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"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.

She's not letting go.

"I'm not going anywhere."

--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."

Adora is quiet, save for her own sniffles and the occasional hiccup, as Catra comes undone in her arms. She's here, she's got her, and in this moment Adora knows that's all she really has to be -- rocking Catra softly, trailing kisses across her hair and face, just. Here. Solid and steady.

It's all that Catra's ever needed from her.

"I love you, too," she says, and her chest feels lighter already, just hearing the words and saying them back. "And I'll be here to remind you of that, as many times as you need, so..." She slithers a hand between their bodies, under Catra's chin, to tilt her head up towards her. "Believe in me, okay?"

And she brings their lips together in a kiss, to seal that promise.

She knows it, but it's still a relief to hear the words from Adora's own lips. Especially after everything she's done today. Especially after fighting.

Catra lets her chin lift, trusting in Adora, and a quiet and soft rumble begins unbidden at the base of her throat as she nuzzles into the hand, eyes sliding shut before Adora even kisses her. And then she does, and it's soft and chaste and reassuring, a silent promise between them, and Catra's too tired to be embarrassed about or put an end to the comforted and loved purr.

"Don't laugh," she mutters, raising a hand to Adora's on her chin, urging her hand flat against her cheek so she can lean into it and soak up the moment, the affection, the love.

"I'm not, silly," Adora says, her damp eyes crinkling with fondness. She loves Catra's purr. She's grateful she's able to hear it now, after everything that happened in this mess of a day. It's soothing. It anchors her.

She touches their foreheads together, closes her eyes, and just lets herself breathe. Her tears have slowed to a still before she could even notice, and her frantic, hiccuping gasps have lulled into an even rhythm. She feels her chest rise and fall in synch with Catra's, both of them calming at last, and she thinks she could stay in this moment forever when the sound of rapping on wood pulls her back to her senses.

"Uh, I've got the towels, guys," Adam's voice drifts sheepishly from the other side of the door. Adora gets the sense he's been standing there a while. "And there's tea, if you want."

Adora chuckles, her pink, splotchy face flushing deeper with a hue of embarrassment as she looks back to Catra. "... Come have tea with me?"

Catra could well fall asleep on her like this, awkward position and drenched fur be damned. She brushes her nose up against Adora's in a tender bump, relaxing further as her troubled breathing and hiccups ease.

It's a very rude awakening when her ears perk up suddenly at the rapping on the door, and Catra's attention jerks as her muscles jump. That's right, that's a thing. They're still in Adora's family's house. (--And now that she's not scared, now that she's not hurting, she feels a little bad for having hated it earlier.) She's still destroyed their bathroom.

She has, as ever, apologies to hand out.

She shouldn't be surprised when Adora looks back to her instead of immediately responding, but she is; and a matching flush grows on her face as her heart does this -- weird little flutter, and she nods.

"Think he has enough towels?" She asks wryly. And then as if to prove her point, leans back from Adora to shake her head rapidly; water flying from her hair and face and shoulders to shower across the room and Adora's face. Never let it be said that Catra doesn't know how to destroy a mushy mood.

"Catra!" Adora howls out as the droplets splatter across her face, but the indignant sound quickly crumbles into laughter. If they're messing around like this again, it means everything's truly back the way it should.

"Uh, yeah!" She calls back at Adam, wiping her face on her sleeve. "We'll be right out!"

Just as soon as Catra climbs off her lap-- that makes the getting up part a bit hard.

...So it turns out Catra was wrong. She is, it turns out, not very good at dispelling mushy moods. Instead, it seems like she's just managed to play herself into the trap of Adora's dorky laughter, her heart skipping a beat as Adora's playful howl breaks down into it, glad to have finally put a smile back on her lips.

Adora's, just. Yeah. She's just - Adora, and she's beautiful, even sprawled in the chaos of the bathroom they'd destroyed, and for the first time Catra lets herself think that maybe, maybe she really is a part of Adora's future after all.

And then she catches herself staring, and the flush returns manyfold as she stands abruptly, water trailing in a steady trickle from her soaked tail. She ought to shake that out on Adora, too, but instead Catra takes herself to the bath and begins to gently squeeze the water out of it there. No matter how many towels Adam's scrounged up, Catra guarantees it won't be enough for both her waterlogged fur and both their soaked clothes.

Adora's laughter subsides just in time for her to glimpse Catra staring, and she holds her gaze for exactly half a second before Catra launches herself off her lap. Adora giggles a little at that, too, then opens the door a crack-- "I'm just gonna take some of those towels now, thanks. This might take a teensy bit."

She pinches her forefinger and thumb together with an apologetic smile, before accepting the bundle of towels from Adam, and carefully nudging the door closed with her foot.

Setting the towel stack down on the thankfully unscathed sink, she picks out the biggest, fluffiest-looking one, and steps over to stand behind Catra. "Here. Let me help."

And she drapes the towel over those slender shoulders -- just gently, half-expecting her to still flinch away.

There's no helping Adora when she's got the giggles, and Catra rolls her eyes as water squelches off her tail with every pass of her hands, pretending like she's not still feeling soft about her laugh.

She's just picking some bark from her tail when Adora takes the towels, and Catra's in a good mood so she figures she'll do her the courtesy of letting her dry off first. That's before Adora steps behind her, and Catra looks up and over her shoulder at her - just in time to blink at the large, fluffy towel that Adora's now draped over her, large enough that it blankets fully around Catra's shoulders and dangles all the way down past her waist.

Because she's in a good mood, she lets herself admit that she... well, likes the unexpectedly tender action. You know, as opposed to balking at it. And maybe the warmth that it inspires all across her is okay, too.

"You sure this is a towel?" She asks skeptically; moving one hand from her tail to pluck at the fluffy material. It's a far cry from the short and thin towels of the Horde, but sure enough it absorbs the water from her hand, and her ear twitches as she only half-jokes dryly; "I think he gave you a blanket."

"Well, it's comfy and it keeps you from dripping all over the place. So whatever it is, I'd say it's pretty good."

Taking Catra's reception of the contact as her go-ahead, Adora grabs some of the fuzzy material between her hands, and sets to stroking it softly up Catra's nape. "You dry your tail, I'll do your hair." With a lopsided smile, she adds: "We can meet halfway."

Well, if Adora's happy to use what may or may not be bedding to dry her off, who is Catra to complain?

She thinks she's fine with it, but there is a second where the brush of something against the back of her neck gives rise to alarm - but then Catra breathes a shivery exhale and leans back into the touch, instead of away. There's nobody she trusts more than Adora, and it feels nice. And it'll make her dry, but that's seeming like a bit more of a fringe benefit in the moment.

"You should pamper me like this more often." The low rumble in her tone makes it sound like she's joking, but Catra absolutely is not. "Can you dry my hair after every shower?" --That one is more of a joke. Although, actually. She might end up complaining less about them if this is what she has to look forward to afterwards.

Her hands move automatically over her tail, alternating drying it with combing her nails through to dislodge the leftover bits of their forest fight. It's not going to be as smooth as she likes it until she can give it a proper wash, but it'll do.

"Okay," Adora simply answers, aware that Catra's teasing but content to ignore it. It might be silly, but the promise of a routine, something unchanging between the two of them, means the world to her right now. "That sounds pretty nice, actually."

She slowly makes her way up the back of Catra's neck, where the short fur of her neck thickens into the sodden bird's-nest of dark hair. She's careful as she knows how to be around this spot, the ghost-image of the chip once planted there enough to make her jaw clench-- and she seeks to offset it somewhat, by pressing her lips to Catra's cheek.

Adora's hands don't linger there long, but her lips hover in place a few moments, as she works to squeeze the wetness from Catra's unkempt hair.

"Should I pat down your ears, too?" She knows approaching that part of Catra without prior warning can earn her a new set of scratches, even on a good day.

Catra's the one who said it, but it's still unexpected when Adora agrees in such a simple way like all Catra ever had to do was ask.

Her cheeks are already warm from it, and from the pleasant movement of Adora's hands and the soft towel, and warm again from the press of Adora's lips. It takes a remarkable amount of strength for Catra to not turn her face and kiss her when she lingers, and even more still to keep herself from letting her head roll into Adora's touch.

Or maybe she should just do both. She could kiss Adora and have her play with her hair, Catra thinks in a bit of a daze. That was absolutely something she could do.

"Better not," she rasps. And then swallows, her feet shuffling closer together beneath the towel. Her ears twitch as she thinks about them, thinks about how sensitive that entire part of her head is on a good day, and - yeah. She's making the right call on that one. She doesn't need to be made into putty in this bathroom again. "Just--stay focused."

Edited 2020-06-02 14:15 (UTC)

"Alright then." Adora accepts this just as easily, offering Catra a smile as she moves, instead, to dab over her freckled cheeks. From there, her hands smoothe down her shoulders, rubbing across the length of her arms as much as she can without interfering with Catra's own movements.

Or, okay, maybe interfering just a little.

"Hold up your arms for a sec?"

She doesn't expect the tender dab at her face, and Catra doesn't know any more if there's any time at all between one flush on her cheeks and the next.

It's strange, to be handled so gently. Of all the things she had ever imagined with Adora - and she had imagined plenty of things - this was. Certainly not one of them. Catra wasn't a person who got soft touches.

Her breath catches as Adora's hands smooth across her shoulders and down her arms, pleasant tingling following all the way; and she's distracted for a moment by the thought of this but without the towel, just Adora's hands on her, and she forces herself to focus on the deep gouges her claws had left in the wall above the bath instead of wandering down the rabbit hole.

She doesn't realize she's lifted her arms until she does it, and the coldness of her palms drives home the bonus realization that somewhere after Adora's gentle handling of her hair she'd stopped working on her tail, too distracted by silly nice feelings to finish drying it out. It flicks behind her in a rush, hiding the evidence of her complete distraction. Adora's got more than enough on her already from this; she doesn't need to know about that, too.

Adora hums her thanks as Catra obliges, and swiftly reaches around to rub at her underarms before stroking down her waist, over her hips. She likes touching Catra -- doesn't dawdle too long, but doesn't mask her contentment either, faint noises of satisfaction floating up from the back of her throat each time Catra caves or twitches at her touch.

Having finally reached her stomach, Adora pats her way across a bit and, once satisfied, relaxes her arms and slouches against Catra in a loose hug from behind. The towel serves as a much-needed barrier between them, keeping Adora's soggy clothes from getting Catra wet all over again.

"There you go," she concludes, pleased, her fingertips humming with warmth. "Much better."

And then, quite abruptly, she sneezes.

"--Okay. Guess we better move this along before I catch something."

Catra's eyes track Adora's hands as they move the towel over her, and she knows that a muscle in her throat jumps embarrassingly at Adora's first quiet noise of satisfaction. She almost says something about it, even opens her mouth to; and then closes it again, because Adora's hands wipe down the sturdy Horde-styled clothing that Catra still wears, and Catra just hopes that the subtle move of her hips and hitch of breath are ignored.

She's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed when Adora drapes over her back, but a surprised bit of laughter escapes her when Adora sneezes - and like that, the weird trance is broken, and Catra's ears fold against her head as her tail flicks with amusement.

"You should have thought about that first," she bullies, shrugging Adora and the towel both off of her shoulders. She's feeling... weirdly relaxed, after all that. "Don't expect me to cover for you if you get sick."

"My baaad," Adora drawls without a hint of remorse in her voice, a goofy smile stuck to her lips with no apparent intention of budging.

"Alright, I'll just pat myself dry real quick, can you--" she waves her palm above the runestone embedded in her arm brace, and it answers her command with a flash of golden magic, leaving behind a particularly striking mop, which she hands to Catra. "Mop the floor up a bit? I don't know if I have enough magic in me to fix the rest just yet, but the least we could do is leave this place dry."

What? What? No, no; see, Catra was supposed to be the one helping Adora dry off now--

--And instead there's a mop in her hands. Catra doesn't know what she wants to do first (protest being the one who has to mop; be incredulous that Adora just turned her magic sword into a mop; something else involving Adora and lacking in a mop), and her ears fold back with the annoyance.

Eventually, the head of the mop meets the floor with a wet slap.

"Of course she turns her sword into a mop," she mutters to herself as she gets started. Do you know what Catra would do, Adora, if she had a magic sword? She would not clean floors with it. "I don't even know why I'm surprised."

They are going to need to talk about her magic before they leave this room, Catra reminds herself, her lips pressing tightly together. But Adora's in such a dumb, goofy mood -- surely it can wait a few more moments.

"I know, right? The first time it happened was by accident during training, and I was like, 'why would it even have the option to turn into that', you know? But looks like it can come in handy after all!"

Without minding the scratchiness to her voice, Adora prattles chipperly on as she grabs a new towel and scrubs herself over. It's rushed and efficient, certainly taking less care than she did with drying off Catra. Now that the air in the bathroom has lightened into something so bright and so warm, part of her is almost reluctant to leave it-- but the rest of her knows she's kept her family waiting long enough. Plus, she'd really like that tea right about now.

"Okay! I am as dry as I'm going to get, I think," she announces at last, but keeps the towel wrapped around her shoulders, just because it's cozy. "And the floor's looking good! Thank you." She leans over to kiss Catra's cheek, then extends her arm.

"My Mop of Protection, please?"

All those times they'd fought. All those times they'd fought, and Adora could have been swinging a mop around instead of a sword.

Catra snickers to herself, letting Adora's cheerful rambling carry on. Despite the fact she's been regulated to cleaning detail, her tail sways in contentment. Adora just has -- a way, of making Catra feel like the two of them are in their own world. It's always been a bit of an issue.

A smile brushes her lips when Adora's press against her cheek, and Catra selfishly hits the snooze button on reality.

"I don't know, Adora." Her tone rings with false sweetness, and Catra's tail wraps around the obnoxiously glittering pole of the magic mop as she uses it as a brace for her weight, leaning against it. "All you'll do is turn it back into a sword. Maybe you'll actually be able to beat me at something if you keep it this way."

Adora's eyebrows lift in a look of faux-offense, before quirking impishly. "I'm sorry, are you asking me to beat you with a mop? Because I totally could beat you with a mop." She closes one hand around the handle, fully prepared to wrestle it from Catra's grip in what may well turn into an all-out tug-o-war-- but then she remembers how very wet the mop is, and how long it took to get the both of them and this room dry, and reconsiders. A change of tactics might be in order.

"Ahh!" She suddenly yanks her hand away from the mop, instead using it to point at the floor behind Catra in horror-- "Is that a mouse?!"

Yeah, Catra was not letting go of the mop. And she was just opening her mouth to challenge Adora's assertion when she yanked her hand away, and then screeched about a mouse.

In Catra's defense, nobody has dared to pull something like this on her in a very. Very. Long time.

If only they could see as her ear jerked in the direction Adora pointed, straining to listen for the sound of tiny mouse claws for just a millisecond before her head follows through, widened eyes searching the floor. Nobody would ever take her seriously again. Her tail releases the mop immediately, damp fur fluffing in anticipation as the hair on her scalp rises, claws out and ready to strike--

"Where?" She demands, scanning the area. Her ears strain, but all she can hear is the trickle of water in pipes and the murmur of voices. "I don't hear anything--"

...

"Adora!" She can't believe she's been duped, and Catra whirls back to grab fistfuls of Adora's shirt, to yank her down to her height and shake her like doing so might dislodge the ridiculous memory. "Why do you still remember that?!"

"Ohh, too easy," Adora wheezes out a laugh, her head lolling back with it as Catra shakes her. The sword-turned-mop is quickly secured back around her arm, and Adora pats the gleaming brace with a triumphant grin.

"Sorry, Catra. I'll be remembering that forever."

And, with their faces this close, she can't resist cupping Catra's face and planting a kiss on those scowling lips before pulling back.

"Come on, we should really get back out there."

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