Work Text:
london, august, 2001
It’s late when Kara gets back, so late that her eyelids feel heavy enough to sink right down to the bottom of the ocean. Her jacket—nearly entirely soaked by the rain that’s been steadily coming down since early that afternoon—gets stripped off the moment she walks through the door. It’s the only thing she has of Alex’s, and her sister will probably kill her if she ever finds out that Kara got the leather wet like that, but she just tosses it onto the coat rack and moves slowly towards her bed. The jacket is tomorrow Kara’s problem.
Everything is tomorrow Kara’s problem except for what’s waiting for her in the bedroom— who’s waiting for her in the bedroom.
The lights are off, but the curtains are still open, so it’s the faint yellow light of the streetlamp outside that cuts across the duvet. It only catches Lena’s shoulder and collarbone, the edge of her jaw, so that’s all Kara can make out, save for the shape of her body and the spill of ink black hair across white pillows.
Home.
Kara walks in quietly, just in case, but Lena makes a little grumbly noise and moves one hand in a sleepy wave. Kara takes the invitation to sit on the edge of their bed and receive her welcome home kiss.
It’s a good kiss. Lazy, familiar, exactly what she’s been looking forward to all day.
“How’d it go?” Lena asks once there’s a sliver of space between their mouths again.
Kara hums a barely audible little sound and lets gravity take care of that tiny, pesky, little inch again, until Lena’s sleep-warm lips cushion her fall. “Lousy,” she whispers into her mouth. “No one wants to be told their 40 million Euro Manet’s a fake.” With the tiniest tilt of her head, she focuses her attention on the perfection that is Lena’s cupid’s bow.
Lena groans in response; Kara takes a deep breath to keep herself even just somewhat in control and gets hit in the face with it all—Lena’s perfume, and shampoo, and the fancy lotion she puts on before bed. Why did she want to be in control again?
“You smell nice,” Kara mumbles. She never wants to move.
Lena nudges at her shoulder, the one that’s attached to the elbow propping herself up on the bed and the hand running through soft, dark hair. “Change,” she says. “You’re getting the bed wet.”
“But baby, you’ve never complained about that before.”
Lena smiles, bites at Kara’s lower lip. “Go,” she commands, her voice soft.
Kara obeys. She makes her way to the closet, unbuttoning her shirt on the way. “How was your day?”
“Great,” Lena says, sleep still clinging to her voice. The sheets rustle around, and when Kara takes a peek back she sees that Lena has turned onto her stomach. The long line of her spine now rests in the angle of light cast by the streetlamp outside. Kara wants to get in bed with her and never leave. “There was a breakthrough on the British Museum case.”
Kara shakes her head and tries to focus. The shirt gets tossed in the hamper, and she leans down to wrestle her boots off next. “Really?”
“Mmhm. They found a boot print. A really good one. The left heel was worn way down.”
Kara stares down at the boots in her hands. “Huh,” she says. “That’s—a good lead.” She tosses the shoes to the back of the closet and heads for the bathroom, her pants hanging open.
“I know,” Lena says, leering at the space between Kara’s waistband and the bottom of her bra as she passes by.
Kara hits the bathroom lightswitch, squinting at the sudden, jarring brightness. She wishes she could stay in the cool dark of the bedroom with Lena, where her eyes had acclimated to see everything perfectly.
“And they found a hair,” Lena calls out.
Kara sits down on the edge of the tub, her heart in her throat. “A hair? Wow.”
“Only part of one, but it’s in the lab. So hopefully, by noon tomorrow, we’ll know his DNA, what kind of conditioner he uses, if he streaks his hair, if he has dandruff, everything. Isn’t that amazing?”
Kara stares at her shampoo and conditioner bottles, nestled right next to Lena’s fancy ones. “That is amazing,” she says. She presses the meat of her palms to her eyes and takes a deep, measured breath in.
“Maybe they would’ve found the evidence if I hadn’t been there to point them in the right direction, but who knows. It seems like Scotland Yard can handle the rest of this one without me, anyway. What I wouldn’t give to know how he got past my motion sensors.”
Kara takes her hands away from her face and blinks hard. She reaches out and turns on the shower tap. “You’re just being modest,” she calls out, raising her voice to be heard over the water. “They’ll be begging to consult with you again.”
“Are you coming to bed, darling?”
“I’m gonna take a shower first,” Kara says, eyes locked on the window. It’s a big one—Lena loves to leave it open on clear nights and look at the stars while she’s in the bath. It’s certainly wide enough for Kara to wiggle through. “Don’t let me keep you up.”
With a steady hand, she reaches out and nudges the bathroom door closed.
Kara’s spent her whole life running. This shouldn’t feel any different than all the times before.
But it does.
national city, april, 2004
Alex Danvers slides into the seat across from the banker with a friendly smile. Gene Hallow, if the little sign on his desk is correct. “Morning,” she says, reaching out her hand for a quick shake. She tosses her papers down between them.
The banker—Gene—takes her hand with a smile. “Morning, Miss…?”
“Jefferson,” Alex says. “Hannah Jefferson.”
“And you’re here to open—”
“A SEP Retirement Account.”
“Terrific.” He looks through the paperwork. “Oh, it says here that you’re already retired?”
Alex nods, her eyes sliding around the lobby. “I am.”
“What was your occupation?”
“I was a high school basketball coach.”
Gene blinks at her. Alex blinks back.
“You must’ve done very well for yourself,” Gene eventually says.
Alex smiles. “Gene—it’s Gene right?” At his nod, she continues, “do you have safety deposit boxes here?”
“Sure. They’re housed in our vault.”
“In your vault?”
“It’s over 100 years old,” Gene says proudly. “We’ve made some state-of-the-art upgrades since then, of course.”
Alex leans in across the desk. “You know, I was once in a vault while it was being robbed.”
Gene’s eyebrows go up. “That must’ve been…quite the experience.”
Alex leans back again, slumps in her chair. Smiles. “Yeah,” she says.
Her phone rings right as she’s walking out of the bank. She puts on her sunglasses and glances down at the screen. The caller ID just says Babe <3.
“Hey there, Mrs. Jefferson,” Alex says, picking a random direction to walk in.
“How’d it go at the bank?” Kelly asks.
“Easy,” Alex replies thoughtlessly, rubbernecking a jewelry store’s window display. “I mean, it was great.”
“No, you mean it was easy,” Kelly teases.
“What?”
“You’re doing recon work on our anniversary?”
“Kelly.”
“Let me ask you this: where are you now?”
Alex sighs. “Outside a jewelry store.”
“That’s an interesting way to ease back into society.”
“Listen,” Alex interrupts, tearing her eyes away from a huge, sparkly sapphire and walking away. “Let’s talk about something really important. I can’t find a restaurant for tonight.”
“Well, we’ll stay in,” Kelly says, the almost-sharp edges of her voice softened like butter.
“Really?”
“Mm.”
“Great, I’ll cook.”
“No,” Kelly objects. “No, I’ll cook. You talk.”
Alex finds herself standing in front of the jewelry store again. “You want me to talk?”
“Yeah.”
“Words and everything? That’s what they make flowers for, you know.”
Kelly starts to laugh, but it cuts off strangely. “Alex,” she says, her voice flat and serious.
“What? What is it? Kelly?”
“There’s, uhm—shit, there’s water in the basement and the pilot light is out.”
Alex’s entire body goes cold. “Hang up,” she says, gesturing frantically for a cab.
“Train station,” she tells the first cab driver that stops to pick her up. “Fast as you can get me there.”
Fuck, she thinks. Fuck.
“Fuck,” she says.
outside of trenton, january, 2002
“Please state your name for the record.”
Alex sits up straight in the frigid aluminum chair. “Alexandra Danvers.”
“Thank you. Ms. Danvers, the purpose of this hearing is to determine whether, if released, you are likely to break the law again. While this was your first conviction, you had been implicated, though never charged, in a dozen other confidence schemes and frauds. What can you tell us about that?”
Alex clasps her hands in her lap. “As you say, ma’am, I was never charged.”
That lingers in the air for a second, and another suit at the table picks up the questioning. “Ms. Danvers,” he says, “what we’re trying to find out is if there was a reason you chose to commit this crime, or if the reason was simply that you got caught this time?”
“My fiancée left me,” Alex admits. “I was upset. I got into a…self-destructive pattern.”
“If released, is it likely that you’d fall back into a similar pattern?”
“She already left me once. I don’t see how that can happen again.”
“Ms. Danvers,” the first woman interjects. “What do you think you would do, if released?”
Alex focuses on keeping the smile off of her face.
Two hours later, she walks out of federal prison in black boots, black jeans, and a black t-shirt. She’s got twenty-three dollars in one pocket and an engagement ring in the other. There’s snow on the ground.
Waiting for her in the parking lot is a blonde woman leaning against the hood of a baby blue convertible. Next to her are two Big Belly Burger bags, an envelope, and a large drink. She hops off the car and jogs to meet Alex halfway, what’s left of her burger still clutched in one hand.
The force of her sister’s hug nearly knocks Alex over. “Hi, Kara.”
“I missed you,” Kara says, squeezing her even tighter.
“Missed you, too.” Her sister smells different—a new shampoo, maybe. There’s a faint crinkle by Alex’s ear, then a munching sound. “Are you seriously eating your burger while you hug me?”
“You took forever,” Kara whines, stepping back. Her mouth is full, but she takes another bite anyway. “C’mon, I got you two number 7s with extra fries.”
Alex beats her to the car and devours one cheeseburger before Kara makes it to her third—impressive, really. She usually finishes her first around the time Kara is done with her fifth, but prison changes people. That’s what everyone says, anyway.
“So,” Kara eventually probes, taking a long pull from the Cherry Coke they’re sharing. “What’s the job?”
Alex pops a few fries in her mouth. “What makes you think—”
“Alex.”
Alex smirks. “Bellagio, Mirage, MGM Grand.”
Kara whistles. “And the crew?”
“Think we could do it with eight.”
“Big. What’s the take?”
“15 million.”
Kara nods and unwraps her fifth burger. “Not bad.”
“Each.”
Her sister freezes, food stopped halfway to her mouth. “Oh,” she says.
“Mm.” Alex eats another handful of fries.
“Those are all Maxwell Lord’s casinos.”
“Sure are. What’s in the envelope?”
“Letter.”
“Duh. From who?”
Kara takes her sweet time chewing her next bite. “Maggie,” she says.
“Oh, fuck," Alex curses. "What’s it say?”
Kara puts on an exaggeratedly scandalized expression. “What makes you think I read it?”
“Kara.”
“It’s pretty rough. I thought you guys had already broken up?”
“It was implied, but we never...”
“Oof. Sorry, Alex.”
“Yeah. Distract me, what’ve you been up to?”
Kara sighs. “Been back stateside for—shoot, almost a year now? Trying to teach movie stars to play cards.”
“How’s that?”
“Miserable. National City’s great, though.”
“Where were you before?”
“Europe. Rome, Paris, mostly London.”
“Nice.”
“It was, yeah. Hey, Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember when we started all this? When we said we’d play like—”
“—like we had nothing to lose, I know.”
“Well, I, uh…” Kara clears her throat and eats the last bite of her second-to-last burger. “I lost something, while you were gone,” she says with her mouth still full. “How’d you deal with it?”
“I didn’t lose something, Kara. I lost someone.”
Kara nods, sniffles once. “Yeah.”
“You just…” Alex shrugs. “You just deal with it, I guess. I had a lot of time to think things over, come to terms with it.”
The breeze picks up. Alex takes a long sip of their drink and shivers. “Hey, where’s my jacket? I’m fucking freezing over here.”
Kara winces. “About that.”
“Kara, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t mean to lose it! Hey, c’mon. Alex— Alex! I was gonna eat that!"
rome, may, 1999
Kara polishes off her third bowl of pasta and makes sure to give the entire lower half of her face a good wipe with the napkin. It comes away orangey-red—the bolognese—and orangey-yellow—plain tomato, but absolutely delicious—and even a little green—the pesto—which is embarrassing. That pesto sauce must’ve been hanging out on her chin for at least twenty minutes.
She drains the water left in her cup, grimacing through it. It’s never the best idea to broadcast your nationality, but she’d do just about anything for a few cubes of ice in her drink. She’ll never understand how Italians drink room temperature water with their meals.
She’s trying to catch the eye of her waiter to ask if they serve gelato when she catches the eye of someone much, much better.
The woman is sitting on the other side of the patio, half of a pale face obscured by big sunglasses. It’s warm, at least seventy degrees, and she’s in a low-cut, spaghetti strap top, her cardigan thrown over the back of her chair. Even though she’s a good thirty feet away, Kara can make out the sharp cut of her ruby-painted lips.
The woman is already looking when Kara meets her gaze. Slowly, or maybe it’s just Kara seeing everything in slow-motion, she reaches up and takes off the sunglasses. Kara’s out of her seat with her next breath. On the walk over, she grabs the handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe at mouth again, just in case.
The first thing she notices as she approaches are legs, and thighs, and hips, and the strong length of her fingers where they wrap around her water—her ice water, though there’s also a glass of wine on the table.
Kara takes a leap with her second language. “Do we know each other?” She asks, coming to a stop at what she hopes is a respectful distance.
The woman tilts her head. Her eyes are captivating enough up close that Kara almost wishes she’d put the sunglasses back on. It’d be easier to focus on the conversation that way, at least.
“I think I saw you yesterday,” the woman says with a tiny smile. Her English is natural, but slightly accented in the vowels. British adjacent. Alex would know, if she were here.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” The smile stretches into a grin. “You were being chased by the police.”
“Me?” Kara laughs. “No, couldn’t be.”
“I’m pretty sure it was you.”
Kara knows it was. She doesn't know how anyone could forget seeing a face like that, even if they were running at top speed through crowded streets to try and lose the Italian cops. She'd nearly eaten cobblestones craning her neck to keep looking. “Doesn’t say much for the police.”
The woman’s eyes drag up her figure, from her khakis to her tight knit polo. Kara resists the urge to do something stupid like puff out her chest. She’s never felt someone’s eyes on her like a physical touch before, and it’s driving her crazy.
Before she can wimp out, she asks, “What brings you to Rome?”
The woman glances at the empty seat at her table. Kara pulls it out and sits down, her heart in her throat.
“Work. Can I order you a drink?”
“Sure. I’m Kara.”
The red-painted lips curl upwards. “Lena.”
los angeles, april, 2004
“After the second call I tried knocking, but he won’t open the door,” Angie the concierge explains, hurrying down the hall after Kara’s purposeful strides.
“I’ll handle it,” Kara says. She pounds on room 204’s door. “I know him.”
“Jesus Christ!” A voice inside yells. “What part of ‘do not disturb’ do you people not understand?”
Kara closes her eyes, frustration already building. “It’s me.”
The door opens. Everyone’s least favorite C-list movie star, Mon-El, stands in the doorway. Kara raises a hand to her nose to try and stave off the smell of tequila and tragically fails.
“You look terrible,” Kara says. She glances past him to the room and groans when she sees that it’s totally trashed. “Jeez, Dax, you didn’t have to go all Keith Moon on me.”
“Who?”
Kara rubs her eyes. “Nevermind.” She pushes past him and steps into the room. “Is that shaving cream on the window?” She picks up an open box of Junior Mints on her way to investigate.
“I’m sorry, Kara, I know this is your joint, but…” He flops down onto the couch and covers his face with both hands. “There’s this chick, dude, and I love her, but she’s driving me crazy.”
Kara pokes at a desecrated lamp shade and eats another Junior Mint. “So, you trashed my hotel?”
“I didn’t trash it,” he whines. “I’m heartbroken here, have some compassion. I can’t sleep, I can’t work, I totally phoned in that last CW pilot—”
“Kara,” Angie the concierge interrupts, sticking her head in with a wary expression. “Phone for you.”
Kara holds up a finger to Mon-El—not the finger she wants to hold up—and goes to take the call. “You’ve got Kara,” she says.
“I have a message for Kara Zor-El Danvers,” Maxwell Lord’s smarmy voice says. “Soon to be ex-owner of the Argo Hotel.”
Kara drops the Junior Mints and runs.
london, may, 2004
Lena Luthor arrives at Scotland Yard’s latest crime scene with a double espresso and a raging headache.
She knocks back the espresso in one smooth movement before she enters the house and hands the cup off to the guard at the door. The headache, annoyingly, sticks around.
It’s a messy scene, for a robbery. Usually thieves like this team—because it was certainly a team—operate with far more efficiency. Class, even, but there are muddy footprints all up and down the hall from the second floor window to the safe in the study, and they left behind a very expensive prototype drill. It’s unusual, and not just because they’d managed to open the safe that Lena was sure was uncrackable. Why bring the drill if you weren't going to use it?
One of the footprints by the carpet catches her eye. Lena frowns at it and squats down. It’s around a size 40, probably, or a women’s size 10. Boots, not sneakers. The left heel is worn down.
Lena's heart begins to pound.
She gets to her feet again and begins to rattle off what she knows. “The security’s a closed loop, and none of the alarms were triggered. They didn’t short the circuits, or cut power, because both of those options come with alerts to law enforcement—I should know, I designed the system myself.”
The case detective looks up from the notepad where he’s been frantically taking notes. “Mr. Livingston called in the robbery this morning when he woke up.”
“Exactly.” Lena looks out the window. “Was this window open?”
“Mr. Livingston says he opens it every night for the fresh air.”
Lena rolls her eyes. What’s the point of a state-of-the-art security system if you keep your windows open overnight? There isn’t much of a view, though at the moment it’s all marred by the flashing lights of the law enforcement personnel clogging up the street. The building across the canal has a higher roof, but the angle isn’t quite—
Shit.
“Have you ever heard of Leonard Snart, detective?” Lena walks to the wall opposite the window and starts searching.
“No.” The detective’s pen flies along his notepad, hurriedly taking the name down.
“Jewel thief, mostly active in the 1970’s. Pioneered the Snart Special.”
“Snart Special,” the detective echoes, copying it down. “Never heard of it.”
“The Americans have,” Lena says, finding the spot where the wood grain has been painted on, right above the security keypad. She digs the finger of her gloved hand into the spot on the wall and the putty squishes out, still soft. It was a good paint job.
“What’s that?” The detective asks, coming up behind her. “And what Americans?”
“That’s where the crossbow hit,” Lena explains. “They shot from the rooftop across the canal, through the window, and used a line to access the keypad. Probably some kind of robot.”
“That’s an impossible shot.”
“Should be,” Lena agrees. “Check the pylons.”
“The…pylons?”
“P-y-l-o-n-s, pylons. They’re what hold up canal houses like this. They’ll be raised up, probably by a few inches—that’s what the Snart Special is.” She shakes her head. “They moved the whole fucking house to get that shot.”
“The…Americans did?”
Lena takes off her glove with a snap. “Yes.”
“Bloody hell, how do these people even learn about these things?” The detective asks with an exasperated smile. He’s probably trying to build some kind of rapport, but Lena doesn’t hear him.
Lena doesn’t say that she knows exactly how one American learned about Leonard Snart—Lena’s the one who told her.
Lena just looks from the ruined wood-grain paint job to the muddy boot print by the window.
Hi there, darling, she thinks. It’s been a while.
las vegas, february, 2002
“Kara,” Alex yells from across the warehouse. “Got a sec?”
“No,” Kara calls back, face down on a rolling cart and painting a fake marble grain into their replica of the Bellagio’s vault.
“This is important!” She hears echoey footsteps approach, and when Alex next speaks she’s close enough to no longer have to shout. “Did you rob the British Museum while I was in the can?”
Kara grins. She doesn’t look up. “No,” she says again.
The rolling cart she’s laying on jerks forward. Kara barely lifts her paintbrush in time to prevent a giant, ugly streak of gray.
“Alex!”
“Don’t lie to me, you little rascal.”
Kara huffs and carefully swivels the cart 180 degrees to look her sister in the face. “Did I repatriate some Kaznian artifacts that have been absent from their national museums since the late 19th century? Maybe. You can’t steal something from someone who already stole it.”
“And the remains?”
Kara feels the lighthearted expression slip right off of her face. “You would’ve done the same,” she says.
“I’m not so sure that I would’ve. Did you even break even?”
“They still have over six thousand people, Alex,” Kara says. “Sitting on shelves. No burial rites, their people asking every day for them to be returned home, with no response. It’s disgusting. I was going to go back for more, but I got too hot. Had to cut and run.”
“You did it solo?”
Kara nods. “Hardest job I ever did,” she says. It’s the truth, but she knows her sister will misunderstand her.
Alex squats down and gives Kara a pat on the shoulder. “You did good, kid.” After a moment, she asks, “what’d you leave behind?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Kara,” Alex sing-songs.
“Maybe their Degas sketch collection should be looked at by a keen-eyed conservator,” Kara admits. “Can I get back to my marble now?”
Alex smacks a kiss onto the top of her head. “Please and thank you.”
midvale, april, 2004
“How the fuck did Maxwell Lord get my address?” Alex rages. Her hair—newly cut, though Kara hasn’t gotten to compliment her on it—is nearly sticking straight up from the way she keeps tugging it. “What’s the point of the last six months if he was going to find us, anyway?”
“Is Kelly alright?” Kara asks, shoving some of the potato chips Eliza left out into her mouth. They're sour cream and onion—not her favorite, but they'll make do.
“Fine.” Alex shakes her head and takes a drink right out of the bourbon bottle before pouring some more into a tumbler. “She checked in a few hours ago, but we didn’t talk just in case. He came to my house, Kara.”
“He got my phone number.” Kara says, staring out the window at the beach. It’s gray in Midvale, like it is every April, and it makes Kara think of long weekends spent in Brighton.
“So? My house, Kara—”
“My cell,” Kara clarifies, digging it out of her pocket and tossing it over. Alex nearly fumbles it trying to catch it in her left hand, not willing to put her drink down for even a second. “That’s my contact phone. The only people who should have that number are other people in the business. Someone ratted us out.”
Alex frowns down at Kara’s phone, clicking through something—her contacts, probably. “Who would break rule number one?”
“Never trust a thief, I guess,” Kara says. She’s glad they agreed a long time ago to keep Eliza’s information stored in their heads and nowhere else—it’s why they’d both come here first after Lord threatened them.
“Why didn’t he kill us?” Alex asks. “If he knew where we were, I mean. What does he want?”
“His $150 million. Plus interest.”
Alex’s eyes go wide. “You’re joking. His insurance covered it, didn’t they?”
“You know it isn’t actually about the money,” Kara says, looking out the window again. It’s so foggy she can barely see the beach. She has another potato chip and longs for french fries, and fried fish, and iceless water to wash it all down. “It’s always about ego with Max Lord. We embarrassed him.”
“He buried the story!” There’s some thumps from behind her, which means Alex is probably kicking furniture again. “What does he even have to be embarrassed about?”
“He knows, and that’s enough. I had Winn check for jobs, but there’s nothing here that can generate that much in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?”
“That’s the deadline Lord gave us. I mean, we can always try to fall off the grid again, but…”
“All ten of us? Plus, I’m not making Kelly spend another six months living out of a suitcase.” Alex says it firmly, but with the tiniest edge to her voice, like she’s afraid Kara will fight her on it.
“That’s legit,” Kara says. “We’ve always said we both agree or it doesn’t happen, Alex. That won’t change now. You want to find a job, we’ll find a job—we just can’t find one here.”
“Then where?”
Kara looks away from the window and back at her frazzled sister. “How do you feel about Europe?”
rome, april, 1999
Lena’s clingy little black dress has been driving Kara steadily closer to insanity all night. She can’t stop dragging her hands around Lena’s waist and back, smoothing her palms down low enough to make Lena exhale shakily against her mouth.
Vaguely, Kara’s aware of the heavy bass of the club music. Sweaty bodies writhe around them to some semblance of rhythm, but she and Lena stay in their near-immobile sway, like there's a spotlight of slow-motion illuminating just them. Lena’s nails scratch down the back of her neck; Kara melts and turns to stone all in one moment, squeezing at Lena’s hips in response.
Lena says something that might be her name, but mostly Kara just feels the hot puff of her breath and movement of her lips. She can’t really hear anything besides her own heartbeat.
Kara kisses her with an open mouth, chasing the sweet taste of Lena’s lip gloss with every pass of her lips. Lena keeps perfect pace with her, pushing the moment she can tell that Kara is about to start pulling back, pulling back herself whenever Kara starts to push once more.
Lena reaches blindly for one of Kara’s hands and drags it those final few inches down to her ass. Her next kiss is near vicious. Kara just tries to keep up, heart pounding, skin tingling, her body temperature something like molten rock. She squeezes Lena’s ass and licks at the roof of her mouth in the same second, and the way Lena sags in her grip makes her feel invincible.
Kara’s been running her whole life. Until a slow dance in the middle of a nightclub in Rome, she never imagined the finish line.
london, july, 2003
Lena reclines on her couch with a very full glass of Cabernet. Her new apartment doesn’t have a TV in the living room; instead, there’s a massive painting that takes up the majority of the wall.
It was offered to her, once the FBI and Interpol were through with it. They’d decided that having the forgery—as masterful of a forgery as it is—didn’t help them to track down the original. Their loss and Lena’s gain, or something like that.
It’s ‘Leda and the Swan,’ by Cy Twombly, only it’s not by Cy Twombly at all. The naked eye really can’t tell the difference; it had come down to oxidation of the paint, of all things. Interpol is trying to tie the forger to some Degas sketch they found out was a fake last year, but Lena doesn’t care. She knows exactly who painted the gigantic stretch of canvas on her wall.
She knocks back her wine. “Well done, darling,” she says to her empty apartment.
london, may, 2004
“It’s a load of bullshit,” Alex rages.
“I am not able to parse meaning from the note myself,” Brainy adds.
“Well, it’s all we’ve got,” Kara says with a shrug. She reaches for another slice of pizza. “Whoever robbed Livingston’s safe left this for us—us specifically. There has to be something we’re missing.”
“It’s random words composed into sentences that barely manage to be grammatically correct,” Brainy huffs. “There are no obvious ciphers or hidden messages.”
“What about not so obvious ones?” Kara asks. God, London has absolutely shit pizza. They should’ve ordered Indian food.
There’s a few light raps on the door. “Housekeeping,” a voice calls out.
“I know you’re into codes, Brainy,” Kara says, hurriedly finishing her slice and heading to the door. “We need to figure out who got to that safe before us. You know how much those damn pylons cost—”
She opens the door and looks right into Lena Luthor’s smiling face. Lena’s eyes don’t linger; instead, they slide around Kara’s figure to the room behind her, where Alex and Brainy are standing right out in the open.
Kara slams the door shut again. Silently, she gestures wildly to get Alex and Brainy to go into the other room. As they rush away, Kara covers her face with both of her hands and tries to calm her heartbeat with deep breaths. It doesn’t work.
“Turndown service for Ms. Danvers?” Lena calls through the door, knocking again.
Kara reaches for the doorknob again with a clammy palm. Lena is still waiting on the other side of the door, smiling wider this time.
“Hi,” Kara says. Her tongue feels weird in her own mouth, too heavy and clumsy.
Lena steps past her confidently, looking around with far too keen eyes. “Nice room,” she says. “You have it all to yourself?”
Kara has no idea what kind of game she’s playing. “You here to help take me in?” she asks, trying to sound more confident than she feels.
“Why would I do that?” Lena turns to face her with a smirk. “It’s not as if you stole something.”
So, Lena knows the safe was already empty when they broke into Livingston’s house. How, though? It wasn’t like—Kara closes her eyes. The drill. They left the drill behind, but didn’t drill anything with it.
“It’s nice to see you again, Kara,” Lena continues, clearly pleased that she’s at least two steps ahead.
Kara opens her eyes. Lena’s looking right at her, irises as green as ever, and there’s nothing to suggest that she’s lying. In all her many (many, many) daydreams, she never imagined Lena saying that. It makes her feel lightheaded. “You, too,” she replies.
“Of course,” Lena says, taking a folder out of her purse, “you’ve been seeing plenty of me, haven’t you?”
Kara’s stomach drops. She watches Lena take the photos out of the folder, already knowing what they’ll be: images of herself, definitely all the times that she’s sought Lena out from a distance since they landed in England a week ago, maybe even some times from before then.
“I like this one.” Lena flips to a specific photo and turns it around. It’s Kara, half obscured by a tree, absolutely going to town on an ice cream cone. “I call it ‘thief à la mode.’”
Kara can’t help but open up her big, fat mouth. “Not the most original,” she mutters.
Lena’s eyes go steely. She tosses the photographs down onto the coffee table, narrowly missing Kara’s cell phone and the remaining slice of pizza. “Well, you’re a thief,” she says, “and a liar.”
Kara makes a little noise of protest. “I only lied about being a thief. Plus, I don’t do that anymore.”
“Steal?”
“Lie.”
Lena scoffs. “You know what your problem is?”
“That I only have one?”
“You’ve met too many people like you,” Lena charges on, as if Kara didn’t speak. There’s a dangerous undercurrent in her voice for the first time since she strolled into the room.
There you are, Kara thinks.
“Well, not me. I’ve met other people, Kara. I’ve had almost three years to meet all kinds of people.”
Kara nods, tries to accept the blow without making it so obvious that it’s left her bleeding out. “Do they make you laugh?” She asks. “Those other people.”
Lena’s expression never wavers. “They don’t make me cry,” she says instead of answering. “The people you steal things from, they have insurance to compensate their losses. They get made whole again. What did I get?”
“I never stole from you,” Kara objects.
Lena laughs. It’s a terrible sound. “I thought you said you didn’t lie anymore, darling.”
Kara winces. The silence stretches between them, only broken by a car honking outside. She always thought that whenever she saw Lena again, she'd have some time to prepare for it—to prepare for her, and the way Kara has always wanted to roll over and apologize the moment she was the tiniest bit upset. Instead she's scrambling, aware that the conversation is slipping away from her, all of the things she never said stuffing the space between them, forcing them apart.
Lena looks away. “Did he leave you anything, in the safe?” She asks, her voice shaky. “Le Renard. He usually leaves a note.”
Kara glances towards the coffee table, relieved to see that Alex or Brainy must’ve taken it with them when they fled.
“I suppose it’s a kind of compliment; he must be threatened by you, though I can’t imagine why.” Lena raises a disdainful eyebrow. Kara can see her mask slipping back into place. “You have no idea what you’re up against. This is his turf.”
“I know,” Kara says. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice.”
Lena takes a half-step back, as though Kara’s physically struck her.
“That’s not—” Kara groans. She rubs at her forehead, frustrated. “I didn’t mean it like that. We got screwed. There was a job, last year—”
“I read about the Bellagio.”
“No one read about the Bellagio,” Kara says. Max Lord did his absolute best to make that true.
Lena stares at her. “Kara. I read about the Bellagio.”
“Oh.” Kara scratches at the back of her neck. “What’d you think?”
“Neater than I expected.”
“Wasn’t my job, I just…you know.”
“That would explain it,” Lena says dryly.
Kara laughs, even though she tries not to. “Right. Right, well, we’re on a line, and he’s reeling us in. Fast.”
“How much to cut yourself loose?”
Kara looks guiltily towards the closed door that Alex and Brainy are hiding behind. She holds out her palm and slowly writes out 1-5-0 on it with the pointer finger of her other hand. Lena’s eyebrows shoot up, then raise somehow even more when Kara adds a plus sign.
“So, we have to play his scavenger hunt game,” Kara says, dropping her hands, “since we’re pretty sure he’s the one who ratted us out in the first place. It's, uh, kind of hard to outrun Max Lord twice.”
Lena takes a step and a half towards her, until they’re barely a foot apart. “Oh, Kara,” she whispers, her face drawn. Kara dedicated years to learning what the tiny changes in Lena’s facial expressions meant. She knows worry when she sees it.
“I’ll be okay.” Kara tries her best to smile. “Hey, great job with the LL7200, by the way. Don’t have a single clue how to crack her open yet.”
One side of Lena’s mouth pulls upward. “Yes, I noticed the drill.”
Kara shrugs, a little embarrassed. It was a rush job, but still.
“Sorry about the Twombly,” Lena offers, her eyes looking directly into Kara’s. “Shit luck on the paint.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Kara says, terrified that Lena will disappear if she even thinks about blinking. “They haven’t noticed the Jasper Johns yet.”
Lena closes her eyes, much to Kara’s dismay. “Kara,” she says, her voice tight.
“What?”
“The Jasper Johns? Like, maybe, the remarkably good replica that you painted me for our—”
Kara smiles and taps her nose. “Right. The replica I painted you.”
“What if I’d thrown it out?” Lena cries.
“Did you?”
“Of course not.”
“So, it’s fine.”
Lena points a finger right in her face. They’ve gotten closer, somehow, though Kara doesn’t remember moving. “It’s not fine.”
Kara looks at her finger, the bitten down nail, and back to Lena’s face. She feels herself swaying in, feels the way her body obeys the simple gravitational pull of Lena’s presence, but Lena’s hand moves to stop her, her fingertips pressed against Kara’s mouth.
“I should go,” Lena says softly.
Kara purses her lips the tiniest amount, right against the swirls of Lena’s fingerprints. She’d call it a kiss, if Lena’s expression looked like anything except what it does. She wants to fight her, to insist that she stay, but she knows it isn't her place. “Okay,” she says.
Lena pulls her hand back, dragging along Kara’s chin as she goes. She grabs the photos on the coffee table and shoves them back in her bag, and Kara instinctively checks out her ass as she bends over.
She can’t even really feel guilty when Lena straightens back up, a knowing look in her eyes. Kara steps aside so that Lena can walk past her, breathing in as she goes to get a whiff of her perfume, just to make sure—yes, it’s still the same.
Lena stops with one hand on the doorknob. Kara waits for her to say something, but nothing comes. Cautiously, she takes a step closer, then another.
"Lena," she says.
Lena sniffles and looks up. Kara squeezes her hands into fists to resist the urge to go over and hug her, to offer her shoulder for support. It's not her place.
Lena turns halfway around. Her eyes are damp. “Snart Special, huh?” She says. “I guess that’s what I get for opening my mouth.”
Kara closes the space between them in three long strides. She backs Lena up against the door and kisses her, hard. Lena responds exactly like Kara remembers—everything is like Kara remembers, and she remembers often. The flame she’s been carefully tending in her chest for years now, making sure it never went all the way out, roars to life with the terrifying majesty of a forest fire, dangerous and out of control.
Lena’s hand comes up to the side of her neck; she slows the kiss down, until it’s just the careful drag of lips, until they stop moving entirely and just breathe.
“Kara,” she whispers, like she just wants to hear it said out loud.
Kara speaks quickly, like she’s rushing to chew and swallow a bite of molten hot pizza before it burns her mouth. “Lena, if you don’t love me anymore, if you want to make a life without me—” Her voice cuts off. She forces herself to continue. “Fine, I’m going to have to live with that. But I need you to know.”
Lena’s thumb drags across her jawline. “Know what?”
Kara lowers her voice as much as she can, hyper-aware of her eavesdropping sister. “I’m here for a lot of reasons. Alex and the crew need me to help save our asses, I know that. I’ll do what they need me to.” She swallows hard. “But I’m here for you, Lena. Whatever you want, just...just say the word.”
Lena’s eyes flick around her face. “Try Robin Hood,” she mumbles. “I really do need to go.”
Kara nods, takes two steps back. It’s the hardest thing she’s done in almost three years.
Lena leaves without another word. The rhythmic click of her heels fade down the hall. Kara has exactly four seconds by herself, and she uses them to breathe in the last remnants of that hauntingly familiar perfume.
The door to the adjoining room creaks open.
“Why was that woman,” Alex grits out, “wearing my fucking jacket?”
“I can totally explain,” Kara says, slowly backing away. “Do you remember how I spent some time here while you were, uh—” The back of her knees hit the armchair by the couch and she sits down with pinwheeling arms.
“You answered everything she asked, Kara! What the hell?”
“I can’t lie to Lena,” she says, a little pitifully.
“And you can’t tell your sister you just gave away her favorite jacket to some—”
“Oh, chill out about the jacket.”
“How am I supposed to chill out, Kara!” Alex waves her hands around so wildly that Brainy has to duck. “You just sabotaged our whole job!”
“I did not! Brainy, tell her she’s being unreasonable.”
Brainy shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I do not feel comfortable making such a declaration until I have more information. You have kept a great deal from us. All of us.”
Kara bites down on her lip. “J’onn knew,” she says.
“Knew what?” Alex asks. “That you’ve been sneaking off to see Lena all week?”
“That’s not fair,” Kara protests. “I was just…keeping tabs.”
“Kara! She’s, what, a cop? Interpol?”
“A security tech specialist,” Kara corrects. “We all learned our lesson with cops after Maggie.”
“Why did she know all about the Livingston house, then?” Brainy asks. “A regular civilian could never have that kind of knowledge so soon after—”
“She consults.”
Brainy makes a scandalized noise; Alex throws her hands up. “That’s just as bad!”
“It’s totally not!”
“And she’s where you got the idea for that Snart crap?”
“That ‘Snart crap’ worked, Alex.”
“‘Worked,’” Alex says, using those obnoxious air-quotes like they’re still fifteen. “Except all it actually did was get us a vague note and put us even more in the red. And let your ex-girlfriend know that you were in town, apparently. You've got lipstick all over your mouth, by the way. ”
“You’re missing the silver lining here,” Kara cajoles, not bothering to reach up and wipe her face. “She gave us a name, guys. ‘Le Renard.’ That’s French, right? All we have to do is make a few calls and we’ll know everything there is to know about this guy.” She pauses, going over Lena’s final words again. “Hey, Brainy, is there a Robin Hood cipher?”
Brainy’s spine straightens right up. “Yes,” he says. “It’s quite complex; originated in the 1840’s by—”
“Brill,” Kara cuts him off, grinning wide. “Try it out on the note, I think Lena gave us a clue. I’ll call Vasquez about that name.”
Kara reaches towards the coffee table to grab her cell phone, but there’s only a cold slice of pizza. She frowns; she was sure she left her phone…
On the coffee table. Right where Lena dropped the folder of photographs, and right where Lena bent down to pick them back up again. Oh, that absolute—
Kara sighs. “Alright, baby,” she says. “Fair play.”
rome, august, 1999
“You know, Italians have a saying,” Lena drawls, not bothering to look up from her hand. “A kind of superstition.”
Kara can barely see the diamonds littering her own cards—Lena’s slinky little robe is slipping off one of her shoulders, and for some reason they’re both pretending it’s by accident. “Yeah?” She asks, licking at her lips. The low light from the bedside lamp is casting shadows along Lena’s collarbone. Kara’s never cared less about a game of poker in her life.
“Sfortunato al gioco, fortunato in amore,” Lena says, her accent natural and perfect. She wiggles to get more comfortable against the headboard and the robe slips even more.
Kara coughs to cover the sad little wheezing sound her throat makes. “What’s that mean?” She manages to ask.
Lena lays down her hand. It’s a straight flush, 5 through 9 of spades. “‘Unlucky at cards, lucky in love.’”
Kara focuses hard on her own hand, until the vague red shapes solidify into diamonds, 10 through ace. A royal flush, the best hand in poker. “That doesn’t bode well for us,” Kara says, showing her cards with a grin.
Lena picks up the deck and throws it at her. “How?” She cries over Kara’s laughter. “You were staring at my tits the whole game!”
las vegas, february, 2002
“So, it turns out,” Kara says, sprinkling some more cheese on top of her nachos, “we might have an easier route to getting an inside man than planting Nia as a croupier with a history of cheating and doing the whole NGCB thing.”
Alex looks up from the makeshift lab table she’d set up in the corner of the warehouse, and Kara bursts into laughter.
“Holy dweeb,” she says. “1992 called, they want those goggles back.”
“Lab safety is cool, actually,” Alex huffs.
“You’re making a glorified stink bomb,” Kara says. She shoves the most loaded chip she can find into her mouth.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working on Winn’s fake IDs?” Alex asks. “They’re going to have your cheesy fingerprints all over them, you slob.”
“Weh-wah-weh-weh,” Kara whines. “That’s all I heard as you were talking just now.”
Alex holds up one of her stink bombs. “I will throw this at you.”
“Do you want to hear my plan or not?”
“Your plans are terrible.”
“Oh, so you don’t want to know how James’ hot older sister is about to get hired by Lord’s casino research and management team?”
Alex pauses. “The psychologist?” She asks.
Kara smirks and triumphantly eats another nacho. “And you say I make terrible plans.”
rome, july, 1999
“Open up,” Lena says, holding the tiny wooden spoon that came with her gelato cup aloft.
Kara nearly moans. “I knew you were gonna rock my world, baby,” she teases, eagerly taking the offered bite. “Right from that first moment.”
“Running from the cops?”
Kara grins. “What cops?”
“You’re trouble, Kara Danvers,” Lena accuses.
Kara opens her mouth again, like a baby bird. Lena feeds her another spoonful, giggling when Kara’s overeager chomp gets chocolate smeared across her lower lip and chin.
“Oh, you darling,” Lena says. She uses her thumb to wipe the mess away and then licks it clean.
Kara’s eyes focus in on the tiny flash of Lena’s tongue and the next thing she knows she’s removing the mere six inches between them and kissing her. Lena hums into it and opens her mouth, until all Kara can taste is passion fruit chapstick and chocolate gelato.
Kara doesn’t know how much time they lose there, entwined under the dappled shade by the banks of the Tiber. She could count it in seconds, or lifetimes, or the twist of Lena’s smile against her lips. Kissing Lena is new every time, an effortless conversation where she gets to peel back another layer without the cautious resistance that appears when she asks a question outright. Lena’s careful but confident, sly but almost shy. Kara can’t get enough of her laugh, or her mouth, or her effortless stride over cobblestones in four inch heels. Maybe there’s something to be said for summer romances in Europe—maybe this isn’t a once in a millennia feeling that’s steadily sprouting in her chest. Maybe Lena’s kissing her just to kiss her, walking and talking with her just to pass the time. Kara thinks she’s okay with that. Kara thinks she’d be okay with just about anything that kept her here, in the leopard spot sunlight, the wind off the river blowing over them, her lips slowly learning the shift and purse of Lena’s.
“I liked that,” Kara tells her when they part, both of their faces a little flushed.
“The gelato?” Lena asks. “Or the kiss?”
“Well, both,” Kara says, “but I meant being your darling.”
Lena lifts another scoop of the gelato and licks it off the spoon, salaciously slow. “Noted,” she says.
Do you feel it too? Kara wants to ask. Does everyone who’s ever set their eyes on you feel this?
”How long are you in Rome, again?” Lena asks suddenly, her thumb smoothing over Kara’s hipbone. “Your job ends soon, right?”
”I picked up another one,” Kara lies. “It’ll probably take a few months.”
Lena smiles at her, small and sincere and perfect. Kara wants to plant herself in the moment and never leave; she wants to turn her back on the races and the relays, the sprints and long-distance, and stop running forever.
antibes, may, 2004
“You’re sure this is it?”
Brainy squints at the map. “As grandiose as this address seems, it’s the only sensical outcome of the cipher. I say we buzz the intercom.”
Nia pops her gum, one hand still raised to block out the blazing sun of Southern France so that she can properly see the legitimate mansion at the end of the gated off driveway. “Seconded,” she says. “Maybe this Fox guy has a pool.”
“We don’t know his name,” Alex points out. “Le Renard is just what the French police call him.”
“Thank God,” Nia says. “I don’t know how to look someone who names themself ‘The Fox’ in the eye.”
Kara takes a sad bite of the nougat Alex had let her stop to buy in town. Her sister clearly has no idea how to deal with her frequent, deep sighs, and the nougat had been an olive branch. A ‘sorry I got mad and yelled after you talked to your ex-girlfriend instead of asking you how you were feeling’ piece of nougat.
Kara can barely taste it. She wants to go back to London, but she’s gotten pretty good at tamping that feeling down over the past three years.
"You only live once," Nia says, reaching out of the driver’s side window to hit the buzzer. “There should be acronym for that."
“Ciao,” a bored voice says. “Chi è?”
“Siamo qui per vedere la Volpe,” Kara hisses, poking at the back of Nia’s neck.
“S-siamo qui per,” Nia echoes terribly, turning around with panicked eyes.
“Vedere la Volpe,” Kara repeats.
“Vedere la Volpe.”
There’s static from the intercom. “What does that even mean?” Winn asks from the trunk-backseat.
“‘We’re here to see the Fox,’” Kara translates.
“What language is that?” Alex says.
“Italian,” James says.
“Since when do you speak Italian?” Alex asks.
Kara shrugs and has some more nougat. “I picked it up a few years ago.”
Alex’s eyelids narrow into slits; Kara realizes that she isn’t going to be able to get away with vague little comments about what she was doing while Alex was in prison anymore.
“Guida fino alla porta principale, per favore,” a voice says from the intercom. There’s a loud buzzing noise, and then the gates in front of their van slowly begin to open.
“What did he say?” Nia asks.
“Drive up to the front door,” Kara says.
Nia glances at Alex, who nods, and drives them down the neat gravel path. It’s lined with cyprus trees, and the grass on either side of the road is freshly cut. The villa only grows larger as they approach; it’s a strange mesh of Italian and Greek inspired architecture, elaborate columns of the Ionic style and what looks like a solid marble staircase.
There’s a man waiting at the top of the steps. He doesn’t move to greet them when their car comes to a slow stop, or when Alex and Kara get out of the car. He just waits, staring at them.
He oozes pretentious European aristocracy, from his perfectly tailored linen suit to his perfectly bald head. He stands, his hands in his pockets, grinning, with the self-assured nature of someone who not just owns the ground he’s standing on, but the rest of the world as well.
Even as the sun beats down on them, Kara’s body goes cold all over. She knows exactly who he is.
“Baron Alessandro,” she greets.
“Please,” the man says, “call me Lex. Let’s talk inside.”
florence, september, 2000
“Ugh, Lena, just look at the detail on that. Completely unreal. You know, I think marble statue is the form I have the most respect for. You just start out with a massive chunk of rock and smack it with a hammer until you get people, and fabric, and…” Kara shakes her head.
Lena stops staring at Kara’s profile and leans in to prop her chin on Kara’s shoulder. “You respect it because you haven’t figured out how to do it yet,” she teases.
Kara turns her head so their noses bump together. “Sorry. Am I being insufferable?”
“It’s your birthday,” Lena says, tucking a stray blonde hair behind her ear. “Lecture me about art all you want.”
“I want you to have fun, too,” Kara insists.
“Then keep walking in front of me. I can stare at your ass in those pants all day.”
Kara throws her head back with laughter, not caring one bit about the stares sent their way. “We’re surrounded by the best marble butts of fine art,” she says, lowering her voice when Lena pokes at her. “And you’re wasting your time with mine?”
Lena takes the opening. “Yours is the best marble butt of fine art,” she says smugly. “Trust me, I’ve done a lot of research.” Her hand drops from around Kara’s waist to indecently low on her back.
Kara groans. Lena isn’t sure if it’s because of her hand placement or her terrible joke. “If it’s more than a hundred years old, you lose all interest. You’re so weird, baby, I’m obsessed with you.” She pecks Lena on the nose. “And your weird taste in art.”
“Excuse you," Lena says, basking in the wide sounds of Kara's American accent—bay-bee. It's indecorous and boorish, and Lena never wants Kara to call her anything else for the rest of her life.
“C’mon, this is Michelangelo. Best of the best.”
Lena takes her eyes off her favorite piece of art—God, those pants are good—and looks up at the statue. “Eh,” she says.
Kara’s grinning at her when she looks back. “Seriously? He was gay! Gayer than you, even. Where’s your solidarity?”
“I’ll ask you to halt the comparisons there,” Lena says haughtily. “He also never bathed or removed his shoes.”
Kara snorts, moving their entwined limbs around so that she’s got Lena’s back pressed to her front. “Alright,” she says into Lena’s ear. “I give up. Thank you for taking me to see art you don’t like.”
Lena relaxes back into the full body contact with a pleased hum. She never feels as funny as she does when she's with Kara. “It’s not so terrible,” she concedes, cautiously removing a layer of her carefully constructed walls, “I just have a grudge.”
Kara makes an intrigued noise behind her.
“My brother,” Lena explains. “He’s obsessed with classical art. Renaissance, too. A real pretentious fuck about it, if I’m being honest. Drives me up the wall.”
Kara’s arms tighten slightly around her waist. She presses a kiss to Lena’s shoulder. “Art is supposed to make you feel good,” she says. “Or, at least be cathartic, if it doesn’t. You’re supposed to enjoy it. If a certain kind of art makes you annoyed and angry, then it sucks. Full stop.”
Lena’s heart pounds in her chest. “Well, I’m not going to stand here and say Michelangelo’s ‘David’ sucks, Kara. They’ll revoke my citizenship.”
“I’ll say it. I hate this stupid statue. God did not intend for ballsacks to be that large.”
Lena gasps out a laugh, Kara’s body shaking in tandem against hers. “Darling.” She squeezes Kara’s hands. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary. We can like different things.”
“Lena, I’m never going to like something that makes you feel bad,” Kara says casually, like it doesn’t make Lena want to drag her off to some secluded corner and smear lipstick all over her neck. “What’s your favorite piece of art? I don’t think I ever asked you.”
Lena works to get her breathing under control. “Um,” she stutters for the first time since she was seven, “do you know—Jasper Johns, ‘The Seasons?’”
Kara presses a wet kiss right behind her ear. “1989 or 1990?” She asks.
Her stomach swoops; she rests more of her weight against the sturdy body behind her. “1990.”
“Mm. Good choice.”
Lena’s whole body is two degrees too hot. It's been over a year, but here Kara still is, asking questions and truly caring about Lena's answers. It's enough to make a girl think about the future in terms of we and us and together. “I couldn’t help but notice a blind spot in the security cameras a few rooms back,” Lena says. “Hazard of the job. You wouldn’t happen to want to make out with me in an art gallery, would you?”
“You know,” Kara rumbles, her breath hot on Lena’s neck. “I noticed the same exact thing.” Teeth nip at Lena’s earlobe. “Let’s go.”
national city, march, 2004
“Kara’s fine, Kelly,” Alex says. “She’s just stressed about the hotel.”
Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Babe.”
Alex turns back to the half-painted wall on her side of the room. “What?”
“She’s been listening to Avril Lavigne’s ‘Mobile’ on repeat for months now,” Kelly says, waving her own paintbrush around. “Last week, she stood in the fridge looking at our vegetable drawer for, like, two full minutes. If I hadn’t asked her what she was doing, I think she would’ve stood there longer.”
“She was probably just confused.”
“About what?”
“Why we have veggies in the fridge.”
Kelly shakes her head in disbelief. “How does she look like that?”
“Just accept it and move on,” Alex advises. “I never would’ve made it through high school otherwise. She never even got acne.”
Kelly bites her lip. “Are you sure she’s okay?”
“Honestly?” Alex sighs and tosses her roller onto the paint tray. “Not really. She clearly hates running this hotel, but she was so determined to find a career path outside of…you know.”
“Right.”
“It’s super stressing her out, I can tell, “Alex admits, “but it’s like she’s got tunnel vision or something. I don’t think she’s even painted anything in months. It’s all about running this random ass hotel that she hates.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“‘Course it does. I’m always worried about Kara, it’s like my default state.”
“I love that about you,” Kelly says. “You’ve got the biggest heart of any con-artist, babe, I mean that. But maybe actually talking to your sister might help?”
“Kara and I talk all the time.”
Kelly scrunches up her face. “Do you, though?”
“What?”
“You talk all the time, but you kind of…well, I don’t go to sister nights, so I can’t really say, but it seems like you talk all the time, but rarely talk about anything that’s deeper than surface level.”
Alex frowns. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay, I’ll ask her next time I see her.”
Kelly kisses her on the cheek, then pulls back and makes a face. “Paint,” she says, her mouth still screwed up, “but thank you.”
antibes, may, 2004
“Not that many people outside of Italy know who I am,” Lex says with a lazy grin, leading them through the massive front hall of his villa and out the back doors, where immaculately maintained gardens stretch out at least five acres. He gestures to a loose circle of outdoor chairs, exactly the right number for their group, and goes right to the ornate champagne bucket. “Please, take a seat.”
Brainy does so immediately, his posture perfect, but Alex looks at her seat warily, as though there’s some kind of booby trap waiting for her. Nia, Winn, and James follow Brainy’s example; Kara takes a detour by the fancy cheese plate.
Lex pops the champagne. “So?” He asks.
There’s silence. Kara looks up from sampling the gruyere to see that he’s looking right at her.
“How did you know me?” Lex asks. There’s a steely glint in his eyes. “I’ve taken great care to ensure that my name is not associated with this address.”
The way he forms his sentences, polished and grammatically perfect, over-educated and posh, makes Kara ache. She thinks back to their walk through the villa's main hall and says, “I had my eye on that Caravaggio a few years ago.”
“Ah, the ‘Sacrifice of Isaac!’ Good eye,” Lex says, his grin back in place. He holds out a flute of champagne, but Kara declines. “It’s a real steal, isn’t it?”
Kara stuffs an impolitely large piece of Beaufort D’Ete in her mouth, just to spite him. Alex clearing her throat saves her from saying something truly rude.
“Ah, mi scusi,” Lex says, passing flutes around to the rest of them. “I could talk about the baroque period for hours, but that is not why you’re here.” He leans against one of the pillars that separates the veranda from the beginning of the gardens. “Which one of you figured out the note?”
“Why does it matter?” Alex asks, her voice gruff. “What do you want?”
Lex makes a face and takes a hearty sip of his champagne. “Can I be honest with you, Ms. Danvers? I’m terribly bored.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his very bald head. “My kid sister, she works in security tech. Got a real talent for it. I never really had a calling like that. I inherited the title, obviously, but I couldn’t find a passion. And what’s life without passion?”
Nothing, Kara thinks, and longs for Rome.
“As you might have noticed,” Lex continues without waiting for anyone to actually answer, “quite a bit of my wealth is in fine art. I stumbled into it, really—happened to strike up a conversation with a collector at some party. He was a dreadfully pompous thing, and kept going on and on about how his personal collection had security so perfect no one could best it—”
“Are you going to get to the point?” Alex interrupts.
Lex’s jaw muscle twitches. “You’re not very patient, are you?”
“I spent five years being patient in federal prison. Get to the point.”
“Che palle, fine, fine,” he says. “I’m the best thief in the world, and yet all anyone seems to care about these days is the damn Bellagio Casino and Maxwell Lord.”
Winn throws his hands up in frustration. “No one heard about the Bellagio and Maxwell Lord!”
Lex frowns at him. “Everyone heard about that.”
Kara eats more cheese.
“So, the only possible next step is for us to go head to head on something,” Lex says. “Usually there’s an ocean keeping our jobs apart, so who can really compare? But now that I’ve gotten you on my side of the pond, if we both went after the same thing…”
“This is a dick measuring contest?” James asks.
“You’re the reason Max Lord is going to kill us?” Nia adds on.
“Well, it’s no fun playing a game without any stakes.” Lex grins at them. “Come on, be a sport.”
James starts to rise out of his chair, but Kara makes it to him just in time to put a hand on his shoulder and push him back down again. “What do we get if we win?” She asks.
“I pay your debt to Maxwell.”
“Plus the interest?” Alex clarifies.
Lex toasts her with his flute. “Plus the interest.”
“And if we were to lose?” Brainy asks.
“I’ll pay half your debt to Maxwell,” Lex says, “and you acknowledge that I am the best. You’ll also give me a full list of what I’m sure are your extensive American contacts, and referrals. I’ve been looking to expand my area of reach.”
Kara thinks of her phone and tries not to wince.
“We don’t really have much of a choice,” Nia points out. “Since, you know. There’s a multi-millionaire with ties to the mob who wants us dead and knows exactly where all of us live.”
Lex shrugs. “Should I leave you to talk it over amongst yourselves?”
“No,” Alex says. “Nia’s right. We’re in.” She snatches one of the flutes of champagne on the table. “But fuck you.”
Lex laughs the most ridiculous, high-society laugh Kara has ever heard. “Oh, Americans really do delight me,” he says. “I’m looking forward to visiting more often.”
“What is it that you intend for us to go ‘head to head’ over?” Brainy asks. “I assume something quite valuable.”
Surprisingly, Lex just shrugs. “It’s more about the difficulty, to be honest. There’s a traveling abstract-impressionism show that’s coming into Paris next week, and it’s got truly state-of-the-art security. Motion sensors, pressure sensors, systems that measure miniscule changes in the air composition of the room every minute—just to name a few,” Lex says. “It’s the 21st Century of security. The show is spending the next month at the Louvre, but our deadline is next Friday.”
“Which piece of art?” Kara asks.
Lex rolls his eyes. “The art itself isn’t my taste, to tell you the truth, but in the show just happens to be a particular favorite of my sister’s. Her birthday is in a few months, so really I’m just doing my shopping in advance.” He gestures between Alex and Kara. “You two must understand.”
Kara’s heart pounds. She can’t be this lucky.
“It’s called ‘the Seasons,’” Lex says. “It’s by Jasper Johns.”
The entire crew turns to look at Kara.
She slathers some brie on a cracker. “1989,” she asks, “or 1990?”
london, may, 2001
“Do you like it?” Kara asks, shifting her weight back and forth from one foot to the other.
Lena is still staring at the painting that Kara hung on the wall while she was at work. Her mouth opens, then snaps shut again.
“I know I disappeared last week, but it was just because I was working on getting this done in time,” Kara says. “You don’t have to hang it there, if you don’t want. I can move—”
“Kara,” Lena interrupts. She finally turns to look at her. “I…when did I tell you that I—”
“Florence,” Kara says. “When we went for my birthday and talked shit about that stupid statue everyone loves.”
Lena’s hand comes up to her forehead. “When we made out behind those Greek Hydria?”
Kara grins at the memory. “Yeah.”
“I don’t remember much besides that,” Lena admits, her cheeks pink. “I can’t believe you—come here.” She wraps her arms around Kara’s neck and buries her face in her shoulder. “I love it,” she mumbles. “I love it even more because you painted it.”
Kara hugs her back and presses a lingering kiss to her temple. “Happy anniversary,” she says.
antibes, may, 2004
“Should we drive up to Paris?” Nia asks as they turn out of the driveway to Lex’s outrageous villa. “Or should we try and find a train?”
“Train, please,” says Winn from the trunk.
"Seconded," James adds, his legs scrunched up in the tiny European car.
“We’re not going to Paris,” Kara says. “We’re going back to London.”
Alex turns around in the passenger seat, suspicion all over her face. “Why?”
Kara smirks and pulls out the Ziploc bag she’d stuffed all of Lex’s fancy cheeses into. “Because the painting he’s going to try and steal is a fake.”
las vegas, april, 2002
“What’re you gonna do with your cut?” Alex asks. “It’ll buy a hell of a lot of fancy paint, or whatever. Pass the chocolate.”
Kara snorts and passes the carton over, making grabby hands for the strawberry Alex is hoarding. “Well, assuming everything goes to plan, I was thinking I might go into, like, real estate.”
“What the fuck?” Alex asks around her spoon.
“Yeah, like—stable, passive income or whatever. Maybe a hotel; I know all of those idiot movie stars who can’t play poker, you know? That’d probably get me some solid clients right off the bat.”
Alex is still staring at her. “Dude, what the fuck?”
“C’mon, Alex, don’t you ever think about what you’re going to do next? And I don’t mean your next job,” Kara adds when Alex opens her mouth. “What if your thing with Kelly goes somewhere, huh? You won’t be able to play like you’ve got nothing to lose anymore, you know that better than anyone. What’s your next step?”
Alex eats three sullen spoonfuls of chocolate ice cream. “Am I that obvious?” She finally asks.
“About Kelly?” Kara lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh, yeah. Super obvious.”
Alex groans, her face a little pink. “Okay, mortifying.”
“Ah, it’s fine. James thinks it’s hilarious.”
Alex eats more ice cream, her face going steadily redder. “So, why a hotel?” She eventually asks.
“What if I meet someone like Kelly one day,” Kara says, her shame of her tiny lie curling up in her chest. “Someone who doesn’t know what I do, you know? Maybe it makes sense to get out while I’m good and just…have a life.”
Alex squints at her like she can tell something isn’t right. “If you say so,” she says, “but I don’t think I’ll ever be happy with a hotel, or whatever.
“Yeah, fair enough. Hey, Alex?”
“Mm?”
“This job isn’t just about getting revenge on Max Lord, right?”
“I mean, it’s not all about that, but that’s a part of it, sure.”
“Good enough for me. Pass the chocolate back over here.”
london, may, 2004
Kara shakes out her hands. “You’ve got this,” she mutters to herself. “This is it, Danvers. You’ve got this.”
As confidently as she can, she reaches out and knocks on Lena’s apartment door. She hears faint noises from inside, and eventually footsteps slowly approaching. Lena stops on the other side of the door for what feels like a full minute, but finally the lock clicks and she opens up.
It’s a Saturday, but she’s in a work blouse and slacks. Her hair is up in one of those severe ponytails she used to love having Kara undo. “Hi,” Kara says softly.
“Isn’t your M.O. usually more of a ‘look on from a distance’ kind of thing?” Lena asks, leaning against the door jam.
“I’d like to talk, if you’ve got some time,” Kara says, trying to phrase her sentences so that Lena can call the shots. “I think we need to talk, about a lot, but it’s up to—”
Lena opens the door wider and steps aside. “Come in,” she says. “Let’s talk.”
Kara gulps, but does as she asks. Lena leads them to the kitchen, which is pristinely clean and white. It looks like a hotel suite, from the open-floor plan to the white and beige coloring. Kara can see a painting on the wall of the living room that has a tiny pop of red, but that’s one of the only bright colors in the space.
“So, you went to see Lex?” Lena asks before Kara can think of a good place to start.
“Yeah.”
“Mm. Antibes? Or Tuscany?”
“Antibes.”
Lena rolls her eyes. “I hate that stupid villa.”
“It was a bit pretentious, yeah. Nice cheese, though.”
Lena’s mouth does something funny, like she wants to smile but doesn’t at the same time. “Kara,” she says. “What do you want to talk about?”
Kara knows what she should say, what she promised the whole crew she’d say when she got here, but what comes out is, “us.”
“Us?” Lena leans back against her fancy marble counters. “Actually?”
“Yeah,” Kara says, trying to sound confident. “Don’t you think we should?”
“Obviously. You’ve just avoided it so well.”
Kara winces. “That’s—yeah, I have. I guess, um, I wanted to say that I know that I’m at fault here. I’m not the person I told you I was. I implicated you in crimes that would have ruined your credibility and career, and I’m truly, deeply sorry. I know you wouldn’t have chosen to be so involved with someone like—”
“Stop,” Lena interrupts. “Just stop, Kara.”
Kara stops.
“You’re infuriating,” Lena says. “'Truly, deeply' infuriating.”
Kara puts her hands on her hips. “I—”
“Kara, my brother is one of the most prolific art thieves in the world. Have I turned him in?”
“You kind of did, that one time,” Kara points out, finally able to put the pieces of that terrible weekend in 1999 together.
“He put a man in the hospital, it was different,” Lena says, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Have you ever done that?”
“No.”
“See? Different.”
“But you hate Lex at least seventy-five percent of the time,” Kara says, knowing that she sounds more than a little pathetic. “I couldn’t—I can’t—”
“Kara.” Lena pinches the bridge of her nose. “I had a secondary camera system installed in the Kaznian exhibit two weeks before you broke in.”
“What?” Kara croaks.
Lena steps into her space and hisses, “I deleted the fucking footage. Don’t you get it? I was already choosing you, and when you had the opportunity to choose me, you ran.”
“I thought I was choosing you,” Kara says, tears pooling her eyes. “I thought I was, you know…letting you go. Letting you live the life you wanted.”
“You’d have to actually ask me what kind of life I want to know that, Kara.” Lena sighs; her shoulders droop. “I never cared about the details. I cared about you. Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I didn’t want it to end,” Kara admits.
Lena nods, her jaw clenched, her eyes wet. “You assumed that it would.”
Kara covers her mouth with one hand, feeling a little like she’s going to throw up. “God. God, I did, didn’t I?” She takes a stumbling step backwards, until her back hits the wall.
Lena stays mostly still, fingers twisting together. She only waves her arms around when she feels at ease. “You’re just about as different from Lex as you could possibly be,” Lena tells her. “I’d never hate you, Kara. It’s ridiculous—actually, it’s insulting that you thought I might.”
Kara wipes at her eyes. “You’re right,” she agrees. “You’re so right. You always are, I don’t know why—” She stops herself mid-sentence, and says, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lena.”
Lena’s mouth twists into something that’s almost a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for a while now.”
“I'm sorry," Kara says again, just for good measure. "And I love you. love you so much. I think I have ever since that first moment I saw you.”
Lena's mouth finally really smiles, but it's sardonic and doesn't reach her eyes. “Running from the police?”
Kara swallows, then nods. “Yeah. Um, I— sei tutto per me. Ti penso ogni giorno. Sei il grande amore della mia vita.”
“Kara,” Lena interrupts, “you don’t have to—”
“But I mean it,” Kara promises. “Is it the Italian? I can do, shoot, what is it—Is breá liom tú? Is tú grá mo shaol.”
Lena’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t need language lessons, Kara.”
“Okay,” Kara says, nodding slowly. “What do you need?”
The words burst out of Lena like she’d been waiting for Kara to ask. “How are we any different? We’ve already done this, and we lied to each other and then you left! In the middle of the night, and I spent years searching for little scraps of you to hold onto, because I couldn’t let you go, even though I knew it was ridiculous to be hung up on someone who didn’t even care enough about me to say goodbye. It's been four years since Rome and you're still all I want."
“That’s—no, Lena, that’s not—” Kara takes a shaky breath. “I didn’t say goodbye because I wouldn’t have been able to leave. I would've kept...dragging you down, I thought.”
“That’s worse,” Lena cries. “You were just stupid.”
“I was,” Kara agrees. “I was stupid. The stupidest person to ever live, I think, but…”
“But what?” Lena holds up a hand. “No more, with the Irish and the Italian, Kara, please just—”
“You’re the love of my life.” Kara’s voice is low and serious. “I didn’t know what art was until I saw you.”
Lena makes a faint whimpering sound. “You can’t—that’s not fair.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Oh, and you don’t lie anymore?”
“I don’t,” Kara promises. “I ruined my own life by lying to you, Lena. I got everything I ever wanted, and I ruined it. I did. So, no, I don’t lie anymore, and certainly not to you.”
Lena sniffles. “I didn’t tell you that I knew,” she offers.
“It’s not the same.”
“No,” Lena says. “I guess not.”
Kara smiles shakily. She points to the painting in the living room, the one with the pop of red. “That’s a nice Twombly you’ve got there.”
“Not a Twombly,” Lena says. “Someone better.”
Kara squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath to try and keep from sobbing, and just manages to succeed. “Um, you said you still have the Johns?”
“Of course I do. It’s in the bedroom.”
Kara nods. “I need it back.”
Lena’s head tilts a full forty-five degrees. “What? Why?”
“Oh, uhm—” Kara smacks at her forehead. “I should’ve led with this, probably. Your brother challenged us to steal it, and if we do then Max Lord won’t kill us.”
“What?” Lena asks again, sounding truly befuddled. “No, that’s—” She opens one of the kitchen drawers and pulls out Kara’s cell phone. “I took care of that. Maxwell Lord isn’t going to bother you ever again.” She says his name like he’s a foul, squished bug on the bottom of her shoe.
“You…took care of it,” Kara repeats, taking the phone when Lena holds it out.
“Of course I did. He was threatening your life, Kara. Your sister's life.”
“I…” Kara stares at her cell phone, then at Lena, then at her cell phone again. “Oh. Uh, you can keep the Johns then, I guess.”
“Oh, I’m keeping the Johns,” Lena says. “It’s a masterpiece.”
Kara laughs in disbelief. “If you say so.”
Lena laughs right back, though she looks a little surprised that she’s doing so. “You always had terrible taste,” she jokes.
“No, I don’t,” Kara objects softly. “I picked you.”
“Oh, fuck,” Lena whimpers, looking up at the ceiling. “Fuck. Cazzo, lo farò di nuovo, vero? Merda.”
“Do what again?” Kara asks, her heart hammering.
Lena walks up to her, grabs her by the shirt, and kisses her just as desperately as Kara had a few days earlier. This time, it’s Kara backed up against a wall, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be. In Lena's grasp, reacting to her, doing her level best to give her everything she wants.
She loses herself in the purposeful drag of Lena’s lips, in the powerful hands that pin her hips to the wall. Her senses are filled with Lena, touch and taste and smell, and it’s like every muscle in her body knows to relax and give in.
“Lena,” she groans, struggling to speak, “is this—do you—”
“I love you,” Lena gasps out, mouthing messy kisses along her jawline. “This is so ridiculous—I don’t know why, but I’ve always loved you, through it all. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care, I just want you. I'm so tired of trying not to want you.”
Kara nods, her breath hitching as Lena finds that exact spot by her ear. “I love you, too,” she says.
“I’m not moving to Los Angeles, though,” Lena says, her mouth stopping before it gets to Kara’s throat, much to her dismay. “You need to sell that stupid hotel.”
“Yeah, okay,” Kara agrees, rubbing her hands down Lena's back, trying to urge her on again.
“Why did you even buy a—”
“I wanted a normal job,” Kara explains, “so we could—”
“Oh, you silly—I love you. Sell the hotel.”
“I’ll do whatever, whatever you want, just keep—”
"Whatever I want?"
"Yes. I promise."
“Don’t leave,” Lena says, her voice small where it’s still tucked into Kara’s neck. “Stay.”
“Lena,” Kara says, cupping Lena’s face in her hands, moving so that they can really look at each other. “I’m not going anywhere ever again. I promise. This is the finish line, you know?”
Lena nods rapidly, looking right at her mouth. “That’s a weird metaphor,” she says, and then they’re kissing again and Kara forgets why they were even talking in the first place.
paris, may, 2004
Lex strolls back to his car, careful to keep his body language relaxed and casual. It’s a fine line, looking innocent and not smug, and he likes to think that he toes it perfectly.
His driver opens the door for him, and there’s a chilled glass of Chateau d'Yquem waiting for him. He takes a sip, lets it sit on his tongue, and then takes the rolled up canvas out from where he’d stashed it in his jacket.
Lena’s been so terribly moody these past few years—he supposes, since she de facto skipped most of her teenage years by going off to university at 15, she gets to have her angst whenever she so pleases. It makes family hols so dreadfully dull, but he can muddle through.
Plus, giving her the painting she loves means he’ll get the Tuscany house this autumn for sure. He’s feeling very good about himself as he unravels the canvas, basking in the adrenaline rush of a steal gone perfectly to plan, when his eye catches on something on the back corner of the canvas.
Frowning, he flips it over to read it more carefully. In tiny letters, that surely would have been covered by the frame, is the following:
This is totally a forgery! LOL! Got ya!
london, october, 2005
“Kara,” Lena says, her voice wary, “is that what I think it is?”
The present—wrapped in weeks of saved comics from the paper—is suspiciously canvas-shaped.
“What do you think it is?” Kara asks, a cheeky little smile on her face.
“A very famous painting that should not be in my living room.”
“Then no, it’s not what you think it is,” Kara says. She hands the present over and then sits back down, her hands tucked beneath her thighs. “Come on, open it.”
“You’re nervous,” Lena observes, eyes narrowed in suspicion. When Kara just shrugs, she carefully slips a finger under the tape holding the newspaper together and pulls it apart. She sees the back of the canvas first—all unpainted white and pale wood—and once the paper is gone, she flips it around.
It’s a Roman piazza in the late afternoon, all streaking sunlight and warm, bright colors. One of Lena’s hands comes up to her heart; she knows exactly what it is before her eyes land on the bottom corner, and the KZD scrawled there.
She looks up to see Kara gnawing her bottom lip off. “Darling,” she breathes out. “Did you paint this?”
Kara nods. “Do you—”
“If you’re going to ask if I like it, shut up right now,’ Lena says, wiping the tears off of her cheeks. “It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten. Ever.”
Kara’s grin takes up half of her entire face. “Yeah?”
“Of course, yes, come here—” Lena carefully puts the painting on the coffee table and messily meets Kara in the middle, smearing lipstick all across her mouth and chin.
“Happy birthday,” Kara mumbles between kisses, one of her hands dragging up Lena’s spine to clasp the back of her neck.
“It is,” Lena confirms.
“Mm. Good.” Kara presses a smacking peck to her mouth and pulls back a little, laughing when Lena makes an exaggerated noise of complaint. “I want to say something, one sec.”
“What?” Lena whines.
“I love you.”
Lena scoffs. “That’s all?” She tries to lean back in, but Kara keeps her distance.
“I love you,” Kara continues, a dangerous little grin tugging at her mouth, “like a thief loves a gallery.”
Lena shakes her head, but there’s a smile pulling at her lips. “Oh, you’re romancing me?”
Kara’s hint of a smile fades, but the warmth keeps beaming out of her eyes. “‘Like misfortune loves orphans,’” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper, “‘and fire loves innocence, and justice loves to sit and watch as everything goes wrong.’”
“Lemony Snicket,” Lena says.
“Required reading for kids like us, huh?”
“Guess so.” Lena drags her thumb along the swell of Kara’s jaw. “I don’t have any literature to quote at you.”
“No?”
“No. I just love you.”
“Mm. Good enough for me.”
..