A/N: Hello, it is I! Didn't want to leave you guys hanging too long without any kind of resolution, so here you go. (I did update Hail Mary in the meantime btw, because apparently I needed even more Catra and Shadow Weaver awfulness).
I did that thing again where I occasionally incorporate art I love into a fic, and the first half of the flashback is based on a heartbreaking piece of artwork by awesomerebelkitty on Tumblr.
CONTENT WARNING for emotional and (implied) physical child abuse, as well as a lot of blood. Not sure what to tell you in terms of reading safely for blood stuff, there's a lot of blood in the next couple chapters and it's crucial to the plot. I guess if it's such a sticking point for you that you can't read it, best plan would be to come message me on Tumblr and I'll give you a summary of what happens.
Adora can't sleep.
She tosses and turns for a few minutes, trying to clear her mind and get some more rest, but it's useless. Catra's words keep echoing in her head, and sleeping without her has always been a dicey proposition anyway. Besides, it's not in Adora's nature to rest when there's a problem that can be conceivably solved.
If she doesn't understand how Shadow Weaver made Catra feel, maybe she needs to do some research.
Throwing on some warmer clothes, Adora slips into the hallway and quietly shuts the door, just in case Catra has somehow managed to get back to sleep. Eyes straining to adjust to the darkness, she fiddles with her new tablet and eventually figures out how to turn on the built-in flashlight. Apparently Entrapta's absence at dinner was because she was making these new devices for everyone, her way of welcoming their newest guests. They include all the features of the electronic maps they were using previously, but with tracking and video call capabilities. For now, all Adora needs is the map and the flashlight. She's familiar enough with the maze now to make it to the lab, but that's only in the daytime.
The faintest hints of dawn are starting to appear in the sky but the sun won't be up for a bit yet, and Entrapta's lab is blessedly empty. Slinking through the shadows, Adora sits down in front of the screens, eyeing them warily. Her hands slicken with sweat as she searches the directory for the data set she needs, tremble over the keyboard when she finds it.
Does she really want to do this? Maybe not, but there's some urge compelling her to do it anyway. Nothing makes Adora more anxious than the unknown, but the only way to soothe that anxiety is to make it known. So she steels herself and searches Shadow Weaver's files for Catra's name, plus a variety of other words she may have used instead - some benign, some atrocious.
The results are horrifying. Adora finds herself weeping on more than one occasion, a hand uselessly trying to trap her sobs in her aching throat as tears stream down her face.
[Lord Hordak still insists on the utility of the little beast, despite ample evidence to the contrary. She is strong-willed as ever, but despite his complete lack of experience with child-rearing he deems it possible to tame her. Who am I to argue? I'm only the most distinguished teacher in Mystacor's history. Nonetheless, if anyone can do it, it's me. I will break her spirit by any means necessary.]
It wasn't fair. None of it was ever fair.
[The quarterly speed trials for the five year-old class yielded the expected results. Every cadet improved their dash and mile times, and the brat cat from hell was by far the fastest, even on two legs. More troubling, after the dash I observed her bragging to the other cadets, posturing and attempting to assert herself as someone of status. Her abilities may indeed prove useful eventually but she cannot be allowed to take pride in them. A creature so prone to disobedience must be denied any opportunity to grow a big head. She needs to be taken down a peg. I'm sure I can manage that.]
Adora learns enough in the first year of entries alone. Enough to despise Shadow Weaver for all eternity. Enough to want to wrap Catra up in a hug and never let go, whisper loving words into her beautiful ears until she starts believing them. But some sick force inside Adora compels her to keep reading, to wallow in the pain. She very soon comes to regret it, a familiar scene sending a chill down her spine.
[Today I received more reports of Catra being disruptive in class and disciplined her accordingly. When I came to collect her from the barracks, Adora was present and attempted to intervene and I was forced to punish her as well. She is starting to make moral judgements on her own, and this simply will not do.]
Head swimming, Adora curls in on her aching gut. This isn't something she wants to remember, but it's something she'll never forget. Shadow Weaver made sure of that.
Catra's shivering body pressed closer to Adora's as the looming shadows closed in on them. She buried her face in Adora's shoulder, blinding herself to the danger as though that could make it go away. Her fists clenched in Adora's shirt as she babbled desperately, "I don't wanna go, I don't want it, please, Adora…"
Adora's heart pounded, and it ached. She didn't like to think about what Shadow Weaver might be doing to Catra whenever they went on one of their 'walks,' but she knew the kind of terror Catra was feeling, and knew it couldn't be anything good. One hand fisted Catra's hair, the other scritching behind her ear in a desperate, feeble attempt to comfort her. Tears rolled down Adora's cheeks and dripped off her chin as she begged Shadow Weaver, "Please don't hurt her."
"Let go, Adora," the sorceress ordered coldly, calmly.
"No!" Adora's tiny arms tightened around Catra's neck. "Promise you won't hurt her!"
Those glowing white eyes flashed in warning. "Adora-"
"She didn't do anything wrong!"
"That is not for you to decide," snapped Shadow Weaver. One terrifying moment later, her posture softened and she tilted her head. "Adora, think about this," she reasoned, an almost sweet tone to her voice. "The longer she resists, the worse it will be for her."
It was true. Adora knew it, because no matter what she said or did, Shadow Weaver would make it true. Catra must have felt her falter because she latched on even tighter, shuddering as she whimpered into her neck. "Adora, no. Please…"
Dread sat heavy in Adora's gut, but this was the only way she knew how to protect Catra. She wasn't stupid, she knew she couldn't physically keep her from harm. Not against Shadow Weaver. And Shadow Weaver never listened when she tried to defend Catra. This battle was a lost cause, and only a swift surrender could save them now.
Drawing her arms back, Adora sat back on her heels and met Catra's equally tear-filled eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, her tight throat turning her voice squeaky and raspy. "I don't want to hurt you."
Catra still clung to Adora, shaking her head and whispering hoarsely. "No, no…"
But she was alone in her resistance now, and it couldn't last. When Shadow Weaver led her from the room moments later, a hand locked firmly around her arm, Catra shot a look back at Adora over her shoulder. A look of pure betrayal, a look Adora couldn't understand. Did Catra want to get it worse, whatever 'it' was? She was only trying to look out for her.
Adora understands now. She was never the one hurting Catra, it was always Shadow Weaver. But she stood by and let it happen, stepping aside at the first promise of guilt for herself. She couldn't stand feeling responsible for Catra's pain and Shadow Weaver used that. Used her.
It wasn't half an hour later that Adora heard the PA announcement directing her to Shadow Weaver's office. Catra had not yet returned, and while the announcement made Adora's stomach tie itself in knots she was also grateful that it implied Catra was not with Shadow Weaver. Where she was, Adora didn't want to think about.
When the door flew open for Adora upon knocking, Shadow Weaver was standing in front of her desk, thumbs and forefingers pressed together and eyes glowing ominously. She kept frighteningly still as Adora shuffled in, aside from the aggressive billowing of her hair and the shadows licking at the corners of the room. The silent anger was coming off her in waves. Adora was in big trouble.
Standing at attention, Adora clasped her sweaty hands behind her back to hide their fidgeting. She kind of wished Shadow Weaver would offer her a seat just so she could sit on them, but the sorceress wasn't wasting time with pleasantries.
"I am very disappointed in you, Adora." The words were like a kick to the gut, sprouting tears Adora had to blink back. She couldn't bear the weight of those words, the way they made her feel like she was sinking into the floor. She opened her mouth to apologize, needing to say something - anything - to escape this moment, but she snapped it shut. She'd done this enough times to know better than to interrupt Shadow Weaver mid lecture, even with an apology.
"I would expect this kind of insolence from Catra, but from you?" Shadow Weaver scoffed. "She's clearly been rubbing off on you again. I knew keeping her was a mistake."
And suddenly Adora's stoic facade broke. "Please, Shadow Weaver. My behavior is my fault, not Catra's," she protested. "Please don't blame her."
"How dare you?" Shadow Weaver's sharp voice startled Adora into a defensive posture, her heart in her throat as her eyes locked onto the threat. "You think you know everything, don't you, Adora? You think you can answer back to me? I am the second-in-command of the Horde, and who are you? You're nothing. You're a six year-old cadet who can't even tie her own shoes."
Stifling a sob, Adora hung her head in shame. It was true, and extremely embarrassing for her. Everyone else in their year had figured it out. Even Catra knew how, and she didn't even wear shoes! She'd tried to teach Adora but it was so hard and Adora always ended up throwing her shoes across the room in frustration. She could do all kinds of complex physical maneuvers, why couldn't she do small things like write neatly or tie a bow?
Shadow Weaver floated closer, towering over her as she encroached on her space. "Let me make something very clear to you, Adora. You may have high potential, but you are not the only one. I have chosen to invest in your abilities because you're also a good soldier. If you continue to be disobedient, I can easily find someone else to mentor. Do you want that?"
Did Adora want that? She couldn't help but consider the question seriously, whether that was the intent or not. Being out of Shadow Weaver's sight and mind might actually do her and Catra some good, allow them to live a little more freely, a little less fearfully. But then who would Adora even be? What would be the point of anything? At least under Shadow Weaver she knew she had a place, a purpose. And losing her attention, her affection, her approval?
Adora couldn't stand the thought.
Unable to speak, Adora shook her head. The movement dislodged some tears from her lashes, causing them to roll down her cheeks. Their warmth contrasted the chill of Shadow Weaver's fingers as she gripped her chin and lifted it, forcing eye contact.
"Answer me, Cadet," she ordered coldly.
Adora swallowed, hard. "No, ma'am."
"Then you will stop with this nonsensical 'heroic' behavior of yours," concluded Shadow Weaver. "Catra doesn't need you to save her. Only Catra can save herself, she is the one who chooses to cause so much trouble."
"But-" Adora cringed as she was cut off by another burning glare. Shoulders rounding in on themselves, she flicked her stinging eyes down to the floor as she muttered, "Yes, ma'am."
"At attention, soldier," ordered Shadow Weaver. Adora obeyed automatically, back straightening and eyes snapping up. But when Shadow Weaver began to circle her, it took every scrap of will in Adora's tiny body to keep looking straight ahead instead of tracking the threat with her eyes. Obedience and vigilance, two values that had been drilled into her since infancy, were suddenly fighting a deathmatch in her brain.
"Who is in charge, Adora?"
She flinched slightly at the sudden voice behind her but managed to stay mostly still. "You are."
Sharp nails pinched Adora just below her wrists, cueing her to unfurl her fists. Her sweaty hands shook as she stretched her fingers out straight.
The voice came from the side now as Shadow Weaver continued her circle. "And what do you have to say for yourself for challenging my authority?"
Adora swallowed. "I'm sorry, Shadow Weaver."
A hand suddenly came to rest on her cheek. A gentle one. "Good girl," said Shadow Weaver approvingly. "You're learning."
Adora felt her cheeks flare in a blush, though she couldn't be certain if it was due more to humiliation or validation at that point.
After a deliberate pause, Shadow Weaver drew her hand back. "But I hope you know your contrition doesn't erase all your backtalk, or your disobedience in the barracks. You still need to be punished for your insolence."
Adora flinched, barely suppressing a whimper. She knew what that meant. Her breathing turned shallow and heavy as she felt the blood drain from her head, and she fought to steady it. No theatrics. No fear.
It wasn't even that she was scared, not really. In the Horde, pain is a part of everyday life. It wasn't the pain she feared, it was the shame, the humiliation. The disapproval. But what else did she expect? She'd been bad. She deserved this. She must have deserved it. There was no other way to process the situation without asking questions that could tear her whole world apart. And that was even scarier.
"Yes, ma'am," said Adora. Gritting her teeth, she shuffled towards the desk without being asked. Maybe her compliance could convince Shadow Weaver that her apology was sincere. Maybe it would even convince her to be gentle.
Adora's face drops into her hands, shoulders shaking as tears stream down her cheeks. This time, she weeps for herself. For that clueless little girl who just wanted to be good but was too afraid to trust her own sense of right and wrong. For that helpless little girl who had the weight of the world on her shoulders but was incapable of protecting the one person she loved.
Her grief besieges her, taking her mind and body in a stranglehold. It sits heavy on her shoulders, turns the air hot around her as she chokes through round after round of sobs. Her lungs ache, her mind plagued with thoughts of her and Catra. How young and innocent they were, and how much they suffered. It wasn't fair, and it's still not fair. Why should they have to live with these ghosts of Shadow Weaver, the terrible memories and the constant second-guessing of their own realities?
Adora wishes she had told Shadow Weaver to find some other pet project. To leave them be. But it probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway. Shadow Weaver never listened. She never cared about what was good for anybody but herself.
An inappropriately jovial sound breaks through Adora's stupor and her head snaps up. Soft, quick footsteps are approaching the lab, Entrapta's signature humming echoing through the halls and heralding her approach. Adora barely has time to wipe her eyes before the princess rounds the corner, popping a piece of tiny food in her mouth. Entrapta is nearly halfway across the lab before she notices Adora, doing a double take and stopping on a dime.
"Oh." Her wide eyes dart about the room. "Adora, are… are you okay?" A couple seconds later her head shakes sharply and she approaches with wary steps. "Obviously you're not okay," she says, setting her breakfast down on the desk. "Can I do anything to help?"
Snivelling, Adora shakes her head. There's nothing anyone can do to help. They can't change the past. And as for the future, Adora has no clue how to move forward. It was by design, how they turned out. Maybe Catra's spirit didn't entirely break and Adora didn't lose every piece of her own identity, but Shadow Weaver's fingerprints are all over them and always will be. How are they supposed to recover from this?
Entrapta pats her shoulder with a tendril of hair, looking equal parts concerned and uncomfortable. "Do you want me to go find Catra? She's much better at this than I am."
"I don't think she wants to see me right now," Adora barely croaks out. More tears leak from her eyes and she stubbornly wipes them away, swallowing hard. "I don't blame her."
"Ohhh, did you two have a fight?" Two lilac locks fly into the front of Entrapta's overalls and return bearing a notepad and pen. "What was it about? Tell me everything."
Adora's shoulders sag with a sigh. "Entrapta, please."
Wincing self-consciously, Entrapta concedes, "Not the time. Sorry." Her eyes blink over to the screen and narrow curiously. "Reading more of Shadow Weaver's files?"
"Not anymore." Closing the window, Adora stands and wipes her tear-stained cheeks. "It's all yours."
She starts to walk away but is jerked to a stop by a lock of hair snapping out and latching onto her arm. Entrapta propels herself over with one tug, Adora's forgotten tablet in her hand. "You don't have to stop because of me," she says. "The new tablets have read-only access to the mainframe." Grabbing Adora's right hand, she takes her thumb and presses it against a dark square at the bottom of the tablet. "Here, you just put your thumb on the reader, and voila!" A new icon labelled 'THE DATA!' pops up on the screen and Entrapta grins up at her.
Eyelids fluttering, Adora asks, "Wait, how did you get my thumbprint?"
"Off your plate, from dinner!"
Adora frowns, rubbing the back of her neck. "Isn't that a little invasive?"
"Is it?" Entrapta squints, head cocking slightly. "I just figured it would save time, make one less thing to bother people for."
Entrapta hops back to her computer with a shrug and Adora glances down at the tablet. Her gut burbles as she lifts her thumb, thrashes in protest the longer she lets it hover over the data icon. Finally she turns the screen off with a sigh, shoulders sagging and arms falling to her sides. She can't handle any more of that, not today. Maybe not ever. A peek inside Shadow Weaver's head was plenty enough to understand why Catra despises her, anyway. Why some part of Adora always did too.
Eyes still downcast, Adora calls out, "Entrapta?"
"Yeah?"
"Do…" Clearing her throat, she licks her dry lips. "Do I have a hero complex? Like, do I have a compulsive need to save the day? In a bad way?"
Entrapta blinks her way briefly before turning back to her work. "Well, you didn't when you were infected by that strange First Ones' virus," she remarks uneasily, tapping away at the keyboard.
Unwilling to let her evade the question, Adora crosses her arms and glares at her insistently. "Entrapta."
Sighing, Entrapta gives up the pretense and turns to face her. "Based on my observations, yes, you have an unhealthy obsession with attaining saviorhood and in general fulfilling the needs of others, often to the detriment of your own. My hypothesis is that you were denied validation based on your own merits during childhood and came to associate your self-worth with your accomplishments and your value to other people, such as Shadow Weaver or the Horde in general. When you defected to Bright Moon you became similarly reliant on praise from Queen Angella and other leaders, as well as the success of the rebellion."
"I… huh," mutters Adora, frowning at the floor. "I don't think I'm that reliant on praise from other people."
The rattle of Entrapta's rolling chair fills the air and suddenly she's sticking her face into Adora's eyeline. "Oh, but you are," she says, eyes alight with something akin to excitement. "Would you like to see the data?"
Adora's jaw tightens, twitches. "No."
"Oh." Entrapta frowns. "Okay, just thought I'd offer." Her body language is more subdued as she rolls back to the terminal, but Adora can't find it in herself to feel guilty. Is she supposed to feel bad for not wanting to humiliate herself?
"Wait," Adora's eyes widen, "that data isn't available to everyone on the tablets, is it?"
"No, Scorpia said the psych profiles should be password locked for privacy."
Adora's sigh of relief is quickly followed by another frown. "Maybe Shadow Weaver's notes should be too. I don't know how Catra would feel about Scorpia or the others reading this stuff."
Entrapta squints at her. "Then why were you reading it?"
"I was there," Adora snaps defensively. Feeling her cheeks flaring up, she gives them a self-conscious rub. "For some of it, anyway."
Those pink eyes peer at her for a long moment before Entrapta's lips turn up in a soft smile. "You're researching, like me."
Crossing her arms, Adora huffs, "So what if I am?"
"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Entrapta clarifies. "We all have our blind spots, it's good to fill them in when we can. And I assume Catra isn't the most forthcoming with this information."
Adora snorts. "You even have to ask?"
"I didn't ask," Entrapta replies with a squint. Shrugging this off, she turns her attention to the screens.
Frowning, Adora taps her fingers against the edge of the tablet, turns it over and over in her hands. "Would you want me to tell you if I saw something in one of your blind spots?"
"Of course," says Entrapta, her tone enthusiastic despite her eyes still being locked on the data. "Knowledge is power."
Easing closer, Adora begins, "Scorpia, she's been…" She shifts her weight, nibbling her lip. "I've been watching her. She seems a little disappointed, sad. I think she wants to spend more time with you."
Entrapta's hands still over the keyboard and she turns to Adora with a confused frown. "Really? She's in my lab almost constantly."
"Yeah, but…" Adora's mouth twitches as she weighs her words, "I think she wants more of your focused attention, you know?"
Eyes falling, Entrapta frowns. "That is a problem. I have so much to do." She begins tugging on her fingers in a way painfully familiar to Adora. "I thought she was happy, just spending time with me. I thought…" Her hands still, throat bobbing as her shoulders sag. "I might not be able to give her what she needs."
Adora pulls on her own fingers, shoulders tensed. Her default mode of comfort is to hug people but Entrapta doesn't seem to like that, at least not from her. And she's certainly no expert when it comes to relationship advice. Clearing her throat, she stammers, "Well, uh, maybe you could-"
A loud ringing sound pierces the air, making her jump and almost throw her tablet in the air. It takes a second for her heart to settle back down in her chest, and yet another for her to realize the sound is coming from the tablet itself. Shaking her head to clear it, Adora peers at the screen.
[Incoming call from: Lonnie]
Squinting at the unfamiliar interface, Adora hits what she hopes is the correct button to accept the call. When Lonnie appears onscreen, her eyes narrow curiously. Lonnie's kneeling, or maybe squatting, her tablet apparently on the ground beside her. Only a sliver of her face is visible, but Adora can see a smear of fresh blood on her cheek. And she's clad only in her sports bra, weirdly enough.
"Uh, Lonnie? What's-"
"Adora!" Lonnie moves her head to look down into the tablet, eyes wild with panic. "We need help, in the gym! It's Catra, she-" Her voice catches and she squeezes her eyes shut, swallowing a sob.
Adora's stomach drops. "She what? What, Lonnie?"
"She's bleeding out," Lonnie manages, a tear now rolling down her cheek. "Barely breathing. Do we have a healer, or supplies, or- or-"
Adora barely catches the tail end of that over the ringing in her ears. The world falls away, leaving only an awful buzzing sensation in her head as a cold cascade of dread washes over her. Her heart pounds in her ears, its volume rivaled only by her heavy, shallow breaths.
Somewhere nearby, Adora hears Entrapta saying something about a med bot, vaguely registers her body brush against her side. She blinks her eyes back into focus just in time to see Entrapta's hair snapping her up into a vent.
Adora's fingers are gripping the tablet so hard they've gone white. Her lips and tongue feel heavy, numb. She forces them to move. "What- what happened?" she asks, staring down at the screen. "Did she cut herself?"
"You could say that," mutters Lonnie. Eyes flitting over to look at the floor in front of her, she shakes her head sadly. "I know she used to do this shit, but never like this."
The realization is a swift blow to the gut, knocking all the air from Adora's lungs. Her hands fall to her sides, vision tunneling as she stares out the door of the lab.
No. No no no no no.
"You still there?" comes Lonnie's voice again, sounding so far away now. "Adora?!"
Adora barely has the presence of mind to end the call before she takes off running.
***o***
The gym is only a few minutes away, nestled in the bowels of the Crypto Castle, but the journey seems to take forever. The halls pass Adora by in slow motion, no matter how fast she runs. She's out of breath by the time she crashes through the gym doors, heaving in precious oxygen. Then her eyes refocus, locking onto the scene in front of her, and suddenly time snaps back to normal.
Lonnie and Rogelio are both stripped down to their underwear, pressing their training clothes against Catra's stomach and thighs. Blood is starting to soak through the garments despite their best efforts, plenty more already pooled on the floor beneath. The sight makes Adora's stomach clench but she sprints over to her squadmates, dropping to her knees beside Lonnie.
"Catra?" Extending one shaky hand to rest on her cheek, Adora takes Catra's right hand in her own. It's so cold, covered in crusted and tacky blood alike. Catra's stomach moves slightly under their hands, pushing out weak, labored breaths. Adora's throat tightens painfully but she manages to squeak, "Catra? It's okay. I'm here."
Catra's eyelids flutter slightly, the lashes brushing Adora's thumb, but her hand remains lifeless in Adora's grip. Adora squeezes it desperately, a sob catching in her throat. She could have stopped this. She saw how much pain Catra was in last night, Catra told her, but instead of comforting her like she should have Adora just had to go and make it about herself. It was so stupid. All of their fights are so stupid. And now she might not even get to apologize. If that's the last memory Catra will ever have of her, Adora will never be able to forgive herself.
But maybe she can still stop this.
Under no circumstances is she going to let go of Catra's hand, so she transfers it to her left before reaching for her vambrace. Transforming the weapon back into sword form, she raises it to the sky and chokes out, "For the honor of Grayskull!"
If Lonnie and Rogelio react to the transformation, she's too dialed in to notice. "Heal," she commands, touching the flat of the blade to Catra's face. "Heeeeeeal. Come on."
Nothing happens. No power flows out of She-Ra, only tears born of frustration and sorrow. Pressing the hilt to Catra's chest, Adora shouts, "Come on, work, you stupid sword! Work!"
Still nothing.
"Damn it!" She throws the sword across the room with a scream and She-Ra falls away. Barely stifling a sob, Adora drops to her elbows and presses her forehead to Catra's, tears dripping down into her cheek fur. "Catra, please," she whispers, stroking her cheek tenderly. "Please don't leave me."
A loud crash makes Adora jolt upright with a startled shout. As her head turns in the direction of the noise, Entrapta drops in through one of the vents. "Hi, I'm here!" she pants. "Sorry, I was loading some additional equipment into the bot." Quickly catching her breath, she springs over to join them with one leap of her hair. "Vital signs?"
"Responsive to pain," Lonnie answers immediately. "Weak pulse. Cool and clammy skin."
Entrapta looks impressed. "You know your stuff."
"We all have to take first aid in the Horde. Comes with the territory."
A large bot comes barreling through the doors before Entrapta can reply, dropping open to reveal an extensive stash of medical supplies. After handing Lonnie and Rogelio new bandages to layer on top of the old, Entrapta busies herself covering Catra's chest, arms, and lower legs with blankets. "You do a secondary survey yet?"
"Uh, no, we were a little busy stopping her from bleeding to death," snarks Lonnie. Gesturing at Catra's crimson claws, she adds, "Besides, it's pretty obvious how she got these."
"Ah." Entrapta grimaces at the sight but shakes it off, clearing her throat as she looks back up. "Well, bright side is that makes things really simple. You've already got the bleeding under control, mostly. I'm sure she'll need a lot of stitches and disinfectant but right now what she really needs is a blood donor."
Adora's head snaps up. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she begins rolling up her sleeve. "I'll do it."
"Well hang on," Entrapta cautions her, raising a hand, "I don't know if you're compatible yet."
"We are," insists Adora. "I remember, Catra gave me a transfusion once. Infirmary was rationing blood after a big battle and she insisted they take some of hers."
Well, Adora kind of remembers. She remembers the training sim, but not the accident itself. She has a foggy yet indestructible memory of Catra clinging to her hand in the sim room, telling her to hold on and that help was on the way. And she remembers waking up in the infirmary, hearing Catra arguing with the medics over her own groggy groans.
She also remembers she had to wait a long time to actually get Catra's blood because it had to sit awhile and then get spun around in some machine. It was at least an hour.
Adora really hopes Catra has an hour.
Entrapta shakes her head. "That's not how it works. What's your blood type?"
"A positive," says Adora.
"And Catra?"
"O positive."
"Bad idea," concludes Entrapta. "She might not bleed out but she'd die of kidney failure."
Eyes burning once again, Adora squeezes them shut and turns her face away. Why is she so useless? She'd do anything to keep Catra alive and breathing, but she can't. She can't do anything worthwhile. Why even be She-Ra if she can't save the people she loves?
"I'm O negative," Lonnie offers from beside her, voice uncharacteristically reserved. Timid, almost. "Would that be okay?"
Entrapta's eyes light up. "You're an O neg?" Circling around to look at Lonnie closer, she murmurs, "A rare treasure. Sucks for you, you can only get donations from other O negs, but you can donate to anyone. Your blood is valuable. Sought out, even."
Shrinking away from the encroaching princess, Lonnie protests, "Can we not bleed me dry for science?"
Eyes widening, Entrapta straightens up and waves her hands frantically. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's not what I meant." Her posture relaxing just a little, she smiles down at Lonnie and clarifies, "I meant I'm really glad you're here, and willing to help."
"Well I wouldn't give my blood to just anyone, but it's Catra," states Lonnie, eyes and voice determined as she returns her focus to their injured squadmate.
"Okay, I'll get you prepped," says Entrapta, turning for the med bot. "Adora, take over for her."
Lonnie stands and Adora shifts to take her place, kneeling on Catra's thigh to free up one hand to keep hanging onto Catra's. She can't hide the desperation in her voice as she all but begs Entrapta, "Is there anything else I can do?"
"Talk to her, try to keep her halfway conscious," Entrapta advises her as she digs an assortment of medical apparatus out of the bot. "Monitor her vitals. Pray, if you do that."
Swallowing hard, Adora turns back to stare helplessly at Catra. Heedless of the blood, she lifts Catra's hand to her lips and presses a shaky kiss to her knuckles. The bitter tang of copper fills her nostrils and explodes on her tongue and her eyes squeeze shut, forcing out a fresh round of tears. Clutching the hand with all her might, Adora forces her voice to stay steady as she says, "We've got you, Catra. Just stay with me, okay?"
And then she whispers two more words, barely a breath against Catra's knuckles.
"Please, stay."
A/N: Thanks to Malachi Walker for betaing yet another mess of a chapter. I am real lucky having a professional editor on my side. 3
Stay tuned for the next chapter, in which Team Dryl comes together in the face of adversity.