Chapter Text
Lena Luthor stared blankly at the worn diary in front of her and absently reached for her glass. The amber liquid sloshed slightly as she lifted it to her lips, the burn merely adding to the half bottle she had already drunk. The mansion let out a groan as the wind outside pounded on the doors and walls, trying to sneak in beneath doors and windows.
It was quiet inside, though. Like it always was.
The Luthor mansion held a dozen rooms with individual ensuites, an Olympic sized swimming pool, a media room, several dining rooms, a huge ball room, a large industrial kitchen, a library that stretched from floor to ceiling, which was Lena’s second favourite place in the house. Her favourite was her fathers office, the room she was currently sitting in.
It was smaller than her mothers-than Lillian’s office, but it was crammed with things. The book shelves lining the sides had books Lena had memorised, and some of her youngest memories of her and her father were sitting on one of the twin sofa’s and Lionel teaching her to read his reports while he sipped his scotch. As she got older he would occasionally offer her a sip, especially when she impressed him, and her early teens, before he got sick, she could be found back from boarding school curled up on one of the couches as her father worked at his desk, reading Luthor Corp reports and offering her father her opinions.
The table that sat between the two was covered in a layer of dust, Lena noted idly as she lifted her glass to her lips. The room was spinning but Lena ignored it.
Her father’s chair still felt, and smelt the same. Black leather with her father’s imprint etched forever into the stuffing. It sat behind an impressive mahogany desk, where it curled to follow the room and housed an ancient, by Luthor standards, computer. It too had a coating of dust.
Wind and rain lashed at the large windows behind her, and she kept her back turned to the night, not interested in seeing her reflection in any way as she eyed the disturbing lack of alcohol in her glass.
Wind whistled in the chimney and rattled, demanding entry into the mansion, to spread its fingers down the empty halls with expensive paintings or vases lining its sides.
It wasn’t a happy home, belonging in more of a housing catalogue than as a place to raise children, but the cold, impressive walls had helped raise her.
Lena eyed the fire place contemplatively and absently rubbed her arms. She was cold, she knew that, logically, she just didn’t care.
Above the fireplace was a painting, grey and blue and sombre. It was dark, a lost ship amid torrid seas, with hands, grotesque and twisted, reaching out from the waves. Siren’s Song by B.Kelly.
As a child she had been fascinated with the painting, and had been able to stare at it for ages, now though, now it just made her mad. It was a marvellous piece of artwork, but Lillian had hated it ever since Lionel had brought it home, and Lena was sure that, if her mother had ever had control over Lionel’s office, she would have gotten rid of it immediately. Though Lex hadn’t allowed it, telling Lillian to leave the room alone.
With a sudden movement she picked up the, now unfortunately empty, glass of her father’s favourite whiskey and threw it with all of her might at the painting.
The glass hit the fireplace, her aim surprisingly on point despite her inebriated state, and shattered with a twinkle of glass and Lena slumped back into her seat.
She still felt like a child when she sat in her father’s chair, the indents in it too large for her smaller frame, like always.
The nearly empty hundred-year-old whisky taunted her in the dim light from the lamp next to her and she let its amber glow tug at her eyelids.
There was an ache in her chest, something she’d been trying to avoid, least it crack open and spill all of her heart. She could feel it, the fissures racing along it, the cracks dark against the red, and she wondered what it would look like if she could remove it. Would it be shrivelled up and broken and so damaged? Would it glow bright, or would the pain of betrayal have darkened it forever? There was only so much one heart could take, regardless of what people said about the muscle, it wouldn’t be healed any time soon.
Swallowing the whine rising in her chest laid her head on her arm and reached blindly for the remainder of the bottle. It used to hold fond memories, the scent of it reminding her of her father and it usually brought her comfort.
It took her a few go’s, searching absently until her fingers connected and then she ran them up the bottle until she found the stem. It was cool, air temperature, and Lena dragged it towards her, staring blankly across her arm and towards the dark hall.
Tipping the bottle up she moved her lower lip under the bottle the best she was able, spilling it over her chin and down her shirt, but like everything else right now, she didn’t care. The whisky called to her, urging her into its embrace and she took another swig, tilting her chin at an uncomfortable angle so as not to waste any more of the expensive liquid, not that she cared it was expensive. No. She just wanted to get as drunk as humanly possible and maybe, just maybe, fade into the darkness and…well, not coming back was sounding like a more appealing idea by the minute.
A sudden loud dong made her jump and she groaned as the grandfather clock in her father’s study dutifully continued with its message, announcing the late, or early depending on how you looked at it, hour.
Against her will a tear streaked down her face and she wiped it away angrily, smearing her damp sleeve on her face and she glared at nothing.
It was funny, how she had hated this house, and everything it stood for. Boarding school was a blessing. It got her away, it got her away from everything the Luthor name demanded of her, and it got her away from Lillian, and then, her father as he got sick. She was now the one it belonged to, and everything in it, with her mother and brother in jail and her father dead. Everything was hers. Including the Luthor legacy.
Her fingers twitched and she valiantly fought down the urge to throw the bottle at the fire-place. She could do that when it was empty, it still had a few fingers worth left, she judged and took another sip, sitting back up and slouching against the chair-back.
She had been alone for years, ever since her mother abandoned her, adrift in the currents of life. The Luthor mansion, and name, hadn’t been the safe harbour she had needed, but Lex, her perfect big brother, he had been…. The calm in the storm. A sunny day. He had been her anchor.
Already set in his life, and going to boarding school, he had nevertheless taken her under his wing immediately. She had been his sister the moment Lionel brought her home, gave her her name, and called her his daughter. Lex had been… Lex had been her everything.
In those first few weeks when nightmares kept her awake he would come into her room and sit with her, reading science journals under the torch light, or pointing out the constellations and telling her their stories. Lex had saved her from drowning. In flashing lights and shouted questions from strangers that wanted to tear her apart. He saved her from impossible demands by her new mother, a standard her four-year old self couldn’t keep to. In a life she had no one to look to for guidance, Lex had been her lighthouse.
At parties he would sneak her treats, and when she cried herself to sleep he would somehow hear, and come to her and he would tell her stories. Sometimes, when the world became too much, he would take her out to his treehouse, built by professional builders but to Lex’s design, and show her all of his science experiments. She learnt to love science alone with her brother, his presence calming the tormented waters of her heart, and showing her all the world had to offer, if only they took it apart and put it back together.
When he went back to school, in Metropolis and not Ireland like Lena because Lilian could never dream to be parted from her beloved boy, Lena was devastated, and would retreat to her books and learning. Lionel had delighted in it, if he’d been a little distant, and the best memories she had of him were of him giving her budget reports and patent applications and asking her to find anomalies. She found a love of helping people then, of being of service, and she had glowed under the praise as she found things even Lionel’s experts hadn’t. He would ruffle her hair and tell her, ‘Nice one, Squirt,’ and she would glow until Lillian’s stern brow would dim it.
The time Lex and Lena spent together when they were both home from school was a time that she coveted, guarding it as closely as a dragon did its treasure. Her brother would come home in his uniform, tie neatly pressed and uniform immaculate but still looking like he was popular because he wasn’t so nerdy, and he would toss his school books at her, complain about how stupid regular people were, and drag her out to the garage to tinker.
Lena learnt how to dismantle and rebuild an engine from scratch, how to pull things apart and put them back together, and how to improve them.
They would build robots, and have little fights in the yard with them, and Lex taught her how to drive in a car she had built herself from scratch, engine and all.
Their days during break would be spent building and creating and just…. Being. Riding the Arabian horses, playing pool, Lex even taught her how to play poker and they’d replace chips with chocolate sweets, Lex’s of course, because Lillian had never allowed Lena near sweets. She had been a fat child and Lillian had wanted to cure her of that before people talked. If she had an eating disorder now, well, she hid it with alcoholism. It ran in the blood, after all.
Over chess, as Lena had gotten older and Lex had entered the business world, their father’s dutiful shadow, ready to learn the cords of the Luthor Empire, to rule it all, he and Lena would discuss the business of Knights and Bishops. Lex would be King, he said, twisting the piece in his hand, eyeing it after the first Check-mate Lena had given him. He would be the power and the image, charming and disarming, brilliant and cut-throat. But Lena, Lena would be his bishop. At his side and striking out when needed. She’d be the brains, and power, the driving force behind Luthor Corp. Together they would rule the world.
Lena had picked up her queen and tossed it at him. ‘Idiot,’ but she had been smiling as she had said it. She liked the idea. Her and Lex against the world. And she knew they could change it. Make it better. The things the two of them could do, with their brains, his charm, and her kindness, well, they had the world. They could shape it, improve it, make it better for all humans. It was all they had wanted, once.
Lena would be able to shine in Lex’s shadow, his protégée but never his competition, and she was okay with that. She could hold Lex up. He was her big brother. Her anchor.
And then a man in blue and red with a giant S on his chest had gone and fucked the entire thing up. And of course, because the universe loved to fuck Lena over, not five years later his cousin, a stupidly, distractingly pretty blonde with blue eyes, had done it again. Fucked Lena over worse than anything else, hurt her more than Lionel and Lillian, more than Lex, more than the hatred and vitriol of the world dumped on her. The universe fucking loved her. But maybe she deserved it. Maybe she truly did.
The fissures in her heart crumbled in warning, and Lena, because she so enjoyed wallowing in her own self-loathing, continued down that path of betrayal.
Kara Danvers.
The glass beneath her hand was frustratingly strong and to combat her ire she took another swig. Oh if her mother could see her now, she thought and snorted, taking another sip and lifting the bottle in salute to ghost. Her mother was in prison, like her brother, she knew that. But the memory of her still lingered in the house, still haunted Lena, and it always would.
Becoming friends with a Super. Trusting the Super.
She was such a fucking idiot.
Tilting the bottle back she chugged the lot, not caring for her ungracefulness or how some of it spilled over her lips and added to the sticky feeling on her face.
Because of course the only person who wanted to be her friend was a fucking alien. Because of course the universe couldn’t give her one thing, just one, not tainted and false. Because of course Supergirl, the cousin of the worlds most beloved man, wormed her way into Lena’s life to spy on her.
Idly Lena wondered what they were doing now, if Kara and her friends were laughing over how great and easy it had been to fool the youngest Luthor.
The red casing of her heart shuddered and she took several steadying breaths. The room was still spinning and there was an odd ringing in her ears.
Kara Danvers used her. There was no other way about it, and Lena, poor unsuspecting and desperate for affection had swallowed ever single lie without questioning- no. Not without questioning, she wasn’t that naive. But she had let it slide, figuring that Kara, sweet and kind Kara, had the right to her own secrets. Of course, then she was integrated into the gang, with game nights and thanksgivings. All better ways to lower her guard. Heck, they must have planned it right from the beginning and Lena had walked right into the trap.
Lex would be mocking at her from his cell, she knew and the thought of his smug face, once so kind by now full of malice, made her throw the bottle at the fireplace. It shattered and glass went all over the floor, but Lena didn’t care.
The sound was like a splinter, a wedge, and the cracks along her heart, the final barrier of training and life experience, fractured.
With an anguished howl Lena fell forward onto her fathers’ desk, arms trying to cradle her head, as though they could protect her, comfort her, love her, and began to cry.
It wasn’t pretty. She knew that.
Alcohol had lowered her inhibitions enough for her to finally crack and she bit back a muffled laugh as her body shook with sobs and the ache in her chest flared with every breath.
She had always been alone. Abandoned and unwanted. And here she was, twenty-one years later, alone again.
Kara Danvers was Supergirl. Supergirl was Kara Danvers. And fuck, it was so clear to her now, in a way where all of the pieces of the puzzle just fit into place.
Kara was, well, Kara was Kara. Kara was sweet and kind and honest and earnest and shy, but she also had a strength to her. She was rigorous in her belief’s, righteous and just, and fair, even if it went against what she believed in. She had been the first person in Lena’s corner, simply because she wanted to be, or so Lena had thought. Turns out Kara had been playing Lena the entire time, and with the precision of a concert pianist. Lena had been a puppet, dancing to her tune with perfect steps and a plastic smile.
It all made perfect sense, even to her alcohol clogged mind, it was still firing away dutifully, presenting Lena with truths she didn’t want to see. Kara Danvers came into Lena’s life the week she had moved to National City, and wormed her way between Lena’s walls, or rather flew over them, with her kind, earnest smile, and her helping hands, usually with a delicious treat and Lena had just….fallen. It was sort of pathetic, really.
Lena had let Kara in, right into her inner circle, right into her harbour of trust and Kara had torn it to shreds. Lena had willingly given Kara everything- or everything that mattered, an intimacy that wasn’t afforded to just anyone, and not after Lex’s betrayal. Kara had been an anchor, one that was more of a constraint than a safety net, but Lena hadn’t been aware of the difference until Kara Danvers stood before her, hair down and shirt blown apart to reveal a giant S on her chest.
It had been another attack on Lena, and Kara had thrown herself between them, even though Lena had argued with her over it. Kara had always been strong, both physically and mentally, and now Lena knew why. She had thought that it was just Kara, that Kara was just… a unique individual of uncommon strength and had decided Lena was worthy of her light. It had warmed her heart, to have Kara willing to protect her, fragile and soft and sweet Kara, and she had wanted to protect her too.
Only it hadn’t been something Lena Luthor could fight, it was something only Supergirl could solve, and she had been there. Standing between Lena and the latest goon of the week was her best friend, clothes burnt away to reveal the red and blue ‘S’ on her chest and something in Lena had shattered.
She had walked away. Unable to face Kara-Supergirl, whatever it was she called herself, and had gotten behind the wheel of her Camaro and driven, aimlessly, until the roads had led her back to where it all started. The Luthor Mansion in Metropolis.
She had commissioned its refurbishment after Reign had trashed it, and she knew that it wouldn’t take too long for Kara and her allies to find her if they wanted to, but she just… needed to escape. She hoped the fact that she had left the city without talking to anyone would make her thoughts quite clear, but she knew that they would at least monitor her. Just in case. The thought made her laugh, as though she had ever done anything worthy of being stalked in such a way.
Her cell had rung repeatedly as she drove with music blasting so loud she could only hear the thump of it in her chest, but she had ignored it. Everyone knew. Everyone actively helped keep the secret, actively lied to her when she had thought they were friends. Alex. James. Kara’s Martian boss, which actually now she thought about it made sense, they had all actively worked against her, used her trust to keep her at arms length, and that seriously sucked.
Lena had been the fly, in a web of lies with a dozen spiders spinning the tale, keeping her in the dark and using her. It was painfully clear just how stupid she had been, and how they had just… used her to further their own ends. Keep your enemies close, right? They had brought her in, making it seem like she was trusted and an ally, when in reality they had been fostering a false trust, keeping her happy, on their side all the while keeping her at a distance.
Lena had only sent out an email, alerting her board of her absence and appointing Jess as interim CEO before turning it off. They could track it while it was on, though she was sure the DEO would be using their better technology to find her anyway. They were probably tracking her car registration too, which wasn’t comforting.
She had left her phone at home, only taking her back up phone, but they still managed to ring it, and so she had removed the chip and left it on the front seat. Maybe she’d find another chip and use it again, but she wasn’t interested in talking to anyone, especially not Supergirl and her friends. She didn’t want to hear their apologies, and she certainly didn’t want to hear their threats. A Luthor knowing the secret identity of a Super. Lex would have been thrilled. She could destroy Kara’s entire life with less than five words.
Lena was (in)famous. Her social media was followed by millions. All she had to do was type out a few little words and she could bring Kara’s life down around her ears, just the way she had to Lena. It would be fitting, to let Kara taste that betrayal, feel that heart-break and know the reason for it. The DEO wouldn’t be able to stop Lena, not before she had published it, certainly, and even if they did hack her system to reverse it, she hadn’t signed any oath or contract so legally her lawyers would tear them apart. It would be fun, actually, to see the government deny the DEO’s existence and call them a rogue operation, when Lena’s lawyers spoke about betrayal and treason and Alien Guantanamo. It would almost be fun. To sit back and watch them burn, all of them. It would be no less than what they deserved.
Arriving home she had entered the house and had walked absently through the old rooms, haunted by ghosts only she knew, until she had found herself in her fathers study. Lionel always had such fine taste in whiskey, which was where Lena developed the taste for it, and she had been delighted to find a bottle of his old century year old favourite sitting patiently next to a glass as though the office was waiting for its master to return home.
Then she had started drinking, and well, here she was, her head in her hands as her body shook out its heartbreak. When the greying in her vision darkened into unconsciousness she welcomed it. Anything to stop feeling.
~*~
The first thing she was aware of was a pounding in her head, and cotton in her mouth. It felt as though someone were trying to drive a sledgehammer through her skull, helpfully kept in place by the thumping of her heart. Groaning she wet her lips, feeling the lack of moisture in her mouth and trying to swallow the urge to throw up.
Light was already cast through the windows and she blinked away from it, curling into her whiskey smelling clothing and groaning again.
Time passed in a blur as she kept her face on the cool, but steadily warming mahogany of her fathers desk and she tried to control her roaring stomach.
There were birds outside, she could hear them, and someone must have left a window open because she was pretty sure they were flying around her head in some sort of devilish halo.
She let out a pathetic groan and then cringed away from the scent of her own breath. Nasty.
Her eyes were gritty and sore as she blinked and it was far too easy to keep them closed, to feel the cool embrace of darkness while she tried to gather herself.
It took her a long moment, minutes, hours, she wasn’t sure, until she finally gained the strength to lift her protesting body from its position draped over the desk.
Groaning again, at how her body ached like it hadn’t in years, and she grimly acknowledge that she was getting old, she tried to straighten, bringing her hands to her eyes to shield them from the light.
Her stomach protested the action heavily, and she fought down her nausea with measured breaths, tasting the aftermath of the whisky and grimacing in distaste.
Some time later, when the sun was stupidly high in the sky and the day was far too bright and cheerful for Lena’s mood, she managed to carefully leave the office and entre the hallway. She was mindful of the glass shattered over the floor and eased into the darker halls with a sigh of relief.
They had been restored perfectly, likely from the 3D rendering of the estate that Lex had done many years ago, giving to contractors to design the defence systems in it. Lena was glad that she had it, even though it had many bad memories, it was still home. It was the first place she had ever felt at home, not since watching her mother fade into the lake and never return again.
Her head was pounding out a steady rhythm and she kept a hand on the wall as she stumbled towards the kitchen. She needed to rehydrate and then readdress her entire situation. Some changes needed to be made.
The kitchen was spotless, not a speck of dust, and she didn’t go to the trouble of getting a glass as she spied the water tap and lurched over to it. Her desire for water outweighed her cursing of the sunlight, and she closed her eyes as she leant over the sink and lifted the tap.
The water was cool on her tongue and she drunk greedily, not caring for the mess she was making, or of how she looked, bent over the sink and with water playing with strands of her hair.
Thirst satisfied she moved around the kitchen to the medicine drawer and took some painkillers, swallowing them past the returning ache in her throat before getting a glass and washing them down.
Satisfied she stumbled through another door and towards the living room. There was a couch with her name on it, and she curled up beneath the throw rug, not caring for the wet clumps of hair sticking to her skin or shirt and buried her face in the cushions. She wasn’t ready to face the day yet, and she needed to sleep her hangover off. It had been a while since she’d gotten drunk, and the memories of the last time made her heart ache. Stupid Kara. Stupid game night. Stupid Supergirl. Stupid world.
The next time she awoke it was dark, moonlight creeping in through the windows and when she sat up she noted with relief that she no longer felt like she needed to puke her guts out, though her mouth was still dry and her head still hurt.
Idly she noted it had been some time since she had gotten black-out drunk, and her mind flashed to the memory of Lex’s arrest and her subsequent trying to turn herself into vodka, before she shook her head. The movement made her dizzy and she grabbed the top of the couch with white knuckles until the nausea subsided. Funny how it had been a S on both occasions to drive herself to the bottle. There was probably a lesson there.
Grimly she wondered when Supergirl would burst into her little bubble of self-loathing and decided she didn’t really care. Lex was gone. Lillian, if she had ever had her mother, was gone. Lionel had long abandoned her, and her birth mother was a fading memory. The Luthor name was an afterthought and Lena, poor naive and trusting Lena who had been so desperate for any sort of affection she had ignored all of the signs of inevitable betrayal, had nothing. She was nothing.
The dark kitchen was a refuge and she opened the fridge, wondering if she would find anything. The house keepers kept the mansion stocked with fresh produce from the grounds and store, on the off chance that Lillian and Lena, now just Lena, might visit out of the blue, but nothing inside appealed to her.
The grounds staff maintained everything, bar Lionel’s office and Lex’s room, so she was not concerned about dust or cobwebs and she instead thought longingly of her bed.
Her room hadn’t changed in twenty years. Classic and imposing, wooden walls and floors, with lush carpets and paintings. There was still a large bed in the centre, and at age four the bed had seemed the size of an ocean, with dressers on each side and touch lamps there.
A desk was over by the windows, book shelves flanking it, and a balcony stretched out above the pool and looked out over the farm and former stables.
A television, old by current technology, but still large, sat against the wall, and behind it was her changing area and ensuite.
She had a walk in wardrobe that was the size of a small bedroom, and her own bathroom, and Lena ignored it all, pealing her clothes from her skin, ignoring the smell, and left them on the floor as her bed summoned her.
Pulling back the covers she relaxed into the mattress, the sheets were stiff and cold but she ignored it in favour of the comfort that surrounded her. It was nice to be held, even if it was by her sheets and mattress.
Scoffing internally at her own foolish thoughts, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother, Lena pressed her face into her pillow and let sleep claim her once more.
The next time she woke it was gradual, to the groaning of her stomach and she sighed, swallowing the cotton from her mouth but thankful her headache was mostly in the past.
Her curtains were still drawn, and she could see faint light, hazy and almost pastel as the dawn drove the night away.
Lena watched the stars fade into pale orange and amber and blue and purple before finally dragging herself from her Egyptian cotton sheets. The floorboards were cold on her feet and she jammed them into slippers as she strode across to her wardrobe and slid into a fluffy robe.
She splashed some water on her face, rubbing the grit from her eyes, ignoring how tired and old she looked in her reflection, before heading down the hall and stairs towards the kitchen. It had been a long time since she had seen herself without her usual armour of make-up and tailored clothing, she couldn’t say she was pleased with how she looked, but it was what it was. She didn’t look cover perfect all of the time and was sad that the world expected such of her and other women. Life in the public eye could be cruel.
Setting the coffee machine, she opened the fridge and grabbed a pottle of yoghurt, something light and easy, while she waited for her coffee. It wouldn’t be the same as her usual coffee but she would make do.
When her coffee was done, she drank as much of it as she could, and then she grabbed the brush and shovel from the walk-in pantry and took a plastic bag to her father’s office. Her coffee was a little too hot for her to drink any more, so she’d come back to it later.
She had been raised properly, or at least properly by Luthor standards. She rose every morning with the sun, would prepare for her day and dress to impress. Work, or school, would follow, and then on the return it would be homework, and when she left school, it would be further work or reading, or other activities to further her education. She had afterschool activities; horsemanship, archery, swordsmanship, shooting, rowing, and the arts, languages (Lena could speak six fluently and had another three in which she was passable in, and two she was teaching herself) as well as three instruments (piano and violin, of course, as well as the drums- which was a secret only her tutor, Lex and Lillian knew).
She could dance, host parties and events, and was groomed from her youth to be a Luthor, to rule the elite. And she was impeccable at it; charming and graceful and untouchable. But also very, very lonely.
She idly wondered if she and Lex had been socialised better, and not with the rich upstart children of Lionel and Lillian’s work acquaintances, if they would be more stable, if they found strength in friendships, but then realised that Lillian, and to an extent Lionel, would never permit it. Ties with others were to further the family, the business, to grow the empire. Friends were pawns, to be used and tossed aside once they had been drained of resources. Family came first, before all else. Then the Empire, and then anything else the individual cared for, and it could be anything that Lena or Lex wanted, provided it didn’t conflict with the first two.
Lex hadn’t cared for the first two or had felt his vendetta against the most beloved man in the world was worth more. Lena, Lena who had devoted herself to the first, and coveted the second, was left to pick up the pieces. She tried, valiantly, but she was drowning beneath the weight of obligation, of hatred, of the Luthor name.
Lionel’s office was how she had left it, and were it not for the fact that the house-keepers wouldn’t touch it, Lena would have left the whisky and glass until the next time she came back to the mansion, or when she was dead and her lawyers were going through the estate.
In the day light the mess she had made was obvious and she bit back a reflective wince. Were her mother here she would be berated harshly for her lack of composure, more so than for the glass shattered across the floor, or the whisky puddled on the wood.
Lena eyed it a moment before returning to the kitchen and returning with a set of towels, swiping a sip of coffee on the way.
She tossed them on the floor and ran her foot over the mess, gently patting the floorboards but mindful of slivers of glass.
She tossed the towels in the doorway and set about wiping up the glass, she would wipe the floors down once all the glass and liquid was taken care of.
With the fading scent of orange disinfectant wipes she eyed the stained painting and let out a little sigh.
It was darkened in a splatter, and oddly the entire effect didn’t ruin the painting, she wouldn’t go so far as to say it made it better, but it certainly didn’t make it worse.
It took her tip-toes to reach the painting, and she was pretty sure she looked like a fool as she lifted higher to gently guide the painting off its hook and down.
Her arms strained a little with the angle and weight, but she ignored it as she gently bore the painting over to the coffee-table and sat it down.
Little bits of glass fell to the ground, and she shook her body to rid herself of them, making a mental note to find the vacuum cleaner, before turning the painting over.
She eyed it a moment before going to fetch a bowl of water and a cloth. If she were unsuccessful then she would have an art restoration expert look at it, but she was hopeful she could get rid of the whisky residue.
She rubbed at the paint with a firm but gentle hand and soon the paint was a little damp but the whisky had mostly been cleaned off. She’d have to examine it once it had dried out, but she thought she may have improved its condition.
Setting the cloth aside she titled the painting back and lifted it, when she paused.
The front of the canvas had an indentation… as though something was pressing against it.
Bemused she set the painting back down and purposely tilted it forward, eying the location curiously.
There was a line behind the painting. Eyes narrowing she turned the canvas around and used one of her fathers letter openers to flick the paper behind the canvas open.
Once she’d opened a large enough area she peered inside the gap and then spun the painting around. A yellow envelop popped out.
It landed on the floor and was a glaring disconformity to the room.
Lena rested the painting against the wall and swooped down to pick the envelop.
What the fuck? She wondered as she turned the envelop around, looking for a name or date or some form of identification.
It was sealed and she used the same letter opener to split the paper.
Her heart was thumping in her ears and she was strangely nervous. Who hid an envelope behind a painting? Was she about to stumble onto some strange mystery?
A folded letter was pressed against an old polaroid picture, and she glanced over the photo a moment.
There was a woman standing in front of a painting, the very painting the letter had come from, and she was clearly the artist, if the paint on her clothing and dotted on her face were to go by. There was a high-chair nearby, a dark haired child in a pink shirt sitting in it, head turned to the painting.
Lena then looked at the letter, registering her shaking fingers but not realising why. Perhaps she needed some more food, and she made a mental note to get some soon.
The letter was faded with age, and with loopy writing and Lena felt her heart stumble as she saw who it was addressed to. Lionel.
My dearest Lionel.
I still can’t shake your final words, and for weeks all I dreamed of was your back as you left. Your daughter is beautiful, growing and learning every day. As I write this, she celebrates her first birthday. I named her Athena, the gift from the sea, for where we met, where she was conceived. She is so bright and so beautiful and when I look at her I am overwhelmed with so much love that its almost paralysing.
Lena swallowed, her heart rate stampeding as her mind fired with impossible conclusions. Lionel had another child? The girl from the picture? They would be about the same age…
She is already walking. I know! She must have inherited your intelligence, thankfully! And yesterday she said her first word, sea.
I know you want nothing to do with her, and had your...man… pay me off (how the fuck am I meant to bank five-hundred thousand American dollars?), but I want you to have her if anything happens to me.
I’ve employed McGrath and O’Connell for my estate, and while I didn’t tell them who, I explained my situation and they are taking care of me.
Our daughter is perfect, and I cannot possibly fathom why you wouldn’t want her, but I respect the decision, even if I don’t respect you.
I’m going to tell her when she turns eighteen, she deserves to know who her father is. I’ll leave finding you to her, if she wants to.
On the off chance something happens to me, I’ve hidden this letter and a photo, in this painting. I’m giving it to you, for my daughter. I don’t know if you’ll ever tell her who I am, how I loved her, so instead I’ve taken steps to let her know.
Athena is everything, and I pity you that you don’t get to know her.
Goodbye Lionel
Bronte Kelly
Lena lowered the letter with shaking hands and set it on the coffee table. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she reached for the photo again, for the girl in the high chair and the woman next to her.
It was faded and aged, and old, so the quality wasn’t exactly hi definition, but it was enough for Lena to see the beaming smile of the mother and the clearly happy baby.
Giving it her full attention she examined it closely.
The room looked a little cramped, on the edges of the photo at least, with the half finished painting center-stage. The woman…Bronte…. Was in worn and paint ridden clothing beneath a jean jumpsuit, it was so stereo-typical of a painter that Lena nearly snorted. The baby in the photo…Athena… was in a colourful high-chair with her own painters palette and a paintbrush. From what Lena could see the child didn’t have any paint on the brush, or at all, but that didn’t stop the determined scowl or how it was held in the air like she was a professional.
She was in a pink shirt with a dolphin on it with a rainbow background, and there was a little shell on a black cord around her neck.
Athena.
Lena couldn’t deny the connections firing in her brain and mechanically walked to one of the chairs and lowered herself into it, absently touching her neck. She…had a shell like that, or she did, until Lillian had decided that a young Luthor should not be wearing something so tacky.
She…had to find it. To…make sure that what she had just learnt was true and that she…was Athena… the girl in the picture.
Adrenaline fired in her veins and she bolted from the room and through the hallways. She wasn’t used to exercise, especially after not really eating for several days, and she was breathless by the time she reached her room.
She blitzed across the carpet and fell in front of her study desk. It was old, belonging to some Luthor ancestor, and had been in her room for twenty years. She had left the necklace, a shell on a black cord, in the drawer after Lillian had made certain she knew that she would never like to see it again. Occasionally she had stumbled across it again, amongst her pens and pieces of paper, her study equipment, but she hadn’t liked the reminder. Her mother left her, and left her with Lillian, and she hated her for it. But… sometimes when it got too hard, especially when she was younger, she would take it out and just roll it between her fingers. She always returned it until she found it again. The last time she had taken it out was when she had achieved her first PhD at fifteen.
Pens, paper, staplers, highlighters, all went flying as she scrambled around for the little necklace. Her heart was hammering in her chest, even as her mind was connecting the dots, faced with undisputable evidence.
The girl in the photo was dark haired, so was Lena, and they appeared to be born around the same time, and to Lionel, his daughter…but… Lena had to be sure.
Her fingers curled around it and she quickly brought it into her view.
It was exactly how she remembered, or thought she remembered.
It was a silver shell, one of those cone shaped ones, and had a little connection of gold through which a loop of black cord was tied.
Lena traced its slight indents and felt a familiar warmth in her chest, the comfort that could only come from clutching a childhood toy, or in this case a shell.
That cleared it up. There was a ninety-nine percent chance of her being Athena… Kelly?
Well, what was she going to do now?