My Billionaire Best Friend Is My Keeper Now That I'm Powerless

The weight of my own body was a crushing, unfamiliar burden. Each breath was a conscious effort, a shallow pull of air that did little to fight the exhaustion settling deep in my bones. I was propped up on a cot in the DEO med-bay, Alex’s arm a solid, grounding presence around my shoulders. Without her, I was sure I would have simply slumped to the floor, a heap of useless limbs. The diagnosis had been grim: the prolonged, high-dosage kryptonite exposure had burned out my solar reserves completely. Two weeks. Two weeks of being this… fragile. This human.

The sharp click of heels on the polished floor announced her arrival before anyone spoke. The sound was so distinctly Lena—determined, precise, and utterly unstoppable. I managed to lift my head, the movement feeling like I was pulling it from deep underwater. She stood at the foot of the cot, her posture rigid, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. She wore a dark green dress that should have looked soft, but on her it looked like armor. Her face was a mask of cold fury, but I knew her well enough to see the frantic fear churning in the depths of her eyes.

“She is not staying in a DEO safe house,” Lena stated. It wasn't a question or a request; it was a decree.

Alex stiffened beside me. “Lena, this is procedure. It’s the most secure option.”

“Is it?” Lena’s voice was dangerously quiet. “The same procedure that allowed a terrorist with a kryptonite weapon to get within ten feet of her? Your protocols failed. Miserably.” The accusation hung in the sterile air, sharp and undeniable. Alex had no answer. “She’s coming with me,” Lena continued, her gaze finally shifting from Alex to me. The fury in her eyes softened instantly into a raw, aching concern that made my throat tighten. “My penthouse is a fortress. The only person I trust to keep her safe is me.”

“We can’t just let a civilian—” Alex began, but Lena cut her off.

“I am not a civilian, I am the one who designed half the security tech in this very building. My personal system is a generation ahead. No one gets in. No one.” She took a step closer, her focus entirely on me now, as if Alex had ceased to exist. “Kara?”

Her voice was softer now, a stark contrast to the steel she’d shown my sister. I looked from Alex’s worried face to Lena’s fiercely protective one. The DEO felt cold, impersonal. A place for Supergirl to recover. But Lena… Lena was looking at Kara Danvers. I felt a strange sense of comfort in the possessive, unwavering demand in her eyes. I gave a slow, deliberate nod, the small movement costing me more energy than I cared to admit.

Alex let out a frustrated sigh, but she saw the decision in my eyes. “Fine,” she conceded, her voice tight. “But I want round-the-clock surveillance and—”

“You’ll have a direct, encrypted feed to all external cameras and access points,” Lena said, already dismissing her, her attention solely on me. “Whatever you need.” She walked the rest of the way to the cot, her movements fluid and graceful, and knelt in front of me. The expensive fabric of her dress pooled on the concrete floor without a second thought. “We’re going home,” she murmured, her hand hovering just above my knee, not quite touching, but I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

Lena helped me to my feet. Her hands were firm on my biceps, supporting nearly my entire weight as I wobbled, my legs shaking with a weakness that was utterly foreign. I leaned heavily against her, my cheek brushing against the silk of her dress. She smelled of expensive perfume and something that was just… Lena. It was a scent I associated with boardrooms and galas, not with being held up like a fragile doll. Alex hovered nearby, her face a mask of worry, but she kept her distance, respecting the silent agreement that had been made.

The journey to the car was a blur of strained steps and Lena’s steadying presence. She settled me into the plush leather seat of her town car before sliding in beside me, the door closing with a soft, expensive thud. The silence inside the vehicle was absolute, a thick, heavy blanket that seemed to absorb all sound. I stared out the window at the city lights blurring past, feeling each small jolt and sway of the car in every cell of my body. It was jarring. Normally, the world was something I moved through with effortless grace; now, it was something that acted upon me, and I felt every single bump, every turn, every slight change in momentum.

Lena’s hand rested on the console between us, her fingers curled slightly. A few times, when the car took a sharp turn, her hand would lift, hovering an inch above my thigh as if to steady me, before settling back down. The gesture was small, almost nothing, but it sent a strange warmth through me. It was a physical manifestation of the fierce watchfulness I’d seen in her eyes, a silent promise to catch me if I fell. I was so tired, so disoriented, but I was acutely aware of her, of the space between us, of the heat of her body so close to mine.

When we arrived at her building, she guided me through the private elevator and into the sprawling penthouse. The space was breathtaking, all glass and steel and clean lines, with the city lights twinkling below like a fallen constellation. It was a monument to Lena’s success, her brilliance, her power. It was also sterile and immense.

“I’ve had the guest suite prepared for you,” she said, her voice soft, as she led me down a pristine white hallway. She opened a door to a room that was larger than my entire apartment. A king-sized bed with a mountain of crisp white pillows sat in the center. The furniture was modern and minimalist, beautiful but cold. “The en suite is through there. Let me know if you need anything at all. My room is just across the hall.”

She stood in the doorway, watching me as I took in the space. It was perfect. A room from an architectural magazine. And it made me feel more alone than I had on the cot in the med-bay. This room was for a visitor, a temporary guest. It felt like a gilded cage, emphasizing how out of place I was here, a broken bird in a glass tower. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of displacement, a feeling so intense it almost made me nauseous. I wasn't Supergirl. In this vast, empty room, I wasn't even sure I was Kara Danvers. I was just a stranger in my best friend’s home.

I thanked her, my voice barely a whisper, and she gave me a small, tired smile before pulling the door softly shut, leaving me alone in the opulent silence. For a while, I just stood there, swaying slightly on my feet. I should have felt safe, but the sheer scale of the room, the cool, impersonal perfection of it all, only made my own frailty more pronounced.

I peeled off my suit, the familiar fabric feeling foreign and heavy, and left it in a heap on the floor. After a quick, clumsy shower where the warm water felt both blissful and barely enough to stop my shivering, I pulled on the soft cotton pajamas Lena had left out for me. They smelled faintly of her laundry detergent, a clean, subtle scent that was the only comforting thing in the room. I crawled under the duvet, but the chill wasn't just on my skin. It was a deep, internal cold that seemed to have settled in my marrow. My teeth chattered quietly against each other.

Worse than the cold was the hunger. It wasn't the fleeting, easily-ignored sensation I was used to. This was a hollow, aching void in my stomach, a gnawing demand for fuel that my body was no longer producing for itself. It was distracting. It was painful. After an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up on sleep.

Wrapping one of the plush blankets from the bed around my shoulders, I padded barefoot out of the room. The penthouse was dark and silent, the only light coming from the vast, glittering expanse of the city beyond the glass walls. I found my way to the kitchen, a sleek, intimidating space of dark marble and stainless steel. All I wanted was something warm to drink, something to chase away the chill. I spotted the coffee maker, a futuristic device with a smooth, black touchscreen. I pressed my finger to the glass, and it lit up with a dozen symbols I didn't recognize. I jabbed at what looked like a power button, then a symbol for a cup, but nothing happened. A wave of pathetic frustration washed over me. I could lift a city bus over my head, but I was going to be defeated by an appliance.

“Kara?”

Lena’s voice was soft, and I jumped, clutching the blanket tighter around me. She stood in the entryway to the kitchen, bathed in the faint glow of the city lights. She’d changed into a pair of dark silk pajamas, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked at me, then at the defiant coffee machine, and a look of understanding softened her features.

“Here,” she said, moving past me with that effortless grace of hers. She didn’t make me feel foolish for struggling. She simply took control. Her fingers brushed mine as she gently guided me toward one of the stools at the massive kitchen island. “Sit down.”

Her touch, brief as it was, sent a jolt of warmth through my cold skin. I did as I was told, sinking onto the stool and watching as she ignored the coffee maker entirely. Instead, she opened the refrigerator, its interior light spilling out into the dim room, and pulled out eggs and a block of cheese.

“Food first,” she stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. She moved around the kitchen with a quiet efficiency, pulling a pan from a drawer, lighting the gas stove with a soft whoosh. The sound of eggs cracking against the side of a bowl, the sizzle as she poured them into the hot pan, filled the silence. The smell of butter and melting cheese was intoxicating, making the ache in my stomach clench with anticipation. She didn't speak again until she was sliding a plate with a perfectly made omelet in front of me.

She sat down opposite me, nursing a mug of tea she’d made, and simply watched me eat. I devoured the food, each bite a small miracle of warmth and substance. And in the quiet intimacy of the kitchen, under Lena’s watchful, caring gaze, I felt a different kind of warmth spread through me. It wasn't the sun. It was her. For the first time, maybe ever, someone was taking care of me—not the hero, but the shivering, hungry woman huddled in a blanket. And it felt less like being weak and more like being seen.