WHAT: The girls come to an agreement on a particular aspect of their future WHERE: Darla WHEN: Early 2030 WARNINGS: Sadness, crying, dark thoughts, grieving (in a way) STATUS: Complete
Or, well, it wasn’t an overwhelmingly terrible day. It was a fine day, a normal day – whatever that meant now that Vallo was an Interitus-controlled hellspace. The Battle for the Quarry was still fresh in all of their minds, monster attacks were near-constant, and more and more people were being taken under Interitus’ Thrall. It was clearer than it had ever been that a simple fix wouldn’t be found.
Still, they were surviving.
A check-in at the Outpost revealed that no one had been reported dead, missing, or grievously injured today. Darla was still intact and well-hidden; they probably had a few more days before they’d have to try to move again. If Adora closed her eyes, she could pretend none of this was happening, that it really was just a normal day.
A normal Vallo day, like they used to have. Catra cooking breakfast, Defense shifts, art classes, yoga, grocery shopping, stopping by the Sanctuary to visit with Lance and Atreus, dinner with Teela and Adam.
But that was a long time ago.
Still, the day was calm, Darla was quiet. Most of their full-time residents were off doing what they could at the Outpost, but Adora and Catra had stayed home. They needed a day off, and with Catra still adjusting to the prosthetic, Adora had made sure they took it. The role swap – her insisting, Catra resisting – had even made her wife smile, and gods, that felt so good to see.
After she’d checked their perimeter and poked at Darla’s computer to make sure all their shields and wards were still up and functioning properly, she took the elevator up to their quarters. One of the plus sides of living on Darla (a small but very literal battleship) was that it was a tank. Not impenetrable but closest to it that Adora had ever seen. Add on Brigitte and Lena’s enhancements, it would take one hell of a punch to take it down, and so far, nothing had packed that hell of a punch.
She shrugged off her jacket as she entered the room she shared with Catra, heading to the closet to hang it up properly and take off her boots, lest she risked her wife’s wrath. When she returned, she sank down onto the bed beside Catra and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“All clear,” she reported dutifully.
Melog was dead.
Months passed. Months. The knowledge wasn’t new but the wound that it left behind – gods, that was fresh. Open. Gaping. Unlike the actual injury it had left behind, it hadn’t healed. Melog had died and they’d taken a piece of her, figuratively and literally, and nothing was okay.
A lot of things – even days – felt that way. Catra wasn’t a stranger to loss. She wasn’t a stranger to losing, but they’d been lulled into a false sense of comfort the first few years here and then that last sliver of security they’d clung so tightly to was ripped from them. People were taken. People died. It kept happening, over and over, and all they could do was push through it. Persevere, survive, and take care of what they still had and what was still theirs.
But Melog–
Catra managed. Losing an arm was nothing compared to almost losing her life (to almost leaving her wife, her child behind) so the complaints were non-existent. She knew pain; she’d grown with it, endured it, domesticated it, bit her tongue through it, carried on. The prosthetic Viktor had made was of an elegant design despite the limited resources, and gleaming at the tips of her new, metal fingers were pieces of a familiar blade sharpened and shaped into claws. Adjusting had consisted of some trial and error.
It was functional, albeit strange. Foreign-feeling. Catra had fished out her old, old top from years ago – from the Horde, with the one sleeve covering up her new arm and the window of cleavage. Not that she was particularly self-conscious about it, but it felt cold.
For some reason, she didn’t want Adora or Finn to touch her and feel… that. Cold, stiff, unforgiving metal. Catra had always been warm and soft to touch, but now there was this part of her that was neither of those things. There was this weird, almost irrational feeling to protect them from it (even when she hated sleeves, most of her wardrobe was relatively sleeveless so that needed to change).
So today – old Horde top, cozied up in bed, with an old sketchbook on her lap. That was how Adora found her.
“Hi,” Catra greeted, voice soft and raspy and a little tired. Her head dropped to her shoulder. The cuddling was immediate. “Missed you. Finn and Dare are with the cubs–they’ve been fed.”
“‘Kay,” Adora acknowledged softly. Her arm immediately slipped around Catra’s back and squeezed her hip, cheek dropping down on top of her head. She reveled in these moments; they weren’t rare, not by any stretch, but their time was often limited. Lately, especially, Catra had been pulling away from touch.
Adora understood, of course. So much had changed so quickly, and the changes had been so monumental. Melog had been part of their lives for so long, and seeing what had happened to them – seeing them corrupted and feral and not at all themself – had been painful to witness. They had held onto hope for as long as they could, but the way they had attacked Catra had sealed the deal. They had taken her arm and taken any belief they might have that somehow, Catra would be able to break the Thrall.
All she could do right now was try to be encouraging and reassuring. The arm hadn’t changed how any of them felt about Catra, but she knew it was an adjustment. She’d gone down a similar path with her eye not that long before.
“What’re you doing?” She took hold of one side of the book in Catra’s lap and tugged it a little closer to get a better look, tilting her head to work around her blind eye. Her heart sank when the image on the page registered, and she swallowed down the wave of emotion that rose in her throat. “Oh.”
Yeah. Oh.
The sketchbook felt like a relic of another life, full of varying sketches - of them, of Melog, of stars and galaxy swirls, lines that made up constellations. It held the original designs of Finn’s nursery from way back when; when she and Adora sat on the couch, Darla projecting their galaxy above them, dinner in the oven.
It also held the designs of another nursery - the sun and moon from Marlena’s galaxy, a symbol to represent each twin. Catra had it planned. Even thought about getting little bracelets to put on them when the time came, so they could tell them apart and not mix them up when they were born. It was their future.
Supposed future.
“I got nostalgic,” she answered, hooking her actual arm around hers, actual claws stroking up and down her forearm with practiced tenderness. Catra breathed in her scent now that she was back, close and warm and always hers. Her Adora. “Found it while I was digging around for this top, and… I don’t know, I couldn’t look away.”
Adora had gone through four very distinct eras in the past thirty-odd years, and they all felt like separate lives.
The Horde. The Rebellion. Vallo at its best. Vallo at its worst.
They’d had dreams in their early days of Vallo. They’d made some of those dreams come true – Finn being the most concrete proof, inspired by visits from a version of their baby from a different future who had given them reason to hope. They’d been so sure when Finn was born that they were on that path, headed toward that future. Sure, it was going to be different that it had appeared during the very first timeslip – back in 2021, when Richie and Dan and Alex were still here – but it was still going to be good.
This? Where they were now, what their world, and their lives had become? So very little of it was good anymore. They had all had to change so drastically; that version of herself felt like another person now, a lifetime ago.
She traced over the details of the sketch of Earth’s moon on the page with one finger, following the left side curve before she withdrew her hand to tuck it around Catra’s arm. They’d never seen Earth’s moon itself, and from what she’d learned through Darla’s records, Earth’s sun was too far from Etheria to cast the same light, but she’d spent hours with that galaxy spinning around her, thinking about her mom.
“We should talk about…this,” she said quietly. “I think it’s time.”
“Should we, though,” Catra laughed, not the least bit amused despite the sound – and it came out a little strangled anyway, like the mere thought of broaching the subject was too much for her throat, so don’t make her talk about it. Talking about it meant making a decision. Maybe even putting a final, finishing nail to what the rest of their life might be like.
She may have usually been the more practical one of the two, but she didn’t want that. Catra didn’t want to be practical, or reasonable, or responsible. She just… wanted.
And when you wanted something, and knew, knew that you couldn’t have it - a feeling she’d been intimately familiar with in her youth, as it had twisted her into this spiteful, raging little creature - it came with an ache that felt almost violent.
“We can wait,” she swallowed, biting the inside of her cheek to distract from the sting in her eyes; she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the design, “can’t we?”
It was a futile plea. Catra knew that, too. Her heart and logic were often at war with one another, and she tried her best to keep her emotions in check – otherwise they could be explosive. They were always a lot. Most of the time, the logic won, and she knew it was best to let it win this time.
A shame that her heart was being too stubborn right now.
Adora ten years ago – five years ago, even – would have agreed without hesitation. She had. They’d made a very intentional decision to wait and plan for the twins a Future Adora had once assured them they would have. They could take whatever time they needed, there was no rush. Finn had come so early, and they were perfect and everything she’d ever wanted. But it was okay for the girls to come later. They were inevitable, after all.
Adora now – well, she was different. She was not the chatty, optimistic person she’d been back then. Everything they’d been through had taken a toll on her, and her view of the world they lived in was much more cynical.
This place – Vallo as it was now – was a lost cause, as far as she was concerned. There were others who held onto hope that Interitus could be defeated and everything that had gone wrong could be rectified and set right. She had given up on that a long while back.
“I don’t think we can.” The words were slow and careful, trying to be kind. She wasn’t heartless; she loved Catra still, and she wanted more than anything to be able to give her what she wanted. But realism had to come into play here at some point, and this time, it had fallen on her.
“The girls deserve better than this, Catra,” she went on. “They deserve to grow up in a world that isn’t hunting them. This situation…it’s not getting better. We can’t give them that now. Any chance we had of giving them that disappeared a long time ago.”
“Yeah. I know.”
The way she said it was a harsh contrast of how she was talking before - they came out with a bite, not the scared softness that came with the start of this conversation but still with that hint of a quiver. Catra knew she was right. There was no disputing it. There was no fighting it. What fight did they have left beyond defending what they had now, anyway?
Blind optimism and speeches of love and hope didn’t fix their situation. Adora didn’t do those anymore, although there was a part of Catra that just wished she had some hope left. Something to give them strength to look towards a future. Anything that wasn’t pure dread, or this constant fear that they’d always keep losing more and more - until they finally, maybe even inevitably, lost each other.
Catra slammed the sketchbook shut. It was better than tearing it to pieces with her bare hands, an urge she was sorely tempted to indulge in. Not like the contents in it mattered, right? But she was doing her best to not give into the darkest parts of herself, to keep the dam that held her feelings back in check, so - she didn’t.
There was some spillage, however.
“We already doomed Finn,” she hissed lowly, separating from Adora so she could perch herself at the edge of the bed. Flesh hand on her shoulder, she began stretching her prosthetic - rotating it around the joint where technology met scarred skin. Sometimes she felt these phantom pains, like this new arm had a nervous system to feel hurt but it was psychosomatic, related to trauma. “Would rather be proactive in avoiding poor parental choices, yeah?”
That wasn’t sarcasm. That was just her bitter, angry way of trying to make peace with it; tail swishing like a whip, ears flattened. Interitus took a good chunk of their lives, their friends. He took Melog. Took her fucking arm, too.
Now he took away two little girls that Catra and Adora had never met, that didn’t even exist, and she wanted so hard not to accept it. She wanted to try. She wanted to fight for them still, somehow. But she couldn’t do that without Adora.
Accepting it was the only choice.
We already doomed Finn.
Adora bit back a sigh. That wasn’t what she’d meant, but she couldn’t really argue it was untrue. Outlanders were scarce these days; Interitus and his forces were doing their best to hunt them (and any native dissenters) into extinction. He’d made quite a dent. So many had disappeared, been blipped away in droves back in ‘26, and fighting this war had left plenty dead, too.
She didn’t want to think the same could happen to Finn. She loved their little one more than anything in the world, and she knew they were tough. They’d taken to their defense lessons really well and had plenty of adults surrounding them to train with. But they were still just a kid, not even seven yet. If they came across a Thrall or a wraith or a particularly merciless supporter, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
“I’m sorry,” she said, scooching up the bed to close the distance between them again, hand falling to Catra’s shoulder. A little more emotion returned to her voice, reminiscent of Adora ten years ago, always earnestly wanting to please everyone as she tried to catch those mismatched eyes. “I love you. I want the twins, too, you know I do. But this isn’t the time or the place. And realizing that, making that decision, makes you a great parent, Catra. We’re making the best choice we can for them, even though it means not having them.”
“I love you more,” she blurted with a sob she shutdown immediately after. Catra didn't let Adora look at her eyes. They were tightly closed, tears pinched at the corners. Sad, to mad, to both; a hot and cold conflict, like her the color of her irises. “I don’t want to give them up, Adora, I don’t -”
It took a shuddering gasp of an inhale to quiet herself. The babbling needed to stop - it wasn’t helping, and she knew this hurt her wife just as much. They were supposed to be theirs. They couldn’t have them. This was the right thing to do. The best thing, the selfless thing. Catra needed to deal with it.
“I’m sorry,” she echoed, wiping her cheeks dry with her hands; skin and metal, the sensation remained unfamiliar. “I don’t want to make this harder, I just - gods. Fuck.” Catra looked at her now, forcing a guilty smile. Their nursery had been planned out. They had picked out names – Hope, Mara – and it had been for nothing. “I’ll stop being a dumb mess soon, promise.”
“You’re not a dumb mess,” Adora was quick to insist. She meant it with every fiber of her being, too. One of the things that hadn’t changed over the years? How much she valued Catra letting her emotions out, being vulnerable, trusting that Adora was here for her and she didn’t have to be strong all the time. Catra had taken that burden on for her, too, so many times when she’d been overwhelmed and struggling, and she had always been eager to reciprocate. That was what their relationship was – a partnership, good times and bad.
With a firm grip, she reached for Catra, lifting her off the bed and into her lap, tilting her chin to look up at her now that she had those extra couple inches to boost her. “I know this isn’t easy.” Her hands cupped her wife’s cheeks, holding her gently to make sure their gazes held this time. “It isn’t easy for me either.”
She felt like she needed to say that. She spent so much of her time trying to close off, disconnect from the weight of the depression that threatened to break her every day. Their stash helped even her out, but she knew she could come off cold. That wasn’t how she wanted this conversation to feel. It was the opposite of cold for her emotionally. Just thinking about this was painful, like a very sharp stab to the heart.
“I don’t want to give them up either,” she offered, stroking across the galaxies of freckles on Catra’s cheeks with her thumbs. Even with only one seeing eye, she could still pick out every one of them vividly. “I wish we didn’t have to. But unless things take a turn for the better…” She shook her head; there was no use repeating herself.
“I know,” she replied, quiet again. Adora putting them in this position had a calming effect; ten years of being together in Vallo slotting against one another like this was seamless. So much had changed, and they had changed, but this didn’t. This was a constant.
Just like the way Catra looked at Adora like she hung the stars, the moon, the sun. That wasn’t changing, either. She loved her more than she did yesterday, and tomorrow she’d love her more than she did today. New scars, the damaged eye, the bouts of depression when things got too hard and ensnared her - her feelings never shifted, never budged.
But sometimes (or often), she worried about Adora; about losing her to all this. It killed her to see her so detached and tired. There were moments where she was reminded of the Adora that had given up at the Heart. That scared her, right to the bone.
“We have Finn,” she whispered, voice cracking around the words a little as a tear fell to her fingers; but she didn’t break eye contact, there was that, “and we have each other. It’s enough. Just… tell me what you’re feeling? Because I hate doing the blubbering in this marriage, you know that. I’m not pretty when I cry, princess.”
“You’re always pretty,” Adora retorted at once, unbothered by the wet tear slipping down her fingers. She never minded when Catra cried; this was a decision worth crying over. It was the last of their hopes and dreams from when Vallo was a better place, and they had plans. They were meant to be a family of five, the two of them, Finn, Hope, Mara. Their perfect little family.
Nothing about letting that go felt good. It may be right, it may be smart, it may be what they had to do – but it wasn’t good. It hurt like hell.
She took a slow breath, willing herself to fulfill Catra’s request. It had never been her favorite thing, burdening her wife with her emotions. She was even more likely to withdraw nowadays, to deal on her own because there were more important things to navigate than her emotions. They had a whole makeshift family of their own on Darla, and Adora was far from anyone’s biggest concern, even her own.
“I hate it,” she admitted to Catra quietly. “I hate that we’re living in a world like this. I hate that we’ve tried for years, and we can’t fix it. I hate that I almost lost you, that Melog’s gone, that one of us or Finn or Teela, Adam, any of us could have our souls sucked away if we make one wrong move.”
The Thrall truly terrified her. She’d been under Interitus’ Thrall back in what she would still deem the good times. But Interitus was so much stronger now than he’d been then, when they thought they’d defeated him and all those Thralled had been freed.There was no freeing them now, not without an immense amount of power, something not even those who’d been the strongest of them had anymore.
“I don’t want to give up on our dreams. I want Hope and Mara, and I always will. But I think… I just have to imagine they’re out there somewhere else with us. Multiverse, you know? Maybe we have them at home now. Maybe we see Mom and Dad, too.”
There was no saying for sure what home was like, not after nearly a decade in Vallo without a memory update. But if she was going to hope for anything, it was that. She loved her family, and she would keep going for them, but she couldn’t hold onto hope that anything would get better here. Not anymore.
Somewhere else sounded like a dream. Catra was bitter about somewhere else. She was outright jealous of it. Hated it. That somewhere else should be here, and now, and not some dream they needed to let go of to protect two kittens that could have been theirs. And Adora - gods, she knew she didn’t want to give it up, and shouldn’t be giving up.
But the fearless, brazen, impulsive woman that sought her out in the belly of the Velvet Glove with a shit plan because she couldn’t give up wasn’t who her wife was anymore, and that wasn’t her fault.
So she swallowed all the rage, swallowed the fight and resentment that she had for this place that may never be anywhere close to that somewhere else, and listened to Adora. Catra cupped her face with her good hand - she kept the prosthetic one still, in a neutral spot that didn’t touch her skin - and let her speak. Talking about thoughts and feelings, while sometimes being a shitty chore, was a good thing. She wanted to know. It was better than being iced out or left in the dark.
After a moment, she pressed a soft kiss against her brow, right over that foggy eye.
“I know everything’s shit,” she said, breathing her in. “After the Heart, I always told myself that I’d do anything in my power to give you all the things you wanted – you deserve them, you still do. It kills me that I can’t. But I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure we have some kind of life through this with the family we’ve got. Us, ‘til the end of the world.”
“‘Til the end of the word,” Adora echoed, a small smile flickering across her lips. The dark voice inside of her wondered if that would be soon. Every day since the Quarry had felt more and more like the end was near, but they were still here. They were still fighting to survive and have some semblance of a normal life.
It wasn’t fair. So many of the Outlanders they’d once known had made their homes here because it had been good, a promising new start for those whose homeworlds had been awful. Now Vallo was just as awful, if not worse, than some of their worlds of origin, and it couldn’t even do them the courtesy of letting them go.
“I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have to make that promise. I’m sorry I’m…this.”
Falling apart, broken, pathetic. She knew what she’d become. She still functioned. She still loved her family fiercely. She still chipped in to help the other survivors any way she could. But she never stopped feeling useless, and guilty, and a little bit empty. She’d lost She-Ra, she’d lost her connection to the Power, and she’d forced Catra to pick up her slack in the face of her despair.
It was a miracle this woman still wanted to be her wife.
“Hey, none of that,” Catra scolded gently, kissing her brow one more time before moving along to the line of scar over her face - just like how she kissed the ones on her back. Soft, as if her wife was this delicate thing that might shatter under pressure. For all her strength and fists and the way she carried herself across the battlefield (highly experienced, and sometimes brutal), Adora had always been a little fragile.
That was okay.
“What you are is my Adora,” she added, her metal hand lifting on instinct to touch her. It didn’t, ultimately. Catra stopped herself and let it drop between them. Instead, she let her tail move and slip around her wrist. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for that. Whatever happens – I love you, dummy. More than you’ll ever know, I think.”
Adora swallowed and nodded, head bowed. She didn’t feel she deserved that, such unconditional acceptance and love when she felt like such a husk of a human being these days. She had been struggling for a long time, but the weight of those struggles had really been tough the past few months. Most days, it felt like it was best to give up. That wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed, but no matter how hard she fought it off, it kept coming back.
She took a slow breath through her nose and looked back up at Catra. “I love you more,” she said, smiling softly, an echo of Catra’s earlier sentiment. She reached out for the prosthetic and grabbed hold of it, lacing her fingers with the cool metal of her wife’s new hand. She had seen the way she pulled back from touching her with it, and now, she decided, it was time to end that habit.
“I love every part of you,” she insisted, lifting that hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, just like she had when it was still flesh. “Nothing’s gonna change that, I promise.”
Catra frowned. It wasn’t… sad, per se. Thoughtful at best. The prosthetic didn’t look right against her hand. It wasn’t exactly a vanity thing - she knew it was a necessity, she knew it was functional, and she could use it easily to block blows without taking damage to the rest of her body. There were advantages.
But it didn’t feel like a part of her, either. Its presence was a permanent reminder of what happened; of how she fucked up, how it was reckless and dangerous to even try to get through Melog because look at what it cost them. They were dead, and she almost bled out, and she had scared Adora and Finn when she was trying to save a member of their family.
Melog wasn’t a pet. They were always more than just a magical companion, and if she had just done nothing, then maybe–
“I know,” she replied, clearing her throat. “I’m not–it’s fine, I just think I need to get gloves. I know it feels cold and I don’t want to feel cold to you and Finn, if that makes sense.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Adora said, because it was true. The sensation didn’t bother her, and she doubted it would bother Finn. She was still their Catra – Adora’s wife, Finn’s mommy – and a metal arm didn’t matter. “But I understand if you want to. I’m sure we can track some down.”
She stroked up the length of that arm, covered with the one long sleeve of Catra’s old uniform. It had been so long since Adora had seen her in this shirt, she’d almost forgotten what it looked like. “If you need any of my jackets, you know they’re always yours,” she added on. “You always feel good to me, though.”
“You dork,” she exhaled with a ghost of a smile, and the tension that sharpened her features for a bit there ebbed, softening her face. Catra closed that slight space in between and put them chest to chest, arms winding around her shoulders, face nuzzling into her temple.
And then, she purred.
The purring had taken a setback these past several months. If she let it all naturally happen like she’d been for almost a decade, it would be the wrong purrs; the stuttering, anxious ones out of fear and stress that Adora could decipher in two seconds flat (plus, Finn had been so prone to those lately too, and it’d been heartbreaking to hear). Catra didn’t want her physical tells to be that explicit when she was trying to keep it together for her family, and it meant the happy, content purrs required some conscious release.
Adora and Finn could use more comforting purrs going forward. Catra was determined to be better about it. “Stay with me like this for a bit,” she whispered, squeezing Adora tightly against her. “I know you need it too.”
When Catra purred like that, full of contentment and safety, it never failed to act as a balm for Adora. She knew this was work for Catra now. She knew the more natural route would be something more broken and anxious - like when they were little, like the times when stress bled out onto Finn - so it meant all the more to hear the good ones.
It was kinder than she deserved, this level of comfort, but she would take it. Turning it away would be too selfish and cruel, especially after the conversation they’d just had.
So, she nodded, leaning into Catra and sealing their lips together. The kiss was tender, nothing sexual or leading about it, lips on lips and lingering sweetly. But she needed it, and she was sure Catra did, too.
Catra deepened the kiss just enough.
Hard not to when she still had those needy, clingy tendencies (dialed down some, worried that she’d want more than her wife could give), and sometimes Adora felt so far away even when she was right there. Five years ago, the conversation of giving up the twins was something she couldn’t even fathom into existence - and yet it happened. They made a decision, and she knew she wasn’t ever going to get over it.
She slowly broke it to rest their foreheads together, and to just… sit. Exist for a few moments with the choice they’ve made. Soon, they’d have to get up anyway and keep on going, and this sketchbook that held the design of a room that was supposed to be part of their future would be left behind.