"Adam," Catra said firmly, shaking her head. The little blondie scowled at her, specifically, at the half-finished brown ration bar in her raised right hand.
"Catra!" he whined. She held up her left hand, three of her fingers stood up resolutely.
"Three minutes to go, goofball, then you can have some more," she said, for the dozenth time, "I know you wanna finish breakfast. Trust me, I've got plenty of other stuff on the agenda. We're going as fast as possible here." Catra glared at the clock overhead. 0745 Hours. If she didn't leave soon…she tried not to think about the times from her childhood when hiding from Shadow Weaver had only stoked her fury.
"Hey!" Catra whirled around as Adam reached for the ration bar. She sat him back down with one hand, "Nice try, booger!"
"Hmmf!"
"Don't get all pouty, Adam," Catra groaned, "if I just let you eat it all at once it'll make your tummy hurt. I mean, your belly hurt. Your guts hurt! Ugh! You're starting to make me talk like a baby-sitter!"
It was incredible. She'd never seen someone so jazzed to eat a brown ration bar. She barely touched them. Something in them, food coloring or lack thereof perhaps, made her stomach bubble without fail. Not sure of what problem he was trying to solve, Adam looked at his own hand, held every finger up, and then counted down to zero himself in record-breaking speed before grunting for the bar again.
"Wh- No! That doesn't count, you little…alright. Y'know what? You can have some right now if you say 'hello' for me, like we've been trying. 'Heeeelllllooooooo'."
"Hellluuuuuuuuuuuu," Adam howled like a little wolf. Catra rolled her eyes.
"Maybe something simpler? 'Hi'," she said, waving at him for emphasis.
"Hi," Adam said, waving his hand back. Catra frowned. Saying 'hi' and understanding 'hi' were two different things, as she was realizing.
"We need to get you talking, kid, and quick. But for now, a deal's a deal," she shrugged and ripped off another piece of ration bar. The boy devoured it in a second and pointed at the bar once more. Catra rolled her eyes and held up all the fingers on her left hand.
"Five minutes, Adam," she said. The boy shook his head and pointed at her. "What...
Me eat some? No, this is yours. I don't even like gray ration bars." He pointed again, his eyes going stern and commanding. "Adam! I don't need you to look after me. Now, say 'hi'. 'Hi'?"
Adam crossed his arms and stared her down. Catra frowned and, reluctantly, ate the tiniest piece she possibly could.
"Oh, buh," she said, "and these ones still make my tummy swirl. Belly. Guts! Rrrh!" She interrupted herself with a loud belch. "Ugh. That's another kingdom on the tab for you, booger." Adam was giggling happily and thumping his own chest. A second later the smallest, squeakiest burp she'd ever heard left his mouth.
"Heh-heh. Weak," Catra took a deep breath and summoned up another burp, this one much longer and more musical than Adam's. "I win." Adam tried to mimic her and her eyes went wide at the way he was dry-heaving. "Stop! Don't make yourself barf, you dummy!" She tore off the last bit of it she was willing to give him, stopping at half the ration bar to be safe, and pocketed the rest.
"I gotta get going, Adam. You hang in there, try not to get in trouble. I…I probably won't be long. So, get some more sleep or play with the sink -but not the toilet- until I'm back." She passed her hand over the panel and heard the boy squeak in fright as the door wooshed open. He scurried past her and hid under the bed. He learned some things very quickly, it seemed.
"Okay, Adam," she turned, trying to smile, and gave a wave, "bye." The boy waved uncertainly at her from under the bed.
"Bye?" The door closed behind her. Perhaps for the last time. No. Come on. Don't think like that, it won't help. She's…she's not gonna kill you.
She strode to Shadow Weaver's office with confident, aggressive steps at first, but the closer she came the slower she moved. Her words from last night were ringing in her ears. Open defiance. Insubordination. In the past, Shadow Weaver had hurt her for far less than screaming in her face. Perhaps, if Lord Hordak backed her up, she might be spared the witch's wrath.
And why would he do that? He nearly killed you the other night. Now Shadow Weaver will finish the job. Run you idiot! Get on a skiff and get away while you still can! Grab Adam-
The thought made her stop in her tracks. Short as their acquaintance had been, she really was spending too much time with the kid. Adam was, after all, useless without his blade or the power it imbued him with.
I only need him to help get the real power I want. That I deserve! But he's…alright. Just some little kid who's wrapped up in all this. It's not his fault. Or mine. I'm doing what anyone around here would do.
Shadow Weaver was just another obstacle on that path. One she'd been dealing with since she was half of Adam's tiny size. She stopped at a familiar corner, one she'd always dreaded. The last turn before the hallway to the Black Garnet Chamber.
You can face her down, Catra. You're not a helpless little girl anymore.
That declaration carried her to the black doors of the Black Garnet Chamber. Another stray burp bubbled up from her stomach as the nutrient-bar dissolved ungracefully in her stomach.
"And with that as my last words on Etheria…lets do this." She rapped the door in a nervous, rhythmic way. It slid open onto a room filled with surprisingly mundane darkness. The runestone pulsed weakly, almost pitifully. However, the strange contraction of the room's mystic power did nothing to calm Catra's nerves.
Shadow Weaver was not, as she'd pictured in her mind, standing there with her fingers interlocked, each hand flanked by two giant hungry mouths of pure darkness. She was not floating against the ceiling in a thunderstorm of mystic power ready to be unleashed at a single gesture. She was not even looking in Catra's direction. She saw the edge of her robes behind the Black Garnet and several gray fingers gripping a ridge of the crystal for balance.
"Honestly, Catra," her voice was huskier than normal, like she'd inhaled a house-fire's worth of smoke, "are you going to stand there until I celebrate your arrival, or are you going to step inside? I am working with delicate thaumaturgy just now. Not that you could appreciate that."
"You…told me to come first thing." She winced at the way the door hissed shut behind her. "So here I am."
"Yes," Shadow Weaver sighed, still out of sight, "You managed to follow your orders, completely and on time. Congratulations. The boy is where?" There was a light like a weak welding-torch flickering on the far side of the runestone. Curiosity and caution rippled down Catra's back and made her tail twitch. Magic. Real power.
"Adam's in my room," Catra said, then added a moment later, "he just had something to eat." Her eyes narrowed at the woman, rage building in her guts all over again. "What'd you do to him last night?"
"I was introducing myself. Ridiculous situation," Shadow Weaver said, "all of this. He should've been brought to me immediately, Catra. I will not forget that you did otherwise." Catra tensed for a wave of red magic and nearly jumped when Shadow Weaver fell into a coughing fit. The sorceress stumbled a little as she rounded the Black Garnet but she kept her feet.
"Before we begin," she raised a hand even as she spoke, "be silent a moment."
Shadow Weaver shuffled over to the door and reached into the depths of her robes. She withdrew her right hand with a small piece of red chalk between her thumb and fore-finger. Catra leaned forward, looking around the black-hair tumbling down the woman's shoulder and caught sight of a small circle filled with five red swirls. Shadow Weaver's chalk vanished and she pressed her finger-tips to the swirls.
A spark of red power jumped from the door's surface and Catra thought for a terrible moment she'd gone deaf. Then she realized she could hear perfectly clearly, but the distant, ceaseless noises of the Fright Zone had been quieted. The Rebellion could be massacring everyone right outside and she wouldn't know it.
"Over there," Shadow Weaver pointed at her arcane table, "in that box. Open it." Catra found it, dark and foreboding like everything about her harsh teacher, and opened it gingerly. She expected torture implements. She wondered if a waiting, ravenous shadow would leap out and eat her. She stared dumbly at the carefully folded clothing inside.
She stared even more uncomprehendingly at a small bottle of standard issue, unscented, Horde soap.
"This is…what is this?" Shadow Weaver sighed deeply. A stupid question, obviously.
"Clothes that will actually fit the child," she said, "and something for him to wash himself. He is showering once a day, I trust? You can't be expecting him to lick himself clean." Shadow Weaver gestured for a heavy, black-oak chair next to her table. It was a hard-earned prize of Shadow Weavers, undoubtedly; personal chairs were uncommon luxuries in the Fright Zone, more so than any crafted elsewhere in Etheria. Thin shadows danced around the Oak seat and shook it in place.
Catra, before she could stop herself, loudly scraped the legs against the floor as she began to drag it over to her.
"That was grown from a living tree by three generations of Plumerian artisans. It is over a century old. Kindly lift it, Catra, if you are so set on being useful." Catra scowled but did as she was told. Shadow Weaver slumped into it and shut her eyes with a deep sigh of bliss.
"Happy?"
"Aren't you?" Shadow Weaver said, a cruel smile lightening her voice, "we've finally found something you're good at. With correction, of course." She made to sit in the chair and slumped heavily into place. She gathered her robes close to herself and leaned backwards into the 'hundred-year-old' seat. "Ahh, excellent."
"Want me to find you some cozy slippers? Maybe a hot cup of tea?" she teased without thinking.
"You really can't help yourself, can you?" Shadow Weaver said, "Always waiting to comment on something. But actually, yes, I think you could fetch me some tea before you go. And speaking of slippers," she waved her hand back at the arcane table. "There are shoes under there for him… they... didn't fit in the box. Get them. Just because you have to run around barefoot, like an animal, doesn't mean he must."
Catra retrieved from where they lay, far about from each other, beneath the table. They fit into the box perfectly, but she would have needed to crouch on her knees to retrieve them. She turned to face the once-imposing figure.
"Are you, uh, ok?"
"Why do you care?" She asked quietly, not bothering to turn Catra's way.
"I- I don't! I just.."
"I am not so frail that you need to ask after my health," Shadow Weaver spat, turning a heavy glare in her direction, "I called you here for a report. So then, Force Captain, report. Tell me everything that occurred the night of the Alignment, exactly as it happened. They say you were there for all of it."
Catra's explanation was halting at first. Shadow Weaver interrupted at intervals, to ask for clarification and to pick at certain descriptions. Catra stumbled as she mentioned the close result of her fight with the warrior. Shadow Weaver hummed loudly.
"Force Captain Scorpia's venom is quite powerful," Catra felt envy twist at her heart, "though she had the advantage of a weakened opponent."
"She's lucky I was there," Catra spat, "everybody was!" Shadow Weaver's head tilted slightly, white-eyes searching her. "What?"
"Why didn't you kill the boy when he was at your mercy?" Catra felt the bit of ration bar in her stomach dance.
"He's a little boy!"
"I am right here," Shadow Weaver growled, "keep your voice down. Is that it? Your only reason for sparing him was that you couldn't strike when you had the opportunity?" Catra withered under Shadow Weaver's curiosity. "Children can be very dangerous, Catra, I wonder how you don't understand that."
"You're sick," Catra snarled.
"And you are an insubordinate, jumped-up little girl!" Shadow Weaver thundered suddenly, her voice cracking mid way and trailing off into a coughing fit. She loudly cleared her throat. "I am not questioning your resolve, Catra, I'm merely curious at your reason." She settled back into her seat. "You had a reason, didn't you? You must have."
"I thought," Catra squirmed, "you wanted to know about Adam?"
"I will tell you what I wish to know, Force Captain," Shadow Weaver said, "not the other way around. Is there some important engagement I'm keeping you from? 'Adam'. Hm, an odd name. This is all the boy has given you?"
"Yeah," Catra nodded, eager to talk about…literally anything else, "what's it mean?"
"As if that could ever matter. A name is a name," Shadow Weaver scoffed, "now proceed with your report."
"Well," Catra gulped, "that was when this thing...this shadow...the thing you sent-"
"I sent? I sent! Is that what you've been telling people, Catra!? Have you been spreading lies about me?!" Shadow Weaver said suddenly, her voice dropping to a hiss.
"I just...why? What is it?" Catra felt a chill touch her spine as Shadow Weaver glared at the red chalk marks on her door. Catra considered that the noise canceling must have worked two-ways and no-one could hear what happened in the room. For instance, someone screaming out for help.
That's rich, Catra. You're right in her clutches. Who'd be dumb enough to answer?
"Answer my question this instant!" Shadow Weaver said. Her tone was harsh but had dimmed from the reflexive explosion it had been.
"No," Catra said, "I just thought it was one your...shadows." Shadow Weaver seemed to relax as if someone had announced a clerical error on her own death warrant. She tensed slightly a second later, eyes sliding suspiciously towards Catra.
"I did not send anything to aid you in that fight. I will not tolerate you implying otherwise."
"Shocker," Catra grumbled. She watched the woman carefully.
"Do not be flippant with me," Shadow Weaver growled, "and do not go telling people what you think this anomaly was. You don't have even the barest magical training, Force Captain, and you should keep quiet about things you couldn't possibly understand." Catra scowled and pushed for information.
"What do you know about the 'Dark Dream' then? Spooky shadow magic is kinda your thing." The accusation felt good even as the room darkened perceptibly. Red eyes, circular with no pupils, began to wink into existence around them. Hungry little sounds slobbered in her laid-back ears. Her every instinct told her to beg forgiveness. "Y-yeah. See?"
"I have perfect control over my creations, Catra," Shadow Weaver's voice was a balanced edge of menace and calm disinterest, "if I did not...well, you do not want to know what these creatures would want from you." The shadows receded and Catra noticed the way Shadow Weaver's nails had bitten into the armests of her special chair. Then they vanished inside her long robes.
"I will take the tea now," her searching eyes locked onto Catra's, "tell me...what did this creature do to you? Give me details."
Shadow Weaver interjected only to explain, slowly and with copious criticism, how Catra could go about preparing her a cup of strange, sharp-smelling tea. Catra finished her retelling around the time the kettle shrieked.
"Attacking the deep fears of so many individuals at once," Shadow Weaver said, Catra tried to tell if the awe in her voice was preformative or genuine, "and manipulating them into fighting. Perhaps it overtaxed itself."
"Room for improvement," Catra muttered under the last little squeal of steam as she moved the kettle from its small, humble burner.
"An interesting creature," Shadow Weaver said, voice hushed, "what did you call it? 'Dark Dream'?"
Ooo. Nice touch, old lady. Catra briefly feared Shadow Weaver might read her thoughts but reassured herself that some places were beyond even the witch...as far as she knew. If they weren't, she'd likely have expired long ago.
Catra ogled the rich blue drawings on the porcelain cup as she poured the steaming liquid into it. She fought the urge to sneeze at the overpowering smell. Adora went on and on about this stuff in the past.
Big deal. Just boiled plant-water. She hated the way the cup rattled on its saucer, it sounded so fragile, as she passed it along to Shadow Weaver. The sorceress placed a hand on her mask. Catra's ears flattened and she backed away. She remembered, vaguely, what lay underneath. Shadow Weaver's eyes vanished as the red mask slipped upwards.
"Do give me some privacy," Shadow Weaver said with a sinister smile in her voice. Catra turned her back quicker than she'd liked to admit.
"Adequately prepared," Shadow Weaver said after a sip of tea. Catra tried not to imagine the face underneath moving. Tried not to shiver at the sound of her voice fully audible without the mask in the way. "Well?"
"Uh…um. Wh-what?" She bared her teeth at the little tsk of annoyance that response got her.
"On with it. The warrior. The one with the sword. How did he overcome this creature?"
"I…Adam…the big guy…" Catra gave in and turned away, "he used up his energy, killing the Dark Dream thingy. He shot lightning at it."
"Was it destroyed?" Shadow Weaver asked. Again Catra wrestled with the idea of just how much Shadow Weaver knew.
"It ran away." Shadow Weaver's voice was tinged with anger when she spoke next.
"What a cowardly little creature," she said, "I wonder if it's master punished it for such a pathetic display?" There was a long pause. "Oh, but I mustn't forget, it was *I* that conjured it, Arch-Mage Catra. I'll be sure to see to it then. Maybe I'll start concocting a potion for it. With bat wings and toads' legs..."
"Alright, already. I get it." She knew. She had to know what it was. Catra offered no more prodding or poking, much as she wished to, but she had enough suspicion to plant the monster at Shadow Weaver's beck and call. Now if she had proof. If she had proof and brought it to Lord Hordak, that might be something.
See how smug you are then. Wonder if they've got good plants for tea on Beast Island? She realized Shadow Weaver had gone on talking while she was ruminating. No harm done. Shadow Weaver did so enjoy hearing herself talk.
"This…warrior…is an energy leech, syphoning power into himself before releasing it on his foes..." Shadow Weaver declared, "fascinating." The conversation was moving away from Dark Dream. Time for something new.
"Adora can't do that," Catra said, "least I haven't seen her do it." Shadow Weaver's fingers bit at the side of her stomach through her vest as she wrenched her around. For an instant Catra felt nauseous at the idea of seeing Shadow Weaver's face again but she was relieved to find the mask shoved back into place and the white ghost-eyes of her caretaker flaring at her from the eye-slit.
"You will stop using her name, you fool, when you discuss She-Ra. Even here. Even with me. There are ears everywhere. Even with my magic, we can never trust that we're totally alone. Adora is Adora. She-Ra is She-Ra."
"I get it." Catra growled. Shadow Weaver's fingers tightened against her side. Then, Catra realized with a start, they began to tremble with the effort. There was a soft drip of tea falling to the floor as the cup in Shadow Weaver's right hand shook. Catra, in a moment of blind defiance, plucked the sorceress' hand off of her. It came away from her vest like a dead leaf.
"You do not." Shadow Weaver said, steadying her cup, "Can you begin to guess what becomes of you and I when certain realities are made apparent? If this is not done carefully, Catra, Adora will return here to face nothing but summary punishment." She shooed Catra to turn around once more and then took a fortifying drink of tea. "And since I know that doesn't move you, let me make clear that anything that befalls her will befall you. And anything that I face as a result? Well. Best not even to think of that, for your sake."
"Why bother bringing her back then?" Catra said. She pushed away thoughts of Adora like they were sharp sword-points. It wasn't fair. She should be able to hate her but she couldn't. She could hate her choices and her new friends and her utter lack of loyalty, but Catra still couldn't completely hate Adora. Stupid, perfect, pretty Adora. "She doesn't care about us."
"I have worked for two decades to make Adora the model soldier," Shadow Weaver said, "I thought perhaps her 'friend' would wish her to return out of sentiment at the very least. Ask for myself, I want to win this war, Catra. Adora is the key to that. Now more than ever."
Catra disciplined herself and offered a little shrug. On anyone else it might've worked.
"No colorful reply?" Catra's tail puffed up. "Nothing churlish to add? Why did you spare the boy, Catra? What scheme are you thinking up? Come now. Turn around and tell me." She held up a finger as Catra opened her mouth. She pressed the empty cup into her hands. "Put that back as you do so. Carefully."
It took a great deal of effort not to shatter the little cup against the nearest surface.
"Who needs Adora?" Catra smirked, looking more confident than she felt. "We have our own weapon against the rebel's She-Ra now." Shadow Weaver drummed her fingernails on the armrest of her chair. Tack-Tack-tack-tack-tack. "A She-Ra to fight a She-Ra."
Shadow Weaver began to cough. When the fit didn't stop, Catra approached her cautiously, then felt her face run red-hot with humiliation. She was being laughed at.
"You are a child," the woman tittered, "with a new little action figure of your own now, hmmm? And you want to run off down the lane and make it fight someone else's. You are so simple." Her voice sharpened suddenly. "It's almost infuriating how very stupid that idea is. The boy nearly killed you, Catra, and the first thing you think to do is give him back his sword? Put him in combat with She-Ra?"
"What?" Catra snapped. "You've got a better idea?" She held back all the further information she had on how Adam and the big guy were separate. Shadow Weaver didn't need to know everything.
"That is a great understatement," Shadow Weaver sighed, "I would thoroughly examine every aspect of the boy's magical nature. I would seek to understand his connection to the sword, and She-Ra herself. I would, at the very least, determine if he is or is not capable of more or less than our opponent. But not you. No." Shadow Weaver shook her head slowly, as if utterly defeated. "This is a truly disappointing moment for you, dear."
A treacherous thought tugged at her heart. If Adam and the warrior weren't one in the same then maybe Adora and She-Ra weren't the same either. Adora was such a gullible idiot and all that power must be so tempting...she squashed the idea before it could take root in her mind. WIshful thinking, that's all it was.
"Adora isn't coming back," Catra said. She was poking the witch now and she knew it. She didn't care.
"You would do well to stop saying such foolish things in front of me," Shadow Weaver's eyes flashed and she leaned forward. Catra smiled. She was scared now, but scared was better than embarrassed. Yelled at was far better than being laughed at.
Ugh. My life really sucks.
"Why would having our own super-soldier be so stupid? Isn't that what you're planning for dear, dumb Adora?" Catra grinned. "Gonna use her feelings to convince her to come back?"
"You believe I'm not going to punish you for this," Shadow Weaver said, suddenly far too calm, "you are wrong. You are not a little girl, Catra, I will not correct you every time you fail." She rose from her seat. "You don't know, do you? How I've shielded you from danger. You never will. You never once appreciate the things I do for your sake."
"For my sake?!" Catra laughed because she didn't know whether that idea was more insane, infuriating, or depressing, coming from that voice, of all people's. "You hate me!"
"And yet," Shadow Weaver strode forward, "did I not give you the very friend you weep for constantly?"
Catra's heart stopped for a moment.
"Did I not let you follow her around? Grow so sickeningly attached? I could've stopped it anytime I wished, Catra, if I so chose. You know that." Thin fingers suddenly snatched her ear, not tugging but holding in place. "And, oh, I was sorely tempted to. So very many times. But I relented. Because I knew that, for whatever reason, Adora was fond of you."
"I was her friend," Catra said, anger turning her voice hot, "she was my friend." She hated the feeling of having her ear held like this. She felt like she couldn't move.
"Because I allowed it," the woman said, releasing her, "so think on that whenever you want to put all of your failures and wrath on my shoulders. Yes. You like me as the villain of your story, hmmm? Shadow Weaver is the reason you're miserable. Well, she is also the reason you were ever happy."
Catra glared into her eyes, not trusting herself to speak with her voice hitching.
"Blessed silence," Shadow Weaver hissed, "how good to have you again. Now, Force Captain, here are your orders. You will take that clothing and those boots to the child. He will wear them. You will not say a word to anyone about any idiotic plans. I have too much already on my plate to be worrying about that little creature, so you may continue obeying your 'personal orders' from Lord Hordak."
"Adam's my prisoner," Catra said, hating how petulantly it came out. She might as well have just said 'mine, mine, mine' and stomped her foot.
"He is the Horde's prisoner, Catra," Shadow Weaver said, standing at her full height, "and you should be very grateful that I am taking an interest in this now. Have you considered what Lord Hordak might say when he decides the boy's fate? Harsh punishments have been handed out to enemy's with less working against them."
"My plan-" Catra started to say.
"Is asinine," Shadow Weaver cut in, "and you will be held personally accountable by me if any of it so much as suggests a similar connection between Adora and She-Ra."
"It's always about her, isn't it? Why do you care about her so much?"
"You'd never understand," the witch snapped, "and I have no need to explain myself to you. I taught her to read. I taught her how to be strong. I have put far too much of myself into Adora to let her ruin her life with one impetuous act!" Shadow Weaver looked down at her with an air of disgust. "As if you could even begin to understand. The gall. I would do the boy a favor by sending him to a cell right now."
Catra's response choked off as Shadow Weaver touched her cheek, thumb rubbing over the spot she'd been slapped. Catra felt shame flood down her chest and fill her heart like liquid stone.
"There's no shame in it, Catra," Shadow Weaver said, voice a mockery of compassion, "sometimes…it's just too much to bear, yes? You lose your temper and things happen. Not so easy, rearing children." She knew. When she'd found Adam, she must have seen his bruise. Catra's heart turned heavier. "A little claret on the cheek. Not so bad in the grand scheme of things, hm? Maybe you can extend me a little compassion now? You were twice as difficult at that age…"
"D-don't touch me," she said. The hand on her cheek slipped away. "I'm not putting him in a cell. He's safe with me." I'm not like you. I'm not.
The weak emotions, the ones she rejected when Adam giggled or dozed off in a little ball of blankets, all returned and made her courageous. Guilt sank its teeth into the back of her mind behind the images, but at least for a second, she could lie to herself.
"You still fail to understand this. Very well. It's time you learned real consequences, Catra, I will not protect you any longer." Shadow Weaver returned to her seat, settling in. "I will, as always, have to clean up your mess and keep this opportunity from slipping through my fingers because of your bungling. You will take full responsibility for how he's been handled since his capture. You alone."
"No problem," Catra said, smirking, "other than somebody freaking him out last night, he's been a perfect little soldier. Crabby maybe. But…hey, I like his spirit." She rubbed idly at her nose, recalling a head-butt. "He's a fighter."
"Very impressive coming from you," Shadow Weaver scoffed, "a word of advice. Spare him the panic and terror. Put him in a cell now. Before he understands that you have no real power to protect him." She studied Catra's defiant glare. "Or don't. Whatever happens next, you've brought it on yourself."
"Haven't heard that one before," Catra said, "I'll make my case to Lord Hordak. How I want. You can't stop me." Shadow Weaver laughed once more.
"Oh, get out of my sight, you little brat," she said passively with a wave of her hand, "and don't forget the clothing."
"Whatever," Catra said, "I'm not sending him to a cell. You're not getting him. I can take care of him."
You tried. Catra dared only to think the words. With Adora. You failed. I won't. Adam will fight for me. Adam will be loyal. And I won't be like you. Ever.
"Is that so?" Shadow Weaver sounded bored. "I would remind you that I'm your commanding officer…but that's not going to change anything. No. Let's try a different tact." Shadow Weaver sat up and crossed her legs casually, her hands folded atop one knee. "Is he safe?"
"What?"
"The boy. Right this minute. Is he safe? Can you guarantee that? He's made a lot of enemies." Catra's mind flashed through the line of officers assembled in Horde Square. They went red with the light of the anti-oxygen machine that nearly killed them both. They looked down at her own claws, the ones she'd sunk deep into the warrior's flesh before she'd understood that a child was living inside him.
"Is," Shadow Weaver said, glee in her tone, "the boy safe? Do you enjoy this little experiment in parenting, Catra? I'm sure you've taken to it wonderfully." Her eyes crinkled with a hidden smile.
"It will be tomorrow, you know." Catra made a face. "Lord Hordak. It has been forty-eight hours since he entered seclusion. He will emerge tomorrow."
"He...he told you?" Catra snarled at the dark little chuckle that answered her.
"You think you can play this game," Shadow Weaver said, "it's precious. Like a little girl playing dress-up. No, Lord Hordak has told me nothing. But I can be all but certain because I, unlike you, use my wits to further my own goals, not my barely-restrained pride." She gestured with one hand towards the Black Garnet. "Do you think I have become what I am through asking politely for a chance to prove myself? Let me demonstrate your ineptitude. Lord Hordak would never let anyone accuse him of being weak, even in secret, so he must return to public view. He will do so no more than two-days after reclusion. I have never known him to do so longer. He will decide the boy's fate immediately, to quell any questions or concerns among the officers. That child...does not have long."
"You're lying."
"Oh, don't look so frightened, dear." Shadow Weaver tilted her head playfully. "I won't let any harm come to our dear little Adam. I have too many uses for him to let that happen. But if you have anything you'd like to say to him, I'd do so quickly. Tomorrow is not far off. And you should not expect him to be in your constant reach once Hordak has entrusted him to my custody. I don't make the same mistake twice, my dear. He won't be allowed such distractions."
Catra refused to run but her motion toward the door was obviously rushed.
"Catra!"
"What?!" Shadow Weaver pointed wordlessly at the clothing and boots she was about to leave behind. Catra snatched up the box by its plastic handle and nearly sank her exposed claws into the boots. She left without a word or a glance in Shadow Weaver's direction.
Don't run! She yelled in her head.
…at least not until Shadow Weaver won't be able to hear you running.
As she strode through the hallways to her room, her mind made promise after promise and each one felt ever more empty. Tomorrow. It would all happen tomorrow.
He's safe. He has to be safe. Nobody has the guts to cross me. Octavia, Grizlor, they don't have the rank to make anyone open my door. You idiot. How could you just leave him by himself?!
Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest when she saw a stranger waiting by her door. He was wide. Taller than her by a few inches but so thick-set with muscles that he seemed even larger. Covered in beige fur with a stony face framed by tall, bat-like ears. He was enormous. Dangerous. A Troll. One of the mountain-dwelling folk from the west.
They'd been conquered long before her time and the stories of their war were still told to wayward Cadets as warnings. She let the box and boots drop from her hands to free them for combat. Someone had sent someone to get him already.
"What," she growled, "do you want?"
The man's brown-black eyes regarded her from behind clip-reading glasses on a loop around his neck. Catra realized belatedly that he'd been reading from a stainless steel clipboard inscribed with the Horde Medic's symbol; a red cross with bat-wings. He was in red-and-black scrubs that had to sacrifice sleeves for his huge arms. He placed a pen behind one pointed ear.
"I was asked to arrive here first thing," his voice was low but not as deep or lunkish as she'd expected, he sounded very tired, "Force Captain's orders."
"Somebody's messing with you," Catra sheathed her claws surreptitiously, "I didn't order a… Oh, Shadow Weaver sent you? Doctor…?"
Grox," he gave a perfunctory salute, "Surgeon Grox. Fright-Zone Medical Legion. And no, Force Captain Scorpia gave me these orders."
"Oh," Catra ground her teeth, "did she? I'm fine, thanks. So buzz off." She knew she was being rude. She didn't care. She didn't want to do anything but go back to sleep. And she couldn't even do that. She needed to beat Shadow Weaver at her own game. She needed time to think.
"For you?" Grox frowned, the white tusks in his mouth shifting. "I served as a pediatric assistant for the War Orphans In-Take and Processing. That's why someone asked me to come here. Apparently we owe your friend a favor for her help."
"Point One," Catra said, "Scorpia is not my friend. Point Two I don't care. Point Three why would I need a pediatric…" she trailed off. "Wait. Actually…"
The surgeon arched a furry eyebrow.
"The kid," Catra said, "yeah. Take a look at him." Better to learn if Adam had any outstanding problems now. Doubtlessly, Shadow Weaver had used some kind of magic to figure that out already, or planned to at some point. Catra needed to even the playing field before she tipped it her way.
And…I guess if there's anything hurting him, it'd be better to take care of it now. That stomach of his might need extra attention. She picked up the box and the boots then opened the door to her room.
"Catr-aaah!" Zip. A flash of yellow hair slid under her bed. Catra crouched down and found uncertain blue-eyes looking back at her. "Um?"
"Come on out," she said, crooking a finger, "time for a check-up, booger." She frowned as he crawled out with slow, startled movements. "There's some really scary stuff ahead, Adam, so you better toughen up."
Grox had flipped his clipboard open, donned his glasses, and retrieved his pen inside a second. He glanced up at Adam, scribbling something down rapidly.
"Ca-tra?" Adam whispered.
"It's ok," Catra said, "he's not gonna hurt you."
"Indeed I am not," Grox said, then added almost to himself, "A-D-A-M. The names we end up with. Phonetic spelling, no other choice." He looked at the child in question. "Gender… hmmm… 'Assigned Male.' If that label needs changing at all, come down to the Infirmary and we can adjust the records." He scribbled a note. Then he tapped one of his ears meaningfully. "And what do these look like, Adam?"
The boy, a look of curiosity on his face, rubbed at his ears through his thick hair. The doctor stole a look at them as the hair was pushed away, then his pen raced across the clipboard.
"Human. Might've guessed it. Now how old are you, kiddo?"
Adam blinked and cocked his head.
"Adam doesn't…that's not gonna get you anything, doc. He's like, I dunno, ten-years-old I guess?" The troll did not remark on the boy's lack of speech but Catra noticed a subtle change in his manners. Slower. Gentler.
"Not a talker yet. I see." He was all business the next instant. "A little small for ten-years-old," Grox said, tapping his pen on the clipboard, "we'll put it down about ten-years-old. See how he grows once we get him on a good diet. Better idea then."
A good diet. Getting way ahead of yourself, doc.
"His stomach is really small," Catra said. The doctor nodded, returning his clipboard to the bag slung over his right shoulder. Then, oddly, he squatted low to the ground and pressed the backs of his hands against the floor.
"Alright, son," he said, "let's get that weight. Step on up." Catra blinked at him and her surprise must've been obvious. "Trolls can tell weight to within milligram of accuracy. It's how we…" the doctor flinched "…how the old troll kingdom in Spikeheart was built inside the mountains."
"Adam," Catra said, "go…stand on that guy's hands." The boy needed some coaching, and a little coaxing, but after a moment Catra saw an overwhelming curiosity chase the fear from his eyes. He glanced at her no fewer than three times as he did as he was bid. It made her smile to see him taking courage from her presence there.
'Put him in a cell now. Spare him the terror and confusion.' She forced the words out of her head and focused on the doctor. His calm demeanor vanished as the boy's bare soles pressed down on his palms.
"This boy is very underweight," he said, "has anyone been feeding him?" Catra explained about the ration-bar she'd given him and was a little uncertain at the look of surprise on the doctor's face. "That's…not a bad idea, Force Captain, but we've got special supplement bars for situations like this."
"Situations like this?" Catra asked. She'd never seen a child as thin as Adam in her time.
"You were raised here in the Fright Zone," Grox said, a statement not a question, "it can be tough for older children when they're…taken in. An adjustment." Catra's squad was made of Horde Cadets who'd been in the system since before they could walk. She looked Adam over again. A thousand new obstacles began to rise up between her and the big plan she'd been making.
Maybe Shadow Weaver was right. Maybe she was in way over her head.
"You should keep doing like you have," Grox said, interrupting her thought process, "slow meals. The supplement bars are smaller portions but they're loaded with calories and a few vitamins this one might have missed out on. Maybe ten days of good nutrition and we'll have this one up to the right weight." He frowned. "Psychologically, he needs to understand that the food isn't going away."
Ten days. Catra's heart shrunk. You're talking the kind of time we don't have, doc. Though… Ten days isn't that long. Could I make a case for that? Maybe...
"Yeah," Catra said, tail flicking, "he better. Look, doc, we done here?" She had thinking to do, and little enough time to do it.
"If it's alright, I'd like to give him a full physical," Grox said, "It may be too soon for it, it might be frightening for him if he doesn't understand, and the last thing he needs is a stranger poking or prodding him-oh!" A curious hand had pressed against the doctor's glasses.
"Adam," Catra said with a little flicker of warning, "hey. 'Bubble'." She made a gesture and Adam drew his hands back sheepishly.
"No," he mumbled apologetically. The doctor smiled, took off his glasses, breathed on them, and wiped them clean on his scrubs.
"Well. He's not as scared as I'm used to them being," Grox said, voice soft as he looked the curious child over, "what's this…he's got a bruise on his cheek." His voice turned hard again.
"He fell off the bed," Catra said rapidly, "he was messing around and he fell."
Grox's eyes didn't move from the red spot on the boy's face.
"Right," he said, voice emotionless once more, "been so long since I did processing, I forgot. Kids are always messing around. Always getting themselves bruises."
'Maybe you'll extend me some compassion.'
Shadow Weaver's words stopped her reflexive snarl. She felt her face growing red-hot with humiliation. The doctor said nothing more about it, and Adam smiled at him, blissfully unaware. She glared at the man's broad back and busied herself scheming for the next day. She could handle this.
"Maurice," Serket said, "a cup of baking soda, please and thank you." The bodyguard bowed and departed the royal laundry room of the old gatehouse fortress. Scorpia let him step by before entering, her new green-and-orange kitty purring in her broad arms.
"But why not use our perfectly good royal washing machine?" She came around her mother's side and considered the clothing on the table. It seemed so very small without anyone wearing it.
"Its basic, cured animal hide, Force Captain Little Venom," Serket said, "there's no washing it. But we can at least get rid of the odor. A soak in some cold water with baking soda should have it spring fresh by tonight. Dry by morning, and back on the little boy by breakfast." Scorpia glanced suspiciously at the tunic.
"Ma, you know I love you, but the last time you told me 'this will get rid of the smell, I was walking around stinking like masala for an entire day." The ex-Commander wagged a pincer.
"Skunks. Onions. I got them mixed up, alright? Court-martial me for it, but clothing is much easier. This'll work fine." There was a sudden chirp from the little creature in Scorpia's arms. The green tiger-kitty squirmed free and threw himself down onto the spread out tunic. The nose pressed deep into the inner hide lining, producing an odd crinkly noise. Scorpia's pet looked up, casting sad, amber eyes around the room and yowled once. "Oh! Scorpia, his claws!"
"Kitty!" Scorpia squawked, she pulled the poor thing away, Serket leaping in to hold the tunic down. They both gasped as the rending noise that cut the air, drowned out by the kitty's caterwauling. He sounded like he was in pain. "Kitty, no!"
Maurice returned and found himself suddenly burdened with the little animal, which he took with normal stoicism. He turned about and marched off, the sad cries of the tiger cub fading off down the hall.
"What was that about?" Scorpia asked. Serket hummed thoughtfully. "Did the smell trigger something in him. It was like-" Scorpia turned and found her mother ripping away the rest of the inner lining.
"Ma!" Serket winced at the volume. Scorpia whispered. "What are you doing?"
"There's…papers in here," Serket said, "help me unstring this. Wads and wads of papers. A lining of some kind." The paper, browned slightly with age, lay spread out around the tunic like the stuffing of a ruined teddy bear.
"Scorpia… This isn't just paper, there's… some kind of writing on it? Oh my, look at these!"
Scorpia began helping her mother rip out the inner lining. Dozens of small, yellowing balls of note-paper rolled around the steel table, mother and daughter rushing to keep them from tumbling off. Numerous rectangles of folded blue mylar paper. Scorpia unfolded one and gasped at the drawings on it.
"This is…this is…" she stammered, "impossible to read! What language is this?" The hieroglyphics confounded her. At the center, standing with arms at either side, was an oddly shaped figure. A slim body designed with symmetrical grace and topped with a head like an old-fashioned helmet. Gears took the place of heart and organs in the perfect triangle of a chassis. Skinny arms and legs with joints made of circular rotators. Hands with spidery, segmented fingers. Next to it, a long scrawl of doodles.
"Wait!" She cried out in triumph. "These are…horsey pieces…from…that one boardgame…"
"Chess? That's a knight piece, dear," Serket sighed.
"Right, that thing I never got the point of, but look here," her voice was soft with emotion, "isn't that cute?" The chess-pieces neck was mounted by two identical little people. No, not little people. Kids! Scorpia's heart melted. They were identical save for hair-length. One's hair was fashioned in a sort of bowl cut and the other's was much longer. They beamed at her, mouths open and exclaiming something in a word bubble.
"What language is this?" Scorpia asked again.
"I don't know, dear," Serket said, "my training didn't involve hieroglyphics." She frowned. "It's a shame your grandfather isn't still with us. He was the last one of us to get a traditional education in these things." Scorpia nodded absentmindedly, claw touching the little drawing of the children with feather-light pressure. There were more, all over the margins.
"Do you think these are from Adam's family," she said, "do you think, maybe, they meant for someone to find these? These drawings. Maybe that's him and the other one…" Scorpia trailed off. The idea suddenly entered her head that Adam, whoever he was and wherever he came from, might have a family. A real family. Parents. Siblings. Friends.
"Perhaps, dear," Serket said, looking over the notes, "who can say? Either way, you may want to be careful with these. By the looks of them, they're quite old. Amazing they survived in this lining the way they did." Scorpia looked the blueprints over. Catra needed to see these. Right away. She folded up the one in her claws, a dexterous effort that took several minutes, sticking it into her back-pocket for safe keeping.
"Ma, thanks so much for your help, but I gotta go. I'll come by and get Adam's tunic tomorrow. These need to get to Catra fast. She'll want to see them…" she trailed off, derailed by the brief touch of emotion on her mother's face. There was no hardness or sorrow staring back at her, but there was a twinge of disappointment, rapidly replaced by quiet acceptance. Like she'd been prepared to hear this from the start.
"I understand, little...Force Captain Little Venom. Don't worry about it, just be sure to let me know when you're on your way here tomorrow. Whenever you have time. And do give Catra my regards." She smiled at Scorpia and the Force Captain's face went hot with shame. She'd gotten her mother used to this kind of treatment.
There had been such a whirlwind of activity the last few days that she'd never stopped to consider how ex-Commander Serket might feel. Her mind went to the little drawings again and she felt very foolish. She'd been so concerned about being there for Catra she'd forgotten she was all her mother had as well. She suddenly forced a laugh that made her mom jump in surprise.
"No, actually. Our plan was to meet, uh, tomorrow. Doy. Steel-trap! Heh." She grinned. "Catra's probably busy right now, I bet, and I'd make her mad being early...not that she gets mad at me...I can stay here tonight!" Scorpia said, trying not to blush at how happy her mom looked at that, "besides, I should help out with the fixes where I can."
It would be fine. She could explain everything more easily in person tomorrow. Catra would understand, and she'd enjoy being there when Adam got his tunic back. The poor thing was being so brave.
"You mentioned masala," Serket was saying, unable to stop smiling, "that might be good for dinner, yes?" Scorpia smiled, her doubts casted away for the time being.
One day couldn't make that much difference.
"Alright," the nice, strange man with the odd contraption on his face said, "I think that about wraps it up." Adam tugged at the hem of his shirt, poking his tongue out in discomfort. The man laughed softly. "Yeah. The clothes were an adjustment for me too, kiddo. You did great, Cadet, better than most kids I've had to help Process."
Adam smiled, not understanding the words entirely. The Other One's voice rumbled into his head.
He…says…'thank you'…
Adam grinned, chest puffing up in pride. The Other One had calmed him into letting the strange man look him over. It had been odd. Catra had slumped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling since he started, deep in thought.
The man had shone a light into Adam's eyes, mouth, and then his ears of all things. He'd made him stick out his tongue and go 'aaah', Adam had liked the game they were playing, before giving him a glass tube to hold under his tongue. Adam liked that less but it was only for a minute.
Not as much as he hadn't liked the metal circle thing connected to some doo-dads in the big man's bat-like ears. It had been freezing! Adam had flat refused at first and prepared for a fight. The man had simply sat back on his haunches and nodded. They spent several minutes looking each other over before he finally pointed himself and said 'Grox'.
"Grrrrrrrr-oks?" Adam had asked. The man nodded. Uncertain what was happening, Adam raised a hand, waving. "Hi?"
"Hello, Adam," he had said back then pointed at himself once more "Grox." He tried again with the metal circle and Adam figured, since he'd been nice, he could give it another try. It was still cold. He still didn't like it. Catra had glanced up from her spot on her bed and given Adam a stern look so he'd gone along with it.
The man was doing something on his weird metal rectangle again. Adam stood on his tip-toes stealthily and nearly stumbled when the man, noticing him, turned the thing around. There was a white paper on it. Covered in weird drawings.
Words. Ooooooh. Words. Adam frowned and thought at the Other One. I cannot…read them…either.
The man held out the little drawing-stick he'd been using and Adam took it with slow wonder. He amused himself for about a minute with the noise a little button on the end made, jumping when a point poked him and left behind a blue mark like the words on the paper. Adam grinned and looped a blue line across his forearm. He repeated it on the paper.
He looked hopefully up at the man. He was staring at him with intense curiosity and Adam thought briefly he was in trouble again. The man seemed nice…but so had the lady of shadows.
A large hand took the drawing-stick back slowly.
"Pen," he said, shaking it meaningfully, "this is a 'pen'." Pen. Adam nodded. Pen.
"P-pen," he said back. Adam looked the man over and pointed at him. "Grox?"
The man smiled. Adam flushed. Oooooh. His name was Grox. Boy, did Adam feel stupid.
"Hi, Grox," Adam said.
"Hi, Adam," Grox said. He reached a cautious finger out and touched the boy's bruised cheek. "Hurt?" He made a face of pain to help illustrate. Adam shook his head 'no' to show it didn't.
"There a problem, doc?" Adam jumped at Catra's voice. She sounded angry and she was starting to glare at Grox. His demeanor had changed. Adam watched his shoulders square up and his eyes narrow a little behind his glass-things. "I told you about that already."
"I know," the man rumbled, "maybe make sure he stays off the bed this time." Catra sat up without a word and hopped to her feet, towering over the crouching man. "I'm not an idiot, Force Captain. I know there's not a thing I can do about any of this. A pediatrician in the Horde tends to know what a slap mark looks like. Why you'd lie about it is beyond me."
"Get out, you're done," Catra growled. Adam backed away from Grox.
"You don't know what its like for kids from outside the Fright Zone," Grox said, rising to his feet but keeping his voice calm, "its even harder for them when they adjust-"
"I just gave you an order."
"-so if I can play on whatever sympathy you've got, let me ask that you be patient with him. I don't know why you're looking after him and I don't get the option of asking questions about it."
"Doc," Catra snapped her teeth, "I'm starting to get annoyed. I don't stay annoyed long before I get mad."
"If you can't handle this," Grox said, drawing himself up, "find somebody who can." Catra's hands wrapped into the red scrubs he was wearing and her claws ripped at them.
"What do you know?" She roared. "What do you know about any of this?"
"I know kids taken in war have to look out for each other," Grox said, stone-faced, "because nobody else will. I can't stop you, Force Captain. You have all the power here."
Adam raced over and hid behind Catra's leg, leaning out to hiss at the big man. The two grown-ups glanced down at him and Catra felt the heavy shame from earlier sink back into her. The kid trusted her so readily.
"You're dismissed," she said, keeping her voice even, "send those supplement-whatever-bars up here right away." Grox gave another salute on reflex and gathered his equipment up.
"Bye, Adam," he said. Adam's brain sparked once as something else became clear.
"Hi?" he said, waving his hand. No, that wasn't right. "Bye!"
"Yeah," Catra grumbled, "'bye'. Scram. Get lost." Grox left with a swish of the automatic door. "Idiot. What does he know? Who does he think he is!? Who's he to… I should write him up. See how he likes it." Adam backed away as Catra began pacing and muttering angrily. He frowned. Had he done something wrong?
"Ca-tra?" Her head whipped his way, eyes dangerous slits of blue and gold.
"What?!" Adam gulped and backed away. Catra changed all at once. Her face went blank then twisted back but she wasn't looking at him anymore, she wasn't looking at anything. She heaved a big sigh that became a long, drawn out groan. "Come here, booger."
Adam approached with the speed of a glacier. Catra crouched down until she was eye level with him. She raised her hand slowly and cupped his bruised cheek. Her face was working through a dozen emotions and her hand started to slip away after a few seconds. Bitter defeat creased her forehead under her red mask.
Adam raised his arm to show off his little scribbling. Catra looked at it, looked at his face, and her mouth started to dance a confused quirk and a grin. He cocked his head and she sputtered a laugh. Adam beamed.
"Goof," she said, "is your cheek, ok?" She made a face. Adam made a tiny scoff as he pulled away and took a proud stance. He was getting a bit tired of everyone asking this question. He thumped himself in the chest and flexed his arms with a nod. "Yeah. Who could forget how tough you are?" Catra's smile turned downwards a second later. "Listen to me Adam. I…I won't do that again, ok? I'm sure you can't even begin to…I won't hit you. I don't hit kids. I'm not like that."
Adam nodded slowly.
"You get me? Hitting. No more. Not from me, or you." She pantomimed a fake slap to her own face, then shook her head.
"No." Adam said quietly. Good, he gets that at least. I think. Catra kept her hand over the mark on Adam's cheek as she continued.
"Listen, Adam. You and I are out of time. Right now, you're in danger. A lot of danger. There's no more hiding or planning we can do, we have to just go with what we've got." Adam began to smile and giggle as Catra leaned in close to say the words, and she snickered against her will. "See? Goofball. You don't know how deep in it you are. But I do. And I'm trying to help. So whatever happens tomorrow, you need to listen to me, do whatever I tell you. That's the deal."
"Deal," Adam repeated. He put his hand on top of hers. "Deal?" Catra hesitated and then nodded. Adam smooshed his face against her palm.
"Deal!" he squeaked with joy. Catra sighed. This was, almost certainly, not going to work.
"We gotta get up early again tomorrow," Catra whined, "big day ahead. But we'll have the morning at least. Better try to make the most of it… somehow." She remembered something, then took her hand back and mimed a hood. Adam straightened up in hope. "Tunic. Tomorrow. Yea, sorry, you gotta wait one more day. You can't wear it at Hordak's trial, bad idea. But I'll try to get it back to you before..." Catra shuddered at the thought of every eventuality waiting on the horizon. Shadow Weaver's warning echoed again in her ear. "Before...everything goes down. Deal?"
"Deal!" Adam said back. 'Deal'. He had no idea what it meant…but if that meant Catra was happy and she'd rub his face and smile at him some more, then he could say it.
Beware. Adam almost yelled as the Other One broke in. She is not to be trusted.
Adam frowned. The Other One couldn't mean that. Catra was nice. A treasonous side of his mind reminded him that the Dark Lady had seemed kind as well, and the man with the contraptions, at least for a brief moment.
Adam was staring off into the distance, face working through a few thoughts. "Hellooooooo," Catra she rubbed her knuckles in Adam's hair gently, "anybody home in there?" Adam smiled, a little less certainly. "Thinking pretty hard, huh? Don't worry, kid. I'll be the brains of operation. This is all gonna work out, kid... Alright? Yeah, we're gonna be okay."
Again, Adam nodded because, he hoped, that's what she wanted him to do.