"Alex—"

"Kara."

"Alex—" Kara says a little louder, holding open the hotel door, eyelashes fluttering as the sun warms her cheeks, huffing out of her nose as she pushes up glasses, pressing the phone closer to an ear.

"Kara!" It's louder and Kara opens her mouth—

"A L E—"

"I swear to God if you finish saying her name one more time I'm duct taping your mouth shut." Cat warns, eyes bright before she fishes out a set of sunglasses and long fingers seem intent on sliding them up the bridge of an ever-ready, elegant nose before she seems to think better of it, sliding them onto Kara's wrinkling nose, instead. A hint of a surprised laugh leaves lips once-intent on finishing her sister's name, large sunglasses sliding down before she pushes them up, rattling as they clink against lead glasses. "Oh, there's a fashion statement. Be still my heart."

The sun dances between them like a church sermon, this Sunday morning, pre-noon air crisp on her tongue as she laughs, reaching up fingers to cover the mouthpiece.

"Are you sure you want to go with the sunglasses, again?" Teeth bite a lip, "You really should be more careful with your—"

"Kara! Do not make me camp out in front of your door!"

"I showed you mine, you show me yours, Ms. Danvers." Cat purrs and Kara's tongue replaces teeth, sliding down the sunglasses to slowly slide off lead-lined ones instead, taking great care to slide them up onto her lover's nose with a laugh.

Cat makes them look as fabulous as she does everything else, taking them with a humming grace, like they were molten in lead to frame her face like God sculpted them for that purpose, alone.

"What is that? What are you doing? Are you laughing? Why are you laughing, oh my God please don't be the sex thing, again—"

"For pete's—Alex!" Kara winces at the look Cat gives her, whispering over the edge of the phone, "Please no duct tape." Louder, "I'm not having sex. Am I not allowed to laugh, anymore? Why can't I laugh? Yes, it is with someone mysterious and faceless to you, but that's all I'm doing. Laughing. Which, no, was…maybe not what I did this weekend, but what I did this weekend was—was consensual and—and do you really want to know about this?"

"Well, I don't know, because my sister didn't tell me anyone was even on the weekend list to laugh at!"

"With."

"To laugh period! With! At! You're laughing next to someone laughing! You're both laughing together!"

"Alex." Kara groans, pushing up sunglasses to rub between her brows, a crease forming there.

"Kara."

"Ale—hey!" Kara yelps when the phone is suddenly sniped from her hand, clicked off with a thumb that looks anything but innocent. Cat makes regular glasses look like sunglasses when her eyebrows raise behind them and Kara frowns.

"Oopsie." It's drawled, Catherine finally untucking glasses from her nose with far more care than the swipe of her thumb, tucking them in her inner coat pocket with a small pat.

"Catherine." It's the same tone Supergirl unknowingly used on a litterer last week and Cat does not look pleased, but drops the phone in Kara's up-turned palm, regardless. "That's not going to keep her from calling me for the rest of the day, you know."

"Well, it will keep me from having to listen to it." And there's that up-tuck of lips at the edges and Kara can't even find it in herself to be mad, brushing a strand of hair from eyes, maybe even daring to lean down when another ringtone erupts from the phone in her palm—

"Oh, come on."

Cat just smirks, lifting up her latte between them, looking smug as she sips a hum through the lid. "You're just popular, aren't you?"

Kara swipes on the phone and perks up just a little, despite the interruption, when a warm voice greets her—"Eliza! I'm on my way there now, honest."

"With a guest?"

"What? Why would I have a—" Kara groans, making that her thousandth groan in so few minutes, realization settling: "Alex just called you, didn't she?"

"Well, I've been calling her for weeks and she happened to mention that you were in Metropolis with someone—"

"No, that someone isn't coming to lunch, Eliza. No someone-s are coming to lun—" Kara pauses, raising her head but Cat who immediately shakes her head with a uh-uh tutting over the rim of a lid. Kara sighs, repeating: "No someone-s are coming to lunch."

"Did you tell this someone that I'm a fantastic cook?"

"Eliza, I promise everyone in my life is very well aware of how good of a cook you are. I rant and rave about you every chance I get, and how well-fed I was in my youth is one of the first of many happy facts I divulge." There's a hint of a happy laugh, there, hesitating only a moment before she covers the mouthpiece, shifting a little closer to humming lips, Cat's eyes now firmly set on her own phone, "I promised you that you would never have to go to lunch with your mother, you're welcome to come to lunch with mine. You know. If you want."

"More of a chance of me going to gamenight." Cat doesn't look up.

"Oh, so there's a chance." Maybe the sunglasses on the top of her head are making her bold, but Kara can't help her smile and she sees it—she sees the way Cat's lips barely quirk at the edges in response.

"Kara?"

"Sorry, Eliza, I—" A breath, gentler, voice full of intent: "Sorry. Eliza."

"Oh, ok, she doesn't have to come. Could you stop and pick up some heavy cream on the way? It looks like I'm out—"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Is there anything else from the store, or do you—"

"Nope. Thanks, sweetie—oh, damn it's boiling ov—Tell Cat I said hi. Fly safe. Love you."

The line clicks.

There's a long moment of silence as Kara just stares blankly down at her phone and that seems to be enough of a moment of recognition for the slow voice above her to drawl, apparently no longer looking at a phone and the suddenly-shrinking hero can feel it, this heat spreading from her neck to her cheeks to her tongue

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me, Kara. Those bulged eyes could only mean one of two things. You're having a brain aneurysm or she knows."

Kara winces, shrugging, a little sheepish as she hesitantly skims up eyes to see Cat glaring, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, "Sorry? But, um…Eliza…said hi."

"Of course she did." Cat leans closer and Kara shuffles her phone so that she doesn't reach to shuffle the glasses no longer on her nose and from the look in dark eyes, Cat knows. She always knows. So Kara groans for the thousandth and second time, repeating—

"I'm sorry."

"How, exactly," Fingers smooth down Kara's shirt like the faint wind blowing through the skyscrapers has ruffled it when really, the only time it's been crinkled has been when she'd tugged Cat close to keep someone from jostling into her in the elevator before wiping the button, thoughtless and immediate. "Did you manage to keep a single secret, especially one so large, for over a decade?"

"Rules?" Kara croaks, a hint of heat tinging the whites of her cheeks like a watercolor slowly spreading hues of life in puddles along a white canvas. "I have rules."

"Rules," Cat curls her tongue along the word, shirt smooth but hands not moving and Kara's teeth tuck up her lower lip, fingers curling around wrists with a hint of a spreading smile. "Oh, so you can follow a few of those."

"Please stop enjoying this so much." Teeth try to tamp down on the smile spreading on her face, but there's no hope and soon the smile turns into a laugh in the middle of this wide, busy street, a quick pulse underneath her fingers a lifedrum underneath the footsteps of the civilians making their ways about their day.

"No." Cat smiles, her own nose barely wrinkling, "I refuse."

And this is it. Kara's on her way to lunch with Eliza and Catherine is on her way to lunch with Adam (both of them visiting in Opal for a tour of Cat's old haunts) and Metropolis will be left behind by the both of them, a few hours from now. They agreed to separate flights—separate paths—and Cat will be in the office at 7:05 AM and Kara…Kara might be the first person to greet her, but she won't sit outside of her office, anymore.

They walk a few blocks before Kara stops, gently curving fingers around a bicep, feeling the scratch of wool, breath catching when Cat reaches up to gently curl Kara's scarf tighter around a craning neck.

There's a life-march in this city. The horns and the wind and the cars and the people laughing and talking and hailing cabs. Two streets down a child laughs and five floors up of the corporate building they're cornered against, someone slaps a keyboard down against their desk, but all Kara hears is the way the wind curls blonde hair and all she feels is that heartbeat and all sees is the way Metropolis lights up Catherine's smile in the middle of the day.

"Do you know the first word I ever learned—I mean, other than 'what', because I feel like that doesn't really count—did you know the first word I ever learned in English?" Kara murmurs, not sure why she offers it up, at all, that memory of a little girl running down the streets pressing in a way that makes her chest tighten, because she thinks this weekend should end on this. Like this.

"Food?" Cat quips—an immediate reaction because if there's one thing quicker than either Supergirl or her cousin's speed, it would be Cat Grant's sharp wit. Cat's wit is likely the one thing that could outrun a singularity, nevermind a runaway train or a speeding bullet—and Cat actually pauses, lips barely pursing in a hint of apology. Months ago, Kara would have thought Cat had her own bizarro, right now…she smiles. "What?"

"Close your eyes."

"What?" Cat waves a wrist, always so careful not to look surprised, but even less trusting in the middle of the street and Kara just laughs, "I'll do no such—"

"Come on, Catherine, trust me." Kara presses, tugging Cat closer—gentle and careful—watching the way the shadow of the building they've stopped before cover the soft, barely-wrinkling skin around dark eyes as a smile spreads. It's hesitant and quiet—almost nervous around the edges in a way that only Kara's close enough to see—and the older woman makes a great show of blowing frustrated air out of her nostrils before pointedly closing her eyes. Before trusting her, and the warmth spreads down to the fingers smoothing along elbows. "Thank you."

"If you're setting up some kind of punk'd skit, I'll remind you that I sued Ashton for so much his divorce with Demi looked like—"

"Catherine." Kara laughs, hands smoothing up to her shoulders, turning around a small form and tugging her back into her chest, arms wrapping around a slim waist in the middle of the day. In the middle of the street. Freedom in a city that isn't hers, but used to be Cat's, once upon a time, and she idly wonders if Cat used to look out of the highest windows of the Daily Planet like Kara peaks over the edge of a balcony, breathing in the overwhelming air of it all. "What do you hear?"

"Other than you breathing in my ear?" Kara can't see her anymore, but she practically feels that little smirk just as well as she feels the sun dancing up off of the concrete in front of them, a clear line where they've tucked themselves in the shadows of the skyscraper above. And all Kara has to do is wait, chin falling down to a slender shoulder, palms smoothing over her lover's abdomen as she feels breathing settle, because Cat Grant might have the sharpest of wits, but she's nothing if not dedicated to any task she puts her mind to.

Their bodies slot together, natural and warm, and when fingers brush underneath the line of a coat to feel breath swell a stomach, Cat's body relaxes and sags into her arms. A pulse evens—breath barely tickles against parting lips—and Kara knows that she's listening, so she waits, and it doesn't take long.

"I…hear noise." Cat repeats and Kara closes her eyes, listening with her, the vibration of a hum brushing along an ear. "The city."

"What's that mean? I mean, what do you…hear?" It's a gentle press, wrapping her arms tighter around Cat's waist so that she has something to anchor against and any lingering stress fades in an arching spine, the cool of the city settling in the shadows.

"I…I hear…" A slow breath, Cat's chin tipping a little further upwards like she's trying to catch the vibrations of the city along her chin, shoulders barely rolling into Kara as she does. "I hear the…cars. The loudest, most obnoxious things usually are first, aren't they? Horns—God, I forgot how impatient Metropolites are. Hmm," A hint of a smiling laugh, "There's a car moving in front of us and I…just heard its brakes squeak. They should likely get that checked out before they cause some accident, or another. Idiots, I mean, honestly, how hard is routine maintenance on a vehicle—"

"Catherine," Kara squints one eye open, a gentle, re-directing noise, trying to keep that sharp mind on track, "What else?"

"Oh, fine, fine. What do I hear? I hear cars further away—down the street, in the…distance. It would be difficult to say where they are. More and more cars are going past us—the sound of them…accelerating and…wooshing about, like how the air sounds when you're flying. When you take me flying. An overzealous motorcycle. I hear…" Cat's hands slowly raise up to Kara's wrists, almost thoughtlessly smoothing down the ridges of her knuckles, buried underneath fabric of a coat.

An encouraging hum against that ear, thumb smoothing along a stomach.

"I…hear the people walking in front of us. It's almost like some kind of staccato…" A hand must wave in front of them, the faintest hint of wind brushing along knuckles before it's once more replaced with warmth. "Syncopated symphony. It's almost impossible to differentiate who's coming or going. Far in the distance I guess I hear a…person. I think they're yelling for about a hotdog—"

"The best in the city." Kara supplies, nose turning into a cheek with a hint of a spreading smile that Cat might feel, from the way her breath skips a beat along with her heart.

"Oh, so I hear someone yelling lies, then. He's lucky no one's sued for slander." Another chuckling hum, fingers idly working down to Kara's fingertips, "Underneath the constant hum and the cars and that yelling, I hear…chatter. People. For the life of me I wouldn't possibly—I couldn't possibly hear what they're saying, but it's like a rolling tide underneath it all. Like listening to the ocean against the sand—a constant, changing roaring. Though it's gentle, I suppose…" Cat's finger dips underneath Kara's and their fingers twine, "How odd? I never would have thought the noise of this city was…gentle, but here we are. I hear a bell—a bicycle and a cyclist about their day, delivering my competitor's papers, no doubt—and…hmm."

Someone laughs down the street and Kara feels the noise rise through Catherine's spine like the swell of a symphony.

"It sounds loud and obnoxious at first, but I suppose when you really listen to it, you're trying to teach me some life lesson about there always being more underneath the noise, aren't you?" Her voice is quiet—gentle—and Kara just chuckles.

"I'm not trying to teach you a life lesson, Cat. That's your job, I know better than to compete."

"One would think." It's a wistful breath—a hint of humor underlining something so serious as the wind blows through their hair—and Cat leans back up into her, nose brushing along a cheek, and Kara's breath catches when her eyes open to see the pair so close to her still closed. Still listening. "But life lessons are abundant and, regardless of how infinitesimally present they might be on occasion, they are present through all stages of life, nevertheless, Kara."

It's as close, Kara thinks, to Catherine admitting that Kara's taught her something, too. So Kara takes the gift for what it is, brushing lips over the high rise of a cheek, bold in this stolen city of weekends and happy moments.

"What else do you hear?"

"I…do hear you breathing. And I just heard the faint tremor of your voice—the wind brush through…something. Heaven knows what. Your hair, maybe? I'll admit that I am not," Cat's voice is gentle—quiet, "Used to stopping and taking stock of sounds. Sights—facts—people, on occasion, not sound. What do you hear?"

"All of that and more." Kara smiles, "For miles and miles."

"Well, that sounds…overwhelming."

"It used to be." It's a concession, not letting go of her hold—not letting go of the way Catherine rests so comfortably against her in these cool shadows on cooler pavement, the light of the city only a few steps away. "When I was a little girl, I heard all of that and more and it all blurred together, so I learned how to…focus. I learned what all of those sounds really mean."

"And what?" Cat's eyelashes flutter, now, and she looks almost surprised to be so close to Kara as the horns fade around them and the cars muddle on in neverending wooshing and the yelling and laughter and chatter all fade into the faintest of thumps when Kara raises one of their twined hands up to a Kryptonian heart, "Is that?"

"Life."

"Life?" Cat repeats, tongue darting out over her lips, leaning up into her, "I used to love the sound of the city. It always felt so busy—so endless. Like I could fade away into the cracks of the street, or the gray of the asphalt and let the noise of it all drum against my back like a heartbeat. It was my warsong. I never bothered listening to the individuality of it."

"Well…" Kara laughs a little, "Maybe that's your life lesson?"

"That there's ten million lives here all trying to get ahead?" Cat presses and Kara's laughter eases into something loving, rumbling against a chin.

"That you weren't wrong. That underneath this city, you can heart the heartbeat of it, just like underneath all of it—all of this noise—I can hear yours. Your heartbeat. Maybe you can't actually hear my heartbeat—maybe you can't hear anyone's—but you can feel it, can't you?" She can't help her happy hum of a noise, listening to the overwhelming ruckus of it and falling in love all over again, "There's life here, Catherine. That was my first word."

"Life." Catherine repeats, turning back around in her arms and watching the city like she's seeing it for the first time for a few moments before eyes once more meet Kara's, finger tapping lightly over Kara's heart, matching the rhythm better than any noise on the street ever could. "Imagine that."

Blue darts down to parted lips, feeling the warmth of breath curl up against her cheeks like the steam curling from grates a few feet away before their eyes meet, again. And Cat leans up—leans so close that Kara can taste her—and their eyelashes flutter and the world fades, and—

And, for once, it's not the Barenaked Ladies that interrupts the moment.

It's a generic ringtone muffled underneath the leather fabric of a clutch and Cat immediately tugs it out to showcase Adam's name, lighting up the screen with a life of its own, a hint of apology on softened features. But there's no groan or remorse when Adam is willingly calling his mother, at all, and her arms wrap tighter around a middle, squeezing in encouragement.

"Kara…" Cat breathes, holding up the phone and the nameless tune in a waving gesture— Cat won't pick a ringtone for her son until she knows him well enough to do him justice, no matter how many suggestions Kara gives her because if there's one thing she's darn good at, it's picking people's theme songs—and the younger of the two immediately raises her hands in understanding, smile not wavering as she untangles. "I—"

And, wow, Kara could get lost in a look like that far easier than she ever could have been lost in the city. It leaves her breathless and weak and her tongue feels like cotton.

"Ah-ah…No declarations, Ms. Grant." She teases, but her voice rasps at just how close that might actually be when there isn't an immediate rebuttal, swallowing down the dry sandpaper of her throat when Cat looks stricken for only a moment before her eyes soften.

"Oh, stop enjoying this."

"No." Kara smirks past the fire in her chest. "I refuse."

"Cheeky."

"Well, I think I might have to be to keep up with—" She leans down and brushes lips over a cheek, a small noise leaving the pit of her stomach when Cat tips upwards to steal any breath she might have hoped to have, kiss consuming and open and knowing. When they break apart, Kara's knees feel a little weak and her eyes are a little unfocused and she learns her own little life lesson about trying to beat Cat Grant at her own game, "…you?"

"Keep trying." Cat just smirks, pecking her lips again before she lifts her phone back up to her ear, undoubtedly calling Adam back.

"Gladly." Kara breathes, a lopsided smile tucking up her lips before she shakes her way out of it, leaning forward to brush lips over a forehead before she pulls away completely. "Tell, um…tell Adam I say hi?"

Cat nods and, amazingly, leans back into the building Kara had just left—into the cool of the shadow without a second thought of germs or the city—and Kara slowly walks backwards, hands pushing into her pockets, not wanting to lose sight of her for a second. Because Catherine's smile is small and…happy, and it doesn't matter if she's in the shade, the sun bouncing off the concrete might light up her features in soft hues of red as the city fades to one singular heartbeat, both of their hands raising in sync in gesture of goodbye.

Cat doesn't break her gaze until Kara moves into the alley, the sound of her greeting Adam with a happy hum and an apology for missing his call playing first chair to the symphony of the city and when Kara changes and bursts into the sky, sunglasses tucked safely against her chest, the drum of a heartbeat fades and the horns fade and the laughter fades and Catherine talking to Adam fades into the sound of wind rushing by her ears like a waterfall, ultimately landing in front of a familiar, warm home with a smile and heavy feet.

Feet that have to feel heavy because she wants to float through the front door, but the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks is familiar and almost metaphoric, given someone said that very thing to her a few minutes ago, but that seems utterly irrelevant when the front door opens with a wide, happy smile there to always greet her.

"Eliza! I'm so happy to see you, I'm so sorry I missed last week and—"

Kara tugs Eliza into her chest with a beam and tries to ignore the fact that her foster mother looks so knowing when she quietly pulls back when a young nose scrunches underneath a sigh.

"Oh shoot—"

"And you forgot the heavy cream." Eliza pats her cheek, smile understanding as she wrings her hands in a towel and Kara beams because she's missed her. "Don't fly too fast."

"Yes, ma'am!"

The afternoon air cracks underneath the weight of Kara trying to go not too fast and failing miserably, twirling about the afternoon air and setting sun.

"Reporter."

Kara says for the second time this week, stance as tall as she can make it in her hall's familiar warmth, light spilling in from a balcony as Cat just stares at her, their official meeting. But just because Cat knows doesn't mean Kara doesn't need to sell it, pacing before she realizes she's pacing. Each step is perpetuated by a word as she launches into a rant—building her case because she assumes Cat needs a case in order to even consider it, despite knowing it—before sucking in a sharp breath and slowly releasing it through her teeth, shoulders straightening a moment later as she smiles down at her boss to see…

An amused, knowing smile that gives Kara pause because she expected some kind of professional rebuttal.

Without another word, Cat just slowly tugs out her resume and slides it across the table, familiar, unforgiving handwriting covering the black lettering of it.

Because there it is, clear as day, decided and right as Cat Grant always is, almost three years ago.

Kara Danvers: REPORTER.

She says something she'll never remember as she sags in a familiar chair, eyes slowly looking up at Cat's smiling, smug eyes as the CEO adjusts silver frames.

Kara only ever adjusts her glasses in nervousness—she's unfortunately aware of her own tick—but Cat Grant? She adjusts them in victory.

"All this time—" A few moments of silence passes before Kara sputters: "You couldn't have just told me?!"

"And miss you tripping over your feet, going through an existential crisis of agony, and actually having to make an adult decision for yourself? Where's the fun in that?" Cat's lips tuck up in the faintest smirk and Kara tries to be indignant and righteous and furious—she does—and manages for all of two seconds before she laughs so hard everyone in the office slowly perks up in their chairs in the pen, nervously eyeing Kara Danvers' shaking shoulders.

They're probably worried Cat finally cracked her (Kara knows for a fact that there's a pool on just when that would happen, Karen has $20 on never and Milo has $50 on her three year anniversary) and Kara laughs so hard that she's pretty sure Cat finally has.

Consider her cracked.

She wipes an arm underneath her eyes to trail water with it, tipping back and righting her shoulders, smile not falling even as she takes in Cat's raised eyebrows and spreading smile.

"When do I start?"

"You already have. So…shoo." The wave of a hand is half-hearted, at best. "Get out of my office."

"Yes, Ms. Grant." A sigh of another spatter of laughter, making it to the doorway before a hum catches her attention, turning around at the familiar doorway with spreading fingers.

"And Kara?" Cat smiles—something genuine and dangerously proud that makes Kara's shoulders spread a little wider underneath the unassuming fabric of a white button-up—and tosses her a fountain pen that Kara catches without a second thought. "Knock 'em dead."

Kara beams, thumb running along the line of the pen that she tucks in her pocket with no small amount of reverence.

"Yes, Ms. Grant."

An hour later, any sense of accomplishment she might have had has flood from her shoulders, replaced with barely-contained fury. She stops by Cat's desk for only a few moments to drop by a lunch she'd gotten two of out of habit, hissing underneath her breath:

"How the hell did you keep from throwing Perry White out of a window?"

Because all she wants is a chair.

Cat just hums and grabs the coffee before the food, not looking up from her article as smiles, something devilish and a hint villainous that gives Kara pause:

"Who says I didn't?" She must notice the look on Kara's face out of the corner of her eye because Cat rolls her eyes and continues, "Women always have to be twice as good, Kara. Snapper is good at his job, so give him a reason to recognize you, just like you gave me. Stop coming in here like a kicked puppy and go be brilliant."

Kara looks thoughtful for a long moment, eyes flicking over to the couch before settling on Catherine's focused features, not looking up from her desk for a moment.

"Can I use one of your chairs?"

"You had more of a chance of me going to lunch with Eliza."

"Oh, so there's still a chance." Kara recalls, smiling around the rim of pumpkin spice, inhaling it into full lungs for as long as the limited-coffee will last. "Apparently a chance in, you know…not a good chance. But a chance."

"I gave you an office. With a chair."

"Which I am absolutely, totally, completely grateful for. Ecstatic about. But is it…" She leans a little forward, almost conspiratorially, teeth tucking her lower lip like a secret, "Is it…is it bad for me to want Snapper to give me one, too? Well, not and office, but I just…I want that chair."

"No." The hum is punctuated by the plastic of a to-go lunch container popping open, cue for a chair to scrape against wood as Kara slides in front of her, nervous and waiting, "That, Kara…" There's that glint in Cat's eyes, proud and dangerous and consuming and Kara wets her lips, "That's called drive."

Another word for recognition of the ordinary, not-special Kara Danvers. Drive.

"Drive." Kara tastes it around a bite of her own lettuce wrap, leaning back in a chair, content to tug up an article she's editing without a single ounce of encouragement from Snapper while Cat's pen scratches along the pages.

"You'll get your chair." Cat says with so much factual sincerity—like how she'd known Kara would be Supergirl; like how she'd known Kara would be a journalist; like how she'd known Kara would fall hopelessly, endlessly in love with her—and it's so easy, when Catherine says it like that, for Kara to believe her.

It's so easy, sitting across from her in this chair, watching Cat idly munch on a lettuce wrap with the morning light brushing along a fashionable pantsuit and soft, content eyes, for Kara to believe in herself.

She's not getting her chair for Catherine anymore, Kara realizes, smiling as she takes a second bite.

She's getting it for herself.

The rest of the week is torn between avoiding Alex and avoiding professional death via Snapper.

Tuesday.

"Kara—"

"I'm not telling you."

"Come on, you—"

"I'm not telling you!" Kara pushes through the large double doors, cape billowing behind her. "I was…I was asked not to tell anyone and out of respect of our relationship, I'm telling…not everyone. Which is you. Okay, I know that sounded bad, but the point is that I'm not telling you. Not because I don't want to, Alex, but because...I'm respecting their wishes."

"Okay, that hurts. No, you don't get to look at me like that, it does, and what are you, a dirty little secr—"

"No!" She whirls around, hands coming up to tense shoulders. "No, no, no it isn't like that. I promise it isn't like that. I'm just—this is…" A breath. "It's temporary?"

"What?" Alex laughs—practically guffaws—and when Kara doesn't laugh, too, that beautifully stern, protective face falls into something dangerous and serious. "Oh, no-no. No. You do not do—"

"I didn't say it wasn't serious, I said it was…it's…it's temporary," Kara hisses, eyes flitting about as she leans close because she really doesn't need J'onn to overhear this one, "Temporary. Not…not. Double-negative kind of not. Not not serious. It's serious and tempor—"

"Oh my God." Alex just blinks and somehow that's worse. "Kara, you couldn't get through the day when you found out JT and Britney broke up, why would you think—"

"Because I am an adult. Making her own decisions. And I am—I'm not having this conversation—"

She's done a lot of growing, this week, so she think she's entitled to a few sure-fire tactics that she knows will work against her sister.

"Right! The adult who is covering her ears so that she doesn't have to—"

"I can't hear you!" Kara lies.

"Yes you can, you have super-hear—"

Louder: "I can't hear you!"

"Kara Zor-El Danvers, you better lower your stupid big hands off your ears right now and—what are you doing? Don't you—Kara! If you run out of this build—Kara!"

"I'm not running!" Kara taunts, back-pedalling, grabbing Mon-El by the arm when he rounds the corner so that he can be her Daxamite shield, ducking behind him. Hoping her sister won't hit a patient. He continues happily munching on a bag of chips, wordlessly offering one over his shoulder to her. She pops up only to take it because, really, she wouldn't want to be rude. Through the definitive crackle of a chip: "I'm flying!"

"Oh, is this like…an Earth thing or—okay, Kara, Alex is looking a little scary with the whole…what's that word? Stalking? Towards me? Want some chips, Alex? They're…" He turns the bag around before offering it forward with a shrug of a smile, "Original flavor." Through a mouthful of his own: "Whatever that means, they're great."

"Alex won't hurt you, Mon-El."

"Oh, I'm gonna hurt him."

"What? Why are you hurting me?" He flops backwards into Kara, chips scattering onto the floor, something both aliens look a little sad about.

"Because I don't want your stupid chips, Mon-El, and you're harboring a fugitive who is illegal on the grounds of lying to her sis—"

"Probably. She probably won't hurt you." Kara amends, a hint of guilt swelling her chest for using her fellow alien as a shield. It's a very un-Kryptonian thing to do, after all. So she pulls him behind her, instead, as her sister does the stalking thing, as Mon-El so eloquently put it. She thinks better of it when Alex raises a finger that could wag Rao into submission. "Gotta go! Fire!"

"Kara!"

"Fire!"

Kara has no idea if there's a fire. If there isn't, she'll just set one herself. In her apartment.

With baking.

Lots and lots of baking.

She flies off of the balcony to the sound of Alex's frustrated growl underlined by Mon-El's happy chewing, picking up a few of the chips and popping them into his mouth.

Wednesday.

"Danvers!" Snapper bellows and Kara groans—bangs her head on Eve's desk because the graceful assistant had let her borrow it for just a moment for her to have something to lean against because her pen kept poking through the edges of the page on her knees (and with Winn no longer working here, she can't use someone's back). "This is crap or do you just think that's the natural smell in the air since you came from the backwaters of—"

Kara doesn't really hear the rest of it because she's too busy ostriching herself into a desk, pounding her forehead against it. This is the only desk in CatCo that's been fortified with enough steel for her head not to make a dent, so she takes advantage. From the look on Snapper's face, he doesn't really care, either. But she can feel Cat's eyes on her—can feel all of their eyes on her—and she tightens her shoulders, standing with an intentionally easy smile honed underneath the fires of a roar sparking Kiera every five minutes years ago.

Curling fingers snap the article from his hands, beaming because it won't bother her. It won't.

She won't let it, damn it.

And…okay, maybe she knows the smile bugs him worse than anything she could ever say. It's a small, happy, petty victory and she's not above stooping to it.

"I'll show you crap." Kara pauses—shuffles her glasses, "Because you will…objectively be able to say that this is not crap when I am done with this. And everything else will be crap compared to this, which you will look at and understand that that is not—" She huffs and Snapper doesn't move an inch, just slowly raising his mug up to his lips. The sound of frustration that leaves her lips might dampen the smile, a little, "I'll show you not crap!"

It's a vow, stamping past him back over to her corner where she can work up against a wall out of Cat's sight and Snapper's.

Because, one day, she'll have a chair.

Thursday.

"I'm happy, Alex—"

"With someone who doesn't even want to acknowledge your relation—"

"That's not what I said and happy."

"Kar—"

"Happy!"

Kara hangs up the phone and five minutes later Catherine is telling her she won't press Snapper for her—telling her to be brilliant—and for all of the next five minutes Kara forgets because Cat doesn't look like she's pulling back from the company, at all. Cat looks as much the CEO as she always has, and it shows, because neither one of them know how to pull back.

Kara only remembers after she asks Cat if she's dying and tugs a pillow up to her chest and Catherine does her impassioned speech thing and shoulders tighten throughout...but when she whirls back around, Kara's shoulders are straightened with the last name Danvers, not Zor-El.

"You want that chair, Kara." Cat reminds, calling after her, and Kara flicks the edge of the article she'd brought in with her, determined.

"I want that chair."

It's something she repeats to herself when she's covered in alien goop an hour later, Alex smirking as she wipes a handful of it out of her sister's eyes and onto the floor.

She hums a song to herself and forgets where it's from underneath the sunlamp as Alex pauses, brows knitting—

"What is that?"

"Huh?" Kara shakes her head, pulling a brush through locks that are fortunately alien-goop free after a quick super-speed shower. She hadn't realized she was singing and it takes her a few seconds to repeat—

"A chair is still a chair…even when no one's sitting there—"

Alex hums along, brows knitting, like she still can't place it—

"A chair is not a house and a house is not a home—"

"When there's no one to hold you tight—and there's no one to kiss you goodnight." Alex snaps her fingers, "Oh, that's right. I know that one."

The song settles on her chest like all of Fort Rozz had pressed against her biceps-like the atmosphere burns in her lungs.

She wants that chair.

"What?"

Kara pauses, blinking at her reflection. "Nothing."

A chair is not a house and a house is not a home-

"Is that the you're finally telling me face?" Alex says after Kara spends five minutes blinking at herself.

"No!"

Friday.

"Ms. Grant!" Kara tries, pleading and hopeful and begging in a way that she knows she'll hear for a very, very long time.

"Oh, no-no, you're not using me as your excuse, perky." Cat raises both hands as she strides past the pair, sunglasses in place despite being in the office.

"Yeah, perky," Alex agrees, cornering her sister against her desk in a way that makes Kara's glasses jumble as she hops backwards against it, trying not to nervously stutter.

"Wh—hey! Don't—stop giving me your federal agent glower thing."

"I will when you tell me what's—"

Kara slides underneath her sister's arm and hops—skips, maybe—sliding after her ex-boss and lover with a hopeful yelp.

"But, Ms. Grant, we had that meeti—"

"Nope." Cat doesn't look up from her power-stride, Eve scrambling next to her.

"Nope what?" Eve breathes—she looks like she's been trying to breathe for miles and Kara wonders where they've been power-striding from (idly hopes that Cat didn't make Eve run suicides up and down the stairs, again, to exercise her physical fitness for duty)—offering up a latte to the media-goddess.

"Nope that Cat isn't going to save your ass, this time, Kara." Alex supplies, only a step behind them.

"I don't save asses. I don't hold fake meetings. I don't placate assistants who cannot keep up with me, Miss Teschmacher—"

"Sorry, Ms. Grant," Eve wheezes and Kara pauses to pat her friend on the back, plucking up a water bottle from a nearby desk (unopened—it's not stealing if she puts another one right back there) and handing it to her. The grateful look is enough to make the small misdemeanor worth it.

"Stop helping her, Kara." Cat snaps.

"Sorry, Ms. Grant."

"Wait, why am I following all of you?" Alex finally asks, tugging on Kara's wrist, junior reporter groaning.

"Because Kara was hoping you wouldn't notice, obviously, grow up, ladies!" Cat snaps over her shoulder, not stopping as she makes her way into her office and Alex tugs a still-groaning super-sister into the nearby empty conference room, a sea of glass between Kara and her only hope.

Her only hope does not look intent upon helping, let alone offering support, getting to work in the office next to them.

"Yeah, grow up, Kara." Alex punches her shoulder—light enough to not hurt her own hand, years of experience—lightness paving way to seriousness, "Am I seriously going to have to food coma this out of you? Why don't you want to tell me?"

"It's not that I don't want to tell you, Alex, I do." Kara sighs, brows knitting and a crease running between them, reaching up to catch her sister's hand. "But there's…okay, I'm not going to lie."

"You better not." Alex squeezes her hand, though, "I don't…I guess I just…don't get why you haven't told me. I mean…we're not—" Alex shuffles, pulling away and crossing arms over her chest, "We're okay, right?"

"What?" Kara blinks, guilt welling, immediately tugging her sister closer. "The only reason I haven't—there's just…there's nothing to tell. Not really. Not…not yet. I mean, there's a lot to tell, but nothing to tell, yet." Kara repeats—rephrases—reaches up to curl fingers around biceps. "No, the truth, Alex…" Kara's hands fall down to her sides, eyes flicking up to the impassive face of her boss across the way, leaning against her desk in her office, trying to look like she's not listening. "The truth was that it was one of the best weekends of my life, Alex. If not the singular best, including that time last year when I saved that Twinkie truck from a fire and they gave me all of them because they were worried the heat would make that expiration date slightly questionable."

It's as much of a joke as it isn't and she can see Cat duck her chin out of the corner of her eye, hand raising below her nose to hide a hint of a smile before the CEO clears her throat.

"You couldn't walk for like a week and that," Alex waves a hand, stepping closer, stepping closer when that same hand falls down to her hip, shoulders rolling forward. Kara doesn't think it would help to point out that she's pretty sure if she didn't have her powers she wouldn't have been able to walk this week, either. But Alex's gross-face wouldn't be worth the massive blush her own factual bravado might cause and the quips Cat would make for a week. "You're seriously trying to tell me that it was just—"

"A weekend, Alex." Kara presses, once more shooting Cat a pleading look over her sister's shoulder.

Cat, who just makes a show of plucking up the pen from Eve's hands, the blonde's stuttered protests echoing down the hall, free hand slowly raising up in a stopping motion between them, stemming any of her current assistant's protests.

"And you're trying to say that your heart wasn't in it? You. My sister. That you don't want more—"

"That's not what I said, Alex. My heart was in it. All of my heart was in it. All I said was that…it was a weekend. And the weekend is over, and that I'm happy and that…" A breath, turning from the windows and the look in Cat's eyes to focus on her wonderful, overprotective, unknowing sister. "And that I promised them that I wouldn't say anything. To anyone. Even you, Alex. It's—it was a weekend. A wonderful, beautiful weekend that I needed, and now…it's not the weekend. And I'm still happy. And I'm okay. And I'm not telling you anything about it, not until they—"

The sound of a pen landing in front of the door causes two sets of trained ears to perk, looking towards it, both of them reflexively leaning into each other from years of explosives and bullets and alien goop heading their way.

Kara's smile spreads into a relieved beam.

"I can't believe she's bailing you out." Alex grouses, frowning, twisting around towards the open office of glass that Cat's returned to, looking utterly bored as the small stature sucks up all of the air in the entire building into her lungs and—

"Kara!"

"God, I love her." Kara mumbles, unknowing of the rushed, breathless thing that tumbles out of her lips, immediately stumbling out of the office, snatching up the pen with a victorious, lopsided smile.

"She won't save you next time!" Alex calls after her and Kara begs to differ when she skids into Cat's office, passing Eve chugging water at her desk, Cat's amused eyebrows raising up into her hairline.

"I believe you threw Eve's…pen?" She holds it up between them, beaming, "Ms. Grant?" Making sure her back is to the glass as she mouths a wide thank you because it's worth the relentless teasing—she can see the words practically curling on Cat's lips—biting her lip when fingers skim along her own to take it back.

"Yes, I suppose I just felt this overwhelming urge to throw something in your general direction like a harpoon..." Cat hums, eyes flicking towards Alex even though Kara's don't stray, fingers tenting in front of her hips, between them. "Or a lifeline."

"Have I ever told you that you are absolutely, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I've ever met?" Kara whispers, beaming, and Cat just smirks, walking around towards her desk.

"Multiple times," But the way that smirk spreads means it's always wanted, Kara knows, "Each truer than the last. But we're both aware of the fact that I'm a fine wine, success, class, and beauty increasing each delicate year that ticks by. But there's no point to ooh'ing and awe'ing over a fine wine, Kara, it does take taste to appreciate it. A slow tongue. Curling lips. Red staining teeth-parting lips, even, as the wine puddles—"

Kara sucks in a shaky breath through her teeth, hands curling tighter in her lap.

"You're doing this because my sister is staring at me through the window, aren't you?" It's a shaky realization, hopeless and pleading in her eyes, and Cat's smirk shows absolutely no remorse. "None of that makes sense for wine, you're just saying words to-"

"Oh, don't be demure. I could make it far more graphic, if you'd lik—"

"No!" Kara resists the very childish urge to plug her ears with her hands, clearing her throat and tugging out her blouse by her suddenly tight chest, fanning herself a little before shuffling her glasses, remembering they're in the office and—"No, Ms. Grant, I appreciate the offer but why don't I—Eve looked indisposed, so I think I'll…jump off your balcony and go get you a lettuce wrap. Jumping off the balcony sounds great."

"Oh, very mature. Jump off the balcony away from your problems." Cat looks down, sliding glasses onto her nose, "Not your job. Go be useful elsewhere, Kara."

"I—"

"And tell her to stop staring at us. I feel interrogated, and if I feel interrogated, I get wrinkles." Kara turns towards her sister, whose eyes are slit, one foot tapping as she scowls and she's never missed or loved her more. A beat, Catherine sighing, "She loves you."

"Yeah. She's the best." Kara thoughtlessly—emphatically—agrees, smiling towards her sister's unwavering scowl, blinking back a hint of moisture.

"You surround yourself with the best." It's a thoughtful hum and Kara hears Cat lean back into her chair—probably running both fingers along the tips of edges of that very pen she'd stolen.

"Well, someone told me once, that in order to rise above others, I didn't need to push them down. Rise up above naturally." Kara turns back towards familiar eyes, smiling, "If I surround myself with the best, they're my pillars to rising above, I think. El Meyarah."

"My, my, something that's not a quote."

"Nope." Kara turns back towards her sister and nods towards the door, not running, "That one's all me." A moment, turning back around, "I won't tell her but…you want to get lunch? Just…just the three of us?"

"Kara, I—" Catherine sighs—tenses—and there's that pen, stressed in its taut perch by two very white thumbs.

"You can say no, Catherine. It was just…" A sigh—a smile, "Just an offer."

And Cat looks like she might take it, for a moment, before she shakes her head, setting the pen down on the desk between them.

Kara hears Alex's footsteps settle at the doorway and there's a certain strength to that—there's always a certain strength to that, knowing her sister is at her back, no matter the distance.

"You sure? I won't even mention Chipotle, Cat, cross my heart."

"If you did, the second half of that sentence wouldn't be hope to die, Kara." But there's that smirk, lighter than it was before, both of them sharing a look she can't help— "But…pick me up a lettuce wrap, would you? Eve looks like she's about to pass out."—those eyes are back down on the desk, always working, always ready, Kara sucking breath in her chest and turning on her heel, patting Eve's hand as she makes it out to the office.

Eve squeezes her fingers, head taking the brief respite of Kara standing in front of her line of sight for her head to pound on the desk.

"You okay there, Eve?" Alex's brows knit and the assistant just nods from the desk, the somewhat-doctor's eyes remaining concerned.

"We'll bring you back some food." Kara pats her head, endlessly sympathetic, Eve grumbling into the wood:

"Could you bring me back your washboard abs and the freakishly superhuman ability to physically keep up with Cat Grant, instead?"

"The best I can do is a hamburger, Eve."

"Okay." Eve pops her chin up and smiles, a hint of levity tucking up her eyes, "Thank you, Kara. Good egg. Oh, and uh—oh, the sister?"

"The sister." Alex waves her hands out in gesture, smiling, "Alex."

"Alex!" Eve snaps her fingers in recognition, "Sorry, Kara must've said your name thousands of times and I just—Oh, I've heard wonderful stories about you."

"She's the best." Kara offers, nudging her sister's shoulder, both of them sharing a small hint of a smile as Alex shakes Eve's hand, shoulders easing a little and Kara is so glad to hear that heartbeat.

"Nice to meet you. Normally she just tells people the horror stories."

"Oh, I told her those too. Hey, Eve, did I ever tell you about the time Alex filled up our dad's car with—"

"Aaaand we're going." Alex shoves her shoulder and Kara laughs and prods her side before Alex forcefully takes her arm, dragging her towards the elevator's. She catches sight of Catherine out of the corner of her eye, those glasses slid low on the bridge of her nose, a hint of the smallest smile brushing up the edges of her lips, amused and…soft.

The light catches her hair and her chin tips back and Kara smiles back before turning down towards her sister, smiling down at her familiar frown.

"Come on," Kara offers, tugging her closer, arm wrapping around her shoulders, "Let's get lunch. My treat—"

And she hears it, across the office once they get to the elevators—

"Well, Eve, Metropolis didn't wear Cat down. Nothing will, so game face, Teschmacher. You get in there and you—"

"Ms. Teschmacher!"

Scrambling that makes Kara smile as she presses the floor, missing the curious look on Alex's features, like maybe she'd heard it, too, before ushering her sister inside.

"Coming!"

"So…just a weekend, huh?" Alex finally says when the doors close, surprisingly just them in the middle of lunch on a Friday, the world hustling and bustling in news around them. The elevator rattles and Kara's struck by the phantom memory of last week, of standing here with Winn, and when she lets out a breath, it rattles just like the elevator does. The elevator keeps moving, but her breath slowly dies out, and Kara swallows, smile easing from bright to understanding—to resigned—to something that quakes on the edges of her teeth, hiding them from sight.

"Yeah. Just…" Another breath, ignoring the burn of her sister's eyes on her jaw, curious and quiet and protective and Kara swallows—nods—and straightens her shoulders, because she knows. Kara knows what she looks like, right now and she's glad that the metal obscures the sad tuck of a smile on her lips like a sea of mercury, blurred and distorted. "Just a weekend, Alex."

The elevator opens to a bright lobby and Kara tugs her sister closer, wrapping fingers around an arm, and if it's closer than it needs to be, Alex doesn't comment as they make their way onto National City's familiar, well-worn streets.

The sounds of it settle on Kara's shoulders like a blanket wrapped around an infant before it hurtled into the unknown.

"Just a weekend."

Kara hums that same song all the way down-

A house is not a home, and a home is not a house-

Alex doesn't ask any more questions and Kara's too glad to wonder why.

Saturday.

They're through their lesson when it happens, Kara hanging up the phone as some inconsequential noise outside rattles through the windows. Catherine's apartment is practically sound-proof, but the car backfiring (Kara slides down her glasses to double-check) tightens all of Carter's spine into an irreversible coil.

His breath quickens. His fingers tighten. His pupils dilate and he—

This isn't the first time Kara's seen this, over the course of a year, and she finally scoots closer on the couch, breath catching painfully against her chesk.

"Hey, Carter." Kara gently prods, leaning forward, hands hovering over his wrists until he blinks—focuses—turns to look up into familiar eyes. "Do you want to learn a trick my sister taught me when I was young?"

"A trick?" Brows barely knit, fingers clenching a little against the denim on his knees and Kara just smiles, hands still hovering.

"Yeah, a trick." A nod. "To help things go quiet for a little while. I know sometimes it's a little hard to...take everything in, sometimes."

"For you, too? My doctor says…" He shrugs shoulders a little, body slackening, trailing off.

"Oh, yeah." Her smile is thoughtlessly encouraging—empathetic—leaning closer but not closing the distance in a way that isn't nearly as thoughtless. "When I was first adopted, my sister figured out that I couldn't really focus. Everything felt like it was too much—so much, all the time—and I would get overwhelmed really easily." Kara gently explains until Carter looks back up, gesturing down towards their hands. "Can I?"

"W—oh." A tongue darting over lips. A quickening pulse. A shallow breath but, at the end of all of it, a nod. "Yeah, sure. It doesn't bug me."

"It's okay if it does." It's a gentle recognition and he shrugs one shoulder, this time, smile hesitant but sincere.

"You don't bug me."

"Okay. So whenever I started freaking out," A beat, rephrasing because she doesn't want him to feel badly about it, "Whenever, um…things started to become too much and I couldn't focus, whenever I was somewhere I didn't want to be and I felt like the space was too small, she showed me something...she would lift my hands up over my eyes…" Kara gently lifts Carter's hands until they're over blinking lashes, listening to his heart quietly spike. "It's okay, take a deep breath. Press them gently down, kind of like a feather landing on your pillow. That okay?"

"Y-Yeah." He lets out a small breath, gentler, heart still fast but shoulders easing. "Yeah."

"So, did you know that if your eyeballs move, that means that you're about to start thinking? Or that you're thinking?"

"Really?" His shoulders ease a little more, a hint of intelligent excitement lacing his tone.

"So keep your eyes closed, with your hands over them—press lightly…"

"Okay."

"Now focus on keeping your eyes on one spot."

"Okay."

Silence stretches between them and she watches the tension melt from his spine, breathing naturally becoming a little more mindful, fingers slackening just the slightest, and Kara smiles when she feels him relax against her hands.

"Now you're in control. You're not thinking, anymore, so you can start fresh—you can focus on what you want to."

"Oh." He laughs a little, hands falling from eyes to showcase a spreading smile, excited and youthful and unburdened, for a few seconds, until he seems to notice himself, shuffling a little in his seat, fingers curling in the sleeve coating a palm, tugging hands away from Kara's grip. "You're right. It's not so bad."

"And eventually, if you practice at it, you can learn to focus on one spot with your eyes open and filter out noises and sounds and…" She shakes her head—shrugs one shoulder, herself. "Anything else. You know, I, um…" A breath of her own, as well, smiling as she quietly admits, "I still get scared sometimes in tight spaces?"

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" His head cocks to the side, other hand brushing along fibers of a sleeve, playing along with the twined web of textile beneath his thumb. "I mean, why do you get scared?"

"I was…" A chin dips, smile spreading to protect Carter from the quiet quiver of it more than anything else, "I was in tight spaces for a really long time when I was a kid. Before I went to live with my foster parents."

"Oh, really?" A hint more of excitement because he's old enough to understand fear but thankfully young enough to be sheltered from it, "If you tell me jail, I'm not gonna believe you, Kara, come on. Like you could ever do anything illegal, you're way too nice."

Kara laughs, "No. Nothing like that. But, um…" When she breathes in, again, it spreads out her shoulders even when fingers shuffle glasses, "I guess it stayed with me for a long time."

"So you're claustrophobic." Carter notes, A little shy, waving between their hands, and Kara idly wonders when a kid learns the word claustrophobic—if he's too old or too young—wonders if he learned it from television or if maybe Cat made a quip, one day, that inquisitive, bright eyes clung to. "And this...helps?"

"Everytime. Eventually you'll learn more about what calms you down, too. And you'll learn how to focus without your hands, too. But sometimes, when it's really bad and there's no one else around, I still do it."

"Thanks, Kara." Carter's murmur is young and vulnerable and Kara reaches over to curl fingers over a shoulder, gently squeezing, a boyish shoulder leaning into her in familiarity.

"Don't thank me, thank Alex." She winks, "She's sort of like your honorary big sister, too."

Carter laughs but smiles before he hops over to the couch, dragging her over to plop down next to him, shoving a controller in her hands and Kara beams.

"Oh, it's on."

Three hours later, Cat comes through the door with bags and sunglasses, phone glued to her ear as she makes her way into the kitchen, clattering from cabinets loud and persistent, the jostle of groceries lost underneath a tone that brokers no argument. Her voice is sharp and knowing—commanding and captivating—and when she rounds the corner she stops at the sight of Carter, his fingers curling in his jeans, controller set to the side as Kara immediately moves behind him.

"I—I, um—" His blink is owlish and his breath is ragged and she hears his heart quicken as he curls a little on himself.

"Shh," Kara gently notes in his ear, eyes watching everything in Cat's demeanor shift—change—soften at the familiar sight of her son's shoulders tightening. The phone is immediately discarded with a curt goodbye, heels clicking as Kara watches the debate over familiar features—rush forward or keep the space between them—and Kara just leans over the couch, hand curling around his shoulder.

"I s-should—" He stutters, jaw clenching—breath sharp.

"Hey, buddy. Just try it."

Amazingly, he does.

His hands slam up to his eyelids and Kara just raises a hand up to Cat in plea when her mouth opens, a sharp noise probably continuing on a tongue—an insult or defensive barb—and miraculously, the older woman's lips part but no sound comes forth, dark eyes searching the plane between them.

A slow breath rolls through Carter's chest—fills his lungs—and Kara straightens, turning in the same direction as the young boy, raising her own hands to her eyes, counting out loud to his breath, making a show of sucking it through her nose. "In—one, two, three, four…" A beat, watching his shoulders from behind the slim sliver of light between her palm, "Out—one, two, three, four, five…." Blowing the breath out from her mouth. "Now open your eyes and focus…"

Her hands fall, staring straight ahead, not having to look over to see Carter doing the same thing.

A slow moment, his heartbeat evening—

"Holy shit, it works!" Carter perks up, Kara reaching over to ruffle his hair, the sound of his laughter lighting up the small space.

"Language!" Cat snaps from the wall, but there's no bite to her tongue, both of them watching as Carter sheepishly shrugs.

"Sorry."

He's obviously not, kicking off of the couch to run up to his room without a word, a flurry of pitter patter as his door slams in excitement down the hall, Kara looking up at her boss with an easy smile, lowering knees and bare feet from the couch.

"What the fuck was that?" Cat asks, but her tone is anything but angry—reserved, quiet, surprised.

"I'm guessing there's no point in saying 'language'?" Kara raises one shoulder, immediately hopping up to retrieve the rest of the groceries from Cat's grasp the moment she spots them. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, I was so focused on Carter, I didn't realize you—"

"Kara." Cat lays a now-free hand on Kara's shoulder—gentler, serious—still staring at that spot on the couch like she just watched Superman give an expose on his not-so-secret identity. "No one's ever gotten him to meditate. The Dalai Lama couldn't get him to sit still for twenty minutes in McLeod Ganj, last year."

There's a long pause.

"...You…you took Carter to meet the Dalai—?" The sharp cut of dark eyes back over to Kara is enough for the younger of the two to raise her hands and promptly shut up, sure that that's a story for another day. A story she wants, because she decidedly does not remember arranging travel for the Grants last year to McLeod Ganj. She's not even sure how people get to McLeod Ganj. "Right, like that's a completely normal thing that happens everyday. Just…meeting the Dalai Lama. Right. Totally. And it—that wasn't meditation. Not...really."

Kara remembers a far-away planet, lessons of tucked knees and focus. Strict eyes and impatient fingers. They had never gotten her to meditate, either, when she was young.

Cat looks skeptical.

"I just got him to focus, is all." Kara shrugs a shoulder in a near mirror of Carter an hour before, sheepish smile spreading, free hand raising to shift glasses on the bridge of a nose despite the crinkle of plastic. She's managed to pile all of Cat's groceries into one hand with little effort, the weight not tipping her shoulder in the least and it's…nice in a way she doesn't think to recognize, anymore. A dangerous, comfortable complacency, because it's a careless thing to not have to worry about anymore, in the pleasant light of a kitchen she's spent more time in, lately, than her own, because that sense of comfortability in her own skin feels lighter than carrying the burden of groceries ever will. "It always helped for me. I figured it would—"

Her breath catches at the familiar scent of perfume, fingers curling tighter into plastic.

"Thank you." Cat leans forward, lips brushing Kara's in gratitude, the blonde blinking, eyes flicking down the hall out of habit before settling on the older woman, a hint of nerves on her tongue.

"You don't have to thank me, Cat." Kara murmurs, nose ducking, a little bashful, but the smile that spreads isn't one she'd even bother trying to hide. "I'd do anything for Carter."

"I know." When Kara looks up, there's something far more serious in Cat's gaze—something endless that makes her chest tight and lips dry—makes her focus on a single point, herself, to keep from vibrating out of her own skin. And that point is decidedly very warm, very familiar lips. "I'm sure you don't still need a map to put those up, do you?" Cat quips, but follows her to the kitchen, regardless, helping unravel bags and put them up, their shoulders brushing as Kara reaches for the highest shelf, a small, shared smile between them.

"I think I can manage."

When all of the cabinets are closed and groceries tucked, Kara's smile only spreads when fingers hook in the loop of her jeans, letting herself be tugged and pulled against familiar hips, arms coming up to anchor Cat against the island. Her eyelashes flutter when such gentle, knowing fingers slowly slip glasses down the bridge of flaring nostrils, a measured breath catching on the edge of parting lips. It's always a mental shift—always brows knitting as she concentrates, for just a moment, as she prepares herself for the quiet influx of sounds. It doesn't assault her like they used to, but it's enough.

Because for a second she sees everything. The building across the street and the steel girders built to withstand the strong gusts of wind that beat against them in a storm. The paint chipping on the third story as a mother tucks hands around a child and lifts them from a bassinet. Closer, the frame of a ceiling—the water pipes creaking from use from a shower upstairs—the shuffle of a book in Carter's room, a comic.

Superman, of course.

Catherine's eyes. The part of her lips. The shine of lipstick so carefully applied. The colors of her smile that only Kara can see as eyelashes flutter, skin warning as she steps closer.

She focuses on the quiet hum from lips as Catherine's fingers gently slide down the crease between brows that's found a momentary home without their shield. She focuses on the way the sunlight paints the gold into blonde hair as it falls down around a chin from the movement of sliding down glasses. She focuses on the beat of that beautiful melody against her lover's chest and feels a slow smile spread across her lips.

All of it lasts only a second, at most, until all Kara sees in the world is Catherine, leaning into warmth as the fingers holding lead skim along a cheek.

"Hi." Kara breathes and before she can think anything of it, leans down to kiss her again, soft and lingering. The sound of glasses being set aside on the island lost amidst the feeling of breath against her smile.

"I didn't say that before, did I." It's a casual, amused afterthought caught between the teeth tempering a smile.

"Well, I'm sure a lot of cultures…" Brows knit further as a laugh breaks between them from Kara's lips, happy tone changing from helpful to teasing, "Probably do not consider 'what the fuck was that' to be a hello, so...nope. You did not do that. The saying hello thing."

"I'm sure you're devastated." It's dry in front of a barely held laugh because Kara can hear it—can see the way the muscles of her cheek flex and her throat barely bobs from the weight of it—and when Cat leans up to brush lips over closed eyes, the breath rattles on an inhale between Kara's teeth.

"You could always say hi, now." Kara offers, pressing closer into her against an overly-extravagant island, hands smoothing up from granite to splay in the small of a back.

"I've already made my entrance and it—" Cat raises a hand up between them in a very firm point.

"As with all of your entrances." Kara helpfully supplies, happy to see lips twitch upwards in a smile before continuing.

"Was flawless." Cat's pointed finger falls down to skim along the dip of fabric along Kara's neck, drumming two fingers on a quick heart as they both share a small laugh.

"Of course."

"Hi." It's soft—gentle—and Catherine leans up to kiss her, again, and Kara wonders if knowing fingers can feel her heart patter like restless raindrops against a window pane when she does. "Can you show me?" She asks after a long moment of the sun settling between them, easy and quiet. Kara doesn't have much time to offer a confused look before it's cut off, "What you showed Carter."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. I just—" So Kara does. She quietly spins Cat around, the other woman following without much thought, body sliding up behind her like she had in the busied streets of Metropolis, pointing to a nearby painting on the wall as she explains what she told Carter.

Before long, Catherine slowly lowers her own palms from her eyes, blinking owlishly towards the light from the window as she does, listening intently.

"—so like I said, it's not really meditating. It's just...focusing." Kara supplies with a shrug of a gesture as Cat nods, a hint of nervousness tucking up lips because this isn't a presentation—it isn't a pitch—and there's a hint of that CEO ear perked up, sure, but there's something that makes her far more nervous than the enterprising mastermind behind the largest media corporation in the world—Cat Grant the mother. Cat Grant the mother always throws her whole being into anything revolving around her son that Kara still gets a little nervous, sometimes, and right now that mother is looking at Kara like all of her livelihood—her real livelihood, not the company or the stocks or the stories—is tied up like knots on her ex-assistant's tongue.

Cat Grant in general, actually, still makes her nervous, sometimes, and Kara has no real measure to know whether or not she's supposed to.

"It's similar to what one of his doctors has been trying to get through to him." A quiet voice finally supplies and Kara nods in response. Sometimes it needs to be said in the right way—the right time-and Kara's sure she just lucked out.

"I'm just happy I could help.

"Of course you are." But it's said with such a quiet fondness from Cat's lips that Kara's nervous smile turns sheepish.

"I…hope I didn't over-step—"

Cat just waves a hand and just like that, the last of Kara's nervousness floods away.

"Why did you learn?"

The question causes a slight pause, Kara leaning back against the nearby cabinets to search dark eyes. It's felt so natural, the course of things, that Kara hasn't had time to realize that Catherine hasn't pushed, at all.

Not about the unspoken subject that, in all facets of Kara's life, tends to remain unspoken.

"I…" She clears her throat and laughs a little at the surprise in her chest, arms crossing as she nods. "Well...supervision, like everyone likes to call it, isn't actually...all that super." A hint of a self-deprecating laugh. "I...see things. I see everything. It was worse before I used to be able to focus. I mean, imagine being able to see your nose 24/7 even with your eyes closed, but imagine that your nose is actually...everything." Bare feet pad closer along the cool tile of a kitchen. "People's bones, if I wanted, which I never did. The worms in the ground I was standing on or...everything beneath it for miles. That, coupled with all of the noises" It's a bit of a strained laugh, Kara's hand rubbing at her bicep like she knows what cold is, anymore. She did, last week. She's starting to recognize it more and more, but she knows what warmth is, these days, too. "It was information overload for thirteen-year-old me. I think that's why I loved the roof so much, before Jeremiah made me my glasses. All I could see for miles and miles, when I looked up, were the stars. It felt like home."

But Kara has said too much, nervously backpedaling as she raises a hand, barely stumbling over the words, but it's a stumble nonetheless.

"Not that...you asked that. I just—"

"Is that what happens every time I take off your glasses?" Cats voice is gentler than it should be and Kara's breath catches when she feels fingers gently tuck up her chin, eyes searching and quiet and serious in a way that makes her swallow down the fluttering birds in her chest.

"Just for a second." Kara admits. "For a second, I see…" A shaking head, useless to describe it with a faint, pittering laugh, "The world."

"So what do you see now?" It's curious and Kara's smile spreads across her cheeks.

"I still see the world." She murmurs, voice quiet—honest—leaning into warm hands, "But all I see is you."

Catherine sucks a sharp breath through her teeth but Kara knows better, now, than she would have six months ago. She knows it in the way Cat's fingers barely—barely—tremble underneath her chin and her shoulders tense underneath the weight of that breath. She knows it in the way her eyes lightly sheen underneath apartment lights, that golden sun hair still curling around a jaw that vibrates with a quiver.

Kara's fingers gently come up to brush along the line of it—to chase an earthquake with her lips as she leans forward and quietly brushes a soft kiss along the ridge of the strongest fault line she's ever seen.

"Kara." Catherine breathes in her ears as her fingers curl in the nape of the shirt whose edges she'd been tracing. "You really should not say every dangerous, ridiculously cheesy thing that comes to mind." The protest is weak, even as a nose nuzzles the edge of an ear, eyelashes fluttering as Kara takes in that same scent of perfume and ink.

"I don't." She argues, arms wrapping around a waist as a body settles against her. "...probably. I don't say at least 98% of what I'm thinking." There it is, the faintest flicker of a smile pressing against her neck. So Kara pushes on, anyways, regardless of that ever imminent danger of being thrown off of one of Cat's many balconies. "I'm an honest person, Ms. Grant. You can't fault me for being honest."

"No." That smile brushes along the underside of Kara's jaw in a gentle kiss that makes her knees a little weak. "I guess not."

"I am…" Kara breathes, hands sliding up to shoulders, holding Catherine close. Admitting in her ear as she watches the sun flicker along the painting she'd pointed at minutes before. "I'm still learning to adjust to our rules and then something like this comes along, this whole...open in your kitchen with Carter down the hall in broad daylight, wonderful, wonderful thing." She explains. "And I've been telling Alex all weekend that it was just a weekend when it wasn't and I'm so...scared," A faint laugh, "To say anything because the last thing I want is you trying to make us more disposable. But you can't blame me for being honest when we're...we're on a very thin or arguably non-existent line, Catherine."

Catherine pulls back and Kara watches the war on her lips between pulling thin or crumbling into something else entirely with baited breath, so she untangles her hand to cup a cheek, leaning a little closer.

"I'm not trying to ask anything of you." Kara quietly notes and gently smooths fingers down a shoulder until the muscle eases. "I just—"

"No. No, that's…that's fair." Cat sighs, "I saw you with Carter and I—" She moves to pull away and gives Kara a look when she doesn't let her.

"I don't think you understand, Catherine. I'm...trying to follow the rules you gave me so that I can still keep you. Because part of me agrees with you, that I'm supposed to be a hero and do the selfless thing. I know the lines are blurring and this is the first time since I've been here that I'm starting to wonder if all of these rules aren't…" A shuddering breath of a noise, trying to explain— "If there's any rules that—that could—"

"Kara." Catherine shushes with her lips, wordlessly tugging a sagging from backwards until they're both tangled against the island. "Kara." A sadder, breathless noise, their noses brushing as arms wrap around a waist, kissing her harder so that it might not be so desperate, but it is. It's desperate and only grows more and more desperate by the second until Kara can barely feel cold tile underneath her toes, body arching up into the warmth of a curling form. "No. Not, we are not doing this. Not now."

"Catherine—"

"We've come too far." Her voice might be strong, but her eyes are endless and vulnerable and furious and insistent fingers actually jostle steel from their determination when Cat yanks the belt slid around Kara's hips in her haste to tug it off. "What's he doing? Is he okay?" She checks-she always checks—voice softer than the grating gravel Kara swallows down in her throat. And Kara listens—doesn't look—to make sure eager fingers are still flipping through a comic.

(She knows better than to look in on a teenage boy in his room. Not only is it wrong on every privacy level, but Kara really does not need to wind up needing brain bleach from seeing something she does not want to see.)

"Reading Superman." Kara breathlessly supplies, hands moving to curl around Cat's fingers as the last loop of a belt is undone, the small rope of fabric rustling underneath perfectly manicured nails. It's not the first time they've had sex with an unknowing Carter down the hall. Cat insists that as long as he has no idea—as long as he's healthy and safe and has no idea—there's no reason to deny themselves the few hours they have without work or saving the day (or every other logical reason in the world to keep them apart). "I know what you're doing, Cat—" Kara tries to argue and isn't even sure why when Catherine kisses her, again.

Kisses her like it might single-handledly stop an apocalypse—kisses her until Kara's whole body aches—and it's everything she can do not to push her lover up onto the island and remind both of them why they should never let go.

But that's what Cat's so focused on doing, anyways, isn't it? This is what they're good at. This is—

The lust isn't just physical. It's all-encompassing, now—it lights every single ounce of Kara's body on fire with it. It curls her tongue and her fingers and her heart is lit up like the woodpile underneath Joan of Arc.

And what's worst is that her eyes might be pleading—begging—to not ruin this, too.

"It's a waste, you know. Earlier. That's probably only the second time you've ever said 'fuck' in your entire life and it wasn't between my legs." It's a purr—sinful and breathless as teeth tug at an ear—and any fight Kara might have ever had whimpers against the edges of her lips.

This is what Catherine's good at.

"Carter…" She uselessly stumbles over the thought, fingers curling into granite. One of these days she's going to break this island—she just knows it—and she cannot afford that. Literally. A weak protest on her tongue, almost a desperate, childish plea because this is a system she's survived by for a decade and a half, frail and crumbling whether Catherine is aware of her effect or not. Because suddenly Kara isn't sure she can do this, anymore—this suffocating, overwhelming noise in the back of her head that she can't break her focus from, wordless panic tickling at the edge of her gasping throat when Cat's teeth bite down on her neck. "The rules…."

The rules.

"Then you'll just have to be quiet, won't you?"

Cat just slips the belt she's stolen around Kara's neck like a wayward tie and tugs her backwards towards an open bedroom, having enough sense to flick on the light of her study and close the door before pressing a gasping, quivering woman up against closed wood. The Saturday afternoon sun paints white sheets—pressed and perfect and undisturbed—like a sunrise and Kara pushes Catherine down on top of them until their bodies wrinkle the perfect picture with gasps of hidden, muffled noise.

National City is as full of life as Metropolis—full of sound—paint drying in speckles of blue along a new apartment a couple just bought across the street, their rollers fluttering on their second wall of the day; a shout from an enraged, righteous cabby down the street; a baby crying a few floors down; a page of a Superman comic flapping in excited exuberance as ink and color paint a crest in bright blue and red hues; the sound of a fridge humming as ice drops down into a hidden bucket, the glint of stainless steel and rolling afternoon sun glaring off of forgotten glasses on a sea of expensive granite.

The sound of a belt snapping—fraying in cheap rope—a gasp against the shell of an ear and a name tumbling against the sweat of a shoulder.

Hazed blue eyes focus on one point—on the arching skin of a neck—and blink back tears when fingers curl in free hair.

The tears fall like raindrops inbetween them, staining sweat with a crude form of aberration, drops of moisture forming puddles and seas between them and the guilt only swells when moisture clings to painted lashes and falls, as well.

"I don't—" Kara gasps, "I don't know how long I can—"

"As long as we can, Kara." Catherine immediately supplies, almost desperate to keep Kara here when she tugs her back down, the sounds of the city lost on the wind of a closed window. And it feels like Alex pressing those palms against her eyes—it feels like Kara wrapping fingers around Carter's wrists. It feels like Catherine is lovingly guiding her to stop focusing on the world around them and focus on her, instead. "What do you see? What do you see, now?"

"I see you." Kara promises before she kisses her, again, tasting salt and tears and sweat and coffee and Catherine as she presses her down into the sheets and away from the world around them like a promise, "I see you."

Sunday.

The glass feels cool against the DEO-regulated fatigues on Kara's shoulders, a humming laugh on her lips as she makes a show of hiding her cards behind her shoulder, two now-familiar laughs joining her.

"Oh, no need for the subterfuge, Kara. Because I believe that is U—to the no, aliens. Boom. Shaka. Laka. My boy," Winn points a jubilant thumb towards himself as he gathers up the cards like poker chips, scattering them over himself like he's at a strip club. Kara's never seen a strip club, of course, outside of television. She's pretty sure it consists of a lot more shame but maybe also a bit more self-respect and a whole lot more skin. Kara just sticks her tongue out at him, "Me. With the win."

"Oh, Winn, you gotta do the dance." Mon-El begs from behind the glass, hopping up, both hands flattening against the surface. "Do the dance."

"Mon-El's right, Winn. I think we need the victory dance—" Kara chirps, standing up with him, laughing when Mon-El starts to do it behind the glass and Winn does it with him, both of them synchronizing into something…beautiful and silly underneath the artificial lights and she laughs so hard she finds herself gasping, hands curling over knees.

"Oh that's beautiful, gentlemen." Alex calls from the open doorway, waving a folder as she comes in closer.

"Touching." J'onn appears behind her, arms perpetually crossed over his chest and both Winn and Mon-El straighten but Kara just smiles, wiping a hand under her eyes.

"I believe that's because I nailed it, sir." Winn offers, raising a hand up to the glass that Mon-El fist-bumps through the surface, "You're supposed to—that's—it's okay, buddy, we'll work on that."

"So what's the news, Doc?" Mon-El calls, crossing his arms, "Is Supergirl radioactive?"

After Kara's latest battle, a few anomalies that they were unsure would affect the Daxamite had left her Supersuit half-melted and Mon-El in containment the moment she stumbled back into the DEO. It was easier for him to go into isolation than the girl of steel when the same anomalies tested clear for humans. After all, she was always—always—on emergency duty, but the pair stayed behind, regardless, forming a mini game night with the few military board games they found in the bunker.

They'd played through three rounds of a game of Clue that looked like it was left from WWII in the DEO's government halls before Vasquez took pity and tugged out a deck of cards for poker…and a pack of UNO cards. Being true adults, they all stuck with the UNO because none of them could remember the rules to poker, anyways, and the capability of googling through the server's scrambler's even with Winn on their side lead to the very embarrassing possibility that everyone in the DEO would know that they didn't remember how to play it.

Kara didn't care, Winn had, so UNO it was.

"You've got the all-clear, Supergirl." Alex flicks the page like any of them will bother reading it before bumping her sister's shoulder with her own, "Hey, what's up, you guys playing UNO without me?"

"Well, it would've been poker if we remembered how to play." Kara shrugs and Winn lets out a betrayed whine at the secret being revealed.

"Et tu, Kara?"

"Congratulations, Mon-El of Daxam, it looks like you'll be free to keep eating all of the snacks in the mess and training for another day." J'onn notes, eyes flicking from the Daxamite to the Kryptonian with a nod before taking the folder from Alex's hands, "Danvers, Schott, we need both of you at Command—"

"You could join us for the next game, J'onn." Kara offers and he smiles before nodding towards the way they all came.

"Next time count me in, Supergirl."

Three sets of footprints slowly fade—two heavy regulation boots, one a pair of Converse squeaking along concrete—voices crossing over each other as they talk about some operation Kara tries her best to filter out because she can only do so much. Can only feel responsible for so much. Supergirl can't be everywhere at once and the DEO has more officers than just National City's risking their lives to find peace between civilians and the, to Earth's citizens, supernaturally extraordinary, and if she listens in her fingers will itch-her muscles will tense-and the exhaustion of the past few weeks is already catching up to her cold feet.

If Alex is on it, she reminds herself, whoever it is is in good hands.

Eventually it fades and Kara knows Mon-El can hear it, too, the air filtration system (carefully monitored and thankfully rarely-compromised) filling the silence settling between them with a metallic, whirring hum.

She'll wait with him until the doors open because they've both spent far too much time behind glass for anyone's lifetimes.

"You know…I love the whole, being able to walk around freely throughout the DEO and everything business. That is g-reat but…" He clears his throat, "I'd kind of like to get out. I mean, like…the out of here kind. Come on, Winn's been vouching for me, right?"

"You…could have helped me out there, you know." Kara hums, shoulders rolling back into glass, arms crossing over her stomach and head tipping back. "Earlier, when I was fighting. You've been doing well in your training—you could be super."

"Or…" Mon-El is standing behind her, she can hear his heartbeat, and she closes her eyes, imagining his sagging shoulders. "I could learn all about Earth and the culture and the alcohol that could spilleth over my cup." That's a hard 'p' but there's a hint of a sigh here. "I didn't mean out there fighting supervillains, I meant out there-"

"You are right. Not about the…the alcohol or any cups spilleth-ing over or anything," Kara turns around, tongue darting over lips as she searches his face, "It isn't right for us to keep you here."

"Kara…we're friends, right? We got that whole…'hey, my planet invaded your planet, no your planet invaded my planet, aaaah' yelling match over with and—" And he actually shuffles a little behind the isolation chamber's lights, gaze finding the floor and before Kara can help it, her features soften.

"Mon-El." It's a murmur, turning around to press her hand against glass, "We are friends. You're right. But we can't release you without a charge and Winn is…here pretty much all the time and I have CatCo and—"

"But I could…can't they just let me go? I just want to—"

The fingers not cooling against a smooth, smudged surface curl into a long duty's shirt, searching his face, and Kara tips back her chin when she hears Winn shuffle back into the room, bending over to grab his jacket and shrug it back on his shoulders.

"Duty calls, Supergirl. We've got a high-speed car chase down on—woah, you guys look serious."

Winn's right because suddenly she feels serious, colorful Uno cards scattered on the floor along her bare feet, searching the eyes of a friend.

A friend she's left locked up here like she'd been locked up for twenty-four years.

"Come home with me." Kara finally decides and Winn blinks but Mon-El tips his head back, hope clear on his features.

"Uh…don't you have a…" Winn leans forward, feverishly whispering in her ear, "Don't you have a Cat somewhere you should—"

"What?" Brows knit and then Kara's nose scrunches, shoving Winn's shoulder, "Oh, eww, Winn. Gross. Not like that." A pointed finger towards Mon-El through the glass even though he obviously has no clue what anyone's suggesting, "Not like that." And, boy, wouldn't Cat have a field day with the way the suggestion tinges her cheeks. "I just mean…I'll be your charge. I'll take care of you. You can stay in my apartment." Still pointed, "On the couch—"

"Really?" He perks up, excitement lighting up every inch of his face.

"As long as you keep training," Kara presses and that seems to be the moment Alex decides to release the latch on the door and he pushes it open, gathering her up in his arms and squeezing so hard that Kara can feel it, a laugh bubbling between them.

"I won't let you down!" He promises and he sounds so sincere that Kara thinks he means it, wrapping arms around his neck and holding him close.

"Just...Winn and I have faith in you." It's all Supergirl—all Kryptonian—but she's not all Kryptonian, anymore, eyes proud and gentle as Mon-El punches Winn's arm to a sharp, whimpering yelp of a noise.

"I won't let you down!"

"Uh, oww." Winn holds his shoulder with a glare, "Breakable." Mon-El continuing, undeterred, not looking away from Kara for a moment in sympathy.

"After that."

She sighs and shoves his shoulder, turning around on her heel to head towards J'onn and her sister, hoping that the new threat will ease some of the blow of what she's just suggested, but her footsteps feel a little lighter along the cool concrete, feet bare, un-singed clothes sagging on her frame. She pads over to the CIC to see Alex shrugging over a tattered Supersuit (this is her third of the week) and gesturing towards the fatigues with a thumb.

"Looks like you're going black-chic this time, Supergirl."

Kara frowns because the DEO's military fatigues feel particularly similar to the Kryptonian ones-to the ones she'd worn when red had curled on her tongue-and she can only hope enough time has passed for that memory to be the only thing that sticks.

"I bet," Winn hums as he slides up next to her, elbow falling down to her shoulder and offering up a pair of unassuming black-glasses. "Cat would love it."

Kara snorts and runs a thumb along the line of them before patting Winn's hand closed for safe keeping, a slow smile spreading as her eyes flick down to her bare feet—to her military-grade cargo pants and military-grade black sweater—and biting her lip when a particular memory tickles the back of a heating neck.

"Did I ever tell you-" Fingers curl in the red of a cape as nails drag up thighs, gasping against an ear- "That I love a woman in uniform?"

"Well, she, um…might not mind it."

"Okay, your face just gave me way too much information, Danvers." Winn's nose scrunches and Kara catches Alex's curious eyes as she laughs before turning around, watching the way the sun lights up Mon-El's relaxed, happy face—natural, compared to the confined, cramped white lights of a small holding cell—nodding towards him as he offers her an extraordinarily over-exaggerated salute.

It makes her smile.

The outfit won't be the only interesting thing she'll have to explain to Catherine the next time she sees her, but some part of Kara thinks she'll understand. Understand freedom over oppression. Understand Kara over all else.

"Hey, I'll remind you how to lose at poker when you get back." Alex promises in her ear, tugging her into a quick hug that breaks their gaze, smiling against a temple when Kara's hands immediately come up to cup her shoulders.

"Looking forward to it."

A moment later, Supergirl without the suit shoots into the sky, a mix of black and skin, for once not feeling like a symbol as the sun sets into the heating fabric around her shoulders, bare feet holding steady as she lands on top of the slick metal of a car's hood. The wind whistles between her toes and she realizes, in this moment, how hard it is to feel the world underneath such thing boots.

"You know, you could just turn around because I sort of have a game of poker to—nope, still with the shooting, okay. You know it's really not safe to shoot while drivi—oh, okay, that's not gonna stop you. You're just going to keep-please stop shooting, gentlemen."

And she smiles when the sun highlights her back and recognition settles in their eyes regardless, fabric of sagging cargo pants fluttering in the wind like a cape, knowing that the monitors in the CIC are showcasing the stunt—knowing a camera, somewhere, might be showing it across the city to a teenage boy and his mother—and that smile only spreads, confidence setting her spine, because it's time to show the world—to show Mon-El, who has a series of paths laid before him bare and uncertain—that the hero isn't the suit.

It's not the chair or the promise of always knowing what to do or the suit.

It's the person behind it.

She's the person behind it.

And maybe if Kara reminds Mon-El of that enough, if she reminds the world of it enough, she'll believe it.

Kara doesn't know that a month later she'll find it hard to believe in much of anything, anymore.