Work Text:
Birthday
You have been dating Kara Danvers for two months when you realize that you have no idea when her birthday is. You immediately call down to HR and have them email Kara's personnel file. You're not sure why you never thought to look, it just seemed like Sunny Danvers would naturally be the type to have balloons tied to her chair and flowers sent in by every friend. But you think back and can never remember seeing a half-eaten cake with Kara's name on it in the break room, and there have definitely never been balloons or flowers.
You tap your pen against your desk impatiently as you wait for the file to arrive, and when it does, you open it immediately, scanning, scanning, - there. June tenth. One week away and you have no idea what Kara's friends and family have planned for her. You aren't one of the group yet, and while part of you eschews such ridiculous things, part of you feels a bit like little Kitty Grant back in boarding school, left out of the midnight kitchen raids because everyone assumes that even among the rich elite, you're too stuck up for that.
So you call Alex - she will always be Agent Scully to you - and leave a message, because she never answers the phone unless it is Kara doing the calling. She calls back half an hour later.
Kara desperately wants the two of you to get along, and so you try to keep the snark out of your voice when you speak to her. You are only minimally successful.
"I know I won't be getting an engraved invitation, but I was hoping to at least be able to crash whatever little party you have planned for Kara's birthday."
There is silence and then a confused reply of, "What are you talking about, Cat?"
Your eye roll is sadly wasted on a phone call.
"I'm talking about your sister's birthday. In one week. June tenth? I thought you were the perfect sister?"
There is another silence before a soft-spoken reply, and you can't remember the last time Alex Danvers was soft-spoken around you. Because it has never happened.
"That isn't Kara's real birthday," she tells you. "That's the day she landed here on Earth. My parents used it for all the paperwork when they created her background and adopted her."
"So she doesn't celebrate it?"
"Would you celebrate the day your whole world disappeared?" And apparently Alex Danvers can almost match you in the snark department.
When you think about it for half a second though, you have the grace to feel embarrassed. Of course she wouldn't celebrate it. She probably didn't even want to be reminded about it. The fact that the date is basically attached to her, logistically, forever, is probably a little torture to her.
You don't answer Alex's question, instead posing your own.
"When is her real birthday? Do you know? Does she?"
Maybe there is something about your voice, the genuine caring that seeps in despite your desire to appear aloof, or the way you have lowered it to match the agent's quiet tones. Whatever it is, Alex's voice also softens.
"As a matter of fact, we just found out the date last year. We didn't really do much for it. I wasn't sure what she would want to do. Birthdays were more ceremonial and religious on Krypton, but she's been here long enough that I thought at least a cupcake would get a good response, and it did."
"She does love cake," you say, smiling.
"Tell me about it," Alex says and it almost seems like you could become friends given enough time. "We went out to dinner that night and I gave her this fancy pen she kept going on and on about every time we passed it in the store window."
You know exactly the pen. It bears a strong resemblance to your own favorite, though much more expensive, limited edition Mont Blanc.
"And this year?" you press, eager to get to the point and slightly afraid that you have already unknowingly missed it.
"Nothing is planned yet. It's in the fall. October tenth."
"Well then," you say, aloof attitude firmly back in place, "you'll keep me informed of any plans?"
"Yes, I'll let you know if we're going to do anything," Alex tells you, sounding only slightly put-out. "Assuming you're still dating."
That little dig stings unexpectedly, though it really shouldn't. You're certain that almost everyone thinks that you will tire of being tabloid fodder with a young woman on your arm; the latest celebrity lesbian. Or they think that Kara will tire of the irrational demands of the Queen of All Media.
"I don't intend to end our relationship except at Kara's request," you say, which seems to surprise the woman on the other end of the line.
"Then I guess I'll be in touch," she says after a moment, and if you were the sappy type you'd almost say you thought you heard something approaching hopefulness in her voice.
Of course you can't write the special date into your calendar because Kara, even though she is no longer your assistant, sees it practically on a daily basis for one reason or another. Usually to dig your current assistant out of a hole while pretending to "visit" at her desk. You always just shake your head and look away, going along with the flimsy ruse. it makes Kara happy to help, and you have to admit that Tina isn't half bad as far as assistants go.
Luckily you only have two other birthdays to remember, so remembering Kara's isn't much of a stretch. You put a tiny heart on the date in the little free calendar from Hallmark that you carry in your purse (you've carried one every year since Carter "gifted" you one for Christmas when he was four) just because you feel like it and know it's the one place Kara will never see.
The next three months are some of the best you can remember, ludicrous as that sounds. You realize that you didn't really expect to fully love the woman who now wakes up beside you more mornings than not. And you realize that you started loving her long before you started dating her. It makes you ashamed of the years you spent berating her to hide your feelings, so you try not to think about it. You know that she forgave you after your first kiss. Maybe even before that.
September comes and you start thinking seriously about what you are going to do for her birthday. You had thought it would be easy. Some flowers, a night at an expensive restaurant, some extravagant piece of jewelry or art: those things would be perfect for most women. Unfortunately for you, Kara is anything but average, despite that stumbling speech of hers years ago at 10:15 in the morning.
You think of one afternoon shortly after she started spending nights at the penthouse. Her metabolism required much more food than normal, and so it had seemed to make sense to just buy a second refrigerator and have the kitchen partially remodeled to accommodate it. When Kara had seen it, instead of that bright Sunny Danvers grin, she had looked at the ground, color high in her cheeks.
"You didn't need to do that, just for me," she had told you. "You shouldn't waste your money that way."
Naturally you had opened your mouth to argue with her - gently - but then she'd glanced up and you'd seen something in her eyes that made you stop.
You don't mention it again until you are lying in bed, moonlight flooding the room because Kara likes to sleep with the shades up so that the sun hits her first thing in the morning.
"You aren't a burden to me," you tell her. "I enjoy doing things to make your life easier. And my life too. Besides, Carter's hitting a growth spurt so I'll need it for him as much as you."
Your little joke seems to put her at ease and she cuddles into your side while you stroke her back and kiss the top of her head.
This is the girl who fell from the sky with nothing but a language she couldn't fully share and a heritage that only she remembered. Eliza and Jeremiah raised her as a daughter, yet Kara was always keenly aware of the cost of her presence and the fact that she would never be able to repay them because the price exacted had been more than mere money.
So you know that nothing monetarily extravagant will work as a present for her. You need to show her in another way how much she means to you; how much of a gift she is to you. You almost go to Carter and ask him for advice, because your son can be socially awkward but is somehow perfectly in tune with you and with Kara. But no, this needs to come from you alone.
You call Alex again two days later, thankful that your relationship has moved well past bitchy posturing and into something approaching friendship.
"I need to talk to that computer of Kara's," you tell her almost before she can finish her pleasant greeting.
"Her computer? You mean the A.I. of her mother?"
"Yes, that," you say shortly.
"I swear to God, Cat, if you are planning to ask a computer for permission to marr-"
You cut her off before she can finish the thought. "Don't be ridiculous. It's barely been six months and if I was going to ask anyone, I'd start with you."
The words are out and you can take them back so you just scrunch your eyes closed and squeeze your phone, cursing under your breath. To her credit, Alex sails over your admission without comment.
"All right, I can get you in to see it - "her" - but you're the one coming up with the excuse for Kara."
Thankfully, you don't need an excuse; you can just call your yoga teacher and tell her you'll be missing class twice a week for the foreseeable future. You're getting enough extra stretching in bed with Kara that you don't think skipping downward dog for a while will be a problem.
For the first meeting, you show up wearing jeans and a black shirt and a borrowed black cap over your pulled-back hair. Because you are not chancing one of these DE-Joes telling Kara that they saw you waltzing around with her sister. You've been to the DEO once before. A visit you try not to think about. There had been blood and machines, a glowing table and Kara.
Alex guides you through a maze of hallways before pressing her hand against a panel on the wall, the door sliding open with a release of air like the opening of a tomb. There is something sacred feeling in that room. A press of a button later and you are standing in front of Kara's mother and Alex is backing out of the room, telling you to call when you're done.
You know that this thing - this image - in front of you is nothing more than light and computer generated images, but you still remove your hat automatically; a sign of respect. Lightly wavy dark hair, and piercing eyes and a long blue gown and this is Alura Zor-El. You feel the need to introduce yourself before asking your questions. You try to view her answers through a reporter's lens, admiring the technology that makes this all possible. It still makes you feel like a nervous teenager when it - she - asks your relationship to Kara. A head nod is all the response your answer garners.
An hour later and you know the rudimentary sounds of the Kryptonian language, and a few phrases. You've always had a talent for languages but you don't tell Alex that when she opens the door to release you. You're fairly certain she would make a crude remark about the other ways you put your talented tongue to work. Teasing Kara about her love-life has become a favorite past-time and you have not been granted immunity.
Twice weekly lessons for a month and you will not be able to carry on a conversation, but you know some words, can understand more than you can speak, can speak some endearments such as you would never say in English. You have a few weeks left when you ask for the second thing you want.
In an instant, you are surrounded by a virtual cloud of stardust; a portion of the universe unwinding around you. Alura points out Rao and the constellation of Kara and you are surprised to feel tears pressing at the backs of your eyes. Because this is a sky that Kara looked on for over twelve years, and as much as you wish she could look on it still, you can't help but be grateful that she is with you under a different sky now.
You call Alex, and she gasps when she enters the room, knowing exactly what surrounds her.
"I need a picture of this," you tell her. "I'll sign whatever you need me to sign."
You leave the DEO with a thumb drive containing a 2-D representation of the space around the former planet Krypton, and a story about interstellar astronomy that is too boring to interest the art printer you are heading towards. You pay for a rush delivery, and a thirty-six inch archival quality print on canvas arrives at the penthouse in three days. Carter isn't home and so you can prop it against the living-room sofa and stare at it for a long time before hiding it in the back of your closet. Carter would say you're getting hopelessly romantic.
On October tenth, you arrive at CatCo before Kara for the first time in almost four years. You are earlier than almost everyone, which is convenient because you are lugging an awkwardly large object and don't feel like answering inane questions about it. You head straight for your office and then through to the balcony.
You had considered hanging it on the wall in Kara's office. She has a Georgia O'Keefe print, beloved by college freshman girls everywhere, hanging on her wall. She says she can't hang her own art there where just anyone could see. It's too private, like a diary or a scrapbook of memories. The fact that you have seen everything she's ever painted still fills you with a wave of love for her. You are afraid that this photograph is in that same very personal category and that she will not want it on display for anyone who might stop by.
It is lunchtime before you see Kara. It's an unfortunate consequence of her new position in CatCo. There is a small vase of yellow roses on her desk but she doesn't say where they came from.
"From Alex?" you guess.
She nods, that shy, pleased smile gracing her lips. She'd admitted her birthday to you a month earlier, and told you that she hadn't celebrated it - or her false birthday - since her first year on Earth. She told you that no one else knew and that you weren't really ready for anyone else to know. She told you she wasn't sure how she wanted to treat it, going forward. You told her how much you abhorred your own birthday. You think it made her happy to hear that. Normal.
"If you don't have plans with her (you know she doesn't) I could use an extra pair of eyes this evening. The Christmas layouts are just a mess, and you know what I like. I would even let you order from that horrid little hole in the wall you like."
That hole in the wall is your favorite Chinese restaurant now.
"Nope, no plans. We're going out to dinner on Friday. I think she's got Eliza flying out for it."
She rolls her eyes, but you think she is secretly pleased.
"Well you said you'd tell me if you changed your mind about wanting to celebrate, and you never told me," you say, hand on hip, as if defending your lack of elaborate birthday plans.
"No, no! Pffft! I'm a little old for balloons and streamers at this point," she jokes. "Just hanging out with you here would be perfect."
You know she has to suspect that you have more than greasy Chinese food planned. And naturally, you do. But hiding suspicions is a little game you have played for a very long time and you are both very good at it. You pretended not to know her real identity and she pretended not to know that you cared for her long before she donned a cape.
Alex calls Kara away for a non-emergency at the DEO at around five o'clock. Having Alex on your side has been extremely helpful.
It is past seven by the time she returns (you have told security to call you the instant she enters the building), the personal party planner has strung fairy lights all around the balcony, set up a table complete with ivory linens and candles, and strategically placed pink and ivory roses on all the surfaces. You ran out to your favorite florist and bought the blood-red roses for the center of the table yourself.
You had considered hiring the chef from L'Etoile, but decided to actually get the greasy, yet delicious, Chinese food. You drew the line at eating out of the carton, however. There are china plates on the table, and the food has all been transferred into silver chafing dishes. You have planned everything to perfection.
And you are terrified of her reaction.
The bullpen is empty and the elevator chime is loud in the open space. You hear it in your office and walk (rush) to the balcony.
Her footsteps are hurried, but slow as they reach your office. You think she must be listening for your heartbeat which you wish was not racing. When she turns towards the balcony you see her eyes widen before she even takes a step forward. You are standing in the doorway, but back up as she approaches, her hands doing that adorable fidgeting and her mouth dropping open.
"Happy birthday, love," you say and you hope your accent is better than Clark Kent's.
Whatever you were expecting, it was not the tears that suddenly spill over, and the hands that instantly press against her lips, holding back a sob.
"What? No... No, no, no, darling, don't cry. Did I say it wrong?"
And she is shaking her head, but her tears keep coming so you rush closer and wrap your arms around her and she has always been larger than you and then larger than life, but in that instant she is small and you will protect her from anything.
"I can't - I can't believe - How? Alex?" she murmurs when the tears begin to recede.
"Alex - and Alura. Well, your A.I. of Alura," you tell her. "I'm so sorry. I thought - "
"No! I - I just wasn't expecting that," she says, shaking her head almost violently.
Now you are suddenly unsure of the second part of your gift, because if her lost language brought tears, what will her lost sky do? But it is sitting on the sofa, and there is no way you can move fast enough to hide it now.
"I have something else," and you take her hand and lead her past the table.
You know the moment she sees it, because she abruptly stops moving and then she is tightening her grip on your hand.
There are no tears this time, she just spins you into her arms and her lips are pressed to yours almost before you can take a breath. The kiss is needy and thankful, gentle and fierce, and now your heart is racing for reasons other than nerves.
"It's not streamers and balloons," you say, when she finally breaks away, but only far enough to lean her forehead against yours.
"I love you," she says, and you think Kryptonian may be the most beautiful language you have ever heard