Don't forget the coauthor of this story; the one and only..... infinity_in_his_eyes
//Kara POV//
I was back.
I was in my living room, splayed across the couch with Alex in my lap. I was eating the leftover pot stickers that someone had left in the fridge (I hope they weren't expecting to get them back.)
Alex was gushing to me about Maggie. About how she had slept over at Maggie's house the other night. About how they made cookies and watched Captain America and held hands under the blanket and made a pillow fort like they were young again and the world didn't matter.
She looked down at the floor, but I could see the rosy blush on her cheeks.
"Kara, I don't think I've ever felt more like me before."
I extended my fingers to play with her hair.
And when my fingers reached her hair, all I could feel was blistering heat.
Suddenly, the heat was gone. I was outside again, stepping off the bus (but I was just inside with Alex?), just like I had that day.
I heard voices, screaming, laden with betrayal and pain.
"Kara, why did you leave us? Why aren't you here?"
But then I was there. I was inside my house, my burning house, yet I was unaffected. The flames lapped at me, but to no avail.
"Kara!" The screams had never felt so heavy, so close...
My family was before me, all on their knees, as if they were begging me to make it stop (as if (God do I wish) I had any control over what was happening.
I could only see the white of their eyes, any trace of tears gone, the searing temperatures causing them to evaporate as they appeared. They were convulsing, blood dripping from the corners of their mouths. I could do nothing but stand there. My feet were melted into the floor, it's like I was walking through wet concrete.
"Please, Kara. Help us."
They were on fire.
My world was on fire.
I was on the brink of consciousness. I knew, because I could faintly see the incandescent ceiling light through my eyelids. The air had returned to my lungs. I took deep, gulping breaths, but my eyes remained closed. There was a faint voice, peaceful, and soothing.
"Hey, hey, you'll be fine. Just listen to my voice, focus on me. Come on, it's okay. Breathe."
It's definitely a girl, and she holds my head in her lap. Her hand is gently caressing my hair. I almost want to keep my eyes shut. To let her be, to let myself be held for just a moment longer.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter before I open them. A soft face is close (so close) to mine.
It's Lena.
I immediately panic. I remember the episode perfectly. As vividly as the day it happened, except worse. There are numerous thoughts running through my mind, every single one relating to the notion of being absolutely terrified.
I could not let her know that. I'm not about to seem so weak, give myself (my background, my story ) up to Lena so quickly.
So I do what anyone would do. I smiled. I smiled like I didn't know what I had just experienced, I smile like I had just waken up to her in bed (what?) rather than on the dirty floor that I had been convulsing on.
I have never seen softer eyes in my life, than what I see in this moment. I'm grinning like a maniac, hoping that my defenses were enough to elude, just for now. For a moment, she looks like she's struggling to come up with words to say. I don't blame her. Saying anything after witnessing what had just happened would be difficult to do.
"I don't even know your name." She mutters the words, almost ashamedly. I'm taken aback, really. I had expected an "Oh my god," or an "Are you okay?" Even more so than those words, I had expected a disgusted look, maybe contempt, maybe anger at herself for allowing herself to get so close to me. To appear vulnerable in her own sense.
But no, she just wants to know a little piece of me.
My smile isn't so much of an act anymore. I happily oblige to enlighten her. I'm not going to play the same game she's playing with me. I tell her who I am.
And seeing as she's still holding me in her lap, seeing her eyes flick towards my hair, as if she wants to stroke it one more time, watching her tongue dart out just once to lick her lips, I think that maybe she had had a change of heart. Maybe she's more invested than she let on. I laugh. I can't help it. I am truly puzzled, genuinely curious as to exactly why this is happening right now.
Out of all the people, why her?
"Didn't know you cared." I phrase it casually, avoid framing it as a question, as if asking her anything would startle her, scare her away. I could see it in her eyes. I don't know what she is doing this for, and neither does she.
Despite the confliction I detect within her, despite the fact that I'm still in her lap, her hand barely hovering over my hair, her fingers twitching with yearning, despite the way she nervously licks her lips again, and despite the way (the damn way) she's gazing into my eyes, her response is concrete. It's like she didn't want to say it, but years of her being the way she is has trained her to forfeit her heart, to be mechanical. Her response is just that; robotic, without emotion, and without thought.
"I don't."
What are my eyes searching for? Regret? Guilt? Hurt? It doesn't matter anyways. As soon as Lena utters the words, she averts her gaze. Tenses her muscles, sets her jaw firmly. She turns away. Her hands slide under my head, firmly (nevertheless gently) sliding my head off her lap. I let it fall to the hardwood floor.
She stands up stiffly, as if she's been sitting with me for a while. I tilt my head a bit to glance at the clock. It hasn't been that long (not long enough for me.) She doesn't carry the same authority now, as she shuffles, head down, and silent.
I am all too caring. I am all too concerned. I am too invested for my own good. In my head, I know that this is only causing me pain and hurt, and watching Lena walk out this door, so alone ...
"Lena..."
She doesn't turn. She doesn't hesitate. She's out of my room, leaving me to lay here on the cold floor (I missed her warmth the moment she let me go), and she didn't say a word.
I hear the sound of her door shutting, and the swift click of her lock.
I know I can't leave her like this. I know I can't let her leave me like this.
I stand, and am immediately impacted by a wave of nausea that soon subsides (some pains can be forgotten.)
I don't have to go very far to reach her door, and though I heard her lock the door myself, I instinctively grab the knob, twisting it hard several times, and I don't stop, even when I plead to her to open up. I can't help myself, I've never been the best at controlling my emotions. I feel a tear roll down my cheek. I continue to shake, I continue to pound on the door. How could I not keep trying? How could I walk away from her now, when she held me in her lap when I needed (craved) someone the most (whether she was aware or not of my dreams, my history.)
Like I said, I never was good at handling myself. I slammed the door. Hard.
"DAMMIT!"
Why . Why did Lena leave me this when I needed security, attention, anything , the most. I turn my back to the door, but I don't leave. I slide down the door, and bring my knees close to my chest. I hug them tight, tighter than anything I've held since I've held my family in my arms. I let my head fall into them, the same head that fell into Lena's lap just minutes ago. I bring my head back up, resting it against her door, and stare at the ceiling. I imagine her eyes staring back, her soft, gentle hands, running nimbly through my hair again. It was in that moment that I knew that Lena wanted (needed) someone too. In that moment that I realized that she was not perfect. No, she was flawed, that flaw allowing for her to care. I close my eyes for a moment, imagining a young Lena, always telling herself that she had to be perfect. To her, that meant she couldn't care enough about anything. To her, caring is a burden. Love is a deadly disease. I can tell that Lena never grew up in that sense. Still the same mentality, still the same fear, but with a new variable. The one always unaccounted for. For her, it's the one that she would come across one day, broken and scared, in need of someone, and Lena would find that for once in her life, she could be that someone.
And that variable is me.
I'm not sure if I could tell myself what I wanted from Lena in the long run, but I know what I want from her right now.
I want her trust, I want her hands in my hair again, I want her eyes to lock with mine, so that simultaneously, we can both see that we're really not all that different.
I want, I want, I want...
"Please, Lena."
I shut my eyes, in hopes that maybe for once, sleep will bring me more peace than being awake does.
//Lena POV//
I see the girl lying on the floor. Her legs are bent towards her torso; it looks like she's trying to protect herself (but from what?). Her forehead is deeply lined, as if she's concentrating, causing a tiny crinkle between her eyebrows. Her eyelids are fluttering, but her eyes are still open enough for me to see they're rolled back into her skull, showing only the whites. Her golden hair is splayed out across the floor (a thought flashes through my mind for a fraction of a second: She looks like a fallen angel. ). Her fingers are twitching, trying to curl up into a fist. Her mouth is open, her lips moving, as if she's trying to say something. But her breaths (can they be called breaths if she can't get air into her lungs?) are rapid, sporadic. Her eyes close suddenly, but her eyes are still moving rapidly under the lids. Tears start sliding down her cheeks. She's almost convulsing, she's shaking so hard.
I notice all this in less than a second, rushing over to her. I pick up her head and shoulders, resting them on my lap. Without even thinking, I start stroking her hair. The same hair that fell in front of my face.... I stop my train of thought right there. I can't worry about my freakish dreams right now, I need to get this girl to snap out of it (whatever "it" is). So I start whispering in her ear, over and over: "Hey, hey, you'll be fine. Just listen to my voice, focus on me. Come on, it's okay. Breathe."
It seems like forever before the girls muscles relax. I spare a glance at the girl's alarm clock resting on her tiny bed stand. It's been three minutes since I left my room. I stop stroking her hair (have I really been doing this the whole time?). I have to move my head back from next to her ear in order to meet her eyes, which are now open, and back to their normal sky-blue beauty, and staring into my (boring in comparison) green eyes with a sparkle of amusement.
"Hi Lena," she says, a grin on her face. She doesn't look at all concerned that she was just basically paralyzed on the floor, poor girl. Instead, she looks up at me (she's still on my lap, with her head resting just inches away from my hand), surprise (of the pleasant sort) in her eyes and– is that tenderness? In her eyes? It's somewhat timid, but I nevertheless suddenly feel as though she should be the one taking care of me . Then I see the tiny crinkle between her eyebrows and remember....
I should– no, I want to make sure she's okay. I want to stroke her hair again. I want to just say something simple, like hi . At the very least she deserves that. She deserves to know that I'm not completely heartless, that I did hear her fall (we'll ignore the way I found out: trying to craft a way to observe this girl like a damn lab rat), and that I did care enough to come and help her (I'm starting to wonder how much of that decision was made by my brain that was still wired into my dream).I want her to see me as anyone other than a Luthor. Instead, I mutter, "I don't even know your name."
Her eyes light up even more, if that's even possible (it is). Despite my precautions (and maybe my intent; I'm not sure yet), she was happy with what I said. How is she so good at seeing goodness in people where there is none? "Oh my god, I didn't even think of that! I'm Kara. Danvers. My name's Kara Danvers." She giggles. I marvel at the sound. She doesn't sound fazed, awkward, or even embarrassed, despite her slight stumble over her words. She just sounds happy. "Didn't know you cared."
"I don't," I object immediately, regretting the words as soon as they leave my tongue. They've just become a reaction. I'm a Luthor, I'm not supposed to care about anyone else . I suppose I should look the part. I turn my head (looking a bit more defeated than I should), clench my jaw, and stiffly move my hands away from her head. I can't let her know....
But the thing is, I do care about this girl, this Kara (even her name is pretty (God damn it, Lena, stop!)). I must have, I realize, from the very first time she came up and talked to me. I remember wondering what that feeling was (it was obviously a mix of many, I just thought they were all bad.). She just seems to... exist in a way I was never allowed to: free, kind, warm, loving, and, most astonishingly, trusting, despite everything. I'm not sure how much of it is jealousy of her upbringing by an (actual) family, or even if it is jealousy. I don't know.
And that's the scariest part to me.
Gently (but not too gently), I push Kara's head off my lap and back onto the hardwood floor. I feel a sting in the corner of my eyes as I turn away from her body, still in its vulnerable position (of course they're not tears; this room is full of dust).
I don't care.
I turn towards the door. Normally I'd storm out but I can't find it in me; I shuffle my way over, head only slightly down. As I turn the knob, I hear Kara speak, sadness and pity and concern lacing her voice.
"Lena...."
I don't care. I don't even pause as I swing the door open gently (I guess I can be good at that) and walk out of her room, quickly shutting it. I swiftly slide into my room (without the normal grace and poise; I can't seem to muster it up), locking the door not a moment too soon; I hear Kara speaking outside my door, rattling the doorknob, but I can't comprehend what she's saying. She sounds distressed, maybe just a little bit frustrated.
I don't care.
I let myself fall into my bed. I watch the door, see the knob rattle as Kara continues to shake it. I want to close my eyes but I can't. If I do, I'll just see Kara, the defenseless blonde girl who lost everything, lying on the ground, gasping for air while silent tears fall down her face, staining my lap (No, you mean the hardwood. You can't let yourself care.), without me even knowing why. I hear a loud hammering on the door, added to the futile twists on the doorknob. After about a full minute, I hear a loud "DAMMIT!" and the rattling and pounding stops. I hear one final thud, but it's not aggressive; I hear her slide down the door in defeat.
I can almost see Kara's glass-sky eyes shatter into a million pieces behind her glasses. I can almost see her hair fall down in golden-yellow waves around her face as she drops her head in resignation. I can almost feel her breath on my ear, her silken tresses under my fingers, the reassuring weight of her head on my lap. I can almost feel her fingers intertwined with mine.
"Please Lena," I hear Kara call, her voice full of want. Her voice echoes in my head, ringing in all her voices: happy, pleading, bashful, curious, mournful, mischievous, anguished.
A tear rolls down my cheek in response.
I can't care.
I won't let myself.