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catra sits huddled in the corner under the steps, several crates shielding her from sight, knees pulled as close to her heaving chest as humanly possible as tears roll down her already wet cheeks, whole body shaking. she tries her best to be quiet, but she can only manage to stifle what would be weak sobs so much, and a pained whimper slips out of her regardless.
“catra? catra, where are you? she didn’t mean it, i promise! you know that shadow weaver gets scary when she gets mad, but she didn’t actually mean that stuff,” adora’s quiet, careful calls pierce through the stifling air around them, the quiet somehow carrying an air of shock. maybe she’s just shaken up, still on high alert from shadow weaver’s outburst. it wouldn’t be the first time, and she knows that it wouldn’t be the last, no matter how hard she wishes it could be.
“n...nnhh...” she hiccups quietly into her knees, arms wrapped around herself as she tries, and fails, to self soothe.
“catra, it’s okay, i promise,” she buries her face deeper in her knees as someone who she knows only to be her friend gently sits down next to her, placing one hand on her left wrist, the one that shadow weaver had gripped oh so tightly as she harshly reprimanded catra for intruding upon her.
she inhales sharply and shoots up, immediately pulling her hand away out of panic, tears pooling in wide, multicolored eyes, stained with fear. a pathetic hiss escapes from her, hackles raising with her ears pulled back.
“catra, it’s okay, it’s just me! i’m not gonna hurt you,” adora reassures hastily, voice soft. catra sniffles and visibly deflates, burying her face in her friend’s shirt as she clutches her tightly.
“why does sh- hic...why does she hate me so much?” she says miserably, tears already staining the other’s shirt. “i didn’t- i didn’t even do anything this time,” she sniffles.
adora wraps her arms around her dear friend, slowly, comfortingly rubbing circles into her back as she rocks back and forth softly. “shadow weaver doesn’t hate you! you just got unlucky this time, that’s all,” she murmurs, beginning to gently comb her hand through her hair. “she’s just stressed, i know it.”
“then why not someone else? why me? why not kyle, or lonnie, or, or, or, i don’t know, anyone else?!” her voice trembles severely. “what did i do? why is she always so much meaner to me?”
“i don’t know,” she mumbles into her hair, holding catra tighter as she lapses back into sobs.
“h...hhuu...” she clutches the fabric of her shirt tightly. “why does she like you so much more?” she cries weakly, growing tired. “we were b-both t-there, but-...she only got mad at me...”
adora pauses, tensing up. she looks off to the side, guilt clouding her eyes. “...i don’t know,” it’s barely more than a breath, barely there, but it is, and catra must’ve gotten the gist. maybe it’s because of her hearing, maybe it’s because she’s her friend.
“it’s because you’re her favorite, isn’t it?” she pushes her away, getting up and running off down the hall, away from her friend, away from the walking embodiment of all she can never be. hurt rages in her eyes, but she can’t seem to cry anymore.
“catra, wait! i didn’t mean it like that! come on!” she can hear her calls in the distance, and can only assume that she must be getting up to go after her, but catra’s too fast, and far too familiar with every hall in this miserable place, veering off to the side and disappearing down a hall, away from adora’s line of sight.
adora might be better than her in almost everything they do, but she’s always, always been faster. once she eventually finds her, once catra gets over this, they’ll probably laugh about it again, like always.
adora.
she doesn’t get it. why she runs after her. why she bothers to hang around a disappointment of a child like her. all she’s doing is stifling her potential, holding her back, ruining her chances in life, they both know it- her and adora, and shadow weaver. it would be so simple to just let her go, let her run off on her own.
she wishes she would, sometimes.
it would be so much easier if she just stopped running after her, stopped coming to find her. she deserves so much better. so much. she deserves so much.
so much that catra can not, could not, could never dream of giving her. catra, who only brings trouble. catra, who only wastes shadow weaver’s time. catra, who hordak must hate by now.
catra, who doesn’t get why they bother keeping her around, anyways.
she hears someone yelling in the next hall over. she straightens immediately, stopping in her tracks, eyes full of fear of the oncoming verbal beating she can’t help but expect widening.
“i asked you to do one thing! one simple thing, and you completely ruined it!”
she startles, and immediately glances around, expecting the voice to be speaking to her. she racks her mind for memory of doing anything that would warrant this, but she quickly realizes that nobody in their right minds would ever ask her of something important. not here. not whoever that voice belongs to.
who, somehow, she does not recognize.
she oh so carefully creeps closer to the sound of the shouting, but staying far enough away to remain out of sight, out of line of the outburst.
“...yeah. you’re scorpia. that’s just what you do. you couldn’t handle emily, you never know when to shut up, the only thing you’ve ever done is get in my way! what did i expect, i mean, how can you possibly be this useless?” the unknown person spits out as if the words on their tongue sour their mouth just to say, voice filled to the brim with venomous detestation.
it’s starting to scare her, how familiar the words sound. they remind her of something. of someone. but the tone is...different, somehow. she knows, deep down, that she must know who this is, but she can’t, no matter how hard she may try, name who.
still, the nagging feeling, the ghost of a whisper in the back of her mind, it won’t leave.
you know her.
you know her.
battered and shell shocked as she may be, she’s still a kid. she isn’t even a junior cadet yet. she’s still trying to master fighting with the prehensile, standard horde-issued training staffs those who are too young, weak, or inexperienced to use one of the full sized ones are given. adora’s been trying to teach her, but adora’s always been a better fighter. that’s what shadow weaver always says.
and so, with the burning curiosity of any child, and the vigilant, on guarded wariness of one too familiar with the verbal attacks of their superiors, the disappointed, piercing looks of their so called ‘guardians,’ catra begins to creep furtively ever closer to the direction of the sound.
*
scorpia meets her gaze for nothing more than a hair of a second before averting her eyes and looking off to the side. still, catra doesn’t, can’t- miss the uncharacteristic glazed over nature of them. if she would care enough to linger on it, to really register it- which she doesn’t, obviously- she would probably say that it’s defeatist, even for her standards, and most certainly by scorpia’s.
she doesn’t, though. obviously. because why would she. she doesn’t care. it doesn’t matter, and focus on getting the last word in, because otherwise, she’s going to feel bad. not because she feels guilty about any of this. just because that’s how brains work. someone looks sad, you know it’s because of you, and you feel bad about it. it doesn’t mean that you actually care about, or would take back what you did, but it’s how things work.
“what?” she asks, voice not having nearly as much venom as she had hoped for, but still hostile, nonetheless. why are you looking at me like that? what is it? what’s gotten into you, scorpia? come on.
but she doesn’t respond for what seems like an eternity, and catra’ll be damned if she knows how long it must’ve actually been, because every day’s blurring together and what part of the week it is just doesn’t matter anymore, just what she gets done, just the advancements they’re making on the only project, the only thing of any meaning anymore.
but she guesses it isn’t an eternity, not really. she wishes it was, though. it would be better.
“...you’re a bad friend.” the words are quiet, worn down, downcast, like her eyes. like her self, maybe, but she hasn’t been paying attention, because it doesn’t matter, she’d be fine, so what importance did it have?
her countenance changes now. she doesn’t notice it, because she hasn’t noticed that sort of thing in a while, or maybe in forever, and also probably because of how she’s been caught off guard, but her arms slump, posture weakening. and she doesn’t notice it, either, but her face...softens. no. no, she...she doesn’t soften, there’s nothing soft in her. she’s charred to a crisp, she couldn’t, if she wanted to. she doesn’t, obviously. being soft is making yourself vulnerable to the world and its habitants, and that makes you weak.
and catra’s a lot of things, but catra’s not weak. she’ll quite literally walk herself into the grave which must’ve been, at some point in time, dug by herself, head held high, before she shows any signs of weakness.
but her face does fall. and if she was present enough to notice, to care, she would probably note that her heart has, too.
just like with everything else, she doesn’t notice.
scorpia turns, she walks away. scorpia leaves. and catra knows it’s for good. she’s left, for real, this time.
but all catra can do is watch. all she does is stand there. at some point- some point she’s failed to notice, again- she must’ve been immobilized.
if she was smart, she would go a- if she was any smarter than she is right now she would definitely laugh, she would definitely remind her that she didn’t ask for her to be there, in the first place. well, she didn’t tell her to come into her life, in the first place.
and it’s not like she wanted her to.
she wonders when it grew so cold. she wonders, wordlessly, silently, as always, when, exactly, she stopped being present. she wonders when she was reduced to all but an observer. a stranger with the privilege of being the sole occupant of the front-row seat to a fool’s assemblage of bad, bad choices.
in fact, she even almost manages to miss the footsteps of someone trying their best, someone failing miserably, to conceal the sound of their footfall.
she doesn’t, though. she still doesn’t miss it. she still catches it, ears pricking up and hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. and she forces herself back into her body, forces herself out of that front seat.
there’s not a single person in this miserable dump of a place who’s stupid enough to listen in on such a conversation. she doesn’t think there ever has been, ever will be, someone so stupid as to eavesdrop on a force captain’s business, even less on her. well, by now, even the unlucky few still months away from being junior cadets know that if catra walks into a room, if she’s doing something, if she’s talking to someone, the very last thing they should do is interrupt her, distract her, provoke her.
and yet, here some wretched, ill-fated fool is, having somehow done justthat.
well, catra wasn’t in a good mood before talking to scorpia. there’s really no surprise there. that much is beyond predictable. she sure as hell wasn’t after, but now? oh, now? she’s beyond done. furious at life, cursing this wretch of a planet, miserable excuse of a world, for being so fucking shitty.
and she, frankly, does not have the patience, nor energy, to restrain herself.
if they want to do stupid things, then they can deal with the consequences of stupid things.
and god, she can’t stand people, and especially people who think they could possibly have the right to fuck things their superiors do up.
she reels around, as if on a pivot, rears her head at the idiot before her who dared to think that they could ever be quiet, ever be smart enough to not be noticed, especially by her. she angrily grabs their arm and yanks them closer to her.
they yelp.
she freezes.
*
she tries, tries so hard to be careful, to be quiet, to not get caught. she didn’t even know that she was making noise, but a flash of something and an iron grip on an already bruised wrist had descended upon her before she even knew what was going on.
and presently, she is shrinking back, trying to brace herself for the onslaught of abuse that’s without a doubt coming by closing her eyes and biting down hard on her tongue. even so, she isn’t able to prevent the instinctual petrified apology to shadow weaver that slips out of her.
but nothing comes.
there’s no strike to her face, no shouting.
she brings herself to look up at her undoubted superior. she doesn’t know what she expects, really. still, it isn’t-...she doesn’t expect to meet-
*
catra’s heart drops immediately into the floor the split second she goes to look at the face of the eavesdropper, only to be met with two, misted over, petrified eyes. one of them is blue, and the other is yellow.
and she can’t let go quickly enough. and she can’t tell when she started shaking, when she scrambled back, when she sank to her knees against the wall. and it crosses her mind, that she’s finally, finally lost it- lost her grip on that sole thread which she had so desperately, so tightly clung to for god knows how long now.
catra hasn’t really been sleeping well, as of late. she knows such to be true. her few, oh so precious hours of what should be a chance to escape, escape from it all, from her responsibilities, from the ever-looming, ever-present burden weighing so heavily down upon her, threatening to crush her underneath the sheer weight, the sheer gravity of it all at any given time, are filled with nothing but memories better off forgotten.
but, despite this, she has never, never thought it would become so severe.
“who are you?” she cautiously takes several steps towards the other. she doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t for them to gasp sharply and stumble backwards, nor to sink to the ground, and certainly not to pull their knees close to their chest and hide their head, all while trembling violently.
she doesn’t know many things about the situation she’s found herself in, but she does know that she doesn’t much like how much the person who was only seconds before demeaning some unknown person, who is now on the floor, seemingly horrified, looks like her. she looks like her, if she was older.
but this can’t be her, she tells herself. they wear a green badge, the badge of a force captain. and never, not once in her life, has that ever been something that appealed to catra. she’s thought of it, but she’s always come to the conclusion that it just isn’t for her. adora’s the one that’s been dreaming of it, ever since she could remember.
adora.
adora’s always with her. no matter what she says, no matter how many times she runs away, tries to hide. no matter what happens, no matter where she goes, adora always comes with. because adora’s her best friend, and catra’s never going to leave her side. and adora would never, ever leave hers. she knows this to be fact. they both do.
but, here?
adora isn’t around.
and adora would rather die than abandon her friend, right?
*
you know, maybe catra’s lost her mind. maybe she’s just grown unstable, from the stress of it all. and maybe, just maybe, the cracks in her heart that seem to have been present her entire life have finally become more than just cracks. maybe her heart’s shattered. maybe she’s finally crashed, maybe she’s burning right now.
but it isn’t like her, to break down entirely, at three words.
so why is she? why is her spinning vision growing obscured by tears? she can’t let herself break down. she doesn’t care.
this is what you wanted. don’t back down now, you idiot! we’re so close. this is what we wanted. get up, get up. get up. get up. get up. get up now. this is what you wanted. how can you possibly be so weak? this is what we wanted, just fucking commit to it!
she can’t help but remember shadow weaver’s words. shadow weaver, who left her. shadow weaver, who left her for adora. shadow weaver, who’s always picked favorites, who’s always hated her.
shadow weaver, who made her like this.
shadow weaver, who she apparently resembles so much that she, herself had mistaken her for her.
and catra can’t help but wonder, is this it? is this really it? is this really what she wanted? and how did it come to this? when did things get so bad? how?
but this can’t be it, she decides. this can’t be what i wanted. this can’t be how things were supposed to go.
she wonders when she got up. she wonders when she had walked, stiffly, towards the frightened child standing in front of her.
catra can’t do anything but stare with glassy eyes at the person she used to be.
how she wishes this was fake. how she wishes she didn’t look back. she does, though, because nobody has ever cared about what catra wants. and she’s ashamed, so ashamed, when their eyes do meet, can’t stand how this child’s eyes go wide. how she can visibly see her cower, brace herself for the blow that isn’t coming.
catra knows pain, shame, guilt. suffering is the only thing which has always been present in her life. she’s grown used to it, come to expect it.
but, oh, catra does not know this. she does not recognize such a form of misery, of despair.
she has to do something. she can’t just stand here. she...there has to be something she can do.
and so catra shakily gets down on both knees, slowly reaches one arm out, puts it around the kid, and pulls her into a hug. and she hates the way that she can feel her flinch away, hates the way she inhales sharply. hates how she knows that there’s more to come. hates how things are only going to get worse.
and catra can’t help but think of how unfair it is that this child has never, will never know the sense of comfort that, despite never having known it herself, she somehow knows comes with knowing that you are loved, are safe, are wanted.
and catra can’t help but curse the world, for each time it will be presented with the opportunity to spare her from the cruelty of that around her, it’ll all but fall flat. the only thing the broken girl held against her chest will ever be able to expect from life is a feeling of letdown. all she will ever be able to count on is not being able to count on anything.
it would be funny, if this were herself. in a sense, it is. but as she is now, catra can’t bring herself to think that this child deserves the things life has in store for them.
but catra’s no idiot, barely able to be considered foolish, even by the standards of her superior. so she knows she can’t do anything about it, can’t change the things that will, beyond a shadow of a doubt, eventually happen to the person so painfully unfamiliar with the way she’s now held in her arms.
and yet, she can’t help but feel the need to give her something, give her anything in a sorry attempt at an apology for that she knows will ultimately happen.
and so she does.
gives her the one thing she knows life never will.
gives her the thing she wish she could’ve been given when she was her, even if only once.
she wraps both arms around her, brings the entirely undeserving and benign her close to herself, begins to resignedly smooth out her dark, messy hair. she tucks tufts of it behind her ear gently.
and she leans in, tells her every single thing she had so desperately needed someone to tell her as a child. maybe, if someone had, she wouldn’t be quite as broken, quite as bitter, as resentful as she is now. maybe things wouldn’t hurt quite as badly as they did. as they do.
“the world’s hurt you. it’s going to hurt you more, after this,” she pulls away and puts her hands on her shoulders, looking her dead in the eyes. and she hesitates, pushing the overwhelming sense of hopelessness threatening to bubble up from her chest back down.
“and you don’t-“ she breathes in, and then out, shakily, before continuing. “-don’t deserve it. don’t deserve any of it. it’s going to hurt, and you’re going to hurt.” she bites her lip, pushes back the tears she knows are undoubtedly beginning to pool in her own eyes. “and i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry that people around you are going to let you down so, so badly.”
her voice breaks, at the next part. “you’re going to be strong. stronger than you are now, stronger than anyone here could ever imagine. and i swear, swear from the bottom of my heart, once you are, they’re never going to be able to hurt you ever again. and you’ll never have to rely on anybody but yourself for things you want. if you want something, you’re gonna get it for yourself. you won’t need anybody else. you’ll be strong, catra, so, so very strong, and i’m so fucking sorry that it has to hurt so badly,” she whispers, pulling her into another hug.
“but it won’t always be like this, i swear.”
she doesn’t know when it happened, how it happened, but when she looks back up, she’s back by herself. there is no sad child in her arms, no scorpia. no shadow weaver. no adora.
and she gets to her feet, takes a deep breath, wipes unshed tears, and walks. walks off to tell hordak that though she tried, tried to get them, tried to search, she had been unable to find the recordings.
and so she walks off, entirely alone.