Maybe she'd say her fighting days were passed her. Maybe she'd get so angry she'd want to kill someone, to bash their skull in. But instead she just took deep breaths, maybe had a good cry about it, and moved on. But the pain never went away.

Vi'd, of course, done irreparable damage to most all her joints. Whether it was punching concrete walls or hopping from rooftop to rooftop, she'd hurt hurtself and never properly healed. Now, Vi was paying the price.

She woke up, immediately sore and achy and in pain. Her hands felt like she could barely flex them without wincing, her knees like they weren't even supposed to bend at all. And immediately, Vi knew what did it; her training the day before. Maybe she stopped fighting, but a girl had to stay in shape. Except there were rarely any real benefits to reap from it.

That's how Vi ended up sat on the bathroom counter, Caitlyn applying tape to her angry, swollen hands, ice packs littered here and there. Vi's head was slightly hung. She didn't want her wife thinking she couldn't protect anymore, that she couldn't take care of herself. Even as she hissed when her hand was configured wrong, she never said a word. Just sat. She was grateful, though, that she had someone so selfless and patient as to do this for her.