Don't Go

Part 2

Catra stays in the room for a long time. She doesn't sleep, much. When she does, she sees horrible things. She sees the inside of a tank full of green fluid, the sea of glowing clone eyes in the darkness, the cruel twist of Prime's lips as he rips through her mind. She feels the breathing tube crammed down her throat, Prime's unyielding grip holding her head steady as the chip is planted, the searing full-body pain followed by the terrifying numbness.

But as horrible as it is, the worst thing she sees is Adora's face, over and over, eyes bright and glowing with hope, all reaching hands and awkward smiles.

There isn't a window in Catra's room, but even if there was, there's no day or night to make sense of the passage of time. There hasn't been for a while. How long has she been in space? How long was she under Prime's control? How long since Adora carried her to safety? It's all melting together, a mix of cold emptiness and feverish dreams. Catra thrashes from side to side in the bed, kicks the blanket onto the floor, grips her head, but she doesn't cry out. She knows that if she does, Adora will come to help her. And she can't bear to see Adora's stupid, hopeful face again.

After a while (Catra has no idea how long), Adora comes back to check on her. Catra pretends to be asleep. She hears Adora set another water bottle on the ground beside the bed, feels her pull the blanket back over her. She's angry at that, the familiarity of it all when she should be glaring at Catra through the bars of a prison cell. But she doesn't stir. She can't look Adora in the eyes again.

Adora keeps coming back to check on her, and Catra feigns sleep every time. She doesn't touch the water bottle even though her dry throat aches, because then Adora would know that she had been awake. But eventually, she slips into shallow dreams again — the green fluid, Prime's smirk, the pain, his voice — and that's when Adora happens to check in on her again. At the sound of the door, Catra sits bolt upright, her heart pounding out of her chest and a terrified scream bursting from her mouth before she can choke it down. And just like that, her cover's blown. And Adora's looking at her with that same stupid, hopeful look, like Catra hasn't spent years trying to burn her and everything she loved.

And she can't stand it.

So Catra does what she always does. She retreats behind her walls, lashes out, needles Adora where she knows it stings the most. It's what she is. She's an animal, nothing more than base instincts and rotten heart, just as everyone has always said she was. She's poison, she's fire, she's broken glass, and all she knows how to do is hurt and be hurt in turn.

Adora leaves, angry, and something in Catra, some small childish piece that somehow hasn't been completely stamped out, wants to call after her, wants to run after her into the bright hallway.

She doesn't. She stays in the dark.

She doesn't know how to leave it.

*******

It's not until Adora is staring down at her coldly and offering her the choice to go, to leave them all behind, to never see her again, that Catra finally realizes that she can't do it.

She's spent years alone, empty, angry. Her rage was the only fire that warmed her, but now she's just cold. Her bones are aching with it. And she can't do it for a moment longer.

She reaches for Adora.

"Stay."