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My take on what happened when Vi and Cait spent the day at Cait’s house and some Stillwater abuse discussion because I’m an angst beast. Hope you all enjoy—I wanted to play with writing something a little more present tense stream of consciousness to get out of my writer’s block : )
Vi is being a spook and having a silent trauma conniption the entire time because, well, the Oil and Water meltdown came from somewhere and that poor girl has had no time to process anything.
Easy, Easy
This house is too fancy for her to exist in. That’s the only thing Vi knows right now—the house is too fancy, and she’s filthy, and if anyone sees her with Cait they’re going to assume the worst.
Whatever. She grits her teeth, hoisting herself through the open window and turning immediately to help Cait. Cait needs help more than she needs to worry about whatever might happen once they get inside.
Cait’s fingers wrap delicately around her wrapped hands, the wiry strength in her arms using Vi for balance as she struggles up the final bit of their climb with one leg.
-
It takes a moment of gawking with her exhausted brain spinning before Vi realizes where she recognizes the woman with the shotgun pointed at her.
Cait is hugging her father.
There’s also the woman, the woman looking her up and down like she’s a piece of scum.
Vi, with her shoulders hunched and hood up, can do nothing other than freeze at the end of the gun barrel. The woman shares Cait’s lithe build and pointed features and striking eyes, and yet her face is also impossibly familiar in its own right.
Vi hasn’t seen her in a while, not since Vander used to like to read the tabloid magazines which made it down to the Lanes.
This is Councilor Kiramman. And Councilor Kiramman has a daughter. Vi has seen the tabloids. A girl with long dark hair who’d been around her age.
Because Cait is Caitlyn Kiramman. Councilor Kiramman’s daughter.
“Stay here.” Councilor Kiramman tells Vi as Cait is hustled out the door, and Vi can only give a little nod.
-
Vi doesn’t think when she gets on the bed, resting her tired legs and looking at the map on Cait’s bedroom floor. It’s one of the most impressive images of Zaun and Piltover Vi has ever seen. The pictures tacked to the floor feel familiar, and she realizes they’re from the same tarot deck Sevika used to read and play with in The Last Drop. The one with the visible brush strokes on the art and silver painted edges.
A painful lump forms in Vi’s throat, a deep ache of homesickness settling in her chest. She’s so out of place here. A florist shop’s worth of flowers are stacked along Cait’s wall, paired with dozens of get-well-soon cards. The crush she’s been nursing on Cait feels even more foolish.
The body odor of the man she stole the coat from is sour in her nose.
She’s sticky with sweat and her own blood.
-
The Council is going to give them an audience.
Vi isn’t sure if it makes her nauseated or hopeful.
They lay on the bed and Cait tries to assure Vi that everything with Powder isn’t her fault. Long fingers stroke her cheek.
Vi is so tired that she doesn’t react as she normally might—she doesn’t feel the ghost of knuckles landing against her ribs nor the sting of a palm on her lip. Cait touches her with the back of her fingers, making her skin feel warm and tingly. Her stomach flutters and she swallows, trying to calm herself.
Vi chances gripping Cait’s hand in the moment, running her thumb over her knuckles to silently return the favor.
Cait’s lips twitch in a gentle smile, keeping her hand in Vi’s. She doesn’t pull away, nor does she flinch. She’s still and relaxed, letting Vi hold her hand while a surprisingly comfortable silence settles around them.
There are a million things that Vi wants to say, but she can’t manage anything more than looking into Cait’s eyes and trying to breathe through the sudden emotion welling in her. She exhales through pursed lips and desperately blinks back her tears.
“Are you alright?” Cait asks her softly, stroking her hand.
Vi manages a little nod. She’s not, but that doesn’t matter. They don’t have time to deal with not being alright right now.
“Are you?” She asks.
Cait gives a little shrug.
Vi desperately wants to hold her.
There’s a knock on the door that startles Cait and Vi equally.
She’s a housekeeper—Petunia is her name, “Your mother sent me.”
Cait makes a displeased noise at that.
“I’m here to get your dirty clothes.” A pause, “Do you need a minute?”
Cait pushes herself up from the bed, Vi quickly behind her. “No. We’re fine.” Cait sounds posh and composed, and Vi is thankful she’s there to speak for them.
Petunia tosses a laundry basket onto the floor, crinkling her nose, “Need a shower. Both of you.”
Cait goes first despite offering the shower to Vi. Vi still feels too anxious in her surroundings to do much else other than to toss the red jacket into the hamper.
“No, no. I’m fine. You go ahead.” She wants Cait to be comfortable. It’s the least she can do right now.
Cait digs in a wardrobe in her room, coming back with a set of soft sweatpants and a flannel button down that will fit Vi. They look soft and so warm and the perfect sort of clothes which she used to sleep in when she was a kid that were stretched and pilled from dozens of washes.
It seems wrong. It should be stiff starched prison pants and a supportless tank top. It should be her wrapping her chest with elastic fabric strips scavenged from old prison pant waistbands for support in case she needs to punch. The wraps holding her chest and knuckles are going to need to come off to shower.
It’s not like she didn’t take off everything to shower when it was allowed in prison.
This one has a locking door, assumingly.
Easy, easy.
Safe.
Everything is safe. She’s just in in an enforcer’s bedroom and said enforcer’s mom is a councilwoman.
Easy, easy.
Safe.
Vi’s heart thuds like it does when she senses a gang hit in the cafeteria about to go down and she wants to stay out of it and not end up in the hole because for once she’s not the one picking the fight—
Easy, easy. As Cait said when she fought the pain of shimmer knitting her insides and skin back together.
Not back to the hole, anywhere but there, not after she’s tasted freedom—
How claustrophobic is Cait’s shower?
Safe.
Easy, easy.
“I’ll be quick.” Cait assures, giving a soft smile as she certainly senses Vi’s unease, closing the door to the en suite bathroom behind her.
Safe, safe. Everything is fine.
Vi hurts and she’s tired and she wants to lay on the floor in the cell in the hole because once the guards have given her the punishment beating they’ll leave her alone for at least twelve hours and then she should get breakfast thrown at her (unless they decide to starve her out again). Routine. Comfortable.
No, no. That’s wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking that. Of course she doesn’t want to go back.
It’s so claustrophobic. She doesn’t want to think about small spaces.
Easy, easy.
Safe.
The water is running from behind the door while Cait showers and Vi stinks like death. But, there’re warm clothes waiting for her once she’s done.
Vi crouches on the floor and un-tapes her boots to get them off in the meantime, chucking damp socks into the laundry basket and rolling too-long pants. She sets the boots at the foot of the bed. Gods, she’s not in the mood for cold water on her back, but, she knows she needs it.
No use sleeping in the dirty boots here….she’s not going to get jumped in the middle of the night.
She’s in an enforcer’s bedroom whose mother is a councilwoman who just pulled a gun on them.
Maybe Vi needs to sleep in the boots, she thinks, and gives a tired, unamused chuckle to herself.
The water stops and Cait emerges after a few minutes, wrapped in a robe and pj pants.
She hands Vi a fresh towel, “Go. Shower. As long as you like.”
Vi nods dumbly.
The shower is massive, thank gods. It’s not claustrophobic. It’s not a little cell. Sort of like the community showers at Stillwater except she has it all to herself. She has to ask Cait to help her turn it on and then finally strips her clothes and soggy hand wraps when she’s alone.
It’s warm. The water is warm. It feels so good. Vi nearly cries and her shoulders sag and she steadies herself against the ornate marbling on the walls.
She scrubs herself with soap that smells like Cait until her pale skin is pink and rakes the same soap through her hair. It’s probably not for that purpose, there’s probably separate shampoo—that’s what rich people do— but she can’t think about that right now. All the bottles are too overwhelming. She just needs to get clean and get out of here so she won’t be vulnerable. She’s too naked right now and taking too long.
Vi wiggles into the sweatpants and buttons down the shirt. She steps out of the bathroom and sees Cait leaning back on the bed. She deposits the dirty clothes and hand wraps in the laundry basket, hoping they come back to her soon.
Petunia is waiting for her, wanting to take the basket away.
“Would you like some tea?” Petunia asks.
“Yes. Please. The usual.” Cait replies.
Petunia turns to her next, “And for you, Miss?”
“I…I…” Vi’s heart stutters, her words catch in her throat. Tea. How do people drink tea? There was only coffee in prison. The instant coffee packages stolen from the enforcer mess hall were rare and a high commodity. Somebody got shanked over those once. “I…What she’s…having?”
“Alright.” Petunia gives a nod and carries the laundry from the room.
Vi swallows a fresh lump in her throat, willing her hands to stop shaking. Why is she so stressed? She has a million real things to be upset about. Asking for tea from a housekeeper shouldn’t be one of them.
Cait has a fucking staff.
“Vi?”
“Hm?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Are you alright?”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Yes.” Cait’s reply is breathy in agreement, “Yes. It has. Would you? Would you like to lay down with me….or…I can show you to a guest room, if you prefer?”
A little room. A little claustrophobic room with maybe a cot? Familiar, comforting, maybe. But no, no, Vi wants to be with Cait. Her stupid crush which is such a bad idea is still drumming in her brain, but Cait makes her feel safe and Cait stroked her cheek so kindly a few minutes prior—Vi wants to be with Cait.
“I…I’ll stay with you.”
“Okay.” The soft smile again and the kind eyes which search her quietly. Cait is too good for this world.
Vi feels better getting on Cait’s massive bed this time, now that she’s clean.
The bed is so soft.
So soft. It feels weird. Her achy hips are sinking into it. Cait studies her, setting herself on the pillows beside her.
Vi takes a breath to steady herself and reaches out a hand. She feels like not enough. She’s so in her own head she doesn’t know how to even begin to interact with Cait.
Cait takes it immediately. She doesn’t seem too keen on small talk either. They’ve been through too much for that. The gesture is enough to ground Vi, and she strokes Cait’s knuckles to try to communicate how appreciative she is for the shower, barrowed clothes, and tea that’s coming.
A warm drink sounds nice.
Vi isn’t sure who initiates it, but they wiggle closer and close to each other, silently seeking each other. Cait opens her arms, and Vi folds into her chest. Cait’s cheek is rested on her head and Vi is tucked against her sternum.
She could sleep like this. She wants to sleep like this—how many times she’s imagined it, curled on her prison cot and looking at smuggled magazines. What would it be like to curl against a pretty girl? She’s stiff against Cait, not wanting to move, still as not to disturb the comfortable position Cait’s seemingly found even though her hands are cramping and her neck is at an odd angle.
There have been little encounters in prison over the years. But this is different.
Stillwater has strict no physical contact rules. Something, something, it’s a coed prison. Cot cuddles end in beatings regardless of who they’re between.
She quivers against Cait as every instinct honed over the past seven years warns her against what she’s currently doing.
“You alright?” Cait checks.
“Yes. Just…been a while.” And usually she does—did—the holding. Not the other way around. It’s nice, though. Vi hasn’t had physical human contact like this in a long time.
She feels the vibration through Cait’s ribcage as she starts to say something, but a knock on the door stops her.
Vi startles upright, putting herself in front of Cait.
“Petunia.” Cait states, giving a pat on her knee, “It’s alright.”
She’s embarrassed for how hard the knock on the door spooks her—her heart is in her throat and she rolls her bad shoulder to make sure it won’t lock on her if she has to swing. Chin tucks against her chest.
It’s okay. It’s just Petunia.
A woman a head shorter than Vi and probably older than her mother would be now.
Her mother. Powder. Vander. Her brothers.
Nope, can’t go down that road. Not here, not now. This place is soft and it’s making her brain soft.
Her hands are still shaking so hard that Petunia takes pity on her and pours the tea into the cup for her, “Sugar and milk?” She asks.
Vi’s brain seizes in her thick head again. A woman is asking her how she wants her tea, but she can hardly speak.
“Y…Yes.’ She manages.
“Yes, milk? Yes, sugar? Yes, both?”
Vi isn’t following her. She can’t think. She’s so tired, “Yes….all…” Sure, why not? That’s how they used to serve it at Vander’s bar sometimes, she thinks. The memories fade back. ‘Normal’ ones. A day when she loaded teacups on a tray and brought it to one of the tables.
“That two top, they good?” Vander asked.
“Yeah. Took care of their drinks. Huck is busy.” Vi stated. Huck wasn’t a very good waiter, ever, but Vander let him work sometimes to pay his debt.
And she wants to cry again because her brain is soft right now. This place is making her soft.
“You okay?” Petunia asks, “Hungry?”
“Y-yes.” Vi manages. Both Petunia and Cait look at her like they don’t believe her but let it lie. She’s too feral to be here and they surely know that, not to push her too hard. She’s humiliated that she’s so knotted up.
All over a shower and tea.
The hot water made her brain go soft. That explains it.
--
The tea is warm, and the toast has salty butter and sweet jam and Vi might actually be in heaven. It’s wrong—it’s wrong when her sister is hurt somewhere, and she deserves to be in Stillwater. She’s a bad person and a bad sister.
She’s able to small talk a little bit now. She’d been so hungry, and it was making her edgy. The food and tea calms her down. Cait and their talking also helps her calm down.
“You cannot tell me that you were a prison cook.” Cait snorts into her tea.
“My…father….kind of my father. He had a bar in the lanes and served food. I know how to cook, Cupcake. That’s one of my prison hustles.” Vi points at herself with her thumb.
“So they put you to work in the cafeteria?”
“No. Hell no. I don’t do that.” Vi laughs with her. They’re both so tired and frayed, “I’m a commissary cook. Ever had dried noodle nachos?”
“I can’t say I have. I’m a terrible cook.” Cait replies, as it’s the most normal thing. Something about it eases Vi.
“You’re missing out.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime, then.” Cait smiles.
Butterflies explode in Vi’s stomach. Yes. Yes, she thinks she likes that idea. She needs to handle this Powder and Silco thing first though. Hopefully the Council will help them.
“I will.”
“I can’t say I have prison stories, but when I was a kid my mother decided I needed to become more rugged, so she sent me to a girls’ camp in the wilderness outside the city where they made us rub sticks together to start fires.” Cait finishes her sentence by finishing a bite of toast.
That’s fucking hilarious. A bunch of Piltie society girls out fending for themselves in the woods and sweet, perfectly bossy Cait with them. Vi cackles.
Cait’s father checks on them. He hugs Cait and eyes Vi up and down.
It raises her hackles.
She rolls her shoulder.
It takes a moment for her to realize he’s concerned—and that makes it worse somehow. She feels cornered, inspected. If she needs care they can toss her into Stillwater’s shitty med wing; Cait’s people don’t need to concern themselves with her. Good thing she’s fine.
--
“Hey. Vi, is it?”
“Yes?” She’s nervous with Cait’s dad’s eyes on her. She doesn’t like this for a moment.
“Are your hands okay?”
“They’re fine.” She answers quickly, feeling naked without the wraps. Her knuckles are a mess. They’re ugly to look at but serve their purpose. She needs the laundry to hurry up and get done.
“He’s a doctor.” Cait states, “Are your wounds okay?”
Vi glances between them. Her instincts scream at her to bolt but she sits still on the edge of the bed, cornered between them.
“I’m fine.” She answers quickly, too harsh.
She deserves to be in prison.
Cait and her father merely look at her kindly.
It’s too much kindness. Everything is too soft.
Her brain is going to get soft.
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything. Or ask Cait, of course, if you feel more comfortable.” The man says, giving Cait a pat on the shoulder.
“S-sure…” Is that friendly enough?
Vi wants to eject herself out the window.
-
Cait talks her into letting Tobias look at her hands and the healed patch that was the stab wound.
Sevika is such a cunt-bag. Vi can’t want to get her hands on her again.
Cait holds her and rubs her head.
Cait’s been scratching her head for the last hour while they’ve been talking and dozing beside each other. It feels incredible and too soft at the same time.
All the touches are making her emotional. Cait likes to touch people—it’s probably how she communicates care.
Vi is out of practice with any of that.
Vi squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to panic.
Tobias already re-bandaged Cait’s leg. Everything was relaxed and kind.
So she shouldn’t be stressed out.
Warm hands press on her lower abs, asking if she hurts. The fresh skin healed quickly by the shimmer is sensitive.
“Huh?”
“Painful?”
“N-no.”
Tobias pulls her shirt back down to cover the patch of skin above her waistband. His tenderness startles her, “Can I see your hands?”
Hands up or I’ll break them, Pink!
Hands squished under the Warden’s baton. Him pushing down on her knuckles until she cried out and he laughed—'not so tough now.’
Easy to say when three other enforcers had her pinned.
“They hurt always. Punch too much.” Vi looks at the ceiling. A warm feeling from Cait rubbing her head
He lets out a breath, “Boxing hands, hm. Can I see?”
She manages to let him look for three seconds before she pulls away, “They’re okay.”
“Okay.” Tobais agrees, “Let me know if you need anything. You’re welcome here, Vi.”
A lump wedges in her throat.
She doesn’t belong here.
-
She and Cait fold into each other to nap properly, Vi’s skin crawling from the warmth. She wants this—she wants this so much. But it’s wrong.
Silco still has Powder.
Powder is hurt.
She needs the Council.
“We’ve got this.” Cait assures her when they start talking, “It’s alright.”
“Thank you.” Vi murmurs, “Thank you for letting me stay.”
-
Cait falls asleep before her. It makes sense because Cait is in her own bed.
Vi tucks the blankets around Cait.
She can’t stand how soft the mattress is despite her exhaustion. Vi moves as quietly as she can, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She settles on curling on the floor in front of the window. Even the carpet is soft. A million times better than the cement floor in the solitary cells. The bed is too soft and uncomfortably warm. She’s getting sweaty.
It’s either the bed or her blood pressure that won’t slow down.
She closes her eyes, sleeping uneasily.
Tonight the Council will help them.
Tonight the Council will help her get back to Powder.
The phantom of soft hands on her head haunt her. She craves more and is simultaneously terrified of it. She shouldn’t like Cait how she does. Cait deserves one of her society girls who know how to ask for tea and make fires by rubbing sticks together from summer camp.
Look what happened to the last people who loved her!
Vi draws her knees up, sleeping on the enforcer’s floor in her big fancy house with her councilwoman mother.
She needs this to work. Her brain is spinning.
The Council has to help them.
The Council has to solve this for her because she can’t, and Cait doesn’t need to be picking pieces of her up as she tries to get her brain to work right.
-
Vi wakes again and has a blanket draped over her in her space on the floor. Cait sleeps on the bed, breathing deeply, and scooted to the side of the mattress that’s closest to Vi.
She uses the blanket to blot tears from the corners of her eyes.
Cait’s such a good person.
The Council has to help them.
-
Poor Vi. So touch starved and then touched out, not to mention ALL OF THE TRAUMA. I can’t wait to hopefully see her accept some comfort in season 2. I think she was really on a knife’s edge the entire time and I sort of want to see her figure out some of her trauma. Hope y’all enjoyed.
(To cheer up, I have tons of other Caitvi fics where they love and comfort each other 😊 Check out my profile! )