Training with Light Hope by fighting Catra in the Crystal Castle is both a blessing and a curse. Adora shouldn’t find the comfort in it that she does, but the familiar dance of trading blows and insults is as easy as breathing. If she ignores the crushing amount of pressure that comes with it, she can almost pretend that nothing has changed and she and Catra are just playfully sparring again.
Catra is, of course, mean, but she always is, and here at least Adora can pretend like the bite from these insults is nothing more than friendly competitiveness, rather than the girl she knows better than anything standing on the opposite side of a war digging in to hurt.
Catra’s rough kick to the gut is enough to remind Adora that this isn’t the case. Even as an illusion, or hologram, or whatever Light Hope has made her of, she packs enough of a punch that Adora is sure she’ll be feeling the aching burn of She-Ra’s healing for days.
In her hand, the sword morphs into a mop, and Adora groans.
“Are you planning on cleaning the floor with that thing?” Catra teases from a branch, her voice saccharine sweet and mocking.
Adora could say something quick witted like, No, I’m going to wipe the floor with you, or No but it’ll wipe that smirk off your face. Instead, Adora grunts and leaps towards her.
Catra is, of course, expecting this and darts around her. From then on it’s a flurry of movements until Adora finally, finally, sees an opening and manages to grab Catra’s ankle and drag her close enough that she can pin her down.
Ignoring the small hiss Catra lets slip, Adora swings the now hairbrush of all things down, but at the last moment changes it so it clangs on the floor beside her head.
“Oh come on, Adora,” Catra taunts, grinning up at her and making no move to escape, “I know you can do better than that, you weren’t the top cadet for nothing.”
Adora's grip tightens, lingering just a bit longer than it should. It’s not the same, a hollow recreation of just how alive Catra really is, but it’s the best she's got. It’s a painful thought, that now the only times she can touch Catra is in violence.
Apparently Adora does take a moment too long because Catra slips out of her grip with a practiced ease.
“Or maybe you really aren’t that good,” Catra hisses behind her, bitterness poisoning her voice, “Maybe everyone lied to you."
Adora swings at her, now staff, blindly behind her, wincing when she hears it hit flesh. Even knowing this Catra is an apparition, the landed blow makes the familiar guilt lining Adora's stomach so thick she's almost sick with it.
Catra pounces on her again, slashing at her with a fury Adora can’t predict.
This Catra isn’t quite right, she tells herself, that’s why she doesn’t know. Or maybe she is and it’s Adora who’s changed. Maybe she can't understand that secret language they used to share anymore.
Adora slams her against the wall, though it's really halfhearted, and hesitates, again. She knows it isn’t real, she can feel it in how cold she is, a startling contrast to her normally warm fur, but she still pauses.
Catra smirks, “I knew you couldn’t do it.” Then she bites the hand holding her in place, teeth sinking in deep, before melting away with the rest of the simulation.
“Was that last part really necessary,” Adora whines, rubbing the soreness of her hand after transforming back.
“The Simulation is designed for accuracy,” Light Hope repeats in the same tone she always does.
Adora sighs, “I know.”
“You must not delay the final hit. You cannot allow yourself to be distracted like Mara.”
Adora rubs the back of her neck, guilty. Light hope is right. The problem is that Adora can never land the finishing blow.
"You need to let go, Catra cannot interfere with your training.”
Light Hope is right, Adora needs to let go. She won't be like Mara. Catra can't take that too.
“I’ll do better be time," she promises, just a bit desperate. She will be. She won’t let Catra in her head anymore. Everyone is depending on her, and she can't let them down.
Selfishly, Adora wishes everyone could just understand her a bit more.It’s simple for the others to see her as nothing more than a cunning enemy, but they don’t really know Catra. They don't know that it’s always her left fang that peeks out of her lips when she smiles, they don’t know about the scar on her hip from when she fell too high in the pipes at twelve, they don’t know how her laugh, her real laugh, gets squeaky after a while.
It's easy for Adora to change her mind. Her heart, less so, and Catra is written into every groove, every pump of blood. How is she supposed to save the planet if she couldn't even save Catra.
Adora takes a deep breath trying to loosen the pressure in her chest. She turns away from Light Hope trying to sound light as she calls back, "I'll be back tomorrow!"
⋆ ⋅☆⋅ ⋆
The Catra of Light hopes simulations may be cold, but the one in Adora's dream is burning hot.
Just like they always start, Catra slips through her window soundlessly, with the grace only she can muster.
“Hey Adora,” she whispers, her voice soft in the way Adora only used to hear late at night in the privacy of their bunk.
Adora should attack, pull out her sword and warn the guards. A good She-Ra would, but Adora simply grabs the dagger beneath her pillow and holds it out in front of her in a weak excuse of self defense.
Catra’s eyes glow in the dark, piercing as holds Adora in place.
Adora stands frozen, trapped under her gaze, untilCatra stops before her, the sharp tip of the dagger hovering over the rise and fall of her delicate collarbones. Adora feels an electrifying spark not from the heat of battle but something else.
Desire.
Catra reaches out, her long nails scraping against the metal and pushing it down. Adora lets her, dropping it completely when Catra gets close enough that she can feel her breathing on the skin exposed by her sleep clothes.
Catra reaches up and cradles her face. Adora gasps, much more like she’s taking a hit than a soft caress, but she leans into it anyway, greedily taking anything g Catra will give her.
Catra reaches out and snaps her ponytail, allowing her hair to fall around her shoulders. In response, Adora presses their foreheads together like they used to when they were young and everything was uncomplicated.
That is until Adora reaches an unexpected barrier, Catra’s mask. It’s cold, especially compared to the rest of her.
Adora pulls away, reaching out slowly, and slides the mask off Catra’s face. She can pretend all she likes out there, but Adora knows who's under it.
Catra looks younger without the mask, soft and vulnerable, blinking in surprise at the removal. She looks more like the Catra Adora remembers from her childhood and less like the Force Captain who hates her.
Then, as if she doesn’t want to be seen under Adora's gaze this time, Catra sidles behind her. Her claws, sharp and dangerous, now dance gently over her skin, a threat or a promise she can’t tell, but her touch burns.
“Don’t you miss me,” Catra says, oh so sweetly as her claws trail the edge of her jaw down her throat. It’s devastating and Adora trembles beneath her touch.
“I-“ Adora gasps as her words get stuck in her throat. She doesn’t know how to say it.
For so long Catra was all she had, and now she’s all Adora wants, even if she has the world at her fingertips.
She’s the one thing Adora can’thave.
As if sensing her thoughts, Catra moves to pull away, but Adora grabs her wrist and turns to look at her and her breath catches.
It’s easy sometimes, to forget how beautiful she is. The faint glow of the moons casts Catra in a soft glow, illuminating her like she is made of something holy and precious that Adora has somehow, inexplicably, earned the right to stare at.
I want you. She wants to confess, an admission that’s as heavy as the weight of the world in her shoulders, Iwant you more than anything.
Instead, she swallows it back and lifts Catra's hand to her lips, kissing each of her knuckles.
They’re stained with blood, she knows, but aren’t hers too? At least they match. And when Catra's fingers are soft and warm beneath her lips, it’s hard to believe they can ever cause that much pain.
Catra steps even closer if possible, and looks at Adora with a challenge in her eyes.
Unbidden, Adora's eyes flicker to her lips. She wants but Adora’s never been good at getting what she wants. And besides, Adora is supposed to be thinking of Catra as the enemy now, not like this.
"I knew you couldn't do it," Catra whispers, a twisted mockery of her earlier words. She melts away like she really was just one of Light Hope's illusions.
Adora wakes with a gasp, reaching to the spot where Catra used to curl up at her feet. She spends too long staring at it, feeling only the absence of warmth.
