Chapter Text
Caitlyn’s latest project is a series of notes, newspaper clippings, and printed articles that most days, even she can’t see the connection between. She’s been following a thread for months, and each time she thinks she’s stumbled across an actual lead, it frays into less than nothing.
It isn’t what she should be working on – that’s far less interesting and much more straightforward, revolving around one of the biggest companies in the county illegally dumping its waste in a river – but she doesn’t have enough to convince her editor it’s worth pursuing. As she reads over the scraps of straight-edged puzzle pieces, Caitlyn isn’t confident she has so much as a hunch to follow.
Putting the pieces back in an unmarked folder, Caitlyn pries herself from the comfort of her sofa and places it high up on her bookcase.
She’s always had the option to work from home, provided there aren’t meetings to attend, but Caitlyn has always preferred making the short journey to the office. Until Vi started spending more time in her apartment, that is. Caitlyn was halfway out the door when she got a text from Vi, saying she’d just finished work and was about to pass out in the street.
Vi worked at The Undercity all night, and a fight obliterated her usual finish time. She spent the better part of four hours with one of the bartenders at the hospital, making sure he got his face stitched up. Caitlyn had replied with a simple Come sleep in my bed; I’m working from home today, and Vi had obliged.
Vi just about managed to kiss the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth before stripping off and falling into bed.
Vi still can’t sleep comfortably at Caitlyn’s overnight, with Caitlyn at her side, but in the daylight, with the door open, Vi sleeps like the dead. Caitlyn can’t quite see into her bedroom from the sofa, but her home feels different with Vi there. She enjoys knowing Vi is close, that she’s getting the sleep she deserves, and relishes in the thought of Vi dragging her feet into the living room, fingers tangled in her messy hair, clad in only her boxers.
Her apartment always seemed a reasonable size, until Vi started coming over. Now her absence pushes out the walls, emphasising the emptiness of the place. What does she need that spare bedroom for? What does she need the unused half of her bedroom for, or the table that seats eight?
It’d seemed so reasonable when she first bought it. Anything would, after growing up in a literal mansion.
Caitlyn’s phone buzzes, distracting her from her thoughts.
Mother:
Your father tells me you’re working from home today. Are you available for a call? Nothing serious.
Caitlyn:
Of course.
Give me two minutes – Vi’s still sleeping. I’ll relocate to the balcony.
Caitlyn closes her laptop and does her utmost not to be too down on herself. She wouldn’t have got much more work done in the office. Her thoughts are all over the place, searching for the shape of a story she isn’t certain exists.
It’s pleasant outside. Spring is well and truly underway. The days grow longer, the skies clearer, and Caitlyn doesn’t have to put on much more than a light jacket. She pours herself another cup of freshly-steeped tea, well aware of how long phone calls with her mother can last.
Settling on the balcony sofa, Caitlyn steels herself and hits the call button.
“Hello, darling,” her mother says.
She sounds distracted, but only a little. Her mother is nothing if not an excellent multi-tasker, and her work never ends. Caitlyn expects she’s sat in her office, straight-backed in her absurdly ornate chair, sunlight spilling through the tall windows as she turns down one proposal after another.
“Hello, mother. It’s nice of you to call,” Caitlyn says.
Nice of you to give warning, she means. She spoke to her mother a few months ago about not calling out of the blue and expecting her to answer every time, and thus far, she’s been nothing but respectful of her boundaries.
“It’s two in the afternoon, Caitlyn,” her mother says, sighing. “Does your friend always sleep so late?”
Her mother pauses before saying friend, pronouncing the word as though she has something sour stuck in her teeth.
Caitlyn rolls her eyes. She should’ve prepared herself for this.
“I understand that you’re attempting to belittle my relationship with Vi, but it does have the unfortunate side-effect of coming across as homophobic,” Caitlyn says.
Her mother clicks her tongue.
“Does your girlfriend always sleep so late?”
“Not always. Vi works odd hours and ran into an unexpected situation last night. She wasn’t in bed before seven o’clock this morning.”
Caitlyn takes the chance to sip her tea. Her mother loves drawn-out pauses, even when the weight of her gaze can’t be felt.
“And what work is this? Isn’t she some manner of boxer?”
Caitlyn’s mother knows precisely what Vi does. They’ve had this conversation a dozen times already.
“She was working as a bouncer last night, actually. She does a number of odd-jobs in between training and fights.”
“I see. That can’t fit well with your schedule, Caitlyn. Rather than spend all night doing goodness knows what in a club, could she not find work in a—shop?”
Caitlyn laughs. She doesn’t mean to, and the sound surprises both of them.
“Because you’d approve of her so much more if she worked in retail, I suppose,” Caitlyn says. “I do wish you wouldn’t be so hard on her. I wish you’d at least try to like her.”
“How can I make an effort when I don’t know her? Really, Caitlyn. I didn’t realise the pair of you were still together.”
She says together as though she can’t find the word she wants, and together barely works as a placeholder.
“What? We speak several times a week. Don’t you think I would’ve mentioned breaking up with my girlfriend?”
Even in the midst of half-heartedly arguing with her mother, the word girlfriend forces Caitlyn’s mouth into a smile.
“It’s only that she’s so different to all the women you’ve dated before—”
“All the women I’ve broken up with.”
“—and you’ve had such a difficult year. I don’t want you to rush into anything or let lingering stress make your decisions for you,” her mother concludes.
“Could we talk about something other than my relationship? Please? I do want to speak with you, but not at the cost of Vi’s dignity.”
Her mother relents. She usually does if Caitlyn pushes the point hard enough. They talk about much of nothing; her father’s latest surgical success, a protest taking place in the city, a miserable lunch her mother was forced to endure with an older cousin, and how all the new leaves are starting to come out on the trees.
Her mother ends the call abruptly. Caitlyn hears someone else’s voice fill her office as she puts the phone down, and lets out a sigh of relief. It’s a blessing her parents live too far away to meddle in her love life directly.
Deciding to take a break after the break she took to speak with her mother, Caitlyn puts her laptop away and drifts towards her bedroom. She leans against the doorframe, eyes on Vi’s sleeping form.
Vi sleeps sprawled out on her front, face half-buried where the pillows meet. She wears nothing, owing to the warmer weather, and the pile of discarded clothes at the side of Caitlyn’s bed make it feel a little more like a home than it has before.
Caitlyn sits on the bed. She can’t help herself. Furthermore, she doesn’t have to help herself. Vi is her girlfriend, sleeping in her bed, door wide open.
Caitlyn’s eyes trace the blocks of Vi’s tattoos, knowing better than to run her fingertips across them while Vi sleeps. It doesn’t take much to disturb her, and Caitlyn won’t risk throwing away the trust Vi has placed in her. She can get plenty out of just looking.
Sprawled out though she is, Vi isn’t large. She’s muscular, yes, but she’s in one of the lower weight classes for MMA, and she’s much shorter than Caitlyn. Still, she has an enormous presence about her, as though there’s more packed into her than most people. Caitlyn always feels safe with her, protected, whether she’s lying in her arms at night or sitting in her lap, limbs not feeling too long, for once.
Her mother’s right about one thing. Vi isn’t like any of the women Caitlyn’s dated before. And it isn’t just because of her background, because of the things she’s been through or her place in the world; she’s never been with someone and had it feel so natural.
Everything has always been so carefully planned out in the past. There were always milestones to work towards: offering commitment at three months, taking a trip away together after six months, exchanging spare keys at nine months, all done to plan, everything in its proper place.
It isn’t like that with Vi. There’s no timeline to follow. They’re simply together, needing nothing but that; she feels as though they’ve been together for a day and a decade. She likes that they don’t schedule date nights, that they don’t have to attend exhibitions and plays and expensive restaurants to enjoy one another’s company.
She likes that Vi calls her out of the blue, wanting to kill time on a train ride. She likes that they’ll end up at The Last Drop, some evenings, chatting with Vander over the bar and playing darts to show off Caitlyn’s aim. She likes that Vi left a hoodie at her place once and never asked for it back.
She likes wearing it, the nights Vi isn’t there.
God.
She has it bad.
Vi stirs. Her eyes flutter open. Caitlyn waits until Vi’s seen her, until Vi knows where she is, and places a hand on her cheek. Vi draws in a deep, contented breath, eyes fluttering closed again. Caitlyn runs her fingers through Vi’s short hair and traces the shell of her ear, and Vi hums happily, still half-asleep.
Vi’s different to the women Caitlyn’s dated before in other ways, too. Caitlyn can’t remember ever being so attracted to someone; never in her life have all her many, varied thoughts fallen silent at the sight of someone. She could spend hours staring at the slope of Vi’s shoulders and still feel her mouth go dry. She always thinks she knows Vi’s every scar, every perfect blemish, every sensitive spot, but each time they’re together, she stumbles on something that makes her heart pound that little bit faster.
She’s always considered herself fairly physical in relationships, but never like this. She loves being with Vi, no matter what form it takes: she loves Vi’s rough, calloused hands on her hips, her thighs, she loves Vi’s mouth at her throat, tongue chasing her pulse, and she loves Vi beneath her, around her, lifting her hips and gasping into her ear.
Caitlyn trails her fingers down Vi’s spine.
Vi cracks one eye open and shuffles onto her back.
“Morning,” she says, voice heavy with sleep. “What’s the time?”
“Never mind that,” Caitlyn says, pressing a finger to Vi’s lips.
She straddles her hips. Vi’s pupils dilate and she lifts her head for a kiss, but Caitlyn doesn’t have time for that.
She loves this, perhaps, most of all. Vi still half asleep, body malleable and so, so receptive; her fingers in Caitlyn’s hair, tugging, feet sliding back and forth across the mattress; the taste of Vi on her tongue, hips bucking towards her mouth, not getting enough of Caitlyn but getting too much all at once; the little noises that leave her, unfiltered, unrestrained, and the way she gasps Caitlyn’s name over and over.
“Huh. Should’ve said good morning,” Vi says, blinking her hazy eyes at the ceiling. “What was that for?”
Caitlyn takes both her hands, tugging her up.
“It was all for you. Now, up with you. I’ll make you breakfast,” Caitlyn says. “I could rather go for some pancakes myself.”
“Even though you just ate,” Vi says, stretching her arms over her head.
Caitlyn throws one of Vi’s stray socks at her. Vi grins at Caitlyn in a way that does just as much for her as eating her out did, and with a shrug, pulls Caitlyn’s dressing gown on.
She presses herself to Caitlyn’s back, arms around her waist, still yawning herself awake as they head to the kitchen for a three pm breakfast.
*
Violet:
hey Cupcake
you at work? home?
Caitlyn:
I’m currently in town, picking up a few things. Would you like to come over this evening?
Violet:
it’s not me
ugh
listen i’m sorry to put this all on you
but Sevika will literally kill me if i skip training and then you won’t have a gf to get pissed off at
but Powder’s upset
i think i upset her
can you
idk
check in on her?
but don’t make it super obvious i’m asking you do
Caitlyn:
That’s not a problem, Vi.
I’ll keep you updated.
Violet:
you're a lifesaver
i owe you big time
Caitlyn:
Not at all. I’m always happy to help you or Powder.
Caitlyn puts her shopping basket down. Food can wait. She knows Vi wouldn’t ask for her help with Powder unless it was truly important, and more than that, she knows Vi wouldn’t trust anyone else with this. Caitlyn understands how big of a step it is for Vi to put herself first and rely on someone else.
Caitlyn:
If I recall correctly, I promised to treat you to a hot beverage of your choice, since Vander won’t allow me to buy you a drink at the bar.
I’m at the café across from the library, if you’re free. They have a new range of muffins in for the season – some sort of lemon drizzle, specifically.
Caitlyn marches to the café as quickly as her legs will carry her, finds a seat in the back, and puts her bag on the table, trying to make it seem like she’s been there for some time. The Last Drop is only down the road, and with any luck, Powder won’t appear before Caitlyn has the chance to catch her breath.
She stares at her phone, waiting for a response. She imagines Vi doing the same, unable to focus on training until she knows someone is with Powder.
Phone in hand, Caitlyn orders herself her usual tea. She’s sitting down again when she gets a reply, an excruciating eight minutes later.
Powder:
buh buh buh buh buuuhhhhh
ok
but only if u pick smth out for me x
Breathing a sigh of relief, Caitlyn tells Vi She’s on her way to me. Nothing to worry about and does as Powder’s requested. She orders something she’s bound to like; something sweet, with the fabled lemon-drizzle muffin on the side.
Powder’s there within ten minutes, wearing a hoodie that’s much too long for her. The sleeves hang around her knees. She’s pale, she always is, but looks more exhausted than she typically does. She blinks a lot, like she’s been crying but has had time for her eyes to clear up.
More than that, she looks like she’s sulking, not upset. She slouches in her seat, chin propped on her fist, and jabs a finger directly into the lemon icing.
“Oh, dear,” Caitlyn says. “I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”
“Buh, buh, buh,” Powder repeats. Caitlyn brings her tea to her lips, waiting for her to expand on her point. “It’s a time, alright, Caitcait.”
“Let me guess. Mylo challenge you to an arm-wrestle and is taking his loss out on you again?”
That gets half a smile out of Powder.
She springs up, legs crossed angular in the chair, and talks with both hands.
“Look. You’re the last person I should be whining to about this, but—” Eyes catching the shiny surface of the tea, Powder picks up the cup and takes a long sip. “Whoa. How much sugar did ya put in here? Nearly took out my teeth. Not bad, though. Not baaad. Oh. So. I think I upset Vi.”
Setting the cup down with a clatter, Powder pulls off a chunk of sponge, pops it into her mouth, and maintains intense eye contact as she chews.
“You think you upset your sister? What gives you that impression?” Caitlyn asks.
“Hah, right?” Powder licks icing off her thumb, just like Vi would. “It’s hard to tell with her. She’s all—”
Powder puffs out her cheeks and falls back in her seat.
“Anyway,” Powder continues, waving her hand. “I made a joke. I was feeling all antsy and it was a bad joke, but I think it got under her skin.”
Caitlyn nods. Of course Vi would project that Powder was upset when she felt the brunt of whatever happened between them.
“Would you like to tell me what the joke was? Or the gist of it, if it’s personal?”
Powder blows her hair out of her eyes.
“Okay, so. Vi was telling one of her cute, boring stories about you guys, and she was saying how you two drove out to that fancy new arena they’re building on top of that creepy old school they knocked down,” Powder begins. “And maaaaybe it wasn’t a joke, because jokes are meant to be funny, but I said Gee, I hope Caitlyn’s a better driver than dad, ‘cause the police sure hate her.”
Caitlyn purses her lips together.
“Ah,” she says, after a moment.
“Like I said. Not funny, right? But I’d had a bad morning – day – week – life, and sometimes she’s so nice to me that it makes me—buh buh buh. And it’s not like she started bawling or anything. She just said Powder in that stupid, quiet voice, and her face got all scrunchy, like—” Powder sucks in her cheeks this time, closes her eyes, and wrinkles her nose. “And then everything got awkward and stupid, and Vi had to go punch things.”
Caitlyn knows the broad strokes of what Powder’s been through, the car crash which killed her and Vi’s parents being pivotal to the conversation. She knows that Powder sees a therapist every week, often more, and that she needs medication for her anxiety, her ever-shifting moods, and to help her sleep. Beyond that, she only knows bits and pieces, most of it revolving around a horrid time in the foster-care system.
Vi only ever tells Caitlyn enough for her to get the picture. It isn’t her story to tell, and she respects Powder’s privacy as best she can, without pushing down the truth as though she’s ashamed of her.
“I can see why that would be upsetting to Vi,” Caitlyn settles on. “But I doubt she’s upset with you, Powder. So far as I can tell, she’s not the only one who’s upset.”
Powder tilts her head to the side.
“Yeah, but everyone knows I get sad. One minute I’m laughing, and the next, I’m blubbering over nothing. Once the sugar from this tea wears off, I’ll run back to Vander and be like buhhh I upset Vi and she had to get her girlfriend to come babysit me and now Caitlyn will be pissed and she’ll dump Vi and Vi will hate me forever.”
Powder raises her brow, challenging Caitlyn to refute her point. Caitlyn isn’t surprised Powder’s figured it out. She’s a smart girl and always sees straight through her sister.
“Vi did ask me to check in on you, yes. But I’m here of my own volition,” Caitlyn says. “Also, I’m not going to break up with your sister because you’re have having a rough time of it.”
Powder leans back in her seat, head tipped as far back as it will go.
“I’m always having a rough time of it. I’ve got more issues than Spark-n-Plug.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh. Spark-n-Plug. It’s this magazine for like, tinkering and making little DIY robots. I started reading it when I was a kid, and Vi would always steal the latest issues for me. She still gets it for me – and pays for it! – even though I’m way better than the people who make it now. I always thought it was a funny name. Spark-n-Plug. Sounds German, huh? Do you speak German?”
“I-I’m afraid I don’t,” Caitlyn says, doing her best to follow the conversation. When Powder stares at her, expecting something more, she adds, “I do speak Cantonese, though.”
“Thaaaat’s not even close.”
Caitlyn laughs a little, finishing her tea.
“I suppose it isn’t, is it? But that doesn’t matter, Powder. I do hope you know that you can reach out to me whenever you need to. I may be your sister’s girlfriend, but I will remain as impartial as possible. I know something of what you’ve been through, even if Vi has always been careful to only speak of herself in any real detail.”
Powder shakes out her hands, trying to sit properly in her seat. Her usually bright eyes are dull under the café lights, and Caitlyn watches exhaustion gnaw its way through the frantic energy Powder brought with her.
“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. You’re all nice and understanding and stuff—just like my therapist. Jeez, no wonder Vi likes you so much. Not because you’re like a therapist, though she prooobably needs to see one, but because you’re nice,” Powder says, rubbing her eyes. “God. I know she told you about the car crash and the cop, being in foster care, and all about Silco, huh?”
Caitlyn tenses. She hasn’t heard the name Silco before, but Powder speaks it with a weight that’s almost self-descriptive. Caitlyn hesitates, not wanting to push Powder, to get information out of her that Vi isn’t ready to share.
She settles on humming.
“I was on my way to do some shopping, as it happens. You could accompany me, if you’d like, and help me get a start on dinner,” Caitlyn suggests.
Powder rocks forward in her seat, eyes lighting up.
“You mean I get to see your big, fancy apartment?” she asks. “’m tired, though. I’d probably be whiny.”
“Your sister assures me my sofa is excellent for napping on. I won’t be offended in the least if you leave me to do all the work,” Caitlyn says.
With a deep, begrudging sigh, Powder pushes her chair back and says, “Alright, alright. You’ve twisted my arm.”
Powder drags Vi around the supermarket, picking out her shopping for her. Caitlyn obliges, slipping this-and-that in while Powder isn’t looking, and heads home, giving Powder the grand tour. It doesn’t take long for Caitlyn to put the shopping away and Powder to pass out on the sofa.
Caitlyn:
Crisis averted. Your sister is currently fast asleep on my sofa – I see the family resemblance.
Violet:
seriously?
you didn’t have to go to all that trouble, Cait
Caitlyn:
It was no trouble. Although she did insist I buy two bottles of hot sauce, a kilo tub of gummy bears, and a family-size box of corn flakes.
Violet:
oh yeah
that’s the Powder special
look
Caitlyn
seriously
you didn’t have to do that
i know it’s a lot and i’m already a lot and it must build up but
shit
you’re always so sweet about it
Caitlyn:
Well, when I next see you we’ll discuss the “I’m a lot” comment in person. But I’ll be honest with you, Vi. I never expected myself to be in this position – never thought I’d know how to handle it – and yet it really is no trouble. Your sister is important to you. You’re important to me. That makes it easy.
I see how much you care for her, how much you do for her, and know that I can always do better – always do more for you and your family. You’ve been through so much, so much I can’t change, but I’m honoured to give either one of you a place to sleep when you don’t want to be alone.
Or hot-sauce infused gummy flakes, apparently.
Violet:
Sevika will literally get me in a headlock and suffocate me if I start tearing up
fuck
i’m coming straight over ok?
90 mins
Caitlyn:
I’ll have dinner ready for you.
Violet:
uhh Pow didn’t pick out the ingredients, right?
Caitlyn:
That remains to be seen.
*
Before visiting Vi that first night, Caitlyn never imagined that narrow alleyways could lead to anything but dead ends. Her image of a home was formulaic, unchanging: roads with houses on either side, all clearly in view, easily accessible, with the occasional apartment block. Logically, she knew there were flats above shops, but they always seemed like décor, like a façade. She never pictured people spending the private parts of their lives in those small, square buildings, surrounded by all the disturbances of public spaces.
Caitlyn doesn’t want to romanticise the hidden places society shoves people into, but when she squeezes her way to the stairs leading to Vi’s flat, it feels oddly like coming home. It’s a hidden place, free from the scrutiny of neighbours, reserved for only the two of them.
Caitlyn hurries up the stairs, carrying the suitcase Vi still makes fun of her for bringing. Caitlyn doesn’t see what other options she has. She’s left her shampoo and conditioner at Vi’s, neither of them commenting on it, but thinks keeping a hairdryer there might be asking too much of Vi and her already limited space.
Caitlyn knocks.
No answer.
She knows Vi is in because she received a text not an hour ago reading come over tonight Cupcake i wanna be spooned. Putting her suitcase down, Caitlyn leans over the railings and stretches out just enough to peer in the living room window. A smile crosses her face and her heart gives a little flutter.
Vi’s sat in the centre of the sofa, arms spread over the backrest, head tilted forward in sleep.
Caitlyn knocks louder.
She hears a mumbled, “Huh—shit, okay, okay,” as feet cross the floor and the door unlocks from within.
Caitlyn returned Vi’s spare key to its hook months ago. It hangs on the wall, catching the sunlight, and Caitlyn often stares at it, chewing her lower lip. She rehearses the most casual way to say I was thinking, Vi, perhaps I could hold onto this, in case you ever find yourself running late, but never finds the right time to ask.
“Hey, Cupcake,” Vi says, taking Caitlyn’s suitcase and ushering her inside. “Swear I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was sitting there, watching, uh—this cat video Powder sent me, then you were knocking?”
Vi puts the suitcase in the middle of the room. She blinks a dozen times and turns in a half-circle, trying to get her bearings.
“Darling. You look exhausted,” Caitlyn says gently.
Vi softens when Caitlyn calls her darling, and Caitlyn knows to use it sparingly. Vi isn’t prickly. Far from it. That’s the problem: Vi doesn’t have the defences she needs, the defences she thinks she has, and mistimed, affection can come across as a threat.
Caitlyn leads her back to the sofa. She sits in the far corner, pulling Vi against her, and feels her go slack as she lets out a heavy sigh. Caitlyn threads her fingers through Vi’s hair, relishing in the soft hum it draws out of her. She closes her own eyes, letting the tension of the day eke out of her, not needing to say anything for a good, long while.
She’s never known a relationship like this. There have always been unspoken rules to follow; greetings to exchange, polite questions about the other’s day; offers of a drink, something to eat, and is there anything you’d like to do? But with Vi, all Caitlyn has to do is curl up on the sofa, arms around her, as though the rest of the day didn’t happen.
She didn’t go to work. She didn’t scrap two drafts and waste hours staring at fragments of a project that isn’t going to go anywhere. She’s been on that sofa all day, arms around Vi, feeling her sink against her.
“Long day?” Caitlyn asks.
“Mm. Training’s killing me. Sevika wants me dead,” Vi murmurs into her neck. “Then I was running around town all day, doing deliveries. Getting everyone their lunch.”
Vi yawns, nose digging into the underside of Caitlyn’s jaw.
“You work so much, Vi. I don’t know how you manage it all. Training, fighting, all your interviews, working at The Last Drop, The Undercity, running deliveries… Is there nothing you can do to lessen your workload?”
Vi grunts. Caitlyn’s doing her utmost to step carefully around the matter of finances, given their wildly different backgrounds, but in truth, all she wants to say is, If you lived with me, Vi, all you’d have to worry about is buying your own food, as I don’t have the faintest idea where you manage to find that slop.
It’s stupid. They’ve only been together for six months, and Vi still hasn’t slept an entire night in her bed. It’s stupid, but Caitlyn wants to take her home; or stay here, if that’s where home is to be.
“It’s not going to be like this for long. Three more fights this season, and that’s only if I win ‘em all. After that, there won’t be so much training, no more press shit. I can hang out at your apartment all day and post pics to Hexster.”
Caitlyn doesn’t push the matter. She has no idea what Vi’s earnings are like or what expenses she has.
“That sounds wonderful. Only try not to post too much to Hexster. Half your followers are already in love with you, and I’m not certain I appreciate the competition,” Caitlyn says.
Her account, which she only ever made to follow a handful of friends who had moved away, has been slowly gaining a startling number of followers ever since Vi posted the first picture of them together. She quickly learnt to turn her DMs off.
Looking up, grinning, Vi says, “What competition, Cupcake? You can’t blame them for wanting to look.”
“I most certainly cannot,” Caitlyn says.
She holds Vi’s jaw between a finger and thumb, kissing her.
Vi stretches her arms over her head, luring herself back to the world of the waking. Caitlyn watches her roll her shoulders back and tousle her hair into place, understanding exactly how Vi has managed to gather so many fans so quickly.
“Oh, shit. Yeah. Wanted to ask you something,” Vi says, and the prospect jostles her all the way awake. “It’s maybe kind of—sensitive? Insensitive? One of the two.”
“Go ahead,” Caitlyn says calmly, palms a little clammy.
“You know Amara K, right? The latest fighter on the MMA scene?”
“I do. She’s trans, isn’t she? You’ve been following her for some weeks now.”
Relief makes Caitlyn’s answer a little more upbeat than she’d intended. What did she think Vi was going to say? Oh, by the way, Powder suddenly thinks you’re weird, so we have to break up now? God. Her fears are as baseless as Powder’s, but that doesn’t stop them from feeling real.
What is Vi doing with someone like her?
“Exactly. I’ve been getting so many messages about her,” Vi says. “And I’ve got to answer, I know I do, but it feels like a trap. Half of them look like they’re asked in bad faith, waiting for me to fuck up, and the other half want me to like, take a stand against her. Okay, that’s not fair. There are a lot of people happy I’m following her, but…”
Vi takes out her phone, thumbing over to the app. She flips to notifications, scrolling through them slowly enough for Caitlyn to get the gist, without thumbing over to some of the more unfortunate remarks.
@ViForViolence hey what do you think about @Amara_KO getting in the league
hey @ViForViolence would you fight @Amara_KO
@ViForViolence following @Amara_KO? Hell yesssss.
@ViForViolence what do you think @Amara_KO ?
@ViForViolence soooo would you? fight @Amara_KO?
omg I’d DIE if @Amara_KO and @ViForViolence got in the ring together
gonna fight @Amara_KO @ViForViolence?
Caitlyn frowns at the screen. Plenty of newcomers have come onto the scene those last few months and never has Vi been bombarded with questions like this. They’re MMA fighters in the same league; why would anyone need to ask if they’d fight one another? It’s too warm in the flat. Caitlyn adjusts the collar of her shirt and lets Vi flip her phone back to the Hexster home screen.
“Sorry. Is this—is this okay?” Vi asks through a grimace. “I don’t want to expose you to this stuff or make you hold my hand through it, but you’d see it sooner or later, and you’re—”
“Your girlfriend,” Caitlyn finishes for her. “You can ask for my help with anything, Vi.”
Tapping her nose, Vi says, “I was going to say you’re the smartest, kindest person I know, but whatever.”
Caitlyn leans against Vi, letting Vi wrap her arms around her, this time. Despite literally beating people to a pulp for a living, Vi is always so gentle, so thoughtful. It doesn’t feel patronising, even when her questions come out stilted. It’s organic. She’s careful with her words, even if she doesn’t always know the right ones, and Caitlyn has never doubted Vi’s seamless acceptance of all she is.
“Flatterer,” Caitlyn says. “Well. Would you fight her?”
Vi snorts a laugh, belatedly realising it wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“Obviously. That’s the name of the game, Cupcake.”
“Then say that.”
“Just that? That’s all I have to say? I don’t have to explain myself or tell anyone to fuck off?”
“Unfortunately, telling people to fuck off isn’t enough to banish them. Just answer the question as you would any other and let people draw their own conclusions,” Caitlyn says. “You have such a good heart, Vi. People will see that.”
For a moment, Caitlyn fears Vi’s stiffened at the remark, but she’s only adjusting herself to make a post. Caitlyn closes her eyes as Vi’s thumbs taptaptap the screen, then digs her phone out of her pocket, refreshing her feed.
Vi’s publicly answered one of the more innocuous questions – would you fight her – with bold text on a bright pink background.
hell yeah I would. don’t have anything set up this season but @Amara_KO get your people talk to @SVKA. it’ll be a privilege to have you smear me across the ground.
The post gains immediate traction. Vi loses followers but gains more. They spend a lazy hour on the sofa reading the comments that fly in. Vi always checks the feed before showing Caitlyn, screen turned ever so slightly as she deletes the worst of the comments, muttering profanities under her breath.
Caitlyn closes her eyes, head on Vi’s chest, and lets her read the comments out to her. Halfway through a thread, someone tries advertising some sort of detox weight loss tea, and Vi blasts it as diarrhoea in a cup.
Vi’s so good at this. At everything. She’s fragile and overworked, but she’s never anything less than her true self. Caitlyn’s last serious girlfriend was another trans woman, so there was never an issue there, but her girlfriends before were accepting, so long as it was something they didn’t speak of. But Vi doesn’t forget that it’s a part of Caitlyn, that it changes how she perceives the world; try as she might, Vi can’t tiptoe around any subject.
“Vi?” Caitlyn says once they’re on their feet, migrating to the kitchen.
“What’s up, Cupcake?”
Vi’s still staring at her phone. A good thing, really, because if Vi met her gaze, Caitlyn would have to stop tiptoeing around things, too, and say what she really means.
Caitlyn’s phone ringing saves her from having to answer Vi.
“Hello, mother. Is everything alright?” Caitlyn asks, bringing the phone to her ear.
“Hey, Mrs K,” Vi calls from the kitchen, shoving cereal straight from the box into her mouth.
Silence on her mother’s end.
“Good evening, Caitlyn. Am I on speakerphone?” her mother asks.
“Vi can’t hear you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Caitlyn says, not bothering to hold back her irritation.
Lifting her hands, Vi says, “Y’know what? I’m gonna go pee,” and closes the door loudly enough for Caitlyn’s mother to hear.
“I was hoping to catch you alone,” her mother says.
“So you can talk about Vi, apparently. What is it? Because I won’t have you putting a dampener on our evening,” Caitlyn says, pacing furiously. “Well? Out with it?”
“It’s a sensitive topic,” her mother begins, as though that’s ever stopped her. “And I don’t mean to question your journalistic integrity, but—”
“But what?”
Caitlyn can’t believe her mother. She really can’t believe her. In the thirty-two years she’s been on this earth, under her mother’s watchful eye, she doesn’t think she’s ever been this furious. What is she going to point out? A misplaced semi-colon that must have been the result of Vi’s influence? A slight discrepancy she’s had one of her assistants chisel out of the article?
“When you spoke of Vi’s colourful past, you spoke of the drug-dealing that led to her incarceration, and—”
“She was groomed as a child into carrying drugs over county lines.”
“Regardless. Did you purposely omit the rest?”
Caitlyn purses her lips together. The toilet flushes. She glances between the bathroom door and balcony but doesn’t move.
“I didn’t omit anything,” Caitlyn murmurs.
Vi didn’t tell her everything. Caitlyn’s always known that, distantly. A minor would never land themselves in jail until the age of twenty-five for being caught with drugs on them, but Caitlyn had never asked. At the time, she’d had enough for her article. She didn’t want Vi to have to etch out every last detail of her past to get the readers’ interest. Since then, Caitlyn hasn’t pried. She’s let Vi open up to her a day at a time, a minute at a time, and treasures all she’s been trusted with.
“Grievous bodily harm,” her mother whispers into the phone. “From what I read, it was close to becoming a manslaughter case.”
Caitlyn’s mouth moves wordlessly.
The bathroom taps run.
“I—how? How did you get this information?” Caitlyn says, trying to puff out her chest. “Because you know how hard I fought against police corruption, mother, and if I thought for a moment that you’d used your influence to—”
“Don’t change the subject, Caitlyn. And don’t accuse me of anything other than looking out for you. I am only relaying facts to you, that you might better understand the person you’ve chosen to pair yourself with,” her mother says.
Caitlyn hears a scrape of metal on china; a spoon stirring tea, as though none of this is of consequence. As though it isn’t an invasion of privacy, a way to manipulate Caitlyn into breaking Vi’s trust.
The bathroom door clicks open.
“I have to go,” Caitlyn says, hanging up before her mother can reply.
Her face flushes with anger. She can feel herself trembling, hands curled into clammy fists, and she can do nothing to stop herself. Not even as Vi looks at her, head tilted in confusion as she dries her hands on the front of her joggers.
“Everything okay? She didn’t invite you to another cocktail party, did she?” Vi asks.
Caitlyn opens her mouth uselessly. Nothing comes out. Hot, angry tears fill her eyes, and she holds out her hands, grasping for the words denied to her.
“Uhhh,” Vi says. “How long was I in the bathroom?”
Caitlyn grasps Vi’s shoulders, anchoring herself. Vi takes her hips, instinctively, easily, and tilts her head, face softening. She’s so soft, so good, with her steely eyes, the ink on her skin and the metal piercing it, the scar on her lip and the thin, silvery ones Caitlyn can only see in certain lights.
She is furious with her mother. Furious with herself for not hanging up before Vi’s secret was spilt. But more than that, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care what Vi was in prison for, because she knows Vi, and she knows the whole system is broken. She knows Vi would never hurt her, could never hurt her, and has never been anything but infinitely kind.
Even Vi’s frustration works itself out as patient reflection. The world has been so cruel to Vi, so many people have failed her, but the only callouses left behind are worked into her hands.
Vi will tell her the truth in time. And it will be the truth, not a series of watered-down facts, cast in the worst possible light.
“Hey,” Vi whispers, hand on Caitlyn’s face. Caitlyn leans into the touch, warmth unwinding the frustration within her. “Your mum wants you to break up with me, huh?”
Caitlyn laughs softly and shakes her head, cradling Vi’s hand between her cheek and palm.
“That isn’t it.”
“C’mon. It super is.”
“I think she’d rather I’d never met you, honestly.”
Vi laughs but cuts herself off midway. Her gaze skirts to the side, and Caitlyn sees the slow creep of fear darkening her eyes, turning them more to stone than metal.
Caitlyn draws Vi’s hand to her mouth and gently kisses her perpetually bruised knuckles.
She watches the column of Vi’s throat shift as she swallows and lets her breath flutter over her fingers. She has traced Vi’s scars with her fingers and lips, innumerable, uncounted, and knows that so few are from fair fights; she sees the way Vi always rolls her right shoulder, stiff from a poorly-fixed dislocation, and knows that whatever supposed crime Vi has been unjustly punished for has been visited upon her ten times in kind.
Caitlyn’s chest aches. She wishes she could make her mother understand. She wishes she didn’t have to defend Vi; she wishes someone had defended her all those years ago.
“You’re so lovely, Vi,” Caitlyn says. “Do you know that?”
Vi looks away, almost choking on a huff.
“I mean,” she begins, uncomfortably trying to weave a joke together. “I get DMs telling me how hot I am fifty times a day. I don’t go to the gym for nothing.”
“That isn’t what I mean, Vi. Although you do have a beautiful body,” Caitlyn says, patient, doing her utmost not to get distracted in glancing down. “I mean it, Vi. You’re lovely. All of you. I’ve never known someone to make me feel so safe, and that goes beyond your muscles. Muscles I greatly appreciate, for the record. Honestly, Vi. I’m just glad I get to spend my evenings with you, and I’m sorry if my mother makes you doubt that. I’m sorry if I make you doubt that.”
Vi’s eyes dart around. Caitlyn doesn’t attempt to hold her gaze. She’s ready when Vi pulls herself into her arms, face buried in her shoulder. She wraps her arms around Vi’s broad back, presses her nose to the top of her head, and lets Vi be held, for a moment.
“Weren’t we about to have dinner?” Vi asks.
With one last squeeze, Caitlyn lets her go.
“Oh, yes. I believe you were going to impress me with your culinary skills,” Caitlyn says, stepping back.
Regathering herself, Vi winks and says, “Frozen pizza?”
*
A week later, Caitlyn sits at her office desk, doing her utmost to ignore the sounds of chatter from the breakroom. She’d thought laying her clippings across her desk would help her see the potential project in a new light, but all it’s doing is distracting her from her actual work.
Her phone pings with a text. Caitlyn ignores her phone at work, as a rule; anyone who needs her in an emergency has her office number, and Vi has her own message tone. Caitlyn hasn’t spoken to her mother since hanging up on her, and the thought of her finally reaching out to make amends or further emphasise her point doesn’t inspire her to turn her phone over.
She makes her third cup of tea of the morning and begins looking over an article a colleague has sent her. The subject is promising, but the writing is full of itself; it reads less as this is a serious piece of writing and more hey, look, I’m writing about a serious matter! Caitlyn types up a few notes, makes a couple of corrections, and fires an email back.
Before starting on her next task, Caitlyn checks her phone.
[UNKNOWN NU...]
Is this Caitlyn Kiramman?
Caitlyn glances around as though the message is from someone in the office, and considers her response. She’s dealt with sources contacting her from burner phones countless times, but she’s never received a message from a withheld number.
Knowing ignoring it isn’t an option, she decides against seeming too eager.
Caitlyn:
And who might this be?
The reply is almost instantaneous.
[UNKNOWN NU...]
I work as an assistant at the Mayor’s office. We recently received an unverified report of a troubling nature. It isn’t anything we can act on, only rumour, but I was wondering if you might be interested in it.
After your work exposing Sheriff Marcus, I thought you might be the woman for the job. Do you have an email I can contact you via?
Caitlyn:
Caitlyn stares at her laptop screen. An email pops up seconds later, sent from [email protected], one of those fast-expiring, untraceable accounts. There’s no text in the body or subject line, only a small .txt file attached with a string of numbers for a title.
Within is a hastily-typed transcript of a conversation between an unnamed mayor and someone documented only as ‘informant.’
Caitlyn’s eyes scan the text. A few words immediately jump out: county lines, production, and shimmer.
Suddenly, her scraps of a story are starting to take shape.