Chapter Text
Adora’s exhausted.
Her train left at 6am this morning, meaning she had to be ready to go at 5:15, because Manhattan traffic is ridiculous.
And the shuttle taking her to the station stopped, like, ten times to pick up other people, and every single person took so incredibly long to get their luggage loaded into the van, so not only was Adora tired, she was also stressed out of her mind.
But she made it.
Twenty minutes in, settled in a slightly smelly but cushioned seat, sunglasses on, eyes glued to the window, watching the world go by.
It’s all slightly melodramatic, but Glimmer always says harnessing your own personal melodrama is beneficial if you’re harnessing it for your art.
Glimmer’s a violinist, so that works directly for her. Her emotion bleeds into her music, it’s palpable, you can sense it when she plays.
That’s why she’s so good.
Her mom is the current president of Juilliard, so her acceptance was messy (people still accuse her of nepotism), but her talent is undeniable.
Adora’s still struggling with that. Talent .
It’s been three years since she was accepted into Juilliard as Angella’s prodigy, the dancer who will change the industry , they called her, and despite, well, everything , undeniable, raw talent is something she’s still searching for.
Glimmer and Bow call her crazy. Everyone calls her crazy. How could you even think that? Bow once yelled at her before a showcase. He also majors in dance, and although Adora would be the first to say he is one of the best dancers she’s ever seen, he’s the first to quickly refute it, which just proves her point, really.
Even with all the praise, she can’t shake it. Can’t shake the feeling that she’s not good enough, she never will be.
This feeling has always gnawed at her, even back home in New Jersey, with her humble origins at Weaver’s Academy for Dance .
The only person who actually challenged her on it, who made her actually consider her place in the world, was gone.
Well, not gone.
Adora’s eyes slide to the end of the train car, gaze fixed on the last seat in the very last row, turned away from her, the person sitting in it not visible.
Adora was taking the train to San Francisco. A 3 day and ten hour journey. She had received an invitation to audition for a ballet company in San Francisco, one of the most prestigious in the country, even though she didn’t strictly practice ballet, but of course, exceptions were made for Angella’s pride and joy.
She doesn’t know why she’s going. It isn’t like she’s concerned about her career. Angella erased any fear of job insecurity in Adora’s sophomore year, when she told her that anywhere Adora wanted to go, Angella would take her there.
So why go to San Francisco? Why refuse the plane ticket Angella bought for her? Why even audition ? She was legendary. If she wanted a place in their ballet company, San Francisco would gladly offer it.
Plagued by these questions, Adora had boarded the train, slumped into her seat, and who came running down the platform, graceful as ever, a moment later?
A ghost.
(Well, that really was melodramatic, and she couldn’t even channel that into dance.)
Catra. Who she hadn’t seen or talked to in three years.
Well, that wasn’t true. A couple months after Adora moved to New York she received a drunken voicemail from Catra basically cursing her name and threatening her. So, like, two and a half years.
(Adora had cried over that voicemail. Not that she’d ever tell anyone that, especially Catra. Because she knew all that Catra wanted when she sent that message was to hurt her. And she had succeeded. Why let her know that?)
Catra had pretended not to see her. On the train, that is. Had stiffened slightly, but brushed by, falling into the seat farthest away from Adora.
Adora wasn’t smart or suave enough to pretend to not see Catra though, and had made quite a spectacle by choking on her coffee, launching into a coughing fit, and banging her elbow against a passing man’s luggage, and then swearing heartily about it.
So, like, perfect.
Maybe Catra was on this train for the same reason as Adora, on her way to audition for this huge ballet company. It’d make sense, because Catra actually was a ballet dancer.
Then again, Adora didn’t know how many dancers from small colleges in New Jersey were handpicked to audition for the San Francisco Ballet Company.
She groaned inwardly. Jesus, had she always been this snooty?
No. Catra wouldn’t have allowed it.
This was New York’s effect on her, Juilliard’s effect on her, years of being called the best and extraordinary without any dispute.
Adora’s eyes drift back to Catra.
+
Fucking Adora just has to be on this train, doesn’t she. She just has to be going to San Francisco. Because that’s obviously where she’s going. Where else? Kansas ?
No, she’s going to San Francisco to take away the one chance Catra has to get away from New Jersey, away from Shadow Weaver.
They’re going to hear Adora and that’ll be it, Adora won’t even have to audition. Meanwhile, Catra will work her fucking ass off, deliver a mesmerizing performance, and get rejected.
Adora couldn’t even fathom the amount of work that went into getting this invitation. Months and months of driving into the city, hanging around in the back of theaters and rehearsal spaces, one eye carefully trained on the tall man with a SF Ballet pin on his backpack. Waiting for a moment where she could truly shine.
She nearly cried with relief when he approached her, asking where she was studying.
Montclair State University.
New Jersey? He asked, eyebrows furrowing.
She nodded. Not committed to staying there though.
She had scribbled out her phone number and email and then ran away, spent the entire drive back to her dorms grinning.
She had even hugged Scorpia, which was different. New.
San Francisco was supposed to be it .
But now.
Adora.
Adora, with her shiny long hair and dazzling smile and dancing that looks like magic.
Catra stands abruptly, itching to move.
She’ll go to the bathroom, use the room to stretch, maybe practice a few basic moves. Just something to shove Adora out of her mind.
If that’s even possible.
+
One, two, three, four, five.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Catra runs through the ballet positions again. And again. And again. Breathing resolutely through her mouth (the bathroom smells like shit) and stretching out as far as she can without touching anything (not very far).
One, two, three, four, five. Stumble slightly as the floor underneath her lurches, quickly correct.
Five, four, three, two, one.
She lifts her chin slightly, jumps from first position to fifth, grimacing as her form crumbles.
Scorpia always tells her to relax, to make dancing fun again.
She wants to call Scorpia, tell her that dancing’s never been as fun as now, in a bathroom with shit smeared on the walls and piss on the floor.
She does a little flourish, effectively giving up, and reaches for the door handle, yanking it open.
She’ll settle back in her seat, call Scorpia or Entrapta, listen to them talk about nothing. They’ll talk her off the edge, make it okay that she’s on a train with Adora and can’t so much as stretch without touching literal shit.
She makes it halfway through the doorway before someone comes wheeling around the corner, slamming into her, causing her to reel back and smack her head against the wall.
“Oh my god, are you okay?”
Catra’s head snaps up, rapidly takes in blue eyes blonde hair pink lips.
“Figures,” Catra mutters, straightening. Because, of course, Adora’s already shoved her way into her life, twenty minutes into the 3 day train ride.
Adora has the gall to look hurt.
“What?”
Catra’s scowl deepens, the back of her head starts pounding.
“Christ, Adora, can you just let me through?”
Adora finally starts glaring, the innocent act disappearing as her eyebrows curve down.
“Move, Adora,” Catra says, muscles tensing and untensing, foot tapping on the floor, slowly, rhythmically, like the ticking of a clock.
“I just want to know if you’re okay,” Adora says firmly, nostrils flaring.
Catra forces herself to smile.
“Peachy,” she says.
She pushes past Adora and walks back to her seat.
+
“Are you going to stop anywhere?”
Adora sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “The only stop is in the middle of nowhere, Kansas.”
“So… no?”
“I’m showering on the train.”
“Ew.”
Adora can picture Bow’s nose wrinkling, the quick glance he’ll throw Glimmer, who will be sitting right next to him, like always.
“But San Francisco! That sounds fun!” Glimmer chimes in, voice so high Adora knows she thinks the opposite.
Adora sighs again. “I might not move to San Francisco, Glimmer.”
Not, I might not get in, or, they might not even tolerate my audition, but I might not do it.
Adora grips her phone a little tighter, eyebrows furrowing.
“Listen, we can’t control you, Adora,” Bow says. “But moving to Paris all together after graduation would be--”
“It would be so much fun, Adora!” Glimmer interjects, laughing slightly. “Could you imagine?”
“Yeah, I can imagine,” Adora mutters, forcing a smile, even though they can’t see her.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to go to Paris, it’s just that… well, no, that’s exactly it. She doesn’t want to go to Paris. She doesn’t speak French, doesn’t know anything about the culture, and she’s actually really happy in New York. She has a nice dorm, a comfortable routine. Even the possibility of having to move to San Francisco makes her anxious.
Paris seems so far away, so unnecessary.
“Adora…” Bow says in his warning tone. “We aren’t going to force you.”
“Don’t worry about me, you guys. Okay? I’ll be back in a week. We’ll talk about it then.”
They talk for a little bit longer, just stupid gossip about what happened with this guy Glimmer can’t stand, until finally they exchange goodbyes.
Adora hangs up, slumping back in her seat.
Her gaze slides to the other side of the train, where she just barely catches Catra looking. She probably should be smiling, smug, satisfied with the knowledge that Catra felt the need to eavesdrop, but all she does is turn back to her window.
She remembers a time when Catra knew everything about her. When she lived and breathed Catra, and Catra lived and breathed her.
Never apart, never separated. People would make jokes about it, constantly, about how they were joined at the hip, how something was wrong if one of them were alone.
And then very abruptly Adora was alone all the time.
Very abruptly she was alone, in a strange city, in a strange school, without even a phone call from Catra, or even a goddamn text message.
Catra was hurt, sure. Everyone knew that, everyone understood her pain. The pain of being left behind.
But Adora was hurt too.
No one considered that. The pain of having to leave.
Adora exhales slowly, leaning back, eyes closing.
3 days. Ten hours. That’s it.
+
(Before it gets complicated.)
“ Juilliard ? New York ? Are you high?”
Catra scowls, flipping Lonnie off.
“Catra and I sent our applications in yesterday,” Adora proudly announces, smiling widely. “Two weeks before the deadline.”
Lonnie rolls her eyes, but only Catra sees. Adora continues walking, oblivious, hiking her backpack further up on her shoulder.
“Where are you applying, Lonnie?” Catra asks pointedly, enough of an edge to her voice that Adora slows slightly, eyes widening, pulled out of her perfect, innocent bubble.
Lonnie cocks her head, eyebrows furrowing. “I applied basically everywhere. Montclair State, CNJ, Kean, Amherst, NYU, Northeastern… and a couple of smaller safety schools in Vermont.”
Catra’s nostrils flare, annoyed at Lonnie’s imperviousness to her jabs.
“What if you don’t get into Juilliard?” Lonnie asks, snapping her gum. “They’re elite over there, you know.”
Adora shrugs. “I don’t really have a backup.” She stops abruptly, turning to Catra and Lonnie. “I should though, right?”
Lonnie snorts, and even though it’s starting to rain and Catra still has a mile to go until she gets to the house, she can’t help but smile too.
“I applied to Montclair State too,” Catra says airily, specifically leaving out the part where she applied to every single dance school in New York, even though she can’t afford any of them without a full scholarship.
Juilliard’s scholarship program is the only one where she could actually live in New York, so, really, it’s her only option. Other than Montclair State, and that has its own issues. Namely, it’s still in New Jersey.
“Jesus, where should I apply?” Adora asks, and Lonnie laughs again.
“Somewhere where you can do your dancing ,” Lonnie answers, flinging herself into a twirl as if to illustrate her point. It’s messy and unbalanced, and the weight of her backpack quickly has her careening towards the ground.
Adora yelps, lunging towards her, but isn’t fast enough, and Lonnie lands in a huge puddle.
It’s the first time Catra’s laughed in a while, well and truly, with tears running down her face and her stomach hurting.
Lonnie starts cursing at her, accepting Adora’s help up and subsequently launching herself at Catra.
Catra runs.
The rain starts to pick up, hitting her like a thousand tiny pinpricks, soaking through her backpack and hair, but she continues running, Lonnie hot on her heels and Adora behind Lonnie, yelling for them to calm down but also grinning.
+
Adora’s talking so fucking loud, on the phone with her very best friend, smiling tiredly and running her fingers through her hair.
Catra abruptly turns away when Adora looks over, clenching her jaw.
She now knows that Adora’s definitely going to San Francisco. Definitely going to audition for the same spot Catra is.
It’s so fucking infuriating.
She pulls out her phone, starts typing rapidly, messily, emotionally.
The first time she ranted about Adora to Entrapta and Scorpia she was ridiculously drunk, and Entrapta, sober, had simply replied, Jesus.
It was a common occurrence freshman year, but as Catra started to begrudgingly move on, vicious rants about Adora started to fade away, replaced by just a simple scowl when someone brought her up, or a clenched jaw when someone fawned over her.
But all that work , all that growth , well, that was absolutely out the window now. Because Adora was doing what she did best, taking something away from Catra, again .
you’ll never guess who’s on this fucking train w me
entr4pta
is this an actual guessing game or was that a
rhetorical question ?
go ahead and guess
lobster
ooh, is it a celebrity?
entr4pta
is it a singer, actor, both ? Have I seen them
in something ?
you guys suck at guessing. it’s Adora
lobster
gaspppp!!! are you going to talk to her???
entr4pta
Do you think she’s going to audition for the
place too ?
why the fuck would I talk to her?
and, yeah, she’s auditioning for ‘the place’ too.
I heard her talking on the phone to someone abt it.
lobster
…
what
l obster
Are you going to… hurt her?
jesus scorpia
lobster
It’s a fair question! All I remember about Adora is
that freshman yr you made a dartboard of her face.
lmao i forgot about that.
where do u think that ended up?
entr4pta
Scorpia threw it away.
bitch!!!
lobster
Entrapta! I swore you to secrecy!
entr4pta
It was time the truth came out anyway.
well, it doesn’t matter. when I’m getting
back we’re making a new one. she’s totally
going to take the audition spot from me.
entr4pta
You really think so ?
lobster
No Catra! You can’t think that way!!
You’re so talented!! Don’t give up!!
entr4pta
Scorpia’s right. I disagree with her
use of exclamation points, but you’ve
really come into your own as a dancer.
You most definitely have a chance of beating
out Adora.
thx guys. means a lot.
lobster
text us whenever you’re thinking violent thoughts
you rlly think I’m going to beat up Adora?
entr4pta
we know you well. It’s not out of the realm
of possibility.
stats for me snapping and going
all fight-club on adora’s ass?
entr4pta
68%.
good to know. love u guys
lobster
awwwwwwwwwww
Catra turns off her phone, stuffing it back in her bag. She feels much calmer admittedly, even though no actual ranting took place. Entrapta and Scorpia have that effect on her. They’ve had no prior contact with Adora, so they make perfect recipients for her Adora-related emotions. Catra can say anything she wants, lies or not, and they don’t dispute it.
Is it ethical? No. But it keeps Catra from going insane.
She sweeps her hair back, tying it up, and reaches for the book that Scorpia gave her before she left.
You’ll love it, I promise.
Despite the fact that she doesn’t read books, unless it’s required reading for school, Scorpia had been begging her to give it a try for months, and well, now she really has no excuse.
The first page is already boring her.
The second page is boring.
The third page is boring.
The fourth page is boring
The fifth page is-- ooh, wait, someone died.
She flips to the sixth, eyebrows shooting up. She always loves when big, capitalist, bureaucratic types die in books. It’s like, haha, your money can’t protect you now.
She’s deep into the tenth page when someone taps on her shoulder.
She flips the book closed over her finger, holding her place, and tilts her head up.
The yeah? she planned to answer with gets stuck in her throat when she sees Adora standing next to her seat, face beet-red.
“What?” Catra forces out, voice flat.
Adora clears her throat loudly, turning away slightly. “Um, I’m-- I’m really sorry to bother you, but do you-- do you have a phone charger I can use?”
Catra blinks.
“A phone charger ?”
Adora nods, face reddening even more.
Catra really wants to say no, to laugh and turn away. God, how good would it feel to pick up her phone charger, say you need this?, and stash it under her seat, out of Adora’s reach.
But she remembers Scorpia’s text, are you going to hurt her?, and deep down she knows that she hadn’t meant physically, like Catra had assumed at first glance. She meant emotionally, like if she asks for help will you give it to her, or will you just mock her and turn away? And it had been three years anyway, and Shadow Weaver always used to say how ridiculously immature Catra was--
Whatever. Let’s not think about that.
“I only have an Apple charger,” Catra says, and though her voice is wavering and her palms have started sweating, she feels a glimmer of pride for managing it.
Adora blinks, mouth falling open, like she’s eternally surprised at Catra’s small act of decency. “No, no, that works.”
Catra nods and passes the charger over, trying not to recoil when their fingers brush.
Adora seems to flee, striding away quickly, and it’s only when she’s settled in her seat then Catra feels like she can breathe.
Her fingertips are burning, like she had shoved her hand in an open flame instead of just touched Adora.
She flips her book back open with shaking hands and tries to concentrate.
(She had just touched Adora for the first time in three years.)
+
The first couple of hours go smoothly, until the mortification that was asking Catra for a charger.
But it’s okay now, Adora thinks, because Catra had given her a charger and didn’t rip her a new asshole for it. Which she supposes is a low bar, but still.
(Adora will never admit to anyone the truth, that she didn’t actually need a charger, that her phone’s at 80%, that she just wanted to make sure Catra’s okay, because it really did look like she hit her head hard. She will never admit that when their fingertips brushed, Adora felt something she can’t and won’t describe, something that was akin to when they kissed for the first time. Adora will never admit that it scared the everlasting shit out of her, that she hasn’t been able to stop shaking in the hour since it happened. Adora will never say these things out loud to anyone, just as she will never say it out loud to herself.)
Now she just has to build up the courage to give it back.
+
(Before it gets complicated.)
“You’re working too hard.”
“You always say that. Even when I’m not working that hard.”
Catra huffs out a breath. “That may be true. But I’m still right. You’re working too hard.”
“Yeah, but if I can just get this last paragraph done, I don’t have to do anything over the weekend,” Adora points out, hunched over the library desktop.
Catra sighs, the sound floating out into the air. Almost every day after school they go to the city library, two blocks away from the school, and fuck around. Over the years it’s become sort of a tradition, staying until closing, but now it’s a Friday night and Catra wants to get out, go somewhere, before the rain starts in. The librarians trust the two of them enough to leave them alone in the back room with the best desktop computer, but instead of being a quiet, serene place for Catra to half ass study, now it’s just a stupid, frustrating room with idiotic white walls and an Adora who isn’t paying her enough attention.
“Come on, it’s about to rain,” Catra whines, pushing her chair over to Adora. The wheels squeak against the linoleum floor, making Adora wince and rub her head.
“Do you have to do that?”
“I can’t control the wheels, Adora,” Catra replies sharply, turning away. “Whatever. I have to go.”
“Jesus, Catra, really?”
“Yeah, really ,” Catra snaps, standing.
“I have to do this assignment! Just because you want to run around and try to pass for 21 at some club doesn’t change that!”
Catra’s mouth opens, closes. After a moment, she just clenches her jaw and grabs her bag, yanking open the door and letting it slam behind her.
She strides through the empty library, snarling as she sees the storm outside. Pitch black, torrential rain, and she has to walk home alone. Fucking wonderful.
“Catra, do you want me to call you a cab?” One of the librarians, Catra thinks it’s Nancy, calls from behind the desk.
She stops in front of the door, groaning inwardly. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. I’m just gonna wait outside if that’s okay?”
Nancy starts objecting, but Catra doesn’t listen, pushing through the doors, barely managing not to scream in frustration at the cold front that hits her.
It seems as if she’s immediately drenched, hair matted on her forehead and backpack dripping. There’s no cover anywhere to wait, so she has no choice but to wait it out, desperately hoping the cab doesn’t take too long.
A couple minutes pass, and Catra starts itching to move, foot tapping and shoulders rolling back.
“You’re gonna get sick.”
She scowls, resolutely not turning around. “Why do you care?”
“Come on, Catra. What’s going on?”
Adora steps closer to her, and it’s only then does Catra realize that Adora has an umbrella, as the rain blessedly stops sliding down her face.
“It’s just-- I’m just tired, okay?” Catra says, using her sleeve to scrub at her face, knowing she’s ruining her foundation.
Adora makes a sound in the back of her throat, like she knows she’s lying, but doesn’t say anything.
“Jesus, it’s freezing,” Adora mutters, stepping closer to Catra.
Catra presses back against her, hoping that the cold’s a good enough of an excuse to be this close.
Adora’s warm against her back, one hand delicately placed on her waist and the other holding the umbrella high up so it covers both of them, and after a moment, Catra feels a small weight on the top of her head, and realizes a bit belatedly that Adora’s resting her head on her, which shouldn’t make her stomach flip but does anyway.
“I’m tired too,” she says, in that stupid, dopey voice of hers.
Catra tries to smother her smile, even though Adora can’t see it anyway.
“It must be the rain,” she mumbles. “Did you get your essay done?”
“Yeah. Ms Jones probably won’t like the conclusion, but it’ll do.”
“At least a B,” Catra replies, referencing an old joke, something they promised each other all the way back in elementary school.
Adora laughs slightly. “At least a B.”
There’s a honk, and Catra straightens abruptly, realizing her cab has arrived. She turns, facing Adora. “Do you want to…?”
Adora shakes her head. “I don’t have any cash on me. Certainly not enough to make it all the way back to my place.”
“Come on, you can’t walk the entire way. Adora, please.”
Adora winces. “I don’t want you to have to pay for all of it.”
“I’m not some damsel that you have to protect,” Catra snaps, suddenly angry. “Get in the fucking cab.”
Adora reels back, umbrella dropping, and Catra feels the familiar damp cold cling to her again. “I never said that, Catra. Jesus, why do you always have to make it about that?”
Catra exhales sharply. “Just get in the cab. I can afford it.”
“Lonnie lives around here. I’ll call her, she can give me a ride.”
“Are you kidding? Lonnie? You’re gonna call Lonnie instead of just letting me pay for a cab?”
“What is your issue with her?”
“I don’t have an issue with Lonnie.”
Catra does have an issue with Lonnie. Mostly because Lonnie likes to touch Adora’s arms and laugh too loudly at her jokes and press too close when she thinks Catra isn’t looking. Who knows what they’ll get up to in a car, at night, alone . It makes Catra’s skin crawl just thinking about it.
“I really think you do have an issue with Lonnie. Jesus, Catra, what is it?”
Catra laughs hollowly. “Whatever. Call Lonnie for your ride. I’m gonna go.”
She wants Adora to object, she wants Adora to come with her. But of course Adora doesn’t. She’s too polite for that. She’ll probably end up walking back to her house, drenched and freezing.
Catra runs down the library steps, ducking into the cab, feeling Adora’s stare like a spotlight. She lists the address of the home she’s staying in at the moment and slams the door, not even bothering to give Adora a cursory glance as the cab shudders to life and pulls out of the parking lot.
But it’s dark and rainy, and not even the cab’s window wipers and lights can help with the appalling lack of visibility, and as Catra counts the blocks, looking out her window dramatically, the last thought in her head before the cab takes a corner too quickly and starts skidding is that she probably just should’ve said sorry.
+
It’s too quiet on the train.
Adora’s never liked the quiet, it was the one thing she and Catra always agreed on. There has to be something, something more than just the rattling of wheels on track and shifting of people in fabric seats. It can’t just be that.
When she first met Glimmer and Bow, she was ecstatic, mostly because now she had friends in New York, but also because they were never quiet. They were always moving, always talking, always doing something to snuff out silence. It was a relief for Adora. She didn’t even have to ask.
She misses them, and while she knows that they don’t have the slightest urge to go to San Francisco, she’s still slightly pissed they declined her invitation. Glimmer had held up her violin. I have to practice. Bow had gotten that upset look on his face. I really wish I could, Adora, but I’ve got too much going on around here to pack up for a week and half.
This is what being an adult is like, she tells herself. Responsibility. Solitude. But it doesn’t stop her from wishing they were here.
Then again, it would make things more complicated. She never told them about Catra. A friend back in New Jersey, she had said, seemingly uncaring. We don’t talk anymore. She didn’t tell them about the years of friendship, the accident, the kiss, the way it all exploded in the end.
She doesn’t know why she hasn’t told them, because Glimmer and Bow would be so comforting and wonderful about it. Maybe it’s because she wants to keep Catra a secret. Maybe it’s because she wants one thing, just one thing, to be for herself.
If she gives everything away to others, lets them in on every single small, excruciating detail of her life, what’s left for her?
She’s told them everything else, about bouncing around from foster home to foster home, her relationship with her old dance coach, Shadow Weaver, the shift from soccer to dance, the monumental effort it took to settle in New York firmly.
Catra’s the only thing left, the only thing she hasn’t divulged in the last three years.
Adora sighs and leans back in her chair, hands starting to shake, as they typically do when she thinks about New Jersey.
She fumbles for her earbuds, shoving them in and hitting shuffle on her phone (which is still connected to Catra’s charger).
She smiles when River by Joni Mitchell comes on, a song Bow always cries at.
She relaxes as much as she can, turning the volume up so silence is the last thing on her mind.
+
Catra’s been on this fucking train for twelve hours now. It’s actually really annoying, because she knows she has to be on this train for much, much longer, but she already wants to get off.
There’s a myriad of things wrong with it, the first being that it’s so quiet. Shouldn’t there be nauseating music pumping through old speakers or something? The second thing wrong with it is that Catra has to pee, but she’s already seen the mess that they have the audacity to call the bathroom, and she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to mentally take it. Third is that her phone’s close to dead and she doesn’t have her goddamn charger, but she really can’t blame the train for that.
Adora’s fallen asleep, one earbud in her ear and the other hanging down, draped over her shoulder, and although Catra probably could slip over and grab her charger, without waking Adora up, she doesn’t want to be accused of stealing by the other passengers and have it be a whole thing.
Jesus, that would be mortifying.
Even more mortifying than that voicemail, which, to date, is the worst thing she’s ever done.
Catra cringes.
She does not want to think about that, she resolutely, determinedly would rather think about anything else.
Her mind latches onto it.
Flashes of a broken bottle, head hurting, hands fumbling for her phone.
Her phone, at that very moment, buzzes, and she lets out a shocked yelp before she can stop herself.
Eyes turn to her, but she ignores them, scowling slightly, and checks the message from Scorpia.
lobster
when do you get dinner??
idk
soon?
lobster
hopefully!! where are you now?
somewhere flat and boring
lobster
you think everywhere’s boring.
that may be true.
but anyway
How’s it going back in nj
lobster
wonderfully, as always.
that’s it?
awfully concise of you
lobster
honestly, Catra, I think we both know you’re
on the more interesting journey.
i have no idea what you’re talking about.
lobster
...
how’s adora?
ugh I knew you were going to bring that up.
bitch.
lobster
unnecessarily aggressive!!!
my phone’s about to die
lobster
charge it?
that’s... complicated
lobster
Why can’t you charge your phone? Is
something wrong? Are you in pain? Did
your charger get stolen??
jesus scorpia no
i might have… lent adora my charger
Catra hits send, already regretting her decision to tell Scorpia.
Her phone buzzes.
lobster
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
???????????????????????
SRSLY?????
YOU TALKED TO HER???
NOT LIKE THAT
lobster
OH MY GODDD
AFTER ALL THESE YEARS
I’M NOT RESPONDING TO YOU
ANYMORE
More texts start to roll in from Scorpia, but she ignores them, slamming her phone face down on her leg. Until her phone vibrates twice, which means she received a text from Entrapta, not Scorpia.
entr4pta
I’m v surprised you talked to Adora.
Did not see that coming.
tell scorpia to keep her mouth shut!!
entr4pta
She only told me because you weren’t responding.
not an excuse
entr4pta
What are you going to do now ? *wink**wink*
now i’m not responding to you either
entr4pta
boo
Catra flicks her phone off.
“Dinner?” An attendant asks, and something inside of Catra accepts, points out what she wants on the menu, smiles, waits patiently.
Another something inside of Catra thrashes, white knuckles gripping her phone and eyes purposefully not on Adora, feeling like she’s back in the cab, the seatbelt taut against her chest and blood trickling down her forehead.
Scorpia and Entrapta are just making a big deal out of nothing. There’s no need for this overreaction.
It’s not like they fucked in the bathroom, it’s not like they shared a passionate kiss over dinner.
It’s not like Catra stood up and yanked Adora up to a roomette, their hands intertwined for the first time in years, so close their breath mingled, fingers sliding through hair and lips ghosting over skin--
Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with her?
“Can I have my meal in my room? Roomette 5?” Catra asks the attendant walking by, who simply nods. Catra jumps up, muttering gratefully, and finds the narrow staircase, climbing up until she reaches the small door with ‘5’ emblazoned on it. She ducks in, throwing her bag and phone onto the bed, and slams the door behind her, breath finally coming easier.
Fucking Adora.
She collapses onto the bed, hand fumbling for her phone. She’ll call Scorpia, tell her to keep her mouth shut about Adora and just tell her a story. Her voice always soothes--
Her phone’s dead.
If she wasn’t as exhausted as she was, she’d stand up and run back downstairs, grab Adora by her stupid, preppy collar and demand her phone charger back. Adora would look shocked but not scared, and her body would be hot under Catra’s--
She groans, rolling over and shoving her face in her pillow.
“Why am I doing this?” She mutters to herself.
Fortunately, she doesn’t have time to ponder philosophical questions such as that one because there’s a knock on her door, signaling the arrival of her food.
She groans again, shoving herself off the bed and yanking open the door.
“Thank y--”
Her breath disappears when she sees Adora standing there, not the attendant with her food, face even redder than before, phone charger clenched in her hand, eyes stuck on the ground.
“Adora,” Catra says icily, hoping her face is a sort of cold neutral instead of shocked and surprised.
“I-- I just, um,” Adora clears her throat. “Forgot to give this back earlier. Sorry.”
Catra nods. “Thank you.”
Adora holds her hand out, chord dripping from it, and Catra very carefully accepts the charger, taking extra care to not brush Adora’s hand.
Their eyes meet for the briefest second.
Catra can’t breathe.
And then Adora’s gone.
+
(The crash.)
It all happens very abruptly.
One moment Catra’s brooding in her taxi and the next she’s being thrown against something hard, seat belt snapping tightly against her, a mouthful-- no, a lungful of glass.
One moment she’s tasting glass and the next her fingernails are claws, digging and scratching away at this black thing, she’s grasping at something, black, inky, tearing away from her, but it keeps escaping her grasp, no matter how hard she holds on to it. Her ears are ringing and something is sliding down her face, tears or blood, she doesn’t know and doesn’t care to find out.
One moment every breath hurts and the next her eyes are opening and she sees red and blue and black. Her eyes close again. She hears ringing and sirens and rain hammering on the pavement. She hates the screaming of sirens, but she actually likes the sound of rain. The rain means she’s alive, so she releases her grip, nails sliding out of what she now knows is the fabric seat underneath her.
She tries to straighten, to wiggle out of her seatbelt, but she’s unsuccessful. She remembers the glass now.
She slumps back, a cough rising in her chest.
She slumps back-- no, wait, she already did that. Her ears hurt, they’re ringing-- no she already knew that. Her fingers are claws trying to grab something in front of her-- she already did that. She already heard the sirens, she already inhaled glass, she already apologized to Adora, didn’t she? She must have. This has to be a dream.
Her eyes crack open again, and she’s greeted with the sight of the cab seemingly falling in on her. The driver’s barely awake, groaning, and she definitely knows she’s bleeding now as she lifts her hands and sees them doused with red.
Maybe not a dream.
Maybe she hasn’t already done this.
Maybe she’s doing it right now.
She tries to inhale deeply, but it’s like she’s fighting against a fucking elephant or something on her chest-- glass in her goddamn lungs.
Where is she bleeding from?
Temples, forehead, knuckles, cheek, ear, she checks them all. Shaky, light fingered touches that resemble the prayers one of her old foster mother’s used to do every night before bed.
Maybe she should pray.
She tries to straighten again, remembers she can’t do that. Eyes close, open, close, open.
The black thing is back, wavering in front of her vision, and, with all of her strength, she launches herself at it, fingers closing around it.
She’ll squeeze it, squeeze the fucking life out of it, but before she can even try it envelops her, and she slumps back against the seat, consciousness leaving her.
+
“Thank y--”
Catra stops short, staring up at Adora, looking partly revulsed and partly curious.
“Adora,” Catra says, voice cold, unforgiving, unrelenting.
Adora never wants to look away from Catra.
Because this Catra, with her own blue eye and one green eye so light it looks yellow, with her red face and tucked away hair, who looks like she wants to be anywhere but here, is more reminiscent of the Catra Adora fell in love with, instead of the Catra that refused to come with her and started hating her ferociously just because Adora asked her to.
“I-- I just, um,” Adora clears her throat. “Forgot to give this back earlier. Sorry.”
Catra nods. “Thank you.”
Catra takes the charger, obviously not trying to touch Adora’s hand.
And then she finally lifts her gaze, meeting Adora’s eyes.
Adora doesn’t think she’s ever felt farther from her, even hundreds of miles away in a different city, there was always the thought of, Catra’s looking at this same moon, maybe Catra’s thinking of me right now, but as narrowed, icy eyes stare back at her, Adora has to acknowledge that maybe all of that thinking was absolute bullshit, that the truth was four feet away from her and couldn’t be ignored.
Adora turns away before, well, before what? Before Catra curses her out? Before Catra spits at her feet? Or before Catra has the opportunity to close the door in her face, before Catra has the upper hand?
Adora turns away.
+