Catra jerks and shudders and clings, and all Adora can do is hold her through it, instinctively sheltering her from the world around them both. She lifts her gaze when Catra finally stills; just barely catching glimpses of her face alongside the heaving, sobbing chest in front of her eyes, the one Adora nuzzles into as best she can between the ragged breaths coming from above her.
Adora's sure Catra will remember who she is (isn't) soon enough, and lash out and hurt her again. Hurt them both, because Catra's anger has always been a way of expressing her own pain, even if Adora never understood that side of her, barely understands it now, unable to see beneath the surface of things. She can at least hear the torment in her cries, but it's not enough for forgiveness, when Catra refuses to apologize or make amends or try. All of them have suffered and lost things; it's no excuse for perpetuating the cycle.
But she can't just let her go--she's not heartless, no matter what Catra thinks or expects from her. She hasn't seen Catra like this since they were kids, and Adora gives herself a few more seconds for her head to unfog, for her vision to clear. It would be so easy to destroy Catra now, but Adora cradles her in strong, bloody arms; waiting for the trembling to stop completely, for Catra to be her enemy again, instead of a scared girl huddling under a blanket in their bunk. Chances are, Catra wouldn't pay her the same courtesy, but she tries not to think of the what-ifs.
She's not stupid enough to ask what that (any of that) was, good or bad, all the curious questions she might have if it was really the two of them instead of an awful mockery. None of it matters now. Catra got what she wanted, and Adora's done here. She tries to take stock of herself as best she can with Catra wrapped around her--the wound on her shoulder still oozing, but everything else starting to clot. Good. As for Catra... she's fine physically, and that's all Adora can be the judge of.
Deliberately, Adora schools her expression back into the bitter one from before, driving out the softness from her eyes before Catra sees them again; puts on her best She-Ra voice, the one she practices in her head for her confrontations with Catra, to the point where it almost comes naturally.
"Just so you know? This isn't what winning looks like."
It's a pyrrhic victory at best, though she knows Catra is more than happy to take those most of the time; that it isn't about her winning, but Adora losing. That's what makes her so dangerous, when Adora isn't prepared to sacrifice anyone but herself; just like she's doing, letting Catra hate her because she knows, knows, that's how she really feels, and at least then she won't sound so tortured and broken about a decision she already made years ago. Adora's always wanted her stopped, but never once wanted her hurt. Not even now.
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Adora's sure Catra will remember who she is (isn't) soon enough, and lash out and hurt her again. Hurt them both, because Catra's anger has always been a way of expressing her own pain, even if Adora never understood that side of her, barely understands it now, unable to see beneath the surface of things. She can at least hear the torment in her cries, but it's not enough for forgiveness, when Catra refuses to apologize or make amends or try. All of them have suffered and lost things; it's no excuse for perpetuating the cycle.
But she can't just let her go--she's not heartless, no matter what Catra thinks or expects from her. She hasn't seen Catra like this since they were kids, and Adora gives herself a few more seconds for her head to unfog, for her vision to clear. It would be so easy to destroy Catra now, but Adora cradles her in strong, bloody arms; waiting for the trembling to stop completely, for Catra to be her enemy again, instead of a scared girl huddling under a blanket in their bunk. Chances are, Catra wouldn't pay her the same courtesy, but she tries not to think of the what-ifs.
She's not stupid enough to ask what that (any of that) was, good or bad, all the curious questions she might have if it was really the two of them instead of an awful mockery. None of it matters now. Catra got what she wanted, and Adora's done here. She tries to take stock of herself as best she can with Catra wrapped around her--the wound on her shoulder still oozing, but everything else starting to clot. Good. As for Catra... she's fine physically, and that's all Adora can be the judge of.
Deliberately, Adora schools her expression back into the bitter one from before, driving out the softness from her eyes before Catra sees them again; puts on her best She-Ra voice, the one she practices in her head for her confrontations with Catra, to the point where it almost comes naturally.
"Just so you know? This isn't what winning looks like."
It's a pyrrhic victory at best, though she knows Catra is more than happy to take those most of the time; that it isn't about her winning, but Adora losing. That's what makes her so dangerous, when Adora isn't prepared to sacrifice anyone but herself; just like she's doing, letting Catra hate her because she knows, knows, that's how she really feels, and at least then she won't sound so tortured and broken about a decision she already made years ago. Adora's always wanted her stopped, but never once wanted her hurt. Not even now.