Chapter Text
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 1
POV: Kara Danvers
Location: DEO — Analysis Level
The screens are still glowing with vendor data when Kara’s phone starts vibrating in her pocket.
She barely notices at first.
Winn is mid-sentence, explaining supplier chains and shell corporations, and Alex is leaning over his shoulder, already connecting dots, and J’onn is watching all of it with that quiet, heavy focus that means he knows something worse is coming.
“Kara,” Winn says, pointing at the map. “If these payments keep routing through Edge’s hedge fund subsidiary, then the pool filtration contract—”
Her phone buzzes again.
Harder this time.
Insistent.
Kara’s hand moves before she’s fully aware of it.
Sam.
She answers instantly. “Sam?”
Her voice is tight. Not panicked yet. But close.
“I can’t reach her,” Sam says, breathless. “Her phone’s off. She left to confront Edge and she never called back and now it’s just— it’s going straight to voicemail, Kara, something’s wrong.”
The room seems to tilt.
Kara grips the edge of the console.
“Sam, when did she leave?”
“Less than an hour ago,” Sam says. “I tried Edge’s office, his assistant, security— no one will tell me where she is.”
Kara closes her eyes.
She reaches outward.
Past steel walls.
Past city noise.
Past traffic and rooftops and wind and altitude.
She listens.
Not with ears.
With everything.
And then she feels it.
A heartbeat.
Faint.
Fast.
Too far away.
And moving.
Kara’s eyes snap open.
“She’s not in the city,” Kara says, then freezes as the words leave her mouth.
“What?” Sam gasps. “What do you mean—”
Kara course-corrects instantly.
“I— I mean, Alex is helping trace her phone signal,” she says quickly. “She’s checking towers, GPS pings, anything that can narrow it down. I’ll call you as soon as I know more, okay? I promise.”
A beat.
Sam exhales shakily. “Okay. Okay. Just— please, Kara.”
“I will,” Kara says softly. “I won’t lose her.”
She ends the call before her voice can betray her.
And then she turns.
Alex’s head snaps up. “Kara, what’s wrong?”
Kara barely hears her.
“He’s not done,” Kara whispers. “He’s not done and she’s on that plane.”
She’s moving now, fast, heart hammering against her ribs.
“Kara!” Alex calls. “What’s happening?”
Kara stops just long enough to look at them.
“Edge took Lena,” she says. “He’s moving chemicals and he’s using her as cover and I don’t know what he’s planning but I can feel the altitude and I’m running out of time.”
J’onn is already on his feet. “We will coordinate aerial support—”
“There isn’t time,” Kara says, already reaching for her jacket. “I can hear her heart. It’s too high and it’s too fast and if that plane changes course again—”
She doesn’t finish the sentence.
She can’t.
Alex steps in front of her, eyes fierce and afraid. “Bring her back.”
Kara nods once.
Hard.
“I will.”
She doesn’t run for the elevators.
She runs for the open balcony doors.
The second she’s out of sight, she’s already tearing through fabric and human disguise, red and blue flashing into place as she launches skyward in a sonic blur that rattles every loose object in the bay.
Above National City, clouds tear apart as she breaks through them, eyes locked on the distant silhouette cutting across the sky.
“Hold on, Lena,” Kara breathes into the wind. “I’m coming.”
And this time…
She is not going to be too late.
—
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 2
POV: Lena Luthor
Location: Cargo Plane — In Flight
Consciousness comes back in fragments.
Cold.
Metal.
The constant vibration of engines thrumming through the floor.
Lena blinks, vision swimming, and for a moment she can’t tell if she’s lying down or if the world is just tilted.
Then the smell hits her.
Fuel.
Industrial solvent.
And something sharp and chemical that makes her stomach twist.
She pushes herself up on her elbows, head pounding, and finally takes in her surroundings.
Barrels.
Rows of them, strapped to the cargo bay walls with thick restraints, hazard labels stamped in red and black.
The same symbols she saw in the water analysis reports.
Her breath catches.
“Oh no…”
She forces herself upright, gripping the metal bench along the wall as the plane shudders slightly.
No crew.
No voices.
Just engines and altitude and a sickening sense of motion.
This isn’t transport.
This is delivery.
Lena stumbles forward toward the cockpit door and pounds on it. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
No answer.
She grabs the handle and pulls.
Locked.
Her pulse spikes.
“Of course it is.”
She backs up, scanning the cabin, mind already racing through contingencies.
Then she sees it.
A small black lens tucked into the corner of the cockpit ceiling, barely visible unless you’re looking for it.
A camera.
Her blood goes cold.
“So you are watching,” she murmurs.
The cockpit monitor flickers on.
Morgan Edge’s face fills the screen, smug and perfectly composed, like he’s calling in from a boardroom instead of orchestrating a murder.
“Always a pleasure to see you, Lena.”
Her hands curl into fists. “You poisoned children.”
Edge sighs theatrically. “Such ugly phrasing. I prefer leveraged public perception.”
“You contaminated public water systems to frame my company.”
“And it worked beautifully,” he replies. “DHS oversight, your research frozen, investors panicking. Honestly, I expected you to hold out longer before storming into my hangar.”
Her jaw tightens. “What are you planning to do with those chemicals?”
Edge’s smile sharpens.
“I’m going to dump them into the reservoir. Make it look like your tech malfunctioned again. Bigger exposure. Bigger headlines.”
Her stomach drops.
“And me?” she asks quietly.
He shrugs. “Collateral.”
Rage burns through the fear.
“You’re going to kill thousands of people just to protect your stock portfolio.”
Edge’s eyes harden. “I’m going to protect my empire. You just happen to be standing in the way.”
The screen goes dark.
Lena doesn’t waste another second.
She rushes to the nearest barrel, yanking at the restraints, hands shaking as the plane jolts again.
Outside the small cargo windows, she can see only cloud and sky — but the angle is changing.
They’re descending.
“No no no—”
She stumbles toward the rear hatch as warning lights flicker on, red pulsing along the walls.
Hydraulic systems whine.
The cargo ramp begins to lower.
Wind roars into the cabin.
Lena throws her weight against the hatch, muscles straining, boots sliding on the metal floor.
“Stop— stop—”
The pressure is too strong.
She’s losing ground.
The barrels begin to shift.
Panic claws up her throat.
“Kara…” she breathes, not even sure if she’s saying it aloud.
The plane lurches violently.
Then—
A thunderous impact slams through the open ramp.
Metal screams.
Wind explodes outward.
And suddenly—
Red and blue fill the cargo bay.
Supergirl crashes through the opening in a blur of force and fury, grabbing the ramp with one hand and slamming it shut with the other.
The plane shudders but stabilizes.
Lena collapses backward onto the floor, breath ripping out of her lungs.
Kara lands in front of her in a rush of displaced air.
“Lena—”
Lena doesn’t think.
She surges forward and grips Kara’s suit, breathless and shaking.
“You came.”
Kara’s arms wrap around her instantly, tight and fierce and protective, like she’s afraid letting go will make Lena disappear again.
“I’ve got you,” Kara whispers. “I’ve got you.”
For half a heartbeat, nothing else exists.
Then the plane drops again.
Hard.
Kara stiffens. “Okay. We don’t have time to process emotions.”
Lena lets out a weak, hysterical breath. “Of course not.”
Kara helps her up, already scanning the cabin. “Can you move?”
“Yes,” Lena says, wiping at her face. “Barely, but yes.”
“Good. Then help me secure those barrels.”
They move together, adrenaline carrying them forward as the aircraft begins to shake violently.
Alarms blare.
The cockpit lights flicker.
Kara braces herself against the ceiling, pushing upward as the nose dips further.
“Something’s wrong with the engines,” Kara grits out.
“You don’t say,” Lena mutters, straining to tighten a restraint.
The plane suddenly lurches sharply downward.
Metal groans.
And then—
The sound of tearing steel.
The fuselage splits.
Not cleanly.
Not slowly.
Just enough.
Kara’s eyes widen.
“Lena—”
The aircraft fractures, nose and cargo bay pulling in opposite directions as gravity takes over.
Kara surges toward Lena, grabbing her and launching them clear of the tearing fuselage just as the two halves wrench fully apart.
Wind screams around them.
Lena clutches at Kara’s shoulders, terror and vertigo blurring together.
Below them, the remaining cargo section is already spiraling.
The barrels are still intact.
For now.
Kara doesn’t hesitate.
She angles their fall, forcing their descent into something controlled, something survivable, and slams them into open ground in a spray of dirt and torn grass, digging her boots in until they skid to a stop.
Lena barely has time to gasp before Kara is gone again — a red-and-blue streak tearing back into the sky.
She sees it only in flashes.
Kara colliding with the falling wreckage.
Arms wrapping around twisted metal.
Forcing its trajectory away from the reservoir and toward empty land.
The impact shakes the ground even from this distance.
But the barrels stay sealed.
No rupture.
No spill.
Kara is back at Lena’s side almost instantly, dropping to her knees in front of her, hands gripping her shoulders like she needs to make sure she’s really there.
“You’re safe,” Kara breathes. “You’re safe.”
Lena’s vision blurs.
“You… you saved the chemicals too,” she whispers.
Kara swallows. “I wasn’t letting him hurt anyone else.”
Sirens begin to wail in the distance.
Help is coming.
Lena’s hands are still fisted in Kara’s cape.
Neither of them seems ready to let go.
—
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 3
POV: Samantha Arias → Kara Danvers → Lena Luthor
Location: Crash Site — Outskirts of National City
Sirens cut through the quiet like a blade.
Red and blue lights wash over torn earth and twisted metal as emergency vehicles flood the clearing from every direction.
Sam is out of the car before it fully stops.
Her eyes scan wildly — smoke, debris, scorch marks — and then she sees her.
Lena.
On the ground.
Alive.
Being steadied by Supergirl.
Sam’s breath leaves her in a broken sound and she runs.
“Lena!”
Lena turns at the sound of her voice.
And then Sam is there, dropping to her knees, hands shaking as she grips Lena’s face, her shoulders, anywhere she can touch.
“Oh my God— oh my God— I thought— I couldn’t reach you and they wouldn’t tell me anything and then Kara said you were—”
“I’m okay,” Lena says quickly, voice hoarse but steady. “Sam, I’m okay. She got here in time.”
Sam’s eyes finally flick to the woman kneeling beside them in blue and red.
Supergirl.
Sam swallows hard, emotion crashing into awe and fear and pure, desperate gratitude all at once.
“You saved her,” she says, voice breaking. “You saved her and you stopped the chemicals and— God, thank you. Thank you.”
Kara shakes her head instinctively. “It’s okay. It’s what I do.”
But Sam isn’t done.
She leans forward and wraps her arms around Kara too, quick and fierce and unplanned.
“Thank you,” she whispers into Kara’s shoulder. “For bringing her back to me.”
Kara freezes for half a second.
Then carefully returns the hug.
“I wasn’t going to let him take her,” she says softly.
Sam pulls back, eyes shining. “I don’t know how to ever repay you.”
Kara gives a small, gentle smile. “Kara Danvers sent me.”
Lena’s breath catches at that.
Sam blinks. “Kara was—?”
“She was trying to track you down when I intercepted the plane,” Kara says smoothly. “She’ll be relieved you’re okay.”
Lena looks at her.
Really looks at her.
There’s a thousand things in her eyes, none of them ready for words yet.
DEO agents begin securing the perimeter.
Hazmat teams rush toward the wreckage.
Fire crews douse smoking debris.
Alex appears through the chaos, scanning frantically until she spots them.
She’s at their side in seconds.
“Oh thank God,” Alex breathes, crouching beside Lena. “Lena, are you hurt?”
Lena shakes her head. “Just… shaken.”
Alex’s gaze flicks to Kara, fierce relief cutting through her professional calm. “You did it.”
Kara exhales. “Barely.”
Alex grips her arm. “You did.”
Winn’s voice crackles over a comm unit. “Hazmat confirms chemical containment intact. No leaks. Reservoir’s safe.”
A collective breath seems to release across the site.
J’onn approaches more slowly, eyes dark and assessing, but there is unmistakable pride in his voice when he speaks.
“The threat is contained. For now.”
Lena straightens despite the tremor still running through her limbs.
“Edge did this deliberately,” she says. “He admitted it. He planned to dump the chemicals and frame me again.”
Alex’s jaw tightens. “Then we have him on attempted mass poisoning and kidnapping.”
“And conspiracy,” J’onn adds. “And corporate terrorism.”
Sam lets out a shaky breath. “So he’s done.”
Lena’s voice is quiet. “He’s not finished. But he’s exposed.”
Kara watches her closely.
Not the CEO.
Not the public figure.
Just Lena — exhausted, furious, shaken, and still standing.
Kara steps closer without thinking, lowering her voice. “He won’t touch you again. I promise.”
Lena’s eyes soften — just a fraction — but the fear is still there underneath.
“I believed him,” Lena murmurs. “For a moment, when I saw the barrels… I thought maybe I really was the disaster everyone says I am.”
Kara’s answer is immediate.
“You are not,” she says fiercely. “You are the reason those kids are going to be okay.”
Lena’s breath stutters.
Sam reaches for her hand. “She’s right.”
Alex adds quietly, “Edge tried to weaponize your conscience. That’s not on you.”
Lena closes her eyes for a second, absorbing it.
Then she opens them, resolve burning back into place.
“Then let’s finish this.”
Kara nods.
And this time, when she stands beside Lena, it feels like they are finally facing the same direction.
—
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 4
POV: Morgan Edge → Kara Danvers → Lena Luthor
Location: DEO — Containment Level
Morgan Edge does not enjoy being airborne.
Especially not when it’s because someone grabbed him by the collar of his designer jacket and launched out of a corporate parking structure at near-sonic speed.
“This is illegal!” he shouts, wind tearing the words from his mouth as the city blurs beneath them. “You can’t just—!”
They land hard.
Concrete cracks.
Before he can regain his footing, he’s being dragged again — through steel doors, down white corridors, past agents scrambling out of the way.
“Supergirl, you can’t just kidnap a civilian—!”
The containment doors hiss open.
Kara doesn’t slow.
She shoves him forward and releases.
Edge stumbles, trips, and lands flat on his backside inside the cell with a very undignified grunt.
The forcefield snaps into place.
He looks up, furious, smoothing his jacket with shaking hands.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” he snaps. “This is assault. This is—”
Kara doesn’t answer.
She just stands there.
Feet planted.
Hands on her hips.
Eyes burning.
A moment passes.
Then she folds her arms across her chest, jaw locked so tight it looks like it might crack.
Edge swallows despite himself.
Alex and J’onn rush into the room seconds later.
“Supergirl, what the hell—” Alex starts, then takes in the scene. “Did you just—”
“He poisoned children,” Kara says, voice low and vibrating with fury. “He framed Lena. He tried to dump chemical waste into the reservoir. And he put her on that plane like cargo.”
J’onn’s eyes darken. “Is this true, Mr. Edge?”
Edge scoffs, forcing a laugh. “This is ridiculous. I was at a charity board meeting all afternoon. You can’t just take the word of—”
Alex steps forward, tablet already in her hand.
“Actually, we don’t have to.”
She swipes, projecting files onto the glass.
“Hydration station contracts. Pool filtration service logs. All under subsidiaries of Edge Industries.”
Another swipe.
“Chemical purchases routed through offshore accounts tied to your hedge fund.”
Another.
“And security footage from your private hangar showing your personnel loading the exact compounds found in the children’s bloodwork.”
Edge’s smile falters.
“Planted,” he says quickly. “Anyone could fake—”
“And this?” Alex cuts in, pulling up still frames of Lena being struck from behind.
Edge’s jaw tightens.
“You abducted Lena Luthor,” Alex continues. “You placed her on a remotely piloted cargo plane loaded with hazardous materials and attempted to contaminate the city’s water supply.”
J’onn’s voice is ice. “That constitutes terrorism under international law.”
Edge’s eyes flick to Kara.
To the way she hasn’t moved.
Haven’t blinked.
“You can’t prove I ordered it,” he snaps. “I have employees. Contractors. I can’t be responsible for every rogue actor—”
Kara finally speaks.
“You looked into a camera,” she says quietly. “And told her she was collateral.”
Edge’s breath catches.
Alex and J’onn both turn to her.
Kara doesn’t take her eyes off him.
“She heard you,” Kara continues. “And so did we.”
The silence that follows is thick and deadly.
Edge straightens, trying to recover his bravado.
“You think you’ve won?” he sneers. “People like me don’t stay in cages. I have lawyers who—”
“Good,” Kara interrupts. “Bring them.”
Her voice is calm now.
Colder than before.
“Because I am done letting you hide behind money while people get hurt.”
Edge opens his mouth—
And then notices movement behind the glass.
Lena.
Standing just outside the containment doors, hospital blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hair still disheveled from the crash.
Her face is pale.
But her eyes are sharp.
She meets Edge’s gaze.
And for the first time, he looks unsettled.
“So it was you,” Lena says quietly.
Edge’s expression shifts into something almost indulgent.
“Lena, come on—”
“Don’t,” she cuts in.
Her voice is steady.
Cold.
“You used my technology. My reputation. You poisoned children and tried to turn the city against me because you were afraid of losing control.”
Edge scoffs. “You should be thanking me. You were getting too powerful—”
Kara moves.
Not toward him.
Toward Lena.
She steps in front of her slightly, not blocking her view, but placing herself there — instinctive, protective.
Edge watches the motion, something calculating flickering in his eyes.
“Ah,” he murmurs. “That explains a lot.”
Lena stiffens.
Kara doesn’t react.
“You really thought I wouldn’t fight back?” Lena continues. “That I’d crumble quietly?”
Edge smirks. “I thought you’d panic. Which you did. I thought you’d act emotionally. Which you did. I just didn’t expect—” he glances at Kara again, “—her.”
Kara’s voice is deadly calm.
“You don’t get to say her name.”
J’onn steps forward. “Mr. Edge, you are under DEO custody pending federal transfer.”
Edge laughs bitterly. “For how long? You think DHS won’t shut this down the second my attorneys—”
Alex cuts him off.
“They won’t.”
He blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Because we already forwarded the evidence package to multiple federal agencies,” Alex says coolly. “And to CatCo.”
Edge’s face drains of color.
“Public exposure in three… two…”
Winn’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Press just picked it up. Trending worldwide.”
For the first time, Edge looks afraid.
Kara doesn’t smile.
She just watches.
“Enjoy the view,” she says. “It’s the last one you get with windows.”
She turns away.
Toward Lena.
Their eyes meet.
Something unspoken passes between them.
Not gratitude.
Not forgiveness.
Just this:
You’re not alone anymore.
And Kara knows, without question, that this is not over.
But for tonight—
For this moment—
Lena is safe.
And Morgan Edge is exactly where he belongs.
—
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 4
POV: Lena Luthor
Location: DEO — Observation Corridor / Medical Bay Access
Lena still hears his voice in her head.
Not the shouting.
The calm.
The certainty with which Morgan Edge told her this was never about court, never about proof, never about consequences.
Just damage.
She stands in the corridor outside containment now, fingers wrapped around a paper cup of water she hasn’t touched, watching DEO agents and DHS personnel move past like she’s part of the furniture instead of the center of the storm.
Through the glass down the hall, she can just make out Supergirl’s silhouette near the holding cells.
Still there.
Still watching him.
Like she doesn’t trust the walls to hold.
Alex and J’onn are speaking quietly with the DHS agents — procedural words, jurisdiction, evidence transfer — the kind of conversation that decides what happens next without ever asking how it feels.
Lena exhales slowly.
She should be in the med bay.
She knows that.
But her feet won’t move yet.
Not while Kara is standing there like that.
Fists tight.
Jaw locked.
All that anger aimed outward instead of letting any of it touch Lena.
It’s… unsettling.
And oddly grounding at the same time.
Lena shifts her weight and finally starts toward the med bay doors.
That’s when Kara notices her.
Not Supergirl noticing a civilian.
Kara noticing *her*.
She crosses the corridor in three long strides and stops just short, like she’s afraid of crowding her.
“You okay?” Kara asks quietly.
Lena considers lying.
Settles for honesty instead.
“I think so,” she says. “Give me five minutes and I’ll probably start yelling again.”
Kara huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh. Almost.
“He can’t touch you anymore,” she says. “Not while I’m here.”
Lena tilts her head slightly. “You can’t protect me from everything.”
Kara’s mouth tightens. “I can try.”
There it is.
That impossible promise Kara always makes with her whole chest.
Lena’s throat tightens unexpectedly.
“You already did,” she says softly.
Kara looks like she wants to argue.
Instead she says, “I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”
Lena meets her eyes. “You got to me in time.”
A beat.
Longer than strictly necessary.
Then Alex clears her throat gently behind them. “Medical team’s ready for you, Lena.”
Lena nods. “Right.”
She turns toward the med bay, then pauses.
Looks back at Kara.
“Don’t let him spin this,” she says. “He will try.”
Kara’s expression hardens instantly. “He won’t get the chance.”
Lena studies her for a second, then gives a small, tired smile.
“Thank you,” she says again. “For… not stepping away.”
Kara swallows. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Not today.
Not from this.
Lena holds her gaze a moment longer, then finally lets the med bay doors slide shut behind her.
Kara stands in the corridor long after they do.
And only once Lena is out of sight does she let the tremor in her hands finally show.
—
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 5
POV: Samantha Arias → Kara Danvers
Location: DEO — Medical Bay Corridor
Sam doesn’t like government hallways.
Too quiet.
Too clean.
Too many doors hiding things you don’t get to know.
She’s barely stopped moving since the transport brought Lena in — pacing, checking her phone, pacing again, trying not to imagine what could’ve gone wrong if Supergirl hadn’t reached that plane when she did.
The doors slide open.
And this time, it’s not a doctor.
It’s Kara.
Sam stops short.
Kara Danvers is leaning against the wall just outside the med bay, jacket unzipped, hair still slightly wind-tossed like she ran here instead of drove. There’s dried grime on her sleeve she hasn’t noticed yet, and dark circles under her eyes that tell Sam she hasn’t slept either.
She’s been here.
Relief hits Sam so fast it almost knocks the breath out of her.
“Oh,” Sam says, hand going instinctively to her chest. “Good. You’re here.”
Kara straightens immediately. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”
Not dramatic.
Not heroic.
Just… certain.
Sam nods, swallowing hard. “She okay?”
“Mild concussion,” Kara says. “Nothing serious. She’s awake. Asking for you.”
Sam exhales, shaky but grateful. “Of course she is.”
They stand there for a beat, the weight of everything unsaid settling between them.
Then Sam tilts her head. “You look like hell.”
Kara huffs softly. “I feel worse.”
The med bay doors open again.
Lena is propped up in the bed, IV line taped to her arm, hair still a mess from the plane and the medics and everything in between.
Her eyes find Kara instantly.
Not Supergirl.
Kara.
Something in her expression eases — just a fraction — before she looks to Sam.
“There you are,” Lena says quietly.
Sam crosses the room in three strides and takes her hand, grip firm and grounding.
“Do not ever do that again,” Sam says. “I don’t care how angry you are.”
Lena manages a tired smile. “I’ll try.”
Sam leans in, pressing her forehead briefly to Lena’s. “You scared me half to death.”
“I know,” Lena murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
Kara stays back, giving them space, hands folded loosely in front of her like she’s anchoring herself to stillness.
When Lena looks up again, her gaze goes straight to her.
“You stayed,” Lena says.
Kara nods. “I said I would.”
Sam watches that exchange carefully — the familiarity, the quiet gravity of it — and files it away without comment.
“So,” Sam says after a moment, voice steadier now, “someone want to tell me where Morgan Edge is right now?”
Lena exhales slowly. “In a DEO holding cell.”
Sam blinks. “Excuse me?”
Lena’s mouth curves faintly. “Supergirl dragged him in by the collar.”
Kara winces. “It was… efficient.”
Sam stares between them, then lets out a low, impressed whistle. “Remind me never to make her angry.”
Lena’s gaze flicks back to Kara, something warm and knowing there. “Too late.”
Sam squeezes Lena’s hand. “Good. Because if anyone deserves to be protected like that, it’s you.”
The room goes quiet again — not tense, just full.
Alex appears briefly at the door, catching Kara’s eye and giving a subtle nod. Everything’s under control. For now.
Kara returns it, then looks back at Lena.
“I’ll be right outside,” she says softly. “If you need me.”
Lena doesn’t argue.
She just nods.
And for the first time since Edge put her on that plane, Lena believes she might actually be safe.
For now.
—
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 6
POV: Kara Danvers → Alex Danvers
Location: DEO — Observation Corridor (Outside Holding)
The corridor outside the holding cells hums softly, lights dimmed to operational low.
Kara stands with her back against the glass, arms folded tight, gaze unfocused. Inside the cell down the hall, Morgan Edge sits very still, very contained, and very much alive.
It should feel like relief.
It doesn’t.
Alex approaches quietly, boots measured, presence familiar enough that Kara doesn’t startle.
For a moment, they just stand there.
Then Alex says, “You scared me.”
Kara exhales. “I know.”
Alex doesn’t look at her right away. Her eyes stay fixed on the reinforced glass, on the reality that they were seconds — maybe less — away from something catastrophic.
“You told me she was on a plane,” Alex says evenly. “You told me before you took off. And I still felt helpless.”
Kara swallows. “I didn’t want to leave you in the dark.”
“You didn’t,” Alex says. “That’s the problem.”
She finally turns, leaning back against the wall beside Kara.
“I knew the patterns. I knew Edge was escalating. I knew what you were about to do.” Alex’s jaw tightens. “And there was still nothing I could do but watch you disappear into the sky and hope you came back with her.”
Kara’s chest tightens painfully.
“I would have,” she says. “No matter what.”
“I know,” Alex replies softly. “That’s what scares me.”
Silence stretches between them — not tense, just heavy.
“You keep making choices where there isn’t a safe option,” Alex continues. “Just a right one and a worse one.”
Kara looks down at her hands. “If I stop choosing… people get hurt.”
Alex nods. “I know. I’m not asking you to stop.”
A beat.
“I just need you to remember you’re not doing this alone,” Alex says. “Even when you’re the one flying.”
Kara’s throat tightens. “I don’t want to leave people behind.”
“You didn’t,” Alex says firmly. “You didn’t leave me. You didn’t leave Lena. You didn’t leave Sam.”
Her voice softens. “You brought her back.”
That lands.
Kara closes her eyes briefly. “I was so afraid I’d be too late.”
Alex rests her shoulder lightly against Kara’s. “You weren’t.”
They stand there a moment longer, breathing the same air, letting the adrenaline finally ebb.
Down the corridor, a guard shifts. Somewhere deeper in the DEO, a door seals shut.
Edge isn’t going anywhere.
Alex straightens. “DHS is already drafting statements. This won’t end cleanly.”
Kara nods. “It never does.”
Alex glances at her. “Lena’s going to need space.”
“I know,” Kara says. “I’m not pushing.”
A faint, knowing smile touches Alex’s mouth. “Good. Because staying might be harder for you than saving the day.”
Kara exhales, a quiet acknowledgment. “Yeah.”
They don’t say anything else.
They don’t need to.
Not right now.
—
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 7
POV: Lena Luthor → Kara Danvers → Samantha Arias
Location: DEO — Medical Recovery Level
The room is too quiet for what Lena just survived.
Machines hum softly. Lights are dimmed. Someone has folded a blanket over her legs she doesn’t remember asking for.
Sam is standing close — not hovering, not pacing — just there, steady as an anchor. Her hand hasn’t left Lena’s shoulder since they arrived.
Kara stands a few steps back.
Not in uniform.
Not in motion.
Just Kara, hands loose at her sides like she’s afraid to reach for something she doesn’t have permission to touch.
Lena notices anyway.
She always does.
“You should go,” Lena says.
The words come out calm. Measured. Reasonable.
Kara looks up. “What?”
“You’ve been running on adrenaline for hours,” Lena continues, voice steady in a way that costs her more than she lets on. “You didn’t sleep. You pushed yourself past safe limits.”
Kara blinks, caught off guard. “I’m fine.”
Lena’s jaw tightens slightly. “That’s not the point.”
Sam glances between them, sensing the shift but saying nothing.
“I’m not asking you to leave because I don’t want you here,” Lena adds, carefully. “I’m asking because you’ve done enough. Sam’s staying with me.”
The sentence lands heavier than it should.
Sam stays.
Kara swallows.
She looks at Lena like she’s searching for something — reassurance, maybe, or permission to argue — but Lena doesn’t give it.
Not this time.
Kara nods.
Once.
Slowly.
“Okay,” she says quietly.
It’s not the word Lena expected.
Not relief.
Not resistance.
Just acceptance.
Kara steps closer, careful, like sudden movement might crack something fragile.
“If you need anything,” she says softly. “Anything at all—”
“I know,” Lena interrupts gently.
Their eyes meet.
Something passes between them — unfinished, unspoken, heavy with what they’re not ready to name.
Then Kara turns and walks toward the exit.
She doesn’t look back.
The door closes with a quiet hiss.
The absence is immediate.
Sam exhales, long and slow.
“That couldn’t have been easy,” she says.
Lena stares at the wall across from her. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
Sam studies her for a moment, then asks carefully, “Why did you send her away?”
Lena doesn’t answer right away.
She watches her own hands instead — the faint tremor she hasn’t managed to stop since the plane.
“Because,” she says finally, “she saves people by carrying everything. And I—”
Her voice falters, just slightly.
“I don’t want to be another thing she feels responsible for.”
Sam’s expression softens, but her voice stays firm. “You don’t get to decide what she can carry.”
Lena lets out a humorless breath. “People like Kara don’t stay when things get ugly. They fix what they can and move on.”
“That’s not what I saw,” Sam says quietly.
Lena closes her eyes.
For a second, the guilt surges back — children in hospital beds, chemical formulas she understands too well, a name that never stops being sharp-edged.
“I don’t trust myself right now,” she admits. “And I don’t trust that I won’t drag her down with me.”
Sam reaches for her hand, grounding, warm.
“You didn’t,” she says. “And you won’t.”
Lena doesn’t argue.
She just breathes.
Somewhere else in the building, Kara Danvers stands alone in a corridor she doesn’t remember walking into, hands braced against cool metal, chest tight with something she can’t name yet.
All she knows is this:
Being asked to leave hurt more than any physical blow ever has.
And that scares her.
Because friends aren’t supposed to hurt like this.
Not like this.
—
CHAPTER 23 — Scene 8
POV: Kara Danvers
Location: National City — Rooftops / Kara’s Apartment
The city looks the same.
Lights.
Traffic.
Windows glowing with ordinary lives continuing like nothing almost ended today.
Kara lands on a rooftop without really meaning to.
She doesn’t remember choosing it.
She just knows she needed height. Space. Somewhere the noise inside her chest wouldn’t echo so loudly.
She stands there for a long moment, cape fluttering behind her, hands braced on her hips in that familiar stance the world expects.
The hero pose.
It feels wrong tonight.
She exhales and drops her arms, folding them instead, shoulders rounding inward just a fraction — a crack no one can see from the ground.
She did everything right.
She followed the evidence.
She found the source.
She saved the plane.
She saved Lena.
And still—
She presses a hand to her chest, fingers curling into the fabric.
Still, Lena told her to go.
Not angry.
Not cruel.
Just… decided.
Kara knows why.
She can list the reasons cleanly, logically, the way she always does when something hurts too much to touch directly.
Lena needed rest.
Lena needed Sam.
Lena needed stability, not chaos wrapped in a familiar face.
All of that makes sense.
What doesn’t make sense is the ache.
The sharp, unheroic ache that bloomed the moment Kara turned away from that medical room and realized she wasn’t the one Lena chose to keep beside her.
She lifts off again before she can sit with it.
The wind is loud enough to drown out thought as she streaks across the city, red and blue a blur between rooftops.
When she finally slows, it’s in front of her apartment.
She lands softly on the fire escape and slips inside through the window like she’s done a thousand times.
The loft is dark.
Quiet.
Exactly the way she usually likes it.
Tonight, it feels hollow.
She moves on autopilot — toeing off her boots, unclips her cape and lets it drop to the floor, tugging at the collar of her suit until the clasp releases and the fabric gives way to something softer, human.
Kara Danvers stands alone in her living room.
No cape.
No crowds.
No one watching.
She sinks onto the couch and leans forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped tight between them.
“I did the right thing,” she murmurs.
The words don’t echo back with the reassurance she expects.
She thinks of Lena’s voice — calm, tired, resolute.
*You should go.*
She thinks of the way Sam stepped closer without hesitation.
Family.
Kara swallows.
She’s always been good at saving people from falling buildings, from bullets, from planes breaking apart in midair.
She’s never been good at staying when someone asks her not to.
And that scares her.
Because tonight, for the first time, she doesn’t just want to be needed.
She wants to be chosen.
Kara leans back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, eyes burning with something she refuses to let spill over.
“This is just… complicated,” she tells the empty room.
But deep down, something quiet and undeniable is already forming.
A truth she hasn’t let herself say yet.
Lena Luthor isn’t just someone she protects.
She’s someone who can hurt her.
And that changes everything.
—