A/N: I feel like I say this every chapter now, but this chapter is very, very dark. In my opinion it's the darkest one yet, darker even than chapter 4. It will probably be triggering to read. It was as triggering to write as it was cathartic.
To specify, we are doing another deep dive into the psychological aspects and effects of physical abuse, and we're also going to delve more into the self-harm stuff touched on last chapter. It's awful, but… I do hope that this chapter illuminates why Catra is so self-destructive and how it's linked to her obsession with power. My take on that, anyway. I will put some tips for safe reading (i.e. what to skip to avoid certain triggers) in the end notes, if you want to keep up with the story but need to avoid some of the content.
CONTENT WARNING for emotional and physical child abuse, depictions of violence, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, and self-harm, including discussion of the psychology behind it.
Disclaimer: I am not advocating for self-harm as a healthy coping mechanism. I think it's pretty clearly presented as maladaptive, but seriously, it's not healthy. I feel a little bad for publishing this shit in case it triggers anyone else with those impulses, but hey, this fic is my therapy, and there's content warnings all over it for a reason.
All those words of warning later, let's get started, if I haven't scared you off yet…
Tongue flitting out over her lips, Catra tracks a bird's lazy trajectory across the sky. Her claws flex with the urge to pounce, scraping at the stone border of her cell window. In many ways this is better than the other cells she's been in, but at least in the Fright Zone there wasn't a revolving door of delectable treats passing by and making her taste buds water. She heard a mouse skitter by in the hall a while ago and just about flipped her shit, dropping to the floor with her butt and tail up in the air. This time, she planned to eat it and dispose of the carcass instead of leaving the kill as a gift for a cute girl. Catra's still not sure what possessed her to do that that one time, but she never lived it down.
Unfortunately, the door is solid with no crack under it, and the mouse never made it inside. Catra cranes her neck as far as the window bars will let her, but the bird eventually flies out of sight too. She sighs, dropping down on the bed to sulk. She knows she should be grateful for the fresh air, but after several years of what she wanted being dangled just out of reach, she's tired of being teased.
In almost every other way, though, this cell is an improvement. The temperature is manageable, and they even gave her a blanket. Such luxury. The breakfast they served her a little while ago was tastier than anything she ever ate in the Fright Zone. If that's what they serve their prisoners, let alone their princesses, it's no wonder Adora decided to stay. And it smells way better in here too, the flip side of having a window. Catra can grudgingly admit it's worth the parade of prey, smelling the outdoors instead of the vague stench of rust and engine oil that permeates the Fright Zone. The only thing she doesn't like is the row of bars blocking her in, isolating her from the rest of the small room. Maybe it's more of her animal instincts, but she despises being locked in a cage.
Her eyes flick warily to the seats on the other side of the bars, then to the various manacles and chains hung on the wall. Being hogtied and carried around last night was bad enough, and she's not looking forward to whatever they plan to do with those. She's not used to being physically restrained, but after all the times Shadow Weaver paralyzed her with binding magic, she knows she can't stand losing control over her own body.
Catra's heart flutters nervously and she takes a deep breath like she learned in combat training, reminds herself that she can end it if things get too rough. The guards didn't disarm her, they left her with twenty little knives in her hands and feet. They know to avoid her swiping reach, but she doesn't need to cut them. Only herself. Catra actually considered a preemptive strike when she was first captured, taking herself out before they could interrogate her, but she decided against it. She waited, because she knew Adora would be raising hell to get her out. And despite everything, some small part of her still can't help having faith in Adora.
Boredom and nerves tempt her to do it anyway. Not lethally, just enough to give herself something to feel, something to distract her. She knows it's not one of the better coping mechanisms she's developed over the years, but right now she has limited options to self-soothe. Claws or fingers. Pain or pleasure. Neither would be great if she gets walked in on, but at least one is easier to hide than the other (to humans with shitty olfactory systems, anyway). And blood, blood is more embarrassing. She knows it's not a normal thing to do, and people will think less of her for it. Shadow Weaver did, and Adora probably did too, though she never said as much.
The incident with her ear when she was twelve, that was when she first discovered pain was even an option. Because it wasn't the pain that made her stop after one small slice. It was fear, and a deep knowledge that this was a mistake, that mutilating herself wouldn't solve anything, as much as the thought of doing so weirdly made her feel better. No, she actually found the self-inflicted pain oddly soothing. But she was so scared by what she did in those moments of madness that she never tried to recreate that feeling. Not until the day after Shadow Weaver released her back into the barracks after the locker room incident, when Adora unwittingly put her through her first taste of hell.
"Ugh, you're such a nerd."
"That's why you like me." Adora pulled Catra into her side with one arm, rubbing her knuckles into the top of Catra's head. Gentler than she usually would have, given Catra's injuries. Catra wasn't sure whether to be grateful or annoyed.
Forcing a chuckle, she fended off Adora half-heartedly. "Whatever you say, Adora."
Adora smiled and took to combing her fingers through Catra's hair, raking blunted nails along her scalp. Catra couldn't help purring a little despite her foul mood and the aches throughout her body. But when those fingers moved to rub behind her ears, apprehension welled up in her gut. This was too much. It was nothing new between them, an innocent enough gesture, but it made Catra feel things that were decidedly not innocent. And that was dangerous. And painful.
Ears flattening against her head, Catra sighed. "Don't…"
"Don't what?" asked Adora. Catra suddenly couldn't speak. "Am I hurting you?"
Yes. Yes, she was hurting her. Catra's heart felt like it was being squeezed, crushed inside her chest. The one thing she needed most of all right now was Adora's comfort, and it was the one thing she could not have. Catra forced a nod and Adora moved her hand immediately, obvious concern on her face. Unfortunately, she made things infinitely worse by taking Catra's hand.
A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob caught in Catra's throat. Was Adora trying to mock her, to rub in all the things she could never have again? Wiggling her hand free, Catra said, "I need to go."
"What?" Adora blinked. "Why?"
Standing to leave, Catra muttered, "I left something in the locker room." Namely, her sanity.
"I'll go with you," Adora said quickly, but it was more of a question than a statement. She looked like a kicked puppy, but there was a slight tinge of hope in her tone. Hope that she'd misunderstood, that Catra wasn't pushing her away. Her eyes only got bigger and sadder when Catra shook her head. "Catra, please talk to me," she implored.
Catra's chest cramped again, forcing her eyes away. How was she supposed to do this every day? How was she supposed to see the unbridled affection in Adora's eyes and resist it? To see that hope and stamp it out? How was she supposed to break her own heart and Adora's every single goddamn day? It wasn't fucking fair.
"There's nothing to talk about," she mumbled. "I'm fine." Then she turned tail and bolted before she did something she'd regret, like jump Adora or burst into tears.
She wasn't fine.
She wasn't fine.
*o*
"What will happen if you allow any more advances from Adora?"
Jaw clenched, Catra's eyes burned through the floor of her cell. She hated this part, it was so humiliating. Why did Shadow Weaver always have to do this after?
Shadow Weaver floated closer to where Catra stood, invading her space. "What will happen, Catra?"
"I'll be transferred," she finally mumbled. Catra knew from experience that she wouldn't get out until she answered, until Shadow Weaver was satisfied that she had learned her lesson. And after three days of this shit, she really couldn't take any more, mentally or physically. She needed to go home, even if that home could never be the same.
A sharp fingernail dug in under her chin and tipped it up, demanding eye contact. "And?"
Swallowing subtly, Catra met her gaze and held it intently. Stubbornly, to prove she could. To do it on her own terms. To reclaim just a tiny bit of the power stripped away from her. "And I'll never see her again."
"Good kitty," cooed Shadow Weaver. "You've been listening for once." She raised her empty left hand, but not in a threatening way. Only to scratch the top of Catra's head. That was actually worse.
Catra's skin crawled, shoulders clenching as she fought off the urge to growl. Praise and affection was all she'd ever wanted from Shadow Weaver, but not like this, not when she was only doing it to rub in the power she held. Did she really need to do anything more to exert her dominance? Was she not doing enough to demonstrate her authority two minutes ago?
"So what are you going to do if she tries anything again?" Shadow Weaver pressed, finally drawing her hand back.
Catra swallowed and forced her leaden lips and tongue to move. "Act like I don't want it."
"Act? I think you mean, you won't allow her to touch you in ways you don't want," Shadow Weaver corrected her. A steady rapping sound drew Catra's attention and her eyes locked onto the staff Shadow Weaver was slowly tapping against her own palm. Catra's heart stuttered, battering her ribcage as she struggled to stay upright against a sudden head rush. "Because you don't want her, do you, Catra? You know where that leads."
Those last sentences sounded distorted, like Catra was listening from underwater or through a thick pane of glass. Countless tender bruises on her body throbbed and she bit back a wave of nausea, teeth digging into her suddenly dry tongue. It was several moments before she could breathe, let alone speak.
"No. I don't want it."
*o*
She wanted it. She wanted it so bad she could die.
There were many things Catra wanted in life. Recognition, respect, praise, power. Affection, acceptance. Safety. But the only thing she truly craved was Adora. She'd coaxed herself to sleep those two cold nights in her cell with thoughts of Adora's warmth and comfort. Strong arms holding her close, breath hitting the back of her neck in reassuring little puffs. Admittedly, those thoughts had quickly devolved into other fantasies of closeness. Nuzzling into Adora's neck and leaving little nips under her jaw. Dragging her rough tongue over Adora's smooth belly. Hearing the desperate little noises Adora would make as she brought her closer and closer…
Fuck. How was she supposed to do this?
Somehow she'd made it to the locker room, the place this nightmare began. It was deserted at that hour, the cadets all enjoying their few hours of unregulated time before lights out. It was the perfect place to lose her fucking mind.
Tail whipping around behind her, Catra started pacing, pulling at her hair as she let out low growls of frustration that morphed into screams. She ended up punching several lockers, leaving dents in the metal doors. At least that damage wouldn't be pinned on her automatically, unlike claw marks. Her claws ached to dig into something, but she knew better. She couldn't take another beating, not this soon.
Catra moved to the heavy bag and punched until her knuckles screamed for mercy and her lungs screamed for air. Her heavy pants were mixed with sobs, hot tears leaking from her eyes and cutting trails down her cheeks. Collapsing back against a bank of lockers, she slowly slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands. She was spent, but couldn't for the life of her calm down. The restless, panicked energy needed another way out, and her breaths came faster and faster until she was fully hyperventilating.
Feeling what little control she had slipping away, Catra dug her claws into her own forearm in an attempt to ground herself in reality. Pain was good for that, she knew from her failed attempts to dissociate during her fun times with Shadow Weaver. Her claws stung as they broke skin and she let out a little gasp and a hiss, squeezing her eyes shut as her features contorted with discomfort.
She didn't cry, not any more than she already was. Physical pain rarely made her cry anymore, especially if she knew it was coming. Shadow Weaver had trained that out of her a few years back in the most brutal way possible. She did growl, though, as her claws sank in deeper, tightening her tenuous grip on her own sanity.
And it hurt, it did hurt. But with all her focus on her self-inflicted pain, the pain she couldn't control started to slip away. And as her body adjusted, started blocking out even that pain, she began to feel blessedly numb. Her growl slowly turned into a purr, her head lolling back against the lockers with a sigh.
Up to that point in Catra's life, pain had always been an enemy. A threat, a thing used to control her. But that day, she realized she could make pain a friend. Or an ally, at least. It was a tool she could use. A thing she controlled.
The difference between that day and the linen closet was, now she didn't care if she damaged herself. Now she knew none of it fucking mattered. She'd never make anything of herself. She was more capable than most Horde soldiers, but no one could see that, not even Adora. She would never be anything but a lowly, disposable foot soldier, would never match up to someone like Adora. Would never be worthy of someone like Adora. So what did it matter if she was scarred, inside and out?
This new coping mechanism helped, for a while. That first year of keeping herself from Adora was especially hard, and it's not like she had any other way of distracting herself from her inner turmoil (other than jerking off, but that usually brought her thoughts right back to Adora, which was obviously counterproductive). The kicker was that she couldn't talk to her best friend about it, either. So she leeched the anguish from her mind and stress from her body with whatever sharp objects she could get her hands on. Blades stung less and cut cleaner, but were obviously harder to come by, so it was mostly her claws. No matter all the things Shadow Weaver put her through, she could fall back on her claws for a sense of control. Fall back on her own body. On herself.
Sometimes, though, it made her feel out of control. Some demon kept whispering in her ear to take the knife to other places, down her arms or between her ribs. Telling her it would be easier, it would all be over and she wouldn't have to bear this pain anymore. But Catra was too stubborn to take her own life. To do so would be to admit defeat, and to let Shadow Weaver win. She couldn't let either of those happen. Besides, if she did then she'd really lose Adora and they'd never have a chance. Some stupidly optimistic part of Catra always wanted to believe things would get better. Adora would surpass Shadow Weaver one day, she'd overrule her, and they'd have their chance to act on their feelings. To be happy.
Everything always came down to Shadow Weaver and Adora. They were also why she stopped. Shadow Weaver didn't punish her when she found out, like she'd expected. All she did was laugh at her for being so self-destructive, mock her for her weakness. Of course, that only motivated her to be strong, to find other ways to cope. And Adora, well. Adora was so worried. Once she wised up to what Catra was doing, she was heartbroken and terrified. And Catra didn't want Adora to worry. Part of her felt better, knowing that Adora cared about her wellbeing, but she hated seeing Adora in any kind of distress, and hated being the cause of it even more. The guilt got to her over time, and combined with Shadow Weaver's cutting remarks, one day Catra snapped and decided to stop.
Deciding was only half the battle. She'd gotten used to it, like a kind of security blanket, and there were a few times where she caved in a moment of panic or intense sorrow. But she was prideful, and determined. It wasn't long before she was back to self-medicating with sarcasm and apathy. She rarely feels the urge to use those old coping mechanisms anymore. She's been too busy being angry. Of course, right now she's not busy doing anything. That's the problem. Restlessness, anxiety, boredom, powerlessness…
The sound of approaching footsteps makes Catra's ears prick up. The room is fairly soundproof by human standards, but she can make out at least two pairs of heavy boots. Her gut swoops but she forces herself to sit up tall, meet her fate with pride. She tries not to think about the reasons for the soundproofing. She's probably been through worse, anyway.
When the door opens, Catra can't help but startle. No one expects the monster under their childhood bed to suddenly appear before them in adulthood. With startling accuracy too, accuracy Catra wasn't able to appreciate from a distance during the battle. The real live version of Queen Angella of Bright Moon has the same flowing hair, same thin face, and weirdly the exact same earrings as her simulated counterpart. But her expression is much less devious and bloodthirsty, more… honestly, the best way Catra can describe the vibe this woman gives off is 'so done with this shit.'
"Allow me to introduce myself," she begins without fanfare. "I'm Qu-"
"I know who you are," Catra interjects flippantly as she recovers her wits. "You were scarier in hologram form."
The queen barely raises an eyebrow, not exactly the reaction Catra had been hoping for. "Not much of one for first impressions, are you?" she remarks. Gods, her accent is every bit as uppity as her posture.
"What does it matter?" asks Catra. "Maybe if I suck up, you'll kill me quickly instead of making me suffer?" She holds Angella's gaze intently, never blinking. "Suffering is nothing to me. I'll keep my pride, thanks."
Angella's mostly blank face turns inquisitive as she steps closer to the bars. "Why do you assume I plan to kill you?"
Catra blinks in bewilderment. "I mean, aside from how I kidnapped your daughter, invaded your kingdom, and shot a cannon straight at you? I hear Bright Moon folk aren't too keen on Horde soldiers."
"Most of them haven't made the greatest impression," Angella points out. "Then again, one of them has. Clearly, we would be wrong to think that there are no good people in the Horde."
Slumping back to rest against the wall, Catra chuckles. "Let me guess. Adora told you some sob story about how horrible my childhood was, said I'm really a good person on the inside?" She cocks an eyebrow. "Hate to break it to you, Angie, but Adora's not very smart."
The queen's eyes narrow slightly at the demeaning form of address, but she keeps her voice steady as she says, "You saved her, and my daughter."
Examining her claws, Catra deflects, "I just wanted Adora gone so she wouldn't get in my way. Sparkles was lucky enough to be with her." She only looks up after several seconds of silence pass. The hard expression on Angella's face makes her gulp.
"Do you want to die, Force Captain?" Angella asks bluntly. "Is that what you're playing at? Because I can make it happen. Just say the word."
Catra scowls at the mattress, a displeased growl tickling the back of her throat. "I want to live or die on my own terms. I'm not Adora's pet project."
"This isn't about Adora."
"Suuuure," drawls Catra. "Don't give me that shit. Why else would you be here?"
"I'm here because a reckless Horde officer decided to infiltrate my castle," Angella says flatly, "apparently because she can't keep it in her pants."
Catra just about chokes on her own spit. "That's not why I came here," she protests.
"So why did you?" inquires Angella. "I'd really like to know."
"I just wanted to talk to her," Catra says, a little too defensively. Giving a casual shrug to make up for it, she adds, "Things got a little intense. It happens."
"Are you saying this happens often with Adora?" infers Angella. Catra averts her eyes and frowns, too proud to admit that this was the first time she got anywhere near, well, a first time. When she fails to answer, the queen hums. "Either way, it's clear there's a very strong connection between the two of you. She threatened to betray the rebellion to save your life, you know."
"What?" Catra's eyes snap up, searching Angella's. After a moment she deflates with a chuckle. "That's a lie. Adora's all about her moral code, she's made that very clear."
"True. And her moral stance at the moment is that you deserve a chance to make things right."
"Seriously?" blinks Catra. "What makes her think that?"
Angella's lips quirk sheepishly and she admits, "Like you said, your childhood."
Groaning hard, Catra smacks her head back against the stone wall. "Fucking Adora," she mutters at the ceiling. "Can always count on her for some bleeding heart bullshit."
"Do you disagree with her?" probes Angella.
Good question, and not one Catra knows how to answer. She's dealt with a lot of shit she didn't deserve over the years, but is that supposed to cancel out the shit she's earned now? Is it all supposed to be some kind of great cosmic equation, the ultimate equalizer? No, Catra knows better. Life isn't fair, that's what Shadow Weaver always said.
"It doesn't matter what I do or don't deserve," she concludes, brow scrunching up as tight as her jaw. "It never has. The people in charge will do what they do."
"What if I told you you could have some input in that process?"
One of Catra's ears flicks, her eyes finally falling to meet Angella's again. "What are you talking about?"
"Restorative justice. It's a concept foreign to the Horde, from what I understand," says Angella. "It's a discussion where the accuser and accused, along with some mediating parties, come to an agreement on how the guilty party can best atone for their misdeeds. The intent is to make things right, rather than to punish. Justice in the purest sense of the word."
Catra dismisses this with a snort, masking the spark of hope blooming in her chest. "That sounds like something Arrow Boy would come up with."
"It's a concept that's been around for millennia, actually," the queen informs her with a slight smile. "But, and you need to understand this, it can only work if both sides want it to work, and if they both agree wrong has been done." Catra merely blinks, so she spells out, "You have to be sorry."
"Too bad I'm not sorry," scoffs Catra.
"We can fix that," says Angella. Despite the lack of a threatening tone, a cold rush washes over Catra's brain at those ominous words.
"Trust me, I will make you sorry," Shadow Weaver assured Catra, slowly closing in on her. The glow of the Black Garnet cast extra shadows on the floor around her robe, adding to her usual eeriness, but Catra didn't even flinch.
"Oh, yeah?" she snarked. "What are you gonna do?" She said this even though she knew exactly what Shadow Weaver was capable of. Provoking her was foolish, she knew that. But giving her attitude, pretending not to be afraid, it was the only way to feel like she had any power in the situation. Besides, Shadow Weaver's tolerance for lip was higher than it used to be, thanks to high levels of exposure. Their relationship had taken a downturn (if that was even possible for them) since the whole Adora thing, and Catra barely tried to keep her disdain under wraps anymore.
"You're a terrible soldier," Shadow Weaver berated her, glowing white eyes narrowing in a way that made Catra's gut flip. "Not only are you useless and incapable, you have no respect for authority." Catra's shoulders clenched, ear flicking with displeasure. Gods, she hated that word.
"Maybe I would, if she wasn't such a bitch," retorted Catra. She expected Shadow Weaver to attempt to slap her, and was ready to dodge the blow. Shadow Weaver didn't move, but her glare did grow even more heated.
"My tight schedule is all that's keeping me from taking a walk with you, Cadet," hissed Shadow Weaver. Catra's jaw twitched at the coded language she was all too familiar with. "I don't have time to deal with you properly today, be grateful."
"I'll keep that in mind," Catra deadpanned. She turned to leave, but was stopped mid-step by a crackle of electricity. Her skin prickled and muscles screamed with tension and she grimaced, panting into the pain.
"I didn't say you were dismissed." The hairs on the back of Catra's neck stood on end as she felt Shadow Weaver creeping up behind her. Then the spell dropped, and Catra almost fell with it when her muscles gave out. "We don't have to go to the prison for me to teach you a lesson," said Shadow Weaver, grabbing Catra's arm. "And it will be my pleasure to put you in your place." Turning sharply, she thrust her toward the cauldron.
Catra lacked the strength in that moment to brake her momentum, and the cauldron struck her just below the ribs, knocking the wind out of her. Pushing herself up on her forearms on the lip of the bowl, she tried to catch her breath. Shadow Weaver floated up beside her as she recovered, and just as Catra turned to glare at her she issued a chilling command. "Bend over."
Catra's mouth dropped open, eyes widening incredulously. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Sparks flashed between the sorceress's palms in an unspoken but very clear threat, and a jolt of fear catapulted Catra into action. She knew how much more the beatings hurt when she was immobilized, with the cold burn of binding magic coursing through her skin. Not to mention how awful it was feeling Shadow Weaver taking control of her muscles, making her put herself in a vulnerable position. It was better to do it herself, pretend she had authority over her own body. Pretend she had even a semblance of agency in the situation. In her whole fucking life.
Of course, Shadow Weaver had to ruin even that as she came to stand behind her. "Good girl," she said, bracing a hand on Catra's lower back. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."
Catra bit back a growl.
With no other implements at her disposal, Shadow Weaver had to use her hand. And it hurt less, strictly pain-wise, yet it was completely unbearable. She hadn't done it this way since Catra was a small child, which made the whole thing feel particularly demeaning. And with the directness of the contact came a sharp sense of vulnerability. It was so fucking humiliating that Shadow Weaver could touch her like that and she couldn't do anything about it.
That was the point, though. She wasn't in charge.
"Stand up," the sorceress ordered sharply. And even though it was all Catra wanted to do, being told to do it made her hesitate with a scowl. But she knew what was good for her, and she didn't want to give Shadow Weaver any more ideas. Narrowed eyes flicking to Shadow Weaver as she stood, she found her commanding officer appraising her appearance critically, as though it wasn't her fault Catra's uniform was askew. "Straighten those belts, Cadet."
Catra obeyed but didn't even try to disguise the anger and hatred burning her cheeks, the flaring of her nostrils and grinding of her teeth. Chuckling at the display of emotion, Shadow Weaver prompted her, "What have we learned today, Catra?"
Unable to think in the midst of her blind rage, Catra blinked herself back to a somewhat functional state. It took her a moment to remember why she was even there. "Not to play pranks on instructors."
"And?"
"Not to call you a bitch." Even if you deserve it. Catra had to literally bite her lips shut to stop herself from saying that out loud.
"Not to challenge my authority," Shadow Weaver corrected her.
"Right," muttered Catra. Shadow Weaver continued to eye her expectantly, looking simultaneously impatient and like she had all the time in the world to rub this in Catra's face. "Not to-" Catra's words caught in her throat and she looked away just in case the sting in her eyes turned to tears. Don't cry, Catra. Don't cry, don't you fucking cry. For fuck's sakes you're sixteen, not six, get it together. Don't you dare cry, not in front of her.
Catra swallowed to steady her voice, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. She couldn't risk looking Shadow Weaver in the eye, or the dam might burst. "Not to challenge your authority," she ground out, her voice embarrassingly quiet and gravelly.
"I think you finally learned something today," remarked Shadow Weaver. Still refusing to look her way, Catra snorted back the mucus threatening to dribble out of her nose. "You are dismissed."
Catra stormed out of the room trembling with rage and another emotion she couldn't name. She'd only made it a few feet past the door before she heard someone clambering to their feet and cursed under her breath. She'd forgotten Adora was waiting for her outside, neither of them having realized what Catra was about to walk into. This was the last thing she needed to deal with right now. Didn't she already spend enough of her life looking out for Adora, making sure she never had to face anything too horrible? She'd already taken the blame for the prank they pulled together, wasn't that enough?
"Catra. Hey, Catra!" Adora chirped as she rushed to catch up, with her usual amount of oblivious cheer. Closing the gap, Adora grasped her upper arm. "What did she say?" she asked, concern clouding her features. That was even worse than the obliviousness. "Are you okay? I heard shouting."
Stopping abruptly, Catra snatched her arm away. "Don't touch me."
Adora's face fell. "Sorry." The pain in her eyes made Catra's stomach rumble with guilt. She hated that Adora felt the need to walk on eggshells around her now, that she could no longer be what Adora needed. But it was probably for the best.
Pasting on a smile, Adora started, "Hey, you wanna go-"
"I need to be alone right now," Catra said stiffly, eyes focused down the hall.
"Oh, okay," Adora mumbled, scratching the back of her neck. She knew what alone time usually meant for Catra, those days. "Should I, um… will you need supplies?"
Catra shot her a withering glare. "I can take care of myself, Adora. Go baby someone else," she snapped as she walked away.
"Catra, don't be like that," Adora called after her. "Catra!"
"Catra? Catra."
"What?" she snarls, and the viciousness of the sound shocks her right from the dissociative state into a hyperaware one. Her ears strain to hear any changes in Angella's breathing, eyes skirting across her muscles in search of increased tension, any sign that she may be about to strike. But there are none. Angella actually appears to be mostly unruffled by her outburst. Of course. She probably came in expecting to meet some rabid beast, if Glimmer had anything to say (and that asshole always has something to say).
"I was saying," Angella continues calmly, "meeting the people you've hurt and seeing the damage up close could help change your mind about what side you should be on. It did for Adora."
Catra growls at the memory. Fucking Thaymor plagues her nightmares as much as Shadow Weaver.
"I'm trying to give you options," says Angella, a clear warning in her tone. "We could just lock you away for good, or take your head. But Adora believes it would be more meaningful for you to help us, find ways to counter the damage you caused." Holding Catra's gaze, she declares, "I agree with her."
"How charitable of you."
"It isn't charity. Lucky for you, you have something to offer. You're a formidable military leader, Force Captain Catra." Catra's ears prick up at the compliment, and she feels her face softening a little against her wishes. Fuck. She hates showing her cards so easily, and she knows Angella has caught on because her voice turns coaxing when she says, "You would be a great asset to us if you defected."
Catra stares at Angella blankly for several seconds. She really has no reason to choose the rebellion over the Horde at this point, but she can't help but marvel at the attempt to woo her away from the dark side. Quite frankly, the offer sounds too good to be true. There has to be a catch. Her eyes narrow. "And what makes you think you could trust me? You're not seriously just going to take Adora's word for it, are you?"
"I would take any intel with a grain of salt until you've proven yourself. You would have to earn my trust. However, I'm not the only person you need to worry about," she says, her tone turning cautionary. Great, here comes the catch. "I can only clear your name if you give me reason to believe it's for the good of my kingdom. But the people also need reason to believe it, or else they will feel like I am not ruling with their best interests in mind."
Catra's stomach burbles. She doesn't like where this seems to be heading.
"As part of the restorative justice agreement, I would need you to agree to more directly counter your previous actions by serving the community," Angella concludes. "Helping with the rebuilding effort, for instance."
Catra guffaws humorlessly. "Clearing rubble with my feet shackled together and surrounded by guards while everyone gawks, is that what you're thinking? I'm not interested in humiliating myself to gain the sympathy of these idiots."
"That's not quite what I had in mind. Your brain certainly jumps to the worst possible conclusions, doesn't it?" remarks Angella.
"Years of being right." Her shrug is supposed to be nonchalant, but the queen doesn't look like she's buying it, if the pity in her eyes is any indication. Catra averts her eyes with a scowl.
"The point isn't to humiliate you, Catra," she explains. "The point is to help you demonstrate that your commitment to the rebellion is genuine."
"Okay first of all, I don't have any commitment to your fucking rebellion. That's awfully presumptuous of you," snaps Catra. "And I'm not interested in sucking up to them, or you."
"Please don't take this offer lightly," Angella cautions her icily. "There are many who would love to see you pay for the sins of the Horde, but I have the authority to wipe your slate clean."
Catra's ear flicks and a strained chuckle pops out of her chest. "Oh, I bet you do."
"I'm trying to help you," insists Angella, but Catra can hear her patience wearing thin. Good. She is so done with this conversation.
"Right," she purrs, getting to her feet. Cocking a mocking eyebrow, she strolls up to the bars with her tail swishing confidently behind her. "'Cause you're the good and noble ruler, right? The benevolent dictator, with the authority to bend the law any way she likes, for whoever she likes or dislikes?" Her hands squeeze the bars in a death grip, making up for the huge grin she's forced onto her face.
Angella regards her coldly. "Don't presume to know me, Force Captain."
"I know you." Catra presses her face right up against the bars. "You cold-hearted bitches in charge are all the same, no matter what face you put on. And what, am I supposed to be grateful that I'm being singled out for a good reason this time?" Catra laughs, but it lacks force. "You can go fuck yourself. I don't need your mercy, or your pity."
Angella steps back, lips set in a firm line. "I'll give you some time to think about it," she says, then knocks on the door to be granted her leave. Catra can't help chuckling despite the sudden tightness in her chest. They really are all the same.
"I'll give you some time to think about your behavior."
Catra can't even count the number of times she heard that phrase, or some variation of it, as Shadow Weaver backed out of her cell and activated the force field. It was a threat, a promise of what was to come, that sent shivers down her spine every time. It made her heart race and breathing speed up, made her muscles clench and stay that way for minutes, hours, however long it took for her to come back. The waiting was the worst part.
No. Not knowing how long she'd have to wait was the worst part. One less thing she could be certain of. She could never predict where Shadow Weaver would hit her, how many times, what she would use, how long of a lecture she'd subject her to. Knowing those things would have helped. She could have steeled herself for them, kept track of what was left to endure. But Shadow Weaver seemed to think variety was the spice of life, or maybe she knew Catra needed to know those things to feel some sense of control and kept her guessing just to fuck with her. Either was entirely possible.
Turning from the door, Catra flops down on the bed, nuzzles the thick but scratchy blanket to make up for the sudden lack of stimulation after all that. Her hands start to move instinctually, and she allows it. No one else is here to mock her for her animalistic behaviors, for kneading the pliable surface to ease her mind. Better to dig her claws into the blanket than her own skin.
The flutter of passing wings hits her ears again, but this time she doesn't bother getting up to watch.
Once again, all she can do is wait.
A/N: Tips for safe reading: Skip the flashback within the first flashback and the first two thirds of the second flashback if you want to avoid the worst of the abuse. There's a bit more right at the end after Angella leaves, but nothing worse than what was in the earlier chapters. The self-harm is more sprinkled in, but there's some in the last two paragraphs of the intro (prior to flashback #1), the first six paragraphs after flashback #1, and some in the last few paragraphs of each of the flashbacks. Once you catch wind of it you can skip the rest of each flashback without losing vital information.
Welp, that was one hell of a chapter. Can't guarantee when the next one will be up, since I have other projects I'm working on and I'm still reworking this fic's plot, but hopefully it won't be more than a few weeks.
Also, I have a Ko-fi now! If anyone's enjoying this work and feeling particularly generous, feel free to go drop me a few bucks there (page url: johannas_motivational_insults). I can also give previews of upcoming chapters in exchange for support. If you don't have anything to spare, no worries at all, the next best thing is to recommend this fic (with content warnings, of course) or to leave a review about what you enjoy about/are getting out of this story. Any positive feedback is going to be helpful, especially after writing a chapter like this. It took a lot out of me, for reasons you can probably imagine.
Anyway, I'm glad you made it to the end. 'Til next time!