Archive of Our Own

26 August, 0988

It’s way way way too loud in here. For months, Catra’s been pretty shut up with just her little squad under Shadow Weaver’s eye, but now everybody’s been herded into a big room and put into heavy, sweaty armour and there’s no rules, it seems like, just children screaming and running and crashing into each other. There’re officers too, young ones, still skinny in the shoulders and spotty in the face, and they say Shadow Weaver will be here soon and then the sim will start soon and everybody stand still and everybody shut the fuck up. It doesn’t work; it stays loud.

The left shoulder strap slips down Catra’s arm again, scraping against her stripes, and she so desperately wants to take it off but that’s not allowed, so she shoves it back up, and her collarbones hurt and her shoulders hurt and her back hurts.

She trails her claws along the wall, instead - not hard enough to scratch into the metal, but she likes how it feels under her hand, and the noise it makes of sharp points against a rough surface, and, as she wanders slowly forward, she chews her other hand, and she can spot a graffiti every so often, shapes and letters carved in high above her head.

Higher still, the ceiling is much the same as Catra’s used to: a wire mesh, like the roof of a cage, that meets to the top of the walls, and then above that pipes and vents and great bunches of wire, suspended from the real ceiling by cables, and what if one of those cables snapped? Would the pipe buckle, in the middle, and flood the room with water? Or would the cables on either side of it break too, and then the next ones, and then the next, until the whole Fright Zone fell apart? Or-

“Watch it.”, snaps one of the officers, when Catra walks into his legs.

But he’s in the way. And Catra doesn’t want to let go of the wall to get around him. She stares up at him; he’ll realise, in a moment, he’s in the way.

Suddenly he grabs her hair, and pulls her hand out of her mouth, and hits her - just once, and then he lets go, but he’s big and strong, and it hurts.

“You’re a whole Cadet. Wise up and stop acting like a baby.”

She wipes her nose on her arm, and then there’s a long stripe of red on it, and she’s let go of the wall now so she just starts pushing through the crowd of children towards the door.

It’s even louder in the middle of it all, and the lights brighter, and Catra can’t see much in front of her for the chaos but she knows where she’s going and she elbows and kicks her way through and nobody seems to care to get her back for it but maybe that’s because they know anyway she’ll have bruises on her elbows; she keeps colliding with the armour, and, thinking of it now, she slips out of her own and leaves it on the floor and finds she can move faster without. Every so often there’s a flash of a blonde ponytail or a familiar reaching hand but it always belongs to somebody else, somebody wrong, and she puts her whole weight into shoving those ones away from her, and by the other side of the room she doesn’t think she’s seen Adora once at all, and she doesn’t know if she wanted to in the first place.

She has to sneak up behind a guard to get to the door button, but she’s good at that - and has to climb the wall a little, to reach, but she has claws - and has to run fast on all fours to get away, but that’s just fun.

2 October, 1003

The door clicks open quietly, and then shut, and Catra absent-mindedly tracks Adora’s footfalls around to her side of the bed. A scent fills the room - tea; not Catra’s favourite, but it helps Adora sleep, so she doesn’t mind. The mug sets down softly, too, because there ostensibly simply wasn’t anywhere else to keep Micah’s rather optimistic knitted coasters, and Adora feels she’d upset him if she just didn’t use them. Catra’s of the opinion he wouldn’t care, particularly, but Adora’s always fretting.

The mattress dips slightly to the side as she climbs in.

“Hey.”, she whispers. “You awake?”

Yawning, Catra uncurls a little from the ball she’s tucked into, and pulls herself properly out of the half-nap she’s been dozing in; the second half of the yawn comes out as a slow sort of trill, and Adora’s eyes light up.

But then she frowns.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

She pulls, not utterly seriously but not quite playfully either, at Catra’s wrist, and Catra realises she’s biting her hand; the knuckle of her index finger, to be precise, hard enough she’s probably bruised an impression of her teeth into it. She’d thought that habit was punished out of her years ago.

“You’ll hurt yourself.”

But it doesn’t hurt. Or, at least, it doesn’t hurt like hurting normally does - there’s none of the usual heavy ache in her hand, or her jaw come to think of it - and by that metric it’s pleasant. So Catra bats at her assailant’s arm, and growls quietly.

Adora makes an attempt at growling back, but she’s never been able to do Catra noises, and it comes out a bit silly. Then she giggles at herself (Catra’ll admit she, maybe, smiles too), and tugs at Catra’s wrist a little more insistently.

“Catra, please.”

It’s a condescending tone. Fuck, Catra could even call it Adora’s I’m-right-and-you’re-being-immature tone, or her drop-everything-and-run-away-with-me-to-a-commune tone, or - whatever. She… had a point though. Back then.

Reluctantly, Catra takes her hand from her mouth and sticks her tongue out at Adora.

And Adora does the same, and laughs again, bright and relieved, and mildly shoves Catra in reproach. Then she takes a long sip from her tea, and settles down properly into bed: switches off the lamp and punches her pillow into shape and pulls at the duvet until she’s reclaimed at least most of her fair share of it and snuggles up right next to Catra. Under the blanket, her fingers find Catra’s hand, and trace ever-so-carefully over the little indentations of the teeth marks.

It’s not that Catra regrets going along with what’ll make Adora happy. But her skin feels wriggly, now, and her bones itchy, and her teeth all disjointed, and it’s like a magnifying glass has been taken to how everything’s sitting in a puddle of its own pain. She settles for bouncing one foot.

Adora snickers, and says, with an amused inflection that momentarily makes Catra want to - what? Put her claws to Adora? to herself? she can’t tell - “Y’know, Melog’s more a cat than you are, and I’ve never seen it chewing on the business end of a pair of scissors.”

“Yeah, and they were closed, and they were craft scissors, not a fucking sword.”, Catra mutters tersely. “I’m not an idiot.”

There’s a long pause. Long enough for Catra to start counting her heartbeats, how they quicken when she inhales and slow on exhaling. She pins the rate at fifty-or-sixty-ish, if only out of habit.

Maybe Adora decided it’s not worth the argument and fell asleep.

“I’m just scared you’ll get hurt.”

Or not. The gentle hand takes hold of Catra’s wrist again, and moves it up, so that Adora can press a kiss to the bruised knuckle. Catra doesn’t miss the slight blue spark in Adora’s irises - squashed near immediately, because no, of course Adora wouldn’t dare, even unconsciously, not without having a damn panic attack first.

“I love you.”

Inside her head, Catra snaps something like mine, and she sharply pulls her wrist out of Adora’s grip; and turns over, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and curls up again.

Rather wisely, Adora doesn’t try to spoon her. It’s a little chilly though.

3 October, 1003

It’s one of those nights. She’s never quite sure when she wakes up - never slamming straight into consciousness; that’s only for really good days, or really bad days. There’s necessarily an interminable time of shifting about and adjusting the bedclothes as far as her sleep-addled brain can bother and smushing her face into the pillow as if she can make herself sleep by force.

Eventually, Catra’s coherent enough to reach for her water, and then, some time after that, to form thoughts beside I want to be asleep. Such as contending with the currently quite complex-seeing idea that the longer she lies here the worse her pain will get, and the worse her pain gets the worse she’ll sleep. But solving that would involve getting up, and that’s still not really an attractive concept.

After a while, though, it’s started radiating from the one side of her back to the side she likes better, and she shoves herself upright - shuts her eyes against the dizziness, and bites her thumb against a sudden wave of nausea.

And then remembers last night, and drops it like she’s been burned.

Why? Does Adora really have that much control over her? That’s… Catra doesn’t like that. Adora’s disapproval should mean fuck-all. Catra’s an adult and she can do what she fucking wants with her own fucking hands.

No, that’s mean. That’s wrong. Who told her she could be trusted with her body, anyway? No, now that’s overcorrecting; stop with the attitude. Why? Is there a rulebook? See, that’s the point she’s trying to make. It’s - What, so she should just go back to sleep? No. You’re overthinking it again: this is why you need to shut up and st- Fuck you. Oh, really? That’s so mature.

Catra slides her hands into her hair and pulls, hard, until everything’s under control again. Tips her head back against the pillows; smiles at the ceiling. She’s fine. She’s fine.

She’s fine.

When she’s asleep, Adora’s much cuter. She’s hugging a horse stuffie, and her face is squashed, since she’s lying sideways: Catra carefully brushes the hair out of it and tucks it behind her ears, and admires the soft shapes of Adora’s expression when she’s relaxed. The circles under her eyes don’t stand out so much in the dark. Experimentally, Catra retracts one claw and prods her cheek - she mumbles something unintelligible, and shifts slightly, reaching one hand just a little further into Catra’s personal space. Which is usually not a problem, but right now it seems to set irritation shooting through Catra like a live wire.

She’s dizzy again and a book knocks off her bedside table with a thud when she gets too hastily out of bed - but Adora, thankfully, sleeps more deeply nowadays, and she barely stirs at the noise. Catra’s not sure what she’s really doing, as she grabs whichever crutch and pair of socks is closest on hand, and then goes over to the armchair to nab some clothes from the pile on the back of it.

Maybe she’s going out for a walk. Yeah, maybe she is. Clear her head. Adora goes for runs, anyway, all the time, for the same reason: clearly there’s some merit in the idea. She ends up dressing in her usual trousers and a random t-shirt and Adora’s sunflower jumper.

Adora’s still asleep, so Catra shuts the bedroom door as softly as she can behind her - there’s no need to leave a note - she’ll only be five minutes, maybe ten at the most.

No need for a breakfast, either, since she still feels sick, and there is absolutely no need for the judgmental way Melog’s staring at her from its perch on the kitchen windowsill, tail waving lazily back and forth.

She glares back.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Mau.”

“Yes, it can. You’re just a bitch.”

Turning back around, she grabs her lanyard off its hook by the door, and unclips her keys from it.

“Mau.”

She sighs sharply.

“You think it has to make sense for you to get the gist?”

A strong sense of righteous irritation comes radiating off Melog as it heroically gives up, and Catra raises an eyebrow at it. Then she grabs from the collection by the door what looks, in this light, to be the crutch’s twin, and goes out. It’s chilly. She’ll be, like, five minutes maximum.

Adora turns over, in her sleep, to a spot in the bed that’s warm. She smiles. She’s dreaming about horses.

Don’t you fucking ask what Catra’s decision-making priorities are. She hasn’t got any. Or, if she does, she’s not managed to notice in the last twenty-odd years.

She wants to get away from here. She wants to get away from here now, because it’s stupid and Princessy and pink and she always knew she didn’t belong. Who cares what Adora’s going to think? We’re busy hating her right now.

“Morning, Ms Grayskull.”, says the guard by the side-door, leaning against the wall and cradling a steaming mug. A while back, Catra made an effort to learn all their names, and this is Bram. We’re hating Bram at the minute, too, Bram and his stupid name and his stupid - is that coffee? Stupid coffee.

She wants to correct him Elisabeth, that’s my name, Elisabeth, not Grayskull, but legally that’s not true, is it? She throws him a sharp smile and keeps walking.

“Well, I say good morning, but if we had a party going on, it’d still be evening, wounnit? So I don’t know if we two’re up early or late!”

And his stupid laugh: we hate that, too.

“Sorcering hour, I’d s’pose. Keep your wits on you, eh!”

Catra laughs at him, not with him. Stupid Bram can’t draw a weapon without spilling coffee everywhere, and in any case, she doubts he’d be much use with it after all this time. That’s besides the point, anyway, after the door’s shut.

There’s no click of heels, like Glimmer, or the squeak of rubber soles, like Bow: the only sounds that follow her around are the near-silent footfalls, and the gentle tap of crutches - although it’s as if the vaulted ceilings are obliged to echo something, and it’s her breathing they choose, pressing harsh and loud into her ears.

The route she goes, she runs into not a single other guard, and it’s impressive how few detours she has to take to make that happen. Lax security. Lucky, really, for Sparkles, that she’s got a Catra hanging around occasionally doing insane shit, or she’d get even more complacent. Is this insane, d’you think? Yeah, definitely.

Lax war technology efforts, too; Catra really doesn’t belong here, does she?: in a small, cold lakeside pavilion she’s only been in once before, on Glimmer’s whirlwind tour two Februaries ago, there’re only four skiffs, and the cupboard that holds the keys isn’t even locked. Not to mention the skiffs have pink fucking racing stripes.

Once she’s put the key in the ignition, it occurs to Catra that this might not be a good idea after all; are we having some kind of breakdown? Nah, she’s not - you are.

It nudges Adora’s knee, and that does nothing. Clearly a time for more aggressive tactics, then. Purring loudly, it plants a paw square in the middle of her stomach to step onto her, and one on her boob, and headbutts her in the face.

“Ow.”, she mumbles blearily. “Too early, Melog.”

“Mau.”

It headbutts her again, mouth open slightly so as to salivate on her cheek, because this one is stupid and can’t understand its words.

“Mauu.”

“Ew.”

But she shoves Melog’s head away, and wipes her face on the duvet, and then goes right back to sleeping.

Oh, well. That’s not its problem. It has small birds to chatter at, anyway, and apparently that’s far more important. Hm.

Nobody rings doorbells at this sort of a time. It’s indecent. It’s barely been light for half an hour, and - to be perfectly honest - Scorpia’s been properly awake for less, because yesterday was a whole lot to deal with. And, really, anybody having any business to be at the door should know that, and she’d even dare suggest, because she’s been working on expressing herself genuinely, it’s a little rude t- oh, it’s Catra! Never mind.

“Hey, Wildcat! Great to see you!”

“You too.”, Catra replies, a tad less enthusiastically. But she shifts her weight to one side and puts out an arm, and that’s an invitation if Scorpia’s ever seen one.

Practically squealing, she gathers Catra up in a lovely warm hug, although pretty quickly remembering to moderate the force when she hears a quiet grunt of pain.

“Sorry, Catra.”, she rushes. “Sorry, sorry. What’re you doing around here, anyway?”

“Tch, y’know.”

After a couple genial pats on the back, Catra disentangles herself from the hug, and runs a hand through her hair to de-messy it - but it stays messy: looks like she didn’t brush it this-morning. Classic Catra. It’s probably a fashion statement.

“Just thought I’d drop by.”

Scorpia’s now feeling pretty over-excited, and she sighs deeply and looks at the sky to calm herself down. From this side of the house, the orange-green top of a moon is still visible, not yet gone below the horizon.

“It’s awful early. Did you travel yeste-”

“How’s Perfuma?”, Catra interrupts, seeming for all the world as though she simply hadn’t heard Scorpia talking - and Scorpia’d believe it if this were the Catra she used to know, but it’s now, and Catra’s nicer now. Scorpia’s pretty sure, anyway.

“Oh, yeah, she’s great!”, Scorpia exclaims in a too-high-pitched voice. “Yeah, she’s, um, she’s also around SK at the minute! Doing her morning tea ceremony in the garden right now, I… think.”

Catra nods. She smiles. She is being nicer; Scorpia’s not insane.

“So… anyone else come over with you?”

As if the blank road might yield up a rogue Best Friends Squad, or a surreptitious Princess Alliance, or a crazed Entrapta throwing herself all about the place - and, in Scorpia’s defence, all of those things are not only possible but surprisingly very likely - she leans right out of the door, and glances up and down the road.

“Adora?”

In the last - well, since - a year? A whole year? - Scorpia’s never seen Catra in a different room to Adora, if not outright holding her hand or leaning against her or an odd combination of the two. It’s, as she predicted way back near the start of all this, a totally unique and unbreakable bond between the two of them.

“Eh.”, Catra shrugs. “She’s, uh, pretty busy at the moment. With Bow’s dads, and stuff.”

She shifts in place again, and glances after the direction Scorpia was looking.

“And Glimmer and Bow both have a bunch of super boring meetings today. Or they would’ve come along too.”

“Oh, right.”

There’s the sensation, at the back of Scorpia’s mind, that perhaps another hug might be in order shortly. But that’s not a very wise next step, so the next thing to do is to think before she acts.

Man. Catra’s hair really isn’t brushed, is it? And her clothes are all crumply, and the bags under her eyes don’t give her the impression of having slept, exactly. Bags? Oh, yes, and Catra always has a bag with her! Or Adora carries it for her, which is effectively the same thing; and Scorpia knows for a fact she keeps important stuff in there, like salt and gloves. Why hasn’t she got her bag with her? In fact, on the topic, why’s Melog not with her? And why is she here of all pla-

“Sorry, am I imposing?”, Catra asks, a bit pointedly.

Scorpia jumps.

“N- not at all! Sorry, I - hah - tuned out there for a minute. You know me!”

She turns to the side, out of the doorway, and gestures towards the sitting-room.

“Uh, uhm, come in! Come in. Breakfast’s in, uh, half an hour. You want anything to drink?”

Tseep-tseep-tseep, go the… what was it? Adora knows this sound; George and Lance took her on a day-long birdwatching trip last autumn, because it’s a family tradition of theirs - oh, yes! Redwing. Speckly chest, and chestnut back, and bright red sides, and small enough to sit in the palm of a hand.

Catra likes to watch birds, out of the window: that’s why the bed’s facing the less convenient way round, so she can lie down at the same time. If she’s awake, Adora imagines, she’ll have her ears tilted forward and her eyes wide and searching, and as much as she used to make fun of it, Adora loves that version of her. Although, then again; as Adora turns over, and the golden sunlight shines through her eyelids; Catra might be basking in its rays, stretched-out and languid and purring.

Purring? In such a way that Adora can’t hear it, at least. Or feel the vibrations through the bed. Okay, maybe she’s not purring. Maybe - Adora opens her eyes - maybe she’s not there.

A flash of panic sparks through her like lightning, but it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s - in, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four - okay. This is a medium-sized problem at the very most. Just because Adora wakes up next to Catra most every morning, that doesn’t mean there can’t be exceptions.

She’ll be relaxing with Melog on the sofa, or reading something interesting that Adora’ll inevitably try and fail to wrap her head around, or in the kitchen, randomly having decided to cook something for breakfast. Perhaps she’ll be a little grumpy while she does it; it wouldn’t really be Catra if she wasn’t, and anyway, she seemed a little grumpy last night. Adora’s not quite sure what over - no, that’s a lie: she knows Catra gets irritable whenever anybody tries to stop her hurting herself. But somebody has to, really, and Adora doesn’t mind a little bit of irritation in return for it.

So, she’ll apologise, then. Sorry about what I said last night, Catra. I could’ve been less mean about it. But I’m looking out for you, like you look out for me. Plus your teeth are super sharp and terrifying. Yeah, something like that’ll do.

When Adora gets out of bed, she notices a book’s fallen off Catra’s bedside table - not surprising, given how chaotic the whole thing is. She balances it precariously back on top of a pile of assorted stuff, and decides to bring Catra’s meds organiser next door; she hasn’t taken this-morning’s, although she really should have before getting up.

Perhaps Adora’ll have a better view of the still-chirping redwings from the kitchen window, she thinks as she heads through.

“Hey, Catra!”

But she’s not here either.

Okay, okay, this is okay. Breathe, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, breathe, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. Adora puts a hand on the dining table as the world swims, somewhat, in front of her. It’s not like Catra’s vanished off the face of Etheria, is it! Not as if she could’ve been kidnapped by thugs in the middle of the night! Not while she’s right next to the She-Ra, defender of Etheria and the known Universe, no, definitely not, no siree!

In, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. More to the point, there are rooms in the house other than just these two, and the study door’s shut. Yeah, Catra’s just napping in the cooler sunlight that comes through the front windows in the mornings, or she’s sat at the desk, working or drawing. There’s a few of Catra’s drawings stuck to the fridge. Adora glances at them, and they calm her down much more effectively than Hark’s breathing exercises do. She hurries to the study.

And Catra’s not there either.

In, two, three, four, hold, two, three - it’s okay! She’s probably absolutely definitely fine! She’s an adult and she can do exactly as she pleases! - four, out, two, four, four, in, two - not in either bathroom, too, nor the garden, and she hasn’t left a scrap of a note or even bothered to text Adora - two, out, three, in, four, three, out, four, in, two - her house keys are gone from her lanyard, just her keys, just that; she’s left the lanyard itself and her bag and her chair and that means she can’t have gone far - right? Right?

Still struggling to breathe, dark spots blurring in the corners of her vision, Adora rushes to grab her comm and call Glimmer.

“Tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Two milk and no sugar?”

Catra smiles at Scorpia - not a surprised look, as if to say, you remembered!; frankly Perfuma might be a little offended on Scorpia’s behalf if it was; just with an easy familiarity.

Although it’s odd. Perfuma could swear that Catra’s told her before, multiple times actually, that she doesn’t like tea - that she doesn’t like hot drinks at all. Oh, well. Perhaps Perfuma’s misremembering. Or perhaps Catra was lying.

She drinks politely, and puts her cup down on its saucer, and picks up a miniature croissant to hold while she’s talking.

“Scorpia, I heard from Entrapta you’ve picked up scrapbooking?”

Queen Glimmer does that too, always has - uses her sweetmeats as a prop to gesture with: Perfuma remembers, because it struck her as unusual the first time she saw it, but it seems to suit perfectly naturally on Catra.

Enthusiasm bubbles up in Scorpia’s eyes, the way Perfuma loves to admire, and she beams.

“Yeah! Well, I got into flower-pressing first, thanks to Seph, and y’know, one thing led to another led to another. Some of my favourite pages are collages of my old doodles, though.”

Nodding slowly, Catra crosses her legs and bites rather daintily into her croissant.

“I even found some of your drawings in there, too! Must’ve gotten mixed up. I mean, it’s kinda hard to tell whose is whose, but honestly I could never draw She-Ra as well as you could. And you drew her a lot.”

Scorpia’s less perceptive than Perfuma; moreso than most people expect of her, but still; it surprises Perfuma that she doesn’t seem to notice at all the atmosphere around Catra darkening, with how tangible the shift is. Nevertheless, she keeps ploughing ahead.

“Has anyone ever told you you have a real artist’s eye for Adora? ‘Cause you do! Speaking of, what’s she busy with at the library?”

“Tch. She’s tried to explain it, but my brain switches off at ‘phonetic transcription’.”, Catra laughs. “But sh- she’s looking forward to the autumn party in Plumeria pretty soon. How’s that coming along?”

Perfuma realises, with a start, that that question’s directed at her - quite out of left field, no? Is there something she’s missing? She smiles at Catra.

“Oh, very well. The kale crop is looking excellent this year, and the theatre troupe won’t tell me what they’ve prepared, but they seem very proud. And, of course, my drum circle will be playing all night between the third and fourth days.”

Catra nods again. She’s wearing a serene smile that Perfuma recognises as belonging usually to Bow’s face.

“And I’ll be singing!”, Scorpia throws in excitedly.

Scorpia, Perfuma supposes, has known Catra much longer than most other people; and she is observational in her own right. Surely she’s able to distinguish something truly being wrong from whatever in the Twelve Moons counts as normal for Catra (bless the girl, but she does have a lot to work on, really).

So Perfuma settles a little back into her seat to listen to Scorpia’s delighted rambling, and sips her tea, and Catra does the same.

When Adora doesn't take the mug Bow offers her, after a few seconds of prompting, he picks up one of her trembling hands and wraps it around the handle for her.

"Tea.", he tells her. "Juliet made it."

It seems to take her a few moments to register she's holding it, and then she frowns, and looks at Bow, and says, "Oh."

Bow settles down in the chair next to Adora's - it's not his; he's usually on Glimmer's other side; and it's not comfortable; but Adora insisted she'd like to be in the War Room rather than a sitting-room. Rather a lot of fuss, he thinks privately and Glimmer's thought pretty emphatically, over what might just be a little morning walk - but, he supposes, Adora's known Catra much longer than most other people. She'd be able to tell something really being wrong.

"Oh, tea."

For a second, Adora keeps staring at it, and then she sets it down on the table.

"Thanks, Juliet."

Crossing his hands in front of him, Bow smiles carefully at Adora.

"So. I think it might be a good idea to come up with a contingency plan, for if Glimmer comes back and it turns out she coul-"

"I couldn't find Catra!", Glimmer declares, re-appearing in a burst of sparkles, and then immediately teleporting again into standing on the Queen's seat. She crosses her arms, and goes on, just as loudly, "Adora might actually be right. She wasn't in her office, or in any shops, or 'round Spinny and Netty's, or anything. Melog's fine, by the way, though. Didn't appreciate being woken up."

"Melog's fine?", asks Adora.

"Anything new here?", asks Glimmer.

"Should we find out if anyone's seen h-?", asks Bow, interrupted by the War Room doors opening.

In comes marching Juliet, with a rather severe look on her face. It's not much out of the ordinary, but Bow's spent enough time hanging out with her to know she's a good bit stressed.

"One of the guards has reported seeing her at oh-one-thirty, entering the palace via a side door - he's forgotten which, apparently - at which time she seemed, in his opinion, in a perfectly normal state of mind."

Bow rolls his eyes, and Glimmer flicks a spark of magic at him.

"At one-thirty? In th- in the morning? Here?"

Having seemingly forgotten all about her tea, Adora stands up and starts fiddling with the buckle of her dungarees again.

"Where? Why? What was she - did she have Melog with her then? Was she okay?"

Juliet gives a tight shrug.

"Reportedly. But no large cat."

Paling, which is pretty impressive from where she is already, Adora starts, "Re-"

"She means yes.", Glimmer adds firmly.

"Wh- so, d- w-"

After a moment, Adora takes in a breath to start talking again - and drops it. And then again - and cuts herself off again, walking around in a little circle while she wrings her hands, ending up just holding onto the chair she'd been sitting on and staring at the carpet. Bright blue's been flickering in her eyes all morning, but briefly now it sparks, and she glows gold for half a second.

"I don't…"

"Adora. Adora. Close your eyes. Hold my hands." - on the assumption she won't do that herself, Bow takes hold of them for her, and gazes at her - "We're gonna fix this, okay?"

With a sharp nod, Juliet does an about-turn and leaves the War Room. Possibly she's going to go and make more tea.

Over several long moments, it becomes clear that the gold glow isn't going to come back, at least for now, so Bow nudges Adora back to sitting down, and she goes without resistance.

"Okay?", asks Glimmer fake-brightly. "Okay!"

Adora runs through a cycle of box breathing.

"Oh-kay."

Bow, at least, can tell the difference between when Glimmer's actually enjoying herself, and when she's overcompensating on the pep because someone's upset. This is definitely the latter - she's as fluttery as if she's had a quintuple espresso, and grinning desperately, and doesn't wait for Adora to finish another breath before teleporting over to the board on the wall and picking up a marker.

"I, uh, don't think this is one we can improvise on. I can…"

The marker gets thrown over her shoulder, and she pops across the room to the wall-map of Bright Moon.

"I can teleport all over but it'd take ages if I was trying to be thorough - um, Bow. Mobilise the guards; I want a quick once-over of the city. Pissy cat with a penchant for falling on her face can't be that hard to spot. Adora…"

"Relax?", Bow suggests, picking up Adora's tea and quite pointedly offering it to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Come to notice it, actually, she's still wearing a pyjama t-shirt under the dungarees, and Bow starts debating the merits of taking her to chill out upstairs versus walking her home.

But Adora shrugs him off, and crosses her arms at Glimmer.

"She's not pissy, so I think that's a you problem actually, and you're just being mean."

"Ya boo. Adora, you call 'round the PA, see if anyone can… do anything?" - she turns to Bow, quite blatantly aware Adora's right there when she adds, "See? Adora gets cross when you try to make her relax. You gotta give her a little nominal job."

Adora smoulders but doesn't respond. Based on that, then, Bow decides it's better not to challenge his fiancée.

"Alright, I'm off again. Bye, motherfuckers."

Giving a stylistic little salute, Glimmer vanishes in a puff of sparkles; Adora picks up her tea - finally - and sighs so tensely it comes out as a squeak.

A little bird with a brown back and handsome red sides flitters around the side of the building, and lands on one of the railing-posts at the corner of the balcony. Scorpia smiles at it. It cheeps at her, and takes off again, disappearing in a flurry of wings. Maybe it's heading for the new botanical garden - that's where most of the Scorpion Kingdom's birds congregate, although there are a few species native to the wider formerly-Horde area that are moving further inwards as the city rebuilds. Oh, maybe Scorpia should show Catra around the new herb area in the garden - they've planted, on Entrapta's suggestion… what was it called? Petnet- Pen- Nept- Netossa? No, that can't be right. Something cat, anyway.

The pretty bird returns, just to fly overhead, and to twitter at Seph. She raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, that reminds me!"

And then she picks up an extra jam tart, and brushes her lovely hair over her shoulder, and heads back indoors. Her dress is lovely too, today: pale pink, made of light fabric that twirls around her and flares out as she walks.

"Of what, honey?", Scorpia remembers to ask - a little too late, apparently, because Perfuma doesn't come back. Ah, well.

Catra puts her tea down on the table and leans back in her seat with a snicker.

"You call her 'honey'?"

Yes; yes, she does. Scorpia can't quite see the joke there. She nods absently, wondering why, all of a sudden, Catra seems more herself than she has all of today. Is it Seph? Surely not. Anyway, why is Catra here?

She gives Scorpia a doubtful look, which, from experience, is typically followed by a comment about overthinking, or whining, or something. Probably not the latter any more.

Taking a deep breath, Scorpia gathers herself.

"I don't think you're okay, Wildcat."

"I'm fine.", Catra shrugs. One of her claws taps briefly at the arm of the chair, and then stops. She smiles.

There, then, are several paths forward. She could drop it; or she could barrel in full-steam-ahead; or this might be one of those situations that needs help. Who is help? Adora, most likely, and Catra didn't seem to want to talk about her. Scorpia decides anyway, quite firmly, that a good friend would always choose to intervene.

But Catra pre-empts her - " 'Kay, what about me is exactly screaming 'damsel in distress'?"

"... I - I don't… know?"

Sighing, Scorpia looks down at her pincers. It's not often anymore she wishes they were softer. Maybe Catra would like hugs better if they were softer. Well, Scorpia's never asked.

"But…"

The snicker returns, but this time Catra leans forward.

"Unclench. I know I've had my problems in the past, b-"

And she's cut off by a shrill chirp from under Scorpia's chair. Oh, yes!, she's been wondering where her tracker-pad went. Catra got startled by it, so Scorpia gives her a calming shrug, and picks up - it's Adora calling?

It's Adora calling.

"Hi. Uh. Hi, Adora.", Scorpia stammers, and Catra's claw starts very quietly tapping again.

"Hi.", Adora says in a really quite high-pitched voice. "We- weird time to be calling, I know, but, um, ha- have you seen Catra? Like, recently. Today…ish."

Scorpia stares at Catra.

Catra stares at Scorpia.

Scorpia stares at Catra.

Catra stares at Scorpia.

Adora clears her throat.

"Uhm - Scorpia? Hello?"

"Yeah. Hi. Hi, yeah. Whoa, I… must've totally forgot you were there."

Scorpia frowns at Catra.

"Sorry, I didn't. Haven't, I mean. Which is the correct verb. Yeah, Seph's keeping me pretty busy here, flowers, and, y'know, and running a kingdom, and, look, I'd better get back to work, alright? See you around. See ya."

She's not quite sure where the sudden motivation comes from, to lie like this, but as she speaks she gets more and more convinced it's the right thing to do - and then she hangs up.

Catra bites her lip and looks away from Scorpia.

Sighing again, Scorpia folds her pincers on the table.

"Catra, I don't think you're okay."

Glimmer's very, very tempted to go straight to the Moonstone tower and drop her comm off the edge, and let Bow's beautiful, delicate circuit-boards and wires shatter on the lakeshore below, because what the fuck?

But Adora's already got a hold on Glimmer's shoulder and a determined glint in her eye and Bow's elbow in the other hand, and, oh, Glimmer supposes she has a responsibility to her friends, so she tucks the comm back into the pocket of her cape and teleports to where Scorpia said she is.

And - again, what the fuck, because what the fuck - Catra, who's been missing-assumed-not-okay all fucking morning, is lounging on a sunny balcony having a tea party with a Princess.

Glimmer shoots her a knife-sharp glare, which either goes unnoticed or wilfully ignored.

"Catra!", Adora exclaims. "Are you okay? What happened? Why-"

"Hey."

There's a beat of silence, and then Catra growls quietly as Adora hurries over - she twists her face away from Adora's trying to hold the side of it, and generally shoves at her with not enough real effort to do anything.

Impressively, Scorpia manages to very smoothly muscle her way in-between the two of them, moving Adora back a few steps with little ceremony - and she asks, with a healthy dose of pretty obviously desperate cheer, "Breakfast, anyone?"

"Oh, yeah, breakfast!"

Bow is overcompensating the positivity, based off his expression, and sweating fucking bullets, based off his face.

"We like breakfast. Don't we, babe?"

Again, Adora starts, hesitantly, "Why-"

"What the hell were you thinking, Catra!", Glimmer yells on her behalf. "Adora's been worried sick! Are you actually fucking insane?"

There's a long, awkward silence.

"Oh, come on. We all know I'm stupid. I make stupid decisions. It's not exactly surprising."

With a resigned expression, Catra puts her hands out toward Adora, wrists together, as if expecting to be arrested. Which - melodramatic much?

"Let's just go home."

Adora's face falls straight back into bald worry, and Bow exclaims, "You're not stupid, Catra! But at the same time th-"

"No, you are," Glimmer interrupts, crossing her arms, "real fucking stupid. Did you think to consider for one second what you leaving without a note and without a way to contact you and in the middle of the fucking night would do to Adora? She was, like, half convinced you'd been kidnapped and murdered! Or that you were alone in the middle of nowhere dying! And - Scorpia - don't make that face, you lied, you're fucking compli-"

It's possibly to Glimmer's benefit, she realises a fraction of a moment later, that Bow puts a hand over her mouth. She still bats it away with an angry huff, though.

"Why-"

But Bow lays a conciliatory hand on Adora's shoulder.

"I don't think we need to discuss that now. Catra, I'm assuming you've had a chat with Scorpia?"

"Stop interrupting me!", Adora demands suddenly, shrugging Bow off her. There's a moment it seems as if she's about to attach herself to Catra again, and Scorpia tenses slightly, but then she just runs a hand through her hair and stares hopelessly at Catra.

Catra stares back.

"Shut up." - and turns to Bow, giving him a terse smile - "Yes. So. I'm fine."

For what's got to be the billionth time today, Glimmer's comm rings - Juliet. She holds up a finger to the rest of the group, all of whom don't seem to pay it much notice.

"Excuse me."

This balcony wraps around the side of the building over the porch below, so Glimmer heads round to the other side and leans on the railing; she's mostly out of earshot of the still-raised voices, and that's good enough.

"Hey, General. We found her. Fucking - evil little - shit."

It's still near silent in at least this part of SK: only a couple people are heading down the road, and they don't seem in much hurry, which reminds Glimmer it's too early in the morning to be doing this. Then Juliet clears her throat, which reminds Glimmer she's on a call.

"Sorry, that was unprofessional. Um, carry on."

"A Bright Moon skiff is missing.", Juliet says flatly.

"Oh. Right."

To be perfectly frank, Glimmer couldn't care less. They've been gathering dust since she took full control of the Moonstone. She kicks a pebble off the side of the balcony, and resigns herself to Queen-ing for just a bit. She can get back to chewing out Catra soon.

"Stolen?"

There's an audible sharp sigh on the other end of the line.

"Well, its tracker says it's -" ahem - "it's in SK."

"Oh, that fucking evil little shit!", Glimmer declares, and ends the call. She turns around and rests her lower back against the banister for a second, and drags her hands down her face, groaning.

"I almost couldn't believe what I was saying, that time!", giggles Scorpia.

"You're a very convincing liar.", Adora replies.

"Mm, but you are easily convinced, Adora," contributes Bow, "and not exactly a crack liar yourself."

That contributes several people's mixed dissent as Glimmer comes back around the corner, glittering and scowling.

"Catra, you dipshit, I will murder you. You're so much more trouble than you're worth!"

" 'Kay.", Catra smirks. "Think Adora'd prefer you to keep my face pretty, though."

I told you so, Melog's supercilious glare says. I said going away wouldn't fix all your problems, and now look at you.

"Bitch.", Catra mutters at it. Then her eyes hurt from looking over at the window too long, and she makes a miserable noise, and pulls the blanket over her head. Serve her right, mm? You saw the state of Adora.

There's a fluttering noise outside, and then a tseep-tseep-tseep, and Melog starts chittering for half a second before disappearing with a zip, leaving Catra alone.

Well. Alone is where she wanted to be, isn't it? Oh, yeah, exactly; that's why she went crying straight to Scorpia's doorstep. Because Scorpia wouldn't ever turn her out. Oh, see: she didn't want to be alone. No, it's just that Scorpia's the best option out of- Actually, if she really wanted to be alone, the best 'option' would be the most effective one, which w-

Footsteps approach, and a hand nudges at the cocoon of the duvet around Catra.

"Hey. Give me your shoulder."

"M-mm.", Catra decides stubbornly.

After a moment, during which Adora doesn't leave, and doesn't berate Catra for making her life ten times more fucking difficult than it already is, Catra pulls the duvet back to let Adora lay a heated beanbag on her bad arm. Worse arm; technicalities.

"I love you."

There's a pause as she, obviously, waits for an answer. It doesn't come. She sits on the bed next to Catra.

"I love you.", she repeats, slightly quieter.

Catra flicks an ear at her. Fuck knows if Adora'll take it as at her. Doesn't much matter.

And Adora sighs.

"But I still don't understand why you would…" and sighs again, shifting around uncomfortably - "you know if you're - upset, or - or hurting, or - you know I would want you to wake me up anyway, besides… bes- Catra, why didn't you just wake me up?"

Fuck you, is the first thing Catra thinks to say. Doesn't think, rather - and she doesn't voice it, because that wouldn't be helpful. She takes the time to think; Adora gives it to her.

"Mad at you. It w- I'm - should - it's stupid. I just - got pissed off. So, I pissed off. Yeah. Rational, I know."

"I wasn't talking about rational.", Adora shrugs.

"I was. I am."

Suddenly, Catra shoves herself upright, and turns to face Adora. She wipes her eyes - the both of them know it's just because they get watery when she's lying down, obviously - and stares at the horse squashed between the pillows, and the loose thread fallen out of the embroidery on its nose.

"For fu… I don't understand either! Okay? I d- I don't listen to myself and I don't know what's a good idea or what's dumb and I just can't -"

"Okay, Ca-"

"Shut up! I don't need to calm down."

You do. She's worried because - look - you're hitting yourself. Catra forces her hands still.

"What happened was, I got really mad when you told me not to bite myself and I don't know why, okay? I didn't go to Perfuma because I want to talk about my stupid fucking feelings, so just sh- just - I went to Scorpia because she doesn't gi- doesn't - give me shit for being - wrong in the head, or whatever. She's just Scorpia."

Adora crosses her arms.

"Don't say that. About yourself. It -" she lets the air hiss out between her teeth - "you know what I think."

"I know you know I don't care."

That's mean. Don't be mean.

"So."

Slowly, Adora pulls her legs up so she's sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed. She's unclipped her dungarees, wearing them like Entrapta - visible now, there's still a faint tomato stain on the hem of her pyjama shirt from when she was making dinner yesterday - and she starts idly spinning one of the metal buttons between her fingers. She frowns at it, then, and tilts her head consideringly.

"... I didn't th… think to ask if. If you bite yourself to hurt."

"You didn't.", Catra mutters. Her neck's started aching again.

A bird cheeps outside; one of Catra's ears automatically swivels to track it, and Adora gives an amused little hum before turning to look out the window.

"I was - just -"

"Worried, yeah."

"Yeah."

And Adora's gaze returns to her lap, where she's still spinning the button on her dungarees. The corners of her nails are red and raw.

Yawning, Catra reaches over to nudge at that hand.

"I - don't fucking know. It just makes me feel better. Sometimes."

"... Okay."

Melog reappears, looking baleful this time, and flops down next to Catra, tucking its face under one stretched-out arm and letting its tail flick, hitting the duvet with a slow thud, thud, thud. The bird it was going after - tiny and reddish-brown - flies past the window, off into the sky.

"Sorry.", Adora murmurs.

"Me too."

And Catra means it; she really does - she knows she's hard to deal with, and she knows there's a million and one things wrong with the way she thinks and acts and exists, and she's trying trying trying to not let it hurt Adora. Again.

"I love you.", Adora repeats.

Me too. Just say it again. Me too.

"Yeah, love you, Princess."