Linger On (Your Pale Blue Eyes)

349 Days Later

On this November day, the air is heavy and the skies are gray, and a cloud of anguish has made its home over National City. The streets are quiet, even with the rain pummeling down on the ocean of people below. With each new wave of harsh winds the skyscrapers screech and groan, as if they too are in mourning. 

Lena pays them no attention. She can see the entire city from where she stands on her office balcony, but she instead stares into oblivion, her mind like static on an old tv. Clutched in her hand is a glass of whiskey, cubes of ice floating delicately in the golden liquid. The pads of her fingers have turned white, gone numb. Frostbite is soon to claim them. She downs the remaining alcohol, swallowing harshly as she tries to ignore the burning sensation in her eyes. 

There is a hole where her heart used to be and a permanent pit in her stomach. Nausea consumes her every second of every day. Not even the finest bottle of bourbon can quell the pain that grows in her chest like a cancer, yet she drinks and drinks as though it’s some kind of holy concoction. 

She can faintly hear the voice of a reporter droning on about something on the tv mounted to the wall in her office. “Jeremy Stone… alien rights activist… murdered… witnesses… tragic…” The report goes on and on, but Lena’s mind is elsewhere. 

A thin layer of dust has settled on her desk, the floor, between the gaps in her keyboard. She doesn’t come to the office much anymore. It’s too much. Every corner of the room holds a memory that Lena can’t bear to face. 

That’s why she refuses to turn around, even when she hears footsteps from behind her, then a voice. 

“Lena.” 

She doesn’t flinch, recognizing the voice immediately. She ignores the small burst of warmth that she feels at the sound of it. “Alex,” she says, tightening her colorless fingers around the base of her glass, “Come to arrest me?”

A sigh escapes the other woman. “No. I apologized for that already,” she says, her words almost like a reprimand. “I’m not here to fight, Lena.” Her tone is grim and dull yet sincere all the same. 

A wave of guilt washes over the Luthor and she nods passively. “You’re right. I– I’m sorry.”

Lena says nothing when Alex appears at her side, keeping a couple of feet between them as she leans against the balcony railing. Alex’s eyes flicker down to the now empty glass of whiskey in Lena’s hand. 

“How many of those have you had?”

Lena laughs humorlessly. “Not enough.” The half-melted ice cubes glisten in the late-afternoon sunlight, taunting her, begging her to drown them in bourbon once more. She almost gives in. But then Alex has her hand on the glass and is pulling it from her grasp. Lena doesn’t fight it and instead listens to the sounds of Alex’s footsteps retreating, the delicate clink of glass against glass, and then Alex is back at her side again, beckoning for her to take something.

Lena takes the item. It’s a tissue, soft and white and clean. A crease forms between her eyebrows and she glances up at the agent with a questioning frown. Alex only motions to her own cheeks, the frown on her lips mirroring Lena’s. 

Lena startles, brings two fingers to the bone of her left cheek and gently grazes the skin there, breaking the trail of a falling tear. A twinge of shock passes through her. She hadn’t realized she was crying. She wasn’t heaving or hyperventilating or curled up on the floor like she usually is when she thinks about Kara. Why was it different this time? Maybe her little boxes got too full, and now they’re bending and breaking from the pressure which she inflicted onto them, a year's worth of guilt bleeding through the cracks. 

She hastily wipes the tears from her face, making no effort to keep her makeup from smudging. It doesn’t do much these days, anyway. No amount of concealer could mask the insomnia that has branded itself under her eyes.

She crumples the tissue, closes it in her fist and lets her eyes fall to the city's bustling streets. 

“I’d hold onto that if I were you,” Alex says so quietly it’s almost inaudible. It’s moments like these where Lena wishes her ears weren’t as sharp as they were.

She hums, calm and collected, but the way her stomach twists has her struggling to keep the bile in her throat from rising any further. She tries her best to swallow it down. “And why is that?” 

Alex is silent for a moment, and Lena wonders if she’s ever going to answer. The Autumn air is crisp and cold and a thin blanket of fog has begun to form a few stories down. Lena shivers against a nasty gust of wind and the tips of her ears start to grow numb.

“The President flew into New York a few days ago,” Alex says. 

Lena nods hesitantly. “I heard. Did she come to give some bullshit speech?”

Alex clears her throat, uncomfortably shifting her weight from one foot to another. Lena glances at her warily as an uneasy feeling brews deep inside her. Alex’s expression is one of confliction, a faint crease between her brows and lines around her mouth where her lips pull into a frown. Lena figures that Alex must be breaking at the seams just as she is herself. In any other situation, it would be comforting to Lena to know that she isn’t suffering alone. But Alex is a soldier– she’s supposed to be strong . What could possibly have her looking so defeated? 

“Why are you here, Alex?”

The agent's body goes stiff. A shuddering breath. Then, 

“The search was called off,” she says, her words lingering like a troubled ghost. “Tomorrow the President will make a statement officially declaring Supergirl dead.” 

Agony is no stranger to Lena. It ripped through her 4-year-old body as she watched her birth mother drown herself in the lake, leaving Lena cold and afraid and oh so alone. It ached in her chest when she realized that Lex had changed and there was no bringing him back. It severed the arteries from her heart when she discovered that her best friend had been using and deceiving her for years , letting the organ bleed and shrivel then die.

Lena’s rotted heart pounds in her chest. She says nothing. 

Alex takes this as a sign to continue and Lena contemplates throwing herself off the balcony to spare herself from hearing whatever comes next. 

“The President has decided to hold off on revealing Supergirl’s identity until the day of the memorial. It’ll be sometime over the weekend,” Alex says, her voice quiet and unsettlingly calm. “I hope you’ll be there.”

Lena’s frown deepens, her throat tightening before she even opens her mouth. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Alex’s silence only further increases the weight of guilt on Lena’s soul. 

She continues. “I remember our conversation. God, how could I forget it?”

Six months after Kara went missing, Lena received a call from Alex asking her to come into the DEO to review some information regarding Kara’s disappearance. Lena came, of course, and when she got there, Alex wasted no time before pulling her into a conference room. 

“What did you find?” Lena asks, scanning Alex’s face for some sort of tell, but the agent's expression is guarded, completely unreadable. 

Alex says nothing as she slides a manila folder across the table, motioning for Lena to pick it up. Lena hesitantly reaches out, gingerly grabbing the folder and pulling it closer. She looks up at Alex, eyes wide and full of questions. 

“Take a look,” Alex says.

Lena holds her breath as she opens the folder. She gasps at what’s inside. 

“Is this…?”

Alex nods, the muscles in her jaw twitching. 

“Oh God.” Lena’s voice trembles. Inside the folder, neatly stacked, are a series of photographs. 

The first is seemingly normal. Supergirl is standing in the aftermath of a particularly rough brawl with another vengeful alien, scuffs of dirt and soot across her face. Her hair is a beautiful mess and there’s a smile on her lips. Anyone could’ve captured this; a journalist, a reporter, a random bystander with an iPhone. Lena’s face drops as she looks at the next one.

Supergirl is standing on the balcony of Lena’s office at Luthorcorp, her back to the camera. Lena can just barely make out her own figure sitting at her desk, her chair halfway spun around to face the Kryptonian. It’s dark in the photo. Whoever took it had to have been in the building opposite Lena’s, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to snap a shot. 

The third and final photo is even more unsettling. Lena holds it with both hands, pulling it closer to her face as if that would make the image change. She prays that her eyes are just playing a cruel trick on her, but the picture is clear as day, and Lena has never felt more foolish. 

Depicted in the photograph is Kara. She’s in her loft, curled up on the sofa with a pint of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other. Casual clothing conforms to her body; sweatpants and a loose band t-shirt. A James Bond film plays on the tv. Kara is happy and relaxed and under the illusion that she is safe, and the fact that someone would take advantage of that makes Lena violent. 

Alex gently prys the photo from Lena’s hands, slides it back into the folder along with the rest. Lena’s hands shake as she brings them to cover her face.

“They were watching her for months . Oh, God…” she cries, the sound muffled by her palms. “Fucking useless.”

Her body tremors as another sob rips through her. She doesn’t care about her image anymore. If breaking down makes her pathetic, so be it. She has spent too many years of her life trying to be the cynical, cunning woman that her mother molded her into. She no longer has the strength to uphold that version of herself. Her facade has run its course. She’s done pretending. 

“Lena,” Alex says quietly. “None of us knew. We’re just as lost as you are.”

Lena dries her face with the sleeve of her blouse and looks up at Alex through tired, half-lidded eyes. “No, you’re not,” she says, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. I did this to her.”

Alex sighs. “Lena, that wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry I blamed you before, I was just scared. I still am.”

Lena looks at the wall with a blank expression. When she speaks, her words aren’t said with venom or malice. She speaks as if she’s already accepted the truth, no matter how painful it might be. “I loved her so much. I think… that’s why her betrayal was so jarring, because I couldn’t comprehend how I had allowed myself to get so close to someone after I promised that I would never trust anyone again. I was so caught up in my own hurt that I became a slave to my pain. I left her alone and vulnerable and unable to defend herself, and that’s what got her–” Lena stops herself, sighs. “It’s my fault. I’m well aware that no amount of apologies will ever change that. Still, I’m sorry.” 

A shadow has casted over Lena’s face, dulling the vibrant hues in her iris, the blues and greens that once shone with vigor. She doesn’t expect Alex to respond– at least, not with anything she would want to hear. But then a chair creaks, and Lena glances over to see Alex inching closer to her, a sorrowful look on her face. 

Alex takes a deep breath, exhales. “I’ll admit, I hated you when I found out that you’d been playing Kara, that you’d used kryptonite on her in a place that she had trusted you enough to show you,” Alex says, her face twisting unpleasantly. Then, in an instant, her demeanor shifts. Her expression has hardened, yet her eyes convey a level of grit that Lena finds overwhelming. “But if you continue to take the blame for this, I will never forgive you. We’ve suffered too many losses to Cadmus for you to go and take credit for their crimes. They did this, not you. I’m sorry you’re hurting, Lena, but get it together. We need you. Kara needs you.” 

Lena startles at the reprimand. Alex’s words constrict around her lungs like barbed wire, cutting, burning, and only then does she realize that she had been holding her breath. She gasps. Her composure is hanging on by a thread that’s thinning with each second that passes, and when Alex speaks again, it’s as if her words are a knife and they cut .

“For the record, Kara would forgive you if you murdered her entire family. She loves you, too.”

The tears that have prickled at Lena’s waterline fall over instantly and she releases a shuddering breath, bile rising in her throat. She attempts to gain some semblance of control over herself. “We have to get her back,” she says with desperation, her voice shaky and weak.

Alex smiles. “We will.”

Lena deflates as she remembers those words. It feels like the universe is mocking her, laughing at her naivety. “I can’t go. It wouldn’t be right. I’m sorry.”

Alex sighs. “I already told my mom you were going, and she’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

“What?” Lena’s jaw falls slack. “Does she know what I did?”

“Yes,” Alex answers. “She also knows that you were Kara’s best friend. Kara talked about you a lot.” 

“Did she?” Lena asks. Alex nods. “Well, I can’t say I’m not flattered.” 

Alex quietly laughs. “So, you’ll come?”

“Alex…” Lena drawls.

A huff escapes the agents’ lips. “While I usually respect your stubbornness, I need you to lay off for now. I can’t do this alone.”

Lena shuts her eyes, breathes. “What time is the memorial?”

“Twelve P.M. this Friday.”

Lena nods absently. She keeps thinking back to her conversation with Alex, replaying it in her head. 

“She loves you, too.”

Lena wonders if Kara had ever actually uttered those words. Oh, what she would give to know the answer. 

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Lena relents. “Okay. I’ll be there.” 

Relief floods Alex’s body and she sighs. “Thank you.”

Lena nods stiffly. She can’t even begin to imagine what this memorial will entail, but she’s certainly not looking forward to it. The entire year has been a blur to her, and she hasn’t had the time nor willpower to process any of it. Kara is gone, the government is in shambles, National city’s crime rate is at its highest, and with all that, Lena still has a company to run. At this rate, she’ll be dead before she ever comes to terms with what happened– what’s still happening.

She shakes the thought away, makes an attempt to mask the dread on her face. “How are things at the DEO? Can’t be too good… considering .” 

Alex’s lips pull into a thin line and she sighs. “It’s been hell without Kara, but we’re managing.”

Lena cocks an eyebrow. “In just this month alone, I've probably seen about four alien-related murders on the news. Do you know anything about that?”

Alex shrugs. “Unfortunately, no. Technically since those murders weren’t committed by aliens, we have no jurisdiction to interfere. It’s the FBI’s responsibility now.”

“How do you know it wasn’t aliens?” Lena asks. 

“Well, they’re clearly hate crimes. What alien would contribute to the eradication of their own kind?”

“Point taken.”

Lena manages a smile, then turns away, looks over the edge of the balcony and down at the sea of people below. The city has taken on a much darker atmosphere in the past few months. The skies are gray, the air is thick with must and cigarette smoke, and the streets are eerily quiet despite the rush hour traffic. 

Lena’s mind is reeling. She wonders how the people will react tomorrow. Will they moan and wail at the loss of their hero? Will they riot? Will they stand there silent with nothing but a knowing frown on their faces because they had little hope from the beginning? Or will they refuse to accept the President's declaration and continue to hold out hope for their symbol of peace? 

Will Lena?

She glances at the tissue balled up in her palm, still wet. Never had she imagined that there would be a greater pain than Kara’s betrayal, but here she is, crying over her own. 

“Do you think she’s really dead?” she asks, finally voicing the question that had been in the back of her mind since Kara was first taken. A part of her doesn’t want to know the answer, but then Alex is speaking, and suddenly Lena wished that she hadn’t asked at all. 

“If she’s not, then she’s suffering,” Alex says grimly, “And that’s so much worse.”  

Lena finds herself in Amanda’s office an hour later. Amanda has been her therapist since she first moved to National City, and Lena hasn’t missed a session since. In the beginning, Lena only spoke when spoken to, giving short and cryptic answers to the questions she was asked. However, Amanda had worked her magic and eventually got Lena to open up, which Lena was grateful for. Plus, due to client confidentiality, Amanda was the only person that Lena could confide in about Kara’s betrayal. 

“It’s been a while, Lena.”

Lena nods firmly. “It has.” 

The woman in front of her smiles, the wrinkles around her eyes darkening. “You called an emergency session. What’s going on?”

Lena averts her gaze— looks at the wall, the carpeted floor, the water bottle at her side. Anywhere but at the woman in front of her, whose eyes are kind and patient and a familiar shade of blue that makes Lena feel sick. 

She takes a deep breath. “I spoke to Alex today.”

“Oh?” Amanda asks with intrigue. “You called her, or she called you?”

“She came to my office.”

Amanda looks slightly concerned, but she hums, signaling for Lena to continue.

Lena exhales deeply and tries to stabilize the flurry of emotions whirling in her chest, squeezing, making every breath a labored one. She looks down at her lap, acutely aware of Amanda’s gaze on her. “They called off the search.”

Amanda’s lips part and her eyes widen. “For Supergirl?”

“ Kara .”

Lena had made a pointed effort to only refer to her friend as Kara, and she made it known that she expected Amanda to do the same. Lena hated looking out her office window, seeing Supergirl's face plastered onto a billboard or projected onto a screen, knowing that the world would never know the name Kara Danvers . 

“Right. I apologize,” Amanda says solemnly. “Kara.”

Lena clenches her jaw, focuses on her hands folded in her lap. Amanda taps her pen against a notepad, waiting patiently. That was one of the reasons why Lena continued to see her; she was patient. 

“The President is making a public statement tomorrow to officially declare Kara’s death. There’s, um, a memorial this Friday at the waterfront.” Lena clears her throat, shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I’ll be attending it. With Alex.”

Amanda nods slowly, processing the information she has just been given. “Okay. It’s good that you’re going. Are you hoping that this will give you some closure?”

Lena laughs dryly. “Ha. No.”

“That’s alright,” Amanda says reassuringly. “Healing takes time. It’s different for everyone.”

Lena’s eyes darken and she averts her gaze to the floor. “You’re wrong. I don’t… need time .”

“What do you need?”

Lena’s nails dig into the skin of her palms. She’s trembling. 

Kara , she wants to say. I need Kara .

But she’s silent, shaking like a leaf as the crescents in her palms begin to bleed. The pain helps her focus, distracts her brain from the mental anguish she feels each day that she’s still breathing. A world without Kara isn’t a world worth living in. 

Amanda’s lips turn down and she sighs. “Lena, you don’t look well.”

Lena’s eyes snap up to the woman in front of her. “Oh please , don’t start.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

Lena’s eye twitches. She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, but no words come out. 

Amanda frowns. “If you have to think about it, it’s been too long.” She leans forward, sets her notepad down on the desk. “You reek of alcohol. It’s clear that you’re not taking care of yourself, Lena. I’m worried about you.”

Lena sinks further into her chair, fighting the urge to bring her knees to her chest and hide behind them like a scared child. 

A few months ago she poured herself a glass of whiskey, drank until she could barely hold her head up. In her drunken haze, she scribbled a few pathetic words on a sheet of paper and took her gun from the safe beneath her desk. She’ll never forget the way the barrel felt pressed against the underside of her chin, then behind her ear, then to the roof of her mouth. Her finger found the trigger– it was cold and electric and it was screaming at her to just pull it. As she gave the trigger the slightest squeeze, she prayed that death would just be one big dream, and then she could see Kara once again. Lena would pull her into her arms, tuck her face into the woman's neck and smile and laugh and cry and kiss . She would hold her tight, as tight as her arms allowed her, and she would never let go. Not even for a second. 

But her finger wouldn’t move any further, and suddenly she was dropping the gun to the floor and her face was in her hands and she was sobbing. Dying meant losing her memories which meant losing Kara, and that was something that Lena didn’t want to put herself through again. 

Lena glares at Amanda, fighting a nasty lash-out. “I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you were wondering.”

Amanda deadpans. “That’s reassuring.”

“Wonderful,” Lena says through her teeth. With a huff, she stands, sweeps her hands smoothly across the fabric of her pencil skirt. 

Amanda furrows her brows. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Lena says, turning on her heel without sparing the other woman a glance. “I shouldn’t have come here.” 

She’s fuming, and each stride she takes is an angry one. She feels like an idiot for thinking that Amanda could help, that she'd be able to tell Lena what to do, how to go on with her life knowing that she killed the person she cared for most. 

She’s halfway out of the room when Amanda speaks again. 

“Did you love her?”

Lena stops, glances back at Amanda, almost unsure of if she had heard her correctly. “I– Of course I did. What kind of question is that?”

“I mean–” Amanda pauses, uncertain. “Forgive me for asking, but were you in love with her?”

Lena’s heart drops to the pit of her stomach as Amanda’s question strikes her like a stray bullet and buries itself into the center of her chest. She audibly gasps. 

Oh, how she stands there, silent, Amanda’s eyes boring into her own. Lena nearly heaves onto the carpet right then.

Her movements are disjointed and unsteady as she stumbles out of the room, her ears ringing and her vision blurry. Amanda’s voice calling out for her is nothing but a faint echo as she swings open the front door and heads for her car. 

Terror gnaws at her heart, its claws vicious and unforgiving, tormenting her with the weight of Amanda’s question. 

Why had Amanda asked her that? Moreso, why had Lena reacted the way she did?

Kara shivers against the icy Russian winds that envelope her body. She slips her right hand into the pocket of her black parka, squeezing it into a tight fist. She hopes she will warm up soon; she isn’t too fond of the cold. 

Some trees lie in the distance, packed together in what looks to be endless woods. Miles and miles of leaf-ridden trees, gray and sad and drowning in a sea of snow. She misses the way they looked in the Spring, green and full of life. She once witnessed a brown bear leading her children into the woods, the small cubs stumbling behind her, struggling to keep up. She felt a strange ache in her heart, a sudden urge to hike all the way down the hill and guide the cubs back to their mother. 

She couldn’t fathom where the thought had come from, or why it had come at all, but she knew it was a foolish instinct, one sure to get her killed. 

On the rare occasion that Kara is allowed out of her room, she finds peace in her time spent outdoors. Her heart always races when Lillian or the doctor comes to her room, removes the cuffs from her wrists and walks her to the 10-inch thick, heavily bolted iron door that leads outside. 

She’s never alone. Even now, she can feel Lillian’s presence behind her, the intensity of her stare. Kara doesn’t dare turn around. She doesn’t want this moment to be over just yet. 

She grimaces at the thought of being back in her room, with its cold tile floors, stained around the edges with dirt and grime and blood. She knows she should be grateful— Lillian has shown her how much worse things could be. Still, she can’t help but reminisce about the kind mattress that she never had, one that hugs her body the way a mother bear hugs her children, tight and protective and careful. 

But she has to be grateful, for there are things far worse than an uncomfortable bed and a dirty floor. 

“Why the long face? Are you not satisfied with your reward?”

Kara doesn’t flinch when Lillian appears at her side, her voice sharp and unkind. Kara looks at the older woman and shakes her head. 

“No, this is just fine. Thank you.”

Lillian smiles knowingly, looks out at the trees. “I never cared all that much for Russia, but it’s the safest place for us.”

Kara inhales, exhales. The inside of her nostrils burn with every breath she takes, but she’s grown accustomed to the discomfort. “It’s not too bad. Just cold.”

Lillian hums. “Yes. It is quite different from what you’re used to.”

Kara glances at her. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, dear. Why don’t we head inside? I have a new assignment for you.” 

“Okay.”

Lillian folds her hands behind her back and begins walking back to the main entrance of the facility. Kara doesn’t budge– not yet. She’s not ready to leave, to turn her back on the warmth of the sun. Oh, how it kisses her cheeks, and oh, how she yearns to kiss it back. 

“Are you coming?”

Kara's shoulders almost sag, but she catches herself, straightens her spine beyond comprehension, and turns to Lillian with apologetic eyes. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

Lillian nods. “Come, now.”

And Kara obeys.

The temperature inside isn't much less uncomfortable, but it’s enough for Kara to take her hand out of her pocket and let it rest at her side. She follows Lillian down a hall, one that she’s walked many times before. There is a pair of red doors at the end of it, paint chipped in various places, revealing the dull gray iron beneath. 

As they walk through the doors, Kara catches a glimpse of her own addition to the chipping paint: five thin lines on each door, where she kicked and screamed and clawed her fingers into the metal to save herself from the horror that lay on the other side. 

She shudders at the memory. It was so long ago, yet the shame she feels still lingers. She never apologized for ruining the paint, she realizes. Guilt twinges in her chest. 

“Are you listening?”

Kara startles. “I– yes.”

“Sit,” Lillian says, nodding to the chair in the center of the room. “We have much to cover before your next mission.”

Kara says nothing as she strips off her parka, revealing a short-sleeve compression shirt underneath, and takes a seat. Lillian shoots the doctor a glance and he begins strapping Kara down. 

Kara usually zones out at this part, where the needle is inserted into her arm and the blue fluid begins to flow through the iv, the veins pulsing under her skin as her body feeds on the drug. She doesn’t quite know what it is, but she hates the way it feels in her system. She receives a dose once a week, and when she is without it, it feels like she’s dying. She breaks out into a cold sweat and her hand gets clammy and she can’t see straight. It’s hell.

But the second the substance enters her system again, her mind enters a state of calm, and her body can finally settle. Lillian says that Kara is sick, and these treatments are the only thing keeping her alive. Kara is grateful. 

“The time in which withdrawal occurs has dramatically decreased in the past month. I suggest increasing doses to twice a week, madam.” 

The doctor’s eyes are on Lillian as he waits for a response. Kara looks down at her own arm, where the veins there are bright blue and bulging. She quickly looks away when Lillian's voice rings out.

“Do as you must. Your only job is to keep her alive.”

The man nods. 

Kara feels her stomach twist. Is her condition worsening? Are the drugs even working? Is she going to die?

“I’m not… getting better?” she asks, looking up at Lillian. 

Lillian casts Kara a pitying look. “I’m afraid not, dear. But you have nothing to worry about,” she says, stepping forward until she’s right in front of Kara. She gently brushes her thumb against Kara’s cheekbone and smiles. “You’ll be just fine as long as you’re with me. Remember, I am the only one who can cure you of this disease.”

Kara nods slowly, enthralled by the way Lillian is caressing her cheek with such tenderness and love. She lets her eyelids flutter shut and leans into the touch, her breath becoming shallow as she relishes in the foreign sensation. 

It wasn’t often that Lillian showed her such kindness, touched her the way a mother would. It made her want to curl in on herself like a frail infant and delve into a deep slumber, where her mind could finally rest and the terrors of her everyday life couldn't weigh her down. Lillian’s touch makes Kara enter a trance, and Lillian is aware of that fact full well.

“Chin up, dear,” Lillian says, using two fingers to nudge the underside of Kara’s jaw before letting her hand fall to her side. Kara visibly deflates at the loss of contact and that only further confirms just how much control Lillian has over the Kryptonian. 

Lillian retrieves a folder from the old rusty table at the other end of the room and makes her way back to Kara. She opens it, and as she begins to read its contents out loud, Kara has to will herself not to nod off. 

“Four days from now, a memorial service will be held at National City’s waterfront. Among the crowd, the President will be in attendance to make a statement. Your objective is clear – eliminate her.” Lillian’s eyes gleam with a level of malice that practically radiates off of her in waves, harsh and potent and overwhelming. Kara is silent, her eyes trained on Lillian as she continues speaking, repeatedly glancing down at the file in her hands. “We’ve been operating in the shadows for the past year, rebuilding our connections, our strength. Now, it’s time to make our debut, show the world who we really are and what we stand for.”

Kara’s gaze remains unwavering, though the way her chest tightens at the prospect of killing yet another person has her fighting for her composure. She can only pray that Lillian doesn’t notice.

“Failure isn’t an option. Remember what you’re fighting for.” A satisfied grin spreads across Lillian’s face and her eyes narrow. “I know you won’t disappoint me, my dear soldier.”

Kara can do nothing but nod as Lillian’s words echo in her head. Another mission, another person to kill, more blood to shed. Kara can still hear the sound of her last target choking on his own blood, his final breath a strangled one. 

She shudders, breathes a shallow breath. 

"I will make you proud."