Cat doesn't let her know when she gets back. Kara tells herself that she expected this, but that doesn't stop the hurt from cutting deep. She feels it bubbling over like grief when she mentions it to Alex. That is, she mentions Cat is back, but doesn't say the rest. Miss Grant. Not Cat. Only Supergirl has that privilege.
The crush had been unexpected when it started. When did it start? Kara has tracked and prodded and wondered at the details of it, while lying alone in bed with her own hand between her thighs. A gasp, a twitch and she'd come with Cat's name on her tongue. It had began sometime early on, for sure. Somewhere around the time she stopped crying at work when Cat said something particularly vicious, but before she found herself coaxed into the inner-sanctum, before she was gifted with those moments by Cat's side. Sitting on the couch in her office taking notes late into the night, as Cat slid her heels off, tucked her bare feet under herself and sighed, leaning back against the cushions with her drink tinkling in her hand. Or maybe it was that moment, one of those very moments, where Kara found her eyes tracing the line of Cat's throat, the way her face looked when she was relaxed. The fact that this was a moment, albeit brief, where Cat let down her guard. It was hard not to take ownership of it, hard not to treat it as something precious.
But Cat is gone. Kara hasn't heard from her in months. She feels juvenile for expecting something different. Did she expect a postcard? A flurry of texts like the ones she sometimes gets from Kal? Cat isn't family, has no obligation to her, even though she has done things, said things, given Kara a taste for something that is terrifying and wonderful. Given her guidance, inspiration, a backbone. Hope. Cat has already been so many things to her, and she's managed to do it without seemingly trying at all. That's what makes it hurt. Kara feels like she has taken something from Cat, read between all of these things and stolen something that was never hers. Wasn't given freely. But she wants it, that thing. She knows its there, behind Cat's carefully-guarded expressions. She's seen it. More and more, the longer Kara has known her. It was stark and pure across Cat's face the day before she left. Like Cat was getting bad at hiding how much she cared, or else no longer minded that Kara saw it.
And then? Months. Seeing her in the society pages on the arm of some hulking male accessory in Metropolis. Smiling after leaving dinner with Adam in Opal City. Candid shots of her with Carter at a museum in New York. Kara collected these details as if they were precious. A breadcrumb trail that felt like pearls she wanted to string about her and marvel at. The trail ended up leading back to National City, because Cat doesn't make empty promises (or threats), she says what she means, she means what she says. She hates ambiguity, and when she comes back it is sudden and with the force of a gale.
Kara has a google alert set up, because she has no shame anymore, and if she is going to sink to the bottom of this obsession, this crush, she may as well swandive with all the grace of the Titanic. It's a Sunday, and the gossip blog she is directed to has Cat coming out of an expensive restaurant that Kara remembers personally booking for her once when she'd been an assistant. Torrente. Pretentious, expensive Japanese fusion. The gossip blog claims it was an early dinner, and the light has the luminous quality that you only see in the golden hour before the sun sets. It caresses Cat's face like she is some kind of muse for the ages, something sacred and resplendent in a Botticelli painting. But Cat doesn't seem aware of the camera. She is smiling up at the sky like she can't believe what she is seeing. Like the bright blue above National City has a quality about it that she needs, something as essential as breath. Kara feels the wobble in her knees, the flare in her stomach, knowing what that something is. Wonders if Cat is looking up at her, flying on the way to a rescue. It's possible. Kara spends too much time thinking about this before she has the sense to contemplate how it is that Cat is back in town, and how it is that Kara did not know it before this moment. She calls her sister, and babbles a bit about the picture before realising how incoherent she sounds. It makes her wonder if this is what being drunk feels like.
Cat is in her office on Monday. Kara has to stop herself from staggering, dropping all of her papers and staring with an open mouth. It is early, too early, but being there as the sun rises is a habit ingrained from her two years as Cat's assistant. And so there isn't anyone else on the floor, just Kara and the familiar outline of Cat going about her business like nothing has changed, or like the gap between her leaving and returning is inconsequential. Kara's feet lead her there without her permission, unable to do anything but stopping to stare as Cat pulls James's pictures off the walls and sets them in a banker's box, replacing them with her own. Framed articles that had gained her awards, pictures of Carter. A large shot of Supergirl that Kara knows was taken by James. She is flying, her hair golden in the sun.
"I don't know how to break this to you, but invisibility isn't one of your many powers."
Kara looks up to see Cat staring over at her. She has a drink in her hand, but it smells like green tea.
"Miss Grant…" Kara tries and fails to stop her face from showing everything, her grief, her excitement, her surprise. Cat's expression softens, and she looks like she is struggling not to let something else break free across it.
"Kara," she says, and it is her voice that betrays her. It is more a croak than a word. Cat blinks once and smiles with her face more open. It makes Kara momentarily lose her breath.
"You're back."
"I'm back."
"You didn't…" Tell me, call me. Let me in.
"I know," Cat says, and she looks a little lost for a moment, before she manages to clamp down on it and take command of herself once more. "I was busy. I wrote a book."
"Wow. That's…"
"Kara," Cat walks towards her. Kara feels something flare up inside her, making her brave. Reckless. The words tumble out.
"Is it because I didn't tell you?" she asks.
Cat falters a little, but Kara knows that look. Hope. Cat nods towards the couch, and leaves her tea to grow cold, her attention solely on Kara when she sits next to her.
"I thought…" Cat starts. "It's none of my business, really, is it? To hope for that? You've made that perfectly clear."
"Since when do you care what's your business?"
"I do," Cat says. "Care. For you. Despite all logic."
Kara didn't know how to feel about that, how to even continue this conversation without falling apart or declaring something she isn't ready to share.
"Are you mad?"
"About?"
"That I lied. About it."
"Words words words," Cat says dismissively. "They can be so empty when we dance around what we mean, Kara."
Kara takes a breath, eyes darting around, head craning a little to see that they are still alone, even though her super-hearing has already confirmed it.
"Don't," Cat says, looking disappointed.
"Supergirl," Kara says. And even though she knows this is what Cat expected, Cat still seems to become a little breathless, her eyes widening.
"Yes," is all Cat says.
"You never believed I wasn't her, did you?"
"No," Cat says without pausing. "I knew the moment I stepped out of that car, before you stuttered your way through the first interview."
"I didn't stutter!"
"You were nervous."
"I was worried you'd know it was me!"
"I did." Cat shrugged. "I'm not an idiot."
Kara swallowed.
"You were going to fire me."
"Oh please," Cat says. "I was trying to…push you into telling me. I figured that would do the trick. I was clearly mistaken."
"You were never going to fire me?"
"Fire the best assistant I've ever had? Then I truly would be an idiot."
They both smile at that, as if what Cat has just said was the kind of thing people utter when they're flirting. With their dynamic, it's probably true.
"I missed you."
"Kara."
"I missed you," she says, more firmly. And Cat seems to see something in her that surprises and excites her, for her lips curl in an appreciative smile.
"I wonder how I would have fared if Sunny Danvers had brought the Supergirl attitude to work more."
"You would have fired me. For real."
"No," Cat's tone is musical, like she is making love to that one syllable. "I would have gotten sued for sexual harassment. Had one of those lurid scandals splashed about the tabloids."
Kara must look shocked, because Cat laughs in a low tone that sends a thrill straight between Kara's legs.
"But oh, we would have had fun." Cat's voice is warm, teasing. Kara wishes she could move, speak, do anything but nod dumbly like she is agreeing to take Cat's lunch order. But Cat is so close to her, so close that Kara can smell her hair, her skin, can hear the way her heart has sped up even though her calm, lively demeanour would suggest otherwise. Kara leans forward, and is surprised that Cat meets her halfway, hungrily. They don't seem to know what to do with their hands, but their mouths are hot, the kiss quickly becoming too much. Cat pulls away, but it is only to begin kissing along Kara's throat, to nibble softly at her earlobe and exhale a long breath that makes Kara bite back a moan.
A phone rings, and Kara's eyes snap open. There are footsteps and the distant sound of chatter coming out of the far elevator. With an audible intake of breath, Cat seems to remember where they are. They pull apart. Cat doesn't look worried, just more conscious of all the people soon to be rushing about. Time didn't stop for Cat, when she left. It all continued on, articles being filed, phones ringing with one emergency or another. And it's not stopping for them now, regardless of what just happened between them. But Cat gives Kara a smile, a private one. She nods toward the door to her office and Kara stands, but Cat doesn't take her eyes off her. Doesn't try to hide the way she takes Kara in, like she is finally seeing all of her.
"Kara?" she says, before Kara disappears away to the loud, stressful domain belonging to Snapper Carr.
"Miss Grant?"
"Cat," the words are firm, but affectionate.
"Right," she smiles. "Cat."
They don't say anything else, but all of the unspoken things between them feel very loud in the air. Words and declarations and a sense of urgency. They both carry the weight of it throughout the day, and into the evening. Until they can persuade time to stop for them again.