Work Text:
Ridiculous. Ridiculous was how Adora felt right now. How she had gotten into this situation, she didn’t know. How was she going to get out of it? She didn’t know that either. Tied up to a strippers pole, in a strip club, and minutes away from being blown to smithereens, she could still hear gunshots sounding in the background.
This was supposed to have been a simple, quick mission: get the intel then go. Then she had gotten distracted (what else does one expect from a flaming lesbian surrounded by beautiful women?) and instantaneously blew any cover she previously had. Then the gas leak Angella warned her about had actually happened, which was really was a 50/50 chance, (depending on how the deal went between the two gangs she was supposed to have gotten info on) so just her luck! And amidst all the chaos of trying to help get as many people to safety, and – stupidly – going after the presumed Horde goons who must of set it off, she had run into a whole bunch of them. How perfect. After weaving away from a few hits, she was punched square in the jaw and her arms were held back by some big guy in a suit practically pressed against her. One of HP’s minions (Pablo, she believed) cocky as hell, grabbed her chin afterwards – there had still been blood leaking out of her mouth – and grinning like the joker himself, had said: “If you think we're gonna let a nosey ass like you get away from this unscathed, then you’re sure mistaken, honey, especially not when we can use you as bait on a stick for your girlfriend – C’yra.” He had laughed as if it was the most devious plan ever thought of. Adora remained silent, as neutral as she could to ensure she gave little to nothing away. However, running through her mind like a hot lake of lava, despite her life on the line, was the thought:
She is not my fucking girlfriend.
Highly unprofessional, but she really couldn’t help it; not when she was still so upset about everything that had happened between them; not when she had been meaning to call (whilst also being busy with college and not wanting to) but also waiting for Catra to call (and knowing she wouldn’t). It was stupid really. They were stupid. No — Catra was stupid, unfair, annoying, and prideful… and brave, and extremely hot—
Nope, not going there.
Now tied up, and left alone with her thoughts, she realised one glaring detail that if not for her singular brain cell focusing all her energy into thinking about how mad she was at her – ex – girlfriend, that should have been obvious earlier: they knew she was affiliated with Catra. They had seen her together with Catra, or well, C’yra. A surge of panic rose at the thought, because…what if they eventually put two and two together and realised who Catra was? Where their colleges were? Where she lived? To say she was worried was an understatement.
Though, the rational side of her brain reminded her that if she didn’t get out of this strip club and slip past whatever altercation was happening just past these doors quickly, then she wouldn’t be there to worry about Catra—whom she was still mad at however. So she yanked, and yanked, but it was no use, and the gas that had been let off on the main stage was beginning to seep through, filling the small showroom (and soon her nostrils). Briefly, she contemplated screaming in hopes of reaching the vent close by—surely someone would hear her on the streets. But, if they did, it wasn’t like they could do anything except call the police (who should have been here by now, but of course they weren’t) and by then she’d probably be dead.
It truly seemed like this was it. This was how she’d die. In a strip club, never having travelled out of this state, never having been out of this god forsaken country, mad at herself and mad at Catra—and with Catra mad at her. She didn’t want to die like this.
She couldn't die like this.
After struggling and struggling some more, gas started to fill the room and her vision began to blur. Completely void of all hope, Adora decided to do the only thing she could.
"H-Help! Help!" She shouted, voice hoarse, coughing with each breath drawn. Once more, she shouted, projecting as loud as she possibly could. Each time became increasingly more difficult. Soon her cries would sound closer to choked sobs rather than actual words if someone didn't find her soon.
On what could have been her sixth or sixteenth scream (Adora had almost immediately lost count), she heard the sound of something scratching metal — or more accurately, something cutting through it. It took a couple of seconds, but then she realised that there was only one place it could be coming from:
The vent.
Proven right only seconds later, there was a clang! on the ground, and a slender body fitting slipping through the now uncovered vent with ease. In fact, it seemed as though the entrance had been practiced to perfection. Adora knew it was.
Wearing her signature smug smirk, she stood, hands on her hips with a knowing look. Despite how many times she'd seen her in the familiar getup before, it somehow always managed to get her stomach lurching: those thigh highs which somehow weren't impractical; the crimson red suit which clung to her body in all the right places (arguably there were no wrong ones); the black sleeves which came up to cover her hands; and the red mask with pointed ears obscuring her face. However, the blue-gold glow of her eyes was still inexplicably Catra. It still captured her essence. At least to Adora.
"Catra…? Is that you?" She asked, dazed, even though there was no one else it could have been.
Stepping forward, breaking the hero façade she'd previously had, Catra said, "duh. Now come on, I need to get you out of this rope dipshit, we don't have long."
Adora did very little as Catra made quick work of the knot, nor did she dare to say anything, because despite the smirk she'd been greeted with, under the mask she knew Catra was still annoyed at her. Worried too, but definitely mad, possibly fuming, seeing as she'd done the opposite of what Catra wanted, and not for the first time.
And she was right…
Once her hands were finally free, she reached into her jacket by instinct, hoping to find what was usually there: her wallet with her (fake) ID in it; keys; her phone(s); her taser; and most importantly her usb stick with key intel for this case. All gone. Fuck—she had to find it. Not waiting for Catra to help her up, she sprung to her feet (albeit a little too quickly for someone who'd just been inhaling poisonous gas) on the edge of becoming hysterical if she didn’t very quickly think of a solution to the impossible problem.
Catra, stunned by Adora's sudden movements and pacing around the room, opened her mouth to say something before promptly closing it. After allowing Adora to pace for another couple seconds, she decided enough was enough and stood directly in front of her, hands on her shoulder.
"Chill the fuck out. We need to get out of here because I'm pretty sure the explosives they planted are gonna go off any minute now." There was little to no sympathy in her voice, but Adora didn't know what she'd expected.
Still, even that didn’t stop the panic which was threatening to overwhelm Adora, as she said, "You don't get it , do you?! I need to find it—"
"Find what? What are you—"
"Because if they manage to get into it—which they will, then—"
"Adora. Can you just slow down and—"
"Then if they do, not only could that mess up everything for me, because they'd be able to trace it and would know everything about me and who I’m working for, but, even worse, they’d figure out who you are too!" Adora took a long exhale, screwing her eyes shut, and counted from one to ten in her head.
Catra sighed, though it was less exasperated than Adora figured it should be. "Okay...then where is... it?" She still gripped onto Adora's shoulders, though this time, it was placating, soothing even.
Opening her eyes to look at Catra, she took a breath before speaking, and only then did Catra loosen her grip, hands falling at her side seconds after. "Well, it was one of HP's guys who took it—"
"HP? Are you sure?" Catra's eyes widened behind her mask.
Adora nodded. "Yeah, had the emblem and everything. Not to mention they were after you. Somehow they knew that…"
Adora stopped herself, not wanting to be reminded of her and Catra's current situation.
"What?" If Adora could see Catra's eyebrows, she was sure they'd be raised.
"No, not import—" a coughing fit struck Adora again, causing her to nearly double over and Catra held her upright, murmuring curses under her breath.
"Let's cut this conversation short and get the fuck out of here, because we've just wasted about three minutes and this is not how me, as C'yra, is dying." Catra said, before dragging Adora along as if she was a rag doll, making quick work of the few goons still running around shooting at each other in a club which was about to go up in flames.
What was happening? Adora knew it was a deal gone wrong, but just how wrong did it go to prompt what seemed like a whole new gang war? It had never been this bad before. She would have loved to investigate some more, but Catra seemed hellbent on keeping her glued to her side. But she had to recover the intel, and frankly, right now it seemed more important than her own life.
Wriggling out of Catra's grip as they approached the basement exit, Adora stumbled backwards, just barely staying on her feet.
"What the fuck Adora? Can't you just cooperate with me for once!" Catra growled, reaching for her again, which Adora dodged sloppily.
"Listen I'm not leaving until I get my stuff, which has to still be here—they're waiting for you to show up, so Pablo and the other guys must be around." Adora tried to explain as well as she could, but Catra had still looked confused by the end of it, so then Adora simply said, "I'm the bait. They used me to get to you."
Catra scoffed, moving to block her path. "No shit Sherlock, but do you really think I'm going to ruin this near perfect streak by purposefully going up against them for your dumbass?”
Eyes wide in shock at Catra’s harsh words (which she really should be used to by now) Adora shoved past her, only for her arm to be caught by Catra’s hand and for her whole body to be spun around.
“Adora, can you just—”
“—Don’t fucking touch me! If you don’t want to help, then I’ll do it my fucking self,” and with that she yanked her arm back and started marching back upstairs to the main floor, only for Catra to follow after her. “What now?”
“Well, if I can’t stop your stubborn ass, then I have no choice but to help.” Catra said, clearly begrudgingly.
Adora tried to stop herself from beaming at the gesture, mostly unsuccessfully as Catra gave her an accusatory stare before saying, “One condition: five minutes and then we leave. Okay?”
Adora stuck out her pinky, waiting for Catra to do the same. In response, she groaned, but seeing as Adora wouldn’t let it go otherwise, she rolled her eyes but still stuck hers out too, and for maybe a second or more, they twined their pinkies together, a wordless promise. Adora liked to imagine Catra was blushing under the mask as they did so.
Lingering on Adora’s tongue was an overdue ‘thank you’, as they went up the stairs and barely exchanged a word. And once Catra had to go and fend off the rest of HP’s men and find Pablo, the feeling persisted, like it was begging to be said. Despite this, Adora didn’t listen.
Adora could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance — about time— though it was hardly comforting when all she could focus on were the footsteps of HP's goons getting closer and closer. Running down the flight of stairs to the basement exit, she refrained from calling Catra's name when just about anybody could overhear, because even if she was still mostly fuming at her, she'd never risk Catra's identity.
Finally, she'd gotten out of the building, and Catra was standing a couple feet away. Although she had a couple scratches, she looked mostly unscathed with her motorbike helmet in hand, and bike propped up against the wall, all while Adora was huffing, practically on the verge of collapsing. It was hard to tell (especially with the mask) but Catra seemed relieved to see her.
"There you are! Now come on, we gotta get outta here."
Adora knew they didn’t have much time left if she actually wanted to live, but her mind was still in ‘I’m being petty’ mode and her mouth seemed to move on it’s own as she said, "Wait! You—you only have one helmet…”
"Don't be ridiculous, they're right behind us Adora, seriously," Catra said, quicker than she usually spoke, with a sense of urgency.
And it should have been easy, she should've been able to give in, especially in a situation like this, to put their grievances aside and be mature— but it wasn't. Adora wanted to push away from Catra like she'd done to her; wanted to be bitter and difficult and mean; wanted to be in control of the situation.
Crossing her arms, Adora stared back, challenging Catra's agitated look with one of her own. "Why should I?"
"Huh?" She said, face screwing up in clear confusion.
"Why? Tell me why.” Adora demanded, standing her ground.
"What do you mean why? It's not safe here!" Catra started to walk towards her, intending to drag her to the vehicle.
Easily, Adora shook her off then took a step back. "And? I can handle going back home or whatever on my own—instead of going with...you."
Catra didn’t even try to hide her agitation as she groaned, "For fucks sake Adora, right now nowhere is safe, so come with me if you want to live!"
Looking between Catra and the men who were getting imminently closer, Adora scrunched her face up and breathed out, "Fine," and Catra muttered something under her breath (sounding very close to 'thank fuck') whilst throwing the helmet to Adora. It wasn't the first time she'd ridden with Catra before, so putting the helmet on only took a mere seconds before she hopped on behind her.
"Hold on tight princess," Catra said, with a tint of smugness in her voice, leaving their pursuers in the dust, out of sight and forgotten as they drove off.
As Catra sped up, Adora had no choice but to cling on even tighter, and as childish as it was, she knew that now she was the one blushing.
They made camp in one of Catra's multiple 'hideouts' — though Adora never saw them as such, having grown so used to them, they were more like 2nd, 3rd, 4th houses. Maybe it was because they had Catra in them.
"Get comfy," Catra said to her as she plopped down on the dusty sofa, tossing her mask aside.
Adora, still a tad resentful, and now, a little bashful, stood her ground once more, not making her way to where Catra was sitting (on her favourite spot) arms crossed, choosing to glare at her instead.
Sighing, Catra mirrored her action, deadpan as she said, “What?”
Foot tapping repeatedly on the ground, Adora scoffed, “what do you mean what? You—you haven’t called in weeks, then you swoop in out of nowhere to save the day, only to tell me ‘I told you so’, and now, you’re acting like nothing fucking happened!” By the time she stopped speaking, she realised she had walked all the way to Catra, who as always, wasn’t taking this nearly as seriously as Adora.
“Why the fuck are you smirking?” Adora asked, exasperated as she looked down at her.
All Catra did in response was shake her head, smirk still obnoxiously present, and Adora’s patience was wearing thin. About to go into another rant again, Catra interjected with:
“I’ve missed how hot you get when you’re mad.”
And…oh.
Of all the things she could have said.
Immediately, Adora’s anger dissipated, being replaced with a softer, mellow feeling.
“You...you’ve missed me?” Adora asked, words only audible due to their immense closeness.
Catra nodded earnestly, and shuffled out of Adora’s favourite space, patting the seat once she did. Obeying the silent command, Adora sat down, close enough to Catra that she could feel her warmth.
“I...I should’ve called. Sorry. I was just angry. Not at you—well maybe a little, but not really. I was mostly angry at myself. All I wanted—all I ever want is for you to be okay.” Catra said, placing a hand on her knee, thumb making small circles just how Adora liked.
Adora wanted to implode right there.
“Catra, you—I should be the one who’s sorry. I am sorry. You were right and I should’ve listened okay? Be as smug as you want because I deserve it.” She paused, waiting for a smirk or for her to gloat like she always did, but it never came.
Eyes tearing up, Adora couldn’t contain the feelings she’d kept a lid on for weeks now. She flung her arms around Catra’s neck, who let out a small grunt at the impact, clearly stunned by the sudden affection. Once the shock wore off, Catra relaxed, arms wrapping around Adora’s waist.
Adora buried her head into her shoulder, unable to bring herself to care whether she was getting snot and tears on her C’yra get-up. She couldn’t help but melt into her arms a little more. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know.” She mumbled into her clothes.
“With the way you’re going, it’ll be quite literally.” Catra said, pressing a kiss onto her head.
Adora thought about HP, about his gang, about the gang war going on right now, about how she nearly died today. Then Adora thought about Catra.
“Not as long as you’re here.”
Not as long as we have each other.