Piltover's Finest: Kismesis

Caitlyn’s boot heels slammed into the tile with each restless step, the staccato reports that echoed off the nondescript walls of the hospital reminding her too much of those of her trusty rifle.  Even though she had it on good authority that Vi was yet among the living, the sooner she could verify the truth with her own two eyes the better.  She never did like to work off of hearsay; too much inference and not enough objectivity for her purposes.

Her grip tightened around the strap of the nearly empty duffel she toted – until she held Vi safe and sound in her arms, damn right she was going to worry.

The driving pace she maintained brought her to the outpatients’ ward in record time, where she nearly banged down the door to Vi’s room in her anxiety-fueled impatience.   The pink haired rebel turned hero hardly noted her indelicate entrance, merely glancing over from the stiff plastic chair sat next to the window.  It probably offered an elite view of the city – yesterday.  Today, the skyline consisted mostly of smoking, crumbling crime scenes, courtesy of Jinx.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Caitlyn demanded the instant she had fully registered the scene.  The last few yards of her torturous journey brought her swiftly to Vi’s feet, dropping to one knee and assessing the damage done to her partner.

“I’m ready to go,” Vi responded thickly, most likely due to the cocktail of medicines and painkillers swirling through her veins.  “I hate this place.”  Briefly she flicked her eyes down to Caitlyn, and then went right back to stare unblinkingly at the devastated vista.

Caitlyn breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to any powers-that-be responsible for keeping her moon and stars in one piece.  Broken, sure, but Vi had a way of turning setbacks into mind-blowing strengths further on down the road.  According to the report Caitlyn had glanced at on the trolley ride over, this time she was looking at a broken right elbow, a momentarily dislocated right shoulder, a powerfully wrenched back, a sprained left knee, a broken left foot.  It might take Vi a while to bounce back from this one, but Caitlyn had no doubt that it was only a matter of time.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to back you up,” Caitlyn breathed, taking Vi’s cast-less hand in her own.  “When word reached the station, I did fear for the worst.  And I would have never forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

Vi shook her head, her gaze coming to rest on a far patch of blank wall.  Her hand pulled free, reaching for Caitlyn, settling on her hip.  “There’s nothing you coulda done,” she argued without bitterness, “She played me, and I fell for it.  When have you ever been able to stop me from running into a trap?”

“Still,” Caitlyn said, searching those distant eyes for some sign of a spark behind the glassiness, “I should have been there for you.”

Vi blinked, tilting her head and looking at Caitlyn as if noticing her presence for the first time.  “Nah, Cait,” she drawled, a twinge of self-deprecation tainting her words, “All’s that would have meant is you woulda seen that building bury me alive.  You shouldn’t have to see something like that.”  This time, her violet eyes shone before she blinked the tears away, swallowing her emotion and returning to her blank stillness.

“No,” Caitlyn agreed, rising to her feet, Vi’s hand at her hip holding tight.  Jinx had inflicted wounds beyond the physical, of that much Caitlyn was certain.  Her fingers ghosted over Vi’s cheek, wanting to fix, to heal, but knowing there was little she could do towards those ends.  “But I am ever so relieved that you are alive.”

Vi smirked, a twisted distortion of her usual cocky grin.  “It’ll take more than that to get rid of this old dog, Sheriff.”

“I’ve no desire to test your limits,” Caitlyn returned, concern creasing her brow.  She withdrew her hand, giving Vi some space to stand, yet hovering within reach should she be needed.  “Come, now, it’s time we get you out of this terrible place and back where you belong.”

“What about where you belong?” Vi asked, voice flat and colorless, her eyes seeking out Caitlyn’s for once.  “Aren’t things still batshit crazy out there?  The boys need the Boss to tell ‘em which way to shoot, don’t they?”  Vi clutched feebly at Caitlyn’s hip, as if she might push her on her way, but instead she just held on.  

Caitlyn’s mind raced with all the matters that did need her attention – the first response call center had been ringing quite literally off the hook for close on forty-eight hours; the second and third shifts needed serious reorganizing to keep her officers as fresh as possible for the ongoing manhunt, and the political body of Piltover was still waiting on her personal written response to the new menace.  There simply wasn’t enough time in the day to be Sheriff when a crisis dropped itself on her doorstep.

All of this and more registered in Caitlyn’s thoughts and – much to her deep chagrin – on her face, as Vi’s expression tightened and her eyes dropped in pained acknowledgement.  Caitlyn’s teeth dug into her lip, cursing her reflexive diligence, and she quietly zipped up every nagging sense of responsibility and chucked it into the rubbish bin.

“They’re big boys, they can figure it out,” she said gently.  As much as she wanted to be Sheriff and get her city back under control, right now she needed to be Caitlyn and get her partner back on her feet.  “You have my full attention, I promise.”  Ducking down, she pressed a kiss to the top of Vi’s head, feeling the hand at her waist curl tight in response.  

“Oh sweetheart,” she continued, straightening, “You’ve still got rubble in your hair.  Let’s get you home, washed up, and into bed, shall we?”

A suggestion such as that would, on an average day, have elicited some kind of gutter-minded amplification of Caitlyn’s proposed nursing duties (at the very least, a cat-call), but a study of Vi’s quiet face proved that the battered enforcer’s attention was divided as well.  Still, though her eyes remained distant, her lips twitched into an amused shape, and grim as it was, it nevertheless counted as a smile.

“Yeah,” was all Vi said, sounding rather resigned to the idea.  Caitlyn’s heart pinched to see this noncommittal attitude from someone who normally lived life bouncing from one extreme to another.  She locked down her worries, focusing instead on preparing Vi for the trip home, retrieving the loose-fitting clothing she had brought.  

Every bend and stretch pained Vi, it showed in the lines of her face, but the younger woman kept silent as she leaned on Caitlyn to step one leg into a pair of old sweats, then, carefully, the other, Caitlyn cinching the drawstring around Vi’s middle.  Off came the mortifying hospital gown, Vi creaking as she fit the crook of her cast through the arm hole of a soft cotton button up which had seen its sleeves removed the summer before.  Caitlyn held the other side for Vi’s unbroken arm, and then did up the buttons with deft fingers, hoping for some sly crack from the bruised bruiser but receiving none.  A single boot was fitted gently onto Vi’s good foot, the laces tended to with similar consideration, Caitlyn brushing back her hair and coming to her feet only after double- and triple-knotting them.

“One minute, my love,” Caitlyn announced, completing the make-over by draping Vi’s much-loved bomber jacket over her thin shoulders, “I’ll find someone to bring us a wheelchair.”

At this, Vi’s eyes flashed and she shook her head with a derisive snort, her new level of feistiness a sure sign that some of the meds were beginning to wear off.  “I can walk,’ she insisted.  “Let them see me walk.”  

Had it been anyone else, Caitlyn might have made an argument for following hospital protocol, but here she held her tongue.  The Sheriff understood the motive behind the sentiment all too well, and would probably have made the same decision if their roles had been reversed.  Nodding her acceptance, Caitlyn pulled the collar of the jacket up around Vi’s neck, instinctively closing the gap to brush her lips to that stubborn cheek.

“Crutches, then,” she conceded, “It’s either that or I carry you.”

“Spoken like a true ADC,” Vi snarked, the simulated ire bringing a smile to Caitlyn’s face.  That was more like it.

Crutches were summoned and delivered, one half of the pair quickly dismissed as it proved impossible for Vi to use the one intended for her right-hand side.  Caitlyn hovered, wanting to assist as much as she might be able, but ultimately aware that Vi’s pride managed the threshold over which she dared not cross.

One awkward, halting step.  Then another.  Here in the relative safety of the private room, Vi practiced for the upcoming gauntlet with frustrated determination.  The ebb of the medication meant that more of Vi’s senses were awakening, a blessing and a curse as she manipulated the crutch with both finesse and pain, the two increasing in even measure.  Caitlyn had retained an automaton carriage to spirit them home, but the long walk to the ground floor would surely tap Vi for all she had.

This eventuality certainly in mind, Vi stumped one last heavy step towards the door and stopped cold, her shoulders beginning to tremble uncontrollably.  In the silence, Caitlyn was almost afraid to approach – could Vi be crying?  If not from pain, then possibly from embarrassment . . . Caitlyn didn’t know which of the two she’d least rather face.

The shaking intensified, Vi’s breath coming in an audible, sharp gasp, making Caitlyn’s mind up for her.  Flashing to the woman’s side, Caitlyn put a hand on her shoulder – no, on her back – no – damn it where wasn’t Vi injured – and was promptly shocked to see that Vi had been physically overtaken not by any of the melancholic humors, but instead quaked with white-hot rage.

Eyes distant, possessed with a certain steely coldness that didn’t suit her, Vi ground her teeth in anger.  “I’ll catch her,” she muttered, her voice dark and even in her conviction, “I won’t stop until I do, I swear it.  You understand me, right?”  Her eyes flicked dangerously to Caitlyn, the feral edge to them taking her aback.

Finally committing to placing her hand on Vi’s shoulder, Caitlyn settled her nerves with a soft breath.  Some things she understood better than others, and the consequence of this familiar furor which nowwracked Vi had been etched into her mind with searing clarity many years ago.  

“There is no empty hole in one’s heart waiting to be filled by a nemesis,” she warned, speaking from bitter experience.  “A bond born of hatred and nurtured by the desire for vengeance will actually tear a hole there for itself.  Cultivating a nemesis blots out a place where something good could have been, do you understand me?”  Meeting Vi’s flaming gaze with one of cool compassion, Caitlyn prayed her words fell on open ears.

Those violet eyes, burning with anger and paled by hurt, slipped sideways and took their heat with them.  “I get it,” Vi bit out.  “But I’m going to stop her.  Whatever it takes.”  Lurching forward again in her lopsided gait, she stopped again at the door and sighed.  Hesitantly glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes now pleading for something she couldn’t quite put words to, she waited for Caitlyn to join her.

Caitlyn stepped confidently forward, taking her place at Vi’s side, pushing away enough concerns and fears to last the two of them a hundred lifetimes.  “I’ve no doubt you will, my love.  But first, let’s go home,” she said with a smile.