A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first League of Legends fanfic. It's just a small one-shot for now and focused on the relationship between Garen and Katarina. Also, the story is set in the old lore, when the institute of war was still canon. Since Riot hasn't developed much about the characters within the new lore, I felt more comfortable using the old one. I hope you will like it!

Faint sounds coming from the balcony made Garen's sense on alert, the light yet distinct thud of boots on the stone floor. The institute of war was neutral ground and any attempt at breaking those rules were severely punished, but that didn't mean none would try.

Silently, not wanting to alert his intruder that he was aware of his presence, the Might of Demacia closed the book he was reading and reached for his sword. Feeling the comfortable weight of the weapon in his hands he walked to the doors of the balcony. Whoever was trying to sneak into his room at the institute in the middle of the night surely wasn't coming for small talks.

With one swift movement, Garen opened the door, grabbed the silhouette that was picking the lock and pulled it inside roughly, throwing it on the floor. The Demacian was already threatening the intruder's throat with the tip of his sword when, his eyes landing on the figure laying prone before him, he realized just whom had tried to sneak in.

"Katarina?" His eyes widened in surprise and he withdrew his sword, just a little. "What are you on about, trying to kill me?"

"Not this time, Crownguard." The red-headed assassin sneered. "You know I would at least grant you the pleasure of a fair fight if that was the case. And I am not half as injured as I need for it to be the case." She joked coldly, propping herself up on her elbows, her vivid green eyes intent on him.

At her words Garen quickly scanned her from head to toe and noticing the bloody and makeshift bandage that was covering a good portion of her left thigh, he sheathed his sword.

"What happened?" His brows furrowed with concern, he knelt beside Katarina and untied the blood soaked bandage revealing a nasty and jagged cut. Whatever caused the wound had cut through the thick fabric of her pants and caused a lot of muscle damage. That she was still capable of sneaking onto his balcony almost unnoticed with such a wound was a testament to the woman's skills and resolve.

"I was investigating the Black Rose and things got ugly. I managed to escape before they could figure out it was me, but not without a souvenir."

"Damn it Kat, you know how dangerous this is?"

Fully aware that danger was something the Noxian assassin knowingly ignored whenever she felt like it, and that she would simply rolled her eyes at his question, Garen did not wait for her answer and picked her up in his arms.

"Well someone has to continue the investigation! They are linked to my father's disappearance… And what do you think you're doing?" She shot him a questioning look, eyebrow raised.

Without having to put much effort into it, Garen lifted Katarina off the floor and carried her towards his bed.

"Helping you to take care of that wound. That's why you came here is it not?" He responded with a chuckle as he laid her down onto the covers and went to the bathroom to pick up what he needed to tend to her. Hopefully he always kept a med kit and the magical and technological tools available at the institute would allow Katarina to be fully healed in no time.

"You're smarter than you look." She said with a clear hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Garen choose to ignore the insult. He knew all too well she was doing it in the sole purpose of annoying him. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of getting under his skin so easily. Silent, he came back in the room and placed the med kit on the nightstand.

"I have nothing to kill the pain so I am afraid it's going to hurt while I stitch the wound."

"Its fine, I've seen worse anyway. Just do it."

With careful gestures, Garen removed the bandage completely. It was bad, but nothing a seasoned warrior and military leader like him hadn't seen before.

"All right. We need to remove your clothes so I can dress the wound properly."

A simple and logic conclusion that wouldn't have let any room for innuendos… in normal circumstances. But having the leader of the Demacian Dauntless Vanguard tending to the wounds of one of Noxus' most famous assassin was hardly a normal circumstance. His gaze drifted towards her face and as their eyes locked, the room was suddenly filled with a palpable tension.

"Sure. It's not like you never saw me naked anyway."

Her tone was her usual mix of coldness and sarcasm, yet it lacked her usual sharp and cutting edge. Katarina held his gaze, her insides knotting underneath the inquisitiveness of Garen's icy blue eyes. Finally, he looked away and sat at the foot of the bed to help remove her boots, and Katarina let go off a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She shrugged off her jacket, her torso now only clad in a black leather top that left her midriff bare, removed her belts of throwing knives and untied the lace of her pants just as Garen had finished with her boots. Avoiding meeting her gaze for too long, he helped her remove the fitting cloth, mindful of not touching her wound.

Gathering the healing tools, he sat closer to her and focused on the task at hand while Katarina lay back against the pillows. Her gaze hovering over him for a moment, tracing the strong line of his jaw, roaming over his broad shoulders or looking at some rebel locks of his brown hair. The jolt of pain caused by the magical device used to knit her flesh together drew her out of her reverie and she bit her lips to stifle her groans. She dug her fingers into the covers, and beads of sweat gathered on her temple as the pain grew stronger. Finally, after excruciatingly long seconds Garen was done and she released a sharp and loud breath.

"You're all right?"

She probably would dismiss his concern even if she wasn't fine but that didn't prevent Garen from asking. He rested his hand on her knee and found it was a positive sign when she didn't recoil from his touch.

"Yeah. All good."

"Well, healing ointment, fresh bandage and you'll be good to go." Garen said as he began to apply the balm on the reddened skin of her thigh.

"Actually…"

The hint of uneasiness in Katarina's voice made him snap his attention back to her. It wasn't often the red-head assassin was threading carefully with her words.

"Yes?"

"I was thinking about overstaying my welcome. I can't go into the part of the institute reserved to noxian quarters, not without risking being seen and since we don't know who in Noxus might be affiliated with the Black Rose…"

"You can't risk them seeing you wounded and realize it was you who sneaked into one of their lair."

"Precisely."

"Well…Off course you can stay."

It didn't take Garen much time to agree to let her stay with him. Though he tried to convince himself he was doing it because her investigation of the Black Rose was also serving Demacia's interests, deep inside he had to admit the prospect of having her with him was rather pleasant.

"Well, let's finish patching you up." He said, filling the silence, fully aware that the tension between them hadn't dissipated.

His fingers, calloused by years spent wielding a sword, stroked the soft skin of her thigh as he applied the healing balm, and he tried, really hard, not to let his eyes wander over her enticing curves or to think about her state of undress. His hands lingered just a while longer than necessary on her leg, pretending the balm wasn't applied correctly just yet. As Garen reached for the clean bandage, their eyes met and she flashed him that wicked half smirk of hers that he had come to know so well. It made his blood boil, his heart beat faster and he remembered why, of every woman, she, who had been his enemy, was the one who had carved a way to his heart. She made him feel alive.

She had made him feel more alive than anything else since the first time they met, the first time they clashed blades. Garen could remember that combat as if it happened yesterday. He remembered how the rest of the battlefield had receded to the background until all that was left was her and their deadly dance of steel meeting steel as they both fought with one and one impulse only: kill.

A deed none of them had achieved. Not that day and not ever. Yet they would seek each other in battles, eager to repeat that same dance, driven by the need to test each other's limits and to feel the shivers only brought by a real challenge. And for Garen, the fact that he found his match in battle in the form of beautiful woman only added to the thrill.

He remembered when Noxus and Demacia were still at war, the rumors sparked by his soldier about the nature of the relationship between him, the Might of Demacia, and Katarina, the Sinister Blade of Noxus. At that time Garen had simply dismissed them with a shrug of his shoulders or complete disinterest. They couldn't understand why he wanted to fight her, couldn't understand how finding a true opponent on the battlefield gave him purpose.

But that was before. Before the league, before the fledgling peace treaty, before events of the world made him cross paths with her for other reasons than battle and allowed him to know the woman behind the assassin. And that part of her that he was still discovering also made him feel alive. And it wasn't just about her beauty. Sure she would make heads turn, with her long blood red hair, her emerald eyes, with the way she carried herself with pride and confidence or her curves highlighted by her fitting outfits. Even the scar cutting across her left eye couldn't diminish how enticing she was and added to the sharp and dangerous edge she exuded.

And yes, all of that had captured the Demacian's gaze, but not his heart. No, his heart she won when he saw her devotion to the ideals of her country, not so unlike those of Demacia despite the two city's rivalry, her uttermost loyalty to her family and to the people she cared about, the risks she would take to protect them, her passion only tamed by duty and experience, her somewhat dark and sarcastic sense of humor. Those where the things that had stirred Garen's feelings.

"There, it's done." He announced as he finished tying the fresh bandage around Katarina's thigh, pushing his dwelling thoughts aside.

Katarina sat up straighter and was grateful to realize that the shooting pain that had accompanied each of her movement was replaced by a strong but bearable stiffness.

"Thanks" She said as she was testing what flexibility she had left in this state.

"Rest now, you still need to recover." Garen ordered in his deep and low voice as he stood up from the bed.

"You need it too." She countered, not willing to let him order her about without opposing at least some kind of resistance, even if he was right.

"I am not convinced that sleeping in the same room as an assassin qualifies as rest."

Garen crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips when he found himself on the receiving end of Katarina's famous, or infamous, scowl.

"I already told you, Crownguard, I am not here because I want you to die at this moment."

"Oh so you do want me to die, but later?"

And as his face displayed a smug expression, Katarina rose up on her knees and punched him in the arm, hard enough for the tall and strong soldier to feel the blow.

"Must you twist my words?" She asked with a pointed stare.

"No. But you have to admit that it's working." His smug grin only grew wider and he took a rare pleasure in, for once, being the one to get on her nerves.

"I hate you, you're insufferable."

She tried to punch him in the arm again but Garen reacted and caught her wrist in his much larger hand. Their eyes locked once more and the small space between them became filled with electricity. Refusing to yield underneath his stare, Katarina held it without flinching, yet she couldn't help the frantic beat of her heart, nor the heat that she felt rising to her cheeks.

Garen's smirk vanished, replaced by a more serious expression. Trying, perhaps, to hide the conflicted emotions and uncertainty Katarina elicited in him.

"I hate you too."

His voice was but a hoarse whisper and the fire burning in his usually cold blue eyes betrayed just how his words were meant to disguise those he dared not speak.

Then, as if they both were tired of waiting, his free hand came to rest on her hip just as Katarina grabbed his shirt and pulled him down in a bruising kiss. Whatever restraint they were trying to keep vanished the moment their lips touched. Garen wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him and Katarina gripped his shoulder, one hand at the back of his neck delving into his hair. Their kiss deepened, lips parted and tongues stroked and teased while teeth nipped playfully.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Garen managing somehow to brace himself on his forearm and not crush Katarina's slender body with his larger one. Her hands found their way underneath his shirt and he shivered underneath her touch, deft fingers as skilled as throwing knives as they were at tracing tantalizing patterns on his abdomen. His mouth left a hot trail of kisses along her neck and bit softly at the juncture with her shoulder. Katarina arched her back in response and Garen took advantage of it to slid one hand behind her and untie the clasps of her leather garment.

"I thought you said I should rest." She whispered in his ear with a sultry voice as the clothing came off and he tossed it on the floor, leaving her only covered in her underwear.

"Do you wish me to stop?" He asked, his mouth trailing along the column of her throat and down to the valley of her breasts.

"No. Just pointing how hard your resolve is."

Katarina rolled her hips against his, earning a low growl in response to her open teasing. Garen propped himself up, just enough to be looking down at her, his hands on either side of her face, towering over her with his broad frame.

"I said I would take care of you, and you know I am a man of my words."

Compared to the ties they shared in battle, their intimate relation was a fledgling one, but there was no mistaking the intensity in Garen's gaze, for something other than raw and powerful desire. Still, with an infinitely gentle touch, he brought his hand to her face, his thumb tracing the line of her scar, beginning on her forehead and ending on her cheek. She didn't flinched, even welcomed the feeling of his fingers worshipping this flaw in her pristine beauty. And how ironic was it that this scar she earned trying to right her biggest mistake, a reminder that she should never let passion come before duty, had the attention of a man whom she should fight, not lay nearly naked in his arms. Still, she was there and despite how wrong it was supposed to be, despite the rules that should keep them apart, this felt right.

She smiled a bit wickedly at Garen. Now wasn't the time to fret about what would happen should someone find out about their relationship. She could have walked away from him a while ago, before they started whatever it was they now had, she choose not to, and Katarina was a woman of few regrets.

"When you say it like that, you almost make me like that demacian righteousness of yours."

She was teasing him, gesture going hand in hand with her words as her hands were now trailing down his chest, nails grazing his skin just enough to make him shiver again.

"And here I thought you already liked my demacian righteousness"

"Oh is that how you call it? Now I understand why you shout "Demacia" so much on the battlefield."

Garen rolled his eyes at her not very subtle innuendo.

"Who's twisting my words and also being insufferable now." He said, getting revenge by leaving another trail of kisses on her chest, inching closer and closer to her breasts, eliciting that moan from her which he desperately wanted to hear.

"Still you! By having way too much clothes on." She said between heavy breaths.

"Fair point."

They shared a conniving smile and quickly discarded whatever clothes they still had on. They fell back onto the covers, mouth searching for places to kiss and hands eager. Eager to draw sounds from their partner, moans and soft pleadings alike, making breaths shallower and hearts beat faster.

Garen's mouth sealed a particularly loud cry he elicited from Katarina by kissing her. He liked hearing her, her whimpers or the way his name would fall from her lips. He took pride in being the one able to give her such pleasure.

She was already panting heavily from his ministrations when he stopped for a while, allowing her time to catch her breath, and he propped himself up on his hands to look at her, capturing as many details as he could, the flush of her cheeks, her blood-red hair spilled on the pillows or how the emerald of her eyes was almost swallowed by a black pool of desire.

The few times they had been intimate before were more physical. They both fought for dominance, somehow repeating the only way they perfectly knew how to interact with each other: on a battlefield. But this time it was different. Was it because her visit was so unexpected, for them both? Was it the tiredness from her long trip - while wounded - from Noxus to the institute? Or was it something else entirely. Was it because for the first time it was about giving something to the other rather than taking it? Accepting to let go their need to control everything, even if for a short while? Because it was about her showing him that she trusted him enough to let her guard down, him showing her that he cared deeply about her?

Garen took Katarina's hand in his and laced their fingers together, his forearm resting on the side of her head. And as he leaned in to kiss her, they sank into each other and into blissful abandon.

Much later that night they lay wrapped into each other's arms, their desires sated and their body heavy with sleepiness. Nestled against Garen's side, her arm draped over his chest, Katarina couldn't help but think about the irony of their situation. There she was, in the arms of her Demacian lover and hiding from her own people because somehow, in this mess of a political situation they were in and with her father's disappearance, he was the only one she could trust.

"I can hear you thinking, Kat."

Garen's low and deep voice stirred her away from a trail of thoughts that was slowly leading to dark places.

"What's wrong?" He asked before laying a kiss on her temple. It wasn't in his nature to openly show signs of affection or have tender gestures, the after sex haze apparently brought out this side of him, usually well hidden beneath years of harsh military life.

"This..." She admitted with a sigh, her conflicted emotions making her voice sound uneasy.

"Care to explain a little more?"

Garen shifted and lay on his side to look Katarina in the eyes, his arm sliding around her waist. He felt he already knew what was on the assassin's mind but when he saw the storm in her vivid green eyes, he was sure of it.

"Being with you like this, it's wrong! For you and me both, and for so many reasons. And I can't understand why it feels so…"

"Right…"

They said that last word at the same time, and for a moment they remained silent, eyes locked on each other, weighing the admission that came with this simple word. And they accepted it, accepted that how badly people would judge their relationship, to them it was right. Garen closed his arms around Katarina and she surrendered to his embrace. And as she nuzzled his neck and snuggled as close as she could to his warmth, she whispered softly:

"I hate you."

The Demacian smiled at the words of his Noxian lover, his heart missing a beat at their hidden meaning. He cradled her in his arms, tucked her head underneath his chin and whispered tenderly:

"I hate you too."