lena luthor + drunk texting
Lena has the constitution of a forty year old financial analyst. She knows, because she’s drunk some of them right under the table, pissing matches with L-Corp’s banking and finance execs when they refused to get on board with her plans. Some of them had quit. Others had been impressed with her willingness to play their game and beat them at it. Others were glad they hadn’t lost their job and didn’t care who or what she was. Mostly she’d just been grateful undergrad in the engineering faculty had prepared her for dealing with asshole men who didn’t think a girl could hack it.
So she can drink, and she can drink well.
Tonight L-Corp played host to National City’s Annual Women in Science Gala, and it had gone amazingly well. Nothing had blown up, no one had tried to kill anyone, and she’d managed not to have a panic attack before her speech. It had gone so well she lost track of her drinks, and the glass of wine she’d poured herself when she finally got home has sent her sailing way past buzzed and right into, well.
Lena can drink, right up until she can’t. And she’s never been a good judge of when that might be. Tonight she hadn’t wanted to.
It was a good night. And her best friend hadn’t been there, even after she promised.
She squints at her phone in the dark, trying to type as she slips her toe against the back of her heel, unsuccessful in her attempt to get her damn uncomfortable shoe off her now noticeably throbbing foot.
She’s not so far gone that she can’t tell that message is a mess, and she smashes the backspace until it disappears.
kara danvers: hey, what’s up?
kara danvers: are you okay????
Oh. She didn’t think this through. She just, she wanted Kara to come over? Kara could help her get her shoe off.
She blinks, and then again, and it feels like it lasts longer that the first one, and she probably shouldn’t send that text.
She should probably tell whoever’s knocking at her balcony door to go away, too, because she really needs some sleep. Just as soon as--“Lena!”
“Lena, if you don’t move in the next three seconds I’m going to rip this door open, and--”
“Wait,” she thinks she says, and for good measure waves her hand while she gathers herself enough to shift onto her side, made difficult by the skirt still zipped tight around her hips and thighs and, oh, Kara’s outside on the balcony.
“Are you okay?” Kara asks through the glass, hands on hips and cape fluttering around her shoulders. “Are you-- are you drunk?”
“Nooo.” And okay, it’s not very convincing, so she sits up, pretty successfully if you ask her. “What are you doing here?”
She did, and she starts to laugh, because she texted Kara and now Supergirl is standing on her balcony, and it’s still new, this knowledge that her best friend Kara and her city’s hero are one in the same, and she just really wasn’t expecting Supergirl to show up because she couldn’t get her shoe off. It’s still so new that she hasn’t fully processed it, and now here’s Kara looking at her like she really will break the door if Lena doesn’t assure her that she’s okay.
"No I didn’t,” she laughs, the tingle of something awful at the edge of her voice, and she drops back down against the bed, utterly exhausted. “I texted Kara.”
“Lena.” And Kara sounds so sad, Lena has to close her eyes. “I thought we--” And then the sound of Kara’s voice isn’t so muffled anymore, the air in the room isn’t so warm, and the side of the bed dips, Kara’s hand brushing the hair back from Lena’s face. “We talked about this.”
“I need help with my shoe,” she says, instead of whatever else is fighting its way out of her brain and into her mouth. “Please just help me with my shoe.”
Kara is very still beside her, and Lena doesn’t open her eyes, but then her shoe is slipped from her foot, and she hears the tap-tap of it being set down on the floor. “I’ll just--”
She may be drunk, but she’s quick where Kara is slow, and she grabs Kara’s cape before she can move away. “Stay,” she says, head tilting sideways to blink up at the face of her friend the superhero. “We should have that talk.”
