She does not need any reminders, thank you, and Catra's fur bristles with annoyance at them.
"Clumsy me," she says sarcastically. And honestly, it's a testament to how much she's improved that neither of her hands 'slip' when she says it. (She still thinks about it, though, which makes it frustratingly clear that she hasn't improved enough. As if the rest of the evening hadn't made that obvious.)
Her tail continues to lash, and outside Melog warbles a question at her. She ignores them, snatching the gauze from the kit and beginning to pack it against the wounds with a proper professional amount of force. She is trying, she is trying so hard, and on nights like this -- on nights like this, she wonders what the point even is. She's never going to be a good person. She's never going to be someone Adora can be proud of. She's never going to be the sort of steady, reliable person that Adora can count on. She can't even get through one lousy dinner without pulling Adora into trouble.
A quiet voice in the back of her head murmurs Shadow Weaver was right, and Catra's ears twitch as if it were real.
"Look, I'm sorry for ruining your evening." It's not the heartfelt apology she'd started out wanting to give. This one sounds bitter and sarcastic instead, because - and she did not ever need to have a session with Perfuma to know this - that's what she's forcing the churn of her emotions into. Something familiar, something she knows how to handle. The words feel acrid and wrong on her tongue, and she hates herself more for every single one of them. "I'll just finish up with this and then you can call Bow and Glimmer," (their names are sneers on her lips and it feels wrong, as wrong as it ever did to snarl Adora's name with that same vitriol, and she wants to stop herself but she can't stop once she's started, she's never been able to stop once she's started), "and get back to playing the perfect daughter with your family."
Adora shrinks into herself more and more as Catra speaks. Each syllable from her mouth drips with the sort of vitriol Adora hasn't heard in a long, long time.
It's not like Catra no longer gets angry -- she always has, she always will. Sometimes her walls slam up before she can help it, and sometimes she has to run out on her own to cool off. That's fine. Adora knows her, Adora knows she's been trying, and has sworn to stay by her side through it at all.
But now Catra's stabbing every word into her vulnerable flesh like a dagger, and there is a coldness in her eyes that lets Adora know this isn't some sudden, uncontrolled flare-up -- it's a slow, boiling rage that's been simmering a while.
And Adora can't find what she did to cause it.
There's a moment where her expression cracks, revealing nothing but raw confusion and hurt underneath, as Adora wracks her brain for anything she's done wrong. It's always her first reaction when someone she loves is hurting, and she always finds something.
But all she's done today is meet her family. Feel excitement and joy over it. Try to have a nice dinner with them and with Catra, so they could all get to know one another-- so she could maybe, just maybe, put together the family she's barely even allowed herself to dream of.
For once in her life, Adora is certain she's not the one to blame.
"No." In the blink of an eye, her features have gone stone-cold, eyes flat and jaw rigid. She pulls her bandaged arm away, rises to her feet. "That's not fair, Catra."
She can't even look at Adora. She knows what she's done, and there's a tremble to her fingers as she winds the bandage around the gauze, finishing up on Adora's arm quickly. In a few seconds, the shoe will drop.
Adora pulls her arm away, and there it is. With just a few choice words they're back where they were before the chip, Adora cold and closed and Catra angry and hurting.
She hates it, but it's familiar. And in familiarity is comfort. Catra's eyes flash as she straightens, her hands curling into fists by her sides. She's filthy, she's tired, she's sore and she's guilty and she wants to go home with Adora and fix all of those things.
But she can't. Because she's gone and kicked everything they were working on over. Because Adora has a family now. And if there's one thing the Rebellion loves, it's sticking with their families. (Catra should know. Targeting the families of hiding rebels had been a ridiculously basic Horde strategy. They'd even used it on Glimmer and the Queen before her, whose name doesn't actually escape Catra [because Catra pulled that lever, Catra got her stuck] but who, for this moment, pretends she doesn't know it anyway.)
She knows it isn't fair, and still her lips lift in a jealous sneer.
"What's not fair, Adora?" She's been trying to keep it together but her voice shakes with the anger now, compressing hurt and fear and guilt together into barbed words that drag and stick in her throat. "That's what you want, isn't it? To have your perfect little family and your perfect little friends, all together in one perfect little house?"
(And it really is little, there's not even room in the bathroom for Catra to fling her arms out. No wonder it had felt so claustrophobic with Adora's entire family crammed in there.)
"Yes! Maybe!" Adora stomps her foot against the tiled floor, frustration running through her muscles like knotted wire. "I don't know, Catra, I've only known those people for half a day!"
She doesn't even know if they'll have her, after this. Can't imagine what they must think of She-ra. It may well be an idle, baseless fantasy-- but yes, it's one she's entertained today. And she refuses to feel guilty about it.
"Why does it make you angry, if that's what I want? You're part of it!"
There goes keeping it together. Catra's anger rises up, and over, and before she knows it she's moved to grab the collar of Adora's shirt in her fist -- to what end she doesn't know. To shake sense into her? To slap her?
The snarl on her lips quivers, just for a second, before she lets go and turns away in disgust.
"Just get out there," she snaps. "I'm sure they're waiting with bated breath to make sure you're still alive."
The sudden proxmity makes Adora tense up, her chest buzzing with adrenaline and nerves. She can feel Catra's breath against her skin, and it sends goosebumps down her arms, tightens her fingers into fists. She's never stopped having that effect on Adora, no matter how angry she can make her.
But it only lasts a moment before she's let go and pulled away, and Adora is left dizzy, seething. None of this even makes sense.
"What? That's-- You're just being--" She grapples uselessly with Catra's words, hurt and confusion and anger mounting into a pillar that stretches from her gut to her throat, threatening to gag her.
Something in Adora snaps, and she finally stops trying to parse it, gives up on finding the right response.
"That's so stupid!" she shrieks, nasal and high-pitched, kicking at the floor. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"
Catra folds her arms, glaring determinedly at the pleasantly tiled wall like it's what's responsible for everything wrong in her life right now. Her chest heaves slightly with barely-controlled breaths, and the only reaction she gives Adora at all is a surprised jerk and puff of her tails and alarmed rise of her ears when Adora screeches in complaint.
So great. Now her ears are ringing on top of everything else. A muscle in Catra's jaw twitches as her teeth clench, and Adora does not respect the strength of will it takes to not turn around and smack her in the face.
(Maybe then she'll get some relief from the tension coiled tightly in her body, Catra thinks, almost hysterically. Wouldn't that be the perfect way to just -- end this. They had a good run, she'd had Adora - truly had her, in just the way she'd always wanted - for longer than she'd ever dared to imagine she would. She'd just... she'd just hoped that maybe they'd have a little longer, before she self destructed like this. Like she always does.)
Instead she hunches in on herself, claws digging in to the resistant elbows of her clothing.
"You don't have to stand here and listen to it," she points out sharply. Even though she wants her to. Even though she wants to rewind through literally everything she has said and done in the last day and redo it, properly this time. Do it without falling deep into the trap of her own bad habits, do it without hurting Adora. "I told you already. Get out. Leave."
That's what you're good at sits heavy in her mouth, unsaid. That's too low a jab, even now.
No matter how loud she wails or how insistently she protests, Catra's not having any of it. She's not listening at all, and Adora wants to explode, wants to throw herself at the wall and punch it until it collapses, she wants to scream and she wants to cry and for one very real, palpable moment, she honestly does want to leave. Get away from here. Breathe.
But she knows that's giving Catra exactly what she wants-- that it'll be 'proving' to her that whatever twisted-up scenario she's playing in her head is true. And just for that, Adora plants her feet firmer on the ground, refusing to budge an inch from this room.
"You know what, Catra? I'm just-- I'm just gonna--"
And without even bothering with the rest of the sentence, she hoists Catra up with every last bit of strength that remains in her arms, tosses her into the empty bath, and sprays the showerhead directly at her face.
She was expecting it to come to something physical, was tensed and ready for it. She was prepared for a fight.
So Adora's hands on her, those weren't a shock.
--Being picked up and thrown into the bath was, however, and Catra's too busy being furious and scrabbling to find her feet to care about the painful and loud thud that had surely reverberated through the house. It didn't really matter, though, if Adora's family heard it or not; because surely they do hear the shrill screech that tears from Catra's throat when the showerhead turns on, blasting water into her face, and any progress she'd made in getting up is thwarted by the instinct to shield herself and get the everloving fuck away.
Which, in this case, meant clawing some new patterns in the walls as she scrabbled up the side of the bath, hissing defensively and ready to murder. Adora, Netossa, whoever it was who decided that showers ever needed to be a thing -- any of them, all of them. They'd all contributed equally to the water dripping from her, and to the impassioned fury heaving in her chest. She'd take them all on.
From her relative safe spot outside the bath, Adora sends new blasts of water towards Catra's face with each screech and flail, wielding the showerhead the way she would a laser gun. "Just shut up for one minute and I'll stop spraying you!"
How can she stop screeching and yowling when you keep spraying her?!
Catra has never been one to take things laying down, and she's certainly not going to stay there and let Adora soak her. A growl as Catra's head bows into the spray is the only warning she gets before Catra's muscles tense under her bristling and wet fur, coiling her against the wall for a brief second before she launches herself off, directly into the stream of fire, claws aimed directly at the weapon to slice it into pieces. She will certainly barrel directly into Adora this way, and she does not care. The important thing is destroying the showerhead.
Which, naturally, being a showerhead... is just going to result in an uncontrolled stream of water in the bathroom of Adora's recently found family.
The force of Catra's attack knocks Adora to the floor, and she blocks the momentum with her palm just in time to keep from falling flat on her back. With her other hand, she's now holding a hose. Just a hose, because Catra beheaded it, except now instead of a measured shower stream it's blasting out water at full force.
She can't believe Catra beheaded it.
"You're so stupid!" she squawks, already beginning to panic as tries to work out just how, exactly, she'll be explaining all this to her parents. "Do you not know how showerheads work?!"
Now she's just going to spray Catra's face with the hose.
She has a moment of reprieve, wherein she crouches heaving for breath on Adora's lap, as Adora registers that yes, Catra is very good at killing things that annoy her.
And then the mad gleam fades from Catra's eyes for a second and her heavy breathing slows as her gaze drifts to the hose, still spraying water.
Boy did she miscalculate that one.
"Adora!" She's yowling before the water even hits her face this time, making desperate grabs for Adora's wrists, shoving her knees into her chest in a very rough and very rude effort to force her down. "Don't you dare--!"
But Adora does dare, and Catra's threats turn into hissing and spitting and twisting and clawing, trying to simultaneously escape the water and fight Adora.
That's the scene that the door opens up onto, Adam the youngest and fastest and thus the first to make it to the loud and dramatic screams of distress.
Melog just brrpts at him, sitting primly in their spot. Nothing to see here, citizen. Move along.
Adora's mom and dad are quick to follow, poking their heads in over Adam's broad shoulders. All three of them look positively aghast. "What in the world happened here, you two?"
Adora-- breathless, exhausted, at some point pinned onto her back with Catra sitting on her chest, just lets the sputtering hose fall to the floor, and heaves out a miserable whine.
Then, quickly coming to her senses, she points to Catra. "She started it!"
Catra freezes at the voices, wild thrashing suddenly stilled as she stares at Adora with wide eyes. The oh shit written across her soaked face is real, and her knees thump on Adora's chest as she falls that little distance with her, far too caught in the act to bother trying to change position now.
And then Adora accuses her, and Catra comes to life with indignation, slapping her hand quickly around Adora's to wrestle her accusatory fingers to the ground.
"I did not!" She argues, voice hoarse and still shrill, because she's soaked through and cold and it didn't even wash any of the sap out which means she still has to deal with bathing properly later, and this is all Adora's fault because if she would just be happy with just Catra for once, there would never have been any argument or hurt feelings at all.
It's the water that's making the appearance of tears in her eyes, that's all. It's just the shortness of breath causing the tightness in her chest. She just - she just really hates water.
"I'll get some towels," Adam announces helpfully - because of course he is, he's Adora's family. But also because he's got to go outside and assure the neighbours that no, She-ra was not torturing anyone, and the screaming they'd heard was just some... some...
...he has until he gets outside to think of what all that screeching and carrying on could have been.
"I'm-- I'm really sorry about your bathroom," Adora stammers out as she scrambles to regain some shred of dignity, repositioning Catra onto her lap so she can sit up, brushing the hair that's been knocked free from its tie away from her face. (Her dad reaches forward and twists the faucet off, thank god.)
"I'll fix it, I promise. I mean, I don't know how to manually fix bathrooms, but I can probably just do the glowy thing, uh, if you give me a minute..."
"Oh, don't worry about that right now," her mother reassures. "Let's get you two toweled up-- Adam will be back in just a moment. Why don't I make you some tea, in the meantime?"
God. They're so nice. It's like they're not even mad, but they have to be, right, because if your long-lost daughter just popped out of the blue one day, ruined dinner, almost leveled your village and destroyed your forest, and unleashed devastation upon your very humble bathroom on top of it all-- well, anyone would be mad.
But tea and a towel sounds really, really good right now. If Catra would stay for it.
Her eyes flicker to Catra's face for the first time since the intrusion, and when she catches sight of the shimmering wetness in the corners of those mismatched eyes, Adora's chest freezes over. "Catra--"
Everything else immediately falls away: the ruined bathroom, the cuts across her arms, the hoarseness in her throat from all the yelling. She brings her hands up in an instant, instinctive motion, cupping Catra's drenched face between her palms. "Hey. Hey, it's okay."
It's annoying - really, really annoying how easy it is for people to just pick her up and move her about as soon as she loses momentum. And yet, she does not protest when Adora repositions her into her lap; but neither does she make any move to do anything further. Her tail just curls up close, the entire length of it some degree of sodden and damp and continuing to become more so through the water spilled all over the floor.
She scoffs at least, at Adora's offer to She-ra the bathroom back into working order. We'll just add that to your list of skills, she thinks to herself sarcastically. She's proven she can't trust herself with words tonight. She-ra, Princess of Indoor Plumbing Repair.
She doesn't get the lack of anger at the mess and destruction, either. Or the distinct lack of forthcoming punishments. But - whatever, they were Adora's family. Their idea of a bad night was probably something stupid like--
--Like finding out their daughter was alive, trying to spend time with her, and then spending the evening cleaning up after her guest's dumb emotional baggage.
Melog phases through Adora's parents, re-forming in a large size before them in the bathroom. They warble something, and Catra's lips draw tight, and then their head presses gently against Adora's parents, ushering them out. Melog will help make the tea. Catra never does things like that, and Melog's curious to learn.
Add that to the list of bad things on their evening, Catra supposes. Being bossed around and stalked by an alien surely belonged up there.
She wants to let her face push against Adora's palms, now that everyone is gone; wants to lean forward and rest her head on her shoulder; wants to accept the comfort being offered and let herself relax into it.
Instead she pulls away, her hands rising to grab Adora's wrists. Adora's looking at her with that -- that face, the one that could fool anyone into thinking she cared about them (--she does care, Catra argues to herself. Smart choice or not, despite everything, Adora loves her.), and Catra can't look her in the eyes.
"Don't," she croaks, pushing Adora's hands away. She wants them back so badly it aches. "Just. Just don't. Okay? Just leave it. Please."
She just needs a minute to put herself back together, and to rebuild her defenses. Because right now; sitting soaked and tired in Adora's lap, the anger washed away in the energy of their struggle, she feels vulnerable and small. And she can't have that.
Her heart cracks a little when Catra forces her hands away. She's not even angry anymore, too weak and drained to keep fighting-- all she wants is to be able to talk to Catra, to hold her until she's better, to make it all okay.
Catra can't keep pushing her away forever. Adora is, after all, just as stupidly, unshakably stubborn.
She shakes her head with a strained little scoff. Her hands shift in Catra's shaky grasp, finding just enough wriggle room to press palm to damp palm, link their fingers together.
"Listen-- I'm not going to 'just leave it'. I'm here, and I care about you, Catra, and I'm not going away. Okay?"
"Adora--" It's supposed to come out stern. Commanding. Instead Catra's voice breaks on the first syllable, as Adora slides their palms together and laces their fingers, and that. That's it. There's no more fight left. There's nothing left to be confusing and funneled into rage, there's no energy left to huddle around her weaknesses and defend them with literal tooth and claw.
There's just Adora. Stupid, dumb, kind, sweet, smart, beautiful, warm and too-good Adora. It makes Catra's chest hurt, more than Hordak's dumb machine or Shadow Weaver's stupid spells ever did. And because she's - she's nothing but a kid still, apparently, always running from her feelings; because she's that, she slumps, defeated. And then leans forward, cautiously dropping her head to Adora's shoulder, no longer caring about the water or being wet. Seeking comfort and refuge in the last place she knows to look.
"I'm sorry," she breathes first. Because she is. Because Adora deserves to hear her say it. Because she's been exactly who they both know she is as a person, and for some reason Adora's still here. Right where she's always tried to be. "You--" (no, what was it Perfuma had said? 'I statements'. 'Use I statements'. Don't put the blame for her actions onto somebody else.) "I--" (it's hard though, and her grip tightens suddenly on Adora's hands.) "I tried, okay? I really tried." (she didn't want to ruin everything. That still never seems to stop her.) "I couldn't keep it together. I screwed up."
For a moment, Catra just stares at her, and Adora's almost sure she's going to fight her off again. She braces for it, jaw squared and shoulders tense-- but instead, Catra crumples, and Adora gasps as she leans into her, small and wet and shaking.
It brings a wave of relief so intense that her whole body shudders with it, and soon there's tears welling in her own eyes, too, spilling in rapid streams down her cheeks as she buries her face in Catra's neck.
"I just don't understand why you got so upset," Adora sobs out, raspy and stuttering. "Did you think I was going to leave you for them?"
The silence that comes in the wake of Adora's question speaks volumes. Catra just presses her face into Adora's wet shoulder, where it doesn't matter if her eyes are doing things or not, and tries to pretend that the tremor across her shoulders is from the cold. She curls further, pressing their clasped hands against her chest because now Adora's crying and she - she doesn't know what to do with that. She wants to fix it, and she doesn't know how.
"I don't--" She can't say she doesn't think that. The words stick in her throat, and the quick heave of her chest might be her body's own attempt at a silent and quickly subdued sob, but she chokes it back down. That's so stupid, for her to cry because Adora is crying. That's like, the dumbest thing she's done all night. (It's absolutely not because Adora's hit the nail on the head, or because hearing the words aloud gives a realness to them that doesn't exist otherwise.)
Her hands fumble in Adora's, trying to clasp both of hers in one of Catra's so that Catra can reach around her and grip her in a hug.
"I tried not to!" She hates how whiny, how desperate her voice sounds. But she - she has to make sure Adora knows. She's not slipped so far backwards she can't see reality, she's not such a lost cause that she has to be given up on. (Funny, how she thinks those things about herself; but when it comes down to it she doesn't want Adora to think them. Because if Adora thinks them, that usually means they're true.) "I just-- I got--"
She's screwed up a lot tonight. It's the least she can do to fight against years of training and conditioning, to give voice to the obvious, glaring weakness that anyone with a pair of eyes can see anyway.
"I got scared," she admits in a rush; and her fingers spasm, clenching, forgetting for a split second the placement of any claws before she jerks them back again with a sharp breath. "I tried to handle it and I--" woke up a giant forest dweller, almost destroyed the village, outed Adora to her family, destroyed their bathroom "--...didn't," she finishes lamely. Adora was there. Adora knows what happened. She doesn't need a recap.
Catra's confession only makes Adora cry harder, shoulders hitching with her sobs. It twists her up inside that Catra's been feeling this way, and she can't help but feel -- as she so often does -- that it stems from her own failings.
She knows Catra gets jealous, and angry, and insecure. But they've been together for this long now, and Adora still can't chase those insecurities away. It's stupid, because she feels for her so strongly -- has she not been showing it enough?
"Listen, Catra..." She gently withdraws her hands from her grasp so she can cup her face again, holding on steady this time. Her gaze, blue and shimmering with tears, pins Catra's in place.
She has to reach her, this time.
"Meeting my family today, I was so excited and overwhelmed and-- I wasn't really thinking about it, what I'd do next, my long-term plans, or anything. And yeah, part of me was imagining what it'd be like to stay, but it's like I told you," she sniffs, then heaves out a breath. "You were part of it. You're always, always part of it, Catra."
Her grasp softens then, shaky fingers brushing at Catra's cheek, her dark, water-matted hair. "Don't you see? I can't picture my future without you in it."
All she can do as Adora's shoulders shake beneath her is grip her tighter; hold her closer; bury her wet face more deeply into her sodden shirt and try not to cry with her.
She doesn't want to let go of Adora's hands, and her fingers follow as they pull away; closing around Adora's wrist and slipping down her arm, over the soaked bandages, coming to rest in the crook of her elbow as she moves Catra. She raises her head obligingly when Adora's hands cup her face, pliant for one of the few times in her life, and her eyes are still swimming with a mess of emotions when Adora locks onto them. Doubt, guilt, fear, heartache linger still.
Catra wants to look away, but she owes this to Adora. Anything she wants from her, she'll give it. It's the least she can do.
So she doesn't look away when her eyes do well and spill over with tears, or when her face pinches and she bites the inside of her mouth to drive back a sob. The full-body shudder still comes, though, and Catra's eyes do scrunch shut when she turns her face into one of Adora's hands, pressing into it, suddenly desperate for the affection; the comfort; the touch. It's like a giant, painful void has opened inside her and she doesn't know how to fill it, doesn't know how to make it stop. Can only fall into Adora's hands and hope she'll help; can only breathe in ragged gasps and grip at Adora's elbow, her shoulder, silently begging her to stay, to guide her through the deluge of buried feelings because Catra can't do it on her own - could never do it on her own. This isn't anger, this isn't jealously, this isn't anything that burns hot and fast and leaves her blood rushing and heart pounding and she's never been able to deal with anything that isn't those, too scared of the vulnerability and weakness and no idea how to deal with either.
"Don't go," she does choke out - pitiful and strained, because. Because if she doesn't say it, Adora might not know. Adora might go. Adora might somehow miss the total mess bawling pathetically in her lap, and go off to save someone who knows how to ask her to; to help someone who knows the words to express what they need, instead of staying and brushing her fingers against Catra's face, her hair, like she wants her to.
"I'm not," Adora lets out with an incredulous laugh-sob, burying her face against the top of Catra's head, pressing kisses over her hair and temple. She holds her as tight as she knows how, so tight her arms strain with it, and she can feel each of Catra's shivers as if they run through her own body.
--And that, it turns out, is all she needs. For Adora to hold her as her chest wracks with silent sobs, for Adora to bear with her as she clings to her, for Adora's arms to tighten in a protective, defensive shell around her.
She had never understood how people could do that, Catra thinks to herself once it all begins to slow. Once the pressure atop her head registers as Adora's kisses instead of a vague and distant sensation, once she becomes aware of the blood on her tongue and pain in her cheek. Her throat is painfully dry, and she feels -- wrung out. Exhausted and frail, more than she's ever felt in her life. She'd never understood how people could let themselves fall to pieces, how they could trust themselves not to shatter into shards when they did.
In the safety and warmth of Adora's arms, she's realizing the vital part she'd been missing. She'd never thought to consider the possibility of people having someone to catch them when they broke apart.
It's one of those things they probably learn from family. From parents who hold them. From people who give praise when it's earned and who you don't half-expect to kill you when they pass by your door. But then, how did Adora learn it? Maybe it was just something innate. Some sort of skill that Catra missed out on.
Catra's always been good at flopping; always had an innate ability to become seemingly boneless, usually put to good use to frustrate people during grapples or (she thinks idly of Bow and Glimmer) kidnapping.
But the sort of boneless she is in Adora's arm is different to that. It's the same feeling as when she'd woken in Adora's arms on the spaceship, with a distant struggle to breathe in her lungs and an overwhelming feeling of peace; of gratitude; of relief; of love.
"I'm sorry," she breathes apology again against Adora's neck, throat dry and sore for no good reason. Before she can doubt herself, she presses a kiss against Adora's skin. Lingers there so long she forgets what she's doing, just breathing deep and gathering back together all the pieces of herself she'd felt fall from her grasp. And then, so quietly it's almost more of just a movement of her lips than a sigh of words: "I love you."
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boxitup2020-05-31 09:58 pm
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"Clumsy me," she says sarcastically. And honestly, it's a testament to how much she's improved that neither of her hands 'slip' when she says it. (She still thinks about it, though, which makes it frustratingly clear that she hasn't improved enough. As if the rest of the evening hadn't made that obvious.)
Her tail continues to lash, and outside Melog warbles a question at her. She ignores them, snatching the gauze from the kit and beginning to pack it against the wounds with a proper professional amount of force. She is trying, she is trying so hard, and on nights like this -- on nights like this, she wonders what the point even is. She's never going to be a good person. She's never going to be someone Adora can be proud of. She's never going to be the sort of steady, reliable person that Adora can count on. She can't even get through one lousy dinner without pulling Adora into trouble.
A quiet voice in the back of her head murmurs Shadow Weaver was right, and Catra's ears twitch as if it were real.
"Look, I'm sorry for ruining your evening." It's not the heartfelt apology she'd started out wanting to give. This one sounds bitter and sarcastic instead, because - and she did not ever need to have a session with Perfuma to know this - that's what she's forcing the churn of her emotions into. Something familiar, something she knows how to handle. The words feel acrid and wrong on her tongue, and she hates herself more for every single one of them. "I'll just finish up with this and then you can call Bow and Glimmer," (their names are sneers on her lips and it feels wrong, as wrong as it ever did to snarl Adora's name with that same vitriol, and she wants to stop herself but she can't stop once she's started, she's never been able to stop once she's started), "and get back to playing the perfect daughter with your family."
no subject
It's not like Catra no longer gets angry -- she always has, she always will. Sometimes her walls slam up before she can help it, and sometimes she has to run out on her own to cool off. That's fine. Adora knows her, Adora knows she's been trying, and has sworn to stay by her side through it at all.
But now Catra's stabbing every word into her vulnerable flesh like a dagger, and there is a coldness in her eyes that lets Adora know this isn't some sudden, uncontrolled flare-up -- it's a slow, boiling rage that's been simmering a while.
And Adora can't find what she did to cause it.
There's a moment where her expression cracks, revealing nothing but raw confusion and hurt underneath, as Adora wracks her brain for anything she's done wrong. It's always her first reaction when someone she loves is hurting, and she always finds something.
But all she's done today is meet her family. Feel excitement and joy over it. Try to have a nice dinner with them and with Catra, so they could all get to know one another-- so she could maybe, just maybe, put together the family she's barely even allowed herself to dream of.
For once in her life, Adora is certain she's not the one to blame.
"No." In the blink of an eye, her features have gone stone-cold, eyes flat and jaw rigid. She pulls her bandaged arm away, rises to her feet. "That's not fair, Catra."
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Adora pulls her arm away, and there it is. With just a few choice words they're back where they were before the chip, Adora cold and closed and Catra angry and hurting.
She hates it, but it's familiar. And in familiarity is comfort. Catra's eyes flash as she straightens, her hands curling into fists by her sides. She's filthy, she's tired, she's sore and she's guilty and she wants to go home with Adora and fix all of those things.
But she can't. Because she's gone and kicked everything they were working on over. Because Adora has a family now. And if there's one thing the Rebellion loves, it's sticking with their families. (Catra should know. Targeting the families of hiding rebels had been a ridiculously basic Horde strategy. They'd even used it on Glimmer and the Queen before her, whose name doesn't actually escape Catra [because Catra pulled that lever, Catra got her stuck] but who, for this moment, pretends she doesn't know it anyway.)
She knows it isn't fair, and still her lips lift in a jealous sneer.
"What's not fair, Adora?" She's been trying to keep it together but her voice shakes with the anger now, compressing hurt and fear and guilt together into barbed words that drag and stick in her throat. "That's what you want, isn't it? To have your perfect little family and your perfect little friends, all together in one perfect little house?"
(And it really is little, there's not even room in the bathroom for Catra to fling her arms out. No wonder it had felt so claustrophobic with Adora's entire family crammed in there.)
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She doesn't even know if they'll have her, after this. Can't imagine what they must think of She-ra. It may well be an idle, baseless fantasy-- but yes, it's one she's entertained today. And she refuses to feel guilty about it.
"Why does it make you angry, if that's what I want? You're part of it!"
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There goes keeping it together. Catra's anger rises up, and over, and before she knows it she's moved to grab the collar of Adora's shirt in her fist -- to what end she doesn't know. To shake sense into her? To slap her?
The snarl on her lips quivers, just for a second, before she lets go and turns away in disgust.
"Just get out there," she snaps. "I'm sure they're waiting with bated breath to make sure you're still alive."
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But it only lasts a moment before she's let go and pulled away, and Adora is left dizzy, seething. None of this even makes sense.
"What? That's-- You're just being--" She grapples uselessly with Catra's words, hurt and confusion and anger mounting into a pillar that stretches from her gut to her throat, threatening to gag her.
Something in Adora snaps, and she finally stops trying to parse it, gives up on finding the right response.
"That's so stupid!" she shrieks, nasal and high-pitched, kicking at the floor. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"
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So great. Now her ears are ringing on top of everything else. A muscle in Catra's jaw twitches as her teeth clench, and Adora does not respect the strength of will it takes to not turn around and smack her in the face.
(Maybe then she'll get some relief from the tension coiled tightly in her body, Catra thinks, almost hysterically. Wouldn't that be the perfect way to just -- end this. They had a good run, she'd had Adora - truly had her, in just the way she'd always wanted - for longer than she'd ever dared to imagine she would. She'd just... she'd just hoped that maybe they'd have a little longer, before she self destructed like this. Like she always does.)
Instead she hunches in on herself, claws digging in to the resistant elbows of her clothing.
"You don't have to stand here and listen to it," she points out sharply. Even though she wants her to. Even though she wants to rewind through literally everything she has said and done in the last day and redo it, properly this time. Do it without falling deep into the trap of her own bad habits, do it without hurting Adora. "I told you already. Get out. Leave."
That's what you're good at sits heavy in her mouth, unsaid. That's too low a jab, even now.
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But she knows that's giving Catra exactly what she wants-- that it'll be 'proving' to her that whatever twisted-up scenario she's playing in her head is true. And just for that, Adora plants her feet firmer on the ground, refusing to budge an inch from this room.
"You know what, Catra? I'm just-- I'm just gonna--"
And without even bothering with the rest of the sentence, she hoists Catra up with every last bit of strength that remains in her arms, tosses her into the empty bath, and sprays the showerhead directly at her face.
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So Adora's hands on her, those weren't a shock.
--Being picked up and thrown into the bath was, however, and Catra's too busy being furious and scrabbling to find her feet to care about the painful and loud thud that had surely reverberated through the house. It didn't really matter, though, if Adora's family heard it or not; because surely they do hear the shrill screech that tears from Catra's throat when the showerhead turns on, blasting water into her face, and any progress she'd made in getting up is thwarted by the instinct to shield herself and get the everloving fuck away.
Which, in this case, meant clawing some new patterns in the walls as she scrabbled up the side of the bath, hissing defensively and ready to murder. Adora, Netossa, whoever it was who decided that showers ever needed to be a thing -- any of them, all of them. They'd all contributed equally to the water dripping from her, and to the impassioned fury heaving in her chest. She'd take them all on.
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From her relative safe spot outside the bath, Adora sends new blasts of water towards Catra's face with each screech and flail, wielding the showerhead the way she would a laser gun. "Just shut up for one minute and I'll stop spraying you!"
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Catra has never been one to take things laying down, and she's certainly not going to stay there and let Adora soak her. A growl as Catra's head bows into the spray is the only warning she gets before Catra's muscles tense under her bristling and wet fur, coiling her against the wall for a brief second before she launches herself off, directly into the stream of fire, claws aimed directly at the weapon to slice it into pieces. She will certainly barrel directly into Adora this way, and she does not care. The important thing is destroying the showerhead.
Which, naturally, being a showerhead... is just going to result in an uncontrolled stream of water in the bathroom of Adora's recently found family.
What good decisions they've both made.
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She can't believe Catra beheaded it.
"You're so stupid!" she squawks, already beginning to panic as tries to work out just how, exactly, she'll be explaining all this to her parents. "Do you not know how showerheads work?!"
Now she's just going to spray Catra's face with the hose.
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And then the mad gleam fades from Catra's eyes for a second and her heavy breathing slows as her gaze drifts to the hose, still spraying water.
Boy did she miscalculate that one.
"Adora!" She's yowling before the water even hits her face this time, making desperate grabs for Adora's wrists, shoving her knees into her chest in a very rough and very rude effort to force her down. "Don't you dare--!"
But Adora does dare, and Catra's threats turn into hissing and spitting and twisting and clawing, trying to simultaneously escape the water and fight Adora.
That's the scene that the door opens up onto, Adam the youngest and fastest and thus the first to make it to the loud and dramatic screams of distress.
Melog just brrpts at him, sitting primly in their spot. Nothing to see here, citizen. Move along.
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Adora's mom and dad are quick to follow, poking their heads in over Adam's broad shoulders. All three of them look positively aghast. "What in the world happened here, you two?"
Adora-- breathless, exhausted, at some point pinned onto her back with Catra sitting on her chest, just lets the sputtering hose fall to the floor, and heaves out a miserable whine.
Then, quickly coming to her senses, she points to Catra. "She started it!"
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And then Adora accuses her, and Catra comes to life with indignation, slapping her hand quickly around Adora's to wrestle her accusatory fingers to the ground.
"I did not!" She argues, voice hoarse and still shrill, because she's soaked through and cold and it didn't even wash any of the sap out which means she still has to deal with bathing properly later, and this is all Adora's fault because if she would just be happy with just Catra for once, there would never have been any argument or hurt feelings at all.
It's the water that's making the appearance of tears in her eyes, that's all. It's just the shortness of breath causing the tightness in her chest. She just - she just really hates water.
"I'll get some towels," Adam announces helpfully - because of course he is, he's Adora's family. But also because he's got to go outside and assure the neighbours that no, She-ra was not torturing anyone, and the screaming they'd heard was just some... some...
...he has until he gets outside to think of what all that screeching and carrying on could have been.
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"I'll fix it, I promise. I mean, I don't know how to manually fix bathrooms, but I can probably just do the glowy thing, uh, if you give me a minute..."
"Oh, don't worry about that right now," her mother reassures. "Let's get you two toweled up-- Adam will be back in just a moment. Why don't I make you some tea, in the meantime?"
God. They're so nice. It's like they're not even mad, but they have to be, right, because if your long-lost daughter just popped out of the blue one day, ruined dinner, almost leveled your village and destroyed your forest, and unleashed devastation upon your very humble bathroom on top of it all-- well, anyone would be mad.
But tea and a towel sounds really, really good right now. If Catra would stay for it.
Her eyes flicker to Catra's face for the first time since the intrusion, and when she catches sight of the shimmering wetness in the corners of those mismatched eyes, Adora's chest freezes over. "Catra--"
Everything else immediately falls away: the ruined bathroom, the cuts across her arms, the hoarseness in her throat from all the yelling. She brings her hands up in an instant, instinctive motion, cupping Catra's drenched face between her palms. "Hey. Hey, it's okay."
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She scoffs at least, at Adora's offer to She-ra the bathroom back into working order. We'll just add that to your list of skills, she thinks to herself sarcastically. She's proven she can't trust herself with words tonight. She-ra, Princess of Indoor Plumbing Repair.
She doesn't get the lack of anger at the mess and destruction, either. Or the distinct lack of forthcoming punishments. But - whatever, they were Adora's family. Their idea of a bad night was probably something stupid like--
--Like finding out their daughter was alive, trying to spend time with her, and then spending the evening cleaning up after her guest's dumb emotional baggage.
Melog phases through Adora's parents, re-forming in a large size before them in the bathroom. They warble something, and Catra's lips draw tight, and then their head presses gently against Adora's parents, ushering them out. Melog will help make the tea. Catra never does things like that, and Melog's curious to learn.
Add that to the list of bad things on their evening, Catra supposes. Being bossed around and stalked by an alien surely belonged up there.
She wants to let her face push against Adora's palms, now that everyone is gone; wants to lean forward and rest her head on her shoulder; wants to accept the comfort being offered and let herself relax into it.
Instead she pulls away, her hands rising to grab Adora's wrists. Adora's looking at her with that -- that face, the one that could fool anyone into thinking she cared about them (--she does care, Catra argues to herself. Smart choice or not, despite everything, Adora loves her.), and Catra can't look her in the eyes.
"Don't," she croaks, pushing Adora's hands away. She wants them back so badly it aches. "Just. Just don't. Okay? Just leave it. Please."
She just needs a minute to put herself back together, and to rebuild her defenses. Because right now; sitting soaked and tired in Adora's lap, the anger washed away in the energy of their struggle, she feels vulnerable and small. And she can't have that.
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Catra can't keep pushing her away forever. Adora is, after all, just as stupidly, unshakably stubborn.
She shakes her head with a strained little scoff. Her hands shift in Catra's shaky grasp, finding just enough wriggle room to press palm to damp palm, link their fingers together.
"Listen-- I'm not going to 'just leave it'. I'm here, and I care about you, Catra, and I'm not going away. Okay?"
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There's just Adora. Stupid, dumb, kind, sweet, smart, beautiful, warm and too-good Adora. It makes Catra's chest hurt, more than Hordak's dumb machine or Shadow Weaver's stupid spells ever did. And because she's - she's nothing but a kid still, apparently, always running from her feelings; because she's that, she slumps, defeated. And then leans forward, cautiously dropping her head to Adora's shoulder, no longer caring about the water or being wet. Seeking comfort and refuge in the last place she knows to look.
"I'm sorry," she breathes first. Because she is. Because Adora deserves to hear her say it. Because she's been exactly who they both know she is as a person, and for some reason Adora's still here. Right where she's always tried to be. "You--" (no, what was it Perfuma had said? 'I statements'. 'Use I statements'. Don't put the blame for her actions onto somebody else.) "I--" (it's hard though, and her grip tightens suddenly on Adora's hands.) "I tried, okay? I really tried." (she didn't want to ruin everything. That still never seems to stop her.) "I couldn't keep it together. I screwed up."
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It brings a wave of relief so intense that her whole body shudders with it, and soon there's tears welling in her own eyes, too, spilling in rapid streams down her cheeks as she buries her face in Catra's neck.
"I just don't understand why you got so upset," Adora sobs out, raspy and stuttering. "Did you think I was going to leave you for them?"
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"I don't--" She can't say she doesn't think that. The words stick in her throat, and the quick heave of her chest might be her body's own attempt at a silent and quickly subdued sob, but she chokes it back down. That's so stupid, for her to cry because Adora is crying. That's like, the dumbest thing she's done all night. (It's absolutely not because Adora's hit the nail on the head, or because hearing the words aloud gives a realness to them that doesn't exist otherwise.)
Her hands fumble in Adora's, trying to clasp both of hers in one of Catra's so that Catra can reach around her and grip her in a hug.
"I tried not to!" She hates how whiny, how desperate her voice sounds. But she - she has to make sure Adora knows. She's not slipped so far backwards she can't see reality, she's not such a lost cause that she has to be given up on. (Funny, how she thinks those things about herself; but when it comes down to it she doesn't want Adora to think them. Because if Adora thinks them, that usually means they're true.) "I just-- I got--"
She's screwed up a lot tonight. It's the least she can do to fight against years of training and conditioning, to give voice to the obvious, glaring weakness that anyone with a pair of eyes can see anyway.
"I got scared," she admits in a rush; and her fingers spasm, clenching, forgetting for a split second the placement of any claws before she jerks them back again with a sharp breath. "I tried to handle it and I--" woke up a giant forest dweller, almost destroyed the village, outed Adora to her family, destroyed their bathroom "--...didn't," she finishes lamely. Adora was there. Adora knows what happened. She doesn't need a recap.
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She knows Catra gets jealous, and angry, and insecure. But they've been together for this long now, and Adora still can't chase those insecurities away. It's stupid, because she feels for her so strongly -- has she not been showing it enough?
"Listen, Catra..." She gently withdraws her hands from her grasp so she can cup her face again, holding on steady this time. Her gaze, blue and shimmering with tears, pins Catra's in place.
She has to reach her, this time.
"Meeting my family today, I was so excited and overwhelmed and-- I wasn't really thinking about it, what I'd do next, my long-term plans, or anything. And yeah, part of me was imagining what it'd be like to stay, but it's like I told you," she sniffs, then heaves out a breath. "You were part of it. You're always, always part of it, Catra."
Her grasp softens then, shaky fingers brushing at Catra's cheek, her dark, water-matted hair. "Don't you see? I can't picture my future without you in it."
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She doesn't want to let go of Adora's hands, and her fingers follow as they pull away; closing around Adora's wrist and slipping down her arm, over the soaked bandages, coming to rest in the crook of her elbow as she moves Catra. She raises her head obligingly when Adora's hands cup her face, pliant for one of the few times in her life, and her eyes are still swimming with a mess of emotions when Adora locks onto them. Doubt, guilt, fear, heartache linger still.
Catra wants to look away, but she owes this to Adora. Anything she wants from her, she'll give it. It's the least she can do.
So she doesn't look away when her eyes do well and spill over with tears, or when her face pinches and she bites the inside of her mouth to drive back a sob. The full-body shudder still comes, though, and Catra's eyes do scrunch shut when she turns her face into one of Adora's hands, pressing into it, suddenly desperate for the affection; the comfort; the touch. It's like a giant, painful void has opened inside her and she doesn't know how to fill it, doesn't know how to make it stop. Can only fall into Adora's hands and hope she'll help; can only breathe in ragged gasps and grip at Adora's elbow, her shoulder, silently begging her to stay, to guide her through the deluge of buried feelings because Catra can't do it on her own - could never do it on her own. This isn't anger, this isn't jealously, this isn't anything that burns hot and fast and leaves her blood rushing and heart pounding and she's never been able to deal with anything that isn't those, too scared of the vulnerability and weakness and no idea how to deal with either.
"Don't go," she does choke out - pitiful and strained, because. Because if she doesn't say it, Adora might not know. Adora might go. Adora might somehow miss the total mess bawling pathetically in her lap, and go off to save someone who knows how to ask her to; to help someone who knows the words to express what they need, instead of staying and brushing her fingers against Catra's face, her hair, like she wants her to.
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She's not letting go.
"I'm not going anywhere."
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She had never understood how people could do that, Catra thinks to herself once it all begins to slow. Once the pressure atop her head registers as Adora's kisses instead of a vague and distant sensation, once she becomes aware of the blood on her tongue and pain in her cheek. Her throat is painfully dry, and she feels -- wrung out. Exhausted and frail, more than she's ever felt in her life. She'd never understood how people could let themselves fall to pieces, how they could trust themselves not to shatter into shards when they did.
In the safety and warmth of Adora's arms, she's realizing the vital part she'd been missing. She'd never thought to consider the possibility of people having someone to catch them when they broke apart.
It's one of those things they probably learn from family. From parents who hold them. From people who give praise when it's earned and who you don't half-expect to kill you when they pass by your door. But then, how did Adora learn it? Maybe it was just something innate. Some sort of skill that Catra missed out on.
Catra's always been good at flopping; always had an innate ability to become seemingly boneless, usually put to good use to frustrate people during grapples or (she thinks idly of Bow and Glimmer) kidnapping.
But the sort of boneless she is in Adora's arm is different to that. It's the same feeling as when she'd woken in Adora's arms on the spaceship, with a distant struggle to breathe in her lungs and an overwhelming feeling of peace; of gratitude; of relief; of love.
"I'm sorry," she breathes apology again against Adora's neck, throat dry and sore for no good reason. Before she can doubt herself, she presses a kiss against Adora's skin. Lingers there so long she forgets what she's doing, just breathing deep and gathering back together all the pieces of herself she'd felt fall from her grasp. And then, so quietly it's almost more of just a movement of her lips than a sigh of words: "I love you."
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