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"Come on, Adora, fight me!' Catra challenges.
It's a familiar refrain. They've fought each other for as long as they can remember - in the Horde and outside it - for points and for their lives.
Peace means they don't need to anymore. They don't even need to stay in shape. It won't cost them ration bars and they won't lose what they can't bear to if they don't re-etch the throws and punches in their muscle memory - resharpen their reflexes - retread the same endless patterns. That's what Glimmer tells Adora anyway.
But they've tried to stop and it didn't work. Adora couldn't sleep, got anxious - Catra got so restless that she'd run around whatever woods or halls were available for hours - angry and annoyed.
So they spar.
They made rules though. Different from the Horde's. Different from a real fight. Unspooling and tempering battle instinct and training. They tap lightly where they might break bone - land no finishing blows when they're already down. And sometimes a claw pricks gently into Adora's forehead just to mark the lapse in her defences.
And they started slow.
What they figured out is, that there's no Shadow Weaver now to reward one and disdain the other. No other cadets picking Adora's side. No anger and betrayal and pain and horror. They're just fighting - they're just challenging each other, just honing each other's skills. Like they're little kids again, but even better. Adora had always loved sparring with Catra. She was fierce, and creative, and fast, and strong and exciting. Beating Catra meant she'd really earned it. They had learned to move together their whole lives, in counterpoint. Even when they were on opposite sides, even when their fights became deadly, and Catra's claws carved deep lines in places where her face had just been - even then, their bodies knew each other, their push and pull intimately familiar.
They never want to hurt each other again. Not actually. Not really.
Adora had said that and Catra had said that.
(Glimmer and Bow point out their spatterings of bruises, but that's not what Catra and Adora meant. Thats only incidental, and accidental. And they stop and then they kiss it better.)
Half the time they meet regularly in the unofficial sparring room and half the time they start from a race, or Catra playing hide and pounce, like they're little cadets messing around in the halls, only in an infinitely better place than the Fright Zone. It's not hard to predict, restless energy easy to sense brewing beneath either of their skins. Catra might prod and push and slip out of reach before she'd make her request, half teasing, half itching for an outlet. Adora found a good old-fashioned headlock generally got her what she wanted, if she asked. That was a rule they made. Asking. It's a freedom too - this isn't training, and it isn't war. They can exist in the world the way they want, wherever they want. (Sometimes that thought makes Adora feel lightheaded.) It feels a bit like dancing, it is a bit like dancing, but it catches on something in them that was instilled so deep they can't erase it. But they don't want to. It was them that spent their lives working for their skills and strength - it was them that used them for their own purposes. Eventually, it brought them each other.
It isn't a rule, but sparring has them end up making out half the time anyway. It just happens, as they start slow and carefully match each other in power, ramp up and up and up until their movements are perfectly in sync, both thoughtless and absolutely focused. It's like they need an outlet from their outlet by the end of it. Glimmer alternates between teasing them for it and getting annoyed when she comes across them in some random place (on-ship or on-planet) that's served as a battle arena.
But today, something's wrong.
Adora had suggested a walk together through the grass and woodlands in which they've landed to take a break - to enjoy both a whole new ecosystem and the warm weather on the summer-side of the planet. She figured it would make for a great opportunity to explore together.
But something's wrong. Catra is restless, but there's nothing playful about it. She stalks amongst the trees as though she's hunting something, or hiding from something. She barely responds to Adora's attempts at conversation or comments on the local flora. She doesn't even complain about Adora delaying them to update her start on a very rough map of the area. She doesn't poke or tease or provoke.
The challenge pretty much comes out of nowhere. Even her tone's completely off. Still, Adora doesn't get it until Catra explodes towards her at her quizzical affirmative - no warming up.
Before she knows it, she's moving back, blocking, dodging, defensive. A horrible feeling creeps up on her - memories rising like bile.
"Catra," she pants, ducking a kick to the face.
"Fight me, Adora," Catra says as Adora manages to disengage, and there's anger there, and also something desperate. Adora hesitates, tries to search her eyes, but Catra grits her sharp teeth.
"Well?!" Catra demands.
She needs this. That's what Adora realises. It's a bad idea to keep going, not to give the stop signal, call it off. But Catra needs this.
When they were younger Adora sometimes deliberately let Catra lash out at her, just to let her let off steam - after Shadow Weaver - had done something really awful. They always hugged it out after, after lights out, when Catra couldn't resist sneaking her way into her bed.
Adora nods slowly at Catra.
Catra closes the distance again, letting a punch fly. Adora blocks and backs away a step before she catches herself. It leaves her open and Catra uses it to shove her to the ground, hard. She rolls into a crouch but Catra follows up immediately, aiming a kick for her sternum that knocks her prone and slightly breathless.
"I said, fight me!" Catra grinds out, backing off.
OK.
So she should have known that Catra wouldn't be satisfied with that. She gets up and slips into stance.
They exchange a flurry of blows and blocks. She can't enjoy herself, even as adrenaline sings in her veins. Worry sits bitter on the back of her tongue. Catra is quiet, utters no taunts, her feverish eyes don't meet hers. Adora keeps checking their colour.
Her punch slips past Catra's defences, cracks across her cheek.
Adora freezes, half baffled, half horrified. That never should have landed - hadn't landed for ten years
(except back when Prime had -)
But it wasn't an accident. Catra spits blood into the grass and Adora recognises a small satisfied smile.
Adora's speechless, her lungs feel like ice.
Catra straightens, moves to attack -
"Red," Adora whispers.
Catra stops.
Her face crumples in frustration and guilt.
"Catra..." Adora says, voice cracking. Catra is backing away.
Adora follows.
She's fully prepared to take her to the ground if she turns and runs - her calves tensed for the leap. But Catra stops, wraps an arm around herself, curls up around it.
It pulls her up short.
What's wrong? she wants to ask. A desperate longing to make it better raging in her chest.
Let me fix it, please. Please.
She approaches carefully - hopefully, places a hand on Catra's shoulder. Catra only curls smaller, her ears pressed flat to her head.
"Why -?" Adora starts - then cuts herself off when Catra flinches. Why did you do that?!
Adora so badly wants her to be happy. She wants to gather her into her arms and make her own body a shield, she wants to kiss her until she's never in pain again, she wants to give her a spot in the sun in which she can sit forever, purring and content, she wants she wants she wants
"What do you want, Catra?" she says slowly. And she thinks she's chosen the right words.
Catra's shoulders tense, and there is a breathless moment.
"Ugh, this is so fucking stupid," she says, not just dismissive but really really angry.
"What -"
"I'm sorry, alright!" Her tail lashes wildly, but she's not looked at Adora yet.
"What for?" Adora says, and at least that gets her a furious glare.
"For ruining this! For always ruining everything!" She shouts but she doesn't uncurl, as though caging her anger inside her body by sheer force, growing denser and denser under the pressure, like a collapsing star.
(Entrapta's told Adora about them.)
Adora's hands have grabbed onto Catra's shoulders.
"You haven't! You haven't ruined this -!"
Catra gives a short and dark laugh.
Catra's cheek is starting to swell. Even through the fine layer of fur on her face it's obvious. It unexpectedly feels like a blow to Adora's heart, a dull pain pushing out towards her throat. She did that. If she'd just noticed something was wrong sooner, if she'd stopped when she had noticed -
Catra brings up a hand and gently wipes a tear from Adora's cheek. She holds it up as though to show Adora.
"I wanted you to hurt me," she says.
Adora knew that - but the words feel overwhelming for a second, like the disorienting moment after taking a surprise hit.
She can't help herself. She slips her arms around Catra slowly. When Catra doesn't squirm away she allows herself a hard squeeze. Relief floods her.
"I've done," Catra says in a voice so pained and vulnerable that Adora feels like she's going to explode, "so much horrible shit to you, to everybody - and I'm still doing it."
"That's not -"
"I just made you CRY!"
It's more like a ragged shout than anything else. Adora shuts up. Catra breathes out something between a sob and a chuckle into her shoulder.
"I feel bad so naturally I make everything worse - make everybody else feel bad too!" Catra is actually shaking. "You," she adds, softer.
"None of us would even be alive without you," Adora says quietly, vehemently, "I definitely wouldn't be."
Catra only shudders.
Adora thinks furiously.
"What would Perfuma say about this?"
Catra stays quiet for a moment.
"Be forgiving," she grinds out.
Adora pulls back, touches their foreheads together.
"Everybody's forgiven you," Adora says, "I've forgiven you, for all of it." Catra must know that. "There's no reason not to forgive yourself."
She steps back out of the gentle embrace of Adora's hands on her face. Adora's stomach plummets like a rock.
There's a film of unshed tears over Catra's eyes.
"Yeah," Catra says, "I know I'm just being stupid."
"That's not what - !"
When Catra turns, Adora grabs her wrist, but Catra rips herself free.
"Don't - !" Catra snaps - then sighs.
"Don't wait up for me, ok?"
Then she disappears, because Melog apparently was around. Catra hasn't fled like that in - since that first time.
Adora sinks down to the ground and onto her back, staring up, seeing nothing, panic and failure making a cocktail somewhere around her heart. She's messed it up. Really messed it up. Catra's coming back though - right? And then they can talk about it and then maybe - maybe Adora can find the right words...
How long has Catra been feeling like this? How often? Has Adora simply never noticed? Is Adora completely incapable of recognising Catra's genuine happiness?
That's when Melog reappears over her, lets out a mournful mraow, and gently nuzzles her face. She wraps her arms around its starred, viscuous mane, hides her eyes in its neck. Catra's sent Melog back, when she probably needs its comfort more than Adora.
No.
She knows Catra's smiles and her laughter and her purrs and her joy. They're real.
Catra has bad days. They both have them. It isn't anything new. But this...
Catra has always hated pain. Punishment made her cry when they were young and complain extensively when they were older. It wasn't that she couldn't take it - it's just that she couldn't - wouldn't stop fighting it. She...hadn't been like Adora, who found a low-voltage baton shock or a set of painful raps on her palm or calves or shoulder a fair enough trade for the relief of having her slate wiped clean.
But the Horde hadn't ever been very fair to Catra. Shadow Weaver hadn't been.
Adora feels a little sick when she remembers Catra's swollen cheek.
Is that what Catra really wants? Her slate wiped clean? It shouldn't be necessary. Catra has done her penance a hundred times over. Adora grits her teeth at the memory of her broken, dying body, swallows down the tears in her throat. Adora thinks Bow would be horrified. He'd never think that pain should serve as penance. Perfuma wouldn't either.
They're right. But Adora remembers the blessed simplicity of it.
Can she do that for Catra? If that's what Catra really wants from her? Would it help? If it helped, would it be worth it? She remembers the pain in Catra's voice. She hadn't even known. Catra had never shown her, and now that she had, Adora had made it seem like she didn't take it seriously. Had Catra even shared this with Perfuma?
Adora hugs Melog even closer, then lets go and rolls onto her feet. She breathes in and out deeply.
"Please go find Catra," she asks Melog, "please, make sure she's...ok."
She realises that she's shaken. She'd never even suspected that Catra could feel driven to this. What else has she never suspected? What is Catra capable of on days like these? And now she's chased Catra away.
Melog gives her a reassuring headbutt on her arm. She strokes it once down its back. Then it takes off, disappearing as it lopes into the woods.
It would be impossible to follow it to Catra.
She turns and makes her way back to the ship.
...
She doesn't stay up - just like Catra requested. But she does stay awake. She can't help that. And even if she could she wouldn't.
She's rewarded hours later with the soft click clack of claws on the floor and a slight dip in the mattress at the end of the bed. A wave of relief washes over her.
She waits for Catra to crawl up and into her arms, where she belongs, but Catra curls up at her feet.
Adora can't - just can't - abide that. Maybe that's selfish. Maybe that's good? Maybe that's exactly the kind of thing that saved the universe.
"Catra?" she says softly, then sits up when she's ignored.
She shuffles closer to the dark lump on the covers that is Catra and watches her breathe deeply. Obviously pretending to sleep. Adora knows what she sounds like when it's real.
She has an idea.
Picking up a cat that doesn't want to be picked up is generally a dangerous endeavour with a high likelihood of devolving into a squirmy if not very sharp mess.
But Catra - is pretending to sleep.
Adora slides her arms under the tangle of Catra's limbs (Adora has always been amazed by how Catra can curl into such a small ball) and lifts with all the strength she has built into her abdominal muscles over the years of her life. And maybe a little strength borrowed from She-Ra. Catra is way heavier than she looks.
She gently puts her down next to her at the head of the bed - and draws the cover over them both, letting a hand linger on her hip.
Catra keeps her eyes closed.
Adora snorts softly.
"What if I wanted to stay down there, dummy?" Catra says, but there's no bite to it. Her eyes remain closed.
"You didn't," Adora replies.
Catra's lips quirk up. "And why's that?"
"Because then I couldn't kiss you."
Adora tips forward and puts her lips on the ridge above her left eye, and on the corner of her mouth and then very very softly on her bruised cheek.
Catra sighs, her eyes flickering open, blue and gold reflecting all the ambient light in the room.
"I'm sorry, Adora."
"You said that once already, today," Adora teases very gently.
"Well, practice makes perfect," Catra says in a fake upbeat voice that makes clear she's parodying Perfuma. It's clearly fond though.
"I'm sorry too," Adora says, "for not noticing, and not stopping, and for not -
"Please, shut up," Catra says, "I shouldn't have made you punch me."
Well.
"I guess it went against the spirit of the rules."
It's Catra's turn to snort.
"You're an idiot."
"I know," Adora says.
Catra looks at her for a second.
"Sometimes I'm not sure you do."
It's not Catra trying to be mean. Adora reaches out for her hand, threads their fingers together.
"I know that I didn't get it right."
Catra groans in what decidedly sounds like frustration and mashes her face into the mattress.
"You don't always have to be perfect, Adora! I'm the one who fucked up here!"
Adora knows she doesnt have to be perfect, thank you very much. But she will agree to disagree on Catra being the only one in the room who messed up today. She hesitates for one second - but she's got to know for certain.
"This wasn't the first time, was it? Feeling this way?"
Catra mumbles an affirmative.
"Does Perfuma know?"
Catra scoffs.
"Why hide it?"
"She'd totally freak - duh."
Adora wonders about that.
"Anyway, even if she didn't, she'd just tell me to repeat affirmations, or count all the ways I've helped people, or focus on the sound of the wind in the grass or WHATEVER-"
Catra cuts herself off.
Adora shuffles closer, arm sliding around Catra's back and knee pressing up against her curled legs. Their faces are so close that it's like they're hiding in a warm, little hollow.
Catra peeks at her. Her voice has grown small and pained.
"I do do those things, Adora, every single day. But sometimes it just doesn't work. And I feel so - so bad. And I c-cant control it - myself. And-"
She seems to choke on the words. Adora feels her tremble.
"Why hide it from me?" Adora whispers.
Something in Catra's expression shutters. She makes a dark and incredulous sound.
"Yeah, because that would have gone over well," she says, "Hey Adora, could you just - slap the shit out of me for a bit until I feel better? Now that's what I call healthy coping!"
Catra's being flippant but Adora recognises something underneath it.
Shame.
Adora did that - or at least, she made it worse.
She takes a controlled breath.
"I could do it you know," Adora says, her voice barely shakes, "i - if you really want me to." Shit. She grits her teeth.
Catra's ears flick straight up.
"Really?" she says, and there's a bite to it now. "You'd be just fine with that?"
Adora recoils from the implication. "No! I mean, I don't. I don't want to hurt you. I don't ever -"
"Then why offer to?" Catra cuts her off, her voice steel. The tips of her claws prick the back of Adora's hand.
"Because...if you want that. If it will help." She gets it right? She's trying to say, anything. Anything to make Catra feel better.
"That's stupid."
How is that -?
"I'm not forcing you to - we just talked about how I shouldn't have done that to you Adora!"
Catra slips her hand from Adora's and turns her back.
Adora sighs.
Why is she so bad at getting it right? Oh yeah - because she's not Bow.
She softly presses her forehead to the spot between Catra's shoulder blades. Catra doesn't move away from the touch.
Adora won't give up.
"Catra... I love you," she says, "And I want you to be happy and feel good because you really, really deserve it and I don't want you to be in pain again, ever again. Even though I guess that's unrealistic. But nothing - nothing is as horrible as you feeling this bad and me being completely useless. And I have been, apparently. Because I didn't even know! So...I guess.. please...just tell me, next time and - and we'll figure something out. Whatever works - I mean - whatever you want - or - whatever's healthy coping - I just mean - I get it - ok? I really, really get it."
Catra is motionless for a few very long moments. Then her tail curls slowly around Adora's ankle.
"Shadow Weaver would have loved this, right?" Catra says, tone ironic, "Seems I've finally learned to appreciate what this kind of shit can do for my mentality."
That makes Adora feel a little breathless with horror.
Catra's hand finds hers again, and squeezes hard.
"What if that's what this is, Adora? She's finally got to me. They've all finally got to me."
Shadow Weaver. Hordak. Prime. Every single Horde soldier and sergeant that thought Catra should be taught a lesson.
Adora doesn't know what to say.
She inches closer and slips her arm around Catra. Catra shifts back into her chest and Adora swears for the hundredth time that she will never take the privilege of holding Catra for granted, ever again. She buries her nose in the scruff at Catra's neck, breathes deep.
"I think..." Adora says, only slightly muffled, "...that you've never believed it, what they said, that you deserved to be hurt, or that it was necessary, and -" there's a lump in her throat, "you're right."
Its quiet for a moment.
Then Catra chuckles softly - and it sounds tired, and teasing, but real. "I think you had a breakthrough there."
"What?"
Catra turns around in her arms, and her eyes are sharp despite the wet fur under her eyes.
"It's never necessary to let somebody hurt you, dummy."
For some reason, Adora's cheeks grow hot and uncomfortable.
"I know that!" she protests.
Catra ignores her. "No matter the reason, even if you think it's a good reason."
Now Adora feels like she'd really like to escape - but she can't because Catra's hand has cupped her face. And also because she doesn't have a magically bonded animal companion who can make her invisible. Very unfair. Catra scrapes her scalp very gently with her claws.
"Not by or for anyone, not by me and not for me."
"I know that, Catra!" Adora says, exasperated and embarrassed and feeling weird.
"Do you?" Catra says, and Adora really wishes right now in this moment that Catra'd spend less time talking with Perfuma.
"I mean! I know the Horde put a lot of stuff in my head and then - then Light Hope and - I guess I'm not super good about it - but that doesn't mean I can't - I can't do stuff for you!"
Her throat feels kind of tight, and her chest kind of heavy and Catra is just looking at her and UGH.
"Why didn't you give the stop signal?"
"I said I was sorry about that -"
"Why, Adora?"
She turns onto her back and breathes. Why does she feel so ashamed?
"I just thought you needed...to let something out," she mumbles.
"At you?"
"...Yeah."
Catra rolls onto her hands, bonks their foreheads together.
"I guess I'm not the only one who went against the spirit of the rules."
"Yeah...I - I guess."
"Adora..."
It doesn't sound like she's disappointed, she sounds really, really...warm.
Adora swallows and meets Catra's eyes.
"Don't you ever just wanna only do what feels good?"
Adora lifts a surprised brow, then quite inadvertently a small smirk starts pulling on the corner of her mouth.
Catra grins, and her fangs show.
"I mean it - you should try it."
Adora's hands have somehow found their way to Catra's hips.
"Well...maybe I will."
"Promise?" Catra says.
Adora blinks.
"I..."
What does Catra mean exactly? Only do what feels good - always? How is that even possible? Life isn't like that.
She's taking too long - hesitating. Catra sighs.
"I just mean, if something feels bad - whether it's something I do or something you feel like you have to do or want to do because of me - listen to that bad feeling, OK?"
Catra is rarely guileless, but her eyes now are pure entreaty.
Adora nods. She'll try, she's trying.
"I promise."
Catra kisses her.
Thoughts pretty much go out the window from there.