Work Text:
Yizhuo has barely gotten home before her balcony door is sliding open, Supergirl striding towards her. Her wild eyes take stock of the bandage on Yizhuo's arm, the superficial cuts on her face as she asks, "are you okay?"
Yizhuo drops down on the couch, sinking onto the cushions. She brings a hand up to massage her forehead, eyes slipping closed for a brief second. "Tired," is all she offers. When she looks again, Supergirl is frowning down at her.
She's clearly waiting for the rest of it—for Yizhuo to whine about how the scrapes hurt, then smirk and say, But at least I have you to take care of me, right? To which Supergirl would laugh softly, You and the entire city, even though she wouldn't deny it. Even though Yizhuo knew Supergirl did not look at the entire city like that.
Yizhuo has been through enough life-threatening situations to have the script down pat. It'd almost be comical, if it hadn't flipped on its head, and now that she has to improvise her lines Yizhuo finds she has no idea what to say.
That's never been a problem with them. Supergirl notices, of course. She always does, with Yizhuo. Her brows are still furrowed in concern. She took off her boots before entering the apartment, despite her frenzy, and her feet clad in ankle-high white socks make her look strangely human. Yizhuo's not sure if her recent revelation makes her seem more, or less than.
"What did the police say?" Supergirl asks. The last thing Yizhuo wants is to rehash her past two hours at the police station, preceded by another two at the hospital where they made sure she was really okay and wasn’t one second away from slipping into a coma, but Supergirl looks like she's considering flying over to question the cops themselves. Which, Yizhuo is not sure that's a bad thing, but maybe they all need to rest first.
"It all points to a group of Lex's supporters." She sighs. Yizhuo's tired, all right—has been since her brother decided to go off the rails and land himself into a maximum security prison, leaving a fractured family and a company on her shoulders. But she hasn't felt exhausted like this in a long time, not since meeting—either. Or both. It really doesn't matter.
Instead of commenting on it, Supergirl asks, "Can I make you some tea?" in this really quiet, expectant way. She always sounds genuine, about everything. Yizhuo wants so badly to believe her; believe the offer, the concern in her bright eyes, the affection. Like Yizhuo is something precious. Something to care for, to protect.
"Sure," she says, if only to delay the inevitable. She moves to one of the counter stools. Supergirl has never been in her kitchen, but she finds her way around soon enough, without waiting for Yizhuo's instructions.
The sight of her in her blue uniform and red cape, tinkering around in Yizhuo’s kitchen, is almost comical. She has this ridiculous thought—they’re both still in their work attires—and nearly starts to giggle before reining it in. Supergirl glances over, maybe because of the way she blows air out of her nose. Kryptonians don’t have mind-reading powers, Yizhuo is pretty sure. Her brother’s research never pointed to anything of the sort.
If Supergirl could read her mind, then Yizhuo would very much like to know what she’s still doing here.
Supergirl has a concentrated look on her face as she boils the kettle and separates the leaves into a teapot, like this is work of the utmost importance to someone who saves lives on the daily. She presents it to Yizhuo with a flourish, poured into a mug with a cat print on it. Yizhuo takes a sip and immediately burns her tongue.
“You have to be more careful,” Supergirl admonishes, taking the mug from her. Yizhuo is pretty sure she’s not just talking about hot drinks, even though Yizhuo doesn’t know what exactly she could mean. It’s not like she does anything other than go to work and return home. In fact, the only people she sees on a regular basis besides her employees are Minjeong, Supergirl herself, and—. Well.
“I’m sure you’re not talking about my recent interview regarding extraterrestrial rights,” Yizhuo says. Supergirl’s face contorts, like she’s in pain.
“No, of course not. It’s so important that you’re vocal about that stuff.” With anyone else, there would be an emphasis there. It’s important that you’re vocal. But if Supergirl means that, she hides it well, though Yizhuo doesn’t know how she could not. Not with them being who they are. With Yizhuo being who she is. “It’s just that…”
“I have a bodyguard,” Yizhuo points out when Supergirl trails off. “I take every precaution.”
“And still, you could’ve died.” Her voice breaks; Yizhuo never realized how deep she makes it when she's in this outfit. She wonders, for a moment, if Supergirl ever wakes up with a sore throat, then she remembers—superpowered alien. An invincible being, as long as she stands under the light of Earth's yellow sun. “You almost did, today.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Yizhuo says, and then, “I don’t know what you want from me,” she confesses. It’s too soon, and Yizhuo has not had any time between going to the hospital and giving her statement at the police station to consider how she wanted this to go, but she knows it’s not like this.
“Yizhuo—” Supergirl starts, and she looks so careful, almost trepid, like she’s afraid Yizhuo is going to break at any moment, and Yizhuo suddenly can’t take it anymore.
“Did you know you're the only one who calls me that?” Yizhuo remembers when she first made her say it, all those months ago—she was in her office when Supergirl tentatively knocked on the glass screen of the balcony door, recovering from a meeting that involved charming old white men with whiskey and a smile so stiff it cut into the skin of her cheeks. She’d kept drinking even after they went away, sending her assistant home early, and somehow hearing the Miss Luthor fall from Supergirl’s lips had been the last straw.
She’s Miss Luthor to her employees. She’s Vivian to her family, has been ever since the adoption, and also to her friends. Back home, in her mama’s voice in what feels like so many lifetimes ago, she was Ningning.
But to this stranger—to this girl she had only met a few times, at that point; this girl from an entirely different planet who’d saved her life from a bullet once, who looked at her and saw her, who looked at her and looked like she liked what she saw—she could be Yizhuo.
And Yizhuo had thought she was the only one. Except this morning, her reporter friend texted her as Yizhuo was on her way to work, pleading for a quick soundbite after her assignment fell through, so she could have something to show her boss. Making the detour and meeting her at the coffee shop meant Yizhuo left her car a couple of minutes earlier than normal, and she had already crossed the street when the explosion suddenly shook the entire block.
She’d been knocked off her feet, still; her ears were ringing when she came to, but she could hear people screaming and Aeri’s desperation as she ran out of the coffee shop and knelt over her, face upside down as she frantically pleaded “Yizhuo, Yizhuo, please stay with me”.
The same doe eyes, framed by thick lenses. How could Yizhuo be such an idiot?
“I don’t—”
“Are you surveilling me?” Yizhuo asks. Demands. Supergirl looks lost, standing in her kitchen in her stupid uniform and her stupid cape, mouth round and wet and open. “Checking in on the remaining Luthor. Seeing if I’m as crazy as my brother.”
Supergirl doesn’t say anything. Yizhuo doesn’t need her to. You hurt them back, and that’s her mother’s voice, not her mama’s. You hurt them back, twice as bad as they’ve hurt you. “It was all an act, I suppose.” She laughs, now, and she really is starting to sound a little crazed. She’s started to feel it, too. Maybe water runs thicker than blood, after all. “The bumbling reporter, an innocent, idiot dork. Who could anyone ever suspect, right?”
Supergirl’s face hardens. Yizhuo takes a perverse delight in seeing her crack. “Did you come to finish the job?” She taunts. “Away from everyone’s eyes. You’ve been here enough times to know I don’t have cameras. Were you doing recon?”
“STOP!” Yizhuo flinches; she’s terrified, suddenly. Supergirl is red in the face, chest heaving like she’s just run a marathon. Her wide eyes frightened as she regards Yizhuo. She knows, rationally, that Supergirl could pulverize her in a millisecond. She still has no idea what exactly either of them are afraid of. One of Supergirl’s arms raises in the air and falls to her side again, like maybe she was reaching for something. Reaching for her. “Yizhuo—”
“No,” she snarls. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me at all.”
“Please,” Supergirl whispers. Her voice is wobbly, fragile. She sounds on the verge of tears. “If you just let me explain—”
“GO!” Yizhuo screams. “Just get the fuck out, and maybe take a page out of your cousin’s book and learn what being close to a Luthor can do to you.” She doesn’t actually see her leave. She closes her eyes; Yizhuo’s shaking so badly her teeth clatter in her mouth. Her rage feels enough to fuel a thousand yellow suns.
She doesn’t know how long it takes to subside. When she opens her eyes again, she’s all alone in her apartment, the balcony door closed shut. She grabs the mug of cold tea, goes back to the couch where her phone is stashed inside her purse; it had died at the police station, and she hadn’t bothered asking for a charger. Her regular one had burned alongside her car.
She hunts around for a spare one, sits on the couch and sips on the tea as she waits for her phone to boot up. It doesn’t take long before it starts vibrating incessantly in her hand. She focuses on what’s important—texts her assistant that she will be going in tomorrow, and to be ready to assess all damage from the explosion so Yizhuo can cover all the victims’ hospital bills. They’ll need to put out a statement, probably. She answers Minjeong to let her know she’s alright.
And right there, in the middle of her notifications:
Aeri
let me know when you’re done at the station
i can drive you home
please take care.
Yizhuo takes a second to weigh between what she’s holding in her left and right hand; she grips her mug tight, and chucks her phone across the room.