Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Stepping up to the Plate

It was 4:15 a.m. when "Pocketful of Sunshine" by Natasha Bedingfield started playing, then abruptly cut off—only to start again, right beside Lena’s left ear. Startled awake, heart racing, she willed her limbs to move as the song kept cutting itself off. In the scramble to sit up, she nearly knocked her phone off the nightstand. Groggy, squinting at the light, she rubbed her eyes and unlocked it.

Kara.

The screen lit up with message after message.

Kara ☀️

[ 4:15 am] Lee, I need your help!

[ 4:15 am] We have an office outing Friday at the new ballpark and I have no idea what I’m doing!

[ 4:15 am] Have you ever been to one of those? 

[ 4:15 am] What do people say?

[ 4:15 am] Do I make small talk? 

[ 4:15 am] Comment on their work?

[ 4:16 am] Something vague but friendly?

[ 4:16 am] What if I accidentally dominate the conversation? 

[ 4:16 am] Or seem disinterested because I’m watching the game???

[ 4:16 am] Also… do I get a beer? 

[ 4:16 am] It doesn’t affect me but like… is that weird???

[ 4:17 am] I’ve been up all night thinking about this. I kind of forgot I’m technically their boss.

[ 4:17 am] …sorry for the messages.

[ 4:17 am] Good morning? 😁

Lena blinked at the screen, a tired little laugh escaping her. She could practically hear Kara’s voice—anxious and fast, tripping over itself in that way it always did when she was nervous. 

Still half-asleep, Lena slowly typed back:

[4:19 am] You’re overthinking, Kara. Just be you. They like you. You don’t have to script it. It’s 4 a.m. Please sleep. We can figure it out together later.

She paused before adding:

[4:20am] I think you’re doing better than you think.

She didn’t let herself dwell on how easily the image of Kara came to her: barefoot, pacing, wearing one of those soft, worn-in t-shirts that clung in ways Lena tried not to notice. Her hair is probably a mess from running her hands through it too many times. No glasses to fidget with anymore.

That was the part Lena still wasn’t over.

Lena groaned into her pillow, dragging it over her face like that might smother the blush threatening to rise. Kara Danvers. Destroyer of sleep. Embodiment of sunshine and chaos. 

Texting her at 4 a.m. like Lena didn’t require a minimum of six hours and two espressos to function as a human being.

The room was pitch black, the only illumination coming from the screen she’d stupidly turned toward herself. Her eyes ached, her body begged for sleep, and her brain had other plans

“You’re thinking about her again. Not like a friend. Not just a friend.”

It wasn’t even the lies or the powers that stuck with her. Not anymore. She’d known for years now. Worked alongside Kara, fought beside her. And before that? The fallout. The anger. The heartbreak. All of it tangled in the reveal of a truth Lena had been too blinded to see.

All because of a pair of glasses.

What a simple disguise. Ridiculous, in hindsight. And yet it had worked. 

That disguise had pissed her off more than it should’ve. Because it had worked. Because she hadn’t seen. That tiny piece of plastic had kept Kara Danvers and Supergirl just far enough apart that Lena hadn’t let herself look too closely. Hadn’t let herself feel too closely.

But now, there was nothing between them. Kara had gone public. No more hiding. No more pretending.

And that confidence...gods, that was dangerous. The way Kara carried herself now, shoulders back, eyes steady, a quiet strength that hadn’t always been there. She still laughed too loud and cared too much, still tripped over her words when she was nervous, but now she stood fully in her truth. No masks. No barriers.

Just Kara.

And Lena was noticing things she hadn’t let herself notice before.

The warmth, sure. That had always been there. But now it came with a pull she couldn’t ignore. A magnetic kind of ache that whispered this could be more. Maybe it had been more, for a long time.

Maybe she’d just been too afraid to admit it.

With a sigh, Lena flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling like it might offer her answers. It didn’t.

And maybe that’s why it was happening now. These thoughts. These feelings. Maybe that’s why, even half-asleep and cranky, Lena couldn’t help but smile like an idiot at her phone.

She dropped it onto the mattress and pulled the duvet up over her face again.

“Just sleep,” she mumbled into the sheets. “You’re not in love with her. You’re just... very tired. And extremely susceptible to women who can bench press tanks.”

There was a pause as the words clicked in her brain.

She groaned again, quieter this time, like her body was trying not to betray her.Still, the darkness helped. The quiet helped more. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders eased. The buzzing thoughts dulled around the edges.

She let herself drift, just for a little while longer, surrounded by the echo of a familiar laugh, an open face with nothing left to hide behind, and eyes she could no longer pretend not to see clearly.

At 8:12 a.m., her phone buzzed again.

Fully awake now and staring down a long day of meetings and reports, the vibration was a welcome distraction. Lena glanced over and saw Kara’s name light up the screen. The message was short this time—but still unmistakably Kara.

[8:12 a.m.] I did sleep
[8:12 a.m.] ...eventually lol
[8:13 a.m.] Your messages helped. Thank you for not making me feel ridiculous.

Lena’s mouth curved into a small, lopsided smile. That fluttery feeling stirred again. Subtle, annoying, and impossible to ignore. She didn’t think about it, not really. She just… liked when Kara texted. Liked when she needed her. Liked being the one who could help, even at four in the damn morning.

She flicked her eyes back to the spreadsheet in front of her, trying to remember why she'd cared about market data ten seconds ago.

A moment later, another message arrived. Even in simple text, Lena could feel the hesitation behind it.

[8:15 a.m.] I know I’ve been scattered.

“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Lena murmured, a soft chuckle escaping before she could stop it.

[8:15 a.m.] Between trying to excel at my new position at CatCo, helping out more with the League, and being public…

[8:16 a.m.] I keep thinking I’ll find a balance soon

[8:16 a.m.] ...but I haven’t.

Lena’s smile dimmed a little. Her thumb hovered above her keyboard, but she didn’t type anything yet.

The truth was, they hadn’t seen each other as much lately. Ever since Alex and Kelly’s wedding, Kara had been pulled in what felt like a hundred directions at once. Their regular lunches had quietly faded out. Even the surprise visits, midnight snacks and rambling stories about city rescues, had dwindled into quick, apologetic drop-offs. Lena hadn’t really let herself think about it too much. But she missed her.

Not just as a friend, although that was the safest label to reach for.

She missed the sound of her voice, the effortless way she could fill a space with warmth. Her terrible puns.  The way the room always felt less heavy when she walked in.

[8:16 a.m.] I know we said we’re better friends now, but I feel like I haven’t even been that lately.

Lena stared at the message, her thumb still resting over the keyboard, unmoving.

That ache in her chest, the one she’d been ignoring since the wedding, twisted just a little deeper.

[8:17 a.m.] I miss you.

A quiet sigh left Lena before she even realized it. Her hand tightened slightly around the phone.

She’d missed her too. In a way that didn't quite sit neatly into any category she felt brave enough to examine. She missed them …whatever they were now.

Another buzz.

[8:17 a.m.] Not in a dramatic way. Just in a ‘you-make-everything-quieter’ kind of way.

Lena read that one twice. Then again.

A warmth bloomed behind her ribs. She let out a soft laugh.

“ Not dramatic?” she whispered to no one. “Most things with us tend to be dramatic, Kar.”

She didn’t text back right away. Just sat there, staring at Kara’s name on her screen, heart ticking in a rhythm that felt too quick for this early in the day. Too quick for something that was just friendship.

A notification from her calendar pinged in the corner of her screen, followed by a buzz from her landline.

With a reluctant sigh, Lena tucked her phone face down on the desk and answered the call, walking herself through numbers, logistics, and three minutes of feigned attentiveness before hanging up. She made a note, shuffled some papers, even stood to refill her coffee. It was only as she sat back down that she reached for her phone again—more out of instinct than intent.

The screen lit up. One new message.

[8:18 a.m.] Would you want to come to the outing with me?

[8:18 a.m.] As my plus one.

[8:19 a.m.] I mean strictly moral support, of course. 

[8:19 a.m.] Just two friends 

[8:19 a.m.] Eating overpriced pretzels 

[8:19 a.m.] Dodging small talk.

[8:19 a.m.] Unless that’s too weird?

Lena stared at the text for a long moment, thumb hovering just above the screen.

Her chest felt warm. Unsteady. Like her whole body had just exhaled without her permission.

She took a slow sip of her coffee, hoping the bitterness would ground her. It didn’t.

Finally, she typed:

[8:28 a.m.] Overpriced pretzels and awkward mingling? Sounds like a dream. Count me in. 

[8:28 a.m.] And it’s not weird. At least not weirder than you texting me at 4am about whether you should drink beer.

She hovered over ‘send’ for the briefest second . Her thumb brushed the screen nervously before she tapped it.

It took her another second to realize she was holding her breath, a soft smile creeping onto her face. God, why was this so... nerve-wracking ?

The reply came almost immediately to break her out of her thoughts.

[8:28am] Yay!!!🤩

[8:28am] I’m so happy you said yes!! I was weirdly nervous?? 😅

[8:29am] I really wanted to go with you and didn’t want it to be weird and now it’s not weird and I’m just… 🥳💫

[8:29am] If you didn’t, I'd ask Alex and…
[8:30am] Well, Alex doesn’t do ‘company outings’

[8:30am] But I know her answer would be ‘drink 10 beers to establish dominance’ and she would pretend to understand baseball.

Lena huffed a quiet laugh through her nose, already typing back.

[8:31 am] I’m glad you asked me. Really.

[8:32 am] And Alex would have a solid plan. 

[8:33 am] How about we meet for a late lunch later ? I have an afternoon meeting, but I’m free from two. Want to check out the team store? I assume we’re dressing the part.

The three dots appeared before a few rapid texts.

[8:33 am] Absolutely. Food, merch, and moral support. It’s a date.
[8:33 am] Wait, not a date-date. 

[8:33 am] I’ll meet you at the Tomasi café at two?

Lena rolled her eyes fondly, shooting off a quick message, and turned back to her work.

[8:33 am] Sure. I'll see you then, Danvers

[8:34am] 💜

Lena smiled at Kara’s message, the little heart emoji lighting up her screen. She couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest at the gesture. It made her smile wider than she intended, and she immediately felt a little giddy. Something she hadn't expected from a simple lunch invite.

Lena quickly pushed it aside and turned her attention back to her work, sighing as she dove into another round of emails. The day stretched before her, and as much as her mind was distracted by the thought of Kara and the lunch they’d share, she threw herself into the mountain of tasks in front of her.

From 8:30 am to 1:00 pm, Lena’s office buzzed with productivity. She fielded calls, sent out responses to pressing matters, and managed a few last-minute adjustments to upcoming projects. There were several brainstorming sessions with her team, but her mind was never too far from the upcoming afternoon plans. She caught herself glancing at the clock more than once, each time surprised that the minutes had flown by.

By 1:00 pm, she knew it was time to start wrapping things up. She quickly scheduled some follow-ups for next week, checked in on the latest tech developments with a few of her engineers, and made a mental note to send out some documents she had been sitting on. But as the hour wound down, her thoughts turned back to Kara.

Around 1:30 pm, Lena tapped her intercom. “Miranda, I’m taking lunch. Please block off my schedule for Friday as well.” She paused, feeling a slight tension in her chest. “And, uh, don’t let anyone schedule me for anything else this afternoon. I’m...handling something important.”

“Understood, Ms. Luthor.”

Lena locked her laptop with a sigh of relief, quickly sliding it into her bag. The thought of spending the afternoon with Kara, without any work distractions, made her feel lighter than she had in days. She stood up, smoothing down her jacket and sending one last glance at her desk, making sure everything was in order before she grabbed her coat.

She felt a flutter of excitement in her chest as she walked out of her office, already anticipating the afternoon ahead.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: The Wind Up

Kara rushed into the Tomasi Café a little later than planned. Her hair was still slightly wind-tousled from her flight, and she had that flustered look she got whenever work ran long and she hadn’t had time to decompress. She spotted Lena at a corner table, already seated and, more notably, surrounded by what looked like enough food to feed  a baseball team.

“Hi! Sorry, sorry,” Kara said as she approached, already sliding into the seat across from her. “Peter roped me into a surprise editorial chat right as I was leaving.”

Lena looked up from her phone, smiling without any real trace of annoyance. “Good thing I’ve developed a soft spot for your chaotic schedule, Kara.”

Kara blinked, stunned for just a second, then recovered quickly when she saw the spread on the table. “Is this all for us?”

“I figured you’d be starving. You’ve not had a lot of sleep and have two full time jobs, Kar. You need the calories more than I do,” Lena stated matter-of-factly before taking a sip of her water.

Kara stared at the food, visibly touched. “I mean, gosh , I love you Lee,” she blurted, grinning as she grabbed a fork. “You’re the best.”

Lena paused at that, staring for just a moment longer before shaking her head. Kara clearly hadn’t noticed what she’d said, already too busy shoveling sweet potato fries into her mouth to realize the words had even come out.

Lena smiled to herself and shook her head. “Just doing my part to keep National City’s finest standing upright.”

“Y’r doin’ an incred’ble job,” Kara mumbled around a mouthful of food, grinning as she chewed.

Lena smirked, tilting her head. “Is that high praise, or are you just in love with the burger?” She reached over and stole a fry. “Hard to tell with all the chewing.”

Kara paused mid-chew, eyes narrowing in mock offense. “Excuse you. This is heartfelt appreciation and burger-induced joy.” She pointed a fry at Lena. “And that was my fry, thief.”

Lena chuckled, biting into the stolen fry with a playful shrug. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

They shared a few quiet bites before the conversation naturally shifted.

“League work still a madhouse?” Lena asked lightly.

Kara groaned, dropping her hands to the table in exasperation. “Yes! Honestly, it’s been a weird few weeks. Guy Gardner is still running around like a glow-stick with an attitude problem! I’ve had to redirect him away from at least three situations that absolutely didn’t require a Lantern showing up like it’s a laser light show.”

Lena snorted. “That man exhausts me and I’ve only met him twice.”

“He exhausts everyone .” Shaking her head, she took another bite as she looked over  her friend, “Brought Esme with me last week to tour the Hall, but she’s mostly fascinated by the Watchtower.”

“Oh?” Lena perked up, resting her chin on her hand. “She told me you took her to the Hall on Saturday when Kelly asked me to watch her so they could go to dinner.”

“Yeah,” Kara said, smile softening at the memories of her niece having fun at her ‘second job’, “I gave her the tour. She especially liked the med bay and the comms room. Called it ‘space wizard stuff’.”

Lena’s lips quirked, mischief flickering behind her cool tone, "She also mentioned you let her press some very important buttons." She narrowed her eyes, fingers tapping thoughtfully against her chin as she adopted a mock serious expression,“ Highly classified buttons, if I recall correctly.”

Kara gasped, clutching her chest as if scandalized.

“My own niece leaking classified information?”

She narrowed her eyes, matching Lena’s tone with exaggerated gravity, “This is a breach of national trust. I’m afraid you’re facing... extreme punishment. ”

Lena arched a brow, utterly unimpressed. “Oh? And what would that be?”

Kara straightened up, solemn as a judge. “You’ll  both have to endure three, no, four hours of me narrating random space documentaries. With diagrams. And sock puppets. No breaks.”

Lena blinked, then with faux severity, "Threatening me with quality educational content? How villainous of you.”

Kara grinned, clearly pleased with herself, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she leaned back like a villain basking in their master plan

 “And sock puppets. Don’t forget the sock puppets.”

Lena let out a soft laugh, the teasing edge slipping into something warmer. “Mmm, well, don’t worry. She was very proud of herself.”

Kara tried for casual, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “She actually talked about you a lot during the tour. Kept saying how smart you are… how you make science sound like magic.” Her voice dipped, full of fondness. “Which, yeah… she’s not wrong.”

Lena flushed slightly, brushing off the compliment. “She’s a sweet kid.”

But her voice had gone soft, touched by something she couldn’t quite hide. She reached for her drink, more to occupy her hands than out of thirst, then glanced sideways at Kara with a half-smile. “She’s got good taste, clearly.”

There was a beat, just long enough for something unspoken to settle between them. Then she added, more gently, “You always make her feel safe. Like she can ask anything and not be laughed at. That matters a lot more to kids than we realize sometimes.”

Kara paused, her fingers absently toying with the hem of her sleeve as her gaze wandered to the window. “I forget, sometimes, what it feels like to just be… light. Untouched by everything I’ve seen—everything I carry.” She exhaled softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “But with Esme, it’s different. It’s like being back on Krypton with my aunt. Only this time, I’m the one telling the stories, playing pretend while dinner is being made, making her laugh until she snorts.”

Her voice grew quieter, almost reverent. “It’s strange, but familiar. Like I get to borrow a little piece of the childhood I didn’t realize I missed. And somehow, sharing that with her makes it feel real again.”

The softness in her voice didn’t last long. She shrugged, turning back toward Lena with a crooked, playful grin. “Guess that’s the magic of being an aunt.”

Lena’s heart tugged at the shift, at how easily Kara let light filter back in, like muscle memory. She didn’t answer right away, just nodded, her smile small but sincere. Kara’s magic wasn’t in her powers, Lena thought. It was in these moments. The quiet ones. The ones where she didn’t have to be invincible. Where she could just be Kara.

They drifted for a bit after that, slipping into the easy rhythm that had always been theirs.
Lena leaned back, tracing the rim of her cup absently, her gaze distant as she thought about her latest projects. She spoke of them with a quiet enthusiasm, describing an experimental clean energy initiative and a new grant program she was working on for young inventors. 

Kara listened with open awe, eyes bright, asking questions that made Lena's heart do that dangerous little skip: you're not just listening —you care.
When Lena nudged her to share in turn, Kara lit up, talking animatedly about the chaos of CatCo’s new restructuring. Promotions flying, new departments springing up overnight, the internal newsletter somehow becoming a battleground for memes and passive-aggressive memos.

They traded stories, light and low, the conversation pulling them along like a gentle tide. Every now and then, Lena caught herself watching Kara’s hands as she talked, or the easy crinkle of her nose when she laughed. The waiter came by quietly, refilling their drinks and clearing away the empty plates, his movements almost unnoticed in the comfortable lull of their exchange. Lena barely registered the gesture, too absorbed in the steady warmth of the moment.

It was too easy to fall back into this—into her —like nothing had ever broken, like Lena hadn’t spent countless nights wishing she could take it all back just to hear Kara laugh like this again.
Too easy to imagine what it would be like if this was something more.
Too easy to pretend she didn’t still want more.
And far too hard to pretend she’d ever stopped.

Kara glanced up mid-sentence and caught the look on Lena’s face. Just for a second, her smile softened. There was something quiet and wondering, flickering in her eyes. Then she looked away, rubbing at the cuff of her sweater like it held a thread she could pull and disappear into.

‘New habit,’ Lena noted absently. ‘ No glasses anymore. Now it’s sleeves.’

After a while, their laughter faded into something gentler, something a little more real.
Kara toyed with the cuff of her sweater, her fingers restless against the fabric. “I’m really trying to be a good boss,” she said, voice a little quieter, more vulnerable. “I want the newsroom to feel collaborative, not like I'm barking orders. I just… I don’t want to become one of those editors who forgets what it’s like to be on the ground.”

She lifted her gaze to Lena’s, half-hopeful, half-wary, like she was bracing for judgment.
“I still remember what it felt like when people talked at me instead of to me,” Kara added, her mouth pulling into a wry, self-conscious smile. “And I don’t ever want someone walking out of CatCo thinking they weren’t heard just because I was too busy or too full of myself to listen.”

There was a small, aching honesty to it, the kind that made Lena’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

“You won’t,” Lena said gently. “You still see people. That’s what makes you good at what you do.”

Kara looked down at her plate, bashfully picking at her food. “Thanks.”

After a sip of her water, Lena leaned back slightly in her seat, watching Kara with a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “ So , will Cat be there?”

Kara shook her head, mid-chew on a fry. “Nope. She’s in Geneva all week. UN media advisory thing. She wanted to come until she overheard Morris talking baseball stats in the bullpen and left a day early.”

Lena smirked. “That sounds like her.”

Kara laughed, setting her burger down and wiping her hands. “Right? She called the name ‘commendable branding’ and then said she’d rather be caught dead than wave a foam finger.” She paused. “Though she did ask me to take pictures. Specifically if you show up looking ‘Met Gala adjacent,’ quote-unquote.”

Lena arched her brow. “You told her I’m your plus one?”

Kara fumbled for a second. “Well— uh —not… exactly.”

“Oh?” Lena leaned in, playful and curious now. “ Do tell.”

Kara blinked, cheeks tinting pink. “It’s just…any time we’re not talking about CatCo operations, she somehow finds a way to ask about you. At first I thought she was fishing for gossip or a scoop, but I think… I think she just knows I really need—” she looked up and gave a tiny, sheepish shrug, “—amazing support right now.”

Lena’s smile softened, “Support, huh?”

Kara nodded quickly. “Yeah. You’re really grounding. In a way I don’t think I realized I needed it.”

Lena looked down at her drink, trying not to smile too obviously into it. “Well then,” she murmured, tapping the straw gently against the rim, "Good thing I’m a sucker for bad stadium food and...” She almost said ‘you’, but caught herself and instead finished with a playful, “...and public humiliation.”

Kara beamed, visibly relieved, "Okay, maybe a tiny part of me just wants to see how many jaws you’ll drop walking past the concession stand.” 

She dropped her voice into a theatrical growl. “ A Luthor at a baseball game? Someone call the Bat. ”

Lena let out a soft scoff, more amused than doubtful, "Which one? Because Kate might actually find this fun.”

 “Kate?” Kara echoed, playing it cool, or trying to.

Lena nodded, "We've grabbed coffee a few times. She’s sharp. Kind of intense, but I like her.”

Kara made a vague noise, reaching for her cup, “Yeah. Sure. Lots of leather and brooding.”

Lena tilted her head, teasing, “You sound thrilled.”

Kara huffed a soft laugh. “No, I just—Kate’s fine. But I like Ryan better, honestly. She’s easier to talk to. Doesn’t make everything feel like a rooftop interrogation.”

“You really don’t like being glared at by someone in a cape, do?”

“I’ve met me,” Kara said, and Lena’s laugh slipped out before she could stop it—bright and unexpectedly real.

For a moment, Kara just looked at her, then grinned—clearly pleased to have pulled that sound from her.

“Besides, bad food tastes better with good company.”

That earned her a small, amused scoff.

Then, casually, “So… Kate Kane, huh?”

Kara’s smile wobbled slightly. “What about her?”

“Just curious,” Lena said, studying her drink. “You brought her up.”

There was a beat before Kara asked, a little too nonchalantly, “Is she… single?”

Lena looked faintly confused. “Kate? I don’t think so. Not that we talk about that kind of thing.”

Kara nodded a little too quickly. “Right. Just curious.”

Lena gave her a lingering look. It was curious but not pushy. Like she almost caught the undercurrent and chose, just for now, not to tug on it. She arched a brow, then smirked faintly. “You’re sounding a little like Cat digging for gossip.”

That made Kara huff a soft laugh, grateful for the out. “Hey, I learned from the best.”

“So shallow,” Lena said, shaking her head.

“Shameless,” Kara replied brightly. “Besides, Cat’s not the only one expecting Met Gala energy.”

Lena gave a long-suffering sigh, all theatrics. “I suppose I’ll have to live up to expectations.”

“You always do,” Kara said, and there was no armor in it. No smile to soften the truth, no joke to catch the weight of it. Just something quiet and unspoken, finally named, placed gently in Lena’s hands like it had always belonged there.

Lena’s expression flickered—surprise first, then something gentler. Her gaze lingered on Kara, the noise of the café fading for just a moment.

And Kara, perhaps feeling the weight of her own honesty, took a slow sip of her drink, as if retreating behind routine could make the moment less exposed.

Then Lena laughed, soft and a little breathless, her heart catching in her chest. She looked at Kara with something between fondness and awe. “You’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head.

Kara leaned back with a grin, kicking one foot out under the table. “I know,” she said, teasing. “But you love me anyway. Tragic, really.”

Lena didn’t answer right away. She just smiled, soft and a little hesitant, like they were both circling something neither of them was ready to name. Maybe the silence was safer, easier than admitting how much weight the moment really carried. Or maybe she was afraid of what may leave her lips.

They lingered for a while after that, chatting about anything and everything—city traffic, bizarre headlines, and Lena’s ongoing disbelief that Kara could pinpoint alien star maps in seconds but still wouldn’t recognize an Earth-famous actor in a movie trailer. Eventually, Lena paid the bill, though Kara insisted on covering the tip, despite Lena’s protests.

Outside, the evening air had grown cooler, the breeze tugging playfully at Kara’s hair as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Lena glanced toward the curb, her eyes catching sight of the car waiting nearby. She raised her hand in a wave. 

“Hey, Frank,” she called, her voice cutting through the hum of the city, “we’re ready to head to that team store I texted you about earlier.”

The sleek car door opened a moment later, and they slid into the back seat. For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the soft hum of the city just beyond the glass. Kara glanced out the window, then turned slightly toward Lena.

The car ride wouldn’t be long, but it was just enough for Kara to notice her shoulders were dropped. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself together lately, how the constant buzz of decisions and deadlines at CatCo, plus the calls from the League, had made even her downtime feel like work. But here, with Lena next to her with no expectations and no crises? It felt like stepping into sunlight after too many days of clouds.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Eye on the Ball

Golden light poured through the SUV’s windows as it rounded a corner, painting Kara in sunlight while shadows slipped quietly across Lena’s lap. In the driver’s seat, Frank said nothing, the only sound was the low hum of the engine and the weight of whatever hadn’t yet been said.

Kara shifted slightly in her seat, catching Lena out of the corner of her eye as she bent forward just a little, one elbow braced on her knee, the gentle glow of her phone screen lighting her features. Her thumb moved in slow, deliberate motions, probably scrolling through the team store’s hours or skimming over a message from a board member or a client that couldn’t wait.

Kara didn’t interrupt. She just watched.

There was something about the way Lena's brow furrowed when she focused, like she was solving a puzzle no one else could see. Her lips pressed together in a line of quiet determination, then relaxed, curling ever so slightly at the corners when something on the screen made her smile. Not a full grin. Just the kind of subtle, knowing expression that said she'd figured something out or caught a moment of sweetness in an otherwise busy day.

It was such a small, ordinary thing. And yet Kara felt it settle deep in her chest, quiet and centering. Like watching a sunrise through a window no one else noticed.

Rao, how had this become the best part of her day?

The thought made her heart skip. Not flying. Not saving someone. Just this . Quiet moments and the steady, familiar presence of Lena beside her. She could feel the words forming before she was ready for them, tentative but insistent.

“I don’t think I’ve said this,” She began, her voice a little softer now, gently breaking the silence that had settled between them, “but since Alex and Kelly’s wedding, I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve gotten together. These past few months... It means a lot.”

Lena looked over at her, curiosity and something warmer behind her eyes.

Kara gave a small, quiet laugh as if to soothe her own nerves. “Everything’s been so full lately. Between CatCo, the League, and just… all of it . So much responsibility, all the time.” She exhaled, slow and steady. “Half the time I don’t even realize how tightly I’m holding everything in until I’m with you.”

The silence lingered, not uncomfortable, just full. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler, more vulnerable, "When we hang out, I feel like I can actually breathe,” she said, voice quiet but sure. “I’m not Supergirl. I’m not the boss. I’m not the one who’s supposed to have all the answers. I’m just… me.”

She held Lena’s gaze, steady, like she was standing on the edge of something and choosing to leap. “It might not sound like much, but it is. It’s everything . The people in my life—my family, my friends—they love me, I know that. But even then, sometimes they still see the cape first. Or the title. Or the power. But you… you just see me.”

She smiled, small and sincere, almost shy. “With you, I never have to try so hard. I can just be Kara.”

Kara let out a breath, something caught between a laugh and a sigh. “I know I said in my text this morning that I haven’t been a great friend lately, and I meant it. I’ve been running on fumes, caught up in work and responsibilities and everything since I’ve come out. But still, you’re here. You keep showing up. And I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for that.”

Her voice lowered, her fingers curling slightly against the seat between them. “I know it wasn’t always easy between us. For a long time, it felt like we were standing on opposite sides of something too big to fix.”

She held Lena’s gaze, steady and open, like she was walking a ledge and choosing not to look down, “But we did. You did. You let me back in. You gave me the chance to be here again… to be this close to you. And I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much that means to me.”

Her hand shifted, almost brushing Lena’s. Not quite touching but close enough that the warmth was there as a quiet invitation. “I believe in you, Lena. I don’t know if I always showed it the right way, or if I said it when you needed to hear it, but I do. I always have. Even when things were broken between us, that belief never really went away.”

She smiled that soft, a little shy smile again, “What we have now, this friendship. It means more to me than I think I’ve ever said out loud. More than I know how to explain.”

Lena was quiet for a moment, her features shifting into something unguarded. Then, without a word, she reached over and rested her hand over Kara’s, giving it a steady, reassuring squeeze. 

After a moment, Lena’s voice finally broke the silence, gentle but laden with something more, “Kara…” She let the name linger, as if it carried more meaning than the simple sound. She paused, her gaze steady, before continuing. “I’ve never needed you to be anyone other than who you are. And I hope you know that.” Her fingers tightened around Kara’s hand, just slightly. “I’ve always believed in you. I always will.”

The edge of her eyes relaxed further, something vulnerable slipping through the usual guard. “I agree, yes, it wasn’t always easy between us. But what we have now …” Her voice dropped to a quieter, almost hesitant tone, the words coming slowly, like she was letting them take shape as she spoke. “It’s more than I ever imagined. More than I think either of us expected.”

She gave a small, half-smile, and the air between them shifted, just a little. “You’ve been a great friend, Kara. I don’t need thanks for that. I’m happy we’re here. Together.”

Lena’s gaze lingered on Kara’s, an unspoken depth to it, something that felt a little more than what they were saying out loud. She squeezed Kara’s hand once more, the touch light but deliberate. “You mean a lot to me. More than I think you realize.”

Kara smiled, her heart feeling fuller than it had in a long time. She could feel the weight of Lena’s words settle deep within her, hitting a part of her heart she hadn’t realized needed it. It wasn’t just what Lena had said. It was the way it made her feel, like she’d stepped into a space where she was allowed to just be. 

And as the realization sank in, Kara felt a quiet sense of pride, the kind that came from being honest with herself for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t just the courage she’d shown as Supergirl, or the countless risks she’d taken in her life. It was this. Being open, being vulnerable, and finally understanding her own heart. She wasn’t just saying these things; she knew them, and they were hers to claim.

Without thinking, she reached over, pulling Lena into a hug. The gesture was instinctive, a way to give back some of the closeness Lena had created, a way to hold onto this feeling of being truly seen.

Lena was quiet at first, surprised by the sudden embrace, but Kara could feel her relax, her body softening against hers. Kara tightened her hold slightly, unwilling to let go, as if keeping Lena close would somehow preserve this perfect, unspoken moment, this connection that meant more than she had the words for.

When they finally pulled apart, Lena gave Kara a small, teasing smile, her eyes still warm with something deeper. “Well,” she said lightly, “if you're going to keep being this disarmingly sincere, I might have to start carrying tissues.”

Kara let out a surprised laugh, grateful for the smooth pivot. “Hey, I can’t help it! I’m ‘emotionally evolved’ now as Brainy says.”

“Oh, clearly,” Lena said, dry but affectionate. “Next thing I know, CatCo will publish a column titled ‘ The Soft Side of Supergirl: Muscles, Morals, and Feelings.’”

Kara grinned, bumping her shoulder against Lena’s. “You joke, but I’m pretty sure that’s already in the works.”

The car slowed near the stadium, and Frank pulled up beside the curb where a polished glass storefront sat just beside one of the main gates. Lena grabbed her purse and gave Kara a knowing look.

“Ready to pick out something outrageously themed and possibly glitter-adjacent?” she asked.

Kara grinned. “Only if you’re prepared to try on a jersey. Or three.”

They stepped into the evening air, where the buttery smell of popcorn lingered like an old friend. Traffic hummed softly in the distance, a low, familiar murmur against the city’s pulse. The stadium towered above them, quiet and almost gentle in its stillness, waiting for the team’s return.

Around them, life carried on. A kid weaved through the crowd with a foam finger bigger than his head was, and a couple strolled by in matching caps, their laughter bubbling up easy and bright.

Inside the air conditioning hit their skin like a breath of relief, and racks of navy-and-gold merchandise stretched out in front of them: jerseys, hats, hoodies, keychains, bobble heads. A few shelves even featured limited edition player cards and mini bats with autographs.

They wandered toward the wall of baseball caps, where rows of caps in every shade of navy and gold stretched across the display. There were classic team designs, bold alternatives, and some with subtle logos, each one vying for attention. Some were perfectly fitted, others had adjustable straps, and a few even had vintage patches sewn on, adding a touch of old-school charm. The variety was dizzying, each one offering a unique way to show off team spirit or just personal style.

Lena paused mid-step, eyes drifting across the sea of logos. “You know, I’ve never really understood the draw of baseball,” she said thoughtfully. “All that standing around, then sudden bursts of action. It seems counterintuitive.”

She turned to look at Kara, intending to make some offhand remark—but the words faltered. 

Kara was grinning at a display of miniature foam fingers nestled beside a row of colorful baseball caps, her eyes dancing with unfiltered joy—the kind that didn’t ask permission to exist, just bloomed, unapologetically. She turned slightly as she reached for one, the overhead lights catching in her hair, golden like the last light before sunset. Her laugh bubbled out as she examined the foam finger, clearly charmed, completely unaware of how she drew the world’s focus like gravity.

Lena couldn’t look away. There was something about Kara in moments like this, unguarded and radiant, that left her breathless. Magnetic. Disarming.

Lena’s breath caught—just for a second.
‘God , you make it so hard not to fall for you .’ She blinked, catching herself, the thought lingering like a secret between heartbeats.

“But you look like you belong here,” she said instead, letting the words carry more weight than she meant them to. “So, explain it to me. What is it about this game that has you practically glowing just walking through merch, Kara?”

Kara blinked, a little caught off guard, but in a good way. She gave a low chuckle and adjusted her glasses, “ Sooo ,” she began, tugging gently on the brim of a nearby cap, “I used to be kind of into baseball. And softball. Back in high school and college.”

A quiet smile ghosted across Kara’s lips, laced with something almost tender, as the memories stirred, bright and aching in equal measure, "Baseball helped me feel connected to this world. It was so American . The lingo, the rules, and all the rituals. I didn’t grow up with anything like it on Krypton, but learning the game helped me understand how people here think, how they work together. It taught me about teamwork, structure, and even patience.”

A small laugh escaped her as she recalled a memory, “Jeremiah played catch with me once in the yard. Just once . Alex was so mad as she thought he was being reckless. So the next day, she dragged me out herself and taught me how to hold a bat properly.”

She glanced at Lena, her expression distant but warm, "I wasn’t really allowed to join a team for obvious reasons. But I still loved the game. I’d sneak off to the fields when they were empty, early mornings or just before sunset, and practice on my own. Batting, pitching, running bases. I listened to games on the radio like they were school lessons.”

Lena’s gaze eased, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a quiet understanding. “You were trying to blend in,” she said gently, her voice almost a whisper. “Learning how people connect here. How to be part of something, without having to stand out too much.”

Kara met her eyes, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. “Yeah,” she said, voice low but steady. “It made me feel like I didn’t have to carry the weight of being different every second. Like I could just... belong .”

As the words left her, Kara felt it—that tug in her chest she still didn’t fully understand. Maybe it was the way Lena looked at her just then, not with pity or curiosity, but with something deeper. There was a patient understanding in those emerald eyes, like Lena saw the weight Kara carried and didn’t flinch from it. Like she knew it intimately and chose to stay anyway. That look settled into Kara’s ribs like warmth and something more. Something not quite nameable began to unfurl in its wake.

She glanced away first, pretending to straighten a row of kids' baseball caps beside the foam fingers, needing something to do with her hands. The silence between them pulsed, taut and charged.

Then Lena broke it with a smile, her voice playfully curious, “So, Kara Danvers had a bit of a jock phase? I’m intrigued.”

Kara laughed, eyes bright. “Not exactly. I think it started as a way to learn how to be human. How people connect , you know? The stats were fascinating. Patterns, probabilities, outcomes. It made sense to me.” She paused, then added with a sly grin, “And...okay, maybe I had a crush on one of the pitchers.”

“ Mmm ,” Lena mused, plucking a cap from the rack and flipping it over in her hands. “Let me guess? Peach fuzz, sharp eyes, attitude for days? Threw curveballs like he was holding a grudge and had a standing detention for talking back?”

Kara let out a short, sharp laugh, clearly caught off guard, "Wow. Okay. Not even close.”

“ Oh ?” Lena arched a brow, amused, "Then enlighten me.”

Kara rubbed the back of her neck, hesitating. “She was… quiet. Really smart. Always had a book in her hand, usually something way too advanced for our curriculum. Super focused. Not ‘scary’ intense. Just really sharp and calm.”

Lena hummed thoughtfully, still examining the cap in her hands. “Tactical intellect and data-driven performance. Probably the type to re-write the team playbook in graph paper margins? I mean, who isn’t a sucker for a girl who game-theorizes her way through high school sports?”

As she spoke, Lena kept her tone casual, but her mind was racing ahead, piecing things together. ‘So Kara likes women , then. Not a surprise, not really,’ she thought, a flicker of amusement threading through her. But hearing it, watching her say it with that open smile and barely a hint of hesitation, stirred something Lena had shoved deep down , ‘ Not that it’s shocking. Krypton was always flexible about those things. ’  

Her fingers turned the cap over slowly, deliberately, as if the motion could ground her. She kept her voice steady, cool and practiced, but there was a flicker of something beneath it—a flutter in her chest that wasn’t quite nerves, wasn’t quite excitement. Something unspoken, delicate and warm, settling into place like the first light of morning.

‘Still ,’ she thought, ‘an interesting confirmation.’

And somehow, it mattered more than she’d expected. Not because it changed anything—but because it made something possible. Something she hadn’t dared to name. Not yet.

Kara, oblivious to Lena’s internal calculations, laughed, “Yeah, exactly. She was brilliant. And kind of badass in this really quiet, effortless way.”

Lena smiled lightly, the brim of the cap brushing her fingers. “Sounds like she left quite the impression.”

A small silence stretched between them, Kara caught up in the memory, and Lena quietly absorbed every word.
"She, um... she wore a lot of blazers, too," Kara said after a moment, her voice a little quieter—then froze.

Oh.

The realization hit mid-sentence, like stepping off a curb that wasn’t there. It caught her breath more than it should have. Her eyes flicked to Lena, who stood a few steps away, completely unaware—browsing calmly, the lighting catching the rich maroon of her very stylish blazer.

Kara’s stomach dipped.

Oh no .

That wasn’t just a blazer comment.

She scrambled mentally, trying to walk it back, ‘ I didn’t mean it like that , it’s just fashion , blazers are a completely normal thing to notice , lots of people wear them, it’s not a thing —,’

Except it was. And had been. For a while.

Because it wasn’t just the blazer. It was the way Lena looked in it. The way Kara always noticed. 

Kara blinked hard, dragging her eyes away before her brain could supply any more evidence.

Oh no , indeed.
Lena glanced over, catching the shift in Kara’s posture—the stiff shoulders, the sudden quiet. Her lips curved slightly, curious.

"That’s a pretty specific memory," she said, voice light but teasing. "Did she also have a thing for sharp heels? The kind that make you look twice, even when you’re trying not to?"

Kara blinked. Hard.

Her mouth opened. Closed. “No! I mean—maybe? I don’t—I wasn’t—”

She stopped herself, mortified.

Lena just watched her, one brow lifted and a quiet recognition behind her amusement.

Her emerald eyes sparkling with mischief, “Funny how some habits are hard to shake, huh? Or maybe they’re just... impossible to resist .”

Kara flushed a deep pink that was bordering on red now, “Okay, well, not entirely . I mean, my actual dating history is kind of…”
“A detour through National City’s premier frat boy registry?” Lena offered sweetly.

Kara gasped. “That’s—that’s not fair. They weren’t all frat boys!”

Lena tilted her head, pretending to think. “Name one who didn’t own a novelty beer hat.”

Kara looked skyward, struggling. “Mon-El matured!”

Lena raised an eyebrow. “He once tried to toast a Pop-Tart with his heat vision.”

“That was one time! And one of them was into marine biology!”

“He had a fish tank, Kara.”

“It was a really well-maintained fish tank!”

Lena grinned. “With one fish.”

“It was a rescue ! He was emotionally invested!”

Lena chuckled, shaking her head. “You have such a soft spot for lost causes.”

Kara crossed her arms. “Oh, and you don’t?”

Lena gave her a knowing look, “I’m standing in a sports store, helping you pick out a baseball outfit for an outing you nearly forgot, aren’t I?”

Kara narrowed her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Careful. That almost sounded like flirting.”

Lena’s voice dipped, gentle but unmistakably playful, "Almost?”

Kara flushed, caught somewhere between flustered and grinning, “I—well—you did insult my taste in exes a minute ago, so…”

Lena’s smile curved, amused and warm. “Mm. That was before you went full knight-in-shining-armor over a guy balancing fish and shame."

Kara rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop her grin from returning. They lingered there for a moment, the buzz of the store fading behind them. Lena’s gaze flicked down to Kara’s mouth, then back up, her smile lingering now in a quieter way.

Then Kara suddenly turned, eyes locking on a nearby display, afraid to look in those jade eyes, “Oh my Rao,” she blurted suddenly, grabbing Lena’s sleeve. “Look at these fanny packs. So many zippers.”

Lena snorted. “Flawless segue.”

“I’m just saying,” Kara said, grabbing a neon yellow one like it was a shield, “these are peak practicality. Athletes wear them all the time. Fashionable. Functional. Perfect for snacks, sunscreen, gum. Maybe even a battery pack!”

“A true multitasker,” Lena said, biting back a grin. “You juggle national crises, alien diplomacy, and now… accessories with twelve compartments?”

Kara clutched the fanny pack to her chest like it was sacred. “I contain multitudes.”

Lena tilted her head, amused. “You contain half a granola bar, three pens, and a stress ball-shaped like a pug with one eye…”

“That stress pug is a coping tool, ” Kara said with mock offense. “Besides, someone has to be prepared when I inevitably get pulled into a time rift or a budget meeting.”

“Ah yes,” Lena said dryly. “The two great forces of chaos: wormholes and quarterly reports.”

Kara held up two fanny packs with a flourish. “So, navy or gold? Because either way, I’m walking into that stadium ready for anything. Alien attack, hot dog emergency, you name it.”

Lena let her eyes flick over Kara’s very serious fanny pack defense. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Prepared,” Kara corrected, cheeks glowing.

Lena let the silence linger, just long enough to make it meaningful. Then, with a faintly smug smile, she slipped the cap onto her head and said, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Danvers.”

Kara turned away, mumbling something about fanny packs and sunscreen, clearly already regretting every word about her high school crush.

Lena watched her go, the smile lingering.

Smart. Intense. Blazers.

She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head like she could dismiss the thought. But it still sat there, unshaken.

It wasn’t a shock—not really. She’d suspected. Hoped, maybe. But now? Now it had weight. Shape.

And it made her wonder: What if this wasn’t just playful banter? What if Kara wasn’t just a distant possibility tucked behind friendship and timing and fear? What if… she wanted more?

The thought struck her like a fastball straight down the middle—unexpected and impossible to ignore.

Her hand went up in a near-involuntary facepalm. ‘ Really, Luthor? Baseball metaphors? For Kara?’ She bit back a wry smirk, ‘ You’re supposed to be a genius, not some lovesick fan girl.’

Her chest tightened, tangled between hope and that familiar stab of fear. Wanting Kara wasn’t just a crush, it was a gamble. The kind that could blow up everything comfortable and safe between them. The kind that could leave her empty.

She glanced at Kara again, heart hammering like an out-of-control drum line. The door wasn’t just unlocked, it was cracked wide open. And here she was, scared stiff to walk through. But hell, maybe she was ready to try anyway.

Their quiet moment stretched between them, a fragile bubble of possibility. Slowly, they drifted together through the racks, shoulder to shoulder, the occasional brush of their hands sending unexpected sparks up Lena’s arm as they reached for the same t-shirt or jersey.

“Kind of wish I paid more attention to baseball recently. I fell off once Supergirl stuff took over,” Kara’s words came quietly, “It felt selfish, I guess. Spending time watching a game when I could hear a fire four blocks away.”

Lena didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re allowed to have joy, Kara. Especially the kind with overpriced stadium nachos and over enthusiastic mascots.”

Kara smiled. “I’m glad National City finally has a team. And that I get to go with you. Maybe… maybe we can make it a thing? Go to more games…just us?”

Kara’s mind stumbled over the words, heart fluttering like it was trying to catch up. Just Lena and me. Spending more time together. Hanging out. Totally not a date, of course. Definitely not.

Lena fought the urge to smile too widely. “Well, Kara, I’m pretty sure I sponsored the Children’s Hospital suite—the one where sick kids and their families get to come with healthcare staff.”

Kara shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. “Figures that you’re one behind that, Lee. I’ve seen the stories about families in that suite, and it’s such a great initiative.”

Lena smiled as she picked imaginary lint off a Sentinel jacket, pleased but trying to remain casual. “I try. And like I said, I might be able to wrangle us some season tickets if you’re up for it.”

Kara bumped her shoulder gently against Lena’s. “Best plus one ever,” she said, her smile widening.

Lena raised an eyebrow, glancing at Kara sideways. “I’m sure you’re just in it for the season tickets.”

Kara laughed, but then her gaze caught on a nearby rack of Sentinels jerseys, her expression lighting up with sudden, almost childlike excitement, "Wait—hang on. I need to check something.”

Lena followed her, watching with fond amusement as Kara dug through the options with laser focus. Kara grabbed a navy blue jersey, holding it up across her frame and stretching the sleeves experimentally over her arms. She flexed a little, testing the material.

"Yeah, this’ll work," Kara said, nodding to herself. "Gotta make sure it moves."

Lena tilted her head, one brow arching higher, "You're more worried about the jersey surviving your arms than anything else, aren't you?"

Kara smirked. “Can you blame me? Between League workouts and red sun training drills, I woke up one morning and suddenly I was busting seams like a badly written comic book.”

She flexed again, just enough to make it obvious. The jersey stretched across her arms, snug over her shoulders.

Lena opened her mouth, then shut it again. Kara didn’t miss the almost inaudible hitch in her breath, and underneath it, the sudden quickening of her heartbeat.

It was subtle. A flutter. A skip.

It hit Kara like a spark to dry kindling.

She tried to play it off with a shrug, but her grin was crooked. “What? It’s a full-time job keeping my wardrobe from catastrophic failure.”

Lena cleared her throat, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Tragic. All that strength. All that definition. Must be exhausting, being such a handful.”

Kara raised an eyebrow. “Are we still talking about my clothes?”

Lena smiled, slow and deliberate. “I plead the fifth.”

Kara’s heart stumbled in her chest. Her super hearing caught the uptick in Lena’s pulse—and Rao help her, it made her want to test every button-down she owned.

She forced herself to breathe, to focus. Super hearing was not supposed to be this… intimate. Or this distracting.

Across from her, Lena shook her head and let out a quiet laugh—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Then, with a little too much intention, she plucked a jersey from the rack, turning it over in her hands like it was the most fascinating thing in the store. Distraction from thinking about those arms. Plain and simple.

"Think I could pull this off?"

Kara’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary. The thought came uninvited and unfiltered: You could pull off just about anything.

She cleared her throat, covering it with a quick smile. “Let’s find out! There’s a dressing room over there.”

Without missing a beat, Lena slipped off her blazer and handed it to Kara. "Hold this?"

Kara caught it easily, then nearly fumbled it when she realized Lena was wearing a sleeveless blouse underneath. The tailored lines of it showed off just enough of Lena’s shoulders and arms that Kara had to blink fast and pretend she wasn’t staring.

Lena disappeared into the fitting room, leaving Kara standing there, holding the neatly folded blazer like it was the most important object on Earth.

A few moments later, Lena stepped out again, tugging the navy jersey into place. She adjusted it casually in the mirror, smoothing it down, then glanced back over her shoulder.

"So?" Lena asked lightly. "What's the verdict?"

Kara opened her mouth and forgot how speaking worked for a second.

"You—" she started, voice cracking embarrassingly. She coughed and tried again.
"You look... uh... really good. I mean you always look good, but this is... different. Not bad-different! Just—uh—sporty-different? Really good sporty-different?"

Lena turned slightly, watching her, amused.

Kara flailed for a lifeline. "I mean, you’re basically a fashion icon, Lee! You could wear a trash bag and people would call it a movement!"

Lena's lips curved into a wicked little smile. "A movement, huh?"

Kara nodded a bit too enthusiastically, still clutching the blazer like a security blanket. "Yup! Instant runway. Everyone else would just have to catch up."

Lena chuckled under her breath, stepping closer. She reached out and gently took the blazer from Kara’s arms, her fingers gliding against Kara’s with a softness that felt both casual and not at all accidental. Her gaze flicked up, something tender and unreadable passing between them.

“Careful, Danvers,” she said lightly, slipping the blazer over her arm as she turned toward the fitting room. “Keep that up, and I might get used to you hyping me up before every outfit change.”

Kara smiled, just shy of sheepish, but there was something tender behind it. Something unspoken.

“Hey, someone’s gotta remind you how amazing you are,” she said, quieter now, "Might as well be me.”

Lena paused for just a breath, lips curving into something private, and then slipped behind the curtain.

Left alone, Kara exhaled shakily, her gaze lingering on the spot where Lena had just stood. Her fingers brushed over her palm, as if she could still feel the trace of Lena’s touch there. Quietly, she muttered to herself, “… This is a terrible crush.”

From behind the curtain, Lena’s voice rang out, amused and sharp: “Did you say something?”

Kara froze, eyes going wide. She cleared her throat, grasping for an excuse. “Uh—no! I was just, uh... not in a rush! Take your time. I’m just... gonna, uh, look at these... cool socks!”

She winced as the words left her mouth, then quickly turned to the nearest sock display, shaking her head at herself.

Lena’s laugh echoed with a lilt from behind the dressing room curtain, and Kara couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips, warmth blooming under her skin. She had started toward the sock display with the best of intentions—but promptly detoured at the sight of a shelf marked Junior Sentinels Fan Zone.

Lena stepped out of the fitting room five minutes later, dressed again in her blazer, holding a folded navy jersey over one arm and a matching cap in her other hand. She scanned the nearby aisles, expecting to find Kara exactly where she’d left her and willing herself to feign deep interest in socks.

Instead, she spotted her a few steps away in the Junior Fan Zone section, standing perfectly still, cradling a small pile of items with a crease of intense focus between her brows. In Kara’s arms: a tiny team jersey, a plush hawk mascot, and what looked like a sparkly blue-and-silver backpack shaped like the Sentinels’ avian logo. She was currently frozen mid-stare between two nearly identical youth water bottles, as if the fate of the multiverse hinged on whether Esme would prefer the one with the straw or the one that glowed.

Lena lingered for a moment, quietly watching her.

There were a hundred things she could say—witty, dry, pointed—but they all got caught behind the warmth rising in her chest. Kara Danvers, world-saver, team leader, absolute chaos magnet… was utterly consumed by the task of choosing the perfect bottle for a seven-year-old.

Eventually, Lena stepped closer, voice light. “Well,” she said, eyeing the pile with a faint smirk, “will Kelly and Alex even have room for all of this?”

Kara startled a little, blinking up from her bottle standoff. “Oh! Uh—maybe? Hopefully?” She glanced down at the bundle in her arms, then back at Lena with a sheepish grin.
“Alex has been itching to get some Sentinel merch since, you know… branding.” Kara gave a small shrug. “Figured I’d help her get a head start on the family legacy.”

Lena laughed, unrestrained and surprised, the sound so genuine it tugged something loose in Kara’s chest.

“Family legacy,” Lena repeated, her gaze drifting over the display again.

Kara grinned and held up two bottles. “Okay, but real question. Straw or glow-in-the-dark? Esme could go either way.”

Lena reached for the glowing one, turning it over in her hands with a thoughtful smile.

“She has those glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, remember?” Lena said, voice warmer now. “She dragged me in to show them off like it was her personal planetarium.”

Kara chuckled, the edges of her eyes crinkling with affection, “I helped her put them up. She wanted it to look like Dyral's night sky. We spent hours cross-referencing star maps and arguing over which ones were the brightest.”

Lena’s gaze lingered on her. “You recreated her home world for her.”

Kara shrugged, a little sheepish. “Figured if I couldn’t bring her there, I could bring a piece of it here.”

Lena handed the bottle back, her smile quiet and sure. “Then yeah. She’s definitely a glow-in-the-dark kind of kid.”

Kara’s grin turned downright radiant. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Lena didn’t say it, but as Kara beamed, holding the bottle like she was already picturing Esme’s face lighting up, a warmth bloomed in Lena’s chest.

Not just fondness. Not just affection. Something quieter. Deeper.

‘You’d be a wonderful mother.’

The thought slipped in with an ease that surprised her.
It wasn’t jarring or forced — it felt natural, almost like it had always been waiting beneath everything else she felt.
For a moment, Lena let herself linger there, startled by how comfortably the idea settled.
Then she blinked, looked away, and let the feeling fold quietly back inside.

Shaking off the moment, she turned back just in time to see Kara juggling her growing pile of Sentinel merch. Two hats, a fanny pack, a plush mascot, a jersey, and the glow-in-the-dark water bottle—each carefully selected and handled with a kind of joyful care.

By the time they reached the register, Kara’s arms were full. She carefully set each item on the counter while Lena stood close, placing her own purchases beside Kara’s. Without a word, Lena caught Kara’s eye and gave a subtle nod, her posture relaxed but confident—she was taking care of this.

The cashier began scanning the items with a friendly smile. “Nice picks. That hat is a classic, and that jersey? Sharp choice.” He glanced up at Lena, “And that fanny pack—practical and stylish. You know your game day essentials.”

Kara leaned in, smiling. “Oh, the fanny pack is a must. Hands-free and ready for snacks.”

The cashier chuckled as he scanned Kara’s navy blue jersey and matching hat. “Looks like someone’s gearing up for a serious fan experience.”

Finally, his eyes lit up as he bagged the glow-in-the-dark water bottle. “And this one? Perfect for kids. Glow-in-the-dark—fun and functional.” The cashier gave them a bright smile, “Looks like someone’s in for a treat. Do you want to sign up for the Junior Sentinel Club while you’re at it? It comes with a badge, stickers, and game-day perks. Perfect for kids.”

Kara perked up. “Oh, totally! Esme’s going to flip! She’s obsessed with mascots lately. She’s even got a sketch taped to her wall and everything—”

The cashier chuckled warmly, stepping back to grab a child-sized bag that was already full, scanned it quickly, then placed it into a larger bag. He glanced up at them again, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s adorable. You two must be amazing moms.”

Kara blinked, her smile flickering into startled confusion. “Oh, she’s not—uh—”

But Lena stepped in smoothly, placing a hand lightly on Kara’s back as she guided them away. “Thanks again,” she said to the cashier, leading them out before Kara could finish the sentence.

Frank was already pulling the car around by the time they stepped outside. Kara adjusted both straps over her shoulders—one bag filled with all the goodies for Esme, the other cradling her jersey, cap, and the now-iconic fanny pack.

Frank popped the trunk, but Kara waved him off. “These are coming with me.”

He nodded, holding the door open as she climbed in. “No problem, Ms. Zor-El. Or Ms. Danvers. Or… whatever you prefer, Kara.”

Kara laughed, tucking the bags carefully at her feet. “Thanks, Frank. Oh—actually, any chance you could drop me at Alex’s? They’re making lasagna tonight, and I’d rather not miss the good part.”

Frank grinned. “Lasagna night? Say no more.”

Lena slid in beside her, smoothing her skirt and thanking Frank with a polite nod. The door clicked shut, sealing them into the quiet hum of the city as it began to light up for the night.

Kara sat back, tugging Esme’s bag a little closer to her lap, her fingers absently finding the mascot plush. The image from earlier replayed in her head—the sales clerk's teasing assumption, Lena's subtle smirk.

It had been nothing. A misunderstanding. A joke. Yet, her brain hadn’t treated it like one.
For half a second, it had conjured something else entirely: her and Lena standing in the sun, fingers interlaced behind a giggling blur of a child—not Esme, not anyone real, but someone made up of freckles and wide eyes and belonging.

Kara’s stomach twisted. Guilt flickered low and sharp.
She shouldn’t think like that. Not when things were good —not when Lena was still just her best friend. Lena was her best friend. Kara already knew her feelings ran deeper. But Lena… Lena was still a question she hadn’t dared to ask out loud.

She cleared her throat and forced a smile, playing it off like it had never happened.

It wasn’t until they were fully in motion, the other bags nestled at their feet and the city flickering awake around them, that she exhaled a shaky laugh, ears still flushed.

“He thought we were…” Kara shook her head. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that, obviously, it’s just… funny.”

Lena glanced over, her expression unreadable, but her voice low and curious. “Is it?”

Kara blinked. “I just meant it was… unexpected .”

Lena hummed, a small smile forming, like she’d just filed something away for later. “Hmm. I suppose I’ve heard stranger assumptions.”

There was something dry in her voice, but not dismissive. If anything, it sounded like she was turning the thought over in her mind—then setting it gently aside, storing it somewhere quiet and private. The same way Kara had.

The lull that followed felt dense, not with discomfort, but with unspoken thoughts. Like both of them were holding onto something unspoken.

Lena kept her eyes on the road, but her thoughts had already drifted. It was too easy to imagine what Kara had danced around—too easy to picture a future she didn’t dare name. A dangerous little daydream tucked between traffic lights and the warmth of Kara’s smile. One she folded up and placed in the same drawer as almost every other.

They rode in that silence for a while, the city slipping by in soft blurs beyond the glass. Kara cradled the hawk mascot in her lap, absentmindedly rubbing a wing between her fingers.

Lena glanced over. “You really care about this, don’t you?”

Kara shrugged, her voice softer now. “I think about that kind of stuff more these days. Stuff I didn’t get to have growing up. I want her to have it all. Junk food, cool souvenirs, late nights watching movies after eating pizza while she stays over.”

Lena smiled as something unexpectedly warm bloomed in her chest. “That’s really sweet, Kara.”

Kara kept fiddling with the plush, “Esme’s been through so much already. I don’t know, maybe I just want to be a part of all the good she gets next. A few more memories that feel like freedom instead of fighting.”

There it was again. That flutter in Lena’s chest, delicate but certain, like her heart was reaching out before she could reel it in.

She looked out the window instead, ‘ You’re not in love with her,’ her mind whispered, ‘ You’re just impressed. And charmed. And maybe—oh, God .’

Kara glanced over. “What?”

Lena blinked, caught. “Nothing. Just, you're excellent with her. I forget that sometimes.”

“She makes it easy,” Kara said, her voice threaded with feeling, “And I don’t know… lately I’ve been craving things that feel a little more grounded. Less League crises, more hotdogs in the nosebleed seats. Safe to say, I do savor the free time I have nowadays.”

Lena raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? Thinking of the future when things slow down? Has the League got their 401k’s set up yet?”

Kara laughed, rolling her eyes. “If they do, I’m pretty sure Batwoman’s managing them in offshore accounts.”

Lena chuckled, but then her smile softened as she glanced Kara’s way. “I would’ve figured it’d be easier now that you’re not juggling the whole double-life thing anymore. You could always text me to manufacture an emergency if you need a break. I’m excellent at pulling you out of boring meetings.”

Kara smiled, fingers twitching as she absently toyed with the edge of her sleeve, a small restless rhythm she couldn’t quite stop, "Tempting offer.”

Her gaze drifted out the window, the blur of passing lights turning golden against the glass. The moment stretched and in it, a flicker of something surfaced again. A quiet apartment. A child laughing in the next room. Lena beside her, hair mussed from sleep, mug in hand. Easy. Real. The kind of life Kara never used to let herself want.

She blinked hard, pushing it down with a practiced ease that didn’t quite reach her heart.

When they pulled up outside Alex and Kelly’s place, Kara opened the door with one of the merch bags in hand.

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” she asked, "Esme's probably already built a pillow fortress and crowned herself ‘Empress of the Living Room’ and she’s not exactly known for sharing the throne.”

Lena smiled. “Tempting, but I’ve got a pile of reports waiting for me at home. Rain check?”

“Rain check,” Kara agreed.

They hugged, and yeah, maybe it was a little too long for a casual goodbye. Lena’s fingers lingered on Kara’s shoulder as they pulled apart, and Kara ducked her head, smiling like it snuck up on her.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” she said.

The edges of Lena’s smile grew fond. “Anytime.”

Kara slid out, not noticing that the second bag she grabbed wasn’t hers. 

The car was quiet after Kara got out, the door clicking shut with a softness that somehow still echoed. Lena watched her walk up the path to Alex and Kelly’s house, Esme already barreling out the front door with a squeal of “Aunt Kara!” that made Lena smile despite herself.

She didn’t roll the window down. Didn’t interrupt. She just watched.

Watched as Kara knelt to scoop Esme up, as Alex waved from the porch, as Kelly laughed at something Lena couldn’t hear. It was a picture she’d once only ever seen from the outside—a kind of warmth and chaos she didn’t grow up with. The kind she thought she’d always have to admire from a distance.

Now, she was in it.

Frank pulled the car back onto the road a minute later, smooth and wordless as always. Lena leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, the faint hum of the engine filling the silence.

She folded her hands in her lap, gaze distant.

She didn’t know when it happened. When she stopped being “Lena Luthor, Kara’s brilliant, complicated friend” and became Lena , the one Esme called her fairy godmother, the one Kelly hugged without hesitation, the one Alex texted memes to at midnight.

The one Kara wanted in the stands beside her, eating hot dogs and pretending to understand baseball.

Being part of this family had reshaped her in ways she didn’t have words for. It steadied her. Softened the sharpest parts. She didn’t feel like an outsider anymore—not really. But she also didn’t know where the lines were now. Or if she was imagining the ones that had quietly started to blur.

She wanted more.

That was the truth of it, quiet and heavy in her chest. She wanted this life, not just as the friend or the godmother or the honorary aunt—but as something else. Something she couldn’t quite reach for without risking everything she already had.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Between the Lines

Lena slipped out of her heels the moment she stepped inside her penthouse, the soft hush of the door closing behind her settling into the quiet like a sigh. She shrugged out of her blazer, draping it across the back of a nearby chair, then padded barefoot across the hardwood toward her bedroom, rolling her neck out of habit.

A few minutes later, she reemerged in soft black joggers and a fitted cotton tee, still very much Lena, but relaxed in a way that signaled she was done for the day. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she stepped into the living room and settled onto the couch beside the shopping bag.

She reached in, ready to put away the merchandise they had picked out: two Sentinels jerseys she had insisted on buying for herself, a white one and a navy. Not only that, but she had seen the way Kara had looked at her in that navy blue, and Lena wasn’t blind. Not really. Maybe she had been pretending, for both their sakes.

Sorting through the bag, she pulled out the white jersey, then both of the hats she got to match the jerseys. And her fanny pack, the sleek navy one she’d picked half-jokingly, half-practically after Kara’s attempt to pivot from her high school memories.

But then, when Lena pulled out the navy jersey, she stilled.

It looked like the others at first: same logo, same fabric, same sharp colors. But this one was slightly different. A bit roomier through the shoulders. The sleeves hung just a little lower on the upper arm, nearing the elbow. Subtle, but unmistakable once she noticed.

Lena remembered it vividly. Kara holding the navy jersey up to herself, stretching the sleeves to test the fabric, casually flexing as she commented on her arms with that signature smirk. It hadn’t even been for show, but Lena had still caught herself staring, unexpectedly flustered by the whole thing. 

Now, holding the jersey in her hands, Lena let out a quiet, amused breath.
“This is definitely not mine,” she murmured.

She exhaled, the sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a smile, fingers trailing along the edge of the jersey’s collar. She could text Kara. Say she’d accidentally grabbed the wrong bag in the shuffle and offer to drop it off tomorrow, no big deal.

But even as the thought took shape, it didn’t sit right. Felt too distant.
Her phone stayed on the counter, untouched.

Lena didn’t reach for it. Her eyes lingered on the navy blue fabric in her hands, familiar in a way that stirred something quiet and tender inside her. The decision didn’t feel like a decision at all.

She glanced out the windows of her balcony. 

The sun was just starting to dip toward the horizon, an hour shy of sunset. Dinner wouldn’t have started yet at Alex and Kelly’s.
If she left now, she could make it before the lasagna hit the table.

And if she was being honest with herself, which thanks to therapy she was at least trying to be lately, the idea of spending the rest of the evening alone, surrounded by silence, felt less like rest and more like exile.

So Lena carefully placed everything that was hers on the coffee table and then put Kara’s jersey back in the bag, grabbed her keys, and turned right back around.
Out the door with purpose, with the start of a smile she didn’t bother to hide.

Not even an hour after saying goodbye to Lena outside the Danvers’ place, Kara was standing in Alex and Kelly’s living room, wearing a navy Sentinel jersey and frowning slightly.  The white tank top she’d worn beneath her work blouse was visible now, the jersey hanging open over it.

“I swear I grabbed the right bag,” she muttered, looking down at the sleeves. Sliding a finger under the edge of her left arm, she found resistance that she knew too well of lately. “But this is definitely not mine.”

Alex raised an eyebrow from her spot on the couch, adjusting the cushions Esme had scrambled earlier. She picked up Kara’s sweater from where it had been tossed and folded it neatly, her fingers pausing briefly at the frayed cuffs.

“These poor cuffs never stood a chance,” she said not unkindly, brushing her thumb over the worn edges before meeting Kara’s eyes. “Let me guess, the jersey’s feeling a bit tight and you’re fidgeting more than usual, huh?”

“Just a bit,” Kara said slowly, deliberately avoiding Alex’s glance. “I picked a looser cut, so my arms wouldn’t feel like they were going to suffocate.”

Kelly stepped out from the kitchen, took one look, and grinned. “Kara, please tell me you didn’t squeeze yourself into Lena’s by accident.

“I—oh. Oh, no .”

Before Kara could fully spiral into overthinking the implications of ‘I took Lena’s jersey by accident,’ the doorbell rang.

Alex opened the door just as Kara opened her mouth to respond, a sly grin already tugging at her lips. “Speak of the devil,” she said, voice light with amusement.

“Lena?” Kara said, her face lighting up in surprise.

“She says, feigning surprise,” Lena said, voice dry but fond as she stepped in without hesitation, wrapping Alex in a brief but genuine hug before pulling back with a faint smile.

 Holding up the familiar white-and-navy bag, she added, “Guess who brought home a jersey clearly designed for someone who can bench press a city bus?”

Kara peeked around the corner, already sheepish, her cheeks dusted with pink, “Oops?”

Lena stepped inside, ready with a clever retort—only for the words to abandon her the moment she caught sight of Kara.

Kara was wearing it.

Her jersey. The one Lena had debated buying for ten full minutes because it was a little too snug, a little too much —but she’d liked the way it made her feel. Confident. Bold. Maybe even a little reckless.

And on Kara?

It looked unfairly good. Sinful, almost. Like the jersey had fallen in love mid-stitch, weaving itself to fit Kara and Kara alone. It clung not just to her body but to the quiet gravity she carried, effortless, impossible to look away from.

The fabric stretched taut across her shoulders, as if clutching on for dear life, the sleeves molding perfectly to biceps that flexed with every casual movement.

Lena’s mouth suddenly went dry.

And Kara, completely unaware, tugged at the hem with the effortless grace of someone unraveling the woman standing before her, thread by careful, maddening thread.

Lena blinked. Once. Twice. Her brain, usually so sharp, fizzled into static, because all at once the image of Kara smiling like that in her clothes, in her home, slid into that locked-away place in her heart. The one that dreamed in stolen glances and maybes and what ifs.

“It fits nice,” Kara said, turning side to side. “But the arms —” She gave a light flex, like punctuation.
The sleeves tugged tighter as her biceps shifted beneath the fabric, smooth and solid, like they were just waiting for an excuse to tear through the seams. It wasn’t even a dramatic move, just the slightest contraction, muscles bunching with practiced ease, like strength came as naturally to her as breathing.

Lena’s eyes tracked the motion involuntarily. Her thoughts did not survive the trip.

Thoughts? 404. Nowhere to be found. Probably lost somewhere in the Phantom Zone.

She blinked. Then blinked again. Her mouth opened like it had something clever to contribute.

Nothing. Not even a syllable. Just static and a vaguely embarrassing sense of awe.

A full thirty seconds passed, plenty of time for her inner monologue to dissolve into white noise, static panic, and a deafening, ‘ do not stare at her arms’ chant repeating like a fire drill through her skull.

“ How is that fair? She’s always been this maddening blend of softness and strength, sunlight wrapped around steel. And now, standing there in Lena’s jersey, she looked like every impossible feeling Lena had been trying to keep quiet. Did she have to look like that with those honest blue eyes blinking at her like she hadn’t just stolen the air from the room? ”

“ God , she doesn’t even know she’s doing it .”

“Thirsty?” Kelly asked casually from the kitchen doorway, her eyes never leaving Lena’s shell-shocked expression.

Lena startled so hard she nearly dropped the bag with Kara’s jersey.

 “ What ? No —I mean, yes , water— wait —”

Alex snorted into her drink, "Careful, Luthor. She already ripped the sleeves off one flannel this week.”

“I warned you that shirt was doomed,” Kara said brightly, oblivious to the chaos in her wake.

“And now it’s a sleeveless crop top,” Alex added, “You're welcome Earth.”

Esme came bounding into the room, a whirlwind of excitement that neatly rescued Kara from further teasing. In her hands was a sparkly blue-and-gold backpack shaped like the Sentinels’ hawk logo, which she held aloft like a trophy.

“Aunt Lena! Look what Aunt Kara got me!”

Lena, still mentally buffering from the image of Kara in her jersey, sleeves clinging to those unfairly sculpted arms, gave the mental equivalent of a reboot and managed, “Oh! Let me see!”

Beaming, Esme pulled a cap from the bag and plopped it on backwards with practiced flair. The oversized foam finger was quickly on her hand, waving for emphasis.

“I’m in the Junior Sentry Club!” she announced proudly.

“Well, that much is clear,” Lena said, kneeling to her level with a smile. “You look like a true superfan.”
Esme nodded seriously, “I don’t really understand baseball yet, but Kara’s been teaching me stuff. She made this big diagram with the couch cushions about strikes and bases and something called a ‘balk,’ but honestly, I was mostly paying attention because she brought this foam finger.”
Kara crouched down to Esme’s level and ruffled her hair gently. 

“You’re picking it up faster than you think. It’s okay to be confused, even the pros had to start somewhere.”
She crossed her small arms, "I still don’t get why people run in circles just to end up where they started. But yelling is fun. And so are nachos.”
Lena chuckled, "You'll fit right in.”
Esme gave a tiny smirk.

“Aunt Kara says that too.”

Just then, Kelly called from the kitchen, asking for a little help. With a quick “Coming!” Esme took off, foam finger bouncing as she disappeared around the corner.

Lena finally turned back to Kara. Her voice, when it came, was lighter and affectionate.

“Well,” she said, gesturing vaguely at Kara in her jersey, “I’d say it suits you, but I don’t want to inflate your ego.”

Alex snorted from the couch.

“Too late,” she muttered

Her eyes darted between Lena and Kara, a smug tilt to her head and a barely concealed smile playing at her lips, like she was silently saying, ‘ I see exactly what’s going on here. ’

Kara gave a sheepish smile, hands lightly tugging at the hem, "It really does fit nice. Just, uh, the arms—”

“Yeah,” Lena murmured, trying to stop her brain from short-circuiting again, eyes flicking to the way the seams hugged Kara’s biceps, “I… noticed.”

Kara cleared her throat, cheeks warming, "Honestly, it’d look better on you anyway.”

Alex coughed pointedly, then gave Kara a knowing look like she was silently asking, ‘ Do I need to leave so you two can have a private moment? ’

She laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Let me get this off before I owe you a new one.”

Being slow and deliberate so as not to tear anything, Kara’s fingers unfastened the last couple of buttons at the bottom of the jersey. Then, with a kind of reverence that felt entirely unfair, she eased one arm out, then the other, peeling the fabric sideways off her shoulders. Her undershirt shifted with the motion, riding up just enough to flash a sliver of skin before she tugged it all back into place.

She moved like she was trying not to damage it—like she wasn’t actively dismantling Lena’s nervous system one inch at a time.

Lena’s eyes tracked the motion without meaning to, her mouth going dry as the jersey slipped free and Kara folded it with casual care.

It should’ve been harmless. It was a jersey. A simple piece of sports clothing.

But Kara had worn it like it belonged to her. Had taken it off like it was sacred.

And Lena? Lena was barely holding on.

Alex’s voice cut in, dry as ever. 

“Well. That was the gentlest striptease I’ve ever seen.”

Lena gasped, caught off guard, her breath hitching as heat rushed to her cheeks. She quickly glanced away, then slipped into the practiced, composed expression she had perfected over the years, doing her best to mask the flicker of surprise and the softer feelings stirring beneath.

From the kitchen doorway, Kelly stifled a laugh, barely hiding her amusement.

“I was being careful!” Kara protested, blushing as she placed the folded jersey on the couch.

“Sure you were,” Alex smirked. “Lena, you okay over there? ”

“I’m fine,” Lena said, voice a touch too high-pitched to be convincing.

Kara looked at her, concerned, "Are you sure? You look a little warm.”

“I’m fine,” Lena repeated. She absolutely was not fine.

Esme popped back in, foam finger raised, “Aunt Lena your face is red.”

Lena stared at the child like she’d just committed a war crime.

Kara, oblivious or choosing to be, took the bag from Lena’s outstretched hand with an easy smile, then tugged on the looser, more breathable jersey she found inside.

“Try not to float away in this one,” Lena murmured, her voice mostly recovered but still too soft around the edges.

“Ahh,” Kara sighed contentedly, smoothing the hem, "Now this feels right.”

She gave a quick, playful flex just once as if appreciating the arm space, then grinned at the way the fabric moved more easily.

Kelly poked her head around the corner. “Dinner’s about ten minutes out! Lena, kitchen duty with me. The rest of you hoodlums— set the table, now.”

Alex groaned but saluted, "Yes, chef.”

Kara grinned as she lifted Esme up, earning a delighted giggle that echoed through the room.

Lena lingered a moment longer, just long enough to catch the curve of that smile. Then she turned toward the kitchen, spine straight, steps steady, like she hadn’t just been completely undone by the sight of it.

Like she wasn’t still holding it together with sheer force of will.

The evening sun spilled through the kitchen windows, casting everything in a golden glow as Kelly pulled a casserole dish from the oven. The scent of roasted garlic, basil, and bubbling cheese filled the air. Comfort food at its most basic.

Lena drifted to the breakfast bar, eyeing the two other lasagna trays already cooling beside a massive salad bowl bursting with toppings.

“Esme loves picking the baby tomatoes,” Kelly said, tossing a handful of croutons on top with a knowing smile.

Lena smiled faintly. “She takes it very seriously.”

She could still picture Esme, hands planted firmly on her hips like a tiny forewoman, giving a solemn tour of the raised beds just a week after the Danvers moved in, pointing out the ‘really important’ baby tomatoes with the utmost seriousness and warning not to eat the green ones “unless you’re a squirrel.”

Kelly glanced over, voice light but unmistakably pointed. 

“So... are you ever going to tell her?”

Lena let out a quiet breath and focused intently on the salad, “Tell who what? That Esme’s tomatoes are thriving? I think she already knows.”

Kelly raised an eyebrow. “Don’t make me say her name like she’s Voldemort.”

Lena didn’t answer right away, instead fussing unnecessarily with the salad, tossing it a little too intently.

Kelly waited, slinging a towel over her shoulder and resting a hand on her hip.

Lena let out a slow breath, her gaze dropping to the counter. She hesitated, fingers curling slightly against the edge of the bowl before she finally looked up, her gaze steady but threaded with vulnerability. “Well… she kind of is. With that super hearing.” The words felt strange in her mouth, like speaking them aloud made the whole thing harder to push back down.

Kelly smirked but didn’t press.

Lena groaned softly, bracing her hands on the counter. “I really don’t know how to navigate this. We were best friends. Then enemies. And now we’re…” She trailed off, struggling to pin it down. “Whatever this is. It’s close. Steady. Good . I’m terrified of ruining it.”

Kelly moved beside her, bumping her shoulder gently. “Lena. That woman would fly into a collapsing sun for you. I think you can survive a conversation.”

Lena exhaled a quiet, fond laugh.

“You make it sound simple.”

“It’s not,” Kelly said as she reached for the salad tongs, her voice growing gentler. “You just don’t want to lose her again.”

“No,” Lena admitted, “And I don’t want to make things weird between all of us, either. This whole thing, whatever it is between me and Kara, it matters. You, Alex, Esme. And her. I’ve never had this kind of… family before.”

“She already thinks the world of you,” Kelly said, her voice warm, her smile more tender now. “We all do. You’re Esme’s godmother for a reason, Lena. If she can’t handle a relationship with you… that’s on her.”

Lena didn’t answer. She moved the bowl, fingers idle against the edge before pulling away, eyes distant. But even to someone without Kryptonian hearing, her heart was loud in the silence.

Kelly leaned in a little, her voice dipping just enough to be kind but firm.

 “You’ve done harder things than this, you know. Come on. Saving the world? Check. Outmaneuvering overconfident men? Check. Letting yourself be loved back shouldn’t be the scariest thing on that list.”

Lena’s mouth twitched, like she wanted to argue. But she didn’t.

Instead of answering, she drifted toward a cabinet, pulling out glasses and filling one from the fridge, while her mind scrambled for a way to change the subject without giving in.

Kelly smirked knowingly the whole time, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes.

“Besides, you might be surprised,” she said, voice low and teasing.

Just then, the back door swung open and Kara stepped inside, windswept from a sudden breeze, cheeks flushed, and hair tousled in that effortlessly wild way.

Kelly’s smirk deepened as she watched Kara, then glanced back at Lena, as if silently daring her to admit it.

“Hey—Kelly, do you need anything else before we—”

Kelly, far too amused and without missing a beat, called over her shoulder, “You can help Lena’s love life.”

Lena choked on her water, coughing and nearly dropping the glass at Kelly’s statement before shooting her a sharp glare.

Kara’s eyes widened, “Oh ! Sorry—I didn’t realize—are you… seeing someone?”

Lena quickly reached for the tongs, cheeks flushed. “No. Nothing like that. Kelly’s just being…” 

She straightened her posture, aiming for composure and landing on dry humor.

 “Helpfully vague.”

Kelly shrugged, clearly not sorry at all, “I call it manifesting. ”

Kara, now definitely flustered, laughed a little too quickly. “I’ve definitely missed a lot while dealing with League stuff, huh?”

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Lena had a brief smile tugging at her lips, "Not as much as you think.”

But Kara didn’t let it slide. She stepped a little further into the kitchen, voice quiet but certain. “That sounded like there’s something I should be thinking about.”

Lena glanced at her, caught for a second too long in the pleading look of Kara’s gaze. “It’s nothing.”

“Lena,” Kara said gently, but with that distinct ‘Super’ tone, the one that inspired courage or persuaded evildoers to stop, “If it matters, I want to know. You’re always here for me, let me be there for you.”

Lena opened her mouth, but the words tangled in her throat.

Right then, the door banged open wider and Alex strode in, grinning like a lunatic, with Esme flung over her shoulder. “Make way for the sack of potatoes!”

Esme squealed, upside down.

 “I’m a rutabaga !”

Kara laughed and looked away, but not before Lena saw something in her eyes that was impossible to ignore: she meant it. And that did something to Lena’s already fragile grip on composure.

“Alright!” Kelly clapped her hands with mock authority. “Kara, you’re on lasagna duty. Only because you’re the one I trust not to drop them. Lena, Alex, garlic bread. Sweet child of mine,” she added, turning to Esme with exaggerated fondness, “you go wash up real quick and we’ll wait on you.”

Esme kicked her legs dramatically as Alex set her down, “I demand a ladder and a fancy towel!”

“You’ll get a step and a regular towel,” Alex said dryly, steering her toward the bathroom.

Kara reached for the trays, her eyes flicking back to Lena just once. A look that said: This isn’t over.

Lena, grateful for the brief reprieve, busied herself with the bread and followed Alex out to the patio, heart louder than it had any right to be.

Alex snagged a second plate of garlic bread with a wink. “Come on, genius. Let’s go play ‘pretend everything’s normal’ for a bit.”

Lena managed a small smile, "My  specialty .”

She followed them out into the fading light, the scent of herbs and toasted bread in the air, her thoughts trailing just behind her—still caught on the way Kara had looked at her. Not with confusion. Not with doubt.

With clarity.

And that, somehow, was even scarier.

Just as Alex was pouring drinks and Kara was carefully setting down the trays, the patio door slammed open with the force of a much larger person.

Esme stood in the doorway, triumphant, hands on her hips. “I have washed! My hands are sparkly clean , and I dried them with a regular towel like a civilian !”

Alex raised an eyebrow, eyeing the door, "Let's watch the door next time, kiddo.”

“There should be fanfare,” Esme replied solemnly, stomping into the patio like a queen returning from a victorious battle.

Kelly chuckled and offered her a seat, ruffling her hair on the way by, “You, my child, are ready for lasagna greatness.”

Everyone settled in with the kind of casual ease that only came from shared chaos and a hundred previous dinners just like this one. Plates were passed. Garlic bread stolen. Someone tried to get a scoop of the middle piece of lasagna without destroying the entire pan. (It failed.)

For a while, conversation hummed like the soft lighting around them. The clink of forks and the quiet breeze filled the spaces between stories.

“So,” Alex said, eyeing Lena over her wine glass, “are you ever going to finish that project you started two weeks ago? The quantum mapping one?”

Lena arched an eyebrow after swallowing a bite of salad, “Are you reading my whiteboard at the DEO again?”

“Absolutely not,” Alex said far too quickly.

Kelly snorted into her water. “You definitely are.”

“I mean,” Kara added with a teasing lilt, “if it’s in an office that the director can get to—”

“It’s literally behind a retinal scanner.”

“ Details, ” Alex waved a hand.

Lena shook her head, but the smile stayed. It was quiet, familiar, and maybe a little unguarded. Moments like this reminded her that this, these people, were real. Chosen and hers.

But under the laughter and teasing, Kara hadn’t stopped watching her. Not entirely. And Lena could feel it. As steady as the sun going down, and as certain as the beat of her own heart.

They were halfway through their first servings, Kara already well into her second, when Esme, mouth full of pasta, declared, “I don’t get baseball… but if I did , I’d be the best player.”

Alex didn’t even try to hide her disbelief, “You’re six.”

“Exactly,” Esme said, utterly unfazed. “I have a low center of gravity and Aunt Kara says my reflexes are ‘super’.”

“She did run ‘bases’ with the cushions earlier pretty fast,” Kelly added with mock pride. 

“She’s a menace,” Alex said flatly, but her grin betrayed her.

Kelly grinned, shaking her head after sipping her wine.

“Between the three of you, that’s a whole baseball team right there. Looks like I’m going to have to get more invested now. After all, I’ve got the Guardians, and now Alex has the Sentinels to root for.” 

She gave Alex a wink and a quick squeeze of the hand, "So, Kara, Lena, let us know how the next outing goes. Maybe we can make it a Danvers-Luthor family trip.”

“I don’t know if you knew this, Kelly,” Kara said, brightening a little, “but I’ve always liked baseball. There’s something about it that just feels... right. The open field, the teamwork, and that whole ‘everyone’s giving their best’ vibe. It’s kind of comforting.” She paused, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “It’s nice to have something simple to focus on for a change.”

Alex speared a bite of lasagna and looked up, “So, how’d the shopping trip go?”

Kara nodded, reaching for the bread basket, “Pretty smooth, actually. We got the jerseys, Lena made fun of the very practical fanny packs they sold—”

Lena gave her a playful glare, “Hey, I’ve got one too. Can’t have you be the only one caught dead wearing a fanny pack.”

Smiling warmly at Lena, Kara then glanced at Alex and Kelly, hoping for backup, "Right? I mean, fanny packs are making a comeback…”

Alex exchanged a quick glance with Kelly before smirking, “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Yeah, ‘making a comeback’ is one thing, but I’m still not ready to claim one as a fashion statement,” Kelly said, winking at Esme, who was still making a bit of a mess with the lasagna.

“If I wanted to look like a lost tourist, I’d go with a full-on camera around the neck, socks with sandals, the whole package.” Alex leaned in with mock seriousness.

Kelly shook her head as she passed a napkin to Esme, who promptly used it. “Exactly. I’m all for practicality, but a fanny pack? Let’s not.”

Kara raised her hands in mock surrender.

 “Fine, fine, I see how it is.”

Lena grinned, clearly enjoying the show. “See? Even our family thinks you’re a little behind the times.”

Shooting Lena a playful look, Kara’s bright smile tugging at her lips, she said, “Just wait. I’m going to convince you all one day.” Beneath the teasing, a warm flutter bloomed inside her chest. Seeing Lena so clearly happy with them, calling them ‘ our family ’, meant more than Kara let on. 

Alex rolled her eyes with a grin, "Good luck with that.”

Lena’s emerald eyes held Kara’s a moment longer, a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if it’ll make you happy, I might just design your next suit belt as a built-in fanny pack. Functional and fashionable. No compromises.”

Kara chuckled softly, her hand brushing over Lena’s with a slow, deliberate squeeze before she eased away to grab her fork. “Jokes on you—I’d actually love that.”

Alex and Kelly exchanged amused glances, both clearly noticing the quiet, tender connection woven between them.
Lena’s fingers lingered a moment where Kara’s hand had been, a small smile tugging at her lips as a subtle warmth spread through her chest.

She tilted her head slightly, looking at Alex. “While we were out shopping, Kara told me a story.”

“Oh?” Alex perked up, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Yes please!” Esme chimed in, practically bouncing in her seat.

“She said Jeremiah played catch with her in the yard. Just once. And you got furious.”

Lena scrunched her nose in mock indignation as she said furious, clearly feeling Kara’s glare from across the table. She shot a sideways glance back, eyes squinting just enough to tease while fighting a grin.

Alex groaned, flopping back in her chair, “Because he didn’t think it through! She had just come to Earth and still couldn’t figure out the different strengths needed for closing doors.” She winked at Esme, who had earlier slammed the patio door a little too hard, prompting a sheepish my bad look from the kiddo, “He lobbed her a softball, and she launched it through the fence like a missile.”

“It cracked the siding,” Kara muttered, a mix of pride and embarrassment tugging at her voice.

Kelly burst out laughing, Esme quickly joining in with a delighted giggle as Lena lifted a hand to her mouth, clearly trying and failing not to laugh.

“I was thirteen,” Kara added, almost defensively, her cheeks pinking just a little.

“And still didn’t know your own strength,” Alex said with a huff, "So the next day I made her come out with me. Taught her how to hold a bat properly. Drilled her for two hours.”

“I still held it upside down for the first ten minutes,” Kara admitted.

“Exactly,” Alex said, pointing her fork at her sister, “And who fixed that?”

“You,” Kara sighed.

“You’re welcome.”

Across the table, Esme had been watching with wide eyes, her cheeks full of garlic bread. She swallowed quickly, practically bouncing in her seat. 

“Can you show me how to hit, Mom?”

Alex’s expression softened in an instant, “Yeah, kiddo. I’d love to.”

Kelly nudged her gently. “We’ve got that whiffle set in the garage.  We can play tomorrow since it’ll be dark soon.”

Esme beamed, then leaned toward Kara, “Aunt Kara, did you ever hit a home run?”

Kara let out a low, sheepish laugh, the kind that rumbled from the back of her throat and tugged at the corners of her mouth, "Once, when I was by myself, but the ball didn’t come back down. I was too scared to hit anything harder on those fields in Midvale or risk getting caught.”

That sent the table into laughter, Alex laughing the loudest.

Then Alex, with her eyes full of mischief, turned to Lena. “Did she tell you about her pitcher crush?”

Kara’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, “Nope. We’re good. That story does not need airtime.”

But Kelly’s eyes lit up. 

“Oh no, now you have to tell us.”

Alex grinned, shooting Kara a look that promised trouble. “I remember having to look for Kara after school for like half an hour, and I finally found her at the top of the bleachers by the softball field. She was in high school, and so laser-focused on this pitcher, she practically yanked my arm out of the socket to sit with her and explain the difference between a rise ball and a change-up.”

Kara groaned low and resigned, already bracing for what was coming.

Lena raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing at the corner of her mouth as she gave Kara a look that clearly said, ‘ You left out some details, didn’t you? ’

But she kept it simple, saying only, “Interesting.”
Kelly pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh, "This feels suspiciously like a crush origin story.”

Alex leaned back, thoroughly enjoying herself, “And on the ride home, she launched into this monologue about a girl she’d never even spoken to. Said she was quiet. Brilliant. Always had her nose in a book—astrophysics, Russian lit. Stuff none of us were touching.”
“So… your high school type was bookish, focused, calm, and low-key intimidating?” Kelly was full on laughing now.

Kara mumbled into her hands, “I will pay you all to stop.”
Esme carefully set her garlic bread down and stuck her hand out just to have Kelly give her a high five, eliciting a laugh from her daughter.

“And the kicker?” Alex turned toward the table with a mock-serious expression, “I thought, at the time, Kara was obsessed because this girl was the complete opposite of her. Never flustered. Always calm. Which, for teenage Kara, was like witnessing a unicorn in the wild.”

“I’m never telling any of you anything ever again.” Kara spoke through her hands as she buried her face in them.

Alex leaned back smugly, “We’re just saying—the pattern is clear.”

There was a ripple of chuckles around the table before Esme, ever curious, tilted her head and asked, “Wait… was this before or after you punched the vending machine at school because it didn’t give you that Milky Way bar?”

That sent the table into full-blown laughter. Kara let out a groaning laugh, burying her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. 

“I knew telling you that was a mistake,” she mumbled.

When she finally peeked through her fingers, her eyes met Lena’s across the table—warm, amused, and just a little too knowing.

She was never going to live this down.
But she didn’t really mind.
Not when the setting sun painted Lena in gold, or the food on her plate had long gone forgotten. Not when Lena was looking at her like that, with eyes full of quiet longing, like Kara was something both precious and impossible to resist.
It made her heart stumble, stupid and helpless.

And at that moment, surrounded by laughter and warmth and the comfort of family, Kara knew something dangerous.
That if Lena ever reached across the table, took her hand, and asked her to be brave, to name what this was, and to take a chance on them.

Kara wouldn’t hesitate.
She’d say yes.

Because maybe she was already there.

And Lena’s smile might just be the reason why.

Alex watched the whole exchange with narrowed eyes and a twitch of a grin. “You two seem to have had… a very full day.”

Turning to the red head, Lena was going to ask, but Kara beat her to it, “What’s that tone, Alex?”

“I’m just saying,” Alex said innocently, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, "You've both been smiling a lot tonight.”

“That’s… what people do when they’re enjoying themselves,” Kara said, flushing a little as she reached for her water.

Kelly chimed in smoothly, “It’s nice. Seeing you both relaxed.”
Lena glanced at Kara, just for a brief moment. There was a quiet steadiness in the way Kara smiled, in the way her presence seemed to settle something inside Lena she hadn’t realized was still restless. It wasn’t just comfort—it was the sense of being safe. Of being known. And for a woman who had spent most of her life on edge, calculating every move, this easy kind of peace felt extraordinary.

“It is,” Lena said, her voice softer than she meant it to be.

 Then she looked around the table, her voice softer now, “Thank you, all of you, for having me.”

Alex, eyes harboring nothing but love, grinned.

 “Of course, you're family.”

Esme, who had been finishing her food, suddenly piped up, her voice bright. “I have the best family in the universe!”

Kara glanced over at Esme, quirked an eyebrow, “Just one universe?”

“Seems a little limited, doesn’t it?” Kelly said, flashing Esme a playful grin.

Esme smirked, crossing her arms.

“ I like keeping my circle small.”

The others chuckled, and Alex and Kelly immediately dove into a playful debate with Esme about just how “small” her universe really was.

Kara rolled her eyes with a smile, feeling the warmth of the moment wrap around her. Meanwhile, her hand, once just near the edge of the table, now brushed against Lena’s. Too close. But Lena’s fingers moved just enough to close the space. Their hands touched, light but deliberate.

Kara’s pulse quickened, and she found herself lingering in the contact, her breath catching as Lena’s smile softened, their shared quiet moment amid the noise of the others.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Kara said, barely above a whisper.

With a steady gaze, Lena met her eyes.

 “I’m glad you asked.” 

The words weren’t loud, but they landed with weight. Kara felt them settle deep in her chest, somewhere between gratitude and longing.

She hadn’t expected today to mean so much. But after the distance that had quietly grown between them these past few weeks, this return to warmth and ease felt like light finally spilling into a room she hadn’t realized had dimmed.

They weren’t at the beginning anymore.
Not quite at the edge either.
But close. So close.
And maybe, just maybe , ready to take the next step.

Lena didn’t pull her hand away.

And neither did Kara.

Then, like a breeze changing direction, the surrounding conversation shifted.

Fork twirling between her fingers, Alex glanced around, “Is it weird that I’ve been missing the adrenaline lately?”

Kara looked up, her voice soft. “From DEO field ops?” She hesitated, then added, “I know I haven’t checked in much lately, with everything going on at the Hall and Watchtower.”

As she spoke, Kara reluctantly slipped her hand from beneath Lena’s, fingers trailing for just a breath before she reached her water. The warmth lingered though, an imprint she wasn’t quite ready to let go of.

Alex gave a small nod. “Yeah. I mean, I’m mostly behind the desk now. Director life is… a lot of policy, a lot of paperwork. Eight to five—unless something’s actively on fire.”

“Physically or politically?” Kelly asked, dry as ever, though she already knew the answer.

Alex pointed her fork at her. 

“Yes.”

Kara chuckled. “At least Esme makes it more exciting.”
Esme, grinning mischievously, was tapping her empty plate rhythmically with her fork and knife like a tiny drum line, clearly making the most of dinner’s grand finale.

“Oh, totally. She recently started holding impromptu interviews with her stuffed animals about moral dilemmas. The unicorn’s in therapy.”

Esme perked up. “She has a lot of feelings!”
“We all do,” Lena murmured with a smile.

Kelly’s eyes swept the table thoughtfully. 

“You know, I kind of like this quieter version of our lives. It’s different but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels… real.”

Kara let the words settle. She’d been thinking about that a lot lately, how the quiet didn’t always feel like peace. Sometimes it felt like a pause. Like the air before something begins.

Lena glanced over, her voice low.

 “You okay?”

Kara blinked, pulled from the thought. She opened her mouth—

“I think you want cake,” Esme announced, slicing through the tension like a comet, brilliant and unexpected.

Alex stood with a grateful laugh.

 “Finally, someone who understands priorities. Come on, kid, let’s find dessert.”

“Only if I get to carry the whipped cream!”

“You can carry the whole tub.”

The two of them disappeared into the house, their voices fading into laughter and light footsteps.

Kara moved slowly, beginning to gather plates with quiet purpose. Lena followed her lead, stacking utensils and brushing crumbs into her palm with practiced ease.

Kelly passed by with a warm smile and half a tray of lasagna.
“I’ll get this packed up to go for you, Kara. You two okay out here?”

Kara glanced up and nodded.

 “Yeah. We’ll finish up.”

Kelly’s gaze lingered, kind and knowing, before she turned and slipped inside, leaving them alone in the hush of the evening.

Kara didn’t move right away. Her fingers tapped once against the plates in her hands.
“I meant what I said,” she murmured, her voice softer now as she turned slightly toward Lena. “If it matters to you… I want to know.”

Lena’s smile was small, almost wistful. Those emerald eyes didn’t leave Kara’s deep blues.
“I know.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, still in the soft hush left behind by Esme’s laughter and the clatter of dessert plates being placed inside. The lights from the patio cast long shadows across the table, and the last of the twilight curled against the edges of the horizon.

Esme burst back onto the patio, arms full of dessert plates and theatrical flair.

She carried each one out like a waiter in a five-star restaurant—complete with wobbly curtsies and an exaggerated, “Madame, your dessert.”

Alex followed behind her with the cake, already laughing, “You’re hired, kiddo.”
The rich scent of chocolate cake drifted through the air as Alex carried it to the table, promising a sweet finish to their meal. Laughter echoed softly around them, settling into a comfortable hum as conversations eased into warm, familiar tones.

Kara and Lena exchanged quiet glances over their plates, the sweetness between them mirrored in their smiles. Meanwhile, Esme kept everyone entertained, making exaggerated faces as she struggled to balance a forkful of cake, causing another round of gentle laughter to ripple through the group.

By the time everyone had finished eating their slices, the stars had bloomed brighter overhead.

“This spot’s perfect for stargazing,” Kara said quietly, tilting her head back. “You can actually see them out here.”

“Our balcony back in the city could barely catch the moon,” Kelly added, smiling, “One of the perks of moving out this way.”

“I guess,” Alex said, watching Esme lick the last of the frosting off her fork, “we can let someone stay up a little later to burn off all that sugar.”

Esme grinned with zero remorse that read “ I regret nothing. ”

“I’ll grab blankets,” Kelly said, already halfway through the patio door with the plates.

“I’ll get the bug spray,” Alex added, pointing dramatically at Kara and Lena, "You two—set up the lounge chairs. Boss’ orders.”

Esme trailed after Kelly, bouncing on the balls of her feet with wide, eager eyes.

Kara stretched her arms overhead with a slow sigh. 

“It’s weird not having to fly off somewhere after dinner. No red alerts. No alien firestorms.”

Lena handed her a folded chair, brushing close enough to feel the gentle buzz of Kara’s skin, warm from the day. “You almost sound disappointed.”

“No, it’s just…” Kara’s gaze lifted to the deepening sky, “When it’s quiet like this, I keep waiting for the next shoe to drop.”

Lena paused beside her, watching the horizon for a heartbeat. “Maybe this is the part where there are no shoes. Just stars.”

Kara turned toward her, surprised by the softness in the words, and by how much it anchored something restless inside her.

They set the two chairs side by side as the evening air turned cooler. When Alex, Kelly, and Esme returned, the patio settled into an easy sprawl as Alex and Kelly took the chairs while Kara and Lena stretched out with Esme on the blankets laid across the ground. The city glimmered far in the distance, just a faint shimmer at the world’s edge. But here, wrapped in soft conversation and quiet breaths, the night still felt untouched.

“There’s Lyra,” Kara murmured, pointing. “And the bright star that branches to the top right is called Vega.”

“I know Hercules,” Esme said proudly, squinting up. “He’s like a stick guy, right?”

“Right,” Kara said, smiling. She leaned in gently, adjusting Esme’s angle so she could see. “You’ve got a good eye.”

Silence drifted in again—soft, thoughtful, unhurried. Someone handed Lena a mug of tea, the warmth bleeding into her hands.

Behind them, Alex and Kelly whispered to each other in low tones, their heads leaned close, laughter barely louder than soft breeze blowing through.

For nearly half an hour, Esme had been a whirlwind of curiosity—asking everything from how stars were born to whether Kara could fly to the moon without snacks. The group answered each question with varying degrees of science, imagination, and patience, laughter rising and falling like the gentle breeze. But now, she had finally curled up beside Lena, her energy spent and her breathing slowing as the night deepened.

And for a while, no one spoke. The kind of silence that didn’t press in, just settled comfortably around them like a shared exhalation.

Looking toward Kelly, Kara spoke hesitantly, "Earlier, you said you like this version of our lives. That it’s quieter, but it doesn’t feel empty.”

Kelly nodded, her voice warm, "Because it isn’t. It’s different, but it’s still full. Just… in a gentler way.”

Kara let out a measured breath, "Do you guys ever feel like everything’s just… slowed down, and you don’t know what to do with it? Like, the world isn’t ending. No crazy weekly battles. And I know I should be grateful, but I still feel kind of… stuck.”

No one answered right away. The question hovered there between them, quiet and real. A few stars blinked into the sky above. A breeze tugged gently at the edge of Lena’s blanket.
“ Stuck ?” Alex tilted her head, skeptical. “You run CatCo and you help lead the League. When do you ever not move?”

“I know,” Kara breathed out, her voice hushed, “I’m doing everything I’m supposed to. But sometimes it feels like I’m just … waiting. Like something’s missing. Or about to start, and I don’t know what it is yet.”

Her eyes flicked toward Lena before looking back to the stars. Brief, but unmistakable.

Lena tilted her head more towards the blonde, watching Kara. Her legs tucked beneath her, golden hair lit by the fairy lights, her eyes tilted skyward but clearly lost in thought.

“I think,” Lena said gently, “we’re so used to surviving the chaos that when things finally quiet down, it feels wrong. But maybe stillness isn’t emptiness. Maybe it’s just space to figure out what we want next.”

Kara looked at her, something in her gaze caught and held. 

“Then what do we do with the quiet?”

Lena hesitated, her gaze steady. 

Then, softly, “Maybe we fill it with something honest.”

Their eyes met again, just for a breath longer than necessary—and this time, neither of them looked away.

Later, once the sky had deepened to full night and Esme was sound asleep, Kelly gently carried her inside, with Alex close behind. Alex’s soft “night, you two” carried just enough smugness to earn a playful eye roll from Lena.

The stars shone brilliantly now, only visible when the city’s distant glow faded and the night opened wide, uninterrupted. Lena took the last sip of her tea while Kara relaxed on the blanket, legs stretched out, her expression peaceful and gentle.

“Have you ever thought about how small we are?” Kara asked suddenly, her tone quiet and reflective.

“Like—tiny. In all this .” She gestured up toward the sprawl of the cosmos.

“Every day,” Lena said, the honesty in her voice unfolding with quiet intimacy, rarely spoken but fully present in this moment as if the night itself had made room for it.

Kara turned her head toward her, her blue eyes shimmering like fragments of the night sky, deep, clear, and quietly searching. “Yeah?”

Lena gave a small nod, her voice more gentle, "Do you remember when I asked if you knew what quantum entanglement was?”

Kara’s eyes flickered, surprise softening her expression as the memory surfaced, “Before the Daxamite invasion,” she said slowly. “Yes. I think I didn’t answer you at the time, but… I remembered the theory from school. It’s just been a while.”

Lena smiled faintly, her eyes on the sky, “Two particles, separated by light-years, still affect each other. Still connected, no matter the distance.”

She glanced at Kara then, something tender flickering in her expression, “Sometimes I wonder if people can be like that too.”

Kara didn’t look away, "I believe they can.”

 Lena nodded, letting the silence stretch a little as she sat up pulling the blanket up as she did, “But also how lucky. That out of all the possible chaos, we found our family. This. You.”

The words were quiet but firm. She wasn’t looking at Kara when she said it, but she felt the shift in the air all the same.

Sitting up as well, Kara shifted slightly closer, their arms brushing now along the edge of the shared blanket.

 “You know,” she said softly, “I used to think the quiet meant I was failing. Like, if I wasn’t saving someone, I was wasting time. I didn’t know how to stop.”

“And now?”

Giving a bittersweet smile, Kara continued, “Now I think maybe I’m just… scared. Of wanting something more. Of what happens if I try and it breaks.”

Lena turned to her then, truly seeing the vulnerability in the person beside her that she cared so deeply for, “You’re allowed to want more, Kara. Just like when we talked earlier about why you haven’t been watching games. You deserve to enjoy everything, no matter who you are.”

She paused, her breath hitching just slightly before she exhaled.

“I struggle with that too. That’s why I asked Kelly for a referral to a therapist. I’ve been going every week.”

A faint, wry smile touched her lips. “Honestly, I probably should’ve been going twice a week. But with everything going on…”

She trailed off, the rest unspoken because it didn’t need to be said.

Even with the hush of the surrounding patio, it felt like a weight had quietly shifted or had been released. Most of their friends had been to therapy or were still going, but saying it aloud still meant something.

Kara didn’t look surprised, not really. But something behind her eyes shifted, a gentle recognition settling into quiet admiration.
“I’m proud of you,” she said softly.

Lena let out a quiet laugh and brushed the side of her face, almost without thinking.

“There’s nothing to be proud of. I’m still grieving Lillian, and even Lex differently, not as much, but still...” She trailed off for a moment, then gave a small shake of her head.

“There’s been a lot I’ve needed to work through for a long time.”

Her gaze dropped for a beat, fingers curling lightly around the blanket.
“Things that made me hurt the people I care for.”

Lena’s voice softened, growing quiet. Her gaze stayed lowered for a moment as the weight of her words hung between them, familiar and sharp, unmistakably true.

Kara stilled. She didn’t interrupt.

There was a beat of silence that wasn’t cold, nor distant. Just a space where both of them remembered.
The secrets. The betrayal. The pain they’d both carried and caused.

When Lena finally looked up, her gaze met Kara’s, steady but edged with the same vulnerability Kara had just shared.

“I told you I wanted to be the person you believe I can be. To stand by you proudly. And… I feel like I’m becoming that person. Every day.”

Kara’s breath caught, and her reply came quiet but certain.
“You are. And I believe in you, Lena. I’ll keep believing in you—for the rest of my life.”

Lena looked at her fully, a flicker of tenderness in her eyes so gentle it almost ached. Her fingers brushed lightly against Kara’s hand.

“You let me show up for you today. You believed I could, whether it’s just texting, hanging out, or even shopping for a company outing.”

That earned a chuckle from Kara, real, light, easy. She turned her palm upward, lacing their fingers together.

“It was never just that.”

And for a while, they sat like that, two women wrapped in blankets and starlight, fingers entwined, closer than they had been in a long, long time. A quiet comfort settled between them, fragile and powerful all at once. Lena’s heart ached with a tender mix of relief and hope as she caught the faint shimmer of starlight in Kara’s eyes, warmth radiating not just from the blanket.

“I think I want something honest,” Kara whispered, her voice barely more than the rustle of the night air.

Lena’s throat tightened, a swell of emotion rising as she met Kara’s blue eyes, “So do I.”

For a heartbeat, the moment hovered, charged and suspended. Then Kara leaned her head against Lena’s shoulder, a sigh leaving her like tension finally unwinding.

Lena froze for half a second. Not because she didn’t want it, but because she did. And she didn’t know if it meant what she hoped it might mean.

Still, she allowed herself to lean into Kara’s warmth, letting it wash over her. She decided to embrace this moment exactly as it was.

Kara didn’t pull away. She stayed close, her quiet presence speaking as loudly as any words could.

Above them, the stars spun endlessly, millions of stories told in distant fire.

But here, wrapped in silence and something barely whispered, everything felt suspended, as if the night itself was holding its breath.

Closing her eyes briefly, Lena was committing to memory the warmth beside her, the steady rhythm of Kara’s breathing, and the strength in their intertwined hands.

Then Kara’s head tilted, her expression shifting. She turned her ear slightly, listening.

A distant siren. Too far to be part of the neighborhood. Too fast to be anything but a call.

Lena opened her eyes. She saw it before Kara could speak.

Kara exhaled slowly, regret flickering in her eyes. “I have to—”

“I know,” Lena said gently, offering an understanding smile. “Go.”

Kara stood, but hesitated.

Lena rose too. “Hey,” she added, stepping closer. “Goodnight, Kara.”

Kara opened her arms without hesitation, and Lena stepped into them.

The hug wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t obligatory. It was something Lena let herself sink into, her arms sliding around Kara’s waist as Kara folded her in like she belonged there.

Kara was warm beneath the soft cotton of her baseball jersey. Lena could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath, the slight tension in her back, the strength coiled just beneath stillness. Her cheek brushed Kara’s collarbone, catching on the subtle ridges of a Nike logo stretched over muscle. The jersey still carried the faint starch of new cotton, that clean, factory-pressed scent. But underneath it, closer and warmer, was Kara herself: shampoo like apple blossoms, wind-swept air, and the kind of quiet heat that made Lena’s hands tighten without thinking.

It hit her then, how rarely she allowed herself this. Touch without consequence. Closeness without control. Kara didn’t press for more, didn’t pull away too soon. She just held her. Like she meant it. Like she needed it too.

Lena’s fingers curled against the hem of the jersey, feeling the shift of fabric and the warmth of skin beneath. Her eyes shut for half a second longer than necessary.

When Kara finally eased back, her palms slid down Lena’s arms, slow and steady, fingertips dragging lightly across her elbows before settling just above her wrists.

“I’ll text you later,” Kara murmured, voice low and close, and Lena felt the words hum through her bones more than she heard them.

“What, at four in the morning again?” Lena shot back with a smug grin.

Kara straightened just a bit, slipping into her confident Supergirl tone, although her eyes twinkled with amusement, “I’ll aim for waking hours, Miss Luthor.”

With a wink full of charm and mischief, Kara took a breath and with a burst of wind, she rose into the sky, silhouetted briefly against the stars before vanishing into the night.

Lena stood there a moment longer, watching the sky. Then she gathered the blankets from the ground, folded them with care, and quietly went inside.

The house was dim and quiet, soft kitchen lights casting a warm glow. At the island, Alex sat with a mug of something steaming, leaned back casually in her chair, an unmistakable smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Lena stopped in her tracks, narrowing her eyes just slightly. 

“What?”

Alex raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from her mug, “Nothing,” she said, entirely unconvincing. 

“Just... nice night out there, huh?”

Placing the blankets over the back of a nearby chair, Lena smoothing it with unnecessary precision. 

“It was.”

“I mean, not every evening ends with a Super-shaped goodbye and what looked suspiciously like the softest almost moment I’ve seen in a long time.”

Lena arched an eyebrow, a warm flush creeping into her cheeks as she met the older woman’s sharp, investigative eyes.

“Don’t start, Alex. It was just… a moment . You’re reading too much into sharing a blanket and a goodbye.”

“Maybe. But come on Lena, that was definitely something .” Alex took a sip of her drink, smirking over the rim.

There was no more argument from Lena. She just let out a slow breath, tugging the hem of her shirt down with unnecessary care. 

“We’re figuring it out.”

Alex’s expression shifted, the teasing giving way to something more sincere. “I know. And honestly? Maybe a bit slow.”

Lena huffed a quiet laugh at that, the corners of her mouth tugging upward despite herself.

She glanced down, fingers brushing the edge of the folded blanket.

“She let me be there for her today… and it meant more than I think she knows.”

Her voice was quiet, not hesitant, but careful, like the words carried more weight than she usually let show.

Alex watched her, the teasing gone now.

“You’ve been trying so hard, Lena. Not just for her, but for all of us. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed. I promise—we see you.”

Gratitude softened her smile, but there was an ache beneath it. “I love this family. The thought of losing it scares me.”

“You won’t. You’re part of it. For good.”

That pulled a quiet warmth to Lena’s face—relief, yes, but also something deeper. Like she was finally starting to believe it.

Alex bumped her shoulder gently as she passed.

 “Go home and get some sleep. You’ve got a company to impress tomorrow and whatever emotional ballgame you and my sister are playing.”

Lena tilted her head, expression skeptical.

“Ballgame?”

Alex smirked on her way towards the master bedroom, “Let me know when you make it home.”

Lena lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping the quiet kitchen. The soft hum of the refrigerator, its surface covered in Esme’s latest crayon masterpieces and crooked magnets, mingled with the faint clink of a spoon left in a mug. A dish towel hung half-folded on the oven handle, and the scent of chocolate still lingered in the air. It all felt oddly intimate. Familiar. Safe.

The night air greeted her with a whisper of cool wind as she stepped outside. Her sleek black car waited patiently at the curb, its polished surface reflecting the faint glow of streetlights. Inside, the leather seats offered a quiet, understated luxury, comfort without flash.

The moment she slid behind the wheel, the door closed with a soft click, sealing her off from the world she’d just left behind. No fairy lights. No teasing older sisters. Just the hum of the city stretching out ahead.

As the engine purred to life, Lena drew in a steadying breath, her fingers tightening briefly around the smooth leather steering wheel. The quiet of the night pressed gently against the windows, leaving space for thoughts she hadn’t dared to voice.

“Ballgame, huh?”

The words hung in the air, simple and casual, but beneath them was a question she was still figuring out how to answer.

‘ Honest,’ she supposed, as she headed home, knowing she would be waiting for Kara’s text about whatever emergency she had left for.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Check Swing

Wednesdays were never slow at CatCo.

And certainly not for Kara.

Print day meant back-to-back meetings, last-minute rewrites, headline debates, constant Slack pings that multiplied like rabbits, and the occasional minor existential crisis over font spacing.

By nine, it felt like her eyes were burning from the screen glare and fluorescent lights, even if that wasn’t technically possible. She would have gladly taken on a rogue Dominator or wrestled a mech-squid rather than sit through another hour of print day. Her inbox looked like a war zone and her coffee, now cold, was more of a paperweight than a beverage.

Not that Kara needed it to stay awake; she could power through deadlines and hours of fact checking on nothing but stubborn willpower. Her assistant, Ana Choi, brought one in every morning anyway, always with something sweet stirred in.

 A simple ritual, really.

One that made Kara feel strangely grounded. Even when the world knew her as Supergirl, Ana still treated her like any other overworked editor with a sugar dependency and a to-do list longer than a Pulitzer speech. Every so often, typically mid-morning, when the chaos of the day had momentarily lulled and Kara looked marginally less like she was about to launch herself through the ceiling, Ana would glide over to her desk with a fresh coffee and a deceptively casual smile.
This morning was no exception.

“ So … how was your very late lunch with Ms. Luthor yesterday?” Ana asked, light as air, setting the fresh coffee down with practiced ease.

The older woman didn’t look up right away, eyes still scanning the half-finished article edit on her screen, fingers pausing just short of the keyboard. “It was fine,” she said, too quickly, then added, “ Good . Great , actually. We caught up without much work talk. Got jerseys and hats from the team store. You know. Normal stuff.”

Ana shuffled some paperwork on Kara’s desk into more manageable piles as she kept a smirk at bay, “Sounds incredibly normal .”

Kara’s lips twitched, almost giving her away, but she kept her focus trained on the screen as if it held state secrets. Still, the image slipped through: Lena in a Sentinel's jersey coming out of that dressing room, equal parts elegant and exasperated. The smile broke free and grew unguarded.

“Might’ve convinced her to wear a fanny pack to the outing,” she said, almost to herself, “Pretty sure Katie Rose in Fashion’s going to write a whole column about it: When Power Moguls Go Suburban Chic .” 

Ana tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes as she leaned just slightly against the corner of Kara’s desk, one hand reaching up to adjust the loose edge of one of her perfectly coiled hair buns.

“ Well ,” she said, drawing the word out like a ribbon, “if Ms. Luthor wears a fanny pack, I expect ‘ suburban chic ’ to dominate Fashion Week by October.”
The assistant paused, letting the moment settle in the space between them. Then, with a glance that was far too knowing for Kara’s comfort, Ana added lightly, “And if she smiles even half as much as you just did while talking about it, I expect competitor sites to have headlines up by inning three on Friday.”

Kara’s smile faltered. She blinked once, then sat up straighter in her chair, fingers dropping to the keyboard with a little too much purpose. The screen in front of her didn’t matter. She just needed something to look at that wasn’t her intuitive assistant.
The blonde already knew what last night’s quiet epiphany had made clear, what she felt for Lena. She just wasn’t ready to speak it into existence, not when she had no certainty Lena felt the same. So, when Ana’s remark landed with pinpoint accuracy, Kara did what she always did when someone got too close to that truth: she shut the door. Or tried to.  Blue eyes fixed on the keyboard, she felt the silence wrap around her like a dense, heavy fabric she couldn’t shrug off. 

Ana didn’t move. She let the quiet linger, patient, like a reporter circling a lead. Kara’s pulse kicked up, her stomach fluttered, and her fingers twitched, itching for something, anything , to break the tension.

All her feelings lately reminded her of the Courage Totem, though not in the way it used to. There had been an ease to those phantom fears and impossible trials compared to now. Coming out as Supergirl. Leading the League. Keeping CatCo afloat. Saving the world. She had lived it, breathed it, bled for it. Triumph had always come with certainty. Courage fueled her caped exploits, the fire in her veins and the surge of adrenaline that powered every movement when it came to saving the day.

This wasn’t that.

Someone outside her circle had noticed. Had seen what she barely admitted to herself. And suddenly it felt like brakes slammed down inside her chest.

Kara hated that. She hated how the words she wanted to say snagged on the way out, like they were catching on barbed wire. How her hands itched for something, anything, to do just to distract from the way her heart skipped and faltered. This wasn’t a villain to fight or a world to save. It wasn’t the kind of courage that came from standing her ground. This was the kind born of stepping out without armor, the kind that demanded vulnerability. 

And for all her strength, all her speed, all her power, it was the hardest courage yet. The kind that left her entirely, achingly human.

"So…no lunch meeting with Ms. Luthor today?" Ana asked at last, breaking the quiet. She always said it like it was nothing. Just a question from a helpful assistant managing her boss’s schedule.

But Kara knew better.

She’d once overheard Ana on the phone with someone with the last name MacLeod, apologizing for having to reschedule lunch again because the hero had been pulled into a mudslide rescue on the other side of the world. It had been said gently, without blame, but it stuck with her. A quiet thread tugging at the edge of something larger.

It was the only real clue she had about what might be going on behind the scenes. There was something about Ana’s check-ins, always casual, always well-timed, that felt just a little too… deliberate .

But Kara brushed it off. Maybe she was just being a reporter again, reading too much into things. Surely it wasn’t anything more than a helpful assistant doing her job.

Rubbing her brow, she gave the usual sigh, leaning back in her chair with a mix of exhaustion and something else. Dejection, really. The kind that comes from missing someone who’s not just a best friend, but someone she cared for far more than she let herself admit.
“Not today,” the blonde said, voice low and a little hollow.

Ana clocked that subtle dip in the Super’s mood immediately. With a knowing smile, she nodded and began tapping something into her tablet with focused precision, as though she were logging something far more significant than a meeting schedule. What exactly she was noting, Kara never asked. Mostly because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

The editor sat back in her chair, eyes drifting to the window before settling on her calendar. Her inbox was chaos, her to-do list unforgiving, but her heart wasn’t in any of it. It lingered somewhere else, suspended in the space between unspoken feelings and the person they were meant for.

Her gaze snagged on a headline draft, words blurring until the letters swam. Focus slipped through her like sand no matter how tightly she tried to grasp it, every thought circling back to what she hadn’t said and the weight of saying it at all.

Thoughts again of the Courage Totem popped up, and how it had never truly been for saving the world. It was about facing yourself, choosing honesty even when it scared you, and finding the kind of bravery that demanded more than brute strength. It was the quiet kind, the kind that came without fanfare. That left you exposed and hoping the world or the people you loved would meet you with the same truth in return.

All of it. The quiet moments, the half-smiles exchanged across a crowded room, the way Lena had pressed her hand to Kara’s when working together, the subtle look that lingered too long when she complimented Kara’s work—wove together in her mind. These were the moments that had made it clear, even if neither of them had said the words aloud: they were more than friends.

And it wasn’t just today, or this past week. It had been building for years. 

Since her sister’s wedding, when Kara had watched Lena from across the venue, laughing at something only she could see in Lena’s expression, feeling that flutter in her chest she didn’t know how to name. Or back when she had comforted Lena after the whole Morgan Edge situation, leaning close, so Lena could finally breathe, her own heart hammering in a rhythm that matched Lena’s unspoken tension. Even all the game nights where Lena was basically a perfect partner, guessing Kara’s cards with unnerving accuracy, teaming up for trivia like their minds were wired the same, or exchanging little glances across the table that made Kara forget they were supposed to be playing at all.

The weight of all those feelings, long held in careful silence, pressed on her now. Keeping them locked away felt heavier than the risk of showing them, even in a small way. She didn’t need to pour her heart out or stage some grand declaration. She could do something. Something small. 

That something being she needs to apply this same courage she’s been thriving in since she came out to this aspect of her life. Clearly Ana had seen it, so why should she care who else did? She was Kara Zor-El and if she could face world-ending threats she could damn well show someone she cared for.

The best way to show the thoughtful, meticulous woman she cared about was to mirror the care Lena had always shown herself with flowers. Kara had learned long ago that for Lena, they were more than pretty gifts. They were a love language.

Maybe this wasn’t a grand gesture. Maybe it wasn’t some epic speech or perfectly timed confession. But it was something. A reminder. A way to show Lena she mattered.

Kara knew she could keep holding back, letting fear and uncertainty dictate her silence. Or she could take everything she had realized, all the thoughts from last night and into this morning, and find the courage to do something, however small, that showed Lena exactly how much she meant. Even if she never spoke the words, even if she never crossed that fragile line between friendship and something more, Kara could not imagine a version of her life without Lena in it.

As Ana’s head dipped again, fingers flying across her screen, Kara reached for her older coffee and winced at the cold sip. She cleared her throat and gave herself the mental pep talk, ‘ Time to swing for the fences. ’

“Hey, Ana? Can you send some flowers to Lena’s office?” she said, casually enough that it didn’t sound like everything it actually was, as if these quiet moments she had just shared with Ana weren’t filled with thoughts of how much she cared for her ‘best friend’. “Just a ‘Thank You’. For yesterday.”

The buns on Ana’s head popped up as she looked up, tapping her pen lightly against the side of her tablet as if deep in consideration. “Hmm… I could check with Holcomb & Thorn. Would you prefer something classic? Roses, maybe tulips? Peonies are always dramatic so I’ll go ahead and veto those for you.”

Kara hesitated, fingers drumming once against her coffee cup. She almost said ‘plumerias’, Lena’s favorite, but changed her mind mid-thought as she tossed the empty cup and moved the fresh one closer.
“No… gladiolus,” she said, “They’re ‘in’ right now. Cindy mentioned it in Lifestyle yesterday.”

She said it casually. Too casually, like it hadn’t already been on her mind before Ana even asked.

Ana looked up, hazel eyes bright with barely hidden amusement, “Gladiolus,” she echoed, already typing,“Noted.”

Kara, oblivious to the significance, offered a small smile. “Thanks.” Then, after a short pause, she added, “Oh, let me write a note to go with them.”

Reaching for a pen and a slip of notepaper from the edge of her desk, Kara paused only a few seconds before writing. The words came easily. ‘ Of course they did, she was an award-winning writer ’, she told herself. She didn’t overthink it, just a few lines, simple and steady, in her familiar looping print.

She folded the note once, deliberate and neat, and handed it to Ana with the kind of quiet resolve she usually reserved for high-stakes diplomacy. Except this felt more terrifying.

Ana took it smoothly, her eyes flicking over the handwriting just long enough to recognize it before sliding it into the tablet sleeve.

Her smile deepened. Not smug. Just knowing.

“You know,” she said, her slight valley twinged voice light but deliberate, “you did come in smiling this morning. Looked more rested than you have in weeks.”

Kara’s gaze flicked to her, surprised by the comment, but she didn’t answer right away. The note she’d just written still echoed in her head. She smiled, softly. “I guess I did, huh?”

“Maybe it’s the company,” Ana said lightly, letting the comment hang just long enough to tease, then moved on.

Kara gave Ana a quick smile before turning back to her screen, determined to refocus. She was Supergirl; she’d faced gods and monsters. Handling a hectic workday should be no problem.

By ten, ink had already smeared her sleeve, a half-eaten protein bar sat on her desk, and three staff writers hovered nearby like nervous pigeons. The one-eyed pug stress ball had been thoroughly tested and, unconscious or not, would be a constant companion for the rest of the day.

Even amid the relentless bustle, her mind would drift. Just long enough to seem like focused contemplation or the sharp alertness of someone waiting for an urgent call. In those stolen moments, while scanning layouts or deflecting another marketing inquiry, a quiet smile would tug at her lips, unexpected and fleeting, like sunlight slipping through heavy clouds.

All from thinking about the night before. 

About Lena’s laugh over pasta. The way the brunette’s hand felt on hers, casual but electric. How it had felt to be in that kind of warmth when they leaned against each other under the stars, where nothing was asked of her except to stay.

No pressure. No demands. Just Lena.
The night had been quiet, perfect.

Until it wasn’t.
The sirens came first. Distant. Muffled. A warehouse fire, miles away in the industrial district.

Kara had hesitated in that hug just long enough to feel everything.

The press of Lena’s heartbeat, steady and certain, against her ribs. The warmth of a hand resting lightly at her waist. The faint brush of dark hair near her cheek. The soft inhale-exhale of Lena’s breath against her collarbone, anchoring her to the now.

She was used to moving at the speed of crisis, used to answering every cry for help with zero hesitation, muscle memory wrapped in duty. But this time?

This time, she stayed. Longer than she should have, because for the first time in a long time, she didn’t want to move. It was dangerous, how easy it was to imagine staying. Just for a minute. Just long enough to memorize the way Lena’s hand curled into her back like it belonged there.

And then she heard the panicked breath of a trapped night crew with the distant rumble of a structure threatening collapse, Kara had to tear herself away. Her hands slid slowly down Lena's arms, lingering just above her wrists, as if holding on could somehow stay in this moment. She could feel Lena’s warmth and the quiet weight of their closeness pressing against her chest. A sharp ache bloomed beneath her ribs, her heart tightening as if she were leaving a piece of herself behind, every instinct screaming to stay despite the world demanding she go.

Not because of fear. She’d flown into worse.
But because she hadn’t wanted to go.
Not really.

And that scared the hero more than any emergency ever could.

She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to breathe evenly, trying to keep the familiar calm she wore like armor.

“I’ll text you later,” Kara murmured, keeping her voice low and close. She felt a little thrill as the words hung between them, imagining Lena’s reaction. Even in the middle of chaos, her chest warmed at the thought of the subtle smile she’d get in return.

“What, at four in the morning again?” Lena shot back with a smug grin. Kara felt it like a jolt through her chest, warmth spreading to her fingertips, and a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Her mind went a little fuzzy, heart fluttering as she memorized every detail, the lift of Lena’s brow, the mischievous curve of her mouth, the way her eyes danced. She tried to stay composed, tried to focus, but inside, she was completely undone, swooning at the smallest thing Lena did.

Straightening just enough, she shoved the warmth in her chest down, forcing herself to focus. Her confident Supergirl tone slipped into her voice, a teasing lilt lingering as her eyes sparkled, “I’ll aim for waking hours, Ms. Luthor.” Beneath the composure, her pulse still raced, a quiet reminder that the genius’ smile had left its mark.

With a cheeky wink, Kara drew a deep breath and let the wind lift her. She shot into the sky in a burst of speed, silhouetted for a moment against the stars, a grin on her face as she vanished into the night, thoughts already racing with the weight and warmth of what just passed between them. Even as adrenaline coursed through her veins, she felt a quiet pull, a soft ache that made the world feel a little sharper, a little more alive.

Because the truth was that Lena made her feel certain. Certain of who she was, where she belonged, and that the softness she’d once hidden behind her invincibility didn’t make her weaker, just more real.

Because the truth was that Lena made her feel certain. Sure of who she was, where she belonged, and that the softness she’d once hidden behind her invincibility didn’t make her weaker, just more real.

Now, Kara was beginning to flirt with the most dangerous temptation of all:

The idea that one life, one person, might matter more than the world.
And not in theory. Not in a thought experiment or a hypothetical choice. But here. Now. In the aching space between heartbeat and instinct, where emotion outpaced reason and the world blurred at the edges.

In the night sky, Supergirl’s thoughts reflected back to a quiet moment after the Daxamite invasion, when Clark had spoken to her not as Superman, but simply as family. They had stood side by side in their suits, the weight of what she had done still heavy in the air, when he looked at her and said, "I'm humbled by you. I'd like to think that if it came down to a choice between Lois and the world, but... I don't think I could. You are so much stronger than me. Stronger than I ever will be."

At the time, Kara hadn’t fully understood what he meant. Yes, she was hurting from the loss of Mon-El, but her choices had always been for the good of the many, not the few who truly mattered to her. She thought he was talking about power. About restraint. About the burden of their shared legacy, the impossible balance of love and duty.

It had taken her years to understand that Clark hadn’t just seen strength in her that day. He had seen the cost of his own fear.

Letting Mon-El go had been painful, but it had been easy .

Easier to choose the world over someone who, in her heart, she’d always known wasn’t meant to stay. Someone who had walked beside her, yes but never quite at the same rhythm. He had loved her, in his way, and maybe she’d loved the idea of what they could’ve been. But there had always been distance. Gaps she couldn’t close, compromises she had to make to fit them together.

She hadn’t felt that with Lena.

With Lena, there was no need to dim parts of herself, no balancing act between strength and softness. Lena met her gaze without flinching, challenged her when she needed it, believed in her without question and saw her, truly saw her, in all the ways Kara had once feared no one ever could.

If it had been Lena that was in that building, buried beneath rubble or fire…
Kara would not have hesitated.
She would have torn the world apart to reach her. Would have split skies and peeled back the bones of the city with her bare hands just to pull her free. No compromise. No pause. No second-guessing the cost.

And now, there in the shadow of goodbye, it was blindingly, terrifyingly clear.

This wasn’t duty. It wasn’t just friendship. It wasn’t loyalty wrapped in excuses.

It was love.

The realization hit like a punch to her chest mid-flight. Her stomach lurched, her hands faltering on the wind as she plummeted hundreds of feet before forcing herself to steady. Heart hammering, breath catching, she hovered above the city, suspended in the sky and in the dizzying weight of the truth: she loved Lena Luthor.
And Rao, did it terrify her.

Love.

The kind that just had her falling out of the sky. The kind that left her breathless. That cracked something open deep inside and refused to let it close again.

It was in Lena’s voice when she said Kara’s name, like it held the whole universe.
It was in her eyes, green and brilliant and vast, when she looked at the Kryptonian like she saw everything and stayed anyway.
It was in the way she never asked Kara to be more or less than she was.

Just Kara. And somehow, that had always been enough.

But as true now was that Kara Zor-El loves Lena Luthor, so was the fact that Kara Zor-El is Supergirl.

That would never change. The cape, the crest, the calling were not just symbols. They were etched into her bones, sewn into the sinew of every choice she made. Woven into the very fabric of who she was. A life she had chosen. A truth she could never outrun.

And yet the weight of it had never felt quite like this before.

Because wanting Lena, quietly and without apology, was no longer just a temptation. It was a truth. A need. A revelation she couldn’t unfeel.

Somewhere beyond the calm, a fire blazed. A reminder of the life she had chosen. She let the darkness carry her forward, because that’s what heroes did. Even when it meant walking away from everything they wanted most.

The fire wasn’t catastrophic. A chemical spill had sparked the blaze, and NCFD had it mostly contained by the time she arrived. But part of the building had already begun to give, a corner buckling under the heat and pressure. The firefighters had been inside, evacuating the last lab techs, when the ceiling started to cave.

In an instance, she was a blur of red and blue.

Caught a falling beam mid-crack. Shielded two firefighters from the worst of the collapse. Helped carry a trapped tech to safety before stabilizing the structure with steel from a support truck. Only once the crew was accounted for and the building cleared did she relax. She cooled the hotspots. Checked for chemical leaks. Reinforced the compromised frame with layered rebar.

Not until every danger had settled and every breath around her was steady, did she finally let herself leave.

But before she touched down on her balcony around one in the morning, she hovered there, suspended above the city in the dark. No new calls. Just the quiet thrum of streetlights and the pulse of her own heart.

It should have felt satisfying. A crisis averted, lives protected, the job done.

It didn’t .

Instead, Kara was left with the truth crashing over her like a tidal wave: she was in love with her best friend. Had been for a long time. And now the question wasn't if. It was what now?

Since coming out, removing the last barrier between Kara and Supergirl, something had shifted. The lines were no longer clean. Her choices no longer felt simple.

She had thought it would be easier being in the open. No more secrets. No more excuses. No more carefully crafted walls between the girl who wrote headlines and the woman who could fly through them.

But the truth was, it had not freed her. Not really.

It had exposed her.

Every move Kara made now, every moment she took for herself, was no longer entirely private. It wasn't plastered on billboards or dissected on every channel, but it lived on the peripherals: whispers in interviews, passing mentions in articles, glances in the street. There was no fully separating her cape from her name anymore, not when both lived in the open.

If she laughed too long at a café or lingered too close to someone in the wrong light, it might not be front-page news, but it could still become speculation. A thread in someone’s feed. A photo snapped too candidly. A question asked too pointedly.

The Girl of Steel did not just belong to the world now. The world saw Kara Zor-El. Expected things from her. And even when the pressure wasn’t overt, it pressed in quietly, reshaping her edges in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

It left the Kryptonian wondering if she was still allowed to want something. Someone. For herself. If reaching for that would cost more than she was ready to lose.

Maybe that was part of why the blonde hadn’t been around Lena as much lately. Yes, there was CatCo, Supergirl duties, and League coordination. Each one was real and deeply consuming. But beneath it all, she couldn’t deny the quiet instinct that told her to pull back. To protect Lena from this new visibility, from being caught in the periphery of Kara’s increasingly public orbit.

The other morning, inviting Lena to the CatCo baseball outing, asking her to come not as a colleague or advisor but as her person, had been Kara’s way of challenging that instinct. A way of reminding herself that pulling away did not protect anyone. It only isolated them. She knew that lesson too well. She knew what it had cost them before.

So, she had asked Lena to come. Because it mattered, as this being her first big company event as Editor-in-Chief. It mattered who stood beside her when her staff looked at her like a leader. Kara had wanted Lena there, not just for the celebration, but for the steadiness she gave her best friend by simply being herself. She had wanted Lena close, proud, grounding.

And maybe, deep down, she had hoped Lena’s presence might help her silence that old, worn-out voice in her head. The one that still told her love and responsibility could not co-exist. The one that said keeping Lena at a distance was safer for both of them.

She worried it was wearing on their friendship. And yet, the past twenty-four hours only left her guessing. Lena’s smiles, the teasing, the hugs that felt too warm to be casual. Lena hadn’t asked her to stay; she never would. But Kara couldn’t shake the question of whether even Lena’s understanding had its limits.

And that, more than anything, was what made her heart ache. Touching down on the rooftop of her apartment, she felt like a broken record trying to replay everything in the past between the two of them.

Since they had found their way back to each other and the silence between them had been replaced with truth, with laughter, with late-night calls and easy moments that felt like healing. Kara had come to see her past mistake with a painful kind of clarity.

Lying to Lena had cost them more than time. It had cost them trust. And yet, in every moment since her confession about working with Lex on Leviathan, Lena had shown her nothing but grace. Understanding. Support that never once came with conditions.

Hell, she came to the conclusion she was in love with her best friend just an hour or so before. Maybe would have done so months if not years before if she was just honest. Yeah, Mxy showed her alternative timelines over a year ago, but a part of her still felt like she could have nurtured these feelings earlier.

Kara knew now that keeping her secret had been a choice made in fear of losing Lena, not in protection. And Lena? She had never needed protecting from the truth. She had only ever needed to be trusted with it.

Maybe that was why, even when the sirens first echoed in her ears, Kara had still wanted to stay. That want had rooted itself deep. It was quiet and steady, tender at the edges, and selfish in a way that felt frighteningly new. Not reckless. Just real.

What if she had stayed?

What if, just that once, she let herself choose the person instead of the people?

Sure, there were more heroes now. The League was still finding its rhythm, but they were brave, sharp, and strong. Each one brought something valuable to the table. Some had saved the world more times than she could count. Others were just beginning, wide-eyed but steady, willing to fight and bleed for the people who needed them.

It wasn’t all on her shoulders anymore. She told herself that as often as everyone else around her did. Reminded herself that she could step back, just a little. That the world wouldn’t fall apart if she let someone else answer the call once in a while.

And yet…

The instinct to run, to fly, to be everything to everyone never really quieted. She had lived in that routine for so long, carried so much, so quietly, that the thought of setting it down, even for a moment, felt like forgetting who she was. Like failing someone.

In her apartment, Kara cleaned up slowly, methodically. As if each movement, deactivating the suit, scrubbing away the scent of smoke and chemicals, could quiet the storm still moving under her skin. She dressed in a soft, worn graphic tee and pulled her damp hair into a loose braid, fingers moving with the automatic precision of muscle memory.

The phone she had tossed onto her bed earlier now seemed to burn with possibility. Texts from family and friends, maybe a good night message from Lena, certainly too many emails from CatCo, or even some League alerts. Yet, she didn’t move. With nothing left to occupy her hands, no cleaning, no rescuing, the stillness pressed in, and the weight of her own feelings clawed at her chest. Her mind raced, darting from one thought to the next, trying to distract itself, but every fleeting focus only pulled her back to the same place.

She inhaled, exhaled, trying to center herself, and then reached for the phone but stopped. Not yet. Not until she could steady the thrum in her veins, the flutter in her chest that always came when Lena crossed her mind. Her fingers hovered, faltered, and finally curled back into her lap. The quiet wrapped around her, each breath testing the limits of a calm that felt far too thin.

The world was still. National City at night often brought her a rare kind of peace, a moment to let the chaos fade, even if just for a little while. Tonight, though, the calm only seemed to make the weight pressing through her chest spread through her whole body. Her thoughts kept twisting, replaying everything she had to do, everything she couldn’t control, and the silence became almost unbearable.

She needed an anchor, something real she could hold onto. Something steady.

And there it was. That rhythm she never meant to reach for but always found.

Lena’s heartbeat.

Faint. Distant. It thudded in the background of her senses, like a lighthouse on the edge of the storm. 

Awake.

Years ago, she hadn’t meant to listen for it, not at first. But her ears had learned the sound the way lungs knew breath, the way muscle remembered movement. By now, it was instinct. A gravitational pull.

She closed her eyes. Let it wash over her.

Because all the questions she’d been turning over still lived heavy in her chest. The kind that didn’t need villains to be dangerous. The weight of the crest she wore, her family’s symbol, her people’s legacy. The fear of what wanting something just for herself might mean. The quiet ache of knowing she could fly anywhere in the world, but still wish to stay in one place.

Stay with one person.

The danger of choosing her heart over the world.

But for tonight, she didn’t answer those questions. She didn’t try to outrun them.

She just pressed them down. Gently. Not to bury. Just long enough to reach for the one person who made the weight feel lighter.

[1:43 am] At least it’s not four a.m. this time, right?
[1:43 am] But I really wanted to say goodnight again.

[1:43 am] And thank you for yesterday
[1:44 am] For always if I’m being honest.
[1:44am] You make it easier to breathe. Even on the hard days.

She hadn’t expected an answer, only to say what was true. Still, something inside her eased once it was out.

A second later, the opening riff of “Bad Reputation” by Joan Jett crackled softly from the speaker, low but unmistakable.

Kara’s head lifted before she even registered the sound, her pulse ticking up like muscle memory. That song, defiant and bold and utterly Lena, had been her custom tone for years. Not because she hadn’t thought to change it, but because it still made her smile every time it played. Even now, even with everything between them so tangled, it still cut through the noise.

A smirk tugged at the corner of the Kryptonian’s mouth before she could stop it, involuntary and telling.

Then, just above the lock screen, a message banner slid into view—clean white, subtle blue bubble—paired with a tiny, circular contact photo and the name Lee 💚 .
The photo was one Kara had taken months ago: Lena mid-laugh, head tilted back, holding a mug that said "Science is Hot" in obnoxiously bold font with a delta symbol. Her hair was a little windblown, her eyes crinkled at the corners, and it was one of the few pictures Kara had where Lena wasn’t posing. Just being.

Lee💚

[1:45 am] Time-stamped at 1:43 a.m. Such restraint
[1:46 am] You’re not the only one still breathing a little easier tonight. Goodnight, Kara. Sweet dreams.

Kara went to bed with a smile still lingering on her lips. For a moment, the world felt quieter, smaller, just two souls exchanging midnight wishes across the stretch of sleeping city lights.

She thought, not for the first time, that maybe this was what quantum entanglement felt like.
Not in the scientific sense, but in the way her heart always seemed to hum in time with Lena’s. Like they were moving in orbit, separate yet tethered. Two pulses, perfectly in sync, reaching across the dark to find one another.

And she let herself stay there. Just for a breath, a moment longer than she probably should have, wrapped in the warmth of it.

But then came the soft ping of her calendar. A quiet buzz followed, notifications starting to pile up one by one as she was thinking of last night.

Teams. Outlook. A League check-in. A news tip about an underground tremor outside the city limits. Reviewing an interview about the disbanded Crows and requests about follow ups with other sources. Mentions of missing footage, unsent memos, and threads that demanded attention, all of it pinging at the edge of her focus, competing with the thoughts she couldn’t quiet.

Reality reasserted itself firmly.

Because Supergirl didn’t get to reminisce for long.

She exhaled, dragging her gaze from the ceiling and back to the day ahead. Grabbing her tablet, she stood and crossed the room, off to put out the next metaphorical fire waiting for her attention.

In another high-rise not too far away, someone else was staring at her own ceiling, also trying not to smile at the memories from the previous day. She’d meant to dive into work.  Really, she had, but Lena’s mind kept looping back to soft laughter and the way Kara had looked at her when she thought no one was looking at dinner.

Like she was wanted.

Lena didn’t look up right away when the knock came. The knock came again, soft and patient. Eyeing her desk clock, she knew her call with Wayne Industries, namely Ryan Wilder, wouldn’t be for another twenty minutes. Lena glanced toward the door and called, “Come in.”

Miranda stepped in without waiting, holding a sleek glass vase with long-stemmed gladioli as her dark curls bounced at every step she took. Soft blush pink petals immediately drew her attention. They are elegant and clearly fresh from Holcomb & Thorn, the high-end florist.

“Delivery for you,” Miranda intoned, her voice low and steady, every word clipped with that unmistakable Edinburgh precision. She placed the vase deliberately in Lena’s line of sight, then stepped back with the quiet confidence of a magician unveiling her final flourish.

Lena stilled, caught off guard. For a moment, she didn’t move. She just looked at the envelope like it might vanish if she breathed too hard.

The card was simple. No logo, no crest. Just clean white stock, folded neatly in half.

She opened it with practiced ease, but her fingers hesitated at the handwriting. Familiar, careful, and unmistakably Kara’s.

For yesterday.

There’s a peace in your presence that sneaks in when the world gets loud.

If these bring you even half the smile you’ve given me, they’re worth it.

Thank you for being you. —K

She didn’t smile. Not yet. Not with her assistant still standing nearby. But her throat tightened all the same, a breath catching low in her chest, too soft to be heard.

The woman with the analytical gaze read it all: the pause in her boss’s posture, the fingertips reluctant to release the card, the gaze that clung to the flowers as if they carried more weight than the paper ever could. She sensed a quiet weight in the moment, a softness that made her chest lift with a small, hopeful smile. The younger Scottish woman had long suspected that something unspoken hovered between her boss and Kara, and now it seemed more real than ever.

“Gladiolus,” the assistant mused, voice light, far too casual. “In season, it is, apparently.”

Lena arched an eyebrow but didn’t look away from the arrangement, steeling herself as she took in the precise alignment of the stems and the way the petals caught the light. “Is that so?” she said, a trace of amusement threading through her cool tone.

 “Well, one would hope Miss Danvers is keeping track of what’s in season with CatCo at her helm. Wouldn’t want Miss Grant replacing her too soon.”

The poised figure stepped back, tablet in one hand, her calm posture suggesting she wasn’t watching every subtle shift in Lena’s expression, though she absolutely was. “They represent strength. Integrity.” A beat. “ Infatuation , too. But I’m sure that’s just a coincidence, aye?”

Lena arched a brow, tilting her head with deliberate slowness but not quite turning her full attention from the gladioli. “Remind me what your job entails? I’m fairly certain I didn’t hire you as a … meddler .”

Miranda’s smile deepened, a soft lilt in her Scottish accent turning the words almost sing-song as it slipped out, “Planner, meddler, or matchmaker. Och, they’re all transferable skills. Besides, I can see the way those flowers make ye happy. Even when ye’re tryin’ not tae smile.”

That earned Miranda the full turn of Lena’s head, a pointed look that was meant to be cool and cutting. But the edge softened just enough to betray her, “You’re dangerously close to insubordination.”

“And yet, I remain employed.” Miranda tapped a quick note into her tablet, unbothered, as if she had already done the math and knew exactly how far she could push.

Lena’s lips twitched, caught between amusement and exasperation. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Message received,” Miranda said breezily, already halfway to the door. She tossed a wink over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth tugging upward, "Enjoy the flowers.”

Lena stood alone in the quiet that followed Miranda’s exit, the flowers now sitting like a confession on her desk. The faintest trace of Kara’s handwriting still tingled at her fingertips, even with the card closed. She didn’t move to reread it. She didn’t have to.

The CEO already knew what it would stir in her. The warmth spread behind her ribs. The ache beneath her skin, light yet insistent, a whisper of something impossible yet undeniable. That flutter in her chest, slow and teasing, the kind that had no right to exist after everything she’s done.

And the maddening thrum beneath her ribs that always seemed to start with Kara.

But gladiolus ? The words strength, integrity, and infatuation were looping in her mind, circling like a quiet refrain she couldn’t quite shake. The ravenette allowed herself the smallest smile. Of course Kara had picked the only flower that meant all three, even if she didn’t know it. Lena knew the blue-eyed beauty probably heard a colleague mention the flowers or noticed how pretty they were and chose them for that alone, not for the meanings they carried. 

Still, every petal reflected Kara’s effortless thoughtfulness in a way that made her heart lift. Lena picked up her phone, her fingers hovering for a moment as she thought of Kara’s face, that spark of mischievous pride she always carried. Then she typed a quick message, steadying herself as she hit send, letting the tiny act of connection carry the weight of everything she couldn’t yet say aloud.

[11:29 am] Thank you for the flowers. They’re brightening the whole office. And maybe the rest of my day too

Kara responded almost immediately:

Kara ☀️

[11:29 am] I’m glad. You deserve more than just flowers.

Sadly, they didn’t speak much for the rest of the day. Just a handful of texts, scattered between meetings and tasks. Casual, almost mundane. Kara sent a quick update about a minor incident at the alien outreach clinic. Lena replied with a simple “Good luck” before Kara’s editorial board meeting, the kind of message that said more than it wrote. Later, during that same meeting, Kara inexplicably sent Lena a photo of a cat in a business suit. No caption. No context. Just a cat in a tie looking far too serious. 

 It broke the tension like a pin to a balloon. 

Lena’s lips twitched before she could stop them, her fingers tightening around the pen in her hand to keep from outright laughing. She schooled her features into practiced neutrality, but her chest felt lighter, as if Kara had reached across the distance between them and pressed a hand to steady her. Typical Kara. Finding a way to make her smile when she needed it most.

And still, despite the distance and the quiet, something remained. Not absence. Not disconnected. But a quiet tether. A steady hum beneath the silence. Like they were still sharing space even across city blocks, breathing the same peace, letting the storm hold off just a little longer.

It was the calm before everything shifted.