There they were, somewhere on the Mass Gen campus, where Nora was due to spend the night as the fellow on call until the next morning. She was very much looking forward to using work as a distraction, but Kara seemed to be doing her best to make it impossible by recounting the events of the past day over and over again. She was angry. Livid. Fuming.

She and Nora had managed to strike a balance fairly early on in their strange relationship. Kara wouldn't interfere with her responsibilities at work and Nora would be amenable to letting her take the reigns the rest of the time—within reason, unless the circumstances were absolutely dire. They seemed to be able to coexist well enough that way; it was the path of least resistance and they were both able to do what they needed to do. Nora could still go to work and do her job, and she wouldn't do anything to lose her fellowship or derail her very young career, and Kara could fulfill the responsibilities that she had set for herself a long time ago: to help people when they needed it the most. Unfortunately for Kara, Nora seemed to be needing a fair amount of help these days, too.

Primum non nocere. The Latin phrase had been laser-engraved onto a plaque that sat just above the doorway of the residents' lounge. It was large and unsightly; an eyesore more than anything else and certainly not the decorative, inspirational piece that it was meant to be. It was a well-intentioned present from one class of residents to the next, gifted to them years and years ago, meant to light a fire under all of those who walked through that door and to remind them of their responsibility to uphold the ethos of non-maleficence that came with their chosen profession. Unfortunately, none of those residents seemed to have any sort of taste, and so all of the following classes of junior surgeons were stuck with an ugly hunk of metal to stare at for when they needed a pick me up after a long day's work. It was splotchy and tarnished and in need of a good polish, dented in a few spots after having fallen from its tall perch one too many times, and right now, a little bit dusty.

On a good day, the plaque had a tendency to blend into the rest of its surroundings, just one more thing that was meant to stand out amongst the hospital's otherwise sterile interior but failed to actually do so in the end. It was right up there with the required OSHA posters, navigational signs, hand-washing reminders, Kanban boards, and different awards and accolades that seemed to be placed throughout campus at random. Today, however, it sat in its place, taunting Kara and her recent actions and reminding Nora, as if she needed anymore reminders, that her life was no longer just her own.

First do no harm. Nora could live by that rule. Kara, on the other hand — well, she only threw punches at people who deserved them. If they were hurting someone else, if they were stealing from someone or otherwise causing trouble that could be easily stopped with physical force, Kara was the person to call; after all, what use were these abilities if she couldn't use them for good? So when she came to early Sunday morning and found herself just a little too close to Lex Luthor for comfort, she didn't think twice about how her fist had instinctually connected with his jaw and how she felt hardly any remorse whatsoever after the fact. Even if he hadn't done anything in that moment to deserve getting punched in the face, surely that punch covered some of his past wrongdoings, of which there were plenty as far as Kara was concerned. He had left so quickly after that that she couldn't even get a word in edgewise once she realized what exactly had happened, and though he had just run out the door, she found herself following his path. She needed to get out, to feel like she could breathe again and clear her head.

The parking garage seemed to be the best place for Kara to take off unnoticed. Her enhanced vision showed that it was safe; there were no people moving around who could see her fly out and make a not-so-subtle exit. Nothing to see here, folks. Business as usual—that is, until something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She looked around the parking garage again to confirm that no one else was there before approaching the bike. After a few moments of studying and poking around, she realized that it was the KR-1 that she had borrowed from The Blade so long ago and her and her breath got caught in her throat. The Blade. That was a throwback. A secret research facility located near the Earth's core had produced these machines and others like it. She had vague memories of having spent some time there that she wish she could recall better, but for now, she was just focused on the bike. She furrowed her brow and looked around to confirm that no one else was around. As she neared the vehicle, it became glaringly obvious that it was, in fact, the KR-1. To anyone else, the bike wouldn't have looked anything other than a modified Triumph Rocket III (because someone at the super duper top secret research lab obviously had a sense of humor about these things—and maybe just a touch of cabin fever). Its hidden features and all of the futuristic mods were useless until the bike was in space.

She dug Nora's keyring out from her pocket and spotted something that looked vaguely familiar. Sure enough, the head of the key read TRIUMPH. There was even a helmet on the bike, just for her, begging to be used. It was hard not to think about all of the adventures that she could have on that bike again, and it was exactly what she needed to catch her breath and get her head on straight again.