Work Text:
Cat Grant has had many assistants over the years, but Kara Danvers may just be the strangest.
She was a skittish thing—like a kicked puppy, or a wet alley cat. Jumped at every noise, no matter how loud. Somehow always appeared to immediately know what someone wanted or needed. Seemed incapable of saying no. Genuinely cared for everyone and everything.
She also seemed to have an endless amount of baggage. Which, honestly, wasn’t the thing that made her weird—everyone at CatCo had trauma, and had been dealt a shitty in life, one way or another. The most damaged people often made the best reporters.
For example, the tech guy—son of a mass murdering maniac (oh, hey, alliteration. How fun). Dave had a serious case of medical trauma. Liam didn’t like guns for reasons that he chose not to share. Lydia was deathly terrified of wolves. But Kara…
The first time Cat noticed something like this about Kara after there had been an explosion in a building across the street.
It wasn’t a particularly large explosion, but it was big enough to shake the building and to be heard several miles away.
Most of her employees hurried over to the window to look at it—they were reporters, after all—save for a few, who were still reeling from the shock. It was hard to make sense of the many overlapping voices, but she did pick up on one in particular. It was the tech guy—what was his name? Will? Wick? Something like that—and it sounded rather urgent, and panicked.
“Shit, Kara—”
Now that raised some questions.
Had her assistant been harmed? Despite the fact that she never seemed to get injured, she appeared to be quite clumsy and injury prone.
Had she passed out? She did have a tendency to overwork herself to the point of prolonged sleep deprivation.
Cat stepped out of her office. Kara was there, huddled on the floor beside her desk, eyes wide and hands clutching her head. Whatever-his-name-is was crouched beside her, somehow managing to both talk gently to her and glare threateningly at everyone who tried to get too close.
“Can everyone back the fuck up and mind their own business?” He snarled, and, when the crowd mostly dispersed, he turned his attention back to Kara. “Hey, Kara, it’s okay, you’re—you’re okay. Can you tell me where you think you are?”
“Home,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I’m—I—home, e-everyone is—they’re all—so much screaming, Winn, I—don’t leave, please, please, please don’t leave me—”
Ah, right, Winn, that was his name.
…wait a second.
“Kira, darling,” Cat said in a voice so soft that surprised even her. “Wherever you think you are, whatever you think is happening, it’s not real, okay?”
Her assistant shook her head, screwing her eyes shut. “It should’ve been me, it—why did they save me, I—I don’t—I can’t remember—”
Ah, Cat thought. Survivor’s guilt. Hm. Well, this is certainly different from Carter’s attacks, but the fundamentals to help should be the same. …I hope.
Turns out, the fundamentals were pretty much the same, so, that was helpful.
That night, Cat sat at her desk and started her Kara file. She made one for everybody—she’d found that it was much easier to be in charge when you knew what triggered your people and how to help them through it.
Kara Danvers (09/22/1991)
She/Her
EMERGENCY CONTACTS:
Alexandra Danvers [older sister] — (619)-505-3629
Triggers:
Explosions
Fire
Conditions:
Anxiety
ADHD
Notes:
Forgets to take afternoon medication (needs reminders)
Also needs reminders to drink water
VERY bad at lying
English isn’t her first language (won’t share what is)
Another thing about Kara—she seemed to have almost no regard for her own personal safety. Also, she was freakishly strong for a reporter’s assistant.
Double also, her military sister must have taught her how to fight, or at least basic self-defense.
Triple also, she had a knack for traumatizing interns and new employees by having filing cabinets and shelves fall on her.
The first time it happened, Kara had been the new employee—she’d only had her job for around three months.
Cat hadn’t seen it herself—she’d only been there for the aftermath.
There was a large crash, and someone (probably Derrick) had screamed.
When she stepped out of her office, she found a crowd around Liam’s desk, a mess of papers and files on the floor, and one fewer filing cabinet in its place.
“What the hell are you all doing?”
The panicked chatter died down.
“Filing cabinet fell on Kara,” someone said.
“…then why are you at Liam’s desk?”
The people blocking her view of the situation moved. Her assistant, was hunched over Liam, one arm bent to shield him and the other preventing the cabinet from falling more than it already had.
“…what in the actual fuck am I looking at here?” Cat muttered.
“Oh my stars, Kara—” Liam breathed, his seaglass-colored eyes wide. “I—why would—are you—holy shit, are you okay?!”
She blinked, then smiled down at him. “Yeah, I’m good! Are you okay?”
“Yeah??” He squeaked. “You caught it before it could—hang on, how did you—actually, I don’t wanna know, I have to go call my boyfriend,”
After a moment of silence, he said, “…can you, uh—”
“Oh!” She carefully maneuvered around him, putting the filing cabinet back in its place. “These should really be nailed down,”
“…I’m too tired for this,” Cat grunted, turning her back and waving her hand dismissively. “Liam, Kira, take the rest of the day off. Everyone else, get back to work,”
“Kira, I’m going to be honest,” she started. “I’m worried about you,”
Her assistant, who had been fidgeting with her hands and spinning around in the chair (with wheels, of course) Cat had given her for her desk (it helped her focus and get things done)—which, if it were anyone else, she probably would not be allowing—paused, glancing at her with a confused expression on her face. “Me? Why?”
“It’s not because you did anything wrong,” she assured, and tapped the stack of manilla folders between them on the desk, the top one of which had Kara’s name written on it neatly. “I have this conversation with all of my employees at least once. I find that it helps to…build a sense of trust and understanding between us,”
Kara picked up her folder, carefully pulling the piece of paper out. As she read it, her bright blue eyes widened.
“My job is to keep my workers safe, and to help them become the best version of themselves. To do this, though, I need to know about boundaries, how to help you, things that will potentially have a negative affect on you, et cetera,” she explained. “If you don’t to tell me these things, that’s perfectly fine, and I will continue to figure it out on my own. But it works best—for both of us—if you tell me yourself. You don’t have to go into any details, or even tell me why, alright?”
After a moment of Kara not saying anything, Cat assumed she wasn’t going to say anything and opened her mouth to send her back to her desk.
“I’m claustrophobic,” she said quietly. “And, um, I don’t…I don’t like the quiet, or being alone,”
“Alright,” Cat smiled softly. “Thank you for letting me know,”
The younger woman smiled back at her.
“Now get back to work,” she deadpanned. “The phones won’t answer themselves,”
Kara grinned, saluting her. “Yes, ma’am!”