Chapter Text
Thursday nights at Al’s had become routine.
Not in the boring sense.
Routine in the way sunrise was routine. In the way Kara’s glasses rested against the bridge of her nose, unnecessary but familiar. In the way Alex called whenever she was worried and claimed afterward that she had only been checking in. In the way National City stretched beneath Kara every morning, glittering and complicated and somehow still worth saving.
Expected.
Comforting.
Reliable.
Kara liked routines more than she'd like to admit.
There had been too much change in her life for her not to.
Entire planets disappeared. Families vanished. Friends left, returned, changed, or became strangers for a while. The ground had shifted beneath her so many times that she had learned to treasure the things that stayed where she placed them.
Thursday night drinks at Al’s were one of those things.
Every week, sometime after seven, Alex would complain about work while pretending she wasn’t secretly pleased to have people interested in the details. Kelly would listen with the gentle patience that always made Alex’s shoulders loosen. Nia would order too much food, insist she was going to share, and then guard the final mozzarella stick like it contained state secrets. Brainy would calculate the probability of winning whatever game they were playing and then become deeply offended when Nia ignored his advice.
J’onn would watch over all of them from behind the bar.
And, if Kara was very lucky—
Lena would come.
Not every Thursday.
Lena was still Lena Luthor, CEO of one of the largest companies in the country. Her schedule contained board meetings, charity committees, research proposals, investor calls, and occasional international crises no one else was qualified to solve.
Board meetings did not care about traditions. Neither did emergencies.
But Lena came often enough that Kara had begun associating Thursdays with watching the front door.
She absolutely did not plan her arrival around Lena’s schedule.
She did not leave CatCo early on Thursdays whenever possible.
She did not choose the stool with the clearest view of the entrance.
She also absolutely did not text Lena every Thursday afternoon with some variation of:
Coming tonight?
That would have implied anticipation.
Which Kara certainly was not feeling.
She checked her phone again.
Still nothing.
The screen remained offensively blank beneath Lena’s name.
Kara locked it and set it facedown on the table.
Then, after approximately six seconds, she turned it over again.
Alex noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Alex noticed everything Kara wanted to hide and almost nothing Kara wanted her to admire. She noticed when Kara was lying based off a crinkle in her nose, or when she wanted to run away from her feelings. She noticed everything.
“You’ve looked at your phone twelve times.” Alex said admonishingly.
Kara glanced up.
“No, I haven’t.” She says very defensively.
Alex just rolled her eyes at her. “You have.”
“No.”
Kelly lifted her cider to her lips.
“It was thirteen.” Kelly says agreeing with her girlfriend.
Kara stared at her.
Kelly smiled into her glass.
Traitors. All of them.
“I’m checking work messages.” Looking back at her phone another time.
Alex leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.
“Kara.”
“What?”
“You smiled three different times.” Alex says now with a gentle laugh under her breathe. I smile as she says it, not even being able to deny it.
“I smile.”
“At your phone.”
“I smile at lots of things.”
“Mhm.”
Alex reached across the table and stole one of Kara’s fries.
Kara slapped lightly at her hand, but Alex had already pulled away.
“You’re waiting for Lena.”
Kara’s protest came automatically, so quickly she didn’t have time to examine why she needed to make it.
“I’m not waiting for Lena.”
The words had barely left her mouth when the bell over the front door chimed.
Kara turned.
It happened so quickly it was almost embarrassing.
No conscious decision. No attempt to appear casual. Her body simply reacted to the sound before her brain could remind it that other people entered bars too.
Lena stepped inside.
Rain darkened the shoulders of her charcoal coat. Tiny droplets shone against the fabric beneath the warm amber lights, and several strands of dark hair had escaped the neat ponytail Kara suspected Lena had started the day with.
She paused just inside the doorway.
J’onn greeted her from behind the bar.
Lena smiled politely, one hand brushing rainwater from her sleeve. Then she scanned the room.
Searching.
Kara’s chest tightened around a feeling she stubbornly refused to examine.
The bar was crowded enough tonight that it took Lena several seconds to find them.
Her gaze moved over the pool tables, the dartboards, the tables pressed together near the back wall.
Then she saw Kara.
The transformation was instant.
Her polite smile softened into something warmer.
Real.
The tightness around her eyes disappeared. Her shoulders lowered. The distance Kara always sensed around Lena in public—the polished, practiced barrier between Lena Luthor and the rest of the world—quietly dissolved.
“Kara.”
Just her name.
Nothing more.
Somehow that single word made Kara’s entire evening feel brighter.
It was ridiculous.
She was Kryptonian. She absorbed sunlight. She did not need Lena Luthor’s smile to feel warm.
Her body appeared not to have received that information.
“Hey.”
The word came out brighter than Kara intended.
She heard it the moment it left her mouth, warm and eager in a way she couldn't quite disguise, and resisted the urge to clear her throat and try again. It was just Lena. She saw Lena all the time. There was no reason her voice should lift like that every single time.
Except it always did.
Lena smiled.
Not the polished smile she wore for investors or reporters. Not the carefully measured expression she offered strangers who expected something from Lena Luthor.
This one belonged to Kara.
It reached her eyes almost immediately, softening the faint tension that had settled there from whatever impossible board meeting she'd just escaped. Kara watched the weight of the day seem to slide from Lena's shoulders as she crossed the room.
The sight filled Kara with a ridiculous, quiet sort of satisfaction.
She's here.
That thought alone somehow made the evening feel complete.
Alex, unfortunately, noticed everything.
She made an exaggerated gagging noise loud enough to cut through the music playing over the speakers.
Several people at the neighboring table glanced over.
Kara didn't even look at her.
"Ignore her," she muttered, though she wasn't entirely sure whether she was speaking to Lena or herself.
Lena stopped beside the table, one hand still resting on the strap of her bag. Rain clung to a few loose strands of dark hair around her face, making them curl slightly against her cheeks.
"I haven't even sat down."
"I'm reacting preemptively," Alex said without a hint of remorse.
Lena tilted her head. "To what?"
Alex looked back and forth between them with the exaggerated seriousness of someone presenting evidence in court.
Then she gestured vaguely through the space separating Kara and Lena. "This."
Kara frowned.
"There is no 'this.'"
Alex looked offended.
"Kara."
"What?"
"You literally stood up."
Kara blinked.
She looked down.
She had stood up.
She hadn't even realized she'd done it.
"I..." she began weakly.
"I was stretching."
"You sprang out of your chair like someone announced free donuts."
"There could've been donuts."
"There weren't."
"You didn't know that."
Alex looked toward Lena.
"See what I have to deal with?"
Lena's gaze shifted from Alex to Kara.
For the briefest moment, something unreadable crossed her face.
Not amusement.
Not embarrassment.
Something quieter.
Something Kara couldn't quite catch before it disappeared behind the practiced composure Lena had perfected over years of boardrooms and press conferences.
Then Lena looked back at Alex.
"I'm glad we've established that."
Her tone was perfectly dry.
But Kara thought she heard something softer tucked beneath the sarcasm.
Relief.
Affection.
Or maybe simply happiness.
Whatever it was, it lingered just long enough for Kara to wonder if she'd imagined it.
Before she could decide, Lena laughed.
It wasn't loud.
Lena rarely laughed loudly.
Instead, it escaped her in a warm, breathless burst that made the corners of her eyes crinkle and her shoulders loosen. Her entire posture changed with it, as though some invisible armor had simply slipped away.
Kara loved that laugh.
The realization arrived with startling ease.
She loved all of Lena's laughs.
The polite one she used during interviews when someone made an unfunny joke she was too gracious not to acknowledge.
The sharp, almost wicked laugh that appeared whenever Lex accidentally underestimated her.
The quiet one that surfaced late at night over takeout containers and half-finished bottles of wine, when it was just the two of them talking about everything and nothing.
But this one...
This one only appeared around people Lena trusted.
Around people who made her feel safe.
Kara wasn't sure when she'd learned to tell the difference.
She wasn't sure when she'd started paying enough attention to memorize them.
The thought should probably have concerned her.
Instead, all she could think was that she would gladly spend the rest of the evening trying to hear that laugh again.
Too easily.
She should not have been able to distinguish it from all Lena’s other laughs by now, but she could.
There was Lena’s polite laugh, used during press conferences and tedious fundraisers. There was her sharper, more cutting laugh, usually deployed when someone underestimated her and was about to regret it. There was the quiet sound she made when something genuinely surprised her.
And then there was this one.
The one reserved for people Lena trusted.
It was lower and warmer. Unrestrained in a way the others never were. It made tiny lines appear at the corners of her eyes and sometimes, when she laughed hard enough, wrinkled her nose.
Kara had no idea when she had started cataloguing them.
Or why.
Lena slipped her coat from her shoulders and draped it over the empty chair beside Kara before taking her seat.
The chair beside Kara.
Not the open stool closer to Kelly. Not the chair nearest the aisle. Not even the one with the better view of the television over the bar. The one beside Kara.
That shouldn't have mattered. It was simply the seat she'd chosen. There were probably a dozen perfectly logical reasons for it. It still sent an embarrassingly warm feeling spreading through Kara's chest.
She forced herself to look away before she smiled too obviously.
"Sorry I'm late," Lean said as she settled into the chair. "The board meeting ran long."
The leather creaked softly beneath her as she leaned back, finally letting out a slow breath she sounded like she'd been holding all evening.
"You aren't late," Kara answered immediately.
The response came so quickly she barely had time to think about it.
Across the table, Alex checked her watch with exaggerated seriousness.
"Eleven minutes."
Kara turned toward her.
"Whose side are you on?"
"My own."
Kelly snorted into her drink.
Lena laughed quietly, the corners of her mouth lifting as she shook her head. Then she leaned toward Kara. Not dramatically. Just enough that the conversation became theirs instead of the table's. Her shoulder nearly brushed Kara's.
She lowered her voice as though she were about to reveal classified information. "Your sister is frightening."
Her breath ghosted across Kara's cheek. Barely anything. A whisper of warmth against cool skin. The faint scent of rain lingered in Lena's hair, mixing with the clean citrus and cedar perfume Kara had long ago begun associating only with her. Kara's entire body seemed to notice before her brain did. She sat a little straighter. Suddenly the collar of her sweater felt too close against her neck. She became painfully aware of how little space separated them. If she shifted even an inch... Their shoulders would touch.
The thought shouldn't have crossed her mind. It did anyway.
"I've been saying that for years," Kara replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
"I can hear both of you," Alex called from across the table.
Without moving away from Kara, Lena answered simply, "I know."
Kara laughed far too loudly. Several people looked over. Wonderful.
Lena turned toward her at the sound, eyebrows lifting with quiet amusement. She didn't tease her. She just looked for a second longer than necessary.
Her eyes lingered on Kara's face with an expression so unexpectedly gentle that Kara forgot what they'd been talking about.
There was something different about the way Lena looked at her sometimes.
Not dramatic.
Not enough that anyone else would notice.
It was simply... softer.
As though Kara didn't have to earn Lena's attention.
As though being near her was already enough.
Then Lena smiled. A small, private sort of smile. The kind that seemed reserved only for Kara.
It disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Kara reached for her drink before she could think too much about it.
She didn't need the alcohol. It barely affected Kryptonians anyway. She simply needed something to occupy her suddenly restless hands.
"So..." she said, forcing herself to focus on something normal.
"Did you eat?"
Lena hesitated. It was tiny. Just the smallest pause before answering. Most people would've missed it entirely.
Kara didn't.
She never missed the little things. Not with Lena. She knew the pause that meant Lena genuinely didn't remember. The one that meant she was deciding how much information to share. And the one—this one—that meant she was about to soften the truth.
"I had lunch."
Kara tilted her head. "It's almost eight."
"It was a late lunch."
"What time?" Lena's eyes drifted toward the bar for only a heartbeat before returning to Kara.
That was enough. Kara could almost see the calculation happening. Should she tell the truth? Should she round the time up? Should she insist she'd grabbed something between meetings?
Finally Lena sighed, the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "...Two."
Kara immediately slid her basket of fries toward her. "Eat."
"Kara—"
"Eat."
Lena looked down at the fries. Then back at Kara. For a moment, she simply watched her.
The teasing smile faded into something quieter. Warmer. The expression transformed her. Her mouth softened first. Then her eyes. The faint line that often rested between her brows disappeared entirely. The guarded confidence she carried through boardrooms and interviews melted away, replaced by something almost impossibly open. Affection. Not the polished gratitude she offered colleagues. Not the fondness reserved for old acquaintances.
Something deeper.
Something that made Kara feel as though Lena was looking directly at her instead of simply seeing her.
Kara's heartbeat stumbled.
Lena always looked at people carefully.
She listened with her whole attention.
That was just who she was.
So why did it suddenly feel different?
Why did it feel as though the entire noisy bar had disappeared until there was only the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder?
"You are very commanding tonight," Lena said quietly.
There was no mockery in her voice. Only unmistakable fondness.
Something warm curled low in Kara's stomach. She looked away before Lena could possibly notice whatever expression had crossed her face.
"Someone has to keep you alive."
Lena smiled. The smile lingered this time.
She reached for a fry, deliberately taking the one closest to Kara's hand.
"I'm touched."
"You should be."
Lena met her eyes again as she took a bite.
"I am."
The words were simple.
Two syllables.
Yet they settled between them with a strange, unexpected weight.
Neither woman looked away. The music continued around them. Alex and Kelly drifted into another conversation. Glasses clinked somewhere behind the bar. Someone laughed loudly near the pool tables. None of it seemed to reach their little corner.
For one suspended moment, Kara had the overwhelming feeling that Lena was trying to tell her something she couldn't quite put into words.
Then Lena blinked, the spell quietly broke, and she reached for another fry as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
Kara wondered if she'd imagined every second of it. She would spend the rest of the night trying not to think about the look Lena had given her. She would fail completely.
Kara looked back at her. For one suspended moment, Lena’s expression was completely open. There was something in it Kara couldn’t name. Something gentle. Something almost vulnerable. It made the sounds around them recede. The music softened. The clink of glasses dulled. Alex and Kelly’s conversation blurred at the edges.
Kara heard Lena’s breathing.
Then her heartbeat.
Steady, but not entirely.
A slight acceleration.
Kara looked into Lena’s eyes and had the strange sensation that they were standing on the edge of something neither of them knew how to approach.
Then Nia dropped her fork.
The clatter shattered the moment.
Everyone looked toward her.
Nia stared at the fork as though it had betrayed her.
“Sorry.”
Lena turned away.
Kara exhaled.
She hadn’t realized she had stopped breathing.
The first hour disappeared in the easy way time always did when Lena was there.
Kara listened as Lena recounted the board meeting that had delayed her, carefully removing anything that might qualify as proprietary information or corporate espionage. She complained about a board member who had used the word “synergize” seven times in a single presentation.
“Seven?” Kara asked.
“I counted.”
“Maybe it was important.”
“It was not.”
“What did he want to synergize?”
“He never clarified.”
“That seems inefficient.”
“It was forty-five minutes of my life I will never recover.”
Kara smiled.
“I could fly around the planet really fast.”
“And reverse time?”
“It worked once.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“It sort of worked.”
“You nearly died.”
“That’s unrelated.”
“It is very related.”
Lena gave her a look.
Kara liked Lena’s looks too.
Not all of them.
The disappointed one could make Kara feel six years old. The angry one had once made an entire room full of armed officials fall silent.
But this one—
This was affectionate exasperation.
A look that said Lena knew Kara was ridiculous and had decided to remain beside her anyway.
Kara took a sip of her drink to hide her smile.
Then it was Lena’s turn to listen while Kara complained about an article Snapper had rejected because the headline was “emotionally manipulative.”
“It was emotionally manipulative,” Lena said.
Kara stared at her. “You didn’t even read it.”
“You titled it ‘The Silent Crisis National City Refuses to See.’”
“It was an important subject.”
“What subject?”
“Potholes.” Kara laughs under her breath.
Lena’s mouth twitched.
“They’re dangerous.”
“They’re holes in the road.”
“People could trip.”
“Cars don’t trip.”
“You don’t know that.”
Lena looked at her for a long moment. “You’re very pretty.”
Kara’s mind emptied. Completely. No words. No thoughts. Nothing. Just Lena’s green eyes, the shape of her mouth, and the sentence repeating through Kara’s suddenly useless brain.
You’re very pretty.
Lena’s gaze stayed on her. Kara became aware of everything all at once. The pressure of her glasses against her temples. The warmth in her cheeks. The rapid, traitorous rhythm of her heart.
Then Lena’s lips curved. “And very bad at arguments.”
Kara’s brain restarted with all the grace of a malfunctioning computer. “Oh.”
Lena’s smile widened.
“Did you stop listening after the first sentence?”
“No.”
It was a lie. A terrible one.
“I heard everything.”
“Of course you did.”
“I did.”
“Kara.”
“Yes?”
“You’re blushing.”
Kara touched her cheek as though she might somehow be able to verify the accusation.
“I’m warm.”
“It’s freezing in here.”
“I run hot.”
“That is technically true,” Alex muttered into her drink.
Kara kicked her beneath the table.
Alex kicked back. Harder. Kara flinched despite the fact that it did not hurt.
Lena watched the exchange with visible amusement. “What exactly is happening?”
“Sibling communication,” Kelly explained.
“It’s very advanced,” Alex added.
“It hurts,” Kara said.
“As it should.”
Lena laughed again.
Kara found herself smiling before she could stop.
After another round of drinks, Nia announced that she and Brainy were entering Al’s weekly darts tournament. Brainy appeared deeply concerned.
“I have not adequately prepared.”
“You calculated the trajectory of every dartboard in the building last week,” Nia said.
“That was recreational.”
“So is this.”
“No. This now has consequences.”
“The prize is a twenty-dollar bar tab.”
“Precisely.”
Nia pulled him away before he could explain further. Kelly and Alex moved toward the dartboards to watch. That left Kara and Lena at the table.
Not really alone. There were people everywhere. A couple argued quietly near the jukebox. Someone at the bar ordered another round. Music drifted through old speakers mounted near the ceiling. But without the others filling the space between them, Kara became acutely aware of how close Lena was sitting.
Their knees brushed beneath the table.
Neither moved.
Kara’s attention fixed on that single point of contact.
It was absurd.
They had hugged hundreds of times. They had held hands during moments of fear and grief. Kara had carried Lena away from explosions. Lena had pressed trembling fingers to Kara’s face after battles, searching for injuries Kara couldn’t receive.
A knee should have meant nothing.
But this wasn’t an emergency. There was no danger. No adrenaline. No desperate relief at surviving. Just Lena beside her. Their legs touching. Soft music overhead.
Kara could feel warmth through both layers of fabric.
Lena glanced down. She had noticed.
Kara waited for her to shift away.
She didn’t.
Instead, Lena leaned one elbow against the table and rested her chin in her hand.
“So,” she said, “are we going to play pool, or are you afraid I’ll embarrass you?” The challenge in her voice gave Kara something safe to focus on.
She grinned. “You think you can beat me?”
“I know I can.”
“That’s adorable.”
Lena narrowed her eyes.
“Rack the table, Danvers.”
Kara stood. She tried not to think about the moment their knees separated. She failed.
The pool table near the back wall was old. The green felt had faded in several places, and one corner pocket sagged enough that J’onn had threatened to replace it for the past six months.
Kara arranged the balls inside the wooden triangle.
She could feel Lena watching her.
The awareness moved across her skin like static.
“Are you going to hover over me all night?”
Lena tilted her head.
“You hover professionally.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m airborne.”
“Ah. Important distinction.”
Kara removed the triangle.
“Do you want to break?”
“No. Please.”
Lena gestured toward the table.
“I’d like to assess the competition.”
“You’re scared.”
“I’m fascinated.”
“By my talent?”
“By your confidence.”
Kara rolled her eyes and picked up a cue. She understood pool. She understood angles, force, momentum, and exactly how little pressure she needed to apply to avoid turning the cue ball into powder. Usually, she was good. Tonight, Lena leaned against the table in a dark green sweater, and Kara apparently forgot how hands worked.
She bent over the table and lined up the shot. She was conscious of Lena standing a few feet away. Conscious of Lena’s gaze. Conscious of her own body in a way she rarely was. Her fingers felt awkward around the cue.
She struck.
The balls scattered across the table.
Not one fell into a pocket.
Silence.
Kara straightened.
Lena examined the table.
“That was underwhelming.”
Kara stared.
“I was being gentle.”
“With the pool table?”
“It’s old.”
“Kara, I watched Alex throw Brainy onto this table during a fight last month.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Brainy is lighter than he looks.”
Lena laughed and stepped closer. Kara handed her the cue. Their fingers brushed.
The contact lasted less than a second.
Kara felt a bright pulse of awareness travel up her hand. She drew it back.
Lena’s gaze flicked toward her face, then down to the cue.
Kara wondered if she had felt it too.
Then Lena turned toward the table.
The sweater hugged her waist. Soft fabric folded at her side as she bent forward. Her sleeves were pushed carelessly to her elbows, exposing pale forearms and the delicate silver watch Kara had given her for her birthday.
Lena wore it often. Kara had noticed. Not that she monitored Lena’s accessories. She simply happened to recognize a gift she had spent three weeks choosing. It had needed to be elegant without being showy. Personal without being too personal. Expensive enough that Lena wouldn’t feel obligated to pretend something inexpensive was suitable, but not so expensive that it would become meaningless within the scale of Lena’s life. Kara had visited seven stores. She had sent Alex twenty-three photographs. She had nearly purchased a different watch until Alex pointed out that Kara had chosen it because its face matched Lena’s eyes.
Kara had denied that.
Then she had bought this one.
For friendly reasons. Completely friendly.
Lena lined up her shot. Her hair slipped over one shoulder.
Kara’s eyes followed it.
“You know,” Lena said without looking up, “you’ve spent more time looking at me than the table.”
Kara’s stomach dropped.
“I have not.”
Lena lifted one eyebrow.
She still hadn’t taken the shot.
“You absolutely have.”
Heat rushed into Kara’s cheeks.
Had she been that obvious?
She was Supergirl. She had faced alien armies, armed mercenaries, and interdimensional monsters. Apparently, one raised eyebrow from Lena Luthor was enough to unravel her completely.
Kara cleared her throat and gestured vaguely at the table. "I was thinking."
Lena leaned lightly against her cue, one eyebrow still arched.
"Oh?"
"Strategically."
A smile tugged at the corners of Lena's mouth. "Of course you were."
Kara nodded with complete confidence.
"I have strategies."
"I'm sure you do."
"I do."
Lena's smile widened just enough to make Kara suspicious.
"Mhm."
Before Kara could defend herself further, Lena bent over the table and lined up her next shot.
The cue cracked sharply against the cue ball. One solid rolled cleanly into the corner pocket. A second followed almost effortlessly into the side pocket. Lena stood, brushing an invisible strand of hair behind her ear as though sinking two balls in a row required no more effort than breathing.
Kara looked from the table to Lena. Then back to the table. "...You planned that."
Lena met her eyes with infuriating composure. "That is generally how the game works."
Kara narrowed her eyes.
"You're hustling me."
"I'm winning."
"Suspiciously."
"You invited me."
"I trusted you."
A flash of amusement crossed Lena's face.
"That," she said, lifting her cue with mock solemnity, "was your first mistake."
Kara smiled despite herself. She liked this Lena too. The teasing one. The Lena who relaxed enough to be smug and playful and a little ridiculous. It had taken a long time for Kara to meet her. Longer still for Lena to believe that version of herself was safe in Kara’s presence.
Sometimes Kara thought being trusted by Lena was the greatest thing she had ever earned. Sometimes it terrified her. Because trust could be lost. Kara knew that better than anyone. She had already broken Lena’s once.
Even now, years later, a small part of her still waited for Lena to remember every lie. Every betrayal. Every moment Kara had decided what Lena could handle instead of trusting her with the truth.
There were nights when Kara woke from dreams in which Lena walked away again. In the dreams, Kara always tried to follow. Her legs never moved. But Lena was here. Wearing Kara’s watch. Eating Kara’s fries. Looking at her as though she had chosen to forgive her. As though she might keep choosing her.
Kara swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. Lena noticed immediately.
Her playful expression softened.
“Hey.”
Kara blinked.
“What?”
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere.”
“That wasn’t nowhere.”
Lena set down the cue. Her attention settled fully on Kara. The concern in her eyes made Kara feel both cherished and exposed.
“I’m fine.”
Lena studied her. She was good at that. A little too good. Kara could lie convincingly to the entire world, but Lena possessed an infuriating ability to look at her and recognize the spaces where the truth was missing.
“Are you sure?”
Kara nodded.
Lena waited.
The silence was patient. That made honesty feel easier. Dangerously easy.
“I was just thinking about how glad I am that you came tonight.” The confession slipped out before Kara could soften it.
Lena went still.
Kara’s pulse jumped.
Maybe it had been too much.
Maybe Lena would laugh or give her that fond but distant smile people used when Kara’s affection became overwhelming.
Instead, Lena’s face changed. The concern disappeared. Something vulnerable replaced it. “You are?”
“Of course.”
Kara tightened her grip on the cue.
“You’re my favorite person to lose to.” The joke was safer than the truth.
The truth was that every room felt better when Lena entered it. The truth was that Kara searched for her without meaning to. The truth was that sometimes Kara saw something beautiful, a sunrise, a strange cloud, a piece of art, a ridiculous pastry, and her first thought was that Lena should see it too. The truth was that Kara had begun measuring the best moments of her life by whether Lena had been standing beside her.
But those were dangerous truths.
So she smiled.
Lena smiled back, though something in her eyes seemed disappointed.
“You haven’t lost yet,” Lena said.
“Give it time.”
They played three games.
Lena won the first.
Kara won the second, mostly because she forced herself to watch the table rather than Lena’s hands.
The third lasted longer.
By then, Alex and Kelly had returned to the bar. Nia’s increasingly dramatic cheers echoed across the room as Brainy advanced through the darts tournament.
Kara and Lena existed in their own small orbit beside the pool table. They bumped shoulders as they passed.
The first time, Kara apologized.
The second, neither mentioned it.
By the third, Kara began to wonder whether Lena was doing it deliberately.
They argued over whether Lena had moved a ball with her sleeve. She hadn’t. Kara accused her anyway. Lena threatened to call a lawyer.
“You are a lawyer.”
“Exactly. You’re already outmatched.”
“That feels unethical.”
“So does accusing me of cheating.”
“I’m a journalist. I ask difficult questions.”
“You work for CatCo.”
Kara pressed one hand to her chest. “That was hurtful.”
“You’ll recover.” Lena bent over the table and sank another shot.
Kara watched concentration settle across her face.
There it was again. The tiny line between Lena’s eyebrows. The slight press of her lips. The careful exhale before she struck.
Kara knew those things.
She knew how Lena took her coffee and which meetings left her exhausted.
She knew Lena hated being cold but refused to admit it.
She knew the difference between Lena’s angry silence and her wounded silence. The first became sharp and controlled. The second became almost unnaturally calm.
She knew Lena slept on the right side of the bed even when alone because the left had been closest to the door when she was a child.
She knew Lena kept emergency chocolate in the second drawer of her desk.
She knew Lena touched the necklace at her throat when anxious.
She knew Lena’s favorite flowers were plumerias because they reminded her of one of the few happy memories she had of her mother.
When had that happened?
When had Lena become someone Kara knew so completely?
More frighteningly—
When had knowing her stopped feeling like enough?
Lena straightened and found Kara watching again. This time, she didn’t tease.
Her eyes held Kara’s.
The room seemed to blur around them. Kara’s fingers tightened around the cue. There was a question pressing against the inside of her chest. Something she had never been brave enough to ask. Something that had lived in every late-night conversation, every lingering hug, every quiet moment when Lena’s hand found hers.
Kara didn’t know how to name it.
She only knew friendship sometimes felt too small for whatever existed between them.
Not wrong.
Never wrong.
Just incomplete.
Lena’s expression softened. “What?” she asked.
Kara’s mouth felt dry. She should make another joke. She should ask whether it was her turn. She should say anything except the question that emerged.
“What are we?”
Lena froze.
The change was immediate, though subtle. Her fingers tightened around the chalk cube. Her shoulders drew back.
A careful blankness settled over her face—the expression Lena used in boardrooms when caught off guard but unwilling to let anyone see it.
Kara heard the question only after she had asked it.
Her heart lurched.
Oh.
Oh, no.
She hadn’t meant—
Or perhaps some small, reckless part of her had meant exactly that.
Lena looked down at the table.
When she answered, her voice was quiet.
“Just friends.” The words were gentle. That somehow made them hurt more.
Kara felt the impact in a place she hadn’t known was exposed. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sharp crack. No sudden, cinematic shattering. Just a deep, immediate ache, like something inside her had folded in on itself.
Just friends.
Of course.
That was what they were.
That was what Lena wanted them to be. Kara had no right to feel disappointed. Lena had never promised her anything else. She had never asked for more.
Every glance Kara had interpreted as meaningful could have been affection. Every touch could have been comfort. Every message, every dinner, every evening spent side by side—
Friendship.
It had always been friendship.
Kara forced herself to breathe.
Lena still wasn’t looking at her.
The silence stretched.
Then Kara’s brain caught up with the actual game in front of them.
“No,” she said, too quickly.
Lena looked up.
Something fragile flickered in her eyes.
“No?”
“I meant—”
Kara pointed clumsily toward the remaining balls.
“Stripes or solids?”
Lena stared.
Then she looked down.
A striped ball rested near the side pocket. Two solids remained near the center.
“Oh.” Color rose slowly into Lena’s cheeks.
“Solids.”
Kara managed a laugh. It sounded wrong to her own ears.
“Right.”
Lena looked away first. The silence that followed was different from the one before. Heavier.
Kara tried to recover.
She chalked the end of her cue even though it didn’t need it. She examined the table. She adjusted her glasses.
Anything to avoid thinking about the words still echoing through her mind.
Just friends.
She took her shot. She missed badly, but Lena didn’t tease her this time. That was somehow worse.
The final minutes of the game passed in strained politeness. Neither seemed able to find the rhythm they had shared before.
Kara commented on the score. Lena answered.
Lena asked whether Kara wanted another drink. Kara said she was fine.
Their words were normal.
Everything beneath them wasn’t.
Kara could hear Lena’s heartbeat.
Usually, she worked hard not to listen.
It felt too intimate, hearing something Lena didn’t know she was sharing.
Now, despite herself, Kara noticed it was faster than normal.
Maybe Lena was embarrassed. Maybe she was worried Kara had misunderstood. Maybe she had realized what Kara’s question could have meant and wanted to make certain the boundary was clear.
Just friends.
Lena sank the eight ball.
The sound of it dropping into the pocket felt definitive.
“Game,” Lena said softly.
Kara smiled.
She had years of practice smiling when she was hurting. “Nicely done.”
Lena searched her face.
“Kara—”
“Hey, you two!” Alex called from across the bar. “Brainy won the tournament, and now he’s being unbearable about it.”
The interruption arrived like mercy.
Kara turned immediately. “I’m shocked.”
“I calculated a ninety-eight-point-seven percent probability of victory,” Brainy announced as they approached.
Nia rolled her eyes. “He hit the wall twice.”
“The wall was part of my strategy.”
“It was not.”
Kara laughed at the appropriate moments.
She accepted a celebratory basket of potstickers from J’onn. She listened while Kelly recounted the final round. She behaved exactly as she always did.
Only Alex noticed. Alex always noticed. From across the table, her eyes narrowed slightly.
Kara looked away before her sister could ask anything.
Lena sat beside her again, but the distance between them felt larger now.
Their knees didn’t touch. Kara noticed that too.
When the night ended, everyone gathered near the entrance. Nia hugged Kara tightly. Brainy began explaining how he intended to invest his twenty-dollar winnings. Kelly kissed Alex’s cheek while helping her into her jacket.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
At least, it looked normal.
The game had ended. Alex and Kelly had left first after another round of teasing neither Kara nor Lena had really heard. The bartender was stacking chairs at the opposite end of the room. Someone laughed near the dartboards while another group fed coins into the jukebox.
The world hadn't changed.
Only Kara had.
Lena stood in front of her, slipping one arm into her coat before searching briefly for the other sleeve. A loose strand of dark hair had escaped from behind her ear, falling across her cheek.
Kara watched it sway as Lena moved.
Usually, she would have reached out without thinking. She'd done it before. Countless times. Sometimes during movie nights when Lena had fallen asleep against her shoulder. Sometimes while they walked down busy sidewalks. Once during a board meeting when Kara had stopped by L-Corp to bring lunch and Lena hadn't even looked surprised when Kara gently tucked the stray strand behind her ear before setting the food down.
It had always felt natural.
Easy.
Now Kara's hand twitched at her side.
The impulse came automatically.
She almost lifted it before catching herself.
Her fingers curled into her palm instead.
Friends could do that.
Couldn't they?
Alex tucked Kelly's hair behind her ear all the time. Albeit they aren't just friends.
Nia had brushed crumbs off Brainy's jacket without thinking twice.
People touched their friends. They hugged. They leaned against each other during movies. They rested their heads on shoulders.
Kara had done all of those things with Lena. So why did every memory suddenly feel different? Why did every touch she'd ever shared with Lena now seem unbearably intimate?
Had Lena noticed? Had Kara unknowingly crossed lines that only existed because of the feelings she'd finally admitted to herself?
The questions crowded her mind so quickly that she barely heard Lena speak.
"I had a nice time."
The words were simple. But her voice wasn't. It had become careful somehow. Tentative.
As though Lena, too, had noticed something neither of them knew how to name.
Kara forced herself to smile. The muscles felt strangely stiff.
"Me too." Lena looked at her for another second. Not searching exactly. Just... waiting.
Almost as though she expected Kara to say something else.
When nothing came, Lena looked down briefly before meeting Kara's eyes again.
"I'm sorry if I—"
"You didn't." The interruption came too quickly. Too sharp. Kara softened her voice immediately. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Lena's lips parted. Then closed again. The uncertainty on her face was subtle enough that most people would have missed it.
Kara didn't.
She never missed expressions on Lena's face. Not the tiny crease between her eyebrows when she was worried. Not the way she pressed her lips together when she was trying not to argue. Not the almost imperceptible tightening around her eyes whenever she thought she'd disappointed someone.
Seeing that uncertainty directed at herself hurt far more than Kara expected.
She wanted to fix it. She wanted to take the entire evening back. She wanted to laugh and say she'd been distracted. That the question had been funny. That nothing had changed. That they were exactly where they'd always been.
She couldn't.
Because something had changed.
Maybe not for Lena.
Maybe Lena would wake up tomorrow and remember nothing more than an awkward misunderstanding over a pool table.
But Kara would wake up knowing something she hadn't known yesterday.
The words had opened a door inside her she couldn't close again. She had wanted Lena to give a different answer. Not because she disliked being friends. Because friendship suddenly felt painfully too small for everything she felt.
And now she had to carry that truth alone.
"I'll text you," Kara said quietly. She hoped it sounded normal. She wasn't sure she remembered what normal sounded like anymore.
Lena searched her face for another lingering moment before giving a small nod. "Okay."
Silence settled between them.
Usually one of them would've filled it with another joke.
Another story.
An excuse to delay going home for five more minutes.
Neither of them did.
Finally, almost instinctively, they stepped toward each other.
The hug should have been familiar. It wasn't. Kara wrapped her arms around Lena carefully, suddenly terrified of holding her too tightly. Too long. Too close. Lena fit against her just as perfectly as she always had. Warm despite the cold outside.
The faint scent of cedar and citrus lingered in her hair. Kara closed her eyes before she could stop herself. For one impossible second, she let herself imagine what it would feel like if this hug meant something different. If Lena's arms around her weren't only those of a friend. If she could simply stay here.
She almost tightened her grip. Instead, she forced herself to let go first.
The loss was immediate.
Cold rushed into the empty space where Lena had been.
It was ridiculous. They had only separated by a step. It already felt too far.
"Goodnight, Kara." Lena's voice was soft.
Almost reluctant.
"Goodnight, Lena."
Kara watched her walk toward the parking lot.
She told herself she was only making sure Lena reached her car safely. She always did that. It wasn't new. Except tonight she kept watching after Lena unlocked the car.
After she climbed inside.
After the headlights swept across the parking lot.
After the taillights disappeared around the corner.
She remained standing outside Al's for another full minute, staring at an empty stretch of road.
Only when the parking lot had become completely still did Kara finally move. Instead of taking the elevator back to her apartment, she stepped into a nearby alley and let herself rise into the night.
The cool air rushed around her immediately.
Usually, flying solved everything.
The moment her feet left the ground, the world became simpler.
Wind replaced noise.
Movement replaced thought.
The city unfolded beneath her in ribbons of light and reflections dancing across the bay. Cars became tiny streams of white and red. Rooftops blurred together until National City looked peaceful from above.
It was one of the few places Kara had always felt completely free. Tonight, she carried the weight of the evening with her.
Just friends.
The words echoed louder than the wind.
She climbed higher.
The air grew colder.
Just friends.
She pushed herself faster.
Clouds rushed past in pale streaks.
The skyline disappeared behind her.
Still—
Just friends.
She couldn't outrun two words.
By the time she landed on her apartment balcony, her breathing had steadied, but the ache in her chest hadn't.
She stood with both hands resting on the railing, looking out over the city she'd promised to protect.
National City glittered beneath her. Thousands of windows. Thousands of lives. Somewhere across that endless sea of lights, Lena was driving home. Probably replaying the awkward misunderstanding and already laughing about it.
Kara wished she could do the same.
Instead, all she could think was that she had somehow managed to fall in love with her best friend over the course of years without ever realizing it.
And now that she knew...
She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to unknow it.
Inside, her apartment felt unusually quiet.
She removed her glasses and dropped onto the couch.
What had she expected Lena to say? She tried to imagine it.
What are we?
Something more.
Anything but friends.
The thought made her chest ache again.
Kara covered her face with both hands. “Oh, Rao.”
She was in love with Lena. The realization didn’t arrive like lightning. It settled over her with the exhausting certainty of something that had been true for a very long time.
Of course she was.
Of course.
Every fear made sense now. Every time Lena had been in danger, and Kara had felt the entire universe narrow to a single desperate need to reach her. Every time Lena had smiled at someone else, and Kara had experienced a strange, sour twist she had mislabeled as protectiveness. Every quiet evening Kara had wished would never end. Every morning she had invented an excuse to text. Every time Lena’s name appeared on her phone and Kara’s heart lifted before she even read the message.
Kara lowered her hands.
“How did I not know?”
The apartment offered no answer.
Her phone buzzed.
Kara’s heart leapt before she could stop it.
Lena: Made it home. Thank you for tonight. ❤️
Kara stared at the heart.
It was friendly.
Obviously.
Lena loved her friends.
Kara typed a response.
Me too. Had fun.
She stared at it. Too cold.
She deleted it.
I had a really great time tonight.
Too revealing?
She added a smiling face. Removed it. Added it again.
Finally, she pressed send.
The three dots appeared almost instantly.
Lena: Good. I always have fun with you.
Kara closed her eyes. The words should have comforted her. Instead, they made her want something she couldn’t have. Because Lena had fun with her.
Lena trusted her. Lena loved her. As a friend.
Kara placed the phone facedown on the couch.
It buzzed once more.
She turned it over.
Lena: Are you okay?
Kara’s throat tightened.
Lena knew her too.
Of course she did.
Kara started typing.
I think I’m in love with you.
Her thumb hovered over the send button.
For one terrifying second, she imagined doing it.
No careful conversation. No preparation. Just the truth, glowing on Lena’s screen.
Then she imagined the silence. The apology. The distance. Lena pulling away because Kara had taken one of the safest relationships in her life and turned it into another demand.
Kara deleted the words.
Kara: Yeah! Just tired. Long day.
The lie went through.
Lena’s response came after a longer pause.
Lena: Get some rest, darling. Goodnight.
Darling.
Kara pressed the phone to her chest. “This is going to be a problem.”
Across the city, Lena sat on the edge of her bed, still wearing her coat.
She stared at Kara’s message.
Yeah! Just tired. Long day.
The exclamation point was wrong. Kara used too many when she was pretending. Lena knew that. She knew Kara.
Or at least, she had thought she did.
Lena closed her eyes and replayed the moment beside the pool table.
What are we?
For one suspended, impossible second, she had thought Kara meant them. Not the game. Them.
Her heart had leapt so violently that it frightened her.
And because Lena Luthor had spent a lifetime protecting herself from things she wanted too much, she had answered before hope could make her reckless.
Just friends.
The safest answer. The only answer Kara could have wanted.
Except Kara’s face had fallen. Only for a second. So quickly another person might have missed it.
Lena hadn’t.
Then Kara had pointed to the table. Stripes or solids?
Humiliation burned through Lena all over again. Of course that was what she had meant.
Kara wasn’t asking about them. Kara had never asked about them. Because there was no them to ask about.
Lena removed her coat and placed it carefully over a chair.
Her movements were controlled.
If she remained controlled, she wouldn’t think about the disappointment she had heard in Kara’s voice. She wouldn’t wonder whether she had imagined it. She wouldn’t allow herself to consider the impossible possibility that Kara might have wanted more.
Lena looked down at the watch on her wrist.
Kara’s gift.
She brushed her thumb over its face.
“Just friends,” she whispered.
The words sounded no more convincing in the empty room.
Her phone remained silent.
Lena placed it on the nightstand and climbed into bed.
She told herself she was relieved. Their friendship was intact. Nothing had changed. Nothing had been risked. Nothing had been lost.
But as Lena turned out the light, the memory of Kara’s expression followed her into the dark.
The next morning, Alex let herself into Kara's apartment carrying two coffees and a paper bag of pastries from Noonan's.
Normally, she wouldn't have needed the spare key. Normally, Kara would've heard her halfway down the hallway and opened the door before Alex even had a chance to knock. Instead, Alex let herself in to silence.
No music. No television. No smell of breakfast drifting from the kitchen. No half-finished article spread across Kara's dining table.
The apartment looked exactly the way it had the evening before.
Even the lights were still on.
Alex frowned. "Kara?"
No answer.
She found her sister sitting on the couch in the same clothes she'd worn the night before. One leg tucked underneath her. Hands resting loosely in her lap. She was staring blankly at the television. It wasn't even turned on.
For a second, Alex wondered if Kara had fallen asleep sitting upright. Then Kara blinked. Slowly.
Alex stopped just inside the doorway. "Oh, no."
Kara looked over with the sluggishness of someone being pulled back from somewhere very far away.
"What?"
Alex pointed at her.
"That face."
"What face?"
"The one you made when you watched The Notebook for the first time."
Kara frowned.
"I was emotionally invested."
"You cried for six hours."
"It was sad."
"You cried during the credits."
"They were emotional credits."
Alex snorted quietly before setting the coffees and pastries on the coffee table. Normally, Kara would've reached for the paper bag before Alex even put it down. She loved pastries with an enthusiasm that bordered on concerning. Today she didn't even glance at them. That worried Alex far more than the thousand-yard stare.
"What happened?"
Kara looked back at the dark television. In the reflection she could just make out herself. Rumpled sweater. Hair she'd never bothered brushing after getting home. Dark circles beneath her eyes.
She hadn't slept. Or maybe she'd slept for an hour. She honestly couldn't remember.
"Nothing."
"Kara."
"Nothing happened."
Alex sighed. "That is not the same thing as nothing being wrong."
Silence settled over the apartment.
Outside, National City had already begun moving. Traffic drifted up from the streets below. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Someone laughed. Life had continued exactly as it always did.
Only Kara felt different.
Alex sat beside her.
Not too close. Just close enough.
She'd learned years ago that Kara hated being cornered when something hurt.
After Krypton. After Astra. After Mon-El. After every impossible goodbye. Alex had learned that forcing Kara to talk only made her retreat further.
Waiting almost always worked. Eventually Kara decided silence hurt more than honesty.
Alex waited.
One minute.
Then another.
Kara watched dust drift lazily through the morning sunlight.
Finally, without looking at her sister, she whispered, "We're just friends."
Alex frowned.
"You and me?"
Kara turned slowly. There wasn't even enough energy in her to look annoyed.
"No."
Alex nodded thoughtfully.
"Good."
Kara blinked.
"Good?"
"Because that would've made Thanksgiving incredibly awkward."
Despite everything, the corner of Kara's mouth twitched. "Alex."
"Sorry."
Not even slightly.
Kara reached down and picked absently at a loose thread on the couch cushion. Her fingers kept working at it while she spoke.
"Lena and me."
Alex became very still.
"What happened?"
"We were playing pool."
Alex groaned dramatically.
"That sentence has never ended well."
Kara let out a breath that almost became a laugh.
"I asked her what we were."
Alex's coffee froze halfway to her mouth.
"...You what?"
"I meant stripes or solids."
Alex lowered the cup very, very carefully. "Oh." A beat. "Oh no."
"And she said..."
Kara stopped. It was ridiculous. Two words. Just two ordinary words. She'd heard them thousands of times throughout her life.
Friends.
Just friends.
There was nothing painful about either word by itself.
Together...
Together they had followed her home. They'd echoed through every room of her apartment. They'd chased her through the sky. She'd heard them every time she'd closed her eyes.
"'Just friends.'"
Alex watched her carefully.
"And then?"
"I told her I meant the game."
"And then?"
"She said solids."
Alex waited. Kara knew what she was asking.
"That's it?"
"I meant emotionally, Kara."
Kara leaned back against the couch. The cushions shifted beneath her.
Emotionally... Emotionally she had lost something she hadn't even known she'd wanted.
"I realized..." She stopped. The words felt impossibly large. "I realized I didn't want that to be her answer."
The apartment became painfully quiet.
Alex didn't interrupt.
Kara wasn't finished.
"I've been trying to figure out why." She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. "All night."
A minute passes between them. Alex doesn't rush her.
"I kept thinking maybe I was just embarrassed." She laughed softly. "I've done embarrassing things before."
Alex smiled.
"You once sneezed while flying."
"I inhaled a pigeon."
"You inhaled three pigeons."
"They were very surprised."
"They're probably still telling people."
A tiny smile flickered across Kara's face before disappearing again.
"I thought maybe I was upset because I made things awkward." She swallowed. "But every time I replayed it..." Her voice became quieter. "...I kept wishing she'd answered differently."
Alex remained silent. Kara stared down at her hands.
"I kept wondering why that hurt so much."
She closed her eyes.
"And then..."
Her throat tightened. "Everything started making sense."
Alex tilted her head.
"What do you mean?"
Kara laughed once. Not because anything was funny. Because suddenly there were too many memories. Too many moments she'd never questioned before.
"I remember the first time Lena fell asleep on my couch."
Alex smiled immediately. "The movie marathon."
Kara nodded.
"She kept insisting she wasn't tired."
A smile softened her face despite herself. "She was arguing with me about whether the ending made sense."
"She lost."
"She always loses arguments when she's exhausted."
Kara looked down at her lap.
"Halfway through the movie she just..." She leaned her own head gently to one side. "...fell asleep on my shoulder."
The memory came back with startling clarity. Lena's hair against her neck. The warmth of her body. The way she'd instinctively curled closer without ever waking.
"I sat there for almost two hours."
"I remember," Alex said quietly.
"I didn't even move."
"You refused."
"I told myself it was because she looked comfortable."
Alex nodded slowly.
"You looked pretty comfortable too."
Kara smiled faintly.
"There was the Pulitzer gala."
Alex's eyebrows lifted.
"Oh."
Kara's smile disappeared.
"She looked beautiful."
Alex didn't tease her. She simply waited.
"She was nervous."
"So were you."
"I wasn't."
"Kara."
"I was worried about her."
"You spent the entire evening watching her."
Kara frowned. "I was making sure she was okay."
"You barely spoke to anyone else."
Kara opened her mouth. Closed it. There had been reporters. Editors. People she'd admired for years. She'd barely remembered any of them afterward. What she remembered was Lena smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her dress. Lena asking quietly if she looked out of place. Lena laughing with relief when Kara told her she'd looked incredible.
Kara looked toward the window.
"I remember buying oat milk."
Alex blinked.
"What?"
"For my apartment."
"You hate oat milk."
"I know."
"You complained about it."
"I did."
Alex frowned.
"Why did you buy it?"
Kara stared blankly ahead.
"...Because Lena likes it."
The realization landed heavily. "I never even thought about it." She laughed softly. "I just..." She shook her head. "It was there one day."
She remembered buying Lena's favorite tea. Keeping extra honey. Learning exactly how Lena took her coffee. Knowing without asking. Remembering before Lena did. She remembered automatically checking the calendar before agreeing to anything because she already knew which evenings Lena usually worked late. She remembered scanning every gala for Lena before anyone else. Listening for her heartbeat during attacks before she'd even found her visually.
Every habit had seemed so normal. So natural. Now they looked different.
Painfully different.
"I love her."
This time it didn't feel like a realization.
It felt like accepting something that had been true for years.
Alex reached over and took her hand. "I know."
Kara looked up sharply.
"What?"
Alex winced. "I mean..." She sighed. "I suspected."
"For how long?"
"A while."
"How long is a while?"
Alex looked toward the ceiling.
"Alex."
"Maybe..."
She grimaced.
"...since the Pulitzer gala."
Kara stared.
"That was two years ago."
"You spent the entire night staring at Lena."
"She looked beautiful."
"She did."
"And she was nervous."
"She was."
"And Andrea kept touching her arm."
"There it is."
Kara frowned.
"What?"
Alex couldn't help smiling.
"There was this look."
"What look?"
"The one where you looked like you wanted to politely throw Andrea into the harbor."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I was observing."
"You nearly cracked the stem of your champagne flute."
"I have excellent grip strength."
Alex laughed. "You asked Lena if she wanted to leave six separate times."
"I thought she was overwhelmed."
"You were overwhelmed."
Kara opened her mouth to argue. Nothing came out.
"...Maybe."
Alex squeezed her hand. "Kara..." Her voice softened. "You've loved Lena for a long time."
The certainty in Alex's voice undid something inside Kara. She'd spent all night thinking she'd fallen in love yesterday. She hadn't. Yesterday she'd simply found the words for something she'd apparently been living with for years.
How many moments had she misunderstood? How many times had she mistaken love for friendship simply because she'd never expected there to be a difference? How many people had noticed before she had?
"It doesn't matter," Kara whispered.
Alex frowned.
"Why?"
"Because she said we're friends."
"She thought you were asking a different question."
"She answered immediately."
Alex hesitated. Kara noticed.
"What?"
"I'm just saying..." Alex chose her words carefully. "...maybe Lena was caught off guard."
"She wasn't."
"You don't know that."
Kara looked away.
"I heard her heartbeat."
The words felt wrong the instant they left her mouth. Alex's expression shifted. Not judgment. Just understanding. Kara rubbed both hands over her face.
"I know." She hated saying it aloud. "I shouldn't..." She pauses. "I didn't mean to listen."
"You don't have to explain."
"But I did." Her voice cracked. "I've replayed it over and over."
She remembered the exact rhythm. The slight acceleration when she'd asked the question.
The pause.
The uncertainty.
The answer.
"She was nervous," Kara admitted quietly.
"But Lena gets nervous when she's embarrassed."
She swallowed. "It doesn't mean she wanted me to be asking."
Alex looked at her.
"It doesn't mean she didn't."
Hope flared instinctively.
Kara extinguished it just as quickly.
"I can't risk it."
"Kara—"
"She's happy."
"Is she?" Alex asks.
"With me."
Kara looked down at their joined hands.
"With us. Our friendship. She trusts me again."
The words came more quietly now.
"After everything..."
Every lie. Every broken promise. Every secret. Every time Kara had convinced herself she knew what was best for Lena.
"She trusts me."
Her eyes burned.
"I'm not going to destroy that because I finally figured out something everyone else apparently knew two years ago."
Alex watched her for a long moment. "So what are you going to do?"
Kara looked toward her phone.
The screen lit up.
Lena: Coffee later?
Kara's heart lifted. And broke all over again. She smiled before she could stop herself.
Then the smile faded.
"I'm going to get over it."
Alex looked deeply unconvinced.
Kara straightened her shoulders.
She had fought worldkillers. Survived Kryptonite. Escaped the Phantom Zone. Resisted the Black Mercy. Surely...
Surely she could survive being in love with her best friend.
Alex picked up her coffee. "This is going to be a disaster."
"It is not."
"It absolutely is."
"I can handle it."
"Kara."
"What?"
"You're already putting on lipstick."
Kara frowned. Then looked down.
Somewhere during the conversation she'd unconsciously picked up the lipstick from the coffee table and started applying it using the reflection in the dark television.
She froze.
Alex raised one eyebrow.
Very slowly, Kara set the lipstick back down.
"...That proves nothing."
"Of course it doesn't."
Her phone buzzed again.
Lena: I can bring lunch. Your favorite?
Kara closed her eyes. She had intended to spend the morning getting over Lena Luthor. Instead, she'd spent it remembering every reason she'd fallen in love with her.
Operation Get Over Lena Luthor had been active for approximately forty seconds.
And Kara was already hopelessly, spectacularly doomed.