I cradle Kate's head in my lap, my fingers trembling as I brush away the shattered remnants of her gas mask. The adrenaline from the fight is starting to wear off, replaced by a sickening mix of fear and anger. Fear for Kate's well-being, and anger at her for putting herself in this situation.

"You're going to be okay," I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just hold on, help is on the way."

Kate nods weakly, her face pale and streaked with sweat. I can feel the heat radiating off her skin, even through the layers of her costume. Her entire body is trembling, with occasional spasms ripping through her muscles, causing her to curl up into a ball and then uncurl in my lap. "Tingly,"

I try to focus on treating her immediate injuries, drawing on the first aid training Gossamer drilled into me. I tear strips of fabric from the cleanest part of my own costume, using them to apply pressure to the worst of the bleeding wounds. For the burns, I dig through the scattered remnants of Kate's utility belt, hoping to find something, anything, that might help.

My fingers close around a small canister, and I nearly sob with relief when I realize it's burn relief spray, situated between bandages and alcohol wipes, which I also swipe. For obvious reasons. I apply it liberally to the worst of the electrical burns, the ones visible through the gashes in the layers of fabric, trying to be as gentle as possible. Kate hisses in pain, her body tensing under my hands.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my throat tight. "I'm so sorry, Kate."

"Don't be," Kate manages, her voice strained. "I knew the risks. I chose this."

I shake my head, a lump forming in my throat. "You stupid asshole," I say, without any malice whatsoever. "This isn't your job. You're supposed to just go pro with the WNBA, not get struck by lightning. Dumbass. Why?"

Kate's hand finds mine, her fingers weak but insistent as they lace through my own. "I couldn't just sit back and do nothing, Sam. Not while you were out there, risking your life every day. I had to help. I had to do something. Someone had to keep watch while you were in the hospital."

Around us, the warehouse is a hive of activity. I can hear the distant wail of sirens, growing louder with each passing second. The police, the paramedics, they're on their way. Nothing is private anymore - at this point, people will have noticed the thunderclaps, the shouting, the screaming, the sounds of violence, even coming from an abandoned warehouse. People stay clear in the first couple hours, waiting for the noises to die down, but they'll be flocking like piranhas soon enough.

"Bloodhound," Sundial's voice cuts through the chaos, calm and measured. "The authorities are almost here. We need to get our story straight."

I look up, meeting Sundial's gaze. She's standing a few feet away, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my brow furrowing.

Sundial gestures to Kate, her expression grim. "We can't tell them the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. It's too risky."

"What are you saying?" I demand, my voice rising. "That we should lie? Cover this up?"

"I'm saying we need to be careful," Sundial replies, her tone even. "Miss Mayfly, your friend - she's not licensed. She's not even powered. If the authorities find out she's been operating as a vigilante, it could mean serious trouble. For all of us."

I open my mouth to argue, but Compass cuts me off. "She's right, Bloodhound. We need to protect her, and ourselves. The less the police know, the better."

I look down at Kate, torn. I know they're right. "How do you know that she doesn't have any powers?"

Sundial looks at me with an eyebrow raised. I can tell her face is struggling between a desire to be sympathetic and thinking I'm an idiot. Right. I make the connection myself.

"Sam," Kate whispers, her voice pulling me back. "It's okay. I understand. Just… just tell them I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That I got caught in the crossfire."

I swallow hard, nodding. "Okay. Okay, we'll do it your way."

Sundial gives me a small, grateful smile. "Good. Compass and I will handle the police. You just focus on taking care of Kate."

As Sundial and Compass move off to intercept the approaching sirens, I turn my attention back to Kate. Her breathing is shallow, her skin clammy and cool to the touch.

"Just hold on, Kate," I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We're going to get you out of here. We're going to get you help, you dumb asshole."

Kate nods, her eyes fluttering closed. "I know you will, Sam. I trust you."

Those three words hit me like a punch to the gut. Trust. It's a heavy thing, a fragile thing. And right now, with Kate lying broken and bleeding in my arms, I can't help but feel like I've failed her.

Failed to keep her safe. Failed to be the friend she needed me to be.

I'm dimly aware of Jordan and Derek slipping away, Sandman close behind them. I know they can't risk being seen here, not without their licenses. But a small, selfish part of me wishes they would stay. Wishes I didn't have to face this alone.

"Bloodhound," Spindle's voice breaks through my thoughts, gentle but insistent. "The paramedics are here. You need to let them take her."

I blink, realizing that he's right. The warehouse is swarming with uniformed figures now, their faces grim and their voices sharp with urgency.

I help Kate to her feet, supporting her weight as the paramedics approach. They're already pulling out their equipment, their faces serious and focused. I can see the concern in their eyes as they take in the extent of Kate's injuries, the electrical burns and the bruises that mar her skin.

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"Miss, we need to take you to the hospital," one of them says, his voice firm but kind. "Your injuries are pretty severe. You may have internal damage that we can't see."

Kate shakes her head, wincing at the movement. "No, no hospitals. I can't afford it. No insurance."

The paramedics exchange a look, clearly unhappy with her decision. I can't blame them. Even to my untrained eye, Kate looks like she needs more than just a bandage and a pat on the head. "Miss, we strongly advise against that," the other paramedic chimes in, her voice laced with concern. "You need proper medical attention. There could be complications, infections. It's not safe to leave injuries like these untreated. And if you have superpowers,"

Kate sets her jaw, a stubborn glint in her eye. "I said no. Just do what you can here, please. I'll deal with the rest later."

The paramedics hesitate, clearly torn. I can see the conflict in their faces, the desire to help warring with the need to respect Kate's wishes. Finally, they nod, albeit reluctantly. "Alright. We'll do what we can. But I want it on record that we strongly advised hospitalization," the first paramedic says, his tone making it clear that he's not happy about this.

They begin their assessment, cleaning and dressing Kate's wounds with practiced efficiency. I watch as they work, my heart in my throat. Every hiss of pain from Kate, every wince and gasp, feels like a punch to the gut.

As they work, one of them turns to me, his eyes curious. "Are you family?" he asks, glancing between me and Kate.

I shake my head, swallowing hard. "No. She's just a civilian that got in over her head, sir. A little overeager to help. You know how it is."

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I force myself to maintain eye contact, to keep my expression neutral. I can't let them suspect, can't let them start asking questions that I can't answer.

The paramedic nods, seeming to accept my answer. But out of the corner of my eye, I notice an officer listening in, not paying attention to Compass's debriefing. He's watching me, his expression unreadable.

We make eye contact, and I feel a jolt of panic. What if he doesn't believe me? What if he starts asking questions, digging deeper? My mind races, trying to come up with a plausible explanation, a way to explain Kate's presence without revealing the truth. Trying to come up with explanations for the truth. The way I prepare for telling my parents that I got a bad grade on a test (something I've been having to do a lot more frequently recently - thank G-d it's the end of the school year). Preparing to lie.

This whole situation feels like a bad dream. Am I dissociating? That's what my therapist told me the feeling was that I'm feeling right now. Like when everything feels like I'm looking at it through a fisheye lens. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. My vision is going red at the edges. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

But then I see his name tag.

W. GOLD.

I feel my lungs open up as the memory washes over me, a wave of recognition hitting me like a freight train. Where do I know that name from? And then I remember - he's the officer that interviewed me for my JLUMA, almost a year ago. I don't get along great with the rare officer I encounter on my patrols, and I didn't exactly get a good first impression from him during our interview, but…

Officer Gold holds my gaze for a long moment, then gives me a small nod. An acknowledgement. An understanding. I can see it in his face - he knows there's more to the story, but he's not going to push. Not here, not now.

He turns away, walking a step closer to Compass and Moonshot. He starts talking to them, his voice low and insistent, guiding them and the other officers further away from the paramedics. Further away from Kate.

The implication is clear. He's protecting us. Protecting me. Why? Without approaching, I can only hazard a guess - does he know about Chernobyl? Does he know what I've sacrificed? Or is it just out of pity? I have no idea. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my shoulders sagging with relief. "Thank you," I whisper, too quiet for anyone to hear. But I hope, somehow, that Officer Gold knows how much this means to me. To us.

The paramedics finish their work, packing up their equipment. "We've done what we can here," one of them says, his voice serious. "But you really should reconsider the hospital. Your friend is in rough shape. She needs more care than we can provide in the field."

Kate shakes her head again, mustering a weak smile. "I'll be fine. Thank you for your help. I appreciate it, really."

The paramedics leave reluctantly, casting worried glances over their shoulders as they go. I can't blame them. If it were up to me, I'd be dragging Kate to the nearest ER, kicking and screaming if I had to. But it's not up to me. It's her choice, her decision. And as much as it kills me, as much as every instinct is screaming at me to protect her, to keep her safe, I have to respect that.

I turn to Kate, helping her towards the waiting taxi. "Come on, dummy. Let's get you out of here, get you somewhere safe."

Kate leans on me heavily as we make our way to the car, her breath coming in short, pained gasps. Each step seems to take a monumental effort, and I can feel the heat radiating off her, the tremors that wrack her frame. Even though she's an inch taller than me now, she feels so small.

I ease her into the backseat, then slide in beside her. The taxi driver gives us a curious look in the rearview mirror, but wisely chooses not to comment on Kate's battered appearance or my blood-smeared costume.

As the taxi pulls away from the warehouse, I keep a close eye on Kate's condition. Her color is a little better, but she's still far too pale for my liking. Every bump in the road makes her wince, her teeth gritted against the pain.

"How you holding up?" I ask softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. My fingers linger on her skin, feeling the clamminess, the unnatural heat.

Kate manages a wry smile, but it's strained at the edges. "Oh, you know. Just peachy. Getting electrocuted really agrees with me. Might make it a regular thing."

I snort, shaking my head. "Yeah, I can see that. You're practically glowing."

Kate laughs, then immediately regrets it, her hand going to her ribs. "Don't make me laugh, asshole. It hurts."

"Sorry, sorry," I mutter, but I'm not sorry at all. My brain is rapidly ping-ponging between anger and relief and frankly it's getting kind of dizzying trying to figure out which emotion I should be feeling right now. I don't know if I'm capable of doing two at once. Seems complicated.

The taxi driver glances at us in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed. "You girls okay back there? Sounded like quite the commotion at that warehouse. Anything I should be worried about?"

I tense, but Kate just waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, you know how it is. Wrong place, wrong time. Story of my life. I've got a real knack for attracting trouble."

The driver nods, seeming to accept that. "Well, you're lucky your friend here was around to help. Sounds like things could have been a lot worse."

Kate meets my gaze, her eyes softening. "Yeah. I am lucky. Luckier than I deserve, probably."

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight. I want to argue, to tell her that she deserves so much better than this. That she deserves a friend who can keep her safe, who can protect her from harm. But the words stick in my throat, heavy and unspoken. Because the truth is, I'm not sure I am that friend. Not sure I can be, no matter how much I want to be.

The driver, perhaps sensing the shift in mood, reaches out and turns up the radio. Soft music fills the cab, a welcome distraction from the weight of our thoughts. Kate leans her head on my shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. "Wake me when we get there?" she murmurs, her voice thick with exhaustion.

I nod, even though she can't see it. "Of course. Rest now. I've got you."

And I do. I've got her. I'll always have her, no matter what. Through thick and thin, hell or high water, Kate and I are a team. Even if that means facing down the consequences of her choices, of her actions. Even if it means putting myself on the line, risking everything to keep her safe.

Because that's what friends do. That's what love is.