Chapter Text
A Neighborly Thing
Lena Luthor would rather set herself on fire than attend a Christmas party, but since she was the new tenant in what the leasing agent had called “National City's friendliest building”, she’d judged that a certain amount of social participation was a necessary evil. The invitation had not even been slipped under her door—she’d gotten it in person, three times, by a trio of relentlessly cheerful neighbors who rang her bell at nine on a Sunday, the first bearing cookies, the second a flyer, the third a hand-knitted scarf with red and green stripes the length of a python. Refusal, she’d realized, was not an option.
So here she was. Standing in the fluorescent-lit community room with its institutional beige walls and scuffed parquet flooring, one hand clutching a glass of bottom-shelf Merlot and the other fiddling with the hem of her plain black Armani dress that cost more than the room's entire holiday decoration budget.
The room buzzed and pulsed with the frenetic energy of people who'd lived under the same roof long enough to develop an intricate ecosystem of inside jokes and petty feuds that hung in the air as tangible as the scent of cinnamon and cheap punch. Safe in her corner between a drooping potted fern and a table of untouched fruitcake, Lena watched them. The wiry retired professor with a bowtie askew and a dandelion pouf of white hair that caught the light like spun sugar, already holding court with a semicircle of grad students whose adoring gazes hadn't yet soured to academic rivalry; the harried single mother who looked as though she'd dressed for a Fortune 500 board meeting and arrived at the party by some cosmic navigational error, her crimson lipstick perfect despite the exhaustion shadowing her eyes; the pair of middle-aged women, one with close-cropped auburn hair and a confident stance, the other slightly taller with dark waves cascading past her shoulders, their matching velveteen Santa hats bobbing in perfect time as they laughed; a nervous-looking man in an ugly Christmas sweater fiddling with the sound system while his taller friend, handsome with an easy smile and a camera slung around his neck, documented the festivities; a stoic, broad-shouldered man with penetrating eyes observing everyone from near the doorway; and a boyishly charming newcomer with an oddly formal posture who seemed fascinated by the string lights, examining them as if they were alien technology.
Above it all, Christmas music blared from the tinny speakers lodged in the ceiling, and Lena silently vowed to donate a better one to the building if it meant never hearing Mariah Carey in 8-bit again. She’d only been in National City for three weeks, and already, she missed Metropolis—the anonymity, the cold, the way people eyed you like they were calculating your net worth and not your potential for friendship.
Halfway through her second glass—more like her third, if she was honest, but the pour was so stingy it hardly counted—the building manager cornered her by the cheese tray. “You’ll love it here,” he said, with the earnestness of an actor who’d been forced into dinner theater. “We’re like a family. Very social.”
It was, Lena reflected, a threat disguised as reassurance.
What he didn’t mentioned in the lease documents was that “very social” meant annual holiday parties attended by all, or that the very first real introduction to one’s neighbors would take place beneath paper snowflakes and the watchful gaze of a giant inflatable Santa that seemed poised to devour the punch bowl.
She’d just started calculating how long she needed to stay before making a polite exit when she heard a voice at her shoulder. “You look like you’re planning a heist.”
Lena turned, bracing herself for small talk, and found herself facing a woman whose smile was both conspiratorial and genuinely delighted. Her hair was the color of honey at high noon and fell in loose, artless waves past her shoulders; her sweater, Lena noted with something like awe, featured a T-Rex failing to hang ornaments on a tree. The sight was so absurd Lena felt her mood lift by a measurable amount.
“I like to be prepared,” Lena said, returning the other woman’s grin with a smile of her own, smaller but no less sincere.
“Kara. Danvers. Kara Danvers,” the woman said, extending her hand. The gesture was so open, so guileless, that Lena hesitated half a beat before committing her own to the grip. Kara’s palm was warm, her fingers strong, as if she spent her days kneading bread or scaling mountains. “I live in 4B. I’ve been dying to meet the new resident in 4A. Wasn’t sure if you were a hermit or a ghost. Though, I’m thinking maybe a ghost… you kind of have a haunted look, no offense.”
Lena’s smile threatened to crack into outright laughter. “None taken. I suppose ghosts are better than hermits, at least from a social standpoint.”
“Depends on the ghost,” Kara shot back, the corners of her eyes crinkling with mischief. “Some of them are real downers at parties.” She gestured airily to the room, which at that precise moment erupted into a chorus of off-key “Jingle Bells”. Someone over by the folding chairs dropped a glass, which shattered with a sound like a gunshot. No one seemed to notice. “Or maybe you’re just casing the joint for your grand escape.”
“I prefer to think of it as strategic reconnaissance,” Lena said, pleased to find a conversational partner who neither recoiled at her bluntness nor pressed for personal information she had no intention of sharing. The hum of the party faded a little, the two of them forming a small eddy in the chaos.
Kara’s eyebrows arched. “Are you in the witness protection program? Because if you are, I can keep a secret. Unless it’s a really good secret, in which case I might have to blurt it out to the next person I see.” She leaned in, voice dropping to a stage whisper. “I have zero impulse control. Ask anyone.”
Lena snorted, the sound escaping before she could tamp it down. “No witness protection. Just relocating for work.” She’d developed a dozen stock answers for this question; each time, it was a matter of calibrating how much truth the asker could handle before the conversation got awkward. But Kara’s curiosity was less invasive than it was… exuberant, like she was collecting facts purely for the joy of it, not to satisfy some morbid compulsion. “I needed a change. Somewhere quieter.”
Kara looked around them, as if to confirm that this, in fact, was the tranquil haven Lena had chosen. “You do know this building is anything but quiet, right? Last month, Mrs. Patel in 2D adopted a rescue parrot that exclusively mimics Bollywood soundtracks. And the twins in 5C run a TikTok channel for their hedgehog.” She tilted her head. “They have more followers than the National City Gazette.”
"Quieter is relative," Lena said, swirling the last drops of her wine. "Compared to board meetings where executives plot each other's professional demise, this is practically a monastery."
Kara leaned in, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Is that why you've been ghosting the social calendar? There was a pool on whether you were agoraphobic or a famous recluse. My money was on agoraphobic."
"Why not both?" Lena's lips quirked upward. "I could be an agoraphobic ghost. Haunting my apartment because I'm too anxious to haunt anywhere else."
"An anxious ghost—that's a first!" Kara laughed, toasting her with a plastic cup of punch. "Though you're not alone in haunting your apartment. Everyone does it except Mrs. Goldfarb, who's currently live-tweeting this party. She doesn't know how hashtags work, but the effort is heroic."
Lena followed Kara's gaze to an octogenarian in a sequined reindeer sweater, who was hunched over her phone with the sheer focus of a chess grandmaster. "Is that allowed?"
"Nothing's allowed. That's what's great about it." Kara knocked back her punch in one practiced motion and topped it off from a nearby pitcher. "The only rule is that if you hear fire alarms, you wait ten minutes before evacuating. That way you know if it's real, or if Mr. Lee on 7 has ignited another experimental brisket."
"Experimental brisket?"
"He's a retired chemist. Barbecue is his new science." Kara shrugged. "Do you cook?"
Lena laughed out loud at the idea. "I can just about manage toast. And only if the toaster hasn't been tampered with by a vengeful maintenance man."
Kara's face lit up, and Lena got the sense that this was a woman who would rather someone admit to arson than pretend to have a kitchen hobby. "I'm a disaster, too. I once set a microwave on fire trying to nuke a mug cake. I didn't know the mug had gold leaf on it."
"That's not a disaster," Lena said, "that's performance art."
"I'll remember that at my court date," Kara said, and for a second Lena saw something flicker behind the levity—a flash of vulnerability, quickly masked by humor and the deliberate awkwardness of someone who'd trained themselves to be liked, or at least tolerated, in any room.
"Oh! Have you met everyone yet?" Kara bounced slightly on her toes, her energy shifting like a channel change. "No, of course you haven't. You've been living like Batman."
"I don't have a cape," Lena protested weakly, but Kara was already gesturing toward the room with the enthusiasm of a tour guide.
"See that guy by the punch bowl? James “Jimmy” Olsen. Pulitzer-winning photojournalist who now runs CatCo Magazine. Don't let the muscles fool you—he cries at dog food commercials." Kara leaned in, her breath warm against Lena's ear. "And the woman he's talking to is Lucy Lane, military lawyer who once successfully argued that a tank could be classified as a pet if you love it enough."
Lena raised an eyebrow. "Did it work?"
"The case is still pending," Kara said with complete seriousness before breaking into a grin. "Over there—see the guy with the sweater vest who looks like he's explaining quantum physics to his beer? That's Winn Schott. Computer genius who hacks government databases for fun but can't figure out how to program his coffee maker."
Lena found herself scanning the room through Kara's eyes, each person suddenly transformed from stranger to character in an ongoing narrative. The stern-looking woman with short dark hair—"That's Alex, my sister. She can disarm a bomb with dental floss but panics if you ask her what she wants for dinner"—standing beside a dimpled detective—"Maggie Sawyer, who once arrested Santa at the mall because he matched a suspect description. The real criminal turned out to be the Easter Bunny."
"And that," Kara continued, pointing to a distinguished older gentleman chatting with a group of enraptured listeners, "is J'onn J'onzz. Building superintendent who somehow knows exactly what's wrong with your apartment before you do. I swear he can read minds."
Lena watched as J'onn glanced their way, his expression both knowing and kind. He raised his glass slightly, as if acknowledging her presence.
"I feel like I'm getting the unauthorized biography of the entire building," Lena said, oddly touched by the way Kara spoke about these people—with affection that bordered on reverence.
"It's my journalistic duty," Kara replied, adjusting her glasses. "Speaking of which, I don't think I caught your name, mysterious neighbor."
There it was—the question Lena had been dreading. She hesitated, weighing her options. In Metropolis, the Luthor name was synonymous with her brother's crimes. Here in National City, she had a chance at anonymity, at being judged for who she was rather than her family's legacy.
"Lena," she said finally, omitting her surname. "Just Lena."
Something flickered across Kara's face—curiosity. "Well, Just Lena, you picked a good building to be mysterious in. Half the residents here have secret identities." She gestured to a petite woman with a severe bob. "Eve Teschmacher over there claims to be an executive assistant, but I've seen her dismantle and reassemble a smartphone in under three minutes."
"Maybe she's just efficient," Lena suggested.
"Or a spy," Kara countered. "Either way, she makes incredible soufflés."
A comfortable silence fell between them as they watched the party swirl around them. Lena found herself studying Kara's profile—the slight crinkle between her brows when she concentrated, the way her smile seemed to radiate from somewhere deeper than just her face. There was something disarming about her, an openness that made Lena want to lower her own carefully constructed defenses.
"You know," Kara said suddenly, turning to face Lena with an expression that was both earnest and mischievous, "for someone who values privacy, you're surprisingly easy to talk to."
Lena felt a warmth creep up her neck that had nothing to do with the wine. "I could say the same about you," she replied. "Though I suspect you could have a riveting conversation with a potted plant."
"Only the ferns," Kara said solemnly. "The succulents are terrible listeners."
Lena laughed, the sound surprising her with its authenticity. When was the last time she'd genuinely laughed at a party?
"So, Just Lena," Kara said, her eyes dancing with a light that seemed almost otherworldly under the cheap fluorescents, "what brings a woman who can 'just about manage toast' to National City? Besides the obvious allure of our experimental brisket and hashtag-challenged seniors?"
The question was delivered lightly, but Lena sensed the genuine interest beneath it. Kara wasn't prying to pry—she was offering connection, a thread Lena could choose to follow or not.
Before Lena could decide how much to reveal, a crash from across the room drew their attention. Someone had knocked over the Christmas tree, and tinsel was now scattered across the floor like metallic confetti.
"Duty calls," Kara said with a mock salute. "Building's unofficial crisis manager. Don't disappear on me, okay? I want to hear your story—the real one, not the change of scenery cover."
As Kara strode away to help right the fallen tree, Lena was left with the distinct impression that she'd just been seen through completely—and, strangely, she didn't mind at all. She watched Kara navigate the chaos with grace and humor, effortlessly diffusing tension and making everyone feel included in the solution. The way she directed the cleanup effort reminded Lena of a conductor leading an orchestra, if the orchestra were composed entirely of tipsy neighbors and the instruments were pine needles and broken ornaments.
"No, Winn, not like that—you're just spreading the glitter around," Kara laughed, gently taking a dustpan from the flustered man whose bowtie had gone from askew to completely horizontal. "Mrs. Goldfarb, please stop tweeting about 'The Great Tree Massacre of 2025’. It's giving people the wrong idea."
Lena found herself smiling as she watched Kara bend down to rescue a ceramic angel with a chipped wing, handling it as reverently as if it were a priceless artifact instead of a five-dollar trinket from a discount store. There was something magnetic about her, the way she moved through space as if gravity were merely a suggestion rather than a law.
Ten minutes later, Kara returned, slightly disheveled but triumphant. She'd acquired a streak of silver tinsel in her hair that caught the light like a shooting star.
"Crisis averted," she announced, dropping onto the couch beside Lena with a theatrical sigh. "The tree lives to see another day, though it's listing about fifteen degrees to port. Or is it starboard? I always get those confused."
"Port is left, starboard is right," Lena offered automatically, then caught herself. "Not that I'm a sailing enthusiast. Just... useless trivia."
"Nothing useless about knowing your ports from your starboards," Kara countered, her eyes twinkling. "Might save your life someday. Or at least prevent you from looking like an idiot on a yacht."
"Do you spend a lot of time on yachts?" Lena asked, genuinely curious.
"Me? God no. I get seasick on the kiddie rides at the carnival." Kara kicked off her shoes—fuzzy reindeer slippers that somehow matched her dinosaur sweater in spirit if not in theme—and tucked her feet underneath her. "But you strike me as someone with a yacht-adjacent past. Just Lena with the expensive dress who knows nautical directions."
Lena felt her cheeks warm. The dress was understated by her standards, but of course Kara had noticed its quality. "I've been on exactly one yacht, and I spent the entire time trying not to throw up over the side. So much for my seafaring career."
"Well, that makes two of us. Land-lubbers unite." Kara held up her hand for a high-five, which Lena returned after a moment's hesitation. Their palms connected with a satisfying smack that seemed to echo in Lena's chest. "So, mystery neighbor, what do you do when you're not avoiding social gatherings and failing to become a pirate queen?"
Lena considered her answer carefully. "I work in tech. Research and development, mostly." It wasn't a lie, just a simplified version of the truth that omitted words like 'CEO' and 'multi-billion-dollar corporation’.
"Ooh, like robots and stuff?" Kara leaned forward, eyes bright with interest. "Are you building Skynet? Should I be concerned?"
"No Skynet," Lena promised, charmed by Kara's enthusiasm. "More like medical technology. Less apocalyptic."
"That's what they all say right before the robots take over," Kara said sagely, then broke into a grin. "I'm a reporter, by the way. CatCo Magazine."
"A reporter?" Lena couldn't hide the slight tension that crept into her voice.
"Don't worry, I'm not interviewing you," Kara assured her, misreading Lena's concern. "This is strictly off the record. Unless you want to give me an exclusive on your secret robot army?"
The teasing in her voice melted Lena's momentary anxiety. "I'll have my PR team send you a press release when the invasion begins."
"That's all I ask." Kara shifted, getting comfortable. The movement brought her knee within inches of Lena's thigh. "So, Just Lena the Tech Wizard, let me guess... you moved here from... New York? Boston? Somewhere with tall buildings and people who walk really fast for no reason?"
"Metropolis, actually," Lena admitted, watching Kara's face for any flicker of recognition.
"Metropolis! City of Tomorrow and home to approximately twelve Starbucks per square mile." Kara nodded appreciatively. "I have a cousin there. Says it's all glass and steel and people who think a smile is a sign of weakness."
"That's... surprisingly accurate," Lena conceded with a small laugh. "National City feels different. Warmer."
"It's the palm trees," Kara said with mock seriousness. "They're scientifically proven to make people 30% more chill."
"Is that your professional journalistic assessment?"
"Absolutely. I have sources and everything." Kara's smile was infectious. "Speaking of sources, I'm going to need more information about you. For neighborly purposes only, I promise."
"What kind of information?" Lena asked, one eyebrow arched in amusement.
"Oh, you know, the basics." Kara waved a hand airily. "Favorite color, greatest fear, whether you're Team Edward or Team Jacob, that sort of thing."
"Are we playing twenty questions?"
"We could be," Kara said, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Or we could call it 'Getting to Know Your Mysterious Neighbor Who Might Be a Superhero in Disguise’."
"I'm hardly a superhero," Lena protested, though the idea of being seen as a force for good rather than a Luthor made something warm unfurl in her chest.
"That's exactly what a superhero would say," Kara pointed out. "But fine, we'll start easy. Coffee or tea?"
"Coffee in the morning, tea at night," Lena answered without hesitation.
"Practical and balanced. I like it." Kara nodded approvingly. "Dogs or cats?"
"Both, though I travel too much for pets."
"Favorite season?"
"Autumn."
"Sweet or savory?"
"Savory, though I have a weakness for good chocolate."
"Who doesn't?" Kara agreed. "Early bird or night owl?"
"Night owl by nature, early bird by necessity."
"Same! Well, minus the early bird part. I hit snooze like it's an Olympic sport." Kara's enthusiasm was palpable, her questions coming faster now. "Favorite book?"
"That's impossible to answer," Lena protested.
"Fair enough. Okay, desert island book?"
Lena considered. "Something practical, like a survival guide. Or maybe 'Pride and Prejudice’. I've read it so many times I could practically recite it."
"A woman of taste and practicality," Kara approved. "Favorite movie?"
"The Princess Bride."
"Perfect answer. No notes." Kara beamed. "Family? Siblings?"
The question landed like a stone in still water, ripples of tension spreading outward. Lena hesitated, unsure how to navigate this particular minefield.
Kara must have sensed her discomfort because she quickly added, "You don't have to answer that one. Family stuff can be complicated. Trust me, I know."
"It's okay," Lena said, touched by Kara's sensitivity. "One brother. We're... not close."
"I get that," Kara said softly. "Families are tough. I was adopted when I was thirteen. My sister Alex—the one who can disarm bombs—she didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat at first."
"And now?" Lena asked, genuinely curious.
"Now she's my best friend," Kara said with a fondness that made Lena's heart ache. "But it took time. And a lot of late-night ice cream sessions where we talked about everything from boys to the existential dread of being a teenager."
"That sounds nice," Lena said, unable to imagine having that kind of relationship with Lex. "My brother and I... we took different paths."
"Sometimes that's how it goes," Kara said, her voice gentle but not pitying. "My adoptive parents are scientists. Very kind, very smart, very... earnest. But my birth parents were more artistic. Sometimes I feel caught between worlds."
The admission, offered so freely, made Lena feel less alone. "I understand that feeling," she said quietly.
"I thought you might," Kara replied, her gaze steady and warm. "You have that look about you. Like you're watching the party from behind glass."
"Is it that obvious?" Lena asked, surprised by Kara's perception.
"Only to another glass-watcher," Kara said with a small smile. "But hey, that's why we have parties like this, right? To remind ourselves we're not alone, even when we feel like we are."
The sentiment was so genuine, so lacking in artifice, that Lena felt something inside her soften. "Is that why you're here? To remind yourself you're not alone?"
"Partly," Kara admitted. "Also for the free food. A reporter's salary doesn't exactly cover gourmet meals."
Lena laughed, grateful for the lightening of the mood. "The cheese cubes are particularly luxurious."
"Only the finest processed dairy products for us," Kara agreed solemnly, then brightened. "Oh! I almost forgot the most important question. What's your last name, Just Lena?"
The directness of the question caught Lena off guard. She opened her mouth, not sure what would come out, when they were interrupted by a loud electronic squeal from the speaker system.
"Attention, neighbors!" The building manager's voice crackled through the room. "It's time for our annual Secret Santa exchange! Please gather by the tree—the newly re-erected tree, thank you very much—to receive your gifts!"
"Saved by the bell," Kara murmured, her eyes twinkling. "Don't think I've forgotten my question, though. I'm very persistent."
"I'm getting that impression," Lena replied dryly.
"You should see me when I'm on a story," Kara said, making no move to join the gift exchange. "I once camped outside a CEO's office for three days straight to get a quote. Slept under my desk and everything."
"That's... dedication," Lena said, impressed despite herself.
"Or stubbornness. My sister says there's a fine line." Kara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture oddly vulnerable. "Speaking of stories, you never did tell me why you moved to National City. The real reason, not the 'change of scenery' line."
Lena considered deflecting again, but something about Kara's open face made her want to offer at least a version of the truth. "I needed a fresh start," she said finally. "In Metropolis, I was... defined by my family. Here, I can just be myself."
"And who is that?" Kara asked, her voice soft. "The real Lena behind the armor?"
The question hung between them, intimate and challenging. Lena was saved from answering by Mrs. Goldfarb, who tottered over with two small, messily wrapped packages.
"For you dears," she announced, thrusting the gifts at them. "Everyone gets something, even if they didn't participate in the exchange. That's the rule."
"Thank you, Mrs. G," Kara said warmly, accepting both packages and handing one to Lena. "Your wrapping skills are unparalleled as always."
"Bah, my arthritis makes me all thumbs," the older woman said, but she looked pleased. "You two enjoy. And Kara, introduce your friend to everyone properly before the night's over. We don't bite, you know."
As Mrs. Goldfarb shuffled away, Kara turned to Lena with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that. She's the building's unofficial grandmother. Takes it upon herself to make sure no one feels left out."
"It's sweet," Lena said, turning the small package over in her hands. It was wrapped in what appeared to be Sunday comics, secured with an alarming amount of tape.
"Go on, open it," Kara encouraged, already tearing into her own gift with childlike enthusiasm. "Mrs. G has an uncanny knack for giving people exactly what they didn't know they needed."
Lena carefully peeled back the paper to reveal a small, handmade ornament. A delicate glass star that caught the light and scattered it in rainbow patterns. It was simple but beautiful, the kind of thing that would have been dismissed as worthless in the Luthor household but somehow felt precious now.
"It's lovely," she said softly.
"Look," Kara said, holding up her own gift. An identical star, but in a deep blue glass. "We match."
Something about the coincidence—or perhaps it wasn't coincidence at all—made Lena's throat tighten. "They're beautiful."
"Mrs. G makes them herself," Kara explained. "She says stars are for people finding their way home."
The words resonated somewhere deep in Lena's chest. Home was a concept she'd never fully understood, a place that had always felt just out of reach.
"What did you get?" asked a new voice, and Lena looked up to see Kara's sister approaching, a glass of punch in one hand and a knowing smirk on her face.
"Stars," Kara replied, holding hers up to the light. "Aren't they perfect?"
"Very you," Alex agreed, then turned to Lena with an appraising look. "I'm Alex. You must be the mysterious new neighbor my sister hasn't shut up about for weeks."
"Weeks?" Lena echoed, glancing at Kara, whose cheeks had turned an interesting shade of pink.
"Alex is exaggerating," Kara said quickly. "It's been days, at most."
"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night," Alex said with a roll of her eyes. "Anyway, I'd stay and chat, but Maggie and I are heading out. Early shift tomorrow."
As Alex walked away, Kara groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Sisters should come with mute buttons," she muttered.
"So you've been talking about me?" Lena couldn't help but tease, enjoying the way Kara's blush deepened.
"Only in the most neighborly way possible," Kara insisted, peeking through her fingers. "Just, you know, speculating about whether you were a international spy or a reclusive genius. The usual."
"And what was the verdict?"
"Still gathering evidence," Kara said, dropping her hands to reveal a smile that made Lena's heart skip. "But I'm leaning toward 'fascinating woman who deserves more than bottom-shelf Merlot at a building party’."
The compliment, delivered with such straightforward sincerity, caught Lena off guard. "I—thank you," she managed, unused to praise that came without agenda.
"Just stating facts," Kara said with a shrug. "So, next question. If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?"
And just like that, they were back in their bubble, the rest of the party fading into background noise as Kara led Lena through a winding conversation that touched on everything from childhood dreams to conspiracy theories about whether aliens might be living among them—"I'm just saying, have you seen how many 'people' in this city can eat an entire pizza by themselves? Suspicious."
Kara was a study in contradictions—guileless yet perceptive, goofy yet profound. She had a way of listening that made Lena feel heard, truly heard, perhaps for the first time in her life. And she spoke about her own experiences with a candor that was both refreshing and disarming.
"My parents died when I was twelve," she said at one point, her voice soft but steady. "That's why the Danvers took me in. It was... hard. Losing my whole world in one night."
"I can't imagine," Lena said, resisting the urge to reach for Kara's hand.
"You adjust," Kara said with a small smile. "You find new constellations to navigate by."
The image struck Lena as profoundly beautiful—this bright, resilient woman charting her course by unfamiliar stars, refusing to let darkness define her.
They talked about Kara's job—"Cat Grant is terrifying but brilliant, like if Miranda Priestly and Oprah had a baby who subsisted entirely on lattes and the tears of interns", her favorite foods—"All of them. Food is my love language. Except kale. Kale is what happens when lettuce has an identity crisis", and her dream of writing a novel someday—"Something hopeful but not sappy, you know? The world has enough cynicism".
In return, Lena found herself sharing more than she'd intended—her love of chess, her collection of first-edition science books, her secret habit of watching terrible reality TV when she couldn't sleep. Each revelation felt like stepping into open air, exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.
"Wait, you're telling me you've never had a Big Belly Burger?" Kara gasped when Lena admitted to avoiding fast food. "That's it. We're fixing this immediately. Tomorrow. Lunch date. Non-negotiable."
"Is that so?" Lena arched an eyebrow, amused by Kara's determination.
"Absolutely. It's my civic duty as your neighbor and guide to National City culture." Kara's expression was so earnest that Lena couldn't help but laugh.
"Alright, lunch it is," she agreed, surprised by how much she was looking forward to it.
It wasn't until she noticed people beginning to leave, coats being collected and goodbyes exchanged, that Lena realized how much time had passed. Somehow, she and Kara had migrated to a small couch in the corner of the room, both of them with their shoes off, angled toward each other like parentheses enclosing a private conversation. Kara's feet, clad in mismatched socks—one with pizzas, one with what appeared to be tiny microscopes, were tucked under Lena's thigh, and Lena's normally rigid posture had relaxed into something almost languid.
The realization was startling. Lena Luthor, who timed her social appearances down to the minute and never, ever lost track of her surroundings, had just spent—she glanced at her watch and blinked in surprise—three hours completely absorbed in conversation with a woman she'd just met.
"Oh," she said, the sound soft with wonder. "I didn't realize how late it was."
Kara followed her gaze to the thinning crowd, looking equally surprised. "Wow, time flies when you're interrogating your neighbors, huh?"
"Is that what this was? An interrogation?" Lena asked, lips quirking into a smile.
"The friendliest one ever," Kara assured her, stretching her arms above her head in a way that made her sweater ride up, revealing a sliver of tanned skin. "Did it work? Do I know all your secrets now?"
"Hardly," Lena said, though the truth was that Kara had somehow coaxed more personal information from her in one evening than most people learned in months.
"Well, there's always tomorrow," Kara said with a confidence that should have been presumptuous but somehow wasn't. "Lunch, remember? I need to witness your first Big Belly Burger experience. For journalistic purposes."
"I wouldn't miss it," Lena said, and meant it. The prospect of seeing Kara again so soon filled her with a buoyant feeling she couldn't quite name.
As they gathered their things—Kara sliding her feet back into her ridiculous slippers, Lena carefully wrapping her glass star in a napkin—Lena caught herself wondering what it would be like to have this regularly. Easy conversation, genuine laughter, the warm glow of connection without expectation or agenda.
It was a dangerous thought for a Luthor. Dangerous because it felt like hope, and hope was a luxury Lena had trained herself not to indulge in. Yet as they stepped into the elevator together, she couldn't quite banish the warm glow that had taken root somewhere beneath her ribs.
"Fourth floor," Kara announced unnecessarily as she pressed the button, her star ornament catching the light as it dangled from her fingers. "Did you know our building's elevator has a personality? Some days it stops at every floor regardless of whether anyone pressed the button. Other days it's so efficient it practically teleports."
"Today?" Lena asked, leaning against the wall, suddenly aware of how close they were standing in the confined space.
"Today it feels... contemplative," Kara decided, studying the ancient control panel as if reading tea leaves. "Like it's savoring the journey."
As if to prove her point, the elevator creaked and groaned its way upward with deliberate slowness.
"Or it's about to plummet us to our deaths," Lena suggested dryly.
"Always the optimist," Kara laughed, the sound bouncing off the metal walls and wrapping around Lena like a physical touch. "Don't worry, I'd catch you."
The casual certainty in her voice made Lena glance at her sharply. Kara was smiling, but there was something in her eyes—a steadiness, a strength that seemed at odds with her sunny demeanor.
"You sound very sure of that," Lena said.
"I am," Kara replied simply. Before Lena could respond, the elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open with a metallic groan.
The hallway was dimly lit, the overhead fixtures casting pools of warm light on the faded carpet. Their apartments faced each other across the narrow corridor—4A and 4B, mirror images with identical doors, though Kara's was adorned with a small wreath of fairy lights shaped like donuts.
"Of course," Lena murmured, nodding toward the decoration.
"What? Donuts are festive," Kara defended, fishing her keys from her pocket. "You should see my Christmas tree. It's basically a shrine to carbohydrates."
"I'll have to take your word for it," Lena said, finding her own keys.
"Or you could see it for yourself," Kara suggested, her voice casual but her eyes hopeful. "Movie night? This weekend? I make excellent popcorn. And by 'make' I mean I buy the fancy kind from Trader Joe's and dump it in a bowl."
The invitation was so unexpected, so genuine, that Lena felt momentarily speechless. When was the last time someone had invited her over just to watch a movie? Not to discuss business, not to curry favor with the Luthor name, just... because?
"I'd like that," she heard herself say, and the smile that bloomed across Kara's face was like sunrise breaking over the horizon—gradual, then all at once, brilliant and warm.
"Great! It's a date. I mean, not a date-date. Unless—no, definitely not a date. Just two neighbors hanging out. Totally normal." Kara's cheeks flushed pink as she stumbled over her words, and Lena found it endearing rather than awkward.
"A neighborly movie night," Lena agreed, her lips curving into a smile she couldn't suppress.
They reached Lena's door first, and she slipped her key into the lock, turning it with a soft click. But instead of saying goodnight, Kara leaned against the wall beside the door, clearly in no hurry to end their conversation.
"So," Kara said, twirling her own keys around her finger, "on a scale of one to ten, how glad are you that you came to the party?"
Lena pretended to consider, tilting her head. "I'd say... a solid eight."
"Only eight?" Kara clutched her chest in mock offense. "What would have made it a ten?"
"Better wine," Lena said promptly, "and maybe fewer renditions of 'All I Want For Christmas Is You'."
"Fair points," Kara conceded with a laugh. "Next time, I'll smuggle in the good stuff. I know a guy who knows a guy."
"Next time," Lena echoed.
A comfortable silence settled between them, neither quite ready to say goodnight. Kara's gaze was soft, almost wondering, as if she too was surprised by how easily they'd connected.
"Well," Kara said finally, straightening up, "I should let you get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. Burger epiphany and all that."
"Right," Lena agreed, though sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. Her thoughts were buzzing with the evening's conversations, with the unexpected pleasure of Kara's company.
"Goodnight, Just Lena," Kara said, taking a step backward toward her own door. "Sweet dreams."
"Goodnight, Kara," Lena replied, her hand on the doorknob.
Kara turned, keys jingling as she moved to unlock her apartment. The sight of her walking away triggered something in Lena—a sudden, inexplicable certainty that this moment mattered, that what happened next would set the tone for whatever was growing between them.
"Luthor," she said, the word falling from her lips before she could reconsider.
Kara paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Hmm?"
"My last name," Lena clarified, her heart hammering against her ribs. "It's Luthor. Lena Luthor."
She waited, breath held, for the recognition to dawn in Kara's eyes, for the warmth there to cool into wariness or, worse, fear. It always happened eventually—the moment when her name overshadowed everything else about her.
Kara turned fully to face her, head tilted slightly as she processed the information. "Luthor," she repeated, testing the sound of it. "As in...?"
"Yes," Lena said simply, not bothering to specify which notorious Luthor Kara was thinking of. It didn't matter. They were all tainted by association.
Kara nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful rather than alarmed. Then, to Lena's surprise, she smiled—a small, knowing curve of her lips.
"Well, Lena Luthor," she said, her voice warm and steady, "I'm still looking forward to lunch tomorrow. And I still think you deserve better wine."
The simplicity of the response, the complete lack of judgment or recoil, left Lena momentarily stunned. She searched Kara's face for any hint of deception, any sign that this acceptance was merely politeness masking discomfort.
But all she found was openness, and perhaps a flicker of something deeper—a recognition, as if Kara understood what it had cost Lena to offer this truth.
"Lunch," Lena managed to say, her voice steadier than she felt. "One o'clock?"
"Perfect," Kara agreed, her smile widening. "Sleep well, Lena Luthor."
As Kara disappeared into her apartment with a final wave, Lena stood motionless in her doorway, the glass star cool against her palm, its edges pressing into her skin. The simple exchange had left her feeling oddly weightless, as if she'd set down a burden she hadn't realized she was carrying.
Lena Luthor, who had spent a lifetime building walls and calculating risks, had just handed Kara Danvers the key to her most closely guarded secret—and Kara had accepted it with the same easy grace with which she'd shared her punch and her conversation.
It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was, Lena realized as she finally stepped into her apartment and closed the door behind her, the most honest interaction she'd had in years.