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"Spar with me," says Kate, before Peg can even step out of the elevator.
"Wow," says Peg, and catches the roll of hand-wrap tape that Kate tosses her. "Someone's eager."
She rolls her eyes. "Couldn't sleep. I'll catch a nap before patrol. You want breakfast first?"
"Sure." Peg's not awake enough to be hungry, yet, but Kate’s got a frantic kind of energy to her movements that's a little worrying. "You gonna survive if I shower first?"
She grimaces, and nods. "Sure. Whatever."
"Alright. Aida up yet?"
"Nope."
True to Kate’s word, the lights in the cave are still dim, and when Peg passes the cell that Aida’s claimed as her bedroom, the girl's a small sleeping heap in the far corner.
Peg showers. Stretches. Comes out of the bathroom in workout gear, combing through her long wet hair with her fingers, trying to enjoy the faint smell of soap. She's still sore, but. She's been a lot worse, hasn't she?
And it's nice, honestly, to have Kate waiting for her by the little counter area that passes for a kitchen, in the cave. She's even gotten a nutrient bar out for Peg, plus her vitamins, too. It’s kind of sweet.
"You turned into such a gentleman," Peg teases, "Now that you're back on your feet."
"That was all it took, two working legs," says Kate. It's the kind of thing that normally would be a joke—normally would pull her beautiful, crooked, toothy smile up to the surface—except it doesn't, this morning. She just says it flat and dull, like a punch.
What's up with her?
"You okay?" Peg asks, trying to gentle her voice.
"Fine."
"You're not acting like you're fine."
"Can you shut up?" she snaps.
Peg scoffs, right back to being annoyed. She's only been up for thirty minutes, Marty was fussy and Carmen was two minutes late, and Bruce was all mad at Peg about it for no reason at all. She doesn't have the energy for this, right now. She needs at least five more minutes before she can be nice. "Not for you."
"Course not," mutters Kate. Fidgets with the tape wrapped around her hands: all ready to spar.
"What's got you all bitchy today, then, huh?"
"Oh, says you, asshole?" she snaps.
"Cunt," snaps Peg right back.
"Oh—hey! Morning, Aida," says Kate, suddenly, her eyes wide and her tone soft, looking past Peg's shoulder—
Oh, fuck, please say Aida didn't hear that—
Peg spins—
Nobody's there. Aida is still a sleeping pile in the back of her cell.
"You absolute motherfucker," Peg says, looking back at Kate.
She still doesn't smile, even though she should be laughing for pulling one over Peg like that. The corner of her mouth twitches, faintly.
Yeah, no. Peg might be stupid, but she’s not stupid about Kate. Something’s absolutely wrong.
“Ready to spar?” says Kate, before Peg can press.
She pointedly eats the last bite of her nutrient bar and shoves the wrapper into the trash. "Let me tape my hands."
"Sit." Kate points at the counter. "I'll do your braid while you do that."
"I wanted to let it dry more first," Peg says, but it's a halfhearted protest because she's already hopping up onto the counter, spinning around with her legs crossed so her back's to Kate. She tries to hide the slight shiver, when Kate's warm hands start to gently scoop her hair together.
"You'll survive," says Kate, and they fall quiet for a little while. Peg winds the tape around her hands, padding the knuckles. Kate's hands work gently through her hair, tugging occasionally when she finds a tangle. The faint pressure is nice.
Peg's done with her hands before Kate's done with the braid: she closes her eyes and just sits in the sensation, for a few minutes. Kate's warm presence behind her, Kate's steady hands so gentle in her hair. It kind of makes her want to go back to sleep, instead of getting up to spar, but eventually Kate steps back and says, "Done," and then, "Let's go," and she's still moving with that frantic sort of sharp-edge energy, so. No use trying to convince Kate they could go curl up together and catch another thirty minutes of sleep before Aida gets up.
Sparring it is.
---
Kate's mean, on the mats.
Not to say she isn't usually—she's a damn good fighter, and she only got better while Peg was undercover, and she's been pushing like crazy to get mobility back now that her legs are healed—but she's not normally this mean. She's fighting dirty: sweeping Peg's legs over and over, pulling her braid, even simply dropping on top of her and using her extra hundred pounds of muscle to force her down.
It's fucking frustrating, is what it is.
Because Peg doesn't care if Kate's mean. Peg kind of loves that about Kate, actually: she always knows what Kate's thinking, or feeling, and even when Kate's feeling mean she'll still make sure Peg eats and she'll braid her hair. She won't do a damn thing til they're on the mats and ready to go.
But it wouldn't kill Kate to fucking shut up, would it?
"You run your mouth this much as Robin?" Peg demands, panting for air.
"Didn't need to," sneers Kate, backing up a step as they begin another slow circle around each other. There's a bruise blooming on the side of her forehead; Peg can feel her own leg throbbing from a good elbow Kate got in. "Unlike some people, I've actually got the skill to back up the name."
"Hey. What the fuck is wrong with you?" Peg snaps, and throws a punch. Kate blocks it.
"Nothing," Kate says, the fucking lying asshole that she is. "I've just been thinking. I bet that's why B didn't give you back your name. Kept you as Magpie. He knows who's better—"
Peg sees red. She darts in at Kate again, hits her one-two in the ribs, ducks around her and gets one more good hit in on the kidney. Kate makes a pained noise, spinning.
But Kate still doesn't stop fucking talking.
"He probably kept me as Robin," she pants, pained—her hands up like a boxer, guarding her face— "So he can keep you in his bed—"
Peg punches her again, sinking her fist into her unguarded stomach. "Shut it, Todd."
Kate keens, hunching forward, then—straightens up. And says, "So he can just keep you as his fucking pregnant sex toy, and—"
Peg punches her again—ribs, kidney—and jumps into the air, a spin kick that Kate knows how to block, but doesn't—and slams her heel into Kate's stomach.
She goes sprawling backwards across the mat. Her head lolls, briefly.
"You shut your mouth and you take that back," hisses Peg, stalking over to her. Her hands are shaking. "I am Robin, you son of a bitch, and I'm not—"
"Not what," wheezes Kate. "B's favorite little whore?"
Peg slams her foot into Kate's stomach. She curls on her side—hands up over her face, not her body, like an idiot, like a fucking idiot, and Peg kicks her again, and again, and then says, "Say that again!"
And Kate says, pained, "Whore."
Peg snarls and kicks her again.
And again.
And again, hard, and it's not enough, it's still not fucking enough—
She's not a whore, she isn't, or at least, not anymore—she's done, she is, and even if Bruce kept letting Kate be Robin and kept making Peg be Magpie that doesn't make her a whore—
Whores are doing it for the, for the fucking money, and Peg's doing it because Peg's motherfucking Robin, and here's Kate, with her fucking attitude and fat fucking mouth and—
And puddle of blood, slowly growing under her on the mat.
Peg freezes, immediately. Drops to her knees.
Yeah, she's been kicking Kate, fucking sue her, but she hasn't been kicking her hard enough to make her bleed. And certainly not this much.
"Kate," she hears herself say, distantly. "Katie?"
Kate groans. It sounds like whore again. Peg ignores it, hands fumbling over Kate and her tight-fit workout clothes, searching. Did Kate get a knife to the gut last night and not mention it? Did she get shot? Did she—
All the blood is coming from between Kate's thighs.
Kate mumbles something, but Peg can't hear it over the sudden heady buzz that's filling her ears. She scoops Kate up in a struggling fireman's carry. Wrenches their way to her feet. Feels her knees pop.
She staggers through the cave, and lays Kate out in the medical bay. Kate groans, head lolling to the side.
"You stay conscious," Peg orders, feeling frantic as she strips her, searching for the injury she unknowingly aggravated. "You motherfucker, you should've told me you were hurt, oh my fucking god—"
"Peg," she wheezes, hoarse.
"Stay conscious!" she demands again. "What happened?! Aida said you weren't hurt, what happened—"
And for all that Peg searches, she can't find the injury.
It's just blood and blood and blood, and it's coming from—
From—
Oh.
Oh, no.
Peg falls still, her hands on Kate's shaking thighs.
"Kate," she hears herself ask, voice breaking. "Katie?"
Kate mumbles something.
"Katie," says Peg again, desperate. She scrambles up so she can see Kate's face: she's sweating heavily, little curls plastered across her forehead, but—
Christ.
She's smiling.
"Katie," she manages. Brushes a bloody hand over her forehead, smoothing her hair back. "Katie, you—you—oh my god."
"'m not sorry," Katie manages, voice weak and eyes closed.
"You—you—oh my god!" Peg swallows. "Katie!"
"Not sorry."
"Fuck you," she hisses, and drops on top of her—Kate flinches—but Peg just wraps her in a hug.
Kate's warm and bloody and trembling, beneath her. "...Peg?"
Peg presses her mouth up against Kate's ear and hisses in Romani, feeling lightheaded, "Next time you need a back alley abortion, you fucking asshole, just—just fucking tell me!"
Kate makes an incomprehensible, broken little noise. Her hand trails up and finds the end of Peg's braid. Pulls, a little. "...what?"
"You fucking tell me what you need," says Peg, and hiccups, feeling suddenly like she might cry. "You fucking tell me, Kate Todd, and I'll get you the pills or, or—or, fuck you, I could've knocked that shit out of you way nicer—"
"Wouldn't have," Kate mumbles. Her Romani's rusty and accented, but understandable. "You wouldn't have."
"I wouldn't what?"
"C'mon." She tries to pull away; can't go far. "C'mon, fuck off. I offered to help you get rid of yours and you freaked the hell out."
Peg swallows. Says, quieter, "...that's different. That’s—me. Not you. I would've—fuck, Katie, you fucking scared me. I thought I'd—I thought I'd torn something open, I thought I'd killed you—"
"Hah," says Kate, bleakly. "Takes more than that to kill me."
"Fuck you," says Peg, and wipes her face—not tears, she's just sweaty, thanks—on Kate's shoulder. "Seriously. Fuck you. You—just—tell me. Tell me what you need."
She pulls back, a bit, so she can see Kate's face. Kate's staring at her, brown eyes wide: it's the pain, yeah, but mostly Kate just seems... shocked. Uncertain. She blinks slowly, staring up at Peg.
"I'll help you, dumbass," hisses Peg. Sniffs. Her hands are sticky with Kate's blood. "You just have to tell me. All you ever have to do is tell me."
"Peg."
"Yeah?"
"Just." Kate sniffs. Her eyes are watery. "Just. Make—make sure it's gone. Please?"
Peg swallows and meets her eye. "Okay," she whispers, quiet. "Okay. I will."
---