What Fools These Mortals Be

Chapter 8 - The Love Language of Words

Querl stares at his phone, a text from Nia on the screen. It's confirmation the flowers he sent had arrived, but now there's this odd buzz in his stomach, and he isn't sure where to go from here. The text has come in two parts. The first is a poem called Love's Language by Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Querl had to look it up as he doesn't recognize the work.

The second part of the text is actually two texts in Nia's own words. If the poem is confusing, the text series is confounding. The logical part of Querl knows this is just an example of how a real relationship works, something he should probably read to Lena to see if anything in these words speaks to her about her time with Kara. However, there's this little part that tickles the back of his brain and reminds him of the rivalry he's enjoyed with Nia across the centuries, of the plans for a better and more loving world he's shared with her, of the way she has, again and again, been the one that's listened not just to the big things but the little things he's shared, and then of carrying her to bed last night. Her hair smells like stardust. It's a smell he finds most enjoys.

He's still staring at this message, interpreting and reinterpreting it again and again, when a hand touches his shoulder and startles him back to the here and now.

"Are you quite alright?" Lena asks. "I said your name several times, and you were completely unresponsive.

"I was just—"

"Oh, I do hope you weren't close to a breakthrough, and I didn't interrupt. Kara says that I sometimes get lost in thought, and she can't pull me out of it." Lena grins over her shoulder as she wanders to her office bar and pours herself a glass of water. "She swears I spend so much time 'spaced out' that I'm from another planet. Drink?"

"Thank you, but no. Actually, I had sent my beloved some flowers at work as a sign of my great affection... as one does. In turn, she thanked me with a text, some words expressing her emotions. Would you care to hear?"

"Oh, if we're sharing, certainly."

"First, she sent me a poem." Querl begins to read outloud from the text in his phone.

Nia: "How does Love speak?

In the proud spirit suddenly grown meek–

The haughty heart grown humble; in the tender

And unnamed light that floods the world with splendor;

In the resemblance which the fond eyes trace

In all fair things to one beloved face;

In the shy touch of hands that thrill and tremble;

In looks and lips that can no more dissemble–

Thus doth Love speak."

"Well, that's just lovely."

"Wait, there's more. Nia is a reporter, a wordsmith, and when she wants to show her love for someone, she does it in words. She says it's her love language. Here's how she did it today." He clears his throat, reading the rest of the text string.

Nia: "Querl, darling, thank you for last night and the flowers today. You never cease to amaze. I'm already the envy of the office and for all the wrong reasons. They think it's because I have a loving man in my life that showers me with gifts. They're right, but they're also wrong."

Nia: "They should envy me the quiet nights held in your arms, your soft voice sharing your thoughts on a better world and how you want me always by your side, your perfect balance of strength and gentility. The greatest gift you have ever given me is not something I will ever hold in my hands; it's your presence in my life."

When Querl looks up from his phone, he's startled by the expression on Lena's face because it mirrors the feeling rushing through this heart.

Then Lena smiles. It's slightly crooked, and a charming, single dimple shows on the left side of her face. "She loves you."

"Well, she doesn't say that but—" When she laughs, he frowns.

"Oh, she most certainly does. She doesn't use the words, but writers enjoy a hearty balance of text and subtext. What's that old creative writing term...? Ah, Show Don't Tell. It would be rather weak writing if all she said was, 'I love you.' No, instead she'll expound upon your virtues and express her gratitude for having you in her life. Each kindness, compliment, gratitude, those are all different words for love."

"Oooh." Querl nods, having once again found his smile. "I completely agree. Can you imagine having someone in your life who does the same, tells you they love you in words without explicitly saying the word love?"

"Honestly? No." She chuckles, a sad, humorless sound and walks to the window, staring out at the city below. "Luthors inspire fear, hard work, loyalty if we're lucky, but never love. We don't even love each other. It's just not in your DNA."

"But Kara—"

"Is too good for this world, I agree," she says as she turns, swishing her water as if it's the glass of scotch she would doubtless prefer, but the success of office hours demands sacrifices. "The relationship she has with her family is enviable, and if it was anyone else, I might even be angry about it, but she deserves that love in her life. I wouldn't wish away a moment of it from her life. If anything, I wish her more. With a heart as big as hers, I'm sure one day she'll find more."

Querl can only stare open mouthed as she drains her glass, rinses it in the bar sink, and puts it to drain, then returns to the coffee table and the designs they have laid out there.

"Well, enough personal business for now. Rome wasn't built in a day, but with modern engineering, I'm sure we can beat the hell out of their time schedule. Are you ready to get back to work, Querl?"

He sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck before lifting his head and plastering on a smile he doesn't feel. "I've never been readier. I certainly have my work cut out for me."