Supercorp- One shots

24 Minutes

"Darling, I have exactly 24 minutes until my next meeting."

Speaking to the empty air, Lena raises the glass of water to her forehead, presses it against her temple and sighs. It's cold, beady with condensation from the ice cubes clinking softly within, but the throb behind her right eye only lessens momentarily. Then, after one too short, blessedly numb moments it resumes, stronger than before.

The cause of her incipient migraine is today's mess.

Which isn't different from the one she dealt with yesterday. And the day before. And the week before that. Feels like all she's done since coming to National City is extinguishing the fires her brother's left behind after he, oh so conveniently, shipped himself off into well-funded exile.

To put it simply, Lex ran, but of course she's not allowed to use that word. Orderly retreat and regrouping are more to Lillian's taste.

Yet, no matter her step-mother's high amount of talking about the situation, it falls to Lena to fix things. She's the one that has to sit inside a court of law while Lex is tried in absentia for tax evasion and fraud, the one who endures Lillian's cutting comments when she doesn't speak out to defend him at press conferences. Who gets attacked by the press anyway, for the unforgivable sin of being born with the wrong last name.

The above considered, she's doing an admirable job of managing. On her worst days, when she's just so fucking tired and cranky and she'd like nothing more than to let the family name burn once and for all while she stares at the flames from a safe distance. she feels ugly too, which adds insult to injury, really.

Lena tells herself that her ass must have doubled in size by now from all the sitting down and the stress-eating, and that there's no way short of surgery to get rid of the bags that have appeared under her eyes. It's only a matter of time before some upstart journalist notices too, and suggests she starts hitting the gym or get a botox lift. Perhaps, they'll say she should do both.

What's worse, the problems keep on popping up, an endless game of Whack-A-Mole with the company at stake. The most recent one being Morgan Edge, who apparently owns a substantial amount of Luthor Corp's stock. Lena's spent weeks sweet-talking him into a deal; she's offered valuable research, patents, future dividends. The only thing Morgan will accept is money. Hundreds of thousands of dollars that he wants now, and that Lena doesn't have.

"23 minutes, sweetheart." She wanders to the nearest office window and watches her words fog up the pane. Then, she has to shut her eyes. Under blazing mid-morning light the city shines chrome and glass; beautiful, but too bright for her headache to sustain. "Will soon be 22 if you don't hurry up."

Silence.

Lena's shoulders sag a little.

"Guess I'm going to use the vibrator I keep in my office for emergencies then." Eyes still closed, Lena turns toward her desk. Palms with one hand and places her thumb on the scanning device tucked under the lip of the table. The bottom drawer opens with an acknowledging beep. "A pity, because your fingers and your tongue are so much better."

Kara might have bumbled her way through things the first few times, but she's such a diligent—

Something swooshes right outside, a shadow blocks the searing sunlight and boots thud down on bare concrete, louder than is necessary. The window slides open, and a cool breeze coming from the harbor whispers tales of salt and open waters across the back of Lena's neck.

God.

"You called?"

The evident smirk in Kara's tone tells her she's said that last bit out loud.