hey, adora - a collection of oneshots

episode

mental health shit. read with caution. it is not and will not be wholesome.

Adora tried not to worry too much when Catra disappeared from Bright Moon for days at a time. She had always been that way, even in the Horde. Catra needed space sometimes, and Adora tried not to let it bother her. 

She failed, of course. Miserably.

Adora hated that Catra, even all these years after the war, still felt like she couldn't talk about her problems. She hated that Catra acted like she was going through this alone. She hated that she couldn't help. She wanted so badly to help (to be useful).

- -

Catra pretended not to notice when Adora volunteered for the undesirable missions. She'd always been that way, even in the Horde. Adora was the one who took the hits so others wouldn't have to, and Catra tried not to let it bother her.

She failed, of course. Horribly.

Catra hated that Adora, even after nearly sacrificing herself to save Etheria, still felt like her worth was determined by what she could do for people. She hated that Adora couldn't see that she was already enough. She hated that she couldn't help. She wanted so badly to help (to love and be loved).

- -

The room was empty. Adora slumped against the doorway for a moment, despair creeping up her limbs and weighing her down. She was bruised, battered, bloody (she'd be fine, always was) and had very much been looking forward to a warm bath and Catra's company, but it was clear from the untouched bed she'd only be getting one of the two.

As she ran the water for a bath, Adora couldn't help but think that maybe she'd made a mistake taking this last mission, especially after the fight she and Catra had had before she left. She could still see the hurt in Catra's eyes when Adora volunteered, the way her shoulders tensed when Adora said goodbye. Yeah, it had probably been a mistake. But who else was going to save that village? It wasn't her fault there was always something threatening the peace of Etheria. Horde Prime may have been defeated, but there was always something else.

She sank into the hot water, let it lap at her wounds, and ignored the growing pit of guilt in her stomach.

- -

Catra found herself in the woods after a particularly bad council meeting. Adora was gone, again, off on some god-knows-what, super-dangerous mission on the border. Catra didn't care for the details. Fresh claw marks bled over old scars on her arms, but she ignored (couldn't feel) the pain. She ran, far and fast until her legs tired and mind ached and the trees blurred together behind a curtain of hot tears because she had been right.

All those years ago, a younger Catra faced a younger Adora and asked her what she wanted. Adora's answer then had been that she didn't matter, that she was just a tool for the rebellion to use. Catra thought things had changed, because after that there'd been the confession, and their first kiss, and everything had been alright for a while, but it was clear now that she'd been wrong.

Adora hadn't changed. Even after Catra confronted her about it, begged her to stay, to let someone else fight for once in her life (just this once), it hadn't mattered.

Glimmer had read the border patrol's report, and Adora had raised her hand.

So Catra was in the woods, with tears mixing in the blood on her hands, and Adora was gone. Again.

When she calmed down (not all the way, but enough to function), she pushed herself back to her feet, and turned to face wherever the hell she'd wound up from running.

It took her a minute to recognize the place, so changed was it by time and She-ra's planet-healing powers, but when she realized where she was, her breath caught in her throat.

Only one wall was still standing, covered in flowering vines and moss, but it was definitely her old room. That decomposing mass of flora had been her bed, and that heap of rubble in the corner had been Adora's. She hadn't even realized she'd entered the (once-was) Fright Zone.

(She'd been happier here.)

She shook her head. No, she hadn't. It had been uncomplicated, sure, simpler, but not happier. Not without Adora.

(She'd had Adora here, for a while.)

Catra scraped some of the vine away from the wall and ran a hand over the children's drawing beneath. Catra and Adora, younger. Happier. Adora's face was partially scratched away (a fit of anger she'd regretted immediately) and time had worn away some of the detail, but there they were.

(Even now, she could never keep Adora from leaving.)

Her claws dug into her arm, drawing fresh blood over the barely healing cuts from earlier.

(No matter how many times she said she loved her, Adora never stayed.)

Catra screamed in fury, and raked a hand over the drawing, ripping metal and skin until her own face matched Adora's (unrecognizable).

(No one ever stayed.)

- -

Adora watched with only mild interest as her wounds stitched themselves close, skin sealing back together like nothing had ever marred it--one of the many blessings (curses?) of being She-ra--before she finished drying herself off and pulled on some fresh clothes. Her hair hung damp around her shoulders, and she ran a hand through it to wring out the excess moisture before letting it be.

She'd already reported her successful return to Glimmer, so she was done for the day. Normally, her and Catra might take the free time to work out or watch a movie or throw acorns at Bow from a secure hiding place, but Catra was gone. Again.

She sat on the edge of their bed and looked out the balcony doors at the evening sky (free of Horde ships). There was still so much to do after the war. The Princess Alliance had agreed to stick together until everything was stable, but these days it felt like that might never happen. Even She-ra, princess of power, savior of the planet, felt like too little too late sometimes.

(Whose fault was that?)

Adora stood sharply. She had done the best she could. She'd saved Etheria.

(Had she, though?)

The halls of Bright Moon made excellent grounds for pacing, and Adora knew the route well. 

(Why didn't she feel like the war was over?)

 The exercise grounds were empty, but for Adora. She punched the training dummy until her knuckles bled through the bandages (then punched it some more).

(Why wasn't the war over?)

The moon was high in the sky when Catra dragged herself home, paused above the courtyard to watch Adora striking a training dummy (hardly more than ribbons and shredded stuffing now), despite the gasps that shuddered through her chest indicating her exhaustion.

Her skin split. Blood coated her hands, slicked her skin with the promise of pain that never went away. 

Catra turned away.

Adora kept going.

- -

Adora tried not to worry too much when Catra disappeared from Bright Moon for days at a time, pretended not to notice the layers of scar tissue on her arms from all the times she needed pain to ground her to the world. She had always been that way. She would always be that way. Adora tried not to let it bother her.

- -

Catra pretended not to notice when Adora volunteered for the undesirable missions, tried not to worry about how Adora continuously sacrificed herself for the rebellion's many causes. She had always been that way. She would always be that way. Catra tried not to let it bother her.

- -

(They were in love.)

- -

(Right?)

The End