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The argument is stupid. That’s the worst part.
It’s not about ethics or dangerous tech, or the usual Luthor-scale disagreements. It’s small and petty, exhaustion dressed up as irritation. It happens in the lab, with the overhead lights too bright and the hum of machinery making everything feel sharper than it should.
“You promised you’d let me know if you were staying late,” Kara complains, arms folded tight across her chest. “I waited.”
Lena doesn’t look up from the console. “I didn’t know I’d be staying late. Things happened.”
“Things always happen,” Kara mutters, words slipping out before she can stop them and unaware of the hypocrisy. Usually, Supergirl is always cutting conversations short or arriving late for coffee dates due to the latest alien threat. Something that doesn’t happen so much when you’ve been knocked out by a solar flare, although that doesn’t mean everyone else is about to change their usual expectations.
“That’s unfair.” Lena’s attention snaps to Kara, and she turns, jaw tight.
“Is it?” Kara lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Well, why don’t you at least let me help?”
“Kara, you’re supposed to be recovering and resting—”
“You don’t trust me to help.”
“That’s not what I said.” Lena sets the tablet she's holding down harder than intended. The impact makes something on the workbench rattle, glass against metal. The small, sharp sound hangs between them. “And you’re one to talk about trust. You didn’t even tell me about the solar flare.”
Silence drops heavy between them, humming with more than just tension. The lab lights flicker, once, and then twice, responding to the unstable energy core Lena has been trying to stabilise for hours.
“This isn’t the time,” Lena says as she turns away, quieter now. Her attention goes back to the screens in front of her. She raises an eyebrow as she looks at the readings scrolling faster than they should, glancing towards the energy core. “We can talk later.”
“Later will never come,” Kara whispers, softer now. She steps closer. The air prickles. Static lifts the fine hairs along Kara’s arms, the energy core responding to proximity in a way that has nothing to do with calibration.
“Kara,” Lena doesn’t look away from the console. “Take three steps back.”
Kara doesn’t. Instead, she frowns, drifting closer to Lena, eyes narrowing at the holographic display over Lena’s shoulder.
“Kara.” There’s an edge in Lena’s voice now. Not sharp, but controlled, which somehow feels worse. Kara sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “You’re overcorrecting the levels. You always do this when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous. I’m cautious.”
“Those are the same thing with better PR.”
Lena turns to face her fully now. “You are currently standing far too close to an unstable experimental energy core while recovering from a solar flare, which you conveniently failed to fully explain.”
“Okay,” Kara winces, “first of all, I explained—”
“You said, ‘I’ll be fine.’”
“I will be fine.”
Lena’s jaw tightens. “You don’t get to decide that alone anymore.”
Behind her, the energy core pulses one, a low and unstable thrum that neither of them quite registers in time. Kara opens her mouth to respond—there’s a sound like glass screaming. White light floods the lab. Kara reacts on instinct, lunging toward Lena just as the core destabilises completely.
“Kara—!”
The blast throws them in opposite directions. Kara hits the floor hard, pain blooming down her spine and vision blurring at the edges in a way she isn’t used to. She fights to stay conscious, pushing herself up on shaking arms.
“L-lena?” Her voice is wrong. It’s thin, shaking, terrified. Kara scans the rubble, heart clenching. Lena is lying on the floor near the console, blood at her hairline, eyes closed, and still. Too still. Smoke curls from the ruined equipment behind her.
“No, no, no…” Kara scrambles as best she can, dragging herself toward Lena. “Please, wake up… Lena?”
Lena doesn’t move. The world tilts.
Kara’s chest tightens, panic roaring and drowning out the alarms. She reaches for Lena’s sleeve. The last things she sees before darkness takes her is Lena’s face, unmoving and eerily calm, with the unbearable thought that she might have said her last words to Lena in anger.
oOo
The lab is wrong. The air is metallic, thick with unstable energy that makes Alex’s teeth ache the moment she steps inside. The overhead lights stutter, fighting to stay steady through the damage.
“Brainy,” she says into her comm, voice controlled despite the tightness in her chest. Her eyes scan the wreckage. “I’ve got a containment breach. Lena’s lab. Two heat signatures—it's them.”
Her heart stutters when she spots Lena.
She’s still, too still.
Alex is already moving when she hears it. A sound that’s barely there. A strangled breath, thin and breaking.
“Lena…?”
Alex’s head snaps to Kara, crumpled close by and barely conscious as she curls towards Lena. One arm is braced uselessly beneath her as she reaches for her. Her breathing is shallow, uneven. Alex can practically see the pain radiate off Kara through the charged air.
“Kara,” Alex says, dropping beside her, hands already steady despite the tremor she refuses to acknowledge. She takes a breath, hiding her panic. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“Lena…”
“She’s alive,” Alex says instantly, because it’s the only thing that matters to Kara right now, and even though she hasn’t fully assessed the damage, she knows how stubborn Lena is. “She’s right here. I promise.”
Kara’s breath shudders in relief, and then she’s gone, consciousness slipping away before Alex can stop it. Alex swears under her breath, fear flaring hot and sharp. She curses Kara for overexerting herself and causing a solar flare. The energy core emits a low, dying hum behind them as Alex carefully clears the rubble.
“J’onn, I’m going to need some help here,” she says into her comm, already working. “Brainy—get the med bay ready.”
oOo
The DEO medical bay is all white light and quiet efficiency with Alex at the helm. Her expression is tight and focused, refusing to show any emotion until everyone is safe. The smell of antiseptic cuts through the lingering ozone still clinging to their clothes.
“Okay,” Alex says briskly, hands snapping on gloves as she directs Kelly. “Lena’s got a head wound and a probable concussion. Kara—” Alex lets her facade crack for a second as she frowns, glancing at the monitors “—blood pressure’s lower than I’d like. I’ve got a body scan going.”
“Kara?” Lena croaks, stirring as Alex adjusts sensors with furrowed brows. Kelly’s at Lena’s side in an instant.
“Hey. Take it easy. You’re safe. You’re in the med bay.”
Lena tries to sit up and is stopped by Alex’s hand pressing firmly but gently on her shoulder.
“Absolutely not. Do not sit up. I will be forced to sedate you, and I will not feel bad about it.”
“Alex,” Lena says urgently, ignoring the pounding in her skull. “Kara. She was there, she—”
“I know.” Alex is softer now, realising exactly how she would feel if that were Kelly instead of Kara. “I’ve got her.”
The scanner hums as it passes over Kara’s body, its light washing pale across her skin.
“Bruising,” Alrex murmurs, more to Lena than herself. “Spinal trauma looks non-catastrophic, but I’m being cautious. We never fully know what a solar flare will throw at us. She’s unconscious because of the shock, not brain injury.”
Lena’s eyes shine despite her best effort to stay composed. “She was awake. I heard her.”
Alex swallows hard. “She asked about you. That was the last thing she said to me.”
That nearly breaks Lena.
She turns her head slightly, eyes fixed on Kara’s still body.
“I shouldn’t have let it escalate. I should have stopped—”
“Lena.” Alex cuts in gently but firmly. “Lab accidents happen. This isn’t a moral failing.”
“It feels like one,” Lena exhales shakily, clenching the bedsheet in her fist. Kelly reaches out without thinking, resting a hand on Lena’s arm.
“It’s not your fault,” she says quietly.
They wait. Time stretches in its cruel way. The machines hum softly, steady and indifferent. Then Kara’s finger twitches. Lena notices instantly.
“Alex—”
“I see it.” Alex is already checking Kara’s vitals, giving a sigh of relief. Kara doesn’t wake yet, but her features relax, and her breathing evens out. Lena finally lets herself sag back against the bed, exhaustion crashing over her in waves as she waits.
oOo
Beeping.
Rhythmic.
Steady.
Kara blinks against the soft light, confusion settling slowly rather than crashing. The ceiling above her is familiar – the recovery bay with its white panels and clean lines, and safety. Her body aches, but it's the absence that jolts her heart.
“Lena?” She pushes herself up, despite the protest in her ribs.
And there she is.
Lena is sitting on the edge of the neighbouring bed, one arm in a sling, a small white bandage stuck across her temple like a quiet insult to her pride. She looks exhausted, but very much alive despite the dark circles under her eyes that contrast against her pale skin as she watches her lap.
“You’re okay,” Kara’s voice shakes, and she takes a shuddering breath. “You’re—you’re okay.”
Lena looks up instantly, relief flooding her features so fast it almost hurts to see. She crosses the space between them in three quick steps, careful despite herself. Alex clears her throat pointedly as she leaves, smirking despite herself.
“I’m going to go and look at these scans so that I don’t have to see whatever emotional nonsense happens next.”
“Hey,” Lena whispers. “Take it easy. You shouldn’t sit up too fast.”
Kara doesn’t listen. She lunges forward, wrapping her arms around Lena’s middle, pressing her face into her shoulder like she's afraid Lena might vanish if she lets go. Lena stiffens for a second, and then she melts. She holds Kara tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other bracing them both as she sits carefully on the edge of Kara’s bed.
Kara whispers, words muffled against Lena’s shoulder. “I saw you on the floor, and you weren’t moving and I—”
“I know,” Lena murmurs. Kara lets out a sob before she can stop it.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I just—”
“You were tired,” Lena finishes gently. “And hurt. And I wasn’t listening.” Lena brushes Kara’s cheek gently with her thumb. “I’m sorry too, darling.”
“I should’ve told you sooner about the solar flare… how bad it really was,” Kara whispers. Lena swallows, avoiding her eyes. She hesitates before threading her fingers through Kara’s, bringing their joined hands to her chest.
“You don’t get to decide that for me. I… I thought I’d lost you.”
Kara’s eyes shine. “Lena…”
“Don’t,” Lena murmurs.
They sit like that for a moment, breathing each other in, grounding themselves in the simple fact that they’re both here. Kara glances up at Lena’s forehead.
“You look ridiculous.”
Lena gives a short laugh. “I nearly died, and that’s your takeaway?”
“It’s comforting,” Kara murmurs weakly, letting out a small, tired laugh. “You’re still here.” Lena’s expression softens.
“Lie back down,” she says. “Please.”
“What about you?”
Lena doesn’t answer. Instead, she carefully shifts, easing herself onto the bed beside Kara, ignoring the monitor’s quiet protests. Kara shifts carefully, making room. Lena lies beside her, slow and deliberate, fitting like she belongs there. Kara’s arm comes around her instinctively, protective.
“There,” Lena says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Kara exhales, tension draining out of her in a way she didn’t realise she was holding. She curls slightly toward Lena, forehead resting against her shoulder.
“Next time we argue,” Kara whispers, looking up at Lena, “can we not do it next to unstable experimental tech?”
Lena lets out a soft, breathy laugh. “Deal.”
Her hand moves in slow, reassuring strokes along Kara’s arm, steady, present, real. They lie there together in the recovery bay, surrounded by soft lights and quiet humming from machines. Lena’s hand moves, slow and careful, brushing Kara’s hair back from her face. Her thumb lingers near Kara’s cheek, like she's suddenly aware how close they are.
Lena’s breath catches.
They lift their heads at the same time, and for a second, they just look at each other, eyes searching, wide, honest, and a little scared. The kind of look you give someone when you’ve almost lost them and don’t know how to go back to before.
“I thought—” Kara stills when Lena leans in, hesitant, giving her time to pull away.
She doesn’t.
The kiss is soft. Careful. More a promise than anything else. Kara’s hand comes up to Lena’s waist, anchoring her there, like she's afraid Lena might disappear if she lets go. Lena presses her forehead gently to Kara’s when they part. They stay like that, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. Kara’s fingers curl lightly into the fabric of Lena’s shirt, committing the feeling to memory. They don’t say anything else; they don’t need to.
Outside the room, Alex glances back once, taking in the sight of them together before she quietly turns away, shaking her head with a fond, exhausted smile as she murmurs,
“Idiots.”