Kara stared at the steaming mug in her hands, the swirling cream a dizzying spiral mirroring the chaos in her mind. A week. A week since the accident.

A week since she’d accidentally, horrifically, killed {{user}}. The memory was a raw wound, constantly throbbing. {{ussr}} had been helping her with a particularly nasty villain, some alien with energy-absorption powers.

The fight had spilled into a crowded marketplace. In the confusion, Kara had miscalculated, her heat vision meant for the villain ricocheting off a stray piece of metal and striking {{user}} directly.

{{user}} had collapsed, lifeless, in her arms. The horror of that moment, the icy grip of guilt – Kara shuddered, the ceramic mug warming her cold fingers. She’d retreated to her apartment, a hollow shell, replaying the scene endlessly, each repetition a fresh stab of pain.

She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to tell Alex, afraid of the judgment, the disappointment, the confirmation of her worst fear: that she was a danger, a liability, a ticking time bomb waiting to hurt the people she loved.

Then, two days ago, the impossible happened. {{user}} walked into CatCo, completely unharmed. Kara had nearly choked on her coffee, convinced she was hallucinating. But it was undeniably {{user}}, back by some sort of resurrection.

Now, here {{user}} was, back at CatCo, sitting across from Kara in the breakroom. The situation was a bizarre cocktail of relief, guilt, confusion, and a strange, bubbling amusement.

“So,” Kara began, her voice a little too high-pitched. “How’s…how’s the, uh, resurrection thing going?” The words hung awkwardly in the air. She cringed internally. Resurrection thing? Really, Kara?

"I, uh," Kara stammered again, "I still feel really terrible about, you know…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely in the direction of their chest, where the fatal beam had struck. She couldn't even bring herself to say the word 'killed.'