Catra carried Adora to the drug den because she doubted the safety of her apartment over Loo-Kee. Too many people came and went from the restaurant for them to escape notice. Here, though, there was no one around to expose them to the authorities—or the chi blockers; whoever came first.
Unfortunately, there was also no soft mattress here to deposit Adora's injured form upon, nor was there any healing salve close at hand to correct that condition. Catra debated whether she should run to Loo-Kee and get it or remain by Adora's side just in case she woke soon.
Then again, would Adora even want her here when she awoke? Would she acknowledge what Catra had done to save her, or had Catra wronged her too badly to ever return from? Was that better than coming to alone and confused? Catra chewed her ragged nails and fought with herself.
It was the bloodstain slowly growing across the fabric of Adora's shirt that finally tipped the scales. Her wound was going to need attention, and the best Catra could do right now was get her hands on that salve. She forced her tired body into a standing position and looked back down at Adora where she lay on the couch.
"Don't go anywhere, princess," she muttered over the disturbing rattle of the girl's breathing.
Then, like a shadow made of smoke and regret, she slipped out into the night.
…
Salve acquired, Catra returned to her hideout and Adora's still-unconscious body, settling in beside her with the canister in her hand but hesitant to peel her shirt back and start prodding at her wounds while she was still unconscious. Catra did not want her to awaken both confused and exposed.
So, torn between worrying about Adora's wounds and about her emotional comfort, she waited.
For a long time, Catra just watched her, her own emotions a raging whirlwind pulling her in every direction. Sometimes she was most upset about the gall of Adora's attacker—that fucking Stonefist—and she sat there trying to keep her rage from flickering into physical flame; trying to keep from running out into the night with murder in mind. Sometimes she was taken with a wave of sorrow and biting guilt at the sad state of her and Adora's own relationship; the knowledge that even though she'd helped Adora this time, it would never be enough. Sometimes she was overwhelmed with the burning desire to reach out and touch, while she still could, the relaxed planes of Adora's face, to give herself some semblance of the comfort they'd shared before.
She didn't. She didn't do anything except sit and watch and wait, and she hated every second of it.
It was more than an hour before she was finally given relief—and, at the same time, a sense of crushing dread.
The first sign that Adora was coming to was a twitch of her face. Then her brow furrowed and her lips turned down like the pain had just pierced through the protective veil of unconsciousness for the first time. Then she groaned, shifted, and her hands came up: one clutching at her head, the other her ribs.
Catra shot out her own to stop them, terrified that Adora would hurt herself worse before she could fully wake.
The touch of her skin startled Adora into awareness. Her eyes fluttered open as her chest jumped in a gasp, and then her face twisted into a grimace again as the gesture disturbed her wound. She rolled her battered head to the side, eyes wandering, unfocused, trying to remember where she was. Catra removed her hands quickly and bit her lip, unsure how her presence would be taken.
Adora rubbed her own wrist absently, maybe searching for Catra's lost touch or maybe trying to rid her skin of its memory. Catra preferred not to guess. Instead she sat and tried to hold her breath and avoid suffocating at the same time and waited for Adora to recover her senses.
When those cloudy sky eyes finally cleared enough to focus on her, they widened perceptibly.
Catra didn't have any idea what to say after everything, so she settled with a lame, "Hey."
Adora's throat jumped in a painful swallow, her expression a tumultuous mix of shock, hurt, worry and distrust. Her voice wouldn't work at first, but on a second try she managed, "C-Catra?"
"Yeah." Catra dropped her eyes and waited for Adora to kick her out, or slap her across the face, or administer any of a wide variety of well-deserved punishments, really, to repay the slashes that still stood out stark and red from the paleness of her cheek.
But she didn't. Instead, after a long pause, she reached out with an unsteady hand to touch Catra's face, as if she couldn't really believe that she was real.
"You look awful," she said finally, her voice rough and cracking.
"You should talk," mumbled back Catra, tilting her head back so Adora's fingers fell away. She didn't deserve such a gentle touch. She didn't deserve anything but hell from Adora, because that's what she'd inflicted on her. She was anxious to deflect the topic away from herself before she cracked under the weight of Adora's tenderness or Adora remembered to be furious with her.
But, "When was your last hit?" Adora asked anyway, so caring, as if Catra had never played her heart for a few yuan, and that just made her feel worse.
She sighed and grit her teeth but had little option but to answer, "I don't know."
"Catra." Adora's voice broke on her name. "You could hurt yourself, just cutting off—"
"This is more important," Catra whispered to keep hers from doing the same, raising the canister of salve she had retrieved from Loo-Kee's upstairs. The front doors had been open even though the shop was dark, as if Razz had known she was coming.
"No it's not," Adora argued tightly. "Catra, I've gotten banged up before. I can—"
"You're not okay. Don't try to lie to me."
"I'm—ugh!" Raising her voice aggravated Adora's wounds enough to make her grip her middle in pain, and that was proof enough of Catra's point that she stopped trying to argue. Instead she leaned carefully back against the couch cushions, panting slightly, and let her eyes rove over their surroundings. When she turned her head, her scars glared crimson in the dim, and Catra looked away. There was a hint of perfectly well-deserved suspicion in her voice when she finally asked, "How did I get here?"
"I carried you," Catra provided, so soft it was almost imperceptible.
"You—?" Adora went from surprised to intense in an instant, beginning to lean forward again but then thinking better of it when it made her face go pale. "Catra, what happened?"
Catra pressed her down with a gentle hand on her shoulder. her gut uncoiled a fraction in relief when Adora didn't shrug her off. "You don't remember?"
The wounded girl settled for fixing her eyes unwaveringly on Catra's face and shook her head.
Catra took a long, deep breath to buy herself time to think. She didn't want to lie to Adora ever again, but she also didn't want to cause her more pain by dropping bad news on her right now. She tightened her jaw and went with the truth. "Your opponent used earthbending to knock you down. I called him on it, tried to stop the match, but everyone else—" She shrugged and shook her head hopelessly. "He was going to hurt you. No one was doing anything. They were all on me instead. I—I scared them off and got you out as fast as I could." She bowed her head against the look that spread over Adora's face, mumbling lamely, "No time to grab your bag. Sorry."
"How?" Adora demanded. Catra knew exactly what she meant and was silent. So she repeated, "Catra, how did you scare them off?"
Catra swallowed dry. "I…used fire."
"They saw you bend?" Adora choked out. "All of them?" At Catra's confirming nod, all the breath slowly, painfully left her lungs. "Catra…you know it's an anti-bending establishment. A lot of the people in the crowd have sided with Amon."
"I know," Catra responded hoarsely.
"You know what they'll do if they find you." Adora's voice was a whisper, and her eyes shined with welling tears—of regret? Sympathy? Genuine sadness?
Catra met her moist eyes and repeated, a little stronger, "I know."
"You shouldn't have risked yourself to save me," the other girl protested. "Catra, if you—if anything happens to you because of me, I'll—"
"My thoughts exactly. That's why I had to do it."
"Catra."
"I couldn't let that thug lay another finger on you. I couldn't let him hurt you. Especially after—" Catra felt herself getting shaky with emotion, too, and barely had the heart to fight it. She reached out and let her fingers collide with Adora's, saying instead, "Energies intertwined, remember?"
"But the chi blockers. They'll—" Adora clenched her jaw to keep her tears from spilling over and failed. She swiped at them quickly, as if unwilling to let Catra see, but to Catra they were everything. They meant Adora still cared. They meant she had a chance.
So, "Shh," she soothed, cradling the other girl's scarred cheek and then sliding her shaky hand back into her hair, all reservations born of their fight pushed aside. She couldn't comprehend how Adora wasn't furious at her, but she would take this miracle and run. She combed her fingers through the golden strands comfortingly—a futile attempt, but one she couldn't help. Her fingers brushed the knot where Adora's head had hit the cage and caressed it like an apology, feather-light. "You're worth it."
"I'm not," Adora protested brokenly. "Not your bending." her voice wavered and her next breath was ragged as she surged forward and pulled Catra against her chest. "I'll protect you," she said in her ear, "I promise. I'll protect you." And the oath sounded empty already, but Catra was far from caring about that, too. She would give her life for Adora in order to pay for her sins. Her bending was not too steep a price to pay for her safety. Not to her.
But Adora obviously did not feel the same.
Catra wrapped her own arms around the other girl, and they stayed curled miserably together long after their mutual trembling subsided—and that alone took a while.
Catra felt for her. She did. But she would not have changed her choices for a thing. Not after what she'd done.
Not when it came to Adora.
She was beginning to understand the nature of their linked energies, she thought. In her head, the feeling had a different name. She just couldn't let herself acknowledge it yet. Instead she just let herself exist in this moment, holding Adora and letting Adora hold her with no strings attached.
It was strange, but far from bad. It felt right. It felt safe. It felt like forgiveness.
The only thing putting a damper on the moment was the fact that Adora's front was still sticky with blood from an open wound. She had to get that taken care of as soon as possible.
So, reluctantly, "Hey," Catra said at length, gently so it wouldn't be a shock after the silence, "we need to get your wound treated."
Adora gave a weak sound of assent and drew back, wiping the heel of her hand across her moist eyes to dry them. Catra tried not to let the soft feelings in her chest consume her. It wouldn't help either of them, especially if Catra was about to try to administer precise medical care. She wouldn't be able to hide the shake in her hands then. She shook her head sharply to clear it and gripped the now-familiar container of healing salve, focusing on her task. She hoped it would be enough this time.
As Adora lay down against her makeshift mattress, she took a deep, steadying breath before reaching out to peel the athletic shirt back from her ribs.
The sight of the wound hit Catra like a kick to the gut, as it were.
An ugly, bloody gash the size of a man's heel dented the bottom left edge of her ribcage. Around it was a mottled field of black and blue, and around that was a ring of green. The way Adora winced when she breathed too deep was evidence enough that at least one rib was fractured. The whole mess was swollen an inch above the rest of her torso.
Catra let her breath out slowly through her nose as she assessed the wound, trying not to let anxiety overwhelm her. This wound would definitely take some more care than a simple healing salve. She'd have to find anti-inflammatory medicine, bandages, pain pills, antiseptics, maybe more. It would cost a lot, and she was not about to ask for Adora's funds. Or take them, for that matter. Never again.
"Is it that bad?" asked Adora weakly, maybe in an attempt to joke.
Catra grimaced. "It's…yeah. Salve isn't going to cut it this time, but that's the best we have right now."
Adora sighed and let her head drop back against the cushions. "I guess there goes my chance for a rematch."
"I'd rather find that guy and kick his ass for you," Catra responded with conviction. She felt her face begin to heat as her intensity surprised herself and busied herself with the salve to hide it.
Adora looked up again. "Catra…"
"Hold still." Catra scooped a portion of the green paste out of the can, gathered her composure, and closed the distance to apply it to Adora's skin. She tried not to notice the catch in the other girl's breath as they knowingly touched for the first time since their fight. Since Catra gave her those slashes on her cheek. Since a rift grew between them to match the rift in her skin. But she did, and her blush climbed to her ears.
She wished their circumstances were different.
All she could do now, though, was gently apply Razz's mixture to the bruises on her companion's torso, slowly working inward toward the nasty cut in the center of the wound. They didn't speak. All Catra was aware of was the sound of Adora's breath; the feel of her skin; the heat coming off her body; the shape of her in the darkness.
She wondered if this would atone for her betrayal.
She doubted it.
Catra's fingers prodded a painful spot, and Adora bit back a whimper and fisted her hand in the cushion behind her leg, though she tried to hide it. The brunette winced and tried to make her touch even gentler, her own ribs aching with empathy, but she had to treat this wound. She couldn't stop until the worst of it was over.
So, instead, "I know," she murmured between her teeth as she kept working. "I know, baby, I'm sorry." She held her breath to keep her hand steady and finished dabbing the salve around the worst part of the wound, and—
It took that long for her to register what had just come out of her mouth.
And then it hit her, and her heart froze in its cage.
"Oh, shit," she blurted, recoiling, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I—"
Adora's hand came up and caught her wrist in an instant. "Don't," she said on a gasp, and Catra knew she must have felt her heart racing in her pulse point. "Don't pull away again."
Catra's mouth hung open to argue, but whatever she'd meant to say had died in her throat. I have to. I have to. Adora's look was too heavy; Catra's embarrassment too hot. She needed to get away, for both their sakes, no matter what Adora said. Adora didn't understand. Catra was just going to keep screwing things up until—
Adora could feel her panicking. She grabbed Catra's other wrist to steady her as she had many times before, but this time Catra pulled, and Adora pulled back harder.
The sudden wrench on her arms threw Catra off balance, and she pitched forward. She caught herself by planting her knees on either side of the other girl's hips, and Adora supported her upper half with her hands still on her wrists, and Catra was staring down at her with her middle flaming where they touched and her face following suit and this was too much and—
"Hey," Adora cut into her spiral sharply. Her face was so close. Her mouth was so close. "Stay."
The shape of that single word was the most beautiful thing Catra had ever seen Adora's lips do. Her eyes locked on those lips; on that beauty, and somehow it dashed aside all her anxiety to cut right to her heart, and she found her heartbeat slowing; her breathing deepening. She became sharply aware of the brush of Adora's fingers against her arms and the buffet of her breath on her own mouth and the shape of her body beneath her.
She was falling before she even knew it; leaning down slowly, melting into that grounding touch. Maybe she could stay this time. Maybe she should. Maybe this would fix things.
She let one of her arms uncoil from its tense defensive position and relocated it to the cushion beside Adora's head, slowly, shivering at the sensation of the other girl's hand sliding up to her bicep as she moved. The other she lowered to brace herself next to Adora's abdomen so she could keep leaning down, lost in Adora, her fears retreating to a dull roar in the back of her mind.
Why did Catra keep resisting this? Resisting her? It all seemed so pointless, now with Adora's heavy-lidded eyes and flawless lips the only thing in her vision; the most pressing thing on her mind. Why couldn't she just give in and let herself feel this?
Catra let her eyes flutter closed as she zeroed in on Adora's lips and tilted her head just slightly, clearing them a path, hearing the other girl's breath catch in anticipation and—
"Ow! Fuck," Adora hissed in pain, her grip suddenly going viselike on Catra's lower arm.
Catra jerked back, taking her weight off the other girl where she hadn't even realized she was pressing against her wound. "Sorry," she gasped out, finding that she was out of breath, all the air squeezed out of her lungs by the combined pressure of arousal and guilt. "Spirits, I—are you okay?"
Adora was gripping her wound, a grimace on her face, but she nodded. "It's okay. I…" She took a deep breath, and it shuddered on the way out. "It was more than okay."
Catra felt her heart skip. What was I just about to do? Adora had just woken up, for spirits' sake! And they still hadn't really made up! And she was wounded! Her head probably wasn't even clear. Was Catra really going to take advantage of her like that?
But what she'd just said—
"Let's, uh—" Catra cleared her throat and looked away. She rubbed her arm where Adora had grabbed it, not in pain but in lament of the lost touch. What the fuck are we doing? She wasn't ready to answer that right now. So, "You need to rest," she deflected, like a coward, as usual.
Adora's lungs emptied slowly on another exhale, and the breeze of her breath on Catra's lips almost overpowered her resolve. "Okay," she agreed, and Catra tried to pretend that she didn't sound disappointed.
She slid off of the other girl to lie beside her instead, wedging herself between her body and the couch back. Adora scooted toward the edge of the cushions to give her a sliver of extra space, and Catra murmured her thanks. They settled in with Adora's shoulder to Catra's chest, Catra's arm around Adora's lower abdomen to secure them both. It was awkward, after their fight and especially after the close call they'd just shared, but when Catra whispered, "Is this okay?" her companion's nod was immediate. Resolute.
As they lay there in the dim, huddled together, all kinds of damaged, Catra's mind wandered. The thought that kept eating at her most, as her heart refused to quiet at her proximity to the other girl, was,
What the fuck are we?
…
Catra woke in the middle of the night to a violent tremor wracking her body. It only took a split second to register that it wasn't hers.
Adora was now lying with her back to Catra's chest and her legs curled up tightly. Her uncovered body was shivering from top to toe, and their proximity made the unpleasant buzz spread to Catra, too.
Not a good sign.
Catra stirred and wordlessly shifted to wrap her arms around the other girl, careful to avoid the wounded area on her ribs. She could tell from the change in Adora's breathing that she was already awake.
"What's wrong?" she whispered into the darkness.
"I—I'm just cold," came Adora's weak voice. A pause, and then, "I think it's fever."
Catra sighed sympathetically against the nape of Adora's neck. Again she fought down the bubbling anger that still roiled in her gut at the thought of what had befallen this girl. Adora had gotten dealt an unfair hand and it made Catra want to track down every single one of the thugs behind it and scratch their faces off herself. But her anger was useless right now. Adora needed her right now. So instead, Catra forced her head level so she could help what little she could.
An idea occurred to her, and she began to withdraw her arms from around Adora to test it, but the other girl made a noise of protest and caught her wrists to stop her retreat.
"Adora," she breathed, and was relieved when she received no rebuke for using her real name again. "Do you trust me?"
Adora might have shivered against her in something other than cold, but said nothing for a long moment; long enough that Catra felt old guilt seeping into her gut like a sickness. What if Adora said no? What if Catra had not earned that trust back? What if she had still not done enough? What if Adora never—
"Yes," the girl finally replied on a shaky exhale, and she slowly released Catra's wrists.
Catra let out her own sigh, relieved, and felt tension she didn't know she'd been holding slide from her muscles. "Okay," she said, moving her hands tentatively over Adora's body so one rested on her upper chest and one covered her stomach. "Let me know if that changes."
Adora gave a little hum of confirmation, and Catra took that as permission to continue.
She closed her eyes and sent her inner senses downward to where her chi energy swirled, ebbing and flowing slightly like the ocean. She took hold of it and opened a tiny path to guide it to her hands, drawing upon the pleasant warmth that Adora's presence gave her to inspire just a hint of heat.
After a breathless second, her palms began to glow—not with flame, but with just a suggestion of cozy embers.
Adora gasped when the illumination first began, but did not voice any complaints. Catra breathed deeply and steadily to keep her hold on the most subtle use of bending she had ever managed. Her emotions were stable without being deadened by má or alcohol, for once, as Adora's body against her served to ground her. It occurred to her briefly that this would have been impossible just a short time ago.
Adora held as still as she could in Catra's grip as the warmth seeped in and her shivering gradually ceased. Her taut shoulders came uncoiled, and she sank into Catra's touch with increasing comfort.
Catra waited until she had gone totally still and limp, perhaps surrendered to sleep, before finally letting the glow fade. The room seemed cold as the points of light disappeared, but Adora's shivering did not return.
It was a long time before either of them spoke.
Adora was the first. "Thank you," she whispered, reaching up to clasp one of Catra's hands in her own.
For an instant, that expression of gratitude made a tongue of warmth flare up in Catra's chest, but it was immediately replaced by cold shame. She didn't deserve that gratitude. If anything, helping Adora was her due, not any act of exceptional virtue. She didn't deserve Adora's thanks. She only hoped she could earn her forgiveness.
She couldn't put it off any longer. She had talk to Adora about this, even if it seemed like Adora was willing to look past it for now. She had to know where exactly they stood, especially if her emotions were going to run so high whenever the two of them were close. So instead of accepting Adora's simple, agonizing words, Catra swallowed past the lump in her throat and croaked out, "I'm sorry about what I did."
Adora's shoulders stiffened in her embrace for a split second before she relaxed with a long sigh. Of disappointment? Relief? Catra couldn't tell without seeing her face.
But, "I know," were the words Adora said gently into the quiet. She pressed herself back slightly into Catra's arms. "I forgive you."
Catra was floored. There was no way it was that easy. There was no way Adora could have forgiven her actions so quickly, not when—not when Catra had been so despicable to the one person who had ever cared. "Why?" she said, a little too sharp with hysteria. "I betrayed you. I used you. I—"
"Catra." The sound of her name on Adora's lips was powerful enough to stop her in her tracks. "I care more about you than about a few missing yuan. I just wish you had told me."
"I hurt you," Catra insisted, wondering why Adora couldn't just understand.
Adora turned over on the couch, despite Catra's protests and the way she knew her wound must have screamed. She faced her companion in the darkness and though Catra couldn't make out the blue-gray of her irises, she could feel their heat on her.
"You hurt me because you were hurting," she maintained, her breath again a breeze directly on Catra's lips, and Catra had to fight to keep from flinching automatically, because spirits, if Adora leaned in just a little further and they resumed where they'd left off—
She cut off that thought instantly.
"That's not an excuse. It was wrong and I shouldn't have done it. Any of it. All I was thinking about was getting my next hit and when you caught me—"
"I know," Adora repeated, with more conviction, though no less gentleness. She reached up and brushed her bruised knuckles against Catra's cheek, and the brunette was suddenly very glad that it was dark enough that her blush was invisible. "And I forgive you."
Catra let her breath come out in a shudder and couldn't help but lean into that sweet contact. There weren't words to express the relief she felt knowing that Adora didn't hate her for what she'd done, even when she would have been completely justified in doing so.
She still couldn't fathom why, though. Why didn't Adora hate her? Why did she still trust her? Why was she snuggling closer to her chest, a slight hitch in her breath evidence that the action made her wound smart yet embracing Catra anyway?
Why did Catra let her?
She thought that maybe she knew, deep down where she couldn't yet let the light reach.
And it was stronger now than ever before.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to keep fighting it. Not after she'd felt what it was like to live without it.
She buried her nose in Adora's hair and held her tighter.
…