Catra strikes out sooner than Adora's ready for-- she flinches half a step back at the first glimpse of silver, but the blow still connects. The pain makes her stumble, heel slipping against the wet floor, and before she knows it her whole body jolts with the impact of her tailbone hitting tile, and she cries out from the base of her throat.

It hurts. The fresh row of cuts across the flesh of her thigh hurts, too, thin red trails seeping through and mixing with the shower stream on its way to the drain. She's aching from head to toe and too, too tired to fight, and there's a throb between her temples and her body is tense and hot all over, and her heart still hasn't quieted down this whole time. Catra doesn't get it or care, all she's been doing is make one big stink over this stupid shower, and when Adora looks up at her she's so helplessly, overwhelmingly frustrated that her shoulders shake and she feels a pressure behind her eyes and--

"You're the worst," she grits out, screwing her eyes tightly shut as she pushes onto her feet. She shoves past Catra on her way out the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it over her quaking shoulders. She's going to need to dress this wound now, too. Great.

"Whatever. Good night."