Chapter Text
Together, they slipped out of the alcove. The catcakes, sensing the shift in energy, clustered around their feet - no longer agitated, but watchful, as if waiting for direction.
Lights flickered overhead as they navigated the maze of corridors. The comm panel crackled with urgent updates - systems offline, unexplained power surges, containment protocols activated. Ruan Mei’s mind worked quickly, analyzing the data, but she never loosened her hold on Herta, never let her fall behind.
At the next junction, Herta straightened, drawing strength from the steady pressure of Ruan Mei’s hand. Her voice, when it came, was steadier - tinged with her usual dry humor. “You know, Mei, if you keep this up, I might start expecting rescue every time there’s a blackout.”
Ruan Mei glanced over. “I suppose I’ll have to be prepared, then."
The corridors buzzed with emergency lights and crackling comms as they moved swiftly through the station.
"Power surges are localized, but unpredictable. Whoever’s behind this knows the station well.” Ruan Mei muttered, eyes scanning the data streaming across her wrist console.
Herta smirked, tail flicking with a mix of irritation and amusement. “Or they’re just very bad at hiding their tracks.”
As they rounded a corner, the faint sound of rhythmic thumping and a strange, high-pitched meowing filled the air. Herta’s ears twitched, and Ruan Mei’s brow furrowed.
“Is that… music?” Ruan Mei asked, curiosity piqued.
“Definitely not the usual station playlist,” Herta replied dryly.
They followed the noise to a large maintenance bay, where the door was cracked open. Inside, the scene was… unexpected.
A crowd of catcakes had gathered, sprawled around a makeshift stage constructed from spare crates and equipment. At the center was Stelle, the ever-curious Trailblazer, holding a pair of wrenches and surrounded by a pile of open panels and glowing wires. The catcakes were arrayed like a rock band, some batting at loose cables, others thumping on empty crates, their meows and purrs oddly rhythmic.
Herta’s tail twitched in disbelief. “So this is the ‘power surge’ culprit?”
Ruan Mei crossed her arms, unbothered as always. “I should have suspected.”
Herta’s eyes caught sight of something else - a pair of catcakes nestled together on the floor. One, with a perfectly smug expression and a glossy purple tail, was unmistakably modeled after Herta herself. Seated right on top of her was a fluffier, elegant catcake with a familiar sweep of turquoise fur and the most Ruan Mei-like air of boredness imaginable.
Herta tsked.
Stelle, still at the center of the chaos, was trying to coax a particularly chubby catcake off a keyboard. “Uh… sorry about the blackout. I was just trying to see if catcakes could keep a beat. Turns out, they can - and so can the station’s circuit breakers.”
Herta pinched the bridge of her nose. “Next time you want to form a band, use a broom and a bucket. Or better yet, just don’t.”
Ruan Mei knelt to gently separate the “Mei” catcake from the “Herta” one, only for the fluffy impostor to immediately flop back on top with a little chirp. Ruan Mei sighed. “I suppose some things are inevitable.”
With a few deft commands from Ruan Mei and some pointed directions from Herta, the lights stabilized and the alarms faded. Stelle helped herd the catcakes away from the equipment, still humming what sounded suspiciously like a victory anthem.
As the last of the catcakes trotted off, Herta sidled up to Ruan Mei, lowering her voice with a sly smile. "You know, some research really ought to be conducted somewhere quieter. Fewer distractions… and fewer witnesses.”
Ruan Mei glanced over, her expression as serene as ever, but her eyes glinted with a curious light. “That would be wise. Some reactions are far more… revealing when observed in private. Especially if the subject is sensitive to touch.”
For a split second, Herta blinked - her usual quick wit stalling as her ears gave a visible twitch. Even her tail seemed to hesitate, caught between a flick and a curl.
Ruan Mei, oblivious to the double meaning, simply tilted her head slightly. “Shall we?”
Herta, for once, found herself following without a word, her mind looping through Ruan Mei’s words - her composure, for once, delightfully scrambled.
***
With the station finally quiet and the catcakes sprawled in lazy heaps, Ruan Mei stood at the front of the lab, holding up a slender vial filled with shimmering blue antidote.
She cleared her throat, tone as composed as ever. “The antidote is ready. One dose, and the process will be completely reversed.” Her gaze lingered on Herta. “Unless you have changed your mind.”
Herta, perched on the edge of a lab table, arched a brow, a sly smile curling her lips. She leaned back, letting her posture relax and her legs part invitingly. “Maybe you’d rather I keep them, Mei.”
Without waiting for a reply, Herta reached out and hooked her fingers around the high collar of Ruan Mei’s neckpiece, gently tugging her forward. The biologist instinctively stepped in, her hands finding the table on either side of Herta’s thighs - creamy skin just brushing against delicate knuckles.
For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the space between them, the antidote glinting forgotten in Ruan Mei’s hand.
Herta’s eyes sparkled as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry, rhetorical whisper: “Wouldn’t you like that?”
Ruan Mei’s fingers tightened on the table, her usual composure flickering as she met Herta’s gaze. “That’s… certainly an outcome worth considering,” she replied, her voice just above a breath.
The lab felt suspended in time. The hum of the equipment faded into the background, replaced by the soft, shared rhythm of their breaths. Herta’s hand lingered at Ruan Mei’s neckpiece, her thumb brushing lightly over the fabric - a touch that was both a tease and a promise.
Ruan Mei, still caged between alluring thighs, let her fingers relax on the cool surface. Her gaze flicked from Herta’s eyes to her lips and back again, her own composure wavering in the warmth of Herta’s attention.
“You know,” Ruan Mei murmured, her tone almost clinical but her eyes betraying a rare vulnerability, “prolonged exposure to these side effects may result in unpredictable behavior.”
Herta’s smile widened, her free hand tracing up Ruan Mei’s arm with deliberate slowness. “Unpredictable is just another word for interesting, Mei. I thought you liked new data.”
The antidote's blue shimmer was no match for the spark in the biologist’s eyes.
Ruan Mei leaned in, her presence enveloping, her voice a soft caress. “I suppose we’ll just have to observe the results… very closely.”
Herta’s breath caught, the usual sharp retort lost somewhere between anticipation and delight. She tugged Ruan Mei’s neckpiece just a little, a silent invitation. “For science, of course.”
Ruan Mei’s hands tightened ever so slightly on the table, her face now only a whisper from Herta’s. “Naturally. All in the name of research.”
The last words barely left her mouth before Herta closed the distance, capturing Ruan Mei in a kiss that was soft at first - curious, experimental, as if they were both collecting data on the sensation. Ruan Mei responded in kind, deepening the contact, her fingers curling around the edge of the table for support.
Herta’s hands slid up to Ruan Mei’s shoulders, and Ruan Mei’s touch became bolder, her composure unraveling in the heat of the moment.
The antidote sat forgotten on the table, the catcakes watched with wide, unblinking eyes, and the hum of the station faded into the background. For once, the only experiment that mattered was the one unfolding in the space between Herta and Ruan Mei.
And as the minutes slipped by, it was clear that neither of them was in any rush to reach a conclusion.
The lab was quiet now, save for the soft, mingled sound of their breathing. The biologist slowly pulled back, her cheeks flushed and her composure deliciously unraveled.
Ruan Mei looked down to find Herta sprawled on the table, hair mussed, cat ears flipped down and cheeks tinged with a rare, vulnerable pink.
Herta looked up at Ruan Mei expectantly, lips parted as she caught her breath.
For a long moment, Ruan Mei simply stared, pulse unusually racing wild. Something deep within her stirred - a mix of curiosity and want. She’d never seen Herta like this: open, unguarded, inviting.
"Fascinating,” she whispered, voice low and reverent, as she leaned closer, hand gently tracing the line of Herta’s jaw. “I think I’ve just discovered a whole new field of study.”
Herta’s ears twitched, but she didn’t look away. “Then you’d better take thorough notes, Mei,” she murmured, her tone a playful echo of her usual bravado - though now, it was tinged with a softness reserved for this moment alone.
Ruan Mei’s eyes sparkled, her fingers drifted lower, tracing the edge of Herta’s uniform, her touch feather-light and full of promise.
Herta’s eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting, the tension between them reaching a near-breaking point. Ruan Mei leaned in, her hand inching ever closer-
Suddenly, a chorus of catcakes erupted into a cacophony of meows, yowls, and urgent purring. The sound grew louder, bouncing off the lab walls, insistent and impossible to ignore.
Both women froze. Herta’s eyes snapped open, her cheeks flushed in frustration. Ruan Mei’s hand paused mid-motion, her expression caught between exasperation and the usial placidness.
The catcakes, sensing the heightened energy, only grew more vocal - one even leaping onto a nearby console as if to demand attention.
Ruan Mei let out a long, resigned sigh, withdrawing her hand but not her gaze. “It appears we’ll have to postpone this particular line of inquiry.”
Herta groaned, propping herself up on her elbows and glaring at the feline audience. “Honestly, I should’ve used them for that antidote long ago.”
Ruan Mei smiled, smoothing a stray lock of Herta’s hair behind her ear. “Patience, Herta. Good research is always worth the wait.”
As the catcakes continued their noisy serenade, Herta and Ruan Mei exchanged a look - equal parts longing and laughter. The experiment, it seemed, would have to continue another time.
***
In the days that followed, the Herta Space Station gradually returned to its usual, slightly eccentric routine. The catcakes resumed their lives as the station’s unofficial mascots - napping in sunbeams, batting at stray wires, and occasionally tripping up an unsuspecting researcher with a well-timed tail flick.
The crew, too, settled back into their work, though the memory of the chaos lingered in the form of half-suppressed grins and the occasional stray paw print on a lab report. Even Herta, ever the picture of composure (at least in her own mind), found herself smiling more often - especially when Ruan Mei was nearby.
The two geniuses spent more time together in the lab than ever, sometimes working, sometimes simply sharing a comfortable silence. There was a new, unspoken understanding between them - a spark that hadn’t quite faded with the cat ears and tails.
One quiet afternoon, Herta and Ruan Mei found themselves alone in the lab, surrounded by the remnants of their experiment. The antidote vials were neatly stored away, and the last of the catcake prototypes sat on the workbench: one with Herta’s signature blue highlights and a perpetually smug expression, the other with Ruan Mei’s elegant turquoise fur and a serene, knowing gaze.
Ruan Mei picked up the two plush catcakes, examining them with her usual thoughtful intensity. “It’s remarkable how quickly the side effects wore off,” she said, almost wistfully. “The station feels a little quieter now.”
Herta, organizing data pads nearby, scowled. “Quieter is good. I’d rather not have to hear any more whining from these obtuse loafers."
Ruan Mei nodded, still lost in thought as she turned the catcakes over in her hands. “You know,” she mused absentmindedly, “perhaps I should try combining the Herta and Mei catcakes next. It could yield… interesting results.”
Herta, caught off guard, fumbled a data pad, her cheeks suddenly tinged with pink. “S-sure. Let me know how that turns out,” she stammered, voice a touch higher than usual.
Ruan Mei, seemingly oblivious, simply nodded with her usual serene smile. “Of course. For science.”
The two exchanged a glance - one thoughtful, one flustered - as the catcakes purred contentedly at their feet. And somewhere in the quiet hum of the lab, the promise of new experiments lingered - some scientific, some not so scientific at all.