Vi entered and shut the door behind her. She then leaned her back on it and slid down. Her muscles ached, and as overzealous as she was, even she needed to rest and relax a long day of work. She loved the job, of course she did. She could sock a convict in the face and face little repurcussion because she was doing it for the good of Piltover and all that jazz, but she needed time to herself. Especially to deal with the frustrations of the last few hours.

It was a rarity that Sheriff Caitlyn would actually find time to go out and her own patrolling. Usually she was signing her perfect signature over and over on ink clustered paper, or personally training the new recruits, or keeping her gear in tip top condition, preventing her prized sniper from rusting due to its time out of use. But for once it happened, and hell, she even did her patrol with Vi. Given all she did, the sheriff could definitely use a break, but she insisted on this sort of thing. It was her way to show she wasn't just a boss, that she would do the grunt work too. The thing was, though, that she had nothing to prove, and everyone in the area worried it would stress her out. She seemed to show no sign of cracking yet though, and no one would dare tell her otherwise.

So the two of them set off into the night, first by car, riding out into the outskirts of the city, and their protective establishment, and into the slums. Then they roamed on foot, on a predetermined route. It was an efficient set up, thought of by the head behind the Piltover Police Force herself. On the patrol, Caitlyn took the lead, rifle in tow, and ready. Vi followed, a little behind, a little to the left, and with her hexteched hands behind her head. For the most part, there was little commotion. Plenty of scummy looking bastards, but nothing visibly illegal. You couldn't just nail a guy for looking scummy. Well you could but Vi couldn't anymore, especially not in this company.

During this time though, Vi had plenty of time to admire. Plenty of time to notice how the city lights made the sheriff's skin glow, and how it was a nice image. Or how she gazed at everything, never missing a detail, and compiled it, keeping it in the big picture. How the sheriff could just keep going forward, never once faltering or stumbling. Vi also made note of the hungry gazes from the horndogs as they walked pass. She could see them salivating, and her hands dropped to her side and clenched. On instinct, she sent them angry, overprotective glares.

"Calm yourself, I know you're itching for a fight, but control yourself."
And once again Caitlyn did that thing again. The eyes on the back of her head thing. But (luckily) she had the reasoning wrong.

"Control yourself."

Now that brought back a familiar memory. One where she had once again thrashed a group of crooks, and somehow or another, through a sleazy lawsuit, the Force ended up paying for the hospital builds. Vi remembered a frustrated Caitlyn pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut in agitation. Then, the sheriff spoke in a calm voice,

"Do control yourself in the future." And left it that, though the tone was absent, the shame was unmistakably there.

"Alright." The Deputy thought to herself. "Just this once I'll hold back."
And in the very corner of her mind, in a part she didn't even know existed, a little voice added "For you."

Long story short, the ran into a group of muggers that night, and Vi roughed them up much less than usual. As Caitlyn finished handcuffing them, Vi glanced over, hoping for some sort of approval. Some sign that not being Vi was worth it. She only recieved a small obligatory nod, and like that, she knew her efforts were neither appreciated, or noticed. The rest of the night was eventless, but for once, her gauntlets heavily dragged down her shoulders.

So here she was, sitting on the floor, back against her door. She groaned and finally got up, walking over to a simple couch in front of an oddly lavish desk. She dropped her backpack on it, and dropped herself on the couch. Vi stayed there, simply opting to close her eyes and stare at the blackness of her lids for a few minutes. Eventually, she pulled herself upright and gingerly removed each gauntlet. Unlike the bag, she placed them delicately on the table, palm-side up, and in a way so that they looked perfectly similar. A ritual, to her longest and bestest friends. After that, she rubbed the sore spots on her arms and legs.

Finally she pulled her uniform shirt off, which clung to her by the sweat of the night. Then she peeled off her work pants, and threw both to one side of the couch. Getting up and stretching, she went to open a window. The cold air flooded in, and she breathed it, before getting bored of just standing there. The chill conducted itself on the sweat on her body, and she found herself cold now too. Great.

With a huff of sigh, she dragged her feet over to a faded red punching bag. A few dents decorated the sides, never really inflating itself from her blows. She lazily took up a boxer stance, and swung. The sack flew away and came back, so she knocked it away again. As time went on, her punches became faster, harder, and the bag flew farther and farther. She was starting to warm now, adrenaline kicking in, blood starting to, and she remembered how her day went.

She remembered her effort. Punch. And how it wasn't noticed. Punch. How she had tried. Punch. So damn hard to go against herself. What made her Vi. Punch. And it wasn't even appreciated. So why. Hook. Did. Hook. She. Jab. Even bother? She remembered not having such a stupid feeling. Smash. When the hell did she try to please someone anyway? Smash. And the worst part was, the one time she does, it didn't even matter. The jabs were becoming animalistic. No, maybe the worse part was that she didn't want to impress someone else before. Headbutt. That she used to live for just herself. Smash. That she didn't always feel so disugstingly weak.

This continued, each hit sending the bag farther and farther away, to have it swing back faster, and sent back harder. Then Vi got to picturing the sheriff's goddamn face on the bag, and she goes for the hit that liberates her once and for all-
But it never lands. The hand that was going to land the blow uncurls, and she rubs the back of her calloused knuckles gently on the bag in a tender caress. She remembers how soft the skin on Cait's face looked, and can't bring herself to do it. Her throat hitches, and stomach tightens, and she's still trapped.

Slowly but surely, she unbends her knees, standing tall once again. The cold is creeping up again, and she easily recalls a time when another person didn't have this much impact on her. When she was free to do what she wanted for herself. She misses those days
And then she remembers the sheriff, and she doesn't miss them so much anymore. And that's confusing as hell. So she grits her teeth, because so many things are clashing together, conflicting things, and it doesn't make sense, so everything is just a huge clusterfuck. And she throws herself in bed, and just hopes that tomorrow goes better. That she means something to a certain someone tomorrow.