Archive of Our Own

Catra and Adora glide onto the ice, ready to perform their figure skating routine. Adora’s red and gold ornate suit stretches as she waves to the crowd, shoulder pads squaring her build. Catra’s short dress glides in the air, dark gems glimmering down her chest before transitioning to a sheer black, one sleeve travelling down her arm and the other stopping at her shoulder.

Together they’re unstoppable.

It doesn’t matter that they haven't been friendly with each other for ages, that each training session they had was filled with nasty jeers and emotional stabs, because deep down they knew one another.

Their short program went perfectly yesterday, giving them a strong start. This free skate will capture their win, Catra’s sure of it. They’re the final performance.

As they reach their starting positions on the rink, the crowd goes quiet. In fact, the whole world goes quiet, and it’s just Adora and Catra staring at each other. Their arguments and bickering melt away, and Adora peers straight into Catra’s soul, as though to ask if she’s ready.

Catra doesn’t have time to respond. The music kicks up and her body starts moving, muscle memory already in play.

The whole premise of their routine is that Adora’s the matador, and Catra’s the bull. A classic bullfight, where Adora seemingly dodges Catra charging at her in an animalistic sprint. Or moreso, that’s how the audience sees it. What they don’t see, but the judges do, is how controlled each of their movements are. It’s a pursuit, yes, but every moment is carefully calculated. 

Catra makes her first glide to Adora, and Adora grabs her hand to control the momentum. Adora’s other hand moves to her waist, the sensation sending a zap of nerves through Catra’s skin. She jumps up and Adora lifts her up, balancing her in the air. Catra focuses on extending her right leg toward the ceiling and her left one toward the ice, a hand bracing Adora’s shoulder and the other in Adora’s hands. Her hand holding Adora’s breaks away and raises high. The crowd cheers and hollers at their star lift.

With Catra still suspended in the air, Adora powers across the rink, gesturing to the crowd with her free hand. Catra’s always found that ostentatious.

To the audience, it’s a marvel. To the judges, it’s points added to their score. But to Adora and Catra, it’s a culmination of muscle memory and their deep bond, intrinsic despite their arguments. It’s something they’ll never be able to unlearn, despite Catra wishing she could.

Adora lowers her, yet her hands linger for a moment too long. The judges won’t notice, which is what counts, but her movements sharpen out of frustration. It’s okay though, it just means her acting is just less of a performance. More authentic, so everyone else will devour it.

The beats are thumping in Catra’s head, a drill she’s well versed in as they skate the ice parallel. Each shift, how she has to move her hips, keep her ankles strong, it’s all a learnt routine, a hunt for perfection. They’re synchronised as per usual, but Adora’s probably going to bitch about how Catra didn’t exactly match her. That’s Adora’s problem, though. Catra knows the commentators are praising how attuned they are and she’s not going to listen to unnecessary nitpicking.

They part ways, separating to create distance before Catra glides over to Adora. Adora’s doing her turns, and Catra can’t count the amount of times Adora lost track of where she was when they practiced this in training. She just hopes this time isn’t the one.

Adora stops right on beat, arms reaching out to find Catra’s waist in time. She lifts her, driving across the ice like Catra weighs nothing. It’s to absorb the momentum of the lift, preparing their gamble, the huge risk in their performance. The pressure threatens to crack Catra’s focus as she counts every beat leading up to–

Not here, not now. Her anxiety hushes, mind delving into a concentrated silence.

Adora throws her, and Catra’s mind narrows down to her spins. She’s a hurricane charging through the air, spins suspended between control and chaos.

Fuck, fuck, fuck–

The blade of her skate cuts into the ice as a shock shoots up her shin, quickly swallowed by adrenaline. The moment of silence is thundering, her heart pounding in her ears when the sound ruptures, the audience roaring at the feat. Her body buzzes at nailing the throw quad salchow, drinking in the praise of the crowd as she rides out her landing. 

Catra’s heart pounds in her ears, a devilish grin spreads across her face.

They keep the tension high, their tricks polished and sharp. Catra is almost in disbelief that they’re doing such a good run. But she and Adora are incredible, and there’s no denying that.

Even if she hates Adora, she has to admit, they make a fiery duet.

For their final trick, Adora and Catra circle each other, the crowd howling as the pressure builds. They link hands, bend their knees and Catra lowers herself to the ground, Adora controlling the momentum to end their performance in a death spiral. They’re speeding, surroundings whirring past in a sickening blur before Adora slows them, pulling Catra up and concluding their performance with her hands clasped in the middle of Catra’s chest, a signal that the bull has been slain, and the matador reigns victorious.

The music ends and the crowd erupts into a fit of claps, a clamour of cheers as Adora and Catra move to be side by side. They bow together whilst the audience stands. The standing ovation peers at them from all sides and Catra waves with Adora. Once the crowd sits, Adora and Catra start to skate off the rink.

“Not bad, Grey,” Catra grins. Only because there are just about sixty cameras, most of which are watching them. Their coach Mara hands them skate guards from the exit of the rink,

“Congrats you two. That was show stopping,” Mara compliments, a proud smile on her face. Mara passes them their jackets shortly after. Adora doesn’t take hers so Catra does. She’s just cold, not that she wants to wear a jacket with Adora’s last name on it. Catra’s skate guards click into place as Adora averts her eyes from Catra, Adora quickly snapping on her own guards.

 “Come on girls,” Mara hurries, “we gotta get to the Kiss and Cry,” Catra cringes- the Kiss and Cry is the booth they find out their score in, but it feels wrong to call it that when she’s sitting there with Adora. Catra follows after Mara, Adora reaching to hold her hand.

It’s all for show. It’s for publicity.

Catra has to repeat that to herself a hundred times.

Once they arrive at the booth, she sits next to Adora and wraps an arm around her. Mara will kill her if she acts standoffish- there’d be too many rumours of arguing and that would kill the performance component of the score. Catra thinks it’s bullshit, but the narrative that they’re best friends is what keeps their performance so realistic, or whatever.

She’s not looking for an excuse to hold Adora. No.

– – –

Adora is silently freaking out. She’s usually the one to lead affection for the cameras now that they’re broken up. Catra always pulls away or even worse- visibly cringes- whenever Adora does, but she thinks Mara schooled her in private. It’s the only possible reason Catra’s arm is wrapped so tightly around her.

“You cold yet?” Catra asks her as they await the scores. Adora’s face is red from blushing, and that warms her up real well.

“No, I’m fine.” Adora says in return. They don’t talk without arguing, not anymore at least, but maybe Adora can try, “I’m proud of you for landing the quad salchow. I know you’ve gotten it in training, but seriously. Incredible,” Adora says, and instantly she feels the air shift. Catra turns blank, and Adora knows the compliment was too much, that it gave away her feelings too well.

“Thanks, couldn’t’ve done it without you,” Catra mutters back, before their attention snaps to a monitor. Mara’s hands land on each of their shoulders as each element of their routine is confirmed. The throw quad salchow lighting up on the board feels incredible, but it clashes horribly with the way her stomach churns. Without thinking, her hand snaps into Catra’s, clenching tightly.

“Hey, you good?” Catra checks in. There’s less than a minute until they find out what score they got, and Catra’s worried about her feelings.

Adora couldn’t have that. Couldn’t be a burden to Catra.

“Focus,” Adora said quietly. Catra let out a quiet scoff and Adora pouted, “I didn’t it mean in like-”

“Focus,” Catra mocked back, before Mara’s hands squeezed their shoulders. A reminder to behave, “sorry,” Catra mumbled, leaning her head on Adora’s.

The dread starts piling on, right before-

160.02 for the free skate. 238.13 overall.

Adora looks back to Mara, watching her mentor’s eyes crinkle from a wide smile. Catra lets out a shaky breath, and Adora’s gaze snaps over as they stare at each other with wide eyes.

That’s first place. That’s groundbreaking.

Before Adora even understands what’s happening, her lips crash with Catra’s and it feels like a breath of fresh air, despite the fact that she’s definitely not breathing.

As they part, Adora gasps out. She looks up to Mara, whose face is just as bewildered as hers. Well, if her coach doesn’t have a clue what to do, then she’ll just kiss Catra again. 

Catra’s face blushes at Adora’s second kiss. It’s more chaste. An earnest celebration. 

This isn’t the kind of thing they do. This doesn’t just sell their friendship, it coins a public relationship. Adora watches as the same thought clocks on Catra’s face. But then, they have to get out of the Kiss and Cry for the rinkside for interviews.

When a few reporters crowd around them, Adora takes a deep breath. She’s never liked the interviews straight after. It’s too overwhelming.

“How long have you two been dating?” They ask. Catra’s nose shrivels as she turns to look at Adora. Adora has to save this,

“Sorry, we just found out we won gold, and you’re asking about our relationship?” Adora cuts in quickly, before Catra says something that ruins their reputation. It’s Adora’s quick thinking that diverts all the questions from their kiss. Adora knows they won’t be as lucky for the press conference but that’s fine, they'll have a little more time to figure it out. 

They get to talk about the throw quad salchow, name drop Mara, and their training routine. Rapid fire questions ask about their success, about the feeling of winning, but Adora doesn’t know how to answer them, because it’s only just setting in now. She and Catra are Olympic champions. Catra handles the majority of the questions, holding Adora’s hand, until the obligatory ten minutes passes and they’re shooed away.

They head to the locker room with smiles on their faces. As soon as they’re out of view of the cameras, Adora’s face drops, the panic setting in.

– – –

Catra sits down on the bench, quickly setting to untying her skates. She glances up with a shy smile, expecting one in return. Instead, Adora’s mad.

“What the hell was that?” Adora asks, “why’d you kiss me?”

The smile fades off of Catra’s face as the realisation dawns on her.

She was such an idiot to think Adora reciprocated.

“It looks good for the press,” Catra lies, going straight back to her laces. Fucking humiliating. She thought Adora and her both initiated, but clearly that was some delusional part of her brain trying to convince herself that Adora still loved her. Catra wishes that bit of her would shut up. 

Adora lets out the loudest scoff, a page straight out of Catra’s book. 

“Are you just mad I ruined your chances with someone else?”

“Yeah! Kinda!” Adora says, her tone short.

Catra hesitates. She only misses one beat before snapping right back.

“Wow, you’re trying to get with some other girl? Surprised you’ve got the time considering you’re always nagging me to get to training,” Catra accuses, rolling her eyes. Of course Adora wouldn’t choose her. She was never going to be enough to capture Adora’s attention. Adora’s mind was always somewhere else, always seeing through her.

“Well I’m not seeing anyone, but what if I wanted to?” Adora argues. Oh, that just rubs salt in the wound. There’s nobody Adora wants, Catra just isn’t enough for her.

“Fuck off with your hypotheticals,” Catra mutters, finally shucking off her skates. One ankle feels off, stiff and tight. She tests standing, and it’s fine, but there’s a dull ache deep inside.

“What- did something happen?” Adora questions, her voice far more subdued than it had been just a moment ago. Catra recalls the impact in her shin when she landed the throw quad salchow. She swallows nothing, anxiety creeping in before she quickly shakes it off.

“I’m fine.” Catra doesn’t need Adora to baby her. It’s just a little uncomfortable. 

“But you-”

“Are you gonna argue with me or are you gonna get out of your skates so we accept our medal?” Catra lays out, agitated and frustrated. But the grandiosity of it all sets in. They won bronze at the last Olympics, and now they’re gold medalists, the absolute top of pairs figure skating.

“You’re right, we’ll talk later,” Adora sighs, resigning. Catra hates that, implying that they have to talk. Catra ties on her sneakers whilst Adora takes off her skates, and there’s never been such a gaping silence between them. They were so excited when they won bronze, both of them buzzing with that eighteen-year-old naivety, too much pride and promises of winning gold next time.

Now they’re here and Catra doesn’t feel great.

“I never got to say,” Catra starts, when Adora is tying up the laces of her sneakers, “you did really well. Congrats, I guess.” It's not oddly personal like Adora’s compliment, but it carries a foreign weight, because Catra’s the one saying it. She never compliments anyone.

“Thanks,” Adora says back, “congrats to us,” she finishes on, and this whole situation feels a little less drab, but still. 

Catra wanted to enjoy her win.

When they’re waiting in a room with the other skaters who placed, she catches Lonnie’s gaze from across the room. It should feel good to officially beat her and her cocky boyfriend, but Catra doesn’t even have it in her to gloat.

Stepping onto the podium feels surreal. Thousands of eyes watch her and Adora as they accept their medals hand in hand, but none of this feels how she thought it would. The last four years have been gruelling and she’s finally an olympic gold medalist, but what’s next? Her and Adora achieved what they wanted, and it was clear they weren’t going to share a goal again. This was the last thing holding them together.

She never imagined this would feel so lonely.

Catra’s ankle is starting to ache deeply. She shifts her weight onto the other leg until the podium awards are over and the crowd stops clapping. When she walks off she winces.

“You injured?” Adora asks.

“I already told you I’m fine,” Catra snaps back. Adora frowns, scratching the back of her neck, “let’s get to the press conference.”

“Girls,” Mara calls out from the end of the hallway, “congratulations,” she smiles proudly, holding a giant bouquet. Catra blinks wildly at it, “can I get a photo of you two?” she passes the flowers over, Adora and Catra awkwardly adjusting to hold it. They both smile stiffly as Mara snaps the picture.

“So, about that kiss-” Mara is swiftly cut off by Adora interjecting.

“It was nothing!” Adora insists, a knee jerk reaction. Catra resists scowling at her, instead forcing a smile onto her face.

“Adora’s right. Just a thing for the public,” Catra agrees. Mara eyes Catra skeptically, before leaning into her ear.

“There’s no way you’d ever admit Adora was right. We’re having a chat later,” Mara whispers. Adora looks at them confusedly, and Catra lets out a groan.

“Yes coach,” Catra says, because at the very least she can make Mara feel old. Mara shakes her head, unimpressed and suppressing a smile.

“Get to the press conference you two. I’ll see you later,” Mara says, pulling them both in for one last hug, “I’ll take the bouquet, have it put in your room.”

Then they’re heading off to the conference room, and the deep ache in Catra’s ankle is persisting, and she just wants it all to stop. It’s overwhelming, all the eyes watching and the tightness inside her ankle and the stupid rejection.

She sits down next to Adora in front of the reporters and grabs the water bottle, chugging it down as though it was going to drown her feelings.

This was going to be a long interview.

– – –

Adora’s eye twitches after the thirtieth question on their kiss. You’d think winning olympic gold would be more impressive than two girls kissing but, no. Apparently not. They performed an element only landed once before them in Olympic history, and yet they’ve been asked an equal amount of questions on that as they have their relationship.

They’ve both made up quite a few lies about dating that they’ll have to remember in case either of them does a later interview. They’re all based on when they were dating anyways, so it’ll be hard to forget.

“What was your training regiment like?” Adora beams as the question is asked, coming across as a little too keen to answer but she’s long past caring.

She goes on to detail every day's schedule, barring her Saturdays which she dubbed her rest day. When she looks to her side. Catra is nodding along mindlessly, like she’s not really paying attention. 

– – –

“So Catra and Adora, you’ve already made history, not only being the only female pair competing in the Olympics, but also in landing that throw quad salchow. Can you tell us about your experience inspiring a new generation to change the status quo?” It’s a perfect question for Catra, the kind of thing that gets her ranting and her pride shines unapologetically. But Catra’s mind has run into a wall. She can barely focus, not with the nagging pain of her ankle. Adora waits for her to answer, so she tries to respond anyway.

“I think… I um, it’s really, god what’s the word- it’s really motivating, changing gender constructs that go unquestioned. I’m grateful that Brightmoon trusts us with this opportunity,” Catra never stammers, yet frustration simmers as none of her words come out right. She outright stops talking, and Adora’s eyes flash over, a frown on her face as if to ask; That's all? Adora swoops in, saving Catra from having to talk any more.

“Yeah. Just adding to what Catra said, I think part of being the first all female pair is that we have to work so hard to prove ourselves–” Catra lets herself zone out to the gentle cadence of Adora’s voice, shifting her ankle under the table to feel just how tense the joint is. The muscles are taut, soreness travelling up at the core of the bone.

As soon as team Horde gets asked a question, Adora subtly turns to Catra and leans away from the microphone.

“What’s wrong?” Adora asks.

“Nothing,” Catra deflects; it’s none of Adora’s business. Adora looks like she might say something for a moment, before that indecision is defeated, instead replying with a nod of agreement.

– – –

Adora’s anxious. Catra flaked on dinner at the village, which would be fine if she wasn’t acting so quiet earlier. Catra’s cocky, and quite frankly arrogant at times. But in the conference meeting, Adora would go as far to say Catra was subdued.

After staring at the empty spot Catra always sits in at the dining hall, Adora grabs a rice bowl and heads to their room.

Catra’s laying on the bed when Adora arrives, hands clenching her sides and jaw set. A chill passes through Adora.

 “I’m fine,” Catra insists, before Adora even says anything.

“I brought you some food,” Adora says, setting the bowl down on her bedside table, “can you sit up for me?”

“No,” Catra grits out, “it’s always me doing something, isn’t it?” Catra starts. Adora’s eyes widen, her breath catching in the cold air. Catra is quite often cryptic, but that sounded pretty clear. Adora still doesn’t understand, yet Catra’s words are sharp like a knife, threatening to cut open Adora’s heart. 

“I should turn up the heating,” Adora says, distracting herself. Catra grabs the duvet and tugs it over herself.

Adora’s hands shake as she fidgets with the heating. Her eyes don’t focus on the unit enough. Instead, they keep drifting to Catra, still and unmoving on the bed. She finally turns up the heat and lets out a gentle sigh. She’s suffocating with the icy tension in the room. Maybe the warmth can melt it.

The medal around her neck feels heavy, like it’s weighing her down. It can’t be a sign of their shared achievement when Catra is so despondent straight after, unnervingly silent. Adora pushes past the anxiety, swimming against the current her brain is trying to force her down.

Catra’s voice breaks the silence. “I’m the bull, Adora. You’re the matador,” Catra mutters briefly. Adora blinks dumbly, head tilting as her hand raises to clutch the medal.

“I mean, that’s what our routine was about, yeah,” Adora replies. Catra lets out a dark chuckle.

“Sure,” she responds bitterly. Adora’s spine straightens, her mind delving into a thousand different possibilities as to what that means. She should ask, really, but she doesn’t want to make anything worse. The silence seems to agitate Catra even more, and Adora starts to feel incredibly nauseous.

Then, Catra swings her legs to the edge of her bed, sitting up in one swift movement.

Adora catches her swollen ankle almost immediately.

“You need to see a doctor,” Adora says, jumping towards the freezer and grabbing an icepack. She passes it to Catra, but Catra shoves it away.

“No, Adora. I don’t need to do anything,” Catra hisses at her, and her tail is lashing violently. Adora shouldn’t push. 

Then Catra’s claws unsheathe, digging into the mattress. Adora’s hands twitch by her side.

She doesn’t know what to do, but she knows Catra needs to get her ankle checked out. Her mind is running through all the options when she finally decides on what to do. 

– – –

“I’m gonna get Mara.”

“Are you kidding?” Catra hissed, because of course Adora’s a fucking snitch.

“No. You’re not okay, Catra. And I really- I know you’re mad, but your ankle is swollen and she should know. She’ll know what to do.” 

“It’s not…” Catra lets her voice trail off as her eyes shift to look at the injury, swollen and red throbbing mess. Maybe it’s for the best. Unexpectedly, Adora texts. Finding Mara or even calling her would be quicker, Catra thinks, but Adora doesn’t leave.

Catra wishes she just froze on the ice. 

Catra watches Adora put her phone down. She looks like she’s on the verge of saying something, words about to leave her lips when Mara bursts in.

“You!” She says to Catra, “You have an injury and you didn’t tell me?! When did it happen?”

“The throw quad salchow,” Catra replies, scratching the back of her neck. Mara’s face drops, “It’s not that bad.” Adora’s got anxiety pulling at her face, lips pursed and eyebrows pinched.

“It is that bad if it’s swollen. I’m worried about you,” Catra’s skin always crawls when Mara says things like that. She makes Catra feel important, like Adora did. But there have been too many times where it’s used against her, the kind of attention that makes her feel valued being twisted and held above her head. It doesn’t feel good anymore, “how does your ankle feel?”

“Tight, and really achy but inside.”

“Alright, let’s get you to the on-site doctors.”

– – –

It didn’t take long for the medical professionals to assess Catra. But it wasn’t quick because it was easy to manage, it was quick because they said she should go to the hospital.

Adora wasn’t even sure if she was supposed to go with them, and when she’d asked Catra, Catra said only if you want to. Adora overthunk it about a million times before just taking her words at face value- Adora did want to go, so she would.

Now she’s in the waiting room of a private hospital, sitting in the same chair for the last four hours despite how restless she feels. There's a quiet calm, and it feels like it’s mocking the torrential swarm of thoughts buzzing in Adora’s head. Mara glances over at Adora, and her concern doesn’t help.

“She’s going to be okay,” Mara assures, hand reaching over to clutch Adora’s, “they only ordered the MRI because the X-ray was clear, and she’s a pro athlete. We need a definite diagnosis,” Mara explains, and it really doesn’t help the growing pit of anxiety in her stomach.

Catra walks into the waiting room with a tight smile and a moonboot on. Adora blinks at it. “Just a bone bruise. No exercise for a week, no skating for six,” Catra says briefly.

“Glad you’re okay, kid. Wanna head back to the village?”

“Yeah.”

Mara drives them back, Adora and Catra sitting in the backseat together. Mara gave some lame excuse to keep the front passenger seat open, which left Adora and Catra next to each other in silence. Adora’s stewing in her anxiety, knee bouncing insistently. She chews the inside of her cheek and picks at her hang nails, eyes darting anywhere but Catra.

“What?” Catra asks sharply, having watched Adora for twenty minutes now. Adora doesn’t hold back.

“What if it’s bad? It could be permanent,” Adora says.

“The doctors said I’d recover, but really, it doesn’t matter if it’s permanent,” Catra replies. Adora scoffs.

“You won’t be able to compete with a weak ankle.”

“I know. I’m done,” her tone is jarring to Adora’s ears. No way is she just abandoning their dreams, Adora has to be mistaken. Mara’s breath hitches from the front seat, and Catra’s ears tilt down, “we won gold. What more is there to do?” 

No, no, no. Adora can’t be losing Catra right now. Not like this. It’s like she's been doused in freezing water.

“Win again,” Adora persists stubbornly.

“Lay off her, Adora,” Mara interrupts from the front seat. Adora’s eyebrows shoot up as she remembers, yes, it’s not just her and Catra in the car. Catra looks ahead, silently scanning over Mara.

“Are-” Catra cuts herself off when she realises how raw she sounds, anxiety tightening her voice. She clears her throat and tries again, “are you okay with me quitting?” she asks Mara. Adora stays silent, awaiting their coach’s- rather, just Adora’s now- response.

“I’ve told you once and I’ll say it again, I’m never gonna force you to compete. I’m so proud of how far you come, and honestly, I respect ending on a win,” Mara smiles. How can either of them just accept this?

“Thank you Mara. Seriously, you’ve done so much for me,” Catra says gratefully.

“Anytime,” Mara replies.

Adora’s hands shake and her eyes water. This is the last piece she has of Catra, the last glimpse into her life, and it’s being taken from her. She accepted that Catra didn’t want a relationship, because at least she could have her on the ice. But now, even that’s gone.

She wishes she never won.

They arrive back to the village in silence. Adora rushes to the bathroom and locks herself in there.

She strips with emotionless efficiency, turns the knobs of the shower and steps in before the water even heats up.

Under the rain of the showerhead, Adora finally lets herself cry. Really, she’s mourning all the possibilities, lost eventualities to have Catra in her life. There’s an imminent reality where Catra is solely a ghost of her memory, and Adora’s powerless in changing any of this. The water thrums on her back, apologetic company for the tears streaming down her face. She tries to be quiet, tries really hard, but after her third time choking on a cry, she gives up. Catra would know anyways, if she can hear this so what? It’s not like she’s sticking around anyways.

Adora wants to cry until she’s used up all the water in the shower’s pipes. Unfortunately, she cares about wastage. She begrudgingly shuts it off and presses her head against the cool tile, her sobs now quiet. The new reality still hurts though, still scrapes her throat raw and amplifies that ache in her chest.

She’s exhausted by the time she leaves the shower. She catches her face in the mirror above the sink and flinches. Her eyes are red and puffy, dried out and itchy. Adora rubs them once, winces at the scratchy feeling and stops. She wraps herself in her towel and leaves the bathroom.

Catra turns to face the wall as Adora changes. It’s logical and polite, but Adora just feels like she’s repulsed Catra.

When Adora’s in her pyjamas, she lays down on her bed and hugs a pillow to her chest, “there’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay?” Adora asks, breaking the silence. Her voice sounds rough, a rasp in it from her crying.

“Why would I?” Catra says tiredly, “why bother, Adora?” There’s no reason that will make it worth it for Catra. Any reason worthy- fame, money, each other- feels like it’s been stripped away, leaving Adora scrambling for a reason.

“But I need you,” Adora pleads. Her throat is tight as a lump forms.

“I’m not chasing after you. Not anymore.”

A disconcerting clarity swells inside of her.

“Chasing after me?” Adora’s voice sounds so small. She’s never thought of it like this but–

“I moved to Brightmoon for you.” It’s really only the beginning. Adora knows this. Catra strives on. 

“I fucking- I’d always text first. I’d organise dates. Then we moved in together and I thought things would change. But then I was waiting for you to come home, or doing little things in training to distract you so I could just have your attention. It never stayed, did it?” Catra’s resentful words come out sharp and bitterly. Worst of all, Adora hears the shake in her voice, the insecure warble as she borders on tears, “you were always after something greater and I’m the idiot who just followed after you, hoping it would be enough. Even after we broke up, I’m still here, on Team fucking Brightmoon,” Catra takes a deep breath, trying to stablise herself, “But I’m the bull, and you’re the matador. You survive after you play with me. I don’t.”

– – –

Adora doesn’t respond straight away, her eyes staring pinned to the floor. Catra promptly decides that she hates this, and she never should’ve said anything because she still has to spend a few more days in the village, when all she wants to do is go home and shut out the world. Her breaths are sharp, releasing in short puffs, and as much as she wants to run away, her stupid ankle is throbbing with deep pain and there’s no way she can stand on it.

“I didn’t… I’m an idiot,” Adora says, piercing the silence. Catra laughs humourlessly, a flat singular chuckle.

“Yeah.” Catra waits for Adora to leave, like she always does. Even just turn to the wall. Instead, Adora gets up to sit on the bed with Catra, “what are you doing?” Catra asks, shifting her ankle out of the way. Adora doesn’t respond to that.

“We were broke,” Adora says, staring at the ceiling. It cracks the mountain of unsaid words between them, still Catra scoffs.

“No shit.”

“Yeah. We both worked a shit tonne to make ends meet,” Adora acknowledged.

“You didn’t need to work so much,” Catra jeers, because Adora always took on extra shifts, arrived early and stayed back, hours past when she should’ve been at home. The first time it happened, Catra was worried sick. The last time it happened was her breaking point. She still remembers how having Adora in bed still felt all too similar to her absence, like her physical presence shifted nothing. 

“You’re right,” Adora acknowledges, and Catra feels that same empty victory she did when they were awarded first place. She didn’t want to be right. She wanted their past to be different, for Adora to prove that somehow Catra was wrong.

“I um, I used to stress that we wouldn’t have enough. Or moreso, that I couldn’t give you enough. I couldn’t afford a diamond ring to propose with. But I wanted to give you the world. Then we won bronze and we got all that money from Brightmoon and for a moment, nothing but us mattered. Still, I wanted to provide for you. So I kept working, and filling my free time with shifts. Brightmoon was paying us well too. Except that stress didn’t go away.”

“I didn’t want a diamond ring. I wanted you,” Catra mutters caustically.

“I know that now,” Adora laughed wetly, tears rolling down her face, “I’m sorry.” Adora offers. Catra doesn’t really accept it. “It’s not an excuse, just an explanation.” Then Adora stands, and Catra wants to scream. Because of course Adora’s leaving, after everything she’s just-

Oh. She’s making a call.

“Mara? Hi,” Adora says as the call begins. Catra watches her carefully, studies her listening face to get some idea of what Adora was saying, “yeah, I won’t be doing another season either,” Adora’s smiling at the same time Catra’s face drops. This idiot. Adora makes a few more affirmative hums to Mara, “yeah, I’ll talk to you later, thanks. Bye,” she says before hanging up.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t want to skate if it’s not with you,” Adora says, like it’s a known truth and not a fact that changes everything. “And Catra? I’ll chase after you. You did it for years. If I’m waiting for the rest of my life, I don’t care.” 

Catra feels sick. This isn’t real, it can’t be real. What Adora’s saying feels idyllic, disconcertingly so.

“I need…” Catra’s voice trails off, because she isn’t sure what she needs. Maybe space. Somewhere else to process things, “I need space,” Catra finishes. Adora nods, taking a deep, steely breath. But in her eyes is an unwavering determination.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be here, if you ever… y’know. Well, metaphorically- I, just, we’re going to be leaving in a few days- god, sorry,” Adora says, fidgeting awkwardly. Catra’s body pulls her out of the room, less of an intentional action and more like autopilot.

The adrenaline has finally burned off, and everything she’s ignored starts to hurt, like she’s charged one last time and finally felt the blade pierce her chest.

The bull never gets to win.

But maybe this time, she could.

Her legs took her to Mara’s room, her knuckles rapping on the door. Mara blearily opened the door, “Catra?”

“Hi,” Catra mumbles. Mara steps aside, welcoming Catra inside, “can I… stay here for a bit?” honestly, Catra isn’t sure if this is weird. She hopes it isn’t, because Mara is seriously the most important authority figure she’s ever listened to, and at this point she’s family. There aren’t many people Catra can say that about.

Once upon a time it used to be just Adora.

“Yeah, kid, of course,” Mara says, but she sounds hesitant, “is Adora giving you shit? I swear to god if-”

“No, Adora’s not done anything wrong. The opposite, actually,” Catra says. She sits on the floor, leaning against the bedframe. Unsteady breaths. In. Out.

Her trained calmness never soothes the anxiety.

Mara sits next to Catra and knocks knees with her, “what’s up?”

– – –

Catra’s anxiety is harder to spot. Still, Mara can always tell. There's always a small glimpse, before Catra shoves that part deep down and her expression turns indifferent.

“Nothing. I’m okay,” Catra says. Mara knocks her knees against hers again.

“Yeah and the sky is green. Try again,” Mara teases. Catra scoffs.

“God, can you just-” Catra’s frustration deflates and she hugs her knees to her chest. Catra’s knees aren’t even because of the moon boot. It makes hugging them to her chest look uncomfortable. Mara blinks a couple of times, hesitating on what to do.

“We don’t have to talk,” Mara offers. Catra nods, “do you wanna sleep in here tonight?”

“No, just needed a break,” Catra mumbles.

“Do you want a hug?”

Catra’s ears perk up, breath stilling at the offer. Mara always worries about how surprised Catra gets at physical affection. It’s why she’s always cautious about it, never hugging unprompted.

“Yeah,” Catra decides after a moment. Mara brings her close and wraps her in a hug. Then Catra begins to cry.

In Mara’s six years of coaching Catra, she's never once seen nor felt her cry until now. Even when either of her girls mess up a lift and Catra goes tumbling, she always keeps her pain hidden, until it flares into anger when she lashes out.

“Hey, talk to me, tell me what's wrong,” Mara encourages, hugging Catra a little tighter.

“It’s fucking stupid,” Catra mumbles, but at the same time her tears are dampening Mara’s hair. Catra pulls away from the hug.

“It’s not stupid. Especially not if it’s making you this upset,” Mara says. She looks at Catra, and for a moment she looks sixteen again, younger and embittered by her rocky start in this world, “is it about Adora?” Mara asks. Catra looks away and nods.

“She wants to be better. She wants to try again,” Catra says. Mara offers Catra a small smile.

“Do you remember Coach Hope?”

“I’m not a goldfish.”

“We were engaged,” Mara says, “she was very controlling though. Had one path mapped in her head with no room for differences. She wanted you two to win gold, she wanted me and her to get married, she wanted…” Mara isn’t going to tell Catra everything. It’d only scare the girl, “she wanted a lot. It took me ages to tell her that she needed to back up, but she wouldn't listen, so I broke things off. Adora is listening. I think that makes it worth a shot. Don’t dive right into it though. Take it slow. See if she upholds her word. Trust isn't instant, it’s built.”

Catra swallows, and Mara watches as she processes everything said. Then, she switches up the subject, “so that’s why we never saw Hope after our first year?”

“Yeah, she was talking about upping your guys’ schedules and restricting what you eat more than the diet guidelines and I realised I had to put my foot down,” Mara said, “but she never once regretted her choices. Adora does and I gather she’s recognising how she hurt you.” Mara watches Catra intently, checking in with her as she sits with what’s been said.

“I might go back to my room now,” Catra says, her voice quiet. Mara smiles.

“Good luck kid, choose what’s right for you.”

“Thanks,” Catra grins back before leaving.

Mara sighs, deflating all the energy in the room. She reaches for her phone, where Hope’s latest text lies unread.

When the girls had won bronze, Hope left a scathing message, saying how she predicted this, how Mara needed to be harsher on them, how they’d never be good enough with the way they trained. Now she has proof that they didn’t need restrictions and harshness, they just needed care.

Mara isn’t sure why she didn’t block Hope then, because Mara was certainly proud of her girls. Bronze, silver, gold, not placing- none of it mattered, just that they performed to best they could.

The unread message from Hope reads; Congrats. Nothing more, nothing less.

Mara opens their text chain, goes straight to Hope’s profile and clicks block. It's over for them, but it’s only just starting for Catra and Adora.

Mara smiles. She’s ready to move on.

– – –

Adora’s resting on her back staring up at the ceiling when Catra comes in. Catra takes one glance at Adora before her expression turns confused

“It’s like, 12am. How are you not asleep?”

“Just feeling wired,” Adora responds. This whole evening has flipped her world, and it kind of makes it hard to sleep.

“Scooch,” Catra says, knocking her knee against Adora’s side. Adora quickly shuffles over, her eyes wide in alert. Catra sits on the edge of Adora’s bed and undoes the straps of her moonboot. Once it’s off, she breathes out a sigh and swings her legs into bed, cuddling up to Adora.

“Are we okay?” Adora asks nervously.

“We will be,” Catra mumbles into Adora’s skin, “I still need space though. Obviously, it’s kind of hard when we’re here, but when we get back can we just take it slow?” Adora lets out a relieved exhale.

“Of course, but you don’t… you don’t have to do this,” Adora assures, “if you’re not ready that’s okay too.”

“Let’s just take it slow,” Catra repeats, nuzzling into Adora’s neck. This isn’t slow, but for them, it’s good. If they’re sharing a room they may as well share a bed. It’s hard to know what’s slow when they used to be attached at the hip, but at least this feels like the right balance between at least.

“It’s fucking ridiculous that I can’t perform at the gala. We won gold and I’m gonna be benched.” 

Oh. Adora hadn’t even thought about the figure skating gala, how they wouldn’t be able to do their exhibition skate. The last gala had been so much fun, and they always were- it didn’t matter if you messed up, it was a victory lap more than anything.

“I won’t skate either,” Adora says, wrapping her arms around Catra just a little tighter. She felt Catra’s eyebrows furrow against her shoulder.

“You gotta do it,” Catra replies, “if I can’t, at least you should.”

“But-”

“Adora, just do it,” Catra says, with an air of finality that Adora’s anxious to argue with. They’re fragile, and Adora doesn’t want to break this delicate moment. So she takes a deep breath and just tries to be present.

– – –

Catra’s watching the gala from the front row with Mara, counting the time until Adora is up. It really should’ve been both of them. They had a routine planned too, which would’ve been so much more fun to perform now that they’re making up. But whatever. Adora’s just going to do an old routine or something, they haven’t talked about it.

Adora’s friends, Glimmer and Bow- reluctantly considered Catra’s friends too- had some sort of circus theme to their ice dance routine. Something fun and flashy, but Catra doesn’t really remember much though, she was too stuck in her own head.

Now, Catra’s eyes follow Adora as she paces. She’s an anxious mess, eyes unfocused and hands fidgeting awkwardly. Catra imagines whether kissing Adora would help. They haven’t since the Kiss and Cry though, and maybe it would throw Adora off her mental game.

Then Adora’s gait halts as they make eye contact. Catra watches Adora’s nerves melt away, a smile and blush spreading over the blonde’s face. The fancy makeup they put on Adora’s face is beautiful, fun eyeliner and gemstones adorning her pale skin. Catra wants to kiss her forehead, lips too. Judging by the look on Adora’s face, and the way she bites the inside of her lip, Adora’s having similar thoughts. Adora eyes flit between Catra and Mara.

The announcer calls Adora up. Adora freezes as she turns to the rink, before she shakes her head, undoubtedly to all the cameras watching, and jumps the barricade between the rinkside and first row. She slides into the empty seat next to Catra and waves. The presenter quickly explains Catra’s injury, smoothly adjusting to this slip in the program and moving onto the next skater. Catra bats Adora’s leg with the back of her hand, “why’d you do that?”

“I’m not celebrating our win without you,” Adora smiles, bending over in her chair to untie her skates. “Besides, I don’t want to skate alone. It feels wrong,” Adora’s beaming once she sits back up, all teeth on display. Catra wants to lean in and kiss her.

“Idiot,” Catra says. Then, for good measure, she kisses Adora’s bottom lip, which is undoubtedly caught on camera but who cares. Their other kiss already was.

“Your idiot,” Adora corrects. Catra coughs as she chokes on air.

The rest of the performances were far more enjoyable. It’s not because she’s resting her hand on Adora’s thigh, no, not because of her muscles there. God, she’s hot.

Her head tips to Adora’s shoulder and Adora wraps her arm around her instinctively, like their time apart did nothing to their habits. Adora squeezes her waist, and Catra’s blush grows tenfold.

– – –

It’s finally time to fly home. This is simultaneously the best and the worst time for Catra and Adora. Adora likes it, because it’s a sign they’re going home, but they also get swarmed. It’s the post Olympic buzz, a suffocating crowd they have to deal with at airports before the hype dies down and they can go back to the normal. They have a moderate amount of Brightmoon staff who travel with them, mainly all the managers and coaches for the sports. 

“Catra- just, hold onto my hand,” Adora says. Catra’s already agitated from the moon boot, her tail flicking sharply as Mara and their managers standing around them. 

Catra squeezes Adora’s hand and glares at Adora, frustrated at being told to do something she’s already doing. People are yelling their names, cameras are flashing and microphones are being held out. Then a photographer whistles, and Catra’s ears pin back at the pitch.

After seeing that Catra reacts to it, the press starts whistling, trying to get her attention. Adora wraps her arm around Catra.

“You’re doing good,” Adora whispers in an attempt to assure her. It doesn’t feel like enough, not when Catra’s jaw is set and her grip is tightly wound. When they step inside to the group check in, Adora finally exhales.

“Phew, that was-” Adora cuts herself off when she sees the frustration still etched on Catra’s face.

“Fucking dickheads,” Catra mutters, fists clenched on the hem of her top. Adora hesitates for a moment, taking in how, beneath the anger, Catra’s embarrassed. The reddening of her cheeks says enough, and Adora’s chest winds with worry. She wraps Catra in a hug, puzzle pieces slotting together. The tension diffuses from Catra’s body, “they’re just so insensitive,” Catra huffs into Adora’s shoulder. Adora’s hand rubs down Catra’s back.

“It’s horrible. They’re stupid, and they don’t get it,” Adora says, but she doesn’t know either. It stresses her out, to not understand exactly how they’re getting on Catra’s nerves. Adora tightens the hug, giving herself a moment to think how she can help, “do you want earbuds? I’ve got some in my backpack.” Catra nods into her shoulder.

“I want your jacket too,” Catra says begrudgingly. Adora smiles proudly, dropping her bag and pulling away from Catra to shrug off her jacket. She wraps it gingerly around Catra and presses a kiss to her forehead. Whilst her bag is off, she takes out the ear buds and hands them to Catra.

“Thanks,” Catra says, fiddling to put them in. She can still hear through them, but it helps muffle the sound.

Check-in goes smoothly. Security gets them through fast. They’re at a convenience store in their terminal, looking for the right snacks to get them through the 10 hour plane ride.

“They’ve got nothing good,” Catra whines, shifting the weight off of her injured leg. Adora crouches, checking the candy on the lower shelf. Bingo.

“Yeah? I guess I’ll have all these to myself,” Adora sighs jokingly, dangling a bag of Catra’s favourite candy. Catra’s eyebrows shoot up as her jaw slackens, and she snatches them out of Adora’s hand, “hey!”

“You can’t get mad, my leg is broken,” Catra grins.

“You’ve got a bone bruise in your ankle,” Adora corrects, poking Catra’s side. Catra rolls her eyes.

“Whatever, nerd. Should’ve gone to med school instead of pursuing figure skating,” Catra teases, grabbing some chips before heading to the checkout.

“Considering we won gold, I’m doing just fine in my current field,” Adora says, cocky as ever. She bumps Catra’s side, and Catra stumbles for a moment before pushing Adora right back. This is what she missed so much. 

Then the cashier is staring at them with a bewildered expression. Definitely recognising them. They quickly pay for their snacks and head out.

Boarding goes quickly, considering Brightmoon pays for them to be in business class. They sit in their seats and relish all the space, “watch this!” Adora beams, before reclining her chair.

“You did that on the way here,” Catra points out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t get to share it with you,” Adora says.

“Dork,” Catra says affectionately, leaning over and kissing her. It’s starting to get heated, Adora's hands roaming over her shoulders and Catra pressing closer into her. Really, it’s just them relighting a fire that had been smouldering for ages. Then Catra’s head drops to Adora’s neck, and Adora feels her face light on fire, eyes shut as her hand raises into Catra’s hair. She tugs gently, feeling Catra’s low chuckle rumble against her neck.

Adora’s wondering how long until they’ll just merge into one when Glimmer coughs loudly.

“Can you like not,” she asks, sitting in the next aisle over. Bow’s looking away sheepishly, gazing out the window to the tarmac and bouncing his knee, line of sight strategically averted. Catra pulls away and raises an eyebrow, her face adorned with a smirk that makes Adora breathe in with anticipation.

“Fuck off,” Catra replies irreverently, pulling Adora into one last kiss.

“More when we get back?” Adora asks shyly. Catra grins and nods.

“Yeah.”

– – –

Arriving back in Brightmoon is a nightmare. Catra’s legs are aching from the plane ride, and her neck is stiff from falling asleep on Adora’s shoulder. Baggage claim goes off without a hitch though, probably the last thing keeping Catra’s sanity intact.

“You ready?” Adora asks nervously. The crowds in the open terminal are always terrible. The airport staff roped off a pathway for them, but the public can still see them, yell at them, take photos and god knows what else they’ll manage.

“No,” Catra murmurs. Adora’s deep eyebags tell Catra that she’s not ready either. Jet lag is a bitch. Mara tells them the game plan, how they’re gonna walk through the pathway and not make eye contact with anyone. There’s more to it, but Catra’s a little too exhausted to clock what’s being said. Catra pauses to put in her earbuds again, shooting Adora a grateful but weary smile.

Then they’re striding through, people yelling and cameras flickering at them, trying to get photos. Catra’s getting guided to a private driver by Mara, Adora and their team manager following with. It would’ve been worse if not for the earbuds Adora gave her.

Then they’re in the car and Catra takes a long exhale. Apparently, because she’s the smallest out of the group, she has to sit in the middle seat between Mara and Adora. “That wasn’t as bad as Mystacor airport.” Catra said. She goes to buckle her seatbelt, right as Adora is too, and their hands graze at the knuckles.

“Yeah,” Adora says, strained. She’s blushing like a dork, and once the seatbelt finally clicks in, she reaches to hold Catra’s hand. Mara sends them both an amused expression before they all relax, slumping in their seats.

“I’m so proud of you girls.”

– – –

Adora’s fidgeting with the bouquet of paper flowers in her hands. She’s standing in front of Catra’s door, not quite knocking yet. Instead, her mind’s spiralling, trying to figure out whether Catra would find this overbearing and pushy–

The door swings open.

“Hey Adora,” Catra says, an eyebrow raised in amusement. She leans against the doorframe, eyes strolling up and down Adora’s outfit.

“You- how’d you know I was here?” Adora asked in a stupor.

“I have a doorbell camera dummy. It sends me texts when it detects movement,” Catra grins, waving her phone. On it is Adora’s dumbfounded expression, coming from the camera installed in the doorbell. Catra’s eyes finally catch the bouquet, and her expression stuns. It’s all the encouragement Adora needs.

“These are for you,” Adora says, holding them out, “I was wondering if I could take you to lunch.” Adora holds her breath and clenches her eyes shut, stress injected into each nerve in her body. She peaks an eye open when Catra takes the bouquet from her hand.

“Did you make these?” she asks.

“Yeah. I, um, it took a while, that’s why I didn’t ask you on a date sooner,” Adora admits. Without the flowers in her hands, she feels a little useless.

“Where do you plan on taking me?” Catra’s eyes inspect all the intricate folds Adora spent hours labouring over with a concealed reaction, but her voice is still confident as ever. Adora wishes she felt just a morsel of that, because right now she’s as nervous as she was before their performance.

“I have a picnic blanket and a basket, if you’d like to join me,” Adora responds, smiling as she bounces on the balls of her feet. God, Catra’s still not given any indication on whether she wants to or not, and it’s killing Adora.

Finally, Catra’s face breaks into a smile.

“Let me get changed, okay? Come in,” Catra doesn’t leave any time for Adora to respond, instead walking back into the house and leaving the door open. Adora steps into the living room and inhales deeply. The space is so deeply Catra, like her soul has been nurtured and grown in here. Healed here as well.

Now they're back together, and Adora doesn’t want to damage this. She wants to grow alongside Catra.

There are lots of plants in here too, pothos and monsteras and peace lilies and-

“You like the room?” Catra asks. Adora turns around to see Catra in a nice pair of jeans and a beautiful deep red sweater.

“You’re wearing red,” Adora says with a smile, because Catra usually shies away from it. Catra’s colourblindness has always been somewhat of a sore spot.

“I was trying to match with you, but I don’t own any red that’s not dark I think,” Catra admits nervously. Adora looks down at her top.

“I’m wearing green,” she says. Catra’s ears flatten with embarrassment, “-but! Red opposite on the colour wheel to green, so they’re complementary colours,” Adora beams. She likes it, that they can complement each other. Catra seems to like it as well, her face twitching into a grin. “Besides, red looks really, really good on you. Especially dark red like that sweater.”

“Idiot,” Catra grins endearingly. Adora gets a little fidgety looking at her lips, “where’s the picnic?” 

“We gotta drive about half an hour, but it’s worth it, I promise.” Adora holds Catra’s hand and leads her out to the car, opens her door for her and does anything she can to be a gentleman. Catra grins at the display.

When they’re on the road, Adora prompts Catra to open the centre console.

“Why?” Catra says cautiously, but on her face is a curious smile. She opens it and laughs, “no way.” Inside is a CD, love hearts drawn on the case. Catra puts it into the car’s reader and the speakers are filled with their favourite songs.

“I thought that it’s more sentimental if it’s on CD,” Adora says, glancing over at Catra.

“You’re such a dork, you know?” Catra teases.

“Oh I know,” Adora agrees. The music livens the atmosphere and the car feels so warm, a nice break from the ice. Adora misses the training, but truly, she missed this so much more, being able to exist with Catra and be happy.

-

Catra stands at the base of a hill, glancing over to Adora questioningly.

“Trust me on this, okay?” And when they reach the top, the city skyline is in view, a beautiful horizon of orange and gold shining past the skyscrapers. Catra’s eyes widen as she takes in the view, sun glittering onto her face. When she glances over to Adora, Adora’s just as surprised, as though she didn’t pick out the spot.

“You dork,” Catra says, a smile on her face as her chest buzzes. The warmth of the evening sun blends with a small chill in the air, then Adora begins unloading her backpack, suspiciously large.

“I have a blanket too, if you’d like,” Adora offers, “and some actual food don’t worry,”

“What inspired all of this?” Catra questioned. It was the furthest thing to anything they’d ever done when they were dating. When they first were together, their dates were mostly watching movies at home. More often than not, Adora didn’t have the energy for much else, no matter how much Catra resented it. She’s still learning to let that go, but they have time.

“I wanted to do something with my hands, and just make something for us,” Adora said, hands fidgeting by her sides. Catra seized the moment and took Adora’s hands, kissing the knuckles, “what a gentleman,” Adora teased. Catra let her eyes flutter shut as she leaned forward, forehead touching with Adora’s

“Thank you,” Catra whispers.

“Thank you for coming.”

Then they sit down, unpacking the picnic rug and the blanket to wrap around themselves. Adora takes out peanut butter and bread, as well as a couple of knives. Catra laughs.

“Peanut butter sandwiches for dinner?”

“Sorry I didn’t know what else would be easy to pack and wouldn’t go soggy,” Adora says, but her face is grinning, like she knew just how stupid it was but decided to do it anyway.

“Idiot,” Catra says, pushing Adora’s shoulder.

“Move over,” Adora complains jokingly, “and give me some of the blanket,”

“Why don’t you play me some guitar?” Catra asks instead, eyeing the acoustic instrument. Adora stopped playing for years when they were training, occasionally plucking at it but never anything more. Bringing it clearly meant something to Adora.

Adora was hesitant. A thin layer of dust sat behind the frets, evidence of time spent unplayed. Catra’s mind wound back to memories when Adora would play for her, before they slowly fell apart.

“It doesn’t have to be good,” Catra encourages, “just, I’d like to hear whatever you can play.”

Adora’s hands are tentative as she reaches for her guitar. She’s careful as she unzips it from the case, caring hands finally unpacking her guitar. She sits cross legged and rests it on her thigh, fingertips pressed against the fretboard and other hand hovering above the other end of the strings, anticipation building as she waits.

Adora takes a deep breath. Catra recognises that steeling breath, the same kind of grounding she uses before their Olympic performances. Part of Catra is surprised that this means so much to Adora, that she just wants to get it right.

And when Adora starts playing, she gets the second note wrong. Instantly she pulls away from the guitar, shaking her head.

“No I can’t do it-”

“Adora,” Catra says softly, a smile on her face. It’s not her cocky grin, not mocking or teasing. No, it’s honest, caring. Because she gets it. Adora’s struggling with vulnerability, “I don’t care if you’re bad. The fact that you’re playing for me means everything.” Maybe some of Adora’s anxiety comes from having all the time in the world, or at least it feels like they do to Catra. There’s no music to kickstart them, unlike their ice skating performances.

Catra can sit here forever, waiting with a bated breath for Adora to pluck the strings and begin.

Finally, Adora shifts her guitar back into position and begins, hands darting in intricate movements. A buzz rings out from a string pressed poorly, and Adora’s rhythm stammers, like a stutter, before she kicks back up, pushing through. Catra shifts to lay down, resting her head in front of Adora as she takes in the lovely tune. Despite how time has slowly picked away at Adora’s skill, it still makes Catra’s chest buzz with warmth, the vibrations sinking into her skin and dissolving in her bloodstream.

“Beautiful,” Catra comments when the last note rings into the abyss. Adora smiles and runs her hand through Catra’s splayed out hair.

“No, I’m rusty,” Adora deflects, cheeks warmed.

“Who cares? I loved it. Do you have anything more to play?” Catra asks, sitting up. Adora looks down at the frets, as though they would give her an idea. Eventually, her lips part as she remembers something, and Catra watches as Adora starts another song, a soundtrack to this lovely date. Whilst Adora is playing, Catra sits up and starts speaking again, “you know, I don’t want you to chase after me anymore.” 

Catra watches the instantaneous falter in Adora’s playing, like she’s just shattered the serenity of their date.

“What do you mean?” Adora asks, her music ceased and face pale.

“I just want to be on even ground. Let’s share this, okay? Not try and win each other over,” Catra tilts her head and Adora’s stress visibly recedes. 

“Oh god,” Adora laughs out with relief, her breath shaky. She pulls Catra in for a kiss, and Catra smiles, “don’t think I’m gonna stop doing dates like this though. It’s not to win you over, it’s because I love you.”

“I love you too,” Catra says, and her hands knit into Adora’s hair. She presses a kiss there, the warmth of Adora’s head lingering on her lips.

-

The scent of chlorine wafts as Catra and Adora enter the public pools, making their way to the rehab pool. Adora’s not allowed in, but she still sits by the side, wearing her swimsuit for when Catra’s done her warm ups and they can swim some laps together. 

The exercises aren’t super visible- most of them swirling motions in her ankle joint for some mobility. She does some walking up and down the short pool to finish it off, before she gets out, ready to do laps.

“You good?” Adora checks in. Catra scoffs.

“Right as rain,” She mutters. Adora doesn’t know what to do with Catra’s frustration. It’s like she’s staring at a window covered with shutters, no real idea as to how to fix whatever's happening inside.

They get into the slow lane, even though Catra insists she still has her stamina. It’s not Catra’s first time swimming on the injury, but it’s still healing, and Adora knows Catra pushes herself too much.

“I know, but it’s better to start off slow,” Adora says. Catra rolls her eyes but agrees, putting on her goggles and jumping in the water. The worst part is Catra doesn’t even like water. She gets overwhelmed by the heaviness of her fur, and how it matts from all the chlorine. But the doctor said it was the only exercise she should do right now, just for how low impact it was.

Catra will follow rules- she wouldn’t have made it to the Winter Olympics if she couldn’t- but she makes sure to reach the absolute limit to every boundary, pushing against whatever constricts her. Adora watches through the bubbles in the water as Catra overtakes her, speedily kicking ahead. They both get through two laps before Catra’s form starts to crumble. Still, she pushes on, like a fish with a broken fin, before Adora finally stops her. She holds onto the lane rope and taps Catra on the shoulder when she passes. Catra tries to ignore her- not coming up for a breath- when Adora tugs her up.

“Stop,” Adora says.

“You stop,” Catra shoots back, her defenses up, “I’m trying to swim.”

“Your leg isn’t keeping up with the rest of your body,” Adora points out, “the only reason you’d be doing that is if you're in pain.” Catra’s stretched thin, and Adora thinks she’s going to snap when she suddenly collapses her head onto Adora’s shoulder, holding on so she doesn’t have to tread water. She lifts off her goggles.

“It’s fucking stupid,” Catra mutters bitterly, “can’t even swim. How am I gonna get back on skates?” Adora had to stamp out that hopeful thought that maybe they’d get to do one last Olympics together, that they could finish their streak of attending on a better note, united and an actual team.

“You’ll get there eventually, you just need patience, and time,” Adora assures, “besides, we're not competing anymore. You don’t have to get there straight away.”

Catra looks away, cheeks warming and lips pursed together like she’s holding something back, and Adora really has to extinguish that flare of hope. She’s not getting another Olympics. She lost that not from one mistake, but in all the moments where she let herself get tangled with other things, instead of prioritising the girl who mattered the most to her. 

So as much as she wants to skate competitively again, that’s just not possible. She’ll just focus on how lucky she is to even be with Catra.

-

It’s been six weeks since Catra got checked out by the doctor and she’s right back to the rink. The public rink isn’t bad. It’s fairly quiet since it's during the day, and aside from a few little kids who she has to watch out for, she’s got free reign to do what she wants.

She’s not an idiot; she isn’t gonna push herself too hard. Adora doesn’t even know she’s here, and if she got injured on the first day she’s allowed to skate that would just be embarrassing.

The skate guards click off for the first time in weeks.

There’s no unsteady reunion as she gets onto the ice– it’s a definitive step as her years of learning coalesce to the tread of her foot. The blade of her skate slices the ice and she glides across the rink, her body weightless in a way it hasn’t been the Olympic rink. The ice conditions are nothing compared to the private rink she’s used to practicing at, but nothing can smother the fire of passion that lights up. She burns through the ice, energy surging through her. She starts with an axel, feeling the air whip around her as she spins. Landing it sends a buzz of adrenaline through all her nerves, face breaking into a smile.

She starts to do any spin and jump she can think of, not for anyone else but herself. Some of her landings are rocky, and when she pushes it a little too far she almost falls, but she doesn’t, steadying properly and saving herself from tumbling. The gentle relief of still having her balance, even if it is a little.

It’s odd without Adora there. Whenever she messes up, she waits for Adora’s teasing remark, something that challenges her and pushes her to go the extra mile. She turns for the voice and flinches each time when she’s met with silence. Some habits never go away.

She pauses for a moment, breath fogging the air. The cold starts to bite when Catra doesn’t move, goosebumps prickling at her skin. Her muscles are a little achey, and even though she knows she has more in her, there’s no one she needs to prove herself to.

On the drive home, she mulls over that thought. Proving herself. The engine hums, white noise in the background of her mind. In her first Olympics, she and Adora had to put themselves out there, especially as the first same-sex pair. The Olympics they just competed in was sheer stubbornness more than anything, but at the same time proving that they were worthy of winning. The chase to justify her worth is over- the whole world knows that she and Adora are on top. But a fire inside her still burns, that blazing love of the thrill she gets when she competes. For years, that fire was smothered, but distantly, Catra remembers being young and hopeful, emancipated at 16 and ready to take on Brightmoon Junior competitions. 

She’s older now, more mature and grown. So is Adora too, and time is slowly ebbing away at the hurt that once felt so stubborn.

A car beeps behind her, and all the thoughts jump out of her head, her focus shifting to the greenlight that switched without her permission.

-

After winning the Olympics, Catra and Adora find themselves with a lot of spare time. Neither of them need to pick up a job, but when Adora hears a local ice skating rink is looking for a coach, she rushes to put her name in and gets the job on the spot. Catra could easily coach as well, but she’s never really had that 

Catra is wary about it anyways; waiting for the moment Adora’s time becomes absorbed in this new coaching gig. It almost does, but then a miracle happens.

Sunday rolls around and Catra hasn’t seen Adora all week. The texts between them have been sparse, and aside from a video call from Adora explaining how busy she’d be this week, they really haven’t spoken much. However, to Catra’s surprise, Adora calls her the moment her shift ends

“Hey Catra,” Adora says as Catra picks up the call. Catra can’t help but smile, even if she’s feeling a little bitter from Adora’s distance.

“Hey Adora,” Catra hums back, “I’m in the middle of cleaning, what’s up?” Catra isn’t– she’d been sitting on the couch rewatching a sitcom for the thousandth time. She just wants to seem like she hasn’t felt so lost since quitting competing.

“Is it all good if I come over in an hour? I just got off work so I need to shower, but how about I bring some dinner?” Adora offers, an excited lilt in her voice

“Sounds good,” Catra says.

“Any preferences?”

“Nah, bring whatever,” Catra replies, getting up to actually clean. The house isn’t a mess, per se, but the carpet could use a vacuum and her plants need to be watered.

“Perfect. I’ll grab something on the way over. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Then the call ends and Catra’s left with the stuffy silence of her empty home. Switching on the vacuum, it sounds like nothing more than a black hole, threatening to consume her with it. It’s wrong to miss competing; she was the whole reason they stopped. But there’s an ache biting at her bones, so similar to the chill her muscles got from staying stagnant on the ice. She wants the fire of competing back, to blaze on the ice with Adora as the brightest flames in the competition.

When Adora arrives, Catra pulls her in for a hug. She wants so badly to be content, but every inch of her misses when they were younger, beginning olympics training together, having time for each other and skating separately and at once.

“Are you okay?” Adora asks when Catra holds on for too long.

“Yeah,” Catra says, pulling away. Adora looks like she’ll push, but then the expression on her face rescinds.

“I brought Thai,” Adora smiles, lifting the plastic bag it sits in. Catra smiles back, pretending like there’s not a glacier of thoughts taking up all the space in her head.

They’re in the middle of such a quiet dinner when Adora speaks up.

“I think I’m gonna cut back on shifts.”

Catra’s heart practically rejoices.

“Yeah? Why?” Catra asks, acting as thought this isn’t exactly what she wants

“I’ve barely seen you all week. If my hours are cutting into our relationship then it’s too much.”

A cold guilt bleeds into Catra’s skin. Her grip on her chopsticks tighten.

“You don’t have to do that,” Catra says, each word forced out. She doesn’t want to be too much. Adora’s hand pauses in the air, her chopsticks halfway between the plate and her mouth.

“I don’t need a job, y’know, I’m choosing to work. I do well with schedules, but I’m also choosing to be in a relationship with you. I need time for this too.” Adora gestures between the two of them.

“I know, but…” Catra’s voice trails off. She wants this too, but she can’t express it. Can’t word just how much she wants Adora to take time for her.

“Catra, this-” Adora hesitates before correcting herself, “we only work when we're honest with each other. I want to hear how you’re feeling, but you just aren’t being direct with me.”

“Okay,” Catra agrees with a small exhale, the closest to an apology Adora will get. Adora’s mood picks up anyways, “It’d be good if you worked less,” Catra admits, and the chill in the air melts. Who knew it’d be that easy.

“I will. I want to,” Adora says, and dinner resumes with an ease and assurance Catra didn’t have beforehand. She really is a priority for Adora, and Adora is making an effort.

There’s still a lump in Catra’s throat, waiting to be acknowledged. But time hadn’t healed the bruises from the past yet, or at least Catra thought so. She felt herself holding onto the hurt, but for what? Adora was making sacrifices and adjustments for their relationship, willing to do what it takes for their happiness. Catra wanted to sacrifice her resentment too, just let herself enjoy these precious moments without the past haunting her. So she let go, untangling herself from old pains and focusing on what was in front of her and what was in her future.

-

Adora takes off her skates after a long day of coaching. As much as she loves teaching kids how to skate, by the end of it she’s always a little sore. She’s massaging her ankles when Catra walks through the door, skates in tow and athletic wear on.

“Hey Adora. Too tired for a skate?” Catra’s donning her usual lazy smirk and suddenly the ache in Adora’s legs disappear, replaced with a blaze of motivation.

“You wish,” Adora grins, pulling her skates back on. She does the laces as tight as she can, hand momentarily lifting to her head to wipe the sweat from the day. When she looks to her left, Catra’s skates are on too, and they walk over to the rink.

The skate guards click off and Adora feels a rush of adrenaline, thrumming through her blood and powering her muscles.

She hasn’t skated with Catra since the Olympics, and as they push off and start a lap together, everything feels right again. There’s no choreographed starting- just them flowing across the rink. The ice is theirs to control again. Catra diverges from Adora’s side and skates into the middle, leaving Adora to lap around her. 

It’s like watching a goddess as Catra pulls off the cleanest double lutz. Adora claps for her, face stretched into a grin. God, she’s so proud of her. Catra holds out her hand for Adora, and like a moth to a flame, Adora follows. It’s pure instinct.

“Time really hasn’t done anything, hey?” Adora jokes. Catra and Adora skate around each other.

Stepping off the ice is no grand moment. The steady feeling of the padding under the blades of their skates gets quickly chased by the skate guards. But sitting on the bench next to each other, Adora breathes in the chilly air and lets her shoulders settle. Catra’s always had a graceful air to her, even taking off her skates. The flyaways in her hair refract light, and her soft expression fills Adora with a domestic warmth that has kept returning. Then, Adora realises she admiring maybe just too much and looks away. Catra’s always felt awkward when Adora looked for too long-

“It’s okay,” Catra says quietly, “you can stare.” Adora blinks twice before raising one hand to cup Catra’s jaw, running her thumb over her soft cheek. Catra leans into it, eyelashes fluttering as her eyes close.

“I love you,” Adora says. Catra’s eyes slowly blink open, a smile breaking onto her face. Adora’s hand slides to Catra’s shoulder, the fabric of her tight t-shirt warm.

“I love you too,” Catra replies, her hand tugging at Adora’s hair tie. Adora’s head jerks back in the slightest, and she shoots Catra an unimpressed look but lets her hair fall down her back. Catra grins and threads her hand into Adora’s hair, pulls her head closer and presses their foreheads together, “wanna go out for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Adora smiles.

-

They end up at a local restaurant, clinking glasses of red wine. Catra feels a soft warmth buzz under her skin, head tipping to the side as she smiles at Adora, “Hey Adora,” Catra murmurs. The quiet chatter and music in the background is soft, and Catra’s nerves slowly hide behind it all.

“What’s up?” Adora says. She bumps her knees with Catra’s under the table.

“Do you miss competing?” Catra asks, eyes diverting to her glass. She runs her finger over the rim when Adora stays silent. Her stomach starts to churn when the silence lasts for too long.

“Yeah,” Adora admits, before reaching over the table. She holds Catra’s hand, signalling for eye contact. But her eyes are a little overwhelming, “but I don’t need to compete. I am so much happier with my life than I was for the last Olympics. You make me so happy,” Adora assures, because she’s so content with the way things are.

“Would you want to go back?” Catra’s eyes avert again, her gaze vaguely hovering on the table.

“Where’s this coming from?” Adora asks, squeezing Catra’s, “are you worried I’m not happy? I wouldn’t change this for the world.” Catra winces and retracts her hand.

“I called Mara earlier. She said there’s still a spot on the Olympic team.”

“What do you want?” Adora asks, because of course she does. Catra’s been cryptic the moment she started asking questions, and Adora wants directness

“It’s stupid,” Catra mutters, stomach churning at her own thoughts.

“It isn’t,” Adora encourages.

“I want to compete again,” Catra says. Adora blinks at her like she’s crazy, and Catra wishes she could take back everything she said. But she won’t; she’s going to be honest and deal with the discomfort. It’s better than that nagging feeling that tightens her chest in the worst of moments.

“Really?” Adora asks, her eyes blinking fast. Catra nodded, swallowing her shame, “I want to as well!”

“Seriously? Not just because I want to?”

“Yeah, I really do. I’d never push you to do it if you didn’t want to, but, I don’t know,” Adora’s voice goes soft, a gentle smile on her face, “I dreamt of doing one last Olympics routine with you, and just we were doing it together, like our first Olympics. I want to end on a win for us, not just for Team Brightmoon.” With how hard figure skating is on their bodies, they really do only have one last chance to compete in the Olympics before they have to retire. Neither of them are gonna let it pass. For a moment, Adora’s excitement wanes, an earnest smile taking its place “I know you might be worried about us though,” Adora acknowledges, “I think with my work, when we organise ahead of time that really works for me. Obviously our training schedule is going to be packed, but we could plan each month in advance.” Adora proposes.

“You’ve really thought about this,” Catra comments, grinning as she takes a sip of her wine.

“Yeah. I’ve always loved competing, but this time I want to do it right. I don’t ever want to take our relationship for granted again,” Adora says, whole-heartedly committed. Catra lets the warmth of security settle in, a strong pulse in her heart.

Catra raises her glass, a grin on her face, “to one final Olympics.” Adora toasts with Catra, their glasses clinking a signal of a new beginning.