The Lakehouse Inn

Lena Luthor didn’t plan on owning a hotel. It wasn’t a dream she’d ever had. She bought the old stone house on the edge of Clearwater Lake in small town Midvale almost on impulse.
She turned it into a boutique inn—five rooms, antique floors, creaky charm, and the kind of silence you couldn’t find in busy cities like National City or Metropolis.
And then, one quiet, uninteresting September evening, Kara Danvers arrived.

Work Text:

Lena Luthor didn’t plan on owning a hotel. It’s wasn’t something she’d ever considered. It wasn’t a dream she’d ever had. She bought the old stone house on the edge of Clearwater Lake in small town Midvale almost on impulse.

It started as a solo getaway—an escape from boardrooms, emails, zoom calls and gala obligations. Running from that feeling of L-Corp’s walls slowly closing in and suffocating her. Away from the Luthor name which hung over her head like a dark cloud every single day.

And then one evening, sitting on the porch of the old stone house with a tea and old dogeared book, Lena realised she didn’t want to go back. So, decisions were quickly made and paperwork was signed without a second thought. With Lex presumed dead and Mother not caring about her enough to want to find her, she left L-Corp in the safe hands of her old friend Samantha Arias and packed up for good.

Lena couldn’t explain it as she’d lived in large, thriving cities her whole life but something about Midvale felt like coming home.

The Lakehouse Inn needed work for sure. It had cracked windows and wisteria climbing the walls like it wanted to reclaim the place. The floors groaned as if they remembered every footstep. The radiators hissed in the cold but never quite warmed the rooms evenly and a kitchen sink that wouldn’t ever stop dripping but Lena loved the place.

She turned it into a boutique inn—five rooms, antique floors, creaky charm, and the kind of silence you couldn’t find in busy cities like National City or Metropolis.

Lena worked hard, but it was an easy life compared to what she’d left behind.

And then, one quiet, uninteresting September evening, Kara Danvers arrived.

⸻

Lena glanced up from behind the front desk, where she’d been sorting through her mail.

The sun shining through the large window by the front door cast honey-colored light across the wood floors, and in it stood a blonde woman, glasses sliding down her nose, in jeans, a baggy sweatshirt and a duffle bag that looked like it had seen much better days.

“Hi,” the woman said, smiling. She had the kind of smile that could melt chocolate, it took Lena’s breath away. “I have a reservation—Kara Danvers?”

Lena blinked, turning quickly to grab for the correct key, almost knocking over her chair. “Right. Yes. Room Three. Corner view.”

Kara didn’t seem to notice Lena staring too long—or if she did, she didn’t seem to mind.

She took the key that Lena held out, brushed a strand of windblown hair behind her ear, and said, “This place is amazing. Did you grow up here?”

“No,” Lena replied, voice lighter than usual. “I just… decided to stay.”

Kara nodded thoughtfully, her head moving slightly to the side as she looked at Lena, as if trying to figure her out.

“Oh, Room three, can sometimes get a little drafty in the evenings, there’s a small spare heater and blankets in the closet. Please use them if you feel cold.”

Kara smiled on, “I will, thank you…?”

“Lena.”

“Thank you, Lena.” Kara gave her one last smile, heaved her bag more solidly onto her shoulder and disappeared up the stairs.

⸻

Over the next few days, Kara Danvers became a fixture of The Lakehouse Inn.

She’d come down early for coffee in oversized sweaters and bed hair. She insisted on making her own breakfast no matter how much Lena pushed her to seat herself in the dining room and wait. She borrowed books from the inn’s little shelf and sat reading on the porch with a blanket. She helped Lena’s elderly nearby neighbor fix her garden gate like it was nothing. And even mended Lena’s broken mail box. She disappeared on long walks by the lake, sometimes she had a camera around her neck, (she told Lena she was a freelance photographer) but she was always back in the evening, taking the time to chat to Lena for at least half an hour before disappearing upstairs to her room to freshen up before dinner.

Kara sometimes sat on the porch with Lena as they drank a hot drink, or stroked the small black cat that seemed to have also made The Lakeside Inn its home. Lena had named him Mercutio.

Kara was sunshine and disarray. Lena was not any of those things. Lena lived in clean lines and sharp control, she didn’t deviate. But every time Kara Danvers walked through that front door with a bright smile on her face and even once a small bouquet of flowers she insisted must be placed on the front desk for Lena to look at everyday, Lena was beginning to unravel in the most alarming way.

⸻

“You don’t smile much,” Kara said one evening, unprompted.

They were sitting on the inn’s back porch, watching the water ripple under the moon. The small lights on the porch hummed and small insects fluttered about above them.

“I smile,” Lena said, too quickly, wrapping her blanket a little tighter around her body.

“Not with your eyes.”

Lena turned her head, defensive habit flaring. But Kara’s voice was gentle, not accusatory. Just… observant.

“I’m not judging,” Kara added. “I just think there’s more to you than you let people see. I’d like to know more.”

Lena didn’t know what to say to that. No one talked to her like that. No one saw her like that.

“I grew up in a small town just like this one. Smallville. Grew up with an adopted family, my cousin lived nearby though. This place reminds me of home. Can’t explain it, like the air smells the same. I like it.”

“Adopted family?” Lena said, curiously.

Kara nodded, “I lost my parents when I was 10.”

Lena nodded, a moment passed, “I’m sorry to hear that, Kara. That must have been extremely tough.”

Kara nodded and then hopped up suddenly, “I’m going to make tea, I’ll make you a mug too.”

⸻

Lena pulled at the sleeves of her grey sweater with a frown as she peered at her reflection in the mirror one very early morning. She didn’t usually care too much these days about how she presented herself. But when she picked through her closet and her fresh clean clothes that morning, she wondered what Kara might like most.

Silly thoughts, Lena told herself, shaking her head and heading downstairs to start another day at The Lakehouse Inn.

It wasn’t until Kara was checking out—three days early, something about an old boss needing something— that Lena felt the pull hard in her chest.

“I… I didn’t think you’d leave so soon,” Lena said quietly, standing behind the front desk again. Like standing there separated her from the rest of the world.

Kara hesitated, fingers wrapped around the handle of her bag, she held out the key to Room Three. “I didn’t realise how much I’d want to stay.”

Their eyes met and Lena nodded, pretending that didn’t cut.

But Kara didn’t move.

“I’ll be back.”

Lena looked up at that.

Kara smiled again. Smaller, this time. Not so sun-bright. Softer. “Soon.”

There was a silence between them. Not heavy. Not empty.

Lena smiled, feeling a relief at Kara’s words that she hadn’t expected to feel.

“Same room?” Kara grinned.

⸻

Three weeks passed.

Lena told herself she wasn’t waiting. She had guest linens to wash, bookings to manage, invoices to sign. She wasn’t watching the front path every morning when the fog dispursed. She wasn’t replaying Kara’s words in her head at night, wondering what exactly she meant by, “I didn’t realise how much I’d want to stay.”

She wasn’t waiting.

She wasn’t.

Until one rainy Wednesday afternoon, she looked up from the inn’s worn guestbook—and there she was.

Soaked, laughing, out of breath.

“Didn’t know the rain in Midvale could attack sideways,” Kara grinned, brushing water from her glasses and pushing her hair back.

“Kara.” The name leaving Lena’s mouth with a breath of amazed disbelief.

Lena stared for a beat too long before stepping forward around the desk. “You didn’t say when you’d be back… let me get you a towel.”

A few minutes later, after Kara had somewhat dried herself off, Lena handed over the key to Room Three without a word. She turned before Kara could see her smirk.

⸻

Kara settled back in like she’d never left.

This time she helped not only with the cooking but the cleaning too. She organized the pantry and even saved spiders when Lena yelped at their unwelcome presence. She played Scrabble with the inn’s oldest guest (and lost on purpose), and she fixed Lena’s broken back door with tools she found in the shed.

But this time, Lena began to notice small things, things you wouldn’t notice unless you were paying as much attention as Lena.

Kara always seemed to know when Lena needed help, she was always there at precisely the right moment, like a gift from God.

And one day, Lena paused as she passed by the inn’s small quaint living room, finding Kara with the remote pointed at the tv. Kara stared at the screen, some breaking news story, live from Metropolis. Superman flying high into the sky fighting what appeared to be a cyborg.

Lena took a few steps into the room. “Everything okay?”

Kara sucked in a breath of surprise, nodded and placed the remote down on the arm of the couch.

“Superman at it again is he?” Lena joked.

“Looks like,” Kara said quietly, pushing her glasses up on her nose and heading off upstairs to Room Three.

Lena picked up the remote to turn off the tv, noticing three finger sized indents in the back of the plastic.

How’d that possibly happen? She wondered.

And then the more she watched, the more she noticed.

Lena sometimes saw Kara listening, head tilted toward a noise Lena couldn’t hear.

Another time, Lena could’ve sworn she saw Kara touch a hot pan straight out of the oven. But she didn’t have the courage to bring it up with her.

Then one night, when the power went out during a storm, Kara was up the stairs and back with flashlights before Lena had taken a single step.

Too fast.

Too convenient.

⸻

“You’re not just a photographer,” Lena said that night as Kara pulled her large sweater over her head, revealing a tight tank top and the most perfect pair of arms and shoulders Lena had ever seen in her entire life.

They were in the kitchen, wine glasses half-full, light flickering from the old gas lantern.

Kara tilted her head, appearing somewhat amused “No?”

“There’s more to you than meets the eye. You’re good at everything. Today alone, you’ve fixed a jammed lock, changed the neighbours tire, found a lost dog-”

Kara laughed, interrupting her. But there was tension behind her smile. “Maybe I’m just very multitalented.”

“Or maybe you’re hiding something.” Lena was surprised to hear herself speak those words, she worried for a moment that Kara would simply get up and leave. Never to be seen again.

Kara was quiet then, they stared at each other. Lena leaned ever so slightly closer, what Kara was about to say could change everything.

“So are you.”

That stopped Lena cold.

Kara looked at her with eyes that were suddenly less farm-girl and more x-ray.

“You built this place to disappear,” Kara said softly. “But you still run it like someone afraid to stop. I can see through your facade, you’ve had it tough.”

Lena’s heart ticked faster. But all she said was, “Who are you?”

Kara stared back. Quiet. Careful.

Then unexpectedly, the lights flickered. The phone line buzzed. The storm, which had been grumbling for hours, cracked like it had teeth.

And somewhere outside—the motion detector light clicked on.

Someone was at the back door.

The motion light cast a wide, white arc across the rain-slicked porch.

Lena froze.

Kara didn’t.

She moved toward the window with smooth, quiet steps like she was trained for this— placing herself between Lena and the back door, which was, again, not normal behavior for a freelance photographer.

But when she peeked through the curtains, she laughed. A low, surprised, relieved kind of laugh.

“What?” Lena demanded, still clutching the wine bottle like it might double as a weapon.

“It’s not a person,” Kara said, grinning. “It’s Mercutio.”

Lena blinked. “The cat set off the sensor?”

Kara opened the door, letting in a gust of wind—and the cat, who bolted inside like it owned the place. It was a ball of wet fur on the kitchen floor.

“Oh,” Lena said flatly, watching it leave a wet trail across her clean floor. “Charming.”

“He’s harmless,” Kara said, crouching to scratch at the cats back.

As Kara fussed over the cat, Lena turned to grab a towel from the coat rack—and her heel caught the edge of the rug.

She didn’t fall. Not all the way.

But she definitely stumbled, lost her balance, and pitched forward.

And Kara was there in an instant. Not just there—catching her. Effortlessly. Lena found herself suspended, one arm hooked under her knees, the other supporting her back. Like she weighed absolutely nothing.

She stared up into Kara’s face, who looked… amused. Concerned. And something else, maybe.

“You alright?” Kara asked, voice low and steady.

“I—yes.” Lena’s brain short-circuited. “Put me down.”

Kara didn’t move right away. “Sure. Just making sure you didn’t break anything… Like your pride.”

Lena narrowed her eyes. “Kara.”

And then Kara smiled again—that gentle, maddening, golden smile—and slowly lowered her to the ground.

Lena stood up too quickly. Brushed herself off. Pretended her heart wasn’t hammering.

“You’re very strong” she muttered, blushing furiously. She never blushed, what was happening to her?

Kara shrugged. “Good reflexes.”

“You caught me like I was a rag doll.”

“You’re very graceful when you trip,” Kara offered, clearly enjoying this far too much.

Lena turned toward the cat, who had now curled up on the floor like a wet rug.

“I’m going to pretend this didn’t happen.”

Kara was still smiling when she said, “Sure. But if it ever happens again, I’ve got you.”

Later, after the lights stopped flickering and the storm moved off, Lena sat alone in her kitchen.

She replayed it in her head—the way Kara moved, the ease, the speed, the strength.

And that last line: I’ve got you.

Like she meant it. Like she always would.

———————

Lena wasn’t reckless by nature.

Calculated risks? Yes. But she’d lived too long with consequences stitched into the hem of her last name to make careless choices. Except now, every time Kara Danvers smiled like the sun, Lena felt… unbalanced. Unsure.

Because Kara was hiding something. She knew it.

Lena didn’t want to pry but she hated being the one who didn’t know.

It started simply. She pretended to lose her keys. In reality, she’d left them under the kitchen sink. She mentioned it to Kara offhandedly that morning as she scoured through the reservation book and then she waited.

Within only moments, Kara was walking around the corner, whistling casually and swinging the keys on her finger.

Suspicious.

Next, Lena dropped a wine glass mid-conversation. It wasn’t dramatic—just a slip of her fingers at dinner. The glass should have shattered.

Kara caught it in midair, back turned, one hand behind her.

“Oh!” Kara said, too casual. “Lucky catch.”

Lena raised an eyebrow. Kara pretended not to see it.

So Lena pushed a little further.

One late afternoon, when all the guests were out and the lake was calm and golden under the lowering sun, she invited Kara for a walk on the cliffs near the inn. They climbed in comfortable silence. Kara carried a thermos of tea. Lena wore boots with too-thin soles and told herself this plan was insane.

At the edge of the cliff—just a ten-foot drop, nothing fatal per se, Lena stepped too close to the edge and she slipped.

And let herself fall.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t flail. She just let gravity take her.

Because she didn’t need to be scared.

As she expected, Kara caught her before she hit the rocks.

One second Lena was mid-air—wind in her hair, the ground rising—and the next, she was pressed against Kara’s chest, heart hammering like a war drum.

“I knew it,” Lena breathed.

Kara stared at her, wide-eyed. “You could’ve—Lena, are you crazy?”

“You caught me. You shouldn’t have been able to. No one could’ve moved that fast.”

Kara’s jaw clenched. She didn’t deny it.

Lena reached up, hand resting over Kara’s shoulder where the muscles had tensed.

“You’ve been lying to me.”

Kara set her down slowly. But she didn’t look away.

Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady.

“I was not lying. I was… trying to live like a normal person, Lena.”

Lena crossed her arms. “Are you a spy? Government agent? Mutant? What?”

Kara smiled, barely. “None of the above.”

“Then what are you?”

Kara shook her head and was silent for a long time. The lake shimmered below. The sky began to turn violet at the edges.

Finally, Kara said, quietly, “I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to hate me after.”

Lena blinked. “Why would I—”

“Because I know who you are now. You’re Lena Luthor,” Kara said, voice breaking just slightly, “and I know what people expect from your family. And I’m not… entirely human.”

——-

Kara sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the drop. The sky was turning deep blue, stars blinking awake one by one.

The thermos of tea lay untouched beside her.

Lena hadn’t moved far. She stood behind her, arms folded tight, not from cold. From restraint. She was watching Kara like a puzzle she’d nearly solved but hadn’t dared to touch the last piece.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Lena said finally. “Whatever you are.”

Kara exhaled. “That’s the problem. I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of what you’ll think.”

Lena stepped closer. “Please, Kara.”

“I’m not a spy. Not a mutant. Not government-issued.” Kara’s voice was flat now. Resigned. “I’m—” She stopped herself. Changed direction. “My name is Kara Zor-El. I’m from Krypton. I came to Earth when I was ten. I’m… Superman’s cousin.”

Lena said nothing, her eyebrows raised slightly, but she walked around until she was beside her. Sat, slowly, at Kara’s side.

“I don’t wear a cape. I don’t fly around saving cities. I never became like him. I didn’t want to be someone I wasn’t ready to become.” Kara looked out over the water. “He let me stay off the radar. Said I could have a life. Something small. Human. Real.”

The silence was thick. But not empty. Lena reached out slowly and rested her hand on Kara’s arm.

“So you’ve been hiding,” Lena said, “Not from the world. From yourself.”

Kara looked at her. Really looked. “You’re not… shocked?”

Lena huffed softly. “I’m a Luthor. Half the world thinks I’m an alien. It doesn’t matter what you are, to me, you’re just Kara.”

“You should care,” Kara said, quiet. “That I’m not human. That I could lift this entire cliff with one hand. That I could crush steel if I blinked too hard.”

Lena’s brow furrowed.

She leaned in a little closer.

“Well, I don’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t ever care. About where you came from. Only who you are now.”

She squeezed Kara’s arm.

Kara blinked. Something in her expression cracked.

The lake below was still. The air between them was not.

Lena didn’t look away. And neither did Kara.

The kind of eye contact that carried weight. The kind that asked, Do you see me? All of me? And Lena, without flinching, answered silently, Yes.

Kara opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Instead, she moved her arm beneath Lena’s upward until she reached Lena’s hand and joined their fingers.

Lena didn’t pull away.

—————-

Another storm was approaching.

A big one this time.

The inn was nearly empty by noon. The forecast had been clear yesterday. This morning, it flipped: a sudden coastal storm, high winds, roads washed out by evening. Lena offered every guest a refund and called in favors for alternate accommodations.

No one argued.

Except Kara.

Kara just sipped her coffee in the kitchen, looked out at the gray edge of the sky, and said, “I’m staying.”

Lena gave her a long look.

“You’re not worried about the storm? About being stranded here?”

Kara grinned. “Stranded? Lena, if you’re staying, then I am too.”

—————-

By dusk, the storm arrived.

It howled against the shutters and made the floorboards creak like the old house was speaking. Thunder rolled low and steady. Rain lashed the windows, blurred the world outside into watercolor.

But inside—it was warm.

They lit candles when the power flickered. Kara helped bring the last armfuls of firewood in before the downpour thickened. Lena cooked simple food—soup, warm bread—and Kara found their two favourite mismatched mugs for tea.

They lit a fire and sat in the quaint living room with their legs half-tangled under a knit throw, sharing a book but they never quite turned past chapter two. They ate home baked cookies and Mercutio wandered back in somehow and curled up on the rug like it knew something.

Soon they started to talk and Kara told stories of life when she first arrived on Earth, the trials and tribulation’s of growing up with powers.

Lena laughed more that night than she had in weeks.

And when the wind surged loud enough to rattle the windows, Kara stood and quietly closed every latch in the building. Not because she was worried, she said, but because she wanted Lena to feel safe.

They slept in their own rooms as usual that night. But the long hug they shared at Lena’s bedroom door left a lot to be desired.

That long wakeful stormy night, the hallway between their rooms suddenly felt very small.

⸻

The next morning, the storm was gone.

The inn was quiet again.

The lake shimmered like glass.

Kara, bright-eyed in a hoodie two sizes too big, hiding her glorious musculature, was already outside.

Lena watched from the porch as Kara carried branches off the path, picked up stray objects, nailed the back fence straight, fixed the loose shutter with one hand while sipping coffee with the other.

She should’ve looked absurd. No one should look that good doing manual labor so early in the morning.

But Lena couldn’t look away.

⸻

By mid-morning, the power was back.

The guests were messaging to rebook.

The storm was becoming just a story to tell.

And even though Lena was certain Kara would leave soon, she stayed.

She helped Lena restock the pantry, fixed the back door hinge that had squealed for weeks, and rewired the porch light without Lena even bringing it up.

At one point, Lena stood in the kitchen doorway, towel in hand, watching her tinkering under the kitchen sink.

“You don’t have to do all this,” she said.

Kara looked up. Shrugged. “I want to,” and resumed tinkering.

And then, a beat later: “I like making things better. Especially for you.”

They were quiet again, then. Not uncomfortable. Just full. Like there was nothing that needed to be said.

Until Lena, moving forward and leaning against the counter, said softly, “You know, you could just stay.”

Kara looked up sharply, glasses askew.

“I mean it,” Lena said. “Not as a guest, I mean. Just stay here with me.”

Kara’s expression flickered, then slowly stood and steadied herself.

“You’re dangerous, Lena Luthor.” Kara whispered, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Lena smiled back. “Oh but so are you.”

—————-

Kara left once more on a Thursday.

The roads were dry. The sun was shining.

And even though she lingered over her second cup of coffee like she might forget to leave, her bag was already packed by the front door.

After an argument about payment, Lena refused to allow Kara to pay for her stay, insisting she’d helped out so much, that was payment enough.

“I’ll come back,” Kara had said, standing on the porch with the wind tugging at her jacket.

“Soon.” Lena had nodded, too composed, too practiced. Stuck between pulling in Kara for a tight hug or holding herself up against the frame of the front door.

“Of course,” she said.

“Room Three will be waiting for you.”

But as Kara disappeared on foot down the road, Lena had to step back inside before the smile on her face cracked in two.

⸻

Days passed.

Guests came and went—honeymooners, hikers, an older woman writing a cookbook who kept leaving notes in the margins of the inn’s reading material.

The inn was full, busy, warm.

But Lena tried to keep Room Three free when she could. Just in case.

Then, one rainy evening, Kara came back.

No warning. No booking. Just—there—soaked from the shoulders down, hair plastered to her face, old duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“I couldn’t stay away,” she said, smiling breathlessly, like the sky had cracked open just for her to fall through.

Lena froze. A dozen leaflets in one hand, a slow breath in her lungs.

“Then don’t.” And then, “You picked a good night for dramatic entrances.”

“I thought you might be full.” Kara’s smile faltered a little. “But I had to try.”

Lena blinked. “Wait—you didn’t check?”

Kara shrugged. “I was hoping you’d have a room.”

Lena hesitated. Then sighed, a little theatrical. “Well… technically, all the rooms are booked.”

Kara’s smile dimmed. “Oh. It’s okay. I can find somewhere else, I didn’t mean to—”

“Kara.” Lena said her name like a tether.

She stopped.

Lena walked around the desk, tossed the leaflets aside, and looked up at her with dry amusement and something warmer behind her eyes.

“You can share mine.”

Kara blinked, eyes suddenly wide. Lena folded her arms, heart thudding,

“Unless your alien honor code prohibits cohabitation with sarcastic innkeepers.”

Kara grinned and then slowly looked Lena up and down. “No. No honor code. Just… are you sure? I’d never want to invade your space…”

Lena stepped closer. “I’m sure.”

⸻

That night, the inn was quiet.

Rain tapped soft rhythms against the glass.

The guest rooms glowed warm behind their doors.

But Room One—Lena’s room—was quieter still. Soft lamp light, two mugs on the bedside tables, and just enough space between the two figures in the bed to be intentional. Kara lay on her side, eyes open in the dark, watching the shadows shift.

Lena was beside her, close enough to feel but not quite touching.

“You really don’t mind?” Kara whispered.

Lena’s voice was drowsy but certain. “I’d mind more if you weren’t here.”

Silence.

Then Kara reached out, just barely—fingertips brushing Lena’s wrist.

Waiting.

Lena didn’t move away.

She turned her hand instead. Let their fingers tangle. And for the first time in a long time, they both slept soundly through the night.

——————-

Lena woke first.

The rain had passed. The sky outside the window was pale gold, clouds trailing like silk across the early light. The lake shimmered in the distance, still and clean.

And Kara was still there, nuzzled up right next to her. Hair messy and sunlit, breathing deep and even. One arm was flung carelessly across the pillow they’d both barely used, and the quilt had slipped halfway down her back.

Lena didn’t move. She just watched her. Let herself feel it: Kara in her bed, in her space, in her life.

It should have been overwhelming. It wasn’t. It felt… easy. Like something she could get used to.

Kara stirred ten minutes later, turning and blinking up at the ceiling like she was surprised to still be there.

“You didn’t kick me out,” she mumbled, voice sleep-warm.

“Tempting,” Lena said, “but I figured I could use someone to fix the toaster.”

Kara groaned into the pillow. “You know as well as I, you could fix it yourself quicker than I could.”

“True.” Lena said softly, “but the kitchen sink is leaking again and that’s all you.”

Kara laughed, deep and warm and unguarded.

Lena’s chest ached with how much she liked that sound.

⸻

They moved around the kitchen like they’d always done it—Lena chopping fruit, Kara flipping pancakes, teasing each other about the radio station and stealing bites from each other’s plates.

No guests were up yet.

The inn was quiet.

Mercutio wandered in and flopped dramatically onto Kara’s foot.

“I think he’s in love with you,” Lena smiled.

“He has excellent taste,” Kara said, eyes lifting to meet hers, almost teasingly, waiting eagerly for Lena’s response.

Lena froze for just a second.

That heat again. That pull. The one she’d been pretending not to notice. The one that had filled the space between their bed last night like a breath never taken.

Kara was looking at her like she knew.

Lena felt herself take a step forward. Slow. Measured.

Kara leaned forward into her space, “So,” her tongue darted out and licked her lower lip, “can I stay?”

Lena sucked in a shallow breath, she couldn’t be entirely sure what Kara meant, stay as a guest? Stay in her bed again tonight? Stay here with Lena for the rest of forever?

“Forever,” Lena whispered, dropping the piece of fruit she’d been holding on the counter and leaning in close.

Kara’s smile faltered—only for a second.

And then Kara kissed her.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a crash or a quake. It was warm. Intentional. The kind of kiss that said I could’ve done this yesterday, and the day before, and the minute I met you—but I wanted it to mean something. Lena kissed her back like she’d been waiting.

———————

It was just past noon one day when the doorbell rang, which in itself was unusual.

Guests just usually came right in, they rarely announced themselves.

Lena glanced up from the front desk, one hand still scribbling inventory notes, and called out, “Be right with you!”

Kara, barefoot and flour-dusted from another attempt at mastering Lena’s biscuit recipe, peeked around the kitchen door with a grin.

“New guest?”

Lena shrugged, “I wasn’t expecting anyone,” moving into the foyer.

And then she stopped, staring through the window by the door.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The man standing in the doorway was tall, neatly dressed, hair quaffed, and completely at ease. Leather duffel bag, lazy grin, and eyes that tracked Lena like he already knew the weather behind her expression.

“Hello, Luthor.” He said in his British accent.

Lena crossed her arms. “Jack.”

“You’ve fixed the doorbell, I see.”

Kara stepped out into the hallway, apron still tied around her waist. She paused and lingered and then started to pull at the ties behind her.

Jack looked at the two of them. Smiled. “You didn’t tell me you’d hired staff.”

“I didn’t,” Lena said flatly. “She’s not staff.”

Kara’s eyebrow lifted, and Lena saw it—the barely-there tilt of her chin. That tiny shift from relaxed to watching.

Jack took a few unphased steps forward and offered a hand.

“Jack Spheer. Old friend.” Kara didn’t take it, holding up her floury hands.

“Kara. New friend… not-staff.”

There was a beat.

A moment held too long and Kara eyed him warily.

And then Lena said briskly, “What are you doing here, Jack?”

“Passing through,” he said, unbothered. “Thought I’d stop in. The place is looking great, you must’ve been working tirelessly, Lena.”

Kara’s eyes flickered to Lena at that.

Lena’s jaw tightened. “You can stay the night. One night. Room Six is open.”

Jack grinned. “Perfect. I’ll try not to haunt the halls.”

He walked past Kara with a nod and a wink, grabbed the key to Room Six himself.

Lena noticed Kara’s frown as she watched him go. She didn’t take her eyes off him as he disappeared up the stairs and even then, Kara slipped her glasses down her nose and appeared to still be watching him move to across the hall upstairs.

Lena felt a spike of something hot in her veins as she stared at Kara.

She turned back toward the desk—but Kara didn’t move. “Kara?” she asked, gently.

Kara’s voice was steady. Too steady. “Old friend?”

Lena sighed. “Business partner and well, briefly… personal.”

Kara nodded but said nothing, turning back to the kitchen.

⸻

The rest of the day crawled.

Kara helped in the kitchen, but she was quieter. More precise. She didn’t look at Lena as often or smile as broadly. She also seemed more distracted than usual.

And when Jack wandered in later with two take away coffees and too many compliments about the décor, Kara didn’t even try to hide her frown.

When Jack became distracted by a phone call from Metropolis, Lena pulled Kara out of the back door by her belt loops to the quiet of the back porch as the sun started to dip.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Out with it.”

Kara stared out at the lake, arms folded. “He knew where your spare keys were hidden. He called you Luthor. He knows exactly how you like your coffee. He smiles at you like he knows everything about you. He—lingered.”

“He’s obnoxious,” Lena agreed. “And not important.”

Kara looked at her. “You let him in.”

“I also made sure he’s out by tomorrow morning,” Lena said. Then, quieter, “And the only person who’s shared my room lately is you, Kara.”

She tugged on Kara’s belt loops again and Kara took a step closer.

Kara still didn’t speak, but she leaned forward and nuzzled her face into Lena’s shoulder.

Lena brought a hand up to the back of Kara’s neck, rubbing lightly, “Are you jealous?”

Kara laughed once—sharp, low, mumbling, “Yes. Obviously.”

Lena smiled, “Good.”

That caught Kara off guard, her head shot up, “Good?”

Lena smirked. “Means you care.”

Kara’s gaze was steady now, intense. “Of course I care.”

Lena’s fingers still brushing the back of Kara’s neck. “You don’t need to be afraid of my past, Kara. It never made me feel the way you do.”

Kara leaned in, forehead against Lena’s, voice barely a breath.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And this time, when Lena kissed her, it was slower. Reassuring. Anchoring.

Like a claim made without words.

And when Jack passed by the porch later and saw them silhouetted in the golden dusk, hands tangled in eachothers hair and lips parting, he cleared his throat—

Lena didn’t flinch.

Kara didn’t even hear him.

————

Her senses tingled just after dawn.

Kara was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, barefoot, making coffee the way Lena liked—too strong, only slightly sweet.

Lena was still in bed, tangled in blankets that smelled like Kara.

The radio crackled. Something about a landslide. A collapsed bridge. A flood warning in the next county.

Kara froze. She stood there, coffee forgotten, eyes locked on the radio as the voice reported rising waters, stranded families, overloaded emergency services.

Lena sauntered into the kitchen, one hand brushing her hair back. “What’s wrong?”

Kara looked at her.

And Lena knew.

“I have to go. They need my help.”

Lena stared at her. “You’re not—”

“I’m not… I’m not him,” Kara said quickly. “I know. But I can still help. I can fly people out, clear wreckage, find the ones they can’t reach. Just like he can.”

“You don’t owe them that.”

“It’s not about owing,” Kara said, reaching for her jacket. “It’s about who I am.”

Lena’s jaw clenched. “You’re also the person who said she wanted to stay.”

Kara paused. That stopped her.

“I did. I do.”

“Then don’t leave,” Lena said, voice sharp with something she didn’t want to name. “Let someone else be the hero.”

Kara turned to her, slow. “If I don’t help, people could die.”

“And if you get hurt?”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Kara stepped closer. “No. I don’t. But I know what it feels like to stand still when I could be doing something. And I can’t live with that.”

Lena flinched. Quiet. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lena’s arms folded around herself. “You said you wouldn’t leave again.”

Kara’s voice cracked. “This isn’t leaving. I’m coming back.”

Silence stretched between them.

Wind picked up outside. The air tasted like rain again.

Then Lena stepped forward and unzipped Kara’s jacket—just enough to reach in, pull her close by the collar. “If you don’t come back,” she whispered, “I will find you. I will drag you back myself.”

Kara laughed softly, eyes shining. “I believe you.”

And Lena kissed her. Not sweet. Not slow. Heated and needy. Necessary. Like sealing a promise she didn’t trust the world to keep.

Kara flew east, into the rising sun.

Lena stood on the porch with Kara’s glasses in her hand and watched until she was gone from sight.

And then she went inside, made the coffee again and set two mugs on the table.

Because Kara had promised.

And Lena had decided to believe her.

——————-

The news broke by midday.

Blurry phone footage—grainy and trembling—showed a figure lifting a child out of a flooded truck.

Then another clip: a woman carrying two men across a broken bridge, clothes soaked, hair flying wild in the wind.

She moved too fast to track.

She didn’t speak.

But she flew.

By the evening news cycle, they had headlines.

“Who is the New Hero in the Sky?”

“New Super in town?”

“The Angel of Midvale.”

Lena sat alone in the inn’s living room, the storm outside long passed but the static still heavy in her chest.

Kara’s blanket was draped over the arm of the couch. The second coffee mug still sat by the fire, cold and untouched.

The door opened at 7:43 PM.

Lena didn’t look up at first.

She heard boots squelch against the floor, the soft gasp of breath, the creak of the coat rack as Kara tried to hang her dripping jacket and failed.

“Hi,” Kara said, voice bright, alive, beaming. “I’m back.”

Lena turned.

And Kara—Kara was radiant. Soaked to the skin. Mud on her jeans. Dirt smeared along her jaw. Her hair dripping wet and there were stains all over her sweater. But her eyes sparkled.

“They’re safe,” she said. “All of them.

The rescue teams couldn’t reach the southern hill but I did—I lifted two whole buses, Lena.”

“I know,” Lena said quietly. “I saw.”

Kara froze. “You… saw?”

“On the news…they’re calling you Supergirl…”

Kara sat down across from her, excitement still rippling through her body like lightning not yet grounded. “It’s a little surreal, right? I mean—I didn’t even plan to be seen. It just happened. And now the world knows something’s out there. Someone. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t use my name. But I—I did it, Lena.”

Lena looked at her for a long moment. “You did.”

Kara’s smile faltered. “Lena?”

“I’m happy for you,” Lena said.

And she meant it. At least, some of her did.

But the rest? The rest saw what the world would want from her now. Need from her. Kara was brilliant and brave and golden. And now, she wasn’t just Lena’s anymore. She belonged to everyone.

Kara knelt in front of her, hands reaching gently for hers. “You’re upset.”

Lena shook her head. “No. Just… afraid.”

“Of what?”

Lena swallowed.

“That this is the beginning of something bigger. That it won’t stop. That people will want more from you. That you’ll give it. And that I’ll be left here, always watching you fly away.”

Kara’s face softened. She reached up, touched Lena’s cheek.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to disappear. I was always coming back, coming home.”

Lena closed her eyes.

“But if it’s what you want, I don’t want to be the reason you stay small.”

Kara leaned forward, forehead to forehead again. That grounding touch.

“You’re the reason I know how to be big. You don’t hold me back, Lena. You’re the one who reminds me why it matters.”

Silence stretched, full and aching.

Then Kara added, softly: “I won’t become someone else. I just… became more me today.”

Lena opened her eyes.

“I still don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Kara whispered. “Not unless you tell me to go.”

Lena didn’t. Instead, she pulled her down onto the couch, muddy clothes and all, and curled into her until Kara’s breathing evened out.

They didn’t talk anymore that night. But Lena held her tighter than she ever had. Just in case the sky called again tomorrow.

——————-

The news cycle didn’t stop.

Clips replayed hourly. Theories flourished.

But no one came. No journalists. No officials. No drones sweeping the shoreline. No one thought to look for a super in a place like this. In her inn.

So Kara helped wash dishes. She rebuilt the fence out back. She re-calked the upstairs bathtub like it was the most important thing in the world.

And Lena let her.

But one night, as twilight crept through the windows and they sat curled together on the couch, Lena asked the question that had been sitting between them for days.

“Do you want to be Supergirl?”

Kara blinked. Slowly.

She didn’t answer right away.

Lena waited.

“I want to help,” Kara said at last. “When I was out there… it felt right. Like something I was meant to do.”

Lena nodded, eyes on her lap.

“But,” Kara added, and her fingers slid between Lena’s, warm and certain, “I don’t want a cape. Or a symbol. Or a press tour. I just want to help. Quietly. When I can.”

“You want to be yours, not theirs,” Lena said.

Kara shook her head, her hand coming up to Lena’s jaw. “I want to be yours.”

Lena swallowed, sucking in a wheezy breath, “Can you stay? Here. With me.”

Kara tilted her head. “You’re asking if I can have both.”

“I’m asking if you want both.” Lena edged closer.

Kara smiled, slow and tender. “I already have both.”

Lena breathed out, shakily. Relief, hope—something in between.

Kara kissed her, soft and sweet and grounding, and the world started to fade.

Kara’s hand circled Lena’s waist, and suddenly Lena found herself straddling Kara’s lap, blanket falling away but she didn’t feel the cold.

And as Kara’s lips and teeth greedily began to nip at Lena’s jaw and neck, she shivered, something sounding like a whimper leaving her before she could stop it, “Not here…” Lena whispered. “Someone might see.”

Kara paused, coming back to herself and then stood, Lena along with her and then effortlessly placed Lena back on her feet.

“Lead the way,” Kara smiled.

The Inn was quiet as they took to the stairs, there was the muted sound of a sitcom playing on a tv from one of the rooms as they reached the top and then Lena pulled Kara silently into Room One and locked the door.

With a confidence that made Lena a little breathless, Kara pushed her up against the bedroom door and kissed her thoroughly. Her tongue flicking against her lower lip impatiently.

They’d kissed and made out on many occasions, but this was different, this was leading somewhere more.

Lena pushed gently against Kara, who stepped carefully backwards, her lips never leaving Lena’s.

Of course Lena knew Kara couldn’t be moved if she didn’t want to be but she was gentle and pliant.

Stood in the middle of her bedroom, Lena reached down and tugged Kara’s sweater up and Kara did the rest, pulling it up and over her head.

From the low light shining in through the window, Kara’s lean muscular form seemed to catch the light in all the right places. She was like an angel carved perfectly from stone.

Lena gaped for a moment, feeling a sudden throb and spike of heat in her veins. There was no way she was real, that this was really happening.

“Are you okay?” Kara looked on, amused. Lena’s hands reached out and explored Kara’s abdomen, feeling the soft skin and the hard muscle beneath.

“I need to get you out of those oversized sweaters and possibly chopping some wood in the garden ASAP.”

“Whatever you need,” Kara whispered, leaning down to nip lightly at Lena’s throat, carefully moving her hair off her shoulder.

Lena nodded, laughing lightly, “It’s very important. For my wellbeing.”

Kara sucked in a deep breath and lifted Lena by the waist with a smile, draping her across the sheets.

A sound left Lena’s mouth she wasn’t expecting at being so carefully manhandled and the ache of arousal that was building within her reached a new high.

Kara nibbled at Lena’s collarbone as she began to pull up her shirt. Lena helped, wanting it gone. And Kara now had a whole new landscape to explore, and she did.

It took only a moment for Kara to discover that Lena’s ribs were very sensitive and ticklish. It took a small caress to cause Lena to shiver and a second to make her wiggle unintentionally and smile.

“Kara…” Lena tried to say warningly but instead she whimpered around a small giggle as Kara when in for third pass.

“I’ve discovered your weakness now, Lena.” Lena caught Kara’s caressing fingers in her own. But that didn’t deter Kara who without pause, leaned down and continued her ministrations with a swipe of her tongue instead.

“Kara!” Lena yelped in surprise.

Kara shook with laughter against her, “Shh, Lena. We don’t want any noise complaints from the guests.”

But once Lena’s bra had been removed and Kara paid for same attention to her nipples. The noises that Lena made were much louder and unguarded.

“Kara, I’ve waited far too long for you to take your sweet time with me right now.” Lena whispered, throwing away Kara’s bra and reaching down quickly for the button on her jeans.

“That’s too bad,” Kara smiled against Lena’s collarbone. “Cause I’m going to anyway.”

It wasn’t long though before Lena’s leggings were being pulled off and Kara whispered, “Are you sure this is okay?” While her teeth bit down lightly on Lena’s jutting hip bone.

“Kara, you could have taken me on the front desk the moment we met and I wouldn’t have minded.”

Kara looked up at her with a blink of surprise, “Oh, you should have said something.”

Lena laughed fully, shaking her head.

“Although, I’m not sure how well that would have landed with the other guests.”

“Shhhh, silly Kara,” Lena smiled, running her fingers through the blondes hair.

Kara’s eyes closed for a moment, enjoying the caress and when her eyes opened, she stared up at Lena and crawled slowly up to meet her, “You’re so beautiful, Lena. The most beautiful sight I have ever seen. And that’s really saying something, because I’ve seen all the sights this planet has to offer and way more. And nothing compares to you.”

Lena tried desperately not to roll her eyes. “You don’t have to sweet talk me, Kara, you’ve already taken all of my clothes off.”

Kara’s brow furrowed for a second, “You have no idea, do you? How I feel? Right now, being here with you, I can feel my body vibrating with how much I want you. Honestly, I’m so happy I could float away from the planet…”

As Kara said this, she let herself go. Her body lifting from Lena’s as she began to float away from the bed.

“No, you don’t.” Lena smiled, reaching up and grabbing the loose open clasp of Kara’s jeans and tugging her back down on top of her.

Kara’s hands landed next to Lena’s head and she kissed the tip of her nose before their lips met again.

“Please, Kara.” Lena urged, grabbing Kara’s hand and slowly moving it down her chest, her stomach to her thighs.

“Touch me.”

It didn’t take very long at all for Lena to climax once Kara’s hand had found her. She was more than ready to feel Kara’s fingers stroking against her aching clit. She hid her face in Kara’s neck and griped her tightly across the shoulders to try and refrain from making too many loud noises.

When Kara’s fingers entered her and immediately picked up a fast pleasing pace, rubbing against her front wall in all the right places, Lena knew she was done for.

Her orgasm came before she was ready and the surge of pleasure she felt was stronger than any she’d felt before, she lingered on that high for what felt like minutes but must have only been seconds. And it took far longer than Lena had anticipated just to catch her breath after.

“I didn’t know-“ Lena gasped, “Kara that was-”

“Good?” Kara mused, kissing Lena’s sternum.

Lena could only nod, her body weak and shaking with aftershocks.

“Do you want it again?” Kara asked, as easily as if she was asking Lena if she wanted more tea.

Lena smiled weakly, “No… I mean well, yes but I want to see you first. I want to take my time with you.”

Kara paused, her lip tugged between her teeth.

Lena pushed against her and Kara allowed herself to fall back against the sheets.

“Lena I- we need to be careful. I’m- If I hurt you, if I lose control of myself for a second, I could- something bad could happen.”

Lena nodded, pulling Kara’s jeans down her legs, “I trust you completely. We can work through it together, Kara. I want you to feel good too.”

Kara appeared to be lost for words as she stared at Lena slowly making her way back up Kara’s body.

“I can’t wait to have a little fun with you,” Lena smirked, caressing Kara’s stomach and up to her chest.

“Oh,” Kara trembled as Lena’s hands began to explore. “Lena.”

————

The next morning, it took Lena far too long to find the will to leave Kara’s warm embrace. So long in fact, that Lena could hear the Inn coming to life outside of their bedroom and had no choice to rise.

No complaints came from guests but Lena felt her face flush one too many times, making eye contact with anyone at breakfast.

Kara swept quickly into the kitchen, picking Lena up off her feet and planting a firm kiss on her lips with a carefree smile.

A brand new bouquet of flowers appeared on Lena’s desk an hour later and Lena was just appreciating them when a knock came at the door.

Lena almost skipped to the door, ready to invite in new guests with renewed vigour.

And she froze.

Smile falling away.

“Hello, darling,” said Lillian Luthor, wrapped in a designer coat, lips painted blood-wine red. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

Lena stared, she certainly hadn’t been expecting this. Her mother had not once bothered to visit her since she’d left for Midvale.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see your little inn for myself.” Lillian looked past her, into the foyer.

“Your friend Jack told Miss Arias you were living with someone.”

Lena’s spine straightened. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No, you never did. But I am your mother, Lena. Or have you forgotten?”

From behind, Kara appeared—kitchen towel in one hand, still in her socks.

Lillian’s eyes flickered over to her. And then sharpened.

“Well,” she said smoothly, “this is interesting.”

They let her in. Eventually.

She sat in the living room like she owned it, legs crossed, sipping wine from a glass she hadn’t asked permission to pour.

At this time of the morning?

She said she hadn’t yet been to bed.

“So,” Lillian said, “you’re the mysterious Kara.”

Kara met her gaze evenly. “I am.”

“And you’ve been… staying here?”

Lena’s voice was clipped, she moved to stand closer to Kara. “She lives here.”

“Where are you from, Kara?” Lillian asked, but her eyes told another story, like she already knew the answer.

“Around,” Kara said, wringing the kitchen towel between her hands, eyes narrowing.

“Why do you care, Mother?”

“Of course I care about the… woman living with my daughter.”

She finished her wine, quickly.

“Mother, I think you should leave, we need to make a start on lunch.”

“Don’t worry Lena, I’ve seen what I needed too.”

“I’d love to speak to you alone, Lena.” Then she stood. “I’ll be staying nearby. For a few days. I think I’ll enjoy the scenery.”

And with that, she swept out.

Lena locked the door behind her.

Kara touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

Lena nodded, but her eyes were tired. “I didn’t think she’d bother to look for me way out here.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” Kara said. “She’s poking.” Lena looked up at her.

“She always pokes until something breaks.”

Kara pulled her close. “Then we don’t break.”

Lena leaned into her. “We bend?”

“No,” Kara said softly, lifting Lena off her feet, “We fly above it.”

——————

Lena was in the greenhouse when she heard the door creak open behind her.

“Busy, darling?” Lillian’s voice floated in, light as mist and twice as unwelcome.

Lena didn’t turn. “I didn’t invite you here.”

“You never do,” her mother said, stepping carefully over the wet stone path in heels far too expensive for garden work. “And yet here I am. Again.”

Lena clipped a dead bloom with more force than necessary.

“What do you want?”

“To talk. About your… guest.”

Lena froze.

Lillian smiled.

“The charming one. Kara, was it?”

“She’s not up for your games.”

“Oh, I know. She’s very noble. Quiet. Tries so hard to disappear into the background. But darling—” Lillian’s eyes sparkled, predatory. “She glows. Even when she’s trying not to.”

Lena turned, slowly. “You don’t know anything.”

“Oh, but I do.” She walked over to the small wrought iron table in the corner and set down a cream file folder. The kind of paper meant to hold weight. “Lex was always a collector of truths, wasn’t he?”

Lena’s stomach sank. “You went through Lex’s archives?”

“Of course I did. After everything, someone had to clean up the mess he left behind. And tucked between his paranoia and his god complex was a file on Kara Danvers. Not much but enough.”

Lena’s heart pounded. “And?”

Lillian opened the folder like she was peeling back the cover of a thriller novel. “Small-town orphan. Stellar grades. No medical records at all, none. Not even a vaccine. Adopted by a family with suspicious ties to alien sightings. And then—nothing. For years… and then this.”

She slid out a blurry photo. Kara mid-rescue, from just a few days ago. Soaked. Lifting rubble. “I don’t need a press badge to connect the dots,” Lillian said, cool. “She’s the girl in the sky.”

Lena stepped between her mother and the table. “If you say a word—”

“Oh, please,” Lillian snapped, irritation rising to the surface. “Do you think I want to bring a cape-wearing alien back into the Luthor family headlines? No, Lena. I’m not here to expose her.”

Lena narrowed her eyes. “Then what?”

Lillian leaned in, voice low. “What are you doing? She’s one of them. I thought you were smarter than this, Lena. And what…? Do you actually think she’s going to stay with you? You’re like a bug to her, you don’t matter in the slightest.”

Lena didn’t flinch, but the crack inside her widened.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this, Mother. Kara is… she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t care who she is or where she came from. If she wants to stay here, I’ll keep her for as long as I can.”

Lillian scowled, “She’s everything a Luthor should d-"

“Mother! Nothing you can say will ever make me change my mind.”

“Then it’s your heartbreak to live with. And you always were so good at holding your own pain. Don’t come crawling to me when the alien breaks your heart.”

Lillian swept out of the greenhouse, leaving a scent of expensive perfume behind.

⸻

That evening, Lena sat on the back porch, silent, the folder in her lap. She didn’t open it again. She didn’t have to.

Kara came outside barefoot, hoodie tugged over her head, hair damp from a shower.

“I heard her leave,” Kara said quietly.

“She knows.”

Kara sat beside her. “How?”

“Lex.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“Presumed, yes. It would seem Lex had a file about you tucked away somewhere.”

A beat of stillness. Kara nodded.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” Lena said honestly.

Another beat.

Then Kara said, “Do you want me to go?”

Lena turned to her sharply. “No.”

“I mean it, Lena. If it’s dangerous for you—”

“You don’t get to disappear just because someone else connected the dots.”

“I’m not even Supergirl,” Kara said, voice cracking. “Not like that.”

Lena nodded slowly. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Kara reached for her hand.

And Lena, without looking, laced their fingers together.

Later, when the lights were low and the inn was quiet, Kara opened the folder.

Read every word.

And then she burned it in the fireplace, page by page, until the ashes were cold and Lillian’s voice couldn’t touch them anymore.

——————

For a while, things were quiet.

The Inn filled up again as the season turned. Another wedding party. A pair of retired professors. One very kind woman who brought her golden retriever and let Kara pet it every morning and evening.

The world kept wondering about the flying girl and no one came to the inn looking for her either.

Kara patched the roof. Lena fixed the oven. They cooked together. Slept in tangled limbs. Laughed so hard one night Lena snorted wine through her nose and blamed Kara for the rest of the week.

It was a good life.

A full one.

The happiest Lena had ever been.

And then the call came.

Kara’s phone buzzed at 2:17 a.m.

A number with no name. But she knew.

She slipped out of bed gently, kissed Lena’s temple, and stepped outside into the cold.

“Kal?” she said softly, once she answered.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

“We need you.”

It was a planetary threat. Some alien force Kal didn’t recognize, moving fast across the Pacific. Too big for one person. Even him. He said they had hours. Not days. And Kara could feel it already—like gravity bending in the wrong direction.

“I’m not a hero,” she said quietly.

Kal’s voice softened. "Of course you are. You always have been.”

She hung up just as the wind shifted and Lena appeared at the back door.

“You left the bed,” Lena said, wrapping her robe tighter.

Kara turned. “I didn’t want to wake you."

Lena said nothing, watching Kara carefully, like she had an idea what was coming next.

Kara swallowed. Her voice barely rose above the wind. “He needs me.”

Lena didn’t ask who. She didn’t need to.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.”

Lena stepped forward. “Are you coming back?”

Kara’s swallowed. “Yes.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

Kara looked at her, eyes shining. “I’m coming back, Lena."

Lena pressed her forehead to Kara’s.

“Then I’ll wait.”

⸻

Kara didn’t wear a suit. She didn’t have one.

She wore jeans, boots, a baggy sweatshirt with one sleeve hanging over her hand.

And when she rose into the sky, it wasn’t with fanfare.

It was quiet.

And Lena watched until the clouds swallowed her whole. A single tear slipped down her cheek, she allowed herself one moment. Just one, and then she wiped her face. Turned around, placed Kara’s glasses gently on the windowsill and made two cups of coffee.

—————

Two days.

Lena hadn’t said it out loud.

She’d only marked it. Quietly. In the way she folded Kara’s sweatshirt and left it at the end of the bed. In the way she made two cups of coffee every morning—and poured one away, untouched.

The world was teetering on the edge of something catastrophic. The television said so, in increasingly urgent tones.

An invasion. A weapon.

Something “unprecedented,” the anchor kept saying. Over and over like it meant something.

And Lena had seen them. Flashes on the screen—streaks of red and green, gold lightning arcs, a figure moving impossibly fast across a collapsing bridge.

The Flash. The Arrow. The Martian. Wonder Woman. More heroes she didn’t recognise.

And once, just once—a blur of blonde hair. A shape too fast for the camera to follow, holding up a crumbling building with her bare hands. Eyes glowing faintly in the dust. Kara. Lena paused the frame. Sat with it. Her fingers grazed the screen, useless and aching.

Then she turned the volume down and kept cleaning because what else could she do.

⸻

The inn didn’t have guests. Not while the world held its breath.

So Lena made the beds.

Vacuumed.

Polished the already-clean brass banister.

Watered the succulents Kara had rescued from the clearance rack in town.

The radio murmured quietly in the background, because the silence had started to hum.

Her phone buzzed. Her mother. Again. Decline.

⸻

The news finally changed its tone on the third day.

A live press conference.

Superman standing beside the President. There had been losses, the President said gravely. But the worst had been stopped.

The planet had been spared.

People were cheering in the background.

Some were crying.

There was talk of rebuilding.

Of gratitude.

No mention of a new hero. No official name.

Just footage. Grainy.

That same flash of blonde hair. A shadow flying above the clouds.

And then the news moved on. Lena turned off the television.

She sat on the floor of the greenhouse, dirt under her nails, surrounded by her plants. The ones Kara talked to like they could answer her.

She touched the soft leaf of a jade plant and whispered, “Where are you?”

The only answer was the wind against the glass.

------

That night, she didn’t sleep in the bed. She curled up on the couch instead, wrapped in Kara’s sweatshirt, knees pulled close.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t speak.

She just listened—to nothing. To silence. To a world that had been saved by the person who said she would come back.

And hadn’t.

Not yet.

—————-

The sun was barely up.

The light was soft—pink and silver over the lake, touching everything with the hush of morning. The air was damp after a long rain overnight.

Lena was on the porch. A mug gone cold in her hands. She sat still for a very long time.

She didn’t expect to see her. Not like this.

Not descending from the sky with absolute perfect control, power and strength billowing off her in waves. So confident and certain. Polished red boots brushing the earth like she belonged to it and something far beyond it.

Lena stood, her breath caught in her throat.

Kara touched down on the gravel path, cape shifting in the wind behind her. It was deep red. The same shade as Superman’s. Her suit was matte blue, trim gold. And on her chest—the S, unmistakable, unmistakably earned.

But her face— That was still Kara.

Lena felt so many feelings at once that she couldn’t process any of them.

Relief mixed then with shock and excitement, followed by what felt like a punch to her gut as she processed the suit and then an unexpected tingle of arousal as Lena’s eyes greedily ate up the sight in-front of her, Kara’s legs, the skirt, the broad shoulders-

Kara’s eyes searched for Lena like she couldn’t breathe until they found her.

And when they did— The mask fell away.

All the power. All the glory.

Kara Danvers stood there, hero of the world, and looked at Lena like she was the only thing that mattered in it.

“I came back,” Kara said, voice soft. Human.

Lena didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Kara took one step closer. Then another.

“I didn’t want to wear this,” she said, glancing down at the suit. “But Kal… he said I should. That people needed to see me. To know. That I was good. That it was real.”

“You’re Supergirl now,” Lena said. It wasn’t a question.

Kara nodded. “Are you… have you changed your mind then?”

Kara closed the distance between them, she seemed taller than Lena remembered.

“I may be Supergirl, but I’m still Kara. I’m still yours.”

Lena’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “So, what does that make me?”

Kara didn’t hesitate. “Mine.”

Lena reached out. Touched the edge of the chest plate. Her fingers lingered over the symbol. And then she leaned in. Pressed her forehead to Kara’s.

“You’re real,” Lena whispered. “You’re here.”

Kara’s hands rose, cupped her face. “I’m tired,” she admitted.

“Come inside.”

They didn’t say anything more. Lena led her through the front door. Kara’s cape brushed the frame. She toed off her boots like she always had. Lena made tea while Kara sat at the kitchen table, arms folded on the wood, head resting between them.

And when the tea was ready, she barely touched it. Just smiled. Sleepily. Softly.

“I missed you,” she said, walking around the table and straight into Lena’s arms. Nuzzling her face into Lena’s neck.

“You saved the world,” Lena replied.

Kara looked up, blue eyes heavy. “And I came back for you. Always.”

That night, they lay in bed, limbs tangled, suit discarded at the end of the bed like any other uniform.

Kara whispered, “Do you hate it? That I’m one of them now?”

Lena turned, brushed her thumb over Kara’s cheekbone.

“No,” she said. “I just wish the world didn’t need you so much.”

Kara smiled, eyes slipping closed. “I only ever wanted to be needed by you.”

But even though Kara was so very tired, she lay awake that night with Lena curled up in her arms, because there was more. Something she hadn’t told Lena yet and Kara knew Lena would hate to be kept in the dark about this.

—————

Kara stood on the dock, arms folded tight, watching the horizon like it might offer her clarity.

Behind her, the lakehouse was quiet — the kind of stillness that always comes before something breaks.

She hadn’t slept.

Head full of thoughts, thinking back on the last few days.

She’d sat outside for an hour, just breathing, weighing the weight of truth against the cost of Lena’s safety.

And when she crept back inside, Lena had stirred in her sleep and murmured Kara’s name like it meant home.

And again, she didn’t tell her.

Later that day, Lena found Kara in the kitchen, keeping busy on purpose, pretending not to be tense. She was chopping potatoes like it was a normal afternoon.

“You’re quiet today,” Lena mused, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

Kara looked up, smile too practiced. “Just tired. I didn’t sleep great.”

Lena tilted her head, studying her. “You’re lying.”

Kara’s stomach dropped. “I know you,” Lena continued, stepping forward and around the counter, “Your tells aren’t subtle. The way you won’t meet my eyes. Something happened.”

“It’s nothing,” Kara said, too fast.

Lena’s jaw tensed. “Is it me?”

“No. Rao, no.” Kara said, dropping the knife on the counter and facing Lena fully. “Never.”

“Then what?” Kara hesitated. “Just… hero stuff. It’s handled.”

“Kara.”

Kara flinched. Not at the name — at the way Lena said it. Like a warning but with way too much care.

“Please,” Lena said quietly. “Don’t shut me out. Not here. Not now.”

There was a long silence. “If I tell you… it could be dangerous.”

“So there is danger.” Kara closed her eyes.

“Do you not trust me?” Lena said. Her voice was still low, but the edge was unmistakable now.

“It’s not about trust.”

“Then tell me, Kara, what is wrong?”

Kara opened her mouth, but before she could respond, Lena’s phone lit up on the counter. A soft chime. A news alert. Along with several missed calls from her mother.

Lena walked over. Looked down. Her face froze.

Kara didn’t have to read it to know what it said.

Lex Luthor — presumed dead — sighted in Central City.

Kara stepped forward. “Lena—”

“You knew,” Lena said, her voice brittle.

Kara nodded and sighed, rubbing her eyes with her hands. “I thought we had more time. I didn’t want you to spiral, I was worried about how you’d react,” Kara whispered. “We were going to handle it.”

“Oh, were you? That's fine then. You didn’t think I’d need to know-”

“I was trying to keep you safe—”

“No,” Lena cut in, her eyes sharp now. “You were trying to control the fallout. You decided I couldn’t handle the truth.”

“That’s not fair—”

“It’s true! You had no right to keep this from me!”

They stared at each other, silence heavy and raw between them.

Then Lena shook her head.

Kara took a step closer.

“I didn’t not tell you because I don’t trust you. I did it because I… care about you. A lot.”

Lena blinked, the corner of her mouth twitched. Like she was slightly relenting.

Lena swallowed hard. “I’m not a child, Kara, and you shouldn’t have kept this from me!”

She walked out before Kara could say another word, the screen door creaking shut behind her.

————-

Inside the Lakehouse, the tension hung in the air like humidity, clinging to the walls, the windows.

They hadn’t spoken since the fight. Not really.

Lena had gone upstairs early that night, her voice cold but even: “I need space, Kara.”

Kara had nodded and slept on the couch, not because she had to, there was a guest room empty, but because she couldn’t imagine putting another closed door between them.

Lena coped by working.

She’d swept the back porch twice, washed up, read all of her mail back to front, cleaned the front windows and varnished the dining table but she couldn’t for one second not see Kara’s face in her mind.

To the way her voice had cracked when she said, “I did it because I… care about you. A lot.”

God.

She hated this part — the post-fight ache, where logic and anger still flickered, but guilt had already begun to bloom in the background. Lena hated how much it mattered. How much Kara mattered.

Kara it would seem, coped by doing everything except what she should. She restacked the firewood. She walked all the way around the lake. She went flying twice — not far, not fast — just far enough to be alone in the clouds where no one expected her to talk or explain or make it better.

The break happened in the kitchen.

Not a screaming match. Not a tearful confrontation.

Lena had her sleeves rolled to the elbow as she sliced carrots.

She liked the rhythm of it. Chop, swipe. Chop, swipe.

The blade moved easily under her practised grip. Her mind finding in this mundane moment, a little peace.

Lena brought the knife down again, too hard this time. Her hand slipped, and the edge of the blade caught her index finger.

Pain was instant and sharp.

She hissed, clutching her hand as blood started to gather there.

"Damn it." she muttered quietly.

She heard the door creak behind her and she knew it was Kara. She didn't turn around.

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"You're bleeding."

"I noticed," Lena huffed.

Kara moved before Lena could object, reaching for the injured hand.

Lena tried to pull back but Kara's fingers were warm and rigid around her wrist.

"Let me look, Lena."

Lena relented, rolling her eyes.

Kara washed away the blood at the sink and then seemed to pull a bandaid out of thin air to wrap it, she treated it so tenderly that Lena felt tears well in her eyes.

"It's shallow, but it will sting for a few days." Kara said, bending slightly, her lips touched Lena's finger lightly, not quite a kiss.

Then Kara said, softly, “You still mad at me?”

Lena sighed, she couldn't stop herself from looking at Kara with longing. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

A pause.

“I hate fighting with you,” Kara added.

Lena leaned back against the counter. “I hate that you think it’s your job to hold everything, I can handle things, Kara.”

“I don’t mean to.” Kara looked down. “I just, I didn't know how you'd react and… when I think about you getting hurt, something in me panics. Like I can’t breathe.”

Lena closed her eyes. “I get it,” she said. “I do. But when you choose to keep things from me, to lie to me — even for the right reasons — it makes me feel small.”

Kara met her gaze.

“I don’t want to choose at all.”

“Then don’t,” Lena said. “Next time, let me choose with you.”

Silence again. But this time, it didn’t hurt.

After a long beat, Kara reached for her hand.

Lena let her.

Kara squeezed once, gentle.

“I’m sorry I made you feel small.”

They stood there, hands twined in the quiet hum of the kitchen, not trying to fix everything — just holding each other.

—————-

So, the world hadn’t ended like everyone had expected. It hadn’t even paused.

The bakery still delivered bread at 6 a.m, the pipes still groaned when the shower ran too long, and the inn still needed towels folded into swans because apparently that was the standard now.

But there was one difference that Lena had noted, since Kara returned to the Lakehouse Inn, once their argument had been settled and peace was restored, Kara had seemed to let go and kiss Lena whenever she wanted to.

The first one that day came in the linen closet.

Lena was reaching for fresh pillowcases when Kara slipped in behind her, pressed close—like gravity had shifted, and the only thing she could hold onto was Lena’s spine.

Lena smiled without turning. “You said you were going to fix the screen door.”

Kara kissed the back of her neck, soft and slow. Humming softly. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” Lena said, finally turning, cornered between shelves of folded sheets and warmth.

Kara’s eyes dipped to Lena’s lips. And then she kissed her. Properly. Deeply.

Lena leaned back into the shelving, breath catching in her throat.

“You’re being very distracting today.”

“I’m told it’s a superpower,” Kara whispered, before kissing her again.

They stayed there until the door creaked open and the elderly cat, Mercutio, stared at them judgmentally from the hallway.

⸻

The second kiss came during lunch prep and Lena was slicing tomatoes.

Kara was “helping,” which mostly meant leaning on the counter and stealing bites of cucumber.

“You’re hovering,” Lena said, without looking up.

“I’m appreciating,” Kara said innocently, leaning a little closer across the table.

Lena met her gaze, knife in hand, eyebrow raised.

Kara leaned forward and kissed her anyway—quick, teasing, a flicker of tongue before retreating like she hadn’t just set something on fire between them.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Lena murmured, cheeks flushed, gripping the knife tightly.

Kara grinned, radiant. “Like me?”

Kara moved around the table slightly too quickly to be natural.

“I-“ Lena sucked in a breath, she hadn’t been expecting this right now.

Kara pulled her in a for long hard kiss.

“Love me?” Kara whispered, stroking her fingers across Lena’s jaw lightly.

And Lena—without blinking—said, “Yes. I do.”

And then Kara kissed her so deeply and intensely again that Lena forgot all about lunch prep.

————-

The third kiss came in the hallway, just after Kara came down from fixing the roof again.

Her hair was windblown. Her cheeks were pink. Her T-shirt was half-tucked.

Lena walked passed on her tablet, distracted. Scrambling for any updates on Lex's whereabouts.

And Kara caught her wrist.

“Wait,” she said.

Lena turned, slightly alarmed. “What?”

Kara didn’t answer. She kissed her instead—urgent, spine-arching, hand-fisted-in-shirt kind of kiss. The kind Lena sank into like she’d been starved for it. When they finally broke apart, even Kara was breathless.

“I thought about you the whole time I was in the sky. Just so you know.”

Lena touched her face. “Then maybe, just for me, stay grounded for a little while.”

⸻

That night, after the guests were asleep, the dishes done, and the windows locked, they stood in the quiet kitchen under a single dim light.

Lena yawned.

Kara stepped behind her. Arms wrapped around Lena’s waist. Chin on her shoulder.

“Still being distracting?” Lena asked, amused.

“Always.” Lena turned in her arms.

“Then kiss me one more time.”

And Kara did—slow, unhurried. Like time didn’t matter. Like they had all the tomorrows they’d never dared dream of before.

———————-

Days later, Lena woke to an absence.

The bed was warm beside her, but empty. The sheets barely disturbed, like Kara had moved quietly—too quiet.

The clock on the nightstand blinked 4:06 a.m.

Lena sat up. Rubbed her eyes. Listened. The house was still.

Then, the softest whoosh. A breath of wind where there shouldn’t be any. And a moment later, Kara in their bedroom, hovering just a few inches off the floor before landing with a nearly soundless thud.

Her hair was tousled. Her hoodie half-zipped. Mud streaked one knee of her jeans.

Lena didn’t say anything. Just watched.

Kara turned, caught her gaze. “Oh,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Lena murmured. “Not really.”

She sat up straighter, pulling the duvet around her shoulders.

Kara crossed to the bed slowly, guilt written in the curve of her spine. “There was a crash. Just off the main road. A truck flipped—ice on the bend. I wasn’t gone long.”

“Were they okay?”

Kara nodded. “Shaken, but fine. I flew the driver to the hospital.”

“Good.” Lena said, quietly.

Kara changed in a second and slipped into bed beside her, her skin cold where it brushed Lena’s.

“I wanted to be here when you woke up,” she said quietly.

“You are.” But Lena still stared at the ceiling for a long time, even as Kara curled against her side.

By breakfast, the sky had lightened, but the air still carried winter’s bite.

Kara made pancakes, not her best. One was burned, two were too pale, and Lena ate all of them anyway with a fond smile.

They didn’t talk about the crash. They didn’t talk about the suit hanging in the closet. They didn’t talk about the fact that Kara didn’t really sleep anymore, not when she was always listening for sirens calling in the distance.

Lena’s phone rang.

It buzzed against the kitchen counter with a sharp, sudden insistence.

Unknown Number. Again.

Lena froze.

Kara looked up, mid-pour of too much syrup.

Though she couldn’t be sure, she could guess who it was.

Her hand hovered over the phone.

She answered. “Hello?”

“Nice inn you’ve got there,” Lex said, his voice oily smooth. “I imagine it’s quite convenient for housing fugitives from the stratosphere.”

Lena’s spine stiffened. “You’re not welcome here ever. Don’t even think about it.”

“Come now, dearest sister. I’m not calling to threaten. Just to talk.”

“I don’t even want to hear your voice.”

“But you do, Lena. Because you know what I know.”

“That thing in your guest bedroom? She’s not just some sweet girl with a hero complex. She’s dangerous.”

Kara’s eyes were on her now. Watching. Waiting. She didn’t ask what Lex had said—she didn’t need to.

Lena’s voice dropped to a low, cold whisper. “She saves the world. You’ve tried to end it.”

“She’s not human.”

“No, you’re right. She’s better.”

Lex laughed softly on the other end. “She’s wrong.”

Lena hung up, she couldn’t stand the laughing.

The silence after was deep.

Kara stood still, not moving, not breathing.

Lena turned, leaned back on the counter, and said only one thing: “He knows you’re here.”

Kara came to her slowly. Not rushing. She just stepped close, took Lena’s hands in hers.

“I won’t let him take this from us.” Kara pressed her forehead to Lena’s. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

And just like that, the quiet moment snapped tight again—like a thread pulled too far.

Because if there was one person on the planet who hated Kryptonians, it was Lex, and he certainly wasn’t going to let this one slide.

—————

It started with whispers.

Not that either of them noticed.

A tweet, a thread and then a blog post.

Then soon a breaking news headline.

“Who is Supergirl?”

They’d taken the grainy footage from the invasion and stabilized it. AI-enhanced. Reconstructed. And there—barely visible, but unmistakable to anyone who had recently been to a certain sleepy lakeside inn—was Kara’s face.

Not fully. Not cleanly. No glasses.

But enough. Enough for the locals to start asking questions.

⸻

Lena saw it first.

The headline flashed across her phone as she stood at the end of the dock, the morning sun glinting off the water.

Her stomach dropped.

Kara stepped out of the house in her worn flannel and bare feet, holding two mugs of coffee. Lena met her halfway.

“It’s started,” she said simply, holding out the phone.

Kara read it. Her jaw tensed, just slightly.

Then she sighed. “Lex.”

Lena nodded. “I was able to briefly check the source code on the original blog. It’s routed through shell companies LexCorp used years ago. He’s not even trying to hide it.”

“Because he doesn’t care if I know,” Kara said quietly. “He just wants everyone else to.”

By afternoon, the inn phone had rung six times.

Two were reporters.

One was a curious town councilwoman.

One was an anonymous voice asking, “Does she glow?”

The other two didn’t speak at all. Just silence. Then a hang-up.

Kara paced. She opened the windows. Then closed them. She hovered in the hallway, unsure of what to do with her hands, her strength, her need to fix this.

She listened, listened far and wide to things that Lena couldn’t hear.

Lena was on the front desk, tapping rapidly on her laptop. Her jaw was sharp. Her brain was already counter-strategizing.

“You don’t have to protect me,” Kara said from the kitchen doorway. Lena didn’t look up. “I’m not. I’m protecting us.”

“But I can just leave—”

“No.” Lena’s voice was sharp now. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

Kara swallowed. Stepped in. “I just meant—if it puts you at risk—”

Lena stood. “I’m not at risk.”

She walked straight to her into the kitchen. “You’re not my guest anymore, Kara. You’re my home.”

Kara blinked.

Her breath caught.

And then they were kissing, hard and fast—like the world might take it from them if they hesitated.

⸻

The next blow came at sunset.

A newscast.

A shaky video taken from just outside the Inn’s property—of Kara landing. In her baggy sweatshirt and jeans.

The caption at the bottom read: ‘Supergirl hiding in plain sight.’

Lena turned off the TV.

Silence filled the room.

Then Kara, very softly: “How many people will come now?” Lena looked at her. Her face hard.

——————

The house felt emptier than it should’ve. Like Kara had taken all the air with her when she left through the window at 2:12 a.m.

No glasses. No bag. Just her.

She didn’t even say goodbye out loud. She just stood by the bed, touched Lena’s face, and whispered, “Don’t look for me.”

And then she was gone, before Lena could utter a single word.

Lena sat on the edge of that same bed now, staring at the blanket Kara had folded neatly before vanishing into the sky.

Anger flared within her as well as a sadness she couldn’t control at all.

The news cycle was still rolling.

Less frantic now, but still the same.

So, Lena went to her closet, pulled out clothes she hadn’t had to wear for years and two days later, she stood in front of the press.

Calm. Measured. Perfect.

She wore black. Minimal jewellery. Striking makeup.

“Kara Danvers?” she repeated when the reporter asked. “She was a guest. Passed through. Quiet. Kind. I didn’t know much about her. I didn’t ask. She stayed for a few weeks. She left.”

It was all true technically.

But none of it was honest.

⸻

In the weeks that followed, she kept up the routine.

The inn stayed open. Reservations dipped, then slowly began to rise again.

Some guests asked about Kara, and Lena offered a polite, distant smile. “She moved on.”

Those words sat like ash on her tongue.

In the evenings, she still made two mugs of tea. Sometimes she drank both. Sometimes she left one untouched.

The townspeople asked less and less.

The press grew bored.

The internet, eventually, found someone else to wonder about.

But Lena knew the truth. She felt it in her chest, like a frequency only she could hear. Kara wasn’t gone. She was just waiting. Watching. Protecting them both from a distance.

One night, three weeks later, she found a folded note on her back porch.

I’m safe. Still close. Don’t stop living. I’ll come back. – K

Lena didn’t cry.

She just folded the note and slid it into the drawer beside her bed.

And she carried on.

—————-

It started with a power flicker.

Not unusual for the Lakehouse Inn. But it made Lena pause, if only for a moment.

Then suddenly a total blackout.

Lena only had two guests staying that night, an elderly couple. She was able to sort them new accommodation nearby in 20 minutes. She offered them a refund and apologised profusely about the power outage and drove them up the road to their new place.

But Lena knew something was wrong.

Lena stood in her kitchen, staring out at the lake and woods behind the Inn. Nothing but silence and the static crackle of her phone—no signal all of a sudden.

Mercutio the cat growled low from the windowsill.

Lena mused silently, thinking.

But regardless, she went to the fuse box. Everything looked normal, as normal as Lena could make out it should be.

She went back through the inn and sat heavily onto her chair at the front desk.

Her gaze falling too a small slip of red paper folded on the desk. She unfolded it. One sentence, You always did fall for the wrong people. – L

Her hands clenched. Her pulse kicked. Lex.

She locked the doors. Tried to text the sheriff—no delivery.

⸻

An hour later, as Lena had quietly expected, the front windows shattered.

Smoke grenades.

Then footsteps. Fast. Trained.

Two men in paramilitary gear, black masks, no insignia.

Lena ran. She got as far as the second stair before a hand caught her by the wrist and slammed her back into the wall.

“Where is she?” one of them growled.

Lena stared him down. “I don’t know. She left. Just like the news said.”

“Liar.” The butt of the rifle cracked into her ribs.

She gasped—fell to her knees.

Outside, the wind changed.

The remaining windows rattled.

Boom

And then something hit the gravel hard enough to leave a crater in the earth. And the whole inn shook with force of it.

A gust of wind. A blur of red and blue.

By the time the first man turned toward the sound, the second one was gone—lifted clean into the air by an invisible force and forced back out the front door.

The lights exploded back on. And then Kara was there. In the open doorway. Hair wild. Eyes glowing. Jaw tight. Her cape rippled behind her. Her fists were clenched.

She crossed the room in a blink and slammed the first attacker into the far wall, knocking all the keys to the floor. She picked him up by his tactical vest and tossed him through the front door like he weighed nothing.

Kara spoke briefly into what appeared to be an earpiece and pulled it from her ear.

And then it was quiet.

Except for Lena. Coughing. Bruised. But breathing, collapsed at the bottom of the stairs.

Kara dropped to her knees beside her. “Lena. Lena, I’m here.”

Lena looked up, tears in her eyes, lip bloodied. “You came back.”

“I never left,” Kara whispered. “Not really.”

So, she carried Lena upstairs. Cleaned her wounds with careful, trembling hands. Held an ice pack to her ribs and kissed the top of her head gently as Lena’s eyes drooped and she fell eventually asleep.

⸻

When Lena opened her eyes, it was still dark.

Kara sat beside Lena on the edge of the bed, holding her hand like it anchored her to Earth.

But Lena hadn’t missed it—the tension in Kara’s shoulders. The way her eyes kept drifting toward the windows. Toward the sky.

Something didn’t feel right.

“This wasn’t about me,” Lena whispered.

Kara’s turned, smiling, “You’re awake. Are you okay?”

Outside, the wind picked up. Then came the sound. A low, thumping pulse. Not helicopters. Drones.

And not the cheap kind.

Lena stood, moved to the window. Kara tugged her back.

Out past the treeline, red lights blinked in the dark—moving in perfect formation. Scanning. Approaching.

“Lex knew you’d come back for me,” Lena breathed. “And you knew this might happen if you did.”

Kara slipped her polished red boots back on. She looked calm. Controlled. But Lena could see the storm in her eyes.

“He’s trying to capture you.”

“He knows he wouldn’t be able too. He doesn’t have the resources or the manpower. He wants the world to see me not as a girl saving people in the shadows—but as an invader, a threat. This is no different than his vendetta against Kal.” Her voice dropped. “He’s only so bothered about me, because I’m with you. He doesn’t care about the life you’ve built here.”

Lena stared up at her. “Don’t go out there.”

“I have to. I have a point to make.” Kara brushed a knuckle along Lena’s cheek. “I won’t let him win.”

Kara didn’t take off. Not right away.

She walked straight out the front door in the suit, into the floodlights of the advancing drones.

Let them capture her image. Let them broadcast it.

“You don’t get to tell my story!” She yelled over the noise.

“Lex! I didn’t ask to be sent here, or to have this strength, but I choose every day to use it for good. You think I’m a threat? Then you don’t know me at all. I fight for this world because I love it—because it’s my home. And I will never stop fighting to keep it safe… even from people like you who are afraid of what they don’t understand!”

Then she took out the drones. All at once. Controlled. Efficient.

She left the cameras working, but the weapons down.

She let the world see power—without fear. Resolve—without rage.

⸻

Kara returned just before dawn.

Lena was sweeping broken glass in the foyer.

She met Kara at the threshold. Kara was breathless, not from the fight—but from coming home.

“Is it over?”

Kara nodded, “For now.”

Lena exhaled, then stepped forward and kissed her—slow and steady, right there in the open doorway. Let the whole world watch, if it wanted. She didn’t care.

—————-

The world didn’t quiet immediately.

The footage spread—Kara in full suit, standing firm before Lex’s drones, refusing to hide, refusing to run.

Some adored her.

Some praised her.

Some feared her.

The headlines roared, then softened. Speculation flared, then faded.

But in the eye of the storm, the lake was still. Calm. No wind, no rain.

Lena stood at the dock, skipping stones. She hadn’t done that since she was a child. Kara joined her, barefoot, hair damp from the lake. She’d gone for a swim the way humans do. Just because she could.

“I was thinking maybe later when it’s dark, you and I could go skinny dipping.” Kara smirked.

“Absolutely not.” Lena responded quickly and Kara frowned with disappointment in a way that Lena found so cute, she was almost convinced to change her mind.

They were quiet for a few moments.

“They’ll always look,” Lena said after a while. “You know that.”

“I do.”

“And some will never stop seeing you as a threat.”

“I know.”

“And Lex is still out there. Planning. Conniving.”

“I know.”

Lena turned, brows drawn. “So what now? You’ve fixed the front door and the porch, replaced the windows. The Lakehouse Inn is as good as new. Do you go off and be Supergirl?”

Kara was quiet.

“Lena, you still don't get it? Supergirl is a part of me and I’m always ready to fight if the world needs me. But, I have a home now with you. And I’m not giving that up.”

Lena’s voice caught. “You’re sure?”

Kara stepped closer. Took both her hands.

“Let them see me. Let them wonder. I’m not hiding anymore. I’m not leaving, either. Not unless the world really ends.”

⸻

The inn slowly returned to life.

A few brave guests trickled in, curious and a little starstruck.

Kara didn't hide, she made time for everyone who wanted to meet her, anyone who had questions.

Kara even once donned her Supergirl suit, cape and all for the pleasure of visiting children who were so excited to see her.

Kara started baking in the mornings—her banana bread quickly became legendary.

Lena worked on a new project in her spare time. Something clean energy-focused. Something Kara helped test with heat vision when no one was looking.

The world still spun.

Kara still fixed the leaky fossits and the broken fence and Lena still signed the invoices and washed the guest linens.

Life was good.

They still drank hot tea on the back porch in the evenings.

And pandered to Mercutio when it rained.

They danced in the kitchen sometimes.

And strolled along the cliffs when the inn was quiet.

They read in bed.

They had stolen kisses in the hallway when guests weren’t watching and not so stolen ones under the stars on the dock.

And even once, kissing and wandering hands went a smidge too far in the pantry after dinner one night but Lena didn’t regret it.

And once in a while, a gust of wind and a boom as Kara flew so fast she’d break the sound barrier.

Off to be a hero again.

Crises came and went.

Kara always returned.

And the world, for most part, left them alone.

With her boots at the door, her suit in the closet and Lena beside her.

Kara always came home to The Lakehouse Inn.

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