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i.
i’ve no language left to say it
but all i do is quake to her,
breaking, if i try convey it—
the broken love i make to her.
/
You leave Alex and Maggie to tend to each other’s wounds. Your knuckles are bruised and your suit needs some patching, not to mention you could use a lot of time to clear your head, but it isn’t anything a few orbits around the planet can’t solve. You nod to the DEO agents still clearing the mess, make sure they’ve got the rogue Kanalorians locked down, and then you’re off.
The sound barrier is long forgotten but every time you zoom past Japan you can feel the wind ripple through the tears in your cape.
.
She’s still working when you land on her balcony, because of course she is, and you’re here late at night seeking comfort, because of course you are. Lena’s is where you end up when you don’t expect anyone to take care of you but you also can’t stomach being alone.
Lena turns her head even before you knock on the glass.
“I have at least three different alarms that go off when you drop in,” she says.
“Don’t want me to visit?”
“I don’t want to miss it when you do.”
You smile, your heart fluttering in spite of the night you’ve had. Lena swivels in her chair and motions for you to stay outside, smoothing her skirt as she gets up to join you. The sky is full of stars and you can see every one of them reflected in her eyes.
(You know every star’s name. Once upon a time, you could sing songs about their queens and conquerors, recite epic poems of how they died. Little by little you’ve forgotten the words, and not even Clark can remind you. He was robbed of a life just like you were, but it’s a different pain—knowing what could have been. Clark has comfort in his dreams.
You wonder who will be left to write poems about you.)
“Rough night?” Lena offers. You lean your back against the railing as she rests her forearms on it. You could look at each other, but you don’t.
“I’ve had worse,” you say to the ground.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll all sleep a little safer tonight.”
“Sure.”
Lena shifts her weight to her other leg and it brings her closer to you, close enough to touch. You remember you don’t have your glasses on and suddenly you can feel everything about her—the warmth of her skin and the sting behind her eyes, maybe even down to the ache in her bones. She’ll always have it the same way you’ll have yours. It’s the almost-ache, of almost remembering or almost forgetting, of almost belonging.
Sometimes, on quiet nights, you wonder if the only places you’ll ever fit are the cracks.
ii.
her eyes look sharp and steady
into the empty parts of me,
but still my heart is heavy
with the hate of some other man’s beliefs
/
They call her the Girl of Steel but tonight she seems as if she could shatter at the slightest touch. She folds her arms and scuffs her feet, head hanging down as she lets her hair fall in a blanket over her face. Every one of your ten fingers is itching to reach out and tuck it behind her ears.
“Do you need anything?”
“From you?”
“Anything,” you repeat.
Supergirl shrugs. “I need a lot of things, Lena. Most of which would take too long to explain before I even got around to asking.”
You gesture around to the dark buildings and relatively quiet city. “Does it look like I’m doing anything right now? I’ve got nothing but time for you, Supergirl.”
She shakes her head when you say her name, laughing at something you will never get. “It’s mostly just family stuff; don’t worry about it.”
“Of course, and I’m not familiar at all with family problems.”
This time, the laugh is just for you.
“I miss her sometimes,” you continue. “Or the idea of her, I suppose; the mother I deserved to have. It never really goes away.”
“But you can live with it?”
“Most days,” you nod. “Others—other days, I feel engulfed. Lex used to be able to fix everything with a good hug, but those times are long since gone.” Supergirl hums to herself. The breeze whips up a strand of her hair and you get a glimpse of tired cheeks. “It destroys you, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“The idea that the good memories are never enough to make you forget the bad.”
The sniffle is what breaks you. You push yourself off the railing and turn to face her, extending your arms. “Come here, Kara,” you murmur.
She slides into your embrace, leaning her head down until her hair tickles your neck. She’s carrying the entire world but your shoulders barely register the weight. You close your eyes as Kara’s hands grip your back.
“It never stops,” you say. “I can’t invent enough gadgets to fill the void and you can’t fly far enough away. But if you want to—if you need an away to fly to—you can always come here.”
Kara finally smiles; you can feel it. “How long have you known?”
You’d love to say since the beginning. That would be the romantic answer, but it wouldn’t be the truth. There was a moment, in the beginning, when you thought you might have gotten lucky enough to meet two new friends. But Kara’s heart gave her away eventually. You’ve met a lot of people, either through your connections or your family’s, and you know what sort of a rare person she is. There was no chance you’d find that rarity twice.
“Since the beginning?” she presses.
Kara pulls back to look at you at last. Your heels put you just at her eye level; you watch as they glint in the moonlight. “Almost,” you answer, and you tip up the last little bit, and she is waiting for you with a kiss and a promise.