Work Text:
- Agent X, Would-Be Assassin
Target: Kara Danvers
Occupation: Reporter, The Tribune
Location: National City, California
Field Notes, Day 1:
Subject has been located. She remains at her usual workplace, clearly unaware that a bounty has been placed on her head. The client insists she is “quite dangerous,” but thus far I have seen nothing to indicate a risk.
Subject arrived at work at 8:30 carrying coffee and breakfast. Subject’s office has no windows, but the hallway window should allow for careful monitoring of her comings and goings.
10:00: subject left her office. Arrived at a meeting. Meeting lasted 48 minutes. Subject delayed return to her office with a trip to the restroom and to the desk of another blonde woman, then another blonde woman—this one recognizable as Cat Grant herself. Perhaps it is subject’s connection to Grant that makes her such a formidable risk.
Subject returned to her office for another hour before packing up her belongings and heading to the elevators.
Attempt at first contact to be made now. Tracker is ready.
- Kyle, Security Guard
“See ya back here,” Rudy calls out, giving a wave in Kyle’s direction.
Kyle gives him a small nod and smile. It’s the little things, really. It’s not so hard to smile, wave, acknowledge the human being who keeps the building safe day in and day out. (This is why Rudy gets a pass on the rare day he forgets his keycard.)
Someone else tosses a balled up piece of paper at the wastepaper bin by Kyle’s desk, missing and sending it skittering to a stop at his feet. They don’t so much as bother to apologize, let alone stop to retrieve it. Asshole.
“Kyle!”
There’s only one person who’s ever that enthusiastic to see him, and Kyle looks up to find Kara Danvers slipping out of the lunchtime crowd to prop her elbows up on his desk.
“Afternoon, Ms. Danvers.”
“Just Kara, really.” She beams at him. “Your kids finally wear you down on that puppy?”
“Nope,” he says, popping the “p” and shaking his head.
“Not yet,” she amends with a wink and a loud laugh.
“Not ever. I’m too tired to get home and walk a puppy around the block a dozen times to tire him out.”
“That’s their job! If they want the puppy, they walk the puppy.” Kara nods decisively. “It’s good. Teaches kids responsibility.”
“You have a dog as a kid?”
Kara rubs at the back of her neck. “Well…no. But I had a cat! A stray. Streaky. Found him out on the beach, and Eliza let me keep him.” Her smile grows soft and fond at the memory.
“Maybe a cat then.”
“Isn’t your wife allergic?”
“Maybe I’m allergic to dogs,” he shoots back just to watch Kara pout. “I’m sure they’ll have found some new stray at the pound to try to get me to ‘just look at’ in a few weeks.”
“I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“You want anything from Noonan’s? Cat and I are grabbing lunch, but I can swing by on my way back.”
Kyle tries not to let the shock show on his face. It had been one thing when Kara had been chasing after Cat with an iPad in one hand and Cat’s lunch in another. It’s quite another to hear they’re on a first name basis and eating lunch together.
“It’s for a new column I’m pitching,” Kara explains. Either his poker face has gotten worse, or she’s too good at reading his tells these days.
“Well, I hope it goes alright. Best of luck to you.”
“She’s really not so bad when you get to know her. Now… your coffee order?”
“I’m okay, promise.”
Cat’s private elevator dings then, and Kyle can’t help but notice that, despite the shared-lunch levels of familiarity, Kara’s spine still straightens, her shoulders rolling back in anticipation of Cat’s arrival. He shakes his head. Girl better watch it, or everyone in the lobby will know she’s Supergirl in an instant. (Nevermind that the whole world could if Kyle released even one of those security tapes…)
“Ms. Grant!” Kara waves enthusiastically, falling into step with Cat as they slip through the turnstiles. She pauses to mouth “bye” at Kyle before jumping ahead just in time to grab the door for Cat.
What feels like mere seconds later, there’s a loud shriek from outside. Adrenaline pumping, Kyle locks down the turnstiles and rushes to the door, taser in hand.
Even from a distance, he can tell that Cat’s face is paler than he’s ever seen it. Kara’s standing tall, positioned in front of Cat. A man is sprawled out on the ground in front of her, a knife having clattered out onto the sidewalk and the outline of what looks like a gun holster visible beneath his clothing.
Kyle rushes forward, but with people clustering all around to gape at the scene, it takes him just a moment too long, and the man has rolled off to the side and disappeared into the lunch-hour crowds.
“I’ll get him, don’t worry!” Kyle announces, only to find a steadying hand on either of his arms.
“Don’t put yourself in danger,” Kara whispers.
“We’ll call the police,” Cat declares. She’s already got her phone out, and Kyle can hear the tinny sounds of the 911 operator through the speaker.
Kyle can only nod, keeping an eye out as Cat waits on hold. He sends a quick text to Jared telling him to man the front desk for the next few minutes, then stuffs his phone back in his pocket to keep his full attention on the scene. Not that he’s particularly worried about Kara; Supergirl can handle herself. But Cat’s very human—and very small.
“Don’t touch that!” Cat hisses a moment later, glaring at Kara, who’s been trying to pick at the things the would-be mugger dropped. (Not that Cat’s ever let her stature keep her from intimidating the whole world into doing her bidding.)
“This is a tracker,” Kara mutters, holding a small white device up into the sunlight and pulling her glasses down slightly.
Kyle clears his throat just loudly enough for her to remember her surroundings, and she pushes them back up the bridge of her nose in a slightly-too-fast-to-be-human rush of movement. Apparently both women do need some form of protection…
It isn’t long before the sirens come wailing around the corner, and Kyle stands to the side and listens in as the police take statements and document the scene.
Again and again, Cat huffs, correcting some error in procedure or mistaken assumption on their part, and Kyle would swear she was the one with heat vision with the way the officer collecting evidence practically shudders under the force of her glare.
(It doesn’t get any better when the officer finds a small notebook that reveals Kara as the target not of a random mugging, but of an attempted assassination. He can practically feel the emotion rolling off Cat in waves. Pitch meeting that was not. Those two have gotta be friends, if not more.)
Kyle slips back inside then. The police can deal with a panicked Cat Grant. He’s had enough emergencies for one day.
- Carter Grant, New Roommate
Carter knows his mom loves him. Of course she does. It’s not like he’s surprised when she wants to be involved in his life. It’s just that he knows how busy she is, and over the years he’s gotten used to things like a carefully vetted driver in the school pick-up line and a nanny waiting for him at home—not that he needs a nanny anymore, but Carla’s still there to help with things around the house.
So when he sees his mom waiting for him outside school, it’s only natural that he’s a little anxious.
(This is also fine. His mom taught him how to deal with this—deep breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth at half the speed. Name five things he can see. Four things he can feel. Three things he can hear. Two things he can smell. One thing he can taste. The bubbling panic isn’t quite that bad yet, but he catalogues the things he sees as he walks to the car and braces himself for the worst.)
“Mom?” he asks as he clambers up and into the backseat.
“Carter, sweetheart.” She leans across the divide and presses a kiss to his cheek. “How was school?”
“Um…fine. Why are you here?”
“I wanted to give you a bit of notice before we got home that we’ll have someone staying with us for a little while.”
“Oh.” His nose wrinkles. “Is it Grandma?”
“It is most certainly not your grandmother.”
He can see the little shudder run through her and tries not to laugh. If he laughs, she’ll know he knows and get all guilty about it. “Who is it?” he asks instead.
“Do you remember Kara?”
Carter just arches an eyebrow. “Do I remember Kara? Really?”
“Well, it’s been a while,” Cat huffs.
“Yeah, but she’s, like, the only person other than Carla you let watch me overnight.”
“A mistake,” she mutters beneath her breath.
Carter bites his tongue and doesn’t point out that Kara was trying to save the world. One day his mom will realize that her favorite employee and her favorite superhero are the same person, but she’d probably be pretty bummed if he ruined the surprise for her. “And she helped me with math the year I had Ms. O’Brien.” (Ms. O’Brien no longer works at the school, and Carter’s pretty sure that’s mostly due to his mom’s “strongly-worded voicemail,” as she’d called it.)
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be happy to help you with any more homework while she’s staying with us.”
“Is her apartment okay?”
“It’s fine.” Cat glances up at the driver, then turns to face Carter. “Kara is in a bit of danger because of an article she published. It made some small-minded people very angry.”
“Oh.”
“Our building has much better security than hers does.”
“Right.” He still remembers the months he’d spent being escorted out to the car by private guards after some of his mom’s more controversial cover stories had gone to print around the primaries and the election.
“If you’re concerned, I can certainly arrange to have you stay with your father.”
“No!” His voice cracks over the word, and he can feel his cheeks warm. A part of him simply prefers his mom’s place—it’s always felt more like home, the place he can just be—and a part of him really has missed seeing Kara every time he visits his mom’s office. But honestly, the biggest reason he wants to stay is that he’s desperately curious to see how Kara will pull off hiding her secret identity when she’s sharing an apartment with one of the best investigative journalists, like, ever. Heck, Carter knows every nook and cranny in the apartment like the back of his hand, and his mom had still found the baby bunny he’d brought home from the park in mere minutes. Kara is, he supposes, used to hiding a big secret. Even still, he wonders if she’ll make it even a single day without a slip up.
“Alright. You let me know if that changes at any time, okay? You won’t hurt my feelings or Kara’s if you want to stay somewhere else.”
“I know, I know.”
Before long, David is pulling the car up to the front of the building, and two big security guards escort them from the car to the apartment doors and all the way up the long elevator ride to the penthouse. They give them both a little nod once the door’s unlocked, then position themselves on either side of it.
He and his mom walk inside and find Kara dancing to some boy band and tipping a family-sized box of Honey Nut Cheerios directly into her mouth.
His mom looks appalled.
Kara chokes and splutters, her eyes going wide and Cheerios flying every which way.
Carter is instantly certain he made the right decision in staying.
- Agent Y, Would-Be Assassin, Redux
Agent X, Agent Y decides a day into the new assignment, is a total fucking coward.
The whole Cat Grant and her massive team of armed security guards thing does make it all harder, but it’s nothing a trained assassin can’t handle. That’s the “trained” part, after all.
And trained assassins don’t run into 26-year-old girls and cry that their shoulder and collarbone have been “shattered beyond repair.”
Still, Agent Y is taking the job seriously. He knows better than to underestimate an unassuming target. Just because in the 24 hours he’s been watching her all she’s done is eat more food than someone her size should be able to pack away, play an oddly competitive game of Scrabble, type on her laptop, and trip over her own feet doesn’t mean she couldn’t have some secret abilities. (Who’s he kidding? This job’ll be a fucking breeze once he gets her away from those guards.)
After four full days of 24/7 security coverage, he can admit that he may have underestimated not the target, but her unexpected, deep-pocketed protector.
His boss is breathing down his neck, and Agent Y hates it. He’s known for his efficiency—it’s what makes him indispensable—and he shudders at the thought of a world where he doesn’t have that ready-made rationale at his disposal when the agency decides not everyone needs to be on the payroll any longer. Because there’s no neat little two-week severance package there…
Luckily for him, the target seems to be a real sucker for food and sunshine, and she manages to talk her companion into a dinner out on the balcony after the boy has left the house. (It’s really for the best. Agent Y isn’t in the assassin business to traumatize kids; he’s in it to kill people for a lot of money.)
Perched on the roof of a neighboring building, Agent Y sets up his sniper rifle and takes aim at the target’s chest. He steadies his hands, takes a breath, and pulls the trigger.
He glances up and finds the target still eating and gesticulating wildly.
Again and again.
He checks his bullets, trying to figure out if they’ve been tampered with and switched out for blanks.
Finally, he realizes his very real, very solid bullets are simply bouncing off of her and back into her salad bowl..
Fuck. She must be clad in some kind of fancy, high-tech bulletproof vest.
He sends two flying in a row at the uncovered parts of her body only to watch as she claps them out of the air like they’re nothing but pesky flies.
It’s enough to have him rattled for only the second time in a long career—and the first time since his first month on the job.
What sends him running for the hills, though, is watching as she takes a giant forkful of lettuce with bullet croutons and just fucking goes to town like they’re a tasty little snack.
He packs up his rifle right then and there and texts a resignation letter, effective immediately. No job is worth this shit.
- Kara Danvers, Target
J’onn, Kara’s fairly certain, is ready to get in his fancy car and flee the planet. He might be just as ready, willing, and able to save the world as she is, but he was not made for swooping onto the scene in a mini skirt with a smile plastered on his face.
Alex’s nerves are beyond frayed, and she’s been leaving Kara vaguely threatening voicemails for days reminding her again and again not to let Cat catch any sign of her secret identity. Kara stopped sending whiny “I knowwww” texts after Alex sent back that photo of Kara trying to leave a crime scene with her cape still billowing out from beneath her regular reporter clothes.
Winn and James are less concerned about Kara’s secret identity than they are about the idea of having to cohabitate with Cath Grant, asking repeatedly if Kara needs an escape plan. Her continued refusals of their help have left them both confused as all get out.
Meanwhile Lucy’s been having an absolute ball at Kara’s expense, sending her a good morning and good night text every day, which would honestly be very sweet if the messages didn’t always end with: “So have you kissed her yet?”
No is the obvious answer. For a whole host of reasons. But the little, totally fleeting crush Kara thought would probably—no, definitely—go away once she wasn’t spending every waking minute with Cat has come roaring back with a vengeance. And Kara doesn’t think it’s only about all the time they’re spending together—not that it’s helping either. It’s more about the way Cat is in her own home—looser, somehow. Not unwound exactly, but closer to it than Kara’s ever seen her, save for those 15 minutes one Monday morning nearly a year ago when Cat had just gotten back from a weekend-long spa vacation but hadn’t yet opened her emails or talked to anyone but Kara.
She’s happier at home, for sure. Like a little layer of the Cat she always has to play for the public has been stripped away. She tucks her feet under her on the couch to watch movies and laughs without restraint and even, memorably, licks a bit of melted chocolate off her finger instead of going to get a napkin during their one and only sundae night.
And that’s not even getting into how she is with Carter… Even on days when Kara knows Cat stays up late to keep working, she still takes time to sit down and have dinner with Kara and Carter and to do something with Carter on nights when he feels up to socializing and doesn’t have too much homework still to finish.
Really, only a monster wouldn’t fall a little at having the chance to see that side of Cat.
(At least that’s all Kara tells Lucy. She doesn’t talk about the nights Cat offers her a glass of wine and sits up talking with her like they’re more than just colleagues. She doesn’t tell Lucy that Cat stocked all of her favorite foods in the cabinets in abundant quantities and adds them to Carla’s shopping list whenever she notices they’re running low. And she definitely doesn’t mention the wispy little silk pajamas Cat apparently wears to bed every night that have haunted her dreams ever since a surprise midnight run-in in the kitchen.)
Really, were it not for the giant secret hanging over them, Kara thinks she would happily deal with all the unrequited pining just to be able to see Cat like this every day.
But then a siren will sound in the distance, and Kara’s dragged right back to reality.
At least the assassins seem to have disappeared. Two more tried after the bullet-eating incident—and, look, Kara’s got a stomach of steel, but even she would not recommend lead snacks—but Kara quickly and quietly got rid of the first, and the other hightailed it out of the store the second he made eye contact with her. She hasn’t spotted anyone else since.
Ultimately, Kara decides to wait until the weekend before trying to convince Cat that she can safely return to her own apartment, but she promises J’onn that by the following week, he’ll be off Supergirl duty.
Supergirl’s smile in all the press coverage that afternoon looks brighter than ever.
- Cat Grant, Host
Cat Grant is not an idiot.
She’s known that Kara Danvers is Supergirl for quite some time and that she’s not from this planet for even longer. Honestly, there are only so many times one can overhear a person joke that they’re an alien before something clicks into place. And there are only so many very familiar-looking button-ups one can collect from the halls of CatCo before deciding that her assistant is either a superhero or a nymphomaniac.
And even if it had somehow escaped Cat’s notice that Kara was Supergirl before—perhaps had a shape-shifting alien not stepped out onto the scene a scant few weeks after Kara’s little identical twin performance—there would be no doubt in her mind now.
Oh, sure, Kara’s been very good about not flinging herself out the window at every minor emergency. But she floats a little when she sleeps sometimes. And she blatantly reheats her leftovers with a blast of heat vision when she thinks no one is watching. (Cat even unplugged the microwave and toaster oven to confirm this fact.) And, most obvious of all, she sat in front of Cat with a plate of salad positively swimming in dressing and proceeded to chew and swallow bullets she’d plucked straight out of the air like they were nothing more than pesky gnats there to ruin their al fresco lunch. It was impressive and horrifying in turn.
All of this, though, Cat had expected. Because she’s not a fucking idiot.
She had not, however, expected the longing looks.
She had not expected the frequent late-night conversations that had become as important as her after-dinner time with Carter.
She had most certainly not expected the surge of want at the sight of Kara with sleep-mussed hair stumbling out of her room in nothing but a faded old Blondie t-shirt and short-shorts that left little to the imagination.
It’s dangerous—playing with a kind of fire that even Cat Grant dares not touch.
But for some reason, this time, she finds she wants nothing more than to let it burn the whole fucking house down around her.
Well, she may have a suspicion or two about the reason. Something about the way she and Kara orbit each other, like there’s nowhere else they’d rather be—even more meaningful now that it’s no longer Kara’s job to do so. Something about the way they look at each other—a heat behind their gazes that has nothing to do with alien superpowers and everything to do with the way Cat’s knees sometimes feel like they might buckle at the sight of Kara’s biceps flexing. Something about the way Kara has so seamlessly made a space in Cat’s home, in her life—a feat not even her ex-husbands had managed.
But besides all of that, really, there’s no reason for this reckless impulse to give into the desire positively crackling in the air around them.
Carter, bless him, provides a perfect buffer.
Except that he’s gone now—a second weekend in a row with his father thanks to a scheduling snafu—and Kara’s in a sleeveless top, standing at the stove and making them both pancakes with more refined sugar than Cat normally lets herself eat in a week and swaying her hips to music from Cat’s approved, boy-band-free list of music.
Kara spins around then, presenting a plate with two fluffy pancakes—maple syrup on the side, thank you very much—to Cat with a flourish and a broad smile that has Cat’s heart skipping a beat.
“What?” Kara cocks her head to the side, looking closely at Cat. “Do I have something?” She sets down Cat’s plate to pat at her perfectly wavy hair—stupid alien DNA—and run her fingers across her face, looking for stray dustings of flour.
“It’s…”
“Oh!” Kara glances down at her shirt where Cat only just now notices the drip of sticky syrup down by her hip. (Truth be told, she’d been far more interested in the bare arms than the ratty old NCU tanktop.) Kara winces a little before shrugging and tugging the hem up to her mouth to try to suck the syrup out of the cotton.
It’s foul and disgusting and a horrible way to get syrup out of a shirt, and Cat can’t do anything but gape at the smooth lines of muscle and newly bared skin on display.
God help her, but Cat wants this woman.
Kara blinks back at Cat, as if only now realizing what she’s done. “Um…I’ll wash this. Like, for real. In the machine.”
“See that you do,” Cat manages, her voice coming out hoarse. Her gaze flicks back down to the still-exposed skin of Kara’s abs before darting back to her face.
Kara spots the movement in an instant, and Cat can feel her cheeks warm, a blush creeping up her chest.
She’s ready to apologize and excuse herself for a long Saturday at the office when Kara steps forward. Two decisive steps until she’s barely an inch away from Cat.
Cat swallows hard.
Kara licks her lips.
The pancakes sit forgotten on the counter. (Only temporarily—Kara will remember and reheat them later. The pan, still sitting on medium-high heat, will, however, be completely wrecked.)
Kara’s fingertips trail along the length of Cat’s collarbones, and a shiver runs down Cat’s spine.
Kara’s gaze drops to Cat’s lips.
Cat isn’t sure which one of them finally closes the gap, but suddenly she’s kissing Kara, and it feels right in a way few moments have in a life spent whittling things down into bearable shapes.
But then Kara’s pulling back. “Shoot, no—I shouldn’t have done that.”
Cat’s well aware of all the reasons they should not be doing this. But unlike Kara, Cat’s only human, and she’s perfectly happy to throw those reasons out the window for this moment of bliss.
“I have to tell you something,” Kara blurts out as Cat leans in once more.
Cat blinks once, then twice. It’s enough to have her interested.
“I…” Kara swallows hard enough that her throat bobs. “I’m Supergirl.”
“About damn time,” Cat huffs before hauling Kara in by her disgustingly sticky shirt for a second kiss—this one far more heated than the first.
“Wait!” Kara pulls back again.
A whine of frustration catches in the back of Cat’s throat. “What now?”
“What do you mean? You knew?”
“Of course I knew, Kara,” Cat says, hitting both syllables of Kara’s name and stretching them out like an audible roll of her eyes. “You’re not subtle.”
“I—I’m super subtle!”
“Please, if I hadn’t made you stay with me, those second-rate assassins would have known you were Supergirl by the end of the day.”
Kara blinks once, then twice. “What?”
“Like you would have hesitated before flinging yourself out Kara Danvers’ apartment window in full Supergirl regalia at the first siren.”
“I…I mean…”
“It’s who you are, Kara. Selfless even when it’s stupid.”
Kara winces.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Cat whispers, letting her fingertips trail down the length of Kara’s arms.
“Oh.” Kara gulps.
“Now why don’t you take off that shirt before you get any syrup on me, and we’ll go from there?”
+1 Welcome to the Last Word, It’s Your Host: Kyle
It’s been two weeks since The Tribune published a front-page expose about the arrest of some anti-alien extremist group that had put a hit out on one of CatCo’s reporters over a column meant to give voice to the alien communities living and working in National City. Which means it’s been wo weeks since Kara Danvers had any reason to still be relying on Cat Grant’s personal security team—not that she’d ever really needed them in the first place.
And yet, for the past two weeks, like clockwork, the two have strolled in the door together each morning and shared the private elevator Kyle knows for a fact Cat wouldn’t even let the mayor step foot in. (And okay, fine, he’d sneezed while they were walking through the lobby, but still!)
Kara shrugs when he asks and mutters something about Cat having offered to pick her up on the way to work in case any rogue assassins are still on the prowl. But she doesn’t make eye contact whens he says it, and she leaves in such a rush that she forgets her sticky bun on his desk—and doesn’t come back for it. Really, that’s proof in and of itself, as far as he’s concerned.
It’s during the third week, though, that Kyle finally gets his real evidence. The kind those Law & Order people would slam down on a judge’s desk. He’s doing his usual weekly review of the security footage to check for any irregularities and erase all proof of Kara’s Supergirl exploits when he sees the flicker of movement on the screen displaying the footage from Cat’s private elevator. He’s caught glimpses of them day in and day out riding up in the morning and down in the evening, Kara grinning widely and cracking corny jokes—he assumes; there’s not actually any sound—while Cat rolls her eyes (and looks decidedly fond). But this day, there’s less joking and more kissing.
Kyle nods decisively to himself. Knew it. There’s no way anyone’s that excited about spending more time—and a lunch break, no less—with their famously prickly boss. Pitch meeting his ass.
With a shake of his head, he deletes that footage as well.
Apparently there’ll be one more secret for him to protect these days.