but gets creative when Lena starts to relax against her. When she bends her partner back for their first dip, Lena yelps, then bursts into laughter. After that, Kara spins Lena around until their back to front, and Lena’s giggling all the while. When Kara spins her out, she immediately follows, completely safe, but the split moment their hands part gives the illusion that Lena twirls in defiance of gravity.

She chases Lena’s smile, her laughter, until the song ends and applause pulls them back down to Earth.

Lena rewards her with a kiss to the cheek, then stands back to applaud her with the rest. Kara takes an awkward bow.

“Thank you, Supergirl,” she murmurs, before the mayor has a chance to sweep her away. “You really were my hero tonight.”

“It was a pleasure to be of service,” Kara replies, with more confidence than she feels under Lena’s soft gaze. Her knees feel wobbly, and her stomach rolls giddily. “I hope we get the chance to do it again.”

Lena smiles, lingering despite the bodies jostling for her attention. Just as she turns, Kara catches hold of her hand once more. “Oh! Um…”

“L-Corp will pay the bid,” Lena promises with a conspiratorial wink.

Then she’s gone, swept up in a crowd of press and bigwigs. Kara turns to find her own impatient bidder, phone in hand.

“Right. Sorry.” She shakes herself from the lingering thrall. “Let’s do this.”

The next morning, Lena enters her office exhausted yet satisfied. The charity could be counted a success, even if a large portion of the donations originated from L-Corp. She’d have rather just donated the funds outright, but her public relations team had promised the auction would help soften her image– help her seem more… relatable. Personable.

It was by sheer luck she’d escaped the night without needing to press charges for assault.

Sheer luck and Supergirl.

The thought of the hero pulls Lena’s gaze to the balcony. It’s devoid of caped figures, but she does spot a cup of coffee anchoring a fluttering newspaper to her balcony rail. She steps out into the morning breeze to collect the cup, and holds the paper up to the light.

Her own laughing face graces the front page, mirrored by Supergirl’s broad grin. While Lena’s eyes are squeezed shut in delight in the photo, the hero gazes at her with an expression that a far, far cry from the revulsion Lena still half-expects to see.

The headline reads: Super & Luthor Go Toe to Toe-- For Charity.

Lena grins when she reads the handwritten note in the margin. “Wish we could see his face when he sees this.”

Accompanying it is a fairly good recreation of an angry face emoji, complete with steam billowing from its ears. A smaller, simpler smiley accompanies the sign-off.

Another update, because the last one didn’t feel like it moved enough. So, here it is. I apologize in advance.

Lena clung to Jack. His arms wrapped around her, warm and solid and the smell of him filled her senses. His voice rumbled through their chests as he murmured soft reassurances. Around them, the building had fallen still, throwing the world into an eerie silence.

Closing her eyes, Lena could almost believe they were in Metropolis: before Lex was arrested, before the trial, before the truth of his crimes had come out, before she had shattered everything with her choice to move to National City. When it had just been the two of them.

“I love you,” Lena murmured.

Jack’s hands rubbed soft circles against her back. “I love you too,” he said. “So, so much…”

Leaning back, Lena brought her hands up to cup his face, feeling the prickle of his beard against her palms. She stared into his eyes, trying to shut out the destruction that she could see in her peripheral vision-- the remains of a perfect life, shattered beyond repair.

“I wanted this with you,” Lena told him. “All of it. I just didn’t know it yet.”

Jack’s features softened in a reassuring smile. “We can still have it. We will. ”

His hand smoothed her hair away from her eyes, trailing across her cheek. Lena leaned into his touch, her chest threatening to fold in on itself. She could almost pretend that night in Spheerical’s labs never happened, that she’d never felt the way his hand went limp in hers, as the life left his eyes.

Almost.

Kara didn’t know to expect this. When she put on the helmet Max Lord once created to save her life, she hadn’t known what to expect, but she hadn’t even considered… this. Not Lena in jeans and a soft blouse, with a long graceful necklace far different from the chunky jewelry she usually wore. Not the loose ponytail lying against a relaxed shoulder, softening Lena’s face and lending her a warm, approachable glow.

Not the handful of kids who looked nothing like Lena but clearly belonged, whose faces smiled at her from a thousand photos on the walls and mantel.

Not Jack Spheer, alive and breathing.  

Finding Lena unconscious in her office at L-Corp had seared through the haze that had enveloped Kara after seeing Mon-el lift off in the pod. The sight of the fleshy flower pressed against Lena’s chest silenced all higher brain function. Kara had lingered just long enough to scan the room for any further threat, but found only a black stone vessel--lid askew, half falling out of Lena's cabinet-- embossed with a Daxamite prayer of forgiveness.

Rhea absolved Lena of her betrayal, and granted her the sweetest of deaths.

Kara got Lena to the DEO in record time, and Alex had known what to do. Within minutes Lena had been hooked up to monitors and given an IV, and when Lord’s device was delivered by a sprinting DEO agent, Kara didn’t even bother debating who should be the one to use it.

James had warned against it, a sentiment echoed more gently by Alex, who reminded Kara that Lena had a lot of heartache to be exploited by the Black Mercy-- much of which revolved around the symbol on Kara’s chest. So when Kara laid back against the gurney and settled the visor over her head and eyes, she’d expected to step into a world dominated by Luthors-- Lex, Lionel, even Lillian.

But not this.

Not a cozy apartment brimming with contentment. Not a quiet morning without a single other Luthor in sight. Not the soft love evident in every word, every touch-- the kind Lena had spilling from her fingertips.

The kind anybody would cling to, once they found it.

“Kara, stop,” Lena begged. “Please, just stop.”