The only thing motivating Catra to get through her shift the following day was the urge to get home and check on Adora.

The fact that she knew her real name now was both a terrible fear and an inconceivable honor. It was the highest compliment Adora could pay her and the deepest form of vulnerability. It was just another thread connecting them in the slowly building web that had begun with Razz's prophecy and continued to grow as they shared long-guarded pieces of themselves. Catra still didn't know whether that web was there to trap her or to catch her if she should fall.

She knew which she wanted it to be.

Adora meant more to her than she'd ever expected. She'd slipped into Catra's life with that foreign golden hair and that kind gaze and led her slowly down a path toward closeness that somehow ended up here, and now Catra was in so deep that she would not be able to escape without consequences. She cared about Adora, and she worked well with her, and she—she liked being close to her, and that was more terrifying than any attempted mugging in a back alley. Because, Catra didn't know what to do with it. She had no clue what it meant or how she was supposed to act around this new feeling. Her first instinct was to claw it away as fast as possible because it could only serve to hurt her in the end.

And, she supposed, that was exactly what she was doing.

She was bound to disappoint Adora. She'd guaranteed that as soon as she made the decision to steal from her savings box. She just wasn't strong enough to trust this girl over the bone-deep need that had been the only constant in her life thus far. It didn't matter how tenderly Adora looked at her; how good she felt when she was close to her. Catra couldn't beat the habit.

And the fact that that bothered her more than anything was absolutely agonizing. She was trapped, spiralling toward a fate that she designed herself, torn between wanting it and hating it and hating herself and everything in between. She was doomed.

And she didn't know how to let Adora help her.

Catra shoved her fingers through her thick mass of hair and groaned helplessly. "I'm a fucking wreck," she mumbled to the empty sidewalk as her feet carried her toward the object of her distress. It didn't offer her an answer. She would have to face this alone, in the end, just the same as always.

But right now she had more important things to worry about.

It was easier to take care of Adora than it was to take care of herself.

When she reached Loo-Kee, she gave Razz a knowing nod and made a beeline for the door that led up to the living space above, deciding to put off dinner until she had tended to her patient.

Upstairs, she approached Adora's curtain and knocked on the doorframe gently. It could be no one but her, but still she paid Adora that little bit of courtesy just so the wounded girl could feel more in control of her situation. Just so her trust felt well-placed. Catra knew being bedridden must be the worst sentence possible to the strong-willed fighter.

At Adora's called, "Come in," Catra pushed the curtain aside just enough to check that she was decent before entering. As she stepped inside and let the curtain fall back behind her, she took in Adora's state. She was still in the bed, but sitting up, a pillow still wedged beneath her leg but the sheets drawn up over it. A pair of empty noodle bowls sat on the nightstand beside her; obviously Razz was doing her part to provide.

And though her face was pale with pain and exhaustion, the sight of Catra made her smile.

Catra tried to quell the mix of pleasure and shame that surged up at that simple gesture. She smiled weakly back.

"How is it?" she asked, wincing when her voice sounded raspy.

"Come see for yourself." Adora pulled the sheets away from her legs in invitation, and still Catra couldn't get over the amount of trust that demonstrated to her so freely—that and the shape of Adora's body as she lounged against the headboard in only her breastband and rolled-up breeches.

She crossed the boards to her companion, sat on the edge of the bed, and took the corner of the sheets from her, adjusting it so she could access the wound but not much else. If Adora noticed, she didn't comment. She didn't protest as Catra prodded gently at the area, either, even though it must have hurt.

"It looks a little better," Catra reflected, which was mostly true—the bruises were browning around the edges and maybe a touch smaller—but that was also not saying much.

She could feel Adora watching her. "You don't look very pleased," the other girl observed softly, and her true meaning showed through clear enough in her tone: what's wrong?

"I'm—" Catra looked away, pretending to search for the container of Razz's salve even though it was sitting in plain sight. Her eyes were unfocused. "It's not that."

Then she realized that was the wrong thing to say; it would only pique Adora's curiosity more, and that was the last thing she wanted—so she shook her head and backtracked, "I mean, it's nothing. I'm fine."

Adora's blue-gray gaze looked extremely skeptical, but she didn't press. Instead she reached out and tentatively rested her hand over Catra's, squeezing slightly when Catra didn't shrug her off. The brunette turned her face away to hide her blush, unwilling to admit just how much this girl affected her. It wasn't easy, especially when Adora spoke up again, simply murmuring, "I'm here," but managing to capture so much more in that single phrase than what the words could ever mean by themselves.

And what could Catra say to that except a weak, "Thanks," and a shy duck of her head?

She could still feel the warmth of Adora's look pinning her, but she cleared her throat and tried to break up the atmosphere before she could dig her grave too deep. "Let's take care of that ugly thing, then," she said, picking up the container of salve from its conspicuous place on the nightstand and twisting the lid off.

Adora gave a little hum of slightly disappointed agreement and removed her hand from Catra's to lift the sheet aside just a touch further. The brunette set right to work digging her fingers into the container of salve for a remedy. She didn't get very far before she was scooping the dwindling deposits out from the corners and looking disapprovingly at the little that had accumulated on her fingers. "This is almost out," she reported gruffly as she set the container on the nightstand and turned her attention to Adora's wound. For some reason she felt hesitant to touch her. She took a deep breath and a moment to clear her head before she closed the distance, applying a thin film of the substance across the knot at the base of Adora's leg, because that's all the small amount left would allow her. Adora's skin was warm beneath her touch but not as warm as Catra's hands, and the light throb of the pulse point on her inner ankle felt oddly intimate. Catra wished this was a better time; maybe then she would allow herself to enjoy the feeling.

Doubtful.

She grunted as the salve ran out and Adora's wound was left pitifully doctored.

The other girl looked down at it and shrugged the shoulder Catra hadn't burned. "We can get more from Razz," she suggested, and the notion was not nearly as reassuring as she meant it to be, because Catra knew where this was going. Sure enough: "She'll try to give it to me for free, but I feel awful freeloading off of her all the time."

The pit in Catra's stomach deepened and her ears started to ring. "You aren't freeloading," she insisted. Please don't look in the box. Even though she'd been careful, she just had a feeling— "You work for her, don't you?"

Adora was still staring down at her wound, absently rolling her foot in careful circles to test her range of motion, oblivious to Catra's struggle. "Yeah, but…" she shrugged again, still only with her right shoulder. "I don't know. It's different. If anything, that means I owe her more."

Catra would have read into that a lot more under different circumstances, perhaps even been eager to uncover more of Adora's history with Razz, but right now all she could do was try not to vomit on the girl that she—that she was cheating.

Please don't look in the box.

Why was she so scared? She'd known all along that it would happen eventually and it was all her fault and Adora didn't deserve it but—

"Do we need it now?" Adora's voice startled her out of her spiral, and not in the relieving way it usually did.

Catra stared dully into the silver bottom of the mostly empty salve container, feeling the world around her narrowing into terrible, perfect clarity at the edges of her vision as consequences caught up with her, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

This was it. This was the beginning of the end.

"Y-yeah," she croaked.

"Can you bring me my savings box?"

She could basically hear the nails being driven into her coffin.

But she nodded and got up wordlessly, padding toward the wardrobe as if in a dream—a nightmare, more accurately—because what else could she do? This was her doing, and it was her who would suffer for it.

The room seemed to warp and spin around her as she crossed the endless distance to the wardrobe, and she almost stumbled.

"Catra?" came Adora's worried voice from behind her, sounding far away, as she lurched the final distance and caught herself on the corner of the furniture.

Catra pretended like nothing had happened and bent down to slide open the bottom drawer, where the fateful little box lay hidden under Adora's shirts and the false bottom. She grasped it and wished its texture didn't feel so familiar under her palms.

If the trip to the wardrobe had felt like a mile, the way back to Adora's side was inches. Suddenly Catra was standing there, no recollection of the past few seconds, holding out her future for Adora to decide. Blue-gray eyes were searching her deadened expression for something she could not bear to show. A moment passed, and Catra felt like she might suffocate in the silence.

Then, "Thanks," the other girl said slowly as she accepted the box from Catra, extricating it from her fingers carefully. She could tell something was very wrong, and Catra couldn't pretend otherwise.

She stood there, stock-still as Adora opened the box and reached inside. Her palms were clammy.

As Adora counted out a handful of bills off the top without a word, a tiny flicker of hope flared up in Catra's chest. Maybe she wouldn't notice after all. Maybe she wouldn't see. Maybe Catra had been careful enough in rearranging everything how she found it that—

"Wait."

Those hopes shattered.

Adora had her head bowed over the box. Catra had a sudden fleeting urge to lash out; knock her out in an instant and escape while she still could (maybe take the money with her)—but she couldn't. Not after everything they'd been through together. She squeezed her eyes shut as if that might block out the truth.

"This…this isn't right."

Feeling her heartbeat begin to pound up her throat and choke her, Catra managed, "What isn't?" She curled her hands into fists and her ragged nails bit into her palms.

Adora was still sifting through the box. "The bill that was on top last time I put my winnings in; it had been folded up before, like zhezhi. I remember because I thought it was strange. It's not there now." She lifted the first few bills with her thumb and let them fan back down flat, contemplatively. When she raised her head to look at Catra, her brows were furrowed. "Someone's been here."

Catra swallowed a rock-hard lump. "C-could someone have broken in? While we were gone?"

"And left everything in the room untouched except for this? No. No burglar is that lucky." Adora turned her head slowly to look directly at her now, and her eyes were empty, flat. Despondent. They could see straight to the truth and the truth was too painful for her to react to.

Her fate was upon her, and still Catra tried to wriggle out of it, because what else could she do? Her entire being felt like it was devouring itself with regret. She longed to take back what she had done, but her cynical inner self knew that she'd have done it again and again if Adora hadn't caught her. That only made her feel worse.

"Did anyone else know about it?" she rasped.

"No," Adora said hollowly, still staring into her soul with those deadened blue-gray eyes. They just looked gray now. "Only you."

Catra's heart felt like it was crumbling into pieces. Only an empty hole was left behind. "Adora, I—"

"Don't call me that."

She choked. "Wha—?"

"You don't get to call me that. Not now," Adora said, and it would have been more bearable if she were shouting, or lashing out, or even crying, but she wasn't. She was as cold and quiet as death. She lowered the box of yuan to the nightstand beside her, and the gesture made Catra realize that Adora wasn't concerned about the money—not really. She cared more about the fact that Catra had betrayed her.

"Please, I—" Catra knew it was pointless. She knew she deserved whatever punishment Adora decided to throw at her. But still she tried to beg, because deep down she knew that Adora was too great a price to pay to satiate her vices. She'd known all along, but she'd been weak.

"I trusted you."

Catra's emotions broke free of her tenuous hold, turning frantic. "I warned you! I told you I was no good! I told you I wasn't worth it!"

Adora wasn't swayed. Her shoulders were bowed, her brows shadowing those stormy eyes. Her whole figure was the picture of disappointment. "You're in control of your own decisions, Catra. You could change," she maintained.

"I can't!" Catra cried. "I—I thought I was doing better. I thought I was stronger, for a minute, but —" She looked down at her hands, hating them; hating every part of herself. I thought I was stronger when I was with you, is what she was thinking, the memory of their fight against the street thugs surfacing in her mind. It was only with Adora that she had felt as close to whole as she ever had.

And still I was weak.

She just couldn't break such a deeply ingrained habit. She couldn't give up the thing she'd depended on to get her through her days for the last near-decade. She couldn't pass up an opportunity to satisfy the urge that had become second nature to her.

She was broken, from the inside out. No golden-haired street fighter with a mysterious past could fix that in just a few weeks.

She was foolish for ever thinking maybe things could be otherwise.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking up at Adora—no, Mara—was she back to Mara again, now? Catra didn't know, miserably. "I'm sorry."

She took a step back toward the doorway, feeling the need to flee itching at her throat.

Still Adora watched her with those washed-out eyes, only now a flicker of sorrow was visible in their depths. Her shock must have been fading, to be replaced by the emotions she ought to feel. She twisted her lower body free of the sheets and slid onto her feet—foot—half-reaching out her hand to Catra, and then letting it fall again limply.

"I would have given it to you if you'd asked," she said softly, and Catra could not allow herself to believe that her voice shook.

She felt like she was imploding on herself. She couldn't bear to be under that dead gray gaze anymore.

Get out, her instincts told her.

She bit her lip hard enough to hurt, half-hoping it would bleed, half-hoping that if she stayed here just one second longer, perhaps Adora would suddenly change her mind and take her back.

But her face didn't change.

Hope wasn't a strategy.

Get out, echoed louder in her head, and this time Catra listened.

She backed away, slowly at first and then quicker as she saw Adora take a limping step forward. No. A brief flicker of life in those gray eyes was the last thing she glimpsed before she spun and ran the short distance to the doorway, tangling in the curtain in her haste.

Adora called after her: "Catra. Catra!" The first was flat, and the second almost desperate. The complete change was a shock.
Catra ignored her and twisted herself free to launch down the stairs, convinced that it could only mean something worse. The door at the bottom stuck, because of course it did. As uneven footsteps caught up with her and the rusty catch refused to cooperate, the fear that she was about to feel Adora's fists on her back mounted in Catra's mind.

The blow didn't come, but the extra second allowed Adora to stumble down the stairs after her as she pushed her wounded foot to the limit, and suddenly Catra's upper arms were caught in her firm grip and she was struggling out of reflex, thrashing and squirming to escape the unwelcome restraints. When Adora's grip only tightened, Catra's panic rose in tandem with it, and her fighting intensified. Get out. Get out!

She had to go. She braced her foot against the door and used the leverage to heave herself back into Adora, knocking her off balance so her grip weakened. Taking advantage of the sliver of an opening, Catra twisted and lashed out before she could think.

Her ragged nails sank into flesh for a split second and then wrenched back out, and blood came with them.

Everything went deadly still.

Instant regret surged through Catra so hard she thought she might vomit.

She was left staring down at her bloodied nails while Adora raised a shaky hand to her jaw, where two angry marks now marred the skin. Her face was slack with disbelief, and Catra's was frozen in horror.

It took a massive effort for her to raise her eyes to face the damage she'd just inflicted. As soon as she saw it, she choked on a suddenly constricted throat.

Adora looked at her as if she was a stranger.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, feeling tears begin to well just like the blood on Adora's jaw. Her hands were trembling. She had to get out.

Her guilt kept her rooted there for just long enough to take one more fateful look into Adora's unknowing eyes, and then she broke down. Her red-stained hand scrabbled for the door handle as tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and before Adora could do or say a thing, she was gone.

…

Catra knew that this time Adora would not follow her.

Still she walked fast, eaten up by panic that was only intensified by the feeling of blood still under her nails.

She'd screwed up. She'd screwed up worse than ever before.

You're a fucking idiot, her cynical mind told her bluntly, and for once she didn't even try to temper the truth. She wasn't going to be able to come back from this. She'd pinned her whole relationship with Adora on the hope that she wouldn't discover her betrayal, and she got what was coming to her. Now she was out a possibility of a real friend or…more, and probably her privilege to eat at Loo-Kee, too. All for a few extra hits of má.

You'd better believe she'd make those hits fucking worth it.

It was all she had now, thanks to her own stupidity.

She fumbled frantically in her pockets for the joint she'd last rolled and got it started as fast as she could, uncaring that she burned her fingers in the process. Then she raised it to her lips and took her first pull and—

Usually, a minute later the drug would still the shaking in her hands and the pounding in her heart and drag her somewhere between waking and dreaming, where it didn't matter how shitty her life was going because nothing could reach her there.

But this time, instead of settling into a pleasant, unfeeling haze, Catra just felt everything come down on her harder. The smoke dulled the shock of what had happened and in its wake, her true emotions burst through. Only now was she able to realize just how far she had fallen.

The weight was too much to bear. So, just like always, what could she do but run?

She took off down the streets with no other destination in mind but away—away from Adora, away from her worst fuckup yet, away from the certainty that she would always end up here eventually: alone, guilty, hated and well-deserving of it.

She ran until her bare soles went numb from beating against the cold bricks and her smoke-filled lungs were too painful to sustain her.

She ended up in a dark, cold, unfamiliar alley, where she fell to her knees, finally exhausted, and wept.

It was a waste of Adora's money.

…