Part Two "Through the fire"
The surveillance tower's platform is every bit as bleak as could be expected. The door shudders open with a groan once Scorpia inputs the code. The creaking of metal seems to go on forever in the open expanse of the mine, the sound bouncing off the walls and metal pillars holding up the ceiling. Adora shudders, the deep chill of the place biting through her clothes. The dust in the air, the smell, the lack of breeze... It all makes it feel as though she can't breathe right. The overwhelming darkness, even with the phosphorescent mushrooms and veins, isn't enough to stop the cavern from reminding her of another underground complex. Her grip on Catra's shoulder tightens as she half expects the voice of a long-gone hologram to steal her away from her.
It's okay, she forces herself to think, this is not the Crystal Castle. This is Scorpia, our friend, asking for our help. Take a deep breath.
Adora is grateful for her past sessions with Perfuma, learning breathing exercises and mindfulness. It helps settle the shiver running along her spine. She sees Catra taking measured breaths too, her tail wrapped tightly around her leg. Noticing that Adora is looking, Catra pats her hand. Melog purrs from their spot pressed against Catra's other side. Their mane is an uncomfortable shade that matches the downward turn of Catra's expression.
"Hey, you okay?" Adora asks in a whisper. Scorpia's gone into the office and is trying to get the lights to turn on.
"'M fine..." Catra replies. It's unconvincing, but Adora has learnt not to push when Catra gets like this. Adora trusts that she'll come around. A zap of lightning gets the electric circuits buzzing, and the lights flicker on, to Scorpia's relief. Catra tugs Adora forward. "Come on."
The inside of the foreman's office is littered with papers depicting yield graphs and targets. A large map is up against one wall, smaller sheets pinned onto it to represent overlapping tunnels, expansions, and more recent additions in red ink. A chalkboard on a plinth to the side has toppled over and cracked, its writing smudged, leaving only the vaguest impression of numbers and dates. A monitor is up on the wall, in the corner of the room overseeing the desk. Scorpia is leaning over a keyboard, blowing away a thin layer of dust as she tries to get the smaller monitor on the desk to respond.
"Sheesh, this place was well overdue an upgrade back when we were junior cadets." Catra comments, sounding a bit more like herself. She shrugs out of Adora's grasp to go and poke at the screen. "We used to find monitors of this design in the really old junk piles. Remember Adora?"
Adora gives a cursory nod, drumming her fingers on her forearms, trying desperately to settle her nerves. This doesn't feel right. A bump against her leg snaps her out of it. Melog. Adora sighs, patting their head. They seem just as out of sorts as her. Adora smiles, picking up a chair to sit by the desk and keep stroking Melog as Catra and Scorpia get the computer working.
"Nearly there!" Scorpia huffs. Catra clips a cable into the monitor on the wall before the screen crackles to life. An antiquated display props up, showing folder names and a command input box. Catra steps back, seemingly at a loss now that the physical problem to hand has been solved.
"Give me a moment to find the right file. I know exactly which one it is, I just need to..." Scorpia starts typing carefully, one key at a time. Adora can see Catra's claws threatening to unsheathe themselves as she struggles with what to do with herself.
"Catra, hey, why don't you pull up that crate?" Adora points at the box on the other side of the desk. Catra seems about to refuse, but she nods and pulls it close, sitting down on it and leaning her head against Adora's shoulder. Adora's hand finds itself resting on Catra's thigh without even a thought.
With a loud click, the screen brings a copy of the young magicat Finn's file on screen. In addition to the information Catra and Adora have already seen, there's a small box showing supplementary information in the form of linked files: medical records, history of misdemeanours and one marked birth record.
"Was... Was this magicat child born here?" Adora asks, as Scorpia moves the cursor to select the last file.
Scorpia scratches awkwardly at her head, her gaze flitting between Adora and Catra's faces.
"No." Scorpia says confidently, understanding what Adora meant. "They were born in the Fright Zone infirmary's isolation wing. I... Before I go ahead and show you this... I..."
Scorpia plants the ends of her claws against the surface of the table, pushing herself to her full height. Her eyes soften, her expression a cautious one that Adora doesn't understand. She's focussing on Catra, whose grip on Adora's arm has tightened.
"Catra, this file is a video. It shows Shadow Weaver. I'll understand if you don't want to watch it. I'll understand if you would rather watch it alone. If you don't want me in the room for this, I will understand and respect your wishes." She pauses waiting for a response. "Do you want me to press play?"
There's a faint growl next to Adora, but she can't tell if it's from Catra or Melog, or maybe both? She looks at Catra in confusion.
In the harsh electric lighting of the office's one yellow bulb, her tiara gleams, but not as much as her eyes. The blue eye nearest Adora looks teary, but Catra's brow is nothing if not determined. Her fangs flash as she hisses out a reply, her hands holding onto Adora's arm even tighter somehow.
"Scorpia, if this is what I think it is, I'm not going to believe it if I don't see it for myself, and you can bet I'm not watching anything involving that woman on my own." Mismatched eyes turn to Adora. "Are you... Are you okay with this?"
"I..." I'm not exactly sure what this is about, really, Adora thinks, but I want to know. She places her palm on the back of one of Catra's hands and squeezes. "I'm here for you, always. I'm staying."
"Oh-kay. We're doing this." Scorpia hits enter and turns, leaning against the desk for support. Adora's gaze turns to the video.
The screen sizzles with the tell-tale noise of badly chopped and transferred footage. A time and date appear in the corner of the screen as the snow fades out to reveal a top down view of an infirmary room. It's a poor angle, the camera zoomed in, so it only shows the bottom corner of the medical trolley. One of the medics is in scrubs, leaning over the patient who is only noticeable by the faint movement of a foot. They speak in what Adora knows to be medical jargon, though she doesn't recognise all the terms. She frowns, leaning forward. Something about toes and reflexes? And there's a faint wail among the white noise that has her fingers twitching.
"Enough of that jabbering." A voice, unmistakeable, interrupts. A familiar robe and head of black hair floats into view. "Are you done yet, or not?"
Another medic in scrubs steps into view, a wriggling bundle in their arms. Adora realises that this must be the infant Finn. She glances to her left, feeling Catra's hold on her arm shudder at the sight. Her girlfriend looks pale, paler than Adora expected to find her. Why...?
"We need to finish creating a record for the little one." The medic says, forcing Adora's attention back to the screen. "Your cadet's just getting stitched back up. They'll be out of it for a while."
Shadow Weaver's hair does that thing that always snapped Adora to attention. It was often a sign of their mentor's displeasure when it rose like that. The woman leans menacingly towards the medic who, in what a younger Adora might have considered a hilariously ill-advised misinterpretation of Shadow Weaver's meaning, hands the woman the baby.
"What will the baby's name be?" The medic chirps.
"JUST FIN-" Shadow weaver's shout is interrupted when she glances down at the child. Whatever she sees there has her uttering a rather underwhelmed "Oh."
Whatever waffle the medic is away to say in response is lost to Shadow Weaver returning the child to their arms with a tart: "Just finish what you're doing and get rid of it. The operations manager in the forge will tell you where." She barges past the flustered attendant to the bed where the surgeon seems to have finished and, more wisely than their colleague, stepped back very promptly. Shadow Weaver yanks the gurney into view of the camera, hissing a name that sends cold dread down every vein in Adora's body.
"As for you, Catra, let this be a lesson."
Adora can't bring herself to move. Her vision narrows to the small square of pixels depicting a much younger Catra on the gurney, seemingly barely conscious. Her ears are filled with a rushing sound. She can't breathe. She's vaguely aware of more words being said. The video finishes and freezes on the final still, Shadow Weaver gripping a younger Catra's arm as she grimaces. A shadow moves between Adora and the screen as she glances down. The knuckles on her fists are stark white. She forces her fingers to relax, herself to take a deep breath. She hears a door shut. The firm grip on her bicep has left, leaving a cold absence behind. Adora turns to Catra.
Catra, she...
"This can't be real, this can't be happening..." Her girlfriend's hands are gripping at her temples, claws flexing in a way that reminds Adora painfully of that first night on Darla, just after she'd got her back. The wild, terrified look is the same. The stuttered, panic-laden words. "She said she... She said they... No. That..."
"Catra...?" Adora asks.
The magicat seems to come back to herself upon hearing Adora's voice. The panic recedes, though it doesn't leave. Adore feels it lingering in how tense Catra keeps her shoulders, her quick short breaths and frazzled tail. It's strange to see her like this without Melog intervening. Where are they? A quick glance around shows no sign of the Krytian. Never mind, because Adora's there. Adora will always be there.
"Are you okay?" She asks, knowing what the answer will be.
"No..." The sound is broken, part sob. Adora opens her arms and Catra tumbles into her embrace. Adora cradles her head against her breast, making comforting noises, stroking her hair, her ears. Each cry tumbling from Catra breaks Adora's heart. The dampness on her shirt fuels an anger that Adora is surprised to feel, but the more she thinks on it, the hotter it burns.
A child... Catra had had a child. Adora glances back at the screen, sees the time stamp, the date. She commits it to memory. Her jaw hurts. She tries to think back...
"She..." Catra starts, tentative, trying to catch her breath and regain her composure. Her hand still shakes as she grips Adora's waist. "Sh-Shadow weaver... She told me the baby died. I didn't... I didn't even..."
Adora meets Catra's gaze as she lifts her head. "I swear... I didn't know. I would've... I could've..."
Gently, Adora shushes Catra, her hands cupping her cheeks. Her thumbs brush at the tears coating her freckles. Adora feels tears of her own clouding her vision. She never wants to see this expression on Catra again. Her girlfriend has felt too much guilt, had too much to make up for, for Adora to let this somehow be added to the pile.
"It's not your fault," she says softly. Catra's brow creases. Adora chuckles sadly. "It's not! Did you ask for that to happen?"
"No!" Catra responds, sharp, like her claws threatening to unsheathe at the very thought.
"Then it's not your fault." It's Shadow Weaver's, Adora thinks, for stealing the child away from you. It's the fault of whoever forced the child upon you in the first place. She feels magic flaring through her, her eyes burning as she wonders how this could've happened without her knowing. "Who was it?"
"Er... What?" Catra is taken aback by the question.
Adora sighs. She knows Catra probably doesn't want to answer the question right now, but the anger welling in Adora's breast overrides all her other concerns. She needs to know. She needs to make this right.
"Who did that to you?" Mismatched eyes widen in horror as the question sinks in. Adora gestures at the screen. "Who do I need to punch into the dirt? You had only turned seventeen when they were born, Catra. Who forced themselves upon you when you were just sixteen?"
"No one..." Catra hisses. Her hackles are raised, her fangs pressing hard against her lip. She backs away, anger and humiliation flushing her cheeks red. "No one, Adora. I don't..."
"You don't what, Catra?" Adora snaps back. Before she knows it, she's standing, pacing, her arms crossing over her chest, squeezing. She feels ill. "You don't remember? You don't trust that I'll understand? We know how babies happen now, Catra!"
Adora feels an oncoming rant boiling up her throat, but it fizzles out as soon as she sees... Catra's expression. It's not annoyed. It's... Is she...?
Heartbreak. There is no mistaking it. The curve of Catra's brow, the tremble in her lip, she's even got tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Adora feels like they're back in the Heart of Etheria, saying their last goodbyes. It terrifies her.
"What...?" She asks, forcing herself to stand tall, to clasp her hands to her sides. Her voice trembles as she asks. "What is it?"
"You... I suspected as much but..." Catra stands now, reaching to hold onto Adora's arm. "You really don't remember."
The fact that Catra doesn't even phrase it as a question sends fresh shivers down Adora's spine. Her throat dry, she tries to figure out what Catra means.
"I... I remember that day..." She says, pointing to the date on the screen. "I remember you felt off for months, and then... Sha-... Shadow Weaver said you were in quarantine with Magicat Fever. It was three weeks before I saw you again."
"Yeah, that was an obvious lie." Catra smiles sadly, stroking Adora's arm. "Do you remember our hideout? That storeroom hidden behind the pipes?"
"Of course I do..." Adora huffs, bringing Catra's hand to her cheek.
"Remember when we finally made the grade into senior Cadets?" Catra asks, her tone gentle. There's pain etched across her face.
"I remember kissing you." Adora gasps out. Tears finally spill onto her cheeks.
"You do?!" Catra asks, surprised. Her hand jolts away from Adora's cheek, so Adora grabs it between hers, clasps it to her breast.
"I..." That Adora remembers that now is legitimately surprising, she supposes. She spent the weeks afterward with no recollection of the act. Every time she looked at Catra since then and thought of kissing her had come with a strong queasiness that put short any attempt to enact such a thing. It only went away when... When... "When I first turned into She-Ra, at the battle of Thaymor... I..."
She never really spoke with Catra about it. She probably should have, sooner. She leans her forehead against Catra's, tries to take deep measured breaths. Her fingers shake as she drops Catra's hand and cups her jaw. Catra is visibly refraining from interrupting. She wants to give Adora the time to finish, to explain.
"I felt so out of control, just full of anger against the Horde, because suddenly I... I remembered. I remembered what... What Shadow Weaver had taken from me."
"Adora, what...?"
For all answer, Adora leans her lips against Catra's. A chaste kiss, really, for them, but it's every bit similar to the one they first shared, all those years ago in that abandoned store room, right down to Catra's gasp of surprise.
"Shadow Weaver stole my memory of our first kiss Catra..." Adora turns away, feeling regret. It's not a thought she likes to dwell on. "It's why I couldn't bear to return to the Horde."
"I..." Catra's hands grip at Adora's shoulders. "I didn't realise it at first, but I... I did figure it out, Adora." Adora sniffles as she turns to see Catra's eyes fixed on hers. There's an attempt at a smirk. "It's why I didn't want you to come back after you rescued Glimmer from Shadow Weaver." A huffed attempt at a laugh.
Adora's heart swells with love.
"So..." Catra asks, careful, her eyes watching Adora's face like a hawk. "How much do you actually remember?"
Not much, really, if Adora is honest with herself. She remembers the euphoria at sweet sixteen of finally kissing the girl she liked, of realising that she was kissing her back! And then... She draws a blank. The closest memory she can recall next is of Shadow Weaver, roughly grabbing her arm as soon as she left their storeroom. She remembers the hard metal of the table in the black garnet chamber. She remembers being tied down, fighting it. She remembers that she forgot.
"Just the kiss." Adora replies, frowning.
"Adora..." Catra's got that hitch in her voice again. She steps back, giving Adora space, as though she expects she'll need it. "Adora, we did more than kiss that night."
"Hahaha, what?" There's that faint ringing sound in Adora's ears again. She steps back. "Catra, wha-"
"Adora!" Adora freezes to the spot. Catra's voice is harsh, her face twisted in anguish. "That child is yours. Ours."
No, Adora thinks. It can't be. How...? She feels pins and needles prickling across her skin. Her hands clasp around her upper arms as she fights the chills sinking into her bones. She feels the magic of She-Ra stirring, unbidden, through her veins.
"Doesn't... Wou- Wouldn't that have required magical assistance?" The words spill out from Adora's lips automatically. Her thoughts are too fraught to be selective with her phrasing. She knows from talking with the other princesses that same-gendered couples usually need a little help procreating. She can't... She still can't quite process what it is Catra is saying.
"I mean your eyes did do a weird glowing thing when..." Catra's tone is forcibly light. She's trying to defuse the situation with humour, but it doesn't work when her eyes are glistening and her tail's stiff. Catra's eyes go wide. She points at Adora's face. "That. Like that."
The blue glow bouncing off Catra's finger confirms what Adora feels. She-Ra is humming through her skin, making her eyes glow. Adora's consciousness slips away from the room.
It's like when she first touched the sword, knowledge spilling forth unbidden into her thoughts. Only this time it's not stars and faceless parents, it's not a hologram calling upon her to fight.
It's like when Prime was invading, after she broke the blade, and she ran herself ragged trying to think of ways to keep everyone safe without She-Ra... And somehow the magic of Etheria provided her with a vision. Only this vision is not of a hidden refuge.
It is hot, and warm, and entirely Catra. It is young love, burning bright and rash, drunk on release from years of build-up. It is...
"Shit." Adora swears as her knees buckle. She remembers. She remembers in vivid colours and intoxicating touches. Twenty-three-year-old Catra is holding her up, but it's her younger self that Adora sees and feels. The heat of proximity, the squeak of a laugh is accompanied by clawed hands reaching under Adora's top. Adora's hands remember reaching previously forbidden territories too.
But it's not the memory of Catra's first gasps and moans by her hand that has Adora's stomach twisting in knots. Nor is it the knowledge that Catra alone had to live through the war with the memory of them being so intimate, that even before then Adora had had enough magic in her veins for their actual first act of love to bear fruit... No.
It's the memory of Shadow Weaver's hand yanking her away as soon as she left their storeroom. It's the recollection that, despite them knowing that their hideout and its immediate surroundings had no cameras, Shadow Weaver had known what transpired. It's the pure rage in her mentor's tone and actions as she used her magic to force Adora onto that blasted table. It's the sheer deafness to Adora's pleas and confusion. It's the fear and hopelessness that Adora felt when she realised what was happening to her, the betrayal.
The glow subsides. Adora comes back to herself, recognises the arms holding onto hers. Her skin is slick with sweat. Her ears are still buzzing. She barely hears Catra as she stands, stumbles to the small washroom door.
By the time her lunch has finished liberating itself, she's on the cold tile taking deep gasping breaths as Catra kneels beside her. Gentle hands run through her hair, sweet murmurs grounding her, like the feel of Catra's body wrapped around her. Adora feels loved, and love blooms through her as she finally grasps what had been taken from her with both hands and breathes.
"You okay?" Catra asks.
Sweet air finally reaches fully into Adora's lungs and she huffs. She looks at Catra, her Catra here-and-now and sees the years they've spent together, free of the Horde. She sees the life they're building together and smiles.
"I will be," Adora replies. She grips Catra's arm and pulls her closer into a hug. "I remember now. Everything. I'm sorry."
"Wasn't your fault..." Catra mumbles into Adora's collarbone.
"Are you okay?" Adora asks, running her hand up and down Catra's back.
"Hmph..." The tension evaporates from Catra's shoulders and she slumps, moulding herself to Adora's side. "I don't know."
They sit in silence for a few minutes, digesting the reveal, their feelings, taking comfort from each other's presence in the quiet.
"So, we're parents, huh?" Adora grins, suddenly smug.
"Adora!" Flustered, Catra leaps up to her feet. Adora falls to the tile with a laugh. "Come on Dumbass, let's get out of here before Scorpia sends in a search party."
It's not what Adora expected from the day, if she's being honest, but... She pushes herself up and dusts off her slacks. By the time she's freshened up, Catra has already turned the monitor off and is waiting for her at the office door.
"I love you," she says, meaning every syllable.
"I love you too," Catra replies, and Adora's world is complete.
.