Note: This is not crack, I swear.
Three: No Place
She hears cursing and raised voices.
Changing course, Kara heads for the apartment building four blocks away, swooping down toward the fire escape on the third floor. A frazzled-looking woman leans against the railing, smoking a cigarette, a tin of peppermint Altoids poking out of the breast pocket of her shirt.
"Is everything all right?" Kara asks, hovering beside the platform. "Is anyone hurt? I heard-"
The woman looks up and straight away takes a step back, almost like a reflex.
In turn, Kara nearly flinches - or she would nearly flinch if she hadn't seen almost the exact same reaction at least a dozen times over recent days. As it is, she merely swallows around the also lately too-familiar knot in her throat and backs up a short distance.
"Supergirl," the woman murmurs, as if almost to herself. A tilted eyebrow accompanies the more precisely aimed words that follow: "Come to trash the building? Throw someone off it maybe?"
"Nope, all better now, everything back to normal," Kara says, and tries a small, hopefully non-threatening, smile.
The woman still looks wary, but she doesn't seem to be afraid, which is something. Eyes narrowing, her head cants to the side. "So, why are you here, hanging outside my apartment?"
"I was, you know, flying around. As I do sometimes. And I heard yelling."
"Right," the woman nods. "That would be me. And my husband. And the kids."
Kara frowns. "Is everything okay? Do you need help?"
Taking a long drag from her cigarette, the woman studies Kara carefully - perhaps still a little cautious - then releases the resulting stream of smoke with a light shrug. "Sure, why not?" she says. "At this point, if Donald Trump turned up, I'd probably let him help - and my folks are from Mexico."
Kara feels her heart sink a little bit, but, things being what they are, she can't afford to be too offended.
Nevertheless, the woman seems to sense she might have overstepped and offers Kara a half-apologetic, half-sympathetic smile. "I really wouldappreciate your help," she says, moving closer to the edge of the platform again. "So, come on, Supergirl …" She flicks the cigarette over the railing, pops a mint into her mouth, and waves a hand toward the window behind her. "Come save my marriage."
While mom and dad talk in urgent whispers at the other end of the room, Kara stands by the kitchen door, hands folded loosely in front of her. Determined not to listen in, she instead takes the time to check out the living area in front of her. Her eyes travel over an assortment of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins smiling out from easily a dozen framed photographs propped up on different surfaces; a half-knitted sweater lying in a basket beside an armchair; a well-worn, comfortable-looking couch, next to which stands a folding rack filled with magazines, comics, and books; six dining chairs temporarily sorted into two stacks near the wall on her right; an iPod playing soft music sung in Spanish, docked on a shelf crammed with Minor League and kids' soccer trophies.
Her gaze finally settles on a nearby end table, where juice-filled Adventure Timeand Star Wars tumblers sit on brightly-colored coasters.
Cat had been right to put the fear of (a superpowered, alien) god into the city. But, she'd be heartbroken, Kara thinks, if she could see the product of that fear passed down from adults to children, spreading through schools and scout troops and play dates and sleepovers.
Sitting on a large rug designed to look like a small town, noticeably further away than when she'd first arrived, the kids eye her guardedly from behind a half-built Lego house and piles of plastic bricks. Tiny Lego people are scattered around the construction site, along with a few random dinosaurs and a BB-8 large enough to roll over the other figures.
Kids have always been easier. More trusting, less inclined to find fault, or search for specious motives, or simply think the worst. Freer with smiles and hugs and kisses.
Until now.
Now, an extra-friendly smile from Supergirl only prompts a nervous, wounded look from the older child and slow, blinking eyes from the younger one. They both scoot back further still, pulling the Lego with them.
Deflated, she turns her attention to the muted television fixed to the stretch of wall on her left, where Dorothy's world has just transformed from sepia to Technicolor. Kara watches, thankful for the distraction, while the Munchkins and Glinda puzzle over the visitor from a star called Kansas.
She follows the movie for a few more minutes until movement at the other end of the room makes her look away again. The adults are done talking. She straightens up as the man approaches, the woman close behind him; and, while Kara sees uncertainty in the smile he gives her, it's clear he's trying. He claps a hand on her shoulder, a conspicuous bobbing in his throat telling her he's just been reminded why Of Steel is the chosen metaphor. And, for a moment, Kara worries that it might be too much for him. But, he really is trying.
"Knock yourself out, Supergirl," he says, gesturing to the disorder of the floorspace between the couch and TV, then pushes through the kitchen door, the sounds of cupboards opening and closing and the muted clatter of cookware following close behind.
"How about some coffee before we get started?" the woman asks cheerfully and doesn't wait for an answer before joining her husband in the kitchen.
Kara turns to the TV again, just in time to see Glinda and the Munchkins waving joyful goodbyes as Dorothy and Toto leave Munchkinland to begin their journey.
She feels a light tug on her cape and looks down.
"You like that movie?" asks the little one, peering up at her through long, dark lashes.
Kara smiles. "Yeah, I do."
Kara doesn't curse very often - even now, the word she mutters under her breath is on the mild side - but, apparently it's bad enough and loud enough for the kids to gasp and for the older one to yank at the hem of their mom's shirt and say, "Ooh, Supergirl said a bad word!"
"Supergirl's kind of distracted, sweetheart," says the woman and places a tray carrying two more cups of coffee and another plate of Toll House cookies next to the space on the floor where Kara's sitting cross-legged, pushing her cape back for what feels like the umpteenth time so it doesn't get in the way. "I'm sure she didn't mean to."
"Yeah, sorry," Kara says, glancing up with a grimace, before returning to the task at hand.
"That's the last of the cookie mix," says the woman, lifting one of the cups and perching on the edge of the armchair nearest to the - thankfully diminishing - pile of wood and braces and loose bolts and screws on the floor.
"Thanks," says Kara, a little guiltily. She'd tried to turn down a second batch, but according to the woman, her husband's one of those bake-your-stress-away people, and Kara's stomach didn't want to offend anyone.
"How come Supergirl gets more cookies than us?" whines the older child, now standing at the end of the couch, elbows digging into the armrest.
"Supergirl needs the extra energy," says the woman. "For flying."
The smaller child's nose wrinkles doubtfully. "Cookies for flying?"
"Kind of, yeah," Kara mumbles, holding her free hand under her mouth so's not to get crumbs everywhere. Her eyes scan the space around her, searching for the part she needs to finish the leg attachments.
The kid ambles across the floor to rest a head on the woman's lap, sighing mournfully. "My juice is too wet without cookies."
"I forgot to mention the guilt trip that comes with the chocolate chips," the woman says to Kara before heaving her own sigh at the kids. "Okay, fine, one more, that's all."
"Yay!"
Kara rears back to avoid the scramble while two more cookies disappear from the plate. The little one plops down onto the floor a few feet away; the older one returns to the end of the couch.
"Has anyone seen a metal bracket?" Kara asks, not for the first time. "About this big?" She holds her thumb and forefinger about five inches apart.
Just as before, two small heads shake in unison and the woman shrugs.
"It'll turn up, I guess," Kara concedes, then looks at the smaller child. "Can you pass me the flat-blade screwdriver, please?" she asks, pointing at the item in question.
"This?" The kid picks up the tool and holds it out with a shy smile.
"That's the one," Kara confirms with an even wider smile of her own. "Thank you so much."
"Are you gonna say another bad word?" asks the older child.
"I sure hope not," Kara murmurs, squinting at the instructions for about the fifth time in the last two minutes alone. But, really, it just doesn't makesense. She drops the flat-blade and picks up the Phillips again.
"Hey! What's the fastest thing on earth?" asks the little one.
Kara pauses. "Um … me?"
The kid giggles. "No, silly … it's cows. 'Cause they're pasteurized."
Kara chuckles, although she's fairly certain that's not the joke.
"That's not the joke, moron," the older child confirms, picking up a Game Boy from the seat of the couch before belly-flopping onto the cushions behind Kara's head.
"Mom, I'm not a moron!"
"No, you're not a moron, honey." The woman takes a sip from her coffee. "Are you sure this isn't taking you away from other superhero stuff?" she asks Kara.
"Pretty sure," Kara tells her with a wan smile. "I'm not exactly the most popular person in National City these days." She picks up what she thinksmight be the brace she's been searching for all night and manages a genuine grin. "But, I've gotta say, I think this is the first time I ever got my as-butt, I mean … butt kicked by a table."
"Supergirl nearly said a bad word again, mom," drawls the older child distractedly, not even bothering to glance up from the Game Boy making loud bleeping noises just a short distance from Kara's eardrums.
"Sorry," says the woman to Kara. "We've got a swear jar and they can be a little too vigilant sometimes. Before you got here, we practically ended up paying for the older one's college. I don't normally smoke either, in case you wondered. Not these days. But, you know …" She waves a hand at the work-in-progress.
Kara nods in sympathy. "I think we'll skip the 'I can see your blackened lungs' lecture," she says, then groans as not-the-right-brace-after-all falls to the floor. "'Cause, right now, I think I'm on the verge of bumming one ..."
The woman starts to grin - then rolls her eyes as the kids start shrieking.
"Kids, calm down. Supergirl was joking, right?"
Kara winces as the smaller one's lower lip starts to tremble. "Absolutely joking," she agrees, and mouths a 'sorry' at the woman.
"Why don't the two of you go play in your room for a while?" the woman suggests gently to the kids. "Let Supergirl finish up here, and then it'll be time for dinner. On a table without crayon and My Little Pony stickers all over it."
The Game Boy bleeping ceases.
"One more cookie?" checks the older one.
The woman rubs at her temple with a couple of fingers. "Fine, sure, whatever."
Two more vanishing cookies later, the older child heads into the hallway, the younger one trailing after, a path of crumbs following behind. The woman releases a long-suffering sigh.
"You got kids?" she asks, then grimaces. "Sorry, that's probably need-to-know or classified or something, huh?"
"Yeah, something like that," Kara replies with a smile. "But, no, I don't."
The woman nods slowly. "But, you've got family, right?"
The screwdriver slips, stabbing into Kara's other palm. "Sorry?"
"Superman?" the woman prompts. "Your cousin?" She winces at the presumed injury. "Are you okay? That looked kind of painful."
"Oh, yeah, no harm done," Kara nods, flexing her hand before straightening out the freshly-bent blade. "My cousin ... I don't see him a lot, but we keep in touch."
The woman smiles ... then frowns a little as her eyes turn to the TV. Kara looks up to see Dorothy click her heels together and repeat the mantra she's been given.
"You know, if that idiot, Glinda, had just told her the truth in the first place, she wouldn't have had to go through everything she did." The woman looks at Kara, shrugging lightly. "But, then I guess that wouldn't have made a very good movie."
Kara shrugs back. "Wicked would probably be a lot shorter too?"
The woman chuckles, then leans forward a little, elbows resting on her knees. "So," she says. "You know Cat Grant, right? Is it true she once-?"
Kara's spared having to correct whatever misconception or outright falsehood she's about to hear as the kitchen door opens and the woman's husband pokes his head into the living room.
"Nice," he says, checking out Kara's handiwork. "Almost looks like furniture."
Kara frowns slightly. "I think a brace might be missing."
"You mean that one?"
Kara follows his pointing finger to the rug, where a metal bracket lies nestled in a corner of the half-built Lego house, partially hidden under a collection of loose bricks.
"Oh."
The man enters the room and crouches down to pick up the support piece, holding it out with an apologetic smile. "They probably just forgot," he says, as she takes the brace from him. And before she can respond, he lifts the now-empty plate from beside her and the smile turns kind, maybe even a little knowing. "How about some pie? You like pie?"
Neither he nor his wife can be more than ten years older than Kara, but for a brief moment, light years melt away and she sees a different face.
Kara nods.
Holding onto the woman's elbow as they climb back through the window onto the fire escape, Kara keeps her steady until they're both standing firmly on the platform.
"Well, thanks for the coffee earlier, and the cookies, and the pie ... and the extra pie." She holds up the Tupperware container in her other hand.
"Are you sure you can't stay for dinner?" the woman checks. "The table looks pretty solid."
"Thanks, but I should probably do another sweep of the city. You never know when someone might … wish someone else was interrupting them getting mugged, I guess."
The woman takes hold of Kara's free hand, squeezing lightly, the expression on her face warm and open, practically a mirror-image of the way she'd scrutinized Supergirl earlier that evening from almost the same precise spot on the steel grating. "For what it's worth, if I ever get mugged, I hope you're the one who rescues my purse then breaks the guy's fingers."
"Thanks, I appreciate that," says Kara, a little surge of hope flaring up inside. She decides not to contradict the breaking-fingers part - it would probably just ruin the moment.
As would pointing out that the woman hasn't let go of her hand yet.
Still squeezing, her thumb rubs at the center of Kara's palm where she'd stabbed herself earlier. "Can you feel that?" she asks, eyes slanting in curiosity. The pressure against Kara's palm increases.
"Yeah," Kara breathes. It comes out hoarse. Clearing her throat, she takes a breath. "So," she says. "I should probably get going if-"
Her words come to an unexpected halt as, all of a sudden, she's caught in a tight hug, hands pressed hard against her back, chin resting heavily on her shoulder. And, for a moment, Kara just stands there, hands hovering uncertainly behind the woman's own back, while something stirs in her, at once aching and reassuringly familiar. It hasn't been thatlong, she tells herself but, all the same, it feels like an age has passed since she was last held like this. Recent transgressions seem to linger only abstractly in the distance, like the hazy remnants of a disappearing dream; and, for all its simplicity - it's a hug, that's all - the world might as well have just tilted on its axis. Careful not to drop the container, Kara returns the embrace - the ever-heedful home version designed to avoid bruises and cracked ribs. But it's enough. Her eyes drift shut and she breathes deep, reveling in the sensation of something empty being filled up again.
She's not sure how much time passes, but it's long enough so, at first, she's only dimly aware of the feel of warm, tentative lips against her own, closely followed by the taste of mint and coffee and lipstick. She's sufficiently cognizant to know that she should probably put a stop to what's happening, but that persistent aching feeling puts to rest the voice in her head uttering words and phrases like married woman! and word-of-the-day calendar 2008 entry, tawdry! and what would Alex/Eliza/J'onn think?!
Instead she kisses back, desperate enough to be slightly embarrassing, but the contented sigh she hears suggests the woman either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care. Emboldened, Kara draws her closer, parts her own lips further, lets her free fingers sift through soft hair. Other fingers - not her own - press lightly against her jaw, while a thumb traces a short, wet path just above her cheekbone.
Which really is kind of embarrassing.
Pulling away, Kara turns her back, aiming for at least some degree of mitigation; not helped by a hiccupping sob that she tries, unsuccessfully, to turn into a cough.
"Are you all right?" the woman asks, fingertips on Kara's shoulder.
Kara nods slowly, rubbing at her damp cheeks with the heel of her hand until it feels like it's safe to show her face again. As she turns, she lets out a shaky laugh. "Wasn't I supposed to be saving your marriage?"
The woman chuckles softly. "My marriage is fine. I live in a nice apartment with my nice husband and, when they're not being little assholes, mostly-nice kids. I have a nice job. But, Supergirl putting my table together? That's about the most exciting thing that's happened to me all year. I figured I should probably make the most of it." She shrugs. "Also, Leslie Willis kind of implied on her show last year-"
"Leslie Willis has got … issues," Kara says diplomatically. "In fact, she's kind of a psycho," she adds in an almost-whisper with somewhat less diplomacy, although a few necessary stabs of guilt remind her not to get too carried away with the mud-slinging.
The woman nods thoughtfully. "Well, maybe things'll turn around for her one day and people'll like her again," she says, then scrunches her nose. "And in case you somehow missed the painfully heavy subtext there ..."
"No, I got it," Kara nods, and takes a step back toward the railing, readying herself for take-off. "So … tell all your friends?"
The woman frowns. "That I kissed Supergirl?"
"I was thinking more the part where I helped you out," Kara clarifies, not quite ready to make emotionally fraught kisses on fire escapes with married women a regular part of her comeback tour.
"Right, of course," the woman nods. "I'll let them know."
Kara rises from the platform. "Thanks for everything. I mean that."
"Good luck!" calls the woman, as Kara jets off into the night sky. "I'll think of you whenever one of the kids runs into a corner!"
Kara's so grateful for everything Alex has done for her - keeping Kara safe, well-versed, making her more human - even through those difficult early days, and that slightly shaky college period; right up to the present where, grown closer, it's less a duty and more an instinct, however occasionally misguided. Alex is still protecting her, teaching her, doing everything possible to make sure Kara knows that who she is - who she really is - matters. And that includes creating the room for her at the DEO where her mother's facsimile resides.
Yet, it's Cat Grant's office balcony, even if it lacks the actual isolation - even if it now comes with a footnote that turns Kara's blood cold when she thinks about it - that's probably the closest analogue Kara has to Kal-El's Fortress of Solitude. It's restful and calming; a bastion of hope and inspiration and restoration; it's where she gains most of the wisdom she needs to be Supergirl; and sometimes it feels like the best place to be when there's nowhere else to go.
She misses Alex so much.
J'onn too. But, mostly Alex.
Ms Grant purses her lips as Kara peels back the lid of the Tupperware container and shows her the contents.
"You don't normally bring pie," Cat comments, gently swirling the amber-colored liquid inside the lowball glass in her hand.
"I don't normally get pie - it's a gift," Kara explains. "I … helped a family out earlier tonight."
"What? A fire?" Cat peers inside the container again. "Although it doesn't look burned, so probably not." She arches a questioning eyebrow at Kara. "Some kind of near-drowning mishap? That would explain the slightly soggy-looking bit in the middle …"
"More like … a structural problem," Kara hedges, replacing the lid.
"Hmm," Cat murmurs, fingers drumming against her hip. "We really should do a Tribune piece on shoddy construction in this city." She directs a small smirk at Kara. "Whilst carefully glossing over your own contribution, of course."
The best Kara can come up with in response is a sheepish smile.
Which Cat shrugs off. "Unless you're some kind of secret billionaire, I doubt whatever your day job is pays enough to replace entire stories every time you get into a scuffle with another alien."
"Not every time," Kara mutters.
"Well, regardless. What this means -" Cat taps a finger against the container. "- is things are looking up." She starts to smile, then pauses, studying Kara with familiar, watchful eyes. "And, yet, you don't seem very happy."
"Things were okay," Kara tells her. "Then there was a convenience store robbery, a mom and pop place a few blocks south, and … and the owners asked me to leave."
Cat looks skeptical. "In the middle of a robbery?"
"I'd already disarmed the guy, then it was, Thanks, but please go away. I'm not even paraphrasing."
Cat props an elbow on top of the balcony wall, her gaze dropping to the glass in her hand. "A minor hitch, that's all."
Sliding the container onto the coffee table beside a vase of sunflowers, Kara sits on the arm of the nearest chair. She folds her hands on top of her lap, breathing in deep. "It's just … I guess it's harder than I thought it'd be."
"Yeah, tougher than I thought too," Cat admits with a small sigh, then directs a quick smile at Kara. "But, keep going, Supergirl - we'll get there." She takes a long sip of her drink, then sets the glass on top of the wall ... and evidently misjudges.
In a flash, Kara's at her side, catching the glass before it tumbles off the edge to hurtle forty stories down to the pedestrian-populated pavement below.
"Well, that could have been a horrible tragedy," Cat says as Kara places the glass firmly on the balcony's flat surface. "It's the last of this brand in my stock. Thank you for not spilling any."
"Not funny," Kara reprimands, as yet unprepared to embrace balcony-themed humor. She starts to move away, but a hand on her forearm stops her.
Cat tugs lightly until Kara's facing her again. Reaching out, she wipes her thumb gently along Kara's lower lip, inspects the pad for a few seconds, then looks at her. "Well, who knew Estée Lauder decided to branch out into the convenience store market?" she muses, the smirk faint, but visible nonetheless.
An unmistakable heat rises on Kara's cheeks. "Um, it's kind of a weird story?"
Cat's smirk ... turns even smirkier. "While I'm sure any explanation would be both intriguing and entertaining, I'm afraid I don't have time for it. I'm leaving shortly to pick Carter up."
"Oh?" Kara uses the change of topic to discreetly wipe away any remaining lipstick with her own thumb.
Cat nods as she picks up the glass again. "He's spent the better part of the evening 'hanging out' at some miscreant classmate's home, playing video games and - I don't know - mainlining pizza and talking about … you, probably." Despite the flippant characterization of her son's leisure time, she looks pleased.
Kara would like to be pleased too, but something about that last part creates an unsettling feeling in her gut.
Apparently, Cat notices. Her gaze turns soft, but no less intense than usual.
"Well?" she says after a moment. "Aren't you going to ask?"
Kara shrugs lightly, staying silent, uncertain if she wants to know or not. She'd deliberately kept the earlier 'minor hitch' to herself, and not merely to save face over the nature of the heroics. Stupidly, she'd forgotten how pointless it was to want to shield Cat Grant from the reactions of small strangers.
Ms Grant waits another few seconds, rubbing contemplatively above her eyebrow with a finger before breathing out a quiet sigh. "I'm not going to lie, there were a few nightmares," she says, her gaze flickering briefly toward the balcony wall. "And I had some explaining to do, but, yes, you're still his favorite superhero. Perhaps not quite at a hundred percent again yet, but I'd say you're sitting at a comfortable ... ninety-four?"
Kara exhales a quiet breath of her own. "Thank you, Ms Grant."
Cat shrugs. "I'm not entirely happy about it, since I was hoping finally to get rid of that poster on his wall. It's ... unnerving having you looming over me when I'm saying goodnight."
Kara grins, while Cat rolls her eyes, just as her phone starts to buzz.
Picking it up from the table, Ms Grant glances at the screen. "And that's my driver," she announces, dropping the phone into her purse. She finishes her drink. "You're welcome to stay here for a while, if you like. Just leave the way you came ..."
"Ms Grant, here ..." Kara lifts the container from the table and holds it out. "You should take this ... for you and Carter. It's too much for one person."
Cat's brow narrows curiously. "Don't you have some sort of extra-Olympian metabolism?"
"Please?" Kara insists. She wants to tell Cat about Alex, about how much she misses her sister, how much she worries, how much she doesn't want to sit in her apartment and eat pie and watch TV without her. Instead, she holds the container out further and says, "It tastes better than it looks, I promise. I ... ate another one earlier."
"Ah," Cat says with a smirk. She takes the box. "Then, thank you. I'm sure Carter's left room for dessert." Tucking the container under her arm, she picks up her purse, then says, "Oh, and just to be sure, I'm not going to be reading about ... you know ... in some tabloid next week, am I?" She waggles a finger in the direction of Kara's mouth.
Kara bites the inside of her cheek. "No, Ms Grant."
Cat's head bobs slightly. "Of course, if things get too desperate, we might want to revisit that sort of thing. Clearly, if it was good enough to get free pie ..."
Kara swallows nervously. "You're joking, right?"
"Yes. That was a joke."
Shaking her head, Kara starts to rise from the balcony. "Goodnight, Ms Grant."
Cat looks up at her. "You're not staying?"
Kara shakes her head again, because things are still awkward with James; and Winn's wrapped up in Siobhan-related problems - partially of Kara's making - and right now it feels like the only thing worse than spending the rest of the night alone is waiting to spend the rest of the night alone. "I've got ... things to do," Kara lies. "Stuff ... that needs me to be doing it."
"Oh," says Ms Grant. "Okay." Brow creased, she watches Kara for a moment, then nods once and turns away.
Hovering above the balcony wall, Kara sees Cat reach for one of the handles of her office door, then stop, glancing down at the plastic container cradled in her arm before turning back round.
"I wonder," Cat begins, lips quirking in a wry semi-smile. Her fingers twist agitatedly around the chain of the necklace resting against a throat that can't help but look a little flushed in the warm glow of the balcony lights. "If that 'stuff' you're planning to do isn't too urgent, maybe you'd-" She pauses mid-sentence, jaw silently suspended in hesitation.
Kara tilts forward a little. "Yes, Ms Grant?"
Whole seconds pass until, finally, blinking up at her, Cat exhales an audible puff of breath. She shakes her head briskly and flashes a quicker, broader smile. "Nothing, it'll wait," she says. "Goodnight, Supergirl."
She turns and opens the door behind her.
As she makes her way through the dimly-lit office, Kara watches, keeping track as the other woman rides the elevator down to the lobby, back pressed against one of the side rails, clutching the plastic container tightly against her as she stares at the opposite wall; then click-clacks across the plaza toward the waiting car and pulls out her phone.
"Carter, sweetheart? I'll be there in fifteen minutes ..."
Kara lets the rest of the conversation go unheard. She waits for the Mercedes to pull away from the curb, then turns to leave, catching sight of the glass from earlier - empty now - left on the balcony wall just below her feet.
She picks it up, moves it to the table, and flies home.