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.
So Kara logs the coordinates and Supergirl makes her first landing in wherever-the-heck, Wisconsin, twenty minutes ahead of the time Cat ordered them to meet. The only witnesses are three disinterested cows and a surprisingly angry goat. Which, it turns out, is because she overshot by some distance. The town itself is mid-sized and not-quite bustling, the main streets occupied by small businesses, serving a population who mostly work for at the big plant on the far side of town.
She blends right in with her plaid shirt and jeans, nobody gives her a second glance as she makes her way down Main and finds the local branch of Bulletproof. So intent on checking the occupants of the tables, almost all empty mid-afternoon, it takes Kara a full minute of standing in the store before thinking to look behind the counter.
She has never wanted a photographer by her side more. Kara is tempted to fly back to National City, grab James, and have him fill every memory card he owns. It would also be really helpful to have a witness.
Because behind the counter, in polo shirt, apron and honest-to-Rao baseball cap, stands Cat Grant. CEO of CatCo, even in absentia, and apparently now a barista. She’s doing some kind of art on top of a latte, judging by the frown of concentration and the way she’s dragging a toothpick through the foam. Kara is seriously tempted to call her sister and ask if Kryptonians can experience a stroke.
“Vanilla latte?” Cat calls out, with all the authority she’d carried back at the office. A tall man almost leaps out of his seat to come and collect it, leaning in like he thinks he stands a chance.
“You know, this is the best vanilla latte I’ve ever had,” he says, wincing as he takes a sip while it’s still too hot. Pity he doesn’t notice the foam mustache it gives him. “Thank God you showed these guys how to make a cup of joe.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Cat responds with her fakest smile. She turns to Kara with the blankest look of non-recognition. “What can I get you, ma’am?”
“Did… did you just… ma’am me?” Kara sputters. Cat gives her a split-second warning glare. The man is taking his time about retreating back to his table. “Well, uh, with a rave review like that I guess I need to try a vanilla latte.”
“Good choice!” Cat turns back to the chrome of the coffee machine, scoops some ground espresso and starts the process of making Kara’s drink. It’s the Twilight Zone meets Twin Peaks, with a dose of Stranger Things thrown in for good measure. Kara thinks she might explode with the need to ask what the hell is going on. Man in a suit finally gives up on Cat’s attention returning to him, so Cat whispers to Kara while pouring the milk to steam.
“When he leaves, follow him. Get the license plate of any car or truck he gets in. Then bring it back to me, understood?”
“But-” Cat starts the screeching sound of the steamer, drowning out further conversation. She hands Kara the latte in a to-go cup a minute later. Kara fumbles in her purse for some change, eventually slapping a five-dollar bill down on the counter.
“That’s a nice tip,” Cat replies with a wink. All too soon, another customer appears behind Kara, and she’s at a loss for what to do with her - damn, pretty delicious - latte and apparent stalking target.
Thankfully the suit gets up and makes his exit a moment later, with one last lingering glance at Cat. Kara makes a show of checking her phone, following him into the street as though completely unaware anyone else just left. Cat nods in approval, chatting away to the mom with a toddler who’s getting her afternoon caffeine fix.
Sure enough, instead of the Ford or Chrysler parked out on the street that Kara would have bet on, her target walks down the street a little way before ducking into an alley. A moment later a government-issue Suburban comes rolling out into traffic, all the windows blacked out. Kara dips her glasses to confirm with x-ray that the man is in the backseat with another guy in full tactical gear.
Okay. So Cat is definitely onto something weird. Which answers one question out of the thousand or so that Kara has. She heads back to the coffee shop, just in time to hear her own name being yelled by a balding man who’s halfway out of the office marked ‘Manager’.
“Danvers!”
“Yes?” Cat replies. Kara lets the door swing shut behind her, and stares, completely dumbfounded. “And I told you, it’s Catherine.”
“Never mind that, I’m cutting out early. You close up today.”
“Fine,” Cat sighs, coming out from behind the counter and jerking her head to indicate Kara should take a seat. The man disappears back into the office, and Cat drops all pretense of cleaning tables to sit down opposite Kara. “Well?”
“Well?” Kara doesn’t know where to begin. “You tell me, Catherine Danvers. What is going on? What are you even doing here?”
“It was the first name that popped into my head,” Cat explains, with one of her irritated little finger-waves. She checks over her shoulder that no manager has returned. “And as you probably just confirmed for me, I’m on the trail of some high-level government corruption.”
“By making lattes?” Kara scoffs. She takes another mouthful. “Although seriously, how did you get so good at it? This is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
“I can’t help excelling at every task in front of me. Now focus, Keira.”
“Don’t Keira me, employee of the month!” Kara blurts, catching sight of the plaque on the wall. Cat’s gaze in return is withering, but just a little shamefaced. “I thought you’d write me one day to tell me you’d solved world peace. Or were President of France.”
“You need to be French to be President of France-”
“Instead you’re hiding out in some small town? Making coffee and chasing stories that are probably nothing?” Kara realizes she’s getting mean, but this is not the big reunion she hoped for. “If I did something like this you’d be on the first flight with an inspirational speech to stop me. So… what happened?”
Just as Cat seems ready to spill the, well, beans, the door jingles one more time and Carter walks in.
“Hey mom… Kara!” He greets her with a hug, as though just last week he was on that exploding train. “You finally came. I’ve been bugging mom for weeks about-”
“Kara doesn’t want to hear that, darling. How was school?”
“You’re in school here?” Kara gasps, and Carter gives her a searching look in return. “I mean, of course you are. School is important. Helps you feel settled.”
“I gotta pee,” Carter announces, because teen boys will be teen boys. He drops his backpack on the empty chair between Cat and Kara.
“Okay,” Kara leans back in her chair, setting the last of her coffee down. “Now I’m just worried.”
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Cat sighs, getting up and retying her apron. “I’m sorry. Go back to National City, Kara. I assume you won’t have trouble with the return… flight.”
“I’m going nowhere.” Kara folds her arms over her chest, knowing her suit is there beneath her shirt. It’s hopefully just as intimidating. “So I’ll take another one of these perfect vanilla lattes, please. And after work I want the whole story.”
“Fine,” Cat sniffs. “You’d better have that license plate.”