Work Text:
Vi is used to getting beaten up.
Her first core memory of getting her ass handed to her was when she was no more than eight years old. She had managed to scrounge some leftover food from a dingy bar in the Lanes and scurried back in the direction where her parents lived in a tiny shed with her and Powder. Food was always scarce in the Undercity and her family was no different from the hundreds of other folk that worked five times as hard to make money for food that would satiate less than a quarter of their empty stomachs.
But Powder was still so little, barely out of her diapers. And always hungry. Her cries only came out in little mewls, too weak to throw a full tantrum. It made Vi sad to see her baby sister suffering.
She ran as fast as her little feet could take her, a smile plastered on her face as she imagined Powder munching on a fruit. The bag of food was clutched to her chest.
That was the first mistake Vi had made in her time living in the rough streets of Zaun. And it was the first lesson she learned to survive down here:
Always hide what you want to protect. There are watching eyes down these streets that are itching to mug careless victims.
Vi was surrounded by a group of teenagers who didn't need much to beat her up and steal the food that was meant for Powder. She laid there on the dirty street, bruises on her arms and legs, nose bloody as she sobbed and cursed at her stupidity.
Orphaned, under Vander’s care, she got into multiple street fights. But those batterings never hurt as much as the first time when she got mugged. As the years waned in the Undercity, so did her tolerance for pain. The feeling of air escaping her lungs after getting sucker punched in the gut, the crack! of a bone being fractured, the weightless feeling of getting thrown down to the ground– all of that became second nature to Vi.
Her years in prison numbed her pain tolerance even further. To survive in there for seven years meant she had to fight to protect herself on the daily. Cleaning up blood from open wounds and straightening out a pulled limb was a normal occurrence.
But not once, not since she was found crying and hugging her knees in the alleyway after getting mugged by those teenagers when she was eight years old, did she ever shed tears again after taking a punch.
So why.
Why is she crying now, irrepressible tears streaming down her dust-covered cheeks when Caitlyn shoves the barrel of her gun into her gut that sends her tumbling to her knees?
She's taken worse pain than this. Ten times worse. A hundred times worse.
This should feel like nothing but a featherlight touch of metal against her skin.
Then why does it hurt so much???
Why is she crying???
Caitlyn’s face, ice cold and hard, looms above hers, not saying a word to Vi who lays crouched down, holding onto her body, unable to stop her dry heaving and the tears from dotting the ground below.
“Everyone in my life has changed. Promise me you won't change.”
“I won't.”
A promise sealed with a kiss. Maybe even hope for something more in the future when the fighting and bloodshed is past them.
A hope for them.
Oh.
Vi was heartbroken.
Caitlyn's words echoed in her head again like a knife to her heart: “I keep telling myself that you're different, but you're not. It’s her blood in your veins.”
The pain in her chest triples as she watches Caitlyn climb up the ladder that leads out of the underground tunnel, completely helpless. She wants to scream,
“Please, Cait. Come back! I’m sorry. Please come back. Caitlyn please I’m sorry come back please come back to me Cait please don't leave me please please please !!!”
But her words die in her throat that's choked up with tears, heart in too much pain to cry out.
You promised me you wouldn't change!!!
The memory of their first kiss replays in her mind. Caitlyn advancing towards her and holding her cheek in comfort. Vi’s breath hitching when she realises that Cait is looking down at her lips. The soft collision of their lips and teeth when the kiss lands while Cait cradles the nape of her neck.
The soft whisper of “I won't” made her believe in her heart that Caitlyn won’t change. Won’t turn into a cold, ruthless Piltover citizen like their councillors, hell-bent on revenge against Jinx and blind to everything else. Will stay the same Cait whose ultimate goal was always to unite Piltover and Zaun through peace and diplomacy.
Will stay the same sweet Cait she knows and loves.
Vi’s brain punishes her by forcing her to recount the tender moments they shared together over the past couple of weeks they’ve known each other:
Lying down on Cait’s bed in her parent’s house, she first told Cait about her life growing up with Powder, Caitlyn cradling her cheek in comfort and understanding. The hug they shared at the bridge, clutching at each other, afraid to let go despite knowing each other for only a few days. Caitlyn collapsing into Vi’s embrace, sobbing into her shoulders as she grieves for the loss of her mother. And Vi was the only person she allowed herself to let the false mask of composure and poise she had worn for everyone else since the explosion fall to the ground and shatter.
Only with Vi.
“I keep telling myself that you're different, but you're not.”
“You didn't let me take the shot. How foolish of me to think you were on our side.”
“It’s her blood in your veins.”
“You created Jinx. You got my mother killed!”
“No, please! I didn't– I’m sorry Cait– Please! I wanted to save her! Milo… Clagger… Vander… Powder–I wanted to save you!
I didn't leave you behind!”
Violent sobs wreck through Vi’s body, convulsing as she clutches her stomach and weeps for all that she had lost.
Milo.
Clagger.
Vander.
Powder.
Now, Caitlyn. The last of her family.
Once again, like how Vi felt when she was first mugged by those teenagers when she was eight years old and like those years she spent in prison, she feels completely and utterly alone.