The Worst

A/N: This one-shot is heavily influenced by the poem of Sarah Kay, "The Worst Poetry". Standard disclaimers apply. (None of the characters and locations mentioned are mine, all of them belonging to Riot Inc.)

I rated this "M" because Vi, much like Katarina and Jinx, is impossible to write without "sentence modifiers". Curse words.

Nope. No smut or lemon. I'm sorry.

Vi x Cait so this implies Girl x Girl, shoujo-ai or lesbian fanfiction. I warned you. Leave if you must.

Last, this is told from Vi's Point of View. So you, as a reader, will not be confused.

The Piltover streets were bustling with the sounds of the metropolitan, screaming with pedestrian steps and echoes of the automobiles that pass in and out of the city, each person defined by their own little business, each person tied to the seconds ticking away on their little pocket watches.

There's always that stillness in the noise in the City of Progress that makes it feel like everyone and everything seemed so technologically advance and utterly important. The clink-clanking of robotics and the chiming of the bells, all built from scraps of metal and the time and blood of the citizens, working on some fancy mechanics to be able to improve the quality of lives all over Valoran.

All of this for productivity, for honor, for progress.

Or in my case, for fun.

Technological advancements are a part of any Piltover-ian and I count myself as one of them. I've built my gauntlets out of ingenuity. They became a part of who I am. It's gotten me out of many sticky situations and it has become that watch a naked wrist just can't live without. It's become a part of my identity so much that I become an entirely different creature when I step out into the world without these babies on my hands. I'm known for my masterpiece gauntlets like Jayce with his hammer; like Kog Maw with his appetite; like Morgana with her ever growing hatred for sister Kayle.

I've been offered the position of Piltover Enforcer by Sheriff Caitlyn herself. Although the world saw me as nothing greater than a petty thief, she looked at me with sparkle in her eyes, much like when picking the perfect puppy to take home from a pet store, and offered a position to work alongside her to uphold the peace and order and keep crime to a minimum in this city of advancement.

Her exact words to me were, "Beat law breakers up and show them that you shouldn't be messed with."

Of course I took the job. I get to smash peoples face for free and I won't have the burden of the sheriff chasing me all over the place.

But right now my gauntlets were placed at the side of my table as I begrudgingly look at the stack of papers in front of me like Baron Nashor about to devour me.

I sighed as I clenched my jaw and throw my fist down on the table. I should be out on the streets chasing that rocket launcher trouble maker for fucks sake! I should be the one tailing that psycho of a brat. And yet here I am, turning the page re-reading this report due by the end of the day. As if the report was anything more important than pummeling the life out of that blue-haired, red-eyed asylum freak.

Hours earlier, someone called in that Jinx was causing trouble in District 3 and was blowing up the whole sector for who the fuck knows why. Excited as I was to get out of that crummy space we called an office; I was first to the door. Cait put her hand on my shoulder, and as I turned my head to face her, she shook her head and gave an apologetic look.

"Stay." She said and pointed at the pile of papers at my desk. I argued with her. I even said words I wish I could've taken back. But her eyes were stern and her voice was just as heavy. She would not let me out the door.

"These reports need to be reviewed and filed. Finish all of them by today. I want these at my desk exactly when I return."

I whimpered and threw a fit. I took my gauntlets off hastily and sat on my desk, my eyes still filled with the anger that stemmed from the denial of my participation in that mission.

With that she threw me a reassuring smirk and a wink. Swiftly, she flipped both her top hat on her head and her sniper on her back. "Don't worry love, I'll get her for you," were her parting words as she stepped out the door.

Cait doesn't understand the danger and the damage those bullets make. She is a brilliant mind and a skilled shot but her specialties lies in covert or unsuspected strategies. She will not be able to take all of those blasting ammunitions without someone there to block it from her. She isn't built to go in there and chase someone with that freak shows speed and dexterity. She will not be able to apprehend any one without someone there to beat up and lock the target down.

I slam my fist on the table. Why do I allow her [Cait] to dictate what I'm supposed to be doing right now? That little bitch [Jinx] deserves a huge smack on the face from my gauntlets twice!

I turn the page of the report, almost ripping it into two. I noticed that this particular page was pertaining to the event that happened a few months back when that brat appeared. I let out a deep sigh. I despise that particular day.

Although there were many numbers printed on paper, it all reminded me of the yelling and bellowing Cait received from the higher administration. I was there to hear the whole shouting session as Cait accepted each and every demeaning declaration thrown at her. She faced each and every one of those damnations with a straight face and an unmoving stance like stones being thrown onto a brick wall. She took everything in like it was her fault; like it was her decision to smack the whole treasury down, to whittle Piltover's financial core into a pile of rubble and gravel.

But it was me.

Before I accepted this role, I was the one who fended for myself. I was the one who was called an idiot, a moron, an imbecile, a menace and of course the unnerving goddamn immature, thoughtless piece of shit. And I didn't care because I knew it was my fault. I was brash, irrational, irresponsible and aggressive. I don't do well being protected. I know exactly what my actions entailed and I know I could handle each and every consequence of that.

The amount of damages incurred during that time was more than I could afford. And gossip from the office is that Cait is currently working on half of her salary that she is receiving to compensate for the damages that I made.

This just added fuel to the fire that was ignited by blind decisions and redundant, extraneous concern.

Why does she have to fucking protect me all the time? Why does she have to take care of me when I can take care of myself? Why does she always have to step in to every stupid decision or action that I make?

Why doesn't she hate me?

Why do I allow her to fucking protect me all the time? Why do I have to think about her when she can very well take care of herself? Why do I even care about her opinions on the decisions I make?

What happened to the cool, brash, irrational, irresponsible, aggressive, awesome Vi? The fun Vi?

I looked at the time and its way past work hours. I placed the last piece of paper onto the pile of already reviewed reports. I couldn't believe I actually finished this pile of unwanted crap in one sitting.

The explosions seemed to quiet down. The sirens and the shots already died in the last few hours. The mission was probably over.

Cupcake possibly went straight home. Jinx was not an easy person to deal with.

I grab my gauntlets and put them on. I closed the office.

As I open the door to my loft, the smell of freshly baked biscuits filled my nostrils. The steam from the teapot hinted that tea was to be served along with it.

My heart skips a beat. I thought she went straight home to her place.

I take my gauntlets off, placing them beside the shelf rack where in Cait's top hat and sniper were neatly stowed away.

She comes to me and puts her arms around my neck. "Welcome home," she giggles and pecks me on the lips.

My knees turn to jelly. My eyes start to seem hazy and all I see is her. Butterflies start to fly rampantly in my stomach. I could feel electricity surging through my veins, spreading heat across my cheeks, my neck and other parts not safe to mention publicly.

All that rage, all that anger, all those chaotic feelings washed away at the sight of her endearing gaze, at the touch of her silk skin, at the sound of her melodic voice.

She is the worst thing that has happened to who I am.

I put my arms around her and hug her tight. I take in the smell of Rosewater from her brown locks, entangling my fingers on the tips of her waist long hair. "I'm happy you're here. I'm sorry," I mumble in her ear as I tighten my grip on her, keeping her close to me as our hearts beat in unison.

But she's the best thing that has ever happened to me.

A/N: Constructive Criticism much appreciated.