Chapter Text
Supergirl comes at night.
That’s what Lena notices first.
Her mother is trapped behind bars now, and though something suggests that the cage will not hold her long, her imprisonment has created this fragile, quiet lull. Lena sits for long hours at her desk and wonders how long the silence can last, history has taught her the impermanence of peace, as fleeting as loneliness is eternal.
She thinks of childhood nights huddled in bedsheet-pitched tents, the flashlight glow her only solace. She would make creatures from the shadows for company, her new family sleeping deep beyond her bedroom walls.
Supergirl comes on nights like these, when the pooled light of her floor lamp casts those same stark shadows against her office walls. They feel less like company now.
Lena sees her silhouette first, a broad shouldered outline that flits into the corner of Lena’s vision, ephemeral and intangible. But when she turns, Supergirl is hovering just above her balcony, granite-solid and still, arms crossed across her chest.
The second of these nighttime visits was after Lena’s mother’s arrest. She had thanked Lena for her part in her capture, voice soft, tired. Lena had wondered at the bow of her shoulders, the exhaustion that pulled a crease in her proud, high brow. Even a Titan such as Atlas bent under the weight of the world. Lena hopes that Supergirl has someone else to help her shoulder the burden.
Lena steps toward the balcony now, pushing at the glass door and holding it open, though they both know Supergirl needs no invitation. All that power at her fingertips, and she holds it so hesitantly.
Supergirl touches down lightly, the leather soles of her boots treading silent on the ground. She breezes past Lena quickly, moving to the center of the room before turning, hands settling at her hips. For all her posturing and confidence, Lena thinks there is something tentative in her hero-esque stance, a waver in her shining, gallant veneer.
Lena lets the door fall shut behind her, sparing a few steps toward her desk, leaning lightly against the glossy frame.
“Ms. Luthor,” Supergirl says, breaking the silence, ducking her head in a polite nod. She isn’t smiling, but there is something fond in the curve of her mouth, and Lena finds herself staring too long at the dimpled bow of her top lip.
“Supergirl,” Lena answers. She feels that familiar swell of awe in her chest and chokes it down. She is the CEO of Fortune 500 company, she can’t afford to let this embarrassing lingering hero-worship blind her. She bites at her lower lip, watching the corded muscle in Supergirl’s forearms flex beneath the skin-tight blue spandex, lingering on the ply of strong thighs under the high hem of that sinful red skirt. Lena focuses her eyes back on Supergirl’ watchful gaze, cursing herself for drooling like some sort of teenage fangirl.
Lena Luthor is better than this. It’s just—there’s something about her. Beneath the crimson crest and lean, toned muscle, there is something familiar. An intimacy Lena can’t quite seem to place. If she didn’t know any better, Lena would think she had met Supergirl outside of her recent life-jeopardizing situations. Lena reminds herself not to think much of it, the ache Supergirl sets humming in her chest is easily explainable: pretty girls have always been Lena’s kryptonite.
So to speak.
“Is everything all right?” Lena finally asks, breaking the silence, “or should I assume this is a social call?” She’s teasing and luckily Supergirl laughs, dropping her hands from her hips and risking a small step forward. Neither of them have forgotten that fight in Lena’s office weeks before, how Lena had bristled at Supergirl’s accusations, the intensity with which Supergirl had approached her, over-earnest and trusting. Lena remembers, more clearly then she would like, how in those seconds after she ordered Supergirl out, she had looked as though something in her had shattered.
Lena notices now, that Supergirl is careful not to get too close.
“Unfortunately not,” Supergirl says, “but it’s nothing bad,” she rushes to add on. “I just thought I would check up on you, and tell you that they announced the trial date for your mother.”
Lena nods coolly, turning slightly to adjust some imperceptible flaw on her desk, “I read that in the paper this morning, actually.”
“Right,” Supergirl says, looking almost flustered now, eyes darting around the office, “I guess I just,” she falters, “wanted to see how you were doing.” Lena turns again to face her and Supergirl immediately straightens under her gaze, the impassivity back on her face.
“I’m doing fine,” she says sharply, softening when Supergirl flinches, “work keeps me busy.”
Supergirl frowns. “I see you here working late almost every night,” she hesitates, “perhaps you should give yourself a break.”
Lena cinches her eyebrows together, tilting her head, “You see me working late?”
Supergirl’s eyes widen and she holds her hands, palm up, in front of her, protesting. “Oh no, I mean I—” Lena smirks. “I just y’know,” Supergirl gestures vaguely, “I fly by, you know how it is.”
Lena is fascinated by the pink blush that seems to be crawling up Supergirl’s neck now, and she chances a slight step forward. “I don’t actually,” she says. She spares a quick glance out the window, at the expansive stretch of the city below, distant lights just prisms of gold in a smog darkened sky. “It can’t imagine what it would be like to fly, it must be exhilarating.”
A flash of excitement lights up Supergirl’s face, eyes blinking wide, brightening. “It’s everything” she says, breathless. She pauses to consider Lena, a confidence angling her mouth into a bold, almost arrogant, smile. “I could take you sometime,” she says. They are another step closer, and Lena can’t seem to remember who moved first. Supergirl squares her shoulders, any trace of the earlier blush gone, all hero and mythos now, a confidence that tilts her chin high. She ducks her head to meet Lena’s eyes, mouth opened as though she will say more.
Before she can, the wail of distant sirens cuts through the glass walls of the office, and Supergirl cocks her head to the side, closing her eyes briefly while she pin points the sound. When she opens them they flash blue. She gifts Lena with a crooked, stomach-dropping smile.
“Duty calls.”
She’s gone in a flutter of the papers on Lena’s desk and the slam of the sheer balcony door, Lena thinks she can just make out the flash of a red cape hurtling toward the horizon.
Lena leans fully back against her desk, closing her eyes and exhaling hard out of her nose.
“Fuck.”
**
Lena sees Kara first. She pauses outside the elevator doors, shifting her purse over her shoulder, not bothering to hide her smile as she watches Kara from across the office floor. She’s wearing a yellow sweater, the collar of a white blouse arranged carefully over the scooped hemline of the pullover. Lena watches as Kara reclines back on a desk, flipping through a sheaf of paper she clutches tight in one hand. Lena can see her pout from here, and she feels that familiar tug of affection in the pit of her stomach. Kara doesn’t look up even as Lena walks closer, her apparent concentration overwhelming even the heavy clack of Lena’s heels.
“Kara,” Lena says, softly, trying not to startle her.
Lena has noticed Kara is something of a clutz, her head so firmly encompassed in the clouds, that Lena sometimes thinks she’s lucky to ever rouse her from her daydreams long enough to get her attention. The last time Kara was at Lena’s office she managed to not only spill an entire bottle of wine over her thin white blouse, but she had been adorably ignorant of the fact that the spreading red stain was turning the white fabric sheer. That night had been something close to a disaster, with Lena blushing a deep, flustered red as she forced herself to avert her eyes and point out the issue, and Kara’s reaction being to start unbuttoning her shirt completely.
(In the end, Kara snuggled into one of Lena’s old Harvard hoodies and laughed until the blush in Lena’s cheeks faded.)
(So, not quite a disaster after all.)
Despite Lena’s attempt at not surprising her, Kara jumps anyway, hand automatically going up to fumble nervously with the frame of her glasses.
“Lena!” she says, voice pitching up, before she breaks out in a broad grin, her smile pulling high at her cheeks.
Lena laughs, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She absently reaches out to touch Kara’s shoulder, pulling back before she makes contact, running her hand through her hair instead. “I was in the neighborhood and I just thought…” she trails off, suddenly unsure.
But Kara just grins, ducking her head in a movement that looks familiar, though Lena can’t quite place it. “I’m so glad you came by,” she shoots a glare at the papers in her hand, “Snapper’s copy-edits are driving me insane.” She brings the paper closer to her face, squinting like she can incinerate it with just a look, “I swear he thinks every word that isn’t an action verb or a pronoun is fluff.”
Lena smiles, reaching out again, this time brushing at Kara’s wrist lightly with two fingers, “I’m sure it’s incredible.” Kara looks up, hopeful. Lena winks. “That Snapper doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” she lowers her voice, “trust me I’m famous.”
Kara laughs, swatting at Lena with one hand, while Lena looks on, pleased. “You’re ridiculous.”
There is a beat of silence where they just look at each other, suspended in a comfortable lull of their own making. Kara is still smiling at Lena and the brightness of it cuts deep, an almost tangible weight of intense and utter like settling heavy in her chest.
It feels far too young for Lena’s liking, this affection too overwhelmingly strong all on its own, too close to those early boarding school crushes. It reminds Lena of fumbling her way through clumsy first kisses with girls with pretty hair and pretty smiles and small, dainty wrists. Lena fell for the sweet girls, the ones her name and family and bite eventually broke. Lena looks at Kara, all wide smile and pretty pastels, and wonders if she is going to break her too.
“I was wondering,” Lena starts, leaning a little closer, watching Kara swallow hard, “If you wanted to go get drinks tonight.”
“Drinks?” Kara says, voice on an uptick like the idea is incomprehensible.
“Drinks. Between friends. It’s a Friday, it’s been a long week…” she tilts her head, pouting her lip and watching as Kara melts.
“Drinks would be nice,” Kara says, she shakes her head, “awesome.” She wrinkles her nose at herself, “nice,” she corrects, “really really nice.”
“Good,” Lena says, already turning, pretending she can’t feel the way Kara watches her as she leaves, “I’ll pick you up at 8.”
She thinks she hears a mumbled “awesome” as she gets on the elevator, but there’s no way to be sure.
**
Kara bailed.
In her exact words, a text: I can’t.
And then, five minutes later, another: I’m so sorry, something came up.
Lena knows what being stood up looks like, but she never expected it from her. Lena feels heartbroken, which she knows is ridiculous, it wasn’t Kara’s heart to break. They were barely anything, barely friends even, and Lena knows Kara is probably straight anyway and she knows it was stupid to hope and she knows and she knows and she knows.
Against all odds and logic and sense, Lena is heartbroken. She feels as though her last remnants of sunlight have shrunk back to shadow, leaving her entombed in the darkness, shivering. She feels ten again, huddled under her sheets, her flashlight wavering once, a final sanctuary of pooled golden light, before it goes out for good.
Kara bails so Lena drinks. Alone.
She splays across the couch in her office, two glasses of scotch in, and stares hard at the work spread across the spare cushion. The words are almost swimming now and she rubs hard at her temple, the ice clinking in her glass, over-loud in the dark, static silence that surrounds her. Lena thinks she must have pushed too hard. She likes Kara, a lot, a dangerous amount of a lot, but she could be content with friends. Lena fucked it all up. She must have made Kara uncomfortable, and the idea of it, the idea of Kara not feeling safe enough to refuse, rips hard at her chest.
Maybe Kara was scared of her. She is a Luthor after all.
Lena takes another sip of scotch, enjoying the slow burn as it drags down her throat, nursing the light murmur of alcohol as begins to muddle her head, a thin layer of gauze superseding her more biting thoughts. She swirls her glass absently, watching the fragile bones of her wrist flex with the motion.
She is so breakable. Another sip. They say it dulls the pain, after all.
Idly, Lena considers she is being over dramatic, but then she pictures Kara’s smile, the lean sunlight sprawl of her, over-eager and incredibly intelligent, and it feels like she has a right to her drama, if just for a little while.
It’s just after midnight when Lena wakes from her slump on the couch. She can’t have dozed off for long, her glass still rests, half-filled on the table before her, and the moon hinges full and otherworldly above her balcony. She blinks at the bright silver light before reaching for her glass. It isn’t until she takes another drink that she realizes that there is a reason she woke up.
There is something on her balcony. More specifically: someone. Any other night, Lena would have the good graces to startle, but tonight she just sighs, shifting her drink to her left hand as she hauls herself unsteadily to her feet. She shucked off her heels hours ago, her cardigan too, leaving her in a sleeveless blouse and tightfitting skirt, both wrinkled from her ill-begotten nap. She walks to the balcony door anyway, pushing it open and calling out into the dark.
“This is really not a good time.” It’s an understatement, but Lena figures her general appearance will be enough to fill in the blanks.
Supergirl shifts uneasily where she leans against the balcony railing. Lena looks closer, the swathes of moonlight cutting harsh lines across Supergirl’s form. It’s clear now that she is slumping more than leaning, arm held awkwardly at her side. Lena thinks she makes out quickly fading bruises marring her high cheekbones, drying blood all that remains of the cuts that must have slashed her near impervious skin.
“I’m sorry,” Supergirl says, more a whisper than anything, “I just—” she trails off and Lean sighs, stepping away from the door and heading back inside to her drink cart. She pours more of the amber liquid into her glass before filling a second, shooting a glance back at Supergirl.
“This is your invitation,” Lena says, tongue heavy, voice more a slur than anything, “It’s all you’re getting.”
Supergirl strides gratefully into the room, but her straight backed posturing seems even more forced than usual. The shafts of light throw her face into sharp relief, and her shoulders slump as soon as she accepts the drink.
Lena studies her slowly. Past the wind-ruffled hair and noble chin, she can so clearly see the grief that clings to her, as heavy and unmistakable as her cape, and it’s a mystery how Lena has missed it before. This woman has seen the death of worlds, and the weight of this new one threatens to bury her alive. Lena feels a heavy pang of sympathy, and crosses her arms over her chest before she does something she will regret.
“Should I ask why you are here?” Lena says, too tired for formalities, thinking this stripped down woman before her might be, too.
Supergirl shakes her head, drink out of place in her hand. She casts a look around the room before carefully setting it on the corner of Lena’s desk. “I didn’t want to go home.” She shrugs, arms still held tightly against her body, “I figured you might be awake.” She barks out a short laugh, “You might be one of the only people in this town who works longer hours than I do.”
Lena manages a smile, raising her drink in a short salute before finishing it in a single swallow. She sets the glass back down on the cart and gestures to Supergirl with her empty palms, “But tonight I’m not working.”
Supergirl tries for a smile, but it falls flat. “Apparently.”
Lena tugs at her skirt, attempting some composure, but her mind is so muddled and dreamy, and there is a disconcerting blurriness to the world around her, so she stops trying.
“You look like you had an even worse night than I did,” Lena says. She shifts closer, stopping herself from stroking at the bruise on Supergirl’s pale cheek, “Should I ask?”
Supergirl shrugs, wincing as it pulls at her shoulder. “A Kriglo Martian,” she says, “he had a mean temper and an even meaner bite.”
Lena tries out the word, rolling the vowels over her tongue. If she thinks she sees Supergirl watching her mouth, she chocks it up to the scotch. “A Kriglo Martian?”
“Picture like a giant spider, but green.”
Lena shivers. “I would prefer not to.”
Supergirl laughs, in earnest this time, “Me too, honestly. He um—” she stutters here, seeming like she regrets starting the sentence, “He really took me by surprise. Ruined my evening.”
Lena presses in a little closer, and maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the vulnerable look on the so called Girl of Steel’s normally stoic face, but she lays a soft hand against Supergirl’s waist. “Does that hurt?” she asks softly, and Supergirl blinks wide, eyes this tremulous, careful blue.
“No,” she says, a breath more than anything, “no, definitely not.”
Lena pulls away, ignoring the blush staining her cheeks. Anyone can tell it’s just the drinks, anyway. “Will you heal?”
Supergirl grits her teeth, rolling her shoulder slowly. “I already am,” she grins, trying for cheeky and only barely falling short, “by the time the sun rises I’ll be as good as new.” Supergirl looks around, taking in the half empty bottle of scotch, the papers strewn about the normally meticulous office. “Should I ask why you seem…”
Lena smirks, baleful and wild, hand still thrumming from the heady heat of Supergirl’s body. “What? Am I not my usual chipper self?”
Supergirl nods slowly, sparing another glance to the heavy sky outside.
Lena smiles slightly, shuffling to the couch so she can sit down, her tights suddenly too constricting around her legs. “It’s just a girl,” she pauses, embarrassed to be admitting this to National City’s beloved superhero. Someone who, until now, has been more symbol than human. Although, Lena thinks, that’s just it: she’s not human at all.
Supergirl perches tentatively on the edge of her desk, “a girl?”
Lena sighs. “I got stood up.” She’s keenly embarrassed to admit it, but drunk enough that her tongue lets her, “by a girl I really like.” She stares hard at the shadowed far wall of her office, “although maybe it wasn’t actually a date…”
A voice interrupts her musings, small and pitched high, “You really like her?”
Lena turns to face Supergirl, face pinched tight. “What?”
Supergirl jerks up straight, hands automatically shooting to her hips like some sort of heroic defense mechanism, “What?” She coughs awkwardly into her palm, “I just mean, that’s too bad.”
Lena sinks back into the couch, “Girls, y’know.”
She sees Supergirl shift out of corner of her eye, watches her start to approach slowly. “I can show you what I do, when I get upset? If you would like to?”
This amount of apparent uncertainty from Supergirl seems unfitting, but it’s obviously been a hard night for both of them, and this situation is far from conventional. Lena sits up straighter. “I would love to.”
**
Ten minutes later, they are among the stars. Or, more precisely, they are perched on the roof of The L Corp building.
When Supergirl suggested it, for a heart stopping moment, Lena thought that she was going to take her flying, but they took the stairs instead. Supergirl mundanely climbing four flights of stairs in full heroic costume had set Lena giggling, and Supergirl had watched Lena leaning hard against the utilitarian railing of the grimly lit stairwell laughing her ass off with this look of utter amusement.
When they had gotten to the roof, Supergirl had sat on the edge with no hesitation, red boots dangling over the precarious, dizzying drop. Lena had been more cautious, approaching slowly, with shuffling steps. Supergirl had waited patiently, and when Lena neared the edge, coaxed her down next to her. As she sat, Supergirl set a warm reassuring hand on Lena’s thigh.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Luthor, I won’t let you fall.”
Lena felt that thrill of attraction roil low in her stomach, but then, thinking of Kara, it dulled and hardened. Supergirl must have seen her face fall, and quietly removed her hand.
“Alright,” Supergirl says, tilting her head back, “now we look at the stars.”
The cosmos were never-ending, the sheer number of lights adorning the sky implausible. Lena, a scientist, was usually quick to categorize it all, remove the romance with the application of numbers and fact. But tonight, scotch drunk and reeling, smelling the faint musk of Supergirl’s sweat and below that, something fruity, she let the sky devour her.
If their pinkies brushed on the ledge beside them, they said nothing about it. And when Lena spared Supergirl a glance, she found the perfect slope of her throat, pale and gleaming, while she studied the sky with a deep, sorrowful hunger.
Supergirl turns to look at her, blinking slow, and Lena sees the whole night sky reflected in the light of Supergirl’s wide, careful eyes.
**
Supergirl helps Lena back down the stairs later that night, Lena’s eyes heavy with sleep and alcohol, body and heart so weary she thinks she could sleep forever. Supergirl carefully clears the couch, stacking Lena’s things in a pile on her desk. She coaxes Lena to lie down, watching her curl her knees to her chest, hands cupped beneath her head. Supergirl finds Lena’s throw and settles it across her.
Lena mumbles into her hands, eyes drifting shut, “Will you stay?”
She can hear the smile in Supergirl’s voice, “Until you sleep.”
When Lena wakes, the sun colors the city gold, and Supergirl is gone.