Notes. See below.

Disclaimer. Not mine.

COUNTDOWN
touches

The first brush comes from Cat's hand over her own. Completely and totally Kara's fault, but Miss Grant merely raises her brow and shoos her away after Kara spends the better part of two minutes fumbling and mumbling and apologising, as if the briefest of contact was something to fire her over.

Which, admittedly, Cat had done before.

But Kara is different, and despite her own words, she is special. Cat can see it, so she merely waves her assistant away and slides on a second pair of glasses, narrowing her eyes at the report her finance director had dropped on to her desk before scuttling out in fear of making eye contact. Kara's hand tingles for an hour. Cat doesn't see the tally mark her assistant absentmindedly strikes on a post-it note.

It is the first of many.

Kara keeps count of every brush, every hold, every brief moment their skin makes contact. She's not sure why, it's not like Cat Grant is particularly important to her ( not yet, at least ) but she already counts every beat of Cat's heart, so she may as well count every time they touch too.

The first three months of Kara's employment at CATCO, there are only two tallies on that post-it. Not that Kara minds. Cat's heartbeat soothes her enough for their lack of contact to bother her, despite Kara's inherent nature for all things affectionate — she hugs Winn freely, shakes hands with nearly everyone in the building, high-fives the night guards on her way out and then again in the morning on her way in… Alex says she's like a dog, constantly looking for someone to pat her head and rub her belly. Cat overhears her telling Winn one day, and she's so amused by the comparison that she mockingly pats Kara's head before walking off and insisting on an espresso from Noonan's within the next two minutes. Kara makes the second strike as she's rushing past her desk eight minutes and twenty-three seconds later.

Cat's brow rises.

Kara apologises profusely.

By the time her first year as Cat Grant's assistant passes, there are three more tallies added to the note. Cat pokes at Kara's chest upon catching sight of a particularly ghastly cardigan, Miss Grant's demand that she never wear a colour like that in her presence ever again resonating with the young Kryptonian so much so, that once Cat's left the room, Kara tears her arms from each sleeve and immediately tosses it in to her bottom desk drawer. The look of approval Cat throws her way has everything to do with the lack of mustard yellow offending her eye-sight, and nothing to do with the suddenly bare arms of her assistant.

Either way, Kara's a grinning mess for the rest of the day and most of that night.

There's a moment, brief and fleeting, where Kara stands by Cat's side as her ex-husband pulls out of taking their son to the Smithsonian over school break. Kara doesn't mean to be there, and yes, she might have heard the conversation anyway even if she were at her desk and not directly beside Cat when he calls, but Cat doesn't seem to even notice that Kara's there until there's a gentle pressure on her shoulder and she looks up to see her assistant resting a hand on her person, with a supportive smile on her overly optimistic face.

For a second, Kara thinks she's overstepped. And maybe she has, but Cat doesn't immediately pull away, and she doesn't glare at Kara like she's the one with heat vision. When Kara's sent back to her desk, she hesitates for a moment before striking another mark. Any contact was contact, it didn't matter who initiated it… right?

Then there's the slap. It's not, malicious. It's not aimed for Kara's face, which she is incredibly relieved about — not for her own vanity, but because had Cat attempted to strike Kara across the face, she very well may have broken her hand, and that is the last thing Kara wants. But it's a sharp, subconscious reaction to Kara reaching across Cat's chest, invading her personal space in a bid to pick up the layouts Cat couldn't see hidden beneath one of her many laptops. Immediately, Kara retracts, steps back and blinks at Cat and Cat scowls up at her with a deep frown, and Kara smiles sheepishly. It's exactly the kind of thing Cat would expect from Kara 'Sunshine-and-Daisies' Danvers. Cat physically strikes her, and Kara smiles. She'd almost feel guilty, if Kara hadn't immediately sprung in to action, rounding her chair ( and in turn, her ) until she'd come to stand on Cat's opposite side, gently lifting her Mac until she could tug the layouts free.

Kara learns that day not to cross Cat's path. Not because she's the devil incarnate, as she'd heard a few editors complain at lunch the other day, or because she's the Queen of All Media, capable of bringing down whole empires with a few well-placed words. But because Cat doesn't like it when there are people in front of her.

That makes five tallies on a yellow post-it for the first year.

The second year's post-it is pink, and there are seven.

The brush of fingers as Kara hands Cat her morning coffee. The sharp bump of shoulders as Cat strides past Kara mid-rant. The accidental hand-hold that comes from a particularly gruelling conversation with Cat's mother, a newly opened bottle of scotch, and a fresh bag of candy… that particular moment is Kara's favourite, because Cat had allowed Kara to hold her hand for all of twenty seconds before she pulled away, and Kara considers that progress.

When Supergirl makes her debut, Kara watches from her desk as Cat grins at the television screens adjourning her office wall, Supergirl featuring on every single one of them. No one else can see it but Kara, but Cat's chair swings slightly back and forth, and there's a notable bounce.

There's a new post-it, with more tallies in four months than the first two years combined, and this one's blue. Cat fixes Kara's collar, Kara brushes Cat's arm, Cat hold's Supergirl's hand, Supergirl throws Cat over her balcony — that mark is particularly dark, an almost scratch, because Kara hadn't wanted to count it but she did, in the end… but then there's a hug, a hug that Cat reciprocates rather than just allows, and Kara hadn't realised how much she'd needed it until it was happening, and Cat held on just as tight as Supergirl had.

That moment becomes Kara's favourite.

And that tally get's a post-it all it's own.

Four post-it's.

Twenty-two tallies.

She's still counting.

Notes. Two down, three to go. Review maybe?