Work Text:
If you dream about me when you fall asleep;
I hope you never find someone who holds you like I held you.
- d4vd | Remember Me
(1)
Replacing the gauntlets with spatulas and kitchen knives were, ostensibly, the best way to find peace after the war. So much better than spilling out deeply buried feelings to a supposed mental health professional who could never understand what it was like to grow up in the undercity and then Stillwater.
The moment Vi discovered the utter expanse of the kitchens – ridiculously plural – at the Kiramman estate, there was no turning back. She’d practically taken over the task of making breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the family, which, according to Tobias, had been a matter of complaint from the staff, who felt like they weren’t earning their keep properly with her taking over the kitchens.
So she came to a compromise with the kitchen staff. Recipe trading. Working together whenever she had the time. But there was one thing she insisted on: she would be the one making Caitlyn’s lunch and delivering the meal to the warden headquarters.
And this was one of those afternoons. She whipped up a mixture of Piltovan and Zaunite meal for the sheriff and found her way to Caitlyn’s office.
“Why don’t you open up a restaurant?” Caitlyn suggested after finishing off the meal, humming in appreciation.
Vi returned from the sink in the office, after washing the containers and replacing them in the basket. “I’ve already got my hands full helping Ekko out and making sure you keep up with your nutrition,” she quipped, sinking down on the comfy couch and placing an arm on the back of the furniture, inches away from Caitlyn’s shoulders.
Caitlyn clicked her tongue in momentary protest before returning her attention to the paperwork splayed out on the coffee table. Vi chuckled, placed a quick kiss on the woman’s temple, and worked on her own set of paperwork – things that involved requests from Zaunites and Firelight operations and some such.
“Maybe one day,” she offered. “A little place by the harbor. Definitely cleaner than Jericho’s.”
“I’d like to see that.”
The sound of the navy-haired woman’s pen scratching against the parchment paper was soothing, a familiar company to Vi’s scribbled notes. As they worked, the silence grew comfortable – it was always comfortable – a testament to the ease with which they’d settled into.
Vi hated bureaucracy, the idea that paperwork was the first step to even getting anything done – a far cry from her days of solving problems with her fists, but necessary all the same. The only comfort she derived from the whole thing was Caitlyn’s constant guiding hand.
She was midway through signing off on a Firelight request for more medical supplies at one of the free clinics they’d set up in Zaun when she felt it. A slight shift in weight beside her. And then a whisper of pressure against Vi’s side.
Vi kept perfectly still, watching as Caitlyn’s head gradually descended, eventually finding its way to Vi’s shoulder, dark hair spilling over, nestling into a familiar spot as if it had been carved just for her.
Her pen hovered mid-word, her arms already accepting its fate of temporary paralysis.
She could feel the gentle puff of Caitlyn’s breath against her neck, the warmth of her body seeping through the fabric of her uniform. The position wasn’t exactly the most comfortable, but Vi wouldn’t move – not for anything.
The cramp would inevitably bloom in her muscles, but it seemed like a small price to pay for being chosen as someone’s safe harbor.
An hour would pass like this: Vi maintaining her statue-like vigilance, watching as the day faded into the evening, counting Caitlyn’s breaths like she once counted robbed quarry – each precious, each a reminder of having enough and being enough.
Vi remained still, a willing pillar of support, as the clock on the wall marked time’s steady march forward. After all, she had traded her gauntlets for spatulas, her fighting stance for this – the ability to be still, to be steady, to be home.
(2)
Stakeouts seemed fun…on paper. Subterfuge and hiding in plain sight and all that, just the supposed thrill of it – what’s not to love?
But in reality, stakeouts were terrible.
It was boring and there was a chance that they wouldn’t be able to get any intel in one night, which would mean they had to do this again sometime in the future. It was a particular brand of boredom that never sat well with Vi.
She wasn’t even meant to come along – or, at least, Caitlyn hadn’t meant for her to join.
The pink-haired woman had staunchly refused to put the badge back on after the war, preferring to help out with her own brand of vigilantism. The first time she had put that badge on, she ended up getting attacked in the ribs, though Caitlyn had gone above and beyond in her efforts to redeem herself.
Still, that didn’t stop Vi from tagging along whenever Caitlyn had these overnight missions. Someone had to watch her back, and Vi wasn’t about to trust someone else for the job when she was right there. After all, despite the lack of a badge, she’d become somewhat of a consultant for the wardens. For Caitlyn.
Badge or no badge, some things were more important than maintaining her principle of staying unofficial.
“Tell me again why we can’t do this during normal people hours?” Vi whispered, sprawled on her stomach on top of a roof at two in the morning, binoculars trained on the house of one of the big-times in Piltover, suspected of running underground Shimmer operations with an errant chembaron who refused to go into retirement.
“Because –” Caitlyn replied, her voice slightly slurred from exhaustion, “– normal people don’t smuggle Shimmer in broad daylight.”
Vi snorted. “With the things Piltovans have gotten away with, I really wouldn’t be surprised if they do smuggle Shimmer in broad daylight.”
Caitlyn hummed, acknowledging the truth in Vi’s words.
Upon her demotion from general to sheriff – a voluntary one – Caitlyn had done her best to clean up the department so they did what they were initially set up to do. Enforce the law. Protect the people. No matter which side of the river they came from.
While it had been a welcomed move for many, some people, particularly privileged Piltovans who had collected their wealth through uncomely means, were adamant of Caitlyn staying in her place.
Her place, meaning the one Marcus had left behind, meaning she should be greasing pockets and turning a blind eye to certain things that went on in the city. As in she should stay quiet and let things run as status quo.
“I’m already blind in one eye. I’m not going to do the same to the other,” was Caitlyn’s succinct riposte.
An itch began to form in Vi’s bad shoulder as she stayed still in the position, still eying the house. She was beginning to think that tonight was going to be a bust, but things always seemed to surprise them when they least expected it.
“Can you help me scratch my shoulder? It’s itchy as hell,” she murmured.
“Of course.”
Caitlyn maneuvered closer, practically on top of Vi’s back. Her fingers found their way to Vi’s shoulder, fingertips pressed just right against the spot where old scar tissue met muscle.
The sensation sent a spark across her nerves, a jolt of awareness that ignited the space between them. It was innocent enough, but in this world of shadows and secrets, where every breath felt like an unspoken promise, the simple act held a weight that made Vi’s heart race.
The touch lingered longer than necessary, gentle yet firm, and Vi had to remind herself to keep her eyes on the target house instead of melting into the contact.
“Better?”
Vi hummed in appreciation. “You should get some rest. I’ve got this covered.”
“I’m fine,” came the predictable response, though there was no mistaking the softness that came with being awake for far too long. “Just need to monitor the situation.”
The night air was crisp and biting. Cold enough to make their elevated position uncomfortable. She felt Caitlyn shift again behind her, presumably to adjust her rifle, but then, the breathing eventually grew slower, more rhythmic.
“Cait?” she whispered.
No response.
Great.
The sheriff of Piltover, once great general, the woman who had reformed an entire department on sheer will and stood up to the city’s most powerful figures – even fought and almost won against Sevika – had fallen asleep. On Vi’s back. During an active stakeout.
She sighed and could only muster an affectionate smile as she glanced over her shoulder, finding Caitlyn’s head leaning on her back, between her shoulder blades, her entire figure practically draped over the Zaunite.
And just as she told herself to not do anything that would disturb Caitlyn, apart from something happening in the house across the street, the itch came back. Fucking convenient.
She suppressed a groan and lowered her head ever so slightly, wondering why she had to be the protective girlfriend who refused to let her partner do her job.
“The things I do for you, Sheriff Cupcait,” she muttered – a new nickname that she hadn’t yet said to the woman’s face.
There would be two more hours until Steb and another warden would arrive to relieve them. Two more hours of this exquisite torture, caught between the need to scratch that goddamn itch and the absolute certainty that she wouldn’t, because Caitlyn needed all the sleep she could get, per the advice of the Kiramman physician, Tobias, and Vi herself.
Caitlyn’s only response was to nuzzle closer in her sleep, which only served to agitate the itch further. Vi winced and tried to think of ways she could scratch it herself without jostling the woman asleep on top of her. And she came up with nothing.
The gesture was so trusting. So unguarded. For a moment, Vi forgot the itch for a moment.
She was a statue. A sentinel. Her body a shield against the world’s momentarily paused chaos. The cold seeped into her bones, the itch an afterthought, but the warmth of Caitlyn’s body against hers kept everything at bay.
A cat prowled across the target house's roof, and Vi tracked its movement through the binoculars, trying to focus on anything but the increasing discomfort in her shoulder.
After all, she'd survived Stillwater. She'd fought in a war. She'd faced down Urgot himself. She could handle a simple itch.
(3)
“I know I complain about Pilties a lot, but one thing I’ll never complain about is this stupid bathtub.”
“Now I wonder what your complaints about me are.”
“Your stupid legs.”
“I seem to recall –”
“They’re long. And distracting. I can barely get any work done when you decide to show them off around me,” Vi interjected, buring her nose in Caitlyn’s wet hair and inhaling the remnants of shampoo – if she could go her whole life with Caitlyn’s legs wrapped around her, she would never complain again.
Everything in Piltover was luxurious and foreign to Vi, and she’d often scoffed whenever she encountered something new and entirely unnecessary. Like the elaborate breakfast spreads that could feed the lanes for two whole weeks. Or that almost all the houses had foyers. Or the little carriages that moved at snail’s pace.
But this – this bathtub with the metal claw feet, perfectly heated, absurdly comfortable – was something she’d secretly fallen in love with. The first time she had used it, she almost wanted to stay in it forever, until Caitlyn promised her that she could use it whenever she wanted.
Stillwater didn’t have this. It barely had clear water running for their twice-a-week five-minute showers, much less hot water and a bathtub. It was a miracle that Vi didn’t contract any disease or infections while holed up in there.
“It can’t be erased, but everything is in the past,” Caitlyn quietly reminded, her hand a firm anchor on Vi’s arm around her chest.
She tightened her hold around the navy-haired woman reflexively at the memories, as if to ground herself in the present, let the water and the woman pressed to her front be the best reminders.
Here, now, in this big bathroom with the marble floors and gilded mirrors, holding the woman who had practically changed everything in her life – for the better.
“Just comparing amenities,” she quipped, keeping her tone light. “Proper facility review and all that.”
“This isn’t much, compared to Mel’s residence, you know.”
“Yes, well, Mel’s place doesn’t have you, so that’s a three-star to her, thank you very much. This is a five-star.”
“How generous.”
“Your legs are enough to warrant a five-star.”
Caitlyn’s quiet laugh reverberated through water, sending small ripples against Vi’s skin. She melted further into Vi’s embrace, her head finding that perfect spot in the crook of Vi’s neck, and the pink-haired woman would only accommodate, widening her legs so Caitlyn could have more space to nestle into her arms.
The candlelight cast soft shadows across Caitlyn's features, highlighting the tired lines around her eyes that spoke of too many long days and longer nights.
“We should probably get out soon,” the sheriff muttered, dissolving into a muted yawn.
“Probably.”
She pressed a kiss to Caitlyn’s temple. With one arm wrapped around the woman’s chest and the other stroking uneven patterns on her thighs, Vi listened to the way her girlfriend’s breathing evened out with each passing second.
The water was starting to cool, but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the peace. The way Caitlyn was completely relaxed against her was a far cry from the early days, when Caitlyn would startle at the smallest noise, when trust was a fragile thing being rebuilt piece by piece.
There were still times when Vi wished she had the opportunity to rip Maddie Nolen apart herself, but she would always be thankful to Mel Medarda for finishing the job.
She could still recall the cold fury in Mel’s eyes when she had recounted it to Vi – while Caitlyn had been fighting for her life in the operation theatre. What Maddie had done was something that angered the two of them – one was a sister figure, the other someone who wanted to love Caitlyn the best way she could.
Vi hadn’t been there for it – too busy fighting her own deformed father in a tower – but she’d imagined it often. The idea of Caitlyn leaving her behind was something she wanted to keep as an imagination, not a reality.
She tightened her grip around Caitlyn, pressing a little closer, as if to shield her from ghosts that didn’t exist anymore.
Vi knew she should wake her, get them both dried and into bed before the water turned completely cold.
But there was something sacred about these moments – when the sheriff of Piltover, the woman who carried the weight of two cities on her shoulders, could find enough peace to fall asleep in cooling bath, totally confident in Vi's ability to keep her safe.
(4)
What were they even doing here? What was the point of their presence?
Caitlyn was the sheriff, not a councilor. And Vi was, certainly, in no capacity to even enter this room – she was just a consultant. She consulted for Caitlyn, Mel, and Sevika, and even that was a stretch.
If someone had told Vi that she would be invited to sit through Council meetings, she would have laughed in their face before punching them. Yet here she was, clueless as to why, watching Councilor Brightmoor drone on about recruitment requirements that would surely get rejected for the third – maybe fourth – hour.
“Why the fuck am I still here?” Vi asked Sevika.
Sevika smirked, only barely. “You’re a sap for the sheriff, that’s why,” she replied under her breath.
And wasn’t that the truth, laid bare like a fighting stance. Simple, undeniable, and completely devastating in its accuracy. She shot Sevika a glare that held no real heat.
Their relationship would never be repaired after what Sevika did to Vander, but they were – well, hardly friends, but they had an understanding, merely because they were both dating the two most powerful women in Piltover. How Sevika even managed to bag Mel Medarda was beyond comprehension.
Plus, Sevika was a councilor now, so she had a reason to be here for these stupid meetings that barely held any real substance. Caitlyn was only supposed to be here for a report on the department’s performance and her latest initiative to recruit wardens from Zaun, and Vi was supposed to be here to glare at people.
Caitlyn had promised it would be half an hour. Max.
That had been three hours ago. Three hours into bureaucratic purgatory, with no end in sight. This was almost worse than solitary confinement in Stillwater.
Somewhere between Brightmoor’s dissertation on proper documentation procedures and Sedgewick’s impassioned speech about uniform adherence, Vi had decided to ignore all senses of propriety to slump lower in her chair. The rest of them sat like they had rods up their asses, straightening their spines.
“At least pretend to look interested,” Mel whispered from Sevika’s other side, though her lips twitched in barely concealed amusement. “Brightmoor’s a milder version of Hoskel, if you can even believe it.”
Yeah, because Vi knew who Hoskel was. Of course, she didn’t. The guy died in the explosion, and unlike Cassandra Kiramman, he wasn’t much of a welcomed figure among Piltovans, which was a rare genius move among these people.
Beside her, Caitlyn maintained the perfect posture, straight-backed with her hands steepled on the round table. But Vi could read the weariness in her girlfriend’s body.
“I swear to Janna, if he starts another tangent about letterhead formatting –”
Just then, Brightmoor brandished another stack of papers from literally who-knew-where, and Vi could feel her soul leaving her body – she found herself wishing Jinx had taken her and Caitlyn with her on that fucking airship. She caught Mel – the very personification of composure – actually rolling her eyes.
“Hell’s teeth,” Sevika hissed. “You see what I have to deal with every week?”
“Oh, poor you.”
“You’re lucky you’re only here every once in awhile.”
“I’d rather never –”
And then it happened.
With Brightmoor still valiantly boring them to tears, the sheriff’s head dipped slightly, and then came to rest squarely on Vi’s shoulder. The champion of reform and justice had just dozed off. In a councilor meeting. In front of everyone.
Shit.
Vi's spine snapped straight so fast she was sure she pulled something. Gone was her casual slouch, replaced by posture that would make even the late Cassandra Kiramman proud.
Finally, Brightmoor shut up, but Vi wasn’t certain this was the best circumstance for him to shut his trap. The change amidst the councilors was as subtle as Shimmer in clear water – a ripple of awareness that spread outward like rings from a stone thrown in a pond.
They all looked appropriately scandalized. Sevika’s smirk was practically burned into the side of her face. Mel wasn’t even trying to hide her amusement anymore.
“Not. A. Word,” Vi stated as quietly as possible, shooting death glares at anyone who even dared to make eye contact.
“This is precious,” Sevika commented.
“Never in my –”
“Enough,” Mel demanded, standing up and glancing at Caitlyn before facing the rest of the room. “I think this speaks to exactly how tiresome your speech has been, Councilor Brightmoor.” The man sputtered, but Mel kept on. “Meeting adjourned, I suppose. Let the sheriff rest, after all we’ve put her through.”
Vi could have kissed Mel right then – if she wasn’t currently serving as Caitlyn’s pillow and if Sevika wouldn’t literally kill her for it.
As the other councilors began to file out, some casting scandalized looks their way, Vi remained perfectly still. She met each lingering glance with eyes that carried memories of darker chambers, of harder choices. A clear message in the language of the lanes: she might be playing at politics now, but she hadn't forgotten how to fight.
“Well, that’s one way to end a meeting,” Mel quipped.
“Probably the most entertaining thing I’ve ever seen in this room,” Sevika tagged on.
“You’re both terrible people.”
“You must be the most expensive pillow in all of Piltover.”
“I hate you so much.”
“No, you don't. You just hate that we're witnessing this particular brand of soft,” Mel observed, gathering her papers with elegant efficiency. “Let’s go. We’ll help you get her home.”
Vi glanced down at Caitlyn’s peaceful face. “Nah, you two go ahead.” She shrugged her unoccupied shoulder. “It’s not the first time, to be honest.”
Sevika and Mel exchanged a look that contained volumes, the kind of understanding that could only come from finding yourself transformed by love into someone you never expected to be.
“Alright then.” Sevika stood up, wrapping an arm around Mel’s waist naturally.
“I must say, Vi, your posture right now would make any etiquette teacher positively weep with joy,” Mel offered.
“I will literally suffocate you in your sleep.”
Mel only chuckled, waving as she and Sevika left as well, leaving a brawler and a sleeping sheriff in the council chamber.
Vi sighed heavily. The room, just minutes ago alive with diplomatic monotony and suppressed irritation, now felt unsettling, save for the distant clicks of retreating heels.
Caitlyn’s breathing remained steady, deep, and peaceful in a way Vi hadn’t seen for days. The bags under her eyes had only grown over long nights of endless reports, diplomatic incidents, and reform battles. Plus, it didn’t help that this was partly Vi’s fault, with the way she had Caitlyn up almost all night last night with…non-warden activities.
Her face flushed red at the memory of Caitlyn’s thighs on both sides of her heads, her noises echoing in the soundproof room as Vi took her time with her post-dessert dessert. Much tastier. So much better than the rundown jukebox in The Last Drop.
A strand of navy hair had escaped its pins, trailing across Vi's shoulders. How strange, that the same shoulders that had carried her through prison fights now held something infinitely more precious. That the same body that had learned stillness as survival was now choosing it as an act of love.
Some transformations happened in explosions – like the bridge, like the war, like all the moments that had torn their world apart. But others happened like this: quiet as afternoon light, steady as breathing, gentle as the way Caitlyn's fingers had curled into the fabric of Vi's shirt even in sleep.
Another thirty minutes passed.
Vi could feel the exact moment Caitlyn started to stir awake.
“Violet?”
“Morning. Or afternoon, technically.”
There was a pause as Caitlyn processed their position, their location, and the empty chamber spreading out before them. Vi could practically hear the gears turning in her head.
“Oh no, I did it again.”
“Yep.”
“In front of –”
“Yep.”
“Oh no,” Caitlyn sighed, burying her face in her hands.
“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Vi reassured, stretching her shoulder before enclosing her arm around Caitlyn’s shoulders to pull her closer. “Mel dismissed the meeting, and I'm pretty sure no one's going to mention it. Not unless they want to find out if I still remember how to throw a proper punch.”
“I'm the sheriff. I'm supposed to be…” Caitlyn drifted off, her hands gestured vaguely at the empty chamber, at all the weight of expectation that lived in its marble walls.
“What? Immune to boring speeches? Even Mel rolled her eyes at Brightmoor today, and she once sat through a six-hour debate about proper fork placement without flinching.”
That drew a quiet laugh from Caitlyn, the sound skating across Vi's skin like sunlight on water.
Even now, even here in this chamber of power plays and pretense, Caitlyn's laugh carried notes of the girl she must have been before duty wrapped her in its heavy cloak – before war and reform and the endless task of rebuilding turned her spine to steel.
“I like that you feel safe enough to fall asleep on me,” Vi finally said. “Makes me feel…worthy.”
“You’re always worthy, Violet.”
Vi grinned, her hand brushing away stray strands before finding Caitlyn’s, fingers intertwining as naturally as breathing. “I mean, yeah, but it means something, you know? It just – it means something.” She stood up, pulling Caitlyn upright with her. “Come on, let’s go home. I wanna do that thing again –”
“Violet.”
Vi only laughed, pulling her girlfriend with her.
They stepped out into the hallway, leaving behind the weight of politics and propriety. Vi's arm found its way around Caitlyn's waist, supporting her still-drowsy girlfriend as they made their way home.
Some days, love looked like grand gestures and dramatic moments. Other days, it looked like this: perfect stillness in a council chamber, a shoulder offered as sanctuary, the quiet choice to hold someone up when they needed to rest.s
Vi wouldn't have it any other way.