Chapter Text
“Come on in,” says a friendly voice.
Catra feels her chest tighten as she stares at the door. She knows it's time to go in, and it's the last time she has to imagine a face to fit this voice.
All she knows is that therapy can make her better, and Adora will be proud, and this specific therapist is probably a good fit for her. She thinks of Adora's excitement, listening to her giddily read out loud Dr. Hanna's newspaper article, specifically the part where it says “specializes in trauma”. The word “trauma” doesn't sit well in Catra's stomach, but she trusts Adora. She thinks, maybe, Adora knows what she needs.
So, she rolls her shoulders back and opens the door.
“...Dr. Hanna?” Catra asks quietly, feeling possibly more self conscious than she ever has before. She sees an older woman sitting cross-legged in a burnt orange corduroy arm chair, smiling kindly. The woman wears loose clothing, all neutral colours, but her jewelry seems to be crafted from spillared wire and gemstones. Her hair is pulled back in a wavy black ponytail, except for a couple curls springing from the sides of her golden glasses.
“You can just call me Daphne, if you'd like. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable.” Daphne gestures to a firm but soft looking blue couch across from her. Catra nods, and sits on the edge the farthest from Daphne, tossing a round throw pillow to the side with a huff of agitation. “How are you today, Catra?”
“Uh, fine,” she says thoughtlessly as her tail thumps against the sofa leg.
“If there was another word other than ‘fine’, what do you think it might be?”
Catra’s left ear twitches. “I don’t know.”
“Okay. That’s okay.” Daphne clasps her hands together. “So Catra, I know we talked a little bit through audio messaging, but I'd like to hear more about your therapeutic goals now that we're finally meeting.”
Oh boy, it's already starting. Catra consults the list in her head, the one Adora wrote on a whiteboard with thick squeaky markers. The list seems long and embarrassing, so she only picks three to say out loud. She clears her throat as if she's preparing to start a Force Captain presentation. “I am hoping to improve my tolerance to…remembering things that happened.” Catra feels her cheeks grow hot, so she stares at the burgundy woven rug as she continues. “And…I want to better my social skills. And I want to work on my…” Her mind flashes to the whiteboard, and despite what it reads, she was not going to say abandonment issues. “...independence,” she finishes lamely.
Daphne nods. “What would independence look like?”
Catra scoffs. Isn't a therapist supposed to know? “I guess…not needing people.”
“People? Would that include your partner?” Daphne asks gently.
Catra's ears flatten as she remembers how Adora had done most of the talking during their fifteen minute audio consultation. ‘Would you say your approach is more patient or pushy?’ ‘Do you still have success with clients who hate talking about feelings?’ ‘Are you okay with extra sessions in an emergency?’ Adora was a bit frantic, but extremely prepared. She kept a spiral bound notebook by her side, and wrote down all of Dr. Hanna's answers. The “therapy language" they used was foreign to Catra, but Adora was nodding thoughtfully as she highlighted what she deemed as extra important or something to research later. Pretty much the only thing Catra felt she could contribute to the conversation was discussing what days she's available. Still, she had been relieved to not have to talk much.
“We're happy together. And we've known each other forever,” Catra clarifies like it's a warning, her voice low.
“That's lovely!” Daphne keeps her palms up, not threatened by her client's defensiveness. “It seems like she is an important support for you.”
Catra unclenches her fists, feeling a cold shame starting to spread goosebumps along her arms. “Yeah.”
“How does she feel about you starting therapy?”
“Um, relieved probably? She thinks this will make me better.”
“What do you think?”
Catra crosses her arms tightly, rubbing her stripes. “I…don't know. I don't completely get…what this does.”
“By this, do you mean being in therapy?”
“Obviously,” Catra spits, her claws extending. The room is silent for a moment, before Catra's eyes widen in realization. “Uh, sorry. I…yeah, I mean therapy.”
Daphne doesn't appear to be fazed by the subtle outburst. “It's alright. Well, today is just an introduction, so we're not going to get too deep into anything. But by our next session we will start to explore your past, creating a map of your life, and your feelings that surround it if you're feeling comfortable. Over time, we may try methods such as EMDR to see how that feels since we are focusing on trauma in our sessions, and I'll tell you the details for how that works if or when we get to that…and we will be practicing coping skills to make your memories feel a little easier to hold.” She sees Catra's confused expression, and tries to soften the professionalism in her voice a tad. “Having somewhere safe to feel, to speak your mind, exist however you need, and without judgment? That can be a powerful tool for your wellbeing. Whatever happens here will be kept safe, and no one else but us will know anything about it unless you decide otherwise. You never have to say or do anything you don't have to. I'm here to guide you, but you are in control. How does that sound?”
For the first time, Catra sees that Daphne's eyes are green. She sighs. A lot of that sounded like nonsense, but some of it eased the tension in her shoulders.
“Okay. That…sounds okay.”
“Alright. And, at any point at all, you are always welcome to tell me if the sessions aren't going how you want, or if I miss the mark. Okay?”
“Are…you serious?”
Daphne smiles. “It's a win in my books if you feel safe enough to set a boundary with me.”
“Okay. Then, can…this be…less weird? Uh, more laidback? Is that…a thing?” Catra tries, as if testing a new piece of equipment.
“Sure, Catra. We can do that. As we get to know each other better, I'm confident I'll have a better sense of how to approach our sessions in a way that feels customized to you. But whatever makes you the most comfortable, anything at all? Go for it.”
Catra raises an eyebrow, suspicious. She then slowly pulls a knee up to her chest and lets herself droop against the armrest. Looking up at Daphne, she's met with the same calm expression. With more confidence, she eyes the box of tissues resting on the table in between them, and swats at them until they're no longer on her side.
Daphne hums. “You'd rather I have the box?”
“You have to admit, kinda seems like a trap.” Catra shrugs.
Daphne holds up the colourful tissue box as if she's defending its offer. “What, this?”
Catra rolls her eyes. “You're trying to train me to be open, right? Well, if I get sick, I'm just not gonna show up. So that's not going to work on me,” she says smugly.
It's very rare that Daphne is taken off guard, but it takes a few moments for the differing social rules of the Fright Zone to occur to her. She lets out a genuine chuckle.
“I will never try to deceive you, Catra. And yes, I would appreciate it if you stayed home when you're sick.”
Catra grins, satisfied with winning at therapy.