It was raining the day she first met Dr. Grant. The sound of water drops against the window kept her grounded, reminding her where she was. She's real. Dr. Grant is very much real, too. Dr. Grant is sharp and curious, but her sharpness is nothing like Alex Danvers' solid, stoic intelligence, and her curiosity does not possess the vibrant energy of Jeremiah Danvers, either. And she, Kara Danvers, finds that unsettling and fascinating, how different one trait can be when embodied in another person.

Dr. Cat Grant probably finds her unsettling and fascinating, too, but for whole other reasons.

"Kara," she hears, and she turns her face away from the window. It started to pour outside, and it comforts Kara to know that she is inside, safe and sound, when there is a storm mere meters away from her. But there is also something distressing in the way water slides down the glass and pools on the ground. Kara blinks, and the water is red.

She blinks again. The image is gone. She concentrates on the sound of gentle pattering and takes a deep breath, trying to find her center. It never really works, at least she doesn't think; but it helped her further ingrain herself into reality. Perhaps, this is what 'finding her center' was about.

"Yes, Dr. Grant," she finally replies. Dr. Grant doesn't start scribbling in her notepad. She doesn't even have a notepad, or a pen; she simply continues to study Kara, without it feeling like being studied. It must be some sort of superpower, Kara thought, or at the very least an impressive skill Dr. Grant must have mastered over the years.

"What did you dream of last night?" She blinks, slowly, her hand automatically reaching up to straighten her glasses. The woman in a chair opposite of her caught her off guard. This wasn't how they usually went, those sessions. Then again, it wasn't usually Cat Grant who she had those sessions with.

Being forced to change a psychiatrist certainly had its disadvantages.

"What does it matter?" She quietly asks instead of answering, after carefully pondering the question.

"Dreams are a window into our unconscious." It was a quote, no doubt, but Kara has trouble identifying it. "And our unconscious could tell a lot more about us than we could ever think of."

"I don't think I want to know much about myself."

Dr. Grant raises her eyebrows, only once, and only slightly. She's so in control, so put together. Kara can't imagine a human being so perfect all the time, so her mind comes up with different scenarios of Cat Grant flustered and awkward, the way she feels sometimes. Most of the time. Here's Cat Grant slipping on ice, arms flailing and mouth comically open in a squeal – and it has to be a squeal, not a scream or a shout or a curse, because there is nothing Kara could imagine that would be as uncharacteristic as that particular sound. And Cat Grant misplacing her keys in the morning, and cursing and muttering and losing the effortless elegance of her gestures and movements. Cat Grant with a bad hair day. Now, that would be a sight to see. But she couldn't just wake up with her hair all done, could she? In the morning, Cat Grant probably woke up groggy and bed-haired and bad-breathed just like everyone else, and she stretched before standing up, and her joints felt sore and asleep.

Kara tries to imagine what Dr. Grant looks like while asleep, but that's too uncomfortable for her. She returns back to the moment, where the woman looks at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..." She trails off. The doctor is well aware of what just happened. It's written in her file, printed somewhere on a nice paper in a nice folder, the one you see in movies, all yellow and important-looking. There is probably her photo, too; a young woman in her early thirties, looking into a camera with a confused look on her face, her glasses slightly crooked on her nose. Kara never turned out very good in photos. Alex said she looked like she couldn't understand why someone was taking a picture of her. She meant it as a joke, probably, but Kara never did understand humor very much, not when it was directed at her. But she didn't get mad, either. She never got mad at her big sister.

Dr. Grant nods. Dr. Grant doesn't start to scribble down notes in her non-existent pad with a non-existent pen. If anything, the corners of her lips twitch, pointing upwards. Kara isn't sure, but it looks like her doctor is about to smile. But the corners stay put.

"I daydream, too. I actually tend to zone out a lot, when I'm not with a patient. It just so happens that most of my companions are dreadfully boring. Unsurprising, really, since most of them are a walking personification of white male privilege."

Kara can relate to that, on some level, but she doesn't want to think about it. Not yet. So instead she analyzes Dr. Grant's response. It was the first time she used a psychiatrist trope with Kara, and such an overused one, too. Trying to humanize herself, the doctor. To get Kara to see that she is someone she can trust. As if this lie could ever get her to open up. This woman, this immaculate woman in her tasteful outfit and her degree and her sharp gaze would never be able to get down on Kara's level.

She keeps silent, forcing her doctor to continue. Or so she thought. Dr. Grant is silent, too, waiting for something, anything. Kara breaks first.

"I, uh… I wasn't daydreaming, Dr. Grant. I mean, I was, but it wasn't… Like that."

"May I call what you're referring to an episode?" Dr. Grant asks calmly.

Kara shrugs.

"I guess. It hasn't happened for a while, you know. But… Thing is, I completely lose sense of reality. It's like I'm not real. Or, I am real, but not as an identity I'm used to." She stops, shaking her head. Dr. Grant is listening with rapt attention now. Kara can't remember when the last time she blinked was. "I don't know why I'm even telling you this. You have it all from my previous doctor."

"Yes. And what happened to your doctor?"

"You know as well as I do what happened to him."

Dr. Grant tilts her head to the side. She looks like a cat. Her name is also Cat. Kara tries not to shiver and stomps down on the unsettling feeling in her stomach.

I am real, she thinks. Cat Grant is real. Catherine. Catherine Grant is my doctor.

"Still, would you mind filling me in?" It's standard, really. The doctor is accessing just how much of a grip Kara has on reality right now. But that's not how things work for her.

She's perfectly aware of the things that happened to people around her. She's simply not so sure about the experiences she had herself. Because sometimes, she's not sure who she really is.

And if she is, at all.

She tells that to Dr. Grant, along with a monotone description of her previous doctor's untimely demise. He got drunk, He snapped. He slit his wrists. The woman nods. She looks satisfied with her answer, and Kara mentally sighs with relief.

"Wrists are very messy," the doctor suddenly states. "Gruesome. I imagine it's a scary way to die."

Kara wouldn't know, at least she doesn't think she would. But she nods, anyway. Her choice would probably be pills. Wrists were messy, indeed.

The rain dribbled down the window, distorting the picture of the outside world. It didn't look like it was stopping anytime soon.

"It's getting late," she states in reply. "And it's still raining. I'll call you a cab."

Dr. Grant thanks her and accepts her tea offering. They go to the kitchen, and Kara places a kettle on a stove, both of them looking at the blurred world as they wait for it to whistle. Kara likes this, the silence they are in. It doesn't feel heavy, like it did with Dr. Scott. If Kara had a good understanding of emotions, she would probably have realized sooner that her psychiatrist was in a desperate need of a therapist of his own. But she didn't even know what she was feeling half of the time. How was she supposed to know about his poor soul?

Kara wondered if that's what guilt felt like.

"How do you feel?" It's like Dr. Grant was already in her head after one session. "I mean, our first meeting – how did it go for you?"

"Are you asking for feedback?"

"Well, if I don't know what's bothering you, I can't improve it, now can I?"

Kara gives a brief pause, taking the kettle and pouring hot water in their mugs.

"You think something's bothering me?"

Dr. Grant's lips twitch again. Kara thinks that she probably has a sinfully beautiful smile. Or a beautifully sinful one. She's getting closer to learning that. The corners of her mouth point just a tad higher than before.

"Darling," she begins, taking a small sip. "If there was nothing bothering you, I wouldn't be here at all."

Kara has to agree with that. She also has to laugh, surprised at Dr. Grant's use of dry wit around her. This doctor wasn't going to be cautious, it seemed. She was determined to… This is where Kara had trouble deciphering the woman's intentions. She meant well; she had to, it was her job and sacred duty. But something was there, too, well-hidden in the shadows of her mind, invisible to Kara's eyes. She was curious. She was fascinated, even. Her case wasn't unique by a long shot, but something still drew Dr. Grant to it. Lucy. Lucy Lane asked Dr. Grant to take over after Dr. Scott passed. She was very adamant about it, too. Her speech was filled with 'best doctor in the country' and 'numerous publications' and 'knows the specifics'. Kara knew what it really was about.

Lucy wants Kara Danvers, ex-homicide detective and currently an FBI academy lecturer, back in the game, and Kara is having none of it. She thought that after she had started her therapy, she'd be left alone. It wasn't safe to randomly black out in field work. But Lucy always had a knack for finding her way around things. And when she wanted something, she went for it. She wants Kara.

Kara wants to be as normal as the circumstances would allow her, and FBI field work is not the way to do so. And Dr. Grant wants something, too. Everyone wants something, but somehow, Kara doubts that the good doctor wants a Nobel Prize for publishing a paper about her case.

She can't really place her finger on it, but she can't shake the feeling that Dr. Cat Grant is a catalyst for something big.

The woman drinks the remaining tea, and Kara sees her to the door. She stands on the porch, watching as the doctor takes careful, precise steps to the cab. There is no frustrated hurry in her body. Before getting in, she pauses, turning back to look at Kara. The rain is pouring down on her figure, concealing little details, leaving only a wet, blurred silhouette under an umbrella. A figure in the rain, and the woods behind it, and the dark grey sky above it. For a second, Kara imagines their eyes lock, and Cat's eyes are suddenly mischievous and there is a twinkle in them.

Dr. Grant gets in the car, and it drives her away.

Kara shivers and hurries to get inside, closing the door with a click.