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Adora was tired. Her body felt 3 times it’s normal weight, each movement sapping energy from her now low reserves. At this point, the simple action of holding her pounding head up seemed to fail Adora and the top part of her body sagged and strained against itself. Her skin was flushed pink from head to toe and heat radiated off of Adora in waves. Despite this, she lay swaddled thick blankets, her pink skin covered in small bumps, shivers raking through Adora and taking more of that energy Adora just didn’t have.
In short, Adora got sick. The girl in question mused to herself, as her body involuntarily let out another round of violent shaking, “this is stupid. I can change into a magical eight foot warrior, who, get this, could heal! But nooo, Adora, you had to wait until you were too ill to change!” She coughed again, chest and throat burning from more exertion. The door opened, Adora ignored it, she had better things to think about right now.
Catra looked down at her pitiful heap of a girlfriend, practically hearing the righteous inner monologue. “Hey, Adora, you look like a sack of bruised potatoes” The unflattering words were betrayed by the worried slant to Catra’s eyes, ears pushed flat against her head and tail tucked between her legs. Adora huffed at her oh so loving and kind girlfriend’s assessment, (this was accompanied by more inner squealing because Catra was her girlfriend, and Catra was here, with the bruised potatoes, and she loved her). Said girlfriend interpreted the huff as a sign Adora was doing well enough and moved closer.
The formerly cold but still wet cloth on Adora’s head had been keeping her temperature from reaching more dangerous highs, Adora hated it, Catra changed it out for a colder one anyways. A straw was held to Adora’s mouth, and down the honey water went, soothing some of the soreness brought on by the earlier coughing and clearing out some of the cotton ball feeling that had set in.
Catra had been trying different drinks for the past three days Adora had been reduced to her current state, this one looked like a winner. After finding Adora collapsed at the floor of their bed, not able to lift herself into it, Catra had gone on a crusade to find out what she could do to help. Their shared childhood in the horde was, unsurprisingly, not helpful in finding out how to care for someone, the horde had said to leave the deadweight behind. So, Catra bit her tongue and swallowed her pride and asked for help. Apparently, staying hydrated was important to counteract the loss of water from a sick person’s sweat, but her girl didn’t want plain water. Honey water she got, after ginger water and leaf water were rejected.
If Adora weren’t already mush from her fever, she’d melt at all the effort Catra had been putting in for her. Alas, Adora had fallen back to sleep, her mental rant would have to be continued at a later time.
“Sickness be damned”, thought Catra as she pressed her lips into Adora’s hairline, away from the wet (Catra let out a brief shudder at the act of dropping her hands into cold water on purpose to retrieve the cloth settled on Adora). Multicolored eyes flicked to Adora, hair matted to her face, redder than an apple, mouth wide open and little snores escaping it. As Catra took in this sight, a fond smile graced her face, because even when sweaty and tired and drool slowly making its way onto the pillow, Adora was beautiful.
Being as quiet as she could, Catra picked up the mug she had brought in and left to place it in the kitchens where chicken soup gently boiled, another thing Catra was told is good for sickness.
Tasks completed, Catra made her way back into their room, and curled up next to Adora, whispering as she did every time they laid down together “I love you.”