Chapter 31: DEFINING TERMS
[Kara's Apartment — November 2016, 9:47 PM]
The pasta had been excellent. The walk back to her apartment had been comfortable. The nervous energy filling the space between us now was anything but.
Kara paced the length of her living room, bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. She'd changed out of the dress she'd worn to dinner—practical Kara, always ready for an emergency—and now wore sweats and an oversized cardigan that somehow made her look more intimidating, not less.
I sat on her couch, holding a bottle of wine I'd brought as a peace offering. According to the label, it was a "complex blend with notes of cherry and oak." According to my complete lack of Earth beverage knowledge, it was probably terrible.
"This is complicated," Kara said finally, stopping mid-pace.
"We're aliens fighting crime. Everything is complicated."
"I'm serious, Mon-El." She turned to face me. "We work together. We fight together. We could die together on any given Tuesday. That's not exactly the foundation for a healthy relationship."
"When has either of us ever done anything healthy?"
She almost smiled. Didn't quite manage it.
"I've been hurt before," she said quietly. "By secrets. By people who said they cared and then..." She trailed off, arms crossing over her chest. "I don't have the best track record with trust."
The words landed with weight. I thought about my own secrets—the transmigrator truth buried so deep I'd almost convinced myself it didn't exist. The meta-knowledge I'd used to navigate this world. The lies of omission that had become my daily existence.
"I won't lie to you," I said.
The statement was true, in its way. About this—about the relationship, about my feelings, about anything she directly asked—I would be honest. The things I couldn't explain, the truths too dangerous to share... those weren't lies. They were survival.
"You already lied to me," Kara pointed out. "About being a prince. About everything."
"I know. And I understand if that makes this harder." I set down the wine bottle, leaned forward. "But I'm not asking you to forget what happened. I'm asking you to let me prove I've changed. That I can be someone worth trusting."
"You have been proving that." She sat on the other end of the couch, maintaining careful distance. "These past weeks—the missions, the conversations, the way you handled the prince revelation aftermath. I've watched you become someone I actually respect."
"But?"
"But respect isn't the same as trust. And trust isn't the same as..." She gestured vaguely. "This. Whatever this is."
"What do you want this to be?"
The question hung between us. Outside, National City hummed with its usual nighttime energy—traffic, distant sirens, the perpetual white noise of millions of lives happening simultaneously.
"I want it to be real," Kara said finally. "I want to try being with someone without the complications of secret identities and hidden agendas. Just... two people who like each other, figuring it out."
"That's what I want too."
"Then we need terms." She shifted to face me more directly. "Guidelines. Things we agree to before we jump into something that could blow up in our faces."
"Okay. What terms?"
She held up a finger. "First: communication. When things get hard—and they will—we talk about it. No shutting down, no pretending everything's fine."
"Agreed."
Second finger. "We keep work professional. What happens between us doesn't affect mission performance. J'onn would have our heads if—"
"He already suspects," I admitted. "Pretty sure Winn knows too."
"Winn definitely knows. He mentioned deleting some kind of medical alert." Her lips quirked. "We're not as subtle as we think."
"We're not subtle at all."
"Third term." She met my eyes. "Honesty. About the important things. I can handle difficult truths better than I can handle discovering lies."
The irony wasn't lost on me. I pushed it down, focused on what I could offer.
"I promise to be honest about anything that affects you, affects us, or affects the team. If I can't tell you something, I'll say so rather than making something up."
It was the closest to a complete truth I could manage. The transmigrator secret wasn't about her—it was about me, about my sanity, about the fundamental impossibility of explaining where I'd really come from. Keeping it didn't violate the spirit of her request.
Kara studied me for a long moment. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her.
"Okay." She extended her hand—formal, almost silly given what they'd already shared. "Deal?"
I took it. Her grip was firm, warm, strong in the way that only Kryptonian strength could be strong.
"Deal."
She pulled me in for a kiss. Softer than the first one, less desperate. An agreement sealed.
When she pulled back, she was smiling—really smiling, the kind that reached her eyes.
"Now let's try that wine you brought."
The wine was, predictably, terrible. The store clerk had recommended it as "accessible," which apparently meant "has the complexity of grape-flavored water." Kara drank it anyway, insisting it was "the thought that counts."
I made a mental note to ask Winn about wine vintages. Or M'gann. The bar owner probably had better taste than anyone I knew.
---
We talked for hours. Not about important things—about everything and nothing. Childhood memories. Favorite foods. The small absurdities of adapting to Earth culture. She explained the appeal of something called "binge-watching," and I shared my ongoing confusion about human sports.
"You run back and forth, throw a ball into a net, and then celebrate like you've saved the world," I said. "For thirty seconds. Then do it again."
"That's basketball. It's exciting."
"It's repetitive."
"Says the man who spent three hours learning to pour drinks properly at the bar."
"That's different. That has practical application."
"Scoring points has practical application." She poked my shoulder. "It means you win."
"But nothing changes. Nobody's saved. The world is exactly the same before and after."
"Not everything has to save the world, Mon-El." Her expression softened. "Sometimes things can just be fun."
The concept was foreign—or had been, back on Daxam. Everything there had served a purpose, even the endless parties. Social positioning, political maneuvering, displays of wealth and power. Fun for its own sake had been a luxury the prince couldn't afford.
"I'm learning," I admitted. "The potstickers helped."
"See? You're already getting it." She yawned, checked the time. "It's late. You should probably..."
"Go. Yeah." I stood, reluctant to break the comfortable bubble we'd built. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Mission briefing at 0900. We can get coffee after."
"Coffee. The bitter substance that humans inexplicably worship."
"I'll teach you to appreciate it." She walked me to the door. "Mon-El?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad we did this. Talked, I mean. Instead of just... assuming."
"Me too."
She kissed me once more at the doorway—brief, sweet, a promise of more to come.
Walking home through National City's streets, I felt lighter than I had since arriving on this planet. I had a purpose. A team. Someone who cared about me despite knowing most of my flaws.
For the first time, this world felt less like exile and more like home.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0