#barista!cat

Cat and Kara get to try out their fake marriage in public. Feat. real kissing.

Read it on AO3

“What’s wrong?” Cat demands when they park outside the diner. She makes no move to leave the truck, watching the diner and its few occupants from behind her dark glasses. “Surely you must be ready for third breakfast, or whatever hobbity name you have for it.”

“I think the sunglasses are a little too ‘Cat Grant’, don’t you?”

Kara gets a glare over the top of them, but persists. “I mean, they’re Tom Ford. Not exactly barista-salary, right?”

“I was going with divorcée in need of a time-killing job until you showed up and married me,” Cat reminds her. “Am I not slumming it enough?”

Kara roots around in her purse, undeterred. She hands Cat a pair of the drugstore shades she always has a few of. Leopard print frames, just a hint of the cat-eye shape Cat prefers for her reading glasses. “Here. And we should probably do something about your hair, too.”

“You’re saying a ponytail isn’t disguise enough?” Cat snorts in accusation. She peers at the plastic frames before trading the glasses with a sigh. “Lots of people have blonde hair. Isn’t it enough I’ve given up my regular stylist?”

Kara deals with the after effects of Kryptonite, catching up with Alex in the process. Of course it wouldn’t be a chat with the DEO if it didn’t give Kara something entirely new to worry about...

Kara makes it to the relative safety of the unisex bathroom, relieved there’s no one else already in evidence. Locking herself into one of the three stalls, she’s grateful the wall is sturdy enough to hold her up.

At least in here she’s a little further away. The sweating eases up, and she can open her eyes a little wider. Holding one hand out in front of her, Kara thinks the trembling might be a bit less violent.

How is she going to get out of here? Especially without making a scene? If someone knows Supergirl is here in town, then that kryptonite is intentional, designed to scare her off at the first round of queries. It seems unlikely though, which raises the more worrying prospect that somewhere in this town is a stash of the green rock that’s considerable enough to allow random employees, or club members, or whatever the hell is going on out here, to carry some around with them.

A few minutes later she’s steady enough to splash water on her face and head out. Although she keeps her head down and goes straight back to her table as discreetly as possible, Kara feels Cat’s attention on her the whole time. She wants to wave or acknowledge in some way that the crisis is passing, but that would definitely only draw attention from the few other people scattered around the cafe.

Kara tells herself she’s not disappointed to be shown to her own room, the one with her bags already stashed and clothes already unpacked.

“I have an office, of sorts,” Cat begins, but one glance at Kara’s expression tells her about the snooping. “Well, I’ll explain tomorrow. Come in with us for breakfast, if you like. I can show you Carter’s school, anything else you missed today.”

“I covered a lot,” Kara reassures her. She doesn’t want this night to end here, and that’s selfish of her. Still, Cat is standing right there, and this is that brave new world where they openly hint at what they want, where they touch as casually as though they always have. “Whatever’s going on here, we’re going to break the story. I promise.”

“Oh, Kara.” Cat’s voice cracks just a little again, and before she can think better of it, Kara is gathering her into a strong hug. It’s a relief to be able to hug Cat normally, even if that does mean with moderated strength. Previously, Kara’s had to be extra careful to seem weak and human. Now she can give Cat the reassurance of firmer squeezes from the arms wrapped around her.

The best part is how Cat leans into it, committing completely. Her palms are flat against Kara’s shoulder blades, the thin barrier of cotton feels like nothing at all. It’s practically skin on skin, and Kara bites her bottom lip at the very thought of it.

When they part, Cat gives the room a sweeping glance. “Try not to turn this into a branch of Urban Outfitters by morning?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Kara assures her. “Besides, you’ve never been to my apartment, how do you know how I decorate? Maybe I’m really into Martha Stewart Living.”

Snooping time!

Kara has visited Cat’s homes on numerous occasions, mostly the penthouse in National City’s most exclusive neighborhood, but also the beach house down the coast, her ski lodge in Aspen, and her family townhouse in Metropolis. There’s an extensive property portfolio beyond that, but Kara feels like she would have remembered a house in semi-rural Wisconsin.

Having the house to herself, Kara speeds from room to room, just to get the lay of the land. By which she absolutely means snooping. Her justification is that Cat would do the same thing, even without a good excuse. There are four bedrooms, two clearly occupied and a third turned into an office of sorts. There’s a pinboard filled with photos and other papers that takes up most of a wall, the pins and strings giving it an official air of investigation.

That leaves the fourth bedroom to be Kara’s, presumably. The bed is freshly-made, and there are hangers in the empty closet. Unpacking in record time, she returns first to the office to see what Cat is working on, but the board isn’t giving up a coherent narrative. There’s a dock for a laptop, but no computer in sight. Does Cat have it with her? That’s more paranoid than she would usually be. Kara looks around for a safe, finding it only when she x-rays the wall. It’s behind a framed print of a Klimt painting, the original of which is hanging in Cat’s home office in National City. Some things don’t change.

There’s little point looking in Carter’s room again, it’s the messiest in the house and there are comic books stacked up on his small desk. Wondering if she’s crossing a line, Kara takes a closer look at Cat’s bedroom.

The barista Cat fic is resurrected!

Chapter 1 if you’re hazy (it’s like 1.4k words for a quick refresh) 

Now to pick up where we left off...

In two years as Cat’s assistant, Kara arranged every conceivable method of transportation for her. Short-notice helicopter flights, chartering the CatCo jet to unpronounceable locations, picking up any number of sports cars that Cat kept for all of three months before trading in for something newer and faster. Hell, even the hiking boots that she wore exactly once to chaperone Carter on a school trip. Kara had chosen the perfect pair.

None of that has prepared her for the sight of Cat Grant, now minus her baseball cap and apron, but definitely still in a generic polo shirt and… cargo pants opening the door of a Volvo SUV. It’s such a soccer mom car that Kara worries for a second Cat might be stealing it. Only Carter strolls right up to it, pulling open the passenger door, before changing his mind and climbing in back.

“I left the front for you, Kara,” he says with an easy smile, before popping his earbuds in and losing himself to whatever is on the screen. A second later he yanks the door shut.

“Well?” Cat calls from the driver’s seat, the engine already purring. “I don’t have all day.”

You and @reginalovesemma are in so much trouble. Again.

On AO3 if you prefer. 

Kara has idle daydreams about when she’ll hear from Cat. She envisions personalized stationery all the way from the Orient Express, or a knowing postcard from Paris. In darker hours, those 3am-can’t-sleep-for-missing-her hours, Kara worries the first communication she’ll have from Cat is a scream, or  a stutter in her heartbeat. 

Instead, it’s a messengered note written on a napkin from a Bulletproof Coffee store. Cat couldn’t find the time to open her email, or the money to buy actual writing paper, but she took the time to scribble an address and FedEx the damn thing to Kara’s office at CatCo. So almost exactly the level of drama Kara has been pining for these past few months. It isn’t even signed, relying on Kara to recognise that impatient handwriting with its tight loops and jagged lines.

Since there’s no detail, Kara doesn’t waste time or money on the façade of looking up the nearest airport and booking commercial flights. She looks, just in case, but the number of changes suggest Cat is truly in the middle of nowhere, USA. If there’s a spa resort there, it’s so exclusive that the internet doesn’t contain so much as a whisper of its existence.