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Murky ocean waves crash against the base of a cliff in the middle of nowhere, and the world tips over the edge of ending.
Cliff winds whip Catra's hair around her face. She's always run at a slightly higher body temperature than the other cadets, but even she can admit these conditions are frigid. The weather isn't what's holding her attention right now, though.
Blood drips down She-ra’s— Adora’s— her chin. Catra does her best to stroll casually up to her, struggling to hide her slight limp because man that fucking princess landed some good hits.
Catra's last strike had left She-ra swaying slightly, eyes unfocused. She drops to the ground, on her knees as Catra approaches.
She's poised to make a trademark snarky comment, opening her mouth, but is cut off by She-ra's low mumble.
“You win.”
That catches her off guard. Every word she’s ever heard out of Wonder Woman's mouth has always been some self-righteous optimistic bullshit. “You won't get away with this!” or “We'll stop you with the power of friendship!” or whatever rainbow-magic nonsense she spews to spur on her army. An army that is conveniently nowhere to be found.
She decides to latch onto that. “Aw, where's the cavalry now, Princess?”
“You know where. Not here. Safe.” The words are accompanied by more blood trickling out of her mouth, another smear on the bruised portrait of her face. Huh, Catra thinks, guess that outfit transformation doesn't come with magic concealer.
“You know, I showed up to your little party invite expecting more of a fight. Did your new best friend poof everyone else back to Bright Moon? Just in time for our next attack?”
They both know she's bluffing. The war hasn't been in the Horde's favor for months. For once, Catra doesn't suffer Hordak's wrath for it, as his trusted second-in-command. It's a twisted sort of satisfying to see him take it out on her team, however much an annoying voice in her head cries out this is exactly what happened to you, how can you— shut up, Adora.
Speaking of—
She-ra glows suddenly, and Catra raises an arm, ready to fend off another attack but—
It's Adora. She's kneeling there now, and she tosses aside the sword. Catra suddenly remembers that, princess or not, Adora's always been taller than her. Right now, she looks very, very small.
“You won. You got what you wanted. Go ahead.”
Closer up, Adora's eyes are lidded heavily, one swollen and one drooping closed out of sheer exhaustion.
“Finish what… what I started.”
“What do you mean?” Catra bites out, hating the way her throat tightens.
“It's—” Adora reaches up to brush back her hair, straggly and nowhere near her usual perfect ponytail. “It's no use arguing about the big picture here—”
“What do you mean?” Catra explodes. “Actually, never mind. If you called me here for another— another sanctimonious lecture—”
“That's not what this is!” Some part of her is relieved to see Adora frustrated. Familiar territory.
“I know there's no point in asking you to come with me. That's not— I— what went wrong between us, that's what I mean. That's on me. I.” She swallows, eyes glinting. “I left you. I promised not to leave you, and I broke that.”
Catra sneers. “Well, thanks for the apology. Don't really need it, seeing as I don't need you, not that I ever—”
“I don't think that of you!” Adora's voice is wheezy, and she winces as if talking is suddenly an effort for her. Catra discreetly looks her over, cataloguing her injuries. Adrenaline ebbing away probably made those broken ribs far more noticeable now— ribs that she broke. And she doesn't regret it. She, she doesn't.
“I never saw you as someone less than me. For me, we were on the same ground. It wasn't 'I save you,’ it was 'We've got each other's backs.’ But I know now that… I didn't do a very good job of that.”
Catra’s head is spinning, but irritation prickles at her ears. She's heard all this before, god knows how many times Adora has started with some sweeping statement about what she meant to do. “So, what, you think saying sorry is gonna—”
“No.” Adora's head droops. “There's nothing I can do, I know. But I know what I can give you, something you've made it clear that you want.”
“What?”
She lifts her head up to look her in the eye. “My life.”
Whatever Catra was going to say gets stuck in her throat.
When they were both tiny cadets-in-training, sneaking out to the roof to look at the sky was a weekly occurrence. Catra liked high places. Vantage points for sneak attacks, or sanctuaries from the chaos on the ground.
Adora had somehow gotten it in her head that the stars had secrets about the future spelled out in them— something one of the older cadets put in her head to mess with her, probably. She used to point out arbitrary patterns and make up what they meant, and Catra made fun of them only to provoke Adora's high-pitched defenses of why they made perfect sense.
“That's you and me,” Adora said matter-of-factly, tiny finger tracking two shooting stars.
“What, we're gonna crash and die?” Catra laughed.
“No, silly. Wherever we go, we go with each other.”
“What if we fall in different places and crash and die?”
“Stop that!” Adora shoved at her, giggling. “We always find each other, don't we?”
Don't we?
Don't we?
“I don't— I.” Without thinking she takes a step back. Why, why is she doing this, why—
“The war is going pretty great for the Princess Alliance, in case you didn't notice.”
“I know.” Adora smiles. “They're doing fine without She-ra. I know they'll be fine without me. I always—“ She chokes on her next words. “I always kind of ruin things anyway.”
There's an opening for a jab there. Catra doesn't take it.
“This isn't about the war. This is settling what's between you and me. And… making things as right as I can manage.” Adora's face is set in a grimace and Catra suddenly aches to reach forward and smooth out the crease between her brows.
“You win. I didn't pull any punches. Fair and square.”
What fucked up path in the stars leads her to standing over the girl she's loved and hated ever since she's known what love and hate were, claws raised for a killing strike?
When did she raise her claws?
When did she raise her claws?
Catra jerks her hand back.
What is she thinking? How could she consider sparing Adora?
How could she consider not sparing Adora?
Too many questions are bouncing around in her head right now. She bats at her ears as if she can physically shake them out, send them tumbling across the cliff and over the edge.
Catra turns around, hunching her shoulders and wrapping her arms around herself. A tentative “Catra?” rises from behind her and she snaps. “Shut up!”
She's clenching her fists so tightly she barely registers Adora stepping around her to face her, taking one of her hands. With fingers that are far, far too gentle she pries open her hand.
Her claws have dug into her own palms so deep they're lined with short gashes.
“Oh, Catra.” Adora, her eye purpled, nose busted, lips cracked and smeared with blood, looks up at her. “You're hurt.”
That's the final straw. Catra yanks her hand away. “You—”
Adora falls back in a defensive stance, albeit a little off-kilter from her injuries. “What?”
“No, you don't talk. I'm talking now.” Catra's voice rises. “How could you— how could you even think of something that stupid?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You really think I'd— I'd just kill you?”
Adora shrugged. “All past evidence points to it.”
She… has a point.
“Not like this! Not with you offering your life up as some kind of weird apology—”
“I'm trying to give you what you want! You want me dead, don't you?”
Don't you?
Don't you?
Catra feels like the breath just got punched out of her. Adora's voice, past and present, echoes in her ears.
“Adora.” Her throat is clenching up so hard she has to force the words out. She stumbles forward, catching Adora's arms. They're face-to-face now.
“Of course I— I don't want you dead.”
Adora's eyes are wide, but her brow is furrowed again. “Then what… what do you want?”
In lieu of words, Catra presses her forehead to Adora's. Unconsciously, her tail curls around the other's waist, pulling them closer together. A tiny, crooked smile crosses her face.
“Hey, Adora.”
Catra's words always come out jumbled and jagged, it seems. She hopes this can communicate what she doesn't know how to say.
“I never wanted you dead, Catra. I know you don't want to— won't join me. That's okay,” Adora murmurs. “I just. Want you to be okay. Even if you're on the other side.”
“I— yeah. I know,” Catra says quietly. And even quieter, “Me too.”
She shifts, and Adora winces.
“What is it?” Catra's ears perk up as she moves back to check over Adora instinctively.
“Nothing. My shoulder. It'll be fine.” Her eyes dart to the pale skin, marred with scratches from her claws.
And the wind whips in her ears again, and the cliff they're standing on falls back to the ground. Being with Adora makes her feel dangerously close to the sky.
She takes a step back, attempting to school her voice into her regular disinterested drawl.
“I'll offer you a deal. You go back to Fairyland and take care of your wounds, and I forget you ever tried to pull something this dumb.”
Adora's face is still so, so soft and open and Catra's heart squeezes. She's overwhelmed by the urge to step closer again, hold her, check over her injuries, and has to curl her toes into the hard ground to stop herself. Instead, she steps forward and turns Adora around by the shoulders, letting her hair down to redo her ponytail.
Tying it off, she brushes a hand over the top of her blonde hair absentmindedly, an unconscious mirror to where Adora used to scratch her ears.
“Catra, I—”
“Go back. I don't think the Princesses would be doing so hot without you, no matter what you say.” She offers a half smile. “And you've gotta be doing something right, if old Hordak's tantrums have anything to show for them.”
Adora looks pained at the mention of Catra going back, but she nods. “Yeah.” She hesitates. “Stay safe.”
“No promises.” Catra makes an attempt at her usual smirk. “You too.”
Catra turns to go, but Adora catches her hand again, stepping in close, very close. Dipping her head down, she presses her lips to the back of Catra's hand.
Promises are too shaky between them, but this feels like a silent vow.
“After all this, however it turns out… you better watch out, 'cause I'll come looking for you, punk.”
Adora tosses a smile back. “Not if I find you first.”
“Maybe we'll. Maybe we'll find each other, huh?”
And the world tips back, ever so slightly, away from the edge.