The fail-safe worked a little too well and so Catra mourns the loss of Adora.
~~~
"Catra, you're shaking," Was she? "Are-are you cold?" She doesn't know. Maybe. Maybe not. "Please, talk to me," She couldn't. If she spoke, she'd start crying and wouldn't stop. "Can-can you at least look at me? Please?" No. If she met any eyes, she'd run and not return. "Catra, please," Don't beg. She couldn't help you if you begged. Adora begged, and she still died. "I-if you need alone time, I'll go. Just-please, tell me something, anything," She tried. She did. All she could muster was simple: "Please," Her throat burned horribly and her eyes stung bitterly. "O-ok. I'll go," Glimmer sniffled. Her hand left her arm, a burning cold left in its absence. She brought her knees closer, wrapping her arms around them tightly. She'd already cried today. She probably had no water left to cry anymore. Yet, a lone tear dribbled alongside her jaw.

It tickled, but she couldn't find the energy to wipe it away. Then another fell in its path. And another... and another. Blinding rage took over her body in a single hot wave. She swiped at the tears furiously. She ground her teeth, harshly pulling on a strand of hair that irritated her neck. The hair didn't move: her anger worsened. She fisted her hair, pulling it with a frustrated scream. Then the pain hit. Her scalp burned in agony and the cycle started again.

~~~

Catra was numb for weeks after Adora died. She didn't eat, she just threw it back up. She didn't sleep, she just had nightmares of her best friend's red thick hot blood staining her hands. She didn't go in the water, it turned red with blood. She'd been told there were five stages to grief.

denial.anger.bargaining.depression.acceptance.

She'd done it in a... slightly different order. There wasn't room for denial: she'd held her hands against his dying friend's chest, praying to all deities out there, in any galaxy or world or even universe, to save her. Yet: they'd all turned their backs and left her to die, to pay for their mistakes. To take away Catra's light. Anger, well, she was an angry person by nature. Years of belittling and unfair discipline from Shadow Weaver contributed to that. And her claws. Before Adora heroically (because that's just what she was) killed herself, she and Catra shared a calm night by the hot springs in Mystacor.

There, Catra saw the eight angry, furiously red lines, marring Adora's back. Adora, of course, tried to relieve the guilt by saying they were enemies and enemies get hurt in war. But Catra didn't like it. For the first time in her life, she muttered something akin to an apology.

Fuck, some days he wanted to rip the claws off, just to be normal. Around a week after... it... Catra was sitting on a rock she'd relaxed against with her Dora, less than 24 hours before she'd died. She glanced at her claws bitterly. A sudden wave of anger rushed over her, dragging her deep. Red filled her vision as she brought a rock down, hard. She hadn't felt the pain until a long while after that: just happy he no longer had claws. Like his best friend did.

But then her hands began to bleed, hot and very painful. As a healer bandaged it up, the tears fell fast and silently. Adora should be doing it. But no: she was dead.

Catra cried herself to sleep that night, and every night after that for a solid week.

~~~

A month has officially passed since... it. Catra's claws had healed slightly wrong. Her pinkie finger claw was now permanently bent slightly off-angle. She'd also broken her foot, though that was a 50/50 accident.... 75/25. Fine, 90/10. She was angry that the stand-in leader (as Glimmer was too upset to take control) had made her help heal the wounded: "You're on our side now, you've gotta act like it,"

She'd helped bandage around fifteen people up, fuming and probably not doing it as gently as she could've done. When the main healers were free, Catra stormed off, anger fuelling her every move. In a fit of childish rage, she kicked a rock. Her foot was on fire immediately, but she was too riled up to return to the castle. So, she sat on the rock again, holding her knees tightly. Her foot burned with agony, but Catra didn't care. Adora only felt pain when she died, why the fuck should she feel any different? Why the fuck should she feel loved, full, and healthy? While her best friend was dead?

She didn't return to the castle that night, nor the following, nor the third. Neither did she eat. She would doze for a few minutes, but never more. Adora, as much as she loved her, haunted her dreams. Her blood would be suffocatingly hot, dripping down her arms as Catra desperately tried to save her, in vain. On her fourth night of sulking on the rock, she'd passed out from no food. The energy depletion left her with a blank mind for the first time in a while. When she woke: he was still on the rock. Nobody had bothered. Why should they? You killed Adora. Something hissed.

And it was right.

~

Catra kicked a stone as she stormed along the beach in Mystacor. The other kids shouted playfully as they played with their moms, dads, siblings and friends. Scorpia was in that pile, shouting when somebody pulled her under by her tail. Sparkles was dozing on the sandy area, grinning softly. Bow was cleaning his arrows, and the princesses were chatting amongst themselves.

Everyone had a partner or somebody to talk to. She didn't: she was alone.

At dinner, ignoring the looks directed at her by everybody, she sat hunched over. Her hair protected her face from the pricing stares, making eating slightly less nauseating. The peace was broken with: "You need to do your hair, Catra,"

She hadn't bothered to do her hair since Adora died. It's not that she couldn't do it, she probably could if she tried hard enough, but that was Adora's job.

Adora could brush the mats out... relatively painlessly.
Adora could wash out the dried blood from her scalp.
Adora could brush the leaves out.

Adora did her hair.

She shrugged, not meeting Perfume's eyes. "It's fine," She mumbled over some cooked fish. "It is not. You need it redone. The mats are rather large," Catra swallowed thickly, not liking where the conversation was heading. "Fine. I'll do it later," She still refused to meet her gaze. After a moment, she hummed. "Why don't I brush it out for you? Adora mentioned you struggle with the mats," Catra shook her head, the tufty bits clouding her sight. "I'm not a kid, Perfume. I can do my hair," She said a bit too harshly. She ignored the hurt look.

Later that night, after an awkward evening between her and the rest of the party, she sat up awake. She hugged her knees painfully tightly, the tears cascading from her eyes like a waterfall. How could people expect her to just brush away the ghost of his best friend's fingers in his hair? They all lost someone as well. Did they not keep something they did? She sniffled softly, trying to stop the wails and whimpers from leaving her chest.

It'd been a whole two months since Adora died. 8 weeks, 3 days, 2 hours and 30 minutes, to be exact.
8 weeks, 3 days, 2 hours and 30 minutes since her heart was shattered beyond repair, bleeding endlessly into her body.

All she could see was Adora. The same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth, the same smile, the same eyebrows, even the same dimples... wherever the hell she looked.

She pressed her cheek into her knee, looking at the wall in anger.
Everything has a purpose. Everyone meets peace eventually.
What bullshit.

Feeling hot, she abruptly stood and fled as quickly as possible.

The fresh air helped clear the thick fog of grief that had settled particularly strong tonight. She found herself settling on a rock on the beach, one that you could see the stars and moon perfectly on. The waves lapped gently at her feet as she moved her toes in the sea foam. She sighed heavily. Perfuma was right. She did need to do her hair, but she couldn't.

Well.

She could.

But she also couldn't.

She wouldn't do it as nicely as Adora did.
Not as perfect as Adora did.
Not as gently as Adora did.

"Idiot, stay fricking still!" Adora hissed, pulling a matt.
"Ow! Jesus, fine," Catra glared, despite Adora not seeing it. She yanked anyway.
Catra whipped around, hissing. "I saw the glare," Adora slapped her bare shoulder with the wooden comb. Catra narrowed her eyes. "Just get on with it," She grumbled, turning back.

Catra was only twelve, Adora thirteen then. She smiled softly.

"Hey kitty, how's the hand?" Adora sauntered in smugly. Catra huffed petulantly, flexing her fingers. It hurt, but she didn't show it. "Fine. Near perfect, dear Adora. Why do you ask?" Her eyes began to water. "Because you're crying and it's swollen to the size of an apple," Catra grumbled, narrowing her eyes as Adora strolled forward. "What've you got?" She asked. "I found some cool stuff in Shadow Weaver's room. Thought they looked cool," She shrugged, already tipping the stuff out onto her bed. Catra grinned, rifling through. "Adora breaking rules? There's a first time for everything,"

Catra was fourteen, a few weeks shy of fifteen then.

"Hey, you ok?" Catra hastily wiped her eyes. "Fine. I'm fine," Adora grunted softly as she took a seat. "You ran off pretty quickly earlier. What happened?" Catra refused to meet her eyes. Adora hummed quietly. She began to play with Catra's matt-free hair. "This looks awfully short and choppy. Decided you wanted a new look?" Catra exhaled shakily. She could feel Adora's eyes narrowing. "They also caught your ear. It's bleeding," Catra turned, shocked. "How did you know they cut it?" Upon the furious rage in her eyes, Catra knew she didn't know. "I didn't," She confirmed. "But I do now." She ran her hands through Catra's hair. "Who did it? Who cut off your hair?" Catra hesitated. "Catra? I'm not playing with you. Who did it?"

She sighed. "Octavia, Jerick and Damille"
Catra prepped herself for Adora storming off in favour of battering the three bullies, but instead pulled out the wooden comb. "Sit still, this might hurt a bit,"
They sat there until long after the others turned in for bed, Adora brushing out every single mat and knot caused by the butchering. They were yelled at and disciplined by Shadow Weaver the following morning, but neither cared.

They had each other... and that was all that mattered.