Chapter Text
The news came to Caitlyn in fragmented pieces, each one more agonizing than the last. It began with hushed whispers in the hallways of the university, colleagues glancing at her with pity in their eyes or darting away when she approached. Caitlyn, ever observant, knew something was wrong before she heard the official word.
Mid-afternoon, the email arrived, sterile and cold, the subject line “Casualties and Injuries Reported” already sending a knot of fear twisting in her stomach. She opened it slowly, every word reading like a blow. “Engagement in sector Bravo. Casualties and injuries reported. Further updates to follow.”
Her fingers shook as she read and reread the lines, the words blurring into a haze. Vi was there. Caitlyn's mind screamed with questions that had no answers. Was Vi alive? Was she injured? She tried to focus, tried to ignore the growing panic clawing at her chest, but each second felt like an eternity, stretching endlessly in the quiet of her office.
The hours following the email passed in a blur. She tried calling military contacts, reaching out to anyone who might have more information, but each call led to more dead ends. There was no news, no details. Her world became consumed by that lack of knowledge, the uncertainty gnawing at her until she could hardly breathe.
By the time night fell, Caitlyn had no idea how many hours had passed. The storm outside had turned violent, rain lashing against the windows of their apartment, the wind howling through the city. She had moved to the living room, where the darkness seemed to match the churning storm inside her. Caitlyn wrapped her arms around herself as she sat on the couch, staring out at the blurred lights of the city, her thoughts consumed by Vi.
She let her mind wander back to memories of Vi: the way she would wake Caitlyn with a soft kiss in the morning, the gentle teasing in her voice when they shared breakfast, the way she would smile at Caitlyn like the whole world had stopped just for them. Those memories felt so far away now, as distant as the stars. Caitlyn closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to the silver pendant she wore around her neck—Vi’s gift, meant to protect her during the long nights when Vi was gone. Now, Caitlyn wished she could send that protection back to Vi, wherever she was.
Then, suddenly, the sharp knock on the door sliced through the silence, making Caitlyn jump to her feet. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat louder than the rain outside. She stumbled toward the door, hands trembling as she gripped the handle, nearly too afraid to open it. But when she did, it wasn’t Vi standing in the doorway.
It was an officer, rain-soaked and stiff, his face betraying nothing. His expression was the kind that Caitlyn had seen before, one honed by delivering difficult news, one that spoke of the weight of the words he was about to say.
“Miss Kirraman?” he asked, voice formal, soft but heavy with the knowledge of what was coming.
“Yes,” Caitlyn whispered, barely able to hold onto the edge of the door. She felt as if her whole world were about to shatter.
“I have an update regarding Sergeant Violet,” the officer continued, his eyes darting over her for a moment, a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—before he spoke again. “May I come in?”
The officer’s presence filled the small hallway with a heaviness that Caitlyn couldn’t shake. She nodded, stepping aside to let him in, but the chill that followed him into the apartment felt colder than the rain outside. Her heart pounded harder, its rhythm jagged, as she ushered him in and watched him stand, still and at attention, just inside the door.
“I’m here to inform you that Sergeant Violet was injured during the engagement in sector Bravo,” the officer began, his words steady but heavy. “She’s alive. The injuries are serious, but not life-threatening.”
Caitlyn’s hand flew to her mouth, her breath catching as her knees buckled beneath her. She reached out to steady herself on the arm of the chair, her pulse roaring in her ears as the officer’s words reverberated in her mind. Vi was alive. The relief hit her like a wave, but it was quickly followed by a hollow ache in her chest, the anxiety that had gripped her for hours still lingering like a shadow she couldn’t shake.
“She’s been transported to a military hospital near the field” the officer continued, his voice softer now, but still detached. “Due to the nature of the mission, communication has been restricted. Updates will be provided as soon as they are available.”
Caitlyn’s mind raced, trying to grasp the meaning behind the words. “Can I—can I see her? Can I talk to her?” Her voice trembled, barely a whisper, and she saw the officer’s expression soften just a fraction, the humanity breaking through the professionalism.
“There are protocols,” he said gently. “Once she’s stable enough, arrangements for communication may be made. But for now, I can assure you she is receiving the best care available.”
His words felt like a salve on her raw emotions, but also an empty promise. She nodded mutely, unable to form more words, her throat tight with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she managed, the gratitude mingling with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.
The officer gave a sharp nod, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before he turned toward the door. He hesitated there for a brief second, as if he wanted to say more, but he stepped back into the storm and vanished into the night. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Caitlyn standing alone in the silence of their apartment.
She didn’t even realize how much time had passed. The rain continued to drum against the window, filling the room with its relentless sound. Caitlyn sank back into the chair, her fingers still clutched around her phone. She could hear the distant hum of the city, life moving on as it always did, but it all felt so distant now.
Her thoughts tumbled over each other. Vi, alive. Vi, injured. How bad was it? Would she be able to hear from her soon? The officer had promised updates, but how long would that take?
Caitlyn closed her eyes and tried to find a moment of calm, but her mind kept racing, the uncertainty still thick in the air. Her fingers found the pendant again, the cool metal a small comfort as she traced it, imagining Vi’s steady hand brushing against hers.
The storm outside continued to rage, mirroring the turmoil inside her. Eventually, exhaustion crept in, and she let herself collapse onto the couch, hoping that sleep would bring some reprieve from the endless worry. But even as she closed her eyes,
the echo of Vi’s last promise played over and over in her mind: I’ll come back to you.
On the other side...
Vi's first moments back in the waking world were an agonizing blend of searing pain and disorientation. The stark, blinding white of the hospital ceiling stared down at her, unforgiving and sterile. A heart monitor beeped steadily at her side, the rhythm echoing her ragged pulse. Each breath pulled fire through her ribs, the pain sharp and insistent, throbbing down her side and into the deepest parts of her. She was alive. The realization washed over her in fragments, each more profound than the last, as her senses crept back into focus.
The memories surged—flashes of the ambush, the cacophony of shouted orders, the crackling heat of the explosion that had thrown her like a rag doll into the unforgiving terrain. The adrenaline, the panic, the sudden void when the world went dark. Now, consciousness returned with the weight of every fracture, every torn muscle and seared nerve ending, reminding her just how close she had come to not waking up at all.
“Welcome back, Sergeant,” came a voice to her left, rich with warmth and calm. Vi’s head turned slowly, the motion stiff and pulling at the stitches that held her side together. A nurse stood there, middle-aged and steady-eyed, her presence radiating practiced compassion. “Don’t try to move too much just yet. You’ve been through quite the ordeal.”
Vi’s attempt to respond died in her throat, the muscles there dry and tight, as if unused for weeks. A groan slipped past her cracked lips instead, eyes squeezing shut against the sharpness that needled through her body. The nurse nodded knowingly, sympathy etched in the lines of her face.
“It’s alright,” she said, gently touching Vi’s arm to keep her grounded. “Rest now. You’re in a military hospital near the field where you were found. We’ll be sending word soon to notify your contacts that you’re stable. You were lucky, you know. Very lucky.”
Those words cut deeper than any of the physical wounds could. The nurse spoke with the calm finality of someone used to telling patients what they’d narrowly escaped, but to Vi, it was a stark reminder of the thin line between life and death she had walked. Caitlyn would be waiting, watching for a sign that Vi was alive. The thought brought a different kind of pain, a tender, gnawing guilt that clawed at her chest.
Hours bled into days, and days into weeks, stitched together by the routines of the hospital and the sharp scent of antiseptics. Each day, Vi battled through physical therapy sessions that pushed her to the brink. The jagged line of stitches down her side burned as she worked to regain her strength, each movement a battle against scarred muscle and bone knitting itself back together. Metal crutches became a lifeline as she relearned how to walk, muscles trembling beneath the strain.
The staff were efficient, if distant. This was a war zone, after all, and they had little time to coddle anyone, even a sergeant with her history. Vi swallowed her frustration, forcing herself to embrace the pain as a means to an end. Every halting step forward was a step closer to Caitlyn.
But communication in the war-torn region was scarce and tightly controlled. Direct calls or messages were impossible, and the isolation gnawed at Vi’s sanity. Still, once every few months, a secure military channel would relay news of her condition to Caitlyn, short and impersonal updates written by someone with no ties to either of them. Vi imagined how those few sentences might reach Caitlyn, how she’d read them over and over, searching for any trace of reassurance.
Caitlyn, on her end, lived for those updates. The university hallways blurred into insignificance compared to the raw need for news of Vi. When an officer appeared at her office door with a file in hand and a knowing look, her heart would leap and stall at the same time. She’d take the report with shaking hands, the words on the page barely enough to keep her grounded but enough to keep hope alive: Sergeant Violet. Stable condition. Ongoing recovery. Shows signs of improvement.
Vi’s recovery was slow, marked by small victories—lifting herself unaided from the bed, taking her first unaided steps down the sterile corridor. Each achievement came with a cost, pain that left her breathless and drenched in sweat, but she pushed through it, fueled by the image of Caitlyn’s eyes filled with both worry and warmth. The pain was bearable if it meant one step closer to seeing her again.
Letters from Vi were impossible, so she took to sending her own silent messages in each moment of progress. She imagined Caitlyn receiving them like invisible threads of connection, felt in the thrum of a heartbeat or a quiet moment looking out into the rain.
Months passed like that, marked by the rhythmic pulse of recovery and the long silences between brief updates. Vi clung to memories—the way Caitlyn laughed, the mornings spent in whispered conversations and shared warmth. Each memory was a promise, a reason to move beyond the pain, to push through the days of doubt and exhaustion.
In those hours when sleep was elusive and pain a constant companion, Vi would close her eyes and imagine Caitlyn’s voice, clear and strong, guiding her through the dark. It became her mantra, her anchor as she fought her way back to the life waiting for her beyond the sterile walls of recovery.
1 year later...
The city was drenched in rain, the downpour unrelenting as it lashed against the rooftops and trickled down the streets in steady, rhythmic streams. The night was heavy with the sound of it, a constant drumming that echoed through the alleys and along the broad avenues, weaving through the quiet of the midnight hour. Shadows stretched long, dark, and ominous, dancing in the flickering neon light from the closed shops and rain-slicked signs, painting the city in strokes of melancholy and mystery.
Inside their apartment, Caitlyn sat by the window, her back to the warmth of the room as she stared out into the storm. She wrapped her fingers around a steaming cup of tea, its warmth a feeble comfort against the coldness that had settled deep in her bones. It had been a year—a year since Vi had kissed her goodbye and walked into the unknown, a year since Caitlyn had stoodin the hallway, watching her lover disappeared. A year of unanswered questions, of reports that had come too late or too vague, of the gnawing worry that had become a constant companion. The ache in her heart never quite dulled, though she tried, in vain, to push it aside with each passing day.
But today, word had come that Vi was finally on her way home.
A set of headlights cut through the gloom outside, reflecting off the slick pavement and momentarily blinding her eyes. Caitlyn’s pulse spiked, her heart thudding loudly in her chest as she set the mug down hastily, the tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Her legs moved of their own accord before she could stop them, carrying her to the window where she pressed her palm to the cool glass, breath fogging up the surface as she tried to make out the figure stepping from the vehicle. The world outside seemed to blur, her focus narrowing to that one shape—tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakable, even beneath the hood and leaning heavily on a cane.
Vi.
Every single tension Caitlyn had been carrying for an entire year snapped in an instant, the weight of it lifting off her chest as if a breath she'd been holding forever was finally released. The storm outside seemed to fade, the rain now nothing but a distant whisper in the back of her mind. Her heart surged in her chest, thumping violently as
she turned, the door already swinging open before her mind could fully comprehend what was happening.
The wind rushed in with a gust of cold, rain-scented air, but Caitlyn didn’t feel it. All she could feel was the electricity between them—the magnetic pull of Vi standing there, more real than she had ever dared to hope for, every inch of Caitlyn’s being yearning for the woman she loved.
Vi, startled but softening, looked up through the rain, her lips curling into a weary but genuine grin, her hair darker and longer than Caitlyn remembered, the strands matted against her damp face. Despite the pain and exhaustion that clung to her, despite the physical toll of the year-long absence, Vi’s eyes softened the moment they locked with Caitlyn’s. She took a step forward, her uninjured side leaning into the cane, the other leg still shaky, betraying the toll the journey had taken.
Without a second thought, Caitlyn crossed the threshold, her feet light as they carried her straight into Vi’s arms, her heart swelling with relief and love that felt too big to contain. Vi’s arms wrapped around her, strong and comforting, and Caitlyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding for months. She was finally home. Vi was finally home.
The rain soaked them both in an instant, but neither of them cared. Caitlyn’s head nestled into the crook of Vi’s neck, breathing in the scent of her, of the familiar earthiness that always made Caitlyn feel like she was home too. There was a gentle tremor in Vi’s body, but it wasn’t just from the cold. It was from the unspoken emotion that rushed between them, a torrent more powerful than the storm outside. Vi’s voice, hoarse but full of that endearing tenderness Caitlyn had missed so much, whispered in her ear, “Hey, cupcake.”
The nickname, always a playful, teasing comfort, now sounded like a declaration, a promise kept after too long a wait. Caitlyn’s throat constricted, the warmth of her tears mingling with the raindrops that streaked her face. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, trembling despite her efforts to steady it. The words, raw and vulnerable, spilled from her before she could stop them. She didn’t care. All she cared about was this moment. Vi. Home. Safe.
Vi’s arms tightened around Caitlyn, the pressure gentle but insistent, as if Vi herself was trying to hold the broken pieces of Caitlyn’s heart back together. “Never,” she promised, her voice low and laden with so many unspoken things. There was so much Caitlyn wanted to say in return, but the words tangled in her throat, lost to the overwhelming surge of emotion that flooded through her.
They stood like that for long moments, letting the rain fall around them, neither of them in any hurry to break the moment. Vi’s hand cradled the back of Caitlyn’s head as if to ensure she would never have to let go, as if to shield her from everything that had kept them apart. Caitlyn’s arms, impossibly, tightened around Vi even more, as though she were trying to pull her into her very soul, to make up for every second they had lost.
Finally, Caitlyn pulled back just enough to look up into Vi’s face, her heart swelling with a joy that she hadn’t realized was still possible. Vi’s features were drawn with exhaustion, and there was a jagged scar crossing her brow—yet even through the weariness and pain, Caitlyn saw her. The Vi she knew, the Vi who had never once given up, the Vi who had always found her way home, no matter the cost.
“You’re really here,” Caitlyn breathed, the words soft but so full of meaning that they seemed to hang in the air, like a question and an answer all at once.
Vi’s smile, though faint, was everything Caitlyn had longed for. It was a shadow of her old grin, full of defiance and wit, but laced with something deeper. “I’m really here,” she echoed, her voice cracking, like the weight of the entire year had finally settled into her bones.
Her gaze softened further, and she gave a weak but genuine chuckle. “Now, are you going to let me in, or are we going to stand out here and turn into icicles?”
Caitlyn laughed—more of a sob than a laugh, the kind that came with the release of pent-up emotions. She pulled Vi’s hand, her fingers trembling as they entwined with Vi’s, and led her inside. The warmth of their apartment enveloped them both like a blanket, an unspoken promise of safety and home. Caitlyn closed the door behind them, and the moment they stepped into the warmth of the room, the world outside—the rain, the cold, the years of separation—seemed to fall away.
Vi limped slightly, leaning on her cane, but Caitlyn wasn’t about to let go of her hand. Not this time. She led her to the couch, helping Vi settle down, her eyes never leaving the woman who had been her everything for so long.
“I’m not letting go,” Caitlyn whispered, her voice almost reverent, as if speaking the words out loud would cement the moment forever.
Vi’s eyes softened as she looked at Caitlyn, her hand resting gently on her lap. The weariness in her gaze was replaced by something Caitlyn had missed: tenderness. “I know,” she murmured, squeezing Caitlyn’s hand. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
The storm raged outside, but in that moment, nothing could touch them. They were home. Together.
