A/N: Trigger warning: there's a graphic description of a panic attack in this, so if that's an issue for you, this may not be your thing. Hopefully I'll have something else for you to read soon!
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It's not the same.
Adora had thought the hologram simulation would prepare her: for Catra's silhouette, sharp against a Horde tank under a rusted sky; for her sharper grin, sharper words.
But just seeing Catra – real Catra – has her heart pounding so hard in her chest that it's weighing her down into the dirt at her feet, She-Ra's strength be damned.
And Adora had been ready, so ready, but now her stomach is dropping and she's in a cold sweat because it's not the same when Catra – her best friend Catra – is looking at her like she's someone she doesn't know, just another enemy, just another target to take out, just –
Just another Princess.
She can hear the way Catra would say it.
Catra looms above her, claws out. Adora waits for it, knows it better than she knows anything else at this point, feels her skin start to itch with the anticipation of it.
Hey, Adora.
Catra's silent – Adora's breath hitches. She searches Catra's face for something familiar, but there's – there's nothing –
"You get one chance," Catra finally says, inspecting a claw. Her tone is colder than all the nights have been without her. She turns her glowing eyes to Adora's. "Surrender."
Adora grips her sword tighter. "Never." She hears her voice shake. "I'll figure out what you're up to, Catra, I always do –"
Catra lunges for her.
Adora gets her sword up – barely – in time to block her neck.
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When they get back to Brightmoon, Adora barricades herself in her room. Dresser and chairs against the door, desk and bookcase across the window. She knows Glimmer could just teleport in but she can hear Bow talking her out of it in the hall. She upends her bed to make defensible cover, hunkers down behind it, and starts tending her wounds. No major arteries hit and nothing so dirty a powerful disinfectant can't it clean up. She'll be fine. She'll be fine. She's –
When the bandages are wrapped, there's nothing more to do. Her hands are shaking. She's breathing hard. There's no training exercise for this, nothing in the manual – there's – there's just no –
A sob hits her from behind, shocking through her ribcage and out her throat. Her vision blurs. But she can't cry, she doesn't cry –
Shh, Adora! The guards will hear you! Was it that dream again? Forget about it, just focus on me, ok? Hush up!
Focus, focus –
The sobs come harder and harder, her whole body convulsing, and the room starts to spin...
The last thing she knows is the sound of Glimmer shimmering in next to her and the feeling of soft arms around her. Then the world grays out to static, and she lets it.
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A/N: The worst possible interpretation of the Hey, Adora/ Hey, Catra progression. Whelp.
Hopefully more and fluffier Catradora on the way. Title from Fall Out Boy's "Twin Skeletons"