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notoriousjae · 7 years

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The 72 Rules of Cat Grant || Supercat (8/?)

Chapter Title: Diving

Pairing: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

“I like this side of you.” Cat decides, throat bobbing as she swallows the offering.

“Of course you do. Because you’re so certain that it’s all your fault.” The tease causes another laugh and when Cat reaches across the desk, Kara runs fingers along her palm until she can hear her heartbeat ease into the softest staccato among the constant fluttering of pens outside this closed-off office of glass.

Note: Finally mostly up-to-date with all this jazz.

Chapter 1: AO3 Link | FF.Net Link | Tumblr

Chapter 2: A03 Link | FF.net Link | Tumblr

Chapter 3: AO3 Link | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 4: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 5: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 6: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 7: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 8: AO3 | FF.Net | Below:

It’s day five (and a half) by the time Kara feels her whole life flash before her eyes. Fortunately, the majority of it (where she had a fitful sleep for twenty-four years or so, waking up every few minutes or hours or years to gasp until the life support systems would guide her back into oblivion) is lost in favor of remembering the way Alex had looked when she took her flying the first time, mixed with a murky memory of how Catherine’s smile can catch sunlight. Kara doesn’t have much time to think, at all, and those two images seem to be the best her mind can come up with when her body is thrown through a concrete barrier, fingers scratching at cement to catch her before she can plummet into the murky waters below.

This is officially not her most graceful fight.

The overwhelming taste of green and copper is nauseating-- this is what nausea feels like--and when Kara spits, red spews like paint splatter against the dirty canvas of a life-stained bridge, stumbling to shaky knees when unfocused blue eyes spot the sight of her cousin towering over heaving shoulders of the man in front of her.

This isn’t the first time they’ve met. It’s the fourth, in fact.

It’s the same man, Kara realizes with a sinking dread, that had tried to kill Lena Luthor a few hours before--who had nearly killed her sister a few moments later --and the rage is displayed by another mouthful of something else when he rushes forward, fingers curling around a swallowing neck like an iron vice as she spits what blood she has into his face in defiance.

He merely wipes it away with a rumbling chuckle, the coldness of it seeping far deeper than the Kryptonite does. Which is saying something, because the green is slowly slithering up her spine like a venomous snake and breath is becoming ragged against a swelling tongue.

Powerless.

Kal-El rushes to stop him, but the Kryptonite seems to seep into his bones when Metallo (that’s apparently his name, he likes to throw it around like a trademark) blasts him in the chest, her cousin’s body skittering across the bridge like a lifeless ragdoll and Supergirl struggles against hands made of steel she can’t bend as the glow of green overtakes her, body raising limply into the air as her bending throat creaks like a rusty metal door underneath the weight of his hand.

Definitely not her most graceful fight.

There’s countless flashes from the few spattered civilians brave enough to remain on the bridge and when one throws something at Metallo's head to distract him, Kara lets out a rasping--

“ Don’t --”

--even as the action causes a deathgrip to ease, just a little, because the last thing she wants is for them to die defending her.

Kara really doesn’t want anyone to die, actually. Herself and Kal-El included. Because this shouldn’t be it--it shouldn’t be today--not the day when she’d left Winn asleep on his couch to go stop a robbery. Not the day she hasn’t seen James at all. She hasn’t written Lois. She hasn’t laid out her letters. She’d left a cup of coffee on Cat’s desk with no explanation, this morning and hadn't been the person to leave her lover's third, and had left her relationship with Alex in tatters over a very ill-executed suggestion of Metropolis in her apartment, and they haven’t made it to lunch with Eliza , yet, who is probably making the best sandwiches on any coast, and Kal-El--

Kal-El is stumbling towards them, as powerless as she is from the Kryptonite, and the last daughter of the House of El lets out a quiet, frustrated curse of an apology in Kryptonian, before shoving her hand as hard as she can into the green, glowing pit where a heart should be in this man’s chest with a groan of agony to draw his attention towards her.

Before doing what’s probably the stupidest thing she can think of, but the best option for getting him off this bridge and away from Kal-El--away from the people who are now rushing to help her--

A gasp as fingers claw, memories of a green ring and determined eyes and her sister--her sister--

Kara throws all of her body weight just like her sister had taught her, hand curling in this green abyss (this must feel like what shoving a human’s entire arm into a spreading, growing lava would be) feeling the tendrils of it spreading from her wrist to her arm to her neck. She inhales and exhales and suddenly her breath is green and her eyes are green and her world, weak and small and powerless, is green--

Her leg sweeps underneath his thigh and her nails dig in and pull him closer, not further away--

And she throws them both off the edge of the bridge with a pained gasp, the only thing she can manage, the man’s grunt of surprise in her ear overtaken by a string of very british-sounding curses.

Because only one of them can fly.

It’s halfway through their descent, however, that Kara realizes neither one of them can fly and swallows, eyes closing as she feels the wind rush through her hair and the sound of screams in her ears, and has just enough time to fish out the bracelet in her breast, bringing it up to her lips with a faint apology, holding it with what strength she still has.

Today should not be the day for this.

She didn’t say goodbye.

The sun is high and bright and beautiful and Kara’s shoulders almost lazily sag underneath the weight of it as she leans against Catherine’s desk, a takeout box settled on wood and a coffee settled very, very close to her chest. A few moments after depositing them, she decides to plop knowingly--easily--into the chair, instead, and it's a testament to how distracted the CEO must be because there isn't even a half-hearted chide dancing along the office walls, dripping with forced insult and barely-concealed amusement.

“Doesn’t it ever grow tiring, Kara?” Cat quietly asks, eyes settled on a clock and Kara has the most ridiculous urge to skim her lover’s fingers along the edge of gold around her wrist, instead. “Knowing I’ll be here at exactly the same time, every morning. Putting out the same fires with different names. Arguing over semantics. Doesn’t a young girl like you find it tedious dealing with the boring, repeatable minutiae of life?”

“I never get tired of seeing you at 7:05 on the dot, Cat. I actually love minutiae.” Kara shakes her head, coming forward with curled fingers at her lap to keep from running them along the lines of a brow that shouldn’t crinkle quite so deeply. Trying to follow the look in her eyes feels like chasing the tail end of a comet through the stars, something she’ll never be quick enough to wrap her fingers around, and when Cat lets a quiet sigh between the gap of her teeth, she feels succinctly like she’s said the wrong thing. “But I…”

“Of course you don’t, Kara. You haven’t been stuck in an endless Groundhog Day cycle of trying to turn around incompetence, doing the same thing for two decades.” Cat cuts her off, focusing back down on the paper underneath her and a small laugh bubbles up, unbidden, on Kara’s lips, trying to cover it with her hand. It rumbles between them and a singular eyebrow arches over the silver frame of glasses in unimpressed question. “I wasn’t aware my problems amused you. I suppose that’s what I get for paying Lucy van Pelt the 5 cents. Hell, you’ve barely even been alive for two decades, you’re like a perky little goldfish floating around, seeing everything for the first time and then forgetting five seconds later.”

Seeing the tension on Cat’s face, Kara tries to take the insult in stride because the moment she’d walked into a building she currently (for a few more hours) isn’t employed at, she could feel the heat off of Cat’s shoulders. And watch the after-effects of it, given the scurrying employees that told her to run while she could the moment she stepped on the 40th floor.

“Okay, forgetting the fact that you just called me a goldfish, I’m only laughing because I…” Eyes flick behind them and she scoots a chair closer to the desk, uninvited, and ignores the sigh she can practically feel bubbling up on familiar shoulders. “It was the word choice, Cat. I literally spent two decades in space. And I mean literally. Twenty-four years of floating around. Doing the same thing.”

It’s a rare treat to see surprise barely widen those eyes and Kara shakes her head.

“...that’s new information.” Cat’s careful with her word choice and Kara still sees that journalist in the corner of her eyes--squinting and quiet--even as she sees the lover in her clearer and clearer each day, in the way her finger so carefully squeezes the edge of her pen.

“It’s boring information.” The last thing she needs in this week is to see mockups on James’ desk referencing her twenty-four year casting as Sleeping (not) Beauty. She’s trying her best to keep Supergirl out of the news this week. She’s been in it enough, with Metallo. “I wasn’t kidding about the floating. But either way, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Cat hums, dipping back in her chair, eyes ever assessing, and Kara leans forward to chase that comet, wrists resting on a desk, “There’s a quote I always think of when I think of you, Catherine--”

“You do realize a person who relies on quotes so often usually does so because they don’t have original thoughts?”

Kara’s eyes barely slit, finger raising, “Okay, that’s the second time. I’m letting you slide because I know you’re obviously stressed and it’s rare for you to talk to me about anything so you’re vulnerable and...and grumpy and I do not want to accidentally get Eve fired so I’m keeping my mouth shut,” She straightens her blouse a little, shoulders tightening as her finger wags, voice even and pointed because sometimes Catherine needs a bit of a push back, “But it’s technically not my job to get you coffee, anymore, and I swear I won’t do it if you keep this up, Ms. Grant. Because this one? This coffee’s mine, and I won’t share.”

Okay, it’s not her best threat.

“Oh, you won’t get me coffee ,” Cat drawls, calling her on it, “My world is ending. It’s almost like I don’t have a thousand nameless employees all perfectly capable of doing menial--”

“ Cat .” Kara’s jaw clenches and her voice sounds every bit as strong as the House of El and, amazingly, she watches fingers pinch at the bridge of a nose before they slowly slide off glasses, a hint of remorse settling in a familiar gaze even if her tone is intentionally--it must be intentionally--bored.

“I’m sorry , whatever.” But dark eyes flick towards the balcony and a small sigh lowers shoulders, quieter--barely a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Kara takes that as her cue to slowly stand, shutting the office door and lowering the blinds--it’s not an uncommon occurrence mid-day for Cat to need a moment, another migraine tucking at the back of her throat--and a softness tips up lips when she sees a familiar hand splayed over the desk like Cat hasn’t expected her to turn around, at all. At the sight of a frown and a down-turned chin, Kara rushes to assure against such a nonsensical fear, voice the same humming volume of the background news coverage she clicks off (an earlier fight between the superheroes and Metallo) when she promises: “I wasn’t leaving, Cat.”

Catherine lets out a slow, slow breath, fingers rubbing at her temples, and Kara leans against a desk--lowers hands with a teasing, knowing bat to an older pair--and lovingly does it for her, hands smoothing against skin underneath the tight line of perfectly-styled hair that falls between them.

“If you scared me off with a couple of mood swings, I wouldn’t have made it past my first hour of working here. Definitely not the morning after we were together the second time.” There’s a faint, almost fond chuckle at the memory of it, “Or maybe I just forget,” It’s sing-song--beaming, “Because I’m a goldfish.”

Cat sags into her hands, a hint of a warm laugh breaking against her wrists, and lips brush over a tilted forehead in a soft gesture--a gentle forgiveness and quiet hello--a hint of gratitude, even, for being able to be right here for her. It’s the equivalent, Kara knows, of not going onto that balcony alone, and she won’t forsake it.

“I should have stuck with golden retriever.” Fingers curl around Kara’s wrist, nose turning into a palm, and when carefully-blackened eyelashes flutter, Kara can see an ocean of open green in Catherine’s eyes.

“Goldfish is fine. I think I like it. Mainly because, normally when people call me a dog, they’re using another word for it and they’re usually very loud.” A sage nod, “ Very angry. And it’s usually? When I’m helping put them in handcuffs.” Her nose wrinkles and Cat laughs and just like that, the day is a little brighter.

“Well the handcuffs could be arranged.” That’s a decidedly lower drawl and Kara flushes from it--crosses her leg on the edge of the desk--bites the edge of her lip underneath the faintest hint of a blush as she leans forward, a breath above Cat’s knowing eyes.

“Well, if you like being tied up, I have a cape that doesn’t fray.” It’s out of her mouth before she realizes she’s even said it and her cheeks turn the same shade as said cape at the image, clearing her throat a little, unused to being so brazen underneath the warmth of the sun but not shying away from it, fingers lowering from temples to skim along a cheek, a moment later hopping up and dutifully retrieving two pills and a glass of water before resuming her perch, those eyes heating skin far better than the sun ever has as she does.

“I like this side of you.” Cat decides, throat bobbing as she swallows the offering.

“That’s the quote?” A thoughtful hum, but Cat doesn’t pull away, taking another drag of water as elegantly as a socialite might a glass a wine. “That sounds...familiar.”

“T.S. Eliot,” Kara supplies, “ The Confidential Clerk .”

“Of course, everything you could have possibly quoted by T.S. Eliot and some obscure play marks the top of the list.” The glass sets down on the edge of a desk, a reflection of Cat’s quirking lips caught along the edge of it like how stars catch in the glass of her bedroom window, at night.

“ I’m not the one that likes to drop Superfluous Man into the middle of a conversation.” Kara challenges and Cat leans fully back in her chair, fingers idly twining in a familiar pair, so casual and thoughtless that it makes a young smile soften.

“Oh, I really like this side of you.” A nail skims along the inside of Kara’s index finger and she laughs, raising it up to smiling lips.

“My point,” Kara tries because she’s hardly as motivational as the woman she’s attempting to motivate, “Is that you’re a strong woman, Cat, and in anything I’ve ever seen you do--anything you’ve ever done? You’re the one making the terms. You didn’t like that journalism was male-dominated--had no place for women, at all--so you one-upped the scene. You created every form of media sensation possible with, yes, a whole lot of work, you never stop telling any of us about the work, but you did it. Journalism, news, TV, radio. I’m sure people told you you couldn’t be a single mother and a CEO and CatCo is better than ever. And Carter is the smartest, most talented, brilliant kid I’ve ever met.”

Cat hums, a hint of pride flashing over a wistful smile at mention of her son, “That’s certainly true.”

“Even in the hard things, when you gave up your son,” Kara gently reminds, “Society says you can’t have it both ways, and you’re making things with Adam work--and before you blame me for any of that,” Kara raises her free hand, “This relationship with him? It’s all you. It’s on both of your terms, not what anyone else thinks of it.”

A slow, almost shaking breath straightens shoulders, “Also insightful, in a very odd way.”

A beat, "This isn't about the dinner with Adam, right?"

Thankfully, Cat smiles, "No." So Kara continues, thankful and glad (and thinking that she should really go check that Facebook message).

“You paved the way, Cat. For women. You paved the way for all of us to be taken seriously without having to dress like men , either. Which, you know, is nice. Please no comments about my wardrobe.” That's a hasty addition, flushing and barreling on before Cat can get a word in edge-wise, “You’re a mother and successful. You have a portfolio that your accountant says is so well-rounded you could have your own gravitational field.” Kara shakes her head, pressing, “Even our relationship, Cat,” It’s gentler, voice dipping the same moment Cat’s eyelashes do, “We’re against all odds here, but instead of giving up, you created the terms. We both did. We’re making it work so far, aren’t we?”

“It’s been a few days , Kara.” Kara can hear it. She can hear Catherine’s breath catch against the edge of teeth--can feel her pulse barely quicken--but the almost shy smile that tucks up the edges of curving lips, amused and fond, is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“It’s been five months, Catherine. Almost six.” It’s an argument she’ll never give up and the fact that Cat doesn’t even try is more than telling, “And we’ve survived. We’re forging new relationship territory, remember? You’re...you’re a woman who changes the world without changing herself to fit it. I’m in awe of it, sometimes, Cat. It’s hard not to be. But it’s just who you are. So why...why would this be any different? You’re talking about CatCo, right? About being unhappy here?”

A grousing hum is all the answer Kara needs, because this is a subject they've broached only in the darkest mist of night.

“Because it’s my entire company, Kara. It’s…” Cat sucks in a breath, frustration quickly overwhelming any traces of her smile, “I’ve spent so long building this empire. This image. My family and--”

“And the things you love, that you throw your whole heart into, aren't as disposable as you want to think.” Kara boldly notes, watching the way Cat's fingers barely flex and leaning closer before she can pull away, voice quiet, because she doesn’t think this is about them, she knows it’s about Cat. Cat’s happiness. And to Kara, that's more important than them. “I don't know what you're thinking of, Cat. I just know... you're not happy with the way things are here, anymore. I get it. And I know you could never leave CatCo or anything,” She laughs at the ridiculous thought and looks curiously at the profile of a woman who suddenly seems content to look through the windows to a balcony overlooking her city--content to look anywhere but Kara. “I know we talk a lot about duty and...that people depend on us.” Kara doesn’t like the way Cat seems to be caught outside, reaching forward to gently tuck up a chin--to bring a gaze up to meet her own away from the city they’ve sworn to protect. “But there's so many ways to help the world, aren't there? And if the way CatCo is doing it isn't what you want anymore...then I don't think anyone on this planet--on any planet, and I've been to a lot of them--is more capable of changing the terms of the world to fit how she thinks the world should be. If you’re not happy, you’ll change it.”

“You...really mean that, don't you? You really think it could just be that easy. Just change the world.” Cat scoffs a little, but there's something so hopeful in her eyes, Kara's words a near tipping point in a game of dominoes. Kara doesn't know what she's done, and likely never will. “You’re so young.”

“Maybe.” Kara concedes, “On this subject you’re definitely the mentor.” Her smile turns sheepish, “Okay, on most subjects you’re my mentor. In fact, I’ve spent a long time studying you, Cat--I'm still adamant that that was part of my job description--so you should be able to take my word for why I believe it’s possible. It’s because you’ve already done it. Your whole life. If you're not happy, and I think you deserve to be happy--you deserve...so much. To be happy,” It’s cold when she drops fingers from a chin, offering a supportive smile, instead, “Then you'll find a way. And if there's anything I can do at all, to help…”

A hand waves towards herself--hopeful and eager and honest--not understanding the hint of conflict settling so deeply, however brief, on Cat's features.

It’s only a moment--a flicker of vulnerability--but she’ll never forget it, the faint flicker of something dark casting shadows over the bright light of Catherine’s lips. It makes Kara stumble a little over the words, enamored by it:

“You should focus on it. The being happy part, remember?”

Kara thinks it must be the weight of figuring out what to do with CatCo--even feels a naive, righteous sense of warmth in her chest from having helped in even the smallest ways--and she'll never quite understand the look in Cat's eyes.

Because that’s the thing with those small, hidden moments before everything changes, it’s impossible to recognize them as lasts until they’re gone. Kara has pockets full of moments just like this one stuffed in a hidden compartment by her heart--her mother’s fingers skimming along the edge of a necklace as she explains love; her father’s eyes brightening as he taps knuckles along a sculpture; Astra’s lips in a dream brushing over her forehead; and this, this moment of Cat’s eyes haunted and conflicted, holding onto something like a planet that’s turning green from the inside out, determined to take the galaxy with it.

Kara towers over Catherine and watches green eyes catch in the sun, the memory burnt on the back of eyelids with a unforgiving sting of a fountain pen. There’s a breath that tumbles from Catherine’s parted lips that means something in its indefinite silence--that hints towards a lifetime of possibilities unsaid--and Catherine almost says something--maybe almost says everything --and this small, simple little exchange is what will play on repeat for months.

Kara Danvers will play it over and over and over again like nails desperately scratching at a broken record. She'll replay the way Cat's hair falls in front of her eyes as her nose dips. The way that her eyes almost shine above those shadows of her cheeks. The way her breath rattles and quakes. The way those fingers curl nails in anxiety and promise.

The way Catherine's lips part and she...says nothing, at all.

What did you want to say?

Kara will beg her to say it. She’ll never scream--never fall to her knees in rage and loss--she’ll never argue or even actually ask anyone but a figment of a ghost of someone she swore not to love--she’ll beg an empty corner of her bed that’s no longer cold, and that’s worse, somehow.

But right now, happy and light and carefree, Kara doesn't notice, instead drumming her fingers on the edge of a desk with a light shrug, too busy trying to pull Cat out of her own head to dive into it, instead. Because that’s her job, these days, she feels, even when she doesn’t exactly have one--to keep Catherine from collapsing in on herself like a singularity with hope and love, alone.

“I was only kidding about not getting you coffee.” Kara smiles and Cat's eyelashes flutter as she lets out that almost quivering breath, nails curling into her desk. It must be nerves or exhaustion but Kara is determined to help cure either, promising, “Let me go grab it for you. Before you can tell me it's not my job, I want to.” A genuine smile, “The little things. I won’t be able to come back here today, anyways, so I’d...like to.”

A foot turns on a heel, intent on walking away and she makes it to the door, fingers curling around warm metal but knowing better to raise the blinds until Cat is ready. Something else she'll have to inform Eve and she's so focused on mentally running through the list in her desk--distracted by the thought of making sure that Ms. Grant has the best replacement possible (did she miss telling Eve anything, while she's here?)--that she almost misses the way Cat's voice quakes when she barely whispers her name.

“Kara?”

Another turn on her heel with a soft hum of question, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of a nose. The sun has settled in Golden hair and showcases the shadows underneath eyes and for one of the few times Kara will ever see it, Catherine Grant visibly hesitates.

Her mouth stills--words halt--and her lips press a thin line. The smile that follows is forced but genuine, something deep cemented in resolution in the depth of her lover's eyes as she jokes:

“My hero.” There’s a quiver at the edge of her lips--a shine to that endless, painting of eyes before Cat’s looking back down. Back to work. “Scalding hot, please.”

But there sounds like there's truth in it--like Cat believes she's a hero through and through--and it makes Kara beam, turning around to get that third latte of the day.

“Anything for you, Ms. Grant.”

Her phone dings at Noonan’s ten minutes later, a freeze-frame of stolen pictures and smiling eyes there to greet smiling eyes.

Thank you.

Teeth tuck at lips and when her phone buzzes again, blue soften and for a second the latte she’s grabbed might actually feel warm against her open hand.

“Boyfriend?” Eve’s tired voice--Kara sympathizes because boy does she still remember her first day, even if this is technically Eve's second--calls around her shoulder, light and kind and knowing and she quickly tucks away her phone, shrugging a shoulder.

“Just a nice text for a nice day.” She offers, instead, eyes flicking down to the mug before raising it up, “Think you’re ready to deliver this one on your own?”

Eve looks terrified.

“Oh, come on, I promise, it won’t be that bad. You’ve done it twice and she hasn’t killed you, right?”

Kara takes another look at her phone, wise enough to hide her smile, this time.

I’m sorry.

A quick reply hidden by her hip--

I’m sticking by the goldfish. It’s forgotten. Really. We’re more than ok Cat. Eve’s bringing you your caffeine fix so please be nice.

Adding for good measure--

Please be nice *Ms. Grant*. Typo?

Even better measure:

Ms. Grant, who has the right to fire anyone she wants but should be nice anyways. ;) Gosh, look at those typos.

She can hear Cat’s indulgent, annoyed sigh forty floors down. The blinds are back up and Kara smiles over Eve’s shoulder the entire time when Cat shoots her a knowing look but wordlessly takes the latte and that’s enough of a victory for Kara. It should be a simple moment, lost and forgotten, moving about her day with no clue--no idea.

“You don’t work here, anymore, Kiera.” Cat calls to her with a glance at a watch, “Seven hours.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant. Consider me not here.”

“Like anyone could shield their eyes, you're like a walking Forever 21 ad.” But Catherine’s smiling now with a flick of a dismissive hand, Eve looking after her like she’s awaiting a nuclear bombing.

Kara’s decidedly not a goldfish. She doesn’t forget.

She sighs in a big, white, empty office, fingers running along stuffed-away pictures, sagging onto a table as she drums fingers along her desk and frowns.

Idly, she plans to get a picture made of the one of Cat on her phone--plans to gently tuck it in a safe place right next to J’onn--and leaves before she can think anymore about a ticking clock, sipping on her own coffee, not bothering to heat it.

Lena’s name lights up the screen of her phone and Kara shoots up into the sky a few minutes later, unable to shake the look on Cat’s face, leaning over a desk, a thousand words left unsaid, and Kara isn’t sure why.

It's the beginning of an end--such simple things usually are--and anytime Kara ever thinks back on it, she'll cry.

The last thing she sees is Kal-El, stumbling and just as powerless as her, diving after her over the edge of the bridge, whatever words croaking out of his lips lost to the sound of the wind.

khap zhalish

The last thing she hears is the sound of Metallo hitting the water and going silent.

“Alex, I’m not saying I’m going to Metropolis, I’m just--”

“Leaving? What is that like our family motto? Did you ever stop to think that I’ve changed my whole life --”

The last thing she does is smile up at Kal-El, trying to assure him as best she can, despite the fear that slowly settles in the pit of her stomach. Falling, at least, feels a lot like flying.

“J’onn?” Kara whispers, fingers tenting over a knee as her chin falls down to it, eyes flicking over towards the familiar, somber face. He hums in acknowledgment, the afternoon sun painting the shining floors of the new DEO building in a way Kara is still getting used to. Everything is so...shiny now. Not all...rock-lair, cave-motif.

“Supergirl?” His voice is gruff as always and she wonders if he would understand what it’s like to not sleep for nearly six days, because she’s certain he sounds like he’s never slept, at all.

“Do you think we can ever be happy? I mean, sure we can, right? Saving the world...” She trails off, chin tipping back as she searches the lines of an exposed ceiling, the words to her question lost on her tongue, unsure how to phrase it outside of her mind, “I know we’ll stop Cadmus--I mean, who comes up with a name like that, anyways? What does that even mean--and we’ll stop whoever comes after that, and I know that the world is full of rules . Especially for people like us. But one of those rules...one of those rules has to be that we should be happy, right?”

“I think…” Kara doesn’t look at his face, but his voice sounds so calm--so confident--so steady as his fingers curl around her shoulder, “If there’s anyone that deserves to find out, it’s you and your cousin.”

“You think?”

“I know , Ms. Danvers.” She turns to take in his smile, then, and she leans into his hand before the squeeze becomes a pat. “You’re still not sure which job--”

“No.” Kara sighs, “It's not that. I think I know, I just...I wonder some days if--I mean, between Alex and Kal-El and Cat--”

“J’onn!” A voice calls around the corner, “We’ve got reports of a jumper on--”

The last thing she thinks before the impact of the ocean engulfing her like an unwanted gift, the pain rattling like a broken baby’s toy through her shattering bones, is that Eliza? Alex?

Catherine?

They’re going to kill her if she dies.

The water soaks through her suit, ice and lifeless, staining the white of a list until it crumples so that when it’s unfolded, for the rest of its life, it will never unfold the same way, again. Like the thin line of glass that can never be repaired to its first form, an uncompleted list will crumple at the edges and fold in uneven lines, some of the ink running at the edges.

It will change--break and mend--just like a heart can.

Rule #72….

Life isn’t as dramatic as the movies--as the books she spent years pouring over bent knees devouring--and maybe hurtling herself and a man bent on destroying dozens of people (herself and her cousin, included) off of a bridge is maybe a little dramatic by nature, but waking up from it isn’t.

She wakes up to an empty room, the heat of a sunlamp staining the rise and fall of her chest with life.

She wakes to a dozen voicemails and one text, in particular, that makes her swallow--she wakes to Kal-El’s smiling, cut face as they both heal--she wakes having not really slept, at all, five and a half days lacking it settling down her healing bones underneath a false Sol just as much as the Kryptonite had.

She wakes up to J'onn's nervous eyes and Alex gone and doesn’t let herself heal and Kal-El doesn’t ask her to. She wakes to her sun having set and the world tasting like cold and green and she tucks a bracelet back in her pocket, not having let go of it for a moment--a breath--the entire time she laid there.

Kara wakes up, maybe, but she doesn't feel awake.

Kara tears apart the city to find her sister and doesn’t let her go when she does, a murmured apology in her ear that’s doubled ten-fold against her neck.

She wakes and heals and saves and a few hours later, all four of them--J’onn, Kal-El, Alex, and Kara--are once again in two separate cities, determined to protect the people within them, moonlight at their backs.

Death doesn’t stop them, and neither does Metallo. She rips out his heart and barely keeps from crushing it beneath her palm.

Kara doesn’t remember being in the water--doesn’t remember much save for falling--but she’ll see the headlines of the image of Superman cradling her body against his chest as he stumbles out of the ocean like a beacon as he holds her , a bracelet limply hanging from her fingers as the sun settles on his shoulders and dances shadows on her bruised, barely recognizable features. Both of their forms cut and bruised and hanging on the edge of life, war-torn and martyrs.

She’ll see the picture hung on the edge of what was once Catherine Grant’s wall, along with their other highest-selling covers--right next to the one of them both healing, scraped and bruised, towering over Metallo--for months every time she walks into the office and feels a chill hang over her features.

She doesn’t remember, but she’ll see that picture and will shatter a breath against her teeth and understand why Cat couldn’t bear to look at it, at all.

The whole night is spent tracking Cadmus with little to show for it and, eventually, in the early hours of the morning--day 6 because being in some kind of coma or something does not count as sleeping--Kara hugs Kal-El tighter than anyone else could, feeling Alex’s fingers on her shoulder, and tells him that she’s staying.

She’s staying. That’s a decision she knows how to make. She’s not going to Metropolis. She’s never going to Metropolis, not as long as Alex is here.

So Kara watches him shoot off into the twilight sky, taking a piece of herself with him--thankfully taking the last of the Kryptonite, as well--before she kisses her sister’s cheek and shoots off, herself.

It’s nearly five in the morning when she sets down on a familiar balcony and wonders why she isn’t surprised to see Cat leaning on the edge of it, swirling a glass in her palm. Either she stayed here the entire night--unlikely, given Carter--or just started early, but the circles unhidden, silhoutting the features of familiar eyes is telling, enough, and Kara has to swallow down more than breath when she comes closer.

Without a word, bruised fingers gently untuck a bracelet from a suit, a little squeezed but since cleaned (haphazardly cleaned in a DEO sink by her cousin at Kara’s pleading, pleading look, and then feverishly cleaned the moment Kara could stand on trembling knees an hour later) and offers it palm up to the woman next to her as their shoulders brush, settling next to her on the balcony.

It’s not unusual that Kara doesn’t know the right words to say--it’s a daily occurrence--so when Catherine takes a long, long drag of the liquid before reaching forward, nails almost reverently skimming along the expensive, bent bracelet, Kara doesn’t bother trying. Instead, she just holds the bracelet up as Cat becomes reacquainted with it--dips fingers underneath the shine of it--and when her lover’s breath finally rattles into the night, Kara doesn’t mention the wet sheen to dark eyes, clear even so high above the city, lights dim and quiet. She just gently unhooks the bracelet and slides it around Cat’s wrist, raising it up to her lips and kissing it in silent apology, just as she had before plummeting into the ocean. Not that she would tell Catherine she’d done that, at all.

That doesn't seem like knowledge that would help.

At least this time, she feels a heartbeat flutter underneath her touch.

And Catherine’s so slow about it, the way her wrist turns and so carefully cups Kara’s cheek in a trembling palm, thumb brushing over the high rise, underneath the worst of her still-healing cuts, that Kara wouldn’t know the words even if she tried to stumble over them.

“That is not what I meant by diving. You certainly like causing a spectacle of yourself, don’t you?” It’s a dry whisper--like a barrel full of whiskey, a burning match hovering above it--and Kara just leans into her. It’s been a long day and there’s familiarity in it, a hint of a laugh flushing cool cheeks.

“Someone likes to tell me I like being difficult.” Kara swallows because the thin smile Cat’s attempted gives way to something else, leaning down to slot their foreheads together and the quaking anger does little to overrun the hint of something far worse on her lover’s tongue.

“We have nearly three dozen witness testimonies regarding your idiotic heroics, and none of them understood the gravity of what happened in front of them. Pictures showing you bleeding before you practically backflipped off of the bridge. You could have--”

“I came home to you.” It’s gentle and loving and a little desperate, lips brushing over a forehead and Cat’s fingers tangle so tightly in her suit that she can barely breathe. “Catherine--”

“You’re still bleeding.” It’s a searing breath that curls up in pain at the end, Cat’s fingers tracing the wound below a bloodshot eye and Kara catches her wrist with a faint wince as that jaw lines itself with steel and features contort in something indistinguishable before Catherine pulls away altogether. Voice far colder: “You missed your deadline--”

Kara selfishly kisses her like her life depends on it--like she can’t catch Catherine with fingers or words, so she tries chasing her with this, instead--pressing her up against glass with a withering, breaking sigh against parting lips. Fingers tangle in her hair and the sound of a bracelet clattering to the floor is lost underneath the scratch of heels, because Kara had forgotten to re-clasp it.

“I don’t care about my deadline.” Kara kisses her again because the further and further Kal-El shoots into the sky, the further the green seeps out of her bones and she knows she can keep Cat here against her with super-strength, but she’d rather keep her with something far darker in the pit of her chest. Almost accusing: “You came up here to wait for me.”

“I wouldn’t--” Catherine practically hisses , a frustrated breath on the edge of her tongue rolling like a locomotive up her lungs, her hands cupping cheeks and tugging her close. “ Yes . I had to see you with my own eyes.”

“I’m right here.” Kara promises, pulling away so that Cat’s fingers can trace every single line of her face like her thumbs are far more knowing than her eyes. And they might be. She sucks in a sharp breath when a thumb swipes underneath that same cut, surprised when Cat tugs her down and gently brushes lips underneath the puckered edge of healing skin.

Catherine kisses her again, consuming and rough, and Kara’s knees shake before she's suddenly pushed her away, again, just as rough and just as consuming, jaw setting.

“We’re crashing the cover.”

“You’re--” Kara blinks because it’s five AM and she doesn’t know how she missed the noise--the life in the building--because her ears are still full of Kryptonite and her lungs might still be full of water, “Oh.”

“You don’t work here, anymore.” Cat straightens her hair--her blouse--sets aside her drink and stands taller than Kara knows how to, shoulders wilting and something quaking pushing through parted lips.

“...oh.” A hint of a desperate laugh, wishing she at least had the bracelet to hold onto because suddenly she feels very, very cold, surprised when fingers gently tuck up her chin and she comes face to face with Catherine’s determined, unwavering gaze. There’s something sad there, now--something Kara’s well aware she’s put there--and it makes her swallow feel like glass. But still she can’t stomach the thought of Metropolis, not now. Not after holding Alex’s trembling hands and not after seeing the look in Cat’s eyes. “I’ll--”

“I extended your deadline.” Cat whispers and Kara blinks.

“You--” Another blink, unable to help the surprise. A third blink because-- “Really?”

“Kara, I’m tough, not cruel.” Her voice is quieter, then, fingers falling from a chin and Kara boldly catches them.

“I don’t think you’re cruel, I just--”

“Thought that I was going to fire you for trying to save someone’s life on the off-chance that you were stupid enough to die?” Cat supplies and Kara swallows.

“Well, I--no? Not exactly...that. Maybe fired me to make a poi--”

“Stop talking before you dig yourself into a hole superstrength wouldn’t get you out of. I’m well aware of what people think of me, I don’t need to add what your pedaling little thoughts are to the--”

Kara reaches up to cup her cheeks in a way that makes Cat visibly tense, words dying out before she smiles, “You don’t want to hear that I think the world of you? I know it’s a little too cheesy for your tastes.”

“You really have to stop talking.” Cat warns but there’s a hint of a smile there, now, and lips brush over a forehead, holding the smaller form against her chest for as long as she’s allowed. Which is longer than expected, long fingers gently raising to spread out over a heart as a nose slots against a neck. Kara can feel the heat of the sun--faint and faraway, but there--on her back by the time Cat untangles herself, a rough sigh sliding past her lips. She bends down and clasps the bracelet properly on her wrist, now.

“Catherine,” Kara murmurs before she can go too far, kissing the rise of knuckles before letting her lover go, completely, “I’m not saying that I think what I did was...okay. I’m not trying to make you feel better, but I...did. Come home to you. I’ll always come home to you, if I can. You’re--you’re what gave me the strength to--”

Cat raises a hand up in-between them, stopping Kara in her tracks, and the look on her face, however brief, is pained enough that Kara feels regret over saying anything at all. The bracelet jangles as the hand lowers and the CEO of CatCo looks back towards her lit office, shoulders straightening and heels clicking, a discarded drink on the nearby balcony table.

“You have until Friday afternoon, 4 O’clock, not a moment later. You’re not stepping foot here in any form of professional capacity until then.”

“Okay.” Kara breathes--nods--looks back up and clears her throat at the straight line of shoulders she wishes she could spend hours easing the knots out of with well-intentioned fingers. Knots she caused. And she thinks Catherine was right, this weekend--she does have to learn how to live with affecting her. “Thank you...Ms. Grant.”

Cat nods and leaves and the balcony feels colder for it.

As cold as the city seems without Kal-El--without Kryptonite, even--and Supergirl turns to tower over her city for a few more minutes before falling down to the street, to the corner around the corner, leaning against the wall by Noonan’s.

She strips off her suit and slowly pulls up jeans--a shirt--and looks down at glasses, cracked along an edge she’ll need to fix, cupped in her palm as the sun starts to rise. She listens to the city wake and the life paint the streets in gold and red and green and with a suit tucked in her bag, a cut slowly healing underneath her eye, Kara Danvers starts the long walk home to an empty apartment across the city.

Alive and exhausted and cold, she doesn't really feel like flying.

**Kryptonian Translations, Mythos, and other DC shenanigans** Source(s) Language **Zhalish: Pardon, excuse, absolve, disregard, exonerate. Another way of saying "I'm sorry". verb P: [n̩.ʒæ.liʃ]; Kryptonian: :ZAliS

#supergirl #supercat #kara danvers/cat grant #is kara ever gonna pick her job?#who knows #ff #ff: sc #fic: 72 rules #fic: sc #fic: 72 rules ch 8 #I'll add the ffnet link later #I'm on a delay with ffnet #because tbh I hate it

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