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Vi really, really hates this stupid hospital.
Sure, in the grand scheme of things, there’s probably not many people who actively like hospitals to begin with. Maybe med students, or something. On an average day, hospitals just tend to make Vi uncomfortable. When she’s the one in the hospital bed, she’s mostly just antsy. When Caitlyn’s the one in the hospital bed, however, it makes her chest feel like it’s full of wet, soggy newspaper. Which isn’t pleasant, but she’s dealt with it enough times for the sensation to be a little more manageable. Or, it would be manageable, if she didn’t also have to deal with this.
This hospital has to be out to get her, because these stupid vending machines don't have any peanut butter cups. Or, well, they do. They’re just the wrong ones.
Caitlyn always insisted the miniature ones tasted better. Vi was mostly indifferent and believed there was no way a slightly different shape for the same two ingredients could make that much of a difference, but Caitlyn was so impassioned and adamant that it made Vi want to disagree with her just to see what would happen.
The very first time her and Caitlyn rode in an ambulance together was around two years ago. Caitlyn had a fractured wrist and a few stitches across her forehead, and Vi had a nice little bullet hole straight through her left shoulder. When Caitlyn came into her hospital room, face pale and crumpled in worry with a small pack in her hands, what was Vi supposed to do, not try them? And, fuck. Caitlyn was right. Her relieved giggle of happiness at Vi’s admission almost made Vi regret disagreeing in the first place. Almost.
The second time they came in together, Vi had a few scratches, a bruised jaw, and was left pondering if the universe had a personal vendetta against her, because every single vending machine was mysteriously bereft of these stupid, stupid miniature peanut butter cups. And the next time she checked a few months later, the normal, absolutely boring-sized peanut butter cups sat there, taunting her from their stupid little row nestled at the center. And the next time she checked, there they were again, in the same row, same column, same fucking place in every single vending machine in the building.
Caitlyn fell three stories straight into a dumpster this morning, her hair probably still smells of stale garbage, the nasty concussion she’s currently spotting will probably have her out of office for at least a week, not to mention how long she’s sure to be stuck on desk duty, and all Vi wants is some fucking miniature peanut butter cups to cheer Caitlyn up. She groans, kicking the edge of the vending machine as a send-off before walking away in defeat.
Caitlyn has a serene smile on her face when Vi returns, cheek nestled halfway into her pillow, and Vi can only imagine what kind of magical IV drip they’ve devised for four broken ribs. Maybe she forgot about the peanut butter cups.
“They didn’t have them, did they?” Caitlyn says. Shit.
“Do you think we can pull the nepotism card and get your dad to change them back?” Vi says.
“Vi.”
Vi sighs.
Vi, for all intents and purposes, is no stranger to pain. She’s also no stranger to painkillers. But as she listens to Dr. Pearson list every medication that has been prescribed to Caitlyn back to back in full mediological terminology, Vi’s eyes start to go a little wide.
“That’s… a few,” Vi says diplomatically.
“Broken ribs are very painful,” the doctor responds with an equally flat level of diplomacy.
“Oh, yeah. I know that.”
“Yes, I suppose you would, wouldn’t you.” Dr. Pearson adjusts the tiny glasses sitting at the edge of her nose, not looking up from her paperwork. Vi doesn’t think she’s done anything to personally offend Dr. Pearson. If anything, Vi’s constant stays at the hospital make sure she’s never out of a job. That’s gotta be worth at least a few brownie points. Maybe she’s like this with everyone.
“Don’t be surprised if her behavior sees some changes over the next twenty four hours or so,” Dr. Pearson continues.
This whole hospital song and dance isn’t exactly… new territory for Vi, per se, but Vi has no idea why she insisted on saying it so ominously. “What… kind of changes?” Vi says carefully.
Dr. Pearson shrugs. “Lethargy, reduced neural inhibitions, all that is typical.” All that is typical seems a little blasė, but what does Vi know? She squints down at the giant pile of paperwork being foisted into her hands.
“...Right.”
If there was a world record for Fastest at Getting Checked out of Piltover Central Hospital, Caitlyn Kiramman would probably hold the record. And there’s a very good chance she just set a new one today.
“Cait,” Vi says slowly, hustling to catch up with Caitlyn’s insistent strides, “just take the wheelchair. It’s free. It’s pretty new. It doesn’t squeak, I made sure.”
“I don’t need it,” Caitlyn says, continuing her valiant journey down the hall. Vi has to take a deep breath.
“I’m pushing it anyway.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my legs,” Caitlyn says. And sure, if Vi didn’t spend every free moment of her life watching Caitlyn, there’s a chance she just might have missed Caitlyn favoring her right side. But unfortunately for Caitlyn, Vi absolutely does spend every free moment watching Caitlyn, because she’s head over heels in love with her. Vi stops in the middle of the hallway, tapping the handlebars in a rhythm with her thumbs. Caitlyn realizes about half a second after she stops and turns around, raising an eyebrow.
“If you get dizzy and fall, they’re going to readmit you,” Vi says, holding her stare.
Caitlyn closes her eyes. Her shoulders sinking are the only indication of her very politely-covered sigh as she sits down. She somehow manages not to wince as she bends her torso, only breathing deeply through the motion as she gets settled, so Vi winces for her.
“Why are we going to the parking garage?” Vi says about ten minutes into their maze of a journey.
“That’s where the car is,” Caitlyn says like it’s obvious. Vi only gets more confused.
“Why wouldn’t they just pull up front?”
“Turn right here,” Caitlyn says. “The preferred spaces.” Vi turns the corner and finds there is not a car with a driver waiting for them like she thought.
“How’d your car get here?” Vi says, furrowing her brow at the relatively easy to spot paint job.
“I asked Steb to drive it over,” Caitlyn says.
Vi stops walking. Caitlyn jolts a little in her seat at Vi’s sudden stop, and she makes a soft noise of discomfort. Out of all the things that have happened today, this, unironically, is what leaves Vi floored. Steb drove Caitlyn’s car. He drove her car. Her car. The car of all cars. That one. Her one of a kind, deep purple Aston Martin that was, apparently, a gift. From who? Probably James Bond himself, for all Vi knows.
“Why is your car here?” Vi says, because that will surely clear things up.
Apparently not. Caitlyn looks just as confused as Vi feels. “So we can get home?” she says carefully. And, to top off this absolutely insane scenario, Caitlyn removes the key from her pocket and hands it to her. Vi stares at it. Even the key fob has her family fucking crest etched into the back.
Vi just thought it was one of those unwritten rules. Do not drive Caitlyn’s baby, under any circumstances. Leave the custom, worth-more-than-a-small-island-probably piece of extravagant, luxurious machinery that was probably paid for with a blank check plated in solid gold or something to Caitlyn and Caitlyn only.
But it’s not like Caitlyn ever said that. Or even insinuated it. She must’ve at some point, though. She had to have. Maybe. Right?
“Would you prefer that I drive?” Caitlyn says. She doesn’t sound like she’s joking.
“Uh,” Vi says dumbly. “No.”
“It doesn’t have, like, seat ejectors or anything, right?” Vi says.
“If you find one, please don’t press it,” Caitlyn says. “It really is such a hassle checking out of this hospital.”
Considering the situation Vi was just thrown into, Vi’s pretty proud of herself. By some miracle, Caitlyn’s car has yet to be totaled. To be honest, it kind of seems like the other cars on the highway are actively avoiding her. Maybe it has a special built-in untouchable rich person aura around it, or something.
“It looks good on you,” Caitlyn says.
Vi casts a quick glance down at her arms. “What, the jacket?”
“Yes,” Caitlyn says. “But I meant the car.”
“You think so?” Vi tries not to preen under the attention. It’s hard not to smile when she can feel Caitlyn’s loaded stare still piercing the side of her face, though.
“What color do you like most for a vehicle?” Caitlyn muses.
“Huh?”
“Is red too rhetorical a guess?”
Vi’s brow furrows. “Why would I need a car? I have you.”
A few seconds of silence pass before Caitlyn answers with a curious hum. Only after hearing it does Vi realize the shovel she’s holding, and how far down into the dirt she’s dug a hole for herself. Vi would smack her head into the steering wheel if she wasn’t currently driving a museum on wheels.
“Do you like it when I drive you around?” Caitlyn says in a low tone, perfectly innocent.
Oh, no. Vi is completely unprepared to navigate this right now.
This Caitlyn is… well, lethal. She always seems to come around when Vi least expects it. And right now, it seems she’s decided this is the perfect time to strike. It’s not like Vi can escape. Well, she could tuck and roll right out onto the highway, but there’s a few flaws in that plan.
“Vi,” Caitlyn says, and her voice is like stepping into a warm bath. This is really not good. It’s like she’s holding a carrot, just out of reach, and Vi is the pathetic little bunny excitedly waiting for it. Except it’s definitely not like that at all, because Vi has the unbending willpower of steel. Obviously.
“This is not the time for that,” Vi mutters.
“Not the time for what?” Caitlyn asks airily.
“That.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Seduction is not allowed when I’m behind the wheel of your fancy car.” Among other reasons, but Vi needs a few more seconds to remember them.
“Who says I’m seducing you?” Caitlyn says.
“Me.”
“Does that mean it’s working?”
“Nope.”
“I see,” Caitlyn says, satisfied. Vi doesn’t have to see the sly grin to know it’s there.
“Sorry, I seem to be blanking on something. Where, exactly, are we driving home from right now?”
Caitlyn shrugs in her periphery.
“And how many broken ribs do you have again?” Vi says. “Just remind me real quick.”
“Can you believe we’ve never made love in this car?” Caitlyn says. Vi tries to keep a straight face.
“Caitlyn.”
“I’ve had it for over a year now.”
“Caitlyn.”
Caitlyn sighs. “You’re no fun.”
“You’re supposed to be the responsible one here,” Vi says.
“Yes, well, the responsible one seems to have been thrown out one too many windows today.” Out of the corner of Vi’s eye, Caitlyn slides a button forward on the center console. “She is now,” another button gets pressed, “officially,” something begins to buzz, “taking a vacation,” and Caitlyn slowly moves completely out of Vi’s periphery as her seat leans back.
“Didn’t know you knew that word.”
“Shut up.”
Vi grins. She taps her thumb lightly on the steering wheel, counting the seconds of silence.
“You falling asleep?”
No response.
“Cait?” Vi says.
“No,” Caitlyn says, a lot clearer than Vi anticipated. “I’m not tired.”
“Hm. Gotcha.”
“Have you ever gotten stuck in an elevator before?” Caitlyn says as Vi presses the number for their floor.
“No?” Vi says, and Caitlyn hums, a very nervewracking air of nonchalance around the odd things she keeps saying. Vi eyes Caitlyn, then the emergency stop button sitting innocently by the closing door, then Caitlyn again.
“I don’t think I’d mind it,” Caitlyn says. Vi scrunches her brow.
“As long as you were here, of course,” Caitlyn continues. For a moment, Vi feels a little touched. Caitlyn presses her hand into the elevator’s handrail casually, tilting her head.
“There would be plenty of things we could do to pass the time,” Caitlyn says.
When the doors open again on their floor, Vi is stuck staring daggers at the emergency stop button.
“Vi?” Caitlyn says with a very infuriatingly neutral poker face, one arm barring the doorway to stop the door from closing on them again. She hasn’t left the elevator yet.
“God damn it,” Vi mutters. She speedwalks out into the hallway.
Even after one of the shittiest days of her life, Caitlyn still kisses like an olympian. And not just any olympian, of course. A world record-holding, four-time gold medalist. The door to their apartment closes, and Vi immediately finds herself pressed towards the closest wall.
Caitlyn runs her lips across Vi’s jaw, deliberately chaste until her quickening breaths breeze right past Vi’s ear, and Vi shudders. Vi turns her head, and Caitlyn presses their lips together, easily slotting her tongue into Vi’s mouth. This is just unfair. Inhumane, really. Vi has to fight against every instinct in her body, keeping her free hand dutifully slack at her side rather than wrapping it around Caitlyn’s waist, because that would be the worst fucking idea ever. She pulls her head back just out of Caitlyn’s reach to glare at her.
“Cait,” Vi says sternly. Caitlyn sports an endlessly satisfied look on her face, like a cat lazed out in a spot of sunlight. It makes Vi’s knees feel like jelly.
“You’re a dick,” Vi says.
“Sorry,” Caitlyn says. “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours.” She does actually look apologetic, surprisingly, with her eyes wide and softened around the edges, and all it does is make Vi hornier.
“You’re blushing,” Caitlyn says.
“I’m not,” Vi says, a little too quick. “I’m trying to make sure your fractured ribs don’t puncture a lung. Since I’m the only one who currently seems worried about that happening.” She scowls. Or, she tries to, at least. She has no idea if it actually comes off that way.
Caitlyn only sways a little on her feet, dragging a lithe finger right across Vi’s cheekbone. “You are,” she murmurs. Her hand moves down, teasing at the collar of Vi’s shirt. “All the way down to here. It matches your hair.”
“Cait,” Vi says. Her throat feels a little raw. This is bad. This is so bad. This may be one of the hardest battles Vi’s ever been given. Dr. Pearson’s weirdly ominous warning now feels like child’s play. Weren’t the meds just supposed to make her tired? There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of lethargy happening here. Is this even because of the meds? Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline. Either way, Vi’s brain is destined to melt into a puddle if Caitlyn keeps this up.
“Go sit on the couch so I can make you tea,” Vi says pointedly.
Caitlyn takes a step closer. Vi, fresh out of better ideas, swipes one of the ice packs from the bag at her shoulder and presses it into Caitlyn’s lips. Caitlyn blinks.
“Take this too,” Vi says. Caitlyn’s eyes narrow playfully, but by the grace of every higher power, she seems to relent, plucking the ice pack out of Vi’s hands, looking Vi up and down and taking a step back. Vi’s shoulders sag in relief.
After a few moments of trying to get her heart rate back to normal levels, Vi gathers her bearings just in time to watch Caitlyn walk towards the edge of the foyer, slip off her shoes and lean down to adjust them out of habit. She bends maybe a grand total of thirty degrees before she stops.
“Goodness, that’s inconvenient,” Caitlyn grumbles, muttering to herself as she gives up and begins swaying towards the living room.
“You good?” Vi says.
“Perfectly fine, thank you.”
“Did you need more icepacks? They gave me a shit ton,” Vi says, grabbing the milk from the fridge and placing it on the counter. “Oh and remember, only twenty minutes at a time.”
Caitlyn doesn’t respond, but she does make a thoughtful noise.
“Cait?” Vi says.
Vi glances up and over the counter to see Caitlyn staring down at– God damn it. Her fucking phone.
In a flash of speed that her middle school track team would definitely be jealous of, Vi darts into the living room, around the front of the couch and snatches the phone right out of Caitlyn’s hand.
“Hey,” Caitlyn has the audacity to say with a frown.
“No. Phones. Allowed,” Vi says.
“Five minutes surely won’t kill me.”
“You have.” Vi taps a finger against Caitlyn’s hairline. “A concussion. Remember? You know, memory loss is not a good sign. Maybe we should go back.”
Caitlyn swats her hand away. “I was just making sure I hadn’t missed any messages.”
“If anyone needs anything, they will call me. On my phone.” Vi crosses her arms. “Because I told them to.”
“Oh?” Caitlyn leans back a little into the couch with that look on her face again. Fuck. “And who gave you the authority to make that decision?”
Keeping eye contact with Caitlyn right now is probably a recipe for disaster, so instead Vi looks down at Caitlyn’s phone. “Sorry, Sheriff.” She holds down the two side buttons and swipes the power button on the screen, showing Caitlyn as she does it. “This is officially a coup.” Caitlyn’s look shifts to unamused. Vi grins before sauntering back to the kitchen.
“Violet,” Caitlyn says.
“Huh?” Vi says, staring hard at the kettle, trying not to shiver at the use of her full name. This is really not the time, and it’s really not fair Caitlyn just gets to do that.
“You’re taking awfully long.”
“The kettle’s warming up.”
“Still?”
“It’s almost like someone distracted me, or something.”
Vi swears she hears a snort.
The steaming cup in her hands could do with about 3 more packets of sugar, in Vi’s honest, biased opinion, which means it’s perfect. As she brings it over and pulls the coffee table to sit closer within Caitlyn's reach, Caitlyn reaches for her hand instead of the cup.
“Thank you,” Caitlyn says softly, tugging on her fingers. “For taking care of me.”
“You never need to thank me for that,” Vi says, and Caitlyn pulls her in, cupping Vi’s face as Vi’s hands press into the back of the couch. At first, the kiss is gentle, clearly no further ill-intent behind it. Then Caitlyn’s fingers find their way into Vi’s hair, right behind her ear, and Vi realizes she’s in danger.
"Nope," Vi says, pressing a knee into the cushions to get some leverage. "Not falling for this again."
"Falling for what?" Caitlyn says, moving a hand to hold Vi's wrist.
"Drink your tea that I so lovingly made for you."
"I will. It's a bit hot right now, I'm letting it cool down."
"When have you ever done that in your life—"
Caitlyn takes advantage of Vi's somewhat wonky center of gravity. The hand wrapped around Vi's wrist tugs at just the right angle to tip Vi over and send her careening into a sitting position on the couch cushions. Her legs splay out ahead of her and just narrowly avoid the table. Vi blinks.
"Did you just… handle me?" Vi says.
Caitlyn has now stood and is in the process of carefully settling herself into Vi's lap.
"Don't say it like that," Caitlyn mutters. Vi is about two microseconds from egging her on further before she realizes that is the exact opposite of what she's supposed to be doing right now. To her surprise though, Caitlyn doesn't immediately move in. She caresses the side of Vi's face, staring at her with a complex expression.
"I’m glad you weren’t injured," Caitlyn says.
Vi softens, leaning into Caitlyn's hand as she scratches the buzzed side of her scalp.
"I thought the explosion went off deeper inside," Caitlyn murmurs. "Closer to you. It was the last thought I had before I lost consciousness." Vi's heart constricts, and part of her wants to laugh. Even getting blown out of a building couldn't stop Caitlyn from thinking about someone else first.
"I think this is typically supposed to go the other way around," Vi says, and Caitlyn kisses her. It's the exact kind of kiss, slow and all-consuming, that seeps into Vi's bones and coats her insides like honey. It would be so easy to lose herself in this feeling. But then Caitlyn pushes forward with a familiar sort of frantic desperation, like she can't help herself. Her nose squishes into Vi's cheekbone, her breathing grows heavier, and Vi instantly clocks the moment she winces. Vi quickly holds her elbows to stabilize her.
“Careful,” Vi says, voice hoarse and a little breathless, and it’s no doubt the absolute least convincing she’s ever been. Caitlyn relents and pulls back anyway.
"I feel fine, Violet," she says.
“Do your ribs also have a vote? Because I think you might be outnumbered.”
"As you can see, I am being very careful. Now, if you would just—"
Vi puts up a hand and raises a brow, meeting Caitlyn’s very serious expression head-on. “Do you remember the Sullivan case?”
Caitlyn’s eyes narrow. “Of course I do.”
“And how, when I happened to have an unfortunate run-in with a metal gauntlet—"
"Oh, would you—"
"You refused to kiss me," Vi tilts her head, "for an entire month?"
“That," Caitlyn says with a petulant look, "is different. Your nose is extremely prevalent in such activities. Your septum was also deviated and needed to heal so you could breathe properly. There is nothing wrong with my face.”
“What, besides your swollen brain?”
Caitlyn rolls her eyes. "Don't be an ass."
Vi chuckles. She runs her gaze over Caitlyn's face, the slight darkening of a bruise at her temple, the stubborn turn of her lips.
“You’re worried about me,” Vi starts with a fond smile, “when I watched you get blown out of a third story window."
Caitlyn seems to take pause.
"Do I get to worry about you too?" Vi says with a hint of playfulness to cover the tightness in her chest, swaying forward and delicately pressing her nose into Caitlyn's collarbone. She can feel the moment Caitlyn deflates.
"I'm sorry," Caitlyn whispers into her hair. "I don't mean to brush over your feelings."
Vi shakes her head and straightens back up. "You're not," she says. "I just don't like seeing you hurt."
Caitlyn lets out a small chuckle. "Well, likewise."
"Pretty stupid of us to choose such a dangerous profession, huh?"
Caitlyn gives her a gentle smile. With one last swipe of a thumb across Vi's cheekbone, she carefully stands.
"Shall we go to bed?" Caitlyn says, holding out a hand.
"Sure," Vi says before giving her a stern look. "But no funny business."
Caitlyn sighs. "Vi."
“Tea’s gone cold,” Caitlyn says.
“And who’s fault is that?” Vi says. It’s absolutely worth the next five minutes where Caitlyn pretends to be mad at her.
As Vi enters the bedroom with a freshly warm cup of tea, She spots Caitlyn halfway towards the bathroom in a bit of a predicament. The edges of her hips sit exposed, and her shirt rides up halfway past her ear, obscuring part of her eye and nose as she turns toward Vi and blinks.
"I'm having some difficulties," Caitlyn says.
Vi hums, crossing her arms thoughtfully. “Well you see, there happens to be someone here who cares about you very much that would absolutely help you with that," she says.
Caitlyn glares. Its effect is diminished by the fact that half of it is hidden by cotton fabric. “You're not allowed to patronize me if you won’t let me kiss you.”
“Wow,” Vi says to the bathroom mirror. “That’s a lot of purple.”
Caitlyn keeps her gaze downwards, brow knit together with a small pout on her lips. “It looks worse than it feels,” she says.
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
“It’s true.”
Vi hums in thought. “Give it a few hours. Then we’ll see.”
Vi wakes up before the sun rises to an empty bed. She rolls over, hoists herself up and waltzes out into the main living area, bleary eyed and seeking out the small light source she caught leaking in from the cracked bedroom door. In an absolutely predictable turn of events, she finds Caitlyn sitting on the couch surrounded by mountains of haphazard case files.
Vi crosses her arms and leans all of her weight into the doorframe, tucking one ankle behind the other. She clears her throat.
“Don’t,” Caitlyn says, angling Vi with a look that sends the message loud and clear. “I’m absolutely boorish right now, and I may bite your head off.”
“Might be because you're reading eleven point font with a concussion,” Vi says, because she’s never been one for self preservation.
Caitlyn doesn’t even argue; she just slumps further into the cushions and closes her eyes, rubbing along her brow and pressing into her temple. It’s the most indication of pain she’s shown so far, which must mean it’s pretty unbearable. Vi saunters closer and sits.
“You should’ve woken me up,” Vi says.
“Just because I’m suffering from sleep deprivation doesn’t mean you must as well,” Caitlyn says.
“Sleep deprivation, huh?”
Caitlyn cracks an eye open. “Among other things.”
Vi snorts. She leans just so to press their shoulders together, glancing over to get a look at the closest pile of folders.
“Let me read for you,” Vi says. “Helps you if you hear it out loud, anyways.”
Caitlyn looks at her, then, with the sort of delicate affection that perfectly melds with the quiet calm of the early hour. The deep night outside their windows is just begining to blend into faded grays and blues.
"Alright," Caitlyn says, handing her the papers and resting a hand on Vi's thigh after Vi takes it.
Vi makes it to the third page before pausing, and when she looks up, Caitlyn is fast asleep. Vi sighs a bit in relief, extracting herself to make sure the curtains around the room are fully closed. She snags a blanket hanging on the back of one of their chairs as she passes, tosses it over their laps as she sits back down, turns to page four and thinks that if every morning for the rest of her life could look a little something like this, she might just be the luckiest person alive.