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oreoambitions · 4 years

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The Aftermath

I felt like maybe we could all use a version of this story with a happier ending.

"Lex is dead. I shot him. Jess is taking care of it."

Lena sweeps into the room with those words, already shrugging her bag off of her shoulder. She has eyes only for the figure in Supergirl's arms, but Supergirl has eyes only for her, her declaration playing on a loop in her head.

"Lena, I- I killed Lex."

"Luthors are like cockroaches: you think you've got them handled until they come crawling out of the walls again. Don't worry; I made sure of it this time." She's tapping to life the machines next to the medbay bed when she spares a sharp glance for Supergirl. "He told me everything before he died. About you. Put her on the bed, please."

Supergirl doesn't move. "About me?"

"There's a life on the line here, Kara. A little bit of urgency would be appropriate."

So that's that then. Kara tries to ignore the sudden wave of nausea but it's overwhelming. She stumbles the last few steps to the bed. Linda is breathing, but just barely. Alex mouths something in Kara's direction, but Kara shakes her head. No she's not okay. No she doesn't know what to say. No it doesn't matter right now.

"What's her name?" Lena asks. Alex starts to answer, but Lena looks pointedly at Kara.

"Linda Lee," Kara says. "Lex named her."

Lena cocks an eyebrow. "What a terrible fucking name," she murmurs. "Alex, prep an IV for me please."

"Lena," Kara begins.

Lena holds up a hand. "Don't."

Kara doesn't.

Linda wakes on a Thursday morning feeling like hell. The inside of her mouth tastes like the smell of blood and her bones feel like splinters and she's so weak she shakes just from the effort of sitting up. But she wakes, which is honestly more than she was expecting.

And Kara is there, which feels so impossible that for a moment Linda wonders if she's woken after all.

Linda doesn't have to say anything; the change in her breathing alone was enough to alert Kara, and so Kara is already pouring a glass of water by the time Linda is upright to drink it. They sit there quietly, watching one another, while Linda takes sip after slow sip. Linda looks at her and tries to see the enemy. She wonders if Kara is looking at her and trying to see the same.

"Lex is dead," Linda says. It's not a question. If Kara is sitting next to her and they are both still free then Lex's death is the inevitable conclusion.

"He is," Kara agrees. And then, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not sorry," Linda says. She looks away. There are tears in Kara's eyes, and that's making tears threaten her eyes, and she's not about to be weak in front of Kara fucking Danvers even after everything. "He was not a good man."

"He was your family," Kara replies.

Linda takes another sip of water to be sure that her voice will be steady when she answers, "He wanted me to think he was."

Kara reaches out, hesitant, her eyes on Linda's as she slowly, slowly takes her hand. When Linda doesn't pull away, she squeezes. "You have a new family now."

Linda doesn't believe her.

It takes three more days, but Linda is finally able to sit up for long stretches and even walk the short distance to the bathroom without help. Her powers are coming back incrementally and she waits warily for Alex or Kara to tell her what it is they want from her. What if they ask her to retaliate against Kaznia? None of what Lex did was Kaznia's fault. But they don't ask her to do anything, and they don't ask her to leave, and the longer they simply allow her to recover the more anxious she becomes.

Alex and Kara arrive together one evening and Linda is sure this is it. She can walk all the way down the hall and back now, and her super hearing is returning, and it's about time to tell her to what purpose the United States will be putting her so that she can focus her efforts as she retrains. Alex and Kara are looking at one another conspiratorially and Kara is hiding something behind her back. Linda sits up and resigns herself to her fate.

"You can say no," Alex begins.

Oh Rao, here it is.

"Oh but why would you want to," Kara says. She dumps a pile of bright plastics onto Linda's bed, like books but slender and light, no pages, a puzzle. "Since you can't leave the DEO yet we thought we'd bring our weekly Danvers Movie Night to you. So go ahead, pick one!"

Linda doesn't know what a movie is, but Kara looks over the moon and Alex looks... indulgent. Linda plucks a plastic book out of the pile at random and offers it to Kara, who does a fist pump.

"Yes! I love Brave! Scoot over; we gotta order pizza."

Linda doesn't know what pizza is either, but Kara is worming her way into bed next to her, and Alex is pulling up a chair, and suddenly Linda is in the middle of a war:

"Pineapple does NOT go on pizza I am NOT having it." Alex makes a grab for Kara's phone. "It's an abomination!"

"You have to let Linda decide that for herself, she- give me that back! We can get two pizzas, gosh!"

"What is pineapple?" Linda asks.

Both Danvers stare at her for a moment.

"Okay," Alex agrees, "We can get two pizzas."

Lena is still the most beautiful woman Linda has ever seen, which is difficult because Lena, like everything else, is Kara's. It chafes. Linda doesn't want to talk to her at first, mumbles in answer to all of her questions, won't make eye contact, hates the way her heartrate picks up every time Lena touches her, hates the fact that Kara, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room can hear it. Lena never looks at Kara, and Kara never looks away, and Linda feels trapped in the middle of it.

The first time Lena comes to visit without Kara or Alex on her heels, Linda thinks of it as a trap. Lena is, after all, a Luthor. Maybe she's the one who will want to put Linda's powers to good use.

Lena doesn't touch her this time, doesn't ask medical questions or examine any of Linda's charts. She pulls up a chair and starts digging around in her bag.

"The unfortunate thing about being a Super," she says, "Is that there aren't a lot of people you can talk to about what you've been through." She smiles a tight smile. "Part of keeping so many secrets, right? Not unlike being a Luthor."

"Okay," Linda says. She fiddles with her own fingers, hands clasped in her lap.

Lena pulls a book from her bag and holds it gingerly, tracing the spine, not quite looking at Linda. "Lex gave me my first journal when I was a child, and, well. Every Luthor keeps one. I thought- I know you're not really- Kara said he was family to you, and that makes you family to me, so I thought I would continue the tradition." She holds the book out. "For you. For when you don't feel like you have anyone to talk to."

Linda turns the book over in her hands, admires the soft leather cover, the thick pages. She says nothing; there are tears lodged in her throat and she doesn't want to let them out. Lena fidgets for a moment, and then she stands up.

"Well, I'm needed in the lab, so. I'll leave you to your rest."

She's almost out the door when Linda says, "Thank you."

Lena freezes, her hand still on the doorframe, but she doesn't look back.

When Linda is strong enough to work in the gym, they introduce her to her new sparring partner. Nia is... odd. Goofy. Charming. Until she wants to throw down, and then not so much. She's more than a match for Linda with her powers still recovering, and it's nice to fight with someone who can keep up just for the ache and the joy if it. Linda tries not to think about the day she murdered Kara for Lex, but the first time she puts Nia on her back it all comes rushing in and she cries.

Nia sits with her and doesn't press her to talk about it, and Linda finds that she doesn't so much mind that Nia saw her in a moment of discomposure. When Alex tries to check up on them, Nia uses her body to block her view and sends her away with stern words.

"Have you tried ice cream yet?" she asks when Linda finally pulls herself back together.

"I don't know what that is," Linda admits.

"Oh man, I am about to absolutely blow your mind."

The first time Linda leaves the DEO it's with Nia and Kara.

"You can't wear DEO sweats forever," Nia says, one arm comfortably around Linda's waist. "And you'll feel better when you feel more like yourself."

Linda doesn't know what it really means to feel like herself. Kara drags her through the aisles and it's all overwhelming and bright and impractical. None of the pants have pockets. All of the shirts are too tight in the shoulders. Until at last Nia puts a hand on Kara's shoulder.

"I think I know what we need," she says. She leads them to the men's athletic section, and Linda discovers muscle tanks. This she can work with. She leaves with a bag full of athletic clothing and two pairs of jeans with real pockets and two button down shirts which make Kara smile.

"I have some old things you might like," she says. "I can bring them by some time?"

"You don't have to do that," Linda says. She already owes so much to these people, and to Kara especially. She’s already afraid of what it will take to pay it all back.

Nia smacks Linda playfully on the shoulder. “You have to let people be nice to you sometimes,” she chastises.

Linda doesn’t know what that really means either.

The days pass, and Linda gets stronger, and still no one tells her what it is they want from her. It’s a needle under her skin, a constant prickling anxiety that ticks up every time someone comes into the room until the day the world upends itself. She’s sitting in the sun bed writing in her journal when Alex brings a new visitor into the medbay, and Lena is beautiful, but the woman standing in the doorway is a vision, a goddess, a... Linda is running out of descriptors. In fact, she's not sure she remembers any words in any language whatsoever. The woman ushers a teenager into the room and then stands aside to let Alex pass. She looks at Linda with a curious expression.

"Kara...?"

Linda knows perfectly well that Kara is on the bridge, that this woman would have to have walked past her to get to the medbay.

Alex straightens up. "Oh! Right. Sam, this is Linda, Kara's other sister. Linda, this is Sam Arias. She's... a friend."

Linda is too busy tasting the name Sam Arias in her mouth to stumble over the word sister.

"And I'm Ruby," the teenager says, throwing herself down on a vacant bed and sticking out her arm. "Can we get this over with?"

Alex rummages in a drawer for the large bore needles Linda has come to learn the DEO keeps on hand for drawing Krpytonian blood. She sits up a little straighter, her interest suddenly piqued. Sam takes the vacant bed beside Linda's and rolls up her own sleeve.

"You might as well get a sample from me too," she says.

Alex pauses, needle still in her hand. "Lena said she already tested you."

"Yes, well." Sam glances at Linda, smiles a little, glances away. "I asked her to say that."

Alex sighs but she doesn't comment. She busies herself with Ruby, laughing with her, easing her through the process. Linda notes with approval that Ruby doesn't flinch when the needle goes in. Sam doesn't fidget while she waits, but she keeps stealing glances at Linda and looking away when Linda catches her.

"Who are you?" Linda asks at last.

Sam shifts uneasily in her bed. Alex moves over to her with a fresh needle, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.

"It's a long story," she says.

"Mom was the vessel of an old Kryptonian god of destruction," Ruby supplies.

"I'd like to hear more about that some time," Linda says.

Alex gives her a slightly dirty look.

Sam comes back alone a few days later when Linda is training alone in the gym. She very nearly outmatches Nia now; she stays late after their sessions to work herself harder, seeking exhaustion, waiting to feel strong. Sam watches her for a while and then starts undoing the buttons on her shirt. Linda is pretty sure she's going to die if she sees any more skin, and so she looks away, willing herself not to flush.

"Wanna fight?" Sam asks, stripped down to a sports bra. She reaches up to pull her hair back.

"I could hurt you," Linda protests.

"I seriously doubt that."

Sam wins their first fight. And their second. Maybe Linda lets her win the third because there is something aching and good about Sam pinning her to the ground, knees on either side of her hips, so close that Linda can taste her breath.

"Yield?" Sam asks. Her eyes are on Linda's mouth.

Linda licks her lips without thinking about it. "Okay," she says.

The story about Reign comes out in bits and pieces between bouts. About the people she killed, how she nearly killed Kara, how she tried to kill Lena. How she packed it all away as soon as Reign was dead and pretended it never happened.

"You had a responsibility," Linda admonishes her. "You could have been there to help make things right."

Sam bows her head. "I know. But I'm here now."

They sit together on the floor, backs against the wall, sweaty and tired. Linda looks at her out of the corner of her eye, those soft brown eyes, slender hands, hard expression.

"So you and Alex," Linda comments, suddenly intensely interested in the wall on the other side of the gym.

Sam laughs. "Once, maybe, but that ship has sailed. She's with Kelly now, and I..." Sam looks at Linda, and then looks away fast. Too fast. "I have my eye on someone else."

Ruby's results come back and confirm what everyone already knows: she's half Kryptonian. The Arias women announce that they'll be moving to National City so that Ruby can be closer to the DEO for training and guidance. Alex announces that Linda is ready to move out of the medbay.

Lena immediately offers her a home. "I have more room than I need and it's like I said: we're family. I'm not going to leave you to figure the world out alone."

Kara glowers at her. "She's not alone."

"I know, darling," Lena says.

Kara flushes at the pet name and stammers. Linda and Alex share an exasperated look from across the room.

"What do you want me to do?" Linda asks. "I have my strength back. I'm ready."

This time it's Kara and Lena who exchange a look. "Ready for what?" Kara asks.

"Whatever it is you wanted me for," Linda says. She holds out her hands, helpless. "You didn't put me back together for nothing."

Lena squeezes her shoulder. "We put you back together so that you could live. What you choose to do with that is really up to you. But we have time; you don't have to figure it all out now."

Linda stares at them each in turn. Kara looks angry. Alex looks confused. The tears threaten to catch in her throat again. "I am a weapon," she says, reciting words from what feels like another life. "A weapon is a tool. A tool must have-"

"Lex is gone," Lena interrupts. Kara is clenching her jaw, tears threatening to spill over, hands trembling. Weeks ago Linda would have thought her weak. Now, she is not so sure. "You have incredible power, but that doesn’t make you a weapon. Like Sam and Kara, you get to decide what to do with your gifts; if you don't want to fight, you don't have to."

Linda thinks of Sam sitting against the gym wall, eyes closed, voice full of regret. I'm here now.

"I want to," Linda says. Her voice breaks. She clears her throat. "I want to help."

Kara cries.

Linda's belongings all fit into the backpack slung over her shoulder when Kara and Alex come to pick her up from the DEO.

"Get in, loser," Alex says.

Linda breathes a laugh; Mean Girls is the last movie they watched together.

It seems ridiculous to get in the car when she can just fly to Lena's, but Alex and Kara have been adamant and conspiratorial about this, so she complies. It is generally not worth fighting Kara on something once she starts to pout about it, and it's generally not worth fighting Alex on anything at all. When they agree on something, well, you might as well give up all together.

So she sits in the back seat and she doesn't comment when they leave National City behind. She watches the countryside flash by and she listens to Alex and Kara sing along loudly - and, in Alex's case, badly - to the radio. Kara punctuates almost every song with a story, and the two of them fight over who gets to choose the playlist when the radio signal gives out and Kara plugs her phone into the stereo.

They stop for gas and Kara buys Linda a sausage wrapped in bread and smothered in beans and cheese, which she refers to as "the king of all road trip meals" and which looks to Linda like vomit just waiting to happen. It turns out to be delicious; they make Alex buy them all a second round.

And then before Linda knows it the sun is sinking into that long golden hour and they are passing out of thick forests into a valley to the tunes of Death Cab for Cutie and Kara grins at her in the rearview mirror and says they've almost arrived. They pass a sign that reads Welcome to Midvale and Linda realizes with a jolt of fear where they're going.

Alex turns around in the passenger's seat to pat Linda's leg. "Hey," she says. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

But Linda is terrified when they pull up to the little house, the feeling of not belonging creeping her spine, her hands stuffed deep into her pockets, her heart racing. A woman comes out of the house before Kara has even locked the car. Linda can see something of Alex in her features.

"Hi mom," Alex says as the older woman ushers her in for a hug. Warm light and the sound of tinny classical music drift out of the open kitchen window to where Linda fidgets in the driveway. Kara hugs Elize too, and then Alex is pushing Linda forward, and Linda thinks maybe she's going to throw up those chili dogs after all.

Eliza smiles at her and holds out her arms. Linda glances at Kara, who nods encouragingly, and then steps gingerly into the embrace. It's... not terrible. Kind of nice. Eliza lets go and pats her on the shoulder.

"C'mon," Kara whispers. She tugs Linda by the forearm. "I'll show you our room. Oh, and Streaky! You're going to love him."

"Dinner's almost ready," Eliza says, "So you girls just go and wash up now."

Alex laughs when Linda sets the silverware out backwards, and Kara flicks kernels of corn at her with a grin when Eliza isn't looking, and Linda feels warmer than she thinks she's ever felt. When everyone is seated, and drinks are poured, and food is served, Eliza smiles at them across the table.

"It's so nice to have my girls home for the weekend," she says. She looks at Linda with a twinkle in her eye. "All three of you."

#supergirl #supergirl fic #ficlet #supercorp #red daughter #lena luthor #linda lee #sam arias #alex danvers #redreign #I did not proofread this #found family #is the best family #that is all

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jeaniegreysummers · 3 years

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yours || jean & scott

summary: jean and scott get married in the botanical gardens. they’re very excited. no sentinel interrupts the vows. the universe said jott rights, for at least fifteen minutes.

when: june 15th, 3pm

trigger warnings: some brief mentions of past trauma, but this is 99.9% fluff, baby! we can do it!

featuring: scott summers

JEAN: Nothing about this day felt normal. Nothing about it felt like something she could’ve prepared for, even if she had, as she’d told Erik, spent decades planning what she would wear, what she would say, what song they would dance to after the ceremony before the party kicked off. In her heart, she’d always known if she was getting married, it would be to Scott Summers. She’d also known that the chances of it happening were slim to none. Mutants didn’t get happy endings. The storybook style final chapter wasn’t written with their people in mind. They were born, they were ostracised, they fought or they didn’t, they died young.

Scott had almost been another statistic. Jean had almost been another statistic. But they were here today, and her best friend’s arm was linked through hers, the satin of her glove comforting against Jean’s arm, and the music was beginning to swell.

She didn’t need the Phoenix to make her chest feel like it had expanded ten times over. She didn’t need her parents’ approval, didn’t need her mother to tell her she was making the right choice, didn’t need her father winking and saying that Jean had always been his favorite because she had a good head on her shoulders. She didn’t need to talk it over with a friend, or play a chess game with her own morality. She didn’t need to do any of that.

Scott had always been the simplest part of her life. He’d always been the one choice, the constant choice, that she never needed to question. . The door opened, and Jean looked up from the flowers in her clasped hands, just in time to see Scott looking up at her too.

They never got the chance for a rehearsal, not with the measures that were necessary to put in place to make this even possible, the mechanisms they ensured to keep their family safe. Jean was glad of it then, because it felt like the longest walk in human history even the first time around, one step in front of another until finally she was under the arch, eyes still firmly on Scott, her cheeks aching with a grin she’d been holding back until right that moment.

“Hi,” she said, a little too loud considering the drop of the music. A low wave of laughter went through the onlookers, but it sounded like noise coming from above the water while she was six metres under. The only person she could see was him.

He’d always been the only one she could see, the only one she wanted to.

As the officiant gathered himself, Jean’s grin turned into a softer smile, her hand reaching for Scott’s. ’Nice suit,’ she projected. ’I think we’re officially hotter than prom.’

SCOTT: The day itself was an oxymoron. If you’d told Scott at practically any point in his life after he’d met her that he’d one day be straightening his tie and preparing to marry Jean Grey in a garden surrounded by everyone he loved, Scott would have been both utterly unsurprised and entirely disbelieving. The day was both impossible and inevitable, the natural progression of the story and the dream he’d never let himself believe could truly happen. He was marrying Jean, because of course he was, and he was caught somewhere in between having known it all along and having never hoped for a moment so perfect.

No one could blame him for the disbelief, he supposed. It had taken so much to get them here, so many things dominoing atop one another to make this possible. There was a graveyard behind the mansion where they’d grown up, and both their names were carved in granite there. They’d held one another in their arms and felt the life drain from each other’s bodies, attended funerals, met again in the afterlife. And now, here they were. Scott Summers and Jean Grey, preparing themselves to walk down an aisle. Wasn’t this always how things were going to go?

The arch cast a shadow over him, providing some quiet semblance of shade as he stood with his back to the priest, watching the door intently. He could feel her on the other side of it, had to make a conscious effort not to walk towards her. It was always like that, when Jean was around. Scott was a moon in orbit, with her wherever she went, caught by her gravity and unable to pull himself away even if he’d wanted to. (And he’d never wanted to, not even for a moment.) He could feel a few eyes on him, knew that some people were watching, and he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that. Who in their right mind would be looking at Scott knowing that Jean Grey was about to walk through the door? . The door opened, and Scott felt the breath leave his lungs all at once. She looked beautiful, just as she always did. She was grinning, and he knew he was, too, watching as she walked towards him at a pace unbearably slow. Finally, finally she was in front of him, and Scott reached a hand up to move a strand of hair behind her ear absently. “Hi,” he replied, utterly oblivious to everything and everyone but her.

He huffed a quiet laugh as her hand found his, nodding his head. No slime this time, he agreed. Though I’m sure Bobby will be saying something inappropriate any moment now. There was a quiet lapse as the officiant spoke, saying something Scott couldn’t quite hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. You look beautiful, he told her, though it seemed a rather obvious thing to think. How did I ever convince you to marry me? I must be more charming than I thought. Or insanely lucky.

JEAN: She never fantasised about a wedding like movies and the media said she should. At nineteen years old, she didn’t plan this day to the letter, didn’t decide on her color scheme, didn’t look up review after review to find the best cake flavor combinations or practice plaiting her own hair. She thought about it, of course. Jean Grey has been doodling Scott Summers’ name in hearts, and his surname after her own, since long before they even admitted what they were to each other, long before they kissed, long before even their closest friends saw the inevitable happening right before their eyes.

The part of a wedding she had always desired (perhaps because Jean never failed to be the centre of attention in her life; perhaps because she knew from twenty years of working together that marriage wasn’t the end chapter but a beginning; perhaps because Scott inspired a practicality and realism in her no one else could) was the after. When the rustle of red dresses were gone, and she could breathe again without her own hastily amended wedding dress cutting into her side, and the flowers had wilted long ago, and she woke up on the sofa in a tiny apartment with her head on Scott’s chest, rising and falling rhythmically, predictably, as he slept.

Perhaps she should be a little more romantic about the day that served as a bridge between past and present — but recent events had proven every single day spent with Scott was something to be cherished. They could count on loving each other to the last day, but when that was had always been uncertain.

’I’ve pressed his mute button,’ Jean replied. ’He’s being cut off from the cake supply if he makes one pun before the end of the ceremony. The after party is fair game, though. I couldn’t ask too much of him.’ . (We are gathered here today ... matrimony, commended to be honorable, but not to be entered into lightly, but reverently ... if any person can show just cause why they should not be joined together ...)

Jean squeezed Scott’s hand gently, her thumb brushing over the still bare skin on his finger. There would be metal there, within a matter of moments. Nothing would change, but it felt like everything would be different.

’Kara is a master with braids,’ she replied, though she had the distinct impression Scott wasn’t talking about her hair. ’You don’t look so bad yourself, Summers. I always wondered what it would take to get you back into a suit.’ A suit that wasn’t emblazoned with a giant yellow or red X, a suit that didn’t come with a mission statement, a suit that he wasn’t going to war in.

This was the only day Jean could think of in their lives where they hadn’t been fighting something, or planning to fight, or recovering from one. She wasn’t naive enough to think it would last, but it was nice. Just living, just being alive, with Scott was really, really nice.

’That one’s easy,’ Jean said, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards only slightly. ’Bishop isn’t on the continent. My options were going for the second choice, or wait for him to stop beating up DoomBots. You’re a very attractive alternative, Mr. Summers.’

The officiant had stopped talking. Jean tore her gaze from Scott to see the older man looking at her expectedly. . “Vows,” he whispered, and Jean nodded, reaching for the piece of paper tucked into the ribbon around her flowers.

“Just double checking — you can all hear me, right?” Jean asked, turning slightly to the crowd of smiling faces. “We’re not doing the brain meld thing? Okay, good, because I want you all to hear this.” She met Scott’s gaze through the red of his lenses, only slightly obscured by her own reflection. “I want everyone to hear how I feel about you all the time. I want to scream it from the rooftops, and broadcast it on every channel. Every second of every day, I am always so, so amazed that I’m the one you chose to spend your life standing beside, and I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful for you.

“I looked up a lot of very important people talking about marriage, giving their advice and wisdom, and some of it was pretty good. Some of it made sense. Some of it I’d never really thought about before. But you and me, Slim? We’re one of a kind. We’ve been through a lot together. We’re undoubtedly about to go through a lot more. There is no one I would rather face the world with than you. There is no one who gives me faith that there is hope at the end of the tunnel than you. They say marry your best friend, and I say I never had any other choice. You walked into my life and you infuriated me and comforted me. You never backed away when people were afraid. You never doubted me, even when you should. You never stopped, and you brought me back to myself. You brought me back to you.” . Jean cleared her throat, folding the paper together once more and passing it back to Rogue. “There’s a lot of things I could say today, and we would be here for another decade and a half,” Jean said, “but that’s the most important thing I could think of. No matter what happens, no matter who I become, no matter how you change, no matter how the world changes, I will come back to you. I will always come back to you. I love you, Scott Summers, every day in every version — and I can’t wait to keep being the reason for that smile, because it’s my favorite thing in the whole world.”

SCOTT: Happiness had never been an easy thing to find with Scott. As a young child, he’d been too preoccupied ensuring his brother’s happiness to care much about his own. Those first few years of his life had been about Alex and only Alex. Had he gotten his homework done? Did he have lunch money in his account? Did he need a permission slip signed? Was he hovering outside their mother’s closed door again, wondering why she hadn’t made it out of bed that week? Alex was the priority before their parents died and after…

After that plane went down, all of Scott’s energy went into surviving. Alex was gone, being taken care of by a nice couple who weren’t perfect but weren’t Nathaniel Essex, and Scott still worried about him but had other things on his mind. He had to fight just to breathe, had to struggle to keep his head above water. There was Essex and then there was Winters, and both men were terrible, unbearable threats. There was Essex and then there was Winters, and when he’d been going through them he’d been so sure that neither man was survivable. There was Essex and then there was Winters.

And then there was Jean.

She’d been more than a breath of fresh air when she’d found him on that park bench. She’d been oxygen to a dying man, a crystal stream in the middle of a desert. To say that Jean had saved him would have been an understatement. Jean did more than save his life. Jean made his life a thing worth saving. If he could give her something in return, if he could make her smile and keep making her smile for the rest of their lives, it was his duty to do that. It was his dream to do that. . ’I’d be ecstatic to see the look on his face as he tries to hold the puns in, but I don’t think I can bring myself to look away from you for a moment,’ he admitted, smile softening. He wanted to lean in, wanted to kiss her, but something told him it wasn’t quite time for that yet. Not that he’d know for sure, with all the attention he’d been giving the officiant. They were in a room full of the most important people in their lives but, for the moment, Scott’s world had narrowed to one person.

Her finger brushed his, and Scott remembered the first time he met her. He remembered the words he’d use to describe the moment years later, to the sound of groans and sighs around him, the way a pillow flew at his face with a laugh because you’re so lame, Summers. He hadn’t cared then any more than he did now, because those words were true. They were still true. The universe readjusts forever to her slight presence. His world changed the day he met her, was changing again now. And with her hand in his, it only ever changed for the better.

’Kara did great,’ he replied, letting his eyes flicker to her hair for a heartbeat before returning to recapture her gaze. Her hair wasn’t what had him so enchanted, but he suspected she knew that. He flushed a little as she returned the compliment, lifting his shoulder in a slight shrug. ’For you? I’d wear a suit every day for the rest of my life. All you’d have to do is ask.’ He tried, as he suspected she was doing, not to think of the last time he’d worn a suit. He didn’t remember it, of course, but plenty of people in attendance likely did. Funerals and weddings had very similar dress codes, after all. . It was a strange thought to have. A few months ago, he’d died on a grassy knoll in a public park. His life had ended in the arms of the woman he’d loved, and he’d understood that it was, perhaps, always going to end just like that. Today, he was getting married under a floral arch in a park. His life was beginning with the hands of the woman he loved clasped tightly together with his own and he understood that this, more than anything else, had been his destiny all along. Scott Summers was always going to marry Jean Grey. He was always going to love her. No one could stop that, try as they might.

His lips quirked upwards, eyes dancing with laughter. ’Remind me to send Bishop a thank you card,’ he teased, light and gleeful and alive. He felt more alive today than he had in such a long time, with his pulse racing in his wrist and a nervousness that didn’t make sense fluttering in his chest. They were already here. She’d already agreed to love him for the rest of his life. There was no more reason to be nervous, and yet he was.

The officiant reminded them that they were, in fact, still at a wedding, that the crowd was expecting declarations, and Scott huffed a quiet laugh, glancing around briefly before letting his eyes slide back to where they always wanted to be --- on her and nothing else.

Jean spoke, and Scott loved her more than he’d ever loved anything else in his life. He loved her so much that it shouldn’t have been possible, adored her so completely that he wondered how there was room in his head for any thought but her. He loved Jean Grey, and she loved him back. That, more than anything, was a miracle. His eyes felt wet as she continued, and Scott found himself thankful for the glasses obstructing them if only because he didn’t want his rare display of emotion to take the attention away from Jean, from what she was saying. . When she finished, he cleared his throat, letting out a breathless little laugh. She said those things about him. She felt those things about him. He’d been wrong before --- lucky didn’t even begin to cover what he was.

“Is it my turn?” he asked quietly, and the officiant nodded. He laughed again, quiet and airy. “Uh, you all know me. I’m not a man of many words. I’m not someone who’s particularly skilled in talking about my feelings. I don’t know how to put to words the way you make me feel. Loving you is like… It’s like breathing. It’s like the heartbeat in my chest. It’s there all the time, keeping me alive. I don’t know how not to love you. I don’t think it’s possible.”

He squeezed her hand tightly, letting out a quiet, shaky breath. “All my life, I’ve felt as though I was… broken. That parts of me were jagged edges and shattered glass, that nothing could ever hope to put me back together. You changed that. You’ve made me feel whole. You’ve made me feel happy. You showed me what it is to love and be loved, to have a best friend who would do anything for you, to have someone who would fight for you no matter what. You deserve big speeches and flowery words. I wish I had them for you. I wish I could write poems or play music. I wish I could give the world something to show them what you mean to me, but nothing is enough. No words, no music, no art. I love you too much for anything to describe it. I think… I think if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” He laughed again, teary-eyed. “I love you. That’s all I know how to say. I love you, I love you, I love you. I don’t know how to stop.”

JEAN: They weren’t really supposed to happen. Despite how easily they fit together now, despite the fact that Jean could look over at Scott and in an instant know what was passing through his thoughts before their link even came into play, she knew that all of this was a statistical anomaly. They’d been brought together in a group of extraordinary people. They’d survived interstellar space missions, and giant robots targeting their home, disasters of their own making, the world’s hatred manifesting in increasingly violent ways over the years. Even on a smaller scale, no one would look at the original X-Men and picture the reserved, stoic leader hitting it off with the girl who defied logic at every turn and found satisfaction in chaos, but it happened.

It happened on that very first day. It happened every day after that, every argument or difference in opinion or conversation under a blanket draped over the kitchen table building to this moment, this second, where they stood up and told everyone how much they loved each other (as if they hadn’t done just that a thousand times before in their lives, albeit without the fancy outfits).

Jean’s smile softened as Scott’s words filtered through, something turning to goo in her chest as the sentiment lodged itself between her ribs. She always maintained Scott was a charmer, not that he’d ever believe she wasn’t speaking from an entirely biased perspective. He just didn’t get to see himself looking like this. ’You never have to,’ she replied. ’I’m going to be your view for the next seventy years. Better suck it up, buttercup.’ She waited for just a moment, chewing lightly on her lower lip. ’And I want to kiss you too,’ she thought, ’for the record.’ . She always wanted to kiss him. She always wanted to talk to him. Everything that happened in the day mattered infinitely more when it was filtered through his perspective, because Scott’s mind was the most beautiful place she’d ever been. There weren’t words in the English language to explain the experience of a telepath — Jean would have to invent some, she knew, just as she knew that she loved Scott well past the point of invention — but she hoped time made up for that lack of vocabulary. She hoped more than a decade of loving him every single day with everything she was told Scott that he was worth it, even if he would never quite believe it.

Scott Summers, standing in front of her, saying what he was saying, thinking even more than he managed to put into words, trying against his nature to let everyone in on a part of his life that could be open to judgement ... Jean let out a small, disbelieving laugh at the fact that sixteen year old Jean would kill to be in this spot right now (seventeen year old Jean, bitter over the fact that Scott repeatedly and emphatically avoided her eye contact at any given opportunity even through the shades, would pretend to be disgusted by the development). “You don’t need to stop,” Jean said, and it came out like a joke, something to prompt a wave of laughter through the crowd once more, but it was the truth.

They never needed to stop again. Not even death could part them — they’d proven that. The world was theirs for the taking, in every way that mattered. There was a fire connecting them, and even more than that, there was love.

There was love. . “With this ring,” Jean repeated, taking the band of metal from the officiant, not hesitating for a second before slipping it onto Scott’s fingers, “I take you, Scott Summers, to be my lawfully wedded husband — for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish; in life, and in death.”

’It’s you and me.’ It was enough. It had always been enough.

There was a beat, and then the voice cut through, louder this time.

“I am very pleased to present to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Summers. You may now kiss the br—“

Bouquet now abandoned, Jean hooked her fingers around Scott’s tie, pulling him down so she could press her lips to his.

SCOTT: When he was a child, before that plane went down, Scott had dreamt of following in his father’s footsteps. I want to be a pilot, he’d say to anyone who would listen. I want to fly a fighter jet. He hadn’t known, of course, what it meant to be a soldier. Not back then. He hadn’t understood that there was more to an Air Force pilot than the controls of a plane, hadn’t been able to comprehend the complexities of war.

That had all changed fairly quickly.

In a lot of ways, when that plane fell out of the sky and Scott lost everything in one fell swoop, he got what he’d always wanted. He became a soldier in an instant, was thrust into a war the moment the first optic blast left his eyes. He’d never fly a fighter jet, never be a pilot, but he’d followed in his father’s footsteps all the same. He was a man built for war. For a long time, he’d thought that disqualified him from love.

He remembered being sixteen and looking at a beautiful girl, remembered memorizing the slope of her neck and the way her hair fell against her shoulders. He remembered thinking to himself, I can never have this. He’d accepted it so quickly, done everything he could to distance himself from her. Hours spent in the Danger Room running simulations that would train his head and ignore his heart, ducking into rooms when she walked by because if he spoke to her his hands would sweat and his mouth would go dry. Scott had loved Jean long before he’d realized he was allowed to love her. He would continue to love her long after the universe told him to stop.

(And maybe that time had come and gone already. Maybe after the third funeral, the universe simply got tired of repeating itself.) . This moment, he thought, was what he’d always thought his first time behind the controls of that imagined fighter jet would feel like. At some point, his dream had changed. He didn’t know when, didn’t know how, but there was no part of him that wanted to be his father now. The only thing he wanted to be, in this moment, was Jean Grey’s husband. ’Better make it eighty,’ he shot back, light dancing in his eyes. ’Or ninety. A hundred. Seventy just isn’t enough.’ Nothing ever would be. ’I think we’ll both get our wish in a moment. That’s how these things usually go.’

This thing they shared had always been a series of beautiful contradictions, and this moment was no different. It was quiet and intimate, but it was loud and impossible to ignore. It was utterly private, but a hundred-odd eyes were watching. It was fleeting, but it would last forever. Theirs was an impossible sort of love. Scott had learned to adore it in its entirety. And now, he got to enjoy it for the rest of his life.

There were rings. She slid one onto his finger and he felt like a missing piece had been fixed into place. He put one on her and it looked like it had been there all along. There were words that shook his voice, a trembling smile as he repeated them. “I take you, Jean Grey, to be my lawfully wedded wife…” He heard himself speaking and he sounded far away, drowned out by his own heartbeat. The pounding in his chest was hers. It had always been hers.

’You and me,’ he agreed, ’forever.’

And then she was kissing him, and the world was more right than it had ever been before.

#char: scott summers #discord

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masterofmagnetism · 4 years

Text

Promises

Who: Erik and Charles @burdenedxtelepath

Mentioned: Raven @mysteriousmutant, Jean @jeanelcinegrey, Scott @firstxman, Lorna @mistressxfmagnetism

Where: Charles' office at the Institute

When: 3 weeks after the Raft.

What: Erik finds himself in Charles' office, as he has several times in the last few weeks, attempting to quiet his mind with a bit of silent companionship from his oldest friend. Instead, he ends up accidentally revealing far more than he means to, leading Charles to question his mental state.

TWs: child death referenced, PTSD, hella survivor's guilt

AN: This was a very informal, spontaneous thing in our DMs that was supposed to be fluffy and got surprise angsty, so forgive any formatting errors, etc. Not the most polished thing, but gives some important context about where the boys are at headspace-wise, these days.

CHARLES: He's well aware that Erik is probably up to something. Either that, or this was yet another bout of him acting strange, which seemed to be a thing as of late. However, without access to his thoughts, Charles couldn't draw any definitive conclusions other than maybe Erik was acting on his supposed feelings. It seemed like a stretch but who knows? Even so, Charles scoots over a bit, making room on the sofa. Crossword puzzles were a means to keep the mind sharp and with those he struggled with initially, Erik was more than helpful. "Since when do you like crossword puzzles?" he finds himself asking. And it doesn't go without notice that a certain someone is affectionately leaning on him. At one time, it would have been nothing for him to turn his head slightly and press lips to the top of his head but you know, old habits. Not like he could anyway.

ERIK: Being around Charles was calming, and Erik found himself gravitating back to the Institute more and more often, these days--if only to sit in the man's office and chat with him about nothing, or even just sit in silence while the man worked. Tonight, Charles caved quickly to the request, letting Erik up on the sofa next to him, and within a few minutes, Erik had found himself leaning on the man's shoulder without even recognizing that he'd started, quietly helping with the crossword puzzle.

Charles' question was answered with a soft hum. "I used to do them to help me learn English. Haven't needed to do them for a long time, nor have I had the time, but I enjoyed them," he explains, closing his eyes but continuing to work on the puzzle from memory in his head. "Seventeen down is 'abnegation.'"

CHARLES: He had never minded Erik's presence. Aside from Raven, he was another who often provided the best company, even if he was silent. But sometimes there was little need for words. The aura of simply having another nearby was often good enough to temper one's mood. As was the case with Erik... some of the time.

He quietly scribbles down another word ( a six letter word meaning cold --- chilly ) then moves on. "That's quite the brilliant way to polish one's English and one's vocabulary in general. Crosswords have never been the easiest." He stares down at the final word, frowning. Eventually he fills in the clue with Erik's answer thus completing the puzzle. "Ah, you were right. Two heads are better than one sometimes."

ERIK: Erik cracked open his eyes to peer with satisfaction at the completed puzzle, before letting them drift closed again. "We make a good team," he said quietly. They'd had disagreements often, but usually arguing their case with the other had made both of them stronger rather than weaker. And they'd been able to coordinate on the most important things.... At least before Cuba.

"I liked Sudoku puzzles, too. You know I've always been a numbers person." Though he was damn good with language, too--multiple languages were in his mental toolkit, from years of traveling. Even before he'd gone to Vinnitsa, he'd known German, Polish, Yiddish, and Hebrew. His language skills had only grown in years since.

CHARLES: "We're capable." He leaves it at that as he sets the newspaper aside. The Bugle, per usual, was full of nonsense save for Kara's pieces but at the least the crosswords were still decent. "I haven't done one of those in a long time, but I imagine you'd be a hair better at those than myself. When time permits, I've mostly been doing word searches. Hard to find time to do anything a bit more challenging. Still, they help me relax. I've been needing it lately. Something's...off about me. Can't quite place it either."

ERIK: Erik very nearly snorted. If that wasn't relatable, he didn't know what was--except he, unfortunately, knew exactly what was 'off.' "You seem stressed," he agrees, "But that's to be expected, after the Park." Weren't they all stressed in the aftermath of that? "Don't worry about the safety of the Institute, Charles. The students who leave may need certain things, but anyone here is safe, I promise you that." His new field around the school helped, but it was common knowledge at this point that the school was under the protection of almost all of the known Omega level mutants, and Erik had done his best to make clear it wasn't worth the fight when they couldn't even manage one or two Omegas on their own.

"I haven't had time to do puzzles in... months. And I think I've gotten perhaps sixty hours of sleep in the last three weeks," he admitted.

CHARLES: Perhaps it was only the stress giving Charles these anxious feelings. It was as if he was in a constant state of black cloud, fearing something awful was going to happen. And Erik was right. Charles had no idea what kind of force field surrounded the school now, but he knew deep down nothing could happen to him while within these walls. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen. "You're right. Perhaps it is the stress that has me feeling anxious. After the Park, it's hard not to be overly, obsessively cautious. I think we all are."

60 hours of sleep in three weeks. . . That wasn't enough at all, but Charles knew he couldn't say much on the matter. He slept okay when he took his meds, but resting was another story entirely. He hasn't felt rejuvenated after a night's sleep in quite a while but he hid it well enough. An early morning swim here or there. LOTS of coffee and tea. He managed. They both did. They had no choice when so many people looked to them for guidance. "I don't think it gets any easier from here. I think... it's always going to be like this --- hard."

ERIK: The telepath's words sent a pang through Erik's chest, and a response was slipping off his tongue before he could think better of it, one hand reaching for Charles' and stopping somewhere between them, instead. "No. No, it won't. We deserve peace, Charles. We will have it. One way or another." Charles' way, which looked more impossible than ever, or the way that was slowly taking shape on the walls of Erik's apartment, the war would end.

It had to end.

His next words, in contrast to the earnest and confident ones of just moments before, seem almost desperate. "I'm so tired, Charles," he breathed out against the man's shoulder.

CHARLES: This. This was the kind of scene no one was allowed to see. Because if they saw Charles doubting himself... If they saw Erik as someone other than hardened symbol driven by hate, the facade would end. The glamour --- the enamoration with them both --- would cease to exist. And Charles could not let that happen. Eyes close briefly and with some difficulty, he manages to use his telekinesis to get the bolt turned, locking them inside. While he didn't need people walking in seeing them on the couch, doing crossword puzzles was harmless. This? Not so much.

"Just because we deserve something, doesn't mean we will actually get it. I've hoped for peace my entire life but with each passing day... I just... don't know anymore. I cannot abandon my principles, but I am not a fool either, Erik. I see the same things you see sometimes. My dream... seems much farther away now than it's ever been."

There's a moment's hesitation before he shifts on the couch, arm folding around Erik, pulling him close. Another piece of the puzzle falls in place, giving Charles a better idea of Erik's head state. "I know," he answered quietly. "We all are. This... being you... I'm certain it has to be overwhelming at times. The entire mutant world looks to you to be their strength and their guide. That's a large rock upon your shoulders, but you mustn't let it wear you down."

ERIK: Erik let himself be pulled closer, finally let a hand come up and rest at Charles' other shoulder, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt absently as he tried to rein back in the surge of emotion.

"It's not just... not that." And it's not the Phoenix, either. This exhaustion has been settling in his bones for decades, heavier with each passing year, and now its source is stronger than ever. "All I wanted was safety, Charles. I wanted the kids to be safe from those who would see them lying dead in a park for existing. I wanted my children to dread university applications, not the same things I feared. That was all. And they keep taking them from me," his voice cracked, "And call me radical for not stepping aside and letting it happen."

His hand tightened on Charles' shirt, and his next words sound fervent. "Never again. They will not take another one of the kids, Charles, they won't. They won't take any of you again. I'll make sure of it. I can't--."

CHARLES: Charles knew something was up with Erik the moment he landed in the school yard weeks back. He had fed him some line about wanting to see him, but Charles knew better. There was more to it than that and while he expected Erik to eventually give him bits and pieces, he never imagined the other male had so much bottled inside --- at least in such a manner that it would unfold in his lap like this. Charles bit his lip, fighting to keep his own feelings together. Both of them couldn't be near sobbing over the sorry state of this universe. Otherwise, where was the comfort in that?

So no, he would hold it together, never minding the fingers toying at his collar. Erik's words had so many layers to them, but what stung the most was the bit about the uni applications. 'His' children were not just Jean and Lorna and anyone else he'd taken up under his wing. It was the child that was taken away too. She never got a chance to grow up like the others and Charles knew from his own experiences within Erik's head, that Anya would always be in there somewhere. "I know," he whispered. "A man doesn't do the things that you do if their heart wasn't in it for the right reasons. We both do what we do for these children, and the sake of them having a better future. It's just... We're still ONLY human Erik. Mutants we may be but our bodies eventually wear and tear like any other human's. We can't..." His own voice cracks but he swallows it and pushes forward. "We can't be expected to save them all. God only knows we want to, and it tears us apart when we lose someone but... we're tearing ourselves apart in the process. What good are --- what good are YOU --- if you don't... you need time to yourself, Erik. And you don't... you don't need to place so much of our future on your shoulders. It's not your fault... it's not... you can only do so much so please... don't..." He touches his cheek. "We're fine. We'll be alright."

ERIK: Erik is still leaning against his chest, but the metallokinetic seems miles away, now, even with the light brush of Charles' hand against his cheek, which just a few weeks ago would have had the man's undivided attention. "No. No, I should have been there, at the Park, I could've been there. I could've helped the Underground before Lorna had to bring down a building, before she had to wade into a war she didn't want. We're better, I'm better. I should be able to save them. I can, what good am I if I can't--"

Eventually, the steady brush of Charles' thumb against his cheek, the increasing heartbeat he can feel is what draws him slowly back. He's making Charles upset. He doesn't want to do that. He let out a slow breath against the man's chest, let the vice grip on the man's shirt loosen, smoothed his collar back down. "...Apologies. It's... I'm fine."

It's as much of a lie as Charles' own assurance, but he can do little else, coupled with a rare apology that's likewise inadequate.

CHARLES: "No," Charles says firmly, despite his own wavering voice at times. "None of us could have predicted that the park would turn into such a fiasco. Had any of us known, we'd have counted our loses or sent more people. But that one is not on us, as much as we'd like to blame ourselves. Even Jean will tell you... Something about that night was off. We've always been so careful, but I know the truth will come out in time. Someone betrayed us Erik. Or set us up. And when we find out who it was, god help them."

His fingers lightly trace along Erik's chin and the parks of his cheek he can feel but eventually Erik loosens his grip, breathing slowly. Charles wasn't convinced he was okay, but he also doesn't want to sound pushy either. So he doesn't question it. Instead, he keeps gently touching, content to let the silence wash over them for the time being.

It's not your fault... he thinks to himself, but he knows it may be a while before Erik sees it that way. Such is the burden of a leader.

ERIK: Erik hummed his acknowledgement of the words about the Park, but it was clear he didn't buy it. No matter the cause, no matter what had happened, he should have been there.

But instead of arguing the point, he simply remained silent, letting Charles' touch and warmth start shepherding the uncharacteristic outburst of emotion back into the back of his mind. And he was tired, in so many ways, so eventually he started to doze off, body and mind pushed to exhaustion.

CHARLES: This was beginning to get worrisome, and not at all because he was tired of having moments with Erik. That couldn't be farther from his mind if he willed it. No, this was about how Erik was making a habit of retreating to the telepath's office --- as if to hide from the world or shield himself from it. It troubled Charles to no end, especially since Erik had never been the type to hide out. Nothing thrilled him more than being out in the open, taunting their opponents with his antics. But lately he seemed aloof, even when gazing at him with those doe eyes of his. He seemed more guarded, but at the same time a switch would flip and his feelings would fall all over the place. It practically gave the telepath whiplash. And then... to cap matters, he would fall asleep; doze off just mere moments after a conversation. It only confirmed Erik's confession that he wasn't sleeping well, but Charles wasn't buying that it was only the Park incident keeping him awake at night. Something else was up, but he guessed he should leave it be. After all, at least Erik knew that despite all that's happened, he could still come home and find refuge from all the day's bothersome drama.

Charles eased himself off the couch, his legs letting him know he hadn't much time left to walk. But he was quick, placing a blanket over Erik and tucking him in while he slept. Charles promptly made his way to his chair, deciding he'd better get in it before he has an accident. He watches Erik for several minutes, his heart feeling rather heavy. Only when his phone beeps would he snap out of it. It was time to finish his lesson plans and then later, to bed himself...

#c: charles xavier #d: promises #f: discord #tw: death mention #tw: child death #tw: ptsd #tw: survivors guilt

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ask-pokemon-ranger-kara · 5 years

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I haven't been too active lately and don't now if this is already asked but can you tell us a bit about Arellon? Here in Chikma there are lots of things, including the myths about Clearoc and Hazyvern. I want to know a little more about your region.

Arellon has a number of cultures, but most of them have the same themes. There are many natives here, and back in the ages where wars were constant, many people with psychic powers were driven out, as people believed we were dangerous. Now… you mainly hear about psychics who deal with psychic abilities, like the pokemon type, or Aura users, and sometimes Hex maniacs with ghost… but there used to be a lot of us with different elemental abilities like psychics. The stories go that we sought refuge in Arellon, some making thier way here after they were driven out by countless other regions, and settled.

Only, we werent happy about the other refuges, viewing them as another threat, and while the natives tried to stay out of it, they were drawn in as well.

It wasnt until several legendaries stepped forward to quell the fighting, raising the very land against us if we got too aggressive. We have quite a number of legendary and mythical pokemon, many who ended up emblems for each clan.

Clans refer to the people with various powers. These powers relate to different elemental types, but arent limited to one. You might be familiar with the common Trading Card game people play if they want to battle but are unable to become a trainer? You might see a common theme in how types are grouped with how our powers are grouped.

For example, I am a Teroth. It isnt my last name, but I can add it to my name as a title mark. As someone of Teroth clan strong enough to claim the Teroth title, I am a representative of my clan. Teroths have domain over Fire, Rock, and Ground. There is also a sister clan, the Terrights, who are Fighting, Rock, and Ground. My true last name is Everett. So, Kara Teroth Everett. or Kara Everett Teroth. But in our culture, the clan mark is more important than the regular surname.

Anyone strong enough to claim Clan title will be able to sense and influence pokemon or the environments that pertain to thier elements. I have a superb sense of how a cave system is shaped, and as a Ranger, I use this in cave rescues or as a guide. I am the undisputed best Ranger at being able to find my way out of a cave or subterranean system without fail, even if there has been a rockfall that block paths while I am inside. I have a better sense of where a fire might be heading, and my Teroth ability makes it easier for me to communicate with pokemon who fall under my typing, even if I have no styler active.

Another example is the Lavainn clan has powers over Water, Ice, and Air. They are generally the Masters of the sea, lakes, rivers, and icy areas, and suffered less for thier powers, as a good Lavainn on board, even one without the title, will likely know the waters like an experienced sailor. The one who oversees the biggest port town, Darien, has the Lavainn title, and can sense any change in the ocean or winds, and knows instinctively where the rocks and treacherous currents and such are, even in a area he has never been to before that moment.

#Pokemon Ranger #Pokemon Headcanons #Pokemon #Pokemon Headcanon

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aquarius-johnny · 5 years

Text

Not Enough | Johnny Seo

Requested: No | WC: 2.1k | Warnings: Suggestive Sexual Acts | Genre: angst, fluff

A/N: johnny x fem!reader

Summary: Johnny was always experimental and adventurous when it comes to sex, but this suggestion wasn’t something you were entirely sure about.

Vanilla was not in your vocabulary when you described your sex life with Johnny. You were always trying out new things - things you found that you loved - so him bringing up something new to try out didn’t scare you as much because you trusted him. He was rough when he knew you wanted it and gentle when you needed him to be.

After a heated role play session, you both attempt to catch your breath. His chest moving up and down, heavily breathing as he lays next to you. Your hand on your stomach, smiling from ear to ear thinking of the pleasure that this man gave you.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about something we should try if you’re comfortable.” He pants, occasionally eyeing you as he brought up the question.

Intrigued, you turn to face him, all ears. You let out a hum as you traced circles around his abdomen area.

“How do you feel about a threesome?” Curiosity drips from his question and you’re taken aback at the thought.

“Like 2 males 1 female?”

Johnny shakes his head. “More like 2 females 1 male?” He arches a brow, scanning your face for any giveaways that show your hesitation.

“Who would the second female be?” You ask nonchalantly. A part of you knew Johnny loved you with his entire being, but another part of you kept itching at the idea that the reason for all of these constant new things he wants to try out is due to him thinking what you had to offer, wasn’t good enough. That idea, you had to admit, made you feel obligated to do what he wanted for him to not lose interest.

Johnny shrugs his shoulders. “My friend, Kara, has always been down for a threesome. I could ask her.”

You didn’t know much about Kara, only that she was Johnny’s friend since middle school and she was absolutely gorgeous. Nothing more and nothing less. A huge part of you wanted to scream no, but you didn’t. You felt your heart break at the idea as Johnny waited for an answer. You contemplate the idea, hoping Johnny would take the hint of hesitation. He doesn’t, instead, he lays there with hope in his eyes.

“Okay…” you muttered under your breath, but it was loud enough for him to hear you.

“Really?” He questions, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking for an answer for reassurance. He quickly grabs his phone and texts Kara who was clearly hesitant at first, but with Johnny’s charm convinced her to try it out. That night you silently cried next to Johnny. You knew you could back out, but the fear of him leaving you worried you more than anything else.

The night finally rolled around and you hear a knock at your front door. Johnny leaps up in excitement and heads straight to the door. You fiddle with your fingers, nervous at the thought. You see Kara appear in front of him and he gives her a warm hug. Her eyes lock with yours and she smiles at you. You walk over to her, giving her a hug.

Johnny brings both of you into the bedroom and your nervousness builds up even more. He doesn’t waste any time as his lips lock with yours and Kara sits and watches, patiently waiting for her turn. As he pulls away from you, you feel Kara’s soft lips move with yours. Johnny pets the back of your head, silently encouraging you. Kara pushes you onto your back and hovers over you, trailing kisses from your lips to your jawline and down your neck. Johnny takes in the sight as he begins to remove his clothing. You let out a soft moan as Kara gently massages your breasts. You pull away from her lips to look at Johnny as you feel flustered from the interaction. You motion him to lay next to you and Kara then begin to palm his crotch, feeling him grow harder and harder as you moved your hand. He lets out a groan then proceeds to pull Kara into a kiss which she complies.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces. You stop touching him and he notices your devastated expression on your face. Kara does too. He props himself up, opening his mouth to say something but you cut him off before he could.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” Your eyes begin to sting as you fight back the tears that were starting to form. You run into the bathroom, pressing your back against the door. You allow your tears to fall silently as you listen to Kara and Johnny talking in the other room.

“I thought you said she was okay with it?” Kara questioned in a harsh, but hushed tone.

“She said she was! I don’t know what happened.” You could hear remorse in Johnny’s voice.

“You need to check up on her and don’t be so oblivious to her answers, dude.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

The voices become clearer as you hear the bedroom door shut. Johnny apologizes to Kara and you hear Kara let out a comment.

“If she breaks up with you, call me. I’d definitely love a chance with her.” She chuckles. “You’re a good friend, but you’re one of the reasons why I love being gay. Guys are super oblivious to a girl’s behavior; at least I’ll know when they mean what they say..”

Johnny doesn’t say anything in response, but you hear the front door shut, then a knock on the bathroom door.

“Baby girl, open the door please.” You feel the door move a little, knowing that he was leaning against the it. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracks a little, causing you to cry a little harder.

After a while, it was silent. Johnny didn’t pester you into opening the door and you’ve calmed down from the crying. You thought about what to do: you didn’t want to talk to Johnny about this, yet but you knew he would want to talk about it. You slowly turn the knob of the door, your eyes meeting the man sitting at the dinner table with worry in his eyes. He stands up, taking a few steps toward you before you headed to your bedroom. Johnny follows you, not saying a word. You grab your overnight bag and begin to place some clean clothing into it as Johnny watches you.

“What’re you doing?” His voice was gentle, almost whisper-like. You didn’t say a word. “Baby…” he pleads, placing his hand on your waist. He stands behind you, placing a hand on yours to stop you from packing. “Talk to me.”

Shaking your head, you push him away from you. “I’m staying at a friend’s house. I’ll call you in a few days.” You try your best to avoid eye contact with him, but he pulls you into a hug.

“I don’t want you to leave. Please talk to me…” His scent lingered as you pulled away from him.

“Not right now.” No explanation, no time for him to react, and no looking back at Johnny as you head out the front door of your shared apartment with him.

A part of you hated yourself for letting it get this far. If you’d told Johnny how you felt about everything, this would have been avoided. You wouldn’t have been knocking on your friend’s front door, crying your eyes out as you attempted to reiterate what happened all while taking deep breaths between your words. Your fear of losing Johnny mixed with the amount of love you had for this man overpowered your own feelings, which you hated more than anything else.

A few days passed and you didn’t fully have a conversation with Johnny since that night. He still texted you to let you know where he was and what he was doing, to let you know he was alright - physically, at least. He attempted to call you before he went to bed, but you knew hearing his voice over the phone would send you into a whirlwind of emotions before you were even ready to talk to him, so you just let it ring. But he wouldn’t allow you to go a day without letting you hear an “I love you” from him, so that’s what he did, left a voicemail telling you that he loves you, every night that you weren’t with him.

The night that marked a week since you’d left, your friend enters the room you stayed in as you watched a movie on your laptop while sitting in bed. A familiar figure trails behind her as she enters.

“Someone wants to see you,” your friend says, tugging on her sweater sleeves clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being the middleman in your situation.

“Hi,” Johnny mumbles, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Can we talk?”

You push your laptop away and closed it halfway, nodding your head. Your friend leaves you two to talk, but it takes a while for any of you to speak, so you say there in agonizing silence until one of you had the courage to say something.

“Are you okay?” He asks, awkwardly shifting from one leg to another, occasionally looking at you here and there.

“Yeah. What about you?”

Johnny nods his head slowly. “I’ve been better.” He takes a seat at the end of the bed, staring down at his shoes. “Do you think we can talk about-”

“That night?” You cleanly cut him off and he nods his head.

“What happened?” His eyes lock with yours. “You said you were okay with everything, then you leave and I don’t hear from you for a week.”

You feel a lump in your throat and you’re whisper under your breath. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“Why can’t you just talk to me?”

A war erupts in your head. You wanted to tell him how you felt, but a part of you didn’t want him to leave. “I’m afraid to,” you whisper, fiddling with your fingers as you looked down. Your eyes begin to water, so you quickly wipe it with the back of your hand.

Johnny doesn’t say a word. Instead, he lifts your chin with his finger so your eyes meet with his. They were soft and forgiving, radiating the comfort you needed. “Please, tell me.”

You take a deep breath and you let it out. Everything you felt, everything you feared. And he listened intently, nodding his head in understanding. His thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand as you spoke and every strand of hair that fell in front of your face from looking down so much, he pushed behind your ear.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel you weren’t good enough.” His apology, sincere and genuine. “My intentions were never to make you feel like you had to change or do anything you didn’t want to do just to satisfy me. I’m so sorry, baby.”

You nod your head, thinking of what to say next. Johnny places himself next to you, pulling you into him. You place your head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around you.

“Please don’t ever feel like you’re not good enough. And if you’re not comfortable with anything, tell me. I’m not going to break up with you because you feel uncomfortable with something.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you feel Johnny’s lips brush against your temple.

“And please don’t leave for a week like that. I was a wreck without you.” He confesses in between placing kisses on the top of your head.

“Sorry,” you apologized, interlocking your fingers with his.

Silence falls upon you two, silently forgiving each other as you cuddled into him. You paused for a moment, thinking about that night. “So, Kara’s gay?” Your question came as a random thought that surprised Johnny.

“I forgot to tell you that, didn’t I?” His nose slightly crinkled as a chuckle left his lips. “She did say if you were to break up with me, she’d want a chance with you.”

“Oh?” You look up at Johnny, brows raised, ready to respond. “Well, in that case-” you pretend to push him away from you. But before you could, he pulled you closer to him.

“No,” he pouted as he hugged you tightly which caused you to giggle. “You’re mine.” His hands grip your body as if you were going to float away, causing you to burst into laughter because of how ticklish you are.

After a moment, the both of you calmed down. Johnny gently runs his fingers through your hair, making you regret ever ignoring him.

“Do you want to go home?” He asks. “It’s empty without you there.”

You smile at him, giving him an excited nod. “Thank you for being so patient with me, Johnny.” You tell him before placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Always.”

#j*#johnny seo #johnny suh #seo youngho #nct #nct 127 #nct:johnny #nct johnny seo #nct youngho #johnny seo smut #nct johnny smut #youngho seo #nct scenarios #nct writing #nct 127 angst #nct angst #genre:angst #genre:fluff #nct johnny

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pass-the-bechdel · 6 years

Text

Supergirl season two full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

100% (twenty-two of twenty-two).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

49.93%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Nineteen.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-five. Thirteen who appear in more than one episode, five who appear in at least half the episodes, and two who appear in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirty-six. Thirteen who appear in more than one episode, four who appear in at least half the episodes, and one who appears in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Though the numbers turned out higher than last season by virtue of some stellar narratives in the early part of the season, in reality this was a disappointing return to the show, by-and-large shallower and overly dependent on life-defining concepts of unhealthy romance (average rating of 3.09).

General Season Quality:

Starts out fantastically well, but loses steam around mid season, and turns pretty damn sour by season’s end. A shocking waste of the potential promised by the first season; I’ve practically got whiplash from how severely this turned.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Well, this was a clusterfuck. Let’s see if we can break it down into three manageable categories: world building, politics, and relationships.

The primary victim of this season’s bad storytelling is the alien world of Daxom, and the shoddy world-building there leaks out all over the rest of the narrative. We’re told initially that Daxom is some horrible party planet whose politics were at odds with truth, justice, and the Kryptonian way - we’re told this within a clear framework of confronting ingrained prejudices (something I applauded at the time, you may recall), a context which implies that there is complexity and nuance to Daxom that is going unrecognised, and which we might reasonably expect to explore as the season progresses. It doesn’t happen. We’re told that the people of Daxom are kept drunk so that they won’t question their oppression; we’re told that they were all too drugged up to ‘feel anything’; we’re told that they maintained a sex-drenched hedonistic society headed by an evil, war-mongering, slave-owning royal family (the slavery thing really makes it seem like Kara buried the lede by complaining about a ‘party planet’, too: honestly who cares if they’re partying? They have slavery. SLAVERY). Our hero Supergirl even tells us that the Daxomite prince was ‘the worst of the lot’, though she conveniently neglects to detail how he was the worst, which becomes conspicuous once it is revealed that her new boyfriend Mon-El is that prince. Everything we ever learn about Daxom is cartoonishly negative; it’s also somewhat at odds with itself. Were the Daxomites viciously oppressed and constantly partying? While it is technically possible to have both be true, the entire planet is treated as such a homogenous whole it’s hard to know who was suffering, who was livin’ it up, and who was doing both. Are the rich people being kept drunk and drugged so that they won’t object to their own superiority? Are the poor people provided the freedom and resources to party hard on a constant basis to prevent them from rioting over their non-specified hardships? The details are so vague we can’t even draw clear conclusions about who is responsible for this situation, because if everyone is drunk, drugged, or otherwise unable to gain perspective on their circumstances, then can they really be blamed for them? Daxom’s entire population is tarred with the same broad brush, a collection of cliches masquerading as world-building but really only serving to form a blurry image of a dysfunctional and inherently bad society. And with Daxom’s bevy of stereotypes standing unquestioned and therefore unclear, we segue easily into...

Politics. Early on when I applauded the show’s transparency about stating its political convictions, I had no idea how far they intended to take it, and how blisteringly uncool it would be. Where, at that early stage, the politics the show was declaring was all about equal rights and therefore undeniably positive, as the Daxom issue grew the political mess became far less inclusive. Despite being confronted by the reality of Krypton’s flaws back in the first season as well as in this one, the positioning of Daxom as an uncomplicated evil serves to backtrack on Supergirl’s personal growth in recognising that she is not immune from bigotry herself, instead validating her hatred. Ironically, they get the opportunity to examine the same confrontation for Mon-El later in the season when meeting with his parents forces him to acknowledge how far his personal beliefs have strayed from his upbringing, and yet they waste that chance as well, because duh, Daxom is bad. Exploring what was wrong with Daxom wasn’t about furthering that statement on equal rights, not least because exploration of Daxom’s flaws didn’t really happen at all, we were just handed the party line and told to go with the idea that this whole planet was garbage. And then on top of that, the show went and made the political division of Krypton and Daxom into a stand-in for real life American Democrats vs Republicans, with Rhea echoing Republican catchphrases while the much-championed equality-advocate and literal alien President of the United States is explicitly identified as a Democrat! Supergirl’s writers thus make a statement not about political policy or basic rights, but about political affiliation in the real world, and there’s nothing positive about using the cartoonish villainy of Daxom as a vehicle for attacking Republicans. This sends the message that Supergirl is not a show for Republican audience members, and that divisiveness is just not useful. Instead of using their show as a platform to promote positive and healthy ideas, it is used as a weapon to shame and (again with the irony) alienate a potential half of its viewership, and in the current political climate, that’s irresponsible story telling, not to mention anathema to Supergirl’s first-season theme of unity across barriers.

So, we have a world that is just broad-strokes Bad News, an ill-advised not-metaphor for real-world political divisions, and a bunch of missed opportunities to explore the nature of bigotry. That last one is a bigger problem than it may initially appear, too, as noted in the episode posts: if the writers were trying to tell this story in a serious way, they’d have really invested in deprogramming Mon-El. As eager as they were to make Daxom ‘evil’, they didn’t want to also make Mon-El ‘evil’ as Kara said he was when she spoke unknowingly of Daxom’s prince, and so Mon-El becomes a victim of the vague world-building of Daxom, and creates a feedback loop which in turn makes Daxom’s world-building more vague by virtue of its politics not being clearly reflected in the unfiltered behaviour of its favourite son. The show wants Mon-El to be blamed for being born the prince of Daxom, but it also doesn’t want that - it wants the cheap drama of Kara expressing her own bigotry, but it doesn’t want Mon-El to actually be that bad, but it doesn’t want to admit that Kara is prejudiced, but it doesn’t want her opinion to be wholly justified in this one instance, just every other one, etc, etc. The show is too afraid to demonstrate Supergirl having ugly beliefs of her own to question, nor does it really want to do its due diligence on having Mon-El process the complex reality of having everything he was raised to believe called into question and/or summarily rejected by his new society. In the process, the season forgets to have any kind of moral centre, losing itself in that all-encompassing disavowal of Republican politics but failing to be specific even then, and a superhero story without a moral centre is...kinda pointless. The resulting mess of politics and lazy short-hand, again, cripples Mon-El’s functionality as a character as he ends up tacked together out of disparate pieces, never really Daxom enough for Daxom, his playboy issues mostly pared down into base-level comic relief, and a grotesque romantic entanglement thrown in over the top to make his convoluted non-personality worse.

Which brings us to: relationships. Perhaps surprisingly, I don’t actually think Mon-El himself is the worst part of this season - as noted above, I see him as a symptom of much bigger issues - but his relationship with Kara is a huge problem. It plays pretty much every toxic bullshit trope I would have expected this show - especially after the precedent of awareness set last season - to avoid. The fact that Mon-El’s fuckboy behaviour is the only real evidence of that Daxomite heritage the show is refusing to properly unpack means it comes off not as a learning curve for him so much as an uncharacteristic weak point for Kara, that she would tolerate being screwed around by the thoughtlessness of this guy. That the show repeats this lazy drama literally one episode after another, having Mon-El mistreat or disappoint Kara at the start but make it up to her by the end, is further damaging as it shows Kara suffering a cycle of poor behaviour without any indication of why she keeps coming back to it, which again makes her appear weak-willed in total contradiction of her usual Supergirl persona, feeding an image of her as so love-struck as to be victimised by it despite any such ‘love’ being entirely unearned by the arcs of the narrative. That this is not only a massive unhealthy cliche but also one which is being served up without commentary as though the writers legitimately think it’s unproblematic romance makes it all the more shocking. Kara’s personality is overridden by her romance with Mon-El, and the rest of her relationships - most notably with Alex - are sidelined in favour of it; as the season wears on Kara rarely manages stories of her own that don’t revolve around the spontaneous and awkwardly forced romance with Mon-El. Why does she love him? Because the script says so. She loves him despite him being a Daxomite, but we’re not gonna explore that because it’s in admitting-that-good-guys-have-flaws territory. Giving the romance nuance or believability or unpredictability would require better characterisation of Mon-El and therefore Daxom and therefore, Kara’s prejudices that we’re supposed to pretend aren’t really a problem because Daxom is Evil. If Kara could have spent the season navigating the pains of bigotry with Mon-El, that would have been interesting and thought-provoking storytelling, and if they really insisted on making a romance there at least they woulda been treading some less generic ground.

Then again, they were already treading less generic ground when Kara was oh-so-briefly with James Olsen, before some fuckwit decided that it was too racially subversive to tell that story, and James ended up shafted with a promising but under-developed personal story and little to no contact with the rest of the characters all season long, making it almost weird when he occasionally graced us with an appearance. Alex at least fared better in the relationship that drew her away from Kara the majority of the time, scoring one of the only good subplots of the season in the form of her coming-out process, though I must admit I dislike Maggie and find her a flat, poorly-drawn character, as if the writers went ‘she’s a tough lesbian cop! That’s three words! It’s plenty of personality!’ and just kinda left it at that, and that taints the ongoing story of Alex’s personal life. The only passable romance in this season of Unnecessary Romances For Everyone Not Called James was J’onn and M’gann, and that possibly only worked because it was understated and featured but briefly; Winn’s relationship with Lyra, on the other hand, was just another cliche mess as irritating as it was dull, and pointless to boot, like the writers couldn’t figure how to write Winn a personal plot without it being a romance. Nice work, guys.

There is so much more that we could complain about this season - don’t even get me started on the total misfire which was the CADMUS plot - and so few things to appreciate - Lena Luthor deserves a nod, queer rep is always a win, Martian stuff is great, Clark Kent is delightful - but it’s probably time to let this bad batch go. If we’re lucky, the folks behind Supergirl learned about a trillion lessons about how to do storytelling and will get back to actually trying, come season three. If not, I guess y’all can look forward to me bitching about it. A lot. They burned my trust in this show worse this season than I would have thought possible, and I’m not convinced they can earn it back. We’ll see.

#Supergirl #Supergirl season two #Bechdel Test #female representation #full season review

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notoriousjae · 6 years

Text

72 Rules of Cat Grant || SuperCat || (9/?)

Chapter Title: Crash (Ukiem Khap...)

Pairing: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

“It’s been a while since I got to watch everyone crash the cover.”

“Ah,” Catherine hums, teeth crunching a candy shell, “Right.” A wave of fingers as she holds a small little orb of ill-lit yellow, “You weren’t here for the last one. Something about a spaceship being embedded in your head.”

“Right.” Kara slowly unwraps the candy bar with more reverence than she had tugging off Catherine’s dress a few minutes prior. But, then again, as empty as the building is, if curious eyes had happened to look, no one would give her a sideways look for sensually unwrapping a candy bar.

That’s just a Thursday.

Unwrapping their CEO on the other hand…

Well, no one in the office knows that that is also kind of a beautiful, wonderful Thursday for Kara Danvers, too.

Chapter 1: AO3 Link | FF.Net Link | Tumblr

Chapter 2: A03 Link | FF.net Link | Tumblr

Chapter 3: AO3 Link | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 4: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 5: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 6: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 7: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 8: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 9 (Current): AO3 | FF.Net | Below:

Rule #47. No sex on the same night as deadlines. Deadlines always come first.

3:12 AM.

The spread is impeccable--it’s always impeccable, really, after Cat’s finished with it--and a ring of coffee’s trickled a moon’s dance around porcelain white along the protected surface of the large art desk. A formidable table set in the corner of CatCo’s resident Art Director’s office. Protected acrylic is a crowning frame to the articles hung around the tilted desk, pictures adorning words with heralding, artistic grace and a flare that screams Jimmy Olsen. It’s been a long day in CatCo’s pen and the hallways are littered with exhausted bodies like they’ve just seen through a war, 3 AM (an hour before Cat needs to finalize the print before sending it off for the early morning run, thank Rao for technology) has come and gone a little past, most people either crashing at their desks or slowly filtering out into the empty National City streets to head home.

Kara spent an hour in an empty office at 2 AM staring at the picture of Kal-El holding her in his cut arms until she found herself in front of the completed spread, at all, discovering Cat Grant’s own personal form of victory high the moment she’d followed the crook of a slender finger.

She couldn’t erase the picture of Kal-El’s eyes as much as she could erase the feeling of Cat’s, unrelenting and haunting and warm.

James, himself, had left this very office twenty minutes prior, sleepy smile greeting a friend’s peace offering of hot coffee on his trek home, Kara Danvers there to rally the troops into the night even if she technically shouldn’t be at CatCo, at all.

Not that that stopped her.

After all, Kara Danvers is a stickler for rules, but Cat Grant’s issuing order to her the night before had been that she wasn’t allowed in the building in any professional capacity, and given the fact that she was also benched (due to Doctor’s Orders of sleep and rest at the DEO, neither of which she’s enjoyed much of), she’s found great comfort in this oversight.

Which might be why she’s been a constant presence here, all day, wandering aimlessly (careful not to disrupt the flow, relying on her most impressive talent of simply blending in amidst the chaos) as every one of her colleagues pitched into overdrive to help crash the cover.

She’s happy not to blend into the wood-work, now.

The acrylic of the desk has seen countless scratches from a pen’s tick, but there’s suddenly five more that adorn its surface, long lines slowly digging down the edges, scraping to catch the edge and failing miserably, a stack of proofs scattering to the floor in a fluttering symphony from the sharp sweep of an arm.

Hours and hours of hundreds of employees’ lost work fluttering like jagged snowflakes to a white floor as a gasp breaks against a shoulder and Kara can’t even bring herself to feel all that remorseful--okay, she does feel a little bad, but that doesn’t last nearly as long as the heat does--breath catching.

Heels clatter next to the pages--one followed by a rough thud, the next followed by a groan, flinging halfway across the room--a pink stiletto showcasing the gruff picture of this week’s politician’s highlights.

The other heel has cast its lot in the working roulette wheel on a flashing green aura--a picture of the villain who almost took down the Wonder Twins, as Catherine Grant is calling them around the office, this week--the CEO had suggested the name Green Goblin until her ex-assistant had run fingers along the edge of a sharp jawline in memory and murmured--

Metallo.

--over lunch. The name had carved granite against the edges of usually-smiling teeth from the way it shook and the circles under blue eyes had set like chiseled lines of stone in her usually vibrant cheeks and Cat had looked up at her across a sea of white the same moment Brad roughly jostled her shoulder to get passed.

Unassuming (jobless) Kara Danvers didn’t think to hide her wince, rubbing at a shoulder, and she felt that look down into the depths of her stomach--felt fire licking at the wick of her nails--and had quietly excused herself from the desk and avoided Cat’s eyes at all cost, for the rest of the day.

But she didn’t miss the way Cat’s eyes lingered on the picture Kara had spent an hour memorizing over a too-white desk.

She didn’t miss the way Cat’s eyes lingered on her in the hallway.

She doesn’t miss how Cat’s eyes linger on her, now.

Now, everything is scattered along the mids as long fingers tangle in long locks and long legs wrap around long arms and strong biceps flex underneath a strong, unrelenting voice. Wicked teeth and wicked tongue and every single rule lost along words they couldn’t place if they tried.

“If you...had a job.” Naked and sprawled among the pages, silver glasses pushed down to the edge of a nose, askew. “You would...be fired...for this.”

“I'm...lucky I have...an eidetic--Ahh--” It’s a groan of a pant as the taller of the two forms rolls over into a familiar hip, tugging out a stapler from underneath her back on the floor and tossing it across the room, wincing when it undeniably shatters.

Oops.

A huff through flaring nostrils sounds to her left.

“You’re fixing this. I am not risking my company because you wanted a qui--ck--hmm--” For once, Kara rolls over onto a panting form and cuts Catherine off, stealing any breath her lover might have with an eager, slow mouth until she feels her heart relax in the back of her ears. “Kara.” Cat protests the moment Kara pulls back because that same eager mouth traces a very, very knowing trail downwards, biting at a neck. “I--fuck, don’t you dare--” It’s a hiss when Kara bites a little too hard, tongue soothing the roughness of it with a small, apologetic breath. “You’re--”

“You started this. And you said...you were worried about me.” Kara tips a chin back to suck an earlobe and to breathe her in and she can feel the smallest smile in the air between them. When she pulls back just enough to see it, showcased underneath a faint desk lamp, it takes her breath away. “I’ll take care of it.” And just with that--with that sole promise--Cat’s body relaxes, just a little.

Probably because Kara has spent two and a half years telling Catherine she would take care of it and making sure she kept her word, every time.

“I did no such thing.”

“Okay, so you looked all...worried. All day. Distinctly worried with the frown and the--” Kara waves a finger between knit brows towards Catherine’s very unamused face, hand smoothing down an abdomen a moment later, drumming fingers along hips, “That. That look. The look on your face right now.”

“The look that says that I’m going to throw you out of the window like Perry White with a chair?” Cat arches up into her despite the protest, hands moving up to rake through unruly, desperate strands.

“No,” Kara huffs, crawling up the length of her body, hands spreading on either side of Catherine’s head, holding herself up on arms that glow for more than one reason underneath moonlight in James Olsen’s office. “You smile when you think of throwing me out of a window--” On cue, Cat’s lip tucks up on the edge and Kara’s so glad to be close enough to see it, “Hey, stop it.” Cat laughs (dazzling and shameless) and then schools features into a serious face that would make J’onn proud. Which…makes Kara a little nervous, given how quickly she was able to pull that off. “Oh, look, no smile. See? You’re worrie--hey.”

Cat lovingly swats the back of her head, obviously knowing full well that Kara can’t feel it, a hint of a smile that’s far more genuine and far less long-lasting, slipping off her features.

“Of course I’m worried.” The smile drops fully--serious and quiet and furious, like she’s read another political tweet before lunch, 140 characters limited and poignant and resting on the edge of her lover’s tongue like fire, “You were hurt. More than once this week, might I add, you almost died yesterday and you’re starting to look like that crypt keeper in Animal Cemetery--”

“Oookay,” It’s a breathy drawl, a hint of a laugh caught in flaring nostrils, “I’ll work on not being offended by that. My confidence is taking a serious nosedive, today, with all the compliments. My sister? Told me I was starting to look like Keith Richard’s balls in a bath? Which, was, well…” She scoffs, “Rude and this is not helping. In the meantime,” Kara’s mouth drags down clenching, quivering muscles--down a gasping, fluttering stomach--down arching hips and spreading thighs. She curls her fingers underneath knees and looks up at Catherine’s anxious, yearning eyes, covered underneath the edge of a press table in shadows and moonlight and a singular, ineffective desk lamp. “I’m showing you how okay I am.”

“Kara.” Cat’s fingers tangle a little harder in her hair, like she’s intent on keeping her here in tugs and desperate, clenching fingers, and Kara leans up to kiss the sliver of skin of a bicep that’s visible. The fingers barely shake--almost imperceptible--but it’s Cat’s eyes that are endless and open and Kara wouldn’t dare shift her lips from that small little sliver of skin. Not when she can feel the faintest vibration of a pulse underneath it with every rise and fall of breath. Cat’s fingers curl even tighter and push her downwards and there’s nothing but certainty lingering along the edges of her lover’s jaw even if there’s lingering fear in those eyes. “You beat him.”

“We beat him.” Kara agrees, humming as Catherine insistently pushes her further down, roughly sliding her lover up underneath the hook of knees--dragging beautiful skin along mountains of paper, the noise of sheets ruffling and wrinkling as beautiful as the sound of a book’s page turning--to wrap thighs around cheeks. To hear that pulse in her ears.

Suddenly, she isn’t cold, anymore. She doesn’t feel ice on her spine, at all.

“We beat him, I healed, and I came home.”

“You came home.” Catherine eagerly--desperately--agrees, mouth parting in a way Kara can feel in the tremor of mountains around her shoulders.

“I came—"

“Kara—”

“Home.”

The day is (thankfully) one of the least interesting in all of Kara’s days, as far as…explosions or alien invasions or near-death crises go.

But it’s been special, too.

Like magic, watching CatCo paint life along blank canvases like painters with words and determination and angles.

Yelling, angry, frantic, beautiful magic.

Ice.

She sees Kal-El diving after her, and sees her mother’s hands curl in his shoulders—Astra’s hands on a knife—sees Alex tumbling over the edge of a bridge as Catherine—

The sleep doesn’t last long and Kara bolts upright with a faint, pained gasp, when she feels that ice wrap around her spine, sheets falling down as she clenches her fingers around—something.

Some—

Nothing.

Nothing’s in her palm and when Kara opens her hand, she realizes nothing ever was, blinking owlishly, the tension in her back easing a little when she feels familiar hands sliding up her back, curling over shoulders.

Muscle memory is a powerful thing.

It takes her a moment to realize she’s not asleep, at all. Wonders if she ever really was, and she knows that if she doesn’t actually get a decent few hours in—

“It’s okay. Hey—” A whisper in her ear, soft and familiar and safe, Kara’s swallow thick and sharp as that ice melts to glass in her throat and then that glass melts into a choked, breathless sob of a laugh. Water. Water in her lungs like—

“I’m sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Those same hands pull her back and soon Kara’s enveloped in a familiar soft scent, immediately twisting around to bury a nose in a warm neck—in that warm, constant familiarity—as strong fingers curl tighter into shoulders, sheets crumpling around their hips as a decidedly-not-super girl tries to measure her breath.

“I’ve got you.” She’s so calm and so confident and so…Alex. Kara’s fingers quake as they curl, desperately trying not to hold too tight—never too tightly—as they skim along a tank top, smoothing underneath mussed hair and gently tugging her sister against her, both of their bodies settling on the too-small bed in her apartment. The sun slowly warms the discarded comforter and the metal of a gun, carefully set aside by their heads next to an unlisted virtual badge. But even with the warmth, she hasn’t felt this cold in a long, long time, and she wants it to stop. “I’ve got you.”

Kara laughs a little, shaking her head as the deadly thud in an aching chest slowly gives way to something more familiar…but she selfishly doesn’t try to unravel herself from the contact as long as she has it, the faint fear in the back of her mind melting underneath the promise of an ever-warming sun (eventually) and Alex’s reassuring, sleep-filled drawl. She’s a little less cold, at least, like this, because even if she doesn’t admit it out loud, she thought she would never warm up after she woke up from that ice pit, at all. “You always do.”

Eventually Kara lets her go if just to shift closer to the sun, body as exhausted as her mind, but Alex’s arms don’t go far, even as her sister slumps back into the singular pillow that had valiant propped up both of their heads the night before, a lone soldier on the messy battlefield of mussed sheets.

Sheets Kara hasn’t really spent all that much time in, the past half-year. Maybe they’re not silk—not really much, at all—but they’re hers and that’s more of a comfort than it should be.

“Someone has to.” A yawn breaks the words, dark eyes slitting underneath a mess of brown hair, unruly and rebellious, sticking up enough ways that Alex could make a valiant attempt at a punk rock album cover. “You didn’t sleep, you know. That was an hour. At most.” The grumble is accusatory—eyes softening around the edges even if her voice still chews gravel from her own exhaustion—and Kara feels that home-worn guilt well in her chest, “I thought I lost you, yesterday.”

“And leave you alone to have a minute of peace and quiet?” Kara brushes that punk rock hair out of tired eyes, catching sight of a clock out of the corner of her own. “That’d make me a pretty bad little sister.”

7:02 AM.

Three minutes.

“So does backflipping off of a bridge—”

“Why does everyone keep saying that I backflipped? Trust me, I was not in a backflipping mood. I don’t even think I could backflip—”

“Not without landing on your face.” Alex knowingly supplies. Okay, some things haven’t changed, at least, her sister isn’t that worried. “Which I guess you did. Yesterday. Land on your face.”

“Hey,” A waggle of an accusatory huff of her own, over-protective, “You’re the one that rushed off with no back-up to a totally not ominous abandoned warehouse to find Metallo on your o--”

“Because he almost killed you.” That jaw tightens and Kara softens, trying to make her point a little less antagonistically because, really, the antagonistic thing is Alex’s job. They’ve spent two years perfecting their good-cop, bad-cop routine, the fire of which has been tempered over Thanksgiving dinner. Admitting with a rough, shimmering smile:

“I almost lost you, too.”

“I know.” A restless, calloused hand pushes up through dark hair, tangled strands falling down like dominoes in waves around her ears and Kara scoots a little closer, “I saw you, you know. You almost crushed his—his heart, Kara. Whatever the hell that thing was, anyways. I don’t even know if he had a heart.”

There’s shame with the guilt, now, and suddenly Kara can’t look Alex in the eyes, at all.

Maybe it’s better that Cat didn’t give her anything to hold onto, this time, because it might snap underneath the weight of nails, soft sunlight painting a bed they’ve never shared. A bed her and Alex have shared over the worst times since she’s moved to National City—this is the same mattress she had in college, and Alex had shared it then, too, during the worst and best times—and idly Kara thinks Cat would think the springs would be too hard to sleep on, at all.

Cat would never know—because Kara would never tell her—that that’s why she’s kept it all these years. When Kara sleeps on it, she feels like she won’t float up into the sky.

Alex, Kara realizes, will be there even after Cat won’t—after this inevitably ends—and fingers tremble like a leaf from the effort it takes to keep from crushing her.

“He tried to kill you.”

“I know.” It’s quieter, barely audible, but Kara squeezes her hand, anyways, even as Alex lets her avoid her eyes in the dim light of a too-small apartment. Alex admits something neither of them probably should— “I would’ve crushed it.”

A pained smile shifts between them when Alex tugs Kara back against her chest, and an ear finds a slow heart, familiar. She could pick it up from a line-up. Athletic. Strong. Honest. There’s an undeniable skip to her sister’s heartbeat, and she’s certain she could listen to the entire city and found her, if she tried hard enough.

She’d tried hard enough to do just that, the day before.

“Do you remember…after Jeremiah died?” Kara clears her throat and Alex’s arms wrap around her shoulders even as that strong heartbeat kicks up—even as an entire body stiffens—a hand apologetically patting her sister’s stomach for mentioning it, at all, “Well…apparently died. I’m sorry, Alex. We’ll find him. But…do you remember, we spent four months in that tiny little twin bed.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me out of your sight.” It’s a fond grunt, still full of sleep even as Kara hears her slowly waking—becoming a little more aware—Alex is always aware. Always ready. They both are, always ready for a siren, or an alien attack, and she misses the days when she used to feel Alex relax and reach up towards the stars with her like she might find her father there, too. Maybe that is where Jeremiah’s been all this time, up in the stars. “I needed you, even if I was…bad at admitting it, then.”

“I know.” Kara hums, “You were hurting, Alex. Trust me…I know.”

Both of them look towards the muted hum of the city, the dim light coming through the windows, and Kara wonders how the crash is going, if the halls are lined with frantic coworkers desperately trying to avoid the wrath of Cat Grant. If Cat slept, at all.

If there was a crash, maybe Cat didn’t go home to Carter, at all.

What stories will they weave, today?

“I wasn’t there for you like you were for me…after you landed.”

“You’ve always been there for me. You just…were kind of bad at showing it, at first.”

Alex snorts, both of them settling, and Kara’s thankful her sister’s here, at all—it’s likely the only reason either one of them got any sleep, period. An hour is probably better than none.

Probably.

“What’s going on with you, Kara?” Alex asks, fingers brushing through blonde locks and Kara leans into them, a breath quivering like fingers had. Like it might break her. Eventually, the air settles like that ice had in her chest, shaking a head and looking up into kind eyes with a thin-lipped smile.

“I’m just…growing up, Alex. I think I’m just growing up.”

“Oh, so…” And her sister tries—she sees it—sees her swallow down her questions in favor of smiling with a quirk of lips, “So you know we’re adults, now, right? So you can, like, buy a bigger bed. Like an adult. An adult bed. For tall people, which we both are. Kal-El has an entire fortress of solitude, I feel like you could compete a little better, Supergirl.”

Kara, too exhausted to think of a retort, just shoves her sister’s shoulder with an indignant noise, hopping up to tug the curtains open with a happy sigh the moment she feels sunshine.

A groan sounds from the bed at the sight of Kara’s beam the moment she whirls around.

“Aaand the look on your face says we’re definitely not getting anymore sleep. Great.”

“We both have the day off,” The beam doesn’t falter, eyebrows raising, “And I had plenty of sleep—”

“Kara, you look like hell. You’re starting to kind of look like Keith Richards’ balls in a bath level of hell--”

“Okay, that’s offensive and I don’t even know what that means and I don’t want,” Kara raises up both of her hands the moment Alex’s mouth opens, “To know what that means. Come on,” She reaches over and tosses her sister a jacket, sucking in a sharp breath before she’s ready in a Flash.

Idly, she wonders how many times Barry makes that joke, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth as she points over to Alex’s gun.

“We both know you’re going to go into the DEO anyways and I…” She looks down before shrugging on a shirt, ignoring how naked she feels without armor underneath fabric, “Am going to CatCo.”

“Okay, first off, I’m just going to run tests on Mon-El, who is starting to get…really annoying, and that’s only going to be like…an hour. Tops.” Kara gives her sister a knowing look—they’re a family of workaholics, after all—and she slowly starts to rise from the bed, jabbing a finger towards what Kara can only hope is an innocent look, “I’m not enabling you.”

“Yes you are.” Kara pouts around her toothbrush, “That’s your job. Hey, remember when I helped you sneak out of the window to go to that party Senior year when you were totally grou—”

“And you milk it. You’ve milked it for so long—”

“And you told me,” Kara recalls over Alex’s grumbling look as she hops into boots, “We’re sisters. We cover each other, no matter what. That means I look after you even when you make really dumb decisions like sneaking out Senior year to meet Bobby Macin—”

“Okay, that’s a really bad impression of me—”

“Uh, nope. Spot on.”

“And I didn’t even like Bobby Macinaw! Worst night of my life. You never should’ve let me do that. It was stupid—”

“Oh, hah—” Kara laughs, hands finding her hips, “Really stupid, but I did it anyways. Because sisters help sisters do stupid things, like sneak out to meet boys they don’t even like and unhealthily obsess over their totally-not-dangerous jobs.”

Alex lets out a noise of a growl—a protest that makes Kara’s beam settle right back onto her features, because she knows she’s won. Unfortunately, she knows that she’s also only ever going to be able to milk to Bobby Macinaw story for probably a year more, tops. “Fine, whatever, we both know I’m going to go until J’onn tries to kick me out. But you…don’t even have a job, anymore. CatCo will be fine without you. Why don’t you stay here, get some rest—”

“Of course CatCo will be fine.” A little quieter, to herself, “Cat will be fine,” She shakes her head, huffing out of her nose as she zips around to offer her sister her gun with a happy hum, “James, the news staff--everyone will be absolutely, perfectly fine without me. But they’re going to have a tough day and…there’s nothing wrong with bringing coffee, right? Seeing how the crash unfolds—this happens…well, never, Alex. This is big. And then maybe I could help you come train Mon-El and--”

“Nope. You’re missing the definition of resting.” Alex is leaning down to tug on her other boot, apparently not bothered in the least at the thought of shuffling out of here in the same clothes as the night before—the majority of which she slept in—standing before she yanks up the gun, tucking it safely by a hip with far more care.

“Fine, then I’ll…” A huff, but Kara knows Alex sees it when the innocent smile tucks up her lips—knows she gets that glint in her eyes, “I’ll do nothing.”

“Kara,” Alex’s sigh isn’t much of a warning, both of them exhausted and Kara just blinks when Alex tugs her against her chest, steel bending underneath the familiar touch to settle underneath a chin, smiling at the sound of that heartbeat. “Come get breakfast with me before you do…whatever it is that I don’t want to know you’re doing. Which you’re going to call and tell me about. Whatever it is that you’re doing that I don’t want to know what you’re doing.”

“You had me at breakfast, Jerry MacGuire.” Kara beams, tucking her arm underneath Alex’s as she tugs her towards the door.

“All you can eat pancakes if you promise not to zip around in the suit until you’re fully healed.” Alex snaps the door shut before the can leave through it, holding up a hand in a shake, eyebrows raising. Kara takes the liberty of tugging her sister’s hair up into a ponytail to distract knowing eyes from the thoughtful look on her features. “Kara…”

“My own sister, trying to bribe me over listening to my own good, honest word—I mean, I’m a superhero, Alex, can’t you trust--”

“About not saving people? About as far as I can throw you. Which is no where. Because you weigh about the same as Fort Rozz.”

“Hey!” It’s a weak protest.

“What? You do.”

“Fine, fine, okay, the bribe works. No suit, and maybe I’ll even catch a cat-nap halfway through the day.” Kara snorts despite herself once her own words catch up with her, immediately clamoring to grab a jacket to avoid Alex’s slitting, curious eyes, clearing her throat as she guides her out of the apartment and onto the street fast enough that only someone who’s spent over a decade running after her could keep up with. The faint hint of red on her cheeks likely doesn’t help. “Or, like, a regular…person nap with sleeping. And no…anything but sleeping. There was no joke there. None at—okay, stop looking at me like that. Please. Come on, those pancakes won’t eat themselves.”

Kara is certain her body is happily comprised of around 92% (that was her doctor’s professional estimation post-breakfast) pancakes a few hours later, still exhausted and stiff but full as she finds herself somewhere that’s as peaceful as it gets, resting against a wall inbetween two glass windows, listening to the sounds of life fluttering on behind her. It’s familiar and hectic and Kara finds no small sense of comfort in it, thumb swiping along the edge of a phone as she watches the clouds cover the sun and uncover them again like an excitable toddler playing hide and seek.

Kara doesn’t have to wait long until heels sound next to her and a familiar power-suit comes striding to the edge of a balcony, shoulders tightening like some kind of journalistic sixth-sense has flared, immediately twisting around to take Kara in.

Kara, who just-as immediately raises her hands up in apology with a shake of her head, a cloud taking that time to slide over the bright sun, painting dark, tired eyes in flutters of light before shadows overtake them both.

“Just me. Sorry, I was just…”

The sun flares to life for a bright spatter, reflecting off the bent metal of a railing, before it fades away, again. Like a fair-weathered kaleidoscope, the only colors Kara sees the dancing twinkle of hazel eyes.

“Lounging on my personal balcony like a stalker?” Cat supplies, but her spine eases into something familiar as heels click, closing the distance between them as she saunters in front of the curled, hidden form of her ex-assistant. Even with her shorter stature, Cat does a good job of blocking a good bit of the sunlight left in the sky and a shiver thoughtlessly runs up Kara’s spine as she adjusts glasses, a faint laugh on the edge of her lips.

“Um…no? Not…stalker. Stalker is a very bad word for this.” The laugh rumbles a little louder, glasses catching a glint of sun before it’s gone behind those clouds, completely, “I was just,” A finger wags helplessly up towards the sky like that explains anything which, likely for Cat, it doesn’t, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s the tallest building in National City. And it lets me stay a little closer to listen out for you which…might be a little,” She pinches the air with her fingers, sheepish, “Okay, I don’t like ‘stalkerish’. What’s a nice word for loving or…chivalrous and not just going back to agreeing with stalkerish.”

“Oh, but a little stalkerish is perfectly justifiable.” Cat waves a wrist before that same hand gently smooths up the lapel of a shirt, eyes squinting, “I built a career on being a little stalkerish. But you’re right, ‘stalkerish’ is a little…Wynona-headline. I just like to call it journalistic savvy.”

Kara laughs and Cat looks pleased despite the circles lining her own eyes—more expertly hidden with makeup than they had been at 5 in the morning—and long, warm fingers catch a strong hand before they can adjust glasses, again.

Long, warm fingers which gently slide the frames down off and Kara blinks, adjusting, her body sagging the rest of the way against the wall, a breath catching her nose, settling between them in this moment. This moment where the world swirls in color and outlines and information—where the sun eclipses behind clouds and the world blooms to life before lips are pressed against her own, quiet and gentle and…and like a hello Kara hadn’t even known she needed.

Was scared she wouldn’t receive and doesn’t even know why.

And the world fades into something that feels just like this when Kara’s eyes close, the faintest outline of Catherine’s smile visible through her lids like a constant presence, not something stolen and voyeuristic. Her shoulders settle against the wall as that small, strong body leans up into her and Kara can’t help the smallest smile against warmth in retort.

“Hi.” It’s hummed, pecking Cat’s lips, again, nose barely wrinkling as a finger dances an almost loving nail down her nose.

“Hi.”

Both of their eyelashes flutter open and Kara decides it’s better to see Catherine’s smile than just feel it.

“So…it sounds like the crash is going well.”

“Hardly.” The tension is back in those shoulders, again, if a shadow of what it was moments before, “I’ve seen better news come out of the bathroom of a Wendy’s in Texas.”

“Okay, so that means it’s going not well and…that was an oddly specific reference.” Brows knit, shaking a head before fingers curve along the line of the ones holding her glasses, curling Cat protectively around them as she holds her. “So you’ll fix it.”

“You should be in there, not out here.” The tension seems to have worked its way into Cat’s curling tongue and Kara’s brows only knit deeper, the crease forming between brows slowly rivaling the Grand Canyon.

“I’m…not allowed inside under any professional capacity, Ms. Grant. You know me…total rules girl.”

“Oh, please,” Cat gives her a surprisingly cutting, if knowing, look, “When has that ever stopped you before? When has that stopped any of us? There’s a building of people behind you that love shoving their noses where they don’t belong. You’re one of them. That, along with a little bit of that aforementioned stalking, has been the backbone of journalism since long before Steve Coll started writing exposes on the SEC--long before Paul Shoenstein started sticking his nose in the Vatican’s dirty drawers and pulling penicillin out of the walls. That undeniable frothing at the mouth for that story—that truth—don’t tell me you’re just here because of me.”

“I’m…mostly here because of you.” Kara admits, sagging a little more against the wall, tugging Cat closer because even if she can’t feel that sunshine, there’s an undeniable warmth in those hips. In that breath and that smile. “It sounds less romantic if I admit I couldn’t help but wondering all morning, though. How it was going here.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” Cat says like it’s no surprise, at all, sliding glasses back up Kara’s nose like they might belong there—at least at CatCo—a hum on her lips, “There’s still a choice for you to make, after all.”

But there’s such a soft smile on Cat’s lips that Kara is too stunned by it to suggest anything different, at all, reaching out when she turns away.

“You…” Kara clears her throat, shifting on the balcony, changing the subject—a little bolder with her lips so warm, “You forgot to give me something. This morning.”

“I...did,” Cat breathes, slowly turning around to face her, something indistinguishable in her eyes as the realization settles and Kara’s selfishly glad that it apparently wasn’t intentional, “Didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” She shifts again--adjusts the glasses back on her nose as she brings Catherine a little closer, their bodies slotting together against the wall. And there’s that gaze, again, like Cat can see straight through her, a hand falling down to untuck the edge of a hastily-tucked in shirt, blinking at what she finds. “Yep, just me.” Kara gently curves fingers around Cat’s hand and slides it further up underneath the bunched fabric, a shiver down her spine (decidedly not from the cold, this time) as fingers splay knowingly, if surprisingly hesitant, against bare skin.

“No suit.” Cat breathes it, eyes searching, nails skimming over to an abdomen before dancing up a side and settling, intimately, along a hip, fingers brushing underneath the hem of pants.

“No suit.” Teeth tug at a lower lip. “I’ve...been benched. For a little while.”

“Benched? And here I thought you were just honoring that unspoken little agreement between us.”

“I would have still come here first to talk to you, if I wasn’t. Benched, I mean.” Kara offers, sincere, and Catherine’s features soften just enough for her to imagine there isn’t a building full of people behind them, at all. It’s easier when they’re tucked away like this.

“If you’re benched…” Cat reaches up to her neck and doesn’t seem to find anything there—no earrings, either--hesitating before she unclips the same bracelet from the night before, carefully sliding it around Kara’s wrist with a caught breath. Something attentive eyes can see visibly swell her lover’s chest—catch along the rising swell of her throat—and without a second thought, Kara tugs Catherine back against her, reveling in the feeling of hands clenching in the fabric of her shirt. “Who did my helicopter see flying around National City, this morning.”

Kara shrugs, murmuring, “Supergirl.” Because it’s true enough before she kisses her.

And amazingly enough, Catherine kisses her back, pressing her up against this small sliver of a wall that no one could see, without breaking through the glass of an office. A finger skims underneath the healing line underneath Kara’s brow when she pulls away, barely detectable save for the silver edges diving underneath the hair rebelliously escaping its prison of a ponytail.

“Imagine that.” Catherine hums, lingering for just a breath longer before she straightens her blouse, heels clicking as she strides back into the office she came from, leaving the door open.

Kara smiles, the sound of the office a little louder and she realizes, now, just how tired she must be, because Catherine’s heartbeat disappears into the mess of it and she wouldn’t be able to pick it out, if she tried.

Or, maybe, some of Cat’s heart will always sound like this—like this mess of jumbled stories coming together, the sound of furious computer clicks and screaming bi-lines and endless possibilities of truth—even if the part Kara’s more familiar with, these days, is softer and quiet and muted.

But, maybe…part of Kara’s heart sounds like this, too.

With a quiet, happy hum, adjusting glasses and following behind her, dutifully closing the door in her wake, Kara stands in front of the mayhem with hands on her hips, breathing in the faint scent of paper and ink and chaos.

The news is a constant, breathing life and Kara wonders, with more excitement than she expected this morning, whose story they’ll tell, today.

“Imagine that.”

3:48 AM

Kara sets down her phone, sucks in a sharp tug of air, and blows it into the scattered pages along the floor until they’re all pressed up, unmoving, against the wall before disappearing in a whirlwind, herself, re-arranging them into the order they were in save for two that appear in front of Cat Grant’s knowing eyes a moment later, a thin-lipped smile above her.

Another whirlwind tapes all of the pages up.

“Never use your powers at work? I knew that was a bald-faced—"

“I’m not working.”

But Catherine’s eyes haven’t moved from the two possible headlines.

“Publicizing the fact that there’s a way to kill you won’t do you any favors.” Cat hums, but her glasses are back on her nose as she looks over the pre-prints.

“It won’t do my cousin any favors.” Kara quietly agrees. “But, trust me, if there’s one thing he understands, it’s a story.”

“Spinning the narrative that you’re not indomitable might strike fear into the city, but it might also remind us that you’re not, in fact, Gods. You’re mortals. And I can’t forsake this--” She flicks the edge of the page knowingly, “This is a Pulitzer photo, Kara.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Kara slides up behind her, taking in the photo she’d spent the better part of an hour looking at. She should have protected Kal-El from that. “When my mother put me on that pod, I was...just a girl. I’ve always been...intimately aware that I’m mortal, Catherine. I watched everyone I knew and loved die in front of my eyes. A burden I’m not sure I’d ever want Kal-El to have, and I’m glad to bear it for him.” A hint of a small laugh on the edge of her teeth that falls flat when she looks down at her palms. But when her spine rolls backwards, she stands taller than she ever should in this building, chin barely dipping upwards even as she sucks in a small breath, finger tracing along the line of a warm jaw—her cousin’s.

Jor-El’s jaw.

“I was sent to be my cousin’s protector, but we became the protectors of Earth, instead. We won’t be here, forever. Either one of us, Cat. We were never Gods--the opposite—I don’t…people shouldn’t think we’re Gods. Rao. We’re just...two very, very lonely people trying to make up for being the only ones that survived.” It sounds so dark, so desperate, and she’s worried Catherine will see the truth in it, like she does everything else, so she tries, instead, to temper it with more of the truth: “Trying to keep anyone from feeling what we feel every morning we wake up--every time the sun sets on a planet that hasn’t existed, not really, since long before any of us were born.”

“I don’t see your point in how--”

Kara’s chin falls to rest on her lover’s shoulder, arm wrapping around a waist as she pulls her back, hand curling over Cat’s fingers, tightening the other woman’s grip on the picture in her hands before she can think of setting it aside.

“My sister goes out there every morning fully aware she might die and she does it every day. Cops--soldiers--even doctors in DMZ’s, so many people go out every day with the knowledge that anything could kill them, and do their best to help their communities, their planet, anyways. Yes, my cousin and I are much, much larger targets than my sister--” Kara quietly agrees, “But it doesn’t change the sacrifice they make. It doesn’t lessen my cousin’s. All of us are called to something greater just like you are, Catherine, and we have targets on our backs because of it. People need to know we’re not Gods, that my cousin and I have almost died countless times because this planet--our people--are worth it to us, and that our sacrifice isn’t something frightening...just like how my parent’s sacrifice wasn’t frightening. They gave their life so that I might live and someday, I’ll give my life so that someone here might. That’s not fear. That’s hope. And you,” Kara drops her arm in favor of slowly buttoning up her shirt, still getting used to the feeling of cloth on skin where a suit should be. But the action doesn’t pull her from Cat’s side for a moment, chin still slotted over her shoulder, lips brushing over a jaw, “Know that. That’s why you were going to re-arrange these right before I came in here. That politician was never going to be front page.”

“You think you know me so well.” Cat hums, turning around to bat Kara’s hands away, slowly sliding buttons in loops for her.

“Don’t I?” Kara smiles, soft and quiet, watching the way a smile tugs up the corners of her lover’s thin lips.

“You’re not very fun at parties, are you, constantly talking about the inevitability of sacrificing yourself for the greater good. It’s a mood-killer, Kara. Really.”

Kara lets out a hum of acknowledgment as her thumb gently tucks up Cat’s chin so that she can meet those eyes in the dim light of a building they’ve spent far too much time in, tonight, a quiet smile sure to greet her.

And a beautiful, quiet smile does.

“I’d much rather focus on living in the present. On how easy it is to imagine disrupting every possible cover I can, just like this.” She teases, “I was terrified, yesterday, but I fight for my future. For yours. For this planet’s. Sacrifice doesn’t make me weak, Catherine--the possibility of it reminds me to focus on what matters to me. And whether or not you didn’t want me to say what, yesterday, I--” And when her mouth opens, again, to tell Catherine just what that is, a hand raises up from buttons to stem the words, a smile instead of words brushing along those warm digits.

Because Kara laughs and kisses Cat’s fingers, instead.

“So you intentionally ambushed my cover, then?” Eyebrows raise even when arms lower to wrap around a waist, slipping underneath the hem at a hip to run fingers along skin instead of a suit, “Are you certain Clark Kent isn’t trying to poach you to the Planet?”

“Even if he was, I’m as loyal as they come. Maybe he thinks me living on his couch in Metropolis would be fun,” She shrugs, only catching the curious look on Cat’s face out of the corner of her eye before moving forward, “But someone keeps reminding me that I have the world at my feet right here. And that’s an opportunity I do not plan on squandering, Ms. Grant.”

“Wisely not. So you’re still,” There’s a look full of intent there, “Considering my proposal.”

“I haven’t really been thinking about anything else in-between getting my head slammed through cement walls. Well, and listening to Milo let out a very impressive string of curses the moment he realized today was a crash.” Kara sighs and she imagines it--just for a moment--sitting next to Clark and Lois by their desks, fingers tapping along it with a pen. “Everywhere I go...people love Superman, you know. I’m so proud of his success, of how he’s grown, but sometimes--” She pulls away, bending down to snag up the clip that had rattled onto the floor, slowly starting to gather together her hair and force it upwards. Her hair, after all, is the one part of her that doesn’t naturally defy gravity. “Sometimes I wonder if I would make this choice to be close to him, or if I’m still in his shadow, or if--” She shakes her head, clip snipping as she drags it all upwards. “This is another thing I can’t protect Kal-El from.”

“Well, you can’t just keep wandering these halls aimlessly like the Headless Horseman, Kara. The crash was one thing.” Cat hums, watching as Kara shoots forward, gathering back the pages from the wall and settling them in their proper alignment on the table, nodding downwards when everything is as it should be.

It takes her literally a minute of shuffling to get it over to print.

Somehow, that feels a little anti-climactic after an entire day’s worth of work.

“Oh, but I can give it a good old college try, righ--oh, okay, you’re not smiling, anymore.” Kara sighs, hopping up onto James’ desk, popping open the drawer he keeps his (not-so) secret stash of candy bars. If he had wanted her to keep out of it, obviously he should have encased it in lead. “I know.”

It’s not stealing if she replaces them.

Probably.

It’s probably not stealing.

She tugs out a bag of M&M’s and tosses them towards Cat with a smile, a hint of a laugh rumbling on lips when a perfectly-manicured hand catches them, Kara tugging her up onto the desk next to her—and it’s a testament, really, that Kara isn’t surprised that she lets her—looking towards tomorrow’s issue with a proud sigh.

Just as Kara had tugged Cat closer the day she received an office, she wants to be here for this, too.

For Cat.

“It’s been a while since I got to watch everyone crash the cover.”

That’s just a Thursday.

Unwrapping their CEO on the other hand…

Well, no one in the office knows that that is also kind of a beautiful, wonderful Thursday for Kara Danvers, too.

12:03 PM.

“Someone spin this. I'm not talking half hearted Betty Davis on a bicycle, we need a full Exorcist three-hundred and sixty.” Cat snaps, waving towards the screen. Miraculously, only a few strings have picked up the Supergirl story and they’d managed to get the jump on it this morning with the newscycle. But the print was where the real test lay. “Now.”

“Puppy dogs with the president?” James tries. “Positive light. We don’t want a fluff piece, but they both lived, they kept fighting. Something hopeful for the city--”

“What are you, a Disney Princess?” Snapper gruffs from the corner and Cat pinches the bridge of her nose.

“While your muscles are far too ripply to look like Divine in a dashing ballgown, James, I’m with Snapper. Thomas Kincaid couldn’t paint this in a positive light.” Cat’s sigh is eternal, eyes flicking over towards Snapper. “I don't want the city running every suicide jumper they see, especially not with the holidays coming up a few short months away, but we can't down play this. Next.”

Snapper sighs, arms crossing over his chest, one wayward hand scratching underneath his chin like the Godfather of bilines at a perpetual five-o’-clock shadow before offering: “Doom and gloom treatment. Everyone loves an underdog, or a flying super Jesus. She tried to sacrifice herself for those people. Best of both worlds?”

“No, no, we don't want that Superfall take two, people will start to think,” Cat's voice closes on a hard k and Kara avoids her gaze, glad that she doesn’t actually mention the name Fort Rozz to a room-full of journalists, “She has a death wish.”

“Doesn't she?” Snapper shrugs, like this is a commonplace thing for everyone to have.

“No.” Both James (adamant) and Kara (quiet) supply, to two sets of unimpressed eyebrows raising.

“What's the puppy dog doing in here?” Snapper asks like he's only just now noticed her--Kara isn't sure if he notices everything or perpetually notices nothing unless it suits him--and her lips nervously tug upwards. “When did—”

“I'd like to think I'm at least a...full grown dog. Actually.” She shuffles her glasses. A hint of a laugh, “Potty trained and...everything.”

James smiles but neither Cat or Snapper look particularly impressed, an elegant wrist waving in front of a whiteboard before gruff lips can open and comment.

“Save it for your therapy sessions, not the workplace, Clifford. Moving on.” She caps her pen, tapping it against the board, “No, no...we need a heroic, realistic spin.” Her shoulders barely tense before they sag downwards in something close to resigned. Something that Kara knows she's the only person who sees and, from the faintest dip of a chin towards her direction, though their eyes don't meet, Kara knows she's right. “Supergirl almost died. That's clear. There's no point hiding that from the public, Lois Lane won't.”

Lois Lane actually hasn’t stopped texting her all day, but that’s not a fact she needs to share, nodding as Cat continues.

“So we keep the cover and keep the mid focused on how she didn't. She triumphed, just like the people of National City will. Some...cliché quote about a bright light that would make Nixon cry. Some touched mother explaining how the action saved her children in the car. Some fisherman on the beach who didn't understand the gravity of what he saw. All tied in a neat little bow of a weaved narrative about how humanity will push that little murky lake water out of its lungs and continue to fight another day when adversity throws us into the depths.”

“Quotable.” James hums.

“Honest.” Snapper agrees.

“Relatable.” Kara murmurs, tucking her notebook against her lap, gaze searching shoulders like they might hold the map to a holy grail.

“Yes, I am quite the genius aren't I? So I understand staring at me slack-jawed and in awe, but the news will not write itself. So let’s go, people!”

Two seconds pass before Snapper jumps back into action, twisting around with a clap and rallying the troops with harsh, precise orders so that Cat doesn't have to, although her yell did enough to make them scurry, anyways. Eventually he turns to Kara with a pointed thumb, last three in the office, lips parting before Cat hums:

“Clifford will stay as my awkward, uncomfortable, perpetual shadow today, Snapper. That's all. Get to work.”

His lips close, eyes barely slitting, thumbing down glasses thinner than Cat's before he seems to decide he has better things to do with his time, stomping out of the office with intention littering every step.

If she didn’t know for a fact that Napoleon was historically not actually short, she might think Snapper Carr was the reincarnation of Napoleon.

A really angry, very intimidating, brilliant, Jewish Napoleon.

Once Kara listens to them all retreat, she holds up a hand to Eve, who pokes her head into the office before standing with a faint shake of the head.

Ice rattles in a glass as Kara slides behind her boss, offering up whiskey to fingers that immediately snatch it up.

A weathered, strained sigh.

“Thanks,” A twitch of lips, “Clifford.”

“What can I say…” Kara sighs, chin dipping back as she shifts on a heel, hands pushing into pockets when she smiles, “Well, I guess if I’m a dog, which is a recurring theme, isn’t it? All I can say is, um…” Lips purse, settling with a nod: “Woof? Ms. Grant.”

The laugh—a faint chuckle rumbling along rim of a glass, reflecting white teeth and an easy smile--makes it worth it. When Kara turns around to see Eve smiling, something soft and surprised as she leans against the doorway, Eve catches her eyes and she offers an exuberant thumbs up, waving between the two of them with a wink that makes Kara shuffle her glasses and shrug to a curious look from Cat at the gesture.

Cat, who looks over her shoulder just in time to see Eve scrambling away and sighs into her drink.

“You’re hopeless. I do not want to know. Go…do something. Be professional without being here. Shoo.”

Kara just shrugs again before following after the current assistant.

“Woof?”

She really should sleep.

When Cat looks like she might throw the glass, she shuffles away just a little bit faster, glad to catch the faintest tail-end of a smile on her lover’s lips out of the corner of her eyes when she does.

3:58 AM.

“Funnily enough, all day, that Supergirl was just fluttering about, today. Minor things, until around lunch, she was upstate when a mysterious force put out a fire a few blocks from here. Curious. No one happened to see who it was.”

Even nearing 4 AM, Catherine Grant is ever the reporter and Kara leans into her shoulder, humming around a mouthful of...oh, it’s Twix. She could’ve sworn she grabbed a Snickers. So she leans back to rifle through the desk until she can grab one of those, too, thumb running along the bracelet about a wrist, idle and content.

“Oh, no,” Kara hums, taking another bite, listening to make sure there’s no stragglers, smiling a little sheepishly up at raised eyebrows. “That one was me.”

“During lunch. Where you were sitting right next to me with that burger grease trap and--”

“And you happened to get up to yell at Snapper…”

It takes a moment because Cat’s yelled at Snapper for the majority of the day, but the moment realization passes, memory found, Kara offers a sheepish smile.

“For all of thirty seconds before he slumped out of my office like Eeyore.”

“Two minutes and seventeen seconds, actually. It doesn’t take long to put out a few fires. And…maybe stop one petty theft.” She raises her hands, candy bar waving in pointed defense, “Which was on the way back!”

A long-winded, almost indulgent sigh is her response, but there’s a hint of that ever-present journalistic fire in familiar eyes.

“I assume your nameless, alphabet letter soup employer wasn’t too happy?” Cat pops in another M&M, leaning in a little closer to Kara’s shoulder.

“Oh, they didn’t care. Probably. I heard Supergirl was busy elsewhere punching very important, very tall things. I got a voicemail from my doctor threatening not to buy me any more bagels if I didn’t go home and sleep, though. But she said no suit, and--” Kara points down at her recently-buttoned outfit, “No suit.”

“You should, Kara. Sleep, obviously.” Fingers gently wrap around a wrist, holding the metal of a bracelet against skin--a thumb dips along a pulse--adding with a hint of a smile that curls up words more than it does lips, “Not that I’m worried.”

“Oh, of course not. Nothing to worry about.” Another hum--a happy sigh, looking down, “It was...nice, though. Watching all of this,” She waves towards the board--what was chaos over the past few hours, re-named articles and stress and fury now a composed stack of perfection--tipping back her chin, “It felt like...magic. Really stressful, really important magic.”

“It feels like home, doesn’t it? Like you belong in the thick of the action.” There’s a wistful hum, there--something that makes Kara’s head fall down to her shoulder, “Oh, I know, because I recognize that youthful little gaze in pictures of myself when I was younger. That twinkle in the eye that comes from a well-fought battle in the trenches. You know better than anyone how...disillusioned I’ve become, but being on the ground floor...it always has a certain life to it, doesn’t it? It is very stressful, very important...truth. Not magic. Hard-work, perseverance, and dedication. And it’s where,” Cat pats her wrist, hopping off the desk with so much grace Kara’s certain Cat Grant might be an Olympic gymnast, stepping back into her heels. “You belong, whenever you decide to tug your head out of those clouds of yours and join us...Ms. Danvers.”

Kara hums, again, smiling at the words, a little distracted, but is snapped right back to reality when fingers tuck up a chin and Catherine gently--so gently--pecks her lips in parting.

Where her Snickers had sat, unopened, there’s now a separate bracelet—making up for lost time?—and Kara smiles as she listens to heels as they slowly click along the hall. Those heels stop outside the elevators, undoubtedly intent upon calling a car, given the fact that she’d sent Eve home before making her way up here, at all.

That? It’s definitely stealing.

Kara doesn’t mind it one bit, happily popping the last of her Twix into her mouth with a mental note to fill back of James’ drawer with all of his favorites.

Blue flickers towards the other desk that they just, well—mostly defiled. Oh, wow, really defiled. She doesn’t leave until it’s clean—spotless—and then clears her throat at the door, unable to help the small smile on her lips.

Maybe she should get him a fruit basket, too.

A fruitbasket made of protein bars and a separate, larger fruit basket made of candy bars.

She catches up to Catherine by the bottom of the elevator (after her nightly sweep of the security footage and making sure a car is out front) whispering a quick press of lips by her brow, air fluttering through blonde locks and the faintest hint of a smile spreading, soft and gentle, on a lover’s lips before Kara disappears down the street and across the city. The street she inevitably finds herself on might be across Cat’s apartment and she might wait until Cat settles Carter, and then moves down the hall, slowly settling into bed, herself.

There’s a book but Cat doesn’t last long, light left glaring through the room and Kara sighs, teeth fussing a lip before she’s suddenly there before she can re-think it, hesitating for only a moment before testing the window, a sigh of relief fogging glass when she finds it cracked.

Cat always leaves it cracked open, these days. Just for her. Just in case, Kara knows. This shouldn’t be a just-in-case moment, really—it’s…unspoken and reserved for after crime-fighting and tough nights and this is more of that whole…little bit of stalking thing, from earlier—but she pushes it open, anyways.

Because she hadn't said goodbye. And that feels worse, somehow, than not having a bracelet on her wrist.

A flick of the light and Kara makes sure to curl the blanket up and around slim shoulders, sure to be gentle—quiet—smiling in the darkness when Catherine’s fingers curve around her wrists, stilling her.

“Hmm…should I be worried that you’re starting to turn very Single White Female, Kara?” Cat’s voice is laced with sleep, humming, and Kara laughs, leaning down to brush the hair out of eyes with the one arm she frees.

“Well, I’m really not sure of the term for it, but I’m not really single. Two out of three isn’t that bad, though, so even though I would say don't be worried, the signs are starting to show—but, wow, you are really on top of it with the references when you first wake up, aren’t you?” Kara sits down on the edge of the bed, next to a hip, feeling the soft mattress dip underneath her weight. There’s no way Cat would ever sleep in her bed. “Impressive.” A hint of a spreading smile.

"Always be ready." Cat's smile sleepily matches.

“I’m sorry. For the stalking. I just…I just wanted to make sure you got home alright and I saw the light was on and I just—”

Cat squeezes her wrist, “Thank you. I’m fine.” And then those fingers guide her down, lips brushing, a sleepy hum lost between them, “Is there a reason you’re still not sleeping?” A shrug isn’t much of a response, Kara knows, and Cat blinks, shifting further up as her own vision must adjust, “Still no suit.”

“I sold my heroism for a stack of pancakes, this morning.” Kara grouses, “Alex made me promise no suit, remember? So…no suit. Well,” A thoughtful hum in retrospect, “I guess I didn’t tell you about the pancakes part.”

“You weren’t wearing a suit at all when you flew in here? When you dipped out for your little hero lunch?” Cat’s shifting further up, now, any hint of joking gone, “Aren’t you worried about—”

“No.” Kara answers simply—quietly, “Trust me, Catherine, if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to…blend in. How to not be seen or noticed.”

Catherine sucks in a sharp breath, reaching up to a glasses-less face, probably taking in the sight of Kara with her hair tucked up and yesterday’s clothes without them. But it’s impossible not to lean into the hand that skims along the tired muscles of a cheek, eyes flicking over to the bed for a moment—a longing, aching moment—before sucking in a breath and standing.

“Kara—” Catherine calls when she makes it back to the window and she pauses, looking over her shoulder. She watches Catherine in the bright moonlight, those warm hands curling into sheets in a too-large bed, an unread book by her hip as lips that could part the heavens if they wanted to part for some other reason, entirely. And Kara—stupidly; maybe even selfishly in a way she’s horrendously learning how to be—wants nothing more than for Catherine to ask her to stay. To crawl into bed and…stay. “…Go home. Get some sleep.”

A tense nod, lips thin as they spread in an understanding smile before she slides back open a window, hesitating when the wind starts to dance through her hair. A wayward, rebellion strand flicks about in front of her face like a restless flame, and she half-heartedly shoves it behind an ear. "I...didn't say goodbye, yesterday. I, um--I know it's...it's a little ridiculous," A hint of a laugh, "And I can't sleep, and I was standing up there, and I realized I didn't say goodbye. I don’t know why I didn’t just…say anything, or why I still haven’t--"

Catherine's body slides up behind her, warmth settling so easy and familiar against her back and Kara feels a world of tension she hadn't even realized she was holding since she woke up from a nightmare she hasn't entirely been able to shake flood from parting lips. She hadn’t even heard Catherine move—how tired must she truly be? How out of it?—and eyes close as a dusty, aching swallow bobs her throat. Her jaw barely quivers and her forehead rests against the cool pane of a half-opened window, heart pounding against the fabric of a regular shirt, no sigil resting over a quivering drum, and Catherine's lips brush over her jaw. And Catherine’s arms snake around her waist. And Catherine’s fingers are so warm against her hips that Kara thinks--for a breath--that she might have never been cold, at all.

"Are…we okay?" Kara's voice sounds like a plane that's lost its engine, rumbling and quaking and unsteady and doesn't know why she asks because she's not even sure she wants to know. But she feels Catherine's smile quiver at the edges of her jaw and leans further back into her arms, a slow nod the answer settling between them. But Cat doesn't leave much up for imagination, a firm believer in absolutes, Kara knows:

"Of course we're okay, Kara." It’s murmured, however strong, in a swallow so close to her ear that, even exhausted, Kara hears it, and she's certain that those thin arms--pilates sculpted, Cat is very proud of this fact--are the strongest in the world, in this moment, holding up a girl that doesn't feel much like a hero underneath the moonlight. "Kara," Lips brush over a cheek--a jaw--an ear--and she's close enough that she can hear the trepidation in it, the rare, consuming quake of Cat's voice. And this—this—oh, Rao, she loves this, too. "We're okay."

Kara squeezes her arms and allows herself another moment to breathe--to rest against Catherine and that faint smell of ink and perfume and M&M's on her breath, mixing with wine and whiskey and sleep--before she untangles herself, because otherwise she won't know how to leave, at all. "We're doing the right thing." Kara reminds them both, but her heart doesn't sound quite in it.

"We are. And as much as I hate you for it…" That smile fades, but the lips remain, “You did the right thing yesterday, too.”

And Catherine's done many things for her in the past few seconds, alone, but asking Kara Danvers to stay isn't one of them, so in a breath, Kara appears in front of her, instead, across a threshold of glass and open air, floating for only a moment in front of her window, hair tugged back and clothes barely rustled by the wind.

"Goodnight, Catherine." The smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and, at least, neither does Catherine's as she raises up a singular hand in gesture, one of the bracelets—the one that was almost crushed—left in her palm, catching the moonlight in its bends and twists.

"Goodnight.” A shaking breath that Kara can hear, now, no matter how straight Catherine’s shoulders spread, the smile a little more genuine as she murmurs, “Mon oisillon."

Kara disappears for the second time to the faintest sound of a window shutting tight.

Her home is empty and large and Kara tries sleeping for all of an hour, body beyond exhausted as she tosses in the sheets—the sound of siren in the back of her mind and that picture of Kal-El holding her, the look of pure fear in her eyes when she fell—when there’s a pointed knock at the door.

A slow smile spreads across her features the moment she stands and spots slumped shoulders through the familiar wood, tugging it open to a second pillow being thrown into her face, barely catching it as a tall mass of grumbles shoves her way past a willingly-bending form into the apartment, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

“Shut up, I’m still mad at you,” Alex yells over her shoulder as she pops in a movie, Kara sleepily following after her, catching the DVD case her sister throws her way. “But I can’t sleep either. So…”

The screen flickers and blue owlishly blink down at the cover.

“Funny Face?” Kara practically beams, hopping after her sister, the beam only spreading when she sees the open container and groans, excitement exponentially growing, “And a whole tub of ice cream for myself, no way—”

“Ahhh—” Alex’s hand snaps up to cover her entire face, getting a bite in. “Half! Half, Kara, hal—”

“You’re the best,” Kara snatches it up and laughs when Alex tries to wrestle it away from her.

“God, I’m getting you a Kryptonite spoon.” Alex yells, crawling on top of her, boot settled on Kara’s chest as the Kryptonian just plucks her sister away, popping in another mouthful before handing the tub over to a very sour-looking agent.

“Too bad all of it’s probably in space, now.”

“So not buying you any more bagels.”

Halfway through the night, Alex slumps down onto her in a very dignified grunt (that Kara somehow resists the urge taping), fingers brushing through her sister’s hair, and she feels warm, and safe…

And looks back up to a picture of a smiling, nervous Audrey Hepburn with a falling smile of her own. She brushes lips over her sister’s temple when the older of the two (Earth-wise, anyways) lets out a sleepy grunt when Kara shifts to shut off the end of the movie, seizing the opportunity to turn on Xanadu (she can get away with it with Alex asleep, at least), instead. Fingers run along the faint line of an un-bent bracelet while she settles in with a melting tub of ice cream for another long, hero-less night.

But it’s not so bad, really.

Alex snores and Kara settles further into the couch, one arm wrapped around a tub and the other protectively wrapped around her sister, eyes lingering on the window for a long moment before turning back towards the television.

She has no clue what time it is, anymore--no clue how long it's been since she slept—no clue how long it will be until Cat brushes past Eve on her way to a desk at exactly 7:05 AM—

Goodnights are feeling just as important as goodmornings.

"Goodnight, Alex." She murmurs into dark hair, feeling a little better for it, a much louder, much less flattering snore her sister's response. (That one, if her phone wasn't across the room, Kara would tape in a heartbeat). Half an hour later, she offers: "Hey, maybe I should just go into the muse business? Rollerblade around." A near-empty bucket of ice cream gestures towards the screen. "Have a nice Don Bluth animated sequence of me inspiring someone as a fish from kind of out of nowhere? Or just an animated Supergirl short. That'd be pretty cool."

"Whatever." Alex grunts and shifts into her, grumbling, because no amount of sleep can stem off a good tease, an agent just as ready as a sister: "Can't pull off...Olivia's hair." That's about the last bit of consciousness before she falls asleep again and Kara sighs, pursing lips towards the screen.

"Kicks to my ego just keep on coming." A beat, quietly agreeing as the lights flicker across her face, exhausted body not sleeping but...resting. Resting, here, safe and sound with her sleeping sister, watching Olivia Newton John twirl around like she was made for it. No matter how many times Alex insists this is the worst movie on Earth, she loves it, anyways. Inevitably coming to a far more important conclusion than her job or her love life or the fate of Earth: "Yeah, okay, definitely couldn't pull off the hair."

Alex grunts in acknowledgment.

“I bet I could pull off the 50’s curls look, though? Maybe. I don’t know.”

Another grunt, followed by a very sleepy:

“Shut up.” And an even sleepier, softer--“Love you.”

Before Alex Danvers once more snores into a shoulder.

Kara just smiles.

"Ukiem khap Je."

Not so bad, at all.

**Kryptonian Translations**; Source

*ukiem: Familial love. Noun P: [u.kjem]; K: ukÉm *khap: I. (Me) Feminine form of "I". Pronoun P: [çæp] K: hA}p

*je: Sister. Noun P: [je] ; K: IE **Essentially, this phrase means that...well, Kara loves her sister, too. Always, yo. Always. **

"ukÉm hA}p IE"

#supercat #supergirl #kara danvers/cat grant #ff #fic: sc #fic: 72 rules #fic: 72 rules ch 9 #sc

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coeurdastronaute · 7 years

Text

Either/Or: Duck

Imagine the soulmate AU where the first words your soulmate will say to you is tattooed on your wrist, but Person A’s tattoo is something completely ridiculous or nonsensical.

It could have been the twelfth interview, but still, Lena knew the question she was going to get no matter how hard she laid on the charm and steered the conversation toward her own accomplishments and hopes in moving to National City. An entire day of press, she’d told herself, and then hopefully no more. What was the worst that could happen?

It wasn’t her natural aversion to the spotlight, or that she never planned on being in this position of power. It wasn’t that her family name became synonymous with hatred, death, war, violence, despair, wealth, insanity, obsession, failure… the list got longer every time she went through it. It wasn’t even what she was good at it, but she was there now, and so she embraced the challenge. That was the only thing she could do.

As the fourteenth reporter of the day politely shook her hand and made his escape, Lena waited until he was gone before promptly flopping down into her chair, much too low for professional. Her legs sprawled out as her chin disappeared into her chest, her shoulders up to her ears. Grumpily she burrowed into herself.

“Ms. Luthor, your last reporter of the day is here,” Jess offered as she slowly opened the door. “Would you like a moment before I send her in?”

“Do you believe in karma, Jess?” the CEO sighed, head drooping impossibly farther forward as she rolled and stretched her neck.

“Sometimes.”

“I mean the big notion of it,” Lena clarified. She put her hands on the desk and pushed herself up as best she could. There was a fresh bottle of wine at her apartment, just waiting for her. That was what kept it going. “Like paying for the sins of past lives?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she shook her head, considering it quite seriously before handing over a protein bar and pouring her boss a fresh glass of water.

“That’s because you’re far from the bad stages. I think my past few lives must have been absolutely dreadful to amass the kind of karmic debt that would explain the black tragicomedy that is my current life.”

“Just one more reporter,” her secretary promised with a small grin despite knowing full well that she was probably serious about her logic.

With a shake of her head, Lena returned the smile and took a deep breath. She nodded and turned her head slightly toward the giant windows behind her, toward the view that she wished she got to enjoy more. She debated moving her desk so that it faced the other direction, but deep down she knew she would never get work done.

“Give me a few minutes. I just want… quiet, please.”

“I can do that,” Jess promised. “Should I call the car to be ready as soon as you finish?”

“You are my silver lining on this plane of existence.”

“I’ll add that to my resumé.”

As soon as the door closed, Lena chuckled. The afternoon was pink outside. The sky glowed and the buildings were already illuminated in half specks of left on lights. If she survived the marathon of PR and interviews, she could start… something. That was the goal. Something. So nondescript and vague she could imagine actually accomplishing it once she got over the feeling of merely treading water.

For a moment, she paused her movements that attempted to ready herself for the final interview, and she took in the pink wisps that were the clouds, and she took in the skyline, all of the lives happening around her. That helped sometimes, to decompress, to disappear in the vastness of the world.

Before the door opened, she toyed with the gentle little word written on her wrist, hidden beneath an oversized watch band. She tugged at the watch and slid her finger under the leather there, pretended she could read the letters like braille, though she imagined it was solely because it was burned into her head that she felt them.

Amidst the chaos of the past few years of her life, between trials and subpoenas and degrees and family and moving and so much paperwork and fighting with her mother, Lena had nearly forgotten that was part of her life. Months passed where she didn’t think or even see the neat little letters on her skin. For the instant between meetings though, it captured her and ade her smile.

The idea of someone who would love her despite… despite it all, it was comforting in the darkest hours, it was terrifying in the daylight. In that moment though, it was merely reassuring that there must be some brightside to the melodrama of her story.

“Ms. Luthor, the reporter from CatCo is here to see you,” Jess explained as she held open the door.

“It’s a pleasure,” Lena smiled, the fake seeping into her bones, prepared to pretend for just another half hour. There was a bottle of wine waiting for her at home, and some days, that was all the motivation she had to not fling herself from the balcony. “Thank you, Jess.”

Mundane as it was, Kara enjoyed the feeling of the sky at night. She couldn’t articulate it properly, for she was certain there weren’t proper words for the slight change in atmosphere that might have been completely in her own head, that came when the sun disappeared. The skyline glowed, the streetlights pushed away darkness, making it dense, in her opinion.

Gone were the men in suits downtown. Gone was the busyness that dictated so much of the day, the hustle and bustle a loud, droning hum that often annoyed the hero. In its place existed the kind of life that was not focused at one decibel, but rather existed as a living thing unto itself.

It would be a quiet night, an early day for her. That was what she thought as she tilted her head and listened to the many lives happening. There was something so lovely about hearing people who weren’t angry or in pain or upset, something soothing about safety.

Approximately six minutes until home where she would gladly deposit the suit on the floor and elect instead for something in the sweatpants family in which to gorge on all of those glorious leftovers from her sister, Kara paused, her flight freezing halfway over Wrenwick, nearly home and away from it all.

“Alex, do you have any idea what’s happening downtown?” she asked into her comm as she turned around.

“Not yet. Why?”

“I hear some kind of yelling, there was an--”

The unmistakable sound of glass breaking and controlled explosions emerging. With a boost, Kara found herself heading toward the tall building by the harborfront, the penthouse that sat high above all else.

“What do you see, Supergirl?”

“Fire. There’s a helicopter fleeing southwest. Can someone chase it down? I have to make sure everyone’s out.”

“J’onn will head that way,” her sister promised. “Be careful. If this wasn’t an accident, than someone just attacked the wealthiest residential building in the city. No one does that for fun.”

With an unseen nod, the hero pushed herself closer, quickly scanning the building once she got there, looking for problems. There was a hole in the side of the penthouse, plain as day and clearly made by some kind of projectile. Flames now reared their necks through it, feeding on the air despite the best efforts of the sprinklers.

Carefully, Kara circled, picking up on a quick heartbeat somewhere in it all. Below the top floor, the noise of the alarms and the crowds exiting, screaming, worrying, crying could all be heard clearly, though everyone was proceeding well enough.

As a few beams from the ceiling began to fall, Kara took a deep breath and blew out the fire, or at least tried. Unlike her birthday candles, it took a few inhalations to fully extinguish the inferno that charred most of the penthouse.

Despite the short burn time, the damage was extensive.

Despite herself, Kara followed the heartbeat that tried to calm itself despite much warbling and fretting on its own part. She lifted up a chunk of wall and tossed it aside, slowly approaching the balcony that remained intact.

Unperturbed or unaware of the completely charred penthouse, a figure lifted a glass of wine to her lips as she leaned against the railing, and crossed her legs, bare foot languidly dragging along her calf. Still clad in a skirt and starched shirt, a messy black bun remained high over hunched shoulders.

Even though her mouth went slightly dry at the sight, Kara hovered, electing not to scare her too much, and carefully flew so that she lowered herself, announcing her presence, in front of the either brave or stupid woman.

The problem was, despite the sprinklers in the background, despite the smouldering rubble, despite the impending need to get her to safety and out of the most likely condemned home, when Kara saw her, met her eyes, she couldn’t think of practical safety procedures at all.

Instead, she just saw green. Green like… green like… like the highest leaves that get pale because of too much sun. Green like the park was green sometime in mid April, when the showers were constant and the world was yawning back to life. Green like… Green like the lake they used to go to when she was just a kid. The problem was that this green was attached to porcelain skin and a jaw that was strong and square, attached to lips that were plump and deep red in lipstick that Kara wanted to find on her pillowcase in the morning.

“Golly,” she breathed, her eyes growing wide at the woman who sipped wine and was unbothered by the apparent violent attack on her home that led to a fire that could have taken the whole place down before fire crews properly set up.

As soon as she muttered the word, green eyes grew wide and stared at her as if she had three heads, as if she was an alien. Her neck tensed, her hand clutched the wine glass tighter.

Kara furrowed and wanted to say something else, to shake out of the stupor the beautiful woman had put her in, and yet she couldn’t so much. Her reactions felt slower, her brain felt fuzzy. The world was different after seeing a woman like that.

“Duck!” the woman yelped, pointing at the air behind the floating hero.

The world came back into focus. With no time to react, Kara saw the missile coming at her, felt it, and so she sped forward and quickly covered the woman with her body, shielding her from the inevitable.

While it rocked the building once again, the chopper moved to circle and line up another shot.

“Are you okay?” Kara worried, sitting back slightly from the girl she pressed into her chest and into the wall, hoping to keep her from exploding as well. She ran her hand along soft chin and jaw and neck, appraising, looking for damage and damage only.

“Ye-yeah,” she swallowed. “I’m really pissed about my night though. I just wanted to drink my wine.”

“I think we might have to get you another glass.”

Both looked down at the puddle of wine that stained the cement of the balcony.

“I just moved in last week,” she murmured, shaking her head, upset about her wine and her home and clearly having one of the worst days in the universe. “It’s…” she looked back at the hero and stared at her a little harder. “It’s the funniest joke I’ve ever heard.”

The smile started and followed the curve of her lips. Without any help from the hero, she pushed herself up and pretended that she was alright despite having a pulse that had been competing in the olympics and lungs that couldn’t steady if they wanted.

“The meetings and the family and then… you!” she chuckled and pushed hair back up atop her head that’d come loose in the tackling. “And now… you. Of course it’s you.”

“Everything is going to be okay,” Kara promised, taking a step toward her. “But we really should get out of here. I need to put this out again and probably go get whoever is doing this to you.”

“Well, even when you capture these guys, you might have to talk to Lex Luthor.”

“Lex Luthor?” the hero furrowed.

“The only person I know who would try to kill his sister,” she shrugged, crossing her arms.

Eyebrows shooting up, Kara felt her jaw go slack as well. There was no possible way that this… this girl… her… her... no. She wasn’t. She couldn’t. There wasn’t. No. She was a Luthor. No way. Never. Not happening.

The sirens came. Her comm buzzed loudly in her ear, but Kara didn’t hear much else except the crashing of her entire universe upon itself at the realization that she was standing on a balcony with Lena Luthor, and her brother had tried to have her killed. Her voice when she shouted at the hero to duck played repeatedly.

“I should… uh. I have to get you to safety.”

“I suppose the elevator is out of the question.”

Sheepishly, Kara shrugged. Lena nudged her head slightly as she stood closer to the hero before winding her arms around her neck. Pressed close together, the smell of wine and fire bonded them. At the contact, Lena shivered, Kara tensed.

Kara wanted to see her wrist. She wanted to look at her own, though she knew that wasn’t going to happen because she knew the answer already.

“Just hold on tight.”

“Now might be a bad time,” Lena swallowed as they started to move. She chanced a look over the edge as they hovered 125 stories above the ground. “To mention I hate flying.”

The feeling of the hero laughing vibrated against her own chest as Lena held on tighter. She didn’t want to, but she smelled sunlight, the warmth of it, like beneath the super suit there was a sunbeam locked in her skin.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Ms. Luthor,” Kara promised as they descended toward the lights and sirens and chaos of an entire building evacuating.

By the time they made it to the ground, Lena was growing accustomed to those arms around her. She thought that was not a good sign. All she wanted was a glass of wine after one of the most arduous days in human history. Instead, she lost her home and found her soulmate, both of which she was not too excited about happening.

“Thank you, Supergirl,” she nodded as her feet hit the ground.

“Try not go get blown up, Ms. Luthor,” the hero smiled, ready to take off again to put out the fire. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Kara made it about a dozen stories before she let herself look back down for just a second, at the girl who was made of steel, enough to not be bothered by an attempt on her life, who said that ridiculous magic word that was spelled out in italics on her own wrist. With no time to spare, she pushed faster away, ready to put out the fire and chase down a helicopter.

“Kara, everything alright?” Alex worried.

“I think that was an assassination attempt on Lena Luthor by her brother.”

“Luthor like… Lex?”

“Alex, she told me to duck.”

The line was quiet as Kara blew and fought against the flames, quickly putting them out once more. Only a few walls remained. The roof barely stayed up. Carefully, Kara jammed what she could to keep it from falling.

“Wait. Hold on. What?” Alex finally managed.

“I have to go take down a helicopter,” Kara sighed, trying not to freak out as well.

“Does she know?”

“I don’t know.”

“She has to.”

“A Luthor and a Super.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have work to do, Alex,” the hero finally groaned, leaping and tossing herself toward the horizon.

“We’re not done talking about this!”

Supergirl.

Supergirl?

Supergirl.

Super. Girl.

Supergirl?

SUPERGIRL.

“Golly,” Lena sighed and let her forehead rest on the window of her office. Her arms wrapped tighter around her chest as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Outside, in the office, down in the halls below, people talked about the CEO. Hushed tones and whispers and “I heard”’s all mingling together over cubicle walls and coffee mugs. It was the front page of the paper, naturally. The tallest residential building in the city suddenly attacked, the roof literally blown off, and no one would mention it, but Lena was pretty certain her renter’s insurance didn’t cover attempted sororicide, and that was an annoyance.

It would be months before she’d be back in her apartment. Months before she’d get that view back. Months before she’d get the calm that came in a glass of wine, quiet music, and her book that she was certain she lost the place in. That made her most mad at her brother, though she was refusing to call him that as much as possible. He was fellow human Lex Luthor. No blood. No honor between them. He blew up her brand new Louboutins. He blew up her brand new and meticulously constructed server unit. There were unforgivable things, and he crossed that line.

If she closed her eyes and held her breath, Lena was certain she could hear everyone talking. Her own brother trying to kill her. Her own life mimicking the absolute tinderbox her apartment had proven to be. If she closed her eyes long enough, she could find the metaphor. If she closed her eyes and breathed out, she could recall the exact shade of blue of Supergirl’s eyes.

She ran her thumb beneath her watchband, toyed with the word on the tender skin there, rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. The word had been there forever. Never once did she hear anyone say it outside of the movies, and from that, she was certain it was impossible to be true. There was no way her soulmate was going to be someone who said something akin to gee willikers.

It wasn’t a dream though. An attack helicopter was lining up a shot and a beautiful alien was hovering in front of her after putting out her burning apartment, and Lena heard that word and all time ceased. The building could have collapsed, swallowing her whole, and it would have been less surprising.

For better or worse, for however long she had left until her brother inevitably succeeded, Lena felt the entire world shift. There was no longer just herself. She was a we. Things could never be the same.

“Ms. Luthor, the agents that are investigating the incident are here,” Jess’ voice murmured softly through the computer.

With a deep breath, Lena stood straight and absently pushed a stretch of hair from her forehead. Just like that, she was the CEO again.

“Send them in, Jess,” she murmured, bracing herself on her palms over her desk as she quickly scanned the pages on her computer.

“Thank you for taking the time to see us, Ms. Luthor,” the taller one nodded politely. “I’m Agent Henshaw, this is Agent Danvers, and we’re with the FBI.”

Lena leaned over and shook their hands politely, motioning for them to sit before taking her own.

“I don’t really have much to add to what I’ve already told three insurance adjusters, two cops, four detectives, and one very persistent Cat Grant.”

“Nothing to add about the attack on your penthouse?” The younger woman cocked her head, relaxed and waiting. “You told the cops on scene that you had no idea who was attacking you, but you told Supergirl to look into your brother.”

“Supergirl’s a Fed?” Lena furrowed, looking between the two of them. “I had some wine and I said something stupid. It was nothing.”

She lied. Because dammit, he was her brother, and if this was a battle to the death, they would handle it internally, like all families did. For a moment she envisioned killing him with her beautiful black pumps with the gold heels that were so new, so beautiful. Gone too soon. But she would be the one to do it, heels or not, because she was the one that felt the guilt of allowing him to live.

“We think it was something,” Henshaw disagreed, pulling pictures from his chest pocket and sliding them across the large desk. “We have pictures of the men who attacked you.”

For a moment, Lena hesitated picking up the images. If she did, then she was in it. But morbid curiosity was surely going to kill her. Or at least it would finish the job her brother started.

The lead agent smiled and turned to his partner who did her best to read the CEO’s movements. Lena bought time while her computer worked, and she picked up the pictures and moved through them.

“I don’t know who they are,” she shrugged. “Did you catch them?”

“We did. They are being detained for questioning,” Agent Danvers nodded.

“The last few images are what looks like a code that was discovered in your brother’s cell after he escaped last night,” Henshaw continued, peering at the girl, looking for any kind of clue as to her feelings, though her poker face was alarmingly good.

“Where did you find it?” she asked flippantly, leaning back in her chair.

“It was scrawled in the margins of a few books.”

“Which books?”

“Moby Dick. The Waste Land. Little Women.”

Lena chuckled despite herself and turned one of the pictures slightly as she looked at the words and seeming ramblings of a madman who was now on the loose.

“What’s so funny, Ms. Luthor?” Agent Danvers asked.

There was no mistaking the malice in her voice. Lena grew up listening for the slightest indications of constricted vocal chords and voices that were filled with disdain and jealousy and anything but genuine thoughts and feelings. She’d call herself an expert, but the other agent was proving harder to read.

“He’s toying with you. Look here,” she smiled despite herself. “What shall I do now? What shall I do?” “I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street “With my hair down, so.”

“Seriously,” the agent sighed.

“And Moby Dick, well,” Lena shrugged. “He’s always had a flare for showmanship.”

“What about Little Women?”

“He just really likes that book.” Both agents looked at the CEO as she handed back the pictures, refusing to give the code anymore thought. She didn’t care. He would come. They were the Irresistible force paradox. She was immovable. He was unstoppable. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“Ms. Luthor, your brother escaped from a very highly guarded black site prison the night you were attacked,” Agent Henshaw explained, taking the pictures back and putting them in his pocket. “We would like to put you in protective custody and conduc--”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

“We must insist--” Agent Danvers tried.

“My answer is final,” Lena shook her head and stood, carefully hitting the button to signal her assistant to politely enter. “I will not have people dying to protect me from him. That is all that would happen if I went under your protection. He will not stop until one of us is dead.”

As soon as the younger agent tried to argue, the door opened, though it wasn’t that which stopped her, but rather a gentle hand from her mentor, who patted her shoulder as he stood, smiling politely.

“We understand, Miss Luthor. Thank you for your time.”

“I still have quest--”

“Here’s my card. If you reconsider or need anything, please don’t hesitate.”

“Thank you, Agent Henshaw,” Lena nodded politely. “Agent Danvers.”

There was more. There was always more. But Lena stood there, the only nervous tick to her being her thumb toying with the word under her watch band. She watched the younger agent want to argue with her boss before relenting.

To her credit, Agent Danvers makes it to the steps leading up to a landing by the door. Just two or three more steps and she’d be gone, and Lena could go back to work. Work was safe and quiet and not nefarious.

“Why does your brother want to kill you? You’re all each other has left,” Agent Danvers finally asked as her feet slowed and she paused at the door.

Once more, the CEO did that infuriating smile, as if every answer she was giving was so common place, she couldn’t believe an agent didn’t already know the answer. Agent Danvers found it even more irksome to see.

“Because there can always only be one, Agent Danvers,” Lena nodded sadly. “One CEO, one rightful Luthor heir. My brother loved me once, but I’m afraid that man has been destroyed.”

“What did it?”

“Alex,” Henshaw warned quietly.

“Ask Dora Luthor. Ask Lex Luthor, Jr. They’re buried at St. Anne’s just outside of Metropolis. A beautiful little plot. Big Hawthorn tree on the top of a hill, overlooking the lakes.”

“Buried?” she swallowed and furrowed.

“My brother tried to be better than our parents, than his father and mother. But genetics are… all a predisposition takes is a nudge. Lex thinks Superman gave him that push.” Lena tapped her knuckle gently against the desk. “LJ was funny, for a toddler. Dora loved to paint. I think I would go mad too, to find that kind of happiness after our childhood, just to lose it.”

“So it’s justified?” she balked, furrowing hard.

“Never, Agent Danvers,” the CEO disagreed. “I’m simply telling you that he’s gone, and there is no saving him. If you ever find that thing in your life that changes everything, you might be different to lose it as well.”

“I-”

“Thank you, Ms. Luthor,” Agent Henshaw nodded politely. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I’m sure,” she smiled curtly.

Lena waited until the door closed to flop back down in her chair. She stared at the business card left on her desk before swiveling to look out at the world, her empire, her domain.

“Come and get me, Lex.”

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sapphicscholar · 7 years

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A/N: I got a few requests for more of this story, so I’m back with a second part! As I mentioned in the first chapter, Lena didn’t feel like getting into all the baggage that came with her family name, so she only ever talked about herself as Lena, a grad student at MIT. This chapter borrows a bit from the dialogue of 2x01 as I reimagine what that interview might have been like had they already known each other…

Chapter Text

As they walked through the streets of National City, looking every bit the part of two ordinary human citizens, albeit more attractive than most and looking, at times, a bit too forced in their clumsiness, Kara tried not to let her excitement about spending more time with Clark—as both reporter and superhero—become too obvious. But it had been a long few weeks at the end of a long year, and there was something nice about being out with someone who knew what it was like to nearly tiptoe their way across the city streets, to shake hands and offer hugs that barely registered as effort.

So she made her way cheerily along with him, ready to see Clark Kent, ace reporter, at work, ready to see a form of justice being served that didn’t result from her fists or the intervention of the DEO. And sure, maybe she hadn’t quite put in the work of researching the subject of their investigation before they headed off to interview this Lena Luthor person, but in all fairness, she’d been a little too preoccupied with attempting to come up with an answer for Cat about what her future career would look like and trying to figuring out why things weren’t working with James—he seemed like everything she wanted, but should couldn’t help the way her heart wasn’t in it, the way her mind continued to drift back to thoughts of the all too brief fling she’d had with a beautiful, brilliant woman on the beach two summers ago. So she walked into an interview with almost no preparation or background knowledge, save for the few headlines she vaguely remembered seeing about a younger Luthor taking over the family business. She’d always been too disgusted by the last name to look into them, too horrified by what Lex had done to Clark to want to know about his company returning to the public eye.

“You ready?” Clark asked, grinning at Kara and pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Absolutely!”

Of course, it wasn’t quite so simple. Instead, they waited for several minutes as the guard checked them in and guided them through the metal detectors. (“You’d think they should make the Luthors go through the security, not their visitors,” Kara snorted.) Finally, they were escorted upstairs and directed to a check in desk where a young woman in a well-tailored black suit waited for them.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Stepping forward with his press credentials ready, Clark adjusted his glasses and smiled brilliantly at the woman, catching sight of her nameplate. “Good morning, Jess! Name’s Clark Kent, I’m here about that interview with Ms. Luthor for The Daily Planet. I believe my boss, Perry White, already called about setting it up, but I can get him on the line in a jiffy if you need anything more.”

“That’ll be fine. I’ll let Ms. Luthor know that you’ve arrived,” Jess said, dismissing Clark and Kara, clearly unaffected by the aww-shucks charm that worked such wonders on most.

“Thank you.”

Clark carefully lowered himself into one of the few chairs, smiling over at Kara as he pulled out his reporter pad and pen and watched as Kara did the same. After a couple of minutes, the clicking of heels from far down the hallway drew their attention up, and a few moments later the newest Luthor Corp CEO appeared.

“Ms. Luthor, a Mr. Clark Kent from The Daily Planet is here, along with his…assistant, perhaps,” Jess explained, gesturing toward her two visitors.

Kara was too busy trying to keep her mouth closed to bother correcting Jess’ assumptions. Because standing in front of her was the very woman who had taken up so much of her mental energy these past few weeks—if she were being honest, she’d been a somewhat constant presence ever since those few days together two summers ago. She looked less the part of the grad student on vacation and more a corporate CEO, dressed as she was in a black pencil skirt and blazer with a red top that drew Kara’s attention to her chest, then up to her red lips in ways that really were not appropriate for the situation.

“Clark Kent, nice to meet you,” Lena finally said, giving no outward indication that her heart had sped up ever so slightly, that her thoughts were winding their way back to some of the happiest memories she had from the past few years—some of the only happy memories she had since Lex turned, if she were being honest with herself.

“I wish I could say we were meeting under better circumstances, Ms. Luthor,” Clark replied, tipping his head slightly even as Kara heard the hint of steel and accusation beneath his otherwise friendly tone. “I saw that you had a ticket for the Venture launch yesterday, and I couldn’t help but notice that you never did claim your seat.”

Lena strode forward, guiding the pair—though she could only focus on Clark, the one asking the questions, right now, lest her mind get bogged down with other questions and memories—into her office. She tried not to notice Kara holding her notebook at the ready. Apparently she’d survived her time as Cat Grant’s assistant and done well enough to earn a promotion.

In a clipped tone, Lena sighed, “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I wasn't aboard the Venture yesterday.” She strode across the room and hung her coat up, studiously avoiding eye contact with the blonde. Had she looked back, she might have noticed Kara looking a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, clearly deliberating between what she knew of Lena from their admittedly brief time together and what she now believed she knew based on her last name and the slightly mysterious circumstances surrounding the Venture explosion the day before.

Kara was too distracted to hear Clark’s follow up question, tuning back in only when Lena spoke once more, explaining something about a company emergency, something about renaming Luthor Corp. She let her gaze drift around the office, not willing to have it settle anywhere on Lena’s person just yet, not ready to feel the way her stomach swooped at the sight, at the memories that came flooding back to her.

“Ah, lucky,” Clark declared, and Kara felt her stomach clench at the idea that somehow she might be forced to choose between her cousin who, despite everything, she still idolized, and the woman she could have sworn she knew better than this.

With a chuckle and a smirk that finally drew Kara’s attention away from the large office with its stunning view to her painted lips and the thoughts of all that they had been capable of doing, Lena drawled, “Lucky is Superman saving the day.”

“Not something one expects a Luthor to say,” Clark countered.

“Right.” Lena fought the urge to roll her eyes, knowing exactly how this kind of interview went when she was already being reduced to her family’s name.

“And Supergirl was there, too!” Kara chimed in, somehow still needing Lena to recognize her achievements as both Kara, who she had been so quick to support during their days on the beach, and Supergirl, even if she had no way of knowing the two people were one in the same.

“And who are you exactly?” Lena asked with a faint chuckle, knowing it was cold and cruel and everything Kara probably already assumed about her as a Luthor.

“Um…” Kara paused, wondering if Lena really didn’t remember. “I’m Kara Danvers.” With Lena’s back turned to her, she had no way to know whether there was any glimmer of recognition there. “I’m not with The Daily Planet. I'm with Catco magazine.” Realizing this woman was already on a first name basis with Cat and might somehow mention it to her if she stayed out of jail, she amended her statement: “Sort of.”

“It’s a publication not known for its hard-hitting journalism,” Lena scoffed, letting herself be every bit the part of the cold CEO as she swung her hips and settled in at her desk. “More like, ‘High-Waisted Jeans: Yes or No?’”

Refusing to let her disappointment show, Kara simply nodded, gesturing half-heartedly with her hands as she explained that she was just tagging along for the day.

“Right.” After a pause, Lena arched a brow at Clark, who still hadn’t gotten to his questions. “Can we just speed this interview along? Just ask me what you want to ask, Mr. Kent. Did I have anything to do with the Venture explosion?” She looked down at her books, unwilling to look to see whether Kara looked as suspicious as her companion, as convinced of her guilt.

“Did you?”

“You wouldn't be asking me if my last name was Smith.”

“Ah, but it’s not. It’s Luthor.” Kara turned to look at Clark; sure, she wasn’t a fan of Lex either, but it couldn’t be fair to treat the woman like this, like she was guilty until proven innocent.

“Some steel under that Kansas wheat,” Lena purred, spinning in her chair and crossing her legs, knowing exactly what she was doing and refusing to let herself consider how much lower Kara’s opinion of her must be sinking. But eventually she gave in and turned to Kara, her tone softening slightly. “It wasn’t always. I was adopted when I was four. And the person who made me feel most welcome in the family was Lex. He made me proud to be a Luthor.” Seeing the way Kara looked at her—the way she looked at her like she wanted to believe she was innocent, like she was willing to listen to her, to fall back into the easy rapport they once had—became too much. She spun in her chair, missing the way Kara and Clark turned to assess her office as she continued: “And then he went on his reign of terror in Metropolis. Declared war on Superman. Committed unspeakable crimes.” She swung back around and pulled up slides on the large wall-mounted monitor. “When Superman put Lex in jail, I vowed to take back my family’s company—to rename it L-Corp, make it a force for good. I’m just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her family. Can you understand that?”

And Kara knew that maybe she was reading too much into it, knew that maybe Lena’s words weren’t meant as an explanation for why she hadn’t given Kara her last name those years ago, but she couldn’t help the surge of sympathy she felt, couldn’t help the way she thought back to Astra and Non and their quest to save the planet at the expense of its inhabitants, even to her mother, the judge who she once thought could do no wrong. “Yeah,” Kara said softly with a small nod, ignoring Clark’s curious glance over at her.

“I know why you’re here. Because a subsidiary of my company made the part that exploded on the Venture. This drive contains all the information we have on the oscillator. I hope it helps you in your investigation.”

“Thank you,” Clark said, accepting the flash drive.

“Give me a chance, Mr. Kent. I’m here for a fresh start. Let me have one.”

“Good day, Ms. Luthor.”

“Good day,” Kara added, feeling the need to say something, anything, to acknowledge her presence in the room, especially after Lena’s speech. Even if it had been a line for the media, something fed out to keep Clark off her trail, Kara felt it resonate with her, wanted to give that chance to Lena to start fresh without any preconceived notions.

Once she and Clark made it out of the building and into the streets of National City, Clark spoke up. “I didn’t see anything when I x-ray-visioned the room.”

“Yeah, me neither. What do you think?” A part of her hoped he would confirm her suspicious that Lena seemed innocent.

“I’ve learned through hard experience not to believe anything a Luthor says,” Clark said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they crossed the street.

Even though Kara wanted to trust her cousin who had so much more experience with this—both reporting and dealing with Luthors—than she did, she couldn’t help but push back a little. “Yeah, I know I’m not a reporter or anything, but I kinda believed her.”

Before Clark could respond, his phone rang, a small photo of Lois popping up on the display. She watched as the suspicious reporter seemed to transform in front of her. No matter how much he smiled with her and even with Lena, there was something so much softer to it now. She chuckled as Lois asked if he was being careful. “I love that she worries about you,” she said after he hung up.

“Yeah, me, too.”

“How do you do it all, Clark? You're an amazing reporter, a great boyfriend, and Superman. I mean, I love being Supergirl. That part of my life is clear. But the rest of it…” she trailed off, unsure how to put into words the fact that she just couldn’t seem to make it work with the man who was so absolutely perfect for her on paper. He knew her secret and was supportive; he listened to her, no longer turning to call Superman whenever things looked dicey, trusting her to handle it herself or ask for help if and when she needed it. He was kind and sweet and exceptionally handsome. And yet…

“You mean Jimmy?” It took Kara a moment to remember that Clark’s Jimmy was her James.

“How’d you know that?”

“It’s super telepathy. It’s a power you'll get someday.”

Kara’s head popped up at that. “Really?”

“No. Jimmy and I are friends, we talk,” Clark explained with a sympathetic smile.

“For so long, I kept my head down and moved forward. And life was simple.” Well, as simple as it could be when she was an alien balancing a secret identity while working two demanding jobs as Cat Grant’s assistant and the protector of National City. “And now I have all these options. An amazing guy and any job I want and I’m…I’m stuck.”

“I’ve been where you are. You know, trying to figure out how to be Clark and Superman.”

“Yeah, but you made it look so easy,” Kara interrupted.

“Well, it wasn’t. It’s still not,” Clark admitted. “Look, all I know is that being Kara is just as important as being Supergirl.” Kara nodded; that was something she absolutely understood. “Come here.” She let herself be dragged into a hug, trying not to panic too much as Clark told her to trust herself and listen to her heart when it came to things with James, especially when her gut and her heart both seemed to be guiding her back to a woman that was suspect number one for the Venture explosion.

---

As much as she hated flying, even if she had the facts and statistics that showed it was technically safer than other modes of transportation, Lena was at least pleased to have some distraction from the thoughts of Kara that hadn’t left her since their interview that morning. She wondered if she had imagined the softening of Kara’s expression before she left, wondered if it was just the effect of some residual optimism that hadn’t been wiped clean after Lex’s rampage. It wasn’t like they had stayed in touch after that summer—they’d agreed it would be best kept as fond memories, and Lena hadn’t particularly wanted to know what Kara thought when she found out that she was a Luthor—so the idea that the blonde lifeguard she once knew still felt some kind of affection for her was probably ludicrous. The fact that she still felt something for Kara mattered little.

The sight of a large drone flying at their helicopter quickly drove all thoughts of Kara from Lena’s mind, and before she knew it, they were under attack. She closed her eyes and tried to make peace with how she would be leaving things. Sure, they weren’t perfect, but, she supposed, at least her reputation wouldn’t end up like Lex’s; she’d never have time to find out what a long life seeped in power and money would do to her.

But before the drones could kill her, the telltale red and blue blur of Superman swooped in along with the caped blonde she’d learned laid claim to the title of National City’s own resident hero. Within seconds, Superman was off to protect the city while Supergirl darted through the air, blocking fiery blasts and taking out the drones. Try as the Supers might, Lena was left to watch the helicopter pilot die in front of her, felt herself and the helicopter falling from the air—until suddenly she wasn’t.

“You’re safe now,” Supergirl told her once she lowered the helicopter back down to the landing site, checking for obvious injuries, then feeling for a pulse on the pilot.

“What the hell was that?” Lena demanded, too much in shock, the adrenaline pumping through her veins and narrowing her thoughts to fight or flight instincts, to notice the striking similarities between this caped hero and the lifeguard with perfectly chiseled muscles who picked her up as though she weighed nothing.

“Someone’s trying to kill you.” Oh, that was comforting. Perhaps not unexpected, but still never the thing one wants to hear. She lost sight of Supergirl as she was led to the EMTs, then finally allowed to go back to her office—shaken but undeterred from her mission to make Luthor Corp a force for good.

---

Kara listened and rubbed at her eyes as James told her he felt her pulling away, told her he knew he wasn’t imagining the way that things between them just didn’t seem to work anymore. And she wanted to object, to remind him of just how much chemistry they’d had together, the way they could and should have worked in reality. But after seeing Lena, after all those memories came flooding back with a force that shocked her even after years of having them slip back in dreams and, if she were being honest, fantasies, she couldn’t deny that things with James didn’t feel like that. So she let him end their relationship before it really began, watched him walk away with a wistfulness that felt more like nostalgia for something that never was than regret over true loss.

And then she listened to Cat talk to her about taking risks and chances and coming out as a brand new person—something that terrified her but also excited her, made her think that maybe, just maybe, there were things for her outside of the safe, predictable advertising job her online quiz had recommended or the sensible relationship she might have pursued with James. She knew Cat was only speaking about work—though the woman had a way of telling her things just when she needed to hear them, even when it had nothing to do with work—but she couldn’t help but think about what it might mean to take that leap with Lena, to trust this woman despite her last name and insist that, yes, they had called it a fling; and, yes, it had only lasted a few days; but, dammit, she wanted to see what it might become if they let things happen once more.

A voicemail from Alex informing her that Lena was the target, not the perpetrator, of the attack sent her running to Lena before she could dwell on her thoughts any longer.

“Lena, look, I know that you don’t owe me any favors, but please, please, would you postpone the renaming ceremony?”

“Kara, I appreciate that you care…despite everything. But if I don’t go through with this ceremony, they win. Lex and all of his supporters and the men who have been sent to kill me—they all get their way.”

“But what if they only got their way for a week? And then you can have the ceremony with a much greater security presence. We would have time to secure the area, make sure there weren’t any hidden bombs.” She didn’t point out that there had already been a hidden bomb under Lena’s seat.

“We? Are you telling me you’re a cop by night?” Lena arched an eyebrow in a playful challenge.

“Oh, well, uh, no,” Kara laughed, pushing her glasses up her nose and turning on her heels to follow Lena, who had grabbed her coat and was making her way toward the elevator, clearly intent on making it down to the ceremony. “They’ll win more if you die!”

“Very articulate,” Lena teased, wondering how easy it might be to fall back into old habits, to let themselves sink into the casual touches and the witty banter that had once masked a passionate heat between them.

“What would convince you?” Kara asked, stepping slightly into Lena’s space in the elevator and hearing the small hitch in Lena’s breathing, the slight acceleration of her heartbeat as Kara leaned in closer.

“I’m afraid I can’t be convinced.” Though, god, did this woman make it tempting to accept the offer.

As they strolled through the courtyard behind the soon to be L-Corp headquarters, Lena surveyed the sparse crowds. “My brother’s serving 32 consecutive life sentences. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised there isn’t a bigger turnout.”

“You’re taking an awful risk, going ahead with the renaming ceremony with your life in danger,” Kara said in a last-ditch effort to change Lena’s mind. But she had glimpsed just how strong the woman was—from the few days they spent together, to the way she carried herself during their interview-interrogation and even the way she kept her panic in check while almost dying in a helicopter.

“I won’t have a life if I can’t make this company into something positive. All it will be remembered for is Lex’s madness.” And Kara found she couldn’t argue with that logic, so she went to stand by Alex Alex and resigned herself to forming a part of the small crowd gathered, resolving to protect Lena at all costs.

“I want to thank you all for coming,” Lena began. “My brother hurt a lot of good, innocent people. My family owes a debt, not just to Metropolis, but to everyone. I intend to pay that. By renaming my company L-Corp, we will usher in a new age of cooperation and community. Together, we will chart a brighter future.”

For a moment, Kara let herself smile along with Lena, let herself be swept up into the feeling of hope that seemed to swell in her chest at Lena’s inspiring words. But all too soon that moment was shattered as explosions rocked the plaza, flames bursting behind Lena. With confirmation that Alex was after Corben, Kara took off to keep the building from collapsing.

“Officer!” Lena yelled, darting from the stage and away from the flames and the chaos into which the ceremony had devolved.

Only when he turned to face her, he had his gun drawn and a malicious grin on his face. Once more, she found herself being saved by another one of the beautiful, powerful women that National City was apparently full of, though all too soon, the man had the woman pinned, his gun trained on her as Supergirl tried to talk him down.

The news that Lex had hired the man to kill her, that he had turned on her after years of being her only real friend and family, barely phased her at this point. It was just confirmation of every fear she’d ever had. And it was with that same sense of cold determination that she raised her gun and aimed it at Corben—aiming to wound, not kill; she wanted the man to talk, to rot in prison. She didn’t have the time or energy to try to parse out what Supergirl’s expression or her joke about having help meant, but, oh, those blue eyes looked too familiar—looked like the pair that had searched her face and her office behind a pair of black-framed glasses just this morning.

---

The next day, Lena found the pair of intrepid reporter-superheroes in her office once more—this time invited by her. Holding out the day’s issue of The Daily Planet, Lena smiled at Clark, perching on the edge of her desk. “Thank you, Mr. Kent. This is exactly the kind of press my company needs after yesterday’s attack. And thank you for including that part about me shooting the guy. That’ll teach Lex to mess with me. He’ll be the laughingstock of cell block X.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I wrote it. I wrote it because it’s the truth. I was wrong about you, Ms. Luthor. I’m sorry.” Lena was nothing if not a pragmatist, but the way Clark spoke, she couldn’t help but believe him.

“Well, if I can make a believer out of Clark Kent, there’s hope yet,” she joked. But in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder about Kara…would she be as easy to bring back? Figuring it was worth a try, she turned a flirtatious smile on the woman who was once more dressed in her cardigans and glasses. “What about you, Ms. Danvers? I didn’t see your name on the byline.”

“Uh, well, like I said, I’m not a reporter,” Kara answered with a chuckle and a shake of her head.

“You could have fooled me.”

In that moment, it was like everything clicked for Kara—all this talk of wanting to be in advertising because it was secure or had good hours meant nothing in the face of a career that could represent “truth, justice, and the American way” on its own.

“I hope this isn’t the last time we talk,” Lena added, settling in at her desk and looking only at Kara.

“I hope not either.” And Kara found that she meant it. Despite the way so many parts of her life seemed uncertain, despite the fact that she would be starting anew once more in a career and giving up the security of the job and boyfriend she knew, she found herself excited, feeling far lighter than she had been in years. And if Jess slipped her a business card from Lena with her personal cell and a note that read, “Dinner? Call me,” scrawled across the back—well, that was just an added bonus.

#supercorp #kara x lena #season 2 rewrite #supergirl #fanfic #kara danvers #lena luthor #ao3feed

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liv-andletdie · 7 years

Note

botw zelink request! :) link attempts to draw zelda

I have not finished BOTW nor have I freed all the Divine beasts. This is also the first BOTW fanfic I’ve ever written!

It was all Revali’s fault.

If you asked the Rito he would have denied everything, the smug bird. But Link was certain the cause of his incredible embarrassment was all thanks to Revali.

He’d been boasting again; claiming himself to, not only be the best archer among the Rito, but also the best artist among them too. He’d bragged about his talent with a brush and ink, the ability he had to produce a perfect likeness of his model on his canvas. Link had just shrugged it off. Water off a duck’s back was the term they used.

And then he’d seen the artwork.

And he’d been loath to admit… it was very good.

Shit.

Link had been ready to drop it, to sit in scornful silence while Revali droned on and on at him, spewing words like “tone” and “shape” and “form”. He’d been ready to accept that the Rito was a talented artist, ready to move on, to check on the other champions. Apparently Vah Naboris was creating quite the sandstorm in the Gerudo desert, and Zelda wanted to check it out.

But then, Revali opened his beak to talk and shattered any chance Link had of “Dropping it”

“This must be quite tedious for you” Revali had crooned “being that you know so little about art, conversing with a true master, such as myself, must surely be quite taxing”

Link had stayed quiet, preferring to let his silence speak for him, his face expressionless as he kept his eyes locked on the horizon. Hopefully the Rito would take it as a sign that Link was not interested in his boasting.

“Why, I do believe that you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who was a greater artist than myself. Even you could not hope to best me, Hero”

Link had clenched his fists at his sides, keeping his irritation with his fellow champion carefully hidden. He knew Revali was just trying to get to him, to goad him into another competition, to embarrass him in front of, not only the Princess, but the rest of the Rito as well. He was trying to make a mockery of the young Hylian.

Link could hear his father’s voice in his head, chiding him “Pick your battles my son. Not every war is worth waging” The words calmed his racing heart, the possible consequences of his actions leaping to the forefront of his mind. As much as he wanted to talk back, to show the Rito up, and tell him just where he could shove his precious artwork, the idea of damaging the Hylian/Rito alliance was too great.

Surely the alliance wouldn’t be broken, especially not with the rise of Calamity Ganon so near. But the two races would be on rocky terms. Link knew Zelda would be able to bring Revali around before anything serious could happen, for Revali respected her. But Link didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on her already heavy shoulders.

Taking measured breaths he’d calmed himself. Finally looking at the Rito’s smug expression. How can a bird look so smug? Link wondered

“No Revali, I suppose you’re right”

The Hylian Champion took great pleasure in the shocked expression that passed across the Rito’s face.

—

The journey to the Gerudo Desert was as quick as it was uneventful, the Princess and her Knight passing the distance in relative silence.

Boarding their horses at the Gerudo Canyon stable, the couple began the trek through the hot desert to the Kara Kara Bazaar. They would stay there for the night before making their way to Gerudo Town in the morning before the sun got too hot.

Once at the Bazaar, Zelda seemed to come alive. The prospect of being so close to one of the Divine Beasts and the Champion who piloted them, appeared to wipe the stress away. Her eyes lit up as she began explaining to Link what they might find on board Naboris.

He’d sat and listened as she’d began explaining, in depth, about how the electricity was used in the inner mechanisms, and how they may be able to utilise electricity for other things such as lamps and torches. He’d watched as her hands began moving in a blur, as if trying to shape the air in front of her to her whim. The smile upon her face was almost as dazzling as the midday sun, and Link found himself lost in her gaze.

Shit.

Almost too quickly the sun began to set and a chill seeped across the sands. Link led Zelda to the inn to get a good night’s rest, while he checked the perimeter of the Bazaar.

Since their last visit, Link had been a little apprehensive about going into the desert. Reports of Yiga activity were growing more and more common everyday, from travellers being stopped on the roads, to acts of great theft. Luckily they’d only ran into the Yiga clan once, and he’d been fast enough to stop them.

Still the image of Zelda, collapsed on the floor, eyes shut in preparation for her death haunted him.

He’d been so close to losing her.

Since then he’d taken every precaution while out on the road. Zelda had been uncomfortable with it at first, insisting that he slept and ate regularly for his health if nothing else. She’d pretended to be annoyed with the near constant supervision, claiming that everything was perfectly safe. Yet he noticed how she’d begun to sleep a little closer to him at night. The revelation brought both joy and trepidation to the young hero’s heart.

He wasn’t sure why, but the idea of the Princess getting close to him caused a strange feeling to settle in the pit of his stomach. He was her appointed Knight, he needed to remain impartial and vigilant against danger, if Zelda got too close he worried that he would get distracted. It was almost impossible not to get drawn in when she began talking about her research, to not admire the way the light shone against her golden hair, to stop his gaze from dropping to her lips while she spoke.

Shit SHIT

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he gave one last cursory glance around the Bazaar before turning in to sleep as well.

The next morning Link woke up early, the morning still carrying the chill from the night before. He let Zelda rest for a little longer, knowing how she detested waking up in the freezing air, and set about cooking breakfast for the two of them.

Once he was done he asked one of the women who worked at the Inn if they would wake Zelda up. It would be improper to see her in her nightgown he rationalized dishing out fried eggs onto a plate. It wasn’t long before Zelda exited the inn, sleep still heavy in her eyes. Link tried his best to ignore the tightening feeling in his chest as she sat down next to him, stifling a yawn as she thanked him for breakfast.

He waited until she was done to begin packing up, rinsing off their plates and filling their canteens with the water from the oasis. Link wondered if Zelda had gotten enough sleep that night as he watched her struggle to stay awake. Hopefully the prospect of boarding the Divine Beast will wake her up he thought as they began to journey to Gerudo town.

Urbosa met them at the gates. The early morning sun glinting off her golden armour. Zelda snapped out of her exhaustion at the sight of her friend, running the last few yards to meet her. Link held back as Urbosa wrapped the young princess in her arms, obviously overjoyed that she had made it to Gerudo Town safely.

Time seemed to move quite quickly from then. Within no time the three had rented sand seals and were surfing over the dunes on their way to Naboris. The desert air becoming hot and dry around them. Link tried to still his racing heart as the sound of Zelda’s joyful and carefree laugh cut through the stifling air. Remember who you are he reprimanded himself remember who she is!

—

Once on Naboris the air shifted from dry to static. Link could feel the hair on his arms stand to attention, flyaway strands floating off in all directions, and the faint metal taste of the atmosphere settled on his tongue.

Urbosa led the two young Hylians on a tour of the beast. She directed them to the main terminal where Zelda began to run a diagnostic test,

“Just to be safe” she explained pressing buttons and staring at charts. The whole thing was Goron to Link so he stood back and Let Zelda explain to Urbosa what the different charts and symbols and runes meant.

The Beast was a curious thing, completely different to Vah Ruta. Whilst the Elephant was filled with water and moving cogs and wheels, Naboris was empty and dry, the static in the air fizzing in his ears. If Ruta was peaceful then Naboris was frantic and alive. No wonder Zelda enjoys visiting the desert so much Link thought everything here is so exciting.

Eventually Zelda finished with the diagnostics, letting Urbosa regain control. It had begun to grow warm in the beast; the heat mixing with the suffocating static caused Link to get irritated. He could tell Zelda was getting affected too, she was pulling at the collar of her starched white travel blouse, the blue jacket and the gold embellishments seemed to weigh her down further.

He’d be lying if he said the heat wasn’t affecting him too; The Master sword was heavy against his back, the ornate scabbard hitting the backs of his legs. Sweat pooled on his brow and he resisted the desire to appear fatigued in the Princess's’ presence. Only Urbosa seemed unaffected by the heat of the desert.

After what seemed like an eternity Urbosa brought Naboris to a stop in the shade of the Gerudo Highlands. Turning to the young couple with a smile brighter than the sun, she folded her arms across her chest, her hip popped in a confident manner.

“I think that’s enough work for today, time for a break”

There was no arguing with the Gerudo and soon Link was piling pillows and cushions on one of the outside platforms. The sun beating down against his back made the simple task exhausting but soon he was done. Admiring his handy work he stepped further into the shade in order to let the Princess and the champion relax. He relished the cool gust of wind that brushed past, chilling his damp skin.

Zelda had shed her blue jacket in the heat. Her golden hair piled atop her head in order to keep it from brushing the back of her neck. Link swallowed at the sight of her bare neck and the unbuttoned collar, her skin flushed with the heat.

SHIT!

He tried to look away as Zelda made herself comfortable, stretching out on the blankets in a way that made him feel downright sinful. He forced his eyes to scan the nearby cliffs, trying to spot anything on the horizon that could be a danger to them. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he spotted nothing.

“Oh Urbosa it’s wonderful” Zelda cried, drawing Link’s attention back to her. She was sitting up now, not that that helped his predicament. “The Divine beast is working perfectly!” Link knelt in the shade, transfixed by the way the light bounced off of her flushed skin. The static still in the air caused her hair to float around her head, creating a golden halo in the desert sun. She looked like a goddess. Link found his gaze brought back to her lips and wondered for a brief second what it would be like to kiss her, to feel her pressed against him. He quickly turned away.

You’re her appointed knight! You’re meant to protect her, not drool over her!

The heat must be messing with him he concluded. Breathing deeply he schooled his thoughts to resemble something respectable. Once he felt sufficiently calm he ventured another glance in her direction.

She was kneeling amongst the pillows, arms gesturing wildly as she enthused and rambled about the practical application of electricity.She looked so happy, so carefree! Urbosa watched her with a glint her eye that looked almost maternal.

Link was struck with a sudden need to preserve the image in front of him. Terrified that something could happen and he could forget this moment forever.

But how best to save it?

There was always the Sheikah Slate, it’s runes were able to capture and preserve and image in perfect clarity. The only issue was that the slate in question was attached to Zelda’s hip. Also it would be quite improper to take a picture of the Princess on her own Sheikah Slate!

Revali’s smug voice filtered into his head.

He couldn’t… no… he wouldn’t.

With shaking hands Link reached for his pack where he carried his journal. Zelda and Urbosa seemed oblivious to his actions as he dug out a pencil and began to sketch. It was difficult, Link found, as Zelda would not sit still, she was a constant flurry of joyful activity. His pencil marks became flurried in a rush to preserve what he saw.

“What’s this?” Urbosa’s strong voice called out, breaking him from his concentration, “Is our young Hero trying his hand at art?”

Ssssshhhhit

He’d been caught red handed. Link wasn’t sure whether it was the heat or his own embarrassment that turned his ears and cheeks red. Looking at the curious expression on the Princess’s face, he deduced it was embarrassment that coloured his skin.

“Is that true Link?” Zelda’s eyes sparkled, she shuffled towards him climbing over the pillows in an attempt to see what he’d drawn.

Fear gripped at his heart, oh no this is bad he thought. He pressed the journal against his chest in a desperate attempt to preserve his dignity. But Zelda was getting closer. Her emerald eyes searching his, pleading silently to let her see his work.

He could never say no to her.

Distantly he heard Urbosa laugh as he lowered the journal from his chest, Zelda’s eyes still locked on his. He didn’t see her hands reach forward to take the journal from him, her soft fingers brushing across the backs of his hands. He successfully managed to avoid the hitch in his breathing as she edged closer to him.

Slipping the book out of his grasp she looked down at the pages. He glanced down at his own work, his critical eye picking out all the flaws he could find.

It was nowhere near the level of Revali’s masterpieces.

Zelda turned red, sitting back on her heels she brought the book closer to her. Link watched as her hand hovered over the rushed pencil marks, tracing the shapes with the tips of her fingers.

“It’s beautiful”

Link felt his heart stop. What had she said? She thought it was beautiful?! What?! It took a moment for him to realize that Zelda was staring at him. Expecting a response.

“Th-thank you” he mumbled, his voice weak under her piercing gaze.

Zelda smiled. A real, happy smile, and Link felt his heart kick back into overdrive. As She turned back to stare lovingly at his artwork, Link felt the smug almost petty side of him speak up.

Take that Revali

#Zelink #BOTW Zelink #zelda #link #zelink fanfiction #fanfiction requests

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