Behind Blue Eyes

Vi didn’t even feel the slightest bit of embarrassment when Vander opened the door and found her still outside with a goofy ass smile on her, it was small but the nevertheless. He took one look at her; Caitlyn’s coat draped over her shoulders, lips still slightly parted, and a telltale flush creeping up her neck, and didn’t say a damn word. Just let out a quiet chuckle under his breath before stepping aside to help her inside.

He locked the door behind them, the solid click grounding Vi back into the reality of the bar, but she still felt like she was floating. Vander barely even blinked when she held out her arm, asking for assistance without so much as a word. The gesture was automatic, unthinking: something Vi had never done before. But in that small gesture, still dazed from the lingering phantom touch of Caitlyn’s fingers against her lips, she just… wanted to try this assistance thing. 

That single action alone nearly made Vander want to pat himself on the back. All the years of trying to get Vi to lean on someone -to let anyone help her- and all it had taken was a single evening with one Piltover Sheriff.

If just a few hours with Caitlyn Kiramman had been enough to shake Vi this much, enough for her to voluntarily allowing help without any lip?

Then hells below, as far as Vander was concerned, Caitlyn was welcome here every single day.

No matter the hour.

Vi knew he saw the barely-contained smile on her lips, saw the way her fingers clutched at the lapels of Caitlyn’s coat like she wasn’t entirely ready to give it up just yet. But, to her great relief, he never mentioned it.

Instead, he simply stepped in front of her, his grip gentle as he took her hand in his much larger one, guiding her down the familiar steps toward her room.

Vi didn’t actually need the assistance. Not physically, at least. But her mind was still caught somewhere on the streets, lingering where Caitlyn had left her breathless. She could still feel the warmth of Caitlyn’s breath against her skin, the faintest ghost of fingers on her cheek, the way her voice had dipped so effortlessly into something that made Vi’s knees feel weak.

She did not trust her own footing right now.

It was as embarrassing as it was thrilling.

Vi heard her door creak open and let herself be led without resistance, allowing Vander to guide her down onto the edge of her bed. The moment she sat, she wasted no time kicking off her boots, barely registering the thud as they landed somewhere in the room. She didn’t care. She’d find them in the morning.

Except, she wouldn’t have to.

Vander, ever the caretaker, bent down, scooping them up with the same patience he always had when it came to his kids. Without a word, he placed them neatly at the foot of her bed, right where she’d expect to find them come morning.

Vi barely noticed. She was too caught up in the internal battle waging in her head; the debate of whether to shed the weight of Caitlyn’s coat or just sleep with the damn thing on.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced along the fabric, feeling the fine stitching, the soft but structured material, the lingering warmth it carried. It smelled like her: a mix of something floral and just plain clean, undeniably Caitlyn. Vi wasn’t sure if she could part with it just yet.

Vander, watching the way she clutched at the coat like it was precious, it was odd to him in the fact that, it’s was an Enforcer jacket alone, not Caitlyn’s. Zaun and Piltover may have made tremendous strides in their peace. However, twelve years did not equal the centuries of bad blood between the cities. The wounds may have healed but the reminder would always remain. The main was his children and how they became his. 

He took the decision into his own hands. “Here, kid,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Let me hang it up for you.”

Vi, in response, hugged the damn thing tighter around herself. An obvious, outright refusal. 

‘What did that woman do to her?’

Vander chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. It wasn’t often he got to see Vi like this, hesitant, shy, and completely smitten. He’d seen Powder fall head over heels, seen the way she naturally melted into her relationship with Ekko. But Vi? His strong, fearless, stubborn Vi? She never gave herself the chance to be soft with someone. And from what he could tell, she never let herself even consider it. It broke his heart everyday.

The accident may have taken her sight, may have changed some aspects of her appearance, but it also created an insecurity that wasn’t there before. That was almost as worse than the physical damage itself. Vi deserved a chance to love and be loved. Even if she was too big-headed to come to terms with that. 

That was why Vander didn’t tease her, even if the urge was there. No matter what was actually happening between his daughter and the Sheriff; it was something life altering by Vi’s actions alone. So Instead, he tried a different approach.

“You don’t wanna give it wrinkles, do you?” he asked, voice full of nothing but casual innocence.

Vi hesitated.

She still gripped the sleeves as if she let it go it would be like it never happened at all, but he could see the way his words struck. It was a stupid reason, but it worked. Slowly, begrudgingly, she shrugged it off her shoulders, holding onto it for a few lingering moments, fingers squeezing at the material one last time.

Then, carefully, reverently, she extended it out toward him.

Vander took it, mindful of how she handled it like it was the most valuable thing she possessed at the moment, -aside from her bunny- taking note of the Sheriff badge still attached to the front. He shook his head again, smiling softly as he walked over to her small, barely used closet.

Opening the door, he reached up to hang the coat inside. The sight that greeted him wasn’t surprising, Vi’s closet was mostly barren. She hated hanging things up, preferring to toss her clothes into crates or leave them on the floor for her hands to find later. He never understood why when Powder was the one who did Vi’s laundry, that Vi had this habit of taking all the neatly folded and arranged clothes, and tossed them about her room. It bothered Powder at the beginning but she gave up on asking why long ago. 

That was why Caitlyn’s jacket stood out so much. It was the only piece of clothing hanging up now.

Vander sighed through his nose, closing the closet door without comment. But something caught his eye before he did; a small, unassuming box, half-full of tiny, empty glass vials.

He crouched down, carefully picking one up. The faintest of residue clung to the inside, condensation lingering against the glass.

Vander frowned.

He turned the vial over in his fingers, expression narrowed in concentration. He didn’t know exactly what this was or more specifically what used to be inside it, but his gut twisted with unease. It was something Vi hadn’t told him about. And that alone was enough to make his stomach twist. She was a private person but this had to do more than her privacy. This could be harmful or downright dangerous. 

After a brief moment of consideration, he pocketed the vial. He didn’t confront her. Not yet. Not tonight. Not when she was still lost in whatever trance Caitlyn had put her in. 

He’d come back to this when Vi was on even footing and hopefully a level attitude, but changes would be made so they would be forced to have a conversation.

Closing the closet, he returned to Vi’s bed, where she had already peeled off her pants and curled up on the mattress, sinking into the familiar comfort of her space. Her favorite toy bunny held in one of her arms. It was older than Vi herself, and even though she was a grown woman; she never parted with it. 

That toy probably held more of Vi’s secrets then anyone. 

Vander didn’t rush her. He just sat there, the old mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight, he moved Vi’s legs to rest over his lap as his rough, calloused fingers began to worked over the scar tissue on her calf. He kneaded at the tougher patches, the ones he knew she wouldn’t feel, but it was as much for him as it was for her. He could feel the raised ridges, the way the burns had healed unevenly, leaving behind a map of pain she never spoke about.

Vi didn’t move, but he could feel the tension still lingering in her muscles. Her fingers, twitching slightly against her bunny, finally began to still.

“Do you wanna to tell me what happened in the bar earlier?” Vander asked, keeping his voice low, steady. He knew better than to push her; Vi would only speak when she was ready.

She huffed, shifting slightly, her right arm coming up to cover her eyes. “Huck was just being himself… a babbling idiot, but he-” she swallowed, her fingers flexing slightly against her forehead. “He doesn’t treat me like he used to. And I know it shouldn’t have bothered me. He’s been like that for years now, but after the last few days…”

She trailed off, her breath even, even thought it seemed like voicing the words took something from her. Vander didn’t need her to finish though. He knew.

He’d always known.

Vander’s jaw clenched, his fingers still moving over her leg, grounding himself as much as her. He had seen it, heard it. The way some of his patrons spoke about his girl, the way they looked at her when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. They had no problem treating her like she was less. Like she was something to be pitied at best, and mocked at worst.

It boiled his blood.

He thought he’d done enough to put a stop to it. Thought his words -his warnings and threats- had been enough to make them think twice before spewing their filth where he could hear it. But there would always be some. Always those who turned their noses up at her, who whispered behind their hands, who looked at her and only saw broken pieces.

And the worst part?

Vi never let it show, for the most part. 

She acted above it. Shook it off like it didn’t touch her. Threw fists when she needed to, met every insult with sharp words and sharper grins. But she was still human. She was still his girl. And knowing she’d been carrying this burden alone made his heart ache.

Because even with her blindness, her scars and all, Vi was beautiful. 

Not just in the way a father saw his child, but in a way everyone should have seen her. Strong, loving, loyal, and resilient. She was fire and force, grit and grace. And the fact that she couldn’t see it; that she had let those bastards make her believe anything less, made his chest feel too tight, his throat too thick.

Vander exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing small circles into the damaged skin beneath his palm. “Violet…” he started, then stopped, choosing his words carefully.

When he finally spoke, it was quiet, full of conviction. 

“You know you don’t have to prove yourself to them or to anyone for that matter, right?”

Vi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know,  but I do have to prove something. Like I belong somewhere.” she muttered, but the words sounded tired.

Vander sighed, shifting slightly, moving his other hand to squeeze her knee. “But you do belong Violet… I mean it. You don’t owe them anything. Not your patience, not your temper, not your time. They don’t see you for who you are, and that’s their problem, not yours.”

Vi swallowed hard, the tension that began to build with this conversation loosened beneath his touch. “…It doesn’t feel that simple. I know I owe them nothing, I just feel like I owe it to myself, ya know?” she admitted after a long moment.

Vander’s grip on her knee tightened slightly before loosening, his way of showing her he understood. “I do. But It never is easy,” he agreed. “You just have to be you, Kid. Make people understand you.”

Silence settled between them, comfortable in its familiarity.

Vi let out a long breath through her nose, lowering her arm from her eyes and resting it across her stomach. “You sound like Caitlyn,” she grumbled.

Vander grinned, despite himself. “A smart woman, that one.”

Vi groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Please, don’t start.”

Vander chuckled, ruffling a hand through her hair before standing with a slight creak of the mattress. “I’ll start whenever I want,” he said, reaching for the blanket at the foot of her bed and pulling it over her without asking. “And I’ll keep sayin’ it until you believe it.”

Vi didn’t need to ask what he was referring to.

Didn’t tell him to piss off.

Didn’t shove the blanket away.

Instead, she shifted, getting more comfortable in her bed, the weight of the covers settling over her like an embrace. She hugged her toy tighter. 

Vander lingered for a moment longer, his broad frame silhouetted in the dim glow from the hallway. He took in the slow rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers absently traced along the ears of her bunny. There was something light about her now, a stark contrast to the fire and fight she carried through her life.

It made his chest jump in a positive way. 

He reached for the lamp, he shut it off with a practiced flick, and made his way to the door, pausing at the threshold before stepping out completely. He glanced back one last time, his voice low, gentle.

“I’m proud of you, Vi.”

Vi barely stirred, but she hummed in acknowledgment, her voice thick with exhaustion. Then, just as he was turning to go, she whispered it; so quiet he almost thought he imagined it.

“Good night, Dad.”

Vander froze.

The door remained cracked open, the sliver of light from the stairwell illuminating the bare wall where Vi had turned, pressing her palm flat against the cool surface. She was already half-asleep, the tension finally unwinding from her frame, the weight of the past few days slipping into the quiet lull of rest.

But Vander, Vander felt like the ground had been pulled from beneath him.

His throat went tight. His fingers curled around the doorknob, gripping it like a lifeline. He stood there for a few breaths, blinking hard against the unexpected sting in his eyes.

Dad.

Powder had called him that for years now. She’d been so young when he took them both in, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering her to the world. -besides Vi herself- He’d never hesitated to accept that role, to be the father she’d lost, the one she needed.

Vi, though. 

She had never said it.

Not once.

She had always been Vi, stubborn and brash, too proud to ever need a name for what they had. She called him Vander, sometimes old man, once or twice big guy when she was teasing. But never Dad.

He had never expected her to, never forced her to. 

She had been older when he found them, more aware, more guarded. She had loved her real father, and no matter how much he had cared for her, no matter how many nights he had spent tending to her wounds, comforting her when she no one was looking, he had never expected her to call him anything but his name.

But now…

Now, she had said it.

And it hit him like a punch to the gut in the best damn way.

A slow, shaky smile spread across his face. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, letting out a quiet, breathy chuckle.

With one last glance at the sleeping form of his daughter -because that’s what she was, his daughter- he gently shut the door.

He didn’t move right away.

He stood there for a moment longer, exhaling deeply, collecting himself. Then, with a still-growing smile, he trudged back upstairs to the bar.

The room was dim now, most of the lanterns blown out, only the faint flicker of an oil lamp near the counter illuminating the space. He checked over the bar, making sure everything was in place, wiping down a few stray glasses out of habit. His hands were steady, but his mind was still spinning, replaying that one quiet moment over and over.

Dad.

His smile softened, spreading into something warm, something unshakable.

With a final glance around the bar, he made his way up to his own room on the upper level, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

Even as he lay down, exhaustion tugging at his bones, his face still held that same proud, awed expression.

And as sleep took him, one word echoed in his mind.

Dad.

Vi didn’t wake at her usual time, just before dawn, though she didn’t realize it. For once, the familiar weight of exhaustion didn’t cling to her like it usually did, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so deeply, so undisturbed. It was disorienting in the best way.

She placed Cupcake, -her bunny- under her pillow. For safe keeping, not to hide her of course…

She stretched out beneath her blankets, arching her back slightly as her arms reached above her head. A satisfying pop traveled through her spine, followed by a string of smaller ones from her shoulders, elbows, and wrists. The motion pulled at the familiar tightness in her scars, the rigid, stretched feeling that always greeted her in the mornings. She sighed, exhaling slowly as she worked her fingers over the path of old wounds.

Starting at the back of her neck, she let her fingertips trail down, skimming over the raised lines that ran along her shoulder and down her left arm. The texture was both familiar; she had long since grown used to the feeling, yet some days, it still felt like a stranger’s skin, years haven’t changed that. She continued down her side, following the worst of the scarring where her clothes had originally melted into her flesh, mapping each ridge and indentation with the same practiced touch. She didn’t flinch. She simply pressed, massaged, encouraged circulation to flow properly through her limbs.

By the time her fingers ghosted over her calf, she flexed her toes, rolling her ankle carefully before planting both feet firmly down on the floor while sitting up. The cement was cold, but not uncomfortably so.

She took a deep breath and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, but the moment she did, a dull pressure bloomed behind them. Vi stilled, lowering her hands as her brow furrowed. She could already tell where this was going, her headaches never came all at once. No, they started like this, creeping at the edges of her mind, just waiting to sink their claws in.

Vi sighed, tilting her head back as she stretched her arms overhead once more, feeling and hearing several more joints pop back into place. She stood then for a few moments, contemplating her next move.

She had no shimmer. She had no real relief waiting for her here or upstairs. That left her with only one option: she needed an outlet.

And if there was one thing Vi knew how to do, it was turning one kind of pain into another.

She rolled her shoulders, bouncing lightly on her feet to wake herself up further. It had been too long since she got a proper workout in. Without a heavy bag, it was harder to burn off the energy, and she was still irritated about the last one she’d gotten from Sevika.

Vi scowled at the memory. The woman had sold her a faulty bag; one with a tear that neither of them had noticed until Vi went a few rounds with it and the damn thing exploded, coating her in a cloud of sand. The choice words she had for Sevika afterward were colorful, to say the least.

And she still hadn’t replaced it. What coins she had saved was for something else. And she’d be damned if she dipped into those funds now. 

Vi wasn’t going to let the lack of a heavy bag stop her. If she had to shadowbox, use the damn walls, or even rig up some makeshift replacement, so be it. Hells, if it came down to it, she’d make a new one from whatever scraps she could find lying around the storage room.

She wasn’t exactly in the mood to put on actual clothes, either. She stretched once more, rolling her shoulders and bringing each arm across her body in slow, deliberate movements. The same red tank top from last night still clung to her form, and her briefs were good enough. It wasn’t like she was planning to leave the bar’s main floor anyway, and it was way too early for anyone to be here. 

Plus, this was her home. If she wanted to walk around half-dressed, she damn well would.

What she hadn’t expected, however, was exactly just how late she had slept in. She had no real way to tell time. 

The bar wasn’t empty.

The moment she stepped onto the main floor, the sounds hit her all at once; the shuffle of boots, the murmur of low conversations, the unmistakable clink of glasses against wooden tabletops.

For a brief second, she just stood there, blinking blankly as her sleep-addled brain caught up with the reality of her surroundings.

Vi’s pause was short lived. ‘Fuck it.’ After last night’s conversation with Vander, she couldn’t bring herself to care. And the dull ache forming at the base of her skull made it even easier to dismiss the stares she knew she was getting. Bedhead, half-dressed, and all.

Then, of course, a chair scraped back, and a low whistle followed from somewhere to her left.

“Well, good morning to you too, Vi. Looking as dashing as ever.”

Vi’s scowl formed before her brain even finished processing the words.

Of course Mylo had to be the first one to open his damn mouth.

“Fuck off, Mylo,” she grumbled, folding her arms, not because she felt exposed, but purely to show just how done she already was with this conversation. She turned her head slightly, trying to gauge how many people were actually around.

Mylo, the ever-persistent shithead, only chuckled. “Didn’t take you for an exhibitionist.”

Before Vi could throw something at him, Claggor -bless him- cut in with a tired sigh. “Mylo, for once in your life, don’t be an ass.”

“Oh, come on,” Mylo whined. “We never see Vi without her usual getup. This is a momentous occasion.”

Vi groaned, pressing the heel of her palm against her temple as her headache pulsed in warning. “This is my home, if you recall. Don’t you all have something better to do?”

Before he could reply, a new voice cut through the conversation, one far too familiar, far too amused.

“Not an early riser, are we?”

Vi’s entire body went rigid.

Fucking Caitlyn was here. At this point Vi was beginning to believe Janna enjoyed torturing her. 

Every ounce of instinct screamed at her to leave. To turn on her heel and retreat before this got any worse.

But then came the sound of footsteps, careful, measured, drawing closer.

Vi squared her shoulders, forcing herself to not react, even as she could already feel the heat creeping up her neck.

“Actually,” Powder’s voice chimed in, far too smug for Vi’s liking, “she’s usually up and about by now. Someone must’ve kept her up past her bedtime.”

Vi clenched her jaw. ‘Traitor.’

Caitlyn clicked her tongue. “Well, that certainly explains quite a bit. Thank you, Powder.”

‘Oh, she was enjoying this.’

Vi didn’t need to see her to know she was smirking.

'Noon then.' 

She’d slept until noon at the very least. 

Vi cleared her throat, grasping for whatever scrap of dignity she could salvage. “Yeah, well… sometimes I like to mix things up.”

Caitlyn hummed. A fucking hum.

“Oh, I can see that.”

And just like that, Vi felt it; the weight of Caitlyn’s stare settling over her like a tangible thing.

She knew exactly what was happening.

Caitlyn was checking her out.

Vi didn’t need eyes to feel the way Caitlyn’s gaze lingered, slow and appraising. She could practically trace the path it followed; the outline of her tank top clinging to her torso, the lean muscle in her exposed arms, the long stretch of her thighs.

The barely-dressed, slightly rumpled, slept-in look that should’ve made her seem unkempt but instead had her feeling like she was being thoroughly inspected.

Vi’s immediate reaction was to cover the left side of her body, where the webbed scars crawled up from her calf.

But she didn’t.

This was her body.

And she had nothing to hide.

If Caitlyn wanted to play this game, then fine, Vi would play. She could give just as good as she got.

She smirked, tilting her head slightly and flexing her arm in a slow, deliberate motion. “Enjoying the view?”

Caitlyn, completely unfazed, barely missed a beat. “And which view would that be dear?”

Vi choked.

From somewhere in the background, Powder squealed like she had just won a bet at Vi’s expense. “Dear!”

Vi swore to every god and goddess that she was going to lock Powder in a closet later.

Her smirk faltered for half a second, she already knew, she lost. She had lost before she even entered the damn ring.

‘This fucking woman.’

The heat crawling up her neck was impossible to suppress. Vi rubbed at the back of it, forcing herself to refocus. “Why are you even here, Cait?” she grumbled but there was no heat behind her words, only trying to steer the conversation in literally any other direction. “Don’t you have enforcing to do? Kissing babies? Shaking hands with the elite or whatever the hells it is you people do?”

She wasn’t actually trying to get rid of Caitlyn. She was actually curious.

Caitlyn clicked her tongue again.

That was two now.

‘Fuck.' Vi was starting to like that sound after every use. 

“I am here on the job, actually,” Caitlyn answered smoothly, as if this was just another casual conversation and not some slow descent into Vi’s personal hell. “Vander here has been a wonderful help.”

Vander?

Vi turned her head toward the bar, only just now realizing that Vander had been there the entire time, quiet as ever.

She heard the warmth in his chuckle before he spoke. “Good morning, kid. Or should I say good afternoon?”

Vi scowled but didn’t stop her approach towards the man, rubbing her fingers along the bar before finding his hand. She squeezed it briefly before giving him a light smack on the arm. “Mornin’, Dad,” she muttered under her breath.

Vander froze again.

He was still trying to get used to that; to Vi using that word after all these years. The surprise melted into a smile, even as he rubbed his arm with feigned injury.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she huffed.

Vander just smiled, unbothered. “You seemed like you needed it.”

Vi frowned. “I still work here, y’know. I always set everything up for the afternoon rush.” She added more quietly this time, “It gives me something to do, y’know?” 

Vander hesitated for a moment, he did know, just by her tone he was about to reconsider his decision but after looking at his daughter longer, he knew he needed to follow through with this. Even if it would hurt her for a short while. “I know Violet, but as of this moment, you don’t work here anymore.”

Vi paused, trying desperately to change his words in her mind. 

The heat on her face was no longer from embarrassment.

It was anger.

“What?” she snapped, taking a step back. “You can’t do that.”

Vander exhaled slowly, keeping his tone calm. He’d expected this. “I actually can, considering this is my bar.”

Vi’s hands clenched at her sides, her pulse hammering in her ears. “Vander, I need this. I need the coins”

Her voice rose, frustration curling in her gut like a slow-burning fire.

Vander closed his eyes at the use of his name. He hoped she’ll revert back to Dad eventually, after her temper simmered. 

Yet, he didn’t recoil from her anger, didn’t give her an inch of ground to push against. Instead, he met her outburst with quiet certainty. “Why exactly do you need the coins?”

Vi opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t ready to answer that. Couldn’t answer that. 

She wouldn’t tell him. He would not understand. Not yet anyway. She needed time to ease him into it. However, he made that time irrelevant. 

So instead, she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “So everything you said last night was just a lie? You want me to be some sort of main attraction to bring in the drunks? ‘Hey! Look over here, this is the creature that lives in the basement!’”

She knew it was a low blow, a bitter shot thrown just to hurt, but she felt bitter. Felt raw and exposed, like a wound ripped open before it even had a chance to scab over. She knew he would never use her like that or even say those things but she needed him to feel how she felt in this moment. 

"Violet! I'd never..."

She didn't stay to listen. Without another word, she spun on her heel, her jaw tight, her entire body wound like a spring ready to snap. She stormed toward the backroom, not caring about the eyes following her movements or the subtle tension that settled over the room like a thick fog.

She needed to hit something.

She needed to focus on something that wasn’t this, wasn’t Vander taking away the one thing that made her feel useful, wasn’t Caitlyn watching her with that knowing patience, wasn’t the nagging, clawing sensation in the front of her skull reminding her of her headache and her empty fucking pocket.

If Vander wasn’t going to let her work, then fine. She’d figure out a way to make herself a new heavy bag. She had to.

If that didn’t work?

Then the walls here would do just as nicely. Damage be damned. 

Vi tore through the storage room, yanking open crates, shoving aside old supplies, her fingers working fast but her mind working faster. Box after box, she dug through whatever she could get her hands on.

Nothing.

Everything was either too small, too weak, or too useless for what she needed.

She considered the empty potato sacks stacked in the corner, but the moment she ran her fingers over the fabric, she knew it wouldn’t work. The material was old, worn thin, riddled with minute holes. Anything she put inside -sand, soft clay, even scrap metal- would slip through before she could even get a full punch in.

Her frustration boiled over.

With a growl, she spun and kicked out hard, sending a half-filled box of liquor crashing to the floor. The bottles inside shattered on impact, the sharp crack of breaking glass splitting through the air, followed by the unmistakable scent of spilled alcohol.

Vi barely flinched at the loud sound. 

Her breath came heavy, uneven, her pulse hammering against her ears like a drumbeat.

She had to get out of here. 

Before Vander walked in here after hearing the break. Before Powder rushed in with worry laced into her voice. Before anyone had a chance to pity her or scold her or remind her of things she already fucking knew; she was reckless, that she needed to calm down, that she needed to stop.

‘Fuck that.’

She needed space, and a gods damn outlet. 

Thinking quickly, she pivoted and headed for the back door, shoving it open so hard it bounced off the wall.

The moment she stepped outside, the cool bite of autumn air rushed over her exposed skin, drawing a sharp inhale from her lips. Her bare feet met the rough dirt and gravel of the alley, grounding her, reminding her she was here and what she was doing. That there was still something solid beneath her.

She knew this alley well.

To the right, the path led back to the Main Street, to more people, more noise, more fucking eyes she didn’t want on her.

To the left, the alleys twisted and turned, weaving deeper into the underbelly of the Lanes, a maze of quiet corridors and shadowed paths where no one would follow her unless they had a damn good reason.

Vi didn’t even think.

She went left.

Her fingers dragged along the rough brick wall beside her, using the familiar texture to guide her steps. The moment the wall ended and another building took its place, she exhaled, feeling her way forward.

She just needed somewhere to go. Somewhere to breathe. Somewhere to be alone, just for a little while. Even though everything step she took from her home, the more anxious she became. 

Vander exhaled through his nose, running a tired hand over his face the moment he heard the unmistakable crash of glass shattering in the back. He had expected frustration, had braced for anger, but he hadn’t wanted it to come to this. He hadn’t taken Vi off work to punish her, only to get some damn answers, to make her pause long enough to actually talk.

But it seemed all he’d done was push her further away.

The bar had quieted slightly, the distant murmurs of patrons momentarily stalled as they glanced toward the back, no doubt curious but too damn smart to involve themselves in Vi’s outbursts.

Caitlyn, however, wasn’t just some patron.

She approached cautiously, the measured click of her boots against the worn floorboards barely audible beneath the hum of the room. Vander noted the careful set of her shoulders, the way her hands were relaxed but prepared, as if she expected to need to intervene: whether for Vi’s sake or his own, he couldn’t be sure.

When she finally stopped in front of him, she hesitated before speaking. “May I ask you a question?”

Vander glanced up, already knowing this was about Vi. His instincts told him to keep this private, but something in Caitlyn’s tone gave him pause. It wasn’t demanding, wasn’t accusatory. It was careful. Thoughtful. And Vander, despite himself, appreciated that. Not to mention, she has been somewhat of a saving grace as of late. 

He gave her a small nod, gesturing for her to go ahead.

Caitlyn met his gaze. “Let me know if I overstep,” she prefaced, ever the diplomat. “I’ve only had the opportunity to get to know her for a few days now, but…” She took a breath, choosing her next words carefully. “Why take away one of the few things she believes she’s good at, and something she’s completely at ease with? Did something happen when I brought her back last night that made you decide to do this? Was it too late?”

She hesitated before adding, almost guiltily, “If so… it was my fault she was out at that hour. I hadn’t meant to-”

Vander held up a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. It was odd that it worked. 

There was a lot to unpack in her words, more than she even realized. He grabbed two glasses and a bottle from behind the bar, pouring them both a drink. He slid one toward Caitlyn, motioning for her to sit.

She accepted gracefully, taking a slow sip without so much as a wince. ‘Huh.’ He had to admit, he was impressed. Most folks from Piltover turned their noses up at Zaunite liquor, let alone handled it with ease.

“You haven’t overstepped,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. “And don’t worry about bringin’ her home late. She needed that time away. You did me and her a favor, so for that, I’m grateful.”

He raised his glass slightly in a quiet show of appreciation.

Caitlyn dipped her head in acknowledgment. “But?” she prompted.

Vander sighed, setting his glass down with a quiet thunk. “But I found this.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, clear vial and placed it on the counter between them.

“May I?” She pointed to the glass object. 

He nodded his approval again. 

Caitlyn picked it up with ease, rolling it between her fingers as she examined it with clinical, discerning eyes. The way she studied it, the way she immediately took in the faint residue clinging to the inside; it told Vander she’d seen things like this before.

“That,” Vander continued, “and over half a dozen more just like it. I found ‘em in her closet last night.” His tone darkened slightly. “I don’t know what was inside. Could be anything.”

He leaned forward, rubbing his thumb over the bar’s rough surface, exhaling through his nose. “I’m hopin’ it’s nothing. But I can’t shake the feelin’ that whatever was in this…” He nodded toward the vial still in Caitlyn’s grip. “Ain’t safe.”

He hesitated, then added, “Or legal.”

The last word left his mouth reluctantly. He was talking to the Sheriff of Piltover, after all.

Caitlyn hummed, tilting the vial to let the bar light catch against its surface. Her expression was unreadable, but the way her lips pressed into a pressed line told him she was already analyzing, already coming to quiet theories in her head.

Finally, she asked, “Do you truly believe Vi is an addict of some kind?”

Vander stiffened slightly. That was the real question, wasn’t it?

He let out a slow breath, staring down at the bar, lost in thought. “At this point,” he admitted, voice rough, “she hides more than she shows.” His fingers curled slightly. “So to answer your question… I don’t know.”

That was the truth.

Caitlyn studied him for a moment before nodding, as if she had already suspected as much. “Do you mind if I hold onto this?” she asked, lifting the vial slightly.

Vander’s question was immediate. “Would it result in her getting arrested?”

Caitlyn’s response was just as quick. “No.”

“Then be my guest.”

She reached into her interior coat pocket and, with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before, pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag. The motion was seamless, precise, experienced. Vander watched as she placed the vial inside, sealed it with an effortless slide of her fingers, and tucked it away again without hesitation.

His brow lifted slightly. ‘Who the hells just carries plastic bags around?’

There was no shift in Caitlyn’s expression, no telltale sign of triumph, no satisfaction at securing potential evidence. Only quiet contemplation, her sharp eyes flickering briefly toward the back room before settling back on Vander.

Another hum, softer this time.

Vander studied her just as closely. She was calculating something, working through pieces in her head, likely formulating her next move. He wasn’t stupid; she’d be keeping a closer eye on Vi from now on. And, happily enough…

Vander didn’t mind. He sorta hoped for it. 

Caitlyn, didn’t return to her drink. After that first sip, she left it untouched, a silent testament to the fact that she was still on duty. Instead, she smoothly changed the subject. “About what we discussed last night?”

Vander took the out for what it was, a brief reprieve from his personal turmoil. “I’m compiling a list of his associates,” he said, voice gruff but steady. He hesitated for a moment, then exhaled, rubbing a hand across his beard. “Is this investigation something I need to know more about?”

Caitlyn considered, her fingers briefly tapping against the counter in thought. Then, with careful deliberation, she answered, “At this stage of the investigation, I don’t believe I have enough to form a formal finding. But once I do, you’ll be the first to know, as agreed upon.”

Vander nodded, satisfied for now.

They were so deep in discussion that Vander didn’t notice the subtle movement in his peripheral vision; didn’t catch the small shadow slipping toward the back room.

But Caitlyn did.

Her observant eyes flicked toward the figure, Powder. Moving carefully, quietly, slipping into the room where Vi had stormed off not long ago. Caitlyn didn’t say anything, though. Just secretly watched, letting the girl have her moment, letting her check in on her sister. But when Powder returned moments later, her entire demeanor had changed. She wasn’t just walking, she was rushing back, breath short, chest rising and falling too fast. Her hands clenched at her sides, her figure twitching in a way that immediately set Caitlyn on edge. Powder’s face was pale. And her eyes, those usually bright, mischievous blue eyes, were wide with panic.

Caitlyn straightened in her seat.

Vander, oblivious for a moment longer, caught the movement in his peripheral and turned, his expression immediately shifting from ease to concern when he saw the look on Powder’s face. He started to move toward her, arms already lifting slightly, ready to pull her into a hug, to comfort whatever had shaken her so badly. But Powder stepped back before he could touch her, shaking her head so fast her hair shook loose from their buns and whipped against her shoulders. Then Vander saw the tears brimming in her eyes. The unease in his gut hardened into something cold.

Caitlyn was already rising from her seat.

“Kiddo,” Vander said, voice steady, arms still open but not touching. “What’s wrong?”

Powder kept shaking her head, as if she couldn’t find the words, as if saying them out loud would make them real. Finally, a breathless, choked whisper. “Vi is gone.”

Silence.

Vander’s entire body tensed. “What?” His voice was sharper now. “What do you mean gone?”

Powder’s breath hitched, her fingers unclenched from fists as she tried to steady herself. “She… she isn’t here, Dad.”

The title slipped out naturally. 

Vander barely noticed.

Because gone. Vi was gone.

His gaze snapped past Powder, toward the back room. The door was open.

And beyond it?

The back entrance was ajar.

A sharp pulse of dread hit Vander like a hammer to the chest. Vi was gone. And he couldn’t help but blame himself.

Swallowing down the rising panic, he turned back to Powder, his large hands settling on her shoulders in an attempt to ground her. Mylo and Claggor had already moved in closer, their presence solid, reassuring.

“It’s alright,” Vander murmured, forcing his voice to be steady even as his gut twisted. “We’ll find her. She couldn’t have gotten too far.”

He turned his gaze toward the bar, scanning the patrons. None of them outwardly appeared to be nosy, but Vander wasn’t naive; ears in Zaun were always listening, even when they pretended not to be. The last thing he needed was rumors spreading before they even figured out where Vi had gone. He opened his mouth, ready to clear out the place if need be, ready to tear through the city himself to find her-

But a firm, gentle hand landed on his shoulder. “I can look for her if you’d prefer?” Caitlyn’s voice was calm, even, but beneath it lay a quiet urgency. 

Despite her lingering distress, Powder scoffed, a small, breathless laugh escaping her lips. “You don’t get it, Sheriff,” she said, shaking her head. “Vi doesn’t like being outside. It frustrates her. It scares her. She needs family.” The words came out harsher than intended, but Powder didn’t take them back. “Sorry,” she added as an afterthought.

Caitlyn met the girl’s gaze, holding back the immediate retort on her tongue. Anger curled in her chest; not at Powder, but at the underlying reality of her words. Vi’s fear, her frustration with being outside, Caitlyn had seen it firsthand last night. ‘Had they not noticed that they needed to help ease that fear?’ Had Vander, Powder, and the others unintentionally reinforced that fear over the years? Shielding Vi from the world rather than pushing her toward it, into it?

Caitlyn took a slow, measured breath before responding, keeping her tone even. “I understand that, Powder. And I would never interfere in your family’s business.”

She held up a hand, stopping whatever Powder was about to throw at her. “But Vi is upset with Vander, and by proxy, she may be upset with everyone else associated with him right now. Family.”

Vander’s shoulders slumped slightly, shame flickering across his expression. He looked away, exhaling roughly. Caitlyn wasn’t condemning him, he had acted out of love and concern, but he could have gone about it better.

Caitlyn turned her attention back to Powder. “It’s part of my job to locate missing persons. And as you clearly stated, Vi fears being outside alone.” Which, based on last night’s observations, Caitlyn knew was only a half-truth. Vi could navigate the city somewhat, she just lacked the confidence to do so freely. “You’re more than welcome to assist if that will ease your anxiety,” Caitlyn added.

Powder sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her arm, then gave a hesitant nod.

Caitlyn turned back to Vander, already shifting into work mode. “Vander, I need you to stay here in case she comes home before we find her.”

Vander hesitated. This was an entirely new side of Caitlyn he’d never seen before. Sure, he’d witnessed her relentless flirting with Vi, had dealt with her requests for help regarding cases that involved Zaun, but this? The way she seamlessly slipped into command, giving orders without hesitation, assessing the situation with precision? It made perfect sense why Grayson had chosen her as her replacement. Vander exhaled, nodding. “Alright. You want me to close up shop?”

“No.” Caitlyn’s response was firm. “Keep everything running as usual. If Vi comes back and finds the place shut down because of her, she’ll internalize that guilt.”

Vander hummed in agreement, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Are you sure you’ve only known her a week?”

Caitlyn met his gaze evenly. “Yes.”

Satisfied, Vander turned his attention back to Powder, who had finally calmed enough to stop crying. He gave her shoulder one last squeeze before turning back to mindlessly man the bar. 

Caitlyn nodded toward the storage room. “Let’s go.”

Powder led the way, Caitlyn following closely behind. The moment they stepped inside, Caitlyn’s sharp eyes scanned the room, cataloging every detail. The place was a mess. Crates and boxes had been tossed carelessly, their contents spilled or upturned. The most notable thing was the shattered liquor bottle on the ground, glistening shards of glass catching the light.

'Vi had been looking for something. And she hadn’t found it.'

Caitlyn stepped lightly around the glass, her movements effortless. “Watch your step,” she murmured automatically, out of habit, as she would with one of her subordinates.

“Thanks, Mum,” Powder muttered sarcastically.

“I am not your mother,” Caitlyn shot back without missing a beat.

They carefully made their way to the ajar back door. Caitlyn paused, peering outside.

Left or right?

Caitlyn crouched slightly, studying the ground. Bare footprints. Vi wasn’t wearing any shoes when she left. The tracks led left. She exhaled, already considering her next move. Vi may have made a choice to go toward something, rather than flee blindly. That could mean something.

Something that could involved the vial in her coat. 

“Well, oh wise Sheriff,” Powder quipped, voice laced with sarcasm, “where did she go?”

Caitlyn didn’t bother responding to the teasing. Powder’s humor, even now, was a coping mechanism; a distraction from the anxiety bubbling just beneath the surface.

And right now, Caitlyn needed her focused. With zero regret, she made her decision. “We should split up to cover more ground,” she said, pointing down the left winding alley. “I’ll go this way.”

Powder blinked. “And me?”

“You’ll take the right path toward Main Street. Ask around. See if anyone’s spotted her.”

Powder considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Meet back here when we’re done?”

“Precisely.”

Without further hesitation, Powder brushed past Caitlyn, disappearing down the alley toward the main road.

Caitlyn didn’t feel too bad for misleading her. Powder was emotional, too emotional at the moment. And if Vi was just as volatile right now, throwing them together would be a disaster waiting to happen. Caitlyn took a breath, adjusted her coat, and stepped past the first footprint. She followed Vi’s tracks into the winding alleyway beyond The Last Drop.

Vi had run her fingers along building after building, tracing rough bricks, rusted metal, and the occasional peeling wood. Each new texture mapped out the unseen world around her, but none of it told her where the hell she was going.

She’d stumbled over more trash bins than she cared to admit, and at least twice she’d run into some junkies too strung out to recognize the mistake they were making when they reached for her. The first had barely managed to touch her hand before she twisted his wrist back with practiced ease, sending him staggering with a muffled curse. The second had been bolder, grabbing her arm in a pathetic attempt at intimidation. He’d ended up with a broken nose and a couple of missing teeth.

Vi had needed to hit something. It just so happened that someone had been stupid enough to volunteer.

Other than that, her detour hadn’t been all bad. Well, except for stepping on uneven ground, the occasional sharp piece of debris, and, most annoyingly, a single stubborn shard of glass that had embedded itself in the heel of her right foot. She’d tried shaking it loose, but the damn thing refused to budge. But she was fine.

…Except she wasn’t.

The further she walked, the more her surroundings became new patterns. The more she felt her pulse climb, her chest tighten. The more wrong everything felt. She had no idea where she was. Vi was prideful -stubborn to a fault- but she wasn’t too proud to admit that she was lost. And the realization made her headache throb harder behind her blind eyes.

Gritting her teeth, she pressed forward, tracing the walls again, looking for anything familiar. The cold air nipped at her exposed skin, sending small shivers up her arms. Her nerves felt raw, stretched too thin, too frayed to think straight.

Then, suddenly, old brick. Left, More brick. Right nothing.

A dead end.

Vi cursed under her breath, tracing her hands over the walls, feeling their height, their angles, counting her steps just to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

No exit except for back. 

She inhaled through her nose, grounding herself. Panicking would do her no good.

She needed to move.

With ease, she dropped to the ground, the cool dirt biting against her palms as she settled into position. Push-ups. Simple. Repetitive. Something she could control. “One,” she muttered, lowering herself slowly before pushing back up. Her arms trembled slightly, but not from exertion. The ache in her hands from earlier punches pulsed with each shift of weight, and the glass in her heel sent a clear reminder through her foot. But she gritted her teeth and kept going.

This was fine.

This was manageable.

“Two.”

If she just kept counting, kept moving, kept doing something, then maybe she could ignore everything else.

It wasn’t even remotely difficult to track Vi through the alleyways.

Caitlyn followed the trail of overturned trash bins, scattered debris, and most telling of all, the groaning men curled up against the walls. One in particular was cradling his face, blood dripping from his clearly broken nose. Another held his wrist, probably broken as well. Both glaring up at her as if she were somehow responsible for his poor choices.

Caitlyn couldn’t help but be impressed.

She already knew Vi was strong. She’d seen it in the way she flexed just to fluster her, -adorable- the way her muscles tensed whenever she was bracing herself. Vi was acutely aware of her own strength and had no shame in showing it. But it wasn’t just strength that had caught Caitlyn’s attention, it was the way she fought, the efficiency of it by the looks of these men. No wasted movements. No hesitation. Every hit was calculated, purposeful. She could have disabled these men worse, but she hadn’t. They were still breathing, still intact, mostly. That restraint was far more intriguing than brute force alone.

Caitlyn knew she was jumping to conclusions that Vi caused this but with the lack of evidence of other fresh footprints. It all pointed to Vi. 

As she passed the obvious addicts, Caitlyn reached into her pocket and pulled out a small card with the address of a new local help center. Along with it, she withdrew a clean cloth. She didn’t bother bending down to hand it to them; they shrank back against the wall before she even got close. so she simply dropped the items at their feet.

“You need to get that nose checked before it heals improperly,” she said, tone even.

The man grunted but didn’t argue.

Caitlyn moved on, barely missing a beat. 

Then she saw it.

A footprint, fresher than the previous ones, still damp on the ground. Vi’s of course. This one was different though. Within it, a stark smudge of red. Caitlyn narrowed her eyes, following the next few imprints. The pattern was consistent; only the right foot, pressing lighter than the left. ‘She’s favoring it.’ A small sigh left her lips. Vi must have stepped on something sharp. Whether it was broken glass, jagged metal, or some other debris, Caitlyn didn’t know. But she did know that Vi would almost certainly ignore it.

Lucky for her, Caitlyn came prepared. She adjusted the small medical pouch strapped to her belt, double-checking the supplies she always carried while on duty. A habit Grayson had drilled into her early on. 

“always be prepared to treat wounds, no matter how small.”

She picked up her pace. A few more turns, another narrow alleyway, and finally she heard her.

“One.”

The voice was low, and breathy.

Caitlyn exhaled a quiet breath of relief. 'At least she was alive.' As she rounded the last corner, she spotted her. Vi was at a dead end, mid sit-up, arms bracketing the side of her head, core visibly flexing as she lifted herself. The tension in her frame was obvious; not just from exertion, but from the sheer need to be doing something, anything to burn off whatever emotions were churning inside her.

Caitlyn didn’t speak. Instead, she leaned casually against the wall to her left, keeping both Vi and the exit in her periphery. She crossed her arms over her chest, settling in like a silent guardian.

If Vi noticed her, she gave no sign.

Caitlyn watched in quiet contemplation, taking in every small detail. The fine tremors in Vi’s arms, the way her breath hitched slightly with each movement, the raw stubbornness in the set of her jaw. Her right foot was still bleeding. Not enough to be concerning, but enough to be irritating. Caitlyn resisted the urge to step in immediately. 

‘let her work through this first.’

But she was there. Close enough to intervene if needed. And if something, anything, or anyone threatened Vi while she was working out, Caitlyn would be ready. The rifle on her back, the weight of her badge tucked inside her coat; her very presence as Sheriff should have been enough to deter any would-be troublemakers. But Caitlyn had been in Zaun long enough to know better. Some people still only understood force, no matter how hard she tried to change their outlook on enforcers. However, if push came to shove, she would be more than willing to show them exactly why she’d earned her title. For now, though, she simply leaned against the wall, scanning the alley in careful intervals. A habit, drilled into her over years of training. Always be aware of your surroundings. Always be two steps ahead.

She let her mind wander, not carelessly, but thoughtfully, piecing together everything she had learned in such a short span of time.

Vi’s family.

They were good people.

Flawed, rough around the edges, but good.

Vander, the backbone of Zaun, was more than just a bar owner, he was a leader. A man who had fought, bled, and nearly died for his people, only to shift into the role of caretaker when the rebellion was lost. His influence was undeniable. His love for his city and his family even more so. Caitlyn respected him, truly.

Powder was an exceptional young woman. Unorthodox, certainly. A little scattered, perhaps. But Caitlyn knew brilliance when she saw it, and Powder’s mind was a rare thing indeed.

Vi had joked earlier about Caitlyn’s duties, asking about kissing babies and playing politics. The politics part had been accurate enough. Caitlyn hated the social obligations that came with being Sheriff. Grayson had warned her about them, had made it clear that keeping the peace meant playing the game. She despised it, but it was a necessary evil. One she had already begun molding more to her liking. 

And in those circles, Caitlyn had heard Heimerdinger raving about Powder. He had called her “one of the most promising minds of her generation.” During the Young Innovators Competition, Powder had presented a small but powerful generator, designed to provide clean, sustainable energy to Zaunite homes. “Simple in theory, but masterfully designed,” Heimerdinger had said. “And all with the limited resources she had access to in Zaun. Imagine what she could accomplish at the Academy.”

The possibilities were endless.

Ekko was no less talented, though he had barely been edged out of the competition by Powder herself. Caitlyn had noticed his loyalty immediately, not just to his friends, but to his people. That, more than anything, had impressed her.

Mylo and Claggor… those two were an interesting pair. They were two halves of the same coin, balancing each other in ways only true lifelong friends could. Mylo was brash, loud, and completely unfiltered. Crass, yes. But Caitlyn had dealt with far worse personalities in Piltover’s political sphere. Claggor, on the other hand, was patient, steady; a gentle giant in every sense. His kindness was evident in the way he spoke, in the way he carried himself.

They were Vi’s family. And Caitlyn understood now, more than ever, how much they loved her.

'But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?'

They didn’t realize that their love, their help, was hindering her.

Vi wasn’t just physically strong. She was resilient in every way, carved from stone, hardened by loss and hardship. But there was a difference between enduring and living, and Caitlyn had seen the strain in Vi’s shoulders, the exhaustion in her breath. and that was gathered only in merely a week of getting to know her.

Vi was tired. Not just from the physical exertion of training, not just from the nightmares that likely still haunted her.

She was tired of being handled.

Everyone around her treated her like she was one step away from breaking. Powder, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, even Ekko to a degree. They wanted to protect her. To keep her safe. But in doing so, they were also keeping her caged.

Vi didn’t want to be kept safe.

She wanted to be free while feeling safe. 

Caitlyn exhaled softly, watching the redhead push herself harder, grunting as she forced her body through another sit-up.

“43.” The number was slower now, her breath coming in more labored bursts. She was tiring herself out. Caitlyn knew the signs. The trembling muscles, the way she gritted her teeth as if sheer willpower alone could carry her through it.

And for what?

To punish herself?

To prove something?

Caitlyn pushed herself from the wall. ‘Enough waiting.’ She took a careful step forward, making sure her boots scuffed against the pavement, ensuring Vi heard her approach. No more pretending she wasn’t there. No more letting Vi push herself to the point of exhaustion just to escape whatever was really weighing on her.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” Caitlyn asked gently.

Vi, still lying on the ground, exhaled sharply before forcing herself to do one last sit-up. “44.” She fell back onto the dirt, her arms extending into a T, palms brushing the cool ground beneath her. A light sheen of sweat glistened on her exposed skin as she took deep, steadying breaths, trying to slow her racing heart.

“Would it matter if I said no?” she finally replied, her voice just on the edge of playful and weary.

“Of course. I’d never intrude if you didn’t want me to,” Caitlyn responded smoothly.

Vi was grateful she had just finished working out because at least now she could blame the warmth flooding her face on exertion rather than the way Caitlyn’s voice dipped into something softer, something too gentle.

“I don’t mind,” she whispered, and then, feeling a little too exposed by the honesty in her own tone, quickly added, “It’s kinda dirty though. Not too sure you’d like that.”

Caitlyn didn’t dignify the comment with words. She just stepped closer and, without pausing, sank down beside her. Vi could feel the subtle shift in the dirt, the way Caitlyn’s presence altered the air between them, warm and steady.

Vi turned her head slightly toward Caitlyn’s general direction, still catching her breath. 

Caitlyn was watching her. Now that she was this close, she could make out more details about Vi than she had before. The afternoon light casted soft shadows over her face, highlighting the strong angles of her jaw, the relaxed curve of her lips, the faint twitch in her brow that hinted at some underlying discomfort. Then her eyes drifted downward. Vi was still in her briefs and definitely wearing the same red tank top from the night before. Caitlyn let her gaze wander lower, following the lean lines of Vi’s legs, down to her bare feet. And then-

She clicked her tongue.

Vi’s entire body tensed. 

That was the third time today.

That sound, ‘fuck,’ she loved that sound.

Caitlyn’s sharp blue eyes honed in on the little shard still lodged in Vi’s heel. She could see the way it glistened under the light, fresh blood staining the dirt beneath it. Vi had walked this whole way on an open wound. She probably didn’t even realize how bad it was. And if she did, she ignored it. If that were the case, Caitlyn was determined to break that unhealthy habit if allowed the opportunity.

Caitlyn forced herself not to sigh. Instead, she continued scanning Vi for any other signs of injury. Her gaze traced the curve of her calves, pausing briefly at the telltale sheen of scar tissue wrapping around her left leg. The burns stretched from her thigh down to her calf, a stark reminder of what she had survived. Caitlyn didn’t linger there. She already knew the story.

Not that Vi knew she knew.

Instead, she let her eyes drift back up, stopping when she saw the faint crease of tension on Vi’s face. Her eyes were closed, but her expression was tight, lips pressed together, jaw locked. She was in pain.

Caitlyn exhaled softly. ‘So the glass was that bad.' 

“Vi, do you mind sitting up for me?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

Vi cracked open one eye, her face still angled toward Caitlyn but with mild suspicion in her expression. “Why? I’m comfortable.”

“Yes, I can see that, dear,” Caitlyn replied smoothly, watching as Vi’s breath hitched ever so slightly at the word. “But I’d like to have a look at your foot, and that’s a bit difficult when you’re sprawled out like this.”

Vi really wished Caitlyn would stop calling her that. Or at least stop saying it like that. Soft. Intimate.

Her face burned.

“O- Okay,” she stammered slightly before cursing herself internally. Clearing her throat, she pushed herself up slowly, extending her injured foot forward. The moment she did, she winced; not from the pain in her heel, but from the sharp, throbbing reminder of her headache, the lingering remnants of dehydration from last night creeping in. ‘Fucking stupid.’

Caitlyn caught the wince but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she asked, “Can I touch you?”

Vi swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod.

Another tongue click.

Four times now.

At this point, Vi was starting to wonder if she could make Caitlyn do it again just to hear it.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice just a little too quiet.

Caitlyn hummed her approval.

Without hesitation, she reached out and carefully lifted Vi’s right leg, resting it on her lap. The touch was gentle, clinical even, but damn if Vi didn’t feel every single point of contact burn through her skin like wildfire. Caitlyn’s hands were warm, her fingers firm as they brushed over Vi’s ankle, adjusting her hold to get a better look at the wound. Vi shivered. Of course the other woman noticed.

“Are you cold?” Caitlyn asked, her tone equal parts amusement and concern. “I have another jacket, but I’d have to get it back before I leave.”

Vi gritted her teeth. 'This fucking woman will grant her the sweetest death.'

“Nope. Not cold.”

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, a knowing smirk playing at her lips, she hid it from Vi’s view, even though she didn't need to, but oh so present.

“Mm-hm.”

Without another word, she focused on the shard of glass embedded in Vi’s heel. Carefully, she reached into one of the pouches on her belt, pulling out a pair of tweezers and a small antiseptic wipe. “This will sting.”

Vi’s fingers curled slightly into the dirt, bracing herself.

Caitlyn didn’t waste time. With practiced ease, she gripped the shard with the tweezers and pulled it free in a swift motion.

Vi hissed but didn’t jerk away.

A fresh bead of blood welled up from the small wound, and Caitlyn immediately pressed the antiseptic wipe against it. She could feel Vi tense at the sting, her thigh flexing under Caitlyn’s hand.

Vi exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to relax.

Caitlyn worked quickly, wrapping a clean cloth around Vi’s foot, tying it snug but not too tight. “There.” She let her fingers linger just a second longer before finally letting go.

Caitlyn’s hands moved instinctively, working slow, deliberate circles into Vi’s calf, the firm pressure kneading at the tight muscle beneath her fingertips. She could feel the tension in Vi’s leg, the way her body unconsciously responded to the touch, taut with something she wasn’t sure was resistance or surrender. “All patched up.” Vi’s foot was still in her lap, but Caitlyn didn’t stop. She didn’t even think about stopping. Her thumbs pressed gently along the ridge of Vi’s shin, tracing the natural contours of her muscles, soothing what she could. Vi’s breath hitched, her fingers twitching against the dirt.

Caitlyn smirked, her eyes flickering upward.

Vi swallowed hard, her voice coming out in a breathless whisper. “Thanks, Cait.”

There was something pure in the way she said it, something that sent a quiet shiver down Caitlyn’s spine. “Anytime, dear.”

Her hands moved with purpose, fingertips ghosting up to the curve of Vi’s knee, pressing lightly, feeling the way the muscle gave under her touch. She watched Vi’s face carefully, cataloging every reaction; the slight part of her lips, the way her breath quickened, the subtle, involuntary flex of her fingers. And then, feeling bolder, she hesitated only a second before letting her hand glide to Vi’s other leg.

The reaction was immediate.

Vi jerked back so fast that Caitlyn barely had time to retract her hands, pulling them sharply to her chest as if she’d been burned.

Vi’s entire body was coiled like a spring, her breathing erratic, her pupils blown wide despite the lack of focus in her unseeing gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlyn said quickly, hands up, voice softer now. “I should have asked.”

Vi wasn’t responding.

Not properly.

Her chest was rising and falling too fast, her legs had drawn up to her chest, her fingers curling in against her arms around her legs, gripping at her own skin. the shift so instinctive, so defensive that Caitlyn’s stomach twisted.

Panic.

Not discomfort.

Not shyness.

Fear.

Caitlyn’s breath caught.

This wasn’t about touch.

This was about who was touching her. About what Caitlyn had touched. She didn’t even feel an ounce of sorrow for herself. She overstepped and caused this reaction. 

Vi’s scars.

Caitlyn should have known they would be a separate obstacle to take on at a later date, hopefully, if given the chance. Now though, that chance seemed to be completely out of reach. 

Vi’s hands were trembling, nails biting into her arms where they clutched at her knees. Her breath was coming in uneven bursts, shallow and rapid, a sound Caitlyn recognized immediately. 

‘Too fast. Too erratic. She’s spiraling.’ Caitlyn, usually so composed, could feel her own pulse spike with an unfamiliar sense of urgency. ‘What do I do? What do I-‘ She didn’t give herself time to think more. Acting purely on instinct, she shifted, rising to her knees, circling behind Vi in one fluid motion. She moved deliberately, slowly, making sure Vi could hear her, could sense her presence before she settled behind her.

Vi didn’t react.

Didn’t notice.

That scared Caitlyn more than anything.

Without hesitation, she slid down onto the ground behind her, legs bracketing Vi’s, the warmth of her body pressing gently against Vi’s back. And then, carefully, cautiously, she wrapped her arms around Vi’s shoulders, enclosing her in an embrace that wasn’t trapping, wasn’t restricting, but grounding.

Her lips brushed close to Vi’s ear, voice a whisper in the silence.

“Can you hear me?”

No response.

Caitlyn tightened her arms slightly, just enough for Vi to feel the shift. “Do you feel me?”

A shaky inhale.

Better.

“If so, I need you to follow my breathing, dear. Can you do that?” She exhaled, slow and measured, her chest rising and falling deliberately against Vi’s back.

Vi’s body was still rigid, but Caitlyn waited.

Seconds passed.

Another breath.

Another.

And then-

A slow, stunted exhale from Vi.

Caitlyn smiled, just slightly against Vi’s ear. 

“Good girl,” she murmured, and this time, she felt the shiver that ran down Vi’s spine.

‘Good, she was slowly coming back to herself’

She didn’t loosen her hold.

Not until Vi was breathing properly.

Not until she was sure Vi was here.

Not until Vi told her to.