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It could be part of the problem is that Vi runs hot. Hot headed, hot blooded, blood always pumping and ready for a fight, adrenaline always burning in her, like a coal mine that smoulders quietly unground, fuelled by years of hardship compressed in her veins, and Caitlyn’s hands are just normal temperature in comparison. Slightly on the cool side, maybe, to anyone else when they go for a handshake or a touch on a bare shoulder or arm. Vi’s never asked, it’s an embarrassing question - “hey, do my partner’s hands feel cold to you? Because when she touches me while-“
No, there’s no way Vi could ask something like that. She’s bold, but not in that way. That way feels too personal, vulnerable.
“Warm them up then,” Caitlyn will always say whenever Vi jumps or twitches or protests, a teasing tone to her voice as she digs her fingers in, holding Vi in place to press her chilly palms to bare skin.
Vi could fight her off, she knows, but eventually those hands do warm up, and their touch becomes pleasant instead of jarring and for hell’s sake Vi’s been stabbed before, cold fingers should be nothing.
But it’s so consistent that Vi finds herself flinching when Caitlyn touches her, shying away from skin on skin contact on instinct. She can’t help it, even though she tries. She’s just too used to associating touch with pain, contact with with hurt. The cold doesn’t help and her nerves can’t tell the difference.
Caitlyn notices of course. She’s not the Sheriff for nothing, but even without being an excellent problem solver it’s hard to miss when one’s lover is constantly twitching away from your touch.
At first she starts by only touching Vi where she’s clothed. Brushing aside hair, squeezing at a shoulder or thigh through fabric. It takes a long time for Vi to notice - after all, Caitlyn’s still touching her.
Then she starts wearing gloves. And it takes Vi an even longer time to notice, embarrassingly, that the touch on her arms, the brush against her cheek, is dryer and rougher. But it is warmer.
And she appreciates it, she really does.
But while it took Vi a long time to notice that Caitlyn would only touch her when they had a cloth barrier to block the cold, Vi does notice pretty quickly that it happens a lot less often.
Cold or not, she misses it.
It’s not that Caitlyn stopped touching her entirely, with the gloves or over her shirt, bare skinned at night when passion has finally warmed them enough. Caitlyn’s touch is still there.
But it’s there with conditions. With compromise.
And Vi?
Vi fucking hates compromise.
So one morning when chill is in the air and the wind bites at ears, when Vi knows the Sheriff’s skin is going to be as cold as marble (sometimes Vi teases she has to make Caitlyn blush just to check her blood’s still circulating) the brawler steps into the Sheriff’s office with a hot coffee.
Caitlyn welcomes her in with a warm smile and a red tinge to her cheeks and gloves on her hands.
“Thank you, dear.” She says, standing from her desk and walking up to take the cup. And Vi grins and sweeps her other arm around to grab Caitlyn by the waist and pull her in, hand holding the coffee stretched out to keep it out of reach (and prevent a spill).
Caitlyn’s brow furrows and she frowns and lets out a stern ‘Vi.’ Just like they do every morning — Vi will squeeze her waist and pull her in for a kiss and Caitlyn will chid her (“Darling, we’re at work”), Vi will grin and then give the Sheriff her coffee, steal one last kiss and then head off to start her day.
Today’s a bit different. Today she gives Caitlyn a wink without the kiss and releases her, stepping back and around her to go and place the coffee on the desk. She can almost feel Caitlyn’s confusion behind her, unable to stop the grin at that. Turning, she leans against the desk and motions with a hand. “C’mere.”
“Is something wrong?” Without protest Caitlyn walks up, reaching forward to rest her gloved hand on Vi’s cheek. Vi stops her, grabbing the arm and shaking her head. Caitlyn looks genuinely concerned now. “Vi?”
“You’re not touching me like that.” Vi says, reaching over with her other hand to tug on the glove fingers on the hand of the wrist she holds. As Caitlyn watches her, puzzled, Vi pulls the glove off and then moves to rest her cheek on the hand.
She can’t help the light grimace she makes at contact, Cait’s hand might as well be ice.
Caitlyn makes her own sympathetic grimace and tries to pull her hand away, but Vi holds it firm and reaches for the other. Pulling the glove off, a bit ungracefully, she brings Caitlyn’s other hand up and holds it to her cheek, this time holding in the flinch of how brutally cold she is.
“Darling,” Caitlyn asks, leaving her hands there but looking at Vi like she always does when Vi asks a stupid question, “what on earth are you doing?”
“I just noticed you don’t touch me as much,” Vi shrugs, “thought you might miss it.”
Caitlyn lets out a quick puff of air, almost a laugh, brushing Vi’s cheek with a thumb as it’s held there while she raises a manicured eyebrow. “I was doing that for you.”
“Well, don’t.” Vi shrugs and when Caitlyn’s eyes narrow she sets her jaw. “Look I know I’m not… great at the getting touched thing, and honestly, your hands are as cold as your damn guns,” the manicured eyebrow raises higher, “which doesn’t help any but I don’t care if you fucking slap me at this point.” She pulls Caitlyn’s hands away and lightly slaps them back against her cheeks. “I just wanna have you touch me.”
Caitlyn still gives her that look, smiling and flexing her fingers against Vi’s skin. “That’s what the gloves are for.”
Vi wrinkles her nose and scoffs. “Fuck the gloves.” She says. “I want you to touch me.”
“You kept complaining.” Caitlyn replies back, although she’s still smiling. Vi smirks back.
“Yeah, I complain. Doesn’t mean you gotta listen.”
Caitlyn rolls her eyes at that, just slightly, amused. She presses her hands into Vi’s cheeks, somewhat warmed now from Vi’s own hot skin. “I suppose you’ll just have to help me warm them up more often.”
Vi squints, nose wrinkling up as she shakes her head between Caitlyn’s palms, finally releasing her hold on the sheriff’s wrists. “Damn, poor me.”
Caitlyn pulls her in for a quick kiss before stepping back. “Very well darling, I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer my affections.” She says as she heads to pick up the coffee from her desk. “It’s your fault you know.”
“My fault?” Vi crosses her arms.
Caitlyn manages to sip her coffee smugly. “Cold hands, warm heart.”
Vi barks out a laugh and steps forward to wrap her arms around Caitlyn again. “You fucking sap.” She teases, and Caitlyn holds her coffee to the side, resting her free arm around Vi’s shoulder to give her nose a kiss.
“My heart has never be warmer.” She says softly, the teasing gone and leaving only that earnest loving tone and suddenly Vi needs those cold hands back because her face has never felt hotter.
They stand there a moment, foreheads touching and Caitlyn playing with the short hairs of Vi’s neck before the sheriff gives her nose another quick kiss and gently pushes her back.
Grinning to hide the embarrassment, Vi moves to pick up the gloves from the floor where she dropped them (she pretends not to see Caitlyn’s disapproving look) and tosses them onto the desk. Caitlyn ignores them, giving her coffee another sip as the two women smile at each other before Vi turns to leave.
She’s just made it to the door when she stops, hand on the handle, and looks back with a thoughtful expression.
“Now your fuckin’ feet on the other hand…”
“I’m not wearing socks to bed Vi,” Caitlyn lets out a sad sigh, shaking her head. “I’m afraid I don’t love you that much.”
Vi curses under her breath. “Damn, I knew it.”
She shrugs and winks and opens the door to start another day of work.