Work Text:
Catra had good days and bad days.
On the good days, it was bearable. She would spend her time helping rebuild a war-torn world, lazing in the sun and cuddling with Adora in the peace and quiet of their room. Alliance meetings were quick and efficient, dinners with Bright Moon’s other residents were pleasant, and life was just full of bright spots and fresh beginnings, the past firmly in the past.
She could banter with Mermista, goof off with Glimmer or even play around with Frosta. She enjoyed visiting Spinnerella and Netossa, or hanging out at Bow’s workshop late into the night. Enough time had passed that she could consider them friends without that irrational fear of expecting there to be an ulterior motive. Friends, and sometimes more.
On the bad days, it was terrible.
Those were the days where her guilt over the portal’s activation weighed particularly heavy on her conscience. Where she could think of little more than the feeling of Adora’s skin opening beneath her claws, of how she pushed Bow off a cliff, of waging a war against all these people she now loved as family chosen.
And then there was Prime.
It was ironic. It was unfair. It was cruel. On days where things seemed too good, Catra would inevitably be assailed by the idea that it was all fake, another fanciful episode of the delusions Prime tortured her with after she helped Glimmer escape. She couldn’t shake the notion that she was still on the Velvet Glove, that Adora’s arrival and their escape on Darla was nothing more than an elaborate scheme with which Prime would sap that last bit of hope and defiance from her.
Every now and then, she would have misgivings. Lapses in her judgment or memory that left her confused and panicky as she struggled to remind herself this was all real.
When she slept, these misgivings became her nightmares.
She would dream of Adora. They talked and walked together, wandering through a magical meadow made brilliant by the unleashed energy of the Heart. They stopped to watch the sun set over Etheria. They joined hands, inching closer until they kissed.
Adora’s loving caress turned cold and metallic as her hand contorted into the plated talons of Prime, hooking her chin and snaring her in place. The reality of her situation flooded back in like she was dunked underwater—she was still on Prime’s ship, slowly wading into that green pool, their hands yanking at her hair as it was roughly cut away, the sting of the chip as they embedded it into her neck—
Catra flew upright with a breathless gasp. Somebody was shouting at her, inaudible and frantic, and when she made to disentangle herself from the clinginess around her legs she was caught, the strong arms of Prime’s clones snaking around her and keeping her in place.
But not tight enough. Catra still had a fighting chance to escape. She lashed out with her hand, felt her claws draw blood and the grip her captor had on her slacken. She jerked free and leapt off the softness beneath her, landing in a crouch.
Someone was crying. Was that another hallucination induced by Prime’s chip? Clones didn’t cry. And these strangled sobs of pain were familiar…
Catra blinked, taking in the room around her. A small waterfall. Windows. Pillows. An ornate nightstand. A bed. And sitting on that bed, covering her face…
“Adora,” she choked out, and the realisation of what she had done—what she had done again—coiled her stomach into a painful knot and sapped all the energy from her limbs. Adora’s cheek was bleeding, four thin lines of blood slowly trickling down and intermingling with her tears.
“Catra, you’re… in Bright Moon. You’re safe.” Adora had gone through these mantras so many times, but she knew Catra needed to hear them. “It’s just us. And… Prime is a massive loser.”
But those grounding words—words Catra would never hear in the fantasies Prime had fabricated and taunted her with—failed to entice a desperate little laugh from her as they usually did. Her eyes were locked on Adora’s face.
Adora slid off the bed, hands raised placatingly. “It’s fine, Catra. It’s not deep, see?” She wiped her cheek down, managing to make it an ugly, haunting smear. “Please, come back to bed. It’s alright…”
But tonight was one of those bad nights, and Catra just couldn’t bear it anymore.
She ran.
“Catra, no!”
It hurt. It hurt to ignore Adora’s desperate cries as she burst through the doors and sprinted down the hallways, but it was for the best. She knew it was for the best. She would only ever hurt Adora. That was all Catra would ever do. She didn’t rebuild. She didn’t heal. She lashed out, she destroyed, she ruined.
When she felt she could run no longer, when the heavy weight pushing down on her chest proved intolerable, she staggered to her knees, curling up and crying pitifully to herself. Showing weakness was easy, these days.
“Catra?”
Catra felt her hackles rise, pushing herself half-upright to look at the newcomer. King Micah looked at her with concern, standing some distance away.
“What the fuck do you want?” Catra snarled, because of course she did. Showing weakness was easy, but relying on old habits was even easier.
He gave her a sorry little smile as he looked from her to his left. Catra followed his stare, and realised where exactly she had chosen to break down crying.
Queen Angella’s mural.
“Oh,” she murmured stupidly.
“Are you alright?” King Micah approached her tentatively. They hadn’t had many chances to get acquainted since the end of the war, partly on account of Catra’s guilt. Even after that painful but necessary confrontation where Catra wept and apologised her heart out for what she did to Angella and Micah forgave her with that selfsame friendly tolerance each and every resident of Bright Moon seemed to possess, the approaches were mostly one-sided, relegated to Micah’s agency.
Maybe it was because of where they were. Maybe it was because Micah had shared a similar fate to her, or maybe Catra truly was getting better, rid of the oppressiveness of the Fright Zone and healing through the unbridled kindness of the other princesses, but Catra told him.
She told him everything. She told him about Prime, about the chip, about the hallucinations. She told him how she would wake up screaming or crying, her claws lashing out and hurting Adora over and over. She told him how she couldn’t take it anymore. She told him it was all more than anyone could endure.
And then, recalling a cruel memory from the Black Garnet chamber, she asked him something.
“You want me to… erase your memory?” Micah echoed, voice faltering.
“Just… just the things Prime put in here,” Catra insisted through gritted teeth. “Shadow Weaver could do it. Can’t you?”
Micah winced. Shadow Weaver was a sore subject for him, but he knew it to be doubly so for Catra, from what little he could deduce by her flighty mannerisms and instinctive wariness of authority figures, not to mention what Adora, Glimmer and Bow told him over the past two years.
“Catra,” he said, and she could already hear the denial in his voice. “Healing takes time, and you have been hurt more than most. You were dealt a cruel lot in life, but I know you’re strong. Everybody knows it.” His eyes were so full of pity, his smile so sad that an old part of Catra felt infuriated, drawn to lashing out again. But, taking a steadying breath, she listened.
“You’re probably the strongest of all of us, but to simply erase the scars like they were never there… you would be missing a part of yourself.”
“I don’t care for that part!” Catra flared. “All it does is make me hurt people. And I don’t want to! I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt Adora. I can’t…” She let out a ragged breath, realising she had been screaming. Footsteps in the distance. She would be found soon.
“…please,” she opted to beg, in the same way she had begged Prime to kill her, in the end. “Please, just… take them away from me. I don’t know what’s real or not, and it’s horrible. Please. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”
Micah’s conflicted stare drifted between her and the hallway, where he could now also hear the approaching footsteps.
“I’ll think about it. But you have to go back to Adora now, okay? She needs you. Trust me. Or she will just keep hurting too.”
Relief. I’ll think about it was an opening, and that was all she needed.
So Catra returned to Adora, crawling back under the covers and wrapping her up in a desperate hug. The cuts were already gone, courtesy of She-Ra, but Catra could still feel the blood under her claws.
It took a long time for Micah to come around. Though it wasn’t inherently dark magic, there were apparently scores of moral quandaries surrounding the idea of messing with somebody’s mind. It came as no surprise to Catra that Shadow Weaver had no qualms with using it on her star pupil.
Ultimately, it must have been Adora’s blessing that pushed him to comply. Perhaps Adora just wanted to make Catra content, or perhaps even she was getting worn out by the traumatic rhythm of Catra’s nightly terrors. Catra liked to think it was because Adora understood her completely, that she knew this was the right way, that she knew what Catra needed.
Contrary to her expectations, the spell was painless. After trying to give a cohesive explanation what she wanted to be rid of, she was put under a sleeping spell, immersed in the comforts of a soft bed and her hand clasped around Adora’s.
When Catra woke up, she was… confused.
She knew what had happened. She had asked Micah to take away the memories Prime put in her head. Only, when she now thought of what that exactly meant, she drew a blank. There was nothing there. And part of her felt there should be something there, but it just left her with an idle confusion, like forgetting why she wandered into the kitchen after stepping inside.
She knew it must have been bad, whatever was supposed to be there. Enough to remember waking up and destroying her pillows, cutting bloody lines across Adora’s arms, tearing out clumps of her own hair. But what caused her to actually do that? In the immediate weeks after the spell, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering.
Whatever the case was, life went on, and she was happier for it. She still had nightmares, but they manifested themselves mostly as the old wounds left behind by Shadow Weaver. They didn’t make her lash out at the people she loved, they didn’t make her fear bodies of water, they didn’t keep her from enjoying life as it was.
Nuzzling happily into the crook of Adora’s neck, she felt strong arms wrapped around her, and she was content.
The first discrepancy happened a week after the ritual. At the time, Adora didn’t think much of it, but now she knew it meant more than she thought.
“Hey ‘Dora, aren’t we having dinner with Glimmer and Bow in an hour?”
Adora looked up from her history book, frowning faintly. “That was yesterday, Catra. I thought we could maybe raid the kitchens today.”
Catra paused for a second, mouthed a quiet ‘oh’ and went on her way. Adora, still frowning, resumed reading.
The next day, Catra slipped up again. She always liked to take charge of the Alliance meetings. Micah was still adjusting to the minute aspects of being a ruler and Glimmer had a tendency to get distracted or overwhelmed, so Catra was the go-to person for keeping everyone on schedule.
“Right. Thank you everyone for coming to the ninety-seventh post-war Princess Alliance meeting. We’ve got several things on the docket—”
“Uh,” Mermista drawled tiredly. “Don’t you mean ninety-eight?”
Catra shot her a look, and then sifted through the papers. There was another pause, much like yesterday, and then she quietly said “…huh. Right. Ninety-eight.”
After that, everything proceeded swimmingly. Nothing to think twice about, right?
Adora arrived in their bedroom to find Catra briskly shoving clothes into a travel bag. Melog was lazing on the nearby windowsill, tail swaying contentedly.
“Hey, Catra, what’s this for?”
Catra didn’t look up as she hoisted another shirt out of her closet and shoved it in her bag, identical to the other three already in there. Both she and Adora still had trouble adjusting to the idea it was considered a faux pas at court to wear the same outfit every week, let alone every day. “I’m assigned to Salineas, remember? I’m helping rebuild Seaworthy.”
Adora stopped short, and the motion must have caught Catra’s eye, because she stopped and looked at her too. “What?”
“Catra… the rebuilding effort in Salineas is already complete. It’s been finished for a month now.”
Catra scoffed. “No, it hasn’t. Anyway, Sparkles said she’d teleport me there. I could probably badger her to take me back in the evenings if you’re really gonna miss me.”
“What? No—” Adora frowned. “Are you… are you serious? Catra, I’m pretty sure we finished up in Salineas.”
Catra rolled her eyes. “Adora, I run the meetings, don’t I? I think I’d know which kingdoms still need rebuilding.”
Whatever Adora wanted to say was interrupted by the flash of magic and accompanying wind chimes as Glimmer appeared in the middle of their room.
“Adora, Catra, great!”
“Still don’t know how to knock, huh, Sparkles?” Catra snarked. “One day you’re gonna see something you’ll regret.”
Glimmer flushed red, and Adora knew why, because just a week ago she had teleported in while they were thoroughly entangled and busy with one another in bed.
…so why was Catra saying it like it hadn’t happened yet?
“—what are you packing your bags for?” Glimmer diverted the subject, looking around the room.
“Uh, because you’re taking me to Salineas to help with the rebuilding effort, duh. Am I the only one who paid attention to this morning’s meeting?”
Adora and Glimmer exchanged a look. Adora knew what she was about to say.
“…Catra, Salineas has already been rebuilt. The project finished last month, remember?”
Catra tossed her shirt down. “Alright, is this some elaborate prank to get me to take it easy? Because it’s Adora who you should be tricking into extra bed rest. Trust me, I take plenty of R&R.”
Adora shook her head. “No, really, it’s done, Catra. It’s been done for a while now.” When she looked at Glimmer encouragingly, Glimmer added her voice to Adora’s.
“Adora’s right, Catra. Did you… forget?”
Catra stared at them, and now Adora knew something was decidedly off. The way she stared, puzzled, silent and frozen in place became more unnerving the longer it went on. Melog’s coat turned a darker hue, now almost purple.
“Catra…” Glimmer said carefully. “What else did you forget?”
“I didn’t forget anything!” Catra groused, broken out of her apparent stupor. “You’re having me on, I get it, funny, ha ha.” But Adora knew her tells. From the way her ears were flattened against her head, how her tail hung low, Adora could see Catra was thoroughly uncomfortable.
Adora tried a different approach. “Do you remember where we went yesterday?”
“Why the fuck are you asking me that?”
“Please, just answer.”
“We had dinner with Perfuma and Scorpia in Plumeria. What, are you gonna tell that me we didn’t?”
Adora felt her heart drop to her stomach. They did have dinner with Perfuma and Scorpia.
Two months ago.
“I’ll call my dad,” Glimmer said quietly, but Catra heard her, and her hackles rose as Glimmer teleported away.
“Why the fuck is she bringing him here? What’s going on, Adora?”
Adora stepped closer, and found to her relief that Catra wasn’t so angry as to slap her touch away when she put her hands on her girlfriend’s shoulders. “Catra, do you remember asking Micah to… remove some of your memories of Horde Prime?”
Catra’s brows drew up in confusion. “Uh, no? I mean, I…” She hesitated. “…I was thinking about it, but… I… I don’t remember why. I don’t think I need to. Why?”
“Catra.” Adora searched for Catra’s hands, found them, held them tight. “You already did. There was a whole ritual. Don’t you remember?”
Catra stared at her, bewildered, but something about Adora’s tone of voice and body language must have made her realise how earnest Adora was. “Wh—when?”
“Ten days ago, Catra,” Adora replied sadly.
“No, I…” Catra hesitated, eyes trailing to the floor. The confusion in her face was so stark, so painful for Adora to witness, but all Catra could manage was just a numb repeated denial. “No… no.”
The atmosphere was grave as they finally convinced Catra to subject herself to Micah’s examination. When he came up short, Castaspella and a contingent of sorcerers from Mystacor were called in. Rituals were conducted, spells were cast, wild guesses were made, but nothing stuck. The only theory that made sense was that of Shadow Weaver’s lingering scars extrapolating themselves as volatile and harmful to Catra’s psyche when brought in contact with spells that altered her mind.
Shadow Weaver. Of course, it always lead back to Shadow Weaver.
They opted to cast enchantments and warding spells on Catra. Enough to keep her protected from hexes for the rest of her life, and, at first, it seemed to work.
For a month, Catra didn’t have anymore lapses. Though she didn’t regain those two months of lost memory, by the fourth week of peace and quiet Adora dared hope that was the end of their troubles.
But it wasn’t to be so.
Adora winced as Catra got the date wrong at another meeting, and Glimmer thankfully called off the meeting the moment Catra started talking about Salineas’ restoration effort again, much to Mermista’s confusion.
“What’s your problem?” Catra grated, staggering into Adora’s arms for support after Glimmer teleported the entire Best Friend Squad to Catra and Adora’s bedroom.
“Catra, what’s the last thing you remember?” Glimmer demanded.
The most worrying part of it is that the question caught Catra off-guard. Like they hadn’t been idly talking about her episode of memory loss the past month, like they hadn’t had a whole confrontation about it already. “Is this a trick question? The meeting you just cancelled.”
“What about yesterday, Catra? Do you remember what we were doing?” Bow asked more gently.
“We didn’t do anything,” Catra retorted. “Sparkles and I went on a diplomatic mission to Dryl. I don’t recall you being there, Arrow Boy.”
Dryl? Adora couldn’t even recall the last time they had been on a diplomatic visit to Dryl of all places. Glimmer wore a look of similar confusion, mouth slightly agape as she glanced between Bow and Catra. But Bow’s confusion was the most palpable of all, and Adora knew why. Arrow Boy was a nickname Catra hadn’t used in—
“Catra… that was almost a year ago.” Glimmer’s hand reached out to take hold of Bow’s wrist for support. Adora’s heart sank, taking a bewildered Catra by the shoulders if only to steady her own self.
“What the fuck is going on?” Catra hissed, eyes flitting from Glimmer and Bow to Adora. Her tail lashed in anger, but she could tell Adora was on the verge of tears. “Is this a prank? I don’t get it.”
“I’ll… call my dad,” Glimmer said, not for the first time and with a great deal of uncertainty, and teleported away with Bow.
Catra tugged free of Adora, mystified. “Why the fuck is she bringing him here? What’s going on, Adora?”
The fact that Catra used those exact same words, almost that exact same tone of voice as the last time was all the more worrying. They had to do something, and fast. There was no telling when this would end, and Adora couldn’t lose Catra, not again.
“You’re… forgetting things, Catra. It’s okay. It’s something… Micah did, at your request. You asked him to take away the memories Prime gave you, remember?”
“What? I would never—I wouldn’t ask him that. I don’t need anybody casting spells—”
But something made Catra stop. As she ranted up at She-Ra and her stare drifted, she caught sight of something, and Adora followed her gaze.
A mirror. Catra was looking at herself, one hand gingerly raised to feel at the ponytail she had recently taken to wearing. Hypocrite, Adora had fondly accused her at the time.
“My hair…”
“Yes, your hair!” Adora felt a spark of hope. “It’s grown back very nicely, hasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t this… long…” Catra released it, blinking with a naked, wide-eyed perplexity that made Adora’s heart ache.
Catra only looked that way during the direct aftermaths of her nightmares, when they had first escaped Horde Prime, when Shadow Weaver would bear down on her during their misbegotten childhood.
“What’s going on?” Catra breathed anxiously.
But Catra still remembered Adora, so when Adora pulled her in for another taut hug and held her close in a bid to instill safety, Catra accepted it, sinking into it with relief.
“Can I… try something?” Adora asked quietly. She felt Catra nod against her chest, so she closed her eyes and focused. In a flash of light she had changed into She-Ra, but Catra kept a firm hold of her.
Adora sincerely hoped Catra wouldn’t regress to the point where she was afraid of She-Ra.
Adora held Catra tighter and started channeling She-Ra’s healing energies into her. The room was bathed in another brilliant glow, and when it abated Catra sighed out with a contented noise that made Adora hopeful.
Micah came later that day, but there was little to be done. He tried the wards and enchantments again, examined the effects of She-Ra’s healing powers, and came up with two theories.
The first was that She-Ra’s healing effects could help stave off this unseen magical corruption now embedded in Catra by the combined effects of Shadow Weaver’s scars and Micah’s ritual. That was good. Adora would rather spend every waking hour using her energy to help keep Catra’s head above water if it meant she wouldn’t lose more of her.
Number two being that there was a chance Catra would inevitably regress more and more, until she was back at the spell’s origin point—smack dab in the middle of the Velvet Glove, caught in the clutches of Prime.
It was a horrible thought. Catra would lose so much progress. Her friendship with the other princesses, the leaps and bounds she had made in reconciling with Glimmer, all memory of the war’s end, their kiss…
Adora would stand to lose Catra’s love.
Of course, as they broke the news to the rest of Bright Moon’s residents, Bow and Glimmer were quick to remind her that love was a feeling, not a memory. And Adora knew they were right.
I love you! I always have!
They would stand to lose so much.
But not everything.
So when they retired to bed that night, Adora cried and kissed and loved Catra like it was their last night on Etheria.
The proceeding days were awkward. Catra was off the council for Alliance meetings, which largely seemed to concern her nowadays anyway. All the princesses had grown to love Catra for the person she had turned out to be. Even Mermista had, in her own little way. Now faced with the reality that all that progress would be lost, all those memories cast to the wind, the mood was downright dismal. Frosta cried, which made Bow and Glimmer tear up in turn, though they tried to hide it throughout the conference.
Catra didn’t seem to forget anything else for a short while, so the days were spent trying to ‘document’ Catra as she was with a frantic urgency. They started writing things down, taking pictures on their tracker pads and even exchanging gifts. Catra… allowed herself to be subjected to the commotion of it all. There were too many physical reminders that things had actually changed and times were different for her to deny she was forgetting things. But Adora found she still went about it all with a dogged reservation, as if she still didn’t fully grasp what was happening to her.
Micah took it hard. Adora didn’t understand enough about magic to know whether it was fair to blame the man, but she couldn’t help but feel a budding resentment for him the more she thought about Catra’s worsening condition. He became reclusive, shutting himself up in the libraries for days at a time in his desperate search for something to undo his handiwork.
Adora took it the worst.
In those few moments where she wasn’t surrounded by the rest of Bright Moon or when she wasn’t holding Catra or stroking Catra’s hair or scratching Catra behind the ears or kissing Catra or—
When Adora wasn’t with Catra, she cried.
She cried because she knew what was coming. Catra would forget the comfort and security she now enjoyed in Bright Moon. Catra would forget their first night together since the war ended. Catra would forget their declarations of love to one another—though Adora was intent on telling her a thousand times over if the situation required it—and Catra would forget their first kiss. Catra would forget that Adora doesn’t hate her, that she loves her…
So Adora holds Catra a little tighter, and though she is confused and scared, Catra holds Adora a little tighter too.
A realisation seemed to dawn on Catra, after they had already gone through the now-weekly morning routine of where she was, when she was, what had happened, what she was missing, et cetera.
Apparently she had been listening in on a conversation between Frosta and Glimmer during a shared lunch out in Bright Moon’s gardens, because she suddenly turned to Adora and asked “I’ve… forgotten a lot of things, haven’t I?”
Adora bit her lip, but nodded. “You have, Catra.”
“And…” Catra spoke hesitantly, carefully. “I’ll forget more?”
Catra must have seen the crestfallen look that flashed across Adora’s features, because she winced before Adora could even respond.
“Do we know… how much…” She swallowed. Her tail wrapped around herself. “…more… I’ll forget?”
Adora didn’t want to answer. Everyone else was already suffering from this heartbreak. Catra did not need to share in it.
“Tell me, Adora,” Catra insisted, following her silence. “I want to know. I’ll forget anyway, right? It doesn’t matter if… if it’s bad.”
“It does matter, Catra,” Adora said in a wavering voice. “We don’t want you… hurt.”
A silence.
“I can see that it hurts you,” Catra said quietly, matter-of-factly.
“Catra…”
“Tell me, Adora.”
“Until… until the day you rescued Glimmer.”
Catra appeared to process this for a while, guarding her emotions well. She had been doing that more and more recently.
“Will I forget I saved her?”
They had talked about this extensively, contemplated it, pin-pointed the exact moment her memory would stop.
“No. We think it’ll be the last thing you’ll remember doing.”
Catra nodded to herself. Adora didn’t say anything, though it seemed to hang over their heads now.
“I’ll… forget our kiss. Our first kiss, I mean.”
Adora’s voice sounded watery on her own ears. She was probably crying again. “You will, Catra.”
So Catra drew Adora in for a hug, forcing a purr that couldn’t hope to stop the flood of tears.
The same day, Catra asked for a celebration. When asked what she wanted to celebrate, Catra said ‘friendship’. She was still under that rare and precious spell of cognisance, and she knew she was, so she wanted to make the best of it.
Because Catra was the smartest person in Bright Moon, and probably the smartest person Adora knew, period. It came as no surprise she realised the full ramifications of her magically-induced amnesia. She knew she would forget all the bonds she forged—that she already had forgotten some of them—and that this loss of memory was one-sided. She knew the others would suffer.
So they threw a big party, and Catra made sure to make time for everyone. She played ice-ball with Frosta until they were both lying in the grass, laughing and sweating. She sparred with Netossa, let Perfuma put flowers in her hair, talked with Spinnerella about a favourite book of theirs and told the princess of Salineas that her acceptance had meant so incredibly much to her. Mermista didn’t stand a chance at playing it cool, muttering and wiping at her eyes.
Catra danced with Scorpia—danced—and even let Entrapta rant on about her theories for some five minutes.
Sea Hawk, Swift Wind, Lonnie, Rogelio, Kyle, even the two Hordaks were given a moment of her time, brief and formal though it was.
She even forgave Micah, and gave him a hug.
By the end, everybody had tears in their eyes. Because they knew, watching the Best Friend Squad wander back up the steps to Bright Moon Castle for one last sleepover… they knew it was a farewell of sorts.
It almost felt like a funeral.
Time kept marching on, and Catra’s memories burned away, bit by bit. Micah’s research came up short. Adora could do nothing but watch.
Catra forgot about books she had read. She forgot about dinner parties, about holidays, about the prospect of Scorpia’s upcoming Princess Prom. She became more reclusive, in the manner she had been during her first few months in Bright Moon. Jokes and friendly banter instantly put her on edge, and sometimes her confusion at everyone’s appearance—not to mention her own—was just overwhelming. The panic attacks returned, induced by so much more now than just guilt and regret.
Catra forgot about all the places they had visited and the things they had done together, so Adora decided they would do everything all over again. Catra had her first pancakes, listened to a musical band playing in one of the taverns of Seaworthy and saw the mountain peaks of Frosta’s kingdom. She had her share of first time experiences, as delighted as she had been when Adora had initially shown her all the wonders of the world the Horde had hidden from them. And this time, the world had already healed. Two long years which Catra had been a part of, slaving away to restore the villages, forests and kingdoms torn apart by the Horde. Adora made sure Catra only ever saw the beauty of it all.
Catra’s wardrobe was subtly changed to be less expansive, so as to make the sight of it less confusing when Catra would wake up and dress herself for the day. Adora was infinitely thankful when the other princesses started wearing the outfits they wore in the war’s immediate aftermath. Anything to make it all more tolerable.
They developed something of a routine for whenever Catra would regress further. They learned what to say and what subjects to avoid, how to best explain the inconsistencies in Catra’s life as she slipped deeper into the past.
And it was always met with the same. Anger, distrust, confusion.
Entrapta was called in, but her experiments quickly proved fruitless, or too dangerous to try. The wariness with which Catra treated Entrapta as she has a selection of wires taped to her hand was painful to witness, like she didn’t fully believe in her friend’s forgiveness anymore, given so long ago on Darla. Entrapta, thankfully, never even picked up on it.
Adora hated it when Catra turned to her after Entrapta left, asking her about their planned vacation to Mystacor’s hot springs. It was one of the first things they did, some months after the war was over. It was a trip Catra absolutely hated at the time, her attempts at entering the pools leaving her near-enough catatonic because of the Prime-induced nightmares the bodies of water evoked.
But, for all of its fallout, Micah’s spell had stripped her of those nightmares, so Adora smiled and nodded and told her they would go that very day, hoping things would be different.
And it was so nice. They lazed the rest of the afternoon in the sun, the weight of Catra lying on top of her enough to ground Adora and allow her to actually indulge in some relaxation. Catra loved the pools even more, pressing up against Adora and purring loud enough to fill the entire room with a pleasing ambience.
When Catra straddled Adora that night, kissing her along her neck and down to her breasts and sliding her hand to the dampness between Adora’s legs, it was done with an experimental caution that reminded Adora of the first few times they slept together, nervous and curious about each other’s bodies in a way that befit two clueless lovers fresh off a traumatic rearing, courtesy of the Horde.
When she finished, Adora cried, and Catra just looked at her in anguish and non-understanding. Had she done something wrong? Had she made a mistake? And Adora would shake her head, whisper ‘no’, but she could not bring herself to explain again what was happening to Catra. Not then.
Perhaps it was a blessing that Catra would forget this night too.
One night, Adora woke to find Catra gone from their bed. Melog stood in the middle of the room, translucent mane flashing blue and red.
Finding Catra didn’t take long. Following the sound of her weeping, Adora saw Bow standing at the end of a familiar corridor.
“Hey,” he greeted. Adora didn’t say anything.
Prostrated in front of Queen Angella’s mural, Catra was wailing up a storm, her cries inarticulate noises of grief and regret and anger all at once. Glimmer rubbed soothing circles on her back, dressed in a hastily thrown-on nightgown. When Adora tried to approach Catra, Bow held her back, explaining what had happened in a thick voice.
It came to be a familiar occurrence, the rest of the week. Catra would discover the portal she activated had killed Glimmer’s mother—there were too many reminders around the castle to consistently avoid it—and wake the new queen of Bright Moon up, begging for her forgiveness and punishment both. And no matter how much Glimmer told her it was okay and that she had long forgiven Catra, it was something that only time could truly fix.
And before that necessary time had passed, Catra would forget all over again.
People were told not to mention Queen Angella to Catra anymore. A banner was hung over her mural, obscuring it from sight.
That hurt, and it hurt Glimmer most of all. One morose autumn morning, Catra offhandedly asked where Glimmer’s mother was, and after an unconvincingly dismissive comment about a diplomatic mission to the Kingdom of Snows, Glimmer left the kitchen. Bow found her in their shared bedroom, and consoled her with sweet nothings. Tears shed together were easier to bear, after all.
Each morning, Catra and Adora awoke in each other’s arms, and Adora would press a kiss to her lips and say ‘I love you’. Catra would smile, purr, stretch and whisper ‘I love you too, dummy.’ For months, that didn’t change. Catra’s love for her was the anchor with which Adora tethered herself throughout this harrowing march towards oblivion.
And then, one morning, Adora kissed Catra and pulled away, only to find two wide eyes staring back at her in sheer surprise, mouth agape like she couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“I love you, Catra,” Adora said quietly and firmly.
Tears filled Catra’s eyes, so she buried her face in Adora’s neck. “I… I love you too,” she said, anxious, scared like she had never said it before.
And Adora knew. Oh, she knew this was the day.
And Catra doesn’t get it. Why is she in Bright Moon? What happened to Horde Prime? And… why does Adora love her?
“Adora? Adora? What’s happening? Adora!”
Catra shook her shoulder, tail thumping against Adora’s knees in agitation as she was sat on the edge of the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. But through her grief for the absolute loss of that moment they shared at the Heart of Etheria, Adora knew Bow and Glimmer were correct. Love was a feeling, not a memory, and as Catra pushed her head through the arms Adora had wrapped around herself and forced her to acknowledge Catra’s presence, to run her fingers through her fur and to hold her close, Adora knew Catra loved her.
They stayed in Adora’s room. Catra’s memory seemed to pick up somewhere during their days of guerrilla warfare against Horde Prime, so Adora told her about the Heart, about their kiss, about how their love saved the universe.
And it’s… nice. Initially, Adora hadn’t planned on telling Catra the whole story, not until they reached that point where Catra wouldn’t forget anything else, and she only needed to do it once. She anticipated it would be tough to retread those grounds, to convince Catra of all that happened, to recount everything they went through together.
But it’s not. After convincing Catra to stay with her and listen until she’s finished, it’s nice to tell her about how they kicked Horde Prime’s ass. It’s heartwarming to see Catra’s cheeks flush as Adora tells her what she yelled to Adora, there together at the end of the world. And if that morning hadn’t been enough to convince Catra, Adora kissed her again. Catra returned it hungrily, sinking back with Adora into the covers.
Adora tried to focus on the wonderment in Catra’s eyes as she was exposed to a world at peace and all the love she deserved. She told Catra ‘I love you’ a hundred times. A thousand times.
“I love you,” Adora whispered.
“Mrrh,” Catra purred, nuzzled against Adora’s chest.
“I love how soft your fur is.”
“Mrrhhm.”
“I love your eyes.”
“Mrrp?” One of those eyes, coloured a beautiful gold, peeled open to stare at Adora half-lidded. Adora smiled, hoping Catra couldn’t see the silent tears behind it.
“You’re beautiful.”
Adora was damn sure she could see a blush budding through the fur on Catra’s cheeks. “Mhrrmy’beautiful.”
“You’re…” Adora swallowed thickly as Catra’s eye closed up again. “You’re the bravest person I know. And I’m… so proud of you.”
When Bow and Glimmer visited, Catra treated them amicably, but the pair noticed instantly that Catra was downright smitten with Adora. It was almost something to be jealous of, this fresh, unspoiled feeling of love that Catra was now experiencing.
Almost.
Melog was the next to go.
When Adora and Catra woke up, Catra was frightened to see a burgundy-coloured humanoid with a swirling cloud of blue energy around its head stood squarely in the centre of their room.
“Catra, it’s just Melog—”
“What the fuck is a Melog?”
Melog’s eyes darted around the room in apparently alarm, and then they vanished. Adora realised with numb worry that they never even shifted into a cat.
The memory of Krytis was gone. And with it, Catra’s connection to Melog.
Adora dearly hoped there would be a way to get Melog back. On the other hand, Catra didn’t seem too terribly concerned over the loss of whatever Melog was, and seeing as she stood no realistic chance of getting her memories back, she never would either.
But Etheria wasn’t an abandoned planet. Etheria was full of life, and full of magic. Melog would find someone else eventually, as well as a place to belong.
It just wouldn’t be by Catra’s side.
The final day was the gut punch Adora expected.
She awoke to see Catra staring at her wide-eyed, sat on her haunches and blind to the comforts of Bright Moon around them. All she had eyes for was Adora.
“You… you came back?” Catra sounded aghast, mortified, but that only lasted a second, and the familiar anger quickly surfaced. “Why did you come back? You should have stayed away!”
Adora knew what Catra wanted to say next, so she spoke loud and clear, hoping it was enough to interrupt and quell any doubts. “Because you matter to me, Catra! I… I love you!”
Catra stopped, stared, hiccuped, but it was not enough. Adora could see it in the way her eyes narrowed, how her fangs poked through her grimace, how her ears flattened and her tail started thrashing violently.
So she resigned herself to the plan. She left their bedroom, leaving Catra in the hands of Glimmer. They now relied on the fragile bond she and Catra had forged on Prime’s ship to ground Catra in this new reality her disorientated mind had woken up in, and to convince her the Best Friend Squad didn’t hate her.
With his arms wrapped around her shoulders, Bow reminded Adora they were through the worst of it. Now they could finally start to heal.
It was painful for Bow, Glimmer and Adora, but together they managed it.
For starters, it was a great deal easier to convince Catra that Prime was dead and gone now that she wasn’t burdened by the possibility of hallucinations. To convince her that she was loved, that she mattered… less so. Adora never jumped and broke her legs for Catra’s sake. Adora never turned into She-Ra. Adora never carried Catra in her arms back to Darla.
It came as no surprise to any of them when Catra tried to escape Bright Moon the next day, having deluded herself into thinking the other princesses wanted to hurt her for her part in the war. But with her windows firmly closed and the castle pretty much on lockdown, she had nowhere to go. Bright Moon was a glorified jail cell for her, and though nobody liked it, they thought it was necessary. Nobody wanted to go chasing Catra through the Whispering Woods.
Adora had forgotten just how bad Catra could be. She guarded her emotions with a diligence hitherto undreamt of. Maybe it was the changed set of circumstances, the lack of desperation around them, but she didn’t concede an inch to Glimmer for the longest time, preferring to huddle up on bed and ward away the princess’ visits with responses alternating between gruff dismissals and outright snarling.
When Glimmer finally managed to jimmy that door to Catra’s heart open by a mere hair’s breadth, Adora firmly wedged her fingers in, and woe betide those who would have tried to pry her loose. And though she knew Catra was the sort of person you had to let come to you, Adora had never been one for patience.
What Adora lacked in patience, she more than made up for with fervent sincerity. She told Catra everything, again. The Heart, Prime’s defeat, their kiss, all of it. And when Catra doubted her, Adora dared to shift closer to her on the bed, and kiss her, chaste and gentle.
Catra stared at her, voice shaky and fingers trembling; stunned. But her pupils were wide and her tail subconsciously brushed over Adora’s thigh. When Adora leaned in again, Catra found herself automatically tipping her chin up, and their kiss became firm, hungry and desperate. Adora was a dream Catra had wanted all her life, not knowing that she had already had Adora in a life now forgotten.
But she could have Adora again, and Adora would surrender herself to Catra wholly.
More days passed, and Catra hadn’t forgotten anything else. When she finally somewhat recovered from that initial shock that came with the realisation of Adora’s affection, of the life she could now lead, of the love she could now possess, they started talking.
“I… asked him to erase my memory?” Catra’s brow was pinched in wary puzzlement. “Why?”
“Not all of it. Just… there was something you went through, on Prime’s ship. After you saved Glimmer’s life.” Adora ran her fingers through Catra’s long hair, idly brushing out a few tangles. “Prime filled your head with… things that weren’t real.”
Catra looked at the ceiling. “Doesn’t ring a bell, so I guess it worked.”
Adora smiled, bittersweet. “It did.”
“Why didn’t I ask him to… remove… you know, other things?”
Adora knew what Catra was talking about. There was just a particular tone of voice Catra used when she was talking about Shadow Weaver, so implicit that she didn’t even need to say the witch’s name anymore.
“Because you healed, Catra. You learned to cope with it. Because you’re strong. You’re very strong.”
Hesitation. “Can’t I…?”
Adora held Catra closer. “No. The spell worked, but… it erased everything else, too. Slowly. Everything that happened afterwards.”
“After I saved Sparkles?”
“Yes. After you saved her life.”
“Did I… lose a lot?”
Adora wanted to say no, you didn’t. She wanted to ease Catra’s heart, to be rid of all the worries and hurt that would inevitably follow the answer to such a question, but she knew that was impossible. Everything had already happened. Everyone knew what had happened. She knew that all the changes would become apparent the moment Catra started reintegrating herself into Bright Moon.
“You did,” she sniffed. “Two years. It’s been… two years.”
Catra was silent for a long time. So long that it was agonising for Adora.
“Catra?”
“Two years?” No anger, no denial, no fear. Just… confusion. It always came down to confusion. “It’s been two years?”
Adora nodded, shifting under the covers so that her nose was buried in Catra’s hair. “Yes.”
Catra kept still, repeating the notion like she couldn’t wrap her head around it. She probably couldn’t.
“Two years.”
“We couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t fix it,” Adora said in a thick voice. “We tried, but… you started… losing it all. I was afraid I was gonna lose you.”
Catra burrowed deeper against Adora, forcing a purr to rumble through her chest. “You didn’t.”
“No,” Adora laughed wetly. She couldn’t help it. Her tears were trickling into Catra’s hair, leaving a damp patch. “I didn’t.”
“What was I like?”
The question caused Adora to sob again, despite the calming sensation of Catra’s purr vibrating through her. She inched back so that she could look Catra in the eyes, her own stinging but still smiling despite it all. “You were… Catra. Brave, strong, smart, loyal. You were happy. You had friends. People loved you. They still love you.”
Catra couldn’t hold Adora’s gaze, pressing her face to Adora’s chest instead, but that was alright.
Now was the time to heal.
A month passed. People were gentle with Catra, giving her space where necessary and meeting her small concessions with open arms. When after a few weeks Frosta squeezed Catra into a hug, everybody was initially worried the younger princess had gone too far. But then Catra gingerly laid her hands on Frosta’s back, and returned the embrace.
She made sincere and genuine attempts at approaching the others. She sat by Bow’s legs as he laboured in his workshop, enjoying the relative silence and no doubt getting used to his presence. She made small talk with Spinnerella and Netossa, and it didn’t take more than three weeks for Catra and Adora to visit them for dinner, like they used to. Micah stopped being a hermit, and Glimmer could have cried tears of joy. Losing him twice had nearly broken her, quietly, but now she stood as tall as ever.
Friendships were renewed, quicker than before. Catra and Adora enjoyed their share of firsts again. A first picnic, a first date, a first visit to Mystacor. For the umpteenth time in her life, Catra delighted in all the mysterious new wonders of the world.
And Adora delighted in Catra.
Catra slipped up again.
Catra forgot the date, surprised when Adora told her they made plans to visit Elberon with Bow and Glimmer.
They were plans made last night, so Adora hoped it had just slipped Catra’s mind.
She desperately hoped it had just slipped Catra’s mind.
Adora woke up on her side, facing Catra. It was how they had fallen asleep the previous night. Her arms were still around her girlfriend, who was staring at her. Adora smiled, leaning in to kiss her on the lips.
“Morning, Catra,” she whispered.
Catra was frozen. Her eyes were even wider now.
“Catra?” Adora felt her smile slip. “Did you have a nightmare?”
Catra jerked upright, gaze whipping around in alarm and pulling the covers away so roughly and quickly the fabric ripped.
“Catra, what’s wrong!? It’s just us!” But Adora already had that sinking feeling in her chest. She could guess what was happening, but oh how she wished it wasn’t so.
“Where the fuck am I!? Catra finally found her voice. “Why did you… what the fuck happened!?”
“Catra, calm down!” Adora tried to grab Catra’s hands, horrified when Catra snatched her arms away as if she had been burned. “Please, Catra, please, just calm down! What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Did you… did you kidnap me?” Catra pounced from the bed before Adora could grab her, taking in the room around her.
Kidnap?
Adora could vomit from the stress knotting up her stomach.
Kidnap?
She feared the worst. It was the worst.
“Catra, the war is over. Please, you’re just… you’re just confused. Just… Catra, calm down.” She didn’t know what to say. They never thought Catra would start to regress even further. If they did, they never worried about it out loud.
It was too much of a nightmare to even think about.
Catra’s chest was heaving with panicky breaths, but Adora recognised that look in her eyes, that stance, the set of her jaw. She was already planning a way out.
“Catra, I’m… I’m begging you, just calm down. The war is over. We don’t have to fight. You’re… in Bright Moon. Catra, I…”
But it was too late. Catra shot Adora one last look, and bounded to the door, leaving Adora behind in the mess of their ripped bedsheets.
“Catra!”
“Adora!” Glimmer and Bow appeared in her room, likely drawn by the commotion. “What’s going on? Where’s Catra?”
Adora had tears streaming down her face as she disentangled herself. “Catra, she… she forgot, she…”
It was enough. Glimmer gave Bow a determined look and vanished to the sound of wind chimes.
“How bad is it?” Bow asked, downcast, resigned.
“She thinks… she’s with the Horde again.”
There was nothing more to say. No empty platitudes of ‘it will be okay’ or ‘we’ll find a way to fix it.’ They had been saying it for months now, and it always came up short.
Adora gave chase. What else was she to do? Thankfully, Catra didn’t have a clue where to go, and Glimmer’s shouts lead them to find Catra cornered by Queen Angella’s mural.
“Catra, please, stop running. We’re not here to hurt you! You’re our friend!”
“Yeah right. Sorry if I don’t take your word for it, Sparkles,” Catra hissed, claws extended.
“Catra, she’s telling the truth!” Adora yelled as she and Bow arrived. “The war is over! The Horde is gone! Just… stop!”
“And you expect me to believe that? We were winning. Kidnapping me doesn’t end the fucking war.”
“Catra, you woke up in a soft bed, unrestrained… right?” Trust Bow to reason with her. It wasn’t the first time since the advent of Catra’s affliction that Adora was infinitely grateful for him. “Nobody captured you.”
Catra stared at him. He was right. She was wearing a pleasant set of pyjamas, and those warm, soft covers could hardly be construed as any kind of constraints. She couldn’t deny that.
“Catra, look around you,” Bow said. “Doesn’t everything look different?”
And Catra was starting to realise that. Arrow Boy didn’t have a beard. Sparkles didn’t use to be so tall. And where the fuck was her mask?
Adora never wore her hair down like that.
Locking eyes, Adora seemed to smile at her. “Catra… I love you. Please, just… stay.”
Stay?
What a mockery. How could Adora ask her that?
But… she loves me?
Catra didn’t think Adora would love her, not in her wildest dreams.
But when she woke up… Adora kissed her.
The thought made her blush, made her chest warm, made her heart race.
Adora kissed me.
Adora approached her. Catra let her, wary, anticipating a trick. But Adora was wearing nothing more than a silky white gown, absent She-Ra’s sword or even the bracer she normally transformed it into. Vulnerable and open. Trusting.
Adora took her by her elbows. Catra’s every instinct screamed at her to run. She didn’t run.
“What the fuck is going on?” she asked hoarsely.
Catra was eventually convinced to stay put. All it took was for Glimmer to teleport them all to the Fright Zone and for Catra to witness it in all its overgrown glory, the plantified Velvet Glove looming in the sky above. Adora held on tight to Catra all the while, afraid she’d run away, but she didn’t.
All the same, when Catra was finally back in their bedroom to sleep off the day’s exhaustion and confusion, the windows were locked, warded, and guards were posted outside the door.
A meeting was held, mostly to break the news to everyone. They took it badly, as expected. Everyone had been banking on the idea that Catra’s regression would end on Prime’s ship, so to find out there was no telling where it would end was a lethal blow to morale.
Because what else was there to be done?
When Catra fell asleep, they resorted to old measures. Wards, enchantments, She-Ra’s healing. But it was all for naught.
The next morning, Catra woke up before Adora. And Adora woke to find Catra’s claws around her throat.
Catra was straddling her, in much the same fashion as she would in their moments of intimacy, but now rather than lovingly stroking and kissing every inch of Adora’s body she was a whisker removed from cutting open Adora’s jugular, eyes wide and chest heaving in exhilaration.
Adora just looked at her, eyes so abysmally sad and red-rimmed.
Catra must have been considering it for some ten minutes before her claw relented somewhat, still poised to strike at Adora should she find it necessary.
“What the fuck is going on?”
And it made Adora angry, just so angry, that she had to hear those six words over and over and over again. That in exchange for saving the universe, the universe saw fit to take it all away from her.
Before she knew it, she was in She-Ra’s form, wrestling Catra’s arms down to the bed as the other growled and thrashed her legs, trying in vain to free herself from her rival’s indomitable strength.
When Catra’s strength was finally sapped, left panting for air and her attempts at freeing herself amounting to little more than a defiant squirming, Adora spoke again.
“Look at me, Catra. Look at me.”
Catra did, and Adora saw hollow, bloodshot eyes, teeth bared and tense as a coiled spring all over. She had seen that look before, in the Crimson Waste.
After telling her Shadow Weaver was at Bright Moon.
“Catra…”
“Fuck you,” Catra growled.
“I love you, Catra.” Adora said it despairingly. It was one of the only things that seemed to tether Catra, one of her only two lifelines.
And Catra stilled, thankfully, surprise flitting across her features.
Adora took a chance, leaning in and brushing her lips against Catra’s. Catra stared at her for a second longer, and then the vicious anger returned.
“What the fuck? Is this some… some trick?”
“No, Catra. It isn’t. I love you. You’re just… sick. Confused.”
Catra heaved against She-Ra’s arms, but Adora moved no more than an oak tree might have. “Bullshit. I know Shadow Weaver is here. Get the fuck OUT OF MY HEAD!”
Catra struggled again, flinching when something wet hit her face. But she took it in stride, barking a cruel laugh.
“Didn’t think She-Ra could cry!” she taunted.
Adora couldn’t stand it. She dragged herself off Catra and left the room, changing back into her normal form after the door closed.
Plans were made. It was clear Adora and Catra couldn’t sleep in the same place anymore. From what Catra had told her in the war’s aftermath, there were plenty more dark places to visit as her mind went back in time, well beyond Shadow Weaver tricking her in the bowels of the Fright Zone’s prison complex.
Uncertain where it would end but now assuredly fearing the worst, the rest of Bright Moon made plans to visit Catra, alone or in groups. Maybe it was selfish, as it would definitely serve to confuse Catra no matter where her mind might end up next, but fearing she might lose her sentience, people wanted to say goodbye to their friend while they still could.
So a magical barrier was drawn up in Adora’s room. It was a great deal more spacious than the one Shadow Weaver had enjoyed—Catra had more than half the room to herself to move around in—but so too did it solidify her paranoia and certainty that she had been captured by the enemy.
People visited in groups, and not one of them left with a satisfied mind. Spinnerella and Netossa tried an amicable approach. Hello Catra, how are you, how are you feeling. When Catra wasn’t receptive of it, they opted to share some of their favourite memories, and thanked her for her friendship. Catra scoffed in disbelief.
Scorpia couldn’t hold it together. When she entered the room, Catra was stricken to realise the princesses must have caught her as well.
“S-Scorpia!? Did they capture you too? Did the attack on Bright Moon fail?”
Scorpia didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise, leaving with a sorrowful “goodbye, Wildcat.”
Frosta came with a drawing Catra had made of them in hand, smiling brightly as she showed it off despite the others warning her to temper her expectations. Catra initially seemed surprised, and Adora thought perhaps there was a part of her that recognised the drawing style she hadn’t practiced since Shadow Weaver beat it out of her years and years ago. It went without saying she didn’t remember picking that hobby back up after the war ended.
But Catra laughed in her face. She taunted Frosta about Princess Prom, mocking the young princess for letting her and Scorpia wander around freely and how easy it had been to ruin it all. Frosta left the room bawling her eyes out with Mermista and Sea Hawk in tow, trying their best to soothe her and failing miserably.
Bow told her that he would miss her. That he would never forget her. Catra hissed at him, and he smiled because he could still see the Catra he knew in there.
Glimmer gave Catra her goodbye in a way only Glimmer and Catra could. Talking loudly over one another until they were shouting, with Catra hurling insults at her head and Glimmer tossing angry affirmations of goodwill right back at her.
Micah just stared at her, gaunt and hollow, nothing but a ghost in a shell.
Adora told her she loved her.
Catra didn’t budge, hurt and angry and frightened beneath it all.
This time it really was a funeral.
Catra had forgotten everyone. When Bow and Glimmer reported one late afternoon that Catra had drawn a blank on their faces, Adora knew what came next.
Nobody dared to question whether what she was doing was ethical. And if it was cruel, or disingenuous, or morally wrong or whatever the fuck, Adora didn’t really care. Catra would forget it all in a few days anyway. As far as Adora was concerned, she was deriving one last bit of comfort from a love now lost.
So she put on her cadet shirt, her grey pants and signature red jacket. Her hair was put up in a ponytail, and she meticulously set the poof back in place.
Though she had aged quite a few years, it was as close an approximation to her time in the Horde as she could manage.
And Catra remembered her.
It was dark when she entered the room, but that was never a problem for Catra and her eyesight.
“Adora! What are you doing here? Are you here to get me out?”
“Hey, Catra,” Adora said quietly.
“Don’t tell me they captured you too! I told you you shouldn’t have gone back to the woods.” Catra paced around her cell, animated and frantic. “’Cover for me, Catra.’” Catra echoed in her Adora-voice, something which elicited so many childhood memories in Adora’s mind. “’No one will even know I’m gone!’ Oh man, Shadow Weaver’s gonna kill us.”
“It’ll be okay, Catra,” Adora said.
Catra had her head cocked quizzically. “Adora? Is that… is that really you? Why do you look so different?”
“It’ll be okay, Catra,” Adora repeated, her voice suddenly dry. Catra wasn’t screaming at her or trying to attack her but… it wasn’t the same.
It had gone too far. Catra would regress further and further, until she was nothing more than a child in an adult body. Worse, perhaps. And all those memories would be forever gone, misplaced in time. Their shared misery, their shared laughter, an entire childhood growing up side by side, with a promise that was supposed to bind them together until the end of time.
Love was a feeling, not a memory. But what would happen when there was nothing left of Catra that made her… Catra?
What if she forgot Adora?
Adora started sleeping in the same bed as Catra again. The room remained a prison, but Catra wouldn’t attack her friend anymore, not when she looked mostly correct to her anachronistic mind.
There were lapses in her awareness too, now. Sometimes, she would shake Adora awake in the middle of the night, worried out of her mind about an upcoming training exam despite the fact that they were clearly thousands of miles removed from the Fright Zone. There were days where she didn’t seem to mind the comfort and luxury of this strange new room she found herself in. Maybe she figured it a dream, or maybe she would just take any sanctuary she could get her hands on after what must have been a particularly bad session with Shadow Weaver.
Her speech was starting to regress too. Her tone of voice turned on a dime between childlike excitement, inquisitiveness and innocence. Complex words were harder and harder for her to pronounce, and she was having trouble articulating her confusion as the days wore on and she kept losing more and more.
But she never forgot Adora, and Adora took comfort in that. She would gladly cuddle up in Adora’s strong arms and giggle when Adora pressed a kiss into her hair. When Catra licked her across the nose, Adora was surprised and stunned at how it evoked memories from long, long ago, when Catra didn’t have all of her animalistic cat-like tendencies beaten out of her by Shadow Weaver. She crawled around the room on all fours, wedged herself into particularly tight spots when she was tired or made daring ventures to pounce from the bookshelves to the chandelier hanging in the middle of the room.
And it was heartbreaking to see Catra become so carefree and innocent the more she lost. Day by day she lost her scars, and blossomed into someone who was unconditionally happy, who wasn’t afraid to laugh or joke or play around on the furniture. Somebody bright and beautiful who deserved nothing less than a normal life full of unconditional love.
And the world had taken it all away from her.
And then one day Catra lost any remaining faculties of speech, stumbling around on all fours in ungainly fashion and mewing her heart out, like she still wasn’t entirely surefooted. Little more than a kit, senseless to the troubles of the world.
So when Catra fell asleep that night, Adora sat by her side on the bed, tenderly stroking her hair and talking to her.
“I love you, Catra,” she said, hopeless, forlorn.
“You’re my best friend. You’re… more. You’re my hero. You mean all the world to me. You’re everything. And it was meant to be just us. Together.”
Catra snored softly, chest rising and falling.
“All these years we spent trying to fight each other… I regret them so, so much. I feel like…” She choked down a sob, and soldiered on. “…I feel like I wasted my life. I’d sacrifice everything if it meant I could just… have you back.”
“…I just want you back.”
Another shivering sob.
“I love you, Catra. And I miss you.”
She wiped at her eyes.
“I miss you.”
Adora trailed off, those last three words spoken so quietly they were little more than a murmur, a secret shared only between her and Catra. She could feel her heart peeling open, had to brace against the bed and tangle her fingers into the sheets to steady herself, but there was no stemming that tide of tears that followed.
Catra stirred as the bed shuddered from Adora’s sobbing, and slowly, carefully, her yellow eye peeled open, and then the blue. Adora forced herself to still and be quiet, watching Catra.
And Catra watched her, slowly unfurling herself from where she was curled up on the bed, making a noise that was little more than an inquisitive meow. She stared at Adora in such a familiar way that it tore at her soul, and when she gave one singular slow blink, Adora’s heart lurched.
Because Catra had looked at her that way once before, when they were both little more than toddlers.
When she opened that carton box, and found a little kitten inside.
When she had lifted that creature up in her arms, and hugged her tight.
The day they met.
So Adora wrapped Catra up in her arms, and held her close.