Archive of Our Own

At this point, fighting Catra runs like clockwork. Swipe. Stab. Push. Block. Flip. Adora knows her tricks, she doesn’t fall for her feints or her traps. She throws Catra on her back in two minutes flat. Two hands gripping the hilt, She-Ra plunges the point of her sword to the hollow of her throat.

But she stops herself before it slices in, as always.

Catra laughs. “Still got my teeth in your heart, huh?”

She dissolves into a burst of pixels. The virtual reality around them vanishes with her. Light Hope stares at Adora, expressionless.

“She gets more personal every time,” Adora grumbles.

“You are at a dead end. There is nothing more I can do for you here.”

“Run it again. I have to kill Catra. I have to kill Catra. I have to kill Catra—I have to kill Catra?” She gets a little more distressed each time she says it. “I have to kill Catra?”

Light Hope frowns. “You seem to be glitching.”

The race is on to find as much First Ones tech as possible before the Horde does. Without Entrapta’s brilliance on their side, the Princess Alliance doesn’t have a whole lot going on for them. They don’t have the Horde’s firepower either.

Today, for once, they manage to suss out a possible location deep within the Whispering Woods and arrive before the Horde has. But nothing’s ever that easy. They emerge from the ruins with a First Ones crystal in hand and what they see waiting for them makes the hairs on Adora’s arm stand up straight. The forest around them is gouged, its trees split apart and blasted out of the way. Four Horde tanks surround the ruins, poised to strike.

“Scatter!” Glimmer barks.

That same moment, the cannons fire. The princesses dive in different directions. Most of them find bushes or fallen trees to hide behind. Except for She-Ra. There’s a tank rolling straight at her and she charges it head on. She leaps onto its hull, where the cannon blasts can’t get her. The other tanks won’t fire at one of their own and the one she’s hanging onto can only swivel its long barrel uselessly, shooting past her. The swiveling jostles her around a bit and makes it a challenge to hold on, but that’s the most it can do.

She climbs up the side with purpose, looking for the outer security panel. She remembers training day in the tanks. She knows there’s a keypad on the outside to let soldiers back in if they choose to exit the tanks. She knows the default code is 1-2-3-4-5-6 and she knows that no one in her squadron wanted to remember a different six-digit code every time they’d roll out in a new tank, so the tanks all use the code they came with.

If she can get in and take out the driver, she can distract the other tanks from inside. Normally, the outer keypad only opens with an ID swipe, but She-Ra’s fingers rip the lid right off with effortless princess strength. She hits 1-2-3-4-5-6 on the exposed keys.

DENIED.

“What?!” she growls at the tiny strip of screen above the keypad.

They changed the tank codes? Since when do they have their shit that together? The barrel swivels around again and she ducks. It’s not even firing anymore, it’s just trying to knock She-Ra off. In an incredulous frenzy, she tries to guess a code before the barrel swings back around. 6-5-4-3-2-1?

A series of interlocking clicks, and the top hatch swooshes open. Ha! She still knows her old squad like the back of her hand. She-Ra heaves herself up, scrambling to get to the hatch before the person in the tank can shut it. The barrel catches her on its return swing, knocking the air out of her and swinging her full body around the edge of the tank. The only thing that saves her is that the pilot needs to let go of the controls to reach up for the hatch, so the barrel hits an abrupt stop before she’s flung off. She-Ra’s hand barely manages to catch the edge of the hatch as she’s almost thrown off the side. She already feels the pilot tugging it shut, and that pull actually helps her gain leverage to climb up over the edge.

She rips the hatch open with the last of her strength before dropping the transformation and diving in. She’s been inside a Horde tank’s teeny cubicle they call a cockpit. Adora could hardly spread her arms out in it, so She-Ra’s eight foot tall ass sure won’t fit. She lands right on the pilot, pinning them to the floor.

“Since when d’you know how to hack a tank?” Catra’s face scrunches up at Adora in utter disbelief.

“Is trying the old PIN backwards considered a hack?”

She starts to laugh, but it turns into a pained “augh!” as Catra uses a complicated twist that Adora doesn’t fully understand to flip their positions. The side of her head thunks against some kind of compressor tank stacked among the cockpit’s supplies. There really isn’t any space to roll around in here. Blinking white spots out of her eyes, Adora throws Catra backwards with all her non-princess strength. The exertion is a thrill, an exhilarated fury. Catra slams into a pile of industrial crates with a vicious yowl.

They’re too close. The space is too tight to swing any kicks or punches. All they can do is thrash each other from wall-to-wall, locked in a grappling struggle. They knock against the controls over and over, driving the tank haywire. They could crash into another tank or run over an ally, but one of them needs to give up control if she wants to be the responsible person. Neither is willing to do that. They’ve popped the cork on all the pent up energy built up since the last time they fought. All the silent rage from during sleepless nights spent glaring at the ceiling with clenched jaws and hands balled into fists, kept carefully bottled for a special occasion such as this.

Their snarls are deafening in the cramped steel pit. Catra snatches Adora’s ponytail and wrenches her face into a sharp, iron corner. Something cracks softly as an egg and a burst of warm wet trickles from her nose. Adora’s simulation training is worthless here. She didn’t prepare for a space where she could barely move, could hardly breathe in.

In the tangle of graceless clawing and shoving, one thing is clear: Only one of them is getting out of this tank alive. There’s no coming back from what they’ve done to each other by now.

A lurching impact flings them both off their feet. The tank crashes into something hard, throwing them both against the windshield. They’re too angry to stop or even to care what it hit. They pounce right back at each other’s throats without giving it a thought.

They don’t notice something is wrong until they start to slide. That gets the pair to pause. Panting, they look out the windshield. The forest outside is warping—tilting. The floor inside  tips with it, rising vertical. Adora has to throw her hand out against the wall to stop herself from tumbling into it. She takes a second to spit out the blood that’s gotten in her mouth.  Then, the wall becomes horizontal and she’s pinned down by Catra’s entire squirming bodyweight—but only for a moment—before gravity pulls Catra away again. She’s held in mid-air, floating for a split second. Adora’s also pulled away. She slides down the wall until her head thunks against the ceiling. Catra hits the other end of the tank.

The inside of the tank looks like a washer steadily picking up speed. Except instead of wet socks, this load is spinning a bunch of loose crates. Adora and Catra are caught in the middle, bashing into everything.

“For the honor of Grayskull!” Adora draws her sword before her own skull breaks open.

A flash of light and She-Ra fills up the cockpit with her size so thoroughly that most things are held in place, unable to get past her. The things that are still loose can’t pick up as much momentum, either. They all pound against her back or her shins with each roll of the tank, which hurts like hell, but it’s far safer than her normal self taking a full crate to the face.

“Catra?”

No answer.

She cranes her head around as much as the tight space allows, but doesn’t see Catra anywhere. All she can do is hang tight until the vehicle thunks to a rough stop on its side. Which, actually, doesn’t take long at all. They can’t have fallen too far. In the stillness after the chaos, She-Ra takes a minute to breathe.

“Catra?” She asks again, her tone a weird mix of concerned and wary.

A little rustling, and Catra slithers out from the narrow space beneath the control panel. She-Ra, huge and barely able to move, abruptly feels vulnerable and drops her form. Without She-Ra’s broad shoulders holding them up, the crates and other items behind Adora topple to the floor (which is technically the tank’s wall). Adora jumps as the compressor tank makes a particularly scary clank when it falls, heavy enough to crush bones beneath its weight.

“Okay! What is even in there?” She demands, a little distressed by how close it came to her foot.

Catra glares at her. “Just get out.”

Adora isn’t sure if that means Catra’s dropping the fight and letting her go, or if Catra intends to take the fight outside. Chances are an even 50/50. Either way, it’s getting claustrophobic, so Adora doesn’t hesitate to do as she says. She reaches for the top hatch (which is a side hatch now) and swings it open, cautious of what will happen next.

An appalling stench floods through the open door. Adora’s first breath of fresh air becomes a gag.

What actually happens when she climbs through the hatch is neither of the 50/50 options. The tank sits in the middle of bubbling black pit. It appears cracked and dry in some areas, oily in others. Plumes of smoke curl out from several spots across the surface. There’s a shoreline well within sight, at least. A little stretch of soil on the edge of the Whispering Woods. It’s not even that far away. As she hangs out of the sideways porthole, Adora’s hand comes up over her nose and mouth. The smell is unbearable.

Catra shoves her over to look out of the hatch as well. “What. Is. This.”

“We fell straight into the Torpid Tar Pit,” Adora realizes out loud.

She coughs back a retch and covers her nose. “The tank’s sinking.”

Adora’s eyes flit between the tar inches beneath the edge of the hatch and the shoreline. “Looks thick enough to walk over. I’m gonna book it to the shore.”

“You’ll get stuck, moron.”

“The tank’s already stuck. She-Ra could power through it.”

“I don’t care what you do, just shut the hatch before I puke,” Catra grumbles.

Adora’s not sure if she’d puke because of the stench or the mere mention of She-Ra. “I’m gonna make it.”

“You’re not gonna make it.”

Adora squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, preparing to transform and run. “Just you watch.”

“Nah. Just shut the hatch behind you.” Catra goes back inside the cockpit.

Okay. Come on. You got this, Adora. The shore is right there. Adora takes a deep breath, and regrets doing so immediately. The putrid smell filling her nostrils makes her dry heave. God, this place is disgusting. What happens if she does get stuck? She slowly sinks to her death while vomiting all over herself? Nuh uh. Hell no.

Adora looks down. The tar is close enough to the edge of the hatch to seep in any minute now. A putrid bubble on the surface bursts and splashes Adora’s jacket, nearly getting her face. She heaves again and, okay, that’s it. She can’t do this.

“Damn it.” Adora goes back inside, slamming the hatch shut behind her. “We’re stuck here.”

“What, really?!” Catra blinks, eyes round as saucers and voice drenched in derision. She drops the wide-eyed look by rolling them up toward the ceiling (which is actually the control panel now).

“And what’s your genius plan to get us out of here that’s so much better than mine?”

Catra stretches both arms up to tap at the tank’s steering controls. “The bar for a better plan is low. Literally anything’s better than ‘I’m gonna walk through tar.’”

The engine revs and the wheels whirr helplessly against the tar outside. The tank creaks, but doesn’t budge. Infuriated, Adora wonders if it’s not too late to swing the hatch back open and fling herself out of here. She’d rather straight up get buried alive out there if being locked in a tight space with Catra is what she has to put up with for the next… who knows how long.

That question answers itself when she hears Catra swear beneath her breath. Her head is craned straight up. Adora follows her concerned stare up to the tank’s front windshield (which has become a skylight). Murky darkness pools at the edges, creeping across the glass. Catra makes a sound that’s something between a huff and a growl as her hands fly to the communication switches over her head.

She seems to have an awkward time figuring out how to dial when the comm panel is at such an unfamiliar angle. “Come in, Horde. Can everyone hear me? Hello?”

Adora wonders if she should break the bad news. “Hey, uh, I don’t think your comms are up.”

Catra clicks her tongue and tries dialing a different radio. “Come in, Scorpia.” A long pause. “Hey? Scorpia! … What the hell? You always answer.”

She acts like she can’t even hear Adora. It feels weird being more or less ignored by her nemesis after they were in what felt like a life-or-death showdown just minutes ago.

“The antenna’s busted,” Adora says, a little louder than the last time.

That gets Catra to look back. “When did you become an expert?”

Blue eyes narrow at her. “I know what one looks like. And I saw it out there. Sinking into the pit.”

Slowly, Catra drops her arms to her side. “So, we can’t send anyone our location. And we are sinking. That’s just great, Adora. Thanks a lot.”

“Why’re you talking like it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t invite you into my tank! And we’re definitely not here ‘cause I drove it into the Torpid Tar Pit myself.”

Adora makes a series of sounds. Angry half-started sentences that she can’t even get together. “I—You—Ugh—Wow—Do you—Look, I’m not even gonna—Ughhhh.”

She attempts to storm off from the conversation, but there’s nowhere to go. Adora winds up sort of just spinning around in a little circle. Meanwhile, Catra’s already moving on to Plan B. She drags a supply crate out of the weird crevice it flew into during the fall and lugs it to the middle of the floor (which used to be the wall). She flips the lid open and digs through the contents, squinting. It’s noticeably dimmer inside the cockpit now than it was moments earlier.

Adora looks upwards at the window overhead again. Inky black tar has crept over nearly the entire surface. Only a tiny pinhole is left through which she can see the blue sky above. Adora watches that little circle of sunlight shrink smaller and smaller and smaller… until it is gone. The tank fully submerges, swallowed whole by the tar pit. Even if someone comes looking for them on the shore, there would be no trace left that they were ever here; let alone that they’re still trapped right here, just underneath the surface.

The longer she thinks about that, the harder it is to breathe. Is there even enough air in this tiny cockpit for both of them? How long until power runs out and the space goes pitch black? Adora needs to stop staring and start moving. She needs to put herself to work. She has no clue what Plan B is, but she busies herself with lifting one of the supply crates out of the odd corner it has fallen into. Adora opens up a crate of her own and starts digging through it, unsure what to even look for.

They don’t speak to each other while they sift through what they have.

They trained for so many different emergency scenarios in the Fright Zone, but this wasn’t one of them. The supplies Adora finds are familiar. Pretty much what she would expect from a standard excursion kit. Flashlight, tape, flare, nutrition bars, first aid… Adora pops the first aid kit open. She rips a roll of gauze open and shoves some up her nose to soak any blood that may still be flowing. She would attempt to clean the blood she can feel drying and crusting on her face, if there was a mirror anywhere. But there isn’t, so she doesn’t.

She moves on to open a different crate. This one is the largest of the pile. Inside it: a bunch of dissembled metal parts she has never seen and some kind of hazmat suit.

“What is this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Catra doesn’t look up from the crate she’s taking stock of.

A huge, smooth sheet of some thick material is in there. Adora begins to unwrap its folds and finds strings attached to it. A parachute, maybe… But why does a tank need a parachute and what are the other pieces for? What do they assemble into? There are screens and panels in the case that Adora can’t begin to guess the purpose or function of.

She narrows her eyes at the equipment. “This is how you find First Ones tech. Isn’t it?”

A beat of silence.

“Know what this reminds me of?” Catra shuts the ammunition case she’d been examining and sits on the lid. “The underground bunker.”

Adora raises an eyebrow, afraid to take the bait. “‘Cause we got trapped inside?”

“All because you wanted to play house.”

“You wanted to play, too.”

“I just needed time off from everyone else in the Fright Zone.”

They were nine years old and just learned about the Horde’s various fallout bunkers in that day’s classes. They were told the protocol for going into the bunkers when necessary (“Children first.”) and were even given a glimpse inside. Shelves of food, neatly made cots... It looked cozy. By the end of the school day, Adora and Catra were already planning how to get into one. Perhaps Adora remembers the day so vividly because it was also the first time she stole something. A key card from a commander’s desk while Catra caused a distraction.

The door closed behind them, they played for a few hours, they had a sleepover. It was the first time either of them had slept in a room without twelve other people. It was fun, until they woke up in the windowless bunker. They couldn’t even tell if it was morning, if they’d gotten a full night’s sleep or just taken a nap. And the door wouldn’t open.

What they weren’t told in class that day was that the bunkers did not open from the inside. The Horde didn’t trust a closet full of children not to open the doors for a clever enemy or a defected soldier demanding to be let in.

Slowly, Adora winds the strings of the parachute around her hand. “We thought no one would know to come looking for us in there.”

“And you cried like a baby.”

“You cried too!”

“Don’t remember that. Doubt it.”

After crying the panic out of their system, Adora remembers they simply… went back to playing house. “We just accepted that the bunker was our home now and we were gonna grow old in there.”

Catra snorts. “Yeah, I thought that would’ve been fine. I was bummed that Shadow Weaver did eventually find us.”

Adora looks down at her hand, now unwinding the strings around her palm. “We’ll grow old in here, then.”

“If we don’t kill each other first.”

“We nearly did.”

A tense pause stretches between them. Adora tentatively adds, “I think I’m over it for now.”

Catra smirks at that. “C’mon, I wouldn’t kill you in this tank. I’m gonna kill you in front of everyone we know.”

“Wow, thanks. Good luck with that.”

Adora balls up the strings and dumps them onto the folded parachute. She shoves the edges of the material back into the crate, snaps the lid shut, and sits on it. Across from her, knees almost close enough to brush, Catra’s sharp eyes are pinned on Adora. Her gaze radiates a burning enmity.

She leans in and Adora flinches.

“Chill.” She reaches way past Adora, bending over to take the first aid kit by the handle drag it over to her side.

Adora can’t see much of what she’s doing, but she hears the box pop open and then the crinkle of plastic ripping open. When Catra rises to face Adora again, she has an antiseptic wipe in hand.  

Adora’s eyebrows furrow, trying to calculate what kind of bait this is.

“Chill,” Catra repeats. “You really this scared of me?”

The furrow becomes a scowl and Adora reluctantly leans closer, presenting her blood-encrusted lower face. Catra takes hold of her face with a satisfied hum and Adora realizes this interaction was set up to be a lose-lose. Doing as Catra says is a sign of weakness and refusing to do as Catra says means she’s scared. Now, Adora’s at a disadvantage where she doesn’t know what to do or expect. The most frustrating part is that she walked right into it.

She glares directly into Catra’s eyes, hoping it’s as alarming up close as the feeling of her claws gently sinking into the flesh of Adora’s cheeks is. She’s close enough to notice Catra’s gaze shifting from one of Adora’s eyes to the other, before moving on to other parts of her face.

The cloth feels cool and damp, dabbing first at seemingly random spots across Adora’s forehead. Perhaps some flecks of blood travelled up there while the tank fell. Her eye twitches when Catra taps what feels like a bruise forming on her temple.

“Are they worth it?” Catra asks, her voice a low hum. Almost casual.

She isn’t even looking directly at Adora. She’s staring at her mouth and chin as she wipes dried blood away.

“Yes,” Adora answers without a thought.

Catra doesn’t react. It’s an unsurprising answer.

“This’ll sting,” she warns one second before a flare of white hot pain blinds Adora.

Her eyes squeeze shut and her lips clamp together to muffle a yelp. Struggling to hold her still, Catra’s hold on Adora’s face becomes tight enough to hurt. Wet cloth swipes around the open wound on the bridge of Adora’s nose once—twice—a third time—Another yelp huffs out of Adora’s nostrils—and Catra lets go. Adora instantly wrenches herself away.

“Catra—” Her eyes open and her face slowly unclenches as she gasps for breath in the wake of the pain, both hands propped up on the crate behind her as she leans back and blinks up at the tar-covered windshield. “Look—I know what you think, but it’s not true.” She tips her face forward again to look at Catra. “I didn’t choose them over you.”

“You say that,” Catra flings the blood-soaked cloth in her hand at Adora, “and yet, you’re with them and not me.”

“The world’s bigger than us. You can’t be the only person I look out for. ”

“Don’t.”

“It’s the right thing to—”

“Drop it, Adora. Neither of us is sorry. So, what do you expect to happen here?”

“You’re not even a little sorry?”

“No.” Catra shrugs one shoulder. “I’m glad you left. It’s exactly what I needed, but was too chickenshit to admit at first. I couldn’t add up to anything as long as you were the favorite. I can’t believe I actually tried so hard to bring you back.”

“I can’t believe you actually think Hordak isn’t using you.”

“I’m not stupid, Adora. But I bet you really believe the princesses aren’t just using you. You think you would’ve mattered at all to them if you weren’t She-Ra?”

That strikes just the right cord to get Adora’s claws out. “And you were just waiting for me to be top dog so you could tug the leash. You ditched me the minute that wasn’t in the cards for you.

“I—?!” Catra’s jaw drops. She blinks incredulously, then puts her hands over her face to muffle the barks of laughter that bubble up. “You’re so good at playing innocent, Adora. You don’t even realize you’re doing it.” Her hands slide away from her face to reveal a venomous smile. “You know damn well Shadow Weaver would make me pay for your mistakes. I—was—the leash. Fucking excuse me for looking forward to a little control when we called the shots.”

“Catra, I—I hated being the favorite.”

Adora wants to fight, she wants to prove she’s right. But that furious drive gets swept off the offensive by a wave of guilt, and now she’s struggling to somehow defend herself. Catra seems to know every string to tug and when to do it. Was she always like this?

“Doubt that.” Adora opens her mouth to argue, but Catra cuts her off, “Don’t bother. We were kids when it started and there was no way out when we got older.”

“But you still resent me.”

“Yeah. I do. I can feel alI the bitterness I want while still knowing that who you are and who you needed to be to survive are two very different people.”

Adora stares at her, unsure of how to feel about that assessment.

The cabin lights flicker for a few seconds, then go out. The inside of the tank is pitch black as the tar outside. The rumble of the engine powers down. It had been a background noise Adora didn’t even register, but the complete silence when it’s gone is unnerving.

“Today just keeps getting better.”

“Hang on, I saw a flashlight,” Adora mumbles in the dark.

She scoots along the edge of her seat and feels around for the excursion kit she first opened. It takes a while, but she eventually manages to fumble it open and seek out the familiar shape of a flashlight. Adora flicks the switch and the beam shines directly at Catra, who hisses and flings an arm across her eyes.

“Whoops! Didn’t see you there. Obviously.”

“Okay. Adora, get up.”

“Uh, why?”

“You’re sitting on something I need, just switch with me.”

Adora complies, pivoting over to sit on the other crate while Catra drops to her knees in front of the box with the parachutey thing. She leans forward to watch, holding the flashlight with the beam pointing upward. The cockpit is so small that this narrow beam alone does a half-decent job at dimly illuminating the area.

Catra gives her a dry look. “You gonna point that over here and help or are you gonna tell me the story of the Weeping Princess?”

There’s couple seconds of confusion before Adora realizes what she means. The beam from below must be lighting her the way Lonnie held a flashlight beneath her chin when she told ghost stories at night.

She points the flashlight to the crate and suggests with a snort, “I have lots of new princess stories you’ve never even heard of. They’re super different from the ones we had. A nice, non-spooky variety.”

Catra opens the crate with a disinterested hum.

“There’s this one I just can’t get out of my head... It takes place way before the Princess Alliance was formed, when the realms were still establishing themselves. These two neighboring princesses, Melodiance and Lumina, were at war over—”

“Adora, this is so fucking boring.”

“No, shh, you’ll like this one—”

“Does a princess die?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Okay, fine. Go.”

“Ugh, you made me ruin the ending!”

“Tragic.”

“It is! Basically, the two princesses meet for the first time on the battlefield. Melodiance stabbed her enemy and secured the victory, but…”

The word ‘stabbed’ actually gets Catra to look up from what she’s doing and pay attention. Adora makes sure to put a little extra ‘oomph’ in her retelling, going out of her way for dramatic pauses in all the right places.

“The moment Lumina collapsed into her arms, Melodiance said she saw a kindred spirit—another brave kid, proud and driven for glory. But Melodiance was so absorbed in proving herself that she realized it one crucial moment too late. She never married and spent the rest of her life writing about Lumina. Even though her reign was hundreds of years ago, her realm today is still packed with more monuments and memorials to Princess Lumina than to anyone who actually ruled.”

Catra laughs quietly, a little huff of breath through her nose. “You think I’d put up a statue of you?”

“That was not the point of the story.”

“It’s the point you ended on. A statue’s a little much, but I guess I could be generous when I tell your story for the princess books.”

Adora rolls her eyes, an action that surprisingly ticks Catra off during a moment Adora’s been assuming to be playful.

She prickles, ears pointing back. “What, you don’t think I could be a kind ruler?”

Adora has an answer she’s pretty sure Catra doesn’t want to hear. A long silence stretches between them.

It ends with Catra clicking her tongue. “I could be as fair as any princess alliance.”

“Then act like it.”

Catra gives her a look that’s disturbingly familiar and triggers some kind of flight-or-fight response at the back of Adora’s mind. It’s the look that suggests she understands something Adora doesn’t.

Whatever it is she knows, she keeps to herself. All Catra says in return is, “Hey, they killed their own kind on the battlefield.”

“That was not the point of the story.” Adora’s gaze floats down to what Catra’s taking out of the crate and she raises an eyebrow. “What’s that for?”

“This,” she unzips the front of the hazmat suit, “is the only way out of here.”

It looks sort of like a old space suit. Or sort of like something that belonged an old deep sea diver. Knowing Entrapta, she may have cobbled it together from a frankenstein mix of both things and any number of other things Adora wouldn’t even identify.

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s the only thing in here that can handle a little tar.” Catra shuts the crate’s lid again and drapes the suit over it. She tucks the helmet under one arm.

A chill drops like an ice cube running down Adora’s spine. “There’s only one.”

Catra looks her dead in the eye. “Yeah.”

She swallows hard, the inside of her throat suddenly feeling full of cotton. A spike of panic rises behind her ribcage, followed by a sharp drop of regret. After all they’ve been through, they’re going to kill each other over a fucking suit? Adora’s adrenaline pulses, preparing for another fight like the one when she first jumped in this tank. One with no interruption this time.

Then Catra adds, simple and sharp, “So, get in.”

The complete certainty in her stare shakes Adora to her core. “What…?”

“Put the suit on, stupid.”

“But,” Adora looks at the hatch, then up at the black windshield. “If one of us tries to open that hatch, the tank fills with tar, stupid.”

“You said you could push through it as She-Ra.”

“I mean, probably. Still, you can’t survive long enough for me—or, I guess, the Horde—to come back.”

Catra narrows her eyes. “Yeah, no duh. And how long can we keep re-breathing the same air in here before we both pass out and die? We’re not in a bunker. There’s a real short time limit to how long we can stay here.”

Adora hadn’t thought of that. They need to conserve air. She’s conscious of every breath, suddenly. She tries to hold her next inhale in just a few seconds longer before letting it out in a measured exhale. She can’t concentrate on this enough to keep it up while her mind scrambles for a quick fix. The flashlight’s beam roves wildly around the dark cockpit.

It does a double take over the compressor tank that caused the nasty bruise on her forehead. “There’s the huge air tank! Set it up and we’ll take turns breathing.”

Catra barely reacts to the revelation. “That’s not oxygen.”

“What?”

“This,” Catra shakes the suit’s sleeve to demonstrate, “is a HAB suit.”

“Um, what’s—”

“High-altitude balloon. Entrapta sends ‘em up for some kind of research. That’s the helium tank.”

Adora shakes her head. “Okay—Doesn’t matter.” She must look like Light Hope when she’s stuck on a loop, because she can’t seem to stop shaking her head. “No. I’m not—I’m not gonna—I can’t just—”

Catra lets out a long exhale that sounds a lot like a prayer for patience.

“You got my permission this time. You can go, for the sake of saving the world, or whatever.” The way she says it is stilted, each word painfully and reluctantly plucked out of her.

“If you cared so much about saving the world, why haven’t you been on my side?” Adora’s voice rises, not even trying to downplay her distress anymore.

“I don’t, okay! I don’t care. People suck and the world’s still gonna suck whether the Horde or the Princesses are in charge.” Catra’s arms cross over her chest. “Only reason I got so invested was to make a point. A point that becomes worthless if you die in a tank at the bottom of a tar pit.”

“You said your plan was to kill me.”

“Not like this.”

“More like…” Adora’s fingers reach out to brush their knuckles against Catra’s hand. “Melodiance?”

“Shut up.”

Beneath the grazing touch, Adora feels her hand unclench its grip around her own bicep. She takes the opportunity to slip her fingers underneath Catra’s. Catra lets Adora gently pull her hand away to hold it against her chest.

“Let me be the hero I’m supposed to be and you put the suit on,” Adora whispers, pleading.

Catra’s mouth twists and her brows furrow. “Yeah, and what about your big mission? Saving the princesses?”

“It doesn’t have to be me.” She clutches Catra’s palm between two trembling hands. “If I’m not there for you to go against, what will stop you from making the right choices?”

“Oh, Adora. You always think the world revolves around you.” Catra’s hand comes up to hook around Adora’s neck and slowly shift up the back of her head. “But you are, unfortunately, the one literally destined to save the princesses.”

“But you—Why are you doing this now?”

“The world’s bigger than the two of us. I can’t be the only person you look out for.”

Having her own words thrown back in her face like this cracks Adora’s resolve. The levee breaks and the tears well up. It’s a cruel wonder for this to be the time and place Catra takes her words to heart. The most frustrating part is that Adora walked right into it.

Catra goes on, “I already told you I don’t actually care what happens to the stupid princesses. I don’t even really care what happens to the Horde anymore. Maybe I want Hordak to eat shit.”

Adora nearly asks, What do you care about, then?

On second thought, the answer is obvious.

Catra’s fingers wind around Adora’s ponytail and use it to pull her forward. Their foreheads touch. Their eyes lock.There’s something secret, something heart-vexing, in Catra’s gaze. Adora hasn’t seen this look since they separated. They haven’t held each other in so long. They stay like this for a while, close enough that their eyelashes brush against the sides of each other’s noses. Bow calls that butterfly kisses.

Catra’s right, Adora realizes in a terrible lightning strike of self-honesty. She can’t do this to Bow. She can’t do this Glimmer. There are so many people counting on her to fix everything. People she cares about more than anything in the world. Yesterday, she was training to kill Catra.

Adora doesn’t need to speak it. Catra seems to have understood it long before she did. Catra’s the first to pull away from the embrace. She gets Adora to step into the suit. Helps her put it on. Zips her up, pulls her gloves on, hands her the helmet.

Blue eyes, still rimmed with shimmering tears that refuse to spill, stare down at it. “I can’t do this.”

Catra takes her face in both hands.

“Hey.” She forces Adora’s chin up. “Yeah, you will. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. You’re not, really.” Catra holds her face still for the kiss she presses to her lips.

Adora makes a soft, wounded noise in the back of her throat.

“Okay,” Catra pulls away, panting—Almost sniffling? “C’mon, it’s time. Put that on.”

“Wait.”

“You can’t keep waiting.” Catra takes the helmet from Adora and attempts to put it on herself.

Adora bats it away. “Seriously, stop!”

The abrupt shout alarms Catra enough for her to actually pull back.

Gloved hands fumble with the suit, fighting to tear it off. “Take this—Get this off me—”

Catra stands still. “What is it?”

“The balloon! We have a giant balloon.” Adora’s out of breath, struggling to peel the gloves off without any help.

“Okay?”

“We—listen—We tape the bottom of the balloon around the hatch—and we fill the cockpit up with helium—”

“The balloon’s not big enough to float an entire war tank out of a tar pit.”

Adora grabs Catra by the arms. “It’ll make a little tunnel through the tar for us. We just need to hold our breath and crawl along the bottom.”

“That… Huh.” She watches hope dawn on Catra’s previously resigned expression. It’s beautiful. “We can do that.”

Catra swings around and flings open the HAB crate. Adora takes a minute to get out of the rest of the suit before bolting to the excursion kit and snatching the roll of black tape.

“Can’t believe I didn’t think of this,” Catra mutters to herself as they tape down the rim of the balloon all around the hatch door.

Adora snorts. “Yeah, ‘cause it was, like, so obvious.”

Together, they heave the helium tank beneath the balloon. Catra takes a deep breath and plugs her nose while Adora twists the handle to open up the flow all the way. The gas spills out with a loud hiss. Next, she drags the discarded HAB suit over to her and reaches inside for the gas mask. Adora holds the mouthpiece up to her face and—”Ouch!”

She cringes at the flare of pain when it touches against the gash across her nose. Holding it in front of her more gingerly this time, she takes a deep inhale. Exhales. Inhales, and holds it. She beckons Catra over and passes her the mask. Catra does the same. Inhales, exhales. Inhales, holds it, and passes the mask to Adora.

While Adora breathes, Catra crawls back beneath the balloon. It’s like disappearing behind a curtain. Adora hears the latch click. Catra grunts and metal creaks. In the next instant, the balloon is seemingly sucked up and out of the tank’s open hatch. Catra stands at the door, blinking in astonishment.

“Can’t believe that worked,” she says, but in the voice of a chipmunk.

Adora laughs, but the sound also comes out like a high pitched series of squeaks. It makes Catra laugh, just as high pitched, and now they’re stuck in a terrible feedback loop. Perhaps a little intoxicated with hope, they both share one last breath on the mask before they suffocate on helium. Adora, still in a giggle fit, struggles to hold that breath in.

Catra crawls out first, flashlight in hand. Adora follows, leaving the helium tank spilling behind them. Crawling inside the balloon isn’t at all like the fun play-tunnel experience she imagined. It’s more like being inside a water-wiggler toy. It’s squishy and warm on all sides, sort of collapsing around her. Feels gross, actually. Doesn’t smell awesome either.

Adora drags herself forward on her elbows, following the circle of light dancing ahead of her and the occasionally swish of Catra’s tail across her face. She can’t tell direction which direction they’re going in the pitch black balloon. Adora hopes they’re crawling along the floor of the pit and not like… up vertically, or else at the end of this they will find themselves still stuck in the middle of the tar pit.

The balloon seems to collapse more heavily around them the further they push forward. She hears Catra grunting as she tries to squeeze through the crushing pressure of tar all around her. Adora can’t even help push her, she’s stuck trying to wriggle herself forward. The water-wiggler experience turned into something more like seriously tight-space spelunking.

Out on the surface, the tar pit bubbles, seemingly undisturbed. A particularly large bubble rises up along the shoreline, then pops. A sword bursts through one side, a clawed hand on the other. Adora and Catra haul themselves out from the end of balloon, sweating and heaving.

They drag themselves a couple feet out over the soil and collapse at the edge of the Whispering Woods. Adora rolls onto her back, catching her breath. Daylight is painfully bright after the past hour or so of darkness, but she forces her eyes to stare up at the blue sky and white clouds. In a moment of bliss, her hand finds Catra’s and squeezes it.

“There you are!”

They both jolt upright at the shout from within the trees. Oh, no.

Branches rustle and a familiar face barrels out of the bushes. Scorpia runs at them with so much concentrated force that Adora reflexively braces herself for a tackle, fully expecting to be slammed to the dirt. That’s not what happens.

Instead, she swoops Catra off the ground and spins her around, hugging tight. “Iwasfreakingout, youhavenoidea!”

“Agh!” Catra tries to squirm out of the hug, but Scorpia seems way too adept at the art of hanging on.

“I followed your tracker and the location was in the middle of the Torpid Tar Pit!” She does set Catra back down, but only so she can use her free hand to point at Adora. “I thought this one threw you in!”

“She sorta did.”

“You wear a tracker?” Adora laughs. “What’s next, a collar?”

“Shut up, Adora.”

“Yeah, Adora,” Scorpia helpfully supplies. “The Horde search team I called will be here any minute now.”

Adora doesn’t wait for Catra’s permission to go this time. She hisses, “Fuck,” beneath her breath and darts into the trees without looking back. Scorpia lunges after her, but Catra’s arm across her chest stops her.

“She’s getting away. Again.”

“Just leave it. Don’t tell anyone she was here.”

“But—” She starts, then falters.

“Scorpia. I need you not to tell anyone she got away, so that I won’t have trouble.”

She’s already nodding before Catra finishes the sentence. “Well, yeah.”

“Cool.” Catra turns her face to stare at a nearby thornbush.

Scorpia’s been pretty good at keeping her mouth shut about momentary lapses in judgment when it comes to Adora. She’s lucky for that.

“Oh, wildcat,” Scorpia sighs, “you keep falling into the same old velvet ditches left and right.”

Catra’s sharp eyes snap to her. “Velvet what did you say?”

“A velvet ditch,” she repeats. “You know, a low place you fall into and don’t try to climb out of. 'Cause you’re so comfortable there. It’s what my mom calls the Fright Zone.”

“I don’t fall into anything—Why’d you say ditches? Like I have more than one?”

“I think you do. But that’s okay. I’ll lend you a hand when you’re ready to climb out again. And I’ll help wash that tar off your arms.” With a spark of excitement in her eyes she adds, “It’ll probably take a while.”

Another thing Catra’s lucky for, is that Scorpia tells her the truth.