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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."

Edited 2020-06-02 07:44 (UTC)

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.

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?"

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