Archive of Our Own

It begins at eight-forty of Tuesday, with Vi saying the wrong thing.

Many years ago, back when Vi was a scrawny kid with a face full of dimples and a rage that seemed like it would eat her from the inside out and unceremoniously spit her out, she used to think winter sucked.

Winter still sucks, but for all the right reasons.

Right—so, it’s a cold morning and she’s silently freezing her ass off because Caitlyn told her to wear her coat and Vi refused (ahem, she’s not a pussy), which means she’s got her left hand safely tucked inside Caitlyn’s winter coat pocket, praying that they’ll make it to the bakery in the next five minutes.

Otherwise, Vi will be forced to admit defeat and hear her say I told you.

“I think I’ll have green tea,” says Caitlyn, deliberately oblivious to the trembling hand that’s hiding in her pocket. “It’s been a while since I ordered it.”

She’s going to make Vi say it out loud.

Worse, Vi will have to look at her straight in the eye and pretend she doesn’t like it when Caitlyn’s mouth curls into a delicate smirk, the one that exhibits she’s delighted to be right, for once.

I make solid arguments, don't I?

Which makes what comes out of Vi’s mouth in response to her inquiry totally involuntary.

“Tastes like grass.”

Not her best moment, no.

Caitlyn’s breath hitches like she just heard a terrible argument from a council member voting against the raise of Piltovan tariffs to help rebuild the cities. Still, she tucks her hand inside her pocket, caressing Vi’s fingers with what feels like silent judgment. 

Janna, even her boots go reprimandily clack-clack against the ground.

“I told you to bring your coat,” she murmurs. “You’re freezing.”

There it is.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not, clearly. Why must green tea be the scapegoat to your carelessness?”

She rolls her eyes.

So dramatic.

“It tastes like shit during any season, ‘s not winter’s fault. And I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Am not.”

Caitlyn clicks her tongue, gaze travelling to the street opposite to them.

Which means, in their terms, that Vi must face the display windows from their side of the street until eventually one of them succumbs to the urge of kissing the other, discussed matter long forgotten.

What she sees makes her falter in her step.

Her reflection on the window makes it difficult to fix her eyes upon her target with precision, so she keeps moving forward with hesitant steps, fearing that, if she looks away, what called her attention will disappear.

Caitlyn slows down and reaches for Vi’s hand in her pocket, squeezing it twice. Vi doesn’t have it in her to murmur anything in response.

“What is it?” Caitlyn asks, voice abruptly filled with worry. “Do you want my coat? I’ve got a spare one back at home, I’ll be alright until we get b—”

“There’s a piercing shop,” Vi says, dumbly. She glances at Caitlyn and gets an unusual out of body sensation.

“I—what?” Caitlyn looks past Vi’s head, lost. “Oh. Yes.”

“A piercing shop. In Piltover.”

She’s not feeling cold at all anymore.

“I believe it’s run by a Zaunite,” Caitlyn provides.

Vi blinks. She looks back at the piercing shop and feels unexplainably insulted. 

“How didn’t I know of this?”

“It’s fairly recent. We haven’t really paid attention to shop windows before. Why?”

Caitlyn’s face twists like she's been presented with a problem that has no solution. It probably means Vi is not making any sense.

“I—” Vi stops short, not knowing what to say.

This is—

She’s got a job. A salary. Spare time and fucking free will. All the boxes ticked.

Had she known of this place weeks ago, she would’ve bursted through the door with a list of all the things she wants to get done.

“We can go in,” Caitlyn offers tentatively. There must be gears turning in her head, trying to figure out what the fuck got Vi’s briefs in a twist.

“We’re—you wanted to get your grass tea.”

“Green tea,” Caitlyn corrects.

“Same thing.”

“We’re not in a hurry; it’s our day off.”

“Yeah, I know. ‘S just…” she trails off.

Just what—craved to look at all the cool stuff? 

Spend their morning out boring Caitlyn to death?

“Do you want to go in?” Caitlyn asks, head crooked in attempt to understand, and something about the choice of word rings a bell inside Vi’s head.

Yeah.

Yeah, she—she wants to go in and look at all the cool stuff. Wants to spend their morning out doing that, even if it bores Caitlyn a tiny bit. 

Maybe mention the time she got her nose pierced and couldn’t properly blow her nose without looking like she was having a stroke; Caitlyn likes those stories, if her shiny gaze and eager nods are anything to go by.

“Yeah,” Vi says, weirdly out of breath. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Caitlyn says easily, shoulders at ease like she finally figured Vi out. “What is the point of going out if not to enjoy ourselves?”

And, yeah. That sounds about right.

What even is the point, if not to enjoy stuff?

“Sure,” Vi says, confidence acquired.

Caitlyn holds her hand and they retreat back a few steps until they can see their reflections on the window shop once again. Vi crunches down and examines what’s in store.

“My mother had a saying,” Caitlyn comments lightly. Teaseful. “Like a child at a candy store. Fitting, I’d say.”

If it weren’t for her dry mouth, Vi would be drooling on the glass window. Caitlyn’s amused smirk is evidence enough that she’s not being subtle about it.

Whatever.

“Ha, ha,” is all she mutters in response. “Look at this stuff. There’s golden nostril rings.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Fancy,” Vi corrects. 

“Beautiful still.”

The Medarda woman had golden jewelry. Caitlyn reads every letter she writes to them with a shy smile on her face, eye glistening.

“Yeah, it’s—they look nice.”

She glances back to Caitlyn already pulling her wallet out, reaching for the door knob with a security in her movements that make Vi feel something akin to vertigo.

She grabs her forearm.

Caitlyn's so quick to see and assert things it makes her nervous.

“What are you doing?”

“We agreed we’d go in,” Caitlyn says, like it’s obvious. “You’ve already got your eye on something.”

“I don’t,” Vi lies.

The other woman huffs. Rolls her eye.

“Oh, please. There’s stars in your eyes,” she explains, weirdly gentle. “You just have to go in and take it.”

And then goes in.

Vi feels like she just got a bomb thrown at her.

It’s not a bad thing. Not at all.

//

Vi is no stranger to wanting.

The first time she recalls craving something so badly it made her feel like she’d get split in two, she was nine: a big thunderstorm had broken off at scarcely an hour past midnight, Vander fast asleep after a twelve-hour shift, and all she could think of, in a brief moment of selfishness that clouded her mind, was:

I want my parents back.

From then on, she gets the urge again. And again.

I want my siblings back.

I want Vander back.

I want Powder back.

Sometimes it's different; a Piltie enforcer broke her out of prison and her only form of complaint when Vi walked her like a dog all around Zaun was to scoff and roll her eyes like there could be worse activities to be dragged to.

Her fingers were soft and warm when caressing Vi's face and all her mind could come up with was I want her.

When the memorial attack happens, Caitlyn locks herself in the en-suite bathroom and refuses to come out. The water runs until the bathtub is filled to the brim, and Vi’s courage to make herself present grows within it. 

The knock on the door lacks strength, Caitlyn’s muffled response and blood-injected eyes ache deeply inside Vi’s chest cavity and all she can think, naively, is:

I want her back.

Crazy, right?

She should know better by now. 

She ought to know better by now.

Sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom, she keeps her gaze fixed on the white marble of the sink, pointedly avoiding the way Caitlyn’s eyes burn with nothing but unfiltered rage. Her wet hair sticks to her face and Vi feels nauseous at the mere thought of the gun that was pointed to her head by her little sister.

She’s too far gone.

I had the shot.

Caitlyn shivers, goosebumps all over the skin of her arms—yet asks Vi, in a whispered plea, not to turn the hot water on.

The mirror fogs up, she says. I don't want that.

Stupidly, Vi wants to say a lot of things. Bunch of useless stuff that will only make it worse.

Her mother dies and you think saying some bullshit will make it better?

Maybe they could go to a shooting range one of these days, have a picnic and clear their minds from all the chaos. Maybe they could bake something nice for breakfast and talk about Caitlyn’s mom until she’s got no tears left to cry. Maybe—

"Loris," Caitlyn murmurs after a while. "Would you say he’s trustworthy?"

"What?" Vi asks, and she feels strangely disappointed, even though she knew this was coming.

It's like she's been readying herself for the impact all day long, and now that it is coming her way it takes her by surprise.

"You’re right," Caitlyn says, and it’s not what Vi wants to hear at all. "We aren’t ready for a full-scale invasion. I need to gather people, think of an alternative and put it to action. I have the profiles in mind already, we can check them over dinner."

Now?

Wouldn’t you like to get some rest?

We could slip under the covers and sleep until late morning, I’ll hold you throughout the entire night and we won’t have to think about this.

We can be done with this whole thing, just say the word and I’ll do it.

Anything.

Anything to have you back. To fix what I’ve done.

"Yeah," Vi says instead, uncharacteristically pliable. "He is."

Caitlyn hums, lost in thought. "Good," she says. "And you’ll take it—the badge?"

Anything, Vi thinks.

Anything to have you back. To fix what I’ve done.

//

Get up, get dressed, get out.

She repeats the words every single morning, like a mantra.

Get up, get dressed, get out.

We have a new lead, Caitlyn will say the night prior, taking exactly three bites of her dinner plate before pushing it aside.

Were her cheekbones always so prominent? Vi can't remember.

Looks thinner, for sure. Anger-like starvation.

"We'll be leaving tomorrow morning at seven," Caitlyn will say, and it's so cold and so un-Caitlyn of her. "Wouldn't put it past your sister to know we're going there looking for her."

The next morning is always easier, because Vi's the one who's got no tears left to cry.

Get up, get dressed, get out.

New shiny life starting to feel like a bunch of crap.

The collar of the uniform is too tight and too everything. The color, the belt, the texture. She makes a fist around the fabric and tries to breath in and breath out—in and out, in and out, just like she taught Caitlyn to do the first night after the explosion on the Council.

In and out, you're okay. We're okay.

Who had she been trying to convince? Caitlyn or herself?

And who's responsible for designing this shit? Is she—how the fuck is she supposed to go out there looking for the terrorist of a sister she has when she can barely breathe.

Get up, get choked, get out, more like.

Get out, get out, get out.

The windows of the en-suite bathroom are always locked. What's the point of a fucking window if you can't jump out of it?

"Vi?" Caitlyn's voice breaks through the train of thought that threatens to run over her.

She's standing very still, like Vi's a caged animal—which she's not. Not anymore, not ever again—and she's looking down at the way Vi's hands are twisted into knots around the collar of the uniform with a furrowed brow.

"Shitty design," Vi says, like it's supposed to mean anything, like it's something that Caitlyn can fix.

And God, none of this is Caitlyn's fault. At all.

She's my sister.

She's too far gone.

I had the shot.

She should've just let her take the shot.

Caitlyn takes two tentative steps toward her, in such awkward motion it reminds Vi of her Caitlyn, the one that stumbled down The Lanes. She'd looked like a baby giraffe. That'd been one of the first things Vi'd noticed about her.

And then—hands touching her. Thin fingers untwisting Vi's crooked ones from around the collar, letting it go. Caitlyn's not even looking at her, knee-deep in her task.

Something stretches and breaks. Caitlyn extracts her hands with the red collar tangled around her fingers, leaving it on the sink.

"Shitty design," Caitlyn agrees and gives her a tight smile, like she's resisting the urge to grimace.

Oh, how easy it would be if all of this were to take place in some other context.

Maybe they could be getting ready to go out on a date, and Vi's suit is awful and awkward, and Caitlyn comes to rescue her. Fuck the tie and the suspenders and whatever fancy people use for fancy dates.

How easy it would be, if Caitlyn's eyes weren't filled with unspilled tears, if Vi's lack of breathing capacity were from kissing her.

Caitlyn exits the bathroom with a murmured explanation about needing to get ready. Vi watches her leave and knows, very deep down, that this is all she can have instead.

//

It's Thursday and the alarm hasn't gone off yet.

She yawns, jaw cracking wide, and stretches her calves, muscles trembling with ecstasy. Almost feels like being tugged from head to toe by an invisible string.

There's a cold hand tucked under her joggings, slim fingers resting over the hem of her briefs. Her legs are crushed under Caitlyn's.

It takes effort to turn around when there's a deadweight half on top of her. A muffled whine is all she hears in protest; Caitlyn's face must be somewhere around the mess of limbs and blankets.

Vi's eyes are glued by sleep. She doesn't bother to unstick them.

Aims forward with her lips, only to be met with a tickly eyebrow.

Huffs, raspy.

"Where’s your mouth?"

Her voice calls from below Vi’s chin.

"Here," Caitlyn says, soft. Malleable.

With that dumb duck face plastered on her face, she makes a kissing noise. Their noses bump. Caitlyn's lips find hers.

It’s chaste and quick. Caitlyn makes a small mwah noise. She always does.

"Morning," Vi grunts.

Comes out more mfhng-like, throat still rough.

There’s a hand getting tangled in the mess of her hair, scratching her scalp. Vi sighs.

The pair of lips pressed to her cheek curl up.

"What?"

"I said ‘morning’."

"Ah," Caitlyn says, so eloquent of her. "Good morning."

"Didn't even hear you turn in last night," Vi says.

"I was at my study. I told Steb I would fill out the report for him."

She hums, already drifting off.

"Why?"

There’s a pause.

"I think he’s seeing someone," Caitlyn says.

That washes away any remaining trails of sleep. She opens her eyes to see bright blue looking back at her from under one eyelid, the other closed and scarred forever.

"No shit," she says.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"I haven’t a clue," Caitlyn says, and she sounds annoyed. "I tried coaxing the answer out of him but I couldn’t get him to give in."

Very Caitlyn-like of her, to approach it as a case that ought to be solved.

"All I know is that someone was waiting for him outside the station last night," she tells Vi, "but it was dark and they were standing across the street."

"What else?" Vi asks, because she knows Caitlyn’s already running through her mental list of possibilities.

"Tall, short hair, broad shoulders. They headed back to Zaun."

Vi blinks.

"Did you follow them?"

Caitlyn’s mouth struggles around words.

(Means she totally did.)

"I—well, I wouldn’t catalogue it as following," she corrects. "I could see them two blocks from the station, so I just made sure they were heading the right way and wouldn’t come back to ask for directions."

"Right," Vi drags the word around her tongue, amused.

"Can you blame me?" Caitlyn shoots back, an octave higher. "He’s just so—hardworking. I’m simply glad to know he’s found someone."

"Only shitty thing is you don’t know who," Vi asserts.

"Exactly."

"Hm," she nods empathically.

Caitlyn sits up. The blanket slides down her torso to reveal the rest of her body.

There’s a pillow crease stamped into her cheek, red and faintly swollen from a good night’s sleep. One strap of her nightgown has slipped off her right shoulder, baring pale skin. She hooks a finger under it and nudges it back into place.

Vi looks at her and tries to pretend there's nothing lecherous about her gaze. Everything about Caitlyn just—glows, in a way. And it's got Vi under a spell.

She checks the clock on her nightstand.

"I have to clock in at nine. You?"

"Ten thirty," Caitlyn says.

Mhm. Forty minutes will suffice.

"Wanna have a bath?" Vi offers, tentative.

"I'd like that."

And so their day starts.

//

The feeling of wet locks of hair tickle her fingertips as she braids Caitlyn's hair into a tight bun, hairbrush on the sink, hair tie kept on one wrist.

"Want me to leave bangs on one side?"

Caitlyn doesn't blink, attention fixed on her reflection. Vi taps her shoulder.

"Cait."

"What?" Caitlyn asks, halfway through processing the question. "Oh—yes. Both sides, if you could. Please."

A thin strand of hair falls, both sides of her face now carrying a small hint of blue.

She looks pretty like this. The uniform fits her. The tight posture, too—with her fingers twisted on her lap, stationary.

"There you go," Vi says. "All set."

"Thank you," she says, softly.

That tone alone is all Vi needs to hear to know that's not what she wants to say at all.

"What?" Vi asks.

The lines on her forehead turn cautious.

"What?" Caitlyn shoots back.

"You want to say something," Vi elaborates. "Say it."

"I'm not—I don't," she says, and it's unbuyable in every aspect.

Thing is, she doesn't even have to insist verbally. All it takes is one look at Caitlyn's eye in the mirror for her to give in.

"It's silly," she starts, looking away from the mirror. "I’m just unsure of changing shifts, that's all."

Ah.

Not the end of the world, then. It might feel like it for her, though.

Vi picks up the eyeliner and lifts Caitlyn's chin with her thumb.

"But I can't, in good faith, give people the wrong idea—they’ll think I'm biased."

"You are biased," Vi says. "Stay still."

"And maybe they already think I am favouring you by pairing us together for patrols, but I—I feel as if I were removing you."

"You're not. I can handle sharing shifts with a bunch of morons."

The eyepatch hangs by the sink. She passes it over to her.

"I know. I don't want you to ‘handle’ it," Caitlyn says, fixing the patch into place. "I want you to have an amiable day every day."

It won't be like this foerever, Caitlyn's voice echoes inside her head.

Three different audiences with the Council, to no avail. At this point they've heard it all.

Can't approve the reformation without enough proof.

Can't collect proof without a warrant for a search in Stillwater.

Can't take witnesses' statements if they don't have a clean record.

I'll fix this, Caitlyn had said, as if the entirety of a rotten system was her crime to account for. Like there's no one else to blame for it, but her. You can say no. Leave the badge, I'll handle everything else. You can rest.

Oh, Vi could. Yes, she could.

Thing is, she's not looking to sit her ass down and watch the cities rebuild themselves on their own. She wants to be part of things—wants to be useful, from wherever she'll get to.

And what other place than by Caitlyn's side?

"‘S not exactly a walk in the park either," Vi murmurs.

"Of course not. But it’d be better, if you could have some tranquility."

Funny thought, that one is. Tranquility. As if that's something Vi has ever got a hold of. The type of luxury she was never able to afford.

Until now, she supposes.

Her mind goes back to that day, out on the streets, staring at the piercing shop like a starved dog. It was a good day, and maybe it's all about that—the balance, between the good things and the not-so-good things.

She can handle being inconvenienced a few hours a day, if it means she gets the chance to go out with Caitlyn and buy a new nostril to brag about. That's something to look forward to, among other things.

She faces the mirror again, sees the golden jewerly that outshines all her other piercings, and turns on the tap to wash her hands.

Caitlyn looks at her, expectant.

"Steb’s with me, isn’t he?"

"Yes," says Caitlyn. Sounds a tad more enthusiastic at the prospect. "I thought you could use a familiar face."

"And dig up his romance affairs for you."

"...yes. But that’s secondary."

"Uh-huh."

"I swear."

Vi doesn't buy it at all.

"So I'm not getting an earful if I come back empty-handed?"

She has to give her some credit; Caitlyn's face barely changes, but there's this small muscle above her left eyebrow that twitches at Vi's response, and it's hard to miss it.

"No," Caitlyn says, deliberately uninterested.

"Right."

"I mean it."

"No, totally."

"It's just," says the other woman, "you're so charming, sometimes. With people."

"Go on, I like where this is going."

Caitlyn doesn't take the bait.

"You're kind and—and good."

Now Vi's chest cavity feels a little heavier, bravado left behind.

What a thing to say on a random Thursday morning.

"People like you," Caitlyn says firmly.

It feels wrong to, but Vi says, "I'm not really doing anything."

"And that's even more remarkable. I'm terrible at that. I’d be of no use trying to get anything out of him, but he’d tell you."

She tries to shrug the warm feeling off. Brush it aside. No need to get all teary-eyed over it. Nah.

It's just—nice.

Yeah, ‘s nice. That Caitlyn thinks of her that way.

She thinks the world of Vi and Vi’s just…being herself. Isn't that something?

"So I ask him," Vi says.

"And then you tell me."

"Yep."

"Everything. With details. Please and thank you."

She grins. So polite, always.

"Done and done," Vi says. "See you at night?"

Caitlyn nods, somewhat lighter now.

Vi picks up her jacket and off she goes.

//

The kitchen's huge and Vi should probably wash her hands.

It’s not like she's never been here before—fuck, she used to feel so out of place every time she went down the stairs to take a peek inside the fridge.

This time around, it's different.

It's different because she's no longer walking on eggshells, trying to be as quiet and quick as possible to avoid running into Caitlyn's dad and be forced to make conversation when he clearly doesn't want her around at all. 

It's different because Caitlyn's face isn't stained with dried-up tears and residuals of dirt, a growing bruise starting to appear under the smoke from the explosion.

On the contrary, she's smiling. It's a small curl in the commissure of her lips, but it's there. 

She hasn't even bothered to fix her hair or properly button her shirt up. Far as Vi knows, this is as disheveled as she’ll present herself in front of other people.

Not like there's anyone around to take a look at her either; sent everyone away to have the whole kitchen for themselves. Asked in such a peaceful manner that made the butler do a double-take at Caitlyn's face, trying to find a reason for the sudden tranquility.

Vi isn't one to spill the beans, but having five orgasms in a row will probably do that to anybody.

So Caitlyn's standing there, cutting the bread crusts with enviable precision while Vi sits on the nearest counter-top stool.

The kitchen's huge and Vi should definitely wash her hands before attempting to make herself useful. If Caitlyn even allows her to.

She presses her fingertips to her face in a motion that makes it seem like she's only rubbing her nose and not trying to get a sniff.

"Don't," Caitlyn warns. And keeps cutting.

Vi smirks.

"Want me to get rid of the evidence?" 

It's a fair question. Caitlyn shakes her head.

"If you could not be so crude about it," she murmurs thickly.

Inevitably, Vi can't prolong it any longer. She washes her hands on the sink (there's two of them and she chooses the one closer to Caitlyn) and looks up at her.

"What are you making?" she asks, just out of curiosity.

Caitlyn grimaces.

"I'm afraid I can only offer sandwiches. I'm terrible with the stove."

Commander of Piltover at barely twenty-three, yet she stands defeated when facing the kitchen stove.

"I can't tell whether you're fucking with me or not," Vi says.

"It's the truth."

"Yeah, I know. Sandwich’s fine by me."

Takes three steps to be standing by her side. Caitlyn gives her a knife and a wooden board.

"There's meat in the refrigerator."

"Got it," Vi says. Leaves the knife aside to inspect the fridge.

She cuts the steak into long, thin slices. Caitlyn gathers the bread into one plate and picks up three slices for each sandwich, all similar in shape to make them equals.

"Mustard?" Caitlyn asks, at one point. She's sucking her thumb after seasoning her share of food and Vi feels hypnotized by the motion.

"Sure," she says.

They sit on the counter-top stools and chew in complete silence for a moment.

There's…a lot going on.

You don't have to feel guilty for—

Maybe you could love me like you used to.

But you changed, too.

You deserve to be with her.

Hesitant fingertips linger on her torso, near where the bandage’s supposed to be underneath her shirt.

"We’ll get a look at those later," Caitlyn says absently. "Wouldn't put it past you to rip your stitches."

"Give me some credit," Vi says in between bites. "I’ve had worse."

"And that’ll make all my worries disperse, I assume."

"Obviously."

"Not a single care in the world for your well-being," Caitlyn murmurs into her cup of water, deeply offended. "As if."

She takes the last bite out of her sandwich. Caitlyn's already handing her seconds.

Among the offer, comes the dreaded question.

"Where is she?"

They keep dancing around the topic like it isn't something that's got them tied by their necks at this point. 

"Wouldn't know," Vi mumbles. "Could be anywhere."

"She left you," Caitlyn says, now heavier.

You don't have to feel guilty for being happy.

It makes her wonder, if anything, whether it’s true.

Did she, really? After years of losing and finding each other over and over again—is it truly leaving things behind, if (oddly) Vi had a say in it?

The door to the cell opened, and Vi stayed inside. She stayed, and with it, came her choice.

Final and freeing, in all the best ways.

Caitlyn came looking for her, and she stopped running away from it.

Oil and water. Wasn't meant to be.

You're just saying that.

"No," Vi says, and she thinks she's starting to understand. "She didn't."

Caitlyn's fingers keep toying with a loose thread in Vi’s trousers, more to soothe herself than anything. She's probably not aware that she's doing it at all.

Give her a minute or two and she’ll be pulling Vi’s shirt off just to check the wound herself. Pour some antiseptic and shoot her an apologetic tooth-gaped smile when it inevitably stings.

Yeah.

Vi understands now.

"She didn't."

//

Afterwards, they move back to Caitlyn's bedroom. 

She gets a weird sense of deja vu, doing this all over again; she lies on her back while Caitlyn takes place at the end of the bed, sitting down with a medical kit on her lap. This time around, no Council meeting can interrupt them; no overprotective parents will bang on the door.

There is guilt and there is a missing sister, yes. That hasn't changed. Sometimes, Vi fears she'll never grow out of it, even though she's not fifteen anymore.

Caitlyn unbuttons her shirt and her gaze is awfully obvious on where it lingers, still her touch is dubious, waiting for permission to be granted.

"Fine by me if you wanna go another round," Vi says, just to piss her off a little bit.

"Shut up," Caitlyn says, but it's mostly fondness that soaks her tone.

She peels away the dirty gauze with careful fingers. Vi flinches when the surgical tape rips off the hairs of her stomach, and Caitlyn presses her hand against the angry, red skin around it, whispering sorry. It’s soothing.

A scab of blood has formed around the wound. Vi feels proud of the lack of ripped stitches.

"Told ya."

"You could have ripped them, though," Caitlyn murmurs under her breath.

"But I didn't."

"You were lucky."

"I was horny," Vi says. "Wouldn't have stopped over some stitches. Would you?"

Caitlyn blinks. Blushes and looks down to the new set of bandages, carefully avoidant of Vi's attention.

"It offends me," she starts, pretending to be thinking what to say next, "that you even have to ask."

Caitlyn is nothing but precise and meticulous as she re-bandages the wound, brow furrowed and lips pressed into a tight line like she’s the head surgeon and Vi’s her most beloved patient in the brink of death.

She’s not, really.

But it hurts a little bit.

Still, she puts on the strong face just for her, even though Caitlyn’s the only one able to tell when she’s hurting.

"Show-off," the other woman scolds when Vi tenses her stomach.

"Just making sure my nurse is also having a good time," she says, and winks at her.

Yeah, Vi decides, I could get used to this.

Better yet.

I can get used to this.

//

Steb is seeing someone. Vi can tell.

It's in the way he nods, more politely than usual; the way he shakes hands with an old lady upon taking her statement after her shop was robbed; his mannerisms, his ease while walking down the streets.

She could be subtle about it, yes. But Caitlyn gave her a task, and a very important one at that, so when they're back at the station, uniform half-way unbuttoned as they make their way to the locker room, she makes up her mind and gives it her best shot.

"Cait and I went to an Ionian place on Sunday. Ate way too much."

Some rookie a few steps ahead turns around with a furrowed brow.

Yeah, she wants to say, the girl you call boss? That's my girlfriend and I get to call her whatever I want, so what's your deal?

She brings her attention back to the priority.

Focus.

"They serve big portions, you know? Like, you can order one dish and it's enough for two. Smart, huh? It's cheaper if you want to take someone out on a date. Are you seeing anyone?"

If he happens to be taken aback by her line of inquiry, he doesn't show it.

Instead, he fumbles around the pockets of his pants—for a second there, Vi believes he's about to give her a few cogs to get rid of her annoying ass—and pulls out a key to take his stuff out of the locker. In the process of doing so, he angles the metal door toward her, where she can see a polaroid that's been taped to it.

It's the photo of a man. Dark hair, lots of tattoos, and—fuck, okay, his piercings are cool.

She wonders why Caitlyn even worries about not being able to get along with people. Steb and her could definitely bond over picking up strays.

"That your man?" Vi asks, which is kinda dumb, but she's grown curious to know.

Steb nods, solemn and proud.

She presses her index finger against the polaroid, pointing at the jewerly around the lips.

"What are these called?"

//

Cold fingers come at a stop midway through inspecting the shell of her left ear.

"And this one?" Caitlyn murmurs, still high-off sedatives.

Somebody came by around half an hour ago to turn off the lights—a nurse, probably—so now they're laying down on the hospital bed in a mess of sweaty limbs, and they can't see a thing.

She's got her cheek pressed to Caitlyn's clavicle, which is pointy and bony like the rest of her body is underneath the bandages and the IV connected to her.

"Helix," Vi says, voice hoarse from screaming. A shiver runs through her when Caitlyn's fingers trap her earlobe and squeeze it.

"Oh—are my hands cold? I didn't realize."

"'S fine," Vi says. "For such fancy place you'd think they would provide warmer accomodations."

"They probably do," Caitlyn says, "but I doubt they have stock for so many people at once."

Can't argue against that logic.

"I got it when I was, uh, seventeen, I think?"

"So you did your back piece before that?"

"Only the outline. First one was the one on my cheek."

"Mhm. I like that one," Caitlyn says, words slurred.

As if to make a point, her knuckles graze the skin of her cheekbone.

"I did think it was a six, though," she adds as an afterthought. "When we first met."

Something akin to a smile invades her face, still stained with dried-off tears.

It's been, what, three days?

Mel came to check on them a few hours ago, quietly spoke to Caitlyn about the thought of resigning her seat at the Council. Caitlyn nodded once, slowly as not to make her head hurt, and said she understood.

Someone dragged Vi away for a whole two hours to take an X-ray of her arm, then let her go back to Caitlyn's room with the condition that she kept her sling on.

So now they're here, glued to each other, and rest won't come their way.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, I was utterly confounded. You left quite the impression."

"Ha. Good."

Caitlyn extracts her hand from her shoulder and tries to—

"Don't rub it," she warns.

"It itches."

"You'll make it worse."

"Worse? There's no eye left to make worse," says Caitlyn, and a dark chuckle rises out of her.

"That's macabre."

"It is, isn't it?" she sighs, equal parts tired and miserable. "My dad says I should start looking for a prosthetic."

"Fuck your dad."

"Vi."

"You should do whatever you want," Vi says, and she means it.

Caitlyn's got enough of people telling her what to do and how to react.

And, shit—her dad's not even here.

He's shown up twice and couldn't stay past the hour before he found reason to make himself scarce because he can't stand the thought of looking at his own daughter in the eye long enough to see the resemblance with his wife.

"I feel like mum would have worn an eyepatch," Caitlyn says instead, "were she in my situation. She wasn't fond of foreign devices intervening with her life."

"Scary," Vi reckons. "I mean, your mom would've looked scary. You'd look hot."

"I'll…take that into consideration."

"It would be easier, too, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"You can wear it or, like, not wear it at all. And either is fine. It's a piece of cloth on your face, but it's not as intrusive as the alternative to it."

"Oh," Caitlyn whispers. "I hadn't thought of that. I'm not sure it'd be a pretty sight."

Vi huffs.

"Since when do you care about that?"

Caitlyn shrugs, petulant.

"It could be a lot for anyone, I suppose. To get used to all this stuff about me."

In a way it doesn't feel like she's talking about her eye at all.

If anything, it's an opening. The easy way for Vi to say This is all too much, no thanks, I'm out.

A fancy handkerchief to her sucking wound.

A last-minute audience with the Council.

A barely sorted out plan for a betrayal.

A chance to say yes, a freely given choice, even at the expense of Caitlyn.

This is all too much, yes thanks, I'm in.

"Right," Vi mumbles, mostly coming out muffled from having her mouth pressed to Caitlyn's shoulder. "You just reminded me I only date two-eyed people. Bad luck."

It gets her to giggle—all breathy and high-pitched. Vi does a mental fist bump, proud of herself.

Got her.

"That's certainly a very specific requirement."

"I'm a very specific gal."

Caitlyn's hand returns. Her fingers follow the curve of Vi's eyebrow once, twice, with thoughtfulness.

"That you are, love." 

//

Vi comes back that night with only one thought flooding her mind.

She knows Caitlyn will be at her study because it's almost time for dinner and she never leaves for dinner on her own, not until Vi comes looking for her, and she knows she'll be so out of her element when Vi knocks on the door and instead of entering the room with news about Piltie gossip she bursts in with a totally different discussion to have with her.

But she needs to say it, and so she bursts into the room with little care for knocking and before Caitlyn can even begin interrogating her about her day at work, Vi speaks up.

“Think I wanna get snakebites,” she says.

Caitlyn, pen in hand, freezes in her seat.

“Excuse me?”

“I want to get snakebites,” Vi repeats, now firmer.

If there were gears inside Caitlyn's head, they would be turning right now. Any moment now, smoke will start coming out of her ears with how hard she's frowning.

“You…want to get bitten by a snake?”

“No, they're called snakebites,” says Vi. “It's a piercing on your lips. Both sides.”

She gestures to the edges of her lower lips with her index and middle finger.

Caitlyn blinks.

“I see,” she says, slowly.

There's a cigarette resting in the ashtray. It consumes itself within the silence.

“You don't,” Vi says.

“I don't,” Caitlyn recites.

Vi sits down next to her, side-eyeing the half-written letter.

“It's for Mel,” Caitlyn mumbles, somewhat hesitant. She folds the letter and leaves it aside.

“Ah.”

Vi recalls the day the woman left for Noxus. Going to sleep cradling Caitlyn in her arms and waking up in the middle of the night to a wet patch on her shirt consisting of tears and snot.

Not a word was said the next morning despite Vi’s efforts to bring it up.

“She doing good?”

“Yes, she—she's good. She's alright,” Caitlyn says, softly, distant.

She doesn't want to talk about it.

“But what were you saying?”

“Snakebites,” Vi responds. “That's the name of the piercing.”

“Ah.”

“Yep.”

“And you…want to do them yourself?”

She sounds hesitant, like the thought of Vi near needles and body parts is a hazard to her health.

“I mean, I could,” she says. “But there's that shop we went in the other day, I'm sure they can do it. And, you know, I have a salary, so. What do you think?”

Caitlyn blinks. Frowns.

“What do I think?”

“Yeah,” Vi says. “Big yeah or hard nah?”

“You don't have to ask for permission. It's a matter of want. Do you want it?”

Vi hadn't thought of it like that.

Wanting.

That word that keeps coming up again and again.

“Yeah, I do.”

Caitlyn nods. Looks pleased.

“Well, then. That should settle it. What was the name again?”

“Snakebites,” Vi says. "Steb's boyfriend has them."

Caitlyn's breath hitches.

“Steb’s what?”

//

There's a first time for everything.

First dead parents? Check. First meal after imprisonment? Check. First broken bone? Check. First war fought less than three weeks ago? Check.

First failed attempt at sex while recovering from fucking up her arm? Also check.

"It looks like a cat to me," Caitlyn says, and points down at a weird figure drawn on the puzzle magazine she's been keen on completing since both of them got benched from duty until recovery.

They have their backs pressed to the headboard of the bed, and as much as Vi wants to finish her bowl of Jericho's—which she's taking ages to eat since, well, she's got one arm trapped in a sling—, she's also a tiny bit curious about the crossword's clues.

There's a pile of finished ones, which counts up to four puzzle magazines, and Vi's come to learn that if Caitlyn asks for a second opinion on this, it means it's some serious shit. Last time she almost went cross-eyed trying to figure out the five differences between two pictures.

"That's a mongoose," Vi deadpans, trying to keep her face as blank as possible.

Caitlyn frowns. Looks back at the drawing, then at the crossword. Counts the number of letters, murmurs That can't be right, and counts them again.

"It can't be, it says—" she stops. Her face breaks into annonyance, and Vi knows the only reason she doesn't roll her eye is because it makes her headache worse. "Oh, hilarious."

The glare that accompanies it makes Vi's mouth split into a grin so wide her cheeks hurt.

Caitlyn seems taken aback for a brief moment before she masks her expression into something neutral, and it makes Vi realize that it's been a while since that happened; a smile so big and so genuine it makes her forget of the thing.

Sometimes I'll forget about it for like, a few hours, Vi had whispered during a sleepless night, and then I remember, and it makes me feel like an asshole. She died for me and I'm here, getting over it. Barely a month has passed.

Maybe the hard part is accepting that, at some point, you'll get over it, Caitlyn had said in return, her voice distant as if submerged in her own memories, and it won't be a bad thing; it won't make you an arsehole for it.

"Why, thanks," Vi says, slightly timid now. "I try very hard to be."

"I can tell," says Caitlyn. There's a tightness to her lips that comes from trying to restrain a smile, and her eye glues back to the crossword.

She's got her serious face on, which combined with the scarily fluffy bathrobe she's wearing—and the flipflops that look like they belonged to her grandma—make her look like an angry marshmellow.

She's the hottest sight to be benched with.

Vi wants to eat her out.

Like, right now.

She keeps a low profile; lean down a bit, rest her fucked up arm on top of the hundreds of pillows, stick out her hips to the side so she can fully face her in all her glory (heart-pattern boxers and a tank top). Caitlyn side-eyes her, but keeps scribbling words on the page.

All nice and subtle, charisma kept intact save for the stupid sling and the matching pair of flipflops, which—whatever.

Raising up her chin, "Hey."

Caitlyn pays little attention to the tone. Or the flirty eyebrows.

"Hey," she says back, flatly. "It was a meerkat."

Her brain malfunctions for a bit.

She's got her eyes fixed on the way Caitlyn's neck tenses every time she swallows.

What do meerkats have to do with that?

"What?"

"The animal; it was a meerkat, I was wrong. Although they could've bothered to do a more accurate portrait," Caitlyn mumbles reluctantly.

That tone alone would provoke anyone with two working braincells.

"You should file a complain," Vi says, huskily. "Consumer defense or something."

Caitlyn huffs, fondly. "Don't be silly."

"Yeah, so silly," Vi echoes, her good hand making its way toward the hem of her bathrobe, lifting it up just a tad to caress her thigh, fingertips tracing random patterns.

She clings to her neck next, lips sealed on that spot where her jaw and her ear meet, sighing into her skin with relief. Caitlyn's breath hitches, caught right before her tongue, and she makes a weird noise—a whine, Vi thinks; the type she does when she's caught off-guard—before she melts into the touch.

Her hand travels higher, fumbling with her fingers in search for her underwear beneath the robe.

What she finds instead makes her chuckle.

"Was this your plan all along?"

She murmurs the question against Caitlyn's cheek, lips curling, and the other woman balks in response.

"I beg your pardon? I—do you know how hard it is to put undergarments on when your depth perception is all wrong? I figured there was no point to it."

Mhm. Fair, she supposes.

"Lucky me, then," Vi grunts, tugging at the string of the robe to reveal porcelain skin sprinkled with moles.

"You're a horn dog," Caitlyn says, but she sounds breathless.

Far from being a critique, it's an appreciation.

Careful to avoid the gauze around the wound of her stomach, she latches her mouth just below her navel, sticking out her tongue to taste the trails of warm water and soap.

The motion destabilises her, and she has to rearange her upper body in order to lean most of her weight on her good shoulder.

Caitlyn giggles at her.

"You look like a snake having a stroke," she says, breathless.

"Shut up," Vi mumbles, and goes back to sucking on a spot close to her hipbone.

This is heaven. Vi could stay here, in this exact position, for eternity and be grateful for it.

That is, until Caitlyn jolts out of her body.

"Shit," she hisses.

Vi looks up at her, and she's got one hand pressed to her side, vexed.

"Cait?"

"I't's just—this bloody thing," she says, words soaked in irritation. "Every time I tense up too much, the stitches pull at my skin."

She stares at the gauze and thinks Fuck.

"Fuck, sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"It's alright, love. I'm alright."

By the look on her face, it doesn't seem to be alright.

"Raincheck?" Vi suggests, already retreating.

Caitlyn plummets into the mattress like Vi just told her to go sleep on the couch.

"You can't do this to me," she murmurs, and sounds far too pained for Vi to not feel a little bit guilty.

"I'm a jerk."

"A massive jerk," Caitlyn agrees, closing her eye.

"I'll make it up to you once you're feeling better. I promise."

"Hm. I'm holding you to that."

As quick as it comes, guilt vanishes, replaced instead by the hopeful promise of a second chance.

They've got all the time in the world now.

And ain't that something to look forward to.

//

There’s a slight difference to her appearance, now that Vi sees herself in the mirror. Her flesh is swollen around the freshly-pierced skin below her lips, and she puffs her chest with a mix of pride and conviction.

Her feet padding through the carpeted floor, she walks up to Caitlyn’s side on the bed and taps her shoulder rather insistently. Caitlyn, dressed in her dark robe and fuzzy socks, lifts up her gaze from the book that’s open on her lap.

Vi wriggles her eyebrows a little bit, just for emphasis.

"Thoughts?" Vi asks, like Caitlyn hasn't witnessed the entire process of getting them done, and already approved.

Caitlyn’s nostrils flare. Her eye turns black and void of light.

"And prayers," she sighs, far too pleased with the sight in front of her. "It suits you."

Vi's not sure she's even paying attention to the jewelry with the way her gaze wanders. 

Damn, woman.

Is this how stuffed chicken feel when they're about to be devoured?

"Did it tickle your fancy?"

Caitlyn doesn’t even blink. Give them a whole year of cohabitation and bam—desensitized to anything Vi can say to throw her off.

"Anything that makes you more unapologetically you ‘tickles my fancy’," Caitlyn states, and closes her book with finality.

And—well, seems like Vi’s the one being thrown off by what Caitlyn has to say. Her face grows warmer, quite abruptly.

Get it together. ‘S just Cait.

Every inch of bravado seems to fly out the window the moment this girl enters the picture.

It’s just…weird. Good weird, to be precise; the fact that Caitlyn enjoys seeing her thrive in her skin like it directly affects her.

"Didn't think you'd like the piercing that much," she jokes, just to alleviate some of the pressure in her chest. 

The vertigo makes a comeback even though she’s standing on stable ground. 

Huh.

"It's not just the piercing," Caitlyn says. "It's you, Vi. You look more and more like yourself these days. I like that."

"Yeah, me too," Vi says, because she does, too.

She thinks back to that word. So simple, yet so encompassive. 

Want.

Vi hadn't thought of it before; the things she wants.

What a waste of a thought that would be, in any other context. Scrapping for food with three younger kids on her watch, thinking she could somehow pull them out of that shithole.

She used to not have time for all of this. 

What a waste of a thought. And yet Caitlyn encourages her down that path.

Huh.

"I wanted it," she says, coming out more honest than she'd intended. "I didn't know I did until I got them done."

Caitlyn smiles, complicit with herself and only herself. Leaves her book aside to stand up and gently kiss Vi's cheek, careful to avoid the silver pieces.

"Good, then," Caitlyn says. "Means there's more from where that came from."

//

The first time she sees Ekko after the war, they have tea.

Just like their conversation, it takes her by surprise.

"Why?" Vi asks as he pours the tea into two tiny cups. One's slightly cheaped at the edge, and she picks that one.

The Noxian army withdrew two weeks ago, leaving a broken city behind. Caitlyn's stay at the hospital lasted about five days before she demanded to be transferred to her home; she has a nurse now, an old woman with little patience for Caitlyn's outbursts of productivity.

I lost an eye, not my mental faculties. I have work to do.

"Heimer liked it," he says, dragging another chair and sitting in front of her. "Thought I'd…honor him. Tastes like shit, though."

Vi spies the dry leaves floating around the warm water.

The room is small—she guesses it must be Ekko's, since it's at the top of the tree and it's got little furniture save for a bed and his working table, where his broken hoverboard lies. The space is lit by a single lamp on the holder.

He looks tired. It feels like looking at a mirror; chapped lips, sore limbs, fractured soul.

"How did you make it?"

He scratches the crown of his head, at a lost.

"Uh, kinda mixed a bunch of stuff together."

Vi swallows past the sip of tea.

"Yeah," she says, voice raspy. "I can tell."

He grimaces, not really sorry for it.

"It was his thing, really. Never asked for the recipe," he says. "Shit, never expected to need it."

"It's okay," Vi trails off, clearing her throat. "It's the thought that matters, right?"

He drums two fingers against his cup. Huffs, as if remembering something. 

"Heard something funny the other day," he starts, but nothing in his voice denotes he finds it amusing at all. "A Councilor's daughter giving up her seat to one of Silco's goons. Ring any bells?"

Vi gives him A Look.

"It's the thought that matters, no?" Ekko mocks.

"If you told me to come here to convince me to try and talk her out of it, it's useless. She made up her mind."

"Sevika, Vi. Sevika."

"The seat is hers," Vi says. "Belongs to her House, whatever. We talked, she said she thinks it's a good idea—that Sevika's got what it takes to be in a room full of morons and manage to come out on top, and that the Council needs someone like her. I didn't…entirely disagree with that logic. And even if I did, do you know how hard it is to get her to change her mind once she becomes obssesed with something?"

Ekko raises his eyebrows. Silent question back at her.

"Pretty sure it's easy to picture the idea," he says. "Does she plan on getting those banners down any time soon?"

Vi does chuckle at that.

"Probably the lowest item in her to-do list," she tells him. "Says she's not hiding from it."

Ekko's eyes travel all the way down to her belt, where her leather badge rests.

"Got that in common, then."

It's neither accusatory or critical. Doesn't sound pleased, but Vi wasn't expecting a hug and a well done card.

"She laughs at the thought of coming down here one day and crossing paths with someone angry enough to make her eat shit—thinks it's really no big deal, that she'll take it like a champ and just go on about her business," Vi says, absently. "Kinda hard to get her to understand that the people who know you, the ones that recognize your face when you pass by, don't really do that; they spit on the ground, close to your shoes, and call it a day. No one really wastes that much of their time. You're up to date, who told you?"

"Scar," Ekko says.

Vi hums. "Were you surprised?"

He wouldn't be the first to be. Hell, Vi herself used to see her reflection in the mirror and wonder how the fuck she got here.

Ekko's gaze fixes on his mug.

"So many things have happened. Even before I went…" Ekko says, mournful. "Maybe when we were kids I would've fought you for it, say you were in the wrong."

"And now?"

"Now? I'd say it's not surprising at all."

It's probably the less likely response she expected to hear from him, and it makes her frown.

"Why?"

"You've always been like that. Loyal to a fault. You sticked up to it, even after all these years, and you chose the side where someone awaits for you at the end of the day. Vi, I—I can't say I blame you for it. You've changed; happens to the best of us."

He sounds, on top of anything else, honest.

Heat creeps up the back of her neck. Feels her ears go red, somewhat embarrased, because she came here half an hour ago bracing up for reluctant understanding, and here she is now, being offered acceptance.

She thinks of Caitlyn's smile. The first real smile she managed to get out of her, right here: they were sitting next to each other, in front of the mural, and Caitlyn had asked about every single face painted in that tree. Vi had told her everything—the dumb jokes, the pranks, the family dinners—and Caitlyn smiled like all of it was spectacular.

"It wasn't like that at first," she says instead, because it's something she never had the chance to tell anyone before. "I had to wear it, because of…"

Ekko stares at her. Nods, like he can't bear to hear her name, too.

Too soon, to quick.

"We had to find her, and I wanted to help somehow. She'd gone too far, and I thought I was—that I had to answer for that."

She swallows past the knot in her throat.

"Even after all the chasing and the fights, we…gravitated towards each other again, and I know I would've been loyal to her, too, had she let me. I chose a side, but I didn't want it to mean that I can't cross that bridge."

When he speaks next, he sounds far wiser than Vi's ever heard him.

"Sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving things behind," he says. "She understood that, and she gave you the choice, willingly. Don't waste it over feeling guilty."

Her eyes turn liquid, and she presses the back of her hand to her nose, sniffing. Then, feeling far too tired of crying, she lets out a watery laugh.

"Kinda hard not to," she drags out, voice wavering.

He rests his hand on top of hers, and squeezes.

"Take it from someone that fought those demons for way too long," he says, "it takes practice. At some point, you have to get used to letting good things come to you."

She squeezes his hand back.

"Even if they come in less than ideal packages," he murmurs.

"I'll tell her you said that," Vi says. "She'll be happy to know you don't actually dislike her that much."

He clicks his tongue. Rolls his eyes.

"I don't have the time to hate people," he says. "I'm an adult."

"You're nineteen."

"So?"

Vi thinks of all the attempts it took for Caitlyn to convince her to even ponder the possibility of Sevika being a Councilor.

"I have my vendettas, still. And I'm twenty-three."

"Grandma."

"Watch it."

"That's because you hold on to things," Ekko says. "Told you: it's in your nature."

Vi smiles at him. After a moment, she looks at the clock on the wall and rises to her feet.

"I should be going. Oh, Cait told me to let you guys know they're doing a memorial thing next Friday at the bridge, if you want to go. I can get her to send you the details, but there's a public announcement going around too."

Ekko shakes his head.

"Not for me," he says, and he sounds…peaceful. "I need to do it alone."

Vi shrugs.

She's not going, either.

"Shame," she says. "You'll miss her speech."

"I think I'll survive."

//

They're sitting next to each other in Caitlyn's study, and the screen of the family archive machine stares right back at them.

Leader of House Kiramman hereby officially announces the cessation of its activities in the Council, transferring ownership of the representative seat to—

"Word salad," Caitlyn says, self-deprecating.

"Eh," Vi grimaces. "It's a little…"

"Pretentious?"

"I was aiming for excessive."

"Excuse me?"

"It sounds like you're addressing royalty, or something. It's Sevika."

"Am I not supposed to grant her the courtesy of addressing her with respect?"

"I mean," she rubs the back of her neck, "you took her arm out of commission."

"She stabbed you."

"I think we're past formalities, is what I mean," Vi supplies, plainly.

Caitlyn sips her tea, and clears her throat.

"It's a contract," she starts, slowly, "between my House and her, not me and her. And I need it to be crystal clear."

"What's not to be clear about it? You're giving her the seat. Seems pretty transparent to me."

"I just—I don't want this to be seen as some…move to clear my image," Caitlyn murmurs.

Vi blinks. Stares at the woman right next to her, still supposedly on leave from almost dying, sitting here instead of resting in bed, dressed like a manor-haunting ghost in her fancy pajamas.

This is the fourth draft of the document, and she's still hell-bent on rewriting it until it sounds right. It's three in the morning and Vi knows they're not going to bed any time soon.

"No one's gonna pat you on the back for it, that's for sure," she says. And then: "Why do you think people will see it as that?"

"She had a nice choice of words for me when I first offered her the position."

"Mhm. Shoving it up your ass isn't going to fix things."

"That's what I told her," Caitlyn agrees. "But it's not particularly easy to get my point across when the approach I was aiming for was making amends, and the idea she had for me was that I set foot within her shooting range and wait for a dart to hit me. I'll make an educated guess and assume the feeling is collective."

"She can say no for all I care," Vi says, shrugging. "But she knows as well as you do that this is our best chance at keeping a foot inside the Council."

"Our only chance. I'm not handing this to any of Silco's associates; I trust her, and only her."

Caitlyn's eye travels all the way up to the golden clock on the wall, and she sighs.

"You're probably tired," she says, and sounds exhausted herself. "I can finish this on my own, love."

"Bullshit," Vi scoffs. "You asked for my help, I'm staying here until we figure it out. What's the problem with this one?"

"It's just—it sounds so…me."

Vi frowns.

"What do you mean?"

"The image of me," Caitlyn corrects, puckered mouth. "Posh. Piltie."

Vi thinks back to the posters of her face plastered all around Zaun.

Bet she talks like a fucking princess, some drunkard had said one night, way before Vi stopped winning all those fights and started seeing her in dreams.

She's a rookie who got herself quite a position for a first job. Talk about nepotism at its finest.

Who even let a twelve year old in charge of running the city?

It's hard to see the resemblance between the two; the woman on the poster with her fake smile and her chin up, and the shell of a person sitting next to her, rachitic and pale from all the antibiotics.

How easy it is, for those starved for power, to plaster the face of someone else across the city and expect them to be part of the play.

I wanted to be fooled, Caitlyn whispered once, face pressed against her pillow with shame. It's why it worked, isn't it? The seed was there.

It's never as easy as that, Vi had said in return, one hand tangled in her hair, scratching her scalp. You can't dwell on the what-ifs forever; at some point, you start looking forward to get things right. You learn and you do better.

Caitlyn pinches the crease where her eyebrows meet her nose.

"I think I just need to detatch myself from it. Look at it from a different perspective," she says.

Perspective, she can do perspective.

"Okay," Vi says, gets up from her chair and picks up her jacket. "Get up, we're going out."

Caitlyn, dressed in silk and fur slippers, rises from her place without question and obediently follows her through the halls of the manor, all the way to the front gate, where she picks up her boots, and further.

She sticks like glue to Vi's side as they walk their toward the bridge, hands securely intertwined, and her teeth chatter from the wind that hisses right at their faces.

"Look that way," Vi says, pointing with her index finger at the other side of the river. "What do you see?"

"Uhm. Zaun, I suppose?" Caitlyn side-eyes her like there's supposed to be a secret answer she's not aware of.

"Look this way. Do you see your house from here?"

Caitlyn searches for the blue roof that sticks out in the horizon. Nods.

"Yes, I see it."

"I come from there," she gestures at the opposite side of the bridge, then at the house, "you come from there."

The other woman nods again, dutifully.

"I thought you talked funny on purpose when we first met," Vi says.

"I don't talk funny."

"Not the point. I thought you talked funny because, where I come from, people don't speak the way you do—and it's not a bad thing. You probably thought I spoke like, I don't know, a thug."

"I didn't."

"And where you come from, people don't talk the way I do. And it's whatever," Vi says, "but not for one second did I doubt that you were honest about wanting to do the right thing. You do things your way and it gets the message across. If Sevika's response to your contract is a grunt and a fine sure, it's still getting the message across. It's not a word salad if that's how you were taught to do things, and if formality matters to you when it comes to this, don't shy away from it."

Caitlyn looks down at their intertwined fingers.

"I do need her to sign it," she mumbles, petulant. "An affirmative grunt won't seal it."

"Okay. We'll get to a middle ground about it, but that's only going to be possible if you send her the document first. I'll be the first to tell you that she'll say yes, even if it's written like you're addressing royalty. It's not a scheme to absolve yourself, and it takes someone ten seconds to see that reflected in what you're doing, you get me?"

"Yes," Catlyn says, gaze fixed on the ground.

"Good," Vi says. "Then let's go back and print it out."

She turns around, ready to head back home. A hand tugs at the collar of her shirt; a pair of lips meet hers. Sometimes it's so easy to read her, to the point Vi knew it was coming before Caitlyn even made up her mind about it.

Caitlyn sighs into the kiss. It's a mix of relief and fondness.

They separate after a moment, and she loosens her grip on the hem of Vi's shirt.

"Thank you," she says, and sounds far too grateful for it to be poured into any other words.

The trip back home is silent. She takes a peek at Caitlyn's face—smooth skin above her eyebrows, where a scowl had once made itself present—and she feels…useful. Like she's done something right.

Best feeling in the world.

//

One night, Caitlyn comes back home with a non-descriptive black box in her hands.

The box is neither too big or too small, and apart from the tag that reads For: Kiramman, C. it's not very telling of its contents. What is telling is Caitlyn's face, split into a tight, mischievious grin that soaks into her every movement, from closing the door with her hip, to walking up to Vi in long strides like she's in a hurry to get there.

As interesting as it might be, no fantasy book can stand a chance against a cheeky Caitlyn Kiramman. She leaves the book aside on the nightstand, for later.

"What are you up to, cupcake?"

"I came across this wonderful shop this evening," Caitlyn says in lieu of response. "Are you familiar with straps?"

"Uh—" Vi gulps.

Way to open the conversation.

"As familiar as a second-cousin."

Caitlyn's eye narrows, confused.

"Neither of us has second-cousins. Or cousins at all, for that matter."

"Precisely," Vi says. "I know the…theory of it."

"Oh," Caitlyn blinks. "Well, then. Would you be interested in putting that knowledge into practice?"

Vi looks down at the box, then back at Caitlyn.

She keeps tapping the box with her fingertips. Eager.

"Did you just bought one without knowing whether I'd want to try it or not?"

Caitlyn huffs, far too amused.

"Oh, please," she says, eye-rolling. "You dropped that book the second I came through the door and you keep bending and straightening your left leg. You're turned on."

Vi looks down at her bent leg and—shit.

Since when is Caitlyn able to get a read on her before Vi even realizes it herself?

"Okay, got me," Vi says. "Show me that."

They move to the bathroom, and she inspects the leather harness with open curiosity, trying to picture how the fuck she's supposed to get this on with so many straps without looking like an idiot while wearing it.

"You won't," says Caitlyn like it's that easy.

Which, of course, for her it is that easy, considering her only task right now consists of standing next to Vi in front of the mirror, ogling at her.

She took her uniform off a few minutes ago, changing into her robe only to not get too cold while she waits. Apart from that, Vi's only one layer away from getting a go at sucking her tits. Her eyepatch is nowhere to be found.

"I feel like a construction worker about to climb my way up the side of a building with this," Vi says, side-eyeing the instructions that come with the package.

"You look fine to me," Caitlyn says and oh—there's that look on her face.

Vi has two seconds left to figure this out before Caitlyn jumps at her. No pressure.

"There, all done."

Caitlyn walks up to her, dildo in hand, and passes it over for Vi to put it in place with the same casualness she hands over paperwork at the station.

"Rite of passage, feels like," she mumbles.

"A very sentimental moment," Caitlyn says, amused.

They move back to their bed, and Caitlyn's already pulling the strings of her robe free, smoothly lying down against the headboard and opening her legs in invitation, skin full of goosebumps.

"Woah," Vi says, crawling her way to her, gripping one thigh and going up up up until she's massaging her ass. Her hand stays trapped in between the flesh of her rear and the bedsheets, but who cares.

"See something you like?" Caitlyn whispers, pleased.

She pretends to think about it for a second, just for good measure.

"I see someone," Vi says, "very hot. And very wet," she adds the observation as her eyes go down the path of blue bush.

"Perceptive."

"Very," Vi says, hovering on top of her until she's settled in between her legs. To hell with her dick getting smashed in the process.

She latches onto one nipple with her mouth wide open to let room for her tongue, making Caitlyn sigh in delight. She sucks and licks like she's the one getting off of it, and Caitlyn has to grab her hair and pull her away for Vi to remember what they came here to do.

It would be easy to just raise her legs and sink into her, but Vi's grown gluttonous over time, and she wants something else.

"Can I roll you over?"

Caitlyn's eye turns pitch-black.

"I've no idea," she says. "Can you?"

Which, in their terms, means yes, please.

"You're really bossy tonight," Vi says, already rolling her onto her stomach.

The sight of her back—slightly arched to accentuate the curve of her ass—, like the rest of her, is breathtaking. Blue hair falls like a cascade and Vi has to take a deep breath and pull herself together.

"Considering you tend to get side-tracked," murmurs Caitlyn, face pressed to her favorite pillow, "maybe I should get more authorative."

Vi kisses the line of her spine, taking her time to make a point. Caitlyn shivers.

"You talk big about getting authorative, yet I'm the one fucking you," she says into her ear, slightly grinding her strap against her ass.

"Actions," Caitlyn says, matter-of-factly, "outweight statements."

Vi chuckles.

Talk about needing to win the argument every single time.

She picks up another pillow from the bunch and pats her ass to get her to raise her hips a bit, squeezing it there. Caitlyn rises to her elbows to stare at her, defiant.

Coating the strap in lube, she strokes herself over a few times. It makes her limbs tingle, blissful and ecstatic.

Feels good. Feels really good.

Feels concerningly good.

She aligns herself to Caitlyn's entrance and presses, slowly, testing her reaction. Caitlyn groans, which translates to Finally. Her grip on the bedsheets tighten, and her forehead falls flat on the mattress.

This is, ideally, the moment where she gets to wring out all the humanly-possible noises from her—moans, grunts, sighs, whimpers.

Unfortunately, all Vi can think right now is:

Don't bust, don't bust, don't bust.

She's about to go cross-eyed from how good it feels, and Caitlyn's probably still waiting for her to bottom out, which is not happening any time soon if they both want this to last longer than ten seconds.

She leans down until her chest and tummy are pressed against Caitlyn's back, and she hooks her arms under her armpits to intertwine their fingers together. Only then does she thrust all the way in.

The grunt that comes out of her throat sounds far too relieved for Caitlyn to look past it.

"Are you alright?" Caitlyn pants.

Vi shoves her nose into the mess of blue hair and resists the urge to bite her neck.

"Yeah, 's just—"

Nothing else comes out, and she dares to arch her back to thrust again, almost like she's humping her ass.

She does it again. And again.

"Địt," Caitlyn slips out.

Happens, sometimes; starts mixing Ionian words when pleasure overrides coherence.

That thought alone disarms her.

Warmth floods the pit of her stomach, and she whimpers, movements growing uncoordinated. White spots appear behind her eyes and she slows down after a few moments, catching her breath.

She prepares to die here, hugging Caitlyn from behind, strap still inside her, until a quiet giggle breaks through the fog.

"Did you just…?"

Vi huffs. She's pretty sure ninety percent of her pride has vanished into thin air.

"Where did you get this, again?" Vi asks, slowly pulling out. Her legs tremble.

Caitlyn rolls over and gets a good look at her.

"I assure you this is a plain strap-on," Caitlyn says, and seals the deal on the death of her ego. "That was all you."

She chuckles once, twice. No way she can make fun of Caitlyn for being precocious ever again.

"Damn," Vi whispers. "Can I eat you up to make it up to you?"

Caitlyn smiles, and it's wide and big, like this was her plan all along. She grabs Vi's face and kisses her, sighing into her mouth.

"You can do whatever you want to me," she murmurs happily.

And—well.

Vi doesn't need to be told twice.

//

Sometimes it is all about the stupid questions.

Those that are asked in the middle of the night, hot bodies intertwining under the bedsheets, whispered words of curiosity. If Vi moves her feet a little bit to the left, she'll probably kick the strap-on out of the bed.

Whatever.

"Alright," Caitlyn says, and does a little sway with her hips to get settled. "Uhm, first…?"

"Kiss you already asked," Vi provides, just in case.

"I know," Caitlyn whispers, rolling her eye. "First awkward sexual encounter, maybe? Is that too juvenile?"

"First time, you mean? Or, like, first time things went awkward?"

"The latter."

Vi tries to come up with something. Goes through a thorough search in her memories.

She barks out a laugh. "Yeah, I got one. You know how I told you sometimes you could trade things up with other inmates?"

Caitlyn nods.

"I had magazines," Vi says, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Porn," Caitlyn supplies, proof that she's paid attention to previous stories.

"Had a bunch of them, so I traded two for a bar of soap. I was seeing this girl at the time, she was a little bit older—anyway, she was nice, we were showering, and we said fuck it, no one's gonna pay attention if we rub one out together. Everyone did it anyways. But I forgot about the soap."

Caitlyn lets out a tiny gasp, like she's already solved where this is going.

"I droped it on the floor to pick it up later, but I wasn't paying attention to it while we were, you know," she does a motion with her fingers. "At some point I stepped on it by accident and went flying across the shower stall. I split my head open."

"Did it scar?" Caitlyn inquires, concerned.

Vi reaches for her hand and guides it to her nape. Caitlyn's fingers touch the scar, gently. Her face twists.

"Goodness," she whispers, awed. "I never noticed."

"My hair hides it pretty well," Vi says. "Satisfied?"

"I suppose so," Caitlyn says. "I was going to tell you mine, but I'm afraid it lacks severity in comparison with yours."

"Tell me."

"I farted," Caitlyn says, voice deeply affected.

Vi chuckles, confused.

Restrains from saying, That's happened between us and it's not a big deal.

"In her face. She was eating me out, and I farted in her face."

Oh.

She has to pull out every ounce of strength in her body in order to stop herself from bursting out laughing.

Still, it's not enough. Her eyes fill up with tears the same way the room fills up with the sound of her giggles. Caitlyn's face turns beet red.

"Don't laugh," Caitlyn chastises. "I was mortified."

Vi wipes her cheek. "It's a wonderfull story. I'll remember it forever."

"I can't forget," Caitlyn murmurs, somber.

"Now I'm jealous it's never happened with me."

The other woman rolls her eye. "Gods—if that ever happens, I'll pack my bags and leave this city."

"What did she even do? I wanna try," Vi says.

Caitlyn deflates. "It wasn't even that good, I had just drank milk for breakfast and it upset my stomach."

Vi smiles in sympathy. "So that was before you discovered you were intolerant?"

"Precisely," she says. "Your turn."

"Let me think," Vi hums. "Best orgasm ever."

"Before you, I assume?"

"Obviously."

"Did you know a Piltovan brand of vibrators used to be powered by Hextech? There's your answer."

"Ha! No shit?"

"Yes. I passed out."

"Woah."

Caitlyn nods, very pleased with her anecdote. "You?"

Vi bits her lower lip, thoughtful.

"I'm not sure it counts, since it's not before you, but more like without you."

Caitlyn frowns.

"When?"

"I tried the trick you told me about. The one with the detachable shower head. You were right."

"I often am," Caitlyn says, smugly. "Oh, I have another question."

"Shoot," Vi says, instantly.

"Something I don't know about you. It can be anything."

"Uhm," Vi murmurs. "Yep, I got one."

"I'm listening."

"I don't think I've told you before, but me and my siblings used to go on 'jobs', sort of. We'd get tips from someone close to us and steal stuff to sell it down in The Lanes. It wasn't precisely aboveboard, so don't tell anyone," Vi says, winking.

Caitlyn huffs. "Oh, please. You could nuke this city to pieces and I would find a way to let you get away with it."

"Thanks, cupcake," Vi says, and kisses her cheek, because she's got good manners. "So, one of those jobs, the biggest one we did, was here in Piltover. A scientist's apartment."

Caitlyn frowns. Not her interesting-tell-me-more frown, but more like her I'm-piecing-things-together frown.

"Go on," she says.

"Ekko was the one to tell us, actually. A guy had gone to Benzo's shop and Ekko followed him all the way up Topside, then gave us the address. We went there, filled one bag with a bunch of stuff. Would've gotten away with it, if it weren't for the explosion."

Caitlyn's eyebrows go up.

"The explosion?"

"Yeah," Vi says, shrugging. "Whole place blew up. Worst part was that we didn't even get to keep the sutff, but that's a different story."

She looks at Caitlyn, who's gone quiet. Caitlyn sits up, looking back at Vi, speechless.

"So that was you," she says, a mix of accusation and surprise.

"Uh—yeah?" Vi says, dubious. She's not feeling particularly guilty of what she's being accused of, considering they're still naked and Caitlyn's tits are staring right at her.

"You robbed the apartment and caused the explosion?"

"Ah, it's a little more complicated than that," Vi scratches the back of her neck. "What, you heard about it?"

Caitlyn huffs, eye wide, like she's going nuts.

"Heard about it? My mother banned me from going out for a month after Jayce's apartment blew up with me inside the building."

Vi blinks. Blinks again.

Then, shit.

"Shit," she says, sitting up, too. "Shit"

"Likewise."

"Shit. You're for real?"

"Hundred percent."

"Were you hurt?" Vi asks. It's the first thing she can think of.

Caitlyn softens, shoulders falling. Chuckles.

"I was fine, mostly shocked. You're rather lucky Jayce never found out it was you; he would've kicked your butt."

Vi smiles, sheepish.

"Sorry for that," she says.

Caitlyn takes a deep breath. In and out.

"Gods, I—I can't believe you were there," she murmurs, amazed. "I can't imagine..."

Caitlyn lies back against the headboard, and Vi follows. Thin fingers intertwine with hers. Fingertips caress her knuckles, lost in thought.

"Do you think I would've been able to befriend you, back then?" Caitlyn inquires, somewhat amused.

At that, she does bark out a laugh.

"Probably not. I was angry all the time, not really friend material. Plus, I had to take care of Powder. I didn't have time for friends."

It makes her think back to that time.

All the ways she had to restrain herself from walking up to a pretty girl because she had to look after her siblings.

Whatever happens, it's on you.

"In a way, I'm glad we didn't met at that time," she says, because it's the truth.

"Oh," Caitlyn mutters, crestfallen. "Why?"

Shrugging, "I had my mind made up about what I was responsible for. Even if I liked you, I don't think I would've allowed myself to want you. Not like I do now."

Caitlyn exhales. Her head falls on Vi's shoulder almost naturally.

"You sound relieved," Vi teases, grinning at her.

"Frankly, I was on the verge of feeling offended," Caitlyn admits. "But you defended your case. And I agree, for that matter."

"Huh. Seriously?"

Caitlyn shrugs. Brings their joined hands close to her belly.

"Of course. It's hard for—everyone, really, to rebel against the box you've been put into. I can't imagine how hard it must've been for you, of all people, to let that part of you go. To start wanting things that don't align with what you were taught to choose for yourself."

Vi's ears go red, and her hair does half the job of keeping them out of sight. She tries to shrug it off, but the moment she looks down at Caitlyn, smiling all soft and gentle, Vi realizes she's not going anywhere.

Damn the stupid questions for leading to the deep questions. Those that make her feel too raw, and too exposed.

Vi nudges her head. "Hey, you should take half the credit for that, then."

"Me? What for?"

"You were the first thing that I really wanted," Vi says, honestly. "So, there's that."

Caitlyn looks up at her. Piercing gaze that weakens Vi's already-feeble heart, worsely amplified when Caitlyn dares to kiss her knuckles, one by one.

"Good to know," she murmurs, right into Vi's clavicle.

Vi rests her head on top of Caitlyn's. Blue hair tickles her cheek, and she looks down at their hands, still tangled.

Caitlyn hums in return. "It's my turn."

"What was the question, again?"

"Something you don't know about me."

"Oh, okay. Shoot."

"I'm proud of you," she says, and those words fly straight into Vi's ribcage. "In case you weren't aware of that part of me."

She thinks of their first conversation. Their first hug. Their first kiss. So many of those firsts that are yet to come.

All the ways Caitlyn's been persistent with her, same way Vi is for her. The number of times Caitlyn's kept her from drinking one more glass, fighting one more round against the punchbag in the basement of the manor.

Those sleepless nights where Caitlyn kept her promise of trying to do things better. Every audience, every document, every meeting. All those times she went to Vi in search for guidance.

That trip, not too long ago, to that piercing shop. The mental list of questions regarding cicatrisation that Caitlyn had asked the piercer while Vi had obediently sat down, waiting.

She can't think of anything else to say but,

"Hey," she reckons, "I'm proud of you, too."