Chapter Text
It's a fitting punishment for a monster.
To want something so much- to hold it in your arms- and to know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.
-Rene Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn
✧✩✰✩✧
Adora’s days have started blending together.
It’s not a bad thing. In fact, she enjoys the monotony. The simple work. It’s a nice reprise from the intensity of war, although she does get restless without it, as terrible as that is.
It’s why she still trains. It’s why right now she’s out in the field with Swift Wind. It’s why she can tell, from the distance she’s at, that the prisoner she’s tasked with guarding is trying to escape.
“Hey,” Adora yells, as if that will help. She runs fast, muscles burning from her workout as she grabs her sword and sprints to the bottom. To do what? She’s not exactly sure yet.
“Hey Adora.”
“How do you,” she stops to catches her breath. Maybe she’s more out of shape than she wants to believe. “How do you know my name?”
“Lucky guess,” the prisoner taunts, smirking.
Adora has been warned against this. About how manipulative she is, how dangerous, how there’s a reason she’s in isolation. The kids in the town over think she’s a witch who can read minds.
Adora glares at the prisoner, suspicion written clearly on her face.
“You talk in your sleep. And it’s written on some of your things.” When Adora still looks confused, she loudly sighs, “I have good eyes.”
“Ah.”
The prisoner is still hanging from the window and seems happily perched. Adora notes the sharp claws that dig in to allow this.
“You know that they’ll never let you leave,” Adora tells her after a beat, nodding to the dragon wrapped languidly around the roof, soaking in the sun.
“What this lazy lump,” she scoffs.
“There’s a magic barrier.”
This makes the prisoner’s face sour. It’s a shame, because she could almost look pretty before, but now she’s sulking and muttering a quiet, “I know,” through her frown.
“Well, do you want to, uh, get back in?”
It occurs to Adora that she’s having a fully fledged, somewhat polite conversation with one of Brightmoon’s most dangerous criminals. And she doesn’t even know her name.
The woman doesn’t move from her perch, even though it must be uncomfortable. “It’s nice out here,” she comments, casual as ever, “You know, I never grew up with the sun, and it’s a shame I can’t appreciate it now that I have it.”
She turns her face up to the sun and closes her eyes.
“Um..” Adora doesn’t know what to do in this situation. She’s clearly not going to escape. The magic makes sure of that, but shouldn’t she stay here to make sure she doesn’t fall?
“Or,” the woman says, tail switching playfully, a spark lighting in her eye when she looks down and sees that Adora hasn’t moved, “You could come up here and entertain me.”
“I don’t even know your name?” Adora responds, as if that’s her excuse and not that it’s a huge breach of protocol.
“What a shame,” she says, before scaling the window. She sits on top of it for a second, inspecting her claws, then says, in a tone as if they’re still discussing the weather, “And for the record, my names Catra.”
Oh. Now Adora knows why Glimmer wouldn’t tell her the name. She’s that Catra.
✧✩✰✩✧
Adora had thought, briefly, of sending a letter to Glimmer. Asking her to return, admit she wasn’t fit for the job, that perhaps she was susceptible to whatever magic Catra had and that was why she was taking over all her thoughts.
Because Catra was not somebody she should be thinking about.
They had met early in the war, back before Adora had found her footing as Shera and Catra wasn’t, well, whatever kind of monster second in command of the Horde was, and Adora remembered the distinct pleasure in it, of finding her equal, someone who challenged her.
It was almost fun, well, as fun as war could be. She was magnetic and quick and could almost, almost, beat Adora. And now looking back, she’s not sure how she didn’t place those mismatched eyes that used to taunt her across the battlefield.
She doesn’t, in the end. The thought of how Glimmer would worry over her, making that same face Angella always did before a dangerous mission, or how Bow would feed her and gently ask her questions. Or even just how the rest of her friends would look at her kept her away.
It’s not that she doesn’t miss them, it’s that she doesn’t know how to act around them anymore, now that there’s no a war and she’s not absolutely necessary as Shera.
It’s these kind of thoughts that keep her awake and drive her outside where she can find solace in the stars.
“Can’t sleep”
Adora startles. An embarrassing yelp escapes her throat as all hope of sleep disappears with that rush of adrenaline.
“Wow not much of a guard, are you?” Catra teases.
“You- I - You’re supposed to keep that closed!” Adora sputters.
“Is that a rule?”
Adora gestures towards the dragon as she furtively attempts to fix her ponytail, so it isn’t too obvious she’s been tossing and turning.
“Melog? Oh please they won’t do anything. That ugly lug loves me.”
Adora raises a brow, “You named them?”
Now it’s Catra’s turn to be embarrassed, and though she shouldn’t notice it, the flick of her ears is endlessly endearing.
Pleased, Adora settles back down at the base of the tower. She doesn’t look up, but she can feel Catra studying her.
“Why are you out here?” Catra finally asks, with an accusatory tone.
“Where else would I go?”
“Anywhere! You could go anywhere. You know you’re not stuck with me. I’ve seen you make trips before. Wouldn’t you want to go anywhere if you could?”
Catra’s frantic speech ends in a desperate break to her voice, and Adora knows well enough not to respond or she'd risk an attack. Or maybe Catra would simply hide again.
To her shock, Adora hears neither, just heavy breathing slowly settling.
After what is probably too long to continue the conversation, Adora answers, “I like to look at the sky.”
“The sky?”
“Yes,” Adora laughs, charmed by the genuine surprise, “You said you didn’t grow up with the sun, so I’m guessing you grew up in the Fright Zone, with all that smog, so you never knew the stars either."
When Adora gets no response, she tries again, “Well?”
“I might have grown up somewhere you think is awful, but I did leave eventually. Of course, I’ve seen the stars,” Catra says, sounding every bit defensive and closed off Adora would expect.
“But have you looked at them? Really looked?” Adora doesn’t know why she’s so pressed, but she had fallen in love with the stars at such a young age. Still to this day, it’s her favorite thing to introduce the permanent wonder of the sky to others. No one can take the stars away.
“Just.. look up with me. You probably can’t sleep either if you heard me out here.”
“Maybe you’re just loud,” Catra mutters, but Adora can hear her settle before silence descends between them. That’s okay. Adora’s starting to learn the differences in Catra’s silences, and this one isn’t bad.
“Do you see that one there, the brightest one?"
It takes a moment for Catra to respond, and she does so grumpily, in genuine frustration. “They all look the same to me.”
Adora looks up at Catra, debating if she really is that stupid, before deciding to anyway. She can defend herself, and no one is going to know if she does this one kindness anyway. Besides, she always keeps her sword braced on her arm; Catra only has those claws.
Adora sets to climbing and realizes it must be a special kind of torture to see how easily these loose bricks are to climb and being unable to do so. She feels the tingling warmth of magic as she crosses the invisible barrier and a fresh bout of nerves, but all Catra does is observe her with an unreadable expression.
“Show off,” she says when Adora finally hauls herself onto the window ledge.
Adora laughs because she’s right. There are stairs, but then she would’ve had to get the key, and this was easier.
Catra inches closer, her piercing eyes glowing faintly in the night, enchanting with their different colors. “I could push you.”
Adora grins, “I don’t think you will.”
“Well-” Catra turns away, strangely flustered, and beneath that soft pink Adora notices her freckles for the first time, glowing in the moonlight. “This is not because I like you.”
“Sure,” Adora says, because she doesn’t think that’s true. Even if Catra doesn’t like her, she definitely doesn’t hate her in the way she claims.
“I just don’t want another murder charge. Especially not for their precious Shera”
“Mhmm,” This is not at all how she expected one of the leaders of the horde to act. It seems almost ridiculous, that Adora is ignoring everything that comes between standing on opposite sides of a war. She should care more about that, she thinks.
Instead of arguing further, she grabs Catra’s hand, ignores the soft squeak it causes, and points.
“See, this star. The brightest,” Catra’s hand is surprisingly warm as she traces it along the constellation. “It’s called Serenia. She was a legendary warrior best known for fighting bulls of stone.”
Catra eyes her before stepping closer so she can look where their hands are pointing and squint into the light, “It doesn’t look like a woman.”
Adora shifts closer still, not touching enough to feel her heat, and traces another constellation, “This is Krytis, the first of the dragons.”
A small laugh escapes, and that’s enough for Adora to stick around to point out a few more. When it’s late enough and her eyes start sticking when she blinks, Adora moves to climb back down.
“Wait,” Catra calls, falling silent for a moment when Adora looks up at her, “Maybe you could teach me some more? Some other night?”
“Yeah,” Adora promises, softer than she means, softer than she should be, “Yeah I can do that.”
✧✩✰✩✧
It’s a bad habit. That’s all.
Adora frequently finds herself at the foot of the tower.
At first, Melog had glared at her with their strangely knowing eye, but now even they’re used to her indecision and only grumble at her for interrupting their sleep.
Adora is sure Catra knows and is laughing at her.
Taking a deep breath, Adora walks up the stairs, trying not to sneeze in the dust and fidgeting with the heavy key.
When she opens the door, it makes a horrible screeching noise. Catra’s ears fold back and Adora already feels like she’s made a mistake, but it’s too late to back out now.
Once she’s inside and the noise is over Catra blinks warily at her from the other side of the room.
Adora clears her throat, “Do you want clothes?”
Catra’s eyebrows raise, “That’s what you’re here for?”
For all Adora’s planning, she doesn’t actually know what to say.
Catra gestures to the prison garb, “I mean, I get it, but I didn’t know you cared.”
“It’s my job to make you comfortable. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll get it.”
“It’s your job to make me comfortable?” Catra asks, finally unfolding from where she was lazily curled up, her tail flicking with renewed interest.
It’s not technically, but Catra doesn’t know that. But she wanted to do something nice, and more importantly, she wanted a reason to talk to Catra again. If anything, she could use it as an excuse to see Glimmer and Bow.
"Yup," Adora lies, "What did you used to wear?"
“A uniform.”
Catra says it simply, with a hint of amusement coloring her voice. Adora doesn't know why she's surprised, she would have answered in the same way. Hell, she’s still walking around in a version of her own, but Catra can't be walking around looking like she's still a part of the Horde.
Catra clearly takes pity on her. "Just get me a bodysuit."
Adora nods, accepting her mission, "I can do that."
"You’ll have to go far for that," she accuses, frustration simmering just below the surface.
"I’m sorry. I’ll be quick?" The end of her voice lifts like a question.
"Hmph."
Adora lingers, she doesn’t know why. But she takes in the small of Catra’s space, eyes catching on the tiny doodles on her desk, the unmade bed with crumpled blankets, the light filtering in through the window.
Nothing holds a candle to Catra though. Adora watches her from the corner of her eye as she runs a hand through her hair, trying to be discreet and failing miserably.
Catra catches her, of course, she does. “I used to have long hair, did you know?”
Adora can vaguely recall her wild mane, "I know."
"I loved it."
Adora inches closer, "Why’d you cut it?"
"I didn’t." Catra says and then turns away.
✧✩✰✩✧
"I don’t want you to be doing this because you feel sorry for me," Catra speaks suddenly, interrupting their card game and breaking their comfortable silence.
"I’m not,” Adora insists, although she’s not quite sure she believes herself. She’s started hanging out here more, and although initially began with guilt, she does genuinely enjoy Catra's company.
Catra glares at her, and Adora squirms, sure that Catra can see through her lie.
“Good because I can take care of myself."
Adora hums and goes back to her cards, or she tries to. This is the first time Catra has allowed her to come this close, in the day at least, and Adora is going to take advantage of it. She peeks over her card and studies Catra as she focuses.
Now that she’s looking, Adora notices that Catra is covered in scars. Not in the way Adora is, with years of hard training and war marring her skin, but something completely unnatural. Scars climb her skin like spiderwebs, jagged pale lines that are barely visible underneath her fur.
"How did that happen?"
Catra doesn't even look up, "I don’t want to talk about it."
"You don't even know what I'm asking about."
Catra finally looks up and glares at her, eyes sharp and a warning all of their own, "What else would you be talking about Adora?"
A normal person would maybe be cowed by Catra's expression, but Adora knows she can handle Catra if she pushes her and barrels on. "There are so many."
"I told you not to ask me about them," Catra growls. She throws her cards down and storms away.
She can’t go far, but Adora gets the message. She leaves.
✧✩✰✩✧
“Adora,” Catra calls, “Adora, I need help.”
Adora still trains outside occasionally, but it seems cruel to do so right in front of Catra, which is why she was farther away and missed whatever happened here.
Melog is flashing different colors, which ordinarily she would be worried about, but she doesn't have time for that after hearing the urgency in Catra's voice.
Adora runs upstairs and tries to yank the door open, but it's jammed shut. “What? What's happening?” She asks through the door, breathless and holding her sword as if she can fend off whatever it is.
After her second frantic pull, Catra cracks it open. The set of Catra’s chin is stubborn, her chin held high, “I need bandages.”
Adora tries to look through the sliver of the door, but she can't see any obvious signs of distress or injury.
"Why?" she asks, cautious and still on edge.
Arrogantly, Catra says, "Aren’t you supposed to be my maid. Get me what I want."
Adora frowns as she holds Catra's burning gaze. She bares her teeth, but her hands tremble slightly. "No. Catra why"
“If you won’t get me any, then go away!” Catra shouts, then slams the door in her face. How dare she act like this, Adora is trying to help!
Adora stands furious at the door for a few seconds before she stomps down and grabs some from her own perfectly stocked kit. When she gets back she knocks loudly on the door, only because she knows Catra hates it.
It cracks open and only now does Adora notice the blood dripping from Catra’s claws as she reaches out to snatch it, but Adora grabs her wrist and wrenches the door open.
"Tell me what’s wrong," she demands.
Catra snarls. "No."
She backs against a wall hissing. Her hand covers the back of her neck, blood leaking through her cupped hand. Worried, Adora reaches out to help but Catra flinches. Adora stops, unsure what to do.
Catra is tense, wedged against a wall, claws sharp and ready to pounce, but her eyes give her away, wide with pupils shrunk into pinpricks as she glares at Adora. She looks… afraid.
Adora deflates.
"Here," she says softly, putting it down and backing up, "I can come back later."
"Don’t." It’s harsh and Adora tries not to take it personally. She knows that this cruelty is probably from whatever spooked Catra, but it stings anyway. Still, it’s not enough to scare her away. Adora has seen worse.
Catra is stubborn, but so is Adora, and she’s pretty sure she knows who has more patience.
✧✩✰✩✧
They don’t talk about it the next day. Or the day after that. Or at all.
The thing is, Adora still doesn’t know much about Catra at all. She knows what she knows during the war: that Catra is a capable foe, and she knows what she’s learned recently, that Catra is a bit of a brat and easily bored, but if asked about anything beyond that, she knows nothing.
Most of all she’s curious if the rumors are true. Throughout both the Horde and Brightmoon, there were rumors about dark magic the Horde implemented, and most of those nasty rumors pointed to Catra.
While she was in town, she had overheard a little girl tease her brother about how if he wasn’t good, she would feed him to the witch in the tower, and the comment stuck in Adora’s mind.
It’s still there when she returns, so she watches Catra’s hands, looking for the sweeping motion that Glimmer tends to do subconsciously.
“Ha!” Catra says around the fifth time she catches her staring at her hands.
“What’s funny now?” Adora asks, still half observing her long fingers.
"You totally think I can do magic."
Adora takes a deep breath and steels her nerves, “Well, can’t you?”
“No,” Catra says, and laughs even harder.
“Well,” Adora hesitates. They’ve never breached the topic of the war before, and she’s unsure how that will affect the fragile peace that surrounds them. “Who was the one doing all that dark magic?”
What little amusement that was on Catra’s face vanishes with a barely concealed shudder.
“Shadow Weaver.”
“And who was that?” Adora asks again, mildly afraid of the answer.
“An evil conniving bitch who’s better off dead.”
“Oh,” Adora breaths. It seems a bit personal, and Adora doesn’t know how to venture into that. She doesn’t have to worry, because Catra continues without prompting.
“She raised me, you know,” Catra continues, “Real piece of work. Loved throwing around that dark magic. Hurt like hell when it zapped you.”
Adora sits with that, and Catra does too now that she’s said her piece. She watches as Catra goes back to idly carving at the table and thinks.
Adora must have been similar to Catra as a child. She was an orphan too, before she was taken in by Mara. It was a lonely childhood, even if it wasn’t a bad one. She hadn’t met Glimmer or Bow until later when she started training with Lih Hope, and that childhood loneliness never left her. It lingered like an unwelcome friend, leaving a gap in her heart that couldn’t be filled. Maybe that’s why she was so easily pulled to Catra, she had the same shadow of aloneness that clung to her, tinging the way she spoke.
Reaching across the table, Adora focuses, letting a flower bloom in her palm. A small trick that Razz taught her, one that never failed to bring a smile to whoever she was showing off to.
Catra doesn’t smile. Her face is unreadable, caught between awe and something else, something uneasy.
“You can do magic?”
“Not a lot,” Adora says, “Not when I’m not Shera. But there’s magic everywhere if you know where to look.”
Catra doesn’t respond and instead shifts away without a glance. She doesn’t tell Adora to go, so she stays. The flower Adora knows to be a Forget-me-not wilting a bit in her palm as guilt sits heavy on Adora’s chest.
Catra doesn’t come closer for the rest of the day. Before she does leave, Adora turns around to look at Catra, not quite sure what she’s hoping to see. “We’re friends, right?”
“No Adora,” Catra says softly, barely a whisper in the dusk, “We’re not. We can’t be.”
✧✩✰✩✧
It’s darker than usual when Adora walks in, so she assumes Catra is napping. She quietly turns around after verifying the lump on the bed is breathing.
“And who are you?”
For a moment, Adora thinks she's joking, but Catra's voice sounds funny. There's an odd quality she hasn’t heard before. A low hum of something she can't quite place.
"Catra. This isn't funny."
It's silent. Has it always been this quiet in here? Adora looks around for anything amiss. All there is is the uncanny quiet.
"Catra stop," Adora whispers into the too still air.
Catra still doesn’t respond. With no small amount of trepidation, Adora creeps over to her. She's still hunched over the bed, covered in blankets.
Not knowing what else to do, Adora inches forward and tugs at the blanket covering Catra. She whirls around, and Adora is met with those piercing eyes. Those piercing green eyes.
"Oh!" The exhale slips out of Adora before she can help it, and she jumps back. Catra blinks, then smiles a slow, chilling smile.
"Hello Adora."
"What-" Adora whips around, hoping to see that this is all some cruel joke.
"It’s odd," Catra continues in that awful, dead voice, "One doesn’t expect visitors in a prison."
For all her bluster Adora, doesn't know what to do. She opens and closes her mouth, inching back. This is wrong. This isn’t Catra. This isn’t-
“One certainly doesn’t expect to grow fond of their jailor.”
That word makes her flinch. She’s been trying to ignore that too, but the guilt floods back. She can't escape it any more than she can escape Catra's venomous stare, keeping her in a trancelike state.
Adora pulls out her sword. "What did you do to her?"
She doesn't know who she's asking, only that this isn't Catra.
Catra grins, fangs glinting in what little light there is before she moves. Quick, quicker than Adora had thought possible, Catra darts behind her.
Adora feels every inch the prey she is as Catra’s claws ghost against her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps.
When her fingers get too close to her throat, Adora reaches back and pulls Catra over her shoulder. Catra crashes into a chair, but stays frozen when face to face with Adora’s sword.
They stay that way for a beat too long before Catra wavers, then slumps. Instinctively, Adora rushes forward to help.
Too soon she realizes her mistake, with a sickening crunch, Catra straightens back up. Smiling once more, she pushes herself onto the sword that’s no longer to her chest, but beside her, and blood spills before Adora can yank it away.
In shock, Adora stands frozen as Catra hisses and backs up. Her eyes flicker again, this time settling in their correct color as they land on her and widen.
Catra stills as she takes in Adora’s stance, looking up at her with barely disguised fear.
“I’m sorry,” Adora says, guilt cracking her voice.
Catra cups her arm, blood spilling between her fingers. She grits her teeth, obviously in pain. “Go away.”
“I didn’t mean to-“
“Leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry,” Adora insists, reaching forward to help.
“Go away!” Catra screams, lashing out. Adora sees four stripes of red more than she feels the sting, and she’s so lost she listens, fleeing without a glance back.
Adora slams the door, pressing her back into, and for the first time, is truly afraid of Catra.