Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Catra’s first reaction was to blink in bewilderment.  It was a slow afternoon, after all.  Her thoughts were as yet aimless, drifting tufts of mildew.

“Uh, what?”

“I said, Miss Weaver, to please be more mindful of your attire.”

It was delivered like the drawl of a telephone hanging off a cord, and not to worry, because now Catra was caught up.

Where before her fingers had loosely prodded the handle of her mop, scooting it lethargically across the floor, now they clutched it so her knuckles drew together stiffly.   

“And what, Ms. Grey,” she seethed.  “is so scandalous about what I’m wearing?”

Eyes, splintered blue, roaming her features critically. It made her skin crawl.

For a few keen moments, Ms. Grey didn’t respond, but - in the sharp furrow of her brow as her gaze passed over tattoos lining the trim of Catra’s arms, in the quiet scoff as it roamed the frayed ends of the leather vest pressed snugly to her front - Catra heard everything she didn’t have to say.

“…Your collar,” Ms. Grey replied insincerely, her hands coming up to mime the appropriate adjustments at her own neck.  “It’s crooked.”

She could practically hear her own vein pop.

By now, Catra had fully leaned her mop against the wall, haphazardly dumping its tendrils of fiber behind her in the trolley.

“Is that right?” Catra arched her eyebrow.  “Let me spell something out for you, Adora.”

She’d said it slowly.  She crossed her arms just as languidly, every crease of her fingers a meticulous choice, every strand of hair a fallen shadow over her eyes by design.

“My ‘collar’ is none of your business.”

Catra gestured to herself, splayed claws on her chest glinting from muted lamplight. 

“I’ve got enough to deal with without asshole prudes yelling down their noses at me about how I should dress or what to give a shit about.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nah, I won’t, because I’m sick of people like you running their mouths.  Talking like you’re so much better.  You got a problem with me, take it up with upper management.  See if I care.  Until then, get out of my face.”

“Miss Weaver,” Adora had adopted a supremely conciliatory tone and oh, Catra felt fire grazing the shell of her ear.  “I never said I was better, but being so confrontational when all I did was point out-”

“Is there anything else?” Catra said simply.  “I’ve actually got work to do, believe it or not.”

Adora’s prim posture fell easily, giving way to a withering glare and clenched teeth.

“I don’t know why I bother.  God forbid my kid ever meets anyone like you-”

Her breath hitched.  Even Adora seemed to realize that there was a line, drawn hastily in the sand, blurred and lapped at by tidewater, that she had crossed.

Catra had her back turned by now.  For all the world she looked unaffected, but for the mop handle yet again clutched in her hands, trembling back and forth like a stiff reed in wind, squeezed tightly enough that her complexion was pale where she gripped it; but for her ears, twitching erratically until they sunk low on her head.

“Get lost.”

It was all Catra offered.

The squeak of cleaning fluids across marble flooring resumed, and Adora’s mouth was open, about to retort.

She shook her head, visage contorted into a grimace, and turned about back to her desk, her ponytail whipping behind her in a flourish.

Catra was all but ready to be fired.  She didn’t know what got into her.  All she remembered was the familiar acrid feeling ghosting her chest upon being berated and next thing she knew, she had been cursing at her workplace superior. She really didn’t want the hassle of searching for a new job when she’d only had this one for a few months.

It was foregone, Catra knew, that most people would take Adora’s side if the other day’s conversation were to come out.  Everyone in the office worshipped her like she was cast from gold.  Adora, who closed clients like no one else, and Catra, who no one knew existed. 

Not that she didn’t prefer it that way.

“Hey! Ms. Grey-”

“Oh, call me Adora!”

“Adora, then.”

The simpering voice was loud, cacophonous, almost certainly meant to lavish by design, to make sure such amicability would be caught by every ear and seeped into them like sweet poison.

Catra swore they’d be prostrated before her kissing her feet before the month was out.  They were all so fake she might have just puked then and there on the linoleum. 

As for Adora herself, Catra rather thought she looked tired.  Lines protruded across her temple even as she laughed.  Her eyes were sunken, tinged by shadow at their corners. 

They’d fully rounded the corner of a nearby cubicle by now, in plain view of Catra.  Today, as it was her usual evening shift, she deigned to wear her uniform: a drab, grey sort of affair. It hung slack around her body, sleeves too large even as she rolled them up, and predictably, Adora’s smile was wiped clean.

“Hey, you coming?  I wanted to introduce you to my friends over in IT.”

Perhaps Catra was biased, but hearing them fawn over Adora was like sawdust gathering on her ears.

“No, um.  I’ve got a lot to do today, but another time for sure.  It was nice meeting you, Flutterina.”

Catra heard her rattle off the perfunctory goodbye, and –

 And it wasn’t so dramatic, what remained after the dust settled.  Certainly not a scene worthy of the ugliness of what was between them before.

But when she realized Adora hadn’t yet left, where she must have still stood - eyes undoubtedly boring holes into the back of her head - her stomach was lined with lead.  A blundering weight that seized her muscles in place, and her breaths came out half-rasped, and god, she was so pathetic, liable to fall apart at the seams just because some conceited blonde thought she was worthless.

As tough as Catra made herself out to be, she didn’t think she could handle being looked at like that again.  She’d spent her whole life grappling with being put down, she’d given back her fair share and then some, but today she didn’t want to feel like garbage.

“Hey, uh…”

Catra flinched.  Her nametag dangled precariously from how she lurched, her shoulders bumping against the office bulletin’s corkboard walls.

“Ms. Weaver, I – whoa, are you crying?”

Furious, Catra brusquely ran her sleeve across her eyes once, irritating them a further red.

“What do you want?” she snapped, huddling behind the folds of a too-large collar.

“I just wanted to-”

“What, report me to HR?” she said scathingly. She clutched her sleeves so tautly to her person she could barely breathe.  “I’m surprised you haven’t already done it.  You seem like the type.”

Adora bristled.

“Never mind,” she growled.

And that was that.

Catra angrily wiped away her last tear and resumed working.

Early afternoon the next week saw Catra somewhat pleased.  Scattered notes were neatly catalogued in front of her.  To-do lists succinctly transcribed onto her laptop.

 A lightbulb she had to twist in place before the day was out.  Ceiling panels to remove and scour for dust.  Floors to be waxed.

It all struck in her head rhythmically.  Thrumming along her inner walls in a tattoo, thudding like a heartbeat.  She leaned back against her chair, eyes closed, swallowed in near darkness – the lighting was as faulty as the room was cramped.  But that was okay.  This was the one place in the entire office building she felt comfortable in her own skin.  A space exclusively hers.

To call it an office would perhaps do genuine office spaces a disservice, but call it that she did.  It wasn’t Catra’s problem that upon hiring her, they’d stuck her with what was essentially a renovated broom closet. 

With what little area was afforded to her, Catra managed to brim the space with color that spoke of her.  Photos of the few friends she had dotting the landscape of her desk, many of them featuring twinges of sinewy purple, the hair often serving as an impromptu backdrop.  The clinical arch of her headphones, dangling by their rim on the desk corner.

Notebooks, some arranged in a neat stack, most scattered about on tiny shelves and open cabinets.  One of them lingered on the flat of the desk, in a space kept saliently and meticulously clear, its binder well-worn, its pages crumpled and indented with signs of frequent use.

She was in her element, and well ahead of her quota.  To her palpable relief, she successfully avoided Adora to do so, who wouldn’t have done any favors for her mood. 

It took time – and long, languid hours of therapy - for Catra to understand that she isn’t at her best when motivated by anger.

But then, she also knew what they said about the devil and speaking.  It would be just her luck, of course.

Adora’s space was two rows down from her office door, but with Catra’s acute hearing it was hard to ignore the commotion, try as she might.

Against her better judgement, Catra stuck one foot out and nudged her door open just so.  A sliver of light spilled in from the main workspaces.

“What do you mean you can’t today?” her breath seemed hoarse.

“Mermista, I – yeah, okay, I get it, family emergency, but Finn’s still at school. Could you somehow at least-”

There was some distant babbling, garbled by the telltale static of a phone call.  Catra scratched uncomfortably at the base of her ear, unwillingly picking up the faint noise of rushing traffic.

“I understand,” and this Catra recognized, the familiar strained cadence of Adora attempting calm when inside she was nothing but scattered conniption.

“I understand, but Mermista,” her usual baritone turned shrill.  “Any other day, any other day of course I would, you know I would drop everything but this meeting with management’s been planned for weeks.  I don’t have the option to postpone, my job’s on the line if I even suggested it.  Please, please, I’m sorry, I really am, to ask this of you, but if you could just pick Finn up from school at the very least. No one else can babysit on such short notice, I…”

Furry points pricked the air as Catra heard what sounded like low murmurs of sympathy.

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop.  Really.  But, well, unless she had the conviction to clamp her hands over the top of her head…

“…Yeah.  Okay.  No, no, it’s fine, I don’t want you to feel bad.  I’ll just…I’ll…”

Catra couldn’t help it.  She quietly eased her door open the rest of the way and wheeled her chair out to peer around the corner.  Momentarily, her eyes were forced into a squint at the harsh gleam of proper lighting.

There at the bend of the walkway stood Adora.  Her phone was slack in her hand, teetering precariously from her limp fingers.  Shoulders slumped, eyes shrouded by wisps of loose gold.

Around her trying to be surreptitious were her coworkers, all pointedly faced away but conveniently stalled within earshot.

Catra rolled her eyes.  At least she physically couldn’t help it.

“Um,” Adora turned to face one of them.  “Flutterina.”

“Oh!” And Catra saw Adora’s little groupie, pink buns bouncing with surprise, smile stretched like plastic.  “Y-Yes, Adora?”

“I’m so embarrassed to ask this of you, and I really wouldn’t if I had any other choice, but is it at all possible for you to make a quick trip down to my kid’s school and bring them here?  It – It isn’t far, I’ll pay for your gas and everything.”

“Oh, Adora, that’s…I’m honored you’d ask me.  And I’d love to help out, really I would.  But I mean, today’s a smidge awkward. I’ve really been swamped.  Huntara’s got no mercy when it’s crunch time, you know how it is.”

Flutterina laughed. 

Catra would be the first to vehemently exclaim how far she was from being Adora’s biggest fan. 

Yet –

She didn’t know if it was in the pink that tinged Adora’s cheeks, her head hung in humiliation.

She didn’t know if it was the bile that threatened the back of her throat at that laughter, incessant like a faucet, like a dwindling mound of beetles.

She didn’t know what the hell she was doing as stomped over, the annals of her mind veritable hallways echoing with the cobwebs of one thought.

It isn’t any of my business.  It isn’t any of my business.

It isn’t any of my-

“Which school?” Catra spoke through closed teeth from behind her.

Adora was so startled her phone did tumble to the floor as she almost pirouetted in her haste.  Or it would have, if Catra hadn’t swiped it mid-flight.

Her eyes were half-lidded, molten like a pool of gold, like one of storming seawater, as she held it out for Adora to take.

“What?” Adora whispered.

Exasperated, Catra shoved the phone into her hands.

“Which.  School.  Does your kid go to.”

There were a few passing moments during which speech would not come to Adora.

“Salineas Elementary,” she finally replied.

“Uh huh,” Catra was already thumbing through her own phone, screens shrunken at blistering speed as she navigated.

“Alright.  I’ve got it on Maps.  Just bring ‘em here, right?  I’ll clear it with management too so they aren’t too surprised to see a child roaming around the office.”

It was blue gazing at Catra, a dim lantern at sea, mottled by fog, hung from a teetering boat, like a breeze would topple Adora where she stood.

“You would do that for me?”

But Adora’s eyes flickered once more to arms laden with dark, inked pondwater; carefully etched ripples given depth by bronzed musculature. Catra winced and took a step back.

Her eyes were narrowed even as a fang eclipsed her bottom lip.

“I guess I’m not your first choice, though.”

Adora’s eyes widened.

“No!” She shook her head so fast, golden tresses whipped her cheeks and left faint welts in their wake.  “No, Miss Weaver, that’s not-”

She took a deep breath.

“Thanks.  I…don’t know what to say.”

Catra pocketed her phone.

“You can start by not calling me Weaver.”

Catra made a show of gagging.

“Seriously.  Do not do that.  Catra’s fine.”

But out of the corner of her eye was a vexing pink.

“Adora,” even here, parasitic and pretty, drifting closer like pristine sheets of vinyl, like wrinkled skin twisted around the fulcrum of a pocketknife, Flutterina managed to sound simperingly sweet.  “If I may offer my suggestion.”

She fluttered her eyelashes once, twice.

“Surely you have some other options than entrusting such an important task to the janitor.  Oh!”

She blinked innocently, a hand pressed to her lips in affected shock, as if her words weren’t fully deliberate.

“Of course, what I mean is I’m sure Miss Catra is much too preoccupied to divert her attention to something so taxing.  She’s a busier woman than I, certainly!”

Her smile was moths dancing on flame.  Was ants teeming on a mass of food scraps.

Catra heard all this but didn’t dare turn around.  If she did, she knew she wouldn’t be able to contain herself or the maledictions she wanted to spit at this presumptuous, caustic little-

And if she wasn’t fired before, she certainly would be after that.

“Alright, then.”  It was Adora’s deep tenor that rang out.  Catra turned, instead, to her.

“I am open to suggestions, Flutterina.  Thank you so much for offering.”

Flutterina’s smile twitched into a thin line.  Even Catra rose a brow, surprised.  Where she usually expected Adora to bow before propriety, she stood tall.  Where she usually saw Adora wear well-practiced smiles, she donned instead something soft but dangerous. 

The purse of her lips, a crease in the brow.

Adora, too, was affecting her amicability, but was even less subtle about it.

“So,” she gestured to the open air between them.  “Tell me about these options.  Oh, perhaps you changed your mind about helping me out?”

“No, well, I’ve got some-” For the first time, Flutterina’s posture became flimsy as her arms flailed weakly in the vague direction of her cubicle.

“Ah.  That’s a shame.  Wouldn’t want to keep you from your schedule.”

She turned back to Catra without another word to her coworker.

“Okay.  Um, here’s a picture of Finn.”  Adora continued as if the midst of their conversation had never been interrupted.

Catra scoffed as Flutterina, fuming silently, crept away.

“They’re in 2-D, in case they’re still in the classroom, but usually they’ll be waiting on the grassy knoll by the curb, and here’s written proof of permission in case they ask you who you are, and my number just in case, and-”

A mess of materials was pressed into Catra’s slim fingers and she couldn’t help but be amused.

“Cute kid.”

And they were.  A mop of sandy blonde, dense as a forest, spilling over their shoulders.  It would have trailed the floor if not tied back into plaits.  Of course, she wondered about the two little triangles on top of said mop, but it wasn’t her place to pry.

Adora hesitated.

“You don’t have to go out of your way for me.”

Catra sighed, already gathering up her bag.

“Adora, you’re clearly in a crisis.  Whatever shit I’ve said to you, I’m not gonna be the asshole who sees this and does nothing.”

This Catra enunciated, making sure the whole office heard her.

“My assholery has standards,” she cracked the barest of grins.

Adora actually laughed, and for once, Catra didn’t mind.

“Hey, squirt.”

Limp tendrils of green were scattered about around them both as she looked down at the kid.

They looked back up at her.

Their eyes were wide, unblinking, blue like rivers cresting over muddy banks, like the sky peering between clouds, like rounded, squirming gemstones as they clutched the straps of their backpack, a zipper loose and the corner of a notebook spilling from it.

Around them was shrill chatter and the grunt of exhaust pipes as parents pulled to the curb and ushered their children in.

When Finn remained expressionless, (just continued to stare, stare, their tiny neck craned up, and Catra felt like recoiling though didn’t know why, it was like a vacuum of seawater tugging her in, enveloping her) Catra cleared her throat awkwardly and crouched down to meet them at their full height.

Damn, but Finn was small.

“Yeah, um, I’m Catra.  I’m here to pick you up.  Your mom and babysitter can’t make it today.”

Finn tilted their head quizzically.

“Mom says don’t talk to strangers.”

They’d spoken it like an interesting tidbit, or something read off a whiteboard.  Motes of curiosity curved their smattering of freckles just so, and Catra felt her heart thump.

“Ah.  Um, right.”

Catra scratched her head.

“I know your mom from work.  It’s pretty short notice, that’s why I’m the one here.”

“Are you Mom’s friend?”

“Oh. Well…sure.”

Catra could have slapped herself. 

Finn didn’t budge, and of course Catra didn’t blame them.  Honestly, she could already tell they were smart, for however many years they’d had behind them.

“Say, how old are you?  Can you tell me that much?”

Finn finally blinked.  A few moments passed.

“I’m eight.”

Catra nodded, as if this made sense.  She wasn’t sure if it did.

“Uh, how ‘bout we call your mom, and hopefully she’s not so stuck in her meeting that she can’t at least say hi.”

“Okay.”

Catra dialed, and damn, she wasn’t good with kids.  Finn was just standing there, waiting.  She hoped, a little more desperately than she wanted, that Adora would pick up.

On the fifth ring, the call went through.

“Miss W- I mean, Catra?  Is that you?”

“Yeah.  This isn’t a bad time, is it?”

“I asked to step out for a bit so I could take this.  As long as it’s quick.”

“Yep, yep.  No problem.  I’ve got Finn here with me, no issues there.  Just, like, if you could reassure them real fast that you did in fact ask me to pick them up and I’m not some creep in a white van.”

“…Alright.  Can you pass the phone to them?”

Catra put it to speaker and, still crouched – god, her knees were starting to hurt – held the phone gently in front of Finn.

“Hey, Finny.”

“Mom!”

It was striking, Catra thought dumbly, how their entire countenance shifted.  Suddenly they were bouncing on their heels, suddenly their grip grew slack so their backpack dangled completely from one shoulder.  Where before their eyes were still water and drifting skies, now they were starlight. 

“Mommy’s real sorry she couldn’t be there to pick you up today.  Mermy, too.  A lot of stuff happened, but you can go with Catra, it’s okay.”

“Are you gonna be back late?”

“Catra will take you to our office and look after you there for a bit.  Once I’m done, we’ll go home together, okay?”

“Yeah!”

Catra rose back to her feet as the call finished, both hands snugly in her jacket pockets.

“Well, come on.”

She inclined her head towards the parking lot. 

Finn nodded, following her until they’d crossed the knoll onto gravel.

They both piled into Catra’s car. 

“Oh,” Catra started, just about to twist the key and start the engine, cursing under her breath.  “You’ve got your seatbelt on?”

She looked back and saw Finn seated with their backpack neatly nestled against their side, seatbelt in place.

She’d almost forgotten to check. 

“G-Good.  Yeah, good.  You’re, well, comfortable?  There’s nothing you need?

Tiny needles at the back of her neck, down the length of her back, spreading over into her haunches and fingertips like voltage.

“Nope,” Finn said, staring back at her.

“Alright, let’s go.”

The drive was mostly silent.  She could feel Finn’s eyes on the back of her head.  Sweat had beaded beneath her palms where she clutched the wheel.

“Ah, Finn.  Yeah, how…”

She mumbled unintelligibly for a few seconds.

“How was school?”

Her ears strained themselves, roving just above her headrest.

Nothing.

“What, uh…” she tried again, but Finn gave her respite at long last.

“It was okay.”

“Oh, that’s good.  Yeah.”

Catra wracked her brain.  She once prevented her roommate from starting a fire.  They were eight.  This shouldn’t have been so hard.

“Did you learn…things?”

Fucking hell.  Fucking hell, Catra.

“Yeah,” they mercifully didn’t notice anything amiss.  “I liked English class.”

They had a slight lisp.

Catra didn’t know much about grade schoolers, but she’d never met one who spoke so…carefully?  She wasn’t sure.  Finn was so quiet, but every word they chose to part with was impeccably earnest.

“That’s cool,” and she meant it.  “What about your other subjects?”

She’d driven to the main intersection, from which the office was just off the wayside.

“They’re okay, I think.”

They think?

“We’re here.”

She glanced up, her hand preemptively coming up to shield her vision.  Her office was all sheeted steel and beams of reflected sunlight, looming and curved like some sordid polished belly.

They both dismounted.  Catra nearly tripped over herself rushing over to the passenger door and grabbing Finn’s hand.  She hoped they wouldn’t comment on how sweaty her fingers were.

“Stick close, squirt.”

The first thing Catra did was steal a chair from the breakroom.

“Hope you don’t mind waiting,” she dragged the chair over next to hers at her desk.  “You can hang out with me while your mom’s still busy for the day.”

In the stuttered, bereft glow of her office, Finn toddled over, before setting their backpack down and hoisting themselves up.  

Catra drummed her fingers on the rim of her keyboard, vision darting over distended paperclips and torn margins.

Tiny legs dangled, unable to reach the floor as they swung idly back and forth.

Shit.  Catra slumped over, forehead pressed to polished oak.  She had no idea how to entertain a kid.  When she was a kid, having fun was more of an afterthought, if worthy of a thought at all.

“Pretty.”

“Huh?”

Catra lifted her gaze to follow Finn’s. 

A notebook, lying open. Distinct from the rest, stickers dotting its landscape, and instead of tidy scrawls running down the length of its pages, there were doodles of cats and guitars rounding its corners.

“That’s pretty,” Finn remarked, hands kept obediently in their lap.

“Hmm.”

Catra pursed her lips.  She reached out and held the notebook in front of them.

“You can look through it.  I don’t mind.”

Their ears perked up happily.

Ah, shit. That wasn’t really fair.

They gingerly thumbed through the sketchbook, making small noises here and there when they saw something they particularly enjoyed.

“You draw good,” they mumbled.

“Oh?  Thanks, kid.” 

They were quiet again but for their tiny fingers tracing a sketch Catra had made of her friend Scorpia, whose cropped hair and brimming smile were radiant despite the pencil shading.

“You like drawing?” the thought had come to her, unbidden.

They were suddenly shy, wrapping their arms around their knees, huddled onto one edge of the chair like a cocoon.

“My drawings are lame.”

Catra seemed to ponder this.

“Hey, plenty of mine are lame, too.  But if it’s fun you should keep doing it.”

Finn fidgeted, saying nothing.

“You wanna try drawing something in my sketchbook?  Here-”

She shuffled over, handing Finn a pencil.

“I know there probably isn’t much to look at around here, though.”

Finn turned to her, and Catra was struck with déjà vu.  It was blue peering at her, this time from above the rim of her sketchbook.

They nodded.  Their pudgy fingers squirmed their way around the pencil as they dragged it about the page.

Catra probably should have taken the opportunity of having successfully occupied their attention to get back to work.

But in the quiet of her space, amidst the muted shuffling of xerox from outside and the soft whir of lit desklamps, she found herself just gazing at Finn.

When Adora finally excused herself from the meeting room and ventured out to Catra’s office, it was to a bewildering sight.

The door was open, its rusted hinges whimpering as Adora looked cautiously inside.

“Now I coulda sworn,”

Catra slanted a smirk, crooked up so it tugged at her cheek.

“That you told me your drawing was lame!  What’s your mom taught you about lying?”

Finn gave her that quizzical look again.

“Not to do it?”

“Eh,” Catra protruded her thumb and pinky, wiggling them in a half-hearted gesture.

“But,” she grinned.  “Look at this.  Come on, you said you were eight?  When I was eight, my flowers looked like germs and my actual germs looked like barf.  This is amazing, kid!”

And Catra was serious.  Finn had drawn what looked to be their mother, head ensconced in a winged helmet, form fitted with armor that rang a burnished gold.  She held a sword, broad and proportioned to look weighty.

It wasn’t the picture of realism, of course, but for being drawn by someone in their single digits, it was startlingly easy to pick out features.  An attempt at shading with clumsy strokes of graphite even added depth.

“That’s your mom, right?”

“It’s mom but she’s She-ra,” Finn said shyly.  “She’s an ancien’ warrior, fighting the evil Horde.”

“Wow,” Catra whistled.

Both their ears stood at attention as brisk steps echoed across marble.

“Finn, it’s time to go.”

“Mom!”  Finn scrambled off of their chair, nearly stumbling.  A clawed hand at their elbow helped steady them.

As they rushed to their mother, Adora peered at the drawing on the table.

“Ah,” Catra swiped it, before presenting the notebook to Finn with a flourish.  “Here y’ go.”

“But…” Finn tilted their head, eyes so blue Catra could drown in them.  “But that’s yours.”

Catra scratched her head, shrugging.

“You can hang on to it for now.  Give it back to me next time and you can show me more of your drawings of She-ra.  Um, if that’s…?”

Catra looked at Adora, who nibbled the inside of her lip. 

She nodded, and Finn excitedly took the notebook and stuffed it into their bag.

“Come on, Finny, time to go.”

“Wait!”

Catra stood up.  Her arms were so stiffly crossed she looked almost like she was huddling against herself for warmth, head hung low so her gaze could not be met.

Adora waited.

“If you ever…If there’s ever any more, like, I dunno.  Scheduling conflicts.  Or anything like that.  I wouldn’t mind…”

Catra finally looked up, and it was curious, because while she was of the opinion that Finn didn’t quite resemble their mother, she was struck when she saw blue.  Washing over her in the same way.  Engulfing her, as Adora stared warily.

Catra unfolded her arms.

“I wouldn’t mind helping out is all.  You’ve got my number. So.”

For long moments - in which Catra felt like she was suspended by wire, like her bones were pressing in on themselves - Adora said nothing. 

The three of them were so still Catra could count their breaths, could put them in a frame and it wouldn’t be out of place, their contours penciled in, their postures rough and accented with scribbles.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” Catra tried not to sound hopeful.

“Yeah.  Thanks for offering.”

Unlike with Flutterina, it seemed sincere.

When they both left, Catra retreated to her desk, legs swinging around limply like their muscles had been atrophied after a decade’s worth of disuse.

She idly tapped at her keyboard, but work eluded her.

Her vision brimmed not with the screen in front of her, but of spilling blonde and smattered freckles. 

She thought of pudgy fingers and timid smiles and inevitably, of blue.

Nothing but blue.

Chapter Text

“Hey, kid.”

She would never stop being startled by how striking they were, Finn’s eyes.  It was tidewater, gazing up at her in a way that recalled the moon tugging ocean waves.

Her crouch seemed lazy were it not for the imperceptible way her elbows dug into her knees.  What seemed to be easy, arms draped superficially so she appeared relaxed, in fact belied wired muscle in their cast shadow.  She affected a careless hunch of her shoulders, yet they were stiffly up to her ears.

“Hi, Miss Catra.”

“None of that,” Catra insisted, waving a hand carelessly.  “Just Catra.”

“Okay,” Finn nodded.

Above them towered Adora.

“Are you okay with taking the time out of your day?”  Adora’s question was courteous. But for the line of her brow and her thinning lips, Catra could have almost believed she meant it.

She played along, of course.  There was a certain distance to maintain, civility notwithstanding.

“No need to worry,” Catra stood up, her back inclined in a stretch.  “I could’ve handled picking them up too, you didn’t have to go out of your way.”

“It’s not out of my way,” Adora frowned.  “I’m their mother.”

Then she spoke frankly.

“I’m not so sure about this.  I usually have our babysitter take care of them in the afternoons.”

“What, you don’t think-”

Catra’s eyes darted to Finn, who stared curiously, and her next words were swallowed by a grimace.

“I can handle it,” the tempo of her breath carefully measured.  “Just leave Finn to me.  I’m sure they’d much rather be out here than stuck inside waiting.”

Around them stretched the boundaries of the local park.  Shrieking children lined the sandpits, dashed through shade mottled by tree leaves, dotted the shroud of green that matted one end of the park to the other as they bunted balls and set up goalposts.

Adora turned to her child.

“Finn, be good for Catra.  And call me whenever if there’s anything you need.  Whenever, okay?”

“Okay.”

After Adora left, Catra was fully prepared to hover suspiciously near the trees and peer in on the kids lining up for the slide, slouched and all.  She’d keep an eye on Finn but that didn’t mean she had to endure the stares of parents burning holes into her back, even at risk of having the neighborhood watch called on her.

When Finn didn’t immediately bolt for the playground like she thought he would, however, she looked down at them. 

“Uh, be free.  Roam the earth.” 

Finn blinked.

Catra wanted to strangle herself.  Probably would have if she weren’t still facing Finn.

“What I mean is,” as it is, she gave a strangled sort of wheeze.  “You can go play if you want, I’m not gonna stop you.  Don’t you wanna join the other kids?”

Finn bit their lip.

“I don’t, um.”

Their gaze was downcast.  Small hands clutched feebly around their lumpy backpack.  Its zipper hung loose, cleaved haphazardly along its seams, its tiny opening curved around something protruding that Catra recognized.

“Tell you what,” Catra said carefully.

She shuffled closer, once more descending onto a knee, her gaze becoming level with Finn’s.

“I’m going to go sit under that tree over there.”

She jabbed her thumb behind her while maintaining eye contact. 

“Again, you’re free to go frolic to your heart’s content.  I guess.  I admit, I’m not an expert on how children have fun.”

She gave them what she hoped was an encouraging smile, but it came out a crooked slant that resembled her usual scowl perhaps too closely.

 “But if you’d prefer to hang out with me, and I dunno, you wanted to share anything you had going on, I’m right there.”

She hadn’t even pivoted her gaze yet when Finn silently darted over to her side.  Still not granting her eye contact, but huddled close.

“Okay, well.  Yeah.  Let’s take it easy, huh?”

As they ambled over and sat beneath the tree, Catra glanced knowingly at Finn’s pack.

“So like I said.  Anything at all you want to show me, or talk to me over, I’m game.  Promise I won’t bite.”

Finn finally met her gaze.  Catra tried remaining impassive in the face of that arresting blue.  As it is, her fingers bunched against the grass, tearing up a few blades.

“You won’t laugh?” they spoke it in a hush.

Catra’s hand surreptitiously relinquished its grip.  A few strips of green were still drifting languidly to the dirt.

“I won’t.” She matched their whisper. 

They dug through their pack momentarily, before retrieving a familiar sketchbook, worn and frayed at its edges.

“I, um.  I drew more of my – of She-ra.”

They opened the book to its latest page, pages clattering back against the spiral binding, a cascade of years gone by, of painstaking pencil and the occasional oscillation of color.

And Catra observed what they did.  It was indeed the warrior in question, sword dug into the ground to heave herself up as she was dropped to one knee.  Finn had tried to imply exhaustion through wide scrapes of a pen denoting bruises and cuts.  To She-ra’s front was an indistinguishable, homogeneous mass of leering henchmen wielding staves pointed menacingly in her direction.

“I didn’t have a pencil, sorry,” Finn quickly stammered.  “I wanted to draw in my room but I left my case of them at school and a pen’s all I got in the cup near my bed, and maybe I coulda asked mom-”

“Hey, no,” Catra curved her palm in a placating gesture.  “Doesn’t matter what you use as long as you’re doing it and liking it.”

Finn nodded, but averted their gaze again timidly.

Well, Catra didn’t know much about kids but she did know this.  This was her, all her life, seeking approval and receiving crumbs.  She wasn’t about to let Finn know the same.

“Love it,” she ran a finger over the drawing, gently tracing the contours of She-ra’s helmet.  “Still surprised you’re eight.  You’ve got a real knack for fleshing out what’s on your mind.”

“ ‘F-Flesh’…?”

Another crooked grin.

“It means you have an eye for detail.  I can see what you see.  What story comes from just one still image.”

Finn blushed.

“I didn’t – it’s not that special.”

“Heck it isn’t!” Catra refuted.  “Not just being nice ‘cause I know your mom, Finn, you’ve got talent.  This blob’s supposed to be the…what now?  Mob?”

“The Horde,” they mumbled.

“Right, of course,” Catra nodded sagely.  “Got the memory of a goldfish sometimes, my bad.  Anyway, big fan of depicting – er, showing them off – as one flood or entity of evil.  A nice little motif, and you probably don’t even know what that means.  Now, if I had to offer advice somewhere, the lining over on these weapons is a little vague, so you can sharpen…”

And Catra was still astonished how young they were, because here she was yapping away to try and help them and they sat there enraptured.  Completely focused on imbibing every word she spoke.  She’d met adults who were less receptive to criticism.

“…But really, it’s great Finn.  And clearly you’ve got She-ra down pat.  If you care about my suggestion, next time what you can do is work off of this and make it more distinct.”

At Finn’s confusion, Catra backtracked. 

“Ah, I mean you can give it more shape, you know?  The story, the world they’re in.  Or go somewhere else entirely, it’s up to you.  It’s fun to build on each piece you do.  Maybe next you can go the other way and give the Horde a face?  As in, someone leading them or a reason She-ra’s fighting so hard by herself?  Or maybe after this she isn’t alone.”

And great.  Hardly not a toddler and they have her babbling.  Catra did not understand what was happening.

“Anyway,” she quickly pushed the sketchbook back towards them.  “I’m always happy for you to show me what you’ve drawn.  Anytime you want.”

“Wait, but,” Finn, for once, seemed the slightest notion of stubborn as they grasped the edges of the book.  “I was supposed to give you this back next time we saw each other, right?  It’s your sketchbook.”

Catra tilted her head to the side.

“Tell you what.”

And it was Finn’s go at being flabbergasted as Catra did take it back, but only briefly. 

It was enough time for her hand to shoot into her pocket, withdraw a pencil already so far in its lifespan it was hardly larger than a few marbles stacked against one another, and start dashing it across the next available page.

It was the span of a breath.  Not more than a few minutes.

Then she offered it back.  Finn gasped.

Catra had drawn a wooded expanse.  Rough and coarse, as even she had not the capacity to have done something more polished than the faded beginnings of intersecting lines crossed over each other, charted in the semblance of an image.  But a deft hand didn’t do it justice. 

Finn could make out the canopies of trees, properly plump with the fluff of leaves gathered, could so easily distinguish the vapors of magic trailing the one trodden path. 

Could see in the distance mountains flush with the nascent scribbles of glowing fungus and the profound canvas of flowers.

“You’re amazing.”

“Oh.  No, kiddo, I-”

Catra glanced towards their own tree’s canopy, mouth in an uncomfortable line.

“I’ve had years, okay?  I’m not that great, believe me. Just doodled stuff my whole life.  What I mean by this is it’ll be an exchange.”

“Exchange?”

“It’s boring just putting all my stuff in there,” she made a show of yawning.  “Like I said, been doing it for years, got a billion other sketchbooks chock full of ‘em.  You’re just the ticket to liven things up a bit, so this one’ll be ours, how about that?  You add anything you want.  Doesn’t matter how long it takes.  Then pass it over to me and I’ll try drawing whatever’s next.  And then you.  We can continue She-ra, if you want.  Or, yeah.  Anything.”

Finn couldn’t seem to help the small smile growing into their corners.  Ah, fuck.  Be still her heart. They just didn’t play by the rules, did they?

They nodded.

“Sound good?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Catra held out the sketchbook for them to take, and they did so gingerly, as if afraid they’d mar the features of what she’d scrawled.

When Catra smiled this time, it looked far more genuine.

Later, when Adora arrived, Finn scrambling to their feet with those dastardly stars in their eyes that forced Catra to avert hers, the mother unclipped her purse and withdrew a few crisp bills.

“Thank you for looking after Finn.”

Catra stared wordlessly at Adora’s outstretched palm, money held lightly in offering.

“What?”

“For your trouble.”

“Uh, no,” Catra said, wrinkling her nose.

“Excuse me?”

“No, that’s not why I did this.”

Adora frowned, stepping forward and nearly pushing her palm into Catra’s chest, if Catra hadn’t viscerally recoiled back until her shoulders were flat against the tree.

“Please, I insist.”

Catra’s eyes flickered over to Finn before she rolled them.

“That’s kind of you, but unnecessary.”

When Adora didn’t adjust her posture, Catra crossed her arms, a sharp furrow digging into her expression.

“Really.  Maybe it’s surprising to you, but I don’t need it.”

The slightest, indiscernible twitch in Adora’s otherwise placid features.

She put away the money.

“That isn’t what I was implying,” She muttered stiffly, holding Finn’s hand.  Finn, whose worried gaze bounced from their mother to Catra and back. 

She composed herself, her free hand smoothing down errant wrinkles in her suit. 

“All the more, then.  Thank you.”

Catra eyed her warily, then shrugged.

“No problem.  Call me again when Finn needs babysittin’.”

“Well,” Adora hesitated.  “I shouldn’t trouble you further.”

Catra shook her head.

“Trouble me.  I’m glad to do it.”

In this, at least, Catra’s sincerity was unmistakable even to Adora.

“Very well.  Then I’ll take you up on that.”

“Holding you to it.”

 Catra pushed off of the tree, waving backwards at the family as she sauntered off.

“Finn.”

Adora was flanked by grocery aisles like they were windows, each one distinctly closing its shutters from her periphery as her cart ambled past.

Beside her was Finn who, she noticed, was so absorbed in what they were holding that they were starting to lag behind.  She grew a little wistful.  It seemed only yesterday that they were still small enough to ride in the cart’s basket.

“What’ve you got there, hun?”

“It’s Catra’s sketchbook,” they muttered, nose pressed into the page.

Adora raised her eyebrow.

“Don’t you have to give that back?”

“She said I could keep it until next time.  It’s an ‘schange.”

Adora grabbed a box of cereal from the top shelf without glancing at it, lips pursed in thought.

“Are you having a good time whenever Catra watches you?”

Finn nodded, still buried in their pages, thick paper drawn up halfway to their ears they were so immersed.

“Finny, wouldn’t you rather Mermista still be the one to pick you up?  We’ve known her longer.”

“What?”  Finn finally emerged, their hair revealing itself in splotches as it tumbled down their shoulders.  “No!”

“You don’t like it when she does?”

“No, I-I like Mermy, but…”

Finn bit their lip, their eyes slowly drifting back to their drawing.

Adora sighed, hunching over so she could gently tuck a few strands behind their ear.

“Okay.  Never mind.  Hey, let’s go pick out your weekly protein, hm?”

Finn nodded, hugging the sketchbook to their chest.

“Can we also go take a look over in that section?”

She glanced over to where they pointed.  Exasperated as she was, Adora couldn’t help but laugh.

“These are for you.”

Catra blinked. 

They were cast in the dim lighting of her office, its threshold so cluttered Adora had to squeeze past a narrow opening from a door barely swung past its hinges just to make her way over to Catra, who was leaning precariously back against her chair, the desk splayed out in front of her as a forest of parchment.

Thrust in front of Catra were flowers, hued a profuse pink.  A bouquet arranged like a chalice, petals winding about each other like the intimate creases of a tablecloth.

“I’m flattered Blondie, but if you wanted to take me to dinner-”

“They’re carnations.” Adora rolled her eyes.  “Finn wanted me to give them to you.”

Abruptly, Catra sat up.

“They’re from Finn?”

She hesitantly grasped the base of it as Adora let go.

A few moments passed in which Catra quietly gazed at her gift.

“How would you feel,” Adora was nearly just as quiet, the cadence of her voice glancing mutedly over dusty shelves.  “If you took on perhaps a more consistent role in helping with Finn?”

Catra finally looked up from her flowers.

“Meaning?”

“I love Finn.  That goes without saying.  I wish I had the time to give them the attention they deserve.  And this isn’t me trying to garner your sympathy or anything.  How hard it must be, right?  For a single mother to take on so much.”

Adora shook her head.

“You’ve told me in no uncertain terms you don’t want my pity.  The same goes for me.”

Catra raised her free hand in a gesture that mocked surrender.

“Hey, didn’t even know you were single.”

“The point is,” Adora continued.  “It’s simply how it is.  It kills me that I’m so busy I need a constant babysitter for Finn instead of being there enough myself, but I do.  We’ve bounced between a couple of my friends until now, and I know they’re happy to do it, but I can’t keep burdening them like this with something that should be my responsibility.”

Catra raised a brow, folding her arms loosely enough that the bouquet remained undisturbed, hanging from her firm grip.

“No great tragedy if I’m bothered, is it?  It’s just Catra, no one important.”

Adora sighed, finally pulling up the one chair and slumping into it.

“But you’re not bothered, are you?”

At that, the words died along the column of Catra’s throat.

“Look, I’m not thrilled to be asking this either.  I know I’m not your favorite person. But I can tell that when Finn…when they’re with you, they-”

Adora drew herself up.

“You’re free, of course, to refuse.  I’m just hoping you feel similarly to how they do.”

Catra’s arms came undone.  Her hold on the flowers never slackened, but the other hand came up to drum her fingers along the rim of her desk.

“You’ve told Finn about this?”

“No.” Adora scoffed.  “Trust me, though.  They won’t take much convincing.”

Catra looked at her.

“Fine.”

Adora blinked.

“Oh.  Um, great.  This means I’ll pay you for your services, by the way.  Not for any reason except that it’s your job.”

“Fine.”

“Great,” Adora repeated.  “Okay.  Um, that’s…good.  Oh, here-”

Adora scrabbled for her purse, rummaging for something.

“Our address.  We can work out schedules and when you should come over to watch them later.”

Catra nodded, wordlessly accepting the neatly folded note.

She glanced over to Adora, who remained sitting.

“Anything else?” came her drawl.

Adora’s gaze dropped to her lap.

“No.  Thank you.  I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.”

When she left, Catra released a breath heavy enough to send her shoulders plummeting.

For a while – seeming suspended among vapors, revolving slowly with her chair, slats of dingy light tracing dust in her hair – Catra continued to stare at her bouquet.

Thoughts unbidden flitted to her: of growing, tremulous smiles and small, hesitant fingers.

“Fuck.”