Catra went to the corner of Pao and 2nd the next night. What else could she do? After losing her temper at Mara-not-Mara and watching her departing back for what she feared might be the last time, she'd been overwhelmed with guilt. At first, their conversation had been fine—strange, confusing, and full of holes where one of them or the other was too guarded to elaborate, but intriguing regardless—and then she'd forfeit all that because of a single unintended barb. She'd pissed off someone who had taken her advice, sought out her company, and even blushed sometimes at the things Catra said; generally hallmarks of someone who might actually be interested in getting to know her. All because she was so aggressively independent that she couldn't stand the prospect of pity.
Once she'd had time to review her behavior in hindsight, she figured that hadn't really been fair to Mara.
Plus, if the flames in the other girl's eyes when she invited Catra here were anything to judge by, Catra's accusations probably weren't even accurate.
That and the condition of the cramped, filthy, pitch-black streets she'd followed to get here: the seediest, most ancient part of the city. The leaning structures around her certainly looked like they had received no care for decades. No one came to this part of town unless they were looking for trouble or trouble was looking for them.
Catra wondered which category Mara fell into.
Her curiosity (and instinctual dread) grew with every step she took deeper into the nest of darkness and danger. She wondered, briefly, if Mara was so angry that she'd just lured Catra here to shank her on the spot.
For once though, she was tempted to give the benefit of the doubt.
She hoped it wouldn't be the death of her.
She'd find out shortly, she thought as she came around a corner and spotted Mara's silhouette in the dim glow of a storefront sign reading closed. Her heartbeat picked up immediately, and the pit of dread in her gut yawned wider at the sight of those square shoulders; that flash of gold hair beneath that shapeless hat. She wondered with a pang whether Mara's decision to keep wearing it was meant to make her guilty.
As much as her nerves were singing for her to run, something kept her feet moving forward toward that familiar shape.
Mara couldn't have heard her approach, but she still turned as Catra crossed the final street to her haunt, padding over to enter the circle of dim red light with her. Those blue-gray eyes seemed drawn to her—maybe by fate, or maybe just because she was surprised Catra had come.
They stayed on her, silent and searching, as Catra stopped a safe distance away and eyed the storefront they were facing. The light of the electric sign shone in through the gaping windows, and Catra could see well enough to determine that the shelves within were virtually empty. This must have been a front, just like most of the other holes in the wall around this part of town. She wondered what for.
Mara still wasn't speaking; just watching, so Catra cleared her throat uncomfortably into the heavy nighttime silence and dared to meet that gaze. "I didn't take you for the type to brave the heart of Old Republic City at night," she ventured quietly.
"Shows what you know." Mara's eyes didn't soften a fraction.
Something in Catra's chest withered. Here she was to either offer an olive branch or let this girl shank her, and all she got in return was stonewalled. Her first instinct was to sink into defensive anger, but then she remembered that that was what had gotten her into this awkward treatment in the first place and forced the tension out of her shoulders.
"What's in that?" she mumbled instead, gesturing to the grayish duffel bag hanging by Mara's leg.
"You'll see," she responded, still short and clipped, but she tilted her chin toward the closed establishment beside her and led Catra inside.
Better than being shanked, Catra supposed, trailing after into the dank interior of the dark store. Looking around, she realized that she couldn't identify any of the few shelved objects in the dark, but she didn't have much time to sate her curiosity before Mara was leading her briskly toward the back counter. They rounded it, tracked to a door labeled employees only, and headed through to come upon a narrow wooden staircase leading down.
Mara continued on, and Catra stepped lightly as she descended, wary of the old wood giving her splinters in her soles. She watched Mara's back to keep oriented in the dark space and clung to the rusty metal railing as her anxiety rose. Where was Mara taking her?
She was so preoccupied that she didn't notice the other girl hop to the landing from a few stairs up, avoiding putting weight on the last ones. Mara turned back to wait for her as she crossed the final distance. Her eyes widened as Catra came close to the bottom. Too late, she cried, "Watch out for—"
Crash!
The world dropped out from beneath Catra's feet, and she plunged down with a strangled-off cry that was lost beneath the sound of breaking wood. Her vision spun in the darkness and she couldn't catch her balance because she didn't know which way was up, but she was sure her falling body would end up face-first on the stones if—
Strong hands caught her.
The warmth was what shocked her first, followed by the abruptness of suddenly having her feet again. Then she realized that she was clutching onto something vaguely soft and jerked back immediately.
She thought she could see the shine of wry blue-gray eyes in the dim.
"—the last step. There's a hole," Mara finished unhelpfully, and Catra could hear the smirk in her voice.
She huffed and brushed herself off furiously. Just what she needed—to embarrass herself in front of someone she still wasn't sure whether she hated or hated her. In enemy territory, no less. She still had no idea what she was walking—falling—into.
"No shit," she grumbled sourly.
Mara almost chuckled before she pushed through a door at the landing, throwing an orangey light over the dirt floor—still dim, like it was coming from a distance.
"Come on."
She passed through, leaving Catra with no choice but to follow.
"What is this place?" she grumbled as she trailed after, now padding along a narrow tunnel with concrete walls toward the source of the warm light.
"You'll see," repeated Mara, and the look that she threw over her shoulder revealed just how much she was enjoying keeping Catra in the dark—literally.
Catra huffed, but fell silent as the tunnel curved and a metal door came into view on the inner wall to her left. It was propped open by the meaty body of a tall man standing by the entrance, arms crossed and face in an intimidating scowl. Catra's nerves pricked into high alert. What exactly was this man guarding? Had Mara brought her to some triad hideout to get beaten into the turf? A drug operation? A—
She didn't know what else, but it was not looking good.
She hung back, eyes flicking between the man at the door and Mara's back as she headed straight toward him. Again her instincts were falling back into their usual pattern of screaming get out of there!
She could no longer make herself walk unquestioningly into what might be a trap. Especially since, if things went sour now, her odds were now two against one. Hands clenching at her sides, she stopped in her tracks, chest growing tight. "Mara—" she managed, her voice coming out much shakier than intended.
Immediately the other girl paused and looked back, and for a heartbeat her eyes were so full of concern that it was like she'd forgotten to be angry. She took in Catra's tense form standing back where the shadows were deeper; safer, and sighed. Catra resisted the urge to retreat as Mara crossed back toward her. Her blue-gray eyes stayed soft but guarded as she stopped and looked down at Catra.
"What is it?" she asked, low enough that the man now eyeing them from the door couldn't hear.
Catra gave a jerky shrug and tried to look annoyed instead of afraid. "I would feel better if—" her voice threatened to crack and she cleared her throat, "—if you told me what's going on."
Mara seemed to see right through her, tilting her head knowingly. Catra bristled.
"Don't worry," Mara said gently. "You're safe with me. I promise." She reached out a hand as if to take Catra's, stopped herself, and then settled for extending it palm-up as an invitation instead of a demand.
Catra's heart was still kicking too fast, but Mara's honesty was written all over her features. And that single assurance, that I promise, was somehow more powerful than all her bone-deep fears. She held those tender eyes, wondering why Mara was being so kind to her, trying to believe that the impossible was true. That Mara had forgiven her. That she cared. That she would protect her.
Why did she want to trust this girl?
She was losing her touch, that was all. She was getting weak. A pretty face crossed her path, showed her a little attention, and her walls started crumbling. That's all it was.
She nodded, lowering her eyes and ignoring Mara's outstretched hand, too ashamed to take it. But when the other girl returned her course toward the door with the bouncer, she followed.
The burly man's scowl deepened as they approached, casting his eyes in darkness. He stepped into the doorway to block their passage. Catra would have been perfectly content to preserve her health and leave him alone, but Mara wasn't cowed by his intimidating presence.
"We're here for the main event," she said as she marched right up and stopped in front of him. Catra did a double take. Was that a smirk on her face?
And what main event was she talking about?
Her unease bubbled up again, but the passing glance that Mara threw her over her shoulder was reassuring. Her eyes were repeating that fateful I promise and Catra's heart still believed her.
Curse that stupid thing.
The bouncer still didn't look impressed. "Fee?" he demanded in a gravelly rumble.
Catra was trying to strain a look beyond the door past his shoulder. When his utterance registered with her a beat later, a shot of freezing dread flooded her gut and her eyes flashed back to his glowering face. "What?"
Fee? What fee? She didn't have any money. Did Mara not know that?
"Your entry fee," the man elaborated just as gruffly. "Fifty yuan."
Catra took a step back. She'd lived through enough versions of this scenario that she knew how it would end. "I—I don't—"
Mara stepped in front of her. "She's with me," she said firmly, and reached up to grasp her hat and slide it off in a sweeping motion that made her golden ponytail swing free dramatically.
"Oh—!" The man's eyes widened as the orange light glinted off the strands, turning them molten. He hurriedly stepped aside as if the sight was somehow worth more than fifty yuan. "Shira! Of course. I did not know it was you." He gave her a shallow bow of respect, and, much to Catra's shock, then turned to her and did the same. "Enjoy the fight. Wager generously," he mumbled to her in the rough tone of an implicit apology.
Mara led the way past him into the doorway, and Catra followed behind, bewildered.
As they paced down a short stone passage, beyond which she could see a huge domed space open up, she trotted up beside her companion—whom she was realizing she actually knew very little about. "Shira?" she murmured in Mara's ear. Was that her real name? Why would some random underground doorman know her real name? She'd said she didn't trust anyone enough to reveal it yet!
"Every fighter needs a stage name," Mara replied, turning her head to grace Catra with an ironic little smile.
And Catra was floored.
"Fighter?" she wheezed out, feeling as if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. "That's what this place is?"
Even as she voiced the question, they reached the end of the path and emerged onto the middle level of the large stone amphitheater filling the cavern. At the bottom was a flattened clearing surrounded by a cage. The ceiling high above was shadowed, but lower down, bright lights illuminated the cage from all sides—a fighting arena. Already a pair of muscled men in nothing but their breeches were facing off on the interior, well into a fight if their bruises were anything to judge by.
Catra looked at Mara with wide eyes. Now her duffel bag and her beat-up athletic wear made sense. "You can't be serious."
The other girl turned fully around to face her. The few extra inches of height she had on Catra still made the motion slightly intimidating, but her expression was neutral. Her eyes looked like the shattered sky.
"How's that for a perfect little life?" she said low in her throat as they stood inches apart, and Catra swore the shiver that went through her was the sting of guilt. Really.
She swallowed her discomfort. "Mara, I—"
Mara shook her head, making her ponytail swing hypnotically. "Don't worry about it," she said, reaching out to lay her hand on Catra's arm briefly—a gesture meant to be comforting, but only serving to set Catra's nerves on fire. Any trace of anger from last night was gone from her eyes. She let her hand fall and Catra could still feel its imprint on her arm. "Just don't make assumptions before you really know someone."
Catra couldn't understand the depths of this girl's grace. She couldn't understand her willingness to forgive. To forget. All she could do was nod dumbly, jaw too slack to finish her apology.
Mara flashed her a small smile, almost sympathetic in its warmth, and then hefted her duffel bag. "Now, I have to get going. I've got to warm up," she said. Then she nodded to the leveled seating arrangement circling the room. "Sit somewhere in the middle. Too close to the ring and you'll get trampled. Too far and you'll get mugged."
"Charming," replied Catra, feeling queasy. She was thinking you're just going to leave me here? but she wouldn't be caught dead admitting that she wanted Mara around anytime soon. There was no reason to feel that way. She would be fine! She was used to braving the sketchier side of Republic City. She chewed her nails ragged so even if her bending was compromised she'd never be defenseless. She could handle a few lowlifes, if it came to it. She didn't need Mara around.
(She just wanted her around).
But she was wise enough to keep that little tidbit to herself and instead just give Mara a short nod before she departed. She watched that gold ponytail descend the wide steps to the floor of the cavern and then move to an opening in the wall hidden in shadow—the way to some version of a locker area, presumably.
Catra certainly did not feel a little lonelier in her absence.
She turned away from the sight of Mara's retreating back and scanned the amphitheater for a secluded seat, trying to distract herself from that unwanted sentiment. Not too close to the front or the back, Mara had warned, and Catra was seeing for herself just why that was sound advice. A mob of rough-looking men were crowded at the ringside, crumpled bills in their hands and voices filling the air with curses and insults and praise depending on which fighter was winning in that moment. At the top of the cavern, a few shady figures sat in shadow, and by the looks of the people straggling to and from their perches with sunken eyes and shaking hands, Catra knew exactly what kind of business they were running up there.
So she headed for a middle level of the amphitheater where only a few viewers lounged and pulled up her hood to discourage anyone trying to approach.
None did, as most were too absorbed in the current match to pay her much mind—that, and whenever a stray street rat came too close, she snarled at them like a feral cat. Once she was sure she was safe from any intrusions, she settled back against the step behind her and tuned in to what was happening below.
The fight in the cage was nearing its end, if the limping gait of the leaner competitor was any proof. Both men were battered and bruised after a fairly even match and Catra wondered how long they must have been going. Then she wondered how long the average match lasted, and whether this was a fight-till-submission type setup or a KO-only situation, and found herself beginning to worry about just what Mara was getting herself into.
Not worrying about her, of course, just—underground brawling for the wagers of backstreet brigands sounded a little dangerous. Was Mara going to be able to hold her own against the type of ruffians she was watching beat each other into the turf right now? Gracious, forgiving, beautiful Mara?
Catra felt a new pit opening up in her gut and sat on her hands to keep from wringing them anxiously.
Mara would be fine. She obviously knew what she was doing. She could probably beat these suckers with her eyes closed.
Catra hoped.
The current fight ended with a vicious knee to the leaner man's head that sent him limply to the dirt, unconscious (or dead. This was not making Catra feel better.), and the referee rushed into the ring to raise the winner's arm over his head in celebration. The meaty victor pumped his arms and riled the crowd for a good moment, reveling in his achievement before trotting off to cool down in the locker area. A team of volunteers from the mob at the front picked up the lolling form of the loser and shuffled off in the same direction. They were grumbling and shaking their heads and Catra guessed they must have lost a good bit of money just now. She wondered what they planned to do with the poor man once behind closed doors. Then she promptly cut that thought off.
She received a welcome distraction as a lanky, skint-elbowed man swaggered up to the now empty cage and bellowed for the crowd's attention. He held no microphone, but his voice carried around the stone amphitheater to the same effect.
"Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between," he boomed, and it echoed in Catra's sharp ears. "You've just witnessed the decisive victory of our underdog Wan Shi Metric-Ton over longtime favorite Boar-q-pine! What will happen next? Will Wan Shi Metric-Ton's lucky streak last? Or will the newcomer from the South Side meet his match in the upcoming Quántóu Underground tournament, the largest purely nonbending fighting event in Republic City? Join us again this weekend to find out, Friday night beginning at 9 pm." He was gesturing emphatically along with the inflection in his voice and it was honestly sort of riveting to watch. Briefly Catra ran through her weekend schedule in her head, prodded into trying to remember whether she was free on Friday. Then one phrase hit her in particular: purely nonbending, and something in her gut twisted.
On a hunch, she scanned the circumference of the amphitheater for any viewers in typically elemental-colored clothes. She found next to none. That sickening feeling in her middle intensified, and looking closer, she realized that more than a handful were wearing scarfs or bands patterned with a single red circle against a black background: the Equalist insignia.
She sank down a little in her seat, trying to make herself less visible. Although her faded blue tunic meant she wouldn't be instantly recognized as a firebender, she did not want to take any chances. One good look at her eyes and people would get suspicious.
She cursed internally. What had she gotten herself into? Had Mara lured her here for revenge after all? If the people here were so adamant about being an anti-bending establishment (because she knew that's what they really meant by 'purely nonbending' in today's political climate), would they hurt her for it? Would they turn her over to that psycho Amon, the leader of the Equalists, and his chi blocker army?
Was Mara in league with them?
Was she one of them?
That was impossible. Right?
There was no way for Catra to know. Suddenly she had one more secret to keep from her new…whatever Mara was. She was not about to sacrifice the safety of her bending for the sake of some pretty girl. And she was not going to be caught off guard down here, in the midst of a hostile faction, alone. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, sandwiching her hands tightly against her body. She'd have to be very careful until she knew for sure that she could trust Mara—or not.
"Now," the announcer continued, breaking into her nervous thoughts, "it's time for our main event of the night: Dexterous Deshi versus the undefeated warrior goddess, Shira!"
Catra stifled a snort, mood lightening somewhat at Mara's ridiculous introduction. Warrior goddess? Mara had told her that every fighter needed a stage name, but the additional titles seemed a little much.
Undefeated, though… That was impressive. Looks like Mara did know what she was doing down here. Catra would not be underestimating her again anytime soon. Doubly so when she might be an Equalist. That thought sent her anxiety skyrocketing again.
But for now all she could do was sit back, watch the upcoming main event, and learn all she could from Mara's performance.
The first challenger to enter the ring was the so-called Dexterous Deshi (whose stage name Catra did not want to read too far into). He emerged from the locker area at a jog and crossed the cavern floor in a series of zigzagging curves, waving his arms and showboating to the crowd, trying to milk all possible favor from prospective betters with a dramatic entrance.
Once he'd finally made it to the cage after much ado and took to boxing the air inside, it was Mara's—Shira's turn.
Catra might not have even noticed her emerge if she hadn't been hanging on the edge of her seat to catch sight of her.
Where her competitor had taken every opportunity to inflate his own ego before the fight, Mara's entrance was humble and simple in contrast. She trotted out of the locker area and straight to the cage with a laser-focused look in her sky eyes, only offering a quick flex of her arms to satisfy the crowd. Her hair was tied back severely so it would not fall into her eyes, and her hands and wrists were wrapped with cloth. She practically glowed beneath the floodlights, and the contrast with the dirty crowd made her look like she belonged on another plane of existence entirely.
She does look a little like a goddess, agreed Catra, and then bit the insides of her cheeks hard to punish that thought. She hoped her stupid infatuation would fade as the night went on. If it didn't, well…needless to say she would have a bit of trouble staying attentive to her surroundings. She couldn't afford to make that slip.
"Let the match begin!" the announcer called, and promptly backed out of the ring to get out of the way of any flying fists. None began right away, though. Both fighters stayed in their corners until the referee took his place in the center and performed an actual initiation to the match.
As Shira and Deshi launched into action, Catra couldn't look away from the burning intensity of Mara's eyes, even from this distance. The so-called warrior goddess started out on the defensive, circling the perimeter of the ring, those eyes flickering up and down the other man's form as if she were reading some hidden message there; some decipherable code.
Dexterous Deshi, for his part, hopped around in the ring just as frenetically as he had during his entrance, which may have been intended as unpredictable but only succeeded in wasting energy. He threw a couple of experimental punches from too far away to really threaten Mara, and she barely reacted, but that focus in her gaze never changed.
Catra felt her heart rate speeding up as if she were in the ring herself. She found herself trying to predict Mara's movements before she made them, the way she would if she were fighting her. She told herself that it was reflex, not the dark suspicion that she would need the insight someday, but she logged the information in the back of her mind anyway.
Mara fought precisely; efficiently; measuredly, like a soldier. When her opponent fired a jab at her head, she only dodged aside only as much was absolutely necessary so she could retaliate fast with a hook to the ribs. When he tried a roundhouse kick, she blocked his foot and countered by using his own momentum against him. She waited for him to tire himself out rather than initiating the attack herself, and while it was not what Catra would have done, it was working like a charm.
Over the course of the fight, Catra grew more and more entranced by the sight of Mara's twisting, bounding body; the skill of her technique; the absolute control she exhibited over everything happening in the ring. She fought as if every move Deshi made had been scripted beforehand and they were simply moving through the steps of a show she'd already won. She seemed untouchable. Unfairly talented. Otherworldly.
The crowd obviously felt the same, because as the warrior goddess punched and predicted and performed, a cacophony of voices gradually organized into a single cheer:
"Shi-ra! Shi-ra! Shi-ra!"
Catra narrowly resisted joining in.
She swallowed and found her throat dry. She couldn't take her eyes away from those muscles rippling under pale skin; that golden hair swinging as Mara—no, Shira—flowed through perfect combinations to lead her opponent toward a sound defeat.
She was mesmerizing. There was no other word for it. Even the mob at the edge of the ring, so noisy and rowdy just moments ago, was steadily quieting down in favor of hanging on her every move. She was a fighting machine, a force to be reckoned with, a virtual weapon in and of herself.
How's that for a perfect little life? she'd said.
Catra was thinking now, perched on the edge of her seat to drink in every possible motion the other girl made, breathless, No, your life isn't what's perfect.
And then she froze and shook her head sharply. Let those thoughts carry her away and she'd end up in just as much trouble as Dexterous Deshi.
Catra let out her breath in a huff. Why did this girl affect her so much? It wasn't just the guilt of yelling at her that was bothering Catra now, or the natural fascination with her strange persona, but an unfamiliar tightening in her rib cage as she watched her launch a show-stopping kick into her opponent's stomach, sending him to the ground and claiming the match for herself. The power and grace she exhibited made Catra's heart pound, and the focus in her shattered-sky irises as she fought—
Mara was looking at her.
She stood over the crumpled form of her fallen opponent and as the referee thrust her arm into the air in a show of victory, she gazed out through the bars of the cage to lock eyes with Catra.
Her expression was hard to read at this distance. She wasn't smiling, but she practically glowed brighter in the wake of her success. Her chest was rising and falling heavily but she seemed more satisfied than physically winded. Her muscles caught the light just as strongly as her golden hair, and her eyes—
Catra couldn't look away.
Maybe it had been a mistake to come here after all. Maybe she was getting in too deep. Maybe it was safer to pretend like she'd never met this mysterious, powerful young woman and instead return to the comfort of her shitty routine, motivated by the familiar hold of her vices and Weaver's whip. Maybe it would be kinder on her heart to pretend like she wasn't obsessed with this girl. Maybe it would be better for both of them.
Maybe none of that was true, and she should just appreciate the first good thing to enter her life since she'd discovered the power of má.
Maybe she was going to get hurt.
Maybe she could handle that.
Maybe Mara was worth the risk.
Her thoughts and emotions warred with one another until her head spun, and still Catra had no idea what to do or say when she saw the other girl next (other than apologize), but that meeting was rapidly approaching.
As Catra watched, the referee let Mara's arm drop, she stepped over to help her opponent to his feet, and the two competitors bowed to each other before leaving the ring. The sun-haired victor headed straight for the opening to the locker area to avoid the betting crowd now pressing in. She paused just before disappearing from the room, though, and looked over her shoulder—right at Catra. She tilted her head just slightly toward the gap before her.
An invitation.
All the breath rushed out of Catra's lungs.
Getting in too deep, her jaded mind repeated to her, but her skin was burning too hot for her to resist.
She rose creakily to her feet and descended the stone steps of the amphitheater toward the place where Mara had gone. She didn't know what to expect when she got there (a shanking was still not totally out of the question, now that Catra had seen what this girl could really do), but as much as her heart thundered and her brow sweated, she could not bring herself to care. She just wanted a chance. A chance to apologize. A chance to save whatever this…relationship was. A chance to be better.
You'll still screw it up somehow.
She quashed down her grating inner voice and slipped through the opening to the back room. Down a short walkway, a dank offshoot of the main cavern opened up. Once her eyes adjusted, Catra found that this makeshift locker space, though dimly lit and generally inhospitable, was lined with mirrors, wooden benches, a single shower stall, and a punching bag. It would only accommodate a few fighters at a time even if each kept to his own devices, but it served its purpose.
Right now Mara was alone inside, seated on one of the benches with her back to the entrance, busy unwrapping her hands. Her hair hung slightly damp over her shoulder and it looked pale brown instead of gold. Her skin was flushed with the afterglow of her exertion and her shoulders were bowed in exhaustion.
The way she looked in this environment was so inaccessible, so independent, so different from what Catra thought she knew that she was almost afraid to approach her. This was a new side of Mara that she hadn't met; seemingly a completely different woman from the one who worked at Loo-Kee during the evenings. This one was raw, capable, dangerous. She was a force to be reckoned with, and Catra wasn't sure she was up for that kind of reckoning.
But Catra was stewing in her guilt from the night before, and she had to do something about it.
So she approached this Mara—this Shira the warrior goddess—where she sat on the bench, stopped a few paces away, and cleared her throat awkwardly.
Mara turned and her gray-blue eyes were like sparks from a lightning bolt—and Catra had seen those up close.
Her meager resolve withered. "I'm—" She tried to speak but her intended words died under that electric gaze. She swallowed down the lump that always seemed to rise when she was trying to act like a decent human being and tried again. "I'm sorry. For blowing up on you."
Mara's broad, muscled shoulders rose in a shrug. It was an offhanded gesture, but her words held an edge when she said, "It's fine. People here don't take kindly to outsiders, after all." One hand came free of its wrappings and Catra's eyes flicked to the bruises and marks all over the ridge of knuckles. Shit. She wondered if Mara was about to add a few more to her collection.
She moved on to unwrap the other one.
"Look, I—" Catra tried not to let any hint of panic enter her voice. Her eyes stayed on that battered hand. "I'm just too used to being screwed over, okay? My life is hell and everyone I've ever met has seemed determined to make it stay that way." She clenched her jaw and forced herself to meet Mara's piercing gaze again. "I'm sorry for assuming you're the same."
There. It was out. She'd done her part. Now her fate was in Mara's hands. She wondered if she would be dealing with the ones that tried to reach out to her so tenderly, or the ones that cracked men's bones beneath their force. She stood stiff as a board and dug her ragged nails into her palms and waited to find out.
Mara did not offer her quick relief.
She finished, stowed the freed cloth strips in her duffel bag, and stood, all without a word. Then she crossed the distance to Catra, her pace slow and measured. Almost threatening, except for something softer behind the frustration in her look. Catra expected her to stop a few feet away, as was normal, but she didn't. She stepped into Catra's space. Catra retreated instinctively, but her back came against the wall—she didn't have anywhere to go. Even then, the other girl kept coming until they were inches away from being literally chest to chest.
Catra had no idea what to think. No idea what to do. They were alone in here. Mara could do anything to her and no one would know. Her body itched to get out. Her breath shallowed and she found herself glancing surreptitiously to her left, where the exit stood. Her fingers pressed into the concrete behind her like maybe it would give beneath her grasp. She tried to keep from flinching too obviously, but she got the feeling Mara noticed. Got the feeling she knew exactly what she was doing to Catra.
So why was she cornering her like this?
The silence graduated from uncomfortable to crushing before Mara finally spoke. When she did, it was faint and scratchy, like maybe she was about to cry (that was not an option Catra had prepared for). "You want to know what Razz really said about you?" she asked.
Catra swallowed thickly, her panic trading itself for something deeper. Darker. This was it; this was when Mara rejected her. This was when her brief glimmer of hope was snuffed out for good. This was when the mysterious sun-haired girl walked out of her life without a second glance and left behind a hole bigger than seemed her due. "That I'm a lost cause?" she guessed, her own voice coming out strangled. It was how she would have described herself to a stranger. She would pass it off as a joke, but both of them would know better.
"No," Mara said with what was almost a sardonic chuckle. "She said she could feel something between us. Our energies intertwined, before we even met. And I don't know what she meant by that, but she also said that you needed something in your life that you didn't even know about yet."
Catra was silent for a painful moment. Then, "I assume she meant you?"
"I don't know," Mara admitted. Then she lowered her head, hiding her expression. Catra didn't know what she expected next, but it was not for Mara to reach tentatively for her hand, though that's what happened. And Catra let her, her curiosity winning out over confusion. The other girl's palm was calloused and hot from her recent activity and it enveloped Catra's slender digits easily. Surprisingly, it didn't bother her much. She might have jerked her own hand away not so long ago, but the intrigue surrounding this girl was enough to temper Catra's nerves, even as she pressed their palms together intimately. A breathless pause passed. Mara didn't look up, but rather said into the space between them, "Do you…feel anything?"
Catra stopped and thought about it. She tried to figure out whether the tripping of her heart or the dryness of her mouth counted, but quickly decided that the answer to that was probably no. So instead she tried to extend her awareness, send it deeper, to where she drew energy to bend. That would be where she might feel an intertwining like Razz had mentioned, she thought.
She closed her eyes and let her chi flow.
Catra waited, and felt, and strained her inner senses, but her search did not uncover any new supernatural pull in her energy. All she felt was the usual spiritual turmoil. Any connection—any attraction she had to this girl seemed to be all physical.
It was both a relief and a disappointment. A relief, because Catra had never really trusted fate. It had never seemed to be on her side, so why would she put any stock in it?
A disappointment, though, because she knew how much her answer would hurt the other girl.
But she couldn't bring herself to lie. Not about this. So she opened her eyes, swallowed, and admitted, weakly, to the truth:
"No."
Mara's head jerked up and the hurt in her eyes hit Catra like a punch to the gut. Her mouth was twisted down, so different from the smile that had pulled Catra in that first time, and her graceful brows were furrowing like her words were nothing short of betrayal. When she apparently didn't find what she was looking for in Catra's expression, she turned her face away and prepared to step back, out of Catra's space.
Catra stopped her by clinging to her hand. Desperate to win back the warmth that Mara had shown her moments ago, she forced the whole truth out through her constricting throat, figuring she had nothing left to lose. "—but I want to."
Mara froze and regarded her warily, as if wondering if she was sincere. A tense moment passed before she relaxed, sighing in relief into the space between them, her eyes slipping closed. Catra was startled by the amount of trust that expressed to her. "Me too," Mara murmured. "I want Razz to be right."
Catra was torn. She wanted to believe her; she wanted someone in her life who was on her side; she wanted some semblance of a positive human relationship. But at the same time, she was not about to let this girl cut herself on her rough edges. She was not about to let her misplace her trust. Not when it might matter more than either of them realized, if Mara's mysterious past was so important. She knew that if she got the chance she would break things like she always did. So she reined in her desperation and let her hard, cold exterior return—it was safer that way. "You don't even know me," she mumbled.
"But I want to," Mara breathed back. She ran her thumb over the inside of Catra's wrist and the brunette shivered and pulled away without really thinking about it.
She was pulling away on the inside, too—away from the notion that, as much as she wanted it to be true, she and this girl were somehow linked by fate or the spirits or whatever governed Catra's joke of a life. Away from the prospect of a connection; just another opportunity for her to ruin. Just another chance for disappointment. She liked Razz, and she'd been inexplicably right before, but Catra had to take her words with a grain of salt, because who knew whether she really was wise or just cracked?
She liked this girl, too, maybe. But again, she was too much of a variable for Catra to allow into her life. She was a mystery. A change that Catra didn't know if she was ready for. And she doubted the other girl was really ready for her, either: a cynical, world-weary husk of a person who couldn't even earn a living without being doped up on leaf and alcohol.
No. This wasn't the right thing for either of them. Catra could already see it, and soon the other girl would too.
Afraid to look up and see the disappointment in the girl's eyes, Catra whispered to their now separated hands: "I wouldn't be too sure."
And before the girl could reply, she slid along the wall to escape the pin of that blue-gray gaze and hurried for the exit.
…