Lena didn’t mean to pry, she really didn’t, but Kara had to leave rather briskly to attend to that sinking cargo ship, and Lena didn’t feel like watching one of Kara’s old musicals without Kara herself; Lena probably wouldn’t have watched them at all, but she would watch just about anything to make Kara happy.
Besides, once she had a few glasses of wine, curling up with Kara beneath a blanket on her couch in her loft made it easy to pretend. Snuggling up against her human (alien) space heater made it easy to pretend. The way Kara never objected when Lena rested her head on Kara’s shoulder made it easy to pretend. The way Kara would naturally lean back into her and they’d end up curled around each other made it easy to pretend.
The way their legs tangled made it tough. The way their bodies folded together made it tough. The way Kara’s hand would always end up on Lena’s ribs made it tough, the presence of her lightly caressing thumb just below the bottom curve of Lena’s breast, threatening a lighting touch like a building thunderstorm that never breaks… that made it tough.
It made it tough to pretend.
Lena went to Kara’s kitchen island to open another bottle of a cheap rosé, the kind of drink that Lena was only allowed to like when she was with Kara (when she was herself, when she was just Lena) when she noticed something.
Kara kept a corner of her loft dedicated as a studio for her art. Lena had taken in Kara’s work without comment over the years, stealing a moment here and there to admire without really talking about it. Lena didn’t want to make it A Thing, not because she didn’t want to share things with Kara but because those little stolen moments felt too strangely intimate to give up.
(Like the time that Kara was changing and she was braless and Lena saw the broad, muscular, tanned expanse of her back, muscles bunching and twisting, sweeping curves and planes rising from the low waistband of skinny jeans that clung unmercifully to the most perfect ass imaginable. Times Lena didn’t think about. Not with the lights on.)
Throughout the years, Kara’s artwork had always quietly reflected the world they lived in. The first time Lena noticed a work in progress, it was abstract and hopefully, cheery and inviting. During the Reign crisis, Kara had been working on a landscape; Lena had thought it someplace imaginary, not realizing that Kara’s eerie and moody images depicted the home she’d lost, and the innocence that went with it.
When Lena had come back to her, when she came to confess and beg to come home, she’d seen broken frames and torn canvas, the stretched fabric ripped by the fury of the emotions vented onto it, those pieces that remained intact full of melancholy and loss.
Over time they had brightened again. Kara was working on a light, airy landscape from Krypton, an impressionistic promontory topped by a stirring crystalline temple.
She’d also been sketching. Her sketchbook was open, the quick charcoal half finished.
Glass of wine in one hand, more than a little drunk, Lena let herself drink in the sketch. It was a figural study of Lena, passed out on Kara’s sofa after too much wine, probably not long ago. Another artist might have made it seem sad or even comedic, but this was a little melancholy, and even reverent. She made Lena something soft and delicate and precious with just a few feathered strokes of a pencil.
Hand trembling, Lena touched the page, dared to turn it. There was another piece, another drawing of her. Swallowing a little too much wine in a single gulp, she thumbed through the open sketchbook.
It wasn’t all her, but it was mostly her. Lena’s heart beat harder against her ribs as she realized she was looking at a timeline. One of the drawings was her in the Fortress, sorrow and rage twisting her features, but with a soft hint of pleading, the eyes heavy with broken hope. Tears welled in Lena’s eyes, at memory, at the fragile grief in the sketch, as if Kara had been punishing herself in the making of it, ripping her flesh open with graphite the way Kryptonite never could.
The earlier drawings were happier, and Lena dove into them. Her favorite was candid, rendered so lovingly that it bordered on photorealism. Lena sitting on a stool, a look of joy radiant on her face as she must have been seeing Kara arriving to surprise her at Noonan’s.
Lena couldn’t believe someone saw such beauty in her. The person that looked back at her from mirrors and selfies looked older than her years, tired, a frightened girl’s eyes in a jaded woman’s face. The subject of this image was radiant, open and full of joy and so young, lovely with an innocence and softness Lena never thought she had.
Some of them had an air of intimacy. Studies of Lena’s hands took up entire pages, and Kara seemed to be quite fascinated with the way the light fell on her cleavage.
She turned a page and blushed scarlet. This one was purely imaginary, and Kara clearly had a vivid imagination. Lena lay on a bed, open and vulnerable. Kara had added a flash of color with markers. Green for Lena’s eyes, touches of red for her lips and a pink flush on her chest… between her legs.
Wait. Kara has x-ray vision…
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Lena jumped, dropping the wine glass. Kara picked it out of the air without spilling a drop, gently setting it on the work table near her easel. She was still in her suit and she smelled like the sea, and there was salt water in her hair. She was shaking, but it wasn’t from the cold.
“I’m sorry,” Kara said, voice thick. “I’m sorry, Lena. I know it’s… if you want to go, I… I understand. I’m so sorry.”
Lena sucked in a sharp breath.
“I’ve been drawing you without your permission,” said Kara. “I know which one you just saw. I…”
“When did you make this one?” Lena asked, taking the book in her hands.
Kara swallowed. “I think about a month after we met.”
Lena’s heart was racing. She forced her hands to stay still, not to betray her. Her throat felt parched and her knees were weak.
“Do you really see me like this?” said Lena.
Tears glitters in Kara’s eyes, like moonlight scattered on a calm sea. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Why? You made me beautiful.”
Kara flinched, her mouth parting slightly, the tip of her tongue dragging across her lip so quickly that Lena would have missed it had she not been staring.
“I… I only tried to capture what was already there. You’re so lovely that sometimes I just want to stare at you.”
Lena set the book aside, and turned back to Kara. As she stepped closer, she smelled the salt water and diesel oil and her, and felt the heat of Kara’s body under her palms as she set her hands on Kara’s hips.
Kara was stone still, barely breathing. Lena met her gaze.
“I need a shower,” Kara blurted out.
Lena barked a laugh, and it turned into a gale of laughter as she pulled herself into Kara’s arms.
“Lena!” Kara scolded, “you’re getting your clothes all wet.”
“Go take your shower. Then get your pencils. Don’t worry about my clothes. I won’t be needing them.”
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