Work Text:
The night of their first wedding anniversary, Glimmer throws them a big party—mostly because she feels like throwing a party, Catra thinks, and their anniversary is the nearest excuse, but Catra’s not complaining. She and Adora both love a party.
When they make it to their bedroom in the wee hours of the morning, they’re both giggling and handsy from a couple of drinks—only a couple; they have commitments in the morning—and collapse into bed without bothering to undress or turn off the last dim sconce on the wall.
Adora burrows into her pillow, one arm around Catra, instantly relaxed. But instead of falling asleep beside her, Catra lays awake, a weird melancholy creeping up on her. This is why Adora never lets her have more than a couple drinks; Adora’s a fun drunk, but Catra gets moody in a way that they both know isn’t good for her.
“What would you do if I died?” Catra says, voice loud and sudden.
Adora rolls over and stares at her in the faint light.
“Sorry,” Catra mutters. “That’s morbid and weird. Never mind.”
“Yeah, it is,” Adora says, equal parts worried and irritated. “What do you mean? You saw how I acted when you only almost died. I’d be really effing sad, Catra, how about that?”
“No, what I mean is… I know you’d be sad, but you’d probably marry again, right? You’d be sad, you’d miss me, but you’d eventually find someone else. I mean,” her face makes a half-smile that she doesn’t really feel, “there’d be plenty of takers.”
Adora sags onto her back and stares up at the ceiling for a long minute. “No, I don’t think I would.”
Catra scrubs at her face, wishing she’d never spoken. “You don’t have to say that…”
“I’m not just saying it. I’ve never wanted anyone but you, Catra. I can’t imagine being with someone else, ever.” Adora’s hand finds hers in the darkness, laces their fingers. “If I lost you, I’d just… be alone the rest of my life. Which would suck, so, you know, don’t freaking die.”
She scowls at Catra, who stares back, speechless.
“I’d still have our friends,” Adora says thoughtfully, expression softening. “And as long as I still had somebody, I guess I’d be okay, eventually. Like, I don’t think I’d be a suicide risk, probably.” Her voice breaks. “But no, there wouldn’t ever be anyone else.”
Tears are spilling down Catra’s face without her permission. “I’m not nearly as good a person as you think I am.”
Adores gives her a look full of patience and affection and concern, reaching out to brush the tears away. “Why do you say that?”
“Because,” Catra says, her voice hoarse and tiny, “because that’s what I wanted you to say. And I know that’s horribly selfish and cruel—”
Adora kisses her, once, twice, half-sitting up to do it properly. “I love you exactly the way you are.”
Catra presses into the kiss, bowling Adora over, pinning her down in the bed. Adora submits totally, indulgently, the way she always does when Catra gets like this.
“Your turn,” Adora says eventually, pulling back for breath. “You can’t ask a question like that and not expect me to want your answer, too.”
“Oh, what would I do if you died?” Catra grins. “I’d bump off Perfuma and have Scorpia down the aisle inside of a month.”
Adora gasps and tackles her, laughing. “You miserable little—”
“You asked!”
The impromptu wrestling match quickly devolves into more kissing, clingy and desperate.
“Don’t you ever leave me,” Catra gasps against Adora’s lips, “don’t you ever leave me alone again, I’d never forgive you—”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Catra knows Adora can’t actually promise that, knows the world is full of wonders and horrors and that intentions can only do so much against them. She chooses to believe Adora anyway. She’s learning to make choices like that, choosing to be happy in spite of all the reasons not to be.
She twines herself around Adora, kissing her like her life depends on it, and doesn’t ask for anything else.