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Be still, she tells her heart, but it is as effective as pleading the flame of a burning candle not to flicker and sway in place.
She brings the enforcer’s hand closer to her face, in a tender, yet strong-willed pull. Her lips are close enough to feel the heat of Caitlyn’s skin, nearly kissing it.
“I'm really tired,” Vi declares to the tension around them, unsure if her words reached far enough for Caitlyn to hear them on the opposite side of her.
“We can sleep,” the topsider answers, skipping a few beats of silence.
Until Caitlyn answered her, Vi wasn't aware of the question left unsaid in her statement. After all, she had just asked Caitlyn permission to fall asleep here, and Caitlyn had caught the uneasiness in the girl’s tone.
Vi could wonder if Caitlyn recognized her discomfort by being here in her bed like this. She could think about the reason why she snuck her into her house in the first place. She could think about the meaning behind this stroke on her cheek, the way she had raised an arm protectively around Vi to catch her sister’s bullets, the way she had looked at her after they hugged and right before Vi reluctantly turned her back on her for what she thought would be the last time.
She could think about all of it – but her mind’s consciousness is slowly escaping her in a bed that’s far too warm, far too cozy, and into a dream that’s far from here.
She vaguely remembers the pink and orange hues in the room before dozing off, but her eyes struggle to make sense of the bright rays of sunlight upon waking up. Vi needs a moment to remember her location and it comes back to her in quick flashes – Caitlyn staring at her with those big, gorgeous blue eyes of hers, feeling the comforting warmth of her hand around hers with the scents of the flowers surrounding them.
That wasn’t a dream.
Before she can process the absence of the other woman next to her, her eyes zero in on a pile of clothes with a little note neatly sat atop it.
Please change into these clothes and put your dirty laundry in the bag underneath. And please, don’t go anywhere – C.
She can practically hear her fancy enunciation through the somehow even fancier handwriting, and it makes her smile.
Leaving this room doesn’t sound particularly alluring, yet every part of her being is compelled to escape. This instinct lives within the bounds of her core, intrinsically linked to past experiences that have shaped her into who she is now. It’s what she does. She flees when things get too complicated, too messy, too real. She abandons, she grieves, she loses, and she lets the consequences sit and fester around her like an infected wound.
It’s what she does.
She glances towards the window they prowled through to come inside just a few hours ago and wonders.
What good would it do? She would miss out on the Council giving her an opportunity to stand up for the people of the undercity. She wouldn’t know where to even start her revenge on Silco. She wouldn’t know where to find Powder. Most of all, she would greatly disappoint Caitlyn – Caitlyn who has been nothing but fully supportive of her, following her around, saving her life.
Therefore, she settles for the pile of clothes carefully placed in the spot where Caitlyn laid. She picks up every item one by one, inspecting them like they’re laced with rat poison or something. It’s surreal. These clothes were made to fit Caitlyn’s frame, clearly, because the gray t-shirt hugs her chest a little too tight for comfort. The t-shirt looks like it was meant to be loose fitting, but it fails at taking in the size of Vi’s biceps and broad shoulders. Vi smirks at herself in the vanity mirror. She hadn’t taken a proper look at herself in a long time, especially not in the safety of a mansion, in a topsider’s bedroom.
She cannot let her thoughts wander into the bedroom territory too long, as it turns out. Her cheeks are a little heated and her heart gets these curious palpitations that are new, and unsettling.
The pair of sweatpants Caitlyn picked out for her are much better. They’re black, and incredibly snuggly around her bulky legs. She could easily steal them, but she figures Caitlyn would simply let her borrow them a little longer, if needed. If she asked nicely, perhaps. She suspects Caitlyn would let her get away with too much, but she wouldn’t dare abuse her power like that – it would be irresponsible. Caitlyn trusts her, and she’d take a fucking bullet for her too, apparently.
Vi’s just barely gotten out of her dirty clothes and into these new ones when she hears a succession of tentative knocks on the door.
“Are you decent?” the enforcer asks, her voice muffled by the thick mahogany doors.
“You can come in,” Vi replies, scoffing at the girl’s lingering hesitance to push the door open.
Vi swears Caitlyn stops in her tracks, reveling in the sight of Vi wearing typical Piltovan street clothes, maybe. It’s the only logical explanation as to why Caitlyn stands motionless for a few seconds too long, her mouth slightly agape as she gives the brawler a once-over. She suddenly seems to regain her composure enough to ask a question, though her voice sounds higher than usual:
“Do you have the bag of your old clothes? I’ll just bring them down to the laundry room and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“In a jif -” Vi cuts herself off, amused at a distraught Caitlyn, already reaching for the full bag of clothes left on the bed. “What kind of time unit is that?”
“I’ll be back shortly, ” Caitlyn emphasizes, as if it cancels out the poshness of her remark. She sneers at her, though there is no real contempt and Vi chuckles weakly.
Vi finds herself alone once again, but this time, she doesn’t glance at the window.
Instead, she makes herself at home, as Caitlyn would want. She already toured Caitlyn’s room earlier in the day, but the atmosphere is different now – more peaceful, more enjoyable even. Like the weight that has lifted off her shoulders somehow evaporated in the room as well.
A Councilor’s daughter, she thinks apprehensively. Vi never would have pegged her as that. A rich girl, for sure. A rich, beautiful, intelligent girl, yet a politician’s daughter thrown into the mix. Vi can’t decide if that makes her determination to heal the undercity more attractive, but she does love a rebellious spirit. From the looks of it, Caitlyn doesn’t seem too fond of her mother’s disdainful nature.
Vi is distracted by the sound of the bulky door opening to reveal a huffing Caitlyn on the other side of it. She closes it behind her and rushes to Vi standing at the foot of her bed, like second nature, an old habit she can’t kill. Or worse – like Vi belongs here.
“We should take a shower,” Caitlyn states matter-of-factly, but she sees the way Vi raises her eyebrows suggestively and retracts her statement. “I mean… you can go ahead. Mine won’t take too long.”
“We could have saved water, you know,” Vi blurts out, loving the way all colors immediately drain from Caitlyn’s face, “but now you’re gonna have to show me how your fancy ass shower works.”
“I - uh, sure,” Caitlyn stammers, looking everywhere but directly into Vi’s eyes. Something’s got you flustered, cupcake? Vi thinks of asking, but it would have taken it a notch too far. She has to spare the topsider’s sanity from time to time.
There's a line she's treading, but she knows she could abandon all logic at any point. She could lean in and kiss the worry in Caitlyn’s traits away. There are so many things she could do to cross that line, but she doesn't.
So she follows Caitlyn’s lead inside her bathroom instead.
After Caitlyn’s cautious instructions on how to use this very complicated enclosure of Piltovan bliss, Vi strips off the clothes Caitlyn lended her. She did keep Caitlyn’s company around longer than necessary by dumbing herself down throughout the entire explanation, with comments like “oh, so I don’t need to hold the knob up the whole time?” or “what do you mean there’s a separate one for the cold water and for the hot water!?”. Caitlyn figures it out, and Vi kind of feels like an asshole, but it masks her discomfort well enough. Plus, Caitlyn probably figured it out earlier than she let on, but made the decision to stay with the trencher regardless.
Vi’s shower is a weird experience. The hot water running down her skin should release some of the tensions built up in her battered body, but it does the complete opposite effect. It reminds her of just how out of place she is in this glass cubicle made out of marble and gold, or some equally expensive material beneath her feet. Everywhere she looks is a different alienating feeling overtaking her senses.
She watches the filthy water being drained out so fast, like it can’t wait to find its home in the sewage, away from Vi's limbs. A stray, the words return to her memory with the same air of haughty disdain they were uttered in. That’s certainly how she feels in this shower that’s entirely too big for her. Too shiny.
Once Vi steps out of the shower and grabs the nearest towel Caitlyn had left out on the counter for her, she examines herself in the mirror, seeing the new scrapes and bruises on her chest and arms. She had to remove her bandages off her arms, but she didn’t realize that they were harboring some of the gnarliest wounds she’s had in a while.
She puts Caitlyn’s spare clothes back on and with a sharp inhale, she opens the door.
When she’s back in Caitlyn’s bedroom, she finds the enforcer perched over her desk, fumbling with papers. The realization that she’s prepping for their Council meeting dawns on Vi. They coexist for a while, with Vi wrapping new bandages over her arms and Caitlyn gathering evidence together, completing her conspiracy board with the missing pieces from their shared travels.
Vi could get used to this – to living in Caitlyn’s vicinity, admiring her work and the way her face scrunches up with determination with each new clue. It feels entirely too natural, and that’s a thought Vi can’t dwell on.
“Should I honor his last words?” Caitlyn asks, as she absentmindedly surveys her conspiracy map. The question is lost on Vi who can't quite follow Caitlyn’s train of thoughts, so Caitlyn clarifies. “Marcus. On the bridge, right before he… died, he said to tell his daughter he loved her.”
Vi considers her words and shivers at the remembrance of the circumstances around it – how utterly terrified she felt running back to Caitlyn after hearing a gunshot in the distance, how her own sister fired at them thereafter, effectively proving Ekko’s point about Powder being gone. Could she still reach her? She was able to when they reunited the first time, if only she had stayed longer – if she had been alone - but the thought is merely an observation, not a regret.
Caitlyn seems to notice a change in Vi’s face because she quickly speaks again.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn't -”
“Marcus probably threw me in jail.”
Caitlyn finally turns around to face her in stunned silence, blue eyes carefully watching the brawler step out of the bathroom’s doorway. With her hair still wet, Vi runs a hand through it to fix their disheveled appearance.
“H-he did?” Caitlyn stutters, like his involvement with Silco wasn't shocking enough.
“I mean, you saw it,” Vi continues with a dismissive shrug, “he would do anything for money. He would have killed you if it meant keeping his end of the deal.”
Caitlyn winces, but she holds Vi’s gaze, waiting for her next words to strike.
“He may have even been posted there just for us. To keep me from ever seeing Powder again.”
The last sound to come out of Vi’s mouth remains suspended in the air, its heaviness almost palpable, and perceivable through the silence that ensues. Vi watches the features of Caitlyn’s expression twist into a frown, then a scowl that she aims at the void in front of her, and finally, a pout.
“He's evil,” she ultimately settles on a response and says it with such conviction and disgust that it unnerves Vi a bit.
“I guess,” Vi offers and feels herself walking closer to Caitlyn, towel thrown over her shoulder. “Or was he trying to make ends meet? to keep his daughter safe?”
“He was a sheriff. I hardly think finances were a source of concern,” Caitlyn retorts, frowning perplexedly at Vi who maintains eye contact through it.
“Maybe he didn't need it now, but he did at some point. He’s been Silco’s puppet for years. Silco makes sure that his puppets never leave him.”
She takes a hold of Caitlyn’s hand resting upon the vanity. The other woman holds it firmly and nods along to Vi’s words echoing around her.
“So he was scared of what he could lose,” Caitlyn finally mentions, though her tone is inquisitive, seeking validation from the brawler right next to her.
“Silco makes good threats and he doesn’t hold back,” Vi replies, though the memory of the previous Sheriff’s blood splattering across a stained-glass window haunts her for a brief moment, and she's worried Caitlyn will see it on her face, so she quickly switches gears. “That being said, yes.”
“What?” Caitlyn questions, inches away from Vi’s solemn expression. Vi can see the crease between her brows, the way her eyes are scrutinizing every change in Vi’s face, and the look of puzzled uncertainty slowly fades away. “You think I should tell his daughter?”
“I just think she deserves to know her dad loves her. She doesn't see him as a corrupted Sheriff – we do,” Vi hesitates before speaking again. “She will find out in due time, but for now he’s just her dad who went to work one day and… never came back.”
Caitlyn moves her hand up to the base of Vi’s wrist, briefly halting herself, as if she's wondering whether she should keep going, but Vi’s eyes flutter shut at the touch, which incites the other woman to trace her fingers along her forearm in slow, upward movements.
Fuck, Vi could get used to this, and it's dangerously thrilling.
Her hand doesn't stop there. It moves up, caresses the tattoos on her biceps and Caitlyn chuckles at the way Vi’s muscles flex instinctively. In an inaudible gasp, Vi hopes she can't feel the goosebumps arising, already pretty embarrassed at how overwhelming it feels.
“I knew you had a good heart,” Caitlyn muses, and the look on her face suggests nothing but pure, earnest truth.
“Stop,” Vi whispers and glances at her feet. She isn't sure who her words are targeted to – her racing heart or this woman who’s determined to see the good in her, despite everything.
When Vi makes eye contact with Caitlyn again, the softness on her face vanishes into worry.
“No, I mean… I like to think I'm a good person, I just… I don't know how you can be so confident about it, is all. You don't know me,” she would rather stare at a vase behind Caitlyn’s head than directly into her eyes, which are pointedly looking at her.
“I don't need to know your entire life to figure out you're a good person now, Vi. The woman I’ve been with for the past few days is a good person,” she insists and Vi’s stomach does a strange flip in response.
“It hasn't even been two full days, Cupcake,” Vi deflects it with a light chuckle, hoping to loosen up the loaded exchange because this is making her feel exposed in ways she hadn't anticipated.
“It sure feels like years,” Caitlyn brings Vi’s hand back into hers again, but this time, she clutches it to her chest. “You're special.”
Vi is full on blushing now, incapable of escaping the weight of the enforcer’s words and they fill in all the gaps within her soul, all the blank spaces like punched holes caused by the lack of affection, of happiness, of hope for years on end. Caitlyn’s entire being is a source of healing and Vi cannot possibly reciprocate how amazing it feels. How magical. How serene. Her mind is perfectly blissful right now, despite the chaos living in her memories, and only Caitlyn could manage this.
“D’you know what?” Vi asks suddenly, startling Caitlyn with the force of it. “Enforcers aren't all assholes in fancy uniforms. One of them is a gorgeous girl in stolen Zaunite clothes.”
The joke lands well considering Caitlyn can't help but laugh pretty hard, and genuinely. Vi proudly grins at her successful attempt at both a joke and a flirt and she realizes Caitlyn’s giggle may be one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.
“I should really get these off, shouldn't I?”
“I didn't think you'd hold onto them this long, honestly.”
The topside woman simply hums in response, coyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
They stand there, unmoving, for a stretch of time that seems entirely too long. It should be awkward, but it isn't. Vi is assessing her, still in disbelief over how she's even real, the only constant in Vi’s life post-prison. She's the reason why she's even free. The only person who's looked at her and saw the potential she had – not just the unruly criminal behind bars, the inmate #516.
“Thank you,” she says, realizing too late that it's been uttered out loud.
Caitlyn resumes her soft caress on Vi’s arm before asking, “for what?”
“Releasing me.”
Vi feels a tug on her arm, but it's faint and it’s sweet, enticing her. It's meant as a reassuring gesture, a quiet reminder that they're okay. They can do this. They can feel all of these things, no restraint needed. She can give in to Caitlyn. She’s allowed.
She sees the way the topsider’s pupils contemplate Vi’s lips momentarily and unabashedly, as if to dare Vi to make the move, to bridge the gap once and for all.
She won’t.
Not like this.
Not when her heart has just been pried open, her vulnerable self gushing out like water through the cracks of a broken dam. Not with this sense of urgency at the back of her mind, telling her she betrayed her sister. She abandoned her again. She keeps fucking up, over and over again.
It’s only a matter of time before she fucks this up, too.
For now, Caitlyn smiles at her softly, and Vi stares at the edges of her lips, apologizing to the space between them.
A line never to be crossed.