Chapter Text
She didn’t know for how long she remained there screaming.
The guttural sounds were deafening and echoing in the metallic open space, reaching distances she didn’t believe possible. Blood pumping loud in her ears, her veins about to explode, chest tightening and hurting with a level of pain she had yet to feel — and there laid the irony, for she knew several levels of pain —, her fists clenched, the knuckles white and hard while she struggled and cried, desperation overcoming her so quickly she thought she would die under that crushing weight. And the irony was there again, because for several minutes, maybe hours, she wanted to die. All she had to do was roll out of that limpy platform. What a waste.
A tilt of her body to the right and then… Then? Nothing. Jinx’s sacrifice would have been in vain. Maybe that was the reason she didn’t do it. That, or her body was so stiff in misery that she didn’t have the capacity or strength to move. For the first time in a long time, Vi felt powerless. Weak. Broken beyond repair, the holes that she held for the ones she loved and missed increased once more, now taking over her whole body. She would never be able to fill them.
Jinx. Vander. Mylo. Claggor. Loris.
She didn’t know if she was saying their names out loud or if they were running through her mind, their faces appearing in flashes. All while she screamed, but again she didn’t know if those were actually her screams or just her head, a constant cacophony of sounds and memories. Jinx. Vander. Mylo. Claggor. Benzo. Loris. Isha. Gert. Jinx. Vander. Mylo. Claggor. Benzo. Loris. Isha. Gert. Jinx…
Tears unfocused the world, its weight heavy on her weak chest, reflecting on her ragged breathing until a dark figure emerged over her blurred sight, covering the sun she’d been looking at for God knows how long. Without acknowledging it, she had seen it go from high and bright in the sky to mild over the west, almost disappearing from the now destroyed open roof.
“Vi?”
She took a while to hear it, but when she did she blinked a couple of times until her sight cleared and her chest inflated in loud, painful inhaling.
“Ekko–” her voice sounded hoarse, cracked.
Arms wrapped around her, joining her on the cold platform floor. Still tense, she could not hug him back for a while. Vi felt her chest tightening again, an unbearable pressure on her throat while her arms — one of them limpy, bent to the wrong side — finally found their way to Ekko’s back, holding him like he was the only one able to prevent her from falling.
She exploded in tears once more.
“I’m sorry, Ekko. I’m so sorry, I’m…”
Vi didn’t need to say anything nor did she seem capable of doing so. The more she apologised the tighter Ekko hugged her, tears streaming from his eyes. Their sobs shaked their bodies, unifying them in grief. The first one to make a motion to stand up was Ekko: Vi was numb all over and he thought the friend would stay there forever if he didn’t do anything. He got up and pulled her close, putting one of her arms over his shoulders, careful not to touch the one that was all flabby beside her, clearly broken — Ekko could see the tip of the bone in her elbow almost ripping her skin — and, slowly, they got out of the platform and that place, both of them not saying a word.
Not a single view was registered in Vi’s mind until they reached the bottom of the Hexgate. The characteristic sounds of a battlefield after war — cries for help, painful grunts, the usual sound of steps running from side to side helping and carrying the wounded — were all muffled in her ears and Ekko started worrying because despite his friend being physically there, there were no other indications that Vi was actually there. He leaned her carefully against a wall and looked into her lifeless silvery blue eyes before saying:
“Vi, you–” someone screamed in pain not so distant from where they were. Ekko looked at the man, recognising a face in the middle of the Piltovian uniform: it was a Zaunite, probably one who had volunteered to fight the Noxian threat. The man lay down among rubbles, his hand pressing on a wound in his stomach. Ekko looked at Vi again, who, in turn, was looking down at her clenched fists: “Hey, I’ll be back, okay? Gimme some time.”
Vi didn’t seem to have heard him, but there he went anyway, helping every Zaunite he could find. Some of them smiled in relief when they saw him, recognising in his white dreadlocks and painted face the leader of the firelights, their leader. Vi raised her head taking in the atmosphere of chaos in front of her: she had had her share of those during her life. Foggy memories of her holding Powder’s hands while they crossed the bridge between Piltover and Zaun before Vander took both of them came back to her, then it all shifted and she saw that same fog again, but this time she was on her knees in Viktor’s commune, destruction all around before she was consumed by darkness and the last thing she saw were two flashes of bright blue eyes…
Caitlyn.
Her feet move involuntarily ahead guided solely by desperation. Suddenly the world is too focused, a mess of colours predominately taken by shades of blue; none the exact shade she wished to see. Caitlyn is nowhere around which is odd considering she was the commander and Vi cannot help but be overtaken by a growing coldness in her chest, fists clenching harder and if she hadn’t the habit of biting her nails they would surely be hurting her palms. How could she have forgotten about her? She reaches the beginning of the stairs where there are a considerable amount of Noxian soldiers — apparently harmless and Vi doesn’t give a fuck about why they are quiet now and even helping. Her eyes focus on something she’s too familiar now not to recognise: thrown on the floor, right in front of the main entrance to the Hexgate is Caitlyn’s rifle.
Vi’s heart sinks and she walks towards the weapon with feverish steps and crazy eyes trying to pick up clues of whatever had happened. Next to Cait’s rifle, there is a body fallen with its face to the floor, a bloody puddle forming around the head and neck. Maddie’s body, Vi realises with a twisted, confused grimace. There’s no other body around and Vi faces the rifle for a while before hearing rushed steps approaching a space next to her, a group of people carrying a wounded soldier to a big tent. When the cold metal of the rifle touches her fingers a shiver runs through her palms into her arms and she holds the weapon as a feeling of discomfort crosses her; she never liked guns, they felt weird and deadly in her arms, never to be mixed, oil and water. But that rifle belonged to Caitlyn and she treasured everything about Caitlyn; she would return it to her if she found her. When . When I find her.
The tent is packed and loud, the sounds of distress enhanced in the confined space. Vi rummages the place with quick eyes before walking further. Every second she doesn’t see Caitlyn is hell of earth and she tries to control her breathing between unruly and pessimistic thoughts, her brain evoking images of Caitlyn fallen on the concrete, dirty and stiff hands, dark blue hair falling over her pale and bloodied face, blue eyes open and motionless… Vi needs to stop walking and shakes her head trying to disperse the thoughts. She hits herself on the forehead with the butt of the rifle, the physical pain easing the mental torment for a while. Then she turns her head abruptly to the side when her eyes catch an uncommon, small empty place on the side of the tent where a tall, dark and golden figure in black attire remains standing and watching with a sombre countenance someone lying on an improvised gurney. Vi widens her eyes and gasps: that someone has all the right shades of blue.
“Cait!” She runs towards the gurney and drops the rifle next to it.
What shocks Vi the most is how pale and quiet Caitlyn is, so much so that all the air in her lungs comes out in a muffled sob and both of her eyes get clouded with tears. She blinks a couple of times and two lonely tears run down her cheek as she approaches with care and fear. The truth is that she’s terrified because Caitlyn looks too much like the visions she just had, something coming out of a true nightmare. She focuses her eyes on Caitlyn’s belly, her dark blue uniform ripped to expose bloody soaking bandages tightly wrapped around her stomach. Vi feels her own wound — in the same place but on the opposite side — hurting in solidarity and only allows herself to breathe when she confirms that Caitlyn is, indeed, breathing as well. Slowly, but breathing. Caitlyn is barely alive, but alive still.
The realisation acts as a punch to her heart, something heavy dropping inside of her and bringing her down. She leans over the gurney and for the first time in hours unclenches her fists, trembling fingers of one hand touching Caitlyn, caressing her head but stops once Vi looks at Caitlyn’s face. It is colourless with grey chapped lips; if she wasn’t breathing Vi would think she had died. Perhaps that was what made the cut in her left eye so gruesome: the dark red wound stuck out, marks of dried blood down her cheek and the side of her head, a swollen eyelid that still dripped fresh blood from time to time. The eye cannot be seen but Vi already knows it is useless; all the blows Cait suffered were more than intentional, the slice and stab were vile, supposed to damage. Supposed to rip through and kill her.
Vi’s good hand closes around the gurney, anger lighting up inside of her like a torch in a dark alley; minutes ago, she thought herself powerless, hopeless and broken. Now, she fueled herself with a sense of revolt, fury and care. There was still someone left to love. Someone left to protect. She glances sideways at the woman standing next to her — Mel Medarda, one of Piltover’s councillors, Vi remembers.
“Who did this to her?” the sentence comes between teeth, spit out.
“My mo- Ambessa.” Mel observes Vi’s face contort into a mask of hatred, clenched jaw and lips, and squinted light blue eyes. “But she’s-”
“Dead.” the weak, almost unheard whisper comes from below them.
Vi turns her head again at lightspeed at Caitlyn, her face softening and being replaced by an expression of worry and relief. She grabs Caitlyn’s hand squeezing it ever so slightly.
“Cait. ”
Her whisper sounds painful and soft, so intimate that Mel feels her skin shivering, her surroundings being filled with the power of Vi’s affection. She’s still growing acquainted with her magical abilities and is certain that she’ll see many other emotions during her life, but for a moment she doubts that she will feel something stronger than what’s coming from Vi now. Love, pain, sadness and devotion pour from her as if her body was too small to hold everything in. She overflows.
Mel thinks of herself as an intruder, “I’ll give you two privacy,” and leaves, unsure if the other two women heard her words.
With the gentlest of touches, Vi runs her thumb over Caitlyn’s chin, careful not to pull on the skin of the left side of her face. She is sure everything in Caitlyn must be hurting. Once feeling the touch, Caitlyn opens her healthy eyelid and a sapphire blue eye gradually focuses on Vi’s face; the sight works as a magic potion, easing her pain. Most of the affliction she felt came from not knowing where Vi was and if she was okay. Seeing her beside her was like pulling away heavy lifts from her shoulders.
“Vi-” then she speaks, lips mimicking a smile and her skin pulls, sending a stabbing pain in her left eye and belly. Caitlyn winces, her healthy eye shaking madly and Vi puts her good arm over Caitlyn’s shoulders preventing her from moving too much, a hand caressing her arms and then her right cheek, voice as soothing as possible.
“Hey, it’s okay, shhh… ” Vi passes her thumb on Cait’s mouth and she breathes into it feeling the saltiness of Vi in her chapped lips. It’s reassuring, somehow. Familiar. “Try not to move your face.” a shade of a smile passes through Vi’s face, but there’s no room for humour. Despite the excruciating pain, Caitlyn sees right away that besides a very broken arm something is off with Vi.
“My face moves when I speak.” her voice is weak, but Caitlyn speaks in a way that, if she was in a healthy state, Vi knows it would be carried with irony and playfulness. The realisation eases her heart a little.
“Try not to speak, then.”
Surprisingly, Caitlyn complies. They stare at each other for some time, the sounds around them being muffled by their own will, creating a closed space where only they exist. It suffices, Caitlyn thinks with a heavy sigh that sends pain through her stomach, lungs and ribs, having Vi’s hand on hers, those greyish blue eyes resting on her face with nothing but love. She didn’t even stop to think about how she looked — how her sliced, busted eye framed her face now — but Vi’s expression made her believe everything was how it was supposed to be, no wounds, no ugliness, no trauma. Caitlyn chooses to believe in Vi knowing that she would never lie to her.
Her fingers tremble as she lifts them up, raising her hand to touch Vi’s cheek who hesitates slightly before melting into the touch, closing her eyes for a bit. The tips of Caitlyn’s fingers brush over the place tears were shed, the skin slightly wet and sticky still. She hates the thought of Vi crying, but the statement seems obvious at this point: the tip of her nose is reddish, the marks of tears evident in her pale, dirty and scarred face. Caitlyn presses her lips together in concern, careful not to move her face too much and Vi opens her eyes, looking at Cait’s expression and interpreting it as discomfort.
“Is the pain worse? Here, lemme grab you some water…” She then disappears just to be back a few seconds later holding a glass full of water.
Caitlyn wants to tell her she’s actually worried about her, but Vi gives her no space. She focuses solely on making Caitlyn feel comfortable, raises her back a bit, pulls a cushion from god knows where and places it under her head. When she’s about to help her drink the water two doctors appear, one of them urging her with their raised hands:
“No, no! She cannot drink, we’re about to take her to surgery.” Vi freezes with the glass in mid-motion, eyes a little widened. That expression reminded Caitlyn of when they went to her house for the first time, Vi’s bulged, amazed eyes staring into her ceiling. It was cute and comical at the same time; she would chuckle now if she wasn’t in so much pain.
“Counsellor Kiramman, we’ll be taking you to the operating room now.”
Vi and Caitlyn’s hands instinctively go for each other. She knew she needed surgery; she had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past few hours, Mel only leaving her side to urge for a doctor. Everything hurt, her reality felt like drifting away in front of her eyes. Even Vi’s face was a little blurry and she knew it was due to blood loss. Still, she felt terrified. Caitlyn didn’t want to go away again, possibly not come back. Vi’s voice is what grounds her, tight grip on her hand, a soft kiss on her forehead.
“It’s okay. You’ll see me in a bit.” The doctors start moving the gurney. Vi’s face disappears from her sight and she can’t move her head to look at her without fainting from pain again.
Their hands start to let go, “Promise?” Caitlyn asks.
“Promise.” Vi answers before letting go completely.
With Caitlyn off view, Vi allows herself to fall on the nearest bench, her broken arm hitting the wall like a loose meat bag. She hisses in pain and touches her elbow, feeling the pointy tip of the bone under her skin not even acknowledging how fucked up her own situation was. Her breath breaks in shallow spaces, turmoil burning in her chest: disorientation, worry, sadness and a tiny bit of hope. She had to see Caitlyn again. She would.
Caitlyn's room had many shades of purple. Green too. Like lavender and its stem, Vi thought, playing an association game her brain had started without her realising or consenting once she was faced with the tedious, soul-eating task of waiting for Caitlyn to wake up. Time stretched out slowly and painfully, and Vi did not have it in her to sit beside Caitlyn on the huge bed with light green silken sheets and pillowcases. She wandered to focus on the colours, thinking about how the different shades of purple on the wall, bed and decorations reminded her of different flowers she had seen in books: Canterbury Bell, Aster… Violet. She huffs at the thought of her own name, a disturbing coincidence. In Zaun, purple was also present in flowers that used to grow up in caves, a rare presence of life amongst the natural darkness of the undercity… Shimmer’s purple.
The sheer remembrance of the drug is enough to make her get up in haste, her nape shivering as Jinx’s shiny eyes appear on the back of her mind in a rather phantasmagorical way. Vi paces around the room from left to right repeating the motion until she stops fearing the heavy sound of her boots would dig a hole in the ground — or worse, disturb Caitlyn’s sleep. She has no other choice than to sit on a chair beside the bed again before realising she’s thumping her foot feverishly and trying to take deep breaths to calm down. It wasn’t like her to appear to be so nervous; even when helplessness took over Vi, she would bid her time and didn’t let her nervousness show. All the years in Stillwater taught her that: there was no point in showing how nervous you truly were, if anything it would leave you at a disadvantage, let your nerves or other people get the best of you.
However, this wasn’t an ordinary circumstance. She didn’t seem to have control over what her body or mind was doing: to wander seemed to be the only option at least until Caitlyn woke up. She had to wake up. Vi starts taking off her boots — the sound ticked her off — but the simple task turns out to be a bit troublesome because she only had one hand available: the white long-arm cast on her left arm went from above her elbow until her hand, allowing only her fingers to move a little. Helpers came to aid her right after Caitlyn had been taken to surgery, and Vi herself needed one as well. She had fallen asleep due to the anaesthesia with thoughts of navy blue and woke up with Caitlyn’s name dancing on her lips, asking how she was. The doctor promised to search for information about Counsellor Kiramman’s state after she updated Vi about her own situation — explanations and recommendations that were promptly ignored, entering one ear and going out through the other because Vi’s sole preoccupation was Caitlyn.
“I remember you,” the doctor had said. “I helped in your treatment a few weeks ago, you gave us quite a scare, did you know that?”
Vi had no idea. The things she knew had been told by Loris… Loris. Her heart ached again yet she ignored the pain to ask: “Do you have any idea of when Caitlyn’s going to wake up?”
“It could take a few hours,” the doctor sighed and fixed her glasses. “It could take longer than that. Her situation is delicate, she lost too much blood. Unfortunately all you can do is wait.”
The displeasing answer made Vi’s eyes wander away from the doctor, her sight getting blurry. Waiting was torture, she realised. Ironic considering how patient she had become over the years.
“In the meanwhile, you should rest and… Take it easy, okay? You’re young and you heal fast, but there’s only so much our bodies can take before collapsing.”
Vi heard the words. She did not listen to them.
What she listens to, though, are the soft rattling of sheets as Caitlyn moves slowly, her eyelid fluttering before opening up revealing a bright blue that scans the place, muscles relaxing immediately when she realises she’s home, and lips that open up in a weak smile when she sees Vi right next to her, holding her hand.
“Cait.” Vi’s voice holds nothing but relief. She jumps on her seat a little, leaning closer to the bed. “Hey, there. How you feelin’?”
Before she can answer, the huge doors of the bedroom open up and they hear hurried steps approaching the bed, practically running. Caitlyn doesn’t get startled since she would recognise those steps anywhere, but she notices how Vi flinches a bit, her hand evading hers as if in an attempt to disappear in plain sight. Tobias Kiramman is breathing heavily by the time he arrives by her side which only indicates that he had left the shelter and came running as soon as he received news about her. Piltover and Zaun had been evacuated before the battle and it would take some days to bring everyone back, but he was a Kiramman; of course, he had means of returning home faster.
“Xiǎo mì fēng.” Caitlyn’s heart fills with love once she hears the nickname her father used to call her since she was a busy, energetic little child: little bee. She hadn’t noticed until now how terrified she was of never hearing the sound of her father’s voice again.
She smiles reaching for his hand over the bed. She doesn’t have to make much effort since the man basically throws himself by her side, picking up her hand and kissing the palm. His beard tickles.
“Dad…” Caitlyn says, her voice carried by emotion.
Vi feels like a fish out of water watching that scene, although she’s relieved Caitlyn seems fine and even sounds happy. The man was all over her like any protective parent would be and she understood the significance of all that care. Gosh, how could they not be emotional? Both had managed to survive a war and stay together. Tobias was the only family Caitlyn had left and vice-versa. The holes in Vi bleed a little more and the faint smile she carried from watching them together disappears once Tobias’ eyes focus on her for the first time since he entered the room, his happy expression being replaced by a harsher one:
“What is she still doing here?”
Vi stiffens. Caitlyn squeezes her father’s hand.
“Dad, stop.” and turns to Vi once she starts getting up. “No, Vi, wait-”
“I’ll… Let you two catch up.”
“Vi-”
“It’s okay, Cait.” Vi knows she’s an intruder. What was she doing getting in the way of their reunion? She isn’t a Kiramman. Caitlyn tries to say something with her eye but Vi never meets it while getting up, her position too stiff, her gaze too vague and her countenance adrift. It’s clear she feels hurt. Seeing her like that makes Caitlyn’s heart weigh a tonne on her chest.
She follows Vi’s red hair with her eye until she can’t anymore and when the door closes Caitlyn returns an annoyed, cold look at her father.
“You have no right to treat her like that.”
“Excuse me?” Tobias’ voice carries multiple layers of sadness, grief and anger. Caitlyn knew her statement wasn’t as correct as she wished to be. “Ever since this… woman got into your life everything has got worse.”
“The war is not her fault.”
“Maybe not, but her sister…”
Caitlyn was taken aback, her heart falling from her chest so loudly she was surprised her father didn’t listen, “... It’s not Jinx’s fault either.”
Her voice comes out weakly. The fact that she actually believed in the words she had said felt strange. It was all the more complicated than choosing one single person to blame, and if they were discussing the most recent and dangerous battle Pilltover ever had to face, Caitlyn was at the top of the list of people to blame; she had let Ambessa manipulate her and the city, after all. She sighed, staring at the wrinkled sheets on her legs as the consequences of her actions and all the fighting brought her body down. She should not be having this discussion right now, she was drained. Tobias can see that. He was also a wreck: a trim in his unshaven beard was overdue, and he seemed to have aged ten years in a few months, heavy and dark bags under his eyes. Yet, his expression softens as he caresses Caitlyn’s palm with his thumb.
“We don’t have to talk about this-”
“Bà,” Caitlyn’s voice comes out exhausted but determined. Even now, full of bandages and hurt, she still carried a voice of iron that demanded to be listened to and respected. Just like her mother. “Violet is here to stay. I chose her.”
Tobias drops her hand. He’s the one surprised now and Caitlyn notices how his eyes are a bit shiny, small like they always were when he was hurt.
“Even over your own family?”
“She’s my family too.”
Caitlyn is resolute. Tobias remains silent for what could be seconds or minutes, she cannot tell. In the end, he sighs and squeezes her hand, gets up and kisses the top of her head with affection. A silent blessing.
When Tobias leaves the bedroom, he almost misses Vi leaning on the wall at the end of the corridor. Not that she was trying to hide, but she seemed to get lost amongst the grandeur of the ancient decorations, paintings, statues and gold that surrounded the mansion. It was all too big, and she was too small. She was staring at the floor when the man approached her and spoke with a voice that held no affection, but it wasn’t as harsh as before:
“She’s waiting for you.”
Vi raises her head, surprised that Tobias is willingly talking to her. She nods, unsure of what to say and certain that nothing she could say would close the gaps between them caused by the war and the loss of Caitlyn’s mother. So she says nothing and just nods. Tobias nods back and leaves without saying another word.
This time when Caitlyn sees her again she’s not smiling, but holds her hand instantly when Vi sits back on the chair beside her bed:
“I’m so sorry-”
“It’s okay,” Caitlyn wished she would stop saying that. “How are you?”
“You tell me, how do I look?” she tries to smile and feels Vi’s gaze lingering in every fibre of her being, burning her skin. She watches as Vi’s eyes get bigger and brighter, her expression softening until her lips open up in a faint, docile smile.
“Beautiful,” she answers finally and waits a few seconds before shrugging, “I mean, you also look like a truck ran you over, but you still look beautiful.”
Caitlyn chuckles slightly. Vi meant the compliment in every sense of the word. Despite the unusual circumstances, Caitlyn fits perfectly in the portrait created by the soft colours and fancy decorations of her bedroom. Her navy blue hair is down, falling on her back in a straight line. The white bandages around her arms, stomach and left eye do nothing to harm her beauty; if anything, it only make Vi ache more for her, wishing to take care of her until every wound is healed and every scar becomes only a painless reminder. Her lips look healthier right now, a natural rosy tone covering them, stretching as she smiles and tugs at Vi with tenderness by the hand — she can’t move as she wishes, but she wants Vi closer. Caitlyn’s good eye is wide open and bright, that striking blue colour scanning her as if capable of reading her soul. Maybe she could. Now with Vi seated awkwardly beside her on the bed, Caitlyn runs her fingers through Vi’s face, thumb drawing gentle lines on her cheek then her chin, going down her neck. Vi starts to close her eyes with the touch but stops once she feels the hand on her cast and Caitlyn’s eye focuses on it with a worried expression filled with guilt.
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Caitlyn snaps back without rudeness. With an arm broken like that, recovery would be hard, and even afterwards, Caitlyn wasn’t sure if Vi would be able to fight like she used to again. This possibility makes her body shiver all over with a feeling of impotence. “How did it happen?”
When Vi doesn’t make any effort to answer, her eyes trembling and shoulders falling, Caitlyn sees the same thing she had seen before being taken to surgery. Vi isn’t okay. Everything is far from okay. Caitlyn needs to force herself to ask the question, afraid as she is of what the answer might be.
“Where is Jinx?”
Hearing Jinx’s name causes a visceral reaction in Vi. Caitlyn watches as she stops breathing for a moment, her whole body stiffening and a painful expression she has seen before appears on her face. Then she looks down and something close to a sob leaves her lips; Vi looks like a ticking bomb close to exploding and Caitlyn observes her good hand clenching in a fist while she trembles. It looks like she’s trying to keep something in, unsuccessfully; there are too many things to hold in. A thick tear falls on her lap and Caitlyn feels her own heart growing cold with each second, realisation striking her like a bullet.
What a nefarious thing it is to now have exactly what you have wanted for months. Caitlyn had spent endless nights picturing this moment, savouring the taste of revenge before ever getting it, imagining how she’d feel when all she had done finally paid off. Bliss. Fulfilment. Peace. As she watches Vi crumbling into pieces of the child she once was, who had lost everything and everyone because of a war Caitlyn hadn’t started but definitely had a part in, all she can feel is sorrow. Guilt. Regret.
“She… She came back for me.” Vi’s pain is her pain. She’s struggling to keep the words in, or to make them come out, it isn’t clear. “We f-fought together. Vander…” More tears fall on her lap. Sobs. Caitlyn widens her eye, shivering. She had heard Vi sobbing like that before: she had caused it. “She…”
Caitlyn can’t take this anymore. Her heart shattered with each tear Vi dropped, with each helpless sound leaving her mouth. Wishing to hold her, she forces her body upwards and is rewarded with a stabbing pain in her stomach that makes her see stars and a loud yelp escapes her lips. Stupid wound. Stupid surgery. Vi reacts almost instantly, raising her head and supporting Caitlyn with her free hand.
“Cait! Don’t move…” she urges, but Caitlyn isn’t paying attention to what she’s saying. Vi’s eyes are still decorated with tears, so bright and sad… She also looks worried to death.
“I’m alright,” Cait forces herself to lie and tries to ease the grimace that her face had formed due to the pain. “Vi, I’m-”
“Medicine,” Vi says quickly and lays her back on the pillows again. “The doctor said you should take some when you wake up.” She gets up and starts looking for something on Caitlyn’s bedside table. “Where is it…?” she mumbles.
“Vi, come here.” Vi doesn’t listen, still looking for the medicine. How can she still be so worried about Caitlyn when she didn’t even have time to process the death of her sister? “Violet. Talk to me. Jin-”
“Here, take it” Vi cuts her off and sits on the bed, holding the pill in front of her like it would solve all of their problems. But her eyes still glistened with tears, her breathing still faltered and there was an overall sense of despair over her that Caitlyn couldn’t simply ignore.
“Vi, darling,” Caitlyn holds the hand that gives her the pill. Vi trembles when she hears the pet name; it causes more pain than anything. It’s like every good feeling in her got corrupted by her sadness. “Talk to me about her.”
Caitlyn can see it: the small crack opening up from within her, a flood of feelings threatening to pour out. She wants them to pour. She wants to hold Vi and help ease her pain just like she had tried to do for her when she lost her mother; Caitlyn should have allowed Vi to help her. She hopes Vi allows her. However, Vi’s expression shifts and she closes her eyes, the last of the tears falling. When she opens them again they’re not bright anymore, there is just worry directed at Caitlyn. Pleading eyes. Stiffened body. Traces of her meltdown disappear quickly. The crack is still there but with no signs of erupting.
“Cait, please .” she begs softly, painfully.
Caitlyn gasps ever so slightly, heartbroken. Not because of Vi, but for Vi. Her love with a big heart, always so caring. Selfless. Still holding her hand, Caitlyn takes it to her lips and allows Vi to put the pill inside her mouth. She swallows it without difficulty, the coldness of her chest decreasing once she sees the smile that appears on Vi’s lips.
“Lay with me?” Cait asks. Vi hesitates. “Please?”
She nods. She waits for Vi to find space next to her, which isn’t difficult considering how big her bed is. With Vi finally at arms’ reach, she remembers how, a few weeks ago, their roles were reversed. How she remained there observing Vi’s chest go up and down nonstop, hoping she’d wake up. Praying. With the risk of losing Vi, she didn’t think of Jinx; that was when she realised her revenge didn’t matter. Nothing could ever make up for losing Vi. No revenge, no glory. She didn’t want no other shade of blue but those silvery ones, staring at her like they were now. Caitlyn sighs, allowing herself to feel something else other than worry. Relief. Vi brushes her fingers on her palm.
They hold onto each other.
Recovery was slow. It was torture, for Caitlyn had never been slow. She was an overachiever and worked 24/7 at a fast pace that brought even faster fantastic results. Now, in order to have the best results — or to recover completely, to use a less competitive language — she needed to take everything slow. That was driving her insane.
Everyone was the epitome of patience to her: from the doctors who tended to her entire family since she was born until the nurses hired just to make her life easier, the physiotherapist responsible for her now worthless eye — although he said that it had minor chances of partial recovery, which was bad, not the best results — her dad and Vi. Especially Vi. She stayed by her side without Caitlyn asking for it, watchful as a vulture as the nurses changed her bandages. When Tobias couldn’t be with her— he was slowly getting back to his older self, tending to the family issues that appeared after the war as the only healthy Kiramman for now — Vi took his part effortlessly, distracting her, giving her medicine and cuddling with her as much as she could in her own impaired state; she still had a broken arm, after all.
In a perfect scenario, she would lay with Vi just like they had the first time she went to her house and Vi would open up about the things that were dragging her down, but the scenario was far from perfect. Caitlyn knew the only thing keeping Vi sane was taking care of her, and she allowed it to keep going like this until her condition improved. Caitlyn wasn’t used to asking for help and suddenly she was getting too much; in the first couple of days she understood how it was all necessary, but the coming and going of nurses and doctors didn’t take long to piss her off. She couldn’t have a long conversation with Vi without a doctor coming to check up on her — and occasionally on Vi as well — or a nurse coming to give her medicine or change her bandages again, again and again. She couldn’t even grieve Jayce properly, the realisation of his death hitting her after she woke up from surgery.
After having Vi next to her, she slept quickly and was taken by confusing dreams that first consisted of complete darkness. Then, a pulsing force pulled her to a field of bright lights, dozens, hundreds and thousands together in a space that was neither earth, air nor water. Caitlyn wasn’t herself anymore, there was no mind or body to hold and belong to, just a string that pulled all those lights constantly to the heart of something powerful, dark and yet so bright, full of emotions difficult to comprehend. She couldn’t comprehend them unless the force allowed her. She couldn’t think of anything the force didn’t think for her. It was like being part of a hive, however, there was nothing to live for; nothing to feel.
The field shifted and the lights felt the presence of something else. Someone else. The force pushed the emotions away to keep them safe, to keep them ignorant, but they were invaded by an overwhelming sense of shame, a pungent feeling of betrayal that threatened to take them all, to swallow the world completely and make it anew. Except that, slowly came the simplest of feelings: forgiveness, creeping under the crevices the force tried so hard to hide. Forgiveness that reached the heart and revealed love. The lights flickered, and the field spun out of control. Her mind was the first to reach her back; she belonged to herself again. Before falling out of the spectral field, Caitlyn saw two figures being engulfed by light, leaving the world in complete peace and quiet. Viktor. Jayce.
Caitlyn woke up in a cold sweat, a pain so strong in her heart that she felt it like another one of Ambessa’s blades. But this one was far more painful. Jayce, Caitlyn thought; Caitlyn knew. Jayce is dead.
Later she discovered that Vi also had the same dream and she wondered if every single person in the battle that was under Viktor’s control dreamed the same. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t just a dream; their brains were retelling the things they’d seen. Viktor and Jayce died together in that void, willingly. There was love and peace around them as they left. It was the only thing that comforted her during the grieving of her most beloved friend.
Still, she was left to deal with the physical and emotional pains of war and what more came with it when it ended. Vi noticed how troubled Caitlyn was, especially when she had to face the sympathetic yet pitiful smiles of the nurses coming in to check on her. So, almost a week after the surgery, when she saw Caitlyn closing her eye and preparing herself mentally for one more session of torture small talk with the nurse that would change her bandages, she decided to do something about it:
“Hey, why don’t you let me do it?”
Her determined voice startled the other two women, but Caitlyn acquired a comprehensive smile. Vi was so easy to read at this point, her intentions presented themselves clearly.
“Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea…” the nurse started.
“Oh, come on.” Vi walked by the side of the bed and took a look at the gauze and plaster next to them. “I’ve been watching you do it for days, I’m sure I can do it. You can guide me.”
The nurse looked at Caitlyn who just shrugged, “I don’t oppose.”
A Kiramman blessing was a Kiramman order. Vi was right; she had watched the process so many times that she barely needed the nurse’s guidance, not doing it perfectly only because she still had a cast on her arm that limited her movements. Caitlyn tries her best not to act like a complete idiot who is desperately in love and feeling immense gratitude for having her lover tend to her so carefully: Vi’s not paying attention to her face per se, which is a relief for she doesn’t see the foolish smile she has while observing Vi’s serious expression, too focused in making things right. She changes the bandages on Caitlyn’s stomach, raises her head and the seriousness is replaced by affection in the brightness of those silvery eyes. She adds a smirk to her upcoming smug expression.
“Not that bad, huh?”
Caitlyn looks at her stomach now all patched up and pretends to be doing a thorough evaluation of the job. Finally, she shrugs and tilts her head a little, pouting presumptuously:
“Indeed.”
After such a display of competence on Vi’s part, the nurse had no other choice but to leave. The red-haired woman proved she could change the bandages just fine. Once the nurse closed the door, Caitlyn leapt forward on the bed and gave Vi a prolonged smooch, a wide smile on her lips when they pulled back.
“Thank you so much.” Her voice is full of relief.
“Hey, not a problem. Let’s do your eye now.”
Caitlyn’s smile falters slowly. Her eye. She forgot the fact that if the nurse was gone Vi would have to change her eye bandage as well. Her hands join together in nervousness as she swallows, the action suddenly difficult like there is a lump in her throat. Caitlyn looked down, too self-conscious about her eye; usually, when this time comes, she would ask Vi for water, juice, a book, anything that made her leave the room for the time necessary to complete the bandage. She didn’t want Vi to look at the wound, the closed and scarred eyelid, all red and crumpled up tissue. It was disgusting.
“It’s…” she feels pathetic, getting so hurt over her appearance. But Caitlyn had always cared about the way she looked. She had never heard any complaints or given any reasons for complaints. That eye was a reminder of her failure, a wound that would scar her forever even after it healed. A reminder of her now everlasting imperfection. “It’s ugly. I’m-”
Vi covers her hands with her own, squeezes them, then brings her hand to Caitlyn's chin, forcing her to look up, “Impossible. There’s nothing ugly about you.” She starts speaking again once the other woman gives signs of protest, “Besides, even if you're correct, which you’re not, I can deal with a little ugly.”
“What about a lot ugly?”
“I can deal with everything about you, Cait.” The honesty in her voice leaves Caitlyn speechless, incapable of protesting any further.
Vi gives her an encouraging smile, caresses her cheek and, slowly, starts taking the old bandage. It goes around her head entirely, trapping part of her hair tight. Vi’s hand goes round and round as she unwraps the bandage, each layer strapping Caitlyn’s metaphorical walls. She feels as vulnerable as a newborn child when all that remains is the old gauze stuck on the wound of her eyelid, and Vi gently peels it away, her face ever so tender and careful.
“Does it hurt?” her voice is like her actions: paced and gentle.
“No… Not really.” Caitlyn’s voice is only an echo of what it once was, a shy whisper. She wished she could curl into a ball and just… Disappear. She can’t face Vi, fearing a change in her expression, dreading pity. She hated to be pitied.
However, she feels Vi’s fingers lingering on her chin, turning her face back to her again. She’s struck by the sheer emotion of Vi’s powder blue eyes; she focuses on Caitlyn, not only on one single part of her face. She feels as if Vi looked beyond and through her, seeing things not even Caitlyn is capable of perceiving about herself. Vi approaches and leans over her, knees on the mattress, soft thumb caressing her cheek and a scarred lip touching the eyebrow above her wounded eye: the most delicate kiss Caitlyn has ever received. She feels her throat burning and closes her eye, feeling Vi’s lips now brushing on her cheek right below the eye: Vi places a second peck there, as loving as the first one.
“You’re beautiful.” she whispers and Caitlyn actually trembles with the efforts she’s putting into not crying.
It all goes down the drain when she opens her eye again and catches how Vi’s looking at her. An unflattering sob escapes her throat and she wraps her arms around Vi like she’s about to fall; despite having a cast, Vi cradles her, patting and caressing her back with her free hand without saying anything. She doesn’t have to. Even though she’s crying, Caitlyn feels her insecurities slowly pouring out with her tears, not going away, but at least becoming manageable. Being held by Vi had that effect: it brought a sense of peace, of being safe. Nothing could get her while she remained in those arms, not even her own tortuous thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” she says, undoing the hug, but still leaning on Vi. Their foreheads touch and Caitlyn lets out a humourless chuckle. “I’m making things far more complicated for you.”
Tears also strimmed from her bruised eye, making it itch. Also, it made the wound wet, which — from Caitlyn’s point of view — was a little disgusting.
Vi doesn’t seem to mind though, “Nothing I can’t deal with, baby.” Caitlyn’s heart warms with the usage of the nickname, the first time it leaves Vi’s lips. Butterflies fill up her stomach as if she’s a stupid teenager. Caitlyn wants Vi to only call her like that from now on. “Now, lay down, let’s clean this gooey eye of yours.”
“ Violet! ” Caitlyn snaps and Vi bursts out laughing, making her lie down. Caitlyn cannot help but crack a smile with the view of Vi’s playfulness. She hadn’t heard that sound in a while.
“Just joking! It’s not that gooey.”
Vi changed her bandages from that day onward. Reminded her of the pills. When the doctor said she was ready to use a simpler eye bandage — the last stage before being free of bandages at all, although she thought she might choose an eyepatch —, Vi was the one helping comb her hair. Caitlyn could do it herself, but there was something so comforting in feeling someone else messing with your hair. Vi was there to hold her when she bumped into corners that now came too soon (without an eye, she had to relearn the layout of her house due to her balance and perception being damaged), or to massage her forehead when she got those terrible, now very common headaches.
Vi also read to her. In late-night conversations where neither of them could sleep — both haunted by highly specific, different yet equally terrifying nightmares — she discovered that Vi actually loved reading. She listened to the magenta-haired speaking of how she used to devour the few ones she could get in the undercity when she was a child, and how even though she spent years without reading one — Stillwater wasn’t exactly an environment prone to reading — she still loved them. That very next day, Caitlyn took Vi to the library in the Kiramman mansion; she didn’t react the way Caitlyn thought she would. Vi was clearly stunned but not exactly excited, more shy than anything else as if engulfed by the grandiosity of the space. Instead of going for the books, she asked which one was Caitlyn’s favourite. And when Caitlyn answered by giving her one she used to read all the time when she was a child, instead of reading to herself, Vi read out loud to Caitlyn.
The action surprised and charmed her, and she caught herself completely entranced by the way Vi read. She had a soothing voice and a perfect rhythm despite being a little rusty due to all those years without reading out loud (or reading at all). Vi still managed to capture her attention and distract her, even making her laugh when she mimicked a different, funny voice for one of the characters.
“Oh, you’ve got quite the talent for it, don’t you?”
The shadow of a smile passes through Vi’s lips as she takes her eyes off the pages. “I used to read to my siblings all the time. Powder used to love it.” the mention came so fast that Vi took a second to realise what she just said, but when she did, her demeanour changed completely.
Caitlyn watched sorrow take over her quickly. Her shoulder dropped slightly, the book fell open in her legs as if she lost all strength to hold it. The smile was no longer there, and what seemed to be the worst of all, Caitlyn could swear Vi’s eyes went completely empty, lightless. That was not the first time it happened; Caitlyn caught Vi wandering often, her mind in a far, dark place. Whenever she got distracted. Whenever she had nothing to do. Whenever Caitlyn wasn’t with her or talking to her. In all those moments, Caitlyn would try to approach her, check if she was okay or if she wanted to talk. Jinx was dead, just like many others. Piltover was planning a ceremony to pay homage to the lost ones soon. She wished Vi could open up to her before that, it would be bad not to face the loss of her sister and her father. Bottling up grief was damaging, Caitlyn should know.
So she tried once more, raising one hand to touch her, “Vi-”
But just like all the other times, her voice worked as something breaking through the fragile wall of Vi’s barriers, a rope pulling her from the darkness. Her eyes were still bleak when she brushed off Caitlyn’s comforting touch, forcing a smile. “It’s okay.”
Caitlyn pressed her lips together. Something urged her to make Vi talk. Yet, something also prevented her. Vi felt it too.
“Do you… want me to continue?”
That was her silent way of begging. Please, don’t ask. Please, don’t make me speak. And because nothing was more important than making the shine come back to Vi’s eyes, because of that heartbreaking expression, and because Caitlyn was just as broken as her, she indulged her one more time.
Caitlyn nodded and smiled, “I’d love that.”
After that day, Caitlyn started to fall asleep being lulled by Vi’s reading, which meant that she only started to get proper sleep after Vi read to her. Before that, Caitlyn would take too long to sleep and once she finally did nightmares would come almost instantly. But when the reading tradition began, sleep was easier. Vi’s voice carried her with ease through slumber after a few pages… Nightmares still came, though. They were something Caitlyn thought she’d never get rid of. Once she fell asleep there were only minutes of peace before being engulfed in the darkness, various figures replaying the traumas in her head like a movie, except she could feel everything. Water over her head; she drowned. Tape and rope around her mouth and body; she was silenced, bones crushed. Piercing daggers; blood everywhere. And hands, many pairs of hands around her neck: pressing, squeezing, choking. There was nothing she could do but relive that moment and die there.
Caitlyn would wake up disoriented, breathless, her hands reaching her neck to release it from whatever watched, haunted it. Caitlyn hated the nightmares where she was alone in the dark the most: trapped, not able to move, but she knew someone was there behind her, breathing down her neck, scoffing, dripping poison. I did appreciate your warmth. The gunshot echoed endlessly, and rang in her ears, never failing to wake her up.
Vi was there for her in those situations as well, of course. She would hold her trembling body, whispering comforting words to bring her back to reality. Many minutes would pass where everything Caitlyn could hear was the deafening echo of the bullet, her gasping, ragged breaths and, deep down, Vi's whispers. Vi never stopped soothing her. Caitlyn would hold onto her for dear life, feeling the heat of her arms wrapped around her trembling body — well, arms wrapped as well as Vi could with the cast in one of them — clutching her hands with her own. Vi’s calm breathing would encourage her to follow suit. Caitlyn’s sight would grow accustomed to the dark shadows of her room bathed by moonlight. Reality.
“Better?” Vi had asked once, lips almost touching her shoulder. Her breathing made the hairs on Caitlyn’s neck shiver, a tint of desire hidden under all the agony.
Caitlyn had noticed how her neck had become a sensitive area since the battle. It must have been due to all the trauma it endured, she figured as much. She was always too careful now, always thinking someone was behind her either to catch or kill her, her nape shivering constantly. She also hated to be touched there now, not even enjoying feeling her own hair scraping.
But with Vi… It was different. Having Vi close was reassuring.
“Hm,” she answered, still finding her voice. “My neck…” barely a whisper.
“What about it?” Vi’s voice was low, and raspy due to sleep. That encouraged Caitlyn. She needed to send the ghosts away.
“Can you touch it? Please.”
Unclutching the hand free from the cast, Vi gave Caitlyn’s hand a slight squeeze before reaching her shoulder and brushing her fingers on the base of her neck. Caitlyn flinched involuntarily, every ounce in her body wishing to run away. Vi stopped immediately.
“No!” Caitlyn urged her. “Please, continue.”
“Cait, are you sure?” Vi’s brows were a little frowned in a worried expression Caitlyn would have found adorable in different circumstances.
But at that moment, she only nodded, “Please.”
Vi touched her neck again and that time Caitlyn shivered but didn’t wince away. She left her fingers there for some time before brushing them on the side of the neck, each touch pulling something different inside Caitlyn. She had to constantly remind herself. These are Vi’s fingers. Vi’s fingers. She loved Vi’s fingers; her whole hands, for that matter. Those fingers had held her before, had lifted her, caressed her, touched her in ways she had only dreamed… Those fingers would never hurt her. Vi reached her nape, stroking her hair with care and Caitlyn leaned her head to her, lost in something as close to pleasure as she could feel at that moment. There was relief too, the feeling of being haunted had left almost entirely. She felt Vi’s eyes on her, a sleepy, soft smile on her face.
“Better, then?”
“Better.” Caitlyn answered, leaning more, this time for a kiss. Vi accepted it gladly, her scarred lip gentle and humid against Caitlyn’s, warm hand supporting her neck all the time.
Nighttime wasn’t the only moment Caitlyn was tormented by her traumatised brain or body. Showers had become difficult too. There, in that big space of glass and mirrors she felt observed all the time. It was a paralysing feeling. She would take several minutes convincing her body to enter the bathroom, that it was just showering. Then, several more minutes to check and recheck if all the windows were locked and also to lock the door. She would constantly look over her shoulder while she took off her clothes. She kept the shower door open, just in case you need to run, her brain vouched. She never left the shower water running nonstop, opening and closing whenever she needed. She never closed her eyes. Not surprisingly, showering became a draining activity because of all those steps. She would usually come out of the bathroom with her jaw hurting due to all the pressure put on it; headaches and sore muscles were common too.
After a specially tiring one — she had to wash her hair, which meant double the time and difficulty since doing it with her eyes open was nearly impossible — she remained standing in front of the large mirror above the sink mechanically applying moisturiser in her hands while trying not to run away. Caitlyn thought that facing her fears was the best approach in every case; of course, she could apply her moisturiser and finish dressing in her bedroom, but for how long would she allow that senseless dread to rule her life? It was showering , for heaven’s sake. She should be able to have peace in her own bathroom and enjoy — or at least tolerate — such a frivolous action as cleaning herself. So she forces herself to remain there, jaw locked and eye focused on the drops of water inside the sink while trying not to think of the fact that the fog caused by the hot water steam gives the bathroom an ominous atmosphere. How it blurs the mirror and that jeopardises her sight: it would be so easy for someone to just appear behind her, Caitlyn thinks as the hairs on her nape stood on end, memories of bright purple eyes surprising her in a moment similar to this. She gasps, suddenly on edge and raises her head in alert to a suspicious noise she’s sure to be a mere fabrication of her mind until she sees the blurred reflection of what clearly is a second person behind her.
Too alarmed to even think, she screams and turns, throwing the moisturiser bottle and practically climbing onto the sink. The bottle hits the target with impressive strength and Caitlyn is blindly searching for something, anything else to throw when she hears a startled and familiar Ouch! The target is Vi.
With eyes widened, shocked expression and hands in the air — she had her cast taken a couple of days before, now only a large scar on her elbow being the only indicator of an injury — Vi approaches, apologising instantly:
“Sorry, sorry! I knocked but-” She notices Caitlyn is not listening, eye still wild and her whole body on top of the sink. The situation would have been comical if it wasn’t so tragic. “Hey, Cait. Baby, it’s okay.”
She makes sure to lower the cadence of her voice and approach carefully, being in front of Caitlyn even though the woman doesn’t seem to see her despite looking at her. Vi knows by now that a calm presence, reassuring words and patience were all it took to get Caitlyn out of an anxiety attack or a flashback — the last being the case at the moment. With her whole posture stiff and in a defensive position, Caitlyn seems to be shutting down: eye unfocused, the injured one twitching. The eyelid she had just managed to get back full control of trembled and disrupted breathing escaped her lungs. Vi just stands there, heart on her hands, lips pressed tightly together waiting for any signs of improvement or worsening. She hates being unable to do more.
Finally, Caitlyn’s expression softens quickly, her whole body being taken by sudden exhaustion. Her limbs falter without her being able to control it, and Vi stumbles and holds her close before she falls from the sink. Caitlyn is taller than her, but she seems so small now, disappearing into her embrace. It feels like an eternity passed before any of them spoke again:
“I didn’t hear you coming…” Her voice reflects just how tired she is.
“I’m sorry, I knocked but you didn’t answer. You forgot your clothes.” Vi tilts her head, pointing to the pile of fabric now on the floor.
Caitlyn wants to hit her head on the sink. She had forgotten to lock the door, bring her clothes and she hadn’t heard Vi. She is a mess. A flawed human being. When was she going back to being normal again? She chuckles, no humour in it.
“I’m so sorry, Vi.”
“Hey, what you apologising for? Knock it off.”
“No, I-” but she stops once she sees the expression on Vi’s face. A determined look, a slight pout and shiny eyes would not allow Caitlyn to slander herself. So she just sighs, taking her hands to Vi’s broad shoulders, grounding herself to reality. She’s in her bathroom with her Violet while wearing nothing but panties. It could be a lot worse. “Sorry for throwing the moisturiser at you, can you pick it up for me?”
“Sure.”
Vi takes mere seconds to pick the bottle up and place it beside them on the sink. With a tinge of nervousness that is unlike her — but that was always present when she was with Vi — Caitlyn bites her lower lip slightly before asking:
“Would you like to help me finish applying it?”
Their eyes meet, Vi’s silvery ones taken by surprise for a moment while Caitlyn’s are focused and resolute despite her apparent shyness. Vi was glad she was able to look at her like that while having nothing on her injured eye: Caitlyn seemed less insecure about it now, entering a journey of accepting that her eyelid is forever having a scar in the middle and her eye has a milky colouration now, a slight scar that could be seen only when people came too close to her face.
Vi is seeing it now, one of the select few who had the privilege. Despite it all, she thinks that it contrasts perfectly with the other cerulean eye and the navy blue hair that fell down her shoulders. She smiles, thumbs brushing Caitlyn’s waist.
“What places are missing?”
“My shoulders,” her voice is silky, and it causes Vi’s stomach to jump, elated. “My thighs.”
Humming, Vi picks up the moisturiser and puts a fair dose on her hands before turning back to Caitlyn. The other woman observes her with an attentive eye, a tingling feeling starting from her toes until her thighs, expecting Vi's touch. She fixes her posture, still seated on the sink. Vi brushes her silky hair aside so she can have a nice view of her naked shoulders, the pale, bony things looking like sculpted in marble. She spreads her palms on Caitlyn’s shoulders, fingers pressing gently yet firmly on the skin, almost a massage. Caitlyn closed her eyes, getting lost in the feeling of Vi’s digit once more, the amount of pleasure they brought her should be studied; she might have an addiction.
Vi works her shoulder, the base of her neck — Caitlyn trembles slightly, almost flinches — then goes down her arms, Caitlyn’s lips opening in a shadow of a sly smile once her thumbs brush on the sides of her breasts.
“I don’t usually moisturise there.” She is surprised by the sultriness of her own voice. Vi seems affected by it too because Caitlyn hears her breath hitching, palms firmly rested on her waist just below they had touched previously.
“Really?” Vi’s voice… was as menacing as her fingers. “Why do they look so soft then?”
Caitlyn chuckles as she opens her eyes, finding silver irises going from her breasts to her eyes, facing her with absolute yearning. She reaches Vi’s nape and digs her nails into the messy locks of magenta hair, pulling the woman closer. Their lips smack, the contact sending shivers down Caitlyn’s spine that only intensifies once she hears the melodic hum that escapes Vi’s mouth. A spicy, nutty taste invades her senses as she makes space inside Vi’s mouth with her tongue, a specific taste she can only associate with one of the many whiskeys located inside the mansion, the ones her father loved to drink. A hint of suspicion lights up her thoughts: “Was she drinking? It’s only two pm…”, but the thought is instantly washed away when Vi bites at her lower lip, squeezing her hips avidly.
They kiss like they had done before the battle, like the culmination of endless moments of desire; back then, they didn’t know if they’d ever do it again or if they’d even survive. Now, the desperation came from a place of reassurance: they had to make sure both of them were alive, well and together. Vi pulls her closer again and Caitlyn opens her legs so Vi’s body can fit right between them. Strong hands caress her back, hold her thigh, and make the perfect space for her to lean her head against so Vi can explore her neck with kisses. It was ridiculous: she couldn’t bear the feeling of her own fingers on her neck, yet Vi didn’t even need to ask for permission as if her touch was the only one her brain approved.
The already existing steamy atmosphere of the bathroom is deepened by their own heat, all-consuming, fog intensifying. It becomes so heavy that Caitlyn has to focus to not lose control, to not let her mind fall back to the trauma that devoured her logic and sanity. It’s a constant struggle now, to be fully in control. To be with Vi used to be so easy even with all the difficulties; to live used to be painless. She wished she could just let go .
Vi seems to notice her sudden hesitation, for she stops kissing her. Caitlyn gasps and pulls her back, but Vi holds her position steady; she has always been stronger than her.
“Cait-”
“No, no .” she sounds irritated, head low, incapable of looking Vi in the eyes, for she’s too scared she might see a pitiful expression. “I want this. I really want this, Vi.”
“I know, I want it too,” Vi lifts her face anyways, and cups it gently with her hands. Caitlyn is forced to look at her and to her surprise Vi looks… understanding. The lightest blue eyes were full of love and desire but mixed with sorrow and haziness. “But maybe this isn’t the right moment.”
Not when you’re like this , Caitlyn’s brain echoed. No. Vi would never say that. Caitlyn realised that maybe Vi was talking about herself as well. The haziness in her eyes, drinking in the middle of the afternoon, the constant vagueness in thoughts… That wasn’t the right moment for any of them. It didn’t matter how much they wanted it, they couldn’t let go.
Caitlyn smiled kindly, squeezing Vi’s hands over her face and softly kissing her lips, nothing like the way they kissed before. She hops off the sink and grabs her clothes off the floor. Vi helps her dress up and comb her hair.
Six weeks. It took six weeks to reorganize the city; not completely, it would take a lot of work and time to rebuild everything, leaving it as it was before Hextech and the Noxian invasion before Caitlyn became the Commander. It took six weeks to retrieve the citizens from the evacuation shelters and send the news and letters of condolences to the people who had lost loved ones in the battle. It took two weeks for Caitlyn’s eye to stop oozing; three weeks until she started opening it up; four and a half weeks until she regained complete control over it; and five weeks until the sclera returned to a white colouration instead of red. In the sixth week, she got herself three eyepatches: one black, one dark blue, and another one with a dark tone of violet.
Six weeks also went by before the cast in Vi’s arm was removed. She still felt her arm weak and sore, but the doctor said that was normal. She should start physical therapy in order to regain strength, but she hasn't started it yet. For some reason, it felt weird.
The sixth week also marked the date of Piltover’s ceremony to honour the dead. Most people recovered, and the council was up again. Citizens of Zaun were invited — Caitlyn had been adamant in that regard. In fact, the moment she could walk without bumping into corners or losing balance she worked twice as hard as everybody else to make sure the ceremony was successful and fair to both cities. It was time to restore something long lost and it wouldn’t be easy, but Caitlyn would die trying. She owed that to her people, to Zaun.
For the first time in two months, Vi left the Kiramman mansion. Caitlyn had to be up there with the counsellors and the rest of the important, public figures of Piltover, to give a speech. Despite her pride, despite understanding, Vi couldn’t watch. She had her own dead to mourn, her own living to visit.
She finds Ekko above it all, above the city, as the light of the flames of the papers in which the names of the dead were written make their way above, like stars decorating the night sky. Her throat weighs a ton. He doesn’t have to turn to know it is her. As Vi stands by his side and Ekko looks at her, Vi realises how grown he is: he looks older than when she saw him for the first time after she left Stillwater. His eyes are heavy in a way only the eyes of older, wiser people get. The eyes of someone who had seen it all.
“I see your arm is good as new,” Ekko tries to keep his voice friendly and light-hearted, unsuccessfully. It’s ridiculous to pretend at this point.
“Not as new.” she shows how she can barely move it now, the member getting all stiff near the elbow. Moving it still hurts. She sits by his side and sighs, both of them surrounded by dense silence.
There’s a lot to say and they don’t know how to say it.
“I heard your girlfriend gave quite a speech.”
So that’s how it’s going to be, then.
“Ekko-”
“Did she give such motivating ones as the Commander?”
“I have no clue, I wasn’t around much.” Vi speaks firmly, a hint of sarcasm hanging from the words; that era was a senseless mumble of memories, crazy drinking and self-inflicted pain. Lots of pain. She looks at him sideways. “You weren’t around either, as I remember.” Ekko flinches, jaw locking. He avoids her gaze.
“You sure was around when your little team decided to gas the whole city.”
Ekko’s words pierced right through Vi’s already swollen heart. She squints at him, one side of her lips lifted, her usual irritated grimace. Ekko still remembered how she used to give Mylo the same one.
“Oh, fuck you.” Ekko turns to swear back at her, but he’s stopped by the raw intensity of Vi’s gaze. “Since you know so much, maybe I don’t have to tell you how my little team only used the Grey on specific locations, taking down the Chem-Barons and preventing their mad rampage over Zaun while your firelights were all over the place doing nothing because guess what? You. Were. Gone.”
Her breathing is laboured when she stops speaking, the weight in her heart diminishing a little bit. Screaming your feelings away apparently helped. When Ekko just keeps staring at her with a straight face and squinted lips, she intensifies her staring, an expression of incredulity overcoming her.
“You already knew that, didn’t you?” Ekko averts her gaze again. Of course he did. His fireflights had told him how, unorthodox as it might have been, the usage of the Grey didn’t actually hurt Zaun citizens, only the Chem-Barons as an attempt to get to Jinx.
Ekko clenches his fists, all sorts of emotions almost pouring out. Vi observes him silently for a while, then sighs. This wasn’t how she wanted things to go between them; they were the only thing both of them had left from the past, from their dysfunctional little family.
“Look, I’m not trying to justify what I did, but you have to understand I thought I had no other option left. I know what I did was wrong. Caitlyn knows too.” with the mention of Caitlyn’s name, Ekko looks at Vi again. “The Noxians took advantage of her and she played the part as their pawn perfectly. She’s not proud of that.”
“Good,” Ekko says. “Maybe the shame will help her make better decisions in the future.”
“I hope we all can make better decisions in the future, Ekko.”
Now it was time for Ekko to sigh. He leans on his own hands and stretches his back before saying: “... We all fucked this up at some point, right?”
“Big time, little man.”
The last pieces of paper fly to the sky. They watch it all from afar, the small figures of people observing, then walking home in the distance. Going back. Moving on. Trying to move on. Vi isn’t sure how to do that yet. She hears rustling by her side and catches Ekko taking a piece of paper from the pocket of his pants. He smiles weakly at her before giving her paper.
“For you.”
Vi has to use all the strength left in her body not to cry when she sees the content of the paper. The right side was a realistic, black and white drawing of Jinx, the short hair with an undercut she had displayed in the battle in evidence. She looked fearless, sarcastic and cunning, even in the colourless drawing her eyes had a shimmering, penetrating shine. The left side of the paper was another version of Jinx — that was the only conclusion Vi could come to; her smile was still sarcastic, but healthier, and her eyes were shining with happiness and sharpness. Her hair had a fun design, with bangs and two buns on each side of the head. She looked rested, peaceful, loved . Her Jinx, Vi thought. Her Powder.
“What… How did you draw this?” she cannot hide her choked-up voice; tears are already starting to form in her eyes.
“It came to me in a dream.”
Vi holds the drawing closer, careful not to ruin it when her tears start falling for real, pouring out like a waterfall. She cannot stop crying and it would have been a little embarrassing if she hadn’t felt Ekko’s arm wrapping around her, the sound of his own crying joining hers. Ekko holds Vi like he used to do when he was a little boy and she was the amazing, invincible big sister; she comforts him, caressing his head like she was still all of that, knowing deep down that she felt like nothing. She was nothing.
They mourn together. Once Vi finally goes back to the Kiramman mansion — with promises of helping Ekko rebuild Zaun — she finds that expensive bottle of whisky Tobias and she had shared a couple of times over those weeks, the content still over half.
She drowns in it.
The soft humming of a melody brushes Caitlyn’s ears, pulling her attention out of the monitor screen. She was looking at maps from the projects of the Hexgates, most specifically the one Vi and Jinx had fought together before the latter exploded herself in a selfless sacrifice. Allegedly exploded herself, Caitlyn has to keep remembering that. She hasn’t told Vi yet, but word came to her of the officials not being able to find Jinx’s body, not even indicators that her body had exploded. They had found Vander, whatever was left of his modified body, but Jinx had simply… vanished. Caitlyn compared projects and took a look at the maps of the ducts and came up with a theory. Perhaps there was a faint chance she was still alive; it was a long shot, but not entirely unfounded.
If Jinx was alive, that meant that she might have run away. It would be impossible to remain in Piltover or Zaun after the battle: everyone knew her face. She could be anywhere now; Noxus was unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe Ixtal, although Demacia was also an option… Caitlyn would have to pull some cards to discover the truth, but she counted on Jinx herself to help her. She knew someone as volatile and ingenious as the girl would cause havoc wherever she was. For now, all Caitlyn had to do was keep her ears and eyes open. Eye. Her eye open.
She smiles when she realises where the humming is coming from, most especially who it is coming from. Vi is seated in front of their fireplace, relaxed demeanour and features fitting perfectly with the barely lit room full of green and brown decorations. Instead of sitting on one of the vintage, comfortable armchairs, she was on top of the centre table, one leg and foot on top of it while the other one came close to the fire. She’s holding a glass which Caitlyn guesses as being whisky, the one Vi and her father liked to drink together. Tobias was treating Vi properly now, and even though none of them admitted it, she knew they both learned to appreciate each other’s company greatly. She’s facing the fireplace with that distracted, usual expression, the one Caitlyn can’t get through as hard as she tries; almost seven weeks had passed and she felt herself improving each day, learning how to cope with the trauma and changes she can’t control. But Vi… she doesn’t think the same is happening to her.
Caitlyn approaches her, a light smile on her lips as she sits by her side and hits her shoulder with her own in an affectionate, teasing manner.
“Is that… Singing?”
“It’s just a tune my mother used to hum.” Vi answers with simplicity, a voice carried by nostalgia and sorrow. She was always sorrowful. She turns her face to look at the fire again and Caitlyn leans her head on her shoulder, body instantly relaxing with the heat Vi exuded.
Her mind doesn’t relax, though. There’s so much to do, so much to fix. Caitlyn feels like she’s going to spend her entire life making amends. Piltover’s government was a mess and there was only so much she could do being the Kiramman matriarch; Zaun still had problems, and things had to change internally in the council in order to ensure Zaun's independence. She had to regain people’s trust; although she knew that most people never trusted her at all to begin with, so that meant she had to earn it. It was hard to think of all that had to be done and sometimes she felt drowning in the responsibilities, and it was hard to hold onto someone else when the only person that could support her was drowning as well.
Still, she had to ask. She had to make sure she wasn’t putting Vi in something she didn’t want.
“Are you still in this fight, Violet?”
She counts the seconds until the response. One, two, three, four, five. When it comes, it is determined, slightly smug and sentimental. So irreparably Violet.
“I am the dirt under your nails, cupcake,” Caitlyn smiled at the nickname, it was the first time she heard it since the battle. Almost seven weeks. Vi leans her head on her shoulder, and Caitlyn rests her head on the unruly magenta hair she loves so much. “Nothing’s gonna clean me out.”
Vi’s words eased her worries a little. She was still with her. She would always be with her. She would get dirty fighting by her side, and damn it, Caitlyn would too. She could argue that she was the dirt instead, constantly getting messy since she took Vi from Stillwater. And she did so with pleasure.
She would investigate a little more and tell Vi about Jinx only when and if she had more answers. She couldn’t risk sparkling hope in her heart just to make Vi grieve her sister again. Caitlyn could tell Vi would take longer to heal, and she would preserve her at all costs. Protect her until she feels safe and strong again.
They remain together for a while, observing the flames of the fireplace. Caitlyn is the first one to move, kissing the top of Vi’s head.
“Will you join me in bed?”
“In a bit.” Vi doesn’t look at her when she speaks, eyes still on the now extinguishing fireplace. Caitlyn glances at the glass she’s holding, heart tightening.
“Alright. Don’t take long.” she asks gently and caresses Vi’s hair before getting up and leaving.
Once Caitlyn leaves, Vi takes a few seconds to move from the centre table to the floor. It is warm, just like the space between her and the fireplace. It would go out soon now, maybe another five, ten minutes. She drinks the remaining whisky from the glass, the strong taste not bringing any reaction to her face, any burning sensation to her throat. She grabs the bottle on the centre table and pours herself another one, mechanically.
She tells herself she will stop when the fire ceases to burn.