Chapter Text
“So, how does it feel to know that you've lost?”
Adora is breathing in short, sudden bursts. “It's actually kinda scary.”
Catra can't remember the last time Adora willingly admitted to being scared. She guesses that being at the edge of dying does that to a person. It wouldn't do it to her, of course, but Adora had always been made of tender stuff.
“Good to know,” she says, already turning away.
But of course, she won't make it so easy. She can't even get up up from the floor but she still has to get in the last word. Typical Adora.
“Stay with me, please?” Catra rolls her eyes, but she still catches the moment Adora squeezes her eyes shut in pain. "It won't be long."
Catra doesn't need to be told that. If it were anyone else, perhaps someone without magical swords or fated destinies, she wouldn't have lasted this long. It had been a long fall from that cliff.
“I guess I could spare a few seconds for you, now that I've secured the victory of the Horde.”
“Thank you.” Adora smiles like she means it, and Catra can't believe she had ever been friends with someone this foolish.
She sits, looking down at her. Adora's hands trembles like she wants to move it. Her arm is bent at an odd angle. It would have probably prevented her from picking up the sword one last time, had she had the chance to try. Catra will not take her hand, but she guesses that wrapping her tail around her arm is a good compromise.
Their fight took them far away from the rest of the battle, but they could still hear the commotion. Well, Catra can. She doubts Adora can hear anything besides her labored breaths. She itches to go back, to finish crushing the Rebellion’s forces with her own bare hands.
“I'm sorry,” her chest is heaving more violently now. “I should have never let Shadow Weaver do that to us. I thought I could save Etheria, save you.” Her voice fails her for a second but it comes back. “But I couldn’t do it, I'm sorry.”
"Oh Adora, you really thought you could have stopped this, didn't you?" She coos.
Adora doesn't answer, overtaken by a new wave of pain. Doesn't she realize it would be better to forget about it already? What's even the point? There’s nothing coming to save her. No magic solution, no last-minute turnaround.
It doesn’t stop her. It never did.
"I love you.”
Catra hisses. "Don't you think it’s a bit late for your mind games?"
"It's not-" she closes her eyes again. "It's not a mind game. It never was. You know that, Catra."
For a second, Catra considers walking away after all. But the truth is that she would never pass up an opportunity like this. To watch Adora broken and helpless. To see her be vulnerable at last.
"I'm dying, Catra," she says like it isn't obvious. "I just wanted to say it, at least once. I never got the chance before."
Catra doesn't bother to acknowledge that with an answer. She wags her tail to the sides now, getting impatient.
"I'll destroy the sword," Catra says suddenly, before she can really think about it. Before she can twist it around and make it into a weapon and before she has had time to process it herself. It's a misstep, and Catra hadn't taken one of those in a while. It's not like it matters now, Adora won't be around to remember it anymore. But Catra will, and that made it all the more dangerous.
Adora chuckles. Or chokes. Catra isn’t sure. "That's fair."
That gets her attention. She waits for an explanation. It takes her a second to remember that she can’t see the interrogating expression on her face. "Really?"
"I don't think anyone else should be called to use it. I wish-” the pause is longer this time. Finally, she opens her eyes again, makes an effort to continue. “I wish Glimmer could have it, but I know I can't ask that from you.”
“You are right, you can't.” But she could destroy it in front of her, have them watch her do it. If losing Adora doesn't completely crush the Rebellion's morale then that would certainly do. Not that they still stood a chance, morale or not. But it could be fun.
"At least I know you will survive"
Catra smirks. That, she knows as well. She leans down, cupping Adora's face with her hand. She runs her fingers over the wounds there. Over the countless scars. Parallel lines over parallel lines. She tucks Adora's hair behind her ears.
"Let go, Adora."
Adora smiles, endlessly hopeless, endlessly gentle, endlessly infuriating. But she closes her eyes and she does.