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Truthfully, Vi had expected things to fall apart sooner.
She'd been doing good, all things considered. Between aiding with the relief efforts in Piltover, working with Ekko to help the people of the Undercity, and worrying over Caitlyn's refusal to sit still despite her numerous injuries, she hadn't had time to rest. Her mind hadn't had time to wander. She thought maybe, for once, she could let sleeping dogs lie.
But fittingly, her ghosts decide to strike just when she's beginning to gather her bearings, get back on her feet. The first time it happens, it takes her off guard, a few days after the battle, the day that they won. The day that Vi lost, and lost everything.
She's outside, helping other volunteers clear the debris that still ravages the city's street, when something bumps into her leg. Vi doesn't even have time to turn around before the culprit appears in front of her.
A little girl, no older than ten, resumes her running, her small voice calling apologetically over her shoulder, “Sorry, miss!”
Vi stands frozen, hands still gripping a slab of concrete. The girl is gone by now, having raced over to a couple other kids before they all excitedly rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight.
But Vi can do nothing but stand there, feel her breathing escalate, feel something cold wrap itself around her chest and squeeze. She mumbles something about needing to take a break to the volunteer next to her and he nods his understanding, but Vi’s already moving. She stumbles away, finds the nearest alley that's much too clean and pristine to actually be classified as an alley, and throws her back against the wall.
She closes her eyes, fights to get air in her lungs.
It's stupid.
The kid didn't even look like her.
Blonde hair and a freckled face with a Piltovan accent to boot.
But her hat…
Her hat had been powder blue.
It starts happening more often after that. A pretty flower, a restaurant awning, the fucking sky on what should be a perfect day, all of it reminds Vi of her.
That same shade of blue takes her off guard every time she happens upon it. On a good day, she only feels her heart ache, feels a burning in her eyes that she blinks away. On a bad day, she feels her stomach drop and her chest seize.
But what really does her in are the nights.
When she closes her eyes, it's all she can see.
Blue, exploding behind her back, pushing her forward out of an inventor's lab and onto the balcony, where it all started. She never should have led them there.
Blue, brilliant and new, crystalline in Powder's hand as she reveals her spoils to Vi. She tells her to keep them hidden. She's destined to make the wrong choice every time.
Blue, volatile and violent, blinding her before it all collapses. It takes Mylo and Claggor. It should've taken her instead.
Blue, trembling between her fingers as she pulls her sister in close, snarls anger and heartbreak into her face. She watches herself walk away, screams and sobs and pleads alongside her sister, praying that she'll turn back around. She doesn't, and so Vi screams louder.
Blue, rising into the air, azure smoke drawing her gaze like a moth to a flame. It's a signal, a call, and Vi would rather die than leave it unanswered.
Blue, twisted into two long braids, seven years of growth that Vi wasn't privy to seeing. She's there, she's real, she's alive. Vi wants to live in that moment forever, drown in it.
Blue, swaying through the haze of an explosive aftermath, footsteps across the bridge that they once walked together. Now, they stand on opposite sides. Not quite enemies, not in Vi’s eyes, even as the mini gun aimed at her whirls to life.
Blue, round and smooth, sitting stop a frosted dessert on a silver platter. Heart in her throat, relief short-lived as she hears the creak of a wheelchair.
Blue, devastating as it streaks across the red sky. The color had taken everything from Vi years ago, and now she can only watch as it does the same to Caitlyn.
Blue, glowing inside her gauntlets, the chamber of Caitlyn's rifle. She wants to turn it into a force for good, raises her fist with her sister's throat between her fingers. She's reminded on her knees, with an ache in her side and tears on her face, that it's only ever brought destruction.
Blue, shooting from a child's gun and into her father's hulking form. Blue, struggling in her arms, crying against her chest. They can never escape its wrath.
Blue, long and undone, flowing like rivers across a cell floor. Vi’s arms around pale skin, like a piece of her has slid into place, a moment that she'd fought so long to claim. It's lost to her faster than she can blink.
Blue, shorn and jagged, staring up at her as Vi tries to lift her world from the edge. Blue, small and spherical, falling from her gauntlet as Jinx pulls away. Not again, Vi pleads to any god out there who will listen. Please, not again.
The gods have never answered her prayers.
Blue, slipping between her fingers. Vi wants to follow her over the edge. Instead, she screams until her throat aches.
Blue, bright and blinding, burning her eyes, exploding below. Its shockwaves tear through the empty cavity of Vi’s chest. It takes, and takes, and takes, until Vi wonders if she's ever been anything but a victim of its hue.
When she wakes, sobs wracking her body, Vi thinks it will never end. The pain between her ribcage grows, cracking open. She wonders if she were to look down, if she could see the broken shards of her heart slicing through her skin as they fall to the floor. She doesn't try to catch them.
After all, she couldn't catch her.
Darkness presses in on her, she can't breathe, she can't speak. It's too much.
Something shifts to her right. Vi doesn't register where she is, only knows that Jinx is gone and Vander is gone and everyone is gone, gone, gone—
Hands cup her face, a gentle voice, “Vi?”
When Vi peeks her eyes open, she sees blue.
It makes her flinch, jolting backwards away from the touch. She feels her entire body tense, muscles taut, heart in her throat. Maybe this time, the color will take her too. She's not sure if it would be a blessing or a curse.
Jinx would surely rip her a new one for dying not even a full week after her sacrifice. It makes Vi’s stomach turn.
Can't even die right. Can't even live right.
But through the tears swimming in her vision, something tugs at the back of her mind. She blinks rapidly, and through the blurry haze she realizes that this shade of blue is different. Darker. Except for a solitary bright blue iris.
Pieces of Vi’s surroundings begin to fade back into view. Light green walls with golden trim, a high ceiling adorned by intricate embellishments, purple curtains pulled back on the four poster bed where she resides.
And before her, illuminated from behind by the moonlight, is Caitlyn.
She looks stricken, hands retracting as if burned.
“It's just me,” she whispers. Her eyebrows furrow, an indiscernible look crossing her face. “Just…just me.”
Vi feels a sob build in her chest, lets it release as she crashes into Caitlyn.
There's a pained grunt when they collide and Vi begins to pull away, horrified as she remembers Caitlyn's injuries. But as she starts to retreat, Caitlyn pulls her back into a bone-crushing grip, and Vi lets her.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers into her hair.
Vi shakes her head, body trembling. “She's gone.”
“I know,” Caitlyn breathes, stroking Vi’s back. “I'm sorry.”
Vi doesn't know how long she stays like that, curled into Caitlyn’s side, crying into her neck.
She knows it starts happening more often after that.
Night after night, she wakes up in cold sweat in a warm bed. She cries, she sobs, she feels the earth shatter again and again.
But Caitlyn is always there to put it back together. She caresses her cheek, whispers sweet nothings in her ear, presses a kiss to her forehead. It doesn't take the pain away, it never does, but it lessens. It eases.
It doesn't occur to Vi until a week later that every time she sobs her way out of slumber, Caitlyn is already awake.
Ekko takes her to the overlook.
She's spent the day helping him shelter the people of the Undercity. Cooking meals, patching up minor wounds, handing out blankets, Ekko’s hideout is a safe haven for all. She still marvels at him, how the little man she once knew managed to flourish and prosper despite the hand life dealt to him. He kept his heart, and now he holds a piece of Vi’s.
As she was shrugging her jacket on to make the trek back topside, he had stopped her.
“Wait,” he called, hand outstretched. “Before you go, I was wondering if you'd want to join me?”
“Join you where?”
The rickety metal stairs creak beneath them, old and worn, and Vi can't help but run her fingers over the rough railing. She hasn't been up here in so long.
When they reach the roof, Vi can't help her sharp inhale, can't stop the tears welling in her eyes.
It's a mural.
Every version of her, memorialized in strokes of blue. Jinx, Powder, and everything in between, laid out in breathtaking detail against a concrete wall. Some she recognizes; a young Powder with a beaming grin, an older Jinx with two long braids and a mischievous smirk, a short-haired Jinx with purple eyes and a soft smile.
Some she doesn't; Jinx as an early teen, shoulder length hair and void of tattoos, Jinx a few years later, hair in one braid instead of two, Jinx in brighter clothes with two little buns donning a jacket Vi’s never seen.
Changes that she wasn't privy to, people that she didn't get to meet yet knew like the back of her hand, that Ekko must have witnessed in her seven year absence.
Hesitantly, reverently, Vi reaches out, lets her fingers ghost over Powder’s painted cheek, drifts them over to Jinx’s long hair.
“She's beautiful,” Vi whispers.
Ekko nods, staring at the mural with soft, sad eyes. “She is.”
There's a table against the opposite wall, a few poles with a long piece of fabric pulled over them acting as a type of shelter.
On the table are items Vi thought had been lost to time.
A piece of metal with scribbled whiskers, an old prototype. A cup from The Last Drop that Jinx adored because of the chip near its brim. A paintball pistol from the arcade. The flare she’d given her all those years ago, now spent and empty.
There are new things, too. A bullet casing, neon markers, a homemade doll with striking resemblance to her sister. Things that she knows must only be between Ekko and her.
And sitting at the edge—
Vi picks up the stuffed rabbit, the fabric worn and faded, a gift given lifetimes ago, back when her sister went by a different name.
“Where did you find this,” she murmurs, running her hands over the long ears.
“In her hideout,” Ekko says, coming to her side. Then, with a melancholy chuckle, “Before we came to save your asses.”
“She kept it,” Vi says quietly. “After everything, she…”
Ekko’s hand falls on her shoulder. “She loved you. Even when she hated it, she loved you.”
A single sob splits Vi’s chest in two.
It's late when she returns.
She and Ekko talked well into the night. They laughed, they cried, they reminisced, sitting on the ledge of their rooftop haven.
They'd already worked out a schedule earlier in the day, times she could come help the Firelights rebuild the Undercity. Still, when she finally stood to leave, Ekko had clasped her in a firm hug. Told her she was welcome any time, to not be a stranger. Said that he missed her.
She'd ruffled his hair, told him not to get all sappy on her when they both knew she had tears in her eyes.
The moon is high and her feet are tired when she reaches the Kiramman estate. She drags herself up to Caitlyn's room, treading lightly to avoid waking her.
But the first thing she notices when she pushes the door open is the distinct lack of Caitlyn.
She does a quick survey of the room, puzzled. Crossing over to the dresser, she pulls the stuffed bunny from her jacket and sets it delicately on the fancy wood.
Giving its head a pat, then doing another check around the room, she heads off on her search.
She checks the kitchen first, thinking maybe she’d catch her grabbing a midnight snack. When she doesn't find her there, nor in the dining room, she makes her way towards Caitlyn’s study.
When she gets to the large wooden door there's light shining through the cracks. Vi's brow furrows; Caitlyn had been in here when she left for Ekko’s this morning.
Slowly pushing the door open, her heart melts at the sight that greets her.
Slumped against the desk, in a mess of papers and dark blue, is Caitlyn. She sits in her chair, upper body bent until her torso is pressed to the surface of the desk, crinkling the documents beneath her. Her head rests on her arm, pen still clutched between her fingers, and there's a streak of ink running down the side of her face.
It’s adorable and concerning at the same time.
Vi stalks forward, planning to carry her to bed, chuckling at the way her hair is mussed. She goes to pick her up, tries not to disturb her, and must fail miserably because the second she places her hands against Caitlyn's body, her eye is flying open.
She sits up quickly and it's only thanks to Vi’s reflexes that she steps back in time, narrowly avoiding a bloody nose.
“Whoa, easy there Cupcake,” Vi says.
Caitlyn's eye is wide, breathing heavy as her gaze lands on Vi. She swallows, a piece of paper stuck to her cheek as she blinks rapidly.
“Vi, hello,” Caitlyn stumbles out, trying to smooth out her clothes. The pen falls from her grip. She rips the crumbled paper from her face, pulls on the hem of her shirt.
It's cute.
Vi gives her a fond smile, leaning against the desk.
“Long night?” Vi asks, nodding to the scattered documents covering the table.
“I must have dozed off,” Caitlyn mutters, shaking her head. She glances out the window, turns back to Vi. “What time—”
“Late,” Vi supplies helpfully. “Too late for you to still be in this office. How long have you been here?”
Caitlyn snorts, rolling her eye though her hands fidget in her lap. Then she takes in Vi’s appearance, the dusty clothes she's wearing, and cocks her head. “Did you just return from Ekko's?”
Vi takes note of how Caitlyn dodges her question. Still, she nods, “Yeah. We talked for a while after we got done with the Firelights.”
Her voice drops, the corners of her lips pulling upward as she says slowly, “It was nice.”
Caitlyn smiles, genuine and fond. “That's great, Vi.”
Then she hums, the smile sliding into a smirk, “So you're in no position to be lecturing me.”
“That's different. I was spending quality time with a good friend, not locked away doing paperwork ‘til I passed out.”
“Pot, kettle,” Caitlyn dismisses with a wave of her hand.
Vi chuckles. Can take the girl out of topside but—“Sure, you win. Whatever gets you out of here and into bed.”
Caitlyn’s smile falters a bit at that.
A moment of hesitation, then, “I'll be right there, let me just finish—”
Vi rolls her eyes, pulling Caitlyn’s chair back, ignoring her yelp of surprise, “Nope.”
“Vi!”
When they settle under Caitlyn's silk sheets, Vi watches, propped on one elbow, as Caitlyn gently unties her eye patch and sets it on the nightstand.
It's a routine Vi has gotten used to over the last week, yet something about the action gnaws at the back of her mind that she can't quite place.
She figures out what it is the next morning, when she wakes with a strangled cry, her face wet and her chest aching. Caitlyn’s soft fingers press against her jaw, delicate, grounding. It's still dark out, and Vi knows she must have only slept for a few hours at most.
Yet when she blinks the tears from her eyes enough to see Caitlyn's concerned gaze, the navy fabric is already in place.
When Caitlyn dreams, she dreams of red.
Red banners bearing the Noxian symbol surrounding her from all sides. Red gushing from her lip, her nose, leaking from her side, flying through the air as she's sent to the ground again and again. Red flashing angrily across her vision as she cuts Ambessa's runes free, so bright it burns, before she sees nothing at all.
Red staining her mother's clothes, her face. She dies upon impact. Something in Caitlyn dies that day too. But it doesn't fade with grace and dignity as her mother had. No, it goes kicking and screaming.
Red in the council room, arms beating against breastplates as she's called upon to lead. Her feet keep her upright, her rage carries her forward. Her fist comes up slowly, slams against her own chest in an act of finality, an act of condemnation. The first fate that she seals during her reign is her own.
Red on the inside of the cloak draped around her shoulders, fabric constricting her neck, and she vaguely wonders if the color is from her throat instead.
Red rising from the Undercity, springing from the depths of the fissures, spilling into Piltover, painting the streets until it reaches her in her ivory tower, her abhorrent mansion. It floods the house, seeps under her door.
Blood, so much blood she's covered in it, drowns in it, will never be able to wash it from her skin.
She doesn't deserve to.
A shock of red hair framing a tear-stricken face, a gutted expression. On her knees at the bottom of a well where Caitlyn put her, where Caitlyn left her, hand covering a wound Caitlyn had, once upon a time, helped heal with her own hands.
She'd sooner chop them off now if she could. She would consider it a mercy if it would stop her from gripping that rifle, slamming it into a body that only knew pain despite deserving so much more.
She wonders how much she'd have to bleed to atone for what she's done. Knows there isn't enough blood in her body to ever compensate, silently apologizes to her future lives for the curse she's sure to set up on them.
If she could bear it herself, she would. She'd kneel before Ambessa and feel her blade slit her eye open a million times over if it would make up for even a fraction of her sins.
It wouldn't, and so Caitlyn lets the blood she's drowning in enter her lungs.
And even as it burns, even as she screams, she feels it will never be enough.
Caitlyn wakes with a gasp, eye flying open, and for a terrifying moment, everything is black. She blinks, squints, searches for the half-opened curtains in hopes of finding a little moonlight.
Her chest only expands once she can take in the rest of her room, the pale beams reflecting off her floor, shadowing her nightstand.
A subtle shift in the covers draws her attention to the woman next to her. She studies Vi’s slumbering form, the soft set of her brow, the slight parting of her lips. At least Caitlyn didn't wake her. The nightmares steal enough of Vi’s rest, Caitlyn couldn't bear to take what remains.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep, never really means to anymore, but her body betrays her, giving in to human needs despite being anything but. She sleeps and sees crimson, so much that it makes her want to tear what's left of her eyes out. She wakes to darkness and fears she's done just that.
It's exhausting.
It's fitting.
Her ribs still ache, broken bones mending themselves is apparently a rather slow process, but Caitlyn almost relishes in the pain. It's a reminder, a small taste of the inexcusable amount of suffering she's inflicted upon countless others.
She knows she shouldn't view her injuries as penance, as some form of twisted justice. But she has never been good at differentiating justice and vengeance, it seems, and so deserves to be subjected to both. It's only fair.
An eye for an eye.
And Caitlyn doesn't have enough of those left to atone for her sins.
She tries to compensate in other ways. She's still too weak to help the relief efforts on the ground. She’d tried, against Vi’s wishes, and had only succeeded in tearing her stitches. Caitlyn felt it was almost a humorous punishment, ironically poetic. How many times had she rushed in head first, confident and sure of her ability to help, to fix, and only broken things more? How many more times would she continue to do so until she finally learned her lesson?
At least this time, neither her mother nor the citizens of the Undercity had paid the price of her arrogance. But while Caitlyn had felt it justified, Vi had been worried sick.
And she'd already suffered enough for Caitlyn’s mistakes.
So Caitlyn had promised to refrain from assisting with the physical relief efforts until she healed properly, focusing instead on the strategic side of things.
Her eye protests the hours spent reading scrawled letters and typed documents, reviewing motions that need her approval or plans that request her input, migraines taking hold of her before the day is done. But every time Caitlyn starts to stretch, pushes away from her desk, she sees enforcer barricades and canisters of smoke and broken gray eyes. It's more painful than any headache, and so Caitlyn picks up another sheet of paper, buckles down, and soldiers on.
Today will be no different.
The sun is far from rising, but Caitlyn is already itching to retreat to her study.
But glancing beside her, she's reminded of her most sacred task, her sworn duty, one that Caitlyn would rather die than fail at upholding.
She retrieves her eye patch from the bedside table and settles back under the covers. Sleep won't find her again, she knows, and so she lies in wait for the telltale ruffle of sheets next to her, the sleep-addled whimper that pierces her heart.
This, at least, she can do. A drop of water to fill the ocean she's sucked dry. It will never be enough, it will never be what the other woman deserves, but it's all Caitlyn can offer.
No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes.
She was wrong. The only crimes that can't be undone are her own.
Vi wakes with a sob two hours later and Caitlyn is there when she falls apart.
By the second week, Vi wonders if the nightmares are ever going to end.
Waking up drenched in sweat, her hand already reaching for willowy fingers she knows she won't catch, Vi finds herself enveloped in Caitlyn again.
She cries into her shoulder as Caitlyn holds her, as Vi lets herself be held.
She whispers her demons to the crook of Caitlyn’s neck, “I miss her so much.”
Caitlyn presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, carding her fingers through Vi’s hair. Lets her pour her soul into her open hands.
Another sniffle, then before Vi can stop the words from slipping out, bite her tongue and cage her shame, “I could've saved her.”
It's my fault.
The lean body Vi rests against tenses and Caitlyn's shaking her head before the words are even fully out of Vi’s mouth.
“Vi, you did everything you could.”
It wasn't enough.
“If I had just—if I had just listened to her when she told me to jump—if I had just listened for once in my life, then maybe she’d still be here.”
Caitlyn pulls back enough to look her in the eyes, her solitary blue filled with sadness and so much love that Vi aches.
“You don't know that,” Caitlyn’s face remains nothing but compassionate even as her tone brokers no room for argument. “Don’t punish yourself for things outside of your control.”
“It was stupid, selfish—”
“You were hurting,” Caitlyn says simply, voice full of conviction, compassion. Then, softly, “You're allowed to hurt.”
Something in Vi mends, something in her breaks, and suddenly the floodgates are thrown open anew.
“I spent so long fighting her,” Vi cries. “And when I finally got her back, she just—just slipped right through my fingers.”
A choked sob tears itself from her throat, “I didn't even get to tell her I loved her.”
It feels like an admittance of failure, like cutting her hand on a kitchen knife with no one to blame but herself. What good was her love if she had nowhere to put it? Once a family so large, and yet only she remained.
But somehow Caitlyn doesn't see it that way. She doesn't look at the mess Vi has made, the blood she drips onto the pristine kitchen tiles, doesn't scold her for her carelessness. She only sees the gash. She takes Vi’s wound, wraps it with gentle hands, kisses it away. Like the circumstances don't matter, like she doesn't care how it happened, only that Vi is in pain. And for some inexplicable reason, she doesn't want her to be.
“She knew,” Caitlyn promises, cradling Vi’s trembling form against her chest. “Despite it all, she knew.”
Vi lets her sobs flow freely after that.
After a few minutes, a few eons, have passed, when her tears have subsided and Caitlyn asks if she wants to try to sleep again, Vi shakes her head. The sun is still down but the sky is brightening, might as well start her day.
She untangles herself from Caitlyn, pulling away to wipe at her tears. She takes note of the dark circle under Caitlyn's eye, knows a matching one likely hides beneath her eye patch, and feels a stab of guilt. She feels the questions she's been wanting to ask on the tip of her tongue.
What about you? I know I'm not waking you, I know you aren't sleeping. Tell me what's wrong.
Let me in.
But before she can open her mouth, Caitlyn sits up, caresses Vi’s cheek again, asks if she wants some tea or maybe coffee, and Vi only nods.
Caitlyn smiles, small but genuine, and gives her a quick peck on the cheek before padding across the room and out the door.
Vi remembers how hard it was to watch Caitlyn put on a mask following the council bombing. To see strangers tout their condolences day after day, to see Caitlyn offer a convincing smile and a word of thanks as if she was the one who needed to console them over the loss of her own mother. The countless questions she had to answer regarding the future of the Kiramman house, the council seat, the state of the enforcers, as if she were in any state to serve, to give, when so much had just been taken from her.
She thinks about her own transgression, the request she'd made, desperate and in the heat of the moment. An impossible task.
Promise me you won't change.
And all Vi could do was feel her heart break a little more as Caitlyn lied and lied and lied, as she played the role of everything to everyone, bottled her grief so tight until it cracked open under pressure. The glass had cut Vi open, but it had torn Caitlyn to shreds. And no one had been there to pick up the pieces.
She had watched people pry into Caitlyn’s life, examine every weakness and every imperfection, all for the crime of bearing the name Kiramman.
She knows Caitlyn is slipping into old habits, that's she's donning the mask she has so carefully curated all her life. But Vi doesn't want to push, doesn't want to try to tear the facade from her face only for Caitlyn to force it tighter against her skin.
She doesn't want to be another person Caitlyn has to lie to.
And so, Vi waits.
She regrets that decision three days later.
Almost.
They're in Caitlyn's study, knee deep in paperwork and reforms and blueprints. Caitlyn's been busy reviewing proposals, the tip of a red pen held between her teeth as she thinks.
Her stomach growls and Vi snaps her eyes to her mischievously, though Caitlyn barely seems to notice.
“Sounds like someone's hungry,” Vi teases.
Caitlyn makes a non-committal noise, taking the pen from her mouth and tapping it against her fingers a few times before she scribbles something down. The pen returns to her teeth.
And that just won't do.
Vi stands from her armchair, marching in front of Caitlyn’s desk and primly plucking the writing utensil from her grasp.
“Wha—Hey!”
“I'm calling interference. You've been pouring over those papers for hours. Let's take a break and come back to it later,” Vi says.
Caitlyn makes an annoyed huff, but her eye sparkles with amusement.
“Alright,” she concedes, rounding the desk. Vi’s only just started to turn around, heading for the door with a triumphant smirk, before she feels Caitlyn lunge.
She has just enough time to dodge out of the way, Caitlyn’s fingers barely grazing the pen, tripping as she's met with open air. Vi raises an eyebrow at her.
Caitlyn turns, blowing hair out of her face as her gaze narrows in on the pen. Vi chuckles, getting into a set position.
“Oh it's on, Cupcake.”
Caitlyn darts forward again, reaching for Vi’s arm this time. Vi lets her, tossing the pen to her other hand and waving it tauntingly off to the side as Caitlyn pulls at Vi’s arm. “Looking for this?”
“You're insufferable,” Caitlyn claims, fondness masked under faux irritation.
Vi pecks her on the nose, catching her off guard, laughing at Caitlyn’s stunned expression. “You love it.”
Caitlyn tries to cover her blush by making another grab at the pen across Vi’s body.
Vi takes her extended forearm, places her foot just far enough forward for Caitlyn to stumble. She spins her around, wrapping her so her back is to Vi’s chest, one arm locked against her own torso and held by Vi’s grip.
“Checkmate,” Vi says smugly.
Caitlyn jerks against Vi’s hold as she laughs, reaching quickly behind her head for the pen Vi holds just over her hair. She twists, and her elbow accidentally gets sent into Vi’s stomach hard as her fingers barely wrap around the pen.
Vi makes a noise of surprise more than pain, stumbling backwards. There's a snapping sound, something wet flicking onto her hand. She stumbles over the throw pillow that had fallen to the floor in their tussle. Feet tripping over themselves, she tries to right herself, twisting, failing, manages to avoid falling on her ass and slams onto her knees instead.
Once she's gathered her bearings, taken in her new position on the ground, Vi lets out a chuckle, “New tech you're working on, pillow traps?”
But when she looks up, Caitlyn is staring at her, horrified.
“Cait?”
Her eye is wide, boring a hole at the spot where her elbow made contact with Vi’s gut. Her hands move in jerky motions as if she wants to reach for Vi but holds herself back.
“I didn't—I didn't mean—”
Caitlyn's gaze lands on her own hand. The broken half of the snapped pen falls from her grip, the red ink coating her palm. Her breathing gets louder, becomes rapid. Her fingers twitch at her sides, curling, uncurling, as she stares at the crimson color staining her skin, blinking hard.
“I'm sorry—I never wanted—I shouldn't have—I promised myself—”
Vi scrambles to her feet as Caitlyn’s lip trembles.
“Cait,” she tries. No response. “Caitlyn.”
Vi steps forward, Caitlyn stumbles back, eye closing. She's quickly unraveling as her hands come to grip her hair, pulling hard, smearing the ink into her blue locks.
“Hey, don't do that,” Vi admonishes, trying to close the distance from the middle of the room to the edge where Caitlyn has retreated.
Caitlyn flinches back, stumbling, eye wide with fear as her head slams into the wall behind her. She doesn't even seem to notice.
“Don't!”
Vi freezes, heart sinking.
“Alright, I'm sorry,” she says softly, raising her hands placatingly as she takes a step back. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”
Then Caitlyn sobs, wretched and raw, and the dam breaks.
“But I did,” she cries, tears running down her cheeks. “I did.”
It only takes a second for it to click.
“Cait—”
“I hurt you, I hurt you and then I left you. Went back to my—my big, shiny house and just took and took and took—”
Her voice cracks. Her hands are in fists now, out of her hair and pressed to her temples, smudging ink on her forehead.
They hadn't talked about it. With everything going on, Vi grieving her sister, Caitlyn recovering from her injuries, the countless responsibilities weighing on them both in the aftermath of near annihilation, there just hadn't been time.
Vi had meant to bring it up, talk about the history that loomed between them. She’d been content to let it lie for a while, bask in the fact that despite it all, both of them had survived. After losing so many others in her life, that had been all that mattered to her, so she wasn't terribly concerned about the conversation she knew they needed to have. She trusted that they would have it in time, and with more pressing matters always knocking on their doorstep, it was pushed to the back of her mind. Vi had assumed Caitlyn felt the same.
Apparently, she had assumed wrong.
The universe seems to have deemed grief as Vi’s burden to carry, and guilt Caitlyn's.
“The things I've done. Gassing civilians, raiding homes, vengeance veiled as justice,” Caitlyn spits out, hatred in her expression. “My mother would be ashamed.”
Her nails dig so deep into her palms that blood begins to leak from them, mixing with the red ink staining her skin. Caitlyn seems to notice this, lets out a noise somewhere between a mirthless chuckle and a devastated whine before pressing harder.
Vi itches to take her hands in her own, pry her fingers from her skin. She settles for words instead.
“Caitlyn, look at me.”
Caitlyn doesn't move.
Vi raises her voice, “Cait.”
Caitlyn takes Vi in, her hesitant posture, her open expression, her concerned eyes, always concerned for everyone but herself. Something derisive sparks in Caitlyn's expression.
“You should leave,” Caitlyn murmurs.
Vi shakes her head. “I'm not going anywhere.”
“How long is it going to take for you to see that I am past saving?” Caitlyn whispers harshly. Angry. Pleading.
“That’s not true.”
The line snaps.
“I am not the person you think I am, Vi!” Caitlyn nearly shouts. Her hands fly down from her temples, clenched fists resting in front of her, trembling. Tears run down her face, her lip trembles. She looks broken, defeated. Lost.
Vi shakes her head, takes a step forward, “You are.”
Caitlyn lets out a self-deprecating scoff, opening her mouth to retort, but Vi’s faster.
“You're stubborn.”
Step.
“Kind.”
Step.
“Ruthless.”
Step.
“Intelligent.”
Until she's right in front of Caitlyn, cupping her cheek.
“And so, so stupid.”
Caitlyn shakes beneath Vi’s touch. Even standing at her impressive height, she looks small, gaze earnest and broken. As if one word from Vi could shatter or shape her whole existence, and she would gladly suffer the consequences either way.
“You've made mistakes, Caitlyn,” Vi admits. She knows it's bigger than her, that the wrongdoings go behind just herself. Caitlyn had hurt so many while under Ambessa's thumb. The Undercity, good people, innocent lives, crushed further into the dirt under her heel. “And I can't absolve you of all of them.”
Caitlyn blinks, another tear sliding down her cheek. Torment dances through her face, self-loathing, remorse, hatred. Vi recognizes it, lived in it for seven years, and though she hopes she doesn't, she knows Caitlyn will probably do the same.
Caitlyn closes her eye, a resigned look settling on her face as she dips her head, but Vi keeps her grip firm and gentle, beckoning her chin up again.
Vi looks at the woman before her. The lonesome heir, the awkward enforcer, the naive detective, the vengeful daughter, the puppet dictator, the guilty lover. She thinks of Jinx, the bright-eyed little girl, the betrayed sister, the hateful killer, the broken daughter, the loose cannon, Vi’s best friend and worst enemy. She thinks of herself, the hot-headed child, the imprisoned teenager, the angry fighter, the desperate sister, the grieving brawler.
Words she flung at Caitlyn what feels like lifetimes ago in this very room echo in her ears.
Who decides who gets a second chance?
“But as far as I'm concerned, you aren't defined by what you've done,” Vi’s thumb smooths across Caitlyn's cheekbone, catching the water glistening there. “I know who you are, Cait. And I'll be here to remind you when you forget.”
Something like a silent sob causes Caitlyn to crumble in on herself, and Vi uses her other hand to help support her weight. She's careful as she holds her, conscious of her injuries, but holds firm.
“You deserve so much more,” Caitlyn chokes out, shaking her head. Vi hears the unspoken words.
So much more than me.
Vi lets her thumb brush the edge of Caitlyn's eye patch, uses her other hand to ghost over Caitlyn's side where she knows bandages wrap most of her torso. She feels the evidence of Caitlyn's heart, the proof of her sacrifice.
“I've had choices made for me my whole life,” Vi whispers, kissing a tear from Caitlyn's cheek. She only pulls back enough to stare Caitlyn in the eye. “I’ll decide what I deserve.”
She pulls their lips together, the taste of salty tears fresh on her tongue.
It's deep, gentle, tinged with desperation. Caitlyn grips her shoulders like they're the only thing keeping her from falling into the shadows and Vi holds her waist like she can lift her over the chasm.
When they pull apart, Vi feels tears on her own skin. Caitlyn’s breath comes shakily, stuttered as she tries to control her cries.
But when she speaks, her voice is full of conviction.
“I don't deserve your forgiveness, Violet,” Carefully, delicately, she takes Vi’s hand, brings it to her lips. The kiss she imparts feels like a vow. “But if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of it.”
Something warm expands in Vi’s chest, a missing piece clicking back into place. It won't be the last time they talk about the past, it won't suddenly fix what's been damaged between them, but it's a start. A second chance.
And Vi knows that those don't come around very often.
So she pulls Caitlyn in, wraps her arms around her, buries her head in her neck and whispers, “I'm counting on it, Cupcake, ‘cause I'm not going anywhere.”
Later that night, when the ink is cleaned from Caitlyn’s skin and Vi’s finally gotten food in her system, they lay in bed, Vi’s head resting against Caitlyn's chest.
“I am sorry, you know,” Caitlyn says softly above her, running her fingers through Vi’s hair.
Vi pulls away enough to look at her, a somber and serious expression on her face. “Cait, I already told you—”
“I know,” Caitlyn reassures, rubbing circles into Vi’s arm. “But I wanted to say it.”
Then, eyes imploring, “Please let me say it?”
Vi stares at her, sees the pleading desperation in Caitlyn's face.
“Okay,” she breathes, giving her a slow nod.
Caitlyn flashes her a small, grateful smile before she shifts, letting herself slide down the bed. Vi’s eyes widen, watching her with rapt attention.
She toys with the hem of Vi’s tank top, and when Vi gives her a nod of confirmation, she pulls the fabric just high enough to expose her stomach.
Warm breath ghosts over her skin as Caitlyn stares at the closed wound on the side of her gut. The spot where Sevika had stabbed her a lifetime ago, the location of one of her more recent wounds from Viktor’s commune. The place Caitlyn's rifle stock had struck her.
Caitlyn lowers her head, kissing the scarred skin that she had bruised all those months ago. Her lips are soft and Vi watches her intently as she looks back up, gaze locking with Vi’s, hovering just over her skin.
“Violet,”
Another kiss. Delicate. Revererent.
“I am deeply—”
Another.
“—terribly—.”
Another.
“—irrevocably—”
Another.
“—sorry.”
Vi's breath hitches as Caitlyn lets her mouth meet skin one last time, her eye closing as her lips linger.
A low heat simmers in Vi’s gut, but this moment is so much more than simple desire. It's a show of devotion, an oath, whispered from Caitlyn's lips and sealed into Vi’s very skin.
Vi caresses Caitlyn's face, feels her lean into the touch, pressing another kiss to Vi’s palm.
“C’mere,” Vi whispers.
Caitlyn concedes, moving back up the length of Vi’s body.
Vi pulls her into a kiss. It's soft, slow, carrying an undercurrent of passion. Caitlyn sighs into the kiss and Vi feels her pulse through her fingers as she cups her neck.
Any other night, they'd satiate the need thrumming through both of their bodies. When she pulls away, Vi sees the dilation of Caitlyn's pupil, the slight flush of her cheeks.
But she merely wraps her arms around Vi, buries her face in Vi’s hair.
Tonight isn't about that.
And Vi finds that she's content to live in Caitlyn's presence. She presses her body close, fills her senses with Caitlyn until she can't imagine an existence without her.
Their lives don't magically change after that. Their problems don't disappear, their demons don't lay down their arms.
Vi sees a little girl with blue braids place a candle at one of her sister’s memorials and cries herself to sleep in Caitlyn's embrace.
A Zaunite slaps Caitlyn across the face the first time she helps the Firelights and Vi holds her hair back as she vomits in Ekko's bathroom.
Vi continues to wake with a scream trapped in her throat. Caitlyn still refuses rest in the name of penance.
They both remain broken, the path to healing a long and arduous road. One that cannot be traversed in a single evening.
But that night, when they fall asleep in each other's arms, Caitlyn does not see a red that bleeds and Vi dreams of a different shade of blue.
As Vi is pulled from her slumber, she swears she hears a familiar voice; exasperated, amused, and so full of fondness, the last vestige of her sleep-addled mind.
About time, sis.
When she wakes the next morning, warm sunlight shining across her dry face, Caitlyn is still asleep beside her.