Disclaimer: I don't own She Ra

Title: Bird Song

Summary: Catra finds herself pulled between two forces when Scorpia is enlisted into a mission that will get her killed- her ambitions, and her refusal to break a promise.

…

He sang so loud, sang so clear, I was afraid all the neighbours would hear.
So I invited him in, just to reason with him.
I promised I wouldn't do it again.

"So," Entrapta said. "That's it, then."

Catra's gained a bit of a habit of fiddling with stray locks of the woman's hair, and she has to carefully put the lock back in order to avoid doing some very real damage. She drags her claws on the metal wall of the cell next, hoping to let some of her anger out. "I don't like that tone."

The familiar click of a recorder tells Catra her voice has just been logged for later use. "What tone of voice should I use?"

"I dunno, just- stop making it sound like it's over, alright?" Her tail lashes, hitting the wall. "Like hell am I gonna let this happen."

Entrapta glanced at her over her shoulder. She was back to half-looking as she did whatever she was doing to the control panels. It was a fairly normal dynamic between them; but the recent news had soured it somehow. Made it wrong. "It's not like you can tell Hordak no."

"I'm not telling Hordak anything." Catra spun her chair around, leaning over Entrapta with a scowl. "You're a literal genius, Entrapta. You have to have some idea of what we can do."

The Princess bit her lip thoughtfully and looked away. "Not really. Not unless you know of some secret group where Horde soldiers can escape to."

Catra's eyes widened. "I... might have something like that."

"Please tell me you aren't talking about-"

"Look, it'd work, okay? I can play her like a fiddle." She backed away and crossed her arms. "How long can you loop footage of me doing stuff so no one gets suspicious?"

Entrapta barked out a laugh. "Eternity. You could die and I would be able to get at least five to seven years of mileage out of camera reels."

"Creep factor aside, I need you to do that for me." She whirled around and went for the door. The smell of Entrapta's machines covered most anything else, making her feel dizzy. Catra told herself that was why she was feeling the way she was about visiting Adora. She didn't doubt it'd work out- it always did- but she always came out of it confused and a bit exhausted. "I'll be back in, like, a day tops. Don't tell Scorpia where I've-"

Catra reached for the door just in time for it to slide open, revealing Scorpia. The Second-in-Command let out a shriek and jumped a good half-mile up and backwards, tail fluffing like a pinecone.

Scorpia lowered her claw, having clearly just intended to knock. "Oh. Uh, hey, Catra. What's up?" Her brow furrowed. "What can't I know about? Are you scheming without me? Because friends plot mutinies together."

Entrapta was up and across the room in an instant, balancing her hair so she could be eye-to-eye with Scorpia. "ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO MICAH'S PLUNGE?"

"Damnit, Entrapta, we just talked about this."

"Aw, shucks. Heard about that, did you?" Scorpia let out an awkward laugh. "Yup, looks like it."

"YOU KNOW WHAT MICAH'S PLUNGE IS RIGHT?"

"Of course I do!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU SO CALM?"

"Entrapta," intervened Catra. "Indoor voice."

"It's fine, Catra." Scorpia's eyes were bright. The Princess seemed surprised anyone had even cared enough to yell. "I mean, it's kind of scary? But I never fit in with the Princesses, and I was never really Horde material, either. I'm big and buff, sure, but that's about it. So I'm not all that surprised. If this is how I go out, helping the people who took in my family, then I'm alright with that."

"That is absolutely not alright," Catra broke in, trying to ignore the inner-child screaming that Scorpia was hers and Entrapta was hers and if Hordak thought even death would negate that then he was a bigger idiot than she originally thought. "That is, like, illegal levels of not alright."

Scorpia paused, examining her. "Are you... plotting to get me out of it?"

Catra didn't respond.

"It's okay, I swear. I mean, I'm sorry I have to take your old friends-" Not mine, tiny Catra wailed, you're mine- "But I checked out that big statue of names in the square and it's pretty legit. I'm... okay with it."

"I'm not."

"Catra-"

"Scorpia." Her shoulders hunched, voice lowering an octave. "I think I can help, but I need to know where your loyalty lies- Hordak, or me."

"That's a funny question." Baffled, Scorpia tilted her head to the side. "You know I'd follow you anywhere, Catra."

In another universe, the destruction of the Whispering Woods would open up a straight pathway to Bright Moon. But that's not necessarily the case; not when you're one Horde soldier in a land of rebels. Catra kept her ears pricked as she ducked between the few remaining trees. The smell of melted ice and plant decay is pungent, but for once she doesn't mind the earthy flavor. It makes her proud.

They did this. She did this.

Her elation vanished as she came upon the castle. It looked the exact same as it had before. Catra supposed that wasn't shocking- they had magic on their side, after all. Ears flat, she took in a big whiff of air. Even after all this time, Adora still smelled like metal and smoke, making her easy enough to trace. Years of Horde life weren't eradicated by a few months in a fancy land of Princesses.

(She doesn't smell like Catra, she noticed with some distaste. Not anymore.)

Catra climbs up the back of the castle, clinging desperately to the rock wall. She can feel the sharp stones cut into her fingers and she clenches her teeth, too stubborn to find another way. It leads her directly into a room that, while reeking of Adora, is clearly not hers. Catra notes a bed hung in the air and wonders, not for the first time, exactly what Adora's relation was to that tiny ball of sparkles.

That's whatever. It really, really is. She might be doing whatever with some lame attempt to move on, but she smells like the Horde and that's enough to keep her jealousy to a low simmer. Not now. She can't right now. This isn't about any of that, Hordakdamnit. This is about Scorpia, who matters far more than anything she and Adora may have once had.

Catra carefully slunk through the hallways. They were shockingly empty; presumably, the other guards were busy fixing the damage from the battle. It made it shockingly easy to find Adora's bedroom, marked with the typical flat bed they were used to and a lump of feathers in the corner. Maps and plans littered the table, from various stats of other Princesses to army capabilities. Catra went over to study them, but then a familiar metal gleamed under the edge of her covers. She carefully peeled them back to find her sword.

Oh, this was too good.

Catra was sharpening her nails and lounging on her bed (and, okay, fine, maybe she liked knowing it would smell like her) when she heard the sounds of boots clunking against the stone floor. Bow was wishing everyone a good rest, and that they'd had a good training session- which would explain why she left the sword- and Glimmer said something about checking in on someone and then they were gone, and Adora was creaking open the door with a long sigh, looking more bedraggled than Catra had ever seen her.

"Hey, Adora."

Adora has never been graceful when startled. It was one of her biggest weaknesses. Catra watched without moving as Adora let out a yelp and tripped over herself, hitting the door with her back. She fell to the floor with a gurgle. A burst of blood hit Catra's nostrils.

"I meant to do that," she said into the silence.

"'Course ya' did." Catra slipped off the bed, twirling the handle of the sword. "This is how it's going to work, Adora. We're going to sit down at that ugly table and talk. And then, when we're done, I'll give this back and go on my merry way. We got a deal?"

Adora lifted her head to glare at her. "How do I know this won't be like the prom?"

"I could've been out of this castle and away from here ages ago now, but I'm here."

"You wouldn't leave with something like my sword without rubbing my nose in it first."

"Adora," Catra purred. "If you're really that worried, why are you still on the floor?"

"I'm strategizing," she said into her arms.

"I can smell the blood. You're hurt, aren't you?" Catra decided to take a risk and crouch down, holding her free hand out. Adora had always been a sucker for that kind of thing. "I won't tell if you won't."

The blonde sighed and took the hand. Catra pulled her to her feet with a single yank, kindly ignoring when she let out a hissed breath. Catra hadn't lied when she said she wouldn't tell anyone, but that by no means exempted her from keeping the info for herself and using it later. "What happened? Wayward arrow from your little friend?"

"Don't play coy, Catra."

Her ears flattened out. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Adora didn't reply. She brushed past, collapsing onto her bed with a sigh. The traitor yanked her shirt up and tossed it at her, then got to work unraveling some grungy yellow bandages. Catra caught the shirt and tossed it aside, trying to seem disinterested as she wandered over, sword dragging on the floor. The last wrapping fell without any real applause, showing off a set of angry red clawmarks.

"Oh," Catra said. "That's what you meant."

"Stop sounding so smug and hand me that roll."

She did so, flopping down behind her. Adora hadn't asked for her help, necessarily, just as Catra hadn't offered it, but it was a natural thing. Catra ran her finger along the edge of one, feeling the heat beneath the scab. They were infected.

Catra can't help the smile that makes itself at home on her face. It was sick, and she recognized it; taking any level of joy out of this situation. But Catra wasn't interested in the long-term pain here. Not physically, anyway. Adora wasn't hers anymore, but she would always carry part of her. The rebellion could surge up and win and she could be brutally killed on some battlefield, but every time She-Ra wore something other than her fancy armor someone would see these marks and ask, and she would have to explain it all over again.

Catra might die, but she wasn't about to be forgotten.

"Our idiot squadron managed to catch Hordak's attention," Catra says, setting her chin on her hand. Adora is stiff-backed and attentive from her side of the table, but after seeing her wounds Catra knows damn well it's an act. In a way, so was starting off with their old squadron- they were important, she supposed, for nostalgia purposes and the odd mission, but they weren't her main goal. "He's sending them to The Drop."

Adora stares at her for what feels like a solid minute, so long that if not for the horror in her eyes Catra would assume she didn't know what she was talking about. "What the absolute fuck, Catra. Why would he-"

"Because somebody unbalanced the team by leaving."

The warrior scowled. "Don't try to act like you getting promoted didn't play a part in it."

"I stayed, and I've been doing my best to work this shit out. What have you been doing? Playing hero with your technicolor Princess friends?" Catra's tail wound around the blade of her sword. She reminded herself to focus on the situation at hand. "Look. You've got pull around here. You gotta get them out of this."

"I have literally no pull around here."

"Then get some, damnit."

"Did you- did you sneak out of the Fright Zone to tell me to get a job?"

"I snuck out because people are going to die because of you!" Catra snarled, slamming her fists down on the table. Adora fell silent. "We both know war is about the legacies we leave behind. So make a choice, Adora. Do you want to be the traitor who let her old mates die, or do you want to play hero some more and take them home?"

Adora looked down. Her shoulders hunched, then returned to their original place with a wince. "Y'know, not too long ago we would've been honored to go to The Drop."

"Yeah, I guess."

"It's funny how that goes, isn't it?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Things change. You're a traitor, and I'm... I'm not you."

Author's Note: Portraying Catra and Adora's relationship is interesting, for sure. Catra and Adora are bonded basically forever thanks to their shared childhood, and even at their most brutal they take risks for one another.

-Mandaree1