Work Text:
Cat technically has no reason to still have news alerts set up for Supergirl. Or for Kara Danvers, for that matter. At least with Supergirl she can pretend it’s a matter of national security to know what the Kryptonian is up to, even if she no longer needs to have her finger on the pulse of the everyday comings and goings of National City’s resident hero.
And yet here she is, scanning the headlines that have appeared overnight. Another fight with another Big Bad as Carter would call them, his deep dive into Buffy proceeding at a pace that she might call worrying if his grades weren’t as high as ever. But one article sticks out to her. It’s from a smaller news site—some niche online-only publication dedicated to queer culture that she’s fairly certain she remembers reporting extensively on her during her short-lived second marriage to Rebecca. The headline is little more than, “Girl of Steel…and Rainbows?”
Cat clicks on it and navigates out of some infernal pop-up ad. She skims the article and sees a meticulous analysis of what she thinks may have been little more than an off-hand comment. But all of it boils down to the idea that, somehow, Supergirl came out. There’s an embedded video, and Cat clicks play before she can even contemplate why she finds it so important to spend any more time on what is so obviously clickbait.
The video seems to be shot from a slightly shaky cell phone, but there’s Kara, smiling, cape billowing behind her in the wind. A group of people are scattered around her looking equal parts scared and awestruck, and Cat remembers some line from the article about a rescue. A burning building or a building collapse…something to do with buildings. Really, it wasn’t what she was reading for. Regardless, she scribbles a brief note to bring up the issue of building integrity during the President’s next infrastructure talks.
Cat listens as one of the women in the crowd makes a joke—a hint of a tremor still in her voice that she forces her way through—about how Supergirl might just be more efficient than any of the local airlines.
Kara tips her head back and lets out a loud laugh. “We can call it Air Supergirl.”
And then, the moment that has one corner of the internet abuzz arrives. Kara offers a little smile, tilts her head to the side as if considering it. “Air Supergirl: Fly with Pride,” she announces, one hand sweeping out in front of her as if she could envision the billboard there. She gestures at the shirt of the first woman, which Cat now notices reads, “Let’s Go Lesbians!” with a tiny stick figure graphic, and shrugs. “Or, you know, she and I can handle the pride part, and you guys can just enjoy the flight.”
The video cuts out then, and Cat sits back in her chair, blinking at the monitor. A quick Google search is enough to reveal that the video has picked up traction since last night. Even The Tribune’s online edition has a short piece about it, and she has got to speak to Andrea about this. They are not, nor will they ever aspire to be, Buzzfeed, and they don’t regurgitate old news unless they find something far more credible to make them stand out from the crowd.
She hears the ambient noise of the office start to build with everyone traipsing around as they get the day gets started. Cat halfheartedly flips through the morning editions of the national newspapers delivered to her desk and awaits her assistant’s knock on her door to let her know when her two Deputy Press Secretaries arrive. Perhaps this morning her coffee will actually be the correct temperature.
It is not.
The day seems to go by in a blur. That’s not unusual in and of itself. Cat regularly has days that seem both inordinately quick and interminably slow all at once. Sometimes she thinks the only thing that actually breaks her day into work and not-work, is getting to see Carter for dinner. So no, the pace of the day is not unusual. What is unusual is that she can’t seem to settle into her work. Her morning meeting with her staff, her daily briefing in front of the press corps, meetings with legislative assistants on various policy positions, all of it seems to just…happen, as if she somehow exists outside of it, standing at a remove from the action surrounding her.
By the time five o’clock rolls around, Cat is staring blankly at the screen of the Mac in front of her. In the left-hand corner of her screen, floating just over whatever inoffensively bland background was included with the latest update is a glaring calendar reminder: “Kara Danvers- 6 pm. Starting in 1 hour” She jerkily reaches for her mouse and hits the option to “snooze for 30 minutes.”
She unlocks her phone and begins to type out a message. She makes it as far as, “Unfortunately, I won’t b-” before deleting the entire thing.
This is Washington. It is not unimaginable that Cat may have something extremely urgent pop up that, regardless of prior commitments, she must take care of immediately—needs must and all that. In the Balkans, perhaps. There’s always something happening in the Balkans. Kara would understand.
If Cat were the type of woman who actually used the highly rated, subscription-based meditation app on her phone instead of burying it deep in a folder labeled, “Miscellaneous,” she might have been able to face her feelings of nervousness, maybe even tinged with the kind of anticipation that gives way much too easily to anxiety. Unfortunately, Cat is not that sort of person. Instead, she opens a file containing the draft press release for tomorrow and begins to leave a string of scathing comments down the margin. There is always something soothing about fixing other people’s words that tends to quiet her mind and drown out distractions. Microsoft track changes comments don’t bring her quite the same satisfaction as a line of stark red ink across a crisp white page, but she’ll take what she can get.
Only for once, it isn’t working. A mere few moments pass before her mind begins to drift again to the last time she saw Kara earlier that month.
-------
Summer in DC is typically a sweltering affair, and that night had been no exception. Though the sun had set, the humid air gave them no reprieve. The heat clung to everyone who walked the streets, from the weary commuters making their way home to the high-profile politicians and journalists in town for the annual awards gala. It was the type of heat that melted mascara, smeared foundation, and caused perfectly coiffed hair to flatten and frizz. So, naturally, when Kara stepped into the chilled air of the heavily air-conditioned banquet hall, she managed to look utterly and devastatingly perfect.
It seemed Kara had become the woman Cat had caught fleeting glimpses of back in National City, so much promise hidden beneath too little confidence and too much polyester. She had been nominated for an award for her coverage of the ongoing alien rights movement. Cat had even heard rumors about some kind of bidding war, several publishing houses all competing to land a book deal with her. Each time Cat glanced in Kara’s direction, there seemed to be a new agent slipping a business card into her hand. The pastels and the cardigans Kara had hidden behind had been traded in for sleek suits and…were those bangs? Okay, the bangs were a terrible choice, but at least they were arranged in a way that brought out the angles in her cheekbones and the line of her jaw.
“-and that’s when I thought of you, Cat!” a voice startled Cat from her…not staring. Definitely not staring. She was merely applying a critical eye to a series of sartorial choices made by a former protégée of hers. An entirely professional assessment, of course.
Her gaze snapped back to the older woman who had managed to corner her into a conversation. Cat had met her at several functions since beginning her tenure in Washington, but for some reason she could never remember her name, or much else about her—still can’t, actually. It was possible that she was the wife of some federal judge. Or maybe a legacy appointment at one of the Smithsonians? Regardless, the woman had paused her monologue and was looking at Cat expectantly. Cat, absolutely refusing to let slip that she hadn’t been listening, lifted her eyebrows and nodded her head slightly in what she believed to be the universal gesture for “please continue.”
The woman flashed her a wide smile. “Excellent! I’ll have my assistant send over my son’s resume tomorrow morning. Like I said, he desperately needs some type of job this summer. I’ve been flipping through my rolodex to try to find something for him. Kids these days!”
Cat managed a faint hum and a forced, professional smile. She was fairly certain that she remembered this “kid” being older than Adam with a trail of disgraceful exits from Washington jobs piling up behind him.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Cat said, as polite as she could manage at these functions, and oh, she missed her days at CatCo, missed when she was allowed to be caustic and biting because it was all part of the “brand.” These days she’s meant to be diplomatic, to represent Olivia, to represent the White House, to represent the American Presidency, as if she ever agreed to all of their terms.
She walked a lap of the room, scowling enough to keep anyone else away—surely, there could be no diplomatic breaches if those scowls weren’t directed at anyone in particular—while waiting until everyone was called to their seats. On her second trip around the room, after another tedious conversation, she spotted Kara over by the buffet, looking delighted in options that Cat found entirely too predictable to elicit a smile of that wattage.
But there was no time to go say anything, not when the ceremony was scheduled to start in mere minutes.
Kara won. Of course she did. Her coverage had been timely, and the commentary incisive, none of the hemming and hawing and “both-sidesing” bullshit that other supposedly reputable papers had pulled, trying to excuse their decision to give away valuable editorial space to half-rate politicians and talking heads who may as well have been copying and pasting their arguments from anti-alien conspiracy blogs.
After the ceremony, everyone moved back to the reception hall, the buffet having been replaced with trays of delicate desserts. Cat kept an eye out for Kara, though every time she spotted her, she was thronged by people wanting to congratulate her—or, the cynical side of Cat thought, find some way to exploit a connection that was never more than tenuous at best.
It wasn’t until Cat was in the restroom, touching up her lipstick, that she spotted Kara through the mirror.
“Ms. Grant!”
Kara’s reflection was a golden vision with a radiant smile. Cat’s brain, helpful as always, conjured up a memory of a summer spent trying to catch a reflection of the sun in the surface of her mother’s pool. The heavy door to the restroom swung closed behind Kara, muting the sounds of the gala behind it. For some reason, this made Cat’s chest feel tight. She capped her lipstick and puts it back in her purse.
“Kara,” she said, turning around to face her. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Kara’s cheeks blushed a faint shade of pink, but her smile didn’t fade.
“Thank you so much, Ms. Grant. Really, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the amazing activists…“
Suddenly, Cat was overwhelmed with a surge of annoyance. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve read your work. It’s not just them. It’s you and your voice that got you that award.”
Kara’s lips twisted as she attempted to swallow her grin. “Well, I had a good mentor.” She adjusts her bangs in an elegant movement, and Cat swallows.
In that moment it was as if the Earth’s center of gravity had shifted from the core and relocated itself somewhere in the air between them. Cat belatedly noticed her feet had moved of their own accord, moving her two steps towards Kara. The distance between them felt at once infinite and impossibly close. In the back of her mind Cat swore she could hear alarm bells, but…
Then the door to the restroom swung open. Two women spilled into the bathroom, laughing loudly as they tripped past Cat and Kara and into the stalls. The noise of the gala followed in behind them.
Mortified, Cat stepped back.
Kara’s cheeks were flushed red, her mouth slightly slack, and those blue, blue eyes of hers wide.
In a desperate scramble that she hoped came across as cool and in control, Cat pulled her phone from her purse and glanced at the screen.
“Mm, as expected, it seems that I need to go and smooth over everyone else’s incompetence. Again.”
Kara stared back at her, and it seemed to take a long moment before she really processed what Cat had said, like the buffer of a video or the built-in delays Cat had gotten used to during her talk-show days. She clears her throat slightly and nods.
“Oh, right, yeah, of course. Duty calls and all that.”
“Right.” Cat gathered her things and began typing furiously into her phone to let her driver she was ready to go, and now. She walked past Kara before pausing at the door. She inhaled and tried to remind herself that Kara didn’t actually do anything wrong. This mortifying ordeal was hers and hers alone. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Congratulations, Kara. You deserved the award.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “It’s something you should be proud of.” It was as close as she would get to the “I’m proud of you,” that hovered on her lips.
Kara’s smile was smaller this time, and Cat swore she could see her shrinking back into herself, back into Kara Danvers. “Thanks.”
Cat fled before she could do anything more, chasing thoughts and what ifs from her mind.
The next day, Kara texted her to see if she might be available to meet for coffee.
---
It was nothing. It had to have been nothing. Just the idle fantasies of a woman who had been single for too long, seeing things she wanted to see and reading much too much into easy compliments.
As Cat thinks back on it now, though, she wonders… She’s sure it had still meant nothing, a blip on Kara’s evening that probably didn’t even register to her. It’s just that now…now everything is tinged with something like possibility. The possibility that Kara is not as straight as an arrow. That Jimmy and Winslow and the dozens of other men in the office constantly mooning after Kara were not the only people she might be looking back at.
She shakes her head. Ridiculous. She has better things to do than wonder about the sexual preferences of a woman twenty-some years her junior. With a huff, she returns to her edits.
This lasts for all of three minutes.
It’s just. Cat can’t help considering the possibility. There’s a reason none of Cat’s other assistants ever lived up to Kara’s example. Kara had paid attention to Cat. She managed to anticipate what Cat needed sometimes before Cat had even figured it out for herself. Be it as simple as a well-timed, perfectly hot latte or—Cat shivers as she remembers the rush of wind and the roar of the plane and the feeling of freefalling until suddenly strong arms were wrapped around her, the earth no longer rushing up to meet her—as extraordinary as swooping in and saving her from certain death. And Cat, well, Cat paid attention right back. Paid enough attention to think that the only way to forget all the little details she’d absorbed, filed away for a future she refused to let herself think about, was flying halfway across the world to live in some godforsaken yurt whose only saving grace had been the decent wifi.
On the other hand, despite what her mother may think, Cat is neither arrogant nor foolish enough to believe that she has always been worthy of that type of attention. Kara had been paid to pay close attention to her. Kara was her employee and, according to exit interviews with former CatCo employees, Cat wasn’t always the easiest person to work for.
“You are the most arrogant, self-serving, mean-spirited person I know,” Kara herself had told her before literally throwing Cat from the top of her own building. Yes, she had been drugged with Red-K, but still.
No, it made more sense for Kara to be interested in someone who could give her easy smiles and kind words. Someone who wouldn’t bristle at the first sign of criticism. Someone who wasn’t…what was it Richard had always called her during fights? Ah yes, difficult.
Then again, Kara had spent an utterly confusing six months with intergalactic frat boy hailing from a planet devoted to hedonism and casual misogyny, so who knows, maybe Cat doesn’t entirely understand what Kara is looking for in a partner. At least Cat is self-aware enough to identify her own faults, dammit.
A ping sounds from her computer and her phone simultaneously, disrupting the internal monologue that had been developing into an impressive internal rant.
“Kara Danvers- 6 pm. Starting in 30 minutes.”
She should cancel or at least reschedule. She’s clearly not in the right frame of mind to have any sort of conversation with Kara. And she really hasn’t made any progress on the work she was supposed to get done today. There are just so many reasons why this should not happen.
Cat unlocks her phone, opens her texts from Kara, fully intending to send her excuses when she notices the three little dots that indicate Kara is actively typing. Cat freezes and her breath catches in her throat.
The dots float for what feels like an eternity.
Suddenly, they disappear.
Cat’s heart is pounding in her chest. This is exactly why she cannot meet with Kara. There is no reason why she should be this worked up over something so simple as a text message.
Another ping.
“Hi Ms. Grant! Totally understand if this doesn’t work with your schedule, but any chance you might be free to meet a bit earlier than we had planned? Our briefing ended early. Also, I have cupcakes! And I’m happy to share :)”
Another ping.
It’s a picture of the cupcakes. Cat is incredibly pleased to note that in a city full of mediocre, over-priced cupcake options, Kara had made the correct choice, skipping the overhyped tourist trap that is Georgetown Cupcakes and going instead to Baked and Wired.*
“You know I have high standards for desserts…” Cat sends back, pushing off the conversation about meeting just a little longer.
“I tried a couple already, and I promise they’re good.”
“Fine,” Cat sends back.
A moment later, Kara replies: “Awesome! I’m outside the White House. I think I’m by the exit where you’ll leave, but also, the security guards don’t seem the happiest that I’m hovering, so I’m trying to play it cool.”
Cat has to fight a smile, just imagining some of the brawny Secret Service agents trying to go up against Supergirl.
“Give me a minute.”
If any of Cat’s coworkers notice her leaving the office early for a change, all while grinning at her phone, no one dares comment on it.
---
Cat has never been one to deprive herself of the pleasures of modern conveniences. There’s a reason she made sure her yurt had wifi. And she’s certainly not a fan of the hot, muggy summers that DC is infamous for. But today, stepping out from the White House’s frigid, overly-air-conditioned halls into the warmth of the sunshine feels like coming back to life. The feeling only grows stronger when she spots Kara, box of cupcakes in hand, waving eagerly at her over the shoulder of a very suspicious looking security guard.
“Kara,” Cat says, dismissing the security guard with a flick of her wrist.
“Ms. Grant! It’s so good to see you!”
Cat hums, lets herself bask in Kara’s attention—itself even better than the sun slowly warming her. “How was the trip in?”
“Good, good. Slow,” she says with a bashful smile, guiding Cat towards the sidewalk as they talk.
Cat rolls her eyes. “Ah yes, the minor inconveniences of humanity.”
“Yeah…and it turns out, they do notice if you don’t get on the plane.”
Cat can’t help the snort of laughter, wondering what excuse Kara managed to cover up missing a flight but somehow ending up at her destination. “Speaking of being noticed, I saw you trending all across the internet this morning.”
“Oh!” Kara’s voice cracks over the sound. “Right, yeah, I guess there, um, was no way you would have missed that.”
A pang of something like regret prickles at Cat’s skin at the sight of Kara stammering and blushing in a way she hadn’t since her first few weeks as Cat’s assistant. “How are you…feeling about that?” Stilted, sure, but she likes to think her therapist might approve of her asking.
“Um, fine? I think. I didn’t really think about the fact that someone is probably recording me all the time, but it’s fine. It’s not like I was trying to hide it.” She shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“Still, it’s one thing to tell a few people. It’s another to have it playing on the 5 o’clock news.”
“They played it on the news?”
Cat reaches out as if to offer Kara some kind of touch—to soothe or ground or something more, she isn’t sure—before pulling her hand back. “If you want, I can probably say something scandalous enough to pull the spotlight off of you.”
Kara lets out a little huff of laughter, turning in Cat’s direction and beaming at her. “Don’t think I’ve ever had anyone offer to create a diplomatic crisis for me before.”
Cat shrugs. “It’s the summer. I could use a minor crisis to break up the monotony.”
“How romantic.”
It’s close enough to the truth that Cat can feel herself blush, and she lets herself hope that Kara will attribute it to the heat and the sun—at least until she remembers that Kara is Supergirl and can hear her heart pounding away in her chest. She doubts she can pull off the excuse that she’s simply let herself get that out of shape since moving.
“Hey, um, do you want to sit here?” Kara gestures at a bench that’s partially shaded. It’s close enough to the White House and its hundreds of Secret Service agents that Cat thinks her security detail won’t be overly annoyed about the exposed outdoor location.
Cat nods, settling herself down on one end of the bench.
“Cupcakes?” Kara opens the box and holds it out to Cat. “I even asked them to put a fork and knife in the box for you.”
“I’m sure to your utter humiliation.” Still, she takes the fork and spears a small bite of what looks like the chai flavor she got last time she went with Carter.
“No more embarrassing than the really, really filthy things they’re turning my whole ‘Ride with Pride’ joke into on Twitter.” Kara grimaces and shakes her head. “I really didn’t need to know how many people think Supergirl is a ‘power bottom’ or whatever.”
Cat snorts into her cupcake and tries to disguise it as a cough. “Never underestimate the internet, Kara.”
Kara groans and drops her head into her hands.
Still, it’s enough to make Cat curious, and she pulls out her phone and, after making sure she’s logged into the semi-anonymous Twitter she keeps, clicks on the trending “Ride with Pride” hashtag. There are a lot of terrible puns and propositions. Some earnest attempts at keeping its meaning PG and flooding the tag with congratulations to Supergirl on coming out. Then Cat spots it: a poll. “Who do you think Supergirl rides with pride?” It’s crude and overly invasive, and Cat’s name is at the top of the list of options.
Of course it’s then that Kara glances over at her screen. “Oh.”
“I didn’t—”
“No, I mean, obviously you don’t—”
“—not trying to pry—”
“—just people overanalyzing every interaction—”
“—though mazel tov if you are dating any of these lovely women, of course.”
“I’m not,” Kara cuts in. “I, um, I’m not dating anyone.”
“Ah. Well, I’m sure you’ll have dozens of offers in no time.”
“Ms. Gr-I mean, Cat.”
Cat looks up. It’s the first time Kara’s called her Cat since that night on her balcony. Kara is looking directly at her. Her chin is lifted and her shoulders back. Cat might be forgiven for expecting to spot the red cape fluttering behind her. The only thing that gives her away is the dusting of pink across her cheeks.
“Speaking of offers, I was wondering…” The words peter off into nothing, and Kara frowns. “Obviously Twitter is only speculating, and the fact that you’re winning the poll shouldn’t influence your decision in any way, and I promise that’s not why I’m asking, but—”
“Kara,” Cat cuts in. “Breathe.”
“Right.” She lifts her chin a little higher, holds Cat’s gaze. “Twitter is wrong about…a lot of things today. But they might not be totally off-base in their guesses about my feelings. And I guess I was wondering if maybe they were right about it being mutual?”
“Feelings?”
“Sorry, clearly I’m misreading things, and I—”
“Kara, stop.” The rambling stops. “I’d hope you would understand why I need to be absolutely sure of what you’re asking before I say anything, right? I was your boss. For many years.”
“Oh. Right. Well, I like you. A lot. And time and distance haven’t really changed that. So I was wondering, well, if I could take you out to dinner? As a date, I mean.”
Cat tries to play it cool, even though she’s fairly certain her broad grin isn’t staying contained to the faint smirk she was aiming for. “I think I could manage that.”
Kara has no such compunctions, beaming at Cat from across the bench. “Cool.”
Cat rolls her eyes. “All these years of pining, and all you manage is cool?”
“Just you wait, by the time I’m picking you up for dinner I’ll have a whole speech about just how lucky I am ready to go.”
“Mm, a speech might be overkill. I’m not trying to date Hamlet.”
“What about Mercutio? He was always fun.”
“I suppose… Just no getting killed at dinner in some ancient blood feud.”
“Yeah, no thank you. Star-crossed lovers isn’t all it’s chalked up to be. Besides, I can’t give you a kiss goodnight if I’m dead.”
“Much better.”