a/n: Part 2 to Chapter 2: A Good Day. The unfortunate reality is that I'm slowly going to write myself into an actual short fic.


Caitlyn didn't need to open her eyes to know night had passed. The first light of morning wormed its way through her closed lids; a thoughtless pester. Her mind stirred with the fading memories of sleep, and her body woke and reoriented itself to the warmth of her duvet.

It was all familiar and routine: the habit of waking up, the rustling of fingers tightening at the soft fabric, the return to life. But there was a difference about this morning from most others: this morning came with the shock of cold prickling her exposed nose.

Cold. A winter chill. Snow.

Memories of the day before danced out of the sleepy fog and through her mind: a snowglobe afternoon, flurries abound; a mug of cocoa; a regression to a younger age.

Days like that always guaranteed mornings like this: when the chill soaked through the mansion's stone walls and seeped into the spaces within. No matter how many fireplaces were lit and maintained, it couldn't fight off the power of winter. It always meant added layers of clothes and hovering close to whatever hearth was radiating the most heat.

But she wasn't ready for that yet. She wasn't ready to sprint from spot to spot, chasing warmth. So instead she burrowed deeper into her blankets; the perfect remedy.

Mornings like this were her favorite. She didn't need to open her eyes to know her sill was laden with an untouched mound of snow or the glass had condensed against the cold, or the staff was hauling in splintered logs for burning. Years of experience painted the picture perfectly in her mind.

If she stretched her imagination, she could even pretend she was still a school girl and her mother was moments away from crashing through the door to chastise her for cocooning in bed when responsibilities and coursework needed tending.

Caitlyn wasn't a morning person. For as diligent and responsible as she was, the early morning hours sent Caitlyn crawling desperately deeper into the comfort of her mattress, clinging to every last second of rest. Add to it knowing her bare toes were in for a shock of cold on the hardwood floor, and she was, quite simply, a brat to wake up.

"You've your studies to attend to."

The disapproving scowl and lectures on responsibilities and obligations would ultimately guilt her from a perfectly good slumber. Her mother's words played on repeat in her mind. Mornings were the rare occasion Cassandra Kiramman sought out her daughter. Even if it was only to berate the young Kiramman for slacking, the words echoed vividly in her mind where it would forever remain.

Because no longer could she anticipate the click of shoes approaching down the hall, or the swift twist of her door handle, or the well-practiced reminders of her responsibilities.

Because things had changed.

Because she was no longer a child, no longer a student, and no longer had a mother to whip open the curtains and scowl over her daughter's tardiness and inaction.

No, all of that was gone.

The sting of reality sent her eyes open, and they quickly adjusted to the rays of sunlight spewing and bouncing off her bedroom walls. It was still early, she realized, noting the curtains remained open - an oversight from the night before - and the cause for her unusually early arousal.

The night before.

Nostalgia was replaced with flashes of flannel, fire, and tears - sobs - that carried the evening into night. It explained the heaviness she felt around her eyes, undoubtedly puffy with evidence.

It also, perhaps, explained the weight of a hand around her waist. A hand that wasn't hers. A hand that could only belong to her… her bunk mate? Her bedmate? Her sleeping partner?

The latter sent a wave of heat to her cheeks, flushing away the layer of cold winter had put there.

Caitlyn had never been shy about her feelings. She'd never apologized for turning suitors away, and she was rather brazen in expressing when she felt affection for another. She wasn't inexperienced in the world of wants and needs and the patterns of courting.

But then she met Vi, and like so many other things she couldn't quite explain why she choked up. With any other woman she'd have been emboldened to flirt and woo, but with Vi she kept her distance. She worried giving herself room to analyze it would reveal what her heart was already shouting from the rooftops, so instead she gave it no space to breathe.

Because a Kiramman's partner wasn't supposed to be selected out of love; its purpose was for something greater. From a young age she'd understood the negotiation of relationships and the strategy tied to them. While her parents' relationship raised a few eyebrows, it wasn't without a greater purpose. Like with generations of matriarchs, there was an expectation for Caitlyn; an expectation impressed upon her by her mother, and as much as she rejected the burden of the Kiramman name, she understood the statement choosing a partner made.

She rolled to her left; to the snoozing mound occupying the left side of her mattress and a corner of her mind. She rolled and watched the sleeping form curled up on her bed; in her bed; under her covers.

A platonic sleeping partner.

A perfectly stunningly gorgeous platonic sleeping partner whose fingers were curled against Caitlyn's side and had a knack for stealing Caitlyn's breath, challenging her world view, and sending her down irrational paths of danger, chaos, and fear all in the name of protecting said sleeping partner.

Yes. Platonic.

And platonic sleeping partners kept their distance. They shared a bed without slipping into each other's arms, whispering words of reassurance, and feeling comfort in shared warmth. And they certainly didn't imagine what else might exist beyond that line.

So instead she watched. And she waited. And she kept silent and hoped one day the fluttering of her heart and the catching of her breath and the marveling over the woman sleeping next to her would fade to normalcy. Because the feelings overcoming every fiber of her being were anything but normal. And they certainly weren't platonic. But perhaps one day she'd repeat the mantra enough to fool herself into believing it.

Until then she'd watch and wait and watch and wait, standing firmly across the line.

Yet lines were meant to be toed, and before she could stop herself, Caitlyn lifted her hand, running a finger under a strand of hair that fell over Vi's face and brushing it away.

Was she crossing the line? No, surely this was still platonic.

Her fingers grazed Vi's brow, and it evoked a small sigh from the sleeping form, and Caitlyn felt a compulsion - a thirst - to continue.

It began slowly, her fingers floating over the tousled mess of hair before they foraged deeper and ran over Vi's scalp, her fingers entwined with locks of pink.

Was this still platonic? Caitlyn ignored the thought.

It was rare to be awake before Vi. It was just as rare to fall asleep after her. It was a wonder the woman remained so sharp and ready for a fight given the limited amount she slept. Caitlyn was wise enough to know it was linked to Stillwater, but Vi was especially tight-lipped about her past. While they didn't make it a habit of sharing a bed - platonically - the handful of times they had were broken by cries in the night, gasps of sudden alertness, and hands gripping tightly at the blankets.

The first time Caitlyn had attempted to soothe Vi's shaking form only to experience gruff rejection concealing burning embarrassment. The Zaunite quickly shook it off and pretended to roll back to sleep, and that first night Caitlyn believed it. But then it happened again and again and again. After the third time Caitlyn stopped intervening, understanding that the intimacy of the night terrors were too great to be entrusted with her.

Every night since she'd be startled awake but feign sleep once Vi finally bolted awake, catching her breath, and rubbing her eyes of the terrors. She'd lay back down, eyes unblinking and blankly staring at the ceiling until the first rays of sun climbed over the horizon. With that to cling to, Vi would invariably slide out from under the covers and begin her day hours before Caitlyn.

But not this morning. This morning kept Vi behind, eyes closed, breaths coming slow and steady. Perhaps the chill of the mansion had placated her restlessness, and in that she'd found sleep once more. Perhaps weeks of working to exhaustion had finally caught up with her.

Regardless of the reason, it felt like a gift.

The rhythmic playfulness elicited a hum from Vi, curled under the blankets, eyes closed, and hand twitching against Caitlyn's waist. It was the softest, sweetest sound Caitlyn had ever heard, and it only motivated her to continue grazing and skimming and softly pressing against Vi's hair. The sleep woman nuzzled closer, subconsciously drawn to the touch, and Caitlyn found herself infatuated with the contrast of the short prickly section and the wiley tufts. Her fingers continued to navigate, gathering courage and combing, stroking, and massaging Vi's hair.

She got lost in the mesmerizing gestures, imagining a world with mornings spent doing nothing but this; perhaps with less than an arm's length apart. It was in this distracted state that her middle finger slipped over a small trench on Vi's skin. A scowl overtook the soft smile as her finger tracked the length of the indentation. It ran nearly four inches, concealed under the shock of pink hair, but Caitlyn realized as clear as day what it was.

"How did you get this scar?" The words escaped with as much control as her hand moments earlier.

Vi's eyes burst open, and Caitlyn felt a smile curl over her lips, caught crossing the line and, for a moment, enlightened at the thought.

But the smile fell just as quickly with the unexpected retreat of Vi's hand. Instead of questioning, Caitlyn watched, perplexed, as her counterpart shifted and tore off the blankets, rolling to sit at the edge of the mattress. Cool grey eyes scanned the room and landed on her clothes, already freshly laundered and folded by an invisible hand.

"Vi?"

"It's late-"

"It's actually quite early-"

"-and I should go," Vi explained cryptically, slipping behind the folding partition that separated her from Caitlyn's view.

"Go where?" Caitlyn asked, lifting herself upright to stare confusedly at the clothes being draped over the top ledge of the wall.

"Back."

Ambiguous and stubborn and entirely unhelpful. Such was the life of working with the Zaunite.

"But we didn't find anything," Caitlyn replied, reading between the lines and climbing to her feet, cursing silently at the chill lapping against her skin.

"We might have missed something."

"But we're already here. Why don't we check in with Jayce; with the enforcers before we go b-"

"I'm going alone."

"Going-?… I beg your pardon?"

"It's for your own good."

"For my own good?" she parroted back. "And how exactly is this different from any other time we've gone down to the Lanes?"

"I… I don't know."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No, Caitlyn, just… Look, it's for the best, ok?"

"What's for the best? A single-woman operation? That will get us nowhere. You're not making any sense-"

"You've been doing just fine alone topside."

"Hang on. We agreed to be a team about this. I want to get this just as badly as you do."

"Do you? Or do you just want a chance at revenge against Powder?"

The accusation stung. It went too far. It challenged Caitlyn's resolve and sent her heart crumbling.

It also felt entirely unwarranted. Left field was still too close for how unexpected this change in Vi was. Caitlyn scanned her memory for something - anything - that could shed light on the shift. She blinked through the last hours and settled on the most sensitive:

"This has nothing to do with my mother," she replied, her voice unable to hide the tremble of rage. "And I've already told you: my goal isn't just Jinx. It's to stop shimmer and get back the Hex Crystals-

Yes, plural. Because incompetence and chaos had let another four slip out from under the enforcer's watch.

"-why is that so hard for you to believe?"

"Because you topsiders are all the same," Vi answered, rounding back to face Caitlyn. She was dressed in her earlier clothes, the familiar red jacket a stark contrast to the faded colors of her sleeping attire.

But instead of registering any of that, Caitlyn was rendered speechless by the unexplainable regression. These were words that echoed sentiments from weeks ago when they'd first met. It was a boulder that sat between them, but after Jinx's attack, Caitlyn thought they'd found an understanding; she thought Vi saw her differently.

"Vi-I… I don't…"

"Corner cafes with gold-leafed decoration and privilege concealed under layers of candy? Do you have any idea how many mouths the interior of that one cafe could feed if scrapped and bartered in the Lanes? How many lives that could save?"

"I didn't mean-"

"You care about shimmer because it's made its way to the surface, and you care about the Hex Crystal because they killed your mom," Vi said, unlocking the window and flicking it open, "but don't pretend for a second that you care about anyone below the surface."

The words felt like a threat. They also felt like a heartbreak.

"Vi, how can you possibly-"

"Ms. Kiramman?" A knock at the door sent both sets of eyes toward it.

"Uh, what is it?" Caitlyn called, her eyes glancing back at Vi as though afraid any quick movement might make the Zaunite flee faster.

"Councilor Talis is here," the voice continued through the door. "He says it's urgent business."

A breeze sent the sill's snow falling onto the floor.

"Shall I tell him you're unavailable?"

Vi's fingers gripped the freshly cleared sill and climbed onto the opening's ledge.

"Vi," Caitlyn pleaded, her voice quiet and rushed, hands raised defensively, "please, just stay and we'll-"

"Ms. Kiramman?"

"I - just a second," she called. "Vi, Vi, please."

"It's for your own good."

"H-how? How is it-no, stop!"

But Vi didn't, and Caitlyn was left alone, the morning chill cutting through the empty window.

"Ms. Kiramman?"