Chapter 32: WORST KEPT SECRET
[DEO Headquarters — November 2016, 9:15 AM]
Kara and I arrived separately. Maintained professional distance. Sat on opposite sides of the briefing table.
We fooled absolutely no one.
"Okay, how long?" Winn announced before the coffee had even finished brewing.
I blinked. "How long what?"
"Please." He set down his tablet with exaggerated weariness. "I deleted the medical alert. The one flagging your heart rate as 'potentially cardiac' when you were both conveniently located on the balcony. I'm not stupid."
Kara's face flushed. "Winn—"
"And the way you've been looking at each other for the past month? The 'accidental' shoulder touches? The fact that you arrived exactly seven minutes apart this morning, which is exactly how long it takes to walk from Kara's apartment to the separate entrance you used?"
"You've been timing us?" I asked.
"I work with spies. Some habits rub off." He crossed his arms. "So. How long?"
Kara and I exchanged glances. The jig was clearly up.
"Officially? Since the balcony," she admitted. "But we had a real conversation last night. About what we are."
"And what are you?"
"Together." The word felt strange saying aloud. Good strange. "We're together."
Winn's expression shifted from smug investigator to genuine warmth. "Finally. Do you know how exhausting it's been watching you two dance around this?"
"You're happy about it?"
"I'm relieved." He pulled out his phone, typed something rapidly. "Also, I just won the betting pool."
"The what?"
"Office pool. When would you two get together. I had 'before winter,' which technically started yesterday." He grinned. "Three agents owe me lunch."
The absurdity of the situation hit me—trained government operatives betting on their colleagues' love lives like it was a sporting event. I laughed despite myself.
"Glad our relationship status could fund your meals."
"You're welcome. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to collect from Agent Vasquez before she claims she never agreed to the terms."
He disappeared into the corridor, leaving Kara and me alone in the briefing room.
"That went better than expected," I offered.
"Winn was the easy one." Kara's expression grew serious. "Alex is going to want to talk."
As if summoned, the door opened. Alex Danvers entered, tactical vest on, expression unreadable.
"Mon-El. A word."
Not a request.
I followed her to a quiet corner of the command center, well away from listening ears but not so private that it implied secrecy.
"You and my sister," Alex said.
Not a question. I didn't treat it as one.
"Yes."
"When?"
"The balcony. Yesterday. We talked about it last night."
"Talked." Her eyes were sharp, assessing. "And what did you decide?"
"To try. To take it slow. To communicate when things get difficult."
"Reasonable terms." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Let me add some of my own. You hurt her—in any way, for any reason—and I will find a creative way to expose you to lead. I've been studying Daxamite physiology. I know exactly how much it takes to make someone very, very uncomfortable without causing permanent damage."
The threat was delivered with complete calm, which made it significantly more terrifying.
"I understand."
"Do you? Because she's been hurt before. By people who seemed trustworthy, who said the right things, who turned out to be something other than what they presented." Alex's gaze bore into me. "If you're that kind of person—if you're hiding something that will devastate her later—tell me now. I can work with honesty. I can't work with betrayal."
The transmigrator secret pressed against my consciousness. For a moment, I considered telling her—letting the weight of it transfer to someone else's shoulders.
But I couldn't. The truth was too impossible, too destabilizing. And Alex wasn't asking about cosmic anomalies; she was asking about threats to her sister.
"I'm not hiding anything that threatens Kara," I said carefully. "My past—my real past, not the prince story—is complicated. But it doesn't endanger her."
Alex studied me for a long moment. Whatever she saw seemed to partially satisfy her.
"Good. Welcome to the family drama." She started walking away, then paused. "For what it's worth? She's happier than I've seen her in months. Don't make me regret hoping this works out."
She left. I stood in the command center, processing the conversation.
Family drama. Alex had called it family drama.
The implication settled warmly somewhere in my chest.
---
J'onn summoned us to his office an hour later.
Kara and I stood at attention—professional, formal, waiting for the inevitable lecture about workplace relationships.
"Your personal lives are your own business," J'onn said, hands folded on his desk. "I have no interest in regulating who my agents choose to spend time with outside of duty hours."
"But?" Kara prompted.
"But you work together. You fight together. If your relationship affects mission performance—if it creates hesitation, distraction, or compromised judgment—we will need to discuss operational adjustments."
"It won't," I said.
"You sound confident."
"We've been working together for weeks while developing these feelings. Our coordination has actually improved." I met his ancient gaze. "The relationship makes us better partners, not worse."
J'onn was silent for a moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, his expression softened.
"Very well. Prove it." He waved a hand toward the door. "Dismissed."
As we left, I caught his quiet mutter: "Finally."
Apparently our relationship had been an open secret to everyone except us.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of knowing looks and poorly concealed smiles from agents who'd clearly heard through the gossip network. By lunch, I'd received three congratulations, two warnings about hurting Kara, and one very detailed description of lead poisoning symptoms from someone I'd never even met.
"Your sister told the medical staff," I reported to Kara in the break room.
"Of course she did." Kara didn't seem bothered. "Alex believes in comprehensive threat communication."
"That's one way to put it."
Under the briefing table that afternoon, her hand found mine. A small gesture, hidden from the room but felt like a statement.
Public secret now. Acknowledged by everyone who mattered.
Worth every uncomfortable conversation.
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