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It all started when Catra got her own bed.
“You can’t keep sleeping at the foot of mine,” Adora said, exasperation dripping from her voice.
Catra sniffed at the mattress as two Bright Moon guards positioned it on the opposite side of Adora’s room. As if their minds might explode if an ex-Horde officer’s mattress touched their precious She-Ra’s militaristic cot. Her eyes roamed the plush piece, eyelids lowering as the guards glanced at Adora for affirmation on placement.
As if Catra wasn’t worth their time.
“Looks great,” Adora said, grinning. “Thanks, guys.”
“Sure,” Catra drawled, strolling towards them as she stretched her arms above her head. They tensed when she got close, and a feral smirk overtook her lips. She winked at them. “Thanks, guys.”
They hustled out of the room with barely a “goodbye” for Adora.
Catra cackled, rolling her eyes. “Wow. It’s like, too easy.”
“They’re your friends now, Catra,” Adora said with a huff. “You could try to be nice to them.”
Catra snorted. “I don’t have friends. Especially not rebel friends.”
Adora crossed her arms.
Catra’s tail flicked. “Fine, I have you. But that’s it.”
“We’ll see,” Adora said, with that slight, wry curl of her lips. As if she’d already written their future in her mind and finally liked where it wound up. It made Catra’s neck itch, and she scratched absently, turning her face so Adora didn’t see her burning cheeks.
A new bed.
A new life.
Catra tested the mattress with one hand. Far too plush, in her expert opinion.
It was, in fact, too plush. Surprise, surprise.
Catra tossed and turned all night, drifting into fitful sleep only to be wrenched out by a screaming pain in her back. Across the drafty room—too empty, too far—Adora slept soundly, curled around her solitary pillow with one hand buried underneath the feathers.
After a while, Catra didn’t sleep. It was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
Where there was once clanking pipes and pounding footsteps, now there was a waterfall. Where she once slept with bodies all around her, snoring and coughing and laughing, now there was an empty expanse of cotton and silk.
Where there was once purpose and duty and a need to rise, now Catra had… nothing.
Adora rolled out of bed around dawn, but not because some drill sergeant banged on their metal door and hollered for revelry. Instead, it was because the soft, golden sunlight brushed across her eyes.
Catra knew, because she was perched on Adora’s desk, staring at her.
Adora blinked awake, swallowing a yawn as she rose. Too slow. Sloppy. If she did this in the Horde, Shadow Weaver would have—
Well. It didn’t really matter, did it? The Horde was behind them.
Never going back there.
Catra’s tail flicked in agitation, and she narrowed her eyes at Adora, waiting for the moment old blondie glanced sideways and saw her.
It happened twelve seconds later, to which Adora yelped and toppled out of bed.
“Catra?” She spring-boarded to her feet, raking unruly bangs off her face. “What are you doing?” Then she took in Catra’s crouched position, her hands between her feet, her ears perked, her tail swishing, and burst into laughter.
Catra rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked upwards anyway. “Couldn’t sleep. You were right; that bed’s too soft.”
“When I tried, I sunk. I swear I was drowning before Glimmer rescued me.” Adora mock-shuddered, but the reminder of her time at Bright Moon—without Catra—made irritation flare. Catra clamped it down as Adora ruffled her hair, scratching under one ear like she used to every morning. “I’ll see if they can get you a cot like mine, okay?”
“Whatever,” Catra said, but a deep-throated purr bubbled from her chest before she could stop it.
Adora laughed in glee and scratched a little harder, which had the unintended consequence of Catra leaning into her fingers. Her stupid, stubby, human fingers, which felt so good against her ear and—
“Argh! Stop it!” Catra swiped at her and leapt away.
Adora grinned, slipping on her sheath for She-Ra’s sword. Undoubtedly preparing for another useless day of training drills, despite the fact that a real war was being fought just beyond the Woods. Catra watched in irritation until Adora lifted her eyes again.
“I missed you, Catra. I’m… glad you’re here now,” she said, warmth making her tone as golden as the sunlight.
Catra’s face warmed, and she looked away. “Yeah, yeah.”
If Adora was here, maybe the other things were just noise. But she looked at her bed, the lumpy cushions and gleaming sheets and extravagance and luxury of it all, and doubted it.
The new bed was waiting when they staggered back inside the room. Adora stood in the doorway, teasing the glitter princess about something or other, but Catra’s back ached and her muscles screamed protest with every movement.
Regardless of whether or not Adora waved that stupid sword, she was still a fierce sparring partner. And as much as Catra hated to admit it, Glitter and Arrow weren’t horrible themselves.
But frankly, it was too much work for someone who’d been up all night. Adora might be happy to chat Glitter’s ear off—although Catra noticed with some satisfaction the princess didn’t step over the doorway’s threshold—but Catra was officially done. She stripped without regard to who was watching, tugged on a tight sleeping shirt, and threw herself onto her new cot.
And something immediately buried into her back.
Catra yowled, pitching out of bed. “What the fuck?!”
Adora and Glitter spun towards her, and Adora paled. “Catra, what—oh. Oh.”
Hot blood dripped down Catra’s back, and every motion sent pain flashing all the way to her tail. Catra hissed, craning her neck to see what she’d laid in, only to find… a razorblade. A fucking blade, embedded so deep in the skin the wound was gushing.
“Was that in your bed?” Adora exclaimed, her stupid, trusting eyes wide as she rushed over.
“Of course it was in my bed,” Catra growled, baring her fangs as she pinched the blade with some difficulty and yanked it out. It opened a deeper wound, and her sleeping shirt was damp in seconds. She pressed a hand against the cut, breathing through her nose to counteract the pain.
Her brows knitted together anyway. Shit, that hurt. Would have been easy to hit something vital, too.
Catra’s glare shifted from the bed to the door, where the sparkly princess stood with her jaw unhinged. Although she aimed it at Glitter, her words were mostly for Adora’s sake. “Oh, yeah. Everyone in Bright Moon is my friend.” Now her voice pitched upwards, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Hey, maybe I’ll throw them a party! That’s a thing you do here, isn’t it?”
It was a party if people were mildly maimed, right?
Adora seemed flabbergasted. “I mean—it had to be an accident, right?” She yanked a kit with bandages out of the desk drawer, tearing through them for something to stem the bleeding.
“It’s definitely an accident,” Glitter said, desperately, as she teleported beside Adora. The sudden, unnatural motion made Catra flinch, but the princess strode over to the bed, yanking back the covers.
Just sheets. There was one blade, and it was meant for Catra.
How fortunate.
Catra dropped the blade to the white marble. The stench of blood filled the room, making her stomach churn like always, and she wrinkled her nose and pressed her blood-soaked fingers harder against the wound. She sank onto Adora’s desk chair as Adora yanked up her shirt, baring her back, and shoved absorbent cloths over the cut.
“See?” Glitter was saying, sounding flippant now. “There was only one. It’s just a mistake.”
“Princess, do you know what denial is?” Catra drawled, fluidly, but her voice held a hint of the razorblade’s edge now. “Might want to look it up.”
“Lean forward,” Adora instructed, and Catra obeyed, folding her arms over the back of the desk chair. This, at least, was tried and true; the two of them patching each other up. Ironically, between the two of them, Adora was the rough one, acting like her fear at Catra’s injuries could be absolved if she healed Catra hard enough.
The results were not pleasant.
Catra dug her chin into her arms, clenching her eyes shut as Adora dumped antiseptic over her back. It pattered to the ground like a second waterfall, but the stuff that stuck burned like fire, flames licking all the way up her back. Her tail thrashed in pain, and she dug her claws into her arms.
“I know what denial is,” Glitter replied, darkly. “But I also know my staff. They wouldn’t do something like this.”
“Wouldn’t try to hurt the ex-Horde captain living under their precious Rebellion roof? You’re right. Whatever do I have to worry about?” Catra said through gritted teeth.
Behind her, Adora sounded dubious. Catra’s ear flicked towards her voice as she said, “I—what if Catra’s right, Glimmer? What if she’s in danger here?”
Glitter opened her mouth to protest, but her eyes dropped to the razorblade. The blood. She grimaced instead and mumbled, “I’ll call a staff meeting.”
Ouch. Trouble in paradise.
Catra opened her mouth to say something along those lines, but Adora must have sensed it, because she dug more bandages into the burning wound. The pain had Catra hissing, stiffening and recoiling away.
When she could see clearly again, Glitter was gone, and Adora looked furious.
“I’m inspecting that bed,” she said.
“Wow, Adora. What a turn-on.”
Adora slapped her upside the head and pulled the bandages extra-tight.
No one admitted to the blade, but Glitter assured them the guards responsible for bringing in the new cot had been repositioned outside the castle. Adora seemed satisfied, and several nights passed without incident.
For Adora.
For Catra, nothing was resolved, and nothing was pleasant. The bed might not be swallowing her whole now, but it was still too lumpy, just on the cusp of soft. It was like the Rebellion when they tried to go to war.
Catra kneaded the bed, blinking heavily as she tried to claw the mattress into some semblance of fine. Across the room, Adora snored heavily, dead to the world. Catra could see her outline perfectly in the dark, see the way she draped over her pillow, how the covers brushed the floor. Her feet looked cold.
No, no. Not tonight. Catra fought the urge to stay on her side of the room. They might have patched things up, but Catra hadn’t slept at Adora’s feet for years. The simple motion seemed too significant now, like it was crossing a bridge they hadn’t rebuilt.
One wrong step, and she’d plummet.
Turning back to her own space, Catra slammed her fist into the mattress and growled, softly, “Get comfier.”
Outside, footsteps stepped past their door.
Catra froze, ears perked towards the sound. She shifted her stance, aiming towards the door instead of her pillows, moving into a crouch on the thick mattress. Her claws dug into the sheets, and even though her back burned with residual pain, she didn’t flinch.
But after a silent moment, the footsteps strolled away. Another guard doing patrol… or her new fans, back for more?
Adora slept soundly, but with enemies all around, Catra might never sleep again.
It took about three weeks to catch up to her.
She only lasted that long because, well, she loved to nap. And at the bright training ground, surrounded by civilians, watching Adora spar against her new besties, Catra felt safe enough to curl in a tree and slumber the afternoon away.
But it wasn’t enough. Obviously not, catching a wink here or there while everyone else logged eight perfect hours a night. Catra knew it—could tell in the way her wound hadn’t quite healed yet, in the way she stumbled every fourth step, in the dull, persistent ringing in her ears and the hazy halo that had settled around her vision.
Adora didn’t notice, because she was about as observant as a rock.
But when they got a real, bonafide mission—we’re going to liberate a Horde-occupied village, Glitter had said, casting a dubious glance at Catra—the smart thing to do would be refuse. Stay in Adora’s bedroom, curl up in her bed, try her damnedest to get some real rest before the next life-threatening mission.
But Catra didn’t do any of that.
She tagged along.
And twelve hours later, Adora hauled her back into their room, red-faced with fury. She waited until the door was closed, until they were alone, before snapping, “What the hell was that?”
It was like hearing her shout underwater. Catra blinked heavy eyes, dizzy with blood loss and exhaustion. “Hmm?”
“Don’t hmm me. We had a plan, Catra, and you completely missed your signal. And then that tank—” Adora shuddered, unconsciously tightening her grip around Catra’s waist. They’d bandaged her scrapes and nicks, and luckily nothing was too deep or dangerous this time. But Catra had been lucky; if She-Ra hadn’t leapt in, there wouldn’t have been anything to patch up.
She’d have been a red smear on the pretty rocks of the Whispering Woods.
Catra figured that should evoke an emotion. Something like fear, or determination, or even anger. But it didn’t. She just felt numb.
Well, actually, she felt tired.
“What’s going on with you?” Adora demanded, towing her towards her bed. So far away from Adora’s. Catra had grown to hate the sight of it. Honestly, these days, she curled up on the cold marble floor more often than not—but that was leaving its own bruises, oozing sores on her joints from a surface not intended for sleeping.
To avoid that pain, the past few nights, she’d paced. The hallways, the roof, the path into the Woods. Catra stalked everywhere, even tried curling up outside a few times. But her mind played nasty tricks and the whispering of the Whispering Woods did not make for a good night’s rest.
“It's hardly my fault,” Catra snapped. “Why are you so uptight now?”
“Uptight? Because I’m mildly concerned my best friend was hit by a tank?”
“It didn’t hit me."
Adora released her, but Catra shied away from her mattress. Anywhere but there. It was like a predisposed response now: that mattress meant pain, and Catra wasn’t doing it. So she stood, swaying, as Adora stomped to her side of the room.
Her voice was strained, and she clenched her fists. “I just—I need you to do better, Catra.”
Well, that ignited some emotion. Catra snarled at the words, baring her fangs. “Need me to do better? Aren’t you the leader? When I led the Horde, I wouldn’t get pissed if someone underperformed. Maybe you need to take some responsibility.”
Lies, all lies. Catra didn’t tolerate failure, and she absolutely blamed hers on her subordinates. But she was irritable and irrational right now, and it achieved the desired effect: Adora flinched like she’d been struck.
“I—I planned for everything. I had a plan!”
“A phrase for the history books,” Catra sneered.
“Don’t start with me," Adora snapped, and promptly launched into a whole new, indignant tirade.
Catra ignored her with practiced ease. She was starting to feel wobbly, watching the room race in circles around Adora’s head. Not good. Catra clenched her eyes shut and moved towards the desk—she could sit there without looking suspicious—but her bandaged wounds screamed in protest and she could feel her heartbeat vibrating in her forehead and then—
—then she was on the floor.
“—tra,” Adora gasped, holding her head in both hands.
Her palms were squeezing Catra’s cheeks. She batted Adora away, fighting to focus past the roaring in her ears. “Ugh. I’m fine, okay?” It came out gurgled, dissonant.
Adora’s eyebrows furrowed as she studied each of Catra’s bandages, but none of them were bleeding anymore. Even the razorblade wound on her back hadn’t reopened in weeks. Finally, though, she traced the underside of Catra’s left eye, as if just now noticing the heavy black bags that hung there. Her own baby blues widened. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”
“Exhausted of you, sure,” Catra snapped, and pushed her away.
But Adora didn’t move, and shoving against her was like shoving a mountain. So when she frowned and scooped Catra up in one swift motion, Catra couldn’t stop her. She tried, though, flailing as Adora approached her bed.
“Put me down, Adora!”
“You need sleep!”
“Not there,” Catra exclaimed, shrill. Piercing.
And Adora stopped short, mere paces from the bed. “What do you mean, not there?”
In her arms, Catra turned away, pressing her lips together so hard her fangs ached. Adora pulled her closer to her chest, close enough to feel her heartbeat, fingers tightening around Catra’s shoulder and knee. “You haven’t been sleeping there, have you? Not after the razorblade.”
What was the phrase? Cat’s out of the bag? And honestly, Catra was so tired. Too tired to fight it now. So she muttered, “For such a pretty castle, the Rebellion has shit beds.”
Adora stared down at her, stricken. “Three weeks. Three whole weeks like this?” Her name was a plea: “Catra, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Catra tried to wiggle out of her grip, but Adora held fast. Catra hissed her displeasure. “Tell you that, even though you gave me a place to stay after I defected, and food and clothes and company, I’m still not happy? Tell you that this whole time, all I'm doing is comparing this amazing fucking place to the Fright Zone, and I still miss it?”
“Yes,” Adora ground out. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to say. Shit, Catra, you know I defected first, right? This place is insane. The rooms are too polished and drafty, their armor is ridiculous, they have meetings for everything, and have you seen their banquets?” She laughed, almost hysterically. “Why does anyone need that much food?”
Catra laughed with her, and the knot loosened in her chest.
Adora squeezed her close, pressing their foreheads together for a brief moment. “You know what I miss the most about the Fright Zone, though?” Her breath was hot against Catra’s cheek.
“What?” Catra dared to ask.
“My foot warmer. My feet are always cold now.” Adora quirked a grin.
A soft purr twirled in the back of Catra's throat as she drawled, “You’re a dork.”
“Maybe. But my bed is clearly better than yours, so… who’s winning here?” Abruptly, Adora spun on her heels, putting Catra’s bed at their backs as she carried her to the thin cot across the room. She dumped Catra on it, then motioned with her hand. “You’re gonna need to share.”
By Etheria, her bed was comfy. Catra snuggled in, purring deep in her chest now. “Um, no, I think not.”
“Wait—”
But Catra buried under the covers, curling into a tight ball in the middle of the mattress. “Sleep around me. You started this.”
To Adora’s spluttering, she finally drifted off.
By the time she woke up, the other cot was gone, and Adora was sprawled sideways on the mattress, snoring like a skiff.
Catra’s lips tilted into a smile, and she crawled to the foot of the bed.
Okay. Maybe this could be home.