dhaskoi:

catelyngrant:

I have too many unfinished fics and ficlets to write this myself but the idea won’t let me go:

Kara is being very lax with her secret identity this season. Half of the Mars Bar seems to know who she is, and she basically never goes into CatCo anymore. She’s using Supergirl as a source. For someone who wants to put the pieces together, it’s probably pretty easy. 

Cat, of course, has already put those pieces together and then put them away. So when the news breaks – unexpectedly, first on Twitter and then the trashy news sites before the legit news organizations start to get their acts together and make the connections – she’s as shocked as Kara, who is swiftly taken to the DEO and put on lockdown, along with Eliza and Alex. Within hours James, Winn, Kara’s next door neighbor, and basically everyone who has ever worked at CatCo are being hounded for quotes and reactions. 

This, of course, includes Cat Grant. How, everyone asks, did the Queen of All Media not realize that her very own assistant was the same hero that she had branded so publicly? How could she have been scooped in such a way? Was she furious? Embarrassed? How easily had Kara fooled her?

And then they start to wonder. Had she been fooled, or had she known all along? If so, what else did she know that she wasn’t sharing with the public? How could anyone trust her when, as far as the public is concerned, she’d either missed the biggest story of her life when it was right under her nose, or saw it and kept it hidden? Why would she do that? Just what was her relationship with Kara Danvers? 

All this time, Cat thought that Kara didn’t trust her. Now she’s realizing how wrong she was. Now, Kara is the only one who trusts her.

Cat
called it a hut in her email.  Judging by the size there are at least
three bedrooms, room for a couple of dozen guests – and an underground fibre
optic line Kara sees as she habitually scans the building.  This must be
one of the hideouts Cat has that even Kara didn’t know about.

She comes
in smoothly, skimming over the snowy ground to land directly on the
porch.  Cat is waiting for her in the doorway.  Kara’s not really
surprised to see that she is beautifully put together, even here in
self-imposed sort-of-exile.  One of the things Cat tried to teach her was
the value of appearances, not out of vanity but as a tool and a shield. 
Or a weapon.  Kara has been learning a lot about that recently.  Like
a lot of things in her life understanding came too late to be helpful.

“Hello
Kara.”

“Cat.”

“Come
in.”

Kara
follows Cat inside, feeling awkward.  There’s so much she wants to say,
and she has no idea where to start.  Well, there’s one thing she knows she
has to say, and wants to say.

“Cat,
I’m sorry.”

No one
sighs as evocatively as Cat Grant.

“I’m
sure you are, Kara.  I’m sure you are.”

Kara’s
not sure she’s ever heard Cat sound so defeated.  She’s seen this woman
hurt.  She’s seen her sad.  Regretful.  Angry, scared and desperate. 
She’s never seen her seemingly ready to give up.

She
doesn’t know how to deal with that.

“Coffee? 
Tea?  I have one of those pod machine things here – it even makes those
terrible pumpkin spice latte things you like.”

“Coffee
sounds, fine, I guess?”

The rote
offer of hospitality is surreal. Are they really going to stand around sipping
drinks and making small talk like nothing has happened?

“So,”
Cat starts, when it becomes obvious that Kara is too tongue tied to continue,
“what did you want to talk about?”

 Kara’s not sure Cat’s ever been this obtuse with her.  She deserves it.

“Cat,
I am sorry.  I am so, so sorry, you have no idea.”

“You
said that.  And I think I have some idea.
Of how sorry you are.”

Kara
cringes.  Cat probably does have some
idea.  There’s a reason she’s secluded
herself and Carter in a lodge that’s a couple of hours drive from the nearest
trace of civilisation (and a good deal farther from any major population
centre).

The same
reason she stepped down as White House Press Secretary four days ago.

Keep reading