Work Text:
„Get well soon, Sheriff.“ Is written somewhat neatly on the expensive piece of paper Caitlyn holds weakly in her trembling hands. Walking down the many steps from her bedroom to the foyer to read said piece of paper was challenging enough for her today. Now just thinking about climbing them back up has her screaming internally.
And sniffing externally.
Caitlyn is sick.
Caitlyn, who doesn’t get sick. And if she ever did under mysterious circumstances, she’d fight through it, make herself a cup of hot and calming tea and continue with her boring life.
Caitlyn doesn’t get sick. Not like this. Not now, especially now.
They have had a lead of a shimmer production in a locked away underground warehouse in the Undercity. Caitlyn does not venture there often, if ever.
Whenever something has to be done that way or just requires a special tone Caitlyn sends Vi. Vi, her Undercity-person. Thrown into jail for crimes she never committed and seem absolutely horrendous for a 14 year old girl, Vi grew up in Stilwater. The worst prison, no the worst place Piltover has to offer.
Caitlyn would even go as far as saying the worst place human kind has to offer. But the jury is still out on that one.
Her life was a pure survival ground, stealing, climbing and pawning to provide for her make shift family, consisting of three friends and her sister, Powder. Or Jinx. Depending on your view.
When Caitlyn busied herself with drawing flowers or sitting still for family portraits, Vi run away from Enforcers, watched as they broke her world apart person by person and eventually, paid the price of corruption.
Her fists becoming weapons, her body a shield for any type of pain. Vi protects. With broken ribs and swollen knuckles.
Vi, whose words literally mean violence.
Vi, whose broken knuckles give the gentlest of touches.
Vi, who flips people off with blood-soaked shirts when they look at her funny.
Vi, who makes Caitlyn’s heart beat faster.
But that is besides the point. Vi is currently running some kind of “investigation” in the Undercity. She shows up in Caitlyn’s organized and neat office from time to time, flipping through papers that mean nothing to her, only to distract Caitlyn from her busy work. Not that she minds.
It’s nice to have someone who takes you mind off of the horrors you see everyday and just…understands. Even if no words are spoken. When even the silence is comfortable, the communication and conversation flows easily, fights and plans just work, you got a good partner.
Caitlyn’s legs burn and ache with every tedious step she takes up the stairs. Breathing heavily through her mouth, since her nose is absolutely stuffed and useless, she feels as if she just run a one hundred kilometer marathon while carrying stones on her legs.
She feels as broken as she looks.
And somehow she fears that warm tea alone won’t fix this one. With a loud sigh, she heads towards the fancy kitchen and once she passes by huge glass windows, stain free and freshly cleaned, she almost collapses against marble stone.
One sip of tea to regulate her dropping body temperature and maybe fix her dehydration and she is good to go and right back on track to- head to bed. Yes, bed.
What feels like another three hours of hard labor in a dying body ends up being ten minutes of walking carpeted and vacuumed stairs up to her bedroom. Were there ever that many stairs in her house? She fails to remember.
The double bed is absolutely unrecognizable in its current state; bed sheets thrown all over, not changed yet today, clothing all over the floor, some work-papers reaching under here and there.
She will fix that when she feels human again.
--
Another day of a death-like state passes and Caitlyn assumes this is what dying feels like. It has to. She has been sitting, or that is what she is trying to call it, on her sofa in the big living room all by herself, work papers thrown over the marble-wooden table in front of her.
Her hand writing is a mess and it probably makes absolutely not sense but what else is there to do?
Drag her dying body back up the stairs and waste another day in bed? Maybe.
Maybe she should just torture herself back up the carpeted stairs, lay on her back and wither away.
The fancy tea cup in front of her is once more empty and any remaining energy has left Caitlyn’s body fully.
Her eyes are about to close on their own and she will definitely fall asleep on this sofa, in her pajamas, in whatever this sitting pose is that will most likely hurt for the next few days as she hears a quiet knock on her front door.
Did she forget to specify how long she would be sick for? An Enforcer wouldn’t just show up at her door to check if she was still alive. She was still receiving status reports via the tubes and responding a simple “Seen” back because that is all the brain-capacity she could muster.
Maybe she just imagined it? Maybe her fever is making her delirious? Fun.
Another soft knock. Nope, definitely did not imagine that.
She wants to move, get up and check whoever is disturbing her dying peace as she hears the rattling of keys. Or metal, at least. She thinks.
The heavy front door opens and closes, soft footsteps making their way past the living room, yet they stop, someone turns and comes closer her way.
All Caitlyn is able to do is turn her head, not her body; still slumped over the sofa in a really uncomfortable way.
As she gets ready to be robbed and robbers laughing in her face while she watches on, pink emerges.
“Cupcake, you in here?” It’s Vi. Oh shit, it’s Vi!
Before Caitlyn can push or roll her body off the sofa and into some sort of hiding or even dying position, Vi spots her on the sofa. There’s slight concern pictured on her face but she smiles through it.
“Oh yeah, you do look like shit.” Vi walks into the room and she is packed with shit. Caitlyn tries to adjust her tired blue eyes to spot what she brought but even that alone hurts her head. She squeezes her eyes shut instead.
The footsteps now round the sofa and Vi sits whatever she brought down next to Caitlyn.
“How did you know I was here? I could have been at work.” Caitlyn manages while she opens her eyes, watching Vi unpack.
Vi laughs and points a finger at Caitlyn.
“You” – she twist it and goes back to unpacking. “never reply in one word letters. You once said it’s poor leadership skills and plainly rude. Came by your office and you weren’t there.” Vi continues to put filled and hot containers on Caitlyn’s marble table.
“Checked with one of your Enforcer buddies and he mentioned you’re out sick. You don’t get sick, not like this.”
Caitlyn huffs air through her nose and it’s not working, so instead a strangled whistle emerges as if a horse is dying. Vi looks at her.
“I brought you some warm-soup, family recipe.” She points at the largest container. Despite it looking like smashed together food, she must admit, it smells absolutely delicious.
“Also some medicine- “Vi points to the tablets Caitlyn ran out of a while ago. ”-your so very secret favorite chocolate-snack as a treat. Don’t worry, I won’t judge.” Vi chuckles. “And a flask with tea and honey for your throat.”
Caitlyn just stares holes into Vi. She has no words. Nothing to say to such kindness. Especially from Vi. The one person who was treated with everything but all her life.
“What?” Is Vi’s reply.
“I would hug you but I lack the energy to do so.” Caitlyn’s voice almost breaks and Vi stands to sit next to her on the couch. Caitlyn tries to move but her body won’t budge.
Instead, Vi nods to her limp body and asks: “Can I?” And while Caitlyn has no idea what exactly Vi has in mind, for all she cares she could smother her to death, Caitlyn just nods back at her.
Strong and steady arms grip her waist and legs and swing them over the fancy and pillow-ridden couch. She adjusts some of those big-ass pillows to help Caitlyn’s body relax and not lay on any of the hard edges.
“Also brought you some of those fluffy blankets you always snuggle up to.” Vi pulls two of them out of her bag and carefully lays them over Caitlyn’s now shaking figure. They’re a satin-blue and her favorite color.
She rushes back to the table, unscrews the cap of the honey-filled flask she brought and kneels next to Caitlyn, who cuddles more and more in the blankets that smell of Vi and Vi only.
“Wanna give it a try without throwing up all over me?” Vi smiles at her and holds out her flask.
Caitlyn sits up a little straighter, her back no longer touching the fancy couch’s pillows.
Vi grabs one from somewhere and places it behind her back, giving Caitlyn something steady and soft to lean into. She wishes it was Vi herself.
“I’ll manage, thank you.” She takes the flask from Vi’s warm hands and they touch for just a second.
She shugs down the warm and fluid liquid in one go.
It feels so fucking good and for a second Caitlyn wonders if she just died and ascended to heaven. Vi must see her reaction, chuckles to herself as she ventures to Caitlyn’s fancy-ass table and prepares the warm meal she brought.
Caitlyn’s eyes never leave Vi, they study her, watch her every move. She can’t help but smile, even if it hurts her cheeks. A salty tear escapes her eye and Vi stops preparing the warm container.
“Cait, you alright?” She freezes and waits for an answer before her muscles regain control and continue their work.
Her brain is mushy and foggy, the fever knocking her out but Vi certainly knocked her out of her sweaty socks. She shakes her head slightly, it hurts, as she stares holes into the flask Vi gave her.
She isn’t thinking when she speaks and it just slides out of her mouth without any thought for consequences.
“This is why I’m in love with you.”
Fuck the consequences?