The semifinal round was scheduled for the next night. During the day, Catra and Mara returned to the training room at the Underground and went for another practice bout (albeit more carefully this time).

When Catra faced her on the mat, now, the nagging anxiety that was a product of her actions last night greatly intensified. She kept imagining the moment Mara would find her out, and that steely look in her eyes would turn real and those wrapped fists would no longer hold back their intent to truly hurt. Her nervousness leaked into her physical stance, and she found herself flinching and dodging attacks that she usually would have turned into skilful counters.

"Are you okay?" asked Mara more than once, and each time Catra shrugged her off with growing dread. She was already regretting what she'd done; regretting what she'd set herself up to lose, but at the same time she knew she was going to do it again. She was weak like that.

After they departed from the gym, Catra went her own way for a little while, claiming that she was letting Mara clean up in peace. Really, her feet led her straight toward her meeting spot with Shady Shin. He would not be there today, but there was a loose brick in the corner of their alleyway which could act, if need be, as a drop spot. She intended to hide most of the money she'd nicked off Mara behind the brick, and on Monday she'd check it for her new supply. The rest she planned to put toward a different purpose.

Her heart had climbed so far up her throat that it choked her as she reached the alleyway and made the drop, but once the money was hidden she felt much lighter without its weight.

She'd feel better until she stole the next batch tonight.

…

At the Underground that night, Catra didn't immediately seek out her seat. She had a different goal in mind.

Instead she went straight to the mob of betters at the ringside, eye out for whoever was running the wagers. The crowd seemed thickest around a tall, stocky guy in a green tunic, so that's where she headed, shouldering through the pressing betters to reach him. She had to crane her neck to look him in the face, but his beady eyes were sympathetic, as if he felt bad for being so tall.

"Here to wager?" he asked in a gruff voice so soft it was hardly audible over the crowd.

Catra gave him a curt nod and offered the thin stack of yuan she'd set aside for this purpose. "On Shira," she requested.

The man's lips curled slightly as he took her money. "Good choice." He gestured to the wooden board hung up on the ring beside him, where the remaining tournament odds were posted. Catra hadn't noticed it at first because the numbers made little sense to her, but she assumed Shira's odds were excellent. She wondered if anyone would be foolish enough to bet against her. She hoped so, so she could make some money tonight.

Bet placed, Catra turned to climb into the stands. The amphitheater was running out of open places to sit as the tournament attracted more viewers, but even with the growing throng around her Catra felt oddly relaxed. It felt better, somehow, to put her stolen money back where it belonged. Back where it would benefit Mara. It didn't sate the gnawing teeth of guilt in her stomach, but it was better.

Pockets light, she settled in between a couple of rough-looking young men to watch the night's matches. There would be only two tonight; the winner of each would face off in the championship round a week from now, and the tension in the crowd spoke to the suspense of the event. Catra, for one, was not concerned. She knew with absolute certainty that her bet was good. Mara had lived up to her title of warrior princess thus far, and she would do so again tonight.

She had nothing to worry about.

…

"See? I knew you had nothing to worry about." Catra was grinning at her battered but victorious companion as they emerged onto Republic City's street level, the midnight moon illuminating their path. Catra thought it fitting. "Want to celebrate with a trip to Bright Moon?"

Mara hefted her duffel bag into a more comfortable position on her shoulder and laughed. "You really want to see me drunk again so soon?"

"Wouldn't hurt," shot back Catra. Then, high on the weight of her night's winnings in her pocket (someone had indeed been stupid enough to bet against Shira), she added, "You're a cute drunk."

Mara scoffed, but even without looking Catra was sure she was blushing. "I'm a stupid drunk," the brawler corrected. "I always say things I regret."

That made Catra sober fast, anxiety trickling down her spine. "Do you—do you regret something you said to me?" she asked, trying and failing to make it sound casual.

"No! I mean—" Mara faltered. Her pace slowed as the mood around them dampened. "I don't remember everything from last night. But I always get really chatty and I just know I probably made you uncomfortable and—"

"No," Catra cut her off firmly, rounding on her to stop their progress, because this was important enough that Catra wanted to face her when she said, "You didn't. You wouldn't." That didn't quite capture what she was getting at, but it felt like too much to come right out and say, I'm always comfortable with you, (especially now) so she just tried to say it with her eyes.

"A-are you sure? When I woke up and realized you stayed the night I was afraid I…" Mara's gaze was flickering unsurely between her mismatched eyes like she was trying to decode the message hidden there.

Catra swallowed. "Afraid you what?"

"Afraid I…" Mara let out a little sigh and her ears colored and she looked away. "...I might have done something."

Catra knew what she meant. She knew, and she wondered whether the blush was one of shame or something else. She hoped for the latter, but she wasn't sure exactly what to say that wouldn't come across either too forward or too insulting, so she just chewed her lip until she gathered her thoughts. Then, once Mara had gotten desperate enough to meet her eyes again, she cleared her throat and risked: "Would that be so bad?"

And because she was a coward and she knew that her relationship with this girl was doomed either way, she turned away before she could see Mara's reaction and kept walking. She heard Mara take a shaky breath behind her before following, but no more words were exchanged between them until they were about halfway to Loo-Kee.

It was then that Mara spoke up again: "So what are you doing, um, next weekend?"

Catra slid her a subtle sideways glance to read her expression. It was neutral, but looked forced. A familiar dilemma. "Watching you win two hundred thousand yuan, princess," she replied softly.

Mara turned to meet her eyes, a bright smile coming to life, and Catra thought it was more beautiful than the moon shining above them. If she could live in a moment like this forever, she would. If she could bask in that lovely blue-gray forever, she would. If she could trick herself into thinking things could be perfect forever, she would.

But alas. The universe was not so kind.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that." A gruff voice from behind made them jump, and Catra spun instantly into a fighting stance. Mara did the same beside her. Their illusion of peace was gone as if it had never existed.

"Who's there?" demanded Mara.

A bulky silhouette in the dark growled a laugh. Instead of answering, it lumbered closer, slowly, like it was stalking them. Then it split into three separate shapes, and Catra realized with a sinking feeling that they were outnumbered. Outmatched had yet to be seen.

"Your career ends here," the same rough male voice spoke from the center figure.

They're after Mara? Catra had just enough time to throw her companion a panicked glance before the strangers lunged.

They all went for Mara. Catra thrust herself in front of her without a thought.

A fist came flying out of the gloom, and she summoned a tongue of flame in her hand as she caught it, scorching the attacker's knuckles. In the split second that her fire illuminated the man's face, she caught a glimpse of a dark mantle pulled up over the lower half and bushy brows furrowed in pain over flat green eyes. Then the man was wrenching his burned hand back and another goon was pressing forward into his place.

Mara shouldered out from behind Catra to take the lead. She deflected the second thug's punch and countered with a jab to his throat. Catra dropped down and kicked his feet out from under him while he reeled. As she straightened up, she and Mara shared a quick glance. Understanding passed between them.

The two women arranged themselves back to back as the remaining two attackers rushed them from both sides. Mara engaged the green-eyed one with quick, intense blows, using his own strength against him the way she did best. Catra met the other, a lanky man with a crooked jaw, in a battle of skill and dexterity, and thus far she was much more skilled than he.

The two held off their opponents like contrasting parts of a unified whole. Catra was at once terrified and thrilled by the pounding in her ears; the blood surging to her flaming fingertips; the ebb and flow that their bodies seemed to share as they kicked and punched and ducked and spun. Even in the midst of this filthy ambush, Catra felt confident. She knew Mara would be fine. She was Shira. She could hold her own.

And she did, for a while. But then the throat-punched thug recovered and reentered the fray, and no longer was this a fair fight.

And Mara still did not know how to fight street smart.

The two men converged on her and Catra was too busy with her lanky opponent to lend aid. Things went quickly downhill. She could hear the thud of blows landing on Mara's body; the grunts of pain that accompanied them. Her confidence slipped a little further away with every strike.

Then a cry cut the air. It didn't belong to one of the men.

Catra could feel a rush of air on her back as Mara vacated the spot, and a rush of dread followed close behind. She risked a glance behind her and saw her companion doubled over, stumbling, and her assailants raining blows on her bent form.

No! she raged. She tried to fight panic. If Mara went down, they would be overwhelmed. There would be no guarantee that either of them would make it out of this alive.

She made a split second decision.

"Mara," she growled out, low so only the other girl could hear, "duck!"

Mara hit the ground instantly. As soon as she was out of the way Catra whirled around and kicked out in a sweep of flame that burned all the hotter as it drew power from the surge of anger boiling in her chest. A chorus of cries and curses filled the alley as it hit.

Catra acted fast. As their attackers scrambled to regain their wits from the blast, she took the chance to swoop down, loop Mara's arm around her own shoulders, and heave her up.

"You okay?" Catra asked frantically in her ear as she settled her partial weight across her shoulders and began a retreat. The way Mara had been folded over in pain, Catra feared she was seriously injured.

"Fine," Mara gasped out in a tone that made the assurance less than convincing.

"Mara—"

"I'm fine!"

She was breathing raggedly, limping slightly, as they fled their assailants—obviously less than fine. Catra's worry deepened. To buy them some time, she sent another blast of fire down the alley behind. It turned out to be unnecessary.

"Leave them. That's good enough," she heard the lead thug bark to the others.

The sound of pounding footsteps signalled their escape, but not before Catra picked up on another one hiss, "We didn't count on the bender!"

"I said that's good enough!" the first voice snapped back.

She whipped her head back around to identify who had spoken—it was the tallest one, with the soulless green eyes—before the men could turn and disappear into the night unpunished for their crimes.

She vowed not to forget those eyes.

She fully intended to exact her revenge on their owner later.

A wheeze from Mara drew her gaze back to her, and the flood of protectiveness Catra felt for the other girl just then, with her clinging to her body, panting beside her, was enough to knock the rest of the air out of her already-strained lungs. She tightened her grip on her companion's side and continued their race toward safety with new energy. The only thing that mattered now was getting Mara out of harm's way.

The pure conviction she felt at that thought shocked her a little bit. Catra hadn't ever expected to feel so protective of somebody else. She had gotten used to taking care of herself and only herself, unable to afford anything more. But now…

What was this girl doing to her?

Making me soft is what it is, her cynical side retorted in response, but Catra wasn't content to settle with that. Not anymore.

Because just a moment ago, facing down a slew of masked muggers, she and Mara had been stronger together. It had finally occurred to Catra that trusting someone might not always be a sign of weakness. Maybe sometimes it was a path to strength.

That's foolish, her brain shot her down again. You know it is. You're stealing from her, for spirits' sake.

She would ruin this like all the rest.

Catra ripped herself out of her depressing thoughts abruptly, focusing back in on the present. The here and now, where Mara was tucked under her arm and Catra was trying to pick out the path back to Razz's among a twisting maze of inner-city alleyways and all she cared about was making sure Mara was safe.

"Good thing there's a week before the championship round," panted Mara with a bitter smile as they plowed on. "They should have waited."

"Don't give them any ideas," Catra cautioned through her teeth.

But the hoodlums did not come back. Catra and Mara's trek back to Loo-Kee was unhindered, if hard and heavy and painful with the taller girl's weight thrown across her smaller companion.

The moon was high when Catra shouldered open the door to the restaurant and bore Mara in, grimly thinking how similar yet so different this scene was from last night. She much preferred taking care of drunk Mara, she decided. That one she could handle. Hurt Mara, though—this would be more difficult. This one she actually had to do something about.

So Catra expended her last well of strength helping the other girl limp up the stairs to her living area (her next place had better be on the ground level) and depositing her safely in her bed. Mara winced as she settled onto the mattress, and Catra began to look around for supplies to ease her pain. Nothing on the nightstand or the wardrobe stuck out to her as helpful, except—

Oh!

There, behind the lamp on the wardrobe, was a little container that she recognized as one of Razz's creations. Catra crossed to grab it, keeping her eyes off the bottom drawer of the furniture with effort. She hoped the little canister held something better-tasting than Razz's mouthwash, and ideally something with healing properties, too. She twisted the top off and gave the green paste inside a sniff. Something herbal. Salve? She hoped so.

Catra returned with the canister to sit on the edge of the bed beside her companion (she was on Mara's bed) and showed it to her. "Would this help?"

"Y-yeah, it's healing salve. But you don't need to—"

Ignoring her, Catra began tugging down her frayed stocking to get at her injured ankle, salve at the ready.

"Catra, you don't need to do this. Really, it's fine. It's just a bruise," Mara protested—which was technically true, except that bruise was swollen as a melon, fifty shades of ugly and had to hurt like it too.

"You said I'd find a way to pay you back. This is it," Catra replied, trying with all her might not to think of what she really owed Mara.

The injured girl sighed shortly. "You don't need to," she said again, softer, less sure.

"I'm going to." Catra applied the salve by dabbing her fingers in the paste and transferring it to Mara's damaged skin. She wasn't sure that was really how she was supposed to do it, but she tried anyway. Both of them were silent while she worked. When the ugly bruised knot of Mara's ankle was covered in green film, Catra cast around for something to wrap it with.

"In the drawer," Mara murmured, resigned to let the other girl care for her. She was pointing to her nightstand, so Catra slid off the bed to search where she was indicating and came up with a roll of thin bandaging. This she wrapped around the doctored ankle to keep the salve in place, and once done she pushed a pillow under it to keep it elevated.

The whole time she was working, she could hear the voices of the two thugs from earlier echoing in her head: your career ends here…we didn't count on the bender…that's good enough… and wondered whether Mara had caught that same crucial phrases. A possibility had occurred to her, and she felt sick just considering it, but it made enough sense that she felt she ought to bring it up.

"Hey," she said suddenly into the silence. She could barely see Mara's face in the dim light, but she could feel the girl's gaze shift to her—or maybe just intensify, because Catra wasn't altogether sure that she hadn't already been looking at her. Under this pressure, now, her resolve withered, but she cleared her throat and went on anyway:

"I think that might have been sabotage," she rasped, hardly daring to look into Mara's shadowed face for fear of her reaction.

For a long moment the girl was silent. Then she sighed, deeply, wearily.

"I wouldn't be surprised."

Catra looked straight at her, trying not to grimace. I miss her optimism. "When we were getting away, one of them said…he said 'we didn't count on the bender,'" she continued. "Like they'd planned it." She realized her hand was still resting right beside Mara's foot and removed it awkwardly. "All I can think is that it might be a competitor from the Underground. Unless there's a different group of lowlifes out to ruin your career."

Mara hummed in sober acknowledgement, and then again a silence stretched long enough to make Catra's heart begin to climb into her throat.

When finally Mara spoke, her voice was barely audible: "Then I'm glad you were with me." Her hand reached out in the dim to find Catra's and grasped it tightly. Catra could do nothing but squeeze back, because she was thinking the very same thing.

They sat like that, the air between them rife with mingled dread and relief, until the moistness breaking out across Catra's palm made her uncomfortable enough to break their precious contact. "I'd better let you rest," she said on a clear of her throat, standing up to move toward her pallet on the floor from the other night.

Mara's hand strayed after her; caught her by the wrist. "Wait." The deep well of feeling—the bare longing behind that single word was not lost on Catra. "Stay."

Shivers ran down her spine, but she didn't pull away. "I don't want to brush your wound during the night," she whispered.

"I told you, it's fine," said Mara in the same soft tone, like they were creating something fragile in this moment; something that might shatter if either spoke too loud. Her fingers lay right against Catra's pulse point. She was sure the other girl could feel her heart pounding.

"I don't want to risk it." And what she really meant was, I don't want to risk this. I don't want to risk us, because she was so afraid that if she got too close to this girl, everything would unravel from beneath her and she would go falling into space with nothing to hold onto and nothing below but the hard, unforgiving ground. Especially—especially now that she'd—

"Please." Mara's words—her voice—her everything—said in response, I'll catch you when you fall.

I promise.

And Catra wanted to believe her. She did. But she knew that she did not deserve that kind of assurance. That kind of care. She would simply make a mess of it the way she did everything else—the way she was doing even now because she didn't know how to do anything but be an absolute fuckup.

So, gently, she tried to tug her arm away. "Mara—"

"My name is Adora."

All the breath rushed out of her.

No. Oh, no.

She felt as if she were imploding at the weight of what that admission meant.

Someone I trust completely.

Mar—Adora trusted her.

Catra's mouth dropped open, but she didn't know what to say.

She'd spent all this time trying to convince Mara that she was no good, not worthy, bound to screw things up, yet at the same time she'd let herself fall deeper and deeper in—into a hole and didn't even realize that she was pulling the other girl in with her.

"Y-you can't," she managed, trying once again to pull away, but Adora tightened her grip.

"I can. I do. I trust you, Catra. Please—please give me this." She loosened her grip to turn her hand over and lace their fingers together, hesitant, pleading. Catra couldn't fathom it. "Please trust me too."

And—that wasn't the problem! Catra was the problem! Her bad habits were the problem! She couldn't let Adora trust her, because it was a grave mistake.

But the way Adora was cradling her hand, pinning her with her eyes even in the dim, breathing heavy and steady as if she was physically affected by the weight of her emotion—

"I do." She did. She trusted Adora too, and that was something she could not help. "I do." Maybe she could let this happen; just for the night. Maybe she could give into something both more and less painful than má, just for a little while. She wanted to—the touch of Adora's hand was pulling her in, both physically and metaphorically.

But—she was a flaming mess of a person, literally. She had done things that would come back to bite them both soon enough, and something like this…

Getting too close would only make the end more painful.

So, "But I can't," she breathed again, gently extricating herself from Adora's grip and lowering her eyes to avoid the pain in the other girl's expression. "I'm sorry."

And without waiting for a response, because she knew none was coming, Catra turned to escape to her thin pallet on the floor. She bundled into the blankets in a futile attempt to replace the warmth she had forfeit, feeling Adora's eyes on her back, but it was not enough to thaw her heart.

It was not enough to smother her guilt at letting Adora get hurt.

And it was certainly not enough to make her forget what she was planning to do tonight.

…

She raided the savings box again while Adora slept. It truly was a tragedy to be weak.

…