Archive of Our Own ^beta

A fresh bouquet of ivory flowers are clutched tightly in one hand. From the other hangs a bucket, heavy with soapy water, a sponge bobbing at the surface of its chilly contents, sloshing with every step. Even with gloves, the thin metal handle digs a familiar furrow into the palm of her hand.

She knows what she'll see when she gets close enough, where the fog grows too thin to obscure her view of the marble grave marker awaiting her arrival.

Killer. Murderer. Demon. The words are etched across the otherwise unblemished marble in an unsettlingly crimson shade of spray paint that turns her stomach is all-too similar to blood. The slurs no longer bother her as much as they should, or, at least, that's what she tells the over-priced therapist her assistant has convinced her to see on a bi-weekly basis. It doesn't matter anyway- thoughts of the regular vandalism are easily wiped away by a bottle of amber liquid and a handful of pills that are as white as the stone of the grave that the man of steel had placed him in.

A part of her wishes that she were as easy to erase from existence, though she'll never admit it to anyone but her distorted reflection in the bottom of the crystal tumbler that's become her only greatest source of strength over the past few months.

But it's all interchangeable at this point- an endless remix of the same insults and acerbic vitriol- and besides, Lena has long-since learned how to distract herself from them. It's a shame she hasn't learned how to stop caring.

All she sees now is the task that lies ahead of her.

She kneels on the frosty ground, ignoring the way the bitter cold seeps through the fabric of her pants with ease, peels off her gloves, and gets to work. Her movements are stiff, robotic, her body working on autopilot as she tries to keep her gaze from lingering on any of the words long enough for them to be seared into the nightmares she knows she'll have tonight.

It's only when she gets to the other side of the gravestone that she stops to stare.

It stands alone, inked across the otherwise immaculate canvas of pure, white marble- a vicious, burning brand.

The symbol of Superman, the logo of the Kryptonian who had killed her brother saved all of Metropolis, gleams proudly in the glaring light of the rising run.

She doesn't notice the tears that begin to slip down her cheeks as the sponge falls from her shaking hands, or if she does, she tries not to doesn't care. Her vision blurs, and all of a sudden, all that she sees is red.

It's everywhere- covering her fingers, cracked and close to bleeding from the hours she spends in the cold, scrubbing away, an exercise in futility that she will likely be doomed to repeat for the rest of her life.

It's everywhere- coloring the water that streams down the stone in crimson rivulets that make the grave appear as though it weeps blood.

It's everywhere- and she finds herself unable breathe under the weight of it, under the weight of the hundreds of lives lost in the earthquake that haunts her endlessly, from her every waking moment to her increasingly violent dreams.

She's openly crying now, sobbing so hard that her lungs ache as she fights for breath. The world has narrowed to her and her brother, buried six feet under in a coffin she'd had to have be soldered shut and reinforced against tampering because oh god she wasn't sure if the public would simply let him rest-

For a time, she is as lost to the world as her brother is.

Perhaps this is why she doesn't notice the sound of Supergirl's arrival.

At the sight of the crest of the House of El, Kara stops dead on her path towards the weeping woman kneeling at the grave she now realizes belongs to the infamous Lex Luthor without even having to go around to read the inscription on the other side of the marker.

She was drawn here by the dark-haired woman's cries, hoping to offer whatever comfort she could.

She knows now that whatever comfort she offers will do absolutely nothing to ease Lena Luthor's grief.

Kara zor-El looks down at her chest, at the glyph that has never held any meaning other than hope in her eyes, and is shamed.

This, her family's emblem- el mayarah, stronger together- has never made her feel more set apart than it does in this moment.

Part of her- the logical, reasoning side of her brain- screams for her to leave, to run, to flee, to vanish into the clouds before the other woman can catch sight of her.

But Kara's decisions have always been governed by her heart, and the sight of Lena Luthor so thoroughly broken in front of her is not a sight she can- or ever will- turn her back on.

Kara steps forward, and when she notices her presence, looking up at her with eyes the color of her greatest weakness, she knows she's made the right decision.

The look twisting her otherwise beautiful features screams of a loss and fragility that the girl of steel is achingly, intimately familiar with. It's the same expression that had kept Kara away from mirrors during her first year on this planet- the girl who'd been trapped in the memory of her dying world for a measure of infinity spent in a timeless void- for fear of drowning in the same despondence that fills Lena's kryptonite gaze now.

"Miss Luthor?" The voice of the red-caped heroine is impossibly soft when she speaks, sounding less like Supergirl and more like Kara than she ever has while wearing the suit.

Lena just stares, tears slipping quietly down porcelain cheeks, her breath hitching in her throat, as Supergirl approaches. "Can I help?"

She doesn't nod, doesn't blink, doesn't do much of anything, so Kara takes her silent stillness for assent, and begins to lower herself to the ground.

No words are necessary as the ocean-eyed superheroine kneels, picks up the abandoned sponge, and begins to wash away the crimson staining her brother's grave.

The last of the red is slipping away when she finally speaks, eyes still wet but finally in control of her lungs once more. "He taught me how to ride a bike-" 

She stops, blows out a shaky breath, fingers clenching into fists as she struggles to stay calm. "-when I was seven. Our parents were busy, and the nanny didn't want to take us outside. So he-he helped me sneak out through the back door and stayed until I could make it all the way across the driveway and back, staring at me the whole time like-like," Lena stutters, grasping for words that are suddenly galaxies out of reach.

"Like you were his whole world." Supergirl's cerulean gaze is warm, kind, and nothing like Lena thought it would be at the mention of the man who had taken hundreds of innocent lives.

"Yeah." She looks down at her fingers, noting the way the cracks have begun to bleed from the cold, and rubs her hands together in a feeble attempt at regaining some warmth. 

Surprisingly, she doesn't pull away when Supergirl reaches out to take her hands in a firm, decisive grip. The Kryptonian's own hands are soft, and still warm in spite of the weather and the unforgiving task of scrubbing away the vandalism coating Lex's grave.

She wonders if Lex would consider this a betrayal. Six feet under, and my big brother still has a hold over me.

She laughs at this, quietly, and looks up just in time to catch the inquisitive stare the other woman lobbies towards her. "Sorry," Lena flashes what just might be a genuine smile at Supergirl of all people, and continues, "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"My brother. He's probably rolling over down there right now." She gestures to their entwined hands with a nod of her head, and before she can blink, Supergirl has pulled her hands away.

"I'm sorry." Kara reaches up to adjust the glasses that aren't there, and quickly drops her hands into her lap when she realizes her mistake, hoping that Lena hasn't noticed her slip-up.

Lena shrugs, seemingly oblivious, moving to stand, collecting the now-empty bucket and drying sponge as she does. "Don't be."

They move towards the gates of the cemetery together, never touching, but walking considerably closer to one another than most. 

It's Kara who breaks the silence in the end, watching Lena pull open the door to her waiting limo. "Miss Luthor?"

"You just helped me clean my brother's headstone. I think you've earned the right to call me Lena," The other woman remarks, with a hint of something almost akin to admiration flashing in her viridescent eyes.

"Lena, then," Kara nods, trying hard not to blush. She clears her throat before she speaks again, hoping that her voice doesn't sound too strangled, "If you don't mind me asking, what were the flowers you left back there? I didn't recognize them." Her mother's garden had held a plant that was eerily similar to the pale, lovely blossoms, and the sight of them had unearthed a bittersweet sort of bliss.

"I don't mind." Unbidden, a soft smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as her thoughts drift back to happier times. "Plumerias. They used to be my brother's favorite, when he was young."

The sound of sirens blaring cuts Kara off before she can even think of formulating a reply. "I'm sorry- I have to go."

Lena waves off her apology and tilts her head, an emotion gleaming in her eyes that, for the life of her, Kara can't place. "It's alright. I think I've taken up enough of your time today, Supergirl."

And with a final, apologetic smile, Supergirl leaps into flight, leaving Lena standing alone beside the open door of her car. It takes her a few seconds to collect her thoughts before she gets in and instructs the driver to take her back to headquarters.

Hints of a smile play around the edges of her lips as she catches a glimpse of a girl in a red cape darting across the sky.

Later, when Kara Danvers strolls into Lena's office, her gaze is immediately drawn to the white bouquet resting in a vase on the coffee table. "Those flowers are beautiful." The words are out of her mouth before she can even think to stop them.

Lena smiles. "They're called plumerias. They're pretty rare."

"They remind me of my mother." Once again, she speaks without thinking, and it's only through sheer force of will that she resists the urge to clap her hands over her mouth. 

When Lena redirects the topic of conversation to her article, Kara sends a silent, mental 'thank you' to Rao with a soft laugh as Lena compliments her, ducking her head in a vain attempt at hiding the blush that rises in her cheeks.

Lena accepts her admission with more grace than Kara expects, laughing as she looks down at her hands. Kara wants so desperately to ask if she's had them looked at after the cemetery, when they were bleeding from the cold, but stops herself just in time. "Some things happened that made me rethink my position." Not on the device, no- nothing could ever change her mind on the blatant intrusiveness of the alien detection device. But her position concerning Lena? Definitely.

"Do tell," Lena prompts, curling up on the couch as she subtly angles her body to face Kara's.

Kara scrambles for a response to this, and finds that every single thought that races through her brain are things she cannot say.

Because I heard you crying in a cemetery and found you weeping over your brother's grave.

Because I can see right through the mask you wear every time you force a smile.

Because I can see the pain in your eyes that reminds me of my own.

Because you bear your grief with a strength that I may never match.

Because you surround yourself with constant reminders of the brother you love in spite of his sins and for years I could barely even look at Kal-El without feeling the pain of Krypton's death over and over and over again.

In the end, she says none of those things, laughing as she adjusts her glasses and gives an all-too predictable answer about alien amnesty.

Lena surprises her for the second time in less than twenty-four hours when she brings up Lex, and Kara is deeply honored that Lena trusts her enough to make this admission, to allow her a glimpse beyond the mask of the steadfast CEO that she wears in front of everyone else. Kara finds herself unable to do anything but smile and nod in response to such a gesture. "Yeah."

She leaves L-Corp that night feeling lighter than she ever has since her time in the Phantom Zone, the burden of her memories infinitesimal in comparison to the sense of weightlessness that the knowledge of Lena's trust instills in her.

The next day, she wakes up to a delivery of a large potted plant on her doorstep, no note attached- once again, no words are necessary.

Plumerias.

She smiles, and somewhere deep inside, in the place where her edges are jagged and her memories are bleak, in the place where she's locked away her memories of the Phantom Zone and the endless, endless screaming, something begins to change.

Something begins to blossom.

And it is

new,

and

warm,

and

impossibly 

bright.