queercapwriting:

“Supercorp reveal scene where Lena found kara in the elevator and helped her through the panic attack and mentioned the supergirl part later?” prompt from @kirstyn-loftus

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Kara doesn’t hear her heels echoing on the ground as she steps into the elevator, concern coloring her every feature.

Well, she hears them; she just doesn’t register them as Lena’s heels.

She registers them, instead, as the dull clanks of meteorites – no, debris, debris, the remains of her planet, the vaporized carcasses of her people – slamming into the hull of her pod.

The slamming, the clanking, the shuddering, the jolting, which she’d thought, at the time, would be the worst part.

But it wasn’t, in the end.

In the end – at the beginning? – it was the silence.

But there’s a voice, somehow, then.

A voice, somehow, that breaks through the silence.

Warm, soft hands, somehow, that break through the cold, broken isolation; the starvation, not from food, but from touch.

“Kara. Kara. Kara.”

It’s Alura’s voice, at first, but then, somehow, it’s not.

Then, somehow, it’s… Lena’s.

“Kara. It’s okay, Kara. You’re safe, you’re okay. You’re at CatCo, you’re with me. Lena. It’s okay, Kara. You’re okay. I can call Alex, Kara. But right now, I’ve got you. You’re safe, Kara, I promise.”

Lena thinks she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

The only person she’s ever brought back from a panic attack has been herself.

But when Kara’s eyes get less glassy; when her breathing stops and then slows; when her heart, racing faster than any human heart could, starts thrumming a safer rhythm, she realizes she must, maybe, somehow, this time, finally, have done something right.

“Lena?” 

Kara’s voice is broken and her eyes are even moreso.

She looks around the elevator like she’s not sure where she is or how she got there. She looks down at Lena’s arms, wrapped around her body like a shield, like she’s never been touched with love before in her life.

“I’m sorry,” Lena murmurs, and starts to let her go.

“Don’t,” Kara pleads before she can stop herself. 

“Stay,” she whispers before she can force herself to run away, to fly away, to push away, away, away.

Lena’s lips twitch like she’s both happy and sad; like she’s both elated and devastated, relieved and broken.

Because she is.

And she’ll have to talk to Kara, later. About what happened, and why. Because even if she hadn’t put it together before – the glasses really don’t help – she’d be utterly clueless not to notice that all the attacks on banks are when Kara leaves, that a telepathic meta is in town and suddenly Kara is having panic attacks in elevators.

Because Kara is, of course, Supergirl.

Her hero is the city’s hero.

And they’ll have to talk about it. 

But later.

Because for now, Lena stays. She stays.

She stays.