I Argued With My Enforcer Partner, So She Shut Me Up With A Kiss

The briefing room in the Enforcer headquarters was sterile, all polished steel and cold light that reflected off the city crest behind Caitlyn’s head. She stood at the lectern, the crisp new fabric of her Sheriff’s uniform feeling both foreign and uncomfortably stiff. Before her, a dozen of Piltover’s finest stood in neat, attentive rows. All except one.

Vi was slouched against the far wall, arms crossed over her chest, the worn red leather of her jacket a slash of rebellion in the otherwise uniform blue. Her knuckles, scarred and prominent, were flexed. She hadn’t said a word, but her posture was an open act of defiance. Caitlyn’s eyes snagged on her for a fraction of a second too long before she forced her gaze back to the tactical map projected on the screen.

“The intelligence suggests the smuggling ring is using a new, highly volatile chem-tech compound,” Caitlyn stated, her voice even and clear, projecting an authority she fought to feel. “Our initial approach will be one of surveillance. We’ll establish watch points on warehouses C and D at the southern docks. We gather data, we identify the key players, and we build a case. We do not engage.”

A short, derisive sound cut through the room. A scoff. It came from the corner, exactly where she knew it would. Every officer’s head turned toward Vi, then snapped back to Caitlyn, waiting for her reaction. A familiar, hot spike of irritation shot through Caitlyn’s chest.

“You have something to add, Enforcer?” Caitlyn’s tone was dangerously soft.

Vi pushed off the wall, her movements lazy but charged with coiled energy. “Yeah, I do.” She sauntered forward a few steps, her steel-toed boots making heavy, deliberate sounds on the polished floor. “So your plan is to sit on our hands and watch while these bastards pump more of that poison into the Undercity? Maybe into Piltover next? We should hit them. Hit them hard and fast, before they can move the product.”

Her gaze was a physical thing, a direct challenge that bypassed every other person in the room. Caitlyn felt a flush creep up her neck, a mixture of pure fury and something else, something she refused to name. She could feel the memory of Vi’s body pressed against hers in a dark alley, the ghost of her breath against her skin. It was a constant, unwelcome undercurrent to their every interaction.

Caitlyn gripped the edges of the lectern, her own knuckles turning white. “Your approach, as you call it, is reckless and lacks foresight. We are not kicking down a door and starting a brawl. We are dismantling a network. That requires precision and patience, not a sledgehammer.”

“Sometimes a sledgehammer is exactly what you need, Cupcake,” Vi shot back, the old nickname a deliberate barb meant to undermine her in front of her subordinates.

“That is enough,” Caitlyn’s voice was like ice, sharp and brittle. She met Vi’s stormy grey eyes, refusing to back down. “My orders stand. We proceed with methodical surveillance. You will lead the team at warehouse C. Do you understand your orders, Enforcer?”

The air crackled with the words left unsaid. Vi’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in her cheek, but she gave a curt, insolent nod.

“Good,” Caitlyn said, her voice clipped. “That will be all.”

The air at the southern docks was thick with the smells of salt, tar, and damp rot. It clung to Caitlyn’s uniform as she and Vi moved between stacks of shipping containers, their footsteps echoing softly on the wet cobblestones. The silence between them was a heavy, suffocating thing, filled with the ghosts of arguments past and the simmering resentment from the briefing. Vi walked with a predator’s rolling gait, her hands shoved in her pockets, but her eyes were constantly scanning, missing nothing. It was infuriating how competent she was, how her raw instinct so often led her right where Caitlyn’s careful logic did.

Warehouse C was a massive, dilapidated structure, its paint peeling in the damp air. Caitlyn picked the simple lock on the side door with practiced ease, pushing it open into a vast, cavernous dark. Beams of late afternoon sun sliced through gaps in the roof, illuminating swirling dust motes. The place was packed with crates of all sizes, a maze of splintered wood and shadows.

Caitlyn moved with a quiet, measured pace, her rifle held at a low ready. Vi prowled at her side, a restless energy radiating from her that made the hairs on Caitlyn’s arms stand on end. Every time Vi’s leather jacket brushed against her sleeve, a jolt went through her, an unwanted awareness of the solid, powerful body so close to her own.

They found it in the far corner, a smaller, reinforced crate bearing a faint, stenciled symbol that matched their intelligence. It was sealed with a heavy iron padlock.

“Finally,” Vi muttered, cracking her knuckles. She raised one of her gauntleted fists, the metal plates shifting with a low growl of mechanics.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn’s voice was sharp. She stepped directly in front of Vi, putting a hand on her chest to stop her. The muscle there was hard as stone beneath her palm. Vi froze, her gaze dropping from the crate to Caitlyn’s hand, then up to her face. They were suddenly too close, the air charged with more than just the tension of the case. Caitlyn could see the flecks of silver in Vi’s grey eyes, smell the faint scent of grease and something uniquely Vi on her skin. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“We need whatever is in there intact, Vi,” Caitlyn said, her voice lower now, struggling to remain steady. “And we need the lock for evidence. Smashing it open like a child with a new toy will destroy any chance of tracing its origin.”

Vi’s lips tightened into a thin line, but she didn’t move away. Her eyes held Caitlyn’s, a silent, furious battle raging between them. “Your way takes too long, Sheriff.”

“My way is the right way.” Caitlyn pulled her hand back as if burned, turning from the overwhelming heat of Vi’s proximity. She knelt, pulling a small leather roll from her belt and unfurling a set of delicate lockpicks. Her fingers felt clumsy for a moment under Vi’s intense stare. She could feel Vi’s impatience radiating behind her, a physical pressure. Ignoring it, she slid the tension wrench and the pick into the keyhole, focusing on the faint clicks and shifts of the tumblers inside. The world narrowed to the cold metal under her fingertips, the only thing she could control in a space that felt ready to ignite.

The lock gave way with a final, satisfying click. Caitlyn exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and gently lifted the lid of the crate. Inside, nestled in a bed of straw, were a dozen glass vials filled with a sickly, glowing green liquid. It pulsed with a faint, internal light, seeming to move on its own. It was exactly what the intelligence had described.

“There it is,” Caitlyn murmured, reaching for her evidence kit.

A sudden scrape of a boot on loose gravel from the rafters above made them both freeze. Caitlyn’s head snapped up. Vi was already moving, her body a blur of motion as she darted toward a rickety set of metal stairs in the corner. “Stay here,” she growled over her shoulder.

Ignoring the order, Caitlyn drew her pistol and followed, her longer legs eating up the distance. Up on the catwalk, a skinny young man with wide, terrified eyes was scrambling away. He was trapped. Vi blocked the path forward, her gauntlets gleaming in a stray sunbeam. Caitlyn came up behind him, cutting off his retreat. He was cornered, panting like a cornered animal.

“Nowhere to run,” Vi said, her voice a low, menacing rumble. She took a step forward, and the man flinched violently. “Start talking. Who are you working for?”

He just shook his head, his eyes darting between them.

“I’m not gonna ask again,” Vi said, grabbing the front of his ragged shirt and slamming him back against the railing. The entire structure groaned in protest.

“Vi, stop!” Caitlyn commanded, her rifle aimed steadily at the man, though her voice was directed at her partner. “You’re scaring him into silence. Let me handle this.”

She took a careful step forward, lowering her weapon slightly. “We don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her tone calm and reasonable. “Just tell us who you’re reporting to. We can offer you protection.”

The lookout’s panicked gaze fixed on Caitlyn, a flicker of consideration in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Vi, impatient, gave him another hard shake. “Spit it out!”

That was all it took. The man’s brief moment of compliance shattered. With a desperate cry, he shoved against Vi with all his might. Caught off guard by Caitlyn’s interruption, Vi stumbled back a single step. It was enough. The lookout vaulted over the railing, landing with a painful thud on a stack of crates below before scrambling out a broken window and disappearing into the labyrinth of the docks.

Vi swore, punching the metal railing with a clang that echoed through the empty warehouse. “Damn it, Caitlyn! He was about to break!”

“He was about to talk, until you manhandled him!” Caitlyn shot back, fury making her voice shake. “Your brute force cost us our only lead.”

The argument continued, a bitter, furious storm that followed them back to the Enforcer headquarters. It erupted again in the main bullpen, in front of half a dozen junior officers who tried to make themselves invisible.

“If you’d let me do my job, he’d be in a cell right now, telling us everything we need to know,” Vi snarled, pacing in front of Caitlyn’s desk like a caged animal.

“Your job? Your job is to follow my orders!” Caitlyn slammed her palm down on the polished wood of her desk. “And your idea of interrogation is blunt force trauma! That is not how we operate. Diplomacy and strategy are not weaknesses, Vi.”

Vi laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Diplomacy? You wanted to offer him a cup of tea and ask him politely to betray a violent chem-smuggling ring? They don’t understand your language, Cupcake. They understand this.” She held up her gauntleted fist.

“Your recklessness is a liability!” Caitlyn stood, her voice rising, all pretense of professional calm gone. “Every time I send you into the field, I’m gambling that your instincts won’t get someone killed, or blow the entire operation. Today, we lost that gamble.”

Vi stopped pacing and got right in Caitlyn’s face, her voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss that was somehow louder than her shouting. “My ‘recklessness’ is what gets things done while you’re sitting up here drawing diagrams. You’re just another soft-handed Topsider, afraid to get those pretty gloves dirty.”

The insult landed like a physical blow. The room fell into a dead, shocked silence. Caitlyn stared at Vi, her blue eyes blazing with a hurt so profound it stole her breath. Vi’s expression was hard as granite, but for a fleeting instant, a flicker of something—regret?—crossed her face before it was gone. She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Caitlyn standing alone in the quiet wreckage of their partnership.