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"Are you all right, Ms. Grant?"
Cat Grant blinked.
The face of her assistant came into focus. All the usual parts were there: thick glasses, button nose, painfully earnest expression. That expression was concern, Cat decided after some effort. It wasn't easy to make out, though. Keira's face wasn't holding even remotely steady. Oh, wait, that wasn't Keira; it was Cat, swaying back and forth on her feet.
That could be dangerous, Cat thought. We're on the balcony. There's a drop. She reached out her hand for the railing -- was she close to the railing? she had no idea --
Her assistant pushed a glass into her hand. "Here, Ms. Grant. Drink some water."
The glass was cold against Cat's palm. "Thank you, Keira." She drank, sips at first, then faster. Her mouth had been dry. When the glass was empty, she pressed it against her face. The dizziness was clearing rapidly. She felt good, Cat realized. Energized, even. And, strangely, hungry.
"Feeling better?" Keira said. "Maybe you need to eat something?"
Yes, Cat thought, definitely hungry. "Yes. We're done for the evening. Go home and do whatever it is you do there."
Keira took the glass, looking down demurely. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ms. Grant."
Cat absently flapped a hand at her in farewell and made her way to the elevator.
The food Cat needed came easily enough, as Carter had just finished another cookery course. By the time she arrived home, he'd prepared a plate of hors-d'oeuvres and was elbow-deep in making dinner, having drafted the nanny into action as his sous-chef. "No assistants," Cat told him sternly. "That's cheating."
"But Mom, I have to chop like a billion things!"
"You're not learning to cook for a restaurant. You're learning to cook as social glue. When you go to college, you'll want to be able to cook for a roomful of drunk friends. You can't trust your drunk friends with knives."
"Nobody else's mom does this."
"Nobody else will be thanking their mom when they're turning away girls in college."
The hors-d'oeuvres took the edge off the hunger, and a glass of wine took the edge off the evening. By the time Cat had finished both, dinner was ready. She listened carefully to the events of Carter's day, and shared a redacted version of hers. Carter was a worrier. There was no need to tell him she'd been feeling faint. She would monitor herself for the rest of the evening, and call her doctor the next morning if it felt warranted. But nothing was wrong. Certainly not. Having eaten, she felt perfectly fine, with only a minor sense of having left something undone.
That sense nagged at her through the rest of the evening. Something she couldn't remember, something she hadn't finished, something almost on the tip of her mind --
It was the sole counter to what was, for Cat, an unusual sense of well-being. By the time she settled into bed, she'd decided that her earlier disorientation had been minor. Certainly nothing to call her doctor about. But you felt a little faint yesterday, too, her inner voice said accusingly, to which she thought, wait a minute, did I? But by then the white noise generator and sleep mask were doing their work, and the thought, like the world, faded away.
Cat awoke at her usual quarter to six with a corner of pillow in her mouth and a confused memory of dreams that had started with Supergirl flying over the city with Cat in her arms and ended with Supergirl kissing Cat in Cat's office even as Cat's assistant prattled endlessly about missed appointments. Ugh, Cat thought, as she rose and stumbled toward the yoga mat. Dreams about kissing a pretty girl less than half her age. How cliched; how pointless. How unimaginative. Why merely bed a superhero, when you had the opportunity to shape one?
National City's cold snap was still going, which meant that, yet again, Cat had to resort to her overcoat. Wearing it was always strange for her, not for the weather but for the capacious pockets. Cat knew younger women, in particular, were clamoring for them, but she was a devotee of the purse system, which she considered far superior technology. All of your items in one place; no need to shift everything over every day; no need to constantly weed out change or bits of junk. Cat Grant's pockets held nothing but lint.
But today, when she absently put her hand into the right-hand coat pocket, something was there.
It was a small piece of paper, formed into a wad. Not carelessly balled, but folded and compressed. Cat carefully opened it. The paper was a yellow Post-it note, its surface oddly marked -- not written on, but smudged. The smudges, she realized, were pencil shadings, revealing impressions in the paper.
Cat knew the trick, of course. But no one used it anymore; no one used pads of paper anymore. And that was where you used it: on pads of paper, shading with a pencil to highlight the impression of what someone had written on the previous sheet. Not on a single piece of paper that had clearly been folded and refolded, again and again.
Cat looked more closely at the shadings, and the revealed impressions. As she turned the paper in the light from the window she saw another impression, crossing one of the folds. A newer impression. Still unshaded.
There was a small desk in the bedroom. Cat rummaged for a pencil, angled it, and shaded carefully over the new impression. It was just like all the others. A letter K. A few of the others had a line next to it, like a K-, but most were only the letter.
Huh.
Cat almost tossed the paper away. At the last moment, she refolded it and tucked it away in her pants pocket.
"Keira," said Cat, "where are we on the schedule for next month?"
Cat's assistant looked up, wide-eyed, from her tablet. "Every day is booked completely solid."
"Boring. Move things around. I want three free afternoons, one week apart. I need to meet with Mr. Olsen about our Greatest Catco Photos Special newsstand compilation."
Keira's brow furrowed. "We're doing one?"
"Yes, I've just decided."
"I'll need to talk with him about his schedule --"
"No, you'll need to talk with him about mine. I'm the boss; that's how it works."
"Right."
The girl was nearly out of the room when a stray thought occurred to Cat. "Kiera," she said, "how do you spell your name?"
The girl hesitated. Cat glared at her. "Um," the girl said hesitantly. "It's actually… Kara. K-A-R-A. Kara." She shrugged.
It was a K, at least. Cat stared back at her blankly. "Is there something interesting about you?" she said. The girl's mouth flapped uselessly, like a goldfish's. Cat winced. "Ugh. Never mind. Go do whatever I just told you to do."
The girl brightened. "Change your schedule and talk to James."
"I told you to do it so I don't have to think about it. And now I am. Instead of more important things. Go."
The girl fidgeted a moment longer, then left. Cat shook her head. Well, that certainly couldn't be it. Dull as dishwater. She should forget about it; there were certainly enough things to occupy her.
Such as the alien spacecraft that had just streaked past her window.
Cat only glimpsed it, but there was no way to mistake it for anything but what it was. Sleek, gleaming, with latticed fins, it tore through the canyons of buildings with a sound like a wild animal's scream. It flew nothing like an airplane; when it reached a building site, it drifted around the girders like a skidding rally car, and then hovered, angling its front end slightly downward at the crowds.
Cat's heart leapt to her mouth: this is where it fires lasers at people. But it didn't. It waited long enough for panic to start, then tore forward, swooping terrifyingly low over a crowded park. People screamed and scattered.
"Oh my God," said Kiera. She turned to leave. As if she could outrun it, Cat thought. "Where do you think you're going?" she snapped.
Keira looked around wildly. "Um. We should -- activate the security plan? Everybody get to safety? If it hits the building, it could --"
"No," said Cat. "This is news, and we have a front-row seat. I want you here with me. There are a lot of phone calls I need to make, and I'll need you to dial them. NASA first, then local air traffic control; when did this thing come in, and from what direction? Check social media for any references, someone may have a dash cam video from outside of town, unless it descended directly on National City. We need to license that footage immediately, build a story -- Keira, are you listening!"
The Catco employees who had crowded against the windows leapt back as a police helicopter tore by, its loudspeakers issuing a stark warning. It was a serious-looking craft, sleek and purposeful, but it was made by humans using human technology, and it was facing down something that had travelled to Earth from another star.
The alien spacecraft revved its engines and few forward, low across the park, smashing full-tilt into a bronze statue of National City's first mayor. The collision at speed would have destroyed any earth-built machine. The statue flew to pieces. The alien spacecraft was undamaged.
The helicopter dropped lower in pursuit, weaving back and forth as it followed the spacecraft between buildings just above the traffic. The police loudspeaker kept blaring warnings and admonitions as the two vehicles slipped in and out of Cat's sight among the buildings.
It was nothing but a game for the spacecraft. Cat saw that instantly. The aliens were toying with the helicopter. They slowed enough for the police to get close, then slipped sideways or up or down to pass by them. Sometimes the aliens just accelerated, tearing down one street with a speed and agility the helicopter couldn't match to emerge unexpectedly from another. The police would peel away in a panic, and the aliens would let them gain distance, and turn in pursuit, and start all over again.
On one pass, the alien came up tight behind the police helicopter. Its nose rose and thumped the tail. Only the angle caused it to miss the tail rotor. The helicopter lurched, the pilot struggling to maintain control as the alien ship dropped and zoomed straight underneath the helicopter again. Two blocks away, the alien ship stopped. It rotated a hundred and eighty degrees, then rose straight up, into the path of the police helicopter. It flew straight backwards for five blocks, then halted, revved its engines, and flew at great speed forward.
The spacecraft was playing chicken with the helicopter. Except the helicopter couldn't maneuver like the spacecraft. Or survive a collision. Or a glancing blow. Or a strong, sudden gust from a close pass --
Cat thought, those people are doomed.
Keira said, "Oh my God I can't take this I'm going to throw up," and raced for the bathroom.
She'd barely made it out of the room when a blue streak shot around the corner of the building. Cat could hear the cheers from her employees three floors below, and from the investment firm in the building opposite. Supergirl, finally.
In the bare instant before the collision, Supergirl ran head-on into the alien craft and shoved backwards, pushing it away from the police helicopter.
The alien pilot maneuvered frantically. The spacecraft managed to spin loose from Supergirl's grip. Its engines revved again, and the ship smashed head-on into Supergirl, running her down. Cat heard the cries of onlookers as the Girl of Steel vanished. Then the panicked shouts turned to cheers again, as the craft banked, revealing Supergirl underneath, sliding along the vehicle's keel to its engines. Supergirl reached the rear of the craft, glanced over it -- Cat assumed with her X-ray vision -- and then grabbed two protrusions, wrenching them apart, tearing a gap in the engine. Supergirl reached her arm deep inside and tore something free.
The effect was immediate. The craft lurched, emitting a spray of some viscous fluid. Parts, some of them looking disconcertingly organic, dangled from the hole Supergirl had torn. As the ship reeled, Supergirl released her hold and flew around to the front, where she folded her arms and waited for the ship to find its equilibrium.
Cat couldn't help but imagine the pilot. Frantic, working to regain control of the craft, using every ounce of skill. And then, when the ship stabilized -- as it did now -- well, Cat thought, now he'd be looking up to see…
The spacecraft floated sharply backward, away from Supergirl. It wobbled appreciably from side to side. The pilot hadn't expected this, Cat realized. He didn't know what to do.
Supergirl spread her hands: your move. Cat wondered if her eyes were glowing.
The spacecraft drifted back a bit more. And then it was gone. Almost blinking out of sight, laying down more speed than Cat had seen it move with before. Straight up. Fleeing desperately for the safety of outer space.
The cheers from the street and from her employees rose to Cat's ears. The police helicopter banked from side to side in salute. Supergirl waved an arm at it, then began to fly away.
Cat tore through her office to the exterior doors and onto her balcony. "Supergirl!" she yelled.
She wasn't certain it would work, but a moment later the Girl of Steel descended into view. "Afternoon, Ms. Grant," Supergirl said, hovering a few feet away from the edge of Cat's balcony. She likes to make me look up, Cat thought. "No need to worry, everything's all right now."
Cat hugged herself against the chill. Should have grabbed my coat if I was coming out here, she thought. "I can see that. What was that thing? Is it a threat? An invasion?"
"Nothing like that. Just some alien kids joyriding." Supergirl looked into the sky after the departing starship. "I shorted out part of their hyperdrive. They'll have a long, bumpy ride home. I'm sure they won't recommend the experience to their friends."
"Hyperdrive?" said Cat. She pointed, to where a shining piece of debris was stuck to Supergirl's shoulder with blue glop. "Is that what that is?"
Supergirl glanced down at her shoulder. She plucked the debris free and shook the blue glop away. "No," she said, turning it over in her hand, "that's a piece of guidance system -- oh." Amazingly, she looked almost guilty. "I, um, guess they're going to have a longer ride home than I'd thought. Don't worry! They'll still be all right."
"I'm so glad you're concerned about alien adolescents."
"You say that to sound sarcastic," said Supergirl, smiling gently. "But I know that you really do like that about me, Ms. Grant."
Cat felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "Oh, go rescue a kitten."
Supergirl beamed. "Here, Ms. Grant," she said, tossing the starship piece to Cat, who caught it automatically. "Have a souvenir."
And then she was gone.
The piece of starship -- guidance system, apparently -- was light in Cat's hands. It looked like a curved bit of metal, but felt more like ceramic, though the weight was wrong for both. A souvenir, thought Cat. As if it were a paperweight, or a snowglobe. Not a piece of another world. A thin film of the blue glop still clung to the fragment. The glop smelled, and it was a little sticky.
Cat turned the starship piece over and over in her hands as she walked slowly back into her office. She rinsed the item in her private sink, then dried it on a hand towel and washed her hands. Dried off, the piece had a fascinating, varied texture. She considered placing the bit of starship on a shelf -- visitors would gawk, certainly, for the alien and Supergirl value -- but found herself putting it on her desk instead. She would want to touch it.
Keira stepped back into the office as Cat settled behind her desk. "I'm sorry, Ms. Grant," said Keira. She wiped at her mouth. "Nerves, I guess. I don't know what --"
Wendell, the IT hobbit, burst into view behind her. "Hey!" he said. "Um, sorry, Kara, you got a little on --" he waved a hand at the edge of her skirt.
Keira gasped. "Oh! Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Winn, that's so gross! Excuse me, Ms. Grant." She stepped back, turning towards the bathroom.
"Keira," Cat said. The girl stopped in her tracks and looked back at Cat, eyes wide. "I'll need you to stay late tonight. We have quite a lot of work ahead of us."
The girl nodded a hurried acquiescence, and left.
Cat leaned back in her chair, sliding the starship fragment into her hand. She turned it in her fingers, and smiled. With her other hand, she reached into her pocket, and felt the folded Post-It note. She wondered who had given it to her. It didn't matter.
It was so simple. Transparent, really. The stain on Keira's skirt wasn't vomit. Whatever it was, it wasn't that. It was blue-tinged, and glistened, and the waft of scent that had come in with Keira was the same one that still lingered on Cat's hand.
"Yes, Ms. Grant?" said Keira.
"Drink," said Cat. "Make one."
The girl scurried to obey.
She had to admit, Cat thought, Keira knew just what to do: bourbon, ice, a chilled glass. The default setting, when they were the last two people on the floor, if not in the building. I should set up a more extensive bar, Cat thought, not for the first time. It would be pleasant to be able to order Supergirl to make her an Old Fashioned.
Kiera turned around with the drink. She handed it to Cat, and waited. Sometimes, Cat would tell her to make one for herself. Not today, Cat thought. She needed every aspect of power imbalance she could get. She took a sip from her drink, then another, not taking her eyes off of Kiera the entire time. The girl fidgeted. It was amusing. Cat enjoyed the moment, the uncomfortable silence. She lowered her glass and took a breath. The girl straightened, ready to obey.
Cat said, "Take off your glasses."
"What?"
"You heard me," Cat said. She waved the glass; the ice clinked. "Take off your glasses. And take down your hair. I want you to do those things for me. Right now."
The girl bit her lip. "Ms. Grant," said Keira haltingly, "I'm not comfortable --"
"Don't even try to run for cover under the sexual harassment policy. I'm not asking you to take your clothes off. Not yet. Even though I'm pretty sure I know what you're wearing underneath. The game is up. Supergirl." Keira's eyes widened. "Glasses. Hair. Now."
Keira looked down. Then she took a deep breath, pulled the glasses off, took the clip out of her hair, and looked up again, and Cat thought, oh my.
Yes, that was definitely the look she'd seen in those disconcerting dreams. Every bit of it. The moment even felt oddly dreamlike, if only because Supergirl's confident gaze was coming from a point just above Keira's terrible, terrible sense of fashion. But there was also familiarity: the buzz of accomplishment, of having found the key to a story, of having closed a deal, changed the world. I did this, Cat thought. She knew this feeling. This was power.
The familiarity gave her added confidence. "Aren't you going to change the rest of the way?" Cat said.
Supergirl's gaze was steady. "You can order your assistant about," she said. It was the same voice, but firmer, smoother, the pitch perhaps a touch lower. "You can't order me."
"Compartmentalized?" Cat raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "All right. I can work with that. Adds some interest, even, a little spice…" She took a sip from her glass, and glanced at Supergirl over the rim. "What are you smiling about?"
"It's nothing," said Supergirl. Cat glared. "Just -- well, you always say that. But usually we have this conversation on your balcony."
Cat arched an eyebrow. "Usually?"
Supergirl smiled again.
"No, you don't get to be enigmatic," said Cat. She set her glass on the desk with an emphasizing thunk. "Not when you hint at something like that. What are you hinting at? I've found out your secret before? And I've just -- forgotten? That would be extraordinarily convenient, so I'm not really seeing --"
"Every two or three weeks," Supergirl said.
Cat stiffened.
"Usually, it happens once every two or three weeks. Ten days in a row, though -- that's… new. I know there are clues, but you don't always pick up on them. I'm not sure why you're finding me out so frequently now. I don't think I've been doing anything wrong." Supergirl frowned. "Maybe there's something small that I've missed. Something that jogs your memory. Something that repeats…"
Cat felt the blood drain from her face. "What have you done to me?"
"I promise, it's nothing that's bad or harmful."
"I'll be the judge of that," Cat snapped. "What have you done, wiped my mind?! Used alien technology? Do you fly around the earth and undo time?"
"It isn't that elaborate. Actually, it's a little silly."
"Well, it's my mind, so that's not actually comforting."
"Kryptonians have a superpower we don't talk about much," Supergirl said softly. She took a step forward; Cat involuntarily took one back, and then another. Supergirl kept coming. "My cousin had to use it on Lois Lane once or twice. I didn't think I'd be using it on you." She smiled. "Definitely not so often. The first time, I was… embarrassed. But by the third or fourth time, I realized neither of us minds. Which, I have to admit, is interesting." Her smile grew wider for an instant. Then it was wiped away. "It makes me wish I didn't have to."
The edge of Cat's desk pressed against her back, cutting off her retreat. Her hands scrabbled weakly at the surface. "What are you doing?" she said faintly.
"I promise, you won't hate it."
Cat said, "I'll be the judge of tha--" and Supergirl kissed her.
Pressure of lips, a soft flash of tongue. Hands, one on Cat's cheek, the other cupping the back of her head; Cat knew how strong those hands were, knew they could stop bullets or tear open a bank vault, but they were soft, and their touch was gentle. Cat felt a warm flush on her face, her neck. A sudden, silly rush of nervousness. And dizziness, as if she were swooning. Her vision dimmed; her breath caught in her throat, until Supergirl exhaled and new air came in. Cat could feel the floor beneath her and the desk at her back, but only faintly; her world was drifting away, and the only constant was Supergirl, and Cat was still kissing her. It's working, she thought, whatever it is she's doing, it's working; and no, no, no, it can't, I have to remember this.
Her hand, limp by her side, felt a small lump in her pocket: the Post-It note.
There was nothing else. Nothing to work with. No pen, not that it mattered. She could unfold it, but she had only the one hand, she couldn't take it out of her pocket, she couldn't write --
Cat pressed her thumbnail hard against the paper. "Keira is Supergirl" was definitely out, but "K=SG" seemed barely possible. She managed the first two legs of the K, then stumbled on the third, and by that time her head was reeling so much that even the equals sign was impossible. Dammit to hell, Cat thought belatedly; of course, she always came up with the same plan, and it never worked --
Oh, well, Cat thought as her last bit of consciousness swirled away. At least this way I know I'll get to kiss Supergirl again.
"Are you all right, Ms. Grant?"
Cat Grant blinked.
She was leaning against the desk in her office. Her legs felt unsteady. She had broken a light sweat, she realized, though she didn't know why. A fever? Keira was looking at her with a solicitous expression. Did I faint? Cat thought. Is this what fainting is?
Her assistant took her hand and pressed a cold glass into it. "Here, Ms. Grant. Drink some water."
"Thank you, Keira."
Cat took the glass and lifted it. "Little sips," Keira said unnecessarily. Cat rolled her eyes at her. She drank small sips, then a larger one, rolling the water around her mouth before she swallowed. She tried to lift the cold glass to press it against her face, but her hand was weak; Keira took the glass from her and pressed it against her cheek.
Cat closed her eyes. "How did you know I liked that?" she said.
At first, Keira said nothing. Then she said softly, "Because I like it too."
The dizziness was abating. Cat blinked and stood on her feet. She took the glass -- her hands were stronger, now -- and drank again. She felt better. Much better.
Keira said, "Maybe you should eat something."
"Yes. Mr. Olsen has everything in hand here," said Cat. She leaned back against the desk and stretched her neck from side to side. "I'll just go home, and -- "
Something in her pocket pressed between her and the desk.
That was odd. Usually, Cat didn't keep anything in her pockets.
She reached in and found a small wad of paper. A Post-It note. Yellow, tightly folded. Obviously junk. She extended her arm. "Here, Keira," she said, "throw this away for me, will you?"
"What is it?" said Keira, taking the Post-It. She unfolded it.
"Just junk, I'm sure," said Cat. She winced, and pressed her fingers to her temples, then took another swallow of her drink. When she looked back, Keira hadn't moved. The girl had unfolded the little scrap of paper and was staring at it, her mouth open in a silent "oh."
"You're right," Keira said. "It's… nothing. Really, nothing." She closed the paper, and folded it over on itself, neatly compressing it back into a wad. The girl bit her lip. "It was nothing at all," she said again, softly.
"Get rid of it, then."
Kiera closed her hand around the paper. "Of course," she said. She seemed, Cat thought, somehow sad. Well, that wasn't Cat's problem. She ignored it and waited. The girl stood a moment longer, then shook her head and straightened.
"Let me get your coat for you, Ms. Grant," Keira said.
It was a surprising little touch of subservience. Cat found that she enjoyed it: Keira holding her coat, sliding it over her arms, running her hands over the lapels, the flaps of Cat's pockets, making sure everything was just so. It was an unusually personal thoroughness from Keira, oddly intimate. And thoughtful. Certainly not unpleasant. The girl had her moments.
When Keira finished her ministrations, she stepped back and stood quietly. Cat hadn't realized Keira had gone by the trash can, but she must have discarded the scrap of paper somewhere along the way, because it was gone and Keira's hands were empty. "You got rid of that bit of junk, didn't you?" she said.
"I... put it where it belongs."
Cat acknowledged this with a nod and downed the last of her water, leaving the glass on the desk for the girl to take care of. Hungry, she thought, definitely hungry. I'll go home and eat.
"Good night, Keira," said Cat.
"Good night, Ms. Grant," said Keira softly. "I'll see you again tomorrow."