By the time her footsteps have faded the church's emptiness has reconfigured itself again. 

Kara shifts her weight slightly, the floorboard creaking beneath her feet. Lena knows she is cataloging the damage she sees—the visible wear of her body, the usual composure stripped away. Calculating how she can help fix what has happened.

But Lena isn't sitting in the middle of a burning building. There is no fire to extinguish. No bleeding to stop. No immediate rescue required.

Her breath moves in and out—quick, then deliberately slow. She is always thinking with her whole body, her lungs telegraphing her decisions, her movements. 

It remains a wonder how the lies between them lasted so long.

Kara chooses the floor. Rearranges herself. Limbs folding into a cross-legged posture, body shrinking to fit the leftover space. Undoing all the distance they've each set. 

The light creates a spotlight on them both, blues and ambers highlight the curve of her cheek,  pinks and greens the slope of their shoulders.

A tremor works its way through Lena's lower back. She shifts, knees parting, lets her legs unfold awkwardly from their cramped penance.

She's a mess. And Kara sees all of it without pretending not to.  

She isn't sure if she hates her or loves her for it. 

The movement is all memory. Habit still. Established before they learned to protect themselves from each other.

Kara pulls her feet across her lap. No hesitation. No question of whether touch is welcome anymore. Her hands warm through the thin fabric of her ruined stockings. 

Lena's breathing shifts—not relaxed exactly, but no longer held. The way it has been since the funeral. The careful control that kept her upright through practiced condolences and false eulogies begins to dissolve. Through her legs, she feels Kara's breathing, the rise and fall of ribs beneath black fabric.

The light continues its slow transit across the floor. Touching her legs. Kara's hands. 

The pad of her thumb moves almost imperceptibly against the inside of Lena's ankle and the thin skin that covers the blood moving beneath. 

"Grief is supposed to have stages." she starts. Stops. "There's supposed to be a process." Voice flat. Quiet. 

Kara's head bends in concentration. "There's no right way to lose things."

"No." The word tastes like copper. Saltwater. The bitterness of memories that never quite leaves her throat. "There isn't."

Kara's breathing changes—deeper, more deliberate. Listens with her whole body, the way she listens to heartbeats through walls, to trouble three cities away.

"I don't know how to help."

Not just with this. Not only this. Lena thinks. Knows. 

"I'm not asking you to." 

Kara's palm shifts on her ankle, fingers curving around the bone with unconscious precision. 

Warm. Firm. Human in their limitations for once. 

Something loosens in her chest. Not relief exactly, but the possibility of it.

It's the closest to honest they've been.

It's the closest to acceptance she's come. 

Her eyes meet Kara's for the first time since she entered the church. Blue as the water she swore she wouldn't think about today.

But it doesn't feel like drowning.

"I brought flowers," Kara says suddenly. "Not for her. For you. I'm sorry if that was wrong."

She notices them on the floor next to her then. A small bouquet wrapped in brown paper. A little crinkled at the edges. The stems a little pinched at the ends. 

"Thank you." The smile comes without permission. Small. Fleeting. Real. 

The light moves again. Low enough now that it reaches no part of them. As if holiness is only ever a matter of proper lighting.

Slowly, she draws her legs toward her chest, dislodging them from Kara's lap.

Her muscles protest even this gentle demand after hours of stillness, sending out bright flares of discomfort up her calves, behind her knees.

Kara rises at the same time, uncrossing herself in one smooth motion. Her body unfolds with fluid grace that always seems slightly improbable.

Lena gathers her shoes, crams her feet back in, winces at the awkward fit now that leather has stiffened again.

Kara reaches for her coat—Lena's own. Borrowed long enough ago she doesn’t remember it. She holds it out like a peace offering. She shrugs into it, notices the slight alteration in its shape, the faint impression of Kara's body. Not damage. Just evidence.

The church transforms around them one last time. The building settles back into its original proportions,

The bench has become just furniture again—wood and fabric and brass fittings. Nothing sanctified, nothing haunted. All the penance it had to offer absorbed, metabolized, made into something else.

Outside, the cold air hits them sharp and full of sound. City noise rushing back—traffic and voices and all the ordinary things. 

Sam waits for them, a plate covered by aluminum foil balanced in her hands.

"Food," she says by way of greeting. "We're not negotiating."

She takes the plate. The weight of it sits absurdly comforting in her hands.

"Home?"

Sam asks, car keys already in hand.

"Yours?"

The question more for herself than anyone else.

Kara's hand finds hers—brief contact, a sweep of skin across knuckles.

"Of course."

i know i’m asking a lot, but Wattpad will only allow me to file a DMCA—which requires me to share my full legal name and address with Wattpad as well as the plagiarist, which i’m obviously not comfortable doing. for fuck’s sake.

----

Sunlight seeps in through the window.

Kara can feel the warmth of Lena's body pressed against hers, their bodies entwined under rumpled sheets. Lena shifts, and Kara lets her arms wind around her, keeping her close — safe. She presses closer, nuzzling her chin into the hollow behind her ear, lips finding the sensitive spot there. But then, to her surprise, Lena lets out a soft warning. "Careful darling, that tickles," voice still worn with sleep.

Kara grinned, "Oh, does it now?" she teased, fingers dancing along her ribs.

Lena squirms, her laughter growing louder as she becomes more tangled in the sheets—in her arms.

Kara eventually relents, heart swelling at the sight of her smile.

"Good morning, beautiful," she murmurs, leaning down to capture Lena's lips in a proper kiss then.

Lena meets her, hand coming up to pull Kara even closer, trapping her hands between their bodies and turning them over until it’s Kara tangled instead... "Good morning, darling."

----

Sunlight seeps in through the window.

Kara blinks awake, the sun's warmth slowly making its way up from her toes through the rest of her. She turns her head to find Lena already awake, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she watches her.

She reaches out, brushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Lena closes her eyes and leans into the touch, covering Kara's hand with her own. When she opens her them again, Kara is struck by just how bright they are, even in the dim light. The colors subtly shifting between blue and green. Kara scoots closer, tangling their legs together.

"How long have you been watching me?" she asks

A while," Lena admits with a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating between them.

"You float in your sleep," a teasing note in her voice, "It is a very interesting way to wake up."

"Only sometimes and only a little," Kara rebuts, her smile growing as she leans in for a kiss.

"Can we just stay here for a while?"

"You were the one trying to float away."

She huffs out a laugh; the sound muffled as Lena tugs her lip between her teeth. She lifts her head, meeting her gaze with a grin. "Well, I promise to stay if you do."

Lena's hand moves to rest on Kara's hip as if already keeping good on it's promise.

"Always."

----

Shadows seep across the room.

Her back aches, and her arms feel heavy.

She's cold despite the blankets wrapped around her body.

She reaches across the bed and expects the warmth of Lena's skin beneath her hands.

Finds not even the imprint of her body.

She pulls herself from underneath the sheets and swings her legs over the edge of the mattress.

Her own body comes back to her pieces.

So does everything else.

She shuffles to the door.

A light from the kitchen seeps across the floor.

She follows the long shadows it casts, feet still heavy, gravity still foreign.

She finds figure lay curled up on the couch, a blanket half on the floor, wrinkled clothes, and dark hair falling across a pale face.

Kara?" Lena's voice is uncertain, filled with worry. She sits up, the blanket sliding off her lap. "Are you okay? Do you need me to call Alex?"

Kara stares at her, mind struggling to decide what is real and what wasn't all over again.

"Alex, no—I." Kara shakes her head and pulls back a little. "No. I'm—you weren't there when I—?"

Lena looks even more confused. "I didn't, um, I didn't know if you would want…" Her voice trails off, eyes darting between Kara and the apartment, fingers twisting around themselves — unsure in their own way.

Kara follows Lena's eyes and hands and tries to organize it all. The mornings, Lena—it was just—she had just…

"Darling," Lena reaches out, touching Kara's hand, drawing her back. And as if it's a reflex Kara turns her palm up, lacing their fingers together tightly.

Kara struggles to find her voice. "I'm sorry," she finally whispers hoarsely. 

Lena's brows knit together. "What on earth are you sorry for?"

Kara gestures helplessly around the room. For thinking…for imagining…" She trails off, words clogging her throat, lungs filling with the familiar scent of Lena's clothes, her hair, her skin, and the staleness of pain and loss and grief that clings to them both.

"I missed you," Kara confesses at last, at least.

Unable in the end to apologize for the hope she left buried somewhere in the universe that had brought her home.

Lena reaches up, gently cupping her cheek.

"I missed you too…"

She feels the weight of Lena's lips against the top of her head.

"God I missed you too."

Kara eyes the woman at the counter while she waits for his reply. The subject of her suspicion—Lena, she’d called herself on the phone; Tess Mercer, it had said on her mastercard—twists a soft-looking lock of dark hair around her finger as she studies their menu. The way the sunlight sets it ablaze almost makes Kara take a second picture, purely for its artistic merit.

Alex dabs at her onion-induced tears with the cuff of her sleeve. “Let it go, Kara,” she sighs.

“Let it go? Let it—” Kara whirls back to face her, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Do you want The Tower to end up like Winn and James’ steakhouse? Or are you fine with getting swindled by this—this… villain?”

“Of course not.” Alex looks at her like she’s stupid. “But even if this woman is your so-called ‘food influencer’, what do you suggest we do about it? It’s not as if we can bully her into giving us a fair review.”

Kara squares her jaw and sets her fists firmly on her hips. “No,” she declares, her tone grim. “But we can teach her a little about journalistic integrity.” She blows at a lock of hair that’s fallen in her face. “And also, possibly, credit card fraud.”

Alex narrows her eyes at her. “Kara,” she warns, putting down her knife. Her voice is low and cautious, as if she’s talking to the rowdy raccoon that moved into their dumpster three weeks ago instead of to her baby sister. “Let’s just take a breath and think about this for a m—”

Kara is already gone, the doors to the kitchen swinging closed behind her. Sliding into the cluttered space behind the counter, she crosses her arms and then drops her elbows on the bar, leaning what she belatedly realizes is probably a little too close to her adversary. She’s close enough to make out the individual downy hairs on her chin and the lines in her painted lips, which are still pursed thoughtfully in what Kara is sure would look like an attractive pout to someone who didn’t know any better.

But Kara knows so much better.

“Let me guess,” she remembers to get out, much less biting than originally intended. “Today you’ll be having the fifth entrée down the list.”

As soon as their eyes meet over the miniscule amount of space left between them, Kara knows leaning in was a fatal mistake. Her nemesis blinks up at her with wide, startled eyes that remind Kara of the glass pebbles she finds on the beach on her morning walks, not-quite-blue and not-quite-green, and for a moment Kara’s brain sputters out as if someone abruptly turned off the flames that kept it cooking.

But the woman recovers fast, like the scheming scoundrel that she is. She guiltily shutters her eyes behind thick, charcoal lashes, and Kara’s temper revives at the observation that her enemy isn’t as good of an actress as she thinks she is.

“I’ve actually been thinking of breaking my own rule,” she says, with a smile that lands somewhere between self-deprecating and apologetic. “I may give in and order the same thing you served me yesterday.” Kara goes hot all over with righteous indignation at the rich timbre of the woman’s voice, the almost flirtatious lilt it takes on when she adds, “I haven’t been able to stop dreaming about it.”

Kara pulls back a little in an effort to escape that curious gaze, the enticing scent of the woman’s perfume. It’s sweet enough to drown out even Alex’s mountain of onions. “I know what you’re doing,” she blusters.

The—frankly unfairly beautiful—soulless grifter stares at her, stricken. “I’m—I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” Kara says. “I know who you are.” And then, as if she’s putting down the last card in a game of Uno, “Lena.”

The woman goes very still for a moment, and then the corners of her lips tug down in a bitter semblance of a smile. “I see,” she says. She’s rigid, regal; she’s royalty perched on a wobbly wooden stool. “And am I to assume that’s enough for you to turn down my patronage?”

Kara’s resolve wobbles, too. She hadn’t expected her adversary—Lena, she now knows—to roll over so easily. “Well, yeah, obviously,” she flusters, her energy suddenly too large and lumbering in the face of Lena’s deference. “Winn and James are family.”

“Family.” There’s a flicker of wistfulness in Lena’s voice, before confusion colors her features. “So the cold shoulder,” she says. “It’s personal?”

Kara scoffs. The fraudster doesn’t even remember the names of her latest victims. Typical. “It was their steakhouse that you razed to the ground last month,” Kara reminds her.

Lena blinks at her. “The establishment just up the road?” She raises a critical eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they set themselves up for failure when they decided to name their restaurant Misteak.”

Kara huffs. Her air quotes are appropriately vicious when she says, “They were doing just fine before your slanderous ‘review’ went viral.”

Lena does a remarkably convincing impression of someone who is genuinely flabbergasted. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Liar.”

Lena’s shocked laughter is bright but brief. It’s the first time Kara has heard her laugh. It’s maddeningly attractive and deeply annoying.

“Okay,” Lena says. She folds her arms in front of her chest and leans back a little in her seat, unaware of its delicate disposition. A smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. “Tell me,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “Who do you think I am, exactly?”

Kara leans in close again, refusing to allow Lena to get the upper hand. She’d like to wipe that smirk from Lena’s face—manually, if need be—preferably, even, if it means she’d get to smudge that infuriatingly immaculate lipstick with her thumb—

“You,” Kara charges, in an effort to drown out that unhelpful thought, “are a fraud. You call yourself a ‘mystery food critic’ on TikTok, but really you’re blackmailing businesses into buying a favorable review.”

“Hey, um.” Alex has followed her out of the kitchen, holding her phone. “So. Winn texted back, and he says—”

But Lena laughs again, her guarded posture melting down to unmistakable relief. “I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice a high warble. “That sounds awful. And also extremely illegal. Have you reported this person to the authorities? I can get you in touch with an excellent lawyer, if you’d like.”

Kara doesn’t know if she feels more outraged or confused.

…Or possibly some secret third thing.

“So you’re telling me—” Kara barks out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re saying you’re not her.”

“This, ehm— Tic Tac person?” When Lena’s dark lashes flutter, something in Kara’s chest flutters too. “No.”

Impossible. “Then why have you been in here every day this week?” Kara interrogates, the full force of evidence she’s collected behind it. “When neither one of us has seen you here even once, since we opened?”

Alex rolls her eyes. “I told you I wasn’t sure whether I’d seen her here before,” she points out. “Also, Winn says—”

“Oh please,” Kara scoffs, her eyes fixed on Lena, who has propped her elbows on the counter again, closer now than she’d been the last time their eyes met. “As if you could forget a woman as beautiful as—” Kara’s gaze drops to Lena’s mouth, unbidden, when Lena parts those rude, ruby lips. “...You.”

Alex stares.

Kara swallows.

Lena blinks; two times fast, and then again, after a beat, slow and sticky, her eyes darkening.

“So you may as well come out with it,” Kara croaks out what little remains of her anger. “There’s something you want more than our fettuccine.”

Lena’s cheeks have turned a treacherously charming shade of pink. “I suppose you’re right about that one, at least,” she admits after a beat.

In Kara’s peripheral vision, Alex frantically slides her hand across her throat. Kara frowns at her, telegraphing a wordless what is your problem but finding no satisfactory answer in the crimson shade her sister’s face has taken on.

“Yeah, well,” she says, almost disappointed, fumbling to fill the space left by Lena’s confession. “I’m telling you right now that it’s never going to happen.”

Alex clears her throat with startling force. “Winn wants to know,” she says, reading from her phone, “Who’s the hot chick?”

When Kara returns her gaze to the woman on the other side of the counter, she gulps. Lena is somehow even closer than she was before. She’s also fully propping herself up now on the laminate surface between them, granting Kara a glimpse of freckled cleavage that in no possible universe could be interpreted as unintentional.

“So,” Lena drawls. “What you’re saying is you’re not going to give me your number?”

Kara’s throat is suddenly very dry.

“Huh?” she manages, but only just barely.

“I was hoping,” Lena says slowly, that maddening smirk once again tugging up the corner of her mouth, “that you’d maybe like to—”

Lena shifts in her seat, crossing her legs in what is bound to become a devastatingly seductive pose, but the barstool decides in exactly that moment that's it’s finally had enough. Lena yelps as it gives out beneath her with a dramatic snap, one of its rickety limps flying across the floor as if celebrating its first taste of freedom, and Kara’s never considered herself to be very quick, but here she is anyway, on the other side of the counter in what feels like less than a second, one hand gripping Lena’s forearm, the other slipping smoothly around her waist.

“—fuck,” Lena gasps up at her. She feels good, in Kara’s hands, slight but pleasantly heavy, like the santoku knife Alex has forbidden Kara from touching ever again. “Well,” Lena says. “That’s. Perhaps not the way I would have phrased it, especially in front of your friend—”

They both glance over at Alex, but she’s disappeared, the swaying of the kitchen doors the only indication she was ever there.

“O-kay,” Kara says.

Lena grins. “Okay?”

Kara mentally rewinds the conversation and feels her ears burn at the realization of what she just agreed to. “I mean,” she amends. “We could, maybe, grab something to eat first?”

Something devious sparks in Lena’s terrifyingly gorgeous face. She glances down at Kara’s arms before blinking back up at her again and smirking. “I thought you already had.”

And, goodness gracious.