“Why does that sound like you’re going to rain soup down on me?” Kitty offered a lopsided smile. She felt like holding Supergirl to that, making it into a promise of another day—but even to her, there were some heartbreaks she couldn’t stomach. She didn’t think Supergirl was one for repeat appearances; heroes rarely stopped by for tea, after all. Kitty gulped down a gnawing sense of sadness over that, she’d mourn what couldn’t be later. “Hm, oh, I’ll pay it back, capes. I’m going to get my soup whether you like it or not. Next time you’re stopping a bank robbery, I’ll be there, waiting with my soup.” She could not put the onus on Supergirl for another day but she could hold that burden over her own shoulders.
What is Krypton like, she’d wanted to ask. But it hardly seemed like the time or place for getting to know Supergirl; she’d have to ask another day—that same magical other day they’d have the soup and pretend there weren’t people the two of them should have been saving instead.
Kitty had never died before ( though as an X-Man, she thought bitterly, it was all a matter of time, and hers was sure to be approaching )—the few times she came close to that edge, and even this time, it’d been cold and dark and lonely. Nothing like Rao and light and warmth. Except she wasn’t alone now. “Rao sounds nice…” she trailed off. She promised herself she’d find Supergirl again another day and ask. She’d get the alien to point out Krypton in the night sky as though she’d be able to see it. Maybe she’d ask about the odd use of past tense, maybe she wouldn’t—choices for another day.
( A day Kitty could not hold herself accountable for—promises she made only to break. Heroes did not waste their time showing girls stars and planets. There would be no other day; Kitty did not plan on being whole again. )
“I’m not a fan of romances in general,” Kitty said, scrunching up her face at the idea. “I mean it’s all smooch, smooch, oh he’s so hot but I can’t have him for some stupid reason—wait, does this mean you’ve seen it? And other romances? You? Romances?” Kitty quirked a brow up, incredulous not because she couldn’t imagine Supergirl curled up on a couch with popcorn and a pillow clutched to her chest as she cried over Ryan Gosling dying—or whatever happened in that dumb movie—no, she could imagine that very well. But because she’d thought Supergirl knew how wrong those movies were—how much baseless hope they tended to spew. “I only take movie recommendations if there’s the promise to watch them together, or else there’s no point.”
Kitty laughed, turning her head to shield a blush and pulling her bottom lip under her teeth to quell a spreading smile. “Oh, please, I bet you say that to all the stabbing victims you pick up.” And Kitty could picture it too, with perfect, bizarrely jealous, clarity. Then she’d made the mistake of turning her attention back on the blonde; where there were hands, and silent questions and looks with meanings that Kitty didn’t dare decipher.
But the hands—the hands Kitty wanted to hold. She wanted to reach out and feel and know that this was real and that she wasn’t just some ghost, that people still felt her. And Supergirl was asking, wasn’t she? And Kitty wanted to answer, show with her own fingers that she wanted another day—a chance to ask the things that burned in her mind. She moved her hand out, slowly—there would not be another day, heroes didn’t need people begging to know them under personas and titles.
Affection, as Kitty knew it, was fleeting. Even between friends—not friends—almost friends—almost somethings. She showered the X-Men with it freely, but that was different. They were family and this was Supergirl. She gave it without thought to strangers, but that was different. They were people she didn’t care for and this was Supergirl. There was something to be said about undefinable differences and how this woman had seen Kitty behind the persona of a ghost, curtains she didn’t even get a chance to drop and scrambled in the wake to push up now. If she reached out, then Supergirl would feel her and then she would know that Kitty did bleed and cry—that she was here and now and not there and eventually. That Shadowcat was every bit Katherine Anne Pryde; the girl, the once-child, the person who could not sit still in her own emotions.
Just shy of Supergirl’s hand, Kitty curled her fingers back and stood up with an awkward cough that quickly dissolved into a wince as pain shot through her side—a wince she swallowed the same way she did every feeling that didn’t fit.
“They don’t ask ‘cause they’ve probably got more sense than me,” Kitty sighed, pretending to stretch her body. “Y’know, I’m not so sure if it means anything at all…” She wasn’t sure if she should be praised for her bout of selfishness, or the very natural want to thank someone who saved her life. She imagined a lot of people wanted Supergirl to stay, and how could they not? A hero; pretty blonde hair, melodic laugh, super strength, nice enough to ease the heart but not overbearing in the way that smothered. Someone who either was deliberately perfect, or naturally so—a distinction humans rarely cared to think about. Kitty, however, was not human. And gosh was it tiring trying to be Supergirl, the perfect hero, all the time?
Kitty nearly groaned at herself. All this thinking was killing her. She needed to go before she ran herself into a mental ditch. And running; Kitty knew running well. “Will I—Will we—can we see—Will I see y—” she swallowed back her words. “I promise I won’t be offended if you wanna fly out that window and go rescue another damsel in distress—promise I won’t even get jealous.” She was not telling her to leave so much as she was asking her if she would—at some point, things had to end. There was less pain if she could control when.
( They would not get another day, because Kitty could not summon the courage to want. )
Kara knew what it felt like to have time slow to a standstill, to be suspended in it for an eternity, wondering if it would ever start again. It felt endless, hopeless; learning eternities and for no reason at all, because all you’d ever have to show for it is more time. It was a hard feeling to shake, and once time started once more, everything that followed felt like moments. Moments went by far too fast, and were barely long enough to learn anything, to connect, to memorize and internalize. Kara made the most of every moment she was given, every second that passed; she never knew if it would all stop.
If it had been stopped all along, and she was just imagining the moments.
Her time with Kitty felt like a moment, a flash that somehow felt like so much and not enough all at the same time. They’d catapulted from mops to surviving to romance to maybe futures that Kara found she wanted, even as Kitty retreated and offered the window like Kara needed an escape, like she should want an escape. It made her wonder if she should want it at all: more moments with Kitty. Like maybe Kara should maintain a distance with everyone she rescued. The suit was supposed to be a symbol; hands on hips, perfect, super in every way possible. Because the moment she lets anyone know she feels something, they might learn she makes mistakes, and girls would try to make gods out of rocks.
They were getting too close to familiar, to making plans, and Kitty was stepping back. Kara should, too. She should, drop out, hold her chin up, nod and fly up up and away. But she wanted more moments.
“I should– I should go, yeah. Not because of you! But–” She tuned in, filtering the hospital until the city seeped in around her. There was always someone to help, wasn’t there? She stood up, taking a couple steps back while tugging at the ends of her skirt. It felt less posed than it should be, suddenly. But she hesitated, even with the city faltering around her. Her fingers twitched until she grabbed at a small notepad courtesy of the hospital, and scribbled a number on it.
Her number, Kara’s number. She could hear her family screaming at her in the back of her mind. “Here. It’s...if you need saving from soup, or if you have a thought. Any thought.” I get lonely, she thought. I liked this moment with you. But she couldn’t say that. Rao, Kara, the girl could’ve died. “I’d like to hear from you again.”
