Chapter Text
It's the outfit that catches Lena's eye first.
She's used to women in her world presenting as less feminine, or maybe she's just accustomed to what's in her closet—all business suits in shades of gray and black. Rich, wine red blouses. Deep forest green dresses.
"I don't have a lot to thank you for, Mom," she thinks, "but I'm glad you taught me how to fashion a wardrobe into armor."
Or rather, she's sometimes glad for it. There's plenty of times when working up her "don't fuck with me" persona seems unnecessary.
Like right now, when she's detailing her whereabouts to Clark Kent and his blonde...assistant, perhaps?
The pink pastel of the woman's cardigan should feel incompatible with the energy she's cultivated in her building—all sterile, inflexible glass and metal—but it makes for a rather nice change, all things considered.
"There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I wasn't aboard the Venture yesterday," she comments as she sweeps into her office. "There was an emergency regarding the planning for a ceremony I'm holding tomorrow. I'm renaming my family's company, and I had to cancel."
"Ah. Lucky," Clark responds, his tone still suggesting some bit of doubt.
She chuckles at that. "Lucky is Superman saving the day."
"Not something one would expect a Luthor to say," he rejoins, and Lena barely bites back her retort—"I'm more than my last name, dammit"—before the woman cuts in, "Right. And Supergirl was there, too."
There's something oddly warm about her. She's got less of Kent's jaded air. Maybe something of a naivete, like she's suspended in a bubble that, surprisingly, Lena doesn't want to pop.
"And who are you, exactly?"
It comes out a little more haughty than she intends, and the woman's stammering suggests what her mother would term "a fatal lack of self-esteem."
"Uh, um, I'm Kara Danvers. I'm not with the Daily Planet. I'm with Catco Magazine. Sort of?"
"That's a publication not known for its hard-hitting journalism," Lena observes, bemusement layering into her voice as she finishes pouring her water. "More like, 'high-waisted jeans, yes or no?'"
"I'm just tagging along today," Kara mutters.
"Right, well, can we just speed this interview along? Ask me if I had anything to do with the Venture explosion, Mr. Kent. I'll deny it, you won't believe me, et cetera."
"I mean…"
His winning, apologetic smile doesn't count for shit.
"Your family history hardly gives me the confidence to believe you."
Lena tosses one of her aces on the table.
"Well, the Luthors aren't my only family. I was adopted when I was four. Lex welcomed me in, made me proud to be a Luthor. Til he went on his reign of terror in Metropolis. When Superman eventually put him in jail," she goes on, "I vowed to take back my company, to rename it, reshape it into a force for good."
Clark's still giving her that questioning stare, so she insists, with no small hint of exasperation, "I'm just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her family. Can you understand that?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I can."
It's the first time Kara's spoken up without being prompted. The first time her voice lacks its uncertain warble. The first time it rings out with something approaching firm belief.
Clark glances at her, gives her a silent reprimand, but Lena nods at her and shoots her a small smile before she gives them the flash drive with information on the exploded oscillator.
"I hope this helps you with your investigation," she tells them as Clark takes it.
"Thank you," he answers, still the slightest bit sanctimonious about every damn interaction they share, and she finally cracks a little. Adds some ice to her parting words.
"Just give me a chance, Mr. Kent. I'm here for a fresh start. I'd appreciate it if you let me have one."
He doesn't say yes. Only inclines his head a tad as he murmurs, "Good day, Ms. Luthor."
Kara's head bob and her rushed, slightly awkward parroting of his departure—"Good day"—almost makes her laugh.
**
Another building nearly demolished by one of Lex's seemingly endless supply of henchmen, another shooting, another near scandal—that's par for the course for Lena.
"I was wrong about you, Ms. Luthor." Clark hangs his head. "I'm sorry."
But getting an apology from Clark Kent?
Yeah, that's worth remembering.
"Well, if I can make a believer out of you," she's professional enough to stow away her gloating, shit-eating grin after baring it at him for a fraction of a second, "there's hope yet."
Lena turns her attention to Kara—she's hanging behind Clark. Subservient, though she shouldn't be. Not by a long shot.
"What about you, Ms. Danvers?" Lena addresses her directly. "I didn't see your name on the byline."
"Uh...well, like I said, I'm not a reporter," Kara mumbles.
She grabs the reins on her instinct to wound. Goes for nurturing confidence, rather than tearing into someone for not having enough of it.
"You could have fooled me." She points at Kara with a pen, levels her with a serious, semi-intimidating gaze. "I hope this isn't the last time we talk."
Her face breaks out into a dazzling smile, and Lena nearly takes a step back away from her desk, away from its brightness. "I hope not, either."
Her answer's so eager, her handshake so warm, that Lena feels something like a genuine smile playing at the corners of her lips as she walks them out of her office.