Chapter Text
The news plays in the background as I look through the latest financials for L-Corp. Yet again, I find myself going over a new scheme by the board to try to one-up my stewardship of my company. I click out to my email to begin a scathing message to one board member in particular when something on the television catches my attention.
It looks like a hostage situation at a bank, which in itself would be worrying. But what's caught my attention is the name of the bank. It's the same one that Kara had said she needed to stop at before coming over for lunch.
I gulp, hoping, praying that my worst fears aren't realized. I scramble for the remote, turning up the volume just in time for the news camera to pan across the windows. The hostage takers have apparently made the people in the bank line up against the windows, and I could have sworn I saw a flash of blonde hair and glasses as the camera swept past one of the windows.
"Kara!"
I can't help the involuntary gasp. I turn to grab my phone, frantically dialing Kara's number.
Pick up! Pick up! I silently beg as I hear it ring twice before it gets cut off. I call again, but this time the call instantly goes to voicemail. I try twice more, each the same as before. No, no, no, I think to myself as I flip through my contacts, finding the one I want before stabbing the call button desperately.
The call is picked up immediately.
"Danvers," comes the terse greeting.
"Where's Kara? Is she..." I can't quite bring myself to finish the question.
"Lena? Lena, listen. Kara's ok. She's going to be ok." Somehow the assurance doesn't calm me. "I have to go. I'll call you later." I hear a click and then silence. Kara's sister has hung up on me. I call again, but this time, like with Kara, the call goes to voicemail. The reporter covering the situation drones on, but I can barely pay attention. I grip the phone tight, the case creaking in my hand as I stare blankly at the screen.
I don't know how much time passes, but I slowly become aware that something seems to have changed. The reporter's voice changes cadence, becoming more excited. I see smoke coming from the windows, followed by black suited figures walking out the door, holding captives in front of them. For a moment, I'm afraid it's the hostage takers, but then I see cops converging on the scene, grabbing the captives to move them to their patrol cars.
That's when I realize the figures in black are likely the good guys. Behind them, I see the former hostages slowly come out single file. And I let out a huge sigh of relief as I see one in particular walk past, a hand rising to adjust her glasses in a very familiar gesture. I can't see her face clearly, but the blonde's profile is unmistakable.
She's ok, I think. I can feel my heart finally slowing down from the staccato it's been beating in my chest all this time. I try to swallow, and realize that my throat has gone dry from not having done so for the past - I glance at the clock and realize that it's been less than 30 minutes since the news caught my attention. But all I can think is that she's ok.
I raise a hand to my forehead, and notice that my fingers are trembling. I can recognize the symptoms of panic and stress. I think that maybe I should go over to the cabinet and pour myself a scotch, but I find myself unable to actually get up from my chair.
The ringing of the phone jars me from my reverie. I look down at the device and I see a familiar name. I answer, my voice hoarse, "Agent Danvers?"
"Lena?" It's not the voice I expect. It's her! I can't help the small sob that escapes. "Lena? It's Kara. I'm ok." Now the tone is slightly worried. I shake my head. The woman was just being held as a hostage, and she's the one worrying about me. Not that it's any surprise of course. She wouldn't be Kara otherwise.
"You're ok," I repeat numbly. I don't really know what else to say.
"I'm ok," she echoes back to me. "Alex said you'd called... I wanted to make sure you knew that I was ok."
"Are we still on for lunch?" I ask dumbly before realizing I was being an idiot. "No, of course not. You've just been through..."
"Yeah, the cops will need to talk to everyone who was at the bank, so... raincheck?" she asks softly.
"Yes. Yes, of course," I say, nodding. My other hand is clenched tight against my stomach. "Take care, Kara. I'll talk to you later." I have to get off this call now, before she hears me start to hyperventilate. I hear the phone cut off, then put my head down on my desk. My breath hitches as I gasp for air. It's difficult to force the air into my spasming lungs, but I finally manage to do so, just as black dots start swimming past my eyes. I finally get my breathing under some semblance of control.
She's ok.
It takes everything I have to not immediately bolt downtown to wherever she is right now, so I can touch her for myself and convince myself that she's actually fine.
She's ok.
The trembling in my fingers doesn't stop for another hour, not until I finally stagger from my desk to the cabinet and gulp down a hastily poured glass of scotch.
She's ok.
---
It takes several hours of mind numbing work before I calm down enough to realize who the black suited people must have been. The only other times I'd seen such figures in National City were during Supergirl related incidents. They'd usually been the ones to provide support for the superhero when one of her rogues' gallery showed up. It was fairly clear that Supergirl worked with some sort of clandestine government agency that helped her contain the more serious threats to the city, especially those of the non-terrestrial variety.
My eyes narrow, wondering why they'd shown up at a routine hostage situation. Not that such a thing could be called routine, but still... wouldn't a SWAT team, or NCPD, have been the ones that breached the bank?
They shouldn't have gotten involved. Unless... was one of the hostages, or perhaps one of the robbers, an alien?
Which then begged the question of why the city's resident superhero hadn't shown up at the bank. She'd helped in a couple of similar situations in the past. Surely she'd have shown up at this one? Was she detained elsewhere? Did her support team help out because she'd been unavailable somehow?
My thoughts fly back to another situation a few months back when Kara had confided that she'd been among a group of people at a local shelter, doing interviews for her article on National City's programs to help abuse victims. She'd described in detail the chaos that had erupted when an angry husband had shown up at the shelter, waving a gun and demanding he be allowed to see his wife.
There had been a couple of police cars that had gotten called to the scene, and a minor scuffle before the gunman had been apprehended. I'd chided Kara at the time to be more careful, and then hugged her in relief that she'd not been hurt.
But now I wonder... why hadn't Supergirl helped then either? Both times, Kara had been in danger, albeit without my knowledge in the previous instance. And both times, Supergirl had been a no-show.
It was probably just a coincidence, but I suppose it's the Luthor in me that starts questioning it. And once my brain gets a hold of it, I can't let it go.
I turn to my laptop and pull up the search window. I quickly type out the parameters and wait for the results. Going over them one by one, my heart speeds up as I see it. Twice would have been coincidence, but five times since Supergirl's debut a couple of years back... that was a pattern.
Five times that Kara Danvers, former assistant to Cat Grant and current reporter at CatCo, had been in some kind of danger. Five times that she'd escaped either with police help or the so-called men in black, or somehow gotten away by herself. More importantly, five times that Supergirl had not shown up to help.
I realize that I'm holding my breath at the realization, and I slowly let it out. I wonder what I should do with the information. And I come to the conclusion that there's really only one thing I can do.
---
It takes a couple of days of standing at my balcony, looking out over the National City skyline before I see what I want. I'd seen the superhero fly across the city before. Usually too far or too fast, but this time she's close enough to the L-Corp building, and flying slow enough that maybe...
"Supergirl!" I call out before I can talk myself out of doing so.
She pauses mid-flight, her head swiveling to look in my direction. She simply hovers there for a second, then slowly turns to head my way. I step back in as she lands on the balcony.
"I was hoping we could talk?" I say as I walk over to stand by my couch. I gesture to one end as I take a seat at the other.
She ducks her head in silent assent as she sits across from me.
"How can I help you, Ms. Luthor?" she asks, her tone fairly polite.
Was I really going to do this, I wondered. Was I really going to... I sucked in a breath as I readied my argument.
"You're Supergirl," I start. "You've saved the people of this city several times over."
"Of course, Ms. Luthor" she replies. "Just doing my job."
"Is it?" I ask. "A job, I mean?"
I see the confusion in her eyes, wondering where I'm going with this.
"Do you get paid by the city for your services?"
"I don't," she replies. "Ms. Luthor, why are you...?"
"How do you decide then?"
"Decide...?"
"Who to help. How do you decide who to help?"
"I don't understand," she says, her brows furrowing as she tries to follow my line of thought. "I help whoever needs it."
"A police officer has some kind of patrol pattern, an area that they're assigned to. They serve the people in that area."
She smiles now. "I think my area is a bit bigger than a cop's," she remarks wryly.
"But even you can't be in two places at once," I counter. "If one police officer were handling one situation, the police could just assign a different officer to help elsewhere. But there's only one of you. So I was curious how you picked who to help if you saw that you were needed in two places at the same time."
"I suppose I'd help where I thought I was needed more." Her eyes narrow as she stares at me. "Ms. Luthor, why are you asking me this?"
Well this was it. I could still tell her that I was just curious, and leave it at that. But then, I've never been one for the easy way out, have I?
I gesture towards the laptop, tapping on the screen to wake it up to my search results page.
"Perhaps you could explain this to me then?" I say, pointing to it.
"I'm not sure I follow," she says, looking at the screen and back to me.
"Were you needed elsewhere each of these times?"
She stares back at the screen, quiet, obviously thinking back to what she might have been doing each of those times. I can see exactly when she realizes what I'm actually asking as her eyes widen.
"Each time that Kara Danvers was in some kind of trouble, where exactly were you? You say you help where you're most needed. What was so important that each time my friend needed you, you were nowhere to be seen?"
She's staring at me wordlessly now, her mouth open but unable to form any words of reply. Anything to justify what I've just pointed out to her.
"Once or twice, I can chalk up to coincidence. But from where I sit, what I see is that National City's heroine will save everyone else, but not Kara. Not when she's in any kind of trouble."
"I..." I see her shake her head. Still no reply though. No words that could possibly rebut the clear evidence I'm showing her.
I press on. "When you saved me from falling from my balcony, you mentioned that you were having coffee with Kara. She's able to get a hold of you on a moment's notice. So you two have at least some kind of working relationship." In for a penny.... "So what exactly do you have against my friend that you won't even deign to help when she's clearly in trouble?"
All I get back from her is silence.
"Supergirl?" I prod.
"Why..." Her voice is soft, and somewhat hoarse. "Why are you asking me this, Ms. Luthor?" A repeat of her earlier question, but much more quiet this time.
I chuckle, albeit mirthlessly. "Why?" I ask. "Why wouldn't I ask?" My voice is rising now. "Why wouldn't I demand to know why the woman I consider the most important person in my life means so little to you?"
I'm now breathing somewhat heavily as I stare at her. I nod towards my desk. "That's where I was sitting, just a couple of days ago, when I saw that bank hostage situation in the news. I knew Kara had gone to that bank that day. And I was here on the other side of town, unable to do anything but watch it on TV. And I thought to myself that surely Supergirl would show up at any moment."
I pause to take a breath.
"I waited, and I waited. And then, I saw the hostages coming out, courtesy of your secret agents..." I see her blink in surprise and I smirk, knowing that I've caught her off guard. "Yes I know they work with you," I tell her. "And I was so relieved that Kara was ok that I didn't stop to consider why they showed up, but you didn't."
"I... I couldn't...," she stammers.
"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?" I ask tersely.
She shrinks back against the couch, almost closing in on herself to avoid answering me. I can see her eyes shut tight, as if in pain. But she still doesn't answer me.
"Why won't you give me an answer?" My voice is now quite a bit higher. Any louder, and I think my assistant might actually hear me through my office doors. "Don't you understand? If she'd gotten hurt, if she'd..."
My voice cracks, and I trail off. How do I convey the enormity of what I feel right now? How do I make her understand this gnawing pain that I feel in my chest at the thought of being alone again?
"If I was stuck here, unable to help her... she means everything..."
My voice is now hoarse, and I'm unable to stop a tear from escaping down my cheek. I wipe at it angrily, cursing myself for giving away so much of what I usually keep locked away tight.
In front of me, the superhero looks nothing like her usual confident self. Instead, I see a woman looking ashamed at herself, unable to look up to meet my eyes. That is, until I see her take a breath, her expression turning to one of resolve.
She finally looks up at me. But to my surprise, instead of a reply on her lips, she has a pleading look in her eyes. Almost as if she's silently begging me to understand. She raises a finger to her lips as if to shush me, then turns her head and pushes her hair behind her ear. At first, I'm confused by her actions, but then I see it - a small comms device, almost hidden inside the shell of her ear. And I understand. This isn't a private conversation. Her... handlers...? They're listening in.
She looks back at me, just in time to see my eyes widen in realization. I'm sorry, she mouths at me.
"Ms. Luthor, I have many responsibilities. As you yourself have pointed out, I can't be everywhere at once." Her tone is brusque, but I see her reaching for my laptop silently. She types something and turns it back to me. Not now. Later..., I see in a typed note. I look up from the screen to her face, seeing that pleading look back on it.
I nod reluctantly, and I see her shoulders sag in relief. She gives me a wan smile, then stands up, walking past me to the balcony.
"Kara Danvers knows how to take care of herself," she says. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." She turns around and takes off, leaving me staring at her shrinking silhouette, wondering what had just happened.
The buzzing in my hands grabs my attention. I look at the message on my phone and my jaw drops in surprise.
Kara: Dinner. Tonight. My place at 7. We need to talk.
What...? How...?
I look back up at the sky, the superhero now nothing more than a dot in the distance as my mind swirls in thought.