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At this hour the city seems to hold its breath. It is early enough in National City that the sun is just skirting the edge of the horizon, bathing the skyline in a warm orange glow. The light is interrupted only by the skyscrapers that populate downtown National City, and each building casts a long cold shadow that stretches down the length of multiple city blocks.
Though the weather forecast calls for warm temperatures later in the day, standing in the shade of the CatCo building, Cat feels a chill run up her spine, and she smiles slightly when she realizes that she can’t tell if it’s due to the weather or just plain excitement.
There are many things that can be said about Cat Grant. Some are complimentary. Others less so. And a few are even true. She has been called, at turns, aggressive, tenacious, vain, persistent, brilliant, and—the perennial classic—a bitch.
But one thing no one can deny about Cat Grant is that she has an almost preternatural ability to recognize a good thing when she sees it. And she can feel in the soles of her Manolo Blahniks that today is going to be a good day.
The outrage over her leaked emails is last week’s news. Dirk Armstrong has been thoroughly disgraced, and her army of lawyers has assured her that he will owe her an almost exorbitant amount in damages. Carter is ecstatic over making it onto his school’s robotics team and seems to finally be acquiring an odd but charming group of friends. And the previously fledgling Tribune was just longlisted for Pulitzer’s Public Service Award for its coverage of the burgeoning alien rights movement.
Yet all of this, Cat must admit to herself, is not the reason she feels like she’s floating on air as her private elevator trundles up to her office floor. No, the reason for her mood is simple: she knows, without a doubt who Supergirl is. (And if that revelation also helped to explain a few odd dreams and the subconscious blurring of her deep appreciation for and trust in her long-time assistant with a hard-to-deny attraction to National City’s superhero, well, that’s something Cat can just keep to herself for the rest of forever.)
With a quiet ding, the elevator doors slide open, and Cat Grant steps out into the office. Her staff scrambles to attention, and the room seems to hum around her. If CatCo is a nervous system that stretches across the world, this right here is the brain. Forget base jumping Mt Kilimanjaro with Gal Gadot or hang-gliding across the Grand Canyon with Jared Leto, nothing beats the thrill of stepping through her newsroom and into her glass office at the center of it all.
There is nothing that could upset this feeling.
“ Ms. Grant, they were out of oat milk, so I got you a plain coffee instead of a latte,” Kara announces, barging into the office in a truly hideous pink polka dot dress and cardigan combo. Instead of the plain white tumbler from Cat’s favorite coffee shop, Kara is handing her a white mug lined in orange filled with an unacceptably bitter cup of black coffee. Cat takes it, purses her lips, and actively decides that, given recent revelations , she will, perhaps, let this slide.
“Mmm,” Cat hums. “And here you are, delivering it to me like a normal, boring person.”
“Well, that's what I am. I’m very boring and really normal.” Kara chuckles nervously.
Amusing. As if Cat didn’t know Kara had to be running late this morning because she had spent much of last night stopping a small fire at the city’s animal shelter. Cat’s reporters had been on the scene; she’s already reviewed and approved the copy and video clips that will air on CatCo’s morning and evening news shows from the backseat of her car on her way to the office. Per an office-wide directive, all Supergirl-related press is to be sent directly to Cat for approval. Since Kara seems to lack the wherewithal to hire a publicist, Cat has taken it upon herself to be responsible for Supergirl’s media presence. And if that responsibility extends to evaluating countless photos of a soot-stained Supergirl looking heroic while gently cradling puppies in her well-muscled arms, well, it’s a hardship she is willing to bear. For the good of the company and all that. Certainly not for any selfish reasons.
From her desk, Cat eyes Kara carefully. Kara may have successfully distracted Cat from her strength with cheap polyester pastels in unflattering silhouettes, but now that she knows what she’s looking for, Cat doesn’t see how she could have possibly missed what had been right under her nose: the sharp jawline, the piercing blue eyes, the strong build, and gorgeous bone structure. Cat has already begun mentally drafting the special issue of CatCo Magazine that would introduce the woman behind the cape to the rest of the world. She has several photographers in mind who wouldn’t try to mask the extraordinary in favor of something overly “relatable”—because God forbid a woman superhero be allowed to own her power publicly.
“So, um, I'll just get out of your hair.” Kara flashes Cat a concerned look as she says it, and Cat realizes with a jolt that, for someone who isn’t witness to her internal monologue, there has been a lull in the conversation long enough to border on uncomfortable.
“Why?” Cat arches a brow. “Have a building to leap in a single bound?”
“So, we're still going with that joke?” Cat purses her lips as Kara lets out the worst fake laughter Cat’s heard since she accidentally attended the premier of Adam Sandler’s latest movie. Kara sounds like she’s wheezing. “Which is great 'cause it's hilarious!” The words come out strangled and desperate, and Cat wonders idly if Kara might consider a few lessons with an acting coach before her next interview.
Then the words land and Cat stumbles over them. It’s one thing for Kara to jokingly deny being Supergirl in front of anybody else, but surely Kara doesn’t think that Cat is going to forget their conversation last night?
“Keira,” Cat says, sharper this time. “There are many topics that I find appropriate for humor—English cuisine, black lipstick. But I will never make a joke about a good story.”
“ Ms. Grant, I'm sorry you think what you think, but it's not true. I'm not Supergirl.”
Cat fixes Kara with a hard look. “One time at a party, Paul McCartney swore to me that he and Yoko were the closest of friends. He was more convincing.”
“I just... I don't want you to be embarrassed when you realize how wrong you are.”
Cat feels her hackles rise at the implication that she is mistaken about something. “Fine. We'll just keep playing this silly charade. You may go, Keira. I'm sure there's a phone in need of answering.” A beat. “Or a plane in need of catching.”
With that, Kara practically scurries out of the room, and Cat sighs. She had hoped to begin the process of reaching out to photographers and the art department to start coordinating the photoshoot for their special issue, but clearly that would need to wait a little longer.
Without thinking, Cat lifts the mug of decidedly unacceptable coffee to her lips and practically chokes at the first taste. It’s far too cold and more bitter than anything she would ever tolerate. Why would Kara give her this?
“Keira!” Cat bellows.
However, it is not Kara, but rather James who appears in her doorway. His cheerful smile, usually a welcome sight in staff meetings, somehow worsens Cat’s mood. She still remembers back when James was still little Jimmy Olsen, traipsing after her with a crush visible from outer space, back then he and Lois Lane had managed to climb their way up the ladder as the Daily Planet ’s only connections to Superman. And oh…he knows. Of course he knows.
“Ms, Grant, Kara just stepped out. I think she said she had to drop off some documents to Accounting. I was hoping to show you some ideas the Art Department has had for the next issue of…”
His words blur together as Cat glances down in front of her. She isn’t quite sure how it clicks but it does: this mug that Kara gave her…this is not one of her mugs, which are meticulously selected, regularly sanitized, and carefully stored with the rest of her glassware. But she has seen this mug before. This is James’s mug. Not only that…this must be James’s coffee.
Superpowers or not, she just might murder Kara Danvers.
---
On Cat’s 29 th birthday, Olivia gifted her with an antique Tiffany’s desk clock. With it came a simple note written in sloping handwriting: “To the woman who makes the very most out of every second of every day.” Today, though, this elegant little clock has transformed into the ticking bane of her existence.
If one were to peek into Cat’s office later that morning, they might notice something unusual. It begins rather innocuously. Cat sits at her desk typing at her computer. A few moments later she glances at Kara’s desk, twists her mouth, turns her eyes to the clock, and jots something down in her notebook. She then returns to her computer. Anyone watching might be forgiven for thinking that she types quite a bit harder for the next few seconds before settling back into her rhythm. Then the cycle begins again: computer, Kara’s desk, clock, notebook, computer. With each pass, Cat’s agitation seems to grow until finally she pushes herself up from her chair with a loud huff and strides to Kara’s desk, which has been abandoned for, if Cat’s notes are correct—and they most certainly are—a full 45 minutes.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cat spots the IT hobbit who follows Kara around like a lost puppy. Will? Witt? She suspects he’d respond to anything, really. In her most imperious voice, she asks, “Where is Kara?”
He practically shrinks at her approach, but to his credit, he seems to rally and steel himself within a matter of moments. A few clicks of his mouth later he answers. “Looking at her calendar, it seems she’s probably down in Accounting dropping off the new contracts.” He clears his throat quietly and points to his screen. “You can see here.”
Cat leans over his shoulder. It’s a typical CatCo calendar, but it’s…it’s a mess. The screen in front of her is an explosion of overlapping colors that start at 7am and end at 8pm, sometimes even later. The hours aren’t what surprises her, though. Before ever having a personal assistant, Cat managed her own calendar, a paper diary of course, and she remembers the visual reminder of how long her days stretched as she worked to build CatCo front he ground up; even now Cat’s hours are similar, if not more intense. What does surprise her is the sheer number of tiny ten- or fifteen-minute windows and the amount of detail in each—enough that the clutter begins to give Cat a migraine.
Looking more closely Cat sees that sure enough, at this moment, the calendar indicates that a “Contract Drop off” event is ongoing. The “about” section lists the contracts question, their associated signees, the appropriate budget officer who handles each item, and a litany of other details that Cat imagines are important but that she pays other people to care about and attend to.
“I can view her calendar on my phone, correct?” Cat asks.
Will seems to do a double take. “Y-yes, I mean you can. But would you want to? I just figure there’s probably a lot of things on here that you’d rather just let Kara handle, right?”
Will is correct, but Cat refuses to concede. Instead, she holds out her phone until he takes it, and then Kara’s calendar is on her screen.
Over the course of the next hour, Cat takes a whirlwind walking tour of the parts of CatCo that she hasn’t been to in weeks. She drops by Janet’s desk in accounting where she is told that, yes, Janet did receive the contracts, and yes, everything was in order, and would she mind asking Kara to send her that chocolate chip scone recipe again? Then there’s Nigel in Fashion, who reports that Kara had promptly delivered the samples from Hermes for the upcoming photoshoots and had also been very helpful in moving several of the props for an upcoming shoot out of storage. Apparently there is an active betting pool to see when Kara will take his staff up on their cardigan-free makeover offers—she really needs the help, doesn’t she? (Obviously, Cat agrees.) If they are to be believed, Kara is not only doing her job, but going above and beyond the call of duty.
And, as Cat finds out from following Kara’s schedule and checking in with each of the people that appear in her detailed calendar entries, it turns out these are not isolated incidents. Again and again and again, they have nothing but good things to say about Kara. Everything is being done, done well, and done on time. However, Cat can’t seem to actually find Kara anywhere.
Kara’s work is all done, but where is she?
Cat glances at the news alerts, but it doesn’t look like anything is happening that would drag Supergirl up, up, and away..
She’s interrupted from her musings by a call from an unlisted number.
“Yes?” Cat answers.
A beat of silence. Then: “The packet you requested is on your desk.”
Cat rolls her eyes. Even by her standards, PIs are needlessly dramatic. A bunch of wannabe Batmans. Still, they get the job done, and for that efficiency, she won’t complain. For the time being, she decides to leave Kara’s schedule and current whereabouts alone; she’ll deal with them later. For now she has an interview to prepare for.
---
When Kara finally reappears, she is carrying a bundle of papers and looking flustered. Windswept, perhaps? “I have those media authorizations you asked for, Ms. Grant.”
“Oh, wonderful, Kara. Wonderful!” The words practically drip with insincerity; she never did prioritize mastering the art of false cheer. “Why don't you sit with me for a minute?”
“I–I really should be getting back to my desk, Ms. Grant.” She practically trips over her feet in her hurry to get to the door.
“I insist.” Cat’s smile is all teeth.
“Okay,” Kara says, stretching the word out as her gaze darts to and fro. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Well, I've just been doing a teensy little bit of research into your past, and I wanted some clarification on a few details. Sit, sit.” She gestures towards her own desk seat, though Kara is smart enough to avoid it, settling herself beside the desk instead. Cat glances up at her, lets herself feel like, to pardon the pun, a Cat toying with its dinner. God, she doesn’t miss the hours that came with investigative journalism, but she has missed this. “You're 24 years old?”
Kara tilts her head slightly to the side and gives Cat a confused smile. “You know I am, Ms. Grant.”
“Mmm. Which means you were what age when the movie Titanic came out in 1997?”
“Uh, uh, six!”
“Which is the same age you were when you started what grade?” Cat shoots at her, barely giving her a moment to breathe.
“First.”
“Uh-huh. And your teacher's name was?”
“Mr. Zarzycki,” Kara answers with a confident nod.
“According to this report card—” Cat drawls, brandishing a piece of folded cardstock.
Kara can’t seem to hide the look of disbelief at that. “You have my first grade report card?”
“—her name was Ruth Marchon.”
“Ms. Marchon taught art at Midvale. And that's a trick question,” Kara adds, flashing Cat a smug little look, as if she might actually be winning this game, “because I didn't transfer there until the eighth grade.”
“Hmm.”
“Now, have I convinced you, Ms. Grant?”
Cat lets out a dramatic sigh. “Beyond a shadow of a doubt.” She watches as the tension drains from Kara’s body. “You are Supergirl.”
“But... I–I knew all of the answers to your insane questions!”
“Exactly! Only a person who is determined to lie can answer all the questions they're asked. How do you think I caught Lance Armstrong?” A personal triumph. If she never had to see another writer trying to justify rubber yellow wristbands as a fashion-forward accessory in this lifetime, it’d still be too soon. “You see, Kara, you and I both fight for truth, and justice. It just so happens that my methods are better. And more fun. That will be all for now, Supergirl.”
With a loud huff, Kara walks away. Cat chews on her lip as she watches her go. Once it is clear that Kara is out of sight, she shuffles the papers on her desk slightly and presses “stop” on the tape recorder that she had hidden from view.
–--
After Kara’s exit, Cat takes to pacing her office, recorder in hand. This is the story of a lifetime: Supergirl, National City’s own superhero, has a dayjob as a mild-mannered but highly efficient personal assistant. Once upon a time, it would be the career-making scoop of a lifetime. These days, her career has already been made, her legacy established, her name known internationally. She doesn’t need to break this story. But she can’t help thinking about just how much she could do with a story like this. There are no other aliens today with the same possibilities for the kind of public platform Cat could give them. Yes, of course Superman is there as an international symbol of “Truth, Justice, and the American Way,” but that’s all he is: a symbol, a big “S” and a red cape, not someone that people could connect to, not someone who could speak to the everyday challenges faced by a growing population still fighting for rights and recognition.
Cat understands why Kara might be reluctant to reveal her identity to the world, but surely she must understand that with Cat’s help, there’s so much good she could do. Substantive good of the sort that goes beyond punching bad guys or being a glorified hall monitor for National City. Cat may have been facetious when speaking to Kara earlier, but she meant what she said: there are better ways to change the world. There have to be, right? She can’t help wondering why Kara doesn’t trust her to do this for her.
The implications and nagging insecurities stick with her on her ride home from work, barely quieting while she’s eating dinner with Carter and returning with a vengeance once she’s in her home office trying to make up for the time she had lost following Kara’s cluttered calendar.
She’s catching up on a few emails when she gets a Slack alert: the latest wrap-up of Supergirl news is available for review. Besides a bit of internet buzz around an image of Supergirl posing with the owners of a food truck in Chicago and the footage of her early morning heroics at the animal shelter, it seems today was a relatively slow day for the caped crusader.
A message from the social media team assigned to the Supergirl beat notes that the food truck owners had posted a few selfies with the Woman of Steel with the hashtag #ThanksSupergirl, which is now trending nationwide. Falling down the Twitter rabbithole, Cat scrolls and scrolls, reading post after post recounting stories and sharing videos of Kara Danvers doing what she does best: making the world better, one person at a time.
It’s exactly the kind of press Cat thinks of as orchestrated, but here Kara is, cultivating it organically. Because of course the whole world can see the very things that drew Cat to Kara in the first place, that keep drawing her in like a moth to a flame.
As Cat scrolls, she’s hit with a realization: maybe Kara doesn’t need Cat after all.
A scant few hours later, Cat finds herself sitting bleary-eyed in the backseat of her car barely keeping her head from falling into the cool glass of the widow. It’s then that she makes a decision: if Kara wants to do things her own way, who is Cat to stand in her way? If Kara, a woman who knows her better than half of her ex-husbands, still doesn’t trust Cat to tell her story, she can’t force it.
Cat’s arrival to the office is no different than usual. She’s greeted with the same flurry of activity, like nothing has changed, even though it feels like the very ground has tilted beneath Cat’s feet.
Cat keeps her sunglasses on in a weak attempt at armor. When Kara comes up to her with coffee in hand–in the correct mug this time, thankfully–and opens her mouth to speak, Cat just holds up her hand, takes the coffee from her, and walks to her office in silence.
It is a full half hour later that Cat finally feels caffeinated enough to summon Kara.
“Yes, Ms. Grant?”
“Sit.” Cat says, gesturing to the seat in front of her. Kara looks at the seat as if it might be a trap before she finally takes it. “Look into my eyes, Kara. What do you see?”
“Um..."
“Bags. I stayed up until dawn watching the news coverage of Supergirl. All the interrupted muggings and the averted car crashes. And the more I watched, the more I thought about the terrible things that happen while you're here at work.”
Kara chuckles, but it sounds fake, and she looks a little wild around the eyes. “Don't you think that should prove to you that I'm not her? I'm in here while she's out there.”
Cat just barely bites back a bark of hysterical laughter. That’s precisely the issue, isn’t it? “Oh, please. We both know that Supergirl is capable of pulling off that parlor trick.” Cat pauses and works to infuse her next line with the utmost disdain. “What it really proves to me is how little this job means to you.
“No,” Kara practically gasps, the words landing like a blow. “That's not true. I love my job.”
“Every minute that you waste playing assistant in here is a minute that someone out there is not getting saved.”
“Ms. Grant, what are you saying?”
“I am saying that I will not partake in this ruse any longer. So, you either prove to me that you are not Supergirl, or you can clean out your desk tomorrow.” Cat’s voice cracks over the words, and she hopes Kara is too distracted by her own devastation to notice that Cat is right there with her.
The silence that follows seems to stretch on endlessly. Kara stares at Cat with wide eyes, swallows thickly, and then leaves the room.
Cat opens her email to draft a message to HR. What is she supposed to say? Dear Pam from HR, I’m afraid we must let my longest lasting personal assistant go. You see, she’s a superhero, and for once I’m trying to be less selfish. You see, every second I keep Kara by my side, some crisis goes unaverted.
She deletes the draft.
–--
Towards the end of the day there is a knock at Cat’s door. She glances up and finds Kara hovering in the entrance. “May I speak with you, Ms. Grant?”
“Oh, well, that depends,” Cat lilts, letting the swell of hurt that still lingers outweigh any regret about her own ultimatum. “Show me your cape.”
Kara lets out a long sigh. “I know you want me to tell you I'm Supergirl, but I can't do that.” Cat rolls her eyes at that, and Kara groans at the reaction. “What I can tell you is that this job, this place, is more important to me than you realize.” She paces around Cat’s office, words growing more and more earnest. “Whenever I'm confused or overwhelmed, I come to your office, and you somehow sense it. It's like your superpower. I know I'm not going to be your assistant for the rest of my life, but I do know whatever I do next will be easier because of everything you taught me. The truth is, I need you now more than I ever have.”
It’s everything she’s ever wanted to hear at exactly the wrong moment, and her heart cracks with it. “Well, then you know what you need to do,” Cat says, turning away from Kara and gesturing at the door with a flick of her wrist.
“I’m not leaving Cat.”
And that, well, that’s interesting.
“I can’t tell you I’m Supergirl because I’m not. Or at least not yet.”
“I think you’ll excuse the confusion because Supergirl most certainly exists.”
“Sure, she’s out there saving people and doing what she can. But she’s not…she’s not secure yet. She isn’t in a position to protect the people close to her yet. Coming out as Supergirl now would only prove to everyone that she doesn’t deserve that title.”
Cat pulls her lower lip between her teeth and considers it.
“And,” Kara goes on, her features hardening slightly in a way Cat hasn’t seen since the one and only time Kara snapped back at Cat, “I’d have thought the woman who named her and claims her would realize that. That you wouldn’t…wouldn’t push so hard for the kind of admission that should be earned.”
Cat barely hides a wince at the words. “I’m—”
“No! I–I’ve listened a lot these past few days. Listen to you tell me I don’t care about my job. Or that if I do I must not care enough about National City and its people.” Cat’s eyes widen; it’s not explicit confirmation, but it’s the closest she’s ever gotten. Kara arches an eyebrow as if daring Cat to call her on it or to run for her recorder. When Cat doesn’t, Kara seems to take it as a sign to continue. “I think it’s my turn for an ultimatum.”
“Oh? My assistant giving ultimatums, really?”
“Here’s the thing: I’m not coming out as Supergirl. Not now. But one day I might. And the person I’d want to announce that to the world would have to be someone I trust more than just about anyone else.”
Cat’s heart thuds loudly in her chest. “That’s…reasonable.”
“I’d need to know that this person could be honest with me in return.”
“So what are you proposing? A game of Truth or Dare? Never Have I Ever?”
“Just one question. Not even a question, really. If you want me to trust you, be honest with me. Tell me you have feelings for me.” Cat’s heart seems to lurch up into her throat. “Or tell me I’ve misread everything. Tell me that the longing looks were in my head, that this whole ultimatum stunt wasn’t actually some misguided attempt at caring for me, making sure I didn’t burn myself out at both ends of the candle before I could even get started.”
Running the arm of her glasses along her lower lip, Cat gazes back at Kara. “It was also about the larger alien community.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question.”
“What do you want me to tell you, Kara? Do you want me to tell you that between your frequent absences and my feelings, we’ve probably broken a dozen HR policies? Hell, that we probably break a dozen every day?”
Kara steps a little closer, and Cat’s gaze flickers to the crowded bullpen. “And what feelings are those?”
Cat sneers. It’s always been easy to cloak insecurity in condescension. “Here I thought you were still playacting at being an expert on my feelings.”
Kara sighs, rubbing at her face. “Fine. I guess you win.” She heads for the door, pausing just long enough to look over her shoulder. “For the record, though, this is how shitty it feels to have something personal turned into an ultimatum for someone else’s endgame when you don’t even know the rules they’re playing by.”
“Kara,” Cat chokes out.
But Kara just shakes her head, tears sparkling in blue eyes. “You were so busy looking for signs that I was someone else, you missed the fact that you weren’t the only one falling.”
She leaves before Cat can get out another word, and Cat takes several minutes alone in her executive suite to try to pull herself back together. No amount of telling herself that she’d done the right thing by not giving Kara hope for something they shouldn’t start soothes the way her heart seems to be breaking right in two.
By the time Cat gets back to her office, Kara has disappeared, and she’s gone from her desk for an intolerably long time—long enough that Cat has to leave for a long meeting with potential new investors before she’s returned.
It’s on the ride to the restaurant that Cat’s struck by a realization: she’s losing Kara. And that is simply intolerable.
“Circle the blocks,” she calls up to Jimmy, pulling out her phone and opening her calendar. She creates a new event:
An Honest Conversation
Friday, 7:30-9pm
Location: CatCo Balcony
After a moment’s indecision, she adds one invited guest, Kara Danvers, and hits send before she can lose her nerve.
She hears nothing that is said during the lunch and can only hope the kind of rote charm she pulls out regularly for these meetings is enough. All that really matters is getting back to the privacy of her car and checking her phone where no one will witness her disappointment.
When she finally opens her phone, though, it’s to find one notification sitting at the top of the list: “Kara Danvers has accepted your calendar invitation.”
And that, well, she can work with that.
---
[Several years later]
It is early enough in National City that the sun is just peeking over the horizon. It is a warm summer morning, and Cat stretches in bed. There’s a bustling in the hallway and she knows it’s Kara, back from dropping Carter off at school. With the launch of the latest special issue of CatCo Magazine, they’ve decided to take the day for themselves.
Cat finds Kara in the kitchen, making coffee and scrambled eggs. The light from the kitchen window highlights the gold in her hair, and Cat takes a moment to watch and appreciate her. Kara knows she’s there, but she also knows that even now, Cat sometimes has to approach the best things in her life from the side because to look at them directly would be too much.
When the eggs are done, Kara pulls out the plates and mugs for coffee, and Cat grabs the silverware and then goes to pour them each a cup of coffee. Even after so many mornings spent like this, Cat can’t believe how easily they seem to fit together.
It’s as they are clearing the table, that Kara brings it up. “I picked up something on my way back from Carter’s school, if you’re interested.”
“Oh?” Cat asks with a smile.
“Yeah, just a small magazine. Never heard of it before. I liked the cover.”
Kara dips into the canvas bag that she had kept hanging by the main door of the apartment and hands the magazine to Cat.
The cover, which Cat is more than a little familiar with, features a picture of the two of them wearing all white, holding hands, and smiling at each other like nothing else could possibly hold their attention.
“I can’t believe you actually went to buy it,” Cat laughed, taking it from her wife and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You do know CatCo staff get a copy of their own magazine for free, yes?”
“It’s the principle of the thing! Besides, it really is a momentous piece of history. Supergirl on the cover of CatCo Magazine, at long last.” She flashes Cat a cheeky grin. “I hear the Editor-in-Chief’s been trying to make that happen for, like, years now.”
Cat rolls her eyes. “You’ve been on the cover at least six times in the last four years.”
“Yes, but this cover is definitely the best. And you finally got me out of those ‘hideous’ reds and blues. Not that you ever seem to mind them all that much when I come back late at night,” she grumbles. “Just the Kara version of Supergirl there for the world to see.”
Cat thinks of the young woman who stared her down in her own office all of those years ago and can’t help but smile. “Well, when you put it that way…” Kara nudges her shoulder. “It might not win us a Pulitzer like number three, but I suppose it’s my favorite, too.”