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Dawn broke over Bright Moon the way it did everyday.
As the sun rose to hang above the horizon, hues of pink and blue and gold crept their way across the kingdom like a pastel dreamscape. The castle glowed in the hazy morning light, which filled the open windows and made the dangling crystal orbs shine. In the forests and across the fields, birds began to sing, their song still soft at such an early hour.
In their rooms, the members of the Rebellion slept on. Peaceful.
For weeks following Horde Prime's defeat, Etheria hadn't rested. There were homes to be rebuilt and celebrations to be had. The Princesses, along with their friends, had been invited to what seemed like every gathering on the planet, and they had attended as many as they could. They drank and dined with kings and queens, farmers and blacksmiths, healers and crafters. They had helped to build town halls and clear roads, and organised trade routes and treaties. It had been exhilarating and exhausting, but finally, finally , the giddy manic aftermath of their victory had, slowly, begun to settle.
Catra sighed, letting her body stretch out. The warmth and light of the slowly rising sun seeped into Adora's room, bathing both of their bodies in golden heat. Beside her, Adora slept on. For a moment, Catra just watched her - the slow, measured rise and fall of her chest, the fluttering of her hair against the pillow in the cool morning breeze, the way she was curved in her sleep, her body making a space for Catra without a conscious thought. Her dark eyelashes fanned across the tops of her cheeks. Catra had every detail of Adora memorised.
Slowly, and taking great pains not to wake Adora, Catra sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her forehead on her knees. Catra had always been a fitful sleeper, never able to snatch more than a few hours of broken rest a night; a side-effect of the stress and instability of life in the Horde. In the Fright Zone, this was an asset: rarely sleeping meant she was almost always awake and ready for action, bright and alert where others were bleary-eyed and slow from being roused. But here, in Bright Moon, in the after of everything, it was useless, and unwanted. The soft skin under Catra's eyes was becoming bruised with lack of sleep. Unlike in the Fright Zone, her insomnia here wasn't caused by a steady flow of hyperactive, battle-ready energy coursing through her body.
Here, it was the memories. Here, it was the nightmares.
What little sleep she could get was marred. Her dreams showed no mercy, and almost every night she was engulfed in a full-blown, sensory nightmare of pain. She wailed with the heartache of being abandoned, of being left behind and tossed aside. Her mind was overwhelmed with the feral, moorless feeling she had carried for months, desperately trying to gain leverage with Hordak, all the while knowing that control - over herself, over the Horde - was slipping through her bruised and bloodied fingertips. Her body ached with the pressure of being trapped in the glowing, electric orb of Hordak's power, the sensation of her throat tightening, the stars that ran across her vision as she helplessly, desperately tried to suck air that wasn't there into her empty, screaming lungs. Hundreds of clone hands grabbing at her, holding her down and stripping her, pulling and cutting at her hair and piercing her neck, screaming at herself from the inside as her possessed and controlled body tried to throw itself over the edge of Horde Prime's platform - permanently scarring Adora for trying to save her life ...
Over and over again, like a broken hologram. Most nights, her mournful terror would wrench her out of her sleep, and she would try to calm her panicked breathing and racing heart, gulping down air so fast she made herself dizzy. She was never able to fall asleep again, after those dreams. She just stared up, waiting for the sun to creep across the ceiling, and pressed herself against Adora. Warm. Safe.
On the worst nights, Catra wouldn't sleep at all. She had become an expert in replaying, in excruciating, technicolour detail, every decision, every action she had ever taken in the Horde. It never stopped. Every time she closed her eyes, it all came rushing back - every order, every attack she had orchestrated, every cadet she had screamed at, every civilian whose home she had destroyed.
Even here, in the glow of dawn, Catra’s mind wouldn’t quiet. The silence of the castle when everyone was sleeping was oppressive, the lack of sound making her feel unmoored, like her head was full of cotton wool. In the Fright Zone, there was always noise - machines whirring, people coming and going for their shifts, the snoring of her bunkmates. In Bright Moon, it was silent. Still. Others had spoken about the peace of Bright Moon. To Catra, all it meant was that she was stuck in her own head, with nothing to distract her from her own thoughts.
The guilt she felt for everything she had done was like nothing she had ever experienced. It clung to her, a voiceless, wordless specter in the corners of every interaction she had. In the aftermath of the battle, Catra had apologised - to the Princesses, to the Rebellion, the words tumbling uneasily but purposefully from her lips. And the Rebels had accepted them. They were gracious and forgiving, and had given her a seat at every table. Perfuma taught her how to meditate. Frosta asked Catra to teach her boxing. Her name was on every invitation to Salineas for seagrass shakes. They were kind, and they cared about her, and she -
She didn’t deserve any of it.
Catra shoved her hand over her mouth before a sob could escape, screwing her eyes up tight against the tears that pricked at her eyes. The Rebellion had done everything they could to stop the destruction of Etheria, and Catra had done everything she could to make it happen. Those actions could never be undone.
She looked down at Adora, still sleeping peacefully. Adora had never stopped believing that there was good in Catra. At every turn, she had pleaded and begged her to join the Rebellion, to be on the right side for once, but Catra had been selfish. She wanted Adora to herself, and when that didn't happen, she was too consumed by her pain and heartbreak to do anything but hit Adora where it hurt - her friends, her cause, the entire planet . Catra let her eyes run over Adora's bare skin, her face flushed with shame. Even Adora's body carried stories of Catra's rage. Her back was permanently scarred with deep gouges, her face and arms and thigh smudged with claw marks.
She reached out and, with one blunted finger, traced the scar along Adora's side where she had been struck by the monster that ended Shadow Weaver's life. It was still pink, the healing not yet finished. Adora was so brave. Braver than Catra had ever been.
“Hey, you.”
Catra snatched her hand back guiltily. She looked up into Adora’s face, where her big blue eyes blinked sleepily at her, a small smile across her lips. Catra would never get sick of seeing her like this.
“Hey, Adora.”
Adora tangled their fingers together and tugged lightly, pulling Catra down to lay beside her. She tucked an errant lock of hair behind Catra’s ear, and rubbed her thumb gently under Catra’s eye. “Rough night?” she asked, her voice soft. “You’ve been crying.”
Catra closed her eyes and nodded. It was hard, sometimes, to talk about how she felt. It was something she was working on, just like her anger. Adora knew about the nightmares, knew about the spiralling, anxious thoughts and her desperate, consuming guilt. Catra had pulled the words out of herself, like aching teeth, and presented them, bloody and tearstained and awful, for Adora to rifle through. Unfairly, for one panicked, terrified moment, Catra braced herself for Adora to walk out. Instead, she found herself scooped into Adora’s lap, her arms holding Catra close. I love you , she had said. We’ll move forward together .
“I love you,” Adora whispered, drawing Catra back out of her memories. Catra would never, ever tire of hearing Adora say that. “I love you. You’re my best friend, and you’re a good person.” Adora ran her fingers through Catra’s hair. “I forgive you. The Rebels forgive you, and you’re safe here. I hope you let yourself feel that.”
Catra curled in closer, pressing herself against the length of Adora’s body. Safe . “I do,” she said, mumbling her words into Adora’s skin. “It’s just… sometimes…”. Catra broke off, feeling overwhelmed. “Sometimes, I forget that, and remember everything else.”
Sword-calloused fingers tucked under Catra’s chin, tipping her face up to look Adora in the eye. “I’ll remind you,” Adora said. “I’ll remind you every day for the rest of our lives.” She held Catra’s face in her hands and leaned in, brushing their lips together.
Catra kissed her back, pulling Adora closer. Her whole body tingled, a soft, warm sensation blossoming from her chest. Sometimes, Catra thought that her wonder for this - for kissing Adora, touching her, being loved by her - would never end. She hoped it wouldn’t. The battle to get here had been far too long and bloody for her to ever take it for granted.
Time slipped languidly away as they lay there together, resplendent in the dawn light. “I love you,” Catra whispered, breathing the words out into the space between their bodies. Adora smiled, and dipped to kiss her again.
“I love you too,” Adora said. “Sleep for a while. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Catra slept.