-C'mon…-

Times Passes. Maybe… A Week?

The blackout curtains that had been drawn so carefully across the bay window opposite Vi's bed were flung open, allowing blinding sunlight to impede on the bruiser's sleep and causing her to start, that knee-jerk reaction resulting in a fall to the wooden floor, a bruised behind, and a wounded pride.

"What the fuck, Cait?!"

First off all, how had she even gotten in here? The pinkette's penthouse was off limits to all parties—her safe haven from the entire world.

Also…

Vi's cheeks blazed and she scrambled to cover her nudity with her blanket. "Could you stop fucking staring? Holy fuck!"

She was going to implode.

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow and Emma's hologram appeared behind her, prim and proper in her pencil skirt and button-up blouse. "Are you always this pleasant in the morning?"

"Just about."

"Shut it, Em. Make me breakfast or something."

"Yes, madam."

"And you," she snapped at her superior as the A.I went to retrieve her physical body. "Why are you in my room and why are you waking me up at—" she squinted blearily at the hologram of a clock tower that glimmered faintly in the sunlight. "—Seven o'clock in the damn morning?"

"I told you days ago that there's going to be a party held in your honour at the Capitol building."

"And?"

"That's tonight. And I'd hazard a guess that you have nothing to wear."

Correct as usual. The Sheriff was an ace detective.

"… Shit."


Fuck her and her big, honest mouth. When Cait had asked her about her evening wear for that stupid party four hours and one trip to the mall earlier, she should have bluffed and denied everything.

Of course… Showing up to this big fancy event in her civilian's clothes would have warranted sharp words from the brunette… Better to just suffer through a woman at the mall.

Better was a relatively measure. Really, it was.

The pinkette was ready to shoot herself in the face with the sniper's rifle by the second hour of their little clothing hunt and her fingers twitched at the very thought of being able to end her misery early.

Because, honestly, what was wrong this time? Every possible combination of clothing had been shot down (no pun intended) by the AD Carry and this getup—black slacks and a blazer over a long-sleeved collared shirt; damn she looked sharp!—apparently wasn't cutting it either.

"Fuck's sake, Cupcake, I give up. Just pick something out so we can go!"

She could tell from the gleam in amber eyes that she would be regretting that sentiment.

That Night…

There was never a time where Vi wanted to shoot herself more.

Never.

The most frustrating thing you could think of—standing in line for the second consecutive hour at the DMV before finally making it to the front and arguing with that baleful looking woman, Dolores, before realizing that you were in the wrong line and, no, she couldn't help you, but the lady in the other 300 person line could if-you-would-please-go-to-the-back-of-the-line, kthx—did not compare to this moment.

She was in no way a trained show dog, but being make-up'd and pushed and prodded in order to look presentable for a room full of men stuffed to the gills with their own preposterously-sized egos certainly made her feel like one.

"Smile, Vi," Caitlyn urged. "You look as though you've just stepped in something awful."

Sit. Stay.

"I don't want to be here." That should have been obvious, but she felt like really driving the sentiment home.

"Behave yourself. It will be over soon enough."

Woof.

Still, she found she couldn't complain when the sniper latched onto her arm for the majority of the night and took to grabbing flutes of champagne from those little trays that the wait staff were holding high above their heads as they wound their way through the self-important throng.

Which meant that she was pretty drunk when she pinned Caitlyn up against one of the pillars that supported the rooftop terrace and kissed her right then and there.

The pinkette likely would have felt horrified at her actions had she the facilities to do so.

"V-Vi, what the hell?" She was pushed off of the shorter woman rather violently and stumbled, landing on her ass on the cold wood floor. "Why would you…?"

"Shorry… I jus' really… Like shoo."

Her skin must have been flushed because the breeze that wafted by felt really fucking good.

"You're drunk."

So she was. Good work, detective. "Mmph."

Caitlyn shook her head. "I'll get someone to help me move you. Just… Stay here, okay? Don't move."

"Woof."

As the sniper hurried off, Vi collapsed onto her back, swearing softly as her skull hit the hard ground. For some reason, that spike of pain prompted the image of a certain blue-haired, gun-toting psychopath and she frowned.

'Where are you, damnit…?'

-End Chapter-