Chapter Text
In the pre-dawn light, Catra paid Cyril a visit.
He was awake. His husband was not. A relic, perhaps, of the days when he was a Horde officer.
‘You want to know how he could ever forgive me,’ Cyril said quietly.
Catra bared her teeth. She wanted to turn around and leave. She wanted to assert that no stranger, no islander, no villager had anything of use to tell her. That was why she’d made a point of not speaking to any of the others, after all.
But this was a question no one else on the island—not even Micah—could answer.
‘One day I made a choice,’ he said. ‘Not a huge one, but a right one. A good choice. The next day I made another. A week later, another.’ He cocked his head. ‘I had my mis-steps. I still do. But it is easier than you expect, once you make that first choice. You become someone who makes good choices. That’s the key, I think. The Horde beats you down. It makes you think you are good only because the Horde has use for you. It took me a long time to discover that I could be good because I chose to be. That path had never been closed. I’d just been blind to it. And then, one day’—a small smile—‘one day, Kelik saw the choices I’d made along that path, and he made a choice, too.’
Catra nodded, once. Her tail wrapped itself around her leg and she tried to think of something, anything to say.
Cyril saved her the effort. ‘I hope that helps,’ he said, and then he retreated back into the hut he shared with someone who should have hated him but, miraculously, did not.
It was still dark. Catra felt, for the first time in years, that anything was possible, and she felt, too, that the gates of possibility would slam shut under the brighter light of day.
But it was still dark. She left to find Micah and make her choice.
*
It all fell apart less than half a day from Beast Island, when Scorpia woke in the middle of the night to find Horde soldiers in their camp and Adora already bound and struggling.
She fought, of course, but there were a dozen of them and one of her, and eventually she, too, was trussed up and marched awkwardly through the trees. She wanted to scream with frustration when the outpost came into view. It was exactly what they needed—lightly fortified, lightly garrisoned, a pair of boats bobbing in the surf. Boats that they would be hard pressed to steal from a holding cell.
They had come so close.
Scorpia recognised the officer in charge—would have recognised the twisted delight in her voice even blindfolded.
‘Next time,’ Octavia said, ‘deactivate the bot before you have your little heart-to-heart.’
*
‘I need your help.’
Catra had thought long and hard about how to approach this moment. She’d spent weeks chasing Micah’s help. She’d implied, insinuated, extorted—anything to get him to offer his aid.
She had never simply asked.
Micah had his hands tucked into his sleeves—they were on the beach, and a wind was blowing in across the water. He looked inscrutable as always, but behind him the faint glow of the Horde outpost on the mainland spurred Catra on. Inscrutable, yes—but she thought she knew him, now. Knew him well enough.
‘How can I help?’
The sharp edges of the Force Captain badge dug unpleasantly into her palm. It was the last power she had in this place: so long as no one knew she had it, it could not be taken from her.
‘I need to get off this island. Tonight. Now.’
‘If I could help, I would.’
The wind blew harder. Catra’s grip tightened. She opened her hand, palm up.
Micah frowned. ‘What’s—’
‘This is the stuff that’s mined on Beast Island. Pure. You said—you said it was powerful.’
Catra felt a moment of doubt—who was to say that he’d been telling the truth?—but then Micah’s expression shifted, confusion changed to something sharper, more calculating. ‘It is.’
‘I need you,’ Catra said, speaking slowly, ‘to do your—your magic, and get these shackles off me.’
She was prepared for him to say no. She was prepared for him to tell her that wasn’t how magic worked. She was prepared for anything, and it still it surprised her when he said, ‘All right. I can do that.’
‘You can?’
‘Yes. Give me the badge.’
The world twisted. It was too easy, too fast. Catra was in the Fright Zone again, the forcefield humming behind her. She was in charge. The woman in the cell could do nothing to her. She was in charge. ‘How do I know—’ Her hands were trembling. Catra balled them up. Now her fists were trembling. ‘How do I know you won’t…’
‘Listen to me.’ Micah’s voice cut through the memories. He sounded nothing like Shadow Weaver. That was good, wasn’t it? That meant something? ‘You don’t know. You have to trust me.’
‘That’s just it!’ Catra felt exposed on the beach. Her instincts screamed at her to scramble back into the jungle and hide in the treetops, but her shackles were too heavy. Her tail made do, kicking up sand in agitation. ‘How can I trust—?’
There’d been more to that sentence in her head. Now that it was spoken it felt complete as it was.
‘How is the wrong question. Everyone trusts someone. We can’t help ourselves. Even if we bury that instinct deep inside. Especially then, because then it comes out when we least expect it, when we’re vulnerable and uncertain. We need trust, Catra, we need it like we need love. Pretending otherwise only robs us of control. Misdirects it.’ Micah scooped up handfuls of sand and raised them, as if weighing the one against the other. ‘Who is the question. Who can we trust. Right or wrong, you must own the decision. Don’t hide from it. It’s the only way.’
She could almost see the cell still, out of the corner of eye, as if turning her head would reveal a different person making a different speech. ‘You’re not her,’ she said, but the words were hesitant, unsure.
‘That’s not for me to say.’
‘But you’re not,’ Catra repeated, louder. ‘She would have pushed harder. She would have told me why I could trust her, told me what I wanted to hear, and I’d think the decision was mine, but you, you’re—’ Catra convulsed with a sob so sudden it made her throat ache. ‘You’re leaving it up to me.’
Micah’s face lit up and for the first time, Catra could imagine him among the spires of Bright Moon, laughing with his family, like—like—
Catra blinked to dispel the image of Adora happy and free and safe without her. One wound at a time.
‘You’re not her, either,’ Micah said.
Sand glittered in his outstretched hands. Catra reached for one of them and gently splayed his fingers, watching the grains fall between them like an hourglass. When her hand withdrew it left the Force Captain badge behind.
‘There. That’s my choice.’
Micah’s fingers closed around the badge. Catra tensed, waiting for—something, anything, whatever magic he had planned.
Instead he leaned forward and pulled her into an embrace. ‘I’m proud of you.’
There was no escaping the tears this time. Catra had heard the words before, from Adora, from Shadow Weaver, from Scorpia—but even when sincerely given, they had never struck home. She’d never known what was missing. She’d seen the praise heaped on Adora and thought that was what she wanted, the empty words from their instructors, their squadmates, their leaders.
But they never had been empty, not to Adora, because a true compliment merely echoed something you already knew. Micah’s words resonated through her, harmonised with the sobs wracking her body, not because they were true but because she was proud of herself, too. It was strange to feel pride in something so small as trusting herself to make a decision, but Catra had little enough to be proud of, and it was a start. It was enough.
She had grown used to the weight of her shackles. When they fell away, her body felt lighter than it had ever been, so light she could float away, so light she could do anything.
The badge had dissolved in Micah’s hand, replaced by a faint blue glow that still hung in the air where he’d worked his magic. ‘There’s plenty left,’ he murmured. ‘I’m going to put a spell of warmth on you, to make the crossing easier.’
‘No,’ Catra said, and she felt more sure of herself than she had in years. ‘Use it to free yourself. Come with me.’
Micah smiled. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Of course you can! You’ll do more good out there than here.’
‘Maybe so. But I can’t do that. I will not leave my people.’
‘Even if leaving could free them?’
‘Even then. I’m sorry, Catra. I truly am. I wish I could come with you. But sometimes it is right for one person to leave, and another to stay.’
The words hit Catra like a blow to the kidneys. She opened her mouth and found she had no answer to them. Micah smiled again, a little sadly, and opened his hand. Patterns traced themselves in the air in front of him, and when he was done, the whole weave flowed over Catra’s skin like water. Instantly she felt warmer, as if her fur had doubled or tripled in thickness.
‘There,’ he said. ‘It is done. There is no magic left.’
Tears formed in Catra’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I have to—I have to leave. I can’t stay here.’
‘I know. I do not blame you. To the contrary: I admire you.’
There was one more thing she had to say. ‘Thank you. Micah. Thank you.’ Despite the spell of warmth, Catra hugged herself. It was harder than she expected, saying those simple words. ‘If there’s anything—’
For the first time, Micah looked uncertain. ‘I would ask two things of you, if I may.’
‘What?’
‘If you see my daughter again—tell her I live.’
‘Yes. I can do that.’
‘And—one day—if you find your people. If you find your place.’ Micah took a deep breath. ‘Come back for us.’
Catra unfolded herself. She looked Micah in the eye. Offered her hand. ‘I will.’
They shook hands. Catra turned away, waves lapping at her ankles. She could barely feel the cold. She forged deeper into the surf, but when the water reached up to her waist, she stopped. ‘Micah?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve only ever known her as my enemy, but Glimmer is the most stubborn, resourceful, ambitious, annoying woman I know. Not counting myself.’ She paused. ‘And as much as it pains me to admit, she’s a good person. A good friend. She’s been—’ Catra screwed her eyes shut and forced the truth out. ‘She’s been good for Adora. You’d be proud.’
Before Micah could reply, Catra filled her lungs, dove into the sea, and left Beast Island behind.
*
How to describe the swim to the shore?
Catra hated water. She hated Beast Island, and she hated the Horde, and she hated that her only choice was to make for the Horde outpost anyway, to skulk and steal until she could survive in the wilderness. She hated that she did not know precisely where she would go next.
All of that was true, and none of it changed the fact that fleeing Beast Island was the greatest hour of her life. The envelope of warmth clinging to her skin turned the water friendly. She moved across it easily, lightly, like an airship on the breeze. Waves washed over her with every stroke, sloughing the hardened layers of her away until what remained was fresh and raw, vulnerable but healthy.
It felt like something new.
And when she emerged from the water, dripping, and shook herself off—when she found the Horde outpost aswarm with activity, and none of it pointed in her direction—when she crept up on the officers’ quarters, and saw something old within?
Mere days ago, she might have fled, might have left the prisoners where they were and counted herself lucky not to join them.
But there was something new within her, and it was not afraid of the past.
*
Catra came up on the first guard from behind, the surprise of her hand over his mouth enough to allow her to draw his stun baton from his belt and send him twitching to the ground. The second turned, mouth open in alarm, and got a baton to the neck for her trouble.
That was the easy part.
Force Captain Octavia was waiting for her in her office.
Well—that was a poor way of putting it. Octavia had no idea she was coming, of course, but that was how it felt. Of course, Catra thought, of course Adora had somehow got it into her head to rescue her, and of course she’d lost her sword in the process.
She didn’t bother with finesse. The door to Octavia’s office slammed open; Octavia herself was standing behind her desk, staring at Catra in horror. There were two things within arm’s reach that might have saved her: Adora’s sword, propped up in the corner, right where Catra had seen it through the window; or the remote on her desk that controlled the prisoners’ ankle bracelets. She went for the remote.
Catra was halfway through her swing by the time Octavia realised the remote wasn’t working. She stumbled backwards, but there wasn’t enough room behind her to avoid the blow entirely. The baton caught her on the wrist and she slumped across the desk, muscles spasming, mouth trapped in an expression of perfect hatred.
Catra knew from personal experience that the stun baton did not impair hearing. She searched herself for the desire to say something, to gloat, to rub Octavia’s face in her escape. Nothing came except relief: relief that she had not stayed with the Horde long enough to become this bitter woman, watching distant prisoners from a tiny, prefab office.
Octavia’s keys got her into the holding cell corridor. She took a moment to steady herself, then strode out in plain view of the cells, Adora’s sword slung casually across her shoulder.
‘Hey, Adora,’ she drawled. ‘You really gotta stop losing this thing.’
Catra had a brief few seconds in which to appreciate Adora’s perfect look of surprise. Then she looked to the cell’s other occupant and nearly dropped the sword.
‘Catra, hey!’ Scorpia said, much too loudly for a prison break. ‘We’re here to rescue you!’
*
Later, when the adrenaline of escape had faded and the exhaustion caught up, they made camp in silence. It made for a strange sight, as if spending so much time as two had made Scorpia forget how to act as three. They formed a tense triangle: Catra, nibbling at a handful of nuts Scorpia had scrounged for her, blanket discarded by her side; Adora, sword across her knees, neither looking nor not looking at Catra; and Scorpia, caught between and among them.
The tension broke when Adora cleared her throat, got up, and said, ‘I’ll go get some wood. It’s cold out here.’
‘I can do that—’ Scorpia’s words died on her tongue.
Adora hoisted her sword and shrugged. ‘I got it.’
Catra watched them and said nothing.
What did you say to someone who’d spent weeks in the worst prison in the world? How could you possibly hope to cheer them up, raise their spirits? Catra had been in a bad place to begin with, Scorpia thought, and surely Beast Island had done nothing to improve her situation—
‘Thank you,’ Catra said.
Scorpia’s line of thought cartwheeled off the cliff that was Catra thanking her. ‘Huh?’
‘For coming back for me. You went to Adora, right? Convinced her to help.’
‘Well, yes, but, I mean, all we really did is get ourselves captured, you managed the rescuing on your own…’
Catra shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. You could have left me. Adora definitely could have left me. You—’ Her voice faltered. ‘You gave up your life in the Horde for me. You realise that, right?’
‘Of course I realise that,’ Scorpia said, affronted.
‘That’s more than I was willing to do.’
Scorpia hadn’t the slightest clue how to respond to that. ‘You’re—different,’ she said instead.
Catra snorted. ‘Yeah. Beast Island definitely changes you, I’ll give it that.’ Another moment of tense silence, and then she said, ‘Listen. I was a terrible friend. And I’m—I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t in a position to be a good friend back.’
‘Forgiven,’ Scorpia said softly. ‘I was maybe—I came on a bit strong, too. I thought I could fix you.’
‘Forgiven,’ Catra said back, and smiled. ‘I mean it, you know. Thank you. I didn’t deserve you.’
Didn’t. Scorpia felt a burst of pride. ‘You’re welcome, wildcat.’
‘But I need to—’ Catra gazed past Scorpia, into the trees where Adora had disappeared. ‘You are my friend, I swear, but…’ She shrugged helplessly.
Once upon a time, Scorpia had thought she could replace Adora. First she’d been angry, that anyone could leave Catra like Adora had; then jealous, when it became clear Catra still wanted her real best friend back.
Those weren’t worthy ways of thinking about friendship. Adora was not her enemy, or her opponent, or rival. That much was obvious to her now. The losing and gaining of friends was a painful thing: it was not a simple exchange, the one making up for the other. She never could have replaced Adora, and Adora never could have been the friend she’d been to Catra.
‘Go,’ Scorpia said. ‘Find her. Talk to her. Right now, we’re all on the same side.’ She grinned. ‘Your side.’
Scorpia only had a brief glimpse of the relief on Catra’s face before she closed the gap between them and pulled Scorpia into an embrace. It was, Scorpia thought, the first time Catra had ever initiated a hug.
‘Thank you,’ Catra whispered. ‘Thank you.’
*
It didn’t take long for Catra to find Adora. Her footprints were clear in the damp ground, and she’d only gone as far as necessary to put herself out of earshot.
Catra stopped ten paces away. This was a conversation she had studiously not been imagining for months. She cleared her throat.
Adora looked up. She was sitting against a tree, idly tracing patterns in the ground with her sword. She’d made it smaller for the occasion, more knife than broadsword. There was no firewood in sight. ‘Hey, Catra.’
‘Glimmer’s father is alive,’ Catra blurted.
‘What? How?’
‘I don’t know exactly. One of Shadow Weaver’s tricks, I guess. He’s on Beast Island—he helped me escape—’ Catra tripped over her words. ‘I thought you should know.’
Adora picked at a stone with her sword-knife. ‘And if I asked you to come back to Bright Moon with me? Give Glimmer the good news yourself?’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘You can! This changes everything! If Micah is alive, I know Angella would forgive you—’
‘I won’t do that,’ Catra amended. ‘I have… There are things I need to do. Important things.’
‘And after?’
‘After is after.’
Adora sighed. ‘That’s it, then? You’re leaving.’
‘You were expecting something else?’
‘I thought—I thought maybe you’d… you’d see I was right. About the Horde.’
‘I never said you weren’t.’
‘But then—’ Adora visibly restrained herself from re-treading old ground. ‘What do you want from me, Catra?’
‘How about an apology?’
‘What? What have I got to apologise for?’
Catra laughed. ‘Good start.’
‘Catra, if you’re just going to be difficult—’
‘I’m not going to be difficult. I’m going to be me.’
The confusion on Adora’s face made it plain she’d expected a different response. ‘Isn’t that the same thing?’ The old Adora, the Adora before, would have made it a challenge; the new Adora said it hesitantly, as if feeling out new-old ground.
‘Exactly.’
‘Look, can you—can you sit down? You’re making me nervous.’
Micah’s spell was still active. The ground was perfectly warm beneath her, even as goosebumps pebbled Adora’s skin. ‘I’ll go first, if you like,’ Catra said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘Would you like an itemised list?’
Adora met her gaze defiantly. ‘Who says I haven’t already got one?’
That, Catra reflected, was alarmingly plausible. ‘Well, I am. And I hope the fact you’re here means you might believe me.’
Adora tilted her head. She set her sword down and inched closer, until she could lay one hand beside, but not on, Catra’s knee. ‘I left because I couldn’t bear to watch what the Horde was doing to you. Not when I knew there was an alternative.’
‘You never told me that.’ It came out as a whisper.
Adora flinched. ‘I know. I’m telling you now. I’m sorry’—and she laughed, as if surprised to find those words on her tongue—‘I’m sorry I made you feel unworthy. I never thought that. Ever. I wanted you to come with me as an equal.’
‘I believe you.’ Catra’s tail wrapped around her leg, brushing Adora’s hand by her knee. ‘But I don’t—I don’t think it would have been possible, then.’
‘And now?’
‘Now? That depends. On—well. You came back for me.’
‘Yeah. I did.’
‘When I was—when Micah was helping me leave. I asked him to come with me. And he said he couldn’t. And—’ Catra’s ears flattened. ‘And I left anyway, because I couldn’t stay on that island. I left anyway. And I’m saying—I understand. Do you see? I understand, and he said—he said I could make it up to him if I came back for him, and… and you came back for me, so I need to know…’
‘I forgive you.’
Catra’s head jerked up. ‘Look, Adora, you don’t need to say that. I’m not stupid. I know I’ve done some unforgiveable things—’
‘No. No, listen to me. You hurt me, and you hurt my friends, and that’s not going to go away. It’s going to take a long time before I can look at you and not feel angry—’
‘Wow, thanks, this is exactly the kind of forgiveness I was hoping for—’
‘Shut up and listen. I’m not denying you did bad things to me. I’m not going to forget. But I know you, Catra. I know you so well. There’s going to come a time when you’re alone, somewhere out there in the world. That’s when you’re going to think about coming back to me. But you’ll wonder, can she really forgive me? Am I worth it? Do I really want to risk going back? And I don’t want you to think, not for one second, that the answer is “no”. And that’s why I’m telling you, now, that I forgive you. Unconditionally. I took a risk going with Scorpia. I was betting that something had changed for you, and I think I was right. I want to keep you in my life, Catra. The real you. This you. Not the twisted version of herself Shadow Weaver wanted you to be. Because I know you. I know what you’re capable of left to your own devices, and it’s not hatred, it’s love. Your love kept me sane, Catra, for so long, and it came from you. No one else in the Horde could have taught us how to love, but we did it anyway. Do you understand? You taught me I didn’t have to be alone. You supported me, unconditionally, my entire life. Now it’s my turn. I might be angry. I might be hurting. I might even have hated you, for a little while. But I forgive you. And that’s the truth.’
‘Fuck, Adora. I mean—fuck! How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that?’
Adora reached for her, so very gently, but her hand stopped just shy of Catra’s face. ‘Honestly,’ she breathed.
‘Honestly?’ Catra barked out a laugh. ‘Sure. Honestly—I don’t know that I’m ready to be… with you again. To be your friend, or—anything else. I feel… I feel like I’m too rough, still, like being with someone else would scrape them bloody. I need to build myself up. On my own. But’—her tail flicked at Adora’s arm—‘but after? After is after.’
‘Then,’ Adora said, ‘I’ll meet you after?’
Catra found herself on the verge of tears. She had had so little when she left Beast Island, and it had been enough; and now she had so much more. Adora understood. Perhaps her claim of forgiveness was premature; perhaps she underestimated how long the path to that after might yet be. But Adora would be there, waiting for her, when Catra was ready to set out and meet her.
‘After,’ she agreed, and finally, finally, Adora reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.
*
Catra did not much like being touched.
Prickly trial and error had taught her to accept Scorpia's embraces, that even if they did not make her feel better, they stopped her feeling worse. Later, Micah's gentle strength had helped scab the wound of Shadow Weaver's betrayal. She was learning. Even now, with Scorpia, it was different. A more mutual exchange than she’d thought herself capable of.
Those experiences had filled her out. They’d stretched her denials until they snapped and she was left nursing the sting of fresh, healthy trust. They had been good for her.
But they had not filled the empty space in her life; had not replaced the name half-present on her lips, the face half-expected around every corner.
‘No,’ she croaked as Adora’s hands withdrew, uncertain at her stillness. ‘I need you to—’
She could not quite say it as she’d never been able to, didn’t need to as she’d never needed to. Adora, always, understood. She was there when Catra let herself topple over, knowing the fall would be broken; she was there when the first tears appeared, shy and wet on her sleeve.
It was not painless. Her abdomen ached with the force of her sobs. Salt stung the scrapes on her cheeks. But as Adora's arms encircled her, as her hands resumed their patrol of Catra's hair, gentle and patient as ever they had been—it was as if the emotion bursting forth wasn’t leaving her at all but filling her, as if her tears fell upon that dry, cracked, empty spot inside her and ran soothing rivulets through her pain.
It was not enough: would not be enough, not for long years. But, as with everything else, it was a start. That was the reality of Catra’s new life—half a dozen starts and not an end between them.
‘You're all right,’ Adora murmured, not for the first time, and Catra breathed one perfect breath among the tension like a signpost showing her the way. ‘You're all right.’