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Just like clockwork, Adora’s eyes snap open at 0630 on the dot, just as the lights begin to glow a burnt orange. She feels a twinge of sadness when she realizes there’s no warm, purring weight nestled in her arms. There’s no dark brown hair for her to bury a kiss in and receive a hushed, raspy Hey, Adora in return.
In the past, this would have concerned Adora. In the first few months after the war, Catra slept like a log. To find her out of bed before daybreak meant something was absolutely wrong; usually it was nightmares, other times it was just excess anxious energy. Her body telling her to run even though there was no longer anything to run from.
Now, though, this is just a part of Catra’s sleep cycle. Adora is quite proud of herself for having figured out Catra’s circadian rhythms. The first night is a normal sleep; eight hours, no fits, easy wake-up just before breakfast. Then, there’s two or three nights where Catra stays in bed closer to ten hours, punctuated randomly by bouts of restlessness. After that, there’s the early morning day: Catra sleeps unusually peacefully, no twitching or kicking, and then wakes up around 0500. On those days, she usually slips off to the balcony in their room in the castle and waits for Adora to wake up. After that, there’s a night or two where Catra hardly falls asleep until well past midnight, then sleeps until around noon. Then it starts again.
There’s little joys in all of those nights for Adora. Falling asleep gently with Catra curled up in her arms; waking up, showering, and bringing Catra a cup of coffee in bed just as she opens her eyes; holding her close through a nightmare, kissing her softly and whispering, I’m here, you’re safe, until she falls back asleep; slipping her arms around Catra’s waist from behind and resting her head in the crook of her neck as she watches the moonrise over Bright Moon Town.
As Adora remembers these simple pleasures, the slight sense of loss fades. Just the thought of the warmth that will bloom in her chest when Catra smiles at her walking onto the bridge is enough to get her out of bed.
Adora watches the coffee ripple in the two mugs she carries, careful to not let it slosh over the rims. Adora’s is whitened slightly, with barely a spoonful of sugar stirred in; Catra’s is blacker than space, but sweetened generously.
The doors to the bridge part, and there, sitting on top of the control panel and staring out into space with Melog, is Catra. The overhead lights, now drenching the bridge with golden light, illuminate the fur on her warm, brown skin like an aura. Her tail sways idly in thought.
No matter how many times Adora sees her like this, it never, ever gets old. Catra was beautiful as a teenager, sitting up on their ledge in the Fright Zone, daydreaming about seeing the world; she’s beautiful now, as a young woman who’s seen far too much. Catra will be beautiful at every stage of her life, and Adora has already decided that she’s going to be there for all of them.
Catra must have noticed Adora staring, because when she turns, there’s already a quirk in her eyebrow. Damn her.
Adora tries to greet her like it’s nothing, but as expected, it doesn’t work. “Good morning!” she says with just a little too much cheer. She walks over to the ledge where Catra sits, and motions to her with a mug of coffee just a little too swiftly. A few drops of the steaming beverage splash her hand. “Brought you some — ah, shit shit shit, hot — Brought you some coffee!”
When Catra giggles, her nose scrunches up and her eyes wrinkle. Adora almost forgets the fresh burns on her hand.
“Hey, Adora.” Catra takes the mug and sips the coffee gingerly. She hums with satisfaction. “Feels pretty good that the mighty She-Ra knows how I like my coffee.”
Adora shrugs. “Guess my powers include being a super good girlfriend.”
Catra’s eyes soften as she strokes a calloused thumb down Adora’s cheek. “Wow,” she whispers reverently, “You are so embarrassing.”
“I’m worth it,” Adora replies, letting herself be guided into a slow, soft kiss.
Their lips brush against each other and part slightly. They sigh and allow the warmth and flavor of the coffee to mingle on each other’s tongues. Catra begins to purr and Melog jumps down to weave themself between Adora’s legs affectionately. When they separate, Adora’s eyes open sleepily to bask once more in the love written on Catra’s features.
“Can I sit?” Adora asks. Catra nods, and Adora carefully lifts herself up onto the dashboard, dangling her legs and resting the warm mug cradled in her hands on the tops of her thighs.
Catra stares up through the viewport to the faintly twinkling stars. They sparkle in the golden pool of her eye like tiny jewels.
“So,” Adora says casually between sips, “What’s on your agenda today?”
“Talking strategy with Glimmer, lunch with you, briefing Bow and Entrapta on our plans…” Catra replies flatly, still gazing out the window, “I don’t know. Just talking.”
Adora chuckles. “Just talking, huh? What would the old Catra think?”
Catra still doesn’t turn to Adora. She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Who cares. She sucked.”
Adora’s smile falters a little. While it’s true, Catra has changed and it’s all been for the better, it still hurts a little to hear her talk about herself — any version of herself — that way. Despite how much she might have sucked, Adora still loves that version of Catra, just as she loves this one. That can still be a sore spot sometimes. She shouldn’t push it, but she can’t help worrying.
Despite herself, Adora probes Catra’s feelings a little. “Is something on your mind?”
Catra sighs and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she glances at Adora. She looks melancholy, as if she were mourning something. “Sort of.”
Adora nods, wordlessly signaling her to continue.
“Do you… remember when we met?” Catra asks tentatively as she looks down into her mug.
“Oh, wow.” Adora lets out a low whistle as she searches for the details of the foggy memory. “Yeah. In the orphanage. A couple junior cadets herded in a pack of new recruits — er, orphans, I guess — but one of them was carrying a wooden crate. And when he set it down, I ran over to peek inside and… there you were.”
Catra smiles weakly at Adora as she finishes her recounting. “Yeah. There I was. I wouldn’t leave that box for the rest of the day.”
“Yeah,” Adora breaths a slight chuckle, “You were pretty spooked.”
There’s a pensive silence as Catra turns her gaze back toward the stars. Adora watches something in her eyes change. The nostalgic sadness shifts to something more bitter as she speaks again. “My parents put me in that box.”
Adora’s mind struggles to catch up with what Catra just said. “Your… parents?”
“Yeah, idiot, my parents,” Catra snaps. “Someone had to give birth to me, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, they did. Right. Sorry.” Adora rubs at the hairline on her neck, a nervous habit she picked up from Bow. “I guess I just never thought of it that way, since… You know. No parents. Mysterious origin.”
“Right,” Catra says, shrinking back into herself. “Anyway… I don’t remember what they said to me, but I remember knowing that I was supposed to stay in the box. I remember knowing that the box was safe. So I guess, when the Horde showed up, that’s how they took me: in a box. The only other thing in the box was…”
“...Your mask,” Adora finishes the thought. She remembers how Catra had held onto it and hidden it away like it was her most prized possession. It had been her only possession, Adora supposes. It had laid under Catra’s pillow until she was about sixteen, when she decided to start wearing it just to piss off Shadow Weaver.
Catra nods, her eyes trained back on her coffee. “I guess it was sort of the only thing I had left of my old life.”
A weight sinks deep into Adora’s stomach. This whole time they’ve been in space, Adora has been thinking about finding out where she came from. She never stopped to think that Catra might never get the same luxury.
“I’m so sorry, Catra. That must have been awful,” Adora says slowly, plaintively. She places a hand on Catra’s forearm, which Catra then covers with her own and squeezes gently.
“It doesn’t matter that much,” Catra deflects, shaking her head, “I don’t miss them or anything. I didn’t even know them, really. Sometimes I just kind of wonder…” she glances into Adora’s eyes, then back out to the sky. “What would my life have been like?”
This is a question Adora devotes hours and hours of painful reflection to. The only advice she’s ever gotten about it is that it doesn’t matter, because life is how it is and there’s no going back to change it. That hardly works for her, so she figures it probably isn’t the best thing to say to Catra either.
“Well…” Adora begins, still searching for the right words, “You wouldn’t have met me.” She smiles at Catra gently, hoping she alone is enough to make this reality better than the hypothetical.
“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t have,” Catra says, but it’s lacking the finality that Adora was expecting. It leaves the question open.
But Adora should’ve expected that. How could she possibly hope to compete with the idea of a normal, happy childhood for Catra, who had just about the least normal, least happy childhood possible?
She continues, “I don’t know though. Maybe we would’ve found each other some other way.” Her eyes flick back to Adora’s as a small, hopeful smile curls the ends of her lips. “I like to think we would have.”
Warmth floods Adora’s heart. Just as Catra has a place in all her what-ifs, Adora has her own place in Catra’s. They’re each other’s constant, in every hypothetical past and every possible future.
Adora thinks in particular of one possible future, one she saw in vivid detail during what could have been the final moments of her life. She thinks of how Catra looked with her hair tied back, the white and gold jacket slung over her shoulder, that silky red shirt— and the golden wing on its lapel. The very same one that’s pinned to Adora’s vest in the bedroom right now.
Had Glimmer not explained to her that the exchanging of accessories was supposed to be a big special moment, Adora would have given the pin to Catra right after the Heart. She’s never been more sure of anything than she is about being with Catra for the rest of her life. But knowing that it’s supposed to be special adds a whole other layer of stress onto the act.
She had consulted Spinnerella, who advised her not to worry too much about making it special, to just do it “whenever it feels right.” That wasn’t very helpful. Not only because she doesn’t know how to not worry, but because to Adora, it always feels right. This very moment, sitting alone on the bridge with Catra, sipping coffee and letting herself forget about everything else for a little while, feels exactly right. But when she has these perfect mornings all the time, when every day with Catra feels special in its own way, how is she supposed to know when to make a move?
Adora snaps back to reality when she sees Catra cocking her head in adoring confusion. “What’s going on in there, dummy?”
“I love you so much,” Adora says, and it feels reciting a universal truth, a law of nature.
Catra leans forward, and gravity pulls Adora in until their lips are locked together again. “I love you too,” Catra whispers into Adora’s mouth.
The way she loves Catra is inevitable. Adora doesn’t believe in destiny anymore, but being with Catra feels something like destiny. Because now that she has this love, now that she wakes up every morning and is a little more sure of the reason for her existence, how can she ever let it go? How can she not love Catra?
Later that morning, when Catra has gone off to meet Glimmer, Adora sits down at her desk and starts planning, in intricate detail, how she’s going to give Catra that golden wing.