Chapter Text
Blank, sterile, blinding, pure white. It was everywhere-- from the walls to the ceiling to the floor, from every surface of every piece of furniture and equipment all the way back to herself, the uniform clothes that clung snugly to her body, rubbing her fur wrong and itching her skin. Everything blended together in a disorienting ocean of light and it made her want to run far away, but she couldn’t. There was nowhere for her to go, nowhere she could possibly escape to. She was still coming to terms with that.
Anything that wasn’t white was that sickly, haunting, poisonous green that seemed to burn her nose and lungs, buzzing inside of her skull and squeezing her throat with just the sight of it alone. It was overwhelming, suffocating, dizzying. She felt so incredibly trapped to an extent she didn’t think was possible-- in a way that would put Shadow Weaver’s old punishments of her paralyzing magical grasp to shame.
Nobody was going to come save her, she knew that. She’d dug this grave all on her own, and yet, she still had the audacity to pity herself. It was pretty pathetic, in her opinion. She hated herself for it.
Catra had never felt so hopeless in her entire life. Some dark, twisted part of her heart found it kind of funny and ironic, but another part was mourning the loss of the future she’ll never see, of the person she never got the chance to become, of all the potential that was lost. This is what she deserved, isn’t it? After everything she’s done, this was what it all amounted to. Why would she ever expect the pain to end? One good deed wouldn’t erase all of the bad. One good deed wouldn’t give her Adora back.
She had no control at all. It was like she was a prisoner in her own body-- forced to watch herself go through the motions Prime commanded of her, forced to let her mind be picked apart and analyzed to every last crack and crevice, forced to let herself be run completely empty. She was tired, hungry, and hurt. But there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it-- not that she’s entirely sure she even would do anything about it if the option had existed.
Time passed by agonizingly slowly, and she found herself losing touch with reality more and more. She thinks that maybe from the moment she sent Glimmer off was when she started to distance herself from the situation, detaching and watching the consequences of her actions unfold like it’d been happening to someone else. She felt it all miserably clearly, but it still somehow felt like she was just witnessing it from another person’s eyes. Maybe she was, seeing as the chipping process kind of integrated her into Prime’s hivemind.
She watched the torture of her purification from every possible perspective: from her own eyes, from the clones’, from Prime’s. It was terrifying and painful, and although she genuinely believed she deserved it, she couldn’t fight against her instincts of trying to break free from it all. Of course, it was a futile effort. For every bit of resistance she put up, another wave of damage and discipline came crashing towards her-- until her body and mind truly could take no more of it and she blacked out, limp and broken, needing to be put back together again just so she could suffer the process a little while longer, a few times more.
She felt sick and weak and it was driving her insane. The unrelenting despair was unbearable, stretching on endlessly. Her surroundings blurred into a haze, swirling and swimming around her in a nauseating whirlpool, constantly making her feel like she was on the verge of collapse, like her entire being was finally going to give out for good. And nothing could stop it. She felt so afraid.
She deserved this-- she kept telling herself that, but that didn’t make it any less frightening. It didn’t make the anxiety disappear, didn’t make what was happening to her any easier in the slightest to deal with or actually accept. It was just something she kept repeating in her head, trying to force herself to not care, to push away her feelings, a poor attempt to dismiss the trauma. It obviously wasn’t working. Her mask was crumbling at her feet and every step she took forward left a trail of bloodied fragments in her wake.
The only way she could temporarily snap out of the panic was to think about Adora, about how things used to be between them. She thought about life before it became too bad, when her and Adora were still kids, still innocent and under the belief that they were happy. She’d willingly go back and endure Shadow Weaver’s abuse a thousand times over if it meant she could spend just a few more minutes as that version of herself and Adora. She’d give anything for that, really.
The exhaustion she felt seemed like it was being etched into her bones, lingering like it was the only trace left of her, like she’s nothing else if not simply fatigue stuffed into a lifeless husk. A discarded doll, one that’s never really had any significant purpose. A puppet cut from its strings, helplessly left to figure out how to move on its own. It couldn’t. She couldn’t.
Her stomach was in knots, begging for more than the bare minimum that was allowed to her. Her muscles were aching and on fire, desperately wishing for a rest that’d only come in the form of a cold, irreversible permanence. Her heart was overworked, racing and pounding in a useless struggle, palpitations scaring what tiny bit of her awareness remained intact. She felt less and less like Catra and more and more like a bystander, a numbed out product of her past with her mistakes laid bare and reflecting off every stark white surface of the ship to mock her, to push her consciousness a little bit further into its hiding spot. Honestly, she just wanted it to be over already, but letting her die now would be too much of a mercy.
And then she ended up in the pool of green again.
The liquid completely encircled her, soft and gentle waves brushing against her body in a false sense of calm serenity. She was floating idly in the dead center, staring up at the blankness above. The current washed over her and rinsed away her sins for what felt like the hundredth time, cleansing her, burying her soul in its depths, pulling her under, sinking her to the very bottom. But it wouldn’t kill her.
‘All beings must suffer to become pure.’
That’s what they kept saying. That’s what she kept hearing.
‘Prime casts out all shadows.’
He wanted to bring Catra into the light. He wanted her to be part of it, to entangle her into the blank, into the sterile, into the blinding, the pure. He wanted to give her a purpose. Atonement and freedom. Was this freedom? Is becoming nothing the same as being free?
Her head was throbbing, the pressure beyond anything she’d ever endured before. It’d be so easy to just give in and let go. This wasn’t something she wanted to do anymore.
All she wanted was Adora. To see her one last time, to tell her to her face that she’s sorry, to maybe get one last hug-- she’d settle for one last punch, even. She just wanted to see her. She wished so badly that Adora would come and take her away from here, but she’d done all of this so Adora wouldn’t come, didn’t she?
But then Prime would trick her. He’d mess with her head, make her think Adora did come to save her. He’d make her think that Adora cares, that she feels the same way Catra does. And then he’d rip it all away, stomping down on the barely there remnants of her will each time he’d expose the illusion for what it was.
Her body felt like it was totally encased in ice, the pain spreading like a venomous sting, creeping along her skin and infiltrating her veins. Like it was crystalizing her organs, burdening her with a deadweight that dragged her deeper into the abyss, sinking her impossibly further into the green. Her breath caught in her throat, forgotten amidst the overwhelming chill.
If she hadn’t been so utterly tired, she probably would have started crying again, choking on her own sobs amongst the amniotic fluid. But she’s done enough of that lately. She just wanted to sleep now.
“Oh, little sister, what’s the matter?” Prime’s voice rang out, echoing within the void, “Finally had enough, have you?”
This wasn’t going to end until she ends, she figured. With resignation, she released the last of the air from her burning lungs, shutting her eyes as the green and white of the world around her faded to black for what she hoped would be the last time.
But Catra’s always been unlucky, and she’s beginning to think she was born doomed.
“Hey,” a familiar, warm voice called out from behind her, footsteps gradually drawing closer. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Catra didn’t bother to turn around, continuing to lean lazily against the railing of the balcony as she stared off into the distance, focusing on nothing in particular. “Hey, Adora. Did you need something?”
Adora stood beside her, leaning her back against the railing as she opted to stare at Catra instead of the view below. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt absentmindedly as she shrugged, “No, not really. Was just wondering where you were.”
“Well, you found me. Mystery solved.”
“Is something wrong?”
Catra sighed, finally pulling her gaze away from the sea of trees to look back at the blonde. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”
It hasn’t been very long since Prime’s defeat or since the Princess Alliance started making arrangements to begin rebuilding all of the homes and villages the Horde destroyed. Even with magic being returned to Etheria, there was still a lot of work that needed to be done in terms of healing the marks the war left behind. There hasn’t been a lot of room to really think too much about the things that happened up in space, or the things that happened before then even. Everybody’s just moved on from one task to the other it seems. Catra was fine with that. She didn’t really want to think about those things if it could be helped.
“It’s alright.” Adora gave a small smile as she sidestepped closer, reaching an arm out to snake around Catra’s waist. She rested her head against the shorter girl’s shoulder, wrapping her other arm around her back to hold her in a loose, comforting embrace. “You could always accept Glimmer’s offer to take a break, you know? You don’t have to keep working yourself so hard every single day. You’re not a soldier anymore.”
Catra huffed a humorless laugh, “Maybe try taking your own advice first before attempting to convince someone else to, princess.”
“I know my own limit, thank you very much.”
Catra raised a brow as she leaned her head atop Adora’s. “That right? Me too.”
“You’ve fainted in Salineas twice this month.”
“I said that I know my limit, not that I stop at it.”
Adora rolled her eyes, pulling herself away from her girlfriend. “Yeah, well, you should, because you totally freaked Mermista out both times.” She held her hand out, “Come lay down with me?”
Catra took her hand and threaded their fingers together with a smile.
Sometimes, it’s hard for Catra to believe that any of this is real. That despite everything she’s lived through, everything she’s done-- this is really the way things turned out for her.
Bundled up in a big, comfy bed with the person she loves the most in this fucked up world and having her feelings reciprocated right back, for real, and it’s not all just another illusion meant to torment and torture her.
She gets to fall asleep in Adora’s arms every night, wake up beside her every morning, gets to relearn how to be with her again, has a whole future ahead of her that isn’t up to anyone else but herself to decide what to do with. She is finally free and in control of her own life, and she gets to spend the rest of it with Adora. What better ending is there than that?
Except that, sometimes, it really does not feel real and she thinks she’s back on that ship again, stuck in another one of Prime’s mind games. Her memory becomes a muddled up, foggy mess like it’s being manipulated and she forgets about the Heart, and it’s like everything has reverted back to when she was chipped, like she’s being forced back into that prison of white and green again.
As much as she may try to act unaffected, there’s not much she can do to hide it when something unexpectedly triggers an episode. It’s hard to pull herself out of that headspace, and it’s embarrassing and shameful when others have to witness it. People who used to fear her now look at her in pity. She hates it.
The nightmares? She’s not surprised to have them at all. In fact, she kind of anticipated it’d become a regular occurrence to have to deal with. But the random, sudden, visceral flashbacks and panic attacks? She was not prepared for them in the slightest. It made her feel weak and stupid and like she’d never actually get any better, that she’d be stuck in the struggle forever. Back in that spiral of hopelessness.
But right now, she truly does not have the energy for it.
Adora had already fallen asleep, lying on her side with an arm slung over Catra, their legs tangled together. Her lips were just barely parted, a subtle snore slipping out that was stupidly adorable. If it’d been anyone else, Catra would have found it annoying, but it was Adora, so it was endearing.
Heavy mismatched eyes blinked slowly as they stared at Adora’s sleeping face, entranced by the beauty and peacefulness of it. Catra carefully reached a hand out, placing a feather-light touch against the blonde’s jaw, tracing her fingertips along the soft outline almost like she was trying to convince herself that yes, this is real.
She pulled her hand back, clutching it to her chest as she scooted closer to Adora, delicately pressing their foreheads together. It was grounding, kept her in the moment, helped her remember that everything was okay. They were safe, there was no threat looming over them, no imminent disaster to have to brace for.
Eventually, she fell asleep, lulled by the soft sounds of an unconscious Adora.