Chapter Text
Kara stared. The other face stared back. A hand reached up and brushed at a cheek, at the finger-thick line of red that scrawled across it.
She was aware that she was disassociating a little, but was not sure how to stop it.
It was so strange. Kryptonian bodies processed solar radiation, turning it into all kinds of power. One of those powers was a sort of…healing factor was as good a term as any. If something actually managed to get past their potent durability, their bodies would heal fairly quickly. Cuts and bruises vanished anywhere from a few minutes to an hour, depending on severity and amount. Broken bones would be repaired within day or two, sometimes more depending, again, on severity. The process sped up if under more potent forms of solar radiation.
There were limits. This factor could not regrow lost limbs. Age tended to slow the process as well. She had seen a picture of her uncle, the famed scientist Jor-El. He was missing an eye.
(How did he lose it? The records did not say.)
But the fact of the matter was, between her durability and her healing factor, Kara had rarely been seriously injured. Her most recent battles had been the most she had ever experienced, having taken multiple powerful hits over the course of the affair.
(This was new, this twisted flesh. She did not like it.)
But kryptonite…what was that term she had heard Lois say? Taken the usual and thrown it out the window? Yes, that was good. Kryptonite took the usual rules of Kryptonian physiology and threw them out the window. She had only come across it twice before, fluke accidents, and she had gotten out of the situation quickly. The pain that the poisonous crystal could cause…like fire in her veins…
But she had jumped in, regardless of the danger. This place, this planet, it was her home now. She would defend it. Her new family lived here. She would defend them. She would be the shield, where once she was a terrible sword.
Father…no, Brainiac (never Father again), he had used a potent form of synthetically-made kryptonite to attack them. The radiation from it was far stronger than what the humans had made, and so his final blade had a more potent effect.
According to Kal-El (Clark, need to keep the names straighter in her head), it had taken a least half an hour to clean all the crystals from her wound. Some of them had been small, splinters in her flesh. Between the potency and the amount of time it had taken to extract…
(This was new, this twisted flesh. She did not like it.)
(She was repeating herself.)
A dull thunk shocked her out of her thoughts. She looked down and saw a small jar. Another joined it, and a small zipped bag.
“What is—”
“Darling, you’ve been staring at yourself in the mirror and fingering your scar for the past ten minutes. So we’re doing something about your self-consciousness.”
It was Mrs. Kent…no, Martha, she needed to remember, Martha.
(“I don’t expect you to call me Ma just yet. It might take time for you to get comfortable with it. But none of that Missus nonsense. Martha, at the very least.”)
Kara stared at the jars for a moment.
“Is this some Earth treatment? A way to eliminate scars?”
“Actually, it’s make-up.”
“Make…up?”
“We might need to experiment a bit, your skin-tone is paler than mine, but we’ll manage.”
Mrs…Martha favored her with a smile.
“Every girl deserves to feel pretty.”
The next half-hour was a whirlwind of talk and activity. Martha answered her many questions, even as she patiently taught her about things like foundations and concealers, cleansers and moisturizers. There was talk about things for the eyes and lips, which Kara did not feel comfortable with just yet, and things to decorate her nails, which Kara was interested in.
(It would probably chip in a fight, but it was colorful.)
(She was finding out more every day that she liked colors.)
When they were done, Kara stared in the mirror. It was not a different face that stared back, they had not actually done much to change it, but the red line was gone, as if it had never been.
Over her shoulder, reflected in the mirror, she saw Martha’s smile, no doubt pride in her work and enjoyment of Kara’s reaction.
“There, pretty as a picture.”
A different sort of smile crossed her face.
“I’m sure Jimmy will agree.”
Kara swiftly discovered that no, the make-up did not completely hide her blush.
“Thank you for this,” Kara said after getting herself back under control.
“It’s no trouble,” Martha replied, “To be honest, I’m glad I have a young girl around to share this with.”
Kara opened her mouth, but stopped. She was not sure what to say.
“Miscarriages,” Martha said with a flat look, “What you were going to ask. Why Clark’s an only child, and a technically adopted one at that. Jonathan and I tried twice. Both didn’t work out. The second came with a lot of complications. Bottom line, it wouldn’t have been a good idea to try a third time. It’s why we latched onto Clark so quickly. It was like a gift from God.”
Martha drew Kara into a hug.
“And here’s another.”
Kara still was not used to this, hence her brief stiffening.
But she soon returned the hug.
(She liked this woman very much.)
(She would burn anything, fight any threat, to keep her safe.)
(Maybe one day she’d call her Ma.)