Work Text:
The dead silence of the apartment is interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Three rings, a pause. Three more, another pause. It repeats, seeping into the dreams of a sleeping woman. The sound slowly pulls her to reality.
She rolls over and propped herself up on her elbow, pushing blonde locks out of her face as if doing so would miraculously illuminate her pitch black bedroom. She slapped her hand onto the nightstand, sliding over the surface until it bumps into the ringing phone. She fumbled with it, but managed to accept the call.
An attempt was made to ask “Yeah?” but her own sleepiness—the yawning, the disgusting taste in her mouth, her jaw’s unwillingness to move—made it come out a garbled mess.
The “Morning, Adora,” that came through is followed by a giggle. It’s Glimmer’s voice. “Sorry I called so early—I’m kinda surprised you even picked up—but anyway—” Adora nodded along, even though Glimmer couldn’t tell, “I’ve got a lot going on up here, and our office just got an urgent case from downtown New Brightmoon. I was wondering if you could pick it up?”
“Uh-huh, sure thing, yeah, no problem,” was Adora’s response. It was unfair, really, trying to talk to her about work in the middle of the night; right after she was forced awake, no less. But she’d still accept the case, fair or not (perhaps that is what Glimmer was counting on).
“Thanks, Adora.”
Adora sipped her coffee in a sad attempt to chase away her exhaustion. She stared out the storefront windows, across the empty street and into the snow-dusted park. Quite honestly, Adora was disappointed. Maybe it was the depressing gray clouds that hung heavy in the sky, blotting out the sun. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d planned to curl up on her couch, an ungodly amount of snacks before her, to speed run the last few hours she had left in Horizon: Zero Dawn. Her original plans for the day had been dashed by Glimmer’s call. Adora had forgotten that it had even happened, but fortunately (or unfortunately) Glimmer made sure to send a text to remind her.
Adora sighed. Oh, the job of being a Hunter. You never know when you’ll get a day off.
Adora had taken a look at the case file before she’d left. Signs of a few ex-Hordes in the area. They seemed to be causing some trouble and needed to be dealt with before downtown New Brightmoon became infested. Wasn’t her favorite case type to work on, but it was easy enough; wasn’t too worrying. The urgent part of the report, however, came from the suspicion of a Fallen. That was worrying.
God damn Fallens , she thought. There better not be any, or I swear I’ll —
The chime of the door’s bell drew her eyes to the entrance. In walked a young woman. Adora looked her over once. She was cute, but Adora paid her no more attention. The woman was just another person, her hair a messy mane of twig-like curls, eyes mismatched and weary, and a faint, fractured halo circling above her brow.
Wait . Adora took a second look, watching her as she strolled up to the counter. Hands tucked into the front pocket of her ratty, oversized hoodie, voice low as she the barista took her order. Adora watched her—the silver ring above her—for a few seconds more before leaving, crossing the street to wait under the bus shelter.
The woman soon left the coffee shop. After she’d walked to the next block, Adora stood, chugged what remained in her cup, and followed.
Adora lost her in the crowd a couple of times, but it wasn’t too difficult to find her again. Despite her halo having been damaged, if still shone with a piercing light. Must have left pretty recently , Adora thought. The woman’s route twisted and turned throughout the city, seemingly directionless. The woman then took a sharp turn down an alley.
Adora quickened her pace as she scanned the street. It was empty. Good.
She stopped in the mouth of the alley, hand in her coat pocket, gripping a runescroll. The woman stood at the other end, Adora behind her and a brick wall ahead of her. The woman spun, eyes widening in fear as Adora unfurled the scroll.
Gold marks wrapped in a circle, burning themselves into the ground beneath the woman’s feet. She was trapped.
Adora’s brows furrowed in concentration. She didn’t have much time. She muttered the same words she’d used dozens of times; it was habit, it was easy—but—
The fear in the woman’s eyes, the way she cowered under Adora’s gaze, and her plea: “Please don’t!”
Adora faltered.
And time was up. The barrier fell.
The two were unmoving in their wariness of what the other might do. Then the woman jumped back, scrambling up the wall with inhuman strength and agility. Adora was left alone in the alley.
Adora let her get away.
Adora let a Fallen get away.
Papers were strewn about the desktop, some in messy piles and others spilling out of over-filled manila folders. Click, click, click ; the click of the pen in her hand filled the empty space of the room. It was late, she was tired, but she had work to do.
Adora straightened in her chair, inhaled, exhaled. She pulled a case report file from a pile. Her pen was posed above the blank ‘procedures’ page that stared up at her. Just write down what she did, that’s all she had to do. Banishing ex-Hordes, mapping gateways, and…
She couldn’t write.
Couldn’t focus, couldn’t stop beating herself up.
Gods, Adora. Twice!
She slouched, rubbing her temples.
The first time was excusable. Fallens are tricky, she got distracted, nothing that hasn’t happened before. Hell, even the best Hunters in the field can’t banish a Fallen on the first try. But the second? No, she couldn’t excuse that one.
The Fallen literally ran into her!
Adora stood and began pacing. The floor beneath her creaked (she’d paced enough to have worn the boards down).
The Fallen was running—was being chased by ex-Hordes, which was pretty common. It was dark, as are most winter nights in downtown New Brightmoon. And when she’d bumped into Adora, when she needed to hide, Adora covered for her. Granted, Adora did catch a few of the ex-Hordes she was assigned, but not the Fallen.
The Fallen was a greater risk than most ex-Hordes.
But Adora couldn’t see her as one.
Adora slipped off her red jacket as the apartment door softly clicked shut behind her. She left her jacket and bag in a heap on the small coffee table that also served as a dining table. She pulled her hair out of it’s tight ponytail, running her fingers through to massage her scalp as she walked down the short hallway to the bedroom door.
She took one step through the open door before halting.
Sprawled out across her bed was the Fallen. Same twig-like mane, same freckled face, but she was different, too. What had before been small, round human ears were now cats ears, black velvet and pointed, with small grey tufts at their bases. Wrapped around her was a tail as well. The Fallen had dropped her disguise. Adora didn’t question why.
No, she was too shocked to question, then. too angry.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Adora asked, voice almost a whisper, but the Fallen heard her fine.
The Fallen jolted up with a yelp, tail bushed and ears straight up like a pair of devil horns. Her eyes were still mismatched—one electric blue and the other near gold—but they had no whites. The only things breaking the color of her irises were the thin black slits of her pupils.
“What the hell are you doing here !?” Louder this time; more demanding, even though she’d already reached the answer to her own question: safety.
“Why do you want to know?” the Fallen snapped.
“Uh, because this is my house ?”
The Fallen knew that. She’d followed Adora, and slipped in once she knew Adora was gone. She’d been doing this the past few days; it was a helluva lot safer than out there , afterall. But she couldn’t let Adora know that. “Oh? Really? Shit, my bad, then.” She was nonchalant about it, even smirking slightly. She made for the door, slinking by silently. Adora barely heard the door swing open and shut.
It unnerved her, to say the least. Angels weren’t to be messed with. Adora should be scared of the Fallen, even with her Runestone protecting her from most Divine magicks.
Adora plopped down on her bed and stared blankly at the white ceiling. Ex-Hordes were common. They were easy to deal with. But Angels? Fallens? You don’t get those too often, and when you do, it can get dangerous. So Adora doesn’t know why she keeps letting her go. It wasn’t fear. Curiosity, maybe?
Yes, it was out of curiosity, she tells herself.
So when the Fallen taps at the window in the middle of the night, she doesn’t ignore it.
It has been a week. Everyday, Adora wakes up to an empty apartment, save herself. Everyday, she throws on her red jacket and grabs a cup of coffee from the shop down the block before beginning her walk of the city. Everyday, she returns home, sometimes lucky, sometimes not, and everyday, the Fallen—Catra, she’s told—slips in through her window just after sunset to sleep on the couch; always gone by sunrise. That was their routine.
Adora slots the last finally clean dish into the drying rack, flicking off the kitchen light as she leaves, the only light now coming from the TV and small lamp in the corner of the living room. She paused whichever random show she’d thrown on for background noise.
The apartment was silent.
It had been over an hour since the sun dipped below the wintry city skyline.
Adora glanced to the dark hallway, but even in the low light she could see that it was empty. She didn’t know why that made her guts twist.
She continued to get ready for bed. Brushed her teeth, washed her face, picked up the dirty laundry from the floor and tried to straighten up her case files, all the while a sense of uneasiness growing in the pit of her stomach. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.
The window slid open. Adora jumped up so suddenly that the figure on the other side shied away.
“Catra?” Adora went to the window, leaning out, towards who she presumed was the Fallen. She was right.
The halo was all but a rough ring of silver dust in Catra’s orbit, dancing above the shining mismatched eyes. “Thanks for the heart attack, dork.” Adora stepped back, just enough for Catra to gracefully climb through. Adora closed the window and pulled the curtains so that Catra could drop her disguise.
It was the same as every other day. Catra straightened, brushing off her same ratty sweatshirt and ripped jeans, shaking out her earth-brown mane of twigs, smirking—always smirking. Except—something was off. There were new rips and tears in her clothes, and her hair was matted down with a dark liquid.
When Adora tried to meet Catra’s eyes, Catra glanced away and shifted to hide her right side.
“What happened?”
Catra stayed silent, eyes trained on the ground.
Adora took a tentative step forward, reaching out a hand and placing it on Catra’s arm. She tensed, but didn’t pull away. Adora gently turned her.
Her right side—Gods, her right side was covered in blood . Catra chuckled dryly. “Oops.” But Adora was still staring at the blood. It was dark purple in color, and when Adora put a hand to it to see if it had dried, it burned.
“That’s demon blood on you.” Catra cringed at Adora’s observation. “You got into a fight, didn’t you?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Catra shrugged Adora’s hand off, trying to slip away into the living room.
Adora followed into the dark hallway. “You are not getting blood on my couch.” Adora stepped in front of Catra, blocking her path. “Take your clothes off.”
“Woah-oh there, Princess, no need to be in such a rush. Maybe think about some dinner first?” Catra winked, smirk splitting into a shit-eating grin. The tips of Adora’s ears burned.
“I-Gods-nots like that, you—” Adora took a deep breath. “I need to wash them, that’s it. You can even borrow some of my clothes,” Adora offered. “I really don’t want any blood on my couch, or anywhere in my house really. I’d never get rid of the stains.”
Catra opened her mouth. Closed it. Gods, of all the mistakes she’s made in the centuries she’s existed, coming here—to Earth, to Adora —is the biggest one yet. But she doesn’t find any regret within herself for it.
“Ugh, boring.” Catra rolls her eyes, but she’s grateful. This way, maybe Adora won’t find out where the blood came from.
“You should probably take a shower, too,” Adora adds. She walks back down the hallway to her room.
Catra is left standing alone. She awkwardly shuffled her feet. She looked to the front door. She could leave. It was unlikely that Adora was to stop her at this point. But, as ironic as it is, it was safe here. What place safer than a Hunter’s house? Catra laughed, winced, ears pressed flat against her scalp.
Adora walked out again, pushing open the other door at the end of the hallway and flicking on the light inside. Her arm cradles a pile of clothes and a towel. She nods for Catra to come closer, to follow her through the second doorway. Catra does.
It’s a bathroom. A sink, a mirror and medicine cabinet above that, a toilet, and a tub, all unbelievably crammed into the small room. Adora sets the pile down on the edge of the sink. “This is for hot, this is for cold, and you pull this to send the water up to the shower head,” she explained. She paused, looked over her shoulder at Catra, and asked, “You never had any of this up there, right?”
Catra felt stupid for nodding yes, but she was too tired to care.
“Ok. This,” Adora grabs a white bottle off a shelf, “is shampoo, you use this to clean your hair.” She put the bottle back in its place, and grabbed a blue-capped one next to it, “and this is conditioner. Use this after the shampoo and it’ll keep your hair from getting all tangled.” Adora pointed to a tan bar on a lower shelf, “And this is a bar of soap, that should get most of the dirt and blood off you.”
“I’ll wash you clothes after your shower.” Adora shuts the door behind her.
Catra turned from the tub to the mirror. She looked like hell. Her right ear was cut, but it was already scabbing over. She turned her attention to the right side of her torso. She carefully pulled the blood-soaked fabric away from her skin. Her fingers ghosted over the wound that cut deep along the edge of her rib cage. She was lucky.
She reaches up, opening the medicine cabinet in search of a first aid kit.
Adora sinks into her thoughts (and the couch) to the background noise of the TV, and the running water from the shower. How the hell was she ever going to explain this? Everything that’s happened? She could lie on the case report, but that was illegal -- it would cost her her job if she was caught. Then again, telling the truth would cost her her job, too. It was a mistake, but it was one she’d figure out how to live with.
She was pulled from the depths of her stress by the clunk of the water being shut off. The bathroom door swung open, and out stepped Catra in Adora’s t-shirt and sweats.
“Here’s my clothes. Have fun,” Catra said, throwing them on Adora’s lap before she flung herself down onto the couch.
When Adora returned to the apartment an hour later from the washing room of the building, she found Catra out cold. Adora pulled the blanket resting on the back of the couch over her.
“Christmas is tomorrow, you know.”
Adora absent-mindedly traced between the freckles on Catra’s arm. Her phone lay beside them, playing a podcast they’d both blocked out by now. All Adora was paying attention to now was the sleepy woman wrapped up in her arms.
“Christmas?” Catra’s eyes stayed shut as she spoke into Adora’s shoulder.
“It’s a holiday down here. We spend the day with family and sometimes friends, and give gifts to each other.”
“Sounds like a chore.”
“It honestly feels like it sometimes.”
“You gonna get me anything?”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
“Dang. Well, it’s a good thing I already got you something anyway.”