Chapter Text
Kara closed the door to her apartment, the soft click echoing the profound silence within. She pressed her forehead against the cool, smooth wood, as if the solid surface could absorb the frantic whirlwind in her chest. Outside, the steady drum of rain against her balcony window was the only sound, a melancholic rhythm to the chaos in her mind. She let out a shaky breath, feeling the full, crushing weight of the day settle onto her shoulders.
Today had been a disaster at CatCo. A fresh wound on top of an already festering one. She had arrived late—again—trying to help with an alien transport that had gone rogue on the edge of the city. A minor incident, truly, but one that had taken too long to subdue without casualties, thanks to some unexpectedly resilient alien tech. When she finally got to the office, breathless and damp, Lena was already there. Perfectly composed. Perfectly, terrifyingly, angry. Her green eyes, usually so vibrant, were hard as emeralds, cutting through the pretense of CatCo’s polite hum.
Kara hadn’t even gotten to take off her coat before the first meeting of the day began. And Lena hadn't said a word to her outside the rigid agenda, hadn’t even glanced in her direction. Not a single look. Not a single flicker of the vulnerability that had seeped into Kara’s ear over the phone just last night. Lena had simply corrected an intern’s panicked ramble about social media strategy, her voice sharp enough to draw blood, and Kara had felt every word like a lash.
Jess leaned over her desk after lunch, voice hushed. “She’s in a mood today,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Maybe steer clear.”
“Yeah,” Kara said, already standing. “I’ll do exactly that.”
And then she marched straight to Lena’s office and knocked.
Lena didn’t look up right away. She was seated behind her desk, pen in hand, tearing through a stack of expense reports like they’d committed a personal betrayal.
“I said I didn’t want to be disturbed,” she said flatly.
“It’s me,” Kara replied.
Silence.
Lena looked up. Her eyes didn’t soften. “I noticed.”
Kara hovered in the doorway, heart pounding, heat crawling up her neck. “I wanted to go over the city council angle again. I’ve updated my sources. There’s enough to—”
“You’re late,” Lena interrupted.
Kara blinked. “What?”
“This morning,” Lena said coolly. “You were late. Again.”
“I—yeah. I know. I had—”
“I don’t need excuses, Kara,” she cut in. “I need reliability. If you want to be taken seriously here, you have to act like it.”
Kara’s throat tightened. “Is this about the article, or about me being—”
“It’s about you not showing up.”
“I am showing up,” Kara snapped, the words out before she could stop them. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying.”
Lena’s pen stilled.
Their eyes locked.
And Kara instantly wished she hadn’t come in at all.
“I don’t have time for this,” Lena said, quieter now. But not gentler. “Close the door on your way out.”
Kara’s hand tightened on the frame. “You called me last night.”
“I know.”
“You said you couldn’t sleep.”
“I still can’t,” Lena said, without looking up. “But that doesn’t change the fact that this is work.”
Silence. Dense and unforgiving.
Kara left without another word.
Now, in the quiet solitude of her empty apartment, she pressed her palms flat against the door, feeling the cold wood against her skin, and let it all wash over her. The frustration, a bitter taste in her mouth. The worry, a tightening knot in her gut. The pervasive guilt, a dull throb behind her eyes.
Her sister’s voice, a constant, loving refrain, echoed in her head. “You’re spread too thin, Kara. You can’t keep all of these lives going like this.” Alex was right. She always was. Kara was Supergirl, and Kara was a reporter, and Kara was… something else, something messy and confusing that felt inextricably tied to Lena Luthor, and all of it was pulling her apart.
She peeled herself off the door, her movements stiff, and wandered to the small kitchen. She flicked on a lamp, its warm, gold light illuminating the worn counters and cheap tile. She liked this apartment. It was unassuming. Human. The kind of place that made her feel like she truly belonged here, that she had a life beyond the cape and the cosmic. But tonight, even here, she felt like an impostor.
Her phone buzzed at 10:34 p.m.
Lena: Don’t let my words today stop you from finishing that story. It’s important. Even if you’re not ready to publish it yet.
Kara stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
No goodnight. No warmth.
Just… belief.
Still, somehow, it was enough to make her heart ache.
She curled onto the edge of the couch but didn’t sit. Just stood there, arms folded, phone still in hand. Her chest tightened with the kind of longing that wasn’t romantic so much as recognition. Lena believed in her work. Even if she didn’t believe in her. Not right now. But maybe… that was something.
She spotted the pile of DEO mission reports on the coffee table, the half-eaten takeout on the counter, Nia’s sticky notes with reminders about strategy sessions. Exhaustion seeped into her bones. And she still had to check in at the DEO tonight. Her stomach twisted, a familiar knot of apprehension. She wasn’t sure what kind of reception she’d get there. Alex had been increasingly vocal about her erratic hours, her almost reckless tendency to go solo.
***
By the time she arrived, it was well past 11 p.m. The DEO headquarters was quiet in the way military facilities never truly slept: corridors washed in sterile light, the soft hum of machinery, the occasional brisk footsteps of agents with data pads. As Supergirl, she strode in without apology, her cape billowing behind her, but her gut still knotted when she saw Alex standing over a console, jaw set in that older-sister way that meant we need to talk, and I’m going to be disappointed.
“Look who finally showed,” Alex said, not looking up from the monitor, her voice flat.
Kara flinched, just a little, the sting sharper than any physical blow. She fought it down and walked over, folding her arms across the crest of the House of El on her chest, a silent shield.
“Had a situation,” she said quietly, her voice rougher than she intended. “On 17th and Fulton. It was an Ailuromorphian.” She kept her gaze fixed on the monitor, unable to meet her sister’s eyes.
Alex’s eyes flicked up, unimpressed. “And you handled it alone. Again.”
“I didn’t want the team endangered,” Kara said, a flash of defiance sparking in her chest. She hadn’t wanted them slowed down. She hadn’t wanted them asking too many questions about why she was so distracted lately.
Alex snorted, pushing a few buttons on the console. The screen flipped through surveillance angles of the city, one briefly showing a familiar blur of red and blue, a lingering cloud of dust where a building corner had just been slightly compromised. “You mean you didn’t want help.” She leaned against the console, her expression weary. “We’re supposed to be coordinating with local authorities. You can’t just fly in, create a crater, and call that a solution.”
Kara’s face heated. “There was no crater.”
Alex gave her a pointed look, one eyebrow arched.
“Okay, a small crater,” Kara amended, muttering, the defensiveness crumbling.
The corner of Alex’s mouth twitched, a fleeting hint of a smile. She sighed, her gaze softening. “You know you’re not in this alone, right? You don’t have to be.”
Kara’s breath caught. That was the thing, wasn’t it? She felt alone. All the time. A loneliness that had become more acute, more painful, since Lena Luthor had started to subtly dismantle the walls around Kara’s heart. The responsibility felt immense, impossible, and singularly hers.
J’onn J’onzz, in his Hank Henshaw form tonight, approached quietly, his calm, ancient presence grounding the room like gravity.
“Supergirl,” he said in that low, even voice, “we are not your enemy. The DEO exists to help you. To support you. You do not carry the weight of this world alone.”
His gaze met hers—steady, knowing, far too perceptive—and Kara felt the words lodge somewhere deep, where doubt and duty always wrestled. “I know,” she murmured, her voice thinner than she liked.
But did she? Or was she just her mother’s daughter, shouldering everything until she collapsed? Or worse—like Lena, too proud to let anyone see her break? J’onn didn’t press. He only nodded, the understanding in his eyes more comforting than any answer.
Later, Kara was in the strategy room with Alex, Nia Nal, and Brainiac-5—Brainy, as they all called him despite his protests. The stark, functional space usually brought her a sense of purpose, but tonight, it only amplified her internal cacophony.
Nia was sprawled in a chair, feet up on the edge of the table, a bright contrast to Alex's tense posture. “So what’s the real reason you’re late, Kara?” she asked, eyebrow cocked, a knowing glint in her eyes.
Kara glared at her, heat rising to her cheeks. “I told you. Alien transport break.” The lie felt thin and flimsy, even to her own ears.
Brainy adjusted his tie primly, his eyes fixed on Kara with an almost unnerving analytical intensity. “I have seen the footage. Your dispatch time was longer than average. You were… elsewhere first?”
Dammit. Kara felt her face flush deeper. They knew. Or at least, they suspected. She had been elsewhere. Hovering silently, watching the L-Corp building from a rooftop across the street, like a pathetic, obsessed stalker. What would they think if they knew that? That she was wasting precious Supergirl time on her boss?
Alex’s eyes softened a fraction. “Is this about Lena?” Her voice was quiet, a gentle probe into a wound Kara had been trying desperately to conceal.
Kara scowled, tightening her jaw, and didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. Her silence was louder than any confession. Nia exchanged a knowing look with Brainy, a silent communication of shared understanding that made Kara want to disappear.
Before the awkwardness could fully solidify, J’onn’s voice rumbled over the intercom, cutting through the tension. “We’ll need to focus, team. Lex Luthor has been sighted moving funds through shell corporations. He’s up to something, and it’s big.”
Kara’s gut went cold. Lex. The name was poison on her tongue. He was a virus, infecting everything, including Lena. She pushed up from the chair with a screech. “What do we know?”
Alex leaned forward, tapping a tablet. “Intelligence suggests he’s been meeting off-world contacts. Possible arms deal, maybe even something biological. We don’t have specifics yet, but we do know he’s been planting stories in the media to discredit you, Supergirl. He’s getting bolder. More aggressive.”
Kara’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in her cheek. Of course he is. She could handle the discredit. She could endure the hateful headlines. But what about Lena? What would she think if she found out the full extent of Lex’s machinations, if she saw him for the monster he truly was? What would she think if she knew the full truth about Supergirl, about Kara? The weight of Lena’s trust, so fragile and hard-won, felt heavier than ever. She felt sick.
Brainy began listing potential technologies Lex might want, his words a dizzying cascade of probabilities and alien classifications. Nia interrupted with a crack about space lasers, trying to inject some levity into the grim assessment. Alex tried to get them back on track, her voice strained.
Kara only half-heard them. Her mind was a vortex of images and fears, all swirling around one person. Lena. Standing in that glass-walled office at CatCo, pretending nothing got to her. The look on her face this morning, cold, controlled, hurting. Hurting, Kara knew, because of the relentless pressure Lex was putting on her, on CatCo, on them. The thought that Lena was suffering, and Kara couldn't openly shield her, was agony.
After the meeting, she lingered in the corridor, her suit still on, the cape draped heavily behind her like a banner of war she was too tired to fully carry. She braced a hand against the cold, sterile wall and bowed her head, exhaling slowly.
Alex found her there, a quiet presence by her side. “You can’t save everyone, Kara,” she said softly, her voice filled with a weary compassion.
Kara’s eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears a familiar ache. “She’s not everyone,” she whispered, her voice raw, laced with an intensity that surprised even herself. Lena was different. Lena was… everything.
Alex squeezed her shoulder. “You’re doing your best. She’ll see that eventually.”
Kara let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. It was a hollow sound in the quiet corridor. “You don’t know Lena like I do.” Lena Luthor, heiress to a legacy of betrayal, wouldn’t just “see” the truth. She’d analyze it, dissect it, and find the flaw. The lie.
“Maybe you don’t either,” Alex said quietly, her words a gentle challenge.
Kara blinked, startled, and lifted her head, looking at her sister. Alex just squeezed her shoulder once more. “Go home. Get some sleep. There’s nothing else you can do tonight.”
***
But Kara didn’t go home. Her apartment, warm and unassuming as it was, felt like a cage tonight. It felt too quiet. Too empty. Too far from Lena.
Instead, she took to the sky. The wind roared in her ears as she streaked over National City, cape snapping behind her like a banner of war against the darkness. She saw the city in flashes of neon and shadow, felt the cold rain on her face, the biting chill that meant nothing to her but reminded her she was alive, raw, and hopelessly, desperately entangled.
She circled the city more than once, her enhanced vision seeking out the lit windows of Lena’s penthouse. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She didn’t even know what she was doing. Stalking, she thought grimly, the word a bitter taste in her mouth. Pathetic. But her eyes found the familiar glow anyway. And for a moment, her breath hitched. She saw Lena’s silhouette, hair down, moving gracefully behind the glass, pacing with a glass in her hand. A solitary figure against the vast, indifferent city.
Her chest ached, a profound, tender yearning. God, Lena. What are we doing? This secret, this longing, this double life… it was pulling her apart, but the thought of letting go, of leaving Lena to face Lex alone, was simply unthinkable.
Kara stayed crouched on the rooftop ledge long after she should have left, the rain a continuous, cold whisper against the red of her cape. It plastered the fabric to her form, flattening her hair against her temples, but she didn’t feel the bite of the chill. She only felt the relentless, restless pressure in her chest, the suffocating sense that if she didn’t keep watching, something vital, something precious, would slip through her fingers forever.
Across the street, Lena’s balcony door remained closed, the curtains drawn halfway, obscuring the interior of the penthouse. But a strip of warm, inviting light spilled out onto the wet concrete of the balcony itself, a faint glow in the vast, indifferent dark.
Kara watched that light like it was a hearth she could never sit beside—a sliver of peace glimpsed through glass she wasn’t allowed to touch. A beacon of warmth promising solace she had no right to reach for. The ache in her chest throbbed in rhythm with the distant hum of traffic and the steady patter of rain.
There’d been so much silence between them lately. Silence that stretched wide enough to fall into. Cold shoulders. Missed glances. Half-formed sentences that died before they reached the air. And yet—Lena had called her when she couldn’t sleep. Her voice cracking like something fragile behind all that iron. That meant something. It had to.
Kara’s throat tightened. She didn’t know how many more nights she could stand like this—hovering just out of reach, soaked to the skin, pretending she didn’t want to be seen. Pretending she didn’t need to be known.
She could tell her.
That was the unbearable part. The ache that never softened. She could fly down right now, press her hand to the glass, let Lena open the door—and finally see her. Really see her. Kara Zor El-Danvers. Supergirl. Both. Unfettered. Raw.
But she wouldn’t.
She was so terribly, utterly tired of destroying people she loved with the truth. Of having her closest bonds fractured by the weight of her hidden identity. It was a pattern, a curse she seemed doomed to repeat.
She swallowed, the dryness in her throat a sharp contrast to the wetness of the rain, and forced her eyes open. When the light in Lena’s apartment finally went dark—a quiet extinguishment of that distant warmth—Kara didn’t fly away immediately.
She just sat there, perched on the rain-slick roof, watching the black windows reflect the city’s neon glare, a million distant, glittering lies. Her cape clung to the concrete, sodden and heavy.
She felt ancient. Older than her years, burdened by losses few could comprehend. She felt impossibly young, emotions burning through her like new stars. She felt Kryptonian, bound by a legacy that spanned galaxies. And she felt profoundly, desperately wrong. Here. Now. In this moment.
Memories of Krypton flickered—her mother’s voice laced with duty, Astra’s firelit eyes, the desperate grip of Alura as the pod launched into space. Her final command: Protect Kal.
Her cousin had made Earth a home, built something stable, something whole. Kara tried not to resent that, but it was hard. She had CatCo, the DEO, Alex—and Lena. But not really. Not the way she wanted. Not in the way her heart quietly, relentlessly ached for.
Eventually, she pushed off the ledge and flew, patrolling without intention, stopping trouble before it happened, losing herself in motion. By dawn, she was flying low over the city, the sky bruised with purple and gray, her body wrung out and scraped clean of everything but ache—Lena’s silence, her own secrets, Lex’s shadow, all crashing down into the hollowed space she called herself.
She was about to turn toward her apartment, desperate for the false comfort of her own bed, when the comm in her ear crackled, slicing through the quiet hum of the predawn city.
“Supergirl,” came Alex’s voice, sharper than the strongest coffee, cutting through Kara’s exhaustion like a blade. “We have a situation.”
Kara straightened mid-air, every weary fiber of her being snapping into immediate focus. Her heart, already a frantic drum against her ribs, kicked into an even higher gear. “Talk to me.”
“Alien in the Diamond District. Aggressive. Not responding. DEO’s en route.”
Kara’s heart shifted into cold focus. This, at least, she understood. She banked hard for downtown, leaving everything else behind.
The Diamond District was chaos. Police cruisers scattered across intersections, sirens slicing through the night. Civilians huddled behind barriers, their faces pinched with fear. DEO agents barked orders, black armor gleaming in the pulsing lights.
Kara hovered above it all for one breath, scanning with x-ray vision.
There.
A massive reptilian alien, plated in tarnished-copper scales that deflected bullets like pebbles. Yellow eyes wild with feral rage. Its tail slammed a storefront, shattering glass in an explosive rain.
Kara landed hard, the wind from her descent knocking agents off balance.
“Clear out,” she barked. “Now.”
She felt every eye on her. Fear turned to desperate relief.
In her ear, Alex’s voice went taut. “Careful, Kara. Civilians everywhere.”
Kara didn’t answer. She advanced, boots grinding glass underfoot. The alien turned, nostrils flaring. Teeth like knives.
She rolled her neck. “I don’t have time for this,” she muttered.
It lunged.
She moved. Fast. Precise. Her fist connected with its jaw in a crunch that lifted the thing off its feet. It crashed to the pavement, roared, and scrambled up again.
They grappled, smashing into cars, the street cracking under their weight. Kara felt the fear in the crowd. She hated it. She let that anger drive her.
She locked her arm around its thick neck, forcing it down. Heat vision flickered at the ready.
“Stop,” she rasped.
It thrashed, gurgling. She squeezed until it went limp.
She stepped back, breathing hard. Her cape was torn. Sweat stung her eyes. Her chest heaved, but a grim calm settled over her.
Behind her, Alex’s voice rang out, giving orders to secure the creature.
Kara didn’t move. She watched the debris. The wreckage. And thought, If Lena had been here… A chill danced down her spine. Would Lena have watched her like this? Would she have looked away? Or would she have understood?
Alex caught up to her, her hand clamping firmly on Kara’s shoulder. “You good?” Her voice was all business, but the grip on Kara’s shoulder was reassuring, a familiar anchor.
Kara didn’t look at her, staring instead at the utter wreckage of the Diamond District. “Yeah.”
Alex squeezed once, a pressure that was hard enough to sting, but also spoke volumes. “Good. Because J’onn wants a debrief. Now.”
The DEO felt even colder than usual, or maybe it was just Kara, still radiating the residual chill of the rain and her own exhaustion. She sat in the briefing room, arms crossed tight over her chest, the torn cape draped over the back of her chair.
Hank Henshaw’s eyes, in their human form, were flinty as he reviewed the footage of her fight. He zoomed in on the moment she’d grappled with the creature, her movements brutal in their efficiency.
“Kara,” he said finally, his voice measured, without a trace of anger, only a deep, quiet concern. “You let it get too close to civilians. Your engagement was… inefficient. Reckless.”
She lifted her chin, the familiar defiance rising. “I stopped it.”
Alex sat beside her, silent, arms folded, her presence a steady support.
J’onn’s gaze didn’t soften. “You did. But the collateral damage was higher than it needed to be. You need to be more careful. You were taking unnecessary risks.”
Kara’s hands tightened into fists in her lap. The words, though true, stung with the weight of her current emotional turmoil. She was reckless. She was taking risks. Because her mind was half elsewhere, consumed by Lena.
“I’m sorry,” she ground out, the apology tight in her throat. She knew he was right. She always knew. And that made the failure all the more bitter.
J’onn didn’t say anything for a moment, simply holding her gaze. Then he shifted in his seat, a subtle change in his posture.
“You’re carrying too much, my child,” he said softly, his voice imbued with the ancient wisdom that only an elder Martian could possess. There was no accusation, only profound empathy.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. He already knew. He could feel it. The raw, messy tangle of emotions, the obsession, the fear of loss. He knew. She didn’t have to say Lena’s name. But the desperate urge to confess everything, to unburden herself, was overwhelming.
Instead, she swallowed, a painful gulp, and pushed to her feet. “I’m fine,” she lied, the words hollow, brittle.
J’onn watched her go, his gaze unwavering. But he didn’t try to stop her. He knew she needed space. He knew she needed to process this in her own way.
***
Kara flew straight from the DEO to CatCo, barely touching down before she was already pulling her glasses from her pocket and sliding them onto her nose. The thin metal frames felt like a lie now—more than ever. Not just a disguise, but a mask she was no longer sure how to wear.
She walked through the lobby with her shoulders squared, pretending her feet didn’t feel like lead, pretending she could breathe normally, act normally. Just another reporter rushing in a few minutes late. Nothing cosmic about her. Nothing crumbling.
She got to the bullpen and paused, her heart doing a frantic flutter against her ribs.
Lena was there.
Standing at the edge of Kara’s desk, her long, elegant fingers lightly brushing the scattered notes and empty coffee cups, Lena’s hair was pulled into a severe twist, her mouth pursed like she was preparing to destroy someone’s career with one flick of her pen—the way she always looked when she was angry, when she was trying not to be hurt. She hadn’t seen Kara yet, completely engrossed in her observations, a small, thoughtful frown on her face.
Kara swallowed, the world narrowing to that one moment. That one person. The singular focus of all her hopes and fears.
“Lena,” she said, her voice hoarse, barely a whisper.
Lena jerked, startled, her head snapping up. Her green eyes, wide with surprise, locked onto Kara’s.
God.
In that instant, Kara wanted to run. To grab her. To confess everything. To scream her yearning into the quiet office. Or something. Anything but stand there, paralyzed by the overwhelming intensity of Lena’s presence.
But she did nothing. She simply stood, transfixed.
Lena’s mouth twitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, like she was fighting a smile, or perhaps a sigh. “You’re late,” she said coolly, her voice regaining its practiced composure.
Kara shrugged helplessly, a small, tired gesture. “I know.”
Lena’s gaze softened. For a second. Just a fleeting, precious moment, a crack in the armor. Then she tucked it away, the mask snapping back into place. “Your article on the city’s economic recovery is due by five. I expect quality work, Danvers.”
Kara tried to smile. Her lips felt cracked, unable to stretch into anything genuine. “Copy that.”
But Lena didn’t leave. She hovered. Close enough that Kara could smell her perfume, that soft vanilla and something sharper, something distinctly Lena. The scent enveloped her, intoxicating and dangerous.
Lena’s voice dropped, barely audible, a murmur meant only for Kara. “Rough night?”
Kara’s laugh cracked, a harsh, brittle sound. “You could say that.”
Lena’s eyes searched her face, a profound, unreadable curiosity in their depths. And then, slowly, she reached out. Her fingers, cool and feather-light, touched Kara’s arm. Just for a heartbeat.
It was electric. A jolt that went straight through Kara’s bones, making her entire body sway uncontrollably toward Lena before she caught herself, bracing against the desk behind her.
“Be careful,” Lena whispered, her voice so soft Kara barely heard it, a breath against her ear.
“Always,” Kara whispered back, her own voice husky, her gaze locked on Lena’s, begging her to stay, begging her to understand the depth of that simple word.
Lena blinked, her eyes darkening, the intensity in their depths almost overwhelming. Then, she pulled back, smoothly, gracefully, like nothing had happened. She turned and walked away. Her heels clicked against the tile, each step taking her further, leaving Kara standing in the cold aftermath of that electric touch.
Kara watched her go until the elevator doors swallowed her from sight. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, the ghost of Lena’s touch still burning on her arm. She wanted to sink to the floor, let the exhaustion consume her. Or fly, soaring into the heavens until the pain dulled. Or burn, until all the secrets and lies were nothing but ash.
Kara sat frozen at her desk, the newsroom spinning around her like a storm she couldn’t touch—phones ringing, keyboards tapping, colleagues muttering—but it all felt distant, like she was underwater. She kept staring at the elevator doors, willing Lena to come back, to give her another moment, another chance. But they stayed closed.
Her fingers refused to type. All she could feel was Lena’s parting touch on her sleeve. The phantom warmth of it seared through her skin, through the walls she kept building between who she was and who Lena thought she was. She wanted to chase her. To grab her in the lobby, blurt out the truth—Supergirl, Kara, all of it—and beg her to understand. But Alex’s voice cut through her desperation like a blade: ‘You know the risks.’
By mid-afternoon, she couldn’t take it anymore. The walls of CatCo felt suffocating, her disguise like an iron mask. She took the elevator to the roof, pressed her back against the cold wind, and let Supergirl rise to the surface. The weight of the world—of Krypton, of her secret, of her feelings for Lena—settled on her shoulders like a second skin. She didn’t want to be hope. She just wanted to be Lena’s.
But instead, she was summoned again—Alex’s text pulling her to the DEO, where threats loomed and emotions had no place. In the sterile quiet of the conference room, surrounded by her team’s concern and silent understanding, Kara felt the full force of the lie she was living.
***
Night fell. National City glowed like a sprawling circuit board, indifferent to the personal dramas unfolding within its glittering facade
She flew patrol for hours, her senses extended, eyes on every shadow, every flicker of movement. She stopped a mugging, disarming the assailant with a casual ease. Helped a runaway teenager find a safe shelter. Redirected a small electrical fire before the FD could even respond. It was almost enough to feel like penance. Almost.
Near midnight, she found herself soaring silently towards Lena’s penthouse. She didn’t remember consciously deciding to go there. Her body had simply moved, drawn by an invisible, undeniable tether. She landed softly on the wet stone of the balcony, a ghost in the rain.
Lena’s apartment was dark except for the glow of a single lamp in her living room, casting a soft, golden pool of light. Kara could see Lena inside, curled in an armchair with a tablet, her hair down, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, a silk robe belted loosely at her waist. She looked tired, vulnerable, completely unguarded.
Kara swallowed hard. She shouldn’t be here. This was reckless. But she was.
She raised her hand to knock on the glass. Hesitated. Her heart was pounding, a frantic drum against her ribs. She wanted to see Lena’s face light up with that wary, incredulous surprise, that flicker of recognition. She wanted to see that tiny, unguarded smile, just for her. She wanted… everything Lena represented.
She dropped her hand. Stepped back, retreating into the deeper shadows of the balcony, hovering, watching. Lena shifted, frowning at something on the screen, lost in her own world. She ran a hand through her hair, a weary gesture. Tired. Human. Breakable.
Kara felt something in her chest stutter, a profound, aching tenderness. She wanted to protect her from everything. Even herself. Especially herself. From the crushing burden of her name, from the exhaustion, from the cruel truths of the world.
She didn’t knock. She turned away. Flew off into the night before she could change her mind, before the overwhelming urge to confess, to simply be with Lena, consumed her.