#it should give me fond flashbacks to my first fic experiences!! and yet. i want to rip my 56k modem out of the wall

[mylittleredgirl]

nooooo....why do you hate chakway??? it's cute 😢

born too early to tolerate chakway 😔 born too late to tolerate JetC 😔 born just in time to fail a college-level history course because i stayed up every night for eight weeks reading every voyager fic on trekiverse.org on a shared library computer

[dhaskoi]

Love, Judgment & Forgiveness

This was my entry for the Supercat Christmas in July fic exchange for the incomparable #damelola.  If you liked my earlier drabble about Lena getting caught with the kryptonite you might like this too.

Cat leans back in her seat with a sigh as she lays the paper down on the empty seat next to her, the DC cityscape slipping by outside the town car’s window.  When you work in the big white house your workday never really ends, but she’s found that with an early start she can snatch some time to herself on the drive in, usually spent flipping through her preferred papers.  Her fondness for newsprint is a little old fashioned, especially when her own publications (and she will always think of them as hers, no matter what shenanigans take place with CatCo stock) are steadily switching over to a focus on digital content.  The smoothness of the transition a significantly greater online presence is one of the things James has gotten right.  But Cat can’t imagine a time when she won’t love the tangibility of ink under her fingers, the weight of the folded paper in her hands, the rustle of the pages.  The day that picking up her morning paper doesn’t give her a little thrill she’ll know it’s time to cart herself off to a nursing home to play shuffleboard and be wheeled out into the sunlight at set times like a potted plant.  God willing she’ll die before there’s any risk of that.

She knew it would be hard, walking away from CatCo and National City for the second time.  She knew that this would happen, reading about Kara’s adventures and triumphs second or third hand and feeling left out.  The traitorous voice that used to whisper that she was already left out hardly even stirs these days, after all the times she’s repressed it.   Cat had told herself that White House Press Secretary was a job worthy to the challenge of keeping her fully distracted from what she’d left behind.  It turns out that once she’d settled into the role and started to get the hang of Beltway maneuverings the mechanics of the job were in fact less challenging than being a CEO.  She hadn’t realized how badly her schedule had been bloated by encounters with murderous, superpowered ex-employees, scheming billionaires (other than her), alien invasions and whatever crisis of the week their resident superhero had to deal with.

That said, she’s learning a lot from Olivia.  She suspects her old friend had more reasons than a desperate need to replace her decimated staff when she offered Cat the job, but Cat is so used to being on the other side of that equation that it took her an embarrassingly long time to realise she was being groomed for more.   She’s still considering what path she wants to take after her stint as press secretary wraps up.  On to communications director to put her name on some worthwhile legislation and get the experience she’d need to make a credible run for governor or the senate?  She doesn’t intend to be one of those idiots who thinks they can spend their way into an office without any accomplishments to prove she’s worthy of the task.

Some new business enterprise?  The way news gets distorted on social media has riled Cat for years, but being the WHPS has given her a new, more urgent perspective on the subject.  It’s different hearing briefings from the FBI about acts of violence set in motion by lies spread on Facebook and Tumblr.  Idle thoughts about a new type of media platform that integrates social media more directly, combined with rigorous fact checking and moderation, have been growing less idle lately.  Getting a new company off the ground at this stage of her life sounds like a nightmare, especially in a field that cutthroat, but the money from the CatCo sale and Carter’s impending college years are two significant differences from the insane and sleepless days when she was getting CatCo off the ground.

Which brings her to door number three.  A return to CatCo with the skills and knowledge she’s acquired here, using them to elevate her company further, take it to even greater heights.   Her understanding of how to leverage media influence for social change has been honed to an even sharper edge by her time in Washington – new knowledge of how the political machine works from the inside has given her some interesting thoughts about changes she’d like to make at CatCo if she went back.  The thought of it is tempting and unnerving in almost equal proportion.  Would she be moving forward or falling back into the same old rut if she went home to the city where she truly made her name?  And could she bear to see a certain bright-eyed reporter growing closer to the woman who seems to have stepped into what used to be Cat’s place in her life?  These are questions she doesn’t have answers to yet.  Until she does she’ll keep supporting and learning from Olivia –

Something in her driver’s body language catches her attention and Cat frowns, turning away from the window to reach forward and tap her on the shoulder.

“Lisa is there a -”

The whole world blurs as the car jerks to the side and Cat is thrown against the seatbelt suddenly cutting into her torso.  Force, pure force tossing her around. It’s like being a bug in a jar, picked up by the hand of a giant angry toddler and shaken hard.  Cat still remembers her first encounter with the sensation from her mercifully brief stint as a war correspondent when she’d been too close to an IED.  For years after she’d persisted in the happy delusion that that part of her life was over, until with the arrival of its own superhero National City suddenly seemed to have a new hostile alien or ridiculous metahuman attacking every damn week.  No matter how many times it happens you never get used to it.  Noise, tyres screeching, engine revving, Lisa in the front seat swearing - and then silence for a second before the sound of voices shouting and feet pounding.  Cat raises a hand to her head and tries to focus past the shock and the disorientation.  There’s an ache in her neck that makes it hard to raise her head.  Don’t stop thinking, that’s her rule in situations like this and it has always served her well.  First task?   Check on the person in the car with her, who is also the one person who might immediately be able to tell her what’s going on, or get free?  Do both.  Cat scrabbles at her seatbelt even as she calls out.

“Lisa?  Lisa can you hear me?  Lisa?”

No response.  Cat hopes she’s merely unconscious.  The crash didn’t feel as though it was that bad.  Did they have an accident or – no, there’s gunfire.  Despite the circumstances and the surge of adrenaline Cat feels a sort of tired resignation creeping over her for a second.  Does this always have to be her life?

Then the door slams open and rough hands are grapping at her shoulders, yanking her out unceremoniously to land on her hands and knees on the unforgiving tarmac.  She feels it cutting into her palms and her knees and takes a moment to be grateful that the situation isn’t triggering a flashback.   Therapy works, apparently.

Ordinarily the Press Secretary simply doesn’t rate their own secret service detail and Cat hasn’t broken the tradition.  Due to her colourful personal history (most press secretaries have never faced a single attempt on their life, let alone multiple attacks by supervillains) Cat has the distinction of being offered a detail by Olivia.  The worry was that someone with her high profile assuming such a public position might become a target in a way that the Press Secretary usually isn’t, but Cat dismissed the concern.   She doesn’t need a coterie of bodyguards to feel special - and she doesn’t believe that men and women whose job it is to take a bullet guarding the country’s leadership should be used as adornments to someone else’s ego.  Vanity is one thing, but that just smacks of insecurity to her.

And if she’s being honest with herself she couldn’t tolerate the loss of freedom, especially freedom of movement, that came with a security detail.  Evidently, that was a mistake.

There’s indistinct yelling around her as she looks up – right into the barrel of a gun, wonderful – and she catches something about ‘alien loving bitch’, oh of course, Cat thinks, the woman who named Supergirl becomes the face of the administration that passed the alien amnesty act.  It was only a matter of time before some bunch of backwoods bigots crawled out of the woodwork.  She really should have seen this coming, except she can never take these kinds of lunatics as seriously as she probably should, refuses to engage with the fearful mindset that considers them real threats.  Cadmus running around being, well, being Cadmus, also made it easy to forget that they weren’t the face of all prejudice in America and the threat didn’t end with Lillian being locked up.

Looks like she’s going to pay for that now.

The reality finally sinks in as she sees her assailant’s finger tighten on the trigger, some nondescript thug in coveralls with weaponry easily brought at any gun fair in the country.

This is it.  This is when she dies.  No lucky escape or last-minute superhero save this time.  The smallness of it stings a little.  After everything she’s survived this is how it all ends for her?

Time slows.

Cat has always known that the time gifted to us is finite and too precious to be wasted.  She’s understood so ever since she came home from school at the age of ten and found her beloved father dead in his study from a stroke decades too soon.  As a child she was furious, betrayed, she blamed everyone and everything and cried out the injustice.  As an adult she came to understand, slowly, that loss and pain are part of life, that they sharpen the edge of every experience.  Cat doesn’t fear death.  Unfinished business, on the other hand . . .

Carter.  He’s not so little nowadays, but he’ll always be her baby and he still needs his mother.  This is going to break his heart.  Will his father come through for his son this once?  If any deity should be listening, please let him grow up happier and steadier than she did.

Adam.  They’ve stayed in touch, sporadic yet ongoing.  He even sent a card for her last birthday.  She can never be the mother to him that she wanted to be, but there was hope for closeness, for something of the relationship she thought she’d lost any chance at.

Kara.  There’s a lot she still wanted to say to the most promising young woman she ever mentored.  A lot that she might never have said, regardless of what she tells herself in this last moment.  She can only hope Kara knows, that her veiled and not-so-veiled comments made it clear how important the other woman was to her, and in how many ways.  And she’s selfish enough to hope that she’ll be missed, that Kara will shed a tear or two just for Cat.

And then -

The familiar whoosh of displaced air and the distinctively heavy thump, felt as much as heard, that can only be caused by a pair of strong legs suddenly hitting the ground at speed.  There’s no stopping the smile that begins to from on her face, an ingrained reaction to the knowledge that a certain blonde Kryptonian is still her guardian angel.

Cat looks up and is startled to see a flash of dark hair instead of the expected blonde.  With a flicker of disappointment, she realises it’s him, not her, and then she has to check that assumption too as further details sink in and she realizes something very strange is happening.  Black and white is her first impression.  A black, vaguely leather looking bodysuit with a metallic sheen and a matte white cloak that sweeps back from her shoulders.  Long dark hair falling in a queue down her back.   She’s moving too fast for Cat to see more than that, as she pushes herself to her feet.

The mystery woman – mystery girl, Cat realizes - rips through the attackers with superspeed and rather less moderation than she’s used to seeing from Kara or Superman, although it doesn’t look as if her surprise savior has killed anyone.   Her shoves and throws as she blurs from one location to the next are more than forceful enough to break bones and she throws their weapons away with enough energy to put bystanders at risk.  One of the thugs gets thrown into the side of the van that rammed Cat’s car with enough force to leave an ugly dent.

She’s new, says the analytical part of Cat’s mind that never switches off, even when the rest of her is saying her final goodbyes.   Determined but short on practical experience.  Like Kara when she first started out the new arrival isn’t familiar with the million little details that add up to doing a complicated job right and she hasn’t had the benefit of anyone else’s experience.  She’s trying, but it’s clear no-one has taught her how to fight safely with her strength.

What are they going to call her, Cat wonders?  There’s no convenient letter shaped symbol on her chest to hang a name on, no obvious theme for branding.  With a jolt of realisation it occurs to her that these decisions are not hers to make anymore.  Someone else – Kara? James? Please god not Lois – will choose a name for this new arrival.  The sense of loss she feels at that realization is stronger than she might have expected.  Then Cat realizes it’s over, every attacker down, and the new superhero in town is headed towards her at a swift trot.  The expression of concern on her face is a little surprising from someone Cat has never met.

Oh hell – Lisa.  Cat rushes towards the car, a little unsteady on her Jimmy Choos but not slowing down as she heads towards the driver side door to check on Lisa.

“Ynugh!  Cat,” a hesitant pause at Cat’s lack of response, “Miss Grant!  Miss Grant are you okay?”

The voice isn’t quite the light, warm tone so familiar to her (yet another giveaway of the secret she’s supposed to keep ignoring) but it’s close. And so are those worried blue eyes.  The face though . . . there’s something about it that claws at the edge of Cat’s memory.  Something that’s obvious yet out of sight.  She pushes it into a corner of her mind for later consideration, so she can focus on the more urgent present.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, Lisa, my driver, I think she was knocked unconscious -”

Before Cat can complete the thought the girl is reaching forward and with a tearing shriek of abused metal the door is ripped away and flung aside. Lisa’s seatbelt is no obstacle to Kryptonian strength (Cat’s assuming – she’s certainly got the flight, the strength and the speed) and in the time it takes Cat to blink Lisa is being laid gently down on the road by the mystery brunette.  Cat is already shrugging out of her blazer to make an impromptu pillow while the brunette looks her over with an analytical care that Cat recognizes.  That’s a tick for x-ray vision then.

“She’s okay, she’s okay.  It’s safe, she doesn’t have any spinal damage,” the young brunette says reassuringly when she sees Cat hesitate to disturb Lisa’s head.

“It’s just bumps and bruises and a mild concussion,” she goes on as Cat tucks the folded blazer under Lisa’s head.

“I am so glad you’re okay, Miss Grant.”

“So am I, miss . . .”

Cat lets her voice trail off questioningly.  Danger past and her immediate fears assuaged her investigative instincts are kicking in.  She wants answers.  She wants the story.

She wants to know what the hell is going on.

The young woman focuses an intense gaze on Cat, before breaking into a beaming smile.  Finally, able to get a clear look at her, what stands out is how pleased she looks with herself.  Cat is reminded more than anything of Carter as a child when he thought he’d managed to sneak an extra cookie without her realizing.  He was so adorable when he did that she occasionally let him get away with it, purely for the pleasure of his happy I’m-so-clever smile.  She’s striking, no surprise ( why do superheroes always look as though they came straight from central casting?) with fine features, clear skin, long dark hair and the blue eyes Cat already took note of.  Possibly the brightness of the smile she’s directing at Cat is skewing her judgment slightly there.

“I’m a friend, Miss Grant.  I promise you that.”

Cat looks her dead in the eye and makes a show of dusting herself before planting her hands on her waist, summoning every ounce of poise she has.

“Really? Isn’t it considered friendly to introduce oneself where you’re from?”   Cat smirks a little, reminded of her earlier thought and a long past conversation with Kara.  “If you don’t provide a name you’ll have to live with someone else’s pick.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something suitable, Miss Grant.”  More grinning.  “You’ve got some practice naming superheroes.”  She tilts her head in way that’s familiar to anyone who has spent much time around Kara, focusing elsewhere for a second.  Add another tick for super hearing, Cat decides.  “And that’s my cue to leave.  Stay safe, Cat.”

She grins wider and it’s so bright and fiercely joyful that the connection Cat had wondered at is undeniable.  Then she tenses, and Cat barely has time to take a faltering step back before the girl launches into the sky, going fast but not so fast she can’t be seen, until there’s a strange shimmer and she’s simply gone.  Cat stays watching for a moment, the way most people do when they’ve just seen one of the supers fly away, before the sound of sirens shakes her out of the reverie.

“That never stops being impressive,” she murmurs before returning to Lisa’s side, already drafting the release and considering how the administration will break the news without admitting they don’t know anything.

The next several hours are spent in the D.C headquarters of the D.E.O, recounting the same five minutes over and over, while Sam Lane pitches a hissy fit in the background.  Which explains why she’s hours behind the curve when James Olsen decides outing himself as the Guardian is a good idea.

Read the rest on AO3