Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was extravagant, Cat knew, and entirely inappropriate for their relationship as it stood now—somewhere between a hard-won friendship and flirtation, nurtured these long months apart with tender if inconsistent care. 

Cat couldn’t help herself.  The moment she saw it, draped sensuously on the field of black velvet in the case, she knew it was perfect for Kara.  The hand-printed card next to it said “Steel Blue” by Ippolita and Cat bought it on the spot.  The name alone….

Cat knew, of course.  She had always known.  They still danced around the topic as they always had; Cat pushing here and there and Kara dissembling.  The perceived lack of trust—not the withholding—is what bothered Cat the most.  Last weekend, during their weekly call and after yet another waltz around the elephant that seemed to always wedge itself between them, Cat had been peevish and her words, she knew, had cut.

That was the only reason Cat could give when she sent the gift by special messenger two days ago.  There was obviously no occasion involved beyond the sorrow she felt for what she’d said and her deeply-held desire to set it right.  So deep, she’d paid extra to have the gift flown via private jet.  In the hours since, she had tried her level best to ignore the rush of tenderness that accompanied every conjured image of Kara opening the box.  Wishing did not make horses, after all.

She waited impatiently for notification of delivery, tucked into the corner of an overstuffed and decadent sofa, a throw blanket across her knees.  A roaring fire crackling in the stone hearth across from her and a glass of scotch kept her warm.  A glance outside confirmed snow still fell.

She was alone on this leg of her journey; Carter was off on some mid-winter adventure with his father and she wouldn’t see him again for several weeks.  She hoped she’d be back in National City by then—something she hadn’t yet shared with anyone.  She hoped to share it with Kara today, the thought making her a little giddy.

Eventually, a chime from Cat’s phone notified her that the package had been delivered.

Her heartbeat tripled in time.

-----

Kara’s doorbell rang and she scowled, frustrated at the interruption.  She was seated at her easel in the corner and was working on a particularly delicate and detailed section of her latest painting, having opted for a long-overdue day in, owing to the pouring rain.  She didn’t want to be disturbed.  She was already depressed and sad; she didn’t want to add annoyed on top of it.

She cast a glance through the wall and saw a delivery person—and not one she was familiar with.  The young woman was dressed smartly—if damply—in all black, and she carried a clipboard and a hard-sided, oversized attaché.  Kara frowned and put down her paintbrush. 

She wiped her hands on a not-too-dirty rag and headed to her front door, snagging her glasses on the way.  She couldn’t be too careful these days.

“Can I help you?” she asked, opening the door.

“Kara Danvers?”  The young woman glanced at the clipboard in her hands to make sure she had the right name.

Kara nodded.  “Yes.  What can I do for you?”

“I have a delivery for you,” said the woman, grinning finally, and Kara saw that it reached her eyes.  She was genuinely delighted to be there.  “Can you sign here?” she asked, turning the clipboard around to reveal a receiving document and a line marked by a big black X.  As Kara reached for the clipboard, she added, “Oh, and I’ll need to see a photo ID, too.”

Kara signed her name as instructed and said, “Really?  For a delivery?”  She’d never been asked for her ID for a delivery before—especially one made to her front door.

The woman nodded, her russet curls bobbing limply with the movement.  “Yes, ma’am,” she confirmed.  “The client requested it.”

Kara shrugged and opened her door wider.  “I have to get my wallet,” she said.  “Would you like to come in?”  She gestured to her dining room table.  “You can put whatever it is on the table, if you want.”

The woman nodded and crossed the room, setting her attaché down carefully.  Kara saw that the case had a sophisticated locking mechanism and her eyebrows shot high on her forehead. 

“Be right back,” she said, and she walked around the corner to her bedroom to retrieve her purse.  She returned with her wallet and the woman looked at her ID closely, making a note of the number and birthdate in the corner of her receiving document.

After completing that, she stowed the clipboard under one arm and unlocked the case, retrieving a small, square box—exquisitely wrapped—and an envelope.  Kara saw her name printed on the front of the envelope and her ears rang with the sound of her heartbeat thundering inside of her.

It was Cat’s handwriting.

“Thank you,” she said softly as the woman handed her the two items.  “Should I—”  Kara reached for her wallet and began to open it, but the woman raised a hand to stop her.

“All fees, including a very generous tip, have been taken care of, ma’am,” she said.  Then she closed her case with a snap, smiled at Kara one last time, and said, “Have a great weekend!”

Kara waved and closed her front door behind the woman, half frowning, her attention arrested entirely by the items in her hand.  She wandered over to her couch and flopped down onto it, wondering what to open first: the card or the box.  She realized she didn’t have to open anything, of course.  A single x-ray-enhanced glance would show her all, but where was the fun in that?

She settled on opening the card first, and slipped her finger under the lightly-sealed flap of the envelope.  When she folded it back, the slightest waft of Cat’s preferred perfume scented the air and Kara shivered, wondering if it had been included by design or if it had simply tagged along, a decadent and heady stowaway.  She slid the card out.

She recognized Cat’s personal stationery immediately.  It was cream linen, heavy stock, and engraved on one side with Cat’s initials in gold.  Kara turned it over and read the simple note.

Kara,

I apologize for what I said last Saturday.  Forgive me?

Yours,

Cat

Kara gasped, paint-stained fingers flying to her lips as tears flooded her eyes.  She knew what Cat was referring to—a moment during their last phone call that had slid between Kara’s ribs and into her Kryptonian heart with all the subtlety of a Kryptonite blade.  The words didn’t matter, but the feeling of being pressured, of expectation, weighed heavily on Kara.

She knew what Cat wanted: confirmation that she’d been right all along, that Kara was Supergirl.  And Kara wanted to tell her, wanted to let Cat in on all her secrets, on all the hidden things she never talked about anymore, on all of what she was. 

She couldn’t. 

There were reasons why—reasons beyond her fear for Cat’s and Carter’s lives.  Like this seemingly never-ending distance between them.  Like the moments when Kara thought she and Cat had crossed an unspoken line—finally—only to feel the closeness ripped away by Cat going suddenly radio silent or by her clipped, curt “I can’t talk now” responses when Kara would call.

Cat was off diving and Kara was here, sinking, and she grasped at every one of Cat’s words, spoken or written, as though they were life lines in the freezing waters of her stagnation.  She hurt most when they were taken away.

Kara forgave Cat instantly—of course, she did.  The note itself was enough; the box, whatever it held, was superfluous.  Nothing Cat could buy could ever sway Kara’s heart, not when it was Cat’s, had been Cat’s for what seemed like forever now.

Still….

Kara bit her lip and tried not to smile, her curiosity finally getting the better of her.  She wiped her hands on her old UCNC tee-shirt and lifted the box, carefully sliding her thumbnail under the tape at the edge of the wrapping.  It gave way easily, and eagerly pulled the paper away, not recognizing the name embossed across the box’s black leather top.

Kara took a breath and let her fingers drift over the letters, hesitating to open it, trying to bring her heartbeat under control.  It was obviously a jewelry box and one from a high-end store.  She finally tired of imagining what was inside and lifted the lid, gasping again.

An oval field of blue stones, of every shade and shape and size, was encircled by fine gold wire, pure and warm and delicate.  Kara recognized two different hues of blue topaz, a teardrop of exquisitely faceted hematite, and a large cabochon of labradorite, polished to enhance the flakes of mica and its other inclusions, green and gold and violet.  Other stones, mysteries to her, made up the rest.

The pendant lay in a nest of black velvet and Kara noticed a chain threaded through the loop at the top disappeared underneath the fabric.  She tugged it gently, and as the necklace came free, something else did, too.  It fluttered into Kara’s lap. 

Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away from her gift to see what it was, eyebrows dipping over her eyes in confusion when she saw a small, blank card.  She picked it up and flipped it over, reading the four words printed on the other side in an instant.

Kara froze for half a second until emotion, blazing hot, blasted through her entire body like an explosion.

Forgetting about the necklace in her hand, Kara bolted off the couch in search of her phone, ignoring the wrapping paper, the jewelry box, and the card dropping to the floor at her feet.  She snatched her phone off the windowsill next to her easel and pressed a speed-dial number, her clenched jaw creaking as she listened for the rings on the other side.

Cat let it ring twice before answering with a velvety “Hello,” clearly having been expecting this particular call.

“Where are you?” asked Kara, voice tight and obviously angry. 

Cat paused, taken aback.  “Excuse me?” she asked, and her tone was a mixture of uncertainty and shock. 

“Where.  Are.  You?” repeated Kara, almost growling.  Somehow, she kept herself from crushing the necklace she held, but it was a near thing.

Kara heard Cat swallow and she heard her heartbeat flutter with fear.  She wondered if she would answer, but Cat finally said “The cabin in Tahoe,” her voice soft but determined.

“Fine,” said Kara tersely, and she disconnected the call.  It took her only seconds to change and she was out the window in just a few seconds more, only taking the time to tuck the necklace and the note Cat had written into one of her suit’s secret pockets. 

The rain over National City gave way to hazy but, thankfully, dry conditions over Central California.  Somewhere over Stanislaus National Forest, though, the haze thickened and became first, sleet, and then snow, heavy and relentless.  Kara had to use her x-ray vision to maintain visibility in this kind of whether usually, but she barely needed it now.  She knew where the cabin was and she had the added benefit of being able to hear Cat’s heartbeat when she was only minutes away, using it like a beacon to guide her landing. 

Kara knew this was a mistake, knew she was acting rashly, letting her anger lead her, but she didn’t care.  She was tired—exhausted, really—and these push-me-pull-you games she and Cat were playing had to stop. 

Kara thumped down on Cat’s cabin’s front porch and stalked to the front door, fists clenched tightly at her sides.  In her haste, she forgot to spin herself dry, and her blonde hair clung to her face, dampened by snow and rain. 

She rapped on the door with three solid knocks, eyes flashing and mouth set in a grim line.

-----

Cat looked down at the phone in her hand, shocked.  It didn’t happen often, but she had clearly miscalculated, and instead of opening the way between them, her gift had slammed everything shut, angering Kara so deeply that she—for the very first time in their history together—had hung up on Cat in a rage.

There was no doubt in Cat’s mind she would be seeing Kara soon.  Whether that was in minutes or in hours depended upon how reckless Kara was feeling just now.  Cat glanced out the front window, relieved when she didn’t immediately see a flash of red on the porch, and she grabbed her scotch off the side table next to her, downing it in one swallow. 

The burn of the alcohol helped steel her nerves.  Not that she was afraid Kara would harm her.  Cat scoffed at the thought, remembering how many months of whispered apologies from Supergirl it had taken after the Red Kryptonite incident for Kara to stop walking on eggshells around her, her sad puppy-dog eyes revealing everything.  If Cat hadn’t already known, she would have discovered Kara’s secret then, she knew.  Kara’s guilt shook the bones, like the endless mournful reverberation after the clanging of a great bell.  Cat had never been happier then when it had finally faded and they were able to move on.

By sending the necklace, Cat had meant to let Kara know she knew, hoping the knowledge would allow Kara to let go of the secret she held onto with such fierceness without having to say the words aloud.  It was supposed to be an invitation to a deeper connection.  Cat wondered how it had gone so wrong.

She pushed the throw-blanket off her legs and padded through the great room to the sideboard in the dining room.  She poured a few more fingers of scotch into her tumbler and tapped the rim of the glass before taking a sip, contemplating what she might do to diffuse the situation. 

Defensiveness wasn’t in the playbook—not today.  Cat would find out what Kara thought she’d done and she would apologize for it, quickly and sincerely.  The last thing in the world Cat wanted was a repeat of those months of guilt-ridden distance between them. 

See, she had plans.  She would return to National City having finally confessed that Kara Danvers had stolen her heart, or not at all.  If Cat was lucky—and she knew she was—she’d have that chance today.

First, though, she needed a setting that would invite conversation and connection over conflict.  She cast her gaze into the darkened kitchen, lighting on the electric kettle.  Smiling, she moved to fill it with water.  After she’d turned it on to boil, she opened one or two cupboards until she found all the supplies she needed, including a ceramic pot, and she set them on the granite countertop to await Kara’s arrival.

From there, Cat made her way back into the great room where she turned on the Bose stereo, tuning the radio to her favorite classical station.  She adjusted the volume so the music was noticeable but not intrusive.  She saw that the fire had begun to fade a bit, and she crossed to the hearth to throw another log on it.  She was just settling it with the poker when she heard a loud thump on the porch.

Either the porch roof has collapsed under the weight of the snow, she thought, or I have a guest.

The three knocks that followed on the heels of the thump gave Cat her answer and she rose, an unbidden smile blossoming on her lips.  She tried unsuccessfully to rein in her traitorous heart and finally gave it up, crossing to answer the door.  Kara pushed in past Cat almost as soon as the opening was wide enough, her features set in a scowl.  Cat smirked.

“Come in, Kara,” she said sarcastically, closing the door quickly, warding them against the chill.  The snow continued to fall with apparently no end in sight.

Kara stalked into the great room without stopping, drawn toward the warmth of the fire even if she didn’t realize it.  She didn’t necessarily experience cold temperatures the same way humans did, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel them.  And she felt very cold right now.

She looked into the dancing orange flames absently for a moment, lost in thought, still frowning.  When she finally came back to herself and remembered where she was, her anger bloomed again.  She turned to Cat, eyes flashing, her cape swirling majestically behind her with her clipped movement.  If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation, Cat might have swooned.

“You can’t have it both ways, Cat,” snapped Kara, voice measured and dark.  She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, an unconscious attempt to mitigate her growing distress.

“Can’t have what both ways?” asked Cat, honestly confused. 

Kara gaped at her, flabbergasted.  “This!” she said, raising her hands into the air.  “Us—all of this.”  Her arms fell to her sides again and she sighed explosively.  “You can’t keep pushing and pushing me to tell you what you don’t—and I mean this, Cat, you really don’t want to know—trust me.  You think you do but you don’t and you keep pressing me—and when I don’t give in, you stop talking to me!  You cut me off or you don’t even pick up, and all I have to hold onto is your silence.”  Kara’s blue eyes darkened and her voice rose.  “Do you know what that feels like?” she asked desperately.  “Do you?”

Cat blinked at Kara just once, not quite sure she understood.  Was Kara—even now—even standing there in her Supersuit—was she trying to deny her true identity once again?  Cat replayed Kara’s rant in her mind again and again until something finally clicked.

Kara hadn’t understood the intent of the necklace, not at all.  Instead of seeing it as a confession, Kara had read it as another of Cat’s seemingly endless and upsetting attempts to get her to admit something she didn’t think she could, something Cat wouldn’t want to know—if Kara’s suggestion of unforeseen consequences was to be believed. 

Cat realized Kara thought that if she didn’t come clean this time, Cat would withdraw again, possibly permanently, and she would be left holding nothing, a fate Kara clearly found abhorrent.

Cat’s eyes softened and she shook her head, her flaxen curls shivering with the movement.

“No, I don’t know what that feels like,” she said.  “Did you fly all the way here to tell me?”  Cat’s eyes flickered to the suit for half a second and she took a step toward Kara, then another, until she was standing right in front of her.  She reached up and tugged at a damp tendril of Kara’s beautiful hair.  “Your hair’s still wet from the snow,” she whispered.

For about four seconds, Kara didn’t understand what Cat was saying.  Then she followed Cat’s eyes and looked down at herself, blanching with the realization of what she’d done.  Caught—finally and forever—embarrassed and angry with herself, Kara jerked her head, pulling her hair from Cat’s hold.

“Don’t,” she said, refusing to look at the woman.  Kara was mortified.  Had she just stood there and said those things?  Dressed like this?  Her cheeks blazed crimson but her lips were almost white, pressed tightly together in a harsh, self-deprecating frown.

Cat reached up with one small hand and placed it gently on Kara’s cheek, attempting to turn the young woman’s head so their eyes could meet again.  When she failed, she whispered, “Don’t be cold, Kara.”  She let her fingertips drift into Kara’s hairline, caressing her gently.  “Not with me.”

Kara’s bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t relent. 

Cat sighed and finally ducked to the left to catch Kara’s teary gaze.  “If it matters—if it makes a difference to you at all—I’ve known since the moment I saw the footage of you standing on that airplane’s wing, drenched and delighted and as determined as I’ve ever seen you.”  Cat moved her hand from Kara’s forehead and cupped her chin, running her thumb lightly across Kara’s bottom lip.  “It’s not your secret I was after, darling; it’s your trust.”

“My trust?” cried Kara, eyes snapping to Cat’s, incredulous. 

Cat nodded.  “That’s all; nothing more.”  Her jade gaze flickered to Kara’s lips for just a second.  “Well, nothing more until I realized….”  She hesitated, the rose of her cheeks darkening briefly. 

“Until you realized what?” asked Kara. 

Cat’s courage evaporated and she shook her head.  She averted her eyes from Kara’s steel blue gaze and stared into the fire, wrestling demons of her own. 

Kara scowled. 

“No,” she said, and the voice was Supergirl’s, strong and sure.  “This is what I’m talking about.  We get this far and then you stop talking to me.”  Kara put her hands on Cat’s shoulders and shook her firmly but oh-so-gently, forcing Cat to look at her again.  “I’m not from this planet, Cat.  I’ve had thirteen years to assimilate its history and how things work here, but I don’t know everything!  I don’t know why—why—”  She searched for the things that didn’t make sense, had never made sense.  “—why a talking sponge who wears pants is funny, and I don’t know why the children of the ‘Greatest Generation’ has abandoned so much of what their parents fought for in World War II in order to pay lip-service to a God it doesn’t actually seem any of them believe in, and I don’t know if what I think is happening between us really is because we get this far and you stop talking to me!”  Tears streamed down Kara’s cheeks but she didn’t seem to notice them, and instead kept on.  “I don’t know, Cat.  I don’t know, and you keep shutting the door when I’m out here begging you to let me—mmpf.”

Cat reached up and cupped Kara’s face in her warm hands, stopping Kara's invective with a fervent press of lips to mouth, the smallest of whimpers catching at the back of her throat.  Kara stiffened in shock for a single heartbeat before surrendering to the kiss, melting into Cat’s touch as if she’d been waiting for it her entire life.  She wrapped Cat up in her arms and held onto her, enveloping her, pulling her closer—as close as she could.  Kara’s eyes fluttered closed as Cat touched her tongue to Kara’s lips, parting them to deepen the kiss.

They stood that way, caught up in the moment, for what seemed like forever to Kara—until reality began to press itself into her consciousness and she understood what was happening.  Suddenly, everything was too loud and too close, like the Chinese New Year Dragon Parade Eliza and Jeremiah had taken her to when she’d been theirs for a year.  The discordance and volume of the drums, gongs, and cymbals competed with shocking bursts of firecrackers and the shouts of the dancers until she was dizzy.  Even with her hard-won control, her super hearing had been inundated.  And the undulating dragon costume?  Kara had had nightmares about its gleaming teeth, crimson scales, and angry yellow eyes for months afterward.

This felt like that—overwhelming, exciting, and terrifying all at once—and Kara pulled away abruptly, blinking down at Cat in her arms until she slowly sank to her knees on the floor.  Cat followed awkwardly, but did not let her go.  When Kara’s face crumpled and a fresh wave of tears crested over her eyelashes, Cat pressed soft kisses over her eyes and on her cheeks and to her forehead, murmuring, “It’s all right, my darling.  I’m here.  I’m here.”

Kara clutched at Cat and sat back on her heels, pressing her face into Cat’s neck, shuddering with emotion.  Cat held Kara and stroked her damp hair, shushing her with nonsense sounds.  She kissed Kara’s temple and closed her eyes, finally understanding the full scope of what she’d done. 

“Oh, Kara,” she breathed.  “I should have realized….”  Cat faltered and her thought trailed away.  Yes, she should have realized, but she hadn’t.  There was no excuse for it and Cat could either apologize—praying Kara would accept the apology and want to start over—or she could walk away.  Both options were terrifying for their own reasons.  In the end, the thought of losing Kara was bleaker than any other possibility on the table, and she took a deep breath.

“I never meant….”

Cat stopped herself, and shook her head again.  Trying to talk her way out of this using intent as her excuse?  It was ridiculous.  And beneath her, quite frankly.  Kara deserved better. 

Cat sighed, knowing no explanation could ever approach adequacy.  She should have made her intentions clear; she should have taken the lead and not left Kara—inexperienced and cautious Kara—with all of the responsibility, with all of the risk.  However insecure Cat had felt she imagined it had been much worse for the young woman from another planet, with only theory and thirteen years of cultural assimilation to guide her.

Cat lifted Kara’s chin with her index finger, heart breaking to see her tear-stained face and haunted blue eyes.

“Can we start over?” she asked softly, green eyes searching blue ones for a way forward.  “If I promise to work harder at not shutting you out when I feel insecure—if I tell you the reason why I’ve been so afraid is that I’ve fallen helplessly in love with you and the thought of losing you was too devastating to bear, would you give this—us—another try?”  Cat cupped Kara’s cheek in her palm.  “Because what’s happening between us is exactly what you think it is and I’m so sorry I let you think—”

Kara darted forward and captured Cat’s lips in another blistering kiss, this one earnest and eager and wanting.  When she finally pulled away—after thoroughly and completely plundering Cat’s mouth—Kara shook her head and smiled shyly.

“We don’t have to start over, Cat,” she said.  “Because I don’t remember a time when my heart wasn’t yours, and I never want to go back to when kissing you was something I only dreamed about.”  She ducked her head and blushed hotly.  “I like now,” she whispered.  “A lot.”

“Me, too,” said Cat sincerely.  She glanced down ruefully, and added, “Though I can’t say my knees think much of the floor.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth when she felt Kara’s arms go around her, felt herself being lifted quickly and surely.  Cat expected to stop in a standing position, but Kara overshot it by about six inches and they hovered over the rug in the center of the great room, lost in each other’s eyes.

Electricity charged the space between them and Kara, overwhelmed, hardly dared breathe.  Her heartbeat throbbed everywhere—in her ears, against her skin, and in her chest like a runaway jackhammer.  Her eyes flicked to Cat’s mouth and she licked her lips, trembling in Cat’s arms. 

“What do you want, darling?” Cat asked, her own heart like a hummingbird beating its tiny wings against the prison of her rib-cage. 

“You,” said Kara brazenly, her blue eyes darkening with desire. 

Cat gasped softly and Kara searched her eyes for any hint of hesitance, seeing none.

“I’ve been dreaming of your mouth….” Kara said, and she kissed Cat tenderly, briefly, pulling away before the kiss could deepen.  “…of your hands….”  She pulled Cat’s palm to her mouth and pressed her lips to it with reverence.  “…of the sounds you’ll make when you are bare beneath me and all you know is my tongue inside you, my mouth upon you, my love around you….”  She looked into Cat’s jade green eyes, made brave by the love she saw in them.  “But they’re just dreams,” she whispered, and her voice broke as she came to the end of her courage.  She shrugged, shy now, and uncertain.

“Take me to bed,” breathed Cat, “and I’ll show you how to make your dreams come true….”

-----

Kara woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and the smell of bacon frying.  The orange glow of a fire in the hearth downstairs told her Cat had been up for a while.  She wondered if everything was okay.  Was Cat having second thoughts?

She tuned her super-hearing to Cat’s heartbeat and found that not only was it placid and serene, but Cat was humming tunelessly while she cooked.  Kara could almost hear Cat’s smile and it brought a grin to her own face.  No second thoughts, then.  Relief made Kara giddy.

She slipped from the bed, snatched the top sheet that had fallen to the floor at some point during their lovemaking, and wrapped it around herself, intending to find Cat and lure her back to bed. 

On her way across the room, Kara saw her Supersuit abandoned on the floor where they’d left it in their frenzy to divest themselves of the remaining barriers between them.  She remembered the gift Cat had sent was tucked in its pocket.  Kara had brought it with her intending to confront Cat with it, to return it.  She knew she couldn’t keep it—not unless they finally broke through that last invisible wall.  Kara knelt down and rooted around in the dark until she found the hidden zipper, retrieving the necklace and lifting it into what little light came from downstairs.  The gold of the pendant shone with warmth and the firelight enhanced the blue of every stone. 

Now that she and Cat had breached that final barricade, Kara had no intention of giving the necklace back.  She put it on instead, and settled the pendant where it fell naturally, noticing it was the perfect length.  Happily claimed, Kara smiled a little self-satisfied smile and padded downstairs, opting to take the curved stairway down from the loft instead of flying, like she’d done when she’d carried Cat upstairs earlier.

She stopped in the shadows as she reached the first floor, gazing at the fire, entranced by the dancing flames once again, but this time with joy instead of anger in her heart.  When she could finally pull her eyes away, she turned to look at Cat, startled by what she saw.

Cat stood at the stove clutching Kara’s red cape around her, hair tousled and honey-gold in the firelight, shoulders enticingly bare, and hips swaying with the tuneless tune she hummed.

Kara had never seen anyone or anything more beautiful in her whole life and the sight took her breath away.

She wanted Cat in her arms again and she made her way into the kitchen on silent feet, but Cat wasn’t fooled.

“I can hear your stomach growling,” Cat said over her shoulder, transferring the last two slices of extra-crispy bacon from the cast-iron pan to a mounded plate of pork that made Kara’s mouth water.  “Give me five minutes, darling, and I’ll have breakfast ready for you.”

Kara glanced at the clock on the stove.  “It’s two o’clock in the morning, Cat,” she noted, sidling up behind her former-boss to encircle her tiny waist with long arms.  She rested her chin on Cat’s shoulder and leaned up to nibble the tender skin under Cat’s ear, adding, “Come back to bed.”

Cat put her tongs down and turned in the circle of Kara’s arms.  She looped her own around Kara’s neck and smiled at the young woman seductively.  “You flew almost 500 miles in fifteen minutes, Kara,” she noted.  “We argued, we made up, and then we made love for hours.”  Cat stretched high on her tip-toes to kiss Kara tenderly.  “What is it you think you’ll be able to do in bed—other than sleep—unless I feed you?” she asked when she pulled away, eyes twinkling with mischief.

While Cat was more right than she knew, Kara certainly wasn’t going to concede that point.

“I have more than enough energy to ravish you again,” she growled, leaning in to nip her way down Cat’s throat.  Her mouth was hungry, and her lips were soft and warm, and Cat’s knees buckled from Kara’s words and touch, both.  Her eyes fluttered closed and she threw her head back to give Kara more delicious access. 

“Though that may be so,” she breathed, unsteady now on her feet, “your safety and well-being are important to me, darling.”  She interrupted Kara’s continued attentions and cupped her face in her hands.  “You were mumbling about donuts in your sleep,” she said, smiling indulgently as she ran her fingers lightly through Kara’s impossibly long and gorgeous hair.  “This is the least I can do for you when you’ve given me so much….”

“And what’s this?” asked Kara, touching her fingers to the pendant hanging around her neck as if it was a talisman.  “What is every sweet and tender word you whispered into my ear when you made love to me the first time?  What’s every kiss you’ve given me today, every smile meant only for me, every stuttering beat of your heart when I’ve touched you just right?”  She smiled shyly, a petal-pink blush coloring her cheeks.  “You give me more in one day than I could dream up in a year.  It’s always been like that.”

Cat shook her head but the brightness of her eyes belied the gentle admonishment.  “Who taught you to be such a sweet talker, Kara Danvers?” she wondered. 

“You did,” said Kara and Cat saw she was absolutely serious, with no hint of guile or cunning present in her voice.  Even still, she couldn’t make herself believe the words. 

Kara saw Cat’s doubt and she frowned, wanting to make her understand.  “You did,” she said, repeating herself.  “The words I say, the love I feel—it’s because of you, because of what you taught me…about life, about myself, about what it means to be a hero.  A real one, not an alien who has no choice because sunlight works differently here than where she was born.”  She reached up and caught a lock of Cat’s hair in her fingertips, tugging on it gently as she looked down at the older woman with wonder and a little awe.  “I wouldn’t be who I am without you, Cat Grant.”

Cat’s eyes misted up and she pushed Kara out of her arms with her palms flat against her chest.  “Go over there,” she ordered, grinning shyly and pointing at the couch in front of the hearth.  “Before I say ‘fuck it’ to breakfast and let you take me to bed again.”  She whirled away from Kara and then whirled back just as quickly, pressing a soft, desperate kiss to the corner of the younger woman’s mouth, tears caught in her lashes.  “Don’t ever stop loving me like this,” she whispered, pleading, and then turned away to hide the darkening of her cheeks.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Kara said, leaning close to whisper the words into Cat’s ear.  As she backed out of the kitchen, she caught Cat’s hand in hers, trying to hold onto her for as long as she could.  When their fingers no longer touched, she said, “I’ll wait for my breakfast by the fire.”

Cat cast a glance over her shoulder.  “Good.”  She flashed Kara a wry, sideways smile.  “It’ll be ready in five minutes.  You can keep yourself busy for five minutes, I’m sure.”

Kara bit her thumbnail for half a second, and then flashed Cat a lascivious grin, raking her up and down with fevered eyes.

“Well, I can keep my hands busy, at least,” she teased.  “Should I try to be quiet or would you rather I was…vocal?”

Cat, shocked by Kara’s suggestive innuendo, shook a green silicon spatula in her general direction.  “Keep it up, Danvers,” she warned, “and I’ll toss this bacon out into the snow for the coyotes.”

Kara laughed.  “They’ll totally share, Cat.  Coyotes love me!”

“And little birds help dress you every morning,” Cat said, rolling her eyes as she poured the eggs into the pan.  “How could I forget?”

Kara was about to make another smart remark but a small, clear chime—one Kara recognized as Cat’s text notification sound—interrupted her.  She saw the phone on the coffee table and picked it up.

“It’s from Carter,” she said, confused.  Why would he be texting his mother at two o’clock in the morning?

“He’s in London,” Cat explained, seeing Kara’s puzzlement.  “It’s after ten there.”  She chuckled when Kara pursed her lips, clearly disappointed in herself for not thinking of a possible time zone differential.  “What does it say?” prompted Cat as she stirred cheese and salsa to the scrambled egg mixture.  When Kara hesitated, wondering if it was her place, Cat added, “You know my passwords, Kara.  I’m giving you permission.  What does it say?”

Kara tapped the code she still knew by heart into the lock screen and flipped to Cat’s text icon.  She waited for it to open and then read, “’Mom, that’s awesome! I can’t wait. Will we be back in time for me to start school in the Spring? I hope so! Tell Kara I said Hi and that I’ll cook for her—my famous spaghetti—when she comes over for dinner. Can it be our first night home? Please? I love you! This is so awesome, Mom. All of it. Really.’”  She looked up at Cat, not sure she was reading the message correctly.  “All of what is awesome, Cat?” she asked, and the question sounded both hopeful and anxious at the same time.

Cat scraped the finished eggs out of the pan and onto another plate, putting it onto a tray next to the bacon.  She poured two steaming cups of cocoa from a ceramic pot and added those to the tray, as well.  “What does it sound like?” she asked coyly as she carried the tray into the great room.

Kara swallowed and sat up straighter on the couch, still holding Cat’s cell phone in her hands.  “It—it sounds like you’re coming home—to National City, I mean.  Maybe in time for Carter to start school in the Spring.”  She read Carter’s text again.  “It also sounds like you told him about—about us,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Cat placed their breakfast on the coffee table in front of them.  She sat down on the couch, still wrapped in Kara’s vermilion cape, and gently took her cell phone from Kara’s trembling hands.

“I did,” she said softly.  “He’s suspected my feelings for you were more than friendship for quite some time.  In fact, he tried to convince me to tell you how I felt months ago.”  Cat put the phone on the table and took Kara’s hands in her own.  “I wish I had listened to him.”

Kara shook her head and smiled, letting Cat know she shouldn’t feel guilty for that anymore. 

“You’re coming home?” she asked, her voice small.  “Both of you?  For good?”

“On one condition,” said Cat, raising one eyebrow at Kara, her tone austere.

“Anything,” blurted Kara.

Cat reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of Kara’s eyes.  “You’ll be there, waiting for us,” she said.  “It’s not home without you, Kara.”

Kara started nodding before Cat even finished her sentence.  “Yes, I’ll be there,” she said, leaning in to kiss Cat sweetly yet soundly.  “Yes, yes, yes….”

fin