#also excuse the lameass title i may change it at a later date but honestly i am the objective worst at titling things it's a curse

[esmes]

fic: the way you look tonight (cat/kara)

There’s that look, Kara thinks, that look of aching affection for Carter in Cat’s eyes that humanizes her so, and behind it a loneliness Kara thinks she can understand.

read on a03: here.

a/n: set some time after ‘how does she do it?’ and before ‘falling’. if anything here contradicts canon, that's just me being a lazy fan who hasn't watched s1 in full since the first time around. i was inspired by my dearest @aericura watching supergirl for the first time to revisit my favorite parts of s1 (the only season that exists lbr) and naturally cat/kara feelings came up in SPADES so i put on the softest ktunes and knocked this out at 2am and i actually don’t hate it. 

~~

Kiera.  

Kara’s phone pings insistently at 6:24pm on a Thursday, just as she’s starting to tackle an entire pizza (Hawaiian with extra pineapple, her favorite) in front of the television. She groans through a mouthful and waits for the three blinking dots that appear on her phone screen next to yield whatever ludicrous request will inevitably follow.

I need you to bring a folder from my desk by my house appears, followed quickly by: Don’t ask questions. Just do.

Kara blinks once, twice at her phone. Ms Grant’s house? Kara has contemplated many a time what kind of dwelling Cat Grant would make her home. She’s imagined polished marble floors, high ceilings, possibly a grand staircase (like the one in Titanic she loves so much); or, conversely, an ultra-modern penthouse, all glass and clean, white surfaces (like Cruella de Vil’s digs in 101 Dalmatians.) She never thought she’d actually ever get a chance to go there, to see it in person. The idea of it has her up and pacing the length of her apartment, trying and failing to dismiss the image of Ms Grant in a silk pajama set. Just as she starts picturing a nightie she mentally checks herself.

Your house? She taps out, ignoring Cat’s directive and pressing send before she can think better of it.

Something about this feels like a trap – an admittedly inviting one. Now that the initial terror she felt for Cat Grant has subsided somewhat, replaced with admiration, awe, even affection, Kara finds herself curious about what Cat does outside of the office, work functions, and work dinners. She’s seen glimpses of Cat the Human Being – as opposed to Cat Grant, Queen of All Media – in her doting, patient interactions with Carter, and part of her hungers, inexplicably, for more.

The blinking dots appear once more, then:

Yes, Kiera. My house. The place I call home. The structure I inhabit when I’m not at work dealing with levels of incompetence so appalling it makes Steve Harvey announcing the wrong Miss Universe look practically praise-worthy.

Kara can’t help but laugh at Ms Grant taking the time to type all that out when a simple, “Yes, here’s my address,” would’ve sufficed. She couldn’t begrudge her the comparison though – Cat Grant did love a good pop culture reference if it helped drive the point home.

5244 Pinecrest Drive - I trust you know how to find it comes through as Kara is using her superspeed to change out of sweats and a t-shirt into something that has at least a fifty percent chance of impressing Cat enough to keep her infamous acid tongue at bay.

Be there in twenty, she taps out with one hand, the other grabbing a pizza slice to go.

Make it ten.

~~

Kara lands on a tree-lined street ten minutes later, having stopped by the office to retrieve the only folder in plain view on Cat’s expansive desk. She’d thought about sending a text asking for clarification, but thought better of it. Don’t ask questions. Just do.

The house marked 5244 in gilded metal is a brown Spanish colonial, large without being intimidating, its windows glowing invitingly. There’s no car parked in the drive, but then, that’s hardly surprising. Cat has a car service at her beck and call. Kara takes a moment to check her hair in the front-facing camera on her phone before making her way up the drive.

Before Kara can even reach the front steps the door swings open, revealing an impatient Cat Grant, looking even tinier than usual in a scoop neck black sweater, black pants that look to be made of material that might just border on stretchy, with nothing but a pair of black ankle socks on her feet. The look is so casual and leisurely Kara stops dead in her tracks, swallowing hard around a lump that’s sprung up somewhere at the back of her throat.

“M- Ms Grant!” Kara manages, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and clutching tightly to the folder in her left hand.

Cat narrows her eyes, full lips pursed slightly.

“You got here rather quickly.” Her gaze never breaks with Kara’s.

“You did say ‘make it ten’!’ Kara laughs nervously, gaze flitting down Cat’s form briefly.

“I was only half-expecting you’d make it in time.” Cat tilts her head to one side, and Kara can tell she’s not out of the line of fire just yet. “How did you get here? I didn’t see a car pull up.”

“Uber! Only – uh, the guy got lost, so many windy streets and hills around here, so I told him to let me off a few blocks away and I - uh, walked. The rest of the way.” Smooth, she thinks, finally tackling the steps to Cat’s level.

Cat seems satisfied, if only vaguely. She turns to re-enter the house, every bit as graceful on flat feet as she is in five-inch stilettos, and Kara figures this is as close to an invitation in as she’s going to get.

“You have a lovely home,” she says, almost reverently, peering down the length of the hallway. “Different than I expected.”

“Different how?” Cat inquires, her voice edged in reproach, as she disappears into another room, leaving Kara to shut the door behind her.

“Oh! Just that it’s very home-y, that’s all. I guess I expected something a little more, um –“

“Bleak? Sterile? Downright surgical?” Cat offers, reappearing in the hallway.

Kara’s stomach turns over, not entirely unpleasantly. In the brief time she’d been out of Kara’s sight, Cat had swept her hair back into a clip. It struck Kara dumb that she’d never actually seen Cat Grant without her hair down in shining, sculpted waves – not even in times of distress had she ever seen Cat with a hair out of place.

Cat motions for Kara to follow and pads noiselessly down the hallway, flipping on a light in the room at the end and disappearing into it. As Kara follows, the enormity of what’s happening here strikes her for the first time. This is Cat with her guard down, Cat in casual wear, Cat with her hair swept back artlessly and her face relatively unpainted. The paparazzi and tabloid journalists would kill to be privy to what she is right now.

“I have others, of course. Houses,” Cat explains as Kara follows her into what she sees now is the kitchen. She's retrieved her glasses from the countertop and is gesturing for Kara to hand her the folder. “A beach house in the Palisades, a brownstone in Manhattan, a townhouse in London – nothing in the Hamptons, of course. Just a bit too ostentatious, too Gatsby.”

Kara hands Cat the folder and presses her hands to the cool marble of the countertop until Cat shoots her a warning glare, so Kara places them firmly at her sides to keep from attempting to touch anything else.

“I like to stay here during the school year,” Cat continues, beginning to leaf through the contents of the folder. “For Carter, to give him some sense of stability and –“

“Warmth,” Kara finishes, beaming. She loves Cat when she’s talking about Carter.

Wait – loves? Kara mentally turns that one over and brushes it aside.

Cat almost smiles – almost – before shutting the folder with a snap.

“Well, that will be all, Kiera.”

“Oh,” Kara breathes. Her heart gives a disappointed twinge. “Right.”

Kara tries to arrange her features into something conveying indifference, but Cat’s too quick for that, too clever. She catches the crestfallen look Kara couldn’t rearrange quickly enough rolls her eyes.

“Fine, Kiera." Cat concedes. "Can I offer you a drink?” She crosses to a cupboard, pulling it open and surveying its contents. “I only drink white if I absolutely must."

Kara flushes, embarrassed at having been caught out. There's just something about Cat as she is in this moment that has her transfixed. Cat is offering her something, not demanding, not taking, not ordering. She's dressed down and looks so breathtakingly human, so normal, Kara can't let the spell break, not yet.

“Do you have tea?” she risks.

Cat fixes her with a glare. “Every bit the G-rated Disney princess even off the clock, I see. Red it is.”

The older woman grabs two glasses and pads out of the kitchen, once again leaving Kara with no choice but to assume she is supposed to follow.

Cat’s living room is spacious and minimally decorated, with a floor-to-ceiling window facing west overlooking the city. Kara sucks in a breath at the sight of it – her beloved city, cast in the magentas and oranges and purples of the day’s last light. She’d always loved the city at sunrise best, but this had her seriously reconsidering that proclivity.

“Ms Grant, what a view,” she says, walking automatically toward it, purse sliding off her shoulder and onto the floor.

“Mmm, yes,” Cat hums from the bar where she’s filling a glass for each of them. “Being me has its perks.”

She crosses to Kara’s side, offering her a glass. Kara takes it, and Cat settles into the corner of the white couch to her left. Silence passes between them, Kara still captivated by the sunset, Cat sipping from her glass.

“Reminds me of home,” Kara whispers, thinking of majestic spires touching Argo City's red sky. It's barely audible, but Cat catches it and gives her an incredulous look.

“Of Midvale?” She snorts daintily. “I didn’t think there was much to look at out there.”

Kara remembers herself and turns to Cat with a half-smile. “You’d be surprised.”

Cat looks struck by something she sees in Kara’s face and silences herself. Kara settles tentatively on the arm of the opposite couch, not really sure if she should be making herself comfortable but feeling comfortable anyway. Both women sip in silence for a few minutes, the light growing dimmer, Kara relishing the warmth of the wine as it washes down her throat.

“Thank you,” Cat says, dipping tentatively into the silence. “For bringing the folder. I didn’t have time to call a car back to the office – Carter should be home within the hour and I don’t like him coming home to an empty house.”

There’s that look, Kara thinks, that look of aching affection for Carter in Cat’s eyes that humanizes her so, and behind it a loneliness Kara thinks she can understand. Kara is filled topful with a rush of fondness for the woman sitting before her.

“You’re a really good mother, Ms Grant,” she says, smiling into her next sip.

“Please, you’re in my home – call me Cat.” They both freeze at that, and Cat quickly adds: “That is a one time offer, one that expires the moment you walk out the front door. Capiche?”

Kara laughs and nods. “I’ll take it.”

Cat relaxes again. Kara occupies herself with looking about the room, her gaze settling on a photograph perched on the mantle just behind and above Cat’s head.

“A family photo?” she inquires, perhaps a little boldly given the look Cat shoots her.

“Yes,” Cat replies curtly. “That’s Carter’s father on the left. I keep it up so Carter doesn’t think I hate his father.”

“Do you?” Kara presses, hoping that the answer is yes.

“Not so much anymore. I did, but it was nothing a lot of hot yoga, a thirty-day cleanse, a trip to the Alps couldn’t take care of. “ Cat melts a little, something sad edging the corners of her eyes. “Not to be trite, but men are pigs, Kiera.”

“Any man who ever hurt you would have to be,” Kara says before she can stop herself.

One of the corners of Cat’s mouth quirks up, and the look in the older woman’s eyes is so uncharacteristically soft that Kara feels a little like crying, or kissing her, or both.

“Spoken like a true bleeding heart,” Cat says, tone bordering on playful, tugging at the hem of her sweater as she gets to her feet. “More wine.”

It is not a question. She pours herself more and tops off Kara’s not-yet-empty glass, this time bringing a fresh bottle to the couch with her. Kara thinks she knows what that means, but doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is there a man in your life?” Cat settles on the couch that Kara’s been perched on and levels her with a gaze that is so genuinely curious it takes Kara by surprise.

“Me? Oh, no. No no no.” Kara gulps down a too-large sip of wine and nearly chokes. She checks to make sure nothing has dribbled down her chin. “There was maybe something, I don’t know, with someone, a friend, but. No.” Kara takes another sip. Her head is buzzing pleasantly.

“A woman?”

Kara notes that Cat waited for her to swallow her sip before posing this question, which was wise, considering she nearly does a spit-take.

“No! I mean, I’m not – not opposed or judgmental – yay gay rights!” She cringes, and Cat actually laughs, not cruelly. “I’m just not a lesbian. Probably. No, definitely.”

“You don’t have to be a lesbian to like women, you know,” Cat counsels, bringing her wine glass to her lips without breaking eye contact.

Kara is picturing Cat in a nightie again, and that – that is just unacceptable. She goes to take another sip and finds her glass empty, so she busies herself with a refill. When she turns back to Cat, she finds the older woman is closer that she had been before.

Kara steadies herself, honing in on Cat’s heartbeat in a desperate grab at some clarity, some indication of Cat’s motives behind this line of questioning. The rhythm is steady, if slightly quicker than usual.

“Kiera?” Cat’s voice summons her back.

“Yes.”

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry, Ms Grant. Cat.”

The sun has set completely by now, and Kara isn’t sure when the lights turned on, but they’re casting a pleasant glow on her surroundings and she feels quite at home, despite not knowing exactly why Cat is allowing her continued presence. Cat switches on the news after she pours her third glass, legs curled up underneath her. Kara keeps stealing glances at Cat’s profile, tracing the lines of her face, her full lips, high cheekbones –

“Exciting news in the celebrity sector!” chimes the cheery voice of a newscaster, and Cat grumbles something about overexposure and Kardashians until she catches what comes next. “The Daily Planet’s star reporter Lois Lane –“

“– aaand that's enough of that, thank you very much,” Cat finishes. She switches off the television and tosses the remote aside.“What is it with you and Lois Lane?” Kara asks, figuring if Cat hasn’t lost patience with her presence and breathed fire thus far she might as well try to get in a few more good questions.

“Let’s not and say we did, shall we?” Cat, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, turns her attention back to Kara, and the full force of it is enough to nearly knock her backward. She notices for the first time that the older woman's thigh is just inches from Kara's own. How long had it been that way?

“Okay,” Kara manages. It’s almost too much, the proximity, she’s too hot, her heart feels like it’s beating in her throat. Without thinking, she reaches up and tugs at the elastic in her hair, letting her curls settle around her shoulders. Before she realizes what she’s done, she catches a whiff of her shampoo – lavender and honey – and inhales deeply.

Cat tilts her head inquisitively, and Kara – much too late – freezes.

“Goodness, Kiera,” Cat hums, voice low, fingers finding a loose curl and twirling it gently. “If you wore your hair like this more often, perhaps you’d have a man. Or woman.”

The last word settles in the charged air around them, and Kara forgets to be offended. She doesn’t dare move an inch, lest the light hit her at a particularly incriminating angle, and she thanks Rao that Cat had abandoned her glasses to the coffee table somewhere between between her third and fourth glass.

“Intriguing, really, you –“

Kara silences that thought the only way she knows how – with a kiss, sudden, a little rough – and more than a little surprising, she takes it, given how Cat stiffens upon contact. She expects the older woman to pull away, scream, fire her, tell her to get out and never darken her door again.

But she doesn’t. The kiss lasts. It tapers into something gentle. Kara feels Cat’s fingers grasping at her collar and her heart feels like it could burst, shatter, sing, go supernova.

“Mom! I’m home!”

A door slams, and footsteps clatter down the hallway.

Cat wrenches away as quickly as Kara springs up from the couch. Cat has just enough time to toss back another gulp of wine before Carter appears in the doorway.

“Mom?” Carter looks inquiringly at his mother, then notices the extra person in the room. “Kara!”

He darts forward and wraps Kara in a hug. He’s at least a few inches taller than the last time she saw him. She smiles down at the top of his head and hopes he can’t feel just how hard her heart is hammering away in her chest.

“Really? You hug her first?” Cat says, attempting to sound playfully derisive but coming off genuinely hurt.

“Aw, don’t be sore, Mom. I give you hugs all the time,” Carter reasons, hugging his mother. Kara is struck by how the two Grants are nearly of a height now.

“What’s for dinner?” he continues, grinning. “Is Kara staying?”

Cat’s casts a quick warning glance Kara’s way.

“I can’t,” Kara volunteers. Carter's grin fades. “It’s getting late, but maybe sometime I can take you to grab a bite somewhere near your mom’s office?”

The look Cat gives her lets Kara know she’s overstepped, but Carter visibly brightens, and Cat can’t help the small smile playing about her lips, the indulgent sort she reserves only for her son.

“Go wash up while I figure out dinner, alright sweetie?”

“Okay. See you later, Kara!” Carter chirps.

He races from the room, footsteps echoing down the hall and up the staircase. Kara reaches down to grab her bag from where she’d dropped it earlier.

“I’d better –“

Cat clears her throat, presses her fingers to her lips. “Yes.”

“What was in the folder that was so important it couldn't wait until tomorrow?” Kara ventures, because why not, at this point.

Cat's eyes go wide for a moment. Then she smiles - a little slyly, Kara thinks.

"Oh, nothing."

Kara's heart catches in her throat, and she grins around it. She brushes past Cat, looking back over her shoulder one last time.

“It really is a beautiful view. Breathtaking,” she says, and Cat turns to find Kara looking not at the city beyond the window, but directly at her. “See you tomorrow.”