A/N: Happy birthday, Catra! (irl, I know we already had it in the story lol)

Okay so full disclosure, this chapter and the next one were originally supposed to be one larger chapter. There's extra stuff now that wasn't in the original outline, so said "chapter" has gotten a bit big for its britches. It's all very connected in terms of themes and plot but there's a small time jump and a huge tonal shift halfway through and some pretty big moments scattered throughout, so I've decided I want to give everything some room to breathe (not to mention the readers) by splitting it up.

So the bad news is this is a short chapter (though not especially short by Hail Mary standards) and so is the next, but on the other hand… two updates? The next one should be up on Friday, barring unforeseen circumstances. Perhaps the best thing is you get to enjoy this lovely hurt/comfort chapter in isolation before the next chapter, which reads like something out of a horror novel (jokes, kind of). Both chapters contain mentions of child abuse and threats of violence but no actual violence (of that type), and they're pretty chock full of abuse survivor psychology, so aspects of them could be triggering. Take care of yourselves.

One final note: There's an anecdote involving a shopping cart mid way through chapter 3 (scene 2, paragraph 6) that might be worth reviewing prior to reading these next two chapters, as it comes up again.

CONTENT WARNING for references to and threats of physical abuse.

It all happens so fast.

It's supposed to be a routine play. Easy. Simple. Boring, even. Catra's the primary target, running a square-out pattern. She and Adora have practiced this exact pass hundreds if not thousands of times. But when Catra turns to catch near the sideline, expecting the pass already on the way, she sees Adora getting thrown headfirst into the grass instead.

The sight is bad enough, but Adora's howl of pain is what really does it. It triggers something instinctual, almost feral inside of Catra. Heat flares in her chest and cheeks, overwhelming her logical brain and all but whiting out her vision.

Sprinting to the scene of the crime, she tackles the defender standing over Adora. She shouts at him, grappling and pinning him, kicking his leg out when he tries to get back up. People are yelling nearby, but she's too dialed in to process anything beyond this asshole hurt my girl.

Suddenly she's ripped away, held aloft with her arms pinned to her sides. Her strength is no match for the beefy arms that have her in a vice grip, dragging her away from Adora's assailant.

"Get off of me!" she shouts, struggling in their grip.

"No," comes Rogelio's voice from behind her, gruff and infuriatingly calm.

Thrashing fruitlessly, Catra roars in frustration and rage. "Let me go!"

"Catra, stop!" Lonnie steps between her and the defender, gripping her shoulders as she fixes her with an intense stare. "Let it go."

A new wave of anger surges in Catra's chest. How can Lonnie say that? "That bastard hurt Adora!"

"We need you, okay?! We need you!"

Those words hit Catra hard, the undertone of desperation in them stunning her into wide-eyed silence. Gloved fingers twisting in Catra's jersey, Lonnie presses on. "You're the MVP, remember? What are we supposed to do if Adora's injured and you're suspended? You think we can beat the Royals then, huh?"

The truth of that resounds in Catra's logical brain (and ego), but her salamander brain is still fighting for control. Growling, she sends the guy a death glare over Lonnie's shoulder as he gets to his feet. He's glaring right back, rubbing his neck where her arm was wrapped around it. As if he didn't deserve that and much worse.

Fingers suddenly obstruct Catra's vision as Lonnie grabs her facemask, jerking her head back to face her. "He's not worth making this worse," states Lonnie. "You're our MVP. Act like it."

Lonnie's eyes and voice are stern, yes, but also steady. Calming. Catra doesn't respond well to lectures, that's an understatement, but this isn't from an authority figure. As much as they have butted heads in their lifetime, Lonnie doesn't get Catra's hackles up the same way.

Closing her eyes, Catra takes a few deep breaths, expelling the excess anger from her body with shuddering exhales. When her hands stop shaking and her jaw unclenches, her eyes pop back open with purpose. "Adora…"

Lonnie steps aside and Rogelio lets Catra go. Before she can even start toward Adora, the ref catches everyone's attention with his whistle and signals the penalties on the play. Catra feels heat flaring under her collar anew when he kicks her out the game and not the other guy, but she swallows it down. It's not the end of the world. She already got that return for a touchdown she needed and the game was over two quarters ago anyway.

Adora is her priority. She needs to stay calm for her, comfort and care for her. So she goes and does just that.

That resolve to keep her cool gets tested when that Thaymor captain who had the nerve to slap Adora's ass comes over and tries to take Catra's place, but thankfully the girl backs off before it escalates. Catra and the trainer help Adora to her feet and escort her off the field, Catra guiding Adora with a hand on her lower back. The touch is admittedly a gesture of possession as much as comfort. As they start the walk back to the school, Catra shoots the captain one last glare over her shoulder. The fucker doesn't even react, just watches with worry as they leave. Like it's her fucking job to worry about Adora.

Despite the injury being in her wrist, Adora is wobbling on her feet, pale and shivering by the time they make it to the changeroom. Catra quickly grabs Scorpia's jacket and drapes it over Adora's shoulders as the trainer sits her down - her own wouldn't come close to fitting her with all her gear on.

They help Adora get her gloves and helmet off and then the trainer starts to poke and prod at the injured wrist. Shedding her extra gear as well, Catra settles beside Adora, taking her uninjured hand and rubbing soothing circles into her back. Adora squeezes tighter several times, whimpering at especially painful motions. Shushing her quietly, Catra cups the back of her hand and laces their fingers together, sweeping her thumb over Adora's palm.

"Well, I don't think it's broken," the trainer concludes. "More likely a bad sprain. I'd still get it x-rayed though, just in case."

Adora doesn't respond, so Catra answers for her. "Thanks. We will."

He wraps the wrist in a tensor bandage and gives Adora some painkillers and an instant ice pack. Then he heads back to the field, leaving them alone.

Poking the ice pack with her good hand, Adora remarks, "It's not very cold."

"It's over a bandage," Catra points out, but she reaches out to check it all the same. Frowning at the decisive lack of cold, she picks it up and squishes the contents around to speed up the reaction. "There you go," she says, pressing it to Adora's wrist and holding it there.

Adora sniffles in reply and Catra instinctively reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Adora flinches and Catra almost pulls her hand back until Adora grabs on and holds it there. "Cold," she mutters in explanation, but she still leans into Catra's touch.

A new tear leaks from the corner of her eye and Catra brushes it away. "Don't worry, you're gonna be okay." Forcing a smile, she adds, "At least it's not your throwing arm."

"Still hurts like a bitch," grumbles Adora. Shivering again, she drops her hand from Catra's to rub some warmth into her forearm.

"You think it's broken?" Catra asks quietly.

Mouth twitching, Adora muses, "Nah, doesn't hurt the same way. Hard to explain."

"You don't have to," snorts Catra, "I've broken my wrist before, remember?"

Adora's eyes drop and Catra's follow, a sinking feeling in her chest. "Or, well, my wrist got broken," she mutters. Clearing her throat, she deflects, "You should get an x-ray anyway. To be sure."

Lips pursing tightly, Adora shakes her head. "The team needs me, and I can't play with a cast on, even on the left."

Catra huffs in disbelief. "Oh my god, Adora."

"What?"

"Don't be stupid. If it's broken and you don't get it fixed in time it'll be fucked up for the rest of your life. Don't worry about the playoffs, your health comes first." When Adora opens her mouth to argue, Catra goes for the jugular. "You've got your whole college career ahead of you, you can't risk your future over high school playoffs. What would Weaver say if you wasted all that potential of yours?"

"Yikes, okay," relents Adora, eyes wide. "I'll get it checked."

Catra smiles, relief and smugness fighting for control of the expression. "Good girl."

A very obvious blush flares in Adora's cheeks and she looks away. "Yeah, yeah. Anything to get you off my back." Another shiver runs through her and she nods over to where her stuff is hanging up. "Hey, can you grab my hoodie?"

"It's not gonna fit," Catra says flatly.

"No, I know, I wanna get changed."

"Oh, okay."

Catra grabs Adora's t-shirt and jacket too, figuring she's going to need as much warmth as possible. When she turns back and finds Adora squirming in her jersey, trying to wrestle out of it with one hand, her stomach tightens. Shuffling closer, she mumbles, "Uh, you need some help?"

Adora shakes her head stubbornly. "No, I can do it."

She proceeds to get more and more tangled up, practically strangling herself with her collar. It would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic. Catra waits impatiently for her to wear herself out, cleats tapping on the floor. Finally Adora deflates with a sigh, head stuck somewhere near her armpit, and Catra repeats emphatically, "Do you need some help?"

She can just hear Adora's pout in the way she mutters, "Yes, please."

Catra snorts, stepping closer. "Arms up."

Adora complies and Catra untangles her from the mess she made. With the jersey finally off, she helps her out of her shoulder pads and strips off the Under Armour clinging to her sweaty skin. She swallows thickly, trying to keep her eyes from roaming as she discards the top and grabs Adora's t-shirt from the bench. Sure, she's seen Adora undress lots of times, but she's not usually involved in the process. And if she's being honest, she might be a little on edge because of what Adora said to her earlier.

Apparently, Adora wants to have sex with her. Or at the very least, she's open to the idea of Catra being her first. Which is funny, given how she reacted when Lonnie even suggested they kiss a few days ago. Then again, Catra reacted the exact same way. Pot, meet kettle.

On one hand, Catra's kind of proud that Adora trusts her enough to be vulnerable with her. It's flattering from someone who doesn't do vulnerability, Catra would know. But is it actually good that Adora feels so at ease around her that she sees her as a safe person to practice with? Catra sure doesn't feel at ease around Adora, not in that way. Being a low-risk option isn't exactly a compliment.

Then again, it's not like this is unfamiliar territory for Catra - it wouldn't be the first time she's been someone's first, or an experiment. It's not like she's a total thot, she does have standards, but she's shown several girls a good time. She even pegged DT once, which was admittedly very satisfying what with how annoying they are. But she mostly just did those things because people obviously wanted her and she liked feeling wanted. It's a novelty in her life, a novelty that has yet to wear off.

Truth be told, the only person Catra has actually enjoyed sleeping with is Lonnie. Maybe that's because they have a deeper connection, or maybe it's because Lonnie's the only person she's trusted enough to relax and simply enjoy the experience without fear. And it was playful, competitive but also chill in a way. Some people seem to expect to have some kind of life-altering epiphany or something when she makes them come. Lonnie's nonchalance was surprisingly refreshing, and reflected Catra's own feelings on the matter. (Except for the times they hate fucked, but that was a much more comfortable and familiar kind of intensity.)

Maybe that's what's going on. Maybe Adora thinks that because Catra has done it with Lonnie she could do it with her too, no big deal. But with Lonnie she wasn't having to suppress any feelings, she could just enjoy what they had. Catra doesn't know if she could bear being with Adora but not really being with her.

Maybe she should do it anyway. She sure doesn't want anyone else to be Adora's first. Definitely not that sexy butt-touching linebacker. Adora should be hers, and she should be Adora's. And she could make it a good first experience for her, safe and fun and pleasurable. She just doesn't know if she could handle how much it would hurt after. She doesn't want to be Adora's guinea pig, she wants to be her girlfriend.

She… fuck. She wants to be her girlfriend.

Guiding Adora's injured arm through her jacket sleeve, Catra presses the ice pack back to her wrist. Clearing her throat, she asks, "Shoes? Pants?"

"Yeah," says Adora.

A couple minutes later, Catra is kneeling at Adora's feet lacing up her Chucks. She can't help smiling to herself, reminiscing about how this kind of reminds her of third grade, but she doesn't say that out loud. Adora's sensitive about how long it took her to learn to tie her shoes, how long it takes her to master pretty much any fine motor skill. Hopefully that doesn't extend to-

Nope. Nope nope nope, not going there.

Rising to her feet, Catra tugs at the pants she left bunched below Adora's knees, forcing her to stand. When she gets the elastic waistband up over Adora's hips, she lets it snap back and hit the small of Adora's back. Adora pouts at her, no heat behind it, and Catra laughs.

"I'm glad you wore sweats today," she remarks, letting her hands skim along Adora's waist on the way back. "Wrestling jeans up your sweaty thunder thighs would've been a nightmare."

"I keep telling you they're practical." Adora grins weakly, her lower lip quivering despite her efforts. It makes Catra's chest ache.

Slipping her arms around Adora's ribs, Catra pulls her into a tight hug. Adora deflates at the pressure, but in a good way, slumping against Catra and letting her take her weight.

"You're gonna be okay, Adora," murmurs Catra, tipping her head up to speak right into Adora's ear.

Adora whimpers slightly, bringing her arms up to rest on the bulk provided by Catra's shoulder pads. "You promise?"

Catra smiles into the corner of her jaw. "I promise." Slipping her fingers through Adora's, she gives her hand a soft tug. "Come on."

She guides Adora back down to the bench and slides over, laying Adora down so her head is on her lap. Adora settles on her back on the hard surface, eyes fluttering shut as Catra's nails graze her scalp. Emboldened, Catra drags her fingers through Adora's locks and down to her hair tie, sliding it down her ponytail. Adora just chuckles in response and Catra grins, dropping the elastic on her chest.

With Adora's hair now loose, Catra relishes the rare chance to play with it, winding it around and around her fingers. It's so sleek and smooth, silky blonde strands gliding against her golden brown skin. Catra loves what she can do with her own voluminous waves, but they are a bitch to maintain. Adora doesn't even use conditioner, for fuck's sake.

Adora hums, smirking slightly as Catra continues to fiddle with her hair. "This is nice. Backwards, but nice."

Hands stilling against Adora's scalp, Catra frowns. "It's only backwards because you make it that way." Adora's eyes flutter open, peering up at her for a change, and Catra holds her gaze intently. "You need to let me take care of you, too."

Eyes sliding away, Adora absently plucks at her hair tie, letting it softly snap the underside of her wrist on repeat. "I don't like needing help."

"Neither do I," Catra points out. "But we all do sometimes."

She watches, scowling slightly, as Adora absorbs this with a frown. To be perfectly honest, she kind of resents the fact that she lets herself be vulnerable with Adora in this way (sometimes, anyway), but Adora rarely trusts her enough to reciprocate. Either that or she simply refuses to because her ego is more important to her than their friendship.

Okay, to be fair, maybe Catra hasn't always made her desire for reciprocity and an equal partnership clear enough. Or maybe Adora is just dense. Still, saying it outright is dangerous. It gives Adora a chance to shut her down, in more ways than one.

"Besides," she says, a tinge of hopeful desperation seeping into her voice as she rakes her nails gently along Adora's scalp, "it's me."

I would never hurt you, she thinks with all her might, trying to telepathically jam the words she dares not say aloud through Adora's thick skull. You can trust me too. I'd defend you to my dying breath. Why can't you see that? Why won't you let me?

I love you, you moron.

Adora's eyes flick up to her, soft as the smile slowly curling her lips. "Yeah," she says. "It's you."

Catra's shoulders slump as that hope leaves her with a sigh. Adora doesn't understand. Of course she doesn't. But Catra can't stay mad at Adora, not when she's looking at her like that.

"You're such an idiot," she mutters, her good-natured grin hopefully making it clear she means it nicely this time. By the looks of Adora's smile, it does.

A knock on the door jolts them from their little moment, their eyes meeting in alarm this time. It's a very familiar knock, one that makes Catra's heart jump and then sink into her stomach.

Sighing heavily, Catra pats Adora's collarbones to silently tell her she's got it. Gently easing out from under her, she lays Adora's head softly on the bench before going to meet her doom.

When she opens the door, she finds exactly what she expected: Ms. Weaver, looking incredibly unimpressed.

"Ah…" Catra finds herself faltering despite the complete lack of surprise. "Hey, Ms. Weaver."

"Catra," she replies coolly.

Arms folding across her chest instinctively, Catra shifts her weight to her back foot. "What are you doing here?" she asks, trying for casual and failing miserably.

Weaver cocks her head, peering at her as though she is some kind of imbecile. "I'm taking Adora to the hospital for x-rays, of course."

Not even pretending to care about watching the rest of the game for the others, huh? Catra doesn't say that out loud, either.

"Good," she replies flatly. "The moron didn't want to."

"I can hear you," Adora grouses from the bench. Sitting up with a wince, she pointedly adds, "And I agreed to go."

"Only after I guilt tripped the hell out of you."

Adora snorts. "Yeah, thanks for that, by the way."

"Well, Ms. Weaver wasn't here," Catra sasses her right back. "Somebody had to."

While Adora huffs around like she does and gathers her remaining possessions, a cold hand lands on Catra's shoulder. She flinches, eyes darting over to take in the threat in her periphery, but the touch is not dangerous. Not yet.

"Thank you for bringing her into line," says Weaver.

The approval makes Catra's stomach turn, and not in a good way. She's not Weaver's accomplice, not her fucking sheepdog. She does what she does for Adora. Not her.

"Yeah," she mutters, averting her eyes, "you're welcome."

That grip on her shoulder tightens, Weaver's nails digging into the skin just inside her collar. Not hard enough to hurt really, but enough to make the threat. Her voice is every bit as menacing as her touch as she leans in, speaking lowly into Catra's ear. "But I hope you know that does nothing to erase your disgraceful behavior on the field." Catra barely manages to contain a shudder as Weaver's fingers squeeze her collar, cinching it tighter. "You're going to pay for that."

Catra's breath catches but she pushes it out, playing it off as a scoff. "Of course I am," she says, a slightly maniacal grin spreading across her cheeks.

Weaver's eyes darken, jaw tightening dangerously. "Wipe that smirk off your face, young lady."

It's a useless command; the grin is a product of stress as much as insolence, something Catra could barely reign in even if she wanted to. Irritating Weaver is not her goal, but it is a welcome bonus. Getting under Weaver's skin is one of the few triumphs Catra can get living in that hellhole.

Her grin only grows as the anger burns hotter in Weaver's cheeks. "Or what?" she asks, tipping her chin up in defiance.

Weaver grips Catra's chin now, free hand flexing menacingly at her side. "Or I will do it for you," she promises.

"Hey, I'm ready!" Adora steps between them, a little too eager to interrupt. She's trying to play it off as obliviousness but doing a shit job, eyes far too bright and body very conveniently blocking half of Catra's.

This time, Catra can't bring herself to resent Adora playing the hero. She needs rescuing too sometimes, and she can't help preening when Adora chooses her over Weaver, futile as her efforts to protect her usually are. Besides, the look on Weaver's face is priceless.

Smirk turning smugger by the second, Catra raises an eyebrow, daring the woman to make a move. Weaver's not above hitting them in front of each other, though she prefers to do it in isolation, but she knows better than to risk it in a public place. Weaver can't touch Catra here, and frustrating her now is so worth how much it will hurt later. A battle won is still a win, even if she loses the war.

Dropping her hand with a barely muffled snarl, Weaver nods sharply at the door. "Let's go, Adora."

As she turns away, Adora glances at Catra and exhales with exaggerated relief, raising a pointed 'what the fuck were you thinking' eyebrow. Catra just shrugs, motioning for her to follow Weaver.

Stopping at the threshold, Weaver turns around and levels a pointed glare at Catra. "I am not through with you. We will be having a conversation tonight."

"Looking forward to it," Catra snarks cheerily, waving goodbye. She really is asking for it, but she's not going to let this woman have a shred of victory or satisfaction. Not until she's forced to.

Adora shoots Catra another exasperated, scolding look over her shoulder as she leaves, prompting a scowl in return.

Whatever, it's not like the back talk actually mattered. Weaver was gonna come down on her either way after what she did, she might as well earn it. Besides, protecting Adora was worth it. She'd take much worse to keep her girl safe.

A/N: Three cheers for Lonnie knowing exactly how to get through to Catra. As usual she is the squad's unsung MVP.

Me, screaming at the doc as I write: "She loves you, you fucking walnut!"

I'll see you guys in a couple days for the next chapter. The one after that concludes this mini arc about the Thaymor game, and that's when shit really hits the fan. Thanks for your patience, this kind of drama takes some build up.