Work Text:
Death comes in bright blue.
A shock. A tremble of the earth. A choice in hands that are far too small to carry that burden. But a trigger is pulled anyway.
When is it enough?
When will enough blood be split in the name of… of what? Justice? Vengeance? Mercy? Where is the line? Does it even exist for people like them? Like her?
The question doesn’t have an answer with an execution. Not one that will end it. And yet Caitlyn stares at her line, rushes to it, has already crossed it, even.
“She weakened you.”
Red was always Vi’s color. She wears it like her heart, beating and loud. Even the oils can’t hide it all. So contrary to the subdued lilts of green, lush gold for the sake of its existence. Red was her survival.
But now, it stains her, guts her from the inside. And Caitlyn crawls, dirt and blood littering the space between them. And her heart climbs out of her throat. Her chest. Her arms and face.
“Vi?”
Bile rises in her throat, and her hands grip the dark leather around her shoulders. Gloves obstruct her, but she can feel a frigid chill seep through the layers.
“Vi!”
The sky is painted in red ashes above her. And Jinx sobs like the human Caitlyn never thought she was. This isn’t the face of the monster, the wielder of her pain and suffering. This is simply Vi’s little sister, sobbing and screaming for Vi to wake up.
“We-we have to help her– please, we have to help her,” Jinx sobs, her voice taut and bloody dirt clinging to her pale skin.
Jinx sits back on her haunches when Caitlyn leans over, hands cupping Vi’s face, her chest feeling like it could concave at any second. “Vi!” she tries, fruitless as the woman below her doesn’t move, doesn’t even appear to be breathing.
“Cait! Cait, we need to go,” Jayce calls from behind her. And she can’t even rejoice in his sudden appearance. Can’t feel anything that isn’t the panicked despair that clogs her throat.
She looks up at him, over her shoulder, the tears no longer held at bay. “I- I can’t carry her.”
Jayce stares down at them, eyes wild and wide, fear coloring his irises. He looks between her and Vi and Jinx, jaw unhinging.
“I can carry her.”
Caitlyn holds in the sob at the sound of Loris’s voice, deep and booming as he already crouches down, lifting Vi in his arms. Her arm dangles, blood dripping from her fingertips onto the stained earth. And Caitlyn wants to hold it, to be the one to carry her out of this death cavern. But all she can do is lead them out.
Caitlyn looks to Jinx then, her heart growing colder in her chest.
“What will–?”
“I don’t care. We just– we just need to get Vi out of here,” Jinx croaks, and she’s gone before Caitlyn can say another word.
Chaos greets them on the surface. War simmers like a festering wound in the fissures and all her vision is filled with blue and red and–
They take Jinx before she can utter a word. She’s dragged like a lifeless set of limbs, her eyes– that normally sickly violet– are seemingly void of color at all. One more shared glance between them, one that says what Caitlyn already has sworn on every god that would ever listen to her.
Don’t let her die.
Blood still soaks the leather around her fingers. It drips down Loris’s arms now, his face doing much better at staying neutral than Caitlyn’s. She hears herself bark orders, calling for aid as they make it back to the estate. Jayce does well not to ask her questions and she keeps her own at bay. She couldn’t formulate them properly anyway. Not without spewing out the childish wail of “Where were you? Why did you vanish? Why did you leave me here?”
It doesn’t matter. Not really. Asking would change nothing. Wouldn’t erase the horrors she’s complicit in.
The carpets are stained. Boot prints track blood across the marble. Her father stands somewhere across the foyer, mouth agape and eyes, for the first time in months, not vacant. But she has no time. Not when– not when Vi–
A sob threatens to claw its way out of her throat. Doctors crowd the space, three of them with furrowed brows and pursed lips. Caitlyn can’t watch. But she has to be pulled away when they take her, lying her across one of the long tables in a room that has no other use than ornate wealth. She remembers having tea in that room when she was a child, one of the maids having sat with her to read to her.
She keeps her eyes on Vi the whole time, from when she’s peeled from Loris’s arms, her skin so, so pale. Soot and ash painting her, oil staining her. A humorless laugh bubbles out of her and her legs shake under her.
Oak doors close and the ringing in her ears recedes, only to be filled with what can only be a sort of disciplined panic. One that comes with toying with death. The halls reek of it now.
“Commander, you should rest.”
She almost doesn’t recognize Loris’s voice, the deep rumble of it. Far kinder than she deserves to be spoken to. She leans against the wall, sinking to the floor that holds speckles of blood. Her hands tremble against her knees, her eyes stay trained on the door. Hoping to hear anything. Because if they’re still shouting and talking, it means she’s not lost– that she won’t lose Vi for a second time.
She isn’t yours to lose, a cruel part of her brain seeks to remind her.
“Caitlyn,” she says weakly.
Loris slumps next her, burly body emanating warmth. “Hmm?”
“Please,” she clears her throat, words clogged there. “Just Caitlyn.”
Loris just grunts his reply. He finally looks as tired as she feels. Lines under his eyes no doubt mirror her own. She hasn’t even registered how he managed to find them down there. Where he went after…
She finds a little comfort that Vi seemed to have someone down there looking after her.
“I left her too,” he says after some time. Caitlyn snaps her head up, not realizing she’d been resting it on her knees, eyes squeezed closed. Small wet drops stain the material of her pants, hardly dried along her cheeks. But she looks at Loris’s profile now, questions on the tip of her tongue. Questions she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to ask.
“She… she was in a bad way after…” he gestures with his hand, clearing his throat too. The admission makes her chest ache. “I won’t get into all of it because I think that’s between you two but… she was in a really bad way, Caitlyn.”
She sucks in a short breath, the air cold and stale in her lungs. Like she’d been holding it there until it rotted. She knew– of course she knew. Caitlyn clenches her jaw, unable now to discern the cries that echoed against the sewer’s walls and the faint ones she hears now.
That big heart of hers has never stopped bleeding, has it?
“Sorry to be frank, now but… what exactly do you want from her?”
The question isn’t an accusation but Caitlyn hears the undertones nonetheless. Can’t even blame him for it. She takes another breath, eyes still on the ornate doors. She thinks of Jinx being held in the bunker. She thinks of the black oil and tar that coats Vi’s hair. Of the way her body is leaned and cut, chiseled in a way that only comes from fighting.
“I don’t want anything from her,” she admits, fingers digging into her own knees. “I just want–” her breath hitches, the words clogged again. Because what she wants and what she thinks she deserves are two very different things. She would guard Vi’s heart for the rest of her life if Vi let her. But more than anything she wants her to know the peace that has been robbed from her at every single turn.
The words don’t dislodge themselves but a stray tear manages to escape against her will. Whether Loris understands or not, she doesn’t know. But he must, because he doesn’t pry further. Doesn’t reprimand or tell her more. He just stays by her side for the long stretch of time that passes.
Dust floats in distant flecks, following the rays of the morning sun that streak through the bedroom.
Caitlyn sits vigil, having only barely allowed her own minor cuts to be tended to in the time it took for the doctors to operate on Vi and Caitlyn demanding she be brought to her own bedroom. A silly request, in hindsight. A possessive one. One she didn’t have the strength to fight at the time and wouldn’t change it even now. Especially not after three grim faces met her when they opened the doors, and Caitlyn felt herself slip away when she thought they were to tell her the worst.
There was no denying it at that point. Not when the relief hit like a bullet to her heart as they told her in quiet, exhausted voices that she would live. No, there really was no denying it– that her heart has always belonged to Vi. That a world without Vi in it would be the coldest, most lonely thing Caitlyn could ever fathom.
She loves her.
It’s something she knows she’s never felt for another person. Not this deeply. Whatever had transpired between herself and Maddie was… It would have continued to be a shallow life. A pale imitation of what she wants and may never have again.
Her ass has long since gone numb in the chair, the legs of it close to the bed-frame so Caitlyn can be as close as humanly possible without touching her. She’s only seen Vi’s face look this peaceful a handful of times. She aches with every fiber in her being to reach out, to run her knuckles along the smattering of freckles along her cheeks.
Vi’s chest rises and falls under sage blankets. Caitlyn tries and fails to ignore the persistent ache at the way Vi looks like she belongs here– in Caitlyn’s bed. Her lips slightly parted, black hair clinging to her forehead, Vi sleeps like she’s slept here for ages. Her eyes catch on Vi’s hair again and something akin to pain pricks at the back of her eyes.
She isn’t sure why it bothers her so much. It just feels wrong to see such vibrancy buried in such pain like this. Her jaw clenches as she rises, unsure if this is even something Vi would want. But there’s no one else to do it. Not after she forbade anyone without a medical license into this room.
She scoffs at herself, already filling a basin with warm soapy water. When she returns to her bedroom, she’s struck still for a moment. Vi’s chest still rises and falls, her face still the perfect picture of peace hard-fought for.
She’s so beautiful.
With a light shake of her head, she closes the distance again, still stifling the surge of guilt and shame that threatens to choke her. Whether she deserves to be the one caring for her doesn’t matter, she reasons. Vi deserves care and she revels in the feeling of her hair between her fingers..
The act feels reverent and worshipful, She takes care to scrub along her scalp, thumbs running over her hairline. Vi’s brows knit together at first, the movement so minuscule, Caitlyn almost misses it. But then her face relaxes and a longer breath exhales from her lungs. Caitlyn tries to not let her chest swell too much, focusing on the way the water runs oily and inky now.
Vi feels so warm against her. Alive. She doesn’t let her fingers touch Vi’s skin when she attempts to scrub the dirt and blood from her shoulders and arms. She ignores the tremors in her fingers or the way everything in her screams to wrap herself around Vi in any way she can. She feels like a touch-starved fool.
When she’s finished, a pile of dirty rags and a dirt filled bowl are what’s left on the floor. Her arms and shoulders ache with the minutes or hours she’s spent washing her, unable to stop the whispered promises from leaving her lips. That she would spend the rest of her life earning any place in Vi’s life so long as Vi let her.
Whether those words are for Vi or herself, she isn’t going to ponder. She already knows the answer. She takes the bowl and cloths to the bathroom, leaving them amongst the porcelain. Shaky legs bring her back to the arm chair at Vi’s side. And she waits.
The sun paints the room in crepuscule now, painting Vi’s face like a featherlight touch. The morning has long since bled into the afternoon– or is it evening now? The way her stomach grumbles gives her a clue and yet the thought of bringing a morsel to her own lips makes her stomach turn.
Time stretches until her body is so heavy with it. Heavy enough that when the moon sits like a white beacon in the sky, she finds herself walking on shaky legs to the other side of the bed.
The mattress dips under her weight, the smell of antiseptic and her own shampoo fills her lungs on her shuddered inhale. She doesn’t get close enough to touch. Even though her body screams for it, her soul demands the connection she no longer deserves. But she lies just close enough that the sweet warmth of her is the first solid thing she's felt in months. And she almost–
The war she's had with sleep wages on. Her lids heavy and weary fight the desperate need to oversee every precious breath. Caitlyn lets her hand rest between them, fingers curled against the small throw pillow. They ache, twitching even now.
"Vi?"
She doesn't know why she says it. But she hasn't spoken her name in so long— to not speak it now feels like denying her lungs air.
Vi's face twitches and Caitlyn waits, watching her chest rise and fall again. Caitlyn squeezes her eyes shut, the sharp sting behind her lids too much and there's nothing she can do to stop the single tear that falls. She knows too what a fool's hope it is that when she peels them open, Vi won't have woken. That she won't see the pale moon in her irises staring back at her.
Her finger twitches again when she opens her eyes and the air is knocked out of her chest when Vi's own finger moves where it rests at her side. "I don't know if you can hear me," she continues, her voice raw. Vi lies unmoving, breath even. "But I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me." The words are a breathless murmur. She can barely hear them leave her own lips. "You just–" she chokes, curling her fingers tighter into the sheets so she doesn't give in. She sucks in a breath. "You just have to come back."
The tears come more freely then they have in months, falling silently. They stain the pillow under her, blurring her vision. But she lets them fall, lets herself be swept up in the storm that's been waiting for her since she climbed out of that sewer.
When sleep does the win the war, it's hardest sleep she's had since her mother died. Her dreams are murky and moonlit. Lips pressed to hers, her name wrapped in Vi's voice. She barely stirs to the sound of the door creaking open. But she can just make out the faint voices that follow.
"Mr. Talis, perhaps Miss Kiramman should keep resting."
Ah, Talya. She's been with her family's staff since Caitlyn could walk. She hears a light protest from Jayce, the words muddy.
"She hasn't slept like this in ages. Please."
Caitlyn can't make out more than that; the door clicks closed with a deep sigh and Caitlyn feels herself slip into the warmth of her bed.
When she wakes again, the afternoon fills the room with the cruel reminders of the outside world. Hope is scarce when she peels her eyes open. It's too much to hope, she knows. But the breath catches in her throat when she finds Vi's face, head tilted in Caitlyn's direction. She face is smooth and devoid of the worried lines that Caitlyn became familiar with. Plush lips that have haunted her chapped and bruised. The urge to reach out is enough for her to pull herself from the sea of sheets, ignoring the slight possibility that Vi's hand was much closer to Caitlyn's then when she fell asleep.
Pulling the door open, she allows herself one last glance, the days spent hiding– guarding– this room coming to an end. Vi breaths are still steady, but her face is twisted, disturbed and Caitlyn forces herself through the threshold instead. She meant what she said– that she would spend the rest of her life making it up to her. To earn any place in Vi's life would be a luxury.
And as her steps echo down the cavernous halls, she holds onto that dream with both hands.