Chapter Text
“A priest and a nun walk into a bar…no, wait, I'm setting this all up wrong.”
“Am I the priest or the nun?” Lena asks, and Kara laughs, throws an arm around the back of Lena's chair as if instinctively.
The last hints of daylight are steadily receding, shadow overtaking the flickering neon blue light that says open, and for once the promise of nighttime is not something sinister. And Kara seems better—more like herself, anyway, which is all Lena cares about.
“As promised, tequila sunrise and a long island.” Alex sets the tequila sunrise in front of Lena, who immediately reaches over and swaps her drink for Kara’s. “Wait, no way. Kara doesn’t drink tequila.”
“I do too,” Kara says defensively. “Why wouldn’t I drink tequila?”
“Um, maybe because you had that whole phase in college where you swore it off.” But Alex grins, relaxed and easy, when she knocks their glasses together. “City life changed you up, huh?”
Kara frowns as she takes her first sip. “Not really.”
Lena chooses that moment to cut in, knowing it might only grow tense otherwise. “A tequila phase?” she repeats, and Kara begins shaking her head before Lena even gets the full question out.
“We don’t talk about it,” Kara says adamantly.
“Really? Because you talk about college like hell itself, so…”
“My lips are sealed.” Kara makes a show of miming a lock and key, her drink inevitably sloshing over her hand, and she rushes to chase the drops with her tongue. “Ah, shit!”
“Karma,” Lena teases, and Kara smiles as she dabs a napkin over her chin, and for a moment everything is normal. Like this is any other day at any other bar, with no murder investigations or lost family secrets looming over their heads.
“So who else is coming tonight?” Alex asks. “I can’t be third-wheeling you guys forever.”
“You are not third-wheeling,” Kara says—flushes—and Lena has to look away, equally warm at the suggestion. “But Winn’s coming for sure.” She glances at Lena sideways before she adds, “Maybe James,” because she had explicitly asked her first if it was okay to invite him along.
“Ah, the gang’s all getting back together then,” Alex hums into her glass. “Just add a gallon of jungle juice and it’ll be college all over again.”
“Hopefully with less puking.” Kara's arm stays steady on the back of Lena's chair, and Lena absentmindedly leans into it. “And maybe we'll even remember it the next day.”
“How is it that I've never seen pictures of you in your college days?” Lena asks. “You've definitely been holding out on me.”
Kara goes red to the tips of her ears. “No, absolutely not,” she says, coughing with the effort to not spit out her drink. “It was a very bad time.”
“Because you had the harshest ponytails I’ve ever seen?” Alex guesses. “Or was it just the year you had bangs?”
“Bangs,” Lena echoes, delighted. “Kara. Now I have to see.”
“No! No way.” Kara quickly sets her drink down. “Alex, quit trying to embarrass me.”
“I don't need to—your pool skills are embarrassing enough,” Alex jokes. “You up for a rematch?”
“You're on,” Kara says, eyes lighting up with that familiar challenge-happy glow she gets at game nights. “You break, let me finish my drink first.”
“Because she needs liquid courage to beat me,” Alex tells Lena, and her grin stays when she avoids Kara's halfhearted attempt to kick her away.
“She’s a liar,” Kara quickly leans in to whisper to Lena, too. “For the record.”
“No doubt,” Lena says placatingly; that's enough for Kara to regain her self-assured air and head over to join her sister. Predictably, the clear sound of her ribbing Alex over her choice of pool cue rings out, and Lena is relieved; it’s good to know for as tense as they can be with each other, there is clearly no love lost between the Danvers sisters.
The clink of a beer bottle hitting the table briefly draws Lena's gaze away. Winn has arrived, and he shoots her a grin as soon as they lock eyes, both cheerful and apologetic—likely because James is right behind him.
“So Lena,” Winn says. “Settle a bet for me: how long until we get into the drunk karaoke part of the night?”
“It depends on whenever Kara gets drunk,” Lena replies, and Winn bursts out in laughter.
“Best guess of the night,” he says, and clinks his bottle against her glass. “Does that mean I can count you in on doing a song?”
“Oh no, I'll be long gone by that time of night comes around,” Lena quips—shakes her head—and Winn just keeps on laughing.
“Guess you're my duet partner then, James,” he teases.
“Only if we're doing Whitney Houston,” James plays along, and soon he and Winn get into a conversation about the best (read: unlikely) karaoke picks for the night.
Lena chimes in once or twice, but her mind is elsewhere; she finds herself looking over at Kara time and time again. It’s like nothing and everything has changed, realizing that she is in love with her best friend—like she is drawn to Kara more than usual, taking in her relaxed, easy grin when she makes a shot and her brow crinkling whenever Alex does.
“Do you want a refill?” James brings Lena out of her head, awkwardly gesturing to her half-empty glass. “I'm going to order a drink for my sister, so…”
“Oh. Sure, thank you.” Lena accepts the metaphorical olive branch; it's the least she can do for Kara. And maybe she can admit that she has been unfairly harsh on James Olsen, and it wouldn't hurt to mend fences.
“Kelly's coming?” Winn brightens. “Sorry James, you're out. She's a way better singer than you.”
“She wishes,” James scoffs, already making his way to the bar, and Winn smiles at Lena like they’re sharing some secret joke.
Lena smiles back faintly, even if she's still miles away. Winn seems to notice, but doesn't take offense. He just follows her gaze right to where Alex and Kara are playing and knowingly says,
“They’re not fighting tonight, are they? That's a good sign.”
“I suppose,” Lena says reluctantly. “I don't understand why they're so….confrontational all the time with each other.”
Winn shrugs. “They've always been like that,” he says. “You know—Alex resented Kara for being thrown into her life, and then Kara resented Alex for trying to boss her around. Kid stuff, mostly.” He pauses to take a swig from his beer. “Maybe I don't get it because I'm an only child.”
“There has to be more than that, though,” Lena can't help but prod. “Isn't there?”
“I guess.” Winn rubs at the back of his neck uncomfortably, suddenly unable to meet Lena's eye. “I try not to get involved.”
“Sorry,” Lena says, on instinct. “I'm just not good with secrets.” She doesn't mean to sound so bitter; judging by Winn’s perplexed expression, she does not succeed. “I know it's not my business,” she adds, because as nice as Winn is, she knows she knows he is 100% judging her. “But when it involves people I care about…” She pauses to down the remainder of her drink. “It always feels like it involves me too.”
Winn nods along, now looking a little lost. “That…sounds tough,” he says slowly.
Lena sets her glass down. “I think I need some air,” she decides. “Can you tell Kara if she asks?”
“Yeah, sure.”
The air outside is a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the bar, just cool enough that the relief envelops Lena from head to toe. She shivers and considers going back in for her jacket, but ultimately decides not to. Something about the quiet is enough, for now, and going back feels like more trouble than it would be worth.
Lena sits down on a bench a few doors down from the bar, watching as the bakery across the street begins closing up shop. It still smells faintly of bread and coffee, and the barista is bringing chairs inside two at a time. Occasionally, Lena can hear them scrape against the pavement.
“Hey. Aren’t you that actress?”
Those words have been uttered to Lena so many times, she always knows what comes next—a request for a photo, autograph, maybe an offer to buy her a drink. The weirdest ones are the times when they spend a solid minute criticizing the work she’s done. But this time around, she's not sure what to possibly categorize the derisive tone for which the stranger regarding her uses.
“I might be,” Lena says, not sure what else she can possibly say.
“You must be Kara’s friend.” The woman tilts her head and surveys Lena skeptically. “You’re pretty enough.”
Lena can only stare back in bewilderment. “What—”
“Siobhan!” Kara comes jogging down the street, her expression tight and slightly panicked. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” the stranger—Siobhan—deadpans. “I think I should be asking you that question.”
Kara freezes, her skin flushing into a particular shade of red Lena has never seen it to be. “I thought your dad would've…told you. That I was here,” she says lamely.
“Oh, he did.” Siobhan does not elaborate, and Kara’s face twists into a pained, panicked expression.
Lena glances between the two of them and decides to try to mediate whatever the hell is going on. “I’m Lena,” she introduces herself. “It's nice to meet another friend of Kara’s.”
Siobhan’s gaze flickers over to her, obviously annoyed. “Pleasure,” she says in a way which suggests it is anything but. “Well. Good luck, both of you.”
Good luck for what? Lena wonders, but she isn't about to ask, and Kara certainly isn't either—as a matter of fact, Kara remains silent as Siobhan walks away.
“Who was that?” Lena asks when it's clear Kara isn't about to offer that information, and Kara blinks at her as if surprised at the line of inquiry.
“That was Siobhan, she's…Sheriff Smythe’s daughter.” Kara shoves her hands in her pockets and changes the subject entirely, much to Lena’s disappointment. “What are you doing out here all alone?”
“I just wanted some air,” Lena sighs. “I know you're going to say it's not safe—”
“Because it's not—”
“—but if someone wanted to kill me, they have had enough chances. I might even welcome it if it means I won't have to go back to work.”
Kara frowns. “That's not funny.”
Lena loops her arm into Kara’s, pulling her gently until Kara groans and stumbles along. “Okay, I'm sorry. Let's go back.”
“Thank you,” Kara says grumpily.
“And you can tell me all about Siobhan,” Lena prompts, “and who she is, exactly.”
(Kara almost trips and falls on her face).
.
.
.
Every time Lillian Luthor calls, it is an entire ordeal.
Lena’s relationship with her mother is icily cordial at best, and transactional at its core. They only talk to each other for different reasons: Lillian because she wants something, Lena because her therapist tells her to. Lena blocks out an obligatory half an hour because of course they have to schedule their calls—that’s how they work. Lena makes the effort, and Lillian plays along. Simple as that.
Kara has an unnerving ability to detect when Lena is about to call her mom. Lena doesn’t know what her tell is—Kara will never reveal it—but all Lena has to do is pull up her laptop and pull out her headphones, and Kara is right behind her asking,
“Planning a call with Lillian soon?”
Today, Lena doesn’t have to look up from her screen before she shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you psychic? Did the tarot cards reveal my fate to you?”
“No, but, your face did.” Kara has been out for a run all afternoon, an activity she loathes but apparently will indulge if her sister asks. She pauses at the fridge, shaking her sweaty hair out of her ponytail, before burying her face into the blast of cold air with a sigh. “Do you want me to go? I can probably still catch Alex if I duck out right now. She parked up the street.”
“It’s alright if you stay,” Lena says. “My mother already knows I tell you everything. She’s under the impression you have signed a million NDAs.”
“Seriously?” Kara takes a gulp of orange juice straight out of the gallon, and Lena can’t even feign anger when Kara blinks so innocently, droplets falling off her chin. “You’ve never given me an NDA.”
“Jess can forge your signature,” Lena says flippantly, and somehow, that makes Kara frown.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“About Jess forging your signature? I have her do that on 90% of my own documents. She has an insane talent for it.”
“No, about your mom wanting me to sign NDAs,” Kara says. “I would have agreed to whatever, you know. For you.”
The breath catches in Lena's throat, embarrassingly enough. She has to cough to recover. “I didn't want to bother you with it,” she says. “Besides, I trust you're not going to run to the press with my mother’s secrets.”
Kara shrugs, leans against the side of the fridge like she doesn't know what to do with herself. “Still,” she insists, and her voice has gone quiet, nearly strained. “I wish you would tell me about stuff like that.”
“Involving Lillian?” Lena turns around fully, but Kara is steadily avoiding her eyes.
“Involving me.” Kara has now begun to busy herself with opening the kitchen cupboards, absentmindedly searching for something.
“I'm sorry,” Lena says slowly. “I didn't think you would mind.”
“I—” A drawer slams. Kara stands stiffly in place. “I don't mind. Exactly.” At last, she seemingly locates what she's been looking for: a garlic press. “Do you mind if I make dinner? I'll be quiet.”
“Go ahead,” Lena says. “But—” Before she can finish her thought, her phone begins to ring at 3:45 PM on the dot. Regretfully, she answers. “Hello, mother.”
“Lena,” Lillian says crisply on the other end. “How nice to hear your voice. How are you?”
“I'm well,” Lena says. “And you?”
“Just fine.” There is a pause, like always; pleasantries have never been Lillian’s strong suit. “I sent your agent a script. The director is an old friend of your father's, and he wants to set up an audition.”
Lena rubs at her brow. “I'll talk to Jess about it,” she says, “but I'm not auditioning for anything right now.”
Lillian clicks her tongue. “Still on…sabbatical, I take it?”
“Yes,” Lena replies flatly. She never told Lillian about this trip, but Lex is a big enough gossip that she knows the news has reached their mother anyway; from the tone of voice, Lillian clearly does not approve.
“Well. You’ll have to give me your assistant’s number in that case, so I can correspond with her directly.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lena says quickly. Or else Jess might quit. “I’ll have Jess send it to me later. I’m sure if Dad likes it, I can make it work.”
“It certainly might bring you better press than that show is giving. You’re never in any of the promotional shots,” Lillian says. “Your agent is inadequate. You should really have your father find you someone else.”
“I don’t need a new agent. My career is just fine,” Lena says. This is a conversation they always seem to fall right back to, and there are only so many times that Lena can successfully change the subject. “How is Dad doing?”
Kara rustles behind Lena quietly, steadily chopping something. The sound is soothingly familiar, and it gives Lena the strength to nod along while Lillian launches into a tirade about their butler and how he messed up some important delivery. Lena is not privy to the random family drama anymore (and it's certainly not something she misses), but Lillian will always bring it up.
“Your father has been wanting to hold a family dinner soon,” Lillian says, a tell-tale sign their call is just about done. “I hope you won't keep him waiting too long.”
“I'll organize the next dinner when I come back, then,” Lena says. On the other end there is dead silence, so she sighs and adds, “At the family home, of course. Not mine.”
“Very well,” Lillian says, satisfied, and she bids Lena a hasty goodbye.
Nothing leaves Lena more out of sorts than a call with her mother. Luckily, Kara knows that, and she already had a glass of wine in hand.
“Anything crazy with Lillian?” Kara asks in between hums of a vaguely familiar tune Lena can't quite place.
Lena takes a sip of wine, lets the dry bitterness of a nice red coat her tongue before she attempts a reply. “No, thankfully,” she says, and promptly changes the subject. “Can I help with dinner?”
“No, you just sit there and look pretty,” Kara says, a phrase that Jess likes to throw around on set, and Lena narrows her eyes.
“I don't think I trust you.”
“Too bad,” Kara says, tongue poking out between her teeth as she throws a grin over her shoulder. “This is Eliza’s famous pasta sauce recipe. I can handle instructions from a text, I think.”
“I do trust Eliza, I guess,” Lena says. Actually, she is quite content just drinking wine and watching Kara work, shamelessly letting her gaze trail over Kara’s arms as she steadily chops up vegetables.
“I knew you would like her better than me. Everyone does.”
“How many strangers do you bring home to meet your mother?” Lena teases, relishes the way Kara blushes pink, but decides to let her off the hook. “So what makes this sauce famous?”
Listening to Kara explain anything always comforts Lena in a way she doesn't quite understand; Kara is larger than life, waving her hands to make her point and eyes sparkling with passion. Lena is content to lean her chin on her hand and just soak it all in, even if she doesn't understand the ins and outs of what makes certain herbs better suited for pasta.
“—and everyone knows cilantro is the worst thing in the world,” Kara finishes her tangent, completely off the topic of pasta altogether.
“You only say that because it tastes like soap to you,” Lena reminds her, and Kara frowns.
“And it ruins everything! Soapy fajitas…soapy salsa…soapy soup…the injustices never end.”
“I'm sure you'll live,” Lena says, amused. She offers Kara a sip of her wine, and Kara takes it, still pouting all the while. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For dinner?” Kara turns away, stirring the pot again, and Lena shakes her head even if Kara can't see it.
“Just…thank you,” Lena says, unable to put her emotions into real words, and Kara looks up and gives her the gentlest of smiles in response.
.
.
.
When there is a knock on the door in the dead of night, it honestly does not come as a surprise.
Lena feels Kara jerk awake behind her, the loose arm splayed over Lena’s shoulder instantly going stiff; the sudden movement is what makes Lena open her eyes, too, even more than the sound. “Are you expecting someone?” Kara whispers.
“Why would I be expecting someone? You’re the one who actually knows people.” Lena reaches blindly for her phone on the nightstand. “It’s…eleven thirty. Who would be here so late?”
“No one, unless there's an emergency.” Kara immediately sits up, already haphazardly throwing on her glasses. “Wait here, I’ll check.”
“I’ll go with you. What if it is an emergency?” Lena throws the covers off to follow, and Kara frowns.
“It’s probably just kids playing a prank,” Kara says. “You should try to go back to sleep.”
“Well I’m already awake, aren’t I?” Lena retorts, until finally, Kara relents—though, she makes a point of grabbing a baseball bat from under the bed (loaned from Winn, after the break-in fiasco).
Under any circumstances, Lena would find it comical, Kara pointedly walking in front of Lena with a bat raised like an attack might come out of nowhere. Kara peeks out the peephole, then turns to whisper ruefully to Lena, “The porch light isn’t on, I can’t tell who’s out there. Maybe we should just pretend we’re sleeping.”
“And if it’s someone trying to get in touch with us?” Lena retorts. Before Kara can even protest, Lena is already yanking the door open, preparing for the worst.
She doesn’t expect a police officer on her doorstep, but she is not particularly shocked by the turn of events, either. What she is taken aback by is Kara’s little exclamation of recognition beside her:
“Maggie? What’s wrong?”
The officer in question gives them a tight-lipped smile in greeting. “Hey, Danvers,” she says. “I’m sorry to show up so late, but…there’s been a murder.”
Kara sighs. “And you’re stuck making sure I’m not the murderer,” she fills in the blanks. “Great. Just great.” She gently nudges Lena aside, opening the door herself with the bottom of the bat. “You can come in, the last thing we need are more neighbors gossiping.”
Lena—who has no idea what the fuck is going on—holds up a hand before this Maggie can do just that. “Hold on,” she says. “Do you have a warrant?”
“It’s okay, Lena,” Kara says quickly. “Maggie’s a friend.”
“But she’s not here in a friendly capacity,” Lena retorts sharply.
Maggie shifts uneasily from foot to foot. “I just have to go through a few routine questions,” she says. “If it would make you feel better to come into the station tomorrow…”
“Is there a warrant for that?” Lena asks, at the same time Kara says,
“Don’t be silly, you’re already here.”
Lena turns to glare at her best friend with what she hopes is an expression conveying Kara don’t be stupid. Kara, in turn, raises her eyebrows in a gesture Lena unfortunately recognizes to mean Lena don’t be rude.
“I can come back tomorrow, then.” Maggie takes a step back. “I just wanted to make sure you get ahead of this, Kara. It’s—” She casts a sideways glance at Lena before finishing with: “It’s pretty bad.”
The bat thuds onto the ground like it has slipped from Kara’s hand, and when Lena turns, she sees Kara’s jaw set tightly like her mind is already a million miles away. “Let’s go sit in your car, then,” Kara decides. “And we can talk.”
“Kara,” Lena says, suddenly feeling like she’s being pushed out of this conversation, “whatever it is, I’m positive it can wait until tomorrow. It’s so late and—”
“It’s okay.” Kara gives Lena’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You can go back to bed. Maggie, let me grab my keys and I’ll meet you in the cruiser, okay?”
“You got it,” Maggie says, shuffling away before Kara can change her mind. The street is dark even beyond their porch, and Maggie’s silhouette is small as she crosses the road.
Kara shuts the door, already reaching down to put on her shoes with single-minded determination. Lena is not so easily persuaded.
“Kara,” Lena repeats. “Do you really have to do this right now? Surely it’s not that urgent to answer ‘routine questions’ that your friend might have.”
“If something’s going on, I need to get ahead of it,” Kara says. “Maggie wouldn’t have come all the way out here so late if it wasn’t serious.”
“They want to make you a suspect. That’s all it is,” Lena argues. “Can’t you see that?”
“Then all the more reason to prove I’m innocent,” Kara says. She doesn’t bother with a jacket, only pauses to snatch her keys off the counter. “I won’t be gone long. Try to sleep, would you?”
At last, Lena relents, if only because she knows Kara’s mind is made up. “I’ll come with you.”
“No—this is just about me. Don’t worry.” And Kara does something she has never done before: she takes Lena’s face in her cold, firm hands and seriously smooths at Lena’s cheeks with her thumbs. “I mean it. Go back to bed.” When she lets go, Lena is so stunned that all she can do is blink dumbly back, even when Kara is long gone.
The click of the lock on the other side of the closed door snaps Lena out of her stupor. Reluctantly, she heads upstairs, if only to pretend she’s going to try sleeping again. There is no way that will happen, though. Not while Kara is outside dealing with yet another murder accusation.
Lena tries to check her emails in an attempt to distract herself. Jess has forwarded the script Lillian was talking about earlier, and Lena skims it briefly; it’s an attempt at a gritty, dark romance, but it reads like absolute drivel. Lena already knows it’s going to be a pain to feign interest in this one.
Jess’s email subject is just an array of question marks. Lena replies back with her usual: Make me sound excited in the press release.
The reply comes swiftly: You’re on vacation. Stop emailing about work. And then, after several ellipses: I miss you. Please don’t die out there.
It takes another twenty minutes before Kara finally comes back inside; Lena hears the slam of the door, harsher than normal, and Kara’s weary trudge upstairs as the giveaway.
“Sorry,” Kara whispers as she crawls back into bed, entire body cold as she shivers under the blankets. She smells faintly of the night air, and Lena wrinkles her nose but doesn’t comment.
“So what happened?” Lena asks, not bothering to try to sound sleepy, and Kara in turn doesn't waste time by chastising Lena for it.
“They found a body outside the Sheriff’s station.” Kara rests flat on her back when she speaks, not looking Lena’s way, while Lena twists sideways to fully soak Kara in. “It was Officer Lockwood. Remember him? He took your statement after…”
“I remember,” Lena says slowly. “What does that have to do with you?”
“He had my name,” Kara says carefully, “kind of. Um. Written on his chest.”
Lena immediately sits up. Kara does not. “What the fuck,” Lena says, horrified. “Why would someone do that? Just to—just to frame you?”
“I don't know.” Kara exhales deeply. “But given the fact that I'm the only Kara he’s associated with lately, Sheriff Smythe oh-so-kindly had Maggie make sure I wasn't over here burying the murder weapon.”
“I knew you shouldn't have talked to her. We need to get you a lawyer right away and—”
“I have nothing to hide, Lena,” Kara says sharply. Kara is never sharp, not even when she and Lena fight, and something about the fire in her tone instantly makes Lena go quiet. “It's going to be fine.” With that, she rolls over, away from Lena’s unrelenting gaze.
Finally, Lena lies back down. “I'm worried about you,” she confesses into the darkness.
“Don't be,” Kara replies decidedly. “Everything will be okay.”
Lena bites her tongue and doesn't argue further—just lets it go, this once.
She also doesn't sleep a wink all night.
.
.
.
“Should we decorate for Halloween?”
Lena glances up from her book to find Kara staring quite seriously at the front window. It has been defaced—bright red spray paint in an X across the entire pane—and the sunlight streaming in is jaggedly pink as a result.
“Where would we get Halloween decorations?” Lena says. “We can't keep buying things we can't take home with us.”
“Maybe Winn can lend us some,” Kara says.
Lena shuts her book entirely. “If you want,” she says carefully, “but wouldn't that mean we have to give out candy on Halloween night? I don't think we should be inviting anyone to our doorstep.”
“Well—people probably will still come anyway,” Kara says. “Halloween will just be an excuse.” She twists away, catches Lena’s eye sheepishly. “Maybe not, actually. I don't want anyone to vandalize his stuff.”
“We could put up cameras,” Lena says. “And one of those signs, about people being recorded…”
Kara is already shaking her head before Lena can finish her thought. “Nah. It would be a waste of money,” she says. “I’m going to get something to clean the window. Do you need anything from the hardware store?”
“No, but can I come with you? I could stand to stretch my legs a little.”
Kara hesitates; Lena sees the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes before answering. “Okay. Give me a second to grab a jacket and we can go.”
Strangely, Kara’s mood seems to sour at some point between the house and the store. When Lena tries to ask about Kara’s dinner plans with her friends, Kara’s replies are short, detached—like her head is a million miles away. Lena doesn't pry, just turns on the radio to fill the silence instead.
Halfway through a staticky rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” Kara brings the car to a shaky stop. Instead of moving to open her door, she drums her fingers against the wheel instead, just lets silence fill the space until Lena feels like she might choke from it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Kara says, like a reflex.
Lena unbuckles her seatbelt; Kara doesn't. “Then let's go,” Lena prompts, pushing with the door handle without opening it until Kara finally looks her way.
“It’s just…what if people say something to us?” Kara says. “About what happened to Officer Lockwood?”
“So what if they do?” Lena says. “The important people know you're innocent. Everyone else should mind their own business.”
Kara's mouth twists into a thin, sad sort of frown, like Lena is missing the point. “This doesn't bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me. You're my best friend, and everyone is treating you like a fucking criminal,” Lena says. Then, softly: “If you want to go home instead—”
“No,” Kara says. “No, I can't hide from this. As much as it sucks…” She shrugs her shoulders. “I'm not doing anything wrong.”
“I know.” Lena watches as Kara’s jaw clenches, hands forming a tight fist around her car keys, before straightening up.
“Let's go somewhere nice for dinner. I know this Italian place that definitely overcharges for parking, but they have a fancy cacio e pepe you would like.”
Lena almost asks about Kara’s friends. Almost—until she sees the flicker of uncertainty in Kara’s eyes. Almost—until she realizes.
“You hate fancy places,” Lena says.
“You don't,” Kara retorts, and Lena…Lena only smiles, sad but sure, and reaches over the console to poke at Kara’s arm.
“Let’s do it, then. If you're sure.”
“Definitely.” The edge of Kara’s mouth twitches into a near-smile of her own, and when she exits the car, she stops to open Lena’s door for her. “It'll be nice to show you more of Midvale.”
“I didn't know Midvale had fancy parts,” Lena says. “I'm curious how you ended up there in the first place.”
Kara flushes pink. “Well, I…might have been trying to impress a girl.”
“Kara Danvers. Were you a young Casanova? I'm learning so much about you.”
“Hold on, I did say I was trying,” Kara stresses. “Apparently, I was not good enough at it. She dumped me like a week later.”
“That was her loss,” Lena says softly—chest tight with the words—and Kara shrugs her shoulders.
“That was, um. Siobhan, actually.” Kara pulls open the hardware store door for Lena to walk through first, and Lena almost stumbles on nothing. “But we stayed friends. Or, friendly enough. We weren't really friends before that, so…”
The guy behind the counter seems to recognize Kara immediately, already waving her over, which is why Kara’s words trail off.
“Hey, Brainy,” Kara says. “How are you?”
“Quite fine,” he says seriously, and eyes Lena but doesn't say anything to her. “I have everything you asked for.”
“Thanks.” Kara accepts a sealed box when he pushes it over, and gratefully presses a wad of bills into his hand. “I owe you.”
“I assure you, you owe nothing,” Brainy says. “I, in fact, owe you change.”
“No, no—keep it.” Kara hefts the box into her arms. “We're in a hurry.”
The lie gives Lena pause, but she doesn't call Kara out on it, not even when they make their quick exit back to the car. After all of Kara’s reservations, the trip feels frankly…anticlimactic. Lena doesn't say so out loud, of course. She stays perfectly quiet instead, lets Kara ramble about the best way to remove spray paint from glass.
But the box at Lena’s feet does not contain any cleaning products. It has tape, a paring knife, rope, and other odds and ends tucked beneath some rolls of gauze that Lena wouldn't be able to see unless she digs through it. She can't imagine why Kara needs any of this.
“Let’s decorate for Halloween,” Kara says suddenly.
“Hm?” They have reached a red light, and when Lena looks up, she finds Kara gazing right at her.
“I think we should. Even if it's something simple, like those 99 cent cobwebs on the bushes, to let people know we're not hiding.” Kara nods to herself, drumming against the wheel with her palms. “I’ll get some tomorrow after church. If—”
“Church?” Lena interrupts. “Why on Earth would you go to church?”
“Well not for the service, but, I figured I could drop some flowers off for Ben’s family. Maggie advised against it, but—”
“Who is Ben?” Lena cuts her off again, utterly perplexed, and Kara goes silent for a beat.
“Officer Lockwood, I mean. James ran a story about the incident by me and we kind of got used to calling him that, I guess.”
“Oh.” There’s another red light, but this time, Kara pointedly looks anywhere but at Lena. Slowly Lena asks, “Is he allowed to do that?”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Kara shrugs a shoulder, light and easy, and hits the gas the very instant the light flickers green. “It’s all the same stuff we know anyway. Decapitated body, my name written in blood, poke tattoo of a skull. Anything to scare residents a little and start speculating about the Headsman. Or was it Hangman?”
“Nothing like inspiring fear and panic,” Lena says quietly, and thinks of the articles she has seen about Officer Lockwood’s death.
None of them—not a single one—ever mentioned anything about a poke tattoo.