538. Chapter 538

She’d fallen asleep in her big sister’s arms, because after everything – after Jeremiah, after Rick Malverne, after the Daxamite invasion, after… everything – they’ve been having a whole lot more Sisters’ Nights.

She’d been afraid, at first.

About Maggie.

Because she told Alex to never let her go, but here she is, taking all of Alex’s time, her emotional energy, her physical touch.

But one night – one night that found pizza boxes and alien rum and whisky tumblers spread across Alex’s living room, both of the sisters tangled in the same blanket on the couch, trying to sleep off the food and the alcohol – she hears the door to Alex’s apartment open.

She’s not quite asleep, but she pretends to be.

Alex is trying to get her to apologize less. A habit that formed and stuck with… him.

And she doesn’t want to feel like she has to apologize to Maggie.

For monopolizing her girlfriend.

So she keeps her eyes closed and she tries to keep her breathing even as she hears Maggie’s footsteps and heartbeat approach.

She feigns sleep as she feels Maggie lift the blanket up to cover Alex’s exposed feet, and she tries not to let tears leak out of her eyes when she hears her kiss Alex’s face and whisper that she loves her so damn much.

But she almost blows her own cover when Maggie shifts to her, too.

There’s a hesitation, like Maggie is deciding whether this intimacy with her girlfriend’s sister is acceptable, would be welcome.

She must determine that it is – that they’ve survived too much together – because she adjusts Kara’s side of the blanket, too, to cover Kara’s exposed shoulder. She smooths – gently, gently, so Kara doesn’t wake – a few strands of hair away from Kara’s face. She kisses Kara’s forehead, soft and tender, right before she whispers, “Love you, Kid Danvers. Rest well.”

Kara’s heart almost bleeds at the sincerity of it, of this woman she’s been jealous of, this woman she’s been warring with and trying so hard not to.

She continues to feign sleep as she hears Maggie pad softly away from the couch; hears her pour two glasses of water and leave them on the table; clear away the empty pizza boxes and liquor bottles; pour some water for herself; and tiptoe up into Alex’s bedroom.

For some reason, it doesn’t make Kara feel like her space – because Alex has always been hers – is being invaded.

Instead, somehow, it feels like her space is being shared. Enhanced.

Like she’s safe.

And she snuggles into that feeling – that feeling of being surrounded by love – and lets herself actually drift into sleep.

And the dream – the memory, really – starts that way.

Safe. Surrounded, in a good way. Snuggled. Protected. Sheltered.

There’s the soft hum of Kryptonian engines – a gentle, barely-there, rhythmic sound that she will never stop missing – and there’s the brilliant glow, visible even behind her closed eyelids, of nothing, of everything.

Of time folding in on itself and holding, holding, holding.

For a moment, it’s comforting.

Like Alex’s arms, strong and steady even in sleep, wrapped around her.

Of Maggie’s tentative kiss to her forehead, to her new little sister’s face.

Of Lena’s lips, earlier today, pressing against her cheek, both hoping the other would turn at exactly the right time, bringing lips to meet lips instead of the more platonic embrace.

Of James’s attentiveness, of Winn’s firm faith, of J’onn’s steady support.

For a moment.

But then it’s her aunt’s body dying in her arms and it’s Rick Malverne trying to kill her sister because of her, of her, of her, and it’s her parents, creating weapons and ending lives and swearing it’s for the greater good.

Of her parents, her friends, her entire world.

Vaporized. Gone.

Endlessly looping, endlessly cycling, endless.

Past, present, and future, meaningless, melded, because it all loops here.

Loops, endlessly.

For years and seconds and centuries.

Loops, endlessly, even as she sleeps.

Especially as she sleeps.

Because her body won’t age, but her mind is awake, somewhere, in there.

In the Phantom Zone.

She never remembers while she’s awake, now.

She never feels the lingering sense of endlessness, the heady sense of all-knowingness, the hopelessness of eternity, while she’s awake, now.

But when she sleeps?

Sometimes, when she sleeps, it comes back to her.

Her planet, gone.

Her, alone.

Surviving. Alone.

Prevented even from getting to Kal, useless even in the one reason she survived. The one reason she might have been able to scrape together some measly excuse, some desperate justification, for living when everyone else was dead.

Gone.

Because she’s trapped.

The one use she could have had. Useless.

And she has seconds, years, centuries, it feels like, to contemplate it, even as she sleeps, even as she doesn’t age.

Even as time is collapsed.

She only remembers, now, when she sleeps.

Sometimes.

And every time, she weeps.

And it’s her weeping that wakes her.

Because she’s not alone in her pod anymore.

She might feel like she’s there, but she’s not, she’s not, and she never will be again.

Because her shuddering wakes her sister, and her sister wakes her, and she kisses away her tears and she holds her as time ticks, as hearts beat, as bodies age and relationships bloom.

“I got you,” Alex whispers.

And that’s all Kara ever needs to know.