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All those years locked up in Stillwater, Vi wasn’t living.
It wasn’t even about living versus surviving; trenchers don’t have the luxury of that distinction. Alive was alive. Yet… all those years pacing behind bars, slamming her fists into concrete walls, never taking her state-sanctioned beatings without a fight, waiting with forced patience for Silco’s goons to be put away so she could unleash the smallest iota of the rage and pain that curdled her insides every second, reliving the worst mistakes of her short life (an endless amount), torturing herself over what became of Powder, losing her mind in solitary⸻ It was all just waiting to die.
She had been thrown in with the lifers. The only end that was in reach was death.
Thanks to a rather bizarre and unlikely twist of fate in the form of indigo hair and narrowed eyes, Vi’s out. But now that she’s free, she realizes that she doesn’t know how to live anymore. She can’t remember how. Can’t remember what it felt like before.
“You can always relearn things, darling,” Caitlyn whispers from her perch on Vi’s shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist. With sunlight warm on her face, Vi believes it. They’re standing in the Kiramman Estate gardens, a welcome reprieve after her skin started to itch with the familiar sensation of captivity despite the absolute extravagance of Kiramman mansion. As Vi’s chest expands with soft and steady breaths, she believes her.
Ekko is the one who takes Vi to see Vander’s statue. He does it a couple weeks after Jinx blew up the Council Tower, seeming to know that there was only so much Vi could take. This buries her.
It’s like reuniting with Powder on that high platform as blue smoke faded from the sky. It’s like standing above the Lanes for the first time after her release from Stillwater and seeing the new neon sign ringing The Last Drop, feeling suddenly unsteady on her feet with the evidence of who wasn’t there anymore (she was with them all when they died, but seeing this, now she knows). It’s like the stab of Sevika’s blade in her stomach and the words she whispered in her ear that hurt more than any physical wound. It’s being tied up and helpless, hearing her sister say I thought, maybe you could love me like you used to. Even though I’m… different.
He looks the way he always did to her, larger than life. Yet still just a man. The one who first taught her to carry the weight she’s been bearing without fail since her parents died on that bridge.
“Who…” Vi trails off, looking up at the sculpted metal, at his face. He’s holding a pipe. God, she always hated how it smelled. It was such a horrible stench. Every time she smelled it, it meant he was near.
Ekko replies to her unfinished question, “We don’t know. It just… showed up. Everyone thought Silco would tear it down, but he never did.”
Standing here under Vander’s metallic gaze, Vi wants to flinch away, wants to hide. Well, your guard needs work. Would he be proud of her? How could he be, with everything she’s done and failed to do? I wish I could say it gets easier, kiddo, but I’d be lying. She never learned how to put down her fists, how to put a stopper on her rage.
And she doesn’t know if he made the right calls.
As devastating as it was, Jinx’s missile felt inevitable. Who are you willing to lose? Vander asked her once. The answer was no one. The universe took everyone anyway. Why not fight at that point? Why lie down and take it? Why not steal from Pilties who had so much more than enough; what was the point in claiming she wasn’t hungry so Powder could have more? What was the point of being tossed around by enforcers for their oversized Topside egos? What was the point of her parents’ corpses staring unblinkingly at the sky if nothing was going to change?
In the end, intentions mean nothing. Vi learned that early on. Somehow, Vander had enough good intentions, did enough with them that here he stands after death. If she was back there with him again, a scared and angry kid, and Vander asked her who are you willing to lose? she doesn’t know if she would make different choices, too desperate and blind to truly protect anyone in the end.
What I can say is, she still needs you. They all do. Vi’s not so sure about that. She’s not sure anyone has ever needed her. She’s always hurt more than she’s healed. But Vi’s incapable of backing down, and she still hasn’t decided if it’s her biggest flaw or greatest strength.
Ekko’s shoulder brushes against hers as he steps up beside her, knocking Vi out of her stupor. “His pipe is usually lit. It goes out every once in a while, but people always relight it.” A little flickering light. It’s fitting. In many ways, that’s what Vander was to her. A glimpse of light snuffed out before she had a real chance to feel its warmth. “You should do the honors.” Ekko offers her a fledging flame burning on a newly struck match.
Vi swallows and takes the offering. Steeling herself, she steps onto Vander’s statue. It occurs to her that it’s the only evidence that he was ever here. She balances on the ledge close to metal-Vander’s feet and stretches upwards to reach the pipe. Maybe she fumbles a little, maybe a tear streaks down her face when she drops the match into the pipe.
It flares up, an almost comforting orange glow emanating from the top. Somewhere deep inside herself, a twin flame comes to life and her shoulders feel a feather-load lighter. For a second, Vi swears she can smell that awful lingering scent again.
Vi doesn’t hate enforcers.
She loathes them, despises them, doesn’t have enough words to fully express how she feels about them. The only exception being, of course, Caitlyn. Caitlyn being an enforcer, or pretending to be one, might have been what got her out of Stillwater, but most days Vi wishes that Caitlyn wasn’t an enforcer. That way there wouldn’t be exceptions. Damn her. Vi could never hate Caitlyn.
So now there was a stupid exception to the enforcer rule, made a million times worse given that Caitlyn was the newly appointed sheriff, but Vi still had limits, no matter what Caitlyn thought with her new and constant lectures about self-preservation and what she deemed ‘healthy boundaries’. In fact, this is the healthiest boundary Vi would ever set: she would never be an enforcer.
It was simply impossible. There was no universe in which she could don the enforcer uniform without throwing up. She couldn’t take on the visage of her parents’ murderers, of her childhood tormentors that she was always running from, of the wardens that took pleasure in her agony. Forget the dress code, she couldn’t be surrounded by it either. She wouldn’t be able to breathe, to relax. Not to mention it would be a betrayal of Zaun.
Yes, Caitlyn had her wonderful ideals and carefully researched plans to root out corruption and turn the enforcers into wardens of peace that could be an actual force of good for the city. Sadly, Vi knew her dream was next to impossible and she’d stick to murmuring her admiration for Caitlyn’s good heart and ambition safely outside of the enforcers’ precinct.
Not taking Caitlyn up on her offer to join the enforcers doesn’t mean that Vi can’t sometimes team up with Piltover’s Sheriff. Especially when it comes to the Loose Cannon (and god, Vi hates that name).
Frankly, Vi would prefer to do this herself. But Caitlyn would never allow it and Powder likes roping them both into her games. And thanks to Pretty Boy’s pettiness, Vi is only allowed to use the gauntlets when working alongside Caitlyn. One of his ridiculous stipulations after their disastrous raid on one of Silco’s shimmer factories. Not that she really cares about Pretty Boy’s commands. The gauntlets stay with her at the Kiramman mansion all the time anyway and she uses them whenever she pleases. If Jayce wants the gauntlets back, he’ll have to come and take them back himself.
Which leads her here, forearms weighed down and chasing Powder, just as her sister intended. There’s something startlingly numb inside Vi’s chest every time Jinx initiates her games of cat and mouse, dancing across the roofs of Piltover and down into the sumps, letting off nearly harmless explosions (until one of them gets too close), and releasing unhinged laughs to the sky. Vi’s always one step behind, always a second too late, always pulling her punches. She’ll take it though. If this is the only way she can have her sister, she’ll take it.
“You are soooooooo slow, Vi!” Powder cackles and she swings around a chimney four rooftops away. Without any effort, Jinx dodges one of the nets Caitlyn shoots from her fancy Hextech rifle. “I thought you had better aim than that, sister-stealer,” Jinx taunts before using her shimmer-enhanced speed to whip up her pistol and shoot the admittedly ridiculous top hat off Caitlyn’s head.
“Jinx,” Vi growls warningly as Jinx tilts her head at her. The name never gets easier to say. Her worst mistake thrown in her face again and again.
Jinx smiles. “Simon sayyyyyysssss follow Jinx!” she singsongs and bolts. Vi gives chase. Her inescapable fate.
Powder’s blue hair is a beacon that Vi can’t help but follow, gauntlets heavy on her hands and heart pounding (“why even take the gauntlets, Vi, if you’ll never truly use them? Jinx won’t pull her punches and I won’t stand for you getting killed because you insist on pulling yours”). Caitlyn isn’t as adept at the rooftops as they are and although she’s a quick study, Vi can hear her falling behind. Vi pushes harder.
Jinx jumps and weaves and throws a bomb carelessly behind her, which Vi leaps to catch. One of Vi’s newly acquired skills is being able to identify which of her sister’s bombs are actually dangerous, and this one is just a harmless glitter bomb, the only casualty being her skin and clothes (“One of these days she’ll switch it up on you and then you’ll be holding an actual bomb in your hands as it explodes, Vi!”). The bombs goes off and Vi is momentarily blinded by the splash of color but she keeps running anyway, unwilling to lose Powder.
Powder decides to head to the border market, all the way to the steepest drop in Zaun, almost a direct fall to the lowest levels of the sumps. Jinx skids right up the cliff face, looking over her shoulder with her swirling shimmer eyes. “You coming?” she asks right as she steps off the ledge.
Vi doesn’t bother with an answer and she doesn’t hesitate either. Undercity kids learned to navigate the rooftops and pipes and ladders early. This place, though, was the ultimate test, with minimal unstable handholds and no place to jump to safety if things go south. What better things did Trencher kids have to do? She remembers, with the cloudiness of fading memory, being unthinkably young and testing out different handholds at the bottom before Mom found her and scooped her up while scolding her profusely.
The memory is so startling, so unexpected that for a moment, Vi slips. If she was given a second, Vi could have slammed her gauntlet into the cliff and made her own handhold, but she doesn’t get a chance as a slender hand tucks itself above her elbow and yanks her to the next solid foothold and down and down until she’s on solid ground. As soon as the hand is there, it’s gone, and Powder is out of reach. “WOW, Vi. Sloppy.” She shakes her head back and forth slowly, tsking. “Hey!” Jinx shouts suddenly, waving frantically to the top of the cliff, “better sit this one out, no-longer-Hat-Lady!”. Vi turns to see Caitlyn’s silhouette at the top of the cliff. If Caitlyn even attempts this, she loses her lecturing Vi privileges for at least four months. “Ready to go, Sis?” Jinx addresses Vi again. “Better focus up, there’s more fun to be had today. Such a lovely day right?” Gone. Again.
Vi does what she always does. “Vi!” Caitlyn screams from the top. Vi knows what that means. That means give up, come home, we’ll try another day. The problem is that Caitlyn doesn’t know what it means to be a sister, that this hardly feels like a choice. More a foregone conclusion.
Powder dips and ducks through the sumps, looping back up again to the lower sections of Zaun all the way to the Lanes. Vi taught Powder how to perfect this acrobatic way of life, with too-thin patience and never-ending encouragement, arms outstretched always ready to snatch her skinny body out of midair. This is their very own playground.
Suddenly everything sharpens: the bold color of Jinx’s hair, the proud graffiti all around, the acrid scent of tainted air, the weight of the gauntlets, the whip of wind against her skin. Suddenly, they’re dancing, playing, laughing. They’re Powder and Vi, sisters who run across the rooftops together and wreak havoc and never have to look down, who get to be kids for once in their goddamn lives because all that’s needed to keep them together is blood and love.
Vi can hear the echo of Powder’s laugh in Jinx’s joy, and the sound bubbling out of Vi’s chest feels foreign. Everything is bright. Sunlight can’t reach down here but she feels like it’s surrounding her, and the numbness in Vi’s chest bleeds away to reveal a void. A void that can be filled. Right on the edge of the blackness, she can already feel something growing, tentative and new.
She looks across the way to Jinx, calves hooked and hanging upside down on ladder rungs, braids swaying. Giggling, Jinx meets her gaze, and something blooms violently in Vi’s chest. She doesn’t see Powder. She doesn’t see Jinx. There’s someone new, someone both Jinx and Powder yet neither of them. Someone who is all her sister.
Vi is always tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix, although she doesn’t have restful nights either. Both her and Caitlyn are plagued by their fair share of nightmares. If it’s not Vi jerking awake with her fists at the ready, Caitlyn’s tortured whimpering is enough to rouse Vi who tries her best to comfort Caitlyn to wakefulness and then back to sleep again. Vi’s nightmares tend to be more silent, creeping beasts who tense her muscles and steal her voice. Caitlyn can usually tell when a nightmare was particularly brutal, when the circles under Vi’s eye darken to permanent shadows. Caitlyn will tell Vi to wake her up, so she’s not alone, so she can be lulled back to sleep. More often than not, Vi will feel relief when she’s ripped to consciousness from a nightmare and Caitlyn is still dead asleep beside her. There’s something in her unknowing, in the sort of tenuous peacefulness that comes from it, and Vi can’t take that away from her.
On those nights when Vi wakes up alone and looks down at Caitlyn’s chest rising and falling steadily, she’ll go to the bedroom window and flee to the Undercity. She needs the dull ache of the contaminated air to remind herself of where she’s from, to see the places where she’s committed her worst sins. Sometimes she needs late night fist fights and bloody noses or to go to the ruins of the first home she ever had (the one she brought down herself). Some of her worst nights, she goes to the cannery. She’ll track her fingertips over the bright splotches of color Jinx left behind at that morbid dinner table, replay her words again and again: But he didn’t make Jinx. You did.
Vi tries to return from her excursions before Caitlyn wakes. Unfortunately for her, Caitlyn’s an early riser. Unnaturally early. Worn, soiled hand wraps and dried streaks of blood give her away anyway. Caitlyn tries to act like it doesn’t hurt her that Vi runs away. She should probably tell Caitlyn that leaving is what she’s best at. That she can’t expect her to stay, like it’s easy. At least she’s coming back (she won’t tell Caitlyn that she’s thought of running and running until her head is empty, until she can’t remember that she has someone to come back to).
So both Vi and Caitlyn have adjusted to being forever exhausted. For Vi, it’s an old habit. She can’t remember the time when sleep stopped coming easy, when she learned you have to keep your guard up even when sleeping, even if it means blocking with your face. Or your heart. Besides, bruises heal and wounds scar.
Vi supposes you could put other names to the fatigue that follows her around during the daytime. Caitlyn has, in the gentlest voice. “You have to let go of some of your guilt, love. I promise it wasn’t your fault,” and “Have you ever properly grieved for the people you lost?” To Vi, it’s just heavy. Like she’s never taken off Vander’s hodgepodge metal gauntlets from her scrawny teenage forearms.
So yes, she is tired all the time and sleep can’t help (in fact most of the time actively makes it worse), but there’s something about curling up next to Caitlyn. The second she settles down next to Vi, something in Vi settles too. Her heart stops racing like there’s a threat right around the corner that she can’t see but needs to be ready for. It slows. Her breath comes easier.
The bed is much bigger than anything she’s ever slept in. Much comfier too⸻ sometimes too comfy. At times, she’ll stay awake staring at the ceiling feeling the strange softness underneath her and thinking it’s going to swallow her whole. She wonders what is waiting for her in oblivion. Yet the barest touch of Caitlyn’s skin, her hand splayed in sleep or the curve of her shoulder subconsciously curving closer to Vi, is enough to ground her. Oblivion can wait at least another night.
Tonight, Vi wants to hold Caitlyn. She wouldn’t call it a new urge, except that tonight she wants to act on it. She wants to curl up around her, feel her solidness against her, hear her heartbeat in her ear. “Cait.” Vi whispers, barely a breath. Caitlyn is there, mere feet from her, while her delicate, calloused hands play with Vi’s rough bare ones. It feels unbearably intimate. Blue eyes move from Vi’s hands, tracing up her arm and neck to her face and finally her eyes. Every time Vi looks into those eyes, the affection there astounds her. She wants to be worthy of it.
“Yes, darling?” Caitlyn asks back, her volume matching Vi’s. She’s already moving though, knowing what Vi wants. What she needs. Ever so slowly, giving Vi a chance to change her mind, Caitlyn draws Vi into her arms. Vi goes willingly. She lays her head on Caitlyn’s chest, where her heart thuds. A lullaby. Caitlyn’s hand settles overtop Vi’s back, pressing ever so gently to feel the warmth of her skin, to follow along as Vi’s back rises and falls with her breaths. Caitlyn needs reassurance as much as Vi does. Then, the brush of lips ghosting over Vi’s forehead.
Tonight, if Vi has a nightmare, she thinks she’ll stay right where she is. Listening to Caitlyn’s heart. She might even wake Caitlyn up and let her run her fingers through her hair. She’ll let herself be taken care of, let herself be selfish. She won’t let Caitlyn wake up alone in this echoing house, where there’s too much space for her to take up alone. This time, she’ll do more than stay.
Pretty Boy and Vi don’t exactly get along. Jayce thinks she’s too hotheaded and reckless and destructive. Well… he’s not exactly wrong. But that’s hardly the point. Vi knows Jayce is egotistical, ignorant, and too easily led astray. The only point is his favor is that he has decent taste in lab partners.
As it turns out, if there’s one thing they can truly get along for, it’s Caitlyn Kiramman. Like always.
And maybe, just maybe, they can also agree when it comes to the Atlas Gauntlets. Which is a fucking pretentious name even if it is sort of badass too. As much as she loves them, Jayce is also a massive idiot for making these and thinking, “ah yes, I’ll make these gauntlets for those lowly, underpaid miners in the fissures who actively breathe in toxic air every workday. That way they can work faster. That’s all they’ll be used for. That will work great. There’s absolutely no way this can go wrong.” Yet again, another example of Jayce being so… Jayce.
Now, those gauntlets practically belong to Vi, though Jayce would never admit it. Vi keeps them with her at all times, has punched more than one person’s lights out with them, and has even learned basic maintenance and repair. The only time they’re with Pretty Boy these days is when they need more advanced repairs or when he wants to try and ‘improve’ them. They’re giant fists, Vi’s can’t see how much more they can be improved (fine, that Hextech shield did save her ass).
Jayce had summoned her today, literally sent a summons to the Kiramman residence, to review some of these new, so-called improvements with her. Vi’s skeptical. She arrives at another fancy place where she definitely doesn’t belong and enters a lab that Vi is sure is far too big for two men. Typical Topside really.
“Hey,” Vi announces her presence to the two men bent over one of the gauntlets, her hands tucked into her red jacket.
“Hello, Vi,” Viktor greets her, probably more present and enthusiastic than he’s been any other time she’s dropped by.
“Vi, come over here.” Jayce waves her over, also seeming suspiciously excited at her presence. Vi sidles up next to them. The gauntlet looks the same to her. “So we recalibrated some wiring in the gauntlets to deal with the overheating issue. They shouldn’t need so much cooldown time now⸻”
“and you should also have more consistent force behind each punch,” Viktor jumps in.
“Not to mention stronger punches overall,” Jayce continues.
“Hopefully less blisters too,” Vi snarks. Stronger punches sound amazing, but she can’t help it.
“We also increased the overall area of the shield,” Viktor informs her.
“Nothing drastic, but enough that you can shield someone else and yourself if it comes down to it,” Jayce finishes. Vi knows exactly who he had in mind when he did that.
“You need to test it,” Viktor insists.
Oh, that’s why they were so excited to see her today. Their own personal guinea pig. Eh, she doesn’t really mind it as long as she gets to punch something. Though she needs a second to absorb everything they’ve thrown at her in their rapid-fire discovery mode. Both are staring at her impatiently. “What I gotta do?” Vi asks.
Jayce grins. “Put that on.” Which was obvious. Vi slides her hand into the gauntlet on the table and maybe it shouldn’t, but it feels like coming home. “Okay, so you and Viktor will stand in the middle of the room, and I’m going to throw something at you two. You, activate your shield.” Vi shrugs and goes to do as she’s told, keeping pace with Viktor’s slower gait.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Vi invites, putting up her gauntlet. Jayce picks up⸻ is that a glove? “What is that?!” Vi lowers her arm.
“I believe you would call that a welding glove.” Vi’s not looking at Viktor but she knows he’s raising his eyebrows at her.
Vi rolls her eyes in response and protests, “That’s weak. Light. You want to throw something, then throw something that could actually hurt. How else will you know it works?”
Jayce sputters. “We already know the shield⸻”
“Just aim, Pretty Boy. Don’t hit your lab partner. Or is that too much to ask?” Yeah, she’s taunting him. Jayce glares at her, acquiescing nonetheless and picking up a heavy-duty metal wrench.
“This better?”
“Much.” Vi smirks and gets into position. Jayce winds his arm back, dramatically she might add, before hurdling it point-blank at her face. Vi activates the shield. The blue Hextech surges outward, encasing both her and Viktor with sufficient room to spare on all sides, but not big enough to accidentally shield an opponent. The wrench hits with a clunk and bounces harmlessly off the shield. A grin lights up Jayce’s face. Vi deactivates the shield and looks down at the gauntlet. “Hell yeah.”
“We also want to give you a chance to test out the new strength,” Viktor informs her and Jayce goes to some distant part of the lab. He comes back wheeling, with some considerable effort, a thick slab of steel. “For you.” With that, Viktor shuffles backward to give her some room.
“You realize that the gauntlets demolished this before you did anything, right?” Vi looks from Jayce to Viktor.
Two of Jayce’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just… do it please.”
Vi shrugs. She’ll never turn down a chance to demolish something. She rolls her shoulder, feels that familiar twinge, and rears back in preparation as she hears the sound of the gauntlets gearing up. With a roar, she punches.
Predictably, she blows right through the steel. But she can feel the force behind it, almost stumbling straight through the hole she made with the power of increased inertia. She can feel that the steel gave a little quicker, a little easier. Jayce whoops in victory.
Vi starts laughing. So she’s reckless and messy and hotheaded and destructive. So fighting feels natural. Maybe that’s not a horrible thing. It’s all about knowing where to aim her fists.
Vi doesn’t really agree with Caitlyn’s new, shiny career choice or have a lot of faith in the achievability of her aspirations. It’s just… Caitlyn has given her these lovely passionate speeches about how she wants to make a difference. For Piltover and Zaun. How she wants to turn the enforcers into a peacekeeping force, how she wants to rebuild relations with Zaun, she wants to change Zaunite perception of enforcers, she doesn’t want Zaunites to have to be afraid of them, she wants to tear down and rebuild the justice system, gut and restaff Stillwater. All, Vi thinks, lofty and worthy goals. What’s more, Vi truly, wholeheartedly believes in Caitlyn, that she means every single word.
But the parts of her that were shattered over and over again at enforcers’ hands know that the name doesn’t really matter, know that the enforcers of old, of today, would probably tell you that what they were doing was ‘peacekeeping’. Simply by existing, trenchers violate peace. Vi has suffered their repeated cruelty for nearly her whole life, some years that abuse was all she knew. So, yes, Vi has her doubts.
Caitlyn’s goodness is infinite. Endless. It won’t be enough. Not to completely transform a broken and corrupt system. And Caitlyn can’t make other people good, or want to be good, simply by proximity either. Vi thinks that if Caitlyn really wanted to make a difference, do some real good for Zaun, they should go down to Zaun. Get their hands dirty in the streets of Vi’s childhood. That’s what she’s been trying to do, little by little. Offering her assistance to the Firelights. Trying to find Jinx. However, Vi doesn’t really know how to tell Caitlyn all that.
Caitlyn works so hard. So incredibly hard, day after day with basically no breaks. She works a staggering, worrying amount. Of course, she brings work home with her too. Which Vi should have figured out from that very first day she pulled Caitlyn up and through her own bedroom window, catching sight of what she’s heard Jayce call “Cait’s Conspiracy Board” with an entire investigation’s worth of paperwork scattered at the foot of Caitlyn’s bed. She works endlessly, hunched over her desk as those sharp eyes take in everything and sprout a thousand brilliant thoughts. Sometimes it’s individual cases that she’s personally taken on. Mostly, it’s internal paperwork. It’s trying to rewrite regulations, root out the corrupt officers, find a way to rewire and bend a system that resists at every turn. Once, when peeking over her shoulder, Vi saw her looking through prison records. Without knowing it, Vi must have made some sort of noise.
Caitlyn had turned to look at her, with eyes simultaneously contrite and steely. “You never should have been in Stillwater, Vi, and when I think of what you went through, what they did to you…” Caitlyn trailed off, but that was okay. Vi wouldn’t know how to verbalize it either, how to put it into words, but she understood. Shakily, Caitlyn started again, “And even if you had been there for a legitimate reason, it doesn’t excuse or justify the abuse you endured. From what I’ve seen, many prisoners in Stillwater have paid for their crimes at least a hundred times over, in the most inhumane of ways.” There was nothing Vi could say in the face of Caitlyn’s pure decency. So she didn’t.
So she doesn’t. It seems unnecessarily cruel to point out all her doubts, all the systemic flaws gouged centuries ago by the city Caitlyn calls home, when it looks like she’s slowly killing herself over being sheriff. Something Vi has very obvious issues with and personally thinks contradicts many of Caitlyn’s hushed and furious “you have to take care of yourself, Vi” speeches. Caitlyn peels herself out of bed unnaturally early and jumps straight into work. Her face taut and her skin pallid. Vi is positive she has lost weight and is never sure how many genuine meals Caitlyn eats on a given day. An unacceptable number of times, Vi has found Caitlyn slumped over her desk either failing to fight the call of sleep or fully asleep already. Vi has also fallen asleep in a glaringly empty bed waiting for Caitlyn to come home, just to wake up alone the next morning and know that Caitlyn must have spent the night in her office (and she convinces herself that Caitlyn must have spent some of that time sleeping, right?). Caitlyn has sometimes taken to mumbling to herself and glaring at the paperwork, holding her body tight as a drawn bowstring because, as a counselor’s daughter, she’s had training on not outwardly showing her displeasure. The only time she truly seems to take a break is when she wants Vi to, and knows that unless she’s physically there, Vi won’t rest. Vi considers these all very legitimate reasons for her to worry.
Vi’s worry grows so large that even though she swore she would never set foot in the precinct, she’s recently been reconsidering her stance. She’ll be beyond hypervigilant with her fists curled so tightly into themselves that it will feel like her natural state, she’ll feel unclean, but if she has to burst into Caitlyn’s office herself to make sure that she eats or to drag her home for some well-deserved rest, well, there’s plenty Vi can and has endured. A small sacrifice. Every sacrifice has always felt small, for the people she loves.
Vi likes to trick herself into thinking that her instinct is caretaking. Result of being an older sister. Yet everyone she’s ever tried to take care of has died or gone crazy or changed or thought she was dead; then they went and grew up without her after she promised she’d be there. We’ve all had bad days. But we learn, and we stick together. She committed the ultimate sin too, the exact opposite of caretaking: abandonment. Because you’re a jinx, do you hear me? Mylo was right. So in reality, what itches under her skin is the instinct to flee. Impossible to hurt someone if you’re not there in the first place. Though Vi can’t shake that Caitlyn needs her anyway, despite all her monumental screw-ups. Despite Vi’s bone-deep fear that Caitlyn will be another person she won’t be able to save. Yet, somehow, Vi suspects that Caitlyn won’t crack under her clumsy hands, that Vi doesn’t have that kind of power over her.
Doesn’t that mean she has to try?
It’s been too many weeks of Caitlyn running herself ragged and Vi letting her, but she has to step in now. Tonight, Vi counts herself lucky that Caitlyn dragged herself back to the mansion before settling down for more work. Fast approaching, Caitlyn is going to have to go before the Council to give a report on all the changes she’s implemented, all the changes she’s looking to implement in the future, and gain any of the necessary permissions for these. And also, Vi suspects, to drive the Council slightly out of their mind with her iron-clad will and refusal to adhere to the policy of either ignoring or attempting to destroy the Undercity. It’s really a wonder they wanted Caitlyn as sheriff at all; they really didn’t know what they were agreeing to. Caitlyn is no mere figurehead or puppet. Vi isn’t confident in Caitlyn’s ability to prevail against the towering circumstances stacked against her, but Vi knows Cait can match the Council’s stubbornness. Cait can and will stand her ground. Though Vi can see how Caitlyn doubts her ability to do even that. Meaning that tonight, Vi is well aware of the stress that Caitlyn is under, the pressure and the microscope. Caitlyn won’t fold easily and Vi has never been good at any approach other than the direct one.
Vi takes a breath to steady herself, to loosen up and shake out her arms, as if gearing up for a real fight, before slowly making her way over to Caitlyn. “Hey, Cupcake,” She says, attempting her most soothing tone of voice as her hands fall to Caitlyn’s tense shoulders. Amazingly, or simply in the most Caitlyn-like fashion, she pauses for a moment to murmur a greeting back, to tilt her head to the side and press the lightest of kisses to Vi’s hand. Vi’s heart swells in her chest, pure love pulsing against all her scars. It’s what motivates her to start gently massaging her shoulders and say, after Caitlyn has turned her attention back to work, “I think you should call it a night.”
“I still have so much work to do, Vi. You know how important this Council meeting is.” Caitlyn’s reply is matter of fact. She doesn’t snap, doesn’t betray irritation or resentment.
Vi clears her throat, and what she means to say is: “You’ll do great, Cupcake. But you’re exhausting yourself. Please, please come to bed.” Vi’s pleading always seems to hit a soft spot in Caitlyn, has her hurrying to do whatever Vi has asked of her. Yet, unfortunately, what comes out of Vi’s mouth is, “Is it?”
It’s the exact wrong thing to say. Caitlyn goes so motionless underneath her hands that Vi doesn’t dare breathe. It feels like any moment, the air will congeal around them and vacuum seal them in this brittle space. After an agonizing minute, the small plink of Caitlyn setting down her pen echoes in the room. Vi’s hands slide bonelessly off Caitlyn’s shoulders as she stands up and faces Vi, giving Vi every inch of her intense attention. Caitlyn steps closer, then closer, until they’re only a couple inches apart and Vi is breathing in Caitlyn’s exhalations. Achingly tender hands cup Vi’s face, her thumbs wisping over Vi’s jaw. “Vi,” Caitlyn whispers. “is there something we need to talk about?” She says it kindly and softly, like it’s an offer. To Caitlyn, it really is. If Vi shook her head right now, ducked out of her hold, Caitlyn would let her go easily and wait until she was ready to talk about it. To Vi, her heart flooded with fight or flight yet trapped by her lover’s hands, it’s a demand. Explain yourself, clatters around inside her skull. Explain yourself.
Oh Janna, Vi really was awful at caretaking. This was supposed to be about Caitlyn. Caitlyn must see her thoughts written on her face, because she sighs softly and says, “Violet⸻”
Vi cuts her off, stammering. “I⸻ I⸻ That’s not what I meant. At⸻ at all. Just… that it’s not more important than your health? Ya⸻ You know? Cause⸻”
“Breathe,” Caitlyn instructs, interjecting into Vi’s horrible ramble. “It’s okay, breathe.” She exaggerates her breaths for Vi to follow, inhaling through her nose and exhaling out her mouth. Vi mimics her, a familiar dance. Caitlyn waits until Vi’s breathing is steady again to speak. “It’s okay, Vi. Everything is okay, I promise. I’m not mad or upset. This just feels like something we need to talk about.” Vi swallows heavily. She’s cornered by the concern and pure caring in Caitlyn’s voice. No way out.
Again, Caitlyn must see it in her face. She folds her hands into Vi’s and gently tugs all the way to the bed, where Caitlyn settles down on the end and then tugs once more for Vi to join her. Tense, Vi does. Caitlyn sighs. “I know you don’t like my job as an enforcer, and certainly not as the sheriff. That’s okay. I understand, as much as I am able to. It was my dream for so long, because I thought I would be protecting and helping people. You helped show me how utterly broken the system was, that what I was participating in was the opposite of everything I had hoped. And now… I’ve been handed a chance to change all of it, so that enforcers can be what they should be, what I originally thought they were: a force for good, people who protect and help others. I know that doesn’t necessarily make it better for you, and that’s okay. But I do think that we need to talk about it. I know I can’t ever fully understand where you are coming from or the pain that enforcers have inflicted upon you. But I want to try. I don’t want this to tear us apart, Vi.”
Vi’s frozen, staring at Caitlyn. She’s not sure she’s ready for this. She’s already screwed up royally. This wasn’t supposed to be about Vi and her doubts. This was supposed to be about Caitlyn overworking herself and trying to convince her to take better care of herself. If she opens her mouth, it’s going to be a garbled mess. And for all Caitlyn’s understanding, what if that’s it? What if Vi messes it all up and her lack of faith in Caitlyn’s organization chips away at them until there’s nothing left, and she lets Vi go? Nothing good in Vi’s life ever lasted more than a few years. This has an expiration date too. She always knew it. But…she really thought she’d have more time. She squeezes her eyes shut. “Love, love,” Caitlyn coos, her gentle touch sweeping the hair across Vi’s face further to the side. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it now. Whenever you’re ready.” And that’s the worst part, isn’t it. How hard Caitlyn is trying, and how much Vi isn’t? It’s not what was meant to happen, though maybe it’s what needs to happen. She can do this. For Caitlyn.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready,” Vi grits out, eyes still shut. She lets out a sharp breath. “But, you’re probably right. I… don’t believe the enforcers can change. Not that much. Not even with you at the helm.” There. She said it. At least, part of it.
Caitlyn hums thoughtfully. “Yes, that is a very valid concern. And centuries of history are on your side. But I have to believe it’s possible. The other option is giving up. Letting enforcers brutalize the innocent. I can’t idly sit back and let that happen.” It’s a fair point, and no surprise that this is the way Caitlyn thinks. She probably wouldn’t be with Vi unless she thought that way: that everyone had a capacity for good, and to be better. Vi finally opens her eyes to see Caitlyn regarding her with an open, vulnerable expression.
She has to meet her trust in turn. “I can see that,” Vi says in her most calm, measured tone. “But I don’t see the point if nothing is going to change. And… there are other things we could be doing that would help,” She stumbles, trying to get through it and the whole time Caitlyn watches her. Doesn’t interrupt. “Things… things in the Undercity that could directly help people now. Not sludging through all this garbage paperwork and having to listen to the Council’s bullshit prejudice. Piltover has built itself on the bones and backs of my people forever. You can’t just… change that.” Silence reigns in the bedroom when Vi finishes, suddenly loud. She said too much, didn’t she? Yet, this is Caitlyn, whose gaze hasn’t left Vi’s, who’s still holding her hand. And who Vi wants to trust with her heart. Even some of the ugly parts.
Caitlyn nods pensively. “You’re not wrong, Vi. Everything you are saying is true, and trust me, I know. It’s beyond grotesque. What Piltover has done and become. Or maybe who we always were. And yes, I am sure there are things we can do that would have a more immediate and direct impact. Which is very important. But, well… change has to happen on all levels. All the way from the Council down to the Fissures. In the government and in everyday life. Otherwise, nothing will stick, and nothing will change. Putting a thin bandage on a bullet hole doesn’t stop the bleeding. And Zaun is, sadly, full of bullet holes. You’re right that the change I am trying to make is painstakingly slow, and it’s possible we won’t see its true benefits in our lifetime. But what about the future? The here and now matter, of course they do. But so does the future. You’ve told me before that when you were younger, all you wanted was a better life for Powder than the one you had. I suppose this is a little bit of the same, wanting better for the future children of the Undercity. Does all that make sense?” Caitlyn asks at the end, tilting her head. Vi sits there trying to digest everything Caitlyn said. Turning it over and over in her head. Vi tends to live in the moment, to run on emotion; the heartbeat between the swing of one fist and then another, the conviction in her voice as she said nothing is ever going to change that. But Caitlyn also has logic and faith and goodness. And maybe that is enough. And well… if she can’t give Powder that future she always envisioned, at least she could help give it to others.
“Okay…” Vi says slowly. “Okay.” With more conviction. “I can get it a little better now. I still think we could maybe take some time together in the Undercity. Help a bit of both ways.” It’s not the fairest ask, with how hard Caitlyn is working herself right now. There’s a chance that it might help though. Vi’s also feeling more confident, enough to tackle her worry directly.
“Very understandable, and I think that sounds wonderful.” Caitlyn smiles and leans forward for a kiss, which Vi very much wants, but she ducks out of the way. She can’t let herself possibly get pulled into intimacy before she says everything she needs to. Caitlyn’s brow furrows in confusion. “Vi?” she says uncertainly.
“Sorry, sorry.” Vi says hurriedly. “I need to say this first though. I’m really worried. I understand better why you’re doing what you’re doing, but you need to take better care of yourself. I mean, you’re always telling me to take care of myself. And look at yourself! You’re killing yourself over this job. I know it’s important, but you can’t help anyone if you work yourself to exhaustion. And… and it hurts me to see it.” The rest comes out in a rush, finally hesitating before adding the last part, worried it’s too selfish to say.
Caitlyn’s brow instantly smooths and her posture slumps. A second later, she lets the rest of herself go and flops back on the bed. She covers her face with her hands. “I know,” She admits, the words coming out muffled. “I know, but it’s so hard to stop myself. It feels like if I stop…” Caitlyn searches for words. Eventually, she throws up her hand and then lets them fall back heavily to the bed, unable to express herself the way she wants.
“Caitlyn,” Vi ventures tentatively. Caitlyn turns her head to look at her. “I see you. And you’re doing enough. You really are. I promise.” Almost instantly, Caitlyn melts and smiles again.
“Thank you,” She whispers softly. In invitation, she holds her arms out. It doesn’t hit Vi until she’s nestled in Caitlyn’s embrace, but she feels like she fits better. Like something awkward and ill-fitting had been removed to make more space for them to fit together, soft curves and puckered, scarred skin and all. Caitlyn turns her face to start peppering light kisses against Vi’s face. Vi can’t help the smile that breaks across her face at the affection, at her open and willing acceptance of it. Of feeling that she’s helped reinforce something instead of tearing it down. Of knowing that she doesn’t only have to take, that she can reciprocate.
It occurs to her much later that night, as she’s trading kisses with Caitlyn in the lovely, unhurried afterglow, that she might still be a caretaker. We’ve all had bad days. But we learn, and we stick together. She didn’t get the chance to be there with her sister through her worst days, and she’ll keep trying to reach her so that she can be there for the next one. But she can be here, with someone else she loves. They can learn, they can stick together. Because maybe caretaking doesn’t have to be about one person, sacrificing everything for them. It can be about them both. It can be about Vi too. Maybe she’ll think differently come morning, yet at this moment, she feels so far from selfish.
“Tell me something good.” Caitlyn begs. They’re in one of the Kirammans’ sitting rooms (Vi doesn’t know what blows her away more, the fact that sitting rooms are, in fact, a thing or the fact that this giant mansion has more than one of them). The last sparks of daylight filter lazily through the wide windows and gauzy curtains, painting them in shades of pale gold. Vi is lounging against the long couch in front of the coffee table, one arm slung across the back. Caitlyn is laying sideways with her head in Vi’s lap, clutching Vi’s other hand to her cheek with the rest of her body twisted and curled in on itself.
She’s crying. It’s the quietest, softest, most non-destructive grief Vi has ever witnessed. It’s somehow fitting, something in it achingly tender and delicate. “Please, Vi,” She croaks. “I just need to hear something good.”
“You,” Vi answers without thinking. “You’re something good.” Immediately, Vi can feel Caitlyn’s face muscles scrunch and her body tense, a new flood of tears sliding onto her palms and getting absorbed by her hand wraps.
“Something else.” Caitlyn cries.
Vi hums. Something good, something good. What is there to tell Caitlyn? Stillwater is out of the running. Anything Jinx-related is clearly off limits. Everything else is tinged with loss and regret and guilt. That’s the last thing Caitlyn needs right now. Caitlyn is her something good. Though there’s also Ekko, the Firelights. One of the only things that’s felt truly right and good these last few weeks has been going down there, especially when she gets to spend time with the kids. Part of it hurts too, but she’s used to it. Nothing is painless. But the funny thing about kids is that they unconsciously heal hurt. They remind her of that still-hollow place inside her and then fill it up with hope, however temporary.
Then she thinks of the last time she was down there. The kids were rowdy and rambunctious, so she’d burned off their energy by running around with them. Indulging their games. After they were all tired out, flopped out on the ground underneath that mural she still had a hard time looking at most days, one of them asked Vi innocently, “Do you sing?” It was laughable. Who would look at beaten and bruised Vi and ask her for a song? “Maybe another time,” Vi had said, unable to truly say no. She’d compromised by humming.
The first time Vi ever sang was with her mom. She was an apothecary of sorts, with homebrewed remedies and Vi would watch her work as her mom hummed or sang softly with a gritty, uneven voice. Most times, her mom preferred to give away her remedies. People need help, Violet. And hope. I believe our kindness and decency will come back to us. But ideals didn’t keep Vi housed and fed or bought the ingredients for those remedies. Even before Powder. For stretches of time, Vi’s mom would disappear for work. What Vi noticed first was the utter silence. That night, after her first day of silence, Vi sang along with her mom, an old and familiar lullaby.
After Powder was born, Vi loved singing to her, and Powder seemed to love being sung to. Vi would describe her voice as mediocre, a voice like any other. But her mom would tell her how beautiful her voice was. After a hard day of work, her father would ask her to sing for him too. Sometimes Vi would sing for others too, other miners that stopped by or Vander pre-bridge when he’d come and talk to her mom.
After the bridge, Vi only ever sang for Powder.
Maybe Caitlyn would like a song.
“I just…” A shiver trails down Caitlyn’s spine. “All my life I felt so trapped. She never understood me or let me be me. I could never trust if an achievement was my own or if she bought it for me. We’d clash constantly and- and- I’m so mad at her. I’m so angry she’s not here but I miss her so much. I just- I just- I-”
Vi starts to sing quietly, her voice crackly after so many years of disuse yet surprisingly clear and steady too. “Dear friend across the river, my hands are cold and bare.” Caitlyn quiets, tilts her head infinitesimally. “Dear friend across the river, I’ll take what you can spare.” She’s still crying, but her tears have slowed. Her body relaxing into the cushions. “I ask of you a penny. My fortune it will be.” Maybe it’s not entirely something good. But only she can hear Powder accompanying her. It’s haunting. Although maybe it doesn’t have to be something bad either. “I ask you without envy. We raise no mighty towers, our homes are built of stone. So come across the river…” She continues to sing, all she can remember and starting over when she reaches the end. On her third-time through the song, she gently lowers her other hand to Caitlyn’s head and starts to run her fingers through her hair.
Caitlyn lays there, silent and mournful, listening all the while. After Vi trails off, Cait says “You have such a lovely voice.”
Vi clears her throat, too thick all of a sudden, and recalls another song her mom used to sing. Only for her. “Violets in bloom…”
Grief clings to every surface, the sun is fast retreating, and the back of Vi’s throat is starting to hurt, but it occurs to her that this is still something good. All of it. Her something good.
It’s still hard to cross that bridge. She can see the silhouette of her parents’ bodies staring vacantly at the sky. Her sister’s young, clear voice as she sings rings in her ears, phantom tears rolling down her cheeks. She can hear the muffled pop of explosions in her head, the bullets leaving Jinx’s gun as she fires at her and Caitlyn. The place she abandoned her sister again.
Unsurprisingly, she prefers to take any other route to the Undercity, avoiding that place as much as possible. Not to mention that with the chaos Piltover and Zaun have been thrown into now, enforcers are an ever-present, vigilant, and yes, terrifying, force. Despite her quite well-known connection to the Kiramman house, they’ll take any excuse to abuse their power over a sumprat and sometimes give her a thorough interview and shakedown while sneering her way. Though Vi always makes sure to take careful note of who those enforcers are and report them to Caitlyn. She’s never seen those same enforcers on the bridge again.
Today, she’s not exactly sure why she chooses the bridge. She wasn’t heading that direction but here she is. Vi was always known for barreling ahead. Damn the consequences. As if she could out-punch them. She never could.
The second she takes her first tense step, she’s stuck halfway between various pasts and the present. We were here, we saw what they did! The day she found her parents on that bridge, it was the first time her world ended. It’s when enforcer became synonymous with murderer. When enforcers mutated from human to monster. Vi suspects that if Vander hadn’t scooped them up and carried them off that bridge, those enforcers wouldn’t have hesitated to put bullets in two sumprat kids. She wanted to be strong for Powder that day, to protect her from all the death and misery around them. Hold onto my hand and don’t let go, Vi had said to her, sounding authoritative instead of terrified, with the slightest quaver in her voice. Cover your eyes and sing a song, that one Mom sings to us. Your favorite. Don’t stop no matter what, okay? She remembers falling to her knees, Powder’s arms around her. She remembers how Powder didn’t start crying until she did. It was one of the first times she realized the power she held, what it would mean to be an older sister from this point on.
It had been another stab to the heart, seeing Mom in Powder’s face all those years later, long after Vi thought it had completely slipped away from her memory. Her ghosts living there in the curve of Powder’s chin, the shape of her face, the purse of her lips.
Another echo crashes into her mind. I grew up knowing I’m less than them. That my place is down there. I want Powder to have more than that and I’m willing to fight for it.
Ekko’s voice joins the chorus: You can’t change her. Herself: I have to try. The clang of a gunshot and the surge of adrenaline as she whipped around.
The bridge itself isn’t particularly long, but Vi’s drained less than halfway across. Vi admits she still doesn’t know what’s going on in Powder’s head, just that it’s not good. Too much, too dark. The twisted dolls of Mylo and Claggor that Jinx had propped up around the dinner table at the cannery, Vander’s pipe laying across a plate. Shouting at phantoms Vi couldn’t see. If this is what it’s like for Powder all the time⸻ pulled in so many directions, stuttering between different times and snagging on an inescapable past, everyone she’s ever lost morphing into immovable demons in her mind⸻ she must be exhausted. Vi doesn’t know how she has the energy for anything.
Vi’s seriously thinking about dragging herself to the Firelights base and lying under the tree for the rest of the day. She huffs. Why did she decide to do this again?
You still don’t understand, Vander insists. No, Vi thinks, she doesn’t.
Vi doesn’t know why she does it today, but she stops there. She’s avoided looking at it since she’s been back. She can’t stand to see nothing there, an empty void where people stopped remembering. She wouldn’t blame her people either. Dealing with the shimmer epidemic, their disparity widening as Topside used Hextech to stuff their own coffers, scrambling more than ever to put food on the table for themselves and their families. And even if by some miracle, there’s some enduring form of remembrance, she can’t imagine Topside would let it stand after this newest surge of Anti-Zaun sentiment. Who cares about the Undercity’s grief? Their dead? Piltover’s corpses are fresher than this old and festering wound.
Today, for some reason, Vi stops in front of that alcove of the bridge, next to the one of the supports closest to the Undercity, with her eyes downcast. It was always a bitter comfort, coming to the memorial and seeing the unlit candles, little lanterns, tiny pencil portraits; all those tributes from people who already had nothing. The Day of Ash. Not that Topside remembers it, except as a vague recollection of victory. The rightful inhabitants of the city showing the bottom feeders their place.
The Undercity though, was incapable of forgetting, of forgiving.
Young, scrawny Vi with bloody knuckles clutching Powder’s hand in hers, far too tightly, trailing after Vander. Do we have to come back? Powder leaned up and whispered. Vi swallowed. I… she choked. Don’t you want to show Mom and Dad your drawing? Was the best Vi could come up with, seeing the paper crinkled in Powder’s other fist. Powder didn’t say another word, tucking herself closer to Vi as they walked.
All too soon, they were there. It never got easier any of the times they visited.
Vi watched as if from outside of herself as Vander unfolded one of her old shirts that’s too small for her now, bloodstained from back-alley fights and ripped from darting around on the rooftops. Gently, he bent over and laid it on the ground among the other offerings. He laid one of Powder’s outgrown shirts right next to hers, this one stained with grease and streaked with bright colors. “What are you doing?” Vi asked instinctively, brow furrowed.
“You’ve grown so much,” Vander said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I think they’d like something of yours.” Tears flooded Vi’s eyes as she slammed back into herself. But if she started to cry, Powder would cry too.
Then Powder let go of her hand.
Vi panicked. “Powder!” she called frantically, lunging forward. To shield her, to grab her hand again, Vi didn’t know. At the feel of skin against hers, of a small palm slotting into place, the world filtered back into being.
“I’m right here, Vi.” Powder sounded so small, a little scared. “I just wanted to give them my picture.” Vi couldn’t breathe. It was an overreaction. She could have sworn that the ash was clogging her throat and the stench of death was making her lightheaded. That if she dared to look further than Powder, there they would be again. Her dead parents.
But no. They were there with Vander, no enforcers on the bridge. Vi still couldn’t breathe.
“How about you give it to them together?” Vander suggested then, his voice a balm. Vi nodded wordlessly and tightened her hand around her sister’s as they stepped forward together and Powder tucked her picture right there between those old shirts.
It occurred to Vi, after they’d straightened up and they were standing there looking down, that she had nothing of herself to give. She looked over at Powder, her blue hair messy and a tiny tremble to her lip.
So she left a promise. I’ve got her, Mom and Dad. No monster’s gonna get her while I’m here. I promise.
Then a real monster showed up. And I just ran away.
That’s what Vi had told Cait. Then a real monster showed up. And I just ran away…ran away… ran away. It was true, she’d failed. She broke her promise. Vi shudders, the breeze dusting across the bridge suddenly so cold. How long has she been standing here, not looking? She owes them that much. Gulping, Vi finally looks.
It’s sparse. It’s not nothing. People remember, they refused to forget. She couldn’t be more grateful. There are two lonely candles with charred wicks, a wilting Undercity weed, a couple lanterns with broken panes, a well-worn necklace, and two faded drawings of faces in startling detail. No shirts, no picture. Of course there isn’t. But there’s still something to cast light, the barest brush of warmth. She hopes they can feel it.
Oh, Violet. Her mom’s voice sweeps past her on the next breeze, more static than human tenor.
How’s my little Undercity bloom? Her dad asks on the next one, garbled and bone-tired after a day in the mines.
She never minded it when they called her Violet. Always something about how it sounded on their tongues. She’d give anything to hear it again.
I’m so sorry. Vi thinks. Once again, standing in front of the memorial, she has nothing to give.
No, not nothing. “It’s not much,” Vi murmurs, slowly unwrapping her left arm. Unwinding over and over and over, revealing her forearm, wrist, and eventually knuckles. Then, standing there, with a bundle of bandages bunched in her hands, she feels so stupid, too exposed. Taking a deep breath, she gently rewinds them around her fingers in a loose oval. “It’s not much, but it’s mine. And now, I guess, it’s yours.” Vi leans down and sets it on the ground.
For a minute, she stands there staring at the coil of soiled white on that damn bridge. I’m sorry.
Flipping up her hood, Vi turns and walks away. Violet, floats by her ear again. She might have broken her promise, might not have earned forgiveness yet, but she can swear for a second that she can hear it. Forgiveness, given freely. I miss you, she thinks. She can feel their mercy in the way that her left arm doesn’t prickle uncomfortably out in the open without her wraps. Violet…
The second time Ekko takes her to see Vander’s statue, Vi can imagine why. She hasn’t been able to come back here on her own.
Vi came crashing back into the underground, but it seems that this time she did it so suddenly that she’s left behind a ghostly trail. Left reasons to doubt her existence, her return. That the pink-haired girl people saw streaming through the streets is really Vi, Vander’s girl. She still startles people. They look right through her. Look at her like she’s a dead girl walking. Like they can’t let themselves believe it. People don’t come back. Not in the Sumps.
More than anything, she doesn’t want people to see her here. She’s afraid to be seen with Vander’s memory. It will remind people of who she was, who they still want her to be. The person she was supposed to be.
Who knew there were so many expectations for a dead girl?
All his fault, really. Vander, The Hound of the Underground. When people look up to you, you don’t get to be selfish. She’s not stupid. She knows that she was supposed to be Vander’s successor.
Vander’s protégé. Vi hated how it sounded in Silco’s slimy voice. Candidly, I thought you were the prize of your secondhand family.
He wasn’t the only one. She knows it. Hates it.
Now Silco’s dead, Vi’s miraculously not, there’s a power vacuum, it’s her sister that’s wreaking havoc, and the Lanes are bleeding heavily. To them, on the outside, maybe she really doesn’t look that different. Sure, the haircut, tattoos, and muscles are new. But she’s still got one hand wrapped tight and both fists raised, a gunmetal gray gaze.
The bones of that screwup fifteen-year-old that Vander took in are still inside her.
That’s what Ekko wants from her. To come back, to be the new Hound. To step into shoes that she’ll only ever trip over. Do more harm than good. She can’t stand it. But you changed too.
“I don’t know if I’m that person anymore, Ekko,” Vi confesses. Another scar.
“That’s not why we’re here.” Ekko doesn’t need her to explain, to elaborate. He just knows. Ekko strides forward, to the base of the statue. “I didn’t believe it at first. When word spread that you had died. It didn’t seem possible.”
Slash. Scar. Though Vi knows Ekko isn’t trying to hurt her.
Ekko looks at her over his shoulder. “Guess I was right after all.”
Vi rolls her eyes. She bites her tongue to avoid blurting out that it’s not that simple. She may be here, but she’s not quite alive yet. “Your point?” she grunts, hands shoved deep in her jacket. Ekko jerks his head, indicating she should come closer. She does.
How ironic. That she’s quite literally in Vander’s shadow now. Just as cold as she dreamt.
“Everything changed so quick,” Ekko says, soft. “But this… this was something.” Something neither can truly put a name to, murky and lovely and painful all at once. “I scratched my name there.” Ekko points out.
It’s messy and familiar. Vi wonders how old he was when he did this.
“Someone had to remember. Besides, it felt like a way of saying ‘fuck you’ to Silco though I doubt he cared. I was the first one to do it. Others followed suit.” He’s right. All around the base of the statue are scraps of metal, names carved and scratched into them, some with colorful paint stuck in the grooves. This isn’t for Vander alone. It never was.
“I came back and wrote your name too. Mylo and Claggor’s.” He pauses. “Powder’s.” Vi can picture Ekko, still Little Man with his short stature and tinkering fingers and his ever-present ticking watch, overflowing with grief and confusion, kneeling right here with a piece of junkyard metal and determined eyes as he carves their names.
“I⸻”
“Don’t,” Ekko cuts her off. “I brought you here so you could do it yourself.” Reaching into his pocket, he flips out a nail, holding it out to her. Vi stares at it. “You don’t have to. Figured you should get the choice.”
Already, Vander’s presence is swallowing her whole. Funny how she heard him while facedown, bloody and contemplating giving up, but this is almost too much for her. What would it say, to put her name here? Some sort of declaration, or promise? She doesn’t have any more promises in her.
Yet again, Ekko knows her better than she would have ever anticipated. “It’s not for them. If you do it, it’s for you. You and him only.”
Vi’s breath catches in her throat. I’m proud of you. Always have been. Vander’s legacy might suffocate her on the best days, but it saved her during her worst ones. And screw legacy. She loved him. Despite her determination not to.
Vi takes the nail. You’ve got a good heart. Don’t ever lose it.
“I thought this would be a good place,” Ekko says. It’s on the second level, separated from his name by a lip of metal running around the whole statue. The metal he’s pointing to is clearly a new addition, a bit clunky from being hammered over an existing section. Who did Ekko blot out? The signature he carved in her name?
Her hand is unsteady, but all she needs to do is write two letters. Two letters and it’s done. She puts metal to metal. It makes an awful screeching noise as she goes over it again. And again.
V I
Her hand hovers there for a second, wondering if she should add the rest. Don’t call me that. She used to snap at Vander and duck out from his giant hand as he tried to muss her hair.
No. Just Vi this time. “Done.” Vi stands up and hands the nail back to Ekko. They both look down at it, the two letters uneven and deep. Here, standing in the shadow of the man she’d sometimes think of as Father, next to not-so-Little-Man and acutely feeling the absence of her sister, it feels like a declaration. A scream and a cry. A whisper.
A reminder.
V I
I’m here, I’m here
Most of the time, Vi’s awake to watch the dawn. It hasn’t lost its novelty. All those colors bleeding into each other and her, getting to watch it all.
She didn’t know her last sunrise would be her last. As it turns out, it wasn’t. She’s more than grateful.
In Stillwater, she never knew when the sun was rising or setting. Only knew it was raining when dampness trickled down through all the cracks and crevices, when spores of mold bloomed anew in the rifts. Thought about how the last time she felt rain on her skin, she had watched Vander die, abandoned Powder when she needed her most⸻ Why did you leave me? and the nauseating crack of flesh on flesh⸻
No. Don’t go there. Vi wasn’t there anymore. Except Vi didn’t always win against the spiral down those nightmarish corridors that were branded into her brain. Down in -40, it was always cold. Where the chill didn’t matter because the solitude was always the worst. Down there, when the warden and a group of upstart guards would march to her cell, hungry for trencher blood, it was block, punch, bite, duck, grapple, spit, curse. Every bruise that thudded into her flesh was real and painful and routine. For however long they beat her, her mind was filled with the white noise of fighting. The struggle for survival. The worst was when they left her there, bleeding on the freezing floor and the ache wasn’t enough for her to succumb to unconsciousness. Violet! Please, I need you! If the warden thought he was the worst thing that had ever happened to Vi, he was dead wrong. No one could punish Vi more than she could punish herself.
Stop. Vi wasn’t there anymore. Instead, she had mornings where she could rest her bare forearms on her knees and watch the sunset. All those colors which didn’t exist in Stillwater. All those things that Stillwater choked and drowned. Like warmth, affection, family, second chances. All those things that, by some miracle, she had now. Caitlyn’s arms winding around her easily in loose embraces. Sunburst kisses on her cheeks. The fresh air of a real, live tree thriving in the Undercity. The joyful spurts of children’s laughter. Wind thrashing against her body and open space yawning right under her worn boots. Ekko’s steady acceptance and knowing gaze. Hearing Powder’s voice again.
All the things that made her life worth living, she suddenly had again. Except she no longer knew how to have them. But she wanted to. Staring at the dawn like a watercolor masterpiece come to life, she wanted to know how to live again. Wanted to learn. Maybe… maybe she had already started. An alley cat tentatively learning to trust again.
Sunrises became her revelation. Sometimes, though, every once in a while, she wishes she could skip the sunrise. Wake up to Caitlyn instead, as brilliant as any dawn. Even if they fall asleep together, bodies curled toward each other by unexplained magnetism, they still don’t wake up to one another as often as either would like. Not from any lack of want, but rather a lack of possibility. It used to start with Vi, already awake with a restless body and having abandoned the bed for the Undercity or the roof above Caitlyn’s bed or to go punch a stone wall. Or if Vi was still asleep, Caitlyn might slip out early for her Sheriff duties, though Vi can swear that on those days, she can feel as Cait tenderly caresses her face before she goes. Though all of this is slowly transforming into a rare occurrence. How Vi will crash into wakefulness and simply breathe and breathe in the safety of Caitlyn’s hold. How Caitlyn will wake up and quietly murmur, “20 more minutes” to herself as she tucks herself closer to Vi’s body.
It gives Vi hope that there will be many more mornings like this one; she will always treasure mornings like these. She comes to wakefulness slowly, with the time and the security to do so. To peel back the layers between sleep and wakefulness one at a time. There’s a warm pressure around her waist and something brushing against her knee. She knows with certainty that it’s Caitlyn’s slack arm wrapped around her waist, one of her legs tentatively settled against Vi’s.
The world feels fuzzy around the edges. The blurred glow against the windows is bright, as if dawn came and went hours ago. Caitlyn, tucked around Vi, is in sharp relief. Her face is relaxed, a hint of stress creasing her brow, and a tiny trail of drool at the corner of her mouth. She’s beautiful.
Vi reaches up with two fingers, caressing Caitlyn’s cheek the way she’d done for Vi once. It had been so long since Vi had been shown tenderness. Since she’d shown tenderness to anyone.
Caitlyn doesn’t wake, but she turns her head into the gesture, chasing it. Vi smiles. Caitlyn snuggles closer.
Here, it feels like they’re in their own bubble, just them and nothing else matters. Even the chattering of Vi’s ever-present guilt and the chant of find Powder, find Powder, is strangely, blessedly silent. This golden morning, Vi can hear the sound of herself and Caitlyn breathing, and it’s all she needs. Her life is simple and beautiful and whole. There’s nothing she’s missing, nothing she has to search for. She’s living, laying here in this big Topsider bed with someone she loves.
Vi doesn’t know what peace feels like. But she thinks this may be as close to it as she’ll ever get.