Chapter Text
Catra and Adora wake later in the day than they’re used to, almost noon. Normally that would send Adora into a tailspin, but she seems strangely calm about it. Maybe it's because there doesn't seem to be any overarching pattern to life here. People just come and go as they please, following their own schedules.
“So, does anything happen here?” Catra asks. They ate a late breakfast a few hours ago and since then haven’t done anything but lounge together in front of their tent, lazily watching the comings and goings of the little settlement.
“I’m not really sure,” Adora shrugs, apologetic. “Anytime I was here it was because the Horde was attacking or something. I’ve never seen it on a normal day before now.”
“Hm,” she nods, pensive. Though she’s happy to laze about here with Adora, she wonders if she’ll hear anything from Perfuma today. She isn’t sure if she really wants to. After a while, it’s difficult to relax at all, waiting around to see if Perfuma is going to turn up and whisk her away to meditate.
“Are you okay?” Adora scowls lightly, suspicious, craning her neck to look Catra in the eyes.
“I’m just nervous.”
“About meditating?”
“Obviously. Neither of us is very good at the whole emotions thing.”
Adora huffs, indignant.
“What? I’m good with emotions.”
Catra cackles and Adora goes so red even her ears look like they’re burning.
“Sure you are, you just waited until you were on your deathbed to admit you even had them-”
“Hey! I was doing it for the greater good-”
Catra opens her mouth to protest when she sees Perfuma standing next to them, waving timidly.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt-”
Adora jumps then, just now noticing her. She’s always had slow reflexes.
“If it’s not a good time, I can-” she points behind her.
“N-no, no, it’s a great time!” Adora assures her, standing abruptly, leaving Catra to fall backward, landing unceremoniously on the ground. “Oh! Sorry, Catra."
“It’s fine,” she stands, dusting off her clothes as Perfuma fidgets, waiting for a good time to speak.
“Hi. Um, Scorpia mentioned to me last night that you were interested in meditation?” she begins, clearly trying to mask a wide grin.
“Yeah,” Catra replies, terse.
“Right. Well, would you want to come try with me right now? I’ve got some time before dinner and the evening group meditation so-”
“Now?” Catra asks, smoothing her tail as it puffs involuntarily.
“We don’t have to right now, I can come another time-”
“Uh, no. Now’s fine, I guess,” she answers, afraid if she doesn’t go now she’ll lose her nerve. “Can I bring Melog?”
“Oh, of course! I’d love to have them along,” she smiles tenderly, reaching out to give them a little pat on the head. Melog doesn’t seem pleased but tolerates it with only a few quick swings of their tail.
“We’ll be back soon,” Perfuma reassures Adora, who has the widest, most ludicrous grin on her face.
“Take your time,” she waves her hand, watching Catra walk with Perfuma, still grinning. Catra snickers as Adora leans on one of the main support poles of their tent, succeeding in toppling it just as they turn a corner, out of view.
Perfuma leads her to a little clearing not unlike the one she found Scorpia in last night.
“So you know, before we start all this,” Catra cuts in, intimidated by Perfuma’s impossible optimism as she turns to face her. “I’m not good at this touchy feely stuff. So it might take me a bit.”
“Of course it will,” Perfuma tells her as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You have to practice to be good at anything. Feelings are no different.”
Catra quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t argue.
“So what’s bothering you the most?”
Catra swallows hard, unsure if she’ll be able to pull the words from her throat. She puts an absent hand on Melog to steady herself.
“Things have been worse for me since we got back home.”
“Worse how?”
“All this stuff I thought I was over is coming back. I’m getting angry and freaking out-”
“Okay,” she nods. “What do you usually do when you feel angry or like you’re freaking out?”
“Try to stop.”
Perfuma nods knowingly. The idea that she knows something Catra doesn’t makes her shift, uncomfortable.
“So let’s try something. Get comfortable, it doesn’t matter if you sit, stand, lie down. I like to sit but you can do whatever you like.”
Catra isn’t sure what would make her most comfortable here when the entire idea of this is completely foreign. She just sits across from Perfuma, copying her.
“Close your eyes.”
It feels painfully vulnerable to do it, but she forces herself to close her eyes. Catra wouldn’t have dared shut her eyes in the presence of anyone two years ago and now, here she is, trusting someone she hardly knows with the stuff of her heart. Her palms sweat.
“I want you to take a moment to feel any sensations in the body. The grass under your legs or any tightness in the muscles-”
Sweating palms, the grass under her a distracting tickle, her shoulders aching because she can’t relax them, her tail unable to keep still, switching back and forth.
“As well as anything in your mood or your emotions.”
A terror she can scarcely articulate at being here, a burning shame that she needs this at all.
“Just acknowledge anything you feel and sit with it. Let it exist, let it be. Feel how you are right at this moment and recognize it.”
This is already counter to everything Catra has ever been told. She’s never had time or room to let anything exist or breathe. Feelings have always been at best inconvenient and at worst outright dangerous. Tipping your hand to what you want or what you’re afraid of in the Horde is a weakness that’ll sooner have you stabbed in the back than anything else.
Catra tries to do as she says, but she realizes Perfuma’s moved on already and she’s still stuck just trying to exist.
“Wait. Sorry, I lost track,” she sputters, embarrassed, opening her eyes. Perfuma shakes her head.
“That’s okay. There’s no rules to this,” she smiles serenely. “What happened?”
“I don’t think I even know how to let things ‘be’ or whatever you said. Or at least I got sidetracked when you said it.”
“I’m sorry, I went too fast,” she shakes her head.
“I bet Scorpia didn't have trouble with this,” Catra looks at the ground, flustered, fighting the urge to behead the little dandelions under her in frustration.
“She did, actually. With a lot of the same things,” Perfuma disagrees. “From what she’s told me, feelings were seen as a weakness in the Horde.”
“Yeah, just a little,” Catra whispers, hoarse.
“So it makes perfect sense that you would need a little more time to give what you’re feeling the space to breathe. That’s really my mistake, I should’ve expected that-” Perfuma flushes a little.
“No, it’s okay,” she croaks, and the reassurance feels strange in her mouth.
Perfuma gives her a thankful look before placing her hands together.
“Let’s try again. This time we’ll do the same but I’ll let you tell me when you’re ready to go to the next step.”
Catra closes her eyes again, trying to let what she’s feeling come to the fore without dismissing it. It’s a valiant struggle not to bury them somewhere deep in her chest or reject them as trivial or too painful to acknowledge. But after many minutes of silence, they start to surface, growing into the quiet only punctuated by the rustle of grass in the wind and birdsong.
Once they start to emerge there are almost too many for Catra to handle. Anger is the loudest and most insistent. Frustration that she couldn’t handle herself well enough to avoid this. Resentment at herself for still being angry with Adora when they’re supposed to be happy now. A nameless fury that still smolders deep in her chest that she still can’t understand.
Under it, like kindling to fire are things that are more difficult to acknowledge, though she recognizes them. Breathless desperation not to be left behind, forgotten, ignored. Consuming panic that she’s going to lose the things she loves after getting them back. That she’s going to lose Adora and her friends, that she’ll drive them away again, that they’ll leave her to maddening loneliness. Grief, heavy like stone, that presses on her chest.
“There’s a lot of them,” she complains out loud to Perfuma without opening her eyes. Catra hopes she doesn’t hear the sniffling she’s doing as tears threaten to spill from the corners of her closed eyes.
“That’s alright. Sometimes there are more than others. Take as long as you need.”
After a moment she speaks.
“I’m ready.”
Her voice is strained and wobbly, higher than normal. She’s sure Perfuma knows she’s holding back tears, but she says nothing about it.
“I want you to bring your attention to your breathing. Breathe in and out normally and acknowledge the feeling. The rise and fall of your chest, the way your belly expands and falls again.”
Catra does as she says, though she finds it difficult to clear her mind. Other things tug at her and she doesn’t think she’s supposed to let them. Isn’t her mind supposed to be empty for this to work?
As if Perfuma knows already that her thoughts roam free in a way she can’t contain, she tells her, “If you find your mind wandering, take note of those thoughts. Recognize them gently and with compassion as you bring your attention back to your breathing.”
Catra does as she says. Her flurry of thoughts are still there, drifting in and out without preamble. But now they feel a little farther away, as if bobbing on the end of a kite. She’s still connected to them, feels their intermittent pull, sometimes yanking roughly, sometimes only gently tugging. They still sting. Sometimes it’s difficult to let them be without feeling the overwhelming urge to do something with them, bury them, or fight them off.
"Each time your mind wanders, acknowledge the thought and then focus again on your breathing," she says again. "And when you're ready you can open your eyes."
"That's it?" Catra blurts, unable to stop herself, opening her eyes.
"Of course not," Perfuma laughs, unperturbed. "There’s a whole world to explore, but I find it best to start small and slow. This was just to get your feet wet, so to speak."
Catra shudders at the image of water but puts it out of her mind.
“How long until I stop feeling like garbage?”
“That’s hard to say. And I want to make sure you understand that meditation doesn’t stop your feelings.”
“Then what’s the point?” Catra throws her hands up, annoyed.
“The point is to change the way you engage with them,” she explains, peaceful as if Catra isn’t on the verge of a tantrum across from her. “You said usually if you’re feeling bad, you try to stop those feelings. May I ask how well that works for you?”
“Clearly not well or I wouldn’t be here.”
“Exactly. Meditating is supposed to help you acknowledge those feelings. I think you’ll find if you stop fighting them so hard and let them breathe, you’ll feel better and you may get a little more insight into why they’re there.”
Catra crosses her arms, well aware she’s pouting but unable to stop herself.
“I’m sorry. I wish there was a quicker solution for you. But unfortunately processes like this take time and patience with yourself.”
“It’s okay. My issues aren’t your fault,” she grumbles.
“No, but I think you’ll find a lot of yours aren’t necessarily your fault either. Although I think that’s something we can revisit tomorrow,” she says, final, standing and offering a hand to Catra. She reluctantly takes it, self-conscious at the familiarity but unwilling to risk offending the person who’s just patiently weathered a storm of her emotions. They walk slowly together back towards the tent Catra and Adora share.
“If you want more practice, you can always join our group meditations in the morning and the evening,” she offers brightly, clasping her hands together in front of her in an eternal hope that Catra is immediately going to dash. The thought of being so defenseless and weak in front of a veritable crowd is so terrifying it takes every bit of restraint she has not to physically recoil.
“I think that’s a bit much for me,” she answers, hoping Perfuma won’t be affronted but she nods, unfazed.
“That’s alright, I thought so. I just wanted you to know that the offer stands if or when you’re ready.”
When they reach the tent, Perfuma pauses out of earshot from where Adora sits, looking between them apprehensively.
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Uh, yeah. Sounds good,” she looks at the ground, holding her arm as if protecting herself.
“Okay. You should be very proud of yourself for starting this journey,” she beams before waving cheerfully and turning to make her way into the easy flow of activity in Plumeria.
Catra can’t look Adora in the eye just yet as she joins her. She flops unceremoniously into her lap, burying her face in the crook of her neck.
“How was it?” she asks just like Catra knew she would.
“I don’t know. Fine and also weird,” she groans.
“Did it help?”
“Kind of? For a second, anyway. But she said it could take a while for me to feel better and that I need practice. So I’m doing this every day for however long it takes for it to work, I guess.”
“Oh. Do you want to keep going?”
“I mean, I don’t really know what else to do.”
“Me neither,” Adora sighs, turning to kiss her on the forehead, resting there after. “I already tried with punching and that didn’t do much.”
Catra shrugs.
“At least punching was fun. What did you do while I was gone?”
“Apple picking with Swift Wind.”
Catra looks around outside the tent. She doesn’t see any sign of apples.
“Where are they?”
“Oh,” she winces. “We kind of ate them as we picked them.”
Catra rolls her eyes and smiles.
“Cool, so when Plumeria goes through an apple shortage, we know whose fault it is.”
Adora shoves her playfully and Catra pounces on her as Adora shrieks in laughter. They devolve into giggling, tussling in the grass together.
The next day, Catra’s palms are sweating a little less as she sits across from Perfuma. She’s still not wholly comfortable, but at least it’s no longer so unfamiliar.
“Ready?” she asks, gentle.
“As I’ll ever be,” she mumbles.
“Alright. So we’re going to close our eyes and take note of any sensations in our body again, physical or emotional.”
The grass still tickles just off of itching but its scent is sweet at the very least. Her ears swivel on their own, taking in the wind and the birds and the constant cacophony of Plumeria. Have her shoulders ever been relaxed? Not since she can remember.
There’s uneasiness with Perfuma. Fear that this will never work. Worry that maybe she’s hopelessly and inherently bad no matter what Adora says. That ever-present anger she can’t articulate that ranges between a tiny spark and an inferno that she can’t control, one that burns her and everyone around her.
“And now we’re going to concentrate on the breath again like we did yesterday. Acknowledge the way your abdomen naturally expands and deflates. Acknowledge any thoughts that cross your mind, let them exist, but bring your thoughts back to your breath after.”
This is stupid. Inhale. But this is a penance she deserves for being unable to control herself. Exhale. What is Adora doing? Inhale . What if she’s hanging out with someone else? Exhale. What if she likes them better than Catra? Inhale. What will happen to her when Adora finally realizes she’s not worth the effort? Exhale. Do any of them actually like her or are they just tolerating her? Inhale. Why is she so angry all the time? Exhale.
“Now we’re going to pay a little more attention to the body. Starting at the toes, the soles of your feet, moving up to the ankles. Noting any sensations, any aches or pains. Again, if thoughts wander, take note of them, treating them with compassion. Don’t focus on solving anything or making your thoughts go away. Just acknowledge them, nothing else.”
Catra listens to the lilt of Perfuma’s voice, tranquil and bell-like in the clearing, blending seamlessly with the natural sound of Plumeria. She moves up the body, advising Catra to focus on her legs, her breath again, her arms, her fingertips, her ears, all the way to the top of her head.
“Now I want you to see if there’s a difficult feeling anywhere, an ache in your shoulders or a difficult emotion.”
Catra can’t stifle a laugh. She expects indignation from Perfuma, but she giggles back.
“It’s okay if there are many. Just pick one for now and try to see where you can feel it in your body.”
She expects anger to surface first. But instead, it’s fear, a painful prickle along her spine that feels like a shiver and makes her hair stand on end. A squeezing in her heart that takes her breath, dries her mouth, makes her feel simultaneously hot, cold, and numb.
“And now return your attention to any part of your body that feels good or at ease. Maybe your breath, your fingertips, your feet. Anything that might give you a break from things that might be overwhelming to feel.”
Catra isn’t sure any part of her feels actively good, but at least her breath is easy to focus on and predictable.
“Bring your attention again to that thing that feels unpleasant, whatever it is, and then return your attention to that pleasant place.”
They do this a few times, back and forth before Perfuma tells her, “Now I want you to try to do both. Can you stay wherever it feels good or safe in your body and also recognize that unpleasant thing? Try to recognize it but don’t give it your whole attention, give it a sideways glance.”
It’s harder than it seems. Her fear is vehement and doesn’t take kindly to being relegated to a sideways glance. But she tries as hard as she can, trying to stay with her breathing. After a while it’s a little like looking at it from afar, observing it with space in between. Sometimes it still frightens her, threatens to close the gap between them or comes closer than she’d like. But the space is a welcome relief.
“And when you’re ready, you can open your eyes,” Perfuma repeats as she did yesterday. Catra takes a moment before she does so, sighing.
“So how do you feel?” she asks, eager.
“It was kind of nice,” she admits, but she’s still not entirely convinced.
“Do you have any questions for me? Any reservations?” she asks, placing her hands delicately in her lap.
“Yeah,” she confesses. She’s been avoiding criticism of the process, but she can’t pretend any longer that she doesn’t have doubts.
“Go ahead,” Perfuma encourages.
“I don’t know how this is supposed to help me in the real world. I can’t just sit down in the middle of trying to keep Thaymore from being flattened to meditate. ”
“No, you’re right. You can’t. But you can apply what you learn here to those situations when you’re stressed.”
Catra narrows her eyes, unsure.
“Let’s put it this way.” she continues, as unflappable as ever. “It’s just like your combat training in the Horde. You weren’t good at it at first, I’m sure.”
“No,” Catra shakes her head.
“You had to learn and at first it was hard and you didn’t know what you were doing. If they threw you into a battle after two training sessions, would you have won that fight?”
“No,” she answers again.
“Right. You won’t be able to do this right now in ‘real life.’ But after a lot of practice, you will.”
“How do I know it’s even worth trying? What if it doesn’t work for me even after all this?”
“Was there any point yesterday or today that you felt better for a moment?”
“Yeah,” she breathes, almost silent, afraid that admitting it will make that momentary relief disappear, never to return.
“If you felt better at all during these sessions, even for just a minute, isn’t that worth it?”
“I guess. And it didn’t make me feel worse, so,” she reasons.
Perfuma nods, smiling.
So Catra keeps coming to practice with her, day after day. At first it seems unnecessarily repetitive and any hope of seeing results feels desperately out of reach.
But then there are little things, small and fleeting signs of progress.
She comes up to the little tent after meditating to find Adora chatting with Glimmer and Bow on their tracker pad, grinning. The flare of jealousy and anger is still there. She wonders if it always will be. But she breathes for a moment, rooted in one spot, the feeling of grass under her feet, and they shrink enough that Catra can sit next to Adora and join the conversation. Glimmer even teases her, friendly, and although that unease joins the jealousy and anger, they all seem smaller after a quiet breath.
She still sees Scorpia at meals and around the kingdom. Like everything else, Catra’s shame at the pain she caused her is far from gone. But with a little effort, it feels far away enough that she can smile with her and try to start rebuilding what they lost.
She’s even getting used to Perfuma’s presence. Before, her pacifism seemed artificial to Catra, an act to seem superior to her and everyone else. But now she realizes that it isn’t a front nor is it an inherent part of her that’s different from anyone else. It’s merely a commitment and it’s strange to see how much sheer work her peaceful demeanor actually takes, a constant and concerted effort.
Perfuma is not actually naturally placid, Catra finds. She likes to watch her from afar when they’re not meditating, watch her practice the things she’s teaching Catra. The way she holds the bridge of her nose and breathes deeply, clearly perturbed when she’s found that the cactus she’s been tending isn’t doing as well as she hopes. Moments she seems detached and troubled as if she’s fighting to keep something at bay. How Scorpia holds her and looks as if she’s trying to reassure her as Perfuma looks at her, uncertain but hopeful.
Catra is starting to feel hopeful herself. Even Adora’s expression lately is less anxious and more confident when she looks at Catra.
Things get better slowly and Catra is so convinced they’ll keep moving that way that she’s blindsided the night she wakes from a nightmare in a cold sweat, Adora shaking her madly.
“Catra!” she wails, chin wobbling, eyes wide and watering. “Oh thank god you’re awake.”
Catra tries to reassure her that she’s alright but she can’t breathe deeply enough to speak. She’s still trembling and she can feel tears on her face.
“Are you okay?” she sniffles. “Y-you were crying and then you started screaming, I couldn’t wake you up.”
Melog paces behind them, distressed. Catra wants to be able to accept Adora’s comfort, but everything feels too close as the dream comes back to her. She scrambles away into the back corner of the tent as Melog leaps in front of her, putting themself between her and Adora.
“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head and they’re the only words she can eke out between her heaving breaths.
“No, it’s okay. Do you want me to leave?”
She shakes her head no. She’s trying to do what Perfuma tells her to do, trying to breathe but her chest is spasming. Focusing on it is doing nothing to keep any of this at bay when her body is betraying her like this.
She can’t remember the dream in detail but the overall gist was all-too familiar. Adora was dying. Shadow Weaver was talking to her and the longer she did, the weaker Adora became and the farther she got from Catra, stumbling along with Shadow Weaver’s hand clamped firmly on her shoulder. No amount of calling after Adora and pleading with her brought her back.
After a few minutes of Catra gulping air with no improvement, Adora, visibly distressed, asks, “Should we get Perfuma? Do you think she could help?”
Catra can’t answer. She’s still trying to get control of her breathing, but how can breath be calming when her lungs feel like they’re not taking in air no matter how many times she fills them?
After a moment Adora squares her shoulders, resolved, and tells her she’ll be right back. She’s taken the decision out of Catra’s hands and she disappears, her footfalls growing faint as she dashes off to get Perfuma.
Catra can only wait and try to tread water.
“It’s never been this bad-” she hears Adora tell Perfuma just outside the tent. They step in and Catra would normally hate being watched but she can’t argue that trying to fix this herself isn’t working.
“This has happened before?” she asks, concerned but calmer than Adora.
“Nightmares, yeah. Sometimes she needs a second after, but never for this long-”
Perfuma approaches carefully. Melog bares their teeth, mane an angry crimson.
“It’s alright,” Perfuma tells them, unfazed. “Catra, do you think you can try a breathing exercise with me?’
She nods, willing to try anything. Perfuma quietly guides her, telling her when to inhale and exhale. It’s difficult for her to follow at first. The breaths in Perfuma tells her to take are long and slow, the breaths out even longer. Her lungs fight her, trying to fill and empty themselves rapidly in a way that burns.
Eventually, though, she’s able to do what Perfuma instructs. When she tells her she can stop, Catra’s breathing has returned to its natural rhythm. She’s immediately struck by how tired she is. Her limbs are leaden and she feels a headache beginning behind her eyes.
“Do you think you’ll be able to rest now?” Perfuma asks, gentle. Catra nods absently.
“Good. Rest as much as you can. If you’re feeling up to tomorrow, that’s fine, but if you’re not it’s okay. Do you want me to stay here?”
“No, I think I’m okay,” she wheezes, voice a weak rasp.
“Okay. You can come get me again if you need,” she directs to both her and Adora before leaving. Adora is across the tent in an instant, arms open before she pauses.
“Can I-” she asks, hesitant after Catra hid in the corner of the tent less than an hour ago. Catra gladly places herself in her arms and Adora clutches her like a lifeline, threading her fingers in her hair.
“I was worried about you,” she breathes, still shaken, squeezing her tightly. “I’m still worried about you.”
“Thank you,” Catra murmurs. “For getting Perfuma.”
“I’m glad it helped. I was scared, I couldn’t think of anything else to do,” she answers. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Catra shakes her head, too tired to do anything but close her eyes and cling to Adora.
She awakes the next day before she usually goes to meditate with Perfuma, but resolves as soon as she’s awake that she’s too tired to go today. She isn’t sleepy anymore but she’s overcome by an exhaustion she’s only felt a few times before. The first day after Adora left the Horde; after Adora plucked her from the jaws of Prime’s ship; the day after the war ended for good.
She quietly asks Adora to go let Perfuma know she won’t make it and she obliges without protest, only pausing to give Catra a worried backward glance.
Catra isn’t sure she can stand for anyone other than Adora to see her. What if they heard her cries before Adora woke her? What if they can tell what she’s feeling by the look on her face? Instead, she stays in, staying close to Adora, Melog, or both, craving the physical reminders that they’re here and aren’t leaving her.
The next days pass in the same fashion. Each day, Catra asks Adora to tell Perfuma she isn’t coming. Every day Adora dutifully goes to send word to her. Catra isn’t blind to the increasingly distressed expression on her face the longer she stays inside, curled up next to her and Melog. But if success is followed by a lapse like the one she had, she isn’t sure what the point is.
After nearly a week of this, Perfuma comes over to see her before Adora can go cancel on Catra’s behalf yet again.
“Hi, it’s me,” she calls just outside the tent. “Can I come in?”
Adora looks at Catra, beseeching. She nods, curling tighter in on herself.
“Yes, come in,” Adora answers and Perfuma peeks around the flap of the tent
“Hi,” she smiles sadly. “Catra?”
Catra doesn’t look at her but she does answer.
“I’m listening.”
“Do you feel up for a walk with me?”
“I don’t want to meditate-”
“I’m not here to ask you to meditate,” she shakes her head. “I’m just worried about you and I want to know if you’re okay.”
“Why does that require a walk?” she mumbles, fighting the urge to hide her face.
“I suppose it doesn’t. I wanted to talk to you but if you don’t want to, that’s alright.”
Perfuma’s quiet acceptance of Catra’s rebuff is worse than if she lost her temper with her. Catra can tell she’s slipping back into old habits, the same ones that chased Adora and Scorpia and now Perfuma away from her.
“No, I’ll take a walk.”
The relief emanating from Adora is palatable as Catra stands. Her joints are stiff from being stuck in the same positions for days.
“We shouldn’t be long,” Perfuma reassures Adora before they leave. Catra squints in the sunlight as her eyes adjust. They walk along the same path they usually take but she passes the little clearing they use for meditation, true to her word.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry you’ve been having a hard week,” Perfuma starts, sympathetic in a way Catra isn’t sure what do do with.
“Not your fault,” she mumbles.
“I did want to ask if there’s a particular reason you stopped coming to our meditations? Again, I’m not here to convince you to keep going if it isn’t working for you.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Catra snorts. “Clearly I’m not good at it. I thought the other night made that pretty obvious.”
“That’s what I was a little worried about,” Perfuma nods, biting her lip. “Only you know whether it’s helping you or not. But I want you to know that a bad night or a bad week doesn’t mean you’ve failed or you’re doing badly.”
“Seriously?” Catra laughs, humorless, stopping dead in her path. “That wasn’t doing badly to you?”
“No, I don’t mean that you didn’t have a bad night. I mean that your efforts aren’t wasted just because-”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Catra interrupts, her anger and disappointment gaining momentum. “I keep trying and trying and it doesn’t seem to matter what I do-”
“It does matter-”
“I thought I was doing well,” she gasps.
“You are,” she reassures her, fervent, stepping close to her with her hands out as if trying to dispel the frustration that’s threatening to bubble over in Catra. “These things aren’t predictable. Sometimes you feel fine and then you have a bad day or week. Even bad months. That doesn’t mean you’re not still doing well. ”
“How do you know?” Catra volleys back, whirling on her with a snarl, the crack in the dam splintering and breaking open. “You keep telling me I’m doing well but how would you know what it’s like when you’re already perfect at all this?”
“Because I’ve been through it! Why else would I need to do this everyday?” she wails, desperate, losing her composure before she takes a shaky breath, trying to calm herself.
Catra’s mouth has gone dry and she can’t move. She’s seen fissures in Perfuma’s composure before, but never this close.
“Why do you think I want to help you so badly?” she asks, voice little more than a hoarse whisper, one Catra can barely hear over the birds singing in the trees.
“I’m sorry-” Catra stammers, regretting her lapse in control.
“It’s okay,” Perfuma shakes her head, voice wobbling dangerously. “I’ve just been there and I’m still there a lot more often than I’d like. I’d do anything to help someone feel better, even if it’s just for a few minutes because I know what it’s like.”
“I didn’t know that,” Catra tells her but it feels pitifully inadequate as Perfuma blinks back tears.
“I know you didn’t know. Of course you’d think I’m perfect at it. But I’m not. I’ve just been practicing most of my life.”
Perfuma stares at the ground and Catra is silently berating herself for losing her temper. She feels as if she should do something to comfort her. She slowly reaches out and places a hand on Perfuma’s shoulder, hoping she’s doing this right. Perfuma sniffles and smiles at her hand that’s trembling where it rests lightly on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Catra clears her throat, unable to look Perfuma in the eyes.
“It’s alright. I wouldn’t normally react so strongly but it’s hard for me sometimes to watch people struggle in some of the same ways I have.”
“Uh, do you want to go sit down and talk or something?” she stutters. Is this what people do when someone is crying? The only person she knows how to comfort with any success is Adora and that usually entails punching.
“If you’d like, yes,” she accepts. They go back to the little clearing they use for meditation but this time they sit next to one another instead of facing one another. It’s silent at first the way it is when they meditate together, but there’s a rawness in the space between them that Catra’s never felt before.
“I’m not sure how much you know about my life,” she sighs. “It’s not particularly interesting but also not very happy so I won’t continue unless you’re alright hearing that kind of thing.”
“I might actually like to hear it,” Catra admits. “Sorry, maybe that’s weird.”
“I don’t think so. Sometimes it helps to know you’re not alone. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were.”
“You didn’t. It’s definitely me. I... get in my own head a lot. Sometimes I feel like everyone here is so far ahead of me because I was the last person to join. I get worried that people don’t like me because of it and I don’t always know what to do with it. So I freak out and get mad and-”
She pulls petals off a flower next to them until she catches Perfuma wincing and she stops.
“I know the feeling. I was an incredibly angry child, actually,” Perfuma sniffles, dabbing at her eyes.
“You!?” Catra can’t quell the laughter in her voice. “Sorry, can’t see it.”
“I was, I was actually terribly difficult,” Perfuma returns the smile before she sobers. “I lost my parents very young.”
“I’m sorry,” Catra pins her ears, shrinking. What are people supposed to say to that? What could she possibly say that would ever be comforting?
“Thank you. I was so resentful after, for years. It felt so unfair to me. They were peaceful people trying to protect their kingdom and I couldn’t understand why it had to be them. I know that so many others went through the same thing but it felt so personal to me-"
“It was,” Catra argues. “It doesn’t matter how many others went through it. It was personal to them and to you.”
“Thank you. It’s good not to diminish your own suffering in remembering others’. I’m not always good at that.”
“Yeah, I have practice dealing with that because neither is Adora,” Catra smiles, rolling her eyes a little.
“That’s true,” she giggles somewhere between fondness and exasperation.
“So you started meditating as a kid?”
“Yes. The people of this village raised me together. They taught me how when my anger started to harm me.”
“Doesn’t it always?”
“No. No emotion is inherently bad, even the ones that don’t feel pleasant. Anger can defend you and help you remember your worth. Sadness can remind you what is important to you, what and who you love. Both can help others realize when you might need help. They’re incredibly important. But they can become too big or too intense, past the point of helping you.”
Catra sits with that for a moment.
“I guess that’s what you mean by meditating not stopping you from feeling things?”
“Yes. Those feelings aren’t bad on their own. But I often need more distance from them for them to be helpful for me again.”
The conversation lapses for a moment and Catra distracts herself by watching a little bird hop about on a bough high in the tree just overhead. It shakes loose a little flower petal, a pink so delicate it’s almost white. It drifts down and lands in her open palm.
“I’d tell you my story, but you already know most of it,” Catra offers.
“Yes. I can only imagine how hard it was. It was difficult enough for me with an entire kingdom trying to help me. I’m so sorry you went through so much almost entirely on your own.”
“It’s okay,” Catra deflects, wilting under the attention.
“I don’t even blame you for not wanting to join the Rebellion at first. I didn’t want to myself when they first approached me.”
“You didn’t?” Catra’s eyes widen in shock. Perfuma’s allegiance to the Rebellion has always seemed unwavering. Catra thought she would’ve been the easiest to convince.
“No. I felt that it was needlessly violent. I was actually angry with them for bringing it up, not that I said so. But I thought if the Rebellion hadn’t existed, maybe I wouldn’t have lost my parents and I didn’t want to lose anyone else. It took me a little while to see that my parents and my kingdom were always in danger, Rebellion or no, and to remember that the Horde were the ones that took my parents. I joined when I remembered they were the real enemy, not the people trying to protect us.”
Catra knows this feeling all too well. It was so easy to blame the Rebellion when she lost Adora. She couldn’t see that losing her had nothing to do with the Rebellion or with Adora herself and everything to do with a war and people more powerful than them using them. The Horde would’ve pulled Adora away from her no matter what and joining the Rebellion was hardly a choice for Adora. She knows that now. It was the only path forward that had any hope of protecting what they have now.
“Thanks for telling me that. I thought you were always part of this. It makes me feel better to know that you’re not perfect or whatever,” Catra devolves into stammering, turning to hide the blush that she can feel burning on her cheeks.
“I’m far from perfect. I assumed you already knew that, but I’m always glad to remind you. I’ll probably even remind you unintentionally,” she giggles, disarming. “If the meditations truly don’t help you, that’s alright. But please don’t ever imagine that I think I’m better than you or that I would ever judge your struggles.”
They sit together in a silence that’s not quite companionable yet but Catra thinks they may get there in time.
“Would you want to meditate with me now?” Catra asks, halting. Perfuma sighs, but it’s not a serene and quiet one like the ones she usually gives her. It’s tired and a little burdened but grateful all the same.
“That would be lovely, yes.”
The little clearing goes silent again, the only noises quiet and measured breath and the musical rustle of leaves as the wind cuts through the forest.