A/N: Thanks for waiting so patiently for this update, it's been a crazy month and I've been doing more vidding lately so that's sucked up some of my extra time. (Psst, check out my latest offering here.) Honestly there will probably be a bit of a wait for the next chapter too, but I felt I'd made you guys wait long enough for the conclusion to this mini arc.

If it makes up for it this is a huge ass chapter, nearly double the usual size for this fic. It's also an insane Catradora relationship drama chapter, so good luck to you. But...

CONTENT WARNING for blood, drug use, and vague depictions and threats of abuse.

(Yes, there is a scene of physical abuse, as you may have guessed coming in. However, it is off-screen and pretty vague. If you skip the first quarter of the paragraph following "and that's never good" you'll avoid it. [You could in theory skip that whole paragraph but you'd also miss some important headspace stuff for Adora that's the actual point of the paragraph.] Also, there's some illusions to Catra's injuries following that scene, but most of it isn't explicitly described. There's just a good old hurt/comfort [sort of] scene involving treatment of a wound.)

Catra's soft footsteps fade completely as she disappears downstairs. The quieter they get, the more Adora's shoulders tense up. This is the calm before the storm, and it won't last long.

"I, uh…" Lonnie's strained voice pulls Adora's attention to her in time to see her restless hands wind in her shirt. "I'm gonna go meet Scorpia."

"Okay," Adora says numbly. She knows it's total bullshit; Kyle texted her to let her know Scorpia was driving them home. But she also knows Lonnie needs a reason to leave right now. Any reason at all.

Adora can sympathize with the need to flee, the cold sweat and bad memories that can be brought on by what they're about to hear, but she stays. She feels like she owes Catra that much. This all happened because of her, after all. So she sits on her bed, hugging her knees as Lonnie makes a swift exit. She's in such a hurry that she forgets her phone on her bed, but Adora can't make her mouth open again to say anything.

Lonnie's barely made it down the stairs before the muffled sounds of an argument start to waft through the house. Mostly Weaver's voice, but also Catra's, who even after a lifetime of these confrontations still insists on talking back and making things worse for herself instead of apologizing and getting it all over with faster. Adora can't make out most of the words, but she does hear Weaver shout "insolent child," and that's never good.

It's not long before the blows begin. They aren't punctuated by yelps and sobs like they used to be when Catra was small, but the sounds still make Adora flinch, still make her eyes burn and flood with tears. Tears of sympathy, but also frustration. It doesn't have to be like this. If Catra would just apologize or even let herself cry, maybe Weaver would cut it short. Adora uses that strategy… well, it's more that Weaver expressing that much anger or disappointment in her makes her cry and apologize regardless and being hit only makes it worse, but still. Either way, it works for her. No reason it shouldn't work for Catra, if she would just swallow her pride long enough to surrender.

Despite her intention to stay present for Catra, eventually Adora can't take any more of this. Her hands clamp over her ears and she begins rocking back and forth on the bed, humming to fill her head with white noise. Time loses all meaning as she retreats into her own head, eyes squeezing shut as she loses herself in the soothing motion and sounds. She has no idea how much time passes before the sound of stomping footsteps approaching begins drawing her back to the present.

Adora's eyes flutter open just in time to see Catra throw open the door, eyes dry but red-rimmed and smoldering. She turns with a growl and slams the door shut, making Adora just about jump out of her skin as she's jolted harshly back into reality.

"Catra!" she reprimands her, more sternly than she meant to. Catra whips around, eyes wide, and Adora realizes her mistake. But she remains emphatic even as she softens her voice slightly. "Don't be an idiot, she's given it to you for less."

Catra scoffs, tongue tucking under her lip. "Pretty sure the old hag already wore herself out. She wouldn't want to break a hip, now."

Adora's jaw slips open as she stares at Catra in disbelief. "How can you laugh about this?"

Eyes snapping up sharply, Catra crosses her arms. "What do you want me to do, cry?"

"I don't know," huffs Adora, shrugging off her discomfort. "Yes?"

"Why, so you can make me feel better?" demands Catra.

Adora's jaw tenses. Is that what she wants? There's certainly a familiarity there, something almost nostalgic. She used to play the role of protector and comforter on a regular basis. Catra used to let her. Then things got complicated. Catra started making things harder than they had to be.

"I just want to protect you," Adora said earnestly as Catra climbed the ladder to her bunk. "Why do you make that impossible?"

"She comes down on me either way, Adora," argued Catra, her tone almost resigned. "I might as well earn it." Flopping onto her stomach, she groaned into the mattress. "I can't wait to get out of this dump. What is her problem with me?"

Tugging gently at her own fingers, Adora pointed out, "I mean, you are kind of disrespectful." Maybe not disrespectful enough to deserve the harsh punishments she received, but there was no arguing Catra made things worse for herself with the attitude she'd always given Weaver, even when they were kids.

Catra turned her head, peering through the wooden slats of the guardrail. Her eyes were narrowed, burning with betrayal. "Seriously, Adora?" she hissed.

"What?" asked Adora, weight shifting onto her back foot. When Catra's expression didn't change, Adora sighed and reached out to take her hand. "Catra, look, I'm just saying-"

The hand slipped from her grasp immediately as Catra snatched it away. "Don't touch me," she growled, tears welling up in her eyes. "Get out of my room."

All but paralyzed in the face of such hostility, Adora only managed a weak "It's my room too."

"GET OUT!"

Catra barely spoke to her for three weeks after. Adora knows she's on thin ice here and has to proceed with caution.

Maybe there's some truth to Catra's accusation. Adora misses being Catra's comfort, her shelter. But mostly, it's that Adora knows what to do with tears. She has no idea what to do with this.

"Catra," she begins gently as she stands, her good hand reaching out to rest on the girl's shoulder. Catra hisses reflexively, wincing at the contact, and Adora jerks her hand back. "Shit, sorry."

Catra rolls her eyes but doesn't reply. Her arms cross tighter over her chest as she sets her jaw, glaring at the wall.

"I'm so sorry, that was stupid," stammers Adora, "I should have known b-"

"Oh my god, Adora," Catra cuts her off with a groan. "I don't care. Just say what you were gonna say already."

Well, that's not promising. Swallowing hard, Adora takes the tiniest step closer and reaches for Catra's hand this time. Nice and slow, so she has time to pull back if she wants. Catra doesn't pull away, but she does flinch a little at the touch, watching as Adora laces their fingers together. After a few seconds of safe, sustained contact, she finally relaxes a little. Her arms uncross and shoulders sag as she lets their joined hands hang down in the space between them.

"Catra, look," Adora starts again, squeezing softly, "I appreciate you standing up for me. Really." Smirking to herself, she admits, "Honestly, I was kind of impressed." Turned on is more the word for it, but she can't exactly say that.

Catra's eyes flit up, a spark of hope in them. And Adora hates to smother it, but…

"But the way you did it caused so much trouble for you, for the team. Would it kill you to take this seriously?"

Eyes hardening, Catra pulls her hand away. "I know what I did, Adora," she states, all but devoid of emotion. "I knew the consequences. It was still worth it."

"Why? It's not like he was gonna hurt me any more when I was already injured and out of the game. You didn't need to defend my honor."

"I didn't know how bad you were hurt," protests Catra. "Besides, what about all those times you punched kids who bullied me in grade school?"

"That was different," argues Adora. "They were hurting you, and it stopped them from coming back."

"Yeah, and maybe that asshole will think twice about tackling you so rough next time." Catra smirks smugly as she crosses her arms again, clearly very proud of herself.

Tossing her hand in the air in frustration, Adora spells out, "We're seniors. And Thaymor's not making the playoffs."

Catra rolls her eyes with a huff. "You know what I mean, Adora."

"No, I really don't," insists Adora. "There was no point to this, Catra. I appreciate the thought, but it was a bad move. You went about it all wrong."

Catra's face screws up and she automatically turns it away, and once again Adora is struck by the urge to reach out and comfort her. But she knows better. Instead she waits as Catra sucks in a shaky breath, lifting one trembling hand to pinch her brow.

"Adora, I have been chewed out by Grizzlor and Cobalt for this, in public no less," Catra spells out, her voice tight and straining. "Then all this from Weaver." Her eyes finally open, revealing unshed tears welling up behind the lids. "I can't take another lecture."

This time Adora can't help reaching for her again, her tone softening. "Catra-"

"I put myself on the line to save you, and this is the thanks I get?" demands Catra, stepping out of range. Her voice is even higher now and clearly on the verge of cracking, but Adora can't help the way she bristles at the words.

"I didn't need you to save me," she retorts, hands clenching into fists. God, this is just like Catra. Treating Adora like the sissy quarterback or the helpless disabled kid who can't take care of herself. Of fucking course Catra sees her as a burden.

"Well I never needed you to save me either, but that sure never stopped you," Catra shoots back. The tears have finally spilled over, rolling down her reddened cheeks. Swiping at them angrily, she chokes out, "You just love being the hero, don't you? God forbid you let anyone do anything for you."

The sheer hypocrisy is astounding, but Adora is too riled up to comment on it. Instead she snaps, "If you want to do something for me, then stop doing stupid shit and getting yourself in trouble. Stop acting out, stop talking back, just behave yourself for a fucking change."

Catra stares at her for a moment, speechless. Her mouth slips open a little, and if Adora's not mistaken there's a tiny quiver in her lip. But then her jaw and eyes harden. When she speaks her voice is thick with tears and venom alike. "I can't believe you're mad at me."

"You got in trouble for me and then you went and made it worse for no reason. Of course I'm mad!"

"Why, because it makes you feel more guilty?" snaps Catra. Tipping her head, she sneers, "Has it ever occured to you that not everything is about you, Adora? I'm not gonna turn into a snivelling little Kyle just so you can feel better about yourself. This has nothing to do with you anymore, so stay out of it. It's none of your fucking business."

"It is my business," states Adora. "You are my business, and I am yours."

The words freeze Catra on the spot. When she finally looks up, her eyes are inquisitive in a way that makes Adora's stomach turn. Oh, fuck. She's said too much.

"What do you mean by that?" Catra demands quietly.

Mouth flapping uselessly as she tries to come up with something non-incriminating, Adora finally manages to stammer, "Everything that affects you affects me too." Crossing her arms, she makes a terrible attempt at a casual shrug. That's how it goes around here."

Catra scoffs. "Right."

"What?"

"Forget it." Turning to the bunk ladder, Catra snarks, "I have homework to do, and I'd rather be alone. Do you mind?"

Squinting curiously, Adora asks, "You're gonna do it here?"

"You expect me to sit?" retorts Catra, cocking a pointed eyebrow.

Adora concedes that with a wince but follows it immediately with a scowl. "Fine. I'll go find Lonnie." She steps past Catra, but can't resist shooting one last glare over her shoulder. What she sees when she does freezes her halfway to the door.

"Oh, shit," she breathes, all hostility suddenly sapped from her body as she stares at the splotch of red over the inner ridge of Catra's right shoulder blade. "Catra, you're bleeding."

Sighing heavily, Catra lets her forehead thunk forward against the ladder. "Great. Just what I need."

Frenetic energy rushes through Adora's veins, her body and brain all but vibrating as she slips into disaster mode. "Where's your supplies?"

Catra scoffs. "Like I'd tell you."

"I'm not gonna steal them, I just want to help," insists Adora, stepping closer without a second thought.

"I don't want your help, Adora," Catra asserts, turning and shielding her back against the ladder. She glares up at Adora in the suddenly cramped space. "How much clearer do I need to be?"

A sound half growl, half roar rumbles out of Adora's chest, her hands furling into fists. "I can't deal with you when you're like this!"

"Then don't!" Catra shouts right back, arms crossing tight over her chest. Eyes narrowing, she sneers, "If you don't need me, then I don't need you either. Just leave."

Adora growls and drags her good hand through her hair, gripping tight until her follicles scream for relief. Finally her shoulders slump with a heavy sigh and she mutters, "You're fucking impossible, you know that?" Then she turns and storms out of the room, kicking the trash can on the way out the door.

She's been walking a couple minutes before her mind really returns to her. Her feet slow nearly to a stop as she takes in her surroundings, trying to remember why she's even here. Obviously she stormed out because of Catra, but there was somethi-

Lonnie. Right.

Adora hustles ahead, turning left at the next street. The nice thing about living under the same terrifying roof for so many years is she has a pretty accurate inventory of everyone's hiding spots. Lonnie has a couple, one just a block away from where Adora's feet took her. Maybe Lonnie isn't hiding from Weaver right now, but those spots still hold a certain familiar comfort, so it's a decent bet.

Turns out, Adora's right. She finds Lonnie sitting on an upturned milk crate in a dingy alley between two stores. Her stocky frame is a notable silhouette against the orange glow of a safety light over a nearby back door, her now much larger body only halfway hidden by the gas meter she used to cower behind.

Lonnie doesn't notice Adora's approach, too busy staring at the concrete wall across from her as she takes a long drag from the joint pinched between her shaky fingers. Adora tries not to let her lips pucker at the sight. She should probably at least show a little disapproval, as team captain, but she doesn't want to deal with another fight. Besides, even if she's not a fan of the stuff she knows it helps Lonnie and occasionally Catra relax. And in their situation, she can't fault them for that.

"Hey," she says, and Lonnie leaps to her feet, spiking the joint on the ground behind her as she lands in a defensive stance. Adora takes half a step back, raising her hand. "Whoa, hey, it's just me."

Expelling a hard breath, Lonnie glares at her. "Shit, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry, sorry." Adora watches as Lonnie bends over to pick up the joint, flicking off some dirt before putting it back to her lips. That is so unsanitary, but Adora gets it. Growing up the way they did, 'waste not' is one of the earliest lessons they learned.

Hoping she's positioning herself far enough away that the smell doesn't seep into her clothing, Adora crosses the alley to lean against the wall opposite Lonnie as she takes another drag. "It's over. You can come back now."

Lonnie's eyebrows arch, but she doesn't reply right away. After several long seconds she exhales a slow breath and lazily blinks up to meet Adora's gaze. "Took long enough. Catra have any skin left?"

"It wasn't just now," clarifies Adora, fiddling with the edge of her sling. "Catra kicked me out of the room, we had a fight."

Lonnie snorts, butting out what's left of her joint against the brick wall behind her. "Do I wanna know?"

Scowling down at the ground, Adora grouses, "I just don't understand why she's like this. She riles Weaver up like it's some kind of game, zero regard for her safety or my sanity. And then she acts like I'm being ungrateful when she got in trouble for me unnecessarily and then insisted on making it worse for no goddamn reason. Like, am I really supposed to support her self-destructive behavior?"

Lonnie barks out a laugh and Adora's head snaps up, mouth falling open in protest. As Lonnie doubles over, laughter devolving into a fit of giggles, Adora squawks, "What the hell, Lonnie? This isn't funny."

"It really-" Lonnie gasps in a breath "-isn't." Heaving in a few more breaths, she manages to straighten back up. "Sorry, weed's kicking in. Smoked more than I meant to." Then she bursts into giggles again, trying and failing miserably to muffle it with her hand.

"For fuck's sakes," mutters Adora. "Never thought I'd have to babysit you too."

"Me too?" Lonnie stares at her, fingers sliding up to rub her temple as she works out the residual giggles. "Oh boy."

"What?"

Squinting hard at Adora, Lonnie tips her head. "You wanna know why Catra acts the way she does?"

"Yes," Adora answers emphatically. "I really, really do."

"First of all, that," says Lonnie. "She's not some rowdy pet you have to keep in line, she's a person. A person, Adora."

"I know that!" protests Adora, heat prickling her cheeks. "But if I don't keep her in line she gets hurt and I can't stand it. And Weaver somehow always makes it feel like it's my fault when she gets in trouble, like I do have to keep her in line."

"That sounds like a Weaver problem, not a Catra problem," Lonnie says flatly.

"Yeah, but Catra makes it worse. On purpose," stresses Adora. "She antagonizes the shit out of Weaver, what does she expect to happen?"

Lonnie blinks hard, staring at Adora like she's grown a second head. "I…"

When she doesn't continue that sentence, Adora tosses her good hand in the air and starts to pace. "And then she wouldn't even let me help patch her up because, and I quote, 'If you don't need me, I don't need you either.' Ugh, why does she have to make everything so difficult?"

"Because she has short girl syndrome and she's been taking the worst of Weaver's shit for years," says Lonnie, as though she isn't even shorter than Catra. "She needs to feel tough and capable of taking care of herself, and you."

Brow scrunching, Adora asks, "Why me?"

Lonnie shakes her head with a disbelieving scoff. "You really are dumb as a brick, you know that?"

"Hey!" snaps Adora.

"Sorry," she backtracks, holding up a hand in apology. "I meant you're dense as… uh… Weaver's shitty pie crust." A tiny giggle slips from her lips and she slaps a hand over her mouth.

Adora's glower only deepens. "Is that supposed to be any better?"

"It's not about your intellect," Lonnie clarifies placatingly, though she's still grinning like an idiot. "Let's say you're intelligence seven, perception zero."

"Forget the shovel, you need a fucking backhoe," Adora remarks flatly, crossing her arms. "Get to the point."

When Lonnie just blinks, a confused haze settling over her face, Adora snaps her fingers and reminds her, "Why does Catra need to protect me? What makes me so special?"

Lonnie snorts. "I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole."

Adora's shoulders sag, her eyes suddenly glued to the pavement. "It's because I'm autistic, isn't it?"

"What? No!" Lonnie protests in disbelief. "That doesn't matter to Catra, or to me. You're quirky as all fuck but that's why we love you, ya know? Because you're you."

A tiny smirk flickers on Adora's lips. File that away under things to tease Lonnie about when she's sober. But there's more pressing matters to deal with right now. "Okay, then what is it?"

"Isn't it obvious? Catra's in-" Cutting herself off, Lonnie slams the heel of her hand into her forehead. "Ugh, I'm too high for this!"

"Whatever it is, just say it," Adora urges her. This is starting to feel more and more ominous the longer Lonnie refuses to answer.

"Catra's…" Lonnie stares off into space for several seconds before something finally clicks. Turning to Adora, she slowly says, "Catra's indebted to you. You know?" Adora shakes her head and Lonnie sighs, pinching her brow. "Look, you've always been the one protecting her." She shifts against the wall, eyes flicking away. "I can't even count the number of times you threatened to punch me for messing with her, let alone kids at school. If she can't protect you back, that makes her feel weak."

"But she does protect me," argues Adora. "She gives shit to anyone who makes fun of me. She helps me with school stuff, all the fucking time. If either of us is deadweight, it's me."

"How much do you wanna bet she has no idea you feel that way?" asks Lonnie, cocking an eyebrow. "No offense Adora, but for someone so insecure you have a massive ego."

Crossing her arms, Adora huffs, "Oh, sure, that's not offensive at all."

"Catra doesn't think you respect her, and I don't blame her," continues Lonnie. "And now she probably feels like you're bossing her around again instead of appreciating what she can do for you. Lecturing her for trying to repay the favor. You gotta…" Lonnie's hand circles as she tries to come up with the right words, "respect her agency, you know?"

Adora does not know. She's heard that term being thrown around before but no one's ever taken the time to explain it to her. Unfortunately, she kind of doubts Lonnie will be able to elaborate in her current state.

"Are you always this pretentious when you're high?" she asks instead.

"Hey, you're the one who showed up and started blabbering on about all your problems," Lonnie tosses back. "I'm allowed to wax a little philosophical on your ass."

Adora winces, suddenly remembering Lonnie left to get away from all this. Well, maybe not this in particular, but still. "...Yeah," she mutters. "Sorry if I, uh… harshed your mellow or whatever."

Lonnie replies with a snort, but the gleam in her eyes tells Adora it's an affectionate one. "Don't worry about it," she mutters, shaking her head. "Something always does."

She places the joint back in her ziploc bag now that it's cooled and pulls out a little vial of hand sanitizer, dousing her skin in a liberal dose to mask the smell. Unfortunately that smell is even more noxious than the weed and Adora exits the alley at the first whiff of it, hoping to avoid the oncoming headache it's threatening to trigger. Lonnie must remember Adora's sensitivity, because she lets her walk ahead of her as they head back to the house. They split up anyway as Adora heads for the front door, Lonnie peeling off towards the backyard.

Adora frowns as she kicks off the skate shoes she must have slipped into on her way out the door. She doesn't remember putting them on, or anything really between finding Lonnie and storming out of the room after…

Oh, fuck. She yelled at Catra. She yelled at Catra, after so many people had already yelled at her. After Weaver had…

Okay, maybe Catra was being a little shit, but Adora still shouldn't have done that. She knows better. She's supposed to comfort Catra in times of distress, not make it worse. So not only is she a bad quarterback, she's a bad friend too. Great.

Feeling her eyes burning and heart rate picking up, Adora pinches her brow and tries to breathe. She can still fix this. She has to fix this. The shame and anxiety of someone being mad at her for an extended period of time is unbearable no matter who it is, but with Catra it's a special kind of hell. Being on that shaky ground with no hand to cling to is downright terrifying, and knowing she's hurt Catra has got to be the worst feeling in the world.

She climbs the stairs on shaky legs, her stomach cramping at the mere thought of having this conversation. As much as she needs to make this better, as soon as possible, she's not ready to face Catra. She doesn't even know what she's going to say to her, because it's not like she was wrong to begin with. She just needs to fix this. Somehow.

Reaching the top step, Adora decides to make a quick detour to the bathroom to wash away her tears and gather her nerves a little. She's still in her head as she pushes open the door, her eyes only coming into focus when she hears a surprised yelp. Catra's staring at Adora, frozen in a fighting stance by the sink. She's also not wearing a shirt.

Adora doesn't realize that her mouth has slipped open or that she's staring right back until Catra crosses her arms over her bare chest and quietly hisses, "Jesus, learn to knock already!"

"Sorry, sorry," says Adora, raising her hand innocently. Maybe if she wasn't already in hot water with Catra she'd point out that maybe Catra should learn to lock the door, but now is so not the time. She's also not sure she could string the words together. Her brain is moving slow as molasses after that shocking visual.

It's not like Adora's never seen Catra topless before; they live together and they're on the same football team, obviously she has. But she was just not prepared for that, not in that 'respect her privacy' headspace that makes her automatically turn away before she can catch more than a cursory glance any time something gets revealed in a bedroom or locker room. And now that image is gonna haunt her until the day she dies.

"Shut the door, you moron," Catra whispers, jerking her head at the door with wide eyes. Adora quickly nods, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. Catra rolls her eyes and it suddenly occurs to Adora that she meant shut the door in front of her, but her feet are rooted to the floor now as she takes in the scene. There's a bloodied alcohol wipe and several bandaids lying on the counter, as well as one in Catra's hand. Suddenly the lack of a shirt makes a lot more sense, as does the whispering.

Dropping her arms with a sigh, Catra turns her back to the mirror and strains to look over her shoulder, trying to position the first bandage over the cut with a limited visual and only one hand. Adora swallows against the ache in her throat and takes a tentative step closer, making a concerted effort to keep her eyes up.

"You need a hand?" she asks softly.

"I'm fine," grouses Catra, continuing to struggle. She's flexible, but not that flexible. After another moment she gives up with a grumble. Looking pointedly at Adora's sling, she says, "Probably need two, actually. Grab Lonnie?"

"She's coming. Hiding her-" Adora catches herself just in time but can't help glancing over her shoulder anyway. Weaver has an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere. Scratching her head, she rephrases, "Uh, her anxiety meds."

"Great," mutters Catra. She deflates with a sigh, turning to brace her hands on the lip of the counter. Adora's left trying not to look at the vast collection of angry red marks marring her skin… or in the mirror.

Clearing her throat, Adora swallows and shifts her weight. She can't stand the tension in the air, and now's as good a time as any to try to make amends. "I'm sorry, by the way," she murmurs. "For yelling at you."

Catra sighs once more, her grip on the counter tightening. "I don't care that you yelled, Adora," she says tersely, "I care that you made me feel like shit."

"Sorry," mumbles Adora, her good hand fiddling with the strap of her sling. "I didn't mean to disrespect your agency or anything."

A wry chuckle rises out of Catra's throat as she shakes her head slightly. "Do you even understand what that means?"

Adora's fists flex, head snapping up as a cold prickle runs down her spine. "I'm not stupid."

"I know that," says Catra, holding her gaze steadily. "But you can't just throw recycled words at me and expect it to fix things when you don't even understand why I'm upset."

"Then tell me why you're upset," insists Adora.

Spinning suddenly, Catra hisses, "I tried." She jams an accusing finger into Adora's chest. "But you didn't fucking listen, as usual." She's spitting mad, anger flushing her face and spreading down her neck, into her chest.

Shit, eyes up!

Catra catches Adora at the same instant she does and scowls at her, crossing her arms over her chest again. "Stop looking at my boobs."

Shaking her head sharply, Adora averts her eyes in shame. "Sorry." Her face and ears are burning so hot she thinks she'd like to dunk her head in a bucket of ice water.

"Are you really that desperate?" snarks Catra. "Go buy a Playboy or something, Jesus Christ."

Adora's world shifts suddenly, her head spinning as a cold rush washes over it. (Very much like said bucket of ice water, actually.) She needs to run but her body refuses to move, and even if it did she's not sure she wouldn't immediately run into a wall or trip over her own feet.

Catra's eyes and posture soften a little, a conflicted look coming over her face. Her mouth opens and shuts a couple times, but before she can say anything the sound of the front door grabs their attention.

A sigh of relief pushes past Adora's lips as she finally manages to look away, eternally grateful to Lonnie for picking that moment to come back inside. She doesn't dare look back at Catra again, standing quietly by the door until she hears Lonnie's feet on the stairs. Then she pokes her head out and whispers, "Lonnie!" Lonnie catches her eye and she waves her over. "We need your help."

"What?" whispers Lonnie as she stops just outside the door.

Cringing apologetically, Adora explains, "I only have one hand, and Catra can't reach…"

That's enough for Lonnie to understand. She winces but nods, stepping forward and into the room. By the time Adora closes the door behind her, she's got her trademark stoic expression glued on. Catra looks away, clearly embarrassed to ask for help, or maybe to let Lonnie see the damage. But she doesn't protest when Lonnie steps up and silently takes the bandaid from her fingers. She lets it go with a sigh and turns back to the sink, bracing her hands on the counter.

Just as Lonnie's smoothing out the adhesive strips on her skin, Catra finally speaks. "Lonnie," she grumbles, "you need to mind your own fucking business."

Lonnie turns her head to glare at Adora, who raises her hand in a gesture of both innocence and confusion. She didn't say anything to Catra about it.

Reaching around Catra with a sigh, Lonnie picks up the next bandaid and says, "Look, all I did was try to explain to Adora why you're mad at her."

"'Try' being the operative word," snarks Catra.

Lonnie's eyes narrow. "Hey-"

"You weren't even there, what makes you think you have any idea-"

"I know you better than you think," Lonnie asserts. "Look, I'm just tryin' to-"

"Well you're not," snaps Catra. "So just stay out of it."

Taking half a step back, Lonnie plants her hands on her hips. "Do you want my help or not?"

"With this?" asks Catra, nodding over her shoulder. "Yes." When Lonnie doesn't move, she sighs out some of her aggression and forces a halfway apologetic look onto her face. "Please."

Lonnie continues to glare but steps back in after a moment. Catra stiffens as Lonnie moves behind her again and Lonnie must notice, because she places a reassuring hand on her hip. "It's okay," she murmurs. "I'm not going to hurt you." A tiny grin spreads on her lips and she lightly pinches Catra's flank. "You've given me plenty of chances already, right?"

Catra snorts, rolling her eyes. "Shut up."

Lonnie giggles and Catra smiles down at the sink, barely even flinching as Lonnie gently presses the bandage to her wound. There's that weird connection again. It's all vicious bickering and then suddenly a sex joke makes it all better. Lonnie doesn't even have to try. It's so fucking unfair.

Adora shifts her weight, fidgeting as she continues to watch helplessly. She needs to do something useful. "I'll go stand guard," she mutters.

Neither of them answer as she slips out of the room. Why would they?

On her way downstairs Adora remembers she's supposed to keep icing her wrist into tomorrow, so she heads right for the fridge. Good. That's a good excuse to be downstairs. Spotting a carton of moose tracks in the freezer, she settles on an excuse to stay downstairs. She could use the pick-me-up anyway.

Scooping hard ice cream without a second hand to steady the carton is tricky, but Adora manages a few small scoops before she loses patience and dumps the scoop in the sink. Sighing heavily, she closes the carton and puts it away, then moves to grab a spoon from the silverware drawer. When she turns around, the sight of Ms. Weaver standing by the dining room table makes her jump, the spoon flying out of her hand and landing with a loud clatter.

She didn't even do it on purpose, but it's the perfect alarm. Just in case it wasn't clear enough, she adds as loudly as she can without it being obvious, "Ms. Weaver! Hey."

Thankfully, Weaver seems to interpret this as Adora simply being jumpy. Her initial reaction definitely helped sell it. Weaver's lips curl in amusement as she enters the kitchen. "There's no reason to be alarmed, Adora. I'm hardly an intruder."

Bending down to retrieve the spoon from the peeling linoleum, Adora mutters, "You scared me."

"There's nothing to be scared of," Weaver assures her. "Not as long as you're following the rules, at least."

Adora can't help the way her eyes flick up guiltily for a second before she averts them again, frowning to herself as she straightens up. She can't even stand to look the woman in the eye, and it's not just because she has something to hide.

Adora has a complicated relationship with their guardian, that's for certain. Some days she wants her approval, even looks up to her. But whenever those sounds are fresh in her memory, especially when Catra was the recipient, Adora can only despise her. The fact that she saw the damage this time makes it so much worse. Even the sound of Weaver's voice is making her stomach queasy right now.

"I hope that ice pack is just for your wrist," remarks Weaver, a clear warning in her voice as she steps closer.

"Yes, ma'am," says Adora, turning to place the spoon in the sink. She takes her time grabbing a new one from the drawer, fighting to wipe the guilt off her face. She can feel Weaver's eyes on the back of her head the whole time, as though she's trying to bore through her skull and read her mind. A shiver runs down Adora's spine, the creeping sense of dread nearly enough to make her visibly shudder. As if she needs anything else to tip off Weaver that something is amiss. She can't act to save her life, not even Catra's. This was a terrible idea.

"There's a reason obstruction of justice is a crime, you know," says Weaver, her tone calculated. She sounds displeased, yes, but also vaguely amused. Adora can't help feeling like she's toying with her.

"I'm not doing anything," Adora protests, closing the drawer with more force than necessary. "I'm just eating ice cream."

When she turns around, the floor drops out from under her. Weaver's gaze has hardened into full on evil eye mode, her body stiffening to tower even taller over Adora.

"Sorry," Adora quickly backtracks, eyes wide and alert. It's not good enough. Weaver starts to close in on her and she panics, raising both hands as she shrinks back against the counter. "I'm sorry!"

The ice pack shifts in her sling and nearly slips out, ends up caught between her chest and her elbow as Adora squeezes her eyes shut and turns her face into her shoulder. The pack is cold, but it's the feeling of Weaver's icy fingers tracing her jaw that makes her shudder. A sharp, shaky breath erupts from Adora's lungs and she feels a single tear squeeze out of the corner of her eye.

Despite the fear hammering in Adora's chest, Weaver's touch is gentle as she turns Adora's chin back her way. Knowing that gentleness could disappear at any second, Adora follows the implied order and forces her eyes open. Weaver's gaze is still hard, but the anger behind it seems to have lessened.

"You know better than to take that tone with me," says Weaver. She says it more like a fact than a threat, but Adora knows it is very much both.

"Yes, ma'am," she chokes out.

Weaver continues to stare her down for a few seconds that feel like an eternity before she reaches down into Adora's sling to retrieve the wayward ice pack. Relief courses through Adora as Weaver slides it back up her arm, followed by confusion when it glides over her wrist and completely out. Never breaking eye contact, Weaver takes the bowl from the counter and steps on the trash can's pedal, unceremoniously dumping the ice cream in the garbage.

"Wash your dishes," she says, handing the bowl back to Adora. "Then go to your room."

A weird empty, floaty feeling rises up in Adora and she nods numbly, robotically. She turns to the sink, hypersensitive ears tracking Weaver's every move as she returns the ice pack to the freezer and exits the kitchen. In the direction of her own room, thankfully, not towards the stairs. Catra and Lonnie are safe.

It takes the sound of Weaver's door closing to convince Adora's body that she's safe as well. It slumps against the counter with a long, shuddering breath, and her eyes squeeze shut again as she's hit with a disorienting, almost painful headrush. It takes a moment for her to gather herself enough to resume her task. Her hands and legs tremble as she struggles to clean the scoop with one hand, tears dripping off her chin into the soapy water in the bowl.

Is she really crying over ice cream? God, she's such a fucking child. No wonder Catra doesn't want her.

Even with her one available hand rather uncooperative in her shaken state, it doesn't take Adora long to finish. When she returns upstairs, the bathroom door is open and Lonnie is sitting in the hallway just outside their room. Adora cringes at the scent of way too much air freshener coming from the bathroom, her nose wrinkling in displeasure. She and Catra both have sensitive noses so they usually avoid using it, but they can't rely on the fan to disperse the scents of blood and alcohol if Weaver were to come up here.

Eyeing Lonnie curiously, Adora guesses, "Catra kick you out too?"

"Hiding her garbage," explains Lonnie. "Doesn't want me to know the spot."

"Don't take it personally. She won't tell me either," grumbles Adora, arms crossing instinctively as she glares down at the carpet. Her scowl slowly melts and she glances at Lonnie, eyes bouncing away again quickly. "I didn't tell her we talked, you know. She figured that out on her own."

Lonnie shrugs this off. "Whatever, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm high, I wasn't thinking straight."

"No, I… I appreciate you trying," Adora admits, toying with the end of her ponytail.

Eyes falling shut with a sigh, Lonnie mutters, "At least someone does."

There's nothing more to say, so they stay silent for the next few moments until Catra calls that it's okay to come in. Lonnie gets to her feet, nearly tipping over but catching herself just as Adora lunges in for the save. "I'm good," she says sheepishly. "Thanks."

Adora just nods and motions for Lonnie to go ahead, following her inside. Catra's lying on her stomach on her bunk, propped up on her elbows reading a textbook leaning against the guardrail. She narrows her eyes at Adora but neglects to comment, turning back to her work without so much as a snarky greeting. That's bad. Really bad.

Adora settles on her own bed as unobtrusively as possible, not daring to rock the bunk or the boat. Catra may have let her back in in one sense, but only one.

Maybe there's way more to fix than she bargained for.

A/N: So, Catra's feelings this chapter are meant to be an equivalent to how Catra was feeling after going to save Adora in Thaymor and getting told what she'd done was wrong - in fact, that's the idea I based this whole fic around (that and them being on a football team together). I feel like this is something people don't often think about, but imo it was a big reason why she was upset at how Adora reacted.

Anyway, I know these last couple chapters have been pretty heavy what with the abuse themes and all, but we're about to get into Entrapta's epic Halloween party and all the amazing relationship drama that's gonna come with it. People will fight, people will kiss, and someone will make a drastic decision.

I can't really give a trailer with lines for the next chapter because so much is gonna happen at this party and I'm not sure yet what will be in which chapter, but I promise you're gonna love it (and hate it).

Lastly, thanks to jem-jarrett for beta reading this chapter and helping me fine-tune stoned!Lonnie. :D