On Wednesday, Snapper publishes Kara's next article. It's the same one she'd spent time discussing with Lena over lunch, the same one she's been working on for three long, grueling weeks, but it's still only Kara's second. The superhero is reluctant, doesn't particularly want to reach out, not to the Grant family, especially not right now, but Kara made a promise and she's always kept her word, would never hurt Carter by neglecting to make good on it.
She isn't hopeful, when she sends it off. Kara doesn't expect anything in return, at least not from Cat, because Kara's recently come to recognize that Cat Grant probably doesn't grieve the loss of Kara the way that Kara does for Cat. The media mogul probably doesn't mind that Kara is no longer a constant in her life, she likely doesn't think of Kara at random intervals during the day or hide in her office for a few quiet moments of isolation and tremendous terror when she remembers that she's gone, might not even notice that Kara isn't around.
It's fine, Kara thinks, it isn't Cat's fault, it's no one's fault but her own, if she's honest. The Queen of All Media has never truly given Kara a reason to believe that she cares, has offered no real indication that Kara has ever been wanted in her life, or even that she matters to it, so it isn't Cat's fault that Kara feels this way, even if Kara occasionally blames the older woman for it in some of her lesser moments.
Kara is learning to accept that truth, is grudgingly beginning to understand that she has unwittingly, yet irrevocably offered Cat a profound sort of power over her that Cat had never wanted, had never accepted responsibility for. It's a slow process, it takes time, but Kara is learning to accept it, so she doesn't expect anything when she licks the stamp and mails weeks' worth of hard work off to Carter. Kara has no right to expect anything and knows it, has no right to even hope for it, so Kara just… doesn't.
Instead, Kara trudges into work like a soldier, accepts her new assignment from Snapper with a nod, a slight quirk at the edge of her mouth because it's the closest thing Kara can manage to a smile, and sits in her office doing research for an hour. She doesn't allow Facebook or Twitter or the recent updates on Supergirl to distract her, shifts her focus only briefly to confirm plans for game night with Alex and Winn and Lucy and James, but most importantly with Lena, because Kara thinks Lena Luthor might secretly be her hero, might be the only thing to save her from whatever it is she's suffering through, right now, and will almost definitely be the only thing to save her from what Kara anticipates she will have to suffer through this evening.
The interaction is short, though, Kara keeps it that way on purpose, keeps it to-the-point and then gets back to work, and Kara does it for an hour longer. She tries, she does her best, she pushes Carter and Cat and her second article and the praise that Kara is not expecting as far from her mind as she can.
It wears on Kara in the same heart-wrenching way that it always does, but Kara keeps doing it anyway, keeps trying because that's what Cat would do, because it's what Cat would want Kara to do if she were still here to tell her so. Kara shouldn't care, she knows, shouldn't ground her entire life in the imagined demands of a woman who isn't even around to notice how well Kara adheres to them, but that ship sailed a long time ago and Kara's resigned herself to that, isn't bothered by it, doesn't think too much about it and on most occasions doesn't care. Kara just does as Cat would tell her to, because that's when Kara thrives, when Kara feels her strongest.
She's right in the middle of requesting an interview, right in the middle of firing off an email to the state's House representative when her phone lights up, compellingly captures her attention for just long enough and buzzes forebodingly across her desk. It freezes Kara, immobilizes her completely with fingers hovered, still and tense, over the trackpad of her laptop. The sight of it drives Kara into an immediate fit of complicated elation, confusion, and rage, rattles her all over and catches her heart between beats, because somehow, impossibly, it is Cat's name stretching over the front of the screen, Cat's loud, familiar ringtone distracting Kara from her research.
It's Cat who is calling her, Cat who is calling Kara. It's Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat, and Kara almost misses the call entirely, she's so bewildered by the untimely phenomenon.
"H-hello?" Kara gracelessly fumbles, nearly tips her office chair backwards, bumps her knee into the underside of her desk, but doesn't feel it and doesn't care. "Ms. Grant?"
"Honestly," Cat sighs theatrically, and Kara can all but see her eyes rolling into the back of her head, "after all this time, my number must be saved in your contacts, thus you must realize that it is, in fact, me who is calling. So are you asking me a question, Kara, or are you issuing a greeting?"
Kara frowns at her didactically irritated tone, stammers, stumbles over her instinctive embarrassment, but still obediently replies, "I- Um… Greeting? I- yes. Yes!" She rallies, then laughs, disordered and awkward, unbiddenly thrilled. "Hi!"
"Better," Cat hums approvingly, and Kara trembles all over, proud when she shouldn't be, knows she shouldn't be, because this is probably cruel.
It's cruel of Cat to do this, to call her up after so long without contact and chastise her right off the bat like she's done something wrong when she hasn't, when she knows that she hasn't, knows that she's spent two months doing everything Cat would tell her to do without a second thought, just because Cat would tell her to do it. It's cruel, Kara knows, she isn't oblivious to it, but that's just the way Cat is, and it doesn't stop the reaction that Kara must endure, must always endure, despite it. She still quivers at the purr of Cat's voice, flushes under her criticism and seeks to earn something more, something better in its place, still rejoices in the knowledge that Cat has called her, that Cat needs something from Kara that no one else can offer.
Kara waits to hear what that something is, waits for Cat to ask something of her, but Cat says nothing right away, clucks her tongue softly but otherwise lets the air hang tense and quiet, stilted. Kara recognizes it as a power play, has watched attentively as Cat has done this to countless others more times than she could number. Kara understands what's happening, knows exactly what Cat is doing, but has no idea why.
She tries to understand, Kara does, but she just can't fathom how Cat could possibly feel that she needs to wield any more power over Kara when Kara has already relinquished it all, when she has freely offered that, to Cat, has foolishly gifted that power with nothing promised in return, only to have it backfire and shatter in Kara's heart.
Kara is too flustered to think, to breathe, and she's certainly not brave or stupid enough to make an attempt at speaking. Cat won't speak first, that's part of the game, Kara knows, but the impasse leaves them with a slight stall, a brief moment of indecisiveness that settles in the static between them.
Then, agonizingly, Kara begins to calm. She settles her pulse and recovers her thoughts, comes back to herself, feels a slow fury grumble to life in the silence, furrows her brow in frustration and bemusement, because what does Cat want? She must want something, Kara thinks, she must be calling for a reason, because Cat's lack of contact over the past several weeks has proven nothing to Kara but the fact that Cat doesn't miss her the way that Kara had hoped she might. Cat wouldn't call her up just to chat, wouldn't bother to call Kara just because she can, just because she wants to, so why now? Why pick up the phone and call Kara now?
"Was there- Is there something you needed, Ms. Grant?"
She sounds irritated, Kara realizes with surprise. She's never spoken this way to Cat, not without the influence of Red K, anyway, but she sounds aggravated, disgruntled, impatient, Kara can hear it threading through her own words in a way that it never has before.
Kara doesn't want that, doesn't want to taint this moment with something so negative and angry, but Kara can't help it. It isn't Cat's fault, none of this is Cat's fault, that's what Kara's told herself, what she's been telling herself for weeks. Kara knows better, knows that her blame is misplaced, that it should come down on Kara's own shoulders and that it's no one else's to bear. Kara knows all of that but it doesn't stop her, doesn't halt her abruptly present fury, not even for a second, because Kara is– she's just so angry.
But Kara's never been angry at Cat, not like this, not this acutely, Kara doesn't really even know how to express it. She just feels it lighting hot and wide in her chest, searing, scorching and impulsive, and Kara reevaluates her own thoughts, thinks that she might actually be about to do something both brave and stupid.
"My son," Cat huffs but refers to Carter fondly, always so fondly, and Kara wants to smile at that but can't. "He has spoken of nothing but you and your article all morning. It seems that Carter is… proud," she notes begrudgingly, sighs again and blows past it in that ostensibly careless way that Cat does, the way that tries its hardest to blow the vastness of Cat's affection off in the wind and that Kara might typically feel warmed by, then carries on with what Kara imagines is a directive flutter of her fingers and a little bit of fanfare. "He is irritatingly persistent in his pride, but he is, nevertheless, very proud of you, Kara. Carter asked me to make sure that you knew."
It's sweet, Kara wishes she could kiss his cheek, could squeeze him tight and thank him over and over for being so thoughtful and considerate. She owes Carter a care package, she knows, makes a mental note to make a special trip to the game store just for him, remembers that she'll need to spring for a decent compass, too. Carter has been marveling at them recently, has submitted several requests for various camping magazines, much to Cat's immense annoyance and perplexity, just to see the different kinds.
It's not like he's never seen one, Kara knows, but he's starting to admire how the once-revolutionary technology functions and understand its mechanics, its history. Carter wants to take it apart and put it together again, figure out how to improve it, what he can do to make it better now. Kara comes from a predominately rational and scientific race, had spent years staving off the same overly-inquisitive impulses that Carter now struggles with when she'd first come to this planet, so Kara gets it, Carter's need to understand the way that the world around him works. Kara also knows that most people don't, knows that most people think it's strange and shy away because it's different, knows that most times, it doesn't feel like the gift that the ones closest to you would have you believe. Kara knows that it is lonely, being the way that Carter is, the way that she is, too, so she owes him a care package and a compass, privately clears her Monday morning to make the time to do it.
But even Carter can't occupy Kara's focus for long, can't distract her from what is happening in the moment, with Cat Grant on the line and Kara's heart throbbing so violently with heated fury that Kara can't control it.
"Are you– " Kara swallows, thick and heavy, takes a moment to collect her rage as best she can and tries again, tries to offer Cat an opportunity to defuse the pulsing bomb inside of her chest that Kara's bountiful emotions have wired up to form before she explodes, takes everything within immediate range down with her. "Are you proud, too, Ms. Grant?"
Kara has only ever heard Cat sigh this much during conversations with her mother, debatably with Donald Trump in a couple of brief, vicious interviews where she inevitably knocked him down a few points in the polls. Kara knows it's an omen, a warning shot for the forthcoming lecture, but Kara doesn't retract her question, she can't, she needs the answer and has needed it for weeks, months, probably even for years.
"Kara," the older blonde softly but impatiently hisses out her name, rumbles something sly and dangerous, deep, and Kara's heard lesser men make puns in moments like these about cats extending their claws, but Kara would never dare to do the same, "have I ever once failed to advise you when you've needed it? Have I failed to provide you with opportunities to succeed, to do well in the eyes of others?" She waits, but Kara doesn't reply, not immediately, because she isn't sure how she can. "Have I failed to guide you, to mentor you to the best of my ability?"
Kara still isn't sure how to answer her. Cat speaks with intolerance, but also with confidence, and it's confidence she deserves, Kara knows, because the older woman isn't wrong. She isn't unjustified in what she has said, Cat has done all of those things, even if it's always been in Cat's own, often roundabout sort of way. Cat has done everything that she's claimed to, has done all of that for Kara for several years now, in fact, but Kara's starting to realize how that isn't the entire truth of it, either.
It's the truth, but it isn't the whole truth, because Kara has had to fight to earn those things from Cat, has had to fight just to make Cat care enough to look. Kara's had to fight and claw and basically break skin just to steal Cat's attention long enough, to make her see when Kara is even need of those things from her, and then Kara's had to fight harder to drag the wisdom and kindness out from the stubborn seal of Cat's lips.
"No," Cat answers herself after a timed, predatory pause. "No, I have not failed to do those things, and I believe that both you and I are aware enough to acknowledge that, to acknowledge that I typically would not bother to do so for someone- average. So you tell me right now, Kara Danvers," Cat drawls, deliberate and slow, lets the half-asked question hang in a moment of suspenseful silence, the way Cat so enjoys to do. "You tell me why I would waste hours', days' worth of my invaluable time on someone who is not what I deem praiseworthy. Surely you are not still so insecure, so childishly in need of approval that you can't see that for yourself?" She demands with a scoff, a soft snort of derisiveness that makes Kara flinch.
The bomb inside of Kara ticks once, twice, threatens imminent devastation and Kara knows that this is her chance, it's probably her only chance to back away and calm herself, to just hang up the phone and apologize for her rudeness later, but Kara doesn't want that. She thinks that this has been years in the making, that she has sat on this festered need for far too long, has hidden all of it from Cat at the expense of her own heart. It's unhealthy, that's what Alex keeps trying to tell her – that what Kara is doing, the way that she feels is unhealthy – but Kara can only see it moments like these, when it feels like Cat goes out of her way to strike at Kara where she knows that it will hurt her most. Kara doesn't want to hang up, she is exhausted by putting her own feelings on the shelf and thinks it must be time to stop, that it must be time to let this go, to gain Cat's permission to do that. Kara is– she's just so tired, so full of anger and so alone, and Cat never does anything to soften it.
"Seriously?" Kara breathes out her incredulity, opts for brazenness but doesn't really, because Kara would never have chosen this reaction, would certainly have preferred more dignity, more collection and poise if given half a chance, but that's not how it happens. "Do you really not see it, Ms. Grant? I'm not very subtle," Kara confesses earnestly because she knows, hates to acknowledge it but knows, knows that she doesn't comprehend emotional intricacies in the way that humans are innately programmed to, but that Kryptonians are not. "I don't feel like I've ever masked it well. I haven't- I've never gone out of my way to hide it, and you're a very perceptive and intelligent woman, Ms. Grant… Can you honestly tell me you don't know that you are the only person that I would tolerate such borderline bipolar treatment from, that you don't recognize how I look up to you and rely on you?"
Kara is aching, now, just tired and miserable and weak, but doesn't care. This needs to be said, it's long overdue, but it doesn't hurt Kara any less to know that. She's spent so long holding this part of herself close to her chest, has spent so long shielding the repercussions of this need, the hurt and anguish of it, away from Cat just to keep from voicing how it breaks her, but Kara doesn't know how to do that anymore when Cat isn't at least nearby, when she isn't close and Kara can't even feel her.
"It isn't- It isn't insecurity, Ms. Grant. I don't care about anyone's approval, not my sister's, not my mother's, not anyone's, usually. It's just yours that I need. I need your approval, Ms. Grant, your attention, just- just you. I'm an adult, now. I am an adult, I make choices for myself and create my own paths, I know that because you have taught me that, Ms. Grant, but is it really so difficult for you to understand why I might also, just once, want to know that I am doing well in the eyes of the person who has made me into this?"
"Now, Kara, you're getting flustered," Cat sighs again, but this time sounds fond, gentle, nearly soft, like maybe she's heard at least part of what Kara has said, but uncharacteristically thinks that Kara is being cute, thinks that she is precious and naïve in her outrage, even if still somewhat bothersome. "I thought you'd grown out of this- this childish need for my support. I thought we had grown past this."
"Why?" Kara instantly demands to know, sharply demands an answer, laughs cynically and scoffs. "Why would you think that, Ms. Grant? What reason have I ever given to make you believe that your approval is no longer something that I need, that gaining it has ever not been a priority, for me?"
"Oh, stop with the dramatics, already," Cat snaps impatiently, spins a quick one-eighty from her near-kindness in the moments preceding. "You're being ridiculous."
"No," Kara snarls in a way that is unlike her, in a way that burrows up from the caverns of her stomach, shreds shrapnel through her throat and burns on its way out. "You don't get to tell me that, Ms. Grant. You don't- you don't get to tell me that my feelings don't matter. You just- you just don't. Do you have any idea what you leaving has even done to me? Do you even care?"
"This is not what I called you to discuss, Kara," Cat growls low and deep, fights Kara's fire with one of her very own, one that is signature to her nature, one that Kara has witnessed more times than once and that often scorches everything in its path, but Kara doesn't care, for once isn't bothered, because today, right now in this moment, Kara burns brighter than Cat, burns so brightly with fury and passion and seclusion that it blinds, and Kara knows it.
"I don't care!" She retaliates brusquely, savagely, rushes forward into thoughts that Kara hadn't even known how to voice. "I don't care, Ms. Grant, because I really don't think you know what you've done to me. I thought, before you left, that maybe you'd begun to realize, that you'd begun to see. I thought, maybe… but you really don't know, do you? You really don't know how hard it's been for me, you never even thought that your absence might mean anything to me, after we said goodbye, did you?"
"Kara – "
"You told me you were leaving," Kara cuts her off, knows she's never done it before but is feeling brave, bold, wounded and scarred. "You told me you'd decided, that I didn't have a choice, that you were just- going. You told me you were leaving, Ms. Grant, and you didn't give me time to process that, or tell me why or what it means," Kara rambles, feels the words building in her heart and in the moment doesn't care how they emerge or what the consequences might be. "You just- you hugged me goodbye and you told me to dive, and I did, Ms. Grant, I have. I've done- I've done everything that you wanted, I've always done everything that you wanted," Kara pants in distress but doesn't tire, doesn't stop, isn't sure that she even can and surely doesn't know how.
"I- I tried to earn everything that I ever wanted or expected from you, Ms. Grant. I tried to be good, and useful, and- and more than the ordinary girl that I was always taught to be, that I was always told I had to be. I did that for you, Ms. Grant, because of you, because of what you taught me and how you taught me to be, and then at the airport you- you kissed me!" Kara finally lets it surface, lets her festered confusion and upset and abandonment boil over and arise. "You kissed me like I'd earned that, like I'd earned that kind of affection from you, and then you left me, Ms. Grant. You left me, you left me behind, left me alone. You don't even see it, but I can't think of anything else, I can't- I can't – oh, oh, I really can't do this," Kara breathes heavily, drops her head onto her desk, tells herself to breathe, just breathe, as she remembers again what true panic feels like.
Kara remembers what it's like to be alone in the dark, with no one to hold and nothing to turn to, no family or religion, not even hope. Kara remembers it all, remembers why she feels this way. She remembers that Cat had become her light, not very long ago at all, remembers that Cat had felt like the sun, like the sustainer of life that the red star Rao once was to Kara before her worshipped deity allowed her planet to deplete itself, the way that she feels Cat is allowing Kara to do to herself now.
She hates that she needs to explain this to Cat, needs to explain what the woman means to her after all that Kara has done to prove herself worthy in the eyes of a Queen, after how Kara has lain devotion and loyalty and her heart at Cat's feet. Kara hates that she needs to explain how it feels to be abandoned by something that seems to her like the giver of all things good in Kara's world, hates how similar it feels to floating in a pod through space, through a vacant void where all of time stands still but Kara's thoughts and fears and feelings race, where Kara howls at the god she'd once so adored who forsook her family, her home, her people, who forsook Kara when she'd needed Rao the most.
But Kara's mind never really stops, never ceases to move and cycle and churn. It's a curse resultant of Kara's years alone in the Phantom Zone, where all Kara ever had were her own thoughts to keep her company, to stave off the dark and the lonesomeness. It's part of who Kara is, its half of her entire essence, so it only takes a moment for Kara to realize that she is the one who has made Cat into this. Kara is the one who has held her up and placed her on a pedestal. Cat had never asked for that, had obviously never wanted that, at least not from Kara, and Kara didn't mean to do it but she did, she did that. Cat isn't responsible, Kara is, she knows that. It's what Kara's been telling herself for weeks, even without knowing the true depth of the emotion that was fueling it.
This is the way that Kara feels, yes, but Kara knows it isn't right to share it, not like this, not this way, no matter how badly she wants Cat to understand, no matter how badly she wants Cat to care enough to want to understand.
"I'm sorry," Kara trembles with anxiety, quivers all over with suppressed need and holes in her heart and tiredness lingering in the back of her skull. "You didn't sign up for this, Ms. Grant, and I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to say those things, wrong of me to lash out at you. Please forgive me, just- please pretend this never happened," Kara relents wearily, sighs long and hard, presses the pads of her fingers into her eyes to stem the tears and presses even harder, presses until her head throbs and bears the brunt of Kara's anguish.
"Kara," Cat exhales, soft and wounded, maybe even breathy. "Kara, you- I – "
Kara's never heard this woman stutter, has never heard Cat Grant hesitate this noticeably unless it involves her own sons, her family, and Kara knows that she's not a part of it, reminds herself of that on a fairly regular basis, but it still feels nice to know to know that she can affect Cat, even just a little.
Cat sucks in a sharp breath and pauses, deliberates carefully and Kara is grateful. Kara takes advantage of the quiet to try and steady herself, dims the noise of the rest of the world into a hum to search out Cat's heartbeat and hear it echo in her ears, just that and nothing else, uses it to regulate the erratic pattern of her own even though Cat's is somewhat satisfyingly beating much too quickly, also.
"This is a conversation meant to be held in person," Cat declares eventually, a tentative tremor in her voice that both hurts Kara and makes her hopeful again, all in the same breath. "I'll be in town next week. I have a meeting with the board, and I'll be in National City from Tuesday through Sunday. Clear an evening, Kara," Cat instructs gently, almost tenderly, and Kara quakes in her chair like the last few minutes never even happened, feels that same, eager desire to please that Cat never fails to inspire. "Clear any evening, during that time, and I'll set it aside for us to speak. We'll have dinner," she decides, bowls over the anxious reluctance that Kara feels begin to broil and douses it in an instant, swats at it like a fly in the wind.
Cat makes it clear that she is not asking, she is demanding. She is making it clear that she expects to see Kara when she is in town, and Kara might be angry, might feel broken, lost, and uncertain, but Kara always does her best to meet Cat's expectations, to exceed them when she can. So Kara does as Cat tells her to, because that's when Kara thrives, when Kara feels her strongest, and Kara really needs to feel strong again.
"Yes, Ms. Grant," she sighs quietly, bitterly charmed by Cat's insistence as she sinks into an odd little headspace where Kara is pleased to be responsible for nothing more than the fulfillment of a request that Cat knows Kara can live up to, that she knows Kara can satisfy, and Kara hangs up before she can work herself into a wreck over that for probably the eighth time just today.
After ten minutes of closely regulated breathing, however, Kara idly catches herself wondering how early she can convince Lena to swing by, how soon she can tell Lena to come and see her before it reflects poorly on her character. Kara thinks she could really enjoy her company, right now, could really appreciate the presence of someone as effortlessly warm and kind as Lena, someone who will follow Kara's lead, every now and again, and won't force her to feel guilty for enjoying that. She likes how Lena always looks to Kara to confirm the progress of their relationship, likes how she lets Kara draw the lines when she isn't sure if she's crossing them or still has room to venture further, even when Kara thinks she makes it clear that she is open to anything that Lena feels able to offer her.
Kara thinks she'd just really, really like to see Lena, right now, so she texts her and doesn't think about it, tells Lena she's had a very difficult day and is picking up tequila, even though Kara's planning to make an extra stop at Mon-El's alien bar to pick up a little something rare and special just for herself, too. Kara tells Lena that she should join her as quickly as she's able, because Kara still misses her face and could really use her, the one important being in her life who understands that Kara can be her own person and still rely on others to help her cope with the reality of what that actually means, later on.
