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You’ve noticed Vi always looks up at the sky the same way whenever it’s sunny out: with a sense of restrained wonder, like she’s never seen it before and thinks she might never see it again. You know where it comes from. It’s precisely why you always suggest that you both eat lunch together outside when the weather is nice.
Today, it’s particularly well-earned. The sun feels welcoming after hours of gruelling paperwork indoors, and Vi clearly feels the same way, stretching out contentedly across the bench you’re sharing with her legs crossed like she’s sunbathing. Her arms are up on the back of the seat, one just behind you, and absentmindedly, you tuck in a loose bandage end from her forearm. She reaches out and pats your other shoulder in thanks, smiling.
(Vi has freckles, you've found, when she's able to be in the sun. Your own skin tans when hers burns, and though she complains, you selfishly like that about her. It makes her look sort of sweet, and it suits her personality better than that threatening mask she wears so often.)
“Oh, look.” Suddenly, she points up into the sky; you follow her finger to find- “Blimps are out today.”
You open your mouth, almost begin to correct her- the first syllable of “actually” is halfway out of your mouth already- and immediately shut it again, because it really doesn’t matter. It’s not a big deal, and Vi doesn’t care, and you’re here so you can eat your perfectly nice lunch and allow her to sit out in the sun and not be bothered for a while.
(It’s not a blimp, though. You know it's not and it irks you when people confuse the two.)
Vi turns to you. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to, and then you stopped.”
You shift in your seat, then cut another piece of your sandwich off just to busy yourself (Vi can make fun of you for how you eat sandwiches all she wants- you’re not the one walking around wearing half a tuna melt across your face after you’re done, after all). “Well, yes, it- it didn’t matter. It’s silly.”
“No, tell me!” She turns to face you, leaving her arm across the back of the bench and gesturing with the other as if to say go ahead .
“It’s really not-”
“Cupcake.” Vi tilts her head, her smile falling a little. The two of you have talked about this before- your tendency to doubt yourself and whether anything you say matters, whether you’ve used just the right words and if the people around you secretly think you’re not as smart as you know you can be. She always encourages you through it.
When you hesitate, she adds, “I want to hear it. What did you want to tell me?”
You point up at it again, and she looks. “It’s actually an airship, not a blimp. The hull is rigid, see?”
She actually squints up at it to check, then nods expectantly.
“A blimp would be filled with helium, so it needs less structural support to fly.” You turn back to your lunch, but can’t help but add, “It also wouldn’t have a keel, which is that bit on the bottom you can see… there.” You point it out again, as if she doesn’t know where the ship is in the sky, then decide you’re done humiliating yourself to your friend because she surely must think you’re being condescending by now, but then-
“Which one came first, then?” Vi asks, and your head shoots up again embarrassingly quickly. “I bet it was airships, it’s probably way easier to make something sturdy and then lighten it up as it goes along.”
She’s serious. Not only has she not stopped you, she wants to know more?
“Ah, actually, no, it was the other way around. That’s a good guess, but- well, if you think about it-” you’re doing that thing, talking with your hands again, and you hear your mother’s voice reminding you not to, so you sit on them- “if your intent is to get up into the sky, the lighter the better! So since a large balloon would float much better than a large metal ship, it really- well, it makes sense when you consider that.”
Sitting on your hands didn’t help, and now you’re trying to restrain yourself from either rocking in place or bouncing your leg. You cross your ankles and feel like you’ve been put in a gilded straightjacket. You force a reserved smile anyway.
“Cool.” Vi leans back again, smiling, and her hand again lands on your shoulder, smoothing over a fold in your jacket, and you feel- lighter now, somehow. You allow yourself to fold your hands in your lap again instead. “You know a lot about airships, huh? Didn’t know that about you.”
“Oh, it’s just something I've heard Jayce talk about a lot. I just think they’re neat.”
Frankly, neat was an understatement, and having heard of them from Jayce was a flat-out lie. You remember going to the park as a small child, holding your father’s hand as he explained that those balloons were going to transport people , imagining flying through the air and going someplace completely new and exciting. The image had stuck with you so strongly that it had never truly faded.
“Have you ever been in one?” Vi asks.
You try your best not to sound bitter when you respond. “No. My mother would never let me. She said it was too dangerous, that we could afford nicer travel anyway.”
Vi just hums.
“I… always sort of wanted to, though,” you admit.
“So did my siblings and I.” She leaves her hand on your shoulder, and you don’t remove it. She’s warm, comforting, and you marvel at how someone so strong can be so gentle at the same time. “Do you know anything else interesting about them?”
“Do I- are you… I mean, would you really like to know?”
“I wouldn't ask if I didn't."
And it's true- she really wouldn't. It had taken weeks of stubborn mistakes and arguments to allow Vi to let you explain the minutiae of the city that she hasn't quite grasped yet. If she felt bored or as though you were talking down to her, she wouldn't let it continue.
Vi, sweet, hard-headed fool that she is, really wants to listen.
So you tell her about dirigibles for the rest of lunch, the different kinds and their inventors and various famous flights. She asks you for more: whether certain makers have defining features (they do), if any accidents had ever occurred on one (yes, a lot , particularly in the early days ), where you would go if you could fly in one- where you would take her, too.
(Everywhere you both could agree to go.)
Quickly, you find yourself revising that old dream: no longer a lone passenger on the ship, perhaps with a woman at your side developing a sunburn and still refusing to go sit in the shade. She would keep both of your tickets tucked safely away, because she knows you could lose them in the rush to get there in the first place. You could pack the treats for both of you that only she would wind up eating, and the two of you would watch the clouds float past together, maybe even find your hands meeting over the railing of the ship and-
… Yes, you would imagine that could be quite nice.
"You know, you're pretty smart, Cupcake." Vi looks over to you, and you feel sure she must see your face flush because it feels like she knows just what you've realized.
It's wordless, still, but stirring and decidedly alive.
(It isn't even new. You've known for months, but every time you shove it back down under the guise of professionalism, it comes back like a scorned puppy, begging for attention and love.)
"You're pretty cute, too, don't worry," Vi teases with a smirk, and the moment is over again. Now you know you're blushing.
As revenge, you scoff, then lean over and carefully bring your hand to her face. She watches, raising an eyebrow.
"You've got some-" and you swipe your thumb just under her lip- "right there."
The reaction is instant and predictable, beautiful , right: her lips part slightly, her silvery eyes widen, and of course she flushes redder than her hair. You weren't intending to play fair; you already know how much Vi craves contact.
Besides, it's not cheating if she loves it so much... and if you get to see all that bravado melt.
She can't get to have all the fun at your expense.
Vi whips her head back around so fast it's almost funny. "Could've gotten it myself," she mutters, and you laugh.
"Vi, I'm not even convinced you would have noticed it on your own."
"Shut up."
You’re five minutes late getting back to the office because Vi stops along the way to glance at a toy vendor’s wares, and you would coax her along, but you can’t quite bring yourself to. You know how much she’s lost, after all- how much she’s never imagined having.
For once, you don’t mind being late.
You learned quickly upon meeting Vi that she has a surprisingly good memory for the people she cares about, despite her struggle to recall schedules, dates and times. She recounts memories of her childhood with enough clarity to make you hear Zaunite street traffic, feel tiny hands in yours. When talking with Ekko, she always brings a spare part along, whatever he had mentioned needing the last time they’d met. Sometimes, when she thinks you aren’t looking, she leaves little packages of high quality art store markers in the rubble of crime scenes before you both leave.
Somehow, though, you’re still surprised when you come into the office one morning- first to arrive, as always- to find a small wrapped… thing on your desk. You’ve barely unwrapped it before Vi breezes in past you, drops her lunch bag on her own desk and grins.
“You like it?” she asks. Gently, she takes the toy from your hands and flips it over. “Look, it’s got a keel and everything.”
She got you a tiny airship. It's a child's toy the size of your hand, made of cheap metal with visible hot glue stuck to the fabric bits, but it's accurate . A rigid model, tail fins of the correct size and shape and number, and yes, a tiny keel on the bottom. Everything is in its proper place; the attention to detail is obvious.
She remembered everything. She cared about everything enough to remember it.
You think your heart might burst. Gods help you, but for a millisecond you think you might be in love (with Vi, not the toy).
You vaguely register that Vi has been rambling. "I really hope it's okay, because I tried to remember what you said, and the guy who sold it to me had a lot of different kinds and- honestly it was a little bit overwhelming? I wanted to get you-"
You run your finger over the little metal support beam running the bottom of the hull. It's a lovely texture.
Not even your mother had ever- your father tries , but he-
"And I said, that's way too expensive , and the lady was like, well, I can't change the ticket prices , so… it was what I could get. I know it's kind of silly, you don't have to keep it if-"
"No," you interrupt her. "No, Vi, it's perfect. Thank you so much."
Her face just lights up in relief, and
gods
, you do want to kiss her. You want to keep her, selfishly, to take care of her the same way she does when you stay at work too late. She has had so little and she gives everyone she knows so much, even through something as small as a reminder that she really listens.
Vi gives you a lopsided grin that pulls at her tattoo and nods. "Glad you like it, Cait."
Then she's gone again. You completely forgot to ask whether it was a special occasion that you'd forgotten or if she’d just been struck with the urge to do something nice.
The moment she's out of sight, you gingerly set the airship in a place of honour, safe and snug next to your nameplate, and allow yourself to burn the extra, giddy energy for a minute or two in private. As your mother had said, the way you behaved in private was your business and nobody else's.
(It’s also the moment you decide to throw professionalism to the wolves. You love her, and it won’t go back in its cage.
Instead, you decide to feed it and see how big and beautiful it could get.)