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When She-Ra appears at the top of the ramp, Ondine feels her heart skip a beat for all she told herself it wouldn’t, and it’s enough to banish even the irritation of the Etherian liaison by her side. Ondine has no idea what’s up with Catra, but there’s no way she’s going to let her ruin this moment.
Be cool, she thinks through the initial greetings. Her attention wavers, the words of her own speech running through her head in a last desperate rehearsal, but it’s physically difficult to pay attention when She-Ra’s two feet away from her. Surely it’s not just her? Everyone else seems unaffected, but then, she thinks she’s hiding it pretty well herself. It must be normal.
It’s her turn. Ondine is proud of the way she stands tall, the way the words come smoothly. She’s a professional. She flows through the steps of the speech: welcome, introduce yourself, a little bit of flattery never hurts, except She-Ra chooses that moment to abandon her idle survey of the room at large and look directly at her, half-smiling, and Ondine trips over her own words. She’s pretty sure she just called She-Ra wonderful. The thought brings a blush to her cheeks. She’s a professional. It’s not her fault She-Ra is so—radiant.
‘Thank you, Minister Ondine,’ She-Ra says. ‘I look forward to working with you.’
And that just makes Ondine blush harder, because the words are rote but they’re delivered with such sincerity she’s not entirely sure how to react. To her relief, She-Ra’s gaze turns away, falls on Catra, and Ondine takes the opportunity to slump and collect herself. It was fine. She’d get used to it. The hard part was over—
And then she hears Catra say, openly belligerent, ‘You’re too tall.’
Ondine doesn’t have time to be appalled. She interjects with an apology before her brain has quite formulated the words, except how is she supposed to apologise for that? It’s ridiculous. Her training doesn’t cover schoolgirl insults. ‘I mean—it’s not you—you’re absolutely not—’ Good grief. She stops herself before she can say You’re just the right size, and all at once she realises Catra is glaring at her, and at She-Ra, and there’s something unspoken going on here and Ondine really, really wants to take a step back. Maybe they hated each other? Is that why Catra refused to talk about She-Ra?
‘Oh, am I?’
Wait. Why is She-Ra playing along?
‘Yes.’ Catra's bristling, literally and figuratively. ‘Can’t have a conversation with you like this.’
She-Ra steps right into Catra’s personal space and Ondine’s mind flashes back to the incident that shall not be named and she has a moment to panic, but there’s no punch forthcoming. Only She-Ra, staring down at Catra from several feet up, grinning; and Ondine starts worrying the blow will go the other way.
She-Ra shrinks. Ondine is a professional: her mouth doesn’t drop open like half the other onlookers. If she gasps a little, it’s not like anyone but Catra can hear her. Catra and the woman who—is She-Ra? Was She-Ra? Ondine isn’t sure how this works. She does look like She-Ra, but dampened, the energy turned down enough to allow everyone else to breath.
‘So, what was it you wanted to say?’
Her voice is the same. She sounds like she’s challenging Catra to a game Catra can’t possibly win. And Ondine knows Catra well enough by now to register zero surprise when she snarls, ‘Guess.’
She-Ra reaches out. Pulls Catra in. And Ondine has time to think oh, and then she’s watching She-Ra kiss the woman Ondine has spent the last week working with, the woman who never once mentioned She-Ra unless Ondine did first, and maybe norms were different on Etheria. Maybe kissing was a form of social dominance. Maybe—
Catra makes a tiny, desperate noise and Ondine is forced to upgrade kissing to making out, and she’s fighting yet another blush and then she remembers the room full of dignitaries watching and the fight is lost. There’s total, utter silence. Ondine can hear absolutely everything and she’s forced to admit that maybe this is exactly what it looks like, because there’s nothing dominant in the way She-Ra’s fingers curl in Catra’s hair, in the way she breaks away, reluctantly, just far enough to whisper, ‘Missed you.’
It takes Catra a few tries to catch her breath. ‘Good guess,’ she says eventually, and she sounds dazed and overwhelmed and generally entirely unlike the Catra of the previous week. Privately, Ondine is impressed she’s able to talk again at all. Her brain short-circuited just watching.
‘Hi,’ She-Ra says brightly, one arm around Catra’s waist, once it becomes apparent no one else is in a fit state to say much of anything. ‘I guess we can, um, dispense with the formalities. After that. I’m Adora. I think you already know my girlfriend, Catra.’
And maybe Ondine hasn’t quite processed it yet, if the way she squeaks out ‘Girlfriend?’ is any judge. Catra was She-Ra’s girlfriend. Adora’s girlfriend? This was confusing. Her friend—well, her acquaintance—was, at the very least, sort of She-Ra’s girlfriend. ‘That must have… slipped her mind. To mention.’
Catra shifts against Adora’s shoulder. She’s making a strange noise, deep in her chest like the soft whirr of machinery. Adora’s free hand is stroking her ear.
‘What can I say?’ Catra says, languid and boneless in her lover’s arms. ‘I’m a professional.’