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Lucy shares her father's taste in literature – Ahab and his whale, Brutus and Cassius. He collected them, cared for them, carted them from post to post packed tightly into cardboard boxes, and she read the heavy paperback tombs over and over, so that they were almost enough to fill the empty hours in his office after school let her go and her homework gave out under her assault. Officers need culture, after all. He doesn't share her taste in the trashy paperbacks she starts collecting in her teens, and she very carefully arranges her life so that he never thinks to ask her about them. Especially their leads. A good half of them lost their covers anyway, between the store and her shelf.

Lucy is her father's child, and Lucy is a lawyer, so she knows the thrill and call of the hunt all too well.

She knows Alura would be her father's white whale, if he knew of her existence. It keeps her awake at night, longer than paperwork, or plans to upstage Danvers, or that one word that's been on the tip of her mental tongue for hours on end.

Alura is not a fighter, not like her sister, not like Supergirl, and Lucy wouldn't want her to be, not when she could be living, could be lively, looking after plants – Lucy hadn't even known onions could flower this time last year, and now she's got three of them growing on her windowsill, and two days ago Alura saw a bee – and occasionally dropping pronouncements on cases Lucy's working, could be slowly becoming more than the remnant of a dead world.

So, no matter how much the thought pains her, she has no choice but to buy the bottle of hair dye. Love will have its sacrifices, and hers is dating a nigh invulnerable blonde superhuman. Kara won't say anything, but Alex is going to be utterly insufferable.