Too Rich for Use, For Earth too Dear (by Sexghosts)

Fandom: Supergirl
Author: Sexghosts (Archive of Our Own author, this work is merely copied to get more publicity for them)

Rating: K

She'd hired the girl, fresh-faced and pink-cheeked, because she said she wanted to be more than just a secretary. She said she wanted to learn the business from a real master like Cat. It was nothing Cat hadn't heard before from a thousand interview candidates, some of them far more poised and pedigreed than this squeaky-clean blonde from… Where? The heartland, Cat supposed, one of those big, square flyover states in the middle of the country. If the girl had told her which one, she hadn't bothered to retain it.

No, it wasn't anything she had said, actually. It was more an intuition, a sense that there was something in her that needed and deserved to be cultivated. Kara Danvers was special, and Cat hadn't quite figured out yet why, exactly.

And now here they stood, in the observation deck at the top of Catco Plaza. Cat rarely opened it up, but she'd been trying lately to expose Kara to what it meant to be successful, to be the queen bee. If all the girl ever saw was the inside of Starbucks and Delmonico's when she was fetching her lattes and salads, she wasn't going to be properly motivated. Kara had said in her interview that she wanted more; Cat wanted her to see what "more" looked like.

"Oh, Miss Grant," Kara was sighing, looking out over the sparkling skyline. "It's beautiful."

"Of course it is," Cat responded. The observation deck at the top of Catco Plaza was a small affair, designed for twenty people at most, intended to convey the kind of "masters of the universe" exclusivity that Cat reserved for guests like Warren Buffett. And it did. The deck was a round room with 360 degree views through its floor to ceiling windows, marble floors, leather armchairs, subtle mosaic tiling up the posts to the vaulted ceiling. A bar sat on one side of the room. Cat knew that inside the small refrigerator behind the bar was a selection of champagne and white wine. "I'm certainly not going to bring Bill Gates for drinks at the steakhouse down the block, am I?"

A narrow, railed balcony wrapped around the outside of the deck, and this was where they stood, taking in the view. Kara was looking around, starry-eyed. "Of course not," Kara said with a sheepish smile.

Cat felt a small glow of warmth in her chest. The meaning of this wasn't lost on the girl. Good, she thought. "Wait here."

She strolled inside, took a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator, and poured two glasses. She brought them back out to the balcony and found Kara leaning on her elbows against the railing, cheek resting on her hand. Standing still, disengaged, looking lost in the expansive sky, she seemed at this moment to carry about herself a kind of grace that Cat didn't usually see in her shy, clumsy ways. Unbidden, her mind unearthed a line from Romeo and Juliet; See how she leans her cheek upon her hand/Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand/That I might touch that cheek!

She mentally scolded herself. Grow up, Cat.

"Here you are, Kiera," she said. Cat saw the slight discomfort flit across her face. Cat knew damn well that her assistant's name was Kara, but it was a tactic she liked to use to keep some emotional distance. Let them know that they are so unimportant that you cannot even be bothered to remember their name. She'd learned that from her mother.

But Kara gratefully took the wine anyway, apologized for not having gotten it herself.

"Stop apologizing, Kiera, you do that far too much. But don't get used me fetching your drinks– I just wanted you to see how that felt."

"Thank you, Miss Grant." Kara's eyes sparkled. She was so appreciative of the kindness, it stirred frustration in Cat's gut. Am I really that awful to her, that my pouring her a glass of wine warrants this kind of look? After a moment, though, she was forced to admit that yes, she supposed she sometimes was. Maybe more than sometimes. Maybe often. Was Kara Danvers honestly this sweet, this vulnerable, this needy of her approval and guidance, that something this small meant so much?

Cat sipped her wine and gazed her for a moment. Hiding behind those terrible clothes and those even worse glasses was a very pretty girl, she observed. The blue of her eyes behind those glasses was so intense, it seemed to catch the stars that studded the National City night. She could really do a lot with them if she had even a little bit of fashion savvy, which she tragically did not. Still, the wind was whipping her golden hair in strands around her face, and Cat found her eyes caught there, stuck on the light in her eyes and the freshness of her cheeks.

The brightness of her cheek doth shame those stars, as daylight doth a lamp.

Being raised by a literary giant, she thought wryly, had its advantages and disadvantages. It was debatable which category having the inside of one's mind randomly assaulted by Shakespeare quotes fell into.

God, she thought, looking at her, was I ever that young? Maybe, but I don't think I was ever that innocent. Kara was looking at her expectantly. Her face, and indeed probably her heart, were the sort of open that was too easy to fall into, and Cat was considering whether it might a pleasant trip.

Briefly hesitating between conflicting impulses to spoil that innocence and protect it, Cat stood on her toes and dropped a light kiss on Kara's lips. She heard the little gasp of surprise. She tasted on her breath the white wine and something else she couldn't place, maybe a honey lip balm? She'd kissed mostly men in the last several years, and soft, sweet lips were a more than welcome change of pace. Cat wasn't sure where the impulse had come from, and was fairly sure that it wasn't a good idea, and moreover, she was well aware that it was entirely possible that the girl would suddenly find a set of balls and sue for sexual harassment. But she didn't think so. Because before she pulled away –and she did so rather quickly– she was sure she felt her return the kiss.

She pulled back to assess whether she'd just gotten herself into some deep shit or not. Kara was grinning foolishly, giggling in shock, staring at her as if she'd just won the lottery. Well, that answered that, she supposed.

Cat was all too painfully aware of what a selfish thing she'd just done. She was tough as nails, and acted like she needed nothing, but in a place she kept well protected and secret, she craved the admiration her assistant clearly had for her. She also, like most women her age, was also overly conscious of her sexual desirability; she had chosen to deal frankly with the relationship between a woman's attractiveness and her value in the world, but she didn't like it one bit. She was conscious of hurtling toward what that one comedienne called her "last fuckable day," and not that she cared so much about that –she enjoyed sex but it wasn't the center of her world– but she she hardly looked forward to ways, real and abstract, in which she feared it would diminish her, or at least make it harder for her to wield the power she'd worked all her life to get. To allow herself a moment of being adored… it was selfish, but she needed it.

"Miss… Miss Grant," Kara stammered. She clearly didn't know what to do with what had just happened. She didn't seem to mind, though. Her hands kept nervously rising as if she wanted to put her hands on Cat, but then dropping to her sides to smooth her palms against her skirt.

Cat looked at her with a raised eyebrow, enjoying the flustered reaction. "Well?" she asked.

"I'm… sorry," Kara giggled, "you just… surprised me… I, uh…"

"Kara," Cat interjected, "stop talking unless you have something to actually say."

Kara's mouth snapped shut. Cat looked her up and down, lingered on those big, expressive eyes, that face that was no damn good at hiding anything. Kara wanted another kiss, but was too afraid to say so. "Kara," she scolded, "I have been going out of my way to show you what it is to succeed in this world. I have been bringing you to meetings, parties with journalistic luminaries, and now, you are drinking white wine with me on the observation deck of CatCo Plaza, something most people in the world will never, ever get to do. But none of this means a damn thing if you don't understand that you have to go after what you want, you have to be assertive and seize it–"

She was surprised to find Kara suddenly taking her by the shoulders, with a surprisingly light touch, and leaning down to kiss her again. Maybe she wasn't so timid after all. Maybe she had a little fire in her. The kiss was still soft and hesitant, tentative and tender, but still. She was young, her lips were silky, her hands were light, and her skin was smooth. There was something warming, something intensely pleasing, about being the object of this young girl's desire. Cat got a grip on her waist, surprised at how sturdy she felt – she had half expected the girl to turn into gossamer and float away when she grabbed on, but she was surprisingly solid. She wondered whether the girl's attraction was to her, or was because she was Cat Grant, Queen of All Media, but decided maybe it wasn't important right now. She pulled back and regarded her, momentarily lingering on those lovely eyes of hers, that seemed full of stars and prettier every time she looked at them. "Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear," she murmured gently.

Kara's brow furrowed. "What?"

Cat mentally kicked herself. "Nothing. That was good. You wanted something, and you went for it. Not bad for a sheltered little field mouse from whatever little backwater burg you come from."

Kara drew herself up, suddenly indignant. Cat suddenly became aware of how tall she actually was. "You know, I'm not as sheltered as you think. You don't know what I've been through."

Cat tossed her a skeptical look. "I'm sure," she retorted, her sarcasm thick even to her own ears.

To Cat's surprise, Kara looked at her evenly and said, "She jests at scars that never felt a wound."

There it was, Cat thought. She knew there was more to girl. Jousting back at her with a contextually appropriate quote, and even from the same play and in fact, the same character. She set her glass down abruptly. "Alright, Kara. You kissed me and then just tried to start a Shakespeare fight with me. I'd say that's enough rowdy behavior for one evening."

Kara looked suddenly a bit chastened. "But I just-"

"No no no," Cat cut her off. "We're done for the evening. I'm taking the car that's waiting downstairs, but you can call yourself another and put it on the account. I don't want to be responsible for you traveling at this hour to whatever unsafe neighborhood you live in."

"My neighborhood is fine," Kara protested.

"Nonsense, I don't pay you enough to live somewhere nice."

Kara frowned but lodged no further protest.

They rode wordlessly all the way down in the elevator, Kara squirming silently the entire way down. As Cat slid into the black town car waiting by the curb, she looked squarely at Kara. "Remember something, Kara. You don't know what I've been through, either." She jests at scars that never felt a wound, the girl had said to her, but Cat had more than her share of wounds that a girl so young could hardly be expected to understand.

She thought about kissing her once again before sliding easily into the softly purring Lincoln, but thought better of it. Better that they just act as though nothing had happened. She'd been more than aware that Kara had at the very least some sort of hero crush on her, and now it seemed maybe more than that. It was her job to be the responsible adult in this situation. She could do that.

She hoped.