#and the Jason derulo esque phrase drops

[mzcain27]

You can tell when people write singles and not for a whole album but put them all on an album anyway, if I have to hear this dude say this one phrase or laugh on a song one more time I’m gonna lose it

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Ruination (4/6)

Title: Ruination

Author: gldngrl7

Started: January 5, 2017

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 6

Author’s Notes:

I feel like I should point out that some stuff happened in this chapter that literally blind-sided me.  Just came out of nowhere.  That's how it works with me -- and sometimes that’s how I know it’s working.  It’s the stuff that blind-sides that really drives the story forward.

BIG NOTE:  I am borrowing canon from other Superman universes.  When Supergirl provides direct canon I will always choose that (to the best of my memory) but when no canon is provided I WILL borrow from “Smallville” or “Man of Steel”.  Be warned..

More religiony type stuff in this chapter,  But it’s alien religion stuff,so if you get offended...you’re weird.

Chapter 4 is NOT explicit in rating.  My apologies.

Thanks to the following for your comments and flailing.  You guys are awesome: @pwettypwita, @lostin-the-desert

To all others: thanks for reading/liking

Constructive criticisms and feedback/comments/flailing are mightily appreciated.  Flames are destroyed by my freeze breath.

Chapter: 4/6

           Look what we started, baby

                 You're not what I expected

                          'Cause all I ever wanted was some fun

           Look what we started, baby

                   Used to look for exits

                            'Cause all I ever wanted was some fun

             I never meant to fall in love

                              --Jason Derulo – “Cheyenne”

 A black light provided by the DEO reveals the trace remains of the Medusa virus’s presence wherever it fluoresces.  Despite the speed of his work, it is challenging to find every bit of remaining contaminant.  It’s everywhere, he knows, thanks to the virus being aerosolized into a weapon. It’s on every chair, every booth, on the ceiling, beneath the tables, and every glass and bottle of liquor will be have to be decontaminated.

“Why don’t we knock off for the rest of the day?  We can pick up again tomorrow.”  M’gann, the White Martian who’s chosen to live in human form, stands before Mon-El in a borrowed HazMat suit.  Due to his immunity, he doesn’t require extra protection so he’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs borrowed from the hospital laundry, sneakers that are barely hanging on since walking through fire, and a pair of thick, black rubber gloves that extend nearly to his elbows.

“Walk me out?” she asks.  Mon-El nods, tearing off his rubber gloves and dropping them on the bar. M’gann isn’t one for tight spaces and needs frequent breaks from the confinement of the suit, from which she requires assistance in donning and removal.

In the alleyway behind the bar, they stand in front of the open back doors of her van filled with bleach and other cleaning materials.  By the time they’re finished, her bar is going to be the cleanest joint in all of National City.  Mon-El sprays down her suit with a fine mist of decontaminant before reaching for plastic zipper that from just below the suit’s helmet, diagonally across her body.  She’s tearing off the helmet before he’s finished with the zipper.

M’gann takes a deep breath and tilts her head back, eyes clothes, absorbing the sun’s rays like she’s a Kryptonian/Daxamite.  She really hates being inside this monstrosity.  She hates even more that she has to.  She slithers out of the rest of the suit and throws it in the back of the van.  The bar had been her home away from home until it was heartlessly violated by CADMUS in an attempt to murder every alien inside.  She feels as if it was taken from them—from her—and she’s determined to take it back.

“Same time tomorrow?” Mon-El asks.

“You bet,” she replies.  “For as long as I can stand the suit.”

Concerned for her apparent claustrophobic tendencies, he suggests, “You know I can just take care of it.  There’s no need for you to get suited up all the time.”

“It’s my place now,” she shakes her head, “and I should be there. I need to see this through.” After the attack, the bar’s original owner couldn’t put the place on the market fast enough, so M’gann snapped it up for a steal, seeing the opportunity to truly make a home here.

“I understand,” he answers.  Or at least, he’s beginning to.  Working for something, earning it, seems to make people more attached to it – responsible for it.  It’s a pattern he’s beginning to see more and more among the humans.

“I appreciate the offer though, Mon-El, I really do.”  Then with a chuckle she asks, “You trying to get on someone’s good side?”

“Just yours,” he smiles, in a way that he hopes is not too charming, but rather inviting.

Her eyes widen, not expecting that answer.  “Well, you’re on the right track.  What is it that you want?”

“Something a little more permanent.  I could really use a job.”

“Tired of living off a government stipend?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, I need bartenders,” she says.  “I’m having trouble filling my roster at the moment.  Can’t imagine why…” she mutters.

A ray of hope lights in Mon-El’s eyes but it’s quickly extinguished. “I don’t…know how to do that.”

“You’ll learn,” she shrugs.  “It’s not rocket science, and I’m sure that smile of yours will make up for the mistakes you make when you’re starting out. Although I recommend not smiling at the Tregorians – showing teeth is an insult.  Anyway…I’m expecting the place to be slow for the first few weeks. That should give you some time to pick up most of the basics.  Four hundred a week to start, plus tips – which you’ll split evenly with the wait staff on shift,” she informs him, her tone all-business.  “If you’re still working out after six months, I’ll up it to six hundred.”

It sounds like a million units of currency to him.  The ray of hope appears again.  “I really owe you, M’gann.  You won’t regret giving me this chance.”

“I’m the one that owes you.  If it hadn’t been for you we might never have known who did this.”

“No. that’s--,” he shakes his head.  “I just wish I could have done more.”  He recalls the bar littered with bodies of dead customers.  Peaceful aliens, like himself, who died at the hands of CADMUS.  He might have been killed himself had he not chased after the perpetrator, narrowly missing the release of the aerosolized weapon; and had he not been a Daxamite, his Kryptonian-esque DNA softening the blow of the virus and giving Eliza Danvers a chance to find a way to combat it.

“Here,” M’gann says, reaching into her back pocket and withdrawing a wad of cash.  “For your help today.”

Mon-El stares down at the folded wad and counts three hundred units of currency.  “I think you might have given me too much,” he says, confused by the sudden influx of wealth.  The currency in his hand is more than his monthly stipend.

“Look, Mon-El, there are two people who can safely handle this task, and the other one is busy being Supergirl.  That makes you a hot commodity.  Besides, it looks like you might need some new clothes and shoes.”  She tilts her head, indicating his borrowed scrubs. ‘There’s a clothing resale shop down the street – that is if you don’t mind wearing clothes other people have worn before.  But they’re cheap, and if you’re going to keep jumping into fires, you’ll want to get the most bang for your buck.”

“Right,” he says, having no idea what the phrase means.  At least he’s beginning to recognize an idiom when he hears one, so that’s progress.  Before he leaves, she gives him instructions on locating the shop and its name.  It will be nice to have something other than scrubs to wear for his ‘date’ with Kara.

M’gann, having more knowledge of Earth, and National City in particular, is correct.  For a whopping thirty-two units of currency he obtains two pairs of thick denim jeans, a few button up shirts (one with a hardly noticeable stain on the hem), a few t-shirts, a pair of brown work boots with steel toes, and a jacket with a hood. Changing into the jeans, he layers a blue and white plaid flannel shirt with a red t-shirt, and though he has no fresh socks, he laces up the boots anyway, tossing his burned sneakers into the nearby trash.  His scrubs he throws into the bag before he leaves.  He can’t deny their comfort and wishes to keep them should he have occasion to use them again.

Mon-El makes a few more stops along the way to meet Kara, spending his money like a miser, but picking up a few necessities, like socks and a cheap watch.  He also wishes to purchase one of these communication devices that everyone carries around with them, but after stepping into the store and checking the prices, finds it too expensive for his current state of finances.

Outside of the ice cream shop, Mon-El doesn’t wait long before he spots Kara moving towards him, fast by human standards, but by no means using super speeds.  She grins at him the moment her eyes alight on his, and his stomach plummets.  The thought of losing that look in her eyes, terrifies him beyond the telling of it.

“I’m right here,” Ral interrupts Mon-El’s thoughts, his voice reassuring.  “You can do this.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Hey!” Mon-El greets, his grin plastered to his face.   She’s dressed as Kara Danvers, which makes sense, since Supergirl on an ice cream outing would likely bring too much attention.  She wears a light green Oxford, with a dove gray pencil skirt and pointy-toed flats.  She’s wearing her glasses, with her voluminous hair knotted on her head and secured with what looks like…pencils?  Will wonders never cease?  “You’re right on time,” he checks the hour with the new watch on his wrist.

“Hey, you,” she greets back with her usually cheery disposition. After a moment’s hesitation, a shift of weight from one foot to another and then back again, she throws caution to the wind and leans forward to greet him with a kiss.  It’s chaste and quick, appropriate for a public sidewalk greeting, but still she aches for more.  Pulling back, her hands on his shoulders, she notices his obvious change of clothes, as well as the bag he carries.  “What have you got there?”

“M’gann gave me currency for the work I did today, and so I went shopping. She told me of a place that sells cheap clothes that have already been worn by others.  Isn’t that an interesting idea?  What does ‘bang for your buck’ mean?”

“It means to get a lot for a small amount of money,” she answers with a smile.  “So you went to the Goodwill?”

“Yes, that was the name of it,” he confirms.   “I was able to get several articles of clothing and these boots for only thirty-two units.”

“Dollars,” she corrects.  “We call units ‘dollars’ here in America…or ‘bucks’—which is why we say ‘bang for your buck’.  Though other countries have different names and values for their currency.”

“That makes more sense now,” he says, his eyes lighting up with understanding.   “Dollars,” he repeats, committing its meaning to memory.

He’s adorable when he’s working hard to fit in.  “Yes.  It’s written right there on the bills,” she chuckles.  Kara looks down, realizing that, at some point, her hand had slipped into his…or maybe it was the other way around.

“I also got this watch,” he holds up his wrist.  “It was twenty-seven dollars. Is that a good price?  It has not been used before by another person.”

“Depends on the watch.  Some watches cost thousands of dollars,” she informs him with a smile..  “I don’t think you need one of those, though.”

Who would pay thousands of units—dollars—for a common device used for telling time?

“Watches are also a fashion statement,” she answers, as though reading his mind.

“Ah.”  Mon-El leads her into the shop and they stand in line as they wait to be served. Ridiculous behavior for the sake of fashion or status is something he understands all too well.

Predictably, when it’s their turn at the counter, Mon-El has difficulty deciding on a flavor as there are thirty-one completely different flavors from which to choose.  The teenage girl behind the counter patiently offers him several samples on tiny little spoons, and it’s the pistachio almond flavor that tickles his taste buds the most. Kara chooses mint chocolate chip on a wafer cone.  They get two scoops each.

Kara attempts to stop him when he pulls out his wallet to pay, but he waves her off.  “I want to,” he says, enjoying the first time he’s gotten to pay the way with her.

Also, he’s about to tell her something unpleasant; it doesn’t seem right that he should drop bad news on her and make her pay for the ice cream.

“How do you feel about taking a walk?” he asks.  “To the park, maybe?”

Kara nods and Mon-El’s mind scrambles for a suitable conversation topic. The way she’s licking her ice cream, wide swipes of her determined tongue around the rounded scoop, does nothing to help his predicament.  Mon-El clamps down on the groan that’s ready to force its way out.

She tells him about what happened after he left the ruined hospital. How she helped get the critically injured to the nearest emergency room, and how she stayed behind afterwards to talk to the many of the kids.

“Oh, they wanted to know all about you!” she exclaims.

‘They did?”  Mon-El asks, surprise written across his features.

Kara nudges his shoulder with hers. “I told you they would never forget you.”

“Well…what did you…say?”  He’s almost afraid to hear her answer.

“I told them that you were a secret superhero, which they didn’t believe because they said you had no costume, and I said it was because you didn’t even have a superhero name, which is when they started making suggestions.”

Amused by her description of the conversation, Mon-El inquires, “Really? Like what?”

“Well, there was the ‘Leaping Man’ – an obvious choice, if you ask me.  Maybe a little too on the nose.  One older kid suggested ‘Ascension’, which I give points for knowing an SAT word.  There was one young girl there, in the hospital for a gymnastics injury who suggested, ‘Springboard’.  Personally, I don’t think any of them sound like you.”

“What sounds like me then?” he wonders.

Kara thinks for a moment and responds, “Mon-El.”

“But that’s my actual name.  And it won’t exactly evoke confidence among people.”

“It evokes confidence in me,” she counters.  “What I’m trying to say is …being a hero is a choice you have to make for you, not for anyone else.  You showed up today and you saved lives, but I don’t want you to think that’s what I expect from you.  I was on this planet for twelve years before I became Supergirl.  I chose to save my sister in that plane, exposing my abilities to the world, and as a consequence Supergirl was born.  If Alex’s flight had gone on to Geneva and landed safely, there’s no telling what I’d be doing right now.  It’s likely that I’d just be plain old Kara Danvers, Cat Grant’s assistant at CatCo.”

“There’s not a single thing that’s plain about you, Kara,” he compliments. Mon-El takes another bite from his Pistachio Almond, and rolls the cold treat around on his tongue, thinking about how his life might have been different if Kara had never become Supergirl. “If that had happened…we might never have met,” he realizes.  “The DEO would probably have locked me in a cell and thrown away the key.  The only reason J’onn gave me a chance was because of you.  You’re the only one who’s ever had any faith in me.”

Faith he fears shattering, now more than ever.  When he tells her the truth, if she believes for a moment that he’s lying for his own purposes, she will never look at him the same way again, never hold his hand again, never kiss him again.  And she will most certainly never take him into her bed again.

“On Krypton we had a saying: Rao offers freedom with one hand and unbreakable will with the other.”

“What does it mean?”

“That Rao gives us a lot of breathing room to make our own mistakes and live out our own choices, but when He commands something, our own free will takes a backseat.  He will have His way,” she tells him.  “And by fighting it…the worst harm you bring is to yourself, because he will never stop trying to bring it about.”

“And you think Rao made you Supergirl.”

“Looking back, as I became an adult, there were signs that I didn’t follow; opportunities I intentionally overlooked.  I simply put on my lead-lined glasses and turned a blind eye. Until He did something I couldn’t—wouldn’t—ignore.  I try not to defy Rao when he makes himself known.”

“You are very religious,” he says, trying not to sound judgmental.

“Yes, Krypton is a monotheist culture while Daxam is a planet of polytheists,” she parrots the teaching of her database construct.

“Or anti-theists,” he counters.  “Like myself.”

“So you don’t believe in anything?”

“Can you blame me really?” he shrugs, referring to the unfathomable tragedy that now defines his entire existence.  “But even before…there was a god for everything.  To believe in a god for everything is to ultimately believe in nothing.  How can a person spread themselves so thin, like water spilling across a stone floor?”

Suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has taken, Mon-El is anxious to move onto another topic, even if means deferring to a topic he’d rather ignore altogether.  Spotting a bench up ahead, he points her over to it, entreating her to sit, before taking a seat beside her.  He tosses the remainder of his ice cream into the trash can beside the bench and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“That part was edible, you know,” she chuckles.

“The receptacle?”

“It’s called a cone, and it’s made to be eaten.  See?”  Kara demonstrates by biting into the wafer cone with a satisfying crunch.  She covers her mouth as she chews but continues to speak.  “It’s my favorite part, to be honest.  Especially the last bite, when the cone is just a little bit soggy but still a little bit crunchy.”

“Well, the ice cream was delicious, so I’ll remember that for next time.”  He watches her whittle her cone down to nothing, before popping the last bit into her mouth to polish it off.  Mon-El swallows heavily, hoping the right words to say what he needs to say to her will come.  “Kara,” he begins.  “I invited you out here for more than just ice cream.  I invited you out because there’s something I need to tell you, and I think it’s better if I don’t do it while we’re surrounded by cameras and microphones.  It just wouldn’t be fair to you….”

“Fair to me?”  The world slows down around her and the vibrating in her body that’s a constant presence around him now, comes to a full stop.  Everything inside of her feels like it’s circling a drain and she’s slowly slipping away, scrabbling for purchase but finding none.  “You regret last night, don’t you?  Was I that awful?  I didn’t know what to do because it was all new, and you probably want someone who knows all those things already.”

Mon-El can only watch, stupefied by her conclusions, as Kara builds up a head of steam.  But then tears form in her bright blue eyes and her voice begins to hitch in the back of her throat in that way that makes him willing to do anything to turn her world right-side-up again.  She stands from the bench and begins pacing in front of it before turning on him.

“But…you!” she accuses, wildly pointing her index finger.  “What about all that stuff you said about doing what it takes to win my heart?  You lied and I believed you!  I’m such an idiot.  It’s the oldest story in the book, isn’t it?”

“Kara, stop!” he shouts, grabbing at her arm.  Her mouth snaps shut obediently, as she stares down at the hand on her skin.  “Could you just…sit down for a minute?”  Kara heeds his request, retaking her seat on the bench as far from him as possible.  “I don’t know about this book and its stories that you’re talking about, but I didn’t tell you anything that was a lie last night.”

“But—“ He holds up a finger, silencing her.

“Every word I said to you last night was true.  I do want to be the man you deserve, the kind of man that deserves you.  And I’m willing to do what it takes to earn your love…and…your trust. Which is why I have to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

 He reaches for her hand but before he can take it she snatches it away. A part of him shrivels up and dies on the inside.  “Last night…” he swallows, “when we had sex, I discovered something that may be very hard for you to hear.”

“It’s about me?”

“First of all, you did nothing wrong last night,” he begins, disabusing her of the notion that she is a lackluster partner.  “You were amazing and I can honestly say that being with you was the most fulfilling sexual experience of my life.”

“Oh,” she replies, blush spreading across her face, followed by a smile. She worries a paper napkin between her fingers.

“Kara, you are beautiful in every way and your body is spectacular.   But it is also extremely strong – every part of you.  I know you are very good at controlling your strength in ways I haven’t yet figured out myself.  I mean…you could probably arm wrestle a drunk reveler and not break his arm.”  Mon-El’s attempt at humor misses the mark, and so he quickly moves on.  “The problem, Kara, is that there are certain things that you can’t control, because you’re not supposed to control them, and when they happen they are tremendously powerful.”

“Oh,” she says, this time a shadow passing over her eyes.

“Kara, you will never be able to have sexual relations with a human man,” he says, at last, feeling a part of himself deflate a bit inside. “When you take your pleasure—“

“I understand,” she cuts him off, her voice emotionless, like an automaton.

“I’m sorry…to have to be one to tell you that.  I know it can’t be easy to hear.”

“How would you know?” she asks, a tinge of coldness in her voice. “I mean, how could possibly know how I feel?”

“Do you think I like this, Kara?  Do you think I wanted this for you?  How do you think it makes me feel knowing that if you choose me…it will be because you had no other options?  Besides…do you really think I wouldn’t have the same problems?  That I wouldn’t worry about breaking any human partner I chose?”

“Clark and Lois seem to be just fine,” she points out.

“Your cousin’s been here for thirty-seven years – since he was a baby. He’s had decades to adjust.  I’ve been here for a few months and I can barely hold an ale glass without shattering it.”

“I’m thought you were getting better with that.”

“I have to think about it every single time,” he counters.  He tilts his back, closes his eyes and sighs, defeated.  “This conversation was not supposed to become about me.  I just delivered some news that wouldn’t be easy for anyone to hear. So…I think it’s best if I…give you the time and the space you need to process it.”

Mon-El stands up and looks down at the top of her bowed head.  He wants so badly to comfort her, to place his hand on the crown of her head and stroke her hair, until her sadness goes away. “I think…maybe right now…I’m just a reminder of things you’ll never have.”  

He picks up his bag and with one last look back at her, turns and walks away.

 ****

 Kara sits there on the park bench until after the sun sets beyond the horizon.  Until the sound of police chase on the I-25 catches her ear and she’s off to nip that in the bud before innocent bystanders get hurt.  She’s happy for the distraction.  But standing there, in the middle of the freeway in her flowing cape and Kryptonian glyph, she’s reminded that this person she is – this hero with all of her unfathomable powers, may be all she is ever meant to be.  And there’s something heartbreaking about that.

She takes to the air where it’s easy to be alone with her thoughts. Up there, in the stratosphere she can block out the sound of the city below and just…float.

In the weeks prior to the fall of Krypton, Kara’s parents and Kal-El’s parents had spent many hours huddled together speaking of their plans. Kara always knew that her newborn cousin, Kal-El, was special, having grown inside of Lara’s belly instead of the Argosian birthing matrix like all the other children of Argo City, going back thousands of years.  Like herself.

Beyond changing Kal-El’s cloths in the first few days of his life, Kara recalls her Aunt Lara grasping her smaller hand, an excited smile on her face, and placing it over her ever expanding belly.  She remembers vividly the way she giggled when the growing child inside of Lara pressed against Kara’s hand, as though trying to greet her before his own birth.  

“Can you feel that, Kara?” she asked.

“Yes, Aunt Lara.  He moves so much!”  Kara loved him so.  Even from the very beginning.

A sad, resigned expression passes over her aunt’s face.  “He’s a strong one,” she said.  ‘Stronger than any Kryptonian born in ten generations, for growing inside of me. He’ll make his own choices one day. Decide who he wants to be without some birthing matrix telling him.”

“Maybe I’ll get to make my own choices too when I’m grown up,” Kara grinned, blissfully unaware that so many of her already limited choices would be taken from her in the coming weeks.

“I hope so Kara.  I hope so,” Aunt Lara said.  “Can you promise me something, dear one?”

“Anything, Aunt Lara!”

“If something should happen to me…or to your Uncle Jor…will you promise to take care of Kal?”  Aunt Lara rubbed her belly indicating her unborn son.

“Is that to be his name?” Kara asked. “Kal-El?”

“Yes,” Aunt Lara nodded with a wan smile.  “It means…Bringer of Hope.”

“I like it.”

“Will you make me this promise, precious Kara?” Aunt Lara asked, her voice taking on a near desperate edge.  “It would soothe my soul to know he will always have you.”

“Always, Aunt Lara,” she promised the woman, reaching out to caress the squirming bundle beneath her skin.  “I will always be by Kal-El’s side.”

“Then I know that wherever he is, he will be in the best of hands.”  The relief on Lara’s face was palpable, but Kara couldn’t think why.

Kal-El’s tiny foot kicks hard against her hand and Kara, filled with awe, presses back, letting him know she’s there and always will be.  “Aunt Lara?” she inquired.

“Yes, dear one?” Lara’s hand caressed Kara’s long golden hair.

“Will a baby grow inside of me one day?”  Kara asked, excited at the prospect of feeling it all from within.

“Would you like that, Kara?”

“I would!”  She replied with the innocence of a child without the means to determine the responsibilities that come with parenthood.

Lara placed her hand over Kara’s on her stomach, and squeezed her fingers lovingly.  “Then…if it is Rao’s will, that day may yet come…if you’re very lucky.”

“I will pray to Rao to make me lucky.”

A sadness crossed Lara’s face, and Kara wanted to inquire why her aunt was so melancholy about such a happy topic.  “I will pray with you,” she said.  “For the sake of all Kryptonians…may Rao see fit to bless you.”

Kara didn’t know what her aunt meant by invoking all Kryptonians, but she echoed back the expected answer anyway, “And may Rao see fit to bless you as well.”

She never forgot those moments with Lara which, as it turned out, were their last together before Kal was born.  By the time he came into the world, a fat, hungry baby, blissfully unware of the destruction bearing down on his people, Kara knew something was frightfully wrong.  Many times, she’d overhead her parents and Kal’s parents as they huddled together, speaking of escape pods and a planet with a yellow sun where Kal would grow to be strong.  

At first she wondered why Kal couldn’t grow to be strong on Krypton, until more of the pieces were revealed to her and everything became terrifyingly clear.  No one was going to be growing up on Krypton anymore, because soon there would be no Krypton.  She remembers her father, Zor-El, a well-respected bioengineer, telling her that something was wrong with Krypton’s core and that it couldn’t be fixed.  Not even by Uncle Jor-El, an astrophysicist, who was an expert in such matters, could find a solution.

Very soon Krypton would meet its doom, and everyone along with it. But they had a plan to evacuate as many people as possible using a variety of means.

It was a plan that never made it to fruition.  The time they were hoping for and counting on, never materialized. Kara had hope upon landing on Earth (arriving late after having been thrown off course) that others had survived the cataclysm and found their way here.  But her cousin Kal, who was now a full-grown man and very much beyond need of her help, explained that there were no others.  He too had been hopeful, and was glad, he’d said, if he only had her.  But over the years, that didn’t stop her from hoping.

If she had been thrown off course…didn’t that mean others could have been too?

It wasn’t until a year after her arrival on Earth, while lying in her twin bed next to Alex’s, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling, that Lara’s words that day began to make sense.

For the sake of all Kryptonians…

Kal-El was the Bringer of Hope, but so too was she – although of a different sort.  One day, when she was ready to be a mother, she would carry a child that would merge the world of Earth and Krypton together.  A child that would, in time, take humans to the next level of evolution. And in that child, Kara could instill knowledge of the best of Krypton, so that the culture of her ancestors could live on after she was gone, at least in memory.

Even before she was grown—before there was a Supergirl—it was her biological and moral imperative. Krypton must live on beyond her own lifetime and beyond Clark’s.  Not at the expense of another people, but with the help of it; together becoming better…stronger.  Kara hovers high above the clouds, her secret spot, mulling over her memories and everything she thought her life was supposed to be, but turns out…wasn’t.  

Perhaps Krypton is meant to die with her and Clark, she considers. But if that was so, why should they have survived in the first place?  Kara finds it unfeasible to believe that their joint survival was anything other than ordained.  It can’t have been an accident.  Yet why bring her across a galaxy to this place and then make it impossible for her to perpetuate her bloodline, her culture, her history?  Well…almost impossible. There was, after all, still one possibility.

One possibility.

One path.

Her breath catches in her lungs, her heart taking a giant leap forward before every ounce of tension seeps out of her body, as all the threads begin to gel into a cohesive tapestry that’s been right before her eyes all along. Why hadn’t she seen it?

Every muscle in her body tenses as she prepares to put on some speed. It is about time she stop brooding over the derailment of plans she made as a child, and start accepting the path before her – a path laid out for a grown woman.  Kara shoots forward, almost instantly breaking the sound barrier with a loud boom, a ballistic missile with a pedicure headed for the DEO. She just has one stop she needs to make first. Kara smiled.

She has to see a man about some red tubes.

TBC