I'm not a journalist. ( the words come out a little harsher than she intends them to, and kara has to take a breath or two to settle her nerves before she can make it right. for her, it's a fact that's been reiterated over and over, in the few days slash nearly a few years at home. she's not a journalist anymore. hardly even anything at all. she helps lena where she can, but her devotion is to her city. to supergirl. and now, she can't even do that right anymore. ) I'm — I'm just not.

( her hands lift to cup over her eyes, fingertips pressing against her forehead and then further as she drags her hands down. none of this is easy to explain. it's not even easy for her to understand. how can anyone else? )

I float in my sleep because I can fly. When I'm awake, I can control it. Lately, when I'm sleeping... I can't. ( if magnus looks particularly closely, he might notice the bags — the ones that have never before appeared under her eyes — looking a bit more prominent today. ) Not that I'm really sleeping very much.

( and then, just as suddenly, the defensive mechanisms kick back in. better to not talk about it, to not allow any chips in her carefully constructed armor, to brush aside any attempts at help or kindness lest she start to need them. )

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm really fine.