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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."

"It was one. Time!" Even Catra kept forgetting about it until Adora brought it back up again.

Adora does not get the last word, and she's sure not getting the last kiss in; as she tries to pull away, Catra yanks her back to plant her lips on Adora's - rather a bit more aggressively, consequently a little more clumsily - before letting her go with a huff and a light shove to the shoulders. All of it (her scowl, her roughness, her attitude) is foiled by the brush of her tail against Adora's hip and the flick of her ears toward her as Catra turns and makes to lead the way out. It's annoying that the fun is at her expense, but it is fun and it feels just like old times, and she not so secretly loves that.

It takes until her hand is on the doorhandle for her borrowed time to run out. She keeps her palm on it as she turns around to face Adora, raising a still-damp foot to lean against the door and block the exit.

"Before we get out there," she doesn't want to, but her voice drops from teasing and playful to something more serious, though she's careful to keep it clear of - as Perfuma would say - 'negative energies'; "What are you going to tell them?"

"Um." That stops Adora in place. This day has thrown her from one emotion to the next so rapidly, she's barely had time to think.

"I don't know. I guess I'll just see what they have to say, and go from there."

Yeah, Catra would not be contributing any further to the mood whiplash if she didn't have to. She'd much rather have had Melog sneak them both out, and then spend the walk back to the ship teasing Adora.

"Look, I'm just gonna--" rip the bandage off is what she almost says, and then reconsiders. They've been having fun, but they're both still exhausted. The evening has been hell, and Catra knows better than anyone the fine line that sanity starts to tread when you're so worn down.

And she wants to make this as easy on Adora as she can, she thinks as she absently chews her lip. She can't take too long, or she's just going to start looking weird.

"--I heard some things," is what she decides on, abandoning her start. This way's more neutral. Gives Adora more time to prepare. "While we were walking back here. I think we should try to plan what you're going to say before you talk to them."

Adora's face falls, the last hint of a smile fading from her lips. Somewhere in her head she knew that this giddy, giggly haze wouldn't last once they stepped outside the bathroom, but she wasn't ready to let it go quite so soon, before the door even opened.

"What did you hear?"

Catra hates to see the happiness fade from Adora's face, and though she's steeled herself for it she can't not feel a pang of regret.

It's better now than later, she tells herself. Better for Adora to arm herself with the knowledge of what's waiting for her; if not inside this house, then outside in the village.

"Nothing new." Her tail flicks unhappily, but Catra's eyes remain steady on Adora's. Being hated isn't fun, and it's something that Adora is so wildly inexperienced with. "Fright Zone stuff." (better clarify, in case Adora deludes herself into thinking it could be anything else.) "About She-ra."

She'll wait for Adora to unpack that one on her own.

"What?" The mention of the Fright Zone, while meant to offer an angle of familiarity, makes her heart twist up in her chest. It feels-- and it is -- lightyears away from here, this cozy little village, this peaceful home. In the scant few hours she's known them, her flesh-and-blood parents have offered her more comfort, more humanity, than Shadow Weaver's shown her in maybe her whole life.

How can this place be anything like the Fright Zone?

"... They hate She-ra." The realization drops, heavy and bitter and like copper, from her tongue.

Catra wants to curl against the door when understanding slinks down into Adora's mind, but she doesn't. Adora doesn't need her going and feeling bad about this.

"They're scared of She-ra," she corrects, pushing off from the door and slipping her hand off the handle. It's still a small room, they're still only a couple of steps apart; and Catra closes the distance, ducking her hands beneath the warm towel on Adora's shoulders to grip her arms. "Don't you remember?"

All those weird and messed-up children's stories about their evils and horrors. All the propaganda about how Princesses would kill their squadron and take the last survivor brutally and violently apart. She can believe, actually, that Adora - weirdo justice freak that she is - might have hated them for that. The rest of the cadets - the normal ones - were just simply terrified for their lives.

Admittedly, hatred follows quickly after fear. But Adora got over it quickly enough once she started hanging out with Glimmer, so it couldn't be that hard to get everyone else to do.

"No, it's different," Adora says, shaking her head. "The First Ones-- they don't just have made-up bedtime stories to make them fear She-ra. It's in their history. Mara..."

That's right-- Catra wouldn't know all this stuff, would she?

With a sigh, she reaches under the towel for Catra's hand, enveloping the back of it with her palm.

"Mara was the last She-ra in a thousand years, and everything I ever heard about her from Light Hope was that she was a blight on the She-ra line. That she was unstable, dangerous... a traitor."

The part of Light Hope that could feel-- that went against her programming-- knew better. But every line of her code was put in place by the First Ones. Every cold, condemning word she was forced to utter came straight from the First Ones' beliefs.

"... It's okay, Catra," she says, squeezing her hand. "I'll just tell them the truth. They'll understand."

She forces the words out through the lump in her throat, trying to make them sound surer than she feels.

Just a few months ago, she'd have found this whole thing hilariously vindicating. Perfect Adora being blamed by an entire village for something that someone else did last millennium? Sign past Catra up.

"It's not that different," she argues. Because she is a different person now, and there's a churning in her gut instead of spite, and Adora's doubt is always so obvious. She clearly doesn't believe herself.

Catra's hands flex on Adora's arms, squeezing them in what's supposed to be assurance but comes out a bit more aggressive than that. Catra can't help that; it's how she is. "I mean, come on. It was a thousand years ago. If these guys have any brains at all, they'll realize that something in their stories doesn't match up."

Adora had, after all, healed an entire forest and giant rampaging tree-creature in front of them. That wasn't something that dangerous harbingers typically did.

There's a knot in Adora's chest now that isn't quite letting up, no matter how reason's fingers pluck at it. But Catra's doing her best to reassure her, and her words make sense, and so Adora puts on her widest smile and pushes the knot as deep down as she can, to someplace dark and hidden.

"Yeah! See, exactly. I'm sure it's gonna go fine." She pats the back of Catra's hand, as if she's the one doling out that much-needed reassurance. "Come on. I've got this. And you've got my back, right?"

--Catra does not like that she can not see where Adora's doubt and uncertainty go.

Her eyes remain trained on Adora's for a long time, searching; but she can't see any traces of it, and Adora feels confident under her hands, and it all is -- very wrong. Adora is a bad liar and a worse actor, and there's no way Catra will believe she's actually as assured about this as she's pretending. But somehow, she can't find the cracks that she's sure must be there.

Is this a new skill Adora's developed, or was Catra always just too caught up in herself to notice her doing it?

"Of course I do," she agrees after a long moment. Her tail flicks, brushing Adora's leg. "Dummy."

...But she really feels wrong about leaving it at that. She can't see it, but she knows Adora. She knows her.

"And I guess you did manage to convince the Horde's strongest and smartest leader to fall in love with you." Like Catra hadn't already been for like, all of her life. She'll never admit to that, it's way too embarrassing. Her hands are already leaving Adora's arms, self-assured swagger returning as she turns back to the door, like her falling in love with Adora had been Catra's victory, somehow. "Getting these idiots to do it should be a breeze."

Adora laughs, and she doesn't have to force it -- Catra is sweet, no matter how many layers of smugness she wraps it up in. Adora's glad for her.

"Thank you," she says, reaching for her hand as they finally head back into the living room. God, it feels like they spent weeks in that bathroom -- when in reality, they probably only just dipped into the territory of uncomfortably long.

There's really no graceful way to leave your newfound family's bathroom after spending the better part of an hour screaming bloody murder in there, wrecking it and flooding it. And the fact she's leaving it hand-in-hand with the person she was just screaming bloody murder at, well, that's just the icing on the awkward cake.

Fortunately, Adora's been in so many awkward situations since leaving the Horde that she's now a seasoned pro.

"Hey, guys. Thanks for the towels. We wiped the floor-- uh, not with the towels, I turned my sword into a mop. That's just a normal thing I do, don't worry about it."

That gets Adora a raised eyebrow from her dad, a nervous chuckle from her brother, and an ushering into the nearest seat from her mother. There's a cup of tea set out in front of her, and in front of Catra's seat, too, and it's a bit chipped but the coaster has little floral paintings on it. It's nice.

She raises the cup to her lips and takes a long sip, her other hand still planted firmly in Catra's.

"I'm really sorry about this whole mess, again. We're not usually like this. I mean-- I am usually She-ra, and I do fight giant monsters, like, pretty often, and heal things? But uh, not so much with the yelling. And the bathroom-ruining. We normally get along great!" She enthusiastically holds up her hand linked with Catra's, as proof.

"It's just been..." she draws in a breath, lets it all out on that emphasis: "a really weird day."

Edited 2020-06-03 12:41 (UTC)

Funny, how it all feels different now. It's the same house, same people, same cozy furnishings... some of them are a bit tacky, but Catra doesn't hate them any more. She gives Adora's hand a squeeze as they near her family, and Catra realizes belatedly that she should have taken a towel as well. To protect the furniture, if nothing else.

There aren't enough seats for all of them, she notes as they're fussed into a pair, and Melog hops into her lap as soon as she sits down. Catra's chair is closer to Adora's father, which is too far from Adora's for Catra's liking, and she has no issue with scooting her chair until it's properly in place. She notices the parents' slight frowns, and the look they exchange, and keeps those details all in mind.

They don't trust She-ra. By extension, they can't trust Adora. And after hearing Catra's yowling and seeing their small bathroom looking like a fight (--ha, as if they'd leave so little damage if they'd actually been going at it) had taken place, she can see what conclusions they're coming to.

She's a little offended that they seem like they think she might need rescuing. From Adora, of all people.

"I don't like water," is her shrugged contribution to Adora's awkward apology. Like that's a good enough justification for the mess they'd made. Her grip on Adora's hand remains firm as it's tugged around, and Catra's mouth and throat ache but she makes no move for her tea.

It's Adam's awkward laugh that breaks the silence, as he steps up and places a hand on the backs of each of their chairs. His bulky figure shadows them, and when Catra looks up he's got that same weird trying-too-hard-to-act-like-everything's-fine grin on his face that Adora plasters on when she's way out of her depth.

"Tell me about it," he says to Adora, trying to sound jovial; and if Catra wanted to destroy this family it would take her only two sentences at most. It's clear that Adam is Adora's biggest - and potentially only - supporter, and even he's unsure; basing his trust in her on what must be half-baked dreams and ideas of the sort of person he'd imagined his sister to be. "It's not every day you meet your long-lost sister and find out she's a living legend. How'd that happen?"

Edited 2020-06-03 13:54 (UTC)

"I just... kinda found the sword!" Adora says, voice creaking with forced lightness. That really must be the most lackluster summary she could've offered. They all look at her with just barely-concealed frowns, and Adora pushes herself to keep going.

"Turns out it was lying around on Etheria the whole time, just waiting for the next She-ra to come pick it up. But there was nobody to come pick it up, because Etheria was stuck in its own dimension-- but then the portal sucked me up and dropped me there, so..."

"So it's true," her father's voice comes from the other end of the table, deep and severe. "It's not just a myth. The previous She-ra really stranded her planet in isolation."

Adora's shoulders tense, and her eyes drop to the shimmering surface of her teacup. "Well-- sort of. I mean. Yeah. But it's more complicated than your history shows, Mara-- the previous She-ra, she wasn't a bad person. She was trying to protect her world."

It's probably Adora's fault that Catra feels weirdly defensive about where this conversation's going, and about what Mara did. She doesn't even know who Mara properly is, other than the obvious points and the fact that it's her ship they're exploring the universe in.

Melog's mane remains a shimmering blue despite the beginnings of spikes, and they sniff at their joined hands as Catra's fingers flex around Adora's. She ignores their meowled question; and Melog proceeds to hop down, winding around their chairs before coming to a stop on Adora's other side, where their size shifts until the two of them are suitable barriers between her and her parents.

"She saved us." There's a disbelieving scoff in Catra's voice. She came into this knowing exactly how it was going to go, and it still rankles her for it to actually be happening. "We know what your people were doing there. Don't act like we're the ones who suffered for being cut off."

Even Adam frowns - at her attitude, she assumes, her tail flicking against the chair leg with annoyance. She's wrong.

"What do you mean?" He looks to his parents, seeming to still have the naive belief that the adults in his life will always have the answers to his questions; despite his parents being nowhere near old enough to have any knowledge, if it wasn't passed down. "What were we doing there?"

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