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Today is a good day.
Today is a good day, because Tuesdays are good days. Tuesdays mean long lab hours and as little boardroom time as possible, and dinner dates, because that’s what’s been written on Lena’s schedule for the past seven months. And today is a Tuesday, thus today is a good day.
Except she’s had the same song stuck in her head on a loop ever since 9 a.m., playing so loudly she could barely make out the conversation between her Senior Executives during the one meeting she’d been set to attend, and her hand started feeling too weak to hold the marker with which she was writing her calculations about forty minutes into designated lab time, and the usual headache seemed to have developed into a migraine by midday – which meant that not only did the lights sound too loud in all their buzzing glory, she was also half convinced Lex had risen from whatever lair he’d been hiding in for the past year and a half with the sole purpose of conducting an attempt on her life via illumination tools.
So, today is a carefully curated Good Day, and yet by the time Lena gets home, she can barely make it to the living room couch before the dizziness overtakes her and she loses all ability to stand up any longer.
It’s all too much, it’s just-
Her previously tingly legs became officially numb hours ago; her hands seem to have rioted against her brain, too weak to follow command, yet stubbornly twitching at random; her head throbs, and it feels like her throat has been tied into a knot so tight it she was nearly unable to bring herself to communicate with Jess before leaving early, too early, earlier than she was supposed to, and this isn’t how it should go, this isn’t on the schedule she and Kara and her doctors all spent so long drawing up, but of course she failed anyways, she always does-
Lena doesn’t know whether the voice in her mind is her own, or Lillian’s, or Kara’s when she finally sees that nothing will ever work and she will simply not get better – she’s not meant to; she doesn’t measure up to expectations, never has, – so Kara will leave, just like everyone else, but at least the damned song stopped playing.
There’s no right position on the couch, because there’s no position that will bring the feeling back to her legs, so Lena sits stiffly and stares straight ahead, which doesn’t work, either – not with this restless energy threatening to blow her to pieces just so it will find a way out.
Against shaky legs and the head-rush that promptly follows, Lena stands up. Paces. Unties her ponytail in hopes of relieving the pressure in her brain, only to grab fistfuls of her hair and pull, because this isn’t supposed to be like this, not today. Today is not the day for this. Things are supposed to work out today, this is not what they planned. She’s been following all the steps and seeing all the doctors and failing her company to the point of having to ask Sam to work as co-CEO even though she knows her friend has too much on her plate raising a teenager.
She’s been selfish, and lazy, and underworked – all because she couldn’t handle growing up among a bad family without literally developing a disorder due to it. She’s been weak but at least she can pull her hair and the buzzing out with it.
Until it’s not enough; it’s never enough. She needs somewhere to sit, but she can’t be still. A part of her hopes that the swaying floor will pull her down with it, or maybe the black splotches in her turvy vision will finally take over and make this feeling stop, so she’ll wake up in a few hours with her energy (and, ideally, memory) reset.
Of course, Lena Luthor has never been particularly lucky, and that’s not about to change now.
She stumbles her way to the wall and slides down with her back to it – something to ground her, something solid, something that won’t disappear and won’t let her disappear. It’s not long before the rocking starts: back and forth, then side to side.
Yet, the feeling that she will burst right open is still there, because the sun is too bright and she forgot to close the damn blinds and there’s no way she’s strong enough to do it now, which means she just has to suck it up, not press the balls of her shaking hands into her scrunched up eyes and frantically drag then across her face like she’s doing.
It’s incontrollable, the way her fingers curl, directing her nails towards her skin and she only has enough willpower to redirect them to her arms because she can wear long sleeves during the summer but she can’t fucking hide nail marks on her face.
God, she can’t even imagine what Lillian would say right now. Rather, she can, but she can’t go there right now, no, it’s too much; not right now. Lena doesn’t know who she’s pleading to, but of all the moments for her mind to blank out and switch to automatic, this would be a pretty great one, which means that naturally it won’t happen and ugh, she doesn’t know when she started heaving for air and fucking crying, but that’s where she’s at now and maybe it’s time to just accept that this is her reality.
Her head jerks up at the unbearable sound of her apartment door being opened, heart rate speeding up at the idea of being seen like this as flashbacks of not being able to flinch away from cold fingers wrapping around her tiny fists and holding back whimpers at the harsh reprimanding yells for bringing shame to the family during overwhelming social functions.
She tries to scurry backwards, but it only makes her head hit the wall, and Lillian is coming closer but Lena can’t even look at her face, and how the hell did she bypass the security lock, when did she come back from hiding, how could Lena have been so careless-
“Lena, Lena,” someone crouches down on the other side of the room, by the couch, and waves to get her attention, but it’s to no use, she’s frozen – trying her hardest not to move, so maybe she won’t be punished, – but her nails dig deep into her arms and she can’t get herself to look up, to interact the way she should. It’s barely a minute before she goes back to swaying back and forth, motions unstoppable and more frantic than at any point today. It’s not Lillian – she will always be able to tell that voice apart from any other, – but they can still take advantage of her, can do whatever they want, really, when she’s vulnerable like this and shit, the door was supposed to have been locked, it was supposed to have been fucking locked-
“Lena, hey, it’s me. It’s me, it’s Kara.”
Kara?
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tuesday’s mean dinner dates. Tuesday’s mean dinner dates, dinner dates, the have dinner dates on Tuesday’s and Lena’s not ready, she’s nowhere near being ready and Kara’s here, Kara’s here to pick her up and she’s letting her down, again.
Lena scrambles to her wobbly feet and tries to make eye contact with Kara, but it’s to no use. The best she can do is try to focus on the painting on the far wall behind her shoulder, but even so, her eyes can’t seem to be able to stay still, they dart around the room as she uses every single ounce of energy she has left to just get her hands to stop twitching and her throat to work, so she can point behind herself properly and explain that she’ll be ready soon and they can leave, that she’s so sorry she forgot but she’ll rein it in and she’ll suck it up like she should have from the beginning, that she won’t disappoint her this time.
All that comes out is an assortment of humiliating attempts at turning sounds into words.
“Lena, baby, just listen to my voice, okay?” She can’t help it. She flinches. It’s too loud. Everything is too loud. But it’s Kara . Kara doesn’t talk during meltdowns unless it’s important, she doesn’t, that’s their deal. Even if she hates her now, she wouldn’t . So, Lena tries her best to listen, to pay attention, to make out her girlfriend’s voice even through the buzzing lights and the pulsing in her ears and her wheezing breaths. “I’m not mad. It’s okay. Just do what you need to do, yeah? Do you want me to stay?”
She blows out a deep breath, sweaty palms dragging against her thighs, and turns her back to Kara in a failed attempt to recompose herself. It’s alright, though. Kara’s been here for this before. Kara won’t be mad. She won’t think she’s weird or see her differently.
Lena turns back around, eyes on the rug but body facing her girlfriend. Hurriedly, she nods, then nods again, and it’s not long before she gets stuck in the motion because for some reason it’s so comforting, however humiliating. Tears stream down her face as she finds her way back to the floor, where at least her legs get some kind of reprieve and the dizziness isn’t so bad. She doesn’t try to form words, just hugs both knees close to her chest, rests her head on top of it and resumes the rocking motion. Through her peripheral vision, she still sees Kara, who is facing the other way, like she always does to make Lena more comfortable in moments like this.
Kara’s here. She’s not leaving. Kara is here.
“You’re safe, Lena. I won’t let anybody hurt you. I promise,” she murmurs softly, and after that, the only noises Lena hears are the shuffling of clothes and bare feet touching the floor.
Blessedly, the light outside her eyelids dims – Kara must have closed the blinds, – and when Lena is finally able to stop moving, take a deep breath, and perceive the outside world without it being too overwhelming again, she notices her iced tea thermos has been placed near her (but at a safe distance, so she can pick it up if she wants to).
She does – even though her throat feels stiff and weak and she can’t imagine ever having had the energy to get anything past it – and gets up off the floor. Takes three unsteady steps to get to the couch Kara’s reading a book on and sits on its far end. It’s… incredibly lonely, still. Lena knows she’s supposed to bridge the gap in these situations; that her discomfort is the reason, when they talked about it, she asked if Kara could avoid engaging as much as possible in order to minimize sensory overload and a mortification her girlfriend says she doesn’t need to feel, but her whole life has taught her otherwise. Fuck, she hates these moments.
Kara’s not mad, she tells herself.
When one of them is mad, they communicate.
Kara isn’t disappointed, and she’s not ignoring her. This feeling inside of her isn’t some sort of punishment, she can reach out. Kara tells her to always reach out. She doesn’t need to pinch her thighs or hold her breath until her face is hot in order to stay in her body, she just has to make a sound.
Any sound, or a movement, and Kara will come closer. She won’t leave her alone, this isn’t punishment, she just needs to reach out-
There’s a light tug on her shirtsleeve, and she realizes absently that there are words floating around her. Kara’s probably saying something, but Lena can’t process it over the sound of her own racing heart and uneven breathing.
A light tug is all she needs, anyway.
Throwing herself towards it, Lena is caught by warm arms and carefully maneuvered until she’s sitting on the Kryptonian’s lap and clinging onto her neck with all the strength she doesn’t have.
The pressure is good. Kara holds her as tight as humanly survivable and her hands never stop rubbing Lena’s back, reminding her that she’s here. She’s real.
Slowly, shaky whimpers come into focus, sharpening against her own ears, and she can feel herself tremble. Kara’s voice is soon to follow – sweet and steady. Not too loud, not forcing Lena to listen, but gently coaxing her towards it.
“…kay, baby. I’m right here. You’re gonna be alright. You’re safe. I’m not letting you go.”
Somehow, registering it makes the tears flow out even faster. She burrows her face deeper into the skin of Kara’s neck and just stays there, appreciating the slow rocking motion Kara’s put them on that gradually lulls the desperation out of her.
“You’re safe, Lena,” she whispers again, and a loud, distorted sob breaks out. She must sound awful. Disgusting and broken, and everything no one should ever be obligated to put up with. “Yeah, baby. That’s it. You can let it out.”
Damn Kara and her understanding, this isn’t supposed to go like this. She’s supposed to tell her to shut up and swallow it down and just move on, because then maybe Lena will. Maybe that’s what she needs to put a lid on this Pandora’s box of ugly feelings she seems to have opened, and so Kara won’t get sick of her. She needs to get it together, because there’s no way she’ll have anyone left if she keeps inconveniencing them like this. But Kara just whispers for her to keep going, and so she does.
Her body is wracked with interminable sobs that prevent any air from making its way in. She wheezes and whimpers and holds on tighter, and she’s supposed to pick all of these damned broken pieces up and sweep them under the rug but Kara doesn’t tell her to. She doesn’t know how to do it on her own, and her girlfriend just lets her feel it; just stays there and holds her, and how is she supposed to stop like that?
“ Lena. You can cry, sweetheart. I’m not letting go, see?” Distantly, she feels the pressure around her tighten – probably bordering on dangerous, yet she needs more. Needs Kara closer , needs to not drift away, because what if she can’t find her way back? “Hey, hey. Listen to me, Lena. You can hold on as tight as you want, it won’t hurt me. But you don’t need to, do you hear me? You can rest. I’ll hold you. I promise.”
It’s only now she realizes how badly her arms are trembling – nearly spasming – from the strength she’s trying to use. She knows Kara is saying things – can even go so far as understanding it in the cognitive sense of the term, – but it’s as though they’re so far from the realm of possibility, it doesn’t even apply to her. She can’t bring herself to believe it.
Her girlfriend readjusts their position, somehow deepening the contact even further, and one of her hands comes up to cradle Lena’s head, firmly massaging her scalp in short and fluid motions. It brings out a different noise than the other ones – whiney and long, wavering in tune but not in continuity. To her utmost embarrassment, it actually makes her feel a little better.
“Do you need to vocal stim?”
She just buries her burning face further into Kara’s neck.
“Do you want me to talk, too?”
A hurried nod.
“It’s okay, Lena.” Kara keeps stroking her hair. “It’s okay to fall apart, baby. It’s okay to feel it. Just let it all out. You won’t scare me away.”
As always, she keeps her word.
Lena cries until it feels like there’s not a drop of water left in her body. Holds on until her arms give out. Stims until her voice seeps away and feels until her heart is spent. Kara whispers sweet reassurances that Lena can’t pay attention to, yet are comforting by nature. Holds her through all of it – until she’s hollow, and heavy, and limp, – and then holds her some more.
It’s always strange when the arms of nothingness reach out to embrace her. Carry her far away from her body; to a place where her chest and legs don’t ache, the panic of pounding noises and thrumming lights can’t reach her, and the perpetually open scars in her heart stop bleeding – even if only temporarily. Of course, she doesn’t notice any of it while it’s happening, but more than once, Lena has found herself wishing that the exhaustion of enduring too much would be enough for her mind to earn itself the kind of reprieve that only comes in those floating moments.
Coming to in Kara’s arms is the best case scenario. She’s not sure if that’s other people’s experience – can’t be, not when she doesn’t talk about it; was never allowed to; is only just figuring out how to do it now, – but it’s reassuring to have an anchor to the real world. To feel like somebody has her, somebody she trusts, somebody she wants there in her most vulnerable moment. Somebody with whom she’s safe.
Gradually, slowly, her senses reactivate, her thoughts pick up in pace, and the pain comes back. Bones transition into lead, muscles into cement. But there’s no twitching, no rush of a brain that’s trying to keep up with too much.
A hand brushes through her matted hair as she blinks her eyes back into focus. Takes her time. When she’s ready, Lena nuzzles further into Kara’s neck, breathing in the light scent of flowers from a civilization light years away.
“Oh, hey,” the Kryptonian whispers. “How are you doing?”
Tennis ball making itself known in her throat, the youngest Luthor tries to say something reassuring, but what comes out is a pitiful whimper. She shakes her head and buries it into Kara’s neck again, heavy eyed and tight chested.
“ Baby ,” she coos, “you must be feeling so poorly.”
And, unable to speak, Lena sobs, because she is . Because she can’t explain to Kara that it feels like each bone in her superficially numb legs will detach from one another as a result of merely walking. That her fingers ache for gripping too hard at the fabric that clothes her one safe haven.
Although she’s fucking sick of crying, Lena sobs. Because today was supposed to be a good day, and it turned into yet another thing she’s ruined.
And Kara?
Kara kisses the top of her head, then patiently waits.
She wakes up to the rise and fall of a chest synchronized with her own. Lying nearly entirely on top of her girlfriend and tucked into the couch cushion, Lena takes stock of herself. Although their position has changed, she’s still wrapped securely in Kara’s arms, while her own are bent at the elbow, holding onto the woman’s shirt.
With her head heavy and throat scratchy from crying, the youngest Luthor rubs the side of her face onto the Kryptonian pillow under it.
“Hi, baby,” the blonde’s voice sounds smiley as she cranes her neck just enough to plant a kiss on a furrowing forehead. It warms Lena’s drowsy heart like a fuzzy blanket, earning a pleased sigh. “It’s pretty late.”
Panic crawls into her ribcage and prickles her skin at the idea that this might be the moment Kara’s had enough – that she’s crossed a line, and will finally get yelled at for being such an inconvenience, or even worse: that she’ll be left alone.
What happens instead is that an arm repositions itself around her waist as her girlfriend’s other bicep cushions Lena’s head after Kara rearranges their positions in such a way that they both lie on their sides, facing one another – not that unburies her face from its comfortable nest. It’s a tight fit, but between the tangle of legs she knows the Kryptonian isn’t putting any real weight on and the fact that she can float , they make it work.
Though entirely too grateful for the sound of silence that dances around her ears, Lena can’t help but find it unfortunate in days like this (when her mind runs at three times its normal speed, steadily producing an array of thoughts too loud to box up and tuck it into a far corner of her mind). She’s lucky, she knows, to have a superhero who refuses to leave and a favorite person who insists on staying. Lena is painfully aware of what it feels like to be on the other side of that particular coin. In moments like this, however, it’s not quite enough to make her feel safe (her mind is plagued with thoughts about that, as well).
Palm splayed on her back, Kara’s thumb strokes over the fabric of Lena’s silk blouse as a way of getting her attention.
“Do you want me to order some dinner?”
Under the knot in her throat and nauseous haze that has been present all day, Lena acknowledges the rumble of her stomach as hunger – what, with the lack of food intake over the past fifteen hours. Regardless, it doesn’t seem like a worthy hassle to have to detach from Kara and use muscles and all the other things one has to do when performing traditionally minimally demanding activities.
“It won’t be anything big, I promise,” the blonde puts some space between them, disturbing sweet peace and earning herself a mental growl because Lena doesn’t have the energy for anything more than that. She tries to pay attention, though, because Kara is speaking, and everything she says is important. “Just that soup you like, the smooth one with no chunks?”
Kara is wearing her blue button-up today – the one that brings out the eyes Lena can’t bring herself to look into right now, which she’s sure are oozing concern under slightly furrowed eyebrows. Running the material of its hem between index and middle fingers, Lena considers briefly before giving a reluctant nod. It’s the healthy thing to do, she tells herself, even if her body rebels against it. Mostly, because it’s important to eat after a meltdown, and no one’s ever cared about that before Kara. So, she acquiesces before reclaiming their previous spot, and it’s worth it from the relieved sigh that slips from her girlfriend’s lips alone.
At first, she notices the noise.
It jostles her awake and kickstarts her already-arrhythmic heart into a thrum that makes its way through her skin in a buzzing, unsettling feeling that feels a little too close to shaking. She sits up too fast, black dots painting the tilting world before her as her blood seems to be unsure of which way it should go.
“Lena, it’s okay,” Kara’s voice – has she always been sitting there? – makes its way through the pounding in her ears, and Lena realizes she’s got her girlfriend’s forearm in a death grip. Letting go proves to be a struggle, and when Kara sets a hand on top of hers, she looks up with teary eyes, still too afraid to breathe. “That was just the doorbell. Our food is here. I’ll ask them to leave it at the door, yeah? You’re okay.”
She’s okay.
Lena flings herself onto her girlfriend’s chest, exhales. Then gasps, because it seems her ribcage has momentarily forgotten how this respiration thing is supposed to go. So she sobs , really – has lost count of how many times she’s done that today, but can’t seem to really care about that in her desperation for air.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Kara holds her up, holds her close. “I’m sorry. I forgot about the doorbell. I’m sorry. It’s gonna be alright, take your time. I’m right here.”
It doesn’t feel like it’s going to be alright, she wants to say.
She’s not supposed to be spooked by doorbells, to lose her breath if she stands too quickly, to feel pain every day because her body can’t handle doing the things it was made for. She’s not supposed to have so many different doctors and put herself through so many different kinds of therapies she can’t even keep track of them all without outside help.
It is what it is, however, and so Lena spends God-knows-how-long gripping like a vice on to the girlfriend who shouldn’t have this many responsibilities a few months into a relationship, trying to regulate herself. Her body is vibrating , and even after the hyperventilation and the tears, something still feels off. If she was on edge before, Lena might need a dictionary to properly describe her current condition.
Her ribcage rises and falls in calculated intervals, but its movements are shaky, as though her own body were unsure of how to do its job, which is fitting, but Kara keeps her steady as can be. Right hand making sure the youngest Luthor’s head doesn’t loll one way or another while the left keeps their bodies flush, physically shielding Lena from a world far too cruel, Kara hums softly, and waits.
“Lena?” The blonde calls eventually.
She tries to make a sound in response, but can only manage a sharp exhale.
“Hey, love. You’ve had a tough time today, huh?”
Lena looks down, face still pressed against Kara’s shirt.
“I know. I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll let you fall asleep really soon. Do you think you can manage a bit of that soup before I take you to bed?” Kara kisses the raven head of hair her cheek rests atop, knowing Lena’s usual reaction would be to grumble.
For someone who’s so set on routines, eating regularly has by no means been an easy task for the youngest Luthor over most of her life.
There are flashbacks, sometimes, of meltdowns being rewarded with denied meals as a small Lena was locked in her room for hours on end to think about her antics – which, of course, only earned her even more intense meltdowns. Lillian would tell her to stop being so dramatic, that maybe if she didn’t care about food so inordinately, she would finally look like a proper young girl. That she was doing her a favor.
Over time, skipping meals became more routinely than having them.
Then came Kara, and the diagnoses, and the doctors and therapists with an array of rules as to how she should live her life in order to get better. They respected her boundaries well enough, which she wasn’t used to from health professionals, but some things had to be changed. Rules are rules, and so Lena tries her best to follow them. Even if it goes against every inch of the person she was raised to be (which, considering the people that raised her, isn’t really such a bad idea).
Which means she agrees to Kara’s request.
(Kara requested .
It’s still challenging at times, to understand that her loved ones will ask, but never tell her to do something. That her will matters, and it’s okay so say ‘no’.
In some ways, baffling as that is, it makes it that much easier to say ‘yes’.)
“Okay,” Kara breathes, running her fingers through Lena’s hair. Usually, the motion makes her stomach do this sweeping thing before it settles, warm and cozy, into the feeling of being taken care of. Right now, it’s like there are too many fingers scratching her scalp. “I’m gonna get the food and set it up for you, okay?”
No, that doesn’t sound right. She’s not safe, Kara can’t leave-
“I’ll be so fast, you won’t even notice I’m gone. I promise.”
Lena begs to differ, but lets go all the same, arms wrapping around her own middle, and- okay, it really takes only a blink for the Kryptonian to be back at her side, but still, they’re not wrapped up in each other anymore and she would much rather have stayed in their former arrangement forever.
Every once in a while, when the youngest Luthor has moments akin to this one, she’ll notice just how sickeningly clingy she’s being and want to throw up in her own mouth a little bit. Which is not great, considering she’s just about to have food, but it’s where she’s at. Honestly, it’s a marvel that Kara hasn’t left her spectacularly melodramatic ass to its own devices yet.
“Alright, here you go.”
She's handed the soup bowl and a spoon, and Lena nods as a way of saying ‘thank you’. Apparently, though, that’s about as precise a movement as her motor skills will allow at this point, given that the spoon is balanced between her fingers in such a precarious manner, that it fails to hold any of the liquid all the way to her mouth.
Embarrassment burns its way up Lena’s chest in a quest to meet the stinging frustration behind her eyelids. Of course she wouldn’t be able to do this one thing alone. Of course she would need to have one of those moments in front of her girlfriend. As if she didn’t already act incapable enough around Kara.
Lena tries a couple more times before dropping both her traitorous spoon and bowl onto the coffee table and sitting back on the couch, arms crossed and jaw clenched as she tries to look anywhere but at the pity that must paint Supergirl’s face. It’s, maybe, unfair to have all those assumptions about Kara after the blonde has done nothing but prove herself at any corner, but Lena hasn’t ever had this before. She wouldn’t be able to tell where the line between ‘acceptable’ and ‘pathetic’ is, because growing up, the former was never an option when it came to her personal failings.
“Can I help?” Kara asks. Because, of course, she does. Lena squints up, either holding back tears from physical pain or a bruised ego – she’s not quite sure, while digging her nails into her forearm, since apparently, that sort of precision, her fingers can manage. “Come on, Lena. If the roles were reversed, would you do it for me?”
Which is how the youngest Luthor’s contempt for hypocrisy finds her in the unbecoming position of being spoon-fed vegetable soup at the tender age of twenty-nine.
The first two spoons go down well enough, but the third proves to be more of a hassle, since her throat doesn’t seem very keen on completing the tasks necessary for her to be able to swallow. That’s also when her nausea flares back up to officially upsetting levels, and Kara must see the grimace on her face, because she encourages softly,
“It’s okay, take your time. Do you think you can manage two more? I’ll take the rest to the refrigerator.”
In spite of the hesitant nod Lena gives in response, the struggle that comes with the fourth spoon proves that a fifth is not possible, which is so incredibly ridiculous. She should be able to do this again one more time. Just trudge through a little longer, and maybe she’ll be able to not let her girlfriend down for once in the entirety of their relationship. Teeth dig into the skin of her lips. She can’t.
“No luck, huh?” And it’s so hard, not being able to speak, because if she could, maybe it would be okay that she’s not able to manage facial expressions right now. Maybe Kara would know how sorry she is; how much she appreciates everything she’s done for her tonight; how hard she’s trying to not be such a burden. A telltale clink announces the near-full bowl’s return to the coffee table, and Lena stares dejectedly at her latest shortcoming.
“Do you want to cuddle a little?” Exhaling, Lena lays her head on Kara’s shoulder and scooches closer, earning herself a forehead kiss. “You did great. I’m not mad, and I will never push your limits, okay?”
The younger woman’s hand snakes between them to interlace their fingers, squeezing the hand that warms her own as she nuzzles deeper into Kara.
“Today’s been pretty awful, hasn’t it?”
The knot in Lena’s throat swells again as she nods.
Tuesdays are good days .
Kara leads a Lena who’s already in some state of half-slumber to bed, bleary green gaze watching as the Kryptonian helps her into her pj’s, then tenderly tucks her in. Tomorrow, she might feel embarrassed by the stunt, but right now, any trace of pride that may have survived tonight’s events is fast asleep.
Which also explains why they check her blood pressure and heart rate, logging it into her journal and subsequently completing her nightly routine, she grabs onto a tanned arm before it can properly move away, pleading eyes spending up all the energy she has left to search blue orbs with all their might in a silent plea.
Stay.
“I’m just gonna find myself some more comfortable clothes, okay? I’m not leaving you.”
Lena must have been holding her breath, because only after that reassurance is she able to draw some air in again. Still, she can’t seem to relax until the spot she refrains from calling Kara’s side of the bed sinks, after which the youngest Luthor wastes no time in moving closer, attaching to her arm. Her personal source of warmth gets the message and positions Lena to lay mostly on top of her, the way she likes when she’s feeling ill.
When one of Kara’s hands starts stroking her back, she takes it and holds it against her own chest instead. She can’t deal with dynamic physical contact right now, even if from the person she’s most comfortable with.
Kara kisses her cheek, but otherwise lays still.
“Thank you for telling me what you need, baby.”
Jesus , is this woman real?
Lena keeps her grip as tight as she can.
“You’re safe, my love. You can rest now. I won’t stop holding you.”
And she doesn’t.
Setting her alarm with the traditional ringtone is a choice for which Lena both berates and thanks herself every morning: she may want to launch her phone through a window, but it gets the job done. Kara’s disgruntled whine and subsequent blind reaching for the offending device sums up the mood pretty well.
Lena, on her part, opts for a few more seconds of coziness and denial, which her girlfriend partakes in as soon as the blaring noise ceases and a very suspicious thud is produced.
They barely moved at all last night, and the cocoon she finds herself in is safe, and warm, and all the things she never had growing up. But her employees don’t care about the youngest Luthor’s woes, and they certainly won’t see the suitable explanation as to why she decided to forgo her CEO responsibilities for a late morning in bed that her girlfriend claims it to be.
Thus, she walks out of her room twenty minutes later to the smell of banana pancakes and freshly brewed coffee being poured into a thermos by a boxer-brief wearing, MIT sweatshirt-clad Kara, who looks way too right leaning against the kitchen counter and reading the paper as though it were her own. It’s daunting, in a way, the resemblance the image bears to that of a future she can’t bring herself to wish for just yet.
A warm grin greets Lena as cerulean blue finds her standing at the doorway.
“Hey, beautiful,” the blonde calls, “how are you feeling?”
Heat swirls under the skin of pale cheeks as the CEO gives a bashful shrug. They’re both well aware that this situation differs radically from a flu – her symptoms won’t simply diminish and go away after a few days, and she acknowledges that’s not what Kara means by the question. But she’d be a pretty shitty Paragon of Hope if her tone weren’t infused with at least a little optimism regarding the idea that the woman she loves might be in a little less pain today than she was the day before, and Lena doesn’t have the heart to be blunt about her response.
She doesn’t feel as horrible as last night per se – it’s more like, though the ache has somewhat dulled, part of it seeped into her very soul, making itself at home and slowly leeching off energy she already didn't have much of to begin with. Gradually spending up her resilience, when all she seems to need is more of that with each passing day.
So.
She no longer feels wretched , but is reluctant to classify that as ‘better’ nevertheless.
Her girlfriend’s features soften in understanding, but she still has a warm smile on when she nods over to the breakfast table, clearly proud of her gastronomic accomplishment.
“Come on, breakfast is ready.”
Sitting at the table, she can see a piece of paper hanging to the fridge door with the help of an out-of-place heart-shaped magnet, a few feet behind Kara. It holds a list of goals Lena was asked to come up with alongside her doctors – less items crossed out than she would have expected by now, but a post-it note with ‘proud of you <3’ in her girlfriend’s handwriting stuck next to it anyway. She doesn’t feel she deserves it, but it’s a nice bit of color in a place so devoid of that.
They eat in silence – Kara doing the crosswords and occasionally sliding the sheet to Lena for help, while the CEO mentally goes over today’s schedule, preparing herself for the items in it that aren’t usually there. It’s a tad unnerving – and has occurred more times than she’d like to admit lately – to not be able to follow her usual weekly routine.
Typically, Wednesdays would involve press time and check-ins with some of her least favorite employees occupying high power positions, remnants of Lex’s reign due to particularly tricky contract specificities that prevent her from firing them. However unpleasant, there is peace in following this assortment of events: usually recharged from the day before, Lena is able to maintain her energy and make it through the rest of her week without much trouble.
Of course, that is not the case when she’s already woken up to a twinge in her temple and overly red-rimmed eyes as aftermath from a sleep that seems to have done nothing regarding the exhaustion she still feels. She knows better – has learned this lesson empirically – than to voluntarily submit herself to a normal Wednesday under these circumstances, even if it makes her want to pull her hair out a little.
Not to mention, talking remains temporarily out of her list of available abilities.
Jess received an email informing her of such developments (at least, the byproduct of those) shortly after her boss got out of bed, and when Lena’s town car arrives, she enters her building’s elevator wiggling her fingers in a futile, yet wishful, attempt to assure that they will be steady enough to fill out the amount of paperwork that awaits her.
Naturally, that changes absolutely nothing.
At five p.m. on the dot, Supergirl flies in through the balcony to find her rubbing her hands as if it would stop the twitching that’s been a constant in the past two hours along with a brain fog so dense, she has not been able to read through an entire document in twice as long. There’s this restless feeling in her chest, like she could (needs to) run a marathon in order to get rid of all this buzzing, while her leaden limbs could lie perfectly still in a bed (and strong, Kryptonian arms, but that’s not the point) for weeks on end.
While her wish is not possible, Lena does cling to Kara all evening, ignoring the nagging voice in her head that tells her Kara should be in her own apartment, having a sister night or reading a book, or even flying like she enjoys to. That they’re not married, and don’t live together, and it shouldn’t fall upon the Last Daughter of Krypton to hold her through the silly things that make her knees buckle and body ache. Either way, she does one hell of a job at making the youngest Luthor feel safe, and cared for, and wanted.
Lena hopes against hope that it never changes.
Thursday isn’t any easier, but she does manage a few more vocalizations in response to Kara, and when Lena produces a “good morning” as they wake up the day after, the beaming smile she is greeted with almost makes up for the strain that lingers on her vocal chords.
On Saturday, she tries telling Kara to go home. Thankfully, her attempt is not successful.
[11:14 am] Kara Danvers: the fact that you don’t need me to do stuff for you doesn’t mean i’m not gonna!
[11:14 am] Kara Danvers: OR that i’m leaving
Technically, they could be exchanging words in the vocal sense of the term, but that still takes a lot of energy, so Lena is taking advantage of the fact that her fine motor skills have decided to show up this morning and Kara doesn’t seem to mind. It’s a bit of a ridiculous image, she supposes: their bodies facing one another on the couch just a moment after the youngest Luthor put the tiniest bit of distance between them in order to relieve her girlfriend of her duties, but each looking at their own phones instead of into their partner’s eyes.
It’s simpler. Or, it would be, if not for the nature of the conversation.
[11:15 am] You: You’ve been here all week, and I am incredibly grateful, but I’m well enough to be on my own now, and I’ve been terrible company. You should go out, have some fun.
It goes against her every instinct to send Kara away, but she supposes it’s what a good girlfriend would do. The strain in her chest; the urge to keep her here, keep her close , not let go until the world isn’t so oppressive and it stops feeling like her body is trying to destroy itself – that sort of selfishness can’t be right. Especially when she’s been as depressed as the last few days have made her.
Nobody can handle being around that for very long.
Kara types and deletes words for a while before hitting ‘send’.
[11:16 am] Kara Danvers: do you want me to not be here?
Lena sighs.
[11:16 am] You: That’s not the point.
[11:16 am] Kara Danvers: of course it is!!
[11:17 am] You: Shouldn’t what you want matter as well?
For a moment, her girlfriend sits so still, Lena’s halfway convinced that she’s in the Netflix series Kara had suggested they watch, before she couldn’t take the kindness anymore, and the episode is buffering.
[11:18 am] Kara Danvers: what do you think i want?
Lena halts. Not this, sits at the tips of her thumbs, but she can’t bring herself to type it.
[11:20 am] Kara Danvers: i want you, lena. my ideal leisure time is this
[11:20 am] Kara Danvers: being with you
A dry chuckle escapes her – a dark, self-pitying thing that Lillian Luthor would never approve of.
[11:21 am] You: Well, I am hardly ideal at the present time, darling.
Kara’s response is resolute.
[11:21 am] Kara Danvers: you are, to me
What does one reply to that? Is she supposed to call her girlfriend out for having terrible taste in women?
[11:23 am] Kara Danvers: do you want me to leave?
[11:23 am] Kara Danvers: it’s okay if you do. it’s okay to want your own space
It takes some effort – she’s still working on admitting to her wants and needs; on voicing them. But it’s Kara asking, and Kara won’t dangle this in front of her, only to take it away.
It’s Kara asking, and she’s never been anything but respectful to Lena’s boundaries, so she can say it.
She can be vulnerable with Kara.
[11:26 am] You: I want you to stay, please. If that’s okay with you.
From her peripheral vision, Lena can see the corners of pink lips tug up and match, she’s sure, the glow in warm blue eyes.
[11:26 am] Kara Danvers: can i hug you now?
Her ribcage movements are deliberate as she lets out a long breath.
[11:27 am] You: Yes. Please.
Sunday morning comes with the intention of making Kara a surprise-breakfast in bed as a token of appreciation for how wonderful she’s been since, well, always, but especially for the past few days. It helps that the Kryptonian stayed up incredibly late rewatching Gilmore Girls, while Lena, herself, fell asleep before the first episode in their marathon was over.
She takes advantage of the blonde’s deep slumber to slowly get up from bed, stopping for a few minutes after every motion in order to give her body time to adjust, the way she was instructed by her doctors. A head rush still hits her by the time she’s up on her two feet, but the dizziness subsides to a manageable level after some deep breaths, and slowly but surely, Lena makes her way out of the bedroom.
It’s not that it ever seemed like a good idea in the first place as much as it is a testament to her stubbornness that Lena makes a point to walk all the way over to the front door, pick up the morning paper and mail, and then go back to the kitchen island. Maybe it’s also a little bit about the nausea brewing in the pit of her stomach that she feels less than inclined to disturb by concocting everything a super alien’s breakfast consists of.
Either way, her choices don’t amount to a result that screams ‘good idea’.
At first, things go relatively well: Lena arranges all the ingredients she’ll need on the kitchen island by order of usage, then leans most of her weight against the marble-top, so that keeping her balance isn’t quite the task it’s become. She makes the chocolate-chip pancakes from scratch as well as her own banana ones, then proceeds to fry some bacon to go along with the leftover bagels from yesterday that sit on the stove.
Perhaps it’s the sizzling oil, or the intense smells that finally get to her, but Lena’s stomach swoops in such a way that her need for a chair becomes increasingly clear. She tells herself it’ll only be a few more minutes – all that’s left to do is set the table, which is not even that far away. She can probably make it with no further issues.
Theoretically, getting the table set while Kara’s heart-attack-trap of a breakfast is in the making would be a fantastic idea, but she fails to consider just the amount of time and effort it takes to unfold and spread out the table cloth, then carry each item over to the dining room. Lena doesn’t quite realize the heaving of her own chest until she backs against a wall in hopes that the apartment will stop spinning.
If anything, the move makes it all worse, because there is no way her unstable legs will be able to support her body weight after this relative reprieve.
As the smell of burning floods the apartment, Lena knows she should be trying harder.
She shouldn’t let herself slide against the wall, wrap her arms around her knees as if this were the time to get some rest. The goal she’s set herself was simple enough – to make breakfast, once – and she should be able to accomplish it. Isn’t that the entire point of the past few months? For her to learn how to be autonomous once again?
But Lena holds her pounding head in her hands, thoughts so heavy and blurry it’s like her brain has been replaced with a thick fog, and isn’t really able to worry about anything other than fucking getting through this moment.
In the background of her inner turmoil, Lena thinks she can hear a sleepy Kara turn frantic as the Super realizes what’s going on. However, her first reaction isn’t to go to Lena, as the younger woman so badly craves for.
Suddenly, her hearing is no longer assaulted by a cooking endeavor gone wrong, and the windows are being opened to let out whatever smoke was produced as an aftermath. Instead, an alarmed voice nearly makes her jump out of her skin.
“Lena! What happened in here?” Kara exclaims while darting around to fix anything else that might be wrong. She doesn’t rein it in until she realizes the way the young Luthor flinches, squeezing her eyes closed as though the force of it would get her out of this situation. “Crap, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to spook you. I was just surprised, alright? Everything’s okay. You don’t need to be scared.”
Which- of course , rationally, she knows she doesn’t need to be scared of Kara, but either due to the knee-jerk reaction or her own embarrassment, moving her hands away from her face isn’t an option at the moment.
“Can I sit next to you? I won’t touch.”
At Lena’s nod in confirmation, she does. Red-tipped fingers drop to reveal an unfocused gaze, Kara takes it as her cue to speak.
“What happened, baby?”
But Lena remains silent. ‘What happened’ is clear and humiliating enough without her actually needing to utter the words.
Her girlfriend opts for another tactic, “The pancakes smell really nice. D’you wanna have sme together?”
Giving a minute shake of her head, she keeps her eyes trained straight ahead in a fight against overly productive tear ducts.
“I want to go back to bed,” she mutters defeatedly.
“O-Oh, okay. Yeah, we can do that. Come on, let me help you up,” an arm snakes around her waist, ready to stabilize a strength Lena doesn’t have. After two tries, she gives up.
“Just. Carry me there. Please,” she adds, almost in a whisper.
A few months into their friendship, the heel of Lena’s Louboutin got stuck in a street grate, an occurrence that ended with her wearing a boot for two weeks and Kara’s consequent (however needless) pampering. For fifteen days, anytime they were together, the woman would bring her up into strong arms and take her wherever she needed to go, regardless of Lena’s protests that she could very well walk on her own.
Initially, the young woman would melt into a blushing mess every time it happened, but pretty soon, she found herself enjoying the stunt. It was a nice feeling, getting all of that attention and care over something so minor. It made a portion of her wish it never ended.
This isn’t like that.
She turns away from Kara as soon as the woman sets her head against fluffy pillows, lying on her side and staring aimlessly into National City’s skyline through the window. Shame stings in the back of her eyelids, and she can’t bring herself to care enough and do something about it.
“Do you, uh… Would you like some food? It’s all looking pretty delicious, and I could bring a bit of everything for us to have in bed.”
Lena squeezes her eyes shut.
It was not supposed to go like this.
“Lena?” She sounds disappointed.
Finally, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Lillian whispers in the back of her mind.
“Please, just go. Eat what you want. I’ll clean up later.”
“I don’t mind cleaning up. That’s not what I-“
Lena shrugs. It’s not like she would have been able to, anyway. The very idea of it is laughable.
A sigh.
“Alright. Call if you need anything.”
It’s just- not fair. Kara should get to be taken care of, as well. She should have a girlfriend who is able to do nice things for her. Someone who will give her the Moon and all the stars in the sky just because she finds them pretty, without breaking a sweat or complaining about the hassle.
A partner who can match her brightest smiles and most romantic gestures, not someone whose darkness is so powerful, she can’t help but pull her loved ones in.
Kara deserves the best, and Lena?
Lena isn’t it.
Don’t get her wrong – she acknowledges the unfairness of this entire situation towards herself. That it’s all happening now , when she’s finally found her people. When she should get to enjoy it. But, then again, when has life ever been fair to her?
At some point, the padding behind her dips and a hand rests on her waist. Kara is here , and Kara is light. How is Lena supposed to not pull her in?
Especially when all she needs is a small tug, and then warmth cushions her back, lips meeting the exposed side of her cheek before a chin settles into the crook of her neck. Kara intertwines their fingers, and Lena breathes out.
“I’m so tired,” she confesses, tears springing into her eyes once again.
When she’s pulled even closer, it takes Lena a healthy dose of courage to curl around her girlfriend's arm. “I know.”
“Aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“All of this. Me. Aren’t you sick of it?” She must be. Even Supergirl’s patience ought to run out at some point.
“I’m tired of seeing you hurt,” Kara hums. “But I don’t think I can be tired of you.”
She shakes her head.
“That can’t be true. I demand so much.”
“Alright. Was it easier a few years ago, before the symptoms? Of course. But I’m not in this just for the easy bits, and you are not a burden, my love. Everything I do for you, I do because I want to. And I do it gladly. You’re the one I want by my side. The fact that you’re sick doesn’t change that.”
She sniffles. “I cry all the time.” Case in point.
“I’m lucky to be the one who holds you.”
“I might not get better. Even if I do, it will probably never be the way it used to.”
“You make me happy right now.”
Lena’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. She’s not getting it.
“I’m holding you back.”
Kara disentangles from their hold, pushing herself up with a baffled look in her eyes. “What makes you say that?! ”
“It’s true.” She tries to pull Kara back into their previous position, but it’s to no avail. All she gets is a scandalized expression and stubborn distance. It hurts. “Alex and Kelly got married two years ago. Esme is eight , and they’re going through the adoption process for a second kid as we speak. Brainy and Nia’s wedding is in a few months – which we got the formal invitation for in the mail today, by the way – and that’s just the friends we have in National City! Everyone is moving forward, and we’re stuck. The closest you’ve gotten to a mothering role is fucking babysitting me every other week.”
Blonde eyebrows shoot up.
“Alright, first of all: that is a very gross way to put it. Secondly, the fact that you need help doesn’t make you a baby. And third: do you even want to have a kid?”
Lena’s cheek flush bright pink. It’s not that the subject hasn’t ever come up, but she truly didn’t realize that’s where they were heading with the conversation. She looks away again. Makes herself small.
“I- I’d like to have a choice.”
Kara reclaims her spot tangled up around Lena, soft breath near her ear.
“I’d like us to have a choice, too. But I’m not in a rush. I got you, and that’s all I really want. From where I stand, we can figure out the rest as we go.”
In a bout of impulsivity, the youngest Luthor shifts until they are facing each other, a hand coming up to cup Kara’s cheek.
“I want to marry you.”
Her girlfriend’s smile is tender. It’s not the first time they’ve talked about this, either.
“I want to marry you, too.”
“No,” she clarifies, “I want to marry you. Not as in, an idea for the distant future. But as something tangible. Something real, that we can see in the timeline, not far away from right now.”
Kara balks. Lena rambles on.
“I know we haven’t been together very long. We don’t even live in the same apartment. But you have been my most loyal partner since the moment we met. And- And I know I’m not well, and we shouldn’t make decisions like this, but I might never be as well as would be ideal to start a marriage. You say you still want me like this, and I- I want you. I want to make concrete plans. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Plush lips meet her own, Kara’s left hand buried in her hair, and she kisses her until they’re both a little breathless. Noses and foreheads nuzzled against one another as a smile makes itself known in the words Kara utters just for the two of them to hear, in a moment too precious to leave the tiny bubble of their own making.
“Then, let’s make plans.”