#hooray for brain draino

[naralanis]

A Luthor’s Gambit

The pneumatic hiss of the sealed doors is a deafening sound in the small space of the decontamination chamber—it reverberates off the metal walls, and the sudden change in pressure moves the air in an imitation of a breeze. It ruffles the stray hairs that have escaped Lena's bun and brings the sterile scent of the containment unit to her nose in one sudden waft.  

She's used to it by now, but those first few seconds are always a bit of an adjustment—the hiss of the door, the smell of disinfectant, the hum of the air filtration devices that run 24/7 no matter what... and, of course, the green glow of the room.  

There's a faint clacking coming from the other end of the room—the sound of plastic hitting plastic, muted by the constant buzz of the lights and filters and the occasional beeping of monitoring machinery. Everything is white, sterile, and a little unnerving, considering the ominous green of the lamps evenly spaced on the ceiling.

The clacking continues as Lena makes her way in—there is a small table by something that could be described as a window (it is in fact an incredibly complex projection to provide the illusion of one). One of the two metal chairs by said table is occupied by a figure, clad in white, hunched over a chessboard, methodically moving pieces around with determined focus.  

“Good morning, doctor,” her subject speaks lowly, without turning to face her. “Or is it afternoon already?”

Lena smiles as she approaches—it's only a little bit forced. “Afternoon,” she says as she takes the seat she has come to think of as hers. “But only just.”

The other woman hums noncommittally. Her blonde hair Is tied into a ponytail, out of her face, and her cool gaze studies the chessboard with unrelenting focus. Lena peers over her clipboard, taking mental notes for the time being as she follows the chess pieces with undisguised interest.  

“Are you practicing your openings?”

Clack—another piece finds its place on the board.  

“I am working through all the possible variations of the Sicilian Defense.” Clack. “I honestly don't see what all the fuss is about with the Najdorf. But Sveshnikov”—clack— “Sveshnikov's is much more... inspired.” Clack.  

Lena leans back, crossing her legs and dashing off short notes on her clipboard. The young woman is used to this, and doesn't speak again until Lena is finished. Their gazes meet over the carefully arranged chess pieces, only for a moment—there is no recognition in the coolness of those blue eyes, and Lena has to pretend it doesn’t affect her.

“You seem to be in better spirits today,” she comments. It's true—despite her withdrawn demeanor, the blonde seems... better. Lighter, somehow. It's good to see it, even if the change is so small it could very well be entirely insignificant.  

But it isn't. Not to Lena.  

“The agent brought a cat yesterday,” the young woman clarified, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she resets the board.

“Oh?” Lena questions, brow raised. Her hand twitches around the pen she's holding—she holds off the impulse to take more notes. She hadn't been notified of visit yesterday, but she is glad for it. “How was it?” she asks instead, setting the clipboard aside for now, a signal that this is just... a conversation, nothing more.  

“It was a kitten,” the blonde clarifies, grinning and holding out her hand. “He was so small—I could hold him with one hand.”

Lena smiles—she can't help it when she sees some genuine happiness in those eyes. “And how did that feel? Holding him?”

There's a pause—the blonde looks at the flexing fingers of her own hand for a few moments, as if remembering the weight of the kitten in her palm. “Fuzzy,” she replies, finally, releasing a little laugh. “And a little pointy. And... warm. He was so small—and cute. He fell asleep on my chest. It was nice.”

“That does sound nice,” Lena agrees. “Maybe Agent Danvers will be able to bring him again sometime soon, huh?”

The young woman's smile widens, and she finally directs her gaze at Lena, and keeps it there. “I would like that—very much. I've never seen a kitten in real life before. It was... nice.”

Lena's smile falters a touch, but she is careful not to let it show. “You have—you've even held kittens before,” she says gently, biting at the inside of her cheek. “You just don't remember—but you will, Kara.”

Kara deflates slightly—her name may as well be a number, for all the familiarity she has with it. “I know. I know.”

Lena can feel herself tense in her seat, but she pushes her most hopeless thoughts aside for the time being, grasping at her clipboard until her knuckles go white. She has a job to do.  

“Well. Besides the kitten—how are you doing?”

The blonde shrugs. “Same old, same old. I finished All the Pretty Horses earlier today. God, what a boring book.” Her eyes wonder, as if she's trying to remember the most mundane details about her day. “Those” —she gestures towards the ceiling, at the green glowing lamps above them — "buzz a lot—sometimes enough to keep me awake at night. They give me headaches.”

Lena notes it dutifully on her clipboard. “The Kryptonite in these lamps is synthetic,” she explains, not for the first time. “This particular strain shouldn't affect you at a molecular level at this dosage, but I'll take another look at them to be safe. In the meantime,... you could probably use some aspirin.”

It feels like a cruel joke, telling this superpowered being to take some aspirin—almost as cruel as having to use this strain of Kryptonite to keep her safe from the strain poisoning the atmosphere outside.  

There's another shrug, and just like that, blue eyes refocus almost entirely on the chessboard. Lena watches wordlessly for the few moments it takes Kara to reset the whole thing one more time.  

The rook the Kryptonian holds gleams green under the lamps.

“So, Doctor Luthor,” she says, going about completing the set, pieces clacking away. “Fancy a game?”

Clack.

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