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Vi has a daily routine. She wakes up twenty minutes before she has to be out of the door, takes a morning run for an hour that leads her to work, and then works for six hours trying not to piss of customers because she’s certainly not going to be warm and welcoming to them. After work, she runs to the gym, does a standard set, and then keeps going until her arms go numb or her phone battery is close to dying so she’ll lose her music. Finally, she runs home, showers, on a normal night does chores, and – if she’s done her job correctly – passes out with all her energy depleted.
On non-normal nights, well, that’s where this whole ritual got fucked up. Not on the night itself, that actually went really well and she made good money, but the next day during her run. The sting of bruises as she jogged was a familiar one and, if she’s honest, it’s a good pain, the kind that leaves her satisfied. It’s a testament to her victory, really. She has long gotten used to the looks she gets when baring black eyes and she doesn’t think twice about it, really, not now she has a job where the owners couldn’t give two shits about her appearance and she doesn’t have to worry about covering it up.
Other people, however, have more concerns. She was jogging past a row of houses that might have once belonged to a neighborhood but now have a road dotted with shops plowing through it when she heard a voice call out to her and turned around to see a woman standing on her porch, waving to her. She wasn’t wearing real clothes, which Vi both appreciated and wished wasn’t the case because any thought of not approaching vanished from her head at the sight of a beautiful woman in a little robe that was slipping off her shoulder just enough to reveal she was, in fact, wearing bakery-patterned pajamas beneath it. There was so much leg on display it took Vi a minute to even register the eyepatch. Maybe that’s progressive. Maybe she’s just horny.
Now Vi’s alarm is set twenty minutes earlier, and she always slows down when she’s jogging outside of Caitlyn’s house in case she wants to come out and check on her a second time. It takes a few days before she reappears, and this time she’s sadly dressed normally this time, but Vi stops to lean on her fence the same way she did that day, flashing Caitlyn a broad smile.
“Got somewhere to be this morning?” Vi asks. Caitlyn shrugs as she steps off the porch despite how she’s wearing dress pants, loafers, and a fitted sweater. She still has her morning coffee in her hand.
“Just a training this afternoon. No point in lounging,” she says. Oh, Vi can think of a reason. Caitlyn unfortunately wasn’t stopping her last week to hit on her – although she didn’t seem opposed when that was Vi’s hopeful assumption – so she keeps her suggestions to herself, but she could easily offer them, if given the opening.
“I thought you were-” Vi raises her hands to make air-quotes, “-‘temporarily retired’,” she points out. She still has no idea what that means. She just laughed and said there was no shame in saying unemployed, and then Caitlyn made a vague gesture to the eyepatch on her face and murmured something about recovering and Vi quickly shut up. Caitlyn’s lips quirk as she reaches the end of her sidewalk.
“I’m retired from the force,” she confirms and Vi’s mouth forms a small o. To be honest, fuck cops. Don’t think she really has to explain that one. On the other hand, no wonder Caitlyn saw a stranger jogging past who was habitually injured and thought she should stop her and try to get her to open up to see if things were okay at home. Vi hasn’t had a real at home for a decade, and things are more than okay. She won five hundred dollars, defended her title, and got to boast about it to a pretty girl. She’s great.
“Can I be honest, Cupcake? You’re making a bigger difference just checking in on strangers. Don’t need a badge or a gun to do that,” Vi says, glancing out at the street slowly consuming her neighborhood, like so many poor areas paved over to make room for the people who would pay more for them. Caitlyn makes an adorable affronted scoff, quickly ducking behind the rim of her coffee. When she lowers it, she sighs.
“I’d like to do something that matters, but I did learn firsthand that sometimes other forms of intervention need to be taken for de-escalation,” she says, words low. Vi can hear the story there, especially in the way one side of her face tightens more than the other, so she just nods. She could have told Caitlyn that without losing an eye.
“What’s your training for, then?” Vi asks, vaguely curious. She’s still getting a feel for the girl – and how much she wants to feel her, which is a definite yes given those legs, but there’s casual flirting in the morning and then there’s Caitlyn wanting Vi to stop in on her jog home too occasionally to clear her brain without a blood rush for once.
“I’m pursuing training in social work as part of re-aligning my career goals,” Caitlyn says. Vi arches a brow.
“Damn, it’s not a job interview. But cool,” she says, which earns another small scoff that is definitely just Caitlyn’s laugh.
“I’m making a change,” she says instead. Vi flashes her a smile.
“There, not so hard to get on my level,” Vi tells her. Caitlyn sends her a narrow-eyed look, but c’mon. Who talks like that without money on the line. Vi didn’t even talk like that in her job interview.
Then again, she works in a deli.
“Your bruises are looking better,” Caitlyn comments, reaching out towards Vi’s face. She doesn’t try to touch her – she could if she wanted – but she does visually trace her finger in the air along the crescent that bloomed near Vi’s eye. Just near, though. No black eyes this week. Vi shrugs.
“Don’t really notice it.” Caitlyn tilts her head.
“It seems like it would hurt when you smile,” she says. It hurts a whole lot more when she arches her brows, actually, but Vi doesn’t correct her. Smiling also isn’t something she does a lot of – see that dispassionate customer service thing.
“Most of the smiling I do is at pretty girls. Trade-off is worth it,” she says. She has met maybe five people in her entire life who didn’t know she was gay by her everything, but hey, she didn’t get this far by not taking shots. Caitlyn takes the bait.
“Oh? Should I go inside for your safety?” she asks, a playful smile on her face. Vi bites down only if I can go in with you. Being forward isn’t usually a problem for her, but there’s the whole thing where she runs past Caitlyn’s house twice a day and that’s going to feel a bit stalkery if it’s too far for Caitlyn – now.
“I don’t do safe. Wouldn’t be in boxing if I did.” She has made some bad, bad decisions for girls – or her personal health – many times before and she’ll probably make another by the end of the week. Caitlyn tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to size her up.
“When’s your next match?” she asks. Vi shrugs.
“Maybe a week or two? Depends who else wins or loses and reaches the level to challenge me,” Vi says. Caitlyn’s mouth twists slightly.
“You might not even be healed up by then,” she points out. Vi can’t help but snort.
“Won’t hurt my face to punch them out, and it’ll be cosmetic by then, if anything. It was a lucky shot. Undefeated streak, remember? I’ll be fine,” Vi points out. Caitlyn’s right it hurts when she smiles. She won’t be distracted by any pain during the fight. Besides, the sooner the fight, the sooner she gets a nice boost to her wallet.
“When are these fights?” Caitlyn asks, and she still sounds casual, but for once Vi can see the investigator in her. When she was asking after her injuries before, she saw the – potential – social worker.
“Fridays, Thursdays, occasionally Tuesdays. It depends what the interest is. Why?” Vi asks, even though she knows why, she just doesn’t know what Caitlyn’s angle is.
“Could I see one?” she asks, and she sounds curious, but there’s more to it.
“You sure about that, Cupcake? It’s not a pleasant event,” Vi says. Caitlyn arches a brow.
“Why, because there’s a violence? I’m a little used to that,” she points out, gesturing vaguely to her face. Okay, well, fair, but the entire way Caitlyn speaks, not to mention her literal picket fence despite the slowly deteriorating neighborhood, shows she grew up on the other side of the tracks from Vi.
“Nah, I’m sure you can handle yourself-” Technically, the injury indicates otherwise, but the way Caitlyn stands is enough. “-but you’ll stand out and that’s not usually a good thing,” Vi says. It’s just a little much to handle if you’re not from that kind of life. She brought a girl there once to show off. She never called Vi again.
“Why, are the mafia involved? Are new spectators hazed?” Caitlyn teases. Vi shakes her head with a smile on her face.
“Nah, there’d be more money in it if that was the case. Just bloody and… low-brow. They’re all chanting for violence and the neighborhood isn’t good,” Vi explains. If anything, Caitlyn’s eyes light up.
“Give me a place and time. I want to see if you’re as good as you say you are,” she tells her. Slowly, Vi smiles.
She is.
“Give me your number and I’ll let you know the next time I have a match scheduled,” Vi promises. Caitlyn nods and holds her hand out for her phone that Vi gladly provides. Caitlyn might just be craving a rush of danger after being off the force for so long. She might still be worried about Vi’s wellbeing and how the fight could unfold given her apparent need to make sure everyone around is safe.
She might just be lining up a date.
Vi hopes her next match is this week.