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There was something to be said about being absolutely perfect -- that is, a single imperfection can make whatever illusions of perfection come crashing down to reality.
Not that Vi made it a habit to have her head in the clouds. Quite the contrary, in fact. But like everything else in her half-miserable life, all topics concerning a certain Caitlyn Kiramman was an exception.
Until it wasn’t.
Kneeling on the cold stone floor of her kitchen, Vi violently ripped the first random shirt she saw with her teeth and began shoving around the finger of a certain someone, who she might add was perched of all things on a chair like a goddamned proper bird in the rare casual tank-top and shorts. Vi was pretty sure it was the only pair she owned.
“Vi!” Caitlyn hissed. “That hurts!”
“Yeah, well, next time don’t cut yourself on a goddamn knife. What are you doing trying to dice onions of all things with that sharp of a blade? Aren’t you supposed to be like a weapons expert or something?” Vi bit her lip and pressed against the wound harder. Bright red stained the ever-glowing porcelain skin, soaking through the cloth. The cut on the enforcer’s finger must have been fairly deep.
“I’m a sniper, Darling. Knives are by far not my foremost choice of -- OW!”
“Necessary pain, Cupcake.” Still, Vi softened her grip some, making sure her calloused fingers didn’t scratch near the wound.
“Says who,” Caitlyn grumbled, crossing her arms. “It’s just a flesh wound. It’ll heal on its own.”
“If we don’t do anything, it’ll scar.” Vi didn’t meet her eye. Instead, she concentrated on stopping the bleeding, but it just kept running and running and running. Why won’t it stop?
“That’s ok,” a laugh rang. “Maybe then I’ll finally match you.” A soft, unblemished hand reached up and lifted up Vi’s chin, forcing the girl to meet her teasing, toothy smile, entirely too innocent for her own good.
Vi untangled herself from Caitlyn. “You don’t want to match with me.” She kept alcohol and a sewing kit somewhere around here… Where was it… She swore it was right there… No, was it in the bathroom? Caitlyn must have moved it for the sake of ‘organizing.’ Oh, yes, here it was.
When she returned to the kitchen, she found Caitlyn still sitting on the chair, head tilted slightly to the left and hair softly falling on strong, delicate, and bare shoulders. There was the sparkle in those blue eyes the Vi loved so much. Piercing. Curious. Kind. It reminded her of late nights spent bent over maps and evidence boxes, with a fire burning in the woman’s veins to help whoever the enforcer had decided needed a bleeding heart.
As hot as Caitlyn’s body was, this was why Vi loved her.
But now those eyes were trained on her. She quickly moved to kneel back at her previous spot and dumped the supplies next to her, ready for the next step.
Those eyes made her feel vulnerable.
“Vi?” When she didn’t answer, Caitlyn murmured again, “Darling?”
“Yeah, what. Can’t you see I’m working here?” Vi carefully removed the shirt scrap around Caitlyn’s finger. The blood dried finally, thankfully, but it stuck slightly to the wound. Caitlyn made no effort to complain though, relaxing under Vi’s hands. Not even a wince when she dabbed alcohol around the wound.
“Why are you so bent on me not having a scar?”
Why did Caitlyn have to be a detective? Why couldn’t she have been like, anything else that was less observe-y.
“Scars are just not your thing, Cupcake.” Vi picked up a bottle of vodka, but set it down when Caitlyn shook her head. Her loss. She picked up the stitches and set to work.
Not a flinch. Curiosity was one hell of a drug.
“I don’t know… I think scars would make me look cool.”
“No, scars don’t make you look cool.”
“You have scars.”
“From Stillwater.” Vi could practically hear the gears turn in that detective brain of hers.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” She kept staring at the task on hand, needle going in and out disturbingly smoothly into the soft flesh. She took a ragged breath. “Scars are permanent reminders that you got hurt. I don’t like seeing that… on you. Besides,” Vi said, throwing a quick, masquerading smile up, “Topsiders aren’t supposed to get scars on their perfect skin. You guys aren’t as… damaged.”
Silence. Then.
“Oh Darling,” came the soft voice above her. “You’re not damaging me.”
Vi cursed. Detectives are the worst kind of enforcers.
Just two more stitches. Then she could get out of here.
“I like spending time with you,” Caitlyn continued. “The good and the bad and all the scars and broken bones and bruises that come with that.”
One more. One more stitch.
“Besides, you’ll think I’ll look good even despite a scar?”
Vi gulped. “Of course, Cupcake. You’re hot, remember?” She finished the last stitch. “There, all done.”
Caitlyn lifted her hand to inspect the patched wound. The finger was covered in dried maroon blood and the six black stitches shot out from the skin haphazardly like unnatural, thorny weeds. Vi mentally beat herself for not doing a better job, but Caitlyn simply smiled.
“Well, I, for one,” she whispered in Vi’s ear as she reached down to hug her and kiss her on the cheek, “also find you absolutely scrumptious, scars and all.”
“And,” she continued peppering kisses down Vi’s jaw and neck, paying particular to the tattoo that cleverly covered a rather torturous, fibrous skin, “I wouldn’t mind letting you know exactly how hot I find them.”
Heat rose to Vi’s cheeks.
Ok, so maybe Caitlyn would still be pretty damn perfect.