Chapter Text
Kara arrived in Metropolis on the first train of the morning.
The city looked different at sunrise. Softer, somehow. Gold light spilled between the skyscrapers, painting the streets in warm colors that made everything feel cinematic. For years, Kara had imagined herself here. In every version of her future, Metropolis had always been waiting for her at the end of the road.
Still, now that she was finally here, standing in the middle of the noise and movement and impossible height of it all, she felt very, very small.
Excited.
Terrified.
Alive.
The second she stepped out of Metropolis Station, her phone started ringing. Kara smiled immediately when Harley's name flashed across the screen.
"Hey, Harley!"
"Kara?! Oh my God, are ya here already? How was the train? Was it gross? Y'got breakfast yet? Please tell me ya ate somethin'. I swear, if you skipped breakfast again—"
"Harley, breathe."
"I am breathin'!"
"You're supposed to be at wardrobe fittings right now, remember? Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."
"I know ya can, I'm just bein' a good friend here."
Kara laughed softly. "You got me a job on a movie set in Metropolis. I think that officially makes you the best friend alive."
"Aww. Damn right it does."
Someone shouted Harley's name somewhere in the background.
"Oh, crap, they need me. Listen, are you sure you're okay? You should go straight to my apartment and take, like, the world's longest nap."
"I wanna stop somewhere first, but I'll see you tonight."
"Okay, okay. Don't get kidnapped before then."
"No promises."
Harley cackled before hanging up.
Kara slipped her phone back into her pocket and looked around the city one more time. Metropolis. The city where movies were made. Where artists became legends. Where people came to reinvent themselves.
Or completely lose themselves trying.
Kara shook the thought away before it could settle too deeply.
Today was supposed to be exciting. And her first stop in the city?
Variant Cover, the biggest comic book store in Metropolis.
The moment she stepped inside, she felt sixteen again. Towering bookshelves stretched across two floors, packed with comics, graphic novels, posters, figures, art books, and more stories than Kara could possibly process all at once. The place buzzed with quiet excitement, full of people arguing passionately about fictional characters like it was life or death.
Kara grinned to herself.
"We're definitely not in Kansas anymore."
Sure, National City had comic shops, but nothing like this. Every comic fan knew about Variant Cover. It was practically sacred ground.
"Welcome to Variant Cover, miss! Lemme know if you need help finding anything."
A young employee with an aggressively friendly smile approached her.
"Oh! Hi, yeah, actually." Kara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you have a Lena Luthor section?"
The employee immediately perked up.
"Ohhh, okay, got it. Right this way."
Kara followed him upstairs, weaving through crowded shelves until they reached the horror section.
"There you go."
Kara stared at the shelf for a second.
"Hmmm."
The employee tilted his head. "Something wrong?"
"It's just..." Kara hesitated. "I don't really think Lena Luthor's books are horror."
The guy blinked.
"I mean, sure, they're creepy, but they're also really emotional? They're more like human dramas... Or psychological romances, maybe."
The employee snorted.
"Oh, wow. You're one of those."
Kara frowned. "One of what?"
"The Lena Luthor fangirls."
Kara immediately felt heat rush to her face.
"I am not!"
"Uh-huh."
"I just like her work!"
"Sure you do."
"Okay, wow, you're being weirdly judgmental right now."
The employee laughed, raising his hands in surrender.
"Relax, I'm kidding. Anyway, I'll let you browse."
Kara watched him walk away before turning back toward the shelf.
And there it was.
Flowers That Never Grew Back.
Kara carefully pulled a copy from the shelf, holding it with almost embarrassing reverence. Before Lena became mainstream, finding her books in National City had been nearly impossible. But here? Here she had an entire shelf.
"I wouldn't buy that if I were you."
The voice came from nearby.
Calm. Sharp. Beautifully unimpressed.
Kara turned.
A woman sat on a velvet sofa in the store's reading section, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. Dark clothes. Perfect posture. A book resting loosely in her hands.
Everything about her looked expensive. Intimidating, too.
Kara blinked. "Um... sorry?"
"I said," the woman repeated coolly, "I wouldn't waste my money on that one."
Kara stared at her.
"...Seriously?"
"There are far better books on this floor."
"Okay, wow. First of all, rude."
One of the woman's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"And second," Kara continued, clutching the comic to her chest, "Lena Luthor is one of the best comic writers working today, so..."
The woman gave a quiet hum.
"The clerk was right. You really are one of those Luthor fangirls."
Kara nearly choked.
"I am not a fangirl!"
"No?"
"No! I just appreciate emotionally complex storytelling and... and... layered visual symbolism!"
A beat.
"...That sounded worse out loud."
For the first time, the woman looked mildly amused.
Kara pointed at her accusingly. "And for the record? Flowers That Never Grew Back is beautiful."
"If you say so."
"I do say so."
The woman tilted her head slightly, studying her with cool curiosity. And Kara suddenly became painfully aware that this woman was ridiculously attractive. Which was annoying. Then, without another word, the woman looked back down at her book... Which somehow felt ruder than the actual insults. Kara huffed dramatically and marched downstairs to pay before she could embarrass herself any further.
A few hours later, she and Harley were sitting cross-legged on the floor of Harley's apartment in oversized pajamas, surrounded by takeout containers and enough potstickers to feed a small army.
Harley lifted her beer dramatically.
"To us! Two girls from nowhere officially makin' it in Metropolis!"
Kara clinked her bottle against Harley's.
"I still can't believe this is real."
"Oh, babe, neither can I. This feels just like college again."
Kara laughed. "Harley, you dropped out after one year."
"Yeah, well, emotionally I was there way longer."
"You got cast in a soap opera and immediately left school."
"And I stand by that decision."
"You got killed off after eight episodes."
Harley gasped. "Okay, wow. What a cruel thing to say to a friend."
Kara laughed harder.
"But hey," Harley continued, pointing at her with a dumpling, "that disaster eventually led me here. Which means it also led you here."
Kara smiled softly. "Thanks again for getting me the job."
"Please. I abused my rising star status. As one should."
"I'm literally just a production assistant."
"For now," Harley corrected. "You're gonna direct movies someday, Danvers. I know it."
The certainty in Harley's voice warmed Kara more than the beer did.
"So," Harley said, leaning forward excitedly, "ya nervous about tomorrow?"
"Nervous? No. Terrified? Absolutely."
"That's the spirit."
Kara laughed.
"What's Pamela Isley like?"
Harley immediately made a face.
"Oh, you should totally shadow Pamela," she said before taking another sip of beer. "I mean, she's kind of a nightmare, but she knows what she's doin'."
Kara raised an eyebrow. "That didn't sound very convincing."
"Because it ain't." Harley snorted. "Look, the woman's talented, sure. Everybody says she's some genius indie darling or whatever, but she's also cold as hell."
"Oh. Great."
"I'm serious, Kara. She barely talks to anybody unless she has to, and when she does, it always sounds like she's about two seconds away from firing someone."
"That's... scary."
"Tell me about it. We did costume tests today and she spent, like, ten whole minutes silently starin' at me like I personally ruined cinema."
Kara laughed. "Maybe that's just her face."
"Nah, trust me, she definitely hates me."
"I'm sure she doesn't hate you."
Harley gave her a look. "You have not met this woman."
"Still, she agreed to direct the movie. She must care about the project."
"Or she lost a bet."
Kara laughed again, shaking her head.
"Well, I still wanna learn from her if I can. She directed Posion Ivy, right? I loved that documentary."
Harley groaned dramatically. "Oh my God, don't tell her that. She'll become even more insufferable."
"So she is insufferable."
"Violently." Harley pointed at her with a dumpling. "And if she makes you cry on your first day, I'm allowed to throw a drink at her."
"That sounds unprofessional."
"Welcome to show business, babe."
The next morning, they arrived on set together.
Filming was still a week away from principal photography, but the soundstage already buzzed with life. Crew members rushed past carrying cables, lighting rigs, prop weapons, garment bags, half-finished coffees, and clipboards full of panic. Kara stared around in complete awe.
"Harley... this is incredible."
"I know, right?"
"It's so big."
"That's what she said."
Kara groaned. "Please never say that again."
"No promises."
People moved with frantic purpose around them, like the entire production was one giant living organism. And somehow, Kara wanted to be part of it more than anything.
Then suddenly, the energy shifted. Not loudly.
Quietly. Like the set itself had straightened its posture.
People began moving faster. Assistants lowered their voices. Someone nearly dropped a coffee trying to get out of the way.
A woman in dark green stood near the monitors, speaking calmly to a production designer while flipping through storyboards.
Pamela Isley.
Even from across the soundstage, she radiated control. Sharp features. Controlled posture. Cool voice. The kind of beauty that didn't ask for attention and got it anyway.
Kara watched her for a moment too long.
"Oh," she muttered quietly. "Okay, I get it now."
Harley followed her gaze and immediately rolled her eyes.
"Yeah. Don't let the whole mysterious tortured artist thing fool ya. She's terrifying."
As if sensing she was being watched, Pamela glanced briefly in their direction. Her eyes landed on Harley for half a second. The temperature somehow dropped immediately. Then Pamela looked away again.
Harley frowned. "See? She hates me."
Before Kara could answer, someone suddenly clapped loudly for attention.
"People, people! Eyes up here for a moment!"
A man in an expensive suit stepped onto the soundstage with the confidence of someone deeply in love with hearing himself speak.
Jason Woodrue.
He smiled easily as crew members turned toward him. Charming. Polished. The kind of man Kara instantly distrusted.
Harley leaned closer.
"That's Jason. Executive producer."
"We're only days away from principal photography on Flowers That Never Grew Back," Jason announced smoothly, "and I just wanted to thank all of you for your incredible hard work. This film is going to be something truly special."
The crew offered polite applause.
"And today," Jason continued, "we're honored to welcome a very special guest. The brilliant creator behind the comic herself will be visiting throughout production to help ensure we properly bring her vision to life."
Kara's eyes widened immediately.
"No way," she whispered. "Lena Luthor's actually here?"
Harley blinked. "I thought she hated public appearances."
"She does! Nobody even knows what she looks like!"
The sharp sound of heels echoed across the soundstage. And then Kara froze. Because the woman walking toward them in a dark tailored coat was the same woman from the comic shop.
The same cold expression. The same elegant posture. Lena Luthor looked directly at Kara. And immediately recognized her. Which meant she remembered Kara, too.
TO BE CONTINUED...