Chapter Text
The harness tightens with a mechanical whine, snug enough that Orm feels it in her ribs when she inhales.
She exhales slowly instead.
Above her, cables disappear into darkness, a quiet reminder that even when Kara flies, she is held up by something unseen. The cape rests heavy against her back, unfamiliar weight pulling at her shoulders. She rolls them once, grounding herself.
Across the set, Ling stands perfectly still.
Not relaxed. Not tense. Contained.
Her Lena suit fits like armor, sharp lines, dark fabric, immaculate control. But Orm can see the telltale signs: the slight flare of Ling’s nostrils, the way her jaw tightens just before an emotional scene. Ling is bracing.
The ruined city set hums with low activity. Smoke drifts. Lights buzz faintly overhead. Someone coughs. Someone mutters about resetting marks.
Orm lifts her gaze.
Ling meets it.
For a moment, one that lasts too long to be accidental, nothing else exists. No crew. No cameras. No choreography.
Just them.
“Kara ready?” the director calls.
Orm nods. Ling doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
“Rolling!”
Orm’s heartbeat thunders in her ears.
“Action!”
The rig snaps her forward.
Wind machines roar to life, cape snapping violently behind her as Orm throws her body into the motion. She twists midair, arms straining as if pushing against an invisible force.
She knows what’s coming.
She still isn’t ready.
The Leviathan blast cue hits.
Orm arches instinctively, breath ripping out of her lungs as pain explodes through her chest. It is not physical, not real, but it is felt. A scream tears out of her before she can stop it, raw and uncontrolled.
It surprises her.
It hurts.
She lets herself go slack, body collapsing as the rig releases. The crash mat absorbs the impact, but the jolt rattles her teeth. Light fractures across her vision. Her ears ring.
For a split second, everything goes quiet.
“KARA!”
Ling’s voice breaks through the chaos.
It’s not scripted.
It’s not clean.
It’s panic, sharp and desperate and completely unguarded.
Something in Orm’s chest folds.
She lies there, staring up at the lights, unable to move. Not because she can’t, but because for one terrifying second, she doesn’t want to.
Because that scream felt like being wanted.
“Cut!”
Hands rush in. The world returns too quickly.
“Orm? You good?”
“Don’t move, just checking the rig.”
Orm blinks, grounding herself. She swallows. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
Ling is already kneeling beside her.
Up close, the composure is gone. Ling’s eyes are wide, glassy, her breath shallow. Her hand hovers inches from Orm’s shoulder, fingers trembling like they don’t know what to do.
“You okay?” Ling asks, voice low, urgent, real.
Orm nods. “Yeah.”
Ling doesn’t look convinced.
For a moment, they just stare at each other, too close, too open. Orm becomes acutely aware of the warmth radiating from Ling’s body, the faint scent of her perfume, the way her breath syncs unconsciously with Orm’s.
Then Ling pulls her hand back.
She stands too quickly. “Good,” she says, voice controlled again. “Good.”
She walks away.
Orm stays on the mat longer than necessary, heart racing, wondering when acting stopped feeling like pretending.
Kara wakes up drowning.
Her lungs burn as she drags in air, chest seizing violently. Bright white light assaults her vision, disorienting and cruel. She gasps again, panic clawing its way up her throat until Alex’s voice finally breaks through.
“Kara. Kara, hey, hey.”
Alex’s voice cuts through the fog.
Kara turns her head and winces sharply as pain flares along her ribs. Her body feels heavy, wrong, like it doesn’t quite belong to her.
“Alex?” she croaks.
Alex’s face swims into focus, eyes red, jaw tight, hand gripping the edge of the bed like she’s holding herself together by force.
“You scared the hell out of us,” Alex says, laughing weakly. “Do not ever do that again.”
Kara tries to smile. It doesn’t quite work.
“What… happened?”
“You took a Leviathan blast point-blank,” J’onn says gently from the corner. “Your body shut down to heal.”
Memory crashes back in fragments: light, cold, the certainty that this might be the end.
Kara swallows hard.
“Lena?”
Alex hesitates.
It’s barely a pause, but Kara feels it like a punch.
“She doesn’t know you’re awake yet,” Alex says carefully.
Kara stares up at the ceiling, chest tightening painfully. Guilt presses down on her ribs heavier than any injury.
Later, when the room is quieter and the monitors beep softly, Alex sits at the edge of the bed.
“You should go to Argo,” she says.
Kara frowns weakly. “Why?”
“Because you almost died,” Alex says. “And because you’re drowning, and pretending you’re not.”
Kara turns her face away.
Because if she stays, she’ll go to Lena.
And she doesn’t know if she can survive what she might see in her eyes.
Back on set, Orm watches Ling film a pickup shot, Lena standing frozen, devastated, refusing to believe Kara is gone.
Ling nails it in one take.
Too well.
When they cut, Ling doesn’t relax. She steps away from the set, arms folding tightly around herself like she’s holding something in.
Orm wants to follow.
She doesn’t.
Not yet.