Kara dreams of the road.
She's standing in the woods, hidden from drivers' view, the road in plain sight. It takes her a while, but she manages to identify she doesn't feel astonished; in fact, it's the most calm she's been in weeks. That's how she knows it's not real.
In dreams, time is obscure. Something you can't measure, no matter how you try, because it flows in every direction, twists and turns, and you'd sooner go mad than try to explain the time spent in a dream after you wake. Kara knows that all too well. Sometimes, time behaves that way in real life, too. Now, time decided to jump, and Kara finds herself standing in the middle of the road, far away from her previous spot in the forest. She looks down on herself and discovers she's still in her sleepwear, a long-sleeved white shirt and pajama pants – it gets cold at night during winter and her heating leaves a lot to be desired. No shoes, of course – the dream thrust her outside barefoot. Kara looks up and watches small puffs of her frozen breath disappear into the night air. Somewhere east is her family's lake house, small and defenseless in the darkness, surrounded by trees that now shield it from her gaze. She knows that if she were to walk there, she would find it empty, with covers thrown over the furniture. When Jeremiah Danvers, her foster father, passed away, his wife couldn't bear to come to this house anymore. Too many happy memories, she said. It hurts to think of them knowing they will never make new ones. Alex visibly didn't agree with her mother's decision, but she said nothing. Her sister never knew how to stand up to her mom. Kara simply went with it. She didn't really have much memories connected with that place, anyway.
Now, she suddenly has the urge to go there. Maybe she will see her younger self running around the yard with a younger version of Alex, and Eliza, their mother, will appear in her apron, wiping her hands and calling them for lunch. Her memories did that sometimes – wove themselves into her dreams, leaving her confused and disoriented in the morning, and she had to go through several techniques Dr. Scott has shown her before she was ready to get out of bed. She hates when it happened, but now it seems worth it. Seeing her childhood, untainted by the things that have happened since, even a bleak, faded memory of it, distorted by the dream, was something she suddenly longed for.
She blinks, and she's in front of the house, and there are no lights inside. Only the porch is illuminated, and an empty rocking chair is creaking, back and forth, as if someone has just stood from it in a particularly strong push. No matter how hard Kara tries to imagine her family, the house remains eerily quiet. She turns the doorknob and walks in, and the house isn't the one she expected. It doesn't look like the lake house she visited as a kid, and it doesn't look like any house she's been to ever since. Could it be, then, that it's a place she's seenbefore?
"It's a normal reaction of your brain, Kara, to forget traumatizing experiences," Dr. Scott used to say. "You don't remember much of the time before Danvers' family took you in, because there was something that caused you pain. I would advise you not to think about it too much. There's probably a good reason your mind protects itself from the past."
"What if the past wants to be remembered?" Kara replies, and it's only after she says the words out loud that she realizes she's replying to a memory from long ago. Dr. Scott is dead, and so are her biological parents, and her foster father, and this house she's standing in, her mom's house, is gone, too, and the memory of it, just like her parents and her doctor and Jeremiah Danvers, has been dead and buried.
"Then you let it be remembered," someone replies, and the voice startles Kara. She follows it.
Dr. Cat Grant is sitting in an unfamiliar living room, and she's not looking at Kara. She's looking down at a black panther lying at her feet, stroking its' sleek fur. Her blond hair partially shields her face from Kara's eyes, but it's not long enough to cover much of her, and she is still able to see a hint of a smile. The panther, however, watches Kara with a gaze she doesn't want to call predatory, but not naming it that won't make it any less true. Her tail whips slowly, up and down, back and forth, like the animal is waiting for an excuse to pounce, waiting for Kara to make the wrong move so it would be able to tear her throat out and be justified in its action. It looks bored, yet alert – Kara can't describe it any better. The woman's frame, small in general, looks tiny in comparison with her lethal companion. She's wearing her usual tasteful outfit, but she appears softer. The panther starts to purr.
Somehow, Kara is able to see both of them perfectly, without any light. Wasn't the moon just there? The living room window is directly facing it, isn't it – then why isn't the light streaming through the glass?
It's a dream, Kara thinks. A dream doesn't have to make much sense. That's the job saved for waking hours, for conscious.
And still, the question remains. Why is Cat Grant here, in the house of her biological mother, in the living room Kara doesn't even remember?
She takes several careful steps into the room. There is something uncomfortable pooling in her stomach. She thinks she's nervous. Or scared. Or surprised. She's definitely surprised. The room welcomes her with chilly air and darkness, and there is not much she can make out, mostly silhouettes. Except the woman and the animal. She sees them as clear as day. Dr. Grant is situated in a cozy-looking chair - chairs like that always pop into your head when you think of a winter cabin in the woods and a fireplace and a casserole in the oven. She's barefoot, too, Kara notices, and her feet are small, just like the rest of her. What Cat Grant lacked in size, she certainly made up for in presence.
"Will you do it?" Cat speaks quietly, and the panther growls. Realization startles Kara: the low roar isn't anger. It's impatience. The panther is waiting for her answer as much as Cat is.
"Do what?" She asks in reply.
"Let your past in. Let it wash over you. Take everything away and leave a clear purpose. A real you."
"I am real," Kara says, and she's numb. Something in Cat's words itches at her brain, but she can't figure out what. It's frustrating.
Dr. Grant is standing right in front of her now, the panther behind the doctor whipping her tail from side to side, agitated. The animal grows in size, casting shadows that come alive, too. Cat is in the epicenter, with shadows clubbing around her like a thick smoke, the panther's tail a continuation of her body. Cat is flicking her tail.
The doctor stares at her, looking for something in her eyes, and lets out a disappointed sigh.
"Oh. It's you."
The panther pounces, and Kara wakes up.
"Oh hey, Kara!" James Olsen, bloodstain pattern specialist, jogs up to her in one of many hallways of FBI academy building. "How was your weekend?"
Kara smiles. She likes James, or Jimmy, as he insists she call him. Jimmy is nice and wholesome, and he's generous with his smiles and reassuring words. He's also very large, at least he seems that way to her. His wife, a schoolteacher here at Quantico, looks so tiny next to him. They suit each other very well, she thinks: his dark tone of skin is a stark contrast against her pale one, and height difference only adds charm to the lovely couple. Kara's seen Mrs. Sarah Olsen several times when their unit attended Jimmy's barbeque extravaganza. She's as tiny as Dr. Grant.
She frowns and shoves the memory of her confusing dream to the back of her mind, focusing on her co-worker. Friend. He said they were friends, and he stated that so effortlessly Kara was inclined to believe him.
"It was fine." She thinks for a second. Friends are supposed to share more than that, she decides, and continues. "I drew some stuff."
"Really? That's awesome!" James looks happy for her. It's authentic, just like everything else he does. "Sarah is still gushing about your gift, you know. She hung your drawing in our living room. You didn't hear it from me, but she's secretly hoping you'll draw something for the nursery."
They pass several students, nodding to them, before they reach the briefing room. James holds the door for her as he keeps talking excitedly.
"…and I told her: baby, you're not pregnant yet, we're preparing, so we can't decide on the room color right this second!"
"You slept on the couch?" Kara laughs.
"I absolutely slept on the couch," Jimmy confirms, laughing with her. "Sometimes she drives me crazy, and that's when I realize how madly in love I am. And now the love of my life is about to be the mother of my child."
"I thought you guys were going through medical check-ups and vitamins and stuff, and it's gonna be a year before you even start trying?" She asks, confused.
"I know! The woman gave me a baby fever, now I'm just as impatient as her!"
Kara laughs at that, again, and Jimmy joins in. It's nice. It's normal. Jimmy is an essential piece of her pretense that everything is normal.
"Hello, squad." Lucy Lane appears at the door, giving both of them a quick smile as she walks into the room.
"Special Agent in Charge," Jimmy salutes mockingly, but not unkindly. "I thought we were a unit, not a squad."
Behavioral analysis unit, Kara states in her mind. There are three people missing from their weekly status update: Winn Scott, B.A.U., forensic scientist; Hank Henshaw, FBI, special agent; Alex Danvers; FBI, special agent. It always gave Kara chills to call her sister that. The name sounded important and intimidating. She could've been called that, too, in a two or three years, if she hadn't requested to be put on B.A.U. instead. Plus, she seriously doubted she'd pass the screening, anyway. FBI required their agents to be stable. Now, she's Kara Danvers, B.A.U. investigator and FBI academy lecturer. But, judging by Lucy Lane's glance, something was about to change.
"Correct, Jimmy," their superior nods. "I have news for you. The status update will have to wait. We have a case, and it's a big one."
"National security?" Jimmy asks quickly.
Lucy pauses before answering him, to throw another glance at Kara.
"High profile murder. This is the third victim, so…"
"…So the case is taken from local police to FBI," Kara speaks, quietly. "Because there's a body count, and we suspect it's a serial killer."
"Yes." Lucy nods. "We do suspect so. But, with you on-site, we won't have to suspect. We'll know. James, Winn is preparing the lab for the body, you should join him."
Jimmy is worried, but he can't exactly disobey what sounded like an order, so he nods and mutters an 'okay' and leaves. But not before giving Kara's shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze. It feels… nice, she thinks.
Lucy exhales, and Kara recognizes her anxiety, along with impatience.
"How was your session with Dr. Grant?"
She swallows. The woman's name stirs something inside her she can't quite identify.
"She's a good doctor."
Lucy nods at that.
"One of the very best. But how was the session?"
"Good. But I can't answer whether I'm ready for the field after only one session with her. She's great, but she's not that great." Kara decides to cut to the chase. The whole cat and mouth Lucy's playing is making her dizzy. She doesn't like to discuss her therapy with anyone, let alone her Special Agent in Charge. So she changes the subject. "But I guess it's non-negotiable, is it?"
"Look," Lucy goes with straightforward, too, it seems. "Kara, you're good with forensic science. You're an excellent profiler. But there is much more you can do in the field. I'm not giving you a badge and a gun yet. Just moving you to on-site consultation. Baby steps, okay? With your mind, with your abilities, you'll solve a case much faster if you're out there. Think how much more you can do for justice."
Kara gives a rueful smile at that. Lucy always does that. For the greater good, she says. For the society. Truth, justice and the American way.
"Everyone has their own views on justice, Lucy," she says. "Take the Belvoir Ripper."
"The psycho who thought himself God? Now, that's a hyperbole if I ever heard one. The man hid behind some perverse idea of just punishment so he could justify his crimes. You have nothing in common with a deranged murdered, Kara."
Except almost everyone he killed was proven guilty, Kara thinks. And they escaped the law simply by finding a loophole. Or they were never caught.
"I assume I'm needed at a crime scene now?" She asks instead of voicing her thoughts.
"Alex will take you there." Lucy puts her hands in her pockets, assuming a power stance. Kara noticed she did that a lot, but whether it was to intimidate or to prove herself, she wasn't sure just yet. "Baby steps, Danvers. Work your magic out there."
Kara didn't bother with a reply, already walking out of the room.